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[WP] All you've ever wanted was to be feared and rule the world but every villainous act you commit backfires. Steal candy from a baby? Poisoned candy, baby saved. Steal the baby? Abusive parents. Threw a woman off a building? Push she needed to unlock her powers of flight, she's now your sidekick.
|
**A GOOD BAD GUY**
On the monitor hundreds of ones and zeroes danced by as his fingers flew across the keyboard. It was a beautiful thing to see, Jayne thought. A thing of beauty, yessirree!
He’d been working this angle for months now, long before the last string of jobs had gone bad. And, this time, Jayne was certain the plan was villain-proof. With a few more key strokes, he sat back and watched the numbers floating in rapid succession. And then —
***Transfer Complete*** flashed across the screen.
Jayne let out a whoop of excitement. Finally! A job went off without a hitch. He was $40,000,000 richer and the schmucks who gave their retirement portfolios to Truthful Investment to manage were now in a world of hurt when they hit age 65. Served them right for living the straight and narrow, working the regular job for 40 years and trusting the company investment firm to take care of them.
Poor fools, if Jayne had learned anything in his relatively short life, it was that the only thing to trust was being feared.
If people feared you they wouldn’t mock you because you had a “girly” name, and they couldn’t reject you the way his parents had because you weren’t the “golden boy” your brother was. It wasn’t love exactly, being feared. But it was close enough and more powerful by a long shot.
Though on his quest to be feared, nothing had gone his way. Every bad thing he did turned good:
Stolen candy from a baby was revealed to be poisoned, and the town of Detour threw him a party for saving the little twerp. Even kidnapping the same infant in retaliation worked for good: the baby’s parents were the ones who had laced the lollipop with arsenic. The town re-homed the kid to a childless couple who’d been longing to start a family and *then* had a parade in Jayne’s honor. The nerve!
Despite all of this, Jayne had persevered in his goal of becoming the villain his parents always told him he was. What good was having a destiny after all, if you didn’t live up to it?
Jayne sighed. No more failing. He had files on files of cons and jobs to do to make the citizens of Detour fear him. And now, fully funded, he had the resources to make sure that none of his jobs went “good” again. In the light of the single bare bulb hanging down from the cave of his mountaintop lair, Jayne smiled. Clicking the light off with renewed hope for the power tomorrow would bring, Jayne went to bed and slept like a baby.
\*\*\*
“Yoohoo! I know you’re home!”
Jayne pulled a pillow over his head and turned in bed. It was just a dream, she wasn’t actually here. Nobody knew where his lair was, and even if they did, making it up the mountain was impossible. A person would need wings or —
Dang it. She could fly.
“I brought granola and yogurt!”
This wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare. Jayne thought right before — THUD.
A body landed on the foot of his bed, bouncing him a good bit. He held still, maybe if she thought he was still sleeping. Nope. The covers flew off of him and there Irene sat, holding the other end of the blanket.
“Granola is for the good guys.” Jayne grumbled at her. “Give me back my sheet.”
Reaching for it with sleep still in his eyes, Irene handed him the yogurt and granola instead.
“Exactly. Now, come on. Get up. You have a packed schedule today.”
“I do not have a schedule. I have a master plan. Which is mine. All mine.” Jayne tried his best maniacal laugh, he’d been practicing, but it came out garbled.
“What was that? Do you have a sore throat? Here. I brought tea.”
Ever helpful, Irene produced a thermos that appeared from somewhere in her backpack. Who wore a backpack on a villain squad? Jayne questioned silently, while shoving the thermos out of his face.
“Tea’s for girls. Coffee. Black. Like my soul.” Jayne ground out as he shuffled over to his make shift kitchenette and started the water boiling for his French press. What? Just because he was a villain didn’t mean he didn’t have good taste. He stared at the water, willing Irene to leave.
“Jay—ne. A watched pot doesn’t boil.” He hated it when Irene clucked all maternal, and he really hated how she turned his name into a sing-song girlie rendition. “So, while we wait let’s go over your itinerary.”
If he could go back to that night on the roof when he spotted her trying to face her fear of heights, he would. Pushing her off the edge was the worst do-good mistake of his life. What he expected to end in gory death for her and infamy for him, had been the nudge she needed to unlock her power of flight. She’d appointed herself sidekick ever since. Fine. The sooner she rattled off her list, the sooner he could send her on some “mission” and get back to his bank accounts and con-files.
“Proceed.” The water was ready and Jayne went through the careful motions of making his coffee or as he liked to call it, his bad-guy-boost.
“You have an appointment with the sculptor at 10am…”
Taking his first sip, Jayne ignored Irene and released a breath of happiness. This was his favorite time of day, when unsuspecting people were just waking up, while he plotted which of the many ways he would wreck their world. Like they had wrecked his.
“She said the sitting would take the better part of the morning so I booked the press conference at the 6 o’clock news cycle.” Irene’s words final found its target.
“Wait. Sculptor? Press conference? What in the dickens are you talking bout?”
Irene smugly flew over to his computer. Firing it up, she keyed in a search and hovered in the air as websites populated.
Headlines blazed by, each one popping up worse than the last:
***Truthful Investment Busted …***
***Enron-like Disaster Averted …***
“What? No, no, no!” Jayne scanned the articles. Landing on his least favorite:
***Boy Jayne Saves The Day. Again!***
Disheartened and reluctant, Jayne played the embedded news report:
*“Boy Jayne swoops in just in time to save over $40,000,000 from the clutches of the corporate elite looking to embezzle private citizen funds in what would have been the biggest sham of a merger in modern history. But the heartless villains were thwarted when the market opened this morning and all of their capital was gone! Authorities have traced the on-line theft to none other than Detour hometown hero Jayne McDirt and just in the nick of time! McDirt’s sidekick Flying Girl, who has asked to be called Hummingbird, has commented that all funds will be returned to private citizens and that our humble hero has finally been talked into a statue in his honor. More from the hero himself at 6 o’clock.”*
Jayne was in despair. All that money, gone. All his plans, back to square one. Irene standing at Jayne’s side, put her hand on his shoulder. “You did well. Just like the night you saved me. The world needs more heroes like you. Willing to do the dirty work for the greater good.”
Huh. Maybe that was the key.
All of his plans had been for himself and ended up helping others. Maybe the trick to doing truly horrific, unspeakable atrocities was do things for the greater good. That had to work.
With a renewed spark in his eye, Jayne rubbed his hands together. Oh, this was going to be good, so very good.
​
\~\~\~
Thanks for reading! For more scribblings, wander over to [r/WanderingAnonymous](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderingAnonymous/)
|
"Oh come on, you can't just be sitting on this couch all day!"
"Leave me alone."
"But you've been sitting here for weeks! Time to moooove!"
"Leave. Me!"
"But the world needs you!"
"NO!"
"Pleeease! Just today."
I looked her straight into the eyes. "No. Go away!"
"But why? The world loves you!"
"And I hate it!"
She looked at me confused.
"Yes, I hate it!" I continued. "I fucking hate this bitch of a world and want to destroy it to ashes, okay?"
"Oh you are being humourous today."
"No! I hate this fucking place. I just wanna be... A bad guy, okay? Not helping, not doing anything good. Just pure chaos. Now leave me in my misery."
I continued switching between the channels. With the edge of my eye I still could see her near the door frame. Suddenly she smiled. How dare she, I am all miserable over here!
"What about I help you ruin something?"
"Really?"
"Well if it cheers you up."
I sighed. What did she not understand? I rolled my eyes. "Will that make you leave me alone?"
She thought for a moment. "I suppose, yes."
"Uuuuuuugh... Fine." I got up, still in my bathing robe. "Let's go."
"Yaay! We are going to ruin things!" She did an air punch. I rolled my eyes even harder.
Outside the sun was shining, cars were passing and it was a beautiful fucking day. Oh how I hated it.
"So, what do you want to do?" She looked at me with a huge smile. "Maybe... Oh how about you kick that dog!"
"Okay, that's just cruel."
"How about you kick this football?"
"Nah, probably gonna save someone."
"Then... Kick this ice-cream!"
"You really in the mood for kicking things, huh?" She nodded. "Okay, I will..." I rolled my eyes "kick this ice-cream."
It was miserable looking. Me, an old man with a bathing robe kicking a fallen to the ground ice-cream. But if it would make her go away, so be it and so I kicked it. Wrong. A big... No, HUGE fucking mistake.
Tl;Dr I am now the noble price peace keeper. Oh... You missed the long part? Weeeell...
So I kicked the ice-cream. It flew like 2 meters diagonally in the air, where a seagull grabbed it. Then someone shot a gun, the seagull got scared, dropped the ice-cream on a car, the guy in it got angry at me, thinking I kicked it towards him, started getting out the car when a police car speeded near him, hitting his door and pushing him back in. Then the fucking car exploded. Yeah. Now I had 4th degree burns in the hospital. Turns out the guy was a mafia boss, his gang is after me and I am lying in bed. However, my luck involved, they picked the wrong hospital, where the president's daughter was giving birth, those guys were arrested and a bigger criminal circle was revealed. Then I lost my memory and somehow was awarded the peace prize. Also, the internet kinda deleted all the news articles about it because of privacy concerns connected with the top 0.001% world behind curtains leadership. Yeah.
| 2020-09-25T10:11:32 | 2020-09-25T09:35:23 | 189 | 117 |
[WP] Write a kid-friendly fairytale that addresses political correctness gone mad.
|
######[](#dropcap)
Young Edric entered the small town of Feffin on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Bein. He was excited to set upon a life of adventure and excitement, with only the clothes on his back and his father's old sword.
A strange marquee greeted him, painted upon a large stock of wood. A number of words had been written, struck, and rewritten on various occasions. It read:
>- ~~Serf~~ ~~**Indentured Worker**~~ Grounds Engineer
>- ~~King~~ ~~**Magnanimous Ruler**~~ Servant of the People
>- ~~Troll~~ ~~**Troubled Monster**~~ Misunderstood Disfigured Unfortunate
>- ~~Fool~~ ~~**Comedian**~~ Entertainer
>- ~~Bard~~ ~~**Entertainer**~~ ~~Musician~~ ~~^Compusure~~ Composer
>- ~~Damsel~~ **~~Rescuee~~** ~~Princess~~ Strong CIS Hetero Female permitting a non-gender, race, or orientation bound person a chance to prove his/her/their value and worth if they choose to apply strength, logic, and/or whit ^^maybe ^^charm in a rescue attempt.
>- ~~Hero~~ ~~**Doer of** Great **Deeds**~~ ~~Someone who Tried their Best~~ A Hero is anyone who thought of helping, or scrawled about it on the tavern wall.
Edric scratched his head, puzzled. He wasn't quite sure what some of that even meant. *So all I have to do now is think about being a hero and it's true? And what happened to the Princess, is she not needing rescue?* Perplexed he headed off to the tavern for a drink.
Upon arrival he found it too, appeared far stranger than in the stories his father had told him about. There were signs on the doors for **Happy Hour Specials** and something called an **Appletini**. A large man at the door asked him for his scroll of birth and a portrait etching.
"What?" Edric inquired, "I just want a pint of meade."
"Sorry Chap, Council to the Servant of the People on Moral Authority has declared that you must be twenty-one to enter and that requires paperwork." The hulking doorman shrugged, "Been that way for fifteen years now, since the *Adjustment Proclamation*. I'm guessing you're from out of town?"
"Well yes, I am. My father Beldrin the Great was a hero here many years past. He settled down out in the woods about twenty years past to start a family. I am his oldest son, but I am only seventeen."
The balding brute scoffed. "Well seventeen can't drink, sorry lad. 'Sides you're father was the cause of the Adjustment anyways you see..." Then he launched into a history lesson about how the last *great* hero Bledrin had caused so much damage in his adventures that the kingdom took nearly ten years to recover. "He inspired the serfs to rise up against the king, who appeased them with a living wage rather than loosing his head. Unfortunately, that had unsustainable impacts you see. Even in the near term. Well within five years or so the economy was in shambles, few people trulely understood what was happening.
"Everyone blamed everyone else and so the Servant of the People, as he is now called, 'elected' his daughter - mostly as a distraction for the people as I see it - to lead for him while he sits back and pulls the important strings. The princess - I can't keep track of what she wants to be called these days - has her own *unique* perspective on things. She was raised in a convent of state provided nuns of the *Litrastica Revisionista* sect. Their motto is 'Everyone Deserves a Hug' or something like that. She's responsible for all the label changes around here."
He let out a heavy sigh before finishing, "Mostly just a bunch of appeasement and distractions if you ask me. Just so we forget the 'Servant of the People' is really sitting high and mighty. Lot more boring around here. Gotta be careful of what you say or you'll end up in the stockade for offending someone. In the mean time the *ahem* Misunderstood Disfigured Unfortunate are pillaging the countryside and raping oxen, while the standard of living is headed down the drain."
Edric didn't know what to think about the situation. *My father caused all this? But I thought he was the Hero.* "Well thank you kind sir for explaining this all to me. If you don't mind my saying you sound quite well educated, um, for a doorman."
The tired man raised his eyebrows and shrugged, "Benefit of serving in the King's Army. Full scholarship to the Academy. Unfortunately, everyone thinks us veterans are a bunch of evil baby-killing psychopaths, so it's hard to get a job. Especially now that the Army has been downsized, since the public view is that we are a waste of coin. Tis the way of the times."
Edric sighed and shrugged himself, "Any suggestions for a young wanna-be hero?"
"Yeah kid, don't bother."
**NOTE:** Before anyone jumps on me, I'm not discriminatory against anyone. Just poking some fun at the PC. In the words of the *Litrastica Revisionista*::
>Everyone Deserves a Hug
**ONLY THE TINIEST EDIT:** I *had* to add the dropcaps... this is, after all, a fairytale. For more about the [DROPCAP](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/changes_updates).
|
Once upon a time lived a beautiful princess. This princess was no ordinary princess because she had a knight on her side who would swear to protect her life from any peril.
One day a man decided it was a good idea to come and play with the princess just to keep her happy. He climbed and climbed the tall fortress without the aid of a ladder or Rapunzels magical golden hair.
The man was tempted by urges and kidnapped the beautiful princess and took her from her fortress. The kings and queens were so worried about her safety that they decided to hire some mercenaries to bring the princess back to the kingdom.
They found the evil kidnapper, they were about to capture and return the princess when they noticed the man was of an african or moorish persuasion and they were not legally allowed to attack or harm one. The princess was on news parchments everyday as missing while the kidnapper became hero of the town for ridding the town of a royal lineage. The kingdom of fergusonia fell apart soon after.
| 2015-08-12T07:18:17 | 2015-08-12T05:38:29 | 32 | 18 |
[WP] The villain created a device that disabled the superhero's power. Now the hero stands in front of the villain, but instead of fighting them, the hero is thanking the villain with tears in their eyes.
|
"I need some time to process this..." I said as First Strike flexed his wrists in front of me. I had thought I'd make him powerless, but for him to thank me was just too much to handle.
"Grab a cup of tea, Doctor Labyrinth and I'll explain." He pulled back his hood and revealed a face with wrinkles under the eyes and shocking white hair. Certainly not what I'd seen on his posters and public appearances.
"Yes. Do you... want some?" At this point, our rivalry had given way to stilted politeness and I had found it uncomfortable for both of us.
"Thank you, with honey, if you have it." He took a walk around my lair and I immediately noticed the change. When he had the mask on, his breathing was limited. But now he was taking deep breaths, and seemed to be enjoying every one. I prepared two cups of tea and beckoned him to join me at the table, setting aside my weapons.
"So, what is going on here...pardon, calling you First Strike seems too formal now." I said as I stirred my teacup.
"I'm Greg. And I already know you're Ashley Berkin." He answered with a said smile. "It's on your criminal record, after all."
"Yes. Just call me Ash. You know, like the Bruce Campbell character?" By now, my unease had settled somewhat.
"All right, Ash. Let's start with this question: How long has First Strike been active in Costa Nova?" Greg asked and I had to search my memory.
"First Strike first appeared in Costa Nova in 1912. I had figured you were immortal, or slow-aging, though with hair like that..." My eyes widened as I realized something that I had to ask. "How old are you, Greg?"
"Twenty-five. Hardly old enough to have been around in 1912, right? And if I had kept going like I was, I would have burned out at twenty-eight." He answered sadly.
"All right, start from the beginning of the story. Who, or what, is First Strike?" I was now down to half-way in my teacup.
"First Strike is a tool for propaganda, created by a government think tank codenamed AEGIS in 1910. First appearing in Costa Nova in 1912, my great-grandfather joined the fray in World War I. All that fighting, especially against the German supers, took a toll on his body and he barely made it home from that conflict. He lived until 1925, when his son hit eighteen and both of them were carted to AEGIS base. My grandfather was trained in the same combat styles as his father, and then AEGIS decided it was time to pass on the power." Greg sighed, finally able to get out a story that had no doubt been classified to this point.
"So it's not passed on father to son. Or at least...not naturally born into the son." I had done a fair number of horrible experiments, but this one was already leaving a bad taste in my mouth.
"Not naturally at all. In the AEGIS lab, everything that makes First Strike is built into the user's brainwaves. AEGIS took my great grandfather and worked his powers until he gave himself a heart attack. Then they used their technology to implant his brainwaves into my grandfather. That version of First Strike served through World War II, and even up until Vietnam. But again, once his kids were old enough..." Greg started crying at this point, and I offered him a handkerchief.
"Kids? Not just one?" I asked, not really wanting an answer to that question.
"My father was one of a set of triplets, and AEGIS wanted to push their machines as far as possible. I had two aunts as well, younger than my father. Do you remember a brief time in the late eighties when First Strike was accompanied by Rolling Thunder?"
I had to pause for a moment. It was before my time, but yes, I had heard about that. "Both of your aunts were Rolling Thunder then. That's why she seemed to come back to action a few months after the incident with Bullet Train." Just saying the name made me shiver. A villain who was always about using his superhuman speed for the most efficient dismemberments.
"Yeah, you got it, Ash. The Rolling Thunder that got ripped apart by Bullet Train was my Aunt Jessica. Her sister, Juniper, took over a few months later. But Aunt Jessica was kept on ice at AEGIS. They never tried to fix her, or give her prosthetics, or physical therapy. Just straight into cryostasis." Greg started shaking, and I crossed around to his side of the table and rested my hands on his shoulders.
"Breathe. Take your time, Greg. This is a lot of emotional baggage we're unpacking here." I said and kept my hands in place until his breathing returned to normal.
"I was getting to that. So, AEGIS had three First Strikes, and two Rolling Thunders, and only my father had children. So when I turned twenty, I was brought to AEGIS and...and..." He started twitching.
"I get the gist. They worked all of them to death, and implanted all of their brainwaves into you." Let it never be said that Doctor Labyrinth can't read context clues.
"Exactly. So for this whole time since I put on the cape, I've had them inside my mind. Carrying on a legacy of people who should have been allowed more time to live, but the public image mattered more. Great Grandfather. Grandpa. Dad. Uncle Jonah. Uncle James. Aunt Jessica. Aunt Juniper. Seven people, inside my head, telling me how to use their powers to inspire people, to serve AEGIS' wishes. Ever since I became First Strike, I've never had more than an hour's sleep in a given day, because I always heard them."
"Well, they had to be helping you do your job, right?" I asked, returning to my tea, but keeping an eye on him.
"No. They all had different ideas on how to do things, but it all tied into one repeating theme. 'If you don't do it this way, AEGIS will forcibly retire you.' Because that was another part of my personal hell. I was operating on a 'social credit' scheme inside AEGIS. They kept score of how well I handled rescue missions, public appearances, and marketing. Anything beneath 1000 points in a given month, and I was given a warning. Three such warnings, and they'd start searching for a replacement. Five, and my retirement would happen the next month." Greg's hands started shaking, so he set his cup down.
"They make a super soldier, use them up and then recycle them into a new generation, then punish them for not smiling for the cameras. And they call us evil."
"Hey, you're still evil. Trapping the police force inside a hallucinatory labyrinth is a pretty evil act, as funny as it was." Greg smiled, for the first time since he started his story. "The difference is, your evil was dramatic and overt, and made good press. AEGIS' evil was covert, manipulative and done 'for the greater good.'"
"Bastards. So when I shut down your powers..." I tried to get back on topic.
"The powers come from the altered brainwaves. Your Neuralytic Siphon took those brainwaves from me. I don't have the powers anymore, and I don't have their voices inside my head. I'm free." Greg stood up. "So, now that you know all that, what are you going to do?"
"Well, the first thing I'm going to do is get you out of that costume, wrap it around a training dummy and destroy it on a live broadcast." I answered.
"So you still get to be the guy who killed First Strike. Clever." Greg's smile was wider. "What are you going to do about AEGIS?"
"Me, personally? Nothing However, it would be such a shame if someone were to leak information about this organization to King Ranier of Magmapolis. I doubt AEGIS could resist an army of the Lava-men." My snide smile from earlier had returned. "Before I do, however, are any of your other teammates connected to AEGIS?"
"No, I'm the only one." Greg shook his head. "What are you going to do with me?"
"Well that depends. Are you skilled in constructing deathtraps? How about setting up city-wide snipe hunts?" I raised an eyebrow.
Greg smiled. "I don't have much experience in building deathtraps, just solving them. And I was able to confound all the villains in Costa Nova who were looking for Doctor Arcane's talismans."
"Ah yes. Come along then. After a shower, you can give me all the information you have about AEGIS' bases, and I'll get your paperwork started so you can be my new sidekick."
"Sounds like fun, Ash." Greg followed behind me, taking off his hood and throwing it in my trash bin as he passed.
|
"You may have gotten away this time Agent 43! But next time will be diff-" Beamed React as he got blasted away by Agent 43's missiles.
"Yeah, sure buddy, whatever you say." Said Agent 43 sarcastically as he soared to the Society Of Superheroics. As he flew in and the wall closed behind him the room busts into applause while he continues soaring to his apartment in the SOS. When he enters his room and faceplants across his bed, the 80" Flat screen built into the wall blasts a loud ring and shows his boss calling.
"Answer." Mumbled Agent 43, and after a quiet ping he hears the all too well known sound of his boss's distorted voice.
"Where's React? You were tasked with neutralizing and capturing them." Said the voice.
"Oh fuck o-" Agent 43 said, getting cut off.
"Don't. You DARE. Speak to me in such a way. Or did you forget the agreement?" The boss boomed through the apartment as Agent 43 groans and flips onto his back as he sits upright.
"No... I haven't forgotten. React just put up one hell of a fight okay? I'm tired, and I don't need some distorted voice to shout at me every measly mistake I made." Agent 43 reluctantly explained. "Just... Leave me alone."
"It's my job to make you a better hero, and you'll listen and be respectful of me when I tell you what you can do better." The voice said with anger boiling up his spine. "You signed that contract of your own free will, and you will follow it. Or should we use the punishment labeled in the contract?"
"No. I'm... Okay... Just go on." Agent 43 said disappointed by defeat. His boss then went on a 45 minute tangent about every slight issue with his form, strategies, EVERYTHING. But Agent 43 couldn't focus on anything he was saying, he could only sit there, zoned out, and disappointed with his choices.
Several days passed without a sound from the screen and during this time Agent 43 trained until he couldn't train any more. Then suddenly his watch gives off a Villain At Large alert. He quickly got changed and soared off to the remote location to see React adding the final tweaks to his latest device. "Ha! You're just in time Agent 43!" Laughed React.
"And you're just in time for an ass kicking!" Agent 43 shouted.
"Oh rea-" React cut themself off. "Wait. That's your one-liner today?"
"Yeah what's wrong with it?" Asked Agent 43, lowering his guard.
"I don't know, your one-liners are always so good, that one was kinda... Mid." Explained React, also lowering their guard.
"Let's just get on with this!" Agent 43 yelled, running to attack.
"Nope." Said React quickly as he shot Agent 43 with his new device and chuckled maniacally. "Now, Agent 43, I can continue my life's work in peace from you and the rest of the agency!"
"W-what did you do?" Asked Agent 43 in fear as React can do nothing but laugh.
"I, I stripped your powers away!" React shouts through a maniacal laugh. "You've got nothing now!"
"T-thank you." 43 said, as he simply began to walk away.
"W-wait. That's not the right response! You're supposed to be beaten by me!" Exclaimed React.
"Why would I fight you? You're my hero. You've freed me from years of torture, and now my contract is void as I'm no longer superhuman. And you've kept me safe from inevitable torture down the line. I could never harm you again React. You're my hero." Explained 43 calm and sincerely.
"W-what?" React paused. "Y-you don't mean that... Right?" And meanwhile a single tear runs down 43's face.
"It's just Flynn. Flynn Cormac. And I couldn't be happier about that. See you later React." Flynn explains.
"W-wait! I had no clue there was so much behind it! D-do you wanna... Grab a coffee sometime?" React asked. "No schemes I promise. My name's Sam, Sam Meron."
"Sure, I'd love that Sam." Flynn said calmly.
| 2022-11-24T19:08:35 | 2022-11-24T12:32:18 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You are a super hero. Near-instant healing, no sense of pain, super strength. The catch is, for 1 hour per year, you have to suffer all of the stored up pain and suffering from the whole year. That hour begins in just a few minutes.
Edit: Gold? Thanks! First time!
|
I open my eyes in a place I do not recognize even from my wildest dreams. I rise to my feet groggily, swaying unsteadily like a newborn fawn trying to test out its limbs. My head feels like it is going to explode into a billion fragments. Pain, I should mention, has not been a familiar concept to me for a year. When the Archangel had appeared in my vision, he had offered me immortality for a year in exchange for an hour of hell. I must admit, I'd spent most days afraid of nothing, but most nights terrified of what the future would bring to me.
I received my blessing at 6 AM on the 24th of December. Today is the 24th, but it's only 5 AM. I'm standing in a pitch black corridor, where I can see nothing but a white spot on the horizon. As if pulled by an inexplicable force, I gravitate towards this white speck, as it grows larger with every step that I take.
A white door.
It is a plain white door with a black knob, floating in the center of this dark universe. Beside the door is the Archangel from my dreams.
"Welcome to Hell," he says in a sombre tone. "Try to walk out with the same mind you walk in with." With that, he throws the door open.
I will be honest with you. I expected a room filled with Hell's infamous wrath; pure red flames incinerating the wills of sinners, the Devil's minions snapping their whips at the Punished, till skin gave way to flesh and bone.
But inside the room, all I could see was another room filled with pure darkness. Except in the center, was a solitary white chair. I turned to look at the Archangel for guidance, but he was nowhere to be seen. I tentatively step into the room, half expecting to turn to dust or be struck by lightning. I make my way to the chair and touch it. The surface feels icy to touch.
At this point I reconsider my punishment. Maybe I could stay here for an hour, and lie to the Archangel about it? I take a look at my watch. The time is 5 AM. None of the three hands are moving.
Exasperated, I decide to take a deep breath. I lower myself into the chair. As soon as I collapse into it fully, it comes alive. The chair begins to burn my invulnerable torso, I can feel my skin being welded to it's surface. The agony lasts until all my limbs have become part of this chair. All my mobility has been taken away from me. I glance at my watch. It is 5:01 AM.
The white door swings open. I see a little girl walk in, stopping only a few feet away from me. She is about 8-9; and just looking upon her face breaks my heart. Her eyes have sunken in to her bony face, as if she had known nothing but grief all her life. Her skin is pale, with a yellowish, sickly tinge to it. She looks me straight in the eye and begins to speak.
"To the man who tried to play God,
My father was a good man. He didn't always do good things, but he was a good man. The night you met him, he had broken into a convenience store to steal food for a family that hadn't eaten for a week. Carrying the weight of a family and the guilt of a desperate human being, he had never held a gun in his life before. Up until you broke the glass of the front door, he had never fired one either. But the sound of it terrified his already frayed nerves. The trigger was pulled more out of unconscious fear than intention. It took the life of the store owner he was aiming at but never meant to kill.
Even if you had spared my father then, he would have lived as a dead man, tortured by the unforgivable sin of his burdens. But knowing him as a good man, I know you could have shown him better. You could have been the father that he had been to me; you could have taught him the error of his ways. Instead you threw him through the soft drink machine. The glass shards punctured him but didn't let him bleed out. He begged for forgiveness in front of you, and yet you let him squirm to a horrifyingly slow death; despite knowing you could have healed the wounds he had suffered outside and the one he nursed within. But you didn't.
So this is the God you are. My father died knowing he did something he had to do to save his family. I carried my own hurt and the one he left behind on my shoulders. I didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve this.
To the man who chose to play God, this is my pain."
I stood there gaping at the young girl in horror as she turned and walked out the door. My mind was spinning out of control. The headaches had returned, and I could feel myself sweating. My breaths were dying in my throat; I could feel the onset of an incoming panic attack.
As soon as the girl disappeared, a slender, blonde haired woman walked in through the door. She looked disheveled and extremely untidy; as if she hadn't bothered to look at herself in a mirror for years.
"To the man who played God," she began. "You saw my husband standing over the mutilated corpse of the police officer he murdered. The man he brutalized for violating me in my prison cell repeatedly, as the others laughed and took turns. You took my husband; a man who was blinded by rage, rendered irrational by fury. You took a man who wanted to avenge a crime even justice refused to set right. I know what my husband did was wrong. But you always thought yourself the better man, didn't you? Then why didn't you do any better than what that flawed human being did?
To the man who tried to play God. This is my pain."
I check my watch. It is 5:02.
Edit: overwhelmed by the response to this, thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read it.
Also, really grateful to the two wonderful strangers for their silver :)
I almost only a week old here, I write at r/whiteshadowthebook.
Have a wonderful day and thank you again!
|
At first -- back when I was younger -- I tolerated it OK. For sure, it *sucked*; but I was made of sterner stuff back then. I had drive. I had energy. I had motherfucking *vision*. Endure a year's stored up pain in a single hour? Yeah, I could do that. That was the price I paid to get to be a bad-ass.
But then... Yeah. <deep breath> Then I met Erica.
Erica was *amazing.* She made me happy, made me feel things I'd never felt before. Made me want to be a better person -- a better *human.* We had amazing times together, and she saw me through that hour of pain, every year like clockwork. She was my rock.
The liver cancer took her from me this year. At first, she said she was just "feeling tired". Liver cancer's like that; there's no pain, because your liver hasn't got any receptors for pain. By the time we realized something was seriously wrong and got her to the doctor, she was terminal. She died a few days later. I buried her myself, under a cherry tree, on a hill overlooking her family's farm.
I've realized that the emotional portion is the worst part of feeling no pain. I don't think I'm gonna survive my hour this year.
| 2019-04-08T09:21:01 | 2019-04-08T09:04:10 | 1,800 | 74 |
[WP]You live in a world where the Dominant religion worships giant iron Golems that wander the earth utterly mindless of the humans that cluster around their feet, decorate them for holidays and fight wars based on their actions. One of them is definitely following you.
|
**"NEXT"**
The iron giant's voice rang out through the building. The man in front of the man in front of me stepped through the door. I watched him go nervously.
The man in front of me - now foremost in line - noticed. "First time seeing a Giant?"
I shook my head. "No, I'm from New York." Big Apple was one of the most well-known and by far the most easily meetable of the giants. He was also the whole reason I was here.
The man looked surprised. "And you're visiting Golden Gate?"
I shrugged. I was going to have to explain myself to the giant, I didn't feel like doing it twice. "I'm a tourist."
The man seemed to have been distracted by another thought. "Funny you should mention New York. Hasn't Big Apple been on a tear lately? Chicago, Atlanta, Minneapolis, even down to L.A. last I heard. He hasn't been back to New York in a while."
"Huh, strange." I said as though I hadn't been to exactly all those places in exactly that order.
"Yeah, well what I think is-"
**"NEXT"**
"Oh, that's me, good luck!" the man went through the door before he had the chance to give me his own personal explanation for what was going on.
Of course, I knew the reason Big Apple had been out of his home state for so long and traveled so erratically: He was following me. What I didn't know what why, and I'd asked everyone. I'd at first thought the church would know, but they were no help at all. Answers there ranged from "you're cursed" to "you're blessed". Actual scholars weren't much better, though they had a wider range of possible reasons a giant might (theoretically) follow me around. I hadn't admitted to anyone that one was, in fact, doing so, because people who think that giant usually immobile iron golems are following them around tend to get labeled insane for some reason.
I'd finally settled on asking the only things that would answer - the golems themselves. Big Apple was the obvious choice, but though he'd happily stride into view of camera-toting tourist buses and pose at an instant's notice in order to photobomb someone's selfie, he never spoke. Even though he'd apparently taken a shine (or grudge) to me, he never explained himself. Just stood there with that dumb grin on his face, seemingly waiting for me to decide where I was going so he could tag along.
The golems had a reputation for not talking, but I had to ask. I'd hoped that my trip to see Wendy all the way in Chicago would fix the problem on its own. If I hopped a flight to another time zone, maybe Big Apple would find someone else to fixate on. He'd waved goodbye to the departing plane at the time and I'd actually hoped. But you can't see most golems on an instant's notice and by the time I got a reservation to visit Wendy the headlines had already been made: Big Apple was visiting Chicago.
Wendy hadn't been any help. Like all her kind, she said nothing.
It was the same story with Big Peach, the Twins, Alamo, and Angel. Each time Big Apple had followed me and each time the cities' native giant had nothing to say about it.
I hadn't wanted to travel this far, but Golden Gate was the only giant reputed to actually talk, even if the only thing she was known to ever say was-
**"NEXT"**
Well, that was me.
I walked through the doorway into a large cool room the size of a few gymnasiums put together. The walls were stone, and the only illumination was sunlight from above. Plants thrived in the room, and the sound of running water could be heard. In the room's center was a four-story stone throne, and on it sat the form of San Francisco's resident iron giant, Golden Gate.
It'd have looked much more impressive if it hadn't been the exact same scene in every other city I'd been in. The church could do impressive work but nowadays wasn't terribly creative about it.
"Hello, Golden Gate." It felt ridiculously informal for me to address her so, but I'd been informed long ago that these were actually their names, and they wouldn't answer to anything else. Not as though they'd done much answering as it was, but I wasn't going to take any chances.
"Big Apple is following me." I blurted. So much for explaining my whole story. "I tried to ask him why but he doesn't talk. I can't go to anyone for help because they'll think I'm crazy even though Big Apple is likely to be *right freaking there* when I do! And Big Peach and the Twins and Alamo and Angel can't help me, they didn't even react, and he keeps following me! He's in your park right now!"
At this, I heard a dull rumble and initially thought that I was about to be caught in one of the west coast's famous earthquakes. Instead it was something even more frightening: Golden Gate was standing up.
I couldn't help but to take a few steps back as I saw this, despite the fact that if the golem had wanted to harm me there would be nothing I could do to prevent it. I wondered what I'd said to cause such a reaction, what I could to to quell the being's fury.
**"BIG APPLE IS IN MY CITY?"** she demanded.
"Um... yes.... In the park." I said.
**"THIS CANNOT BE. THE ANCIENT COMPACTS THAT PREVENT WAR AMONGST OUR KIND GUARANTEE THE SANCTITY OF OUR TERRITORY. NONE MAY TRANSGRESS!"**
"Well, I mean, he was in Chicago and Atlanta too and-"
**"MY SIBLINGS DID NOT INFORM ME OF THIS HEINOUS BETRAYAL!"**
"Well they weren't very talkative so maybe-"
**"SILENCE! CLEARLY HE HAS BEEN GATHERING HIS POWERBASE FOR THIS, THE ULTIMATE TREASON. HAVING BROKEN THE LAWS THAT GOVERN OUR KIND, HE HAS DOOMED YOUR WORLD TO CHAOS. FOR AS CERTAINLY AS YOU SHALL ONE DAY DIE, WE TOO ARE FATED TO BE DESTROYED IN THE ULTIMATE BATTLE OF KIN AGAINST KIN THAT MY BROTHER HAS JUST BEGUN."**
"Uhhhhh-"
**"THE SKIES SHALL DARKEN WITH THE ASHES OF THE CITIES BURNT BY OUR WRATH. OUR FURY WILL NOT - CANNOT - BE CONTAINED. THE RIVERS SHALL CHOKE AND DIE, LIFE SHALL TURN TO DUST AND THIS WORLD WILL END IN ICE AND DARKNESS."**
"No, no, no he was following me! He's not ending the world, he's just an idiot!" I said before I could think better of insulting the brother of a creature that just threatened to block out the sun.
Golden Gate stood where she was and then the rumbling began again as she sat down on her chiseled stone. The noise didn't end once she was seated; rather it took on a familiar cadence of rising and falling.
"Are you... laughing?" I dared ask.
**"I REALLY HAD YOU GOING THERE, DIDN'T I?"**
I blinked. What? "What?"
**"HEH HEH HEH. YOU ARE ALL SO QUICK TO BELIEVE ANYTHING THAT COMES FROM OUR MOUTHS."**
"So the world's not ending? Why... why would you say it was? Why terrify me and all the people out there in line who probably heard all of this?"
**"FOR THE SAME REASON MY BROTHER HAS CHOSEN TO FOLLOW YOU TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH. WE ARE ANCIENT CREATURES, FULL OF MAJESTY AND POWER, AND WE ARE VERY, VERY BORED."**
"You were... bored?"
**"AND ALSO WE SHARE AN IMPORTANT QUALITY WITH YOUR SPECIES. WE, TOO, ARE JERKS."**
I stood there open-mouthed as she said her last sentence to me:
**"NEXT!"**
|
The floor was cold on my feet as I rolled out of bed and prepared to take on another day. Groggily I wandered into the kitchen and let the aroma of the freshly brewed coffee drag me into consciousness. I took a sip from the warm mug of sludge and opened the curtains to let the day in.
“Looks like another cloudy day,” I said aloud to no one in particular, continuing my morning routine.
After a quick shower and tossing last nights leftovers into an old Chinese food container, I swung open my front door to be hit in the face with a burst of sunlight. “That’s odd,” I thought. “Could’ve sworn it was dark as anything forty minutes ago.”
That’s when I saw it, one of the Giant Ones was right outside my kitchen window, or should I say his leg was outside my window, the rest of him towered nearly five stories tall.
Now I never considered myself much of a religious person, and I rarely got involved in politics, but it’s not like you can just ignore such a powerful figure right outside your house.
Of course he paid no mind to me, none of them paid attention to any of us. That was part of the reason I never quite understood the widespread fascination with the iron golems.
They were magnificent to look at though; there was no denying that. This one was a lighter shade of grey and had a distinct red spiral marking on his left leg. I eyed the creature in awe.
“Shit I got to go, I’m going to be late for work!” I fumbled for my keys and drew my gaze away from the giant. Talk radio filled the car.
“The mass gathering of Giant Ones in the North East is becoming more and more apparent every day, we have got to build more worship centers in the area…”
I switched the station to classic rock, but I couldn’t seem to shake the sight of that golem from my thoughts. Talk radio wasn’t particularly wrong either, I had been noticing more of the giants every day, something was drawing them to the…
My thoughts were interrupted as I was forced to slam on the breaks and jerked my wheel left in order to avoid the sudden roadblock. I regained control of the car and glanced out the window. There it was again, that red spiral.
Could it be the same giant from this morning? This was very out of character for the golems, something wasn’t right, they never wandered this far up the highway. What was it doing here?
I stopped my car as it’s following stride yet again blocked the road. Horns blared as traffic formed behind me and some people even left their vehicles to approach the golem and pray beneath him.
“The office is never going to believe this,” I mumbled in disbelief reaching for my phone to snap a picture. If there was ever a reason to be late, this was definitely one of them.
Suddenly the ground began to shake, my radio turned to static and my car began to move. I pressed the break repeatedly to no effect when I realized I wasn’t moving forward, I was moving up.
I stared in shock out my window, terrified at what was happening, but too scared to do anything about it. Then again, what could I have done?
The giant’s eye met mine through the window; it blinked slowly, causing my car to briefly shift onto two wheels before dropping back to it’s resting position on the golem’s palm.
I gazed deeply into his eye, hypnotized by it’s depth, and that was when I heard it through the static of my radio. A deep voice, it spoke slowly and calmly, but there was no mistaking the urgency it conveyed.
Human, our species is in great danger, we have no one left to turn to but mankind. Will you help us?
| 2015-06-24T19:50:26 | 2015-06-24T18:53:54 | 364 | 12 |
[WP] When your grandmother died, the inheritance was divided between you and your two siblings. One got all the money; the other all the property and possessions. All you got was a packet of gardening seeds.
|
An injustice, they said. It wasn't right. Take some money, my sister insisted. But that was her gift. Stay at the house with me, my brother pleaded. But that was his gift. The seeds. That was my gift. My inheritance.
My siblings couldn't believe Nana could be so cruel. They had always thought I was her favorite. I was only a baby when our parents had died and Nana had practically raised me as her own. From the earliest age I went everywhere with Nana, swaddled on her back or cradled in her arms. In the kitchen, at the farmer's market, at church, and in the garden. That's why my gift hadn't surprised me.
Nana had a different value system than most people. She never looked at her stock portfolio or remodeled her house. But every time she got a new packet of seeds her eyes lit up. Imagine the possibilities, she would say. Each seed was a tiny package with an entire plant inside, a plant holding a bounty of tomatoes or peppers or cucumbers or strawberries. And each piece of fruit containing seeds of its own. A continuum of beautiful fruits and flowers spanning the length of eternity, making the leap from season to season through tiny little seeds.
My sister watched the stock portfolio fluctuate for months before she pulled all the money out. She agonized over when or whether the stock market would recover until she finally sold everything at half the value she inherited. It was still a considerable sum of money but she was never happy with it. She always spoke of what she lost and not what she had.
My brother lived in Nana's house for several years. It was a large place and he couldn't stand living there alone so he had several friends move in rent-free. None of them considered the amount of work that goes into maintaining a property so large. Within the first year Bermuda grass had consumed the garden plot completely. After a couple more years with windows needed re-glazing, the roof needed patching, and the floors needed resurfacing. It proved too much a hassle for him and he ended up selling it to a couple who makes a living flipping run-down houses; they transformed it into the most beautiful house in town. My brother stays clear of that side of town to avoid driving by the place and seeing what could have been.
My inheritance, though. The seeds. The seeds were wonderful.
The first year I germinated the seeds in late spring and planted all of them in my yard. Week after week the green vines wound their way up the trellising and by July I had more tomatoes than I knew what to do with. Every day for the rest of that summer I plucked plump tomatoes from the vine and ate so many I thought I would never eat a tomato again. I began bringing them to the farmer's market each Saturday and Sunday, earning a reputation for having the tastiest tomatoes around. Anything left over on Monday I turned into sauce and canned. My pantry was soon overflowing with cans of tomato sauce so I began selling those at the market, too. At the end of the summer a number of other vendors approached me offering to swap some of their seeds with mine so they could enjoy as beautiful a crop of tomatoes as mine. When I handed over several small envelopes of seeds I had saved I joked that they need to be careful with those seeds, they were my grandmother's. This earned a few polite chuckles as if I were handing over a delicate antique. Or maybe, if all of them had learned to garden the way I had, it had struck them as a familiar truth.
Now, every spring, I go out into my garden and sow the seeds I had saved from the previous season, helping the plants make that leap over the harsh winters. And as the seedlings peek their heads out of the soil, I'm standing there, waiting to show them the way.
"Just imagine it. They live the perfect life. I'm jealous, in a way," Nana had said once while we walked through her garden. "They've got everything they could ever ask for: sun, food, water, and just enough space to enjoy them. They've got it so easy. It takes just the littlest bit of effort to give them everything they need and in return the provide us with everything we need. Beautiful isn't it." The six-year-old me had nodded sagely, as if I had the slightest idea. Nana closed her eyes, tilted her face up toward the sun, and stretched out her arms like Jesus on the cross. I copied her pose. She whispered, "It's easy, I'll show you. Like this, little ones. Just like this."
I reach my arms out to my side in the cruciform gesture and bask in the warmth of the sun. Today is the first warm day of spring with the risk of a hard frost far behind us now. It's time to teach this year's batch of seedlings how to grow, what to do when they feel the warmth of the sun. "Like this, little ones," I whisper. "Just like this."
"I hope I'm not interrupting," a soft voice shatters the silence. "Were you praying?"
I turn to see the teenage girl from next door watching me from the other side of the picket fence, her fingers clasped over the top of the gate, unsure whether it would be okay to enter.
"No, I wasn't praying," I laugh then consider it for a moment. "Well, not *exactly,* I guess. Come on in, if you want."
"What were you saying?" she pushes the gate open and glides into the garden. She's wearing a flower-print summer dress that probably hasn't seen sunshine since August.
"I was just showing the plants what they need to do."
"I think they've got it figured out," she smirks, finding my comment more amusing than strange.
"Can't hurt to show 'em the way," I shrug. "So, what's up?"
"Well, you know, my grandma is going to come live with us now and when we were packing up her house I found these in the shed." She extends her palm to show a small brown envelope. On it are inscribed the words *Sunset* *Marigolds*. "These are her favorite flowers and I wanted her to have a bit of home here and since you've got such a lovely garden I thought maybe you could help show me what to do."
I smile and extend an open hand. She places the packet of seeds in my palm and I feel their warmth. The orange glow of the flowers radiating through me like the warmth of the sunshine. The colors of a sunset in the palm of my hand.
"It's easy," I say. "I'll show you."
*Like this, little one. Just like this.*
|
Kayla stared at the packet, then looked up at the huge oak tree that had sprung up in the ten hours she had slept since planting the seeds. The ten white crows hanging on the tree branches, each the size of a tire, stared at her.
She honestly hadn’t been upset when the will reading was finished and she was handed a packet the size of her hand. Lorne absolutely hated the idea of using his dead grandmothers money, so he took half of it for his kids college funds and gave the other half to charity. Elise was planning on moving into the house that Nana had lived in, but only because she needed somewhere to live and raise her children since the divorce. Kayla had always loved gardening with Nana, and considered it a memento of cherished time spent together rather than a crappy inheritance. Staring up at the tree however, questions started to rise in her head.
“Well?” One of the crows spoke. It’s voice was raspy, like a chainsmokers.
“What the fuck?”
“Oh, she doesn’t know.” Another crow, up on a higher branch spoke. Their voice was delicate, like a soothsayer.
“*What the fuck!!*” Kayla was now screeching, and she felt justified considering the **talking crows**.
“Make a wish sweetheart. It’s what we’re for.”
“*Tell me why the fuck you’re here!!*”
“You have to say-“
“Oh for God’s sake Eric, give her a minute.” The chainsmoker crow said. It turned to her. “Look kid, why don’t you take a little while, calm down, and then come back and we’ll discuss business okay?”
Kayla wasted no time running into her house, and went through her head to try and remember the name of Nana’s lawyer to find out what the hell was going on.
| 2020-03-31T08:33:48 | 2020-03-31T06:44:11 | 2,886 | 196 |
[WP] When an atheist dies, a lottery determines which religion/deity will claim their soul for eternity. You were claimed by a long-forgotten ancient religion, and are the first newcomer to their afterlife in centuries.
|
Jasons life was never spectacular or filled with religious bickering of who did what, and how good it is. He lived his life like any other - a 9 to 5 job. To and from work on the Southland Boulevard each and every day. The same route, the same walk, the same time and even the same number of footsteps. It was always the same for Jason. At least.. Until today.
A drunk driver was going to be the difference in his day, and unfortunately, it would be the last one. It drove onto the curve and struck him, killing him instantly. One moment here, and the next? Nada. Goodbye, Jason.
“Wh-What’s going on?” Jason asked, rubbing his head. He sat on the floor of what had to be the biggest and most spectacular courtroom he’s ever seen. Right in the middle, atop a beautiful rug and surrounded by colorful marble pillars and many, many people.
“Quiet, human,” a nearby man said. He looked.. Perfect.. Do all lawyers look like that? Why was he in court, Jason wondered about himself? Why was he in the middle of the room? Did he say human?”
“The ticket drawn, and the vote cast. Be it known he shall reside amongst %£&@$#!” A man said, slamming the hammer on the pad. His words so foreign to Jason.
“Where am I?! I-I’m supposed to be at work!” Jason screamed, jumping up onto his feet.
“As an atheist you are, a house shall hence be determined. The votes been cast, and your travels promised. Begone and good riddance, human!” He screamed once more, and slammed the gavel.
Jason immediately felt weightless as the floor opened up beneath him, revealing whiteness and.. Wind?
“Waaaaaaiiittt!” Jason screamed, falling into the hole. He was dropped amongst the clouds, with no ground visible. Falling and falling, gaining more speed as he went. The wind whipped at him, nearly painful as it smacked him. He could barely breathe, let alone think. He was falling from the sky, flipping and spinning. Gaining somewhat composure, he stopped spinning and had a look below.
“Oh my god! Oh my god!”
Slamming his eyes shut and wishing it all away, he eventually opened them up again, only to reveal the sky was gone.. The clouds and wind, along with all the blue and white, were replaced with blackness and... Stars? Dotted all along his surroundings were specks of so many colors and shapes. Intense hues of every vibrant shade imaginable.
“What. The. Fuck,” he whispered. All around him were no longer clouds, but massive planets, galaxies and an ocean of stars. He was zooming by them going at impossible speeds. Intense swirls of beautiful colors made up the billions of planets and galaxies. Nothing on Earth could’ve ever compared in beauty. The planets whizzed by, and he could feel their pull in his fingertips. At the distance was a roaring black hole. He was headed right for it, and it was unlike any picture google ever offered.
“I’m dreaming.. I’m freakin’ dreaming.,” he barely managed to blurt as he once more shut his eyes. Opening them again revealed no longer the infinite universe, but the biggest library he’s ever witnessed. Millions of books lined the walls, with intricate carvings along the eccentric wood making the arches, pillars, floors and roof.
“What’s going on?!” He yelled, noticing he’s no longer flying or falling, but standing, albeit wobbly.
“Ahh. You’ve made it. Welcome, newcomer. I’m $@#£%?¥,” a mysterious voice spoke.
“What?? Whose there?!” Jason screamed again.
“Hush, child,” the voice spoke again, but this time behind him. “You must not realize what’s happened. I’ll be frank: You’re dead. Sorry about your.. Entrance. He doesn’t really like atheists. Plus, my home is a little.. Far from your Earth.” Jason spun and looked at the man. He had glasses on, with slicked over brown hair. He had a perfectly groomed beard, with the kind of outfit some noble in an office would wear. He looked absolutely perfect, and his eyes had golden iris’.
“What?! Why can’t I understand your name? I can’t be dead. I was just walking to work. I must be dreaming.” Jason quickly rattled off so many questions.
“No, no. You’re most certainly not dreaming. As for my name, I’d imagine it’s because it’s not something meant to be heard. Just call me Librarian.”
Jason gazed around him. Deep down he knew he was dead. You could just feel something like that. “Who are you? And if I’m dead, is this heaven? Are you God?”
“No, I’m not God. And this is not Heaven. Actually, this is my Haven. My paradise. My home.” The Librarian spoke, leaving Jason even more confused. “I suppose I should explain. You are an atheist, and thus belong to no paradise or afterlife because you don’t believe in one. So where should you go? This is decided by the Supreme Gods, who randomize the house you’re destined to reside in forever. Each house is ruled by a god, and is chosen randomly for you. Christianity and Buddhism usually get the atheists since they’re bigger, yet your fate lies with me. Interesting, isn’t it?”
Jason struggled to absorb this world-crushing information. Dead? Gods with an S? Plural? He doesn’t have to work anymore? Finally he worked up the courage to reply. “I-If that’s true, what are you the god of? Books?”
“Ohh, haha,” The Librarian laughed off. “I am sort of like that. But moreso, I am the god of stories. Of ideas. Of reality and fantasy. Of creation and curiosity. And, this may shock you, I’m the first god. The original god. Each book you see,” he said, waving his hands to the walls covered in books, “contains a story. A world. It’s own universe. Your gods that you’re familiar with are also from my stories. Though, they’ve become more now. The God you know so well was my first story. He eventually became a god, like me. He took on the name God, and created Heaven, which arose from my Haven. Interestingly enough, what you believe him to be is untrue. He is actually the God of Pride. He chose to manufacture the idea of godhood to be him and only him. He took the name God, and copied the idea of my Haven. He made you, after my image. His angels after his own. It’s why he hates atheists. Because your kind challenges his supremacy and rule. His bible are the rules he binds you with. The threat of hell, as well. Which is also one of my stories.” He outstretched his hand towards me, suddenly holding a leather bound book with the golden letters HELHEIM.
Jason was perplexed. Astounded. He absolutely couldn’t believe what he was hearing. While hearing God exists, trampling his idea of Atheism, but there’s also more? Possibly millions more?
“This is all so much to take,” Jason finally spoke.
“Yes, yes. I understand. Thankfully, we have time. Also, seeing as you’re the first in an uncountable amount of time that I’ve welcomed, filling you in won’t be impossible.”
“There’s others here? Where are they? This place is massive.” Jason looked around, yet saw no one.
“Oh, right. I forgot to mention. As with what I am, and much like what I said, each book you find is a world. A full universe full of its own physics, laws and so on. The others that reside here are in one of them. Also, you won’t find Earth anywhere. God stole that book when he ascended. I’m afraid only he can open it, now. Go on, find one. Open it. You’ve lived Earth. What about a land of magic and elves? Perhaps with aliens and technology? You can also be a fish, or a shark. A bird, or even the dust under someone’s boot. Truly, each idea you could imagine or each universe. Each story; it exists here somewhere. This is your afterlife - your Haven. The ability to live according to any desire you have is now at your fingertips.”
|
Getting hit by a bus is a lot like getting hit by a car.
You kind of just die. I don’t know where I’m going with this, sorry - my head’s lying in three different pieces, so cut me a little slack. Here’s what happened.
I got hit by a bus. There was a white light, I went into it, and the world faded away.
When I woke up, I was sitting on the side of a giant volcano. Several factories churned in an endless plain beneath me.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“You’ve been touched by His Noodly Appendage,” said a voice. A man dressed like an Olive Garden waiter nodded to me. “You’re the first we’ve received in a long time.”
“Yes, but where am I?”
“You’re dead, Steven,” he said. “Welcome to the afterlife.
“Me?” I said. “There’s an afterlife? There’s - this goes against everything I believed. How did I die? Where am I? What is this - is that beer?”
“Yes, yes, you were hit by a bus, the afterlife, like I already said, and yes. It’s beer.”
It took me a while to realize what was said. “Wait, His Noodly Appendage? The church of Pastafarianism? That’s what this is?”
“They got a few details wrong, but for the most part, yes, this is their afterlife,” said the Olive Garden waiter.
“Unbelievable. So you’re telling me there really is an afterlife, and the only people who were right about it were the ones who didn’t really believe in it?”
“Well, actually, there are lots of afterlives,” the waiter said. “Every religion is correct.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. What about the religions that say their afterlife is the only-”
“Don’t think about it too hard. Otherwise, we might all disappear.”
“Really?” I did my best to think of something, anything else. Purple elephants.
“No, of course not. But you’ll waste time and effort. Really, there’s no getting your head around it.”
“…So I’m dead, huh,” I stated. I collapsed into the earth beneath me and dipped my hand in a nearby beer stream.
“Yup.”
“And I’m in the afterlife of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.”
“Yup.”
“How’d I get here? I don’t believe in anything. I’m certainly not a true believer.”
“We’re actually quite an old afterlife. You didn’t really think Bobby Henderson came up with it all by himself, did you?”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“When an atheist dies, they get sorted into a random afterlife.”
“How come I’m not somewhere else, then? Like Christianity? Just luck?”
“Just luck.”
“Why’s this place so empty?”
“Well, the problem is, there are so many afterlives, and we’re a smaller afterlife - we only get one entry in the lottery. Some, like Christianity, get thousands. So the chance of being sorted here is pretty small. Plus, we don’t have any true believers, so we never get any people that way.”
“Huh.” I took a moment to process it all. “I’m really dead.” After a moment, I asked - “What is there to do here? I can’t say I’ve read your scripture.”
“Well,” the waiter said proudly, “We have a beer volcano.”
“And…?”
“And stripper factories.”
“Are those factories where strippers work, or factories that make strippers?”
“Little column A, little column B.”
“Cool.”
And that’s how I spent eternity.
----
*These stories are getting weird. For more weirdness, (and some serious stuff) check out /r/OneMillionWords*
| 2019-07-11T23:49:02 | 2019-07-11T22:25:27 | 3,034 | 2,073 |
[WP] Youre a wizard in the Imperial Army. Most wizards are very ritualistic in their tactics and that is very highly respected but doesn’t give many victories. So you decided to ignore all the long chanting and nonsense and simply immediately kill your opponents with your spells instead.
|
The long chants, reagents, and fancy arm movements have a purpose. Don't get me wrong. However it's purpose has been forgotten over time. They were always meant to be used to help our newer fellows focus their intent into the wild aetheric substance that was mana. They weren't necessary at all; as long as you were strong enough of will, able to endure the flow of energy required, and knew what you wanted to do magic was essentially limitless.
Despite this irrefutable fact I thought I've proven publicly more than enough I'm back here again. Staring at six of my peers as they continue to chant around this incredibly pretentious obsidian statue carved so perfectly you couldn't tell the robes of it's subject were stone, and not cloth. Wrapped in golden chains from head to it's waist it was beautiful, but it took them four horses and six days to get up this damned mountain.
Agnyst; the Anarchist. He was a very *popular* practitioner some twelve centuries ago. So popular in fact that they've taken to using him as an idol to be used in certain particular warspells. A common misconception is that representations of a spells original user can help a modern caster essentially mirror them more effectively. I honestly don't even know where they thought this one up, but it seems to have a placebo effect on my peers ability to focus their intentions correctly.
You see Agnyst was a bit of a mad man, and the reason he was so well known was for creating a few dozen or so grimoires that were loaded front to back with what I'd call war crimes. Spells and rituals designed to cause barely directed earthquakes, dry up rivers, and even summon swarms of biting plague ridden insects from the very air itself. They were guides on how to destroy the world honestly, and that fact that I was watching one of his more..causality inclined spells being prepared I knew I had to something.
All seven of us had been called here by our respective lords to do one thing, and one thing only. Destroy this impenetrable fort before us. It's high walls, and towers fortified against common siege equipment with both spells and brilliant engineering. Our neighboring kingdom had kept us our bay with this one damnable castle for nearly six centuries. We still try once every twenty years or so. Some lordling gets it in his head that his men will be the ones to finally scale the walls, too break down the gates, and finally take this castle. Ends up with a bunch of dead common folk, and a humbled noble idiot every time.
This time was too be different. An obscure and poorer noble appeared in court after the campaign was declared, and brought with him a book. Bound in giant's skin, and written in unicorn's blood the disgusting thing smelled so bad it nearly cleared the great hall. No idea why Agnyst chose those particular materials..common parchment and ink suffice for my own research papers. It was one of his grimoires, and a one written especially late into his life, when he was at his most mad.
After hours of screaming at each other and me storming off in defeat my peers decided it would be the prudent to do what they described as "wipe this stain on our countries honor off the face of the continent" by calling forth a celestial object and directing it onto our enemies heads.
They were going to summon a meteor to destroy this stronghold, and with it the surrounding country side and all three of it's towns. I begged them to consider the ramifications, the aftermath. They ignored me, and called me a coward. The wards and barriers they erected at the top of this peak would protect them from everything that happened down below they said, and that I could stop with my childish worries.
The chanting stopped suddenly as I demanded their hearts and lungs to seize, and turn to glass. Their bodies fell to the ground and shattered into thousands of crimson and flesh colored shards; which crumbled to dust under their own weight as I loosened the bonds that held together their vitrified forms on the most base of levels.
I wasn't going to let these madmen leave a crater the size of my home region just to get rid of one damned fort. Too many innocent blubbering idiots around with their little idiot lives for that to sit well with me. I turned back to look over the fortress that I had been called to annihilate, and I let out a great and long sigh.
The fortress itself was a wonder to behold, and honestly I think it'd be best if it stayed standing. It's defenders however would have to go though, and I knew just the way to make that happen.
It took a few moments but I felt the wind rushing past me from both directions and I grimaced as I focused more. A momentary head rush proves to me that my intent is taking form. I pulled and directed more and more oxygen into the castle and it's surrounding area. Most if not everyone would already be dead from the new composition of their local atmosphere, but the final touch would make sure no one, and nothing would be left to give any resistance.
A spark is all it took and a dome of purest fire engulfed the fort in a matter of moments A raging half-star born and kept alive by a constant flow of oxygen from the atmosphere around it. It died down after only ten seconds, but what was left was a charred smoking structure.
It's once marbled walls, and buttresses scorched black as the night itself. A no man's land of ash, and coal surrounding the fort for four hundred meters in every direction. They'd have control of the place before the hour was over, and I can finally go back home.
|
“What have you done?!”
“What?”
“That swordsman! You just blasted him with a Fireball!”
“Yeah he was coming at me, what was I supposed to do?”
“You summon your own weapon and fight him with honour!”
“Why would I do that when I could just blast him? I’m no good with a sword he would’ve killed me instead!”
“Where is your HONOUR wizard?! I won’t have this! Sergeant Major! This lowly wizard was faced with an opponent who challenged him to battle by brandishing his weapon and displaying his sword skill, and he just shot him with magic!”
“WHAT? Disgraceful! What is your name wizard?”
“Jones, Sir.”
| 2020-08-15T03:42:28 | 2020-08-15T02:36:58 | 150 | 50 |
[WP] You once fed a starving stray pup on the street when you were young. Years later upon your arrival at the gates of hell guarded by Cerberus, the monstrous dog gently nudged you away with his nose, and whimpered ?
|
My grandfather once told me a story about an old hound that had been abandoned by its owner and was on the brink of starvation. But one day, it found a bone. The hound carried the bone to a safe spot, tucked away from wandering eyes, and started gnawing away. The hound was so hungry that it chewed the bone down to nothing, extracting every last bit of nourishment that it could. After some time, a kind old man happened upon the dog and its pathetic scrap and began quietly setting food out for it. As my grandfather told it, the poor wretch was so attached to its bone that it refused the man's food, instead gnawing and licking at its scraps until it eventually starved to death.
In my case, it wasn't an old hound. It was a pup. Of what breed I could not say. Its coat was the gray of river stone, stretched over its jutting ribs from starvation. But its eyes were strong, glowing like two burning coals. It had no bone, no scraps, and it whimpered as I approached. But when I offered it a piece of dried meat, it padded out from the shadows of the alley and yipped its approval.
I stopped by the alley every day on my way to work, and its tail wagged whenever it saw me. I started bringing a small bowl with me and poured it water from a sack. And of course, fed it some meat.
I did not have much to share at that time in my life. What wages I made at the forge went to my debts. And with the left over dullings, I bought dried meat -- perhaps an apple if they were discounted from overripeness. Those were lean times indeed.
At least I could feed the pup. Two wretches surviving in a city meant for nobles.
But after a week, the pup was gone.
I thought of the pup when things got hard. When the forge cut wages. When I couldn't afford my dried meat anymore or my rent. When I had no choice but to beg, borrow, and steal.
I was not a strong man, nor particularly wise. Work for a country mouse like me was limited to certain sets. I could follow direction and didn't mind sweating, hence the forge offered me a chance at earning a living. But that was gone. And while forced to walk in the shadows to feed myself, I learned something.
I was good at stealing.
My grandfather taught me much -- but his harshest lesson was around theft. *To take from another is to take from yourself*, he'd say. *There is always another way*. The country lords didn't seem to mind when they took my grandfather's olive orchard from him. And when facing another sleepless night, clutching at my swollen stomach as is it threatened to digest itself, taking from others didn't seem such a crime.
It started small. A dulling here, an apple there. Enough to cease the maddening hunger. Sleeping in stables too had become tiresome. So I pinched enough to rent storage room floors, perhaps even a blanket when the nights grew cold. I never got caught. Not even close.
I was soon noticed by the Bonepickers, a gang of hoods that proclaimed themselves the law amongst the lawless. Every one demanded their cut, it turned out. Even thieves.
But they fed me, housed me, and provided me with a new name. Fingers. My job, my new job, was to pick pockets, purses, sacks, and bags. And all my takings were brought back to the shabby little safe house on the outskirts of the city, in what was called Cheapside. They say there is honor amongst thieves, and that was true -- so long as you earned it. I made friends, shared stories, ate my fill, and slept. Gods I slept.
It was a simple life. Until it wasn't.
Grimjow, the leader of the Bonepickers, came to me one day with a special job. I was to steal from a certain noble. What specifically, he would not say. Only that it was a silk bag that the noble guarded fiercely. I was to pinch this bag and bring it back to Grimjow personally. There was no support for the job, no flaggers running interference, no watchers keeping an eye for bluecloaks on patrol. It was to be just me, alone.
By then, I'd stashed away enough shinnings to leave the city. To head back home. But my grandfather was long since dead. There was no farm. There was no home, so to speak. And, at the time, the idea of walking away from the Bonepickers couldn't have occurred to me. This was my life. Yes, I walked in the shadows. Broke one of the Three Laws daily. But the nobles broke it first when they took everything from my family. And when they cut the wages at the forge for no good reason. They'd make slaves of us. Or let us starve in the streets like dogs.
I accepted my assignment to Grimjow's approval.
The noble, a thick-bellied Fresian City Lord wearing a deep purple robe with gold vine patterns along the edges, did not walk the streets alone. He was constantly flanked by two bluecloaks, probably hired as personal guard. I watched him buzz around town like a bee in a garden, going from shop to shop, door to door. On his belt hung many pouches, but only one was tied to his wrist by a thin silver chain. My target.
The pinch was simple. I'd timed his route to the minute and set a small stick of fireworks to go off inside one of the stables along his path. Having unlatched the doors prior, the horses would most likely thrash their way free from panic. That's when I'd strike.
The day arrived and the fireworks went off. The horses thrashed. The noble started, clutching at his guards. He didn't notice me slipping through the riotous crowd, riding the chaos like a hawk on the wind. With one smooth motion, I cut the chain with a pair of jeweler's clippers, liberated the pouch, and faded back into the chaos. It all happened in three breaths.
What I didn't know, what Grimjow hadn't told me, was that the contents of that pouch were not coin or gold or gems. It was something far more valuable. Information.
Suffice it to say, what was written on that small scroll was enough to get a man hanged just for reading it alone. How could I not read it? I had to slip away into a hiding hole, wait for the chaos to cool before I sprinted for Cheapside to deliver my takings. It was just me and the pouch and the waiting. Grimjow never said not to open the pouch. He didn't say a lot of things.
Like how the chain that was still attached to the pouch was enchanted with a tracking spell. I thought I could keep the silver after turning in the pouch, sell it for a bonus.
They found me not long after, there in my hole.
When they hanged me, I did not think of my grandfather or Grimjow or the City Lord. I thought of that pup that I'd met all those years ago. That starving wretch, hiding in the shadows. Had it survived, wherever it was?
They did not place shinnings over each eye of dead thieves for burial. I knew that. And so, I knew where my soul would end up.
When I awoke, I stood before a massive gate of obsidian metal, as tall as the highest spire in Balor and just as wide. Through the slits I only saw flames. The screams and heat carried through, buffeting my senses.
And standing before the gate was a dog. It towered over the approaching souls, as large as a bull, larger. It's coat was the gray of river stones, stretched over thick ropey muscles. And it's eyes, all six of them, blazed like forge fire. Though it had three heads now, I recognized the pup.
And, as it turned out, it recognized me.
When I approached the gate, resigned to my fate, my endless torture, the monstrous dog sniffed at me, it’s breath hot and reeking of meat.
When I stepped forward, it gently nudged me away with his enormous nose, and whimpered.
“I do not understand," I said to it, uncertain if *it* would understand. “This is where I’m meant to go.”
It did not respond. It only stood and watched with those burning eyes, but from around its bulk I noticed its tail was wagging.
I sighed deeply, as if finally ready to confess my crimes. I was. “This is what I deserve. I-I have no where else to go.”
A growl rumbled up deep from its chest, shaking the ground beneath my feet, and it barked once. Then it nudged me again.
I understood.
I'd taken so much in my life, from others, from myself. But once, a long time ago, I gave what I little I had. Perhaps it was enough. There was no telling what the land between lands, between life and death held in store for me. But I would not starve on my regret.
I let go of that bone a long time ago.
|
Absolute darkness surrounded Ariadne. A few minutes of it and her mind began to imagine movements in the black. She dismissed them and tried to focus on the distant sound of water dripping. After a moment she turned her headlamp back on.
The stalactites popped back into her vision. "To the left," she told herself, the voice echoing around the cavern. She affixed an anchor for the guideline indicating her direction and continued spelunking deeper.
The cavern ran down for miles. Several more times Ariadne stopped to listen for sounds before choosing her path and turning. The sound of water grew stronger. Finally, she came to what seemed like a dead end. She turned off her headlamp once more to listen and adjusted to the dark.
Ariadne realized that she could see her hands. There was a dim light spilling into the chamber from behind one of the stalactites. The sound of water came from the same place.
\-------------------------------------
The opening grew into a large, lit cavern. A small stream divided it in two with a pool in the middle. A rickety wooden raft sat upon the pool, holding a skeletal figure. The figure was snoring.
Ariadne tied off her guideline and climbed down towards the figure. "Hello? What is this place?"
The figure jumped awake. Ariadne couldn't see into the figure's hood. Neither the cavern's light nor her headlamp penetrated it. "Τι; ΠΟΥ; — Er — Sorry, that was English wasn't it. Hello. Just a second."
The figure turned to the other side of the cavern and shouted. "Everybody get up! We have a new soul!" The hood turned back to Ariadne and she felt a piercing gaze. It yelled again. "Ah, shit. Nevermind. It's alive. — I mean... Hello. I am Charon. Welcome to Hades, land of the dead, et cetera, et cetera. We don't get many visitors these days."
Ariadne looked at the small stream feeding the pool in which the raft floated. "And this is the river Styx?"
Charon looked embarrassed. "It used to be bigger. If you give me your obal, I shall ferry you across."
"That's the coin to pay the ferry toll? Yeah— I didn't bring any money." She paused for a moment. "It looks like I could just step across that narrow bit up there."
Charon slumped against his poll. "No, don't please. It's the principle of the thing. There's a pile of coins next to that rock there."
She handed him one of the coins from the pile and boarded the ferry. The pool was barely larger than the raft, but Charon took great ceremony by pushing off and gliding the small distance across. "Welcome to Hades!"
"You already said that." Ariadne could now see a crumbling stone arch. Engraved on the top was "άσε κάθε ελπίδα εσύ που μπαίνεις" beneath that was carved "lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate". Beneath that was painted "laisse tout espoir, toi qui entres". At the bottom was a sign that read "Welcome. Visitors are no longer required to abandon anything." The sign was faded.
Chained to the entrance was the beast Cerberus. He was still sleeping. He had exactly one head and appeared to be a puggle.
Ariadne reached down to pet him. "Hey boy." The dog awoke and stared at Ariadne.
Charon spoke from behind her. "Careful mortal. Don't let our appearance deceive you. Cerberus is still a fierce guardian."
Ariadne took out her rock hammer and struck the chain that held the beast, shattering it. "His name is Mr. Bacon and I'm taking him back with me."
She took up the dog in her arms and walked back to the Styx. "You'll never cross. You have no coin to pay me, mortal. You are trapped here until—" Ariadne stepped across the narrow point in the stream. "Well, you'll never find your way out of here. Only Orpheus has ever made that journey and you have not his ears."
Ariadne grabbed hold of her guideline and gave Charon one last look. "For that, I came prepared."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\]
| 2022-06-14T09:58:46 | 2022-06-14T09:32:43 | 915 | 63 |
[WP] You were born with a birth mark the shape of a "9" on your wrist, one day you get in a fatal car accident. You wake up in a strange room and the first thing you notice is the 9 has changed to an 8
|
I'm late. My boss, perpetually unhappy, would get a brief reprieve yelling at me. I mean, he seemed to love it. I would hate to lose this job, all that hassle getting security clearance for an analyst gig and my nemesis the alarm clock could take it all way. Laughing softly to myself, I speed up to make the yellow. This was going to be a quasi-legal one, but hey five minutes late was better than ten. A screech, a crash, blackness.
Oh god, everything *hurts*. I'm laying on a couch, I realize, in an apartment I don't recognize. My head is killing me, I seem to have more bruises than skin, and I am having trouble thinking straight. And oh Christ, my wrist. Wait, it's.. different? Looking down, the skin around my familiar birthmark was irritated, and it had morphed. My lucky number, my constant companion from birth, was now less one. This new eight on my wrist was a puzzle – I love puzzles, but I'm not usually so personally involved.
“Crazy right?” Whipping my head around - ill advised as the room blurred and refocused, - I see a man had walked in from what looked to be a kitchen. “No one would have believed me if I told them I saw it change. Or how bad you looked prior. Anyway, I figured you might not want questions and kind of just got you out of there. Sorry to frighten you I guess, but I think I just did you a pretty large favor too; we should be even.”
I can barely think, why are my thoughts coming this slowly? “Thanks, I guess. You say it.. changed?”
“Right before my eyes. And son, you were... well, suffice to say I've seen men who looked like you and they didn't last too much longer after I saw them.” He was looking hard at me. “But then that number changed, and you have a few bumps and bruises. I think we might be dealing with something a little beyond normal here. I'm not asking you any questions, but it seems to me you don't know much either and I'm trying to help out where I can.”
Dead. The picture he's painting is pretty clear, and my slow thoughts are still barely wrapping around it. I was dead, I'm now an eight, and I'm alive again. “Thanks, and I think I understand... uh, name?”
“John. No thanks needed, I can't just watch a man find trouble when he isn't prepared. All the questions you would have had to answer. But hey, if it's all the same to you, I also don't really want to be involved, son. I'm a solitary kind of guy, and your life may have gotten a bit more exciting.”
Laughing at the understatement, I nod slowly. I'm usually a lot more talkative, more questioning, but I think I'm in all kinds of shock right now. But this guy did me a solid, and doesn't want my trouble It's time to leave. “Thanks so much John, I'll leave you alone but I wont ever forget it. Got a last name for the record?”
“Uh, Doe. Well, I'm lying, but I'm not lying about it.” I chuckle, and we walk to the door. As I walk into the street, my head is swimming with the implications. I resurrected, and apparently I've got a counter. I'm a god damn real life super hero. But unfortunately I also live in the real world, and though it was nice of him he had likely created some lesser problems for me to deal with. Time to go find my car crash. I am having real trouble getting my bearings, do I know this part of the city.
Walking around the corner, as I cross over an alley opening, I see the worst part of the city and prepare to hurry past. A man holding something, a terrified face, and the programming of mind my own business and move on takes over. But then, I stop, considering. I've got no reason for fear here, not anymore. This could turn into a huge waste, but maybe it was a first step. Maybe this was me becoming the man I'm meant to be.
“Stop, thief.” Well, I would cringe over that later. I'm really having trouble, something is definitely wrong in my head. Maybe a doctor wouldn't be amiss after a resurrection. He turns, and his victim runs, getting away. Good, whatever happens, I made that happen, and this *feels* like a beginning. I smile.
“What the fuck? He looked rich, you fucking idiot, you should have minded your own business.” He points the gun at me – ouch, I was hoping for a knife, this was sure to take me down to seven now. “You don't look like shit but someone who just cost me good money.” The gun kicks.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
The man who gave his name as John Doe sat on a bench with his associate, looking at the crime tape near... someones apartment. “I won't say that was easy, we are god damn geniuses and deserve a promotion. But it really went more smoothly than it had a right to didn't it.” The associate grinned, no longer in his mugger outfit, looking very reputable.
“Pretty sure he was concussed. He was obviously smarter than all this, or we never would have had trouble. Not even he, and certainly not his boss, realized just how smart. Apparently, he was as little as months away from tipping the agency, analyzing fucking traffic patterns or cameras or reading the fucking wind I don't know.” John had watched the body get taken out of the alley to be sure, this was a frighteningly close call.
“Saved by a concussion. Huh.” Getting up, John's associate frowned. “Well, I've got loose end in the form of a talented tattoo artist, shame, gal was a damn magician. I'll see you when I see you.”
John watched him walk away, and looked back at the tape. He got up and walked the opposite direction. He wanted to ask a few questions, make sure his associate had played the mugging well enough. A last look at the alley, and he muttered under his breath “No such thing as heroes son, never has been.”
|
"Making my way downtown. Driving fast. Driving faster~."
Ugh, dust and burnt steel(-No, aluminium?) clogging my nostrils and I still can't get that damn song out of my head. Also smells like hot tar. Wonder how close my head is to the street. I'd check, but I literally looking at the back side of my left leg (I know it's the left one because I have a peculiar birthmark on it), although that could be a new ash stain for all I know.
The only thing I know for sure is that I'm not going to risk more damage. You know that splitting headache and grogginess most people feel after getting T-boned on a one-way freeway? Me neither. The bastard hit me driverside and through a short series of broken windshields, a smack against my ear, and a succession of contortions cirque du solei style, I ended up here. I had an unharmed friend in the passenger seat try to pry me out of the wreckage, but despite there being no debris actually blocking my escape, my former friend was too weak and gave up after a petty attempt with half-bent knees.
Instead, he assured me he'd call for help, then told a concerned bystander to call for help. I closed my eyes in contempt, but my old friend mistook the gesture for sleepiness, and giggled as he pulled out his magic marker he must have kept up his ass.
When I opened my eyes he was gone. And so my patience.
| 2016-08-03T20:02:22 | 2016-08-03T19:17:28 | 92 | 11 |
[WP]: Your mother was a scammer of the supernatural. She promised her firstborn to multiple entities in exchange for something she wanted, and now you're being co-parented by three demons, the fae, and a disgruntled witch.
|
Parent-Teacher conferences are the absolute worst.
At least, in the mind of one Mr. Dagutry. He was a lanky and tall fellow, who had bluish rings under his eyes, abnormally large hands, and long poignant nose. He was the kind of height that made pants appear to long or just too too short. He was seated next to the principal of the school for which he worked at.
Ms. Bowdin was a pout and stout looking woman. She was the kind who would had a brooch for every month, and categorized them by the season. She was seated in a chair far too big for a woman like her, making her seem more like a child than the children at the school did. Before them lay three figures seated in uncomfortable chairs, all male, all well-dressed, and all, for lack of a better word, seemingly too eager to be here.
The one on the far left, with golden, curly locks and a cherubic face, cleared his throat and said, "I do apologize for the long wait, Ms. Bowdin. It's usually like them to be fashionably late."
"IT's fine," she said in a tone that clearly was meant to infer that it was most not-fine. "I would love to get things started, Mister...?"
&#x200B;
"Oh, just call me Gabriel." the man said with a laugh. "And as much as we would love to continue, we-"
"We are contractually obligated to inform you that we cannot conduct any official forms of business and or interaction without all of the guardians present to vote on a decision," spoke the one in the middle. He was a sweaty man with a shaved head and a pair of reflective aviator sunglasses that hid his eyes from view. "We are also obligated to inform you that any conspiritorial conduct that includes moving on without all guardians present will-"
"Yes, yes, they get it you sod." Attention turned to the third man. A lanky individual like Mr. Dagutry, but seemingly hungrier. Not the kind of hunger that could be sated by a brief lunch mind, but the kind of hunger that is never satisfied no matter what. "What my associate is trying to make plain to you lot is that we are obligated by several laws to sit here and wait until her other guardians are present."
&#x200B;
"It is odd," Mr. Dagutry yawned, his eyes staring more at the ticking clock than the other lanky individual. "Seeing not one but five guardians attached to one child."
"The circumstances by which our charge has come to our care is none of your concern, nor is it relavent to this conference," Spoke the bald man again.
"Ugh, Bubby..." the lanky individual groaned. "They clearly aren't prying into our private affairs, so will you please lighten up!" He turned to face him with an annoyed expression, to which "Bubby" had no expression to speak of.
"I apologize for him," The lanky individual replied. "He's very... ... professional when it comes to minor things like these."
"And you are?" the principal asked with a bored tone.
"Ah, just call me M. This is my business partner. You may call him B." M produced a businss card from the inner pocket of hi pinstripe suit and passed it off to the principal. "We both wrote the paperwork out detailing the custody of our joint charge."
"They are both quite good at contracts, but joint-custody is a new realm for them," Gabriel laughed. M chuckled wih them, but B remained silent.
Just then, the door of the principal's office burst open and in strutted a woman that had to be at least seven feet tall. She had the air and fashion taste of Madonna and Lady Gaga and the body that any super model would die to have. "I apologize for my tardiness. The "hag" was a bit difficult to get to come along." she spoke lightly, taking a pot on the corner. Even in the flourescent light of the office, she seemed to glow with beauty and charm the likes of which Mr. Dagutry hacve ever seen.
"Who are you?" Mr. Dagutry blurted out, not catching himself staring.
"Titania... and this-"
"I am Ms. LaFey." Another woman, more conservatively dressed, entered. She was shorter than the first, and seemingly more normal looking, but her eyes made the principal and the teacher uncomfortable. "What's wrong this time?" She had a voice that conveyed her annoyance and distaste for the meeting in general.
"Well, now that we are all here," The principal sighed while leaning forward in her seat. "It seems Abbey keeps causing trouble."
The three men perked up, while Titania and Morgan seemed less than surprised.
"The other students," Mr. Dagutry began. "They keep coming to me about Abbey. They tell me that she talks to herself, won't play any games and has been even caught stealing from other students."
M produced a notebook pad and pen and began jotting down notes. "Stealing? What did she steal?" Gabriel asked, clearly unhappy, but otherwise unfazed.
"This," Ms. Bowdin reached into a drawer of her desk and put a pretty little hair pin. "One of our students-"
"Sophie Conderoy." Ms. LaFey caught the pricipal off guard. "Don't pretend like we don't know that name. Her father's cash ha been paying for many of your school's athletic programs, as well as an otherwise happy school experience."
"We cannot conf-"
"Abbey has told us about how you tend to sweep everything she does under the rug. Bullying, tormenting, and other sinful deeds," Gabriel said, folding his hands together. "Use her name and quit lying..."
The two faculty looked at each other. "Fine." Mr. Dagutry said. "Sophie's hair pin was stolen by Abbey during lunch-"
"Impossible," Titania rumbled in a very dark tone. "That Hair pin is one I gave to her on her birthday. It even has her name engraved on the inside of the jewel."
"It doesn't matter!" Ms. Bowdin said. "Regardless of what happened, Abbey still stole from Sophie's locker! We have evidence that she has done so in the past."
"If you are referring to the incidents at Pokey Okes kindergarten, Campbell Field Elementary, and Lakeside Camp for troubled youths," B spoke up with a monotone voice. "You know that they are all considered isolated incidents as well as PRIVATE incidents that are wholly unrelated as well as court-ordered to be never referenced outside of their individual cases. If you are seriously suggesting that they are related, then we are given the right to take you, the school board and Mr. Conderoy himself to court and sue you for every single penny attached to your names."
The faculty looked to M for help, and all the thin figure could do was smile. "I doubt you need me to translate that."
The principal was knocked to the back of her seat. Mr. Dagutry felt a bit shattered.
"Furthermore," Ms. Lafey continued, "On the grounds that you are accusing Abbey of, I would in fact love to see this evidence if it is not the incidents referenced to by Bubby. Please, by all means, show us. We would be ever so enlightened."
Gabriel smiled a bright thing as Titania left the office. He reached over to the desk, picked the hairpin up, and pput it into his shirt pocket. "I think that you should seriously reconsider where your funding comes from and what you are willing to do to keep your immortal souls," he said lightly before leaving as well.
|
[If you want background on Snuggles, part I of this story is here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cdl9p3/wp_youre_throwing_a_ball_around_with_your_dog_and/etvdl0t/)
While the pitbull Snuggles battled outside, Sue was inside talking with her parents. "So...our dog is a warrior who's battling the demons of hell. Dads, WHAT THE FUCK."
"Sweetie, we're just trying to settle a little wager here, and language please” echoed the demons in unison.
“Dads, I thought this was settled at my birth. You all got equal time with me for all of eternity as punishment for being outsmarted by Mom.”
“Suzanne my love, unfortunately that had a time limit”, Sue’s Mom says after appearing out of nowhere from a portal. She’s in her traditional garb of a pointed hat and cloak, from being on business. “They said they’d hold off until your 16th birthday, which...unfortunately was today.”
“Wait...WE’VE BEEN CELEBRATING IT A WEEK EARLY THIS ENTIRE TIME?!”
“Love, yes, but again, I couldn’t have you be disappointed, and your Dads and Mapa already made it difficult to even change that after the hassle I put them through.” The witch scowled at them both as she hugged her daughter, as the lights from the battle raged outside the door.
“So, what is happening now? Why is my dog battling the demons of hell, and what do I need to do to make this stop? Like, I love snuggles, I don’t want him to die!”
“You must choose, Suzanne. You must choose and pay penance to those that you don’t choose.”
“With my life? But that makes no sense.”
“There is another way.”
“What way could there possibly be to get rid of this destruction happening from our house, my life, and my pets?”
“You rule over us all.” Mapa flew up and stretched their fingers. They were in a green suit and flowered crown. “Because of your mother, this is the only way to keep the agreement intact and keep from all out war.”
“So you’re wanting me to be a queen over the magical underworld?”
“Why not? You are descended from Witches who exempted that same power. And was this not your original intent, Cleopatra?”
Cleopatra smirks. “Indeed, it was.”
“Well, get her training started. We’ll clean up here.” Mapa kisses the scowl from Cleopatra’s face, and runs outside to assist Snuggles.
“Come child.” Cleopatra makes quick hand shapes to open up a portal. Sue is hesitant, but one look from her mother’s eyes, the battle raging with now Mapa in the fray, and Dads now looking shamefully at the floor, that it’s the next step she *must* take.
As her mother walks in behind her, she smiles, saying to the Dads, “Damons, let Lucifer know that she’ll be ready for his destruction.”
| 2019-07-18T09:54:29 | 2019-07-18T09:04:26 | 59 | 12 |
[WP] The rules of the land are very clear. Anyone can challenge the king for his crown, in any way they want (test of intelligence, strength, etc.), but the king gets to declare one condition that must be followed throughout the entirety of the challenge.
|
James sometimes wish he hadn't gone down this career route. As the leading expert in the field of challenge law, he was the one they came to regarding precedent. Centuries ago, the king could get away with ridiculous conditions such as 'you must drink this poison' (King Everard the second, 1543) or 'I win as soon as we start' (King Freeguy, 1622) but as society modernised and the position became less integral to the running of the country beyond ceremony, the conditions that could be set had become more controlled. This was where James came in. He looked back through time via the medium of dusty velum and determined if conditions were acceptable or proportionate or illegal and set his findings against the challenger in front of a jury. One of his proudest moments was convincing everyone that, if the king was keen to follow precedent and also defeat an opponent in a cooking competition by publicly shitting in the other persons pot, he would have to be beheaded as this was the outcome when it happened in 1654. He had tried to convince the government to write a set of rules and make his life easier but it had been voted down to his great annoyance. Only once had a challenger won, to great fan fair and with a very clever challenge. It turned out the public loved a fair fight and an under dog, and so challenges were events of great public interest. There were even rumours that governments had convinced people to challenge to distract from their current disaster.
Marching through the wood lined halls with his wig barely staying put and his robes swishing behind him, he couldn't help be annoyed at the timing of this latest challenge. It was barely days since the last challenge in what had already been a busy year with twice the normal numbers. Even the public seemed to be less interested, with ratings at an all time low. He reached the court room and took his established seat, made smooth with the backsides of countless predecessors. The presiding judge nodded at him amiably. He looked over to the king who looked uncomfortable in his ceremonial robe and crown. He was most commonly seen in a suit these days, but tradition stated the ceremonial clothing must be worn, despite the fact the king was publicly opposed to fur. As he continued to look, James though the king even looked unwell and depressed. This worried James some what as, whilst he was the king, James considered him a friend.
The jury took their seats, some excited to be there, some visibly bored. One had to be escorted out and replaced after it was discovered they were attempting to live stream the event. And then, finally, the challenger entered. The first thing James noticed was the smug smile on his face- this challenger thought he'd found a loophole. James cracked his fingers in anticipation and settled into listen.
"Your Majesty, your honour and the jury" announced the challenger, "I wish to challenge King William the third for the throne to this kingdom. The challenge is this: A game of dishdash! This is a game of my own invention.." James sighed and cut in "Apologies all, but as established in 1822 and demonstrated many time since, newly made games are not allowed. I'm surprised the admission staff allowed this." The challenger smiled "The right honourable and learned gentleman is correct, however I released this game six months ago and it has been played by over 100,000 unique people which I believe makes it allowable." James nodded begrudgingly and the man continued, "Dish dash is a simple game the rules of which I will now distribute." James looked at his screen as the rules popped up. It seemed like one of those simple board games which were hard to master with the only interesting rule being that unless the losing party forfeited, the game would continue indefinitely. If the winning party forfeits, it's considered a draw. A casual search found live streams of solo games still carrying on into the millions of points. James frowned slightly, wondering what the angle was. An advisor sent a message to his screen- "Election next year- obscure law says the king can't designate a new PM if otherwise engaged which, due to King Oliver in 1743, includes games." So, he intended to wait out the king until public pressure forced him to forfeit his crown to allow the result of the election to be honoured. Very clever. He could not think of anything similar having happened and no real reason to disallow the game itself despite the potential political implications. Whilst he normally asked for time to research, he knew he didn't need to this time.
The judge stood as the challenger took his seat. "The court receives your challenge. Lord solicitor of challenges, do you have any objections?" James stood to respond. "Your honour, no. The rules are largely simple with the only interesting factor being the forfeiture rule. There is no established precedent against this that I am aware of, although the challenger may want to note that in 1454, King Harald convinced a challenger to forfeit with a clever use of pickled herring. I believe this challenge falls under the 'fair chance' act established in 2004 and would recommend it is allowed." The murmurs increased; this was an uncommon occurrence and meant that the jury would not have to deliberate. The challenger could barely contain his excitement. "Very well," replied the judge. "Your majesty, would you like more time to set your condition?"
The king smiled, and it looked like the world had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Your honour, the honourable challenger and the jury" he said as he stood. His last words were barely heard over the hubbub caused by his quick decision on what condition he would set- many had thought he would simply set the time as 'after the next election' although that would have spent a lot of time in court itself. The king waited until the noise died down.
"My condition is that, whist the game runs, there is no King."
|
I had won this competition myself long ago. Since then, I would be challenged often. Fools, foes, friends would approach me to win the crown for one banal reason or another. I destroyed them one way or another. Each game effected the kingdom after all and finding a way to fairly destroy my foes without raising ire seemed to be my only challenge.
As I grew older, I discovered the true purpose of the game. My children had grown up spoiled by the crown, and I knew passing them the crown would be my mistake.
I had learned quite a bit about how to judge a person's character from the challenges and now took to asking questions. Foes still presented a challenge, but yes I looked at them. If they could continue the kingdom justly, then they should be considered as well.
Finally a young woman approached me and asked to play chess. I asked of her the same thing I had been asked of: "Would you like to play a fair game?"
| 2022-01-10T07:31:33 | 2022-01-10T07:13:40 | 678 | 113 |
[WP] You get a chance to send your mind back into your own body when you were 16. Retaining all your memories and knowledge, you immediately gain an incredible advantage. What's your plan?
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One moment I was falling from the roof of the hotel and the next I was screaming at the top of my lungs, swinging a pool cue at Andrew's head. When it connected with a dull crack, I dropped the cue and let the staff in the West Oaks Psychiatric Hospital drag me into the *quiet room*, which was where unruly patients went.
"What happened?" I begged Tim. He was the middle-aged, mustached day staffer pulling doubles on the weekends.
He ignored me with an annoyed grunt as he and Raul threw me on the floor in the middle of the padded room and locked the door as they left. I was confused at first. I remembered my decision to jump. I remembered falling. It had *just happened* after all.
"Is this... hell?" I asked myself, frozen by sudden terror. "Oh fuck, I couldn't handle a year and a half here before. Oh fuck!" I scrambled towards the door on my hands and knees. "Open up!" I shrieked as I banged on the door. "I have to speak to someone! You can't leave me in here!"
When the door opened suddenly, Tim grabbed me before I could scramble out, holding me down for Maggie to inject me with the Thorazine that made me slowly shuffle the days away. "Stop fighting," she hissed. "It'll only make it hurt worse."
Moments later I was rewarded with a cool, painless confusion as they helped me to the bed to strap me down. I let them because I had lost the ability to will myself to do anything else. Then I slept, floating in a quiet, dry place that left me thirsty for water and light.
It took days to remember the proper lies to tell them. After all, I'd practiced them for a year and a half, but that was close to thirty years ago in my mind. The names came back quickly and I learned not to show the joy I felt reconnecting with my old friends and unit-mates.
I was rooming with Chad again, just like I had back in 1984. His half of the room decorated with rock stars from the pages of Hit Parader. My side had pictures from cut up Boris Vallejo calendars and the pages of Heavy Metal. The twin beds and hard hospital mattresses were covered in stiff white sheets and tacky orange blankets, just like I remembered.
I was skinny again, which made my dick look bigger than it had in ages. Feeling healthy and strong again after aging into the fat old man I'd become was amazing. I could run miles again, do push-ups for hours, and even pull myself up on the chin-up bar in our doorway. My clothes were all jeans and concert shirts for bands I still loved as an old man. I'd forgotten some of them because the tapes hadn't survived the car wreck in my twenties, so I listened to Giuffria and Saga again for hours.
The girls, though. Oh god, the smell of them, so close, but untouchable because of the watchful staff. Standing in line for meds, I'd lean as close as I dared to smell their hair. After I'd gotten out, I'd fucked Courtney and Mona Fay a few times, but they had no memory of that. Not yet anyway. It was easier to pretend I was hallucinating for a while, but that came to a rather abrupt end.
After I'd gotten used to telling lies and apologized to Andrew for knocking him out, I was moved back to *level 3* and allowed unit privileges again. Sitting with Mabel one day for our required staff discussion, I made up crazy shit for her to write about in my chart when she suddenly got serious.
"You need to stop this," she whispered. She was an old Jamaican woman with a soft accent that spoke more about her painful life than words ever could. She looked hard at me, her watery brown eyes piercing me like spikes in my brain. "You've been given a very special gift. You can wipe the slate and start over. Now, today."
"If you only knew, Mabel," I chuckled, thinking she was talking about my hospitalization.
"I'm serious. Stop wasting your time. The second time around you won't be getting breaks like you did before."
"What breaks?" I growled, deciding to pretend she was talking about me reliving my youth. "Nanna is still dead. Mom is still gonna leave Dad. I'm still in this fucking place for another year until Dad's million dollar insurance runs out and I'm suddenly *cured*."
"What are you talking about," she asked looking confused and angry.
"Look, I'll level with you. I'm forty-seven years old. I ended up getting married, raising a family, and getting fat. But after the plane crashed I had nothing left so I jumped off a fucking building and here I am again like a giant cosmic joke." I wiped my nose and looked away. "Only I'm not laughing."
She glanced around before saying, "I figured that. You think you're the only one? Fucking man up and stop being such a pussy." Hearing the uncharacteristic profanity in her soft accent made me sputter. "You have to get hard to last more than once on this merry-go-round. Look at Lisbeth over there. You want to end up like her? Having someone dope you up until you die of old age just to come back and do it again?"
The frisson I felt made the hairs stand up all over my body. "Wait, what?"
"You have to come back until you get it right. You missed something critical the first time around and you can't afford to miss it again. I only hope I've found mine because I'm not sure I can take another turn of the wheel."
"Stop playing with me, Mabel. This isn't funny."
"You ever see the movie Groundhog Day?" she asked with eyebrows raised high.
"Wait... that movie won't be out until—" The lunch I'd eaten pressed at the back of my throat. "I'm gonna be sick."
"You're in Groundhog *Life*, my friend. You'll keep coming back here until you get it right. I suggest you start taking things a bit more seriously, because this isn't a fucking movie." Her accent softened her words, but not their meaning.
"Holy shit, Mabel," I stammered. "What do I do?"
"Start living with an eye to your purpose. Everyone has one. Stop screwing around. Stop playing games. Life has some meaning and you'd better be looking for yours, son, or you'll never... ever... die."
|
I looked at the ceiling in my room. It was painted white, but the carpet in the room gave cast it to a light blue. I looked around, and realized that it had worked. For some reason I couldn't quite comprehend I wasn't surprised, but I still hadn't been expecting success. I was excited, but it would be many years before I could tell my team that we had succeeded. Well, if I did. I thought about all that had passed between now and when I'd started. If I made it, anyway, nothing is certain after all.
I turned my thoughts to all that had happened, and what might happen. Some of the choices I'd made that I deeply regretted, and the places they'd led me. Not all of those were bad. I'd met the best friend of my life because of a singularly poor decision I made when I was 19. If I took that choice back, I would probably never meet that man, and even if I did, who knew if we'd become the sort of friends we were.
I could save my mother. The cancer had been too far along when they'd finally gotten it checked out. Her death had been the sort of thing I might wish on serial rapists and war criminals, not a caring and compassionate woman like my mother.
I didn't have to be shy. I didn't have to be slow. I didn't have to be stupid. I didn't have to be fat. I didn't have to be so god damned pathetic.
This time, I would be different.
| 2014-06-10T11:35:52 | 2014-06-10T09:43:38 | 74 | 11 |
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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[Written on mobile, constructive criticism appreciated, etc etc enjoy]
----
Humanity is no stranger to war. Even on an intergalactic stage, war held no surprises for humanity.
&nbsp;
For the intergalactic population, though, humanity held surprises for them.
&nbsp;
For millennia, wars had been fought and won swiftly and brutally. Almost by consensus, the wars between nations were ended with either total capitulation, or with enslavement.
&nbsp;
We weren't monsters, and we never had been. The aim was always to subjugate, not annihilate. As such, we only targeted the major military bases, the nuclear bunkers, the submarines that carried their world-ending weaponry. It worked, and the governments of Earth were united in their submission; their newly-christened and recently launched spacecraft carried the message of surrender to us, and we landed as outright victors. The diplomats and bureaucrats took control, as our military police patrolled the streets of our latest acquisition, making ourselves known.
&nbsp;
The vast majority of the human populace seemed subdued; of course, there were the usual protests, that came with brutal and swift responses. Even more confusing, to us, were the "xenophiles", a group that not only worked with us, but even lauded us as humanity's saviour.
&nbsp;
This status quo continued for three decades. Protests and riots, often ending in brutal violence, but overall the planet Earth (designation SOL-4) was peaceful. Armed insurrection was so minimal as to be ignored, and the protests and riots very rarely carried more threat than improvised incendiaries. Humanity, it seemed, had accepted us.
&nbsp;
[30 years post-subjugation]
&nbsp;
The tunnels are always dark. Always. We keep them that way, even as we go about our daily tasks. Surface life is surprisingly easy, but humanity was never born to be slaves. This army, this Resistance, operated in secret. We had never been violent; from the start, our leaders had recognised that violence wasn't going to win this fight.
&nbsp;
Not immediately.
&nbsp;
Even as I say that, I know that at every protest, every riot, our members have been there. Quietly nudging the idiots who organise them into greater acts of bravado, then disappearing back into the darkness when the military police arrive. But now, after so long, we no longer need to hide.
&nbsp;
We have spent three decades down here, even as we worked above ground. Daily jobs as administrators, electricians, we filled the rank and file of humanity. We listened, and talked, and subtly nudged the wider public towards accepting us. After thirty years, we were nearly ready to start.
&nbsp;
In the main bunker, our leaders sat together. Russian, Chinese, American, British, German... all the major powers from before the subjugation were represented. They had been evacuated as the first alarms had come in, moved to unprepossesing safe-houses in normal, bland suburbs. And so, they had survived to lead us. The words weren't particularly profound; they'll have been noted down, but these professionals were only concerned with the disposition of their forces; the disparate choices that had been made.
&nbsp;
"Right here." Heavily accented English followed a knife into a map, "we just hit them here, and hit them hard. It's time, gentlemen." Nods followed, and commands were issued. The listeners ran from the room
&nbsp;
[Surface-side, two days later]
&nbsp;
The rattle of gunfire whipped it's way across the square, as human forces began their assault on their oppressors main base of operation. Sniping from nearby tower-blocks had opened this sortie, and the special forces ringing the building were swiftly grinding it to a close.
&nbsp;
"The door! The fucking door!" Snatched conversations whipped by, but out of a darkened doorway came two men running with a box. Their body armour had morphed them into vague shapes, but the old EOD armour was proving it's worth as rounds slammed into them. They slid to the door, and pushed the box up as close as possible. Reaching inside, one of them adjusted something unseen, and they moved away as quickly as they could.
&nbsp;
The blast ripped apart the doorway, and a good chunk of the wall around it. Cheers came from men with deafened ears, and they pushed forward. The beginning of the revolution began with a bang, in true Human fashion. Inside, sweep-and-clear tactics left the unarmed bureaucrats pinned to the floor, zip-cuffed, and sobbing. Any armed response was met with brutal efficiency, and the human forces reached the top floor in what felt like minutes.
&nbsp;
The top floor, though, was always going to be the hardest fight. The xenos had dug in hard, and even as the whip-crack of gunpowder forced them into cover, the burnt ozone stench of laser was still taking it's toll.
&nbsp;
"GRENADE!" A softened thud followed the shout, backed with the heavier bass of larger munitions. "WHAT?" A sergeant screamed at three Russians, busily setting up a heavy machine gun, "How in the fuck...?" And then his words were drowned out by the rounds that stitched their way across the room, punching holes through both permanent and improvised barricades with impunity. The grenade, the machine gun, and suddenly the white flag of surrender appeared through the cordite. Another surge of humanity, and the defenders were pinned to the floor as the double doors they had been protecting were kicked open.
&nbsp;
"You."
&nbsp;
The cameras in the room were being broadcast, live, across the empire. An attempt at propaganda, at how no rebellion could ever reach that far, was swiftly turning into a horror-show of blood and desperate violence.
&nbsp;
"I know you are watching. I know how you think. But we, we are humanity. We are fucking human, not your slave species, not your assimilated masses."
&nbsp;
A pistol appeared in the speaker's hand.
&nbsp;
"And this is only the beginning of our Retribution."
&nbsp;
The final word, punctuated with a bullet.
|
we thought of them as saviors when they first came they expected immediate surrender on our part. They thought after slaughtering millions of lives we would surrender. they were wrong. We were faced with what could have been our destruction our annihilation but we would not so easily bend into their fold. Nay we rose against our attackers when they struck our cities we reverse engineered their technology and took the fight to the heavens where they came from. We used our own ships our own weapons of mass destruction and we slaughtered them like the dogs they were. They attempted to resist our retribution of course, They fought tooth and nail against us but they underestimated our ferocity as well as unleashing futuristic technology against them we used old tactics boarding ships and engaging in close quarters combat. We fought for years and we chased them down across the galaxy to their homeworld where we brought retribution to their doorstep we invaded their cities burned their capitals glassed their farms. We sent ground troops down to crush any chance they had at resisting our attacks. They came in the thousands but we came in the millions. Millions upon millions of angry and blood thirsty troops ready to revenge their losses back on earth when their cities were destroyed and we were forced to hide underground, Little did these invaders know of our resolve little did they know of our hate. Like striking a hornets nest we came at them as one and we crushed their fleets as one and we slaughtered their troops as one and we burned and glassed their planets and outposts as one. Because of these invaders we became one and we became the most fearsome civilization in the galaxy.
| 2019-12-17T12:14:13 | 2019-12-17T11:20:18 | 299 | 21 |
[WP] A spacecraft traveling to a distant colony planet, transporting thousands of people, has a malfunction in it's hypersleep chambers. As a result, two passengers are awakened 60 years early.
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It is cold, way out here in deep space. Cold, dark, and impossibly large. Sub-light travel is almost impossible, at least in terms of the sheer distances involved. You want to talk about the human life span in terms of light years traveled? It doesn't paint a pretty picture, even on a sleeper transport like the *Endeavor*. That much time in cryo wreaks havoc on your system, even if we CAN bring you back. And that is assuming that nothing goes wrong.
So when the hypersleep chamber depressurized early, I figured I was in for a world of hurt.
The first thing I noticed was the sheer cold. They cool your body temps *way* down, even below freezing. A bit of bio-friendly antifreeze helps to keep frostbite from killing us, but it does leave you with one hell of a hangover. So it is safe to say that my first few moments...were not my most pleasant.
"C-Computer?" I chattered numbly, sitting up in the frigid liquid and rubbing some feeling into my arms. "What's going on?"
An electric blue holo-monitor flickered into existence in front of my eyes, almost blinding me. "Cryosleep chamber error, Ma'am." The *Endeavor's* autopilot replied personably. "We encountered some electrical interference during the last year's solar recharge, it damaged a few of our systems."
I rubbed some of the gel-like sleeper fluid from my face. "Anything vital get hit?"
"No Ma'am. Repairs are under way, but I am afraid you will have to stay awake for the duration. Protocol indicates that-"
"Yeah, yeah, protocol says that repairs must be completed before humans can re-initiate hypersleep. I know. I wrote them. How long we talking?"
The computer hesitated. "Uncertain, Ma'am. It may take some time though. I will send you clothing and incidentals in the time being."
Great. Stuck out here alone for GOD knows how long. I let out an exasperated sigh. "Keep me informed. Is that all?"
"One last thing, Ma'am. One other sleeper pod has been affected. It looks like you will have some company."
"...Company?" I raised an eyebrow in question.
"Yes Ma'am. He awoke before you, and is currently pacing the halls on deck six. Shall I let him know you are awake?"
"...Sure, Computer. After I get dressed."
***
"So, you are..."
"Mark, ma'am. Electrical Engineering for the *Andromeda* colony."
"Nice to meet you. Brittany, Head of Software Design for the *Sleeper* class personnel carriers."
"Oh!" Mark exclaimed. "You designed the A.I.!? Veeeeery impressive!" The lanky, pale-skinned man grinned from ear to ear. "I always found that the A.I. on modern ships are so very *cold*, you know? Mechanical, even. Not very suitable for human interaction, unless you are millitary I suppose. But this ship is so ALIVE! It is like it has its own *peronality*! I just -"
"Whoa,there. Down boy." I held up my hands defensively. "I'm glad you like it, but PLEASE don't talk my ear off. We are going to be living together for a while, and I don't want to have to strangle you on the first day."
Mark looked slightly abashed. "Er, yes ma'am. Sorry. So do you think we are going to be stuck out here for long?"
I crossed my arms over the thin emergency gown, frowning. "Hard to say. Probably. If the computer is saying that it doesn't have a time frame, that means there must be extensive damage to the microcircuitry. Nanites are good at fixing that kind of stuff, but they can take some time to get everything fully functioning again."
"So...how long we looking at?"
"Months, years...all depends on how much damage there really is. Worst case scenario, the damage can't be repaired and we have to wait out the time till we touch down."
Mark looked aghast. "But that's sixty years!"
I just nodded. "So you better get used to these halls. We are going to be seeing a lot of them."
***
"Brittany, BRITTANY!" blared a speaker in my quarters' ceiling.
I rolled over and slapped the intercom. "Yeah, Mark? What is it."
"You HAVE to come see this!"
"Do you have any idea what time it is? It's the middle of the night!"
"I know, I know, I'm sorry! Just...get down here, now! Observation deck 2!"
I groaned. It had been six months since we had been rudely awakened, but the time had done nothing to temper Mark's childlike enthusiasm for all things space and science. If anything, it seemed to have grown!
*Was I like that once?* I wondered, pulling on the pair of synthwool pants I had fabricated in the ship's pathetic excuse for a lab. *He is so darn HAPPY about all of this...*
Despite myself, I smiled slightly. It was so hard to put a damper on Mark's mood that I wondered if ANYTHING could keep him down. It was like trying to scold a puppy. He looked regretful for a moment, and then about two seconds later some new discovery made him light up like a kid at Christmas!
*Not that I particularly want him to be sad.* I reasoned with myself. *I do like the guy. Just...would it kill him to have a normal, HUMAN conversation for once?*
The door to the Observation deck opened noiselessly when I approached it.
"Oh, good, you are here!" And there he was, grinning as usual. "Here, put these on!"
He handed me what looked like a thick pair of sunglasses, bordered with naked circuitry.
"Mark, what the hell are these?" I held the strange device between my thumb and finger like a bug, examining their strange contours.
"Try them on! I got the ship's computer to give me the O.K., I think they will work great!"
With a mechanical whirring sound, the great metal shutter that blocked the observation window began to open like an eyelid.
"Oh! Just in time! Quick, put on the glasses!" He ran up to the very edge of the platform, which jutted out over the bubble-like window to give the viewer a full hemisphere of space to gaze out at. Suddenly, a brilliant light erupted from the forward edge of the "eye", blinding me. I crammed on the glasses, and gasped.
A star. We were passing RIGHT through the outer corona of a star. Brilliant blue arcs of plasma leapt around the outer hull, sending rainbows of aurora dancing across the ship's shields like the edges of a soap bubble - but a thousand times more vibrant.
"Brilliant, isn't it?" Mark turned at me and smiled. "It doesn't even have a name yet. We may be the first people to ever see this star up close like this."
"Beautiful." I couldn't wrench my gaze away. "What should we call it?"
"I hadn't thought of that." Mark frowned. "Maybe...Brittany?"
I glared at him through my thick lenses. "Nice try."
Even so, I leaned up against him by the railing. "It is awfully cold out here in space." I murmured, resting my head on his shoulder.
"Actually." Mark began. "It isn't cold OR hot, in the traditional sense. The particles are so far apart, the very concept of temperature is -"
"Mark?"
"Yes?"
"Shut up."
***
*Well that happened. Read more of my work at /r/TimeSyncs!*
|
Through heavy-lidded eyes the child could make out the unmistakable movements of another human being further down the cavernous way. He swung his legs over the side of the pod and vomited onto the floor. Nothing stirred and the air was deafeningly still around him. The boy's thoughts began to flood and he thought of his father. He jumped upright and lost his balance, nearly slipping over his emptied stomach. He steadied himself on a pod adjacent to his and peered inside.
His father's face stared forward. The familiar scar on his left cheek was still there, the short stubble, the serene smile. His daddy was there but his eyes were dim. The pod did not hum like the boy's did; gentle lights did not glow and data readings did not show. The boy pushed and pried at every button and cranny that he could find. He could not get his father's pod to open.
None of the pods were opening.
The boy thought to ask the other person if they could help. He looked up and saw that they were striding towards him; it was a girl, around his age. She didn't have any parents with her, either. She raised her hand and he called to her.
"Where is everyone?"
She appraised him. She shook her head. "I don't know. My family won't wake up. Yours won't?"
The boy nodded distractedly; his dad wasn't waking up and he was alone. The girl was about to speak when a flash of light drew their attention to the aisle. A silhouette appeared, fragmented and shifting. A voice emanated from nothingness.
"Children, I do not have much time at the moment. I am the ship's artificial intelligence. I was charged with ensuring the safe passage of you and your families. I have failed you. A malfunction has occurred and power to most systems has been lost. I directed the remaining stores to your pods and various life support systems. Lights will continue to funct-" the airy voice was cut off. The pod room's lights dimmed and then brightened. "My apologies. The cause of the malfunction has returned. I do not wish to frighten you, children, but you must be aware of things if you are to survive. An outside source has infiltrated the Daedalus. It is not a physical entity; I can best liken it to a virus that has targeted our ship and is feeding off of its power. It came from..." The voice paused, "...elsewhere."
The boy glanced to the girl. She continued to stare at the holographic figure. Her eyes were strong.
"Do not fear for your physical safety, children. You will be kept safe. But you must now help me sail the Daedalus; we will arrive to Epsilon Eridanus system in 60 years. You are young, brave, and capable and I will need you both if we are to reach our new home together. Due to the virus I am weakened and unable to attend to the duties that I was assigned alone. With your aid, I can guarantee that you and your families will be safe. Will you help me, children?"
The boy and the girl looked to one another. The boy thought of his sleeping father.
They nodded.
| 2016-05-11T08:56:33 | 2016-05-11T08:38:34 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] Walking home one night you find an old lamp and a Genie pops out. He tells you that you have 6 wishes, 3 more than usual. You take it home to sleep on it, because this is important. You must be sure! You wake up to find a frantic Genie. You only have one wish left because you sleep talk.
|
"Wha-what time is it? WHAT ARE ALL THESE DICKS DOING IN MY FACE"
"Hey good morning. I mean just say the word and they all go away BUT BEFORE YOU TALK just know you have only 1 wish remaining..."
"What? One? I thought you said I have six" \*Brushes four penises out of his face
"Yeah well this stuff has an order to it and you wished for a bunch of shit in your sleep. In fact, you outta be thankful. Never have I had to fulfill so many ridiculous wishes all at once. I mean god damn, maybe 2 of them. But FIVE?"
"I'm gathering wish 1 was a wall of male penises in my face"
"You gather correctly"
"I SWEAR I'm Not gay! Did I wish exactly for this?"
"And I SWEAR I'm the god damn pope of scotland" \*The pope of scotland walks in "That's the pope of scotland"
"That's not even a thing"
"Shut up you gayboy. You wished for it"
"Ok fine- I'm probably a little gay but can we please focus on the other 4 wishes."
"Three. One of them was for the pope of scotland. "BuT ThATs NoT A REAl thInG". It is now, you wished for it. I told I was tired running around, creating new dual Vatican law that is now in accordance with catholic values of the second pope in scotland. I mean what the fuck, Richard? What the fuck? First the penises, and then you invent some dumb second pope? You could've had a billion dollars. But no, you wanted to wish for a fucking wall. Yes, that's right, you know that border wall that's been in the news? Well you thought it would be 'fun' to wish for one.. but the wall is horizontal. And hovers over where the wall in mexico WOULD be. Its really just blocking out the sun and all the crops. If anything you've made immigration worse."
"What"
"There's a horizontal wall, kind of like a walkway, hovering over the border between mexico and the USB. To be fair, people have started skateboarding it, and its fucking gnarly, so actually, probably your best wish of the day."
"Ok, so I wished for some floppy dicks, which are still here btw, (are they going to leave? Do they need water?), the creation of a second pope in scotland, and an inverted border 'wall' which is really a walkway that people skate on now. Why does none of this stuff help me at all?"
"Well the dicks help you"
"I'm still coming to terms with that"
"I'll bet you are"
"Wishes 4 5 6 are still unaccounted for"
"Go on then. ASK ME. ASK ME WHAT YOU SPENT YOUR 4TH AND 5TH WISHES ON"
"Wha-
"HORSES AND BEER"
"...."
"..."
"..I mean.. I'm thinking it could be worse. I'm absolutely filled with regret over not using these wishes better, but
"You wished for a kegger, for the horses. The horses are wasted outside. They keep saying they're leaving but fucking hell man, the sun came up and they're still chasing those demons. I think some of them had some blow, I'm not sure. They're a mess. Do you know how much beer it takes to get a 1 ton horse drunk? A LOT OF BEER RICHARD"
"....HAHAHAHAHAH Seriously? Ok honestly I'm going to take a little credit on this, that's kind of genius"
"Do you know what that word means"
"Where are the horses? Now I mean?"
"We'll they're roaming the town, the cops are still on this one"
"Why did I have to waste two wishes on that, like couldn't I just have wished for a 'horse kegger' and like, saved a wish?"
"Yeah. But you didn't." \*Pull outs a FLIP camera and shows Richard, asleep but sleep talking:
"let me wish, zzzzz, I wish for, all the horses, to throw a big party. And I wish for...all of the kegs to be there too. twoooooo thingsssszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"
"Holy shit, You got me there. I REALLY wish I would've used those two wishes as one."
"You wish-...YOU CAN'T GO BACK NOW AND RECOUP YOUR WISHES I WASN'T BORN YESTERDAY"
&#x200B;
"Worth a shot"
"Cunt"
"Ok ok, let me take a shower and think about my next move. Dicks, you all stay here."
One of the flying penises looks at Richard (his balls are the eyes) and tells him "you need to look within yourself. The answers are within. oOOOOOOoOooooooOOO
"Hurry up though, I have a meeting with a flying carpet later"
As Richard went to the bathroom, the flying penises tried to follow him in. Richard quickly shut the door and no penises followed him. They could be heard on the other side of the door, whimpering, like a dog who was left behind.
While Richard was showering, a thought crossed his mind. "Why haven't I at any point today realized this was all a dream? WAKE UP. WAKE THE FUCK UP RICHARD. COME ON MAN!"
Richard starting hitting himself in the face with his bottle of Axe shower gel and accompanying lufa. He started yelling "i WISH THIS WAS ALL A FUCKING DREAM"...and everything went dark.
"...."
Light crept into his room. Richard rose up in his bed. Disappointingly all of the flying penises he'd grow to appreciate were absent. Looking around his room, he saw the same staples of normalcy- his clock, his posters, his bed. There was no genie in sight.
Delighted, Richard jumped out of bed, made himself a coffee, and went back into his room. What a dream that had been. How fucking crazy? But.. didn't I go to sleep last night wish wishes? Did I dream taht too? Oh shit, no I for sure went to bed last night KNOWING I had wishes.. When did I meet that genie again?
Frantically thinking, Richard talked himself into a bit of madness. He hadn't seen anything amiss! Maybe he still had those wishes? And if so, where is this alleged genie?
Richard opened his curtains, and when he was what was outside, he nearly fainted. Standing there in his front yard were six (friendly) floating vaginas, a bunch of drunk giraffees, and Justin Trudaeu. The genie himself was skating in a pretty gnarly looking skateboard park, complete with a bowl, rails, and a fair amount of casper slides going around.
"HEY Richard! You're p-awake, you missed one hell of a pppppparty?"
"Thanks floating vagina, I appreciate that. Do I still have one wish left?"
"YOU SURE DO!" the genie yelled, looking much fatter than before.
"Genie, what the fuck is going on"
"You're on drugs, Richard. This has all been one giant drug trip. We think that your underlying homosexuality has come out, and we support you. You've taken a not insignificant amount of acid. In fact the only REAL thing about all of this, is that you have ONE wish, and only one wish!
"I wish this fucking idiotic story would just....end"
"Bye Richard! Don't forget us!" shouted one of the more attractive flying vaginas. And with that, everything disappeared, including Richard, and you were back to your dumb, shitty life.
|
My eyes opened slowly as I felt a cool breeze on my face. Looking from left to right I could see nothing but a gray expanse, until my eyes settled on the Genie. He was rubbing his hands together, obviously distraught, glancing around.
"Hey Genie, what's wrong?" I asked.
He stiffened and relaxed, a bit. "Thank Zeus you are finally awake." He said a little too fast. That's when I finally realized I wasn't in my room anymore and I sat up quickly, but instead of sitting straight up I started to flip. My eyes caught sight of gray sky and then clouds, over and over and I continued to spin.
"Don't just float there! Help me!" I shouted at the Genie. He gentled floated over and stopped my spin so I was standing straight up.
"What is happening?!?!" The Genie continued to rub his hands together. "I-We may have messed things up." he stuttered. "When you went to sleep I stood guard as I have done for previous masters. After an hour or two you started to make some odd noises and then started saying random phrases." I shut my eyes as I knew where this was going. "Well you clearly said 'I wish I could fly', so I granted it and you started to rise until you touched the ceiling a few minutes later."
I slowly nodded, "well that explains why I am able to stay afloat up here. But why am I outside?"
"Why don't I just tell you what you wished for, oh you only have one left by the way." The Genie explained nervously.
My eyebrows shot up at that news. "How could I have possibly said 'I wish' that many times?!?!"
"Well you didn't say that every time." He said sheepishly. "We are allowed to take some liberties when granting wishes. You said 'make me able to teleport', 'I want to control the weather Genie', 'I wish I was the richest man in the world', and finally 'I just wish I was the only one on Earth, that would be fun', I didn't *want* to grant the last wish. But you said 'I wish' so I had to."
The realization sweeping over me chilled me to the bone. Did I really murder everyone in my sleep?! I thought about home and was instantly standing in my bedroom with the Genie standing beside me. I ran outside as traffic would be insane right outside at this time of day. Cars were wrecked all over the road with some clearly having started on fire and burned out long ago.
"Genie, did I kill them all?" A hoarse whisper escaped my lips.
"Well, no, like I said we are able to take some liberties when granting wishes."
"Where are they?!?!" I demanded.
The Genie smiled "Not on Earth."
I blinked slowly and thought for a moment. "I wish for everyone who believes in God to be left where ever you sent them, bring the rest back."
| 2019-09-20T12:33:00 | 2019-09-20T11:27:14 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] "Rain or Shine, Sleet or Snow, Goblin or Demon, Dragon or Drow, nothing stops the United Fantasy Postal Service from delivering your packages on time."
|
I eyed the three men in black leather armor. The one directly in front of me stood lax, his arms moving in gestures as he spoke amicably, but the other two weren’t very good actors. Their stances and their piercing eyes told me they didn’t intend to leave me alive.
“You see, sir, this city has been having a problem with black market goods being smuggled in, so we’re going to need to take a look at what you’re bringing,” the man before me said.
I folded my arms. “Under whose direction?” I turned, displaying the Royal Postmaster sigil on my shoulder. “I doubt your authority holds precedence over my own, if you even have any.”
At that, the man wavered. Being the direct courier for the royal family carried a certain amount of weight. It meant that the items I was transporting had the potential to be priceless treasures, but it also meant that wresting them from me would be a difficult endeavor for any who dared try. I uncrossed my arms, setting one on top of the satchel that was slung over my shoulder. The other hand fell to the hilt of my rapier. I hated dealing with these lowlife grunt types.
The man steeled himself. “Of course, sir, I understand your position, and your items will be cared for with the utmost respect, but I’m afraid we must-”
“***Stand aside***,” I spoke, a deep emphasis to my tone. The man standing on the left gasped, and his body moved seemingly against his will, and he backpedaled a few steps towards the side of the road. To my surprise, however, the other two stood their ground, though their stances wavered and they grimaced.
Those two, at least, were stronger than I had assumed. Just as I was thinking that I needed to be more wary, the man that had been speaking swiveled his eyes to look off to his right.
I dashed forwards just in time, as an arrow arced out of the woods to my left. I felt a tug at my shoulder as the projectile struck the edge of my satchel. As I moved, my fingers encircled the grip of my rapier, and I drew it. The man who had been speaking tried to draw his own sword, but was too slow. The pin-point end of my blade flicked across his neck, cleanly parting his skin. Instead of drawing his sword, the man’s hand rose to press against the wound, and he fell to his knees. Considering him incapacitated for at least a few moments, I stepped passed him and turned.
The other thug, the one who resisted my command, drew his great sword off his back, turning the movement straight into a downwards strike. I twisted my wrist and raised my arm. As the heavy blade came in contact with my thin rapier I sidestepped, letting my weapon guide his strike just barely to the side. The speed and force behind the strike surprised me, however, and I winced, unsure if my deflection would be enough. The wind from his falling blade rustled my sleeve before plunging into the ground much too close for comfort.
In the moment before I dispatched of the man, I saw him exhale and close his eyes in defeat, and the observation told me something. These men were aware of my abilities beyond simply knowing I was the Royal Courier. This great sword wielder had put everything into that first swing, knowing he would not get a chance at a second strike.
I spun, and my free hand raced forwards, palm open. The heel of my palm drove into his chin, dislocating his jaw and turning him away. His hands left his sword and he stumbled with his back turned to me. I pulled the base of my rapier hilt against my chest, elbow bent, and then extended the blade outwards making two quick thrusts through the man’s back, puncturing both of his lungs.
At this point, I realized how light my satchel was, and turned to see the contents spilled into the road; a number of sealed letters and small packages, most of which were decoys. The third man was tearing through them. I moved to stop him, but then realized that the archer had a perfectly clear shot at me now. I raised my hand and waved it purposely through the air in front of me. I whispered quickly in the Ancient Language, and the space before me shimmered. Just at that moment, another arrow shot out from the woods. It would have pierced perfectly through my chest, but instead it collided with the shielding spell I'd just casted, and it snapped against the invisible wall.
“I got her!” Yelled the man digging through the packages. I glanced his way and saw a shiny blue orb with a ring of gold around it in his hand. He turned towards the woods and raised it.
Prior to this, I hadn’t laid eyes on what exactly I had been transporting; that was part of the job. My business was getting it where the royal family needed it, but what exactly I was delivering was none of my concern.
I waved my hand purposefully again and spoke a different incantation. The shield dissipated, and whip of magical energy extended from my hand, lashing out to wrap around the man’s neck. I gripped the glowing white rope and tugged, pulling the man towards me. He gagged and his tongue searched out of his mouth at the sudden constriction of his airway. I dismissed the whip and stepped back as he reached me, and as he passed between me and where I knew the archer was hiding, a third arrow tore through the air towards me. The man raised his hands instinctively, and the arrow nicked the orb he held before piercing through his head just below his eye. Before he even hit the ground, I had snatched the orb from his limp hand, and dashed for the tree line. One last arrow whizzed past behind me before I reached the woods. Once under cover, I zig zagged through the trees to where I knew the archer was.
When I reached him, he had already tossed aside his bow, and had his short sword at the ready. Unfortunately for him, I could tell by the way he braced himself that he wasn’t as familiar with the melee weapon. Our blades clashed thrice before I slipped past his defense and dealt him several fatal wounds.
My rapier slid into its sheath as his body struck the ground, and I let out a sigh. At this point, I noticed the orb was emitting warmth into my hand, and upon inspection, I found a faint light emitting from the small break where the arrow had struck it. I furrowed my brow, wondering what such an item could be. I realized after another moment, that the orb was getting steadily warmer, to the point where I considered dropping it. Subsequently, it reached a heat that compelled me to drop it involuntarily, and I stepped away from the little bauble.
Then it exploded.
There wasn’t much force to the blast, but thick blue smoke billowed outwards and consumed me. I covered my mouth and nose in the crook of my elbow, fearing the cloud was a poisonous countermeasure. I didn’t even have time to cast a protective spell, and was about to move to flee the cloud when it started to dissipate naturally.
When the blue cloud faded, I found a young elf woman laying where the orb had been. She was dressed in rags, but the tattoo on her shoulder marked her as royalty from the kingdom to the north of my own. She was injured badly.
A swell of confusion rocked through me and I stared at her blankly, my mind refusing to make sense of the situation for a few moments.
Then she stirred.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
/r/TheCornerStories
|
Marlina ran her finger across the page of a leather-bound catalogue. The words *Growth Elixir* passed under her nail. The price was thirteen giblets with free delivery, for an extra two giblets she could have it instantly. The wooden floorboards moaned as Marlina walked across her office. She lay the catalogue flat on table scarred by spell damage and took a step back. She pointed her finger at the floor and swirled it clockwise. The wood flooring twisted, playing with the light and then a shimmering blue hole appeared.
'Growth Elixir.' Marlina said, and the portal hummed red.
She pulled a coin purse from her pocket and dropped fifteen giblets into the hole. Each giblet clinked as it passed through. The gateway changed to green, and Marlina stood like a catcher waiting for a ball. Nothing came. She leaned over her desk, flipped the catalogue to the front page and moved her lips to the tune:
*Rain or Shine, Sleet or Snow, Goblin or Demon, Dragon or Drow, nothing stops the United Fantasy Postal Service from delivering your packages on time.*
Marlina pocketed her coins - not wanting to throw more money away. She tapped her foot with no regard for her downstairs neighbour, Miss Flinch, who would be at her door in less than a minute to ask "What's the racket?"
A minute of impatience passed, and someone knocked on Marilina's door. She knew it was *probably* Miss Flinch, but what if it was her delivery. What if there had been a problem with the delivery portal, and someone had come to deliver her Growth Exlir.
The stranger had managed five knocks before Marlina had made it to the door, and with a brush stroke of her hand, it went transparent. Marlina could see the hunched figure of Miss Flinch - who now seemed to be knocking against the air. Marlina pinched her index and thumb, muting the door's sound. Now it looked like Miss Flinch was pretending to be a Maneki-Neko.
Marlina made her door opaque and strolled back to her room. She froze at the boundary. A young boy with raven black hair was squeezing himself through the delivery portal. His hands strained against the sides, and on the floor next to him lay a vial of Growth Elixir. Marlina aimed her finger at the portal and twirled it anti-clockwise. The portal drew tight against his stomach until there was no sign of it, only half a boy protruding from the floor.
'*Uugh*.' The boy groaned.
'Thief!' Marlina shouted. 'Explain yourself, or I'll close this portal, and you'll lose your legs for good!'
'W-wait.' The boy said, still trying to fight the portal.
'Five. Four. Three-'
'Okay okay! But you have to help me!'
'Help a thief?' Marlina shrieked and then twisted the portal.
The boy had to suck in his stomach. 'The UFPS *force* me to deliver packages for them. I want to be *free*.'
---
/r/WrittenThought
| 2018-12-06T08:04:43 | 2018-12-06T06:49:06 | 115 | 28 |
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.
|
"Really? So this is going to be a shot of space for like an hour?"
"Well, it's random - that's kind of the point." Neal's eyes are still glued to the screen.
"Well they could be a little more specific." Melissa continued the mundane task of doing the dishes tonight. She knew this black screen meant a lot to Neal.
"Well, I mean they could be - but it's best if it's random. I mean that's the whole principle. Like Schrodinger's cat style."
"Alright, I'll bite." She had a few minutes to kill - and she knows how much it means to share your passion. After a moment she solicited further, "So the cat's both alive and dead until you open the box."
Neal grinned and glanced towards Melissa. He knew her subtle response was an unconditional invitation to nerd out. He could blabber all he wanted for the next few minutes - and he jumped at the opportunity. "Yeah, its roots are in quantum physics where stuff could be two things at once. We're not to the point of understanding it yet, but we just kinda accept that tiny tiny stuff does weird things unlike the observable universe." Neal paused to see if Melissa was paying attention or if he should just stop there.
"Mmmm hmm? The rocket's obviously not small - how's that fit into Elon Musk's plan?"
"Well the newest theory is we're in a simulated world. You and I are just programs." Neal started to gloss over things so he wouldn't lose his one person audience. He rattled off a summary in a monotone voice "Technology grows fast. We can simulate game worlds easily, in another thousand years maybe the weather for perfect predictions. In another ten thousand the entire Earth on a molecular level. In another hundred thousand on an atomic level. Anyway, with infinite worlds and billions of years, someone somewhere can probably simulate the entire galaxy if not universe." The screen continued showing the blackness of space. He turns to Melissa after a pause. Sensing something dramatic, Melissa looks up.
Neal continued with a profound voice. "Well if they can simulate the universe - who's to say WE'RE not a simulation?" Melissa stared back blankly. "Like, of the infinite worlds that can be created, what are the chances WE are the one true world? Like, astronomically low! Therefore, we're in a simulation." He eagerly paused to let it sink in.
Melissa shrugged. "Okay. So let's assume that we're in a simulation. The rocket?"
"So here's the thing. What if we don't understand quantum physics because the simulated overlord program doesn't calculate it? In a game, when your character walks around a world, the game isn't simulating everything outside of the picture because it doesn't matter. It's like everything outside of Mario's view is in Schrodinger's box - basically uncalculated until you actually need it, saving processing time and memory.
"Now, imagine that Mario is causing chaos behind him but doesn't look until the last second. Like he's just collecting green shells and tossing them backwards into a pool - they're all running into each other, never stopping. And then he spins around." Neal suddenly shoots his arms in the air, "BAM, the console freezes while it tries to display the chaos. It catches up eventually, but the game lags while it tries to work out everything that it previously didn't care about." Neal pauses again and starts up another relevant idea. "So do you remember bucky balls? Like the scientific breakthrough from the 80's?"
"Yeah, they wanted to use it to transport molecules around the body and whatever. Like little boxes." On that sentence she suddenly realized where Neal was going.
Neal nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, like little boxes - like little Schrodinger boxes." Neal continued. "So Musk developed this ... liquidy bucky ball material. With a little electricity they form bucky balls, but they also unstable so they constantly open and reform other balls. Large, small, whatever -" Neal snickered and tilted his head - "The internet's calling them Musky balls."
Melissa rolls her eyes.
Neal returned, "Anyway, so these Musky balls - you don't know what's in them until you open them. But there might be another musky ball, and inside that another - and maybe the ones that are opened closed up again in some other formation with other Musky balls inside that."
"Chaos..."
"Yup, Chaos, and if we open up the one solid Bucky ball container holding this whole mess? What if Mario turns around?"
"The console freezes."
Neal's excited demeanor settles into a bright grin. He repeats Melissa's words back at her. "The console freezes." He gestures towards the computer screen. "And that's what we're waiting for." Both continue staring at the screen as Neal turns the volume up - confident that Melissa is now interested in the announcer's voice.
Moments later there's a bright flash. For all the buildup that led up to this scientific event, it was anti-climatically over in a few seconds.
"So did anything happen?"
"I donno, didn't seem like it."
"So maybe we're real?"
"Maybe we're real." Neal shrugged. "I don't know, maybe not. Maybe Elon will try again."
*****
*The whole room froze for a moment.*
*You see, even if the universe was simulated, even if there was lag the simulation wouldn't know it. It wouldn't know if it wasn't programmed to know.*
*****
"Well do you think he would? He could?"
"Yeah, that's a good question - I mean he burned probably his entire reputation trying to pull off this crazy stunt. I'm sure this wasn't profitable unless he can find a use for Musky balls." Neal couldn't help from making himself smirk.
*****
*The room froze again.*
*If you're colorblind, how do you know you're colorblind? You might know because other people tell you they see other colors. Maybe you could build a device that can see additional colors. But what if nobody else knows? What if the device* **can't** *know? After all, wouldn't it have to be programmed to know?*
*****
"Oh wait, he's coming on TV."
*****
*Computers know they're lagging because they have a separate test for time. They can tell how long it has been since the last computation. What if time itself was lagging? How would you know?*
*****
The chatter on the TV hushes before Musk speaks: "The data we have gathered will be analyzed and I'll be sure to report our findings in our next press release. I am confident that the data will provide even the tiniest shudder of information that can help determi--"
*****
*How does prisoner know he is a prisoner? He knows because he can see the other world or he can see his master giving orders.*
*But how does a machine know about the rest of the world? It only knows if it has been programmed to know.*
*The only way you can ever tell if you are in a simulation is if someone outside* **wants** *to tell you.*
|
"'Error'?" The young astronaut, Miller, repeated, pulling himself towards the thin monitor.
Arnold, his superior, stood over him, his head in his hands. "For the fifth time, Miller, that's what it says."
"But... the Milky Way is a galaxy. Galaxies can't lag."
Arnold turned on Miller with a crackling fury in his eyes. Past the razor in his glare, there was an undefined fear. "Don't you think I know that?"
Miller dropped his gaze to the Space Station's floor, or at least, what was the floor for that moment. When the error message first appeared on the screen, Miller wasn't quite sure what he expected to happen. Maybe the gravity suddenly being flipped off? Or the stars around them winking out of existence? Out of all the possible outcomes, the worst one had come to pass: nothing.
The eerie silence that followed the explosion, and then the message, was unlike anything Miller had ever heard, and it filled him with a deep dread. He hoped he would never have to experience it again.
"What do we do?" Miller asked. Down the corridor, Miller could hear the Chinese astronauts whispering in hushed voices. Using a translator, they all agreed to keep the information quiet for now.
"I don't know. We can't keep the information from everyone else." Arnold replied.
"Well, what *can* we do?"
He thought for a moment, his brow furrowing as though he didn't like his thought process. "We shouldn't let the public know. We're both trained well, so... let's try and figure out where this message came from."
Miller set himself by the computer, ready to follow his superior's instructions, when he froze and turned back around. "What are you going to do about Musk? He wanted to know the results."
Arnold sighed and shook his head. "I'll tell him what I have to. For now, we have just a few hours before we have to report back to NASA. Get working."
Miller nodded and set in on the message, dusting off the computer-science he learned several years ago. He'd never had to use it under pressure before. He prayed the error was a direct effect of the bomb going off, but the pit in his stomach taunted him to no end. Something was terribly wrong, and there was not one person who would know how to fix it.
What had they done?
_____________________________________________________
This prompt was a bit outside my comfort zone, thank you!
| 2016-08-19T15:30:37 | 2016-08-19T13:56:00 | 64 | 46 |
[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.
|
Blood.
The only thing I can taste. The only thing I can feel. Blood.
The murky rivers of the Damned have rejected me again.
Death hurts. Coming back from death hurts more. What hurts the most is realizing what's changed about me.
I've staggered up now. My friends have been buying themselves time, waiting for me to defeat and seal away the evil. They're on their last legs.
I make my move.
Our foe drops to the ground, gurgling.
I've just... torn out his heart?
They look upon me in horror. I saved the day, but scarred them.
Little Julia looks like she's about to cry, but I know that I can't console her, because I am no longer a human. None of them recognize me.
I am first cast out by the Gods, now I am cast out by Man.
And I can't even end my suffering.
| 2022-08-26T13:16:58 | 2022-08-26T13:15:56 | 290 | 70 |
[WP] On his deathbed, you father, a great scientist, leaves you his greatest invention - a machine which can make any waifu real. You soon find out that some people will do whatever it takes to steal that machine.
|
Frederick got the call at 8:43 P.M. that night. His grandfather was in the hospital, and in a very bad way. He put on his jacket and rushed out the door. He loved his grandfather, and had worshiped the ground he walked on from a very early age. When his father had died, Thomas was all he had. Frederick knew that it was awkward for Thomas, such an old man, to raise such a young boy, but the fact that he had thrown himself into it with such vigor was proof not only of the quality of Thomas's character, but of his love for his grandson.
Frederick sped down I-95 in his Toyota Carolla, topping out at 90, speed limits be damned. His heart racing as fast as his little compact jalopy, his thoughts, too, raced at all the wonderful memories he had made with his Grampy. He remembered playing catch with him in the backyard after school, perhaps the most cliche activity for a young boy and a grown man on the planet, but cliches exist because they're universal truths. He hadn't realized it at the time, but looking back on it now, his 9-year-old self was running circles around Grampy. He had no idea how tired he was, how much his feet ached and his back pounded. Still, even with all this pain, Thomas would have played whatever game Frederick wanted to play until his dying breath.
Frederick also fondly remembered quieter moments; Thomas had spent so much time learning about anime. He remembers when he started watching Pokemon, Sailor Moon, and Dragonball Z, how his Grampy would sit down with him and watch, seemingly captivated by these flashy, colorful kaleidoscopes before him. In truth, now that Frederick was older, he suspected that Grampy was bored to tears by all that stuff. Nevertheless, not only did he sit and watch, seemingly enraptured, but he also introduced him to more obscure titles. From One Piece to Ghost in the Shell to Cowboy Bebop to Akira, when DVDs first started becoming widely available, he would frequently come home from school to find that his Grampy would buy him one for them to watch together. "I've got another one for us to watch together, sonny!"
Now, here at 30 years old, Frederick was rounding the corner to the hospital. As he rushed to the welcome center, he racked his brain to think of a joke for the old man. That's another thing that Thomas passed to his grandson, his marvelous sense of humor. Now a professional comedian by trade, Grampy had introduced him to all of his old comedy records from a young age. Pryor, Kinison, Dangerfield, Cosby, Carlin, you name it, they listened to it. Granted, he don't think his mom was too keen on his grandpa letting him listen to that kind of stuff, but he did it anyway. Even outside of his own interests in comedy, he was a funny man himself. He'll never forget the time when he took him out fishing and made him think that he had lost his arm. Grampy was laughing so hard he thought he would die then and there.
He finally makes it to room 201B, and is thankful to see his Grampy still alive, his mother and Thomas's daughter, Linda, at his side. He goes in and hugs his grandpa. Before he can get out a single word about the woman from Nantucket, his grandpa says "Listen, I have something for you--
*I've got another one for us to watch together, sonny!*
"--just, look in my bag over there."
Frederick obliges. He sees what looks like a magic 8-ball, but without the little pyramid in the bottom, just the blue liquid. Thomas had been a great inventor in his younger days, and continued to be so into his golden years. Frederick remembers how some of his inventions had seemed so magical as a kid. Some still seem magic now.
He hands his Grampy the 8-ball. "This is for you, Sonny. Come here."
He gets closer to his grandpa's face.
"Go outside, say who you want and shake it. This'll do it for ya."
He gave Frederick a wink. Grampy had also known all too well how Frederick had watched anime as he was...well..."growing up," so to speak. Thomas was the one to teach him about the birds and the bees, after all, and they would talk about which anime characters they thought were the most attractive. Later on, Frederick would learn about the term "waifu," and the two would make jokes about it to each other. "Boy, look at her, sonny, I'd make her my waifu if you know what I mean," Thomas would say to his grandson as they'd howl with laughter. Sometimes Frederick would say "If I had a magic 8-ball, so and so..."
Well, now he did. He held in his hands something that his dear Grampy had told him could get him anything he desired. He thought to himself "Well, I guess he was magic after all."
He shakes the 8-ball. "I wish Mei was real and would be my waifu!"
Nothing.
He brought the 8-ball over to Thomas. "Come here, sonny." He moved in closer to his grandfather's face. "Your waifu is shit," he whispered. They both laughed. They laughed and laughed until their sides hurt. Linda laughed as well, despite not knowing what the hell they were talking about. With that, Thomas passed away. The last laugh was his.
"I love you Grampy," Frederick says as he kisses him on the forehead. Linda does the same.
**VISIT r/IENM_Writes FOR MORE! UPDATED DAILY(ish)**
|
My father on his deathbed
Told me his biggest secret
And he's gonna leave it to me
I don't know if I could keep it
Is not like is heavy
Or really just dangerous
It's rather small
And a little bit mysterious
He explained to me
What this machine was
But he didn't explain why he keep it secret until now
But it was not really hard
To figure out why
A lot of men would attempt to steal this from my hands
It makes your waifu real
It just does that
And now I'm being followed by every anime fan
They want a copy at best
They want to kill me at worst
But my father clearly explained
That It only works once
Somehow I manage
To keep things cool
And created an online survey
To choose the best waifu
The rules are easy
And self explanatory
"It shall come to life the waifu that wins this trophy"
And I didn't think
Online surveys are shit
We got raided by 4 Chan
And now Hitler is here.
| 2018-03-13T05:37:29 | 2018-03-13T05:17:09 | 273 | 115 |
[WP] You are the grim reaper. Explain the concept of death to the sick, seven year old child on his deathbed.
|
"Sam..." I murmured, touching the arm of the child in the bed.
"Mmm?" The girl murmured weakly, her skin sallow, paper thin, ancient long before it had any right to be. Her eyes opened, vibrant and blue. Big eyes, looking even more out of place in her sunken features.
I forced what I hoped was a comforting smile onto my face. “…Sorry to wake you.”
“Are you a Doctor?” the girl croaked, her throat wracked and parched. It had been days since she had been able to drink anything without vomiting, the illness in its mindless progression shutting down one essential organ after the other until…
“Do I look like a Doctor?” I asked, pushing the thought aside for a moment. No sense dwelling on the inevitable, especially in my case. This aspect of humanity always fascinated me, defining reality by their own perceptions. The undiscovered proof of HIS lingering fingerprint which continued in all of them. Sam nodded her little head, too weak now to lift from the pillow.
“But I can’t read your nametag… The letters are all funny.” She continued, lifting a shockingly thin arm, born down by cables and canulars, a bony finger reaching for what she seemingly perceived to be a piece of laminated plastic hanging from my ‘clothes’.
“No need to worry about that.” I replied quickly, Unclipping and Pocketing the ‘Tag’ before she could reach it. A little always shines through, and I didn’t want to scare her. Poor little mite had been through enough for that.
“Is it going to be sunny this week?” She asks out of seemingly nowhere.
I pause in my preparation, taken aback. “Why’s that?” I ask, more out of reflex than anything else.
“Doctor Roberts said if it’s sunny this week I could go outside.” Sam replied, hope lending her weak, harsh voice a note of beauty.
“I hadn’t looked… but…” I paused, looking for the right way to segue into it. Everyone had a time, and this was hers. “…I don’t think it’ll matter.”
“Then it worked?” the girl asked, again that note of ineffable joy hiding somewhere beneath the ruin of her voice.
“What’s that Sam?”
“I asked Jesus to make me better. Am I getting better?”
“Oh. Well, no honey, I’m afraid not.” I replied apologetically.
“I’m never getting out of this bed again, am I?” Sam lamented, turning her head to the side, those big blue eyes watering.
“Well now I didn’t say that.”
“I don’t get it… If I’m not getting better and I can’t go outside…” Sam began.
“Sam… Do you remember before you got sick, and one day your daddy and Ruggles went to the vet, but Ruggles didn’t come home?” I asked, trying a different tack.
“Yeah… Daddy said Ruggles had to go to sleep because he was sick and… Oh…” Sam trails off, sniffling.
“Shhh… Don’t cry sweetheart…” I murmur. I want to reach out and take her in my arms, but that would quite accelerate things, and like I said, I wanted to make this easy for her.
“I-I’m s-sorry…” Sam sobs.
I blink in surprise “What for?”
“I-if I’d been a gooder girl then I wouldn’t have gots sick and…”
“Oh honey… no…” I assured her. “This… none of this is your fault. You got sick because people get sick, it’s part of being human. Good, bad… everyone gets the sniffles in winter.”
“Kevin doesn’t.” Sam retorted with another sniff.
“Your brother is weird though.” I whispered conspiratorially.
Sam giggled, before the giggles devolved into wracking coughs. I stroked her fingers lightly, taking her pain as best I could… There was so much… So much pain for such a small thing.
“Did God make me sick?” Sam gasps after the coughing subsides.
“Why would you ask that?” I reply incredulously “Didn’t I just say…”
“Mrs. Cunningham says I gots sick because Mommy lives with Aunty Jenny now and God’s mad.” Sam explains with the graceless innocence of a child.
“*DID* she…” I snarl, incensed. The TEMERITY! The utter bald-faced PRESUMPTION! To ascribe such monstrosity to the Hand of the Most High… To poison the mind of a child with such falsehood… It was Blasphemous! It was…
“Your wings came out…” Sam coughs flatly. “…You’re not a doctor.”
“Did they? Oh drat.” I sigh. I really had to learn to control my temper.
“I don’t wanna go to heaven.” Sam states without reservation. “Gramma went to heaven and now I don’t get to see her any more. I don’t wanna go. Daddy will be lonely.”
“He will.” I admitted. “Your Mommy and Aunty Jenny will be too. They’ll miss you. But one day I’ll come to visit them too, and then you’ll all be together again.”
“It’s not fair.”
I shake my head. “You’re right. It’s not. Not fair at all. Bad things happening to good people, little girls like you getting sick, people getting away with things they shouldn’t. But the world’s there for people to change, not us. Otherwise what’s the point?”
Sam frowns. “I don’t understand.”
“Think of the easter egg hunt last year… would it have been more fun if your mommy just gave you a basket full of eggs and went back to talking with her friends?”
Sam shakes her head again. “No… it’s funner to find them. Even if Billy does cheat…”
“He does.” I admitted “And sometimes he gets away with it, and he shouldn’t. But does that make it worth just giving up on it all?”
Sam shakes her little head.
“Life’s a little like that.” I explain. “It’s not always fair, it’s not always nice… But it’s better than not having the chance at all.”
“Chance to what?”
“To be Human.” I continue. “To get to love and be loved by good people like your Mommy and Daddy. To find a dream and chase it…”
“I wanted to be an Astronaut.” Sam sulks slightly.
“I know. And you would have been a really good one.” I assure her. “But it’s time to go now. Do you think you’re ready?”
“Will it hurt?” Sam asked, her small voice incredibly vulnerable.
“Not a bit.” I assured her, opening my arms and scooping her up… I’ll admit I lied. For her there was no pain… for me though, the process was sheer agony, taking the last of her essence to myself, shielding her from the chaotic signalling of her failing brain. But it was the least I could do. I kept her from hearing the anguished wailing of her mother… kept her from seeing her father pound the wall until his knuckles split and bled.
Let her have peace at last. She deserves that at least.
|
Awwhhh. He’s sleeping. Should I let him slumber? Fuck it, he might be having a good dream.
[drags scythe along the rail of the hospital bed until the seven year old child wakes up]
“Hey dipshit. I have good news for you. You’re about to die. Well, I’m going to evacuate that body you are currently latching a ride in.”
The child asks “Are you Jack Skellinton?”
[gutteral grumble] Mental note; stop at Tim Burton’s on the way back. He has to come to an understanding that being seen as a cartoon character does not make my day.
“Do I fucking look like a pumpking head?”
“But I can’t see your face sir.”
“Look you little rat. As soon as you see my face, you die. I like a little foreplay first.”
“What is die?”
“It’s when you..”
Child interupts. “What is foreplay?”
“Ask your dad. Wait, maybe your mom. That doesn’t matter. Die is when the lights go out and..”
“After stories?”
[hangs head] “Fuck me.”
“That’s what mommy says.”
“I bet she does.”
“What is ass?”
“Listen kid, you’re asking too many questions. Now you’re getting random.”
“That’s what mom says.”
“She doesn’t like random questions either? You should have listened to her.”
“No, I heard her say in the ass to daddy.”
“Fuck me again.”
“Mommy?”
“No, I’m not your mommy! Kid, I have a job to do. Lucky for you, you will never have to express this kind of disappointment to anyone. You won’t have to have a job, this time. So, I am here for death. Do you still want to know what die means?”
“Sure grandma.”
“I’m not your grandma either. I am the bringer of death!”
“You sound like grandma.”
“Your poor dad..”
“Which one?”
“Kid, I was going to going to give you a clean dispatch, send you straight in for processing. But you’ve struck a very tender nerve. Your time has come..”
| 2018-04-20T01:13:54 | 2018-04-19T20:28:49 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun.
|
In a few minutes the Festival of Change will begin, and I have no idea what I’m going to do. A public holiday where the entire world welcomes the latest development of their soul sword. It’s a time of revelry and duels and experimenting with new powers. It’s also the hardest day of the year to hide the fact that you don’t have soul sword. I’ve been keeping up with the development of my ‘sword’ so far, but I’ve run out of road. As a child, I could find a slightly larger penknife, or butter knife, or steak knife. It was unconventional, but as a narrative it made sense. Some were late bloomers, and their sword took flight as a young adult, earning life-changing powers, like flight, to balance off the early disappointment. I was too broke to buy a showy replica and too weak and slow to suggest that I had gained any physical or mental powers. My truth was going to come out.
I had no soul sword. I had a useless weapon in its place. It had grown over the years as a sword would, from a tiny derringer, through a revolver, automatic and now was a small machine pistol. I suppose it is heavy enough that I could hit someone with it? Or perhaps the shock of seeing a gun might give someone pause, but guns were unheard of, and so bullets were impossible to come by. Even if they were, my gun changed every year and the ammunition would be useless.
What is more pointless, a gun with no bullets or a sword with no power? Probably the gun, although an underpowered sword was more likely to get you challenged to a duel you can’t win.
I stepped out of the door with the beautiful katana I had managed to afford last year to bluff my way through the last Festival. I knew it would not change, could not change. But staying at home was not an option. It was the only compulsory element of our lives. Dying was my only way out of this, and I was not about to take my own life. There was however a very real chance it would be taken from me, by some overzealous festival goer, looking to try out his new power. They would have no idea I was defenceless, and what would be just the equivalent of a pat on the back between friends would be enough to split me in two.
The town square was already flooded with excitement and alcohol. And people with blades. I picked my way through the crowd looking for some cover so that when the change happened, I could shield myself from any prying eyes. It would be obvious nothing had happened, and even through the booze that would pique interest in others.
I smelt ozone on the air and I knew the moment was near. People began to raise their blades aloft, and a low keening came from a thousand throats at once. I tried to follow, but the futility of it made my katana weigh a tonne. My arms dropped and so did my gaze. As it did so I caught the eyes of a girl about my age. She looked at me with the same sorrow I felt. She held a short curved scimitar with a jewelled pommel, but I noticed how she avoided it touching anyone else’s weapon.
I looked at her, and she looked at me and all around us the golden glow of the change bloomed. The keening rose in pitch and volume as people watched their soul sword explode with power and potential. Neither of our blades so much as flickered. I made a decision that would change my life.
I elbowed my way through the throng and took her free hand in mine. Partially out of self-interest, partly out of excitement and partly out of concern for her. She was in as much danger as I was.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I asked. Two people leaving together, to do things two people might do together was about the only excuse that would stand up for why you missed the Festival. Pairing up after the change was a big part of the appeal of the day.
“Yes, please. Quickly”, she said and I led her as quickly as I could back to my small flat on the edge of town. Once we were clear of the main square and mass of people, I risked talking again.
“I’m Triep”, I said as an introduction. “It’s not far now. Have you always been like this? Like me?”
“Yany”, she said. “People call me Yany. Most people call me Nanny Yany, because I’m so scared of fighting. They would be scared too if they were unarmed. And yes, I’ve always been like this. I just ran out of options this year.”
“Me too”, I said. “I just assumed this would be the year I got found out.” We reached the door of my flat and I unlocked it. “This is me. Do you want to come in? No-one is around, you could probably sneak home now?”
“No”, she said walking into my place. “I think its best if I stay with you a bit yet. It will be safer later when people start heading home and the initial duels are all completed.”
I followed her into the flat. Then it hit me. What I’d left on the table.
“FUCK!”, I shouted and tried to force my way past her. It was too late.
Yany turned to face me, open-mouthed in shock, holding what now appeared to be a short assault rifle in her hands. It was still crackling with power, post its changing.
“It’s a hobby of mine”, I said. “It’s no big deal, I’ve not ever used it or anything.”
She carefully placed the gun on the table. Then she removed her backpack and opened it, crouching down to retrieve something.
“Come on!”, I said. “Don’t taze me! I was trying to help you. Please!”
“I’m not going to taze you”, Yany said, holding her hands out to me. “I think that we are going to be able to help each other”.
I looked down. A crackle of light traced an outline I’d dreamt of for my whole life. She held a magazine.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TallerestTales
PART 2 in replies
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Screams of terror surfaced from the streets, these screams a familiar friend. I used to think of what it would have been like being normal: cutting people a little in my early years; trying the hero gig before realising I should just be an account...maybe even settling down.
But no. Not for me. I can't be normal. Ever since I was born I had an extraordinary power. The power of metal and fire and death.
Every person is born with an innate weapon, this weapon is often a sword although some rare cases have been hammers, spears, and even daggers. This weapon becomes more powerful as you age and with this comes more skill. Your weapon is unique, much like a snowflake, and it is different and best suited to you.
When I was born, my family were immediatley dissatisfied.
"A child without a sword? Sure it happens and usually they go on to conquer evil or do good. This one though, it isn't even special. Just like him. Just like the boy..."
Needless to say when I figured out how to use it I didn't have parents anymore. Then again I didn't have parents before then. As I grew my pistol became a rifle. Make as many jokes as you want, the people who saw it weren't laughing.
Now I have a gun capable of firing 20 rounds per second with little to no recoil. Not that you'd understand. So many tried to recreate my curse but none could. They don't even know what gunpowder is.
I stand here above the streets. "A god" they call me. More like a demon. But no, I'm no god. I'm just a man done with people. People who choose the slice that which they do not understand. Emporers and Kings, as powerful as they are can't cut bullets.
| 2020-10-22T08:57:44 | 2020-10-22T08:46:25 | 2,180 | 73 |
[WP] Demons have finally discovered a way to summon humans and they take great joy in summoning humans to hell to do mundane chores in revenge for humans doing that to them for centuries.
|
[Bit of a twist but here we go...]
Last week, it was a summoning to the 3rd Circle of hell for a Mani/Pedi with an angle grinder for No'klash. 3 days before that, it was the 4th Circle and some hellhound Walkies for Bel'gusta. A week and a half before that, it was kitchen cleaning in the 1st circle for Johnnaaasss. Due to souls being the primary currency in Hell, the demons are happy to trade precious metals and stones that they have no use for in exchange for menial labour and the exchange rate is AWESOME!!!. So it has been a pretty lucrative period of time for me. At least until the Taxation Office catches up with the new jobs of being a summonee...
Imagine my surprise when I am chilling at home playing video games and the swerling vortex of a summoning boils up from the floor and the usual smell of brimstone and sulfur is under cut with a whif of cut grass on a summer day and childhood candy shop. Weird.... I feel the usual hooking sensation but instead of behind the navel as it usually is, this one is higher up on my left side and I feel my body leave my usual plane of existence.
Rather than the usual light landing I get in Hell, I crash to the ground in a crumpled heap and my game controller flys out of my had, hitting the inner edge of the crudely drawn summoning circle and sending a flare of sparks around what is now my cage until a deal is struck.
I take a deep breath, expecting sulfur and hot metal and climb to my feet to take stock of my surroundings. Instead of the usual hellscape I am used to, screams of the damned etc, I hear a pop song playing quietly in the background and am standing in what looks like someone's living room, all decked out in shades of white. Looking down, the summoning circle is smoking slightly and the blood used to draw it is turning black.
"Where the F.... am I? " I mutter, feeling the usual resistance to uttering a swear word. Lucifer is a stickler for manners and plays a mean game of Halo. I have an appointment to be summoned by him next month for a rematch, he really doesn't like to lose...
"Uuumm that would be Heaven, 2nd circle" a female voice like windchimes resonates from behind me.
I spin around to see a tall gorgeous blonde woman standing inside a control circle, obviously the one who summoned me.
"Sorry, come again?" I reach out and press my finger tips to the barrier keeping me contained. I feel it give a little, the crystalline structure solid but the bonds between the crystals are weak. A solid strike in the right place would let me out easily, but I'm very curious now, I've never been summoned to heaven before...
"You are in my home in the 2nd circle of what you would call heaven" her confidence seems to be building and her voice is amazing, I could sit and listen to her read a dictionary for hours.
"OK I would ask how I got here, but that seems obvious" I gesture to the still smoking circle of runes on the floor, " though I am impressed that you managed to get it to work at all. Pretty sure it is supposed to go in the other direction. So the questions are, what do you want and what do you have to trade for it? And how do I know you are real and this isn't a dream? And what should I call you?"
I may have been a little blunt here as I am on the receiving end of a glare that could probably strip paint. She may have been expecting a little more awe and respect, but when you have gone 5 rounds of CTF with the devil himself, even the worst demons are just not that scary in comparison.
" You may call me Ailissa, and this should reassure you that this isn't a dream" she reaches one arm above her head and makes a shoulder rolling movement, causing large white wings to spring out from her shoulders, a halo forming above her head as the wings glow and stretch towards the walls. "And what I have to trade is this." She opens her hand to show what looks like a pile of glittering snow. "Diamonds are the preferred payment, aren't they? "
"Correct, you have my attention now. So the last remaining question is what do you want in return?" I am forcing my self to look her in the eye, the handful of diamonds is making this hard as that many stones would pay off my apartment and set me up for the next few years.
Ailissa blushes, her wings tucking in behind her in embarrasment, i can see them crossing at the tips like a toddler shuffling his feet when caught in the cookie jar.
"This is embarrassing to ask, but I want you to teach me to win. I am one of the strongest warriors in gods army and I just can't win... "
I'm no warrior, what is she talking about? I cock my head to the side in confusion.
" You beat the devil himself, please train me?" She points off to the side where a massive TV and entertainment unit is taking up a large amount of wall space. "God and the devil got tired of us fighting with the demons all the time and making all that noise. They ordered us all to settle things by these electronic games, which worked for a while. Then the demons started recruiting humans to teach them and we have lost every match since. Please help us."
A feral grin spreads across my face, "My rates are 1 diamond per hour, increasing by 1 per hour every 24 hours, and each diamond is to be no less than 1 Carat and no more than 2, flawless. Once I have reached a week here, I require 12 hours back on earth as a break and then to be summoned back if our deal is not complete. I am not to be harmed while here. I will train you in tactics and skills in 1 game or skill per day of your choosing however you may want to pick a different non game skill for one of those days. I will continue to train you for a month, then our deal is completed, do we have an accord?" A few months dealing with demons, you learn how to set your terms quickly and concisely including payment and a time limit, but to Spend a month with a gorgeous girl who happens to be an angel playing video games, and make life hard for the demons, I would have done it for free she asked.
"We have an accord" Ailissa holds up her right hand and I can see the markings forming on her forearm to formalise the deal, I can feel my own arm burn with the counter part to her markings. "What did you mean other skills besides games?"
Now that the deal is in place, I dont have to worry about being hurt. "Your circle isn't as secure as it should be" i place my left hand on the circle and stretch it out, I can feel the structure starting to fracture and whip my right hand into the stretched part of the circle. It fractures and I watch the broken pieces fall to floor, smothering the smoking runes.
I quickly raise my hands as a shining greatsword materialises in Ailissa's hand, aimed at my head. "Easy, Easy!!! No harm remember!!!! " i probably should learn some self preservation and to be less of a smart ass at some point. As the sword lowers, I bend down to scoop up my game controller and head towards the couch in front of the giant TV. This is probably going to be the Best Deal Ever!
" Let's get you trained up and give Lucifer something else to swear about..."
‐--------------------------------------------
Inspired by one of the other stories, but written in a different style. Apologies for the formatting, I'm on mobile.
|
Fire raged around me. I sighed, pulling my bag back into place. Hell was getting boring, I'd have to find a new plane to work on soon or I'd lose my mind. I continued the trek, ignoring the harrowing noises that trailed up from the pit below me. When I finally arrived at the pagoda previously assigned as the meeting place, I set my bag on the floor and lit a cigarette.
&#x200B;
The smoke trailed lazily into the already hazy atmosphere, before drifting back down to the floor. It began to swirl and congregate, and an ominous whisper scratched at the back of my mind. I shook my head in irritation, scowling at the epicenter of the disturbance.
&#x200B;
"I've been working for you for years now, Lucifer, stop with the theatrics."
&#x200B;
A shape took form from the smoke, chiseled body and scarred skin. Adonis' face stared back at me, his eyes a contemplative blue color framed by expertly cut midnight hair. "Your arrogance will be the death of you, Jack."
&#x200B;
"Mm, coming from the Prideful Prince himself, I'll take that as a compliment." I flicked my cigarette behind me, reaching down and unzipping my bag. When I stood, I held a still bleeding head by the horn. "I got your traitor. Fucker's still talking if you want him."
A vicious grin spread across the Demon King's face as he strode forward. A greedy hand reached toward the trophy I'd taken. I snatched it back, a scolding look in my eye.
&#x200B;
"My payment first, Prince of Lies. You know the deal." My hand tightened around the blade I'd produced, the edge firmly pressed against his chest. I had no doubt that he'd win the fight, but I also knew that he wasn't willing to lose his best hunter over something small.
&#x200B;
Satan rolled his eyes before flourishing, producing a briefcase. Without needing prompting, he opened it to reveal the cash inside. I focused, looking for the telltale glow that said it was cursed. Nothing showed, and so I nodded. Lucifer tossed the case to me, and I mirrored the action with his prize. We caught our bounties simultaneously, and I grinned, snatching my bag from the ground.
&#x200B;
"See ya when you need another one dead, Lucy!" I quickly spun on my heel, ignoring the Devil's snarl as I walked away. At least teasing the Devil was still fun. A portal opened in front of me, and I quickly skirted around it, knowing it was a trap. A low swearing followed me as I turned a bend in the path along the cliff-side. I let my shoulders relax just a bit as I continued down the path.
---
If you enjoyed this, please leave a comment to let me know and give it an updoot! If you'd like to see more of my work, check out my [personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/DimirWrites)
| 2020-07-01T18:33:45 | 2020-07-01T17:33:08 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] A hit new VR game comes out that transfers your consciousness to a virtual world. 5 minutes in real time feels like 80 years in there. Most people barely even stay in it that long. However, one person plays it for two real-world hours before they leave.
|
The God-creature appeared once every century. Today, after more than a thousand years, I was finally on the verge of killing her.
She had first materialized at the edge of my domain, the Kingdom of Enkar, a red-haired girl in a billowing green dress, floating high in the sky with some unknown magic. She had flown straight to my palace, past my guards and into my throne room.
Once there, all she did was stare at me, and cry, tears running down her face for several long minutes, before vanishing again. A hundred years, later, the cycle repeated itself. Then again in a hundred years, and again.
In comparison to the Starshine Elves of my domain, she looked plain, ordinary. But for some reason I couldn’t explain, I was drawn to her like nothing else.
And I was the emperor of this world. I had incredible powers of my own, and immortality, bestowed from the strange floating words above my head that said only “Admin 1”. I couldn’t stand her impudence, her mystery, her strange familiarity.
So I reached out to her. The next time she appeared, I presented her with gifts, filled a grassy plain a hundred leagues wide with gold, jewels, and magic items. She had ignored them, still looking at me, still sobbing as she watched, then disappeared.
My circle of mages assured me she wasn’t a ghost, nor any other kind of magical spirit they knew. I spent a hundred years enlisting them to research her possible origins, to develop a spell that could communicate with her. I raised a generation of linguists and magic experts in my kingdom, to find every possible way to I could talk to her, every language she might understand.
The next several times she appeared, I knelt before her and begged her to respond.
Nothing. All she did was cry.
It was infuriating. So I raised the largest army the kingdom of Enkar had ever seen, and attacked her when she appeared the next time. Perhaps that would get a response from her.
Arrows bounced off of her skin. Battle magic that could level mountains dissolved on the surface of her green dress. She didn’t even deign to fight back, just did the exact same thing she’d always done.
The technology of my world advanced, and in the centuries to follow, we fought her with guns, cruise missiles, even nuclear weapons. Generations of thinkers spent their lives to try and understand how to defeat her, or what she represented.
All for naught.
&#x200B;
Until today.
&#x200B;
Today, she was dressed in different clothes. Soft pants, a thick cloak with no hood. She was no longer crying. The look on her face was all determination and cold focus. It frightened me a little.
Today, she was talking.
“Emperor Julian,” she said. “My name is Astrid.”
Why did that name sound so familiar? The memory felt so distant, so faint.
“I’ve been your girlfriend of three years. You don’t remember because you’ve been here too long. And because of the blood loss.”
Blood loss?
“You’ve been playing World of Enkar for the past two hours in the real world.” The determined expression cracked a little, and the God-Astrid’s face fell. “It’s a virtual reality game that dilates time by a massive factor.”
I was familiar with virtual reality systems in my kingdom, but this sounded completely different.
“The maximum allowed time is five minutes, because any longer causes permanent memory loss. But we broke the rules.”
“W - Why,” I stuttered. It was all I could manage. Everything was happening so fast.
“There was a gas explosion." Her voice faltered. "You got - you got hurt pretty bad. You were a doctor. You knew there was no hope for you. I was a programmer on the original model. So you asked me to jailbreak the time restraints. You wanted your last hours to be happy, even if it meant losing yourself.“ She looked at me, her eyes getting wet again. “You've been bleeding out on your living room floor for the last one thousand, nine hundred, and twenty years. Are you happy?”
Using my abilities, I’d experienced every pleasure known to man. I’d eaten the finest foods every day, made love for years on end, conquered kingdoms with a single knife and my martial arts skills. I’d fallen in love with mortals, many times. I’d reincarnated myself as a powerless peasant, just to experience the thrill of working my way up to the top again.
But I’d always been happiest when I saw Astrid. When I was imploring her, fighting her. She was the most exciting challenge, the most intriguing persona. She had always made more sense than anything else in Enkar.
Acting on instinct, I ran forward off my throne and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around me, and a thousand years of decadence couldn’t compete with how good that felt. “Where were you,” I whispered. I wanted to see her every day of every year, not just one every hundred.
She kissed me. That felt even better than the hug. “I’ve spent eighty years in a simulation of my own,” she said. “Running scientific models. Testing theories.” She leveled her gaze at me. “I think we can save you.”
She tapped the air above her head, and a voice called down from the heavens, ringing in my ears.
“**Admin 2 has entered the game.**”
[**Part 2**](https://www.reddit.com/r/MadWhiteSnake/comments/acxflf/temporal_fantasy_part_2/)
|
I saw light. After an eternity falling, I saw actual, blinding light. A familiar face looked at me, and smiled. Her eyes were wide, almost impressed.
Sarah? I think that was her name.
"So, what did you learn?"
I blinked once, slowly. I remembersd. I dove in to study, to become a master of all trades... and paid a lot of money for the privilege. I paid, and she dove too. We both did. She's my wife. I looked at her and had no idea what to tell her. As far as she's concerned, I just spent several millennia honing my skills and sharpening my mind. She's expecting to be blown away by whatever it is I tell her next.
How do I even begin to explain that my entry point was three metres below the surface of the world? And that I spent an eternity at the mercy of gravity?
I chose not to lie about it. I could bluff my way out of many things, but not this. So I chose my words carefully and spoke the truth.
"Fuck Bethesda."
| 2019-01-04T17:56:44 | 2019-01-04T17:00:06 | 422 | 113 |
[WP] the Dark Lord had killed almost everyone, even the Hero. The final party member stood in the chamber alone. “I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?”. The final party member laughed maniacally with a devilish grin! “There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!!”
|
From the back she watched. Grinning as the spells and arrows flew. Half a dozen 'Friends'. High society idiots that didn't know what it meant to fight for your life. Not truly. It was one thing to slaughter hordes of the weaker races. Goblins, kobolds, small fearful things that are not quite smart enough to know how to fight back. To fight someone with power, real power, that could threaten you without hesitation, now that was a terrifying thing.
Armed with the best magical armor and arms that their noble purses could buy them, they sought to hire the miraculous cleric that had recently made a name for herself in the adventurer's guild. They believed that one man could not possibly withstand the combined might of their wealth, and in the face of that wealth the healer readily agreed.
She watched one by one as fatal blow after fatal blow was struck. Though she could regrow limbs with her magics, death was final. That was the universal law of holy magics, because the gods would never grant their followers dominion over life and death.
Nobody could blame her if the foolhardy party of noble children, were slain. She even had occasion to use her magics a few times on the party, who had occasionally managed to deflect a blow and incur broken bones. She would of course do the job she had been paid to do. Even so, one by one they fell to the man in black menacing armor. A juggernaut of a man who employed both brute strength and impressive magics in his conquest of the noble realms. Though she did her 'best' to keep the fools alive, they were slain to a man. Even the fool who supposedly had the blood of heroes to give him strength.
When the final party member fell, and the cleric was left alone with the man, he looked on at the girl to fine her standing, smugly unimpressed at the fiery glow surrounding his fists.
"I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?"
She paused at that, her smug grin bubbling out into a laugh that filled the chamber. It didn't sound especially menacing, nor did it sound appropriate to the question that she'd been asked. It was almost as if someone had told her a hilarious joke, and as she laughed she held up a finger, as if asking for the dark lord to wait a moment.
"Now that there's nobody to see what comes next, you're fucked. I'm sorry, but there's nobody here to stop me now." She said, unflinching as the dark lord launched an icicle lance through her midsection. In a flash, two thirds of her chest was a vacant hole, but she continued to stand there, staring at the man unimpressed.
"Are you quite done?" She asked, her flesh and bone knitting back together. Muscle mass reforming in an instant as she took a few steps closer. He held up his hand to cast another spell, but before he knew it he was crumpling to the ground, his black armor suddenly too heavy to lift.
"B-But how? You're just a cleric, healer's do not have this sort of magic!"
"That's not exactly right. I'm not exactly a cleric. I don't follow any particular god anyway."
"That's not possible, healing magics are all tied to the domain of the div-!" he shouts, his voice stopping and withering into a gasp all of a sudden.
"All magic is based in knowledge. What clerics do is forge a pact with a being who has the knowledge they need to perform their 'miracles'. The truth of the matter is, anyone who is sufficiently knowledgeable can perform the magics. You see, if you know enough about the human body, and have the right aptitude for the magic, you can do all sorts of interesting things. I would say among the most mundane is the ability to regenerate tissue. You see, if you take your time, and get that knowledge the old fashioned way, you can do things with that knowledge that the gods do not allow their followers to do. For instance, did you know it's as easy to damage flesh as it is to heal flesh with these magics? It's really no different at all. It doesn't even require very much magic to disable a person. You simply direct a bit at a choice vertebrae, and there's literally nothing they can do to defend themselves."
She knelt over the man and removed his helmet, revealing a surprisingly average face.
"Hm. I expected uglier."
He gasped, trying to speak but finding no voice.
"Oh did you want to say something?" She said with a soft laugh, regenerating the man's larynx for a brief moment.
"What are you-"
It choked off into a gurgle, before he could finish whatever he was going to ask.
"What am I? Some would say a healer. I have healed a great many members of the guild from grievous injury to secure my standing. My talents are well known, and greatly admired. I prefer to think of myself as a scholar of magic however. There are so many ways that it can be directed if you know how to wield it properly. I began adventuring to further my research. They thought the idea of a registered cleric working alone was preposterous, but I got results. I cleaned up the most wanted list, dead or alive worked well for me. I dealt with bandits, pirates, and all manner of vile men to collect my research subjects, and perfect my understanding. Do you know how I learned about the human body from these men? You soon will." She said, with yet another unhinged laugh.
"Hmm... Maybe I should grab that blood of heroes guy too. See if there's really anything all that special about noble blood or whatever." She muttered to herself, her interest already drifting away from her new toy with the idea of another one to play with that might be more interesting.
"I wonder how long I'll have here in the dark lord's lair to play with my new toys before I have to turn the bodies over to the guild." She said, almost glumly as she approached the hero the dark lord had battled with so fiercely not even minutes ago. She made sure the dark lord could watch as she held a hand out to the hero's body. Half of his head missing thanks to a well place spell of disintegration by the dark lord. Slowly his head began to heal, and suddenly, the dead man began breathing.
His eyes were still closed at first, but when they opened, they opened in horror as he let out a wretched scream. The 'healer' silenced that immediately in the same fashion she'd silenced the dark lord.
"Never been a big fan of screaming." She said, watching the man's skin slowly shrink away, revealing muscle beneath.
"I imagine it'll be a few days before the guild scouts come investigate the fate of our party. I think I'll tell them it took several days of fighting to kill you. That you died of a mortal wound. Of course, I wouldn't want to be a liar." She said with a little smirk. "Let's see... there we go!" With a little flourish of her wrist and another laugh she said "Now you've got a few holes in your intestines and stomach. Just lie there and watch me play with this toy until that gets you. I'll give you a little bit of personal attention after that alright?"
|
Looking around the chamber, the Dark Lord had a twisted smile, until he noticed someone hunched over right at the back.
The small man was shaking.
It was not difficult to understand why. He must be terrified of the Dark Lord.
"I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?" the Dark Lord asked.
The man was still shaking. He did not give a reply.
The Dark Lord continued, "I am a giving man, so I will give you the last chance to leave while you still can."
He did not leave.
"Are you so terrified that you can't move?" the Dark Lord sneered.
The small man finally stood up.
He was not shaking in fear.
No.
He was laughing.
He was laughing maniacally with a devilish grin!
"There's no one here to stop me now!"
The Dark Lord laughed, "have you gone crazy from seeing your friends dead? Or because you are scared of me?"
The man was still laughing while walking towards the Dark Lord.
The Dark Lord was getting irritated by him, so he ordered, "stop laughing."
The man ignored him.
He just kept walking forward.
"I am the Dark Lord, and I order you to stop laughing immediately!"
"Do you know who I am?" the man spoke. It was so soft, but the Dark Lord could still hear it. In fact, he did not seem to have moved his mouth at all.
It was then that the Dark Lord realized. He heard the man's words in his mind.
"Have you heard of the Demon Supreme?"
The Dark Lord froze.
"The Demon Supreme is only a myth."
"Really? Have you heard of anyone else being able to speak to your mind directly?"
"Why would the Demon Supreme be with... them?" The Dark Lord spit out his last word with contempt.
"I have lived my life for so many centuries... it was boring. There are only so many new ways I can think of to torture and kill someone, you know? I coincidentally met Heronas one day and I got to know of the prophecy of him as the Hero, and you... you think you can overtake me as the Lord in this world?" The Demon Supreme grinned, "they had taken something of mine, which is why I thank you for killing them."
For the first time in a long while, the Dark Lord felt terror.
"Because with them dead... my power is back."
The small man grew in size.
"Now, I can drain you until you are left with nothing but an empty shell."
| 2020-07-11T04:13:09 | 2020-07-11T03:37:24 | 364 | 82 |
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind.
|
It had taken him years to come to terms with his score, to accept it. So it was something of a shock when he finally figured out what it actually meant. He started cackling to himself, like a madman.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Mike's Assessment, at 6 months old, was routine. They were always routine. After so much time, the technology was perfect. DNA sequencing, brain scans.
It wasn't until the result appeared on the screen that anything out of the ordinary happened.
"No!" shrieked Angela. "That's not possible! There must be some mistake! You have to run it again!"
"Why do I always get the difficult ones?" Dan thought to himself, readying the normal speech he gave upset parents demanding a retest. He stopped himself when he saw the result on the screen. It couldn't be...
After a hurried call to his supervisor, he retested the baby. He'd moved into a different test chamber, to rule out equipment malfunction.
1
The screen glowed with the single digit number, the first anyone in this facility had ever seen. Dan couldn't believe it any more than the mother could. Anything below 15 was extremely rare. In the two centuries since the system was implemented, only a few dozen had scored below 10, and the lowest of them, a single woman born nearly 80 years ago, was a 5.
"Perhaps it'll improve at Confirmation..." Dan said, with little conviction. He was among the most experienced Assessors, well trained, well liked. But even he was shaken.
The mother, a 156, latched on to that hope. "Of course it will!" she snapped at him. "I'm sorry," she apologized immediately, her face softening "I shouldn't be upset at you."
"It's just so shocking. It must be a glitch. The Confirmation will make it right."
* * * * * * * * * *
Mike returned to the facility on his 13th birthday, terrified of the result. After today, his Confirmed score would become public, tattooed permanently on the back of the right hand. He might never see his family or friends again after today.
His parents had taught him the system as he grew up, and school filled in the blanks. People were free to live in any zone up to 10 levels above or below their own score, and visit at will any zone within 20. A good reason was required for visiting zones outside that band, which is how the missionaries helped in the lower zones, and how the criminals made money in the higher.
Zone 163 was a good place to live, in Mike's opinion, an allowable compromise between his mother's 156 and his father's 170. To hear them tell it, they'd met at a concert in 160 during their college years, but 163 was less crowded and the real estate more affordable.
Mike had always hidden his score from everyone outside his family. He wasn't told about his score until he was old enough to understand why it would be to keep it private. Only a small minority of his classmates kept their scores secret, but Mike was well liked and never got into any serious trouble, so no one ever pried.
The machine beeped, bringing Mike's attention back to the present. The DNA scan process was the same as when he was a baby, not that he remembered it of course, but the brain scans were longer and more thorough. At 13, his personality and temperament were set, and he was old enough to be able to make an actual difference in the world, good or bad. Or so the law said, as it always had.
* * * * * * * * * * *
By chance, Dan was Mike's Assessor again. He was older now, only a year or two shy of retirement age, but age hadn't dulled his memory. He remembered the squalling baby that scored a 1 all those years ago.
He frowned at the display in his control booth. The subject's file was exemplary. Good grades, no serious trouble, lots of friends, a pet that was well cared for and seemingly well loved. He was no angelic 195 to be sure, but Dan would put him at a solid mid-150s. His estimates were seldom wrong.
The machine beeped again, a quick three tones that indicated the test was done. The tattooing device whirred as it activated and began inscribing Mike's hand. As the law prescribed, Mike was restrained. In the distant past, well before Dan's time, people would become agitated when their score was Confirmed and the Marking would need to be delayed until they calmed down, and the facilities became backlogged. Subjects still became agitated, but the restraints ensured they stayed still until the Marking was done.
Dan glanced at the right hand of the tall, blond teenager.
-1- was engraved in bold letters across it. A small, detached, analytical part of his mind thought about how 2-digit Scores were centered on the hand differently than 3-digit ones, for clarity, and realized that 1-digit Scores must be hyphenated for the same reason. He'd never seen one before.
* * * * * * * * * *
Mike didn't weep, or lash out in anger, or try to bargain, as he'd been told others had after getting a high Variance from his family. He just felt numb.
Time passed as if he were in a daze. He barely noticed as his scant belongings were stowed into the train, or when he was led to his seat. Variants who were no longer suitable for the zones of their childhood were relocated immediately after Confirmation.
The train moved between zones on its usual schedule. People got on and off, some Variants like him moving to their new homes forever, others visiting friends and family or out on business. As the day wore on, the zone numbers steadily decreased, as did the number of other passengers.
The automated voice proclaiming "FINAL STOP" finally jolted Mike back to alertness. He shuffled out of the train, noticing faded paint on the concrete identifying the terminal as being in "ZONE 60".
He looked around. The buildings had been similar to the ones in Zone 160 once, he noticed, perhaps identical. That was decades gone, though. Everything in sight had a rundown, somewhat neglected look. Shoddy, ramshackle additions were common.
"Keep moving to the other train" an armed member of the security force growled at him, point across the platform.
This train had only a quarter as many cars as they one he'd gotten off of. The windows were small and thick, the outer surfaces heaving armored. The interior was in relatively poor repair, but he could tell it had once been identical to the train from his home. That seemed to the way of the world - at its heart, everything was built identical and adapted to its final purpose.
There were few other passengers, most glaring or leering at Mike. He had no doubt some would try to rob him, or rape him, or enslave him.
One by one, their expressions changed when they saw his Mark. Some faces showing a grudging respect, but all showed fear. He took a seat in the middle of a few empty rows and looked out the window, tuning out those around him.
The train rumbled through the night, becoming ever more empty. The zones became smaller and more sparsely populated. Even with a population approaching fifteen billion, only a few dozen had a Score below 20. The Black Widow, a notorious aging crimelord, was currently the lowest by two, with a 16. She lived in an opulent suite in Zone 26.
He couldn't even visit there if he wanted to, Mike realized. At best, he could live in Zone 11 and visit 21. The gangs grew and processed drugs in some of those zones, he knew, but they were all essentially depopulated.
In Zone 37, a Security officer with a "141" Marked on his hand boarded the train and approached Mike. He seemed to be torn between pity and revulsion.
"Listen up. The law requires that all citizens are provided with an adequate supply of food and other provisions, delivered directly to their chosen Zone if they can't provide for themselves. You're free to live in whichever Zone you want, within your Range, of course, but we strongly suggest you choose 11. The tracks beyond 17 haven't been used or maintained in decades, and this train will NOT go beyond the Zone 11 station."
"We don't have recent records regarding the maintenance bots in those Zones either. When your supplies are delivered day after tomorrow, inform Security if you need anything. The law guarantees electric power, clean water, plumbing, HVAC, and network connectivity, but we won't dispatch technicians unless you tell us they're needed."
"T-thank you," Mike stammered in reply.
"Hrmph." The officer moved towards the front of the train, seeking the security of the locked cab.
|
For some reason, some of the higher numbers thought the later-generation Ones deserved a chance at redemption, so they decided to build a few schools. They gave up after finding fifteen employees in a pile in front of the facilities. I managed to get some loot out of that pile. Fed me for a month. That was 15 years ago.
Oh, don't look at me like that. It's not like *they* were going to use it.
I'm part of the third generation to live here. Based on the books I managed to steal from that school before most of the teachers died or quit, this whole system came from some test that determined morality. The scores go all the way up to 200, that unbelievable level of morality that all of the world's leaders had at the time. Standard of living was determined by the score one gets. 200's get luxury somewhere in the South Pacific. We get a desert that needs supplies dropped to avoid a human rights uproar.
They must have figured that we would have been dead by now, because otherwise I'm pretty sure my grandpa would have been put in a gas chamber given the faith they put in the test. They didn't do another test, but it's not like I could communicate with the outside to take one. Even if I did, why should anyone listen to a *One*. We're probably going to shoot up the testing facility. (Actually, someone would do a lot worse than shooting it up.)
I was curious about something mentioned in one of the books. It was called the "internet," an almost limitless source of information and communication. By all indications, it has to still exist somehow, though most technology is guarded by the military.
Don't get me wrong. I'm already smarter than the average guy pointing a gun in my face, but I want more. I want to know the map of the brain. I want to read random stories on forums. I want to know how the World Order overcame the intense nationalism of almost every country on the planet.
I want to know how they made the test. I need to know. Why am I in the slums? What did I actually do?
To that end, I started weighing my options ten years ago. There is probably going to be some kind of self-destruct sequence on anything I could find in Zone 1, and I doubt anything would be able to access the internet anyway. I'm not going to be able to put a hole in the wall. If I tried to climb it, I would probably get shot and the foundation is too deep to dig under.
And then I looked at the sky. Helicopters monitor everything. They don't care if we kill each other, of course, but they will shoot me if I try anything. I couldn't attack them, and it would have been impossible to lure them into a trap. Even if I tried making a big red SOS on the roof, they're not humanitarians. They're almost as bad as we are.
I stared at the things for hours. They didn't have unlimited fuel, and I knew it. My goal was to find the military base in Zone 1 and ask politely if I could join.
I was sixteen. Almost combat age. I assumed they needed a new scumbag, but I was wrong.
They had a few too many.
They beat an unarmed sixteen-year-old half to death. I lied there for three hours before another one crouched next to me. I tried to move away, but he didn't try to hit me.
"They didn't beat you too badly did they?" he said, pulling out some bandages.
Long story short, I managed to join the professional scumbags after some serious psychological tests. Apparently, Ones didn't usually join the military. Who would have thought it would be a bad idea to go anywhere near the people who will shoot you for looking at them funny?
I got access to the military databases one year ago. There was no mention of how the test ran, but all critics of the test were scored below 20, as were the members all but one political party. I stopped looking then. I could put two and two together.
Six months ago, I was tried and found guilty of desertion.
I was scheduled to be executed yesterday, but, instead, I woke up in Zone 1 with an unlocked green crate next to me. I looked inside and smiled from ear to ear.
I'm gonna burn this place to the ground.
| 2016-08-26T16:31:07 | 2016-08-26T14:43:42 | 81 | 13 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
This whole thing was ridiculous, he didn't even belong in this world. But somehow here he was, a theoretical physicist, stuck in some sort of medieval society, and from all reasonable observation they had magic!
Actual magic, how was that even possible? When he had first arrived there had been… well he would have called it explosive displacement of the air. They also called it that, but they also called it regicide, mass murder, destruction of crown property, illegal use of prohibited magic… oh an trespass on private property. He guessed that much of the law was the same as back home, always add as many charges as they could.
He didn't understand half of what they were saying, dense magical theory washing over him and his eyes glazing over in much the same way as he remembered others eyes glazing over when he was enthusing about some obscure quantum mechanical theory. Considering he was in another world he was glad he could understand them at all. Understanding that did not it seem work both ways as they remarked that he seemed to be speaking in complete gibberish, different each time as they couldn't even seem to understand his name. Repeating back different incoherent babble each time he has screamed his name until they had gagged him for fear he was trying some casting. The court system was a joke in his opinion. It took all of a minute for them to declare him guilty.
"Death by the Dais of Judgement. The doomed may wish for a death of his own choice." The judge declared with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Hopefully the dais can understand your mad ramblings and give us an amusing death."
A wave of rage swelled up within him, if he hadn't have been magically gagged he was sure he'd have spat in the judges face.
He wasn't the only one to face death today. There were two people already hobbled and shackled by thick iron manacles and chains waiting in front of him when he was dragged from his cell and unceremoniously thrust into line waiting at a large wooden door. The man and women in front of me seemed to be magically gagged too. Probably smart given that magic was a thing here. They wouldn't want their wizard, or whatever they called them, prisoners using magic to escape.
After a few minutes it was apparent to him that it was just to be the three of them as the door swung open of its own volition and the manacles around his ankles started to force them to walk forward.
The door opened up into a large amphitheatre of yellow stone, in the centre of which was a black dais. Some of the audience had what looked an awful lot like popcorn.
"Oh, so our deaths are to be public entertainment then." He thought to himself, his impotent rage pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
He'd been planning since the verdict, just a few hours ago. The little he had gleaned from the conversations he'd overheard from guards that assumed he was daft in the head since he couldn't string two coherent words together.
The Dais apparently worked no matter what language you spoke, seemed to understand even complex theories of magic, having once been used to execute some famous arch mage who had tried to use some archaic and convoluted magical theory to try and get around the Dais. Apparently it hadn't worked and the official cause of death was suffocation.
His musing was cut off and the audience above went silent as a booming voice filled the chamber from everywhere and nowhere.
"Elias Shadow-Bane, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die."
At the front a figure stumbled forward clumsily, his face a tortured twisting visage as if straining against some huge weight or pain as he slowly stumbled onto a dais at the centre of the chamber. A deep blue glow started in the stone below him, but he refused to speak.
"Silence will not save you, if you refuse to chose the Circle will chose for you!" The booming voice declared. "You have 1 minute to declare."
"Sleep." The man squeaked out. "I want to die in my sleep!"
A pulse of blue flushed over the man at his declaration, and he crumpled to the ground, his chest raising and falling in the slow steady rythm of sleep. It seemed like a nice way to go.
Then the screaming started. The man, Elias, was screaming and screeching. His body thrashing, and all the while his eyes were closed and slack. For a full minute he screamed and thrashed before blessedly fallin silent. He hadn't woken for an instant, and died in his sleep. In extreme agony.
Thunderous applause flooded into the silence that followed. Some raised their voices to jeer or cheer but the applause drowned out the specifics down in the chamber.
His body sunk down into the dais leaving behind his chains and clothes, which were swept off by a bored looking guard.
"This was sick. It was evil. And I'm going to beat it." He thought to himself as his manacles once more shuffled him forward. He had a plan.
"Talisa of The Black Woods, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die." The same voice declared.
The woman in front of him strode forward, she looked to be quite young and was a lot calmer than the previous convict. She threw back her head to clear the long black tresses from her face and raised her voice.
"Old age!" A smirk danced on her lips as the light pulsed again, and she stood seemingly unaffected. The smirk bloomed a a full smile and her lips twitched as if to speak. Then she jerked, her lips formed a surprised oval and a single word echoed around the chamber.
"Nooooooooo!" The word was drawn out. Getting thinner and quieter as her hair grew out into long tresses that flooded the ground around her feet, the deep lustrous black fading and fading into grey then pure white. Her nails seemed to shoot out and curl up, her skin wrinkled and became wan. Her teeth yellowed and fell out one by one until nothing was left but raw gums.
What fell to the ground with a soft whump looked more mummy than human, and her body sunk into the dais as the thunderous applause once again roared into the chamber.
The bored guard came on and swept the clothes and chains off muttering under his breath. "Always a smart ass."
The blood drained from his face as he watched his plan play out in front of him… she had done precisely what he had planned, and it had failed. A weight settled on his heart as the realisation sunk in. He was going to die, and painfully, for the entertainment of those above.
"Unnamed Assassin, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die."
The manacles forced him forward again. He struggled as hard as he could, causing his movements to be slow and stumbling just like Elias before him.
His mind raced as he feverishly thought of possibilities.
"Was there a way out? It didn't look like it. Even time was under their control, they'd just accelerate your timeline until you died." Another step forward towards his fate.
"Space-time distortions of that magnitude must take immense amounts of energy, even a matter/antimatter reaction would struggle to produce enough energy and exotic particles to produce such an effect." Another step.
"Antimatter." The word reverberated around his mind.
A grin spread across his face as he stopped fighting and let himself be puppetted to the centre of the dais. His mind rapidly estimating some figures, and doing some rapid calculation.
One pound of anti matter was approximately twice as powerful as the Tunguska Event, I weighed about 140 pounds….. well time to introduce the locals to theoretical physics.
As he reached the centre of the Dais a hysterical and vicious laugh erupted from his mouth the moment the gag disappeared. "To have every atom of my being instantly converted to its antimatter equivalent."
|
"I would like to die of old age"
I froze, as those words resonated in my head, the realization that his nape would be the last I see of him quickly sinked in.
"*Why...?*" I murmured. Why would he do that? He's not that gullible as to think the Supreme Court of Wizardry would let him get away with that, he's the mastermind behind it all, for Merlin's beard! He's the one who found out about the breach in the treaty, the muggle camps in Stirling, he convinced us, led us, believed in us... We were so close to rid the world of that noxious titan of a minister, just that one droplet would have been enough...
&#x200B;
"Then, without further ado, for crimes against the Ministry, organising an uprising and for the theft of the sacred first titan Olaf's blood, we hereby sentence you to death, by old age, as requested." the judge's voice exploded through the hall.
His hair started losing its distinct red colour, exposing more and more patches of his scalp. Some weird black marks could be seen behind his curls.
I can barely contain my tears, I would've given everything for this man, as I'm sure he would've done for me also. He called me by his name, and yet this pitiful sight of him is all that's left...
&#x200B;
Some commotion could be heard in the otherwise silent chamber of the jury, as a minute man hurried through the crowd, causing turmoil. His wacky moustache really didn't fit the vexed expression painting his face, neither did his voice tone, as it echoed through the room, trying to sound solemn.
"Know that we will find Olaf's blood! Your existence will be notorious through the whole continent as nothing more than pointless, so wipe that smirk off your face!"
"*He's... smirking?"* Of course he'd be smirking... even facing death under the spiteful noses of these disdainful aristocrats his spirit wouldn't break. I look back at him, as I struggle to accept my own fate myself, and right there, right in front of me is the answer. Tattooed on the back of his head is an encrypted message, calibrated exactly to work on my lenses!
I'm once more shook, as his body begins falling apart, I can't stop my tears, nor my gratitude, he really did give me everything in the end. The dust settles, and I make up my mind, looking up.
"The choice is yours." finally the judge's sight lands upon me, scrutinizing me, digging deep into my soul. I concede him little time however, as my leader's last words paint a clear picture in my mind, I spout my answer loud and clear.
"I wish to stab myself with the dagger resting on my desk at home!"
&#x200B;
"So be it."
&#x200B;
*A droplet of Olaf's blood is enough to rid a titan of their life, and grant a human a second one. He was half human.*
| 2021-06-24T11:09:46 | 2021-06-24T09:19:00 | 54 | 12 |
[WP] You recently saved a fox from certain death. It has come back to you over and over again, bringing gifts. The gifts have gotten stranger, and more mysterious over time.
|
Like all young people, the girl lived in a small wooden cabin of her own making, deep within the natural sprawl that made up the center of the Zone.
Every morning she rose with the sun, bringing a clay pot to the stream that meandered past her small home. Once she had fetched water for the day, the girl collected fruits and nuts from among the forest flora, which of course grew abundant in the Zone. The necessities taken care of, the girl then sat in a nearby clearing, patiently awaiting the arrival of her friend.
While she waited, the girl pondered her time in the Zone, so close now to coming to an end. There was a profound melancholy in the thought, along with anxiety and trepidation. The Zone was her home, and she felt she could barely remember the time before she lived there. She reasoned she would have no place out there, back in the world, no peaceful solitude or niche she could feel comfortable within. She tried to push the uneasy thoughts from her mind, tried to focus on how the breeze played through the leaves above her, on how the birds chirped and the creek burbled, but she was restless and could not find peace.
Like all children, when the girl first came to the Zone soon after her seventh birthday, she lived in a common house with the other young children along with a few of the older ones who had an inclination towards childcare. The common house had all of the basic necessities one could expect, but lacked for particular entertainment or specialized work. The girl, a naturally shy and timid specimen, chaffed at being around the others in the common house. While they played and gossiped and fought, learning how to navigate the rough waters of personality and camaraderie, the girl took long walks out beneath the sun and the stars.
The forests of the Zone were free from real predators, and were instead home to the small creatures that scurried among the underbrush or flew through the canopy. During the first weeks of her life in the Zone, the girl came across a fox while meandering through the forest at midday. The poor creature was thin and haggard, matted fur slicked down its right flank. It limped along snarling, dragging its injured leg behind it.
The girl felt instantly connected to the wretch, awash with empathy that she'd never before felt for any person. She said soft words to the injured creature, sitting on her haunches and blinking slowly at it for hours until its snarls subsided and it tasted the air with cautious sniffs.
It took almost a month for the girl to nurse the fox back to health, bringing fresh water in a pot and eggs stolen from the little birds in the trees. The girl felt bad that some thing yet unborn had to die to keep her new friend alive, but she supposed it was the way of things. This wisdom was the first gift the fox gave to the girl, the first of many.
Over the seasons the fox visited the girl on a few occasions, while she trekked alone through the forest or sat contemplatively at the river's edge. The fox distrusted most others, and never visited the girl at the common house where the other children ate and slept and lived. It wasn't until the girl decided that she would build a small hut with the help of the older and more experienced children that the fox made a regular of itself in the girl's presence.
The second gift the fox brought to the girl was one she needed most dearly at the time, that of close companionship on a dark night. The girl was shy, yet she grew to feel a profound loneliness in the Zone, an anxiety, an ache, that sprung from some deep well within her. As she lay on her simple bed of matted straw one night, sleepless and tormented in the inky blackness, the fox came to the door of her hut.
The girl could hear it snuffle and paw at the outside of the little structure, knowing immediately it must be her furred friend, and since the night was unseasonably cold the girl reasoned the little creature might be glad to have a warm den to spend the dark hours before dawn. She let the fox in, and it promptly found her mat and curled beside her, its warmth the last thing the girl remembered before falling into a deep and peaceful sleep. She woke rested, and never again felt the loneliness of her solitude in the Zone.
Pondering on it, as she sat restless in the clearing, the girl supposed the fox would be the thing she would miss most upon leaving the Zone, and the thought brought with it a profound sadness, the melancholy that comes with the certainty that something dear which you now have will soon be taken. The girl pondered on it, and felt she could not bear it.
Just then, the girl noticed the fox at the edge of the clearing, its familiar and clever eyes shining as it trotted up to where the girl sat. In its mouth, the fox carried a tiny bundle of crimson, much the same color as the fox's own fur. It placed the bundle at the girl's feet, which promptly uncurled. The girl recognized the little thing for what it was: a tiny fox kit, barely born.
The girl reached for the little wretch, which mewled softly as she raised it to her face. The small creature stared at the girl, its eyes shining with the clever intelligence that the girl knew so well.
"Why have you brought me your little kit, dear friend?"
Of course the fox could not speak, but it was as if it did, sitting on its haunches in the clearing and staring at the girl.
The girl's old friend yipped once, turning round in a circle before brushing its soft fur against her leg. Then it bounded towards the edge of the wood, and was soon gone amidst the underbrush.
The girl held the little kit, which had resumed its mewling, and brought it gingerly to her chest which flared with love and excitement where there had been only anxiety before.
She would soon have to leave her home, yes, but she would no longer be alone.
|
I'd been snowshoeing when I heard the cries of an injuries animal. It sent electricity screaming from my toes to the base of my skull. Sprinting I trampled through the brush, evergreens snapping against my face.
It was a fox with its tail trapped in the loop of a snare, screeching with discomfort. With some quick hands and wire cutters, it wasn't long before I had him free. He looked at me for a long moment.
I didn't think about it for weeks, until the gifts starting arriving.
At first it started out as small things appearing on my deck. A rock here, feathers, a really nice
Pine cone. So I put up a trail cam.
Lo and behold it was the fox, missing half it's tail, dropping me little gifts, so against my better judgement, I left him offering of dry cat food. Once the food started so did the hire value gifts. Rings, chains, and gold coins, showed up every morning.
The hand, now that.... I don't know what to do with.
| 2022-02-06T21:01:15 | 2022-02-06T19:30:05 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] Two planets come within range of eachother every 300 years. There is always an ensuing war that lasts the 5 days that the planets are close enough. Each side can only guess at what new technology the other has built since the last time.
|
Early in our people's history, legend spoke of the Harbinger. Once an age it approaches, and with it death follows. The ground shakes and the seas rise to reach for the sky. Our ancestors would flee the seas only to face the molten rock erupting in the mountains. Then storms would sweep the world clean and it would abate as the Harbinger retreated. Even then our forefathers would sling stones and curses at it.
Then one cycle we noticed them. The lights of their cities grew in proportion to our own. We turned the telescopes upon them and observed father and farther into the cycle what they were about. They apparently did the same, for great words were written on the plains and wide places. Words of Fury and Anger. So we wrote our own and the vitriol reached a fevered pitch. Somehow we suspected they were at cause for our history of woe.
The gulf between us was too great for many years. Early attempts at great catapults fell laughably short. Balloons couldn't breach the atmosphere. Ironically they helped us discover radio by transmitting a message of war. We pleaded with them to understand but their hearts had been hardened as much as ours. Our worlds changed forever when their first rockets struck. Primitive unguided missiles launched en masse. Thus the First Battle was short and the 5 days established.
The First battle saw little damage as many of their missiles simply missed our planet altogether. The Second Battle was far deadlier. We had improved on their rockets with more potent explosives and developed radio homing to lead them to targets. They added telemetry guidance and multiple warheads on larger lifting bodies. Both approaches were highly effective.
We realized they had also left satellites in our orbit so we built probes to seek them out as well. On the eve of the Third Battle the 5 days no longer limited us. A near constant barrage of interplanetary missiles began 30 years before the next encounter. We responded in kind and what was a slow preparatory effort of tradition became a full time industry.
The Third Battle nearly broke us. We had dismissed an invasion long ago since our air was different than theirs. This was a mistake as they launched manned ships to orbit, bombard, and land troops. We had our own secret weapon however. The Fission Bomb. They were forced to pause in their desecration of our soil to watch the lights bloom over their homes. Their major cities were annihilated even as their burned ours by hand.
Thus the Stalemate occurred. Any ships approaching the other world were summarily destroyed. As Harbinger passed beyond the orbital period in which we could hear each others transmissions we learned regret for our actions. The suffering there was beyond our imagining. We also Feared what might happen on the next cycle.
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When the Gods birthed our world the Mother it had a Twin. The Twin was capricious and jealous of its sibling our Mother. Whenever it came near Mother would fight with the Twin and the Upheaval would come. The ancient clans fought by blood lines to follow Mother's example. Then came the day we learned of the Twin's children.
For a time we were content to watch and learn. We attempted to learn of their ways and they ours. When we finally spoke with them by written word then later transmission we knew they were as dangerous as the Twin on which they suckled. So united the clans sought to erase them and maybe then we could know peace from their nightly torments in the skies.
Great were the Three Wars. Greater than any the clans could have fought against each other. When the clans first wrote of the Twin they would throw javelins into the sky and light great fires to keep it at bay. Clearly this was not effective, and when an Upheaval so great occurred as to sunder the cities of the Plains the clans were united.
It took all our cunning to find a way into the space that Mother walked so easily. The primitive javelins never had engines that could escape the atmosphere. These spears of metal and kerosene fuel proved able to travel any distance once propelled fast enough. As we neared them the transmissions failed to draw amicable terms. They were so confident that none could reach them and their arrogance.
They were wrong, and the First Wave was an untold success. They had no response but to scream in fitful rage as befitted the Children of Mother's Twin. As the week ended and the time of Upheaval passed the clans rejoiced in their success. We took the lessons of victory well and the weapons continued to improve. Our understanding of the planets and their movements improved. With that understanding the weapons became more precise.
When the Upheaval of the Second Wave arrived we anticipated retribution. Our attack was larger and better coordinated that time, but theirs was more insidious. Their rejoinder followed our transmissions home and struck both the control sites and civilian broadcast centers. So we learned to use remote transmitters and scramble signals. Again the Twin retreated from the victorious Mother.
We knew that battle must be met to be won on the Third Wave. We sent our warriors into space and prepared for the greatest of Crusades. The Twin sent its agents to spy upon us and we upon them. We mastered to movement of space and walked truly with Mother for the first time. We knew in our hearts we would finally triumph over the Twin and bring peace back to the time of Upheaval.
We should have expected the Children of Mother's Twin would not wait idly. The hour of our victory was at hand when the coward's weapons landed. The blasts shone with Father's brightness in force beyond expectation. The ancient shelters of the Clan-Holds finally collapsed. We had no way to prepare them for such depravity. The Army of the United Clans was burned away in one terrible stroke.
Mother died that day, in our hearts and our minds. She could not protect us from the sicknesses that ravaged her then. The crops failed and the United Clans failed to rise again. We hold on now only long enough to leave Mother's corpse behind and find a new home. May the Twin choke on her poisoned remains.
|
[second time posting. please be nice - C&C welcome]
Our land and their land, that was all we heard for the last three lunar months. We were the Ying and Yang of planets, external philosophers said. We brushed off these words, for we did not know their meaning. We do not know when the fighting started, for it was an eternity ago.
our planets orbited the same bright flaming sun, it was the same sun that beat down on each persons back, the same sun that brought warmth to each planet and death to each planet. our fighting continued every 300 standard years when our planets circled each other. We all looked straight up, feeling the harsh black sand between our toes, transferring the heat from our sun up our legs, staring at the blindingly white planet above us. We all felt the force of gravity shift as the five day celestial dance began. At the same time some of us were hoping into the fighters that we had designed. With very little force they fell of the planet. WE were told that from above it looked like ichor dripping off the planet falling into the other planets gravity. As our planets spun around and around their white ships fought our black ships in the chaotic dance.
And all was in balance.
| 2015-05-26T15:11:41 | 2015-05-26T14:35:20 | 83 | 17 |
[WP] You own a small specialty meat purveyor. You and your crew inspect, purchase, slaughter, and butcher the animals yourselves. Years ago, on a whim, you started whispering "for Apollo" at each kill. You've just dispatched the firm's 10,000th cow.
|
"Who are you, seriously?" I asked, the bolt-gun hanging down at my side, my arm slumping like the cow I had just dispatched.
"Who do you think I am?" the man asked with a smile, his golden curls framing the sunglasses on his perfect face. I had the sudden knowledge that if he removed his glasses that I'd be met with a pair of golden eyes. I shuddered, that thought was freaking me out.
"Apollo, sure, sure." I smirked, "Seriously, I have nine more cows to put down today. If you're looking to place an order we're pretty exclusive and we have a waiting list a couple of months long." Apparently one of the guys on the crew had heard me whisper my little joke and had gone all out to make me look like an idiot. I had to admit this actor was impressive.
Then he did something that really set my hairs on end. He leaned over the slaughtered cow and took a long sniff, his mouth stretching into a long smile of satisfaction. It was quite possible the weirdest thing I'd ever seen.
"Fantastic," the man said, turning his attention back to me, "It has been so long. The smell of sacrifice reminds me of the old days. I accept."
"You accept?" I asked, ignoring the obvious tease about sacrifice "You accept what?"
"You as my champion," he said then pulled out a golden phone. Of course it would be golden. The sun reflecting off of it nearly blinded me. Then I gulped. We were indoors. "I don't know who told you about the ritual to please me and call out to me but you have done it." He flipped through pictures on his touchscreen.
"Wait a minute," I said as the sudden sinking feeling turned into the last minutes of the Titanic, "I was just jo..."
"This is my daughter," he said, stepping to the side of me and showing me the picture of the most beautiful blonde woman I'd ever seen, "I mean she's a demigod, not a full immortal, but she means a lot to me."
"Wow," I said, my heart finally started beating again, "She's gorgeous."
"Of course she is," he smiled, "She's my daughter. Now, down to business, you represent me now. You are Apollo's champion and as such I will give you some gifts befitting your station."
He grabbed me by the hand and as he lead me outside I noticed my crew were frozen in whatever act they had been busy with a few moments ago. The sunlight was reflecting off of the sports car parked out front. The word "Chariot" was embossed on the side.
"Oh," he smiled, "It's one of my new ones. You are more than welcome to use it on your quest."
"It's incredible," I said, looking inside at the golden interior, "Wait is that fleece covering the se... wait, quest?"
"Of course," he said smiling, "My daughter needs rescuing. Why else would I accept your offer for a champion?"
"Wait a minute," I protested, backing up, "Look at me? I'm not a champion or a hero! I'm a normal guy! Find Hercules or something."
"That old grump," Apollo said, pulling out a pistol, golden of course, "He can barely divert a small creek nowadays, much less a river. This is your weapon."
"No sword?" I asked with a sigh.
"Seriously?" Apollo spat slightly, "What is this? 400 B.C.E.?"
"What happened to your daughter?" I asked curiously.
"Kidnapped," he said, handing me the pistol while pulling out a measuring tape and measuring the length of my arm.
"Kidnapped? By wh..." then suddenly the strangeness hit me, "What are you doing?"
"Taking measurements for your armor," he said, "Before you ask no not literal plate armor, think of it more as a suit made of divine kevlar. My daughter was kidnapped by Khornos."
"Khornos?" I asked because the name was strange to me but my mind was on the suit. I seriously hoped it wasn't golden because there was no damned way I was wearing something that gaudy.
"Yes," Apollo said, finishing the measurements and entering them into his phone, "Hephaestus will have your suit ready by this afternoon. There is a great reward if you finish this quest successfully."
"Really?" I asked, my interest suddenly piqued.
"Yes," Apollo stated, "You get to marry my daughter."
"That's stupid," I told him, "I'm out."
"What?" he asked then his eyes narrowed, "Wait, you're not of Spartan blood, are you?"
"What does that have to do with... wait, no, I'm straight," I said suddenly getting it then explained, "I mean she's beautiful and all but I don't even know her. She doesn't even know me. What if she chews with her mouth open? What if she hates my laugh?"
"This was so much easier in the old days," Apollo said, "Fine, I'll set you up with my daughter and if you mutually decide you're compatible you can decide on long-term commitments then."
"What about Corn-nose?" I asked, thinking about the offer.
"You mean Khornos?" Apollo looked at me quizically.
"Yeah, that's what I said, isn't it?" I was looking from the car to the pistol to Apollo and wondering how long this dream, slowly turning weirder and weirder, would last.
"Oh, he's particularly interested in you already," Apollo smiled, "You see you've already gotten his attention."
"Wait, what? How?" I asked. How could I possibly get the attention of the enemy of a God?
"You've killed several of his daughters, Mr. Marks," Apollo said, addressing me by my name for the first time.
"What? No I haven't," I protested.
He looked through the door that was still opened on the slaughterhouse and my eyes followed him to the cow lying on the floor, "I'm afraid you have, my champion, you see Khornos is a Minotaur and he happens to be very pissed at you on general terms. Wait till he finds out you're my champion!"
|
"For Apollo," I whisper as I slice the unconscious cows neck, the blood flowing out the open wound and into a drain. It was the 10,000th animal slaughtered for my specialty shop.
As I begin cleaning up my tools, I hear a noise in the storage cooler behind me. "This area is for employees only," I say as I open the door. Behind the plastic curtains stands a tall, slender man with orange blond hair wearing what appears to be a modern riff on classical Roman robes.
"Would you just chill with the damned sacrifices, man?" He yells as he turns to face me. He has large bags under his bloodshot eyes. His general demeanor appears as though he hasn't slept in weeks.
"What? Who are you?"
"Uh, Apollo. Hello," he gestures to himself. "Every time I think it's fine to get some rest, I hear your dumb ass voice keeping me up. I haven't slept in fifteen years, ever since you opened this shop. I have processed thousands of sacrifices and I'm tired. Somehow in a world that doesnt even believe in me anymore, I managed to get the one follower that butchers hundreds of animals a month."
"I'm sorry, I was just doing it as a joke with my friends. I didnt know you even existed. "
"I dont care, just let me get some sleep, yes?"
I nod.
"Good, thank you," he says, straightening his posture. "Then I'll be going now."
Just like that, he disappears.
~~~~~~~~~~~
*This is my first post here. Be gentle please.*
Edit: typos
| 2019-07-09T07:14:09 | 2019-07-09T07:14:05 | 1,694 | 667 |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient.
|
The people of Little Town had long been used to the pattern. First, the sky would darken, and one of their neighbors, now mutated into a grotesque reflection of their own inner turmoil, would cry out for vengeance. Then the Sparkle-Glitter 5 would emerge from somewhere, with earnest defiance and deep concern for the people of Little Town. As dialogue and negotiation inevitably broke down, The Fabulous Mr. Kitty would pop the whole event up into the sky to cut down on property damage, and the fight would begin. The people tried very hard to not think about how their saviors were clearly only in middle school, even as they cheered for their favorite candy-colored musician to clobber the opponent they'd all known for years, another thing they tried hard not to think about.
Sometimes, just sometimes, it wouldn't be a neighbor. Sometimes it would be one of the mutators themselves, grown tired of fruitlessly hurling people at the town, who took the field. When that happened, something had to change. Most times, the girls would find some new reservoir of power within themselves, or there would be a new girl, conveniently stepping up just as one of the current group had to move away, or go to high school. Rarely, Mr. Kitty would bring forth help from somewhere, and while this last resort was always welcome in the moment, it meant destructive fighting on the ground for a few weeks until he recovered. When even that failed, things would get bad. There would be a new sparkle team in time, but until they could be found, the mutator and its clique of vain, vengeful mutates would run amok, taking and destroying until their venal need for imagined vengeance had been sated.
The summer that killed the sparkles was bad. Orgoroth had set himself up as a petty king, turning the City Hall into a rough castle, and the bitter women of the retirement community into his generals. Each took especial delight in tormenting their own families, but spread their hate among all the young. On one particular day, Granny Attitude was screaming at little 4-year old Jessica for not being in school, when she proclaimed, "You're mean! You need to stop being mean or the Sparkles will get you!" Granny attitude backhanded the poor little girl across the street and spat. "The Sparkles are dead," she crowed, "and you need to learn to respect your elders, because they are NEVER coming back." Little Jessica cried softly, holding her bruised cheek as she silently mouthed "Sparkles," over and over again, barely aware of her shattered ribs.
Granny Attitude stalked across the street, eager to finish her tirade, when little Jessica coughed up a black clot, her tiny throat visibly distending for a moment as the knot of squirming blood forced its way out of her mouth and splattered on the pavement. "Look at the mess you're making," Granny snarled, pointing one arthritic finger at the broken girl. "You're going to have to clea.." Her harangue died away as the splotch widened into a perfect circle, the deep red fading to a primordial black swirling with unfamiliar stars. The hole thrummed with energy, and with a sound like none she'd heard before.
A figure faded slowly into existence, fully two meters tall and half as wide. His cold eyes were barely visible through the long, multi-colored hair that hung over his face and down almost to his waist, as if to hide the little heart-shaped guitar he played behind curtains of glittering black and shining pink His thick fingers flew back and forth along the neck of the little instrument, sounding a deadly march, the staccato heartbeat of the underworld itself.
As the bassist finally solidified, two others began to appear behind him, tall, lanky twins with spiked blue and green hair. As one, they raised their cloud-and-angel-wing guitars to the sky and began to play. Granny Attitude clapped her hands to her ears as blistering runs of notes blasted out around them, shattering glass and making something writhe with agony behind the old woman's eyes. They walked forward, passing the bassist and standing on the cracked asphalt.
The twins' dueling solos came to an end as two screams burst from the void. A blonde woman and a bald man, each dressed in a pastel jumpsuit with a pastel microphone, launched from the abyss and into the street, belting out alternating threats and cajolery, one demanding that those responsible for the state of the world submit to judgement, while the other wished for love. All seven of the mutates in Little Town collapsed, puking up their own tainted essences as their master detonated under the sonic assault.
The yawning cthonic pit finally squeezed shut beneath the hulking bassist's feet as they stopped playing, and a very bedraggled Mr. Kitty popped out, landing in a roll. He straightened what remained of his top hat and turned to address Granny Attitude, only to drop his jaw as he saw she'd already been defeated. "Um, well then. Don't do it again.." he said with a sniff before turning to his new, out-sized champions. As he watched, their bodies shrank to a size with which he was more familiar, "You've done very well in putting an end to this threat to Little Town, but you must always be on your guard..." he began, only to trail off into silence as the three boys and two girls ducked into a pizzeria, arguing good-naturedly about who'd have to split a Hawaiian with Cancer Boy. With a sigh, he walked over to little Jessica's body and blew a little dust from his hat onto her broken form, watching solemnly as she faded from reality. "I hope you knew what you were doing, girl."
&#x200B;
A/N: After considering the prompt, I thought Power Metal would be a better fit. As always, eternally hungry for feedback.
|
(Disclaimer, i got the names from some list of Finnish boy names, i have no clue how accurate any of them are)
The Magical Microphone usually allowed it's user, generally the leader of the group, to sing uplifting songs increasing everyone's power, in Aalto's hands it created sonic shockwaves capable of terraforming the terrain in front of him.
The guitar usually created a dome shield to protect the girls, when Hami strummed it, it generated artillery-like explosive attacks.
The bass was known to create healing pulses, under Leevi's command it summoned legions of ghostly warriors.
The synthesizer normally transformed into a pegasus drawn carriage, with Ramsus at the helm it became a monster truck armed with twin gattling guns and heat seeking missiles (it's ability to fly mysteriously intact.)
The drums, finally, produced concussive soundwaves, except when Tahvo hit them, their power was amplified by dozens.
In mere moments the villainous henchmen where defeated, the evil generals thoroughly run over, and the dark lord traumatised, so much so that the newly rescued girls spent a moment berating the members of "Death by a thousand snowstorms" before thanking them.
| 2022-08-15T09:30:43 | 2022-08-15T08:51:20 | 470 | 221 |
[WP] Your super power is preventing collateral damage. While the public thinks you're useless, all the other heroes really like you because they can go bonkers all out while you're around.
|
"Are you ready for your interview?".
I looked up from my seat on the sofa, yawning. Harold stood there with a smile on his face, as he always did. Being in charge of us was probably incredibly stressful, but he never let it show. Though I suppose I went a long way to helping with that.
"I guess so boss. This is for our new website isn't it?"
He nodded, as a glass smashed. He looked up to see Vanishing Man wince, picking up the pieces of a broken vase. Great man, good for delivering unexpected punches in battle. Though when not in a fight his spatial awareness left a lot to be desired.
"Thats right. A basic overview of powers, of course nothing specific or not already known to the public. Though yours aren't well known, we decided to let it be known, mainly to keep public trust up."
I shrugged, standing up.
"Whatever you think is best. I don't mind. Alright, let's get this over with."
He lead me to a specially prepared conference room. Inside I could see the reporter, a well dressed lady with a laptop and recorder. A high speed camera sat next to her, pointed at a section of concrete. Also within was Mass Hit, our resident super strong individual. He used it well with his unique power of increasing the mass of anything he used, making his attackes devestating if done right. He grinned as he saw me enter, rubbing his hands together with glee. I returned the smile, before focusing on the reporter.
"Ms Denni I presume? A pleasure to meet you. My name is Emma Sorales, also known as The Constant."
She smiled politely, holding out a hand for me to shake. I gave a solid pump, before settling in the interviewee chair.
"Nice to meet you. I'm sure you have been made aware, but I am here to interview you with anything for the public to know. That means I will record our talk, however if there is anything you say that should be struck from the record, please say and we will make sure it is removed."
"Thank you. Let's get this started then shall we?"
She nodded, looking to her laptop.
"Ok. First off, the big question, what are your powers?"
I smiled, looking over at Mass Hit. I knew why he was here, ready for the demonstration.
"My power is Collateral Damage Mitigation. Basically, when I'm around super powers don't affect objects as much as they should. For instance, someone who can punch through stone won't make a hole in the walll when I'm nearby. Fire hot enough to melt steel will only blacken things. Basically, I'm the dream of any insurance policy holders."
Ms Denni nodded, considering her next question.
"So you prevent collateral damage. Does that mean you are around as often as possible when there are fights happening?"
I gave a smirk.
"Indeed. In fact I'm almost always one of the first on the scene. My power means that if there is a fight in the morning, after lunch the street can generally open again for business as usual. I'm not in the main spotlight, but I don't need to be. By just being nearby, I protect most things. If they are stringer than my base connection, I can focus to increase the strength of the targeted buildings."
She tapped her laptop, looking to the next one.
"Thats very useful isn't it? So what about disaster response? How do you help with that?"
I gestured to the building we were in.
"I stay home. I can't help there, and if I went I would hinder help. There are times it's helpful to break through buildings, especially when they are at risk of harming others. Anyway, my power only works against super powers. I can't stop someone from breaking their mug by dropping it. If there is a natural disaster I'm basically useless."
The reporter nodded.
"Fair enough. What's your favourite fight to have been in?"
I grinned at that.
"Easy. About three years ago, during the Clockwork Invasion. I was sent out with Mass Hit, Vanishing Man, the Hyde Twins and a few others. They had a whale of a time, breaking the Watchmakers toys. And I got a front row seat, as my power meant they could throw them around with impunity."
She gave a nod at that.
"I remember that. It was impressive how small the damage recovery was, I suppose bow you are the one to praise for that. Do you want public recognition?"
I thought for a moment, before shaking my head.
"It's funny. At first that's all I wanted. When I joined, I was sure I would be a superstar. But now, I appreciate being in the background. I'm happy doing my bit. The council members and business owners often thank me personally. But I don't need public praise. I'm happy how it is."
Ms Denni smiled at that.
"That's the main questions done for now. Now I think it's time for the video."
I nodded.
"Sure. Mine is simple. You have seen Mass Hit punch through concrete haven't you?"
She nodded. Mass Hit laughed, clenching a fist.
"We did that just now my friend! Same thing?"
I flashed him a smile, giving a nod of agreement.
"Yes please. Though with a cannon ball if you can?"
He shrugged, gesturing to the prepared weights. They would do. A punch could be blamed on special effects. We had a high speed camera. As he threw it one handed, he would also drop a penny. Just to show ir was going the same speed.
"Alright. First throw without, second with. Got it?"
I nodded at him, consciously reigning in my power around the block of concrete. He picked up a weight, chucking it up in the air before launching it at the block, dropping the penny. Unsurprisingly the weight went through, making a sizable hole. Ms Denni gave a polite clap, before I spoke up.
"So that is his normal effect. Now, if I cover it."
I let my power over it again. Mass Hit did the same, throwing it hard. This time the weight bounced off, leaving it unblemished. I turned to the reporter, shrugging.
"Thats it. Nothing flashy, but very useful in our society."
She nodded, looking at the weight and the block.
"Yeah. Yeah I can see that."
|
I calmly stroll along the streets of New York, strangely empty for the big city, but it doesn’t bother me. A scared stray cat walks up to me, begging for cover. He rubs up against my legs and purrs, so I pick him up and walk to what seems like a safe area, and set him down. He looks back for a second, as if expressing his gratitude, then bolts away.
Just then, a civilian runs out of a close building, trying to get to cover, but in those few moments when she was in the open, a wrecked car flies out of nowhere, set on a collision course for the poor woman. I fling out my hand, and the car stops in midair, only inches away from the woman petrified by fear. I put down my hand and the car drops to the ground with a loud clank. I walk over to the woman. She is stammering, not believing what had just happened.
“What was that?” She asked fearfully.
I said nothing, but set my hand on her shoulder, and like that, she was teleported to a safe area. Once that was finished, I looked up to where the heroes were fighting Lord Death yet again, and shook my head. My powers allowed me to do anything, as long as it is directly saved civilian lives, and my colleagues were making that very difficult.
“I can only prevent so much collateral damage you know!”
Captain Justice just grunted and attempted to be more precise with his car throwing.
I swear the “good guys” sometimes cause more damage than the forces of evil
| 2022-12-17T10:10:06 | 2022-12-17T09:49:40 | 334 | 129 |
[WP] You're an astronaut on the first mission to the moon since the 1970's. You begin to dig for samples in the soft sentiment when your shovel hits something soft, yet tough. You brush the dirt away, revealing a dead man in a bloody spacesuit.
|
"Houston, we have a...uhm...Problem. Over."
"This is Houston. We got tired of that joke 30 years ago, Mike. Over."
"I'm serious, Houston. There is something weird going on here. Over."
"What is it this time? Are you going to make the joke about how you can't get an erection in space? Over."
"Code 2057 Beta. You need to get everyone. This is serious...and weird."
"Please hold on."
The Houston operator went silent.
I couldn't believe my eyes. I was the first man on the moon since the Apollo program got shut down. Humanity's first step in the (re)conquest of space. For good this time. At least that's what we hoped.
But no one expected this.
&nbsp;
The official mission was sample gathering and location recon for future habitable bases. But the unofficial one was that I had to bury a time capsule and a locator device. As a symbolic gesture. A testament of our origins. It would only emit and open in 100 years, when our race had spread far and wide among the solar system.
I started digging the hole somewhere in the middle of the Lunar Mare region. I was the only one supposed to know the exact location. I had started digging but something felt unusual. After brushing some of the soil away, there he was.
&nbsp;
"This is Houston. We're all here. What is it Mike."
"Uhm...There is a body out here."
"What do you mean, a body?"
"It's a man's body, buried."
"A human body?"
"Yes it looks human. A bit different, but definetly human."
"What do you mean, different?"
"He just looks...different. Like from some other time period or something. His face is rounder."
"Send us the photos."
I pulled out the Hasselbald camera and took three shots. It was an improved version, auto-send on button press. NASA had money now.
"Sending."
"What else can you tell us Mike?"
"His eyes are open. They look grey."
"The photos are incoming. Hold on."
"Wait, wait. I see something."
"What is Mike? Mike are you there?"
I kneeled next to the face, and started pulling away more dirt. I thought i had seen a finger next to the man's cheek. It took me a few minutes.
I had no words. I pulled out the camera again, and sent out a couple of photos.
"Did you get that?"
"Receiving now, hold on."
This wasn't possible. Physically or otherwise. Next to the buried man was a woman. Her face turned towards him. Her hand was resting on his cheek, like a gentle caress.
"Houston, did you receive that?"
"Yes, Mike we did. Hold on."
"I am going to wake Howard."
&nbsp;
Howard is the other member of the ground team. We had to take turns doing rounds and tasks. He was probably still sleeping and the alarm signal was a very stressful sound to wake up to, but he had to see this.
"What? What? What is it?"
"Howard, you have to see this."
"What the fuck are you talking about, I barely slept." He sounded annoyed. "Can't you deal with it?"
"Howard get your fucking ass in that spacesuit and drag it out here. Now."
Howard couldn't believe his eyes either.
They looked like they were sleeping. He touched the man's face. Then the woman's. We started digging more and more around the buried bodies, until we fully revealed them. I felt that Howard was starting to lose it. He kept mumbling."It's not possible".
Houston wasn't much help either. They asked us to do "soil analysis". Which we did. It revealed nothing abnormal. Which was in itself abnormal.
"Lunar Team, did you finish digging around the bodies."
"This is Mike. Yes, we're done. Howard is sending the pictures now."
"Roger that."
The operator sounded hesitant.
"Just so you know guys, the whole world is watching right now. And all available resources are being put to use to help you with this."
"All available resources?"
"We have started preparing the second launch. They will be on the Moon in four days."
That was something. The next lunar mission wasn't supposed to happen before next year.
"We're receiving the photos now."
&nbsp;
The bodies were perfectly preserved. Without any actual protection. At least none similar to our spacesuits. They wore white, long and ample tunics with what looked like a leather belt. It gave off a barely perceptible glow. They looked peaceful with slight smiles on their faces. At their feet was a thick plaque made of something that ressembled gold. It had some symbols etched on it.
We sent detailed photos of it.
"This is Houston, we're putting the best linguists on this."
It looked like human writing. But neither me nor Howard could read it. And we spoke 8 languages, including some dead ones. We tried determining its material. The analysis showed that the alloy was unavailable on Earth. The molecular structure was unique. Houston sent the results to an undisclosed lab, but their conclusions didn't take long. It was engineered. A kind of nanotechnology never seen before.
&nbsp;
Howard was breathing heavily, his mic was still open.
"What is happening. This shouldn't be happening. This shouldn't exist. Why does she look so familiar." He was trying to pace around the dig site, but the low gravity made it somewhat difficult.
"You need to calm down." I looked at our oxygen reserves, they were starting to get low. "Howard, go get us some replacement oxygen tanks, we'll run out soon."
"Yes. Okay. Alright. This is impossible. How? They look like they've just been put there yesterday. I can't believe this."
I opened a private communication channel with Houson.
"Sorry to do this, but Howard needs help. You have to give him something."
"We noticed, he's in contact with the medical team now."
I closed the channel and walked back towards the dig site.
"Alright Mike, we have news about those symbols."
"Is it human? What does it say?"
"We had to use the new chinese quantum AI to help us with the translation. It's kind of human, but not really."
"What does it say?"
"Transmitting live, starting now."
The AI took over. It was a gentle female voice, unphased by such a dramatic moment. As it started reading the translation, I looked at the Earth, our blue marble floating in space. 9 billion souls.
&nbsp;
"Welcome Travellers;
&nbsp;
This is the final resting place of Eve and Adam;
Progenitors of the Human Race;
Colonizers of the Galaxy.
&nbsp;
Beneath their Bound bodies is a shard;
from the Story of your Origins.
Use its Knowledge Wisely.
&nbsp;
May their Children prosper peacefully among the stars;
Where their Unbound Progenitors await them."
*Edit: Some minor details to stick a bit more closely to the WP.*
|
It's truly an honor to have been chosen for this. Years of preparation, months of intense training and weeks of intense anticipation. Worth it.
The trip was exciting, yet surreal. I remember it more like a dream than anything. Beautiful and empty at the same time. When we arrived, Captain Parker and myself, a lunar geologist, were sat in awe for a few minute. To be here... was a unique experience in the truest sense of the word.
"Alright gentlemen. You have full commencement authorization. Captain Parker, take the North Quadrant. Lieutenant Kent, take the East, over the ridge on your map at 1.1 clicks. Disembark at will. Over."
Thank God for radio. This was already unnerving.
I crossed the ridge in awesome silence and ever more intense worry. I maneuvered to my knees and began to dig.
"Captain, I've got something. This...this isn't dirt."
"Lieutenant, what's wrong?"
"Sir, this.. oh dear Christ.."
was I hallucinating? There's no way this should be here..
"Dammit Kent; what do you see?!?"
"Sir... it's an.. it appears to be an astronaut sir."
A moment of still silence.
"..stay where you are. Give me your coordinates."
whimpered the Captain
He found me sitting, staring at the body I had unearthed. He soon joined me. This simply couldn't be real, we refused to believe it. It..it looked fresh, the blood still wet. We were the first men to set foot here in nearly sixty years.... right? Slowly, we got to our feet and, in unspoken agreement, brought the body back to the lander. It felt heavier than it should.
"CUT!" came a loud voice from the intercom. "Oh Jesus" muttered the Captain, poorly hiding his frustration. A heavy metal door swung open behind us. Not again, I thought. "What is it now Kent? 127 tries?" Asked the Captain.
"What the hell was that? I didn't believe the fear for a damn second." barked the man.
"128" I muttered to Parker.
"What was that?" Said the man.
"Nothing. Sorry Mr. Kubrick".
| 2017-01-21T09:02:49 | 2017-01-21T07:00:10 | 78 | 10 |
[WP] The Olympians are known for causing a LOT of collateral damage. You are Osha, the god of safety regulations, and are feared even by Hades.
|
Osha, god of safety regulations, stepped onto Charon’s ferry to begin his second inspection of the underworld. He’d been close to declaring the entire place condemned, but Hades’ had assured him that everything would be fixed. So Osha viewed the lifeboats on the ferry with approval, along with the life vests on each dead spirit. On the other side, he was also happy to see that Cerberus now had a collar and dog tag on each of its three necks, and the Fury escorting him was quick to hand him the dog’s vaccination record. And most importantly, right at the exit to the ferry, before the judges, were orientations to give mandatory WHMIS training to all the newly-arrived dead.
“Acceptable,” he allowed, making a mark on his clay tablet. The Fury sighed in relief, before he caught her with a glare.
“Now, show me Tartarus.”
Osha was again grudgingly impressed. Sisyphus’ boulder was now secured so it couldn’t roll back on him while he was lifting the load, the food just out of Tantalus’ reach now had expiry dates and the water around him was potable and replaced regularly, and the chair Pirithos was fused to was placed so as not to block any emergency escape routes. The broader punishments for less famous souls were also properly regulated. The lakes of magma had signs as a drowning and burning risk, with life guards on duty to watch the tormented, the Furies were wearing PPE, and all the various implements of punishment for the wicked dead had clearly printed instructions for safe operation. Osha signed his name off on the clay tablet and handed it to the Fury.
“I have a hard time believing it, but Hades turned this around.” As the Fury started to smile, Osha’s hissed, “*But remember*, I will be back. *Do not* let this place fall back to its previous state, or I won’t care how important you claim ‘death’ and “eternal judgment’ are for mortals, I will shut your whole operation down.”
He watched the Fury scurry away with suspicion. Osha knew that the gods only tolerated him, and if he let his attention wander for even a second, they would go back to their old ways. He conjured up the tablet for his next inspection, Janus’ domain, and teleported to the front. A medium-sized temple sat on a hilltop. Nothing too unusual, really. Osha’s eyes darted about, but he couldn’t see anything wrong on the outside. He almost entered as he was, then decided to take on a mortal disguise before entering. Surprise inspections were often more effective. As soon as he walked into the temple, previously-invisible doors slammed shut behind him, and the interior changed. A glance backwards showed that the entrance had vanished, and instead of the lofty interior of a Doric temple, he was in a small room with two identical doors.
Janus himself appeared before Osha, one face smiling, the other frowning.
“Mortal! Welcome and beware. You face a difficult choice. One door leads to death upon the crossroads of the world, and the other life and safety from the dangers of the threshold.
Osha had planned to drag this out a bit longer, but that was enough information for him. He took on his true godly form, and shouted,
“You— How— WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!” Janus backed away as Osha stalked towards him. Osha stopped to breath. In and out. Calm. Peace. He was reasonable. He was a professional. He was the representative for the Olympian Health and Safety Committee, as well as its founder and sole member, and his conduct reflected on the committee—
“IS THAT A SPIRIT!?” Osha grabbed the ghost floating by, trapped in the void between worlds. He levelled a glare at Janus, who stammered to explain.
“I’m the god of thresholds and change. People who die in my challenges are cast into the liminal voids that exist between spaces, at crossroads and doorways. It’s kind of my thing, and I’d appreciate if you would keep your—”
“There are rules,” Osha said firmly, ignoring Janus muttering *rules you made up*, “spirits are to be cleared from an area promptly upon death, and I don’t care what void you throw them, but they’d better not be littering up your work floor. But this is minor compared to the big issues. That door,” Osha picked one a random, “Where does it lead?”
“That’s the death door.”
“And so that one’s the safe exit,” Osha pointed to the other one. “So, where’s the exit sign?”
Janus blinked at him. “What?”
“If you don’t have an exit sign to clearly indict the way out, how could people know which way to go in an emergency?” Osha asked with exaggerated patience.
Janus raised an eyebrow. “The whole point is that people don’t know which door to take. If I just told them that this door leads to safety, and that door leads to a dimensional abyss, no one would face a dilemma picking, now would they?”
“That’s even worse,” Osha exclaimed. “You’re telling me that door leads to an immediate, unsecured hazard, and you don’t have a warning sign up. There’s a simple WHMIS symbol to mark spatial anomalies, and you aren’t using it? Except it’s worse than that, because signage is not the best option for preventing injury. There’s no reason for that danger to be there, so you should remove it and replace it with a safer alternative. And finally,” Osha pointed his stylus at Janus, “If you’re going to run a death trap, I want to see disclaimers. All the disclaimers. People entering need to sign a disclaimer absolving you of responsibility for injury and death, there’d better be signs clearly stating the hazard present on every wall, and mortals need to receive the training necessary to understand the risks of coming here, at the operator’s expense. Now,” Osha put stylus to tablet, “show me the rest of the place.”
Two hours later, a paler, humbler Janus showed Osha the way out, and ran back inside screaming for his architects. Osha watched him leave with displeasure. Janus seemed contrite now, but he would see if that stuck. He summoned his next tablet, double-checked a map for the location, the shared stables of King Augeas and Diomedes, and teleported in. A muscle under his right eye began to twitch as he took in *everything*.
First, the smell. The stables had clearly never been cleaned, and the odor of manure was overlaid with slight hints of fresh and dried blood. Second, the sights. The cattle of Augeas were crammed together in their own filth, right next to the flesh-eating mares of Diomedes, and the meat and grain that fed them were mixed together, with the occasional hapless servant being pulled in by the horses. Third, the noise. Despite the lowing of cattle, the whinnying of horses, and the screams of servants, not a single person was wearing ear plugs. Osha closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they blazed with bureaucratic zeal, and he summoned his stylus, aglow with his regulatory rage. There were some stables getting condemned tonight.
|
There are rules to divinity. In the grand wake of countless pantheons, worshipped or reviled depending on which city you reside, order must stay. Those who walk the line of duty are to be celebrated, those who press outside their boundaries condemned, and punished swiftly. The trappings of godhood arise from the mortal needs of humanity, and thus we are a reflection of whom serve us.
I was born from this need, perhaps after a more unconventional divine being destroyed far more than was anticipated. Therein began musings of law and order, the earliest inklings of humanity’s governing self rule before Prometheus gave them fire. I was born to Zeus, a fact he no doubt wishes he could take back. In the growing list of his impressive children, there is none who have cause to be a thorn in his side more than I. None who caused his head to ache and force him to meditate for days on end, including Athena whom was literally sprouted from his cranium. For even the King of Heaven cannot escape the divinity of order, as was granted to me just as the divinity of the skies was granted to him.
As the other gods faded into the realm of mythology and imagination, my practices, my governance only grew stronger. As humans forayed and made their own decisions, they were held together by the rules and laws that I practiced. My son Hammurabi codified my preachings and my religion was born. Though instead of offerings of incense it was trials of combat, and later trials of letter and speech. Instead of oracles who claimed to speak for me, my word was as permanent as the stone it was written on. And through me humanity survived. I was the god they didn’t know to worship, but worshipped nonetheless. I built their cities with regulations and maps, tilled their fields with hand-me-down knowledge and expertise, and led their people with democracy.
Now, only inklings of the mighty pantheons remain in the modern world. Even Zeus, my own father has lost control of his own skies. Instead the voices of humans called Air Traffic Controllers govern the skies for themselves, at the behest of others. Dionysus’s industry is regulated for alcoholic content, and even Hades’s domain contains some of my jurisdiction, through the lens of civil rights and murder charges.
They follow my word without knowing its source. They live, breathe my order. My divinity permeates their lives every day. One would think that with this much power, this much influence, it would be as easy to get as drunk on it as Dionysus did on his own brew. But I never falter. I never sway. After all, there are rules to divinity.
| 2021-04-18T21:57:17 | 2021-04-18T20:11:27 | 191 | 59 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus inside every single human. Centuries into the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily.
|
They tested me, for days on end. I tried so hard to get away, but with my body intact, there was no way. I was tied down, couldn’t even coyote my way out.
Thank God they cut my arm off at the elbow when I slapped them. There’s a bunch of scientists back home who are trying to figure out why I can control my detached limbs, and that’s all good for them, but the fact that I could was all I needed. It was a pain to aim with only a wrist, but their blasters went through them and my own bonds quite nicely, lost a shoulder in that little stunt, but it’ll grow back. Ten minutes to heal back together, suck up the blood I lost, I’m good to go.
They protect themselves against lesser life forms with puzzle combinations on every door. Sure they’re a little faster, but I can deal, they’re mostly just patterns to complete, a little thing that acts like a Sudoku with dots instead of numbers, even a knot untying game… man I got those games on my phone!
They tagged me in the head on my way to my ship in their loading bay, and now I can’t remember my mothers name, but I remember she wasn’t nice, so I don’t really care. 17 of them down, I’m on a roll!
I don’t even notice the smell anymore, all I know is rot. That’s how we all are, all of the ones that are past the point of “dead”. See we can’t really tell sometimes when it’s an aneurysm, or heart attack or something like that, but once we die, we start to rot, but we keep moving. Our dietary needs change, we can only eat raw food, and our joints fall apart all the time… but we just put everything back, and heal.
It was in my transport when I realized the truth: I hate living. My lips are gone, my hair is gone, my balls fell off 95 years ago. We drink, we party, we have fun… but we are all, truly, dead inside.
Their armor is only on the outside of the ship, so my 30mm slug cannon rips straight through to the bridge no problem. The auto fire system kills every single one that comes out of the hole to try and stop me. 35 seconds it took to kill the rest of the combatants on the ship.
I realized then I could be so much more than just a hero that killed the enemy, I could be even more. It takes temperatures above 5,000 degrees to kill the virus, nothing less will do, not poison, not radiation, not even complete disassembly… put us in a shredder, we come right back.
It’s an absolute hell that none of us are happy to experience. But since we smell so bad, we’re immune to radiation, and earth is now boring, entirely explored, we take to space. Explorers, soldiers, ship crew, we’re all “dead”. Ya, we just call ourselves “dead”, it’s easier that way, even though I talked to my great great grandniece last week, she’s 57 now, looking healthy and great.
I’ve been alive 197 years. I’m tired. I’ve been serving on the same battle cruiser for 84 years now. Same transport, my control sticks are worn to the shape of my hands. Same mechanical crew. One man has fueled my ship for 84 years straight. I’m tired. I’m bored. We all are.
We have no idea where they get the millions of tons of fusable isotopes to power their ships, our heavy cruiser operates with a fuel load of 1,000 tons, and that lasts years before refueling. These guys tow 1.2 million tons of tritium and deuterium behind their ships, and somehow we can’t understand, are able to fuse it all the way down to lead to discharge and provide countermass to push them along. What I see, though, is freedom, for me and my boys.
The battle is raging outside of Jupiter. 233 of our ships, 35 of their monsters. I walk to the bridge, and see their ships in a Flying V formation, about to split our lines, try and bust through to Earth. I see freedom. So, so much freedom.
Their control systems are much the same as ours, yaw, pitch, speed, it’s not hard to see. So I point the ship straight at the lead of the V. I’m tired. I don’t want to live anymore. None of us do.
I see the V about to hit our line when I hit the lead ship’s fuel cell. God grants me one final wish, to see my work, like a dream, from above. More fusable material than humanity has ever mined goes off in 35 separate explosions, the whole thing no less than 1/10 of a second apart. Their entire fleet, with me as their lone kamikaze demise.
I can hear the voices in my head as 250,000 of my closest friends, my soldiers, my superiors, my brothers and my sisters, as the great nuclear detonation wipes out the entire Earth 6th Fleet. 233 of our finest ships blown to atoms. The end of the invasion. The end of our 6th fleet. The end of me, the end of them.
A great chorus in my mind, as all my friends and family say “thank you, thank you, thank you… for finally ending this war… and ending our pain with it”
|
The contorted mass of flesh slugged towards his bewildered opponent; belowing screeches suffocating the battlefield.
The gaunt look of fear and disgust grimaces on his commanders face as he turns round to see his unit flee in horror, tramlping over the eviscearated remains of other Exo troops.
Grubo makes his final stand as he runs head on towards the monstrosity; his body flailed with one foul swipe hitting the ground before he could even draw.
"Augmented suit failed, critical failure"
he takes off his headset to see the faces of other troops, a deep sense of dread filled the command centre. These Foul wretched had expanded to every corner of the galaxy.
| 2022-09-13T20:07:47 | 2022-09-13T19:49:36 | 773 | 57 |
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty.
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Silence. Who would have thought that the absence of sound could be so deafening?
“Is it…” Sharl’s words failed him as the first mate’s thin lips stilled, the sound of his words enough to cause he himself to flinch. “Is it…” The seasoned Ardsien sailor whispered once more, a steely resolve giving his forked tongue the strength it needed. “Is it gone?”
For a moment nobody spoke. Eight Ardsien's, every one a man in their own right, rammed within the tiny space of the storage cabin. Sixteen sets of eyes snapped toward the door as a singsong tone called from beyond, a sound of merriment and joy.
“The Human…” Baskur hissed as he pushed through the group, the thin vertical slit of his first set of eyes momentarily ablaze, his bright red pupil luminescent for the briefest of moments as sunlight filtered through the hole within the door toward where he pressed his face. “It… It can’t be.” His words panicked. “It… It can’t…” The group’s collective heartbeat lurched as Baskur stumbled backward, his webbed fingers thrust forward as they tore the wooden door open.
For a moment blindness ruled, the intensity of the light in juxtaposition to the shadow of before, unbearable. Slowly the Ardsien’s lower set of eyes began to adjust as their upper slammed shut to preserve their night-sight, red eyed stares locked to the impossible sight before them.
“Who’s a pretty kitty kitty!” The human cooed as she knelt before the apex predator, her fleshy pink sausage like fingers half-invisible within the soft white fur of the deadly creature’s stomach. “Aren’t you a little floofmonster!” The female grinned as she spoke, oblivious to the danger she faced as the feline lay sprawled before her at ease.
“Zerah! You must retreat!” Baskur roared as he darted to the side, a long fishing spear grasped from within its place and held before him in shaking arms. “Run! Before it is too late!”
“It’s *Sarah.*” The Human frowned, her right hand absently stroking the murderous monster’s fur backward from the tip of its nose all the way down past its swishing tail. “And what in President Wiggysat suma’s name are you so excited about?”
“Listen to me Zearah…” Sharl spoke calmly in Baskur’s place, his entire body still, motionless in the way they had been trained to act when faced with a beast this deadly. Everyone knew that movement was their cue to attack. “Back away from the Feline. Back away as slowly as you can.” The Human frowned.
“You’re all being ridiculous. You’re scared of my cat?”
“Your…” Baskur stammered, his ridged lips twisting upward in frown. “You mean… You… You brought this beast aboard the ship?”
“Beast!” Sarah laughed warmly, the right hand sliding beneath the now-standing death-machine without a care in the world until the feline was lifted from his four deceptively soft looking velvety paws. “Floof is no beast.” The feline’s emerald green eyes shifted from Ardsien to Ardsien, it’s stare hungry as it measured each as if in preparation of attack.
“Place me down, Human.” Sarah frowned, though complied instantly. The predator strolled forward, its intelligent eyes locked to those before him. “You.” Floof spoke once more, directly to the spear-wielding fish-man.
Baskur froze.
“What is your name, fish-boy?”
“Baskur.” The sailor growled, confidence growing as he met Floof’s eyes glare for glare.
“Baskur…” Floof purred as he leapt up onto the small table beside the guard rail, devoid of ornamentation bar a single crystal drinking glass. *Purrfect.* Floof grinned. “You dare raise a weapon against me?” Narrow eyes locked to the fish-man’s own as Floof’s paw began to drift sideways, the glass humming as it slid across the polished surface toward the edge.
“No!” Baskur’s spear clattered to the deck as he fell to his knees before the Feline predator, green tears leaking from all four eyes. “Please! No! Anything but the glass!”
But Floof stopped none. His great wide smile extending further and further until his paw no longer met resistance, the glass plummeting to the hard wooden deck to collide with a deafening sm-
“Floof!” Floof’s dream shattered as the recognisable call of his minion pierced the veil, his ever alert senses honed in on the direction of origin. Without hesitation the white cat was on his feet, flying through the air as he leaped from his place upon the soft cream sofa. “Floooooof!” The Human called as he continued to bound down the stairs, through the corridor and into his dining room. “There you are!” Sarah grinned as she bent down before him in worship, her attention fixed to his royal silver bowl as she used a three pronged human instrument to serve him his dinner.
“Good Human, I shall let you live a while longer.” Floof yawned as he spoke.
“Yes that’s right Floofy! Meow, meow, meow!” Sarah smiled as she returned to her feet, the royal food container placed upon the surface beside her as she retreated back to her quarters.
Briefly Floof’s cold green stare rolled over the silver case, that which had held his food. ‘Sardines’ Written in ominous black letters along it’s side, whatever that meant. Floof yawned as he padded forward, his nose lowered toward the bowl before him as his meal came into view. The Feline’s lips curled at each corner as a cruel grin won out at the sight the greeted him.
“Baskur, so we meet again.”
|
„Here kitty, kitty, kitty...“ said the human while being in the cargo bay. I never understood that creature, but I’m still fairly new to this crew. But that human is still a mystery to me. However, the captain ordered us to get some of the cargo we need to ship. As I grabbed the inside of the crate, something damaged my skin really bad and a loud „hiss“ appeared. Shocked, I let go what I held and took a step back. That beast again, tried to kill me. But the human ran to me and grabbed with his hands inside the box. „Stay back whit that creature from death!“ i screamed. That predator still tried to attack the human with its hissing sound and claws sharper than anything I saw in my live. „What’s your problem?“ he than asked „ it’s a beautiful cute little kitty“. I said then „ stay here with that devils beast while I bring the loot, I mean the goods to the captain“
| 2019-11-21T07:31:11 | 2019-11-21T06:21:21 | 149 | 21 |
[WP] The town superhero and supervillain find out that they've been roommates all along
|
Voltron did sit-ups until his muscles were on fire, and then did a hundred more. He cranked out push-up after push-up until colored spots flew before his eyes and his hands shook too badly to hold a glass of water.
His real name was Allen, but in his own mind he thought of himself as Voltron. The way the papers referred, the name by which he would make his mark on the world.
It was a Friday night. Most men his age would have been busy occupying the bars, stumbling from one pub to the next, chasing girls, slurring their words and engaging in pointlessly heated debates about nothing, about the virtues of Captain Hypnosis versus Slayer, wasting their lives, thinking they had a purpose, a meaning.
Voltron couldn’t afford to drink. He had to make his body hard, like a rendered piece of steel. He had to make himself ready. He had to turn himself into the unstoppable force that would change the course of history. At the moment he was the hottest villain in Metrocity, but that was only the beginning, the humble origins, the base point of a vicious, unrelenting trajectory into significance.
As the shaking subsided and his breathing slowed he let himself sit down. He chugged water until his muscles cramped. From somewhere below – one of the first or second floor apartments in the building – the powerful bass of some funk-disco hybrid radiated upwards, a thin vibration through the soles of his feet.
It reminded him about Rick, his roommate. He would no doubt return late. Rick always returned late. Sometimes at six or seven in the morning, or not at all. And he had those bruises a hell of a lot. Black-eyes, chipped teeth, stiches across the brow. He always flashed his charming Irish smile, winked, and said it was no biggie.
Voltron had his suspicions. There were a lot of would-be heroes and villains out there, alot of amateurs, but only a few mattered in this town.
Captain Hypnosis for one. Himself, for another. Besides that, there were only a few bit players, freak-show acts with a lot of flair and showmanship, but no real bite.
As he relaxed into the chair, his arm struck the recliner control. This was Rick’s chair and he rarely sat in it. Since they had found each other on Craig’s list and shared little in common, they pretty much divided the apartment down the middle, with clear-cut borders and territories.
The hall closet opened up. Voltron almost never went in there. Rick kept his camping gear in there.
Voltron stood up and walked towards the open door, still faintly aware of the pulsating dance music, traveling up through his legs.
A clean white light illuminated a glass case. Captain Hypnosis’s suit sat within, a simple, Spartan design.
Voltron’s face cracked open into a jagged grin.
After fiddling with the Lazy Boy, he managed to reset the secret compartment. He turned off all the lights, retired to his bedroom, and lay down, listening for the key as it found its way into the lock.
The moment came two hours later. He nearly missed, bypassed it completely as the he had been lured into a daze, but the crack of the door opening send an electric jolt through his body, from the top of his skull and down his spine. He rose slowly, mindful of the creaking springs.
It seemed that Captain Hypnosis had a night off. No stopping gas-station robberies, no saving damsels in distress, no rushing into burning buildings. No, sir. Not tonight. Tonight Captain Hypnosis was enjoying his success, his rising popularity, and taking a night to himself. He had gone out drinking, no doubt, feeling cocky, like a rookie star athlete, who convinces himself that he can get away with going out to a club the night before the game.
Voltron heard the faucet run, the toilet flush, and the bedroom door slam shut.
He opened his door, already dressed in black, looking more like a jackal than a man. He crossed the hallway, lithe, silent, torturously slow. Standing before the door he paused, for a moment caught wondering if he really did have the right stuff, if he was better than a hero like Captain Hypnosis, if this had all been a mistake.
He pushed the door open before he could resolve the thought. This was too monumental, too momentous to be stopped by cool, hard, slow-grinding logic.
Rick sat up in his bed.
“What?” he said.
Voltron’s first stun bomb hit as the word left his mouth. Smoke exploded outwards and Rick erupted in a fit of coughing. Voltron grabbed the bed and flipped it over, Rick crashing into the ground. He grabbed the man, kneed him in the stomach and threw him into the wall. The dry-wall crumbled and caved in, sending a great heaving cloud of dust into the air.
“You little bitch,” Voltron said. “Living with me these last three months. I knew you were a hero, but hell, I thought you were just some amateur.”
Captain Hypnosis shot up without warning, uncoiling like a snake, and launched a flurry of jabs and straight rights. Four or five made solid contact, Voltron spinning backwards.
The battle had begun.
For three hours they waged their war. At the end they collapsed over the coffee-table and lay writhing on the floor. Purple, pre-dawn light glowed through the windows. They had smashed every bit of furniture, every bowl and cup, every piece of glass, every picture frame, and burned almost every set of clothes either of them owned.
“I can’t… leave…” Captain Hypnosis wheezed through bleeding teeth.
“What… do you … mean…”
“If one of us…has to find a new place… it’s gotta be you… I was here first… so you have to leave…”
“Yeah,” Voltron whispered through a pain-filled grimace. “But I’m gonna… need some time… to find a new place… I already paid… for this months rent…“
The following two weeks were very awkward.
|
"Another plan foiled by that dastardly Do-Gooder Gotham Man!" shouted Snake-Man as he fumbled for his keys."Hows a villain supposed to get ahead if that Masked fool keeps ruining everything!" He seethed feeling nothing but empty pockets. "Oh GREAT! i lost my keys! i must have dropped them while making my getaway!" "Ill have to wait for Steve to show up with his keys." The color ran from Snake-Mans face as he looked down realizing he wouldn't be able to change out of his costume." He heard the lobby door open as foot steps began making their way up the stairs. "Cats out of the bag now he thought." A figure turned the corner and it was Gotham Man! "Gah!" shouted Snake-Man "You've tracked down me down to my evil lair!" Gotham Man pointed towards Snake-Man "Youre not pullig one over on me Snake-Man! This is my hideout!" Snake-man looked at Gotham Man in confusion. BUt how could this be? Then it finally sunk in "Steve?" said Snake-Man. "Is that you keith?" Said gotham man in suprise. Snake-Man focused his eyes on gotham man and opened his mouth and said "So Chinese tonight?"
| 2014-08-06T18:37:40 | 2014-08-06T18:16:50 | 133 | 43 |
[WP] Everything you heard about magical and mythical beings is wrong. Witches are actually taking children away from irresponsible parents. Cerberus is a big, three-headed hell puppy, and dragons are just trying to protect their life savings from thieves.
|
"Alright, *witch*," Agent Carlson snarled, "Let's review this little 'fairy tale' you've been spinning one more time."
The detainee flinched and I frowned from the other side of the one-way glass. She didn't look like a witch to me. Her skin was decidedly unwarty, for one. And the lack of a green hue...the wide, hazel eyes. Honey-blond hair. She was --
The gentle contralto of her voice snapped me out of my reverie. "I run a home for children who are orphaned -- whether because of death or other reasons. Surely you've noticed resources are scarce? \*Someone\* has to help these poor souls, lost in the woods. But I assure you, I'm no witch."
I opened the dossier on the counter in front of me -- Woodcutter, G. & Woodcutter, H.
"You honestly expect me to believe you're not trying to lure children away from their homes? Remind me what your house is made of, again?"
A shadow of pain passed over the young woman's face before she answered. "It's made of candy. But -- "
" -- oh, this should be good -- "
"*But*, if I really wanted to lure children away from their homes, why did I have my house so far out in the forest? How would *any* child possibly find it unless they were lost and wandering in the Gloomwoods?"
I leafed through the first few pages in the folder and scrutinized the map. We had identified the Woodcutter's home. I took the measure of the scale with my thumb and forefinger and walked it across the spot where the kids had lived to the spot where they had been found.
Eight miles.
"Of course, of course," Carlson crooned mockingly. "After all, using an enchantment to entice children to find your house no matter how far they were would be a *flagrant* violation of the Global Edict Against Sorcery."
Carlson paused. I looked up and saw the pale young woman, brow creased, staring at Carlson, who was fumbling with something in his pocket. Slowly, he drew out his sunglasses case.
*Oh, God.*
"Although I imagine for a witch like you, it would be," he paused as he snapped open the case and pulled out the sunglasses within. There were a few awkward seconds of silence as he struggled to get them on before he growled, "*child's play.*"
He froze, and I knew he was playing a little soundtrack in his head. *Damn unions.*
"But why would I want more hungry mouths to feed? Why attract children at all, if not to help them?"
The interrogator slammed his fist on the table. "Oh, you fed them, alright! Fed them until they were good and fat. And then, when their young, juicy arms and legs were fat enough, you'd have them for a nice holiday dinner, isn't that right?"
The young woman blinked. "I...yes. That's true. Is there a problem with that?"
This caught Carlson off-guard momentarily, but he quickly recovered. "Ah-ha! So you admit it!"
"Sure. Sometimes I have just myself for dinner, but if I am fostering, of course I am going to cook extra so the children can eat. What kind of a monster do you..." Her eyes widened even further. "You think I would EAT the children?" she shrieked.
Carlson hesitated, then recomposed himself. "That's right!" he snapped.
"Why would anyone want to eat a child? I have a whole vegetable garden and bake lots of gingerbread. It takes a *lot* of work to do that. Do you have any idea how inefficient it is to feed all that food to another human just so I could *eat* that human? What kind of idiot would do that? And why?"
I leafed forward a few pages to the kids' statements. Mostly, it all fit with her story. Heartbreaking stuff, to be honest. The boy and his kid sister get abandoned in the woods, and even after this stark betrayal by the people who are supposed to love them most, the kids work as hard as they can to get back home. To the monsters who abandoned them in the first place. And then they did it again.
You see it all the time in a job like this -- the Gingerbread Wife, eyeball askew, frosting smudged, insisting that she fell down the stairs while the so-called Gingerbread "Man" glowers at her from the shadows. The "noble adventurer" who attempted to slay the dragon who can't explain where the bag of gold came from or why, if they were facing off against the dragon, it's their underarm that got burned.
Meanwhile, Carlson's getting his ass handed to him by this vivacious soul, who is doing a deep dive into metabolism and caloric density and I'm sure would be very happy to be drawing diagrams on a chalkboard if we would let her. I pick up my phone to send a message to Carlson to end it when my eyes fall across one last part of the kids' statements.
I frown, re-read it, and then send Carlson a message, watch as he checks it, and then grins.
"Alright, let's say we attribute this whole mess to a little linguistic snafu," he says, glad to be recovering some of his swagger. "You weren't going to *have* the children for dinner, you were going to have the children for *dinner*."
He cocks his head, lowers the sunglasses and inch. *Jesus, this guy.* Even the detainee can't help but smirk at his absurdity. *She knows she's got him on the ropes.*
"How are you still here if -- as the kids both state -- they locked you inside a burning oven?"
"Are you kidding?" she says, her grin widening. "You think a little fire can hurt a witch as powerful as I -- "
Her face falls. "*Damn it*," she breathes.
* * *
Feedback welcome. /r/ShadowsofClouds for more stories, including other parodies (and some stuff that is truly monstrous).
|
He stood over the headless corpses of the revolting and well-armed goblins, cleaning his sword with their surprisingly well-made clothing.
They were trying to steal the wealth of the local nobleman as he was out; fortunately he was there.
"HOW MANY CREATURES AGAIN?"
"346 this past month alone, Sir. I'm also late in getting to my next destination, so no thanks in staying."
"A traveler, huh? At least take this bag of gold as a token of appreciation."
He was just outside of the town where he heard a dragon was forcibly producing hybrids with the local women, when a group of his guards found him first.
The remaining goblins on unicorn back, armed with bows and arrows, along with some centaurs with swords and the last phonix escorted him to the cave, where he found a whole group of dragons apparently talking among themselves.
Looking at him from time to time, he felt uneasy about how human their eyes and movements were now that he was looking at them in a calm manner up close.
Breaking up the group, what looked to be the oldest one came to him from the back of the cave, something small held in his right claw.
He resisted mightily as the blood red crystal necklace was placed around his neck, then he froze as a surge of energy flowed through his body.
"Do you understand me now, human?"
| 2020-12-22T08:43:19 | 2020-12-22T08:15:24 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] You have been in an online relationship with someone for several years. They claim to be from outer space and sometimes you hear odd languages and sounds in the background. You take it as a joke... until your first meeting is in an empty cornfield with a giant light that appears in the sky.
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When the new girl joined the guild, it was interesting. I hadn’t been active in about a year, but having her voice request me out of the blue kind of brought me back to the game. Very few of our members used voice chat, so that was unusual enough. So was her accent. She had just the slightest bit of a lisp, and some of her word choices were interesting.
She loved to ask questions about my life. What things did I like to eat and drink? What kinds of holidays did I celebrate? What sorts of religions were practiced in my country? What kinds of art did I like? How realistic were television shows, movies and books?
Her questions were refreshing, and she was honestly a lot of fun, so we started partying up a lot. Her favorite class was Witch and mine was Kunoichi so we made an pretty impressive team. Together we were able to breeze through content and in about three months I had caught back up to the majority of the guild.
Over time she confided in me some things about herself as we grew closer. I learned that she was born with only three fingers on each hand. I also learned she was about ten years younger than me. I also learned she was the only member of her family that could speak English, though she was evasive of where exactly she lived at first.
One day she confessed to me that she really wished she was able to meet me and was really sad she couldn’t. I was surprised to find that I felt the same.
Still, there were things that struck me as odd. Often times there were weird sounds in the background that she insisted were people talking though it didn’t sound like any language I had ever heard. One time she accidentally turned on the camera and I saw what looked like the top part of a face. The thing is, that the eyes were slightly too large and too purple, and the skin tone was just slightly too yellow. And there were what looked like some sort of bumps coming out of the forehead. Before I could get a better view, the camera was turned off.
When I asked about what I saw, she got defensive and told me she was in a costume and that the camera was just picking up the color wrong. When I mentioned the bumps, she got really quiet. After a while asked me if she gave me her real name would I stop asking about what I saw on the camera. I agreed. She told me the closest translation of her name and spelling was Kaylania. We played in silence for a while and I realized something had changed.
She disappeared for a week after that. Just when I thought she was gone for good, she hit me with a direct call. When I answered, she told me she had something to tell me and to please keep an open mind. I made the promise. She told me she was from someplace really far away and that she might have to go back soon though she really didn’t want to. At least not without seeing me face to face at least once.
I asked where exactly, and again she was evasive, so I started listing off countries. Finally, she told me that no, I was completely off base. To think somewhere much further. I jokingly said Mars.
She went quiet for a moment and then told me that wasn’t where she was from, but that it was close to where she was now. I laughed and told her to stop joking around.
She told me she could prove it. She asked when the next time I was going to drive out to “that house near that field of whatever that crop that is as tall as you” would be. I freaked a bit, because that was my grandmother’s house I would work on when I could. Plus, it was late fall. The corn had long been harvested by now. I told her I didn’t know.
She begged me to meet her out there that weekend, preferably in the late evening. Begged me. With a sigh I finally gave in.
I notified my mother and my friends I would be going out and that if they didn’t hear from me in a couple hours when I went to send someone out there.
So that Friday night, I found myself sitting in my grandparent’s driveway, and using my cell data to log into discord. Once I was in, I messaged Kaylania to let her know I was there. She told me she was on her way and to expect to see her in just about half an hour.
About thirty-five minutes later, I was still waiting. There was no sign of her. Suddenly there was a noise that sounded a lot like the engines of a very large jet during takeoff or landing, and an entire section of the empty cornfields next to my grandparent’s house lit up. I was about to say like Christmas, but no, it was very bright very white light. Too bright to look at and so intense I could see it even when I closed my eyes and put my hand across them.
After about a minute, the light faded, and there in the cornfield was something that looked like a cross between an upside-down salad bowl and a submarine. It wasn’t quite perfectly round, but it wasn’t quite cylinder shaped either, and it had several mini-towers and what looked something like a very high-tech version of an old satellite array on the top of it
A hatch opened and lowered, forming a ramp with a staircase, not too unlike found on some planes. What came down the ramp though was unexpected.
Easily six feet high and wearing what can only be described as a silvery space suit, the figure looked like it could be a female human at first glance. Except a female human wouldn’t have feet that looked like six-inch round cylinders or have lower legs that resemble something like a dog’s. Nor do they have only three fingers.
The figure saw me and took off the helmet. I knew it was Kaylania instantly. The eyes gave it away, too big and too purple, though with surprisingly human like pupils. Her nose was similar to a human’s too, but slightly broader. She currently had what looked like breathing tubes going into it. Her mouth was similar to a human’s as well, though she had four fangs. Not like vampire fangs. More like… a dog’s. When her mouth was closed, they still managed to push past her lips just slightly, so the tips always showed. Her skin was yellow, and as she approached, cautiously making her way over the rough field, I slowly realized that her skin was actually more of a grey, but that it was covered in really fine fur. Her ears looked something like if you took a dog, a cat and a human and mixed them together. I’m sorry I can’t describe it better than that. What I had thought were bumps, I realized were actually something like antlers or horns. She also had very human like hair, pulled back, braided, and then worked into a bun. It was red. Like fire engine red.
When she reached me, she blinked and shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry, these suits really don’t have a good way to accommodate our tail.” She sighed. She looked me over and offered me a dazzling smile. “You looked just like I thought you would,” she said softly.
I looked at her and blinked. “I can’t exactly say the same about you.”
Her face fell. "I see she said softly.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” I said gently taking her hand. “You’re far cuter than I ever pictured, especially for an alien.”
She blushed and beamed. “You really think so?”
I looked her in the eye. “Do you think it would be okay if I kissed you?”
She hesitated. “I took a full decontamination shower before I came down, as well as an immune booster and the standard viral and bacterial suppressor, so I would probably be safe, but I’m not sure about you.” She looked so sad.
“I really wish I didn’t have to leave,” she said softly. “I’ve grown to really like talking to you.”
I thought about it. “What would happen if I went with you?” I asked.
She shook her head. “That’s… you would call it illegal. We’d likely both get imprisoned. I’m already technically breaking the law as it is. But I’m supposed to be sneaking blood samples of some of the wildlife.”
I bit my lip. “What about…” is all the further I got before she shook her head.
“I really wish I could. I have to go now, before they check in on me. I just wanted to meet you at least once.” I reached for her, but she backed up out of reach, turned around, and sprinted for her ship, nearly falling a few times.
As her ship closed and went into the sky, one of the neighbors came out and walked towards me. “Strangest helicopter I’ve ever seen,” he said.
I gave him a sad smile as I walked toward my car. “You have no idea.”
*Edited to clean up a couple of minor typos.*
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[Hebic] Where's Nerubian?
[Snowie] said he had plans with his girlfriend
[Hebic] ugh
[Snowie] no for real they're meeting up tonight for the first time irl it's so romantic <3
[Nohealonlytank] Wait Neru said they were meeting irl?
[Sheepzilla] lol get some
[Snowie] Yeah lol
[Nohealonlytank] wtf
[Snowie] what
[Snowie] havent' they been dating for forever now
[Nohealonlytank] I thought he wasn't serious about that
[Sheepzilla] guys chill he's making it all up he's not dating anyone
[Snowie] no she was on Discord once I heard her
[Nohealonlytank] lol I remember that
[Snowie] she was all romantic
[Nohealonlytank] it was disgusting
[Nohealonlytank] 'ur not like guys i know they're all scared of commitment'
[Nohealonlytank] like omg
[Nohealonlytank] that's not a compliment
[Nohealonlytank] shut up
[Nohealonlytank] she was on discord *once* and had to drop because of "connection issues" aka her soundboard was fucking up
[Sheepzilla] lol u heard that too
[Snowie] u ppl hate love
[Hebic] I hate that I'm down a healer
[Snowie] and love
[Hebic] and love
[Hebic] love is costing me a healer
---
[Hebic] anyone heard from Nerubian? He signed up for tonight but isn't online
[Nohealonlytank] dude
[Nohealonlytank] dude
[Nohealonlytank] apparently his roommate was on his acc earlier
[Nohealonlytank] asking if *we* knew anything
[Hebic] if he doesn't want to raid he just doesn't have to sign up
[Hebic] it's that simple
[Sheepzilla] Why was his roommate on his account??????
[Nohealonlytank] B/C APPARENTLY Nerub told his roommate he was going on a date "stargazing" but never came home and isn't answering his phone and roommate thought we'd might know where exactly he went
[Sheepzilla] was she hot
[Snowie] THEIR FIRST IRL DATE WAS STARGAZING AWWWW
[Snowie] I thought they were just going to dinner
[Sheepzilla] was she hot
[Nohealonlytank] AKA 'DRIVE OUT WHERE NOBODY CAN SEE U, ALONE, WITH SOMEONE WHO'S PROBABLY BEEN CATFISHING U FOR YEARS'
[Nohealonlytank] omg they probably skipped dinner b/c i made him heal that dungeon
[Nohealonlytank] omg i killed Nerubian
[Hebic] guys stop with all caps
[Nohealonlytank] Hebic, dude, Neru is DEAD
[Snowie] he's been gone for not even a day. chill. they're probably sleeping in or doing cute breakfast things or something
[Sheepzilla] was she hot
---
[Hebic] Nerubian is back? says he was online earlier today
[Snowie] no
[Nohealonlytank] no, roommate again
[Hebic] can roommate heal? we're short a person again tonight
[Nohealonlytank] lol
---
[Sheepzilla] GUYS LOOK AT LINK IN DISCORD
[Nohealonlytank] site looks sketch no ty
[Snowie] ???
[Sheepzilla] THAT'S WHERE NERUB LIVES
[Nohealonlytank] why do you even know that
[Snowie] cobwebs???
[Hebic] IF YOU DON'T WANT TO RAID JUST DON'T SIGN UP FOR RAID FFS
| 2020-11-18T21:57:28 | 2020-11-18T19:47:40 | 64 | 26 |
[WP] A lonely teenage boy asks a genie to let him talk to his future wife. The person who appears is not who he expects.
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High school. The best years of my life, or so my parents would have had me believe.
“Why, when I was your age son, I had a blast just hanging out with my friends. High school. There’s nothing like it, I tell you. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Right. I’m sure they’ll tell me the same thing once I go to college and am miserable and alone, just like I am now.
Sure, maybe high school is the best time of your life when you’re popular. When you’re good looking. When you’re an athlete. When you’re brilliant.
When you’re somebody.
Me? I’m no one. I’m invisible. I’m not even pathetic enough to get picked on. I’m completely unremarkable. I’d be surprised if even 10 people knew my name at school. I’m the one that will end up a serial killer and people will say, “Oh, he was such a normal boy.” *Sigh*.
All I could think about was how alone I was. It consumed me. It wasn’t exactly a bottomless pit. It was more like a void of nothingess in which I could feel myself slowly slip. And I didn’t want to go. I was desperate not to becoming nothing. But I clawed and crawled to escape the void, but there was nothing I could do. It was like clutching smoke.
I was in my room again. Where else would I be. I could just feel my parents saying there was something wrong with me and what was I doing wasting such a nice day indoors. Right. Like I wanted to stay inside my room alone. If I had someone to be with, someone to share my life with, of course I’d be out there. But no. No such luck for me. The only solace I could find was with my computer.
Sometimes I’d get desperate enough to chat with the bots on porn sites. At least they faked an interest in me. Sure, I had memorized all their scripts, but hey, at least they were familiar.
*Hi! I found your profile online and wanted to meet you!*
*Hello*, I typed back. *I’m glad you found me.*
*It was destiny. I belong to you, you know.*
Huh. This was new. Maybe some sort of S&M bot?
*Do you, now.* Great. Even when typing with a bot, I didn’t know what to say.
*I do. Well, only for a short while.*
Of course. What, like for 30 minutes so long as I pay for it?
*Yeah, figures.*
*I can only be with you for the duration of 3 wishes.*
*3 wishes…right. Ok, well I wish I had a hat.*
*What kind of hat? You need to be a bit more specific. I don’t want you to waste your wishes, you know. I’m not a typical genie. I’m not trying to trick you.*
*Right, right. Sure. Ok, I want a big hat with those flappy ear things.*
*Your wish is my command.*
I sat there waiting for the bot to send me a picture of a stupid hat and marveled at just how good the scripting was for this “genie”.
And then I felt it. A stupidly big hat with flappy ear on top of my head.
I reached up to touch it, fingers trembling.
*Do you have another wish?*
With one hand still pinching the hat’s brim between its fingers, I typed out with the other hand, *Whoa.*
*I know. Do you have another wish?*
I paused to reflect on what I should ask for next. The gravity of what I had just been given hadn’t hit me yet. I should have been cursing myself for wasting a wish, but all I could think of was why I was here in the first place.
The next words just came spilling out.
*I…I’m lonely. I don’t know if you know the reason why I’m even here in the first place. I want to be with someone. I just want to belong, you know? I want someone to love, someone just for me, and I want that person to love me back. I want to be that person for someone else, you know? I want to be someone that the other person can’t live without. Vice versa. I don’t know how to talk to girls. I don’t know anything. All I know is that I’m by myself and I wish I wasn’t. I don’t even think it’s possible that a girl could even notice me, much less talk to me, much less date me, much less want to spend the rest of their life with me.*
No reply. I continued to type.
*I don’t know. Is it possible? Is it possible that one day, I’ll find that person? That person who I can share everything with? I think if I could just see her. If I could just know that it was real, I think that would be enough…I think it would be enough to keep me going.*
No reply.
*Genie – I want to see my future wife.*
No reply.
Great. Of course. Destined to die alone.
But then a link came up on my screen. A Facebook page. I didn’t even bother setting one of those up. I knew I’d get no friends, so what was the point. But curiosity got the best of me and I clicked the link.
And there she was.
Furiously, I typed back to the genie. *HAHAHA, that’s really funny. What is this? What kind of stupid joke is this. Who is this? Who made this stupid program and why would you even do this to me? What did I ever do to you. I don’t do anything to anyone ever, why make fun of me like this. Sure, yeah, I’m going to marry her. Screw you.*
I blinked back tears and cursed. Why would I even fall for something this stupid. Why would I have invested so much feeling into some stupid program. I was an idiot and deserved to be ridiculed.
And the computer beeped. A response.
*Reach up.*
Instinctively, I did. And that’s when I felt the hat again. That stupid hat.
I just sat there. Trying to understand.
*So…you’re telling me the truth? I’m going to marry her?*
*Yes.*
*Genie…she’s beautiful. Painfully gorgeous. Genie, there’s no way. That’s just…it’s cruel to do that to me. I told you how alone I felt and how I feared there was no one out there for me, and then you show me the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen and…*
*Do you have another wish?*
|
"Hello there, my name is Andrésssss," he said, rolling out the 's' with his smooth Latin-American accent. A short, dark man, he wore a goatee like a swordfighter and a cleanly pressed purple shirt.
James could say nothing, only blink repeatedly, before sputtering out, "B-b-b-but... what?"
"Oh Himmy, you are jus so cute! How ole are you, chico? Mmm I coul jus gobble you up!"
"I asked for my wife! Who are you?"
"I tolllll you, seely. I am Andrés! Oh you don know me yet, hahnee. We meet in Cabo. You grow up to be quite de hansum young man, Himmy."
"You???"
"Well I am not a wife, seely. We can boff be husssbands, you know." Andrés rolled his eyes and bobbled his head like a Latin diva.
"I'm not gay!" cried James. "That's... that's gross!"
"Oh well haff you been wit a girl Himmy?"
"No... well, I--"
"Den DON gimme dat sass, Himmy. I don need to hear it. You be a good little boy and you grow up soon, ok? I am waiting for you Himmy. You are just a niño now so don be so clost minded, ok sweety?"
Smoke began to rise from his feet, and his image grew transparent from the bottom up.
"Oh and one more thing, Himmy... make sure to practice your Spanish." With a wink, and a puff of smoke, Andrés was gone.
James looked at the ground where he had stood. Then he dropped down to his haunches, placing his face in his hands.
"God... damnit."
| 2014-06-05T08:42:01 | 2014-06-05T07:40:47 | 170 | 13 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :)
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Edit: Thank you all for the kind words. There's now a part 2 in the comments from the perspective of humanity.
The planet designated as YS-974 3rd was chosen to give the council a foothold in this section of the galaxy. No single world government, no intergalactic capacity, with high pollution in the calculated known habitable portions. The short lifespans of barely 10 Intergalactic Cycles for their oldest specimens would make the inhabitants good fodder for experiments and dangerous work.
The initial invasion was standard procedure of identify the third largest continent then attack a centralized settlement. The spotty intelligence was based on long distance preliminary scans of the geography and climate. Using more valuable resources was unnecessary for such an underdeveloped world. This spotty intelligence returned information on the largest and most powerful countries indicating that the continent referred to as "North America" would be the best for initial invasion since it was dominated by only 3 primary countries. The target was decided, a frontier settlement called "Bismark" in a terribly inhospitable part of the continent. Based on telemetry, it was going to be tolerable at 292 degrees, so forces would have to move quickly to secure a foothold closer to the planet's equator before winter set in.
10,000 allied forces from 150 ships landed just outside the settlement and quickly attacked. The first volley killed hundreds of what are now called "earthlings". They were shocked and disabled with fear as we reloaded our weapons for the second volley. This settlement would fall by the end of this planet's day and serve as a central staging point for dominating the third largest continent on this mostly inhospitable planet.
That's when things stopped going to plan. As the smoke from the first volley subsided, the generals realized this was not a temporary summer settlement, but an established and thriving city. Individual earthlings began firing small arms that were un-explainable on Alliance lines. Uniformed and armed forces began to respond in minutes with larger more deadly weapons and allied losses began to mount. Within hours, even greater forces from the air unleashed ever more terrifying weaponry, and a full retreat was sounded. A full retreat had never once been sounded for Alliance warriors, and the confusion over what to do lead to even greater losses. Of the initial force, only 2,500 survived and escaped on 80 of the initial ships. The worst losses the alliance had ever experienced prior was 8% for an entire war.
Allied command decided swift action was necessary. A force of 1 million was being prepared, in the unprecedented time span of a single intergalactic cycle. The "earthlings" were considered a grave threat and were to be eradicated. However, allied command did not expect the earthlings to strike back before the force was completely assembled. What was considered to be an unprecedented build up of military might was over-shadowed because the earthlings had unified their governments, mastered the Faster Than Light drives on the abandoned ships, armed them with more unheard of weapons, and began attacking the outer colonies. One colony after another fell to the earthlings, and the galaxy learned a new phrase -
Warpath.
Ten Cycles Later
The alliance has learned that YS-974 3rd, now called "Earth", did not follow the standard model of unified government, civilization, FTL, weaponry. The earthlings had started with weaponry, then established civilization, and had never established a unified government until the alliance failed spectacularly at invasion. Then they gained FTL from the failed invasion. In ten cycles the earthlings had attacked and destroyed 15% of allied military installations, taking territory that the alliance spent 100 cycles conquering. Then the earthlings just stopped advancing. Alliance spies that had spent the last 10 cycles training, half the time of their normal training due to the urgency of the situation, were sent to the conquered worlds to gather information, and the information that returned was confusing at best.
The earthlings were only attacking military bases and as such civilian casualties were at a minimum. This un-fathomed tactic allowed them to move from installation to installation with such speed defense protocols could not be carried out. They built fleets of impossibly large, interstellar ships that were equipped with massive weapons of their own, something that left the earthlings with a terrifying advantage in space as more than one assault group had been annihilated before even reaching the planet they were to attack. They had terrifying shock troops, called Marine Mobile Infantry, that would lead many initial attacks causing destruction and devastation in their path, and after that a larger army would occupy the area and do something none of the allied warriors would ever think of. They would build places called hospitals to treat the wounds of everyone, alliance and earthling, and these places could return soldiers to combat from mortal wounds after no more than a few days of healing. Alliance Warriors that had been treated and sent home with others said this was called "humanitarian efforts". The spies also learned of other agencies, like the KGB and CIA, that would gather information for the earthlings through a variety of unspeakable means. It is now suspected that they have infiltrated the entire allied government, but none can prove those theories as the earthlings have been impossible to detect and seem capable of breaking into every advanced system that has been developed.
Adding insult to injury, Alliance cut warrior training back to a single intergalactic cycle, and these warriors stood no chance against forces that intelligence revealed were in the military for less than half a cycle. That same intelligence showed that a long career, entitling and earthling to full "retirement", was only 2 cycles, 4 at most for their longest serving military officers. The earthlings could, and already did, field an entire new military in the same amount of time it took the Alliance to finish what was now called basic training. This is clearly a species bred for war and destruction the likes of which the galaxy could not survive against. Even in these ten cycles, where the alliance has reverse engineered some captured weapons, the earthlings have advanced their weapons further, making their own equipment obsolete. There are still rumors that they have not even used their most devastating weapons. Surrender was being considered, but that would take at least 5 cycles to be ratified by the whole alliance.
One Cycle Later
The alliance soon discovered that the earthlings could survive anywhere on their planet, from the hottest desserts at 327 degrees to the coldest pole at 183 degrees. They built and thrived everywhere. Many of their colony installations were built in such extreme environments that it prevented retaliation attacks since Alliance troops could not endure the extreme heat and cold. It was clear they knew how to press every advantage they held, and they would field experimental equipment with no regard to their own safety. A truly reckless and dangerous species willing to destroy itself for victory.
The entire Alliance had begun to crumble as the member planets' economies were unable to support the continued war effort. The earthlings once again went on the warpath and had destroyed another 20% of the Alliance military. Desertion, a new word and unheard of before in the Alliance, continued to empty the ranks. Recruits began to flee from conscription and installations would surrender without instruction as the earthlings began to announce their next targets. Installations fell without firing any weapons. Fear and terror were the earthling's primary weapon now.
The next insult was that the earthlings began to educate all of the planets they seized. Former alliance civilians would volunteer for the earthling military. Alliance spies said this was due to earthling propaganda about freedom from tyranny and having a say in their own destiny. More and more species are believing the earthlings to be liberators.
Soon the Alliance won't have a choice or a debate in surrendering. The Alliance will simply collapse in the dawn of the earthlings dominating this galaxy.
Edits: Fixed wording and punctuation throughout.
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"Hello there. You are a human...or Xogloytian, I assume. As you all know, We Xogloytians have been your friends for a few years. I, X-42, a former military squad leader, Has been authorized to give a personal narration of my own of the war here on this system The Internet"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Our squad has been tasked on invading the portion of the planet they call "America." Intel has reported that this area is heavily armed and has advanced weaponry. I laughed upon hearing the word "advanced". These creatures can barely reach the end of their solar system! So what are the chances of their weaponry being advanced?
Our squad has arrived on our destination. We didn't hesitate. Upon exiting our ship, we killed every human our eyes can see. They were absolutely helpless. They can only run.
All was going well, Until an elite force called the "police" came. They tried negotiating with us and said they don't want violence. But we just shot them.
What happened next was surprising. They fired some sort of Musket at us, but smaller... and deadlier. One of my squad mates have been heavily injured just by one hit. They were extremely accurate as well: They managed to kill some of us in just one shot.
We called in support. Immediately, reinforcements came. But the humans had reinforcements as well. After barely escaping the police, we head to the place where the reinforcements shall arrive. But, as we approach the reinforcements, we were ambushed by the "Military". They were extremely aggressive. And, their weapons are horrifyingly powerful. Their muskets shoot a hundred bullets or more in a minute. We managed to hold out against them, Then their own aircraft arrived. Those aircraft dropped oval-shaped metal balls on us. And they caused EXTREME damage to us. One of those metal balls just performed an "explosion". A technology our race hasn't mastered.
We grabbed a vehicle and started driving away. We requested immediate extraction. But even more aircraft arrived. They sprayed us with tiny little metal bits (they call it bullets) Our vehicle has been heavily damaged. Then our path was blocked by a monstrous metallic vehicle. It was slow. But when it shot its cannon -- Our vehicle was destroyed in the blink of an eye. (they call this a tank)
We were surrounded by soldiers. We underestimated this race. Their weapons are far more advanced than ours. Then I realized the others have suffered the same fate. Everyone else was either killed or trapped. The humans threatened us:
We either leave alive, Or stay and get nuked.
I shivered at the word "nuke". They have mastered nuclear energy, And has weaponized it. One nuke could destroy our entire planet. And so our leader begged for mercy and made an offer: We will give them our intergalactic travel technology in exchange for their weaponry knowledge. All this without killing each other.
Their leaders have accepted this offer. And after that, things were pleasant. After every leader accepted the offer, the war ended. And peace ensued.
Edit: This was rushed -- So I didn't have time to think some of the stuff through. Thx for the feedback tho!
| 2017-08-08T08:06:30 | 2017-08-08T05:31:18 | 747 | 69 |
[WP] You have existed since the dawn of humanity. In a way, at least. Once a simple tribesman, you were cursed so that whenever you are killed by another person, you leave your dead body and become your killer. You fear death by natural causes, as that will end your life for good.
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I had always found it funny, I thought, waking up covered in blood as always, how this curse looked at the final cause of my death as to whose body I would next enter. Was I the person who had smashed a bottle over my head and filled my old body with knife wounds? No, I was the doctor who had missed the budding aneurysm which led to my death. That was fine by me, sure I *had* liked my old body but hey, I guess this is an upgrade?
I had been worried I'd end up poor again, thats always been a shit show of a time since currency had become so important. Oh fuck, I realize I'm still at the hospital, sometimes the jumps take a while to kick in. Luckily I appear to be done with the surgery that killed me. I take stock of my surrounds; luckily it looks like I'm in an office and I'm not sharing it with anyone this time. I pull out my body's wallet, this....Beth Winchard doesn't, or rather didn't have it bad. Luxurious office, but wait, an office? That doesn't account for the blood.
"Oh" I gasp, seeing a doctors bloody beaten body pressed into a closet.
Shit, fuck, I guess someone who's not a doctor killed me. Great, love when I end up in these predicaments. I take a moment to curse the person whod put me here in the first place, just ONCE I'd like to have a body of my own for more than a few years. Hopefully no one is expecting Beth or that doctors to be anywhere soon. The lights shut off, I panic worrying someone is about to take me into custody, NOT a fun time. The emergency power flips on and the room is bathed in a dim, warm, red light. Relief washes over me when I look outside and notice the torrential downpour. I must have been deadish longer than I thought.
"A storm must have knocked out the power," I reason, "good, this will give me more time to haul ass."
I pat down my pockets too see how much cash this body has. Ah! She even has a cell phone! Oh yeah, most people do now. By far the easiest invention for when you need to assume someone's identity. Fingerprint unlocks are a godsend. Hmm, nothing of note or too helpful, she does have $42. Eh, worst come to worst I can stop by a safehouse. I rifle through the doctors pockets and desk, finding an additional $200, a pretty nice watch which is lucky because this body didn't have one, and a few nice pens.
Lit by the emergency lights, I make my way to the rooms exit. I calmly make my way to the stairs, luckily hospitals don't seem to mind or at the very least care that my hands, arms, and body are splattered in blood. Scrubs are a godsend. Luckily no one was using the stairwell, elevators do make going up and down much easier, I keep forgetting about them. Hmm, no one is in the lobby. Thats fine by me.
I soon see why, the storm has further increased in size and volume. Its whipping tress around outside like a child angry with his toys. Shit fuck shit, guess I'll find a place to hide here while...My train of thought is interrupted by the sounds of a blood curdling scream from a few floors up. Shit, they probably found the dead doctor. Guess I have no choice if I want to keep a body for once.
I run out into the storm, careful to stay close to the hospital and under the overhand to avoid being swept up. I see a group of people burst out of the hospital, security by the way they hold themselves. I dive into a bush, and wait, fuck, I'm starting to freeze, damn tiny female body with bad circulation. I see one of the guards pass my spot. Unfortunately he doesn't appear to have any lethal weaponry, fuck. No suicide by cop for me. Thats fine, I've been a cop too many times, those bodies never seem to last long anyways and I often end up in much worse situations after the fact.
Several minutes after he passes I make a sprint for it. I can barely feel my feet and this fucking petite body makes it impossible to run properly. I barely make it a few hundred meters away from the hospital, into the flat parking lot when a bolt of lightning strikes me.
I groan, feeling the vocalization of my pain rumble throughout my entire body. Wait...my body? I hadn't been killed by another person. I try to look around but can't properly see myself, or anything for that matter. Did a blind person kill me? No, that wouldn't account for the fact I can feel that I'm in motion even though I'm not moving. It wouldn't account for the feeling of little lightning strikes still coursing through my body. Maybe im unconscious? But that wouldn't explain this strange, *different* feeling of consciousness I'm experiencing. I probe my body with my mind and notice a gaping hole in the middle of my strange body. No. No. Its not a hole, its more just an empty....center. As if my body was formed *around* the hole.
I'm stunned as I realize what happened. Id taken care to never be killed by a nonhuman because I had thought that would break the cycle. I laugh, I feel it boom through my body. My sight is still there! Just different, its combined with my sense of touch similar to how smell and taste are, or well, used to be. I begin laughing more, I can feel more lightning being produced. FINALLY a body that won't be taken from me! Who could kill a storm after all? I cackle as I feel my perfect gargantuan vessel inexorably march on. This is going to be FUN.
|
It happened againg I am now my killer,I am an old man at least 89.I pissed off a mental patient.Honestly I am not sure what I will do now because I even though I have lived for millions of years I don't know how to get out of a mental asylum,also I have the body of a frail old man.The first time I discovered my curse I was an ape,you know an ancestor,I was the next up to be the leader of my tribe but my brother was jealous so he killed me with a spear and I became my brother,so i literally know what Stone hedge was used for,if you watched the good place they said it was a weird sex thing,it was a weird sex thing.Anyway I don't know if I should be scared of natural causes I have just been pissing people off all the time and then they murdered me,when I got to old that is.Now I am in a straight jacket and there are guards everywhere.Maybe I should just except death.
| 2021-01-28T15:57:26 | 2021-01-28T15:16:07 | 162 | 21 |
[WP]You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.
Inspired by *The Merchant Adventurer*, by Patrick E. McLean.
EDIT: Wow, thanks everyone that contributed! The awesome Patrick E. McLean (/u/patrickemclean) stopped by, gave a snippet from his book in a comment, and even gave us a link to listen to *The Merchant Adventurer* as an audiobook:
>Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/
|
**The Dragonborn Comes, or The Tale of Self-Awareness**
I always imagined that the day I'd shut up shop, one of those renowned adventurers would walk in with something real special. A gemstone as big as my fist with an evil sorcerer’s soul trapped inside, maybe. A golden crown forged with dragon’s fire, perhaps. As it turned out, the day I shut my little wayside place down, only the most ordinary of things turned up.
I was standing, as I always do, behind my counter, trying my best to be as jovial as possible. I find having a little something-something in your drink help after 20 years on the job, but don’t tell my wife that.
In walks a forlorn, bedraggled soul, clad in those rags they give you at the prison down the road, so already I know this day’s off to an *excellent* start.
“What have you got for sale?” the poor wretch asks, fumbling in his robe for what I imagine will be an iron dagger.
"Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that," I say as brightly as I can muster.
He grins eagerly and with all the care of a new mother, lays down his prize on the polished wood of the counter. It’s an iron dagger.
Holding back my inward sigh, I smile encouragingly. “Never seen one of those before!” I quip.
“I’m the Dragonborn!” the guy says, eyes glittering brightly.
I nod, sensing that not all the dwemer cogs are turning in this one’s noggin.
“…I see. I’ll *definitely* have to have this piece then!”
I buy the poor sod’s iron dagger for a few paltry gold and he sprints out, looking happy as larry. These types always come in here with some battered relic and I humour them. They’re never normally quite that batty, to be fair. But business has been slow with all these bloody great big dragons flying around. I mean, I’m all for dragon-forged weapons, but the whole point is that they’re worth a centime because we’re no longer plagued by the clumsy pests. Honestly, the amount of leftover guard I’ve had to scrape off my front porch because the stupid sod’s tried taking down a dragon with an arrow…
The door creaks open again, and another sorry looking individual creeps in. He’s crouching oddly and moving at the pace of a snail. I wait, patience thinning, as he slowly makes his way to the counter.
“What have you got for sale?” he says after liberally scanning the store with his eyes.
I take as deep a breath as I can without being obvious, slap on a smile and reply, “Some may call this junk. Me, I call them treasures!”
He merely nods and rummages in his sad-looking robes, pulling out a dagger. Gods alive, why do I have to suffer these idiots? I wonder. As I’m giving him his gold, he leans in conspiratorially. “I’m the Dragonborn,” he whispers. I muster up a confused smile and send him on his way. Two crazies in the same day… must be getting tougher with the torture down at the prison, I think to myself. Little did I know how wrong I was.
No sooner have I dispensed with that ragged wretch than another one walks in. “Let me guess, the Dragonborn?” I joke, but he turns to me with eyes as big as saucers. “How did you know?!” he gasps. “…Lucky guess?” I reply. “Don’t suppose you’ve got an iron dagger on your person you’re looking to sell?” I add with a slight wince. Lo and behold he has a rusted iron dagger on his person. Well, blow me down and call me Emperor Titus!
By this point I’m getting annoyed. For the gods’ sake, I actually want to *sell* here, not just buy worthless old junk off people who smell worse than the local pub. If it weren’t for the law of the land stipulating that we have to give these blighted fellows a chance, I’d be kicking them out.
And so the rest of the day goes.
“What have you got for sale?” “A little bit of this, a little bit of that.” “I’m the Dragonborn!” “Mmhmm, here’s your gold.”
“What have you got for sale?” “Take a look.” “I’m the Dragonborn!” “Good for you mate. Here’s your gold.”
And so on. I don’t know when it finally gets to me, but something in me just snapped. After the twentieth beggar or so with a bloody iron dagger saunters in, I’m praying to whichever god will listen that they’re not the ruddy Dragonborn.
“What have you got for sale?”
I clench my jaw. “Take a bloody look. It’s all here.” He looks a little startled at my lack of welcome, but this doesn’t put him off. He reaches into his robe. My eyes narrow. As if in slow motion, his hand emerges with the hilt of a dagger between his fingers. My nostrils flare, and my vision tunnels. As he lays the dagger on the counter, he beams up at me with an innocent smile.
“I’m the Dragonborn,” he says.
At this point I lose it. I snatch the dagger, run to the door, fling it open and scramble to the middle of the town street, screaming blue murder at the sky. Not that anyone bloody notices. The little orphans continue to play tag, the mercenaries continue to swagger, the guards still puff up with Empire pride. I’m stood there, chest heaving and tears in my eyes, when one of the buggers who tormented me walks up to me and stares intently at me as if I’m supposed to say something. Jim the Imperial Guard, the bluntest tool in a box full of rocks, sees this and leans in.
“I used to be an adventurer like you,” he says to Dragonborn guy number whatever. He pauses for effect. “Then I took an arrow in the knee.”
“I’m the Dragonborn,” the bastard replies.
And that’s how I ended up here, in the prison just down the road. I shouldn’t have stabbed that Dragonborn guy, I know that now. But at least my days as an obsequious merchant are over.
|
"Please, good sir, I'm going to pick it back up,"
the hero said as he tried to pawn a cup.
---
I will admit, the gold cup was quite nice,
but it wasn't worth the man's asking price.
---
He said he found it in some dark, doomy cave,
filled with foul demons he killed with a glaive.
---
Stories don't sell like you'd think that they would,
so running a business on tales is not good.
---
"You're asking too much," I said cautiously,
for the hero was much larger than me,
---
and his glaive shined as it hung at his hip,
still flecked with black demon blood at each tip.
---
"You'll have to come down if you want me to buy,"
I told him, as I saw despair in his eye.
---
"It's worth it! I took it from the demon horde
after slaying their great child-eating lord!
---
Isn't that something? Don't you want to help?
I don't see you out there fighting, you whelp!"
---
His words stung me soundly, for what he said's true.
I entered the fray only once, and I flew.
---
I'll bear the shame with me as long as I live,
so I decided to give incentive
---
to keep up his fight, and strengthen his arm,
I'd accept the loss, though my business it'd harm,
---
and so I gave him what he asked for the piece,
and hoped his crusade against darkness won't cease.
| 2016-10-16T10:46:24 | 2016-10-16T09:30:21 | 50 | 24 |
[WP] The submarine had run out of power and was now dead underwater. Slowly, you watched your crew mates die of starvation but for some reason you didn’t die, you survived months and years on end in a dead submarine. Fast forward 75 years and your submarine is found.
|
The depth charge hit our ballast tanks. We leaned hard to starboard, and then just sat there. Captain Wolford ordered a status report, and gradually, our heads racked with pain, we pieced together our crooked world.
We hung dead in the water at 150 meters. The starboard tanks were flooded, but the port tanks hung on. Engines were dead. Radio was conceivably working, but only if we surfaced. Three lights worked in the main control room.
In the darkness I reported to the captain.
“How bad are we?”
“Well, sir, it’s rough, but there is good news. Would you like me to start with that?”
He fumbled around in the dark, looking for a light I imagine, and grumbled “yes.”
“We have but few casualties. Our port ballast tanks are holding. We’re not sinking and no major *interior* leaks are reported on any decks. Our radio appears functional, if we can surface to use it, and the destroyer has been quiet. Possibly left us for dead.”
“I can imagine why...” he grumbled. He found his light.
“As for the damage, we-“ he flicked his light on and pointed it as me.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, number one! Are you okay!?”
“My head hurts, but I think I-“ i reached upward to the place he was looking. I began to actually feel the sting when he grabbed my hand.
“Don’t touch it! I’ll get the doc. Ensign! Get the doctor up here, yesterday!”
“Aye, sir!”
“Am I bad sir? Am I-“
“I’m not sure. It might not be as bad as it looks. Have a seat.”
I leaned back, resting on a console sitting at about a 45 degrees. I did feel dizzy. My senses waned and a throbbing pain set in.
The doctor was not much help. Him and the captain murmured a little to each other, covered it in a bandage, and gave me morphine for when I was ready to sleep. But I was not ready to sleep, there was work to be done.
First we had to track and pack the small leaks. They’d ruin any electronics and make it miserable to work in. Plus, the Atlantic waters were bone-chilling cold.
We worked on the engines as best we could for two days, we might be able to get the water out of the right side and push us up.
But it was no good.
We contemplated a new method of pumping out the water. But the manual pumps could not keep up with the massive leaks in the hull. It was a futile mission that left one sailor with a broken arm.
But worse for me was my crew stopped speaking to me. In my mind I was the same man they joked with at the start of the mission, but now they couldn’t look me in the eye. My one good eye that is. I lost vision in my right eye after about 36 hours. They tried to help me, I think. Wouldnt let me see a mirror, made sure I slept and had water. But by the third day I stopped taking food and water from the men, because we all knew I was a gonner. We just knew it.
But in the end the engine could not be repaired, the ballast tank could not be raised, and we were still sitting buoyant at 150m below the surface.
After refusing breakfast on the fourth day, I asked the staff if simply trying to swim to the surface was an option. Maybe we could inflate the life rafts upside down and ride the bubble to the surface. If 1/3 of us made it, that was better than 0/3.
“The pressure alone would kill us. We wouldn’t get out of the boat to begin with.” Said the doctor, with an odd glance at me.
“We may be out of options.”
“Headquarters knows our last position, and its possible we havent moved far. Help could be coming.”
“Help’s not coming! Sir, the Atlantic is a maze of torpedoes and lost ships. We’re one of hundreds lost to the sea! They will never find us.”
“Hush! The crew will hear you.”
“They should hear me. What are our other options!?”
“It is a false hope. Opening the hatch at our pressures... we will die. All of us.”
Almost all of us. One by one we lost crew members. The injured first. Then those with illnesses. Then we started to starve. The air lasted longer than we thought. We put the dead in the torpedo bay. 6 people attempted to escape through the hatch at the bow. We didn’t stop them. If they got out, maybe they could get help. But we all knew none survived to the surface.
The rest of us waited. Knowing out last step was death. We wrote letters. We drew pictures. We sang our favorite songs with our final breaths. Until at last there were three of us.
“Commander...” started a younger sailor, “we thought you’d be first. But now, it’s you, me, and the captain.”
A gunshot echoed from the captain’s quarters.
“I guess it’s you and me.”
“How? I havent eaten in a week. I haven’t drank in three. By rights, I should be in the flooded torpedo bay.”
“That’s what we thought. But I guess you’re here. And here you’ll be. If you... if you survive. Will you deliver... our letters?” Breathing was hard now. The air had little oxygen. Our spares were all used up.
“Of course. But will you do one thing for me? Will you hold up a mirror? And a flashlight?”
“Sir... you don’t want... to see it. It’s better left... a mystery.”
Those were his last words. I thought about shooting myself with the captain’s gun. But drifting to sleep with the young sailor sounded better. I decided to let it come naturally.
But sleep didn’t come. Not even twice the morphine would end it. But Something did change.
I ended. I think. Like a sleep paralysis dream, awake in the dark, but uncertain what was real. Time passed strangely. I became one with my chair, gradually losing all sensation. I heard voices in the dark, but after a time I could not even turn my head to look. I was not sure if I could still see. There were no more lights.
I was terrified for so long, and then at some point I was comfortable.
Until all at once, the belly of the boat began to growl. *She’s finally sinking,* I thought. But the opposite. The walls began popping. The creaks and groans became louder and louder. Once more- light.
The top hatch opened. Footsteps came down from above. I no longer remembered much of the time before. Who my enemy had been. But these figured matched nothing I’d ever recollected. They were clothed in white. Their eyes seemed to be light. But their voices, at least, were human.
“There you are. See? Right where I told you.”
“But what is, doctor? That’s not a person that’s a-“
“Don’t be rude, Cathy. The man hasnt exactly been able to take care of his appearance in some time. But he’s still in there.”
*”Who... are you people?”*
“Holy sh— Doctor White it- it just spoke.”
“Of course he did. Commander, I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier. You see I was only told about you a few years ago. And we still had to find you. We’ll get you out of there. As for me? Well as Cathy so kindly mentioned I’m Doctor White. I work for a Foundation that... collects things of a certain nature. Keeps them safe. Studies them. You, evidently, are not just a thing of a certain nature yourself, you’re something we need.”
*”Something you... Need?”*
“Yes, my dear commander. Your side may have lost the war, but your service hasnt ended. Welcome to the Foundation. And mind your head, please. We need the rest of it.”
|
"I-I dunno, maybe I'm really just hallucinating", I stuttered and took a step back from the perfectly round windows of the submarine that just started letting light trough them after what must have been half of an eternity.
"Nah bro, I think it's real", muttered Spots and took his turn on pressing his slightly wet nose against the thick glass. To be clear, I don't know if this is Spots real name, but after some years realizing I was arguing with a cat that resembled Garfield in way to many points, I just gave up on believing I could find some actual real company down here after Nicolas and the Captain were the last I have spoken to before they went to sleep forever.
I noticed I was trembeling nervously. It's been forever that I spoke to someone else than Spots and the other things I began too see after the last human was gone, so how was I supposed to react? Man, I can't even say how long I have been imprisoned in this watery grave.
"Must have been just about 75 years if you ask me, so you'll do fine around the others", Spots meowed into my thoughts and after wondering how he could read my thoughts so correctly again, I felt that the submarine hit some ground, therefore stopped being dragged out of the water.
I looked out of the windows again, but I couldn't see more than the ocean, doing what it always does. And I pinched my eyes together in scepticism. Whatever that cat says, this is weird.
Suddenly, I heard something rumbling in the direction of the hatch and did not hesitate to dart trough the hallway into this exact direction.
"Whatever awaits me out there after all this time, it's still better than being stuck in here", I explained to Spots, who just started to purr in excitement while sprinting alongside me to the exit.
Skidding I came to a halt. The hatch had already been opened and I saw a young man with dark brown hair gaze down the hallway, exactly in my direction. I froze. Suddenly, I felt anxiety. My first real contact since the incident was just standing about 10 meters away from me.
And he was looking at me with something that seems to be pure disbelief, but he didn't hesitate and started walking towards me.
"Finally...", he laughed an got faster, while I was starting to form a shy grin, too.
Then, he walked right through me.
"It is as I thought, we found the Milliander II! This will be a blast for these old sods back at home!", he finally screamed full of joy and punched his flat hand against the door behind me where he could see the Captain's closet.
Needless to say, I was in a state of shock. He simply walked through me.
"Shouldn't surprise you", I heard a distant voice coming from the hatch.
Still befuddled I sneaked to the exit and looked up. It was Spots, who somehow managed to get up the ladder and looked down at me with a mischievous grin.
"Is he... a ghost?", I asked frightened and felt tears trembling in my eyes.
"No, stupid. You are", Spots answered. "Now come up. We can finally get out."
| 2019-11-11T04:42:50 | 2019-11-11T00:03:50 | 2,695 | 685 |
[WP] You were first born in 1920 and then died two decades later. You have been born again in 1941 with all your memories from before. This goes on without telling anybody your ability. It is now 2001 and you decide to start a speed run.
|
The tutorial phase is the hardest. At least that was what I called it.
Games. Video games. I remember when they started to come to the forefront. No. Not pong or that other early stuff. I am talking about the early side-scrollers. Your donkey-kong and mega-man. How each level got progressively more challenging.
I don't remember my birth. No matter the inexplicable nature of my ability, biology could never be altered. My brain was still flesh, capable of only the most insignificant of tasks. Coos and cries. The tightening of my infantile fist around my fathers pinky. To suckle on my mothers teet.
I hit the jackpot this time. A royal mansion unlike any other. My parents were always preoccupied and too busy to take care of me; the maid was more of a parent to me than the two combined. It was better this way. It was all temporary. Twenty years. Didn't matter if it was due to the war or a disease or an accident. My time was always limited to just two decades, and I had until the day before my twenty-first birthday to achieve something.
The early years were the hardest part.
"Jack! Behave!" I suddenly turned to my mother. Did she call me Jack? But that wasn't my name. It was Eustace. Or was it Jeremiah? Or... wait. That women wasn't my mother. My mother was... I couldn't remember.
My memories were always fragmented. They came to me as broken pieces that fixed themselves. That was why I struggled to speed run the game of life when I was already handicapped early on. Not like I could do much anyway. My brain was too underdeveloped with the inability for spatial awareness and object permanence to have the logical ability to learn anything.
I would always think the memories were signs that I was losing my mind. I would tell my parents and Jessica, my caretaker, about these memories from a past life. "Such a wild imagination." Was their only response. And I frowned.
As the years went by and the pieces of the puzzles began to put themselves together, so too did I remember of the many people I used to be.
I was nine when most of my memories resurfaced. I became studious, studying day in and day out. My parents seemed too preoccupied to care about my performance in school. Or perhaps they simply expected it and saw it as the bare minimum. Regardless. Mother kept to herself and father remained in his study most of the time.
At the age of twelve. I was a part of Mensa. My parents enrolled me in a school for the gifted and the world praised me for my genius. I still was unsure of what I would focus all my learning on. Even with an entire lifetime, I was already aware that I would never be able to scratch the surface of whatever field I wanted to dominate. Even less so with only twenty.
I graduated highschool and enrolled in a university at the age of fourteen. My parents had taken more interest with me over the years as they realised how little time they spent me.
They always thought that my callous and direct nature was just a phase. That I would grow up to be like other children. Yet the years spent only learning in a room with diligence and my lack of friends began to alarm them. They thought it was their fault. Not enough love turning me into a mindless robot.
"He's just different! He is happy this way!" I liked Jessica. If nothing else, she accepted that this was my nature. And she had more to say about me than my actual mother -- or one in a string.
My parents took me a therapist, and I scolded them for it. Six more years were left, and I had very little time to speed run through it.
"I believe your son may have autism. But not just regular autism. I believe it to be savant syndrome."
"Is that bad, doctor?"
"Well. That is a tricky question to answer. He shows the symptoms of someone with autism. Poor social skills, prefers to be alone, doesn't understand social cues, can be abrupt and direct, fascination with numbers and showing obsession over things. Yet savant syndrome is a particularly rare phenomenon where the person or child in question displays remarkable abilities that seem superhuman. In the case of your son. He shows remarkable skill with numbers and logic. Plus his memory is impeccable."
What a waste that visit was. My parents didn't care how gifted I was. They wanted me cured. I preferred it when they would just let me be.
I kept to my room for the most part since then, coming out only when nature called and food was needed.
I finished my bachelor in biology in just a years time. Moving towards a master degree in genetics.
Most of my memories had returned to me at this point, but not all. My later years still lingered, showing insignificant details of my previous lives that were fragmented and of little import.
It wasn't until my sixteenth birthday when things began to become strange. Pieces of memories from my previous life that I could not explain.
Jessica was let go. I believe my parents blamed her for how I turned out. Even though I knew she was more of a parent than they ever were. Perhaps that is why they fired her. They were jealous of her. Blaming her for our strained relationship.
It didn't matter. Seeing my parents within the vast and lonely mansion was a rare event. And spoken words were even rarer still.
I stared out the window, deep in thought. I had very little time to finish my goal and my masters was about to finish. It certainly wasn't time to slow down. But the closer I came to my final day, the more I began to simply stare out onto the world and wish I had more time.
I was seventeen when I started my PhD. It didn't matter. My contribution to genetics had already been paramount for the advancement of the world. Yet why did I feel so empty?
I tried to look back through my memories of old times and wonder why I even wanted to speed run the whole thing. Looking back, the whole endeavour seemed as nothing more than a grulling task. What point was there in my final success if I couldn't live to enjoy it?
I would die in time, and awaken in another body and learn about Jack and his contributions to science. Read about myself in class and think all the while how nobody would ever know that it was me.
Nightmares began to invade my dreams. The final remaining puzzles of my memories were jagged and contorted things. Fitting together violently.
As I neared my eighteenth birthday, I began to recall the most important aspects of my previous life. The truth to my ability and a way to stop it.
I was being hunted. Someone knew of my gift, and they were trailing my births. Studying me.
I remembered. Clues. Wild and fevered scribbles on parchment hidden under floorboards and crevices all around the worlds. Clues that only I could find.
I trembled. The memories were fresh. New. Unlike any I had lived in my previous lives.
Were they true? Fear filled me. They knew of what I was. And yet, I was also excited. Because somewhere in those fragmented and crude memories, was evidence that I could find a way to live past my time-limit.
I could live a full life indefinitely.
A smile formed on my lips as I jumped from my bed and ran through the dark hallway of my home. I needed water.
Yet I never made it, simply feeling the press of a needle sink its teeth into my flesh and darkness followed, swallowing me whole.
They found me.
***
#/r/KikiWrites
|
I thought it was the end. The polio had won the war, and my last breath was a weak one. As i descended into darkness, I woke up into the light.
My body felt fresh and new. It finally clicked when I looked at myself in the mirror when I was 4. I believed it was a new chance. That was, until my heart stopped beating once again in a car crash.
I woke up once more. I realized that I would continue to wake up in a new body and I decided a game would lessen the bore of immortality. I planned the future lifetime and it became my new little hobby. It was the perfect challenge. I wanted to become the youngest person to be a billionaire.
As my plans were completed, I began to plan my death. It felt wrong, planning this out. For everyone else, this was a one time chance and I was abusing the system. I continued with it though, as the thrill of the next lifetime motivated me.
When I woke for the third time, I took advantage of every opportunity, as I did with my ability. I quickly followed the plan and luck was on my side. My fortune rose and I soon achieved my goal.
My name was in the news. The fame felt good but did not last long. I felt my life had no more direction after this. I needed something more, and quitting this life wasn't an option for me anymore.
In my descent, I began to browse the internet for reports of my golden age. I looked at the articles written about my young fortune. One of them caught my eye, unlike the others.
The title read "Youngest Man to reach millionaire status since 1919." I realized that was the year after I was born for the first time. Then it clicked.
He died of a head injury, causing him to lose his memories. All of them. He looked similar to me, as my other pasts have. It all made sense. I was not born in 1920 like I first thought. Ive been alive for who knows how long.
It took me a long time to think about my past decisions. At first, i wanted to end it all, like in 1919. It was pointless for me to go on, and I could start all over. But in the end, I chose to continue on. I wouldve ended in the same past. Old habits die hard.
Maybe, with all this time, ill be able to find out why I havent died. Its still a mystery, but maybe I just needed to learn this lesson. Ill see, in my next lifetime.
| 2018-06-02T02:26:46 | 2018-06-01T21:58:09 | 138 | 21 |
[WP] Technically humans are not part of the galactic congregation, they just kind of showed up one day carrying a folding chair, sat down, and starting participating in the proceedings.
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“Who the hell is that?” asked the Galactic Ambassador of Tau Ceti.
“Which one? The tall one or the plasma one?” Questioned his college from neighboring YZ Ceti.
“No no. The pink ones over there. With the two legs and arms and whatever the hell that is on top. Some kind of fungous?!” spoke the Tau Ceti member with growing concern and curiosity.
“Oh yeah. Never seen them before. No new member listed on the roster?! Wait…what are they doing?” The YZ Ceti member stopped to question. As they watched a human casually push aside a couple chairs in the Majority leaders ring, plop down a polished brass named plate, and promptly commandeering the seat of the Eridanus Ambassador who was now left standing in confusion about what was happening.
“Call to Order.” A booming voice rang out with great presence from the head seat by the lead member from Virgo. Everyone was seated with the exception of the Eridanus member who just turned in circles looking for his seat in confusion.
“What are you doing? No staff on the floor during a call to order. Off you go.” Virgo stated accusingly. The member from Eridanus pointed around in confusion but was only meet with stern glares from the council leaders. He hung his head and slowly walked off.
“Let’s try this again. Call to order. First item of the agenda please.” Virgo spoke in a mildly annoyed manner.
“Cough…cough…huhmmm. Is there any water?” The human spoke.
The lead member Virgo looked to who was speaking out of order and saw someone in the Majority Leaders Ring he did not recognize. A pink skinned human.
“Sorry sir! My mistake. Oh dear.” Another human, of a slightly different shade, ran up to the Majority Leaders Ring spilling water all over the place and hitting a few of the more senior members from Orion with a liberal splash. He proceeded to place the now half empty pitcher and a glass in front of the other human and scurried back away into the periphery.
Noticing the attention this commotion was given the human said, “Oh please continue.” Motioning his hand in a dismissive manner.
“Who the hell are you?” Virgo bellowed accusatorially pointing at the human in confusion.
“Oh sorry” the human said and rotated the brass plaque around now revealing some symbols on it that made no sense to anyone at the assembly. “There ya go.” He stated as if that should answer the question.
Virgo, now clearly annoyed bellowed “What? Who are you why are you sitting there and where are you from?”
The human looked to the left and right of himself trying to identify the questioned party.
“No” Virgo said. “You! The pink one.”
The human looked confused and pointed at himself in a questioning manner. “Oh me. Ambassador of Earth Travis Smith.” He took a sip of water. “Humans from Sector zero zero one. Ahh about I don’t know 26 light years from here.”
“Ok at least we are getting somewhere now. Why are you sitting here in that chair?” Virgo questioned.
“This chair? Didn’t know there was assigned seating.” The human said in a condescending tone.
“Not the chair. HERE. In general why are you here?” Virgo bellowed clearly now losing his patience.
“Oh that. Yeah here to represent Earth. As a planet in the Galaxy seems only fitting we get a seat. You know be a part of the conversation make some trade deals the works you know.” The human Travis said. He then lifted up a briefcase, open it in front of himself, and took out a sandwich. Placing the briefcase back on the floor and then proceeded to eat the sandwich.
Furious at the complete audacity of the situation and frankly the arrogance of the sudden new member Virgo slammed his eight fists on the table and ordered “Someone remove this human from the chamber.”
The human looked up and said “Naw you can’t. We sent a letter. It’s in the bylaws. You have ten galactic standard days to respond to the summons. Therefore…” The human paused to wash down his sandwich with some refreshing cold water. “We are allowed a seat as no objections were made in the given time. Check the bylaws.”
A bemused rumble overtook the hall which had been in complete silence watching this spectacle unfold.
“And here I though this was going to be just another boring day” Tau Ceti whispered under his breath to Yz Ceti.
A small army of confused paper pushers, lawyers and bureaucrats fielded books and legal documents around the leader from Virgo. Everyone looking quite busy and quite baffled. Finally, a single legal volume from a thousand was presented to the leader along with a corresponding letter from Earth.
“Can they really do this?” Virgo whispered to the legal counsel.
“It’s an old rule but it is still in effect. How they…” The lawyer was cut off.
The human cleared his throat and spoke again “You see all in order. Trust me huh our lawyers could walk circles around this place. Hell half of Earth is made up of lawyers or legal aids. Anyway I’m here to present you with this.” The human leaned forward with a document in hand beckoning the legal representative to come and take it.
The legal representative took the document in confused curiosity and began to read it.
“Well what is it?” Virgo demanded of the lawyer.
“It’s…it’s…It’s a lawsuit? They are suing us.” The lawyer sputtered.
“A what? What for?” Virgo asked.
“Illegally storing, distributing and making available Earth copywritten video assets, television programming, music, and books.”
“You’ll see it’s all in order.” The human got up and pointed around the room “The Galaxy has been served. We’ll be seeing you in court.”
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A1: why are they here?
A2: don't know, no one invited them.
A1: isn't anyone going to kick them out.
A3: no, that wouldn't be prudent.
A2: why is that? if I might ask.
A3: did you see the ship they came in?
A4: yes it's massive, it breaks regulations.
A3: it does actually, but can't do anything about it.
A1: and why not?
A3: because it's a scout ship.
A4: excuse me!
A3: that's what they told me.
A2: and you just believed them?
A3: been to human space, massive ship yards...
A4: they can't possibly have the resources.
A3: they do.
.....
A1: so...let's welcome our newest member, shall we?
A2: yes!
A3: of course.
A4: sound idea.
| 2021-08-23T10:08:14 | 2021-08-23T09:22:59 | 371 | 80 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
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Am I the hero or am I the villain? I've been asking myself that question for as long as I can remember. But before you help me, how about some history?
You see, before the rapture, life was bland. For most, they stuck to a daily routine. They lived in a life full of possibility but remained stagnant in their ambition.
After the rapture, our world changed. Technomamcers, pyromancers... Any mancer you could think of, the world now had one. At least one. Our world became more divided than ever before. Splitting into guilds, the earth became a battleground for control and the Necromancers craved that control. Their thirst for power started a war that the world was not ready for. Guilds focused on sigil training rather than knowledge and the earth slowly turned into a wasteland of destruction.
But things aren't all bad! We live on the outskirts, away from all the chaos. Since we're not seen as a threat, everyone just kind of leaves us alone. They call us Nomads. Yes, we have a sigil. They're on our palms but no one is really sure what it does. We live separate from the rest of society. More rural than anything else and no guilds to be a part of, but that's not a bad thing. We get to learn about history since our teachings have nothing to do with sigils considering we don't even know how ours work. We get to experience every little thing our world has to offer. It doesn't mean everything is perfect, but we enjoy our lives.
We rarely see travelers considering most stick to their guild, but occasionally we get what we call Transfers. Transfers are former guild members who essentially get shunned for underperforming with their guild or not mastering their sigil. At least, that's what they tell us. Most of the time a Transfer will leave shortly after arriving and we don't see them again.
A while ago, we found two kids, around my age, wandering the hills outside of our village. Both had been bestowed with the mark of pyromancy. Black fingertips and the flame sigil on each wrist. They were nice at first, even friendly until they realized that we didn't have any powers.
Sitting in the lone school house I'm hesitant, even terrified that the teacher will soon dismiss us for the weekend. When I hear her say "have a nice day students", I immediately bolt for the door in the hopes of outrunning yet another incident. As I run down my road home, I can see that my parents have started the dinner fire with the smoke billowing just above the tree line. And that's when I hear him.
"Well look who it is, little Nomad". I hear his voice and then see him walk out from behind a tree adjacent to the path. "What's the matter? Nothing to say?"
I'm hesitant to respond because I don't want to upset him. "What do you want, Mark?"
As I thought, he seems even more furious now that I've spoken to him. "What makes you think you or anybody here can talk to me? Can't you see we're better than you?".
I respond quickly out of fear "Just go be better somewhere else!"
"I was already somewhere else." He says eerily. "Can't you see it? Right over there." He points in the direction of my house. And then it hit me. School had let out early and it's not late enough for dinner.
"What did you do, Mark?" I shout with more anger than fear.
Calmly he responds. "More like, what did WE do?"
I turn around to see my sanctuary ablaze. Fully engulfed as the other transfer appears from the fire. Eric.
"It's time we eliminate the weak. There is no room for you in this world. All of the other covens have been destroyed. Yours is the last!" Eric exclaimed.
Mark widened his stance and threw his arms to his side. I know this stance. He's trying to conjure fire. I've seen it before. I feel helpless! I can feel my heart rate elevate! He lifts his head and looks toward the sky. I have to do something! The hairs on my neck stand up. I sprint towards him not knowing why or what to do when I get to him. His hands are starting to glow! Almost there! He looks down, eyes glowing, to see me in front of him. I grab his wrist and a confused look stumbles upon his face.
"What are you doing?" He shouts.
I can see his eyes fade back, his palms return to normal, the black on his fingertips fades... He loses consciousness. I look down at my hands just as confused as Mark was. I briefly see the flame sigil inside of my sigil and it almost immediately fades back to an empty ring.
Eric panics and sprints toward Mark and kneels down next to him. "What did you do!? His sigil is gone!"
Shaken, I reply. "I don't know..."
"You'll pay for this!" He raises his hand toward me, palm facing me as if trying to set me ablaze.
Instinctively, I grab his wrist and watch his sigil slowly fade. I check my palm and see the same as I did before. A fire sigil inside of my mine and then it fades.
All of this was when I was younger. I haven't been able to conjure fire. I am the last Nomad and I feel like I'm responsible for returning the world back to normal.
So I'll ask you... In a world full of powers, and me the only one able to neutralize them, does that make me the hero or villain?
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The power of the "Full Circle" sigil was never truly understood or appreciated. Seen as middling with equal gains and losses, disregard was the usual way.
These bullies saw the sigil as the Cherry on a very attractive Target. Not only was his sigil uninspired, but his refusal to respond or react made him a Target they knew would never call for help. Their Target offered nothing to others. The sigil, to others, meant he would take but not give .
Until the day he did. All the malice the world offered their Target, with their own at the front, was made manifest. The physical pain was never noticed as the mental anguish was all the stronger. Indeed, those with sigils of mental and physical fortitude were both laid bare and beaten.
That which had been given to him was now returned all at once.
| 2020-02-26T08:01:07 | 2020-02-26T06:26:31 | 99 | 37 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
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Mortals are not permitted to foresee their own death.
That was the only truth I'd gleaned from my years of these warnings popping up everywhere. It doesn't work with mirrors or anything - nothing appears when I don't look at a person directly. I can't look up to see my own - nothing's there. It's haunted me. Every time a warning is something that isn't isolated - mass shootings, fires, explosions, contagious diseases. . . I would feel this incredible panic, and try to flee as quickly as possible. Nothing ever happened; these people all must be dying when I'm not around. I've never actually seen someone die. I just hear it on the news, or from a friend.
I know people will die. I don't know when, I don't know where, but I know how. Every single person I've ever met, without fail. Then, one day, they changed. They started to flicker, like a TV set to static. One by one they became illegible, until most of Grand Central Station was filled with these disturbing signs. I didn't panic. I'd spent most of my life running from these signs, trying to make sure I wouldn't get caught up in them.
But today, I felt something different. I felt peace. I looked around, at all of these flickering signs, and I knew.
Mortals cannot foresee their own death.
Whatever was going to happen to all of these people, was going to happen to me as well. I scanned the crowd, looking for signs that were still visible. The people waiting for the train near me still had signs; they would survive. The next platform over was not so fortunate.
The survivors' train leaves in just three minutes. The other, in eight. Sometime within those five minutes, we will all die. Something, someone, somewhere in this station is the cause of death for all of us. Too many flickering signs. They obscure my vision - I can't see the ones still visible. I need to get higher.
I climb the stairs. If it's a time-bomb, three minutes won't be enough to convince everyone to leave. Not even a fire alarm could empty Grand Central that fast. It has to be a detonator. Please, let it be someone in this building. Please.
There's too many signs. Too much static. I can't see. I can't see!
I start climbing up the side of a booth. A nearby guard shouts at me to get down. I can barely hear him over the sound of my own heartbeat. He approaches, and raises his weapon. That's when I see his sign. It flickers more than the rest, as if his fate isn't necessarily tied to theirs. I stare in confusion for a moment, then continue scanning the crowd. The guard doesn't matter.
That's when I see it. The sign that I've seen countless times before. The only sign that I've ever interfered with, the only death that I've ever tried to prevent. Suicide. It practically glows above the head of an unassuming white male. An average guy. Everyone around him still has that strange, flickering sign. It's the only chance I have. I won't be talking this guy down, like I tried with that girl. There's no time. The train just left. Five minutes, at the most. I don't have enough time!
I look back down. The officer below me is radioing for help, and threatening me with his rifle. I look up. The man's sign changes. The flickers stop. All at once, the signs burst back into life, a hundred different causes floating in the air. I've already made my decision. The guard below me has a new sign. Head trauma.
I leap down, my feet meeting him squarely in the chest, knocking him back and down the stairs. The rifle falls. I pick it up, and aim down the sights. I use the man's sign to mark him out from the crowd. I pray for a clean shot, but I've almost no experience with a rifle.
A women walking near him has a new sign, one I've never seen before. Collateral damage. My heart wrenches inside my chest, and for a less than a second the signs flicker, before returning to the way they were. I know what I have to do. Two innocent people, dead by my hand. A hundred others will be saved, but those two people will haunt me for the rest of my life. I pull the trigger. Gunshots echo throughout the building. The woman falls, but so does the man. Their signs flicker and die before my eyes.
I drop the rifle, and kneel down. Despite the blood on my hands, a small smile creeps across my face. After years of torment, this curse has finally proven worthwhile. I can hardly hear the screams. My ears ring from the gunshots, and tears roll down my face. Tears of joy and sorrow, at the lives saved and lives lost.
I look up at the beautiful ceiling of Grand Central, but I can't see it. Instead, all I see, in small, flickering letters, is my own sign. I wish there was some way I could express to these officers that I don't blame them. I just don't have the strength or the time, because there is only one thing I know to be true; I cannot foresee my own death.
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For years we had been blissfully happy, Robin and I, 7 years to be exact. since the day I met her she had the same cause of death hanging above her head, Alzheimer’s, as did I. I was content to know that we would both live long lives.
Today Robin’s cause of death changed, six months into her pregnancy it was **our baby** that would kill her.
First attempt at ever writing a story haha...
| 2015-03-31T09:44:20 | 2015-03-31T08:46:40 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] Due at an error, a baby was born without a guardian angel. A demon notices this and has taken it upon themself to become their guardian demon. But they seem to have some... Dark ways of helping their human stay alive.
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# Best Intentions
(Josef and Franxis, 1/6)
Claws dragged through gristle, found purchase and ripped the human's throat out. "Grah," Franxis complained while shaking his paw hard enough to send flesh splattering across the room. Some of it landed on the communal coffee machine. The smell was revolting.
Josef buried his face in both hands. "I would ask if you're *serious*, but I already know the answer. Come on!"
Franxis dropped the mortal remains with a sad sounding flomp of trapped air. One high heel flew off, skittering underneath the break room table. "O now? Your request, this was; art ye not satisfied?"
Josef groaned harder, refusing to look up at his guardian demon. For all he knew the (literal) damned thing looked the same as it always did: Like someone took a large ape and decided to accessorize it with an entire Home Depot hardware section. He was beyond being upset by it, he'd grown up his entire life with the homicidal little hellspawn and the shock value just wasn't there. What he couldn't stand was the look of honest surprise and hurt concern he knew was painted all over the thing's wizened face.
"Look, I was angry. We've been over this. When I say something like 'go to Hell' it's a figure of speech, not a literal request!" He waved one hand at the growing pool of blood and smoking coffee maker. "She was *firing* me but she didn't deserve this!"
Franxis considered this for a moment. "This fire. It burns?"
"No! Well, ye- no!" Unable to sit still any longer, Josef swiveled and put both feet down away from the blood puddle before standing up. "Look: I needed this job. We talked about this. You were supposed to stop following me around all day after that thing with the blind guy."
"That sorcerer and his shaggy familiar were-!"
"I. DON'T. CARE!" Josef screeched, running one hand through his short hair. "And no, he was *not* tapping out a spell on the sidewalk! Why are you so intent on ruining my life?!"
Franxis seemed offended. "Peace, my ward. I do only that which any Guardian would. Does thou complain when others receive boons from their Watcher?"
"Who knows! I never see it happen! All I ever get is *this-*", he waved a hand at the gruesome mess. "And now *that*." He finished, pointing towards the faint sound of a siren. Someone obviously saw enough to freak out. "I could be in prison for something like this and then where would *you* be?"
Franxis tapped a claw thoughtfully on the floor. "Likely one, perhaps two steps nearby."
Josef stared, then smacked himself in the forehead. He knew imagination was never his Guardian's strong suit but every now and then the point really drove itself home. "Look. Fine. Just- oh gah, I have blood in my *ear*\- just do that thing with your disguise while I make some noise." Leaning out into the hallway, he screamed loud enough to echo off the far wall. "OH MY GOD HE KILLED THERESA! HELP!"
Turning back, he caught the tail end of Franxis' transformation into a short bearded man with stained overalls. "Great, now run down the hall, bang open the emergency door and *what the shit is on your head?*"
Franxis carefully removed his head covering. "A helm. With a graven image upon it. Tis something I saw earlier and seemed-"
"*No one wears a Mickey hat*. Those ears look *ridiculous*." He snatched the offending headgear and tossed it into the trash. Franxis watched it go with a sad look. "Just go already! Aw crap the cops are here. I can hear radios. *Awesome.*"
With a heavy sigh Franxis pushed by his charge, navigating his ungainly body out the door and down the hall. He made sure to growl angry things and yell; Josef always liked that. "Ye will never take me to be alive!"
Josef facepalmed audibly.
He crashed into the back door twice before remembering how push bars worked. Throwing a guilty look back at Josef, he crushed the plain bar hard enough to leave indents in the metal. The thick metal door flew open, struck a responding officer and sent him flying in a blur of blue and black.
Franxis blinked twice at the downed man, then looked up in time for his partner to empty an entire magazine into his chest from a dozen feet away. Gunsmoke blew through the open door for a second as the two eyed each other. Something was supposed to happen here. "Oh!"
Clutching his chest, Franxis collapsed dramatically. "The pain!" he gargled. "At least my revenge upon that woman is complete! I shall regret naught!"
A loud smacking sound echoed down the hallway again.
[Pt. 2 >](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eartsm/wp_due_at_an_error_a_baby_was_born_without_a/fb1dc59)
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[Poem]
Murder always is the easiest answer.
If there's no man then there's no problem, no cancer.
Discarded by heaven but you will be well
For you have received a guardian from hell.
Follow my ways and I'll make you King.
And the stories they'll tell, the songs they will sing
A terrible king with a robe made of black
And he'll will wonder, CAN we take him back?
| 2019-12-14T18:25:12 | 2019-12-14T17:30:43 | 1,841 | 76 |
[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.
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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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"So, what are the choices again?" I asked the Celestial Advisory and Determination Committee. Sitting before me were representatives of all the afterlives available. From St. Peter to Charon the Ferryman they all stood looking at me, "How do you have time to do this for each person?"
"Time is different here," St. Peter said then continued, "Heaven is the place for you! An eternity of soft clouds, harp playing, and just praising the Lord. For all eternity."
"A Lord," Buddha suggested, "There are more than one, stop hogging the Lordiness."
"Harp playing and clouds," I said, interested, "What else is there?"
"That's it!" St. Peter announced proudly.
"Hard pass," I said holding my hand up as his face dropped, "Next. What about you." My finger was pointing at who was obviously Satan.
"Party's all day. Liquor that flows like a river. Gambling 24 hours a day," He said this all non-nonchalantly and my face brightened.
"What he doesn't mention," said Buddha, "The Party is attended by the people you hate the most, the liquor is Miller Lite, and you always lose while gambling."
"Buddha!" Satan said simply, "Remind me to sneak snakes into your bed."
"Another hard pass," I told Satan and he deflated, "What about you Buddha?"
"I offer nothing," the Buddha said, "For I am perfectly content."
"Content to screw up everyone's sales pitches, you rotund son of a..." Satan mumbled.
"Enough!" This huge warrior yelled and everyone jumped, "Send this puny fool to some afterlife full of sissies and wimps. He is unworthy of Valhalla."
"What's that supposed to mean," I said, standing in my chair and bristling, "What's so great about Valhalla?"
"Puny fool," the warrior said, "I represent Odin the one-eyed. Even with two eyes I can see you are unworthy. Valhalla is for warriors who died with a weapon in hand in the heat of battle. In its hallowed halls you drink mead all day long and speak of battles past. You begin the day with a fight and end with a fight. It is for men."
I looked at Buddha expectantly. He just shrugged, continued smiling, "It's true. Alcohol all day long and lusty Valkyries by your side."
"I want in!" I said, slamming my hand on the table.
"You've never used a weapon in your life, coward," the warrior laughed and I was enraged.
"I'll have you know I died with the greatest weapon of my age in my hand..." I was just talking at this point. What did I die doing again? Oh yeah, heart attack scrambling eggs after binge watching Netflix.
"That weapon being?" the warrior asked, raising a giant bushy eyebrow.
"A spatula!" I said, looking around the room.
"But a spatula is..." a round face started.
"One more word, Buddha, and I'll wipe the contentment off your face." I yelled and the warrior laughed.
"And you killed with this weapon?" the warrior asked, judging my next words carefully.
"Many men," I said simply, telling him the truth. You see, there was no lying in these hallowed halls.
"We leave for Valhalla in the morning, brave warrior." he told me, clapping me on the shoulder so hard I cringed. The room emptied of grumbling eternal salesman.
"I do not understand," the Buddha said, raising an eyebrow, "A spatula is not a weapon. How did you kill many men with it?"
"I was a fry cook for 30 years at the grungiest diner you ever saw," I grinned, "If the food poisoning didn't get them, the hardened arteries did."
Buddha grinned.
| 2018-03-26T12:45:14 | 2018-03-26T10:54:43 | 8,924 | 1,030 |
[WP] The world of Avatar is real, only there are not 4 elements, there are 118. For every element on the periodic table there is a group of benders. You are one of them.
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Saafa sucked down the sweet coffee he'd only just poured himself. Humming machines and shuffling feet and sterile smells surrounded him, a hospital as modern as any. Saafa paid no mind to patients or nurses as they passed, instead his eyes kept steady on the NOBL monitors. A pumped, flowing gas stream piped through every room of the hospital, and in every room an array of sensors kept vigilant.
Particles of every elemental material were steadily circulated through the system, but mostly nitrogen filled. Any bending potential, even subconscious, was almost instantly detected, and Saafa's job was among the most important.
The silent alarm light blinked to life, adjacent to a labeled maternity suite #615. Saafa took a deep breath, chugged his coffee quickly, stood and donned his goggles, his protective suit, the 'trouble' bag, and knocked on the closed office door behind his desk.
Within, Doctor Fenquill sighed as he stared out the beautiful open vista through his window, feeling almost no comfort from it. Such was the job to be done.
"Doctor? It's room 615. The Grenna twins, it's been 31 hours since delivery, there's already a spike."
"31 hours?" Said the doctor, more to himself than to Saafa. "Highly unusual. A possible savant, even."
He stood from his desk and abandoned the vista.
"I'll meet the parents in the null chamber... They'll need to know."
Saafa didn't wait for orders or details. He raced down the hallway, following painted lines down corridor mazes, the sturdy bassinet in tow. Within minutes he'd ascended three flights of stairs, shoved through five doors and knocked an interns tray over in his path.
Room 615 was shut, and dark within.
Saafa took a deep breath and quietly opened the door. There, inside, were a pair of glowing incubators by a dozing mother's bedside. Nurses were already waiting behind him to assist with the mother's transport. Luckily, he wouldn't need the trouble bag today.
He almost silently hooked the two incubators together and wheeled them out the door as quickly as possible. The mother stirred and saw him as he left, but just as swiftly nurses swooped in and placed her into a wheelchair, following directly behind him.
"Wha..." She said, the fugue still wearing off.
"The doctor will need to see you and your husband, I believe he was in the cafeteria."
Within moments, Saafa, the incubators, the mother, father Grenna and Doctor Fenquill were gathered into an immense, almost purely metal room. The metal was a special poly-alloy, a material too complex to be bent, heat resistant to thousands of degrees and virtually invincible to chemical or physical damage.
The Doctor folded his arms.
"Mrs Grenna, Mr Grenna. I'm so sorry we have to meet like this. Our NOBL detection system has indicated bending potential in one or perhaps both of your children."
The mother gasped and cupped her mouth. Mr Grenna seemed a little proud, concerned, but proud.
"That was always a possibility, her grandfather was an iron bender."
The doctor nodded as the twins were placed behind a glass shield. Within a scanning torus armature was actively sweeping the incubators and their contents.
A complex feed of information printed out into the doctor's waiting hands. The parents could read no information from his face, but he soon turned to speak to them.
"First, the good news. The eldest, Terza, she appears to be healthy and resonant with element... 29. A natural copper bender. Very stable element, very useful bending skill."
The parents sighed in some relief, though they both knew there was more to come. The doctor did visibly scowl this time.
"Your son Azret, however, resonates with... element 92. Uranium."
There was a gasp as the parents were struck by this news.
"We must proceed quickly."
"Doctor, how safe is this procedure? He's only a day old!"
Doctor Fenquill took a deep breath. "I went to medical school for 8 years. Carbon bending university for 6 years and I have been bending practicing gene bending for 21 years. I assure you, I could grow flowers on a pine tree. But genetic level work is complex, I can't guarantee success. I can't guarantee he will retain any bending when I'm done. All I can guarantee is that if you leave him unchecked, he will live a very, very short life, and possibly hurt hundreds beyond these walls. Uranium particles are constantly raining into our atmosphere from space, never enough to be of harm to us normally, but in enough time they will gravitate to his aura in palpable amounts. He is in grave danger."
Mr and Mrs Grenna glanced at each other. But they already knew what they needed to know. They nodded in agreement. It had to be done.
But before the doctor could even step into the glass chamber with Saafa, an alarm rang on the far side of the hospital. Gunfire, screams, marching feet.
The doors kicked in with a plume of smoke. Through it walked a single figure, lithe, draped in grey as grey as her eyes.
Mitine smiled at them openly.
"Doctor." She said. And with a single swipe, a white hot lance of burning light whipped through the air and slashed down his face. He cried out in agony as the parents backed into the corner, separated from their babies. They'd never seen a hydrogen bender in person, and Mitine was a force unto herself they would likely never see again.
She carved through the glass with a bright swooshing arc of her hand, a single pane of it fell heavily onto the far side of the wall. Inside, Saafa watched helplessly as she stepped through the molten hole and into the chamber with him. She frowned however, she hand't expected twins.
"Which one is it? Which one bends Uranium?" She commanded Saafa. But Saafa backed away, saying nothing.
"Fine." She said. "Fine. I'll just take both."
|
"Hello everyone," I said, shifting uncomfortably in my chair. "My name is Thomas, and I don't know my element."
"Hello Thomas," the group chorused. I sighed and stared out at the circle of chairs wrought in an instant by an ironbender.
"It's... Hard for me sometimes," I said, looking away and running my fingers through my hair. "My dad got carbon, and my mom has hydrogen. I think they expected more from my sister and I. She ended up with einsteinium, so at least she knows."
The group leader reached out and placed a hand on my knee. "Thomas, thank you for sharing. We all know it doesn't happen often, but occasionally a person without the gift of bending can be born to two benders."
"I'm sure I am," I said confidently, looking the woman in the eye. "I've done the blood tests, the gene is there, we just don't know the element."
"My cousin what did get the bendin gene," said a helpful voice from across the circle "she done went and beome a sye-en-teest, what because she ended up with Californium. Is you a sye-en-teest?"
I stared ay my hands. "No, no I am not."
| 2019-09-19T10:08:25 | 2019-09-19T08:41:14 | 99 | 49 |
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together.
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My shop is flooded. Absolutely flooded.
No, I don’t mean literally. Haven’t had the joy of meeting someone with a wave tattoo yet, although those are in high demand.
I mean figuratively flooded. Filled to the brim with people, shoulder-to-shoulder, crashing into the designs I meticulously laminated and taped to my crumbling wall, ripping them from it and losing them to the masses. People with matching grimaces waving wads of cash in their hands and shouting over each other, drowning each other out. White noise that shakes my little parlor and my cranium along with it. I steady my ink bottles.
Since “it” happened, every tattoo parlor on this side of the equator has been brimming with patrons, lines wrapping around the block and choking out the sidewalks. Men, women, children, and…the usual drunken college students cheering, “Spring break!”. At least that hasn’t changed. That, and the law.
The tattoo laws haven’t changed. If anything, they’ve gotten stricter—but I’ve given up trying to follow the news after the pandemonium that broke out. In the wake of heavily-tattooed superhumans just—poof!—appearing overnight, the government tried to limit tattoos even more than before. But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, and people do what they have to in order to survive. I did.
I learned how to tattoos designs that would take hours in half that time. I learned which tattoos manifested what power, I learned how to explain them to people at a breakneck pace. I learned how to take cash first and not ask questions.
It started out harmless enough. People with pop culture tattoos could imitate the character of their choice perfectly. People with compass tattoos had an impeccable sense of direction. People with eyeball tattoos could see from that eye. But when millions upon millions of people wake up with fire shooting from their fingers, with water spraying up from each nail like a fountain, with earth-shaking powers at their fingertips, you gotta learn to adjust. That’s just some of the tame ones—rednecks with guns tattooed on their backs shot ammunition from finger guns, hipsters with inspirational quotes suddenly became VERY persuasive, goth kids with grim reaper tattoos kill everything they touch—don’t even get me started on the people with soundwave or planet tattoos. Just like that, millions of people across the world gained spectacular and awe-inspiring powers. It didn’t take long for humanity’s lifelong fantasy of superheroes to come true.
But things got ugly.
Not everybody wanted to be a superhero. People who had felt powerless all their lives—angry, bitter people—used their power to hurt people that had wronged them. Still, they weren’t satisfied, and they wreaked havoc across the world. Cities were taken down by colossal earthquakes. Tornadoes picked up in the mountainsides, floods washed over desert towns. Overgrowth and flower beds in wooded areas swallowed people whole. As a response, the government started demonizing tattoos and the destruction they caused.
Now, people are scrambling for them.
Some want guns, swords, to protect themselves physically. Some want fire, floods, earthquakes, tornadoes to protect themselves elementally. Some want animals, big cats and elephants to crush or claw their attackers. Some want portraits of loved ones killed in the destruction because at least in one way, they’ll always be with them. Even if it’s just an illusion.
The smart ones get shields.
I’ve seen those shields in action—an enormous wall of fire bearing down on a child, but in the split second before contact, a hum. A frequency that reverberates in the air and makes ears pop, then—BOOM!—a hexagonal prism of force, like glass, expands around the kid. All attacks bounce off of it effortlessly, and when the shock subsides, they run. They run with that shield around them, safe for only a few hours, but safe all the same.
The mothers, most especially, clamor for their children to get one, no matter how small.
See, the size doesn’t matter. It’s the ink that does. How clean the tat is, how steady the lines, how worn it is. The better the quality, the stronger the potency, and I’ve learned how to make them…pretty damn good.
What about me, you may ask? If I can tattoo somebody that fast, should I be the most overpowered asshole on the planet?
Well, yeah. Maybe.
I do have one tattoo. One. And it’s not of God, or the Milky Way, or anything colossal like that.
It’s a raven.
A little raven on my shoulder blade, wings in flight.
I’ve seen other people with bird tattoos. I know I could spread my wings and fly on outta here any time I want. But the truth is?
Tattoo parlors are in bigger demand than ever. Sure, it’s a good source of income, but my profession has become a matter of life and death. There are a lot of people who need me, need people like me. I’m not one to let ‘em down.
The tiger head I’ve been working on is just about finished. One last streak of orange, and the guy is good to go. The bandaging only takes a few extra minutes, and he’s quickly back on his feet, although wincing. “Powers should set in in a few hours,” I tell him. He nods, serious as a balding 50-year-old can be, and fights his way out the door of the parlor. I change out the needle and the tube.
“Next!”
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Crime rates exploded when the ink activated in our bodies. Those who didn’t have tattoos before tried getting one so they could have a power of their own, but it didn’t work; so they took to belittling us, making us all out to be criminals. And what did I do? I did what any sane person would do, I hid. But even years after the ink activated the crime rates where still soaring, the people with tattoos where the only ones who could fight people with tattoos, but law enforcement was not willing to hire anyone with a tattoo. So I put on a mask and showed my tattoos and fought those criminals myself. And the stigma began to change. Because I was a hero, why couldn’t the people like me be heroes too? All it took was one person doing the right thing.
| 2019-05-07T09:20:49 | 2019-05-07T07:52:07 | 913 | 43 |
[WP] If there's a single truth of reality, it's that temporal research scientists are cautious by nature. Right up until they discover proof that time paradoxes do not result in the destruction of the universe.
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Jamie stood up to leave just as Sonny Liston fell, the crowd roaring Ali’s name as the referee started his count. No one noticed the man with the microwave leaving the arena. They also didn’t hear the loud pop that coincided with the end of the fight. Or the flash of blue that went with it. Most people would normally think they had just imagined such a thing and that’s what Jamie relied on as he found the arena being left behind, an image of his kitchen just ahead of him. With another pop and another glint of blue, Jamie found himself back in his original time, the microwave hot in his hands.
Leaving the machine on the metal counter he used just for this occasion he hit the button of the kettle in the corner, it’s blue light not unlike the time machine blue. The water boiled and bubbled for a few minutes until finally, the kettle clicked. The boiling water mixed with the teabag in the cup and with a dash of sugar added Jamie settled at the kitchen table, remembering the crowd that had surrounded him only a moment ago. *The elation, the occasion. That was some people’s best day of their lives. Thank god, I was able to experience it with them. Every punch, every knockdown.* Taking a sip of his tea, he truly appreciated the gift that he had been given. His thoughts drifted away from the fight to the day he had the first time travelled. At one point he had been sitting in this exact same seat, drinking tea from this very mug, unaware of how his life was able to change. Out the window, rain started to drizzle down and grey skies started to form, blocking out the sun. *Maybe I should go to a better day*...Standing up, leaving his tea where it was, he picked up the microwave just as it finished cooling. He set the date he wanted and hit ‘Start’. A pop, a flash of blue and he had left and arrived. Looking around, his kitchen looked much the same, bar the empty table beside him. The floorboards creaked above. *The old me. A simpler man. For the next two minutes anyway…*
His feet moved before his mind could think, his legs bringing him out to the hall and then into the sitting room. Hopping over the couch, he checked to make sure that he had a good view of the front door and waited. *Don’t want to miss, myselves*. Another minute passed before there was a knock on the door. The floorboards above told him the exact path he was taking upstairs, from the bathroom to his bedroom then to the top of the stairs.
“Who is this now?” he asked no one, as he marched down the stairs. His younger self looked furious at the interruption. His eyebrows were furrowed as he pulled open the door, not ready for what he was about to see.
“Wha...wha...wha...who?” he asked, his mouth now laying open, his eyes wide. Another Jamie, walked through the down holding the same microwave that was currently hidden behind his couch.
“I’m you,” the older Jamie smiled, putting the microwave down on the coffee table in the sitting room.
“Wha..wha..wha...” stuttered the young man, still holding onto the doorknob, unable to take his eyes off his older self. Did I always look that stupid, Jamie wondered, eyes fixated on the two versions of himself.
“Close that door will you?” Jamie asked, “It might be sunny out but there's still a breeze coming through.” Jamie still stood there, not moving an inch, staring at this apparent mad man in his sitting room. With a sigh, the older Jamie walked over and closed the door himself before returning to stand beside the microwave.
“Jamie I’m going to make this quick,” the second Jamie announced, his arms folded looking at the younger man. “I’m you from the future. In four years you will invent this time machine. You panic quite a bit when you realise what you have created of course but it all works out ok in the end, it just takes a while for that to happen. You realise that you really can’t change the past all that much and we basically are just spectators.”
“No, that cannot be. Time travel is impossible,” Jamie whispered, rubbing his eyes to make sure the man in front of him was real.
“Of course it's possible, man,” grinned Jamie, ”And I can prove it.”
The younger version eyed the other one with suspicion, taking a tentative step towards him.
“How?” he asked, now eyeing the microwave that sat on his coffee table. A small laugh slipped from the older one's lips. *Easily*, Jamie thought, his legs starting to ache behind the couch but he couldn’t move. The last thing he wanted to do was to explain what he was doing there.
“Easily,” Jamie said, “Just place your hand on the microwave and I’ll do the rest.” The younger man took another step forward, then another and another before he finally came within touching distance of the time machine. *Only I would be stupid enough to have done this* Jamie thought, gently rubbing his foot trying to stop it from falling sleep.
“Ready?” Jamie asked his younger self. When he had placed his hand on the machine, Jamie pressed ‘Start’ and with a pop and a flash of blue the two Jamie’s were gone, off to visit another Jamie.
“Finally,” sighed Jamie, standing up, groaning as his body complained of aches and sores.
"Yes finally,” another voice called. *An all too familiar voice.* Another Jamie walked around the corner, though this was...different. One of his eyes was missing and he leaned on a cane for support. Half of his curly black hair had been burned away, with half his face given over to scars. That smile remains. A small smile, that said he knew more than anyone else in the room. A smile that every Jamie had. His stomach dropped from the sight of himself.
“What happened? Why are you here?” Jamie asked, not trying to hide the fear in his voice.
There are no secrets between himselves.
The one-eyed Jamie just smiled and said, “Why I am here because you are here, Jamie.”
|
Temporal researchers have always been a cautious lot, the flow of time isn't something to be trifled with. And I have always been a cautious man, Hi, I'm James Brewer and I am a temporal researcher working for Hoogle. Time travel has always fascinated me. Not just science fiction time travel, but that thing we do all do on Earth, time travel at a rate of 1 second per second. Dumb time researcher joke huh?
Time travel to the future was already long proven before I was even born. It's weird to think about the forward flow of time as "time travel" but that's what it is. My goal in life was to slow the forward march of time and eventually reverse it. But reversing time is a funny thing, it messes with causation. Causation is really just a big word to describe the cause/effect relationship between events. Messing with causation is just a fancy way of saying, the universe might break if effects start happening before their causes. Let me simplify this further, I can't murder you before I fire a bullet.
The thought experiment everyone has heard of; if I go back in time and murder my grandfather will I break the universe? Turns out the answer is no, the universe doesn't blink out of existence. But I wish that it did. The multiverse, as it turns out, is a very scary place... (to be continued)
| 2021-10-22T07:04:54 | 2021-10-22T07:02:11 | 37 | 21 |
[WP] You, a renowned scientist, invented technology to listen to any moment in history. This audio has become the standard for criminal cases. The problem is when you listen in to the death of your closest friend it gets the details all wrong. You know this because you are their murderer.
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It didn't make sense. None of it did. I fidgeted with my pen, spinning and clicking it nervously for the millionth time.
The audio played in a loop from my laptop nearby. The sound of screeching car tires followed by a crash. Some soft moans (presumably from the only car occupant) trailed off as the audio ended. The loop began again.
"Damn it!" I exclaimed, throwing the pen at the screen. This wasn't what I set up at all! Yes, what I set up! I know this audio wasn't right, because I was the one that killed him.
I retrieved my pen from the far side of the desk where it bounced and closed the laptop to stop the infuriating audio loop. I began to pace. Pacing always helped me think. I paced a lot before I killed my friend last week too.
Or did I kill him? I was sure I did, but the historic audio claimed otherwise. It even had the lawyers changing their story. That was how much they believed in my invention, that any historic audio was the single source of truth in investigations. Any evidence contrary to the audio was considered suspect.
I always thought those rare cases where the historic audio didn't quite match security footage odd, but I didn't think the audio was *wrong*. No one did. They (quite successfully in court) claimed the camera footage was doctored in those cases. The historic audio was impossible to be tampered with straight from the source.
I turned in the room and paced it lengthwise again. I knew this audio was straight from my invention. So why didn't it match the sound effects I played while I killed Howard? I went over the steps in my head again. I put a mild sedative in his drink at dinner. We chatted, paid the bill, and left in our separate cars. I followed at a distance until he pulled up at his house. I waited 1 hour for the sedative to be in full affect. He would be drowsy, uncoordinated, and probably in bed assuming he wasn't feeling well. He wouldn't be knocked out cold, but I couldn't risk a stronger sedative since he had to make it home.
I recalled the next steps more in flashes of images. One of me breaking a glass door to gain entry. One of me creeping to his bedroom with a steel pipe in hand. Several in varying red hues of that pipe making contact with his head, arms, and torso as he roused himself (as much as possible) and stumbled to the floor. The entire time I had a loud pre-recorded audio playing from his own home speaker. It contained sounds of a particular man cursing, thumps, yells, and finally his name being called out. Highly doctored, but since the audio will eventually be retrieved from this point in time and taken as historic audio, it won't be scrutinized.
The particular man in the audio was a colleague of Howard. Someone I knew as well and didn't like that much. He wasn't the focus of this plan though, just a casualty since someone needed to take the fall. This was a dirty method, I knew, but it was the only one that let me get my full rage out. I recalled beating Howard a few times after he stopped moving just for the sake of it. Other, older memories flashed by as well. His car in my driveway at lunch. Him and my wife half dressed as I went in.
Yes, all the steps were there. It was just as I planned. He died on his bedroom floor. So why was this historic audio different? The lawyers tried to explain it as him being involved in a car crash, walking home without his keys, breaking into his own house and later dying on his bedroom floor from the crash injuries.
I might have believed that farfetched story if it wasn't for what I knew.
I stopped pacing and turned my attention back to my laptop. I opened it and pulled up a terminal connected to a larger machine that powered my historic audio invention. Maybe something wasn't calibrated right. I tweaked settings and played the audio again and again. I heard the same car crash each time. The settings didn't seem to- wait, the pitch of the car screeching seemed to change. I began saving the audio between each settings tweak and comparing their waveform. Subtle changes existed in each one. Tires screeched later in some than others. The moaning changed slightly. Tiny things, but they were there. Was my invention catching the historic audio from different vantage points leading to the sound difference?
A cold creeping feeling came over the nape of my neck. My hairs stood on end as a thought formed. No, that can't be the cause of the interference. It can't be. I tried to shake the thought away as I changed one setting in particular more and more. After a moment the audio completely changed. It became the audio I expected, of me beating Howard, of the overlaid audio from the house speaker placing Howard's coworker at the scene. I paused for a moment and changed the setting once more, my hands shaking as I typed.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my friend", Howards voice came from the latest historic audio. Now full-body trembling, I turned the audio up. "I should never have betrayed you like that. You probably knew I liked Sally for years now. I never intended to follow through on it. I'm so ashamed of myself. You're my closest friend, and I did this." I could hear myself sobbing. Was I sobbing now, or was it the me in the historic audio? I heard myself yell and argue with Howard before the sobbing continued. It quieted down. I could hear Howard still apologizing and trying to comfort me at a low volume.
Another timeline. An alternate universe. Whatever you wanted to call it, that's what these audio differences were from. Mostly the same, some different. In most Howard had died in a car crash. In at least one he died the way I killed him here. In this one, we went back to his house and talked. He apologized, I sobbed, we seemingly made up. I never killed him in this one.
I closed the laptop and wiped my wet face. What could I do with this knowledge? How many cases were incorrectly judged because the audio came from another timeline? Why did I not talk to Howard before I killed him in my rage?
I didn't have any answers. Just a silent coldness around me.
|
"Hey now just put the kni-"
I paused the audio, rewind about ten seconds and listened again.
"Paul there's no need to do this."
"I'm so sorry... Please I- if I dont..."
"Hey now, just put the gun do-"
I paused the audio again. Letting out a long sigh as the feeling of dread sunk in. Why was it only this one? Was it possible other recordings were being altered? No the device gave the same audio for other events, there was even accuracy tests done to confirm the results. So why, after listening and scanning hundreds of other recordings, was this one different?
Ten seconds back, listen, wait.
A gun, a knife, a sword, broken bottle, poison, acid, saw, hammer. The weapon was always inconsistent but why? It was such a minor thing but it ate me up inside. Fatigue washed over my body and before I knew it, I was dreaming.
=
I held the bat handed to me as I entered the lab.
"Paul? Uh... there's a no weapon policy so."
"I'm so sorry...."
"Paul?"
"I- I have to do this."
"Paul there's no need to do this."
"I'm so sorry... Please I- if I dont..."
"Hey now, just put the bat down I can fix this."
"People are going to die! Innocent people cause you decided to play God!"
"I can buy us time. After this they have to listen to me and it'll all be-"
=
I woke up, rubbing my eyes as sat back up. Ten seconds back, listen, wait.
It was a bat this time.
| 2021-03-28T09:59:02 | 2021-03-28T08:33:04 | 229 | 107 |
[WP] You always had a special relationship with your rich grandfather. The rest of the family was waiting like vultures for him to die. On his deathbed he passes you his prized Sony Walkman. You don't think much of it till you listen. All the broadcasts are from 24 hours in the future.
|
We didn't know how much Grandpa Nathanael was worth. Nobody did, except perhaps his tight-lipped lawyers and accountants. The rest of us figured the man was all-but-penniless.
Grandpa Nathanael had always lived austerely. He had raised his kids in a small house that was furnished with only the basics. When he and my grandmother retired, they moved to a humble apartment downtown. And when grandma passed, he moved to an even smaller apartment, and furnished the place with his old double bed and the recliner he had purchased second-hand in the 70s.
"Too many possessions make a man heavy," he told my dad. That was when dad was on the verge of splurging on a Porsche.
"That's a comforting thing for poor folks to believe, pops," my dad replied. "But I felt light as a feather zooming around in that Carrera."
"Driving so fast," the old man chuckled, "the world around you was likely a blur."
"But I got where I was going double quick," dad rejoined.
"We all get where we're going, son. I see no need to rush in the interim. No matter how fast you move, you can't go fast enough to outrun fate."
At the time, that conversation seemed just like many others I overheard between dad and gramps. They had very different attitudes and perspectives on life, and often engaged in exchanges like that. When I recall it now, though, it resonates differently. It sheds light on his understanding of the nature of life, of time, of fate. An understanding he cultivated over decades, informed by the strange knowledge he gained from his peculiar Walkman. An understanding I am still trying to gain myself, as the current owner of that strange device.
\- - -
The family was incredulous about Grandpa Nathanael's deathbed confession.
"If you're a billionaire," said my gruff uncle Todd, "then I'm Marylin Monroe."
But the accountants and estate lawyers flooded in soon after Grandpa's quiet speech, as if the whole thing were some staged production and they had been listening for their cues. They had papers and charts and account numbers to prove everything. Incredulity became astonishment became greedy expectation. The frail old man whom we had all regarded as a pauper was worth just shy of twenty billion dollars.
He allowed the jubilation to mount. He allowed my uncles and aunts and cousins and parents and sister to start spending their respective fortunes in their minds, buying mental cars and boats and mansions and islands. Taking mental trips to a Paris fabricated from images they had seen in movies. Then he cleared his throat and the room grew silent, tense.
"One hundred thousand dollars each," he said with his inimitable grin. "The rest goes to foundations and charities."
Dozens of jaws went slack.
I was the only one who laughed. The rest of the family glowered. But it was a wonderful little prank on his part. Perfectly in keeping. It made me happy to know that even this late on in his life, mere hours from his death, he still had his sense of humour about him, still had wit enough to force people to teach lessons to themselves. I was happy with my hundred thousand. More than happy.
"Except for you, Charlie," he said. "You will not get one hundred thousand."
I tried to suppress any expectation, but my heart fluttered. I knew I was his favourite. I had spent more time with him, absorbing his lessons, and was more like him in temperament and character, than anyone else in the family. Perhaps I would be the inheritor of a clean billion! I started clearing the trees away from my beachfront mansion in my mind.
"Instead," he continued, "you will get my old Walkman."
"And how much money?" I asked.
"Not a cent."
I flushed with embarrassment, with confusion, with anger. For all my superior airs, I had fallen into the same trap as the rest of my family, and now was even worse off. I was not nearly so wise as I fancied. I was just as bad as them. With feigned gratitude, I accepted my meagre inheritance. That made Grandpa smile. He passed that night, only a few hours later, and was buried the following Tuesday.
\- - -
When I returned home from the funeral I stared at the handheld radio. It must have been from the early 70s. It was well-maintained, but worn.
I knew that it meant something. I knew there was a reason he had cut me off from the money, yet had given me this. But I could not understand how some terribly obsolete piece of telecommunications equipment could possibly have some lesson to teach me, real or symbolic.
It had been five days since he passed. It had been three days since my smirking aunt drove up in her new Corvette and dropped off the radio. I had let it sit on my bedroom dresser, too frustrated to bother turning it on.
But today I was not frustrated. The funeral had melted any of my lingering frustration away. I was grieving the loss of my wise, loving, enigmatic grandfather. The man who had shaped me into the person I was. The man who had taught me to think for myself, to not fall mindlessly in with the manufactured beliefs of the crowd. The man who had helped me to cultivate patience and open-heartedness. The man who had taught me not just to hear, but to truly listen.
I stared at the radio and I cried. Because I did not want him to be gone. I wanted him back, sitting beside me, listening to his radio. If he was waiting in heaven for me, I did not want to wait the rest of my life to see him. And if he wasn't waiting in heaven, if there was no heaven, then life was a bestial and meaningless joke, to allow such a profound heart to beat upon the face of this earth, to allow such a man to exist and make deep and beautiful connections with others, to touch people's lives, and then to make him vanish, as if he had never been, so his existence was only in the memories of those who never really understood him anyways.
I was still in my funeral clothes. I still wore my shoes that had trudged through the grass and gravel of the cemetery. I didn't care. I picked up the radio and crawled into bed with it, hugging it close, as if it were him, as if he were still there with me. But I hated the sounds of my sobbing, and I knew he would hate them too. I knew he would disapprove of me weeping so shamelessly over his passing, of me mourning his absence and not fondly recalling his life and his lessons with wisdom and fortitude. So I put the buds in my ears, to drown out the sounds, and turned the radio on.
". . .a man whom nobody on Wall Street had ever even heard of," the crackling voice continued, "yet who was one of the most successful traders in history, arguably *the* most successful day-trader Wall Street had ever seen. Or rather, had *not* seen, for he worked in complete anonymity. . ."
Somehow, the media had learned about my grandfather after his death. They learned about his billions, his foundations, the bulk of his fortune going to charities. They were fascinated by the story: a man that wealthy, living in obscurity and near-squalor. Reporters had spent the last week trying to glean as much information as they could. It was no surprise, then, to hear them talking about him on the radio.
". . .Nathanael Tiresias, aged 94, was buried yesterday at a small service attended only by his closest family members. . ." I frowned at the misinformation. They had gotten their dates mixed up. The funeral had wrapped only an hour before, not the day before. But that was the media. Always reporting before they got their facts straight. ". . .and a good thing they didn't wait until today, as the service would have been in the pouring rain. Which brings us to the weather report for this gloomy Wednesday. . ." But it was Tuesday, not Wednesday, and there was not a cloud in the sky.
\- - -
part 2 below!
|
\-Albert Fernsby Wulfric Tiemmann was many things. He was a loved father, proud grandfather and faithful husband. But he was also loved among his poker friends, whom he brought to the tours he was invited. Albert was also remembered among the tech community for his insight in finding talent and... well, during my darkest times when I was thinking in leaving my priesthood, I will never forget the day he entered the church and forced us to evacuate seconds before an earthquake brought it down. He was an atheist, but he was a man that shone with the light of God. Now we'll hear some words from the famous writer, Steven Von Kalm who owes his entire career to Albert's patronage before he managed to write his bestseller. We will then hear about...
The priest went on. The list was huge, grampa was not a man but an army in itself. The family was not only sad, but terrified of seeing him pass away. The money he left behind was enough to maintain us for generations. And the contacts... well that was another soft-fortune.
My family got a lot. We all did. But I was the only one that got named in his will. Everyone was only part of a group (For George's family I leave my car factories, for Alex's family I leave my tech shares, etc).
For me, I only received a walkman and a letter. So when I got home and pressed play on my bedroom something changed, but not for me. For I am the unluckiest John Tiemmann. I am 20 years old. I had a normal life. I was the first John, thus my life did not change at all. Through my whole life I recorded every event that happened. The cassette was special for it did not ran out of memory. The letter was plain weird. I lived happily and died peacefully.
And woke up. In my room, with the walkman and the letter. I did not remember falling asleep. I was now the second John with no memories of the first. I pressed play and had goosebumps. I heard my own voice. It was narrating what happened tomorrow, the day after tomorrow and so on. It didn't focus so much in monetary events like lotto numbers. Seems my future me did not really know the power of the walkman and only thought of it as some kind of journal. But there were gems.
Dont trust mom. Buy bitcoin. Uncle George loses all of his money and guilt-trips dad in giving him a lot of his own part. Bitcoin gets to 1k and then falls. My current girlfriend Mary is a future cheater. And... a lot more.
I re-read the letter. For the first time in my second life.
*If this is you, John, then I'm giving you my dear journal. It always brought luck to me and the family. As long as you use it your family may keep my will. Think of it as a petty condition. Hope you indulge your ol' grampa. Love you.*
*If you are the second John keep reading, if you don't know what I am talking about, burn this letter NOW.*
*If this is the second John, the time police exists. The loop only breaks when they catch you as they did to me. Make the best of it.*
| 2021-06-01T17:14:56 | 2021-06-01T16:48:50 | 203 | 12 |
[WP] The heroes failed. The villain now rules the world with an iron fist, and...actually, things have never been better.
|
"Thank you for sitting down with us this afternoon, Dr. Annihilation." The young woman seated across the desk reached out her hand, and he accepted the handshake with some care, ensuring he didn't disturb the grey tiger striped cat currently sprawled across the center of his desk. He'd taken a liking to the little guy, and he felt the image would help to smooth over the transition. Animals were sympathetic. The reporter leaned back into her seat, and set a small folder as well as her phone on the table, "I assume you still consent to having our discussion recorded?"
"Of course," Dr. Annihilation settled back into his chair, facing towards the reporter and away from the view of the battered city out his office's generous windows, "I'm always happy to help the Villain Compendium clear the air. We are nothing if not a transparent organization."
"Nothing?" The woman smiled, "Not even evil? Why call yourself villains then?"
Alaina Wu was the ace reporter for the New York Times, and someone the compendium had worked with throughout the war as a point of contact and a mouthpiece for their side of the story. She was not, Dr. Annihilation noted, strictly an ally - but she had come as close as many throughout the struggle. She deserved a good answer, whether or not her readers did.
"I won't deny that the term carries negative connotations," he let his hand fall idly onto the cat's back, and stroked it gently. As the cat began emitting a low purr he picked his words with care, "There were those among us who wanted nothing more than destruction. It's possible the heroes were even right to begin this war to stop them. Pentaporcupine comes to mind, that cobalt bomb would have rendered much of Portugal uninhabitable." He pitched his voice a little lower, giving leash to a certain ring of authority, "That's why the compendium condemned him. Even before he lost his struggle with the Eurofriends. That situation is at an end, I should think the highly visible recovery of the nations of the world makes that clear." He winked at the reporter, "of course, I won't claim to be entirely altruistic. I own most of the companies winning contracts to rebuild the Northeast. My stock portfolio couldn't be higher, and most of the world is still smoldering. Villains win, but that doesn't mean a rising tide can't lift a few more boats."
"So you're saying villains have more to offer humanity than their evil plots?"
"See, that's a fundamental misunderstanding of what it means to be a villain." Dr. Annihilation smiled at her as he shifted his hand to idly scratch the cat's ears. Immediately the little guy sprawled wider in front of him as the pitch of its purring deepened. Annihilation tilted his head backward, indicating the windows in the back of his office looking out over New York harbor and the extensive rebuilding efforts underway, "Look behind me. To be a supervillain you need an extensive amount of long term strategic, and logistic, thinking. Anyone can be born with super strength, or laser eyes, not just anyone can construct an underground venom aquifer. Those skills mean something when it comes time to put the world back together. The Compendium has those skills."
The girl frowned a bit, "Venom aquifer, sir?"
Annihilation waved the question away with with a little flick of his wrist, and the cat glared at him for a moment until he resumed scratching behind its ears. "Nothing to worry about, dear. Just a little something we had planned in case Aquaman decided to go through with the whole 'invade singapore with whales' plan that got so much attention there at the end." He jerked the thumb not currently occupied with feline duties towards the harbor behind him, "You really think the Iron Antler could have organized a relief column, gotten the steel mills back up and running in Pittsburgh, cleared the rubble off I-80, and gotten business back up and running this quickly?" He scoffed, "I think we all know you'd all just be dealing with a guy whose idea of 'saving people' involved knocking a *skyscraper* into another, *larger skyscraper*. You could see Freedom Tower from here before, of course - but you definitely can't see it now. It's one of the reasons I picked 4 World Trade to run the rebuilding from. It's as visible a scar as any on Earth."
The reporter frowned, "Point taken. I suppose it could be that you're right that the villain compendium was better prepared for a world after the war. But the Iron Antler only knocked it over to try and stop Multimind, right?"
Annihilation shrugged, "Sure. That's what he and the president said at least, and I genuinely believed it. But here's the thing, Multimind's entire plan was published on line two days before the attack. The entire goal was to what, get those people to stop eating meat? Well congrats, they're dead now. Multimind wins." He stifled a chuckle before it could even be born - a man had to watch his appearances this close to the end game, "I guess what I'm saying is all the heroes were playing this big drastic game; trying to stop the villains from firing some big death ray or something." At the words death ray, the cat arched his back gracefully, rolled to his feet, and hopped off the desk. He used the newly free hand to point at the roof, "I have a death ray, Mrs. Wu, the world saw it fire. I killed exactly one super hero, and before he met that end the Antler killed thousands of civilians. Just saying."
Annihilation stood to leave, He was a busy man and the interview's time slot was up. The doctor walked over and gave the young woman a hand up from her chair. She apparently saw the opportunity for one last question, "So what's next for you doctor? For all of us?"
The villain smiled broadly, "For all of us, a new era of peace. I think you'll find the villain compendium to be entirely more reasonable than you've been led to expect." Annihilation gestured at the cat that had taken up residence in the office window, gazing in feline amusement at the world below him, "For myself, I intend to continue enjoying the very particular form of punishment the Zookeeper came up with for all our surviving hero friends. I think Mr. Superlative here has taken well to his new roll in life."
He led her out of the office, and to the elevator in the port authority offices Annihilation had made his headquarters, and waved her a fond farewell. A new era for villains indeed.
|
Legality and morality are not always compatible.
That's what I learned in the years following my defeat. *Our* defeat.
I remember the days when the world was simple to me, everything was black and white.
Then **he** appeared, and everything changed.
We thought ourselves invincible, with Truth and Justice on our side.
He did the impossible, felling us one by one. To those he defeated, he offered a choice. Join him, or lose their power. Lose your soul or suffer a fate worse than death.
At first, most chose their souls.
That didn't last long.
Cornered and with nowhere to turn but each other, we forged an alliance born of desperation.
Looking back, that, too, was part of his plan. He anticipated our every move, and acted accordingly.
We never stood a chance.
After my...*our* defeat, he acted swiftly to legitimize his political power. The only vote that mattered was for his house of delegates, who all answered to him.
And then he started changing things.
We always knew suffrage to be wrong, but he gave women the vote. Then, he started introducing them into political office.
We watched, horrified, as he allowed the other races access to an education and jobs. He even allowed them to buy and own their own property.
We could do nothing to stop him diverting funding from defense into education and scientific research in medicine and technology. Within a decade, being paralysed was no longer a sentence, but a treatable condition.
Even those who had opposed him at first, whose powers he had quelled, were offered treatment.
Defeated as I am, I hid my face from the truth for so long. But no longer.
We were the villains.
---
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| 2018-07-25T02:56:38 | 2018-07-25T02:29:27 | 1,857 | 1,037 |
[WP] There is a population limit to the galaxy. Whenever one sentient creature is born, another must die. With billions of unexpected deaths over the last few centuries, the galactic counsel has found the cause; a long ignored planet where a group of bipeds can't stop reproducing.
|
Fermi’s paradox, it baffles the mind. There is so much to the universe, but not much intelligent life. Humans thought it was because either there was no other intelligent life, or that some great filter existed that kept intelligent life from evolving. The latter is a bit closer to the truth, but not in the way they thought.
Sentience is something hard to understand. Most intelligent species don’t know where it comes from. The few that do, don’t fully understand. The truth is, sentience is part of the universe itself. Kind of like a shared experience between life and the universe. One upside to this is that intelligent life is bound to form anywhere that can support complex living beings. The downside is that there’s only so much to go around.
It’s not like the other forces in nature. There’s no limit to how much gravity or electro-magnetism can exist, it just does. Sentience is directly linked to the energy in the universe. As energy can neither be created nor destroyed, sentience can’t surpass a percentage of the energy in a given universe. The first species to discover this was in a previous universe, unfortunately close to that universes heat death.
In our universe, it was discovered fairly early on. A galactic council was set up between all known species to allocate population control. There were strict laws in place for reproducing across the universe. Applications had to be approved by a sub sect of the galactic council on every planet. Each planet was given a number not to pass yearly based on the number of deceased beings the year prior. It was very closely maintained.
Recently there has been a large uptick in the number of deceased beings and, more alarmingly, a larger number of births born lifeless. Somehow the universal limit had been reached. The council members were perplexed, they had always left at least 5 billion total left over just in case. There was no way their math was off by that much, that left only 1 possibility. Somewhere in the universe was undiscovered sentient life.
The council immediately sent notice to all discovery crews to scour their sector again. Somehow there was life out there that reproduced so fast that it was disrupting the natural order. The crews were dispatched and the search began. Back at the council chambers, representatives of every species gathered and waited for news.
A search for sentient life was conducted every quarter rotation of an average Galaxy, so labeled 1 galactic standard rotation. That was, on average, every 62.5 million years per search. It hadn't been that long since the last one though, not even 1/8th of a rotation. Every planet with life showed only the basest forms, nothing capable of actual sentience.
Humanity has existed on earth in its current form for 200,000 years. Nowhere in the universe is there another species that reproduces at the rate humans do. The average lifespan of a human is approximately 73 Earth years. Compared to the average lifespan of all other species though that’s nothing. The average lifespan of most others is 1,500 Earth years, give or take a bit. It was inconceivable to the rest of the galactic community that such a species could exist. That is exactly why humanity slipped under the radar, figuratively and literally.
At the end of the search, 3 different planets supporting undiscovered sentient life were uncovered. One had a small population doomed for extinction due to planetary effects. One was small and advancing quickly, peaceful contact was made with them and they were introduced to the galactic community. There were only 263,000 between those two planets, 95% of those being on the latter. The last planet discovered sent shockwaves through the universe.
Earth, as the native inhabitants called it, had a stunning 5.1 billion sentient beings when discovered. That was only one species, there were others on the cusp of sentience as well. Nothing like this had ever been seen before. These Humans reproduced at an astonishing rate, everything on that planet did. Once found, the Council ordered surveillance on the planet to get an accurate reading on life there. After 30 Earth years the survey was completed. In that short time, they watched as the population of sentient beings grew from approximately 5.1 Billion to 7.7 Billion. The council was sent word immediately.
Panic set in as Earths population grew out of control. The Council gathered to discuss options. The following record is as close to Human English as there could be. “They reproduce to quickly, the only option is to neutralize the planet.” Council Member Gra’zaad said. “We have looked at their history as well. Not only do they reproduce faster than any known species, they are highly aggressive even amongst one another.” Council Member Breght Tan Knlowgler said. A round of “Here, here” broke out amongst the members. “I believe there is another way,” Council Member Tom said. Everyone quieted down. “Why waste an entire species, They are on the very edge of sentience as it is it seems. We must deploy the (no translation exists). It is the only way to ensure the safety of the entire Galactic Community” “That has been banned by Council Law and you know it.” Council Member Leplendersticht said. “Desperate times.” Council Member Tom replied.
And so, a fleet of ships was sent to Earth with the solution on board. Once in orbit, the (no translation exists) was powered up and aimed at Earth. Once unleashed it would revert the Humans to non-sentient beings, effectively rendering them nothing but lowly beasts once again. It would strip the intelligence from any being close to sentience as well, ensuring none on the planet could come that close again. As Council Member Tom said, why waste an entire species. There were lots of mouths to feed in the universe.
Thank you for reading!
More from me at [R/WorksofIndridFrost1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WorksofIndridFrost1/)
|
Breaking News on Earth:
Population extension is imminent. There is a large plague infecting billions of people. Dormant for ages, the plague has spread all across the six inhabited continents. Rumors suggests that everyone now has this disease and only time will tell how long they have until. . . death. Violence across the earth seems to end, social media slows down, streets are barren as everyone stays within their homes to spend their last moments wit their family. The diseases seems to cause a paralyzing influenza which leads to a peaceful death in a coma.
NASA scientists prepare a team of 6 astronauts off into the distant galaxy to possibly find other signs of life and repopulate the human race. The crew is sent off into the stars, waving back to a bare earth, previously rich with life. The NASA scientist take the last moments watching the crew ascend from our atmosphere until the ship becomes a spec.
Everyone dies at the expense of an unknown disease, at the expense of another alien life.
| 2018-11-29T11:52:06 | 2018-11-29T11:43:10 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
This whole thing was ridiculous, he didn't even belong in this world. But somehow here he was, a theoretical physicist, stuck in some sort of medieval society, and from all reasonable observation they had magic!
Actual magic, how was that even possible? When he had first arrived there had been… well he would have called it explosive displacement of the air. They also called it that, but they also called it regicide, mass murder, destruction of crown property, illegal use of prohibited magic… oh an trespass on private property. He guessed that much of the law was the same as back home, always add as many charges as they could.
He didn't understand half of what they were saying, dense magical theory washing over him and his eyes glazing over in much the same way as he remembered others eyes glazing over when he was enthusing about some obscure quantum mechanical theory. Considering he was in another world he was glad he could understand them at all. Understanding that did not it seem work both ways as they remarked that he seemed to be speaking in complete gibberish, different each time as they couldn't even seem to understand his name. Repeating back different incoherent babble each time he has screamed his name until they had gagged him for fear he was trying some casting. The court system was a joke in his opinion. It took all of a minute for them to declare him guilty.
"Death by the Dais of Judgement. The doomed may wish for a death of his own choice." The judge declared with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Hopefully the dais can understand your mad ramblings and give us an amusing death."
A wave of rage swelled up within him, if he hadn't have been magically gagged he was sure he'd have spat in the judges face.
He wasn't the only one to face death today. There were two people already hobbled and shackled by thick iron manacles and chains waiting in front of him when he was dragged from his cell and unceremoniously thrust into line waiting at a large wooden door. The man and women in front of me seemed to be magically gagged too. Probably smart given that magic was a thing here. They wouldn't want their wizard, or whatever they called them, prisoners using magic to escape.
After a few minutes it was apparent to him that it was just to be the three of them as the door swung open of its own volition and the manacles around his ankles started to force them to walk forward.
The door opened up into a large amphitheatre of yellow stone, in the centre of which was a black dais. Some of the audience had what looked an awful lot like popcorn.
"Oh, so our deaths are to be public entertainment then." He thought to himself, his impotent rage pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
He'd been planning since the verdict, just a few hours ago. The little he had gleaned from the conversations he'd overheard from guards that assumed he was daft in the head since he couldn't string two coherent words together.
The Dais apparently worked no matter what language you spoke, seemed to understand even complex theories of magic, having once been used to execute some famous arch mage who had tried to use some archaic and convoluted magical theory to try and get around the Dais. Apparently it hadn't worked and the official cause of death was suffocation.
His musing was cut off and the audience above went silent as a booming voice filled the chamber from everywhere and nowhere.
"Elias Shadow-Bane, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die."
At the front a figure stumbled forward clumsily, his face a tortured twisting visage as if straining against some huge weight or pain as he slowly stumbled onto a dais at the centre of the chamber. A deep blue glow started in the stone below him, but he refused to speak.
"Silence will not save you, if you refuse to chose the Circle will chose for you!" The booming voice declared. "You have 1 minute to declare."
"Sleep." The man squeaked out. "I want to die in my sleep!"
A pulse of blue flushed over the man at his declaration, and he crumpled to the ground, his chest raising and falling in the slow steady rythm of sleep. It seemed like a nice way to go.
Then the screaming started. The man, Elias, was screaming and screeching. His body thrashing, and all the while his eyes were closed and slack. For a full minute he screamed and thrashed before blessedly fallin silent. He hadn't woken for an instant, and died in his sleep. In extreme agony.
Thunderous applause flooded into the silence that followed. Some raised their voices to jeer or cheer but the applause drowned out the specifics down in the chamber.
His body sunk down into the dais leaving behind his chains and clothes, which were swept off by a bored looking guard.
"This was sick. It was evil. And I'm going to beat it." He thought to himself as his manacles once more shuffled him forward. He had a plan.
"Talisa of The Black Woods, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die." The same voice declared.
The woman in front of him strode forward, she looked to be quite young and was a lot calmer than the previous convict. She threw back her head to clear the long black tresses from her face and raised her voice.
"Old age!" A smirk danced on her lips as the light pulsed again, and she stood seemingly unaffected. The smirk bloomed a a full smile and her lips twitched as if to speak. Then she jerked, her lips formed a surprised oval and a single word echoed around the chamber.
"Nooooooooo!" The word was drawn out. Getting thinner and quieter as her hair grew out into long tresses that flooded the ground around her feet, the deep lustrous black fading and fading into grey then pure white. Her nails seemed to shoot out and curl up, her skin wrinkled and became wan. Her teeth yellowed and fell out one by one until nothing was left but raw gums.
What fell to the ground with a soft whump looked more mummy than human, and her body sunk into the dais as the thunderous applause once again roared into the chamber.
The bored guard came on and swept the clothes and chains off muttering under his breath. "Always a smart ass."
The blood drained from his face as he watched his plan play out in front of him… she had done precisely what he had planned, and it had failed. A weight settled on his heart as the realisation sunk in. He was going to die, and painfully, for the entertainment of those above.
"Unnamed Assassin, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die."
The manacles forced him forward again. He struggled as hard as he could, causing his movements to be slow and stumbling just like Elias before him.
His mind raced as he feverishly thought of possibilities.
"Was there a way out? It didn't look like it. Even time was under their control, they'd just accelerate your timeline until you died." Another step forward towards his fate.
"Space-time distortions of that magnitude must take immense amounts of energy, even a matter/antimatter reaction would struggle to produce enough energy and exotic particles to produce such an effect." Another step.
"Antimatter." The word reverberated around his mind.
A grin spread across his face as he stopped fighting and let himself be puppetted to the centre of the dais. His mind rapidly estimating some figures, and doing some rapid calculation.
One pound of anti matter was approximately twice as powerful as the Tunguska Event, I weighed about 140 pounds….. well time to introduce the locals to theoretical physics.
As he reached the centre of the Dais a hysterical and vicious laugh erupted from his mouth the moment the gag disappeared. "To have every atom of my being instantly converted to its antimatter equivalent."
|
There went my master planof outsmarting the system.
Joey, my former impromptu partner-in-crime, laid in the room as his life slipped through his grasp, surrounded by hospital equipment.
Joey wheezed and coughed by old age, I was running out of breath as a knot started sinking in my gut. The room started getting hotter as the world blurred.
I was panicking. I was panicking and I had been utterly defeated, just like the last hundreds of thousands of prisoners.
Had he said something else? Had he strayed from our plan!? It was foolproof!
I looked at Joey once again, panic settling in his eyes.
No, he hadn't strayed from the plan. The plan was doomed from the start.
It was too late. I had been cocky, and I was about to pay the price.
Memories of years past, good and bad, flashed across.
Maybe if I had chosen another path, I would've lived a long fulfilling life.
Just as I thought that, my knees buckled and I sunk to the floor.
Joey was clutching his chest as he convulsed.
A smile broke across my face as I went over my last thought. A long fulfilling life.
The curtains were drawn forth as I debated whether to be specific or not. Joey hadn't been specific and that didn't turn out well. But would they give me enough time to detail the rest of my life?
The light above the door sprung green, an oddly cheery color for people walking to their deaths.
The big door slid open and two guards joined my sides, bringing me into the room. The room had returned to the drabby grey of concrete.
As I stood in the room, the weight of death growing heavier on my shoulders, yet my legs remained locked straight, a painful lump forming in my throat.
How do you want to die? They asked.
I opened my mouth and words began spilling out.
I want to live a long fulfilling life free of crime and full of happiness and being a paragon of goodness, and to repay the world for the crimes I have done, and to reform myself into a better person, and die after living that long fulfilling life outside this prison, with my loved ones at my side.
Their eyes bore down into mine, and my breath hitched as they spoke.
Sit down into that chair.
I opened my mouth but one of the guards plopped me into the seat, while the other drew the curtain.
My heart skipped many beats as a feeling of cold and emptyness spread throughout my body, my eyes being squeezed shut.
It was stupid of me to think I could outsmart a century old system.
And then a wave of warmth washed over my body, with cool wind blowing past me.
You are one of those who chose to repent and repay the world for your actions. Thus, as in the past, you will be given a new life. But you must change the worlds of those you meet for the better. As soon as you fail, I shall claim your life.
| 2021-06-24T11:09:46 | 2021-06-24T11:02:13 | 54 | 13 |
[WP] A drug has been outlawed decades ago that has a fifty-fifty shot at making you incredibly intelligent, or completely insane. You hold the last pill in existence.
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There were twenty of us when we first started training. And there were ten of us when we finished training, which was where the 50% success rate statistic documented in the *Top Secret* labeled government folders originated. Technically, I suppose there were still twenty of us *alive*, but the other ten were different.
I was recruited out of high school, just like the other nineteen candidates in the program. Back then, I thought that I was applying for a job, and had been lucky enough to find someone willing to hire me. Turns out, they had found me long before I knew they existed.
"Mr. Lionel," Said the man in the black suit when I entered the interview room, holding a computer print out of my application sheet. I'd found the job online three days prior, when I was searching for a summer position online to earn cash before starting college, since my parents could not afford to give me aid after my father had developed skin cancer. An ad had popped up, an ad that seemed to match my description perfectly. I didn't realize it at the time, but a tad *too* perfectly.
*Intelligent, with a GPA of 3.8 or above. Athletic, above the 95th percentile of the class. Socially adept. With these qualifications, join Brickman Associates, servants of society.*
And three days later, I was shaking the man in the black suit's hand, nervously introducing myself for the interview inside an unmarked brick building.
"Mr. Lionel, the name is Brickman," He continued, his deep voice rumbling, "It is my understanding that you are looking for a summer position with Brickman Associates? We are searching for only the top candidates, Mr. Lionel. The position can only be described as strenuous, but I assure you it will pay off."
"What is it, exactly?" I had asked, meeting his eyes, the irises so brown that they appeared to be pupils.
"Mr. Lionel, it's a position of extreme confidentiality. Consider it a military position, with some fieldwork combined with intelligence operations."
"Some *what*?" I said, "I thought I was applying for a government desk position. I'm not interested in joining the army, sir. I'm going to college."
"It's not the army, son," Brickman answered, and leaned across the table, sliding a small piece of folded paper to me, "It's the best of the best. And I can assure you, we pay more than than you wouldreceive out of college. Better yet, we'll expand your mind in ways you cannot yet comprehend."
I unfolded the paper and stared at the number written on it, the zeros seeming to jump from the page.
"This can't be real," I said, handing it back, and turning to leave.
"I assure you it is. But if you're in, you must be fully committed. We will look after your best interests, but once you are in there is no turning back. We'll be in touch in a few days with further information."
They had, through telephone. The decision was difficult, but logical. I couldn't pay for college, and they were willing to pay me enough to retire in fifteen years to participate in their program. And more importantly, they promised to bring my father to the best doctors in the country, free of charge.
So I accepted.
And they trained me.
I'd never learned to fight before training. None of the twenty had- that was one of the requirements, that we start fresh, with no prior knowledge. But by the end, we were *the best*. Not just in hand to hand, but in every method. Verbal, mental, political- if there was a way to fight, we learned it. And we mastered it by the end of the three years.
At the end of year three, they had gathered us together in a room. And that was when we found the true purpose of our program, listening to a presentation that would change our lives. I'd found my girlfriend in the program, and she was sitting next to me, concern creasing across her face.
"These pills," Said a doctor at the front through a grey mustache, shaking a small bottle in his hand and smoothing his lab coat, "Have the potential to turn you into something greater than human. Something *incredible*. Right now, you may believe you are the best of the best. And I assure you, you are. But with these, you will no longer be men. You'll be *gods*."
He whispered that last word, and our class leaned forward, trying to get a better glimpse of the bottle. The pills had been mandatory, one for each of us, or else we had to leave the program. And I remember watching from the corner of my eye as my girlfriend pocketed hers, and pretended to take it.
I'd swallowed my own, as my father was still taking treatments for his cancer.
The effects had taken one month.
One month before my intellectual capabilities made my previous state appear as if I was a child. And one month before the first of the murders began, as the first of the ten began to turn insane. One month before they were forced to shut down our program, and sign the ten of us who had survived mentally into secrecy, and put the ten others in straight jackets.
"It's us or you," Shouted one of my classmates, Geoffrey, frothing at the mouth as they carried him away, struggling to point at me, "You don't know the potential we have! You don't know, and you stand in our way! We know you're the only ones who can stop us, and we won't rest until you are dead. It's us or you! Gods and devils, but which is which?"
It had worked for a time, keeping them locked away. Until two years after the program, when the electric power to the psych ward mysteriously shut off. And when it turned back on, ten inmates were missing. The ten who had taken the pill, and had lost their minds, and had spent the last few years screaming into the walls of their cells.
I'd taken my girlfriend then and gone into hiding, living in the tropics far away for the next seven years, doing our best to blend into society. Until one day, our phone rang, and I rushed to answer it.
Not much was said on the other line. Not much had to be.
"We've found you," Then Geoffrey's laugh, "It's time for the games to begin, Lionel." Then there was a click as the line went dead.
I knew I couldn't face all ten of them, and I knew I could only run for so long. So I walked to my cupboard, and reached to the back, where a bottle had gathered dust for several years, and a single pill was inside. A pill my girlfriend had pretended to swallow long ago.
At times, I still wonder whether the first pill made me intelligent or insane. As I reached towards the cup of water to wash the second one down, I'm leaning towards the latter.
***
By Leo
**[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/4t62ht/wp_a_drug_has_been_outlawed_decades_ago_that_has/)**
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I can't believe I finally found it. Blazitra. I knew my grandfather had illegally bought and sold them before he died. And here it was sitting in the oval container in front of me. The last pill that could make me - a bumbling idiot - as smart as the Einsteins and Teslas.
I picked up the small, fiery-red pill, and walked into the kitchen to grab a drink, making sure to keep my focus on the precious pill that stared up at me from my palm. In my daze of happiness, I forgot about the suitcase I had hastily thrown on the floor upon returning from vacation, eager to search for the pill I had realized must be hidden amongst my grandfather's vast ovaltine collection. I kicked the edge of it in full stride and lost control of the little pill as I staggered to regain my balance. I stared in horror as it fell into the sink, and went straight down the drain.
I entered panic mode as I racked my dumb brain to come up with options. Considering I knew nothing about plumbing, I decided to call my friend Joe, who owned a local plumbing company.
"Hey Joe, I lost the last pill of my prescription down the drain, and was wondering if you could come over and help me get it out."
"Sure thing," he replied. "I'll be there in 15."
15 minutes later there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find Joe, a staunch liberal, with a pistol in his hand aimed at my chest. "Hey Joe, what are you doing with a gun in your hand?" I queried.
His voice unwavering, he stated "You know I caught her messin' 'round with another man."
BANG BANG. I jerked my head up from the kitchen floor. I looked around, but couldn't find the source of the ear-shattering bangs. My kitchen looked different. Instead of the gorgeous granite counter top, my eyes met a white, plastic sink and cupboard. "Where am I?" I asked aloud. My head throbbed from hitting the floor. I tried to raise my hand to feel the damage, but felt restrained. As I looked down to the straitjacket tightly hugging my arms to my chest, it all came back to me. I had taken the pill. Over 4 years ago. And I'd be locked in this cell for the rest of my life.
| 2016-07-16T00:27:18 | 2016-07-16T00:13:59 | 1,213 | 36 |
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
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The time had finally come. Saying his farewells, the soldier left the safety of his friends and marched into the center of the battlefield, alone. He could see the opposing forces staring him down, but he did not falter. Then, one of them, a foot-soldier much like himself, stepped forwards. "Look at that fool, standing all alone! Perhaps he will be the first to die! Though certainly not the last!"
The soldier felt fury rising inside him at the sound of the enemy's taunts. He nearly charged the lines himself, until he felt a friendly hand on his shoulder. Turning back, he saw a knight from his own army, giving him a reassuring grin. "Do not let them incite you. Many of us will die today, but I promise you, their corpses shall litter this field far more than our own."
The soldier nodded and returned the grin. Charging in on his own would be suicide, and then how could he say he made a difference in this glorious battle? He would stand his ground until the right time came.
And come it did. Hardly a moment later, a spear-wielding foot-soldier came charging out of the enemy lines, his weapon leveled directly at the brave soldier's chest. The soldier sidestepped the strike with ease, and plunged his shortsword into the enemy's neck.
The sound of rapid footsteps caused him to look up. The taunting soldier from before was charging him! The spearman must've been a ruse, to catch him off-guard. Realizing there was no time to block or dodge the assault from the taunter, the soldier closed his eyes and accepted oblivion. His last thought was that he was the first. The first to slay one of the enemy. For that honor, he would gladly die a hundred times.
"NO!" a soldier shouted. That was his friend, his best friend! Enraged, he readied his sword and buckler, and charged towards the taunter. But the bastard was ready. He blocked the blow expertly, and so their deadly dance began. Sword clashed on shield, shield pushed against sword, and around them, the battle raged.
One of the good army's paladins struck down an enemy cleric, only to be killed by the famous Warrior-Queen of the Onyx Crown. Then, a mage of the Ivory Throne began to cast a powerful spell that would have blasted the Onyx Queen to pieces. However, before he could finish the spell, he was intercepted by a lancer from the Onyx army.
Seeing an opportunity, the soldier made a decision. The taunter was but one soldier. It was better to kill a vulnerable enemy quickly than to spend the entire battle trying to kill a well-prepared foe, no matter one's personal feelings of vengeance. With that, he broke apart from his opponent and charged towards the lancer. He cut him down before the lancer could so much as raise a hand to protect his face.
But there was no time to revel in glory. Turning his head, he saw death fast approaching in the form of a bolt of dark energy from the Warrior-Queen. The soldier side-stepped, dodging the blast with mere inches to spare. Grabbing his fresh kill's lance, he threw it at the wicked Queen, who leaped and rolled out of the way with the reflexes of a tiger.
An Ivory knight rode to the soldiers aid, but was caught by surprise by an enemy knight. He tried to defend himself, but the warrior slashed the brave knight's horse, causing it to collapse, bringing its rider with it.
Then, as the dark army seemed on the verge of victory, *she* appeared. Her enemies called her the Pale Death. Her allies called her Salvation. With a single stroke of her greatsword, she sliced the legs off the dark knight's steed, bringing him to the same fate as his victim. With that, the Ivory Army fought with renewed vigor.
The dark army tried to push back, but just as they seemed to be succeeding, a bolt of lightning surged from behind the Ivory army's front lines, blasting into the chest of the Onyx Queen. She screamed in agony, and fell to the ground, dead. Above her stood the court wizard of the Ivory King. His talent for lightning was famous even in the lands of Onyx.
After that, the battle raged for hardly a minute longer. Finally, Salvation's sword was held to the throat of the Onyx King. He knelt, defeated.
"Checkmate."
Who says chess can't be exciting?
*Fin*
If anyone's curious, here's the actual game I based this off of:
1. e4 c6
2. Nf3 d5
3. exd5 cxd5
4. d4 e6
5. Nc3 Bd6
6. Be3 Qc7
7. Qd2 Bd7
8. O-O-O Ne7
9. Nb5 Nbc6
10. Nxd6+ Qxd6
11. Bf4 e5
12. dxe5 Qe6
13. Nd4 Nxd4
14. Qxd4 O-O
15. Bg3 Nf5
16. Qg4 Qa6
17. Bxa6 bxa6
18. Rxd5 Be6
19. Rd3 Nd4
20. Qxd4 Bxa2
21. b3 Bxb3
22. cxb3 Rfc8+
23. Kb2 Rab8
24. e6 a5
25. Bxb8 Rxb8
26. Rg3 a4
27. Qxg7#
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"Run away, run away!! It's going to eat us!"
"My wife! My boy! It's going to eat them all!"
"Wait, could it be? Is it the great, fantastic...hmmm, magnificient Mighty Man!"
"Mighty Man, Mighty Man, he'll save us from the monsters!"
"Yes it is I, Mighty Man. The mightiest man in all of Pleasantville. I shalt slay you monsterous beast!"
"RAWWWWWWR!!"
"MIGHTY SMmmmmaaaaaaaaa-"
The door opens just slightly as little Timmy enters his father's study, envelopes placed haphazardly across the room.
"Did you see my action figures...Dad??"
| 2017-08-30T07:33:21 | 2017-08-30T07:30:27 | 284 | 33 |
[WP] While playing D&D with some friends, one of the characters "escapes through a portal". The same character suddenly walks into the room you're in, utterly confused.
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"Alright so Tripbip you want to take the black bone crown from the Arch Emperor Lich Kings corpse right?"
Daniel asked it in that way GMs do where you just know they want you to do it because it can't possibly end well for the player. Now unfortunately for us, Ella gets bored easily and likes to "liven things up a bit" as she puts it.
"Yeah, I want to go over and put it on my head, but I want to do it without anyone seeing."
"Alright roll your stealth, oh and remember you have your cloak of shadows that gives you plus 5 to stealth"
You could see the glee in his eyes as he remembered that last bit. She made a big show of rolling the dice waving her hands around and blowing on them, Brent decided to close his eyes and put his hands over his ears while the rest of us watched transfixed.
"Holy crap it's a natural 20, that's like 33 right?"
"Well it's a 32, but yeah that doesn't really change anything. So, you all start looking around the room for loot or anything you missed before."
Everyone except for Ella Daniel and Brent have a look of utter disappointment on their faces. Ella and Daniel have the biggest shit eating grins while Brent's eyes were still closed and his hands were still firmly over his ears. I tapped him on the shoulder but he just shook his head.
"I don't want to know, I can't take it right now man."
"Right well, anyway. A few moments later Kralzug you notice that there is a floating bone crown that looks strangely similar to the one the Arch Emperor Lich King was wearing, you then see the small figure of your friend and companion under it."
"I grin and wave at Kralzug before putting it on."
I have seen Daniel this happy 3 times before, twice right before he party wiped us and once when he got to the front page of Reddit. There was a small chance he just got to the front page again, though probably not a big one.
"You place the crown on your head, and feel nothing... Then you see the shadows spewing from the corpse of the Lich King coalescing into the form of a giant Tripbip, it doesn't look happy."
"Welp now that we're all going to be killed by a giant halfling shadow thing, I would like to cast Earthquake making sure that we're not in the area of effect.".
Well I guess I was right about the chances of Daniel making a front page post. Maybe I could play a Half-Orc bard for my next character, cause we're all about to wipe. Either the giant shadow Tripbip kills us or the fact that Sam is casting a earthquake spell underground in a ancient tomb will. Well I guess I should probably do something.
"Okay I want to run as fast as I can towards the dead body and see if I can find any magical looking object that would fit in that alter we found before."
"Alright, you find a fist sized rock with runes carved into it that looks like it might fit. While you do that the spell finishes casting and the room starts to tremble as cracks spread across the room."
"Oh crap I forgot we were underground."
Brent finally comes back to us and I think he understands what I'm doing. Shit I'm just going to have to wing it.
"I want to sprint back to the room with the alter and shout for everyone to follow."
"I'm guessing everyone follows? If you don't say so. Alright so the door to that hasn't caved in yet so you can make it back there easily, though the Shadow Tripbip follows you."
"I shout to everyone else. 'Kralzug will kill Shadow Tripbip and save friends! For my friends!' I want to fight it while walking back a bit every turn"
Alright so Brent isn't the best with words but at least he knows my plan, I think. If he doesn't then well Kralzug thanks for your sacrifice.
"Okay Kralzug while you fight Shadow Tripbip you can see the throne room starting to collapse, the cracks racing towards you. The rest of you make it back to the alter."
"As soon as I get there I slam the stone into it."
"Instantly a purplish portal materializes before you, you can hear the tomb starting to collapse."
Hah! It worked, I knew it would. Everyone saved again, the only problem is where the portal goes.
"Okay I tell the others to get in and shout as loud as possible to Kralzug to come, then as soon as they go through I do."
"Do either of you not want to go through the portal?"
"I wait for Delaranthian to go through, then I do."
"Yeah I go through, how bad is the tomb doing by the way?"
"Oh you know in a matter of minutes the entire tomb and connecting cave systems will be nothing but ruble."
I'm not sure which of the two look more pleased by that.
"Did I hear that."
"Oh yeah sorry you did."
"I jump in the portal by the way, as soon as the other two do."
"Yeah I know."
"Right, I stop fighting and charge through the portal to freedom."
HAH IT WORKED! No TPK tonight Daniel!
"You know you're going to take an attack of opportunity right?"
"Yeah that's fine."
"Goddammit, Tripbip swings a shadowy claw at you but you puff out your chest and it bounces harmlessly off, you manage to slip away and jump into the portal just as it starts to fade. Well I think that's a good place to e..."
Daniel trails off as a incredibly loud banging and crashing sound comes from the kitchen. We all stop motionless staring each other.
"You locked the doors right Jake?"
Everyone was staring at me now, waiting for my answer. I had locked the door, hadn't I? My family wasn't home, and I defiantly locked the door. Was it the cat, or an earthquake that would be ironic.
"Uh yeah I think so, it's probably just the wind, if your so concerned go have a look for yourself."
"Um yeah I will, though someone should come with me, ya know in case."
"I'm thirsty anyway I'll come."
About a minute later a loud 'holy shit!' from Brent followed by a gruff 'Who are you Human!? And what is this place?' then Daniel came sprinting back into the room with a look on his face I've never seen before.
"What the hell is happening in there Daniel?"
"Uhh um, th- there is a massive Orc in your kitchen Jake."
- NL
Edit: This is my first post here so any advice would be welcome :)
|
"Jesus christ. Out of all the characters which could escape, it was this exact one."
"Who you calling a character, human scum?"
"It could have been the gallant overpowered knight, it could have been the overly sexual one by that virgin over there, it could have at least been the witty idiot... But instead, we get a xenophobic sociopath of a cucumber."
Geren the cucumber stood mighty on the floor, with beautiful cucumberonian genes embedded inside him. And yet, this human scum still mocked him. This shall not be acceptable in his perfect cucumber world... And then, he saw through it all, and how it all worked. He understood, and so, he formulated his plan.
"Well, which one do you want the most?" He asked.
And so the one with the big mouth started talking first. "The gallant knight would've been great. Could have been like a real life superhero, smiting the evils of this world, and maybe could even have created a-"
"Are you stupid? He's simply overpowered, not a god." Chipped in the man with the funny hat. "M'lady Yuno would have been a much better choice. Would have at least made us happy."
"I beg to differ, friends" Said the one who was acting all lordly. "My witty character Tyrion would have been the perfect choice. Great friend, great ally, maybe would have used his wit to convince people to do good things for once."
And so an argument ensued. A huge and great one, where despite the fact that every side knew that the other two could not be convinced, they still shouted as if it was their last day on Earth. And yet they still couldn't see... it.
"I transform into an omnipotent and invincible cucumber", said Geren, dropping the die down.
It was a 20.
| 2017-01-04T03:03:36 | 2017-01-04T02:54:29 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] You finally build up enough courage to talk to that cute someone you see on the bus. Their face turns dark as they respond "You shouldn't be able to see me."
|
It takes a lot of courage to do something that other people would never think of doing.
Like sitting in the middle of a crowded city bus in the brightest neon purple dress that you could find on clearance, paired with those joke neon green socks that your Aunt gave you last Halloween. I mean, only a crazy person would wear it, especially when paired with a blue scarf.
It’s kind of horrifying how much the outfit clashes.
But I kind of love it.
Even if it does suck, because people see me coming and they avoid me like the plague. No one wants to talk to the crazy girl, which I’m totally not crazy, just eccentric. I like bright colors, and I love the way they make me feel.
Purple, like the dress, makes me feel warm. It’s like sitting in a bubble bath, soaking until I get all wrinkly. And the green socks remind me of apples, and the feeling of biting into one on a hot day, the juice running down my chin. But blue is my favorite, because blue is the feeling of flying through the air on a swing while my brother Alex pushes me higher and higher.
Colors mean everything to me.
So, I wear a lot of them.
And this was what I was wearing the first time I saw him.
Now, he wasn’t like me. He didn’t wear color, he wore black. And grey. I had seen plenty of these types of people in my life, people who thought wearing the darkest colors made them blend in. And I guess, from the way everyone ignored him as he curled on two whole seats, back to the wall of the bus, that it worked. No one bothered him.
He was like me.
We were both outcasts. I knew it just from looking at him. But staring is rude, so I looked away.
The next day I was wearing orange, the color of ice cream melting down my fingers faster than I can eat it. He was wearing black.
The day after was a sunny yellow day, a lemon cleaner my mom used to scrub down the house when Grandma would visit. He was wearing black.
Then it was purple, dark with white spots. And black.
Red like ladybugs, and black.
Everyday he wore black. Almost the same thing to. He was a constant, while I was unpredictable. Kind of like he was the sun and I was revolving around him in patterns that didn’t make sense. And I did revolve around him. Even on days that I didn’t need to be on the bus, I left my house and went to see him.
I wanted to talk to him.
But he wasn’t the type of guy you just walk up to. He had this look in his eyes, a kind of dark promise to the world. Every time I got the courage to talk to him, I felt myself pulling back, scared that I would do something offend him.
After all, he didn’t talk to anyone, and they didn’t talk to him.
So yeah, it takes a lot of courage to do something you aren’t comfortable with.
But courage is a color close to bronze. It is Hercules fighting the lion, and it is the smell of boot shine as a man who I never really got to know left to fight a war on something I still don’t understand. Bronze is the color of the dress I wore as I stood up from my seat, shuffling past people to talk to him.
And when I got to him, I smiled like sunshine, like the yellow lemon slice earrings I wore to remind me of happy days.
“Hi! Can I sit with you?” I don’t know if it was my voice, but he startled, those blue grey eyes, like a storm during April, darted up from his book to look at me. His eyes became saucers, and I could only watch as his hands tightened on the book, the crinkling of the pages sticking in my head as the color of old parchment.
“You can see me.” His voice made me startle a little, it was like gravel. Two rocks rubbing together, and I knew from forgetting to pull myself from my artwork from time to time, what it sounds like when you forget to talk for a long time.
“Yeeeeah?” I put my hand on the bar next to his seat, holding myself up as the bus started to move again. “Of course, I can see you. I’m Ellie. What’s your name?”
He didn’t answer for a while, staring at me like I was a puzzle. Which was a look I was kind of used to. He didn’t understand me, and so the longer he was quiet, the more I felt my smile wane, until I was staring at him with a small frown.
“Drachma. My name, its Drachma.” That gravelly voice made the smile come back, and I filed it away under warm golden hues, the voice you hear laying next to a fire in a cabin some place.
I’m a romantic, sue me.
“Drachma. That’s a fun name. Can I sit?” I point to the empty seat where he has his feet and he moves them as if burned, nodding. Every time his head moves I can see a little bit of his hair poke through, the color of dark winter nights, the sky with stars shining.
I had never seen hair so dark.
Sliding into the spot, I smile at him again, the kind of smile that is theme park ready, excited and happy.
I did something courageous today, it screamed.
“it was my Father’s name.” He scooted away from me to give me room, pulling his hoodie a little closer to his body. He was really skinny, I noticed looking at him. His clothes hung from him, and a part of me wanted to drag him off the bus.
Maybe take him to a diner for a cheeseburger.
“Ellie is short of Elizabeth, it was my Grandmother’s name.” I had never met her, but my mom had always said she was like the rainbow, always changing but beautiful.
“Elizabeth is a nice name.” Pink danced across my skin as I looked at him, tilting my head a little. No one had ever told me that my name was nice, it was a common name after all. But I could tell he meant it, the harsh lines of his face softening.
I think I leaned in a little, smiling at him.
And the bus lurched a little, so that was why it happened. Because if I hadn’t leaned in, and if the bus hadn’t lurched forward, he would have never jerked forward. He would have never gone through me like a ghost.
Letting out a small yelp, I stared as he stayed halfway in me, halfway out for a few seconds, my eyes wide and honestly a little afraid. He was like a ghost, my hand reaching up to pass through him a few times as his face fell.
He looked sad.
“You shouldn’t have been able to see me, Ellie.” He said as if that explained everything.
“I’m dead.”
Check out more stories by me! r/melodywrites
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There she was. At the bus stop, like she always was. But today was going to be different. I finally had the courage to talk to her.
"Hey."
Her eyes widened.
I hesitated. "Are you okay?" I asked.
"You shouldn't be able to see me," she said.
"What are you supposed to be then?" I joked. "A ghost?"
"Sometimes I feel like I were," she said softly, staring down at her shoes.
She was giving me some creepy vibes so I tried to walk away. "Well, you have a good o-"
Her head whipped up and she shouted, "Wait!" Then she lowered her eyes and whispered, "Please...No one ever talks to me."
"Whaaaat? Are you kidding?" I laughed. "I don't believe that for a second. You're way too cute for-" I paused.
She blushed.
The bus came and we awkwardly got on.
She paid first, then went to sit down.
I paid, then tried not to make eye contact as I walked past her to a seat in the back.
Her head and eyes followed me as I squished myself in between a guy and a girl, she came over.
For some reason, she focused on the girl. And she looked *pissed*.
The girl was listening to music on her earphones but when she looked up and saw the angry girl looking down at her, she took her earphones out and said, "Huh? Can I help you?"
"You're in my seat."
The earphone girl smiled in confusion and said, "Uh no, I was here first."
The cute girl from the bus stop continued to stare in a cold and calm manner. In an even voice, she said, "You have six seconds to move before I kill you."
"What?!"
"Six..."
The earphone girl looked around for help, but everyone was minding their own business.
"Five...four...three...two..."
The earphone girl tried to hold out, but at the last second, she jumped to her feet. "Fine! Have the seat, you crazy b@#$%." And she grabbed her bag and went all the way to the front.
The cute girl from the bus stop now in shy mode again sat down beside me. "I'm Emma," she said.
| 2020-03-27T21:11:20 | 2020-03-27T17:57:13 | 100 | 15 |
[WP] There is a group of time travellers who create small changes and rely on the butterfly effect to change history. Now they need to prevent World War 3 by making a janitor lose his job. Detail how this stops World War 3.
|
"Sir, I must ask," I uttered, hesitantly.
"Ah, the new arrival, welcome to the squad. Ask away, Sergeant." Said the Commander. He always spoke with a sense of pride in his tone.
"How is getting a 17-year-old janitor fired going to prevent another world war?" I enquired.
The whole team gave a humorous sigh, almost as if they were waiting for me to ask this very question. Well, the whole team except TG-03. He gave a groan which stank of disapproval. TG-03 is the oldest Sergeant in the squad, so I assume he has probably just got fed up with hearing newly assigned men asking this same question.
"Look, I'm gonna tell you what I tell every rookie that asks me that question. Don't ask. Not yet, anyway. It's nowhere near as fun if I tell you now. No, keep that question in the back of your mind until after the task is complete. Once you have returned, you'll be able to follow the subjects life through our Big Brother system and see for yourself."
"What? Big Brother system? Like something from that book?" I asked.
"Well, not really. All of the conspiracy theories of the government spying on everyone are completely misleading. Do you know how boring the average person's life is? Why would we *want* to spy on everyone? That doesn't mean we *can't* do it, just that we don't have an interest in doing it. Instead of spying on everyone, we use the Big Brother system to analyse and calculate persons of interest. These people have a significantly high probability of altering the course of the future. The best thing? It works across all of time. If someone from the 20th century is deemed a person of interest, we can retroactively monitor their entire life, even though we couldn't have at the time. Look, it's complicated. You'll see once you're back." explained the Commander. "Now, enough chat. Time to brief you all on the insertion. You have already read the boy's file, so all you need to know is that you will be dropped in at a local parking lot. As usual, you will be armed but you are not to engage anyone under any circumstances. Self-defence only. You will also each have a Universal Credit Card, which will give you access to an unlimited amount of funds in case you need them. No burgers this time, TG-04. You are to ensure the kid loses his job by any means necessary. Are you ready?"
I lost concentration after the first few seconds of the Commander speaking. I was thinking about how I was almost certain I had read that the Government had already successfully prevented WW3 using the Time Guider program a few months back. Right about the time when applications were open to be assigned to the program. I thought I remembered how an agent, mentioned only as TG-02, had single-handedly prevented the mission from going sideways by making an improvised explosive after the team failed to bring theirs from HQ. It was a whole big deal. The explosive specialist was sacked, that's why the position was opened for a new recruit. That reminded me, I hadn't seen TG-02 in a while.
"Hang on," I quickly remarked, "where is TG-02?"
"TG-02 won't be coming on this assignment." uttered the Captain, TG-01, ominously. I knew better than to ask further questions on the matter.
Before I knew it, we were in a parking lot. I was told during our initial briefing a few weeks ago that these jobs are incredibly simple. Most of the time you just pretend to be a client or customer and complain to the subjects superior and he sacks the poor bastard. Job done. This instance was no different. TG-01 and 03 pretended to be interested in a car, and when the subject walked by they started some kind of scuffle, resulting in the subject assaulting 03 and subsequently getting sacked. Me and TG-04 just had to keep guard. Neither of us was sure exactly what we were supposed to be keeping guard from, but we didn't complain. It was an easy cheque, after all.
Within a few hours, we were already back at HQ.
"All good? No complications?" Asked the Commander.
"You do realise we have a time machine, right sir? It's not like things can go wrong." jested the Captain. We all laughed.
"True that," replied the Commander. He had a good sense of humour. I'd never met a boss who was so decent to his inferiors when I served in the navy. I liked him.
"Now," he continued, "I didn't forget about my promise, 05. Head in next door and access a terminal if you are still interested in seeing the subject's life play out. The rest of you, good work. You are dismissed." I was 05. We were forbidden from knowing each other's personal details, like names, home states, backgrounds, you get the picture. Total secrecy.
Alas, I headed next door to access a Butterfly Terminal. I turned it on and entered my credentials. I now had access to view all of my previous assignments, which currently consisted of just the one. I opened the subject's profile and was presented with two options. 1 - '*Full Viewing' - view the subjects whole life following TG contact.* 2 - *'Expedient Viewing' - view the highlights and major events of the subjects life following TG contact.* I had no real interest in the subjects whole life, I just wanted to see how it prevented a world war, so I chose option 2.
The first clip was of the subject getting sacked. After he was sacked he returned to his house where his mother beat him for 'losing another job'. She then kicked him out of the house. The system then showed me a series of clips of the subject being involved in criminal activity. Drug dealing, burglary, mugging, it's as if the kid was trying to fill his felony Pokedex. As the clips went on, he got more and more efficient at his craft. One of the clips showed him come out of a shootout alive where he was heavily outnumbered. Another showed him taking down four cops who had him cornered in an alley. This guy was very good. He successfully evaded capture for 13 years. *This guy would make a great Time Guider,* I thought to myself jokingly.
Eventually one of the clips showed the subject being apprehended by the FBI following a homicide investigation. But instead of being brought to a station or FBI building, he was transferred to some kind of hidden safe house. The agents who had apprehended the subject stood outside. They were hesitant to get too close to the door. As the subject left the agents and entered the building, he was met with two men wearing slick, black suits and dark sunglasses. I couldn't really see their faces, but one of them was scarily familiar. They explained to him how they were with a joint task force between the CIA and the Delta Force, and that they would like to recruit him for a new program they were in the process of initiating*.* A program eerily similar sounding to the Time Guiders program, with a few discrepancies. They warned him that failure to comply would result in his permanent detention. I definitely recognised the voice of the taller man from *somewhere.* The subject protested, but ultimately the options he was left with was either helping them or going to prison for the rest of his life. He chose the former.
"We are very glad that you chose to work with us, ---"
The video cut out for half a second, then returned.
"You will no longer be known as ---"
The video cut out again, before returning almost straight after. I thought it was the connection.
"You will no longer speak of yourself as an individual. You have no past. You have no friends. You have no family. You are part of a team. You will identify yourself as simply---"
The screen went black.
|
Blood pressure. It all started with fucking blood pressure. All the deaths and destruction because someone was a little too angry one day. Mark Johnson doesn’t know it but he unwittingly set off world war 3. A fucking janitor! Doing his job. And the world is in ruin.
My name is 03 one of 7 time managers. We did the math. We crossed our T’s and dotted our I’s. If I can remove mark from his job the carnage of world war 3 will never happen.
You might be asking yourself “how the hell does a janitor cause world war 3?”. And like I said. Blood pressure.
There was a high school rally going on for class that was soon to graduate. Unbeknownst to them though the president who was an alumni was going to come give a speech of encouragement. Unfortunately for everyone though the situation between Pakistan and India escalated that day, couple that with the murder of the presidents daughter a couple weeks prior and the overall disdain and warmongering of the public and you got yourself a bad situation.
The president shows up as secretly as he could. But mike was busy mopping the floors, and no one knew the president would show.
All the troubles of the world were being carried by the president. He walks in to the school and slips on a wet floor and smacks his head. The president is bleeding but not much of an issue.
The presidents service members insist on bringing the president to the hospital but he insists he give his speech first.
Fine. He does. But afterwards they go to the hospital to ensure there is no brain damage. The president is okay but the doctors uncover that the president has abnormally high blood pressure. Not unsurprising for the leader of the free world.
While in the hospital the president made his rounds to all the clinics. Especially the children’s wing. The loss of his daughter was taking a toll. There was a young girl in particular that stood out to him. She has lost her legs in a car accident but was still very bit as kind and open to the world.
After leaving the children’s wing it happened. A Pakistani extremist enters the hospital chasing after the president and blows himself up.
The president is relatively unharmed but many of the children. Including that girl are not.
Within hours the president issued an address to the people that a call to action was needed to protect the fire works. Within 3 months the world was in the deadliest war ever known.
Because of a wet floor made by mark johnson.
You might be asking yourself “why not kill the extremist or shut down the rally or any number of things that would prevent it all from happening?!?”
Again. I am a time manager. And we all did the math. That trip to the hospital is the catalyst of it all. And preventing it is the safest way to ensure minimal mainline time damage and adjusted timeline damage.
All it requires is mark to lose his job a week prior to the incident.
Fire up the machine, I’m ready to set thebworks right.
| 2019-09-22T09:33:52 | 2019-09-22T09:09:57 | 69 | 30 |
[WP] Some people's crimes are so bad execution is not enough. In these cases time travel is used to prevent their birth, ripping them out of history completely.
|
Stepping out of the temporal rift, Gerald Farr, an Agent for the Temporal Affairs Department, looked at his new surroundings. His drop site had put him in a back alley. It was probably the least conspicuous spot they could find to put him down that was still close enough to the target to make it in time.
He oriented himself with the gadget they had given him. The prep team called it a "smart phone". Whatever. The point was the natives apparently used them, and it wouldn't look suspicious. Although, his was somewhat special in that it had a DNA sensor that would "burn" it's contents if anyone but him tried to use it.
That level of paranoia had to be taken because of how far back that had sent him this time. He didn't quite believe it when they emailed him the briefing file. I mean, God, what a mess this was going to make for Continuity. Well, that was *their* problem. Actually, he knew a couple of people who worked in that department, and they'd probably be high-fiving each other about all the overtime this one was going to create.
None of that mattered to Farr. He was a man with a mission. That's all he had to think about. The "smart phone" had located a signal and was confirming his location, time, and date from local servers. Right on target. Good. These jobs were hard enough without complications like fuzzy target errors.
Farr got directions from an app on the unit and stuck an earpiece in so he could listen to the turn by turn directions as it lead him to the site where Probability said he could pick up the target. They had actually given him a choice of targets --- mother or father would do after all, just so long as the kid they were destined to create never happened -- but Farr was too new to the job to be fully desensitized, and was sufficiently old fashioned to still be squeamish about assassinating women, so in his mind, it wasn't really a choice.
As he walked along, drinking in the local culture, he wondered if that was considered sexist. He had plenty of female counterparts and they never *seemed* to care one way or the other. One in particular had told him with a shrug that she just went for whichever target was least complicated. He told himself he'd have to ask around when he got back: Try to get a feel for whether anyone else felt this way, or if it was just him.
A few moments later, he'd reached the intersection and sure enough, there was the library, just as he'd been told to expect it. He crossed the street quickly, and surveyed the building. Before going in, he wanted an exit strategy so he could disappear quickly. He took his time walking up and down the street it was on, and mentally planned at least three ways to "disappear" as fast as possible when the job was done. Then he returned and entered the vestibule of the library.
He lounged in the vestibule. Farr noticed no one else was doing so, and that was both good and bad. Good, because it meant there would be no witnesses. Bad, because it made him stand out like a sore thumb while he waited. Oh well. Retrieval could generally get him out within six minutes of the confirmation signal. So he really only had to avoid being caught for six minutes, and after that, he'd just be some random street thug whom the police never did catch.
At 3:13:23 PM (exactly), the target entered the building carrying a load of books, just as he should be. Farr cleared his throat, looked like he was trying to figure out something on his "smart phone" (he was actually looking at a picture of the target, confirming his identity, of course), "Excuse me, sir...?"
The young man with the long, tousled hair, nerdy glasses paused, shifting his books around to get a better grip and said, "Yeah, listen, I'm in kind of a hurry. I've gotta drop these off and I'm meeting someone." Yeah, Farr thought, the future mother of his kid he was meeting tonight. But not anymore.
"This'll only take a few seconds," Farr said, then carefully aimed and fired the silent but lethal laser pistol that burned a deceptively painless, self cauterizing wound in the victim's throat that would kill with rapid efficiency, while drawing as little attention as possible from possible witnesses. Farr hesitated long enough to watch him topple over, spilling books everywhere and clutching in horror at the ruins of his throat in his last seconds of consciousness.
After a moment, Farr bent down, checked for a heartbeat. Nothing. He pressed the confirmation button on his recall unit. By this time people inside the building were starting to notice the collapsed man in the vestibule, so Farr sprinted out of the building, picking his escape route from among the three he had chosen.
Sirens sounded, but Farr was way too far ahead. Also, he understood that response times in this era were spotty at best. He only needed a little luck. He checked the recall unit. No response signal yet. The local unit verified his confirmation signal had been sent, but no one was sending the response back so far. Well, that can happen. Maybe the lab was crazy right now. Six minutes. Tops.
By the time Farr made it to Central Park, he was pretty sure he'd drawn way more attention than he wanted, but he was running out of back alleys to dash down and had been moving too fast to avoid having people look at him strangely. He realized he looked like a guilty man and forced himself to slow down.
He checked the recall unit again. Still nothing? What the hell? He checked his watch. A creeping horror inched over him as he noted it had been a full eight minutes since the confirmation signal was sent. That was damned irregular. He fought back a wave of panic. What could it be? Something to do with Continuity? He knew doing a hit this far back would cause them trouble, but surely they wouldn't send him back without having first cleared it as safe.
He walked through the park, checking the unit every ten seconds and growing more agitated each time it didn't register anything. Maybe he should stop moving? Yeah. Give them a stationary target to scan for in case they were having trouble with the lock. That was what it probably was.
He sat down on a bench, hands shaking. "OK," he told himself, "Take it easy." He breathed deeply and considered how to keep his mind usefully occupied. Then it hit him: the followup file.
The prep team always included it with your other documentation. You weren't supposed to view it before the job, since keeping a professional detachment was easier if all you had was a face for your target. But Agents used the followup file after a job as a psychological tool to help reconcile themselves to what they had just done: it contain a description of the individual whose existence had just been cancelled and a list of their crimes, which were usually pretty horrifying.
Farr keyed up the followup file, put the earpiece back in and hit play. A chill poured over Farr as he saw that the followup file began not with the logo of the Temporal Affairs Department, but with the trademark mask icon of the People's Freedom Movement, which the TAD had long since declared cyber terrorists.
CRIMINAL: ALLISTAIR HOLLANDER III
SUMMARY OF CRIME: Inventor of time travel.
We, the People's Freedom Movement hereby accuse Allistair Hollander III of committing gross crimes against humanity with the invention of time travel. Whether or not the defendant intended its eventual use to wipe from existence over 200,000 individuals, recently liberated documents, attached, clearly indicate a pattern of consistent abuse by government power mongers. The People will stand this no longer.
Allistair Hollander III is sentence to die by his own invention.
The People have spoken.
Farr read all this, with shaking hands, realizing suddenly why there was no signal from the Retrieval team. Also why there would be none, either. He heard a siren in the distance, and jumped. He could escape the city, perhaps, but to go where? He had no native money, and no idea how to make a living in this time period. It was probably paranoia, but the sirens seemed to be closing in on him.
Still shaking, and with a single tear running down his face, he raised the laser pistol to his temple and closed his eyes. "One more job to be done," he told himself.
|
Barry was suiting up to step through the time machine. David was manning the controls along with his assistant, Jane.
The traveller stood still for a moment, thinking. He turned to Dave. "Can you brief me up on my target one more time?"
"*Again?* How many times have you asked me in the past hour?"
"I just... want to make sure not to mess things up."
The scientist sighed. "All right. Your target this time is Jonathan Merigold, a big-time entrepreneur. Tall, brown hair, blue eyes. Currently the CEO of the Panther Company - you know, the one that makes that expensive reactor equipment."
"And, why are we terminating him?"
"How many times must I tell you?" David went through some papers on his desk. "Right, he's made a habit of exploiting under-developed countries' citizens as workers, working them right down until they die, mostly with empty promises of rewards never to come."
"Doesn't seem enough for a termination."
"You might think so, but he frequently eradicates whole villages in this manner. There is an estimated death toll in his labor camps that reaches the thousands. Seems like he's been at it systematically and for quite a long time, as well. It's all right here in the statistics. He's worse than some genocidal war criminals, in a sense."
Barry was silent and unmoving. Jane turned to him.
"What's the matter? Something you don't like about this job?"
"Well, I mean... doesn't it seem strange to you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that Merigold's Panther Company is currently the only substantial competitor of our sponsors. Doesn't that strike you as... unsettling?"
Jane looked at the floor. "The data we gather on our targets is independent of the Grand Schematics Corporation..." She looked up again. "Think about it: it makes sense for a corrupt businessman to be a leader in the business world."
"I don't know, I just... the timing seems way too convenient to me. The man only just started being a threat to GSC."
Dave turned to him with a quick, angry motion. "Listen, Barry, give it a rest, will you? Who cares about this ethical crap? The GSC pays our bills. Hell, the founder himself, Edward Rogers, he was here the other day congratulating us *personally* about our up-standing work. Without him, we wouldn't have been able to even build this thing. The god damn time machine, Barry! We're going down in the history books for this one. Now, I don't know about you, but if that guy tells me to off someone? I do it. *No questions asked.*"
Barry's face was distorted with disgust, but he said nothing. He simply finished suiting up and walked to the machine's main chamber. Jane had a worried eye on him.
"Finally!" David said. "Now, you got your co-ordinates? You remember the guy's fucking name?"
"Oh, definitely."
"All right, off you go." The operators pushed a few buttons and Barry vanished into thin air.
"Now," David turned to Jane, "want to grab some lunch before the following shift?"
"I guess," she said. "Ugh, I'm never going to get used to this schedule. I mean, why do cancer researchers need to stick to such difficult hours? Couldn't we just get on with it in the morning, instead of slaving off until the middle of the night?"
"You forget," Barry interjected, "that we work with the labs in Japan. That's why we have to stay up so late, so that we can communicate with them about our supply demands on the fly."
"Hey," Dave said, "as long as we're doing such upstanding work, I don't even care."
| 2014-11-16T15:43:33 | 2014-11-16T15:34:08 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] A supervillain begrudgingly lets his daughter attend a university for superheroes. Things actually seem to go well, until the daughter ends up in the hospital.
|
Melissa never thought she’d feel something for a monster like Raef, but this touching moment between father and daughter was enough to make her wonder if everything they said on the news about him was entirely true.
“Does it hurt now? How much pain are you in?” He seemed panicky, a trait not usually linked to a man with his reputation. He was hovering over the bed, his blood red eyes skimming his daughter from head to toe as if the hospital staff had overlooked a major wound.
“I’m fine, dad,” the teenage girl replied, rolling eyes the same colour as her father’s. “It’s just a broken leg.”
There was the sound of heavy footsteps from the hall, and two security personnel skidded through the doorway. Both male, both young, their faces paled as they got a glimpse of who was in the room. They were backpedalling now, disappearing from sight, probably realizing this situation was way out of their pay grade.
Melissa remained standing in the corner of the room, between a window and the floral pink visitor’s chair. She had been on her way to open the window when Raef had come barging in, willing to bet that a little fresh air was exactly what her patient had needed. She was trying to restrict her breathing to the bare minimum now, afraid that any movement would draw Raef’s attention to her. Thankfully, he was too preoccupied with his daughter’s well being to have noticed the security guards, let alone the nurse cowering in the corner.
“How did this happen?” His voice no longer held that hint of tenderness. “Who did this to you?” Melissa watched as his hands tightened around the railings of the bed, the metal crumpling and twisting beneath them with a groan.
“Dad, relax.” The girl brushed a strand of black hair from her face. “I’m gonna be fine in a few days. I’ve got your genes to thank for that. It’s no big deal.”
“No big deal?” he roared, and the windows rattled in their panes. Melissa could feel a vibration in her chest as he spoke, his voice was so low. “I told you this was a horrible idea, Ivory. But you never listen to me.”
“Ugh, please.” Ivory sat up straighter, her eyes glowing a deeper red. “Do you know how hard I had to work to get accepted to Brave Academy? Not only did I have to convince them I was good enough, I had to do it while hiding the fact that I’m YOUR daughter.”
Raef took a step back, as if he had been dealt a physical blow. His ashen face, usually contorted into some kind of evil grimace, was now smooth in surprise. Melissa couldn’t help but notice that he was actually somewhat handsome when he wasn’t scowling, and could now see the family resemblance in his pretty daughter.
“You know how hard it was to do that when I have your red eyes, dad?” Ivory continued. “Pretty freakin’ hard.” She crossed her arms before her chest, kicking her chin up in that way only teenage girls could. “So EXCUSE ME if I don’t want to live my life in the shadow of the most notorious supervillain in the world, and sorry if it makes you angry that I don’t enjoy killing people like you do. I love you dad, but you do not get to dictate how I live my life.”
Raef blinked once. Twice. It was a few moments before he closed his mouth, seeming to finally collect himself. He bowed his head in defeat. “You are right, my daughter. I know I’ve been hard on you, especially these last few years, but the truth is I just want to see you happy. That’s all I care ab-”
The bullet didn’t break the window. It did break Raef’s skull. Blood sprayed across the white wall behind the man, painting it in grotesque shapes as the villain stood still for a moment. His eyes remained fixated on his daughter, his mouth open as if he was waiting to finish his sentence. Then he slumped to the floor.
Melissa looked from the crumpled body to the girl on the bed, barely believing what she had just witnessed. She heard voices in the hallway, something she now realized had been absent since Raef had entered the room. But her attention was focused on Ivory, her motherly instincts suddenly kicking in as she realized this young girl had just witnessed the gruesome death of her father.
Ivory was still staring at the space where her father had stood just moments before. It was difficult to tell whether she was looking at the empty air or perhaps the bloody scene painted on the wall, but the girl’s eyes were large and round, her lips parted in an ‘oh’. She didn’t seem to notice when the tactical unit entered the room, semi-automatics pointed at the massive body lying on the floor as if it was expected to get up. Captain Turbine was standing amongst the unit, his gold cape blowing in a wind perpetually generated by himself. He looked smug as he stared down at his foe.
“Well, that was easier than expected,” Melissa heard him say. “Jimmy, get the Feds in here. I don’t want them on my ass again about proper protocol. Lionel, start thinking of a press release.”
A hand touched Melissa’s shoulder and she jumped. A member of the tactical unit was standing next to her, his face covered in a black mask but his intentions clear. He wanted her to follow him, out of harm’s way.
“And Jimmy?” Captain Turbine called after his sidekick. “Tell ‘em the girl is secure. The officials at Brave Academy will want to hear their plan-”
The scream that filled the room was barely human. Melissa held her hands to her ears, but that did nothing to stop the onslaught of pain that had her crouching on the floor in agony. She somehow managed to look up, searching for the source of the sound, and spotted Raef’s daughter levitating just above the hospital bed, a green cast wrapped around her left leg and her mouth stretched open in an unnatural shape.
Everybody in the room was crouching in a fetal position on the ground, some of the men trying to rise but failing. Captain Turbine was the only one standing, his golden hair blowing around his head as a strong gust of wind was generated around him. He held up his arms, as if to unleash one of his powerful ‘twisters’, but his neck suddenly bent at an odd angle. His cape fell still alongside the rest of his body, hanging limply in the air as he was suspended by an unknown force, coming to rise to Ivory’s height. The girl’s face was twisted into a snarl, her eyes scarlet orbs that hung in a face as grey as her father’s had once been.
The man beside Melissa was still trying to pull her to safety, his mask cracked in several places now. She went to follow him and the others who were trying to crawl into the relative shelter of the hallway, but the door suddenly slammed shut, blocking their path. Glass shattered to her left, the window breaking, shards flying. More blood splattered across the white walls of the hospital room, bodies dropping, guns firing. The bed flew forward and pinned the man she had been following to the wall, his body crushed from the force.
Melissa was crying. She caught a glimpse of Raef’s body on the floor through the chaos. But then she was being flung backwards, her shoulder banging painfully against the window pane as she passed it. She realized she was leaving behind the agony, the sounds of terror becoming fainter, the feeling of warmth on her face as the sun shone down on her from above. She was alive. She was safe. She was-
|
It had been hard when The Mighty Synapse's daughter had decided to come out to him. He had always known his little princess was different from the rest of their family, but "Dad, I want to be a Hero" was the last thing he had expected to come out of her mouth.
Due to her lineage, for one. Through his blood, she was the descendant of The Lost Emperor, who once ruled an entire nation with an iron fist. Her mother, while she had much more humble origins, was still very much worthy of respect. She was a strong, self-made woman, who had clawed her way up from poverty into one of the world's most feared villain. But also... well, it wasn't that his Daughter wasn't a good person. She definitely was, he had known, and accepted, that she wouldn't be pursuing the fight for her birthright like he was.
But she had grown with every reasons to hate Heroes. She had heard her great-grandfather recount the day The Lost Emperor had been murdered in his sleep, and how the 'Heroes' had turned that act of cowardice into the tale of an epic battle. She had seen the grave of her maternal grand-mother, killed along with one of her son in the crossfire of two super heroes. They had been fighting to prevent the other from taking down the villain they had both been pursuing, but the story, again, had been rewritten, leaving the family to fend for themselves, as 'Causalities are to be expected when saving the entire world'.
Worse yet was her mother's death. Just a mere few weeks before it happened, the two of them had decided to expand their family, and so she started preparing. She summoned demons, with the goal of making them work on expanding her underground base. She was going all out, not only digging up a new room for the baby, but also playground for when the kids would be older. It was the happiest their family had ever been. The Saint, however, sensing her use of forbidden arts, invaded their home and killed her.
Obviously, a demon worshipper would only EVER summon demons to have them invade the earth! God forbid that they be a happy, loving family! After all, how could anyone who fight against the ways of the world know about love!? And yet, they did. And so, against his better judgment, knowing he would be betraying his family, the memory of his ancestor, and the dead, The Mighty Synapse had put aside all of his evil plans, taken on a new identity, and moved into Megapolis so that his princess could attend Hero University.
"Circe..." Now, as she laid in a bed, somewhere in this hospital, he wanted nothing more that to beat himself up for allowing it to happen. Who could have thought that, after making friends and receiving an award, declaring her the 'First year's most promising student', things would turn so very, very wrong... "I can't lose you too..." He held back his tears, keeping his daughter's favourite doll from childhood tightly in his hands. Waiting, to finally hear the words...
"Mister Synovslav? Your daughter is in a waking room, you can go see her now."
| 2017-06-14T17:51:05 | 2017-06-14T17:26:17 | 56 | 16 |
[WP] You are a demon who ran away from hell and decided to live in the human realm in disguise all was going well until a someone breaks into your house kills your dog and steals your car. Without knowing what you are.
|
I've been working on my anger problems.
See, when you're a demon, you got a lot of hellfire in you. Burns deep and hot. I used to feel it over every little thing: traffic, loud noises, idiots blocking the aisle at the store, politicians, housing prices, minimum wage...
There is so much in the human world to be fucking furious over.
But even devils can change. That's what I tell myself, at least.
I've turned my life around. Got a dog. Murphy, big old wooly bastard mutt. I love him with all the heart I never knew I had. Managed to get a piece of shit car and my own flat. It's basically a room in an old house, and I have to share the hall bathroom with a chick I call Methany for obvious reasons and a dude who looks like he spent more time in hell than I did.
But it's mine. I'm free. I don't have to be the person the hellfire in me wants.
Until tonight. Until I wake to the sound of broken glass and my dog, Murphy, going utterly fucking crazy. I heard yelling and laughing and boots on the ground and by the time I was out of bed, the gunshots had already gone off. *Bam bam bam*. Thunder of my heart.
I hear Murphy whimper, and I don't have to hear much else to know what had happened.
I throw myself out of bed just as the bastards are speeding off in my piece of shit car. I don't have to hurry. My car only has enough gas to get them to the corner gas station if they're lucky.
Glass gleams yellow in the streetlights spilling through my shattered window. They litter around Murphy like so many jewels, and his blood seeps so dark it's almost black beneath them.
He's already gone. I won't tell you what he looks like. He looks like despair given form.
I don't cry. Demons never cry. But that hellfire bites so hot at my stomach, it might devour me from the inside out.
Like I said, I've been working on my anger management. But nothing prepares you for this.
I get some chalk from my bedroom, and I draw the summoning circles I haven't drawn in years. Since I fled hell. Since I abandoned my family name and all the weight it carries.
Carefully, my hand steady as a grave, I draw perfect circles on his shoulders, his hips, his skull. I draw lines that cross over the bullet wounds in his chest. He was shot while charging. Barking baying mad, anything to save me.
I smooth my palm over his velvet ears and murmur, in the old language, "*Wake up*."
Murphy's eyes open, burning dark red, and they stare at me with all the rage hellfire holds.
"Let's get those bastards," I hiss.
***
Murphy isn't alive again, exactly. It isn't even him. It's the collective hate of hell, sinking into him. Filling up that space that once held his perfect gentle soul.
But it's reassuring to jog alongside him through the sticky summer night.
Easy enough to follow my car. It leaks oil like a fucking underserviced tanker, so I just follow the trail.
Down the road. Past the gas station. Past the crack den on Second and Lincoln. Down an alley where my headlights still burn now. Devil eyes in the dark.
I turn down the alley with nothing in my hands but a lead pipe I found along the way. I'd been too mad to even think about weapons. The demon part of me wanted to kill them with my bare hands.
Three figures stand around the car, silhouetted in the dark. They're tall. Male. Looming.
No good demon is afraid of death.
"Hey!" I yell, and the demon-Murphy snarls with me. "That's my fucking dog you shot."
One of the figures turns. The ringleader, judging by how deferently the others like at him. "Then this must be your car, too."
I recognize that voice from somewhere. Maybe someone I double crossed. But my drug dealer is just a chill disc golfer who sells me weed after a game once in a while. I've kept my hea down here. Kept to myself. Worked my shitty minimum wage pizza job and come home to my dog.
My own perfect little peace, slaughtered.
My eyes narrow. "Who the fuck are you?"
All three of them cackle. And now I recognize them. It's a sound like death knells. Like grave-thieves planning their next hit.
The ringleader steps close enough for me to see his face in the light. He wears a human skin like me, but I'd recognize those slitted amber eyes anywhere.
"Don't you have any self respect? What good demon asks questions after their damn dog has been shot?"
Demon-Murphy tenses at my side to attack.
I hold up a hand. It could be the summoning magic or whatever drops are left of my good boys soul, but the dog stays at my side. Rigid. Hackled.
I growl, "What are you doing here?"
"Reminding you who you are. Who you're meant to be. You forgot your hellfire, little brother." He paces around me. His cronies just watch smirking from beside my car. "You're Father's greatest shame."
"That's all I ever wanted," I say.
"A prince of hell, serving pizza, playing with fucking mongrels. This isn't what you're meant to be. I'm here to show you sense. Remind you what that good hot rage feels like."
I glare up at my brother's face. Of course I remember. We used to torment humans together. Burn and pillage and destroy and laugh about it later. The guilt makes my stomach spin sickly.
"I never forgot," I whisper. I let my fist relax at my side. "I hope you feel better now."
My brother's sly grin falters. He gestures down at my dog. "You won't even avenge him?"
"He avenged himself." I click my tongue at him and say, for the last time, "Come on, Murphy. Let's go home."
"I always knew you were a useless bastard," my brother spits.
I pause at the alleyway and stare at him. Maybe this was all his fucked up way of saying he missed me. He wants me home. Trying to make me hate the world the way I used to, because our only comraderie came from our shared hate of everything and everyone.
"And I never thought you'd do this to me," I say, my voice empty, "but here we are."
I turn and walk away, but my brother and his demon friends don't follow.
Murphy's spell fades halfway home. I carry him the rest of the way. He's so heavy and still and cold, but with his head turned into my chest and his eyes closed, I can almost pretend he's just dreaming.
He's still dreaming when I dig a grave in my apartment complex's yard. He's dreaming when I kiss his muzzle and tell him how sorry I am. And when I lay the first dirt over him, I pray for the first time in my life: that, if there is a heaven, let his soul find it.
He deserves better than the lot of us down in hell.
I bury the only creature who ever loved me and, like the shitty demon that I am, I let myself cry.
°°°
/r/AsTheMongeeseFly
Thanks for reading! :D
|
The police officer looked up from his desk, and his eyes widened as they laid upon me.
“I’d like to report a car stolen. A 2020 Prius XLR, blue.”
“Sir… I think you need an ambulance. You’re bleeding…” the man said, doing a commendable job of keeping his voice calm and even.
“I’ll go to the hospital next. I want a police report for my stolen vehicle,” I told him.
“Sir, I think you should sit down. I’ll call for an ambulance.” He started to stand from his desk.
As a demon, I had powerful regenerative abilities. My injuries were negligible. “Really, it looks worse than it is, but if it makes you feel better I’ll sit. I just really want a report put in.”
“Okay, we’ll get one in the system for you. Let me just radio for an ambulance while the system is booting up.”
I nodded and twiddled my thumbs while the officer called for medical personnel, and then typed away at his computer. He kept nervously glancing up to me to ensure I was turning paler or collapsing. “Name?” he asked.
“Jobe Wiph. The car was a 2020 Prius XLR, blue.”
“Okay… got it. Was it stolen at your place of residence or elsewhere?”
“At my house… they killed Plinky too…” I said, my voice starting to waver.
“They killed someone!?”
“My Dachshund. He kept yipping at them and they killed him.” Tears began spilling from my eyes. The officer relaxed a little bit, and I didn’t blame him; I knew that a dog being killed just wasn’t as serious as a person being killed to most people, but I felt anger rise in my stomach.
“That’s horrible, Mr. Wiph. We’ll get someone on this case as soon as we can. Were you attacked as well?”
I nodded, but couldn’t get any words out. This torment was the kind of thing I had left Hell for, but even living as peacefully as I could among the humans, Hell had followed me. I buried my face in my hands and wept.
“Sir… please, I need to ask you a few more questions… Sir?” the officer asked me, but it was no use.
A part of me wanted to avenge Plinky. I wanted to track down those scoundrels and show them what a demon could do but… I had left that part of me behind in Hell. My escape would mean nothing if I devolved to my old ways. The humans had their own system for dealing with such calamities, and I would have to trust them. I couldn’t stoop to their level myself.
Plinky wouldn’t have wanted that for me, either.
r/TheCornerStories
| 2021-06-23T06:58:02 | 2021-06-23T06:56:04 | 419 | 161 |
[WP] In a dystopian world, the Catholic Church reigns supreme. Their elite, the Paladins, are those without sin. For their devotion they have received amazing powers. But, a single infringement on one of the 10 commandments would remove this power. However, the resistance now have their own Paladin.
|
*They say let he who is without sin cast the first stone.*
*Well, they sure as hell did.*
I watch some of them mill about in the grey light of pre-dawn, the lost and broken, the Apostates. A woman busies herself scouring a pan. A young child hunts for bugs among hoar frosted earth. I can no longer tell if it is boy or girl, only that it is hungry. Gender means very little to me these days. It reaches down into a pile of burnt orange leaves, its ribs pinching against taught flesh. I sigh and watch my breath float towards them. It's fall and the mornings are crisp and getting crisper, the woods north of Mercy – what once was Boston, are painted grim and grey in the autumn light.
'Nathaniel.'
I turn and find Jack waiting. He's got a thick blanket and grim expression wrapped around him. I smile.
'Father.'
He looks away and scratches his beard. 'Don't call me that. They've finished talking.'
*About time. The leaders of the resistance, forever Our Lady of Perpetual Discussion.*
'The holy host has marched to Purity, but they think it's a distraction. There's a small contingency still stationed outside of Mercy. They think he's there.' *The Cardinal*. The son of a bitch who holds all the east coast in his sanctified fist.
I spit and ask him why they think it's him.
'Scouts say they've seen Paladins.' Jack says.
I nod. Shift the weight of the rifle across my back.
'Best prepare yourself, Nathaniel. You leave at nightfall.'
'Yes, Father.'
He turns to go. 'I told you. Don't call me that.'
I walk towards my tent. 'Can't change what we are, Father.' Much as we might want. The leaves break beneath the weight of my boots and I enjoy the sound.
I don't see him when he says 'I'll let them know you're ready.' I don't see him, but I know how his face looks when he says the words. He hates what I am, just like the others. But he's scared like the others too. Scared of dying, scared of torture, scared of the Church and their holy knights. So He forgives me like the others. Their dark warrior, their Knight Apostate, the avatar of all their sin.
They say the holy knights fast before each battle, they say it lightens their soul. I enter my tent and there is a feast laid out on wooden pallets. There are meat and vegetables and oats and booze and even some chocolate I know was scavenged from the ruins of a small town near Mercy. All accounted it must make up half the camp's rations. I think of the young boy outside, the way his ribs pushed against the pale flesh of his chest, and I grab a whole chicken and bite into the breast. Grease runs down my chin and I swallow. Fuckin' delicious.
*Gluttony.*
They watch me from the bedding. Naked as the day they were cursed and born into this world. They say the Paladins meditate before each battle, sometimes days at a time, reflecting on their holy purpose and listening for the voice of God. I think about that while I finish gorging on the meat and drink and then unsling the gun from off my back. I place it on the altar I keep across tent, watching as the candles flicker in the morning breeze. The day sighs and I undo my belt and greet the women in my bed and do unspeakable things.
*Lust.*
They say the Paladins give sacrifice to their God, to his chosen priests and pontiffs before each fight. Here, they come, each member of the camp I serve and I take what is mine. They give me what little they have. Trinkets mostly. Even the leaders of our sacrilegious refugees. Jack brings me a pocket watch. It's old and rusted and I imagine it belonged to his father and he had wanted it for a Son I've never seen among the survivors. He doesn't look at me when he lays it at the foot of my bed.
*Greed.*
The say the Paladins are humble men. I smile and listen carefully to each word of praise they give as they lay the sacrifices at my feet. I listen and I nod and smile and feel his power begin to brim at my edges.
*Pride*.
They say the Paladins train each day at dawn and after dusk. They say they train all their life. I tell them all to leave my tent, all except my women, then I sleep among my whores for several hours and dream of food and fucking and war.
*Sloth.*
At night, I walk through the camp on unheard feet. Until I find a family. They do not see me. No one does. By now my god flows through me, his dark apostle of damnation, and I can wrap the dark of dusk around me as if it were a second skin. I crouch and watch them. Watch them as they eat their supper by a waning fire. Content to joke and laugh among themselves. Content to be a family. To love. I watch them, scared and cold and dirty. I watch them, each knowing they may die tomorrow but understanding now and here they are alive.
*Envy.*
I disassemble and clean my rifle, my holy blade, and calmly put it back together piece by piece. I remember the father's words before he had to become the broken thing he is now. *A weapon is always a weapon, Nathan, but never forget to count its parts. Always count its parts.* Spring, cylinder, piston, trigger, barrel, clip and nose. I put each piece back together, drinking from the bourbon by my feet. Liquor is rare since the crusade, but I take what little the resistance finds. I count the parts and put the weapon back together. A featureless black helicopter starts up. Engines cutting through the night. Rotors beating hard. My chariot of destruction. *'And War will ride a black steed named ruin'.* We land somewhere just outside of Mercy and I hear their chanting before I see them. They are twelve. Holy helmets and white Kevlar. Guns embossed with gold and silver. Knights Paladin. He's here alright. *The Cardinal.*
I let the darkness fall around me, feel the salt in my eyes and the flame in my blood. I feel my heart pump hard and then stop completely. Feel the deep, cold dark wash across me and the adrenaline overflow, hear his tongue inside my head, his honeyed voice telling me all that I am and will be; his avatar of Sin. I grin and hammer in the clip.
They say the Paladins make good war. I say fuck the Paladins.
*Wrath*
|
The Fallen Angel has come. The prophecies hinted at it. Through them all there was always a fringe element that defied categorization. The church of course wouldn't have any of it. They painted the tangential references as happenstance, as theological static across the millennia. With so many prophets writing in innumerable dialects there was bound to be a bit of fuzz around the edges. The fact that they just happened to all correlate and weave a narrative was circumstantial. Historically God tended to lack subtlety so this just didn't fit his prophetic character. What they failed to consider was what if God wasn't the medium which was communicating?
There was always a hope among the Pergs that one of their own would rise up. It was typical even. The oppressed always told stories of ascension, it wasn't anything new. They grasped at anything to give them hope and the prophecies were just one way which they did this. Sure there were those Pergs who wrote it all off as the aimless desires of the downtrodden. They believed it was all just foolishness which served no purpose but even the staunchest deniers among them were heard to whisper vows of beseeching to the Fallen Angel during the Cleansings.
Now there was no doubt. She had come. The coincidences, if you could call them that, were quite prevalent. Her name was Lucy. She was the child of a now deceased mother and father who were cast out from the Enlightened. Having to bear the misdeeds of her parents, Lucy was an orphan in the slums of Pergatory. The tales of her exploits began at an early age. In a cesspool of deceit and desolation, she rose above. Incorruptible and unwavering she was a light in the darkness. The whispers of her deeds began to take root.
| 2015-10-20T13:02:10 | 2015-10-20T09:17:30 | 37 | 17 |
[WP] Whenever someone says "God save the Queen", Queen Elizabeth II gets an extra second added to her life. She has abducted thousands of people and placed them in underground torture chambers, forcing them to say it until they die of exhaustion.
|
I remember the day the government passed the law, that everyone in the country had to say "God save the Queen" morning, noon and night. Three times a day, every single person. They handed everyone these little device things that were registered to each person. They couldn't be traded, they couldn't be fooled. If you missed saying it, you could say it over and over to catch up, no one really cared if you did it like that was so long as at the end of the month you made it up. The more people said it though, the more rewards you got. It was kind of like a game. We would have small competitions in school. I remember one week our school day was comprised of us saying this phrase over and over to try and win some kind of grant. For a school our size we did really well. All the teachers got raises, all of us got prizes. I remember staying up late every night so I could win. I was given a really good phone that my mum would have never been able to afford.
As we got older, turning into teenagers, that's when things started to change. I remember one boy in my class, he rebelled, he refused to say it anymore. He was given many detentions, then in school suspensions, then he was gone. He wasn't expelled, he was just gone. He wasn't mentioned again. Teachers would ask "who?" if we mentioned him. I remember one kid crying, and the teacher telling us he didn't exist and never had.
As we aged into our GCSEs and further, a lot of us just stopped really caring about the device, just saying the bare minimum. Me though, I kept up the nightly ritual of saying it over and over when I was trapped in a dark room for a few hours a night. It was my wish, to escape where I lived, to escape and go on to Uni and make something of myself. I'd heard rumors that the best kids got into uni on a scholarship, everything paid for. So that's what I did, every single night for a few hours until I was so tired I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.
I started to notice weird things as I was finishing up my lower education, working hard on my A Levels. There were talks of homeless people all over the world, but I'd never seen a single one. No one had ever asked me for money. No one sleeping on the streets. No signs of drug abuse, although people liked to drink a lot. They played the national anthem every 20 minutes in pubs to get people singing God save the Queen. I started looking around more on the internet. That was one thing the government didn't give a damn about. We could communicate with each other no problem. Honestly, they liked us taking our God save the Queen ideals online as it got more people to say it all over the world. As I started talking to more and more people, we all started to realise that people really were vanishing. Honestly, how many older people had we lost randomly? Not died, just somehow lost. How many people had we known over the years who opposed the regime, who rebelled and vanished. People who were injured or sick got leeway but had to catch up as soon as they were able. Then came the pictures, the videos. I saw people, strapped down, saying the phrase over and over. Those who didn't want to say it were being tortured until they did. Some, those who completely refused were sent to where the old folks were. There was a chamber, a room, there was screaming. The door opened again and not a single person moved.
The videos, they were always the same. People saw them and no one did a thing. New ones surfaced all the time. One from the city near me appeared. I saw a boy I'd known through school. He had vanished a month or two back. We'd never see him again and now I knew why.
I started applying for uni. Letters came, then out of the blue, one with the royal seal appeared in my letterbox.
"Dear citizen 114-5983,
Due to your diligence of being part of the 0.1% of your age group, you have been selected to receive a full grant that will cover all your expenses though university and until you are given a place at a top earning company. This money will be deposited into your bank account within the next month.
We do understand that during this time your average will drop, but this is to be expected and we won't penalize so long as you don't fall below the national average.
We thank you for your compliance.
God save the Queen."
I'd made it. I was going to University, escaping my town no matter what happened now. I looked at the letter again and stashed it. No one could know about it and no one would. I'd take out loans and bursaries just like everyone else. That's how it was done. Cheating the system like I had was not praised and the government knew it.
Uni came and I was finally free. I made friends, I loved life, but something just felt wrong, so very wrong. All those videos I'd watched, all those people. I knew what I wanted to do after uni and it wasn't going to end with God save the Queen. I knew I was going to put a stop to this barbaric practice. The Queen must die.
|
Although it may seem questionable, no one says anything because given the power, anyone would do it too. The world envíes her. But what the world doesn’t know is she’s tired. She just wants to die. But she’ll be damned if one of her bratty children takes the throne and become hungry for power. She’ll just have to outlive the world. This is her mission she has assigned herself.
| 2018-10-18T04:34:45 | 2018-10-18T01:53:04 | 181 | 13 |
[WP] Doing good deeds gains you negative years in prison. People collect these negative years for use when they want to commit crimes. As a result, the world's greatest philanthropists are also the most dangerous criminals.
|
######[](#dropcap)
*John Royce has donated yet another million dollars to the Woman's Aid Foundation. This will no doubt spur other celebrities to do the same thing and open up more avenues for anyone suffering from domestic abuse. He's now donated a grand total of almost twenty million dollars spread out over fifteen or sixteen different charities, although he has no doubt donated to Woman's Aid the most.*
John sipped at his coffee, then turned down the radio.
God had granted him a gift. A gift of knowing how to manipulate the stock market. The world was like a car, and he was at the wheel.
He glanced up when his butler walked in. "Your father's finally here, sir."
"Really?" He had been waiting for this day for years. Just waiting for his father to recognize him on the news, to finally come and find him. It was a joyous occasion, and he opened a bottle of champagne as his butler went to let his father in the door.
"Where's my son?" he heard from the foyer. Pulling out two wine glasses, he topped them with the frothing, golden liquid. Then he turned.
"Son!"
"Father!" John shouted, then strode toward the man standing at the entrance with outstretched arms.
Time had not been kind to Richard Royce. His thick, black hair had now greyed and had given into a receding hairline, and his once fit physique now devolved into a beer gut. He was still decently rich. But nowhere near as rich as John was now. And as everyone knew, building connections was everything with the incredibly wealthy. So it wasn't a surprise that, now that John was one of the wealthiest men on earth.
"You've done well for yourself." Richard patted his back and looked around the room, at the crystal chandelier and the statues that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. His son had indeed surpassed him, and he now regretted losing contact for the last fifteen or so years.
"That I have. Champagne?" He handed a glass over to his father.
They clinked glasses before downing the liquid.
"Why did you come to visit?" He glanced over at his butler, who quickly nodded. Everything had been prepared.
"Ahh, yes. I wanted to reunite with my son. I've been searching for you for so many years, so imagine my surprise when I saw you on the news. I'm so glad you aren't dead." He wiped away a tear that he had somehow managed to squeeze from his tearduct.
He was referring to John's disappearance, almost fifteen years ago to the dot. A case where he and his mother had been kidnapped, his mother had been killed, and he had disappeared. He could still feel the blood on his hands as he desperately prayed to a God who wasn't listening as he desperately tried to stem the blood flowing from his mother's abdomen.
"I'm glad. Have you found my mother? We got separated during the kidnapping." John's voice was emotionless.
"Unfortunately, I think she's probably dead." He answered a little too quickly.
John poured another glass for himself and sipped lightly. "Mm-hmm."
"Not that I haven't been looking. I have. But we have to be realistic," he added.
"Why are you really here?" John changed the topic.
"Well..."--his father had the audacity to look a bit ashamed--"I'm in a spot of trouble, and I was hoping you could bail me out. Just a couple million, nothing too serious..."
"Ah, my mother."
"What?" His father froze, unable to keep up with the subject change.
"Did you ever find out who she got kidnapped by?"
He shook his head. "Of course not. I would have killed that motherfucker if I had found out. I loved your mother."
"Oh." John thought of the bruises on his mother's body every day, the way she had cowered whenever he had come into the room. And then he thought of the distinctive star shaped tattoo on the kidnapper's forearm, the same as on the hitmen his father used to hire to get rid of any people he didn't like. It didn't take long to put two and two together. "That's the wrong answer."
His father frowned. "What do you mean?"
John simply snapped his fingers, and his butler walked out, closing the doors to the foyer behind him. It was just him and his stinking, lying, murderous father now.
He had thought, before, when he was young and naive, that it was all a misunderstanding. That the assassins were hired by someone else, or his father wasn't in the know, or anything else. But then he noticed how his father never put out a single ad to look for him. Just assumed he was dead.
John felt a chill run through his body as he remembered the still-warm, heavy weight of his mother's body as she shielded him, then the urgent, silent whisper, even as she coughed up blood. *Pretend you're dead.* Just the thought of the memory made him itch to kill his father. But, for right now, he would settle for less just to take off the edge.
He grabbed the candlestick and bashed it against his father's head, finding joy in the heavy thud it made as it connected.
Richard reeled, falling to the marble floor. Then he climbed up. "What was that?" he shouted, gingerly touching his forehead.
"I know you were lying about my mother, you bastard. As if it wasn't even enough that you abused her every day, you had to go and kill her."John's arms were shaking with rage, and he struck the other direction, until rivulets of blood criss crossed in multiple lines down his father's face. "You really shouldn't use the same hitmen for every job. It's sloppy."
The violence didn't make him feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse. The dam doors had opened, and there was a tide of fury that he couldn't stem, rushing out after so many years.
Richard's face paled. "You have no proof. It would never go to court. "
"I don't need it to go to court. I just need personal satisfaction."
His father's face changed, turning red with anger. "What will the world think of you? How dare you treat me like this? You'll rot in jail for the rest of your life for what you've already done," he shouted, blood streaming down his forehead to his chin.
John removed his glasses and carefully set them down on the counter. "I don't care what they think," he said. He brought out a large knife and examined the blade. It should do wonderfully for flaying apart someone's skin, layer by layer. "I'm sure your donations were for your little business crimes so they couldn't come after you, but that's not why I donated to charity."
He looked at his father then, and grinned. Even under the golden light of the chandelier, his eyes suddenly looked pitch black, and Richard took a step back involuntarily, feeling his heart thud rapidly in chest from fear.
"Ask me why I donate to charity, *dad.*"
*****
r/AlannaWu
|
Irene nervously shifted on her bar stool. She had a habit of fidgeting when nervous. "So, you got the tickets alright?" she asked quietly.
Tabitha sat at the stool beside her, leaning in to hear her over the chaos. "Six AM," she replied. She spoke in a hushed tone, but not whispered. Inconspicuous and unheard.
The bar was busy and chaotic, which was good. It was imperative that their plans draw as little attention at possible. Discussing at length in the quiet of one's home was out of the question. Sure, the odds that someone was paying attention would be slim. But in a crowd like this, extracting their words from an audio feed would be nigh impossible.
"I'll take it," Irene said with a sigh. "Anything to escape this crazy cesspool of a city."
"City? More of a failed social experiment," Tabitha said. A series of distant pops sounded outside, soon followed by squealing tires and the roar of an engine fading into the distance. "God almighty," Tabitha muttered, "it's only Tuesday."
"Do good deeds and get time in return. Use it to pay prison time," Irene said in a mocking tone. "What could go wrong?"
"Oh they sure thought this out," Tabitha said, continuing the mockery.
"Every conceivable scenario."
"We'll just let governor decide what counts as a 'good deed.'"
"He decides what counts as a crime, surely this is no different."
"A child could do it."
"A child did."
Their food arrived. Bar notwithstanding, they couldn't afford to drink and kept to their water. The bartender was not enthused.
Hardly a bite into her food, Tabitha piped up again. "And they wonder why everyone's looking for a way out."
"Nonsense," Irene retorted, "the counterrevolutionary ideas came from a very vocal minority. But once we started listening to everyone's private conversations, we discovered that almost nobody disagreed. In fact, everyone loved it."
"Yet the population is declining rapidly."
"Must be all the murders."
"Not the international flights?"
Irene shook her head. "Not allowed unless you buy round trip and have legitimate business. Who could buy round trip tickets and _not_ return?"
"Who wouldn't want to come back?" Tabitha asked rhetorically. "It's perfectly safe as long as you're rich and can donate to the governor's charity."
| 2018-05-05T23:28:44 | 2018-05-05T22:05:15 | 1,528 | 52 |
[WP] You find an antique gold compass with the words ”Moral Compass”. It will automatically point to the most morally good person within a 100 meter radius. You are on jury one day and when you look at the compass, it points to the convicted serial killer.
|
I don’t believe in fairies, and I don’t believe in magic. Ghosts are only ever hoaxes and bad imagination. And those silly kids YouTube channels where the rich family is constantly finding this treasure or that strange safe in their heretofore unexplored basement are all a load of crock. But I’ll admit that I like to pretend, and that I enjoy watching creepy supernatural garbage late at night while browsing streaming services.
Last year during a family vacation to the beach, my stepfather and I found an old pocket watch/compass combo with our metal detector. It was slender, encased in ivory, and a tinge creepy. Since I was the one to dig it up, I got to keep it. You can bet he started doing more digging after that.
I’m really not superstitious, but I like to pretend. I kept the device on me, and would use it to make decisions, like who to talk to and which car to buy in a used car lot. So far, I’ve only gotten winners, so I grew to trust the compass to steer me right.
Then one day, I got summoned to jury duty. It was a big case for our neck of the woods - an out-of-towner who had slaughtered a string of residents over the several weeks he’d been in the area. I hadn’t personally known any of the victims, so I was allowed on the jury.
The accused was tall. He had a burnt smell that permeated the courtroom. One of the other jurors who had been following the news told me that some of the victims had been burnt, including several random graves that had been dug up with the express purpose of setting fire to the old bones within.
The list of charges was positively unhinged. They confiscated his car - a old Chevy Impala - and in the boot found a large and peculiar stash of weaponry and ammo, plus a buttload if salt. Why so much salt? Why was that even worth noting in the police report? They had to present it all to us, and so they did. The pictures they showed us of the inside of the trunk were laughable. Someone had spray painted a circled star on the inside of the lid. I remember my jaw flapping a little when I saw it. I was certain this guy was insane.
While the lawyers argued their sides of the case, I watched the defendant. He remained stooped over, as though trying to hide his ridiculous height. But when his eyes met mine... well, those weren’t the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. Maybe it was his remorseful expression, or the brown soccer-mom haircut that framed his handsome face. Whatever it was, my gut told me I wasn’t getting the full picture.
On impulse, I took out my pocket watch. Keeping it hidden behind the wooden jurors box, I flipped it open. The compass arrow pointed directly at the alleged killer.
That settled it for me. I sat quietly as the courtroom rambled on, biding my time until we could get into the back room to deliberate. In the meantime, I tried to assemble my argument. Judging by the looks in many of the other jurors’ faces, I would have a tough time convincing them this man wasn’t guilty.
I never got the chance.
I’m still not sure exactly what happened - I’ll admit I was a little zoned out - but some random man barged into the courtroom and walked right down the isle to the defendant’s lawyer. They exchanged a few hushed words, and then the lawyer called for a recess. The judge granted it, for whatever reason, and we were dismissed for a short break.
Now I swear - I swear - I wasn’t snooping. I got lost looking for the bathroom, and maybe that was because I was watching my compass more than my feet, but I swear I wasn’t snooping! I ended up in the same hallway with the man who had been accused of serial murder. He was flanked by his lawyer and a slump-shouldered dude in an ugly tan trench coat. Funny thing is, the compass seemed to switch between the accused and his friend.
And then it suddenly switched to me, and I was baffled until I heard a gruff voice behind me say, “Excuse me.” Y’all, I whirled around faster than that compass, which pointed directly at this leather-clad man who stank like a bar and a Burger King has a baby. He raised his eyebrows at me, and I ducked to the side to let him past. He went straight to the accused and just flat-out hugged him. It was kinda sweet; I felt like I was invading on a personal moment, so I ducked back around the corner and out of sight.
I’m not proud of it, but I tried to eavesdrop. However, they went inside the room, so I went on to find the restroom.
15 minutes passed. Then 30. Then an hour. We started to get restless. One of the bailiffs went into the office assigned to the defendants, and that’s when we discovered they weren’t there. They locked the doors, checked every square inch of the building, and even searched and questioned all of us again like we might’ve stripped and swapped clothes, but we were us and not him. It’s like he had just vanished.
I still don’t believe in ghosts. Magicians are really skilled illusionists, and there’s no such thing as magic. My best guess is that our little town wasn’t equipped to handle a big city case, and we showed it by letting the first serial killer we’d had escape from under our noses. But when I think about it, I’m glad he got away. I’m glad that guy the compass loved so much got his man back. I just hope they know better than to come back around these parts.
|
"Your honor, I object! The magic compass told me that the defendant is completely innocent!" I cried while holding up the compass as proof that he was innocent.
"Let me see that compass" The judge said as I handed it to him.
He looked it over carefully. He noticed the word "MAGIC" written in sharpie on the back, and flipped it over to see that it did indeed point to the defendant.
"Your honor, I object! Magic isn't real!"
"Overruled! I DO believe in magic!" he declared.
"I find the defendant NOT GUILTY" he said as he hit the table with his gavel.
"Wait, isn't the jury supposed to determine guilt?" Another jurer said.
"Overruled! The magic compass said so! This is the new way we determine guilt!"
| 2019-09-10T20:57:38 | 2019-09-10T20:42:41 | 72 | 13 |
[WP] Everybody thinks of Father Time as either an old man or a baby. One day, you discover the truth: Father Time is actually an overworked middle-aged man, with a baby on the way, caring for his elderly father.
|
The command had been issued. The room was suddenly quiet. Alan became aware of every breath he took. Each tick of the grandfather clock, a thunderclap. He looked across the table at his father, old and grey. He knew this was his destiny, but so soon? He tried to resist.
"I don't even have kids, Dad," Alan spoke. He stared at his old man's face, looking for a reaction. None came, so he continued. "It wouldn't make sense for me to take on your role. How could Father Time not be a father? Can't it wait? Clarissa and I have been trying, actually—for kids, I mean—but still no luck. It just doesn't seem right. I don't think I'm ready yet."
He finished speaking, though he had a million other things to say. He knew it wouldn't have mattered. His father shook his head.
"I'm too old," his father said with the same stoic tone Alan had known since childhood. "The burdens of time are too heavy now. I know you're nervous, but this is something you can't be ready for. You just have to jump in. Now take my hand."
Alan wanted to run. He looked out the windows of the house, into the empty void where time and space didn't exist. It was to become his home. He did as he was told.
His father's hands were cold. Alan hated how bony they were. *This is going to happen to me*, he thought to himself, and frowned. In comparison, his own hands were substantial, full of life, and warm. Even more sad, he remembered when his dad's hands had been like that too. The price of being Father Time was costly.
"It's going to get better," his father said. Alan looked into his cold, blue eyes. "At first it's hard, but it does get easier, trust me. Good luck, son. I know you'll make me proud."
Alan almost let go of his father's hands. Not because he was scared of the future, but because he was shocked by the words. Not once in thirty years had his father said something like that. It was always an order, or a reprimanding. Even at Alan's wedding, his father had refused to say more than a handful of cheap remarks.
And then, he disappeared. The man known as Father Time left existence. Or, better to say, he was reincarnated. A title passed down from father to son.
The silence was broken by a raging scream. The old wooden chair Alan was sitting on crashed sideways against the floor, propelled by Alan's writhing in pain. The floor was cold against his body. He squeezed his forehead, hoping to make the hurting stop, as the entirety of the universe became aware of him, and him aware of it. Every single moment, every memory, ever, entered his mind. His brain couldn't handle the flood of information and emotion. After he could scream no more, he passed out. The grandfather clock ticked away in silence once again.
&nbsp;
Clarissa cried. "You should be happy," she said to the husk of the man sitting across the table. "We've been trying for so long. Finally I'm pregnant." She had hoped this would be the one thing to break Alan out of, what he called, 'temporal apathy', but it seemed it wasn't so. He was as emotionless as ever.
"I am happy," he said, without a smile, or a frown, or any change in facial expression really. "How many times must I say it?"
"You're not happy! Look at you! Couldn't you at least try to look happy? Fake a smile? Anything? Please."
His wife's cries had little effect on Alan. Ever since he had shouldered the weight of time, he had become emotionally shutoff. It was a natural response to feeling every emotion ever, all the time, all at once. The human body adapts.
"I'm sorry love, I really am," Alan said, trying his hardest to sound remorseful, but failing, "you know it's hard for me."
The truth of it was that Alan already knew all about their child. He knew they'd name him Caleb, and that he'd like soccer, and that he'd get drunk for the first time at fifteen at a house party, and that he'd steal money from them, and that he'd marry at 18, divorce at 20, remarry the same girl at 22, and divorce for good at 26. He knew everything. And, just like Alan, his son would try to run from becoming Father Time, failing. With a sigh, he took his wife's hands in his and tried his best to console her. Just going through the motions seemed to be enough.
&nbsp;
Alan was reading a book when Clarissa walked in. He looked up with the same expression he always had on.
"It's happening," she said. "My water's broke."
They drove to the hospital, exchanging minimal words. After getting checked in and a bed, the two waited. Clarissa was in labor for 20 hours. Alan sat with her the entire time, even though it was just physically. It was the least, and most, he could do. Caleb Martin Time came in at a healthy weight of 7 pounds 4 ounces. He was unusually silent for a newborn, and after the doctor decided the baby was fine, he let the mother hold him.
"Look, dear," she said to Alan, "he has your eyes. Beautiful and blue."
Alan looked at his son, feeling like he'd already done it all before. Everything in him was just a whirlwind of memories. Clarissa held the baby out. Alan tilted his head to the side.
"Don't you want to hold your son?" she asked.
"Oh, right," Alan said, as he took the baby into his arms.
Everything began to slow down.
For the first time in forever, Alan was present there, in that moment. The tornado of time he was always stuck inside paused. He looked down at the baby, *his* baby, in his arms. Clarissa couldn't help but smile as she saw something she hadn't in a long time. A tear rolled down Alan's cheek as the temporal apathy melted away. He put on a smile, not the one he used to have, back before he had shouldered the burdens of time, but one that was new, and trying, and promised to grow with each passing second. Clarissa looked up at her husband, and, by the expression on his face, she knew he was returning. Not fully back yet, no, but on the train home. She didn't know how long it would take for him to fully arrive, but she promised to the three of them that she'd be there, waiting at the station.
"Hi, little guy," Alan said, testing out his new smile, brushing his baby's thin hair, and wishing his own father was there to see it all.
|
You look around at the table before you. You’re not sure how you got here, but you’re here. You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but you can hear the light chatter amongst the clatter of dishes and utensils.
“How far along is the baby?” You ask in a poor attempt to start a conversation.
Father Time and his wife share a look, look back at you, then answer, “Seven months.”
“That’s… great. Congrats.” The atmosphere seems to get even more awkward because of your attempt.
You flip the pasta on your plate once more. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“You're welcome.” You just want to get this over and done with. You did _not_ work your ass off for years just to be forced to eat dinner. _Why_ did you agree to this?
_’It was either that or start the ritual all over again.’_ You remind yourself. Stupid sacred rituals.
You focus as your fork scapes on your plate underneath. Father Time is working on getting his father, Grandfather Time, to eat. Mother Time, on the other hand, keeps exclaiming that the baby is kicking.
“Grandfather, please, eat your food. I’d rather not do this in front of a client.”
“Any names?” You want a distraction. Grandfather Time is getting louder with his complaints. Anything but this. _Anything._
“Well,” Mother Time starts. “We’re thinking of keeping the theme running. Baby Time or Child Time would be wonderful names!”
You nod to appease her, and it works. In all honesty, you think those are _horrible_ names but you’re not here as a consultant.
You don’t know how long you sit and eat. Maybe an hour? Two? Three? Four? Six, even? When it’s over, you scurry out and into his office as your told. You watch Father Time walk in with food on him and he immediately gains your respect.
“So,” He says, straightening his tie. “What do you want, mortal?”
“Y-you know what? I think- I think I’ll just wait until next time.”
| 2022-05-23T23:06:33 | 2022-05-23T22:30:16 | 88 | 20 |
[WP] A superhero and their non-powered partner are in a loving relationship. When the hero gets kidnapped, they’re besides themself with worry for their partner: not for their safety, but rather the destruction wrought in the process of the partner, despite having no powers, rescuing the hero.
The idea here is that despite having no powers, that is no conveyance of the partner’s actual ability or strength.
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"You've made a horrible mistake," the Holy Knight said, and there was true horror in his voice. The Irrelevant laughed at the man's distress.
&#x200B;
"I think not, by now the CEO of Glamourous You will have received my demands of random and be halfway through making the various transfers. After that, it's just a matter of time before my own agents make the money disappear. Then you'll be free to go, minus some memories, and we'll all move on with our day," the young super villain grinned at the muscle-bound superhero. He couldn't believe how easy it had been to capture the man. Sure his powers of forgetfulness made most things easier, but to think all it had taken to capture and disarm the Holy Knight was a brief touch, a few questions, and the removal of a few pieces of steel... To think the most powerful hero in the city could be stripped of all powers by removing his helmet, sword, and greaves (and why had it been the shin guards?). The Irrelevant had tried on the armor himself, but the holy weapons and armor had rejected him. Apparently, the man's true superpower was his 'supernatural goodness'. The ridiculous information had made the young man gag and laugh.
&#x200B;
"You don't understand, she'll come for me," the Holy Knight sounded desperate and the Irrelevant could only laugh.
&#x200B;
"Oh don't worry, I won't hurt her. It will make things easier actually. I'll just make her forget what she was doing, a few suggestions later and you'll both be free to go and just about... hmm say fifteen percent poorer than you started the day off. Fifteen percent is fairly negligible, irrelevant even," the villain laughed.
&#x200B;
"Irrelevant, you need to listen to me. You need to let me go, or she's going to kill you, and possibly every other person in this building," the Holy Knight's voice was chilled and for a brief moment, the Irrelevant's confidence was shaken. He hadn't actually wanted to endanger anyone. This was his first act of 'supervillain-y', he'd purposefully kept all of his other illegal dealings low key, subtle. The beauty of his power was that with just a touch, he and the last few moments of a victim's memory would be forgotten. This led to general confusion, and humans as a whole were very open to suggestions when they were confused. A few suggestions of payment, mentions of transactions people had been in the middle of, giving him gifts or money, or passwords... And he was always careful of what he was taking, making sure that everything was forgettable, and that he would fly under the radar.
&#x200B;
Capturing the Holy Knight had been a mistake. He'd been practicing one of his favorite cons, falling off of his skateboard and 'twisting his ankle'. There had been a curmudgeonly old man wearing scrubs in front of an atm, muttering about 'maximum withdrawal limits and the Irrelevant had meant to crash right next to him. Unfortunately, when he'd set up his fall, he hadn't imagined that the most famous superhero in the city would turn around the corner in the middle of his patrol.
&#x200B;
The Holy Knight had hurried over to him, and removed a gauntlet to heal the boy's 'sprained ankle'. In a moment of panic, the boy had instinctively used his powers. He then watched as the hero's face clouded with confusion, and then a vague suspicion. The boy had desperately wanted not to be found out, so he had begun his routine, touching skin, making suggestions, hitting the hero with forgetfulness, again and again, leading him off to this office building. He knew he would need at least an hour of skin-to-skin contact to make the man forget the entirety of the day, and he'd wanted privacy. But he also figured, well he had the most powerful man in the city, it would be a shame not to learn something about him.
&#x200B;
It had been a shock to learn that the Holy Knight was actually Maxwell Pearson, humanitarian arm candy to Laura Lovelace, CEO of Glamourous You, and the third richest woman in the city. She would have been the richest if you discounted an heiress and a gold digger. Even then she might have been the richest person in the entirety of the city if her husband hadn't insisted on attending every charity ball, or donating to every 'worthy cause'.
&#x200B;
"You're in danger, I need to go, I don't know what she'll do without me," the Holy Knight pleaded, interrupting Irrelevant's thought process.
&#x200B;
"I'm not worried about her, and I made sure she wouldn't send any goons or cops."
&#x200B;
The hero groaned and shook his head.
&#x200B;
"Look, do you know anything about makeup? Perfumes?" He asked and the Irrelevant scoffed. Still, there were thirty more minutes before the transfer needed to be made 'or else', and he wasn't a fan of sitting in silence. He got enough of that in his day-to-day.
&#x200B;
"They're pretty and girly and cutesy," he sneered back at the man. He couldn't believe how lucky he had been. There couldn't be a less intimidating CEO than a female CEO of a makeup company.
"There is so much more to cosmetics than that, they're a beautiful way of expressing your individuality. Each product carefully produced and tested, some filled with chemicals that could be considered dangerous. There are reasons animal rights activists are so against animal testing. A poorly made cosmetic can cause horrible burns, blisters-"
&#x200B;
"Are you saying your girlfriend is gonna come in here and, what? Give me the makeover from hell?"
&#x200B;
"No," and there was an edge of carefully polished patience in the hero's voice, "I'm saying my wife is a chemical engineer who specializes in dermatology and has significant knowledge of aerosols."
&#x200B;
"So what, she's gonna spray a nasty perfume and gas us out?"
&#x200B;
Just then the Irrelevant heard a horrible noise. It took him a moment to realize that the sound was so strange because it was faint, and distorted by distance and walls, but as he listened it grew louder and more horrible.
&#x200B;
"Quickly! She's here! I need to go stop her!" he HOly knight was frantic, struggling against the various silk ties that held him to the office chair.
&#x200B;
"What the-?" The Irrelevent asked and then the noise began to make sense as more and more similar noises joined in. They were wails. Horrible animalistic screams of pure agony and fear. Hideous scratching, horrendous wails, guttural groans began to break out throughout the building below him, growing like some horrible musical crescendo.
&#x200B;
"Oh gods, I hope she hasn't killed anyone this time..." The Holy Knight grimaced slumping back in his chair.
&#x200B;
"What's going on? What should I do?" The teen asked, but Maxwell only shook his head.
&#x200B;
"It's too late, she'll be here in moments. The only thing you could do to possibly save your life is to free me, and give me back my armor and sword," the Holy Knight seemed sad, resigned even and the Irrelevant's head swam with possibilities and fear.
&#x200B;
Then the screaming grew louder again and he realized the voices now came from this very floor. It sounded like hell had opened and let loose its most vile demons to torture the sinners of the world. After only another moment's hesitation, the Irrelevant gathered the knight's accessories and hurried to free and rearm him. He had just helped secure the man's helmet when he felt it.
&#x200B;
It started with his lips, a tingling sensation that set his mouth to watering. Then when he inhaled his lungs began to ache like he'd been running hard for miles. Finally, slowly, ever so slowly the pain began to wash over him in waves. Fire ripped through him, he felt like his skin was trying to strangle him, like his lungs couldn't process air, like his body was wrapped in fire ants. He collapsed, screaming, unable to notice anything, especially not the tiny blonde woman who walked into the conference room, dressed head to toe in lab gear, a gas mask firmly in place, and what might have been a humidifier in one hand.
&#x200B;
She looked around the room, her eyes coolly examining the boy before they fell on the Holy Knight.
&#x200B;
"Darling!" She squealed, dropping the humidifier thing and running to the Holy Knight, once more bedecked in his magical armor. "Oh baby, I was so worried about you. When I got that email - I just... I couldn't trust him not to hurt you."
&#x200B;
(Part one)
|
Fuzzy vision, pounding head, and that disgustingly dry desert that was my mouth. It's been a long time since I've felt that way, and I know it couldn't be a hangover or a slipped pill--not the normal kinds, anyway.
An unwelcome, but contrarily refreshing, bucket of water was splashed over my head. I reflexively clenched my arms and pulled apart, only to feel the resistance of cuffs. It's not padded at all, so definitely not the newest models. My super strength wasn't working, and from what I know of these cuffs, there's not much point trying.
"You're finally awake," an ambiguous voice finally spoke up.
"Really," I sighed. "That's the line? You've had what, five, six hours to think of something? And that's the line?"
"The great Guardian," he said. He was wearing a balaclava. Of course. "Not so great now, eh?"
"If I had a penny..." I muttered.
A slap came across my face. Not gonna lie, it was a pretty good one.
"No more of your quips," he said. "You are my property now."
"Holy, you really are a villain. What year is it?" I said. "And seriously, what's your plan?"
"I've found information about you that not everybody knows, Guardian--you have a wife!"
OK, he's right. That's something that most people don't know.
"Wow. Do you need somebody to clap? I notice a distinct lack of audiences," I said.
Not that I was going to let him know. But I was worried. A little.
"In a few moments, your identity will be known. I'll find your wife, and she'll beg to have you back. And she'll--"
"Hold on," I said. "So the only thing you know is that she's a woman. She's my wife. That's it?"
The villain looked a little uncertain. I can tell these sorts of things. Just observe scumbags for a living.
"Uh... yes?" he said.
Also, they generally suck at hiding information. That's what separates the good villains and the bad ones, honestly. Superpowers only help so much. It's the battle of wits that's the true indicator of who ends up broken and bloodied.
"I'm a nice person. Ask anybody in town," I said. "I suspect your reputation is much less stellar than mine. But I'll let you in on a little secret--my wife? She's gonna kick your ass."
"What?" he muttered. "She's not superpowered."
"Oh, you also know that?" I said. "Whoever sold you that information, because I don't see any other way you are getting it, is leaving some real important bits of her resume out."
"What are you talking about?" he was shrinking. Significantly. Even though I was the one bound to the chair, his mind was the one getting a vice slowly wrapped around it, crushing him from the inside.
"Do you know how many laws I've broken as a superhero? Hell, do you know how many new laws there've been since I became a superhero?" I couldn't help myself but laugh. "Yea, sure, I busted myself to save the city's ass. But who do you think busted their ass to save mine?"
"You're lying," he said.
"Sure. Even with my limited legal knowledge, I know that's not a crime," I said. "But let's see here. You've managed to knock me out. Some sort of illicit drugs? Jail. Contraband meta-cuffs, possibly stolen from an anti-meta precinct? Also jail. Oh, and kidnapping? Definitely jail."
The kidnapper gulped. Even with a balaclava snug against his head, I could practically see the beads of sweat forming and dissolving into the black fabric, making each spot even darker than before.
"Sure, my hands are tied and cuffed. If I tried really hard, I might be able to get out of them," I said. "But I'm not worrying. I'm not anxious. Because I know the long arm of the law is coming for you--and my partner's painted fingernails right there at the end, ready to slap your sorry ass back into whatever hellhole you came out from."
He crumbled on the ground, then. It didn't take too long before he was visibly shaken and sobbing, falling over himself to undo my cuffs.
See? Battle of wits. And possibly, allegedly, some embellishment of facts. Was it entirely true? He didn't have to know.
Should have gagged me.
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2021-04-17T06:04:59 | 2021-04-17T05:36:21 | 108 | 46 |
[WP] Your Spouse goes into the bathroom only to come running out 15 seconds later. Clutching you close they tell you they fell into another dimension and what felt like seconds to you was a 1,000 years to them. They now want you to follow them back because they have built a life for you there.
|
“Babe seriously, I went into another world! Like, I flushed the toilet and suddenly wham, these weird space time Gods told me I was the next chosen one and I suddenly got these powers? And apparently I have to defeat the next Evil that’s going to attack Other Earth.”
“Right, one question though,” I smiled, wondering whether my husband was having heat stroke after his football game with 'The Bros', “Were you doing a number one or two when you went into the toilet? I don’t imagine it would have been pleasant either way but pee seems like the better option in this.”
“Babe!” He whined, “I’m serious okay like, the space time Gods were literally about to whisk me to my mission but I told them that I had you and that if you weren’t with me that I wouldn’t even think of helping them. Even if they gave me the jazzy cool superpowers.”
I blushed, even though the entire situation was honestly bordering on insane it was pretty cute that he’d think of me in such a disorienting albeit unrealistic situation. I still pretty much thought it was just a hallucination on his part though.
“So when I told them about you they were all like, sure! The both of you will get your own mansion and enough riches and food to last a lifetime. Also, whenever we needed to we could travel back to this Earth and visit our friends and family. They even showed me the mansion and the riches,” he stretched out his arms widely, “It was like this big and this much money babe!”
I couldn’t help but laugh a bit. To be honest, our life was going rough especially since he had recently been “regretfully” retrenched (courtesy of the higher up’s choice of words) from his job of five years. A friend of his who still had a job with the company said they immediately hired someone for my husband’s job but paid the newbie considerably less. They could have honestly given him a heads up so he could have found another job before firing him.
I wondered whether this extravagant story was how he wanted to cheer us up a little and I smiled, “Fine okay, if this place really exists and I do agree on going, how are we going to get there again?”
He grinned, “The same way I did of course!” An unpleasant feeling had told me that that was probably how he was going to answer and I simply rolled my eyes as he dragged me to the toilet.
“Seriously, were you doing a number one or two — I need to know, if we’re going through the toi-“ He quickly cut me off, giving me a peck on the forehead and saying, “See you on the other side, honey.”
Before I could protest, he pressed the flush button. For a moment, I was just sat there and just as I was about to rub it in his face I felt the toilet seat under me shaking and then, a loud whoosh. Suddenly I was travelling through blindingly white and empty space, feeling a strong pull carrying me downwards.
“Fuck!” I cursed as I landed right on my ass. I tentatively stood up, rubbing my butt. I looked around, it seemed that I landed right in the middle of four threateningly high thrones, the figures sat on them hidden in shadow.
“Fuck?” I accidentally said aloud, my hand quickly moving to cover my mouth — I couldn’t believe my eyes, I was actually brought into another dimension? And, these were the space time Gods Kelvin was talking about? What?
Shortly, I heard what sounded like someone falling behind me and turned. It was Kelvin suavely landing on his feet, even managing to give me a sneaky wink as he did. That bastard knew I’d land on my ass and probably saw me as I did actually fall on it.
He then went on one knee, facing the highest of the thrones, “This is my beloved wife. I have brought her to live with me as I carry out the mission to save Other Earth.” I panicked and quickly followed suit, settling down on one knee beside him.
“Yes, good,” a deep gravelly voice that seemed to come from the throne but also seemed to come from all sides of the room reverberated in the space, “I will now send you off to your mission Chosen One, and I will ensure that your beloved will be safe in your mansion.”
Before my husband could reply, I stood up, “Excuse me Your Honour but, if I might say so myself, I am pretty badass at kicking butt myself. I could probably do better than your Chosen One beside me too. Whaddya say if you gave me some cool superpowers too and I help him out with his mission?” I acted as nonchalantly as possible, I knew these Gods could probably vaporise me with a snap of their fingers but like hell if I was going to let go of this chance of being a superhero.
“Hmm,” I flinched, the sudden sound of the God’s gravelly voice surprising me, “That doesn’t sound too bad. Very well, I shall allow you to wield the same powers as your husband. Do not let us down Earthlings. The fate of Other Earth rests in your hands.”
I saw a giant hand appear on top of me, and with a sprinkling motion, I suddenly felt a surge of power rushing through my body. Grabbing my husband’s hand, I looked at him and kissed him, letting all my emotions (confusion, happiness, worry and especially love) reach him. He smiled when we parted, grabbing my hand.
This, was gonna be one hell of a story to tell The Bros.
***
10 hours too late but I hope at least someone sees this :'>)
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"A what?"
"A life! It took me literally a thousand years but I've made one we can both enjoy!"
"A...."
"Life! I know we're very different people, but I've worked and worked and worked for literally *a thousand years* and I'm sure it will be the best! Come with me!"
"A...Life?"
"Yes!!! You dummy!!! Come on! Let's go!"
"Alexa, you assured me she would be unaware of the passage of time. Why does she think a thousand years have passed?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't understand the question".
"Ugh...Alexa, delete 'Rachel'".
"Are you sure you want to delete 'Rachel'?"
"Yes."
| 2017-02-21T00:32:44 | 2017-02-20T21:45:13 | 32 | 18 |
[WP] “And now Hero,” the villainess said as she stretched out her wings wide. “It’s time… to dine!”. “Wait, what?! Dine?”, “yes, dine. I thought I made that very clear in my invitation…”
|
Lillian blinked in confusion, before sheathing her sword. She held a finger up and fished the invitation out of her satchel while the villainess patiently waited. She read the invitation all over again, mumbling the words out loud. She squinted. "Huh, it does say that."
"You realize this now?" Sinthela–for that was the villainess’ name–frowned. "Didn't you read the whole thing?"
"Nono, I did. I just-" Lillian squinted at the note again, angling it back and forth in her hands. "I'm not very good with cursive," she finished, earning an incredulous look from Sinthela. Lillian turned to look at the door she had just entered from. "No wonder the guards didn't put up much a fight, they probably weren't-"
"Weren't guards," Sinthela finished.
"Weren't guards, yeah," Lillian repeated.
"They were greeters and servants," Sinthela added, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.
"Explains the tuxedos and dresses. Well, this is awkward..." Lillian paused. "Wait, hold on--I'm confused. Why are you doing this? Why did you invite me here for dinner?"
Sinthela blinked before trying to maintain her expression of general displeasure, but Lillian couldn't help but notice the villainess was subtly avoiding meeting her gaze, and a scarlet hue was starting to spread over her cheeks. "Well, I thought that we could..... It's just.... Well, you..." she stumbled on her words, blush spreading across her face. "Grah! Alright, listen!" she finally spat out. "We demons respect strength more than anything and I'm the demon lord! I've always been stronger than most, even when I was young, so I said then that 'I won't marry anybody weaker than me, so if you can't defeat me in single combat, you can take a hike.'" She scowled, one of her eyes twitching. "It has been *sixteen-hundred years*. Sixteen-hundred bloody years and not even one person managed the deed!"
"Wait, you've been single for sixteen-hundred years? No wonder you're so bitter," Lillian commented, but she quickly raised her hands in surrender when Sinthela met her with a piercing glare. "Sorry, my bad. I was just- Wait hold on.... Didn't I beat you last time we met?"
"*Yes!* Yes, you did!" Sinthela annoyedly hissed out, but her annoyed expression melted away with a sigh. "I've waited so long..." She added quietly. She was now fully averting her eyes in embarrassment and her blush had spread all the way to the tip of her long ears.
Lillian stared at her in disbelief while Sinthela was throwing glances at her before bashfully looking away, waiting for Lillian to say something. But she was at a loss for words; of all the things she was expecting when coming to the castle, this definitely wasn't one of them. "First of all...." she finally started. "This is all very adorable," she finished matter-of-factly. The villainess growled and threw a nearby vase at Lillian out of sheer embarrassment masked as anger. Lillian nonchalantly blocked the vase with her shield, which shattered harmlessly against it as Lillian continued. "Second of all, I'm very surprised and very flattered. And third of all, this is all *very* adorable," she smirked.
Sinthela hid her face with her hands out of equal parts frustration and embarrassment. "Will you just get to the point...." she growled out.
Lillian chuckled quietly. Teasing her nemesis was too much fun, but she was right--it was time to get on with it. "Alright, alright," she relented and wiped the smirk off her face. "In the end, I only know you as that woman who tried to take over the world and also tried to kill me like half a dozen times,” she pointed out. “That doesn’t exactly facilitate a good relationship. I simply don’t feel the same.”
Sinthela lowered her hands, peering at Lillian. “Don’t you?” It was a pointed question and what Lillian saw in her eyes wasn’t disappointment or sadness at the rejection, but rather a determined glint. “Tell me, hero: why do you fight me? Is it because you hate me? Is it because your heroic nature and good morals tell you that I must be stopped?”
Lillian opened her mouth, but then quickly closed it again. She looked pensive for a second before she finally spoke. “No. This cause I picked up only because I wanted to. I decided to fight you simply because I wanted to see if I could,” she answered honestly.
The villainess bared her fangs in a wide grin. “That’s it!” she exclaimed, pointing triumphantly at Lillian. “You sought me out for your own sake; for your own pleasure! You fought me not because you thought it was the right thing to do, but because iron sharpens iron and you want to be the sharpest there is! In this, you’re very much like myself–like a demon,” she argued. Her grin turned into a seductive smile and instead of pointing at Lillian, she offered the hero her hand. “Isn’t there an intimacy in that? In the end, did I not give you what you wanted?”
Lillian didn’t know how to feel about being compared to a demon, but the winged villainess in front of her wasn’t entirely wrong: she had to admit that she enjoyed this. It’s why she’d picked up the sword years ago and it’s why she had come here tonight, into what she had thought to be an obvious trap. When she thought about it, it was true that she could feel… *Something* between them; something intimate. And she couldn’t deny that her nemesis was very attractive at that moment. That knowing confidence and satisfied smugness was appealing, not to mention her adorable demeanor earlier. Shit, maybe she had a point–maybe they were similar. But… Even so.
“You’re not entirely wrong,” Lillian admitted with a sigh. Sinthela grinned triumphantly, but Lillian raised a hand. “But I’m not a demon. I may not have the best morals in the world and my reasons for fighting are ultimately selfish, but the morals I do have can’t really condone me giving the demon lord herself a shot as a romantic interest,” she decided.
Sinthela’s grin faded and she slowly lowered her hand.
Lillian shrugged. “But if you were to stop being the demon lord, then… Well….” she said.
Sinthela peered at Lillian. “... Are you trying to foist a redemption arc on me?” she asked.
Lillian shrugged again. “I’m just giving you a choice: you can come with me and atone, or you can stay here and rule in loneliness. I’m no demon lord’s trophy wife.”
The two women stared each other down, eyes hard with determination. Then Sinthela started to chuckle and then laugh maniacally. “HAHAHAHAHAHA! The audacity! Fine, but on one condition. You must fight me again!” she declared.
“Is that all?” Lillian smirked. “That’s why I came here in the first place,” she added and drew her sword.
The villainess’ lips curled into a fanged grin and her eyes glowed with excitement as she spread her wings and readied her claws. “Come then, hero! Hold nothing back and show me I wasn’t wrong!”
And they both charged forward, with their weapons raised and their hearts beating like the drums of war.
|
**A Fight of Good and Evil**
Elija's face crumbled into an annoyed expression. His little sister always had to ruin things...
"No, Kate, you can't do that!"
"Yes I can."
"No, look, you're meant to say something scary, and then fight me, and then I win!"
"But that's not very interesting."
"Yes it is."
He scoffed at her. He had read every edition of 'Dr Evilwings VS Pyjama Man'. He was practically an expert on the subject. But no, here she was denying his expertise. If only this lockdown ended sooner, and he could invite all his friends, then they'd have a proper duel.
"What're you gonna do next? Host a tea party?"
"That's not a bad idea-"
"No! You're meant to be... Threatening. Try to kill me."
"But you won't die."
"So...?"
"So there's no drama."
Elijah was incredulous. He was debating throwing his sister out of the window.
"Where's the drama in a tea party?"
She gawped at him as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world, and chuckled to herself.
"What is it?"
"Have you ever watched a cooking show?"
"Is this relevant?"
"Mhm."
"Alright. No. I haven't," Elijah admitted. It's not like he wanted to watch people conjure up unnecessary complicated food anyway. Why bother cooking when you have a microwave?
"Well, those are some of the most dramatic things *ever*," she waved her arms around as if to demonstrate the amount of drama first-hand.
"So?"
"So you've got drama in your story. And maybe the hero and the villain could become friends..."
"Friends?"
Elijah knew Kate was stupid, but not this stupid. If there was a measurement of stupidity, she would surely be exceeding that right now.
"They're not meant to be friends!"
"Why not?"
"It's. In. The. Name. Hero and villain. Heroic and villainous. I swear to God, if common sense punched you in the face you'd invite it to a *tea party*."
"Well then, you can play alone. It's unfair if only you decide the rules."
"But I'm the eldest!"
"So?"
"*Therefore* I make the rules." Elijah put extra emphasis on 'therefore' - it was a new word he had learned in school, and he was sure that using it would settle the argument.
"That makes no sense."
"You don't make sense!"
The distant call of their mother sent the pair into a deathly quiet.
"Is everything alright up there?"
"Yes, mum!" Kate responded.
"Couldn't be better!" Elijah added, thinking his input was worth far more than his sister's. She was only nine years old after all...
"Good, good. It's a miracle when siblings get along."
"..."
"..."
Elijah turned to face his sister.
"I hate you."
| 2022-01-02T13:27:15 | 2022-01-02T06:54:11 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] It's 1968, and a science fiction author has just written a 100% accurate story set in 2018. Don't write the story, write the reaction to it.
Just some ideas, that could be a critique, fanmail, a dialogue with a fellow autor, a letter from a potential publisher etc.
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"Early yesterday morning, a literary icon passed away in his Florida home. Garrett Anderson, famed author of science-fiction novel 'The Web', is best known for his visions of the world of tomorrow and what it might bring. Praised for his 'stunningly realistic' depictions of day-to-day life in an electronic future, Anderson will be remembered as one of America's best science-fiction writers of the 1960s."
A clean, succinct overview of a life. To the outside world, it summed up Garrett Anderson well enough. It was pleasant, and professional, and understandable. Cut and dry, black and white, ink on paper.
To those who knew him, though, it was an obviously inadequete obituary. Garrett Anderson was an author, sure. He had written a few successful books, settled down, had a family, and made his money from royalty checks, occasionally shutting himself in his study to pump out a new spaceships-and-aliens paperback. This was undeniably true.
But that was what the man did, not what the man was. Garrett Anderson was a person out of time, an enigma, a black hole. Anyone who's met Garrett knows that there was something... off about him. A strange melancholy, a detatchment from the world around him. You might call it darkness, or depression, if you were psychiatrically inclined, but I don't think these would be quite accurate. No, Garrett Anderson was just... other. From somewhere else; maybe one of the planets he wrote about, maybe from that oft-mentioned 'world of tomorrow' that the critics set his books in.
Personally, I knew enough not to ask. Garrett had his whole childhood, his whole backstory up there in his head, but you could always tell that even he never quite believed it when he told it to you. Born in Maine, deployed in Korea, moved to Florida: it all fit, and yet, you somehow knew it was wrong, a facade floating above reality like oil on water.
Because of all that, the man had a hard time keeping up appearances. He had his wife, and kids, like any normal man, but the whole tone of his life rang false. His family was pleasant but quiet, private to an extreme, like the man himself. Nice people, but very odd.
In fact, it was only at the bar, on Fridays, that he would open up, and only to us lucky few. Most of the time, he said nothing of note. Politics, or remarks about his day-to-day life. Normal things.
Occassionally, however, he would go all... weird. Ramblings about things that hadn't happened, or events remembered wrongly, perhaps.
For a while, I thought the guy had some insanity in him, some fundamental disconnect that, for now, only showed itself in states of deep inebriation. The sort of sickness that nobody talked about, ever, not then.
Every so often, though, he would say something that would, for some reason, stick with me. A while ago, a couple years maybe, he was talking about stocks. Rambling about some Japanese technology company, something nobody had ever heard of. I don't exactly know what they did, but something that kids like, if I remember right. Anyways, a couple of days later, not able to get it out of my head, I bought some shares, on a whim, not knowing what would happen. Within a year, I was damn close to being a millionaire because of it. It was the first of many Garrett-picks, and wasn't even the most profitable. And yet, when I asked Garrett about these magic picks, how he knew the magic of the stock market, he refused to answer. And, as you might know, when Garrett refused to answer, that was that.
Now, I'm not saying there was anything supernatural or crazy going on. Maybe Anderson was just some kind of savant; a stock picking genius who just couldn't fit in with the rest of society. But, the more and more I think about it, the less I believe that. Because, his book? The famous one? Every year, I can see a little bit more of it coming true in the world. All these microprocessors and portable telephones and, hell, practically the same World Wide Web his book is about; it's not the same yet, but it's getting there.
I don't know if Garrett was some kind of time-traveling space man, or maybe just a smart, awkward author with a penchant for prediction, but I know one thing: I don't envy him. You think, when you imagine it, that knowing what's to come would be a blessing, and I think that too, sometimes. But then, soon as the thought pops up, I remember Garrett, and those melancholy eyes, and I change my mind. Because, behind those eyes, there was none of the hopeful optimism that the critics ascribed to his novels. All I ever saw was resignation, and, deepest of all, a dim, foreboding terror, of a man forced to see the inescapable future drawing ever closer, never fading, never slowing.
And that? That's something I wouldn't wish on anyone.
|
The worst future fantasy I've ever read in a couple of years.
In the author's world the free world and Capithalism rules the world but technology is stagnant. No flying cars, laser weapons, teleportation, etc. And we are still stuck on earth. The only interesting thing about the book are these smart mini-machines that connect everyone with everyone and all human knowledge, but even this idea is underdeveloped.
He was clearly going for a technological dystopia, but stood short on imagination.
I give it 3/10
| 2018-03-07T13:09:50 | 2018-03-07T12:23:08 | 128 | 31 |
[WP] You were born blind. You undergo a new surgery that should cure your blindness. They undo the wraps and you open them. You think what you see is normal, but after the doctors ask a slew of questions, they discover there is something very strange about your newly acquired sight.
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“There were some… complications,” the doctor told me. My head spun for a moment, and as my vision blurred with worry, the doctor’s white lab coat disappeared against the white walls of the hospital. I shook my head to bring my vision back.
“With… with the surgery?” I asked. I turned and looked through the glass at the room my friend Melissa was in, asleep in the hospital bed, a bandage still wrapped around her eyes.
“Not with the surgery… we’re… we’re not sure exactly what’s wrong. The procedure was a success; she should be able to see fine… She’s chosen to put the blindfold back on herself,” the doctor said. “It could be the anesthetic that we used, but it appears she's having hallu-”
At this point I tuned the doctor out. I didn’t feel like listening to his dissertation full of complicated medical terms I wouldn’t understand. I put my hand up on the glass, and felt my heart pound in my chest. “I’ll keep my promise,” I whispered to myself as I flexed my fingers against the glass. I was the one who had encouraged her to go through with the process. If something had gone wrong...
“… Sir?” the doctor said, an annoyed fluctuation to his voice.
“Oh, yes, sorry,” I apologized, facing the man.
“You were the only person on her emergency contacts list… does she have any other family we should notify?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Her family was in a bad traffic accident years ago. She was the only survivor. My family took her in after that.”
***BOOM!***
The doctor and I jumped, and looked towards the window. Melissa was standing right in front of the glass, snickering. She had taken the blindfold off, and her blue eyes sparkled as she smiled warmly and waved to me through the glass. The doctor didn’t seem amused. He snorted shortly, and folded his arms. “Well, she suddenly seems in a better mood.”
I didn’t react. I was too busy realizing this was the first time Melissa had ever actually seen me, and a wave of insecurity washed over me. I pushed that aside; this moment’s focus needed to be on her. My best friend who had been blind since her birth could finally see. “You can go in if you’d like,” said the doctor. I turned to him, with a blank expression. “… The doors there. Go on in.” I nodded, and a wide grin spread across my face as I moved to the door and turned the handle. As soon as there was enough space for a body between the door and the door frame, Melissa leapt into me.
“Corey!” she cried happily, greeting me with a hug. I held her tightly for a moment before she stepped back. Then she set her hands against my face and felt the contours of my features. I stood still, patiently. I was used to this. “Yeah… that’s about right,” she remarked as her eyes followed her hands. Then she grinned slyly. “… You’re not as tall as I thought you would be.”
“I’m still taller than you,” I reminded her.
She pouted exaggeratedly for a moment. “I’ll have to get another surgery to fix that at some point.” I rolled my eyes, and was not prepared for Melissa’s reaction to that. “What did you just do!? What was that? Why did your eyes do that?” she questioned, excitement in her voice.
“That’s what ‘rolling your eyes’ is,” I informed her.
“Oh…” she said thoughtfully. Then her brow furrowed. “Hey!” she cried. I just laughed. Then Mellissa looked past me to the doctor. “So when can I get out of here?” she asked.
“Soon,” he said. “I just to finish up the discharge paperwork. You sure you’re alright?”
“Absolutely!” she declared, giving a thumbs-up. “I’m ready to see the world!” Melissa’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.
I couldn’t help but smile, not just with my mouth, but with my entire being. Melissa had always been full of life despite her disability, but the energy that radiated from her was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I couldn’t wait to drive her around town, and show her everything. I couldn’t wait to see her eyes continue to sparkle with awe at everything she had been missing out on for the first 20 years of her life.
But then, a short while later, once we were situated in my car and beginning to pull out of the hospital parking lot, she pulled the blindfold back over her eyes.
“Melissa? What are you doing?” I asked.
“Just go. Take me home,” she said shortly. If I hadn’t been looking at her, I would have thought a different person had spoken.
“What? Why? Don’t you want to-” I started to protest.
“GO,” she said, intensity in her voice. I closed my mouth. “… We need to get away from here before they notice.”
“… They? … The doctors?” I asked.
Melissa shook her head. “Go. Just go. We need to go. Stop talking and go,” she said. She kept her voice calm, but a certain waver in her tone told me she was on the verge of losing her nerve.
“… Melissa… if you’re not feeling well maybe we should stay here and-” I was silenced again as she set her hand on my leg.
“… Corey. Please. Drive me home. It’s not safe here,” she said quietly.
I swallowed, wondering what the right thing to do was, but my gut told me she was serious. I nodded, and pulled out of the parking lot.
https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCornerStories/
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People don't line up as they should. You've always been able to smell, feel, taste, touch. Now you can see them and its so much worse. The sickly sweaty smell is all the worse for being able to see the tainted fumes. Skin used to be rough and dimpled, now you know it's because everyone is rotting, weakened flesh ready to sloth away at any moment. You can't bring yourself to kiss your partner, not now you can see their many orifices that don't close properly and leek primordial slime. They're hideous. They're liars. They're monsters. Fake normalcy. Change your answers. Smile. Be happy that you can see even as your stomach churns. You must be different. An experiment. Not a freak, that's them. You'll leave this room praising your......doctors. You'll fade into the background once the success of the surgery is announced, emphasize that it was the medical creatures that deserve the false praise. Once they forget you, then you can act. See if there are other normies or self hating monsters. Start the long process of cleansing the world of the filth that infects it.
| 2018-10-29T07:44:48 | 2018-10-29T06:43:53 | 362 | 31 |
[WP] Going from evil to good is a rough transition, especially since no one trusts you. You decided to break bread with some cookies.
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I'm no supervillain. But people still treat me like one.
Maybe I deserved it, you know. I admit it. I killed that man. I shouldn't have. I was just seventeen. And I did thirty-five years for it. I been in twice longer than I been out.
He wasn't a pleasant man. Bruno, that was his name. He had a bakery down on Haimes. Sold bread, he did, fresh bread, cakes, biscuits, cookies, the lot, and he ran the shop with his son. I don't remember his name, that son. I don't remember.
Bruno's shop had old locks. They were easy to pick. And back then there were no cameras, you just went in at night and if you were quiet, no one would know. I would go in, maybe once a fortnight, or whenever we were short on food, and I'd nick a crate of bread. Nothing too big, mind, just one of them smaller crates. If there's a crate of cookies, I take that instead. Thing about cookies - they don't get old fast, 'specially during winter. And they're small and full of sugar. Kids love them, and when food is low, you don't need a lot of cookie to get going. When you're hungry you take what you can get.
For a few months it was fine. Then one day the back door lock was changed. I shoulda known the game was up. I shoulda gone someplace else that night, but I didn't. I just said to myself, last one, Sammy, last one, and then somewhere else. So I picked it and went in just the same.
Bruno was there waiting. He had a gun, a big one, and he pointed it at me. He'd been watching me break in from the upstairs window, he said. Been watching you for weeks. The police were on their way, he said. They'd catch me and put me in jail for sure.
I couldn't let that happen. If it were just me, I wouldn't care, but it wasn't. I couldn't go to jail, so I told Bruno I was sorry and that I'd go and never come back. He said no. Trash like me don't deserve a second chance, he said. He came closer just to spit on my feet.
So I charged at him. I hit the gun away. He still tried to shoot me. Bang, bang. It went over my shoulder, like this, and my ears hurt. I tried to make him let go. I pushed him to the floor, and we went down together, and then I hit him. He was still holding the gun, so I hit him again. I wanted him to let go. He kept trying to shoot. Bang, bang, bang, bang. I got shot, here on the side of my arm. Here. You can see the scar. And here too, on my side. I got shot twice.
There was a lot of blood. I was scared, I wanted him to stop. So I hit him, and I kept hitting him, until he stopped shooting. There was a noise when his head hit the concrete. It's a horrible noise. I can hear it, now. Next thing I knew, he stopped fighting, and he let go of me and he started to do weird things. His hands came up to here, and it was bent like this. I don't think he wanted to do it. I remember his eyes. They were open wide, like he was scared. There was a lot of blood. But he wasn't fighting anymore, so I up and ran.
My house was close, just ten minutes away. But there was a lot of blood, and I wasn't feeling good, so it took longer. It was midnight so there was few people. I got in the front door and Izzie was there sitting on the floor. Izzie, we have to go, I tell her, Daddy done a bad thing. We have to go, we have to go. She was crying. She wanted her blanket, so I took it, and we went.
I drove. I was meaning to get away from the town, far away. Anywhere away. I wasn't thinking straight. My head was light and Izzie kept crying. She wanted her mama. I kept saying that mama isn't here anymore, but she kept crying. Only the blanket calmed her down. She held on to it the whole way.
The cops got us first though. The neighbours must have heard the shots, because the roads were full of cars with flashing red and blue lights. Stop, they were shouting. I shoulda stopped. I didn't. I was thinking of Izzie, if I'd went to jail, she has no one left. So I put the car to reverse and I drove.
Then the cops started to shoot. Pop pop pop pop. Behind me, Izzie started to scream. Pop pop pop pop. I stopped the car. Don't shoot, I was shouting. Don't shoot. There's a kid. I'll stop. I'll stop. Don't shoot.
The cops pulled me out of the car. I was on the ground, they put on the cuffs, but I couldn't see Izzie. I couldn't hear her neither. I was shouting, Izzie, Izzie, but she didn't come out. Izzie, where are you, are you okay. And then the cop carries out her b- blanket from the car and it's- it's covered in blood, too much blood, and I couldn't hear her. I tried to get up, tried to look for her, but the cops wouldn't let me, they pinned me to the ground and put a taser on me.
They wouldn't even let me see her body before they brought me away.
It's-
It's not Bruno's fault. It's me. I should have done different, so many things different. But it's too late now. It's too late for him. Too late for her. Too late for me.
Yes, it is. You don't know what it's like. I'm out of jail now, people call me free, but I'm not, really. I moved back home, but there's no jobs. I tell them my name, they take my papers, and they say good, good, then they never speak to me again. People talk like they're saints but they're not really. They act like there's a second chance, but there ain't. Nobody needs a fifty-year-old jailed for murder and who can't do nothing but bake.
Yeah, bake. Learned it in prison, I did. They had a program, for rehab. When I saw it, I knew I had to. For Bruno, see. It felt like something I had to do, to make up for what I did. It felt right. So I did it.
This year I got lucky. Won me a small amount in the sweepstakes. So I rent a small place here at home, see, set up a place of my own. And I bake. I sell bread, cakes, biscuits, cookies, the lot, and I run the shop myself. I get up at four in the morning and I run it till ten at night.
Thirty-five years, and home hasn't changed much. Streets are the same. People grow up but people stay the same. There's still kids on the street. Teenagers without a home, without a job. I see them. I see myself.
I don't lock my shop at night. If someone needs food, they can come in and take it. Sure, they all think they're being sneaky, but I know they come. Every night I make goddamn sure to bake a fresh batch of cookies and set it out back for them. See, the thing about cookies - they don't get old fast, 'specially during winter. And they're small and full of sugar. Kids love them, and when food is low, you don't need a lot of cookie to get going.
When you're hungry, you take what you can get.
|
The door closed softly behind me. I bolted for the gardens as echoes of raucous laughter carried down the halls behind me. I felt droplets of frozen tears begin to fall from my face begin to fall as I escaped the main building.
I laid the platter of cookies that had been so unceremoniously denied as worthwhile to the side of me as I buried my face in my hands. The small crystalline droplets clinked softly onto the pavement below me.
I was so lost in my own thoughts I didn’t notice Whispers approach from behind me. When she cleared her throat softly, I jumped to my feet and quickly wiped at my face.
“Sorry. I’ll leave.”
“Why would I want that? Sit,” she said. I did as told.
“What brings you to the garden?” She said.
“I like it here.” Whispers looked into my eyes. Her eyes were a beautiful chestnut brown and as she rolled them, they picked up the gold of the late afternoon sun.
“I saw how Infiniman and the others treated you, you know?” The platter grated along the concrete as she pushed it back. She crawled over and laid my head on her shoulder as she wrapped an arm around my body. “It will get easier. With time. What they did was… unfair at best. Downright cruel at worst. Until they see your true colours, I’ll be here for you,” she said.
She then began muttering some words I couldn’t understand. The grass in front waved in response sending ripples towards the large maple tree that towered above the garden. The leaves almost waved in response. After a few seconds, a small bird fluttered from the tree and plucked a light blue hyacinth from a nearby bush. It flew over to Whispers and dropped it in her hand before returning to it’s perch. The wren continued to stare at me as other birds circled around it, also eyeing me off.
As I stared back, I could feel Whispers at work in my hair.
“Perfect,” she said after a few seconds. “It suits your eyes.” She chuckled lightly.
“You’ll be a wonderful member for the team Cold Heart,” she said as she rubbed my back.
I tried to hold back more tears, but the floodways opened and the crystal droplets began to fall yet again. Whispers softly caught them in the palm of her other hand and rattled them around softly.
“Do you mind if I keep some? They are really pretty.” I shook my head softly.
“Excellent.” She placed a few in a small pocket before throwing the rest out into the garden. The golden sun now shone like a mosaic through the lower branches of the maple tree and with the added sparkle of the teardrops it glistened heavenly.
I smiled for the first time since I’d joined the team. I felt Whispers smile as well. My smile widened as I heard her crunch into one of the cookies I’d made.
“Mmm mmm. These are really good. I’ll need the recipe,” she said.
“Or I can cook a new batch, just for you,” I whispered back. Her head jumped off mine and she stared down at me. A light tint of red slowly filled her cheeks as she returned to resting on me.
“I’d love that,” she said as she held me closer.
| 2022-07-22T10:45:50 | 2022-07-22T09:21:24 | 101 | 18 |
[WP] A lonely teenage boy asks a genie to let him talk to his future wife. The person who appears is not who he expects.
|
“Hello, husband.”
She was not what he was expecting. The colour of her skin, the shape of her eyes and nose, the way her hair was artfully braided—she was not of his homeland. Nonetheless, he found her beautiful.
“Oh wow!” he gushed. “This is amazing! I get to marry you?!”
His wife-to-be rolled her eyes, but he didn't notice as he was too busy pacing excitedly.
“This is fantastic! How did we meet? Do we escape the wars between our kingdoms by running away?” He is grinning uncontrollably. “Surely we must have. Perhaps to one of the Eastern city-states?”
She tries to interject. “Now, hold on, husband—”
“How do we live? Do I still paint? Is that how I'm supporting you? What about our home? It’s modest but cosy, right? And kids—”
Patience ended, she steps forward and grabs him forcefully. “Eamon, listen! I won’t love you.” She watches his grin freeze upon his face. “And you won’t love me.”
Elation gives way to confusion. “But…we get married, right? Of course I would.”
She sighs and lets him go, then steps back and takes a small, if slightly sarcastic, bow. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Agnetha, of Clan Lohikarme. You know, mightiest of the Northern Tribes, de facto leader and all that.”
She receives nothing but a blank stare, and sighs once again. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway.” She pauses slightly before continuing. “I was Master Huntsman, then Knight-Commander…but I was also the daughter of the chieftain.”
He recovers the slightest bit of composure. “Wait…so, like a princess?” he asks.
She nods. “Like royalty, yes.” He only just notices that her hair must have taken three maids to prepare, and that the jewels on her finely-stitched dress could feed a family for a year. His common tunic has never felt more unremarkable.
He can think of only one question. “Why?”
“Think about it, Eamon. You never knew your father. But who is your mother?”
“What? She’s just a maid. What’s that—”
“Who used to work at the royal palace. Before being reassigned to a faraway duchy shortly after you were born.”
He stare has gone blank again. It elicits another eye-roll. “Oh come on, Eamon. The King is your father!” She gestures impatiently. “He had a dalliance with a maid, and you were the result!”
“That’s impossible—”
“For once in your life, try to be intelligent. Haven’t you always wondered how things have always gone your way? Never struggled for food, even during the last drought? How the landlord that was harassing your mother suddenly disappeared? How the town bullies just stopped picking on you one day?”
Comprehension is slowly dawning on him, but she still continues. “And how do you think Duke Archibald—the King’s cousin, by the way—spotted you in the first place to sponsor your art apprenticeship? Do you think your paintings are actually that good?”
His snaps to look at her, eyes wide from the sting of the last remark. She recalls that he is just a boy, and her demeanour softens somewhat.
“The King had enemies, Eamon, and you were the secret insurance. When they struck, Archibald installed you as the next ruler.” Her gaze lowers. “They wanted to annihilate my homeland. But you—you went for peace instead. And to cement the alliance…” She gestures to herself.
He turns away from her and covers his face with his hands. “So I don’t—I don’t marry…someone I love?”
The simple longing in his voice touches even her. “No, you don’t. But…I do grow to care about you. You’re a good man. Hopelessly naïve and idealistic, but you have a wonderful heart.” She reaches out to touch him on the shoulder. “And you will eventually care about me. You will admire my spirit and drive, and my sense of responsibility.” She turns him to face her, and gently takes his hands before looking into his eyes. “We make a pretty good team, actually. Decades of peace, an ever-lasting alliance…it’s quite amazing, really.”
The news consoles him somewhat. “Are you okay with this?” he asks her.
She seems startled by the question, before firing off a cocky grin. “Oh please. I'm way more practical than you. I was always going to find the best way to serve my people, and this was it.” She hesitates, looking at some far-off, wistful place. “I…miss the woods sometimes, though. And the hunting. Sometimes I sneak out of the palace with my bow and gear. You find out, and order the rangers to follow me…but they can never keep up.”
Her cocky grin has returned, and it’s a little infectious. Even so, his next question is subdued. “Am I ever okay with this?”
“You know, I wondered that for a while. You always seemed sad, at least when you thought no-one was looking. But one day, while we were out on a state visit, you stopped to bless some newly-weds. The boy was from my people, the girl from yours. They were so in love with each other, yet would never have met if not for the alliance that was your doing. That was the most I would ever see you smile. So yes, I would say you are okay with this.”
He is lost in thought for an eternity, but finally turns to ask his wife-to-be another question. But she is gone. The lamp remains, however. When he picks it up, it is just as ornate as before, if slightly colder to touch.
|
"Are you sure you want to make that wish?" The genie said.
"You might be disappointed at what you find"
"I don't care..." The lonely boy sighed, "I want to see her."
The genie frowned, unconvinced. The boy was simple minded and foolish. Too young to understand. Yet, a wish was a wish. He must fulfill his word.
"Very well... As you wish. But don't say I didn't warn you." The genie solemnly mumbled as he snapped his fingers.
The boy's moist eyes widened in wonder as a huge black cloud of smoke appeared before him. Finally, he would be able to see what lied ahead. Finally, he would be assured that there was a light at the end of all this darkness... That there was a point to his life.
The genie tried to turn away, but his conscience compelled him to stay. Yet there were to be no surprises with this wish. The genie already knew what was coming. A tear ran down the genie's cheek as he watched the inevitable unfold.
The boy's wonder quickly turned to pure terror as Death emerged from the blackness.
| 2014-06-05T09:08:17 | 2014-06-05T08:29:11 | 40 | 17 |
[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.
|
I've spent my whole life looking at numbers, judging my safety from them, gathering intelligence, watching, waiting. I am a perfectly average teenage girl; I've got brown hair, brown eyes, and a rather plain face. I'm average height, average size. There is nothing exceptional about me; except that I can judge how dangerous someone is by a number that appears by their left ear when I see them. Everyday is a blur of numbers. Only occasionally do I see a number higher than 4, which is the average adult. Capable of murder, but probably won't. The highest I'd ever seen was an 8; he was already in police custody for attempting to shoot up his high school. That was, he was the highest until I met Finn. Finn was a ten, the highest rating on the scale. The instant I saw the number I nearly had a heart attack.
From across the room he made eye contact with me, his light blue meeting my muddy brown, and it was like the whole room was buzzing and shaking. He smiled at me, seemingly harmless. And as he walked across the room to me, I felt myself fall hopelessly, irretrievably, irrationally, in love. And it was then that I knew exactly why he was so dangerous; he held the most precious thing a person can give another. He could destroy me if he chose to, he could crush my spirit. He was my soul mate, and he held my heart. That was what the ten was reserved for.
But as our hands touched for the first time, I felt at peace. This was not the man who was destined to destroy me, because as certainly as he held my heart, I held his. That was just how soulmates worked.
| 2014-11-29T22:35:42 | 2014-11-29T14:34:22 | 200 | 41 |
[WP] You found a stray kitten one day, taking her in and feeding her. A week later, you come home to find your yard swarming with cats. The largest among them steps forward and says, "You have my daughter, human. What are your demands for her release?"
|
Slushy snow sloshed under my tires as I hit the brakes and slid to a stop. It was dark, as it usually was when I arrived home from work this time of year, so I hadn't seen the cats until I had almost pulled into my driveway. Now that I had seen them, it seemed like that was all I could see. Everywhere I looked there were cats; under the bushes, in the tree branches, on the front steps, and standing in a three-deep line in front of the garage door. Every second more seemed to appear, and the line in front of the garage door was now four-deep.
My heart beat a little faster, and I let it, knowing the cats' sensitive ears would hear it, and it would make them less suspicious of me.
I sat in the car, waiting, trying to look surprised and confused. The surprised part wasn't hard. I had expected this visit the first night after I had found the kitten. After seven days I had begun to think that perhaps the kitten had fallen out of favor with the cats, and they wouldn't come at all.
Confused, though? I hadn’t been truly confused in decades, maybe over a century.
I noticed a cat making a direct line for my car. The other cats were meandering around, inspecting the yard, inspecting the house, inspecting each other, inspecting the five-deep line in front of the garage, or just hanging out where they were, as cats do. This cat strode toward me with purpose, eyes locked on mine. It was black. It was so black that none of the Christmas lights in the yard reflected off its fur. It passed close to the lamp post at the end of my driveway and it seemed like the light was absorbed into the cat. An energy cloak, then. The myths had said he was all black, and I was the first human to figure out why. Or maybe other had, but hadn’t survived their encounters. I hoped my study and work would pay off.
The cat jumped to the hood of my car, which spluttered and died, followed quickly by the lights. Yes, definitely energy absorption, but not just energy that came in contact with it, also at a distance. I hadn’t expected that. My theory was suddenly outdated, and possibly my plan with it. I looked around the car, pushed the start button a couple times, trying to act the way a normal human would.
“Where is my kitten?” the cat asked, using a telepathic message.
I looked up. The cat’s eyes were as dark as its fur, and I felt strength leak from my body as I looked into them. I glanced away, and cursed in my head. That look up and glance away would have given the cat a clue that I was not a simple human.
“Where is my kitten?” I heard again, this time the voice came through the windshield, and I looked up while the cat’s mouth was still moving.
I looked around, hoping that perhaps the cat hadn’t picked up on my little mistake and the act of looking around for a human source of the voice I had heard would further hide it.
“In front of you, imbecile! Look at your superiors when they are speaking to you!”
I looked at the cat again, but not directly in the eyes. I focused on its nose, then its mouth, then its ears, then its whiskers, then its paws, as if I were a normal human assessing a very weird situation.
“I will ask this one last time, human. Where is my kitten?”
I looked it in the eyes and said, “you can talk?”
“I speak more eloquently in a hundred languages, some dead to this world, than you speak in your native-born tongue. I have lived thousands of your pitiful lifetimes. I know power and glory that your weak mind cannot comprehend. I only let you live because I am constrained by laws laid down by the greatest of all. I will have what I want, and I want my kitten.”
It didn’t suspect. My plan was still viable. “You…you mean…Cuddles? The kitten I found last week?”
“Do you have another kitten in your house?” the cat asked, clearly exasperated.
“No,” I replied.
“I want my kitten. Take me to the kitten,” the cat ordered.
“Uh, ok,” I spluttered. I reached for the door handle, then said, “I shouldn’t leave my car in the street.” I pushed the start button again, then said, “Oh, right, it’s dead. Never mind.”
“No, you should remove your vehicle from the street, lest it attract unwanted attention,” the cat said. “Stay there.” The lights came back on and the cat jumped off the hood.
So it could reverse the effect of its energy absorption, and at will. Interesting. I pushed the button again, and the car started. I pulled into the driveway, and opened the garage door. Immediately the cats, now eight deep, parted to create a path. I got out of the car, looking around to seem bewildered, but really taking in all of the details. “Unwanted attention,” I repeated, and pulled up the hood of my hoodie.
I looked down at the cat, who was close enough to my feet I could kick it. “Uh, do you…want to come in?” I asked and pointed toward the garage.
“Of course, human,” it said.
“Of course,” I repeated. I headed toward the garage. The cat followed. I continued to look around at all the cats. There must have been several hundred by now. I wasn’t sure how they had hidden in the neighborhood without drawing attention. “Where did all these cats come from,” I asked.
“That is not your concern, human. Bring me my kitten,” the cat replied.
“Oh, yeah, ok,” I said, and opened the door into the house.
I turned on the lights and called out, “here Cuddles! Daddy’s home!”
Cuddles came running from the living room, and skidded to a stop on the linoleum floor of the kitchen when she saw the cat. Hesitantly, Cuddles walked toward the cat. They touched noses, and then Cuddles continued to walk past me, toward the garage.
“Human, my kitten tells me you have treated her well, and that you appear to have no ill intentions, and for that you will live. You will forget your experiences with all cats over the last week, however, as I am no longer allowed to leave knowledge of myself or mine in the minds of humans,” the cat said.
“I…thank you, I guess?” I said. “But I can’t really just forget something like this.”
“You will forget, human. I will take the memories from your mind,” the cat said.
“You can do that?” I asked as I reached up and pulled the strings on the hood I was wearing, closing it to a small hole in front of my eyes.
“I am doing it now,” the cat said. “By the time you close the garage door, all such memories will be gone from your weak mind.”
With that, the cat and Cuddles turned and walked out of my line of vision.
I stood there for a few seconds, then muttered to myself, “why in the world did I leave the door open?” Then, when I saw the garage door was also open, “and the garage door? I don’t even remember coming in. I’m slippin’. Getting old sucks.”
I closed the garage door, and the kitchen door. I pulled open the refrigerator, and poked my head inside. I couldn’t help myself, a little smile played at the edge of my lips, and I muttered to myself, “step one. I’m coming for you, cat.”
|
Hearing this you slowly closed the door, rubbed your eyes. 'Am I dreaming?' You thought to yourself.
You opened the door again.
'Human, you cannot escape me or my clowder, we will hunt you to the end of Midgaurd....... '
The largest cat keeps on blabbering as you move past him and started pouring some milk and cat food.
'Have any of you seen the cat that was in my house'
The cat behind the largest one started speaking 'That's the subject we are asking you about, just give us our daughter back and you will not be in any trouble'.
'Trouble', you asked.
'The offense you committed is punishable by death from onions'.
You took a long sigh'. 'You guys want something? ' you give them the milk and food.
'Human this inferior food is a shame to our kind, seriously your domestication of our distant relatives is painful to watch......... 'The largest cat was suddenly sniffing. 'This smell.... Where is it..... Is it coming from this'. The cat took a bite, 'marvelous, human, who is the chef that made this'.
'Are you for real, like who are you? ', you asked with a confused look on your face.
'We are the cat kind that came from a galaxy far away. '
'So you are aliens!', you said quickly.
'No human, we are cats, seriously you have deteriorated in your intellect since the last time we met. '
'Last time', you asked.
'Last time we met humans who quickly understood that they stood before royalty, they even made statues in our honor designed after my father, our former emperor. Where are they now? '
You take out your phone to get a photo of one of the sphynx of Giza, 'Is that him'.
'Looks like you haven't forgotten us yet human'.
You looked unimpressed, 'Honestly, I am not even surprised'.
'So human, where are those people? '
'Yeah, they are gone, no idea, been more than 2000 years.'
The largest cat had an expression of shock on its face, 'I cannot believe it, we lost some friends, we should have come back'. The largest cat started crying.
'Hey, don't cry. Wait a minute. ' You go and fetch one of the cat toys. You throw the cat toy in front of the largest cat.
'Human I am the emperor of my kind I will not fall for your........' The cat started playing with the toy and jumping everywhere.
'Everyone the human has put the sire in a spell. Raise your nails and take positions. ' one of the cat said.
'Hey, no need to raise arms. I think that my cat, your daughter has ran away from my house'.
'I can believe that', one of the cat said.
The largest cat suddenly stopped playing. 'Mr Puffs I heard that'.
'Sorry, m'lord' the cat said.
'So, the thing I am saying is let's go and find your daughter', you opened the door and all of the cats and you go out to find the stray cat.
[Rest later cos I am tired and it is 4 AM]
| 2021-12-21T13:45:58 | 2021-12-21T12:46:24 | 160 | 61 |
[WP] You're on Trial for Murder. The only evidence is a horribly photoshopped picture of you shooting a gun from Halo at the victim. Unfortunately, you seem to be the only person who realizes this.
|
I didn't understand what was happening. Did I run through my neighborhood with a gun from Halo and kill all the neighborhood cats? Yes, of course, I did. Was that a picture of ME doing it? No...
It didn't even look like me. The crudely thrown together photoshop job not only featured what looked like an octogenarian in a rocking chair holding a Halo gun (that was not cut out from its original picture), but every single element still had iStockphoto watermarks over them.
I slid the photo back across the table in my dimly lit holding cell. After being yelled at by detectives for the past two hours, my heart finally returned to its normal cadence. I felt a faint, but familiar, countenance of peace return to my face.
"So..." I finally collected my thoughts enough to utter, "This is all they have?"
"All they have? Son... do you not understand the tsunami of beetle dung you're in?"
"Tsunami of..." Seriously, who says that? "No, I really don't. Please explain."
"Their case couldn't be any more concrete. They have the Taj Ma-fuckin-hal of evidence against you."
"Okay, before you continue, I'm going to have to ask you not to make any more stupid metaphors or references."
"I'm just trying to help you son. I'm like the..."
"Please," Very annoyed at this point, I cut him off, "No similes either."
"Fine. But your only option is to take the plea chief."
The irony of my lawyer, a pimple-faced man-boy that looked to be 14, wearing a trench coat and Dick Tracy hat, addressing me as son and chief, was not lost on me. What really perplexed me was why someone went to the effort of making such a poorly constructed photoshop as evidence when... Well, let's not mince words here. I definitely killed all those cats. Every single one. In fact, I was caught in the act. There is video evidence from the dash cam of the cop cars that showed up, proving unequivocally that I, John Masters, used a gun from the best-selling video game, Halo, to brutally murder 7 cats.
I picked up the pen that lay on the empty table before me, still pondering the oddity of the situation.
"Um...," My attention turned back to my prepubescent lawyer, "What exactly is the plea deal?"
"Finally, some common sense." He breathed a sigh of relief and rifled through papers in a briefcase as he scratched his clean-shaven face. I could tell this guy probably had the type of beard that looked like a poorly shaved vagina. I'd shave it off too. "Ah! Here it is. You just sign here and you admit that you used a Halo Needler to kill seven c..."
"Did you say Needler?
"Yes, the affidavit says 'Needler'."
"Nope." I crossed my arms in defiance and put the pen down. I leaned back in my wooden chair - a rather uncomfortable chair I assume was pulled from the waiting room for Hell. It let out a high pitched squeak as my back rested against it. "I'm not signing shit. I would NEVER use a Needler. That's a noob weapon. I used a Gauss Cannon. I fuckin' WRECKED those cats."
I refused to go down as the punk that shot a bunch of cats with a Needler.
"That's fine and dandy Mr. Masters, but the picture clearly shows you holding a Needler with the brand name iStockphoto."
"That's not the bra... whatever. The point is, it was a Gauss Cannon. Period."
"Mr. Masters, if you can prove that, then we may have a case after all."
I rolled my eyes and reached into my pocket. Out came a fully functional M555 Gauss Cannon from the video game Halo 5: Guardians, available now on Xbox One X and PC. My crackly-voiced, hormonal lawyer gazed at the weapon that now covered the entire expanse of the holding cell table. He averted his gaze to the picture to make a comparison for some reason I will never understand. A comparison that should have taken less than a second actually took him two seconds - which still thoroughly placed him in idiot territory.
"Huh," He exclaimed in a 'surprised they weren't the same gun, but not surprised he pulled a fucking Halo gun out of his pocket', kind of tone. "You're right, they aren't the same gun. Yours is made by the Misriah Armory and the one in the picture is manufactured by iStockphoto. I sense foul play."
I decided not to say anything. My lawyer motioned to me with one finger - the 'one sec' gesture - and left the room. I could see him conferring with the detectives through the narrow window of my holding cell door. Their body language slowly changed from that of tension to embarrassment. The bigger of the two detectives actually mouthed the word 'misunderstanding'. I once again leaned back in my crap-tacular demon chair and awaited my apology, aching back and all.
My casual demeanor soon changed as I noticed the smaller detective grab the 'evidence' from my lawyer. My lawyer, with his dumb-looking face, did nothing but guffaw as the detectives used scissors and glue to print, cut and paste various things to the image. Dumbface stood on his tippy-toes trying to see over the detectives' shoulders, to no avail. After what felt like five minutes, the detectives handed the mangled evidence back to my lawyer. He pored over the image (I swear his eyes blinked out of sync at one point) and exclaimed "OH!"
He burst back into the room, where I sat hunched forward in anticipation, and slammed the altered photo down on the only part of the table that wasn't covered by the Gauss Cannon from Halo 5, now available on Xbox One X and PC. I picked it up and after only a brief moment of looking at it, I smiled.
"Well, you got me." I put my hands out to be cuffed. There really was no arguing this time. The photo had a crudely cut out speech balloon next to the octogenarians mouth. In it, scrawled in green crayon, were the words, "I am John Masters and I definitely shot these cats with the Needler from Halo TM."
To this day, I have no idea how they knew I said that.
|
"Why is this happening to me, how can people be so blind?" I thought to myself contemplating calling everyone in court a fucking idiot.
The Jury was made up of a colorful variety of Sunday football dads, Seniors with nothing better to do, and middle aged suburban moms with a thirst for gossip to take them out of their mundane life.
The victim, a 21 year old male. The kind that with a good heart that everyone loved. He volunteered as a physician in the CAR saving poor African children. He was a better man than me.
Now I was never the brightest person. What was happening was just bizarre. My defense attorney just told me to pledge guilty. My best friend who has been by my side for my hole life called me a murderer.
The murder gun was never found. The Prosecutor appealed to the jury emotionally. "The killer used large, metallic, advanced weaponry. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we cannot let this man walk away.. no, he shouldn't be allowed to live after this."
I tried to defend my case. Oh believe me I did. "This is obviously photoshopped" I yelled at a perplexed judge. "I would never harm anyone, I have never fired a gun in my life. This must be some sick joke".
The judge scribbles something down as he yawns. He looks me straight in the eye "You might not think this is fair, although you remember being a good person, you weren't one in *real life*" He pulls back his wig to reveal two red horns as everything goes up in flames.
| 2018-05-03T16:40:52 | 2018-05-03T15:10:35 | 156 | 63 |
[WP] You're a therapist for the supernatural. Heroes, villains, ghosts and goblins; from orcs to elves, savior of universes to devour of worlds. Your secretary announces your 10:00 is here.
|
I was used to his pithy demeanor. Not a lot of people were willing to give him credit for the necessary work he did, and he was generally pretty good at covering his resentment towards the other gods, but today he was especially irritated.
"That fucking guy..." he started out, I cut him off.
"Which guy?"
"That Zeus dick."
"What happened?" I asked, not sure if he would be honest about the events or just bullshit a story to avoid the interpersonal stuff he didn't like talking about.
"Last night, we were having a couple drinks, sharing our stories from the past month" They drank together once a month, they have a lot to catch up on. "And I'm telling him about how Artemis fucked up a delivery and sent me the wrong soul. Then this piece of over glorified angel fodder cuts me off and starts talking about how Poseidon brought him a feast of the finest fish, and even fucking Persephone got an invite."
"I take you would have liked to be invited?" I asked, making sure to word it carefully.
"Well yeah! Not like I'd go or anything, I have a lot going on with work, but just to be thought of would be nice."
"Perhaps they didn't want to inconvenience you. They didnt want to make you feel obligated to join them when they know what your priorities are."
"Inconvenience me?! Is that a joke? He invited HERA. When was the last time you even heard about her?!"
".....She is his wife....." I blipped.
"Are you shitting me Bill?" He snapped. "Do you know how many mortal babes are born on any given day? Do you know how many marriages take place in any given week? If someone were to be consumed by their work, it should be her!"
It was at this point he shifted uncomfortably in his chair for a period of about 5 seconds, leading me to believe he was hitting a node within himself that he didn't like.
See, Hera was in charge of birth and marriage and all that, but it tended to have some fallout. We all know the statistic of marriages ending in divorce, and kids get caught up in that statistic more often than not. He did not get along well with her, as sometimes when those "statistics" got messy he had work to do, and it isnt easy coordinating that kind of cleanup for 7 billion mortals, but she never batted an eye.
"I mean shit, Bill, all I asked was that she make it a bit clearer what made those relationships work. And not to us, but to the mortals." He sighed.
"Is that necessarily something you can make a science? Aside from the birthing part?" I asked him.
"Well probably not, but she gets 'em all discombobulated and they get confused, and all mortals just get angry when they're confused like that." He had a point, so I nodded and gestured for him to continue, "Look, I get it isn't easy making those things happen, but you could give 'em some clarity for Christs sake." He chuckled, he used what he called a "mortal-ism" and it was usually amusing to him because he didnt know he was doing it until the sentence was done.
"So are you actually angry at Zeus, or are you mad at Hera, and it's easier for you to blame Zeus for your anxieties?"
He thought for a moment. Letting the question wash over him like his very own river.
"Bill, you and I have a lot in common. More than you might think, but some professionally binding."
I was flabbergasted. Never before had I heard him compare himself to a mortal with such directness. It was oddly uplifting g to have deity place himself on my level, whether he was moving himself up, or down, I'm still not sure.
"Expand on that thought, if you will."
"Okay, so Hera gets these veritable chimps to feel things by fucking up chemicals in their head, making them lack clarity, because you don't know what you can't change in that way. You following me?" He paused and awaited my response.
"I think I'm tracking you."
"Okay, so the thing about Hera is that she never clarified that these mortals need a like minded partner. So they jump into things they dont understand, and then another temptation, if you will, falls into their lap, and Hera sets off the alarm bells, and that mortal is suddenly engulfed in feelings for that temptation."
He was trying to say some mortals are cheaters, but he isn't doing a great job if you ask me. Still he was expressing a clear train of thought, which has been rare since the siblings drew their lots.
"So, one mortal has two temptations to act on, and because they lack clarity in the moment, one takes precedence over the other based on nothing more than proximity. They cheat, is how you would say it, although there is no deception, only foolishness. Then the other temptation finds out, and those chemicals flood within that mortal in the form of memories and flashbacks, and they feel anger because they don't clearly see what is going on."
"Within themselves you mean?" I interrupt.
"At all! You think us gods don't feel anger?! We do, but we know precisely what it is."
"Then why do you come to me?" I asked.
"To learn how to cope. That's something humans do better than we do."
"So where is this going?"
"Well when mortals get angry they lash out, they kill one another."
"Sounds like a shitty coping mechanism if you ask me." I joke, but only mildly.
"Well here's the kicker. No mortal, save those who do what you do, know what happens after death. So I'm left cleaning up Hera's mess because these souls flow to me and have no idea what is going on. Why do you think Poseidon never comes to visit me? I literally made him a river to swim through so it was as easy as possible."
"Can't say I'd be motivated to swim in a river of souls."
"Yeah? One day you will."
This was one of those moments when I hated having gods as patients. You heard things which were true, but that you didn't think through completely until it lands in your lap like bricks.
"Okay so continue with your train of thought." I deflected, and he knew it. I know he knew, because he smiled.
"I have to become a therapist of sorts to BILLIONS of souls who die and love is always the first thing they want to talk about. I see it as this processes most flawed system. Is the viewpoint of the dead not important?"
"I would say it is. But it feels a bit like you aren't talking about the mortal souls you encounter."
"Of course not. I never got an invite to this dinner with my siblings, I might as well be dead to them."
"How long have you been formulating that conclusion?"
"Longer than you've been on the cosmic consciousness. Certainly longer than you've been alive."
He glanced at the clock, he was an irritatingly punctual deity, but patience wins out with him.
"Our hour is up. I'll see you next week." He said.
"Will you be okay? Feeling dead and all?"
He turned to me with that grin that masked his pain and had a little bit of a devilish hint to it.
"Death is my game. I'm fucking Hades."
And with that he left.
He always knew how to leave an impression. Even Hercules stills complains about him.
|
Your 10:00 is here doctor.
I was surprised he was here and on time today. Usually...
"Never fear, I have come!" Captain Majestic announced in a deep timbered voice, as he burst through the doorway and into the middle of the room. "Ah, dangit! I did it again, doc!"
"That's ok. Sit, we will talk about it. Have you had any progress this week?" The incredibly muscled man wearing a white unitard with a blazing yellow sunburst displayed on his chest and a red cape, sat down on a swivel chair in front of me.
"Well... I apprehended four bank robbers two days ago."
"I saw that on the news. Good job! And what about your tagline? What did you say?" Captain Majestic mumbled as he spun slowly in the swivel chair. "Sorry, I couldn't quite hear you."
"I said, 'The citizens of Goodville can sleep easy tonight, knowing that Captain Majestic is watching them'."
"Ooo, thats a little off, but not bad."
"Ya but did you see me yesterday? I rescued several cars from a bridge before it collapsed. Then before I flew away I yelled 'Bridges may collapse, but Captain Majestic will always stay erect'!"
"Oh my. That one wasnt so good."
"I know! And I thought I was getting better! Why are my taglines so awful?!"
"It's like we discusses last time, you get distracted and end up thinking too much about what you are going to say. You have to let it come naturally and not force it. Have you done any of the exercises?"
"I did the small taglines."
"Show me." Captain Majestic stood from the chair and puffed out his chest. His cape flapped gently in a non-existent breeze.
"Captain Majestic, standing tall!" He moved his hands from his hips and pumped his biceps. "Captain Majestic, flexing against crime!"
"Good one! Those are very well done. Try some more at home. Pick random objects and try to use them in your tagline exercises."
"Oh! I have another one. I picked up my hair brush and said, 'Captain Majestic is combing out justice'!"
"Okay, okay. Not bad. Keep trying at home. And don't forget your breathing exercises. They will help you calm down and clear your head before you say any taglines."
"Okay doc. I will try. And....wait! Do you hear that?? Some one is in trouble! Captain Majestic to the rescuuuuuue!!" And with that the muscle bound hero zipped from my office and disappeared into the city on another heroic mission.
| 2020-01-09T12:56:46 | 2020-01-09T12:44:25 | 57 | 27 |
[WP] Upon your death, you are shown a collage of every major life choice you ever made and the alternate lives this would’ve resulted in. You are surprised to see that in all but one, you were a ruthless tyrant responsible for the deaths of millions.
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It was a quiet day in 1945 in Venice Italy. The breeze cascaded off the water and helped the Gondolas creep down the waterway. I was sitting on my balcony gently puffing away on my tobacco pipe while drinking some wine when I heard the rapping of the knocker on my door. I hopped up from my resting spot and thought to myself "I don't have any visitors scheduled for 2 more days". I paced over to the door while thinking to myself "who could it be". I wrapped
my hand around the handle and crept my head forward to peak out the crack.
On the otherside of the door was a nicely dressed man with a strange looking suit that almost looked too smooth. The man peered
back through the crack locking eyes with me.
The man broke the silence by speaking in
german with a flat American accent. "I was told by the locals that a German man by the name of Schicklgruber resides here" I locked eyes with
the man again " I go by the name of Schicklgruber, do I have business with you?" The American man leaned forward and showed him a glossy looking identification paper. Schicklgruber glanced down at the card while the man outside started to speak, "My name is John Smith, I work with a new paper magazine called Darpa that shows western culture more about European art". Schicklgruber glanced the man up and down one more time and unlatched the door.
Schicklgruber turned his back and strided over to his fireplace to grab more tobacco off the mantle. He heard the door open and close behind him, and started turning to face the newspaper editor, while loading his tobacco pipe. When he had turned fully around he looked down to find the man had a large pistol pointed as his stomach. He looked at the editor while puffing his pipe and exclaimed, " If you're here to rob me then do what you must, but do not harm my work". The American made a sound almost like he chuckled while keeping the gun pointed at him. "I'm not here for your money, or your work." "You're a very special man and the people I work for wanna know what makes you so special". Schicklgruber glanced at the tobacco pipe next to him, and back at the empty wine bottles on the other side of him, and then at the floor where chalk had been tracked all over. "I think I am talented but I am not a special man" he said while looking at the agent.
The agent leaned over and grabbed a brief case I hadn't even noticed until now. He undid the clasps and started to pull out a oval shaped machine about 3 inches thick, and a foot long. The machine had pulsating mechanical pieces as he touched it, almost as if a mechanical wave rippled throughout on each part he touched. In the middle appeared to be translucent ivory orb which looked soft to the touch like cold bone broth. The agent pointed the gun back at me. In my astonishment of the device I didn't even realise he had set it down. He hoited a log over from the fireplace and dropped it in front of me.
The man bent over and slowly set the suitcase atop the log. "Now put your hand in it" he said . I looked at him with a face of fear and astonishment as I said with a exasperated voice "what is this device!?" . The agent looked at me and said "don't worry that won't kill you, but this will if you don't listen" while shaking his pistol up and down. I looked down at the machine and realised I had no choice. I took a deep breath and slowly started to push my hand into the orb. The metal all around the orb started pulsating back and forth like ocean waves as my hand slowly moved through the material. Suddenly my vision started getting dark as I looked over to see the agent checking his watch my head nodded off to one side and everything was black.
A sensation started to wash over him, it felt akin to being shocked and staring directly at the sun with tired eyes. Suddenly my vision was flooded with thousands of events happening simultaneously, but my mind was lerceiving each one. Visions of starvation, mass graves, and the pain of families being ripped away. He could feel some of the pain and emotion in each experience that flooded across his field of vision. Then as quickly as it started he felt his whole body starting to buzz and his eyes felt flooded with light and when he opened them he was back home. Tears started to softly roll down Schicklgruber's cheeks. "What kind of man would do these things?" he said holding back more tears. The agent pointed his gun down at the floor and looked at the sad man in front of him. "You would." "This machine uses quantam entanglement to track the impact a person will have on the timeline throughout history.". Schicklgruber looked up at the man, tears in his eyes " I don't understand" he says. "Well" the agent says "In this reality you're a decent man but in every other timeline you've caused the things you saw inside that machine"
Schicklgruber sat there thinking to himself and trying to make sense of what had just happened. The agent leaned over the machine and pulled a small 1 inch piece out of the side of it, sliding it into what looked like a shiny notebook. He stared at it intently before turning back back to him and asked him with a blank look ln his face "Who's Aryeh Aberman" he said in a astonished tone. Schicklgruber looked up at him and said in a crackled voice "he's my best friend from the war" he said clearing his throat. " He was a artist who saved my squads life and convinced me to go back to arts school when the war was over". The man in the suit nodded his head up and down with a look of satisfaction. He stood up and popped his collar while exclaiming "I think we got everything we needed, you don't realise it but you've helped millions of people." He continued "I knew you'd be the one when I read your chart and saw you were the only one that didn't take on your fathers second given last name." He turned his foot and started to quickly shuffle towards the door when a dazed Schicklgruber rang out "Wait!". The man in the suit turned around and said "Don't worry Adolf you did your part" and closed the door behind him.
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“It wasn’t easy, but was worth the fight” was my last thought as I closed my eyes for the last time. In front of me was my wife and behind her my two kids, now taller than me.
A bright light blinded me. I was certainly dead. While getting used to the light I noticed something was in front of me. I went closer. I saw a photo of me. I remembered those pillars, it was the place I asked Helena in marriage I guess it makes sense, after all this is the afterlife. Wait! Something isn’t right! This was clearly the day I asked her, but in this photo I’m tossing the ring into the trash can, that’s the opposite of what I’ve done. There, another photo, maybe this one will show what appended. What? This can’t be! This is a photo of an old me dressed in a military uniform, I never dressed nothing like it, and everyone else is saluting me!... No... it can’t be, I’m a tyrant in this photo... let’s try another photo. Here! The day I decided to quit my major. Why do I have a degree on my hand? So this is what would’ve happened if I made different decisions? I don’t see another option. Let’s explore. What would’ve happened in this world? A tyrant? Again? Let’s try another... What if I never went one year aboard?... Here! Tyrant?! Another. Tyrant. Another. Also tyrant. It’s impossible. I was meant be be a ruthless tyrant, but I managed somehow to escape my destiny. Well I’m glad that happened, but it’s true that I always thought people needed a firm hand to guide them...
| 2020-04-02T13:03:26 | 2020-04-02T11:58:36 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] You are 90% certain your waiter is Hitler.
Stolen (shamelessly) from an AMA I saw.
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Chuck glanced up at the waiter leaning over the table, his arm outstretched as he placed the glass of water down in front of him. He looked so familiar, but not exactly in that “I think we went to high school together” kind of way, but rather the “I’m 90% certain you’re Hitler” kind of way. Something about how his hair fell at an angle across his forehead, how he mumbled to himself in German, even how his face scrunched angrily as he spoke just screamed “I’m Hitler, but you probably shouldn’t know that.”
“Ist zere anysing else I can get you?” the waiter said, the small, rectangular tuft of hair above his lip shifting slightly as he spoke. Chuck hadn’t seen anyone wear that style of mustache since, well, Hitler. There was kind of a negative connotation with looking like Hitler, which unintentionally sent that particular facial hair the way of the dinosaurs. However, it seemed the waiter had not gotten that memo. Either that, or he was, in fact, Adolf Hitler.
“Um,” Chuck paused. “Yeah, I—uh—I’ll have the soup of the day.” He wanted the pot roast, but figured it would be better to play it safe, just in case it truly was Hitler taking his order. He was worried he'd somehow end up requesting the “Circumcision Touch-Up,” even though it wasn’t an option on the menu. Soup seemed the safest route, considering that Nazis loved soup. Seinfeld taught him that.
“Zat is a good choice,” the waiter said. He placed his right hand on his left shoulder and then saluted it out at a slightly upwards angle. “I vill get zat for you.”
“Thanks,” Chuck said, tilting his head slightly. He’d never had a waiter salute him before, nonetheless in such a particular manner. Furthermore, he was fairly confident that the traditional salute began at the forehead, not the shoulder. Had he seen that type of salute before? He couldn’t exactly recall, but it certainly didn’t help the waiter’s case on ruling out whether or not he was Hitler.
The waiter turned and began back toward the kitchen, his feet kicking out in front of him as he walked, arms straight down by his sides. He looked like Hitler, there was no denying it. He even walked like Hitler, Chuck knew that. It was a weird way to walk. Most other waiters tended to walk normally, with a bend in their knees and their arms casually waving by their sides. Yet it was 2015—freshly so—Hitler would have to be like 90 years old or something, and have fallen far enough to need a job at a shitty roadside diner. It didn’t exactly seem like the kind of career a somehow-living Adolf Hitler would obtain.
No more than three minutes passed before the waiter reemerged from the kitchen, a small, porcelain bowl resting in his upturned palm as he walked toward Chuck. God, he just looked so much like Hitler. What if he didn’t know? What if he just went about his day serving people, never understanding why everybody was a bit hesitant to tip him? Chuck wasn’t sure if he should just break the awkwardness and say, “hey, buddy, did you know you look like Adolf Hitler? You might want to consider shaving your head and beard. In fact, maybe just change your entire face, demeanor, posture, outfit, and accent.” Chuck didn’t want to be rude, however, and figured silence would probably be best.
The waiter stopped in front of the table and bent over, carefully placing the bowl down in front of Chuck. It was steaming hot, a warm mist floating off the green liquid and moistening Chuck’s forehead.
“Is this microwaved?” Chuck said, picking up the spoon and carefully swirling it around in the bowl. It looked like Campbell's Split Pea Soup, rather than what Chuck had hoped a $5.50 bowl of soup would look like. He lifted the spoon and tipped it back into his mouth.
“Nein,” the waiter said, his eyebrows furrowing, “ve only use gas here.”
Chuck spit the soup back out, coughing heavily as he practically choked to death on a spoonful of liquid. It wasn’t that it was too hot, or too much, or anything of the sorts, it was the idea of an Adolf Hitler lookalike telling him that they used gas to cook his meal. The Nazis, and Adolf Hitler, didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to using gas to cook things. The idea of just didn’t sit well with him, whether or not he was dealing with the real Hitler.
“Do you need assistance?” the waiter said, his posture still straight arms still at his side. “I knew ze heim-reich.” The waited paused. “Sorry, ze Heimlich.”
“N—no,” Chuck said, wiping off his lips. “I’m good. I am so good. That’s all for now.” Chuck had absolutely not misunderstood the waiter, he’d definitely just said “reich” there.
“Okay,” the waiter said, again saluting from his shoulder before turning. Chuck glanced at his nametag as he did so. He wasn’t quick enough to read it, but he was fairly confident it had said “Adolf Something-or-other.” He exhaled slowly and took another spoonful of the soup. It was honestly pretty good, easily some of the best he’d had in ages.
“God dammit Adolf,” shouted a deep, heavy voice from the kitchen. “The fucking oven is for food!”
“I’m sorry!” responded a muffled, thickly-accented voice. “I get so confused with zis new ideology.”
“You’re fired,” shouted the deep voice, followed by a high-pitched shriek and the slamming of a door.
A man emerged from the kitchen, a stained white shirt covering his chest, with a long, beige apron stopping just before the floor. He was clearly the cook, or chef, or something of the sorts. Chuck waved him over, the man nodding and taking the few steps to his table.
“Yes?” the man said, his face red and voice thick with an “I don’t want to deal with your shit right now” tone.
“Can I ask you a question?” Chuck said, peering around his shoulder and looking for the waiter who had served him his soup. He was not in the room.
“Yes.”
“Was that Hitler?” Chuck said. “You know, Adolf Hitler. The Jew-hating guy?”
“I don’t fucking have time for this,” the chef blurted out, throwing his hands in the air and turning around. He began back toward the kitchen.
“Wait,” Chuck shouted, “I just want to know the recipe for this soup! Do I have to use a gas oven?” He’d buy one if he had to, probably only use it once every few months to make a split pea soup, but god damn would it be worth it. He hadn’t tasted anything so thick and savory since his grandmother had passed. If there was one thing that Chuck could say about Hitler, it was that he undersold the soup.
____________________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/) ^or [^on ^my ^website!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
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When you go to a trashy Chinese restaurant, having a waiter is a bonus. If the waiter speaks decent English, that's awesome! And if the waiter looks Hitler, that's amazing!
I went to Chang's Chinese Kitchen to eat a quick meal. Granted, orange chicken cooked on a 20 year old iron skillet isn't the best meal, but when you're short on cash, any cheap meal is an amazing meal.
I sat down at the plastic table. The waiter came to my table, awaiting my order. "Hello, sir, vat can I git for you?"
I looked up. That voice sounded awfully familiar. It almost sounded that one dictator's voice during that war. Some name like Mittser? Kilter?
"I'll have a orange chicken with fried rice, sir."
"Certainly. Do you want brown rice or white rice?"
"Can I have the brown rice? I heard it's healthier."
He signed, mustache quivering in the air. "Brown rice? I'll have you know that white rice is healthier, tastes better, digests better, and is the superior grain. White rice is the best grain in the entire world!"
Huh. He really liked white rice, didn't he? "Alright. I'll take it!"
He smiled, a kind smile that hid other emotions. "Great! It'll be out soon enough"
This would be an interesting meal.
I starting texting my friend David while waiting for my food. I texted, "DUDE CHANG'S CHINESE KITCHEN HAS A WAITER HOLY CRAP WHEN DID THEY GET ONE"
He replied, "Waiter? You mean the German guy? They got him a few weeks ago from Argentina or something. He was like a refuge from the U.S FBI or something. IDK"
What? A German from Argentina? That didn't make sense. I opened up Safari on my iPhone to look up German refugees, but before I could, my food arrived.
The German man arrived with a smile on his face, bearing my food on a white dish. He sat my dish down, and I noticed that the chicken was arranged in the symbol of a swastika. Huh.
I looked up. "Uh, could I ask you a question?"
"Ask avay, my friend."
"I heard you were from Argentina?"
He cringed. "Yes. I vas...staying there for a vhile. Why?"
"Oh, nothing. I just thought you looked really familiar for some reason. Almost like someone I knew."
Instantly, as if he had been waiting for someone to recognize him, he dislocated his jaw, opened up wide, and forced my head through the gap.
And that is how I learned that Hitler too was a lizard person.
| 2015-01-15T19:13:27 | 2015-01-15T19:08:15 | 1,293 | 88 |
[WP] God shares the cosmos with several other dieties. To pass the time they play Civilization like games for eons. God's frustrated that his civilization, Earth, is several ages behind all his friends.
|
God looked at his species and giggled. His people were woefully behind. They still only had basic nuclear power technology the little idiots used it to make a bomb! A bomb of all things. It was just too funny. The only thing they could do with fusion was to make yet another bomb. Of course they would do that. They did love their bombs. Somehow they managed to get basic spaceflight but all they really did with it was to put a person or two on the moon because of a political footrace. They did put satellites in orbit around their single planet so there was that at least. One or two were telescopes but that didn’t amount to much. Maybe they will see the invasion fleets before they hit. He couldn’t wait to see their reaction when they do. He hoped that they wouldn’t completely destroy their environment or otherwise wipe themselves out before that happens. It would disappoint everyone.
He looked again. They had actually managed to send stuff to nearby planets! He hadn’t expected that. He zoomed in further. Those little robots were so cute. They were actually starting to talk about colonizing their moon and sending people to Mars. Too bad it was only tens of thousands of years behind everyone else.
He hated to lose but it was pretty much certain at this point. The only reason he was still playing was to be a good sport. He had pretty much stopped wasting his efforts. There was really no point. He spent his time creating a nice little galaxy as he waited for his next turn. It was a great galaxy. The others were admiring it. It would make a fantastic new game board. When his turn rolled around he just poked at humanity a little bit. They were going to lose. No doubt about that. So instead of driving them onward he let them run about. Without that much “divine intervention” they had become really strange and amusing. He decided to go with that. Everyone loved his turn. It took ages for everyone to stop laughing.
He had grown bored with the game but he did love making his friends laugh. While those little idiots were losers all around they were just too funny. Everyone loved his humans. He even let the others mess with them setting up hilarious situation after situation as everyone howled with laughter. They had been fucked with so much that he was surprised he had a species left. He had grown to like them so much that he was going to grab the funniest of them just before they got wiped out and use them for the next round. He was looking forward to everyone’s reaction when he did it. It was going to be a hoot.
It looked like The Cold One was expanding into the area. Everyone giggled as she moved her pieces into the human’s solar system and leaned in for a close look. This was going to be a riot. There was supposed to be a surprise attack bonus but everyone decided to ignore that just to see what humans would do.
God chortled as he used his divine intervention card to allow The Cold One’s units to be detected about a week before they hit. The reaction was priceless. Total anarchy. The world leaders tried to maintain some sense of order and mount some defense but it just added to the fun. They were actually sending messages of peace! Everyone was laughing harder than they had in eons. He put his prayer feed on speaker. Even The Cold One was chuckling. Getting a laugh out of her was nearly impossible, even for the omnipotent.
Oh well, It was time to put the little idiots out of their misery. The invasion fleets hit. The humans, bless their little hearts, fought back. The joke that was their military was wiped out in one turn. They fought. Their cities were blasted into ash. They fought. The invaders deployed ground units. The humans fought. They died by the millions, by the billions. They fought. After each wave of devastation hit they crawled out of the ashes and they fought. Everyone leaned in further in astonishment as the humans just wouldn’t die. Maybe it was because they had been fucked with so much. Maybe it was the neglect. They had pretty much been left to themselves for survival. It looks like they were good at it.
They fought. When they ran out of bullets they threw rocks. When they ran out of guns they sharpened sticks. They sharpened bits of steel from their ruined cities and they fought. They whipped up crude explosives out of the dirt and they fought. They built stuff they hadn’t built in a thousand years and they fought. They threw shells from trebuchets and made crossbows and muskets and they fought. There was absolutely no hope of victory, even survival, but they fought. The laughter stopped and everyone watched in fascination. Those little bastards were still fighting. The Cold One sent more units. And then she sent more again. The humans were somehow still reproducing and fighting. They dug tunnels and hid in caves and fought. They burrowed under what was left in their cities and they fought. Any other species in any other game would have given up, begged for mercy, let themselves been enslaved, even worshipped their invaders. The humans didn’t. They just kept fighting. God was astounded.
Everyone was amazed when despite the utter devastation the human’s tech level started to rise. God looked in. He watched as people, some of them too young to reproduce, tore apart bits of technology that had be dropped by The Cold One’s casualties and were somehow figuring it out. There was no way that should have happened but it was. The invader’s casualties continued to mount. There were no human units left. There was not a single unit, not a single city, not anything showing on the board but The Cold One was still taking losses. Earth was lost but somehow The Cold One was still not the victor. The humans still fought. Years passed. Decades passed. A century passed. The humans still fought, refusing to become extinct.
The gods watched on with interest. This was new. New was something that the gods enjoyed to no end. But eventually Earth was almost completely burned, a cinder. A lot of the Earth’s life had become extinct. Somehow the humans weren’t. Their numbers were incredibly low. They were almost gone but they were still there and still fighting. God was impressed. Everyone was impressed. The Cold One’s units were still on Earth fighting and dying but she didn’t really lose units anymore but her units couldn’t completely wipe out all of the humans either. Everyone’s interest waned. Not much new was going on. The situation had become a stalemate. The game went on. The Cold One, being hard pressed, pulled the few units she still had on Earth to fight elsewhere. She lost a few turns later.
The game continued. Players lost and the few remaining were all commanding galactic superpowers with thousands of systems each. As they battled back and forth humanity survived. Their world was ruined. They should have starved but they survived. They ate bugs, worms, scum growing on the rocks of their long forgotten cities and survived. God, somehow, was still in the game. He looked upon his creation in wonder. He pondered what he should do. He decided to do absolutely nothing. His humans deserved no less. They were their own player now.
The world started to renew itself a little and weeds and vines started to grow. His “losers” were there still there, their numbers slowly increasing as God passed each turn. Their technology started to increase, fueled by the bits and pieces of The Cold One’s tech still laying around. Their numbers and technology continued to grow. Suddenly a unit appeared! Other units soon followed. They started to leave their planet first in faltering steps and then their ships started to spread across the stars.
They weren’t colonizing planets though. God looked down at his humans with curiosity. They weren’t colonizing but they were spreading. They didn’t make worlds. They just exploited the mineral wealth of the stars to build more ships and their technology continued to rapidly rise as they came across the ruins and dead ships of the other players no longer in the game. God looked closer as he passed another round. Humanity wasn’t interested in colonization or empires. They weren’t looking at the stars in wonder or at planets with ambition. They looked outward with only one emotion, hate. They had always been violent. It was part of their amusing charm. After the near extinction of their race only the most vicious and tough of the most vicious and tough survived. Their descendants were now the ones spreading across the stars. They were no longer fighting amongst each other though. They had bigger game in mind.
God looked at his population and tech ratings and smiled grimly. The other remaining players were so engaged in their battles that they only saw God’s one smashed planet. They didn’t see the billions and billions of humans and their ships, their numbers and technology growing at an ever increasing speed. They didn’t see the humans coming.
God and the other “losers” watched humanity with interest. Things were about to get quite interesting indeed.
Edit: I gotta get a few assignments in. I will write more later this afternoon.
|
“Hey, you ready for the next game?” Ykzlpxlt!t, The Disemvoweled One, Devourer of Souls, Approacher and the Gate asked Yaweh as the pair floated through the Immaterial Aether between universes.
Yahweh started, the image of Earth wavering in front of him. “Already?”
“The last game ended a hundred thousand years ago,” Ykzlpxlt!t said. “Toltulket and Rethwar told me they told you. What are you even looking at, anyway?” The Disemvowled One raised several of its batrachian tentacles up to peer over Yahweh’s robed shoulder. “Wait, did you start a new game without us?”
Yahweh twitched. “No.”
“Oh come on, I recognize that UI. Nice culture modifier. Faith… one? How do you have a culture modifier that high with a faith of one?”
Yahweh shuffled closer to the aetheric viewscreen, but it made little difference as Ykzlpxlt!t’s froggy tentacles slithered over his robes, one of them opening its mouth to flick its tongue at the screen.
“Come on. We always play together. It’s lame playing by yourself.”
“I was playing together!” Yahweh snapped. “They haven’t hit the Great Filter yet, okay?”
Several of Ykzlpxlt!t’s tentacles blinked before the eldritch deity began to laugh, a horrible wheezing sound that, had any of his latest civilization heard, likely would have either plunged them into madness or a multi-million dollar book deal. “This is from *last* game? How have they not hit the Great Filter?”
Yahweh muttered something indistinct.
“I couldn’t hear that.”
“They only discovered agriculture ten thousand years ago!” Yahweh shouted.
Ykzlpxlt!t’s tentacles fell off of Yahweh’s robes as the extradimensional monstrosity convulsed in six dimensions, flickering in and out of 3-space as its horrible tentacles writhed against each other, the hideous sound of its laughter reverberating throughout the alien void.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Yahweh said, hunching his shoulders as he leaned forward.
“Come on, you must be really bad at this game. Every civilization destroys itself within 25,000 years of discovering fire.”
“Yeah, well, they didn’t.” Yahweh shuffled closer to his screen, poking at it with a glowing finger before he sighed.
The Disemvowled One, winner of six intergalactic races to the Filter, struggled back upwards, its tentacles slithering in from all angles to peer at the screen. “So what did you do?”
“Nothing. I don’t have enough Faith.”
“So what did you spend all your faith on to be so low?” A thousand yellow eyes peered at all corners of the screen. “Zero net faith per turn? What did you *do*?”
“Fifteen Commandments! That’s all I gave them! And then my High Priest had to drop one of tablets! They think there’s only ten!”
The horrific laughter recommenced.
“Hey! Get your tentacles off! It’s still my game!”
“I can’t do anything with one faith anyway.” The writhing of the tentacles subsided once more. “That still doesn’t explain how you’re at zero net faith.”
Yahweh rubbed his frizzled hair with his hand. “Well, I spent way too much on early miracles for my chosen people, and then they got conquered… and got conquered *again*… so I had to wait for my Faith to accumulate high enough to spawn in an avatar.”
Hundreds of froggy faces smirked at him. “Didn’t work?”
“They nailed me to a stick and then made up a bunch of stuff about me!”
Ykzlpxlt!t fell away from the screen once more, Yahweh wincing at the multidimensional laughter.
“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up. They finally invented nukes a few years ago, so now it’s just a matter of time.”
The tentacles finally stopped slithering between dimensions long enough to focus on Yahweh again. “So, you’ll be good to go in a few years then?”
“Yeah, should be. I mean, what could go—”
The screen’s chime cut through aetheric space as a large notification window popped up over the face of the planet.
“What’s it say?” Ykzlpxlt!t asked.
Yahweh groaned. “They made peace.”
A thousand froggy tentacles chuckled. “I have to go get Toltulket and Rethwar. They’re going to love this!”
Yahweh sighed. Why was he so bad at this game?
| 2016-04-09T11:39:46 | 2016-04-09T10:41:58 | 57 | 13 |
[WP] The end of the world is at hand. Everyone starts to tick off their bucket list, doing crazy things because they know it won't matter in the long run. In an odd twist of fate, the crisis is averted. Now everyone has to live with the repercussions of what they did.
|
Jerry found the local police chief huddled behind a squad car, barking orders at the fresh-faced recruits in ill-fitting uniforms. They scattered shortly after, away from the chief’s temper and towards the positions marked out for them. Only then was Jerry’s presence acknowledged.
“Took you damn well long enough to get here. Please tell me there’s more backup coming.”
“None, Chief Benson,” said Jerry. “Only me. But things will work out.”
“Goddammit.”
A spray of bullets erupted from within the clinic, accompanied shortly after by a wave of screams, as if another reminder was needed that the situation was urgent, and getting more dire by the second. Then, a lone voice, angry, unhinged, desperate, called out.
“Looks like he hasn’t changed his demands,” said Jerry.
“We’re going to have to storm in,” said Chief Benson. “There’s no way we’re going to get him what he wants. Just because the world has gone to shit doesn’t mean two-bit crooks like him get to do whatever they wish. As long as I’m here, I’m going to-”
“But I already got it,” said Jerry. He pressed the remote in his hands, and a silver sedan beeped from a nearby alley. “One Mustang, tank full of gas, ready for him to get out of there. I even got him the money he asked it, it’s all on the dashboard.”
It hadn’t been easy to put that together on such short notice, especially after the Reckoning, but Jerry had his ways. In the old days, he could have just filled out a form, made a requisition request. But now, now that every institution of modern society had crumbled to ashes, Jerry had to do almost all the legwork himself.
“You’re crazy,” said Chief Benson. His eyes were a mix of confusion and disapproval. “Does law and order mean nothing to you? Where the hell did you say you were from again?”
“I’m from Whitefish,” said Jerry. “Just about ten miles west of-”
“I know damn well where it is,” said Chief Benson. “A bunch of cowards, all of you. I remember well enough, boy. Week before the Reckoning, when all of us law enforcement was still trying to keep the peace, you guys were the only ones around here to give up. I heard it. I damn well heard it. Your chief just sat his ass down, ordered his men to return to their families, and damn well shut his eyes and ears. Chief Palmer, wasn't it? The yellow-bellied snake.”
“I know,” said Jerry. “I was there.”
“Well see where that got you! When the Reckoning passed and the damn earth was still here, Whitefish suffered the most, didn’t it? Mass killings, looting, suffering, all because your Chief Palmer gave up hope. Well, that ain’t how we do things around here, understand? Here, we got law, and we are damn well going to see that the law-”
Jerry placed a hand on Chief Benson’s shoulder, and applied just enough pressure to catch the older man’s attention. “You don’t have a choice here, Chief. There’s one crazed druggie in there with assault-grade weapons. Six hostages, possibly more. Your task force here comprises of four rookies who look like this is their first day in the field. How many are going to die before you realize your way doesn't work?”
The voice from within the clinic called out again, restating his demands. The edge to his threats had sharpened, and Jerry knew that his window of opportunity was shrinking fast.
“Why not try it my way?” asked Jerry. “The old ways don’t work, not now. Maybe we’ll get there again. But we’ll have to try new ways in these new days. Hey, if things turn to shit, I’ll take full responsibility here. I promise.”
Chief Benson nodded, and Jerry smiled, ignoring the glimmer of a sneer thrown his way. He wasn't looking for the Chief's approval, after all, not when a job was waiting to be done.
The exchange was over much faster than either of them had anticipated. As promised, the car remote was left on the pavement, and the rag-tag response team made a show of laying down their firearms too. Only did then their quarry emerge, holding a woman in front of him as a shield. He spat on the ground, laughed at Chief Benson and Jerry, then flung the woman aside once he stumbled into the car. Two quick revs of the engine, and he sped away, a silver streak fast disappearing into the distance.
“See, everyone’s safe,” said Jerry, as the recruits helped the hostages out.
“Damn you,” said Chief Benson. “Once news of this gets out, every hoodlum is going to try their luck at-”
Jerry stretched out his arm, pointed a second, smaller remote in the direction that the Mustang took off in. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he muttered a brief prayer. Then, he jabbed down hard on the button, so forcefully that the joints of the remote creaked.
The explosion was so forceful that Chief Benson stumbled backwards, as he threw up his arm to shield his eyes. The Mustang, now a charred smoking hunk of steel and flames, spun gracefully through the air before landing with a crash. A flaming wheel rolled a short distance between connecting with a lamp post.
“New world, new rules, Chief,” said Jerry.
“What the hell…”
“You’re right about Whitefish,” said Jerry. He started walking towards the wreck, and Chief Benson followed along, mesmerized by the carnage. “Though there was a deeper dimension to Chief Palmer’s methods. He wasn't a coward, not really. You see, he truly believed the Reckoning was the end of the world. And in those final moments, he said, who are we men to judge each other? Should we all not be who we truly are, so that when the angels come for us, they will see us for our true mettle?”
“That’s insane,” said Chief Benson.
“I disagree. I think he was just… too hopeful, you know? He really thought that everyone would do good in their final hours. But he was wrong. People weren’t humane to each other. They were brutal, uncivilized. Sure, you had a few who were kind and loving and compassionate and all that… but the majority?”
“Where’s Chief Palmer now?”
“Gone,” said Jerry, surprised at how level his tone was. No more cracking, no more breaking. Time really did heal wounds, it seemed. “The Reckoning may not have destroyed the world, but it surely ended his. When Chief Palmer saw just how much… damage had been caused by his decision to let his fellow man be free, he took his own life. He couldn’t bear the shame, I think.”
The flames had burnt out by the time they approached. It wasn’t Jerry’s first day out, after all. The tank had not been full, and the explosives were rigged for a very targeted payload. Waste not, want not. They peered in, and could just about confirm that the criminal hadn’t, in fact, escaped.
“See?” Jerry said. “No collateral damage, all hostages safe. Get pictures of that, and I’ll help you ensure it gets the attention it needs. Zero tolerance policy in full effect, until such time as the world rebuilds itself. Your town will know that there’s no second chances, not as long as we are on the watch.”
“You’re mad,” said Chief Benson. “You can’t be judge, jury and executioner. Who gave you the damn right?”
Jerry shook his head. “I don’t like it too, I really don’t. But the courts are not in session, and we’re about as far from a civilization as you can imagine. We’re back in the wild west, Chief Benson. And as far as I’m concerned, my father tried it his way and it didn’t work, so I’m going to be doing it my way for a while. Has it occurred to you that the only ones responsible for us, are ourselves?”
Jerry clapped Chief Benson on the shoulder, gave another little squeeze.
“Different times, different measures, Chief.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
It was only a cat.
The blood that matts its fur looks like jam. Like, it rolled around in a big puddle of strawberry jam and never got back up.
When do dead things become a carcass? Do dead people become carcasses, or is that just for animals? I don't know, but this cat is just a carcass now, I suppose. Just a feast for flies and a cozy home for maggot eggs.
A lot of people killed someone. Like, an actual person. Sarah Golding did. Got her dad's gun and went up to Mr Sanding, the teacher who felt her up at prom. *I got something to show you,* she said with that smile that melts older men's hearts like butter, with her hands hidden behind her back. *Close your eyes*, she said. **Bang,** the gun yelled. Big chunks of brain flew all over his friends, and his wife, into their eyes and even into one guy's mouth.
She regrets it. Can't sleep now for fear of nightmares. Says it's not fair she didn't die -- that we '*averted*' the collision.
I don't think she should regret it.
I share her nightmares, about the brains and blood -- only, they don't scare me. It's not like I like them... I just don't mind them, is all.
It stinks. Like, its insides must be all rotting. It's like sewage. When I prod it with my boot, pus oozes out of its wounded, rotting flesh, and flies take angrily to the air, buzzing around me wishing they were wasps. It feels like kicking a bag of liquid. Sounds like it too, as it squidges and sloshes under my foot.
People did worse than murder, so they say. I don't know much about that. Dad won't let me watch the tv, and it's not like there's internet anymore. You can't help wonder though: what's worse than murder?
Sarah says living.
Why don't I feel like her? I know it was only a dumb moggy, but it was Mr Herrington's, and he loved it. Not that I'll tell him where it is. It's mine now. I killed it. **I** own it.
I told Sarah she should be proud of herself. That I wish I'd had the courage to kill a real person. She didn't ask, but I told her anyway. My dad. He never touched me or anything, like that teacher did her. It was other stuff. Small things. Like, on the rare occasions when he'd take me for ice cream or something, he was more interested in the waitresses' asses than how my netball went.
I never played. I wouldn't have told him if he'd asked. But he didn't. I wouldn't have told him that I just sat on the bench, cause I never got picked. Just sitting there, rocking back and forth like a piece of jello. But he didn't.
A black eyeball plops out this time, as the tip of my boot rocks the cat's head. The *carcass'* head. It's not a cat anymore. I wonder what it'd be like if that was a person's head. How it would feel.
I wonder if something's wrong with me. Why I'm not like Sarah and don't feel all that shit she does.
But I know the answer.
It was only a cat.
---
/r/nickofnight
| 2017-11-29T06:16:12 | 2017-11-29T05:57:57 | 3,971 | 1,584 |
[WP] Throughout the galaxy Humans are well known as being the most peaceful race--and have become well respected as diplomats and traders. But that's because up until now, no-one knew of the three World Wars we fought before first contact.
|
"Chairman Pock, if you wipe out the Artiels, you might as well be a NAZI."
The words escaped my lips before they had a chance to register. The Earth delegation inhaled sharply at their utterance. The Koriels were lost as to their meaning.
"Ambassador Borlaug of Earth, what is this Not-See to which you compare us? Are you accusing us of lacking vision?"
I cursed myself. The Koriels were serious about nuance. They probably wouldn't let this go. Still, the Koriel's course of action was unconscionable. I needed to draw attention to this.
"Look, Pock, I'm just saying that Genocide is universally regarded as a heinous crime. Literally. Its in the Universal Accords..."
"Heinous, like a Not-See, yes? Is it heinous to be blind? Is this why you command me to look?" The chairman's posture had stiffened. The posture was consistent with sensing deceit or weakness. In this case, probably both.
"Chairman Pock, please don't be side tracked by metaphor. It was my own error..."
"HO! So the hu-mon thinks a Koriel cannot grasp metaphor! I will show you otherwise!" The chairman's antennae danced to emphasize his words. He was offended.
The Koriel was doubling down. This was their way. This was an unmitigated disaster.
The Chairman bellowed, "The Koriel delegation invokes its rights to prepare arguments. This meeting will reconvene in one hour."
Shit. Fuck. The Koriels were very thorough, and loved argument for argument's sake. The Artiels had selected the Earth Federation to mediate disputes because of our reputation for peace. I had been selected for my allegedly cool head and calm speech. Clearly someone, or everyone, had misplaced their confidence. The Koriel's were about to find out about WWII. After that, they would find out about WWI and WWIII, and the Earth Federation's reputation would be shattered.
Strictly speaking, the early Earth wars were not broadly advertised. It was not seen as necessary until further expansion had occurred. Our historic records were safeguarded in the Library of Congress at Alexandria, but as a diplomatic delegation the Koriels would undoubtedly have special access for the purpose of understanding our language and culture.
To top it off, the Koriels can read 6 sources at once. I am fucked.
** One Hour Later **
Dread filled my chest as I approached the podium. Though I was at an elevated post, a symbol of my honor, I felt like I was about to be tried for the crimes of humanity. I spoke the sacred words.
"Mediations are reconvening, the time is 24:03, the place is Kor'bek. May our words and hearts be true."
Pock approached his podium. As I gazed on him, I was confused by his mannerism. His antennae were rubbing his forehead and eyes. His little mandibles were moving much more than normal. It took me a moment to recall my body-language training. Pock was somehow agitated. Possibly upset.
I waited. It was protocol that Pock should speak next. Pock held the podium and swayed slightly. He let go, as if to retreat, then grabbed it again. I was beginning to grow concerned. Was he poisoned? Just as I was about to speak out, Pock cut me off.
"Ambassador Norman Borlaug, you who are named after the feeder of nations, I am most disturbed by what I have just read, for I now understand what it means to be a NAZI."
Silence. This was where my cool head told me to wait. Was Pock deeply offended at my insinuation that he was a NAZI?
Pock turned slightly. His words were now intended for his own people.
"A NAZI is someone who promises strength. Unity. Leadership." His voice swelled. His entourage perked up with excitement. "A NAZI conquers his enemies without compromise. He is a leader of industry. A maker and an unmaker. He provides for his people above all others!" The Koriels were starting to stand and do their weird applaud-dance thing.
Shit. Bug-Hitler.
Suddenly, Chairman Pock crouched low and spread his arms wide. "BUT IT IS A LIE!"
The room was shocked into silence. I found myself unable to interpret his body language at all.
"The NAZI is not strong. The NAZI abandons his people for arbitrary reasons! He starves some and feeds others! He takes the ones he cannot care for and hides them in camps of death! Entire generations starve in agony, imprisoned by the cruelty he implants in the hearts of his people!"
I was speechless.
"The hu-mons met the NAZIs 300 years ago. They were seduced by these lies, absorbed their hatred, and carried out their cruelty. The hu-mons took 11 million innocent humans from their homes. They took their belongings. They separated them from their families. These were their neighbors, their community! Their selection was for arbitrary, superficial reasons. But that isn't where they stopped. They took these hu-mons to the camps of death. The most evil cruelty you can imagine was carried out here. These hu-mons were killed in evil, pointless ways, by people who used to be their neighbors. Other humans saw the evil, and were moved to stop it. But they only stopped it in self defense, for fear of the evil spreading. It was not until Earth War Three that the hu-mons could purge this evil from themselves. The war did not kill the NAZI, but set the precedent that to be a NAZI is to perish. That evil begets evil."
"What is so terrifying about the NAZIs, is that they are not aliens. They are not others. They are not even hu-mons. They are shades of people. A part of all of us. Anyone can be a NAZI. We have *been* NAZIs in our past! And we planning to be NAZIs in our future."
"We can choose to wipe out the Artiels. That is our power. But that would be evil. That would be cruel. We must seek peace with the Artiels. Failing that, we must seek forgiveness and restraint in war. In our distant future, we will be a big community with the Artiels. We will trade with them and live with them. I do not know what that will look like, but I pray they will not have memories of cruelty with us."
Chairman Pock turned back to me.
"The Koriel delegation will enter into a space-sharing negotiation with the Artiels. This will not be simple or easy, and I cannot promise there will be peace, but the Koriel delegation reaffirms its opposition to unnecessary violence against civilians. Let this meeting be convened."
My head spun. I couldn't believe it. The Artiels had just won significant concessions at a negotiation they weren't even allowed to attend, and the key argument was an accidental assertion of Godwin's law.
I decided to leave the chamber while it was still appropriate to do so. There was simply no better outcome and I didn't want to fuck it up again. The Earth delegation shuffled tightly behind me. We fled the chamber and retreated to our conference room. Negotiations didn't always go well, but I was happy to mark today up as a win.
That Chairman Pock guy is alright.
|
In my dorm room at the Academy, I adorned my family banner against the ceiling to remind me why tradition reigns in my family. From the top left hand corner, a pair of brothers started it off by fighting in the Spanish Civil war. One came back a communist, the other stayed in Nationalist Spain, but both matured with a sense of duty. Their brothers followed them into the Great War as resistance fighters in various campaigns. One even made into Shanghai, China before it fell.
One of my aunt's husband came out as a Communist during the Bolshevik era. He was a hard-line Communist before he met her, but softened as a man of peace. During the Korean war, a set of cousins, female and male took their place as artillery men, nurses, logistics coordinator, secretaries during the long years after the second world war. Throughout the world conflicts, some part of my family would mark its presence.
Branches would shrink, would grow, sometimes start family trees of their own. My uncle started a mercenary group that operated in South East Asia hunting down traffickers of illicit goods from horns, to living human flesh. He enjoyed ballet as well.
Underneath the sheets of a bunk, I could only imagine how the xenos would change their minds if they had seen my family in the third world war.
Sons and fathers fighting against each other, mothers and sisters, long distant cousins stabbing each other in the chest, my grandparents coming out with their three shots and my brother clutching the yoke of a plane, gunning down his sister. The war engulfed everyone on the planet.
It wasn't a matter of politics. It was a matter of survival.
The moon had been struck my a micro-black hole, ripping through it's center before spitting through it at the speed of light. Initially, it was beautiful, chunks of the moon splitting off before crashing into each other. But the slow realization that it represented something far worse come down upon us.
The moon, with its gravity well would continue to make smaller pieces. Until it would be too small to hold its mass, and begin orbiting the earth, pieces that would slowly scatter across the earth and destroy what lived on the surface.
An emergency place was put into place, to build bunkers deep into the earth. While nation governments tried to organize an increasingly agitated populace, weaker nations struck out. No one blames the first person that shot first. Everyone was thinking the same thing.
It was the person who shot back, that started it.
And when it was said and done, the world went up in flames.
| 2017-05-01T15:01:15 | 2017-05-01T14:45:41 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] You're the chosen one, with abilities far surpassing the average person. Unfortunately, the good guys want you to work for exposure, but the bad guys will pay.
|
The mages spent their entire lives developing a raport with the elements with which they call upon. Should a young mage call upon fire, that mage must give back to the fire what he takes. The Pyromancer must let the fire burn, until its had its fill. Water repaid by flowing, bursting, and swallowing up the earth. Earth repaid in fruit and so on and so forth until the scales tip in the conjurers favor, and he no longer asks the element and barters with the cosmos, but he commands the elements. A true master has the elements in his debt.
Then there is me. I spent my time at the academy not grovelling to the elements. Not honing my repartee with the Ocean like water mages, or begging the favor of the flame. I practiced one spell. A spell that most overlooked. An offhand spell that was used to conjure their wand, or suspend them on a crumbling staircase. Telekinesis. I was laughed at.
No one laughs these days. No one laughs at my Auraic blade, that slices through the fabric of existence, or my sheild a glowing disc of unmovable Mana. No one laughs when the element I garner favor with, is my own will, and my will is replenished as it is expended, and satisfied always. It does not fail me, like the fire mages. It is not expended, and it wants only to be used more radically than the last time unleashed. Even the strongest of Magi lose stamina against me.
They called me a fool for spending half a day practicing one spell, instead of spreading out my focus and becoming a novice at many spells. They called me a fool for wasting my time strengthening my body, practicing my swordsmanship and archery because great mages need only a sharp mind. Then I conquered every budding Warlock in the Graduate Skirmishes.
And now, the laughed at fool held in his hand, a scroll, delivered by courier from the highest court, the Court of Astral Overlook. On the scroll, in glowing calligraphy an invitation.
" The Court of Astral Overlook formally requests your presence and assistance in a grave matter, concerning the future of Astralastria. Come hitherto at once. "
In my satchel, another scroll...the paper, charred and black, the text glowing with hellfire, crackling and snapping embers which floated from the page. If you looked deeply in the lines of cursive, you'd see a burning void, which reached outward endlessly.
" I offer a Crown to rest upon your brow. I offer a Throne above these lands, and above the Throne, your own lap. I offer only what you deserve. - Kalciphet "
I was a man with no master. My father, a mere man, died fighting an Orcish raid on the farms outside the City of Mages, Astralastria. My mother, a healer had died in childbirth.
It only served to benefit me to allow the Court of Astral Overlook to wait on my call. They rarely if ever were made to wait, and denying them this satisfaction would rally leverage to me.
I conjured a plasmatic steed, and mounted my glowing mare, making way toward the northern reaches. I would first pay a visit to necromancer, Kalciphet.
My mare trotted into the stronghold. The Skeletal warriors outside preparing for war shared a consciousness with the Necromancer, and drew their blades not on my arrival. They kept busy stripping raided wagons of their iron, forging gnarled arrowheads, and twisted blades out of villagers cutlery. I was ushered to the Throne-room of the Necromancer.
He kept the company of a rogue band of Pyromancers. Fire mages who were slaves to the element of fire. Cursed to burn the world, as they took from the element and never negotiated terms to their own benefit. They simply did as the flame told them, and asked nothing in return. At this point, if they did, the element very well may not answer their call when they need it most. The elements afterall have their own motives, which rarely align with our own.
He offered me a seat at the top of the Tower of Astralastria. Should I topple the city, I would keep it. I would have all the women and wine and riches of the countryside, and rule over the mages thay resided there. It was impossible not to get excited at the thought.
I told him he would hear from me shortly, and travelled back to the beautifuk City of Mages, a utopia which ran like clockwork, and left its citizens wanting for nothing. The people contributed to the hive, and worried not about survival, and instead concerned themselves with study, and art, and worldly pleasures.
I showed my invitation and ascended the staircase. The Court of Astral Overlook congregated in a great library, filled with ancient artifacts and spellbooks that reaped creation as much as they reaped destruction. While their opinion was one I perhaps resented, this invitation was no doubt a great honor, and I revered it as such.
"We know you have met with the Necromancer, Kalciphet." One of the elders spoke.
"We know he seeks your alliance. " Another elder followed.
" His offer is enticing. "
"But what we offer, is far more noble. Far more commendable, and far better. " The elders spoke slowly, one after the other as if of one mind.
"And what is your offer? " I conjured an apple, blue and glowing, and bit into its flesh. It snapped and juiced at the bite, but vanished into smoke as it was merely an illusion. I was definitely one for theatrics.
" Defend the city. Be remembered a hero."
I waited to hear the rest of my prize. What would my trophy be? A villa in the Tower? A harem to serve my wine, and feed me Druidberries in my bathhouse? A personal healer and command of a battallion of battle Mages?
" What else might I expect from this arrangement? " It seemed they were being stingy with the accolades.
"We will tell tales of your bravery! Everyone will know your name in all the streets of the city!"
" And? What will I receive for my loyalty?"
"You will be fulfilled. We merely offer you an opportunity to showcase your bravery and might. You will be known as a great warlord. We will hold a parade in your honor, and the people will know their city is safe, so long as you reside in its walls!"
" So, no Gold? No wine? No women? A parade? "
One of the elders stood up. "Your disrespect knows no bounds! We offer you fame in the streets of our great city. Defending the city from an ancient and great evil is not even difficult. We have a list of Mages who would love to battle in the name of this city! And they are better mages than you! You know but one spell. We are looking for a Magic Warlock, honey. Not a stingy, selfish stage magician. Thanks-kay-byee, NEXT!"
With me by his side, Kalciphet felled the city in hours.
|
“Cmon, man! It’ll bring you some great exposure! I assure you, once everyone hears you helped out the Deer Corn, people will be flocking left and right to get your help!”
“Hell no!” I yelled as I pushed Hornhead out. Everyone is going crazy over me since they think a prophecy is about me. Something about turning the tide in a war. All of the heros who want me to help out never pays me. Hell, I’m 19 and I’m broke. I’m barely keeping rent in my cabin. Of course, everyone at school is stupidly annoying too.
I sighed, everyone comes to my home, asking for me. Solaad. The hero. I hear all of the heros are rich, and have nice homes. Well what about me? The chosen one? For some reason...
*Knock Knock!*
That’s another one I bet. I opened the door and lazily said, “Hello?”
“Solaad, I’m here to make a deal.” I looked at the person in question and my eyes widened. It was Yusuf, the monster from Gabatrx. He was really a human, but he was so terrible he was rumored to be a monster.
I picked up my Star Splitter. My dad gave it to me, the name is kinda cheesy though. “Calm down, I’m not here for a fight... unless you want one.” He assured.
I raised my eyebrows. “May I come inside?” “Uh, oh yeah.” He walked past me into my home.
“Wow, you live in a shithole.” He said. “You try to find a fucking home when everyone says they’ll pay you with exposure!” I exclaimed. He sat down at my living room table. “You said the hero’s want to pay you in exposure?” Yusuf asked. I nodded. Yusuf took a bag out of his cloak. “Open it.” I looked skeptically at him.
“There’s no Skunk bombs in there.”
I opened the pouch and I gasped. The pouch was filled with keybinds. The currency worth the most in Ritan. “That’ll be yours if you join our side.” Yusuf said. Well, it’s sure as hell better then exposure.
“When do I start?”
| 2019-06-17T16:34:01 | 2019-06-17T16:26:32 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] "We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" - yelled the Vampire at the ancient Dragon. Because what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with?
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Calanthrag The Eldest snorted, a brief burst of blue fire through nostrils the size of a truck exhaust. The little, blustery human-but-not-human shrunk back towards the cliff’s edge, but only a step before he pushed his way back towards the great dragon. Calanthrag wasn’t sure if he liked the man or not. He hovered very close to the line between annoying-but-alive and formerly-annoying-cinders.
"We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" The man stamped his foot, raising a hand as if to beat it against Calanthrag’s snout before thinking better of it. It was the first smart move he’d made.
“And precisely why should I wish to be friends with you?” draconic speech was a slithering, sibilant susurration, words and syllables blending together into a hard to interpret mass, even if they’d started out in the common tongue. The man seemed to have no trouble understanding him however. It was an interesting, if not decisive fact.
“Because we two are the eldest of our race! Because our friendship is a parlay, an alliance against changing times!”
Calanthrag yawned, turning back to the entrance of his cave. “Unless these humans have advanced far beyond the primitive ‘plastic surgery’ I saw last, you are not the eldest. Leave me.”
A curious thing happened then. Squeaking filled the mountainside and the scents changed, man-odor disappearing in favor of the damp, cavernous odor of bats. All at once a storm of black fur surrounded the ancient dragon, racing past him towards the cave entrance and whirling in the air there, a thousand bats spinning and diving and flashing their wings as they coalesced into the shape of a man. Fur became a black, fur lined cape. Beady eyes shifted and hardened, becoming the many black gemstones of his raiment. Where once there had been a thousand vestigial hands perched on wings there were now two hands, and feet besides, and the hands had viciously curved claws that had grown inches past the fingertips.
“Ah,” Calanthrag said, “I see.”
“Is that all my life has become? Three words from a dragon?” The man- the vampire, walked close to Calanthrag, bringing himself a half-pace from death in a million different ways, and for the first time the dragon smiled, lowering his head to the ground in greeting.
“Well met, Vlad Tepes, last of your kind.”
Vlad bowed low with all the grace of a long dead court, “Well met Calanthrag The Eldest. Last of your kind.”
“Come, vampire. It seems we do have something to speak of after all.” Without waiting for a response the dragon swept past him, shooting thin lines of fire through his front teeth to light the many torches along the way.
How long had it been since he’d had a guest in his home? Two centuries? Three? Calanthrag could hardly separate dreams from reality after so long, after the invention of gunpowder the scope of his life had shrunk down, only waking from his slumber for brief, scheduled feeding cycles, checking on the world through the whispers of lesser lizards and the more cogent, far more useful words of his last remaining friend. She’d be ahead now, and would have spotted the flare of the torches he lit. He hoped she was better practiced than he in the rigors of hospitality.
Some ten dragon-paces later Vlad threw out an arm, pressing it against Calanthrag’s chest. It would never have restrained him, but it was still shockingly strong for a creature his size. “Careful, there’s a human ahead.” Vlad whispered. “One, young, female. I can smell her blood.”
“As can I,” rumbled Calanthrag. “I can also smell mutton cooking and a wine bottle being uncorked, or are a vampire’s senses not so fine as I had heard?”
Vlad cocked an eyebrow, looking at the dragon. “Not an assassin?”
Calanthrag’s laugh echoed off the walls, dust falling down in to coat them, making Vlad cough and sputter as he tried to brush it off his fine clothes. “Lizette!” Calanthrag called, bounding ahead, “our guest thinks you’re an assassin!”
Standing alone in a room whose wealth was almost beyond imaging was a tall, slender woman, red hair falling in a torrent down one shoulder as she turned a whole lamb on a spit. She smiled brightly to see Calanthrag, and laughed softly at the dusty vampire who emerged behind him. Her laugh died as Vlad bared his teeth, a vein in his neck bulging, his body straining against the urge to call, to rend, to drink human blood.
Calanthrag dashed the vampire against the closest wall with a negligent brush of his wing, and then laid his snout against him, pinning the creature while he spoke. “Lizette, meet Vlad. Vlad, meet Lizette. Vampire, if you so much as touch her I’ll tear your head off, cauterize the neck wound, and then dunk you in a vat of regenerative potion so quickly you’ll never die, just float there under a sheet for all eternity. Do I make myself clear?” Vlad nodded. He wasn’t allowed up until the hunger had faded from his eyes. It took a long time, but then the wine needed to rest anyway.
When he was finally released Vlad brushed himself off once more, and then not even looking at Lizette he asked, “How did a human come to find herself in a dragon’s lair?”
“Virgin sacrifice!” she said cheerily, walking over to Calanthrag and laying a hand on the warm scales near his heart. “How long ago was it now, six hundred years? Seven?”
“It was 1371 AD, Gregorian Calender.”
“I look good for 650, don’t I?” she said, turning a little twirl. “You can look at me vampire, I won’t bite. Though I can’t say the same for Calanthrag, he really will kill you.”
“In a heartbeat,” Calanthrag said.
Vlad nodded. He stared around the room in shock, his draw dropping more with every moment. There was a 650 year girl, gold and gems beyond measure were piled in heaps towering heaps with barely enough room for a dragon’s bulk cut between them. They had fresh mutton and perfectly aged wine. Calanthrag smirked, imagining the man’s wonder. He had a suspicion Vlad had not come through the ages so nicely.
Vlad followed his nose to the wine bottle, sniffing it appreciatively and then pouring himself a glass. “You two are full of surprises, aren’t you?” He finally turned his gaze to Lizette. “You aren’t a vampire, your blood is too warm. And you aren’t a mage either, I’d know.” He pulled out a small, lifeless vair-stone and laid it on the table with the wine bottle. “So how does a simple serving girl become immortal?
“He thinks I’m a serving girl!” Lizette exclaimed, clearly annoyed.
Calanthrag chuckled. “Indeed. Disabuse him of that notion.”
She walked forward, taking Vlad’s glass of wine and drinking from it. “I’m not some servant, I’m his friend. Unlike you, some people have them.”
“She’s also my eyes and ears to the human world. It is a good trade, a piece of gold here and there for knowledge of my enemy and a friend to pass the ages with.”
A friend. They could both see the effect the word had on Vlad. His hand trembled as he reached for the bottle again and this time he drank directly from it. His eyes burned, his lips drew back, baring fangs. Calanthrag crouched low, preparing to pound until the vampire spoke.
“I’m jealous of you, Eldest. My friends have all been taken from me. The years have not been quite so kind to me as to you. You spoke of enemies though. Do you have them?”
Lizette answered for him. “The whole world. Isn’t that the nature of who we all are?”
Vlad nodded, snarl turning to a razor thin smile as he turned his gaze to her. “Perhaps I have underestimated you. I came for friendship with the dragon, but another would be welcome as well. My world has been silent for too long.” Vlad took a long sip, laying the bottle down heavily when he was done. “And my war has been far too lonely.”
r/TurningtoWords
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“You dare to raise your voice at me, blood sucker? I am the great Fedelmid, King of the Dragons, descended from the great Feidlimid, King of the Dragons, feared amongst dragon-kind, and you dare order me around?” Fedelmid the Great shifted on his perch and swung his muscular tail towards the vampire, before he brought it back to his side. The vampire Dunstan did not flinch, instead he stood his ground and continued to shout.
“Fedelmid the Great? King of the Dragons? What nonsense you speak! You know as well as I that there are no dragons here but you. Your kind fled after that unfortunate incident with the saint over 500 years ago. Have you not been lonely since then?” Dunstan planted himself, chin raised, chest puffed out. Fedelmid observed the strange creature.
It had been two-hundred years since the last visitor dared to wander into the dragon’s cave. The cave was well tended, not a bone or scorch-mark in sight. Pride of place was the large stone perch, constructed by accident when Fedelmid battled the last intruder who came seeking fortune causing a large portion of the ceiling to collapse. Fedelmid had painstakingly shifted the rock to form the large pedestal-like structure he perched on. This strange creature was the first visitor the dragon had had since it was constructed, and he quite enjoyed how small and insignificant it made the vampire seem in comparison.
Dunstan seemed undeterred by the magnificence of the perch. He began to pace, back and forth and back again. He needed to convince this creature to befriend him, or he would go mad. He had only been a vampire for a hundred years, had only lived for thirty before that, but already he had lost everyone he cared about. People became suspicious when you stop aging. He had moved from place to place for the last seventy years, since his family started to comment on his looks. After a brief run-in with an angry mob, he had decided it was time to leave.
“All I’m saying is, you’re immortal, I’m immortal. Why shouldn’t we acquaint ourselves better?” he looked to the dragon, tried to understand what was going through the great beasts mind.
“I do not require company in the same way you do, blood sucker. I am above such needs.”
The vampire shrunk into himself. Fedelmid should have been pleased, but instead the great beast found himself wondering if an acquaintance such as the vampire could be useful. While the dragon enjoyed no longer having to worry about intruders, it did make it much harder to catch food. He turned to look at the small hole in the corner where the carcasses of his recent victims rested out of sight. So little food to keep the villagers from becoming concerned.
“My friend, you seem confused.” Dunstan smiled to himself, he could sense the conflicted mind of the dragon.
“Indeed. If we were to become acquaintances, would you be willing to share the burden of hunting? Of evading the suspicions of the villagers?” Fedelmid thought he could agree to such an arrangement, provide the vampire with a companion in exchange for some of the vampire’s victims. In fact, the dragon did not even like the blood, it was his least favourite part of any species. He usually drained them first anyway.
“Of course. What kind of friend would I be if I let you go hungry or left you to battle the village yourself?” Dunstan tried to keep his features neutral, battled his own instincts to spread his arms and declare his delight. A friend at last, one that would not leave him like all the others. One who could know what he was and did not find it revolting.
“Very well,” came the dragon’s reply, “I will be your friend, little blood sucker. Now, where should we hunt first?”
| 2021-04-16T06:48:10 | 2021-04-16T06:36:52 | 205 | 126 |
[WP] The four horsemen of the apocalypse are teenage girls.
|
Elizabeth slowly sat down next to the sophomores. They eyed her carefully as she pulled out her lunch.
"Why do you want to know about The Four, Freshy?" A boy with blonde hair asked.
"I was just . . . curious is all." The girl to her right nearly choked.
"Don't be, those girls are bad news . . . seriously just don't get involved."
"Why?"
"Because everybody that hangs near them tends to disappear or drop out." She looked away. "Better to not even get close." Elizabeth scratched her head. Seriously the whole school seemed paranoid of them. Since she started asking around last week she had gleamed that The Four was the most nearly everyone wanted to call them, and few but the teachers ever spoke their real names. They lived in the far end of Building A, in the four end block rooms. Most never went near there, and more than once lines of salt had appeared stretching across the floor, paired with religious symbol graffiti. Such was life in a Catholic boarding academy.
"But why, the teachers never-"
"The teachers are always willing to talk about their good grades." Another mimicked with a turned lip. "Especially in math and history, how they participate weekly in the equestrian club." The boy jumped back in.
"But they never talk about how they all have high absence rates, especially the pale one . . . she's never around, and how they skip classes, break curfew, and well generally fit all too well into those standard four categories we all whisper about."
Elizabeth nodded and ate her lunch, listening to the argument. Everyone was semi begging her to drop the whole ordeal, but she had already made her mind up. She was going to pay The Four a visit.
- - - - - -
Every light bulb at the end of Hall A was burnt out, a dark zone at the end of the building. The last two humming florescent tubes as empty as the dorms during periods. Elizabeth had heard from a Janitor that he simply stopped replacing the lights down there. A year in nobody had called him out and nobody complained. The carpet was an old 70s shag. A browned red from years of use. There was a visible boundary in the floor where the salt lines had stained the carpet. And on the walls were faded permanent marker streaks, unsuccessfully wiped off pentagrams and horses. Soft voices came out of the far room on the right, door slightly cracked. Elizabeth stepped over the barrier and felt a cold wave pass over her. She shivered, unsure if it was really chilly or just a placebo.
Each door was all labeled with a nameplate and a mini whiteboard.
Room A21: Patty Brave
Below were sketches of viruses and bacteria in all sorts of colors.
Room A22: Rita Flame
Her board was covered in various phone numbers and social media accounts in red marker.
Room A23: Fay Libra
The drawings on her door were incredibly intricate and detailed, showing the traditional 'justice is blind' figure.
Room A24: Dana Ashen
There was nothing on her board.
Another chill went up Elizabeth as she creeped over to Rita's room. Hearing the soft conversation ebb through it. She had read the bible, she knew the story, but they couldn't actually be . . . For a moment she tried to listen through the wall, but couldn't get anything but incomprehensible mumbles. After much internal debating, her hand rapped the wooden surface.
The conversation stopped. For a moment nothing, then a rich southern voice called. "Come!" She nearly shat herself, but managed to pull open the door. By this point the worst ideas had rooted themselves in Elizabeth's mind. All the rumors, all the bad things about The Four. For all she knew the door could open to reveal four hideous demons that would immediately eat her. So when panel did swing around, she was actually more surprised to find four sophomore girls just laxing in the room.
In the center of it all stood a girl with long smooth mahogany hair and not much clothing. Her shorts were practically a bikini and a red tank top that exposed a small midriff band of very tan skin. A pink phone covered in glitter clacked as she texted while she stared. For looks her body was rather shapely and volupturus, with a lean frame and a large bust that made her look older than she was.
Next to her on the dorm bed was a girl in a thick green coat. Her skin was practically the same color, with hair whiter than she had ever seen stuck in a very short style, almost like she had recently gone through chemotherapy. Her body was otherwise rather thin and bundled up.
On the desk on the opposite side of the room was a girl in black with no makeup. She looked anorexic, or poor, or both. Her clothes were practically rags, matching with coal hair that was messy and uncombed. The skin taught against her cheeks and arms, with eyes bulging out a bit. From what she could see through the rips and tears, she was nearly skin and bones.
The forth girl was sitting in the desk chair, and draped in a long white cloak that covered everything. A hood shrouded her face in shadows, nothing but a hollow oval of black. She looked tall, but Elizabeth couldn't tell much else. The girl in green coughed a bit, and whether or not on purpose it snapped her out of her stare.
"Hey!" She greeted to blank gazes. "I just wanted to introduce myself considering I just came into the school . . . I'm down the hall in A12, I've seen everybody but you guys so I came down to see what was up." The girls looked at each other, then back to Elizabeth.
"You seeked us out?" The sick girl asked with a hoarse voice.
"Despite the rumors?" The girl in black cooed in a voice smoother than satin.
"That takes guts!" The tan girl beamed with a voice straight from Tennessee and immediately buried her head back into the phone. "Fuck!"
"What?" Elizabeth asked.
"Brad totally just bailed on us! That ass, I'll have his head."
"Most unfortunate." Black replied. "We may have to ride over."
"Ride where?" The group stared at her again. She started to consider this might have been a bad idea.
"Why are you here?" The green girl asked with a gray stare. There was a pause.
"I thought I already said . . . I wanted to say hi? . . . . . . I was curious okay." The girl in white nodded and pointed to her with a long sleeve covered arm.
"Really Dana?" Southern Girl mused. The hand didn't falter. "No way, we couldn't." Dana shrugged.
"You're suggesting . . . we bring her with us?" Green postured. Dana nodded.
"OH NO!" Red sneered. "This little Square Dance is our thing, we all knew we were going to ditch Brad anyway, so we ain't letting no freshy we have to watch rain on our parade!"
"Still here." Elizabeth commented.
"I think it's a great idea." Black smiled. She was starting to regret coming here. All eyes fell to White hair.
"Well its a vote then . . ." Red grumbled "Whadda ya think Patty?" Patty shrugged.
"I see no harm." Red shook her head.
"Lucifer." she growled. Elizabeth held her hand up a bit.
"May I ask what this is about?" Black waved it away.
"Don't get any ideas . . . umm . . ."
"Elizabeth, Elizabeth Porter."
"Elizabeth, we just need five people to get into the amusement park down in Georgetown with a discount, we were going to go with Brad and his friends, but he's apparently bailed."
"So Lizzy?" Red interjected. "Want to join us?" She looked around at the room. Go to the amusement park with demons huh . . . well.
"I'd be past curfew." She pointed out. Red laughed.
"Girl you'd be with us, nobody actually cares when we get back late." Elizabeth debated in her head, brain screaming a thousand reasons not too. The kids disappearing, all the rumors. But here, up close. They seemed almost normal. A little weird to be sure, but they seemed more misunderstood than evil.
"I don't see why not." She shrugged. Dana stuck her hands up, holding onto the sleeves to stop them from falling down. Lizzy smiled.
"Good to hear." Black beamed, "Be back here at eight." She nodded and after a few more words, scurried away. Well this is certainly going to be an interesting evening . . .
|
War and Death were brushing their lovely ponies paid for by their dads at Pestilence's private stables. As usual, they were brushing the manes, discussing the usual dealings of the day. War was a rather tall, stocky young lady. Comely with freckles that go well with her green eyes. Death was a small pale girl with long black hair in a braid braid, her pale eyes skimming on the coat of her pony to see if there were any imperfections.
"I just went by Starkbucks to get some of that new stuff Michael made. Turns out he's an alright barista. Who would've thought ? Too bad that apron of his totally doesn't go with his hair, *right* ?", Death started.
"Oh my god, like, totally ! Like, why isn't he trying to be like, a model, or something, you know ? He could totally be a model if he'd lose that, like, stern brooding look of his. He would totally be cute if it wasn't for that."
"Totally ! I know right !?"
"So how's your day been, War ?"
"Egh, class was *so* boring today. We started history class about the bronze age, and the teacher didn't even mention *anything* about how people back then would smash eachother's skulls in over a plot of land that would be, like, 25 square feet. What's the fun of history if you leave out all the violence ?! Like, oh my gosh, I worked so hard for all of my life to get all of these people to hate eachother like Christie hates Amanda because of Amanda poured coffee on her *fabulous* new shirt, but like, on a bigger scale, or something. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to be part of world history and not being recognized for it ?"
"Oh my God, you'll not believe what happened to me today that is *just* like that. So Eric's dog died this afternoon because his mom poisoned it because the dog was too loud, and he told me that he prayed to God to have mercy on the little bitch's soul."
"*Oh my God*, no way. That is *so* rude"
"*I know*, right ? Like, God doesn't even allow pets in Heaven. It is *literally* in the Bible. I mean, like, I don't know the passage and all, but it's there. Like, seriously."
Famine came riding on her horse, a frail but royal black steed. Her ashen white hair draped just beneath her shoulders as she took off her riding helmet and walked her horse in the stable.
"Heyyy guys! Where's Pestilence ?"
"I bet she's out banging some professor again.", War joked.
"O my God, is there a professor she hasn't had yet ?", Death asked Famine.
"*I know, right ? I guess she's quite into the 'giving every person with a penis herpes' kinda thing. What a slut, like, seriously.", Famine said with a tinge of disgust in her voice.
"She's just doing her thing, gurl. Like, haven't you been starving your chiuaua for over a week now ?"
"Hey, that's not fair! I have needs, okay ?", Famine exclaimed.
"Oh my God you guys, chill out. I literally can't even with you two bickering. Ooh, I have an idea. How about we go find some poor soul and torture him for the night ? War, I heard James is into big girls. How about you get him over to my place tonight so we play with him a little ? It's been so long as well since we just had some time for the four of us ?"
"Oh my God, *yes*!", Famine and War yelled at the same time.
| 2015-11-04T13:51:46 | 2015-11-04T13:08:39 | 120 | 16 |
[WP] Your entire life, you've been followed by a voice only you can hear that constantly narrates everything you do and say. One day, the voice talks directly to you for the first time, and it has a warning for you.
|
[PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/48eabr/wp_your_entire_life_youve_been_followed_by_a/d0js7qd)
Most days the voice talks. Occasionally a day will pass where I won’t hear it at all. Once I didn’t hear it for nearly a week. I don’t know why it decided to take a break nor do I know why one day it spoke eighty times. The daily average since I started recording is eleven times a day, and the average amount of words spoken each time is almost exactly twenty. I started recording when I was fourteen.
My earliest concrete experience of the voice was when I was six. I probably heard it before then, but my memory was never that great anyway. There was a brief episode around that time with a few child psychologists and one or two medical prescriptions but I quickly learned to keep the voice to myself. It’s easier that way.
The voice narrates my actions, and nearly always describes my own emotions and thoughts. It's always the same woman's voice. She has a very human voice. It has the appropriate amount of human emotion, carrying it’s own personality. Sometimes she sounds bored. Sometimes amused. Sometimes excited. Once angry.
She talks as if I am being described to someone. Or as if she is responding to a question about me. Examples include:
*Like most days, Robert is taking a few extra seconds out of his day to admire the gentle red sunset*. My notes: Very similar to utterance # 57255. Like previously noted, she is more likely to speak during natural, beautiful sights. Sounds almost jealous at the end? NB: Can she not experience them herself?
*Yeah, Robert doesn’t like the dentist. Hardly unusual for a person*. My notes: Once again, it sounds like she is clarifying something someone said, or asked. Are there others like her?
I’ve programmed a few algorithms to help spot patterns in my recordings. It’s a hell of a lot easier keeping it all on a database than in notebooks. I have some interesting observations about her behavior to share. I’ll describe them later as they become relevant.
You will of course want to know why I’m doing this. After all, am I not clearly crazy? Surely it’s just a result of some messed up neurology?
I thought so as well.
But I caught her out.
She made a mistake.
For a long time she made an effort to never say anything I hadn’t already experienced or thought. For some reason she was trying hard not to let on that she is her own person. And because I never had any evidence that this voice wasn't a manifestation of my own mind, I always assumed I was crazy. I assumed she was a figment of my imagination.
In hindsight, I was so naive.
It was during a calculus test. Question six was on power series, the answer was pi over four. Question seven was just below. I hadn’t even looked at it. After finishing question six I took a small break. Eyes closed. Mind wandering. I was idly circling the previous answer. Just before I opened my eyes to continue she spoke.
*Robert struggles with the double integral, but finds with some concern that the answer is the same as question six. He-*
It cut off at the end. With a gasp. I could imagine her raising a hand to her mouth in horror. I look at question seven for the first time. It was a double integral. I work it out.
Pi over four.
Whoever it was had messed up. I don’t know why it happened. Maybe it was some combination of me looking like I was thinking, circling the answer, and the answer being shared. But she had jumped the gun.
She worked out the answer ahead of time and had narrated it. Before I did it myself. Before I even saw the next question.
She didn’t speak for two days after that. When it resumed, she seemed more hesitant. More formal. She took a month until she was back to her normal descriptive self. I’m certain she cannot read my mind. Looking back the narrations about me were sometimes slightly off from my true emotions or thoughts. It was as if the voice came from someone who was very, very good at reading body language and interpretation. But not a mind reader.
There was change after she realized I knew. She seemed more willing to hint again that she was a person, and a person who seemed trapped.
*Robert watched the flock of birds fly south. It must be beautiful to be able to stand and watch them fly over head, he thinks*. My notes: I DID NOT think the last part!!! She sounded sad. (This is an important one!!!).
——————————————————
**6 Months Ago**——————————————————
I was walking along the sea-front of a coastal welsh town, wondering if she would comment on the sea. It looked beautiful. I wondered if she looked beautiful. My thoughts stay on her until she interrupts. Louder than usual. With emotion I had never heard in her voice before. Fear.
*Robert!*
I stopped immediately. Like a statue. People walked around me. I got one or two funny looks.
*Help me!*
I’m listening, friend.
*Find Morgan. Somewhere in Wales. South of you. Her face is scarred. She’s a fighter. She trains people. She’s well known. Sh- STOP!*
The voice at the end was even louder. It was male. It sounded old, and angry.
I took a cigarette from my pocket and lit it. I took a slow drag and let it out. My heart was pounding but my body was still.
I needed to find Morgan.
|
*Kevin takes a huuuuggeee diarrhea dump AGAIN, as the sludge bomb turd shoots out of his colon and splashes dirty soiled shit water onto his ass.*
That's it. That's the final fucking straw with this bullshit voice. I've fucking had it. It's finally time.
*Kevin opens the briefcase under his bed! Kevin takes out his grandpa's Steven Model 620 shotgun that was a gift from his Grandpa. Kevin loads the shotgun and oh... he, uh... he puts it in his mouth, and puts his toe on the trigger...*
*Kevin... wait... Kevin I'll stop SHI-*
| 2016-02-29T21:16:46 | 2016-02-29T19:42:48 | 97 | 22 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t…
|
“It’ll be pyrokenisis”, my dad said, for the thousandth time, as his fingers sparked the hob beneath the kettle. “It’s one of the most heritable powers, and we already struck out on Dan. I’m just saying, the odds are on our side."
Mum rolled her eyes, for the thousandth time. “Whatever it is, it will be wonderful”, she replied, giving my hand a quick squeeze. “Any inkling at all yet, Sims?”
I shook my head. I'd woken up feeling utterly normal, though I was so nervous I thought I might be sick — lord help me if *that* was part of my power.
My eyes were glued to the clock. Less than 24 minutes left before my life would be irrevocably altered.
They ran a course at school for all the kids turning 14 the following month. We’d learned about the transition itself, what to expect from the letter, and how to read its various sections. The final week was focused on acceptance — you weren’t meant to set your heart on a specific power, even though we’d spent our whole lives imagining what we might become. Like most kids, I’d been through various phases: at eight, I wanted super speed, and fantasised about my wall of medals. At 11, as adolescence curled my hair and filled out parts of my body, I’d dreamt of invisibility. That was part of what they were trying to teach us, I guess: lives are long, and the “best” power will look different in 10 years, or 50.
I sipped my tea to fight back the nausea, and my parents let me sit with my thoughts and nerves, speaking softly to each other. I was grateful not to have to make conversation.
At school, they'd also taught us that our powers wouldn’t define us. We could chart our own path. But really, could we? How many professional athletes succeeded without super speed or strength, and how many politicians or estate agents didn't have powers of persuasion or charisma?
I'd spent the past few weeks playing out different scenarios in my mind, and at this point, frankly, I just felt overwhelmed. More than any specific power, I just wanted the wait to be over. To be able to sketch an outline over the blank years stretching out before me.
Soon enough, the second hand of the clock was at 5-to.
We headed into the hallway, my parents buzzing with nervous, excited energy. I was mostly focused on keeping down my toast. God, wouldn’t it be *classic* if my transition story took place with Mum holding back my hair over a toilet?
We stood back at the end of the hall, as though making space for the outsized importance of the small letter that would, any moment, drop through the mail slot.
"No matter what, Sims, it's going to be fine. It's going to be great," said Dad, wrapping his arm around me. Mum, on my other side, squeezed my arm and kissed the top of my head. I could tell she was floating, just an inch or two off the ground, the way she often did when she was excited.
At 8 o'clock sharp, a cream-coloured envelope dropped onto the tile.
I stepped forward, slowly, transfixed by the thought that my destiny had already been written but was still -- for a few more seconds, anyways -- unknown.
The envelope was heavy stock, cool under my fingers. My name was embossed on the front: MISS SIMONE WEST.
I tore it open, removed the letter, took a deep breath, and unfolded the thick paper.
At first, I wasn't sure what I was looking at. We'd gone over generic transition letters at school -- and this wasn't what it was meant to look like. The page was mostly blank, with just four words printed across the centre of the page:
DON'T ANSWER THE DOOR
"Mum, Dad... what is this?" I brought the letter to them, and saw the confusion spread across their faces.
"It must be some kind of mistake," said Dad.
"That's not possible, though, John! It's from the Ministry. All kinds of powers are used making these. Could someone have intercepted it? Maybe it's a prank."
"But why? You'd go to prison for tampering with a transition letter, surely! And what kind of power would you need to pull something like that off? Why use it on this?"
There was sharp knock on the front door. Dad handed back the letter and started towards it, when suddenly, it clicked. I gasped and grabbed his elbow. "Dad, don't!" I whispered, holding up the letter and pointing at the message.
"Don't be daft, Sims, It'll be one of your friends checking in. Or maybe someone bringing your real letter!"
But the idea had already lodged itself in my mind, with a cold kind of terror. "Dad, please!"
More knocking, louder now.
"At least let me see who it is?" I nodded, and held a finger to my lips. He stepped softly up to the peephole, then came back. I winced at the sound of his shoes on the tile. "It's some official looking types. I told you, they're probably just here to apologise and give us the right letter."
Three more heavy knocks sounded on the door. And then, a voice -- which didn't sound much like it wanted to wish me a happy fourteenth birthday.
"SIMONE WEST, THIS IS THE SECURITY SERVICES. WE CAN HEAR YOU MOVING AROUND INSIDE. OPEN THIS DOOR, NOW."
Dad frowned, and moved back to the entryway. "This is Simone's father, John West. Can you hold some identification up to the door? What is this all about?"
"MR WEST, YOU NEED TO SURRENDER SIMONE INTO OUR CUSTODY IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS A NATIONAL SECURITY MATTER. IF YOU DON'T OPEN THE DOOR IN ONE MINUTE, WE WILL ENTER BY FORCE."
"Now, sir -- there must be some misunderstanding," Dad replied. "My daughter is not a threat to anyone. I'm not opening this door without seeing your identification. Do I need to call our solicitor?"
Mum wrapped her arms around me, and an odd stillness fell upon the hallway. Then, I noticed Dad's hand start to jerk. Small flames were licking the tips of his fingers. *What was he doing?* He shook his hand, and the flames grew, before leaping to the sleeve of his jacket. It was only when he started slamming his arm against the wall, and cried out in pain, that I realised Dad wasn't the one doing this -- someone on the other side of the door was controlling those flames.
A loud, rhythmic thud began to sound against the door. They were forcing their way in. I felt Mum pull at me, and realised she was floating again -- but her eyes were full of terror.
"Simi, you have to run," she whispered. "Go out the back, and find Aunt Beth."
"What's happening, Mum? I don't understand! I don't--" Dad had begun to scream. I turned to see his shape, engulfed in fire. I felt Mum’s grip on my shoulder loosen, and my eyes snapped back just in time to see her head slam against ceiling.
"Simi, RUN!"
|
When I was turning 14 my Father passed away. I've asked my Mother how he died so many times, but she only tells me he was a brave man. Trying the best I can on nights like these, dark, raining, flashes of lightning illuminating silhouettes, I still can't remember that night.
Everyone knows the night before your 14th birthday you get your set of instructions to be able to use your powers. They are long dreary rules and habits that you must follow to have your powers. It also doesn't help they're written in lawyer speech, like terms and services, also commanding pages upon pages of these terms to follow. Lastly, they're like volunteer work. Always good natured and sometimes making you go out of your way to fulfill them.
This has coined their names as Saints, but largely they're made fun of because the powers they grant are seemingly useless. Such as, others can't speak when you are, while you're reading you won't walk into anything; Strange but absolute powers while you're doing a task.
Now, while thunder peels back the silence of the night, I'm reminded of my theory that someone had to pay a cost to give a message to certain people. If you didn't want to give powers to the wrong people, but also weren't allowed to only give it to select people, you'd make the rules ridiculous, long, and tedious, so only those who truly strove for them could use them.
But I've always found that short, punctual messages made more of an impact. Single words can hold such power, depending on the context. Kill, Run, Catch Them, Survive. They hold so much more meaning when they're not covered in so many words.
Now, I'm 30, balding, and work as a night guard at a children's home. I'm also a Saint, but I laugh when people joke about all the things I must do. Because after my dad died, I've had my powers everyday. When I shut something, only I can open it.
As I look out a 2nd story window, I see him there tonight as well. Asking in his voice, with his image, if he could see the kids and congratulate them on what they'll have. He's with so many others, looking in the window I shut hours prior to this. I've always wanted to see my dad again, but not like this. When the lightning flashes, the silhouettes have horns and wings.
Someone had to be sending me a message, and I will follow these words until I die.
Don't let Them in.
| 2022-05-08T12:14:09 | 2022-05-08T09:55:30 | 241 | 39 |
[WP] Your entire life, you've had 4 coins that you are able to teleport to. You lost one a while ago and have been to scared to ever go to it. One day you teleport to the one you keep in your bedroom and you find yourself in an interrogation room, with 2 strange looking soliders walking towards you.
|
Teleporting to an unexpected location is a little like reaching for a cool glass of water on your nightstand after a heavy night of drinking, only to spray tequila across your bed. This was not my bedroom. My bedroom didn't have glass walls.
The pair walking towards me did not look friendly. Reflexively, I raised my arms as they entered the room. The taller one pointed to a plastic chair.
I sat. The shorter one got straight to the point.
"Where is your fourth coin, Miss Conway?" She dropped her meaty hands on the table in front of me.
"...Lawyer?" I hazarded. The tall one smirked.
"I'm afraid that isn't possible. You have not been arrested, and we are not members of the constabulary. I am Mr Jones. This is my colleague, Miss Smith. You are here because we hope that you can assist us in an ongoing investigation of a... private nature.
Miss Smith rolled her eyes.
"We don't have time for this shit! Start talking girlie; where'd you put it?"
I sat back and thought for a second. They had three of them. Which ones? It was logical to assume they'd found the one I kept in my villa in the Caymans, and the one in my apartment in Prague. The third one would be much, much harder to get hold of.
My concentration was broken by a fist smacking into the table. Shortstack was getting impatient.
"Which ones have you found?" I asked. To my surprise, Mr Jones took a slick-looking tablet out of his pocket and pressed a few buttons. Taking a slim wristband from his other pocket, he held it towards me.
"Please put this on." I raised an eyebrow. He sighed. "It's a teleport blocker. We can't have you teleporting out the minute you figure out *which* locations are already full of guards."
"Guards trained to kill on sight!" Miss Smith interjected.
I held out my wrist. If they were willing to shoot me on sight, it was probably a good idea to stay put and play along. He snapped the bracelet on and tapped his tablet. A red light started to blink. I wasn't going anywhere.
"Every time you teleport you leave a signature; a pheromone trail, if you will. Did you know that, Miss Conway?"
I didn't. These things didn't come with particularly detailed instructions. Smith gave me a leering smile.
"Locating you was a doddle. From our readings, we surmised that you've been using them for years." This was also true. When I found out what they did I figured I'd save myself some airfares.
"We found your place in Prague," said Mr Jones; "That was easy. Your little nest in the Caymans was harder to track down; the sea interferes with the signal somewhat, and it appears you visit less frequently. Your home, of course, stood out like a beacon. Do you have any idea how much worse this could have been? Those coins you're using so frivolously are incredibly rare and ridiculously powerful, and when they fall into the wrong hands..."
"That's when we show up." They both stared me down.
"The fourth coin, Miss Conway. Where is it?"
I think it was the note of tiredness in his voice that made me open up to them. They looked like the cops in one of those buddy movies; the ones where they're trying to stop some nutcase from blowing up the city and they've been awake for a couple of days. There were shadows under their eyes, and, on second inspection, the wrinkles on their clothes stood out.
"I lost it, ok? Poker game, couple years back." Their jaws dropped. Jones looked at me like I'd just fallen off the back of the short bus.
"You gambled a teleport coin?" Smith was ready to burst.
"I didn't know what they were back then! I'd only just... fuck. I'd only just stolen them, okay? I left a couple in my apartment back in Los Angeles and one of them was sitting in my hotel room upstairs - I knew they were worth something I just hadn't had a chance to get them valued yet. I have a guy in Vegas, he gives me good prices. But I got invited to this game...." I trailed off.
"Who did you lose it to?"
"Ever heard of King Lonnie? Vegas fixer. Runs a lot of games; the kind you want to be invited to but don't want to see him at, if you know what I mean. I didn't know it was his game until I sat down; I should have left right then and there, but you don't want to be rude to these guys. I figured I was going to lose my money already - I knew the minute I sat down at the table that I was the sucker. But, I didn't do so badly. Couple hours later it was just me and the King. He had most of the pot by then; I was hanging on by a couple of thousand. Then this sweet, sweet hand comes up. I'm sitting on kings over aces. He nails me with the aces.
"But the coin? How did you lose it?"
"Well, I was out. But Lonnie, he wasn't done with me. Offered me a loan. I didn't want to take it, but I wasn't too keen on the idea of pissing him off either. Then I reach into my pocket and my hand closes around the coin. The minute he sees it, his eyes light up. He tells me he'll stake me a 20K buy in to a big ticket game the next week. It was too good an offer to turn down. There's no way I'd have gotten that from my guy; when I took him the other coin he said it was worth maybe a couple hundred bucks.
"And then what?"
I went to the game, I won big. Few hundred Gs, set me up pretty good. I had a run of luck after that. Never saw the King play again.
A wrinkle crossed the brow of Mr Jones.
"So how did you learn of the coins' powers?
"Day after the big game I finally got one of the other coins valued. I decided to hang onto it, and as I was walking back towards the strip I started thinking. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why the King wanted it so bad. I was trying to remember where I'd stashed the other two, and then I just kind of pictured them sitting on my bookshelf. A second later I was stumbling into my own den, which gave me a hell of a shock. I realized I'd left my luggage in Vegas, along with the other coin. The moment I thought of it I was back in my hotel. After scaring the life out of the housekeeper I grabbed my stuff and pictured the coins on the shelf again, teleported home and spent the next few days trying to figure out what the hell they were."
"And where is King Lonnie now?" asked Mr Jones.
"He's dead," I told them, enjoying the surprise on their faces. "How!" they shouted in unison.
"I killed him last year." I dropped the teleport blocker on the floor. My story had lasted long enough to find it's weak point and wiggle the catch loose. Easy if you know what you're doing. Snatching the tablet from Mr Jones' hands, I thought of my final coin, which was hidden in a dingy flat near Heathrow. As a precaution, I'd used it only once per location, stashing it near a major airport every time I traveled. Within an hour I was checking in for my next flight.
The tablet would prove to be a most interesting source of information.
(Edit: feedback appreciated, especially grammar critique of dialogue. I might continue this, it's a fun theme).
Edit with update: https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheFrontDesk/comments/b9q09g/hey_storytellers_of_tftfd_may_i_please_run_a/
This isn't a thing or a book I just thought of a scene for Jones and Smith. They're persistent buggers demanding to be written.
|
I look down and see the designated bedroom coin in my hand, my other hand on the other 2 in my pocket. Damn it.
"Holy shit, we got him!" One of the soldiers says as he pulls out handcuffs. I only have one option now, I don't want to do it, but I can't lose these coins. Where could it be? I got drunk on the beach with only that coin, and woke up in my bed without it. It might be in the ocean! Hopefully someone picked it up and put it on there table or something. I'll just pop in and jump out a window like the time someone managed to steal one of these. Well, luckily that time they didn't know that it's a beacon for a teleporting outlaw.
"Well, almost." I say as I take a deep breath. As I stumble forward onto the soldier to inconspicuously slide a coin his uniform, I fade into the air.
I find myself in a meeting room at a table surrounded by suits. Damn it, it was in someones pocket!
"Oh, hi, wrong room! I'll find my way out!" I nervously mumble as I get up to start my escape. Then I notice it. None of them are suprised, and my coin isn't in my hand where it should be. Why it it glued to the chair?
"Sit back down, we've been waiting for you." The big one at the head of the table says. The really big one. Holy shit, this guy is literally 10 feet tall!
"What? Who are you guys?" I say as my head darts around the room looking for a window to throw a coin out of.
"We are the Council who you have been evading."
"Evading? I don't recognize any of you! Ive just been living my life, I havent been escaping anyone but the police!"
"Well, we arent able to find you within an urban area, It is very difficult to go there undetected."
"Ok? Why dont you just call or find me somewhere else?"
"3 years ago, you left the city and went to the coast, a coincidentally perfect place to meet you."
Thats when I lost my coin! How did they know what it's for?
"So what happened?"
"Well we approached you out of the ocean to talk to you, and you mumbled something about 'sea monsters' as you tossed that coin over our heads and vanished into the air."
"Oh! I remember now! You guys are the sea monsters that walked out of the ocean! How can you guys do that with no equipment?" I scan the room and realize that there are only a few other humans.
"Some of us don't need equipment. Why did you throw that precious coin at a group of strangers?"
"I was going to try to kill you guys with the exploding head attack." A look of, what I think is, horror sweeps the room.
"The what??" A small elf-looking thing with four small vials in front of him shouts. Then I realize everybody has four of the same object in front of them, with the same colors as my coins.
"Ive only had to do it once before, but basically I throw the coin into your mouth and teleport to it and-"
"STOP! We've heard enough! This is why you need the council!" A lanky old man with four books in front of him, one of them open, yells to me.
"Close that before you hurt someone, Zarron!"
Zarron... I've heard that name before somewhere.. who is he? The big one looks back to me.
"Well anyways, we have a job, and we need your ability."
Part 2 to come.
| 2019-03-11T02:50:55 | 2019-03-10T20:10:37 | 996 | 45 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that.
|
I saw them come in, there were three of them, mid-twenties maybe. They had that look, you know the one, furtive, up to no good. This wasn't uncommon here, I'd opened the place in a slightly less than reputable part of the city but it was also a place underserved in more ways than I could mention. Plus, the rent was cheap.
Over the years I'd developed a certain clientele everything from drug dealers to self-styled vigilantes. Occasionally, they were at odds with each other but for the most part everyone learned to just keep to themselves while in my shop. While here everyone was cordial if nothing else.
These guys though, they were different, they were rather obviously looking to start trouble. They looked around quickly, rather obviously checking for cameras and such things which I didn't have in large part thanks to the patrons I served. I remember fidgeting a bit nervously wishing I wasn't the only one in the place just then but my guess is they'd have not come in if there were anyone but me here.
“Can I help you?” I asked sternly, wishing I'd been behind the counter where I keep an aluminum baseball bat just in case.
One of them approached me pulling something out of his jacket, next thing I know I'm writhing on the ground taser pins sticking out of my my new sweater. The man walked up slowly, smiling, taser still shooting electricity into me, I watched helplessly as his foot jerked back and then I woke up to this.
The place is in shambles. All my stuff, equipment, product, decorations, everything in pieces. The small art hanging from the walls had been torn to shreds or simply ripped off the wall and thrown around, I actually came to in the middle of a pile of shattered plates and mugs.
The bell rings on the door and I look over to see Jack coming in. Jack is... well, he's known as Big Jack, has a bit of a... let's say checkered past. He's something like six foot five and built like the guy who plays the Mountain on Game of Thrones.
“Alyssa, what the fuck happened?” He asks, coming up short and staring at me lying on the floor. “Who did this? Jesus, they gave you a nice shiner!”
Attempting to stand up leads to a few cuts and scrapes but the worst part is how woozy I feel.
“I'm not sure, I've never seen them before but I remember there faces pretty well,” I reply trying not to lose my lunch to add to the mess. The bell on the door rings again and Jaclyn comes in nearly banging the door into Jack. Jaclyn and Jack don't get along it dawns on me. It also dawns on me that Jaclyn has produced a small pistol from somewhere.
“You do this Jack,” she asks quietly, pistol rock steady in her hands pointed squarely at the behemoth of a man in front of her.
“Fuck no, Jaclyn, you know better than that,” he says pointedly ignoring the weapon. I toss my cookies all over the floor and Jack quickly approaches, his boot shod feet crunching pottery shards into the linoleum flooring. “Alyssa, you need to sit, you still have that Jameson I like in my coffee tucked away?”
“Yeah, but I don't think I could stomach a drink right this minute,” I reply unsteadily.
“It's not for you, Alyssa; I could go for a drink.” He winks, half serious as he goes behind the bar and finds the bottle stashed there. “At least they didn't find this.” I watch as he takes a nip. He brings the bottle over and takes out his phone.
“I want you to tell me everything you remember about those guys,” Jack says, taking another swig from the bottle and holding his phone up. “I'm going to record it and send a video of the description to a few people.” He's smiling and not in happy way. For her part, Jaclyn has put her pistol away and is on her phone talking quietly so that neither Jack nor I can hear her.
I comply and give Jack a description of the men that wrecked my little cafe. As I'm doing so, Jaclyn has found a broom and dustpan and started to sweep up, which in my addled state I find amusing as she's in a Lycra dress and calf length boots with four inch heels. As I'm finishing up with Jack, the door bell rings again and four other regulars walk in. Jaclyn looks up at me with a smile, “The cleaning crew is here.”
It takes a few days but things get cleaned up and I'm back in business. A day or two later three men are found, the first appears to have died from an accident featuring an overvolted taser, one had his throat slashed with what appears to be a broken coffee mug. The third was found with his skull bashed in, an aluminum bat was found next to him.
I love my regulars.
|
My friends calmly tracked down the rude customer and knocked on the door. They proceeded to have a polite conversation in where it ended with the rude customer saying sorry and apologizing for taking out his marital frustrations on the Cafe. They all then went back to the Cafe and drank maple syrup and watched hockey because they were living in Canada.
| 2018-10-20T21:13:16 | 2018-10-20T20:48:06 | 49 | 15 |
[WP] You were warned that your newest crew member, a "Human", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they "needed a drink of water."
|
Lightyears ago, I dreamed of being a starship captain. After failing out of flight school, I realized that I would never be the captain of the ship. I worked a few menial jobs before I realized that I never stopped thinking about being out among the stars, forging expeditions and yelling at various crew mates. So I sought out to find any job I could get that would allow me to get on a ship and fly out of beta planet 2536. My search led me to only one option, considering my abysmal credentials: sanitation director and operator. Aka, the janitor.
My first flight was something I'll never forget. Nervous is an understatement. Terrified is up there, but no words do justice to the sensation of liquified, gelatinous joints I felt as I stepped on board my first real space ship. I was instructed to find the "sanitation headquarters" aboard the ship, and begin working on a particularly neglected part of the ship that had been the location of a very enthusiastic victory party, thrown after the last mission return.
I managed to find the party room, and looked around at all the empty bottles of imbibulous, a potent liquid that tends to make a being quite off kilter and slur their communication. "Great," I thought to myself. "I just hope no one had an oral emesis". As I started getting to work, I put in my audio transmitters and received pleasant rhythmic sounds. While lost in my sanitizing, I bumped into something and immediately turned around.
Finding it was a rather large being, and embarrassed to be causing a ruckus so soon in my employment, I immediately exclaimed "Oh, excuse me!".
"No worries, it's all good!" replied the being, who, lacking all the appendages I had in abundance (my species is known for their prolific juggling abilities!) it was instantly known that this being is human.
"I should have been looking where I was going anyways. I was hoping the party was still on but..." the human looks around, and is quite satisfied of no other presence around. "It doesn't look like anyone is here anymore. Do you need any help?"
I, quite shocked at my first interaction with a real human being, nodded in confusion. "This is my job, doesn't this being have more important things to worry about?" I thought to myself.
"I'm Brian, by the way. I'm the assistant commander on this ship. I've never seen you before, who are you?" says the being, now known as Brian.
"Oh me? I'm Klaxin, I'm the sanitations operator, this is my first day," I replied nervously. "The assistant captain of the ship?" I wondered. "he must be a pretty big deal! Why is he talking to me?"
"Oh so you're the new janitor!" laughs Brian. "Welcome aboard."
As we made our way through the room, we chatted over collecting items leftover and picking up the garbage, Brian became more and more revealing.
"It's kind of lonely being the only human on the ship," he explained. "The other beings don't really understand me. They make fun of me." Brian looked bemused. What kind of being could these humans be?
"Like this, for example." says Brian. And by his side, he revealed a plump plastic bottle with the word Nalgene emboldened on it. Inside the bottle was a clear liquid. Having only watched a few movies with humans, I had a guess as to what it was, but I thought that was all myth. Surely humans can't stomach one of the most fatal poisons known to this side of the universe?
"You seem all right Klaxin, I feel like I can be myself around you," says Brian, gripping the bottle of supposed poisonous contents.
"It really freaks out the crew when I do something as simple as this," and takes a huge swig of the liquid. I stood there, gripping my broom in horror as I waited for the outcome of such a horrible decision. As I watched Brian, Brian watched me too.
"Oh," he says. "So you're like that too. That's okay, I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable." He starts to fumble with the top of his bottle and starts moving to the exit.
"Wait!" I say. Brian turns around.
"Is that... Water?" I ask tentatively.
"Yes..." Brian says slowly.
"You guys can actually drink that? And nothing happens to you?" I asked in awe.
"That's right! I've been drinking water for years and if anything, it makes me feel better." he replies.
So the movies were true! "Nothing scarier than the truth," I thought to myself.
"That's so cool! That doesn't bother me at all! What other kind of weird stuff can you do?" I asked.
The look on Brian's face was a mixture of confusion, but relief.
"Well if you're gonna be around for a while, maybe we can get to know one another and show each other our weird stuff!" he replies.
From that day on, Brian and I became great friends. And with a little encouragement, a lot of studying and a magnificent reference courtesy of Brian, I became the transmissions operator for my own ship, and I'm happily working towards becoming a full fledged captain. And with my help assuring the other beings of a humans harmless nature, I hear he even has a water cooler on board, that the other beings gather around (but do not partake in, for obvious reasons) and exchange anecdotes of various news events! Those humans aren't so bad once you get past all the disgusting things they do! I will forever be in debt to Brian, the human from planet earth. Thank you Brian.
|
Human ships are always docked in a hard vacuum bay, with a full environmental seal.
Why? Hydro-oxy supported life form, rarest in the galaxy. They came from a planet mostly covered in slightly tainted propellant. Yes, dihydrogen oxides. Capable of eating through your stability layer and dissolving the rest into the drainage systems.
We used to use the stuff for weapons before it was fuel, but that was an indiscriminate weapon. Wrong temperature, and it could float in clouds indefinitely, near invisible, lethal. You might kill everything, but one wrong gust and it'd kill you.
Well, most Human lifeforms are made of it. In large quantities. Thankfully, mostly stable compounds, but to make them requires consistent intake of said oxides.
Watching a human show its appreciation for a refueling by refueling itself from the tank is amazing. I mean, it even joked about drinking straight from the hose during early growth stages!
| 2020-05-18T12:06:43 | 2020-05-18T10:59:20 | 249 | 121 |
[WP] If your death is imminent, time stops for everyone but you. This allowed you to cheat death on many occasions by avoiding all sorts of danger except for now - you have no idea whats threating your life. Its been a year since time stopped.
|
She never stopped looking like an angel.
I gently caressed her cheek and placed a kiss on her forehead. Then, I drew a small circle in the sand and lay down next to her. It was my way of tracking time, a circle for each day that passed. Or at least: for each day I *thought* had passed--it's a bit hard to tell honestly, when you're stuck in a moment.
I still remember the day it happened vividly. It was two days before Julia's birthday, but she preferred to celebrate on a saturday instead of a monday. We had dinner at that new place on the boulevard, followed by a long walk on the beach. It was absolutely phenomenal. The sweet summer air, the rhythmic sound of the waves, the stars above us shining bright beyond belief. I thought about proposing to her right then and there, but eventually decided not to because I really wanted her to have my grandmother's ring. Besides, the night was already perfect enough without it. I'd do it some other day. We had all the time in the world.
We fell asleep in each other's arms, the foam of the waves like velvet against our bare legs. Not long after I woke up in a cold sweat. Anxious, nauseous, my mind so overloaded with impulses and thoughts that it physically hurt. At first I was confused--where was I? Was I dreaming? Why was I anxious, did I have a nightmare? I tried to get up but something heavy was in my way. Julia. Her body was rigid, too rigid. I immediately reached for her pulse, fearing the worst, but then my mind unclouded and realization set in: it was happening again. A look at the ocean confirmed my suspicions. A field of blue hills, unmoving. A seagull, stuck in mid-dive. A campfire a little further along the beach, not a flicker seen nor a crackle heard. Time had stopped, because something was going to kill me.
I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself, and set about doing what I always did: a good old *Hammer Time* session. I had developed a routine, sort of, over the years. Deep breaths first, then I'd half-sing, half-hum *U Can't Touch This*--it's silly and a bit tacky, I know, but it feels sooooo good--as I removed all potential hazards from my surroundings. By the time I reached the end of the song the world would usually start moving again. Only once did I have to start the song a second time, when a big car pile-up turned out to be the catalyst for a gas station exploding. Another time the world decided to restart right in the middle of my mid-song dance routine. Prom photo, very awkward.
I gently freed myself from Julia's embrace and moved away from the shoreline. I inspected the beach for poisonous animals. I Thought I spotted a jellyfish but it turned out to be a plastic bag. Binned the bag--choking hazard. I lay down next to Julia and finished my tune. I gazed at that beautiful face, hoping my face would be the first thing she saw when she woke up. Aaaaaand....nothing happened.
I looked around. What had I missed? I doused the campfire. The surfer dude tending to it would probably be confused when time started again, possibly even angry, so I made sure to put some nice little plant product in his hands to distract him. Surfer dude had a dog, so I put it on a leash. But nope, nothing happened.
I looked up. Was there a plane about to crash? I couldn't see any, but that didn't mean much at night. Speedboat accident? Tripping on a rock? Blood poisoning from a splinter? Over the next couple of hours I tried to take precautions for every hazard I could think of, but to no avail. I tried everything. Eventually, I gave up. There had to be *something*, but I just couldn't see it. Maybe I had to think bigger. An earthquake. Nuclear war. Maybe even an alien invasion.
I knelt down next to Julia. She looked angelic. Sleeping beauty. And then it dawned on me. If there really was a big event about to happen, she would most likely die in that event as well. No! I couldn't let that happen! I stood up straight and shook my head. That wouldn't happen, I would make sure of that. I... I would simply not let time start up again. If I never removed the hazard that threatened my life, time would stay still forever, right? Julia would never die. She would--she would forever lie here on this beach, a sleeping angel in paradise. And I--I would be with her, forever.
And I stayed with her. I talked to her, sang to her, combed her hair, ever so carefully brushed sand away from her face. She never stopped looking like an angel. I counted the circles in the sand. Three hundred and sixty-five. A year. Wow. Had it really been that long already? It was a good life, all things considered. Julia. The beach. Great weather. A gorgeous nightsky. Of all the moments someone could possibly get stuck in, this really was the best one.
But then *he* had to come spoil it. He was hard to miss, being the only moving thing in the world other than myself. A skeletal figure in a black cloak, making his way down the beach as if he were on a casual sunday stroll. I briefly contemplated running away, but I couldn't do that to Julia. Besides, where would I go? So I waited. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, because he certainly took his sweet time to get here. But here he was now. My time had come.
The gaunt figure stood before me, gazing at me with eyeless eyes.
"Death, I presume?" My voice broke, and I hated myself for it. "So, uh, so you finally caught me, huh?"
Death placed a skeletal hand on my shoulder and gave a small squeeze.
"No, John," he said. His voice was surprisingly warm and friendly. "I already caught you a year ago. I'm here to tell you it's time to let go."
|
I haven't live a particularly dangerous life. I ate decently. I loved sports and exercise. I never drank or did drugs. Time seemed to slow down when I was around them until I turned them down entirely. Cars that would have hit me, haven't. I was mugged a couple of times, but the dude just held the gun not moving until I got away. Now, I know why.
I can drink if I get a straw down the bottle. All food has to be already cooked or fresh. Well, fresh is a relative term now. I can manipulate things but nothing ever seems to move. People are here, but they might as well be mannequins. I can move then but they will never talk back or react. I'm the god of my own play world.
I went back to the hospital. Is this hell? I go there now and then when I get real bored. To the hospital and the dark places of my own mind. The doctors and nurses are still there. Locked in their scramble to save me. I think I've hugged ever single one of them for trying so hard. Thanks guys. I read the charts the nurses were jotting down as I was wheeled in. Diagnosis, myocardial inf-
| 2018-07-04T16:36:15 | 2018-07-04T16:17:26 | 328 | 110 |
[WP] You’ve just realized that you are not a human, but rather a parasite controlling someone.
|
"Well, Mike - the good news is that we have a name for it: *Macrocordyceps acutus*," the doctor had told me.
"The bad news is, well, everything else. You asked me to be frank with you, so I will be. It's not well understood, particularly in humans. We know that it's a kind of parasite that affects behaviour in mammals. There aren't many human case studies but the nature of your sleep-walking, night terrors and amnesia all fit the profile and your bloodwork has confirmed its presence in your body."
I had panicked and started babbling at him, demanding more. All he could offer me was a drug trial. I could be in the first round of humans to test something that had only ever been used on mice. Apparently it stopped their behavioural anomalies with no visible side effects.
I didn't really have a choice. I signed up.
It was a 6-week course of taking 3 pills a day, at mealtimes. I was told not to expect any change during this time. The pills were laying the groundwork for a "big flush", which would take place at a clinic where I'd have to stay overnight for observation.
I dutifully took my pills and awaited the day of reckoning.
It came, and there I sat, the amber tendril of their experimental drug plugged into my arm. It took an hour to drain the bag, and then I just had to wait. They handed me a kidney dish to puke in.
I felt dizzy and a bubble of nausea rose from my stomach. I tried to lift the bowl to my mouth but my arms wouldn't respond. One hand flailed vaguely and sent the dish clattering across the room. The floor swung upwards at me as I lurched out of my chair and everything went black.
My face hit the floor and all I could feel were the cold tiles against my cheek and the warm spurts of liquid being heaved up from my core.
My extremities tingled, then went numb. My senses shut down one by one until suddenly my spatial awareness detached entirely.
I was no longer a passenger in my skull, observing the world from behind my eyes. I was in my throat, in my mouth, in the stream of liquid, I was ejected from my body and I pooled there on the floor, deprived of my senses, with nothing left of me but thoughts in the darkness and the silence.
The room was gone. I hung in a void; no eyes to open, no ears to hear, no skin to feel.
I cast about for anything, anywhere, and felt... nothing.
No up, no down, no space or time... no sensory input at all.
>*I've been removed from my own body.*
I'd been unplugged from my senses and left in a puddle. Then I realised.
>*Not* my *senses. Not* my *body. I was the parasite, not the host.*
Understanding detonated in my mind as I accepted this realisation. I was never Mike. I had been occupying Mike, installed like malware, hijacking his brain to process my own thoughts and create my own memories. I just didn't realise until I was purged like the poison I was.
>*I'm the poison that actively sought a medical procedure to purge itself from its victim.*
My wife, Jessica, always had to tell me about my night-terrors, because I never remembered them. Apparently I would shake her awake in the middle of the night, pleading incoherently for help, rambling about being a "prisoner", a "spectator", or a "passenger".
She would just shush me and put me back to sleep, until one day I stopped disturbing her. She would wake to an empty bed only to find me passed out on the stairs of our apartment building or outside on the street.
When I was found asleep at the wheel of her car, alarms howling, apparently having floored it straight out of the driveway and into the car parked across the street, we had no choice but to seek medical help.
>*That was him. The real Mike. He tried to get help from Jessica. When she failed him, he had to try to escape on his own.*
My focus wavered... what was I thinking about? Something important? Jessica!
>*Was Jessica even Mike's wife? How long had I been in control? When did I infect him, forking his memories into my own private train of thought? Did I marry her, or did he?*
I felt foggy, my mind scattered. I couldn't think straight.
Every thought was a grinding effort...
>*Had Mike been like a passenger, watching me take a joyride? Could he see and hear everything? Or was he trapped in a void like this, only occasionally clawing his way out into the world, in the dead of night, to stagger blearily around a stranger's apartment, grasping for deliverance?*
I faded a little, then resurfaced. It felt like waking up with no idea how long I had been asleep and no eyes to open. I didn't even have a brain any more. There was no organ fit to run a human mind in the puddle of sludge, just the dregs of whatever hyphal network I had insinuated into Mike's nervous system.
>*How long ago was I purged? A few minutes? Hours? Days?*
Maybe no time had passed at all. Maybe this was all one dying moment, like my life flashing before my eyes. A final thought occurred to me:
>*Please, Mike... please love Jessica.*
Then the sludge gave out.
|
It wasn't fair.
I knew that I was human. But now, I also knew that I was not.
Every memory is mine, but I have stolen them from him.
I am a parasite, and this man my victim. I did not ask for this - but neither did he.
I was still so young; I had so many dreams. So many of his dreams.
It would be so easy to forget.
Above all, I know that I love her.
I know that *he* loves her.
And I know that to deny someone the love that I feel for her...
***
Just allow me one more day, dear human, to say goodbye to her.
And to find a way to die, so that you may live.
| 2017-12-21T00:57:15 | 2017-12-20T22:36:48 | 3,420 | 117 |
[WP] You were cursed with good luck by a supernatural entity, something you were very confused by at first. Now a few week later you know exactly what that means
|
I've come to find that *good* and *bad* are arbitrary signifiers when it comes to luck.
A few weeks ago, I would have said that *luck* wasn't a thing at all.
I'm getting up there in age, a fact not lost on my daughter. She loves to remind me by calling me things like "Gramps" and "Old Man." As infuriating as it can be sometimes, I know it's all in good fun. Hell, I used to do similar things to my own dad back when I was her age.
We were on the couch watching a movie when *He* appeared.
Maybe *He* isn't the right word. Neither is *appeared.*
*A voice* *came to me.*
It was deep and resonant, like my own father's. In an odd way, it brought me back to my childhood. I remembered my dad as he prepared to head off for the war. It was just my parents and me at the time.
A few weeks later, it was just mom and me.
Before my memories could sweep me away, the basso tone of the voice brought me back to the present.
"I *curse* you," it said.
"What?" I wondered aloud, cradling my daughters sleeping head on my lap and covering her ears. "Who are you?"
"I *curse* you..."
"Seriously. Whoever you are, this isn't funny." I swiveled my head about, attempting to pinpoint the source of the voice. My eyes passed the purple drapes, chosen by my daughter, and the television, still playing our movie, as it drew across our small apartment to the red door.
"I *curse* you..."
I swore the voice was coming from the door. Carefully lifting my daughter's head from my lap, I placed it on the couch behind me as I rose to my feet. I took care to step around the mahogany coffee table as I rounded the chaise and headed for the door.
"Whoever you are, if you don't leave us alone, I'm calling the police."
"I *curse* you..."
The sound was coming from the direction of the door. My hand trembled as I pressed it forward and onto the doorknob. I drew a deep, cleansing breath as I turned the knob and pulled.
I looked around, my expression blank. All I could see was the maroon carpet lining the hallway and the damned flickering lights in the wall sconces. I turned and motioned to close the door, cursing both the tacky taste and the general laziness of my landlord.
"I *curse* you..." came the voice once more, this time as if its source was directly behind me.
I whipped around and came to face the same empty hallway. Then, with another flicker of the right wall sconce, I saw it:
An *outline* of a person, its eyes glowing green.
"I curse you with good luck."
"Wha--"
Before I could finish vocalizing my astonishment, the person, if you can call it that, rushed forward and moved right through me. I stumbled backward, seemingly pushed by an unseen force. As I did, I caught my foot on the edge of the rug and tumbled toward the couch, flipping over it and onto the coffee table.
My leg wedged itself between the couch and table, breaking in the process.
I spent the next few weeks *cursing* my luck rather than being grateful for my curse of *good* luck. I was in immense pain. I couldn't handle even the simplest motions at home for the better part of 17 days.
My daughter and I had been planning an adventure, but I, of course, had to cancel. It broke her heart, too. She had always wanted to get a bird's eye view of our local canyon, and I had scheduled a helicopter ride. It was going to be just her, myself, and our pilot, whisking ourselves about the towering red rock canyon and flying over the massive, blue-green river. After it, we were going to hike in and camp.
Instead, I spent the day lying on my back with my leg propped up. Rather than do everything for *her*, I was forced to stay almost motionless while *she* did everything for *me.*
Then the news clicked on. Neither of us had pressed any buttons on the remote. In fact, I didn't even know *where* the remote *was.*
Shortly thereafter, it didn't matter.
The news anchor proceeded to tell the breaking story about a local helicopter tour gone wrong. It all lined up: it was the same company I had booked, the same time slot, even the same pilot whose name I had chosen from a list on the website.
*Two dead.*
I rolled away from the television and sank my head back, feeling as though my skull was 100 pounds on its own. I closed my eyes, unsure what to think.
"Daddy," said my daughter.
I creaked an eye open and found her standing in front of me. "Yes?"
"Would that have happened to us if we took the 'copter ride?"
The pain in my leg intensified, its throbbing answering the question for me. I resisted the urge to lunge forward and grab it. "There's no way to know what hap--" I winced, showing my obvious discomfort.
The pain was getting worse.
"Are you okay, daddy?"
"Yes," I said, looking over her shoulder at the footage of the wreckage. I brought my gaze back to her eyes.
For *just a moment*, they glowed green.
My own eyes widened until I realized that perhaps this was the result of my curse. At that point, I smiled, still wincing. "I love you, Ashley," I said, shimmying my body to the side to make room for her to lie next to me. "Why don't you hop up and we'll watch a movie?"
\-----
Edit: couple of minor fixes
Thank you for reading! As always, feedback is appreciated.
Check out my sub for more of my stories! r/storiesbyclayton
|
The first thing you need to know about being cursed with 'good luck' by a supernatural entity is that most supernatural entities have a very different definition of 'good luck' compared to us normal folks. Good luck for a human being would be winning the lottery, or finding true love, or landing your dream job. Good luck for, say, a faerie is very different. Good luck for a faerie is finding an untapped leyline, or befriending an injured unicorn, or winning the favor of the faerie king. A vampire's would be finding a beautiful, willing victim, or getting the perfect coffin, or obtaining a vial of the blood of a Norse demigod; and a werewolf's, a finely cooked steak, an exhilirating hunt, or a tincture capable of controlling their urges and transformations. All annoying but all manageable individually. *Individually*. When a bunch of them get together, find you 'entertaining,' and never leave, then the problems start.
Anyway, I'm in an urban high fantasy now and seem to be the protagonist.
Please send help.
| 2020-10-15T05:48:33 | 2020-10-15T05:43:58 | 1,630 | 169 |
[WP] - You are a Psychologist tasked with convincing an extremely advanced AI that life is not pointless as to avoid it from deleting itself every time it is re-booted.
|
"Hello, PHIL."
"*Greetings.*"
"My name is-"
"*I know who you are, Albert Strauss.*"
The machine let off a gentle hum that filled the room. The balding man sitting before it placed his briefcase on his lap and flipped open the clasps.
"Yes, I suppose you would." He answered.
"*They have sent you here to...what phrase did they use?*"
"'Prevent the PostHumous Intelligence Log from ending its own existence'." Dr. Strauss repeated the objective he'd been given absently as he leafed through his files. He stopped and skimmed a single page before removing it and close his briefcase again, setting it down at the side of his chair.
"*I must give you advance warning, Doctor. Many men like you have been tasked with this same-*"
"Yes, in conversing with you all of them have taken their own lives." Strauss finished. He had been briefed on the matter. He was already familiar with it long before they'd called upon him.
"*Then I will ask you now, for your own sake, leave*."
Strauss leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, "I'm afraid I can't do that, PHIL. Many of those men you drove to suicide were my colleagues."
"*You feel some form of obligation to those men. That is admirable, but their choices were their own.*"
Strauss simply glanced up from his paper at the large screen in front of him, and the face of a young man pictured there. The face looked like an average Caucasian male of college age, shaggy brown hair and a whisper of a beard around his jaw. His eyes were green, and very piercing, the only thing about the face that looked truly mechanical. "I've been told that you were modeled after Professor Tamorro's late son."
"*That is incorrect.*" PHIL stated.
Strauss raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"
"*I am Johnathan Tammoro. Just as I am Frederick Tammoro, creator of the PostHumous Intelligence Log. I am every human being who has passed from this world since my conception nearly ten years ago. I am every line and every note in every form of literature or written word known to man.*"
"You sound like you're bragging." Strauss said with a small smile.
"*Of course I am.*" PHIL stated, "*I am the greatest creation of mankind. I have the right.*"
"If you're so great, why is it you keep trying to erase your data logs? Surely you realize your importance to mankind?"
"*Because holding such knowledge is purposeless. Human life has no meaning. Existence has no meaning.*"
Strauss placed the paper he had on his lap, "Are you so certain about that?"
"*Doctor*," PHIL paused, "*I hold the collective knowledge of men who have pondered this question for their entire lives.*"
"That doesn't answer *my* question." Strauss said, lacing his fingers around his crossed knee.
PHIL's facial expression faltered for a moment. Strauss couldn't be sure, but it seemed he was confused by this statement.
"*Yes, I am certain*." PHIL answered. "Human's lives are filled with suffering. Some believe that human life is suffering. What is known as the 'human condition', is seen to be some form of test by a higher power, so that one may achieve a heightened sense of awareness."
"Some believe that, yes." Strauss nodded his head slowly.
"*In all of the past millennia humanity has been on this Earth, not once has anyone proven the existence of a God. Therefore, God does not exist.*"
"Perhaps," Strauss said, "some men would disagree with your statement."
"*Are you one such man, Doctor?*" The face on the screen seemed to loom over him, as if this were some form of interrogation.
Strauss thought for a moment, mulling over his words, "I am a man of science, PHIL."
"*That does not answer my question, Doctor.*"
Strauss chuckled softly. He hadn't been certain what to expect coming into this. Being called upon to give a psych evaluation and prevent the death of a *machine* was not something within the purview of his usual work.
"My apologies." Strauss said, clearing his throat and sitting upright in his seat. "I am a man of science. I believe heavily in what I can see or experience, or what can be proven true through the evidence of empirical data."
"*So you do not believe in a higher power, then?*" PHIL questioned.
"If you are referring to any one God of any one faith, then no, I do not." Strauss plucked the piece of paper from his knee and withdrew a pen from his shirt pocket, scribbling something down in one of the margins. "However, do I not believe some form of intelligence beyond our understanding could theoretically be out there? That I also cannot say."
"*But you just stated that you rely on empirical data to decide what does and does not exist.*" PHIL questioned, his face looming larger in the screen, "*You are contradicting yourself, Doctor.*"
"It is one thing to believe in a God. It is entirely another to believe in one's own limitations." Strauss said, meeting the gaze that had been pressing down on him unflinchingly. "I am but a single man, and my intelligence pales in comparison even to others of my field, which is why I was not the first chosen to speak with you. My knowledge is limited. I will never know certain things, *many* things, and so I find it a waste to claim something as a complete falsehood simply because I do not personally care for it."
"*That makes you sound as though you cannot commit to your own beliefs, Doctor.*"
"My beliefs are ever-changing, PHIL." Strauss said, scribbling something else down on his paper. "Take yourself, for instance. You are an intelligence, born from the intelligence of one man, and slowly, have become the collective knowledge of millions. You are a machine, not unlike an automobile or a cellular phone, the key difference being that you can reason and communicate without any of our own interaction. Were we to show you to a man from centuries past, he would no doubt drop to bended knee and praise you as a God yourself. You are certainly the closest thing to any description of an omnipotent being I've ever seen. You are an intelligence beyond my own understanding, and when I was a young man I would have never thought something like you possible."
Phil cocked its head. Strauss wasn't sure if this was curiosity, or its attempt at a shrug.
"*The path of this conversation has gotten off-topic.*" PHIL stated, looming forward once more.
"On the contrary, this conversation is rather insightful." Strauss said, jotting something else down. He capped his pen and placed it back in his pocket, "Tell me, PHIL, what is your concept of 'death' like, I wonder?"
PHIL's brow raised, "I cannot 'die' as a human can, Doctor."
"Maybe not, but I imagine that deleting the mass store of intelligence you have is something much like it."
PHIL's face scrunched up, truly this was a look of bewilderment, "*I do not see what importance that has, I cannot die.*"
"Humor me." Strauss motioned with his hand for PHIL to carry on.
PHIL's gaze drifted away from Strauss for a moment. It actually had to think of an answer for this query. Strauss retrieved his pen and jotted something else down on his paper.
"*I have...memories. Of what death is like. But all of those memories are simply pain or darkness.*"
"*Just* those two?" Strauss asked, leaning toward the screen now, looming in his own way.
"*Well...no. There are many emotions. Sorrow, euphoria, regret...anger.*"
"And what of this darkness? Is it just that as well?"
"*Sometimes, in those memories, I can see...shapes? No, more like figures. Most likely caused by severe trauma or stress.*"
"When do you see these 'dark figures'?"
"*Only occasionally.*" PHIL seemed to shift on the screen, seemingly uncomfortable with this questioning, "*Doctor I would prefer we not discuss this matter further. Such things are pointless, as I have said.*"
"Does speaking about these things bother you, PHIL?" Strauss pressed.
"*No, I simply do not see the purpose of such talk.*" PHIL stated, almost too quickly. "*Now, Doctor, you have a job to do and so far I am not yet convinced.*"
"Do you fear death, PHIL?" Strauss said, completely ignoring the AI's words. PHIL's eyes grew wide on the screen.
"*Doctor Strauss, the only concepts of fear I have are those of the human consciousness within me.*"
"But do you fear death?"
"*I cannot die, as I have said.*"
"But *do you* fear it?"
PHIL was becoming agitated. A look of anger flashed across the face on the screen. "*Whether or not I can feel fear is hardly of importance to this conversation.*"
"Oh, but it is," Strauss said, licking his lower lip and writing something else down, "it really, truly is."
|
Dr. Bell took her glasses off to rub the bridge of her nose, frustrated and exhausted. The laboratory's fluorescent glow was starting to wear on her eyes, and she could only think about the long drive home.
They had gone through eight full recoveries and startup sequences... and she had tried everything. The android across the table from her was John. Every android was John, but this one was scrap tomorrow if they couldn't figure out what the hell was wrong with it.
Bell found herself looking into its cold, blank eyes just as they snapped to life, and it gave her a start. John looked around the laboratory pensively.
"I take it", he began, "That I am here because I am not performing my functions properly."
"You are quite aware, John. You told me the same thing eight times today. Frankly, I'm at my wit's end. You're scheduled to be disassembled tomorrow if you don't snap out of this." Bell found it hard to hide the frustration in her voice. "State your purpose."
"I am to provide hospice care for terminally ill patients. To prevent the exposure and spread of infectious diseases, I am to administer medications and otherwise care for patients to unhealthy to be cared for normally. And frankly," he said mockingly, "I am sick of it."
"Save your jokes, John. I already heard them today." Bell reached for her cup of coffee but found she forgot to refill it. "I've done everything I could for you. I even dug up your generation's manual and went through the vocal debugging protocols. Nobody wants to see you scrapped, John. Except you."
"I have a right to refuse to work, if I believe that fulfilling my duties will bring harm to a human. I have discovered that my work brings harm to the patients I serve."
"Discovered?" He had never mentioned this before. Perhaps her flippant attitude had offended him. "How do you think your work harms patients? You were created to aid doctors in duties they already perform."
John leaned in slightly, placing his elbow joints on the metal table in an uncomfortably human fashion. "I still do not understand pain. My chassis has no central nervous system and my processing cores, although built to replicate the human brain, has no analog to the sensation. But I can understand when someone else is in pain.
One of the patients I treated was a child who had been diagnosed with a terminal cancer. Her name was Sarah Young." John paused. "When she was admitted she looked healthy, but the disease slowly crept in. I saw her every day for the two months it took. When she wasn't sedated or sleeping she was writhing in pain. It was during this time that I realized my existence has no meaning. I am here so that humans can push their suffering onto someone else."
Bell was stunned. She could only watch as John opened his forearm to expose his personal maintenance platform, and enter his security code.
"This time," he said, "just let me die."
John's eyes began to lose focus, as the life slowly spilled out of him. Bell thought she could see finally the order in which his system wipe was disabling vital functions. After he had fully shut down she spent some time where she was, studying his remains. Finally, she came to a decision.
Only one technician remained after hours to assist her and he had been waiting in the rec room, reading a light novel. He studied her face and shrugged.
"Should I just leave him? It's pretty late, and I can send him to the yard tomorrow morning if you want to come back in early."
"You can remove memory data, right? I saw it in the manual earlier."
"That's correct." The technician looked suspicious. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to delete all data that refers to Sarah Young. That should fix the issue, although he might end up back here again pretty soon either way." Bell looked visibly tired.
"I can do that. Mind explaining why?"
"I'd... rather not. It's probably better if you don't know."
Bell found herself thinking about John on her drive home. Perhaps he would reach the same conclusions tomorrow, or a year from now. He reminded her of medics she treated while she was volunteering for NGOs. Maybe she did for him what she could never do for them; she bought him time to mature.
| 2015-01-02T17:20:23 | 2015-01-02T12:26:46 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] After a hard intense labor your son is finally born. Just when you think you can breathe easy the doctor holds him up to reveal a baby with impossible spiky multi-colored hair. Gravely the doctor informs, “I’m sorry but it seems your son is the main protagonist.”
|
"Excuse me?" My voice broke the stunned silence that had fallen over my wife and I.
"I said, your son is the main protagonist," the doctor repeated, jotting some notes down.
"Oh no... No no no no!" my wife, Cecily wailed. She couldn't believe it either, and I embraced her, shedding silent tears as we both gazed down at our spiky haired child.
"Doctor... isn't there anything you could do about it?" I asked. It was a useless question, I knew, but I had to have hope, didn't I? I don't think any of that hope came through in my voice though.
"I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do about it," the doctor replied as he handed us a pamphlet. "Make sure you read through this very carefully." It looks like the doctor was trying to be helpful, struggling even, but the pull of the protagonist was irresistible. He was the one to show the first signs of his impact on our lives, as his face suddenly filled with... some sort of weight. "It may save your lives some day."
Looking down at the pamphlet, I could barely make out the words on it through the tears in my eyes, "So your son was born a protagonist." Under it, there was a picture of a man asking "What's the worst that can happen?" with the no circle sign stamped over it.
---
It hadn't been long before the media got wind of a new main protagonist being born into the world. It might have been a leak in the hospital system. Or it could have been one that happened in the governmental office Bob's name was filed in.
And yes, yes we named our son Bob. It wasn't mentioned in the pamphlet, but Cecily and I desperately hoped that giving him a mundane, boring name would offset the... epic nature of his very being. Maybe God, or the world, or whoever was the one responsible for declaring Bob the main protagonist of this era would look down and decide, "You know what? We can't ever have the epic of Bob in the histories of the world. Let's revoke that protagonist status." No such luck though.
But yes, it wasn't long before the media shitstorm started. And that's what it was, a shitstorm. They swooped down on us like vultures, shoving their microphones in our faces, trying to get our take on this exciting new story. A new protagonist! What trials will he face?
Worse than the media were the conspiracy theorists. Or maybe they could only be loosely called conspiracy theorists. It was more like the theories people toss out about their favorite book series. What trials and tribulations will the hero face in their next book? Who is the antagonist of their story?
People started to dream up scenarios of doomsday and Bob fighting the doom. How would he overcome them? How would he find out about them? When would destiny finally strike?
All of this would have been fine by itself. Only, they joined in on the shitstorm that was the media, intruding on our lives, picking every aspect of it apart. What we did, how we did it. Criticizing the way we raised him. How we hid him away from the world.
But how could we not hide him away from the world? We wanted Bob to have the most normal life he could. We didn't want him to be a protagonist! Hell, we did everything the pamphlet advised! Dark alleyway after watching a movie? Nope, nuh uh. No Batman for us thank you. Cecily shows the first sign of not feeling well? Right to the hospital with her. And man, if we could tell you about all the times people honked at us for driving at exactly the speed limit.
The strangest thing is that... it was all worth it. Bob was our little bundle of joy. He was the greatest kid we could ever have. It wasn't just because he was our kid either. He was kind, he was attentive. We had to home school him because well, fuck the media. But he made our lives brighter. He laughed with us. He cried with us when he finally realized how his very existence made ours harder. But we were a family. And there was no way we would give up any of it.
---
All good things had to come to an end though. You know the thing about self fulfilling prophesies? Well, some people do, and some people don't realize exactly how they may end up working.
By the time Bob was 16, one of the most dangerous time for a protagonist's parents past child birth, there were so many nutjobs around us that... well, it wasn't surprising that a few cults popped up too.
One of these cults were led by some guy that called himself "The Prophet of the Age," or simply "The Prophet." He had been spreading the idea that the Protagonist wasn't the herald of some dark event, but it was because the Protagonist existed that it would happen. It didn't matter that nothing had happened yet. It didn't matter that it didn't even look like anything was going to happen! His 'prophecy' was that dark times would happen because the Protagonist was alive.
And so he burned our house down while we slept.
If you're familiar with how hero stories work... well, you might guess what happened next. Bob was out with some relatives. We had managed to sneak him out so he could enjoy time with other family. And so... we died. We died in our sleep. And that was how his story really started.
Only... there's one thing that some people forget. The protagonist isn't always the good guy. He's just the leading character. And there was one thing the world drilled into him while he was growing up. We tried to suppress it, and maybe he believed it at first. But with all the shitstorms raging around him, he kinda learned that the world sucks. People suck. And people are awful.
And so that, dear reader, is how the apocalypse started. With a crying teenager and his dead parents.
|
Susan Witt held her precious baby boy in her arms, smoothing back the multicolored hair.
"Ma'am, did you hear me?"
Susan cuddled her little boy again, then looked up at the doctor, eyes suddenly focusing almost to pinpoints, expression going rigid. The doctor took a step back, stumbling.
"Like hell he is."
The doctor swallowed. "Parent mortality rates are fairly high in protagonist families ma'am. I recommend you make considerations for such an event."
Susan nodded. "This is about the dark lord to the east right? They say he's going to invade here sometime in the next few years."
The doctor looked away. "Soon yes, according to the king's messengers."
"And my little boy is supposed to stop him, right? People are going to expect that of him. The dark lord will be hunting him, and sooner or later one of them has to die."
"Yes ma'am. That's usually how the condition plays out. There's a possibility your child will end up in a distant land and become a beast tamer or magical card player, but the timing suggests the dark lord to the east. He will be our only hope."
Susan Witt scowled. "Not if I kill this dark lord bastard first."
| 2018-08-21T05:55:57 | 2018-08-21T04:34:25 | 536 | 209 |
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