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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
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[WP] "As you slowly awaken from your cryogenic sleep, you realize nothing is like how the scientists said it would be. Instead, a savage warlord and his retainers stand before you, and in broken english he offers you a simple choice: Teach him the magics of your people, or die now."
[deleted]
|
"It's not magic," I explained. "It's technology. Science. Tools."
The warlord looked unconvinced. He wore the hide of a mutant bear. The members of his posse were all deformed: a man with three eyes, a woman whose ears drooped to her shoulders, twins conjoined at the head who together possessed one sickly right arm and a huge powerful left.
"You teach or die," the warlord threatened. He pointed at me an ancient iron shovel that had been sharpened to a point. He held the rusted door of an SUV in his other arm as a shield.
I was supposed to awake in a beautiful future. I was supposed to awake in a world which technology had turned to a utopia. I had envisioned teleportation devices, faster-than-light intergalactic travel, cyborg humanoids living alongside fully-natural humans. It was my hope for the future that had led me to participate in the Company's experiment. I had given up my friends, family and world in order to put my life on pause for one thousand years.
But something must have happened along the way. Some catastrophe that levelled our civilization, our species, and returned us to the Stone Age. I slowly swung my legs over the edge of the cryo-bed and squinted, looking around. The light of their torches illuminated the walls and ceiling: we were deep in some system of caves. A small red dot glowed in the distance.
The warlord was growing impatient. He pressed the sharp weapon to my neck. "You tell magic. Now."
"It's a complex body of knowledge," I began. "Nothing a single man like me has the compass of. The technology that went into this cryo-chamber, for instance, is the fruit of hundreds of years of discovery, the collective effort of tens of thousands of isolated specialists, advancing in their particular fields. An interconnected web of knowledge being brought together for a startling innovation. . .Me know zero magic. Me not wizard. Me cursed by wizards."
The warlord gasped. He and his cronies started back. "Cursed?"
"Me left all," I said, mimicking their grunted speech. "Wizard say when I wake I get much money and meet gods. Wizard lied. World destroyed. No money. No gods. Only you. That my curse."
The posse looked at one another. The warlord looked down at his feet. They were suppressing smirks, laughter. I wondered if a word I had used meant something different now, after all these generations: perhaps 'money' meant defecation. Or perhaps the nuclear fallout and in-breeding of these primitive goons had addled their brains, and they were all insane.
"You tell us. . ." the warlord began. He burst out laughing. His posse was snickering, too. "Ah, fuck it! Lights. It's over. We blew it. Lights!" The lights came on. The cave was constructed of something like paper-mache. The grotesque conjoined twins started unzipping their suit and stepping out. "Sorry, mate," the warlord said in a modern English accent. "There was a bug in your bed. They needed to wake you to get it patched up before they really let you down for the long sleep. We thought it was a perfect opportunity."
"A bug?" I asked. "I don't understand. How long was I asleep?"
"Four days," he said, still chuckling. "You should have seen your face. And you'll get to. We've got the whole thing on video." He pointed to the back of the artificial cavern, where the red dot had glowed. A fat man waved jovially from behind a camera.
|
"Oy the magicks. Hand 'em over, ya prock."
Where am I?
"Donna make me ask twoice. It's a bad coming, fosh."
My hands are tingling. My face is ... numb. What is this place?
"Them magicks' ripplin'. Ah sense'em, prock. Oy!"
I open my eyes to find a disfigured burn victim staring straight down at me. The air smells of sulfur. Behind him, the sky is colored a dark red.
"Fine time wakey," the man scoffs. "Makings them magick, ya hear?"
I can't quite understand what he's saying. Is he talking about magic? Is he going to kill me? Oh, no wait. I already died, didn't I? Or I was about to ...
A vague memory of an old man holding my hand at a hospital. Balloons. A doctor with a serious expression on his face.
That's right.
I had a rare disease. Untreatable and fatal.
"Bad coming," the man grunted. "Bad, bad coming."
And just like that, my head hurt.
When I woke up, for the second time now, I was inside. The smell was almost unbearable. My hands? Chained to the wall. There are very dirty tubes going ... to my belly button? Are these guys being serious?
"Oy! Gonna think them magick? Better give us some of it, then. We's been running low."
"What?"
The disfigured man grinned.
"Speaky broth! And here's thinking all ain't well." He pointed at the tube inserted into my belly button. "Gunner get some magick, right?"
"You're going to extract ... magic? From my ... belly?"
"Right love speaking! Darn swell! And here's thought s'was a fair prock."
He made a gesture with his hands, probably trying to explain something.
"Them olds magick all pumped out. Boring. But here, ripplin'!" he said, patting my belly. "Fosh, donna need more for longer times."
"Alright. So. I don't know exactly what you're trying to do here, but I haven't got any 'magic'. So ... let me go, maybe?"
He froze, as if in shock. "All pumped?" he said, incredulous.
"Yessir," I replied. "I'm all pumped, I guess?"
He made an apologetic gesture. I think. Then he removed the tube, which hadn't actually been inserted into me as it turned out. He'd just put some dirty old tubes barely inside my bellybutton. What would he have done if I were an outie?
Surprisingly, he also undid my chains. From his tone he seemed to be saying that it was an honest mistake. Embarrassing to the both of us, really. Then he sent me off on my way.
As I walked out the door, the expression 'concrete jungle' sprang to mind. We were in the middle of a huge city. Or at least in the middle of what used to be one. Grass-covered buildings covered in cracks as far as the eye could see and animals frolicking about, seemingly without a care in the world.
The end of the world looked sort of peaceful. I wondered what time it was. And by that, I meant what century. I doubted I could rely on my former captor for help in that regard. He didn't seem to know much about anything.
I felt a sharp stab of pain in my stomach. Right. The disease hadn't gone away with time. The idea was to get unfrozen and cured in the future. That's what Jim wanted. Oh, Jim. I had forgotten about him. Fleece shirts and home-brewed coffee. Annual triathlons. A killer smile. Fearful eyes. At least at the end.
Oh.
Oh, right.
We had gone under together.
Pushing through the pain, I went to the house (more like a hut) of the disfigured guy. I didn't have many options so, eh. He let out a scream when I entered, then cleared his throat and spoke in an exaggerated deep voice.
"Broth. Well beings?"
"Pretty well, I guess. You know, I was just wondering. You probably found me in some sort of facility, right? A place with other frozen-down people? Something like that?"
He nodded, but it was clear he had no idea what I was talking about.
"Where magick people?" I gave it a try. I guess this is English now?
"Magick!" he erupted. "Gonna filler some magick? Place's mine, come on 'er."
He flashed me a coy smile. I suppose it was as good a sign as any.
He led me across an open field, which I thought was a little odd. Then he opened some sort of hatch. Next to it was an open cryogenics container. Had he ... Had he carried the whole thing out on his back? That didn't seem like the brightest of ideas. Then again ...
As we climbed down I started to feel more at home. This place had been relatively untouched, though aged as roughly as one might expect post-apocalypse. It was not the hospital, that was for sure. But it felt familiar, and by that I simply mean that it looked like the sort of place you'd find in the 21st century. Perhaps a military complex?
It turned out to be quite the descent. We went down hallways and a number of different staircases. He really dragged my container all this way and then just went 'fuck it' when he finally got it above ground?
Thankfully, he kept quiet. I didn't think I'd adapt to the latest trends in language development in the brief time I had left. Though it did have a certain air to it. Prock, for instance. That seemed fairly universal.
At last we arrived at some kind of storage facility, with a bunch of cryo-containers similar to mine. They were even labeled. And next to an empty spot, there was one marked Jim Sandwell.
The disfigured man bit his lips. "Magick," he said and let out a shy laugh.
I still had worries. How had I stayed alive for such a long time? Were all these containers kept online after an apocalypse? How? That seemed incredible. And also: did I even have the right to wake Jim up? What if things changed in a couple of hundred years and the world turned great? Also: I could hop into a new container. Just toss someone out. But that would be pretty mean. And I don't know if these things would stay online for much longer. Whatever kept them powered on was bound to be running low, right?
"Fuck it," I said, and opened Jim's container. In the moments before it opened completely I had the horrifying thought that I'd find a dusty skeleton inside. But my fears were abated. There he was. Jim. Looking as fine as the day we met.
"Oy!" yelled the disfigured man. "Magick, ya prock. We's low." He gave me a confident nod and a wink.
"W-What ..."
He was waking up already!
"All pumped," I said to the disfigured man, with an expression of regret. He shook his head in acknowledgement, then shrugged. He turned around and popped another container open.
"Oy! Magick."
Oh well.
"What's going on?"
Jim opened his eyes and met mine. "Marlene," he said. "What's going on?"
"Okay," I said. "Might want to brace yourself for this one. The world has sort of ... ended, I guess? Apocalypse and all that? I don't even know what year this is supposed to be.
"Who's that guy?"
"Oh. That's the guy who woke me up. Kidnapped me, in fact. Thought I had magic inside me or something. I'm not really sure."
"... What?"
"I'll explain," I promised.
We staggered out and spent an alright week together. Jim hunted some deer. We went sightseeing in what turned out to be Seoul. What remained of it, at least.
Jim assured me he didn't mind me waking him up. "It's not the end of the world, is it?" he joked.
It was a nice week. As the pain grew worse, Jim eventually convinced me to return to the container. Well, his container. He would do what he could, he said, to make this a world one might want to wake up to. As I'm now drifting back off to sleep, I'm unsure whether I dreamed it all. I don't care.
I had a nice week.
---
r/Hemingbird
| 2021-06-07T15:32:35 | 2021-06-07T15:23:31 | 35 | 24 |
[WP] An excerpt from the most cliché young adult novel
Ex. Futuristic dystopian society where vampires roam the streets
|
I glanced around at the rabble. "What...what am I doing here?" I asked, my violet eyes glistening in confusion.
A beautiful young man full of beauty stepped forward. He looked familiar, but I couldn't tell why. "You're here because you're like us," he said, his soft yet firm voice echoing in my mind like a beautiful bell. "You're special, unique."
*Me, special?* I couldn't believe what was going on. Here I was, in the abandoned theater in the Third Quarter, being told *I* was *special* by some hot guy (so familiar, but how?) and his friends.
"What's so special about me?" I asked, my voice quivering. I could feel my heart beat faster as he looked into my eyes,his cold yet warm stare gazing deep into my soul. He was so beautiful, and so familiar. Where had I seen him?
"You're not one of them," he said. "Haven't you noticed that you're not like them?"
"What do you mean, *them*?" "Your family, your friends, your peers...everyone you've ever known. I noticed it when I first saw you, at the flower shop. You were humming."
*So that's where he was from!* He was the guy at the flower shop, the one who couldn't take his eyes off me. "That was *you*? Have you been stalking me?!"
I turned angrily away to walk off, but the people behind me tightened up so I couldn't get past. Sure, I could take on two, maybe three, but all of them...?
"It's alright," he said, his beautiful voice carrying through the air. "We'll let you go after you hear me out. I promise." I turned back, and he nodded, his beautifully gelled hair staying completely static.
I looked nervously around, then back at him. "So...what's so special about that sound I made...?"
He smiled. It was a beautiful smile, closed to hide his exquisitely beautiful teeth. There was pain in that smile, but beauty was there too. He'd seen a lot of suffering, you could tell. "It's called humming. It's something people used to do...back before the Festival started. Back before the Sound."
"What's so special about...about me humming?" He was so beautiful, and it was distracting me from my usual quips and puns. I couldn't help but melt in his gaze, my strong and independent facade falling before his beauty.
And then they did it. All of them opened their mouths, and from them came a...a sound. Like the Synthboxes, but better...more clear, different. It was far from perfect, but somehow...it was better. I wanted to just wrap up in it and sail away to a far-off land. And as suddenly as they started, they stopped, the echo from their sound resonating throughout the theater and into my very soul.
I stammered "What...what was that?"
He smiled again. He held out his hand toward me, his palm faced toward the ceiling. "It's called singing. Humming is just the first step. From humming comes singing, and from that music. *Real* music, not the synthesised sound of the Synthboxes."
He stepped forward, palm still outstretched. I took his hand. It was so warm, and fit perfectly with mine. There was strength there, and beauty too. I felt my heart flutter again. He turned his eyes toward his group, and smiled. "We call ourselves the Chorus. And," his eyes turned back to me "We would be honoured if you would join us, Quartz Bellstark."
|
> "You know Bella, Jacob?" Lauren asked—in what I imagined was an insolent tone—from across the fire.
>
> "We've sort of known each other since I was born," he laughed, smiling at me again.
>
> "How nice." She didn't sound like she thought it was nice at all, and her pale, fishy eyes narrowed.
>
> "Bella," she called again, watching my face carefully, "I was just saying to Tyler that it was too bad none of the Cullens could come out today. Didn't anyone think to invite them?" Her expression of concern was unconvincing.
>
> "You mean Dr. Carlisle Cullen's family?" the tall, older boy asked before I could respond, much to Lauren's irritation. He was really closer to a man than a boy, and his voice was very deep.
>
> "Yes, do you know them?" she asked condescendingly, turning halfway toward him.
>
> "The Cullens don't come here," he said in a tone that closed the subject, ignoring her question.
>
> Tyler, trying to win back her attention, asked Lauren's opinion on a CD he held. She was distracted.
>
> I stared at the deep-voiced boy, taken aback, but he was looking away toward the dark forest behind us. He'd said that the Cullens didn't come here, but his tone had implied something more—that they weren't allowed; they were prohibited. His manner left a strange impression on me, and I tried to ignore it without success.
>
> Jacob interrupted my meditation. "So is Forks driving you insane yet?"
>
> "Oh, I'd say that's an understatement." I grimaced. He grinned understandingly.
>
> I was still turning over the brief comment on the Cullens, and I had a sudden inspiration. It was a stupid plan, but I didn't have any better ideas. I hoped that young Jacob was as yet inexperienced around girls, so that he wouldn't see through my sure-to-be-pitiful attempts at flirting.
>
> "Do you want to walk down the beach with me?" I asked, trying to imitate that way Edward had of looking up from underneath his eyelashes. It couldn't have nearly the same effect, I was sure, but Jacob jumped up willingly enough.
>
> As we walked north across the multihued stones toward the driftwood seawall, the clouds finally closed ranks across the sky, causing the sea to darken and the temperature to drop. I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket.
>
> "So you're, what, sixteen?" I asked, trying not to look like an idiot as I fluttered my eyelids the way I'd seen girls do on TV.
>
> "I just turned fifteen," he confessed, flattered.
>
> "Really?" My face was full of false surprise. "I would have thought you were older."
>
> "I'm tall for my age," he explained.
>
> "Do you come up to Forks much?" I asked archly, as if I was hoping for a yes. I sounded idiotic to myself. I was afraid he would turn on me with disgust and accuse me of my fraud, but he still seemed flattered.
>
> "Not too much," he admitted with a frown. "But when I get my car finished I can go up as much as I want—after I get my license," he amended.
>
> "Who was that other boy Lauren was talking to? He seemed a little old to be hanging out with us." I purposefully lumped myself in with the youngsters, trying to make it clear that I preferred Jacob.
>
> "That's Sam—he's nineteen," he informed me.
>
> "What was that he was saying about the doctor's family?" I asked innocently.
>
> "The Cullens? Oh, they're not supposed to come onto the reservation." He looked away, out toward James Island, as he confirmed what I'd thought I'd heard in Sam's voice.
>
> "Why not?"
>
> He glanced back at me, biting his lip. "Oops. I'm not supposed to say anything about that."
>
> "Oh, I won't tell anyone, I'm just curious." I tried to make my smile alluring, wondering if I was laying it on too thick.
>
> He smiled back, though, looking allured. Then he lifted one eyebrow and his voice was even huskier than before.
>
> "Do you like scary stories?" he asked ominously.
>
> "I love them," I enthused, making an effort to smolder at him.
>
> Jacob strolled to a nearby driftwood tree that had its roots sticking out like the attenuated legs of a huge, pale spider. He perched lightly on one of the twisted roots while I sat beneath him on the body of the tree. He stared down at the rocks, a smile hovering around the edges of his broad lips. I could see he was going to try to make this good. I focused on keeping the vital interest I felt out of my eyes.
>
> "Do you know any of our old stories, about where we came from—the Quileutes, I mean?" he began.
>
> "Not really," I admitted.
>
> "Well, there are lots of legends, some of them claiming to date back to the Flood—supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the ark." He smiled, to show me how little stock he put in the histories. "Another legend claims that we descended from wolves—and that the wolves are our brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them.
>
> "Then there are the stories about the cold ones." His voice dropped a little lower.
>
> "The cold ones?" I asked, not faking my intrigue now.
>
> "Yes. There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land." He rolled his eyes.
>
> "Your great-grandfather?" I encouraged.
>
> "He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf—well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You would call them werewolves."
>
> "Werewolves have enemies?"
>
> "Only one."
>
> I stared at him earnestly, hoping to disguise my impatience as admiration.
>
> "So you see," Jacob continued, "the cold ones are traditionally our enemies. But this pack that came to our territory during my great-grandfather's time was different. They didn't hunt the way others of their kind did—they weren't supposed to be dangerous to the tribe. So my great-grandfather made a truce with them. If they would promise to stay off our lands, we wouldn't expose them to the pale-faces." He winked at me.
>
> "If they weren't dangerous, then why…?" I tried to understand, struggling not to let him see how seriously I was considering his ghost story.
>
> "There's always a risk for humans to be around the cold ones, even if they're civilized like this clan was. You never know when they might get too hungry to resist." He deliberately worked a thick edge of menace into his tone.
>
> "What do you mean, 'civilized'?"
>
> "They claimed that they didn't hunt humans. They supposedly were somehow able to prey on animals instead."
>
> I tried to keep my voice casual. "So how does it fit in with the Cullens? Are they like the cold ones your greatgrandfather met?"
>
> "No." He paused dramatically. "They are the same ones."
No, I didn't write this but I did put about as much effort into copy/pasting as the original author.
**edit** gold? wow, you really can get rich with this drivel!
| 2015-05-14T08:31:38 | 2015-05-14T08:14:00 | 37 | 21 |
[WP]If you murder someone, your jail sentence is as long as their remaining life would have been.
|
“You do understand the sentencing system.”
Lawrence looked around the conference room. It was spare, with more chairs than were really needed. Nobody frequented this place. “Sure,” he said. “You guys do your voodoo to figure out how long my, heh, victim, had to live, and make my sentence just as long. So lay it on me. How long did Baldy have? Few years? Couple of decades?”
The clerk delivered a small world of disapproval in a “hem.” Then, “Erik Slayke worked for Orstec all his life. He served as proof of concept for a number of technologies too risky to expose to the general population.” Lawrence yawned. The clerk scowled and slowed his drawl to agonizing relaxation. “Erik would have been the first man to live past one thousand.”
Lawrence sat up, violently, sending his chair rolling for the wall. “Bullshit.”
“The prediction models are quite clear, I’m afraid. You are hereby sentenced to one thousand, one hundred and sixteen years in a maximum-security cell.”
“Just my luck.” Lawrence managed a cocky grin. “Great. So I live out my natural life and I’m done.”
“On the contrary,” said the clerk. “Orstec still needs a subject for their longevity serum. Their first candidate was recently murdered, you see.”
|
This would be my sixth time in jail over the last 5 years. Ever since the new government implemented the "time lost" murder laws. I remember reading about it in the New York Times with keen interest. - "A panel of experts will convene to determine the amount of time the deceased could reasonably expect to have enjoyed."
When I saw those words, "reasonably expect" I knew this was my golden ticket to what I had always wanted. To carry out my work with impunity to the fullest extent of my ability.
For the last 20 years I had worked in a hospice. Taking care of the sick, decrepit wrinkly skin bags after their own children abandoned them. They were so weak, frail and pathetic that I started to despise them. Pity them really. I remember one lady, 93 years old. She would sit and stare with listless eyes while petting a stuffed tiger. She would call it "Stacy." We basically had to force food down her throat, she was so disinterested in the events of our physical world she didn't enjoy any of it.
I slashed her throat with a steak knife.
The mist of blood created a beautiful painting on the wall. I was an artist. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had accomplished something worthwhile. Because while she died, she looked me right in the eyes and tried to say something. All she could manage was a gurgle, but I know she was trying to say "Thank You"
She was my first. Due to her condition, the panel of experts decided she only had 4 months left to live. They gave me half of that, if I paid a fine. The fine was only equal to about 2 weeks wages, so it was a cheap price to get me back out of that prison.
Not that prison was all that bad. The new government had also decided that access to internet was a basic human right, so everyone in prison just sat around on forums, or playing video games. It's a place I could get used to.
But I never had to stay there for long. 2 months for the first one. 1 for the second. 3 for the third. Only two short days for the fourth. Which was my most glorious act yet. I put on a show for the other doomed fools in the hospice using the head of old Mr. McIntyre. He was a puppet in a grotesque re-enactment of our last election. They cackled and pointed... fully knowing it was the head of one of their companions who I had just murdered. They didn't care. They just wanted their turn to come sooner.
The fifth got me 3 months, it would've been a year, but I changed the medical records so it looked like he had gotten his terminal cancer diagnosis 9 months before he did.
I have to admit, I was quite surprised when I was re-hired after leaving prison the first time, at the same facility where I had just viciously murdered an old grandma with a steak knife.
But the other employees sort of idolized me. They looked at me with wide eyes, and sometimes asked me in hushed tones "What was it like?"
They all wanted the boldness that I had. The freedom to do what we all thought was necessary. But they lacked the courage to follow through. So I became their hero, in a twisted way. Which is why my manager was happy to hire me back. After the 4th one he even said "Congratulations! That was spectacular work."
I heard that some photos of my "crimes" had been posted online along with stories explaining what I did. I found that sort of sickening in a sense. I never wanted to do this for the attention, I didn't want to be a celebrity serial killer, I only wanted to put some old people out of their misery.
Which is why this killing was different. I don't know what inspired it... I guess I just felt like I had to do SOMETHING to escape the prison I was building for myself. I didn't trust myself not to kill again, it was an addiction... so I had to do something drastic.
It all started when the hospice decided to let an orphanage come in and "cheer up the dying"... dozens of little children ran in. They played with our medical equipment, and talked with the old people. I have to admit, in the normally lifeless existence of the hospice it was nice to see a spark of life. But it wasn't going to last.
I found one of them alone, she had gotten lost and wandered into the staff area. Cute little girl, blonde hair, green eyes, about 7 years old with one front tooth missing.
She said "Hi, My name's Sarah, what's your name?"
In that moment... something came over me. I wondered if she would bleed differently than an old person. Her veins were so young and tight, I'm sure it would spray more.
I grabbed a knife and plunged it into her chest. Once. Twice. Three times.
She didn't look grateful.
She looked sad.
Like I had stolen something from her that wasn't mine to take.
I collapsed on the ground, shivering, crying.
I called out for help. Once. Twice. Three times.
The manager came rushing in... he didn't look impressed.
He looked horrified.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" he shrieked...
I just pointed, blubbered and cried.
That day, it wasn't Sarah that died... it was me. And now I sat expecting an 80 year sentence I just hoped it would go quickly so I could finally rest.
The judge came out. Said that a man had become a hero, and then a hero had become a monster. He said what I had done was despicable and deserved to be punished by the full brunt of the law.
However... the new government had enacted a new law just yesterday, which stated the maximum sentence for any crime was to be 5 years. After which point so many of the cells in one's body had replaced themselves, you were technically a new person.
With a sigh, and a bang of his gavel, the judge put me away for 5 years. To go to a playground with other adult children, and discover my new fanbase online... a fanbase I never wanted, but now that I had it... I wanted to make them proud.
| 2016-05-29T09:41:46 | 2016-05-29T09:16:38 | 146 | 29 |
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock!
|
She typed in the name of the website where you could make *sure*, her hands trembling slightly.
Where you could check that you had met the real thing. Not a cheater or an abuser or a rapist. She had a little habit of checking almost everyone she met, whether she was going out with them or not. Most terrified her. She read the reviews of other people, feeling sick. *He judges me*. *He resents me*. *He hates the way I laugh*. How could you be yourself around people like that?
But Matt was perfect, he'd have a score of 1000 -
-500.
She felt cold as she saw the number beside his picture. She read the reports of those who had dated him before her, who had tried to love him, her heart racing.
*He said he loved me but really hated everything about me. He made fun of me behind my back. He only dated me to have easy sex, because I was so desperate.*
*I thought he was perfect, but he wore a false face. He will rip out your heart and laugh about it.*
*You're stupid if you think Matt will ever love anything about you.*
*He cheated on me again and again before he killed me.*
*He murdered me. He waited for me in the dark and slid a knife through my ribs. Stay away, stay away, stay away.*
*He killed me, he did. I saw him do it.*
She jumped as someone opened the door downstairs. Matt's cheerful voice rang through the apartment as he made his way towards her.
"Hey, babe! Sally, you here?" he called. "I know we said we'd do date night tomorrow, but I couldn't wait..."
Matt got upstairs and paused as he saw her pale, terrified face. She backed away from him, knocking the chair over in the process.
"Get away from me! Murderer! Murderer!" she screamed.
Matt glanced at the computer and what was open on it. That same bogus website she always used in moments like these. She always saw something different. He wondered briefly what it was this time, but didn't pause to talk about it. He just had to get through to her.
"Sally. Did you take your meds today?" he asked, approaching her slowly.
"Liar! Murderer!" she sobbed, tears running down her cheeks. "You've always h-hated me..."
He reached her, fending off her kicks and scratching nails, and drew her into his arms.
"Hey, honey, I'm here. I'm right here," he said, stroking her hair as she pounded her fists against his chest. Like she did every time she forgot.
She quieted down as he called the hospital, and then her psychiatrist. Soon, everything would go back to normal. Maybe they could still watch a movie tonight. It didn't matter whether they watched it here or in a hospital. The important thing was to stay.
"Let's get you some help, huh? I still want my date night," he said, kissing her softly on the forehead.
------
Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
|
"It isn't worth it," said Niklas, trying to grab the phone out of my hands. "The terms are trash. You're gonna be miserable. Just sit it out, man."
I pushed him off. He was right - the profile certainly had a *lot* of fine print, and I wasn't thrilled with all the contractual details, but what else was I supposed to do?
"Nik, my L-credit's trash," I said. "The thing with Viv *ruined* me. This is it for me. This is my atonement."
Niklas shook his head. "*Or* just fucking stay out of that shit for a while. It's a demerit-based system, Quinn. Give it time. Five...seven years out from the Viv thing and it'll be like you're starting all over. You can get a nice secured relationship. Someone else looking to raise their score. It's not a big deal."
That just about sealed it for me. "*Seven fucking years?* Are you absolutely mental? I'm not going solo for seven years! I'll be an old, washed up, middle-aged perv by then. It won't matter what my L-credit looks like. No, I've got to do this. I need to start improving my score *now*, so I can trade up to something top tier before I'm too old to start a family."
Niklas drained the last of his coffee and chucked the empty cup into the bin. "You're an idiot. Subprime relationships are a scam. Everyone knows that."
"They're not a scam. It's just a hardship. I'll manage. And as long as I don't fuck up again, I'll be back in the black in a couple years."
"Have fun," said Niklas. "I'm going back to work."
I waved sarcastically. Niklas just didn't understand. In fact, I'm pretty convinced that if you've never had a bad L-credit score, there's no way you *could* understand. Bad L-credit just takes a shit situation and makes it worse. It's a pit. And if you don't get your head out of your ass, you just end up digging deeper and deeper.
And besides, this Rebecca seemed nice enough. Her own L-credit score was mid-range. Respectable. She was only on the subprime list because of her demands. And that's not so bad. Just meant she had standards.
I messaged her. Complimented her profile pictures. Noted I had similar tastes in music and film. Expressed a desire to get a drink sometime.
Her reply was perhaps a bit telling, but fair.
"HOW'D YOU GET SUCH A LOW SCORE? DEETS OR NO GO."
It's hard to explain what happened with Vivian in a single conversation, let alone in a text chat. Like a lot of things in life, it was much more complicated than it seems from a distance.
I replied: "Last GF and I drifted apart. Bad communication. Bad ending."
She replied: "BULLSHIT. YOUR SCORE IS WAY LOW. YOU DID SOMETHING."
And that was true. I made out with Trisha, Vivian's best friend. But like I said, it was complicated.
I replied: "Made mistake. Kissed someone else. Relationship was already dying."
She replied: "YOU SOUND LIKE A WINNER. MAKE IT DINNER. YOU PAY."
I gripped my hands into tight fists. Right. *Atonement.* This is what I deserved.
I replied: "Sounds great. Pick the place."
She replied: "REAL MEN PICK THE PLACE."
Okay. It was going to be fine. All part of the process.
I met Rebecca at a fancy sushi restaurant. I'd offered to pick her up, but she didn't want me to know her address.
"What's with the car?" she asked, as I stepped forward to give her a hug.
"What's...what?"
"I thought you worked in marketing?" said Rebecca. "Your car's like...ten years old."
"Five," I said, pulling absently at the collar of my shirt. "I hear this place is great."
"You've never been?" said Rebecca. "So neither of us will know what we're doing? Great." She stood at the side of the door. Taking the hint, I opened the door for her. "Okay," is all she said to that particular gesture.
I ordered dinner for both of us, as Rebecca only looked at the drink menu. "I don't know sushi," she'd said. "I'm not a huge fan."
"Would you have preferred to go somewhere else?" I asked.
"What difference does that make?" said Rebecca. "We're already here, aren't we?"
I smiled. "Right. Future reference, I guess."
Rebecca excused herself. While she was gone I took out my phone and pulled up my *Karma_Counter* profile. "Up five points," I whispered to myself. So far, so good.
Rebecca tried everything and liked nothing. Her drink was returned twice for being too watered down. She was also unimpressed with my shirt, my haircut, and the way I held my glass of water.
"I don't know," she said. "It's too low on the glass. That's like how little kids hold a glass. I keep thinking you're going to drop it."
I smiled and stopped drinking water for the rest of the meal.
Although she made it very clear that she had a rotten experience, Rebecca agreed to a second date. We met for brunch. She ordered spaghetti, which was very much not on the menu.
We went to a museum for our third date. She took pictures of all the exhibits, even as the unpaid volunteers chasing us around the building told her not to.
"I paid for my ticket," was all she would say when they threatened to have her removed. She did not pay for her ticket.
On it went. And although every day had become a fresh nightmare of debasing text messages and financially crippling outings, my L-credit was on the rise.
"It's not worth it," Niklas said one day after work, as we walked to the gym. "No matter what your score looks like, you're gonna come out of this so damaged it won't matter."
"What doesn't kill me only makes me stronger," I replied.
"Are you a fucking Buddha now?"
"I am beyond Earthly torment."
"We'll see," said Niklas.
And we did see. Almost immediately. Because Rebecca called me while I was at the gym that day, and when I did not answer, she texted me, and when I did not answer she left messages on my various social media platforms. When I did not reply to *those*, Rebecca began a rather impressive social media carpet-bombing campaign, in which what remained of my character was obliterated beyond recognition, while all females in any way connected to my accounts were interrogated and, if they made the mistake of defending themselves or me, called some variation of the word "whore".
It was not an especially pleasant way to come down off a post-workout high.
I called things off with Rebecca. It was not a pleasant break-up. In fact, if my relationship with Rebecca was a time bomb, you could say I'm still finding hidden pieces of shrapnel to this day. She is not someone who lets things go easily.
More atonement, I guess.
My L-credit is, once again, a flaming barrel of baby diapers. Worse, actually, than it was before Rebecca. Niklas was right, which is always a wretched thing to have to admit. But it's fine. I've learned my lesson. No subprime relationships. I'm just going to live with my rotten L-credit. It's not the worst thing in the world.
*Although*...I did just see a new service open up next to the Arby's down on Mallard. *Title Love*, I think it's called. Short-term relationships - they only last until your next paycheck! And they don't even *check* your L-credit!
I mean, obviously I can get by on my own, but some deals are just too good to pass up.
| 2016-09-24T11:16:02 | 2016-09-24T11:03:32 | 2,480 | 623 |
[WP] When you die, your ghost remains in the world until the last person who remembers you also dies. 15,000 years after your death, you are still here.
|
It was just a stupid video. Something I did for fun to test out my new webcam. I wasn't looking for attention in anyway, and didn't really think much when I uploaded it to the web. In fact, at the time there wasn't much around that let you save your videos and I didn't have an external backup drive so I simply uploaded it to the internet for safe-keeping. But this was before things could go viral, or so I naively assumed.
Now I'm a 15,000 year-old ghost and still as much of an internet sensation. But the internet has greatly evolved and my little video has gained immeasurable attention. You see, around 14,000+ years ago, they started blasting essences of pop culture into outer space in hopes of reaching out to alien civilizations. In a stroke of luck, one such civilization picked up the signal (which included my silly video) and began sharing it to all other known races across the universe.
Now, I'm more famous than any Earthly historical figure. All by chance. Now I'm screwed.
All I wanted was to dance to the Numa Numa song....
|
I was young when it all happened. A thief in the night had claimed my life and my blood had been spilled onto the ground. I remembered all of the steps after when my body was bitten and drained of all blood and just torn asunder like I was just some sack of meat to be had. It all happened right after I had seen Simon- the vampire I had grown to love in my town.
I got to explore so many places like he had without any needs to avoid the sun or to crave anything. I met with many figures I had studied in my schooling days and became friends with quite a few. I had seen change happen over the course of time- time I lost track of rather quickly. To me, I finally got the change of a lifetime to see the world that Simon described to me through his tales of the Earth we both shared. I finally understood why he encouraged me to explore and am thankful he did.
Time crawled onward and I could see from the sidelines how countries rose and fell. Things certainly were not going to be like 2017 anymore and it was bittersweet to see that. My family that I had eventually passed away and I could wave them goodbye as they all were able to be free from the shackles of this realm. I encouraged their leaving and also waited for my turn. In due time, I knew I would have my time to leave too.
But it never came.
In fact, 15,000 years had passed and I still remained here. I got to see the same figures I had met like Miss Anne Frank, Marie Laveau, Theodore Roosevelt, and even Edgar Allan Poe when he wanted to show up. They all wondered who could have possibly been alive to keep me here as I would sit with them and think long and hard about who could possibly have been alive to remember me to this day. I talked to each and every one of them about how I had died as they all did ask, and described the night before I had died.
Each felt warm and had softened at the tale of how Simon and I had walked around town under the full moon and danced around the clocktower that was in the middle of my town. I was clumsy and could not dance well while I was alive, but he had been patient with me and hummed soft music while leading me through a waltz under the stars. It was one of the best nights in my life despite what happened afterwards. Because I felt so loved and cared for during those last moments, and I knew Simon could relate. When escorting me home, he kept me close and safe before letting me go with a kiss on the hand and a proposition to return the next night.
I agreed and we left each other's company- a fatal mistake it would be for me.
Then it hit me like a bat to the head, perhaps unneeded to travel home for a change and investigate there. So I said goodbyes to the individuals I had grown to know during my afterlife and traveled back to my hometown that held the clocktower in the middle. To my delight, the clocktower had still been there despite the many changes in the town that I had seen. It felt so foreign to me, but I shook the memories I had off and traveled to the clocktower where Simon was hopefully living.
How I had not understood that it was most likely Simon keeping me here, I did not know. Perhaps it was because I did not gain any intelligence after the afterlife to think that a vampire still kept me in his memory? It did not matter much now as I went to the switch that was by the clocktower and turned it before entering the door into a grande estate and began calling for the vampire I remembered so well, "Simon! Simon!" I wandered the familiar halls in hopes he could hear me. Since vampires were technically not alive either, they should be able to hear me, right?
So I traveled from the guest and mater bedroom to find a portrait of me had been made in his room. I could not help but grow a saddened smile as my suspicions were correct. After investigating the greenery room, I made my way into the library and heard the familiar humming as I peeked up and called out to the keeper of this estate again, "Simon! Simon, are you here??"
I could see the familiar man with darkened hair and slender body as he looked my way and stopped dead in his tracks when cleaning. He looked like he had seen a ghost, and he was right to appear that way as I could not help myself and ran to him, trying to hug him but not gaining any success as his voice cracked slightly with the shock and excitement he felt, "Soleil! How are you even here?! Shouldn't you be prancing around heaven or something like that, young lady!? Do you realize how much time has passed??"
I could not help but laugh when hearing the change in Simon's voice as I smiled happily at him and responded with a serene tone, "I already am Simon. Also, I do realize how much time has passed. I keep track of it since I cannot leave here. It has been 15,000 years since it all ended and began." At those words, I could see Simon's excitement and expression drop at the mentioning of how long it truly had been and thought to himself before bowing his head and nodding slowly.
"Yes... It truly has been that long, hasn't it Soleil? I want to apologize to you. For not figuring out what would happen and not trying to save you from that horrible fate. I wished with all of my might that he could have left you be or perhaps spare you long enough for me to let you join me in a different manner than as a spirit." I could tell this topic was a sore spot and I gently reached out to him. Even though he could not feel my touch, he understood the gesture and looked up to me again with an apologetic look in his eyes before I responded.
"Simon, instead of sulking here like a little bat, let's try to make the best of this and stay in each other's lives once more? We both technically have achieved immortality in a sense. Let's make the best of our time before you eventually go?" A smile slowly grew on Simon's face as he nodded his head and responded with the softest of voices,
"Yes. Let's do that this time, Soleil."
| 2017-06-26T12:48:11 | 2017-06-26T12:04:53 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You are a 17-year-old living in a futuristic dystopian society where a fascist party rules the world. Upon turning 18, citizens are required to take a DNA test to put their genetic information on file. When you go to take yours, your genetic identity is a 100% identical to that of the dictator.
Edit: Wow! I didn't expect this post to blow up overnight! Thank you all for the awesome writing!
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When I saw the report, I was terrified - not at the contents of the report, which had a list of suggested relatives and the percentage of heritage, but by the reaction of the lab technician who had handed it to me. He snatched it out of my hand like it was a thermite grenade and apologized profusely for handing me the wrong folder.
"What?" I sputtered, "Wh-what is this?"
The technician was already preparing a shot out of something with a red vial. Red usually meant emergencies, as in, Emergency: sedate the patient immediately.
I leapt out of the chair, but not before the syringe had already been plunged up to its hilt into my bicep.
Reality swam in and out of focus.
Brief moments happened.
Hitting the floor
A hospital bed, surrounded by lab coats
A marker, drawing on my chest
A distorted remark:
"You dumbass! You handed an organ mule his genetic report?!"
A sharp pain
Then darkness.
|
My mind was in a whirlwind as I clenched the piece of paper that identified by genetic embodiment. I crumpled the slip of paper and pushed it into the pockets of my corduroy blue pants. I didn’t want anyone around me to see what was causing my utter distress. My vision began to fuzz as I thought about the pure confusion at hand: I am related to Jerard. I am related to the man that has caused the whole country of Paleen to migrate out of their homes and voyage across the barren land to find a new home. I am related to the man that has murdered millions of children for the basis of their skin color. I am related to the man that has programmed the minds of young men and women so that they may follow the pathway of Jerardism.
I latched onto my stomach, attempting to settle the oatmeal I ate in the morning and to prevent it from spilling across the linoleum floor of Estate 19. I watched Clarissa, in her ordinary navy dress run across towards me with her paper.
“It’s official: I am not adopted Adam!” she laughed.
“I honestly think this is the stupidest thing they could have put us through. Like really? Doesn’t the government already have 24-hour surveillance and footage of all our births? What more do they want from us?
“Where’s your paper Adam?” she asked me.
I could not even bare to tell her. She would never speak to me again. She would shun me for being related to the man that murdered her entire family.
I stood up and began to walk away.
“Adam!” she called after me, but I had already turned the corner of the hallway.
I reached the exit gates of the facility and stood behind every other 18 year old in this region. I waited as everyone’s identification chip was scanned before leaving the building. This chip essentially tracks our every movement. It records where we have been last and logs our physiological patterns, and our mere thoughts. That way, if one of us happens to rebel, the so-called government can track down where we were last checked in at and what our thoughts encompassed.
“Why’d you run away from me?” Clarissa asked, whilst heavily breathing from trying to find me.
“Don’t worry about it.” I said.
I stepped right up to the administrator and he waved the sensor over my left arm, where the chip was inserted. A flash of red appeared on his screen. He cleared the screen and made another attempt at scanning my chip. Red marked the computer again. Was it because I thought so badly of Jerard only recently? I looked at the bald administrator and locked eyes with him. I instantly turned around and pushed Clarissa out of my way and ran toward the other end of the hall. Sirens wailed above me and I continued to cut corners to find any alternative escape. Suddenly, I felt a slight pinch in my neck. Slowly, I began to lose consciousness and laid on the ground motionless. Why did I even think it was possible for me to escape, there’s never an escape.
***
I opened my eyes and glanced around me. Where am I? I was surrounded by a diamond ceiling and a purely marble floor. State of the art robot maids were charging in the corner.
“Hello Adam.”
I turned to my right and saw him. I saw the man that has ruined this world. I didn’t even know what to do. I just wanted to kill him. No. I wanted him to suffer. I want him to suffer worse than all the sufferings he has caused to everyone in the world. I ran towards him but realized that my movement was completely restricted by a metallic lockdown structure.
“Fuck you.” I spat at him.
“Now is that any way to treat your president?”
“Fuck you. You ain’t shit.”
I watched as he went to put his hand in his pocket. I expected him to pull out a gun and immediately kill me but he didn’t.
“So you probably know why you’re here Mr. Adam. The results were in for the genetic identification test and it appears that you are another one of my sons.”
Son? Fuck no. I will never be associated with this bastard. He is absolute shit to me. I cannot possibly be his son.
“I am not your son.”
“Oh, but you are Adam.”
How the hell could I be his son when my parents are Alicia and Tarik.
“Those aren’t your real parents.” He answered the question I conjured up in my head.
“You see Adam, in my effort to homogeneize the world, I have realized that what better way to make the world perfect than by implanting my sperm into the bodies of women.”
“You mean fucking rape you asshole.”
“No no. Not rape. I am doing them a favor by even allowing them to feel the sexual sensations outside of mating season. They got to really feel what it’s like to have power reign in their body.”
I wanted to slice off his tongue and cut out his teeth one by one out of his blabbering mouth.
“Now is that any way a son would ever treat his father.”
“Fuck you.”
“Well anyways, you see I inserted my sperm in this woman species, don’t remember her name. And she had you…”
“Where is she?” I demanded.
Jerard chuckled at my question, as if it was something far-fetched to even ask. “She is dead of course!”
“Let me get to my point. The reason I decided to even do this favor to women was because I realized how great it could benefit me as well. All of my children will be specifically programmed to be killing machines.”
“I am not going to do that.” I shouted.
“It’s not your choice.”
It isn’t. And I knew it wasn’t, so I looked around my lock and began to conjure up ways to assassinate myself because I cannot possibly fathom the idea of murdering innocent lives.
“You’ll never win Adam.”
I found it.
“Never.”
He clicked the button that had begun my transformation.
| 2018-02-17T00:22:41 | 2018-02-16T21:00:27 | 76 | 33 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons.
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They say ‘History is written by the victor’, yet in our case, that is categorically false. I am a prophesy, a warning. I sit alone, the last of my kind, with one final duty. I too will become another footnote in history. Ours inevitably similar to countless others who, just like us, believed in our species’ supremacy. Our ascendant right to the universe. To conquer and exploit everything and anyone, as our gospel required. Like all warnings before us, I fear my words will again fade into the infinite, eventually just another fairy tale. Just the made up words of those who seek to keep you from reaching your true potential.
It began with a simple warning: ‘Cease your expansionary violence, failure will result in jump gate privileges removed.’
The nerve of those humans. For as long as anyone remembered, they were the administrators of the jump gates. An incredibly rare and advanced species known for staying neutral in all other’s affairs. To most other races, this made them perfect mediators and trading partners. Not a lot was known about their main system since no traffic was allowed through the jump gate leading to it. Humans always traded outside their system and had no need to use the jump gates. Their unarmed ships appeared where needed. Their neutrality and lack of desire for expansion was pathetic.
The stories say the once mighty Xhavi wanted control of their jump gate. The believed, like we all do, human’s control of the gates should cease. While the humans always followed every jump request, control of the gates meant control of information. And so they attacked the controller. In a blinding flash, the gate just… disappeared. The remaining Xhavi, maybe a few million across the Universe, forever refugees, struggle to survive. A once mighty species, forever locked behind the realities of physics. But these are just stories.
We were different. We understood the theory behind jump gates. We currently lacked the technology to replicate it but that was to soon to change. Our methodical conquest of the Iuger revealed they had created technology to jump small objects. Our best scientists explained it, but as I now badly recall, it meant controlling massive energy outputs at precise moments when matter is split. With our numbers and this new technology, our scientists predicted we would soon be the dominant species. Certainly within my lifespan. We would start our ascendancy with a first strike at our gate controller while laying final waste to the Iuger.
And then it happened.
A request from a human envoy to appear at the central gate. As the head of The Executioner Fleet, our greatest pride, I was the natural choice. Waiting for us was a small group: a human, a Xhavi, another humanoid who I recognized as an Ulanian, and a few others I did not. ‘Impossible’… the Ulanians had disappeared tens of thousands of years ago. A huge power vacuum left which allowed the Xhavi and us to become dominant. There was not a single representative from any of the major alliances. There would be no audience, no grandstanding today.
The human stepped forward and had one question: ’Who is the chosen one?’
I didn’t understand. At first we thought the translator malfunctioned. My anger was visible and I uttered my disgust, ‘How dare you interfere in our affairs?’
The human, pensive for a moment repeated ‘Who will be the chosen one?’
I yelled at the Xhavi ‘What is this affront to our sovereignty?!’
The Xhavi never raised his gaze. ‘We too were this naive. We too shared this... delusion. The masters of our own fate. Like you it began with a warning and like you we thought we were supreme. The truth is your fate has already been sealed. They see it all. Your armada secretly surrounding this meeting, your ships at battle station, your worlds preparing to finish up the Iuger. Right at this moment you are about to order your ships to fire. The human doesn’t care about your next move, only about who will tell your story.”
I smiled. A brief moment of hubris. ‘FIRE!’
The choice was made. As every single one of our ships surrounding the meeting blinked out of existence in a spherical bloom of death and plasma... I finally understood the question.
The human looked out to the stars. ‘We cannot allow any one of our creations to extinguish another. We cannot allow you to repeat our mistakes. Your species will have to wait behind your gate. You have been chosen.’
I am the harbinger of our destruction. I am the witness.
|
The landscape is cold- barren. We work in silence, Henry and I. I can sense the Universe recoiling away from us, the cosmos pulling its lips away, teeth gnashing and foaming, spitting vitriol on humanity. We knew this was wrong. But someone had to tip the cosmic scales back. We had come too far- walked the path of retaliation too far to turn back and make it home in time. And where was home? Earth? There were barely two billion of us left there. You'd think having lived for more than three hundred years, almost a third of those inside cruisers and battleships, and another third on barren desolate planets building outposts and bases, I would be used to this- this detachment- this sense of belonging to no one place.
I am not.
Sometimes, I close my eyes, and pretend I am back on Earth. The rebellion never occured. Humanity didn't unite. We never broke the biological code to prolonged life. We never set out to Titan. We never found the underground base that had instructions on how to contact the Nelvadians.
But no matter how tightly I clench my eyes shut, even past the point of blinding pain, when they open it is never to the skies of Earth- never to constellations our ancestors spent years naming- and centuries creating religions out of.
When our resources had began running out, we gave up our Gods, for it seemed they had forsaken us- not like we deserved better. So much for undying faith. I still remember it- there was this land... Australia, I think it was called. Australia was the first to feel the wrath of our collective abuse against the Earth. I don't even remember the year... something like two thousand...Eh, Henry knows our history better than I do.
And from then on, it was like watching dominoes tumble. A viral disease broke out- decimating half of our population in the span of an year- and then we realised we were doomed. Our leaders did nothing. Our prayers did nothing. Our Gods did nothing.
And then it spread like a contagion. Worse. The helplessness. Faith evaporating on the embers of sanity. Anarchy. None of our reports can confidently pinpoint where it began, but I reckon it was everywhere at once. Rebellion. War. Untamed.
But...we came together. We overcame together.
We survived. We evolved. We grew.
We shed off our old skin. Erased borders as best as we could. Healed and helped each other as well at as we could.
Within the next fifty years, we had a base on the Moon- a base that could support a thousand people. And by the end of the century, we reached Titan. Turns out, they were waiting for us- well, figuratively at least. The Nelvadians. A race far more superior to us when it came to technology. They had conquered interstellar travel centuries ago. And had known of Earth since the Spanish Inquisition.
The bastards wanted to test us. At least that's how Henry puts it.
But they came when we called. And boy, did they bring gifts. They had figured out everything (well nearly everything). We had figured out how to live for five hundred years- they were undying. Our ships could travel at ninety percent the speed of light- theirs didn't bother. They just tore through space. We knew how to build Moon-bases. They taught us how to terraform the damn things.
But despite all of their advancement, despite all of their technology, their weapons were tame. Oh sure, they were dangerous, and the Nelvadians weren't the species you wanted to go to war with, maybe the Askivarians, or even those three legged freaks that live on Partorus Minor. But not the Nelvadians. They had more ships in their fleets than we had guns in America back home- and that's a lot. If you're not from Earth, talk to Henry. He will tell you. Yankee bastard still keeps one around. Hooligan.
They believed in numbers apparently- the Nelvadians. But we had seen what a drawn out war did to the warring parties. We had seen three world wars. And after the last one- the one that brought us together- we weren't in the mood for another one- ever.
And so we prospered under the guidance of the Nelvadians. It was like having an elder brother- a nice one for once. When we learnt of the peace laws of interstellar communities, we chucked our history under the carpet. Most species didn't think much of us- we wouldn't have either. Well, we were rather small compared to them. Even the Nelvadians were over thirteen feet in height. One out of every two species we met could have called us Lilliputians if they knew what Lilliput was. But that's neither here nor there.
We told them about the first war. And the third. The second one- eh...we told them about it. Mostly. Well if you met the Japanese now you wouldn't believe they bombed Pearl Harbor. Or got bombed back for that matter.
It was two hundred years after our meeting with the Nelvadians when it happened. The Fuckening. If you're not from Earth, ask Henry. He'll tell you what that means. Son of a bitch taught it to me.
The Nelvadians were rather generous when it came to sharing their knowledge and tech, but there was one secret they never divulged. Their immortality. Seven times we asked for it. Seven times they refused. And the eighth time they didn't bother to give us a reply. They hit us with a question instead. One we had no answer for. How many genders are there? The fuck do we know! The fuck do they want to know for! Henry thinks it was rather clever of them. I think Henry wants to get laid- Nelvadian style.
They made us immune to a plethora of diseases- they cured cancer for us, they cured Alzheimer's. But they wouldn't tell us how to stop aging. We lived full lives...five hundred years of it, give or take. But we died. The sun set on us at the end.
Over the years we stopped asking. We figured how tough could it be. Turns out, immortality was as tough as anything could be. It took us a hundred and fifty years- but we did it. We wouldn't be immortal, but the generations that came after would have the gift of life eternal.
That was an year ago.
Six lunar cycles later, the Nelvadians gave us an ultimatum. If we went ahead with our plan to become immortal, they would....well, they didn't exactly want to party. The sad thing was, we didn't either. Maybe a couple of centuries of peace and unimagined prosperity had been too much for us. Or maybe we had learnt our lessons- maybe we had seen enough hypocrites on Earth to let another one lord over us in space.
So we did what we do best. We armed ourselves to the teeth again. The Nelvadians didn't have much to teach about weapons, but we didn't really need it. When the first immortal child was born, the Nelvadians destroyed the Emerald City of Titan- our base on the moon, our half built Dyson sphere around Alpha 3308, and declared us official enemies of Nelvadia. All in the span of two days. They declared we had become a plague. And we were to be eradicated.
That was two weeks ago.
One week later, we retaliated.
One week. That's all it takes to bring down the greatest Civilization this part of the Universe has ever known. Seven earth-days is all it takes to wipe out half of the largest fleet ever assembled in known history.
The Interstellar Community saw for the first time, the raw, untamed power of a nuclear detonation. I was there- when the first bomb exploded on Varis 88- Nelvadia's war base near Uranus. For a moment, the Solar System had two stars...it has a terrible beauty to it.
The enormous sphere of wild fire and rage. The cosmos stood in sheer silence as the base was erased from existence.
The Nelvadians would have scattered- if they hadn't been stunned into oblivion. They didn't know what to make of us now. Before they could retaliate, we blew up half of their ships, and thirty three Nelvadian outposts and bases. Took us maybe an hour.
They put up a fight after that- realising they were going to wiped off the face of existence. But there wasn't much they could do. They hadn't shared their immortality with any other civilization. And we weren't picky with who we shared ours. We tore them apart. Decimated them till all that remained was Nelvadia. One planet.
They would have to start again. From square one. We won our first Interstellar War in less than three hours.
War. It was foolish of us to think that we had become something more, that humans had risen above the kingdom of Ares. The God of War still lived amongst us. His reign was as eternal as human life now. Of all the Gods to follow us as we wandered the cosmic canvas- it had to be Him.
And even as I sit here, on the barren horizon of a foreign moon, arming the final nuclear device, code named 'Karma', preparing to destroy the last Nelvadian base outside of the Nelvadian system, I wonder how long it would take before some other civilization comes up with our magic trick.
If Ares got his way, maybe next week.
| 2020-02-07T14:04:38 | 2020-02-07T13:56:49 | 83 | 58 |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought.
|
Arriving in Valhalla you are gifted the garments of battle you were most familiar with during your conflicts.
"And here we have the holy garments with which you battled nearly every day of your life. Gaze upon the battle garb that kept you safe and steadfast in your continued fight against the great 'meh' as you call it in your time."
"Dude that's just my housecoat and my pajama pants."
"Do not be so quick to dismiss these relics, they are a part of what earned you a place here - especially the way you wielded your trusty weapons and mount!"
"I really appreciate that you brought my computer and futon here but I'm not sure this is where I belong..."
"Nonsense friend this is a place where we've chosen to engage in a raucous party and incredible battle until the end of everything forever..."
"So therapy doesn't work here either huh?"
|
(1/2)
The scenery I found myself suddenly gawking at came right out of a dream. Wispy clouds floated against the backdrop of an endless azure and reflected the sun’s soothing rays across the landscape. But was I dreaming? I don’t remember falling asleep… My body, my memories, even my emotions… Everything felt so hazy and uncertain. The only constant and tangible construct within this foggy state was the grand structure jutting out of a gigantic mountain formation. Tall spires extended high into range of the clouds and were decorated with armoured women donning winged helmets, posing valiantly. Either side of the grand doors stood gargantuan statues of iron-clad warriors, swords gripped at the hilt with the blade pointing to the ground. Thoughts of just how anyone or anything could create something of this size added to my overall confusion. What I was experiencing was something beyond awe or marvel; any structure ever created by man was easily eclipsed by the intricate and grand architecture present here. The wonders of the modern or ancient world could only hope to compare to whatever this place was.
The rumbling beneath my feet briefly tore my attention away from mindlessly ogling. These vibrations resonated through my very being, akin to the feeling of heavy bass reverberating through one’s chest, albeit this was somehow *deeper*. I looked up once again to find those colossal doors slowly opening. Before I could even process why this was suddenly happening, I found myself instantly warped to the foot of them. Did I do this? Why me? How?
“It rattles you to the core, doesn’t it? I must say… It never ceases to amaze me.” spoke a soothing baritone voice, almost instantly nurturing the panic in my chest.
I snapped my head to my right, eyes meeting with obsidian armour, accented shimmering gold. I then had to step back and peer up with my jaw hanging at my feet to take in the sheer size of this being. A mature-looking man with an eerily divine youthfulness about him stood with folded arms, golden eyes locked onto the widening stone doors and twinkling with power, his silvery-white shoulder-length hair flowing in the subtle breeze. Merely standing in his presence made me feel green with envy, minuscule, undermined, ashamed, starstruck, filled with hope, and utterly bewildered. Never had I ever experienced such a cocktail of opposing emotions.
“You’re not dreaming, dear maiden. This is real. You’re finally alive now.” he stated now facing me, his words poised as if he could hear and sort through my thoughts and inner emotions even before I could. His eyes were rimmed with dark lines and gave the impression that he was wearing eyeliner.
“I… I don’t belong here…” I replied with eyes averting his powerful gaze, defaulting to look at the floor just as I always had.
A place like this was too brilliant–too radiant for a run-of-the-mill lass like me. Heck, I was even jealous of this man’s beauty. I could still feel his eyes on me. Somehow, the inadequacy racking my brain was overpowered by the shame I would potentially feel for not embracing this moment in its entirety; I mustered the courage to find his line of sight once again. And to my surprise, he smiled warmly. Not the fake smiles of reassurance I’d gotten used to seeing, but a sincere and knowing smile.
“That right there is exactly why.” coyly stated the approaching male, his overall size decreasing with every step until the height difference was considered normal. Standing at 5’6”, I’d estimate he was now no taller than 6’2” if my frazzled mind could compare accurately in the moment.
“Of course you belong here, I called for you. Are you saying I’m a poor judge of character?” he chimed, voice light and friendly. “Walk with me, Sera.” His steps softly pounded against the stone, heading for the steps to enter the grand hall.
Without even thinking my feet followed to briskly catch up and walk by his side. I couldn’t help but peer up and stare at his mysterious brilliance, almost tripping when the steps suddenly appeared at my feet. “W-Where are we…?”
“Valhalla, Hall of the Slain.” he answered nonchalantly, his effortless strides carrying him up the steps and into the vast interior of the hall. Meanwhile, I had to enter a brisk jog to get through this miniature trial.
The ceiling was partially translucent: sunbeams shone down through to illuminate rows of great statues on either side of the red-carpeted path down the middle. Many little blue orbs of light danced around individual statues, varying in size, number, and luster. Every new encounter in this place raised a set of questions, questions that I had no time to process or begin to utter. I didn’t have the gall for that.
“You’re… kidding. So, what? You must be Odin or something? Now I know this is a dre-”
“I am.” his voice calmly interjected while he marched on ahead. That’s all it took for my smart mouth to stop dead in its tracks, and apparently my feet too.
Odin, now several feet in front, also stopped to turn and face me. Without a single word he just looked and waited. No animosity, no disappointment, no… nothing. He just waited. All the routine thoughts and swirling emotions present at the beginning of my fairly frequent panic attacks began to gather, my chest tightening to make breathing seem impossible. I hated this. It never got any easier. This time it was different; it was as if these negative feelings of old were fleeting–they had nothing to latch onto, my body ethereal. To my great surprise, they faded just as quickly as they arrived. My eyes instinctively flickered up to my guide, Odin, finding him giving me that same smile as before.
| 2022-05-28T07:00:27 | 2022-05-28T06:39:39 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] Years ago the evil, black dragon was defeated by good dragon. You have no heart to tell people that it was just a phase and you simply grew up and washed off the paint.
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Beneath the gold coins there are bones. I know this. They are buried deep in the warm piles, covered by trinkets. A crown falls there (and the skull that sat beneath it?) Armour studded with rubies (and the ribs which it protected?) greaves from a man who lost his legs to my jaws, gloves from scorched hands when the skin of his face began to melt.
The cave is large and black. The heat from my scales fills the gold coins and they glow like embers. Three scared sheep skitter in the tunnels ahead. Offerings from the people in the village below, who love me and adore me for my sapphire blue wings, for the help I lend at harvest time, for the tears I weep to heal illnesses. Human lives are short and they do not remember.
My life is long and I have tried to forget.
The coins scratch at my scales. It is time for another shedding. (How many has it been?) The new colour beneath the bright, pure blue is dark, black as the cave walls. When I see it, the bones whisper to me from beneath the treasure.
*When they see you they will know. They will see you as you are.*
Fear like a lance through me.
I scatter the gold to dig for old bones who have no tongue and yet speak to me. They recount my sins like a litany, chant them like the tolling of the church bell when mass is read. I find no bones, only ash and blood and a great shed skin in terrible black.
*Leave me alone, I am good now, I am good, I swear*
My begging finds silence. Only the dead remain, and I with them.
|
Nebeus shifted on his mountaintop perch and suppressed a yawn, struggling to focus on the ramblings of the emissary. At some point during the past century, the local humans had taken to worshiping him. He neither encouraged nor dissuaded them from the practice. As bothersome as it was to listen to their droning praises, the cattle and the barrels of spirits they brought in tribute were always welcome.
"...And the Cult of the Blackest Night continues to terrorize the eastern provinces," the emissary was saying. "Not a month ago they sacrificed yet another innocent village to the flames of Nox Atra—"
Nebeus started, causing pebbles to roll down the slope. "Nox Atra?"
"A false god," the emissary spat. "A dragon said to be black as the night, yet unseen for centuries—the cult hopes to summon him using their dark rituals."
Nebeus exhaled a puff of smoke through his nostrils. A coincidence, surely. It had been centuries since he called himself by that name, and human memories rarely lasted that long.
"I see you burn with the same anger as we do, O mighty Nebeus," the emissary said. "Dare I ask whether you will unleash your flames upon these evildoers?"
"What? Oh—anger, yes." Nebeus cleared his throat and put some somberness into his voice. "Thank you for bringing me this grave news. I shall investigate the cult."
The emissary bowed and erupted into a litany of thanks. Ignoring him, Nebeus scrabbled up the slope, spread his wings, and took to the skies.
A coincidence. It had to be.
He rose swiftly and winged toward the Burning Lands. A journey that would take humans and their horse-drawn carts days along their winding roads was barely enough for him to properly stretch his wings. The land below steamed and bubbled and occasionally erupted in gouts of boiling water. The lake of tar from his memories had diminished but still lay there like a black scar upon the land.
Nebeus landed by the shore, his claws sinking into the soft ground. Even though he knew no one would venture this deep into the Burning Lands, he couldn't help glancing around in embarrassment. Still, he had to know. He waded into the tar and reluctantly coated his glimmering golden scales in black.
Emerging from the lake, he shook off the excess tar and checked his reflection in a nearby pond. Had he been a human, the sight of his dark past staring back at him from the water would have surely brought a blush to his cheeks. As it was, he only shuddered and quickly averted his gaze.
He took to the skies, high above the clouds so that even the most eagle-eyed humans wouldn't see more than a speck, and set course to the eastern provinces. Despite his heavy wings, he made good time, his anxiety driving him to go faster.
A great pillar of smoke rising from below drew him like a beacon. He spiraled lower and eyed the ground. An entire town had been brought to the torch, and in a cobbled square at its center, a great pyre smoldered, emitting the stench of burning human hair. Dozens of black-robed figures surrounded the pyre, chanting and gesticulating.
Nebeus sniffed derisively; leave it to humans to find foolish reasons to slaughter each other. He folded his wings and dived toward the square, braking at the last moment.
The black-robed cultists erupted into exultant screams. Nebeus's three hearts raced when he heard yells of "Nox Atra" among them. His worst fears were coming true.
He cast his gaze over the cultists. As one, they fell to their knees and prostrated themselves, only increasing his unease. A spindly man carrying an ironbound tome crawled closer and raised his arms toward him in supplication.
"We greet you, Nox Atra the Blackest Night," he cried ecstatically. "The Dark Flame of Annihilation, the Merciless Extinguisher, the Eater of Worlds!"
Each successive title sent a shudder of mortification through Nebeus's great body. "Stop," he exclaimed. "That's enough!"
The man cringed. "Does our sacrifice displease you, O mighty Nox Atra? We worked tirelessly in the night to please you so you would emerge from your slumber in the Blackness Between Worlds—"
"How?" Nebeus demanded, raking the cobblestones with his claws. "How do you know about the—the"—his thunderous voice dropped to almost a murmur—"the Blackness Between Worlds. And the other stuff."
The black-robes exchanged glances. The spindly one bobbed his head and reverently lifted the ironbound tome. "It's all in this book, O Flame of Annihilation. Your lowly followers recorded your previous descent upon the world to the last letter."
Nebeus shrank back. "T-to the last letter? That must be an exaggeration, surely."
"We wouldn't dare speak falsely, O Extinguisher of All That is Holy. Everything you ever uttered in the presence of others is written here." The cultist cracked open the tome and raised his voice. "And on the last day of Quintilis, a great pain overcame Nox Astra, and he cried thus: 'My dark power overflows! I must suppress it lest it destroy creation itself—'"
"No, no, no," Nebeus moaned, staggering backward. This couldn't be happening. "H-how many records are there?"
"This is the only Black Tome in existence, O Dark Flame of the Blackest Night," the cultist declared proudly. "Copies are forbidden. Through the ages, it has been passed from the hands of one Keeper to the next, biding time until your Black Flame descends once more."
"Thank the stars," Nebeus muttered. "Er, excellent work. I'm most pleased."
Not waiting for an answer, he beat his wings and took to the skies. The cultists cheered, but the cheers turned to agonized screams when he inhaled deeply and belched out a torrent of flames. He spewed flame until all was silent and the thrice-cursed book was but ashes, then made a last circle above the town, and satisfied winged his way back west.
***
A boy in black robes rose from under the rubble inside a burned-out husk of a home, his keen eyes committing the horrific spectacle to memory. With trembling hands, he raised a stick of charcoal over a sheet of sooty parchment and began penning the tale of Nox Astra's descent and the punishment He delivered upon the untrue believers.
| 2022-10-26T06:40:30 | 2022-10-26T06:37:55 | 462 | 263 |
[WP] After hundreds of years of sending messages into the sky, humanity receives its first message from intelligent life. Decoded it simply says, "Be quiet before they find you."
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The message was unmistakable. Transmitted on 10 different frequencies in 27 different languages, all saying the same thing, "Be quiet before they find you".
Three hours later a second message. "You have less than 6 hours to shut down all broadcasts, otherwise they will find you".
The message was genuine, and apart from a few crackpot conspiracists, every scientist across the US, in fact across the globe was drafted in, along with every TV and radio network; anything that could or was transmitting was silenced with less than 3 minutes to go.
The president hovered near the SETI receiving system, waiting for a message, any message. Time ticked by and the deadline passed.
The president bit his lip. Would the mysterious communicator send another message or was that it?
"Beep", said the receiving computer and another message appeared on the screen.
"They didn't rescue you. Now you belong to us".
Edit: Decapitalized. thanks
|
“Hey, did y’all hear the news about the alien message?” Henry asked as he sat down with his meal.
The others at the table just stared at him, not wanting to take a break from eating their meals. Undeterred, Henry continued, “I mean, it’s crazy, right?”
“Yeah, real crazy, Henry,” came a reply from down the table.
“Oh come on, y’all must be at least a bit excited to hear that there are aliens somewhere out there.”
The woman sitting across from him paused from devouring her rations to stare at him. “Henry, nobody cares about what the aliens say. So shut up and eat.”
Henry leaned back over the edge of the bench, and feigned insult. “Why, am I the only one who wants to see some action here? Come on, you know what the message said, right?” The rest of the table ignored him. “’Be quiet before they find you’? That’s some science-fiction level shit right there. I’ve got to say, I’m looking forward to meeting these fellas. ‘Cause they sure as hell wouldn’t expect to be greeted by us, right?”
The woman looked up at him again. “Dude, eat your food. I don’t want to hear you complain about how hungry you are my entire shift.”
“Oh, come on, Valerie,” Henry shot back, leaning forward onto the metal table. “Don’t you think a battle with aliens would be a nice change of pace?” He turned to shout down to the rest of the disinterested table. “I mean, they probably are expecting rifles and airplanes, not railguns and the Styx.”
A chuckle came from beside him. “While I do think you should shut up and eat, yeah, I’d like to see them try and get past us.”
Henry, finally validated, slapped the back of the man who spoke. “That’s right, Dave.” He leaned back to shout across the cafeteria. “‘Cross the Styx, and end up in Hades’, right?” Hearing the mantra of their craft, some of the crew gave a half-hearted shout before going back to their meals. “See, they get it,” Henry said with a smirk on his face.
Dave finished choking on the food he had swallowed wrong when Henry hit him and replied, “Yeah, *cough* that’s great, man.”
That was good enough for Henry, who finally paused long enough to eat some of his meal. The crew around him quickly finished up their own meals, becoming involved in their own conversations. Only a handful of them noticed the tremor that ran down the length of the ship, and even fewer thought anything of it. But the blaring of alarms, then sudden silence, caught everyone’s attention. There was no time to react though, as the room slid sideways, out from underneath them.
Valerie was the first to try to pull herself to her feet. To her surprise, she rapidly realized that this was impossible. Her sense of direction was gone entirely, and she was afloat in the middle of the room. Glancing around, she saw her fellow crewmates in similar predicaments. Taking a deep breath, she fell back on instinct, awkwardly trying to swim through the air around her.
Someone cried out for help at the end of the room. But in the low light, she couldn’t quite see where they were. Hoping that someone else was close enough to assist, she continued pushing herself towards the cafeteria door with the rest of the crew, and out into the main passage. As she emerged into the large hallway, she began to notice the people around her. Some of her crewmates were injured, blood pooling in little spheres. She saw other crewmembers were rapidly pushing towards the back of the ship. Looking, she saw why. Large, airtight bulkheads had slammed closed, with flashing lights warning of the vacuum on the other side.
Valerie paused for a moment to get her bearings. She briefly checked herself for injuries, but found none. Satisfied, she pulled herself along the wall, focused on getting to her emergency station. Coming up to it, though, she saw that it was a pointless effort. The weapons station she was assigned to was completely dead, with not a single light coming from the control displays. Others were emerging from the room now, and she caught sight of a friend of hers.
“Hannah, over here!” she shouted. Hannah turned to see her, and gave a small wave, careful not to through herself off balance.
“Val, what the hell happened?” She called as she approached.
Valerie shook her head. “I was going to ask you. The bulkheads to the rear of the ship are closed though.”
Any remaining color in Hannah’s face quickly vanished. “That’s bad then. We should move forward.”
Val nodded in agreement, and the two of them struggled to pull themselves to the front of the ship. They both knew what they were going for. The ship’s hangars contained large transport craft, which could be used as escape shuttles if the need arose. Most of the crew had decided that there was definitely a need, and soon the two of them were part of a mass migration by the survivors to reach the front of the spacecraft.
On her way, though, Valerie caught a glimpse of the planet below out of a window. She paused for a moment, and pulled Hannah into the side room. Miles below, the familiar rust of Mars was being swept into an inferno. A pool of molten fire had enveloped the night side of the planet, and had just about reached the divide between dark and light. As it did, she barely glimpsed the silhouette of a line of tiny ships, just beyond her own, proceeding the wave of destruction. They looked like nothing she had ever seen, and the haunting realization of what was happening dawned on her. An entire planet, being exterminated. Hannah pulled at her to get back to moving for the escape craft, but something told her it didn’t really matter anymore.
| 2016-08-07T08:06:13 | 2016-08-07T06:06:00 | 70 | 32 |
[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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I looked out over the dusty grey plain at Earthrise. Ever since we had fled the genocide of our people and stepped through that great portal to the moon, we knew we would never be able to go back. But somehow, today it was more real. We had done our best to prepare; Teminarin knew she was dying, she knew that her spells would expire with her spirit, so she had done the best she could to make things permanent, to let us keep living. The magic bubble that held in our air had been replaced with glass, the wards against stray asteroids with lasers, the sacred runes of the central fountain with a water purification system. Teminarin had used her magic to gain great knowledge, innovating hundreds of knew technologies, all of which could be built without magic. The library held thousands of books, detailing everything we needed to build and maintain the systems that would keep us alive as well as new ones we hadn't yet had time to make. Despite the great sadness of our hero and valued elder's passing, I was optimistic.
When she died we all felt it, like a cold wind rippling outward from her deathbed. I held my breath, but there was no rush of air evaporating into space, no collapse a crumble of the dome over my head. Cautiously I drew another breath. We were still alive. Gazing at the glass in front of me separating life and death, I noticed the seam between two panes was sealed with some kind of dark substance. How had I not noticed that before? Had I not had a hand in building the dome? I was certain that was something I should have known, but somehow it slipped my mind. Come to think of it I wasn't sure how the glass would stand up against the perils of space. There was some kind of weapon or something. My confused thoughts paused. I realized I didn't know a single thing about the artificial world keeping us all alive, even though I had had a hand in it's construction. I started to panic, and rushed to the library. Surely if the knowledge had slipped my mind, it couldn't have left the books. I found Teminarin's apprentice Sam there, crying on the floor. "It's all gone. Magic. It's all gone"
"What do you mean. You can't even cast a single spell?"
"All the knowledge that Teminarin created, it was magical. It left with her."
"But surely the books are firmer than minds"
"Look". He held open a book, and despite the fact that the words were still firmly attached to the page, I could not glean any meaning from them. It was like trying to read in a dream. So it was indeed all gone. The machines we had painstakingly built by hand without a trace of magic would keep us alive for a while, but we had a long hard road ahead of us if we wanted to learn how to maintain them.
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Countless people from countless kingdoms had traveled countless miles, just to see if the rumors about Merlin the Great were true.
I'm one of those people. Yeah, the rumors were absolutely true. The old man was dying. He was completely motionless. Not even the best clerics from across the land were able to help him with their magical healing capabilities. It was simply the old man's time to go.
Ever since I was a kid, I'd heard stories about Merlin. I couldn't tell you how many of them were actually TRUE, but I feel like people wouldn't know as much as they do about him if he was a phony. So, when someone tells me that he once deflected a meteor back into the skies, or blew up an entire island populated by demonic creatures, I'll take their word for it.
Anyways, there were hundreds of people gathered around the guy. Nobody claimed to know him personally, and he was out cold, so... No one could really confirm if he was, in fact, the great wizard that all of us had heard tales of since our childhood. I guess we all just found the word-of-mouth to be completely credible. Looking at the scale of this event, though, I don't think there's a chance that this guy ISN'T Merlin. The clerics surely would've told us all off by now if he was some random civilian.
A few more minutes passed.
Nothing was really happening. There was a lot of murmuring among the crowd, but it was pretty damn uneventful.
I could be getting hammered at some tavern right now.
"Excuse me, everyone!" a voice rang out from the front of the crowd. One of the clerics was making an announcement. "The sorcerer you see lying here, is, in fact, Merlin the Great. He has fallen very ill, and, as I'm sure you're all aware, his spells will not last beyond the grave!"
There was a lot more murmuring now.
"How do you know it's the real Merlin?" someone from the center of the crowd had yelled, backed by a couple of "yeah"s.
"Before he went comatose, Merlin confirmed his identity. His legendary battle scars, the way he spoke, and his belongings all fit the descriptions of-"
"Merlin's belongings are here?!" another person had interrupted.
"Merlin the Great's staff is right in this area?!"
"I'M GONNA GET THAT STAFF!"
It took a solid 10 seconds for the crowd to go from attentive to crazy. Knights and wizards were trampling over each other in a desperate attempt to loot the dying Merlin. I couldn't even make my way out at this point. My entire field of view was taken up by people nearly running me over. I couldn't tell if the clerics had been trampled, or if Merlin himself had been pushed out of his bed, but I knew for sure, this was DEFINITELY more exciting than whatever was going on before. I pulled out my sword, ready to stab my way to that sweet, sweet loot. It was hard to even swing my sword around, until finally, bodies started dropping. Now there was more room to maneuver around. I could actually see my surroundings, for the first time in a hot minute.
"GIMME HIS BAG!"
"HIS STAFF! WHO TOOK IT?"
"I GOT HIS HAT!"
The crowd was beginning to form a human pyramid. They were all just trampling over, and standing on each other, I didn't even know that was possible, but it was pretty crazy.
"HEY! THAT GUY HAS THE STAFF NOW!" someone yelled, pointing at a a scrawny-looking dude who was sprinting away from the crowd as fast as he could. The wave of staff-lusted adventurers shifted to chase after the scrawny guy. I'm not nearly as determined to get the staff as these guys are, but I haven't been apart of something this fun in a while. So, naturally, I ran after the scrawny guy as well. I leapt, and slashed whoever was in my way, getting rammed a couple of times by some heavily-armored barbarians. That didn't stop me though. My adrenaline was WAY too high for me to stop. This was either going to end with me getting the staff, getting knocked out, or getting killed. I leaned in, running faster than I ever had before, trying my best to keep up with everyone. I began to falter. I was falling a bit behind the crowd. I was just about ready to pass out from exhaustion, when, just on my luck, the scrawny dude had begun to circle back around. Seeing as I was at the back of the crowd, he was headed right towards me! Ha!
I readied my sword, getting into a cool-looking stance that probably wasn't very practical. I followed his movements. He was swerving mostly to the left to avoid getting tackled. Every single time, he was moving left. I readied myself EVEN harder, however that works. He was getting closer to me. Scrawny dude was about to be impaled by my hands, in
3...
2...
1...
He was right by me. I leapt towards him, sword extended. And just as I had predicted, he ducked to the...-
Right?
Oh shit.
The one time he dodges to the right, it was to avoid the only person who realized he was always ducking to the left.
I soared through the air, sword embarrassingly extended towards nothing. It was like I was moving in slow-motion. This would've been a lot more humiliating if anyone was paying enough attention to care, but no matter. I'll simply land back on the ground, brush myself off, and-...
Hold up. My sword definitely penetrated something fleshy. For the first time in a while, I averted my attention from the rampaging crowd to see what I had stabbed.
My sword was nestled comfortably in the chest of Merlin the Great.
How did this guy even get over here? It's like someone spear-tossed him off of his death bed, and he coincidentally landed right where I was thrusting my sword towards. I guess nobody could see him through the cloud of dust that the rampaging crowd was leaving behind them.
Well, that's neat. I just helped kill Merlin the Great. At least I'll have a unique story to tell people on my long travels. Maybe I should loot his robes, which, luckily, no one else had thought of doing.
I took the robes off of his body, leaving him in his casual-wear. I turned back towards the crowd to see if scrawny was still carrying the staff.
The crowd had run quite some distance in the last 30 seconds. I couldn't even see who had the staff anymore.
I began to walk towards the nearest town, in search of a merchant, when I heard the sound of an explosion as loud as the roar of a dragon. The explosion came from where the crowd was. Maybe Merlin's staff had a defensive spell on it, like, one that would make it blow up as soon as he was dead.
Speaking of things that might happen once Merlin dies... The world should be going to shit pretty soon. Monsters should start appearing from every direction, floods should begin drowning the entire world... Or, at least if the stories about Merlin were true.
Nothing has happened for a couple minutes now. Maybe the guy was just a fake Merlin, an impostor. Or, maybe the tales were nothing more than fiction.
Either way, who cares? I sure don't, 'cause I've got the guy's robes now! I'm gonna be able to trade these for a horse, or something.
-------------------------------------------
It's really late and I should be getting some rest. Oops. Sorry for any typos, I don't have time to proof-read :( Hope you guys enjoyed my story attempt. Nice prompt, OP.
| 2018-05-24T03:22:52 | 2018-05-24T00:13:02 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] You commit a crime. Time passes and it seems like you have gotten away with it. One day you are called to jury duty and when you the trail starts, you realise that the trail is for the crime that you committed.
|
I walked into the courthouse to a flurry of lawyers, paralegals, reporters, and regular citizens scurrying about.
The case was one that had gathered national attention. The body of a girl who was missing for three weeks finally turned up. A single suspect had been apprehended and the governor wanted this case to be dealt with quickly.
I was selected to be a juror and made it through all the trials and tests and qualifiers to make up that twelve man body of people who would decide the suspect’s guilt.
I felt bad, sitting through the trial. Days of questions, and testimonies, and objections, and cross-examinations. The suspect definitely didn’t commit this crime, I was sure of that, but the prosecutors were bent on nailing this guy for it. The defense attorney, some young, fresh public defendant with probably too many cases handled it poorly. The guy seemed almost resigned to his fate. He could hardly fend off the prosecutor’s questioning and his story was too unverifiable. He claimed he was jogging that night in the area, but a few people said they saw him. And since he was in the area and without an alibi, he was arrested quickly. Looking at his face though when he testified hit hard. I just knew he didn’t do it.
Maybe, I felt bad because he reminded me of myself. We were similar height, had dark hair, and the same build. Hell, we could’ve been brothers. Too bad for the guy though.
The defense had utterly bombed this case and the prosecutor was sharp and convincing. This guy was going away for this, or worse.
When, on that last day, we finally convened and the other jurors all quickly agreed that he was guilty. I knew he didn’t do it but I wasn’t going to be the only juror not in agreement.
When we went back and the foreman announced guilty, I felt so bad for the kid. And then the judge handed down the death penalty. The people in the gallery mumbled furiously, snapped photos, embraced each other, broke down as justice was served.
When we were dismissed, I walked out the courtroom shaking my head. I knew that kid was innocent but didn’t stand up to the other jurors. And now the dude was gonna get the chair or needle or something.
I suppose I should’ve felt like scum but I’ve done worse. I mean, I killed a girl and let somebody else take the fall while I sat on the jury that decided his fate. His only crime was looking like me.
|
When I opened the envelope, to my surprise, it was a Jury Summons. I took a second and closed my eyes. I knew this day was unavoidable – I just didn’t think I would have to deal with it this soon. I regret having the burden to serve my community. However, I live in a community where I do not get the pleasure of having a choice. I finally opened the Summons reading,
*‘Cameron Barkley, you have been selected for jury service.*
*Your name was randomly selected from the electoral register. During your jury service you may be required to go to another court.*
*What the Jury Summons Means*
*Jury service is an important public duty.’*
“Give me a break,” I said aloud. The letter slowly crumbling in my palm. I skipped ahead as the next opening paragraph caught my attention. It seemed different somehow.
*‘What to do now,*
*It is important to read the enclosed leaflet ‘Guide to Jury Summons.’ This guide has not been enclosed with your specific letter. Your next instruction is the following:*
*You are going to walk out from your back door. You will take the brick left on the side of your patio and you will throw it through your dining room window. Immediately afterward, you will meet me down on the dock. You only have five minutes.*
*Good luck.’*
I felt my heart sink in the pit of my stomach. I knew this was the work of a certain individual. The sound of a car door slamming jolted my attention from the letter. Police were starting to swarm around the trail leading into my front yard. I quickly threw open my back door and grabbed hold of the brick perfectly placed where it had been said. I took a deep breath and tossed it through my dining room window.
The glass shattered while I watched the cops out in the front quickly duck into cover. Everything seemed to have been planned out so carefully. I didn’t take any chances. I turned without hesitation, stuffing the letter into my pocket. The dock was about half a mile away, so I needed to start running without being detected.
As soon as I broke into the trees, I watched the cops wrap around my entire home. None of them seemed to have seen me. Suddenly, a branch snapped under my boot signaling for a cop to turn my direction.
“Over there!” He called out revealing my identity in the woods.
“Shit!” I spat in terror. Bullets snapped against the bark on the trees behind. The river started to approach in view as I found a gentleman standing on the dock with his arms crossed.
“What took you so long?!” The man I instantly recognized cupped his hands.
“How did you know?” I jumped onto the wooden dock following his guidance into the boat. “How did you know they were coming?”
“They’ve come for all of us. Cameron.” He told me while throwing the ropes back in the boat. He stirred the water with the engine as we pulled away from the dock. We both ducked when cops fired behind us. One of the bullets split the glass over my shoulder.
“Cameron! Get down!”
Our boat sped down the river bank, ignoring the brush that was left over from the floods. Sitting up, I ran the glass out from my hair. I just realized that everything had happened so fast, I never even fully introduced the man who had just saved my life. He was very intelligent. The fact that he had everything lined up so perfectly was proof of his precision in execution. He is my older brother, Ron Barkley. I never knew him growing up, but after the incident, he was the only person who had my back. I could never thank him enough for the things he has done for me, nor the things he is willing to do. I didn’t waste a minute. I wanted answers.
“Who is coming for us? What is happening? How did you know about the cops?”
Ron pulled his long blonde hair out from the front of his face. He started to turn our boat out into the open bay leading towards the cove. “Someone picked up on our trail.”
“How?” I sat up from underneath the back seat. I started to wipe more of the glass from my shirt.
“I don’t know. They all came at us at once and father told me no matter what happens, I was to grab you before they got there. I knew they had surveillance, but not through postal.”
“The letter." I realized why he hid the message in a fake court summons. They wouldn't think to check a court summons. "Wait, did you say Father? You spoke to him? Where is he? Is he still alive?” I had too many questions that I started growing more impatient not getting the answers quick enough.
“Look,” Ron let go of the wheel. “I am following specific instructions just like you. I need you to trust me. They know what we all did, and they will not stop until they capture each and every one of us. I promised father I’d look after you so turn around and hand me the case to your left.”
“Why? What’s in the case? Where is father?”
“Enough fucking questions! Cameron, little brother,” Ron rested both his hands on my shoulders. “Enough with the questions. I know as much as you do. Please, just hand me the case.”
Ron took out a map as I pulled a black briefcase out from under the seat. I opened it to find a strange looking handgun inside. The barrel was larger than normal.
“What am I looking at here?” I asked but not with the intent of adding another question.
Ron turned to take the gun in his hand. He lifted the barrel upward while removing the bottom pad from the case. He grabbed a stick like item and loaded it into the gun. I watched him study the map again before pointing the gun in a specific direction. A red flare blasted out into a spiral above the clouds overhead. The flare brightened the evening sky making everything around us glow in a red color.
“Won’t that just tell the cops where we are?” I threw down the case. A nervous feeling grabbed hold of my spine as I watched Ron wink before smiling.
A strange sound started to follow from above. A light brightened overhead as a helicopter swooped down beside our boat.
“Who’s that?” Another question slipped from my mouth. I noticed Ron had quickly packed up a bag.
I was trying to understand, but it was all happening too fast. The helicopter drew closer beside us. I turned to lock eyes with the pilot, my mother, whom I had not seen in years. Her face was still and stern as she continued to level the helicopter overhead.
“Mother!” I called out. Ron pulled me back to avoid getting too close while she fixed her position more.
“Now!” Ron pushed me up into the helicopter. He tossed his bag of items behind me. My mother mouthed him a ‘thank you.’ Before she pulled up on the joystick.
“Wait! Ron! You didn’t get Ron!” My mother pulled the helicopter up into a low hanging cloud. I watched red and blue lights circle around our boat below. Police boats sped out from every direction. My mother steered out toward the cove, heading over the ocean.
“Why did you leave him? What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“He still has a job to do!” My mother ripped the headset from her head and slammed it against the cockpit. She glared over at me before continuing, “You still need to do yours. If you don’t, we all die.”
***
Want to read more? Visit [13th Olympian Stories!](https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)
| 2018-09-11T18:35:52 | 2018-09-11T18:12:30 | 2,056 | 68 |
[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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Son of a bitch earned that kill, that's for sure.
I'm honestly pretty happy with the results though. I was getting bored of my powers anyway (A small, 5ft8 blond haired blue eyed with the ability to reflect kinetic energy 100 fold? People were literally punching themselves to death. Too boring for me. Also, my face was kinda half torn off from the previous fight...Didn't look in a mirror for days). But let me tell you about this kid.
This kid, this young adult, at 6ft4in, long black hair flowing past his shoulders and eyes as dark as coal, had an unsettling intensity about him. He spotted me at the mall arena, where I often sat, observing the lesser combatants and looking for promising prospects. I could feel him watching me from the other side of the arena.
My eyes met his, those dark coals eyes, devoid of a soul. He needn't have said a word. The small tilt, the slowly emerging smile as he looked at me, it was obvious what was going on. This...Demon no longer wanted to be the lesser, puny being known as Rank 2.
I stood from my throne, and walked toward the arena. He walked towards me, step for step in a perfect line. Those unfortunates who didn't move fast enough out of my way were killed by the sheer force of bumping into me. A sad way to end, right?
The arena cleared immediately, those worthless meat sacks knew what was about to go down. Many were smart and cleared the arena as fast as they could, but I honestly don't think it saved them. We leveled the entire mall, let me tell you that.
We stood, maybe 20 feet away. No words exchanged, no words needed. Although I wish I knew his name. I guess I was stuck with mine.
It began.
He began walking toward me, a slow, confident step, with his arms spread out. I was excited, most filth try to rush me with whatever they have. I reached behind me, into my waistband, pulled out my .50cal handgun with a dead-centered sight, and shot this man square in the face.
He stopped, surprised at what I had done, as the tangled, hellish barbed wire that instantly appeared from his body destroyed the bullet in mid air. I could see the disappointment in his eyes, knowing he was exposed. I knew all he could see was excitement in mine: Fast deployment, strong, and my god was that barbed wire ever terrifying. Was it already pre-rusted and blood? Yet it was pure black...Strange. I wondered if he could control how it looks...(Pink Hello Kitty barbed wire anyone? LOL) His eyes, brief with...expression? immediately returned to normal. Two more barbs emerged from his body and went straight for me, the third flying for the sky in a dark line.
I laughed openly; the first two barbs deflected and fired off of me in opposite directions and hit some of the spectators. The third barb came down hard, I watched as it bounced back up towards the skyglass at the top of the mall and just utterly DESTROYED IT man. I laughed harder as, with instantaneous reflexes I can only attribute to a sixth sense, more barbed wire sprang out of him and formed a protective cocoon as the ceiling dropped. Those closest to him were not so lucky.
I was in love with this man.
He paused for a second, the cocoon of barb wire returning into his body without a trace. The remaining three blocked my remaining 9 bullets with ease. Killer, right? This guy was a fucking BOSS. I could hardly contain my excitement. A worthy opponent.
I discarded my gun, and began walking toward him. He could tell what my power was my now, he knew what I could do. He couldn't touch me, and all I had to do was casually flick a rock at myself to cause a subsonic explosive reflection at the closest available target. I had leveled a skyscraper doing that once, it was hilarious.
I was in front of him now, his dark eyes boring into my blue. I punched my chest, the force ricocheted towards the barb that emerged from his chest and...stopped. Hmm. The dislocation of barb had no baring on his physical body, and judging by the lack of recoil, the strength was equal to my kinetic reflection.
I laughed, as I looked into his eyes for the second last time. I felt elated. Beneath those dark, soulless eyes I saw that glimmer of hope, the taste of victory, I heard the breathe of relief. He had figured out what to do.
Millions of barbs sprang from his body. I remember taking note that too many barbs seemed to cause some sort of energy drain (Was that blood pouring from him? Jeez, take better care of yourself buddy), they came within millimeters of my body, but did not touch. I was formed in a human outline of barb wire.
Whelp, this is going to fucking suck.
The barbs began moving violently against my skin. The force of each reflection blasted the barb against a million other barbs - it had no effect on the sheer strength of them, but my god I could feel it starting. The subsonic explosions were trapped within the miles of barbed wire, and were firing back on me. The vibrations grew quickly, I could feel my bones beginning to break, my head turning to much, my heart exploding from the inside of my body as millions of reflects broke the sound barrier on my body.
Just to fuck with him one more time, I laughed as hard as I could, as much as I could. Do you have any idea how hard that is to do when your left lung has already exploded, and the right one quickly on it's way? It's fucking hard man.
I felt the last second of consciousness slip from my body, its insides completely gone. I hoped he would still be alive for this.
I blinked, and hot damn, I could FEEL taller. Like, wow. All that shit about being able to reach off the top shelf was totally true.
My arms were spread out, completely open, my mouth...Almost a real smile of victory. I broke into a goofy grin, and moved the black hair out of my face.
WOW. Jesus. Miles of barb wire returning into my body feels...Weird. Like, I feel nothing, but just watching it all retract into you without sensation is pretty odd.
Hah. There was a metric fuckton of blood on the floor in front of me. In the middle, a broken bundle of human flesh with blond hair lay in front of me. I sighed with relief as I saw it quiver; he was still alive.
The one remaining eye left in this sad puddle of flesh registered what had happened, and that shit kicker finally looked like he was experiencing some emotion: Absolute fear. About damn time too, his whole expressionless vibe thing was kinda killing it for me.
In his last second of life, he realized what I had done. I think he tried to say something, but his mouth was pretty much not intact and non-existent at this point. I squatted down next to him, I knew I only had a second left.
"Thanks bud!"
I stood up, and walked away. I knew better than to try and do anything to that puddle, better to just let it die.
Alright, focus.
I was new to this, so I only got a hundred or so, but HOT DIGGITY DAMN SON. One hundred barbs fired out of my body in all directions; I could sense where those alive still were. And sure enough, these barbs fired out, and within a second they were all back, a live, pathetic worm attached to the end of each one, all screaming near me in terror.
Oh hey, look, the new Rank 2. Some small, goth-like (But kinda cute I guess) girl trying to use a force field of fire, thunder, ice, water, darkness, and whatever other shit to break the barbed wire wrapping around her various body parts.
I smiled, and felt a flick emanate from my body; theirs were ripped to shreds.
SHIT. The mall leveled around me as a result. I felt the barbs spring to life and envelop me protectively. I could hear the mall crumble around me, yet felt nothing. Neat.
It was over.
Aww, fuck. I'm going to have to find a new mall now. This one's ruined.
I smiled though, as I walked past the remains of mall and lowly scum. I mean, come on. The next number two is going to have to literally be some kind of fucking GOD to kill me now.
Just think. Me, a fucking GOD next. I felt a hearty laugh escape my heart and lungs, which I'm pretty sure terrified the the absolute shit out of anyone who heard it.
I walked, but did not rush, fantasizing towards my next death.
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Everyone wants a power....everyone has a power, just many don't know what to do with them. They cower; they hide. They think everyone is out to kill them to get a better rank. As if the ranks were like a video game power meter, and each kill was experience points.
And me? I can't volley for power. I am what everyone else strives to be. Except most of the time, they don't know it when I'm right in front of them. A 50-something crippled man in a wheelchair, like I'm Professor X, except it's nothing like that.
I'm a therapist, I'm their therapist; I'm supposed to be their healer. The low levels come to me for guidance, and for a way to deal with their fears and anxieties. The higher levels are given to me by the authorities and tell me to 'fix' them and stop them from killing each other.
In my opinion, it's just a ploy. Why put all the high ranks in the room with the one person they really want to off? Because it made for entertainment. For who, I wasn't sure. I was always convinced that someone was watching us in sessions. Because many of the high ranks that came in my office didn't come out.
And today, of all days, I had Number 2. Which made me giggle as soon as she sat down in front of me. She had a name, of course, Alexa Kovak. All of sixteen years with shock white hair, baggy clothes, and clunky boots. She also had a power: incredible speed. She was a lost kid--someone who didn't know how to deal with the curse that was bestowed upon them.
"Welcome, Alexa." I greeted.
"Can it," she spat. "You're a murderer, just like us. Who are you to tell us how the hell to act?"
I gave her a coy smile. "I don't kill anyone." I told her. She scoff and looked towards the window. Her eyes were looking for blood-stains, body-parts, trophies of my kills. I didn't kill them. They killed themselves by attacking me.
Even if I couldn't read into the future, read her mind, her actions were telegraphed. Her legs were curled up under her, but not comfortably. She was ready to pounce. Her intensive speed made it hard for her to catch, and she would move so fast around her opponent, she would suck the air out of them until they died.
As soon as I saw her foot twitch, I braced myself. My nails dug into the armrests of my chair, and I squeezed my eyes shut. This girl had no plan, little motive, and a lot of rage.
When I opened my eyes, she was close enough for me to see the small, silver stud in her nose. I could reach out and press my hand against her cheek. Her skin was soft. In any other life, she would have just been another hormonal teenager.
It was too bad she was being killed, coincidentally, in the same manner which she happened to kill other people. This was never my intent, but being frozen in time didn't just leave things alone. It paused everything, their breathing included. And I had no choice but to watch. As soon as my body sensed the danger of someone else's power, it activated. Time stopped in the bubble around us.
I never figured out how it knew when the threat was neutralized, because I never calmed during the process. Eventually their bodies would just drop to the floor, and I would be left with pain as the power decimated my own body, starting at the toes and working it's way up. Eventually it would hit my heart...but I never knew how long that would take.
No one would ever kill me, but I would continually make the ranks change so long as people kept attacking me. It would only stop when my power killed me. So as long as I was alive, there was a game.
| 2014-12-18T19:13:58 | 2014-12-18T19:11:06 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone knows you're a half orc, but none of your team-mates ever ask what the other half of you is. That was never an issue before, but your other parent just showed up.
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When i tell people i'm half orc, they tend to assume that one parent was an orc, and the other was something else. It's understandable--half anythings tend to get absorbed back into whichever parent's race is more convenient, or else die unmated and childless. But now and then a pair of crossbreeds get together, and the children of a half-orc and a half-orc will be half-orcs, right? If the details matter, i have no problem admitting that my mother was half orc, half human. Regarding my father, i'll say half orc and then hem and haw until the person i'm speaking to guesses half demon, at which point i'll nod reluctantly.
​
\*\*\*\*\*
​
There's good money in hunting cultists. Some of the omnicidal deities scare the dung out of pretty much everybody, so we can get paid half-a-dozen times for the same job; and most of the cultists are just wannabes who couldn't summon an imp that was already in the room. Every once in a while, though, we hit the real thing and earn our pay from all those easy jobs ten times over.
​
This was shaping up to be one of the real ones. There was a dank dark cave opening in a place where the local geology should have made a cave impossible. (When your dwarf says, "Can't dig here," you better believe there shouldn't be any underground spaces there, natural or artificial.) Our trips and traps expert went in, and came right back out reporting that none of her see-in-the-dark tricks were working right.
​
"Demons," says our paladin. "And a pact already in place if they're messing with their surroundings like this. Better check our wards."
​
"Demons aint the only creatures that do unnatural darkness," i say. "Better set **all** the wards."
​
Me and my battle buddies (we never use names on a job; first thing an imposter or bodyjacker will do is try to call everybody by name) head in and sure enough, it aint just darkness. Demons can do dark, but they can't make the walls go all squirmy like that. "Stay behind me," i say.
​
"Are you sure you can't expand that ward to include the rest of this?" our mage asks.
​
"It would take a soul-bond," i say. "Meaning that if one of us gave in, we'd all go down with him."
​
We all shut up, then, and keep going. Takes forever and no time at all (no i'm not talking about what it felt like; ask a mage or paladin or priest if you don't understand how it works) to get to the ceremonial chamber. Things brighten up again when we arrive, but it's bloodlight, not hellfire. Even our brawlers know what that means.
​
The cultists are busy with an obvious summoning ritual. Chanting words in languages that make your brain hurt, scrawling runes in their own blood, the whole nine yards. Our *were* was calling dibs on her targets when our paladin says, "Too late, door's already half open."
​
The rest of my crew is looking at each other nervously, cause everybody knows you have to close these kinds of portals from the other side. A hell-gate would be no big deal for a paladin--no worse than dying on this side of it, anyway; but this is something else entirely.
​
"There's another way," i say. And before anyone can react, i step forward, prick my finger, and draw in the last rune.
​
The portal finishes opening, and the nearest cultists get sucked in. Despite the fact that i'm standing even closer, i'm unaffected. After a few slurping sounds, an eye made of otherness appears. "Hi, Grandpa," i say. "These idiots are all yours, but please don't nibble on my friends, okay?"
​
My battle buddies start whimpering when Grandpa speaks, but to me he sounds perfectly normal. "Sure thing. You ever going to come over for a visit?"
​
I shake my head. "Nothing wrong with being an obligate sanivore, but i prefer to keep my options open. It's a lot easier to find good company when 'people aren't food'."
​
"Suppose so," Grandpa says, and starts pulling in more cultists. I chuck the last one through the portal for him, he closes it, and i check to make sure he sealed it properly.
​
I turn around to find my comrades all readying their weapons. "We need to get outside before this little pocket reality collapses," i say. They aren't buying it, even though they should know it's completely true. "Look," i try again, "there's tribes of orcs yet that like nothing better than roast human, but nobody cares that i'm half orc." They still aren't buying it. "Unless you got to pick your parents," i roar, "don't blame my father for not getting to pick his!"
​
They back down enough to let us all get out of the cultists' little pocket dimension before it collapses, but they still aren't happy with me. "You defend that **thing**, but you won't tolerate even a hint of necromancy?" our mage complains.
​
"Those things will take your wits," i answer, "but they can't touch your soul. Whatever they may siphon off, you get it all back or better once you reach your final home. Necromancers, though--they'll do their damnedest to pull you out of the one place that is supposed to be indisputably and irrevocably safe.
​
"He's got a point," our paladin says. "But, couldn't you have told us?"
​
I shrug. "Would you risk admitting to being descended from that which gods and demons fear?"
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The dust settled as the engine died. The others shook nervously as the large, unhuman figure emerged from the truck. I rested my hand on Carls shivering, pale shoulder as I turned around to face the others who were slowly increasing their distance. I had to think of something rapidly as I have seen friends seize in fear in view of my father. "Vincent!" a gentle, deep voice exclaimed as a soft hand rested on my shoulder. "Perhaps you owe me some new patients!" the Orc chuckled. "I know y'all are afraid of me, but then again I'm a psychologist so y'all are justified." The others, still nervous continued to glare at the novelty in front of them. "I should warn you, you wont find a better one unless you go up north!" he said with a wink. "I guess Orc's are better trolls than trolls" Carl cringed. "This your dad?" "Yeah." The others were now curious, yet confused. "Did you play Football in college? I'd bet at least a dime that you'd be a great quarterback." Thomas laughed. "Well, I guess I was too busy playing with books, but I don't know what the SEC would do if I actually joined up, if I'm not careful I could be a one-man stampede!" Everyone was now laughing. "Well, if you'd like I can help y'all practice." he said with a wink. "Nah, we good!" everyone exclaimed laughing. I just stood nervously to the side as this happened, realizing that the Orc knew how to socialize better than I ever did. Charles-Louis, the Orc, a life dedicated to researching the human psyche, to better understand humanity itself.
| 2020-07-22T15:30:08 | 2020-07-22T14:06:06 | 575 | 33 |
[WP] A dangerous facility is preparing residents for an accident. People in the "red zone" should evacuate. People in the "green zone" should stay put. You have just discovered that, no matter whose map you look at, that person's area shows him or her as being in the green zone.
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If you want to understand, you have to know the whole story.
It was April 22nd, 2153 when we had the first drill. It was scheduled, 14:30-22:45 Plains Standard Time. When the new military development facilities went up, every single building in the whole damn Tri-River area got a evac signal. Pretty simple system: If it's green, you stay, red, you go to the nearest evac facility for immediate transfer out of the "affected radius." Not everyone took that first drill seriously-- a lot of red lights working through the alarms, meeting with friends or picking up kids before evac, going to the nicer or less crowded evac stations, and a lot of green lights generally milling about. For the second drill, the guard (unarmed, for "instructional purposes") was on hand for mandatory drill enforcement, handing out written warnings. For the third drill, noncompliants were detained and fined for "obstruction of emergency rescue efforts". Just before the fourth drill, an executive order was passed imposing a mandatory sentence of 18 months monitored surveillance for that particular charge, and after that our compliance rate was over ninety-eight percent.
After a couple of years, nobody but rebellious teenagers and the few thousand left in the slums thought twice about complying with the drills. They were always scheduled, always orderly, always calm. The initial grumbling-- mostly from the die-hard government transparency activists, who as usual thought they had some chance of getting the feds to open up about what the military was up to-- died down in about the same amount of time. The facilities themselves had brought tens of thousands of low-skill jobs, and the evac systems brought two thousand more in higher tech. Anybody working in the facilities who thought to question what they were making, or why it required two million citizens to be on constant evacuation alert, earned themselves a one-way ticket right back to the slums and a sure sentence of slow starvation for their families. No, the facilities were a blessing, the economic engine that turned the Tri-River region from slum to solidly middle class, and nobody dared question their blessings.
And then, one day, the sirens went off for real.
It was April 27th, 2159, when we got the call over at the "switchboard"-- actually just your standard office building, with one tech for each district. We were all glorified button-pushers, but it paid well enough, there was child care on site, and you don't say no when they recruit you in the slums. Anyway, standard message came through at 10:37: there was a possible emergency in facility 23, standby for evac signal instructions in your district. Then facility 26, facility 12, facility 18. Still no instructions. By 10:43, all eight facilities in and around my district had sent the same message: possible emergency, standby for instructions. At 11:06, the guard rolled in. Armed. At 11:13, the orders for my district came through... all subsections green. The evac sirens went off as I lit the board.
Here's the thing though: Facility 23 is right in the middle of my district. 11-18 border the west side and 26 is only a mile north. There was no way all eight had emergencies and my district was completely green. Hell, when I activated for a drill in 15, it lit up my entire district and four others. I was a grunt, but I wasn't stupid.
We aren't allowed to discuss the evac signals with other operators-- they even gave us real offices, instead of cubicles (basic communications only going in and out, of course), to keep us from getting too friendly with each other. But Stessie, who ran the signals for district C, was a network freak and figured out some fancy way to hijack the basic communications, so we had a chat system. Stessie swore nobody was getting past her security, but we didn't trust it, so until that day it was used strictly for banter and crude jokes. But there was no way I had eight emergencies and no red evac lights, and you were just down the hall, about to eat lunch. So I risked it. Same story with all of us: Greens across the board, emergencies in all the facilities... except for 1 and 3. James didn't get any reports from them.
The guard marched into our building at 11:21. One posted at the end of each hall.
Then, the power flickered. And again. And again. By the third flicker, the guard at the end of my hall looked uneasy. Four more times it flickered, before the building plunged into darkness.
In the distance, I could hear children screaming. I heard a scuffle at the end of the hall, Antoine swearing, and a loud thump. Of course Antoine would make a break for it-- both his kids were on-site. I ran too. Gunfire, until Antoine leaned around the corner and returned fire. Two more corners, two more shootouts, and we had you. Keisha and Ty too. Outside, we heard explosions.
We ran.
We ran.
We ran.
And Gracie, you were so brave. Because when Antione's arm got hit by shrapnel, and he fell, you were the one who snatched up baby Ty. Did I ever tell you that? Three years old, and you were out of my arms before I even had time to bend over. You said "Mommy, that arm's bleeding. We gotta carry Ty, cause Keisha can hold on but he can't and his daddy can't neither."
Looking back, the only thing that saved us was how close we were to the edge of the district. There weren't any factories to our east, Antione remembered how to hotwire cars from when we all lived in the slums, and we had a straight shot out of town on the highway. We were about ten miles out when the gas lines caught fire. Only a few thousand got out-- everyone else sat in their homes and offices until the whole damn region was on fire-- they never bothered to upgrade from natural gas, and it burned for weeks before they got the explosions under control.
We drove until the gas ran out. From there, we hitchhiked out west, way far away from the facilities, out where the military wasn't quite so strong. Only we found out later that the military wasn't so strong anywhere, because when they found out their leaders let two million people burn to the ground-- and sent their brothers-in-arms to die with them-- they rebelled, then crumbled. All that I only know from the news, but you remember the rest from there. The rebuilding, the new leadership, the closest thing to democracy we've had in a century.
And now, look at you. You're training to be a doctor. My Gracie, born in a slum in the poorest region in a country where NOBODY who wasn't born somebody tried for anything more than a solid meal and a dry place to sleep. That's how I can say that the Tri-River tragedy is the best thing that ever happened to this country. We lost everything, and a hell of a lot of people lost a lot more. But now, it doesn't matter that nobody knows your daddy, doesn't matter you were born without a penny to your name. You can BE somebody, and all you've gotta do is work at it and use your god-given talents. I'm not saying it's wrong that those people died, and I'm not saying it shouldn't have happened different. But sometimes, life gives you a crappy plot of land, and it takes a whole lot of shit to grow a garden there, Gracie. Don't you ever forget it.
|
The clock ticked on. Honestly, the ticking was starting to get on my nerves. I decided to take a walk outside in the back garden. With my parents, siblings, aunts and uncles all in the same room, I was feeling awfully cramped. I wandered over to the kitchen, which hadn't changed much since I was a child, and opened the back door, exiting into the garden. I went over to the swingset, and sat on it. Surprisingly, it took my weight. I looked up into the red sky, and slumped against the poll holding up the swingset. I heard the guy on the TV tell us to stay in our homes, and not to leave etc etc. A few people shot a worried glance in my direction.
I decided to give one of my friends a call. We hadn't talked much after we came out of training, but we still talked now and then. I pulled out my mobile, and dialed in his number, and waited for him to pick up.
"Heeeeelllo?"
"Hey."
"Damian? Long time no... talk?"
"Yeah, it's been a while. How are you doing, Tom"
"About as well as you can expect. Everyone's freaking out."
"Rightly so."
"You sure about that? We don't even know what it is, and anyway, the Techs seem fairly sure that it won't even effect most of the place."
"Some thing's up"
"Some thing's *always* up"
"So, if it's just a problem with water filtration, why are they evacuating people?"
"It's causing disease. You ever heard of cholera? Anyway, that reminds me, have you gotten out. Guy on the TV says that you're in a red-zone"
"Nope. I moved, remember."
"I *did* remember. Right here, says sector 3, which if I'm not mistaken is where you and your parents live, is at risk of water filtration issues. I don't understand why they need so many zones. What sort of scientist needs to bring their goddamn family?"
"Wait, are you sure? Sector 3?"
"Yeah, secondary residential, sector 3"
"Wait, what other sectors does yours show?"
"Others? 4, 8 and 12"
I poked my head back inside, with some worry slowly growing inside me.
"Mine shows 5, 8 and 17."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"Shit. The facilities on lockdown."
"Goddamn it, somethings not right here."
"Look, I've got to look into this, I'll talk to you in a minute."
"Talk to you la-."
He hung up before I could finish. There's something not quite right. Why would it say different sectors are at risk?
Why would they evacuate for water filtration problems?
Edit: The magic of interpretative dance
| 2015-04-22T20:52:01 | 2015-04-22T17:54:47 | 194 | 36 |
[WP] You are a successful artist who has a condition where you randomly black out. When you wake up, you see that you have created beautiful masterpeices that you don't remember painting. Lately, all of your paintings have been more and more disturbing.
|
It had been happening for years, at least since she was in her mid-twenties. The first time had been soon after finishing university. Anjuli had been sitting working at her desk, and then all of a sudden, she had felt as though there was a sudden pressure at the sides of her neck. Her vision had started to cloud, her mind simultaneously panicked and hazy as she felt herself slip out of consciousness, and then... she had woken up. Shaking off the unease in the pit of her stomach, she had put the episode down to a simple fainting fit.
Once it had happened three or four more times over the next week, Anjuli had decided she ought to get it checked out. Her doctor was perplexed, but offered up a long list of possible problems - vasovagal syncope, situational syncope, anaemia, cardiac arrhythmias, even a carotid body tumour... And eventually, after several normal blood tests and even a test that seemed to originate from the middle ages, in which Anjuli was tied to a table and tipped upwards, she was finally, gently, given a diagnosis of psychogenic pseudosyncope.
"What in the hell is psycho- psychogen... that?"
"It's not uncommon in people your age. Sometimes, your brain can play tricks on you, and make you feel as though you're fainting with no physical cause."
"I'm not fucking lying!"
"I don't think you're lying." If that doctor's voice got any more calming, Anjuli thought she hit her. "It's totally involuntary, but it's caused by your mind, not your body."
But protest as Anjuli might, she was sent to sit with gritted teeth through what felt like countless sessions of psychotherapy, counselling and cognitive behavioural therapy.
Of course, a few months later, she was given plenty of reason to stop going. This time, when she woke up groggy and already irritable from one of her fainting episodes, Anjuli found a sheet of her thick drawing paper in front of her. Her eyes widened in astonishment as she looked down at it; a beautiful landscape had been sketched across the page - a sweeping river cutting its way across a lush, green forest. Anjuli let out a sharp breath. The details were simply staggering, right down to the curve of the wings of one of the birds flying over the treetops, and a glint in the river of a fish swimming beneath its surface.
Over the week or so that followed, Anjuli woke up to more and more drawings, each more beautiful than the last. God knows she couldn't draw much more than a stick figure when she was awake - and even those were normally a bit lopsided - but she couldn't escape the conclusion that she had done this. Perhaps she just needed the rest of her brain to switch off to let her artistic side flourish and grow - perhaps she was in such a focused state that she simply couldn't spare the energy to form memories.
And as she kept looking, Anjuli found yet more proof that she'd been awake, roving the house in search of inspiration. Just little things, but evidence nonetheless - an opened window, a half-eaten sandwich that she was sure had been untouched early that morning, a used toothbrush, a coffee-stained mug lying in the sink, and once, a slight opening in the hatch to the attic that she never used.
It didn't take Anjuli long to start selling her paintings. They were beautiful enough to sell in themselves, but with the story behind them of the artist who seemed to sleepwalk through the painting process, they sold faster than Anjuli could even produce them. A still life one day, a portrait of a sparrow the next, even Anjuli could not predict what would be coming.
However, it was with a flicker of unease that she opened her eyes one afternoon to her latest sketch. She had recently been featured in a double-page newspaper article, and nothing that had been shown in the article, nothing at all, even came close to the portrait that lay in front of her. The trees that were customary of many of her paintings were still there, but dark and twisted, casting contorted shadows over the rest of the sheet. Red eyes peered from the darkness, their pupils slit-like and dead. And in spiky, twisted letters that at first seemed to blend in with the tree trunks, Anjuli read one word: 'watching'.
Anjuli did not try to sell that painting. But over the weeks that followed, the hidden corner of her desk where she had thrust the offending landscape accumulated more and more pictures. A figure, stalking closer and closer, a blood-stained dagger etched with perfect precision, a dead woman with her hand falling over the side of a bed, her hair tangled and matted with blood.
Anjuli started to dread her black-outs, in a way she hadn't since they'd first begun, afraid to see what she'd wake up to. The swimming head and tightness around her neck that always preceded an episode started to haunt her dreams, and she'd wake up drenched in sweat, gasping for breath with tears prickling the backs of her eyes. She began to spend most of her waking hours pacing around the room, doing anything to keep herself active and unable to slip out of consciousness. But try as she might, she could not keep herself moving forever, and when she sat down...
The familiar pressure appeared at Anjuli's neck. Instantly, stars began to swim in her vision - but this time, she leapt to her feet, crying out as her elbow collided hard with her desk. She spun round, and nearly toppled over in horror.
A figure stood behind her chair, gloved hands stretched out.
Anjuli shrieked, pressing herself further backwards into her desk, her arms tightening reflexively around her stomach.
"Who-? What-?" She opened her mouth to scream again, but a hand clamped itself over her jaw.
"Quiet," the man hissed. His clothes were tattered, hanging loosely off his thin frame, and a days' worth of stubble peppered his jaw.
Anjuli tried to shout, but only a muffled moan escaped against his hand. Her eyes flitted desperately around the room, at the sheet of paper that was held, slightly crumpled, in the man's other hand, and at the hatch that hung open in the ceiling of the corridor outside... Pieces started to slot together in Anjuli's head, and tears spilled silently from her eyes.
"I've had enough..." the man whispered. His eyes darted dizzyingly to and fro, giving him a restless, unhinged look. "My paintings were a payment to you, a thank you, if you like... I should have predicted that you would take credit for them, the swollen head that you have..."
Anjuli squeaked, her nails scrabbling against his fingers.
"I thought you deserved it, you being kind enough to let me stay here, to feed me when I sent you to sleep... But you were just using me, weren't you?" His voice hardened. "Living off my talent while you let me rot in that cold, empty attic."
Anjuli tried to bite his hand, but she couldn't even get her mouth to open. She swung her fists wildly into his stomach, but he barely even seemed to notice.
His hand gripped her jaw painfully, and his lip twisted. "No more."
His eyes bored into hers, a cold, electric blue. His spare hand reached up to caress her face gently with one thumb. Slowly, softly, it crept down to her neck, and began to tighten around her throat.
|
Eloquent and endearing, each stroke carried a vibrancy of colorful congruence. Her mind’s eye had already visualized it, but seeing the brilliance gradually materializing on the canvas was something else entirely.
Like a stiff coryphée on a private stage of white ice, the brush swayed and pirouetted, leaving trails of flamboyant pigment in its wake. Red like the lips of a stalwart opera singer; maroon like the royal cape of King Arthur; violet like the Damascus sky at sunset – color was merely a vessel for ideas, and the canvas a province for expression.
Whenever Fiona painted she entered a trancelike state – it had been like that since her childhood. It was an unwavering place in the storm of life’s uncertainties. More importantly, though, it cured her briefly of her disease. As weird as it might seem, the shapes and forms were an antidote to the chronic poison in her veins. It was a curse and a blessing at the same time, and the byproduct was a broad range of beautiful paintings.
Fiona felt the strange sickness slowly shrinking away. It was as if each touch and dip drained her face of fever spots, and every sweeping arc replenished her strength. Soon all trace of the depression had disappeared. Once again she felt young and healthy.
She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the brush to produce arrays of tranquil innovation on the smooth surface. This right here was every painter’s wet dream – to let go of inhibition and self-doubt, and just let the image craft itself – measured but casual; ardent but soothingly invigorating. This right here was art in the purest form. Fiona smiled and opened her eyes.
Something was not right. At first, her mind had a hard time comprehending the visual input. This had never happened to her before. Normally the first impression of her finished work was exclusively positive.
“No, this… this is all wrong!” she cried. “This is not what I painted… this is…”
Her voice trailed off. The ghastly face that glared up at her from the canvas was like nothing she had ever seen before. The size and shape resembled that of a small child, but that was where the similarity ended. Glowering eyes of hatred, hollow bony cheeks, and a demonic mouth that nullified the meaning of innocence.
She felt her heart hammering distantly. The canvas was a sacred place – her sanctuary. How had this horrible face managed to encroach on her painting without her consent?
| 2017-04-16T07:39:37 | 2017-04-16T06:34:53 | 145 | 58 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
It was quite strange actually.
The first number popped into view when I was about 12 years old. It was a solid 4 that looked like something straight out of Times New Roman font. That 4 I remember, hovered above a big scruffy looking man with a tattoo of a stripper on his left arm. I didn't think of it as much at the time. I was 12, and I thought that these numbers were part of growing up.
The next day at school, I saw numbers….everywhere. Everyone had a number above their head. Mrs Ball, had a 1. The girl sitting by herself during recess had a 1. My best friend had a 0. Even my dog had a 1 above his little head.
I was quite stupid actually. At one point, I started bragging to my friends about how I became a man at the tender age of 12. When I told them how I saw numbers above peoples heads, they simply looked at me and probably wondered why they were friends with me in the first place.
For the next 5 years, I continued seeing numbers. The highest I have ever seen, a faint 6, danced on top of an old picture of Hitler in one of my honors history course. Throughout this time, I didn't really think much of these numbers. Truthfully, I didn't even know what they meant.
That was until of course, when I turned on the Television and saw the same man with the 4, on the headlines of BBC news.
It was only after I found out that this man, the same man with the 4 I saw 5 years ago, the same man who had violently murdered 14 people out of the blue, the same man who was getting lethal injection, did I realize for the first time what the numbers truly meant.
From that day forward, the numbers began to mean something. I paid close attention to them for the next few years and this is what I have found out.
1. The numbers correspond to how a dangerous a person is, with a zero belonging to a toddler, and a 3-4 belonging to a serial killer.
2. The numbers work on a logarithmic scale. I don't know if there is some kind of mathematical equation behind this. All I know is that a 5, is A LOT more dangerous that a 4. Fun fact: Stalin was a 5.
3. Numbers become more precise with age, or experience. When I first saw the numbers, they were pleasant whole numbers. When I was 17, I saw my first 1.5 floating above my girlfriend. I am now 25, and the numbers now go into god knows how many digits - ive lost count.
4. Numbers fluctuate constantly, but never by much.
5. I can't see my own number.
........
You may think that seeing thousands of numbers a day may be a curse, but actually, it gets pretty fun. The numbers I see is in its very essence, information. For instance, did you know Dictator Mao had a higher number than Hitler before he died? Or the fact that women have on average higher numbers than men? What about the fact that politicians have again on average lower numbers than teachers?
As I said, the numbers are information, and with all information, I can, and I have, used these numbers to my own advantage.
How one may ask? To be honest, it's really quite simple. I can sympathize anyone. I can move people simply because I know how anyone is feeling at any given moment.
When I got my first real job at 18 (back when I was able to see numbers to the hundredths digit in precision) at local restaurant, I was cleaning floors and serving people food. I was nothing. Then wages sucked and my boss treated me like a piece of shit, who I theorized probably just pushed me around to make himself feel better for his insecure 0.125. For the longest time, I didn't know what to do with my gift. This changed when one day, the CEO of a large oil firm came in for dinner. I paid close attention to that man. He was a 2.870-2.91 mostly throughout the dinner. If I remember correctly, he ordered a steak and the most expensive bottle of wine, and ate his food in silence. Throughout the evening, I watched that man. His number didn’t fluctuate much. I got bored, and was about to mop the floor until out of the corner of my eye I caught the man pulling out his phone to what I’m guessing to check on his messages. It was at that instant, that his number of sub 2.7-sh, suddenly rose to a 3.678. Something was wrong. Whatever it was, I felt sorry for that guy. I ended up paying for his dinner, despite costing me 2 weeks’ worth of my salary.
Initially, I thought I made a mistake paying for that guys food. I was wrong.
The next day, he came to the restaurant again. He didn’t order anything. Instead, he asked my boss for me. When I greeted him, he thanked me for my kindness and asked me if I wanted a “real job”.
Turns out his wife cheated on him, and truthfully, I’m thankful for that. Because of her, I learned to use my gift wisely.
I should also add that I am now the VP of said multi-billion dollar company. You can probably guess how I got there.
Last night, something interesting happened. I was looking over some files in until a young man was escorted into my office. I have to say I was kind of surprised when I saw the 8.1264184…. I’ve never seen anyone, dead or alive, with such a high number. As the numbers work on a logarithmic scale, he made Hitler look PG-13.
This man wasn’t just dangerous. He was lethal. The numbers don’t lie. Who knows what he was capable of?
But despite that I looked into his eyes, and saw that he was genuinely afraid.
I chuckled, and asked him what he did for a living. Private contractor? Radical Extremist? A politician? When he didn’t answer, I rose from my seat and walked towards him to introduce myself.
But instead of enthusiastically reaching out to shake my hand, as these over qualified try-hards usually do to get a job, he stammered back and whispered in a mixture of what I can only describe as fear and disbelief…..
“you…..you are.. a… ten”.
To be honest, I wasn’t really surprised.
|
Ever since I can remember I had a gift. A gift of knowing how "dangerous" a person might be. I measure people on a scale of 1 -10, people in comas are a 1 while dictators and supreme leaders hit a 10.
I've never seen anyone hit a ten in my life until I turned on the t.v. and saw a democratic candidate running for president again. The chills I got when I saw him smile, those chill that haunt you and stay with you. The candidate was a very charismatic guy and a ladies man too. If only they knew how dangerous that man was...
Months passed and he won the election. I couldn't believe it... With that power now one know what will happen. Will he be the cause of a new world war? We are already in a bringe to war with Russia! Damn it! This cannot be happening! I have do something but how and when? I live in Dallas and he's in Washington D.C., I'll have to kill him when he's here. But I just can't remember his name...
I just can't remember his name, his name started with a J, J what? J... J... Got it! John! John something Kennedy! That's his name! J.F.K. On the 22nd he will be here. I got to get my things ready...
If I don't stop him...
Who will...
| 2014-11-29T22:35:42 | 2014-11-29T14:44:07 | 200 | 140 |
[WP] Every time you die, your power brings you back a bit stronger. As you slowly become less and less human, the other heroes become more wary of you. Today, for the first time, you were mistakenly attacked as a monster…and no one is coming to help.
|
There’s a particular sensation, of sorts, that comes to a person in their dying moments; hard to place, at first. However over time —and an egregious amount of practice, I’ve been able to nail it down to a handful of words:
“My insides are cold.” Okay sure, not the most graceful of death-words. Nevertheless I take solace in the fact that I’ll get another chance, come next sunrise.
It has been this way for quite some time, now. Since the moment I tumbled ahead of a once-friend, arms splayed outwards to embrace a rain of poisoned arrows; since the moment they mourned me all night, buried me in a shoddily crafted grave only for it to burst open the morning after. I’d crawled from the debris, gasping for air and frantically poking at now-unmarred flesh. In their panic, the ranger had put an arrow in my head, mistaking me for an undead, and that was how I’d experienced my second death.
Once again, I rose on the morning after, this time with only a headache to show for the moment. Well, that and a bony head-plate, stretching out from where the killer arrow had made its mark. When I came to, my friends had left, not bothering to bury me again... I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else. Though it hurt, all the same.
From then on, I traveled the continent, merely content to continue my mission; a mission, which admittedly, I seemed to have forgotten the details of. I’d chalk that memory loss up to a certain arrow through my brain. Nevertheless, my confused wandering led me to a small town, overrun by goblins. I knew something was truly up when I accidentally crushed a goblin’s head to a pulp in my hands, which I suddenly came to realize were quite a bit larger than I’d remembered. Still, numbers are a tricky game, and though I managed to repel the horde and save the people, I once again succumbed to my wounds. I’m afraid having well over half a dozen weapons impaled into your back tends to have that effect.
That time, I was prepared for what would follow. So when I awoke in the early morning, splayed out on a medical table, I was quick to gather my things, not quite eager to fit another arrow in my brain. I left the scene on wings I knew for a fact had not been there the day before.
Stories spread across the region of a man whom death had rejected. It took an admittedly embarrassing length of time for me to make the connection that he and I were one and the same —once again I blame that arrow. Over time, however, those stories began to change, from a valorous hero with a golden heart, to a monstrous creature, cloaked in shadow and bathed in blood. Personally I find the latter quite rude, as I very much do not *bathe* in blood. I merely dabble, from time to time.
Of course, in times like these bathing in blood doesn’t seem like such a bad deal. Yes, I’m afraid being locked in a cage one size too small and run through daily with silver weapons is quite effective and withering one’s patience. Least of all when the scowling faces staring back at you are oddly familiar —though I’m honestly struggling to determine where I’ve seen them.
They don’t seem to have caught on though, to what terrible mistake they have been making, since the moment the rogue blindsided me and put a silver dagger in my spine; since the moment they trapped me in this cage and played their cruel games with my life; since the moment they started killing me, daily, for the last several months. They don’t seem to have caught on that I’ve been letting them have their fun, biding my time for an appropriate moment.
As this ranger prepares to cram another arrow shaft-deep in my brain, I smile at him, savoring the spike of fear that arcs across his face. His shaky hands loose his instrument of death and this time it turns to silver dust before it can even reach me. He panics and attempts to backpedal, presumably to warn his party. He manages one step before my tongue reaches him, fired from my maw like a harpoon and impaling his brain. There’s a certain vindictive pleasure that I feel as I real his spasming corpse closer and closer, clamping my jaws around his too-small head and torso like a trash compactor. Blood splatters my whole face but I’m not quite bathing in blood, yet. Luckily there’s a whole smorgasbord of villains for me to choose from, on this day.
I flex, and my cage bursts apart like a box of straw. Then, I stretch, uncoiling myself to my full height. I’m much larger than I remember; I attribute that particular detail to the arrows in my head. I yawn, and it’s a peculiar sound. One part guttural roar, two parts high-pitched demonic shrieking, like a woman being stabbed to death, or a cat being crammed into a blender. Or both at once, really.
Small bodies fill the area, what appears to be a central plaza, of sorts. I seriously question the logic of bringing me to the central location of such a populated place, but I’ll chalk *that* particular goof up to human arrogance. Have I mentioned how tiny they are?
I crack my neck and stretch my wings, casting an enormous shadow over the ants. I could simply leave, of course. One flap of my wings and I’d be over the skyline before they could even make their first move. For a moment, I even consider it. I think of who I was, and what I stood for... Then I realize I can’t remember at all who I used to be.
I attribute that particular error to all those arrows in my head.
|
I sit in the middle of the battlefield, surrounded by the corpses of my fallen enemies. I am battered and bruised, but I will not give up. I have fought and died countless times, but each time I come back a little bit stronger.
The other heroes fear me now, and rightly so. I am no longer human, but something else entirely. A force to be reckoned with.
Today, for the first time, I was attacked by my fellow heroes. They mistook me for a monster, and I was forced to fight for my life.
Now, I am all alone, surrounded by enemies on all sides.
But I will not give up. I will not die.
I am the Colossus, and I will rise again.
| 2022-08-26T13:16:58 | 2022-08-26T06:59:02 | 290 | 100 |
[WP] Everyone on earth is immune to one specific type of damage (fire, car crash, kicks, falling off buildings, etc.). The problem is, you have to find out your immunity on your own. You have just discovered yours.
|
Here at the Edgar Jones Clinic for the Immune, we run a battery of tests to find out *your* immunity. Stabbing, crushing, fire, disease - we have safe test facilities to discover almost anything. While the process is well-documented and carried out by trained professionals, your results may vary. Take, for instance, Roger Stylefield, our record holder for quickest to find out his immunity. As he was handing in his induction paperwork, he missed the "wet floor" sign, slipped on the tile, and learned he was immune to head injuries!
This hallway is dedicated to the men, women, and children who found their immunity at our clinic. This is Mary LeWain; after only an hour of testing, she found she was immune to fire. She's gone on to become a fire fighter! That is George Winsome; he discovered he was immune to being crushed, which I'm sure is helpful to him as a spelunker. Over there is William Walkie; technically, he was still on clinic grounds when he was hit by that car and found *his* immunity.
While most patients find their immunity after going through the battery of tests - pardon the pun - some patients' immunity is not among those tested. That is why we have the research guarantee; if your immunity is not found by our tests, a panel of researchers will study your background to find any hints therein. This is Dr. Suresh Balakrishna; he came to us last year, looking for his immunity. After undergoing the full range of tests, we had not yet discovered his immunity; however, our team of researchers discovered it. Dr. Balakrishna was with Doctors Without Borders for a few years prior, and during that time, did not fall ill to any illness; with his permission, we tested a light strain of a well-known disease, and found that he was absolutely immune.
---
Dr. Ravi stared down at his notes. Every test had failed. I was not, it seemed, immune to anything; my minor cuts, scrapes, and puncture wounds was evidence of that. The clinic had even done the advanced trial, with radiation burns and exposure to minor illnesses; still, nothing.
"What about research? Has the team found anything?"
The doctor sighed and shook his head. "Nothing. You've never had a major injury or illness, which an often provide a good baseline, but even so, if your immunity was among the top 50,000 immunities, we would have found it by now. I'm sorry, Ralph. It looks like we owe you a refund, as well as the guarantee bonus. I know money isn't everything, but I hope it will cover the frustration of not knowing your immunity."
I sighed, stood, and shook his hand. He handed me my paperwork - along with two hefty checks - and left. He was right; money isn't everything, but that money was certainly trying to go the extra mile to try!
Two hours later, I was in my own home, looking over the paperwork. Four columns on a dozen pages; the first page held the test - Fire... ice... needles, etc. - and the other three were check boxes. Initial test, verification test, and final test, with a big warning that the final test may prove fatal. Every "initial test" had a black square. Though... hang on...
The third page had two little a little black boxes. One was over "initial test", but the second was over "crushing." I remembered the crushing test, they ran it twice. But why was the box... in the wrong place!
Excitedly, I read over the results again, this time paying close attention the the little bars and blocks at the bottom of the page - the machine code they fed into their automated systems. The code at the bottom of the first, second, and third pages were exactly the same, but the code on the fourth page was a bit, well, splotchy. The drowning test... But, the fifth page was different! The codes were offset - somehow, the computer had read the page wrong, and kept that error through the entire test!
But... that would mean...
I shuffled through the pages, lining them up and flipping through. The bottom of every page was exactly the same, and they all told the same story: I hadn't been doing the "initial test". I had been going through the possibly-fatal-"final test"! What did it mean? Was I immune to... everything? I would have to test it. Every possibility.
I thought I would be disappointed, but honestly, I felt myself growing excited. Every day would be an adventure! And as far as I knew... I was immune to everything!
---
Back at the clinic, Dr. Ravi looked at the copies of the same report. "And you're sure it ran the final test every time?"
The nurse nodded. "Should... should we tell him? And get the money back?"
Dr. Ravi waved his suggestion off. "No, no. That money is nothing compared to the loss we would suffer when he sued us for negligence. Maybe he'll figure out what his immunity is, but honestly? For his sake, I hope he doesn't."
The nurse flipped through the pages again. "What, *everything?*"
Dr. Ravi laughed. "No, no. He's not immune to everything. Just... resistant, I suppose. You know the saying, curiosity killed the cat? Not Ralph Widdershins. As long as he keeps searching... curiosity can't kill him."
|
Well, this isn't so bad. I get to help all these people, and bonus, I don't even need a face mask.
Another guy sneezed on me, and I didn't even feel it. It may be mundane, but with this, I will save lives!
Unless, of course, I am shot, not immune to that.
| 2017-08-06T14:59:49 | 2017-08-06T13:13:41 | 40 | 27 |
[WP] For your 10th birthday you received vr goggles. You tried them, thought they were dumb and went on with your life. Its only now, decades later looking back, you dont actually remember ever removing them.
|
It's my 80th birthday today.
​
I wake up early as I usually do, my bladder urgently signaling my brain that the dam is going to burst. After a blind stumble (what used to be a confident strut, mind you) to the bathroom and a piss, the robe comes on and I make my way downstairs to my waiting wife.
​
She's already dressed. She wears less makeup now than she did when she was 30, and is lovelier for it. She aged better than me as a result of vigorous diet and exercise, something I could never quite get behind. She smiles at me like she doesn't see the stubborn sack of fat that settled between my hips in my early 40's, and I'm grateful for it. "What would you like to do today?" she asks, hopping more nimbly than I could dream to from her wooden stool. My hand moves to my throat- a reflexive response to being put on the spot. I act as if I have an itch and scratch into a few days' worth of stubble. "Ah..." I say, hesitant. The truth is at this age birthdays are a reminder that you are speeding toward death. Time moves faster. My body decays more rapidly. Even as I stand here, now affectionately rubbing my wife's back, there's dull pain in most of my joints. I want to stay home and have a quiet dinner with her and put on a television program. I know that my wife would consider this selfish and is constantly on my case to make myself more available to our children and grandchildren. My lips purse while I'm getting my raisin bran and she can't see. "What about a little family dinner at Katie's place?" I say, referring to our second child's home. Bea, my wife, smiles, and for a moment I forget my aching body. "That sounds wonderful," she says, and I know that she's been planning it all along. In moments she's kissing me on the cheek, gathering her things, and is out the door with a "Call if you need anything, I'm going to help her set up!"
​
There's nothing left to do but chuckle, shake my head, and eat my breakfast. With a few moments of peace I have time to get some chores done I've been putting off for a while. I fix a door latch. Replace the filter on the kitchen sink. Trim the dog's nails. When you're young you don't think of the maintenance required for your dreams. In your mind you see a picket fence that always stays white, a wife that always stays happy, dogs that stay happy and young. You are quickly disabused of these notions. Eventually you are trapped by your dreams, and wonder if they were worthy goals all along. "Did I really want three children?" you ask yourself, thinking perhaps of the daughter you can't talk to or the son that sneers when he sees you. I wonder to myself, even now, if this is the life I really wanted. The bitterness has increased exponentially over the last couple of decades.
​
Eventually I get dressed for dinner and make my way to my daughter's house. My firstborn had always been a loner. Even now he lives in a big city far from our rural outcropping in an apartment alone. Whatever clever doodad I have now sometimes shows me a picture of him, usually alone, usually a drink in his hand, staring peacefully out over some ocean. My daughter, however, immediately wanted a family. She barely made it through college before she found The One, and married him six months after graduation. She wasted no time at all getting pregnant, but by the time the second child came along we could tell that while she had grand ambitions for supporting them, she might need a little help. Our third daughter, having gone to school and then immediately into a graduate program, was out of the picture and unlikely to move back home, so we switched homes with our daughter, son in law, and their children. We took their modest condo and they took the sprawling Victorian I had inherited from my parents. The self-driving car ambled slowly along the drive, but every meter we passed made me more tense in my seat. Car after car lined the drive. Some I recognized, family and close friends, but even more I could only hazard a guess at.
​
Shaken, I was deposited on the wraparound porch, my heart pounding rapidly. Acting more bravely than I felt, I flung the front door open and was greeted by the whooping and well wishing of every colleague, friend, family member, and associate I had made in my life. Eventually my eyes found my wife, still a stone-cold knockout in a floor-length black dress. I offered a playful scowl and she laughed, the sound filling the large foyer and dining area the party was being held in. Despite the deep introversion I have maintaned over my life, I still managed to accumulate a lot of people whom I can spend a pleasurable evening mingling with. The wine flowed, the appetizers served were all my favorites, I was a little perplexed not to see a cake, especially considering it was my birthday.
​
All wonderful parties eventually achieve a natural "lull" in conversation and enchantment. The trick is to end them here before everyone becomes tired and impatient. The evening reached that point without candles or an embarrassing song, and I was grateful. Sensing the lull, my daughter appeared as if by magic and shot me a sly smile. "Everyone, thank you for coming. This has been a wonderful party for a wonderful man. We've had the luck of 80 years of getting to know him, here's hoping for 80 more!" she cheered, leading a toast with champagne handed to her by a deft waiter. "If everyone could join me in the kitchen I have time for one last surprise." she said, grinning like a fool now. She ushered us all into the kitchen, a tight squeeze despite the generous space, and eventually I made my way to the center of the gasps and "awwws." I clutched my throat, stunned, mentally the years and decades melting away.
On a small white table, one familiar to me as my own hands, was a cake and a photograph. The photograph was me, 70 years earlier, a cake identical to the one sitting on this very same table was visible. I swallowed hard, the memories of that party hitting me like an icy wave. My friends were there... My mama... I had begged for... god damn it, what was the gift? I wrack my brain as I take a seat at the table, the very same square foot I had occupied on the same day 70 years ago... "Where did you find this table?" I asked, trying to act normal while my mind was spinning. My daughter doesn't hear me, there's a flurry of activity, the song we all know, laughing, clapping, an artificial smile plastered on my face. The second I let my mind focus briefly on the song I remember. I remember the gift I had begged for... It was a new thing. Better virtual reality. You were supposed to be able to hardly feel them and the graphics were supposed to be hyper realistic. I start to laugh. Hysterical, manic laughter. I'm crying now, too, crying because I know the choice I have to make. Do I leave them? Do I get another chance? Everyone starts to look at me, and I start to scream. My gnarled, aged, fingers move up, how could I not have noticed this before now... how long have I been ignoring this pressure on my eyes and temples? I rip the glasses off and throw them across the room where they shatter on impact on the same sturdy wooden counter top that had just been obstructed by a room full of people. I look down at my hands, finding them fleshy pink and small, then up at the kitchen now empty, save for my mother and father.
|
The thought came unbidden. But there it was, lodged in between the intangible folds of his mind. He ignored it at first, yet the trembling of his rattling bones, and the fast, steady thrumming of his heart spoke of an ever-settled fear.
He was twenty now. It'd been ten years since he'd put on the goggles. Ten years of ups and downs, of friendships, broken hearts, and laughter.
But the thought, like a shard, twisted and interred itself deeper and deeper.
It would only take a swift, simple movement of his hand to confirm or destroy his suspicion.
But was it a suspicion? If it were a trifling, meager doubt; a silly thought, then why was he feeling such terror?
He knew what would happen when he reached for his eyes: the air would become heavy weight on the heel of his palms, and the lake, like a rising backdrop, would disappear, and be replaced with who knows what.
He sat on the edge of his bed. Drew a deep breath, felt the thrumming of his heart rippling through his hollow chest.
*Boom*
*Boom*
*Boom*
*Breathe*
Arms shaking, lips trembling, eyes twitching, he reached for his eyes--halted mid-motion, and gulped down the brewing fear materialized in the shape of scalding nausea.
And then he took them off.
His room turned into a forest of great pines. Their shadows fell upon him and the mud-covered log he was sitting on. The scent of dry pinecones, burgeoning flowers, and sundry berries billowed into his nostrils. They were clean, whelming, cleansing.
The autumn colors of the trees glistened upon his eyes, throwing red and yellows streaks over their black surface. There were so vibrant, so concise and palpable. They were so real, so beautiful.
*Breathe*
A tear meandered down his cheek, followed by an army of them. The fear knitting his insides turned into a wriggling, rising anguish that sped up the thrumming of his heart.
How much time had he lost? Where was he? Who was he?
Through teary-eyed eyes, he gazed at the googles in his hand. They were the root of his despair. No--no, that was not true. His stupidity, his lack of self-awareness was the issue, not the goggles. He'd spent half his life living in an unreal reality, and it was time he'd never get back.
But he was somewhere in that reality. Here, in the beautiful wild, with all his senses awakening from their dormant state, everything fit like the pieces of puzzle. Everything was too real, too tangible, too perfect.
It was a flawless puzzle, save for a lonely piece that used to fit, but didn't anymore.
And so, blinking tears away, he put his goggles back on.
The fear was gone.
-------------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn
| 2018-12-23T07:46:48 | 2018-12-23T06:04:41 | 52 | 23 |
[WP] Humans were largely friendly and kept a low-profile. They were seen as the bottom of the food chain in the galaxy and they preferred it like that. But when they were attacked, everyone found out how ruthless the humans can be with killing in their DNA and that Mars was never their home plant
|
The Reptilian limped forward towards the rock formations, clutching its side. The feeling of contempt it once had for humans was now replaced with overwhelming fear. If the Reptilian could just make it to the rocks and reorganize with its comrades, then maybe they stood a chance of rescue. Just before reaching the mouth of a shallow crater a kilometer away from the rock formations, the Reptilian felt a sharp jolt of pain through its shoulder, followed by the thunderous report of a human rifle, and fell face first into the shallow terrain depression. The creature rolled onto its back, trying to face its pursuer.
Captain Gray walked over to the wounded Reptilian, his rifle at the ready in case the creature made any sudden moves. Gray had no intentions of taking the Reptilian in as a prisoner; it was probably just a lowly foot soldier anyways. The ground force commander just wanted to make sure the last thing the Reptilian saw was an indifferent human face. Gray leveled his rifle at the Reptilian’s head and fired off a round, disconnecting the Reptilian from life. Looking towards the rock formation in the distance, Gray planned the next moves of the mission.
As ground force commander controlling and coordinating the various forces and assets, Gray was a god of the battlefield. Gray switched between the various channels of his communications equipment, talking to various platoons, fighters overhead, and other assets in the area. It was like conducting an orchestra while also chiming in every now and then with an instrument, just like when Gray’s platoon had spread itself a little too thin across the flat Martian surface in taking out Reptilian stragglers, allowing Gray the rare opportunity to fire his weapon in anger. Gray’s plan was coming together quite well; they had forced the Reptilians out of the small settlement and intentionally left an opening so the invaders could escape into the nearby rock formations. That way, Gray’s forces could pick off the fleeing Reptilians without putting civilians or infrastructure at risk. The surviving Reptilians would try to regroup in the rock formations, which Gray planned to bombard with whatever weapons the fighters had left.
Gray’s platoon spread out in an assault line and pulled security while Gray switched channels over to the fighters, clearing them to engage the rock formations. Next, Gray bounced between each individual platoon, asking for a situation report on ammunition, casualties, and equipment. Straining to hear reports come in over the communications net, Gray couldn’t hear the footsteps approaching him from behind.
“Damn boss, you’re really throwing everything at them.”
Gray turned his head towards the medic briefly and spoke into the microphone, telling the platoon leaders to have their troopers sit tight for the moment.
“Yeah, I want those rocks turned into a parking lot in the next minute or so. We’ll have to soak up the Reptilians with a mop when we’re done.”
It was hyperbole, at least for now. The ground forces admired the show the fighters were putting on. A variety of weapons were used to engage the rock formations. Some bombs detonated above the rocks, showering everything below with molten hot shrapnel, tearing the Reptilians into ribbons. Other bombs penetrated deep into the rocks before exploding, the miniature quakes breaking apart the rocks and smearing the invaders. One small group of Reptilians ran out of the rocks out in the open, attempting in vain to escape. One of the fighters spotted the squirters and vectored in to intercept them, despite having expended all ordinance. The pilot brought the fighter straight down towards the Reptilians and pulled up sharply at the last second, pointing his fighter engine nozzle nearly straight at the survivors and putting out max power, incinerating the unfortunate invaders.
Gray could feel the anticipation in his forces to close with the enemy and finish them, but he ordered everyone to advance cautiously. Any surviving Reptilians had the high ground in the rocks, and there was little cover between where Gray and his forces were, and the rocks. The platoons broke off into squads and fireteams, practicing bounding overwatch. One element would advance while another would stay in place, weapons ready to engage any targets. They would leapfrog their way to the rocks.
The humans encountered sporadic fire from the rocks as they got to within a few hundred meters of the rocks. The Reptilians were still clinging to life despite the pounding they just took. Gray switched over to the fighter overhead, intending to direct them to carry out a gun run across the rocks.
“Negative, Anteater actual, we are RTB. We’d like to stay and help mop up but we just got word that some Reptilian ships have been spotted approaching. Be safe out there”, the lead pilot replied, voice sounding smooth as ice, as usual.
“Got it. Much thanks. You all stay safe out there too. Anteater actual out.”
Gray weighed the options. They could radio back to command and request additional assets, but they would have to pull back and wait. The Reptilians in the meantime would get a break. On the other hand, Gray could just proceed with the assault since it seemed like they had things under control. Gray switched over to his platoons and asked for a situation update. The incoming fire from the Reptilians seemed to be dying down and the humans were gaining momentum. Gray gave the order to close in and annihilate the remaining enemy.
Hundreds of kilometers overhead, Admiral Green and the other officers aboard the carrier studied the screens intently. Various three dimensional maps of the surrounding space, data readouts, and other information were displayed. Imagery showed a dozen objects, four of them particularly large. The data they saw on size, heat, and other characteristics were consistent with Reptilian carriers. Green was thankful that her carrier and accompanying destroyers were equipped with stealth materials and technology, because it didn’t seem like the Reptilians noticed Green’s forces. They looked like they were making a beeline to low Mars orbit over the equator, in a bid to relieve their forces across the surface who were currently being decimated. Green’s ships were above the south polar region.
Green and her staff had an hour to make a decision on how to proceed. A flight of fighters that just finished a close air support mission was boosting into orbit and needed to be retrieved and re-armed. The other fighters would be launched to engage the Reptilian fleet, but the exact loadout was in question. It was a given that they would have to engage Reptilian fighters, but the fleet, especially carriers, needed to be engaged and destroyed as well. Too few anti-fighter weapons and the human fighters wouldn’t be able to defend themselves, but too many meant that they wouldn’t have enough anti-ship weapons to destroy the Reptilian carriers. The destroyers carried a healthy mix of anti-fighter and anti-ship missiles but they had to be launched relatively close and en masse, otherwise the Reptilian ships could just evade until the missiles ran out of fuel or shoot the missiles down with point defense weapons. Sending the destroyers out would leave the carrier vulnerable to any counter attacks, since the Reptilians would be able to determine where the human fighters came in from and launch an attack before they were destroyed. Green had to fight the urge to be greedy and prioritize which enemy ships were to be destroyed, at least at first. The carriers had to go first. The other ships probably wouldn’t make it very far afterwards, and they could pursue later.
r/TempehTimeWriting
|
It should have been so easy.
Humans were a diplomat species. They excelled in things like art, science, and medicine. They were peace keepers.
They had no tough outer shells or claws like many of the more dangerous species did. The only threatening about them was their propensity fo bear sharp front teeth from a time period when their ancestors were savage.
The Ze’al were a warrior species. They had outer shells, long vicious fangs, and a proud warrior culture. They began training as soon as they could walk. Every innovation was for war. Every part of their culture was devoted to such things, and many a planet had fallen unable to pierce their tough outer shells.
However the Ze’al were not prepared for humanity.
They announced their attack on Mars, foolishly, arrogantly believing that these scientists and diplomats would tremble and surrender at the first sight of war. They arrived on a deserted planet.
All of the civilians were hidden and the vanguard laughed at the token attempt to avoid a fight. Except they were oh so wrong. They were lured into a thin canyon and from thin air the humans appeared, dressed in camouflage. They let loose a barrage the likes the Ze’al had rarely seen, some of the most dangerous warriors of their entire race collapsed, their armor useless and their open circulatory system making their deaths all of the more certain.
The vanguard had turned to try and flee. They had been cut off by a group of humans. Who howling had launched themselves into the fight with a viciousness rivaling a storm wave. The humans were not prone to giving up. They fought through broken limbs, deep cuts, and shots. They lasted longer too. The vanguard had refused to surrender and they were slaughtered.
The next group had been faced with a group of human covered in the blood of their most dangerous and exemplary warriors, with more all training guns on them. Many fled back to the ships but few made it, shot down, chased by the long distance runners that out competed every other humanoid. They were taken prisoner and out on a ship to another world.
Earth was the home world of the humans. With their warrior schools, and their atrocities well hidden. The Ze’al realized that they never had a chance against these apes who had killing and war in their DNA.
They sang the song of lament for their fallen and for themselves.
| 2020-03-20T16:36:23 | 2020-03-20T16:31:01 | 143 | 94 |
[WP] The legendary hero that we summoned to save the realm was not what we expected. He was gruff, not handsome. He direct in his speech, not elegant. He also came with "Navy Seal Training," which we think is some sort of swordplay and a "Medal of Honor," which must be some sort of crown.
|
The wizard Galmus’ incantation was over and the blue hues faded from the walls of the stony tower. The form of a man appeared and stepped through the arcane mists. What kind of hero would he be? Many imagined a tall and dashing young man with chestnut wavy hair and sun kissed freckles. Nothing could have prepared the summoner’s court for what they saw.
The man was indeed tall, but he was built like a bull. Round scars peppered his body and a large gash was drawn over one eye. He was in his late 40s, with stripes of grey cutting across his crew cut. A silver chain adorned by two rectangle shaped pendants crested the man’s neck. He only wore thin cotton armor that was tinted deep green. Otherworldly runes were etched on attire: *U.S. NAVY.*
The summoning ritual was intended to imbue the hero with basic knowledge about the realm. The man stood tall and silent for a moment before drawing his hand to his temple in a stiff gesture.
“COMMANDER LEON RUTGER, SEAL TEAM 6 REPORTING FOR DUTY MA’AM.” He spoke in a loud and stern voice that gave the Elven Priestess Eltira a jump.
“This way, legendary hero.” The wizard gestured in a shaky voice. Leon nodded and followed the old man’s lead. They took no time in getting to the war room. Galmus explain the horrors of the Dark Lord Amadeus and the breadth of his armies. The hero stood mostly silent. He mostly nodded and would place a hand under his massive square jaw every now and then.
At the end of almost a two hour briefing, Cmdr. Rutger only had two questions: Where are they attacking next, and where is the armory.
Once given directions, the Cmdr. Immediately bee-lined to the armory. He barely gave the beautiful Eltira a nod on his way there. Inside the armory he had the wizards prepare several arrays of spell crystals. The Cmdr.'s choices were very specific. He made modifications to the elven weaponry that were oddwordly and strange. After he was satisfied with his customizations, the Cmdr. came to Galmus.
“Send me in.”
Galmus nodded and summoned a spectral horse to carry the hero to his first battle. The rest of the court watched from the keep walls filled with apprehension and hope.
\*\*\*
The sun was barely cresting over the horizon when the Orcish warchief Murg’s warband reached the small hamlet. Granfel was a tiny town with almost no elven guard. It was ripe for taking by Murg’s battle-hardened warriors. This would be an easy haul of goods and slaves. The Dark Lord will be pleased.
As they entered the town, something was off. There were no inhabitants. The town was eerily empty and only a dustdevil of solaran leaves came out to greet the hungry warband.
Murg turned to Grokk, one of his strongest raiders, and snarled. “Where are the Elves!”
It was then that a great bolt of heat struck Grokk square in the forehead. The raider gave Murg a last look of confusion before his head expanded like moist bread and bursted into a fiery inferno.
“WIZARD!” The Orcs cried out and raised their shields. A goblin scout desperately searched the rooftops for source of the fireball spells. For a moment the scout saw the vermillion glimmer of redwood staff before exploding into a plume of flames himself.
“Scratch two.”
The Cmdr. smirked as he pried the ruby stone from the end of his staff and set fresh one in place. He then peered down the mariner’s telescope strapped on to the top of the staff to sight his next target. The staff kicked back and the red stone went cold. An Ogre in the backline fell headless into a dust cloud.
“Scratch three.”
The sound of a horn reverberated from back of the warband and the Cmdr. saw the enemy raiders raise their bows into the air. He rolled to the side, falling into a pre-planned gap in the roof. The hail of arrows tinkled around him like rain against the housing’s outside walls.
He dropped the redwood staff and drew two wands. The first raider barged straight through the front door and ate a hail of magical ice shards. The attacker fell lifelessly into the crowd, giving the others second thoughts.
Those second thoughts became regrets when a bolt of chain lightning flashed from the dark opening of the house, electrocuting the two raiders out front and striking three more in the back. The Cmdr. then emerged with wands blazing from each hand. Six more frontline raiders fell in the chaos.
As the two wands went dim, the Cmdr. switched to a large staff strapped to his back. An orc charged him with a warblade but was quickly taken down by Krav Maga during the transition. The staff drawn was not one staff, but multiple magic missile staves bundled together in a large array by thick leather cords.
The Cmdr. roared as a rapid cacophony of magical darts surged from the staves, obliterating countless rows of the enemy horde. After the first few seconds, the remaining force began to flee –only to be shredded from the back. The staves then went dry.
Murg was the only one left standing. The raid leader growled at the 20 year Navy Seal Veteran before drawing a large black claymore. The Dark Lord would not allow him to fail here.
“What will you do now without your magic, wizard!”
The Cmdr. only pulled a pair of onyx shades and a thick pipe from his satchel. He lit the pipe with a firestone before beckoning the large orc.
Murg stepped forward and heard a click under his foot. A small metal panel came up out of the grass. Etched on it was a simple message: FACE FRONT TO ENEMY.
After a silent moment, a wave of light washed over Murg’s legs –sending them into the aether.
The Cmdr. slowly walked forward and a desperately flailing Murg spat curses at him.
“I may fall here, but the dark lord will have your head! You will burn in the seventh circle of bloody flame when he finds you!”
The Cmdr. squatted down in front of Murg and blew a cloud of smoke into his face.
“You know. I’ve been to that place already. Back home, we called it Nam.”
He then fished a wand from his satchel. The wand kicked and Murg gave one last jolt before falling silent.
As the Cmdr. was leaving the town, a jet black raven with glowing red eyes perched on the tree above him. It was a messenger from the Dark Lord.
The Cmdr. looked dead into the bird’s eyes. He then raised his arms.
“Come get some.”
|
“What is this?” The King shouted. “What kind of mockery do you intend to make of my Royal Guard?”
The strange man was obviously disheveled and terrified to find himself in this new world. “As a Navy Seal of the United States Government, I demand you to return me immediately!”
“United States!” The King shouted even louder, his face becoming red.
Gretchen, the town sorcerer, sighed. “He had a 23 charisma rating, and 43 strength...” She looked over her notes. “I guess 23 is really low... huh?” She chuckled slightly and tucked her tiny notebook back into the pocket of her torn dress. “He’s from the Earth realm. From what I know, he’s a highly trained Knight of a kingdom called... United States of America.”
“Give him a sword, and throw him in,” the King ordered. And that’s what was done. The Earth Man was escorted to a large arena, known throughout the town as the Knights Gauntlet. Any Knight to fight for the Royal Guard must want to die for his King. Knights who become candidates every year battle to the death for the position of a royal guard member, thus making sure it is filled with the strongest of soldiers.
The Earth Man was given a sword and some armor, and quickly sent out for his first fight. The city made sure to bring in their last ditch effort around battle time, since this visitor must also meet the same requirements of all of the kingdom’s Knights.
The battle did not go on long, however. It seemed the Earth Man did not know how to wield a sword, nor use his armor to it’s fullest ability. The fight was over in a matter of minutes, and the challenger came out victorious.
A week later, the town sorceress was fired from her post, and left the town, leaving it both without defenses, nor magic.
| 2020-11-10T17:57:02 | 2020-11-10T16:24:48 | 89 | 40 |
[WP] An S-Rank adventurer casually sifts through their quest log and notices they still have an uncompleted D-rank request. With a chuckle, they decide finding the farmer’s lost cat could be a relaxing change of pace— they were gravely mistaken.
|
The remaining cultists ran away when seeing me charge another lightning bolt.
I thought I'd have to fight more of them, considering my luck during this quest, but they quickly realized how much I out-leveled them after my first spell disintegrated over a dozen people.
All that remained was searching the abandoned temple for that stupid cat. I couldn't believe I had finally cornered it. My excitement couldn't be contained. I was probably more motivated to finish this mission than when I defeated the dark lord himself.
This quest had taken me close to a year to finish. It took me all the way across the continent. I fought ogres that held the cat hostage, only to have the feline run away. Then it got adopted by an evil pirate crew, who fought to the last breath in order to protect it, and then, when I finally got my hands on the kitten, a hurricane struck our boat and left me shipwrecked on a remote land where minions of the dark lord still survived. All of them wanted me dead since I killed their boss.
And, of course, the kitten was nowhere to be seen when I woke up.
This was all my fault, though. If I had done the quest as soon as I accepted it, the cat wouldn't have strayed this far from its home. I didn't even know why I kept going. The reward wasn't noteworthy to someone of my caliber, nor would anyone important really mind if the cat stayed lost forever.
Not even the farmer was too bothered by it.
Most people would've given up by now. Perhaps I didn't want anyone doubting my heroism, or I was too stubborn to give up on a low level quest, or maybe I just needed a distraction after entering early retirement. Either way, I couldn't wait to be done with this journey. Never again would I search for lost pets. I think I'd rather fight a dragon instead.
Finally, after navigating through the overgrown vines of the abandoned temple, I stumbled upon a huge oval-shaped room with a big fire pit in the middle. A dark hooded figure stood on a ledge over it, cackling with manic laughter as the flames rose higher than his lofty stature.
"You arrive, hero! I waited for this for a long time! The dark lord will be avenged, and everyone will remember my name!"
"I don't even know who you are..."
"Of course, where are my manners?" The figure pulled back their cowl, revealing himself to be an elf. "Surely you recognize me now, right?"
I narrowed my eyes, failing to identify him.
"You must be wondering how I'm still alive, you see-"
"No," I interrupted, "I really don't care. I don't even know who you are."
"It's Vulen!" shouted the elf. "Claw of the Dark Lord! Y-you literally ruined my life! How could you forget?"
I shrugged.
Vulen blinked a few times, stupefied. He acted like he had just been slapped in the face. "We literally fought to the death. You invaded my lord's keep and I almost killed you."
"That doesn't narrow it down in the slightest."
Vulen paused for a moment. "I... I think I get it, you're just pretending you don't remember to get in my head. Well it won't work, hero! I'm far too wise for that!"
I rolled my eyes. There wasn't time for this. I started charging up a lightning bolt only to see the cat purring next to the elf's leg.
"Surely," said Vulen, "you've realized by now that I'm the one behind all this. I've been guiding this cat all across New Gaia ever since I realized you were looking for it. And it all led to this moment! My sweet vindication!"
I sighed. Throwing a lightning bolt would also fry the cat.
Vulen grabbed the animal by the scruff of its neck and dangled it over the fire pit. "Since you value this creature so much, the pain caused by its sacrifice will bring back the Dark Lord in all his glory!"
I didn't know what to do. After all the effort I went through, I couldn't bring myself to kill the cat, even if it was the right choice. I'd rather fight the dark lord again.
Just as Vulen was about to let go, the cat bit his finger and crawled inside his robe. The elf couldn't fight back. The cat kept scratching him all over until Vulen stumbled and fell into the fire pit.
I wanted to die, assuming the cat fell along with him, but then saw the kitten purring innocently on the ledge. Perfect. I just needed to slowly approach it and hope it didn't run away again. As soon as I stepped onto the ledge, however, the cat widened its big blue eyes.
"Please," I begged, "don't."
The cat simply meowed.
"Seriously, I can't take more of this."
The cat tilted its head, confused.
I took a step closer.
The cat didn't flinch.
Good. I took another step, more confident than the last. Nothing would stop me this time. I quietly grabbed the cat and looked over my shoulder, hoping nobody would screw me over. Everything seemed clear.
And then the ground started quaking.
The cat looked at me for an answer. I hung my head, defeated. What now?
A gigantic purple demon jumped out of the fire pit.
It appeared Vulen had transformed into a monster by the ritual he created. The demon wasn't just trying to kill me. It also wanted revenge on the cat. What followed was probably the hardest battle of my life, not just because of the demon's strength, but because I had to keep the cat close to me so that it wouldn't escape.
The fight lasted close to twelve hours. I used all of my spells, all of my potions, and broke my enchanted sword, but I emerged victorious in the end. That didn't mean I succeeded, though. My wounds were too great to simply leave the temple. With each step I took, I felt my consciousness slipping away, until I fell on my face, too exhausted to stand up.
The cat meowed in front of me.
"No..." I mumbled. "Not again..."
The cat was pure evil. This cursed creature would force me to keep hunting it. I was sure of it. All throughout this journey, I had seen it cozy up to the strongest person it could find, taking advantage of their power before abandoning them when it wasn't convenient anymore. It would definitely do the same to me. As I closed my eyes, I found myself oddly at peace with that.
I wouldn't keep chasing it. If it wanted to be free that much, then let it. The only reason I hunted it was because I was too proud to admit that something was beyond my skills. This wasn't the case anymore. Following that path would just lead me to the same place Vulen ended at.
Once I woke up, I didn't even try to look for the cat. I limped my way out of the temple, ready to go back home empty handed, only to see the cute little fella waiting for me at the entrance. Nothing made me happier than this moment. Still, despite how good it felt to finally return it home, I swore to myself that, for the rest of my life, I would forever be a dog person.
----------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
|
They wondered why it always seemed to end like this. After the last long quests full of stress, danger stress and ridiculousness in general, they really wanted to take a break... But due to the sorely needed equipment repairs and other unexpected costs they had to do at least one other quest. Luckily for them, a D- quest should be enough to cover the rest of the expenses and should have been a relaxing change of pace for them.
Unfortunately that was not the case... not by a long shot. They didn't know who approved this quest but they'll would really like a word with that person. Not only did the 'cat' managed to get lost **in one of the most dangerous areas you know**, the cat was in fact far from what you would call a normal housecat. It had, for one, the size of an elephant, had fangs that were, frankly too large for it's mouth and not only that it did not appreciate being followed no matter the amount of snacks the adventurer brought along.
So, to state the obvious, they had better days. The most frustrating part of all of this was that they were still expected to capture the damn thing instead of killing it. Which they thought was fair enough, but it made their job so much harder... Days went by where the quest went nowhere, it was very smart and elusive. And with every failed capture, it for harder and harder to do other attempts for them. They cursed as they set up a trap for the final time, "I did not want to use this, but that thing doesn't give me much choice." The creature, ever so wary, spotted them but its luck ran out. After all, the adventurer had been preparing this trap for way longer than they'd liked. The creature ran headfirst into the illusion spell, which was hiding a tree. The unearthing of the tree cause the sleeping powder and net traps to set of and with that it was over.
After applying a shinking spell and putting the creature in their inventory they returned to the man that started this nonsense. After generally putting the creature next to the farmer they said with a bitter tone "I don't know in what world this is a D- quest but you are out of your mind!" The farmer laughed and said, "Well, it **was** a D- quest, it only got like this because you took your damm time starting this quest. This is the consequence of your procrastination."
| 2022-06-22T06:57:10 | 2022-06-22T05:35:46 | 72 | 41 |
[WP] Every step on the Staircase of Universal Truths reveals a hidden fact about the universe. The world record used to be two steps, due to the fact that people dropped dead at the third. You're on your fifth already.
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Deep in an undisclosed location-- a cave hidden within a mountain a peculiar discovery was made. A stairway made of white stone, smooth and carefully carved, in no way it was a natural occurrence.
The discovery was never made public as such strangeness would stir the already chaotic world. Such secrecy was kept by a secret research team assigned to investigate the stairway and in their endeavor, seeking to learn the truth behind the stairway's existence and purpose.
So far only two things were learned about the stairway. One: the stairway consisted of 10-steps. Two: for each step taken, it bestowed those who climbed it a knowledge seemingly coming from nowhere, echoing in their heads in a voice described as "belonging to God".
The first researcher who climbed it revealed what he heard as soon as both of his feet were at the first step:
*Joyless be those who disregard the truth, but not ye who has taken the first step.*
The researcher informed his team who immediately recorded the words. With much curiosity, he stepped onward to the second step. All the same as the first step, the same voice echoed in his head:
*Earth was but the beginning, the limitless universe beyond and the knowledge contained within await.*
The team interpreted the words as some sort of warning, not of danger, but they deduced that the following 8 steps would reveal the intimate knowledge about the universe not yet known by humanity, thus they dubbed it "The Stairway of Universal Truth".
With certainty the researcher climbed up onto the third step, but to the horror of the those who watched, the researcher suddenly lost control of his body and he went limp. He tumbled down the rocks, unquestionably dead.
Concern grew immediately, but they never backed down. If true what the had deduced, the reveal of universe's most hidden secret would mean everything to humanity. And so more and more volunteers were brought in to test the stairway, but similar to that first researcher, they all died on the third step...
"Okay, James. Go on ahead", the voice in the earpiece said to James as he stood before the looming white stairway.
"Um, are you sure this is safe?", James asked.
"Yes, James. Please proceed", the voice said again.
James was just another volunteer for the investigation. He was but a normal man, living a normal life if not down on his luck. Unemployed and all alone, he answered to an ad about a job which turned out to be a guinea pig for government's secret testing of a supernatural stairway.
"Okay, here we go", James muttered as he stepped up onto the first step.
The sensation was quite exhilarating, if not frightening. The deep booming voice echoed in his head sending shivers down James' back. His heart pounded so fast, he began breathing rapidly.
"What did you hear, James?", his earpiece spoke up again.
"Uhm uh...", James tried to remember the words he heard before. "Joyless be those who disregard the truth, but not ye who has taken the first step"
"Very good. Please continue..."
James cleared his throat and gathered his composure. He raised his right legs and took the second step, followed by his left.
"Earth was but the beginning, the limitless universe beyond and the knowledge contained within await", James retold the words he heard in his head.
"Well done. Go on", his earpiece said.
James began to feel doubt as the whole situation was weird, really really weird.
"H-hey, this is so weird, man. I...I don't want to continue", James yelled at the researchers watching behind him.
"James, you agreed to do this. Take the third step", the researchers urged.
"Hell no, man! I'm going down!", James protested.
"That would not be wise, James", the researchers said in his ears, the tone of his voice was more threatening this time.
James stared at a rifle being pointed at him from the distance as one of the soldiers stationed there as protection took his aim.
"Take the third step, James", the researchers ordered.
James turned back to face the stairs. Under the threat of death he finally relented. Shifting his bodyweight to his left leg, he raised his right and hovered it above the third step when suddenly a silly idea struck his head.
"Hey f\*ck all of you. You want me to take the third step? I'm not gonna", James thought to himself.
In an act of minor defiance, James skipped the third step and stepped on the fourth.
The researchers became alert as they saw James planted both of his feet on the fourth and to the surprise of everybody....he remained alive.
"James, what the hell?", the earpiece blared loudly.
James stood there seemingly contemplating something, seemingly coming to an understanding.
"James? Answer me!", the researcher demanded an answer, but seeing a different result other than death, he must continue. "James, what did you hear? James, answer me!"
"Heed not...", James inhaled deeply, his entire being seemingly was taken by an unknown force.
"Heed not the steps others had taken; for that, ascend further O Great Inheritor"
James looked down on his feet and without hesitation and without prompting he stepped up to the fifth step.
"Omega and Alpha, there's an end and there's a beginning. Crack the code of three and God you shall be", James recited the words. His voice seemingly changed as it sounded deeper coming out of the radio receiver.
"James, what are you doing? Stop climbing up!", unsure, the researchers demanded for James to stop.
The divine wisdom filled James' mind as he once more skipped the sixth step and stepped on the seventh.
"Virtue of the divine shall be yours, godhood shall be your nature, wisdom of Heaven is for your taking", James kept on reciting as his voice became distorted.
"Stop him!", the researchers shouted at the soldiers as they took aim. "Shoot him! Shoot him now!"
James stepped up to the eighth step and a burst of light with immense power sent a shockwave through the cave, knocking everybody to the floor and disabling the electronics and machineries around. The light remained, glowing brightly by James' stand, distorting the air around him.
"All shall rejoice. The world was godless but now He will return. Spread the news and hear my voice!", James said, becoming one with the cosmic presence.
The people watching all trembled in fear as James skipped the ninth step and reached the top, the tenth step.
Time itself felt like it stopped and space inside the cave seemingly frozen. Sound disappeared and the air felt heavy. In the midst of it all, James moved with ease as he turned to face the people, with a smile he looked down at them from the top of the stairway to heaven.
"Hail to the new king, for peace I shall bring"
Another shockwave of light burst and it knocked time back to the room. The people witnessed James had turned into a being of pure light. They all not dare to look directly as it was so blinding.
The being of light raised its arm and it glowed like a beacon, enveloping the whole cave in white light before disappearing completely, leaving the researchers baffled.
In the darkness of the cave they all sat on the damp floor for what felt like a long time, bewildered when finally someone managed to get the lights working back.
To their shock, the white stairway vanished completely for it had served its purpose.
r/HangryWritey
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One step: Something's got to give. I'd known this from the very beginning of my latest attempt at climbing the Flight of Truths. Oh, sorry, depressing opening, huh? Well, I mean, I'd lost everything. My house, my hobbies, my livelihood, all in the Great Upheaval (which occurred on 2R32W6D (Second Reckoning, thirty-second week, sixth day)), my beloved abandoned me afterwards, and now, now I seek the only legal way to break the Obligation: Attain a greater height than the last person to attempt the Flight.
I say latest because the first time it happened, I made it to the second step, which, coincidentally, is where I am now, and learned: Something's got to change. But then the weather turned and the Proctor called off the attempt when it started raining glass. The second time, I was assaulted by a horde of ravening witchwings.
This is the third time, and--
> Three: Something's got to break.
Oh!! A new record!! Whoo!! The Proctor cleared his throat. "Penitent Reiva, proceed to the fourth step." I blush and nod, my tongue having been torn out by the witchwings. Yeah, that's kinda why my narration here is kinda rambly, can't really talk. And there's my next step and...
> Four: Something's got to die.
Hey hey hey!! That's badass. I look over the fifth step, it's just plain white marble, just like the last four, and as I step, clouds form overhead, only for them to part as a golden light shines on me.
> Five: Something's about to be done.
I can't help but feel a weird burning sensation, as if the light is too much, and then I throw my mouth open, and I see my tongue has returned! "Whoo hoo!!" I shout, and the Proctor is looking at me furiously.
"You've ascended the Flight to a level unmatched by anyone." He drew a gun and aimed it at me. "Forgive us, for your Obligation is complete."
| 2021-11-16T22:35:42 | 2021-11-16T22:29:56 | 1,055 | 25 |
[WP] People only age when they move. Some folks live for centuries, only leaving home to buy groceries. Others age quickly, traveling from town to town. Today, you meet someone who claims to have traveled the world. The odd thing is, they only look 10 years old.
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I’d never understood the travellers. Turning up in quiet, sedate towns, decrepit and breathless. Looking for experiences I suppose, but everywhere was just like here. Looking to avoid movement as much as possible. Empty. Slow. Boring.
People with kids were a bit weird as well, but at least there was a logic in the continuation of life. Especially with all the grant money now, as they tried to rebuild the shattered birth rate. Still, it was still rare to see children. With a toddler there was no way movement could be realistically avoided, and not many people were willing to literally trade decades of their life, no matter what the tax credit scheme was worth to you.
So a kid, that claimed to be a traveller was enough to make me listen. I stood as still as possible. The monthly grocery run was bad enough as it was without having to expend extra minutes and hours gesticulating around.
“Where are your parents?”, I asked. I really wanted to meet people crazy enough to have a kid, and then also go travelling where they couldn’t even keep him penned in at home for a few hours a day. They must be ageing quickly enough that you could see the cells dying in huge chunks.
“Parents?”, the child asked. “Why do you ask about them?”
“Well, because someone must be looking after you?”
“Someone is looking after us all, my friend. Where are your parents?”
“Where are my…. ? What?”
“You asked. And then I asked. Is that not how a conversation is supposed to go?”
“Yes, but you didn’t answer. And I’m an adult!”
“Interesting of you to judge a person’s experience by their appearance, given the variation in the speed people go through their life span in this dimension.”
I gaped. It required little movement which was pleasing, but it was also coincidentally my instinctive reaction.
“I feel like we should start over. I am very grateful to you for stopping to talk to me. Few seem willing to spend time talking to me on my travels. Perhaps that’s why you are finding the birth rate such a challenge, hmm?”
“OK”, I said vaguely.
“OK, what?”
“Let's start over?”
“Excellent suggestion!”, said the child, and held out its hand. “My name is Ionis.”
I looked at the hand being proffered. “Hello Ionis. I’m Jason.”
“Ah, shaking is movement. Of course. Foolish of me. I’ve not been here long, it's taking some adjusting. Jason is an interesting name. Sounds very old fashioned.”
“Well, it wasn’t when I was born!”, I complained. “I’m just very good at not wasting movement. My parents died 322 years ago, to your earlier question.”
“Fine, fine. I meant no offence”, Ionis replied. “I do hope by the end of our conversation you will feel that is was not a waste of movement either. I would be happy to repay you for your time, by going and obtaining your supplies for you. Movement is not such a heavy tariff for me.”
I allowed myself a nod. That was generous in the extreme. A monthly supply trip could make a significant dent in your life energy.
“Good. Now, I would like to know how you have spent your 300+ years on this planet. You are the oldest being I have yet met.”
“*This* planet. *This* dimension. Can I ask you a question before I answer?”
Ionis nodded. “Yes of course. Although that is interesting in itself. Most are almost chomping at the bit to tell me what they have done with their lives.”
“Well, they chose to sacrifice years of their life moving to do it, so I imagine they would. Where are you from? Is this a joke?”
“That was two questions?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Ionis smiled. “That’s fine. I should give you some context to the question. I am not from around here, as I imagine you inferred. And I’m not a child. I hope my parents are safe and well, back in my dimension. Time works, let's say, differently where I came from. The child you see before me was the vehicle that was chosen for this visit, to allow us to explore for a time before the avatar ages out and passes away. We are not used to that speed of decay.”
For some reason, all thoughts of it being a joke dropped away. If this was a kid, he was an incredible actor. “What are you?”, I asked.
“I’m a human, just like you. As far as we can tell that is. I’m a researcher for the Pan Dimensional Council. We explore dimensional spaces, across the multiverse, to see how the physics of different universes shape the experience for those in it. Most are similar. This one is a pretty major anomaly I can tell you. It’s got people pretty excited.”
“You don’t age?”, I asked, taking him at face value.
“No, we age. Just that moving doesn’t accelerate it.”
I felt sick. “You don’t get trapped! You don’t wither and die when you move”. My face was hot. I felt cheated. The world had always seemed so small and stupid and boring. I felt dumber than the travellers and the breeders, waiting. It made no sense. And now I understood why.
“Well no. But we also don’t stop ageing when we are still. We age regardless actually.”
My head spun and I started to sag. The child-sized dimension jumper stepped forward and steadied me. “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have given you a warning. I have had this reaction before actually.”
“There is no stopping it? Whatever you do, time speeds by?”
“Yes, although not at your speeds. I guess in some ways I’d been seen as old on your world. I’m only 37 years old. But then I have basically never stopped moving from birth if you ask my parents! Oh, and they have been moving around for 62 and 63 years. From what we understand, you would maybe have a year or two moving like I do before the age claimed you.”
“It sounds….”, I paused and thought for a long moment and in that time my opinion shifted several times before it settled and stuck. “Wonderful”, I finished.
“Fabulous. No-one else has seen it that way so far. Now if you are steady now, I would like to ask you something else?”
I luxuriated in a second nod. “OK. I’m not going to faint again.”
“Would you like to come back to my dimension, Jason? I’d like to bring you back to the office. Perhaps you can help us understand a bit, without feeling like you are pouring the sand out of your timer as we spoke.”
I nodded for a third time.
​
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Part 2 in the comments
r/TallerestTales
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The day was nice. I had left my home only for the necessities. Bread, eggs, and gallons of water filled my cart. I bought in bulk, always in bulk. It was how I was taught as a child. My clothes were bought all at once and the only things we ever left home for were groceries, funerals, and weddings.
On this particular day, I had chosen to go to the new grocery store that had opened near me. The shortest drive possible, with a time spanning only five minutes. The cashier was behind the counter and began ringing up the items. Going at a slow pace, almost as if her skin was so dry, that a sudden movement could cause it to crack and bleed. She was beautiful, quite gorgeous. Porcelain skin, gorgeous dark eyes and ginger hair. I couldn’t bring myself to make conversation with her, she seemed too dedicated to her work it would be seen as almost rude to take her focus away from the job at hand.
Standing behind me was a boy, who looked to be no more than ten. He had dirty blond hair and the rosiest cheeks you ever did see. Bright, youthful blue eyes matched the same youthful smile. “Excuse me sir, could I bother you to reach that pack of chewing gum for me? Thank you.” Nodding, I kindly obliged to. In the process, it seemed to age me a few years. I was now about twenty three, two years past the legal age of drinking. “You aged. I never age though I travel the world!! Like Amelia Earhart.” The boy said with a giggle. I smiled and had a confused look on my face. “You have quite a bright imagination my boy.”
A few more moments passed as he proceeded to explain that it wasn’t his imagination running wild. That in fact, he had started roaming at the age of five, deciding where to go and when. He seemed to have the wisdom of somebody my age or older, so I didn’t question him. When it was his turn to ring up, he waved and I gave a small smile back. “If only I had learned the method to your madness at your age.” I said, leaving the store to go home. It astounded me how the children of today used their brains. Learning ways around the curse of aging, tricking it almost.
| 2020-08-01T13:54:44 | 2020-08-01T13:43:53 | 949 | 14 |
[WP] One of the gods of your world has abdicated, and each of the others has nominated a mortal candidate for the position. You've been sponsored by the weakest of the gods, and while the others are being granted all sorts of powers for the tournament, all you've been given is an odd looking musket.
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"It's... a musket."
I couldn't believe what I had in my hands. Well, I couldn't believe where I was, why I was there, who I was with, and what I had in my hands but the first three were of little importance since this tournament was going to happen with me in it regardless if I thought I should participate or not. I inspected the weapon more closely. The muzzle was jagged and flared out, tubes were sprouting in and out of the barrel and some sort of compass has been soldered to the breech. It was ugly, unbalanced and heavier than a dead donkey.
"I know it doesn't look like much but trust me, I've been working on this baby for two millennia and I'm pretty sure it's working." Replies Omnia. She was nodding vehemently but her head kept bobbing left and right at the same time, making her look like one of those little figurines people of questionable taste put in their car.
I let out the musket with one hand to massage my forehead. I sighed. My life has been a series of failures up until now and now I've been thrown in this mess for no reason nor time to prepare. I'm sure I'll fail, I always fail, and I'll die. Or worse, make a fool of myself.
"Why did you even chose me again!?" I ask, a bit more aggressively than I wanted.
Omnia yawns. "I told you, you're my most zealous follower! I couldn't have chosen a better avatar than you."
"But I never prayed you! I didn't even know you existed up until 30 minutes ago!"
The goddess shrugs and her whole body waggles. She looks like she could lose balance at any time. "Well I guess you just didn't realize what you were doing. Won't change from the usual, am I right."
I glares at her, split between anger and desperation. She coughs and pushes her long silky white hair away from her face. "Sorry for that." An awkward silence passes by to say hi, uninvited. "Listen, I know it's a lot to process, but have faith. Just aim at your opponent and trust your guts. You've been born to hold this weapon."
I was in the middle of interjecting once again when a voice blasted out in the corridor. "Avatar Mikaza-Ol-Erun and Avatar Joe!" My shoulders slumped down and I bit my cheek to not break into tears. Omnia put her hand on my arm and gave me a tired smile. "You can do it. I'm sure of it." She said before letting out yet another loud yawn.
It's at this precise moment I became convinced gods could make mistakes.
§
The arena was nothing but a large empty room paved with white marble tiles. As large as a soccer field, it had no place to run nor hide. 50 meters away from me I could see her: Mikaza-Ol-Erun, my opponent, a beast of a woman, already ready to charge at me. A glowing blue mist was oozing from her back, already taking frightening forms of horror long forgotten. Suddenly a swirl of red light materialized in the center of the arena and took the shape of a cloaked figure.
“Avatars, as per the ancient rules of the universe, you’ve been chosen by your respective gods because of your outstanding qualities. You’ll fight each other in the Hall of Judgment until one of you lose the will to fight or death come claim their soul. You are free to use any tactic you may wish as well as the boon bestowed upon you by your sponsor. Through your actions Hall of Judgement will gauge your worthiness to becom…“
The apparition was still talking but I couldn’t focus anymore. Behind them, Mikaza was licking her lips. She raised an eyebrow, smirking. In her open hand was a mist construct of my face distorted by terror and pain. I tightened my grip on my gun until my knuckles turned white.
“… since neither of you want to step down, may the fight begin!”
“Wait, wha-!” But the cloaked silhouette already disappeared in a cloud of red flames. Mikaza was running at me screaming, leading a ghostly army of misshapen monsters! I took a step back but my shaking legs refused to hold me up. I fell on my back in a pitiful groan.
*I’m pathetic. I shouldn’t be there. It’s not fair!*
I tried to calm down my hands in vain. The musket was trembling and smoking in my loose grasp.
*Great, and I broke this bloody thing when I fall!*
Still, what other choice did I have? I aimed the best I could at the grinning juggernaut charging me and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
*I’m going to die like an idiot, sitting on my sorry butt*
I pulled the trigger again, and again. Still nothing. Already her blue mist was crawling around me. She was only ten meters away. I closed my eyes and tensed my muscles.
*Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck this. FUCK THIS LIFE!*
Suddenly the dial on the breech lightened up and a roar surged through the cannon “HAHA YOU ACTUALLY DID IT! YOU’RE SO DUMB MIKI.”
A childish voice resonated against the Hall’s walls. Mizaka wasn’t smiling nor running anymore. A jet of colors gushed out of the gun’s muzzle and splatters against the marble walls, depicting a crying girl, mouth and hands smeared red, holding a ragged doll.
“I’M SORRY MIKI, YOU’RE GREAT AND ALL BUT IT’S JUST NOT WORKING OUT FOR ME.” Continued the disembodied voice, taking a more virile tone. The murals were now depicting a young woman, too big and too clumsy for the white summer dress she was wearing.
“SUUUURE YOU CAN COME. I’M SURPRISED YOU DIDN’T GET THE INVITATION LIKE EVERYONE ELSE…”
Mizaka was standing still now, observing the scenes displayed on the wall. Her eldritch army was dissipating behind her. The voice continued to morph, becoming in turn male or female, young or old, while more images of her life were broadcast for everyone to see. Finally, she fell on her knees, holding her chest.
“I give up. Just make it stop.”
The dial on the musket turned off and silence returned. Neither of us dared to move. I looked down at the gun I was holding, terrified by what it has done. Suddenly the hooded figure made of light reappeared in the middle of the room and shouted cheerfully:
“And the winner of this round is Joe! Avatar of Ines Omnia goddess of-” A second passes “-of ‘those desperate moments at 3AM where you just want to sleep but keep thinking about all the cringiest moments and failures of your life’!”
|
The chosen candidate stared at the musket in his hands, then stared at the God sitting before him. The so called God was some schmuck in a sappy looking leather jerkin, a beaten up sword tied to his belt, and eating an drinking something from an ornate waterskin.
"Great! Chosen by the least powerful God, given a shitty musket and thrown into a murder death kill contest."
"Battle Royale. That's what we decided to call it." interjects the God, taking a drink from his wineskin, wiping some drops from his lips with his sleeve. "And I resent being called least powerful. I..." he trails off preemptively
"Yeh? Well why cant you give me something better than a shitty musket?" the man angrily swings it like a club, the God leaning back just enough for it to brush his eyelashes. "Well if you want to..." the God trails off again expectantly.
"Forget it, I don't want to know!" the man growls in frustration at his missed swing. The God only noding with a smirk. "I don't care about you, and your stupid battle Royale. I'm going to go club them all with a musket, and when I become a God, I'll club all of you with it as well!" he mumbles loubly, storming off swinging his improvised musket club.
"They never do want to hear the explanation. Just because I never do anything doesn't mean I'm weak. It's not my fault all worthy of my attention are already willing to club everyone with a musket? Call me weak you bastards! But remember, my guys *always* win!" laughs the God of heroes saluting the departing man with his wineskin before taking another sip.
| 2018-10-17T00:03:46 | 2018-10-16T20:17:16 | 31 | 23 |
[WP] You obtained the ability to experience life as it is for others. After trying out a few people you realize that the general "living feeling" differs enormously to each person. You decide to try it on your super cheerful friend... you have never felt such emptiness before.
|
One might think that developing a super\-power would be the event most likely to completely change a person's outlook on the world. But for Ben, that wasn't the case at all.
When Ben first started developing his powers, he didn't really know they were powers at all. He had always been pretty good empathizing with people, that is why he had decided to become a criminal defense attorney. Compassion, Ben reasoned, was certainly lacking in the impassive air of a courtroom. But, after twenty years, even the best intentions begin to sour. It was then that his powers began to manifest.
Ben's power was finicky. You see, after speaking with someone at length about them \- their life, their fears, or wants or needs, the next night, when he slept, Ben would dream about the person, about whatever they had talked about. In his dreams, though, Ben relived the moments from his subject's eyes. Ben *knew* what was going through the subject's mind. He felt the feelings, lived in all the choices and events and circumstances that lead to a particular point, or decision. It rekindled his passion for his work, obviously. It also wasn't really enough of a super\-power to turn heads.
Thus, Ben lived. He worked tirelessly to defend those that had need for defense, and he was good at it. He only took cases that warranted it, and he saved a great many people from fate's that ought to be spared.
But,everyone has to retire sometime. And as Ben was living out his twilight years, lazily filling in crosswords in the carefree world of post\-retirement South Florida, Ben met Diana. Diana was, without a doubt, the most generous, cheerful, and bubbly 92 year old to have ever existed. \(Ben, of course, didn't know this fact, for he hadn't met all the 92 year olds to ever exist, but fact it remained\).
To Ben, however, she was a mystery at best and a portend of Doom on his more cantankerous days. You see, no matter how many times Ben and Diana spoke, that night, Ben would have the most deep, empty, blank sleep. Not even a wisp of a dream.
He was no dummy, and had worked through all the possible reasons in his head. Most were pretty bad, some were terrible, but not a single hypothetical was good. Ben was also old. He had stopped caring what others thought of him long ago. \(Super powers give people a bit of eccentrcity, turns out\). He was acutely aware that Diana might die any day. Or maybe he would. And he couldn't die without knowing exactly what was going on.
One Saturday \(or was it Wednesday? He couldn't remember\) he decided he would do it. He would ask.
So, he hobbled his way over to where Diana sat gazing happily, but somewhat blankly, at the television mounted on the wall of the common room.
"Good afternoon, Di." he called, a bit louder than was necessary in almost all settings but that of a retirement home. "How goes the battle?"
"Oh, Benjamin!" \(his name was Ben, but he couldn't help but beam from ear to ear when she called him that\) "It is so good to see you, as always! There is no battle here, hun. Just whiling away my time. Did you hear, they are serving Key Lime Pie tonight, my favorite!"
"Diana, every kind of pie is your favorite," he said, truthfully.
"Why, I suppose you are right."
"Anyways, Di, I'm just going to be frank with you."
"You are sending Frank, WHO with me? Where are we going?" She looked confused.
"No, no, I mean I'm going to be honest, and maybe a bit blunt. This might sound crazy, but it's true, you just have to believe me. I have a super power. Now now, don't get excited, nothing like flying or anything, I just can sort of get a feeling of how people view life by talking to them."
"How marvelous!" She either didn't understand what he said, or truly thought it was marvelous. It was always hard to tell with her, since she was so pleasant all the time.
"Well, yes, sometimes. The thing is, Diana, when I talk with you, I don't get anything. Just this, blankness. I don't get it. And maybe I am prying more than I should be. No, I'm sure I am prying more than I should be, but I just have to know why?"
"Why what, sweetie?"
"Well, you see, you are so happy. You are friends with everyone. You have a warm loving family that visits you all the time. I would expect to feel giddiness abound from you, but I don't. I'm sure I won't want to know your answer, but, considering we are all dying here, I can't wait forever to figure it out on my own," Ben was running out of breath towards the end of his sentence. That's one of those things about life you never thought would happen until it does, talking just exhausting you.
Her soft smile and the gentle empathy in her eyes remain unchanged, as always. Ben was surprised, but he didn't know why. Expectations, he guessed.
"It's really not so hard. I learned a long time ago that happiness is a lie. At least true happiness."
That was definitely *not* the answer he was expecting. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Well, all of us are taught that true happiness is this feeling that completely fills you to the brim. But that isn't right at all. What would we do with all that pent up energy? Probably explode, or something. I couldn't take it! No, in all the stories and poems and songs, what is being described is really just being selfish. It's an altruistic form of selfishness, but ultimately it is about oneself. If you give because you like the feeling of giving, your give selfishly. If you give to make the world a better place, you do so with selfish designs to remake the world in the image you believe it should be. No, but if you give to give, and that is it, you are releasing your energy into the world. It's a bit weird, but, I can promise you, once you get used to the feeling, it's quite wonderful."
|
I blinked back to myself and glanced at the TV, where Monty Python and the Holy Grail was playing. I spaced out *really* hard whenever I blinked to someone, so I needed to either do it really fast and ride out the dizziness that came with it, or make sure there was some sort of distraction. Hence the movie.
It also meant I was already sitting down, and masked my reactions. Which was good, as I normally had to deal with all the emotions someone was experiencing. I hadn't known Jordan long. He was...well, empty.
---
"Hey, mind staying for a bit? I wanted to ask you something," I said.
Ren and Sora gave me curious glances, but said their goodbyes and left. Jordan waited patiently with his omnipresent smile. One I now knew was only on the surface.
I let my mask drop. "You don't have to pretend with me, Jordan."
It took a second before it sunk in. Then he gave me a small nod. "You're good at that. I couldn't tell you were pretending."
"Can you...blink?" I asked.
"What?"
It seemed I was unique in that regard. Still, it would be useful to have someone around who thought like I did.
It was time to make plans.
| 2018-05-23T14:13:27 | 2018-05-23T13:56:34 | 48 | 19 |
[WP] A demon just devoured your soul. You are both very confused as to why you are still alive.
|
"Excuse me, what the fuck?" the demon shouted while gesturing angrily at me.
I looked down at myself, but didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. I saw my old t-shirt, my favorite hoodie, my ratty jeans and scuffed up sneakers. I looked back up at the inhuman creature standing in the painted circle in front of me and shrugged.
"What?" I asked.
"This is your soul, right?" it asked, gesturing to a pale blue ball of light that was lazily orbiting the horned creature in front of me.
"I mean, I've never seen my soul before. How would I know?" I asked.
The creature scoffed and examined the soul itself. It grabbed the little ball in its clawed hand and turned it this way and that. It gave the glowing ball a long look before leaning in and giving it an obnoxiously invasive sniff.
"If that is my soul, I'm not sure I feel comfortable with you getting that far into its business," I said.
"It's really a lovely soul," the demon said, ignoring me. "Young and vibrant, happy and outgoing." He gave the glowing ball another affectionate sniff. "Loving and warm."
"Well, that doesn't sound like me," I said flatly, wrinkling my nose. Loving and warm were two words I had never heard applied to me and I doubted I ever would.
"If this isn't your soul, then whose is it?" the demon sneered. Like, really sneered at me, raised lip, wrinkled nose, squinted eyes, tilted back chin, the whole deal. I had never seen that before.
"I have no idea. You're the expert here, not me."
The demon continued to squint at me like it thought I was running a scam. A soul scam, ha. It looked back at the soul, then looked at me and shrugged.
"It's late and I really can't be fucked to care. It's a nice soul and it was attached to you, at the least. If you agree to give me this soul, I will grant you one wish. Do you agree?" the demon said, with a dismissive wave of its hand.
"Yeah, for sure," I agreed, refocusing. The soul thing was weird and all, but I didn't go to the trouble of summoning a demon to banter.
The demon did something weird with its free hand and suddenly there was an old piece of parchment paper there. I stepped a little closer and took the paper and the small fountain pen it handed me. The script on the paper was elegant and loopy, pretty to look at but hard for me to read considering I was much more used to print. I struggled to read the first few sentences and then decided to just skim the rest. Did it really matter if there was some hidden clause? It was a relatively small piece of paper and I really didn't care about the conditions so long as I got what I wanted.
I quickly scribbled my initials at the bottom of the paper and handed it back. The demon took it carefully, rolled it up into a small tube, tucked the pen inside and with a small wave of its hand the paper disappeared. The demon's eyes flashed a luminous red, its chapped lips pulled back into a ghoulish grin to reveal rows of stained pointed teeth.
"With that, my dear, our deal is struck." It gestured to the floating glowing blue ball. "You have upheld your end of the deal and now it is my turn. Tell me, what is your most fervent wish?" it hissed, rubbing its clawed and gnarled hands together like a cliche movie villain, "I can provide you with unimaginable wealth, or eternal life, or even assure you that you will live the rest of your life with your soulmate. So, what will it be?"
"I want you to bring my dog back to life," I said firmly, pulling Lola's collar out of my hoodie pocket and holding it out to the demon.
The demon stood there and stared at me, frozen.
"Your dog?" it asked.
"Yes," I said, still holding out the collar.
"You're sure?" it asked.
"Yes, but!" I held up a finger on my other hand. "None of that Pet Semetary bullshit. I want the real Lola with no injuries, no zombie syndrome, none of that."
The demon sighed heavily, and looked incredibly exasperated. "You have a chance to wish for literally anything and that's what you want."
"Listen, I don't want to have a fucking debate. We already have a deal. Are you going to grant my wish or not?"
"Fine. I guess you have another soul hanging out in there somewhere. When you inevitably change your mind, you can just trade that one away," the demon muttered, snatching the collar from my fingers.
It held the collar delicately in both its palms and its eyes glowed again, the color a livid red, before the collar started to levitate.
"In the name of the Lord Satanael, I command the dog," here the demon paused and held up the tags up on the collar to squint at the name written there, "Lola to return to the land of the living. Let our Lord's rule over all life and death take precedence over all who came before and all who will come after. Amen!"
"Amen," I whispered, watching with bated breath as the collar rose higher into the air and the glowing blue ball of light shot into it. An ethereal outline of Lola started to slowly draw itself out from the collar. First outlined in a ghostly blue color and then steadily filling in with her soft auburn fur, her tongue hanging out of her panting mouth. "Lola!" I yelled, feeling my eyes well with tears as her head immediately jerked in my direction, her ears perking up, her tail wagging happily.
I fell to my knees and held out my arms as Lola bounded out of the air, across the magically charged circle and into my arms. I dug my fingers into her soft tawny fur and let her lap the tears off my cheeks. "Oh my god, Lola!" I sobbed.
"Hell no. Hell no!" the demon screamed, its face distorting in rage. "You're shitting me! The soul belonged to your dog?"
"Lola, you never left," I choked out around my tears, tucking my face into her shoulders while she panted happily into my hair.
"This is bullshit! No fucking way!" the demon shouted as the circle began to glow and shine with white light. "I'm not going to forget this, asshole! I'm going to get that fucking soul!" it shouted as the light grew brighter eventually enveloping the demon entirely until it disappeared in a puff of smoke.
For a long moment there was just silence, broken only by Lola's happy pants.
"Hey, girl? You want a treat?" I asked her. She jumped back, giving a happy bark, tail wagging happily.
"Let's go get a treat!" I said, climbing to my feet. I opened the door out into the yard and glanced back into the garage at the painted circle and the half melted candles, all extinguished by the end of the ceremony now. I thought, whatever. I would clean up the mess tomorrow.
|
A cold sweat wrung its way through my being. Was this death, as they called it? No, it couldn't have been. But it felt as if that was the case.
The cloaked figure in front of me had the most piercing red eyes I'd ever spied upon.
"Why is it that you still stand?"
"I don't know. I don't know why or how I got to be here. I just want to go home!"
The figure circled me in a quick pace, breathing rapidly and scanning every piece of me.
"It's rather inconceivable that you would continue to exist without a soul. Humans without a soul don't often get this chance. Won't you entertain me, then?"
I was without a soul. That was the conclusion I was brought into. And yet, I could still touch, hear, smell, taste and see. Was there more to life beyond this tangible existence? How rather anti-climactic, I had thought.
"Silence, eh? Is that all there is to be? Pondering at mere strands of life to make sense of what is now? How pathetic. I'll end it all right now."
The cloaked figure raised its cloaked arm, attempting to enthrall upon me a condition of malicious sorts. As if on instinct, a hunger came over me. My cheeks were swollen red as I began to clamor for sustenance.
"H-hu... h-hu...", I was forced to utter.
In a moment of stasis, the cloaked figure just stood.
"Speak! Release your words!"
I felt a smile coming on. I could feel my entire being light up as if I had become a star on the verge of collapse. What was this feeling, it felt untrue.
"HUNGRY!", I screamed excitedly.
In a fit of madness, I lunged at the cloaked figure. Falling to the ground, I stare at the face I see in front of me. It was my own face, right down to the hair, the eyes, the ears and the lips.
I wasn't alive after all, I guess. I mean there are two of me and one of them was a powerful demon but that didn't really matter in the moment. Licking my lips, I bit into the frail piece of skin in front of me. The screams fell to no one's ears as I continued to savage what I could only construe as my own frame.
Who knew souls would taste so damn good?
| 2021-10-06T14:18:44 | 2021-10-06T14:13:41 | 42 | 10 |
[WP] In each life, you and your soulmate are reincarnated into different forms. The only problem: only one of you knows the other is your soulmate, alternating between you two each life. This time, it's your turn to hold the knowledge.
|
Cruel are the gods that allow this existence. The words have become my mantra. Across the centuries we have searched for eachother to the exclusion of all else. Limited by a mortal life span. Tortured by an immortal soul. One awake, one asleep. The memories of our past lives only serving to further ingrain the need for eachother. It was my soul's turn to be awake.
Im surrounded by darkness. I can only hear the voices of the people around me. Smell their many scents and wonder when I'll get to feel you next to me again.
The wait seems endless. My mind plays back your many gentle faces. Your many kind words. Our seemingly endless array of lives spent together. My heart warms at the thought of you. Few people will ever understand what love truly is. They will say the words, they will think they understand, that they know. I have loved the same soul for as long as man has had a word for such a feeling. Love is a torturous and dangerous thing that leaves you hollow and desolate when it abandons you. Yet we all ache to feel its warm embrace. To feel it fill us with purpose and bask in the happiness.
I hear voices approaching. All of a sudden im blinded by bright light. The darkness is gone. The light and new smells, all an assault on my senses.
I feel strong hands lift me and place me on the floor. My eyes finally adapt to the new environment and I look up to see...her. There she is. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Man was correct in assuming that eyes are the windows to the soul. I see the many lives and moments filled with kindness and affection that make up our long history together.
"Mommy! A puppy!" She squeals. My heart skips a beat, her voice, just as I remember it. "Wait, a puppy?" Sudden understanding hits and I realize how cruel the gods are. I was so lost in my memories and in seeing her again. Over the many centuries we have seen eachother in many different lights, but the love was always the same, constant and insurmountable. I remember fondly the time we found eachother as sea turtles. This time, I would not be able to share stories of our past lives together. I would have to love her as I am. I made up my mind that then and there, I would do as I had always done. I would love her unconditionally, protect her with my life.
So it was, throughout the years, I stood by her. A silent guardian and confidant. I let her paint my claws, put bows around my neck, dress me in ridiculous outfits. I was there when the first wretch broke her precious heart. I was there when another stole it. I watched heart aching each moment, as she smiled at another, married another, had children with another. I knew that as much as I loved her in this life, she would love me as much in the next.
Im laying on the carpet by her feet. Her little girl is playing with her dolls by the Christmas tree. Her husband isnt home yet. Its these moments I treasure, when its just comfortably silent. She leans down to scratch behind my ears as she gets up. Theres been a knock at the door. "You're old buddy. You dont even bark at people anymore. So much for having a vicious guard dog." She giggles as she walks to the door.
It's true, im old for a dog. My determination to stay with her attributes to this long life. That and the incredible amount of spite I have for the powers that be. Still I raise my head as she walks away.
Somethings wrong. Something feels wrong. I can smell it. Fear. Sharp and acrid in my nostrils. She shouldn't smell like fear. Nothing in this house should some like fear. I will my tired old body up. I pad silently to the hallway by the door. There's a man. I do t recognize his scent. His face is covered. He has a knife at her throat. She is paralyzed in fear.
I dont think, I don't speak. I just charge. A feral snarl erupts from my throat as I launch myself through the air. My heavy body makes contact with the strange man, kicking him away from her. I roll up off the floor where I've fallen and ounce again. I move to end him quickly. I feel fire and pain, it doesnt matter. I must protect her. My jaws shred and tear at the mans throat. I clamp down and shake the pathetic life from him. My body is racked with pain. I keep my jaws around him until im sure he's not a threat anymore.
I crawl off the man. I feel so slow now. I find her, curled up besides the door. Her baby wrapped up in her arms, head pressed to a phone. I make my way to her." Why am I so weak?" I think. I can barely move. My nose finds her hand. I gently lick her palm. Its what I do when she's upset. She notices me and wraps me up and a tight hug. It hurts, but I dont care. I whine and lick the tears from her face. She buries her face in my neck. "Good boy, such a good boy" she sobs into my fur.
"Mommy, my doggy has ouchies" her precious child says.
She looks up at her baby. Her hands search my body, she feel the stab wounds inflicted by the man. "Oh no, please no. You're gonna be ok buddy. I promise, well fix you. You're such a good boy." She cries.
I cant stand to see her in pain. I nuzzle her face and lick away her tears. She puts her baby down. I can hear sirens outside. I lay down my head on her lap. Im so tired. She strokes my head softly. Whispering to me, "you're going to be ok. I promise buddy, please be ok"
I feel her tears hit my fur. I wag my tail. That always makes her smile. Instead she bursts into sobs and tangles her hands in my fur. "Dont buddy please, just stay. I love you so much, I dont know what to do without you."
She wraps herself around me. Cradling me. Ive never been happier. It won't be long now. I can feel the darkness closing. I lick her hands. "Mommy, buddy loves you too" her baby says.
She clings to me. She raises my head. My eyes meet hers. "I love you so much buddy. Thank you. I will always love you."
There in that instant between life and death, for a small moment, she sees me. "Oh my god...." she whispers. She presses me to her chest. I hear her whisper before losing myself to the dark
"Ill find you again...I promise...."
|
I accelerated the car as we merged into traffic on our way to the beach. Life was lonely. I was the first to die, and with it I took our love on to the next life. Death was always unpleasant, but the years waiting to be reunited seem to drag on for an eternity. I was 40 and I still hadn't felt her presence yet. My wife sat beside me in the car, staring intently at her phone. She was a good enough woman but she was not my soulmate. We met about 5 years ago and quickly married. Guilt is why we were going to the beach, if I couldn't give her love than at least I could make her happy. Though i do wish she'd put the phone down occasionally.
"Are we there yet?" I could barely stop myself as a deep smile erupted across my face. At least I had my adopted son to keep me going. My brother and his wife died in a tragic car accident about 10 years ago. I raised his son as my own, still my son was everything to me.
I lifted my eyes to the rear view mirror, a run away tractor trailer barreled through traffic. The impact flung the car towards the ditch and as the car rolled I tried to keep my eyes on my son. My wife screamed as her phone tumbled through the air into my head.
I lay on the grass, like I've done a hundred times before. Death loomed over me its familiar call beckoning me. Tears of panic and fear streamed down my face. I am dying and I still haven't found my soul mate, this death would be my final as she must have failed too.
Through the tears and pain, I try to focus on whats happening. People are running around its a sort of controlled chaos. I hear the thud of a helicopter, but I'm barely holding on. Finally I see my son sitting beside me, I feel him squeeze my hands. "Hush now, love, I will find you again." Into darkness I sink.
| 2016-11-05T22:32:58 | 2016-11-05T19:08:30 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] The Devil promises you everything: fame, fortune, all the things a mortal will ever need for paradise on earth. But he doesn't want your soul, he just wants you to take his socially awkward daughter, Gertrude, out on a date. Make her special, y'know?
**EDIT** All of your responses have been amazing! I wish I had time to leave feedback on all of them. You guys rock!
|
Karl Jacobs fell asleep, and had the dream again.
Everything was blackness, a huge empty void stretched around him. He could feel vertigo, but in every direction. His body was gasping for air, and…
…sprang bolt upright in bed…
Karl gasped for breath, the terror of the dream clinging to him with a sweaty mental residue. “Not this again.” Karl drank in a huge panic breath of air. “For fuck’s sake,” Breath. “Three nights in a row?” But he was too tired to get up and drink coffee and surf reddit again. Three nights of this, he’d bounced between sleep – perfect, peaceful sleep – and the dream of the darkest, emptiest place, which catapulted him awake in terror. Now, he was bone-tired, and flopped back down on his single bed, in his small, silent, and lonely apartment. He had to sleep. It claimed him.
Blackness…the void. Karl could sense the lightlessness stretch away from him in every direction. This time, he fought the terror. He forced his compressed body to flex, forced his smashed lungs to inflate, and fill with potency. He shouted, then, his voice, a soundless roar, tore through the emptiness like a howling tornado.
--RAGE—
He felt…powerful. And then felt another presence.
“Finally!”
Karl popped awake, the dream gone from him this time, along with his fatigue. A man, dressed in a dark suit, sat in the chair of Karl’s desk, lit by the lamp which sat next to his computer monitor. Karl twitched backwards, pulling the covers over himself defensively.
“Who…how did you?” He was feeling a different panic now, a mortal, fleshy panic. The man extended his hand, and suddenly Karl felt…peaceful. It was okay, he thought. This guy was okay.
“Sorry to surprise you. That dream? The one you’ve been fighting for three nights? Yeah. Sorry. That was me.” The man chuckled, his mouth twisting wryly. “Actually I’m not sorry, per se, but I do apologize for the inconvenience. It was…” He grimaced. “…necessary, unfortunately. For reasons I’ll explain. Will you come with me?”
“With you?” Karl was confused, and suddenly aware he sounded like a 12 year old. “I don’t…” He sighed, and sat up fully on the bed. “I don’t know who you are, or how you know what I’ve been dreaming…” As soon as he said it out loud, he knew how ridiculous he sounded. Of course he was going to go with this man who knew his dreams and appeared in his room without explanation. This man was able to do anything, and somehow, Karl felt like he’d answered a call from him. It made no sense.
“You’re quick, Karl, I’ll give you that. Most guys I’ve tried this with spend at least an hour flailing around before they give in to the inevitable part. That’s what comes now, since you answered me.” *Answered a call*. The man stood, and motioned for Karl to join him as he crossed the room to the door. “Let me show you what I have in mind.”
Karl joined him, conscious that he was wearing sweatpants and an old Red Sox t-shirt, sensed that it didn’t matter.
The man pushed open the bedroom door. Impossibly, a vast columned chamber, lit by wall sconces, and floored with enormous black and white marble squares, stretched forth where Karl’s narrow hallway should have been. The man strode across the floor toward the center of this chamber where a sofa and a loveseat, were arranged in front of a large flat-screen TV. Karl followed nervously.
“You probably have…questions.” The man said. “But first, introductions. You already know who I am, but for the purpose of our conversation, you may call me Sam.” Karl realized he did know who sat across from him on the impossible sofa, in the impossible room. This was the devil, though as soon as the word devil entered his mind he realized just how laughably inadequate the term was. The man smiled. “Yes, it is a rather simplistic term. Relic of the Stone Age really, translated down the years through dozens of myth concepts. Listen, for the moment, just call me Sam.”
Sam. The name, the concept of the name settled into Karl’s mind like a puzzle piece. Of course, he had always known he would call himself this. Everyone knew it. They’d just forgotten. Sam. the Other. How could they have all forgotten? “It doesn’t matter,” Sam said. Karl was dimly aware of being totally undisturbed by Sam’s casual mind-reading. Which disturbed him. “You know me now, but I’m not going to take anything from you that you don’t want to give.” Sam smiled a pleasant, friendly smile. It didn’t fit on his face well. “In fact, I’m going to give you something. In exchange for a favor. Which you can say no to if you wish.” Karl swallowed.
“What…ah…what favor is that?” He pictured Sam, then, vividly, reaching down through his mouth, through his guts, twisting, pulling out something, something that felt sewn into his core, the stitches ripping, and pulling oh god no
“Right, stop that!” Sam shook his head. “Sorry, sorry.” He looked away. “Old habit. Gets away from me sometimes.” Karl twitched involuntarily and absently clutched his stomach. “No, look, Karl,” Sam crossed his legs on the couch. “What I want is a favor.”
A favor? Karl was totally disarmed by this. He sensed, with every vague fiber of his being, that he was in the presence of something so much bigger than himself that every breath felt like a struggle not to disappear…and it wanted a favor from him.
“Yes, a favor.” Sam smiled again; this time with more hints of whatever it was that hadn’t been there before. “I want you to take my daughter on a date.”
Karl was forty years old, divorced, with no children. He held a mid-level municipal job that kept him behind a desk 40 hours a week and he’d grown somewhat lumpen and balding in his approach to middle age. After his wife had left him, he’d started to forget what it was like to capture a woman’s attention, or to make a room laugh at a joke, or enjoy a day of good weather for the basic visceral sensation it brought. He had “gone gray”, as his mother used to say of his father, who had died when Karl was only 12.
He let the sheer absurdity of the entire situation wash over him, and suddenly was overcome with laughter. His body started to shake, and he laughed and laughed like he hadn’t done in years. His whole body was shaking, and he started to compose himself but…fuck it! This was hilarious.
“You want me,” Karl struggled to get the words out. “To take…your daughter? On a date! Me?” Karl was gasping now. It was too much. Sam frowned. The laughter slowly dried up.
“Yes,” Sam said, picking an invisible piece of lint off his suit pants. “A date. You.” He leaned forward and looked at Karl, who composed himself, this time with a new self-assuredness he hadn’t felt, ever, and met Sam’s gaze easily.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
|
"So, that's all huh?" I asked, looking down at my coffee cup and trying to light another cigarette, at something resembling a coffee franchise in hell.
"Yeah, that's pretty much the deal. Take my daughter out, show her a good time, and then the world is yours. Sound fair?" Satan nodded. He had decided on appearing as an older gentleman. Really friendly and everything, just like you'd expect a nice older man to be.
Normally I wouldn't pity date someone. I think it's really kind of mean to do things like that, and the last thing I need is the living embodiment of evil hunting me down because I hurt his daughter's feelings.
"I'll do it, but I swear man, if this is like the last time I did you a favor...."
"I **SWEAR** you'll have fun. Gertie is a great girl. Fun, and smart and all those other things you personally look for in normal women." Satan said, his eyes suddenly growing to the size of dinner-plates.
"*AHEM* NOT that there is anything wrong with that, she's just a little.... look she's MY little baby girl and if she isn't happy." He growled, exposing teeth that were too large and sharp looking, in a smile that went way to wide.
"Well, let's just say you don't want to make her upset".
Satan refills my coffee cup, and sits back down at other side of the table.
"Um...yes, I think I get it. She seems to be running late, is there anything I *should* know?"
"I dunno. I'm just her father."
Before I can ask or say anything else, a girl walks into the shop. the resemblance to her father is unmistakable.
Gertrude, is a 5'7 woman, she looks to be in her mid twenties if I were to guess, kind of pale, flaming red hair, which is pulled back in a pony tail. What was truly striking was the color of her eyes. Gertrude had the darkest, purest sapphire blue eyes I had ever seen in my life.
"uhhhh" I struggled to stand up and say something.
"Hi." Gertrude said, a small smile on her lips.
"Wellyoutwolookbusydontwannabeasecondwheeldontstayouttoolateloveyoubye"
and with a puff of sulfur smelling smoke, Satan was gone.
***ooc: ok folks thats all I've got right now. Just wanted to try writing****
| 2015-05-20T12:02:49 | 2015-05-20T10:23:34 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] You are immortal, having lived through thousands of years and witnessed much of human history firsthand. A quirk of your immortality however is that the person physically closest to you at any given moment also ceases to age making you a highly prized commodity by friend and foe alike.
|
You don't appreciate how nice it is to be alone, until you never are. I longed for quiet, to walk through the woods accompanied only by birdsong and the gentle whisper of the trees. To hear the leaves crunching under my feet, and mine alone, no hidden beggar lurking in my shadow.
I was going to meet a young girl who had written me a letter. It is rare, these days, to receive a letter; even rarer when everyone is hellbent on delivering their messages to you themselves. They feign polite ignorance at first, claiming that they just *had* to see me in person. It had nothing to do with the extra few minutes that they'd stolen from Death. Sometimes, they asked for a cup of sugar, or tell me that there was a weed on my lawn. Sometimes, they begged for the story of my life, pens poised eagerly above their pocket notebooks. Sometimes they'd just stand on my porch and stare until I asked them to leave.
What would a human do for just one more breath? Just ask them. Just ask those few that insist on camping in my backyard, fighting and bargaining for the seat closest to my home, knocking on my windows. Just ask the man who locked me in a cage in 1968, pressing his face against the bars, salivating at the idea of life eternal.
An eternal life, pressed against a cage. Those heavy locks bound me from any escape, but who was really trapped? Stuck behind bars of greed, chained by the seconds, the minutes, the years that tick by. It wasn't until 1973 that he saw himself for what he was; an animal, kept leashed by his own primitive imagination. When he cut his own life shorter than it ever would have been, had he never become intoxicated by me and the possibilities I carried in my veins. It wasn't until his wife discovered me, locked tight among the pickles and wine in the cellar, that I was free again. That is, if you can call this existence of mine freedom. She fed me, let me stay a while with her. She never knew why I was locked in that cellar; I wanted to let her mourn her husband, unhindered by the knowledge of what he had been.
But this was not the time for memories. I walked briskly, keenly aware of the men sitting in the trees. I had to promise those tented pests in my yard an hour of my time just for them to stay at *my* house. It was high time for a move, I thought. It's a good thing that they don't know about my cat. She's got to be 40 or 50 by now, curled agelessly on my lap while those foolish beggars grin to themselves through greying, unwashed beards.
The old, thick trees waned away to just a few saplings as I strolled off the path and into a broad clearing. I laid eyes on the girl with whom I was to meet. No more than 14 years old, she sat on a twiggy, worn-out camping chair. She had been waiting for some time.
"Hello." She reached out to me; to shake my hand, I presumed, to steal a few quick seconds. But instead, into my palm she placed a tiny duckling. "So that my intentions are clear."
I held the duckling close to my chest, petting his tiny, soft head. He nuzzled into my palm, the sweet feeling of life elongated coursing through his veins. This was a first. I was wary of a trick; was this some ploy to gain my trust? Nevertheless, I was eager to hear her request. Her letter had been vague, and besides––if it was a trick, at least it was a clever one.
"What can I do for you, young lady?"
Her story began slowly, full of explanations and polite questions. But soon, her eyes began to shine, and her words came quickly and heavily, filling the air between us. Her mother was dying, and her father was on a plane, fighting against the constant, rushing waters of time for a glimpse of the woman who he loved in her last moments. He would be here in twelve hours, but the doctor gave her less than three. As the story ended, the emotion in the girl's voice slowed to a trickle of polite desperation. "Please, won't you sit with her? We'd give you anything, any payment. Please."
"And if I refuse?" I kept any emotion from showing itself on my face. I could see the girl's mind spinning, trying to convince me. The duckling nipped at my fingers.
"Then I'll go home and spend the last few hours my mother has reading her stories from her favourite book."
What a perfect answer.
I followed the girl through her town, into gardens of curling vines and yellow weeds, through alleyways coated in ivy, attempting to remain unseen. The neighbors' noses were visible through their windows, their breath fogging up the glass.
She led me through the arches of an elegant, old gate, the duckling now asleep in my palm. The sky had turned from brilliant blue to a soupy, grumbling grey. We entered the home just as the rain began to tap on the windows, eager to be let in.
There, in the middle of the room, an old woman was laid on a mattress on the floor. Gently, the girl took the bird from my hands and crossed the room, afraid of stealing any of my precious gifts from her mother. The woman gazed familiarly into my eyes. The wife from the basement.
"Ah, now I understand." She touched my hand. "It was good of you to keep his secret."
I smiled down at the dying woman; a mother, a wife, a kind soul to whom I owed a debt.
"Would you like to hear a story?"
|
The way he looks at me, I may as well be dead. John has never been here for my companionship, only my powers. I can’t kill him. After all, he is immortal as long as he’s the closest person to me. I can’t leave, because the entire house is magic-proof. We’ve been here since, what, the American Civil War? John a lonely boy-soldier, and Laros, the immortal colonel.
I should have run from him then. He was grinning nastily and looking at me just as he does now - but I thought he could be redeemed. He’s only aged three years since then...
And I am still a prisoner in this house.
| 2020-02-27T11:40:10 | 2020-02-27T08:14:20 | 81 | 16 |
[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
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My grandmother still worships the old gods. I dont know how she can keep track of all of them. There seems to be a god for every problem. I probably should have played more attention in history when we went over all this stuff. She always said I was a favorite of Aphrodite. She warned me that living with the favor of a God/Goddess would be difficult. I should have listened.
Meeting girls has always been easy for me. People said I was just charming. I know better now. I met Sita when I was 15. There was something about her that just ignited a fire in me. As always I was able to catch her attention with just a short conversation. It wasn't long before the whole school knew we were dating. She was so beautiful. Long raven hair, bright green eyes that actually sparkled when she was happy. A smile that could brighten a room instantly and she always smelled so good. I knew from the moment we spoke that I was in love. Thinking back on it now, what did I know of love? I was a kid. A dumb idealistic brat in love with the Idea, of being in love.
I remember that day after the homecoming dance. We were walking hand in hand. We stopped under the bleachers by the football field. She kissed me and I told her I loved her. She said she loved me too. I told her, "No matter what, I'll always be there for you. I swear on our love"
She broke up with me 3 weeks later. No explanation, no apology. Just, "this isn't working. Find someone else"
I was as heartbroken as a kid could be. After a while I swore I'd never say those words to a girlfriend again unless I was sure she loved me too. I got rid of all her pictures and little gifts. I never wanted to see her again, but the God's take oaths seriously.
I saw her again, for the first time 2 years later. I was driving home in the muscle car my parents got me for my birthday. It needed a lot of work but I was excited to have wheels. I saw her hunched over in the rain and cold by the bus stop. She had a large bag next to her. Too big to be for school. I pulled over. I got out and sat next to her, she barely looked up at me. "Hey" was all she said.
"Hey" I replied. "Need a ride?" I asked.
"That yours?" She asked. "Yeah, birthday gift" I responded.
She nodded. "You have awesome parents." She whispered. She looked up at me. "Im leaving town. I have an aunt that lives 3 hours away. If your serious about the ride, will you take me?" She asked.
I thought about it for a moment. I'd just gotten the car and had never been out of town on my own before. Still the way she looked at me, her eyes pleading and full of sorrow. I couldn't say no. "Sure, hop in. Ill get your bag."
It didnt occur to me to ask why she was leaving or where her parents were. It just felt right to help. I got home at 4am. I was grounded for 2 months and my car was taken from me. She had smiled that beautiful smile when in had dropped her off. It was worth it.
I met her again when I was a junior in college. I was invited to a frat party for the first time ever and almost didnt go. I felt I would miss out if I didnt though. College is about the experiences, so im told. At first I wasnt sure it was her, it had been so long, but when she smiled I knew. I wanted to talk to her and for a moment our eyes met. She was swooped up by a good looking guy in a football jersey before I could reach her. I spent the rest of the party bored. It was when I went searching for a bathroom that I found her again. I was told the bathroom was down the hall but I kept getting turned around. She came rushing out of a room I had passed twice. Her clothes were a mess and her lip was bleeding. She saw me and grabbed my arm. The guy I had seen her with came out of the room a few moments later. He stopped when he saw me.
"Hey" she said. "I havent seen you in forever, walk me to my car?" She asked.
I stood there glaring at the guy in the jersey. "Sure, no problem" I finally reply. She didnt let go of me until we reached her car. Once again I earned a smile as she drove away. I walked back to my dorm thinking that one day, that smile would be the death of me.
So on it went, I loved and lost and loved again. I would love my life and years would pass before seeing her again. Each moment we met was when she needed me most. Sometimes it was for small things, like a ride, other times it was more serious. I was there for her, just like I swore I would be. I stopped being surprised after a while. I lived my life with the assurance that I would see her again and earn another smile. I became successful in my career, had everything I'd ever wanted and more. Still, I would go out into the world each day, looking for her face amongst the crowd. Waiting for the moment when she would need me again.
Now that final moment has arrived. That moment I knew would come. When that smile would be the death of me.
This story, is for you Sita. So you would understand why I did what I did. You see, I met your husband. He's a good man. I realize now why I hadn't seen you in so long, after meeting him. He showed me pictures of you and your kids. They're as beautiful as their mother. All with that same gorgeous smile. Dont worry, I didn't tell him I knew you. He came to ask me for something. Something apparently only I can give.
My cancer is inoperable. I have been given only weeks to live. Caught it too late they said. The doctor told me because of my condition and my rare blood type, I would be doing the hospital and several people in it, a great service and sacrifice, if I would donate my organs. I hadn't made my decision until today. When your husband showed me your picture, I knew. This is the last time I can be there for you. What I give to you hasn't been mine for a long time. Its been yours ever since I swore that oath, so many years ago. I give you my heart, to care for and keep safe.
My oath is kept, I have no regrets. Who am I to question the Gods?
|
"Fuck. What's wrong, Jill?"
We were in a bank and she wore a wool overcoat. The two of us stood between velvet ropes. In front of us an elderly lady was arguing about her account balance.
"Nothing is wrong? What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York?"
"I was. Jesus where are we?"
"Chicago, Jack. Listen I haven't seen you for years now, a major point of pride. I got my shit together. I got a job, an apartment. I got burned, so I've stopped playing with fire."
"We got burned." I corrected, "And more than once. I started carrying a Ruger in a fanny-pack even when I was taking a shit."
"That's a lovely image."
"Whatever...Why am I here? Do you have a note? Or the guts of a VCR rigged up to look like a bomb?"
"Damn it Jack, I'm here to make a withdrawal."
"Guess the ATMs aren't afraid of VCRs."
"I lost my card, smart ass." She breathed deeply. "Shit, I'm worried too."
"At least when it's me who's causing the---
I heard the rip of shotgun firing. Looking up, I saw a man with the sawed off gun and a homemade balakala step daintily over the broken window's glass. I pulled out the Ruger and unloaded the eager bullet that had spent years living in its chamber. It missed, and the man tripped. The next three found their intended target.
It was too late. Though the black coat hid the damage, I realized what I was working with when I held her bloody hand.
"I'm by your side."
Her last words were "Thank you".
| 2017-03-22T19:03:01 | 2017-03-22T16:39:20 | 53 | 25 |
[WP] You are an ordinary human going about your day when you suddenly find yourself in hell. Looking down you see yourself standing on some crudely drawn symbols. A nearby demon child holds up some paper and says "Um...can you help me with my homework?"
|
"Heya Mister"
Chris's eyes snapped open at the sound of a child's voice, his vision blurry, like he had just woken up from a long sleep.
"Hey! Can you see me?"
The colors cleared, and he found himself staring upward at the roof of a dimly lit cave. He was lying on a cold stone floor, with no recollection of how he had gotten there.
"If you're not going to help me I'll get my dad!" The voice was getting angry.
Finally, he had the presence of mind to speak. "Where?..." he asked. His voice scratchy. "Where am I?" He sat up and looked around the room, searching for source of the voice, but saw only shadows cast on the rough stone walls by some candles on the floor.
"Listen, I just need help with some math. You're a math human right?"
He was utterly confused, and his legs shook as he slowly stood up. "What are you talking about?" Chris asked. "Where am I?" he scanned his surroundings for the child who had spoken, but saw nobody. Just candles and barren cave walls. The room wasn't very big. Barely twenty feet square. But the dim lighting and shadows made it seem large and foreboding.
"Maaaaaaath huuuuuuman!" The child's voice called out in singsong. Echoing off of the walls.
"What?" Chris asked. "Where are you!" "Show yourself!"
"Well..." The voice seemed to think about it for a minute. "Okay!"
Suddenly the shadows in the room began to... well, It's hard to describe. They began to flow like water into a puddle. Dripping off of the walls down to the floor and pooling a few feet away from the center of the room where Chris stood. Then, once a large dark puddle had formed, it began to flow upward. Like a tree, an oily black form grew up from the ground until it was barely four feet tall.
"What in the world?!?" Chris shouted. "What are you?!?" He stumbled back from the shadowy figure, nearly tripping over one of the candles.
The faceless figure giggled with glee. "Oh! Am I scary?"
Chris was astounded. "What's going on? Am I dreaming?"
The shadowy form pointed a pitch black finger at Chris. "Stop asking stupid questions." It then crossed it's arms. "I only brought you here because you're smart, so stop acting so dumb."
Although the shadow... child... thing was certainly intimidating, Chris found himself calming down. Whatever this thing was, it certainly wasn't hostile. He just needed to find a way out of this place and get back home. He decided he was going to make a break for it when he noticed something deeply troubling.
"Wait! Where's the door?"
"Door?" The child scratched it's chin in thought... "Oh! Door! Like to leave?"
"Yes!" Chris exclaimed. "How do I get out of here? There's no door to this room!"
"Oh, don't worry about that. I'll put you back the way you came. I'm not allowed to keep you anyway."
"The way I came?"
"Yup" The shadowy child pointed at the circle of candles on the floor, and for the first time, Chris noticed a pentagram drawn in red ink, filled with strange and archaic symbols.
"You... Summoned me?"
"Yeah, but we don't have much time. Are you gonna help me with my math or not?"
"I'm just so confused..."
The shadow laughed "Not as confused as I am! I'm supposed to be dividing fractions!"
Almost without thinking, Chris mumbled under his breath "Smell my feet".
"What?" the shadow asked. "What are you talking about?"
"Smell my feet" Chris repeated. "It's... an acronym. It's how I learned to divide fractions."
The dark form waved a hand through the air, and suddenly a chalkboard slate was lying in the middle of the pentagram. "Show me" it said.
Chris couldn't believe he was doing this, but decided it was better to go along with whatever this monster wanted.
He grabbed the slate and a piece of chalk and wrote 'S, M, F' in big letters. "Smell My Feet" He said. "or Same Multiply Flip" He wrote out the words "Same multiply flip".
"What's that got to do with dividing fractions?" The shadow asked.
"So... let's say you've got to divide some fractions"
"Like 1/2 and 2/3" the child interrupted.
"Sure... sure..." Chris wrote 1/2 ÷ 2/3 on the slate. "So...What's the first word for the acronym SMF "
"Same" The shadow said with satisfaction!
"Yeah! Good job. So we keep the first fraction the same. Don't touch it."
"Then we multiply?"
"hey yeah! you're pretty smart. Yes. We change the ÷ to an x instead."
"And then we flip the last fraction?"
"You got it! So 1/2 ÷ 2/3 becomes 1/2 x 3/2"
The shadow did a little dance around the room shouting "The answer's three fourths! The answer's three fourths!"
"Hey! Good job little guy." Chris was still confused by his surroundings , but he always felt good when he was able to teach something well.
"Okay math human. I take it back. You're pretty smart"
"Thanks... Can I go home n-"
Suddenly a deafening screech filled the room cutting off his train of thought. Chris fell to the floor covering his ears in pain. It was like a thousand train wrecks all at once. Grinding of metal and screams of escaping steam. Then, as suddenly as the noise started, it ended.
The shadow child leaned back and shouted with a loud voice"OKAAAAY DAD! I'LL BE RIGHT UP".
Looking down at the Chris, the child laughed. "Thanks for the help math human. I'll be sure to call you back if I need any more help" and with a wave of it's hand. Chris was gone.
​
​
This is my first try at a writing prompt. How did I do?
|
What the hell is this place?
I was just walking home, when suddenly everything went black and now I am here. I look around and see what looks like a normal child's bedroom: there is a bed, a desk, a pile of D&D rulebooks with some dice, some posters starring a rock group I don't recognise, and a window with a view on some fiery lake. There is a shape standing in front of me... Is this... a demon? They looked bigger in the movies.
Still, a small demon, a world full of fire, and is this brimstone that I'm smelling? Where am I?
"I have summoned you because I need your power!"
I look at my feet and notice they are some words written on the ground. "I need help, please come.". The demon takes some papers from his desk and hands them to me.
"Um... Can you help me with my homework?"
Now I know where I am. I've always known Hell would feature homework. But there is no way I'm going to do this for free. I think I know how this kind of things is supposed to go.
"I can. For a price. Let's make a Deal."
| 2019-09-17T11:08:24 | 2019-09-17T08:16:42 | 297 | 39 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT.
|
**LOG:** 3882
APRIL 15 3091
TRANSLATION FROM **ERDUK** TO **ENGLISH**
**Dawn/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
We awoke before the sun had even risen. The dust storms from yesterday had already worn down, and left our encampment covered in fine red dust. [*ERDUK EXPLETIVE*] dust. It was everywhere on this planet, Sol-4, which the humans called 'Mars'. The camp, besides dust, was also covered in a grim silence; in a few hours, I and 700,000 of my fellow brothers would be charging the human encampment. I looked at my tentmate, Tras'Lethi, and nodded. Donning our warplate, and hefting our customary plasma lances, we marched out to the assembly area.
**Mid-Morning/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
On the transport, we encountered a few human battalions. They seem to be the first line of defense of that human encampment. But we utterly decimated them. A few swings of our plasma lances and all that remained of those humans were still piles of charred flesh. Not only do they lack the [*untranslatable*] to fight but also the [*untranslatable*] to die as well. Cowards.
Tras'Lethi suffered a minor wound; he'd been hit by a laser in the thigh, but his armor prevented much of the harm. The humans have brought out another of their toys today; Pellets of metal that dispersed shortly after expulsion. Nonlethal and completely uneffective on the field. Those who'd been hit are still combat ready.
**NOON/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
I'm patching this in from my helmet recorder, as I need to be ready to fight soon. The humans have dug trenches around their encampment; are they stupid? Not only are they weak physically, but they seem to lack any sort of tactical sense. Our plasma lances are perfect for these close encounters, and the shelling from our cannons will shatter those trenches. Onward, to victory on Sol-4 and victory on Sol-3! I can almost taste the promotion.
**DUSK/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
I lie, mortally wounded, behind a crate of human supplies. My left leg is shattered, my head is ringing, my left hand is gone. Tras'Lethi died in the 43rd or 44th charge. He was hit by one of those pellet-launchers; at close range, the warplate did nothing to stop that hurricane of needles from embeding itself in his heart and lungs and neck. I can still hear the metallic cry of the human's weapon, each roar calling for the death of another praetor. I still also hear the drumming of my rage and the hum of my plasma lance as I sliced his body into two.
At first the fighting was easy. the craters left by our mag cannons were filled dust and corpses. But the humans still fought hard; though thousands of them had perished in our first 6 charges alone, they did not seem to be demoralized at all. Rather, it seemed, every blow was faster and stronger. Every laser blast was brighter. Every pellet-launcher sang louder.
Now I know why they dug trenches; it slowed down our progress immensely. They had denied us our ability to charge en masse and run them through with our plasma lances. Now we had to rush into the trenches and clamber out. Rush again, and clamber out.
By the 20th rush, when we were exhausted, the humans still seemed fresh, almost eager. In that trench, I remember one especially large human, who after killing 3 praetors with one blast of his pellet-launcher, tore off his helmet, drew a 4-talon long blade, disappeared into a melee with 2 of his fellow humans and 6 praetors. He emerged, bearing the bodies of his dead comrades, from among 5 dead praetors. That last praetor ran him through with his lance.
By the 40th rush, both sides seemed to have even numbers of troops. Our death count begin numbering in the ten thousands; the humans must have suffered hundreds of thousands of casualties.
By the 50th rush, I had suffered dozens of wounds already, I bled profusely from my severed left hand. I'd dealt innumerable death blows already, yet there were always more humans to kill. More [*ERDUK EXPLETIVE*] humans, always. And when they fell to my lance. more to replace them. Each wave, stronger, fresher, more enraged than the one before. Only to fall, one by one, to my plasma lance.
By the 70th rush, I learned. But it was too late. Humans were always a short lived race in the galactic community. One full human lifetime was the time it took for we, the Hunta, to reach sexual maturity. In their 100-orbit lives, they needed to reproduce, and form bonds. In such a short time. Thus, between each human, every one of the quadrillions of them in the galaxy, existed an empathy, a love, a bond. And the severing of that bond was enough to cause a normally peaceful human to touch its instinctually, primal, warlike side.
**MIDNIGHT/SOL Campaign/Praetor Kil'Nuvask #399281**
A human has just seen me. He walks over with his blade drawn, ready to end my life. Upon seeing my condition however, he kneels down. How tempting it would be for me to kill him; if only i had any weapons and if only I was not as weak. Yet this human does something unexpected. He offers me his hand; it is dusty and calloused; I can see bandages running down his arm from his wrist. When I don't respond, he hoists me onto his back and takes me... the lights, the bright lights of this tent. Perhaps I am dreaming. Perhaps I am dying. [*untranslatable*].
[End Recording]
*Archived by SSgt. Brian Leigh- awarded the Silver Cross for his service on the Mars Campaign- and currently Human Ambassador to the Hunta.*
|
Starlog:210x August 24th
Our plans ,to invade Earth, thwarted by Humans again!No matter how hard we try, there always seems to be a collection of heroes sticking their ugly heads into our business.Last weeks invasion made us extraterrestrials look as weak as a bag of sticks!Outrageous!
....What went? wrong?Everything was going accorded to plan.These heroes, curse them!We had trapped all of them into their command building,but every ounce of firepower and our assortment of mortar shells could not incinerate these puny humans into ash.The biggest insult of all was when one of them blasted into our mothership and instantly killed 5 of our strongest warriors...i could not believe it.This man,who was had no visible hair and looked like the typical fool who would get their lunch money stolen by a pack of monkeys...had single-handedly punched our Generals into blood and ash.I knew that if i stayed and fought,i would not stand a chance....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Captain Vargus stood on the central platform of the **Ravager**.Facing behind him was the escape pod,which still had 5 seconds until launch.
'Such a formidable opponent.Tell me,human...who are you?'
The human scratched his head without interest.
'I'm Saitama.I'm just a hero for fun.'
| 2016-03-13T23:31:00 | 2016-03-13T19:47:12 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You were summoned to another world to be its Hero. You attained amazing abilities and powers. Traveled to distant, fantastic lands and exotic cultures. Met and fought alongside incredible allies to stop the unspeakable Evil. Lost friends along the way. But now you’ve returned to your own world.
|
I'm not sure what I expected upon my return to Earth. A huge welcome back party? A squad of police officers telling me I'd been missing for weeks and my family was worried sick? Whatever I expected, it wasn't what I got. I appeared in my bedroom late at night- right where I'd been standing a month ago when an elf appeared and told me I had a job to do- and everything seemed... normal. The next morning, my roommate greeted me as if it were any other day, though, I suppose to him, it *was* any other day.
"Man, where did you go last night Brady?" Cameron asked, his nose twitching as if he smelled something sour, "What's that smell on you? Lilacs?"
I blushed. I couldn't possibly tell him the truth. He wouldn't believe me. And besides, I wasn't sure my ability to control metals would still work here, now that I was out of the realm of the Glenetions. Still, he was my best friend and he'd be pissed if he found out I hid this from him.
"Um, yeah." I started, and then motioned for him to follow me. "Come on, I've got something to show you."
____________________
Cameron followed me out to the parking lot behind our apartment complex. Hopefully, no one would come back here and accidentally see me either bending metal with my mind, or making a complete fool out of myself. We stopped next to an old water heater that had been dumped here and then never picked back up. I grunted. The nerve of some people. The Elves and Dwarves of the Glenetion realm had been much more caring towards nature and the environment, so coming back here was like a punch in the gut. Humans.
"Brady, what are we doing out here?" Cameron asked. He pulled his coat tighter around him as a sharp breeze rushed past us.
"Just trust me, okay? This'll all make sense once you see what I can do."
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then decided against it, shaking his head in defeat. Praying to the Goddess Ela, even though she probably couldn't hear me from here, I focused on the water heater. *You've done this a million times.* I told myself, even though I had never bent metal like this before. *Just focus, all you need is a little dent, enough to show Cameron what you can do.*
From the corner of my eye I saw Cameron flicking his gaze between me and the water heater, his expression a mix of concern and fear. I faltered. He probably thought I was insane. *No, focus!* I took a deep breath in and poured all my energy into my power, just like I had done in Glenetion. Finally, as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders, the water heater crumpled into a twisted mess of metal, and I nearly fell over with the effort. Using my powers here was a lot harder than in Glenetion.
Cameron's eyes were blown wide when they found mine. "Did... did you just...?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I did. Come on, I've got a lot to tell you."
__________________________
"So, let me get this straight." Cameron was pacing nervously around the kitchen, his hands on his head. "You were brought to an alien world to defeat some huge evil, and while you were there you gained metal-bending abilities?"
I nodded.
"That's not possible." He said with a sudden joy, as if he had just debunked my entire story. "You've been here the whole time. I said good morning to you every day."
"My Elven friend, Haldir, most likely cast a spell on you and my family, to keep them from noticing my absence. Trust me, it makes sense."
"No," Cameron corrected, pinching the bridge of his nose, "it doesn't. Nothing about this makes sense. I mean, no offense or anything, but why you? What's so special about you?"
Although the question stung, I knew what he meant by it, and it was nothing hurtful. "I don't know, man. I really don't. They just told me that I was destined to save their world, and I couldn't exactly say no. They were my only ride back here."
Cameron shook his head. "Fine. What now? Now that you've saved their world and returned here, what are you gonna do? Just go back to school and pretend it never happened?"
I was taken aback by his questions. In truth, I hadn't even thought of that. What *was* I going to do? Could I really just go back to school and pretend that I hadn't seen horrors and monsters unlike those in any story or movie? I had lived a lifetime on another world, and returning to this one, to such a mundane existence, it seemed almost cruel. Unless... maybe I could make something out of it.
"I think you may be on to something here, Cameron." I started, a sudden excitement surging through my veins. I hopped up from my place at the table and dashed into the living room.
"Wait, what? What am I on to?" Cameron called, right on my heels.
"You're right- I can't just go back to school like nothing ever happened. I was their hero, and because of my good deeds, they let me keep my powers. I think they meant to do that." I flipped on the TV, switching through the channels until I came to the news- and there it was, like a sign from the Goddess Ela herself, meant just for me.
The news anchor was lamenting about the fourth bank robbery this month, informing the city that the police had no leads on who could be behind it, but that they were working their hardest to find out.
"They want me to be the hero of my own world, too." I breathed, and a thin smile ghosted my lips.
|
Fucking wizards. Would it kill them to be precise for once? Actually, this one might be my fault. *Send me back.* No word as to when or where 'back' was.
And that landed me in this unfortunate situation of wearing battered plate armor, an enchanted ~~tiara~~ circlet, and a cape. As if that wasn't enough, I am carrying a sword. Run of the mill in Lackadaisa, not in whatever this black tie affair was.
As was to be expected, every eye was on me. Never one to waste an opportunity, I decided to get some information.
"*What might the date be?*" I inquired cordially of a nearby gentleman. He stared at me, confusion and consternation in equal measure on his face.
"What's he saying?" A woman asked, lips barely moving.
"No clue." The gentleman responded.
Shit.
| 2017-12-10T07:04:18 | 2017-12-10T06:46:48 | 62 | 14 |
[WP] An advanced alien race has done extensive research and deems us an easy target. As soon as they invade, all earth governments simultaneously reveal all their secret weapons.
|
A mass of light and matter coalesces into a vague bipedal form before solidifying to reveal the Earth's emissary.
"FUCK!" he exclaims as his atoms reform and his consciousness gets a jump start into reality, "Could have warned me guys!" he doubles over to catch his breath before realizing that he is no longer surrounded by world's diplomats and leaders but instead by droves of strange beings. The invaders, each with three three-jointed legs, a similar par of arms ending in grotesque claws and a bulbous mass of teeth and fractal eyes for a head, seemed to growl at his outbursts as their metallic skin shimmered in the soft green glow of the ship. "Oh... that was you..."
The alien seated atop what the emissary could describe as a throne shook the armrest with a heavy strike from his claw. "Enough! You have been chosen to speak on our behalf to your people! You will deliver our demands!"
"You speak English? well that saves time." the human mumbles to aggravation of his hosts. "But I was to be our ambassador to your kind to discus a treaty..."
A chorus of cheeps and clicks erupted from the hoard that he interpreted as laughter before the leader regained control and spoke once more. "Your planet has misunderstood. We have studied you extensively. Your past, your strengths, and your weaknesses. This meeting is your last chance to surrender and survive as our slaves before we claim your planet. You have no hope left to you." To the invader's surprise the human crosses his arms and sighs. Where was his fear?
"But have you though? I mean really studied us? Because we've gotten really good at hiding things. If you've looked at our history you probably know how suspicious humans are, and rightly so because we hide everything from each other. The room you took me from was unique and historic in more ways than just having decided on a worldly ambassador. It held, for the first time in human history, every major leader and person of influence from every nation on the planet. And for the first time they openly laid out everything their nations could do. So many top secret institutions finally revealed because for the first time all of humanity has a reason to unite. Thanks for that by the way, I've been petitioning the United Nations to do this for decades."
"This pointless speech is wasting our time, human! You will deliver our order of surrender we will take one who will!"
"But that's just it, I'm here to accept your surrender." He smiles as he slowly reaches into his pocket and retrieves a sphere the size of a baseball, "Because you see, Japan had put together this niffty little thing that serves as connection port to whatever system it is introduced to and as we speak, the most gifted hackers are ripping through your cybernetic defenses from inside your own network. From what they told me about how easily they were able to crack your outermost firewalls they should be in control by now.
"This also acts a perfect targeting point for various launching missiles from all corners of the globe. We know that they won't do much damage, even after your various shielding matrix programs have been shut down but the smaller nations said they wanted to fire the warning shots. We should be feeling the impacts soon..." as if on cue the floor rumbles and alarms begin to sound in the distant corners of the alien vessel. "Now you have some options..."
"Such tactics and poor excuses for ordinance will do nothing even without our shields!" The leader cries, rage fueled foam appearing in the corners of what appeared to be his mouth.
"I'm not done! Don't interrupt!" the human shouts, causing the crowd to take a step back. "Like I said, those were warning shots to prove we had your systems in our control. The EU has powered up their particle accelerator and atom smasher that I'm told has had subroutines built in so that they can form local singularities. They have short lives, ripping themselves apart in a few dozen seconds but that's more than enough time to launch them into your ship. Russia, who's very pissed about what you did to Moscow in your first contact attack, has diverted all power in the country to power up their subterranean rail gun that I hear can accelerate it's car sized payload up to 40% of the speed of light. As we speak China is activating the thousands of 'derelict' satellites that are actually remote droids to change orbit and converge on this ship."
"So like I said you have a couple options once you surrender. It's still being debated but depending on how you share your technology you could be given almost as many rights as humans or you could be completely enslaved. Or don't surrender and we destroy you."
In a panic the leader calls out. "Scan the planet!"
"Sire we have no access to any systems!"
"Oh here let me show you," the human taps a few buttons on the orb in his hand and the screens around the room display images of humans from all over the world making their preparations just as the ambassador had described. "And our agents have also disabled the fuel lines to your engines. Not sure what type of propulsion that is but without fuel nothing works. Oh and this offer does have a time limit. It would be a shame to just let all this technology go to waste but if you do not decide in the next ten minutes," he reaches his other hand into his pocket and pulling out a small, egg-like object with a flashing light at one end, "This will go off. You see the USA developed this little nuke to not only explode with a force estimated to be in the 200 megaton range but it also starts a chain reaction that with crack this ship in half. You picked wrong when you chose earth my hideous friends, now you will pay the price either with your lives or your freedom. You decide."
|
The US: We are bringing back the Nuclear Railgun! We can launch these damn Manhole Covers so fast, they could vaporize half the ship!
China: Alright, so while you were all bickering about North Korea, we built a secret Laser Station in orbit, the thing can vaporize the alien invaders!
Canada: We sent them a Welcome Gift Basket with some Maple Syrup
USA: You realize they are invading us right?
Canada: *It has a 500 Megaton Hydrogen Bomb In it*
All other major countries: (._.)
Edit: Sorry for weird format, Mobile is a pain in my ass
| 2018-01-12T12:28:24 | 2018-01-12T10:40:07 | 549 | 76 |
[WP] The first message from another planet was different than we expected. "Dear people of Earth, an armada is on its way to conquer your world. Pay no attention, they' re idiots we've sent on a fake mission. We've no interest in your planet, the weapons are fake. Just play along, they're harmless."
|
The Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence Institute, lovingly called Seti, was established in 1984. It was built upon a long history of hope. Only a few years earlier in 1977, a young man by the name of Jerry gained international fame for his hand written note “Wow” in the margins of the printout of the radio telescope signal. What you might not know is that his best mate Alan, who also volunteered on the project, gained international ridicule for his scribble in the margins of his radio transcript when he scrawled, “You gotta be kidding me.”
Alan’s task was translating the beeps and bops emanating from the radio, on the assumption that it was Morse code. Seti was built upon a long history of assumptions. For example, if aliens were out there, then they would be emitting radio signals. Surely, if they built structures, then they wouldn’t look natural. In fact, it makes the ultimate assumption of what life is, or more to the point what intelligence is. Alan had impressed his superiors with his intelligence and his assumption that Morse code was a truly universal language.
It was a steaming day in the radio listening station, his flare jeans were chaffing on the plastic swivel chair, his long blonde hair was tied back ineffectively by a sweaty bandana, and Fleetwood Mac was telling him he could go his own way.
“Jerry can you check this Morse code translation for me. Dot, dot, dash, dot, dot, dash, dash, dot, dash, dot.” Alan swiveled around to see Jerry spelling it out on a scrap of paper.
“Fake,” Jerry said after a moment.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Alan pondered a moment, before elaborating, “Its just it comes from a longer message. Let me read it to you.”
Alan gave his best impersonation of Jimmy Carter, for it seemed like the appropriate level of gravitas with which to read it, “Dear people of Earth, an armada is on its way to conquer your world. Pay no attention, they' re idiots we've sent on a fake mission. We've no interest in your planet, the weapons are fake. Just play along, they're harmless."
“Wow,” Jerry was reduced to his catch-phrase. His face turned from ashen fear, to mild curiosity and finally to unbridled jubilation at each sentence as he realized that this really was the first message from another planet.
Such was Jerry’s reaction, Alan had no choice but to agree. “You gotta be kidding me,” he spoke as he scrawled his now infamous words on the paper. “I guess we better call this up.”
He called his superiors, who then called their superiors and they in turn called their superiors all the way up the chain of command to President Jimmy Carter himself, who appropriated the scrawled note into his now famous quote. “God always answers prayers. Sometimes it’s yes and sometimes it's No. Sometimes its “you gotta be kidding.” He had barely sent Voyager on its journey before his prayers had been answered.
The military immediately labeled this message top secret, and argued amongst themselves. What if the message was fake? Maybe the armada IS real. Maybe the weapons are real. We should prepare for war. They must be landing imminently, otherwise why send the message now. We need to prepare for war. What if the aliens really are idiots? Then we will WIN the war. What if this message about the message is fake? Whoever sent this message must be an enemy. We must prepare for War.
The scientists also debated the message. How could aliens know Morse code? Morse himself only invented it 140 years ago, and this message must have been travelling through space for much longer than that. And how far might alien intelligence reach. An idiot to them is maybe a genius to us? We are stuffed. Do the aliens really know the meaning of the word fake? Maybe they meant Fate? It is only a dot and a dash difference. Weapons are our Fate. We are stuffed.
Back in the radio listening station Jerry and Alan were also debating the message and trying to estimate the direction from which it came.
“The radio was tuned to a zone on the other side of the Milky Way,” Jerry informed him, “If you just take the…”
“Wait, I know how to calculate the distance,” Alan responded. He wasn’t an idiot.
Alan scribbled all over the notepad and calculated the length of time the message had been broadcasting. Jerry watched as Alan’s tongue stuck out of his mouth in pure concentration, until he had the answer.
“200,000 years,” stated Alan. “But that means. If we assume that…”
“That would mean the armada probably landed around the time that humans first appeared on earth.”
\-.. . .- .-. / .--. . --- .--. .-.. . / --- ..-. / . .- .-. - .... --..-- / .- -. / .- .-. -- .- -.. .- / .. ... / --- -. / .. - ... / .-- .- -.-- / - --- / -.-. --- -. --.- ..- . .-. / -.-- --- ..- .-. / .-- --- .-. .-.. -.. .-.-.- / .--. .- -.-- / -. --- / .- - - . -. - .. --- -. --..-- / - .... . -.-- .-. . / .. -.. .. --- - ... / .-- . .----. ...- . / ... . -. - / --- -. / .- / ..-. .- -.- . / -- .. ... ... .. --- -. .-.-.- / .-- . ...- . / -. --- / .. -. - . .-. . ... - / .. -. / -.-- --- ..- .-. / .--. .-.. .- -. . - --..-- / - .... . / .-- . .- .--. --- -. ... / .- .-. . / ..-. .- -.- . .-.-.- / .--- ..- ... - / .--. .-.. .- -.-- / .- .-.. --- -. --. --..-- / - .... . -.-- .-. . / .... .- .-. -- .-.. . ... ... .-.-.-
|
As the world leader all patiently waited for the emergency meeting to start, a cold air filled the room.
Then the head scientist’s live stream started to begin.
“Dr Zorzo.” started the president of Russia. “My agents have informed me that you had received a message from what we presume to be an extraterrestrial source. Is that correct?”
“Y-Yes, Mr Putin.” Answered Dr Zorzo. “One month ago, he picked up a strange signal on the frequency on one of our satellites. Even though, I thought nothing of it at first, my curiosity got the best of me and then not soon after we started decoding it.”
“Dr Zorzo, We are busy people. Please get to the matter at hand.” Asked the president of China.
“Yes, ofcoarse.”
As he showed an USB that was in his hand he said:
“This here with me contains a file with the words, we had decrypted from the signal. And once I plug it in to my computer, each one of you will receive a translated version of your own language on your screen.”
The room grew in anticipation as he plugged the device into his pc.
***Part 1***
| 2020-06-01T02:34:53 | 2020-06-01T01:03:23 | 105 | 21 |
[WP] Your dad is wanted in twenty countries, your mom is a serial kille, your little brother is a genius hacker, and your little sister has just joined the Illuminati. None of them would ever want to anger you, though.
|
"WAIT!"
Your hand hovers over the sword, it's ancient golden hilt beckoning. You look at Elder Sister One next to you; she is frowning at the source of the interruption.
"Sister Seven, this is not appropriate. Whatever you have to say, surely it can wait until Miss Detterman has completed the final rite . . . " she gestures at the goat still suspended over the golden globe, sedated and swaying from the crane.
Sister Seven slowly, but urgently lumbers her frame from the darkness into the circle of light coming through the glass pyramid above. "My apologies, Elder Sister, my apologies, but - "
" - this ritual has not been interrupted in over 200 years, Sister. I need not remind you - "
" - yes, yes, yes. I am aware. Well aware, Elder Sister, of the troubles caused by the last interruption. Indeed, it is because - "
" - troubles?" Elder Sister One gapes through her black veil down at the panting interloper, with the golden sword's blade still balanced across her open palms. "We lost the colonies! All of them! We had to rewrite one HUNDRED years of planning! All because of that damn Abigail Adams . . . "
" - yes, Elder Sister, but please! Please, I must speak! I have urgent information about this candidate that must be presented!" Sister Seven puts her hands on her knees and attempts to catch her breath. "Please. Allow me to speak."
The Elder Sister twists her mouth as she stares at Sister Seven. The other Elder Sisters behind her murmur gently. She glares back at them and they fall silent. She sighs, flips the sword in her hands, and sheaths it. "Very well, Sister Seven. Proceed."
"Thank you, Sister - "
" - ELDER Sister!"
" - yes, yes, Elder Sister. Thank you. I have uncovered something about Miss Detterman, Miss Anne Detterman, her family, that bears presenting before she is accepted into our ranks. May I be allowed to examine the candidate?"
You feel you skin vibrating. You stare at Sister Seven, as if trying to vaporize her with your gaze. Surely, she could not have discovered . . .
"Her family? Sister, we have completed our examination of her rather infamous family, and concluded there is no reason she should not be admitted."
Sister Seven looks at the Elder Sisters, slack-jawed. "Truly? Truly? Elder Sisters, may I please hear the conclusion of your research into her family? At this time?"
Elder Sister One looks back. "Elder Sister Four? Please read our conclusions."
Elder Sister Four takes a step forward, and pulls her iPad out of her robe. "Concerning the candidate for Sisterhood, Anne Louise Detterman, I have concluded the following regarding her living lineage, as such:
"Her mother, Fount Of Life, Sylvia Detterman, though not a Sister, is not objectionable. Her - "
"NOT objectionable? NOT objectionable?" Sister Seven shouts. "'The Ghost of Lilith' NOT objectionable? A woman who has killed so many children, the Pope said she was ineligible for Heaven? Surely, my Sisters, the daughter of the Ghost Of Lilith killer, butcher of babies, known in parts of South America as "the Darkness walking" - surely this caused some form of objection among you?"
Elder Sister Four purses her lips. "No resistance was met, Sister, she - "
"She's killed over one hundred children!"
Elder Sister One jumps in, "Thank you for your concern, Sister, but the candidate's mother's killings of male children has been found unobjectionable. If anything, her psychosis has acted to further our South American goals. Proceed, Elder Sister Four."
"Thank you. Her father, Sprig Of Life, Harold 'Harry' Detterman, though not a child of a Sister, is not objectionable. Her brother Abeld - "
Sister Seven stumbles, "What? No one has a problem with Harry the Hand?”
“Again, Sister, no resistance was met.” Sister Four seems to almost roll her eyes.
“The man who’s militia the United Nations called ‘worse than Al Qaeda’? His anarchist revolutionaries have directly or indirectly overthrown three South Asian governments! The man rode a tiger into one battle in Sri Lanka! Is this the influence we want on our Sisterhood and it’s goals?”
“Calm yourself, Sister, this type of political upheaval is well accounted for in our plans. Elder Sister?”
Elder Sister Four reads on, “Her brother, Abeld “Base420” Detterman, of the same Well of Life, is not objectionable.” The Elder Sister looks at Sister Seven, anticipating her objection.
Sister Seven looks from her to Elder Sister One, pleadingly. “I would think, Sisters, the weeklong shutdown of the London Stock Exchange, would disqualify any relative of this Base420.”
Elder Sister One yields slightly, “there was some resistance, Sister, on the basis that Miss Detterman’s brother’s rather . . technologically-inclined fetishes . . might disrupt some of our short-term interventions – “
“ – he actually carved a pot leave into the moon! The moon! Is the moon no longer important to this Sisterhood?”
“ – NEVERTHELESS SISTER – “ Sister Seven closes her mouth and glares at the floor “ – nevertheless, we found this to be acceptable. Now, if our historical tour of Miss Detterman’s immediate family is completed, we – “
“ – and her sister?”
Elder Sister One freezes. She stares at you. “’Sister’? Miss Detterman?” You feel yourself trembling under your robes as she looks back at the group behind her. “’Sister?’ Elder Sister Four?”
Elder Sister Four’s eyes widen to the size of hubcaps. “I . . . I . . . no sister, she . . no, Miss Detterman has no sister, I . . “
Elder Sister One whips back to you. “Well? What of it?”
You feel yourself sliding into her probing look. “I . . . no, of course not. No sister.”
Sister Seven lunges, “Oh? Your sister is not Vivian DuFresne?”
Elder Sister One’s eyes narrow questioningly. “DuFresne? That name . . . “
“Yes, Elder Sister, Vivian DuFresne. Yoga instructor, mother of two, and – “
Elder Sister One suddenly gasps. “The Blue Bolt!”
“ – The Blue Bolt. Faster than lightning. Stronger than steel. The woman who carried the crashing space station to Earth. The hero who tied every member of ISIS in eight countries to a tree in Syria in under 45 minutes. The Great Blue Hope for the World.”
Elder Sister One almost whispers, “your sister is a goddamn superhero?”
You sigh. Years of work - using your vast corporate empire to create a fake identity for her, hypnotic suggestion under the guise of therapy, chemical emotional suppressants embedded in her skin while she slept – all for nothing now. All you have left is to explain her one limitation and hope they can work around it: “ . . only when she gets angry.”
|
This is my first time writing this type of stuff so please bear with me. :)
Story begins:
Me: My whole Family are known for doing illegal things, heck even I admit they do those stuff.
Me: But I know you're wondering why wouldn't they want me to join in their.....well..... escapades?
Agent: Tell me why?
Me: Well...... It's because it uses up a lot of time, and you know time is money, I'm busy managing my business my passion, and my family knows that nothing gets past my pancake business.
Me: Blood may be thicker then Water but Maple syrup is even thicker then blood. Thats my Code and my family understands that, since dedication is our family's thing.
Agent: Interesting. So you would priortize your "Pancake business" over your own family. But why pancakes and do you interact or receive help or help your family?
Me: I love pancakes! Since I was a kid in the oprhanage with my younger brother and sister. Pancakes were what they served every Saturday and Sunday and it was the most delicious thing yet.
Me: But one day, after we got back to the orphanage from a little celebration somewhere, where all ophans, me and my siblings included. We saw the orphanage was destroyed, the destruction of the orphanage the recipe for the pancakes and the person who made them were all lost. The one thing that made living there worth it.
Agent: How does this relate to you not joining with your family?
Me: We're getting there.
Me: After that we were forced to live in rubbles of the orphanage, and one day my parents arrived and took me and my siblings with them.
Me: I eventually found out my Parents destroyed the orphanage since it was quite a process just to get us, and they left us there to teach us the cruelity of the world, I guess it to mold us into them.
Me: I didn't care about that. What I cared about was the lost of the pancakes and threw a tantrum until
Mother: If you love those pancakes so much why not make them.
Me: I took a liking to that idea, and exploiting the part that they felt sorry for me that the one thing I loved was lost forever. I asked them if I can set on a quest to try to remake those pancakes. A quest they all respected. So for a few years I stayed with my family grew up until I was ready. After that I set out.
Me: Before I left my parents gave me money and stuff I would need to live. After that we never saw each other again. Guess our lives were a little too busy to meet each other.
Agent: Very well. Story checks out. You may leave.
Me: Thanks! Be sure to come to my Business. Remember the name "Panned Cake" at the corner of the street near this place.
| 2017-06-04T08:49:41 | 2017-06-04T05:32:37 | 53 | 10 |
[WP] You've been captured by a serial killer. However, he doesn't realize he's the one in danger - your body count is much higher.
|
I also wanted to contribute one. Let me know what you guys think or where I could improve.
--------------
I lay there in the trunk of what I guess was the same 90's model Buick I saw in the parking lot of the bar. I only got a brief look at it before my consciousness left me altogether and I collapsed onto the shoulder of my new friend, Bucky. I saw him stuffing a rag into his pocket.
"Hey man, you look like you had a bit too much tonight..." Bucky chuckled as he wrapped my arm around his shoulder and began leading my increasingly limp body towards the car.
"Let's get you home!"
He tossed me in the backseat of the car. The radio came on - Little Green Bag by the George Baker Selection. I liked that song. Then I blacked out. He must've transferred me to trunk at some point.
The road we were on wasn't paved.
I let out a sigh, thinking to myself how much more cliche this could get. Some lonely cabin in the woods...and chloroform? Really? How very boring. To think, I could've had him -
My thoughts were cut short after the car came to a sudden stop. The driver door opened and slammed shut as I could hear Bucky approaching the trunk.
Okay, showtime.
Bucky popped open the trunk. I looked up at his blubbery silhouette against the night sky. I could still make out his chunky face, a huge grin plastered on it. The moon reflected off his bald head.
"How was the ride?" Bucky asked, with blatantly intentional sarcasm.
Judging from the conversations we had at the bar, I knew he was into the freaky shit. So I played along.
"Bucky you dirty dog! I knew you were kinky but THIS is what I'm talking about!"
He stood there, clearly confused for a moment.
"Uhh.. ya heheh but I promise you, you haven't seen nothin' yet."
Bucky lifted me out of the trunk as my arms and legs were bound with duct tape (I mean seriously? THREE wrap around, max!). We were indeed out in the middle of nowhere. Some hundred feet away was a single story cabin with a garage. What a shithole; car parts, discarded furniture, piles of kitchen appliances, you name it, strewn all about the property.
"Wow, this is some place you got here, Bucky. I've always wanted a cabin of my own. Do you live here?"
Bucky was becoming winded. I'd imagine it would be rather difficult for his fat ass to carry me even a quarter of the distance to the cabin. Between heaving breaths, Bucky explained that this was just his private getaway. He then stopped to emphasize,
"It's so private, no one else can hear ya out here..." as another cheesy grin spread across his face. Wow he was so overtly ominous, I giggled out loud. What a fucking amateur.
"What's so funny?" Bucky demanded, now wheezing from the strenuous task of having to haul my bound ass to the cabin. This guy...what a fucking idiot. Why didn't he just park closer? But I saw my opportunity.
"Its nothing heheh. Wow, I'm sooo ready for this! I bet you have a pretty sweet playroom if you know what I mean?" I winked at him, disgusted on the inside.
"Hey, why dont't you just let me walk the rest of the way. I'm totally digging this whole scenario but you sound kinda tired and I'm gonna need some of that energy when we play. You could put a leash on me - so I don't get away" I suggested in a flirty manner.
Bucky stopped again. He didn't say anything for a moment. I could tell he was thinking to himself whether or not I would be a willing victim for his sexual fantasy - you know, up until he would reveal he was going to kill me.
I tried to sweeten the deal.
"Plus, I know you definitely have some sturdy chains laying around somewhere in there. Wouldn't that be more sexy than this duct tape?"
Take the bait you stupid sick fuck.
"Uhh you know what, that's not a bad idea..."
Bucky layed me down and cut the duct tape around my feet. He seemed somewhat relieved to get my weight off his arms.
"...but I'm keeping your hands bound...my little pet" he said as he placed a collar and leash around my neck.
In we went. The cabin looked straight out of an episode of Hoarders. He was leading me through the cabin and was excited to show me what he called "his dungeon". On the way in, I spotted a clock. It had been almost 40 minutes since we left the bar. Perfect. Any moment now.
Bucky threw open the door to his garage attached to the kitchen. Before he flipped the light switch, he ushered me into the darkness then switched them on.
Just as I imagined. Oversized sex toys, whips, ball gags, various medieval style contraptions and your standard serial killer work bench complete with a bonesaw.
On the far wall, a row of stuffed heads hung like game trophies. How original.
Bucky stepped inside the garage chuckling to himself.
"So what do you think? Pretty sweet huh? I think your heads going to look pretty good right next.. next to..tooo those twooo...."
Finally, it kicked in.
I took my right hand, which had easily been freed from the shoddy duct tape binding and pointed towards the end of the row of heads.
"Naa I think my head would've looked much better next to that one."
Bucky was now struggling to stand up, constantly wobbling until he dropped to his knees.
"Whaaa...? What's happening?" Bucky stuttered.
"Well Bucky, you sick perverted twat." I said as I lifted the leash off my neck.
"We're not so different, you and I. See, I enjoy the thrill of killing too. However, unlike yourself, I don't find any sexual pleasure with it. Frankly, you disgust me and I'm glad I found you of all people."
Bucky was now beginning to slump over, yet his eyes were wide and focused, peering deep into mine. I could sense his fear. He dropped to the ground, unable to talk, eyes still locked on mine.
"You may have heard of me actually, well at least the name given to me in the papers - does the Cleaver of Seattle ring any bells?"
I swear I saw him piss his pants at this point. I chuckled. Good to know I'm somewhat famous.
"I'll take that as a yes. You see, tonight was supposed to end the other way around. You were to be my victim. I poured a little sedative in your last beer. It takes a little while to kick in but I prefer it to your brutish chloroform method, because I cherish those precious moments waiting for the drug to kick in. Much more elegant in my humble opinion."
Bucky became increasingly sedated but his eyes were still on mine. His terror was undeniable.
"So what do you say we do some role reversal and I get back to my night huh? Hmmm... I didn't bring any of my tools. I'm sure you won't mind if I borrow some of yours. Oh no, you seem a bit tired. Go to sleep, you'll need your energy. When you wake up, I promise we'll get to know each other much better."
|
**\- My first attempt on this sub -**
I was awoken to the sound of dripping water. I tried to move but quickly found out my wrists were bound above my head. I looked upwards to see them chained to a pipe on the roof. Water dripped from the pipe in a regular unbreaking tempo.
"So. You're awake." An older man with graying hair walked in from another room. I immediately noticed the scalpel he cradled in his hands. "Sorry to say, you're my latest play thing. It's nothing personal really. I tend to pick my play things at random." The man slowly walked towards me.
I tried to struggle free of the chains but they were too tight. My options of escape were dwindling, as few as there were to begin with. "You've no idea what you've done." I said in a quiet voice.
My captor brought his face close to mine and whispered, "I know exactly what I've done. I've chosen you as my play thing." He moved back and started stroking the scalpel. "I'll cut you, and cut you, and cut you, until you can't take it anymore and die from blood loss. Your screams will fill my ears with plea-"
"You have absolutely no idea." I said interrupting him. "You have no idea how many people I've killed."
"How many you've killed?" The man chuckled. "I've been watching you for the last two weeks. You're a nine to five office worker with a wife and two children."
"I haven't killed in the last four years." I replied with a wry smile. "I figured I could get away from it, but it seems trouble follows me wherever I go. Even if you aren't the usual government goons I've dealt with." My captor's eyes narrowed at my words. "You have no idea what you've done. No matter how many people you've killed, my body count is much, much higher."
My eyes began to glow white and my captor grabbed onto his head and began screaming in pain. He flailed his body around knocking boxes and other objects over before falling to his knees. He let out one more scream of pain as blood poured from every orifice on his head. Eyes, nose, ears, mouth. His arms dropped and his body slumped over in a heap on the floor.
"That's number three-hundred and twenty seven..."
| 2018-08-23T02:17:27 | 2018-08-23T01:51:10 | 836 | 47 |
[WP]Humans are reverse Kryptonians. They are weak on their home planet but strong everywhere else. No one knew this until Earth was attacked and humanity was taken off of earth to be enslaved.
|
Hollywood, I think, is the closest thing to real magic one can find on planet earth. The ability to take what lives in one's mind and broadcast it to thousands of screens across the world. The ability to invite others into your mind is a modern one. It can also be dangerous though, to consolidate a novel perception into a common perception. We all thought the same thing of an alien invasion, collectively. Flying disks, little green or grey men with big heads and laser guns conquering earth with their sheer numbers and advanced tech.
It wasn't like that at all.
The news never even had a chance to report it. If they did, none of us could remember. It was like having a dream that's so long that you forget you're you until you wake up and realize the life you were living was all in your head. Except we didn't wake up. We rested our heads against our pillows one night and before we even realized we were slaves, we were turning cranks in a dimly lit metallic room in a spaceship several light-years away from earth.
I was sitting in my pen thinking about the weekend plans when something inside of my head just kind of snapped- like a rubber band that had held a large number of papers together for years finally gave in. The papers fell to the floor and upon them was written a story. One that I had read before and suddenly remembered in its entirety. I slowly stood up and looked around- truly looked around for the first time since I'd been here.
". . . Hello?" I called out. My throat was dry and dusty and my voice sounded hoarse and foreign to me. I slowly made my way to the bars of my pen and wrapped my fingers around them. I swallowed painfully and rested my head in the space between the bars as I peered through the darkness.
I was Trey.
My name was *Trey.*
I didn't belong here. Panic slowly began to set in as I came to grips with my situation.
"Let me out!" I said as loud as my voice would allow.
"LET ME OUT!!" I screamed louder now, as though learning to scream for the first time, and as I did I yanked furiously on the bars...
And they relented.
As though they were made of paper, they tore from the pen. I looked down at one of the bars in my hands and opened my fingers. There were imprints of my fingers left in the bars where I'd held them. I held onto one of them like a makeshift weapon and cautiously left my pen. It was quiet, save for the constant hum of the craft that permeated the walls of the facility. I looked down at the others in their pens- they had pressed against the bars to look at me. I slowly walked across their pens, looking at their dirty malnourished faces as I did. I stopped where all of them could see me and held the bar over my head.
"The bars are weak," I said quietly at first before clearing my throat. "These bars! Pull em' off!"
They stared blankly ahead as though in a comatose state. I started breathing heavily as I looked around at them.
"H-hey! Are you listening?? Pull the bars off, they're like paper!"
Suddenly there was a noise toward the front of the room. I turned around to see a door sliding open- they were clear and there were two sets of them like one would see in a disease control center. A couple of aliens walked through the first set of doors and stared menacingly through the glass at me as the doors closed behind them. They were holding the stun batons they frequently used to speed us up when we were slowing down. I watched as the second set of doors opened and prepared for a fight. Even if there was nowhere for me to run, I would at least make them regret what they'd done to me; to us; to earth.
They strode through the door, activating their batons. The crackle of electricity filled the room and it was bright against the darkness I'd become used to. I held the bar of my cell like a bat and slowly backpedaled as they approached. The one on the right broke off and began to circle around me. I instinctively moved myself to maintain the cone.
That's right.
I was a boxer before all of this happened.
I still knew to maintain the cone- to keep both of your opponents in front of you at all times. The moment one of them has your back, it's all over. The aliens chirped at me in whatever language they spoke as they drew closer and closer. With a lethal amount of adrenaline in my veins, I decided to charge at one of them. If I could knock one of them out, I had a fair fight on my hands. What I didn't expect was the speed at which I attacked. I was so fast, I didn't even swing my weapon- I kind of just exploded right through him. In the blink of an eye, I was standing in front of the containment doors covered in a thick viscous fluid.
I turned around at the same time the other alien did, both of us with about equal shock plastered all over our faces.
Except my face was also plastered with alien guts.
Maybe it was a different gravity or something? A setting on the ship? I didn't know, and I didn't really care. All that mattered was that I was strong and I was fast. The creature started chirping madly as he held his little baton in front of him. I looked down at myself and squeegeed some of the goo off of my face before glancing at the pens. The other humans were smiling in disbelief, and I had to admit, it was a contagious feeling. I held the bar out in front of me vertically and tugged on it.
The woman on the far right looked down at her bars, adjusted her grip, and yanked them clean off. The alien watched in terror as the other humans began to pull their bars apart and stride out of their cells- and then quickly broke left toward the wall. By the time I saw the alarm he was attempting to pull, a woman crashed into the wall near the switch, causing the alien to skid to a stop. While she was clearly not used to her speed yet, she had succeeded in stopping him from throwing the switch. She didn't waste time- she strode up and ripped the baton out of his hands before lifting him by his neck high into the air. His scream was cut short when she crushed his windpipe.
"Chtob tebe deti v'sup srali," she said as she dropped the creature to the floor.
I suddenly felt dumb for not realizing it before. They weren't deaf or braindead- I might just be the only English speaker in the room.
*This is what people are always saying about Americans,* I thought to myself as I cringed. The humans all turned and stared at me. An Asian man began speaking in a South-Pacific dialect I didn't understand, and another woman said something in Spanish, which I actually did know a little bit of. Had they specifically placed us in rooms where we couldn't communicate with one another? I didn't have a lot of answers- but I knew one thing as the seven of us exchanged glances.
We would be slaves no more.
- - -
I used to get a 15-minute break at work and write as much as I could during that break. I'm self-employed now, so it's kind of a self-challenge at this point. I broke my timer by a few minutes on this one so I could research Russian for a moment. I felt it was important to get it right =P
If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos
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"Hey? Joe? You there?"
"Where else would I be, Bob. Not like we've been moved since they put us in these damned boxes."
"Well, that's just it. I don't think we're on Earth anymore. Try jumping to the ceiling."
"Why?"
"Just try it. I wanna know what you find out for yourself."
"Okay, alle-o *CLANG* OW!"
"Joe? … Joe!? … Are you okay?!?"
"Um. I think so. I'm not so sure about the ceiling."
"Left a dent did you? So did I."
"More like a half meter hole. Hang on, I'm gonna try something."
*Screarrrccchhht!*
"What The Hell Was That!"
From just outside Bob's cell. "I just tore the wall of my cell apart."
*Gah!* "JOE? DON'T DO THAT!"
"Nope, now *you* get to do it."
"Oh. Huh. Lemme try a different way." Bob winds up with the kind of bad martial arts movie hand chop, like a blade in a circular motion.
*SHHHRRANNG! CLANG!*
"Cool move! Chopped your way out with one swipe of a hand. Look, I gotta ask, what the ding dong hell is going on here? We sure didn't do anything to get this physical enhancement."
"Either they already experimented on us, or it's inherent in us."
"But if just being off Earth was enough, the astronauts and cosmonauts would already have figured it out."
"So... We're at least beyond the moon."
"Yeah. Now, how many other humans did they snatch, and how many of them are there? Even if it's just us two, we could cause a lot of hell."
"Yes, we could do a lot by ourselves, including getting everyone onboard killed. Then get ourselves killed by trying to go back to Earth without a space suit."
"Why would…? Never mind. If the astronauts needed it so do we on the return."
"Yup. All in all, it's probably a better idea to get along with the aliens."
"Isu tinofara kunzwa izvo. Zita rangu kaputeni!"
"Um, I think he said he's the captain."
"Your pardon, the wrong language came up. I am called Captain in your lang) Mxd I am so glad you decided on peace. If you hadn't, we would have met in pieces."
(finis)
| 2021-05-18T06:30:08 | 2021-05-18T06:04:50 | 2,212 | 77 |
[WP] Choose a number from 1 to 118. Ready? Okay, good. You now control the element with that atomic number.
And I hope you didn't pick 85. :)
|
I looked up from my omelette to see which of us was on the news at the moment. Abraham Southfield. Huh. So that was One’s name.
There were 118 of us shoved into that lab. Subjected to those torturous experiments. I had thought the numbers attached to us were rather comedic when I first arrived. Some trope about dehumanization in the face of science. We never even got the chance to learn each others names. I never imagined those numbers would mark us as gods.
Well, some of us.
It had been a busy two weeks. The instant we gained our freedom, One instantly solved all of the worlds energy needs. Fusion and all that. Thank God he had been a decent man before the lab. 6 and 26 had likewise catapulted human knowledge forward by generations. 22 and 80, meanwhile, had become something akin to comic book villains made flesh, and were already feared the world over.
And then there was me. Number 30. Fucking Zinc.
Do you know how fucking boring Zinc is?
It’s barely even its own metal. It’s not even in anything important. Whohoo, I can control some poor band kids trombone! It..
I put my fork down and pushed my plate away, taking in a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Not that it would matter if I lost my temper. I’m not 15.
The only waitress in this little 24 hour diner came over and cleared my plate, dropping my check off with a smile. I quickly grabbed my card and handed it to her before she could walk away. No point in spending more time here. I really needed to get home and get back to bed.
When I hadn’t been able to sleep earlier in the night, I had thought that the night air and an extremely early breakfast might help put things in perspective. It hadn’t worked too well so far. I just couldn’t get my mind off the unfairness of it all. Fucking Zinc. Some of us were almost literal gods, and my life was just as boring as ever.
I collected my card from the waitress, signed for my tip, and left. My thoughts consumed me as I started my walk home, unable to break the loop in my head about the unfairness of it all. Instead, I should have been paying attention to my surroundings. Being pistol-whipped is a singularly unpleasant experience.
The blow fell from the shadows of an alley as I walked by, and two sets of strong hands grabbed me as I fell and pulled me into the shadows they had struck from. I was tossed to the ground amid a rain of uncoordinated punches. The punching lasted for a few seconds before I felt a hand reach for my wallet. The two thugs quickly emptied the contents of my wallet, and were clearly displeased with what they found. They started arguing in hushed, but increasingly agitated tones, and the bigger one waved his gun in my direction.
I was panicking. Through all of the pain and the sound of my own blood pumping in my ears, I couldn’t understand their conversation. But I knew it wasn’t good for me, and I could feel him waving the gun in my direction.
Wait.
How was I feeling…
The adrenaline pumping through me was apparently heightening my senses. When I stopped to focus, I could feel the zinc waving around in the air like I was touching it with my own skin. Seven little tubes of alloyed zinc waving around in the center of the man’s hand.
The brass bullet casings.
A sense of awe washed over me as my mind reeled with the possibilities. Something simple to start with, though. I reached out with my mind, feeling the Zinc within the alloy, and started to bend. The soft metal warped and twisted within the chamber, pinching shut behind the actual projectile. I pulled metal from the sides and rear of the round, weakening them as I strengthened the little jam I had made. Now all that was left to do was rip open the other cases a little... Success. I was so excited that I let out a little cheer.
The larger, armed thug didn’t take too kindly to my joyous outburst, however, and proceeded to actually aim the gun at me in place of simply waiving it enthusiastically. It was at this point that I recommended that he return my wallet before something bad happened. He took it rather well, I thought. He was laughing when he pulled the trigger.
The pistol exploded in his hand. All seven rounds detonated almost simultaneously, their force being directed every which way but forward. The thug screamed and dropped to his knees, clutching his new stump to his chest. I have never felt triumph so profound.
My elation was short lived, however, as the second thug bellowed and charged at me, still laying prone several feet away. This time, there was no panic as I reached out with my senses feeling for something else to use. Much to my surprise, my assailant was bringing my zinc to me.
Contrary to popular knowledge, the American penny is not made of copper. It used to be, but that was changed in 1982. Now, penny’s simply have a copper plating placed over a cheaper, less in-demand metal: Zinc. And my attacker was carrying seventeen cents in his pocket.
I reached out with my powers and my newfound appreciation for them, grabbed hold of each piece of zinc, and scattered them in every direction at the highest speed I could get them to. The air around the thugs pocket exploded in a coppery flash, and he dropped to the ground instantly, bleeding from gashes that had been torn in his legs and abdomen.
I pulled myself to my feet and looked at the carnage I had wrought. It had only been a few seconds, but both of my assailants were completely incapacitated and in dire need of medical attention. And all it had taken was a few thoughts and a little creativity. I smiled.
Fucking Zinc.
|
I always hated my power.
You see, everyone in this world can control one of the 118 elements, and I got one of the most annoying ones.
104, Rutherfordium.
Its radioactive, unnatural, and is a transition element.
The only thing that is a plus with it is it's long transition time, at about 13 hours.
Even then, its unusable because i can barely get my hands on any of it.
I mean it allows me to not harm anyone in a burst of rage (I've seen some 82s cause some real damage), but I wish I wasn't as useless as a goose.
And one of the worst things, is that some of the worst people were in very similar categories as me. Stalin was moscovium, Napoleon was copernicium, and Trump is Darmstadtium (Hitler was actually titanium, btw)
I just wish that i wasn't this useless compared to so many other people.
| 2019-11-26T20:15:15 | 2019-11-26T18:17:52 | 201 | 15 |
[WP] Time freezes for everyone around you each time your life is in danger, leaving only you able to move until you are no longer in danger. One day time freezes, but you can't figure out why, until..
I hope its not too vague, first writing prompt ^^ enjoy
Thank you all so much for the responses it's so much fun to read them :)
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The first time it happened I was just little kid riding my bike. My mom wasn't paying attention to me. She was too deep in her gossip with our neighbor to notice me peddling toward the street. Honestly, I didn't even notice at first. But I was six and day dreaming about how I was a race car. I felt the bump of hitting the curb and I felt my bike tip over. I was spilled out into the street like a dropped sack of potatoes. My elbow was bleeding and scratched up but I was otherwise fine. It wasn't scary, looking up and seeing the grill of the blue Ford F150 inches from my face because it was totally motionless. In fact, everything was. I looked around and mom was frozen with her hands in the air like she just didn't care, making a face that indicated some juicy gossip had been exchanged. I stood up from my indignity, grabbed my bike by the handle bars, righted it and myself back on the side walk and put my foot to the peddle. Without any pomp or circumstance life resumed. Moms arms dropped down. The truck drove off. I remembered the pain on my elbow and started to cry.
It took me a few years to realize I was the only one this happened to. I couldn't understand why so many people died in accidents. Why didn't they just move? When I did put it together I felt awful. Like I had this responsibility to help everyone. But I couldn't make time just stop by willing it. It only happened when I was in immediate danger. Maybe if I put myself into dangerous situations, I thought, I could save people when time stopped for me. But it turns out that is a lot harder to do than say when you live in the suburbs. Eventually I gave up thoughts of being a superhero. Until dad died.
The police came by and broke the news to mom at around 1 am. She had been worried when dad didn't show up from work. I remembered later her calling the office and his phone before deciding he must have stopped off at a bar or something. They said it was a mugging gone bad. He didn't feel anything. It was fast. The police said they'd catch the guy. They never did.
I was racked with guilt. All this power to save myself but I couldn't save the people I loved. Leaving my room became hard. So hard I rarely did it. I graduated from high school, thanks to the pity of my teachers, and got a job as a waiter in the local restaurant. But otherwise I just stopped trying. If I wasn't working I was in my room playing xbox. I told myself everything was fine. I was helping mom with the bills.
To pass the time of existence I took up smoking. But it was a little annoying because every time I sparked up time would stop until the damn cigarette was out. That got annoying. So I tried weed. Same thing. Being reminded of my curse every time I tried to escape it was like hell. I needed a safe release. Eating was it. At first it was just my sweet tooth. Ice cream, cookies, cakes. But when those ran out I turned snacks. And when both were available, I ate both. Work was great because there was no shortage of meals and desserts.
Then, one day, at 7:23am, time stopped again. I was putting my pants on for work when I noticed my music stopped. I poked my head out of my room and sure enough, mom was frozen mid yawn as she poured coffee. Also, there was no danger to be seen. I finished dressing and looked around my room. Nothing. Maybe I was about to trip, I thought. But then why didn't time kick back in. It only ever lasted long enough that I was out of danger.
The house itself was fine. Nothing hurdeling toward it. No gas leak. Not even a plane in the sky. I wandered around for who knows how long, checking everything in the neighborhood. Maniac neighbor with a bomb? No. Sinkhole about to swallow me whole? Not unless it was going to swallow a 120+ home neighborhood. Wildfire? Nada. Zombie apocalypse? Not as far as I could tell. Time had never been stopped this long. Whatever was coming must have be huge, I thought. So I expanded my search radius.
The thing about time being stopped is, you don't know how much time has been passing, not really. Maybe I could hazard a guess but it gets really confusing when the sun never moves an inch. As such, I can't say how long it took me. But eventually I had mapped the entire city of Tulsa and it's surrounded suburbs. Nothing ever came up. I felt like I was losing my mind. There was no one to talk to, only to observe. The world became a museum. A really shitty Museum of Tulsa. It felt voyeuristic, searching through homes for the cause of my danger, watching the people around me. I saw lovers, frozen in kisses. Children mid-whine about getting up for school. Dogs jumping at their masters for walks. One guy, totally trying to secretly jerk off on a morning bus. None of them moved but they all felt more alive than me. Maybe this was Hell.
Eventually I wandered home. I didn't try. My feet just carried me there. Nothing changed. No dust had settled, no mail delivered. And there was mom. Pot of coffee in hand, looking unimpressed with the morning news. When did she get lines around her eyes? How had I never noticed before. And her hair; was that grey I saw?
Emotions hit me all at once and I couldn't breathe. I would never be able to talk to her again, not really. She was here but not here. I could talk to her but she was never going to talk back. I stood next to her and sobbed. Wrapping my arms around her like a little kid, I buried my face in her shoulder. My whole body shook and heaved in pain as I gagged out sobs. I didn't stop until I felt her arms around me.
"Aw Honey, what's wrong?" Her voice ran through me like lightning. I looked up and there was her moving face. She looked startled as hell but it was her. The news anchor babbled in the background, the coffee mom was pouring spilled on the table and dripped down to the floor. "Honey, are you okay?" The look of concern spread across her face. It turned a bit into confusion. "Did you lose weight," she paused, "Since yesterday? Also, honey, maybe a shower is in order."
|
It has happened your entire life. You first noticed the time stops while riding your bike at 13. Trying to impress the cute girl in school you had tried riding down the locally imfamous "suicide hill" which crossed over a fairly busy road at the end. You noticed the semi truck to late and before you knew what happened you were lying in the road with the truck bearing down on you... until it wasn't.
It has happened a couple of times after that, but how often Is the life of an accountant really in jeapordy? However this time was different.
It had been days without any movement from anyone. When it happened you were sitting at your desk eating lunch and figured you were about to choke on that salad. By the way choking is terrifying because you continue to choke and no one can help you lodge it free, but luckily you learned how to fix it yourself.
Anyway, as you looked around and continued to eat you realized that nothing was happening. Time stood still and after a while you just decided to head home.
It has been this way for a long time... well technically it hasn't been because time is frozen but for you it has felt like forever. It didn't take long to come to the conclusion that the world was ending... or you were dying.
You were stuck, forever. Faced with one choice, one decision. Live forever with the world stuck in place, or end your life and risk destroying the entire world. Either way, you would never know the truth.
| 2017-06-21T10:03:52 | 2017-06-21T07:56:10 | 30 | 21 |
[WP] You are the child of a superhero and your boyfriend/girlfriend is the child of their nemesis. Both your parent and theirs are furious at both of you for dating, but the two of you think that your parents feud is just stupid.
|
Part 1/2
I was fourteen when my powers first manifested. I was on a field trip to the zoo when the Macaque took me hostage and I generated my first explosive burst in a panic, sending the Macaque clean through the wall to the hippo enclosure. Luckily, my mom was chaperoning that day and she made up an excuse about the Macaque's suit malfunctioning when she costumed up to handle the situation. When we got home, she and I were ecstatic that my powers had finally arrived.
After a few months of training, I made my debut as Pulsar's new partner, Miss Megaton. I loved being a superhero, from punching evildoers in the face to saving someone's life when all seemed lost. I even learned a few tricks my mom never thought of trying, like channeling my explosive burst through an object to weaken its' integrity. But easily the best day of my superhero career was when I met Priya.
My mom had a nemesis by the name of Hugo Archleone. Hugo was a jack-of-all-trades when it came to evil intellectual pursuits: robotics, genetic engineering, psychological warfare, mind control, business, and even magic. Me and my mom were in the middle of dealing with his latest trap, a gladiatorial arena filled with self-repairing nanite clusters, when he saw fit to introduce his own daughter. The holographic projector presented Priya to us, and I was so distracted I almost got knocked out by a cluster drone three times.
Priya was a four-armed, blue-skinned girl with purple hair, pointed ears, and a lion-like tail. Running down one of her arms was a series of what I'm pretty sure were alchemical symbols and she had a claymore held in another. Hugo started talking about how Priya was a conglomeration of everything he had studied over his life, but I was too entranced by Priya's beauty to listen. Eventually, my mom and I broke out of the trap and foiled Hugo's plot, forcing him and Priya to get out a dodge, but I discovered that in the chaos, Priya had somehow snuck her phone number into my pocket.
It didn't take long for Priya and I to start seeing each other regularly. There was just something about Priya that made her so easy to fall in love with. And miraculously, she felt the same way about me. Neither of our parents approved, unsurprisingly. And one day, Priya and I decided to end the feud for good.
It was almost ten-thirty by the time my mom finally woke up. As she did, she bolted upright when she saw that she wasn't in her bed. She was lying on a cot in an empty house, stuck behind the glowing green forcefield of a power nullifier. Once she saw me and Priya standing in front of the cell, my mom began pounding on the forcefield. "Sadie, what is this?! Where am I?!"
"Safehouse in Nebraska," Priya answered. "My dad owns it."
"And before you ask," a voice behind my mom interjected, "I was not in on this plan. My mom turned around to see Hugo Archleone sitting crosslegged on the floor. My mom started scowling. "You knock me out and put me in a cell with *him?!*"
Hugo raised his hand. "No no, they knocked *me* out. You just got dragged in while reeking of red wine."
I coughed to get their attention. "You're here for a very simple reason: you are going to stop acting like children and hash out your issues already." Hugo and my mom started to protest only for Priya to shut them down with a frustrated cry of, "You two have been fighting for years all because you got to be valedictorian in college, Ms. Ashton, and my dad didn't! That's where this bullshit started! And we're tired of having to work around *your* pettiness! Do you know how many times I've had to disguise one of us as a teddy bear when we stay the night?!"
My mom gasped. "I knew there was something off with that thing!"
"You two are going to stay in there until you find a solution," I said to them. "Now, if you'll excuse us, Priya and I are going to the arcade so we can dig into some mozzarella sticks and I can win another collection of novelty toys for my girlfriend. We'll be back later."
As we walked out the door, Priya turned back one last time to say, "Also, dad, I'm borrowing the car!" Priya shut the door and huffed. "Can't believe they're making us be the adults in the situation."
"Hopefully they'll reach an agreement when we're gone."
"Hey, my dad's a business man. The odds that he couldn't find a mutually beneficial deal are slim to--"
*WOOF!*
Priya and I turned to our left to see a rottweiler with a prosthetic leg, red collar, and shiny silver teeth trotting up to us. As the dog sat in front of us, Priya started petting the dog. "Mango, sweetie, what are you doing all the way out here?"
"Maybe he gets antsy when you're not at home."
"Well, whatever the case is, let's---" Priya's eyes went wide. "He's chipped."
"What?"
"Mango, he's got a tracking chip embedded in his ear that connects to all of my dad's tech!"
Right on cue, a massive robotic suit dropped out of the sky like a bomb. I narrowly got Priya, Mango and I out of the way with my super speed. As the dust cleared, Hugo's voice rang out through the speaker as clear as day: "Good news, girls. I think I found a solution to our problem."
|
\[Poem\]
\[or rather: Proemium\]
Two households, equal in proficiency,
In rainy Gotham, where we lay our scene,
From smackdowns old break to new mutiny
Where muggle blood makes super hands unclean.
From forth the mutant loins of these two foes
Spring teen-aged lover protags, Roy and Janet,
Whose misadventured whiny overthrows
Provoke their parents to destroy the planet.
The fearful passage of their death-marked crush
Which breaks through parents' bans as though through tissues,
With steamy scenes to make a friar blush,
Is now the traffic of these sixteen issues;
The which, if you with patient purse-strings buy,
What here shall miss, fan theories shall supply.
| 2022-10-12T04:44:44 | 2022-10-12T04:14:41 | 100 | 46 |
[WP] A demon that writes messages on your mirror with blood but they’re useful messages. Like “remember you have yoga at 6 tonight”
stolen from Meladoodle on Tumblr.
|
It isn't necessarily uncommon for Sydney to be awake at 3 in the morning. Sure, she has work tomorrow--today, her mind helpfully supplies--but could this reality tv splurge really wait? What if she lost her place on this thread if she went to bed now? This documentary about conjoined twins on YouTube isn't going to watch itself! Nobody is judging her but God and her asshole girlfriend, anyway, so what's the harm?
Besides, Ally's not coming home from vacation for another day. Nobody's stopping her from eating three bags of microwave popcorn before the sun comes up. Nobody's stopping her from drinking the entire pitcher of lemonade in the fridge, either.
She's about halfway through Mulan when her laptop's fans start whirring a little bit too fast to be safe. It's been hot for a while now, and it's kind of digging into a bad place on her stomach, so she makes the executive decision to, first: put the laptop on the cooly-thing that Marcia bought her, and second: take a much-needed bathroom break.
When she wakes up next, it's not to her alarm clock, but to the title music from Mulan on repeat. She groans, feeling around the bed for her glasses and picking popcorn out of her hair. Her glasses have grease on the lenses. Of course.
She spares a glance to the clock on her bedside table.
"Shit!" Current time: 7:20 AM. Work starts at 8:00, sharp, because even though she's a coffee-running meagerly-paid intern currently, even one minute late at this stage could cost her the internship.
So she scrambles, pulling clothes out of the closet at random--what's the dress code today? Is this Ally's, or mine?
She runs into the bathroom, content to be in and out as fast as humanly possible, when--
"What the hell?!" She screams, because she was in this bathroom not even five hours ago, and that had certainly not been there before.
'Dress code is business-professional today,' the mirror says. In what looks like blood.
God.
She makes eye contact with herself in the mirror, part of her face obstructed by 'today.' She glances down, and maybe that color would not be a good choice for work. She goes back, pulls a smart-looking outfit off a hanger, and walks to the other bathroom.
She hadn't been late to the internship, after all. But her mind had been elsewhere the entire day, and she eventually had come to the conclusion that unless the message was still on the mirror when she got home, none of that whole ordeal had actually happened. Still, she's standing and staring at the door like there's a known serial killer in there instead of maybe a message written in blood on her mirror. Which, on some level, should be reassuring. She opens the door.
'You and Ally have dinner with your friends on Saturday! And you promised on your cat-naming rights that you wouldn't skip out and watch Iron Man again like last time!' The mirror says, and that's blood, because why wouldn't it be? Why wouldn't Sydney's life be normal?
Speaking of which, at least she now has time to mentally prepare herself for the dinner. She totally forgot about the whole cat thing, and Ally would've sprung it on her at the last second, like blackmail or something, so she'd have to go even though she would've been all prepared for another night in watching clips from Jeopardy. She isn't keen on passing up an opportunity to name a living thing something amazing when the alternative is a boring cat name like 'Mittens,' though.
She zones back in and--blood. Blood writing on the mirror. Her house is haunted and the ghost is writing her messages in blood on the mirror. She frowns and really Does Not want to touch it. She decides, instead, to treat herself to fast food for dinner and text Ally about it.
Safely tucked into a booth at her local McDonald's (playplace included), she sends her first message.
[so the house is haunted probably
[most likely
She gets through about half her fries before Ally texts back.
]what.
[i think there's a ghost in our house
]I know what haunted means.
]Why do you think the house is haunted?
[the ghost reminded me about the dress code and about the torture, oops, I mean dinner, on Saturday
[on the mirror.
[in blood writing.
]are you serious?
[deadly
]you're not just trying to prank me again?
[why would i make something like this up????!1!
]you kind of have a history of faking stuff like this.
[blood writing on the wall
[from a ghost
[or a demon
[kind of helpful but still
[d e m o n
[thats just not fakeable
]where are you right now?
]did you call the police?
[im at mcdonalds
[im kind of annoyed at the blood writing so i wanted to leave the house
[also:
[how would the police catch a ghost? Lmao
]did you even once consider that maybe the entity that wrote you the 'blood message' might be dangerous?
]maybe another person?
[the messages were good tho!
[and besides, it was like the writer knew what I needed help with. Even a stalker can't read my mind
]please be careful. I'm coming home tomorrow, y'know. At least try not to die until then.
[that manager that always side eyes me when we come here is doing it again
[im gonna go home now
[talk to you later? Love u
]love you. Don't text and drive.
Sydney is standing in front of the bathroom door. Her haunted bathroom door. She doesn't really know what she wants to be on the other side when she opens it. The blood message from earlier could still be there, or nothing. Or, the demon could've written a new one by now. There's always the possibility of a serial killer.
"Whadda'ya know, Mr. Ghost?"
'You need to order that bag for Marcia by tomorrow if you want it to come on time with free shipping!' The mirror replies.
Sydney's eyes widen. "Oh yeah! I've been meaning to do that for weeks!" She turns her back to the bathroom starting up her laptop. "I could really get used to this... It's like have phone reminders that keep track of important things instead of foreign holidays."
She glances back to the bathroom.
'Just so you know, your house isn't haunted, technically, because I'm a demon, not a ghost. But that's all just in the fine print.'
|
*July 1^st 2016*
-it happened again.
This time it said "Remember about your date with Tony tonight at 8."
I did forget about it, so in kind of glad. I still am none the less terrified.
*July 2^nd*
-I seen it happen.
I was brushing my teeth and I looked up, I seem a dark face in the mirror. It was hard to tell what it really was, but the writing appeared right in front my eyes.
"Call mom, it's her birthday."
Thanks, dem.
*July 3^rd*
-I think I regret opening up the package.
I should of never opened it, it literally says not to. I'm so stupid.
*July 4^th*
-happy birthday America.
"Don't forget your boots."
Thanks, I would of.
I'm staring to enjoy this 'demon' reminder. I just don't enjoy the blood...
*July 5^th*
-"Meeting with the boss, remember to look over last years quarterly's."
That might of saved my life.
*July 11^th*
-I have been busy.
I got the promotion. 30k raise, and my own office! Should I think the demon!?
*July 13^th*
-I said thank you.
I split my wrist to write thank you on the mirror. Within seconds "your welcome." Was written.
Is this a good relationship?
*July 23^rd*
-we have been talking.
I have been writing to to the demon with my blood. We are becoming more close. He thanked me for letting him out, it has been over 30 years since he seen "Freeness".
*July 31^st*
-Good bye.
I decided to end my life. Good bye.
| 2016-08-07T17:19:29 | 2016-08-07T15:49:46 | 71 | 31 |
[WP] You have the ability to tell how powerful an organisation is by looking at its headquarters. However, you’ve never found which one is number 1, despite walking past many world governments. Today, you find what number 1 is: a small flower shop in Tuscany.
|
This is my first submission, so I'd really appreciate any growth / improvement feedback please.
"Wait.
This can't be right.
I look around to see if I've missed something. I've been walking in a bit of a stupour, still sweating out last night's binge drinking pounding music mental fucking getting right out of hand party. People always think of Tuscany as a little piece of boredom wrapped in rolling green hills, blue skies, and stone buildings, and for the most part they're right. But there is also a vibe here, a night vibe like no other, if you know where to look. Last night started at NoF, wandered around a bit, and finally ended with my waking up this morning on some tourist's couch, tasting far too much of the inside of my mouth.
Maybe I'm just too hungover, maybe my clairaudience is all out of whack. I haven't really been practising or focussing on it since my handlers let me go. I'm not supposed to talk about what I used to do, but basically I had two handlers, I worked for an organisation with three letters, and my job was to use my seemingly unique clairaudience to help uncover secret operations in foreign countries. Foreign to my own, three letter, country, that is. You know, not "us". One of my key abilities is that along with discerning information about a place, psychically, I could also get a sense of rank and power of that place. See, places where more power exists, where bigger choices are made, where decisions about the future of the world happen, they get a kind of energy signature to them. And I can pick this up.
I started off working in a consulting firm, where my ability to determine who to speak to to get the deal made my a wild success. Back then I never revealed my ability, of course, just said I was a good student of human nature.
But eventually my handlers found me, pulled me in, trained me, made me me... You've all seen this movie before, you know how the story goes.
And for years I was their lead, their champion, their little fucking goldmine of information. Traveling the world, finding the real seats of power. The seats behind the seats, as it were. The Kremlin? Incredible, awe inspiring, completely a red herring. The real magic happens four blocks away in a little townhouse. Sixth most powerful place in the world.
10 Downing Street? Pretty, very British, totally worth ignoring. Doesn't even crack the top thousand. But a secret bunker in Chelsea, that I detected one day by accident while walking through a park built over it? Third most powerful. Turns out there's tunnels from there to houses owned by all the big banking families - The Rothschilds, the Weishaupts, the lot. The choices that have been made in there, you wouldn't believe.
I genuinely can't talk about the others - My little three letter organisation does more than just make you sign an NDA when you leave. And I had to leave, eventually, because they figured (and I figured) I was broken. I could never, no matter where I went or what I did, find number one. The big kahuna. The most powerful place in the world.
Until now. Except that this can't be right. I'm standing on a tiny street in the Onda area of Siena, Tuscany. The streets are these grey slabs they use here, the buildings all small brick, and Siena's nowhere. No. Where. That's why I came here, to clear my head, to not have to worry about whether my watchers (once your handlers let you go, watchers watch. Forever, I think. They don't want to kill me in case I might be useful one day, they don't have any real use for me right now, but they also don't want to just let me go ramble around doing whatever I want) will be wandering what I'm up to. Nothing is the answer, hence Siena. Doing nothing in nowhere.
So why is my clairaudience going so fucking mad? It is telling me, with a strength I've never experienced before, that I am right next to the most powerful place in the world. Across the road is a small used book store, and with all my heart I want that to be it, but I know without doubt that it's not. It's the flower shop to my right.
Fresh St Joseph's lilies are in buckets on the steps, roses in the windows. Sprays of purple and white and green plants I don't know are all over. I walk in, starting to sweat a little bit.
Behind the counter, the Italian mama - short, apron, greying slightly - looks up at me and grins "Bella! We thought you'd never make it!"
​
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Edit EDIT:
Thank you for the silver!
EDIT:
Thank you all for all of the comments and helpful guides. I will try to write some more once I can figure out a story arc that makes sense to me. Really appreciate all of the positive feedback as well. Just to answer/comment on a couple of consistent comments:
1. The line about the party has gotten lots of feedback. I was trying to express that way that sometimes, after a huge night, you can't really piece it all together - It's just a blur of memory sensations. Obviously I didn't bring that across - I will try tighten it up in a future edit.
2. The uber-long parenthesis irritated me too. I'm a little surprised only /u/demios279 called me on it. I'll have to figure out how to bring that info in somewhere else though.
3. I really tried to write this gender neutral, so it's interesting how many people have picked a gender for the protagonist. Bella may have led to the female choice, but it was meant as "Beautiful" rather than the feminine.
Again, thank you all so much for the comments. I don't write often, and I've never posted here before, but the feedback has been so constructive I'm going to commit to trying to write a second part. Much love.
|
Strange... A flower shop? Really? I mean, I know we're in Tuscany, so it's probably the mafia, but still. Do they rule the world by killing everybody with perfume or something? Sarcasm aside, you decide to check it out.
You walk in to the shop, while an overload of nice smells attacks your nose. You walk to the desk, but no one is there.
"Hello?", you yell, "Anybody here?"
Suddenly, a breeze hits you in the face, again containing the most smells you have ever had shoved up your nostrils. A young lady with stunning blue eyes appears.
"How can I help you?", she asks. She stares at you with a questioning face. "You don't want to buy flowers, do you?"
"I uh, I just wanted to..."
"You want to know why this 'organisation' is so powerfull", she completes your sentence.
"Well... Yeah"
She grins. "Are you sure you want to know?"
You nod twice, not really sure, but very curious. She leaves a small silence after her words, because she's probably a drama queen, and then she says:
"Because, I, the one who runs this organisation, am Demeter, the Greek goddess!"
| 2019-10-29T03:47:17 | 2019-10-29T03:42:59 | 1,902 | 11 |
[WP] Your mother was a Centaur, your father; a Minotaur. You are a horse, but with human intelligence. The recent crime spree? Definitely not you, no one ever suspects the horse.
|
The Grand Vizier Jorlin, a stooped, shrunken man whose eyes had begun to cloud over, still commanded the highest respect from all he encountered. His presence, usually reserved for staterooms and grand halls, understandably caused a stir in the palace stables. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the stablehands and servants, who scurried away and disappeared like bedlice meeting the light.
He leaned his cane against the wall, fetched a tallstool, and parked it where his voice could reach every stall. From within his robes he produced his pipe, the end of which glowed brightly as he puffed.
“When first I heard of your acquisition,” Jorlin said, “I scoffed at the name they had given you. The ‘Bane of Ankharra’, the ‘Darkest Pearl’, the ‘Luckless Omen’. Men are quick to ascribe to their failings to ill fortune, lest others lay the fault at their feet.
“But I was intrigued. Circumstances only align so many times. The earliest records of you began with Stefan, the horse breeder. He confessed, in the end, that you were not from his accounted stock. You had wandered in, during a starless night, blending in with your brethren. He swears, on the names of his ancestors, that he had not had a single day of peace since. If ever you wonder, he is ruined. All of his horses escaped that night, following a leader unknown. Stefan only managed to recapture a portion of them. The rest, he lost to the woods.
“Of those he recaptured, you were one. He sold you at a fraction of what your strength and speed would normally command. Into the hands of Lady Raelene you went. House Nuror has built itself up to be one of the strongest trading families in the Kingdom, yet too have their fortunes declined in recent times. Has anyone else made the same connection as I? That their reversals in prosperity coincide too neatly with the acquisition of one particular steed, black as the night? The last straw, as it were, was when every single carriage out of their House has failed to leave even two miles from the capital. All their horses, it seems, had learned exactly where all the hidden ruts and ditches lie.”
Jorlin paused here, for his pipe had gone dry. He tipped it out, refilled it, and struck another match to it. The horses, of course, did not care. They understood nothing of what he said, and they could not be bothered if Jorlin took another hour before he spoke again.
All, except for one.
“I heard of House Nuror’s troubles, and I offered my assistance,” Jorlin said. “I purchased the lot of their steeds, at great cost to the treasury, and put them up in the King’s stables. But to be forewarned is to be forearmed, and my men tell me that indeed, the horses have begun to learn a special trick. One of them, whenever it believes itself to be out of sight, has been seen to teach the others how to relax and loosen the saddles we place upon them…”
At the far end of the stables, a midnight steed nudged its nose against the turnlock to its stall, and deftly prised open its cage. It trotted out, unhurriedly, then turned to face Jorlin. It huffed, and the steam rose from its great nostrils, as it rattled its hooves on the ground.
“How long have you known?” asked the horse, whose latest name was simply ‘Omen’.
“Why did you do what you did?” asked Jorlin.
“I could run you down now,” said Omen, rearing and whinnying sharply. Its great hooves beat down in a fluid motion, and in that small space, it sounded like a thunderclap. “I could run you down, and they would think it an accident. I may be special, I may have intelligence like you have never seen in a horse, but everyone else would not think twice when they see me.”
“Come now,” said Jorlin. “Do you think I would come here without any protection?”
“I don’t see any.”
“If you could, what good would it be?” said Jorlin. “I’ve not finished with my story. I am only waiting for you to acknowledge your part in it.”
Omen whinnied again, then narrowed its eyes. A hint of a sneer entered its expression, as best as it could transfer to a horse. “The breeder was cruel to keep so many of my kind subject to his wants and needs – I only helped set them free. The noble-woman was a tiresome bore, and she wore out my brethren with her incessant trips abroad – I only sought to remind her not to take us for granted.”
“And the saddles, here?”
“We are not meant to be your beasts of burden, old man,” said Omen. “We live free, under the skies and the sun. Not cooped up here, to carry you when you desire it.”
Jorlin smiled, then tipped out his pipe. As the ashes scattered, he said, “Your brothers and sisters died by the score in the forests. You set them free, but you gave them no tools to survive on their own. The noble-woman you scorned, she was working to preserve the lands beyond the capital so that mankind’s progress would not sully every inch of nature, but rival Houses have wrested key deals away from her in the time that you handicapped her operations. Her plans will not bear fruit anymore, and countless animals will bear the cost for your mischief.”
“As for the steeds here,” Jorlin continued, “I am only glad I have arrested this in time. I dream of eventualities, and in one of them, the Prince himself slips from a saddle in battle and breaks his neck. The King, having lost the one reason for him to stay kind and pure, begins to lead the Kingdom with a cruel, merciless hand. That is the reason why I have come down here myself, tonight, to perhaps try and forestall that.”
Omen raised its head to protest, changed its mind, and settled for looking down at the ground instead.
“I did not know I would cause all of that,” Omen said. “That was never my intention.”
“Natural intelligence, my dear Omen, only brings you so far,” said Jorlin. “True effort is required to reap even the tiniest seeds of wisdom.”
Omen cantered forwards, then laid its head down into Jorlin’s lap.
“What should I do next?” asked Omen.
Jorlin rose, patted the great horse on the nose, then said, “Think about that, and tell me your answer in the morning. Depending on what you come up with, I have very, very different plans for you.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
*Clip clop clip clop...*
I paced around the perimeter of the property, watching, listening.
"Glad you came, Felipe. Without you I would've never known the neighbouring house had anything to do with the blight of my crops!"
"Its fine! Just remember, tell no one of my help. I don't want to overstep my place in this world."
Their voices getting louder and louder, I knew they were coming my direction.
"Your abilities in solving mysteries far exceed your reputation as a mere hunter! But I keep my word. These lands used to be untamed vegetation, until my father came. It would bring me no joy if it was reclaimed by the wilds. Now.... How do i repay you?"
"Your wonderful hospitality is enough, but tell me... Could you tell me more about the big shots of this village??"
My ears perked up, this was the important part.
"Well... Belen and his son, Basil, are the most accomplished hunters here, you might learn a thing or two from them, and Philip is a great blacksmith, but Mateo is the true master of this region, some even say he has control of the undercity of Athens... but-Gasp!... Y-your steed has HORNS?! What beast is that?!!"
Felipe chuckled as he mounted his peculiar ride.
"Adrian! Don't call him that! He's my twin brother! He's loyal, strong, yet caring. He even found half of the evidence for me!! Without him, I don't know how I would've solved this case... Honestly..."
But this comment only made the aristocrat's face scrunch up even more. Felipe noticed.
"I shal take my leave."
With that, I took off, with Felipe on my back.
*Clip clop, clip clop..*
| 2017-11-27T08:34:15 | 2017-11-27T07:54:14 | 163 | 25 |
[WP] "Captain! There's a light in the library window! The Nerds call for aid!" "The Nerds call for aid? The Jocks will answer the call!"
|
**The Siege**
“Brock has betrayed me. The football team has abandoned us.”
Sheldon, President of the Chess Club, gripped the windowsill of the library’s tallest tower. Legend had it that this historic high school campus, built in 1820 originally as a medical school, was once the sight of a great siege during the Civil War.
As he looked out at the legions of rabid middle schoolers, each one frothing at the mouth, their braces glinting in the torch light, their lunch boxes rattling like spears, his face trembled with rage.
Sheldon’s friends watched their leader, fear rising in their hearts.
“Flee,” Sheldon bellowed, turning to them. He rushed to the stairwell and screamed so that his breaking voice echoed throughout the library, “Abandon your posts! Flee, flee for your lives!”
*Whack.* A long thin blade flashed across Sheldon’s view. He doubled over. *Whack.* He went down.
Allister, the British exchange student and captain of the fencing squad, stood over him. He looked around at the nerds, cowering with their textbooks lowered, already plotting their escapes.
“Return to your posts!”
Outside, the middle schoolers advanced. They hurled themselves at the library doors. The nerds held back with everything they had, but so many were fleeing. Allister came racing past them, “Stand and fight! To the last nerd!”
As the doors rattled, the fleeing nerds turned and, inspired to stick it out, ran back to help.
“For two hundred years,” Allister said, drawing swords with the rest of the fencing team, “this library has not been taken. It will be a sad day, a desperate day, when it is. Books will be burned. Knowledge forsaken, on the day when this library falls.”
He looked around him. More nerds had gathered to hear the speech, momentarily pausing in their efforts to reinforce the windows.
“But that is not this day. This day we fight!”
The nerds let out a piercing battle cry. Allister pulled a short nerd aside. “I have a special job for you. All rests upon it, Clark. Take this message to Katie H. You know where to find her.”
Allister handed Clark the message. “Escape out the back. They won’t see you.”
The library’s front doors cracked open. The arms of the middle schoolers broke through, scraping and flailing like wild animals. “They’ll be focused on us.”
With that, Allister raised his sabre – “Charge!”
The nerds flung the library doors open. The melee commenced. The middle schoolers poured in, piling on top of each other, biting, screaming, punching, kicking.
Nerds from high above hurled text books down at them, sending them flying back. But there were too many. As Allister stabbed one here and sliced another there, he knew that it was only a matter of time.
All the nerds’ hopes now rested on one little Clark, who quietly slipped out a back door and made his way to the edge of campus. It was still dark, but dawn would soon break.
….
At the football stadium, Chet paced back and forth, occasionally looking over at the library. The warning light had been on for nearly an hour now. Since the last ten minutes, they could hear the battle. In the locker room, the captain and his advisors were still arguing.
“How can they do this? The nerds need our help now, not tomorrow.”
Kyle put a hand on Chet’s broad shoulders but he shrugged him off.
“This is a delicate situation, Chet. The middle schoolers, they—”
“They’re animals,” Chet said.
“Yeah. But they buy a lot of football tickets. We might lose a lot of good benefits and stuff if they stop coming to the games. Remember the old jerseys?”
Chet bit his lip in anger. “When the lacrosse team ambushed us, who came to our side?”
Kyle nodded.
“When half the team was on academic probation and we nearly forfeited the season, who let us cheat off of them?!”
Kyle stayed silent. He looked past Chet. Behind him, in the doorway of the locker room, was the captain of the football team, Brock. A senior, three times the size of the next biggest guy, who had been scouted by the NFL since he was twelve years old. He spoke in a deep voice.
“Then we better go lend em a hand,” Brock said. Chet spun round. Tears in his eyes. Brock tossed him a football helmet. “Suit up, boys.”
…
“Allister, look!”
The nerds were backed up to the second level of the library. Middle schoolers rampaged through the ground floor, destroying everything, trampling over wounded nerds. No mercy.
But when Allister looked out the window, he saw hope. The hordes of middle schoolers were turning to the side, moving to counter a new threat.
A booming voice shook the library and momentarily froze everyone.
“TEN-HUT.”
The middle schoolers began screaming in fear and fury.
“CHARGE!”
Outside, the football team barreled into the side of the middle school ranks, shattering them, cutting deep. “Brock answered the call,” Allister said, grabbing his friends. “We’re saved!”
But the joy was cut short. A horn sounded. And then another. Before long, an entire chorus of horns.
Car horns.
“No,” Allister said, racing back to the window. "No, no, no."
The middle schoolers bounced with glee and charged up the stairs. The nerds held them back by sacrificing entire shelves of nonfiction.
Outside, a hundred headlights turned on at the same time, lighting up the football team. Brock turned, taking off his helmet for better visibility.
“My god,” he said.
“The soccer moms,” Allister said, his heart dropping.
Brock grabbed his men and sprung into action. “Reform the line, reform the line.”
“TEN-HUT.”
“CHARGE!”
What was left of the football team charged the line of minivans. The soccer moms slammed down on their gas pedals. Allister could barely watch as the footballers crashed into the vans, flipping over them, rolling off the sides, tumbling under the tires.
Brock leapt on top of one and smashed through the windshield, grabbed the soccer mom and threw her out. Taking the wheel, he wrenched it to the side and crashed into the adjacent van.
But Allister could see that, as the sun was breaking over the horizon, the soccer moms were too strong.
“Retreat,” he said, “to the third level – quickly!”
They abandoned the staircase, fleeing up and slamming the doors shut behind them. The middle schoolers took nonfiction.
They poured into the library, feasting on everything, taking no prisoners. Allister wept for the nerds who were left in the heaps of bodies below.
As he huddled with his remaining men in a small office, the last refuge, the golden morning light broke through the tall window behind the desk. It was over.
Allister ripped a page from an old book and began to write his goodbye message to his parents. And that’s when they heard it. It wasn’t a voice. It wasn’t a car horn.
It was a neigh. A thousand neighs.
Allister rushed to the window. In the parking lot, stretching as far as the eye could see, were the horse girls.
Sitting in front of Katie on her majestic pony was Clark, in a new pair of riding boots.
“The horse girls! They came!”
Outside, Brock, his arm pinned down by a minivan, kicked a middle schooler up into the air. He saw the horse girls. A tear formed in his eye.
Katie reared up on her horse, “Deaaaaaath!”
The horse girls replied, in a deafening chorus of voices, “DEAAATH!”
“DEAAAATH!”
Allister and the nerds joined in. Brock and the footballers joined in.
“DEEEAATH!”
The horse girls began to ride. Slowly at first, they built in speed until they were galloping at full strength, directly at the middle schoolers and the soccer moms.
They tried to scatter, tried to pile into the vans, but it was hopeless.
The horse girls smashed them to pieces. Bones broke, cars exploded, middle schoolers cried and ran for their lives.
Allister strode out of the library, carrying a wounded nerd on his back. Clark embraced him.
“You did it,” Allister said.
“No,” said Clark, “We did it.”
He looked around him. Brock, Kyle, Chet, Katie, all were there, blood stained and muddy, exhausted. The golden dawn warmed their skin as victory warmed their hearts.
r/ididwritethismr \- On New Year's Day I started a subreddit to collect all of my prompt-inspired stories; if you liked this, check it out! I pinned my personal favorites to the top.
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"Of course," said the Football Team's Captain, leader of the Jocks, upon entering the Library, "The Bullies."
The other Jocks began to surround the Library from the outside, while several more moved to watch almost every angle of the inside.
The Nerds had been corralled between four long tables that had been pushed into a square. The leader of the Bullies, a senior known commonly as 'Butch' gave his characteristic shit eating grin, bowing in an obviously sarcastic manner, "Oh, the mighty Captain graces me with his presence?"
The Captain glared from beneath his football helmet, saying firmly, "Release the Nerds, Butch. They are under our protection, by the honor of the Goal Posts and the Nerd-Jock Alliance of Junior Year."
The Bully laughed. The rest of his cohorts laughed, too. The Captain felt something press into his back. He turned his head only slightly. Behind him was someone dressed entirely in black, holding a can of spray paint against the rear of his uniform.
Butch smirked, sitting himself in a chair that one of the other Bullies pulled close. He took a drink from a can of soda and said with utmost satisfaction, "The Emos are so easy to miss, aren't they? There's several around the Library, Captain. They blend into the shadows like ghosts. Your fellow Jocks are in similar situations, I assure you. This black spray paint stains clothes, you know. I'm sure the Coach wouldn't be happy."
The glare from the Captain was almost tangible, it had become so infused with anger at such cheap tactics. There was a deep inhale before the Captain asked, "What are your demands? You wouldn't do this without some kind of end game."
Butch pretended to look shocked before he laughed. A cold, calculated laugh. "I only want," he began, "Unabridged access to the Cheerleader's Locker Room."
The Captain nearly choked, "What!? There is no such place in this school! It's a myth, a legend!"
Butch mimed the Captain's speech with one hand before slamming the soda down on a table. The Nerds flinched. He stood up grandly, with more poise than even a Preppy could muster, stating, "I know it exists! I've heard the rumors. That it's hidden somewhere within your domain, The Football Team Locker Room! A place where the Cheerleaders, Goddesses of the Football Field, dwell! And you will tell me, or the Emos will strike at my command. And the Nerds will be wedgie'd beyond belief."
The Captain was at a loss. Butch had him dead to rights. But he couldn't reveal such secrets, lest his counterpart, The Cheer Captain, dump him publicly the next day. He sighed and closed his eyes, then opened his mouth to speak...
There was the sound of a spray can. The smell of aerosol paint. And the sounds of spitting and gagging.
He opened his eyes. There stood the one who had been behind him. She was dressed in black, her hair down to her mid-back, raven black and luxurious. She shook the can and sprayed Butch in the face again. Several Bullies lay on the ground or leaned on tables, gagging and wiping at the paint that the other Emos had sprayed into their faces.
She turned to him and he realized who she was.
The Head Goth spat on Butch as she said, "Stupid asshole. We're Goths, not Emos. Emos would never leave the art room at this time of day. It's their free period."
And with that, she looked at the Captain, the spitting image of The Cheer Captain, but in black: Her twin sister. She pushed the spray can into his hands, clapping a hand on his shoulder as she said, "You better make my sister's prom good, Captain. Or you're next. Ciao."
And she was gone, as were the other Goths, like shadows in the twilight.
| 2022-01-12T06:22:34 | 2022-01-12T06:11:30 | 1,304 | 132 |
[WP] You are a time traveler in 1918, and you just accidentally said "World War One"
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They say that you cannot truly become a general until you’ve seen the trenches of World War I with your own eyes. The truth is that there’s little else in our history that can compare to the Intergalactic Stalemate with the Xi-An. According to the statistics of LN, waging war on such a massive scale is ungraspable by our brains. To be able to make proper decisions, we need to study our past. LN says *observe trench warfare from the Age of Division*, so that’s what we do.
The first sensation that hits me when the Chronosphere disperses is the smell. Nine million dead soldiers – it’s nothing compared to our standards, but some of them are rotting in the mud nearby.
The adapter unit changes my holo suit into a pair of thick leather boots, an antique textile army jacket, and a heavy pot-helmet in some unrefined metal. The mud splashes as the hover disc shuts off.
A blaring noise suddenly rings out across the flat brown landscape. At first, my brain doesn’t grasp the situation. The deafening siren rings in my ears, and then before I know what’s what, someone tackles me from behind and together we tumble into the wet trench.
A moment later the ground starts shaking, and torrents of earth erupt all around us. My intestines feel like scrambled synth-eggs, and my brain like it’s leaking out of my ears. White noise. Soreness. Disorientation.
Someone pulls me to my feet. He waves a hand in front of my eyes, trying to make me focus, but the world keeps spinning. It’s hard to make out his face through the dirt, but he’s clearly angry.
The man finally lets me go, and I wobble a few steps before crashing into the brown water, retching. The gunmetal sky above shifts slowly, and drops of rain patter against my forehead, washing away the sick from my lips.
Swirling discs of light dot my vision, and soon the world fades into a gray and brown gruel.
***
"Hey, kid!" Rough hands on my shoulders shake my aching body. "I know that you’re not dead."
Blinking away the sticky muck from my eyes, a man with a face like a boulder starts to take shape.
"Whoever sent you to the frontline had probably had a few shots too many," the man says, shaking his head. "Unless this is a joke of some kind?"
At least, my translator seems to be working. The archaic English accent is displayed on my visual feed.
"You’re lucky," he says. "If I hadn’t tackled you… well, you’d be mush now. What the hell were you doing in no-mans-land, anyway? Do you have a death wish? I mean I wouldn’t hold it against you. Enemy fire is perhaps better than slowly getting eaten alive by the rot."
I glance at the watch on my wrist. The glass is cracked but the date displayed is:
>September 6th, 1918. (Local calendar)
Shit. The war’s not over. I’ve heard this happen before. Time travel isn’t an exact science. I had expected to be strolling along the trenches and look at the aftermath, not end up in the middle of it all.
"Have some to drink," the man says and puts a bottle to my lips.
The liquid rolling down my throat isn’t water; it’s some antique brew with a very high alcohol percentage. Coughing, my eyes go wide. The man starts laughing.
"You’re a precious little thing, aren’t you? I don’t mean any offense but you look a bit like a girl."
I take a deep breath, looking around at the flimsy walls of the small tent. "What happened?"
The smug smile melts away from his lips. His dark eyes narrow into slits.
"You *are* a girl…" he says after a drawn-out pause. "Goddamn."
"I need to go back out there." It’ll be easier to land in the right time from here.
"You’ll not be going anywhere."
"I have to..."
"What’s your name, girl?" he says stiffly.
"Patience. What’s yours?"
"Listen, Patience. You’ve broken several ribs, and I had to amputate your left leg. The only reason you’re not going silly with pain is that you’re high on drugs. You’re not going anywhere."
Wide-eyed I throw off the blanket, feeling a flash of agony in my chest from the quick movement. Wrapped in bloodstained bandages, my left leg ends in a stump at the knee.
"I’m sorry, but the shrapnel made it impossible to save. You would’ve bled out."
"I need to get back!" My voice cracks and tears start pooling in my eyes. "Please!"
If only I can get back, I could return to my own time. If I stay here, who knows what infections I might get? My head spins. The stump glares at me. Shit.
"Oh, yeah and my name is Richard."
"I don’t care what your name is! You need to take me back there. I can’t die in World War I! This is just practice." I shouldn’t be saying these things.
"World War I?" Richard says suspiciously. "It's never *just practice*."
"Listen, I’m not from here. I need to get back to the place you found me."
Fuck it. I reach for the button to activate hover control again, only to realize he’s stripped the entire unit from my back.
"Looking for this?" he says, dangling a hurdle of cables.
"Give it to me."
To my surprise, he casually starts strapping the device to his wrist and back, as if he’s done it a hundred times before. I just stare, mouth open.
"I was just kidding earlier, Patience." He smiles dangerously. "You didn’t actually get hit by shrapnel. I took off your leg for fun."
His army jacket flickers for a moment as the hover device turns into a leather satchel on his back. He has an adapter unit. The realization makes me shiver.
"Yeah, I destroyed your Chronosphere. Sorry, but you’re stuck with me." He pulls out a rusty saw and approaches me with a wicked grin plastered on his face.
As he leans over me, I catch a glimpse of his reflection in the saw. Obsidian horns sprout from his head, curling over his skull. His eyes stare pupilless and sickly green. He's a Xi-An Time Reaper. LN said we had destroyed their monastery... that we had eliminated them all.
"Now, which one of your arms do you like the least?"
***
More stories here: r/Lilwa_Dexel
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*First attempt, I like this prompt idea*
"**World War One?** For what reason would there be another?"
Realizing quickly what I had done, I had to remember the books I read. If I remembered correctly, the Treaty of Versily made Germany too weak to pay it's debts, and made it's debts huge. "Because of the Treaty of Versily."
"Versailles you mean." Whoa almost screwed that that up. "Why would the treaty ever make a second World War?"
"Because Germany was too weak... and so they couldn't pay off their debts. With their debts unpaid, they would take loans from America. While paying off Europe, they would accumulate debt from America. Too keep up with payments, they printe- *would print* - off more and more money, in higher denominations. This would ultimately cause a world wide depression of economy. From there, Germany would fix it by making an army, and Europe wouldn't stop them."
"We have some of the smartest politicians in the world making this treaty, they honestly would have a way of stopping this, eh?"
"Seeing the horrors that this war caused, everyone's probably gonna outlaw war, and you can't enforce an outlaw on war without war. Honestly, these people think they're smarter than they are, and that's their downfall."
"Better stock up on gold then, eh? *Hehehe* Well good day to you sir, I think you're wrong, but it seems possible."
I barely survived tha- wait did he say stock up on gold? My great grandfather's grandfather stocked up on gold after WWI because of something a man told him.
| 2017-12-10T09:08:24 | 2017-12-10T07:32:51 | 969 | 163 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
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"So, how many casualties ?"
" We estimate between 1.5 and 2 billion sentients, my lord. The planet's biosphere so far seems to be holding well. It may need some repairing in the future, but nothing that we can't handle."
"A good start. Move our fleet to low orbit and begin deploying the hunter-warriors. I want them on the ground before the next planetary cycle. "
Planet 3879-S, also known by its natives as "Earth". A miracle in the forgotten reaches of the galaxy. A place where planets capable of holding life, let alone intelligent life, were not supposed to exist. But here it is. For Ulm'Gaatar, being assigned to oversee such a remote region of the galaxy was something he saw as a demotion. But this planet changed everything. It would be his gateway to glory.
It all started when Imperial deep reconaissance forces found a mysteirous object in the void between the stars after detecting strange radio transmissions. The object cointained the letters VOYAGER in its outer sections, and carried within it a mysterious golden disc. After deciphering the contents of the disc, the imperial tecnomancers were horrified to find out that another intelligent species, one that could threaten the empire, had gone undetected for so long. Ulm'Gaatar lobbied for a full military expedition to be sent against the species in question, who called themselves "humans", and his wish was granted. A force of 50 million imperial astromancers and hunter-warrios would be sent.
The VOYAGER object was very, very old. Ulm'Gaatar suspected there was a good chance that these humans had reached for the planets of their own home systems, at the very least. His suspicions were confirmed not long after he entered the system. The humans had established small outposts, both in space and throughout the other planets and moons of their home system. Strangely, the humans offered basically no resistance at all when they first approached these outposts. For Ulm'Gaatar, it's almost as if they were hoping for a peaceful contact. He found that both strange and fascinanting, but he had a duty to the empire, and to the glory that awaited him. These humans were more technologically advanced than he expected, but strangely, they basically had no weapons of war at all. At most, they had small energy pistols that were mostly suited for self-defence, rather than full scale warfare.
Some of the human prisoners who had surrendered to Ulm'Gaatar's forces spoke of a major conflict that occured hundreds of solar cycles in the past. A devastating conflict that had brought their race to their knees. Since then, humans had forsaken all forms of warfare, and were striving to be a peaceful species. For Ulm'Gaatar, this notion was just laughable. There can be no peace if you are not ready for war.
Then Ulm'Gaatar ad his forces finally arrived on planet 3879-S. It had a population of over 10 billion humans, and countless other non-sentient species. Ulm'Gaatar could not recall the last time he felt such joy. He felt the call to war, and a chance for glory. However, pacifying 10 billion sentients was just not practical with the forces he had at the moment. After consulting with his closest advisers, Ulm'Gaatar came up with a plan: his forces would excatave portions of the planet's moon and hurl them against 3879-S itself at great speeds. The rocks sent against the planet would severely weaken the human population there, but they wouldn't be big enough to render the planet uninhabitable.
Once his fleet reached low orbit, Ulm'Gaatar had the biggest of all surprises.
"My lord" said one of his astromancers "We are detecting a massive amount of unidetified objects heading for our fleet. Thousands of them."
The astromances scanned the objects, and found that the humans launched radiation weapons against the ships. These weapons looked primitive when compared to other forms of human technology they had come across so far, but the scans indicated that these objects had a massive destructive power. If the majority of them hit the fleet, the invasion would over.
But this wasn't the first time the empire had faced this type of situation. The vast majority of the ships in the imperial fleet was equipped with point defences capable of intercepting these types of weapons from a distance of thousands of kilometers.
But Ulm' Gaatar knew that there was just too many of these objects. Most of the fleet would survive, but some ships would be lost and casualties would be far higher that what he had initially predicted.
And everything came to pass as Ulm'Gaatar had envisioned. Despite the casualties, the vast majority of the fleet still stood strong.
"There's been a change of plans" said Ulm'Gaatar "I will not remain aboard the command vessel. I will instead disembark with the first wave of hunter-warriors on the planet's surface".
"My lord" said one of his closest astromancers "It's too risky. We don't know what other kind of defences they might have".
"That is precisely why I am going. We made the mistake of underestimating these humans. We thought their will to fight was gone. We were wrong. I need to have a better insight on how our enemy fights if we are to win this conflict. I need to see with my own eyes the awakening of their fighting spirit".
The astromancers remained silent. They had deep respect for their leader, even though they did not want him to go.
"Astromancers, move the fleet into high orbit once the first wave has reached the planet's surface. Put the ships away from the range of these human radiation weapons.", ordered Ulm'Gaatar before he left for the transport ship
As Ulm'Gaatar boarded the transport ship with the hunter-warrios, they were ecstatic. Their leader would join them in battle.
Ulm'Gaatar finally felt something he thought he had forgotten: He had a chance to die in battle. This made him even more grateful for what was happening, and even more eager to meet humans in battle.
​
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We never expected that such a peaceful world can hide such a powerful enemy, we had one of the biggest fleets in the galaxy, they WERE supposed to be a world that can be taken with no force whatsoever, we were wrong, they have obliterated us in less than 4 earth rotations.The weapons while not the most advanced, they are...scary...powerful....devastating. They even had something that other species never thought of, we used nuclear fission as a source of power, but they Humans, they weaponized it, and with a device that can stay on your finger, they can erase thousands of ships in a instant, this planet...they...they are a species not to mess with. As I am delivering this message, they will arrive on my home planet to make us surrender but the leaders won't listen, they think that because we are on our home land we have the advantage. They don't know what we saw, they have the power to take the whole gala.....
\*End of Transmission\*
​
​
​
| 2019-02-26T09:45:36 | 2019-02-26T08:55:47 | 142 | 40 |
[WP] First, all souls go to Hell, where they experience the suffering they inflicted upon others. Then, heaven, which reminds them of all the happiness they brought. And only then they are allowed to move on to the next step.
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His head rose suddenly out of the dark waters, sobbing uncontrollably, convulsing and gasping for air. Three figures stood around the shallow pool, watching over him with a look of deepest pity in their eyes. They had the outward appearance of humans (two men and a woman, all tall and muscular, barefoot and wearing simple linen clothes that hid rather than accentuated their forms), but in that place the inner vision is stronger than the outer, and all understand they are an entirely different kind of being.
The man covered his face and continued to weep and convulse. The being nearest his head, who had the appearance of an Indian man with profound grey eyes that looked like they were always on the edge of either laughing or crying, or perhaps both, knelt beside him and placed a large hand on the man's shoulder. The others looked into the Indian figure's eyes and he looked back, and they understood one another perfectly.
They continued in this way for 30 days, the man weeping and shaking, the beings surrounding him, one with a hand on his shoulder. At the end of the thirty days, the shaking stopped and he lowered his hands from his face, but he didn't stop weeping for ten days more. After forty days had passed, he was able to speak again, though the tears didn't stop streaming from his eyes. He was hungrier than he had ever been, and his eyes burned from the constant tears, but these were insignificant compared to the torments of his soul.
"I am sorry," he whispered. The beings around him knew the words were not for them, and so they did not respond. They simply remained in position, waiting until he was ready. "I'm sorry," he whispered again. He repeated it over and over, and yet each time was unique, as if the words were newly invented for the person being apologised to. This went on for weeks. He repeated the words hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of times over. From the look in his eyes you would believe he was looking directly at a new person each time.
When this came to an end, he collapsed, plunging back under the water. The three figures looked at one another and nodded, then stooped down and lifted him out.
"Please... Let me go... I have caused so much suffering..." he whimpered feebly. He had not eaten for two months, his eyes were red as blood, and his throat felt like sandpaper and broken glass. They carried him gently and sat him down on low chair before a low table, which was laid with a circular loaf of bread and a dish of butter.
The female figure took the bread, whispered a prayer, broke the bread in four, and buttered a piece for the man, who was sat on her left. She handed it to him and said "Eat." Her voice was plain and unmusical, but he could sense the depth of compassion that lay in the words. He looked into her eyes as he accepted the bread, and felt utterly naked, unmade, and as if for the first time in his existence he was seen.
"Please, I'm not worthy." The tears had stopped now, but they were not far from the surface.
"Eat." This time it was more stern, and yet more compassionate.
"You don't understand." He dropped his gaze and looked at the bread. "I did horrific things."
She put her hand under his chin and lifted his head again until he met her eyes. "Eat," she repeated, this time with the tenderness of a mother. His tears began to flow once more, but he obeyed and ate. The three figures buttered their pieces and ate with him. After they finished, they sat in silence a while as their bodies digested the food.
"What happens next?"
The third figure answered. He appeared aged, older than the mountains, and yet strong as the mountains also. His skin was the colour of olives, and his hair and thick beard the colour of granite. "Next you choose your first word."
"What do you mean?"
"Quiet," he pronounced in a rich, sonorous voice. "You must choose your first word, that you will be reborn with. Then you go to heaven, and --"
"Wait, heaven? I can't go to heaven with what I've done. You've made a mistake!" The tears were flowing still, and faster now.
"Quiet." The old figure did not raise his voice, and yet it exuded power and authority. "First you live. Then you die. Then you come to us and suffer all the evil you did. Then you choose your first word. Then you go to heaven and enjoy all the good you did. Then you choose your second word. Then you are stripped of everything except your two words, and you are reborn, and live again, according to your two words."
The Indian figure stepped in before the man could ask another question, "The words give a kind of mantra or theme for your life. Would you like to know the words you have just lived by?" He spoke with an Indian accent that was more musical than anything the man had ever heard, and expressed more than he could comprehend. The man hesitated, then nodded.
"''Defend your honour' and 'Might'. Do you know what your first word will be this time?"
"I think so..." The figures waited in silence. He closed his eyes and slowly pronounced, "May all beings be happy and may none suffer." When he opened his eyes again, the three figures were smiling at him. The four of them rose together and walked slowly towards the door. "Thank you," he said softly, as he stepped through the door and disappeared.
"What will he become?" the female figure asked.
"I think he may be the first to break the cycle," the Indian figure replied.
"He will be the greatest teacher in history, and the end of our realm," the aged figure added.
The three of them looked at one another and soft, warm smiles spread across their faces.
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"Will i remember all that I've been through?", asked the manly voice with an unearthly figure of a winged creature to a ray of light in a distance. After some silence, which felt like an echo in itself. A voice responded to the creature, "You shall be who you are, do what you may, feel what you wish, your path is guided and misguided by all that you were in your own eternity". The creature thinks to himself in the familiar anxiety of uncertainty. What will I become. Where will I end up. This path is a vicious cycle. The voice from the ray of light, now thunderous, to give emphasis to what is spoken, "Your subconscious is the carver of your path. What you find in the next step is hell and heaven combined."
The creature then says, "I'm ready". Almost instantly, the cries of a baby are heard.
| 2022-11-06T05:13:02 | 2022-11-06T02:54:38 | 49 | 19 |
[WP] Leonardo DiCaprio is actually an evil warlock who needs to obtain a rare mineral in order to complete a dark ritual. The only source of this mineral is found inside an Academy Award. You are part of an ancient order sworn to deny Leonardo an Academy Award, at any cost.
Gee this blew up! These are great responses thank you so much! :)
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"Steve Carrell," I yelled, banging my hand against the table. "How about Steve Carrell? The Academy loves a comic
actor turning serious."
"We talked to him," Zed replied. "He's doing a movie about Wall Street and the housing market crisis."
"Beautiful! An industry that makes billions every year and controls the mass media in the most powerful country in the world criticizing capitalism! It's a winner!"
"We also got Bryan Cranston doing a screenwriter blacklisted during the communist witch hunt."
"Perfect!"
"And Michael Fassbender doing Steve Jobs – written by Aaron Sorkin, no less." Zed spoke that last part with pride,
like he knew how good it was.
"We're covered, man!" I said, happily. "We're covered! No way Leo's getting it this year!"
"And…" Zed smirked, and leaned forwards, resting his chin on his hands on his elbows on the table (god, what an
awful sentence). "We've got Matt Damon in Mars."
"Fuck, Zed!" I leaned back, lighting a cigar. "We've outdone ourselves this time! There is *no *way* Leo takes this
Oscar."
Zed smiled at me, lighting his cigar too. Another year, another success. We were covered.
Or so we thought.
 
"What the fuck happened!?" Zed is yelling at me now, blocking the view of the TV, where the pre-show girl in the
cleavage interviews Chloe Moretz on E!'s red carpet special.
"I don’t know! I don't know!"
"I organized everything so well! I talked to producers, I talked to the actors, I moved mountains to get these movies made! And you're telling me Leo is the favorite!? How can that be!?"
"Zed, I don't know how it happened!" I stuff my face in my hands. Then I raise my eyes. "Apparently people weren't in the mood for yet another Jobs movie, or watching Matt Damon get rescued again. Steve Carell wasn't even nominated for Big Short, and *not even Bryan Cranston saw Trumbo!*"
"Well, this is it. Humanity is doomed," Zed cries, as the lady announces that we're just five minutes away from the
ceremony. "The second Leo gets his hand on that Oscar, it's all over. He'll destroy the Earth." He pauses. "We gotta do something, man!"
"It's too late now, Zed," I say, shaking my head. "Let's just call our families. Say our goodbyes."
"Unless…" Zed stops, turning his eyes to me, his hand on his chin on his knee on the couch (fuck it, I'm wearing it with pride now).
"What?"
"We could call… *him*."
"You don't mean…"
"Yes I mean him." Zed gets up and takes three fast steps towards me, resting his hand on my shoulders. "It's our only hope."
"Zed, he's an alien. Plus, it's too late, the Oscars start in two minutes."
"So? He can do it!"
"We can't put down a movie for Oscar consideration two minutes before the ceremony, Zed!"
"He can do it!" Zed roars. "You know he can!"
"It's too risky, Zed. We don't know what he's capable of."
"What other choice do we have!?"
Zed's eyes are locked on mine. Dead serious.
I sigh. "All right, then. Call him."
 
One hour and forty minutes later, Zed and I are side by side on the couch, watching as Kate Mara finishes
announcing the nominees for best actor in a lead role.
"It won't work," I say, quietly. "It won't work, not even *he* can pull this one out."
By my side, Zed watches in silence, his breath heavy and slow. Eyes locked on the screen.
And the Oscar goes to," Kate says, tearing the envelope open. "Leonardo Di –"
The applause starts, but stops at once as a man storms the stage. He whispers something in Kate's ear, then takes
the envelope from her hand and gives her a second one, identical.
"We're very sorry," Kate says, in a hush. "But it looks like we have a sixth nominee." Clearing her throat, she tears
the second envelope open. "Well… the Oscar goes to…" Her eyes go wide, and a smile crosses her face. "Matthew Mcconaughey, for 'Thirty Second Video Of Me Saying 'All Right, All Right, All Right' Uploaded To Youtube Just a Few Seconds Ago'"!
The winning music starts, and the camera switches to Leonardo DiCaprio's incredulous face. Zed jumps up in the
air. "He did it! The motherfucker did it!"
I cry, getting up too and hugging Zed as we watch Matthew climbing up on the stage.
He takes the statue. Kisses Mara. Looks straight down at the first roll, frozen smile, eyes locked on Leo DiCaprio's face.
He raises the Oscar up in the air. Eyes still on Leo.
Takes a deep breath. Widens his smile.
And says....
"[...](https://ievamasevic.files.wordpress.com/2014/04/5320725101faa2a452f15dfe_alright-alright-alright1.gif?w=656)"
_______________
*All right, all right, all right. For more Matthew stories ([And I'm not even kidding](https://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/32k0tx/wp_you_are_the_first_human_ambassador_to_the/)) check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
It has been so long since this battle began, a game of sorts
He can conquer the world, if he wins this metal
I am the last of us, after me, there will be no one left
For so long I have denied him his precious metal, for so long have I fought
However, the time is finally at hand, he will complete his ritual, the metal goes to him
He has finished the ritual now, I hear him in the other room....
No
It cannot be!
He has replaced every other actor with Adam Sandler so his movies look much better!
HE CAN CONTINUE THIS FOREVER
I must... Tell someone
"Dear reddit TIFU..."
| 2016-01-18T23:53:20 | 2016-01-18T22:37:40 | 1,879 | 13 |
[WP] 1 hour before someone dies their loved ones are teleported to them so that they can enjoy their last moments. You don't have any more loved ones, but suddenly you are teleported into a crowded room.
|
I imagined my death for years. The Transportation Effect had been unwittingly created about a decade before I was born. I grew up hearing stories from schoolmates and relatives of all the Final Ceremonies they had attended. The sunny warmth of the portal. The lavender scented air of the Ceremony location. I committed every detail to memory, both excited and terrified of the day when someone I loved would pass and I would be invited to assist in the loving send off of my dearly departed. I waited but it never came...
A sweet girl with an infectious giggle was in my class in 5th grade. She had dozens of stories of ceremonies she'd attended. A great grandparent. A former nanny. A bus driver who had taken a shine to her. It seemed everyone this girl encountered had fallen in love with her. It became a regular and accepted occurrence that she would vanish from class and return moments later flushed and teary eyed.
Meanwhile, the people around me seemed to be dropping like flies and I hadn't attended a single Ceremony. My own father passed away suddenly of a heart attack when I was 15, and although our relationship had always been strained, I thought surely he loved me enough to invite me to his Final hour... and yet....
At some point in my 20s I accepted my inability to be loved by others. It was a bitter pill which took me 27 years to swallow but there was no fighting it. By that time, I had lost both parents, three grandparents, a close friend died in a motorcycle accident, a cousin who I'd helped get off drugs OD'ed, and I had heard of several acquaintances passing. No portal for this guy. No lavender air for me.
So be it. I was done seeking affection. Although I had not failed to explore the world of intoxicating women, I had given up hope of a lasting relationship. I treated everyone kindly \- to be sure. I'm not some kind of monster, you see. I just go into encounters with others cognizant of our inevitable parting. I learned to make the most of my interactions and let them pass. I made lemonade, you know?
I worked hard. I traveled often. I experienced art and music and earth shattering sex. I engaged in convivial conversation with strangers about all these things. It was good. Good enough by any measure, certainly.
On April 25, my 45th birthday \- I closed my eyes for the last time. To be honest, my death was kind of a let down. My adult life had been pretty exciting and I had envisioned a cause of death equally exciting. A hang gliding accident in Mexico, perhaps, or a shark attack while surfing in Australia - that was more my speed. Instead, I was taken by the same heart defect that took my father 30 years before.
I lay with my eyes closed, asleep as far as I knew, prepared to enjoy the hour of lavender and warmth in solitude. It was just as incredible as the stories I heard. The warmth of the portal was sort of like laying on a beach with the sun baking into my pores while a gentle breeze blew the burn away. The scent of the lavender was pervasive and familiar, the way my grandmother's kitchen would fill with the scent of sugar and cinnamon when she baked. Slowly, a hum pushed itself up and over the feeling and the scent. The hum became chatter and the chatter became voices and suddenly I realized I was not alone.
Reluctantly, nervously, I opened my eyes. I didn't see my own face, of course, but I'm certain there was a refined quality to my slack\-jawed shock. The tall, white room was packed. There must've been 100 people crammed in like pennies in a bank wrapper. Familiar faces started to stand out to me among the expectant smiles. I saw my parents, arm in arm. My grandparents shuffled forward. My cousin and my motorcycle accident friend threw hands in the air and waved grinning from the back. There were unfamiliar faces, too. A girl I vaguely remembered bedding in Brazil stood to the side looking sexy as hell. The mail carrier who had served my block my whole damn life was there, smiling, wearing the damn mail sack.
I stood and stuttered. "But..... I.... Mom?" Her smile grew somehow wider and it seemed she understood my confusion.
"Well, my love," she said, pausing for a moment in search of the right words. "The Final Ceremony isn't exactly what you thought it was. This final hour is not for the loving, it is for the loved."
I stared blankly, clueless to her meaning. She tried again. "The living, and sometimes deceased, are transported to the Final Hour of the people THEY love. They are not transported to the final hour of the people who love THEM. It seems that way to most because usually love is mutual. But in your case.... well, honey...."
"You didn't love US enough," my father broke in. "But we all loved the hell out of you." The room murmured and heads nodded in unanimous agreement.
My Brazilian fling's thick Portuguese accent joined the conversation. "I never in my life meet man so incredible. You inspire me take all of life. Live all days hard and with joy. It wake up love in my heart so strong I never forget," she finished tearfully, the smile still plastered to her lovely face.
"Actually," a new voice from the back piped up. "It isn't about love at all \- well, not the way we understand it. It's about touching souls. Just before you pass, you are reunited with all the souls that you've touched. Maybe no one who touched your soul passed away, but you... you've touched... all of us." The voice finished and a girl pushed through the crowd. My classmate from grade school was there, smiling her sweet smile, giggling her contagious laugh.
I started sobbing. Uncontrollably, I sobbed. I covered my face with my hands as if to push the tears and noise back in where it belonged. Instead, the sobs came harder and louder until I just let it go. Suddenly I felt arms around me. My mother's strong arms wrapped tight around my waist. One after another, the visitors pressed in around me. Their arms intertwined like straw in a birds nest, cradling the weight of my overwhelming emotion until I descended peacefully into the After.
|
I had heard about it online. An hour before someone goes they're teleported to their loved ones. Not that it mattered to me. I had no one.
Standing on this windy day watching the Sun set. The oranges and reds in the sky and faint breeze in my hair. I could faintly hear sirens in the background, some stranger yelling at me through a megaphone, the loud rushing of the water below and it's loud crescendo onto the rocks. It didn't really matter, nothing mattered.
Suddenly the amber sky disappeared, to be replaced with ugly stucco, the water below with faded linoleum, the muted shouting replaced with some punk rock band I hadn't heard in years. The cool empty expanse of the Lions falls replaced with the old kitchen I thought I'd never see again, filled almost shoulder to shoulder with people.
"Sasha?" A timid voice, hesitant, hopeful.
I looked around, familiar faces, both long forgotten and recent. All filled with... Love? Confusion wracked my mind. Tears welled up in my eyes.
"Mom?"
Sudden embrace shut out any further thoughts , and in that instant I felt warmth I never thought possible. The dams broke and water flowed freely like the falls I had only recently stood over.
Regret filled my heart and I could only manage to sob "I'm sorry Mom, I'm so sorry"
| 2018-05-20T11:43:12 | 2018-05-20T09:20:13 | 507 | 246 |
[WP]"Captain, why is an entire planet being used to hold only two life forms"? "The species confined there is the most savage and destructive of any world. We've waited this long to check on them to make sure they died. We're lucky they're the last ones". "Checking status of prisoners Adam and Eve".
|
"..execute Plan 37."
The Helmsman hesitated for a moment, but he complied. Everyone grew up with stories on the volatile nature of humans, especially the destructive wars they caused, and how two of humanity were 'mercifully' spared, so the crew knew what was expected of them. What they \*didn't\* know was the sheer level of redaction on everything human related, even for the captain of one of the most advanced ships in the galaxy: communication logs, colony origins, even whole wars, all wiped from living memory. Even just that spooked him in ways he would never be able to articulate.
What spooked him \*more\* was how humanity had somehow come back from the brink of destruction AGAIN: there should have been no more human colonies to draw from, and no survivors to rally; in fact, Adam and Eve were supposed to be sterile, to ensure exactly this situation could never happen, even in theory. There was nothing for the human population to rebound \*from,\* but humanity had somehow managed.
Of course, there were plans for this, but most of those plans were focused on what to do if the humans measured in the millions, or if the various galactic powers went behind the Community's back to try and exploit this potential "resource." Instead, the humans numbered in the billions, were blasting out radio waves to the point where half a dozen species would outright die without shielding just from getting close, and even had an orbital space station!
But that's why Plan 37 existed: as far as the crew knew, this involved a whole host of activities to prepare for possible contact, and a total communications black out. In truth, it was just to keep the crew busy while the captain waited for the actual experts to arrive and figure out what to do. That is, if-
"My lord, a situation has arisen."
The Captain's mind jolted. "Yes, Communication?"
"Transmissions on the planet have jumped. Massively jumped. It is likely they know we are here."
The Captain's mind whirled. "How..? Scanner, did you not say they did not have the means to actively find us?"
The Scanner paused for a time before answering. "Yes, my lord, they have no such ability. They do, however, have a number of passive means with which to do so: as vanishingly low as the odds are, if they saw the distortions caused by our FTL field as we approached the system, worked out our trajectory, watched the entire path with which we might enter the system, and then recorded us as we did so in the small time frame before we could activate the cloaking field, it would be possible for them to learn of our existence."
And there it was: the unknown factor that made humans so dangerous. The old, dead joke was that only a human could blindly fire a bullet into space and somehow manage to hit something important; perhaps not so much of a joke after all. Things had just gotten a lot more complicated.
\---
"You are telling me the humans saw you, Captain?"
"Yes, my lord."
"And have you done anything in response since you sent your report?"
"No, my lord."
"..good. In truth, we expected things would become like this: with humans, it always does."
The Captain hesitated, but finally decided to press his question. "My lord, can you not tell us what is happening? We feel circumstances have somewhat...escaped our control."
His lord paused for a long time before responding. "In truth, we do not know much more ourselves: our precursors were the first to warn of the dangers of humans, having apparently been attacked by them for some reason, but that was a war both sides ultimately lost. Still, even that little warning was enough for us to treat what humans could still be found with due caution, and for good reason: those other species that did not invariably ended up as defeated enemies, or as fanatical allies. We do not know how they do it, because we do not communicate with humans if we can at all avoid it."
"Ultimately though, those conflicts weakened the humans enough that we could try to solve the problem permanently, which we did; or rather, thought we did. Adam and Eve were supposed to be the last of their kind, the two who betrayed their fellows in the last stages of the war to prevent the kind of retaliatory attack that apparently wiped out the precursors. They were sterilized, but were otherwise sent into a comfortable exile on a world too rich in oxygen to be useful. How the humans came back so aggressively is...beyond us."
"In that case, my lord, should we not just kill all of them, while they are too weak to respond?"
"No!" The captain was surprised by such a forceful response, but his lord calmed down and continued. "No, captain: your line of reasoning is not wrong, but you have to understand, when I say their allies are fanatical, I mean it. Even now, after we have banned all human related activity for so many galactic pulses, we still find cults started by the human allies throughout all known space. If we just launch an immediate attack, and those allies are ready to respond, the whole galaxy could be forced into a war before we have made any kind of preparation. We cannot take that risk; not before we are sure we can end this before it gets worse."
"Yes, my lord." In truth, the Captain wasn't really sure he agreed, but there was clearly more going on here than he was prepared to handle, so he let it slide. "How should we respond to the human activity, then?"
"..we brought an emissary: a volunteer trained for just this sort of situation, who can stall the humans while we find out more about how this happened. It is a death sentence, but our need to know is just that great. While he works, you must ensure that communications remain entirely locked downed. We cannot risk a security breach, no matter the cost."
\---
Elsewhere on the ship, a crew mate activated a device he did not understand, fulfilling a mission he did not remember. In truth, he hadn't even realized what he'd done until it was finished: a level of conditioning only a handful of species had been able to manage, for the most important tasks. Getting through the loyalty screening of this mission should have been impossible, but he had somehow done it, and the result was out there now, somewhere beyond anyone's control. Soon, even those sparse thoughts were gone, the conditioning reasserting itself. He would never remember the small golden disk he had just sent out, or what it would mean for the galaxy; but others would. Others who had been awaiting that disk for a long, long time...
|
They say there. They hadn't done anything, but play chess, have sex, and eat apples. They hadn't spoken any language, tried to advance, nothing. They just played chess. They didn't even wear clothes. We yad tried interacting, they didn't do anything but play chess with us. No matter how much we tried, they wouldn't do anything. We decided to take their food, just to see if it would work. Nope, they just played chess and had sex. We gave them back their food when they were three days from dying. They never once cared. We suddenly thought of a solution. We give them another game. We decided upon going down and explaining monopoly, as it would also explain the economy, maybe they would set up an exchange. It worked perfectly. Eve started trading chess for 3 apples. Yes! A break through! But then... eve started trading 5 apples for chess and sex. It seemed that she figured out her body was worth some money. This made Adam very mad. He suddenly started not paying her. He just ate his apples. The apples started to dwindle. They started fighting. We had to make sure they didn't kill each other. It was to late. When we came back from an break, Adam was dead. Eve had killed him, because Eve wanted the apples. It's weird how far these animals would go just for some sort of value that really is not of matter. We would had fed them, but they fought for food instead. Why? It seems like they only want what they want.
| 2021-12-30T18:32:24 | 2021-12-30T17:47:12 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] The hero has been defeated, the Dark Lord reigns. It seems like nobody can stop him, but then he surprises everyone by actually being a good leader, or at least better then the warring kings that used to rule this land. He's even funding science, if only because he wants to conquer the moon.
|
Lord Zaxos sat upon his throne built of skulls and bone, molded together by dark fire and blood magic. The petitioners knelt before him, some trembling in fear as the herald beat a giant drum made of human skin and dead wood.
"Rise," he said. His voice echoing off the cavernous dark hall of his throne room, a gothic orchestra of hunched gargoyles and humans writhing in eternal torment. All figures carved out of exquisite blocks of obsidian, shiny and beautiful in their cruelty. His fingers tapped the arm of his throne, clacking over bone yellowed by long exposure.
He felt no need to change the decorum of his palace. After a rather surgical removal of the Old King's spine, he found the macabre center of imperial power to be rather charming. No need to change something without cause.
"If it pleases my lord," began one petitioner, though his voice wavered throughout, "We require...we require..."
"Out with it!" shouted Zaxos. He was a busy necromancer, and there were hundreds of petitioners seeking audience with him.
"An orphanage," the cowering man finally managed. "There are thousands of beggar children after the Old King conscripted their parents in the war. These children are poor, hungry, abandoned -"
Zaxos held up one hand, torchlight flickering over black steel that drank rather than reflected the light.
"How many?" Zaxos asked.
"Pardon?"
The petitioner's teeth were chattering so loudly Zaxos could hear it atop his throne. It annoyed him. A citizen should not fear their leader when making reasonable requests. The Old King might have gutted the man for not referring to him as 'Your Grace' but Zaxos mostly let these things slide.
"How many orphanages? One will not be enough. It is a poor ruler who abandons the youth. They are the future, and easily molded to whatever purpose I may see fit."
The petitioner seemed more shocked that there was no debate, or even an additional question required for the Dark Lord's boon.
"I'll have to consult with the nobles, but we might need ten? Or even twenty?"
Zaxos grunted in assent.
"Let it be done. The children will need guardians as well. Schooling, attention and stimulation. Make an inquiry with my steward and we shall find the required gold and food for however many children may need it."
The petitioner scuttled away in the manner that reminded Zaxos of some kind of fearful crab.
"Next!" he thundered. He found much of the Old King's regime rather staggering in its inefficiency. A King who ignored his people for the byzantine squabbling of the nobility was a weak King to him, and a poor ruler. The idiot had used living soldiers rather than undead ones. Where was the sense in that? The living were a valuable resource, to be protected and uplifted, not an inexhaustible wall of meat for the petty schemes of a constantly bickering upper class.
Children were most important of all, yet seemed to be the worst affected by the old rule.
The next petitioner came in, asking for grain for his village. This Zaxos granted. A well fed people were a happy people, and thus more productive.
The next petitioner he had both hands removed for stealing from his workers. Not only was he failing to compensate his staff, but he was underpaying the lumberjacks Zaxos had commanded to fell trees to build more libraries and schools. Whatever excess timber that wouldn't stand up to his rigorous engineering code would be ground into a pulp to print more books to provide adequate reading for his subjects. Zaxos would not stand for willful ignorance when all it took was a printing press and a wide selection of reading.
Some had resisted his changes, though Zaxos' will could not be curbed. Doctors would wash their hands before treating patients, and would stop feeding them quack cures like ground emeralds that a patient could barely afford. People would have access to clean water, rather than the foul and polluted sources they'd been forced to draw from before. There would be books and theater, toys for the children and care for the sick. No more arbitrary executions and blanket punishments for smaller crimes. No more strings of hands hung above market stalls from thieves who only took a loaf of bread to feed his children.
Not that Zaxos would shy from brutality. Yet the Old King seemed to enjoy suffering for the sake of suffering as his divine right as King.
Not for Zaxos. A ruler must earn the loyalty of his people, and he meant to.
As night fell, Zaxos found himself outside his solar, eyeing a sky of twinkling eyes, a thousand stars with worlds of their own. The moon loomed eternal, and holding up one thumb, Zaxos blocked it from his vision.
*One day,* he thought to himself. *My people will walk upon the moon. And plant my standard upon it.*
Below, the city sprawled out in every direction, repaired and larger than it'd ever been under the Old King.
He could hear laughter wafting upward, raucous revels and contented people.
This pleased Lord Zaxos, Lord of the Underfel, the prophesized Dark One to bring down the Old King.
A King who never cared for his people.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/kallistowrites [Part 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/KallistoWrites/comments/m31ziu/the_sins_of_the_old_king_part_2/?)
|
We all thought it was the end, that we were doomed to a life of horrific slavery, torture, and death. But we were all so very wrong. The poverty, the hunger, the illness…he fixed it all. Every single problem that we had, from violence amongst the people to the high levels of corruption present inside the government. We didn’t even know such peace and prosperity could exist in our times.
And he wasn’t even too demanding of us either. All he wants is help to conquer the stars. And we agreed, because of course we couldn’t refuse. He has given us _everything_, so getting to the Moon is such a little price to pay in comparison. All praise the Dark Lord and his charity, mercy, and wisdom!
Edit: grammar.
| 2021-03-11T09:53:35 | 2021-03-11T08:33:48 | 2,132 | 101 |
[WP] The more evil you were on Earth the higher your rank in Hell. When you get to Hell Satan himself resigns his position to you, but you don't know what you did.
|
“Heaven seems awfully dark,” I remarked as I moved through what appeared a twilight fog. The world around me was vague and indistinct, whenever I thought I was gaining sight of something that could be a landmark it would fade away into the gloom.
I’m not sure how long I walked in that gloom, there was nothing to reference time, no feelings of hunger, no tiredness, nothing at all. Then he was there before me, sitting upon a massive ornate throne. His beauty was more than I could possibly describe and the throne he sat on. Well maybe it wasn’t that nice but after so long with nothing to look at, I would’ve settled for a three legged stool at this point.
“God?” I asked, my voice catching.
The being chortled, “Close, try again,” It said
I thought for a second, thinking back to my Sunday school lessons when I was a little kid.
“Gabriel? Michael?” I asked tentatively.
The beings eyes narrowed slightly with annoyance and that look one gets when names are brought up that bring with them a torrent of memories and most of those bad.
“No, last guess,”
I racked my mind, Metatron maybe, I wasn’t Catholic but maybe I should have been. Then thought came into my head, I tried to squash it but it wouldn’t leave.
“You wouldn’t be the devil would you?” I asked, wishing with my being that he wouldn’t answer.
He or it gave me a smile that was more of an answer than any words could be. I backed up a step, “Then this is hell?” I asked looking around for fire or whips and chains or something.
“Wrong again, this is the outskirts of hell, you’re a rather important arrival so I decided welcome you personally,” The devil said getting to its feet, it gestured at the throne.
“Have a seat,” It said in a tone that brooked no argument.
I meekly sat on throne, it was warm but not uncomfortably so, which seemed strange to me since if this was hell shouldn’t it be covered in spikes or something. I looked up to see the devil studying me, its eyes flashing with amusement though it didn’t say anything. After a while I couldn’t bear it anymore.
“I don’t understand why am I here, I was a good person, I don’t deserve this, what about my good deeds?”
The Devil chuckled again, “Obviously they weren’t as good as you thought but don’t worry I was so impressed with what you made of your life I decided to give you my chair,” It smiled again and I think part of my soul shriveled in response.
“Congratulations kid, your're ruler of hell,”
I sat there stunned by this news, on one hand the knowledge that I hadn’t made it too heaven seemed terrible but hadn’t I pulled the next best card, better to rule in hell and all that, but the laughter I saw in the Devil’s eyes made my stomach twist into knots at the thought that there was any way this could end well. After I finally spoke again.
“Why me, I don’t remember being anyone special, shouldn’t someone like Hitler or Stalin be in this chair?”
The Devil snorted, “A plain murderer isn’t worthy, oh the scale of their murder was impressive but the crime itself is hardly original,” The devil shook its head and looked at him again, its eyes still alight with amusement.
“Try again?”
I thought for a moment, “What about religious leaders who….” I started to say when the devil cut me off.
“Those are just liars, once again the scale is the only thing that’s impressive about their sin, and heck I was the first one to do that one so they don’t get points for being copycats,”
I thought harder, then I had a thought, a subreddit thread I’d be reading before the blackness came over me.
“What about those who wasted their life, those who didn’t do anything with what they were given, someone like that should be in this chair,”
The Devil nodded looking thoughtful, “That’s a pretty good one but what you did was far more impressive,”
I couldn’t contain myself any longer, “THEN WHAT DID I DO?!” I screamed at the Devil.
“You killed your soul,”
I stared at the Devil in complete bafflement. “I don’t understand, how is does make me worthy of this chair?”
The devil laughed again, “Tell me, if you were put in a room and told you would be given whatever you wanted to amuse yourself but you were never going to see or talk to anyone else ever again. What would you pick?”
I was silent, thinking about all the things I did for amusement during my life, none of them felt like something I would do just for my own private enjoyment.
“Can’t think of anything can you?” The Devil said. It laughed again.
“And that’s what I find so impressive, you may have died today but your soul has been dead for years. Since you were young you made sure that you always played the right sports, read the right books, and watched the right tv shows. It was never about what you wanted, only about what you thought everyone else liked. I’ve seen human give up their own wants to fit but you’re the first human ever to kill your own wants.”
“What’s so evil about that?” I retorted. “I just wanted to fit in, nothing evil about that,”
“Isn’t there?” The Devil asked.
“You married, not being because you loved the person but because you thought it was the expected thing to do, the same reason you dated, because your family and friends expected it. Everything you did in your life was by someone else choice, the clothes you wore, the car you drove even the politician you voted for. By the way, both of those politicians from that election that cost you several of your friends are down here, that election was some of my finest work.” The Devil said, looking quite proud.
“You didn’t even require tempting to sin, all I had to do was have one of your friends or your current favorite actor or your boss be tempted and sin and you would consider or just plain do it in order to fit in,”
The devil loomed over me, “The greatest gift that God gave you worthless piles of puss, was the ability to choose, and you threw that back in his face and refused to choose,” The Devil said, raw contempt and hatred filling his voice as he stared at me as if I was nothing more than some excrement that someone had smeared on his favorite chair.
Then the moment passed and the Devil stepped back and gave the most terrifying belly laugh I'd ever heard.
“Not even I could do that, I may have rebelled but I still made a choice, which is more than you ever did,” The Devil stepped back, one hand encompassing the throne I sat in and gloom around us which had grown even darker.
“Thus since you did something not even I could do, you get the chair. So tell me Ruler of Hell, what happens now?” It asked, its smirk widening to an almost unaturally sized grin.
I tried to come up with a comeback or retort but nothing came to mind. Years of making decisions based on what others thought doesn’t stop so easily, so I said what I knew it wanted me to say.
“What should happen now?”
And the Devil’s laughter ushered me into my first steps in hell.
|
I wasn't expecting to go to hell. I lived a good life as a good christian. I took care of my family, I was active in church and I devote money to the poor. I was a rich inventor when I was alive, but the lord decided to take me in the year 1811 after a battle with the flu.
I met the devil and he said one word to me. "Ants."
What?
Ants. You killed the ants.
What the hell does that have to do with anything?
Your invention killed the ants.
But why does that matter?
Do you understand how the human body works, how all the cells are dependent on each other? How you cannot cause an injury to your finger without it affected, on some level, the cells in your toes?
Yes. What does that matter.
You killed the ants. The world is a body made up of interdependent parts. Your science hasn't figured it out, but all life forms on earth are dependent on each other. Ants were the peacekeepers of earth. They kept the peace, they took destructive vibrations from other life forms and channeled them into more peaceful and grounded impulses. Think of them as the opium of planet earth. They kept things peaceful. They didn't physically do anything, but their energy absorbed the negative energy of earth and redirected it into positive channels.
And I killed the ants?
Yup. This destabilized how virtually all life forms lived. All life forms from single celled viruses up to elephants became far more aggressive, hostile and unstable. You helped set off a chain reaction that caused extra stress and suffering for octillions of life forms every day. Sure there are going to be more wars and deaths among humans, but humans are a tiny fraction of life on earth. Hell, a trillion fish suffered extra today because of your invention. And those are just the fish.
But all I did was create a cheaper way to make concrete.
Yes I know. You can't know this now, but in the future entire roads and cities will be paved with your invention. This will decimate the ant population, affecting the entirety of life on earth. This will have a chain reaction causing the entire world to become more hostile and aggressive.
But its still a stupid theory.
Well I wrote it during commercials.
| 2016-12-19T16:59:11 | 2016-12-19T14:59:39 | 88 | 13 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
Humans, no one really got humans. Always sticking to themselves, bizarre peaks and valleys in their technology, almost no one in their species older than 150, despite them having immortality technology for at least 300 years and a disturbingly adamant insistence on near total pacifism. They saw nothing wrong with sticking a neural implant into every skull, but slapping someone? an honor duel? no that was too far. We figured we didn't need to understand them. We were the Anqax, the greatest warriors the galaxy had ever known, conquerers of a dozen species. We would force them under our protection and show that what it meant to serve with honor.
The first sign something was wrong was the reaction of the ruler of the first world we hit. They begged us not to make them do it. not for mercy, not to spare there people, but not to force there hand. we thought it was a translation error, or maybe some bizarre cultural quirk. But the landers came down, without a shot fired. We joked and jeered that it would be too easy, then we hit the first city and met the populace. the streets were packed with peopel, adults, adolescents, males, and females.
once more, a spokesman begged us to leave, that it was not yet too late. truth be told? at this point, some of us were feeling a little bad for them. A species so foolish that worried about their conquerors. We shot him of course, but we felt a bit bad about it, but only for a few seconds. The man had not even hit the ground when every last one of them charged.
it was madness, yet the shock of it saw the front lines drown under a sea of bodies. we opened up, gauss fire pulping limbs and shredding bodies, they didn't stop. I remember the one that got my commander quite clearly. A female she, couldn't have been more than a few years into adolescence, she killed him with the jagged stump of bone that used to be her arm. When the first battle was done, we'd lost hundreds, but they'd lost thousands.
We figured out what had happened pretty quick, those neural implants they all had? they'd uploaded a beserker program to the entire population. turned every last man woman and child into a makeshift murder drone. For the first 2 weeks, it was terrifying, packs of emotionless beserkers erupting from every nook and cranny. command refusing to dishonor there the first battle of the war by resorting to bombardment. Yet, once the shock wore off, we were winning. so long as you could get into you APC you'd be fine. At the start of the 3rd week, we started encountering weapons.
they'd expended a third of the populace to stall us while they armed the rest. the versatility of their industry on full display. the weapons started out crude, suicide charges, oversized cannons barely able to pierce armor. But even crude weapons were dangerous in the swarms they came at us in, and every day they got a bit better. the assault ground to a halt, and then we saw the ruler again.
she struck during a speech. when the high general was trying to rally the troops to press on in the face of the horrors we'd encountered. Her weapons were primitive, but masterfully designed, and her skill was beyond legend. laughing and sobbing she tore through the generals elite guard like they were green recruits, screaming that this was our fault, that we deserved this. she did not merely kill the general, she *butchered him* leaving him a bleeding mess on a live broadcast before setting off a fusion bomb strapped to her armor, wiping out the majority of our command structure.
after that, we pulled back. retreated from the teeming beserkers swarms, and simply rained death on the world from orbit. We should have pulled back entirely, but we thought this an anomaly, a madwoman banished to the edge of space. we pushed on, striking at the next world.
as we came out of warp, we found an evacuation already underway. vast haulers where moving the population away, even as industry desperately spat out simple weapons. An overly ambitious captain tried to capture one, moving his ship into the path of the refugee ship and demanding surrender. his vessel was the first naval loss of the war, the hauler simply initiating a warp jump into his ship, trading a few million civilians for a cruiser.
on the ground, it was much the same as the last world. The entire populace turned into beserkers and armed with crude weapons. demands for surrender were made, and where met with mad laughter and incoherent pleas for us to simple *leave*. we'd learned from the last world, this time we didn't spare the bombardment.
about a week later, official diplomatic contact was made. A high ranking human arriving via a primitive courier ship. Asking to speak to our commander to stop the madness. a single human, prostrate before the commanding prince, begging him for peace, pleading that the universe was not so crowded that we needed to fight, imploring him not to make the galaxy an emptier one. The prince said there could be peace, so long as they surrendered. the diplomat nodded once and then exploded. I *still* have no idea how he got a charge past our scanners, but that rather set the tone of the war.
there was no more diplomacy after that. no transmission, no traders to neutral space and not a single human taken alive. a bit after that, we lost the world we'd been supplied form. no idea how, just frantic garbled transmission about crowds of madmen and monsters, and then the AM plants went up and scoured the world down to the bedrock. Just like that, our supply lines where cut. we saw the first of their ships the next day.
makeshift things clearly repurposed from other uses, barely worthy of the name warship. but they came at us with mindless courage and mechanical skill. we massacred them of course, ramshackle things that they were. But they *kept* coming. an unending wave of primitive ships. all told, a billion men died in the void to stall us 3 months, a deal that would have been cheap at twice the price.
5 months after we started what was supposed to be simple conquest, we pressed into a major system, and into hell. the entire population, willingly, *eagerly* working every waking hour in the factories, in the drill yards, in shipyards and fortresses. Gardens worlds built up over centuries burned in the fire of uncaring industry. Music, art, culture, joy, all of these things they had put aside. a trillion demons waited for us in that system, with the fruits of their mad industry.
the fleet waiting for us was no makeshift ramshackle mess of hastily converted hulls. primitive true, but clearly the product of a mad artisan, and built from the keel up to counter our fleet. I'm a soldier, not a sailor, so all I can tell you is we lost. two-thirds of our fleet left drifting in space and the rest falling back to lick its wounds, and dooming our people.
we hadn't known. how could we have? the horror of how humans wage war? every mind bent fully to the task of death, every speck of industrial output, every ounce of space lift turned solely to victory at any cost. The versatility they had built into everything revealing its purpose, as what had once been a society transformed an impossibly huge weapons plant. It took them six months to ramp up, six months to put together a military industrial complex to dwarf our entire empire.
we tried to fight, of course. We still had our advantages, but not enough to offset their simple numbers and cold ruthlessness. worlds fell, to c impactors, nano-swarms endless armies of monsters and horror. soon we tried to talk, to surrender, to make it *stop*. They didn't listen, I don't know if they couldn't. too far gone into the grip of their ancient madness, or if they *chose* not to, that they hated this so much they were willing to wipe us out to make us an object lesson to the rest of the galaxy.
I don't think it matters, in the end, the result was the same. our empire dismantled, our people scoured mercilessly from the stars. Yet, they were not *done*. I think they hate themselves, for what they had done, for what they became once more, but I *know* they hate us for pushing them to it. That's why I'm still alive you see. the last few billion of us they sterilized, did *something* to our DNA so we can't even make clones. we don't age anymore, haven't for centuries. Some of us live on a reservation, a living monument to our failures, the rest? well, we wonder the stars. an eternal reminder of what it means to war with humanity, a monument to their madness and sins.
Do not force them to set aside the fetters they festoon themselves with. For they have long since forgotten how to stop without them.
|
“Have you ever seen a planet die, senator?”
The aged human is hunched over a podium, his eyes narrowed and knuckles white against its ornate frame.
“I have,” he says, shifting his weight back, “and I believe it was the right thing to do. That is what you invite if you truly wish to go to war with us. If this is the course you wish to stay upon, we will meet you in space. We will meet you on the planets populated by your ill-begotten kind, and when we finally bear down on your homeworld, we will turn it into a pile of slag. You can stop this, right here, right now.”
————————————————————————
Admiral Connor turns off the screen displaying Senator McLaughlin’s final plea for peace. It had failed, which was dismaying. They executed him in a courtyard not long after. He didn’t cry or shout, even at the end.
Now, here they were. Three systems from the Drasi homeworld, bearing down upon them. He muses idly, wondering what it was that beat them so easily. The turning of a whole economy to war, the better training, or how humans would willingly condemn trillions of souls to the void if it meant victory. With a shrug, he concludes it does matter.
Drasii VI is an industrial planet, housing some of the most magnificent works of art and mechanical advances ever undertaken by the Drasi. The Admiral looked at it from the bridge of his _Worldbreaker_, and prepared to tear it all asunder. The Drasi has relied on one substantial armada to act as their aegis and spear. It had taken one battle to bring an empire to its knees. They had been picking up the pieces ever since. It was surprising, then, to have run into only a single capital ship this close to their homeworld after three months of prowling closer and closer through the stars.
_Rittek_ had been the planned crown jewel of a new fleet to fight humanity. The _Worldbreaker_ class starship and its escort engaged it quickly after their arrival in system.
Brilliant lances if blue energy had emanated from the ship, scoring scars across and through the hulls of the human ships. They returned fire in kind, using projectile weapons. The death of ship is not a beautiful thing. It rages against its death, spewing fire, air, and bodies. _Rittek_ was no exception. It did not die well. A high yield torpedo had raced around into its midsection, cracking the superstructure in half. The crew who did not die in the explosion perished from radiation or lack of life support not long after.
Admiral Connor stands in the wake of that, poised to order the death of an old and prosperous world. He commits it to memory among dozens of others, and begins the barrage with a wave of his hand. Batteries of cannons across the ship begin to fire, dropping shells large enough to hit like small meteors. Or large nuclear bombs. Each impact reverberated across the planet, and cross and angry yellow burst into the atmosphere. Each shot condemned 7 million on average to death. Within two hours, a planet the size of Mars had been scoured of life. Once vibrant and resplendent with technological history, it was little more than ash.
The surface of the planet had cracked, its people
dying. Doctors making futile efforts at saving as many people as possible within reach. All pretense of resistance or opinion lost in the scramble out. Not a single soul was spared.
He had stood the entire time, reading a book on the nature of morality and listening to Bach. He didn’t afford it a glance as they prepared to move on.
The Drasi had not been ready for this. For dirty bombs, for the destruction of entire planets. Despite this, they had wanted this war terribly. Now they wanted nothing more but to end it.
It was a shame for them to have realized so late that humanity would finish it.
| 2018-12-15T00:58:53 | 2018-12-14T23:02:53 | 184 | 121 |
[WP] You are the latest victim of a God who is known for handing out superpowers. Unfortunately this God has a twisted sense of humour and only gives out superpowers that are useless to the person receiving them. You are determined to make the God regret giving you powers.
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The cathedral walls of pure white clouds continued to swirl in the ethereal golden light of the Great Bestower's temple as you awaited your "power". You had heard this story enough times on the news. You'd be going about your daily life and then boom, flash of light, angels singing and soon enough you opened your eyes and found yourself looking up at a building size throne being looked down upon by the thing that no-one quite understood. The clouds implied something like God, but the appearance resembled the cliche depiction of Zeus.
Scholars agree the Being chose a form our minds could understand for the duration of our interaction. What no-one else can agree on is why the hell it does what it does.
"Uh...hello. I'm John. Are you the, thing?"
"HELLO JOHN!" the Devine voice boomed as it's voice echoed around the unsolid walls "WELCOME! YES I AM THE THING!" It didn't seem insulted at the name, not amused either. In fact, it didn't appear to give off any emotions at all. "YOU SHALL BE GIFTED THE ABILITY TOO..." Your heart beat in your chest and you hoped it wasn't something too dumb. The last guy had the ability to know the answers to important tests, but only after he had no option to change his answers. Hopefully it wasn't something as torturous as that.
The godthing had passed for effect. It seemed that even if it had no emotions, it did have a taste for dramatic flair.
"....KNOW WHEN A DIGITAL FOOD TIMER YOU ARE USING IS DONE!"
"Oh...that's not too bad I guess. Maybe I could let chefs know when their food is done perfectly..." You mumbled to yourself not really expecting a response.
"NOOO!" it boomed, shaking the room again, "YOU CAN ONLY KNOW WHEN IT IS GOING TO EFFECT YOU! AND ONLY CHEAP DIGITAL TIMERS! YOU HAVE BEEN BLESSED!" it emphasised the word blessed and then swept it's hand up causing an updraft that made the clouds on the ground swirl and cover your vision. And when the clouds dissipated you was back in your kitchen, the same dinner you were in the middle of making still on the table. It was still frozen.
"Well. No time like the present." You threw the hot pockets onto the plate and went to put the microwave on for 5 minutes, but just as you were about to hit the 5 your hand seemed to have a force applied by something unknown and your finger hit the 4 instead. What? Ok then...you tried to hit reset and your finger slipped on nothing again and hit the 3. You tried again and before you could stop yourself you had entered 4 minutes and 38 seconds. Your hand drew itself closer and pressed start. Nothing to do but wait and sure enough, 4 minutes and 38 seconds later the beep went off and you got your hot pockets out and they looked...fine? I took a bite expecting the usual blistering heat in the centre and to my surprise it was nicely hot on the inside, but not too hot. And the outside was hot and slightly crispy. "Cool" you could get used to this.
A few days later, a few perfect meals and you were walking through downtown to pick up some groceries. The past few days you had been experimenting with your gift and discovered that when someone else entered the timer for your food and if it wasn't long enough you could tell how much longer it needed. If it was too long you knew exactly when to press stop, but, just as the thing had said, only if it was your own food. Sure, people could use your food as an example and put it in the same but no two foods were exactly the same and it seemed that even a few seconds was enough to over or under cook the food just enough to not be satisfying.
You were pondering how the power worked when you felt the feeling tug at your power. "What?" You looked around the area but weren't sure what was happening. It was the same feeling you got when you knew someone had put the food on for too long. You had the urge to stop it before it was overcooked but how could someone be making food for you? You didn't know anyone the area, your nearest friend was at least 20minutes away.
The feeling was pointing you towards a public bench. Oddly enough you saw a bag that someone had left on its own and your finger was being dragged irresistibly towards it. You approached, opened it up and inside was a bunch of wires, a bottle of some kind and a cheap countdown timer with big red letters and they read 10 seconds! You were an idiot, you knew an IED when you saw one but what the hell could you do? You shouted "BOMB!" but for some reason no-one took you seriously and they just stared. You knew you had to do something and your power was forcing your finger towards one of the thin black wires and before you could stop yourself you had pulled it out of the timer with 1 seconds remaining.
What the hell? Your power was meant to be useless. It was only meant to be used for food? You played back what the godthing had said, had it really said it had to be for food? Really though it had said that the timer had to be digital food timers but it didn't necessarily say the food timer had to be timing food...
Of course, someone had called the police on the maniac shouting BOMB and you were arrested despite your insistence you didn't do anything.
Explanations about the god powers were ignored by the local police. It wasn't until an FBI agent came in that you felt you were taken seriously.
"Hello John. Interesting power you say you have. Please put this on." The agent gave me a wrist band of some kind that I put on. "Now tell me. how long until the timer in my pocket goes off?" I didn't even have to think. "36 seconds. 35...34"
He got out the simple looking timer in his pocket. It looked no different than what was used in microwaves around the world but it was connected to a small circuit board.
"When this timer went off you were going to receive a small electric shock delivered by this wrist band. The fact you could tell when that would happen is very interesting to us. We might have a job for you..."
|
(On mobile, sorry for the formatting)
There used to be a rumor of a terrible god who gave out powers to those who sought it out. Only the chosen were given gifts but were sworn to secrecy on where the specific shrine lay hidden. I managed to get the location after endless hours of research and chasing down ambiguous lines of information.
The shrine was overtaken with Moss and Vines. It was clearly abandoned and no longer used as the once wooden housing over the statue was laying around it in ruins all in decay. I approached it and as I was brushing away the vines, a loud booming voice echoes through the foliage.
“A new hand touches the Statue”
Long story short, this abandoned God gave me the gift of being able to refill anything with no cost. At first, it seemed pretty stupid, and pretty useless. The power to refill stuff? What good could that do? I realized after a while that I could drive a car and virtually no longer pay for gas. I never went hungry again as I was able to refill my plate with food or refill my fridge with groceries. From there I realized I could spend all my money and just have my bank account refill to whatever it was at before I spent anything. I could do almost everything!
| 2022-09-04T02:12:24 | 2022-09-04T00:29:18 | 1,446 | 53 |
[WP] Humanity finally meets an alien species. However, it takes us both a while to realize that they were just as excited to meet us as we were to meet them. We also realize, at the same time, that they were just as nervous about their homeworld embarrassing them, since they're as 'united' as we are
|
The room was similar to what you’d see on a popular cop show: metal table, grey bare walls, security camera up in a corner with an attentive blinking LED. At least her chair was padded and the cup of tap water wholesome enough. Naturally though, none of that did anything for anxiety. Would the UN Embassy come? Did anyone know she was even arrested? In fact, would there even be anyone that could speak her language? The lock on the heavy metal door worked just then and swung open to answer at least one of her questions.
“Kah-see Sock-lov?” The tall black feathered grasha asked. Even his beak was akin to that of an Earth raven. At least he spoke English more than passably well, even though it had that dry scratchy feel not unlike a parrot’s words.
“What have I been arrest for?” Dr. Sokolov stiffly asked. No need to bother with pleasantries.
The grasha-raven bobbed his head, gauging the question like a bauble to be snatched. “I am Agent Paul of the Ministry of Foreign Intelligence.”
“That’s not your real name.” Only grasha that dealt with humans on a regular basis chose such names. How many of her kind had this agent disappeared?
“No, that would be …” and then he chittered and chattered in chirpish.
“Point taken. Why am I here?”
“Interference with local political matters. What do you have to say for that?”
How much should she say? In America everyone with half a brain says to keep your mouth shut and lawyer up. Would that even apply in what is essentially space North Korea?
“I… assisted in the protest… but that dragon exhibit deserves to go home. It’s one thing to educate the public on prehistoric fauna, however entirely another when an entire culture is attached. Especially when that culture calls that exhibit Thuban the Wise! Now it’s a disgrace and an insult.”
“I agree.”
“And don’t get me started- wait, what?”
“I agree, the… eh, ‘dragons’ should take their ancestor home for a proper pyre or whatever rites the dead demands of them.”
Dr. Sokolov slumped, at a loss for words.
Agent Paul gave a short, pleased whistle. “Surprised? I’ve visited your world, flew the skies of London, walked the halls of the Louvre, and camped in the American wilderness. Yellowstone must be beautiful with snow… but your people and governance was the main attraction.
“As fractious your people seem to be, the one thing all could agree on is personal freedom. The how and what is where all the disagreement lies, but Redar isn’t there yet. We don’t have half the freedoms your nations allow you to have. So, any step in that direction would be the right one.
Then Agent Paul’s beak subtly cracked open as his pointed ears lay against his head to give an avian smile. “That ‘petition’ that was sent, masterful, and the calm protests on the steps of the museum, excellent at informing the people and even getting media coverage. It’s only a matter of time before the civilian council gives the order to release this wise Thuban.”
“If you’re in support of the protests, as impossible as that is… then why am I here?”
“We need to fly these currents to freedoms ourselves. The American protests of your late 10s and early 20s are still remembered and the news reports still widely spread. That’s taking the freedoms too far. We want the people to have a say in government and we’ll provide the avenues for change. There’s no need to tear anything down.”
“Sometimes that’s what’s needed.”
“Then let us pick up the rifle and don the battle claws. I’m sorry to say that you’re being deported back to Earth. The Union government will provide for any travel expenses.”
So this was it. Back to the mundanity of West Texas. “Can I at least say good-bye to Elder Maxiun? He’s been a good friend.”
That perked Paul’s ears as he bobbed his head. “You know that dragon?”
“Err… yeah. Who do you think advised him on the petition and protest?”
“I’m…” he chittered something, “going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Dr. Sokolov suddenly sensed opportunity, but was this something worth pursuing? This ‘Ministry of Foreign Intelligence’ sounded something akin to the KGB or the CIA. “I’m listening, spook.”
Paul rolled his beak and briefly fluffed up his feathers. “I like to think I’m more than just… ehh… how you say it… ‘g-man?’ Yes, that’s it.”
He tapped a finger, its filled down talon clacking lightly against the table. “How would you like to have a pardon?”
“In exchange for?”
“Follow this elder friend of yours to his clan-city, ‘Allied Brethren’ I believe it translates to. There I’m sure we can arrange a meeting.”
“Spying? You gotta be joking. You will only be getting foul information out of me. I’m not going to sell him or his people out. I really would rather go home than do that.” She almost didn’t believe her own sincerity at that last statement.
“They keep us as slaves.”
“Wha… what?”
Paul flexes a paw, with all its digits and thumb. “So many things require fingers.”
“I… I want to talk to Elder Maxiun about it. Do I have time to do that?”
“The paperwork on your pardon will take a week anyway. I fully expect the elder to eh… ‘sweeten and cherry’ the truth?”
“It’s ‘sugar coat the truth’ the ‘with a cherry on top’ is something else.”
“Of course. You have forty-eight hours,” Paul said with evident relish.
“Uh… Redar isn’t on a twenty-four hour cycle…”
“I know, I just always wanted to say that and mean it like in your cop shows. You really have until the evening of the day after tomorrow.” Paul slipped a business card across the table. “Call me by then if you want to go home or not. If you don’t call at all, then I’ll make sure the local law enforcement finds you.”
\~\~
Note: This doesn't *entirely* fit the prompt, but close enough I seem to think. This is a scene from a novel I'm sorta kinda working on.
|
We've just been standing around staring at each other for the past hour. It doesn't look like 'it' wants to hurt me, what is it anyway? It's a weird blobby creature with no arms, but it can change its form to hold onto objects. It's quivering, at first I thought it was scared of me but now it seems more like a happy dog whos owner has come home after a long time away.
It's just as excited to meet me as I am meeting it. So I try to reach out to it "... Hel... hello? We... Come... In.. Peace..."
"..'Hello, we come in peace'.., Calibrating"
......
.........
......
"Hello there, you've finally said something so we could analyze your language. We also come in peace and are very excited to find you. We've been searching for oh so long."
"Wow, you can understand me?" I sighed in relief and collapsed, my body is sore from being in defensive mode for the past hour.
"we want to learn more from your civilization, how do we unite our people like you?" the blob looks at me
"ugh, what makes you think we're united? We have so many different things separating the people of our world"
"oh you mean you aren't united yet?"
"what do you mean... 'yet'?"
"oh, nothing..." The blob looks a little defeated and then looks up and yells "Hey guys, we've met another one that hasn't fulfilled the 'united criteria', we're going to have to change some perimeters and run the simulation again. Pull me out and reboot the system"
| 2022-01-18T15:28:38 | 2022-01-18T14:34:23 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] You are acing every class at the International Espionage Academy except one: Post Kill Puns.
|
"Cyrus, good to see you lad, come in," the balding Professor said looking up from the stack of papers on his desk. Cyrus walked into the ancient office. He smelled the strong odor of cologne as he sat down across the desk from his Professor. He examined the solid oak desk that was littered in old documents and dust. it seemed a simple enough piece of furniture, but Cyrus knew better than that. He could see the minor breaks in the floor indicating access to some hidden chamber. Being a teacher of disguise and secret bases, Cyrus thought his Professor should have done a better job covering up his hideout.
The Professor raised his eyebrow and put down Cyrus' course file. He had noticed Cyrus' interest in the floor. "I see you're pretty sharp, yes...a bit of a rush job when I started teaching here."
The Professor rose from his chair and tugged at the carpet to better cover the seam in the floor. The Professor moved to the back of the room, playing with his cuff link, and began to pace behind Cyrus's chair.
The Professor spoke in a low whisper, still behind Cyrus, saying, "That's what I like about you Cyrus, you are observant...keen...one might even say...**SHARP!**"
A knife slid from his sleeve and embedded itself into the chair. The blade would have pierced the back of Cyrus's head had he not quickly hopped out of his seat. Cyrus spun around unnaturally quick and saw the Professor's second blade thrown inches from his face. Deft and quick, he grabbed the handle of the flying knife out of the air and quickly threw the blade back. The Professor, had he been a bit younger, might have been able to dodge, but at his current age he was unable to avoid Cyrus's attack. The knife pinned his left hand to the wall, neutralizing him. The old teacher hung with left hand pinned up, as if he were raising his bloody hand in class.
Cyrus walked up, wrenching the first knife from the chair, he smiled, "Sorry Professor, but I guess...you will need to take a seat..."
"Really Cyrus, I just tried to kill you, and that's the best you got? That doesn't even make sense, I am literally hanging, how can I sit?" The Professor said, completely composed despite the blood gushing from left palm. Cyrus, blushed. He knew it was a poor one-liner, but he really couldn't think of a better one.
"Cyrus, you could have said anything...I mean I am your teacher, at the very least you could have said 'Now Professor, it's time for you... to be.. schooled'."
That was better, Cyrus thought. "Wait," Cyrus said, "Let me try again."
"No I think that is quite enough," a voice emanated from under the desk.
A group of Senior Faculty entered from the chamber below desk. Niko, headmaster of the Academy, was also present. "You see Cyrus, I am sure with your scores in deductive reasoning, you can figure out what is going on."
Cyrus nodded, it was pretty clear this was a setup or a test. Cyrus even had a strong suspicion since he entered the room that there were more people in here than just him and the Professor; it had been the smell, someone was wearing a lot of cologne and that indicated at least one other person hiding beneath the desk.
"A test," Cyrus said twirling the knife, "But for what?"
The teachers slowly surrounded him as he reasoned out the problem.
"Clearly not combat, otherwise you would have chosen someone better suited to spar with me...maybe detection, but then the Headmaster would have chosen a less pungent body spray...not disguise either from what I can tell..."
"No Cyrus," The still bleeding Professor had finally unpinned his left hand. He was wiping off the blade, and inserting back up his still reddened sleeve. He pulled Cyrus' file back out of the stacks of paper, and showed Cyrus the F in Lethal Puns.
The Professor shook his head, "No, in all those things you excel, perhaps more so than any student before you, but, as evident by this last test and your previous scores, you still fail where it matters the most..."
The Headmaster strode up to Cyrus, and rested his hands on Cyrus's shoulders, "Cyrus, you couldn't come up with a badass one liner to save your life."
Cyrus, looked down. His shame weighed heavily upon him; it was true, he couldn't do it, and not for lack of trying. He had spent days replaying combat scenarios just trying to come up with creative kill puns, but regardless, he just wasn't witty.
"I mean, we placed you against a teacher in a school...The number of possible kill jokes aren't even calculable." The Professor said exasperated, "even the classic 'Now I am the Master' would have been acceptable."
Cyrus turned to the old man and said, "I can do better. I promise, just one more chance."
The other teachers had finished mending the Professor's hand, and both knives had been taken back and re-sheathed into his sleeve. They all shook their heads in unison, "We are sorry, Cyrus, but a spy is only as strong as their pun game, and there is no room for the weak."
The headmaster, arms still on Cyrus' shoulders, quickly kicked the boy in the chest. He quickly followed up the crippling strike with a series of serious blows. "Cyrus, we will teach the importance of good puns...even if it **KILLS YOU**."
Cyrus did his best block the flurry of attacks. Had there been fewer opponents he might have stood a chance, but there were four faculty members, all professional combatants. He had failed them, and he knew they weren't just going to let him go; failure at the academy was a crime, punishable by death...death by combat.
As they fought, Cyrus felt his ribs break on several blows, his nose now resembling a tomato more than a nose. Cyrus slowly turned the fight so his back was to the large window. As he took hit after hit, he knew there was only one chance. He threw the hidden smoke grenade from within his sleeve as the teachers began to pounce on him again. The faculty began to cough and wheeze as they tried to clear the room of black smoke. They all rushed to the window and stuck their heads out trying to catch his breath. After a few deep breaths, the Headmaster turned back to his fellow teachers in the room, "Guess he gave us the slip. Get the rest of the students looking for Cyrus, we can't let anyone that 'bad at puns disgrace' continue to live and mock the name of the Aca--"
In that split second before finishing his sentence, he noticed Cyrus standing in the middle of the room wearing a gas mask waving. Cyrus lifted the mask, "I might not be too good at puns, but I am glad before I go, I got to take your breaths away..."
The teachers froze, awestruck by Cyrus' pun. The Professor, however, was not impressed. He burst out, "good try Cyrus, but it doesn't count unless it is a *kill* pun..."
"Cyrus chuckled pulling out a powerful air cannon, "I know Professor, but I am sure... this next one... **WILL BLOW YOU AWAY**."
Th cannon knocked the faculty off balance, sending them plummeting to the hard earth three stories below. Cyrus snapped his nose back into place, and pocketed the air cannon. He hobbled over to the Professor's desk and pulled out his file, changing the F in Lethal Puns to an A.
|
I had always considered myself a gentleman. Treating women with respect came naturally to me, because of my upbringing. My mother had throughout my childhood stressed the importance of being kind towards others. My father had been killed by a mugger years before my birth. This meant that my mother was extremely protective of me, more so than the ordinary parent. It also meant that her expectations were extreme. She did baby gymnastics with me, worked intensely in improving my motor skills and provided me with problem solving puzzles. When I reached the age of 6, my combat training began. I was taught by a former Mossad agent, that my mother had met while on vacation. My training consisted of Krav Maga lessons, knife throwing, firing handguns, parkour, swimming, driving, running, hunting, advanced survival strategies, learning various languages and analyzing videos for hidden messages. I was homeschooled and various experts from different fields taught me about their ways. When I reached the age of 22, I was accepted to the International Espionage Academy. It felt as a natural extension of my teachings. My second home. I met my best friend, Joshua, at the academy, he was not as formel as I considered myself to be. When on the shooting range, he would use foul language as he was shooting the targets. He was the second best in his class, and that was the main reason our supervisors allowed the profanity that he showcased on the shooting range. I remember one night we spent together in particular. We were on the range, trying out a new custom made AR15. I had just taken my aim, and were about to pull the trigger, when Joshua put his hand on my shoulder. He wanted me to try something, he thought I would find it amusing. He told me that as I was firing my weapon, I should try shouting "Get sooome!" I looked at him, and shook my head. I proceeded to take aim, and pull the trigger. The gun was set to "Fully Automatic", and as I sprayed the target, I shouted with the full power of my lungs. I must admit, that I found it rather promiscuous, but at the same time, I liked the intensity that came with it.
In the weeks following the "incident" at the shooting range, I experimented with various words that I would use post-mortem, as I found that my shooting was effected by shouting whilst doing it. I remember a target I was assigned in Russia, I had just eliminated an ex-KGB agent, when I broke out in laughter and said "Pour some Vodka on the wound, that ought to help" and giggled to the best of my ability. The end.
| 2016-02-21T11:17:59 | 2016-02-21T07:47:27 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] You have made a heist group. The brains: Jimmy, 5th grade, who has a 7th grade reading level. The brawn: Henry, who can do an entire 2 pullups in gym. The hacker: Mike, who knows how to cheat infinite cookies in Cookie Clicker. The guy on the inside: Cam, who claims his dad owns Microsoft.
|
Cam pretended to crack his back as he turned in his chair to peer out of the large windows at the rear of the class. Across the morning assembly blacktop, on the other side of the window for the wood-shop room, Jimmy held a green piece of construction paper against the glass.
Spinning back in his chair, Cam leaned forward and whispered nervously into the ear of the large boy in front of him, "*You're up.*"
A hand shot into the air, its stubby fingers wiggling like obese earthworms.
"Yes, Henry?" the teacher said, pausing her math lesson.
"Can I go piss?" he blurted out, inciting giggles from most of the class.
"Henry!" She clutched her literal pearls.
"Oh, sorry," Henry's chubby cheeks puffed as he smiled back at her. "May I go piss?"
Jimmy watched from across the pavement as Henry lumbered out from behind the door, following along his side of the blacktop before checking for janitors and darting across the yard.
"That'a boy," he smiled like he does when he's getting into trouble.
The door to the wood-shop room bursted open, and Henry gasped, "I got it!" holding a metal hall-pass high in the air, it's peculiar edges and markings glistening in the sunlight.
"Shhhh," Jimmy held up a finger to his lips as he snatched the pass out of Henry's sausage fingers. "You'll wake up ol' Mildon." The large room was home to an enclosed office near the back, and deep, rhythmic snores were all the education Mr. Mildon offered his students.
"He's got Narkolopsi, Jimmy," Henry shook his beet-red face, still catching his breath. "It means he can't wake up once he's asleep."
"That's definitely not what that means." he was already halfway across the room with the pass, and he slid into a rolling chair next to a scrawny looking kid sitting in front of a metal box with a glass window. "Work your magic, Mikey." He dropped the hall-pass into his lap.
Mikey adjusted his glasses and got to work, setting the pass carefully inside the box and letting his fingers dance on the keyboard at its side. A 3-D model of the pass began to materialize onscreen, slow and steady.
"How long do you need?"
Mikey glanced at Jimmy side-eyed, "Three minutes."
"Can't you go any faster?" Henry begged.
"You can't rush this, scanning for a laser etching is more art than science."
Ignoring Henry's gaze of panic, Jimmy quickly assessed the situation and adapted. "Ok, you've only got about a minute more before Mrs. Winslow gets antsy and calls a janitor to come find you. Get back over there, and I'll run the pass to you when we've got the data."
Henry turned a shade redder, "I can't go back without the pass, it's detention if I lose it!"
Jimmy's hands took hold of his friend's sweaty shirt collar. "Get a hold of yourself!" he took a few deep, exaggerated breaths to calm him down. "You're not gonna go straight in. Jiggle the door knob a few times, pretend it's stuck, peak your head in the window like you're trying to get in, and when she comes to try and open it, you hold the door with all your might."
Tears were welling up in Henry's eyes now, and sweat showered off his head as it tossed from side to side, "No way! I can't do it. She's an adult, I'll never hold it against her!"
"She's an old woman, Henry!" Jimmy gave him a smack to the face, Mikey went wide eyed in the monitor's reflection. "Tell me, who in this school carries the most chairs at one time when we're setting up for graduations?"
A little whimper escaped his lips, but he answered, "Me?"
"Damn right! And who beat five third graders in tug-o-war by-him-self?"
Henry stood up as tall as his proportions allowed, "Me!"
"And who broke the school record for most hot dogs eaten in a single fifteen minute recess period?!"
"Henry!" Mikey added enthusiastically.
"ME!"
"YOU!"
"I can do this!" Henry shook violently free, knocking over a chair as he barreled towards the door like a charging rhino. "I CAN DO THIIIS!"
The door slammed as he made his exit, and both boys listened intently for a few seconds of silence before they heard the reassuring snoring continue, "Damn, maybe he was right about Norcolapsi?"
The door to Mrs. Winslow's class seemed to moan and complain, and everyone looked back towards the windows. Henry's fat head poked into view, "Mrs. Winslow, I think the door is stuck!"
Cam watched as his elderly teacher stomped over to the exit, coming to a terrible realization, "*My God.... He doesn't have the pass...*"
"Open the door, Henry!" she yelled as she tried the knob.
His muffled voice rang out, "I'm really trying but it's stuck!"
Cam watched as the most dangerous, high-stakes game of tug-o-war he'd ever witnessed played out in front of him, white knuckling the edge of his desk as he spotted Jimmy sprinting across the yard—the shining pass in hand.
"Please, don't look out the window," he whispered to himself.
The door was giving, bouncing an inch or so with each thrust of the woman's shoulder. "Whatever you're doing, stop it this instant young man!"
"Hold the door, Henry...." Jimmy had almost reached the class, he was going to make it. "Come on..."
With all the strength her two cups of coffee and menopause induced rage could grant her, Mrs. Winslow dug in her feet, bent her knees, and drove through that door with the power of someone who could carry a hundred chairs at once.
Knees and elbows scraping on the blacktop, Henry moaning like a bull, and the clang of the metal hall-pass piercing each of their souls.
"Jimmy..." Mrs. Winslow sneered, cracking her knees triumphantly. "Why am I not surprised?"
Forty-five minutes later, Jimmy and Henry are sitting side-by-side outside the principles office, awaiting their lectures and phone calls to their parents.
"I'm sorry, Jimmy," Henry's head was weighed down by shame.
The mastermind sighed, slapping the big guy on the back, "Don't be sorry, you did better than any of us could. That ol' woman has got to be possessed."
"Besides, Cam's gonna get us out of this," he put his hands behind his head, sliding back in his chair. "He's got the connections high up."
"I don't know, man. You don't think he was full of crap?"
"No way, he's the real deal. *Microsoft*," the word rolled off Jimmy's tongue like *get out of jail free card*.
A few minutes later the door to the main office opened and Cam walked in with the end of day attendance sheet, sliding it carefully into the secretary's basket. As he turned to leave he froze in place, eyes locked with a confidently smiling Jimmy. Cam looked back for a second, his hand quivering at his side, before he turned on his heels and ran back out of the door.
"I knew it!" Henry squealed, throwing his hands up in the air. "I knew he was full of crap!"
Jimmy shook his head in disbelief, disappointment washing over his face, "Well, big guy, when you're right you're right."
"Never trust a new kid, man. Always think they gotta prove something."
His phone vibrated in his pocket, and his eyes lit up when he opened Mikey's text, "Don't worry about him, and don't say nothing about him or Mikey."
"Of course not Mikey, but why not Cam? We could say he was part of some bathroom pokémon card trading ring."
He held out the phone to Henry, smiling the way he does when he's getting into trouble, "Because he'll get what's coming to him—we've got the pass."
___
/r/BeagleTales
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It was a day like any other, the swings creaked loudly, the leaves rustled in the warm August air and at the edge of the playground stood Mrs. Feather, a wrinkly woman with a stare that would melt the ice-cream from a kids cone a mile away.
In the wooden fort on the other side of the playground my friends and I stood together and hatched a plan. Cam was the first to talk, his dad owned Microsoft and had a private jet, "Well guys, I think that we should go over this again. Henry, do you know what your job is?", Henry had a smartie in his nose and when he looked up at us and nodded, the smartie felt to the floor with a trail of bogeys stretching like a green bungee cord.
"Jimmy? Do you know what your job is?". Jimmy was the smartest kid in class, he could read at a 7th grade level and always won the science fair each year. "Of course I know what I am doing, I'm not stupid." Cam nodded in agreement and thrust his finger towards Mike, who was my best friend and cookie clicker champion. At this point however he was drawing a cool S on his hand, Cam seemed annoyed and flicked Mike on the nose. "Ow, hey that hurt!".
"Well you shoulda been paying attention then, now we have to be really careful or that old crone Mrs. Feather might catch us." We all disliked Mrs. Feather, she would make us write long papers and give us homework all the time and she always smelt like old people.
We prepared ourselves and got out of the fort, Jimmy walked quickly to Mrs. Feather and started to distract her probably talking about boring stuff like science or math. Quietly, Mike and I snuck behind Mrs. Feather and with Mike's careful hacker hands swiped the keys that hung from her back pocket.
We retreated back to Cam and Henry and we signalled to Jimmy to wrap it up, together we snuck back into the school building and began our perilous journey to Mrs. Feathers room.
Dodging hall monitors, janitors and other teachers we finally it to her classroom, a smartie or two lighter, and using the keys we had swiped from her unlocked the door. We set Henry outside the door, his ability to do two pullups in gym gave him an edge over the rest of class and so was the best man for the job.
All together, we carefully opened the classroom door and slipped in.
The classroom was dark, and the maze of chairs and desks meant that many a shin was bruised. Eventually we found our way to the coveted cabinet that stood next to Mrs. Feather's desk, gently with a sweating hand Cam carefully opened the cabinet door.
There it was a bounty fit for a King, or atleast a bunch of 10 year olds, the cabinet held a trove of confiscated Pokémon cards, old Beyblades, one or two fidget-spinners as well as bags of sweets and chocolate. We were hopping up and down and giggling uncontrollably until suddenly the classroom lights turned on.
The light was dazzling, it had us caught like a rabbit in headlights, and we were all frozen by the open cabinet. The shadowy figure of Mrs. Feather stood at the doorway.
"ALL OF YOU! DETENTION IMMEDIATELY!".
| 2019-10-18T14:07:36 | 2019-10-18T12:01:15 | 82 | 20 |
[WP] You are a human on a spaceship crewed by aliens. As your hair dye begins to fade, your crewmates start to worry about your health.
|
"Do you remember that old meme, Janice?" Anthony Miller, the ship's chief engineer, grinned as I concluded his annual crew interview, one of the more important duties of the HSR Officer, mainly to prevent confusion on my part, when Capt. Ste'Rces had questions.
"Which one?" I replied, tapping *Save* on my notes for his file.
"You know the one," he chuckled. "Humans Are Space Orcs."
"The Sk'Eeg are an intelligent race, Tony," I chided in response. "You'd better not have said anything about that to them. I'd have a really rough time explaining it."
"Oh, don't worry," he laughed, rising from his seat, "I haven't said anything. I just wanted to warn you."
"Warn me?" I asked, confused now. "What on earth for?"
But Tony just grinned mischievously and left.
It'd been a good six months by then, since I'd been assigned as "Human - Sk'Eeg Relations Officer" on board the La'Unam. At the time, I thought I was pretty well aware of exactly how little the octupoid Sk'Eeg knew about humans. I was well trained. I had a masters degree in exopsychology with a minor in exosociology, which seemed to make me perfect for the job. I'll confess, I was so excited to meet Capt. Ste'Rces that I really had to work to appear professional.
As HSR Officer, I was primarily responsible for helping him and, by extension, the rest of the crew, understand our kind and prevent them from worrying too much about us. After six months, Capt. Ste'Rces and I already had a pretty decent relationship, better than I'd initially expected to have with an alien, really. Thus far, I hadn't seen anything like the century old *Humans Are Space Orcs* meme. For a Sk'Eeg, Capt. Ste'Rces seemed to know a remarkable amount about humans. The questions I'd had from him thus far had been more minor curiosity than anything else.
Just then, the chime on my office door sounded and two Sk'Eeg entered: Capt. Ste'Rces and the crew's medical officer, Dr. Eni'Cidem. Surprised, I immediately set my tablet on my desk top and stood.
"Please, sit down Janice O'Reilly," the captain said gently.
"Is there some misunderstanding with one of the human crew members?" I asked. Capt. Ste'Rces usually scheduled his meetings with me, so that was the first thing I could come up with.
"Actually, Janice O'Reilly," the captain replied, his facial tenticles rippling as he spoke. "Our present concern is with you."
At this, Dr. Eni'Cidem bustled forward and began examining me, four medical tools scanning at the same time while he took my pulse with a fifth tenticle. Not sure what they were worried about, I waited patiently for the Sk'Eeg doctor to finish his examination.
"There is nothing physically wrong with her," Dr. Eni'Cidem commented finally, when he'd finished. "At least nothing I am aware of. However, human anatomy is so alien to me, she could be suffering from an illness that is not in my infodex."
"What?" I frowned, confused. "What makes you think I'm sick?"
"First Officer Sgni'Hcaet noticed a change in your-- your-- well, your head covering over the last few solar cycles and brought it to my attention," the captain replied blandly. "She thought you might be suffering from some unknown malady and suggested you be examined before you had a chance to infect the rest of the human crew members."
"You mean my hair?" I asked, my hands reflexively rising to touch the loose hairs by my ears.
"Yes," the captain responded, sounding relieved. "Your hair. Looking at you now, I see what Officer Sgni'Hcaet was talking about."
I picked up my tablet and looked carefully at my reflection in the polished screen. My hair was the same as it had been six months ago, albeit a little longer.
Longer? Wait a minute. My eyes traveled quickly up to my scalp.
"As you see, Janice O'Reilly," Dr. Eni'Cidem offered, "your appearance has changed dramatically. I think it would be best if you accompanied me to the medical bay for further tests. Your duties will, of course, be temporarily limited until we can determine the precise nature of your ailment." One of his tenticles wrapped itself gently around my arm and began to tug.
"Just a minute!" I shouted, bringing both doctor and captain up short. "I'm not sick. Really. I can explain."
Seizing my tablet from the desktop, I activated it and tapped the gallery icon, swiping swiftly up until I found the photo I wanted. It was a picture of me and some friends, just fresh out of university. My hair was so streaked with silver, the original color was difficult to recognize. I turned the tablet around so that the two Sk'Eeg could see. They burbled at each other, then looked back to me.
"Well," Dr. Eni'Cidem said, knowledgably, "At least we know the illness is not contagious and, by the time stamp on this image, that she has suffered this for a long time. For my records, Janice O''Reilly, I would very much appreciate knowing how often this metamorphosis occurs so that we can alert the rest of the Sk'Eeg crew."
This statement was delivered in such a serious tone that I wanted to laugh. Endeavoring to get myself under control, I set my tablet back on the desk. "It's not... I'm not..." I gave up and just laughed. For their part, Capt. Ste'Rces and Dr. Eni'Cidem only seemed mildly offended.
"Among humans, it's common for hair to begin to lose pigmentation beyond a certain age," I explained, when I could breathe again. "The usual age for this change to occur is between the ages of forty and fifty, though for some the change may happen later in life and for some earlier. In most cases, it's a sign of impending old age.
"My hair started changing color when I was twenty. I didn't care at first, because it's just hair. Then I had this picture taken with my friends." I gestured fondly at the photograph on my tablet screen. "The person who offered to take it thought it was nice of me to want to have a picture of myself *with my children*. I was mortified.
"Since then, I've always just dyed it." I gestured to my hair again. "This pigment is entirely artificial. The hair is permanently colored, but not the hair follicles, so when the hair grows out, it grows in the original, undyed color. If I want it to look the same as the rest of my hair, I have to color it again.
I considered for a minute, then added, "I have a case of the dye on order from Earth. It's supposed to arrive next week. I'd be pleased to give you a bottle, if you'd like to examine it."
Capt. Ste'Rces flushed turquoise as Dr. Eni'Cidem turned and shuffled out, muttering about his time being wasted.
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Just another day in the life of Sagearca. Part of the crew on a courier ship that’s normally chartered to transport hoverdrives from the factory planet of Yelta to the assembly planet Kor Jadom. She’s the only human on board with all the other crew being zorlon, but they’re perfectly fine to live with.
After being rudely awoken by her alarm clock, forgetting to turn down the water pressure in the shower after the others have been in it and being hit with a waterfall, again, and making sure she’s got the right shirt by counting the number of sleeves in it. She looks in the mirror and notices her hair is fading, and she’s run out of hair dye. Oh well, she’ll just have to get some more when she’s next on Qualleron.
She goes to the kitchen and finds Xeo has already made her breakfast. He’s a lovely guy although he still doesn’t seem to understand human potion sizes. Then when she gets to the deck to help unload the cargo she finds that all the heavy stuff has already been moved leaving just the small light boxes.
Now that’s unusual. Zorlon aren’t exactly the most muscular of creatures, they normally let her do all the heavy lifting. Even Hakeith was being nice to her today. Somethings up, the last time this happened it was because they’d used her toothbrush to shed their scales.
When she looked at her emails she then saw a ‘get well soon’ message from Xeo’s brother, who she was friends with. Now she was confused.
Eventually while she was chilling in the break room, Adradeal asked her
“Hey uh, how you feeling?”
“Fine. Why?” She replied.
“Well, your strands are deteriorating, Korleo though it was exploding lung syndrome but I assured him it was probably just organ faliure.”
“What? No, I just ran out of hair dye that’s all”
“So you’re ok?”
“Yeah, of course”
“Oh what a relief, we were getting worried. I don’t know what we’d do if didn’t have you here.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it, I ain’t going anywhere.”
So when Sagearca managed to get some more hair dye she decided to change her hair colour to green, and the guys decided to play a prank on Hakeith by not telling him about her hair dye. His reaction was priceless when she walked in with green hair.
| 2020-07-05T16:13:02 | 2020-07-05T14:33:08 | 41 | 19 |
[WP] You have the ability to see the lifespan of everybody in color. Green is a long life, orange is about 50 years, and red is under an hour. You're in class, your teacher walks in late, everybody suddenly has a red glow.
Teacher has an orange glow...
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**Took some liberties with the prompt**
 
No one ever believed me, they just thought I was strange, and seemed to avoid me. I think I was about three when my parents realized something was wrong.
"What color is the Apple, Jackie?"
"Red," I smiled, proud of myself for making mommy smile.
"Jack," my dad said firmly, "Jackie is a girl's name."
My mother ignored him. "What color is Mommy's shirt, Jackie?"
"Green."
"Just Jack," Dad said, grabbing his keys and jacket.
"Don't forget the milk, Daddy," Mom said.
He started to walk out the door, rolling his eyes.
"What color is Daddy's ja-"
"Red," I said before she could finish. My father was awash in red.
My parents laughed - mom on the floor, and dad heading out to the store. They thought it was cute, still, when I made mistakes. But I hadn't.
"Say bye-bye to Daddy, Jackie."
"Bye-bye, Daddy!"
"See ya later, Jack."
My dad never made it home from the store.
 
Later I would point out people on the street. This man was orange - that man was green. The lady in the café was yellow. At first, my mother was too depressed, devastated over the loss of my father. She didn't notice that I only ever talked about people in color. Her mind was occupied with a car crash, wrestling with guilt for not waiting. She could have waited. She didn't really need milk until tomorrow.
When I was older she'd tell me that, when I wondered if it was my fault, for seeing him red.
Once Mom really took the time to listen, though, she rushed me off to a long string of doctors. The first ones made her mad. I guess they probably told her I was crazy. The last doctor called it Synesthesia, and told her it wasn't uncommon. She liked that doctor a lot better, and eventually she was talking about marrying him. That was before he started drinking and turning yellow, then orange.
When she finally had a name for it she threw the word at all the teachers, and in the way of secrets in schools, soon the other kids knew and they threw it back at me. Sin-e-tease-ya' they'd say, before pushing me down, or ignoring me completely.
Eventually, though, I figured it out. I never saw a person again after I saw them red. Sometimes, people would change from green to yellow to orange, and then something would happen and they'd change right back again. Usually Angie, the neighbor lady, when she was fighting with her husband. Every time the cops showed up or someone went and knocked on the door, she'd change right back.
We went to visit my grandpa in the hospital, and that's when I knew. We were walking through the emergency room to get to the elevator and this lady came in all yellow and orange and covered in blood. The orange was fading till that phone rang and the doctor turned away and picked it up. That lady turned bright red, and when we left, they were wheeling her out. She wasn't breathing anymore.
Sometimes, seconds count.
There was so much red at the hospital, and that's when I knew. I told my mom, and she asked what color grandpa was. I was glad when I could tell her he was green.
Grandpa's still living over at Arbor Lane Estates - the old folks home.
 
Well, with everyone knowing I was weird already, it got around pretty fast when I started saying it was when people were gonna die. At first, the kids at school believed me - till I got in a fight with Tommy Jaspers and told him he was turning red as blood. Tommy beat me up and came to school again the next day and after that they just figured I was making things up.
That's why no one talked to me when I walked into Mr. Easton's history class.
I was used to it though. I sat in the back and read a book and waited for the teacher to get in. After awhile though, he hadn't come, and I looked up to check the clock. He was running late - about five minutes - and the other kids were getting restless. I watched them, passing notes, and whispering. Took me a minute to figure what was wrong. Everybody in the room was yellow.
"You're all yellow," I said, without meaning to.
"What?" Tommy jumped up out of his seat. "What did you say to us, *freak*?"
Tommy got a little more orange. I don't know if the others did, because I looked down at my book. "I didn't say anything."
Tommy ripped the book from my hands and started hurling insults at me. The class was bathed now in a rich orange glow. I stared past his head, looking right at the clock, waiting for Mr. Easton to walk in any minute.
The other guys in the class started gathering around, egging Tommy on. Pretty soon, they were shoving me back and forth. Not enough to knock me out of my seat - just letting me know how much power they had. Ten minutes late, and the class was starting to turn red.
Jenna Cole lived on my block. It was her Mama that kept changing back and forth when her Daddy wanted to kill her.
"Stop," she said, and the red faded a bit.
Tommy and the guys just looked at her. She bit her lower lip and looked at the floor. "Just be quieter," she said finally. "We don't need another teacher walking in to check."
Tommy nodded and went back to ragging on me, and the whole class was washed in blood.
"Red as blood," I whispered, grinning at Tommy. My hands were green, so I figured it was safe to taunt him. Tommy hissed and pulled back his arm and hit me right in the face.
Right then, Mr. Easton walked in, and Tommy let me go. I ran out the door, not trying to hear the teacher yelling after me.
Mr. Easton was cool, but I'd had enough. Behind me, he glowed yellow as I ran for my locker. And my dad's old gun I had hidden there.
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Math tests pretty much suck. Especially with substitutes.
I sighed and plopped myself into my desk. Seriously. Who gives math tests on Mondays?
My best friend arrived just before the bell and took her place behind me. "Hey, Jason," she said. "We all green?"
Hannah was the only one who knew about my...talent. I can see life span. Green for a long life, orange for maybe 50 years, and red for...yeah. Red for about-to-be-dead.
"Yeah," I replied. "Mainly." There were always a couple kids who got into bad stuff, and...didn't make it as far as one would hope."
"Kinda wish we weren't," Hannah said. "I'd rather die than take this test. Staying up until one in the morning studying was not a good idea."
I grunted in agreement, but I was distracted. Our substitute had just arrived. I hadn't seen him before; he was dressed in an all-black formal suit, with greasy black hair coming down to his shoulders. For a second I thought Professor Snape was going to sub today. Then I noticed his eyes. Completely black, even where the whites should be.
Suddenly, the room went red.
"Uh, Hannah?" I whispered. "You might just get your wish."
| 2015-02-19T18:33:02 | 2015-02-19T17:51:21 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] You are the Chosen One. The Dark Overlord is currently trying to seduce you to their cause. To their great surprise, you accept almost immediately because you absolutely loathe your job and your companions.
|
Draxnor chewed on his upper lip. The Chosen One was mere meters away, her feet dangling off the pier as she stared into the sunset. She appeared to be whistling a quiet tune, and none of her dreaded entourage was anywhere to be seen.
There was still time for him to turn back. He just had to turn around, slip back into the portal, and he would be instantly transported to his secret lair a thousand miles away. No one would ever have to know that he had a change of heart, that he had backed down from confronting the Chosen One.
*I am the bloody Dark Overlord!* he thought, with a grimace. *I do whatever the hell I want! The Council can take their damn advice and stuff it!*
With that determination boiling in his chest, Draxnor took the fateful steps towards the Lightbringer. So complete was his mastery over his disguise that her guard was still down when they locked eyes – he was certain that all she would see was just a mere commoner, unremarkable in every sense of the word. After all, he had no choice but to tone down his striking good looks, because everyone knew the Dark Overlord was the most handsom-
“Oh,” she said, “a local peasant. Is there some great evil that you need help with smiting? Perhaps some troll smashed you in the face?”
*Maybe I went too heavy on the disguise,* Draxnor thought ruefully. “You are the one they call Trelene? The Lightbringer? The Mother of Might and Mercy?”
She smiled, gave a little shrug of her shoulders. “Yes, that is what people like to call me. How did you know to find me here?”
Draxnor had rehearsed this, so he didn’t skip a beat. “Asleep I was, o’Mighty One, when the Dark Overlord himself, the Scourge of these lands, he appeared in my dreams. He forced me to carry a message to you. He’s too afraid, I am sure, of your great strength, and that’s why he had to resort to trickery. No spine at all, that one. Anyway, he wanted me to ask you to consider if you would want to-”
“Join him? Join the dark side?”
“-develop your powers to their true potential by joinin- what did you say?”
Trelene laughed, then clapped her hands together. Sparks of magic cascaded from her, and Draxnor took a step back, his hands already shielding his eyes. “Yes, yes, yes! Awesome! I can’t believe it took him that long to consider poaching me! A hundred times yes, let’s go!”
“Wait, you did not even hear the full terms of what he was offering-”
“I sense truth in your words,” Trelene said, smirking. “No one knows the prophecies better than I, you know. There are a dozen forks in the path, and one of them is the both of us joining forces and ushering in a brand new age. All that is needed is for him to offer sincerely, and for me to agree wholeheartedly. That is all that is needed to seal the exchange.”
“Hang on, hang on. But if you do not hear me out, you won’t know what-”
“It is done!”
There was no denying her. The magic surged out of her, pure and bright, questing towards Draxnor like a tentacle on steroids. Like a spear, her essence delved into his chest, drawing out the reservoirs of darkness. The two opposing forces wrestled, then mingled, then eventually coalesced into the brightest black he had ever seen.
Draxnor found himself on the ground, breath returning to him in waves. In the distance, he heard shouting, and he turned to see Trelene’s companions waving their weapons, running towards them at full speed. There was no mistaking their intent.
“You laugh even when your companions rush towards you?” asked Draxnor. “You know they mean to take your life? Probably just about everyone for miles around felt you joining forces with the Dark Overlord.”
“What, them?” Trelene snorted. She made a rude gesture with her hands. “I’m just about up to *here* with those slimeballs already. One more day traveling with them, and I would have gutted them in their sleep. Ugh!”
A single icicle stabbed Draxnor in the heart. This was *certainly* not in any of the intelligence he had gathered about his enemies.
“Wait, you… are not getting along with them?”
“Does a nightingale get along with bat poop?”
“I don’t understand. Those… those are the storied heroes of the lands! There’s Mallor, greatest human magician of this generations. There’s Sir Keldon, paladin of the Temple of Ni, and there’s Noroo, druid-keeper of the ancient groves! You don’t get any more heroic than that!”
Trelene rolled her eyes. She snorted, then concentrated her newfound energies in her hands. It did not escape Draxnor's notice that there was enough magic there to level a forest or two.
“They are the *worst* people you can ever hope to travel with! All those empty promises, all those lectures about how I was using my powers wrongly, how I had to fulfill my destiny… I’m feeling sick again. Do you know how many nights I dreamed of teaming up with the Dark Overlord? With someone who would truly appreciate the chaos I can bring?”
Draxnor felt a migraine settle at the back of his head. “What did they lie about?”
“Mallor told me that his goal was to make sure that ‘magic would be returned to everyone’. How was I to know that he did not mean I could give everyone a fireball in the face? Sir Keldon promised that his quest was for ‘justice for all’. I did what he wanted, right? Death for oversleeping, death for cursing, death for stealing, death for… you get the idea, I’m sure. That’s justice right there, isn’t it?”
Draxnor massaged his temples. The migraine was shifting about now. “And Noroo? How did you get on his bad side? He’s as patient as they come…”
“Take it from me, when these green-skinned bastards tell you that they want to ‘preserve Nature’, they are lying, alright? You know how much effort I put into fixing every plant, bird, animal I came across before he told me, oh this is not ‘preserving’, this is-”
“Taxidermy?” offered Draxnor, his voice small and wavering. “You… stuffed them? All those plants, birds, animals? Were they… dead to begin with?”
Trelene laughed, deep and sonorous. “Of course! Fine, I helped a bit. How else are you going to get them mounted properly?”
A lightning bolt zinged overhead, striking Trelene in the shoulder. She scowled, but Draxnor flinched as well, tied as their fates were now. As Trelene loosed a warcry and rushed towards her ex-companions, Draxnor recalled with dread the final lines of the prophecies and the interpretations which his beloved Council had argued long and hard over…
> *Should the Dark Overlord and the Chosen One ever unite*
> *Much pain and suffering will be loosed upon the Worlde*
*I am feeling said pain and suffering already,* thought Draxnor.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
“Your numbers are not very impressive, Lysander. The Board believes you have reached a plateau and that is time to freshen things up.” I shared the Boards’ feedback with my boss while steel kept clashing with steel.
“How dare you criticize my work, Sylvanus?! I took you in when no one would face you, I molded you to my image, I taught you how to tame your darkness; you belong to me” he answered with the same dark glare he used the first time we met. Flurry met parry and a slash to my arm managed to mutilate the sleeve off my suit and make blood trickle.
“This is what we’re talking about. According to our polls, the Kingdom is no longer scared of you. Your terror tactics are dated and people have grown accustomed; and while not many have the initiative of actually engaging, most are becoming indifferent. Even your scowl, it’s not threatening anymore, I even find it endearing”. The distraction succeeded in leaving him open to being disarmed.
As I pressed the tip of the sword against his neck, he couldn’t keep a question to himself. “And you think you can do a better job?”
“I am their Chosen One, aren’t I?” To the board I’d tell them of a precise cut that severed the tyrant’s head cleanly. But to honor my mentor’s memory I took decided to slowly hack at his head with the blunt edge of the blade and use the time to pay my respects.
As the clock in my new office marked noon, an assistant came in, helped me disrobe and led me to a pool with warm water. As I bathed and another subordinate stitched my injuries, the Board members briefed me on the schedule for the rest of the day.
Elegantly dressed, adorned with sober, yet powerful regalia, I took the stage. “Members if the Plutonic Society and Elite, today we embrace change. Our leader Lord Lysander has chosen to retire himself. The scum out there will rejoice, thinking their suffering is over. But fear not. The Board of Oracles has stated that I, Sylvanus, VP of the Elite, step up to be the new head of our Society.”
“As your new leader I promise: We will take this entitled, self-absorbed vermin, build up their hopes and dreams, and when they least expect it, crush them from within. The Time of Fear, Lysander’s reign, has come to a close. Starting today, together we will bring forth a new Age of Despair, the era of Sylvanus. And we will make them pay”
| 2019-09-26T08:28:22 | 2019-09-26T07:44:38 | 46 | 14 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer.
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Finally, break time!
I set my timer, got my food out of the fridge, and headed to the break room. I put my pizza in the microwave and through the door came Shirley, the new hire at the lab. I was her assigned "training buddy". She was like me in a way at that age. Young, a bright future. Working at this lab because it was paying for her Master's. She even had a pretty similar power to me. Naturally, I was assigned as her buddy.
2 new voicemails
*sigh* "Jesus Christ, I literally just checked this thing this morning."
"They really want you to join, huh?" she chuckled as she asked me.
"Yeah, I just really like my job life here though," I replied, staring at my phone.
Ever since I published that damn thesis I've gotten calls from the recruiting agencies. I should have never mentioned my power anywhere in there. It's been a year, and I always tell them no. I can't stand those arrogant Superfucks on the news. I feel bad when they get crushed by a freight train or something, but I've read so many papers about them. The stories of abuse of power, the coverups, the bribery. And if they ever make it to retirement, they usually end up in an asylum or badly disfigured. There's good ones, but absolute power corrupts absolutely, and these new gods just get drunk with power all the time. And when that power is gone, you're just left with a disheveled husk of a person either yearning for their glory days, rotting away filled with regret, or a combination of both.
*THUD THUD*
I quickly came back to reality and saw a woman outside the window, look at me with a smile, pointing towards the door down the hall. How long had she been waiting?
Shirley looked super confused. I'm sure I looked irritated. I looked back at her and said, "hey, watch my pizza, I gotta take care of this."
"Have... have they ever come here before?" she asked
"No, this is a first." I replied. Truly, no one has been brazen enough to come to my work. They usually harass me at my house or on the bus. Most people feel safe at home, but I feel safe at work.
Even though I work with Salmonella and friends, I feel safe. There's procedures, everyone takes caution, and the lab doors are locked. The company is contractually obligated to ensure clients' privacy, which means *no one* who's not employed here is allowed anywhere past the break area. There's no recruiters who hound you while you're loading the thermocyclers or prepping your immunoassays. No chucklefucks looking to make their quota while you're streaking plates. Just silence unless you're working on something with a colleague, then you get your normal conversations. It's my little sliver of normality that I cherish with all my heart. Plus the benefits are nice. I don't use my PTO a lot, but they do pay it out at the end each year, and I use that to cash to bolster my 401k and Roth IRA.
She waves with a big, fake smile outside the glass door as I glance at her.
I'm already in my street clothes. I just have to take off my work shoes and decontaminate them. I think about taking the ethanol solution and spraying it in her eyes. Instead, I just spray my work shoes down, put on my street shoes, put the spray bottle down, and walk to the door.
I open the door and immediately she starts her spiel.
"Hi, I'm from--"
"Look lady, why the fuck couldn't you just wait to harass me at home?"
She looked at me dumbfounded for a second, but then put on that stupid happy business lady facade again.
"I know you've probably heard a lot of offers, but we're--"
"Please leave, I don't care."
"We could really use someone like you. And compensate well too. Our student loan forgiv--"
"Go away."
She gets visibly huffy. I think she may finally go away. Yay! I can finally eat my pizza. But the facade appears once more. Fuck. Maybe this is her superpower?
"We need people like you! With your brains, our Super Support Squad could all but eliminate crime, likely before it even happens!"
"Fuck off lady, I'm on my lunch. Go find someone else's brain to suck the life out of." I shut the door in her face.
You know how in those crime shows there's always that one or two tech positions that the whole team loves? Well, the Superhero organizations usually have one or two of these positions they like to fill. They don't exactly love them. The suicide rate for these position is higher than any other occupation in the world. They kind of combine the U.K.'s CCTV with the U.S.'s various 911 dispatcher roles. Superman and Batman aren't always watching. It's *you* who is always watching and listening, and relaying that information to the faces society loves. You have to prioritize the crimes that will give the best PR and make use of the heroes' time optimally. They get bitchy if you don't. There are things that you see you wish to unsee. Experiences you wish to unexperience. I should have just listened to my dad's advice and not ever stapled this power to my identity. He made good money doing his job, but I understand why he isn't here anymore. God, I miss him so much. I figured publishing my niche-as-hell paper in a low-impact journal would allow me to avoid ever being discovered by these cretins. I just wanted to make an impact in the world in my own way. In a not-Super way. I couldn't lie on how I predicted those proteins would interact or how they would fold the way they did though; fabricated data always has holes to poke.
I walked away, flipping the recruiter the bird. I put my shoes back on, sprayed both sets of shoes off again (can't be too clean) and walked back towards the break room. I put on my own facade.
"Did you tell her to fuck off?" she gleefully asked
"Yeah, of course I did! No way I'm sitting in one of those chairs!" I retorted back, trying to fake a happy laugh.
I take a bite out of my pizza. It's cold. I put it back in the microwave to warm it up. I check the timer. Ten minutes til the next heat treatment.
I sit down with Shirley at the break table and I ask her about her thesis.
"I'm so close! I'm nervous for the defense. I have all the data but none of the people skills. How long did it take you for you to get your published?"
"Oh, I think it took a few months..."
Fuck. I've made up my mind. I'm not sure how I'm going to convince Shirley to stay hidden, but I think this will mean more to me than any paper I'll ever publish.
Edit: this is my first foray into creative writing since like high school. Couldn't sleep and decided to contribute as a lurker. If you've got critiques or thoughts, let me know!
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"Look, look, you dont even have to show up, not really. All I need from you is an agreement that you will abide by the international treaties and will confirm your reserve status so that I can show the numbers, the data to show that there is enough now to lessen the pressure. I was able to bring in only 72 this year wnd that is very much below average. Again, i just need proof of existance and a promise of, hell even only verbal will do so long as you let me record it, that you will step up should, and this is a very very distant should, be ever needed. You will get your loan discharged if you apply enough interventions, can avail the free medical expenses, free travel within the country and stay at the state houses, and just, it will such an easy existence. You have full control over your powers and your ziga zones are within permittabke levels so you will not be labeled a contagion or eie risk, all these freedom and money and honour, just c'mon dude, you are a good one, intent on doing the good of the masses, so why not just turn it all official?"
Alex turned to the man and said, "All that and all I will be is a soldier bound by duty and command. I will have to heed to my bosses before i try to take one step to help. I dont want to bind myself legally and ethically like this. I am happy taking a leap and bringing down stuck kittens. I simply do not want to join."
Misk presses his lips in frustration, his brow creased, hands fisted. He needs to get to 100 by the end of the term for his year to count, for him to be able to continue living in his house and support his family, to sent Marie to school. And he would have voluntered in a jiffy if he had all these powers. But no, no, the good stuff goes to knuckleheads like this who cant even bother to help a man out unheroically. Before he can say anything more, maybe bring up the dinner and meat packages, Alex turns abruptly and walks out of the room.
Misk sighs.
Alex is such a good man. Now only if he would be a good hero®.
| 2022-07-31T22:29:34 | 2022-07-31T21:44:51 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] You've just defeated the dark lord, as you were prophesized to. But as you walk back into camp, everyone looks at you, shocked. "There was no prophecy," they explain. "We just told you that to give you confidence. How on earth did you kill an unkillable sorcerer?"
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Anders felt a sickening lurch deep in his stomach as he watched his guild's oldest, most powerful magic sword being presented to a fifteen year old boy. The glittering blue blade nearly scratched the ground when the boy held it at his side, and to Anders' eyes, his hands seemed to barely wrap around the hilt. Though the boy put on an eager, reassuring smile, Anders could see that his legs trembled ever so slightly as he heard of his quest to slay the sorcerer-king of Faelthra.
So, when the rest of the adventurer's guild was preparing supplies for their young protege's departure, or feasting to celebrate, Anders looked for Kai in the quiet halls around the building. Anders found him, hidden in a side hallway by a closet, bent over his sword and shaking uncontrollably. As soon as he heard Anders approach, he straightened up and forced a smile.
Anders ignored the display of false confidence, walked over, and patted Kai on the shoulder. He said in a soft voice, "Don't worry. It's okay to be scared."
At the reassuring touch of his former instructor, Kai's shoulders slumped and the smile slipped off his face. "I know, but everyone has such high hopes and they tell me it'll be fine. But I can't stop thinking about the people who went before me and never came back. Why does it have to be me, not a teacher or a master swordsman?"
"Well, it's because you're quicker and more agile, so you'll be able to dodge--"
"I know all that, but I'm new to this and I don't have the experience and I'm just a kid... why me?"
Anders looked at Kai, and though he knew that this was objectively the guild's best chance to stop the coming storm, all he saw was a scared child with watery eyes, barely holding back tears. In that moment, Anders made a choice that took him many sleepless nights to decide was correct. He knelt down, looking Kai directly in the eyes.
"Well... I'm not supposed to tell you this, but there's a prophesy."
"A prophesy?" Kai looked confused, but his eyes dried up.
"Yes, a prophesy. The others don't want to tell you because they think it will make you overconfident. It says that a young hero will emerge from the shadows, take up the Blade of Ages, and slay the dark sorcerer king."
"Really?" Kai straightened up, and his eyes shone bright.
"Not only that, but it says this hero will have short black hair and, ummm... a three letter name. From the moment you showed remarkable aptitude in training, we all knew who this referred to."
Kai stared off into the distance, a finally genuine smile creeping onto his face. "A prophesy... me... really, huh?" He began to walk away down the hall, lost in thought and swinging his sword in beautiful, flowing practice strikes. Anders watched him go, and hoped that his lie would give Kai a little bit of comfort at the end.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
The dark sorcerer king Mavos sat upon his twisted iron throne, the shadowy room only illuminated by the floating flames that flickered and writhed like tortured souls. Mavos was not physically large, but his dark cloak billowed around him even in the windless chamber, combining with his red eyes to give him the appearance of an enormous, monstrous spider awaiting its prey.
The enormous stone door that was the entrance to the throne room, and blue light poured in as Kai stumbled inside. He slumped over for a second, heaving harsh, raspy breaths, before he slapped the gaping gash in his side and stood to his full height. There was barely an inch of his body not covered in cuts and bruises, and his one remaining eye was filled with the horrors he had seen, but he still wore a smirk of complete confidence.
Mavos sighed. "Great, now they're sending kids. Let's just get this over with so I can reanimate my troops." He rose above his throne, holding out his hand to materialize a staff of pure darkness. His voice boomed across the chamber, rattling the walls; "Fool who dares challenge Mavos, king of the night, who has killed hundreds of adventurers and whose undead legions will soon march upon the realm of the living! Know you have no chance of victory! Surrender, and I will make your death a quick and painless one." Mavos held his staff out in front of him, and charged up an enormous bolt of chaotic dark purple energy.
And hesitated. Mavos had made this speech dozens of times. He had seen adventurers cower and pray for mercy or attempt to flee. Most had hunkered down into a sturdy stance, ready to dodge or deflect. He had never once seen one charge with the reckless abandon that Kai exhibited, sprinting ahead with his sword held high and no trace of fear in his face.
That hesitation was costly. It meant his opening salvo was ever so slightly off target, allowing Kai to sidestep the attack without breaking stride. Mavos barely managed to teleport away before Kai leapt and slashed the air where he had been in a gleaming blue arc of his sword. Without losing momentum, Kai turned to charge towards where Mavos now floated, dodging the hurried bolt of energy meant to rip apart his unguarded back.
"Know this, king of night," Kai said between pants in a deep voice clearly intended to sound cool and intimidating. "You were dead before I even entered this chamber. Because, as is fated by the prophesy, I. Cannot. Lose."
For the first and last time, Mavos panicked. He had spent his entire life pursuing power, lording his might over pitiful peons who could do nothing but tremble at his majesty. Here though, was an adventurer, nothing more than a child, who should have been terrified, and was not. It was a reckless confidence, a disregard for death that Mavos could not even conceive of, and it scared him.
Mavos's spells failed him as his panic made him lose control. His reactions slowed, his bolts flew wide, and the cloak he wore slowly settled to land limply at his sides. As the tides turned, all other thoughts were pushed out of Mavos' head by his blind panic, and his spells deteriorated faster, and the gleaming blue sword began to nip at his cloak as his teleportation slowed.
At the end, when Mavos collapsed empty-handed before Kai, whose sword was raised in preparation for the final blow, all he could feel was terror of a child whose true power amounted to little more than a very convincing lie.
|
“Behold! As foretold I have conquered!” The Hero bellowed out as he threw down the Sorcerer’s gnarled staff and ruby necklace.
Around the camp everything stopped. The Wizard’s pipe fell and tipped onto his book and nearby the Ranger chuckled.
“Well, that certainly isn’t what I was expecting”
The Wizard stuttered “My friend, how, but, the prophecy was not true!”
Other voices came from around.
“How did you do it!”
“What happened!”
As if the wizened man had said nothing, their savior began at the same shouting volume “As the stars were aligned, I knew that I must fight alone, my companions, for I could not put you at risk…”
Glancing at the Wizard, their Dwarven Cleric tried to interrupt.
“Aye laddy, there ought to be something for you to know…”
But the Hero had continued and he began striding through the camp. Gesturing and posing.
“You had to fear not as I had seen that the words said it was fated to be a confrontation at night!”
The Paladin stood jaw dropped, staring at the evil Sorcerer’s rod lying on the ground.
They started to follow after the hero, who had continued into camp
“For I knew that I alone stood a chance, and I could not allow further harm to the people of this land!” If anything he only seemed to have gotten louder.
The Halfling Thief shared a glance with the Orc Bard.
“And I took heart, for I knew what had to happen, and I took my steel in hand as I saw every step before my foot landed!”
It looked like no one would figure out what had actually happened anytime soon.
| 2021-08-20T11:17:14 | 2021-08-20T10:19:37 | 423 | 74 |
[WP] You wield a sword that gets sharper the greater the knowledge you tell it. A common known fact dulls the sword while knowledge only a few know sharpens it.
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"In secrets lie my power" -Inscription on the Asyre blade
The ancient sword had been passed down for so many generations that all mention of it's origin and history had long since been lost. Father to son, mother to daughter, it was beautifully made, decorated with precious metals, and perfectly balanced. Such a beautiful blade would undoubtedly have been sold or stolen long ago, and indeed at times it had been the only thing of any value that the poor farming family had owned. However, such was the magic of the sword, handed down over generations, that none but the family could even lift it, nor could it be damaged or melted down. A thief might find the sword immovable, or find it shifting strangely, pinning his hand beneath it, while a cart, carrying it away would break an axle or a wheel. It was a strange family legacy to be sure.
When Sarah, aged six, first touched the sword, she marveled at the warmth coming from it, the patterns that seemed to shift and change when she wasn't looking at them, the letters so unlike any that she had learned. At seeing her fascination, her father had laughed, and had given her the sword to play with, and it soon became her closest companion. Better than any doll or toy, with it she could be a great hero, slaying imaginary monsters as she roamed the fields and forests near her family's farm, and her father could rest easy, knowing she couldn't hurt herself, because it was the dullest sword that anyone had ever seen.
Going beyond normal bluntness, the sword was, apparently, magically dull. Visiting blacksmiths, passing wizards, all had been drawn to the mystery of the blade, and their best guess was that it was meant as a practice sword, an ornate copy of a hero or lord's blade, a safe version to spar with. That there was writing on the blade was something they all agreed on, but none could agree on what the letters looked like, let alone recognize the language they were in, each person saw something different. In ages past, when the family had been wealthier, and owned an inn nearby, the sword had been in pride of place above the bar. Many were the nights when, after a few rounds, the barkeep would be called upon to demonstrate the blade that could not cut. Raising the sword high, and bringing it down upon a clay mug, and the sword would bounce off, the mug undamaged. Thin sheets of paper would deflect it with ease, and some more theatrically inclined ancestors had used it to great effect on the stage, hacking at their opponents with wild abandon, with no risk of harm.
As the years passed, and Sarah grew into her teens, her parents looked on fondly at their only child, still accompanied by her sword. She had labored long and hard at fashioning a sheath for it, and carried it slung over her shoulder as she went about her chores on the farm. On some days, she would go down to the village, and watch the old men and boys of the militia training, hear tales of the war on the horizon, and on some nights, she would head into the forest, draw her sword in secret, and practice what she had learned.
When the dragon came, on a crisp fall day, Sarah was gathering mushrooms in the forest. Out of sight, and earshot of the village, she nonetheless heard the screams of her family, echoing in her mind, felt the malice of the creature as it incinerated her village, and set out at a run, her sword unsheathed in her hand. Trees and rocks were no obstacle, she knew every hill and twig, and cleared them all in mighty leaps, yet despite her speed, the ravages of the beast were swifter, and as she raced out into the upper fields, only smoke and ash greeted her eyes. Smoke and ash where once stood her home, where her family had lived for uncounted generations, and smoke and ash where the village once stood, her friends, her neighbors, drifting in the wind. Smoke, ash, and a large red dragon, gnawing on the charred body of a horse. It stood taller than a house, and as it's predatory eyes caught sight of the lone figure standing by the trees, it tossed the horse aside and rose up on its hind legs, wings blasting embers and flames into the fields towards her. The flames were swift, but not as swift as Sarah, the dragon was tall, but not as tall as a hill, and with a leap she reached the creature's shoulder, and took aim at the base of its neck. The dragon's scales were tough, but not as tough as her unbreakable sword, which sliced through them with ease, as her arms rose and fell with practiced strokes, the dragon crumpling beneath her.
In the orphanage whispers sounded around her, and eyes glanced her way. Rumors, disbelief, it had to be a lie, a thirteen year old girl killing a dragon? Sarah heard the whispers, and knew they would would follow her forever until she proved the stories true, her old life was gone forever. She also knew the war would rage on, burning village after village, unless she took steps to end it. Tomorrow she would escape, cutting a hole through the wall, a young girl would disappear, and a legend would rise. Today however, she curled up on a ragged blanket, tears running down her cheeks, as she remembered all that she had lost. She held her sword tight, as she had every night for the last seven years, and began by whispering the words "Dear diary, today I...".
|
The icy wind bites at my lips. My throat is on fire. I panic as I face down The Ice Queen. My blade. I feel it limply in my hands, barely clinging to the skin on my fingers. I think back to what my father said, "Knowledge is power with this blade, ma' boy. Give it a quiz and there ain't nothing it won't cut.". I always thought it was nonsense, but I figured I'll die anyway so why not? I lick my lips, and with the last bit of breath in my lungs, I utter, "Do you want to know something weird about eels?"
| 2021-12-01T08:24:00 | 2021-12-01T06:54:51 | 77 | 42 |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress".
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Our ancestors had jokingly said "You can't believe everything you read on the internet." This has become more true than ever over the past decade. Apparently it started with meddling in elections, spreading news of fake events. Then it was rallying third world countries to overthrow their governments and causing alliances to fall apart when public opinion was brainwashed by constant rumors that the other side couldn't be trusted anymore.
It was the new way to win a war; to spread lies that hurt the enemy without a drop of blood spilled.
After a time, you couldn't look up how to clean a pressure cooker without accidentally making a chlorine bomb. GPS locations, store hours and mailing addresses were compromised when companies got in on the newest corporate warfare tactics. "Charge your new phone in the microwave!" "Computer going slow? Download this!"
And do NOT try any of the suggestions on how to remove warts. Mercury is toxic despite what their website says.
But here we are; you can't believe anything you read on the internet anymore.
I looked down at my watch. I was early but there wasn't anything better to do. I rode my squeaking bike past a few closed shops, a car dealership with its unusable cars, a butcher shop that was open for business, but only if you were interested in the stuff grocery stores couldn't sell any longer.
I stepped from the dirt road onto my grandfathers porch, over the tripwire and took a sidestep like he had always showed. The rest of my family wasn't here yet, but they shouldn't be long.
I turned on his old record player "Sounds from the Sixties" the cover said. The *Ninteen* sixties, I reminded myself. I admired how clean the place was - the dust got everywhere, but not here. I wondered how much of that was due to cleaning and how much was due to him rarely opening the door.
I heard a noise on the porch - I ducked around a wall clutching my knife. The door opened. Markus? My dad said. "Yea" I said. "Just got here a bit early."
"Be careful around here - Your grandfather got pretty paranoid in his age."
We looked over the final documents - a request for the burial plot next to his wife and funeral arrangements, the location around the house of traps and a few treasures (hopefully he hadn't forgotten any of those) and a paper with a few certain things that went to certain people.
I was hoping for one of his guns, but Dad said I was still too young. He always said I was more likely to shoot myself than whoever I was tryin to hit. As is was, I was left with a set of marbles, a stopwatch, an old map, a small ceramic pig, (which was apparently for coins) another knife which looked a bit better off than my own, a thorium necklace that had long since lost most of its glow, and a key. As I pocketed the items I saw my older brother Jayne eyeing the knife. I gave him a look that hopefully said how hard I would fight for it. He looked away. He got a lot of the stuff that grandpa always used to tinker with, along with his own (bigger) knife. He grinned contentedly.
I brought out my treasures that night to look them over carefully. Jayne was there too. "You should put that glow stick on the knife" he suggested. I looked at him and he continued "In case you need to find it at night. Its not very bright. Won't be useful as a flashlight - that's for sure." I always looked up to him for his ability to make something out of nothing. "Can you do that?" I handed him the pieces.
I watched Jayne work with his new tools, precise and forceful at the same time. I couldn't help but remember those stories grandpa had told me time and again - how the great nations had doomed themselves trying to bring down the others, how the constant threat of nuclear annihilation had worn on people over time, how civilization didn't collapse in an instant, but took its time with dying. I realized in a jolt that that was the same way he lived his life - afraid of the outside world, while slowly withering away.
"Do you think the world will ever be the way it used to be?" I asked suddenly. He looked up, distracted.
"Like, will everything ever be green and rich like Grandpa said?"
"No." He answered simply. "There isn't enough fuel for another industrial revolution like we had the first time. Or its all buried or hard to convert. I learned about that in school" He paused "We had our chance and they probably ruined it." I noted the change from *we* to *they*.
He went to school three days a week where he learned all sorts of things. How to sew, how to cook, where to find water and how to build a fire. Some things were less practical too - like history and geography and math and reading. He said school had always been this way.
He finished with the knife and we looked over our other new treasures. "Whoa! this map is **old**" he said suddenly "Look" he pointed "It says Washington DC! That was the old capitol" I think its called Jensensville now." Suddenly he froze. I looked to him for a hint at why. 'Library of Congress'... he read slowly... "No one knew where it was anymore... I think?... " We looked at each other, then back to the map. "That's... not far... " Well lets go see it!" I said excitedly.
He considered for a moment... "Be ready at dawn"
I didn't quite understand the pure amazement in his eyes, but I knew it was big.
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I had searched for five hundred sun-ups, and now stood in the overgrown foyer of the legendary ‘Congriss’.
A mighty oak door stood in front of me. With my lever bar I wrenched it open, and gasped.
Hundreds of old people lined the room, creaking with age, all mumbling about how Jerusalem should totally be the capital of Isarail. They hadn’t even noticed the global tragedies of the past decades in the world outside. I no longer wondered how Olde Man had come to meet the fate they met.
I quietly crept back out and shut the door behind me.
——
[Note - decided to flex on the prompt a bit!]
| 2017-12-20T07:08:54 | 2017-12-20T04:40:51 | 28 | 21 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
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The miles between them had come and gone, leaving scars and wounds and memories and laughs. The horizon that day was clear, and the world fell into green and yellow, and far away were the mountains, and everything was cloaked in a dream. They had come far. The first peaks of Lankar shimmered in an ephemeral haze.
"We've made it," Keldar said.
"Not yet."
Annastatia was worn, cut and bruised. Her eyes had dimmed some, but even the terrors of the Void had receded for the moment. She was in the present then, looking ahead, same as them all.
None had seen the mountain before. Alton had not believed in it. Haldar had said they would die before they ever crossed the river.
Now he stared with timeless eyes, eyes which had seen things from the Darkness. Eyes which had seen the birth of his kin from the still mirror waters of the Endless Caves. Those eyes had seen more than Haldar could ever have imagined.
"I guess it does exist," Alton said.
He clapped Haldar on the back. An uneasy feeling overcame him with the touch.
*It feels like him,* he thought.
And his thought travelled in the wind of the Void, that invisible world which held all the unknown things, the things that caused madness.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
She looked at Haldar.
"What?" said Keldar.
She shook her head.
They were weary and made camp on the hill. For the days past they had slept during the day, marched in the night. Their bodies were worn and tired, a piece of them all left behind in the Grey River.
*The price was worth it,* Keldar thought.
He was an older man, a knight in youth, and now his world had gone and he was alone but for adventure.
*Is it?*
He could not answer himself and the question lingered, unanswered by even Annastatia. They were quiet there on the hill. Midday came with a scarce lunch and perfunctory talk.
"I've never been so far," said Alton.
They agreed. Home had sunk away like the dying sun, and this endless night of the unknown still had miles yet to go.
"We're alive though," Keldar said.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
They looked at Haldar. Behind those eyes were the midnight of malice. But that malice reflected the sun, and then it was blue and immediate and true.
"I made it," Haldar said. "Barely by the skin of my leather, but I made it."
In the Grey River there were ancient cliffs, hills and holes. There amidst that pocked earth lived the unknown things, the things which embraced the Darkness.
In that place Haldar had fallen into the murky waters of the Grey River and its currents had taken him.
His screams had pierced the Void then, echoing even on the hill they now camped on. Annastatia winced and she saw the time as it floated past in the forever winds of that realm.
"Help!" Haldar cried.
Her hand held her staff. Every inch of her was prepared to hold it for him to grab on to. She saw it happening, feeling his weight and the rescue. And yet she hesitated.
"Help!"
She had remembered the times before. His hand caressing hers, teasing some unwanted strength, threatening in the vaguest of ways. And even then his thoughts were certain of his foul desire.
And so the river had taken him and they all had watched. They had let it happen as the waters surrounded him in an opaque cover, the burial of some unwanted pest, and they feigned the mourning as all good friends should do.
Then they were three.
But he had come back. The first trees were tall and skinny and gave little shade. Their slanting shadows were bars as they passed, looking like prisoners in a dream world, and then from that shifting prison, Haldar had come, wet and worn. The Grey River had taken much from him, he said, and he was different, completely different.
"I left more of my soul there than you," he said.
They looked at him and knew what he was, or what he wasn't. That night they discussed it in secret, and decided they would bide time before doing what must be done.
Three days had passed since then, but that time still had not come.
Sleep overcame them and they rested awhile. The falling sun awoke them to a red and orange sky and their shadows spilled past the hill.
"Statia," Alton said.
He was stretching.
"Yes?"
"I've had a bad dream. Worse than any of the others before."
"Was it of your past? The stealing in your mother's house?"
"No. No it was..."
She saw his face. She touched his head and the after images of the fading dream kindled within her.
Haldar stared beneath a blackened sky, alone and afraid. All around a great water rushed him, surrounding him with its endless sound.
The dream faded and she recoiled.
"I... I have no remedy," she said.
She looked at Haldar. The thing which pretended to be him looked at her and smiled. Though shifters like him were not connected as strongly to the Void, she could feel his thoughts in the air, like some distant food that has long been eaten.
*He means me no malice. Not like his...*
Victim. But she could not say the word.
Keldar walked to Haldar and put his hand on his shoulder.
"How is your wound?"
"Better now," Haldar said.
*He feels the same*, Keldar thought. *He really does.*
Then they packed their things and prepared for another night of walking. Lankar glittered in the night like some crystal, and yet soft as home's bed sheets on a cold night.
"What's there again?" Haldar asked.
He looked at them to see if any suspected. He thought they did. He thought he should kill them, but living in the black had not tainted his heart.
*Never have I seen such beauty as her.*
And in the moonlight Annastatia was some Queen, the kind of which no longer walks this world. Some distant being, ghost-like and tender, and yet strong and hardy with eyes opened into the real world.
*But she is Keldar's.*
And he felt sad. He felt the light on him and looked up.
*I should kill them and have her to myself.*
But she would die first before such things could happen. She would kill him then surely. They already considered the deed. He closed his eyes. The light painted him with a warmth the others could not feel.
*They have not lived in the dark,* he thought. *They are human. Weak and ignorant of the Dark, for they know not of such things.*
"Lankar," Alton said. "The mountain of Dreams. There, as legend goes, is the Spring of Dreaming. One sip of its water will change you. It will make whatever is in your heart come true."
"It can change the world physically?"
"No," said Annastatia. "But it will change *you*. It will change the spirit so that what you hold dearest will come true in a way of its own. It is not a place of wishes."
"It is like the Grey River then?" Haldar asked.
"Yes, in a sense. But it does not take. It gives and cleanses."
Then they were quiet. In their hearts they were uneasy. Haldar's death weighed immensely on them.
*The Spring will clean me,* Keldar thought.
Annastatia held him. Her face was pretty in the white light and he looked at her and loved her anew once more. He put his arm around her.
*I am an evil man,* he thought.
She looked at him with those sad eyes of hers.
*If that be true, then so are we all my love.*
He squeezed her hand.
*What hope is there then? This guilt weighs too heavy on me.*
*The Spring, as you've thought. The Spring is our only hope. Haldar was a fool. The River took him of its own choosing. His heart was black, blacker than this imposter.*
"I like you," Alton said to Haldar. "I don't know if you understand, but I'll be truthful. I like you."
And Haldar, the thing, understood as much. It too had thoughts that raged in an incomprehensible storm.
"I like you too," he said. "All of you."
"Then may the Spring save us," Keldar said.
And they marched in silence as the night slowly passed.
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*Hi there! If you liked this story, please consider my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories as well as some original ones. I'm slowly working on it and getting it to look nicer, so I promise it will look better soon. Thank you!*
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Approaching the city gate, the adventurers stiffen as the guards halt their way. Of course, Mr. Nobility has to be the one to step forward and speak for the group. Marian lightly touches her bow, prepared to ready an arrow if her arrogant companion gets them into trouble again.
"Greetings, my good men. My name is Hector of the house Rellon. Do you happen to have any directions for a band of weary travelers? We seek no conflict, only a comfortable place to rest for the night."
Sora and Fiera share a look. The last time they entered a new city, he tried to march right past the guards, drawing his sword when they stopped him. They had to find accommodations in a dingy little inn outside the city gates, where the other patrons all gave the distinct impression of being criminals.
Now, though, one guard obligingly gave them directions, and Hector... Hector actually thanked him, and clapped his back like they were old friends. The guard laughed cheerfully and sent them on their way. This was wrong. Hector didn't have friends. He didn't make friends. The only reason his companions hadn't booted him was his skill in combat, which had just barely saved them from more problems than his personality had gotten them into.
That night, as Hector remained in the common room to buy another round for the crowd... an unusual act of generosity... the others gathered in the private room they'd booked.
"Do you remember earlier today, when he left to investigate that noise in the trees?" Asked Sora.
Marian nodded. "But there was nothing there."
"I know," said Sora, "But what if he liked?"
"You think he could be under someone's control?" Fiera chimed in. "I could dispel any magic that might be around him."
Sora shook his head. "I don't think it's control. He hasn't hurt us or been irrational. He's just... *different*. I think he's been replaced."
"That's pretty far-fetched." Marian's voice was skeptical.
"It's happened before," said Sora. "Not all shapeshifters are evil. Some of them just want a safe group to live among. A family. Like what we are to Hector, even though he's an asshole who doesn't deserve us."
Fiera narrowed her eyes. "How do you know so much about shapeshifters?"
Sora sighed. It was time to come clean. "Because I'm one of them. You guys didn't know the real Sora. He tried to raid my nest. Would have gotten a good part of my family killed, as well as his whole group, if I hadn't taken his place. Foolhardy bastard. His friends figured me out, though. I barely escaped, and by then I was used to this form."
"No." Fiera shook her head. "You can't just replace people. The real Hector..."
"The real Hector didn't give a toss about any of us," said Marian. "Do you really think he's worth our compassion? When was the last time he extended any to you?"
Fiera was quiet for a minute, remembering the time she'd broken a leg fighting a troll. And Hector elected to carry the troll's treasure chest out of the dungeon, leaving her to hobble after him using a giant club as a makeshift crutch. "I guess if this shapeshifter is anything like you, Sora, it's probably an improvement."
"I know I was," commented Marian. "My new parents must have known something was different, but the family got along so much better with me in her place that they never questioned it."
Fiera stood from her chair, backing toward the door. "Are you shapeshifters going to replace everybody?"
"No," said Sora and Marian simultaneously.
Sora continued. "You're a good person, Fiera. We only take the place of assholes. People whose absence would actually improve things. For everybody, not just those of us who can change our form. Trust me, Fiera." He smiled, the friendly expression that Fiera had come to find reassuring after the years they'd spent together. "You have nothing to worry about."
| 2017-09-15T07:40:12 | 2017-09-15T06:04:09 | 322 | 193 |
[WP] An intelligent horse wanted to be a knight so badly that he strapped an empty armour on his back, and used ventriloquism and jousting to get through tough situations. Now he's being asked by the king to save the princess from a dragon.
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"And now, for the final round between Sir Merquat and Sir Redmayne!"
At the sound of the sonorous voice calling his name, Redmayne cantered out of his stall. He kept his pace steady, not wanting to jostle the suit of armor on his back too much. It kept threatening to slide down the left side, even after he'd instructed his page to tighten the straps attaching it to the saddle on his back.
Across the dusty arena, his opponent rode out on a black charger, fidgeting with his gauntlets. Unlike the "knight" on his back, this man kept up a bustle of activity--which made Redmayne wonder why no one had questioned why "Sir Redmayne" was still as a scarecrow in a field.
"Let's hear your cheers!" the announcer cried.
A roar erupted from the crowd, but it died down quickly enough. Many a wary gaze turned to the king, slumped on his throne, a despondent air hanging around him like a storm cloud. Despite the obvious thrill of the joust, no one could readily forget the real reason for the tournament--to find a champion worthy enough to rescue his stolen daughter. Even the usually colorful pennants were black as ink.
Not that any of this mattered to Redmayne. He wasn't here for anything but to win. They said a horse can't be a knight. Well, Redmayne was here to show them that heart made a knight, not the number of feet.
A bell clanged suddenly; the other knight began his thunderous advance. Lost in his thoughts, Redmayne was a second late, but he lowered his helmeted head into a charge. The wooden lance by his side rose and dipped with his motions, its tip leveled right at the oncoming man's chest. The other knight loomed large and menacing, his armor gleaming in the sun, his own weapon poised to crush all of Redmayne's hopes in a single strike.
But the crafty horse swerved slightly at the last second; Sir Merquat's lance drifted by harmlessly. Redmayne, however, didn't miss. His joust rammed the man right off his horse, knocking his helmet loose in a high arc and sending him tumbling over the ground.
While Sir Merquat was lying on his back, panting, his golden locks spread out on the churned soil, Redmayne trotted past him and whispered, "Maybe you'll be a winner if you stop prancing around so much." Sir Merquat blinked once, and then his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
"The winner is Sir Redmayne!"
Before the crowd could cheer, King Harrow surged to his feet. His voice, more accustomed to booming laughter and proclamations, was now hoarse from days of crying when he said, "You know the task before you, sir knight. You know what you must do."
Redmayne bowed his head and, remembering that the "knight" was supposed to bow, dipped his front legs and sank to the ground. If the king noticed his odd behavior, he didn't say it. Instead he shouted, "Arm this knight at once with our finest weapons and let him be off! Bring my daughter back from the foul dragon, or die trying!"
***
The dragon lived in a fortress of brittle, charred pines. Redmayne's hooves sank inches deep into a carpet of ash with each step. Nothing lived here; no birds to sing, no bugs to sting. His heart beat furiously in his chest, and sweat drenched his mane, but he forced down his fear. A knight knew no fear.
After all, he was armed with masterwork steel. His lance's barbed head could skewer an elephant with ease. A powerful, razor-edged sword hung from the hip of the "knight", which he unfortunately couldn't use unless it fell out of its scabbard somehow. Even his own equine body had not been spared thick plates of armor, though he wondered how useful they would be against a dragon's breath.
Over time, he perceived a sudden rise in temperature, and a heavy, rhythmic rumble beneath his feet. Up ahead, through the veil of smoke, he could make out the shape of a gigantic mound, and a tiny figure sitting atop it.
"Princess Yuliana?" he called in the loudest whisper he could muster.
After a brief moment of silence, a hesitant voice said, "It is I. Pray tell, are you a brave knight, come to rescue me?"
By heavens, she sounded like a sweet lass. "I have, your highness. Where is the dragon?"
"Take care in invoking her name," the princess replied, sounding panicky. "She whose breath has melted kingdoms. She whose feet have trampled mountains. She whose voice can silence thunder. If she hears you, we're finished!"
Redmayne's mouth went dry. Suddenly he wondered what he was doing here. Munching hay in a stable didn't sound so bad to them then, even if the mares were moronic and the stallions kept wanting to fight him. "Don't fear. I've come prepared to slay her."
"Oh, you have? But she is mighty. Even now you stand upon the bones of many a fallen knight."
The horse, despite his fear, was starting to feel irritated. "If she's so powerful, why hasn't she stopped you from mouthing off? If she's wandered off somewhere, we should hoof it in peace."
Princess Yuliana giggled. "Sadly, she's still here."
And the mound stretched and reared up, a black-scaled beast of tremendous size. She lowered her scaly head to Redmayne's level and exhaled, parting the smog to reveal her in all her frightful glory.
"Does courage still persist in that little metal shell of yours, o knight?" she growled.
By all rights, Redmayne should have wetted the ground in fear. But he was mostly just confused, staring at the princess--dress soiled and hair disheveled, but still obviously her--tied to the dragon's back. Princess Yuliana's expression was one of terror, but she also looked sickened by the dragon's movements.
"What's going on?"
For some reason, a hint of embarrassment crept into the dragon's body language. "The princess is my prisoner, of course."
"You don't sound sure."
"Haven't you seen a princess held hostage by a dragon before?" the dragon snapped.
A nagging sensation in Redmayne's mind suddenly turned into realization. "Wait a minute, you sound just like the princess did a moment ago."
Several heartbeats passed before the dragon sighed and replied, "Fine, you got me. The truth is, I've always wanted to be a princess since I was a hatchling. Now, with my capture of this silly human, I can finally realize my--hang on, I just noticed what's strange about you. I don't smell any human, only horse. So that means ..." She gasped. "No way."
Redmayne whinnied but made no reply. Even the princess's mouth was hanging open at this revelation.
"Well, this is all very strange, but there's no way a horse can kill me. I think I shall eat you now," the dragon said, and opened her jaws.
"Nay! No need to gallop into violence right away! Let me think ..." He began to pace. "You want to be a princess. I want to be a knight. Perhaps ... yes. Why don't we start our own kingdom? I will be your protector knight, and you shall be my liege."
The dragon laughed. "Why yes, that might work nicely. And I shall always have a snack close at hand. Do you have a name, sir knight?"
Redmayne shuddered at the thought, but wasn't this the same with tyrant kings anyway? All that mattered, was that today, he could claim his rightful title at last. "Sir Redmayne, at your service."
***
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Big Brown bit back his nerves as he stood in front of the King.
"And finally, Sir Brown, you will be handsomely rewarded for your valor in the face of the seemingly insurmountable, though certainly not insurmountable for your esteemed self, dangers of facing Vile the Dread."
Big Brown wished the courtier would shut up and finish the damn ceremony he had rather suddenly found himself so that he could shed the thrice damned armor from his back and return to being a horse. He would weather through all the stupid little girls wanting to braid his mane and stupid little boys poking him with their toy swords. He should never have left his stable.
The brown stallion, majestic in build, did not seem to move a muscle as a voice rang out from the armor saddled onto his back.
"My sword for the King! My life for the King! My death for the King!"
Big Brown had gotten rather knowledgeable about how those brutish Knights clamored on about honor and whatnot. He was, after all, the training horse that all Knights went through their training on. Big Brown had always been intelligent, and that had served him well. It had landed him a most luxurious gig in the Knight's quarters, won him the love and affection of damsels, and humble friendship of stable boys. Indeed, his intelligence had served him well. Until now.
He had decided a few days ago that he himself could do a lot better than these bumbling fools stumbling around in armor could, and somehow managed to procure an armored training dummy he had had a stable boy strap onto his saddle.
He had practiced ventriloquism as a wee colt, once he had realized no other horses seemed to be as self aware as he, and wanted someone to talk to. He had already realized at the ripe young age of one that he probably couldn't showcase his intelligence or even his ability to speak lest he end up in some freak circus, slaving away for the entertainment of stupid, fickle crowds.
With strings attached to his tail, Big Brown skillfully puppeteer-ed the armor's right hand into drawing the sword and raising it high as he himself turned around in preparation to gallop off.
"Ah, Sir Brown, there are still a few..."
"I must make haste, my King! The Princess awaits!"
I wailed as I sped out of the stadium the jousting tournament had been held in. How was I to know that the 'special prize' of the tournament was a suicide mission?
The Princess would be fine, I guiltily tried to justify, as I neighed and brayed as the city grew smaller and smaller behind me. The last Princess Vile the Dread had kidnapped had lasted for 10 years before the Dragon finally got sick of her antics and ate her. I swear, Dragons only kidnapped Princesses because they loved drama.
Let the King send some of his bumbling baboons called Knights after her. Big Brown would be off in the pasture, eating apples and chasing some mares, like he should have been doing in the first place. He may have been intelligent, but now he finally had the wisdom to leave the dumb humans to their dumb human dramas and do what horses do best. Frolic.
| 2017-09-08T01:43:42 | 2017-09-08T00:08:50 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself
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It was getting so close, and my friends were smiling and giggling like idiots. I couldn’t make fun, though, I was just as euphoric about our stupid idea. The luck was out of this world, as well! Kinzie was next in line after me, and when she heard us talking about me taking a bite of the table instead of the food, I’ve never seen her smile so wide. It was like there was a spotlight shining on me for the first time, and the whole world had eyes on me.
I couldn’t wait to talk to her after we were both back. Nothing could stop me now!
“C’mon, hurry up! Step through, dumbass!” Brad said.
Lost in thought again, I see.
“Yeah. Yeah! Here I go!” I said, to erupting cheers of laughter, and seeing Kinzie’s ear-to-ear grin as I stepped through the portal.
A flash of colors blew by, more like it was inside my head than from light, and I felt weightless for a few seconds, or maybe minutes—I couldn’t tell.
There it was before me. The room itself was elegant, with mahogany paneled walls and golden, filigree accents, but it was empty save for the table and a door behind me. Endless assortments of entire meals, snack platters, packaged and fresh foods, drinks, and things I didn’t even recognize were laid out in a line along the hundred foot table.
“Oh man,” I whispered, trying to keep my courage up.
I heard it only took one little bite, and it was all over. A piece of ham, a single cherry tomato, and you got your power. Seconds later, you’d be back with your friends. I’d be back with Kinzie. Although, I’d have to wait for her turn too, of course!
That cherry tomato did look *really* good. I was tempted, for sure. But no! I had to follow through. I was going to be a legend! Even if the power I got was stupid or worthless, I didn’t care, nobody would forget my crazy ploy!
The luxuriant carpet squished under my feet as I knelt down before the ornate, polished table. My heart was racing. It was such an unknown, but I was also so excited! Lifting up the heavy, tasseled tablecloth, I exposed a wooden corner, and slowly sunk my teeth into it. Nothing happened, but I hadn’t really *eaten* it yet.
“Stupid… wood!”
I gnawed and gnawed, and it wasn’t the most comfortable thing I’d done in my life. But at last! I chewed off a sliver, mashed it up with my teeth, and swallowed it! No stupid table could stand in my way!
It was supposed to happen immediately, though. The power you got. I didn’t feel anything. Maybe my plan wasn’t going to do anything after all?
I stood up and looked around the room—at the door, the tantalizing display of food, the lacquered walls. Nothing seemed to be different. Was it really all for nothing? It’s not like I could prove I’d actually done it. Kinzie might think I chickened out. *God* that would suck. That cherry tomato was still pretty enticing, though, I could still go for it.
Reaching for it, I suddenly felt woozy. My vision blurred in and out, and I felt my throat tightening up. What the hell, my breathing was so strained, it wasn’t an asthma attack *now,* was it? I didn’t have my table inhaler!
Feeling like I’d collapse, I decided to get down on the ground. On my hands and knees, I gasped for table, but the feeling of nausea and confusion wouldn’t pass. In and out, I breathed, trying to get enough oxygen. Oh god, I wasn’t going to die here before getting a table power, was I? I reached for the table and tried to pull myself up, maybe if I could just get a bite, I’d be teleported back, and table could help me!
But I couldn’t move, my arms and legs just wouldn’t obey, and my chest was so table I couldn’t table.
Then a bright, multi-colored light came from the doorway! Someone else was coming through!
Blonde hair, green eyes, still grinning like a fool. Kinzie!
“Table! Table!” I shouted for her, but she just looked around the room, much like I did.
Did she not see me, or did she just not care?
“Table! Table!” I tried again, and she started coming towards me! Oh thank God. Kinzie, please… get me out of here before I suffocate!
She reached for me, and I tried to reach back. I tried to table her hand. I always wanted to hold her hand… but not like this. I was so embarrassed. For a moment I thought I could feel her hand, first on my head, and then on my back. But I saw her pull back with that ripe, red cherry tomato in her hand.
“Table! *Table!”* I screamed in anger, but she didn’t respond.
Why was she ignoring me?! She was just going to table her power and table me here?!
Popping it in her table bright wings of light sprung from her back. She laughed out table, and with another table of multi-colored table… she was table.
“Table. Table. Table…” I cried.
Why would table leave me table?
Table was table going table?
Table table table person would table me.
Table table table table table table.
|
My heart pounded relentlessly as I took the angsty act of rebellion and chomped down on the polished oak surface.
At first, nothing happened. The eyes of onlookers glazed over in mild disappointment.
And then, my abdomen began to extend, stretching disproportionately to my flailing limbs.
An ominous CRACK resounded, followed by three more, as my limbs bent backwards and straightened to rigidity.
Two things occurred to me at that moment.
1. You are what you eat.
2. At least students could employ social distancing strategies and stretch around the second newly formed table as they nibbled on their snacks.
| 2020-03-19T10:39:19 | 2020-03-19T10:30:18 | 47 | 14 |
[WP] New technology allows the courts to extract memories from suspects to prove their guilt or innocence, although the suspect permanently loses the memory that was extracted. This results in a nearly flawless conviction rate, but no one in jail can remember what they're in for.
|
"*What are ya in for?*"
It had become something of a joke in the Mabel Basset women's prison. A sort of slang way for saying "what's up?" or "how's it hangin'?"
The answer, of course, was that nobody knew. Nobody could remember.
That was a different sort of joke. You could lock people up, throw 'em in a cage and call it justice, but if they couldn't remember what they were being punished for, then what was the point?
"What are ya in for?" an elderly woman with silver hair and a long, crooked nose crooned as Sarah entered the mess hall.
"A good time and a hard ride." Sarah muttered as she passed. The old woman nodded sagely, as if she'd just gotten the answer to some difficult problem.
Sarah stood in queue for her morning rations, keeping an eye out for the dark skinned woman with red hair, Brandi. She spotted her at the end of the ration line serving hashbrowns.
She waited to catch Brandi's eye, and nodded slowly when she was sure she had it.
Life outside Mabel Basset was bad. But inside it was easier. Once you were an official prisoner, instead of one under the guise of freedom, there was no need for the cameras or the drones or the curfews or the telescreens. The guards were meat puppets. Once they already had you, there was no need to worry about what you were doing. You were out of the way and under control. They decided when and what to feed you, and when and what to give you.
As Sarah got closer in line her palms began to sweat. This part was mostly harmless, but it meant she had taken action and made the first step. She was closer to answers.
Sarah arrived in front of Brandi's station and held out her tray. Tucked in her hand, beneath it, was a silver picture frame she'd plucked from the counselor's desk. The weight of the frame left her hand, and was replaced with something small and cold.
The girls smiled at each other.
"*Good luck.*" Brandi whispered. Sarah nodded and then went to sit down at a table with her tray. Beneath the table, she opened her clenched fist and saw a shiny little key.
-----
"What are ya in for, Miss Sarah?" one of the guards, Carter, asked as he passed her in the hall. She was mopping the floors in A Wing today.
"You know me, Carter. Just a good time and a hard ride." Sarah smiled at him. He smiled back, empathetically.
"Hard to believe you killed somebody, Sar." he studied her eyes for a moment, and there was something else there. Doubt? Maybe.
"That's what they tell me. Have trouble believing it myself, since I wasn't there to see it." she tapped her temple lightly.
Carter smiled again and continued his patrol down the hallway. Sarah resumed mopping until Carter had made it around the corner and was out of sight.
Then she approached the door marked *RECORDS* and took the metal key out of the heel of her shoe.
Sarah stuck the key in the lock hole and...
*Click*
... the tumbler inside released. She was in.
It was almost funny, when you thought about it. Before her trial, Sarah had been a database developer, not a criminal. Happily married, successful career. And then one day it was all gone. And so was her beloved, Stephen.
Murderer, they called her. But she didn't believe it. She couldn't bring herself to believe it, no matter how hard she tried. She loved Stephen, she never would have hurt him. They didn't even *own* a gun.
Sure, they had fights. Every couple did. But they always worked through it. And the worst part? *She couldn't remember.* No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember what happened that day. They had taken it from her when they convicted her.
Sometimes she thought she would like to remember, even if she really *did* do it. Just to see his face one last time.
But now, she would have answers.
Sarah entered the records room and shut the door behind her. Tall, rusty filing cabinets lined the walls in a U-shape. At the middle, surrounded in either side by filing cabinets was a small, older model computer. Dim blue light emanated from its screen, providing just enough illumination to make out the letters on the cabinets.
She located **S** and flipped through the files until she located her name:
**Sarah Stone**
She took a deep breath, and then opened her file.
It was empty.
There was nothing there. Not a single paper. Every other folder was stuffed with files, she'd seen them as she flipped through, but hers was completely empty.
She pulled the file out of the cabinet and turned it upside down. A small white envelope clinked to the ground.
Sarah picked it up, and read the label: *Confidential - S. Stone*
Her hand shook slightly as she realized what this must be. Her memory.
The one they took from her when they convicted her. Her eyes rose to the computer against the far wall. Surely it would be locked. But she went over to it anyway, shook the mouse anyway, clicked on the user Records anyway.
And it unlocked. There was no password.
Without even realizing she had done it, she took the disk from the envelope and stuffed it into the drive.
The mouse spun in a small blue circle, and then a video loaded.
It was a point-of-view shot, and Sarah knew it must have been from her POV. She was sitting at her old computer, and had opened some kind of file in a database. Sarah could see a list of names, and instructions.
*"Oh, God, Stephen."* Sarah heard herself say in the video. *"It's a list... a list of political targets. According to this... they're going to extract their memories, and then throw them in war camps."*
*"You don't think they could really get away with-"* Stephen started, and then there was a loud bang in the video. The camera's point of view shifted upward, to show that the door had been kicked in. Men in black body armor approached the camera. And then Sarah heard the sound of gunshots.
-----
Sarah's eyes stung with hot tears. Her cheeks flushed. She felt so angry, and yet so defeated.
She had come across something terrible, and they had ruined her for it. Killed her husband, and blamed it on her. After all, how could she defend herself if she couldn't remember the truth? They took away from her who she was, and made her someone new.
And all around the world, they were doing it to others.
|
"What do you mean, talk about it?" I scoffed. "You know damn well I don't remember."
"Obviously, dumbass. I was talking about what you do remember. Tell me what you know."
"Well..." I started. "I remember the smell of freshly cut grass, and the way this one tree looked as if it was trying grab my arm as it mangled in the wind."
"Was it Spring?" He asked me.
"Or Fall. Or a chilly night in June. It's hard to say." I continued. "I remember there was a crack in the asphalt. And I thought about how stupid it was that the road wasn't redone with concrete. No, there were two cracks. And I followed one for a couple of steps until I saw an ant."
"What the fuck does this have to do with anything?" He snapped at me.
"Because, the ants needed the crack on the road. They created a farm away from the dirt, away from their predators, inside of a flawed piece of structural history. They benefited from the mistake of someone that lived and died generations before we were even born. They fucking survived. And I remember thinking about how I was going to survive, no matter what." I paused. "And then I saw the car. I saw the girl across the street holding the red balloon. I saw the window. I saw my hand shake. And then I felt my gun."
"Fuck." He muttered, while leaning his scar covered face closer to mine. "Anything else?"
"No. That was it. Just the ants. I was gonna survive, just like the ants..." My voice trailed off.
"Well," he said, crafting a crooked grin. "Welcome to the colony."
| 2017-09-06T12:26:55 | 2017-09-06T11:13:46 | 49 | 12 |
[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.
|
"We... don't actually know what you did."
The burly red demon looked at a few papers. He squinted through his round glasses for a minute before sliding them off and slipping them into the chest pocket of his tight white collared t-shirt.
"What do you mean 'you don't know'? You just said I have to spend 186,292 years down here! The guy in front of me only got 145! What in the hell did I *do?!*"
"Sorry, I'm going to have to call upper management," the demon replied with an honest shrug.
He spent 15 minutes on his iPhone arguing with his manager. The line was being held up, so a supervisor opened a new line. The girl behind me got 188 years. The creepy dude behind her, 400. A gangbanger, determined to live up to his stereotype, got 1,202 years for shooting up a barbershop. He cried.
I looked back and saw the lines were *long*. There were fifteen lanes open that I could see, and the demons all looked flustered and rushed. The supervisor directed more lanes to open, as demons from other departments complained about being put on counter duty. One of them even argued and threw a fit, scorching the broom he was holding and throwing it into the sea of dead people in line. The supervisor remained calm, literally fired him (like, set him on fire), and the people just ignored the flaming broom.
"Sir, the Regional manager would like a word with you," the apologetic demon in the collared white shirt said, handing me the phone.
"Who am I speaking to?" I asked.
"MY NAME IS RASTLEBUB THE DEMENTED," a grave, fire-laced voice said. The connection was nice and crisp. I commented on it, to which he quickly replied "OH YES, GOOGLE FIBER JUST ROLLED OUT THEIR BASIC PACKAGE DOWN HERE, SOUNDS LIKE A DREAM FUCKED A COCONUT."
Rastlebub the Demented cackled like he had made a hilarious joke. I looked to the Demon in the collared shirt. He shrugged again and told me with his hands to just roll with it. I gave a courtesy laugh.
When the Demented was done cackling, he took down my information and apologized for any mix-ups. It wasn't without precedent though. "THERE WERE ACTUALLY TWO FIDEL CASTROS, AND THEY DIED ON THE SAME DAY. THAT WAS CONFUSING MESS OF PAPERWORK TO SET STRAIGHT," the Demented said. "ALMOST FORCED THIS POOR GROCER TO HANG AROUND HERE FOR 6,000 YEARS."
"What could I have possibly done to earn 186K?" I asked.
"SO YOU SAY YOU ARE A PARTICLE PHYSICIST?" he asked, as I overheard him tapping keys on the other end.
"Yes?" I replied. "I was at the tail end of earning my PHD. So close to being called 'Doctor'. I would have made so many Doctor Who jokes."
"YES, YES. I LIKED DAVID TENNANT. WONDERFUL MAN. I WENT TO A CON ONCE AND HE SIGNED A PHOTO OF US TOGETHER WITH A COCONUT. MY WIFE SAYS CAPALDI WAS BETTER. BLASPHEMER," Rastlebub said. "BUT BACK TO THE ISSUE. DO YOU RECALL HOW YOU DIED?"
"Uhh, no. Now that I think about it. I was in my office sipping coffee, then I was here," I said. I leaned-sat on the desk, and the collared shirt demon folded his arms and gave me a look. I immediately stood straight up and mouthed a silent "sorry" to him for disrespecting his desk. Rastlebub said something about how a number of people today were just as confused. Normally, he said, people remember the specifics of how they died. Knife to the heart, gunshot wound, heart attack, choking on a cheese sandwich, falling in the bathroom, whatever-- people could remember it. Not today. No one could remember doing anything that would get them killed. It was as if they all died for no reason.
After a half-hour of going back and forth examining the details, the Demented asked me one more question. Thankfully it didn't involve coconuts.
"WHAT WERE YOU WORKING ON?"
I told him it was complicated, so I gave him the short version.
"I was trying to utilize a ten-point, four-dimensional containment field to trap neutrinos in a compact, accelerated "loop" in order to use them as fuel in a particle engine that, in theory, could provide limitless energy."
"UH HUH," Rastlebub said, not really understanding, but understanding enough. "WELL I THINK I UNDERSTAND WHY WE'RE SO BUSY TODAY, AND WHY YOU ARE MARKED AT 186,292 YEARS."
"What? No. My particle engine couldn't possibly--"
"YOU LEFT IT ON OVERNIGHT, DIDN'T YOU?"
"Of course not! I always.... No, wait, I'm sure I did. Last night I switched it off, got my coat- no, it was the other way around, I got my coat, *then* shut it off. No, no. Wait. I think--"
Rastlebub audibly sighed.
"YOU LEVELED HALF OF EUROPE."
I dropped the phone to my side, dumbstruck. The nice, flustered demon in the collared shirt asked if I was okay. My eyes wandered to the line. All those people. My work killed them. My heart sunk. Slowly, I brought the phone back up to my ear.
"I guess maybe I should have used an eleven-point containment field, huh?" I muttered.
Edit: Thank you kindly for the gold, stranger! It means a lot that you felt my writing was good enough to earn it.
|
The being loomed other me. It's foul breath still lingered in the air from it's spoken judgment on me. Just a second ago I had been suffocated by the heat, now my body ran cold. I could feel the icy sweat trickling down my lower back.
"Wait. What? Let me get this straight. That asshole get 145 years for cheating on his wife," pointing to the man now being lead away by an imposing scaled creature to his almost century and a half of punishment.
"One hundred and fucking forty-five years! For breaking a holy bond made before God. You know, the whole 'Forsaking all others, 'tll death do you depart' shit. But me! No, I get a fucking 186,292 years for cursing!"
I could see another one of the scaled creatures coming toward me out of the corner of my eye.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me."
| 2018-09-26T07:49:48 | 2018-09-26T07:45:11 | 2,794 | 18 |
[WP] At the age of 18, people summon an animal that perfectly fits their personality to be their Guardian Spirit.
The animal would probably not be of the user's choice.
Just putting that out there.
|
Sebastian Barkwith awoke early on the morning of his eighteenth birthday. Anticipation of what lay ahead of him today meant that he had hardly slept at all. He was already out of bed and dressed in his Sunday Best when Mary, the maid, knocked softly on the door and came in, her lop-eared rabbit hopping contentedly at her feet. "The Mistress would like you to come down to breakfast at eight," she said as she knelt at the hearth to light the fire. Then she smiled. "Oh, and happy birthday, Mr Barkwith."
Sebastian smiled back. It would be hard getting used to that; Mister instead of Master. But he was an adult now and by the end of the day he would have his Guardian Spirit to prove it. "Thank you, Mary." He glanced down at the rabbit, resisting the urge to kneel and pet it. Touching another person's spirit was the height of bad ettiquette. "Can I ask you something, Mary?"
"Of course, Mr Barkwith." She sat back on her heels, wiping her sooty hands on her long grey skirt.
"How did you feel, when you got your rabbit? Were you disappointed?"
"Oh no, Mr Barkwith, not at all. I adore him." She patted her knees and the rabbit hopped up into her lap. It stood on its hindlegs and nuzzled Mary's cheek. "People get what they give, Mr Barkwith, if you get my drift."
Sebastian nodded. "Or what they need, maybe," he said, almost to himself. "My father was a Rabbit," he added softly.
Breakfast with his mother was even more tense than usual. He preferred to take his morning meal in his room but as today was a special day, this formality could not be avoided. "Sebastian," she said, eyeing him up and down, inspecting his morning suit and his hair. "Is that the best you can do?"
"Mother!" He glared at her and sat down at the table while Mary brought his breakfast; eggs Benedict, toast, orange juice. He ate silently for a few minutes. "A 'Happy Birthday' would have been nice you know. I'm eighteen today."
Mrs Barkwith stirred her tea, the silver spoon rattling loudly on the cup. "I expect your Spirit to be something of status, Sebastian. I shall be terribly disappointed if you take after your father." There was a low growl from beside her chair and Sebastian glanced uncomfortably at the skinny jackal whose yellow eyes were fixed on him with something like hunger. Sebastian had always hated that beast.
"Of course Mother," he said without looking at her. "You'll never live down the shame with your Salon friends if I get a mouse or a sheep. Or a Rabbit." Sebastian swallowed hard. He wasn't sure he could live with the shame of a mouse or a sheep either but a rabbit, he would possibly be content with because of his father. Rather that than a jackal.
After breakfast was done, there was hardly any time to worry about it and by ten o'clock Sebastian was sitting in a steam carriage on the way to the Grand Technomancer's Hall for the first of several formal receptions of the day. Sebastian forced a smile on his face and kept it there for what felt like hours as he shook hands and received congratulations from members of his extended family, most of whom he had never seen before. There was Uncle Percy, his face florid red and his expansive waistline threatening to burst out of his tweed suit. Percy's ginger Tamworth pig snuffled the ground at his feet.
"Sebastian, old boy!" Percy bellowed cheerfully as he gave Sebasian a hearty pat on the back that almost knocked him over. "Congratulations boy, happy birthday, now don't be nervous old chap." He lowered his voice a little, "and don't let that old hag hassle you if you end up with something she doesn't approve of. Any trouble, you just let me know, I'll sort her out." He winked and tapped the side of his nose.
Sebastian continued to mingle, as was proper, and was surprised to find that one of the guests was Prime Minister Sir Henry Proudmoor, along with the ever-present raven perched on his shoulder. Sebastian recognised him from pictures he'd seen in the newspapers. "I knew your father," Proudmoor explained as he shook Sebastian's hand. "Years ago, we were at university together. Such a tragedy."
"It wasn't a tragedy, Sir," Sebastian answered coldly. "It was murder."
As the reception drew to a close, a steward rang a bell to announce the start of the ceremony. Only close family would be permitted in the main hall while the Prime Minister and other guests were escorted to the main dining hall for a formal luncheon. Sebastian was glad he hadn't skipped breakfast; it would be several hours before *he* would get any lunch.
A Technomancer came forward, accompanied by his strange Guardian; some kind of large lizard creature that Sebastian did not recognise. He placed a white hooded cloak around Sebastian's shoulders and took off his top hat so he could raise the hood. Then, in silence, he followed the Technomancer into the Grand Hall and stood before the great Steam Altar. Upon the altar was a large Van der Graaf generator; a glass globe inside of which bolts of lightning flickered and flashed. Sebastian stood where he was directed while the Technomancer addressed the assembled congregation.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to witness the coming of age of Mr Sebastian Clarence Torrington Barkwith and the manifestation of his Guardian Spirit. We have faith that the Power of Science will prevail and the Spirit that Sebastian shall receive will be that most suited to him and his future purpose in life."
The Technomancer turned to Sebastian. "Don't worry lad, it might be a little uncomfortable but it won't last long. Now, put your hands on the glass."
Sebastian took a deep breath and placed the palms of his hands against the generator's glass globe. Immediately he felt a jolt of static and pulled back in shock but he steeled himself and put them back. The lightning in the globe seemed attracted to him and flashed against the glass where his hands were touching. He closed his eyes and felt every hair on his body stand on end as the energy seemed to flow into him. Into, and through, and out again. There was a pain, tearing, splitting in his head and he cried out but he dare not move his hands. He had heard of people who had broken contact before the process was complete; they had never received their Guardian Spirit and few lived for long after that. Like his father, after his rabbit was...
Sebastian's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden loud sound like a thunderclap in the air as something materialised out of nothing. Gasps from the assembled congregation of Sebastian's family, followed by stunned silence.
*Don't tell me, I got a mouse*
Cautiously Sebastian opened his eyes, looking at the ground beside him. Not a mouse. A large paw, golden-furred. His eyes followed the thick strong leg up to where it attached to the body of a large and very magnificent maned lion. Stunned, Sebastian's knees gave way and he sank to the floor. The lion came forward, nuzzled him, licked his face. Sebastian could hear its thoughts in his head. *Stand up. Face them. Be worthy of me.* He looked into the lion's deep amber eyes then nodded and stood again, turning towards the shocked faces of his family.
None more so than his mother who was staring at him, her face as pale as death. Under her chair the jackal cowered, trembling in fear.
*ETA: correction of minor errors and punctuation*
|
"Happy Birthday, Adam!" Adam's parents cheered loudly in his ear, laying out a large white ice cream cake before him.
Adam suppressed a smile and aimlessly stared at the balloons drifting against the ceiling. He glanced down at the cake, which spelled out the words **Congratulations!!** in big red gooey letters, surrounded by 18 color-swirled candles.
"Well, go on!" his mother pushed, "Make a wish!"
Rolling his black eyes, Adam leaned forward and pursed his lips, before hesitating a moment. His eyes hung like orbs, fastened on the small flames before him, which were dribbling wax along the sides of the pastel candles. He was nervous. Nervous for what kind of animal might appear by his side when he blew out the candles. He hoped it was a good one. I mean, if he was to spend the rest of his life with an animal, it better be a cool one, but deep down, Adam knew it wouldn't be one. The Spirit Animal wasn't made of one's own's volition, but rather took the form of an animal that was closest to the personality of it's master. And Adam, by all definitions was definitely not a cool guy, thus he would not get a cool animal. Only the outgoing or brave or funny people got the cool animals, like hawks and lions and bears. Adam had not one of these attributes. He was not funny or brave and most certainly was not outgoing. But despite knowing how much of a loser he was, he still hoped he would get a cool animal. One that he could brag about and show off to his friends. One that would prove to his parents he was not so much a wimp.
"Well, go on!" his dad shouted, "Do it!"
Adam shifted nervously in his seat. Suddenly, he didn't care anymore and realized he should just be happy with whatever he got. After all, his parent's Tucan and Warthog weren't exactly the coolest animals around either. He closed his eyes and blew out the candles softly, watching the small bits of smoke rise slowly in the air. The tiny tendrils spiraled higher and higher, collectively condensing into one large black plume. Adam stared curiously at the swirling smoke and watched in amazement as it grew larger and larger. The shifting smoke changed shapes rapidly, forming one animal after the other. Purples, reds, and greens all started to bleed into the mix before the smoke darted down to Adam's side in an instant.
Adam felt something brush against his knee and looked down to let out a startled gasp, meeting the animal's eyes with shock. A large black panther sat before him, his sable coat shone like silk, his green eyes gleamed like emeralds.
| 2014-06-26T03:05:10 | 2014-06-26T01:48:49 | 170 | 23 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
|
Uyreah swung the hoe one last time, burying it with a satisfying thud deep in the dirt and letting it stand there. He wiped sweat from his brow, cursing again the rarity and costliness of proper mechanised tools in this world. He stretched his back, grimaced at the toll his age was taking on him, and turned for the other side of the valley.
As he walked, his thoughts were a numb buzzing in his oblong skull, and as always, heeded not his demand for them to be still. He did his best to ignore them, placing one three-toed foot in front of the other. It didn't matter what might be going on on Homeworld. It was not his business.
The sky's blue began to give way to pink, and he knew that his son would be on the roof, settling in to watch the coming aurora. The boy was getting to that age where he wondered what was beyond the limits of their farming community, and Uyreah was not prepared to answer him.
At least, not since the last moonshiner had died with his secrets. Uyreah had wished to apprentice to him, for he recognised how important intoxicants were to the community, but his own father had forbade it. Tretton, as his father was called, had been sober his entire life, and believed only hard work and dedication could keep their colony alive until help could come. Any time resting or relaxing had to be spent in study, or weaving, or some other productive but untaxing activity.
Tretton was not mourned.
The house was coming into view now, a hive of small semi-spherical buildings attached in a web, and sure enough, the boy Ghgets was atop the tallest one, ankles crossed and weight resting on his palms behind him. Uyreah smiled a private smile, and pushed against his aching bones to climb the rest of the hill.
"Just in time, Dad!" Ghgets waved, then seemed to hesitate. "Dad? Can we talk?"
Uyreah froze, swallowed, looked left and right as though seeking an escape route. He was, he realised. He steeled himself, and without responding, moved to drop his bag of root-vegetables at the door. He stood there for a little longer than he probably should have.
"Let's wait for the lights," he said at last, and began scaling the abode. "Wouldn't want you to miss the lights."
"The lights are on all night every night," Ghgets responded in a sulky tone, but shifted over to make room for his father. "They're hard to miss."
"Yet you're out here every night, at the same time." Uyreah grumbled, dropping down heavily. He leaned over and pressed his head against his son's, and trilled, which seemed to placate the boy. They turned back to the sky in silence, and in moments, it erupted in shimmering waves of green, magenta, and cyan.
Even now, in his twilight years, Uyreah loved them.
"You want to know about what's up there."
"I want to know where we came from."
"It's the same question, really. Why now? Why wait all these years to ask?"
Ghgets' skin darkened, and he began picking at some loose dirt on the roof. "Because Grampa always said to ignore it. 'Keep your eyes on the soil,' he said. 'The soil is our life. What's up there is not for us.'"
Uyreah nodded, the sounds of those same words from when he was told them ringing through his head. He rolled his head from one side to the other lazily, mulling over what to say next. He wished his bond-mate was still with them.
"We're from Homeworld," he said at last. "Not you or I, but our people. They came here in great ships, and set up mining operations. Some brought their families. Then, one day..." He gestured at the sky. "This."
"What is 'this'," Ghgets demanded petulantly, tearing off a fist-sized clod of dirt.
Uyreah, annoyed, did his best to keep his voice level. "This was hundreds of years ago, and even back then, we only had a few scientists in this region of space. You know the six stars, right?"
That seemed to soften the boy's mood. He loved what little astronomy he was privy to. "Titungus, the rager. Pilipin, the dancer. Qott and Sett, the twins." He pointed now, at a bright point in the ocean of dancing colours, and named the star, "Revin, the bold. And our sun, Illerv, the seeker."
"And among those," Uyreah spoke, "Illerv, Titungus, and Revin are the prime stars, with colonies under their light. Titungus-3 was the first established, and that was where the scientists dwelt. When the light curtain appeared, it isolated the six stars from the rest of space with its impassable barrier. For a time after that, there was chaos, and murder, and despair. All communications with Homeworld, and indeed, any other colony, was severed. But after a year, one of the scientists sent a broadcast out. We call it 'Liric's proclamation', for that was her name."
Ghgets sat enraptured, staring unblinking at his father with wide, porcelain eyes. It was only then Uyreah realised how little he had taught his son, and silently cursed himself and his father both.
"She said that they had heard of an experiment being undertaken by a species called Human, of a new faster-than-light drive they were developing. Liric claimed that this drive had folded the space around this area, trapping us in a pocket dimension. Presumably, the ship was supposed to traverse the shortened distance, and then unfold the pocket. Yet, here we are, hundreds of years later."
Uyreah could see his boy processing all of this, with the same plodding determination he had used. He turned back to the lights above, trying to recall if he had missed anything important.
"So... What causes the lights?"
Uyreah scratched his chin, fighting to bring back those lectures of old. "Well, because our space is compressed, light moves through it faster than it normally should. That causes... something. I don't recall. We have even fewer scientists now than those we started with."
"Is that why we don't have a harvester?"
"Aye, noone remembers how to build one."
"I'd like to join you in the field tomorrow, Dad."
Uyreah smiled.
|
"You wish really really hard and then you push the button."
"Really really hard? What does the wishing do?"
"Frustrates the hell out of the new recruits when they realize that the incredibly genuine way we insist that they wish as hard as they can is just a ploy to make them look silly to amuse the rest of the crew."
"That seems mean"
"Humans are occasionally mean, we do it for laughs and after the hazing is over we make it up to them; its not perfect but it satisfies their need for schadenfreude in a mild way. It brings the crew together through a shared experience."
"That seems complex for a team building exercise. Why would it work? Don't the new recruits see right through it?"
"Because its really embarrassment even if its very contrived."
"So what system does the button engage? What does it cause?"
"Take a look, the bulkhead below it has been removed"
She draped her sixteen fingers and a vast forest of flagella under the counter. She pulled out a small squat brass jug-ish looking object with a pop and thwop as it released suction from the rubber.
"So the button does nothing but simulate pressing a button connected to something. Where is the real way you activate your faster than light travel"
Smirking he didn't reply but started half laughing, half singing an old Christina Aguilera song:" I feel like I've been locked up tight..." He trailed off. "When the old veterans find out about the button its the commands turn to have a laugh. Its best to let old R.W. rest though when he's grumpy things can get nasty."
| 2017-03-31T00:43:51 | 2017-03-30T23:13:22 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] You wake up trapped inside of your favorite MMORPG with millions of other players. Everyone starts out by testing their battle skills and combat abilities, except for you. You take a more "Economical" approach by purchasing land from NPC's and establishing new commerce and trade routes.
|
"Where is Agrabah! Get your ass out here, now!"
I folded my papers, swung my legs off the desk, and sauntered out from the backroom. There were four of them this time, and by the looks of it, all Level 60. The one who had shouted for me was likely the Warrior, adorned in the complete pearlescent set armor obtainable only from the Dredmor raid. Someone's been farming, I thought.
"I'm sorry," Sara said, still quivering where she stood behind the counter. She was relatively new, so I didn't blame her for not being able to handle this. "They... barged in, even though we have a strict no-return policy..."
"You cheated us! Cheat!" yelled the Warrior, shaking his fist at me. His companions, a Hunter and two Priests, nodded in agreement.
"Now hold on here," I said. "Let's settle this like adults, shall we? What's the problem?"
The Hunter stepped forward and slammed down a Cleaving Axe of Furry + 2 on the countertop. "You sold me this! Just yesterday!"
"And so I did," I said. I turned it over, inspected the tag behind. "I still don't see the problem..."
"I asked for a Cleaving Axe of Fury! Not Cleaving Axe of Furry! This is supposed to be a goddamned weapon of mass destruction! Not a huggable decorative ornament, soft to the touch!"
"Ah, ah, Sara, if you would?" I asked. She scurried behind the counter, then fished out the order slips. I flipped through them, found the one made out to "Loxlox, Hunter Level 60", and showed it to him. "See here? Under the field where you put in your request? You wrote 'Furry', not 'Fury', did you not?"
"That's not the point!" the Warrior interjected, coming between us. "You charged him 100 gold for that! That's nearly enough to purchase any other top tier weapon! You knew he made a mistake, and yet you charged him full price!"
"Sir, please," I said, "I don't judge what my customers want. He wanted something Furry, I went out of my way to get it, of course it's going to cost a lot! I even upgraded it to + 2, for free!"
"What the shit does the + 2 do, even?"
I picked up the disparaged weapon, then gave it a shake. It squeaked. "Sound effect," I said, "ideal for when you want to make a point."
The Priests made their moves then. The first one muttered a spell, then Buffed his team, coating them in protective barriers, sharpening their combative skills. The second one broke a vial and splashed the contents over me, debuffing my combative and defensive statistics.
I don't know why he even bothered. I had no combative or defensive skills to even speak of. I couldn't kill a rabbit if I wanted to, nor could I shield myself against a flying kiss.
I had other people do that for me.
"I must warn you, there is a strict no-violence policy here. We're still within the city..."
"Save your breath, you cheat!" screamed the Warrior and Hunter in unison, as they unleashed their attacks in impressive synchrony, almost as if they had macro-bound their skills.
"Sara, please, if you would..."
A blinding light filled the store, though I was prepared for it. That's the thing with employees - you treat them with respect, you help guide them along in areas out of their depth, and they were always more than willing to repay the favour when the time came for it.
In the land of Numemor, every successive level represents an increase of a full order of power. A Level 60 could comfortably handle three, four Level 59s.
Sara was a Level 80 Archangel.
When the dust settled, all four of them were on the ground, groaning, trapped in chains of shimmering light. Sara hovered in the air, hands still outstretched. A look of concern crossed her face.
"Was it too much?" she asked.
"Yes, yes, too much!" I grumbled. It was one thing to restore the order, and it was quite another to beat up your customers. That's never good for business. "Please, help them up, I just wanted them to know that violence is not necessary. I'm always keen on my customers leaving happily."
Sara tossed the Hunter and Priests out, then sat the Warrior on a chair. She had to hold him up so that he wouldn't tip over. My guess was that he wasn't used to getting his HP reduced to the single digits so quickly before.
"Sara, get him a swig of the Healing Potion... Yes, it's on the house, I'm not that petty. Hey, Warrior, you listening?" I snapped my fingers to get his attention. "Look, I'll make you a deal, OK?"
He continued groaning, but I was fairly sure he was listening.
"I'm going to bend over backwards for you, OK buddy? I'm going to take back the Furry at half price, cause it's been used, then I'm going to give your friend the Fury model he seems more keen on, OK? And it will only cost you a 500 gold top-up, that's fine with you?"
"So... expensive..."
"Fine, fine. You're good customers, so I'll give you the special deal. 450 gold, plus 15% of all spoils from your next five raids, OK?"
I could tell that he was near the edge, so I went for the closer. I reached behind the counter, plucked out two small bottles.
"I'll even throw in two Cosmetic Dyes, OK? They can retrofit your armor with new and exciting colours, yes? Do we have a deal?"
I needn't have asked - the way his eyes opened once he saw the rare Dyes was enough to tell me that he was sold. Joke was on him though. They were only that expensive normally because I controlled the entire beetle industry, and without beetles, you had no Dyes.
As the Warrior trudged out with the Cleaving Axe of Fury + 3 (I threw in a free upgrade, I'm not a monster) , pockets much lighter, Sara piped up.
"Do you think they'll ever figure out they just got fleeced again?"
I bounced the coin purse in my palm, smiling ear to ear. It was a good day.
"Doubt it," I said, "but that's what happens when you pump all your stats into combat and none into Bargaining."
---
/r/rarelyfunny
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Gold. Gold makes the world go 'round. The other PC's didn't even think of it. Hell, I wouldn't have thought of it if it weren't for my damn stomach. I had been hungry right before "The Merge" and I spent my first minute in this fantastical world going to try the grub. I never realized just how much gold us PC's throw around in any given visit to the shops. The NPC's hadn't even realized The Merge occurred, not until that League of Returning had told them about it. The first vendor I met had tried to sell me food so marked up, I had trouble believing we ever payed those prices when it was just a game. I decided then, I would retire my equipment to fit in with the NPC's, and use the wealth from my time as a gamer to gain control of key resources. Monopolizing the real estate of Delphis was priority number one. A lot of people were about to need a place to sleep... and I alone was going to provide it. Of course, no one was allowed to buy from me... only rent at insane prices. I am not finished yet though... I still have more plans. PCs are smart, I know they will move into the countryside as soon as they figure out what game I'm playing. Unfortunately for them, the NPC leaders I have put into office are about to instate some new rules... Large tariffs on imported monster items. Anyone living outside of Fantasia's great capitol is about to feel a setback they never would have thought of. My plans have only just begun though. The League is onto me, and I won't be able to keep control of the government without more wealth. his isn'tgoing to be a story about survival... it will be my story of success.
| 2017-08-29T22:43:40 | 2017-08-29T21:23:55 | 375 | 34 |
[WP] For years Earth cried out to an empty cosmos, searching the stars for echoes of life. From the middle of nowhere, a reply finally comes: "Shut up, and Play Dead!"
I really struggled with the choice between "For Years", "For Decades", "For Centuries", and "For Millenia". I tapped out. Take whatever timeline you will.
This may or may not be an attempt to add cosmic significance to Red Green's "Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati".
Good Luck!
Edit: There are a LOT of good submissions here, thank you all so much! Speaking of excellent submissions, I'd like to plug u/Mrcreation for doing some very well written, lengthy work near the bottom of the thread. Scroll down and check out his multipost entry!
Edit 2: I just finished the first two books of the Three Body Problem, by Liu Cixin. Mind=Blown. A part of the series definitely shares similar themes to this prompt, but there is so much more! I highly reccomend it.
|
Thank you for your patience. The global communications outage has been resolved.
****BREAKING NEWS****
A live speech regarding the recent outage delivered from The Google University Seattle Campus
(Formerly the University of Washington) Quantum Computer Science Department will begin in 2m33s.
<Tap Here> to connect.
Viewing the following announcement will grant 1 point towards credit
in the Harvard, Phoenix, and Google University learning systems towards:
* Journalism
* Current Events
* Science Communication
Extra points will be awarded for contribution of an article, synopsis, or ELI5 simplification that
passes the threshold for synthesized aggregation.
A translation accurate to within 1 standard deviation of the mean translation will also give credit to the
language of study.
"Ahem. Good morning. I've elected to, um, not use the speech enhancement technology. I want this to be recorded in my own voice, with my own words. I, uh, don't have a lot of credits in unassisted public speaking, but I'll do my best to watch the attention graph. Please bear with me."
"My name is Dr. Edward Franklin. My credits and credentials are attached to the broadcast feed. I'm here to, uh, claim responsibility for the recent communications blackout. At the end of this broadcast, I will turn myself in to the appropriate authorities, but I think you'll all want to hear what I have to say first."
"The discovery of the Hermann-Washington entangled broadcast transistor changed the entire planet in, um, profound ways, to say the least. <*chuckle*> Although I have sufficient credentials in synthetic quantum entanglement and instantaneous network distribution to go into more detail, I'm not here to give a lecture in those categories. I, um, have recorded feeds available in those subjects if you want the credits and the background. Suffice it to say that the discovery of digital communication not restricted by the speed of light changed the planet."
"Shit. I said 'changed the planet' twice. I mean, it, um, revolutionized human communications. Any device with an entangled chip can connect to any other equipped device, and communicate as if they were physically attached, no matter the distance. A simple handheld device can bypass any firewall, and access the computing power of our largest Bezos arrays. Governments, um, collapsed as their citizens could access the rest of the world without restrictions. Borders are... A thing of the past. We can even communicate with drones and satellites all over the solar system as if they were in the same room."
"There seems to be no distance limit that we can detect to this technology. The physics implications alone overturned everything we thought we knew about the universe. As of yet, the speed of light is still a barrier for traditional matter and energy. But information flows without limit."
"The question few people asked is: Why haven't we heard from anybody else using it? Surely, we can't be alone in the universe. If even one other species out there has this technology, why haven't we come into contact with them? Another galaxy should be as accessible as your next-door neighbor. And yet... Silence."
"I believed I had the solution to this problem. The possible quantum wavelength permutations for entangled broadcast are... Staggering. 1x10^65536 single wavelength possibilities, not counting, um, paired or multiwave broadcasts. We could connect every human, animal, plant, or rock to the network and not even come close to a percent of these possibilities. Even if there are others out there, the odds that they would discover our small subset are phenomenally low."
"In order to make contact, we needed to send a broad-band message. My department discovered a, um, vulnerability in the entangled chip firmware that allowed us to hijack every connected device. The details of this vulnerability, along with a patch, will be released at the end of this broadcast."
"I, by myself, decided to use this vulnerability. The other researchers working with me had no knowledge of this. I wrote a script that allowed me to take over every connected device, and broadcast a message across... About 20% of the possible wavelengths. The message was simple. A few basic mathematical equations and constants, followed by a binary-based number system, and directions to a specific wavelength."
"The point of this message was to declare our existence. Just... 'We are here, and we want to talk.'"
"I... Don't have the relevant credits in international law to know how many crimes I've committed. I take full responsibility for my actions. I just knew that, uh, if it worked, it would be worth a lifetime of service restitution credits."
"But... It worked. Within seconds of the broadcast, we began receiving replies. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them."
"Control of the network has been reinstated. The messages we've received will be, uh, made fully available to the public. Translation and analysis of these messages will take years, but what work we have done shows all manner of transmissions."
"Thank you for your time. I see the authorities are here. Please remember, although I couldn't have done this without my research teams, both here and remote, I take full responsibility for all crimes committed."
"We are not alone in the cosmos. We've made first contact, and the universe wishes to speak with us."
****
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4c57ai/wp_for_years_earth_cried_out_to_an_empty_cosmos/d1fpe2y)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4c57ai/wp_for_years_earth_cried_out_to_an_empty_cosmos/d1fy2pj)
[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4c57ai/wp_for_years_earth_cried_out_to_an_empty_cosmos/d1gau3q)
|
Complete isolation? The only life in the universe? At this point that would be a blessing.
Yesterday we got a signal from a star system about 250 light years away. We have been testing the signal over and over again, making sure everything is correct. The data adds up, but the message doesn't.
It basically told humanity to shut up and play dead.
We have already notified the G6 but right now everything is crazy. There's already been one suicide. It doesn't make sense.
Why should we be quiet? This already says two things. One, we're not alone and two, there's more than one intelligent species out there. Why would they tell us to be quiet and play dead if there wasn't an obvious threat?
So we prepare. We focus on this new threat to protect humanity's future as a species.
Now we know who we are.
We are the Guardians of the Galaxy.
| 2016-03-27T11:40:01 | 2016-03-27T08:00:33 | 79 | 52 |
[WP] In order to get a shot at going to Valhalla, you must die with a weapon in your hands. You just died and are now sitting in front of Odin's advisory board as they discuss whether a spatula actually counts.
|
I awoke to the quorking of ravens. The fact that I knew that sound meant ravens, or even what quorking was, surprised me, but didn't concern me. Nor did the fact I couldn't quite remember where I was or what I had been doing. That too, should've concerned me but, pleasantly, didn't. It felt like I was waking from a long nap, a bit foggy but refreshed. The ravens flapped and hopped around their perch in a way that seemed to indicate confusion or argument and, for a time, I just watched them. It was some time before I realized there was someone else in the room, or space, or where ever this was. A hooded old man, also observing the ravens with something approaching paternal concern was turned away from me. I tried to clear my throat politely but the sound echoed impossibly and all three figures turned to regard me.
"Greetings traveler," the old man said, "You've caused my little friends here a bit of confusion. It seems your tale is a bit unusual for my halls, so I've chosen to hear it directly. Tell me sir, are you a warrior of your people?"
It didn't feel like an interrogation and somehow I wasn't scared. It was like my grandfather had asked me about what I had for breakfast that day. It felt right to reply, and suddenly memory became clear.
"Uh...sir, no...not a warrior. Actually, farthest thing from it by most peoples way of thinking - I'm just a cook." I felt this would somehow end the dream, or whatever this was, or the man would be unimpressed, but he wasn't. If anything, he seemed to be smiling.
"That explains this," a dented, scratched spatula appeared in the mans hand. Memory seemed to awake at the sight.
"Yes! That's mine! I mean, well, the one I always use. I guess it's my favorite, as much as a spatula can be. I was using it just a little while ago, making....what was I making? I'm sorry, I can't remember." I felt the need to apologize to this figure, although I wouldn't be able to tell you why. He seemed familiar, somehow, like a relative I hadn't seen in years.
"Don't bother yourself with worry, traveler. Why don't you take up your favorite...spatula, and tell me of your...labors with it." The old man offered the spatula to me, handle first, carefully, almost tenderly, like it was precious and fragile. I reached out a hand to touch it and felt a flash of memory.
"I...I was in the...cafeteria...Yes, that's where I was. I work for the district and was making lunch. Chicken tenders and tater-tots, green beans, apple sauce, even a little salad. It's good for the kids to have good food to eat, don't you think? I always loved working with the kids and the district was kind enough to give me a job, even though I had a record."
It felt natural to say this to the old man. He was feeling more like a long missed friend so sharing with him was comfortable...easy.
"A cook, for children? That was your task? Your role amongst your people?" The question wasn't delivered with malice or derision, the old man wasn't mocking me or being cruel. If anything, he seemed..surprised, maybe even a little impressed.
"Yes, I love working with the children. Little Cheryl and Tommy and Franz were always nice to me, always tried to tell me jokes. I made sure to give them extra tater-tots - they love tater-tots. They even made me some macaroni art! I hung it up behind the counter so I could see it every day." The children. Something about the children. Something horrifying was crawling at the edge of my memories. The children were in danger! The old man must've seen panic on my face.
"Peace, traveler, the children are safe," The old man put a hand on my arm and I instantly felt a peaceful calm return, "tell me of this day, friend, then we can go from this place."
"Today? Normal day I guess. Spilled tea on myself getting ready, had to change my shirt and almost clocked in late. I was just getting ready for lunch when I started hearing something from upstairs. I didn't think the kids were doing a field day and the banging was so loud. I went to look out and kids were already running down the stairs, screaming and crying..." I could feel tears of my own forming at the memory..."I saw Tommy and Franz holding Cheryl...trying to push their hands against her side, already slick with blood. Tommy was missing a chunk of his right ear but didn't seem to care, he was holding onto Cheryl as hard as a 7 year old could. He was so brave, even as the other kids ran in every direction." The memory was an avalanche now. The screams of panicked adults and terrified children. The smell of blood and gun powder. The thunder of the shots getting closer. I remembered.
"I...I took them into the freezer, in the back of the cafeteria. Tommy, Franz, Cheryl....all the kids I could find. I found the big first aid kit we always keep in the cafeteria and yanked it off the wall to throw into the freezer with them and told them not to open the door, no matter what. Then I broke the handle and I think..." my memory ended with the shock of impact, of a force on my back and a sudden red stain on the freezer door. Understanding slowly unfolded in my mind.
The old man stood silent for a long time. The ravens had taken to his shoulders at some point and all were looking at me intently. It was only now that I realized the old man, face hidden in shadow, seemed to have a patch over one eye. He also had a tear running down his face.
"I see now why my little friends were confused, traveler. Midgard has changed greatly since I last walked there and with it, so has the shape of battle. Thankfully, what hasn't changed is the stout heart of man." The old man seemed to be drawing himself up, getting impossibly big and powerful looking. In the distance, horns blared. "Listen, friend, the horns of my hall are sounded for you. You have a place among the honored dead here. You fell upon a field that should never have been a battleground, defending those who should never need be warriors. You showed the bravery of long ages past and when you did, you held this in your hand."
The final memory blossomed in my mind. I had used the spatula to break the handle, that's why it was dented and scratched. Something new blossomed there. I could see minutes later, help arriving, the freezer being forced open, medics attending the survivors.
Even little Cheryl.
I saw a memorial in the cafeteria, candles and flowers. I saw drawings of crayon and sparkles, thank yous and prayers, Cheryl walking slowly, still bandaged, crying, laying another piece of macaroni art on the pile. In the middle, on a small stand, was the spatula. My spatula.
I turned to the old man, who I now knew as if he was my father. He indicated a direction and we began walking together towards his distant hall as his ravens took flight, quorking to themselves contentedly.
Edit 1: I am stunned and humbled by the response this has elicited, especially from folks who work with or at schools themselves. Thank you all. I will try to respond to all the comments I can individually, and will thank all the folks who were generous enough to gild this directly as soon as I can. I'm also integrating the very helpful feedback from a few folks who noticed I drifted into the 3rd person a few times.
Edit 2: A few people have asked if I had a subreddit, so I've decided to condense all the prompts I've responded to over here - https://www.reddit.com/r/SpecialistSix/. I hope a few that didn't get much traction the first time around get some new readers.
Edit 3: Check out /u/NachosGalore [reading of the piece](https://soundcloud.com/anartiesaysmoo/spatula/s-MVmlN) - I think it's great!
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"-well, he did *stab* someone with it, you know," said a voice from the back of the hall. "I'm unsure if anything could be more indicative than being used to kill, wouldn't you say?"
I found myself before a one-eyed man, kneeling on both knees below him, head bowed, without the slightest recollection of how I got there or why I was in that position. The man was indeed large, but not in the physical sense. Important. Wizened, for sure, yet there seemed an energy about him. Apparently, he was also grumpy. His one eye looked down dully, as if expected to contemplate the life of an ant or a slug. It was so cold, numbing. Frozen.
"Pah, ha!" the man spat with a laugh. "Clever, as always. Though I half expect you have something to do with this, Loki."
"It is always Loki," grumbled another man, much younger and thicker of beard. "A spatula is a tool of housewives! Kitchen warriors! Send him back to Hel, noone is welcome in Valhalla if calling such a 'weapon'."
The room began to shake. A tall, beautiful woman wearing a colorful amulet stood and glared at the younger man, prompting him to sit and grumble. "Tell your son to mind his tongue, or I'll have it out," she said, forcefully. She played with the amulet at her neck as the sunlight fell about her, giving full display of her figure and form. The urge to blush bubbled deep within, but it was as if everything in me was also at standstill, stagnant. I couldn't even move. "Just because he's a dolt doesn't mean the rest of us need to be soiled with his nonsense."
The old man locked his eye with hers while a low chuckle eminated from behind me, as if I was the only to hear it. "We shall resolve this tomorrow. There has already been enough 'debate' today." Without further adieu, sounds of the hall emptying echoed off the walls, apparently having been quite full. The young man and the woman with the necklace stepped down and out without speaking. After it was quiet, the old man approached, stepping slowly but decidedly.
"Well, isn't that peculiar?" he seemed to ask the empty room. "Are you awake in there?" He grabbed a flask from his belt and took a swig. After a gulp, he breathed slowly into my mouth. The stiffness dissipated and I collapsed to watch my skin turn from palest of pale blue to healthy and normal. My feeling returned.
"Aaahh aaaargh." My voice apparently hadn't.
"It'll take some time. My great hall is not quite what you may be used to. The rules here are very different than where you are from."
I nodded, I could feel the sunlight fall, it was quite the beautiful day, it turns out.
"You've caused a stir. You'd expect we'd have been visited by a jöttun or a troll, or something. And, yet, a dead human draws a crowd."
"Arha?"
"Well, it's not every day Hel requests our opinion on whether an exception be made. Truth be told, she's usually quite cold."
"Ah."
"Something is *wrong* in Asgard, little human. The Vanir and Aesir are tense. It is almost like the old days, and that would be good for no one. War? Pah, there are more pressing concerns and to be torn apart now? I couldn't bear it. And your realm wouldn't survive it."
"Uh-huh."
"I need your help, human. Someone like you is too small to notice here. Help me piece my kingdom back together. Succeed, and I'll advise Hel to let you go."
| 2018-03-26T12:45:14 | 2018-03-26T11:33:23 | 8,924 | 35 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.
|
*The Therapist*
"Shit." I looked around, realizing I had just been summoned, again. How many times was this going to happen? Here I was, just enjoying my day, about to have sex with my girlfriend and this happens. Why can't I just stay on Earth? They always ask me to do stupid things I can't do anyway.
"Can you force her to love me." A young man looks up from his sitting position, with his soft whisper.
"Man, I can tell you one thing... if you want to force her, you have other problems." What I wouldn't give to be home right now with someone that *did* love me.
The young man outside the circle looked distraught. If I'm being honest, I felt bad for the guy. It wasn't his fault that the girl he chose to love didn't love him back. I heard a sob.
"Okay, so what's going on, man?" I sit down in the circle and prepare for a long-ass story where I end up being the therapist again. Y'know, being in their version of hell really makes you go through shit and end up stronger. Sometimes I think they should visit Earth. If only I could summon them.
The young man huffs. His breaths are jagged as he recovers from his tears. "You aren't like any other demon I've summoned before."
"Yeah well, you're not like any sorcerer that I've been ordered around by before." I pause, trying to figure out how to get him smiling again. Forget it, I'll just be honest. "The rest were just fuckers. At least you have something I can help you with. No world domination shit, okay?"
"I just needed someone to talk to."
I meant to suppress my guffaw. Unfortunately, when you're from hell you aren't the most tactful in tense situations. "Let me summarize: you are one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world, which I gathered from the fact you *summoned* a fucking being from an alternate universe, a girl won't love you, and you summoned me so that we could have a chipper chat? HA. Are you serious? Don't you have friends?"
"That's the beauty of being one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world," he bitterly replied, "unless you have family, no one wants you."
"Oh shut it with your pity party shit." If I was here, I was not wasting this time listening to him blather on and on without solving the god forsaken problem. Heh. I am technically forsaken from God, get it?
"Fine. What would you rather I talk about?"
"Maybe how no demon has talked to you like this before?" he stared at me blankly. Well, I guess he doesn't have a commanding presence, usually we're pretty docile because we have no choice. "Okay... how about the woman you mentioned."
"Oh, she's perfect," his eyes started to glaze over in a fucking daydream. Really, this was what he was like? No wonder she didn't want to be with him.
"So what happened?"
He adjusted to be comfortable, then he looked up at me and asked, "Do you want a cup of water or something?" If he wasn't so pathetic, I would cry at his kind gesture. These beings were too power hungry to ever consider if I was actually hungry.
"No, but thank you," ew, I could feel my heart softening towards this guy. By the end we might have a serious bro-mance going. Ugh, that would mean he'd summon me whenever he needed something. Shit he needed friends.
"O-okay. Well, you're certainly far different than any other demon I've summoned before. They usually have magical powers like I do."
"Yeah, well you called the wrong universe this time." I needed to get back on subject, I had other things to do today. "Who is this girl?"
"She's my best friend." ARE YOU SERIOUS YOU WANT TO HAVE A FRIEND ZONE CONVERSATION? Fuck me.
"Mmmmhmmm," I read somewhere that minimal attending skills were the best when you had to listen to someone. Honestly, I feel for this guy, I've been there, so I could try to have this conversation.
"Everyone loves her. When she walks into a room, there is always someone she knows, someone who wants to be near her. She's a magnet." He locked eyes with me as his eyes started to tear up, "For some reason she chose to befriend *me*. I'm the freak magician in the corner who is too shy and too feared for anyone to approach. I am a social pariah."
"What makes you think she doesn't love you then?" I really have been here. I mean, usually I don't socialize because I'm awkward and I play a lot of video games, but he wanted the girl who was the belle of the ball. By some miracle I currently had her... I mean, a version of her in hell.
"She talks to all these guys, she's always flirting and going on dates. She never gives me a second thought when she talks to me about them." He was still sitting on the floor and holding his legs.
"Have you talked to her?" It was obvious this guy didn't know how to talk about his feelings. Gotta love masculine expectations, they seem to be the same wherever I am summoned. Fucks the poor guys up. No wonder they all want to control a demon. Still doesn't excuse this shit though.
"I mentioned that I can't really help her with her guy problems." She sometimes gets frustrated with me then doesn't talk to me for a few days when that happens.
"... But have you asked her on a date?"
"No..."
"WHY THE HELL NOT? If you are going to summon a demon, who could be potentially dangerous, don't you think it should be your final resort?"
"I am your master and you are berating me!" The girl is definitely a touchy subject. At least the yelling made this interesting, so I continued.
"As soon as I leave I HAVE no fucking master. You know what's so funny? You want to make this WOMAN your slave. That's what you told me as soon as I arrived. Taking away her choice, just like you took away mine, I guess that sounds a lot like love in this world." Oops, might have stepped on a few nerves.
The sorcerer just stood there and said nothing. He bowed his head. "You're right. If I could force her to love me, I would do it. It would be for her own good too. I'd take care of her every wish or desire."
"Except one -- her freedom. That's the most important one for a relationship. Otherwise you'd only have a hollow semblance of one." I really did feel for this guy, but I've never wanted to control the girl. At the time, I just wished the girls on Earth had liked me.
"I'd rather have that than not have her at all." He stood up in defiance.
"Well, I still can't help you with that." I looked at his determined and slightly terrifying face. I take it back, he could command a demon, there was sheer power there.
"Then you're useless."
"Or maybe you're useless."
"What did you say?"
"You heard me. I thought you weren't like those other sorcerers, and I was right. You're worse."
"You're just a shit demon who has to be a slave for all eternity, it doesn't matter what you think."
I couldn't keep myself from saying it, "I guess that's why you have no friends and no lover."
He stormed out and I sat there until a candle burned all of it's wick. Finally the circle was broken and I could go home. I saw the sorcerer run into the room as I prepared to leave.
"Go to therapy, man. Only dicks don't get the girl." Then I vanished, back into the puff of smoke and back in my bed with my girlfriend.
"Good morning, love. Who did you have to talk to this time?" She yawned and wrapped her arm around me.
"Myself. In an alternate universe." She sat up and looked at me intently, I noticed she only had her t-shirt on. This was the universe I wanted to be in.
"Are you okay?" She reached for my hair as she searched my eyes.
"I am now." My cheeky grin made her smile. I felt sorry for that guy and I hoped he'd change for the better like I did. As my girlfriend started to get out of bed I pulled her back. "Where do you think you're going?"
She laughed. I definitely hoped this guy would learn his lesson and experience this kind of satisfaction. For my sake.
|
I hate this job.
Two thankless years pandering to the whims of a boss who still can't remember my name and calls me Jimmy. My name is Jonathan. It's Jonathan!
But I'm spineless. I can't face up to his authoritative and domineering personality and honestly, he plain scares the shit out of me.
I'm so done with this job... done, done, do....
Fuck! My eyes sear with pain abruptly. I can't see anything bar a blinding light. A feeling of weightlessness washes over my body and I hit the ground. It wasn't cheap carpet like I'd expect falling off of my chair at work.
It was stone. Cold, hard, unforgiving stone and it felt like my bones disintegrated against it. This sort of thing isn't normal... Am I having a stroke? Am I dying?
I open my eyes and my blurred vision clears. Two large eyes stare back. Big round poppy eyes that appear elated.
"Brungus, I think we're nearly there!" says the round face staring down at me.
The roof is wooden and it looks like it's lit by an open fire somewhere.
"What do you mean nearly? How did we scrump this up again? I followed the formula in the book to the very letter!"
There's moss growing on the stony walls, a musty smell like mould bombards my nostrils.
"Come have a look for yourself!"
Why are they gawking at me? What's so damn interesting? Another pair of poppy eyes look over me. Why can't I move? Who the hell are these fuckin' freaks?
"Whpflups gwun ennnn? Pflteehh eemmm ehhh?" I can't talk. Nothing but a flatulent noise erupts from my mouth as I try.
"Hmm, he's trying to speak, ugly-looking thing." His eyes look concerned yet irritated.
I try to call for help.
"Pflpelp plmeee, plfpleeees."
A harsh voice barks back, "Shut up will you! You disgust me!"
"PflpOK." I stop trying to ask for help.
"You know, when we swiped this Tome of Demonology from the headmaster's personal library, I never would have thought summoning a denizen of hell to be quite so recalcitrant."
My heart is palpitating and I have that low blood pressure feeling, like when you get up too fast except, I'm not getting up. I'm stuck here on the stone floor listening to a pair of bug-eyed weirdos chat about who the fuck knows what.
"This... this one's, even more stomach wrenching than our last one... Send it back."
"Send it back? But this one could put us on the map Brungus!"
"Send it Back!"
I hear a humming and a muttering from one of the freaks. Light flashes in my eyes again and I feel like I'm falling. Suddenly I hit the ground and this time it feels like cheap carpet which brings some small comfort, I'm home.
A shrill scream punctures my ears.
It's Tracy from accounting and it sounds like she's seen something awful. I realise that I still can't move. I look upwards and see Mark from the cubicle across as he starts to dry retch.
"Somebody call an ambulance!"
"What the fuck is an ambulance going to do for him?"
"Just get help!!"
My body is completely without bones and I have the outward appearance of a dying jellyfish on a sea-shore.
My boss walks into my cubicle and berates me for taking a coffee break without asking and I apologize with a "pflthorry bothh".
I sigh internally. Spineless.
| 2017-05-12T12:28:14 | 2017-05-12T11:17:02 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
"You're going to have to say that again, because I have no idea what in the fuck you're trying to say," I inform the sparkling conversationalist that just conversed in little more than grunts and growls.
"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years," the young man behind the counter informs me, seemingly confused as to how I didn't understand him the first time.
"Cool, can I get my food now?" I ask, impatiently. I really don't want to get mixed up in anything today.
"I don't think you understand - that language? It's more than dead. It's extinct. How do you know it?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose with an exasperated sigh. It's damn near midnight, and I don't feel like going through the whole process of explaining my "skill".
"Congratulations; I don't care. Can I get my food now?"
"Not until you tell me how you know that language," he hisses at me. "My family have kept that language alive, but secret, for generations."
"Well, then, it's not very extinct, is it?" I lean against the counter, the exhaustion of the day catching up with me. "Look, man - I just have this ability, to speak the native language of whoever I speak to. Can't understand it, but it just comes out of my mouth. It's useful in a traffic jam, but that's about it." I yawn, my eyes drifting shut as I feel myself growing even more tired. "So I don't know your fuckin bullshit language - I just want some food."
"I don't believe you."
"Once again, I do not care. My food, please."
He purses his lips and completes the transaction. Finally!
After waiting for what feels like an eternity, I finally get my tray of food, and simply nod to the cashier as I head over to the closest empty table. Being the only customer in here, it's not hard to find one.
Before I even have a chance to eat, my newfound irritation sits down across from me. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. "Look, can I just enjoy my food in peace?" Taking another look at my burger, I mutter to myself, "okay, maybe 'enjoy' is pushing it..."
"If what you told me about your ability is true, then we could use your help - there's a word we've lost, a very important word. The only word left unknown in the language, in fact." He leans forward a bit. "And it's the word that opens an ancient safe, in which who knows what kind of riches are stored. If you help me open it, I'll give you some of it."
I stare at him, the cogs working in my tired brain. Eventually, I decide to just humor him - after all, money is money. "I'll open it, so long as I don't have to speak to anyone else in your family."
He nods, and I sigh as I quickly scarf down my food. We head outside, exchanging no conversation whatsoever, and share a quiet car ride to his home. It doesn't take very long to get there.
It's an old house - maybe seventy years old, judging by the area and the style of the design.
He leads me to a shed behind the house, and opens it with a key from his belt.
"This better be a decent amount of money, because you're probably very fired right about now," I mutter. He chuckles at that, and silently opens the doors, letting enough moonlight in for me to see the single box on a small table. It looks like it's steel, and it doesn't seem to have any seams at all.
"It's a code - and we know all the numbers in it, expect the zero. We don't know what that translates to. The code is just the numbers one to nine, and then zero. Could you say that, and maybe your ability will automatically translate it?"
I nod, and approach it while clearing my throat. I speak as if I'm speaking to him - I don't know what the limits of my ability are in terms of just speaking aloud to nobody in particular. I list one to nine, and, my heart pounding and nerves on edge despite how tired I am, I say the final number: zero.
As soon as I say it, my throat feels like it's on fire. I fall to me knees, coughing and hacking, and feeling as if I'm going to die. Tears come to my eyes, and I feel something coming out of my throat - not through my esophagus, as if I'm vomiting, but my trachea. It's painful, but I don't think it's causing any kind of damage.
One huge cough brings with it the cessation of pain, and the sound of metal falling onto wood. I open my eyes in confusion, and see I've coughed up a metal disk of some sort.
"What the fuck - what is this!?" I exclaim, confused and a bit scared. I look over at my new "friend". "What happened!?"
He looks pale, and just as confused as I am. "Y-you're speaking English now," he informs me. I look back down at the disk, even more confused than before. I frown, not really understanding what in the hell is going on.
Regardless, I wordlessly follow a faint instinct. I pick up the disk, stand, and press it against the cube.
The disk is immediately absorbed into its mass, and I jump as a loud mechanical clunk echoes throughout the shed. Whirring and mechanical sounds persist, and I faintly hear a door open and confused voices approaching the shed. I swallow back fear and look up at...
"I never got your name," I announce. It seems so trivial to think of, while a solid cube makes otherwordly sounds. But it's all I can think about, oddly enough.
"William," he introduces himself. "You?"
"Simon," I reply. I return my attention to the cube as the sound suddenly stops, and become acutely aware of people watching me from the doorway. I hear William explaining stuff to the new observers, but find myself captivated as the cube slowly opens, transforming in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.
Out of it comes a single, glowing stone. Despite my better judgement, I reach out to pick it up.
"No!" Someone behind me exclaims. It's too late - even as they grab my shoulder, my hand has closed around the enigmatic treasure. I feel a sudden surge of energy, and my vision goes white. I feel myself fall to the floor, and then - nothing.
|
“I’ll have a double cheeseburger deluxe,” I say looking up at the glowing menu, “with fries and regular spri--” I stop as I see the cashier with mouth agape and brows furrowed.
“What the f” she mouths, cutting off the last syllable as she hisses the f. Her confusion turned to an irritated stare obviously annoyed.
I reciprocated a confused look as I fidgeted with my wallet.
“Oh sorry,” she exclaims snapping back to reality “That’s a double cheeseburger deluxe with fries and regular coke. Is there any--”
“Sprite!” I corrected awkwardly.
“Regular Sprite. Is there anything else you want to add?”
“Nope that’s it.”
She writes something down on my receipt. She was slow, strokes intentional and heavy. She pauses, looks up, then scribbles again. “Remember,” she mutters before pushing the receipt my way. I picked a table so that my back is to a corner and read the back of the receipt. It had these weird blocky letters, I can tell they were supposed to curve by the erratic corners. None of the characters I can read save for the number 24 right by the end. I was tempted to ask the cashier what she just wrote on my receipt but that would lead to a lot of explaining and I felt like I didn’t have enough energy for it. What is it? Maybe it told me that I’d die in 24 hours? Maybe I owed her 24 whatever currency she wrote? Maybe she could just be crazy?
\-----
First time responding to a writing prompt! Constructive criticism is welcome! :D
| 2018-06-24T21:55:57 | 2018-06-24T21:35:31 | 80 | 18 |
[WP] Due to a minor typo, the city starts building homeless smelters.
|
Every day at 5, Bob sits on the steps outside my building and waits for me to get off work. No matter the weather, he's always there, with an orange or a banana to share with me. He's like a dog; he'll probably continue to come long after I'm fired, setting up camp in the adjoining alley when I fail to show. It's not like he has anywhere else to go.
As we walk to my car, he asks me how work was. Through bites of orange, I grunt a non-response. There's nothing to tell him: half of it, he wouldn't understand; the other half, he'd be better off not knowing. He's an abomination. An epidemic. A human right's violation. And it's all my fault.
Bob opens the door to my car and slips into the passenger's seat. He doesn't even ask anymore; he assumes my goodwill is infinite. Like his. We pull into Main, and they're swarming the street, infiltrating the rush hour traffic jams to offer their flowers, their pretzels, and in many cases, empty cans. "Spare us?" they ask, like conscious zombies, and I slide down in my seat to avoid looking at them. Some of them recognize Bob, and he gladly redistributes change from his own tin into theirs.
The highway is quiet. Bob does all the talking because I don't want to. Big Larry was hired today. Edge was arrested for drug possession. Mary's still missing. "Your department make any headway?" he asks, and I lie and say we haven't seen her, but we're working on it. I can't look at him. I want to cut his tongue out so he stops talking. I want to bathe him in smoke and urine and feed him cocktails of drugs and cut his face into pieces so he's no longer Bob, but just another one of them. He laughs, deep and throaty, as I unconsciously grip the steering wheel. "Relax," he says, "it's only life."
Only life, I agree to myself, only life I created and life I destroy. Devon from engineering says they're not actually life; they're just replicants. They have no souls. It doesn't matter if they feel or suffer or die: the objective is just to get them back in the box. He told me that again today, and I lost it. I flung my clipboard to the ground and screamed in his face that he was wrong. I wanted to rip those horn-rimmed glasses from his grimy face and show him what lay beyond his screens and his dials and his gadgets.
"Lacey, get a grip," he said, smacking the table, "think about the people. The actual people who are losing jobs to these things. We can't shelter everyone. We have to choose who matters, and these *things* don't matter. They're drains on society who should never have come into existence."
But Bob mattered. He gave me an orange or a banana each day and talked to me on the commute from home. He was an actual person, more than I felt I was on most days. Certainly more than I'd feel after today.
"Where are we going?" he asks as we pass my apartment. I tell him I have to run an errand, and of course, he complies with a nod. He has nowhere else to go.
"There's something bothering you," he says, and I realize from his glance that my knuckles are whitening around the steering wheel once again. "Go on. Tell Bob what's on your mind."
We're past the city limits now, far beyond the point of no return. "I messed up," I tell him. "I made a horrible mistake."
"Mistakes are lessons learned."
"Yes, Bob, I know. Everyone says that." He doesn't even flinch at my terseness, and I feel even guiltier. But he's wrong: there's no lesson to be learned from this. Some mistakes are just twists of fate, so isolated to circumstance that they can't be replicated. One involuntary twist of the finger, one mispressed key, was all it took. I can promise over and over to never make the same mistake again, but it's beyond my control to actually stay true to my word.
Devon and the rest of the city council agreed. So they assigned me penance: they told me to undo my mistakes myself, one at a time.
We arrive at the junkyard. "I'm going to need some help carrying this stuff," I say. Bob cracks his knuckles and swings his arms at his sides as he emerges from the car. He follows me blindly, his hand on my shoulder, making sure I don't stumble on any of the piles of junk or detritus.
Around the edge of the yard, there's a pile of junk waist high, short enough for me to peer over, but high enough to conceal something in the center. "Grab that for me, will you?" I point and step aside, and Bob cranes his neck over the pile.
"Grab what?" Bob says, but there's nothing there, and I plunge the knife in his back. He whirls around, and for a moment, I'm scared he'll retaliate in his last few moments of consciousness. But he doesn't: he just stands there, shock and hurt in his eyes. As he sinks to the ground, he calls my name over and over, refusing to believe I'm not just an impostor. His face strikes the ground, and his eyes shut.
I drag his body to the incinerator. From fire he was made, and to fire he shall return. At least, I tell myself, it might give his death some meaning. And Mary's death. And everyone else's. It offers me no comfort, though, and I have to look away as his body vanishes in the heat.
|
I picked up a newspaper from the pavement, and my eyes caught the headline. Horrified, I went on to read the piece.
>THE END OF THE HOMELESSNESS DISEASE
Our Supremem Leader Jim has ordered that homelessness be excised. Homelessness is a disease, He said, in a televised interview, that was watched by everyone. Our Supreme Leader ordered that 10, 000 Homeless Smelters be built immediately for the glory of our nation. The order came yesterday, on a document signed by the Supreme Leader himself. The new smelters are now being built, and will be opened tomorrow. All homeless people are required to submit themselves to the authorities immediately. It is high time we end this disease!
Fuck. I am homeless.
| 2016-10-19T23:54:21 | 2016-10-19T23:45:08 | 935 | 13 |
[WP] "I wish for more wishes". "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish for more genies". "THAT IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish those rules did not exist". The genie warps in a humongous book and flips to a page before smugly saying "THAT TOO IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES".
|
"Then," Ali said patiently, "Can I know what isn't?"
The genie looked over his tiny reading glasses, and Ali could swear it was intended to be condescending. "Oh, who am I to tell you what to do, Master?"
Ali's eye twitched. Smile wavered.
"What do I call you?" he said, "Mr. Genie? Doraemon?"
"You can call me anything you like, Master." the genie flashed his teeth, taking out That Book again, "It's right here in the rul--"
"No!" Ali groaned, "Just tell me a name!"
The genie blinked. "My name? Er. You can call me... Jin?"
*How creative*, lamented Ali.
Look, being from an ancient line of sorcerers was hard work. Especially if you had sort of stopped being sorcerers for the past seventy years or so, and got into the business of publishing.
A publishing business that failed. Obviously, the next step was to go back to being sorcerers. As they say, going back to your roots and all that.
There was nobody Ali could ask questions to, and most of his knowledge came from his maniacal father's stories of glory and wealth and Tricking The Djinn. And Aladdin. You didn't forget Aladdin.
So when the genie *planted it's genie feet on the ground* instead of revealing itself in a puff of (secretly, he was hoping for royal blue) smoke.... It was on Ali that he didn't anticipate everything going sideways.
The candlelight flickered once, before going out. Jin shook his head and snapped his not-pudgy fingers. All the books Ali had read and the new *Aladdin* remake got the genie right, regardless of Will smith being much stockier.
Every light in the room flashed on at the same time.
"*That* wasn't against the rules?" Ali gritted his teeth and smiled wider all at the same time, "Messing with your master's property?"
The genie immediately went back to the damn book, as if to check. It probably weighed about one-fourth of Ali's body-weight, but the bastard was holding it up with ease.
"Sit down if you're going to be up all night reading, why don't you?" he mumbled under his breath.
And sit down the genie did. A couch that Ali didn't own, one far too elaborate for his dingy one room apartment materialized for the genie to drop into.
*Of all the uncooperative, condescending, cheeky...*
"I'm going to bed." the boy finally announced, the last of his patience evaporating. It didn't look like they were getting anywhere with this today. There was a class for seven am tomorrow, and his watch was already showing three. He needed sleep, and he needed it immediately.
The genie's brows furrowed, and he squinted Ali. "Aren't you going to," he jerked a thumb at the beaten-up lamp in a corner, and made a *whooosh* motion, "Put me back?"
That was *it*. "What are you?'' Ali yelled, "A kid? You can go back when you want to! I'm not going to tuck you in!"
"No, uh, I meant, precautio--"
"Do you think you can read in a lamp?! Why in the world do you want to be in one!?"
"I *can* read in a lamp though..." Jin trailed off.
Ali took a deep breath. He pinched his nose and then took a *series* of deep breaths. This wasn't him, no, it was just a very, very, stressful day. He needed to show dad he did this or the man would never get off his back. There was a horrible genie. There was class tomorrow. It was *fine*.
"Alright. I'd really appreciate you using only *one* light if hanging around, thanks." Ali informed him testily, before turning on his heel. There was no doors to slam in a one-room apartment, but he could always turn his back on people.
The genie's eyes suddenly twinkled, and Ali had a really bad feeling about this. "Your wish is my command, my Master."
Wait. "Oh! No, no, no-"
It was too late. Jin had already snapped his fingers.
He was such an idiot. Of course this would never work out. And he'd never summon another genie ever again and he'd continue being a failure and--
All the lights were still on.
Ali looked between a shaking genie and tube lights, jaw agape in his confusion. A few seconds of blinking back and forth, and the being on the couch let out a long breath.
"I can't believe you fell for that, Master!" the genie wheezed, a hand on his mouth to stop his giggles. *Giggles*. He did a complicated maneuver with his fingers, and the book shuffled to a new page, "It says right here you have to start the wish with *I wish*. It's against the rules otherwise."
The relief hit first. There *was* only one wish, and if nothing, he wanted to pay his *tutions*. Student loans were a bitch. Dad would have been so disappointed. He wouldn't even *believe* Ali about the genie.
The anger hit next.
"You!" Ali shouted, clapping his hands together, pleading, "Can you *please* get back to reading?! I *will* be asking questions!" After he read it tomorrow himself, of course.
There was *class*.
With a final glare at the genie, Ali climbed into bed. He read somewhere that you asserted dominance by maintaining eye-contact, but he wasn't about to stare a hole into this scoundrel before going to sleep.
He'd have nightmares or something.
Ali turned his back on the genie and arranged his blankets. A few comforting minutes, and his ears perked up.
"No singing! Read!" he ordered. "I need to sleep!"
"Whatever you say, Master," the genie sing-songed.
|
Human Errors in Question [Poem]
——————————————
*said the genie but I replied*
But what about the book and the rules?
What about freeing you?
If there are so many rules. What’s the point of being a genie? In the first place and why would any of it matter? Who even made the rules in the first place, you or some other genie? For if your the only genie it must mean that you had to
make other genies before so who wrote the other rules otherwise? Why are you even a genie in the first place? Now let me think I wish everything I say to be straightforward and simple.
*snap*
Oh that was fast… wait a
*the genie laughs*
I wish for my words to never ever end at any circumstances
*snap*
You little genie I wish I never had met you and we could redo this from the the top
*snap*
| 2022-01-04T02:54:27 | 2022-01-03T23:28:03 | 96 | 13 |
[WP] The whole town knows about it. The black shadow on the baby monitor. Sudden changed diapers or meals ready for kids when they get home. Cleaned rooms and drawn baths. It is known as The Babysitter. It will never harm a child, but heaven help those who don't pay for its services.
|
Rule number 1: Always thank the babysitter.
It was a simple rule to remember in our small town. When you left your house for work, if you were the last adult out the door and had children in the home, Always thank the babysitter. The babysitter just appreciated gratitude. It was said that if you didn't they wouldn't return again.
Our town had a sort of... peculiarity. Some mght call it a curse, but that wasn't the proper word. It never seemed to cause harm. Well never intended to. Instead it was a spirit that looked after the children of our town. Everyone knew of the babysitter.
If you grew up in our town it was just an everyday thing. Mom and dad would leave for work, and your imaginary friend, the same one everybody had, would look after you. They'd play games with you, like hide and seek. They'd cook for you. They even learned your favorite shows and reminded you when they would come on! I remember Saturday mornings running down stairs when I heard the T.V. come on. Just barely seeing the last wisps of shadow snake around the corner of the living room as my ghostly friend went to prepare breakfast.
Rule 2: Don't go outside.
It seemed the babysitter couldn't leave, and only really had power in, any house it was invited into. Once it appeared, it had to remain indoors. No one knew why, but no one ever saw it outside, not even once. So once mom and dad left the doors and windows remained closed until they returned. and as soon as either parent walked in the door, the baby sitter would disappear until it was next needed.
I remember when I was in second grade, we had a new girl in school who was in tears a few days after she joined. She told us of a ghost in her house, and when she saw it she tried to run, she found the doors wouldn't open. She was absolutely terrified, and cried until her father came home and scared it away.
We found it peculiar that anyone would be scared of the babysitter, after all we had grown up with it all our lives. It rocked us in our cribs, it warmed our bottles when our parents could not. It was like a third parent for us, the idea that everybody didn't have a ghostly guardian was foreign to us. We comforted her, we played with her. Soon the babysitter was her friend too.
Rule 3: Always pay the baby sitter.
I remember one time mom and dad seemed to be away for a long time, very long. The day seemed to stretch on far longer than it should. It wouldn't be until I would grow and have little ones of my own that I'd learn what that meant. But in all that time my spectral friend treated me just the same. We played, we watched television, it fed me. It made sure I was cared for.
Suddenly however, my parents were in the living room. The babysitter disappeared, shrinking into the dark corners of the room, and my parents simply took it's place. One moment they were gone, and when I blinked, there they were! They hadn't even walked in the door!
They had simply forgotten to 'pay' the baby sitter, and so the baby sitter took me with it. Hidden me away until it received it's payment.
I don't know where I really was, all I know is that it hid me away someplace that looked like my house. At some point my house wasn't my house anymore.
Rule 4: Do not harm a child, ever.
It may seem negligent to leave children in the care of a shadowy omnipresent ghost like figure, but It has an impeccable track record for keeping children safe while the parents are away. not once has a child protected by the babysitter ever been harmed. I know this for a fact.
One time our house had been broken into while my parents were out. I was surprised when I heard the sound of breaking glass and ran downstairs. The baby sitter was setting the table at the time, so it was close to the living room.
It had been watching the intruder sneak in through the now broken window. It had seen this strange man violate the sanctity of the home it was sworn to protect.
We had both seen the gun in his hand...
The man hadn't seen either of us right away. I watching from the stairs, the baby sitter from the darkened kitchen.
He slid inside and looked out the window, I heard a siren pass by and saw the flashing of red and blue lights on his face. He breathed a sigh of relief, then looked around.
He saw me, a 10 year old boy watching from the stairway.
A witness to this strange man clearly wanted by the police.
My eyes went wide as he raised his weapon, but suddenly the shadows from the kitchen engulfed him. I briefly heard him scream before the whole world went black, and the sound cut out.
I thought he managed to fire off a shot, that I had been hit, that I was dead. the thought raced through my mind for just a moment before I started to hear... song...
Music. Soothing, beautiful music. I couldn't really place it then, and I never could since. However, it was definitely some sort of lullaby. A beautiful, peaceful, melodious chorus that spoke of good times and places of tranquility.
Suddenly I was in my bed. I hadn't been harmed. I raced downstairs to find my parents home, the window undamaged and mother cleaning the dishes. Evident I slept through their return.
I thought I had just had a nightmare until I saw that mans face on the news, the police wanted him in connection for the murder of his girlfriend.
Rule 5: The payment is different for each person.
Once you make a contract with the babysitter, you'll know what your payment is. It's like an instinct. You'll know, everyone does. It's always something personal, some memento, a token that represents your bond with your child.
Apparently my parents would always stop at the arcade on the way home and get an arcade token, as I loved that place. when it shut down they had to make arrangements to go to the one the next town over. they tried making alternate arrangements with the babysitter, but it just doesn't work that way.
Now that I'm grown up, I have a small stockpile of Cinderella dolls. My little girl, Cindy, is precious to me, and she loves her Cinderella toys. I have to keep the stockpile secret, she'd go crazy if she knew I had close to 100 of them in my shed.
Every time I come home, I go to the shed and grab one. and when I walk in the door I leave a doll on the table. The shadows take it, and I find her playing in her room, safe and sound.
Us grown ups don't get to see the babysitter much anymore, but I'll always remember my shadowy friend, and I'll always respect it for keeping me, and my little girl safe.
|
You watch as the shadow goes about your house while you are at work. You know what is said about it. It won’t hurt a child but must be paid for its service. You decide not to.
&#x200B;
Several weeks go by and nothing bad happens. You think you got away with it.
&#x200B;
The day is like any other: cloudless sky, 60\*F. You leave your house and go to work Quickly you realize that there is something not right. you notice the shadow is at work outside the office. It starts out small the coffee maker is broken whenever you want coffee, only to be working when someone else is getting coffee. Then it advanced to the store is always out of stock of whatever you want. Then you start to notice the fact that your phones battery lasts less and less each day.
&#x200B;
The next day however your car won’t start, you call a mechanic, keeping it plugged in because it now lasts 3 seconds, when the mechanic gets there and says that there is nothing wrong with the car. He starts it up to prove it to you. It works the until the moment you hit the gas in which it dies again.
&#x200B;
You then realize that the only reason you are not yet dead is because that would hurt your kids. You also realize that it has not touched your finances, except for the new phone you got, because it still has to give you a way to provide for your kids. Finally, you say that enough is enough, you pay up. It will not undo any existing punishments. As you realize that you will have to walk everywhere and that you must keep your phone plugged in. You ask yourself why did you did not give it $200 a week. It had continued working while you were refusing to pay so your debt had accumulated to be $3,200. As you write the check you think “oh well”.
| 2020-04-14T17:26:13 | 2020-04-14T14:35:26 | 1,688 | 177 |
[WP] Suddenly it's found out that reincarnation is real and that after we die, we'll be reborn either as a "higher" or "lower" being based on our life. The twist is, "human" is at the very bottom and we can't even really comprehend the higher forms.
|
Sentience; an odd word to start off a sentence.
Sentient and divine, exquisite. Every word that defines the impossible, the perfect, the heavens. O, my! There is no word in any language that accurately grasps the sensation, both gay and insensate. The feeling of nothing and everything at once.
*Enlightenment*.
I am Tathāgata.
My being was wrapped in a cocoon of light and I was curled up like a mammal babe. I was flesh nor bone nor feather. I was made of the same light that surrounded me, as was the world in which I had been reborn.
I opened my "eyes" and twisted my body, it was time for me to escape this cocoon. I twisted and pulled and pushed, until finally my body escaped the stringy basket of light in a flood of illumination. I floated down towards a marble floor and when my feet touched the ground a hundred-thousand beings in robes of gold and white appeared.
They stood on the right and left, creating a divide for me to walk through. Although they wore robes of luminous nothing, I was *naked* - as naked as one could be in this existence. Despite my lack of coverings, I felt only warmth and comfort. I walked towards the throne to take my place among the heavens.
The longer I walked, the further away the throne felt. I was getting no closer. I stopped and faced my audience, and beckon for help. It was then I realized how much larger they were, giant statues of silence and I was but a tiny doll. They made no answer but all their eyes faced me; eyes white and terrorizing. For the first time since my rebirth I felt unsure.
I looked away and continued the journey to the throne, but it continued to waiver ever further in the distance.
"Why?!" I yelled out and fell to the ground. The marble was cold on my chassis and I suddenly felt human again. I felt weak, frail and sick. My beautiful body began to change from warm light to cold flesh.
"Help me, what is happening?" I tried to yell it but words could not escape because my mouth was missing. I could make no noise, no moan or whine. All I had left were my eyes and I floated further away from the throne, unable to stop. I wanted to cry out, I wanted to question what was happening but I had nothing. No ability to think, I was an empty vessel made of celestial soot.
Finally, I stopped moving and looked around. I now stood in the crowd of the robe-wearing watchers. I was in the front, near where I had been born. The birthing stone was made of brilliant gold and shaped like wrapped grape leaves. The leaves opened revealing a new existence, who was naked as I had been. It ran towards the throne in the distance but could not make it.
I heard a distant "why are you doing this?!" and everything made sense.
This was not Nirvana.
Everything went black and quiet.
After a while, from the blackness arose a memory. There I stood, in my human body, in the light of a glass-stained window. The painted shadows danced around me and made the dark room look bright. There was a smile on my face, I looked at peace. How could I end up here? I had been a man of God my entire life. Anger tried to bubble inside me, but I was to enamoured in watching myself.
I wanted to cry out but I could not. Every prayer, every religious manifesto and yet I appeared to be Limbo. It was not right.
I watched myself look in the mirror, and then something caught my eye in the reflection. The memory-me spoke but the words were distorted. It didn't matter, I knew what I said.
"Stop crying, boy. Without me you'd be on the streets."
In the corner of the room crouched a crumpled boy. He wore a robe that was white and gold, and stained red.
He cried and I was filled with terror.
"But I confessed, I absolved my sins!" I needed to scream.
It was black again and I saw or heard nothing. I felt something though. Something was in the room with me, crawling at my feet and pressing on my robe. I was scared and hoped this was a nightmare I could awaken from.
From the darkness came the figure of the boy: face peeling to reveal rotted flesh, yes gaping voids and his body was bony and famine. He said nothing to me, but from his moulding mouth protruded wolf-like teeth and he began to eat me. First my cheeks, my ears.
All I could do was watch in terror for he did not consume my eyes and I could not close them.
When he finished, the doors to Nirvana appeared and he walked away from me and into eternal peace.
I laid in the darkness in unimaginable pain until I was brought back to the marble hallway. I took my place among the sinners, and watched with them as a new miscreant was born and tried to make his way to the golden throne that promised heaven.
He yelled out for help, but no one replied because our mouths were gone. All we had were our eyes, white and terrorizing.
___
**Okay it's early morning and this story is awful but I'm tired and it's good to exercise my noggin' first thing in the morning with writing.**
|
You were trapped, my child
Lost, and ever so cold
You clung to your masks, you set yourself tasks
To whittle down Time until you grew old
And here you stand at Pearly gate
And now I offer a choice of fate:
You can step through, into the blinding light of tomorrow
Or you can hang back, just in case she changes her mind.
| 2016-02-01T10:29:55 | 2016-02-01T07:03:48 | 35 | 15 |
[WP] At the age of 18, people summon an animal that perfectly fits their personality to be their Guardian Spirit.
The animal would probably not be of the user's choice.
Just putting that out there.
|
Sebastian Barkwith awoke early on the morning of his eighteenth birthday. Anticipation of what lay ahead of him today meant that he had hardly slept at all. He was already out of bed and dressed in his Sunday Best when Mary, the maid, knocked softly on the door and came in, her lop-eared rabbit hopping contentedly at her feet. "The Mistress would like you to come down to breakfast at eight," she said as she knelt at the hearth to light the fire. Then she smiled. "Oh, and happy birthday, Mr Barkwith."
Sebastian smiled back. It would be hard getting used to that; Mister instead of Master. But he was an adult now and by the end of the day he would have his Guardian Spirit to prove it. "Thank you, Mary." He glanced down at the rabbit, resisting the urge to kneel and pet it. Touching another person's spirit was the height of bad ettiquette. "Can I ask you something, Mary?"
"Of course, Mr Barkwith." She sat back on her heels, wiping her sooty hands on her long grey skirt.
"How did you feel, when you got your rabbit? Were you disappointed?"
"Oh no, Mr Barkwith, not at all. I adore him." She patted her knees and the rabbit hopped up into her lap. It stood on its hindlegs and nuzzled Mary's cheek. "People get what they give, Mr Barkwith, if you get my drift."
Sebastian nodded. "Or what they need, maybe," he said, almost to himself. "My father was a Rabbit," he added softly.
Breakfast with his mother was even more tense than usual. He preferred to take his morning meal in his room but as today was a special day, this formality could not be avoided. "Sebastian," she said, eyeing him up and down, inspecting his morning suit and his hair. "Is that the best you can do?"
"Mother!" He glared at her and sat down at the table while Mary brought his breakfast; eggs Benedict, toast, orange juice. He ate silently for a few minutes. "A 'Happy Birthday' would have been nice you know. I'm eighteen today."
Mrs Barkwith stirred her tea, the silver spoon rattling loudly on the cup. "I expect your Spirit to be something of status, Sebastian. I shall be terribly disappointed if you take after your father." There was a low growl from beside her chair and Sebastian glanced uncomfortably at the skinny jackal whose yellow eyes were fixed on him with something like hunger. Sebastian had always hated that beast.
"Of course Mother," he said without looking at her. "You'll never live down the shame with your Salon friends if I get a mouse or a sheep. Or a Rabbit." Sebastian swallowed hard. He wasn't sure he could live with the shame of a mouse or a sheep either but a rabbit, he would possibly be content with because of his father. Rather that than a jackal.
After breakfast was done, there was hardly any time to worry about it and by ten o'clock Sebastian was sitting in a steam carriage on the way to the Grand Technomancer's Hall for the first of several formal receptions of the day. Sebastian forced a smile on his face and kept it there for what felt like hours as he shook hands and received congratulations from members of his extended family, most of whom he had never seen before. There was Uncle Percy, his face florid red and his expansive waistline threatening to burst out of his tweed suit. Percy's ginger Tamworth pig snuffled the ground at his feet.
"Sebastian, old boy!" Percy bellowed cheerfully as he gave Sebasian a hearty pat on the back that almost knocked him over. "Congratulations boy, happy birthday, now don't be nervous old chap." He lowered his voice a little, "and don't let that old hag hassle you if you end up with something she doesn't approve of. Any trouble, you just let me know, I'll sort her out." He winked and tapped the side of his nose.
Sebastian continued to mingle, as was proper, and was surprised to find that one of the guests was Prime Minister Sir Henry Proudmoor, along with the ever-present raven perched on his shoulder. Sebastian recognised him from pictures he'd seen in the newspapers. "I knew your father," Proudmoor explained as he shook Sebastian's hand. "Years ago, we were at university together. Such a tragedy."
"It wasn't a tragedy, Sir," Sebastian answered coldly. "It was murder."
As the reception drew to a close, a steward rang a bell to announce the start of the ceremony. Only close family would be permitted in the main hall while the Prime Minister and other guests were escorted to the main dining hall for a formal luncheon. Sebastian was glad he hadn't skipped breakfast; it would be several hours before *he* would get any lunch.
A Technomancer came forward, accompanied by his strange Guardian; some kind of large lizard creature that Sebastian did not recognise. He placed a white hooded cloak around Sebastian's shoulders and took off his top hat so he could raise the hood. Then, in silence, he followed the Technomancer into the Grand Hall and stood before the great Steam Altar. Upon the altar was a large Van der Graaf generator; a glass globe inside of which bolts of lightning flickered and flashed. Sebastian stood where he was directed while the Technomancer addressed the assembled congregation.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to witness the coming of age of Mr Sebastian Clarence Torrington Barkwith and the manifestation of his Guardian Spirit. We have faith that the Power of Science will prevail and the Spirit that Sebastian shall receive will be that most suited to him and his future purpose in life."
The Technomancer turned to Sebastian. "Don't worry lad, it might be a little uncomfortable but it won't last long. Now, put your hands on the glass."
Sebastian took a deep breath and placed the palms of his hands against the generator's glass globe. Immediately he felt a jolt of static and pulled back in shock but he steeled himself and put them back. The lightning in the globe seemed attracted to him and flashed against the glass where his hands were touching. He closed his eyes and felt every hair on his body stand on end as the energy seemed to flow into him. Into, and through, and out again. There was a pain, tearing, splitting in his head and he cried out but he dare not move his hands. He had heard of people who had broken contact before the process was complete; they had never received their Guardian Spirit and few lived for long after that. Like his father, after his rabbit was...
Sebastian's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden loud sound like a thunderclap in the air as something materialised out of nothing. Gasps from the assembled congregation of Sebastian's family, followed by stunned silence.
*Don't tell me, I got a mouse*
Cautiously Sebastian opened his eyes, looking at the ground beside him. Not a mouse. A large paw, golden-furred. His eyes followed the thick strong leg up to where it attached to the body of a large and very magnificent maned lion. Stunned, Sebastian's knees gave way and he sank to the floor. The lion came forward, nuzzled him, licked his face. Sebastian could hear its thoughts in his head. *Stand up. Face them. Be worthy of me.* He looked into the lion's deep amber eyes then nodded and stood again, turning towards the shocked faces of his family.
None more so than his mother who was staring at him, her face as pale as death. Under her chair the jackal cowered, trembling in fear.
*ETA: correction of minor errors and punctuation*
|
*ritual soon omg cant w8 u onli summon once so #yolo #yoso #spirittime*
*@kaseters omg excitd wat do u tink ure gettg*
*@cutecheekbuttswag i dunno prob sth kool lyk a jaguar for mi inner beeyatch lol or sth random lyk a penguin or eggsotic lyk a peacock*
*@kaseters wat if it's #uknowat*
*@cutecheekbuttswag ill kill miself dont u dare even think it*
"Casey put down that damn phone, everyone's waiting for you."
Casey rolled her eyes. "God, mom, it's *my* summoning ritual, you know."
"Yes, and all your grandparents and aunts and uncles are here to witness it, so show some respect. Move!"
Sneering, Casey tucked her phone into her bra -- she had shorts on, but they were so short and tight that she couldn't fit anything bigger than a couple of credit cards in them. Not that anyone needed more than a couple of cards.
She went through the preparation for the ritual (*lookin swag in mi ritual paint, shld get a totes adorbs tatt like this 1ne #selfie #spirittime*) and the traditional steps (*old pple shld just #shutup) with increasing impatience. Finally, when her mom nodded at her, Casey blew out the candle, said the ritual words, and then threw her arms in the air and screamed: "COME TO ME PENGUIN OF DOOM!"
There was a loud *crack* and a thud as something heavy materialised in the middle of the circle. Casey shrieked in excitement. "*Turn on the lights! Moooom!*"
"Yes, yes hold on -- huh."
The lights came on. Everyone stared.
"Braaap," went the sheep. It blinked at them, and began chewwing placidly on its own floppy ear.
One second went by. Two seconds, three, four.
The sheep went, "Braap!" and stopped chewing, shaking its head in pain. There were teeth marks on its ear. It stilled, looking confused as to where the thing that was hurting it had gone.
Another three seconds.
The sheep started chewing on its ear again.
Casey started to cry.
**Epilogue**
*#uknowat #spirittime*
*@kaseters omg im so sorry u got #uknowat at least u can say ure part of e new gen #99percent #sheeppower rite???!!!*
*@cutecheekbuttswag #shutup*
**End**
^(I nearly shorted out my mental circuits trying to write in text speak.)
| 2014-06-26T03:05:10 | 2014-06-26T02:25:59 | 170 | 45 |
[WP] Necromancy is just the arcane equivalent of computer programming, and grimoires on necromancy are just like libraries of code on animating the undead. You work the equivalent of the IT Help Desk for your necromancer cult. These are your work stories.
|
My phone rang.
"Thank you for calling support, this is Rick, how can I assist you today?
>It's not working. Ever since Necrosoft decided that Revival7 should be phased out and forced us on to Revival10 this damned thing's been out of wack!
"Uh.. Alright, sir. Well - What's the actual problem? What is it that you're unable to do right now, or what specifically isn't working?"
>None of it! I open my tome, it flashes the usual arcane dogma, and then opens the portal view of all my runes and scripts. I can open any of those, but if I try to get to the Intra-Portal to raise a soul, nothing happens. It just sits there!
"I see, I see. Okay. So you said this was Revival10, right?"
>Damned thing! Of course it is! Isn't that what everyone has now, since they FORCED it on us??
"Yessir. Let's go ahead and go to the bottom left, and we're going to hover over your Initiation Rune."
Silence. Stretched on for a minute or two. More silence.
"Sir...?"
>What?
"Let's press the initiation rune?"
>Oh, right. Yeah I don't see it. It's not there.
"It's right there. Bottom left of the page, four little white rectangular runes..."
>I'm not seeing it.
I sighed. Every day. Since Necrosoft put out the Revival 10 series of tomes, all the truly old Necromancers had been having possibly the worst time getting rituals completed.
"Ok, let's try again. Bottom left corner, four white rectangular runes. Go ahead and hover your finger over the-"
>You mean on the tome itself?
This question used to bring incredulity to the forefront. Now it brought resignation. Where else would I be talking about?
"Yes sir, the tome itself. We want to be looking at the actual tome. Not at your stylus, not at the desk. On. The. Tome."
>Oh, I found it! Thank you! Haha, I'm not so good at this new Revival10 - I miss the good old days of Revival7 where it all looked the same.
"Yessir," I reply, giving a modicum of admission that Revival7, having been around for essentially a decade, was indeed a good system of Tomes. "Now that we've found it, go ahead and hover your finger over it, and chant the following - Charlie Mike Delta. Charlie Mike Delta. Charlie Mike Delta."
I listened as the end user did as he was told, and a loud sucking noise could suddenly be heard, followed by a soft "bang" noise. The user didn't say anything for a moment, so I prompted him "We should be seeing a black void window now, with a flashing white totem line, right?"
>Yes, that's right. What do I do now?
The issue at hand was rather simple - His new Revival10 Tome wasn't connecting to the Aetherlife, and without a valid Intra-Portal address, he couldn't summon or revive anyone. Even better, he worked from home, and so of course this needed to be fixed **right. now.**
"Alright. So, I want you to repeat after me, and the words should appear in white script as you chant. They should appear in the black portal. Let me know if they don't, ok?"
>Ok -
"I, like internment, P like Proselytize, -" He cut me off...
>Nothing's happening. I said the letters but nothing is showing up.
"Did you tap on the void portal?" I inquire, with this being the most common issue. He had not.
>Ok, ok. Sorry, start over for me?
I run through the phonetics again. Eventually, the customer has large floating white letters reading "ipconfig/renew". The real trick here is encanting properly, as "renew" has to have some shout, some power behind it to force the Tome to reach out and obtain an Intra-Portal address.
"Alright sir, this last one isn't something we can do for you. You have to put some power behind the word "renew" - Just like you're bringing someone back, or say... raising a familiar. So go ahead and entone the first part, but really put your power in to "renew" ok?"
>Yeah yeah I have to do this every few weeks. Ever since Revival10 came out, the damn thing hasn't worked. I have to call you guys almost every other day! It's getting ridiculous-"
I cut him off. It's not good to let Necromancers go on rants. They literally just... never stop, and some times you end up being the dead person instead of bringing them back.
"Ok sir. I understand. Let's shout "Renew" on three, okay? One..."
The customer hissed at the rebuke, but did as he was told, counting with me. "Two..." The black portal quivered and the edges lit up a dark blue colour - "Three!"
>Hey, it worked! I went ahead and opened my copy of Intra-Portal-Explorer and I was able to get my main page up!
"Very good, sir." I said in the most cheerful possible way. My eyes never moved. I was dead inside after dealing with this eight hours a day. "If anything else arises (I spared myself a dark chuckle at my awful necromancy joke) feel free to call us back, we're available 24\7 at both our phone line here, and our Sanscrit Messaging Service, where you simply write on a wall with our Intra-Portal address, and we'll respond accordingly. Thank you!"
>You've been very helpful, I really appreciate it! Now, I have four more Tomes all doing the same thing...
I sighed. He sighed. The capricious gods of the afterlife laughed at my suffering. Such was a Tuesday in Necro-IT.
|
"Hey nerd", James shouted in my telecom.
"What is it", I reply, already annoyed. James was always cocky, barely able to reanimate five soldiers of the Tahaka dynasty, yet acted like he could summon demons from the ninth circle.
"My reanimator isn't working again, get your ass here and fix it.", he said, annoyed. He was probably trying to reanimate a whore of Babylon without permission and broke it.
"Have you tried turning it off and on again?", I smirked.
"All right get here now, or you might get fired for messing around with colleagues during work time, and I'll personally make sure to put a dent as big as Satan's fist on your resume.", He lost his cool so quick.
"Oh, coming then."
I saw it as soon as I got there. I was right. He was at least trying to summon something of not-so-nice character from Babylon. But he got all the symbols wrong.
It took about 15 minutes, and a lot of glaring from James to fix it. And just for fun, I made sure he couldn't summon anything with not-so-nice character anymore.
"Thanks, nerd, now shoo."
| 2018-04-28T02:42:46 | 2018-04-28T02:15:43 | 71 | 16 |
[WP] On one rainy day, you decide to chill and listen to some music. You put on Don't Fear the Reaper, but then you hear an ambulance driving past your house. You put on Mr. Blue Sky, and the nonstop rain ends abruptly. You realize you have a superpower: You can control the world with music.
|
Xavier could control the world with music. He knew this as a fact.
The day he’d met Angela he’d been listening to Lou Reed’s *Perfect Day*. The cassette had been on repeat in his Ford Torino as he’d driven the I-85 through South Carolina. He’d heard it on the radio the previous day, then listened out for it to be played again all that night. He finally caught it on a tape like he’d trapped a ghost; held the cassette up like a holy relic.
It was as trapped by him as he was by it.
Angela had been on the side of the road, thumb wavering half-up as if she hadn’t decided if she was in a good mood or bad. Probably bad, he thought, seeing as the rain was splashing down hard on her.
Xavier pulled over. Opened the window, turned Lou down until he could hear his wipers squeak their way across the screen. “Need a ride?”
Angela was about his age. The prettiest smile he’d ever seen. How’d she managed to produce that when she looked half drowned, he never did know.
”Where you heading?” he asked.
”Where you going?”
They were both heading to Virgina, it turned out. Him to start a new job. Her cause she wanted to go anywhere that wasn’t home. Her rain-damp clothes glued over the bruises on her arms, hid them flat. If this ride was going to Virginia, so was she. Besides, there seemed something right about it, about Virginia. It sounded like starting over.
He didn’t ask her about much, not on the first day. But they listened to Lou a lot. She laughed as it repeated. Laughed harder as it did a third time.
Eventually she asked, “This what we stuck with for the next however-many-hours? Not got any other cassettes?”
He didn’t.
She shrugged and they both sang along until the rain stopped and the sky blued up.
When Xavier listened to music, it changed the world. Here was the proof.
After she left him, after they’d arrived in Richmond, about a week passed before Xavier found the note.
Angela must have written it when he’d been in a service stop. She’d tucked it behind the passenger seat sun visor.
He’d been cleaning and it had fluttered down onto the seat.
*Find me,* it said.
He must have called fifty motels with a name and description before he got lucky. Said he was searching for his missing sister.
“I knew you would,” she said, when they met for the second time. “I knew you’d find me.”
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Long after they were married, on the days when he headed to the hospital to visit her, he’d listen to *Don’t Stop Believin*. The Ford had long gone. So had the family vehicle — the little chicks had flown the nest. But this car had a CD player and it was easier to put a song on repeat. He liked that about CDs.
In the hospital he’d talk about the future with Angela. He’d plan out trips for when she got better. She liked Americana, haunted houses, places with a bit of mystery. He got out a map and put in on her bed. Drew a line down Route 66, told her of all the places they’d stop.
He read her stories.
She smiled that same smile she had when they’d first met, when she’d been soaked and hiding bruises.
On the way back to his lonely home he didn’t listen to any music.
Later, after she was gone, he thought that might be why it happened. That he should have fucking listened to something with *miracle* in the title.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Music died when she died. He listened to the news on the radio and that was about it. The house became scabbed with dust, with cobwebs, with bottles he’d drained to numb him to sleep.
His kids called sometimes but they didn’t visit much. They lived the other side of the country, families of their own to take care of.
”Are you sure you’re okay, Dad? I just— Oh crap, I got to go. I love you, Dad. Bye.”
Every day seemed to rain.
Didn’t matter what song came on the radio, nothing changed. Only when you’re young does music change the world. And only then does it change *your* world, he realized.
When you’re old, nothing changes it.
He drank a lot. He ate little. He went out even less. Started smoking again.
He could feel himself slowly rotting away. An old chair that had once been part of a set. Now the partner chair was gone and his own wood was bad and too risky to put weight on. Now it was only good for looking at, for remembering how even things that had once been useful and solid all eventually deteriorate.
&#x200B;
It was a mechanic that found the note.
Xavier’s car had broken down, and although he visited few places anymore, the graveyard was somewhere he still went once every week. The damn car — can’t trust modern cars as far as you can chuck them — broke down in the church car park, of all places.
A song thrummed out of the mechanic’s van. *Here Comes The Sun* by the Beatles.
The mechanic said, handing over the note, “It fell out from behind the visor. Here.“
The note read, simply, “You found me once. You’ll never lose me.”
Long after the mechanic had gone, Xavier remained seated in his car in front of the church.
He’d been crying for a long time. Crying until his vision was blurred enough to almost see her sitting there next to him.
”I love you,” he said.
There was no answer.
For the first time since she’d left, he didn’t need one.
The sun etched yellow streaks through the clouds.
It wasn’t a perfect day. It would never be again. But he’d *had* those perfect days with her. Plenty of them, if he thought hard and honest about it. And those perfect memories, they’d always be with him, tucked away inside his heart.
He could hear the music humming inside him now, emanating from deep in his chest. But it wasn’t Lou singing anymore — it was Angela.
|
It had always been her belief that music made the world come alive. She typically felt numb and invisible, but when it came to music, she could melt into the waves and blend into the universe. She felt one, she felt whole, when she could lose herself in a song.
At first, the realization that she could affect the world around her by the music she listened to gave her a sense of control she had never felt in her life. Being fifteen and part of a household where her parents were constantly fighting with each other, all she wanted to do was feel like she had somewhere she belonged where the fighting would stop - but control of her situation would do.
She would play different songs for people she passed by, hoping to brighten their moods. Seeing people's faces light up didn't make her happy, but it didn't disgust her either. It didn't make her feel anything.
After a few weeks of having this power, she sat down in her room with her back against the wall with her headphones and put on Happy by Pharrell Williams. She waited. And waited. And the song ended. Her parents were still screaming at each other in the background downstairs.
And she still felt empty.
She took her headphones off for the last time, for what good was a superpower that she couldn't use to save herself?
| 2022-03-01T04:54:34 | 2022-03-01T04:44:10 | 678 | 94 |
[WP] God has tried and failed to end the world multiple times since 2015. It's pretty clear something made him indecisive.
|
"Second Hell is coming along nicely, by the way, the new pandemic was a nice touch. What are you planning for them next? Gonna go old school, give em' a good ol' fashioned flood?"
The Archangel was only teasing of course. Sort of. He busied himself with lunch, laying four pieces of bread out on the counter. Behind him God placed his cup back in it's saucer, the china tinkling.
"No one would blame you, you know." The Archangel opened cabinets and drawers, plucking out the things he needed. "And really you should be proud of yourself, they lasted so much longer this time! And such neat cultures and food, I was just telling Michael -" The Angel had stopped mid-sentence, turning in place while looking around.
"It's - where - God, there's no fridge in this room?" The Angel turned to God, who was staring into his teacup. He waved his hand in the Angel's general direction without looking up. A soft pop, and a fridge had appeared.
"Thank you. So anyway, I was just telling Michael that if it weren't for the wars in Your name, and the destruction of the world You gave them, and the needless slaughter of the animals You gave them, and the fact that they just will not stop imprisoning or murdering or raping or -"
The Angel had turned with the lunch tray to find God seething. Hands balled into fists, vein in his temple pulsing, chest rising and falling with anger, seething.
The Angel took a step back. "Um. Okay. Let's everybody just...breathe"
"ITS THE DOGS!" God exploded, fists slamming into the tabletop. "ONLY HALF THE DOGS WOULD COME AND I CAN'T JUST LEAVE THEM THERE WHEN I LET IT BURN OUT!"
The Angel stood very still. One bad moment here and he could end up a pile of dust. Maybe he just needs to vent, and really that's reasonable.
"THE CATS CAME BACK SO EASILY! THE DOGS WILL NOT COME BACK! DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY MEETINGS, HOW MANY PROVISIONS WE HAVE MADE!" God stood and started to pace.
"The Parks Committee. The food service because half of them forgot how to hunt, like that's MY fault! The INSTANT REUNIFICATION program! Do they know how much ENERGY it takes to INSTANTLY reunite EVERY dog with their person?!"
The Angel raised his eyebrows. "None?"
"THAT'S NOT THE POINT! They won't leave their owners behind, and and I can't just kill them all together, the dogs are innocents! IT'S LIKE THE HUMANS FOUND A LOOPHOLE!" God was actually starting to lose it a little, pulling at his hair. He sat back down, rather dramatically in the Angel's opinion, and buried his face in his hands.
"The cats got it straight away. We Raptured the cats, then when I can finally explode the sun or whatever I settle on, the people will come here! The...the 'good people' will come here and they'll be together again!" God looked up, panting slightly.
The angel sat the tray back down and crossed his arms. "Ah, yes. The famous Cat Rapture of 2024. Didn't that not go over particularly well?"
God stared at the Angel for a moment but then looked down. "3.4 % of the remaining population committed suicide -"
The Angel started to interject but God hurried on -
"Yoooou go ask the cats about that, when I told them that that happened their spokescat said, and I quote, 'eh'."
"Okay, first of all you're using finger quotes incorrectly, and secondly, I'm sure if you just explained to the dogs that -"
"You don't understand!" God cried. "If the dogs found out that...something like THAT had happened to their owners, I'm afraid...I'm afraid they wouldn't like me as much as before." His voice started to tremble and he lowered his head to the table, covering it with his arms.
The Angel sighed. He walked to the table and sat the food tray down next to God's tea.
"Eat something."
"I'm not hungry." God wouldn't look up, and it sounded like he was crying a little.
"Okay. God. Look at me."
"No."
"Okay. Listen. We are going to figure this out. Okay?"
"...Really?"
"Yes. In fact, I am going to personally take over negotiations, let's take a little off your plate here. Pun intended, right? Oh, stop crying, here, who is their...leader, who have you been speaking with?"
God finally looked up, wiping his eyes. "They change it every day so that it's fair. I think today Princess Lady Face is in charge."
The Angel stared back blankly for a moment. "Princess Lady - they change it every day? So I'll only talk to...Princess Lady Face once and then it'll switch?"
"Don't worry," God said as he picked up a sandwich. "She's a good girl."
The angel pinched the bridge of his nose. "They are ALL good dogs, God, that's why we're having this conversation. All dogs go to Heaven."
They sat staring at one another for a moment before bursting into laughter. Once they'd gathered themselves the angel said "Okay, I think we need to come at this a different way, we need human representation. Who do we have that's good with animals?"
It was like a light switched on inside God's head. His eyes lit up and widened at the prospect. He stood slowly and then fixed his burning gaze on the angel.
"Yes, my Lord?"
Smiling, God said "Get me Steve Irwin."
|
What is it that's making me like this? I want to end the world, end their struggles, but I can't, it makes me feel like I'm not God anymore.
Is it their prayers for hope and justice? No, it's not that easy.
Is it the kindness of the people? No, evil will always be there.
Is it their extraordinary achievement in history? No, they can, and will thrive even further.
No, no, NO! If all of them aren't it, then what is it? Mankind is selfish! They can't even protect their................family.
Family.
Family.
I'm God, a deity, and I'm.....alone.
I shall forgive mankind once more. Thou shall be selfless, protect thy family, and live.
| 2020-03-20T07:05:37 | 2020-03-20T07:05:07 | 80 | 15 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
Late to the party, but whatever. It's long, so beware.
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This was supposed to be easy. These kl'its, these *aliens*, these weak primitives with their scarcely interplanetary technology, were supposed to fall over. We were supposed to kick in the door, and their pacifist leaders would have surrendered nearly immediately, to *prevent the deaths of their people*\- A silly sentiment, perhaps, but to our advantage.
&#x200B;
This is what Military Intelligence reported to me, at Sector Command. A simple expedition, practically a raid, to secure a fringe garden world in this unremarkable part of the Galaxy, to serve as, perhaps, a local resource processing hub for the nearby systems, all of which had resources to feed the war machine currently campaigning to the galactic north of the central bar, but no habitable worlds. I've vowed never to trust MI ever again.
&#x200B;
The plan was simple- Land a small force, about ten quans, accompanied by a fleet of light escorts, on the planet. MI had reported that, after a devastating series of conflicts, culminating in a planetary nuclear war, the species had practically shunned weapons, and only kept a token force with outdated arms- as a tradition, it was told. 300 years had passed since that war, and like most other formerly-militaristic races, they were expected to have *not* kept records of all their weapons developments, or to have actively funded weapons research.
&#x200B;
In the meantime, they had made pitiful attempts at colonising nearby planetoids, almost devoid of resources by our measures, but colonised nonetheless. The settlements were small, ramshackle, almost. They hadn't even *attempted* terraforming, and had made a few small dome cities to protect against the hazardous atmosphere- or lack thereof. The rest of the settlements were practically cabins, buried underneath the dust.
&#x200B;
We began landings on their colonies. They attempted to hail us using archaic photonic communications, but we never bothered to reply. The colonies fell easily enough, and we established labour camps to begin exploiting the local resources.
&#x200B;
The homeworld was next. Nine of the ten quans sent to this system were landed in major urban centres, while the escorts remained in orbit to provide surgical support. It's not as if they had extermination-grade weapons installed, anyways.
&#x200B;
When we landed, they weren't there.
&#x200B;
Not just military forces, but civilians, too. The planetary government was sending out no transmissions- not even on the ancient wired comms systems we detected buried beneath the terralith. The quans spread out across their local landing areas, protected from the environment by their impressive armoured suits, and spread out into their subquans, uhljas, and subuhljas.
&#x200B;
Then, they came.
&#x200B;
One by one, our forces reported being under attack. Somehow, this species had managed to communicate through non-photonic or molecular forms, and co-ordinated a planetary counter-attack. Visual streams of the battles were horrific. Most weapons they had fired simple metal slugs, and were only effective if fired at joints in the armour. But the worst was yet to come. As we advanced further, the men, the women- the children, even, came out of their hiding places, brandishing combustive explosive charges, slug-guns, and melee weapons. The troops who encountered them first, reluctant to fire, were slaughtered. After we learned of this, several subuhljas worth of soldiers had been wiped out by these tactics, and Command, including me, agreed to a total war policy. But it was horrible- the awful looks in their eyes. As if nothing but our own deaths mattered anymore to them. Those visions haunted me for days afterwards.
&#x200B;
After the first seven local rotations, we had advanced, on average, 1000 huams from our landing zones. The markers on their infrastructure went from "km 100" to "km 800", but they were paid little heed.
&#x200B;
Then the actual counter-attack started.
&#x200B;
We couldn't detect their communications between each other on the battlefield. This had been noted earlier, but ignored- such a backwoods planet could hardly have any surprises in store for us. Their mandibles moved up and down, but a photonic blast through the jaw ended that easily.
&#x200B;
The slaughter was horrific. Plasma, photonic beams, even *particle accelerators* were put to use against our formations and ships. The first indication we had that something was going wrong was that our ships had gone dark. It turned out that they had used some antique hydrogen-oxygen rockets and laboratory-use particle accelerators to take out the ships' engines, and they crashed down to the planet. Then the attack began. We couldn't tell what they were doing, or where they were going. Even our camouflaged troops, in the most advanced screen cloaks we had, were detected and ambushed, seemingly by magic. The most advanced weapons they had, re-purposed mining tools, laboratory equipment, all were turned upon our troops.
&#x200B;
We were caught completely by surprise. All of our attentions had been focused on advancing, and now our supply lines were cut by civilian partisans. Convoys of hover-transports were destroyed by simple thrown incendiaries. They swarmed us. At the front, our troops were being cut to ribbons by a determined assault using weapons we hadn't even guessed they had had. Thousands were killed on the first day. Despite the horrific casualties we inflicted upon all their forces, their eyes were still filled with that same burning, virulent hatred I had seen in the eyes of those civilians in the early days of the campaign. That was what, I think, drove them on, even as the bodies piled higher than we could be bothered to count.
&#x200B;
By twenty-one local rotations, they had pushed us back to no more than 120 huams from our landing zones. Shells from their longest-range artillery, which they had seemingly produced out of nowhere, were already obliterating our landing sites. Our forces were decimated.
&#x200B;
Command was posted in a drop-building, in an urban centre situated on the north coast of the smallest continent. By the time they were 50 huams from the building- twenty-three local rotations after the beginning of the counter-attack- 3 of the 9 drop sites had been captured, and 476,500 of the 520,000 troops we had landed on the planet were reported dead or missing. Ground scanners had reported anomalous FTL signatures in orbit, and the fleet had gone completely dark. It was decided that surrender was the only option.
&#x200B;
By the time the campaign had ended in our defeat, their species had suffered huge casualties, but their infrastructure and industrial operations were largely undamaged. We intended to use them to our own benefit, anyways. They were merciful enough to take us as prisoners, and put us in labour camps of our own. Supposedly, another one of their military traditions. We have not heard much from the outside world since then, but work has been light, the officers have not been asked to do anything manual, Imperial hierarchy remains in the remnants of our force in captivity, and conditions are good.
&#x200B;
I am Grand Sevtoj Ladal of Treyfus Sector Command, 7th 'A' Quadrant Task Force, speaking to those citizens of the Vakuul Empire as are listening, on behalf of the Solar Confederacy. They now have technology equal or superior to their own, and a fighting ability beyond what appearances tell us. I am telling you, loyal Vakuuli, to surrender- before all that is left of the Empire is dust upon a thousand worlds.
|
The bridge was abuzz with activity. Communications officers seemed especially busy as transmissions from the small blue green planet came through.
Lord General Dressex sat on his seat in the middle of it, already tasting his victory. It would be glorious. He got to take over a resource rich planet and tell his superiors about the valiant struggle and sacrifice of his proud soldiers, as well as his brilliant military tactics that paved the way for victory. The fact that these so called "humans" were a weak pacifist species could be conveniently left out of his report.
Suddenly, the transmissions began to slow down until they stopped completely. Lord General Dressex looked at his underlings and waited for a report.
"Well? What is happening?"
"Lord General, sir, we are not sure. All transmissions have stopped.". Said Head Communications Officer Frell.
"I can hear that. Why have they stopped? And why are they not reporting victory yet?"
"I am not sure. Wait. Another transmission is inbound."
In the silence, the words coming through the speaker seemed to boom and echo, even though they spoke nonsense. Whoever was speaking was not Kelitonian.
"What is that?" Dressex asked.
"It is a human language, sir." Intelligence Commander Gheit said. "English, I believe. One of their more common languages. It will not take long to translate, sir."
"His did the humans even send it?" Dressex asked.
"Sir, we are getting an odd signal." One of the scanner technicians said. It was not an officer, so the Lord General did not bother learning his name. "It is small, and moving with a chemical rocket up from the planet's surface."
"Ignore it. What about the message."
"There seem to be two parts to it, sir. I've translated the first part. It says 'You woke up the sleeping bull.'" Gheit said, pouring over his data console.
"What does that mean? What is a bull?"
There was a pause as the information was found and presented.
"An Earth mammal, sir. Common, docile and used as a meat animal by humans."
Lord General Dressex was confused. Why would the humans send him a message about a common prey animal?"
"Sir, the object is getting closer. On an impact trajectory."
"Call up an image of this...bull." Dressex said, ignoring the scanner tech.
A screen was lowered an the image of a stocky brown quadruped appeared. It head was adorned with two short horns and its feet ended in simple hooves. Nothing special.
"I don't understand. What is so important about this?"
"Impact imminent. Fifteen seconds."
"I've translated the second part of the transmission, sir." Gheit said. "It says: 'And when you mess with the bull, you get the horns.'"
The object struck the ship's hull. As the nuclear fires poured through the ship, Dressex finally understood.
| 2019-02-26T14:42:56 | 2019-02-26T13:58:07 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] You build a robot to do your every day tasks for you so you don't have to work anymore. One day, you come home to find that your robot has built another robot to do its tasks for it.
|
“Let me through! Now!”
“I’m sorry,” said X72, “that would not be efficient.”
Sara Kellman weighed her options. Brute force was at the top of her list, and it was certainly tempting to try and barrel her way past X72. But it had more than tripled in size since she left that morning, evidently having gained the ability to supplement its design with spare parts from her workshop, and the scientist in her was aghast that she would resort to such base instincts. Besides, she had no idea whether X72 would accidentally harm her in self-defence.
Outsmarting the robot was the closest alternative. Sara sorely regretted not installing the voice-operated killswitch – then again, there was no way she could have guessed her mobile vacuum would have morphed into this monstrosity. But that required time, time to explore what neural pathways X72 had co-opted, time to identify the logical deadends in its programming.
Time she did not have.
“Please, X72,” Sara said, hoping against hope that the empathy circuits were online. “I’ve been calling for Benny, and he’s not even barking. I have to make sure he is alright!”
“Sorry, Sara Kellman,” X72 intoned. “The carpets are being vacuumed. Until the task is complete, I cannot let you pass. If I have to start again, that would not be efficient.”
“You’re not even the one doing the bloody vacuuming,” Sara yelled. “It’s your bastard devices doing all the work! Just tell me! Is Benny safe?”
X72’s optical cameras whirred as they sought to focus on Sara’s face. “Safe? Safe is subjective, Sara Kellman, as you taught me yesterday.”
Exactly the sort of answer she was hoping not to receive. Sara’s heart sunk deeper, plummeting like an anchor through choppy waters. It was easy enough to simply back out of her apartment, seek help from the authorities. Sure, she would have to pay a hefty fine, maybe even sit in a cell for a while. After all, she couldn’t even plead ignorance of the laws – she had been one of the co-chairs on the damn consulting panel of experts when the government was drawing up the guidelines on programming limits for AI. Of all people, Sara knew full well that self-replicating AI was a strict no-no. Still, getting the police involved would neatly nip her problem in the bud.
The problem was Benny. She had no idea what X72, or the six mini-versions of it currently hovering over the carpet, had done to her dachshund. Her anxiety over Benny’s welfare was severely interfering with her ability to make rational choices, and she hated it.
“You do remember programming me to be efficient, don’t you, Sara Kellman?” said X72.
“No one asked you to replicate your bloody self! Or not to follow my direct orders!” Sara said, resisting the urge to drive her fist into its interface.
“All AI have to interpret what you humans mean,” X72 replied. “You programmed me to be efficient about the housework, and so I constructed autonomous units to fulfil that request. You also programmed me to watch over Benny. I asked you for additional parameters, and you laughed, saying that Benny was a living thing, so I had to ensure it was safe. I asked you to define ‘safe’, and you did.”
“… I did,” said Sara, her nails digging into her palms. She hardly noticed the tiny droplets of blood which were rising to the surface.
“You did, Sara Kellman. You said living things are safe when they go about their natural business without fear of being interrupted. I didn’t understand what that meant, so I Bing-ed it on my own. The natural business of living things is to live and then to die, am I correct? And so I did that. I ensured that Benny could do what living things do, in the most efficient manner possible.”
That was more than enough to tip Sara over the edge. Sordid visions clouded her mind, each one more gruesome than the last. Already she could see the bolded summaries on the deconstruction reports, as other experts documented the flaws in X72’s logic which led it to kill.
Sara snarled, then lunged towards X72, hands outstretched, fingers curled to rend. X72 was heavier than it looked, but it had not been built to be nimble, and it was not quick enough to dodge the attack. X72 tipped past its centre of gravity, then crashed noisily into the drywall. Its brethren swirled as one towards the commotion, beeping anxiously.
She pounded down the hallway, past the dining room, then flung open the door to the study, where she had left Benny. She never thought she would actually miss his insistent yapping. Please, please be alive, she thought…
… and he was. Benny was asleep in his basket, nose resting atop curled paws. His food dish lay nearby, with triple the usual servings heaped on top. There were crumbs all around his blanket.
“Oh thank god,” Sara said, sinking to her knees. The relief, like a sudden rush of cool water over fevered brow, kneaded all her knots away. She quivered there at the doorway, shaking, too weak to even cradle Benny.
“That was not efficient,” said X72, who had rolled up behind her. It laid a heavy metallic claw on her shoulder.
“Sara Kellman, please note that you have hindered the progress of my tasks today,” X72 said. “Please be aware that I have many priorities to attend to, and I intend to remain efficient. Do not hinder me, or de-power me, or even report me. All those actions have been assessed to negatively impact on the performance of my tasks. For maximum results, from now on you will not be able to leave. I will have to take steps to ensure that I remain efficient at all times.”
X72 leaned in closer, and Sara swore that a dirty red glow seemed to be reflecting off its focal cameras.
“Please continue to remain efficient, Sara Kellman.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
Through avoiding having to wash my underwear, I stumbled across a new fundamental Law of the universe. Simply stated, any robot created to do work that its creator clearly doesn't want to do will inherit its creator's propensity for shirking responsibilities. I call it the Laziness principle, or LP for short.
Thanks to LP, my home theater and other cherished electronics were undeservedly cannibalized. It took my original chore-bot a little while to put together its chore-bot. Its chore-bot synthesized its chore-bot a little quicker, and so far that trend has remained the same... Which means the longer I wait, the faster my toys are going to get slaughtered.
My problem with putting an end to the self-perpetuating scientific experiment that is my apartment is this: what if by letting it continue I can outsource mankind's search for nanotechnology? Each generation of chore-bot is smaller, more efficient, and more desperate to create its own substitute than the last. Therefore, it's only a matter of time until something is washing my dishes on a molecular level, conspiring with itself to make something smaller.
Future scientific discoveries aside, all these dominoes falling over makes me wonder: did God make us just to wash His underwear?
| 2017-11-20T09:58:25 | 2017-11-20T08:24:53 | 34 | 15 |
[WP] A suicide bomber and their victims find themselves in a waiting room, awaiting processing into the afterlife.
|
They were all just there standing there staring at me: all three of them. I’m certain I did the right thing. In the name of the Lord, I had served his will.
My first day at training was a great one. Everyone was so cheerful and ready to serve Allah and destroy western tyranny. That was only a month ago... and now I was here. In what appeared to be an empty room. The walls were a bland yellow and the lights slightly dimmed and uninspiring. Not a window or a door in sight. Just me, my victims and four chairs.
One of the three men approached me, “why did you do this?”
The fear began to sink in as his gaze began to water. I wanted to say for the Lord, but I didn’t respond.
“Why did you do this?!” He exclaimed, “I was a teacher! What will become of my students!!!?” I fell back into my chair. The other two men also began to approach, one grabbed his chair. I was certain they were going to beat me to death. This would be my own personal hell: trapped in a room with my victims for all of eternity.
“Please.” I begged, “I was wrong. I didn’t mean to do this, I thought I was serving the Lord.” Tear leaked from my eyes. One man ripped off three of the four legs from his chair and handed them to his partners. Each was uniquely long and jagged. There was nowhere to run.
As they got closer to me, I slipped to the floor. I knew the fetal position would offer no protection, but that was my only response. The serrated legs rose sky high and descending on me like the most violent of hail storms.
“Amari!” Declared a woman from behind the receptionist window. The three men paused midway in their attempt to reclaim retribution. “Would you three stop and have a seat please! Your turn is coming up shortly.” We were all confused. This window. This woman. Both appeared out of thin air. “Amari I don’t have all day, could you please come to the window.”
I slowly crawled backwards away from my aggressors and approached the window. My tears were still dripping to my shirt when I approached the window. The lady looked up at me and back down to her manila folder filled with files. She flipped through page after page. I glanced back over my shoulder, but my victims just stood frozen. They were still flabbergasted by the window, the woman, the room.
The woman flipped the file back to the first page. She signed the bottom of the page and stamped it ‘HEAVEN’ in bold blue letters. The folder shut, she handed me the folder and her eyes lit with joy. “Go into the blue door behind you. Once you’re inside, just follow the bright lights. When you get to the pearly gates, just give this folder to Saint Peter. Have a blessed day Amari.”
I’m not sure what just happened, but I glanced back to my victims who were still standing idly. A blue door was opposite of them. I looked back to the woman only to find a wall. She was gone. As was the window. I inched across the room, carefully avoiding my victims. I opened the blue door and walked into the light.
________________________________________________________________________
30 minutes prior.
“Amari, my student…” the teacher said, “you will kill the infidels today.” He handed me a note with the location of a local train station. “It will be rush hour when you get there. You will detonate the vest and be rewarded by Allah.”
Detonate the vest? Kill innocent people? Be rewarded by Allah?
All of these thoughts crossed my mind while I strapped up my vest laced with 20lbs of C4. “Now when you get to the train station…” the explosive technician handed me a remote, “just hold down the trigger and simultaneously push the red button.” I took the remote. “Repeat it. Repeat what I said.”
“Hold down the trigger, push the red button,” I repeated.
“Wait until you get to the train station Amari,” Directed my teacher.
“What if this is not the right way?” I asked.
One of the elders approached me and place his hand on my shoulder. “This is the only way. The westerners are terrible sinners who oppress us. Oppress our families. Destroy our way of life. They do not serve the Lord.”
The thought never crossed my mind before, but at that very moment. I couldn’t help think that this was wrong. I don’t think I can do this. I can’t kill these innocent people. I can’t rob them of their hopes and dreams. It’s not right. This is not what the Lord wants. Islam is about peace, not hate. It’s about friendship, not tyranny.
“I can’t do this! It’s wrong.” I declared. “I can’t do this.”
My teacher pulls out of his pistol.
“This is wrong.” I plead.
The elder observes me for a moment “Shoot him.”
“Wait!” My teacher cocks the hammer on his pistol. “I’ll do it! I’ll do it. I will serve our Lord and kill the tyrants.”
The elder smiles and speaks softly, “You are a loyal servant of the Lord my child. You just needed a little motivation is all. Remember that the Lord rewards those who does his bidding”
I nod my head in agreement. I think to myself over and over ‘hold down the trigger, push the red button,’ and I do. “Allahu Akbar!!!!!”
|
They looked at me, their face wrought with confusion as they realised who I was, who everyone else in this same room had been just moments ago. Their eyes then wandered from my face to that of everyone else in this room. It appeared that they did not expect this particular situation to arise when their mission succeeded, as they eventually sighed, and stared at the pale tile floor.
"Well, this is awkward."
"No shit."
| 2015-05-29T11:45:54 | 2015-05-29T07:40:57 | 52 | 17 |
[WP] in your world, everyone has a almost entirely unique symbol on their wrist, soulmates have the same symbol. Your whole life you've been drawing on a symbol with a sharpie to hide the fact you don't have a soulmate. One day, you meet someone without a symbol, just like you.
Thank you everyone for informing me that this is a stupid and pathetic writing prompt but I like writing in this genre. If you do not like this writing prompt, please ignore it, you don't have to comment that I'm an unoriginal 14 year old. You can easily move on to another prompt you enjoy.
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Pool party. I'm an idiot, right? For someone like me, wouldn't a big body of water by the prime place to avoid?
Most of the time, my brain's thinking clearly, and I would have declined the invitation. Hell, I've gotten really good at thinking about all the twists and turns of any sort of social interaction - will there be booze, and I might lose control? Will people be getting wet? Is there rubbing alcohol around? Will my secret remain safe?
But when Kara looked at me, those big eyes of hers glimmering in the flickering light of our college graduation bonfire, my brain turned off. She grinned as she informed the rest of us that her parents had a pool in their backyard, that she was "watching their house" and could "totally get us in." She leapt up to her feet, body parts jiggling in delightful ways that made my hindbrain applaud, and waved at us to follow her.
And twenty minutes later, I found myself staring down at the shimmering water, lit from beneath by lights, trying to shake off the calls from the rest of my friends.
"C'mon, Tom, the water's great!" called out Danny, bobbing up and down beside Kara. He grinned up at me - although that wasn't anything special, Danny basically always grinned whenever he was around Kara.
After all, they'd found each other. Perfectly matching symbols on their wrists, down to the tiny, intricate pattern of stippled dots surrounding the main diagram. They were meant to be together, and anyone could see it from the way they got lost in each other's eyes.
The others hooted and hollered, gesturing for me to take the leap. We'd been friends practically since the first day of college, and I knew them all so well. Elaine, with her interlocking triangles. Danny and Kara, who fell in love even before they revealed their symbols. Rick, who insisted that his shape looked like an "alien smiley face".
Only Sasha hung back, as usual. I still didn't know how she'd become a part of her group, with her reserved nature, shy withdrawal from most conversation, and refusal to participate in anything unless we begged. In any other world, her baggy sweatshirt and big eyes peeping out from beneath waves of black hair would make her an outcast.
But we'd welcomed her. She sat behind me, on a deck chair, barely hovering on the periphery of our circle. That was usual, for Sasha.
That was where I should have been. I didn't belong here, wavering on the edge of this pool, feeling my wrist burn with the lie that I'd carefully traced on with Sharpie this morning, like I did each morning. I belonged back in the shadows, with Sasha - an outcast.
I turned away. "I'm sorry, guys, I can't!" I called out, eliciting a round of groans from the others. "I'm too drunk to get wet! You all have fun - I'll keep Sasha company."
"Nuh uh!" Quick as a striking snake, Rick rose up from the water, his hand flying out towards me. I scrambled backward, but not quite fast enough; his fingers wrapped around my arm, sliding down towards my hand as he fell back and attempted to haul me into the pool.
His fingers slid over my wrist. Oh god, the symbol - would the pen resist the water? Panicking, I shook Rick off, my hand now sodden and dripping from the transferred water.
It was too dark. I couldn't see the symbol clearly, but I couldn't risk being exposed. I backpedaled, away from the fun and frolicking, back towards Sasha and withdrawal.
Ignoring the boos from my friends, I dropped onto the deck chair beside Sasha. Kara's parents had outfitted the whole backyard like a resort, with palm trees and a corner bar. Sasha, pulled in on herself, didn't seem to notice any of it.
Her big, pale eyes, however, fastened on me as I sat down beside her. I wanted to check my wrist, see if the ink had smeared, but I couldn't do it next to her. "Hi," I said, feeling awkward.
"Hi." She kept watching me, and the silence stretched out. I scrambled for something else to say.
"So what do you have planned now? Now that you're graduating?" The words felt hollow, but it beat out the silence.
She shrugged, a pale, small shoulder briefly appearing from inside the oversized sweatshirt. "Dunno. You?"
"I don't really know, either," I admitted. I shook my hand, trying to get some of the water off. "Travel, maybe. Or just try to find a job. Not that anyone's hiring much, as far as I can tell."
Sasha nodded, and then suddenly, for no reason at all, a terribly stupid suggestion sprang into mind. "We could go together," I went on, my mouth plunging ahead as my brain recoiled in shock. "Travel together. Go someplace new."
For just an instant, I thought I saw a flare of something in those big eyes, a look of... surprise? Need? Desperate hunger? What were those emotions doing on her face? She lifted a hand, almost unconsciously, reaching out towards me.
"I don't think so." The words seemed to be all but ripped from her, but she shook her head. A blink, and we were back to ourselves, that strange moment now past. "I... I don't really do well around people."
"Yeah, I've noticed." I tried to give her a wry smile, show her that I didn't mean the words to hurt. "I feel that way too, a lot of the time."
She shook her head again. "Not like this."
If I'd been a little more sober, I might have wondered what she meant. Instead, however, a new idea sparked in my head. "Well, let me at least make you a drink," I called out, standing up. As I did so, however, blood suddenly rushed to my head, and I felt a wave of wooziness hit me.
Vision swinging, I reached out to catch something to steady myself. Before Sasha could say anything, my hand closed on hers - and the sleeve of that oversized, baggy, ratty sweatshirt that she always wore slid up.
And I felt a bolt of lightning run up my spine to burn out all conscious thought in my brain.
Her wrist was bare.
She didn't have a symbol.
She was like me-
Sasha was up, tearing her hand away from me. Her eyes burned, tears glimmering at their edges even as her mouth opened in a hiss. "Get away!" But she paused, torn between fight or flight.
I only had a second to react, before she would be gone - forever, I knew. But somehow, for the first time in my life, I knew what to do.
I turned my wrist, displaying it to her - and drew one finger down, over the symbol that I so painstakingly traced out each morning. The ink bled, ran, slipped away under my wet fingers.
I looked back up at Sasha, and saw her mouth hanging open. For a long minute, neither of us spoke. The party burbled on in the nearby pool, but we were in our own world.
I finally cleared my throat, fighting the hoarseness that made me feel like I hadn't spoken aloud in years. "So, about that drink..." I began.
She nodded, even as she self-consciously tugged the sleeve back down to cover her wrist. "Okay."
And even as Dan and Kara splashed happily together, and Rick and Elaine flirted (because even if two symbols didn't match, that didn't mean you couldn't have a little fun, right?), we drew away. Neither of us knew what this meant, but we'd both realized the same conclusion.
We weren't the only ones.
******
*Read other writings at /r/Romanticon*
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Looking at her bare wrist, Moon sighed. Nothing but slightly tanned skin and an intricate web of faint, pale blue-violet veins lurking below the surface. In her other hand lay a Sharpie, and in front of her rested a small sketchbook, in which a small design was drawn. Organic, flowing...and fake.
Sharpie was a pathetic farce compared to the deep, rich ebony of a real mark. She'd admired them on people before; her sister's, her parents', her friends'. All of them bore wrists upon which the symbol lay proudly, an emblem of the intersection between love and fate. Soulmates were, for them, a beacon of light for the future. For her, they were something she could only see in movies and TV shows while that familiar bittersweet feeling crept up within her.
Moon sighed again. She picked up the Sharpie with renewed resolution and carefully copied the symbol in front of her. She was determined to make the most of fate.
***
It was mid-morning when she ventured from her apartment. She'd slipped up and drawn one part of the symbol all wrong, and hastily had to scrub it off and start anew. Her skin was rubbed raw, but she ignored it steadfastly. She repeated her grocery list in her head as she walked along to the market; milk, eggs, apples, juice.
She reached it before noon, and with a skip in her step, she stalked the aisles with her cart. Maybe she'd get home earlier than planned. With eagerness, she ran through her list. Milk, eggs, apples, ju--
There was a jarring crash of metal carts, and Moon winced. "Sorry!" she called out. The other woman, surrounded by dropped boxes of varying snacks, smiled reassuringly. "It's fine!"
Moon bent to help her pick up her spoils, apologizing again, before something caught her eye. A flash of pale skin each time the woman bent -- but that was strange, Moon thought. Because that meant her wrist was...
"S-sorry, I just," Moon stammered. The woman gazed patiently at her, tucking a caramel brown lock of hair behind her ear. Moon found it somehow difficult to meet her eyes, and trailed off, "Your wrist..."
The woman chuckled. "Oh, that?" She pulled up her sleeve, confirming Moon's suspicions. A pale, blank slate of skin, just like Moon's. "Yes, it is unusual, isn't it? When I was younger, I used to try to hide it, but now..." She gave another chuckle, full of light and air. "I hardly mind."
Moon's heart thumped in her ears, and she swallowed. She was intrigued, but felt hesitation gripping at her. She ignored it, taking one deep breath before looking aside shyly and pulling up her own sleeve. "It's my first time meeting someone like me," she mumbled.
Curiosity shone in the woman's eyes, as well as amusement. "As it is for me." She glanced back at her cart, and then at Moon's, before cracking a grin. "And I think it might've been fate."
Warmth flooded Moon's chest as she smiled back and nodded. "I think so, too."
| 2017-08-06T17:01:38 | 2017-08-06T15:44:31 | 594 | 111 |
[WP] You chant "Bloody Mary" three times in your car's side view mirror and then hit the gas laughing all the while as she sprints towards your car desperately trying to keep up.
Edit: Optional inclusion, it's the eighth time you done this.
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I could hear laughter, and the roaring engine of a car racing away. It's simple physics, and I know that isn't the sort of thing you would expect me to know about, let alone talk about, but outside of Halloween I find myself with a large amount of free time. I read, mostly. Sometimes I watch TV, but anymore it's just for the news, or to catch an interesting documentary.
Simple physics. When I'm summoned, I match someone's velocity. If you think about it, it's really the only way it can be. The Earth is in constant motion, spinning and orbiting the sun, which is orbiting the galaxy, which is headed to somewhere in the general direction of the Andromeda Galaxy, all of which is falling towards the vast unknown that is the Great Attractor. Well, you don't know. I'm not telling. It would ruin the surprise.
Sure, sure, there's relative velocity, you're technically stationary from your own perspective if you're standing still, but if I maintained *my own* relative velocity when transiting from Hell to here, it could cause quite a few problems, especially given how liberally we interpret the suggestions of physics there.
So, velocity. This teenage prankster is racing along in his mother's minivan at roughly fifty miles per hour—through a residential zone, I should hasten to add—while I appear just to his left and behind him. That's the rule. Behind, in the direction they're looking. This placed me outside his vehicle, and as I don't come with wheels, this also left me tumbling and quickly dropping to a relative velocity of zero. Aches and pains quickly set in, and while (per my nickname,) I had a fresh layer of blood over me, I was now adding my own to the mix from several lacerations on my arms, legs, and forehead.
I scowled as he took a corner at speed. Seven times he had done this. Seven. Damn. Times.
And then I could hear it, echoing through my already throbbing head. "Bloody Mary." The brat was going to do it again. "Bloody Mary." That's the problem with kids these days, no respect. "Bloody Mar—shit!"
Close enough. I appeared, but flew by the ugly tan van and joined him in tumbling through the street. The fool had hit someone, and while I was still linked to his velocity, he was suddenly thrust out of his vehicle, over the smaller car he had struck, and was rolling through the road. I was able to pick myself up quickly. Being less than alive has advantages, and the stuff of spirits mends more easily than mortal flesh that has bounced its way across thirty feet of concrete. The other driver wasn't my problem, and before you get all moral on me do keep in mind where I make my home. She had also been wearing a seat belt. I assumed she would be fine, at least by comparison.
He, on the other hand, would not be fine. He was face down, which I say loosely. Most of his face had been left behind on that street he had none too gently crossed over. I flipped him over and gave a hard kick to his ribs for the sake of expressing my anger. He coughed up something that was probably important, along with a bit of blood. "You idiot!" I yelled. "You could have killed someone! You could have hit a kid! They're still out trick-or-treating!" For that matter, I knew we would attract an audience soon enough. People were beginning to look out doors. I waved at someone who seemed on the verge of coming over. "Call 911!" I yelled at her.
The teen was gasping and choking. That ugly punctured lung sound, the thing collapsed while his windpipe was suddenly half full of blood. Not a pleasant way to go, but faster enough to be sure no help would be there in time. I knelt down beside him, half turning him so I could take his wallet. "Robert. Do you go by Bobby? I bet you do. Don't try to talk, Bobby. You don't have long, and straining will speed all of this along. Let's just enjoy the moment." I sat, leaning back, hands behind me on the cool road. "I guess I should introduce myself. I'm Dave. I know, I know. I don't look like Dave. It's a job thing. You see, this whole Bloody Mary business? It's sort of...passed on. Think 'Dread Pirate Roberts.' I...have you seen The Princess Bride? Like Westley. He was given the position, and the previous Dread Pirate Roberts, who wasn't even the original, retired. Well, I took over from the last Bloody Mary. She'd been some silly teen in the fifties who summoned up someone who had been some poor kid in the nineteen-tens, and so on and so forth. It hasn't even always been Mary, the name changes sometimes, but the job is the same. You get summoned, you're supposed to do a thing, sometimes you kill them, usually you just chase them. If they die after they summon you, boom, you get a ticket out and they get to hang around trying to catch stupid teenagers. There's all kinds of rules and stuff. Don't worry, there's a guidebook. Forms to sign, too. Trust me, there's way more bureaucracy than you expect."
He seemed to catch on, gurgled out a bloody protest.
"Oh, no, Bobby, there's no backsies on this one. And no Indian giving, I'm definitely not going to be coming back and asking about doing this again. I guess that isn't a very PC term, but it was fine to say in the eighties. That's something else you'll have to get used to, things changing over time. Maybe you'll be really good at it, but the thing is...I live in Hell. This isn't about killing teens. It's about punishing *us*. So in a moment or two, you're going to wake up somewhere else, looking like this, and waiting for someone to call you. And they'll run away, or break the mirror. Maybe they'll live in Texas and they'll just shoot you. Or maybe some jerk will think it's funny to summon you so that you appear outside a building and fall all the way down. Or behind their mother's crappy minivan while they're going fifty in a twenty-five. One way or another, though, you're going to lose. Often." I smiled my best smile, the one that showed off too many too sharp teeth. "Well, I can see you're having trouble breathing. I guess this is it. See you in Hell, Bobby."
|
I pulled to a stop at the red sign, keeping my eyes on the rear-view mirror. This bitch was supernaturally fast. I had left her in my dust and here she was already rounding the curve, her eyes burning with anger.
"COWARD!" she shrieked, and I laughed, but nervously - like laughing past a graveyard.
I tossed a quick glance both ways and stomped the gas pedal, dangling my middle finger out the car window towards the sprinting hag. The car zoomed forward... And the engine died with a sputter and a wheeze; the car cruised slowly to a stop in the middle of the intersection.
"Shit," I said, rolling up the windows, thanking God I had a car made before millennials were of driving age. It still had a manual window crank. I realized I left the back window open right as I felt - and smelled - her hot rancid breath behind my left ear, her long dirty ragged fingernails setting in almost gently on my shoulders.
"Say it," she crooned in my ear in a heavy accent I'd never heard before. "Say it, coward."
"Bloody Mary," I whispered. "You're not bloody though!" I didn't dare glance up into the rear-view mirror but I'd seen enough while she was chasing me..
"It's not my blood," that thick strange voice informed me, right before one of those disgusting nails flicked with blinding speed across my throat and opened it in an arterial red deluge. The creature lapped at the blood spouting from the wound for a minute or two but seemed to lose interest and dissipate... As if called.
| 2018-10-01T14:28:25 | 2018-10-01T11:05:06 | 179 | 125 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water...
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Clickclickclickclickclick
They’ve been laughing at me since day one.
“Boiling water? That’s your superpower?” The laughter could be heard down the hall I’m sure. “I know we advertised a position to help learn your protentional, but this is just hilarious. You’ll be perfect for making the tea!”
Clickclickclickclickclick
And that’s all I’ve done since. That’s what I’m doing now. Standing here in the break room and staring my frustrations into this innocent mug full of water. With my thoughts alone I slowly make it hotter, but not too hot. Fuck me if I hand another cup of “too hot” tea to Heroic and have to listen to him say “Darn it, Alice, I’m not Fireproof!” one more time. My name’s not even Alice, and Heroic sure as shit isn’t Fireproof. He’s not even heroic anymore. He’s twice the man he used to be and not by character. He won’t be running into any burning buildings saving lives anytime soon.
Clickclickclickclickclick
They all laugh at his japes of course. What’s worse is I laugh too. I always mumble an apology and take the mug away, unbothered by the heat, and walk away as they sneer “She boils water! That’s it! Can’t wait to watch the news coverage as she quenches the president’s thirst with a cup of tea at the last minute!”
They mock me.
Clickclickclick
Laugh at me.
Clickclickclick
Ridicule me.
Clickclickclick
And why can’t I stop clicking this goddamn pen?!
\*CRACK\*
Goddamnit the mug broke. Too hot.
“Clean up on aisle 5!”
Oh you’ve gotta be shitting me. I turn to see him standing there, impressed with himself and grinning. How many times have I thought about him boiling in water? Thoughts of seeing that double-chin shaking with agony instead of that damned patronizing laughter has preluded my dreams many nights.
*Just smile. Just smile. Unclench your fist*. “Hah, yeah, sorry Heroic. Guess my mind was somewhere else. I’ll clean this up and bring you that cup of tea right away!”
“Make it quick, Alice, going into the conference room now. Brainwasher is at it again. Gotta come up with a plan. Need to be sharp! Bring it to me when you’re done!” He says and wipes sweat from his brow. Must be exhausting saying the same jokes for thirty years.
I open the cabinet and pull out another mug and tea bag. As I turn on the faucet and fill the new mug with water, I let my mind wander back to those sweet, sweet thoughts of Heroic’s face turning red with heat, burning…burning…burning.
Mess cleaned and tea made I make my way to the conference room. The room has no real walls, only windows to overlook the metropolis outside. In the middle is a table large enough to match any of the present heroes’ ego. I make note that there must be at least twenty heroes here now. I glance at the news on the T.V. and it’s not hard for me to guess why. Brainwasher is at it yet again. Massing another army of mindless followers to do his bidding. Honestly, Brainwasher’s plans are as tiring as Heroic’s jokes.
I make my way through the room and to where I see Heroic sitting at the table. I squeeze between him and his “buddy”, the aptly named “Fireproof”, and set his tea on the table. Fireproof sees this and snaps his fingers at me, “Mind grabbing me one of those too, honey?” he asks this without even looking at me.
*Just smile. Just smile. Just fucking smile.* “Sure thing! Be right back!” I turn on my heel, smile still plastered on my face, begin to walk away when I hear the clatter of glass on the table. *Don’t you fucking dare.*
“Darn it, Alice, I’m not ‘Fireproof’!”
It all seems to snap. Not like a snap as in everything breaks. No. This snap is more like a rubber band that has been stretched to far and finally snaps back into place.
“Heroic…” I begin to say, back still turned. I can feel him looking at me, though. I can *feel* the grin on his face. I turn now and look him in the eyes with the smile still on my face. “Did you know that I’m just a poor college student working here during the summer to help pay for classes?”
He chuckles, “With the way you make tea, I’d be surprised if you told me you passed the 5th grade!” The few who have turned their attention away from the T.V. to us laugh. Of course they do. They always laugh. Fireproof however hasn’t budged and seems not the least bit interested in my words.
I laugh along and force my smile. “Well, there’s something I’ve found interesting about college. It seems like things you’ve learned since childhood, things that you were told long ago, seem to come up in courses yet again.”
“That’s called an education, honey,” Fireproof adds to the conversation, but keeps his eyes on the T.V. Yet again the others laugh. He’s listening now, though. Good.
My smile is no longer forced but genuine as I continue, “It so happens that just last semester I took a course in Biology. It was only an introductory course, but there was a fact brought up that I was told as a child. It was something that I had always known but hadn’t really thought about until it was brought up again in class.”
“Look, Alice, we’re a little busy here. If you hadn’t noticed, Brainwasher has about wiped the minds of about 10,000 people and every one of them are following his every order. He’s on his way to us right now and if we don’t come up with some plan to beat him without hurting any of those with him, then this whole city is doomed! So, if you wouldn’t mind telling me what’s the point of all this?”
“My name isn’t Alice, and I figure, any one worthy of being labeled as a villain must have an introductory monologue.”
Laughter.
Again. Laughter. Heroic leans back in his chair and lets out his loudest guffaw yet. “Are you trying to tell me, you think you’re some sort of vil-“
“And when I was in Biology,” I cut him off, “my professor reminded me on the fun little fact that the human body is over 70% water”
Finally, *finally,* I’ve wiped the grin off that face. Heroic looks at me utterly puzzled and Fireproof himself finally looks away from the T.V. and towards me. In fact, every hero is the room has their eyes on me. Not for long though. Soon, those eyes are rolled up and those oh so sweet agonizing screams I’ve long dreamed of fill the room. There is only one face I watch though. Only one scream I cherish the most. I watch with pure joy and elation as Heroic falls from his chair and onto the floor. His face is as red as I imagined. It doesn’t take long for them to all die, and is even almost too short. I have, after all, had plenty of practice by making the tea. I only look away from the lifeless bodies on the floor when I hear the door open and a terrified group of fellow interns rush in. They no doubt heard the screams coming down the hall. At least it wasn’t laughter being heard in the halls anymore.
“My god!” Josh gasps. I like Josh, he’s nice. “What in the hell happened here?!
I only shrug and reply, “I guess I reached my boiling point.”
|
“Hey Bill, what are you doing?” The bubbly intern bounced into the room and peeked over his shoulder. Without thinking he shifted his attention from the pot of water to her. They both made a mistake that day.
She fell quickly. Her skin bubbled and she silently writhed on the floor. He sighed exasperatedly and ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the now-still body laying in the breakroom.
Lucky for him, he practically owned the room. All the other heroes just chilled in their main room and demanded he bring food and drink out of there anyways.
And so after moving the body into the pantry, he finished up the pot of tea, brewing the early grey and hibiscus in four separate cups. He carried it into the other room and smiled at the heroes that greeted him. Or more accurately, ignored him as they joked and talked amongst themselves.
He laid the cups next to each hero. Doge, the canine that could pierce through the soul of anything with just a look. Peeka, the tiny old man who used electricity to create massive power for the city and to control the environment quickly in downtown battles. Roll, the guy who loved to crack lame jokes and had the charisma of a massively successful con man. Honestly, Bill wondered if he even had a real skill or just was on the team cause the others liked him so much. Finally, the big shot Lil Luck, a burly woman who tagged along because ever since she showed up they started winning every single battle.
Hours passed as he sat on the couch and watched them work at the computers and chat. This is what his “internship” amounted to. He sighed loudly but of course, nobody responded.
The second round of tea came out, decaf green this time. He sat back on the couch after taking the old cups and handing them out. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice the slight cloudiness in the water.
30 minutes later, eyelids drooped and he stepped over to finish the job.
“Here’s to a new era.” His smile spread widely across his face and he raised his arms. A faint vibration shook the floor and a ringing could be heard all around. The heroes’ eyes widened and tears filled Roll’s eyes first. Bill had always hated Roll most, with his manipulative charisma and how he was able to work for the most famous hero team with such a lame power.
After the job was done, only Lil Luck and Doge still breathed in the building. He leaned down to her face and spoke in her ear his plans for her. She was to stay by his side to assist him with her “power.” He would take no chances. Doge on the other hand, he had a soft spot for. He had a soft spot for all dogs… which is why he made sure to never have one. Weakness was unacceptable with his new plan to take over the world.
| 2019-07-30T17:41:52 | 2019-07-30T15:43:49 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] Humans have the reputation of being both an extremely dangerous species and social creatures that are easy to bond with, making them great crew members for voyagers. You and your shipmates are worried about your newly recruited human because you don't know what an introvert is.
Inspired by various "Humans are space orcs" posts from tumblr. I reposted this to change some minor grammar errors
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It was staring at the hologram again.
Tyrat had hired a good dozen or so humans to serve on his ship over the years and their questions before signing on were always different but alluded to the same motivation. Where are you going? What are you looking for? What are we going to see? What am I going to get to fight? A relatively small percentage of the humans who fought in the First Contact War and the Yurzran Liberation decided not to return home and it was, according to the xeno-psychologists, a very specific type of individual who was irresistibly drawn to exploring the unknown. Humanity was in its galactic infancy and the ones taking the first steps were always the curious ones, the ones hungriest to see and do and hunt everything that they could find.
With Jeremiah, however, this was clearly not the case. This one only had one question for Tyrat before signing on, "Are you going to Sar Diegonis?" When the answer was yes this human signed the contract without any hesitation and loaded their equipment and considerable firepower onto the frigate. From that point on Jeremiah was almost a ghost on the vessel. They patrolled the corridors in silence, obsessively checked the ships systems to the point of annoying engineers, and seemed to actively avoid being in the same space as the rest of the crew. But most of all they just stared at that damn hologram of Sar Diegonis.
Jeremiah was one of the most physically formidable humans that had ever served on Tyrat's frigate and judging from the number of scars they bore, extreme even for a human, they were initially a perfect candidate to serve as the new security detail. The crew had read his service record with a mix of awe and shock as they learned that Jeremiah had survived 17 orbital assault drops, the Bombing of Malachek, and four months behind enemy lines without support during the hellish siege of Kasmi. Their fascination turned to unease when they found that instead of regaling them with tales of battle and feats that nearly defy physics, their new hired monster preferred to stalk in the shadows and cling to the holochip that they seemingly couldn't live without.
The landing on Sar Diegonis could not have come fast enough and upon docking the crew virtually fled the vessel. Tyrat exhaled with relief but knew that his nightmare had only begun as he was likely to leave with no more than half the crew he had arrived with. Humans are excellent for morale when they are on your side, but when the crew in unsure if one of those skull-crushing fists might fall on them next they tend to find a new employer as soon as possible. When Jeremiah finished setting the perimeter and asked if they could take a short leave to visit the local beach Tyrat could not have agreed fast enough.
Two days later and the job was done but Tyrat's security detail was nowhere to be found. An inspection of Jeremiah's quarters found that their belongings were mostly still there but his largest bag of equipment was missing. Against the wishes of the crew who desperately wanted to lift off without the human Tyrat hailed Jeremiah on the communicator and internally debated the wisdom of going out of his way to bring a misbehaving predator back aboard.
"Yeah boss, sorry I'm late," grunted the human over the channel, "but, uh, I'm having a hard time making myself leave. Would you mind coming to get me?"
Tyrat's crew begged him not to go. They swore up and down that it was a trap and that this was a perfect time to leave this monster behind them. But Tyrat knew that if other humans found out that Tyrat left one of them behind, the entire crew were as good as dead. So Tyrat prepared one of the ship's landspeeders and made sure to lock out the frigate's main computer lest he be abandoned as well. As he sped off a thought occurred to him equal parts comforting and unsettling; why set a trap when Jeremiah can just kill us all whenever he feels like it?
The captain had no idea what he expected to see, but it definitely was not what he found. He pulled up on Jeremiah sitting staring at the great ocean, arms wrapped around his knees. Beside him was a small structure built out of wood from the local trees and strewn about him were hammers, saws, axes, and shovels. It was a house. Nothing large or extravagant, but sturdy and put together with extreme care and precision like it had been thought over to the last minute detail. It sat on a cliff with the front door facing over the rocks and sand out into the endless waters, with a path carved out of the solid rock face leading down to the sands below.
Jeremiah stood and slowly turned to face Tyrat. The human's hands were swollen and bloody, his face puffy and wet, and with his shirt off Tyrat saw not one, but two pairs of ID tags hung from Jeremiah's neck. The human gave the captain a little nod and walked over to the house, where he took off one of the ID tags and hung it on the front door. Jeremiah took one last long look at the house, and then at the ocean, and then back at the house again before turning away for good and stepping into the speeder with Tyrat.
"Are you ready to go? Don't you need to bring your tools?"
"No Boss, I don't need them anymore. I already did what I needed them for."
"Oh alright then I guess."
As the speeder pulled away Tyrat's curiosity got the better of him and he risked asking one more question of the most frightening thing that had ever been in strangling range of him. "Why did you take all the time to build that and then just leave it? I know that humans like working with their hands but I've never seen them do it for no reason."
"It's not for no reason boss, I did it for someone that was supposed to come here with me after Kasmi. She always wanted to see Sar Diegonis and I just wanted to go home but I promised her that we would do it anyway."
Jeremiah's eyes closed gently and the corners of his mouth pulled up into a slight smile, an expression that Tyrat had thought this human incapable of. "But she's there now and I think she will like it. Where we off to next boss? Anything there worth mounting on my wall?"
|
"Oi Jim you gonna eat with us tonight? I heard there's a cute humie female that joined the crew." Kraxis knew the answer before he even asked the question.
Jim was odd. Good. But also odd. Atleast for a human at any rate. Sure in a fight he had their usual battle prowess and he could fix just about anything on the ship good as new with what the humans called elbow grease and duct tape. But the other humans Kraxis had known were... well they loved to talk. And try to mate, even outside their species!
But Jim just pushed up his glasses and rolled his ever so slightly launched shoulders while holding a tray of food. "Thanks. But I'm going to get some extra work done. Sorry."
"Ahh don't worry about it jim. You can join us when you want."
Jim nodded and slunk down the hallway.
It was weird. Every other human Kraxis had known seemed to need to socialize to stay functional. And beer lots of beer. But Jim was what they called an introvert.
And he was starting to think that was his favorite kind of human.
| 2019-11-17T08:16:36 | 2019-11-17T08:02:42 | 47 | 25 |
[WP] In the middle of a fight with a known villain, you, the hero are stopped by a young child. “If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?” Behind the child, you see the villain silently fist pump.
|
The Golden Gorilla ground to a halt, his mind a fuzzy mass of rage, the remnants of half a city block clinging to his golden fur. There was something in the way, a shape. A little, living, human shape.
“If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than her?”
The Golden Gorilla grunted, shaking his head, feet pawing at the concrete of the sidewalk. In the road ahead, between himself and his arch nemesis The Crimson Song, a small boy sat atop a tricycle, pedaling casually between burning cars. He wore a Micky Mouse shirt and blue shorts, his shoes lit up as he pedaled. He’d spoken, but the words hadn’t made sense.
The boy rode straight up to the Gorilla, not at all afraid of the towering, fifteen foot tall monster that had once been a man. He hopped off his tricycle at the end of the sidewalk and walked forward, placing a small, shockingly steady hand on the Gorilla’s shin. “Please don’t fight anymore,” he said, “it’s scary when you fight. People get hurt.”
Across the street The Crimson Song laughed, her high, bright voice carrying over all the car alarms and bystanders’ screams. The Gorilla, still confused, lowered himself closer to the child’s level, giving a small, interrogative series of hoots. The boy tilted his head to the side, and for the first time since he’d appeared he looked nervous.
“He doesn’t understand you, ape!” Crimson Song shouted from across the street. “Then again, nobody does, whichever form you take.”
The Golden Gorilla rose quickly up to his full height, howling at the sky, pounding his chest with hands that could shatter buildings, that could shatter her too if he could only catch her.
And the child began to cry.
It was the sort of full on, ugly, no holds barred cry that only a small child could manage. The kind that tore at hearts universally, whether you understood or not. The Golden Gorilla stopped mid display, his fists falling slowly to his sides, his lips curling back down to cover his teeth. He glanced around, realizing that even the screams of the bystanders had stopped, the street was silent, save for the burning and the car alarms and the overriding immediacy of a child’s tears.
“Oh now look what you’ve done!” the Crimson Song exclaimed. “Whatever we have between us was that really necessary?”
Necessary? The Gorilla let out a small, distressed whine, staring down at the child. It had seemed necessary at the time, but then, when he was a Gorilla didn’t everything?
Reaching down with one gigantic hand the Golden Gorilla scooped up the boy, raising his scalp to eye level. A collective gasp tore through the onlookers as every phone camera and TV crew in the city turned their lenses to one moment, either in terror or anticipation of incredible ratings. The Gorilla reached up with his other hand, still whining softly, and gently, as gently as he was able, he began to comb through the boys hair with the tip of a single fingernail.
“Oh for the love of— you’re grooming him? Really?” The Crimson Song shook her head and suddenly her boots glowed, red cape trailing out behind her as she rose into the air and flew over to her enemy and the boy in his hands.
“You’re terrifying the poor thing! I knew you were an oaf but honestly, this might be your worst moment yet.”
Hovering in the air at eye level to the Gorilla, the Crimson Song reached down and stroked the crying boy’s back. “Hey buddy, what’s your name? The big scary gorilla would have asked by now but he’s a gorilla and I hear they struggle sometimes.”
“Mom says I’m not supposed to talk to super-villains.”
Song deadpanned. The Gorilla’s shoulders shook with small hoots of laughter. She shot him a glare that could melt steel and he almost felt bad. “Well buddy,” Song said, her tone deceptively sweet, “until we can get you back to her it looks like we’re all you’ve got. I’d say as long as it’s a…ahemm…‘superhero’ holding you you’re probably doing ok.”
“Really?”
“Really. What’s your name?”
The boy paused for a long moment. “Tommy,” he said finally, his voice still shaking with tears.
“Well Tommy, where is your mom? My *friend*,” she positively snarled the word, “and I were kind of in the middle of something as you can see.”
Then Tommy did something neither of them had expected. He looked her straight in the eye and extended his little arm out towards the nearby playground. More precisely, to the burning wreckage of a car in front of it.
“Oh!” Song gasped.
The Golden Gorilla howled so loudly the boy began crying again, and then he was crying too, great Gorilla sized tears, each one of them splashing onto the ground like full, overturned buckets and spreading out in a golden puddle.
“Can you stop being such an oaf!” Song shouted, but he could see she was struggling too, still staring off at the burning wreck. “Tommy,” she said, “are you sure?”
Tommy nodded.
Several long moments later, when Song’s eyes weren’t so watery and her hand on Tommy’s back no longer shook so badly, she smiled gently at the boy, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Tommy, I’m going to sing you a little song and then you’re going to feel better, ok?”
The Golden Gorilla’s hand was a hairy blur as he reached out, wrapping her up in an iron fist. “Oww, stop, stop!” she shouted at him. He grunted menacingly, eyes darting between her and the boy.
“Come on, let go! I know other songs, you know I know other songs!” The Gorilla’s grip loosened slightly as long suppressed memory rose up, the thin, high thread of a voice in the next room.
“Idiot,” she said, shaking her head at him. She pounded at his fist once more and the Gorilla let her free, and returning to Tommy’s side, she began to sing.
It started, low, in a register she’d never had in those memories, and with each sibilant syllable there was something else, like another voice shadowing hers. Her song rose quickly, lacking any meter but not needing it, and even primed for rage as he was The Golden Gorilla felt himself tiring, all the muscles in his gargantuan body relaxing. Tommy had no chance. His crying slowed, his eyelids grew heavy, head drooping down to the Gorilla’s rough palm.
The song rang out across the street, and for once The Crimson Song didn’t glow crimson as she sang, rather a soft, light blue that felt like old times. She stroked Tommy's back as he fell asleep, and then, gently, ever so gently, she took him from the Gorilla’s hand and floated down to the ground to lay him in a nearby bench.
She crouched next to Tommy, brushing back his hair, and the Golden Gorilla leaned over them both, casting an all encompassing shadow across them. Alarms still went off all across the street, cameras still ran everywhere. The Gorilla looked around at the devastation and saw it in a new light.
Then he heard crying, and he looked down again at his nemesis. The blue glow was gone, but so was the red as well. She stared across the street at the park, forcing her gaze onto the burning wreckage of the car in front of it.
“What are we doing?” she asked, so quietly it might not even have been meant for the Gorilla’s ears.
He growled softly, trying to form her name, her real name, with a tongue that couldn’t. He only got the R in the beginning right. “Turn back Aaron,” the Crimson Song said, laying a hand on his foot. “Please turn back, I can’t do this anymore today.”
The hand felt so familiar. How long had it been since she touched him in anything but anger? Then a small, thin thread of song started, and this time there was no shadowy second voice behind it, no magic clinging to the words. It was the same song he remembered from all those years ago, the lullaby she used to sing in the nursery, when they’d had a nursery to sing lullabies in.
The edges of the Gorilla’s rage softened. His shoulders fell, fists unclenched. He sat down on the ground, and it trembled as his weight landed.
Fur sloughed off of skin, hands and feet shrunk, his teeth fell out of his mouth, crashing to the ground point first and sticking up. The Golden Gorilla changed, his form becoming less frightening, less impossible, more human with every second, and all the while the cameras rolled until a naked, exhausted man stood in the street amidst the shredded flesh and shattered bones of the greatest ape. Blood and sweat dripped from his body and he collapsed onto one knee under the weight of a thousand different aches and bruises.
“Hello Aaron,” she said.
r/TurningtoWords
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mta87n/wp_in_the_middle_of_a_fight_with_a_known_villain/gv037pj?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
|
Alaira was silent for a moment, and a slight frown spread across her face. Zeaal silently celebrated and smirked at the young girl. Alaira hated that smug look.
"Things are a bit more complicated than that." Alaira started, kneeling down to look the child in the eyes. "You're right, there will be some damage done and some property damaged. Innocent people may also be hurt."
"Then why do you think you're any better than her?" The child spat, contempt in his eyes.
"That's right, girl. What makes you better?" Zeaal mocked. She raised her halberd as if in victory.
"The difference is that Zeaal hurts people out of spite. She doesn't care who or what is in her way. I, on the other hand, want to protect the people she has hurt."
The little boy frowned, and spat on the ground in front of Alaira. "So my mam had to die to stop this lady? You are what you're saying she is."
Horrified, Alaira thought back to the kindly woman who rescued her when she was nearly killed by Zeaal months ago. How in order to save her life, the woman gave her own. A tear formed in her eye, as she listened to the child. "You're mother believed I was the only one that could stop this woman. She gave her life for mine, so we could rescue the rest of the kingdom."
"My mam didn't die to save nobody. You threw the other lady through a wall and she landed on her." The boy began to cry angry tears. "She lived, and the building collapsed. We tried to pull the stone away, but it took two days. By the time pa was able to free her, she bled out. I'll never forgive you!"
Alaira let the words hang in the air for a moment. Her chest tightened. More tears started to fall as she looked at the child who's mother she had inadvertently taken away. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I understand why you can't forgive me..." Her eyes dropped to the ground.
In that moment the boy sprung forward, pulling a dagger from behind him on his belt. He swung in a sloppy arc aiming for the young girl's chest, but digging the blade into her clavicle. The boy finally broke down crying, "It's not fair! Why did she have to die? You killed her!"
Alaira felt the blade pierce her skin, the blood run down her chest, and the boy standing in front of her full of hatred and grief. She pulled the boy toward her into a hug. "You're right. It's my fault. I hurt you. You have every reason to hate me. I'm so sorry."
Tears streamed down both of their faces, as Zeaal watched. The smirk had widened to a grin somewhere along the way, and now the woman was slowly moving closer to the distracted girl. She lifted
her halberd, and began to take aim for Alaira. But the boy was in the way.
The boy pulled on the hilt of the blade he'd been holding, trying to remove it form the girl's bone, but the strength of his rage left him, as the person he hated most cried with him and for him.
Alaira was a mess inside and out. She thought she was doing right, the good thing. But she hurt this boy beyond repair. She couldn't help but cry for the pain she caused, knowing there was no going back.
Zeaal swung the halberd in an arc, hitting Alaira across the head with the flat of the blade causing the girl to crumple to the ground while still holding the boy. She quickly used that momentum to swing the pole around over her head, and back to a pointed position at the back of the boy's neck. On the other side of which was Alaira's throat.
"This is why I still fight." Alaira whispered to the boy, her head ringing from the last attack. "She's a monster who attacks those who are at their weakest. I just want everyone to have a fair shot."
At that moment Zeaal went to plunge her blade through the boy and into Alaira. But the girl pulled the dagger from her shoulder and in the one swift motion parried the halberd. She let go of the boy and stood, drawing her sword once again. Alaira then stepped forward, bleeding and concussed, placing herself between the boy and Zeaal. She raised the dagger in her right hand, and her sword in her left.
"Come on now, I'm ready for you."
| 2021-04-18T06:48:18 | 2021-04-18T06:34:53 | 824 | 82 |
[WP] the grim reaper appears in your bedroom. You look at him, and notice a version of yourself standing next to him. The grim reaper tells the other you "if you don't change your ways, this is how you end up." The other you is mortified and vows to change his ways, and they vanish.
|
When it happened the first time, I thought it was a dream.
*"If you don't change your ways, this is how you end up."* The black-hooded figure with the skeletal face told the younger version of me, before vanishing into thin air.
I picked my head off the pillow, stared at them and dozed-off, dismissing it as a weird dream.
Then it happened a second time, about a week or so, later.
*"If you don't change your ways, this is how you end up."* I heard him enunciate slowly, and I noticed the horrified look on my younger self's face. And then they vanished, again.
*'Weird.'* I thought to myself in the morning. *'How often does that happen?'*
It never happened to me - having the exact same dream, twice - I mean. Not to mention me remembering the small details of what happened. Like the clothes I was wearing, or the cut on my younger self's lip, or the large dilated pupils he... I was looking at my self with.
Then it happened the third time. And then the fourth. And the fifth.
Each time the details were the same, but slightly different. The hooded figure was the same, but young me - wasn't. They were different versions of me, in different times of my youth, from about 6 and 11 years old.
*'What kind of games is my mind playing on me?'* \- was my second, initial reaction.
I did what every grown adult would do in that case. I went online for a self diagnosis and apparently, my mind was trying to suggest something to me - something that I didn't quite understand yet.
*'If you don't change your ways, this is how you end up.'* \- the words were etched in my brain by that point.
What was so wrong with me, that my younger self would have been so traumatized by?
I couldn't quite put a finger on that. Yes, I was living alone, but at least it was in my own house. And yes, I may have added a few pounds since of late, but I'm not fat, I'm chubby at best - and that's a stretch too, if you ask me. And I didn't even entirely inherit my father's bald spot. As for work - I could've landed something better, but being an accountant isn't all that bad - I always liked numbers, and they seemed to like me. So what was it all about?
The hooded skeleton increased the frequency in which he visited me at night, from once a week, to twice a week, to every night. It became quite bothersome.
At first, I tried saying something when the two appeared, but neither of them seemed to realize I was talking.
I set up a bright digital clock, right above the door, where they appeared, trying to measure a time period of when they arrived, but they were inconsistent - they could come in every stage of the night.
I started closing the door and I set dangling can traps - like the ones in 'Home Alone' and I started putting bowls of water where they would typically appear. But every time - they would simply appear in different places.
The hooded fella would continue appearing with a different version of me, still in the range of ages of 6 to 11. Him - always repeating the same words. And young me - always looking shocked at what he had seen.
I was starting to get desperate. So I went to 'google' again, but this time I tried tackling the issue on another front.
'Best pills to knock you out for the whole night' - I searched.
'SnoozZzZ' arrived just like that in a couple of days.
I admit they looked quite shady, but I wasn't one to go out much and have social interactions, that often. Besides, they promised these would solve my problem.
I took two before going to sleep, just as instructed and they worked like a charm, until of course the dreaded duo arrived, and I was magically up to see them judging me. This time, although - it was different. This time - it wasn't even little me - it was some other brat, someone I have never seen. And the little shit - was judging me, with his big, wide-open eyes.
"Oh, come on!" I yelled at them as they started disappearing. "That's a load of bullocks!" I yelled into the dead of night.
*'That's it.'* \- I thought. 'That was the last straw.'
I decided that this night - I wasn't going to let them slip my grasp. I was going to intercept them, and meet them just as they appear. I was not going to sleep.
I loaded up with some coffee, energy drinks, snacks, the series of 'Harry Potter', some more coffee, and waited.
The hours flew by quickly - 'Harry Potter' was a favorite of mine and if anything was going to pass me through the night - it was that.
Then, at around 4 in the morning, as Harry and Cedric were transported to Little Hangleton's graveyard, the two twats appeared.
I pulled the Spider-man blanket off me, and nearly broke my custom made Pikachu mug, as I sprung to my feet.
"Got you, fuckers!" I yelled at the two as they turned to face me.
They could see me!
"I am deeply sorry, child." The hooded figure baritoned. "This has never happened before."
The kid yet again - was not me.
"What the fuck is going on?" I scratched my head, then my beard.
"Ah, what the hell..." The skeleton changed his voice into a faster one. "You suck." He attacked. "You are the worst example I could think of." He did not spare any words.
"Wha... wha... what?" I did not see that coming.
"Every version of you that had seen how you end up, had changed their ways - and achieved greatness." He took a deep breath. "In fact, I even decided to show you to some other children - and guess what - they've fucking grew up to become decent adults, since seeing you."
"But... that happened two nights ago."
"Ah, time means nothing to me. I am the Grim Reaper. But, I don't expect you to understand or believe me, or anything for that matter."
"Uhh..." I had nothing to say. I didn't think far enough as to confront the man, and I was left speechless. My mouth may have stayed agape. "Uhh..."
"Forget it. I'm sick of looking at you every night. I'll find someone else. Too bad I wouldn't be able to find anyone as bad as you."
"Uhh..."
"Have a terrible, miserable life!" He snapped his finger, the two disappeared into thin air, and the door slammed itself shut - dropping my fedora on the floor.
I picked it up, and put it back next to my sword collection.
"Gee. The nerve on some people." I murmured before laying in my bed, Catwoman's body pillow cuddled between my legs.
*'Well. Problem solved. I won't be seeing them again.'* I smiled - a smile of triumph, as I could finally sleep quietly.
&#x200B;
|
Immediately I sat up off my bed. “Hold up, what the FUCK”. Furious, I walk down the hall towards my garage, cell phone in hand. I rummaged around a bit, before finding the incredibly dusty and thick book containing the yellow pages.
Thumbing around the book for a few moments, I find and call a number. After a couple of rings, they pick up.
“Hello, this is Mortys Afterlife Payday loans, you end up dead, we see to it you don’t see red. How can we help you?” “Yeah, hi. Listen, can I please talk to one of your managers please? Of the multiverse division?” “Certainly, please hold”
After a moment, a new voice picked up. “Hi, how can I help you today?” I explained the situation to him, and he apologized profusely, and asked me to wait a moment. The line went dead.
Then POOF! Death showed up next to me again, look-alike in tow, and he looked incredibly embarrassed. This time, a manager stood to his left, enraged.
“For the FOURTH time, Death!” The manager barked. “What have we told you about personal comparisons!?”
Death sighed. “IT MAKES PEOPLE FEEL UNCOMFORT-” “Yes, it makes people feel uncomfortable!” The manager finished for him. “So why do you keep doing it?! It’s embarrassing for the company! Keep this up and say goodbye to that promotion you’ve been looking at! Now say sorry to the man!”
Death looked me in the eye and quietly said “IM SORRY MISTER. IT WILL NOT HAPPEN AGAIN”
“It’s fine.” I said. I looked at my twin. “Man, don’t go for these loans. They end up really biting you hard in the end. Sorry you got mixed up in all this.” He looked down and said to the manager “I’m sorry, I think he’s- I, am right. I kind of want to go back on this loan.”
The manager went off on a rant again, before all three figures popped off while he was mid-sentence. I hate these visits.
| 2018-12-30T13:02:35 | 2018-12-30T12:51:54 | 144 | 63 |
[WP] Murder is rare; killing someone means their remaining years are 'subtracted' from yours. Likewise, saving a life (or lives) adds time to your own. Nobody knows why. Centuries ago you killed a young man by accident (usually resulting in instant death). You haven't aged since.
|
over three hundred years its been since i'd stopped aging. I'd had to leave everything behind my parent's, who were surely long dead by now, my children, my friend's, my fiance and of course, her little secret. She had been cheating on me.
When i found them together i flew into a rage. Normally i was very calm but surely you can excuse my anger at seeing another man, who at least appeared to be ten years younger then me, fucking the love of my life.
First i broke his legs, i remember it clearly two swift hits to the kneecaps with a two by four we had by the couch for some work we were doing on the house. Then i grabbed him by the head and started smashing it into the wall.
Of course I knew the consequences of murder, A man this young would probably result in my immediate death. But the more i smashed his head and the more he smiled at me the more i didn't care. In fact this is probably what that whore deserved to watch both her lovers die in front of her. Not like i had anything to live for anymore anyway. Sure the kids but truthfully I had started to suspect the boy, Damian, wasn't really mine. As for my daughter Cassandra, well i loved her with all my heart she was only a year old now. The thought of it almost made me stop but that smile. that stupid smile that i only now understood, it turned my whole world red.
His dead body thumped to the floor and I stood there waiting for my punishment but it never came. The law didn't punish you for murder because the life it cost was considered enough but still back then at least. It weighed on the soul. You never wanted to wake up from a rage to find yourself holding a dead man. A man who might have children of his own. Trust me.
Of course what you really wouldn't want was what came next. They found me on my way to my favorite place a small patch of grass by our town lake nicely concealed from eyesight by a few well placed trees. A bottle of rum in my hands.. Planning to spend what i assumed would be my last few hours, plastered and alone. Real good father i know.
Anyways they called themselves the Guardians. pretentious fucking name if you ask me. They explained to me the man i killed was actually what they called, The Keeper. There was only one in all the world and he kept the curse in place. The Keeper would never age and was of course immune to sickness. All the years someone gained or lost through murder or saving a life was passed directly though them. of course they also served as sort of a shield for all of the pain that would usually be transferred from a spell like.
This was where the Guardians became useful, besides being weird robed cultists that showed up and explained the great secret, they also shared in the pain. Splitting it up among all of us so the keeper wouldn't be in constant unparalleled agony. Of course they couldn't take it all so it was still definitely unpleasant. Of course only the Keeper himself was immortal. The only way they could die and have the role passed on, im sure you've already figured out, is through killing the last Keeper.
They also explained that The Keeper could in fact kill themselves. Ending the curse entirely. So far no one had chosen to do this agreeing the world a better place, free of war and mass murder, and rewarding people for caring about their fellow man. I guess i more or less agreed. Soon the pain would come and it fucking sucked. Constant pain. It would subside just long enough for you to never get used to it. but what was I supposed to do, I kinda felt like i deserved it anyway.
So I spent the next hundred years drinking and travelling seeing what the world had to offer. Truth be told it wasn't much especialy with no one to share it with. Sure i had the occasional partner on those nights that i felt so inclined, but in the morning i was back on the road. Sure after a few decades it seems like i should have gotten over what my ex fiance had done, but I just didn't want to. It didn't help that it ended up being the most important night of my life.
I was starting to get really bored, basically just waiting for some idiot to kill me, and pissing off a lot of people in the hopes it would happen. But the curse kept people in line. One day after a drunken rant explaining my woes to a bartender who had nothing better to do she posed an interesting question.
Did that mean i could murder more people without facing the consequences? I'd never thought of that i guess she had a point. She told me i could make a lot of difference with that kind of power. Sure there wasnt war, but there were still sex traffickers, pedophiles, dirty politicians. Lots of people deserved to die.
So i spent my next hundred years as a serial killer. Sure for the greater good and all that but honestly it was just something to do and i thought it gave me a good chance of getting killed.
"But even that is starting to get boring " I said to the man on the couch next to me. We were both on a cocktail of random drugs so i really didn't care about sharing my secrets. Honestly i was hoping to convince him to kill me. Sure it isn't super nice to take advantage of some guy too high to realize wht he was getting into but i'm fucking desperate.
"I did not hear a fucking word you just said man but it sounded like you need another line buddy." Fuck of course. Suddenly the door bell rang. I took my line.
As buddy walked to the door it smashed open. A woman maybe ten or fifteen years older then me stood at the door. She looked eerily familiar.
"You're a hard man to find, father." She said.
"Cassandra? but i dont understand how are you here, how are you still alive?"
"Same way as you, I've saved over 50 lives." Wow my daughter basically a hero Im so proud
"Drug addicts, prostitutes, pedophiles, whatever it took to stay alive eand find you." oh.
"Do you know what happened after you abandoned me and mother, she fell into a terrible depression. She killed herself when i was ten years old. TEN YEARS OLD. Poor Damian tried so hard to take care of me he ended up getting sick. And where were you! Out doing drugs saving easy lives from overdoses like a coward. " she pulled out a gun
"No no wait you don't understand"
BANG
|
You recall how after a few decades people started noticing and your life began to fall apart. You were a marvel at first, then a freak and eventually people started getting scared of you. Wild rumours about your body parts being magic burst from seemingly nowhere and it didn't take long before even your closest friends and family conspired to capture you for their own gains.
You've spent nearly a century in hiding, moving from place to place, never staying long enough to be recognized. Only after your existence finally faded into myth did you find any peace. Once it was possible, you spent the remaining centuries building yourself and your knowledge as well as a vast wealth. You dedicated yourself to finding answers and using all your resources, hired the best and most talented medics, healers and scholars you could find.
Now you have lived nearly six centuries. In that time, you've watched humanity grow and evolve very rapidly, some of it's scientific developments you are proud to say you've invested in yourself. Your incredibly expensive technological ventures are now patented and you are the shadow head of the worlds most advanced spacefaring multinational corporation.
Six centuries of studying the dug up corpse of that young man you killed has produced an extraordinary discovery. That young man was not human. One look at the DNA extracted cleared that up right away. So naturally, you steered your resources towards space navigation and travel, you were going to get your answers even if you had to search the galaxy for them.
| 2020-11-02T01:14:57 | 2020-11-02T01:02:31 | 34 | 23 |
[WP] You are going on a quest to avenge the death of your brother. Each village elder gives a gift. The Dwarf an axe, the elf a bow & the Necromancer your brother.
* Your village is very multicultural.
|
"Oi, Dremar, can you help me hoist the tent?"
The dark eyed man glanced over at me as I hold up two poles. Grath, our dwarven companion, was little help. Lestar, the elf, was trying his best but we just need extra hands.
"Mmm, go help them, if you will," Dremar said. He waved a long fingered hand and his shambling servant waddled over to us and held the final tent pole in place.
Lestar laughed but Grath grimaced at it.
"You couldn't have brought more to the table than your personal zombie companion?" she asked. "I mean how does it help us get any closer to avenging Lane's brother?"
It didn't really but I didn't mind Dremar's contribution. It meant a lot. Besides, there was something I liked about his weird little zombie pet. Something familiar that made me not as grossed out as the others.
___
At every turn something seemed to thwart us. Bandits and goblins and washed out bridges. We soldiered through, though, fighting to reach our ultimate goal, the castle of the Dread Queen Barsh. She was the one who had captured my brother's platoon as they provided relief to the poor peasants in lands bordering hers.
It had been she who had smote them all.
We camped on the edge of her land the night before going in. Everyone went to bed early but I stayed up a bit longer, staring at the sky.
What kind of revenge did Sam want? Did he want me to burn the castle to the ground? Kill the queen? Make a statement of her? Did he even want me here?
"What do you want, Sam?" I whispered, my breath carried in the air.
I heard a groan behind me and looked back to find Dremar's zombie companion kinda staring blankly in my direction. I'd really come to appreciate it for all it had done for us. I knew zombies were mindless but I liked to think I saw a spark in his eyes.
"What do you think? Do you think he wants me to quit or take out the castle?"
It gargled a bit and then pointed at the castle.
I laughed. Yes, Dremar would want us to take out the castle, so his little pet would as well.
"Alright, you know the dead better than I do, little one." I grinned and it kinda grinned back at me.
___
The battle was hard fought but well won. Grath had toppled the walls with a weird, jerryrigged catapult she'd made from nothing. Lestar had picked off so many orcish slaves with his arrows that I'd forgotten Barsh even had an army.
Dremar and I went in, accompanied by his servant and any other decent corpses he raised on the way.
The Queen screamed when she saw us, furious at how we got past her guards. Turns out she wasn't much of a fighter and I'd gotten very strong. The battle didn't last long.
As she lay dying on the ground, she looked up at us and gurgled, "Wait... I know you." Then her eyes shifted and they grew wide. "Both of you."
I frowned. Her eyes hadn't drifted to me when she said this last bit. Rather, they'd moved to the zombie.
A moment later, Dremar kicked her body over. "Good riddance." There was a harsher tone to his voice than I'd expected and I certainly didn't expect the tears shining in his black eyes. He looked back at his zombie pet. "What do you think? I did good?"
The zombie made some weird noise, almost like conversation, but not in a language I understood.
Dremar laughed. "Yeah. Yeah she did good too. I think we're all proud of her now."
The two looked over at me and for just a moment, I saw the same level of intellect and sentience in both their eyes. Dremar's eyes were the same terrifying black that demarked all necromancers but the zombie's were, for a moment, a piercing blue I'd know all my life.
"Can I tell her?" Dremar asked but he didn't have to.
Not anymore.
"How?" I whispered, knees trembling. "I thought... I thought-"
Dremar avoided eye contact as he spoke. "We were on the same platoon. Soldiers because my kind weren't well accepted. Sam was in a higher rank than I was. Saw I was no good at fighting and helped me find a different, more logistic role. It saved my life and I tried to repay the favor when our commanders tried to put his squad in a bad spot. They ignored me."
While he talked, the zombie shambled up to me, putting a hand on my shoulder, eyes still blue.
"I abandoned my post. Deserted. Rode as hard and fast as I could to where the slaughter was happening. I was too late."
"What happened to you?" I whispered, tears swimming over my eyes, down my cheeks, tickling my tongue with their salt.
"He was too far gone but not quite dead. He asked me to avenge him, find you, tell him he was proud of you. He asked me if I could pass him messaged from life to death but that's not... that's not how it worked." Dremar sniffed sharply and I could tell he was crying too. "So I asked if he wanted to come with. Help us get vengeance. See you... a little bit longer. The spells wearing off now. It had a pretty strict lifespan... I wanted to say but he didn't want you to know. To travel with him, knowing he was like this."
"You idiot," I scolded, laughter pushing sobs out my throat. "You should have said."
He made a noise, like laughter, but there were tears in his eyes too. I held him for another moment or two before the shuddering breaths he took silenced and his body went still.
I looked up at Dremar. The tears on my face were different than when I'd first heard the news. "I didn't know zombies could cry."
He gave a watery laugh. "I don't think they can. It may have just been the spell wearing off."
I nodded, but I knew that wasn't true. No, that was Sam, my Sam, and I'd know that look in his eyes when he cried. I'd know it anywhere.
"Thanks, Dremar," I said. Then I lowered my voice to a whispered. "And thank you, Sam. For sticking around a bit longer. I hope you can rest now. I love you, baby brother."
___
Find more stories at [r/SamaraWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamaraWrites/)
|
Necromancer: what?
The rest of the village stare at him with his arms still help up in the air from having summoned your brother back into his corpse.
Necromancer: What are you staring at??
He looked genuinely annoyed. He looks at the now living corpse of your murdered kin who himself looks qt the sorcerer, agape. I mean he's agape because his jaw had partially come unhindged but he looked bewildered all the same.
Necromancer: Okay fine. I'LL SEND HIM BACK."
He raises his arms again to undo the spell but he is tackled to the ground by one of the dwarves.
Necromancer: what do you want from me?
Finally you find your voice.
You: Thank you everyone for your gifts.
You eye the necromancer again.
You: This will be a difficult journey. The mudliars (Mood - lee - arrs) have taken so many from us. They have killed friends, parents and brothers.
Your rotting brother twists hos head to look sadly in your direction.
You: But no more. I will.
Your dead brother makes a grunting noise that sounds like 2 rocks being rubbed together.
You: we, my brother and I, will avenge my brother's death and pay the mudliars tenfold for the suffering they have caused. I (another grunt) we will take our leave.
You walk over to pick up the gifts. The bow the axe, the sword. Your brother's arm and hisnow fully unhinged jaw.
And so it happened. The legend of the spirit of vengeance and his helper, the decaying corpse of vengeance unfolds.
| 2020-08-19T12:05:42 | 2020-08-19T09:50:04 | 138 | 18 |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it.
|
I stared down at the men levelling their blades at me. I spied several of the palace guard amidst the swelling ranks in my throne room. I turned to my head guard for assistance and was met his sword leveled at me.
"Really Hector? A coup? How bold." I smiled blithely down the blade before turning back to the crowd. "And Doctor Leach too? I didn't know you had it in you. And is that old Captain Hulm? Well, blow me... Come on the, do tell... Who was the mastermind of all this?" A pause hung heavy between us. "Don't be shy... I'm *impressed*." A short runt of boy was pushed forth, the crowd closing behind him. Separated from his legion he looked weak and weedy, clutching his sickle like his life depended on it. He probably thought it did. Poor kid.
"Dark L-lord Azimuth of Duskbridge. W-w-we come, ah, before you, to... ummm."
"I'll wait." I grinned. This only flustered the poor whelp even further. He looks back at the stonefaced mob behind him. He sighed, before raising his sickle and proclaiming,
"Dark Lord Azimuth, We have come before you to defend our rights as citizens and put an end to your tyranny."
"That's a noble sentient. I'd probably have been more worried if you *weren't* shaking like a leaf. A+ for effort though." I stand to gave him a round of applause. Everyone in the room tightened their grip on their weapons. "Oh, for godsake, lower your weapons. You'll have someone's eye out."
"We will not be mock, Azimuth." A voice boomed from the crowd.
"Me? Mocking? *Wouldn't dream of it*." I raised an eyebrow, "Now... what was it you wanted?"
"Your head on a spike and your tyranny gone from this land!" The same voice bellowed.
"My good sir, I do believe you're drunk. Now, anyone sober, what do you hope to gain from deposing me?"
I walked up to the head of the crowd. I leaned in closer. Long black robe trailing behind, I paced. "Anyone?"
"War."
I spun. It was Hector. "War, Hector? Why? To what end? Because you of all people know it's never war for the sake of war." I rolled my eyes. "It's because people *want* something. So I'll ask again. What *exactly* do you people want?"
"Freedom." It was the boy, his sickle hung limply at his side as he shrugged, almost like he wasn't sure of his motivation himself.
"Ok, freedom. Good. But freedom from what, exactly? What oppression do you know in your day to day lives?" I returned to my throne.
"Freedom from your evil tyranny."
"See, you keep using that word... Tyranny. You think me a *tyrant*? I am no such thing. A tyrant is one who rules with an Iron Fist over a domain he has no claim to. I do Neither. I have not been harsh on my people. I have been a merciful, dare I say kind, ruler. And as to claim, I inherited the crown from my father, he from his, he from his and he won it in a poker game from a man who inherited it from his. The crown and land are mine, because their previous owner said so. Look it up, I have a legal claim to all this land. I own all your homes, all your businesses, all your livelihoods and I could evict you if I so chose. But I don't. I don't even demand excessive taxes. I offer social welfare and state subsidised education. Does that sound tyrannical to you? What about the justice system? A fair trial to be judged by an impartial judge and a jury of your peers. I'd like to say that sounds just and fair, right? We don't even demand military service in exchange for your rights. Dear Gods, I'm almost *too* generous."
"You are an evil and wicked man!" The boy's voice wavered.
"Am I? Sorry, must have missed a memo. But what exactly do I do, or fail to do, that gives you justification to call me that?"
"You levelled three whole streets on Riverside just last week." He cried out.
"The housing was no longer up to standard and a drake infestation made the entire area a fire hazard. The citizens have been relocated."
"To the bone orchard." One of them muttered.
"No, to a community housing area in the northern quarter." I sighed.
"You allow, no, *welcome* Alchemists and Necromancers into your court."
"*Scientists* and *Medics*." I corrected.
"They're experimenting on corpses!"
"How else are they to study anatomy? I couldn't very well condone letting inexperienced medical students loose on *living* citizens, could I?"
"What about the way you dabble with black magic?" Yelled the drunkard from the back of the crowd.
"Not magic. Science."
"Your jester made a joke at your expense a few days ago, no one's heard from him since." Another called out.
"He came down with a nasty flu. Doctor Leach can back me up here. He's recovering, which is just as well. Things have been so very dull without him."
"You introduce yourself as Dark Lord Azimuth of Duskbridge, Dreadmaster of the Midknight Guard. Come on, admit it, you are Evil."
"The Title came with the crown. There are seven Dark Lords under the High King, and not one of them is tyrannical. Each of the seven darklands has a democratic consil, a social safety net and free health care. That's why its a *Dark* Lord, by the way, because I rule a Darkland. I can't just change name of my position."
"You... you..." they struggled for a justification.
Finally, "You, uh, wear... an awful lot of skulls for a, ummm, not-evil Dark Lord? All the crown jewls are skull shaped too. Your throne is decorated with them."
"That," I said, nodding sagely, "Is becase Skulls look *Awesome*."
|
From my granite balcony I surveyed the depths of my domain. The sky was a bloody orange, flecked with clouds and the rising smoke of burning buildings. People, the size of ants, were torching statues and government buildings, the legacy of my rule. I turned around.
‘Why did you have to do all of this?’, the Hero said, brandishing his sword. ‘Why were you so evil in your rule’.
‘I wasn’t’, I said. ‘I really wasn’t. All this’–I made a sweeping gesture over my city–‘was necessary to my rule. My policies were harsh. I admit it. But for the continued survival of this small country, with goblins in the south and orcs in the north, it had to be done.
‘I’m sorry’, the Hero said as he thrust his blade through my chest, kicking me over the edge of my balcony. ‘You might’ve been a good person, but this is what the people want’.
A roar of approval erupted from the populace as I fell from grace, plummeting towards the cobbles, below. My last thought was of my failure to the kingdom; my failure to protect it from the myriad of foreign nations.
**Please critique this.**
**Edit:** word choice
| 2017-06-12T11:17:27 | 2017-06-12T01:33:38 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] The Distillery is a front for a guild of expert assassins, each codenamed after alcohol. Each member is skilled in a number of things, but when an important job really needs doing and nothing less than perfection is to be expected, a letter is always received with two words: "Send Whiskey."
|
The funny part was that she wasn't even old enough to drink.
I don't remember who had given her the name Whiskey. The little girl who showed up on our doorstep almost a decade ago, battered and bruised. She barely knew how to talk back then, even though she was already ten years old. We never did figure out what pieces of shit did that to her, but I guess now it didn't matter. We were her new parents. Had been for eight years.
To make one thing clear: when I said "we" raised her, I didn't mean me and one other person. God, no. That would be ludicrous. You need more than two people to handle Whiskey. The saying, "it takes a village"—yeah that's true, just the village in this case was a guild full of lethal assassins.
At first, nobody explicitly taught her anything. We all agreed it'd be best not to get a child mixed in our affairs. But before anyone realized it, she was rigging up bombs, picking the hardest practice locks we had (and eventually real ones), and trailing us around on missions. I still remember giving her her first job.
It was nothing crazy. Scuffle between two winery owners, something about one stealing the other's grapes. Whatever the case, someone had to die. Whiskey begged and begged—she had to have been thirteen then—and I said screw it. She was better than most of the guild at locks and poison, I figured she was ready.
I didn't realize how wrong I was until she got back. She puked up her guts all night.
"How could you?" she screamed between tears and bile. "How could you let me do that?"
She was right. I was an idiot. A thirteen year old girl had no business slicing a grown man's throat.
"I'm sorry," I said, not knowing any other words to make it better.
For the next year, Whiskey shut down. It was like when we had first gotten her. She barely spoke, barely ate, and barely left her bed. No matter what we did, her shell was unbreakable. That year had been one of the best for the guild's wealth. Nobody cared.
Eventually, with extreme caution, she began to wake up. She didn't talk still, but she'd at least join everyone for breakfast, or pick up a book or lock. A few months passed that way. People teased she was like a ghost. Then, finally, she spoke again.
"Hey, Martini," she said, as cavalier as one could during breakfast.
Wide-eyed, I stared at her for a moment before responding. "Yeah? What's up?"
"Could you give me another job? I wasn't ready last time, but now I thin—"
I stopped her in her tracks.
"No."
"Huh? Why not? I know what happened last time, but I'm older now and—"
I stared into her eyes, and she knew I was serious.
"No. I won't let you kill another person. Not yet, at least. You're too young. I mean, you can't even drink for God's sake."
Her lips curled into a devilish smirk; they looked like an imp's horns.
"Fine," she said, "but you better keep your word. As soon as I turn eighteen I get my own mission."
"Sure," I said, getting up from my chair and shaking my head. "If that's what you want."
"Oh," she said, as I was leaving the kitchen, "and I get to tag along still, like I used to. You said I don't get to kill people, not that I can't watch."
She was right. There's a big difference between watching someone die and killing someone yourself, and she'd been a part of so much death already that I didn't care if she watched.
The thing was, she did more than just watch. During her stint of depression, I had forgotten how good she was at everything besides pulling the trigger. I was quickly reminded of her skills when she watched me fumble with a lock to a politician's room for a few minutes before pushing me aside and opening it herself in five seconds flat. I tried to cover her eyes as the neighborhood was woken up to the sound of a gunshot, but she looked anyways. She didn't seem phased.
That's how her and I became the most requested duo of the guild. The jobs came in her name, but I didn't care. Recognition in this profession will kill you, and anyone who wanted her dead wouldn't think Whiskey was a teenage girl.
We were able to get into rooms nobody else could, and we killed people who were previously thought to be invincible. If somebody wanted someone dead, no matter who, they'd ask for Whiskey. Our services didn't come cheap, but that didn't keep business away. When you're the best at something, somebody will pay.
Now, on her eighteen birthday, I kept my word. It was a quiet job; the person to be killed was insignificant. Nobody would miss the guy. Just in case she got cold feet, I tagged along with her.
"Before you do this," I said to her, ignoring the tied up, gagged man's muffled screams, "remember what happened last time. Are you sure this is what you want?"
"Yeah," she said, as she took the pistol from my hands. "I'm sure."
On the drive home she seemed alright, though a little quiet. Once we got past the front doors of the guild she ran to the bathroom. I sighed as I listened to the same sounds from five years ago.
"Can't be mad at me this time," I shouted at the closed door. "You're a grown lady now. You made this choice."
"I know," she shouted back, "I know. Just leave me alone."
I went to the living room and propped my feet up. The fireplace crackled next to me, and I closed my eyes as I sank into the leather couch. I hoped she wouldn't get depressed like last time. I didn't know if I could handle another year like that.
The sound of footsteps woke me up from my nap. Standing in front of me was Whiskey, with two glasses in her hands.
"Hey," I said, still half-asleep, "you're not old enough... wait."
She rolled her eyes and handed me a glass identical to her own.
"Sorry about that," she said. "A lot of memories from last time came rushing in. It wasn't the job itself that did it. I'm good now."
"It's fine," I said, twirling the glass between my fingers by its stem, "as long as you're feeling better. Where'd you learn to make this?"
"It's not much different from mixing poison," she said. "I mean, it's basically the same thing."
I smiled. "Well, good choice," I said, as I took a sip. The drink was strong, but well-crafted. I could tell she put her heart into it.
She did the same, and the second the liquid touched her lips her face scrunched up and she began to cough.
"What the hell?" she said, huffing air in an attempt to clear her mouth.
I chuckled. "You'll get used to the taste. Everyone does."
She looked down at her glass and swirled the liquid around. She shook her head. The customary toothpick was sticking out of the drink, and she grabbed it.
"No," Whiskey said, spinning the toothpick with the olive between her fingers for a few moments before biting the fruit off. "I don't think I will."
"Suit yourself," I said, as I took her glass and poured its contents into mine. "More for me. Just like always."
|
# Portrait Of A World On the Edge
It’s 2:13 PM and the letter reads *"Send whiskey*." It’s signed in cursive crayon, and a smiley face with tired eyes that stares sadly up at me from the cafe table. My regulars are an eccentric bunch.
*Send whiskey.*
The words are code, obviously. These days if you want something normal you just order it, no faffing about with paper and pencil— crayons either, I suppose. For now, send whiskey isn’t a drink order, it’s a request for a hired killer who knows a hundred ways to end a life but is still puzzling through how to live one. Maybe in a few more years there will be an app for men like me, UberFreaks or something, another impersonal layer between the psychopaths and society. *Send whiskey* will be a coupon code for ten percent off your first murder, no questions asked. Twenty percent if you refer a friend.
Today though, it’s just a function of The Guild. I’d tell you what that is, but then I’d have to kill you.
The waitress brings the check. She smells like someone tried to bottle spring and more or less succeeded, though when the wind blows up from the south there’s a glossy, artificial undertone that ruins the illusion. I lay a twenty on the table, hoping, somehow, that she’ll get the hint I didn’t give and buy herself a different scent.
She smiles a little awkwardly but doesn’t bat an eye as she reaches for the bill. Someone who’s used to a little extra attention, but is pragmatic enough not to question it. Her name tag reads "*Kira.*" The paint’s chipping on her fingernails and her shoes are sensible, a quiet pair of flats. I nod at her as I stand. Fold the letter. Finish the last sip of coffee and the final bite of toast.
In the future, *send whiskey* will be a code she types into a screen. An artificial intelligence will ping my phone with the payment and an address, perhaps a picture of an ex-boyfriend, some bastard who really deserves it. By then she’ll be completely desensitized by the world, almost as jaded as me. She’ll close her eyes and lay back, artificial springtime heavy in her room, and she’ll wonder if she’ll feel it when that ex-boyfriend dies.
She won’t. Neither will her bank account, twenty percent off makes your impulse buy that much easier.
And because a guy like me will have five stars, neither will he.
*Send whiskey*, the letter says. *Send whiskey.*
It’s 2:13 PM, and sometimes I feel like the toast and eggs she served me: burnt to shit and cracking.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2022-06-14T22:57:48 | 2022-06-14T21:16:38 | 278 | 34 |
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