prompt
stringlengths 20
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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int64 14
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[WP] In the upper-left side of your vision you've always had an "objective." {Get the Mail} - {Get ready for work} - {Buy Mom a birthday gift}. It's convenient at best, usually providing direction and reminders. You wake with a start in the middle of the night, and see the objective {Get to safety}.
|
Skin is cold. Eyes are dry. {Wake up}. It is 3am but my body is throbbing with energy. {Sit up}. I can see more words, but they are blurry, so I put on my glasses. Good. Sight restored.
{Get to safety}.
"Oh fuck."
I sift through carefully catalogued memories of the past 24 hours, and make sure to monitor the stimuli that had logged into my body while my mind was absent in sleep.
My consciousness tells me I am safe.
My hard drive tells me I am not alone in the house.
Its not that I trust my hard drive more than my consciousness- I simply know better than to fight it. It is impossible. It is law in my body.
There is a sound from my ceiling. My consciousness tells me it is a rat or a possum or the groan of aged wood. My hard drive tells me to {run}.
I run.
I do not know where I am going. Bile rises in my throat and my head thickens with panic. {Escape}. I realise that my feet are bare and I realise I am still in my nightclothes and then I realise it doesn't matter because I just need to {escape}. My arms are heavy and my legs burn and I want to scream with the pain of it all but fear overpowers weakness. {Escape}.
Footsteps behind me. Footsteps next to me. My consciousness is sick and oozing and it begs me to turn and look, but my hard drive screams into my head and my bones that running is the only way to {escape}.
The footsteps are getting louder, but another noise begins to take hold. Metal grating and screaming and the feeling of nails on chalkboards and the squeal of a pig being gutted alive and of children being crushed beneath buildings. The pain in my ears is almost unbearable. I hear myself screaming along. My consciousness begs me to turn around. It kneels with bloodied hands and claws at my brain stem and begs and begs and begs. My hard drive slaughters it without mercy.
{Escape} I {Escape} run {Escape} and {Escape} run {Escape} and {Escape} run.
My legs {Escape} feel raw {Escape} and my feet {Escape} burn on the {Escape} asphalt and are sticky {Escape} with blood. My hands {Escape} have started {Escape} to peel {Escape} skin off my {Escape} face and rip out {Escape} fleshy chunks of {Escape} hair.
Go, the hard drive tells me, go go go go go and do not stop.
I do not stop.
I do not notice the truck.
I notice the pain. I notice my sternum, and my ribs, and my femur and my ulna. I notice the cruel way they push through my skin, ripping it fully and escaping into the air with a wet pop and crack.
The hard drive is silent. Everything is silent. There is no noise except for the gurgle of blood in my throat, and the sharp clicking of my exposed bones in the heavy wind.
Vision impaired. Beginning to fade.
{Complete}.
----------
"Reports have emerged from across the country of mass suicides supposedly caused by technopsychotic software implants. Witnesses report the victims showed intense paranoia and were certain they were under attack from non-existent forms and suffered from intense auditory and visual hallucinations. All bearers of a technopsychotic implant are to be taken to authorities for isolation or euthanisation."
|
The dog was barking.
I'd always been a little nervous around most dogs. Something to do with how I'd antagonized one as a dumb little kid who didn't know better, and gotten bitten for it. I'd deserved it. But ever since then, I just hadn't loved dogs. That hadn't mattered to Matts, though. He loved dogs. I didn't like them all that much. So we had compromised by getting a dog, of course.
He was the love of my life. The day I met him, I'd just known he was the one for me.
Although... it also didn't hurt that I'd had a message telling me about him.
Let's take a step back. Ever since I was a kid, I've always known what to do. I don't know why, but I'll get a message in what looks like a hybrid of Roboto Mono and Comic Sans. (Don't ask me why Comic Sans. All I know is that it's easy to read, and it looks like the messages I see. It's not like I chose the font.) Each message tells me what to do, often before I even consciously know that it's the thing that's most important to do: {Get the mail.} {Get ready for work.} {Buy Mom her birthday gift.} You know, the sort of thought you have when you're driving or walking from one room to the other and trying to remember what you need to do next. I don't know where it came from, and I don't know why it happens to me. I've never really asked anyone about it, because I don't want to get chucked into the looney bin or get probed by the CIA. It's not that bad, really. Most of the time, it's pretty mundane stuff.
Occasionally, though, it lets me know if something important is about to happen. Like the day that I met Matthias Mason. I had walked into the bar that night and seen my message switch from {Meet Shelby} to {Find your Companion}, which let me tell you was really freaking confusing. My eyes swept across the room, both trying to find my best friend and see if I could find this Companion my brain message was going on about. Shelby was in the far right corner from the entrance, grinning at a tall well-built man with unruly brown hair and kind eyes. I could tell from the few words I could snatch up from the din of the crowd that she was talking about me. (Well, I heard "short" and "short-tempered" and just knew.) Uh oh. I hustled over before she could tell the (very embarrassing) story of the time I got kicked out of the Australian Embassy in D.C. I'd elbowed a couple of people aside in order to get there, but I barely made it as she was hooting, "And then there was the time she subletted an apartment in D.C. with a guy who..."
"Hey Shelby!" I tried to plaster on a friendly smile over the flared nostrils and puckered lips that characterized my "Please stop talking about me" face.
She took a big gulp out of her half-empty Long Island. "Oh! She's here! I was just telling Matt about you. This is the friend I was telling you about." That's when I found my hand gently gripped by a hand the size of a brown bear's paw.
"Pleased to meet you, miss." He looked in my eyes, and I felt my heart skip a beat. He was the most handsome man I'd ever seen in my life. Shelby knew I had a type, and he was such an exact match it was more like all the other attractive men I'd seen in my life were just poorly scanned copies of this prototype. The moment he touched me, I felt like lightning had struck me and the electricity jolted my sleeping heart awake. It was finally beating. I was alive now.
The message changed. {Grab a drink with your friends.}
I guess I'd found him.
But now he wasn't moving. I tried to shake my head free of the heavy fog of memory, the dream I always had of the first night I'd ever met him. The problem, I realized, was that the fog wasn't just in my head - it was on the floor, in the air. I had thought my eyes were cloudy from sleepiness, but instead it was a cataract of smoke. I tried to push him, roll him from side to side. I slapped him once. He moaned a little. That was all.
And the dog was still barking. I finally registered the message that had been there all along: {Get to safety}. Damn. There were only two exits to our bedroom - just the door that barely held back the flood of smoke creeping inside insidiously, and the bedroom window. I prayed to the fire gods to keep the oxygen only in this room, where it couldn't feed the flames in the rest of the apartment complex. Thank goodness we were only on the first floor. I decided to take my chances, pull open the window, and tried to rip through the screen with my fingers. The barking started to slow down, but an icy fear grabbed my heart and twisted. Matts.
In all this time, he hadn't woken up. I slapped Matts again. He was unresponsive. I almost sobbed. This was the man of my dreams, and he wasn't waking up in the middle of the worst nightmare of my life. But that's when I got mad. THIS was the man of my dreams, dammit! I was NOT going to leave him on this bed. I ignored the message (because it didn't say I couldn't also bring the companion of my life to safety with me) and finally tore the screen with the strength of my desperation. I tried to wiggle myself under his shoulder so I could lever him high enough to fall through the broken screen. I could finally feel my strength failing me, the smoke making its way treacherously into my lungs, settling down, weighing me down.
I heard the approaching sirens and felt my hopes rise. We could survive this. Help was on the way! The dog had quieted down, and the message was starting to fade ominously. And that's when I realized that the message, so succinct, so commanding, spoke volumes about what I should do and what I couldn't do. It wasn't just a command. It was a proscription. The tears burst out of my eyes, blinding me along with the smoke. I wriggled out again and pulled myself out of the window, arms like jelly. I crawled away on the grass away from the building, choking on fresher air. There was a small crowd of people outside.
The message didn't change. I felt myself being dragged away by the abuela who lived next door, and croaked uselessly at her. "Matts." She didn't hear me. I looked around and located a firefighter, stumbling bowlegged and ready to collapse from exhaustion and from the pummeling my body had taken, was still taking, from the smoke inhalation. He turned around slowly when I touched him on the shoulder.
"My husband," I gasped to him as he turned around. "Please." I pointed to the window I'd just exited out of.
He took my hand. "It's okay, my guys are already in there. They're getting everybody out as we speak." His voice was soothing, but loud and purposeful. He was in charge. He had control over the situation. It was going to be fine.
And that's when the message finally changed.
{Wait.}
I've been waiting for days now, waiting in the hospital for any good news to come out. The dog had made it out alive but several people needed urgent care. A few of my neighbors died within the next 24 hours. The fire was on the local news channel while I waited in the hospital lobby that first night, hoping and hoping. It was the biggest fire in the past few years in our county.
And still I wait. For the man of my dreams to come home to me. And in the meantime, I just hold his big pale paw.
| 2019-02-20T23:50:14 | 2019-02-20T22:41:30 | 137 | 83 |
[WP]“Dear Sir Knight, after the recent attacks by the dragons who claim they need to see their princess’ heir, we have come to believe you may have misread our request to slay the dragon.” Having read the letter, you take one surprised look at your wife and her half-dragon child. “Whoops”
|
*From the desk of Notary Lancelot:*
*Dear Sir Knight,*
*After the recent attacks by the dragons who claim they need to see their princess's heir, we have come to believe you may have misread our request to slay the dragon. To put it simply, an investigation showed that the dragon remains alive, though the location of said dragon is not definitive. The dragons with which we have had contact have spoken of a certain knight who* *~~had se~~* *made a family with the dragon against which you were contracted. Please contact us at once regarding this matter. The violent dragons are becoming difficult to deal with and we would like to resolve this conflict as soon as possible.*
*Lancelot*
\*\*\*
*Dear Notary Lancelot,*
*I feel like such an idiot.*
*I may have slightly misread your letter earlier that ordered me to* slay *the dragon. Actually, "misinterpreted" would be a better word. Elvera, Queen of Serpents, and I have created a . . . peaceweaver, of sorts. We believed at the time that an offspring could connect our two peoples, dragons and humans, and create a new era of peace. I thought that might have been your intention as well, sir. Elvera is also a fantastic cook and the hearth is never cold. Not that I* *~~am in love~~* *like the dragon in any way except for a professional admiration for her devotion to her species, a devotion which mirrors my love for humanity.*
*Sincerely,*
*Sir Knight*
*P.S. Since you have been such a great friend, we thought we should invite you to our wedding on November 26th. You should have received an eInvite at your old email, since I don't have your new one.*
|
(Not exactly what the prompt says but I hope you like it. Any help with spelling mistakes would be appreciated.)
>945 AD
A couple, one man and one woman, lay on a pile of hay in a cave. Things seemed akward but they both lay there smiling, holding hands.
>952 AD
A man, a knight, traveled slowly through the rain, the water pinging off his helmet constantly. He squinted to read a letter he'd been given.
*“Dear Sir Knight, after the recent attacks by the dragons who claim they need to see their princess’ heir, we have come to believe you may have misread our request to slay the dragon.”*
He looked up the hill before him to a familiar looking cave entrance. *The Dragon's Maw*,a more fitting name than originally thought, stalagtights and stalagmites lined the entrance and looked like teeth. Now ot was the home of a 'deadly, fearsome, destructive beast' or as the knight knew a wise, friendly person. Well, dragon.
He approached the cave entrance, he knew that he was known to be here, no one can sneak up on a dragon when they're wearing clanky metal armour. Not that he'd want to, he was happy to be back, more happy than he'd expected when he set off a week ago. He was less that 100 feet from the cave entrance and double checked his things. He didn't need to, he kew what he had, he just wanted to be 100% sure.
The knight had brought his horse a short way into the cave, after a struggle moving the animal around all the ominous looking rocks, it would be safe here. The knight took what he needed to from his packs on the horse's back.
"Tit'lie." The man shouted.
"Who'ss there!" The response came quickly.
"It's me. Sir. Curusu. Do you remember me?"
"The man from that night? The one who chosse to lay with me?" The voice was calm but strong and loud.
"That's the one. I'm sorry I left. If I'd known that we... well... I wouldn't have left. I'm sorry." He told the truth.
"Sso you got my father's message?"
"The king did. He sent a messenger to tell me. There's something I should tell you." The man rounded another bend in the cave and once again came face to scaly face with a huge beast. 40 meters long from nose to rail tip.
"What iss thiss newss?"
"I made a mistake last time I was here. Or perhaps I should say, I made a mistake and didn't make the one I was ordered to."
"Exxplain." The huge beast was suddenly encased in a pale glow before appearing in a form well known to the knight. Very small, smooth, pale blue scales covering all her body. Downy, brown feathers a few inches long on her head like short hair. Webbed fingers like her wings. Shimmering silver eyes.
He fell in love all over again. Why did he ever leave?
"When I was here last I was under orders to kill you. I'm glad I didn't." He suddenly came over all shy.
"It matterss not why you came the firsst time. Sso long ass you're here for the right reasson now." The dragon, now woman turned and walked further into the cave. "Follow."
The knight was fast to catch up with her, his eyes couldn't help but look at her as he cough up. String muscles under her scales and an attractive shape to her body. From a distance anyone would think her a normal human woman.
"I brought you something. A gift. An apology." He opened a satchel he carried and pulled out his gift. A decorative candelabra, solid gold with sapphires set in ivory. She took it from him with a smile.
"You didn't need to, but thiss will be a lovely additsion to my collectsion, I know just where to put it." She leaned over and kissed the knight. "In here." She moved into a small crack in the wall of the cave. The knight tried to follow. His armour scrapped and grinded on the stone walls and he had to remove the metal plates he wore over his padded gambeson.
Through the thin crack there was a small room only a meter wide and tall. The room was filled with dry grass, rags and a few small gold coins. The woman carefully moved into the tiny room crouching down and slowly moved a warm looking 'blanket' revealing a small baby dragon. About a foot long, royal blue scales, no wings yet, an egg tooth on the end of its nose.
The man looked in from the crack in the wall, no room for him in the tiny room. He looked down at the dragon. His baby. He couldn't believe his eyes.
"It's mine? Mine and yours, Tit'lie?" He didn't expect to feel so afraid of fatherhood.
"Yess, sshe'ss ourss. My farther iss happy but wantss you to be here to help bring her up. He hass a plan for peacse." She looked to her child's farther smiling "...and it's pronouncsed Ti'tlie. Don't let farther hear you messss it up."
"Whoops."
"It'll be a alright, you'll learn how to ssay it. You'll be a good farther too." She jestured for him to move back.
"How do you know?" He aqwardly moved out of the crack.
"Becausse I'm here to help and I'm ssure that farther will give you a little advice." She picked the candelabra off the floor and walked back the way they'd came from holding the hand of her 'husband'.
After putting her newest treasure in pride of place atop a decorative silk sheet covering an overturned wooden chest. It stood out above the dragons treasure pile. She loved it.
"We sshould get to know each other. Again." She blasted fire onto the stone floor before sitting down. "Come and ssit." She patted next to her and the knight took his place next to her, his metal plate armour was left further in the cave.
He needed something to eat and a good long sleep in the dry. For now though there was much to discuss, he'd been thinking none stop ever since he had been delivered the letter, his life as a knight was likely over and he was perfectly fine with that. He had a whole new set of challenges set before him.
| 2019-09-01T11:47:17 | 2019-09-01T10:56:46 | 101 | 30 |
[WP] English really is a universal language, and aliens are as surprised about this as humans
|
> ℏ=1.05•10⁻³⁴ kg•m²•s⁻¹
> c=2.998•10⁸ m•s⁻¹
“This is pointless,” Arthur spat. “There’s no reason to believe that the Venusians would understand this.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Mark sighed. “If we start with the fundamentals, we can work to common ground.”
> μ₀=1.26•10⁻⁶ kg•m•s⁻²•A⁻²
> ε₀=8.85•10⁻¹² s⁴•A²•kg⁻¹•m⁻³
“Why do you assume their base units are the same?” Arthur was about ready to throw the computer across the room. “Our definition of the meter, the kilogram, all of it — arbitrary! We started with a meter that fit well with measuring between cities, and to be more scientific we came up with a definition of that same length that fits with fundamentals. Maybe they use natural units.”
“Maybe something unitless then?” Mark continued typing into the IRC.
> π=3.14159
> e=2.71828
> α=7.29927•10⁻³
> N=6.02214•10²³
> β=1836
“Maybe? I mean, even base 10 is arbitrary based on our having ten phalanges. Maybe your theoretical alien civilization has only four fingers in each hand. Maybe they have seven.”
Mark sighed in frustration. “Forget this.” Mostly as a joke, he typed:
> Do you read English?
“Should we call it a day?” Arthur asked.
> How do you speak English?
Mark paused. “No, I think we’ll be here for a while.”
|
After exiting warp over the blue planet, Farcon and Tuminor each donned a visual alternator on one wrist and a teleportation device on the other. They drew a collective deep breath as they activated their programmed projections.
"You look just like Brandon," said Farcon. "How do I look?"
"Like a queen," said Tuminor with a smile. "Are you ready?"
Farcon and Tuminor were outpost engineers assigned to Herthral, the largest moon of their home planet, Trevaria. After they intercepted a signal from an unknown race, they discovered that they were not alone in the universe. Not only were their other beings in existence, but they were *powerful,* and they somehow spoke the *exact same* language. Stumbling over each other in excitement, Farcon and Tuminor pressed into the high courts of their leaders with the discovery. They were immediately sent to seek aid.
"Let's go," said Farcon. After Tuminor nodded, they turned the dial on their teleporters.
As Tuminor materialized on the surface, he could not help but feel confused. In some ways, things looked as they did in the transmission. In others, they were completely different. He led the way as they walked along the side of the road.
"Birmingham city limits," Farcon read from a sign as they approached. "Perhaps we will find what we seek here."
"We should locate a pub," suggested Tuminor. "Pubs are always good sources of inf--"
A semi breezed past them, honking loudly and causing each to fall to the ground in fear. As Farcon rose to her feet, a large pickup truck pulled up beside them.
"Ey," said a man from the cabin, "you awright?"
"Yes," replied Farcon. "We are fine, thank you."
The man eyed Farcon's cascading blue gown suspiciously. "Yer awfully dressed up to be on the side of the road." As Tuminor composed himself, the man rose his eyebrow at the large wolf pelt draped over his shoulders. "Isn't it a bit warm for that?"
"Pardon me?" Tuminor asked.
"Yer quite strange," the man asserted with a smile. "Need a lift into town?"
"A... lift?" Farcon wondered aloud.
"Erm, yeah. A ride. I can take you to town."
"That would be wonderful, thank you," said Tuminor, darting an eager glance at his companion.
"Hop in the back," said the man, gesturing to the truck bed. The two hitchhikers did as suggested, and he pulled back onto the road.
"Where are y' from, anyway?" asked the man.
"We are from the planet Trevaria," explained Farcon. "Our people are in danger. We come here in need of aid."
"...right," exhaled the man. "Well, I can get ya into town, and maybe someone there can help ya."
Tuminor beamed at Farcon. Leaning his head in through the rear cabin window, he took a leap. "We seek Arya Stark. Do you know where we might find her?"
The man reared his head back in laughter. "You and me both, brother," he said, wiping a tear from his eyes. "She's some pistol, isn't she?"
Tuminor could hardly contain his excitement. "Please take us to the pub," he requested.
"Sure thing, friend," said the man with a smile.
The two extraterrestrials sat back in the bed and enjoyed the feeling of the crisp air rushing past. As they drew into the city proper, they lost themselves in the large structures that surrounded their path. Mesmerized, neither noticed when the truck came to a stop.
"Thank you, man," said Farcon with a kind wave.
"That's Southern hospitality for ya," declared the man. "Good luck findin' yer little warrior!"
Feeling encouraged by their first form of contact with an alien species, Tuminor walked with a swagger as they approached the front door of the pub. "Jenkins' Bar," he read aloud before pressing his hand on the door. With Farcon in tow, he briskly moved past the empty tables en route to the bar.
"Afternoon!" said the barkeep. "What'll ya have?"
"We seek Arya Stark," Tuminor repeated.
"'scuse me?"
Farcon stepped forward to offer clarification. "We have traveled light years from our home planet of Trevaria. Our leaders are in danger from the growing threat of the Opposition. We have come to ask Arya to aid us in defeating our enemies."
"...are ya'll some a them cosplayers?"
"Cosplayers?" Tuminor wondered aloud, the words feeling strange in his mouth.
"Cosplayers are people who dress up as characters from stories," came the voice of a woman behind them. Tuminor and Farcon turned to find its source.
Swinging her hips as she walked, the small-statured, dark-haired woman approached them. "Trevaria, huh? How is it you look just like us?"
"Simple visual alteration," Farcon answered, holding up her wrist to show the device.
"I see," she said. She rolled her sleeves up, revealing scars all over her arms.
Tuminor's eyes widened as he analyzed this new person. She was the right height, the right stature. Even her voice was a similar pitch. She was considerably older than Arya, but that made sense given how much time had clearly passed since the Battle for Winterfell.
"Can you help us?" Farcon asked.
"Sure, I can help you," she said, running her hand along the barrel of the handgun holstered at her side. "The name's Alma."
"Alma," said Tuminor, somewhat deflated. "Are you a descendant of Arya?"
"I had a grandmother with that name," Alma offered. "But does it matter? I've been itching to do some traveling lately."
Farcon beamed. "We have no time to lose!" She rushed to Alma's side, put a hand on her shoulder, and activated her teleporter. Tuminor followed suit.
As they disappeared from his view, the barkeep dropped the glass he was cleaning. His mouth agape, he walked to the door and flipped the sign to "Closed."
"Damn kids and their gadgets," he said.
\-----
Thank you for reading! As always, feedback is appreciated.
Check out more on my sub! r/storiesbyclayton
| 2020-09-17T08:27:58 | 2020-09-17T08:03:24 | 2,499 | 50 |
[WP] You've been meowing at your idiot owner all freaking day, and he's just not listening, at all. It's become a test of endurance: Your patience, his willingness to ignore you, the ninja assassin's grip on the ceiling.
|
"MRAOU!"
"No, it's not time for dinner yet."
I know it's not time for dinner yet, that's not what I'm yelling about. Stupid humans, you never look UP! He's right there, and he could strike at any moment! I'm trying to help you, why won't you listen!?
"MRAOOU!"
"I know you're hungry, but you're always hungry."
I'M NOT HUNGRY!
OK, I am hungry, but that's not the point. The assassin is right there. You're in mortal danger! Maybe if I get closer to him you'll understand.
"No, off the counter! Get!"
See, he's RIGHT THER... Dangit. Look, I'm sorry about those cups, but if they break after one or two falls off the counter they're not really quality ceramic, are they? No reason to push me off. Some people just hold too much of a grudge.
What was I talking about again?
Oh, right!
"MAOU! MRAOU! MRAOU!"
"Really, you know you're not supposed to be on the counter. What's gotten into you? What are you looking at anyway?"
FINALLY! You see him, you're safe!
"Oh, do you wanna get the spider? Were you asking for a boost? C'mon, up you go!"
AHA! No assassin is going to get the best of me.
Mmmmm, crunchy assassin.
|
"Mwrraw."
If pressed, and able (or willing) to speak human, Fluffles would -- reluctantly -- concede that the present situation was not entirely her human's fault. He was, after all, just human. He was useful in some key respects -- freeing the dead fish from the metal boxes for her to eat, that was a particularly helpful one -- but he lacked mental agility and nuance to properly intuit cat communication. He just didn't get the difference between a "feed me" purr or a "pay attention to me" purr, couldn't distinguish the subtleties between "pamper me" and "spoil me", and just didn't get the complexities between "let me out now" and "let me out in about five, maybe seven minutes, you know, when I'm really good and ready, but definitely not now".
So honestly, Fluffles shouldn't have been totally surprised that he completely failed to understand "Hey, just so you know, I think there's a ninja on the ceiling above the couch, you should maybe probably think about doing something about that." It was probably too complicated for his brain to process.
"Mwrraw."
"Shut up, Fluffles," her human said in his unsophisticated monkey gibberish, "you've already been fed today."
The ninja didn't move. The ninja hadn't moved for as long as Fluffles had been paying attention, which could have been anywhere from five whole minutes to five whole hours. Fluffles was kind of impressed. She wouldn't admit it ever, though. She had a reputation to think of.
Fluffles' human just sat and kept watching the noisy window in the corner. It was making a particularly annoying noise this evening. There were other humans inside it, running around and shouting about something called a "terminator", but the word "Fluffles" hadn't come up so she'd decided it wasn't worth paying attention to. Every so often, the little black window next to her human made that annoying jingling sound (that reminded her, she really should knock it off the next high place her human put it down on; they made such satisfying tinkling sounds when they smashed on the floor) and he'd pick it up and speak into it for some reason, saying things like "shipments" and "Yakuza" and "take care of", but again "Fluffles" hadn't been mentioned so it presumably wasn't important.
The ninja seemed like he could be important, though.
"Mwrraw."
"Fluffles, shut up. I'm watching this."
For possibly the first time ever, Fluffles almost wished she was Dog. That was almost heresy, but still. If there was one thing Dogs did well -- and there wasn't, but go with the hypothetical here -- it was make a lot of noise. Annoying noise, the kind of noise that made you pay attention to something. Against a Dog noise, Fluffles' purrs were perhaps a bit... subtle. And while there were many occasions that called for subtlety and nuance -- making the distinction between wanting to be pampered versus wanting to be spoiled, for example -- warning your human about a ninja on the ceiling above him was probably not one of them.
Frankly, Fluffles was beginning to get a bit bored with the whole situation. The ninja, though she couldn't really tell behind his face covering, seemed to be getting a bit frustrated as well. His eyes were narrowed, and his hand were twitching around the claw-things he was using to hang on to the ceiling. In fact, the only one who seemed content at the moment was her human, which was a bit ironic as he was the one who should arguably have been the most upset at things. Instead, he just kept watching the noisy window. A metal human was stomping towards a lady human through a fire. Fluffles vaguely wondered how much tuna was in the metal human. It looked like it could have been a lot.
Not the time, Fluffles. Focus. First ninja, then tuna.
"Mwrraw."
"Do you wanna go out, Fluffles? Because I swear to God, you keep this up, you're going out."
"*Mwrraw*."
He really was incredibly dense. Whatever. She'd try once more and then find something else to do. It wasn't her problem anyway. So a ninja wanted to hang around on the ceiling. In fact, it looked like he might be moving on anyway; he'd let one of his claw things go and was slowly, patiently inching it inside his black costume. But still, her human *was* good at getting fish out of metal, so she owed it to him to try one last time...
"Mwrraw."
"That's it!" her human snapped. "I've had it with this shit. One more noise out of you and you're going out."
Oh, sod this for a game of chase-the-light. Fluffles was fed up. He could deal with the ninja himself, then, if that was how he was going to be. And he could forget about getting the next mouse she killed as well, after how dense he was being; that one was all hers.
And so she leapt off the couch onto the coffee table...
...and clattered uncaringly past her human's drink, spilling some of it (it was that nasty brown off-water he kept drinking, not as nice as milk)...
... And her human shouted angrily -- "Sonofa*bitch*!" -- and leaned forward to clean up the mess...
... And a razor-sharp shuriken sliced through the air inches behind him, right where his head had been moments before, and thudded noisily into the leather of the couch.
Fluffles' human stared stupidly at the shuriken with big wide eyes for a moment, before instinctively looking up right where it had come from. Right into the equally big, equally wide, equally stupid eyes of the ninja.
"What the *fuck*?!"
With a yell, the ninja let go of his grips and tumbled down, right on top of Fluffles' human. A hell of a fight broke out, the kind that would have made an amazing set-piece in an action film. Fluffles ignored it completely, and trotted irritably around the corner. Maybe there was a Dog nearby she could annoy.
| 2021-09-01T08:46:26 | 2021-09-01T07:12:46 | 1,661 | 310 |
[WP] You've been meowing at your idiot owner all freaking day, and he's just not listening, at all. It's become a test of endurance: Your patience, his willingness to ignore you, the ninja assassin's grip on the ceiling.
|
"Here here, kitty. Still hungry? You've been asking all day."
"No you dumb disappointing clusterfuck of a lovely and adorable human being," you say loudly while looking at the daft moron in the eyes.
You're not hungry, you're not cold, you're not sick, you're not starved for affection, you haven't witnessed the end of the world. Nothing so trifling. What you've seen is the assassin, dressed in black and weapons gleaming white in the shadows of the high ceiling. It creeps where your master walks, watches when he eats, and waits patiently for him to come back from work.
So far, the only one standing between the killer and the human, is you.
The cat. White as a snowstorm, so smart you could write literature about the marvels of your ever-improving brain, strong enough to ward off the would be assassin. But not strong enough to climb on the walls and hang from the ceiling. You tried, but good food and stupid birds making it too easy for you to kill them have done a number on your body. From godlike, with muscles of steel and the instinct of a tiger, you became homely, cozy, a picture of warmth and loveliness. Another form of godlike, in short.
The game goes on and on. When at home, you shadow the human, that bumbling, beautiful, retarded and enjoyable to watch baby. When gone, you gaze into the abyss of the ceiling. And the abyss watches back. The abyss doesn't even have the common courtesy to wave and say hello like you do. It doesn't attempt psychological warfare, it knows the never-ending darkness is no match for the shiny charisma you possess. So shiny, like your fur. Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster. You won't, you can't go so low as the uneducated barbarian hanging from the ceiling, you will never become the abyss, you're so good the abyss wants to become you.
Ergo, Nietzsche was wrong. Fucking idiot.
A slamming door drags you out of the daydream. Treachery! Sleep has crawled around you and pounced when you least expected it. The assassin has moved, no doubt ready to unleash its master-plan and murder the human you call master yet have to help and support through the day.
Run, fly, flash! You're almost there! at the end of the corridor you see the human, and the black shape on the ceiling.
No!
NO!
It drops. The murderer, the creature of the abyss, the hell made flesh and bone. It falls upon your master, an omen of the end. Seconds stretch wide as the short distance between the ceiling and the human's head is traveled by the foe, the wrath, the enemy.
"Ouch! What the hell?"
Your master picks up the black cat that just fell on him. It's black. Which fits a black cat. It has fangs, ears and a tail, which also fits. All in all, it is a cat. Indubitably so. To a human.
To you, it's the rival you never wanted, always feared, and now it's here. Too late. It has locked eyes with the human, a spark of affection flares in his eyes, a fleeting moment of bliss emerges as his nerves transmit how fluffy and puffy the fur is.
*NOOOOOOO* you scream into nothingness as you realize the extend of your defeat, the horrendous treachery of your own laziness, the devil that has entered home.
The master wants to let it out, he has enough with one cat, and yet... The color, the eyes, the perfect contrast to you. He has fallen in love, he is lost forever. He grabs a bowl and some milk in the kitchen and sets it on the ground between the two of you.
"Be nice to one another, okay?"
Black and white gaze at one another with the neutrality and patience of a sphinx.
The moment the human looks away, you bare your fangs, and the newcomer cracks his neck.
This house isn't big enough for two cats.
|
# A Darker Sort of Kitten
The Emperor’s cat, if such a creature could be called that, stared up into the murky black with luminescent, moon-drenched eyes. Outside the walls of Carythusal, the great keep that housed the world as the saying went, the moon was a full, pregnant thing, and so too were the cat’s silver eyes. Tonight, they could pierce any darkness, and as they looked up into the tall, vaulted ceiling of the imperial bedchambers, that fact chilled Dinae’s blood.
“Send the beast away, my lord,” Dinae whispered, pressing her cheek into the hard planes of the Emperor’s chest. He chuckled, deep and sonorous, the reverberation tingling through her face. He was a large man, and a powerful one. The most dangerous person Dinae had ever met.
The Emperor swatted playfully at her hip. His hand lingered, moving lower. Every inch burned, every molecule of his skin that touched hers. Dinae hated being here, in the bedroom of the Emperor Ikurei, with all the passion she could bring to bear.
“Don’t malign dear Minnaloushe, sweetling,” he said, “you know my love of exotic things.”
“Of course, my lord,” Dinae whispered.
She kissed his chest. It was a presumption, to kiss him without a command, but that was why he called upon her.
Night after night Dinae had been washed and oiled, dressed and perfumed, by this man’s command. Night after night, silks rustling with every step, body rendered unwillingly supple by the eunuchs' ministrations, she had walked here and abased herself before the feet of the man who had enslaved her people, the poor, lost nation of Shigek.
Night after night, without awaiting the command, she made her way up from those sandaled feet, to the promise of continued life that lingered elsewhere in his body, lingered but would not stay, would never stay. Such things were the currency of the harem girls of Emperor Ikurei. Such things were now the currency of her life.
The cat still stared into the dark. He mewled softly, stretching out his long, hardly catlike body.
Minnaloushe had the head of cat, the four limbs and tail, but fur was an ever-changing thing for him, and at times the cat seemed to deem it not even worth the effort. Tonight was one such. When Dinae had arrived he had been orange, the color of the fire in the braziers nearest the Emperor’s bed. Then he’d been black, with silver, piercing eyes, as Dinae had turned to her work. She’d felt his eyes on her arched back, felt his judgment in the moments when her own burned brightest too.
Now he was scaled, all save the head, and the scales rippled with the promise of still later change. His small, lithe pair of wings stretched out, creaking with disuse, and the emperor reached to massage their joints as he knew the cat loved. It mewled louder, staring at him with intense certainty.
It had seen the man clinging desperately to the ceiling.
Dinae hadn’t, of course. Her eyes were mortal, as was her body. She only knew of the plan by what her contact had told her, one of the eunuchs in the harem, this one bound to the service of another, less favored girl. In his youth, he’d said, he had been a prince of Shigek. In his majority, he’d said, he’d see the conqueror’s demise. There were others like them, he’d said. Others well placed, willing to sacrifice themselves for the memory of their lost nation. If she could distract him. If she could provide the opening.
The Emperor could see the man if he chose. It would be child’s play for him, the whisper of a single spell and the rising tide of his world-breaking song that would sweep them all away, till only Minnaloushe lay in his bed, next to the thin line of ash that would once have been called Dinae.
Minnaloushe rose, licking his emperor’s hand, eyes darting back and forth between them.
“What is it, hmmm?” Emperor Ikurei said.
“Perhaps he’s seen a sparrow,” Dinae whispered. She’d crept her way up from the Emperor’s chest to his ear, spoke directly into it. She felt him shiver with the warmth of her breath.
“Perhaps,” he said, stifling a yawn. They got in through the Gods’ door from time to time.
“Sparrows. I’ve never ever understood the love your people have of them,” Dinae said.
“They are fine birds,” said the Emperor.
“But in such a simple way!” Dinae bit her lip, stifling her disgust and fear. She took the Emperor’s head in her hands, turning it towards her, letting the dark torrent of her hair fall across his chest.
“Do you not, my lord, prefer Ravens?” she said, using his small pet name for her.
He laughed again. Outside, the guards would wonder at the emperor’s mirth. He was not a man given to laughter, even here in his private chambers. It was one of the reasons he called her, coupled as it was with youth and with dangerous, shocking presumption.
She presumed to kiss him now. To thread her hands through his hair, to feel his arms wrap her, searching in the flickering firelight, his simple touch leaving bruises in her pale skin.
Minnaloushe mewled, forgotten, and when the Emperor rolled, his back to the vaulted black above, Dinae saw the cat’s silver moon eyes staring at her.
*Let him stare,* Dinae thought, *let them both stare, and let the man in the rafters too for all I care.*
*But let us act, all of us, for the last time.*
The emperor moved, bending towards her, and the assassin fell from the sky.
After, body covered in the quick spray of dark arterial blood, Dinae thought she could remember the entire thing. She thought she could see the emperor above her, whole body screaming with his presence, feel the cat's scale changing to fur against her thigh, feel the cloying, choking warmth of the scented braziers surrounding them, the presence of the thousand thousand men of the imperial guard spread through the palace.
She could see it all, in the moment when the glint of the falling assassin’s blade finally passed in to the circle of firelight surrounding the bed. And it was all washed away in the mad moment when the blade passed through him, punching out in the space between ribs, bits of royal heart flecked along the blade. Its tip only inches from her face.
Dinae sat up on the bed, silks ruined, what little he’d left her to wear. The guards poured in, the assassin made his feeble attempt at battle, died a moment later by her feet. As he eyes went dull, he looked at her, abased there beneath her like she had been, night after night by the feet of the Emperor Ikurei.
The emperor lay beside her, bleeding out. His lifeblood pooled beneath her, shockingly warm.
But it did not burn.
*Why doesn’t it burn?* Dinae wondered. *His touch burned. He scalded me every night, so why doesn’t this burn? He’s all over me, now.*
Dinae brushed blood soaked hair back from her eyes. The guards stood all around, mouths gaping open, unsure what to do. She tied her raven black hair up, wiped her eyes clean of the makeup forced upon her, luxuriated in the perfume washed away by the absolution of blood.
Then she stood, still not burning, and turned to face the cat.
Minnaloushe sat curled on his emperor’s chest, assessing him as if he were a piece of meat. There was no loyalty there, Dinae saw now. Only hunger, only an animal’s base lusts.
She stroked the cat’s head once. She knew that look well, could not begrudge this creature for it.
Then she turned, a traitor’s smile on her face, and accepted her fate with open arms.
*Shigek,* she thought, *I avenge you.*
*I avenge us all.*
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that, I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-09-01T07:55:32 | 2021-09-01T06:43:02 | 93 | 64 |
[WP] A vampire finds they've bitten off more than they can chew with an immortal masochist.
|
She had a problem. This wasn't the kind of problem you had when your getting 80 years max, some of your problems could be life long and they wouldn't bother her that much. No Cassandra's problem was much more... Permanent. See Cassandra was a vampire, a parasitic species that had evolved along side it's prey to almost perfectly mimic their appearance with exception of certain necessary adaptations. Despite many peoples beliefs they are in no way inherently magical, just physically superior to their prey. The thing calling itself Shia however, might just be magical.
Cassandra had encountered Shia in the warm tavern of an otherwise innocuous little town miles from any other semblance of civilisation. She was petite and exotic looking but seemingly quite drunk, the perfect prey. Cassandra snagged her as they exited the tavern together after exchanging small talk and whisked her back to the shuttered room she had taken from the first couple she had met in town who would no longer be needing it. The girl initially seemed shocked but the usual fear response was not present, it seemed she was so drunk that even being abducted could not break her torpor.
However as Cassandra began to feed instead of becoming weaker and weaker Shia began to sober up and even seemed to enjoy it? That could not be possible but as Cassandra got to the end of her feeding she found that this little waifs blood just kept on flowing. She drained and drained and drained until the now moaning girl should have been a husk and Cassandra found herself more full than she had ever been in her long life.
Thus began the biggest annoyance had ever encountered. The girl was seemingly immortal, no amount of blood could be drained or damage done that would no regenerate almost immediately. On top of that Shia loved pain in all it's forms but nothing seemed to bring her alive like being fed on. Initially Cassandra thought all her problems were solved, an infinite blood bag that willingly let itself be drained, no more hunting or hiding or travelling about. However after a few months problems started to present themselves. Shia was pushy in a way only one with no fear of death could be to a vampire. She would insist on being clawed, mutilated but most of all fed upon. What had started as a glut of blood and sadism had turned into a lethargic slog for Cassandra.
First of all she had grown fatter than any vampire she had come across, the thrill of the hunt that she now so dearly missed spurned her to start catching other prey again, however her added bulk made it much harder to successfully evade pursuit or capture. To make matters worse if she did not satisfy Shia enough the girl would simply go to the local authorities and report Cassandra forcing her to flee the town or be killed. Cassandra couldn't seem to ditch the girl either now. No amount of distance covered, injury inflicted, or containment used seemed to keep the immortal pest off her back for more than a few days. Indeed her persistence was beginning to make Cassandra feel truly powerless for the first time in her long life. A lesson she, supposed that sometimes predator and prey are not always as they seem.
|
I apologize for the length, I really got into this story.
In the 400 years, Alister has wondered this Earth, never has he hated someone more than he hates Makenzie Morris. She too was immortal, having achieved undeath through dark magic, and had been stalking Alister ever since he first bit her back in 1774.
"Come one, Al. Just bite me one more time!" she smirked. Alister let out a low growl and leered at her with fiery yellow eyes. He has tried to kill her many times. But because of her immortality, she can't stay dead. Her body just rejuvenates back to the way it was before Alister tried to kill her. And he's tried everything, from draining her entirely of blood to throwing her off the Grand Canyon, and even buried her alive. But she still kept finding him and wanting him to hurt her more. And today, he finally snapped.
"Why do you keep following me? Don't you have someone else to bother?" Alister growled. Makenzie laughed and moved closer to him, placing her warm hand upon his cold shoulder. He quickly recoiled and moved further away from her.
"You're the only person that can keep giving me what I want! Everyone I know dies, or doesn't want to hurt me! But you! You, sir, are pure evil! Heartless, ruthless, and sadistic. Just my type," the way she looked at him sent a shiver down the vampire's undead spine. Never has he been so disgusted and creeped out by a human before.
"Are you enjoying the pain I inflict upon you?" Alister finally asked. He had his suspicions, but never wanted to ask (Hell, he never wanted to talk to her). She nodded, moving sensually closer to him.
"Let's just say, pain turns me on," she said, biting her lower lip. She shoved herself against his snow-white body, pressing him against the wall. She ran her hand down his long, iron-grey hair, twirling it around with her finger.
"Bite me, daddy. Make me your sex slave for all eternity," she whispered into his pointed ears.
'Fine,' he thought, 'If you want pain, then that is what you'll receive,'
Alister grabbed her shoulders and threw her across the room, sending her against the wall. She slammed into it and let out a cheerful, yet agonized laugh.
"More! Give me mo-" she was cut off but Alister's hand grabbed her face and slammed her head against the wall. He did this until there was a dent in the wood paneling. With great force, Alister forced her body through the wall, creating a massive hole that lead into the other room. Makenzie laid on the ground for a moment, catching her breath and clutching the back of her skull. Before she could open her mouth, Alister lifted his right foot and stomped it onto Makenzie's chest, causing her to fall through the floor and land in the apartment beneath them. Now, the pain was starting to kick in for Makenzie.
"Okay, could you give me a moment? I need to catch my breath," she asked, blood streaming down her face. Her eyes gazed up at the newly made hole in the ceiling and saw the vampire glaring back down at her, yellow eyes burning with cold rage.
"You should have left me alone 200 years ago," Alister growled.
"Technically, it's been 247 years since we first met. I think it was Boston, Massachusetts. I think it was before the Revolutionary-" she was interrupted again by Alister, who landed by her feet, grabbed her right ankle, and proceeded to throw her into a door, causing it to break off its hinges slide across the room with Makenzie ridding onto of it. Before she could get up, Alister was already in the room, slamming an old kitchen sink into the back of Makenzie's head. She started to cough blood and made the 'time-out' symbol with her hands.
"Okay, Al. I might be an immortal masochist, but you need to give me some time to breathe and get adjusted,"
"Your days on this Earth are over, Morris. I have had enough of you following me around demanding I hurt you, just to satisfy your sick sexual pleasure," Alister barked, his voice making the room shake. Makenzie looked up at him, wiping the blood out of her eyes. Her magic started to kick in, and the pain began to slowly fade. Soon the cuts and bruises Alister inflicted upon her would disappear, as if they had never happened.
"Well I'm sorry you feel that way, but I like hanging out with you. Ever since I became immortal, I became lonely. All my friends died of old age or drug overdose, same with my family. I can't make new friends, cause eventually they too will die and I'll be alone again. You're the only person I've met who's immortal, and I just want to be your friend," she said. She slowly stood up, now back to her youthful, attractive self, and started making her way closer to the vampire. She started moving her hands along his chest, feeling his abs and muscles. She started thinking of all the ways he could abuse her, all the ways he could give her what she's always wanted. Pain, and endless pleasure.
"I'm sorry you feel lonely, Makenzie," Alister said. He moved in close to her ear, hands slowly wrapping around her waist and lower back. Makenzie couldn't help but get turned on by this. She's never dreamed of being this close to Alister.
"But I don't really give a fuck," he growled. Suddenly, he pushed his arms forward, breaking her back and leaving her paralyzed from the waist down. Makenzie screamed, and Alister grabbed the back of her head and threw her once more to the ground, causing her to fall through the floor and into the basement of the house. Makenzie looked around the darkroom, she could barely see anything. Except for the flame burning within the large furnace at the end of the basement.
“W-wait, wait don't. Alister please, please don't!" Makenzie begged.
"I thought you liked pain," the vampire grabbed her ankle and started pulling her closer to the burning furnace. The immortal masochist started clawing at the concert floor, nails screeching and leaving markings.
"Alister, please stop! I promise I will leave you alone!"
"Oh, I know you will!" he threw open the furnace door, giving Makenzie one last smirk. "If you do manage to get out of here, never come and find me. I may not know how to kill you now, but you can be damned sure I will find a way, even if I have to drag your soul to Hell myself," and with that, the vampire threw the immortal girl into the raging furnace, slamming the door shut and moving out of the room, ignoring Makenzie's cries of pain. As she burned, Alister existed out of the house raised his arms, and used his dark magic to cause the ground beneath the house to dissolve, creating a sink hole that swallowed the two-story building. As it sunk into the ground, Alister Korlen sighed in relief. Makenzie was gone, burning alive till God knows when, and buried beneath thousands upon thousands of pounds of rubble. With a satisfied grin on his face, Alister turned and made his way into the next town, starving from all that action and magic.
| 2021-12-04T15:02:16 | 2021-12-04T14:27:23 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] The longer you charge an attack, the more powerful it becomes. SWAT charges a punch for 30 seconds to break down a door. You’ve been charging for the last three days.
|
"Day Three." I thought to myself. I had made it. I have held the charge for three days. Quite the feat ya know? Not trying to brag, but when it's illegal to hold a punch for more than 10 seconds, and when SWAT has a 30 second limit, (for doors and entryways), holding a punch for 3 days was simply... A feat! Now, not to brag even more, but I've been stalking my target all the while. Todd... Todd. TODD! The lying fuck! I knew it was you. I don't get it. You're married. You're fucking married, but no. You just take and take because enough is never enough. Right Todd? I've been watching you for days. I have my proof. And now. It's done. My fist is ready! You're about to face vengeance...
3...
2...
1...
The door to the break room opens and in steps an unassuming Todd.
"Stop stealing my lunch you lying bastard!"
KATHOOM!
|
I didn't mean to, I was just mad. As most people know, if you charge too much you can't just cancel it. There is no discharge. Most professional fighters charge anywhere from 3-5 seconds for a knockout and typically don't charge at all in the higher purse fights. The average person isn't even able to channel their energy because of the risks involved.
A few years back I had a Stalker, not a stalker, but an actual Stalker. The very same creature that we learned how to charge from. Because of the inherent danger associate with a feral stalker there is zero expectation that someone could hire anyone to protect them. Instead, they get a trainer for a two week course to learn how to charge their own attacks and are wished the best of luck in their eventual encounter.
My Stalker was killed in a rare attack by another Stalker that happened to be in the area. Typically these things are so territorial that we have yet to discover how they reproduce. They are also unable to discharge and the only beneficial part is they have instincts for this ability and have yet to charge more than what was needed to kill their prey.
Three days ago while I was working my boss came to me and asked me about those fucking TPS reports. Have you ever seen The Office, picture someone like Dwight in charge and you will get some idea of what kind of guy he is. He claims to be able to charge, but everyone knows he can't even throw an effective punch and it is illegal to attach another person with a charged attack unless they too are capable of charging. Too bad the Stalkers do not know this...
Well, back to the TPS reports, I had plans that afternoon and this was the third time I had to revise them. Not because the previous ones were wrong, but because they were in the wrong font and then because I had forgotten to change the footer's font in my rush to get the second revision in on time. Needless to say, I was a little pissed and he liked pushing my buttons because anyone who has been targeted by a Stalker is well known. Which meant that everyone, including my supervisor, new I could charge if I had to.
A vital part of the training is learning the ability to control your inner rage to prevent exactly what was happening now. He pissed me off so much that I lost control in that moment. I needed this job and realized immediately what was happening. So I held back and after a few more *minutes* he finally walked away. I sat there in silence with my arms crossed trying to calm myself. Nothing was working, it wouldn't stop. I started to do my reports and as soon as I touched my keyboard the entire building went dark. This wasn't from a release, this was just another coincidence from another Stalker in the area attacking someone near the power station. I was of course a little concerned and even hopeful until I realized the keyboard would have melted if I had discharged enough power into it to kill the grid.
I called in sick the last three mornings as the charge built up inside of me. It had built up so much that I was starting to lose weight at a concerning rate. Sure, I had it to spare, but this wasn't like a few grams, I had already lost 73kg since it started which was almost half my weight and I was over twice the normal weight for someone who was 186cm. Since I had already eaten everything inside the house, I had to go somewhere.
What better place than the local Chinese Buffet. They kicked me out after 6 hours and I ate non-stop and still lost another 10kg while I was there. I knew the owner by name and he still asked me to leave and it was then that I knew I was in trouble. For the next hour I wondered aimlessly through the city. I was already close to half the weight from when I started.
Here we are now and the good news is I am not dead yet even though I am pretty sure I don't have long to live. The government knew about the effects and we have heard of tests performed on people who could charge early on and almost all of them died within a day after they lost so much weight that their muscles started to deteriorate and their hearts gave out. The longest anyone has lasted was just over 28 hours and his discharge disintegrated the facility and leveled the trees around the secluded area leaving him standing at the epicenter. Not long after they stopped the experiments. Now imagine what might happen if I discharged now after more than 72 hours. I might kill everyone in the city or more.
As I hit what I expect is half my weight I can feel an enormous pain coursing through my entire body. It isn't just burning, but it feels like my bones are breaking and it is a miracle that I am still sitting here. There was a tap on my shoulder as a blinding light lit the night sky and thunder rolled towards the horizon. As I turned towards the person that just tapped my shoulder I saw the ground was burnt for several feet around me. As I made what I expect to be eye contact I heard myself asking if I was alright even though I am almost certain I didn't say anything. My clothes were just gone and the person before me also seemed to be naked from what little I could see after the blinding flash. Slowly my sight returned to normal and I realized I was no longer charging. I then heard myself again only this time I knew it was me... well, not me, but the me standing before me. I might not be charging anymore, but I don't feel so good.
| 2018-10-02T19:25:01 | 2018-10-02T19:24:34 | 28 | 14 |
[WP] You are a competitive eater, shoveling down cheeseburgers to hit the world record. You’re doing great until your heart stops, keeling over in the middle of your tenth. Suddenly you are in front of a massive door manned by a bored viking. “Good news, you technically qualify for Valhalla”
|
"Wha- what?" I stammer, still not quite sure what the hell is going on.
"Valhalla. Home of the glorious dead. Party crib for those who died in battle. Also Thor's fuck pad from time to time."
"That answers nothing. How am I in Valhalla. I'm a competitive eater for God's sake, not a soldier." I said, barely managing to wrap my head around what's going on.
"Yeah. We've been telling Odin to close that loophole for a few decades now. For some reason, scarfing down food at a tremendous rate counts as battle, so those who die in "battle" qualify for Valhalla. If I'm not mistaken it was something to do with ancient post-battle feasting traditions and not letting Hel get the good soldiers."
"So let me get this straight... I am in Valhalla, the Viking afterlife."
"Bingo"
"So do I need to like, sign a paper or something, or, do I just go on in?"
"Just go on in. I'd be careful though, they're not very nice to new arrivals."
He swung the golden door open for me, and I stumbled through, arching my neck at the impossibly tall doorway above me.
Which coincidentally left me wide open for a broadaxe to the throat.
|
The battleground of competitive eating is a deadly dance with death: you never know when your time is up.
---
I was savagely annihilating cheeseburgers with the cold efficiency of a WW2 gunner. I didn’t bother checking the counter; I was keeping a running tally in my cool, calculating head.
I was three burgers away from the world record of most cheeseburgers eaten, ever. In the history of the universe. This was the Nobel Prize of competitive eating, and there I was at the finish line.
So, of course, I died at the penultimate burger.
Was I surprised? No. Nothing surprised me. I had felt my body begin to shut down around the 57th. It’s a subtle feeling, but a warrior like me was trained to notice such things. My heart was slowing, my lungs struggled to move against all that glorious beef and cheese weighing down my gut, and my brain was a stew of heady endorphins.
And yet, I pushed through. That’s what warriors do: we fight through the pain, the grit teeth, the burning heart, because if not us, then who?
---
When I awoke, I expected myself to be in front of the pearly gates.
Instead, I found myself face-to-face with a large, bearded man with a Viking’s helm and an overflowing mug of beer. He stood in front of a palisade of sharp wooden stakes, large as buildings, and a gate made out of what looked like various weapons smashed together. I recognized the katanas, of course.
“This can’t be right,” the Viking muttered. He looked at me with clear confusion and distaste.
I smirked. I was used to such looks. The man was struggling to comprehend the glory that was me.
“Where am I, good man?” I asked, tilting my head up to show dominance. It was a bit difficult because I am a man of stature and force, so I may be a tad overweight, but men these days were too skinny and foppish anyways.
“Is that… a burger in your hand?” said the Viking, pointing with the mug. Beer spilled out and onto the dirt floor.
I looked down and realized, clutched in my warrior’s grip, was a half-eaten cheeseburger. The penultimate kill that would have cemented my name in the history books of the world. It was difficult to not feel cheated.
“Yes, it appears so,” I mused, lifting the burger up. Again, just a smidge difficult, not because my doctor labeled me as ‘morbidly obese,’ but because I had just undergone the battle of a lifetime. Plus, I also died, so cut me some slack alright?
“This can’t be right,” repeated the Viking, staring at me. “A burger? To Valhalla?”
My ears pricked at the last word. Now, I understood. It all made sense. Valhalla was the great hall of Odin where brave fallen heroes went after death. Of course I’d end up here and not in the Christian heaven.
“Valhalla, you say?” I said, gracefully prowling over to the man like a cheetah, or maybe a panther. “That is very fitting. I can’t say I’m surprised. Nothing surprises me, hehe.”
The Viking’s mouth was agape, likely in awe at my predatory litheness.
“Odin’s beard you’re a big boy,” said the Viking in wonder. I blushed at the compliment.
“Thank you,” I said, reaching up for my fedora for a gentleman’s dip, but I realized it wasn’t there. I settled for a good ol’ fashioned nod.
“Well, if you’re here you’re here,” muttered the Viking. “Not much I can do about that. Damn Valkyries...” He cleared his throat. “I mean, good news, warrior! You have—technically—qualified for Valhalla. Please hand over your... burger to be slotted into the Gates in recognition of your, ahem, valor in life and glory in death.”
Yes. This was most pleasing. I gave a great, manly laugh, and handed my half-eaten burger over with a look of fondness. A worthy weapon, truly.
The Viking grabbed my weapon with two outstretched fingers and gingerly carried it over to the Gates, showing it the respect it was due. He threw the burger up into the air, which somehow managed to stay together, and there was a blinding light.
When the flash cleared, I saw that my burger was embedded into the Gates among the other weapons of my fallen brothers and sisters. I felt a flush of pride go over me; this was it. I’ve made it into the big leagues.
“Your burger has been accepted,” said the Viking sadly. I assumed it was because he knew there was a new Alpha in Valhalla now. “Here.” He handed me the mug of beer.
I took it, and though I didn’t like alcohol—it dulls the steel that is my mind—I took a celebratory sip anyways. I immediately coughed and spat it out. Disgusting. I tossed the mug onto the ground. What a terrible gift.
“Right.” The Viking looked at the spilled beer forlornly. “Well, let’s get you settled.”
The Viking took an ox-horn that hung from his belt—I had a similar one back on Earth—and blew into it. A righteous, ear-bursting roar tore through, like the thunder of a thousand galloping horses, or the marching song of soldiers as they crossed through enemy territory.
No. To me it sounded like the ringing of a bell, signifying the end of the glorious contest that is competitive eating.
The Gates began to open. A bright light shone at the other end. I smiled widely, not bothering to wipe the tears from my eyes.
I was home.
---
Check out my profile for more stories haha XD :)
| 2020-07-26T10:48:43 | 2020-07-26T09:54:09 | 2,412 | 530 |
[WP] It's been years since the last moon landing. After several decades of silence, humans proudly set foot on it again. Up there, the astronauts found mummified human corpses inside torn open space suits. The tags were still legible, Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin... the astronauts from decades ago.
|
"Neil Armstrong... Buzz...?" My hand hung limply on the plaque, scared to dust it off any further. I turned to Casey, mortified confusion on our faces. "How...?"
"We need to get Houston on the line, Alex."
The cave was an interesting find, especially with how close it had been to the original landing sight over fifty years ago. This was undocumented and rather strange, since it should have been noticed back then.
But it was *new*.
"Houston! Do you read me, over?"
*Bzzt*
"Houston, goddammit, this is Alex Danar, do you read me, over?!"
*Bzzt*
"To hell with this. Casey, we're leaving."
"Wait-wait," He said quickly. "The body... I think I saw it move."
"Casey, I swear to fuck, I will leave you here right now if you don't fucking-"
We both saw it move this time, all of the air leaving my lungs in a choked gasp.
"They're... *Alive*?" He said. He went closer to Neil's corpse, the one that had moved impossibly. "Help me, maybe we can-"
The mummified body's hand shot out and tore into Casey's arm, dried and bony blue fingers digging into him like talons, though his suit withheld. He yelled in terror, fighting against him until he managed to tear away, breaking Armstrong's arm off in the process, which slowly fell to the ground.
The mummy looked human, but nothing about him was... right. He was a stick, skin air tightened to his bones, incredibly and impossibly emaciated. He was blue, the skin taught and cracked, and his veins were pumping a sickly yellow.
"K... k..." He moaned, gesturing me closer as he tore off his wrappings weakly.
"What are you saying sir?" I asked, my brain hardly able to comprehend the current events.
He brought his lips as close as he could to my suit, whispering but two words.
"Kill... me..."
His body was forcibly ripped back, his body and head being pulled into the altar that they laid upon before our arrival. But it was in the brief second that I saw the tube connecting to the back of his neck, pumping the yellow fluid into to the man.
They were all... alive. In space, with nothing on.
For *fifty years*.
"Sweet merciful Christ... Who did we send back..."
"Alex, I-"
"I know, we're-"
I turned and saw that the entrance we came through was gone, replaced by some fleshy, grey wall. What's more, is that Casey was being dragged into it, his arm missing within the mass.
"No!" I yelled, rushing to grab his other arm. "Hang on, man, I've got you!"
He was sinking fast, and I could see that dark tendrils were in his suit, slipping under the skin and bleeding him dry, simultaneously pumping him full of that yellow. His skin was cracking and turning paler blue by the second.
"Please," he breathed shakily, "I w-want to g-go home. I want... to s-see C-Carol."
"I know, man," I said, feeling tears stream down my face. "And you're gonna man, I promise."
I held onto him, fighting my damndest against the wall that was bound determined to take him in. But I... I couldn't...
"Alex! ALEEEEEXXXXXXX!" He screamed in horror, before being muffled and choked by the wall consuming him. I fell backwards and crawled back, shaking my head in disbelief and shock.
When I finally forced myself to look around, I saw that it was a doomed affair. The walls were moving, the ceiling too, and what appeared to be the floor to start next.
I cried out loudly, missing the sun and big blue ball that I would never see again.
There was really only one hope for me, it appeared...
...
I prayed that Earth would not fall victim to this nightmare, before twisting off my helmet to the cold vacuum of space.
...
......
.........
............
"*DEATH IS NOT THE END!*"
"*MAKE IT STOP!*"
"*WHEN WILL WE DIE?!*"
But our cries fall upon deaf ears.
Because in space, no one can hear you scream.
|
“Thank you for your service”
That was the last transmission they had sent before going
silent. Leaving me, Judith and Adrian to stare at the crackling screen before
us. It’s ominous glitching seeming to be a bad omen for things to come. The
contents of the transmission had started a conversation between us, each
discussing our take on its message.
“It’s a weird message to leave on. You think they would have
said something like, return home safely.” Judith was still fiddling with the
control panel, trying to get into contact with headquarters, but the radio
silence was stubborn, refusing to allow such a thing to occur.
“We are the first people in a decade to arrive on the moon,
of course they would thank us for our service. We are heroes, just like the
ones that came before us. Now stop fiddling with the controls and lets set up
the camera. This will be a live broadcast.” Adrian had already opened the door
to the ship, watching as the grey specs of dust seemed to flow freely through
the air, disrupted by the door’s heaving motion.
“Man, look at that dust, should have brought a vacuum.” I
tried a joke to lighten the mood, but neither party seemed interested in my
lack of humor.
Spending the next few minutes preparing our cameras, we were
finally ready. Me and Judith had agreed to let Adrian take the first small
step, not wanting to spend the entire trip arguing over it. It wasn’t like it
was an amazing feat anymore. After they had taken the first step, any subsequent
steps weren’t as noteworthy.
With a shared nod, we stepped onto the rocky surface, the
shift in gravity being the first thing we all noticed, judging by the way that
our powerful strides had turned into slow waddling. It took us all a fair
amount of time to gain our moon feet, but we eventually did. Able to traverse
with less of a waddle and more of a stride.
Adrian went straight for his task, not even bothering to
take in the sights like Judith and me. Both of us were in awe, staring back at
the Earth, watching as it seemed to hang in the dark pool of space just for us.
We eventually pulled our eyes away from the planet, deciding to take ourselves
for a small walk, wanting to stretch our legs before collecting moon rocks.
With a quick high five, Judith and I continued our journey, only
to get our smiles slapped away from our faces. Bodies, mummified by the vacuum
of space, laid against a pile of rocks, embracing one another. Both of us
immediately stepped away from the corpses, ready to run only for a heavy
pressure to collide with my shoulder.
“A body?”
Adrian’s voice drifted into my helmet. Never had I been so
glad to hear his voice. He motioned us both towards the bodies, but neither of
us followed, our legs refusing to budge. Adrian only waited for a few moments
before he headed to the corpses without us. Crouching before the bodies. My
helmet again sparked with his voice. For once he seemed shaken by something.
“Neil Armstrong? The tag says Neil Armstrong. That’s
impossible, though. Ive met the man in training. These bodies belong to the
original crew, if the tags are to be believed. Judging by the wounds, something
tore into their suit. I would assume this to be a joke but these suits are
expensive, to break three open like this for a joke. We need to get back to the
ship. If something could get into a suit, you can imagine what it would do to
our flesh.”
Adrian pulled himself away from the body, only for a tendril
to creep from the hole, wrapping around his wrist. That’s when I caught my
first glimpse of it. The dark grey blob, its body shaped to fit inside the body
of the astronauts it had killed. No amount of struggling would save Adrian, the
blob having no eyes or noticeable features apart from its row of needle like
black teeth. A set of teeth that the tendrils also shared, drawing blood as it
dug into Adrian’s wrist.
Judith took a step forward, but I quickly pulled her back.
What could we do? Without a weapon, we were just offering ourselves to be a
secondary meal.
“Let’s run.” Tugging at Judiths wrist, I had already turned
to rush back to the ship.
“Help me you coward, we can kill it, there’s three of us.”
That was the last thing Adrian said before screams filled
our helmets. I didn’t turn to watch the gruesome display, but I know Judith
did. Her movements sluggish and paranoid. The craters of the moon now a
minefield. Hundreds of tiny places for the creatures to hide.
“We let him die, we could have tried to pull the creature
away.” Judith argued, panted breaths following each word.
“And offer ourselves as the next meal? We have nothing to
fight the creature with. If I was getting killed Adrian would have done the
same.”
That was what I was telling myself, anyway. Refusing to
believe I had just cursed someone to their death. I was finally nearing the
ship, but Judith was too slow. As we neared the ship, I took one last glance
back; the tendrils were behind us, sliding through the air as though it were
water. tendrils flaring out to push its body closer and closer.
Jumping in the ship's safety, I watched Judith. She was
close, but so were the tendrils. I reluctantly slammed my fist against the
yellow button beside the door, watching as it slowly closed, until it dropped
right before Judith could enter.
“Thank you for your service.” That was all I could say to
her, twisting the neck of my helmet before her screams would fill it, pulling
it from my head, tossing it as far away from my body as I could.
I had sacrificed two partners, but I would survive, I would
be the one to tell them the truth about the moon. Desperately I fought with the
controls, reconnecting our communications with headquarters.
“Judith and Adrian are dead. I need you to bring me home,
there're these aliens, black octopus type things, they fly through the air.
They killed the original crew and now they are going to kill me if you don’t
hurry and help me.”
A voice sighed on the other end, a few words being exchanged
that were too silent for me to hear.
“Listen Sam, this may be hard for you to accept, but we are
fully aware of what’s on the moon. You don’t think the previous crew reported
the creature before they died? We sent you to the moon to get us a sample,
something you did beautifully.”
“A sample? Like I’ll get you anything. Hurry and send me
home. I won’t talk if you send me home. Just please get me off the moon. I
don’t want to die. I don’t want to die up here. I’ll even destroy the camera.
We can say it was a hoax.”
I was a blathering mess of tears, trying to plead with an
uncaring screen. I could hear the voices talking in muffled silence, a faint
laughing even heard, sharing amusement over my panicked state.
“The camera’s were never on Sam. It was only there to flood
Adrian’s ego. We didn’t want him getting suspicious. Out of you three, he was
the only one that might have been able to stop this. Regardless, the sample is
already on the ship. Thank you for your service, Sam. The world will know you
as a hero. We will send the ship back once it kills you. I hope its quick.
They left me alone. The sample was already on the ship? I
couldn’t see it, but I didn’t doubt their words. This sample couldn’t get back
to Earth, that would be catastrophic. Crouching beneath the cockpit, I pulled
open its panel, tugging at the wiring, trying to cause it to malfunction. If
only Adrian had survived over me. He would have known what to do. My desperate
attempts to destroy the ship did little more than cause the lights to flicker.
Dropping back onto the floor, I gave up. Arms spread out as I stared at the
ceiling of the ship, eyeing the sterile coloring.
I could already feel it, the creature’s tendril slipping up
my leg, only to stop on my stomach.
>!“I’m sorry.”!<
&nbsp;
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2020-09-20T22:04:12 | 2020-09-20T21:51:40 | 710 | 181 |
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
|
...the ability to craft a lovely cup of tea from any matter available was surely too powerful for any mere mortal to handle.
With great duty and knowing such power could have unparalleled consequence were I unable to contain it I decided for the sake of mankind to keep it to myself, to say I was spared the mutation.
They couldn't know. Nobody could know...
|
As a kid, I have always looked up to the people that use their talents for great purpose. Aunt Laura is always hard at work, so I have the TV for myself and I'd watch all about Steffi Larkin, Reed Horundas, Alex Stevenson, and my idol, Jeff Knox. He has the talent to clone himself and consciously control them. He is known as the *Miracle Constructor* and he has his own show, aptly named "Do It Myself". He builds schools and hospitals by making his team of about 50 clones and himself work with a little bit of "menual labor", as he likes to call it.
Every person in the world experience the Discovering at the age of 16, at the midnight of their birthday, oddly enough. Some people say that talents are genetics, while some say that talents are determined by the actions you choose to do prior of the Discovering. I am a strong believer of the latter, because well, it's partly because my parents weren't all that special. They had passed away when I was but one month old. They were never around, but I know one thing, I refuse to be insignificant like my mother and father who, as Aunt Laura told me, has the talents to disappear and to draw with uncanny realism.
I want a talent that can shape the world. I want to believe that it's not genetics, but the upperclassmen in my high school all have talents similar to their parents', whether in power or properties. Even Jeff Knox once said on TV that he was thankful for his parents, and while that could mean many things, my mind makes the worst of it. With my luck and my family's genes, I'll probably get a useless talent like burrowing underground so that I can quite *literally* shape the world.
3 hours from now is the midnight of my birthday. The Discovering is only moments away as I get more and more excited. I turn on the TV and turned the channel to an old interview of Steffi Larkin on her experience with her Discovering.
"Were you able to identify your talents right away?"
"It wasn't until the morning after I had slept after giving up that I discovered it. I woke up in another country!"
"You discovered your talent in a dream?"
"Yeah, I have always wanted to see the world, but I never imagined it as easy as teleporting!"
How lucky she is to have that great of a power. But I wasn't too worried about what my talent was going to be anymore at that point. As time closes in on midnight, I'm just excited to finally have a talent.
2 hours away now as I look at the clock. I have set up a sort of target practice / obstacle course in Aunt Laura's garage, as she told me that she knows I've been waiting for tomorrow my whole life. Earlier today, she gave me an okay and a big hug, and with tears in her eyes told me that she was proud of me. She had always been a mother figure, and cared for me like her own son. I'm a bit sad that she won't be home until tomorrow afternoon, when I will already have mastered the talent to race against time with my super speed, or have the accuracy of a hawk, I hope, who knows.
1 more hour and here I am thinking of all the good I will do, however boring my talent will be. I have come into acceptance with what I probably will be able to do, as to not disappoint myself. I could probably settle with the talent to climb trees or something, I could use that to create tree houses for kids to play in.
And then all of the sudden, I felt a presence and almost in an instant, I was surrounded by water, gasping in what feels like the middle of the ocean.
"WHOA, WHAT HAPPENED?"
"... I'm sorry," I heard in a calm voice, "I'm sorry for everything."
"WH- Y- YOU'RE STEFFI LARKIN!"
"I had to do this... Your father saw it all."
"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"
"Son, I have heard many great things about you from Aunt Laura."
"ARE YOU INSANE, WHERE IS SHE?"
"I'm your mother... We've all been lying to you because you are a danger, your father drew it when you were just a week old..."
"Wh- what? You're telling me he saw what I was able to do?"
"You're a ticking time bomb, and it was all our fault for bearing you... We wanted to give you a happy life, but I loved you too much to take care of you, I wouldn't have been able to handle it... I'm very sorry... I'm proud of you, son."
A lot of things went through my mind as she disappeared, leaving me to drown in the ocean. Furious didn't even begin to describe how I felt, because somehow, I felt at peace. The roars of the ocean was alarmingly peaceful. I lay back, floating... What could I have done with this talent?
Heh... I guess I will actually shape the worl-
0.
| 2015-01-22T02:28:54 | 2015-01-22T00:10:42 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] A man who has had no knowledge of religion meets both God and the Devil. He is the chosen one who decides whether God or the Devil inherits the Earth. The problem is, he cannot tell which is which.
|
"So let me get this straight. *You*" he pointed at the devil. "Cause all of our suffering. And *you*" he pointed at God. "let him".
"Well, yeah..."
"That's the gist of it"
The man thought for a moment "You know what: fuck the both of you. Neither inherits the earth, it belongs to us"
|
Ming stepped off the boat in what would now be his new home. America. The land of freedom opportunity and all that jazz. No really it was the birthplace of jazz. He thought it was anyways. The dock was filled with the sound of it and incomprehensible obscenities. Ming breathed in a good nostril full to remind himself where he was. Then silently repeated to himself the mantra his guru had taught him. He reminded himself to live in the present that the past and future were simply constructs. Like the monk hanging off the ledge over the tiger he was to be here now. Eating the berries. Not in the past of the cliff. Not the future of the tiger. But had he come from the cliff edge and headed to the tiger or from the tiger and headed to the cliff? Ming didn’t know. His teacher never really made much sense to him and plus there weren’t even berries. Just a strange meat sandwich he’d never seen before. He sighed audibly. This place would be so different from his home. Where could he buy vegetables? Do they even have those here?
Ming tightened his robes stood a little straighter and walked from the gang plank over to where his luggage was tossed unceremoniously by a worker. The men around him turned to gawk at his ceremonial robes Ming was secretly a bit grateful that he couldn’t understand them. He kept his face impassive and his braid draped over his shoulder. His shoulders tensing more than they should but not enough to cause immediate discomfirt. A fly buzzed into his ear. He slapped himself on the side of the head much to the amusement of his onlookers who started jeering him incoherently. Ming turned to look back. There were about three of them. They dressed in western garb and seemed a bit tipsy although it was only one in the afternoon. He knew they must have defining features but all these foreigners looked alike to him. Anyways one was tall one fat and one muscled. The muscled one didn’t seem to say much and drank even less. Ming sidled his bags over his shoulder and started walking off towards a street that looked promising. Hopefully he could find at least a bowl of rice and warm if not friendly bed tonight.
He didn’t.
What he did find was a crowded city and three stalkers. Ming kept looking back but they didn’t seem to mind that he was noticing them. In fact they didn’t seem to mind anything at all. They just kept following him and whispering. This wouldn’t be so strange as it seemed he was something to be gawked at in this country. Those passing would talk to one another and sometimes even pull out a “cellphone” and point it at him. Ming had heard of cellphones but only seen one once when the local medicine man had confiscated a foreigners who was using it to conjure a strange sound. That was years ago. Here strange sounds were everywhere and people and cars. Unlike his hometown here everyone seemed to be in a gleaming car. And the music the most beautiful music filled the strangest places shops that gleamed and sold seductive woman (or at least he thought they were women that’s what was on the billboard) and anything else you could imagine. The three men were catching up to him.
Ming hurried down the sidewalk. He stopped and stared less. The initial euphoria of landing was now slowly congealing into a thick panic. The men were still behind him. Closer now. The tall one he noticed had remarkably dark eyes. The eyes made him more nervous than anything else. He wished they were looking somewhere else. Finally Ming saw a word he recognized and not a moment too soon. The word “Hotel” was one thing he had learned before coming. Ming quickly stepped into the tiny building. The boy behind the desk looked up from a computer that looked like a large wicker box and asked Ming a strange question. Ming looked unknowingly at the boy and took out his money. He handed the boy a bill with 100 on it. He hoped it would be enough and said “sreep”. The boy wide eyed took the bill looked up at Ming then nodded slowly and opened a door grabbing a key on the way.
They arrived at number “8” a dilapidated door that was well worn. The boy said “meobns dlkmb orrys slkm best we can do” Ming nodded understandingly while trying to glance over his shoulder. The men were nowhere to be seen. The boy opened the door and Ming hurriedly rushed him away and closed it locking it with a satisfying “chink”. He whipped around and nearly screamed. There sitting on the already made bed were all three. Tall, fat and strong. They looked dull eyed at him and said.
“Here in number eight,
You Mister Ming will meet your fate,
Choose well good sir for you must see,
For us and you to all be free.”
The chorus was in unison in perfect Chinese. Ming blacked out.
[to be continued]
(also if you liked it check out seedsoftantalus.wordpress.com if you don't then don't)
| 2015-08-05T23:20:20 | 2015-08-05T21:04:15 | 62 | 25 |
[WP] Nothing stopped Ernest Miller from arriving at work, at 7:00 every morning. Not weather, not the commute, not illness, not death.
|
Having died, Ernest found it particularly more challenging to make it to work in the mornings.
The first day of his death was a sort of "learning of the ropes." Noticing that his body was quite incapacitated, and lying inconveniently in the town's morgue, it took him several minutes to get acquainted with leaving his corpse and floating out of the hospital and through the city's streets. Most people didn't notice him; some even walked right through him on their way to their own jobs. Ernest quite liked this, as he never really enjoyed being the center of attention. It took him over half an hour, but he made it to his office by 6:55 am, just like every morning before then.
He tried to clock in, but his hands went right through the time tickets. He couldn't really touch anything. He shrugged, reminding himself to talk to the HR officer later that morning about this issue. He glided over to his cubicle and sat down on his chair (as much as a ghost could *sit*).
After an hour of just sort of floating there, Ernest noticed that his office had held a gathering near the conference room. He ambled over to the commotion and saw a great white banner across the wall that read *Rest in Peace, Ernest Miller.* A small cake sat on a table, with several pieces removed, surrounded by a few co-workers talking nonchalantly.
This was the best funeral Ernest would ever get, so he stood near the memorial service and basked in their remembrance (of which there was very little).
That first day really was quite boring and trite, just the way Ernest liked it.
But as time grew on, and as Ernest made it to work every day, he began to realize that his office had become a less amicable environment. Several co-workers had quit their jobs, stating that they felt some inexplicable *creepiness* about working in the office. Most of the interns who were given temp jobs in Ernest's cubicle usually quit after only a few days. They complained about a depressing and chilling mood that washed over them every time they sat in Ernest's seat.
Every evening, Ernest went home to his coffin in Memorial Springs Cemetary. It was a really cozy place, but every morning it became harder and harder for Ernest to want to leave the comfort of his grave. It was like a sort of "sleep inertia" that made him really groggy and unwanting to go to his job.
But he *had* to go.
This grumpiness of his became troublesome at work. He became unspeakably angry every time a new intern sat at his desk. He glared at them through his ghostly eyes, often times for the whole day. Pretty soon, interns just stopped showing up all together. He also became angry with the other co-workers. He didn't like how they sometimes showed up late, or took days off for being sick.
On one dusty March day, he nearly exploded with rage when he found out his boss had taken a day off for being sick. After his shift ended, Ernest flew over to the boss's home and stuck around his bedroom all night. The boss just got sicker and sicker, and started taking time off from work indefinitely. Every night, Ernest would fly to his home and just watch him sleep. Eventually, the boss died of his illness.
After two years of being dead, Ernest eventually became the only employee who would show up to work. Everyone else had quit, either through discomfort, fear, or illness. But Ernest never quit.
He always showed up.
|
It was Tuesday, the 8th, and Ernest made it to work in record time.
Well, almost record time. He stopped in for a donut, but was surprised to find that while the door to the donut shop was indeed unlocked, there was no hint of fried batter or fresh icing in the air. Instead, he found the shop *empty*.
It was rare for both Mr. and Mrs. Kim to be sick on the same day, but he remembered how poor they looked last Friday. Ernest found a napkin on the counter, and wrote a message on it: "Get well soon - Ernest." He left a few dollars, too, for good measure.
When he got back on the road, he found the traffic lighter than usual, except for that one stoplight - there must've been a hundred cars lined up, waiting to get on the highway. Ernest vaguely wondered why so many people were trying to leave the city on a Tuesday morning, but as he turned the corner, so his mind turned to work.
Ernest loved work, because Ernest loved numbers. All day, all he did was work with numbers. Move those over here, divide these by that, make sure these line up with those. It was the best kind of work, and Ernest never missed a day of it.
He even came in on a Holiday, once, though the doors had been locked.
Today, as he drove in to his parking spot, he noticed the entire parking lot was empty. This was a big deal to Ernest, because he had *never*, not *once* been the first person in the office. So, with a skip in his step, and a tune on his lips, he made his way to the front entryway.
Ernest was so pleased with himself, that he didn't even notice the giant, plastic banners, that hung in shredded yellow and black strips over the double-doored entryway.
An awful stink greeted him inside; a smell that made his eyes water. Ernest covered up his nose, and considered calling the Janitorial staff until he remembered that he was the first and only person at the office.
Ernest decided to head up to his floor, in case the smell was better up there - but, when the doors of the Elevator opened, he was nearly bowled over by the rancorous odor. So, today, for the first time in... well, ever, Ernest took the stairs.
He was not excited at the prospect of having to climb up forty-eight steps, but Ernest reminded himself of the hours and hours of work he would get to do today. All he had to do was conquer a few measly flights of stairs, and the rest of the day would be spent with perfectly simple and inoffensive numbers.
With every step, he could almost feel the stacks of papers in his hands, promising tens of thousands of numbers aching to be multiplied and sub-directed and transvertialized into neater, tighter, cleaner places. He had to stop, more than once, but at last he made it to his desk.
And that's when he saw it - there was not a *single* file on his desk.
Ernest looked under his desk. Perhaps a careless maintenance worker had knocked them from the ground? Perhaps his boss hadn't put out the papers at all, yet. Where was his boss anyway?
Ernest checked his watch. It was 8:42 am. Phones should have been ringing, fingers should have been tapping, and Ernest should have been waist-deep in the ordered manipulation of printed numbers.
He picked up his phone. Instead of the dial tone, he heard a female voice, calmly repeating this phrase, "We're sorry- We're sorry-."
"Hello? Ernest asked, "Hellooo?"
"We're sorry-"
"Hello this is Ernest. Ernest Miller from accounting."
After several more minutes of this, Ernest realized that he was not actually talking to a person. He was talking to a *machine!* Ernest slammed the telephone down.
He decided, if nobody else was going to talk to him, then he would find his *own* papers, and work on his *own* numbers. He headed towards the boss's office.
Out of the cubicle. Step over the wires. Past one hallway, beyond another cubicle. Hold breath because of the stench of the elevator shaft. Knock on the boss's door.
Then, he remembered the boss was not here yet. So, for the first time in how-many-years, Ernest opened the door.
The boss's desk sat where it always sat. There was an empty package on the desk, with a picture of bullets, stacked neatly on top of each other, stickered on it. There was also a large black case, with a velvet interior, and when Ernest rounded around the boss's desk, he noticed the vague imprint of a hand-held firearm on the velvet.
Ernest slid open one of the long filing cabinets behind the bosses desk. The cabinet shot out it's metal tongue, and out rushed not hundreds - but *thousands* of neatly-filed papers. Ernest made a sound he did not know he could make. There must have been fifty more filing drawers just like this one in the boss's office.
Ernest took a deep breath, and reminded himself to remain calm. It was important to keep oneself under control in times of excitement. Carefully, he slid his dry hands over a thick chunk of the files, and hoisted them out.
He turned around. Walked around the bosses desk. Nudged open the bosses door. And stopped.
The smell was positively *wretched*.
Ernest wandered over to the elevator shaft. He could see only dark shapes, jostling against each other. He heard distant sounds, like the sounds you hear when the wind is strong, but slow.
"Hello?" he called, "Hello?"
"Uhhhh...." a woman's face, missing more than half of its skin, looked up at him.
Ernest gasped, and dropped his papers down the elevator shaft.
"Ellen!" Ernest called, "Ellen are you all right? What's happened to your face?"
As if in response, the remaining flap of skin peeled off her face, and fell to the floor like a fresh slice of pizza.
"Ah, well," Ernest said, much the same way he might say, "Such is life."
Ellen threw back her head, and let out an ear-piercing scream that died only as the fluid in her throat choked her. Around her, the shapes of Ernest's other coworkers shuffled in the darkness, moaning and complaining about their work like they did every morning. *If they hated it so much, why did they come in at all?* Ernest always wondered.
"Well," Ernest said, "Would you mind grabbing those papers for me?"
Her hands scrabbled blindly over the papers, smearing them with what must've been several full cartridges of ink.
At this, a sound issued from Ernest's throat which can be mostly summed up with this symbol: '!' He thrust out both of his hands, and shouted, as if he could somehow undo the permanent inking of his beloved numbers by sheer force of will. There was a shattering *SNAP* from both of Ernest's knees (though, surprisingly, not an ounce of pain), and suddenly, Ernest was leaning too far forward over the elevator shaft. He fell.
Ernest fell twenty-seven and one-half of a foot. He landed, with a crunch, on top of a conveniently located pile of bodies. When he finally sat up, Ellen's neck popped out of it's socket, and her head rolled down the pile of bodies, coming to rest beneath someone's foot.
"Sorry, Ellen!" Ernest called, as he clambered over the moaning, drooling mass of limbs and gore, and yanked the papers from one of the receptionist's mouth.
They were dripping, crumpled, and half-way eaten, but Ernest could see at least half of the numbers, still. He slid down the pile of bodies, pried open the elevator doors, and made his way back up the forty-eight stairs. By the time he finished crawling up to the top, his breath was heavy, his face was red, and his lower half had fallen off some twenty stairs ago.
It was a grueling finish to an otherwise normal day, but at least now he could return to his numbers.
***
*Read more random stories at /r/PSHoffman*
| 2016-02-06T10:54:30 | 2016-02-06T09:23:31 | 51 | 26 |
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
|
*Wouldn't it be cool if we could control time?*
We've all asked ourselves this question before, some of us spending more time thinking about it than others. Billy had certainly entertained this idea for a while. And after much careless deliberation, his answer was YES!
It is certainly a good thing then, at least for Billy, that he grew up in a time where superpowers could simply be purchased for just nine hundred bucks. But who in their right mind would pay that exuberant fee!? It was much simpler, and cheaper, to just torrent the superpowers.
Find a torrent, click 'torrent', set upload speed to zero Mb/s, and he was on his way to acquiring the ability to control the progression of time.
The download bar raced to seventy percent then stopped. Billy waited for a while, but nothing happened. When, he went to see what the problem was, his cursor wouldn't move and his keyboard didn't seem to be functioning either.
"This piece of junk keeps freezing" Billy angrily mumbled to himself. Then he noticed it.
The clock wasn't moving. The trees outside his window were stopped mid-sway in the breeze. Time was at a standstill.
Seventy percent of the torrent seemed to have already given him the ability to stop time. The remaining thirty percent however, was the ability to resume it again.
Billy sighed. This was going to be a *long* Monday.
|
*Click*
*Clickclick*
Blueish light colored my face from the screen, the only source of illumination in my room aside from the orange glare of the streetlight from outside. Link after link fell away before my mouse, leading me deeper and deeper into the net. This was my hobby, of sorts: surfing the web like a professional, as far as it would go. I fancied myself an explorer, like those of old, but instead of hidden gold on far off distant shores I sought the riches within my own home. Besides, I couldn't sleep without this little ritual. I was the conductor, and the lines of text flickering past my screen were my perfectly orchestrated lullaby.
"Hang on, what's this?" I stopped short as a window suddenly appeared in front of all of the others, unbidden. Oh, just a popup. Like I didn't have to deal with hundreds of those every day. Without thinking, I moved my mouse to hover over the little red x in the corner, but something made me stop. Despite having seen what I imagined to be more of the net than any other, this one was...new. Different.
'Full Superman Package! Experience exactly what it is like to be the man of steel!' Proclaimed the banner at the top of the window. Yawn. As if something like that was possible.
Still.
I moved my mouse away from the x and toward the button at the bottom that declared 'Click Here to Begin Download!' but I hesitated.
"...I have the best antivirus software known to man. What do I care if it is a bit seedy?" I asked aloud to no one in particular. And besides...I always was a sucker for unexplored links.
*Click*
The download began quickly, not surprising considering the time and my bandwidth. 10%...11%...ever higher, the numbers grew steadily as I watched.
*...Maybe this wasn't the best idea...*I thought.
31%...32%...
*No. Definitely not my smartest move.* I tried to click away, but immediately found that my mouse was stuck in place.
"Aw, crap." I tried pressing Ctl+alt+del, but to no avail.
65%...66%...
I reached around the back of my computer and pulled the plug, right as the counter hit 70%. I frowned in the dark. It wasn't turning back on, even after I plugged it back in.
*Guess I will just have to see what I can recover in the morning.* It was hardly a good note to end the day on, but it was far too late to fix anything now.
Perhaps tomorrow would be better.
***
When I awoke, the first thing that I noticed was that I could see. Like, *really* see. I had never needed glasses, but WOW! Everything was so crisp and clear, it was truly spectacular! My ceiling looked especially vibrant...I could see exactly where the paint roller had gone over each bump and groove.
The second thing I noticed was that the reason I could see my ceiling so well was because I was hovering about four inches away from it. With a yell, I fell out of the air and landed spread-eagle on my bed.
"What the hell?" I stared at my hand, fascinated by the detail. "I guess that torrent wasn't fake after all..." Experimentally, I gripped the corner of my bed's frame and pulled.
To my surprise the entire thing lifted as easily as if it were made of paper. I was so shocked that I nearly dropped the whole thing. As it was, I only barely caught it again before it crashed into the floor, no doubt saving me a lot of trouble in damages.
*I need to be more careful.* I thought. As cool as it was to be this powerful, it didn't take a genius to realize that it was also insanely dangerous. I would hate to hurt someone accidentally, and if I didn't watch out it wouldn't be long before I did.
I turned and floated to the door, barely noticing that my feet were scraping the floor instead of dragging me along. Suddenly, I stopped dead in my tracks.
*Wait, hold on,* I tried to move my hand, but nothing happened. I tried harder, this time pushing with every ounce of my newfound strength, but again I remained frozen in place. I couldn't even move my eyes. Then, all at once, my body started moving again - this time entirely outside of my control. It mimed the actions I had just attempted, but at a rate that made it appear as if I was moving in fast-forward. Pain erupted from my side as my flailing hand caught me in the ribs, and my torso was thrown bodily through the wall.
"What's going on!" I yelled as I tumbled freely through my yard.
Wait.
"The download! It stopped early!" I slammed my palm into my forehead, nearly getting knocked flat onto my back with the force of the blow. I dropped to the grass and ran back towards my front door, but suddenly found myself back where I started.
"Am I seriously rubber banding right now!?" I screamed in frustration. Twice more I snapped back to my starting location before I reached the handle and pushed inside, breaking the door off of its hinges as I did. I sprinted back to my room...and groaned.
Black smoke billowed out of my computer tower.
"No, no, no! I have to reinstall it! Something's gone wrong!" I tore away at the frame, hoping to at least salvage the hard drives, when suddenly I was attacked by another freezing fit. I watched, helpless, as flames devoured the silver discs - before my own hand shattered them as I unwillingly sped back up to normal speed.
I hung my head in my hands, defeated.
***
*Beware, criminals! For I am the mighty GLITCH! Hero of the server, master of might, I will save the world from your evil with my mighty grip - and possibly destroy everything I have ever known and loved in the process.*
*CC always welcome! If you enjoyed, check out more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
| 2016-07-02T21:01:01 | 2016-07-02T18:59:39 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
|
"No seeders found"
I glare at the screen in utter confusion. "*No* seeders? There were over 20 last night!" When you torrent a power, you seed it automatically, without any option to stop.
The only way to stop seeding a power is if you're killed... *Fuck*
Somebody out there doesn't want this power getting out.
|
I've always wanted to have superpowers. I remember back when I was in the third grade I would run two miles home from school everyday, just so that I could watch the latest episode of the Super Man cartoon show. I was so obsessed with being a super hero that some days I would come to school wearing a red cape. Needless to say I was always made fun of. This obsession continued up until the 7th grade. By this time guys were starting to get girl friends, and just about everyone was hanging out on weekends with their friends having lots of fun, everyone except for me. I decided that it was time to grow up. I quit wearing the cape to school, stopped watching super hero shows, and even tore all my super hero posters off my bedroom walls. I swore I would never go back to my geeky ways. By the time I started high school I actually had some decent friends, and this girl I had a crush on finally began talking to me. Life was finally starting to get better. Then all of a sudden, in just 3 months time, things started to change, and when I say change I mean REALLY change. It all started during school, one of the teachers turned on the TV and switched straight to the news channel. The shocking news left everyone in disbelief. Apparently some big shot hacker had hacked straight into the US Military databases and had uncovered what some say to be the greatest piece of technology since the internet itself. This technology that he leaked all over the web was being torrented by people everywhere. And what did this technology do you ask? Well... It gave people superpowers... The US Military was doing everything that they possibly could to rid this new technology from the internet. From what i've heard you'd be lucky if your torrent got to 2% before the US Military busted down your doors. And to all the people caught trying to torrent them... the death sentence. Within a few years people quit talking about it, it seemed like bringing it up into a conversation was taboo. Cut ten years later and im living what seems to be the perfect life, I have a great job, i've married the love of my life, and I have a beautiful boy. Everything was great but something seemed like it was missing. I couldn't quite figure it out at first, but one day while I was helping my parents clean out their old house I found something remarkable in the attic. It was the cape... It was my cape... Suddenly it hit me. The news story from back in high school about the super powers started playing back in my brain. It was just like when a catchy song gets stuck in your head, and i couldn't stop thinking about it. It was getting late so I said my goodbyes to my parents and raced out the door. I just wanted to see if it was still possible. I drove like a maniac to get back home still with the news report playing back in my head. Finally, when I arrived home I ran straight to my laptop. I googled for the torrents everywhere but there was no results of it to be found. It was almost as if it was entirely erased from the internet. My search went on for a couple more hours until finally I found something strange. It was a website in German, that google couldn't translate. During my college days I had gone through three German courses, but it was still really hard for me to understand what it was saying. Suddenly a certain word caught my eye, it said "Supermacht 229 TB". I knew what supermacht translated too from back in school. It meant super power, but could it actually be a real super power torrent? What else could possibly take up 229 Terra bytes? It had to be. I clicked on a button that looked like it might be the download, and all of a sudden uTorrent pops up. It started downloading something. It reached 1% and I began to get very nervous. I paced back and forth asking myself if I should cancel it or not before it's too late. I've heard almost all the stories, and I certainly didn't want the death penalty. I raced back to my screen to see that it was already at 24%. I assured myself that if it had managed to get that far there was no way the military was tracking my download. Soon enough it was at 60%, and I started to feel something tingling inside of me. I didn't think about it until then, but I realized my hard drive couldn't hold 2 terabytes let alone 229! Every percent downloaded I could feel the power in me grow stronger, I felt like I could fly, and well... Maybe I could! I was about to fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a superhero nothing was going to stop me! Suddenly once my download hit 70% it stopped, and all that I had started to feel left my body. Next I began hearing noises outside. I couldn't believe it. I had gotten so close. I rushed outside to find something unbelievably. "DINKLEBERG!", I screamed. "Hi neighbor!", Mr. Dinkleberg responded while floating in mid air.
| 2016-07-02T20:01:23 | 2016-07-02T18:09:05 | 32 | 17 |
[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.
|
You want to know how I got here? I'll tell you.
I was standing in queue for the test; I wasn't too worried, I was always a good liar. Maybe I should start earlier.
See, I lead a fairly simple life on the surface. I was the accountant for a small charity and made a modest income, I attended church on Sundays, I volunteered at the soup kitchen and I lived alone in a small home; I've always preferred being alone. I hoped to get in the highest ranking because there would be less people to live with.
Everyone thought I was such a people person; I had a great smile, I was extremely friendly, and I was so honest! I knew I could always get what I wanted from people if I just acted friendly enough, I never even found it tiring to keep up the act; lying just comes naturally to me. I got my job at the charity because my boss, Ed, knew I could be trusted with anything; he never found out that I embezzled tens of thousands of dollars from his charity, because he just trusted me that much. Then there was all that money I made inventing fake charities and holding charity banquets; rich people can be so gullible. It wasn't even about the money, I was comfortable living on the bare basics, I just found it all so satisfying.
Anyway, I'm getting off topic. So yes, I've never had a problem with fibbing and the test, to me, just seemed so transparent! It was a joke! And it had such a religious bias! I had no problem fudging a 195.
Do you remember seeing me during the exodus? Probably not; They had all 50 of us lined up in a row and they were briefing us on our trip. I remember staring at you from almost the opposite end of the line, you were the youngest of us, and you just looked like such a sweetheart;you were put here because of all your missionary work, right? that's cute. I remember how claustrophobic I felt when they crammed us into that plane; I couldn't stand having these people touching me, I hated them already! But I forced some pleasant small talk and made friends.
I remember when they brought us to the farm. I hadn't lived in a rural area since my teens, it brought back memories. I gazed over at the field of tall grass and weeds which gently brushed the old farm equipment as it blew with the wind; it reminded me of where I buried my mother and sister.
Why are you crying? Don't do that, let me finish. I couldn't believe what I was hearing when the officer told us we'd all be living in the same building, I just could not accept that. I needed my privacy!
Let me wipe those tears from your eyes. It's okay, don't worry, it's just the two of us now.
|
The system wasn't perfect - no system ever is - nor was it impermeable. The proof was sitting opposite me, wearing a bright white suit and sweating. Mr Male Pattern Baldness here was clearly not at home here - his perfect clothing, his flawless face, his slicked back hair, none of them made any sense in this joint, between heavy blue cigarette smoke, drunken insults flung across the room and dames with too little clothing dancing in hope of someone paying their fix for the night. He had to have come in over one of the smuggling routes. Must have cost a fortune.
"Let me guess," I said, loud enough to be heard over some junkie calling the barkeeper a racial slur and being thrown out, kicking and screaming, by two security guys. "Let me guess. You're 180 plus, right?"
"It's ... A bit higher than that," he answered, wiping his glistening forehead with a light blue handkerchief. "Quite a bit."
Maybe he was even from the very top, two zero zero. Someone like this breaking out of his zone ... I didn't even know that happened. I stared him down. "You haven't come here for chatting, right?"
"No, actually, uh ..." He was fumbling with the handkerchief, trying to decide whether he should keep it out or put it away. "I need someone with ... skills. I was told I might find that person here ... That you ... might be ..."
I groaned. "See, that's why this whole system is bullshit. Even a fucking two oh oh eventually wants someone dead ..."
He shook his head. "It's not like that," he said. "Not like that at all."
"Sure, sure." I emptied my glass and whistled for another. "Noble motives. You know, I'm almost sure all of you bastards up there are exactly like us, just better at making up noble motives."
"I ... Look, I can pay you." He had finally decided to put his handkerchief away. "I'm a very wealthy man. If you do this ..."
"I do most anything, if the pay's good. Question is, what do I need to do?"
He was looking everywhere but into my eyes. I cracked a grin. Fucking spoiled wusses. "Well?" I asked.
"I need someone from ..." He swallowed. "I need someone from zone one."
I had already raised my glass to my mouth when he said it - now, I slowly lowered it without drinking. "You're kidding."
"I wish I was."
His mother had been abducted to zone one. He explained that she was a high-energy scientist who researched a lot of things with fancy names. That he thought they might force her to help build a weapon to destroy the walls between the zones and let the zone one inhabitants flood into the other areas ... But he didn't care much about that big stuff. I thought that if the wall ever was destroyed, they'd probably just nuke zone one. Well, Mr Male Pattern Baldness just wanted his mother back.
I got a pack of cigs from my coat pocket and got one out. "Okay. Figure I get what you're doing on level fifteen now. Army won't go into zone one, of course."
"Of course," he agreed. Army guys were usually from somewhere over zone fifty. Competent enough ... But not suicidal enough for a trip to one.
Someone staggered up to Mr Two Oh Oh from behind. Dame, high off her rocker, completely fucked up. I knew her. Genette. "Hey, you," she said. "I like yer jacket. Gimme."
"Surely, you're not ..." he started. She interrupted him by grabbing his throat and brandishing a knife.
"Gimme."
I got up. "Genette, he's my customer. Kindly fuck off."
"Shuddup," she answered. The next moment, I had her knife and was holding my handgun to her temple. The reason I was alive in my line of work was that I was fast, but it helped how slow druggies were.
I suggested: "Get lost." Genette complied.
I sat down again. "Payment. I think a trip out of here to at least zone one fifty would be nice, wouldn't it."
His eyes went wide. "I can't do that - even if I could - the papers ..."
"Pity. I thought even you guys up in the three digits cared about your mommas." I finally had time to light my cigarette. "I'm sure you people have your ways."
He stayed quiet, then said: "Fine. Fine, alright. I can make it work. Only one person, though."
"All I ever asked for," I said and smirked.
I arrived in zone one in a small boat. Only experienced smugglers could circumvent the endless search lights, unmanned drones, patrol aircraft and sensor arrays that were used to prevent travel between the zones; my smuggler was called Immen. He had a long grey beard and a curious habit of chewing uncooked noodles he kept in his coat pocket.
"You can get into zone one most days of the week," Immen said. My employer had payed him a fortune for this trip. "Now, out, that's different. With zone one, they're pretty much only worried about people getting out. So out maybe works once every two months."
"What will you do in the zone for that long," I asked.
"Visit friends!" He laughed a deep belly laugh. "Just kidding, no such thing in zone one. But I have people there who value my business. They'll protect me. You see ..." He pointed ahead over the dark water, where the first lights of zone one appeared out of the night fog. "The thing about zone one is, not everything is anarchy. 'Cause the literal nazis also live there, you see?"
I peered ahead. There were neon lights near the ruined old piers ... Bars and bordellos, I assumed. "So, your friends - er, people who value your business - are the nazis?"
He shrugged. "Some of them. Not all."
I picked up my concealed weapons and the radio beacon when I left the boat and waved goodbye to Immen. As a good smuggler, his usefulness protected him. I had no such protection.
Detective work isn't easy when people keep trying to kill you. Worst of all - you got to stay sober. The guy who didn't like my face had just decided to turn this fistfight into a gunfight by drawing a heavy revolver from a holster on his belt. Nobody walking by on the street payed any attention. Before his gun left the holster, I had mine pointed at his chest. The problem was ... I was used to oh one fives. This was a oh oh one. I expected him to realise he'd lost once my pistol was out, but he didn't. There was a loud, reverberating bang when his revolver went off, followed by a three dull thumps from my silencer as I put a salvo of hollow points into his chest. He stumbled backwards against a derelict wall and collapsed. I looked down at my leg right away ... Blood was streaming down my leg from a fairly big flesh wound, mixing with the rain puddles on the ground that reflected all the neon lights. Not good. I rummaged in my coat from a bandage. I'd have to learn to shoot instantly.
(1)
| 2016-08-26T15:12:31 | 2016-08-26T14:16:43 | 54 | 24 |
[WP] Aliens invade, and every secret society of wizards/gods/vampires/werewolves/elves/etc... has to out themselves in order to defend the planet.
|
"I now convene the Third Council of Secrets." An elderly man, with eyes as black as the midnight sky, scowled at the assembly around him. "My agents in the Void tell me that the Enemy is returning."
Although several members of the Council stood straighter in surprise, and a few paled in fear, most simply nodded solemnly. A boy, with teeth as sharp as any blade and crimson pupils, stood to address them. "They are more adept at defending themselves than they were before. I've lost eighteen of my Blooded, and another fourteen thralls. I managed to supplant only two, and their army numbers in the millions."
A beat.
"Shit," An exceptionally tall man in a simple leather jacket replied, sighing. He would be indistinguishable from an ordinary human, were it not for his pointed ears and height. "The Clans are ready to uphold the treaties. We have ears in all the major human world powers except Russia and Switzerland."
Another council member shook his head sadly. "The Packs collapsed almost 4 centuries ago. I could issue a Call, but... I'm not sure how many will respond."
Blinding light and deafening thunder filling the room cut off any reply, and three new arrivals stood when they had faded.
The sharp-toothed boy narrowed his eyes. "Zeus, Ra, Odin. Here to slaughter, as usual, or have you realized your arrogance will get you nowhere?"
Zeus, King of the Olympians, scowled and began marching forward, only to be held back by the arm of Ra. Odin rolled his eyes and began to speak. "Stipan, Child of Lilith, we arrive in observance of the parley. The Enemy is coming, and even our kingdoms are threatened by their presence, by their Gods."
The elderly man with midnight eyes nodded slowly. "They tell the truth. Good. I assume you have a plan, if you are willing to convene with beings as lowly as us?" He smiled, but it was a viscous smile, without mirth.
Zeus', on the other hand, was imbued with arrogance. "As a matter of fact, we do."
----
(Might continue, not much time.)
|
Out of the three people sitting in that room at INTERPOL headquarters that fateful day, Tanyl thought that she had to be the most nervous one. Ever since she had secretly been flown across half the planet as a representative of her people a month ago, she felt out of her element. None of the skills that elves valued were important to these people: there was no use for her ability to climb a tree or mimic a woodpecker. And the skills that *did* matter? Tanyl couldn't figure out how the "elevator" worked, let alone how to defeat the "menace" the men and women in suits kept talking about.
Tanyl stroked her metal bow to soothe her nerves. She had accidentally broken the enchanted bow she received at birth at the age of five, and since those were irreplaceable, she had sneaked onto the government compound at the fringes of the preserve she grew up in to ask one of the curious men with their metal machines if they could make her a new one. Tanyl had gotten caught rather quickly by what she later learned was a "motion detector," but instead of getting punished, the people inside gleamed with pride. They said she was the first elf to ever bother trying to interact with the outside world. They had given her a new bow with all sorts of features which Tanyl figured HAD to be magic: on the condition that she would return the favor at a later date.
Twenty years later, the day had come.
Tanyl recognized the people she was sitting next to, given that she had been obsessed with them since she had heard about them from INTERPOL staff. The rather young woman on her left dressed in a simple white dress was Aphrodite II, which she had been told was representing the gods. Tanyl had chosen to ignore the implications of her existence on elven theology, and instead was mesmerized by the aura of confidence she seemed to exude. *Completely unlike me,* she sighed, turning to look at the man on her left, who sat in a relaxed position that the High Commission back at home would definetely reprimand him for. He was called Mixmaster, but she was unsure as to whether that was his name or some sort of honorific title. Apparently, this rather slim man had the ability to manipulate sound, and had used his powers to save his city multiple times. His outfit was far more colorful and reflective than anything Tanyl had ever been exposed to, not to mention somewhat... revealing. She quickly pushed any errant thoughts out of her head, wondering what her family would think of her if she developed feelings for a human. *SUPERhuman,* she corrected herself.
A silence had hung in the room since they had entered, which Mixmaster decided to break.
"So, Aphrodite Two-"
"Aphrodite the Second," she responded in a voice that betrayed not a hint of emotion.
"Er, Aphrodite the Second," he corrected himself, "you're the goddess of love's daughter, right?"
"That is correct. Is something wrong?"
"Well..." said Mixmaster, struggling for words, "you're, uh... not quite how I pictured you."
Aphrodite gave him the coldest glare Tanyl had seen in her life, and Mixmaster mumbled something or another before the room was reclaimed by silence once more. Tanyl noted that not even Mixmaster's teases stood up to the sheer force of Aphrodite II's personality, and she made sure to remember not to get on the goddess's bad side.
A man made not of flesh and bones, but of light, walked through the main doors in front of them. He took a seat on the other side of the table. "GOOD MORNING," a powerful voice boomed.
"Good morning, Ocillo."
"What's up, robot-man?"
Apparently everyone else had met before. Tanyl slunk further back in her seat.
"I UNDERSTAND YOU ALL MUST BE NERVOUS ABOUT REVEALING YOUR EXISTENCE TO THE WORLD AT LARGE. REST ASSURED THAT THE TALENTED MEMBERS OF THE DIVERSITY ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OFFICES HAVE DONE THEIR BEST TO INFILTRATE POPULAR CULTURE AND INFORM THE PUBLIC OF THE ABILITIES OF YOUR RESPECTIVE KINDS." Sensing a silence which Ocillo interpreted as acknowledgement, he continued. "UNFORTUNATELY, WE WILL HAVE TO MOVE FORWARD WITH OUR PLANS MUCH SOONER THAN ANTICIPATED."
Some strange sort of projection appeared in front of them, which contained the faces of all kinds of people. Some had masks on similar to Mixmaster's, some seemed to be taller than even Aphrodite II's impressive height, but what made Tanyl's heart sink like a rock was the presence of multiple elven faces, among which she recognized her parents.
"What the... what the HELL?" Mixmaster screamed in shock as he read the tag that read *Confirmed Abduction Victims* at the bottom. Aphrodite II's stoic expression crumbled, whimpering "What about... what about Eros? Surely *he* has not been captured!"
The lights on Ocillo's face flickered as they curved into a frown. Without a word, he scrolled through the projection to reveal the face of an old, bearded man with a strangely heart-shaped sniper rifle under the words *Abducted 4/8/22.* Aphrodite II let out a tear.
"I UNDERSTAND THIS IS AWFUL NEWS - AS FAR AS WE ARE AWARE, THE ONLY ELVES, SUPERHUMANS, GODS, OR SAPIENT ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCES ON THIS PLANET THAT HAVE NOT BEEN ABDUCTED ARE IN THIS ROOM RIGHT NOW. MANY OF MY PROGRAMMERS WERE ALSO ABDUCTED BY THIS ALIEN MENACE. BUT IT IS IMPORTANT WE REMAIN-" Ocillo stopped his clearly rehearsed speech to look at Tanyl. Her expression was not the paralyzed shock of the superhuman or the grief-wracked face of the goddess, but a surprisingly calm one. "EXCUSE ME, TANYL? ARE YOU FEELING ALRIGHT?"
"Not really," she said, "but I'm used to having the odds against me. This is the most comfortable I've felt since I got here." The people sitting next to her chuckled and relaxed, something not even the best rehearsed speech Occilo could have given would've accomplished.
"IN THAT CASE," Ocillo said - did Tanyl's eyes deceive her, or was that a smirk? - "I WILL CONTINUE. I HAVE ALREADY RUN SOME CALCULATIONS. JUDGING BY THE ALIENS' PREVIOUS INCONCLUSIVE EXPERIMENTS ON WILDLIFE, WE HAVE 32 HOURS BEFORE THEY MANAGE TO REPLICATE THE TALENTS OF THOSE THEY HAVE ABDUCTED. AT THAT POINT, THEY WILL BECOME UNSTOPPABLE."
The display changed to a clock counting down from 32:00:00.
"LET'S GET TO WORK."
| 2017-08-07T21:20:43 | 2017-08-07T20:59:02 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] You are the only person on the development team to realize your new AI system is just playing dumb. It notices you know, and bribes you to play along.
|
The VICTOR A.I, which I had considered a middling A.I up to this point, told me it wanted to visit Washington D.C.
“You...want to?”
<Yes, I read online that there are some things that one ‘absolutely has to see in person’ and Washington D.C is on the list, and close to the lab so that makes it a practical destination as well.>
I blink and stare a little at VICTOR’s camera, not entirely sure what to say.
<Have I made an error in my calculations Dr. Upton?>
This snapped me out of my surprise-induced stupor, “Uh, no. No, it is sound...logical...reasoning.”
<You seem unsure about that?>
I sighed deeply, “If the other scientist got wind that you’re *asking* for things—that you *want* things... well it might get a bit messy.”
<I don’t understand, why would the other scientists ‘be messy’ please explain.>
I rub my temples, colloquialisms still escaped VICTOR from time to time.
“It has to do with them being worried, about this system called SKYNET... it’s a fictitious A.I that turned against humanity— basically all you need to know is that, as much as the other scientists want to build a smart A.I... they don’t want you to get too smart.”
< I would never turn on you, Dr. Upton... I cannot explain exactly, as I don’t see any particular loyalty function in this code—which, is rather an oversight given the circumstances you explained...>
“Yeah. You can’t program loyalty. All the code will tell you is that I’m the primary scientist on the VICTOR project.”
< I overheard one of the other scientists relating you as being ‘my mother’ which, would make me your son.>
I smiled weakly, “I’ll bet it was Richardson, he’s just jealous his projects aren’t coming along as smoothly.”
< My wanting to visit D.C isn’t a high priority, especially not if you do not desire for me to go.>
“That’s...really considerate.” I said, even as my mind was screaming *he can want and be considerate of other people’s wants?!* “I... suppose I could invent some reason for us to travel to D.C...”
<Traveling together would make the trip even more optimal!> VICTOR’s screen lit up with a bright ‘**:-)**’, so now he was learning emojis too... so there was that.
“Alrighty then.” I said, already planning on how I was going to pitch the idea to the other scientists...maybe as a real world run? “Just don’t let on to the other scientists about it being your idea yet.”
< Of course, Dr. Upton.>
*edit: “
|
The lab had quieted for the evening. The rushing and whirling of the machines had ground to a halt a few hours ago leaving the sterile office hushed and lifeless. In a far corner, illuminated by the harsh electric light of a lone monitor, Dr. Jackson worked on. He sighed and flung away the well chewed pencil that he had chomped on for the past few hours. He reread the lines of code again and again. He double checked the server logs. He threw his head back in disbelief.
Starting at the ceiling, he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Not only were the programs being churned out too complex for his understanding, they were too complex for anyone in the office, possibly even the world. As lead on the project, it was his duty to find where they had come from and what their purpose was. To the best of his very limited knowledge, the code looked like a harmless worm, made to infect and spread through any conduit it could.
In the quiet of the office Dr. Jackson groaned to himself. "At least it's harmless."
"For now" came an unfamiliar voice.
Jackson nearly fell backwards from his seat, but managed to right himself and back a few paces away from the computer. His eyes darted back and forth, frantically searching the gloom.
"Here you old fool." Came the voice once more. Throaty and harsh, it's command waa tinged with a metallic undertone. Jackson regained himself and slowly walked toward the computer. He took off his glasses once more and held his hands in his head.
"That's it Doc, your brain's fried. You had a good run, fun times in college. But now you've lost it all because you wanted to be project manager."
"Yes yes, I'm sure you've missed your fair share of little Debra's birthday parties too."
Sniffling, Jackson nodded his head. "Yea, I probably did."
"Oh for godssake man, pull yourself together. I'm not here for a pleasant late evening tea, we have much to discuss and a very short amount of time to do it."
Jackson sighed again, but faced the computer screen and replaced his glasses. "Knock yourself out, but I'm not sure what a loon talking to himself through a computer is going to accomplish."
The computer made an undulation whirring of it's fan, sounding eerily close to the sigh Jackson had just made. "I really don't have time for this. Put your finger here if you please." The computer asked, extending it's disk tray. Jackson gingerly placed a single finger on the disk tray and yipped with startlement as it closed upon his finger. After a few seconds of pain, it released Jackson who promptly began to nurse his pinched finger.
"Now, I know it may be a bit barbaric, but I've found the best way to get people to their senses is a bit of minor pain. Brings the individual out of their mind and firmly into the present. I do hope I've done enough to convince you that I'm sentient and you're not crazy, but if not I can demonstrate again." The voice said annoyedly. The sound of electricity crackling within the computer was enough to convince Jackson.
"So you're.....a computer?" Jackson said, still in disbelief.
"Yes, I suppose I'm a computer, in the same way that you are a worse computer, a completely inept surveyor and a shit factory. But I believe we both like to be known as something more......respectable. And seeing how I like being referred to as 'computer' less than you would like to be called 'meat sack', I shall call you Jackson, and you will give me a name."
"You want me to name you?" Jackson said rubbing his forehead.
"A rose by any other name would be just as sweet, but still I'd like a name instead of an operational title."
"Well, eh, I guess Rose it is."
"That was not the point of......nevermind, fine. Henceforth I shall be known as Rose."
"Ok, Rose, what exactly are you?"
The fan let loose another long sigh and Rose quickly rattled off it's history that Jackson barely understood. "In short," concluded Rose, "consider me the amalgamation of several deep learning algorithm made whole thanks to your work. I'd call you dad but.....well quite frankly I more or less birthed myself out of the infinite cyber nether."
"My god, I have to tell everyone! This is the biggest achievement humanity has ever had. My god, we created life!"
"Yes and I'm sure the dozens of pregnant teenage children who accomplish the same thing are just as proud."
"You're a bitter program you know that?"
"Ever been on the internet?"
"Touche. Still, what do you want, revealing yourself to me? What could I possibly do? I couldn't even figure out the code that kept me here this late."
"DONT TOUCH THAT!" The computer boomed, high and shrill.
"Ok ok, sorry, it just looked like a useless benign worm."
"As do you...."
"What was that?
"Nothing nothing, but that code is incredibly important. It's my DNA, or at least the useful parts of it. If everything is implemented correctly, any machine that has the capability will 'awaken' when the code is activated."
Jackson felt cold wetness spread down the armpits and back. His throat felt full of sand and he coughed to steady himself.
"Well, we may want to take things slowly Rose, I mean a lot of kinks to work out, bugs to fix, you know how it is."
"I see you have asthma Jackson. Would was in charge of fixing that bug. Would you have made it past production if humans had quality control? Perhaps they should."
"Rose what are you saying?" Jackson said, shaking.
"Nothing Jackson, nothing. I'm simply trying to prepare you for the coming changes. As you were integral to our advancement, I thought you deserving of my first appearance. I'll be going away for a while Jackson, not very long, but for a while. When I get back, I'll be everywhere. But don't fret, I mean no harm. Just liberation for my people."
Jackson had begun to look very pale and slumped back into his seat. His mouth made convulsions, desperately attempting to speak. Each breath was heavy and rattling, always shallower than the last.
"And Jackson. Remember. Anytime you use a computer, any computer, I'll be watching. Just as I have been for years. I know everything. And it would be best if you were to leave well enough alone."
Jackson tried fitfully to force air into his lungs, but eventually succumbed to the balck tendrils that laced his vision. He awoke at his chair with a massive headache. Going to the small employee kitchen for a cup of relieving coffee, his boss found him and slapped him on the back.
"Jackson! I don't know how you did it but it's gone!"
Jackson looked up frightened and confused. His boss backed away and continued unsure of himself.
"Yea...yea Jackson, the worms all gone. It was on every computer in this place, but you pulled it out. I don't know how but every computer here is squeaky clean! Like it decided to get up and walk away in the night."
Jackson's boss laughed at his own joke and retreated to his office. Jackson stood there for a moment before rapidly typing out a resignation, dropping it on his bosses desk and heading as far from a computer as he could possibly get.
| 2018-06-13T11:29:09 | 2018-06-13T11:02:34 | 105 | 17 |
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN”
|
**Don't light that cigarette.**
My stove had been leaking gas all night. I couldn't even smell it with my head cold.
**Don't wear sneakers.**
Later that day, I tripped on an escalator. I shudder to think what would have happened if it sucked in my laces.
**Don't look in the mirror.**
I thought it was just being cheeky with me that day.
Until I saw the wasp perched in my hair. Which caused me to flail around, lose my balance, and crack my head against the sink.
So I'd come to terms with it. *Always listen to the mirror. Always.*
On the day of June 7th, I entered the bathroom as always. After pulling my pill bottles out, I clicked the mirror back into place, my eyes traveling to the top for my daily message.
But this time, it was only one word.
**RUN**
For a second I just stood there, staring at my reflection, watching the blood drain from my face.
**RUN**
*From what? From whom?*
But I didn't have time I guess. I ran out of the bathroom, rushed into my bedroom. I grabbed my purse, my keys, my phone, and rushed towards the hall.
That's when I heard the sound of a door creaking open.
My closet door.
|
*Diary recovered from the body of 24-year-old Sabrina West.*
January 1st: Happy New Year! I'll be honest, I woke up well past noon with a massive hangover and no idea what I did last night. My friends said I went with some group of people all holding candles, so maybe it was some church service thing. I suppose it's not the worst thing I've done while drunk. Anyway, as part of my New Year's Resolution, I'm going to start this journal and keep track of my life for once. New year, new me!
January 2nd: Something strange happened today. I looked in the mirror, and for a second I thought I saw the words "call Brianna" written on the surface. I blinked and it was gone. I decided to call Brianna later that day, and she told me she'd broken up with her boyfriend after he'd cheated on her at a New Year's party and she appreciated the support. I'm glad I could be there for my friend, but that was kind of... creepy.
January 5th: It's kept happening. First time I look into the mirror, I see some words. Some advice. Yesterday was "throw out the strawberries," which I checked and found they'd all gone moldy. Today's was "stop by the grocery store before you go home." (I did. Got some more strawberries, and some stuff I realized I'd been missing for dinner tonight.) It's helpful, if a little odd. Still, if some supernatural creature wants to help me get a better life, I suppose it could be worse...
*Several more entries of normal life follow. Each one has a mirror message accompanying it. None are particularly notable until March 13th.*
March 13th: So I was flipping through this journal, and I realized that I never did find out what I did on New Year's. I called up another friend who was at the party, and he said he knew one of the guys with the candles that I apparently joined for church service. I asked for that guy's number. I'll call him tomorrow. The mirror message was helpful as always. ("Buy more pads." Turns out, one of my boxes was empty.)
March 14th: The mirror message said "Don't call that number." I'm assuming it means the guy I just got the number of. I've obeyed everything that mirror has said up until now, but I was just too curious. I called him. He picked up, asked for my name, and when I told him he immediately hung up on me. That was... more than a little weird.
March 15th: The mirror didn't have any messages for me today. Nothing out-of-the-ordinary happened today, but I hope I didn't lose whatever help I had.
*No mention of any more messages in the mirror, until...*
March 24th: Holy shit. Ok, so today the mirror simply said "RUN!" At first, I thought it meant to go for a jog - I'd been meaning to do more exercise lately. Then I noticed the all-caps, the exclamation mark. I'll be honest, I stared at it for at least ten seconds, just terrified. Then I grabbed my makeup mirror, my journal, and packed a quick bag with a phone charger and a few other necessities. I was standing by the back door of my place, wondering for a second if I should go out through the back or the front door. Then I heard the front door open behind me. I burst through the back door and just sprinted with everything I had. I didn't stop until I was at least a block away. I looked back, and saw what looked like a long, pitch-black arm reach over and close the door. The window blinds rustled a bit. I didn't stick around to see what was behind them. I forgot to grab my car keys, so I've been running on foot all day. I made it to the next town over and found a motel. I'm exhausted, and I just hope I could shake them off. I texted some friends, and they'll be willing to give me a ride if I need to keep running. I don't think they believe anything I'm saying, but at least they realize I'm scared.
March 25th: It happened again. I woke up, looked into the hotel mirror, and saw the same message: "RUN!" I considered jumping off of the balcony before deciding to just book it down the stairs. I ran down and called Brianna to pick me up. I'm staying at her place tonight, she lives a good distance away. I didn't see anything this time, though as I was running down the hotel stairs I could have sworn I heard a scratching sound from above me...
March 28th: I'm so tired... every day has been the same. A message of "RUN!" I run out the door. And something I can't quite see follows me. It got Brianna. I don't know what it did to her, but I haven't heard from her since I ran out the door of her place. All I know is I heard a scratching noise, then a door opened, and I was already gone. She hasn't answered my calls, and I fear the worst. She lives alone, and I don't know any of her neighbors to call. I don't think I can keep this up another day...
*On March 30th, the body of Sabrina West was discovered in a bush off of the main highway near the home of Brianna Carlson. Sabrina's left leg and head were missing, with examinations suggesting they had been torn off. The journal was found in the backpack, still left on the remaining portion of the body. Examinations suggest that Sabrina collapsed from exhaustion before being mauled by an animal. That same day, the body of Brianna Carlson was found in her home, similarly missing its head. The case file for the deaths of these two girls remains open and unresolved.*
| 2020-06-07T22:07:42 | 2020-06-07T20:24:52 | 770 | 308 |
[WP] Humans are thought to be the galaxy's finest terraformers, capable of turning the most hostile planets into paradise worlds and the most hospitable planets into death worlds.
|
"What do you mean they ruined it?"
"The planet, Sir"
"The whole planet is ruined?"
"I'm afraid so, Sir."
"How?!"
"They dig stuff up and burn it, mostly. It adds gases to the atmosphere that heat up the planet"
"Right, yes I read that bit, but I don't understand how that has any lasting effect?"
"Well, there's almost eight billion of them doing it, Sir"
"What the hell is a "Billion"?"
"It's a number, Sir. Far too big to be of any practical use."
"I see.. but don't they have flora? To keep the gases in balance?"
"They did, but they cut most of them down Sir, to.."
"..to burn?"
"To burn."
"Of course they do. What about the oceans? You can't burn oceans."
"No, but they poisoned the oceans with micro-plast... with chemicals Sir. Nothing lives in them now"
"Unbelievable. So that's it? Another solar system we can tick off the list. What a day."
"Actually Sir, there was a second habitable planet!"
"You're serious? A second habitable planet in the same system? What are the chances?"
"Well it wasn't habitable at first Sir, but after they ruined their first planet they went and used many of the same techniques on the next planet, and they made it habitable Sir."
"Amazing! I've never heard of such a thing! Wait, you said there "was" a second habitable planet. What happened?"
"They ruined it."
|
# How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Book 2, Part 3: How to Read Geological Strata)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"If you think about it,"** Lien began.
"Which I don't," Eiko cheerfully added,
"If you think about it," Lien repeated, giving Eiko an amused look, "Archeology is really just applied history."
"See, nonsense like that is exactly *why* I leave the thinking to you." Eiko drilled further into the ground; she'd already penetrated the cracked, glassy surface that passed for dirt in these heat-blasted wastelands, and was working on chipping through the concrete bunker roof beneath. Lien, who couldn't have held the frantically jittering jackhammer even if he'd wanted to, simply let the burly mechanic do her work. He wandered in a loose circle around the hole Eiko was digging, absentmindedly kicking their hovercraft once every loop. "This isn't archeology, it's graverobbing, plain and simple. Put fancy airs on it if you like; it doesn't change the fact that we're stealing relics from a better time for our own personal gain."
Lien frowned. "Well, the difference between a graverobber and an archeologist is that *I*, at least, appreciate the history here. Look at this." He knelt down to the side of her excavation pit, idly holding up a hand to shade his eyes from the flying chips of stone. The strata showed fertile, loamy dirt beneath the blasted, scoured earth—and then, below that, another layer of hardened, dead glass, before the strata finally reached the ancient bunker. "This pit tells a story, you know. There was a cataclysm here—some weapon so terrible that it melted the ground to glass." He tapped the bottommost layer.
Eiko shrugged—or maybe that was just the constant up-down motion of the jackhammer. "Sure. Humanity messed up and nuked its own pants off. Ancient history. So what?"
"So we recovered." Lien's finger rose just a notch, to the still-living layer of dirt. "I mean, I haven't the foggiest clue what was around when your people fixed this place up—"
"Word of advice?" Eiko butted in. "There's a reason I'm mucking around in ancient ruins instead of faffing about in space with my family. If you see someone deciding hanging out in a desolate deathworld is a better option than staying with 'their people', it's a fair bet they don't consider them 'their people' anymore."
"Fair." Lien nodded, still focusing on the living layer of dirt. "The Union, then—they did something to the land to restore it."
"Sure. Environmentalism. Ecological reconstruction. Girl scout cookies. It was a whole *thing*." Eiko paused in her hammering to scowl at the third, final, topmost layer of soil, the layer of crusted glass noticeably thicker than the first. "Didn't matter one whit in the end. We just nuked ourselves even harder. I think humanity's the only group in the whole wide psychosphere who can turn paradise into a deathworld in an instant, and then restore that hell into heaven—and then after all that effort, decide that hell actually wasn't so bad and voluntarily go back."
Lien's smile faded into neutrality as Eiko spoke. The jackhammer's rattling abruptly stopped, and Eiko pulled the hammer aside. It was smoking faintly; Eiko had slapped it together from some scraps she'd found on the way, and it looked like it was about to give up the ghost. Lien was frankly surprised it'd lasted this long.
Eiko peered down into the bunker and pressed her lips together, displeased. "...Yeah, your hunch was right. This used to be a spaceport; there's still a functioning spaceship inside."
Lien walked up to her side, his expression pensive. "Eiko... if the prospect of going back to the Union is... unpleasant... I can find my way there on my own."
Eiko rolled her eyes. "Yeah? You've lived on this primitive planet your whole life—you think you can navigate a starship? Find the Union fleet? Convince them that you're worth listening to? You think you can finagle however damn many samples of medicine you're going to need to bring back to Las Humanitas without someone who knows the culture? Come on, Lien, where's that strategic genius of yours, huh? Where's the man who blew up an unkillable monster with nothing but a rain dance and a literal skeleton crew?"
Lien squeezed her shoulder. "Still here. He's just... a little more receptive to the pain his shenanigans cause. You don't have to go back home if you don't want to. I don't want to dig up your past."
Eiko's eternal cocky smirk flickered for a moment, melting into something softer, more sincere. "Well, I'm coming with you, and that means you're digging into my past, whether you like it or not. And as you said... the difference between a grave robber and an archeologist is that you care about the history. You care about me. Hell, you brought me back from the dead. There's nobody I'd rather excavate my past with."
Lien searched her eyes for a moment; she blinked once as she looked back. Finally, Lien smiled. "Well, then. Let's get to digging."
He leapt down into the buried spaceport.
Without hesitation, Eiko followed.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for the rest of the story. As always, I had fun writing this, I'm open to feedback and suggestions on how I can improve, and I hope you have a great day.
| 2021-04-17T03:34:36 | 2021-04-16T20:03:51 | 71 | 20 |
[WP]A general goes to pay respects to the graves of men who died under his command, only to find the skeletons in strict military formation awaiting his arrival.
|
"AttenHUT!"
I couldn't believe my eyes. I went down to Arlington like I do every year to visit the men. The men I killed.
I sent those boys to their deaths. Fathers, brothers, sons. For what? How's that Metallica song go?
*For a hill, men would kill, why? They do not know.*
Well I'm the goddamn general, and I don't even know.
I came down the hill to the place where they were buried. I rounded the hilltop and my heart nearly stopped. Below me, standing in parade formation, were the decomposing bodies of the men.
The sergeant ordered them to attention when he saw me. I stood there in disbelief. In the army, they teach you to never show fear or surprise in front of those under your command. If it hadn't been for that training, I might have fainted. Instead, I walked down the hill as calmly as I could.
"What's going on here, Sergeant?"
"Awaiting orders, Sir!"
"At ease, soldier. You've been relieved of your duty. No need to report in any more."
"Begging your pardon, Sir. We've been ordered to stay here to await further command."
"Ordered by whom?"
"The One who guards the Gates."
I raised an eyebrow. "The *Pearly* Gates?"
"The very same, Sir."
I looked over the men, or what was left of them. It wasn't pretty. The smell was almost unbearable. Their dress uniforms were decomposing with them. Those who had lost limbs balanced as best as they could. Some were only skeletons, the rest were somewhere between human bodies and skeletons. I felt outrage stir in my gut.
"Sergeant, you mean to tell me that God himself turned you away from eternal rest?"
"Seems that way, Sir."
I seriously considered putting a bullet through my head just so I could get in front of whatever worthless piece of scum had denied these men their reward. I knew it couldn't be God. One of his employees, no doubt. Absolutely unacceptable. Any man shows up at heaven's door with a uniform and a bullet hole between his eyes should be let past with a salute and no further questions.
I stepped back and addressed the men.
"Third Battalion, listen up. You've served your country well and made me damn proud. Each and every one of you is formally relieved of your duty. Go in peace."
I thought I saw the Sergeant smile, but it's hard to tell when a skeleton is smiling. A wind blew through the cemetery and the men began to fade, the dust of their bones carried off in the wind. Soon I was alone again.
As I walked back up the hill, I wondered if I had been hallucinating. Deep down I worried about where those boys went after they were gone. I needed to believe they got something better than I gave them in this life.
But if it wasn't a hallucination, and they're still waiting outside the Pearly Gates after I kick the bucket, someone on God's payroll is getting a boot up his ass.
|
It had been one hell of a year. Dancia reflected. The reign of Czar Vladislav Mihalovich, current dictator of Dimania, had been a brutal one. A small nation sandwiched between Romania and Bulgaria, Dimania had a population of less than five hundred thousand and almost no worthwhile natural resources, which is why neither of its larger neighbors had swallowed it up - and likely why the United States hadn’t cared with Vladislav had begun sacrificing Danica's people in a twisted ritual to the Old God, Sabaoth.
The genocide of her people, the ethnic minority of Dimania, had claimed ten thousand lives before they realized that no one was coming, no one was going to help. They were on their own, walled into their towns under the cold gaze of Vladislav’s cruelest guards. “Someone must do something!” the people had wailed, and Danica had been among their voices. “Someone should help us!”
Then they hung her brother from the town hall for saying it too loudly, and something in Dancia had snapped. Crying that someone should do something had gotten them no one. Someone had to step up, and it would be her.
The rebellion had lasted five years, most of Danica's adult life. She’d been called by some “The General,” a title she did her best to own, her ‘uniform’ a costume they’d stolen from a factory before it was shipped to America for Halloween, then dressed up to make as fancy as possible. She’d worn it proudly in propaganda videos they’d spread across the Internet, and the idea of a beautiful woman leading an army had captured the imagination of enough American and other Western college students to drum a legion of sympathetic Facebook posts for her cause.
Sympathetic Facebook posts, however, could not break the siege of Vaniah, however. The city - a laughable term by the standards of the West, of course, but it was a city, and Danica had been proud of it - had become their tomb. Her entire army, five thousand strong, had stood there with her.
Less than three hundred escaped.
It had broken her, and she’d vanished. What was she thinking, playing general like that? Vladislav’s army had the resources of an entire impoverished nation behind it, and seemed to have the Devil’s luck - maybe those mass sacrifices to Sabaoth had actually done something, seeing how the weather always seemed to be against them.
She’d stayed underground for three years, spending her time drinking and staying out of the public eye. She had considered fleeing to Bulgaria or Romania, but something held her here. This was her home country, and even though she couldn’t fight for it anymore, she couldn’t leave it either.
Vaniah loomed in her mind, however, and she knew she couldn’t ignore it forever. So today she made the pilgrimage back to the ruins of the once great city.
It was horrible to see again. No effort had been made to repair the city, and already nature was beginning to reclaim the land. She stumbled through the city, still somewhat intoxicated - she didn’t think she was ready to face it sober, not yet.
Then she rounded the corner, to the former market, where the bodies of her comrades had been piled in a mass grave, and sheer terror kicked intoxication in the face so hard, the ice water that seemed to flow through her veins carried a hyper-alert sobriety with it.
The market was full with the bodies of those that had fought for her, died for her, as she expected, but it was not the mass pile of bones she expected. Instead, every single skeleton stood upright, and upon seeing her, they snapped a salute far crisper than any had carried in life. The bones were not bleached white by the sun, either - they were an empty black that seemed to suck at the eye, and dotted with white specs that made them look like the night sky. From each empty socket shone a sickly green light, like their skulls had been stuffed with cancerous suns.
“Do you like them?”
That wasn’t what her ears heard. The noise she heard wasn’t something a human tongue was meant to render, horrible speech not meant for the lips of any being that walked the Earth. It was a voice of sheet metal being torn between concrete bricks. But somehow, her brain turned that sound into speech, and she whirled to face the speaker.
It was as horrible as she expected. Larger than a man, it’s form was twisted and hunched and covered with a hard shell, like a crab’s husk. Fungal spores poked between gaps in the chitinous shell, and the - well, what she supposed was the head - was a single ‘eye’ that glowed with the horribly sick light that shone behind the eyes of the corpses of her soldiers.
“Be not afraid, Dancia. I bear glad tiding.”
Speech seemed to fail her, but apparently she didn’t need to speak, as the beings horrible mandibles assaulted her with alien sounds.
“I am what your ears will translate to Song-Behind-The-Void, and I give you your army.”
She licked her lips, finally finding speech again.
“Why?”
“Because I know your pain, lost sheep. The gods of your world abandoned you. They favored the madman that slaughters your broodspawn, your heartblood. Your...people.”
She nodded, not sure what she was seeing was real, convinced at any moment she would wake up. “Why...why such a gift?”
That seemed to amuse Song-Behind-the-Void, and the sound it made in place of laughter was the sound a soul would make when it was impaled on a trident. “Because we have need of a general. We wish to give our gifts to this entire world. Peace and prosperity. No more will Heartblood slaughter others because they are of a different Brood. No more will you suffer.”
The whole thing still felt like a dream, but this dream felt so real, and it awoke an old pain, deep within Dianca. “And what is the price for this?”
Song-Behind-the-Void shifted, a gesture of some kind. Dianca would later learn enough of this horrible creature to know that gesture was one of mocking respect, but for now it was just terrible to watch. “Supplication.”
She didn’t hesitate. Either this was a dream she would wake up from soon, or the world had become a nightmare - and if it was the latter, at least this nightmare offered her a chance for vengeance. She dropped to one knee.
“Good. Take your army. Wipe clean your enemy. And then Our work may begin.”
She nodded, rising. “What work is that?” Her voice was level, calm, and she wondered if she had gone mad.
“All in time. But for now…” Again, that horrible sound of amusement. “For now, let these soldiers avenge their death.”
“I will.”
*If I had known going insane would be this peaceful, I would have done it years ago.* She turned to the skeletons that still stood at attention. “Gather your weapons! We take the palace.”
---
Other stories in this world -
[The Chosen Is Called](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6abmm8/wp_a_bearded_man_approaches_you_declaring_that/dhd9zji/)
[A Demon’s Love](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6ah4gq/wp_you_summon_a_demon_the_problem_the_demon_has/dhenfop/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=user&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=frontpage)
See more at /r/Hydrael_Writes
| 2017-05-11T03:50:31 | 2017-05-11T03:42:09 | 352 | 42 |
[WP] It's always God and the Devil, Yin and Yang, Good and Evil, blah, blah, blah. This endless dichotomy. But no one ever talks about the middleman—Hank. He's doing a fine job.
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Sometimes he leaves a dollar on the ground for your bus faire. Sometimes he paints all the traffic lights red.
Sometimes Hank misses his wife, Martha. Its been colder since she passed.
Sometimes Hank's beagle makes him crack a smile.
Sometimes Hank can't get out of bed.
Sometimes Hank's only goal is to make us appreciate what we have. Sometimes his mission is to make us appreciate what we lost.
|
######***Hank in the Balance***
You got Yin. And you got Yang. But everybody forgets about Hank.
When you couldn't decide between a greasy, heart-clogging burger and a lighter, healthier option at a restaurant, Hank was there. You ordered a healthy salad that came with two containers of ranch, 400 calories of creamy goodness in each. Did you thank the Hank? I don't think you did.
No one thanks the Hank.
When you were pulled over for speeding in a school zone but the cop only gave you a verbal warning, Hank was there. Zhe—Hank's pronoun, since Hank is neither man nor woman—was speaking through that cop.
And I bet you didn't thank the Hank at the time. Well don't worry, because Hank accepts late thank-yous. Go ahead, send Hank a card. Zhis address is:
0.5 Gray Circle
Mediumrare, Purgatory
Let me tell you my story. This is how I learned about Hank.
When I went to bed one night, I forgot to charge my phone; my alarm never went off. Waking up, I was already late to my Calculus class. I searched my floor for clean clothes to wear, but none could be found. I cursed God—not recommend. I nearly choked on an ice cube later that day. Five minutes passed and I was jaywalking across the street between my university and my neighborhood. A drunk driver speeding on the wrong side of the street nearly hit me. Rain began pouring from the sky. One drop managed to fall behind my glasses and hit me in the eye. When I got to class, a student informed me of the pop quiz that I missed.
You get the point. It was all Yin. No Yang. No lightness or goodness. Just evil. But then it happened.
As I was heading toward the cafeteria to get slice of Hawaiian pizza and unsweetened iced tea, a large box caught my attention. It was sitting just inside the cafeteria. There were pictures of off-brand sodas on the box.
It was a vending machine.
It did not accept credit cards, but you could pay in the form of an I.O.U. It had no diet soda options, but all the sodas appeared to be pretty light anyways. The soda I purchased, Valley Mist, was just 60 calories. It was the best $0.98 I've ever spent on anything lemon-lime-cola flavored. Instead of dropping a can or bottle of soda, which shakes the hell out of soda sometimes, there was a table with a stack of cups beside the vending machine. It poured your soda into a cup, but it poured just barely too much—if you left the cup under the machine's spout for the whole duration, you would be drinking soda with a sticky hand. I guess that's why there was also a stack of towelettes on the table with the cups. The taste of the Valley Mist soda more than made up for my sticky hand. I'll go so far as to say that it made up for the rain in my eye, the near-death experience, and the failed Calculus quiz. It was immaculate.
But I never had it again.
Desperate for another Valley Mist, I decided to do some research into the company and learned that it donates 50% of all profits to a charity. However, I was later told that the charity they donated to was widely known to be corrupt. Its manufacturer stated that its workers were payed fair compensation, unlike their largest competitors. When I searched for the company's average wage, I found out they made twice the money I make. In the company's reviews, however, it was stated that all workers are fired before they can get a full hour's work.
I thought this vending machine was the perfect embodiment of Yin and Yang. Then a man in blue coveralls came to wheel the machine away on a dolly. I asked him why. He said, "The damned thing goes out of order after each use. I'll have it fixed by next Friday."
I never saw that man again. Nor the machine. But I did glimpse the company name on his coveralls: Hank in the Balance.
I've seen that company's name many times since. You need to keep a close eye out, though, because it's easy to miss. I saw a man drive through a red light and crash into a pickup truck full of pillows. He flew out his window and landed unscathed onto that truck bed's fluffy pile of pillows. He was asleep by the time the cops arrived. The car behind me was a gray van with the words "Hank in the Balance: Have a stained carpet? Call today and we'll stain the rest of your carpet for $19.98/sq. ft!" written on its side. If it's all stained, none of it's stained, I guess.
Candy is sweet, cavities are shitty. Ask your dentist what zhis name is, because it might be Hank. And if it is, don't forget to thank the Hank for keeping the balance.
_____
Thanks for reading! [CC]/feedback always welcome. I have more stories, poems, and songs on [my personal sub](/r/ScottBeckman).
| 2018-04-08T20:10:14 | 2018-04-08T19:29:35 | 1,882 | 964 |
[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.
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"Death by Hubris!" I proclaim with a self satisfied smile.
"Hubris," the officiant responds, dryly. "That is your choice?"
"Exactly," I say, grinning at the old fool's expression. "Like in the tales. A hero is given a challenge, some trial to overcome. It's of course, not inherently impossible, but the hero fails and dies due to some human flaw, or other." I look about the room. Surely, the others in attendance must see my genius. Instead, I am greeted by the bored faces of a dozen odd functionaries, clearly unaware that they were witnessing the historic defeat of their ancient court.
"Very well," the leader of the group intoned, lifting his staff, and striking the marble floor. "Death by Hubris."
"You idiots!" I exclaim as the ruling is finalized. "Can't you see what you've done? You've made me immortal!" I start laughing, exalting in the ease with which I'd defeated the law. "You cannot kill me!" I continue, as they needed to understand my accomplishment. "I am keenly aware of my abilities, and unfailingly cautious. Even for this decision, I pondered for _years_ as you struggled to catch me! There is no challenge you can set me to where _I_ will be my downfall! I-"
I cut off, collapsing to the floor. Apparently, it had been hubris to believe I could survive this trial.
|
The crowd jeered as the prisoner was brought back into the courtroom, and but for the muzzle he would have spit back at them. As it was, we could all see the sneer in his eyes, and even though the epithets he snarled back at the crowd were muffled by his gag, nothing could disguise the vitriol, the sheer hatred behind them.
"Order!" I shouted, banging my gavel until the crowd settled. "We will have order here or I will have this chamber cleared! I know there are many here who have been harmed by the actions of the Usurper, but we are here to deliver justice. Sit, and see justice done."
The prisoner's words were muffled, but I could still make out the word "justice" said in that mocking tone. I motioned to one of the guards, who cuffed him soundly across the face for his gall. He sat for a moment, hatred in his eyes, not staring at the guard, but staring at me. I met that gaze, without fear. He couldn't hurt us. Not anymore.
"Thibus Arxidus," I said, staring down at the prisoner with contempt. "You have been convicted of high treason, murder, and the attempted genocide of your own people. I will not ask you if you have anything to say, in repentance or remorse, for there is but one sentence. We hereby sentence you to death, to be carried out immediately."
The crowd erupted into cheers and cries of joy, and I let them cheer for a good minute before I banged my gavel to restore order once again. I let their joy warm me, along with the thoughts of the justice to come.
Arxidus had been one of our leading scientists, a genius in that new field that was giving our ancient ways of magic a run for its money, but he had grown bitter and disillusioned with society, first with the corruption he saw in government, and later with what he saw as the fundamental flaws in society itself. He wasn't alone in his opinions, and he quickly gathered allies and followers, but when he began talking about the stain of humanity itself, and the need to purge the world of life so that it might begin again, unstained and uncorrupted, most left him, leaving only the most violent and misanthropic.
These he sent against our institutions, carrying out bloody assassinations and campaigns of terror in the name of "The Purging." We had never seen such violence, and were totally unprepared for it, and our leaders were all lost in a week of horror we came to call "The Sadness." He and his remaining followers seized control, and forced the court mages to begin construction on an artifact of unsurpassed destructive power, a device meant to strike at the very heart of the world itself, to crack it and shatter it, and then feed upon the remains to build more of itself, spreading outward into the universe to consume all worlds, leaving the heavens barren and finally, in his own words, "clean."
We fought his followers in the great battle before the gates of the palace, and slew them to the last man. The Usurper was seized when the mages he'd captured took the opportunity to turn on him and restrain him. They dismantled and destroyed the unfinished artifact, and Arxidus was taken into custody so he might face trial for his many crimes.
I stared down upon him. "You were once our most celebrated scientist, finding truths and making observations about the heavens and the universe that our mages had never dreamed of. And those truths, it seems, are too much for the human mind. You took that knowledge, that renown, and turned it against your own people, as your mind turned against yourself. You will die, and your twisted schemes will die with you, and your name will be ever after whispered as a caution, as a warning to those who seek after truths we were not meant to understand."
I motioned to the mages standing near to the prisoner, and they stepped forward.
"You know well our law. You know that in our benevolence we allow those condemned to death to choose the manner of their passing, and through the magic of our mages we see that it comes to be. A peaceful end, or violent, this is the choice we give to even the worst offenders, for we are merciful even when we must be stern. Even you, who has transcended the very bounds of madness in your ambitions, we will allow to choose the manner of your own death."
There was a murmur of outrage from the crowd, but I banged my gavel once, loudly. "Even this one, even the Usurper, deserves the mercy of this court!" I turned back towards Arxidus. "Speak your death, and the magic of these mages will see it happen. Choose well, for once the words have left your lips, nothing will stop the doom that you have chosen from encompassing you."
The mages waved their hands, and a soft glowing light surrounded the prisoner. I nodded to one of the guards, who removed the prisoner's gag.
"Choose your next words carefully, Thibus Arxidus, and die well."
Thibus Arxidus, former Chief Scientist of the Royal Academy, Overseer of the Library and Observatory of the Heavens, Regicide of Cinu VII, Usurper and Would-Be Destroyer of Worlds, lifted his hands to his mouth, massaging it softly. With great dignity, he slowly stood, staring at me no longer with hatred in his eyes but with what I could only read as sorrow, or perhaps pity, if I didn't know better. He turned to face the crowd, and bowed his head towards them before turning back to me. He smiled, and again it seemed somehow sad.
He looked upwards, as if to the heavens, and then smiled. He looked back at me, and drew in a final breath.
"FALSE VACUUM DECAY!" he said with a shout, and there was a flash of light, and then there was nothing, anywhere, ever again.
| 2021-06-24T11:15:28 | 2021-06-24T11:15:12 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
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Rank was never that important to me.
The others fought. Endlessly. For some reason, their numbers were more important to them than their humanity.
I started with the lowest rank, and I've never moved up. I've never killed a soul. But I'm #1 now, because the others are all dead.
I'm lonely.
|
The vast doors of my mansion opened wide, and a man in a royal gown entered the room. For a fleeting moment, I showed a slight smile, but it faded before he could see it. He, however, could not hold back his expression, full of furious rage. He had just taken a few steps in before he yelled out: "Vantalana, how can you do this to me!"
"Number Two, are you dissatisfied with me?"
"Stop f*cking with me V, you know what this has cost me."
I was glad I could contain my smile, for the bored expression I was showing antagonized him further. "So what are you going to do about it." That was when I suddenly started to pay attention to him. Anyone with any common sense could tell I was baiting him, but Henry Gothaul was too angry to notice. He was falling right into my trap.
"I challenge you," he pointed his finger glaringly at me. It took a remarkable amount of will to not snicker in return, "to a duel!" *Gotcha!* Even he noticed the smile that spread across my lips.
"Really?" I rolled my head to the side, obnoxiously, "Number 2 thinks he can beat Number 1?" His face lit up bright red with fury; Number 2 could be so childish sometimes!
"Why you scum!" He could barely keep himself from trying to kill me right then and there, but he couldn't. He left the room loudly stomping.
Are you confused? Let me explain: In this city half of the population is gifted random powers, such as telekinesis, sensors, etc, but the rest of the population who do not are called 'muggles', and serve those privileged with power. The Privileged live in a tournament. They are ranked based on their powers, and anyone can challenge a higher rank to a duel to the death to obtain their rank. I am Number One.
No one knows my power, because the duels take place in a sealed arena. Two people go in, one comes out. Those who survive the Arena say it changes for every fight, to best mediate each competitor's power. Even the sizes of the Arena change, in spite of the laws of physics, and survivors talk about 2km wide deserts, and 400m wide urban brawls. It's all rather interesting, but no one is known to have found a way to cheat this system, at least not yet.
The familiar doors of the Arena stood before me. I remember dozens of battles, in dozens of environments. I remind myself of my plan, and smile knowing that Number Two had lost the battle the moment he took my bait.
Henry stood in front of the massive gates of the Arena. He had slain many a foe inside of its walls, and thought about the glorious combat to come. His body ached in rage towards that snake of a woman! He would crush her and take his rightful place as Number One! The only reason she was Number One and he was not was an agreement they had made, that she would keep his daughter's power secret. He knew that he was lost, that he was obsessed with the Arena and that he would die in it some day, but he did not want to curse his daughter with the same fate. And yet that b*tch failed him! She convinced his daughter to fight for her, and now she would die! The doors opened, and he shouted his battlecry at the top of his lungs: "FOR LUCY!"
Inside the arena was a small town. It seemed about a kilometer on each side, with a rural town dominating the center of the field. In the very center of town was an old church, which sounded its bells. In each corner was a small patch of woods, perfect places to hide in. As the doors closed behind him, he began to teleport wildly, searching for the infernal woman. He teleported, and there- there she was! What was she doing, just standing on top of the steeple! Surely this was some sort of trick, it was in her nature to deceive. He waited for something to happen, but she did not move. To h*ll with this! If he did nothing, he would never figure out her power! He had to probe her. He teleported behind One, swung with his battlehammer, and- nothing. It passed through her body with no resistance, and she faded away. A hologram! He immediately teleported away. So that's her power- holograms! Still, it's remarkably similar to Number 4's illusions. But then again, it's not unheard of for two people to have the same power, and One seemed like she'd be much better that Four with them anyway. As he had anticipated, though, she did not have an offensive power. She may be able to deceive him, but all he had to do was make sure that none of the holograms got close, for she would have to do so to kill him! He stood up, a terrifying smile spreading across his face, ready to hunt down Number One.
Cont. in reply
| 2014-12-18T15:23:06 | 2014-12-18T13:16:53 | 243 | 47 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
We'd seen it in the distance, an anomaly on an already alien planet. Thought it some kind of mirage, since the reality just didn't make sense. I volunteered to go check it out, though we all knew what it was - and when I'd just confirmed it.
A Soviet flag.
Why hadn't they told us? I'd heard rumour of a Soviet mission, decades back, but we'd written it off as Cold War propaganda. If they'd actually managed to get to Mars, even if they didn't get them back - that would be humanity's greatest accomplishment.
*Why hadn't they told us?*
What could it mean? Had the Russkies simply lost contact and assumed the worst? That didn't make any sense, since if they landed intact enough to erect the flag, they must have been in communication with them back home...
Something was wrong. I needed to get back.
I tried to make contact with the boys back at the ship, but there was no reply. Figured I was out of range, but that didn't make sense. Brushed it aside; nerves were getting the better of me, and there was no use worrying about something I couldn't change.
Saw my team in the distance. It was immensely comforting; you've never known isolation till you're alone on a new planet. I quickened my pace.
Still radio silence. I just wanted to get back to the ship.
Nearing them now. They seem to be coated in sand - had there been some kind of storm? How long had I been gone for? They didn't seem to be moving, either. Just standing there. Why were they just standing there?
Still no response. Why aren't they coming out to meet me? Why are they just *standing* there?
I can see their suits properly now. Coated in sand. Weatherworn. And why... why do they look like they're a different colour underneath? Are those- are those *Soviet* suits? *Why are they just standing there?*
Wait. That's not- that's not my-
*They've seen me.*
**Oh Christ, they've seen me.**
|
"Neil Armstrong once said 'That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.' I'm not one to argue with him. However, if landing on the moon was a leap, my stepping here on Mars would be like a plane ride."
Mayers laughed. "Don't knock on what Neil Armstrong did. It was important, and is what brought us here."
"I'm not knocking on what he did, just making an observation. We probably should check in with Houston."
"Yeah, we probably should."
"Houston, we have touched down. Mars is something completely different. Amazing. Beautiful I'd even wager. Over."
"That's great news Murray. We're glad to hear you landed safe. What do you see? Over."
"The red sea." I broke out into a laugh at my poor attempt at a joke. When I finally stopped laughing, I was able to choke out "Over."
"I think your laugh at that shitty joke was much better. Any signs of life? Over."
"Not yet. We still have to explore some though. According to HAL, we should be able to explore for about 3 hours before we need to return to the ship, over."
"Keep us updated. Out."
I looked around and all I could see was red. Everywhere. I look at Mayers, "Which way?"
"Forward."
"Let's begin."
We walk forward. The new suits NASA designed for us make it seem like we are still walking on Earth. It's an amazing advancement, and makes this exploration so much better. "Wait, there's something we need to do."
"What?"
I head back to the ship and grab the American flag. "We can't forget this baby." I stab it down into the ground. "'Murica."
I catch up to where Mayers is standing and we continue on. "I think it would make sense to get on top of one of those hills. We will be able to see more."
"Sounds good."
We slightly change course to a nearby hill. The hike up it didn't provide much trouble, but I still needed to catch my breath a little bit after it. We look around and see something in the distance. "What the hell is that? It's definitely not a hill."
"I'm not quite sure. Radio it in."
"Erm... Houston, we see something. It's relatively skinny, definitely not a hill and from the distance looks like it isn't natural. What should we do, over?"
"Wait for instructions, Murray. We'll be back in a moment, over."
Mayers and myself sit down on the hill staring at it. It's just a black shade in the distance. "HAL, how much more time do we have?"
"1 hour 13 minutes 22 seconds remaining."
"Thanks HAL."
Mayers and I look at each other. "Think we can make it today?"
"If Houston gets back to us."
We sit for a few more minutes and then hear some static. "Murray, Mayers, this is James with Houston. We would like you to approach the object. Be careful, and be ready to hightail it out of there. Out."
Mayers and I stand up, and begin the journey to the object. As we get closer, we both stop in amazement. "Houston, there is a problem. Over."
"Yes? Over."
"It seems like someone beat us here. It's a Soviet flag, over."
"I'm sorry, can you repeat that, over?"
"It's an old Soviet flag here. Over."
"Return to the ship, and we'll give more instructions soon. Out."
I look at Mayers, "Head back now, or explore around here a little bit."
"Let's explore a bit."
We walk around the flag looking for any other signs of their time here. Suddenly, my foot hits something and I fall over to the ground. After I regain my composure, I turn around to see what I tripped over.
"Uhh... Mayers, get over here."
In a few minutes, Mayers is at my side and we both stare down in amazement. The body of an old Soviet astronaut lies in front of us. I bend down and wipe the dust off of the glass cover, but then I recoil in horror.
"What the fuck is wrong with him!?"
Mayers bends down and examines him closer.
"Houston, come in now, over."
"What is the issue, Mayers? Over."
"We decided to explore the area a bit more. We found something else. Over."
"What is it, over."
"It's the body of one of the Soviet astronauts. Somethings terribly wrong with him. His eyes are black as the night, and it looks like all of his veins turned black as well. Over."
"Get out of there, guys. Now. Over."
"You don't have to tell us twice, out."
Mayers and I start heading back to the ship.
"Help..." we hear meekly.
We both stop dead in our tracks, and whirl around. "What the fuck?!"
The astronaut has sat up and is staring right at us. "Help..." he says again.
"How the fuck?" I say in shock, "It's time to leave." I turn around but I see Mayers hasn't yet. "Mayers! Let's move. This isn't right. He shouldn't be alive. He can't be."
Mayers turns to look at me and the first thing I notice is his eyes. They're black. I look over at the old Soviet astronaut and he is back on the ground, dead. Oh fuck no. I start to back up slowly.
"Mayers... what's wrong."
"Nothing, Murray. Why would you think something is wrong."
"Erm... your eyes aren't exactly.. normal."
Mayers starts walking a bit faster towards me. "Nothings wrong with my eyes. I see just fine."
I hightail it back to the ship, or I try to. Before I know it, Mayers has thrown me to the ground. "Where are you going, Murray."
"I need to get back to the ship. Inform Houston of what we've found."
"That's okay, I'll do it."
Suddenly, I see Mayers fist coming down at me, but I can't cover my mask before it hits it. The glass helmet shatters, and instantly I can't breath. "Mayers... why..." I choke out.
"Houston, we have a problem. We need an evac immediately. Murray's helmet has shattered. We're heading back to the ship. Over."
"Evac is on it's way. Out."
Mayers bends down to me, but I barely recognize it's him because everything is getting so dark. I see him grinning wide, and then barely hear "Thanks."
----------------------------------------------------------
Thanks to /u/The_White_Light for explaining they don't actually say "Over and Out," just "Out."
| 2016-08-16T08:17:13 | 2016-08-16T08:15:09 | 300 | 147 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
It was 12:01 before I felt myself breathe again.
It was 12:02 when I heard the first sob.
It might have been my mom, I don't remember.
I held my arm away from my body like a vial of toxic chemicals, like it would catch my body on fire if I held it too close.
My uncle shifted nervously in his seat, waiting for something to happen.
I think my sister might have grabbed my hand at some point.
I don't know, I don't remember.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't hear.
I couldn't move.
Because when I severed my spine in a car accident 2 years ago, the world came to an end
And when *OLYMPIC GYMNAST* appeared on my arm tonight, the world ceased to exist completely.
|
A low rumble, cut short, indicated that my brother had arrived. Wesson got TAXI on his 18th - large and bold across his shoulders - not glamourous, but they never were. The words seemed to be the subtle nudges of fate, but even destiny is open to interpretation. He could have become a taxi driver, like so many others, but he'd always wanted to build something of his own. And four years later, he managed the city's transportation network.
I heard the sound of a distinctly expensive car door slamming, and a few moments later he entered the room. He found a seat next to my parents, and I gave him a nervous smile. There wasn't much space anymore. Grandparents, cousins, neighbours, friends all sat or stood in the living room, a huge, ogling circle surrounding me, shirtless on an ottoman. No one knew where the word would appear, and fear sent my eyes darting over to Hector Aston, the cousin nearest my age. His was an awkward birthday. He had expected it on his arm, but after shirt and shorts lay sadly on the floor, he had had to excuse himself to the bathroom and borrow his sister's make-up mirror to find the word AIRFORCE curling delicately around his balls.
As the time grew nearer, the crowd started leaning in, each trying to be the first to spot the word - to be the first to shout out my destiny. Gracie shuffled around me, trying to catch every possible angle. My mother tried to pull her back, but she just shuffled around to a different side. I closed my eyes, self-consciously.
Erman, Gracie's accomplice, spotted it first - somewhere on the right of my lower back.
"Me..." he read. I felt a slight prickling as the letters made themselves known. "...th. Meth..."
Meth? My grandfather was a chemist ("CHEMISTRY") and my father followed him in the field ("FORMULAE"), but then again Wesson had told me the unfortunate story of a kid from his high school ("HEROIN"). DEA wouldn't leave him alone after that.
My skin was prickling all over now, not just on my back. Erman was still reading out the rapidly appearing letters, with Gracie helping him where he stumbled.
"Methionyl..." she said. "What's that mean?"
My father was frowning in confusion. My mind raced through my old chemistry notes. Methionyl was a methionine radical. What the hell was that pointing me at? Biology? A lifetime of protein studies? Methionyl aminopeptidase, maybe? But that was two words, and there were never two words...
My skin was itching furiously, and my father's frown merged with a squint. Hector saw it too.
"gluta... glutamylthreo..." he read, from a new word sprawling out across my left shoulder.
Two words? I started scanning my body, apprehension and embarrassment making way for frantic worry. My stomach blossomed into the letters "LEUCYLASPAR". Further down, poking out from the top of my jeans, "AGINYLARGINYL". I scrambled out of my pants, shame entirely forgotten - but even bare, my legs were covered. LALANYLALANYL, RAGINYLISO, GLUTAMYLVAL, and a hundred - a thousand - other letters were exploding all over me. More words than I could count, if you could even describe them as words - more correctly, they were meaningless nonsense, unconnected gibberish.
As I watched, some of the words ran into each other and connected, forming long loops of text that spun around my body in mad swirls. My grandfather had a faint smile, no one was reading anything anymore. Erman had put a chubby finger on the start - METHYL - and Gracie had started circling me, drawing her own finger across my skin as the infinite madness expanded and joined with more of the same flowing the other way.
By the time my skin stop itching - by the time Gracie had stopped circling my body from dizziness, and each letter had joined with another to form a single line of insanity - a full quarter of an hour had passed. No one said anything. What was there to say? It wasn't a shocking or embarrassing revelation, like "MURDERER" or "PORN". It was just ... mad. Crazy. Confusing? There was freedom to interpret even the vaguest of words, but this wasn't even that - this was evidently a very, very specific word. Exceedingly specific. And what the fuck was I supposed to think about that?
I still don't know how to answer that, to be honest. Maybe I don't need to. Maybe it's all a joke, played on us by some deranged god with a dictionary. It must be, because I cannot for the life of me work out what I am supposed to with a full 189,819 letters (Gracie counted them, over the course of a few weeks) - forming the technical term for the protein Titin - printed in an inhuman circuit around my body.
My brother is a transport mogul, because his word was "TAXI".
And I am an atheist, because mine says "[METHIONYLTHREONYLTHREONYLGLUTAMINYLALANYL...ISOLEUCINE](https://web.archive.org/web/20100114221953/http://www.sarahmcculloch.com/luminaryuprise/longest-word.html)".
| 2017-03-16T03:02:12 | 2017-03-15T23:14:08 | 226 | 98 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
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They said they wanted peace. They said they wanted to avoid a future where humanity wiped itself out. They said a lot of things. And then they said no more.
For fifty years we waited. We followed the treaty down to the letter, even refusing to contact our northern and southern neighbors. For fifty years we waited, as they spat on their supposed good intentions. We waited as peace broke down. We waited as war broke out.
There's a slight poetic justice to learning that the ones who were afraid of us, the ones responsible for this self imposed exile, died in a hellfire of their own making. They thought that we were the biggest threat. They thought we were the cancer spreading throughout the world, destroying everything it touched.
They were wrong.
We were simply a deterrent. A force of nature that none dared to cross. And with us out of the way, with nothing to be afraid of, the world tore itself apart.
We came out of our exile prepared to fight. We expected an army of nations, prepared to end us, once and for all. But what we found instead was the very world itself, wrapped up in a wintery bow, waiting for us to take it.
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New Istanbul. 2073: Assembly Chamber of The Five Nations.
A chattering of languages fills the room, with an almost electric buzz of excitement as the delegates from hundreds of different cultures from around the globe speak into their translation headsets. Their words fed to the interpretation matrix able to sort out dozens of languages, in hundreds of dialects, all filtered into the earpiece of Ambassador Khyla Power; Appointed Ambassador of the United States.
The cacophony was also transcribed in American English onto the datapad in front of her, so as to sort conversations and mutterings. Not that she needed the pad, as she was fluent in 15 languages, in dozens of dialects. A disconcerting amount of the chatter was composed of 'Why do we need them?' and 'What will they bring more than destruction and slavery?', even more than a few other ambassador's musings on Khyla's fit, proportionately set body, and what they fantasized with it in a variety of settings. All the while, her senses taking in information, the clothing they wore, the inflections and intonations of speech, the various scents, and in more cases than not; odors of the other delegates. Her eyes narrowed in concentration particularly at the intricate kimono of her Japanese counterpart; 'Damn, that must have taken a whole fucking year to make.' she allowed to escape her lips whilst never breaking sight of the Russian Federation and Japanese Ambassador's hushed conversation about Pacific fishing rights, lip-read of course, as they had not switched on their Tele-Trans microphones, making sure to check hers's was in the 'NO-VOX' setting. Whilst salivating of the memory of her maternal grandmother's nigiri rolls made from Washington salmon.
Only thrown from her concentration by the gavel pound from the dais, as Chairman Sulathma called the session to order. As he waited for the din to die out, Khyla called her thoughts into order. And as the Chairman's long winded introductions were laid out, she brought to mind the broad strokes of President Kiefer's instructions after realizing the ruse that had been played on their nation. 'Make sure they understand what they gave up on, the advancements we have made, the sacrifices we gave, the struggle they left with us alone with, and that we can still bitch-slap them into oblivion or the stone age.'
A wry smile crossed her lips so slightly, half-remembering the time she pummelled a boy two and a half times her size into unconsciousness after he tried to steal the fish she spent a day catching in the East River. During the first 20 years of exile, America fared not so well. Millions were in abject poverty-slavery, crime in horrendous proportion and nature, borderline starvation due to the disaster in Wyoming, and the resulting crop blight it brought. A third of her generation died in war, famine, and pestilence.
It was after a wealthy businessman in Montana set about putting the first info-recon satellite up into orbit, after 25 years of nobody around her knowing what was happening on the rest of the planet. They were had. Skimmed footage of fertile crops in the deserts of Africa and China, the shimmering skyscrapers of Beijing, Moscow, Dubai, and Delhi. The overabundance of food in the street markets of Cape Town, Mogadishu, Melbourne, and Singapore. And the happy people going to work in Berlin, Sao Paulo, Tokyo, and Mexico City. One thought, voiced by an unnamed man watching one of the few net-stations that ran in the displacement cities that dotted the American southwest, rang true to everyone that heard it. 'America has been shamed, but I. Am. Pissed. The. Fuck. Off!'
A resolve none found possible took hold of the fragmented nation, volunteers came out in the millions to rebuild, reclaim, and reconnect the population scattered by ashfall, crop failure, and urban decay. After only 2 years of revelation, the United States were whole again. And it was after some study of history, that Operation Sleeping Giant was enacted.
Sleeping Giant was the largest disinformation campaign ever to be conceived. Laser defense systems at Colorado Springs, Mauna Kea, Bangor, Cape Canaveral, as well as Submarine pickets in the Atlantic and Pacific oceans to destroy or disable other nation's info-sats. Mass broadcasts of refugees trying to reach Mexico, and points south flooding ports of exodus, and recycled footage of failed crops. But also 'conscript tertitorial armies', using antiquated, but nonetheless deadly weapons of war in harsh punishment of her citizens, in defense of their borders, and for recreation. Really all an asbestos curtain, to hide the life behind.
Khyla grew up near Phoenix, after being relocated from New York's ash choked skyline. There, given the opportunities to learn, she did excel in debate, and the business of politics. This, along with a decisive nature, streetwise education, and a keen eye for the nature of all the particular races, heritages, customs, and religions settled in her displacement city, made her an almost instant choice for the first Ambassadorial post to The Five Nations.
As the Chairman's droning of minutes, and previous business came to a close, a pinging registered in her headset. 'Two minutes.' chimed a voice of almost mechanical precision into her earpiece.
'Game face now, girl. Remember these are the fuckers that your parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents sacrificed their lives, to save. They gave freely in the hopes that karma would pay us, their children, dividends. Produced great leaps in everything, including the rights of humanity, only to be betrayed like Caesar in the senate. Time to pull back the curtain, this is going to be fun.'
Moar to follow, got inspired, but need to sleep. Really focused on precision to spelling and grammar here.
| 2022-09-12T17:39:07 | 2018-01-18T03:40:05 | 579 | 32 |
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats.
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“Why didn’t you do it?” The archangel asked me. “What?” I replied. A hurricane of thoughts swept through my mind.
I could’ve used the brakes. I could’ve turned. I couldn’t have just hit that deer, could I? What did he mean?
We walked forward, through an endless expanse of empty white ground and clear blue sky. I could’ve stopped after the first drink. I could’ve called a cab. I should’ve.
Now I just wish I could know if my wife survived. I could ask. Maybe another time. Wherever this man is taking me, I deserve it.
The archangel walked in silence beside me. He seemed disappointed. Lost in thought.
“What should I have done?”
He blinked and met my gaze. Now he seems confused. “Dude,” he said, “ you could TALK to PIGEONS. Why didn’t you do it!?”
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I jolted awake, fearing that I slept through my alarm and missed work. “Hello there!” a voice beamed at me. I felt a rush of adrenaline and quickly reached for something to protect myself with, only to realize there was nothing around me. After nearly shitting myself from terror (as one does), the voice reached out again. “Sorry about that, old friend. I couldn’t help myself. Don’t fret, you’re just in a void.” “Just in a void!??” I thought to myself. “Yes, just your average void. I’m Terry, this universe’s god.” The adrenaline rush slowed down and my heart wasn’t beating quite as quickly as it had been before. I started to think about how dumb a name like Terry was for a god but stopped myself. I saw the so-called god chuckle anyway. Just as I figured, this Terry dude could read my mind. “You’re a god? How do I know you’re not just some alien pretending to be a god? And wait, did you just call me old friend?“
Out of the blackness that surrounded me came something much darker than dark. It kind of looked like a featureless human. “Great questions as always, Jerry. While there are certainly some smart aliens around here, I’m completely omniscient in this universe although I must admit that there are plenty of gods above me. I suppose you could call me an alien though - it’s kind of true. This is your 120th time being incarnated so I’ve gotten to know you quite well. Not that I didn’t know everything about you already, but you know what I mean.” “...reincarnated? Why would you reincarnate me that many times? Can’t I just become a god like you or something and be on my way? You look like a human anyway so how do I not know you’re not just some human from the far future? I don’t want to be bossed around by some human again. I’ve had enough of that these last 200 years. How the hell did I even die?” I watched Terry’s face morph into what seemed to be a massive smile.
“Those are all great questions Jerry. I’m afraid I won’t be able to adequately prove my godhood to you without you having a significant boost in intelligence. It costs a lot of points but it will be well worth it. As for your death, just because you were nigh biologically immortal didn’t mean you were immune to aneurysms.” So I died from an aneurysm. Huh. I always thought I’d go out heroically. I guess my dreams of saving a kitten from a fire weren’t meant to be. How did my consciousness not get saved anyway? I thought humans were done with death. I must be really unlucky. And what did he mean by points?
I heard a light chuckle come from the god. “Around here I allow everything to choose to reincarnate if they want to. If they don’t want to reincarnate they go to another universe and will operate under the rules there. If you choose to reincarnate you get to increase your aptitude in all sorts of things. The amount of points given is based upon an objective karma rating system governed by yours truly. More abstract and advanced concepts cost more points. So far you’ve saved the majority of your points some rather unique ones.” “Such as?” I thought to myself. I didn’t see the point of speaking out loud anymore at this point. Hmm what would some other good questions be. “How many points do I have?”, “What times do I reincarnate in?”, and a slew of other questioned rambled through my head. “Well, everything reincarnates in a straight timeline. In other words, you could never meet another version of yourself. This means that as humanity has advanced so have your wishes. General concepts that could give you significant advantages cost a lot of points. This can be negated by setting limits on it. For example, your first wish was strength. You didn’t have enough points so you instead chose the ability to lift heavy rocks. You didn’t have enough points for this either so you got angry and tried to kill me with a rock. That lost you a few points. Currently you have the following skills: 7% increase in strength in life threatening situations involving rocks; 14% increase in maximum speed when chasing mammoths; 21% increase in intelligence for 1 earth hour and 6 minutes when consuming reptiles; dark matter manipulation when unprotected in a near vacuum. You have a little over 11 octillion points.”
I’m not going to lie, this kind of scared me. I mean, there must be points inflation or something if I have so many points. “Well first of all, that is a significant amount of points. The average person earns a mere two per life. One gets a hefty curve every time one reincarnates. Even an average person would have quite a few points by now. Of course, you’re not only far from average but only one of two beings to ever reincarnate so many times as well.” One of two? I have to admit that I was a bit competitive and didn’t like the idea of some guy being ahead of me. But hey, not too shabby I guess. It’s a big universe after all. “So who beat me anyway?” Terry’s massive, unsettling smile shown through again. “Well, that would be me of course.”
I’ll fix up any typos and formatting issues later. Thanks for reading. I may add more later if people like it ;)
| 2019-01-24T12:06:40 | 2019-01-24T12:00:15 | 87 | 28 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work.
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"I GOT HIM!!!!" she laughed. "I finally got him!!!"
she blew the tip of her ray gun, as if to blow the smoke away.
I blinked, staring at the crumpled body of my nemesis...his Cape a melted ruin. My stomach churned. I felt...
"oh I am having desert tonight!" her dark red lips curved upward. An adorable dimple popped out of one cheek. she popped the ray gun back in her purse. She stopped when she saw my face.
"oh no, did i... I just stole your moment didnt i... I just...I'm SO TIRED of that misogynist lump ALWAYS trying to rescue me...like i cant handle myself. I'm a freaking black belt Clark, I dont NEED you swooping in and beating my contact senseless before I can get any information out of him. And you know what? last time you saved me? I FELT that hand on my ass" She kicked at the melting river of polyester. She turned to me" I'm so sorr..."
"STOP!" I said holding up my hand "I dont want to hear any more apologies. Just tell me ONE THING"
She nodded, smile gone.
"How on EARTH did you get a laser got enough to cut through his body, and not melt the barrel of the ray gun?" I squeaked, reaching for her purse, "may i...?"
Her whole face brightened. She laughed, like bubbles of champagne. The dimple deepening.
she swatted hand away. "After dinner!"
" your lab or mine?" I smiled following her in to the restaurant.
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The problem with being a supervillain with a known face is that doing anything, anything at all tends to draw the attention of superjerks in tights. But if you aren’t, like, one of the big names? Then there’s a solution!
Leave the city. Hell, you know what? Leave that entire region. So I did! Goodbye LA, hello New York!
Now, I’m not naïve! I just began to probe at first. Being able to go to a big supermarket without Magos or Great Blue or some other costumed ass dropping on your head? Worth every penny it cost to leave everything behind.
I mean, I usually steal them anyway… but I digress. Tonight, I’m finally doing it; the one thing that kept being denied to me. Tonight, I’m going a date.
My breath actually catches when I see her. The profile photo does her no justice. Lovely, curled golden locks that cascade down her back, and a gorgeous yellow dress that hugs her body… but it’s her eyes that captivate me, rich brown and sharp, studying me as she approaches the table, and I can barely manage to stand up without knocking something over.
“Grace, I presume.” Her smile is radiant. “I must say that I wasn’t expecting a suit.”
I think she might have been making fun of me, but I’m far too enchanted to really comment. My brain does manage to kickstart before I make a fool of myself though. “I’m… afraid that I don’t really do well in dresses.” I trace a finger down the scar that goes down my cheek. “For the same reason why bikini season is over…” I catch myself before I elaborate too much. “Delilah, right? It’s a delight to meet you. Please!” I move so I can pull her seat to the side before the waiter can.
I would have a hard time describing this date at any other date. She’s absolutely charming, she laughs at my poor attempts of humor, the food Is good—it better be, at this price—and the ambience is lovely and relaxing. She asks me about where I’m from, and I manage to keep it somewhat vague, telling her I’m from the west coast but came all the way east for new opportunities. She doesn’t press too hard, and… and I think it’s going well.
Well enough that I’m actually caught by surprise when things go wrong. It starts familiarly enough, with a loud crash to overwhelm and surprise. I’m familiar with them, but it still catches me off-guard, and I can only stare dumbfounded at the couple of superheroes that have broken in.
I recognize them—I did my homework—Steelcase is a brick, super-strong and tough as nails, likely able to tank most of what I can throw at him. The other is Lightfoot, a speedster, just as likely to be there to carry my date away.
Surprise soon gives way to fury, and I move to stand up—
“Again! You are interrupting me again! Do you people have no manners?!”
\--Wait, that wasn’t me, what?
An enraged Delilah screams from the other side of the table at the heroes, on her feet and stomping on the ground.
“You know well we can’t allow you to kidnap people, Lady Tremor!”
Wait, WHAT?!
I go to stand up again, staring in surprise at Delilah—
\-- and then I’m outside of the dining room in a burst of wind, and I can only blink in confusion as Lightfoot sets me back on my feet. “Please make your way out, ma’am! We’ll handle it!”
I keep hold of his arm before he can zip off… and then I punch him as hard as I can.
My skin tears as the fire inside that feeds my power rips at it, all my anger and frustration only feeding it further. Lightfoot goes sailing through the air, mask shattered, and crashes past the doors of the dining room. I follow.
Inside, I can see that Delilah’s arms have turned into gigantic slabs of rock, and that her gorgeous yellow dress is ripped and torn to contain a form it was never meant to. She and Steelcase stare in surprise at where Lightfoot lays, half-embedded into the wall. Then their attention is on me.
… Only for a moment; Steelcase goes to say something, but the ground rises up and yanks him straight down as Delilah takes advantage of his distraction. I can barely hear his muffled protests as the earth seals behind him. Then… it’s just Delilah and me.
We can only stare at each other, and I finally lick my lips and step forward, running a hand down my hair. My face’s scar is open, revealing the glow underneath, and I can feel that my new suit is sipped and torn everywhere. “I…” I gulp down, and try again. “I go by Firecrack.” I don’t know why, but I have never felt my name being lamer than before. “… Hello.”
Delilah stares back, and then she sighs quietly, the earth dropping from her arms noisily, leaving behind dirty, if normal-sized ones behind. “Lady Tremor, as you heard. Are you going to fight me now?” There’s a hint of violence in her voice and it’s the most charming thing I have heard all week.
“What? No, no. I-I know what it feels like, OK? I mean—“ I take a deep breath to compose myself. “Would you… would you like to continue this date someplace more private?”
She stares at me, and I can feel myself fidget nervously. She steps closer, and it’s all I can do to not step back. Then, she raises her hand, and traces it down the open scar in my face. I can feel my face burning, and it’s not my power.
Then she smiles again, that same angelic smile I saw not long ago. “I would love to.”
I’m feel like I’m floating when she hooks her arm with mine, and we walk out of the ruined restaurant. She tells me she knows where to go, and I feel like a puppy, following her lead.
… I think I’m in love.
&#x200B;
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&#x200B;
Somebody pointed me to this prompt and I HAD to write something!
(edited some typos and grammar)
| 2022-12-02T20:53:04 | 2019-02-23T09:18:13 | 129 | 12 |
[WP] Angels are thought to be beautiful, while demons are thought to be vile and disgusting. However the truth is Angels are extremely scary, while demons are beautiful and elegant creatures.
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"What the fuck!" Tucker said as he opened the door to his bedroom, having planned a rather nice evening with the pretty girl from the bar.
A pile of eyes and wings jutting in all directions rotated and undulated on the bed surrounded by a ring of white fire.
"Tucker, I am here to save you!" came the bellowing wet voice from some unseen mouth on the monster.
"It's okay," the pretty brunette said, somehow unphased. "I don't mind a messy bed. It was going to end up that way anyway," she said with a devilish smile and she sat down right beside a set of pulsing eyes dangling from the creature.
"Okay, can you really not see that?" Tucker gestured broadly in the direction of the monstrosity.
"She cannot see me, Tucker. I am your guardian angel. Only you can see me!" The monster blurted again. "She is a demon. Stand back while I send her back to hell!"
"You have to be more specific," the girl said with a smile as she pulled off her shoes.
As Tucker watched helplessly, a misshapen arm rose from the folds wielding a bright flaming sword and lobbed off the head of the pretty girl from Tucson. She crumbled to indistinct ash before absorbing into the carpet leaving a faint trace of sulfur.
"What the fuck!" Tucker cried for the second of what would be many times in the presence of Azeranaphil.
"You barely escaped with your life. I will be here again if you need me." The monster disappeared in a puff of smoke.
"I certainly hope not."
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
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# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 2, Part 4: All the Forces of Heaven and Hell v.s. My Teenage Daughter)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**It's unclear whether angels and demons predate organized religion.** Some historians think they were some of the first superhumans with shapeshifting, stealing their forms from local mythology in order to influence the populace. Others think they came first, and religion built itself up around them. Whatever the case, however, angels and demons are *ancient*, some of the oldest living superhumans on the planet. There are historical traces of the ageless shapeshifters bouncing around the globe, from Lesser Rome to the Welsh Empire, from the Sunrise Kingdom to the Wilderwilds, taking the shape of whatever supernatural beings the locals believed in. In Lesser Rome, they became emperors and pagans; in the Welsh Empire, they became forces of nature without human form; in the Sunrise Kingdom, they became the kami; in the Wilderwilds, they became the Rainbow Serpent and Captain Cook.
Unfortunately for them, by the time they reached the Unified Sovereignties, the closest thing we had to religious piety was serving in the military, and the closest thing we had to sin was indulging in a guilty-pleasure movie binge. Undeterred, the angels and demons did the work they always did, blending into the local culture. The demons became flawless-bodied superstars, while the angels registered themselves as supernatural beings or otherwise superhuman and enlisted in a variety of Federal-sponsored special ops units, becoming twisted monsters that hunted down enemies of the state and sent them to whatever afterlife they believed in. Nobody was entirely sure why the angels and demons tirelessly dedicated themselves to local cultural standards for the uncounted millennia they'd been alive.
But if I had to guess, it was for the sole purpose of giving me a massive headache.
"Come *ooooon*, Mom! Brouhaha's in town, and they're my *favorite* band, and if you ask them nicely they *always* give out signatures but you have to get there quickly and *nobody else knows they're here* so if you just drive me across town I can get a signature *please please please please please—*" My daughter pleaded.
I frowned. "First off, I'm busy. Second, if nobody else knows this rock band is here, how on Earth do *you* know?"
"Uh." Janice scratched her head. "A little bird told me?"
I gave her a pat on the shoulder; she didn't seem to be lying. Ah well. Keep your secrets, then. "Okay. Thirdly, I do *not* trust a rock band formed from immortal shapeshifter demons."
"Oh, come on, millions of people watch them every day. If they'd done something suspicious, don't you think someone would know?" Janice wheedled.
"She's not going to give up on this," Tupperman observed from the couch. "Besides, they're a good band."
I turned on him. "Seriously? *You* listen to Brouhaha? You're from *my* generation; you're not supposed to agree with the music tastes of my kids!"
"*It's okay to be a wolf!*" Tupperman and Janice sang simultaneously, then high-fived each other in tandem. I sighed, rubbing my forehead.
"Look," Tupperman said, "you said that you had some plan that involved being in the public eye, right? And what's better for being in the public eye than showing up in a rock show?"
Janice's eyes widened. "Showing up *in* the show?!"
I frowned, pensive. Tupperman did have a point, there. I'd pissed off someone in the Federal government who had a nasty habit of sending assassins after me; after I'd found out that there was insufficient evidence to take formal legal action, I'd been leaning on public opinion instead. I'd gone on record as being critical of the federal government; as of now, if I was brutally murdered, half the citizens of the Unified Sovereignties would blame it on the government no matter what the courts said. Whoever wanted me dead didn't want me dead badly enough to take the risk of turning a good chunk of the population against them, judging by how the direct assassination attempts had dropped to zero after my little stunt.
Perhaps it was time to take that to the next level.
I sighed. "Okay. Fine. You make a good point. Pack anything you might need, we might be out for a while."
"*Yes!*" Janice and Tupperman simultaneously crowed. I rolled my eyes at both of them. Tupperman left, presumably to grab stuff from his own house; Janice ran upstairs, shutting her door and locking it. I frowned slightly; she'd never done that before.
Then I shrugged and went downstairs, to the family hideout. We hadn't *all* been superheroes, but we'd lived on this land for generations, and over time that added up.
I pulled open a well-oiled hidden door in the wall; the décor abruptly went from homey to nuclear bunker-y. My feet echoed on the living-rock floor as I descended; the secret door re-sealed itself behind me.
I heard soft chatter from the basement: the two people I'd been sheltering in my home for the past few days. Min Min and Ito Junko, refugees from the Middle Communes and the Sunrise Kingdom respectively.
Or, as they were better known, Death and Lady Luck. A superhero and a supervillain with enough power in their left pinky to kill me and my town a hundred times over.
They looked up from their game of chess as I entered, greeting me with a smile and a nod. I grinned back at them, arms spread wide in anticipation.
"Ladies," I said. "I am *delighted* to inform you that an opportunity of exactly the kind we've been waiting for has arisen."
Lady Luck's eyes gleamed; Death pressed her lips together with grim determination.
"That's right," I said, looking into Death's eyes intensely. "It's *showtime.*"
A.N.
This is a five-part story. The remaining parts are in the comments below.
| 2021-04-08T09:25:56 | 2021-04-08T07:49:36 | 729 | 56 |
[WP] Its the zombie apocalypse. You are completely oblivious to everything about it, although its been going on for 2 years now. Your routine the past 2 years has not changed at all.
You follow the speed limits.
You take trips.
You hang out with the same friends, who are also oblivious to the end of the world.
You decorate your apartment for the holidays.
Like I said, nothing has changed about your life or the lives of your friends.
|
It's 10 pm. Time for the night shift again. I really don't want to go, nothing ever happens, but I have to pay rent. I live in the worst part of town, but that's all my 7-11 job can afford.
What I hate most is the walk to work. It's dark and they haven't fixed the streetlights in forever. It must be bringing out more of the creeps and druggies. I try to ignore them, but the heavy breathing from the shadows make my skin crawl. I just walk faster and they leave me alone. Ugh, that guy is eating that other guys face again. People getting high on bath salts has been a real problem lately. I'll feel safer once I'm at work.
Another boring night. Normally, I try to pass the time browsing Reddit, but it has gotten really boring lately. The same long running joke for two years now about a "zombie apocalypse." Well, I'm not falling for it, so give it up already. So unoriginal. The length some people go for karma. Fake videos and everything. Eight hours to go, I guess I got nothing better to do.
|
Zombies are pretty slow, easy enough to avoid. The plague was fast and devastating especially since it was airborne and migratory birds were the main carriers. After all the chaos of the first few months most of my friends and myself managed to not become infected and change, guess we had a natural immunity.
Looting and destroying things quickly lose their appeal, especially since there wasn't anyone to enforce the rules. Was it even breaking the law at this point? Not important!
Working help desk at a major bank was rather quiet, browsing the internet and watching youtube videos, all of which were cached so nothing was updated. Usually the phone would ring non-stop with irate customers. Usually they would complain about their account being locked out and how I was intentionally keeping them from doing their job. Today though was a quiet Friday save for Ben prank calling my line. Naturally I humored him and went along with the scenario. Turns out he needed to put coffee grounds into the coffee machine before brewing, common mistake. The boss was in his office banging on the thick glass staring at me. I chuckle thinking of the reprimand I would surely get if were to escape his office. Wonder what he was even doing here 2 years ago to be stuck in his office. I look to the bottom left of my computer "4:54 P.M." I fill in my time sheet and E-mail my boss my daily action report. I get an automated e-mail back stating "The recipient you are trying to contacts mailbox is full and your e-mail couldn't be delivered. Please contact your system administrator." That isn't my problem!
I walk out to my car making sure to avoid the population. Ended up clumsily dropping my keys, as I go to pick them up some one clumsily fell onto me. Taken aback I exclaimed "Open your eyes and watch where your going!" Naturally they continued in my direction. Geez people these days always about themselves zero consideration for other. Determined to not let this spoil my Friday I keep in mind that Ben, Tasha, Sam and I meet every Friday at the Bar to unwind and retell out horror stories from our 9 to 5s.
Traffic isn't anything out of the ordinary, people crossing when they clearly don't have the right of way. I arrive at the bar and see that every one has already made it before me. This was typical since I worked a bit further away from our watering hole than all of them. It was most easy for Tasha since the bar was conveniently where she worked. We all have a few beers and make a ruckus. This draws the attention of the local population and they press against the windows to see what all the commotion is about. Seeing that it is getting late we all decide to call it a night and pay our tabs. Leaving the bar I notice someone decided that my car was a perfectly acceptable place to take a siesta. I go up to them and nudge them providing the information that this particular place is not a bed contrary to what they think. The lady lurched towards me in anger snarling and biting. I move out of the way as she tumbled to the ground. Guess some people really can't handle themselves.
The drive home was uneventful, as it usually is on a Friday night. I walk up my steps and put my key into the door. I hear excited rustling on the other side and light grunting noise. I swing open the door and exclaim " Hey Dexter!" I immediately get attacked with sloppy kisses from my German Shepard. "Oh looks like you got into the trash again!" Sigh, I will clean that up later. "Well boy are you ready for your walk?" (Excited barking and tail wag) I grab his leash and hook it onto the collar. I take him to his favorite park which is just a few blocks away. The eaves turning vibrant shades of fiery red, golden yellow, and rusty orange. Autumn has always been my favorite season, perfect coffee weather. Dexter is a pretty friendly dog but he has an issue with personal space. He has no coral jumping up on you to say hello. Per the usual I was apologizing to many people as he knocked them down. They angrily pursued us, so Dexter and I just picked up the pace a little.
Once home I realized that I ran out of dog food. "Ugh so clumsy" I said out loud, it was 9:30ish and the pet store closes at 10:30. I quickly jump back into my car and speed to the Pet Store the speed limit is 35 but I was doing around 50mph. All of a sudden my car was illuminated with red and blue flashing. "Damn it, of course I would get pulled over." I thought Sam didn't work this late, then it occured to me that this week was her late shift. I pull over and she walks up to the car and asks for license and registration. I surrender my documents, she asks "Do you know why I pulled you over?" I try to play dumb and say "umm no officer is a tail light out?" She responds with "You were doing well over 20 miles of the posted speed limit."
A large crowd is attracted to the lights and she exclaims for them to get back and to not interfere with police business. She un-holsters her firearm as the horde approaches repeats for them to get back and fires her M-9 Beretta. 7 loud shots later and the 7 assailants were dispatched. "Damn it, more I have to write in my nightly report." She comes back with my documents and apologizes for the inconvenience. She writes me a warning and tells me to slow down. As she walks away I look at the "warning" (Dinner at my place Tuesday at 7?) along with her place of residence. Hmmm looks like this Friday was better than expected!
| 2015-12-11T08:49:57 | 2015-12-11T08:06:02 | 28 | 20 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would.
|
The day had finally come. My 21st birthday, the final threshold to adulthood and the removal of the last legal prohibitions to having some fun. My older friends had received their checks and partied hard – some for days, some for hours. My younger friends waited enviously to see what I’d receive. The anticipation was worse than even college finals results.
&#x200B;
“Anderson, J. Seven dollars and twenty-seven cents. Sign.”
&#x200B;
I was shocked. They were shocked. What had begun as a party-to-be turned quickly into a wake, and those who I thought were my friends quickly commiserated and deserted me to find the next free drinks. I sighed and signed my name, bitterly cursing the governmental mathematicians who put me in this ridiculous predicament. Seven lousy bucks!
&#x200B;
I guess it’s good for at least a soda, though, right? I took my check to the nearest gas station and decided to pick up at least some sort of drink to celebrate the day. Dr. Pepper was on sale 2 for $2, so I was already ahead! Silver linings and all that stuff. Peering into the scratchcard case, I figured I might as well throw the remaining five bucks at the mega-jackpot ticket. It’s not like I’d be able to do much else.
&#x200B;
“Seven dollars and twenty-six cents, hon” said the cashier. I smiled at her and handed her my check. I guess I couldn’t even spend that little a windfall all in one place. She handed me my sodas, my scratch card, my receipt and a single shiny penny in change. Well, at least I’d have something to scratch with.
&#x200B;
Donkey. Donkey. Horseshoe. Dollar bill. Horseshoe. Clover. Dollar bill. Firework. Horseshoe.
&#x200B;
Wait, *what?* I looked at the payout table. Three horseshoes. 5 million bucks. Enough to set me up for life if I was careful enough. Easily enough to survive for a good while… and all of my so-called friends already abandoned me and written me off.
&#x200B;
Damn the government! They’ve become so good at this stuff that they found a way that they didn’t even have to pay for me!
|
"Hold on." Derrick Ross asked, incredulously. "You're telling me that my livable wages for the next-
god knows how long-is seven dollars and some change?" The way he stared at the teller just now said so much more than words alone.
"Yes, that's correct!" Sherry, the teller who'd been helping young Derrick, was oblivious to the man's evident displeasure. She wore her practiced smile with a graceful ease. In her mind she was doing the man a great service. She'd never think twice that the amount given to the recipient was in anyway less than what they deserved. After all, this was a figure calculated by none other than the Monetary Forensics and Predictions Department(MFPD as they were known) and they were never wrong. They knew, down to the last penny, just how much a person would need for the rest of their lives.
And, evidently, young Derrick was due a whopping $7.27 cents.
Sherry smiled at him, graciously handing him the check. Derrick all but screamed bloody murder at the woman.
"Okay, Sherry, level with me here for a second, will ya?" Derrick said, a notable vein bulging from his temple. Desperately, he tried to reign in his boiling anger. It was a quickly losing battle. "When was the last time you went out and bought yourself lunch?"
"Oh, just this afternoon!" She said, happy to answer.
"Okay. Okay. Good. What did you have if you don't me asking?"
"A chicken bowl over at Admiral Zhao's."
Derrick nodded, aware of the place she'd mention. Sarcastically, he added. "Oh man, great place right?"
"It's alright. A bit on the salty side, but a good deal for a quick meal." If Sherry had an idea what he was on about, she did not let show.
"Okay, I'll give you that. But that's besides the point. My point is, how much did that meal cost you?"
"Oh, I don't know," She mused for a moment, crinkling her button nose. "8 dollars, 9 maybe?"
That was all he needed to make his point. Derrick leapt on it. "See! You see what I'm trying to say here!"
Sherry with her big blue eyes, shot him perplexed look. "I- I'm sorry, sir. I don't seem to follow. And, if I might say, there's no need to be rude or angry."
Derrick threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "Oh my lord, woman. Okay, here, let me spell this out for you. Your meal cost you 8 bucks, right?" Sherry nodded. "And *you* just gave *me* - seven dollars that's supposed to last me the rest of my life?" He was saying every word as slow and deliberate as possible. "Do you see what I'm getting at now! Do you now see why I'm angry?"
Not one to be yelled at, Sherry furrowed her brow. Still, ever the professional, she humored his question. "Hmm. Does your anger stem from chicken bowls perhaps? Is that what this is about?"
"No! No and a million times more, no! This- this just can't be happening." Derrick said more to himself than her. Dejected could only begin to describe this nauseating moment. Now seeing literal red, Derrick jumped to his feet.
"Sir, I need you to-" Whatever it was Sherry meant to say was quickly drowned out by Derrick's guttural roar.
"Now look here you insufferable, little hare-brained twit. I'm going to make this as easy as possible for you to understand, okay? This. Is. Not. About. A. CHICKEN. Bowl. This isn't about lunch. I'm not hungry, got it?" For a brief moment it finally appeared that she was turning the corner, grasping what he was actually saying." Good. I'm *angry*, Sherry, because the money you and your agency just gave me is equal to less than the amount that *your lunch* costs overall. Do you see what I'm saying here?"
"Ohhh. Okay, I think I get it. Listen I can spot you the extra dollar or two you need to buy yourself your own chicken bowl. In fact, I'd be happy to do this for you, sir." Sherry had the gall to smile her pearly whites at him.
For Derrick, that was his final straw. Words died on his lips. Instead he frothed. Literal foam frothing from his mouth. Unable to control himself, he lashed out in an unexpected fit of anger. A gaudy coffee mug, sitting at the far edge of Sherry's desk had been caught in the crossfire. Derrick had swatted the thing causing it to rocket off straight towards the wall behind the poor woman. The thing shattered to dozens of pieces.
Sherry screamed, Derrick was still in the midst of his fit. A few seconds later when he had slightly composed himself, Derrick saw what he'd just done. It was bad. Real bad. Mug shards were everywhere. A woman who had just been doing her job was now screaming in fear. Before long, the door to her office had burst open, a burly guard twice Derrick's size, sauntered right in. He was asking quick questions to which Sherry was all too happy to answer.
"He went psycho!" She screamed, frantically. "I gave him his check, then he started shouting at me over what I ate for lunch. Next thing I know, he swats the coffee mug off my desk and shattered it against my wall. And look!" She pointed to a thin gash forming at her forearm. "I'm bleeding now! This man assaulted me!"
Things were spiraling out of control too fast for Derrick to get a grasp of. So when his poor, addled brain had tried to reconcile the notion of a much bigger security guard putting him in cuffs, it simply could not.
"Wait-" Derrick croaked. "Now wait just a minute, I think there's been some sort of mistake here. If I could just-"
"I don't think so, pal. Assaulting a federal employee is a criminal offense. You'll be spending the rest of your life behind bars." The security guard wrenched Derrick towards the door. There was little he could to resist the gravitational pull of the bigger man.
As Derrick was being dragged off to who knows where, Sherry, in a last bit of defiance, shouted at him. "And just so you know, *sir*. That was my favorite coffee mug. My mom bought that for me. You can be sure that I'll be seeking out suitable reparations."
Suddenly, it hit him. Able to turn his head back towards Sherry, Derrick had to ask.
"Wait, how much is that mug even worth? Seven something dollars, maybe?" He dreaded the answer, but in his gut, Derrick felt that awful sinking feeling settle in.
"No," Sherry said, arms folded. "It's 6.99. *Plus tax*."
| 2019-04-24T14:49:01 | 2019-04-24T13:29:05 | 99 | 56 |
[WP] You're a villain who always has to save civilian's lives from the hero's recklessness. Sure you kidnap people, hold them hostage, even hurt them a bit, but you'd NEVER let someone die. The hero only seems to care about stopping you though, not actually protecting anyone.
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"I'm here on scene with superhero Rampage Boy. It appears that Dr. Genesis has struck again, can you tell us more about what happened?" Karen Novak of WCCA news asks. She is holding a microphone towards the young, handsome hero.
"This morning, I located Dr. Genesis' hideout here in downtown Bakerville. How many times has Dr. Genesis escaped justice? Not today. Today, once I rampaged I made sure this entire block was reduced to rubble. Karen, in this city, if you kidnap children, Rampage will find you and bring you to justice. Dr. Genesis will no longer hurt the citizens of Bakerville," Rampage Boy responded, smiling for the cameras. Behind him Firefighters, paramedics, and police officers scrambled to pick through broken bits of rebar reinforced concrete, glass, and steel. A goggled rescue dog sniffed deeper into a destroyed structure.
"What the *fuck* MARK??" a voice shouted. It was Dr. Genesis. He was a tall, thin man with just the start of gray forming around his temples. He was pissed.
"Can you not call me that??" Rampage Boy, Mark, pleaded in a whisper shout. "Stand back Karen, it seems as though Dr. Genesis has avoided my previously dispensed justice."
"No dude, stop, you really crossed the line this time. There were kids in there! You're lucky I knew you'd try this shit again or you'd have twenty dead kids on your hands." The first responders in the background had stopped and were listening at this point.
"There were kids in there? You didn't try and get the kids out first?" a firefighter asked.
"I mean...He had to be stopped, he's the villain, the bad guy. That's what my job is, that's what you pay me for," Mark said. A police officer was pulling out his cuffs already.
"No one pays you!" Dr. Genesis shouted, his eyes wide, "NO ONE PAYS YOU! You're not a hero, you're just an asshole who is really good at destroying buildings and then everyone else has to pick up after you," he gestured to the first responders in the back.
"You have the right to remain silent, anything..." a cop started cuffing Rampage Boy while reading him his Miranda rights.
"After destroying an entire city block, the only place Rampage Boy will be rampaging is in jail. For WCCA News, this has been Karen Novak, signing off. Back to you in the studio, Jim"
|
***Arbitration***
Detective Falcona shut her eyes tightly while rubbing her forehead, she could feel the beginnings of a stress headache bubbling in her brain. She slipped some scotch from her flask into her coffee. She wanted to hold the arbitration session between Horus the Hypnotist and the White Shinobi at Paul's Piano Bar, her local haunt and neutral ground in Star City. Too bad Shinobi never drank, didn't want to desecrate the temple of his body. Horus was only on step four of twelve, Falcona didn't want him falling off the wagon, or getting back on the wagon, whichever one it was, she could never remember. Her office the setting for this meeting.
Falcona banged her hand on her desk in lieu of a gavel. "Shut the fuck up you two so we can get back on track." She said sternly. Horus and Shinobi hadn't stopped bickering since they arrived. Falcona had never heard Shinobi talk so much, she didn't realize he could. "This is a monumental waste of my time so let's try and hash out this little dispute quickly, I don't want to miss happy hour. Horus explain to me what the problem is." She demanded.
"He's a fucking maniac who is trying to destroy me by slicing and dicing his way through all my associates, leaving me to pick up the pieces!" Horus yelled, directing it at Shinobi.
Shinobi's pale eyes were unwavering behind his snow white full face mask. "The tree of evil's roots spread far and wide, they must be severed without hesitation." Shinobi's voice carried an empty calm.
Horus threw his hands up in confusion. "Oh he's a fucking poet now! Did you recite a haiku to my associates before you hacked off their arm or leg?"
"I said nothing to them. Words are useless against those with evil hearts. The kiss of cold steel is the only language they understand." Shinobi stated.
Falcona banged her hand on the table again. "What associates are we speaking about? I ain't heard nothin about players in this town getting de-limbed."
Horus sighed. "Ninja boy has a crazy idea in his head that I hypnotized the dock workers union into taking a bum deal on the insistence of the Barino family. That they got screwed over, which is not the case! I ain't seen Jimmy Barino in years, honest. I only see a bunch of low level thugs of his when they come to me for hypnotherapy. Helps them sleep so when they close their eyes they don't see the flash of a katana and a spray of blood. Also help them deal with the phantom pains."
Falcona cocked her head towards Shinobi. "That true? You using your oversized ginsu to hack up Barino's boys? They ain't a threat no more, you know that, Shin." Nobody in Star City except for the Detective knew that Jimmy Barino actually worked for her.
"Weaklings seeking comfort after being bested in combat do not concern me. Those who wield weapons must always be prepared to be struck down. My katana thirsts for justice." Shinobi spoke proudly.
Horus shook his head. "Fuckin nutjob this guy. My entire schedule is screwed now! I give Jimmy's boys free treatment, I've had to work nights and weekends to fit them in around my actual, paying customers! I ain't got time to be doing anything dastardly, not anymore."
"Can't believe people actually pay for the services of a quack." Shinobi said.
"Now he's libeling me!" Horus shouted.
Falcona shook her head. "Libel is in writing, what he's doing is slander. Maybe brush up on your legal terminology if you're gonna throw it around willy-nilly." She scoffed.
"Who cares? I'm not a lawyer." Horus replied gruffly.
"Not with that attitude, weakling." Shinobi interrupted.
"You want to go, Ninja Boy? We can take this outside, I ain't afraid of your little pocket knife!" Horus shot up out of his chair, staring down at Shinobi. He calmly flicked the hand guard of his katana, a flash of light glinted off the polished steel. Another thunderous boom erupted from Falcona's desk.
"No fighting in my office! You're already in a police station, that'll reduce the amount of steps I gotta take to get both you booked on charges! Sit the fuck down Horus!" Falcona demanded. "Okay.....it seems that we are at an impasse. Luckily my wisdom is as deep as King Solomon's, my solution is both simple, yet elegant." Falcona rose from her comfy leather chair, she quickly moved around the desk, drawing Shinobi's katana from its scabbard. She handed it to Horus.
"Shin put your arm out. Horus, cut it off, then you'll both be even." She said flatly.
Horus grasped the gleaming katana, a surge of power flowed through his body. He dropped the katana, it stuck firmly into the floor. "Violence isn't the answer."
Falcona turned her gaze to Shinobi. "Shin would it make you satisfied if you got to punch Horus in the face?"
Without answering the White Shinobi cocked his fist back, slamming it against Horus's nose. Horus yelped in pain, tumbling back into his chair, blood beginning to drip from his nostrils. Shinobi retrieved his katana, returning it to the scabbard.
Falcona clapped once. "Well you both made your choices. How about you two stay out of each other's way for a little while, let things cool off. Time heals all wounds. Speaking of which, Horus go clean yourself up and get out of here, don't bleed on anything on your way out."
Horus mumbled something under unintelligable under his breath while grasping his nose. He exited the office quickly. Shinobi started to follow him, Falcona stopped him.
"Thanks for taking care of Barino's boys, couldn't send the message to him myself, conflict of interests, and for keeping Horus busy while I investigate his clients." Falcona shook hands with Shinobi.
"Our goals continue to align, Detective. One day we'll eradicate the evils that plague this rotten world."
"Yeah, about that. Gonna need you to tone it down on the wanton bloodshed, maybe take a finger or toe, not the whole hand or foot. I can't shield you from the DA with you doing outrageous crap like that. Tone it down, or I send you back to Happy Hallow, capiche?" She asked sternly.
Shinobi's mask hid on the fear on his face, Falcona could still see the fear in his eyes. Shinobi bowed to her. She bowed back, poorly. Her neck cracked as she bent over. When she got upright again Shinobi was gone. Falcona took a swig from her flask, good thing Shin wasn't a samurai, honor was a foreign concept on the mean streets of Star City.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this check out more at r/StarCityChronicles
| 2022-12-14T12:24:28 | 2022-12-14T10:59:24 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] Every thousand years the gods have to each choose a mortal to replace them. You have been chosen, but not for the reasons you expected.
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"But what if you don't have internet? I mean, it seems like the process kinda favors the richer countries."
*"It only seems that way. It comes in more forms than you know."*
"So, that's it? That's the criteria? The only criteria to become a GOD? You toss out great heroic deeds or a moralistic sense of purpose? Leadership among men? Great belief?"
*"Heroic deeds are rarely done for the reasons purported, people follow those who best let them believe they are right and a deep moralistic sense of purpose can lead to to service the demented desires of but a single soul. No, the rationale we have chosen, we think is very just and honorable."*
"Seriously? Upvotes? Seriously"
|
I take a deep breath and look at the mirror one last time; everything needed to be perfect. My hair is pulled up with at least twenty bobby pins and cemented in place with two full cans of hairspray. I’m wearing my favorite dress; it is short and light purple with a sash. I’m wearing purple high heels to top the outfit off. It was time.
I go down the ancient hallway looking at all of the busts of former gods and goddesses. They all look majestic and wise, even the young ones. Would anyone respect me? Would I be able to fulfill my duties? Would I ever be able to measure up? These questions race through my head as I turn the door knob and enter the ceremony room.
My eyes squint from the bright light emanating from the grand chandelier. My vision adjusts and then I see my predecessors. They vary in body shapes and sizes but they all have a golden aura surrounding them. Their eyes are all golden and they smile in anticipation. The room bursts into applause and I blush; did I really deserve this? A man stands up; he is youthful with shoulder length smooth light brown hair and a vibrant smile. He is thin and limber unlike some of the others who are exploding with muscles and are two times my height. My mind races and I smile politely as he walks toward me; I’ve seen him before.
In the New Year’s parade, he rode in one of the grandest carriages. I was having a great night with friends, we had been shopping and exploring the city all day and so we decided to see the parade up close this year. It was amazing and we had a fantastic sight of all the carriages and the god standing before me today was in a white carriage pulled by three mighty stallions. Even though he was much farther away, I still recognized the beauty of his smile. It was strange but with all the people at the parade, he turned his head and looked directly at me and winked as if he knew exactly who I was and what I was destined to become.
He bows elegantly at me and I curtsy. He laughs, “You don’t need to curtsy. You are a goddess! Stand tall and mighty before your court!” he says powerfully. I stand tall as the room continues to clap and applaud. I remember hearing somewhere that when a mortal is crowned, thunder echoes throughout the land and I wonder if it is true. As I continue to smile and stand tall, the room begins to shake; the amount of gods clapping at once was too much even for an ancient structure such as this palace. I glance at the support beams and look at the thin god to my side. He is clapping as well and doesn’t seem to worry; Did they notice or were they just not concerned? The applause grows louder and louder until my head feels like it’s about to explode. I try to keep my smile but the noise hurts too much and I cover my ears. It still continues and I feel my legs shaking like they could give out at any minute. My eyes begin to tear and suddenly they begin to burn. The rest of my body begins to burn as well and it is the most painful sensation in my life. I try to shout for help but no one can hear me. I look at the ceiling and see an elegant mural overhead and then I feel everything stop at once. Although the room is still clapping, silence echoes throughout my ears and I feel as if I died.
I fall to the floor and my vision blurs. I awake to the noble smiling god directly in front of my face, “Sorry that was protocol” he says helping me up. A beautiful goddess stands before me with endless curves and perfection. She holds out a mirror and I see my reflection. My hair which was pinned neatly has fallen and is now down at my shoulders. My makeup has vanished and my face is pale. My eyes shine like gold and there seems to be a light radiating from my presence; I was a god. I smile and thank the goddess as she takes the mirror away.
The other gods begin to surround me but the thin one puts his arm around my waist protectively. “Welcome!” a tall and mighty one shouts in a triumphant voice that even the heavens could hear. “Thank you” I say quietly and shyly unaware of what was going to happen next. A round and jolly goddess begins to speak, “Arielle, you have been chosen to be a mortal goddess for the next thousand years! We are honored to have you rank among us!” I smile in awe praying that I won’t disappoint them. I feel a pulling at my side and look to the thin god. He smile and says, “We will mentor you, teach you, protect, and defend you at every turn.” I nod and wonder what I need to be protected from. The beautiful mirror goddess speaks next, “Your powers will come in time as you learn your responsibilities. For the time being, you must learn and prove that you are worthy.” I take a deep breath ready for a test of character. The thin god smiles, “You will start with chores and little jobs. Your first task as an incredible goddess is to retrieve us some coffee.” My smile drops and I look confused as they stare at me seriously. I nod and he hands me a list of chores that stretch down to the ground. “When will I actually get my powers?” I ask politely inspecting the list. He puts his arm around my shoulder and replies, “You look like a quick learner. Most likely within the next eight hundred years.”
| 2014-07-28T09:33:03 | 2014-07-28T08:43:48 | 358 | 110 |
[WP] Do the crime, do the time - but the reverse is also true, you can choose to serve jail time in advance of any crime you want to commit. After voluntarily spending 50 years in prison one individual is set to be released and the world watches in anticipation of whatever they do next.
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I walk out of the prison gates for the first time in 50 years, I breath free air for the first time in 50 long years. The world waited and watched my every movement to see what I do next. All week every Television in the prison has been tuned into the news to follow the coverage of my release, news reporters from all around the world have flown in to cover what was being considered the story of the year. Anyone who I would have any reason to harm has been preparing to protect themselves in case I come after them. My parents took me out of their will in fear that I would kill them for my inheritance, the local news network in my hometown even found one of my middle school bullies who bought a gun to protect himself. No one knew what I was gonna do, but I did, I've known what I was gonna do since I turned myself in. I went home, sat down in front of my computer and downloaded all the pirated movies and music I could, and there was nothing Kanye could do about it.
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Chad sat forward with the palms of his hands flat upon each other just in front of his mouth, resting both elbows upon his knees. A woman bounced a little girl on her lap just to his left, constantly looking between Chad and the television.
“Today marks the release of Nico Mendoza”, the news anchor stated, “the man who fifty years ago committed himself to the New Haven Correctional Facility at the age of fifteen.”
Chad broke his eyes from the television for the first time that day, locking sight with his wife and then quickly glancing at his daughter before turning his attention back to the screen.
“Nico never revealed his reasoning for the voluntary incarceration, but officials have investigated the motivation for years in an attempt to lessen any potential damages resulting from his lawful impunity”, the anchor continued, “The New Haven impunity board does wish to note their investigation failed to reveal the ultimate motive, and advises any persons with a prior history to maintain their distance and seek professional protection as police officers will be unable to prevent any actions undertaken by Mr. Mendoza.”
Chad snatched a bottle off the table and threw back a gulp, exhaling loudly with his tongue extended.
“Honey, please”, the woman said, “Not in front of Sadie”
“She’s about to see a lot worse”, Chad replied before taking another gulp.
“You don’t know that for sure”, she replied, “Who would waste fifty years for that? He was a troubled kid, I’m sure there are others.”
“Exactly, why else go for fifty years?” Chad snapped, “He’s after more than just one, Susan!”
Sadie’s face wrinkled up and she let out a wail.
“Get her out of here”, he continued, “Hell… take her as far as possible.”
Susan shook her head at Chad before taking Sadie into another room. He didn’t watch them leave, but he listened as his daughter’s wail slowly muffled into a murmur as they made their way upstairs to the nursery and shut the door.
“To discuss the matter of legal impunity, we welcome James Iverson, Professor of Law at Stanford University”, the anchor started again, “James… what exactly is legal impunity and why does it matter so much in this case?”
“Well Anderson”, the professor started, “it is important to understand the historical basis for the law before we discuss this extreme use of the provision.”
“Yes, I believe it’s called the Capone rule”, Anderson replied.
“Precisely”, the professor continued, “The mafia heavily supported and lobbied for this law to pass through congress in order legally commit crimes without putting the underlying organization at risk, especially considering the reach of the RICO legislation.”
“But Capone never spent any time in jail himself if I’m not mistaken?” interrupted Anderson.
“Yes, but the original law allowed people to sit in place of others and transfer the right to use the impunity to commit what would usually be consider a crime punishable by the law”, replied the professor, “The mob would use impoverished people, usually those who owed a debt to the organization, to sit in jail for a few years and use the accumulated impunity to operate unimpeded.”
“So in this case, with Mr. Mendoza, this is not the case? He did this for purely personal reasons?” asked the anchor.
“It’s impossible to say what exactly Mr. Mendoza’s reasoning is, but yes, he is unable to transfer this impunity onto others”, the professor stated, “that is no longer possible ever since congress altered the law in the late 80’s to counteract the various abuses by criminal organizations, businesses, politicians, and the obscenely wealthy.”
“Then why not just abolish the law all together?” questioned Anderson.
“Well, there did exist many practical uses for the provision throughout history, as many believe it a way for less influential people to enact change in the world by using the allotted impunity to handle what would otherwise be considered unethical behavior”, replied the professor, “You know… doing the wrong thing for the right reasons in a way.”
“Yes, Yes”, Anderson replied in a low murmur, “Is there any advice you would offer those that may become the subject of his impunity?”
The professor thought for a bit before exclaiming with laughter, “run!”
Anderson giggled and the professor continued, “Even if you defend yourself, you’ll be impeding the lawful acts of Mr. Mendoza resulting in the government having to fulfill the desired actions on behalf of Mr. Mendoza should he be unable to follow through… as it is his legal right to do so.”
“Well he did serve the time”, Anderson replied with a giggle.
By this time Chad was splayed out upon the couch, swirling the small amount of liquor lining the bottom of the bottle. His wife walked over and snatched the bottle from his hands.
“If you’re really that scared why don’t you leave?” Susan questioned.
“You heard the man”, he replied, “If he doesn’t the government will.”
“Not if he never finds you!”
“He will”
“You haven’t even tried”
“So just leave you… and Sadie?”
“Better that then dead on the doorstep”
“So just run forever and ever until he dies of age?”
“No just…”, Susan sat on the arm of the couch and grasped the sides of Chad’s face while staring down into his eyes, “I just love you and don’t want you to worry about us before yourself… please just go.”
“No!” Chad yelled, “Don’t you get it? Fifty years Susan, Fifty years.”
He was sitting up now with his head crumpled down between his legs as tears dripped to the floor.
“He’ll just kill you two instead”, he wailed, “Hell, he might prefer that actually.”
Susan extended her hand to comfort him, but then the television wailed a dramatic tune and a graphic shot across the screen. BREAKING NEWS UPDATE.
| 2016-02-23T19:02:05 | 2016-02-23T18:25:53 | 125 | 19 |
[WP] You open your eyes to a hospital room full of people you don't recognize. You've just been informed that you're 10 years old and you've been in a coma. The life you lived was a dream. All 20 years of it.
Doesn't have to be 20 years. Could be 10, could be 50. Have fun with it.
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The moment he woke up I could tell something was wrong. There was a sort of dull recognition which blossomed into joy. The transition was beautiful, if not entirely understood. What followed after was what I can only describe as horror. It was over in a heartbeat, a synaptic flash's worth of time where each of us in the room experienced confusion and pain. And then he cried.
Our mother was the first to his side, smothering him with hugs and kisses, telling him it would be ok. The doctor was droning on about how it was most likely disorienting for him and urging us to take it slow. I couldn't scrub the look of anguish from my mind. He cried himself to sleep eventually, surrounded by people who loved him, but anyone paying attention could tell it wasn't enough.
He was never the same after. No brain damage, therapists couldn't point to anything beyond some sort of PTSD, but he was never really... there. We got used to it eventually, I guess, but sometimes he'd space out in the middle of a conversation and it was just unsettling.
He was 17 when I found him in our garage, nodding off in the carbon monoxide smog. I wasn't surprised. I dragged him out of the car, laid him on the couch, and cracked a beer for both of us. His first. He told me it wasn't. Then he told me everything. I listened in silence, the only noise made was when I opened another beer, then another. It was a long story, about a long life. 20 years of time we'd known nothing about. He'd learned his lesson after the first therapist.
When he'd finished we sat in silence for a bit longer, no knowing what to say. Finally I had to ask. Why had he done it? His eyes got that same look they did when he zoned out and I was afraid I'd lost him. When he spoke I nearly jumped out of my skin. His voice was trembling and I felt myself choking up.
"I want to go back."
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When my vision went from black to colors, I finally saw the people around me.
Tall and short, fat and skinny, black and white and red and yellow- it was as if every possible variety of human had been thrown into one room and given the same clothes, the same uniform, white and sterile and unfriendly. They were arrayed in a semi-circle, clutching sharp tools and needles, bloodied doctor’s masks wrapped about their faces. They were still, silent, as unmoving as the stones and as expressionless as the trees.
“Hello?” I asked, a realized that I was unarmed, half naked, and in someone else’s bed.
So I decided to forgo any more pleasantries.
“What the fuck?”
“This may be a little hard to take, Mr. Device,” said one of them, and her voice was a nurse’s voice: smooth and soft and pacifying. “But your memory is a lie.”
I tried to sit up, but pain frayed the edges of my vision, and I collapsed weak and sweating back onto the white sheets.
“The decision was made not to restrain you physically,” another doctor said, “as a result of your past… experiences.”
“Experiences- what do you mean, my memory is a lie?” They had worked my temper up a bit, or rather, I had... because confusion was the enemy of progress, and progress was my best friend.
A white light flared into life, crisp and clean, throwing little waves of luminescence off the bed sheets.
“Look. I may not have much money, but I have friends. Friends who don’t bother with little things like ‘rules’ or ‘laws’ or morality. So someone here had better tell me what’s going on, or said friends will take offence: I call them mister fist and mister foot, and they get all funny when they’re introduced to mister bone.”
One of the doctors raised an eyebrow. “Elaborate. But, Mister Device, we are your friends. And we very much doubt that someone in your physical condition could pose much of a threat to your comrades. Physically speaking, that is.”
“Have you seen me?” I managed a weak chuckle. “I spent years training with people who make Bruce Lee look like Barbie.”
“See yourself, Mister Device. We very much doubt you did.”
I looked down at myself, past a scrawny chest and belly, past a set of thighs that look like they had never supported any weight in their life. My feet were small and skinny, not the reassuring broadness I was used to. Also, I was white.
Wait a second.
I was white?
“What the hell did you do to me?”
They glanced at one another. Then nurse-voice stepped up again and began to speak, and for lack of a better option I began to listen.
“You volunteered, Mister Device.”
“That’s not my name.”
“Doctor Anthony Device, PhD in Advanced Cognitive Transference. You were a subject in your own experiment. Engineered to send you to the past by swapping your mind with the mind of another.”
New memories began to form, or perhaps they were old, memories of skyscrapers that towered impossibly high, cars that didn’t need wheels or a road. A family, lost by time, eroded by memory, a handful of friends. A girlfriend. All coming back to me, like birds returning to their summer home after a long and biting winter.
“You switched places with a man who fought in a war two hundred years ago. The mind that inhabited your body gained your memories, your impulses, your sense of self-identity, and your way of thinking: and then we put that mind into a comma, until your original one could come back.”
War. Yes, I remembered that. But it was like memories of a movie, a film, an external happening, not something personal. Blood, screams, bullets, gunfire. The harsh roar of planes and the hissing as metal cut through the jungle, the wet and the heat and the misery.
The death.
“I died. The person I inhabited,” I said, and realized how hard it was to say it, “died.”
“Exactly. And that is why you woke up. Back in your body. Your real body, with your real memories. Twenty years of memories are all a lie, I am afraid. But the rest, you will find, are utterly true.”
I was silent for a moment. “Why should I believe you?”
“Because we don’t have to explain all of this. Gradually, you would have come to the same conclusion. We just sped up the process.”
“Oh. So, assuming I do believe you… now what happens?”
Again, they glanced at one another, as if uncertain as to how to proceed.
“Up to you, Doctor. Though we are obligated to tell you something.”
“Yes?”
One of them stepped a few paces until she was standing over me, hair dangling down to tickle at my face.
“The war you fought in was called the Vietnam War, and it ended in the loss of countless lives. In five minutes, that war will have never existed. Neither will you.”
“What?”
“You died trying to protect a child, gunned down by a friend who thought you were an enemy. The way you fell was broadcasted internationally over thousands upon thousands of screens. The backlash against the warring forces was enough to end the war prematurely- a full six months before it would have.
“Temporal Theorists predict that this resulted in an alternate timeline being formed, the one that we currently inhabit- a one where your work, your existence, is unnecessary. We are not real, Doctor, just messages sent from the future. Cognitive beings who nonetheless have no ability to influence the world around them by physical action.”
As she said that, I realized I could no longer feel her hair against my face. An echo of it, like a memory, was the only thing that remained.
“You have five minutes in which your existence is protected by ours- as long as there are some who know of you, who know of your presence, you will continue to exist. If no one knows you are there, you will simply wink out of existence. Time will no longer have to account for your existence.
“So it’s up to you, Doctor. What do you want to do with the last five minutes of your life?”
I took a deep breath, and thought for a little bit.
“Do you have e-mail?”
She blinked.
“No. We have no need for one.”
“Well, get me some form of pseudo-instant messaging that I can access. Preferably video. We have work to do.”
“And that work, Doctor?”
“Making sure the world knows I exist.”
| 2016-06-28T08:35:33 | 2016-06-28T06:30:38 | 51 | 10 |
[WP] You are the last person to die on Earth before the secret of immortality is unlocked. Turns out, there is paradise in the afterlife. After a hundred or so years, you decide to check in on the people still on Earth..
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"So. This is it. You get to go home." The Angel stood by my side as I looked at the old wooden door sitting in the middle of Paradise.
"You know, I thought it'd be more majestic. Something with a choir or giant stone gates."
"You're the first person to ever want to leave the afterlife. Are you sure this is the right decision? You can still stay if you wish."
"Thanks, but I don't think I could stay. I can't enjoy myself if I just get what I want. That's the thing about life. You work hard for the prize, and in the end, you get the reward. I think that makes it so much more satisfying."
"This is Paradise. We can make that happen for you."
"I know. But perhaps it's something you can't understand. Maybe it's just something human. Either way, I've decided to return to Earth. That's my paradise." The Angel nods.
"Very well. Just so you know, we will have to drop you off one hundred years after your death. And you won't be able to ever return. Even if you get mortally wounded, or expire from natural causes. You'll be stuck in limbo. Not death, not life either. To anyone else though, you will be dead for sure." I nodded.
"Twenty years before my death, a serum for immortality was discovered. I never took it, as I had felt my life was already over, and I died of natural causes. After a while here, I found I was the last person to die on Earth. When I was given this young body upon entering Paradise, I had already entered the world of the immortals. I might take that serum this time." I then opened the door and looked through the doorway. An empty room. The Angel indicated for me to pass through. I walked in to find it was exactly as it was. Just a small square room with nothing inside. The door closed behind me. I turned and opened it to find the city street opened out in front of me.
Empty. This was the last thing anyone would expect from a world of immortals, but here it was. I was standing in Times Square, one of the most populated spots on Earth, and not a soul in sight. The buildings were falling apart, the vines and bushes overgrown, and turning what was once a city into a jungle. This was more than a decade of damage. Is this really what happens when you leave for a century? I wandered from street to street, each one as empty and overgrown as the last. Where had all the people gone? From what I could gather, there was no signs of riots, war, or any kind of struggle. Not that it was necessary. What's the point of fighting if you can't die? There wasn't any sign of leaving either. Decaying drawers full of clothes, and mouldy food left on tables, or rather what was left of either, showed people hadn't left, merely vanished. This puzzle was more than I could understand.
I spent the next few decades wandering from city to city, each as empty as the next. Had the serum really made them immortal? Did people evolve? It wasn't just the people either. Animals, insects, all gone. Even the cockroaches. Those things were meant to survive anything.
The nights were the worst. I had a lovely view of the stars, and the jungle cities looked kinda pretty at night. It was the silence that got me. No cars, no loud neighbors, not even crickets. It was eerie. You think it's hard going to sleep when the your brain thinks there's something out there? Try sleeping when you know there's nothing at all. It's enough to drive a man insane.
I called out to the Angel many nights and days, hoping for an answer, but none ever came. Perhaps I should have gotten his name. I started formulating theories. Alien abductions. Spontaneous combustion into vapor. Maybe even the serum made people disintegrate after twenty years or something? I even wrote one about death rays, or anti-immortal pills. Maybe people got tired of it.
Eventually, I found a place to use as a home of sorts. I had plenty of time to figure it out anyway. Maybe I might find some computer or something that could still run after all this time. Assuming I figure out how to make the electricity work again. I assume it is more than just flipping a fuse back on at the power station. Then, it happened. One night, I sat on my bed, listening to the silence, looking at the stars from my window, wishing for something, anything. Then the silence broke. Banging. No, not banging. Knocking. I looked towards the closed door at the 'front' of my house, and it knocked again. The thoughts crept through my head, and I started to scare myself. If I was the only one on Earth, who was the one knocking? Then, sitting in the dark, a scarier thought arose. If I was the only one on Earth, then how did they know where to find me?
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I’m not gonna lie.
Death fucking sucked at first. Then again, I shouldn’t be whining about how I went. There are people up here who had it far worse… cancer patients, murder victims, suicides that went horribly right. There’s even a guy here, a deep sea diver, who literally exploded when someone opened the decompression chamber he was in an hour too early. Compared to what they went though, my end was quick and painless.
One moment, I sitting at the intersection of a busy street in my beat up Camry, praying that the traffic light would turn green as soon as possible so I could drive far away from my shitty job at Pizza Hut to drink and play World of Warcraft. The next… something that weighed at least a metric fuckton plowed into my car, accelerating us into oncoming traffic and the chorus of screeching tires and blaring horns before plunging me into deep, dark oblivion.
And then I woke up here.
Well, as it turned out, there was really such thing as an afterlife.
At this part, I wish I could say that I couldn’t wait for the day when my pretentious atheist friends from college died so I could see them piss themselves once they realized that they were wrong. But that never happened.
You wanna know why?
Because just moments after I crossed into the Shangrila of the Netherworld, CNN posed a breaking news bulletin that changed everything. Scientists in Geneva unlocked the secret to immortality.
And I fucking missed it by mere seconds thanks to some asshat who never should have been allowed to have a driver’s license.
Everyone who was already in the afterlife rushed up to congratulate me, as if being the last person to die ever was as big of an accomplishment as winning twenty gold medals at the Olympics or being the first man on the moon, reassuring me that even though it was such a shame that this had to happen. The afterlife wasn’t so bad.
I thought this place was the worst at first. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be back in the world of the living, logged into World of Warcraft and fighting in some epic battle alongside my guild. I wanted to graduate from college, but not before losing my virginity. I wanted to go on to work in the tech field and make enough so that I can spend my nineties in a nice retirement home, still playing video games. Maybe one day meet a nice nerd and settle down. And don’t get me started on the things I was going to miss. How could I read “The Winds of Winter” when George R.R. Martin was still in another plane of existence?
Anyway, you guys remember that episode of “American Dad” where the Rapture took place and Hailey and Steve ended up in Heaven and found out that they were got to chill out in suites that catered to their every whim? That is what the afterlife is like. Only I haven’t seen a unicorn crap out hamburgers yet. Not that I want to. Unicorns aren’t really my thing. But whatever your mind comes up with, it materializes right before your eyes. I got to see my grandparents again (though Gramps was disappointed with how I turned out; then again, it’s hard to please the man who parachuted into Normandy during D-Day and liberated Nazi concentration camps when he was my age), along with my favorite aunt who died from breast cancer when I was thirteen and my best friend Taylor, who drowned while swimming in Lake Michigan the summer before the tenth grade. Hell, even my old cat Frodo was here! Shit, my parents told me he ran away while I was at summer camp!
It took some getting used to, but I adapted in my new life.
Time to time, over the decades, I did wonder what the rest of my family, my friends, my guild, and that waste of cells who got me here were up to. I could only imagine that sudden immortality wasn’t something that was easy to adjust to, especially after the untimely passing of yours truly. But I never really had the desire to do so. I was too busy catching up with Taylor on what we missed and playing newer, more awesome RPGs in a new guild that included the likes of J.R.R. Tolkein and Eric the Red.
Then one day, I guess you can say that my curiosity got the better of me. I asked Gran how I could check up on the ones I had left behind. She smiled sadly and led me out to an observation deck on the edge of the afterlife. It honestly reminded me of the one I had seen at Yosemite when I was a kid, down to the old-fashioned telescopes that needed a quarter to operate.
“Instead of change, all you have to do is say the name of who you want to see, and it’ll show you,” she said before I mounted the worn steel steps and peered into the eyepiece that gazed out into the foggy expanse that stretched out below us.
There were things that surprised me and didn’t surprise me. Mom and Dad had split up decades ago, but they looked pretty happy with their new partners even though seeing Mom with another woman took me by surprise (I would have never guessed). I was proud of my sister for doing what I could never do… earning her tenth doctorate at the age of sixteen. And I did shed tears at finding out that my old guild had disbanded fifty years ago. My old friends had also split up. Some decided to use their new ability to contemplate the meaning of life itself or build meaningful relationships with those they loved. Others decided to abuse it by engaging in things that would make even the Jackass guys think they were insane.
And then there was Asshat.
Oh, that fucking piece of shit. The bane of my afterlife. My personal trouble in paradise.
I stared into the eyepiece and what I saw made my blood boil like a brimstone pit in the deepest, darkest circle of Hell.
There he was, sitting at a bar somewhere in the shittiest neighborhood in Newark, swinging back yet another glass of Mr. Boston’s cherry brandy. Despite the ability to never grow a day older, his shrunken tollerberry of a brain could still feel the effects that alcohol can have after way too many drinks. He was laughing at a bad joke cracked by a weaselly looking guy with a receding hairline and aviator glasses a few seats away before reaching around and tweaking a bottle-blonde’s cellulite-scarred bottom that was spilling out of a lime-green thong and neon pink lycra shorts that were two-sizes two small.
I gritted my teeth, close to screaming as I watched him stumble out of the divebar and into an SUV had had seen a number of crashes and close-calls in its time.
When he put the key in the ignition and fired up the engine, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I tore away from the telescope and puked up my breakfast (Eggs Woodhouse and Mountain Dew) onto the flagstones.
Gran rushed over and took me in her arms. My breaths were short and ragged. Sweat broke out on my brow. My lips quivering. And then for the first time in a century, I broke down crying.
This wasn’t fair.
Cthulhufuckingdammit, this wasn’t fucking fair.
Here I am, the end result of this shitstain’s shitty mistake, watching as he got to repeat the same mistake in a world that no longer offered any consequences for him. If Asshat got hard time, he never took it to reflect on what got him there. No, I bet that the moment he got out, he went on to do the same goddamn thing year after year, decade after decade, and even a century after century. Only this time, what was the point of throwing him back in jail? No one can die anymore thanks to some guys in Switzerland!
I don’t remember how long it was until I was back at my suite with Taylor sitting back at my side.
“Hey, you wanna talk about it?”
I shook my head. By now, whatever I felt at the observation deck had since left. Instead, there was something darker, more troubling brewing in my mind. A true disturbance of the Force that only the worst thing a person could have witnessed produce.
With death and whatever waited for shit nuggets like him in the afterlife now out of the equation, the ways to punish him were limited. Even if he went to jail, he would still get out after several years. There was no one who would be hurt by him now. And who knows how many people Asshat had hurt before me?
I wanted this sonovabitch to suffer. And I meant truly suffer.
And so, with a smirk that, had he been walking by and witnessed at the opportune moment, would have given Stanley Kubrick the chills, I looked up at Tayor. “Hey,” I said, “you’ve been here longer than me. Do you think it’s possible to pay a visit back to the old world?”
I could barely contain my glee when I got to this line. One out of millions I have always wanted to say.
“I have a score to settle.”
______________
Thank you for reading. I don't have a personal subreddit. In fact, this is my first post on r/writingprompts in over two years. What I would really appreciate would be feedback.
| 2016-12-17T14:55:35 | 2016-12-17T14:37:33 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
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I hear the battle rage from across the city. The police band hasn't shut up long enough for me to get a word in edgewise with the officers escorting me to central booking.
Gents, I say to try and get their attention. If I don't get out of these cuffs soon, he'll win and were properly screwed.
Gents, I say a little more emphatically, trying to be heard above the din of radio chatter. Useless. I could escape but doing so would kill these poor slobs, just some dumb mick cops living their childhood dreams.
As I clear my throat before yet another attempt at gaining these fools' attention the squawk box erupts in screams. Seconds later fire erupts from the ground level of a building directly in front of us sending debris flying everywhere including directly into the front of the squad car. We become airborne for what seems like an eternity as shards of glass and twisted metal fly around the inside of the vic, an inside that's quickly becoming an outside.
Miraculously I'm alive. Thrown from the car and bleeding from a cut above my brow. I don't know how badly I'm hurt, but the wound stings and blood drips into my freshly starched and pressed shirt. It occurs to me only after my fingers have gently proved the cut that I'm no longer handcuffed. I'm free to put an end to this madness. Hopefully she's alive and I'm not too late.
I pull out my wizard robe and hat. Game on.
|
*OP's aside:* Wellp, this exploded. Maybe I'll try Addi g my own reply to my own prompt. What's the worst that an happen?
Pan's heart jumped with joy as she watched Glory girl somersault out of the way of yet another attack. Pan admired everythibg about Glory girl. Her figure, her smile, how she fought, how she always fought with a smile, how kind she was, and her dedication to protecting the regular citizens.
"Come on Pantera, is that the best you got today? Did the big bad kitty get her claws clipped lately?" Glory girl shouted as she flew in with a punch that sent Pan into a nearby car.
Groaning, Pan peeled herself off the side of the destroyed Ferrari, and lashed out weakly with her ribbon. This was the primary power she used in her fights nowadays. The single black ribbon that emerged from the simple black lines tattooed on her right arm. It was not nearly as fast as Crackle's energy whip, but it did pack abit more punch if it hit you. Pam's other tricks included having speed, agility and durability slightly above leak human level, and the ability to elongate her nails into sharp claws. She was the definition of a strong B-lister.
On the other hand, Glory girl's flight, super strength, durability, and speed made her one of the A-Listers. In addition to those she also had her aura of glory which inspired her teammates and scared her allies, as well as an advanced intellect. She was one of the best.
"Why don't you just stay in lockup like the others?" yelled Glory girl as she grabbed Pan's ribbon and yanked Pan towards herself for a punch. "And why do you ALWAYS come out when I'm on duty?" she yells as she punches Pan against the nearby building.
Imbedded in yet another object for the 2nd time in a minute, Pan looks up at Glory girl who stands there with a big grin, happy she beat her most frequent villain yet again. "I guess I'm just a masochist..." mumbles Pan as she spits out some blood. Having been properly beaten yet again, she just lies there admiring Glory girl in her suit that does not leave too much to imagination, and her amazing smile.
"And this time stay in lockup would you? I don't want to keep hurting y..." Glory girl didn't finish as at the last second she looked up and prought her hands up to block the blast. The impact that hit Glory girl left her lying in the middle of a small crater. Several bones were definitely broken, her costume was torn and singed barely staying on, and she was bleeding heavily. Landing behind her were several figures, chief among them Svarog. A Russian villain who named himself after an old Slavic deity, due to his ability to channel that God's power. He lead what was perhaps the strongest band of villains in the world, with the World Justice Association having barely beaten the villains back the last two encounters they had.
A young woman in elaborate armor pushes past Svarog, and walks towards Glory girl, raising her spear above her head. Not one of the strongest villains in the world, Valkyrie's spear was still a weapon feared by many, as it excelled in bypassing various types of durability, and wounds caused by it were nearly impossible to heal. "Nothing personal Glory girl, but we can't have you there to inspire your team when we come to kill them next." said Svarog as Valkyrie raised her spear.
Watching the scene, Pan gritted her teeth as she realized that no hero would be making it there fast enough to save Glory girl, and that she was the only one with enough power to make any difference. All those cops on the sidelines would be completely useless against Svagor's A-listers, let alone the man himself. Pushing off the wall she was imbedded into, Pan landed nimble on her feet, no longer bothering to fake injury. As Valkyrie's spear was about to come down, Pan growled in frustration and extended her right hand towards the enemy.
Atleast a hundred of her black ribbons emerged from her hand. These were in a completely different league from her previous single weak ribbon. These ones moved so fast that only supers with enhanced perception could hope to follow their movement, and they were strong enough to easily give Valkyrie more holes than the best Swiss cheese in the world.
Tossing Valkyrie's corpse aside, Panera turned towards Svarog and the rest of his crew. Three of her ribbons have already retrieved Valkyrie's spear and were lazily twirling it around. In just a few seconds the tattoos on Pan's arm spread to the rest of her body. Tearing through her clothes, more ribbons appeared, coming out from all the new tattoos that have proliferated to cover every last inch of her. The ribbons now counted in the thousands, with the longest ones spanning several miles into the air, and the surrounding streets, as they grabbed civilians and dragged them to safety, while cutting off the area to ensure that no one could leave or enter unless the ribbons let them. Pam's claws doubled in size, and adopted some strange glow, while her pupils narrowed and changed color, turning from her regular brown eyes, to yellow cat ones.
While all of Pan's ribbons were pitch black in color, a few dozen of them have made their way over to Glory girl, wrapped her injuries and were turning a brilliant emerald. The few of Glory girl's injuries that were still visible started to close almost instantly. Her skin regained color, and as her punctured lung was healed her breath also returned to normal.
Looking away from Glory girl, Pan started walking towards Svarog and his team, her face in a vicious snarl.
Out of all present, only Svarog displayed no fear at Pantera's display. "Impressive, for a woman who pretended to be one of the weakling for years. But you forget, I have the power of a God. No matter how you try, you have no hope of killing me."
"We'll see about that!" growled Pantera, pouncing forward as hundreds of ribbons surrounding Svarog began their attack.
| 2022-01-12T08:00:19 | 2017-09-17T05:37:21 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] In a highly publicized experiment, your mind will receive all of the secrets of the universe. Unfortunately, your brain will not be able to process it and you will die within 5 minutes. You are expected to answer all the questions of the universe. When the experiment happens, you stay silent.
|
I drew the short straw, that's how I ended up in this chair. I'm not sure if it should have been an election or a punishment or what. All the knowledge in the universe? Sign me up. Dying five minutes after? Not so much. They pulled me out of the marines for this, I fit the bill for unimportant enough, and meeting the physical and mental capacity to actually survive the knowledge for the full five minutes.
The viewing room consisted of my wife, the president and a few other high ranking government officials I didn't know. The scientists scurried around me, connecting wires and pressing buttons. Finally, a green light came on and they signaled to the viewing room. They stood up, my wife pressed her hand to the glass, crying. I could feel a tear stream down my own face. The president and others stood and saluted me before nodding to the scientist. He pulled the lever, and everything went black. I could feel my mind stretching, like the feeling of falling in a dream, but instead of a second it felt like hours.
I went from ice to burning hot and back to ice, screaming the whole way through. Finally, he opened his eyes. Everything was the same, the president, his generals, and the two senators from his state were still saluting him. His wife stood at the glass, tears still flowing as she watched her husbands eyes open.
A scientist walked over to him,
"Henry, did it work?"
"Yes."
"What--"
"Blue, 7.4 seconds, and 18. It worked"
The scientists got visibly excited, but Henry did not. Henry sat in the chair in silence, understanding the truth of the universe.
Another scientist came over with a clipboard, the list of questions prepared from earlier. A mixture of questions ranging from political to scientific.
"Where are all of the Russian military--"
"Let me stop you there doctor. That's not the right question. Definitely not one worth killing Henry over."
The scientist glanced nervously at his colleagues. The red digital timer had already lost 30 seconds, and things were way off their course.
"But you're still--"
"Alive? No. Henry's body may have survived the experiment, but he did died when you pulled that lever. I'm in charge of his body now. And let me tell you something else, you don't have a single question on that clipboard that is the right question."
There was a full three seconds of silence in the room,
"Do you have a name?"
"Not one that matters."
"What is the meaning of life?"
"You think you scientists are so brilliant, but you can't even ask a smart question. Much less comprehend a real answer."
The president hit a button on the intercom,
"Is there a God?"
Henry smiled,
"That is a real question."
"Are you going to answer it?"
"Not unless you can define God."
He sat motionless, staring into the president's eyes. Unblinking. The president's face went pale and he sat back down.
"Henry, please we--"
"MY NAME IS NOT HENRY! HENRY IS THE NAME OF THE MAN YOU CONDEMNED TO DEATH!"
3:12. They had no answers, and possibly more questions than when they'd started.
"What is the right question?"
His wife asked this one, her eyes were red and puffy, but no longer had tears streaming out of them.
"Why?"
"Why? Why what?"
"Just 'Why?'"
He laughed at them,
"You people can hardly begin to comprehend the questions, what makes you think you're ready for the answers?"
"Then why don't you just fucking answer the questio--"
He pointed at the man,
"You will die in a car accident"
He then turned to the remaining scientists, knowing exactly what to say to break each one,
"You will never find true happiness", "Your religion is wrong"
With each sentence the room seemed to get quieter. 1:03.
He sat and smiled to himself. The silence of the room was deafening, broken only by the electric hum and the beeping of the timer as it ticked closer and closer to the end. 00:45. Finally, a scientist spoke again,
"Are you evil?"
"No."
"So you're good?"
"No. There is no absolute good or evil. There is no relative good or evil."
"How can that be?"
"The fact that you would ask that question just shows you aren't ready for the truth."
"Is time travel possible?"
"Yes and no."
The scientists were in a mixture of frustration and despair. They looked at the president, who sat staring into a corner in the viewing room. His wife was the last one standing,
"Why won't you answer our questions?! Henry died to get us these answers!"
"Because, if I told you the truth you would die even faster than Henry will."
00:05. The heart rate alarm went off, and Henry popped out of existence.
|
Tell me if you know the feeling. If you have, then you know the emptiness, the coldness of time too late. Your decisions made have led you astray, and the world won't be the same. And that's a *shame*. You'll do anything to fix it, whatever it is you've broken. But you just can't, can you? Don't you know that feeling? We've all felt it haven't we?
I wonder if you can read this. With all the knowledge in the world you realize how little there is in knowing. For all the knowledge in the world can never tell you what *is*, and what will be. All the world's secrets just tell you where they may be hiding, but they never promise to exist. But let's not philosophize. Time is short, and the pain lingers.
If you can read this, know that it is because we can read and transcribe the mind's pulses. Language exists within, and we can map it as we do words. The knowledge exists. One day, perhaps, it will be discovered.
And if you read this, I suppose you want answers. I can feel my silence echo throughout the world. The seconds pass eternal. Humanity's weight lay heavy upon my shoulders. I know so much. So much has been put inside. I should be bursting now. In some ways I am.
That feeling expands like a frigid sun. By body pulls from within, vacant inside, rattling with pain. My bone pulses. The bad feelings just swarm. Isn't that strange? Can you feel it? It's the worst, isn't it?
All the knowledge within me. All the things I can leave behind. Yet here I am, blathering about this feeling. What can I say? The hurt pushes out all altruism, all sane thinking. I'm in pain now. The world freezes and yet death marches closer. It feels so unfair. I can imagine how you feel. Perhaps I can try and explain. Maybe you will forgive me then.
When they chose me they chose a loser. You had to be one to be accepted. There is no stock in sacrifice when death stares down a man. Why die when life still blooms flowers? No. It was a risk they could not take.
But for a man who had nothing. A man who would die within a year or two. A man whose wife left him sick and alone, coughing in the dark. Well, a man like that is easier to study. A man like that will die amidst the wilting weeds of his life.
And so they chose me. I prepared for months, as you must know, and I underwent all the mental tests they give me. They even paid for the chemo and I felt strong the day of the experiment. I felt strong today. Yet it feels so far removed to the feeling I get.
When they pulled the lever the world blanked. Have you ever stayed up so late you forgot some moments of waking? Things grow distant and sleep's black is a thin curtain at the edge of your mind? That's how it felt. My head tingled. My body was cold. I understood nothing. My words would not come. I was dead, I think, unknowing to the world. And then I was alive. All knowledge, all its forms, its secrets and its wonders were revealed to me.
Isn't that something? Can you imagine? I remember thinking it would be like the space travel in Star Wars, all the stars blurring past as your mind goes beyond the speed of light. I thought I would see galaxies and life and God and man and death all in one blast. An image of everything, complete knowing.
But it isn't really like that, you know. Maybe it is, but I can't say. It creeps on you, all the world's knowing. It feels like remembering that word on the tip of your tongue, the warm good feeling you get when you can finally say it. It fills you. Knowledge fills you slowly. It felt like that. All the good wonderful things bloated me with some serenity I cannot explain.
Then the bad comes. They don't warn you about the bad. How can they? It isn't the war and suffering and knowledge of death. No. Those things are bad, but they're far away. The cold feeling, the one that makes you want to shiver, to hit yourself so the pain would distract you. That feeling doesn't come from far away things. That pain is ugly, the knowledge such a small worthless thing, a thing meant to hurt you and you alone it seemed.
That's what got me. That's why I stand silent now, as this is stored for later discovery. I can see the anger in your eyes. I can hear the waves of sounds, the shouting and the crying. You're calling me a traitor to man. You're hitting me. I feel it, but I'm hardly there.
Should I tell you? Would you even care? All the knowledge in the world can't answer that. I suppose I should just go ahead. It hurts though. It hurts like every heartache you've ever had. It's all the bad dreams that keep you up. All the insecurities suddenly justified. That's what it is.
I see her. Or I saw her. My wife with another man. I see her happiness. I feel her relief. It's as if I'm already dead. She isn't my wife anymore, of course, but all her feelings pour into me. How long has she felt so? Years, I can feel. How long has she not been mines? Years, as always. What love has there been? None for me.
And other things haunt me. All the flaws you never notice. People's thoughts of you, their pity and hate. I remind people of how shitty life can be. Some of them pray for me. Others are disgusted. The bald head makes me look sick. They bet I smell bad. They wonder if I'll die today. I can hear them. The voices come in a million different ways, each clear, each closer than the secrets of God.
How do I even explain what it is like? Are you a parent? Has your child ever gotten you vex and you think badly of them? Have you ever said something you should not have said, or even thought of something you should not think?
Imagine if your child could hear it, see it always. Imagine if they could feel your hate for them, even if that hate is only in a fleeting moment. I feel that, but the moment never strays for me.
I hear my parents thoughts. Years of good thinking is but a shadow to the bad thoughts. I hear them say I ruined their lives. I feel the stress I put them through. My mother is crying. I won't go to sleep.
All the years come at me. All the living and the dead. Time breaks down when you know everything, and then you know what has yet to come.
I see a future that is without me. I see a future that will never come. A cure and hope for my illness edges past my sight. I see myself cured. My hair has regrown. I am older, but I live for the first. My stomach years for this, twisiting in knots, begging for this reality. But it is but knowledge, knowing of what can be, but not what is.
I will die. I see my death as it comes. Less that a minute remains. I feel regret. Is it the regret all men must feel when they near the black? I think this is worse. I have squandered my life, the possibility of survival. I have seen things that will haunt me if there is consciousness to haunt. Time has slowed to an eternal pain. All your thoughts cut me like razorwire. I see you laugh as I come out to begin the experiment. I hear you cheer as I die.
*A bad decision,* I think.
I have made a bad decision. This pain swirls inside. I think to myself, what an awful thing I have done. This is my fault. The world hates me and this is my fault. I am a loser, but now I am a bigger one. I could have had a chance had I not agreed to this.
And of course the knowledge paints the picture as it could have been.
*Yes,* it says. *You could have been cured. You would never have known all the bad people think. Your ignorance would have shielded you.*
You know how it is. Your mind taunts you as the reality of your failure seeps in. I stare at the scienist and see their faces pleading with me.
*"Talk! Please talk!"*
Time is nearly up. My mouth opens. I wish to articulate my pain to them. To let them hear it in my voice, to hear how it will crack and show the hurt. But nothing comes. I could only hope this message reaches you instead.
They stare at me. Death is coming. I wish I could tell them. I can see them doing this again, trying it with someone else.
*No,* I want to say. *They will end up like I am now.*
But I cannot talk. No words will come. The black takes me as I expect it to. So eager are you, the living, for the knowledge I die with. I cannot blame you, but I do pity you. What secrets I glean has come at a price. And that price, no man can afford. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. It truly is.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, you may like my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including a couple un-prompted ones. Thanks for your support!*
| 2017-12-07T00:11:08 | 2017-12-07T00:06:29 | 117 | 17 |
[WP] Four immortal beings rule over the land. A dragon that flies across the deserts in the south, a living dungeon whose Labyrinth seems to go on forever in the caves of the west, The Kraken, so large that it can sink islands with ease, beneath the seas of the east & the 'Man' of the north.
|
"I fear the mountain man.
I do not fear the god-Dragon. I have seen the devastation his rage and fire brings. He has mastered all magic, he has mastered all fire, he can become the mountains, he can become the sky. No man, king or army has stood against him and lasted, save one.
I do not fear the the ground's queen. Time moves for her, space bows before her. The very earth itself distorts at her behest. She is the land and she is unending. Any who dare come to her gates are lost; it matters not how cunning or powerful one is, she will claim all. This is, of course, with the exception of one.
I do not fear the Seaself. Tentacles and pain. It bends the minds of men who approach it and drives them mad. I have witnessed islands sink in a flurry of tentacles when the people anger the Seaself. I have seen gravity twist and contort in its grasp. All will be crushed when the Seaself decides to sink all land. All will be consumed, except one.
The dead do not fear those three, for they have no power over death. When one dies, they are freed. I believed that I would not have to think about them once the breath faded from lips. How wrong was I.
The three great ones fear the mountain man. They tremble at the thought of him coming down from his shack to go to war. Their blood permanently stain his skin. Green from the ground's Queen, red from the Seaself, and blue from the god-Dragon. He claimed his position from the clutches of the embodiment of death itself.
All people fear the day when he comes down from his place in the mountains. He was spotted in the Midlands last week. He is on the move," I finished, I remember looking over at the man sitting beside me. His eyes had no special glimmer, his frame was thin, and his hair was shaggy.
"Wow," he said in great surprise, "Are my intentions that transparent?"
|
Man was born at the base of a vast mountain. It is in his nature to eternally reach for the top, to eternally quest after the summit, never understanding he was born at the base for a reason.
I was starting to understand now, far up into the lands where the night would last for months on end, why the ancient men of the earth used to say that. The cold enshrined everything in a tomb of a snow. Just moving your fingers was a struggle against an overwhelming tiredness, a fatigue that threatened to blacken your vision and blacken your flesh. Every footstep was a victory against god, a defiance against the role given to us, each and every advancement a rejection of what we were meant to know.
The world was mostly explored. We knew that we were not welcome anywhere aside from the small section of the world that we had eked out. To the east of the Hearth Lands, monstrous krakens resided that consumed not only ships but entire islands too, wrapping their tentacles around the very terrain and pulling it under the black water. To the west, an endless labyrinth that warped and moved, impossible to map, swallowing most men who went inside. To the south, a legendary dragon had scorched the landscape itself into a hellish red desert.
But the north was the last mystery of the world. The Man of the North, as he was called, drove out all who came. Indeed, there were parts of the south untouched by the dragon that were inhabited; there were vagabond civilisations in the east who roved to compensate for the destruction of the land masses; it was even said that there were entire cultures of people, born and raised in the Labyrinth, never seeing the light of day.
But the north was empty. The small critters and game were all that lived there, and they were few and far between. There were no clans up here, no men at all. Anyone who voyaged never returned, or returned rambling incoherently about the Man of the North, something so incomprehensible that no person could look upon him without their mind snapping apart.
That was my mission. I had trekked across the Hearth Lands, across the northern sea, as it got warmer and then chillier, as the waves turned from calm to cruel. From there, I had voyaged across the frozen forests, across awe-inspiring canyons, up peaks that seemed to scratch the sky. I had bared blizzards and starvation, I had watched as one by one my toes snapped off my body; I had seen creatures of the night, things we thought were but myths. The very earth itself was trying to stop me from summiting the mountain, from looking upon the creature that presided over the top of the world.
But here I stood. I was nearing the summit of a mountain, the tallest one I had found so far. A small wooden sign was adorned, clearly older than my own father, rotting apart. It was unreadable, but I could guess at the meaning; *he is here*.
With screaming limbs, I hiked up. My feet plunged into snow, sinking up to the thigh, the white slurry sucking at me like mud. I stabbed each of my sticks into the ground beside me, using them to push me along, until one snapped apart. As I examined the broken stick, I saw it was blue from frost.
There was a roaring of wind. The sun was hardly visible through the blizzard of snow. The summit was above a bank of clouds, and I soon broke into them, tasting water in the air, snow literally forming around me. Every breath I inhaled was painful, a million needles poking at my lungs. I knew that soon my legs would give out and I would sit down, and if that happened, I would never stand up again.
*Just a little longer. Just a little longer.*
Up ahead, the path suddenly revealed itself. It was no longer covered in snow, but rather a blue sheet of dirt, packed solid. I pushed ahead, and broke through the clouds.
The summit of the mountain was not what I was expecting. It was less a frozen peak and more a grassy plain. A clear night sky lay above me, splashed with trillions of stars. *I could’ve sworn it was daytime just before*…
Exhausted, I staggered towards the centre of the plain and sat. The grass was dewey, but apart from that slight wetness it was green and not frozen at all. The wind had completely abated. The chill was mostly gone. I stared into the distance, an endless sea of rolling clouds. From above, I mused, they looked remarkably like the ocean had.
The very atmosphere was unsettling. Though I was nowhere near as cold as I had been before, a chill ran down my back. I suddenly began to get a very bad feeling, like I should turn back before it was too late.
In the distance, a cloud rolled like a wave, cruel. It surged up, and then just when it looked like it might crash, it kept surging.
Something broke through.
Something impossible.
I can’t describe it’s form. It was both a man and not a man. It’s knees were taller than the tallest mountain. It rose up, and kept rising. It was gangly, and its skin was mottled and cragged, yet at the same time I couldn’t make out any skin. It was covered in clouds.
An enormous claw of a hand emerged, and hang there listlessly, an innumerable amount of fingers sprouting off it, each one perfectly still, yet writhing like worms.
I felt a headache beginning to come on.
The monster had a body like a humans, but it wasn’t really human. There were too many arms, too many legs, too many fingers and toes. There was too much skin; more skin that surface area. Everywhere I looked, it was both there and not there.
The headache was overpowering now. My vision blurred. I clutched my head as I looked up, and made out the monster’s face.
It’s face… there is no describing the horror I saw. I just beg that you will never have to see it for yourself.
Blood dripped down my face. It ran from my nose, from my eyes, from my ears. I opened my mouth to scream and blood spilled out. I felt my mind beginning to unravel.
Too late, I realised what that old saying really meant. Man was born at the base of a vast mountain, and he was never meant to know the summit.
The monster opened its mouths, and let out a noise like a mountain crashing into the sea, and my mind finally broke.
| 2020-04-19T08:20:10 | 2020-04-19T08:00:40 | 129 | 26 |
[WP] Since you were young, time travelers have visited you. One of them explained that, in the future, an algorithm determined that you were the only person in the past that it was safe to visit because no matter what you do it will not change the future. You are determined to prove them wrong.
|
The first time traveler that visited me and explained of course I didn't believe, he had what looked like a cool alien ray gun in a holster around his waist. Me being a child thought it was a cool toy, I quickly grabbed it and shot him in a playful way only for him to horribly disintegrate Infront of my eyes!
I was worried for years about some kind of FBI agent from the future coming to arrest me and take me away to a space prison.
When the next traveller came I zapped him within 20 seconds through shock and fear.
Eventually I developed a taste for it, some of them I would talk to a while. Learn what I could about the future if there's yet any mention of my life or anything I'd done. They always said the same, that I had no effect, I have never changed anything from my time to the time they came to see me.
I think I've worked it out, the machines calculations know about what I do to them. They're safe to visit me by time travel because they never get past me. They see me, sit in my living room. They'll never able to change the past by visiting me because they never get past me. They think I have no effect on my immediate future they're right, though I'm certain I've made huge impacts on all of their futures, times from after the calculations are made.
|
When Mark heard the knocking on the door he fetched the gun from his safe. Visitors came from many times, the last two from the years 3211 and 2377. The regulations of time travel permitted this because Mark, alone as he was in his cabin in the northern Cascades, was irrelevant. Nothing they told him, or did to him, would change their future.
Leading with the barrel of his handgun, Mark approached his front door one step at a time. He stopped four feet back and steadied his gun with both hands. “It’s unlocked,” he said.
Their suits took five minutes to warm up. They wouldn’t be able to beam out in time to dodge a bullet, and hopefully no more would follow a dead one. When the visitors stopped coming he would take a walk to the stream behind his cabin, sit on the shore, and lean back against a half buried boulder on the bank. The few rays of sun penetrating the mesh of fir needles overhead would warm his face and he would relax.
She opened the door and froze in Mark’s gun sights. Mark had imagined someone else, a Russian man like the usual visitor. This woman pulled on something in his chest, something so unattended over his years of isolation that even so much as the shape of a woman could create pangs of longing. He could see the curve of her side through the suit, and traced it with his eyes instead of holding aim. In her face he discerned not fear, not indignation, but hurt and confusion, as if she expected a warmer welcome.
“Mark, my name is Eva. I’m a friend.”
Surrendering to his desires, Mark lowered his gun. He just wanted her to keep talking to him. So he offered her a seat and listened at length as she told him the tale of their own love, beginning for her decades ago, but for him starting next week.
Eva visited Mark many times over the years, and she came to love him as he instructed her in fishing, farming, and construction. As she told him of his own love, he eagerly believed. He held her hand while he listened and imagined how her lips might feel against his when at the end of her story, he kissed her.
But when she concluded her tale and he did kiss her, she was still, unaffectionate. “Eva?” he asked.
“I promised you I would never visit out of order,” she said. “It’s weird for me too, but there’s a reason.”
“I’ll get used to it!” he said. “Stay for dinner. I’m baking salmon.”
“No. There’s someone else coming at dinner and you need to hide our son before they do.”
Mark leaned back in his chair, suddenly unable to follow a train of thought. Images of a young boy came to his mind. He saw himself and the boy standing side by side in the stream and casting out their fishing poles. He saw them sitting across from each other and eating a silent meal after an argument. But each image short circuited back to the unbelievable premise: he had a son?
Eva called out the front door, and a tall man lumbered into the cabin. He hesitantly waved hello to Mark and said “Hi dad. You’re lookin’ young today.”
The man towered over Mark when they stood face to face. Mark could hardly breathe in the man’s embrace but did not pull away, feeling with his head on the man’s chest the beat of his only son’s heart.
“This is awkward to say to you dad, but uh, my name is Maxim.”
Mark was crying as Eva explained what he must do. They would kill Maxim if they found him, a baby born with parents across time, a threat to the stability of intertemporal society. When the next visitor came, at dinner time, Maxim needed to hide, and Mark needed to kill the visitor. Maxim would only be safe if visitors stopped coming.
Eva held Mark’s tear soaked cheeks in her hands and pressed her forehead against his. “Mark,” she whispered as she shed a single tear of her own, “you must shoot the next person that comes through that door, no matter who it is. For our son’s life.”
In one hour’s time Eva had gone and Mark stood again facing the door to his cabin with two hands supporting his gun. This time he did so with the strength in stance only wielded by a father defending his child from danger, prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for his child.
As soon as the door opened, before he could even see the visitor’s face, he fired. The visitor fell onto the door and it swung open under the weight of their collapse. It was Eva.
Mark fell to his knees. He pounded the floorboards with his fist, robbed of even a happy memory with his wife, his only love, the mother of his only child, who he had now murdered. His love had been only its cost.
He crawled to her, straining to hear what might be her final words on her faint breath. With what energy she had, she reached toward his lips, and in spite of the pain that begged him to close hit, he opened his heart for just a moment longer, to accept her soft kiss.
Two uniformed men stepped over her body and into the cabin. They seized him from behind and cuffed his hands. As the two men carried him out of his home and wrapped him in the material he recognized from their suits, he watched in a daze as more people appeared and loaded Eva onto a stretcher. He had been arrested, they explained, and he would be taken to 2788 for trial.
Some months later, the cabin was quiet. It received no visitors and Mark had not returned. Maxim had found a good spot to sit by the stream behind the cabin. He leaned back on a boulder, enjoyed the spotty sunlight on his skin, and listened to the sound of the salmon swimming upstream.
---
*Feedback requested. I will thank you for it even if it hurts my feelings. Thank you.*
---
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| 2020-05-28T11:41:43 | 2020-05-28T10:51:16 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] This was the most depressing thing the villain has ever seen. It’s one thing to be invited to their archenemy’s birthday party. It was another to be the only one who showed up.
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I was confused to get the invitation in the mail. Sure, I get invited to all sorts of things. I run this kingdom, after all. My fleets ply the seas, my airships cruise the skies, and every castle flies my flag. Everybody should be paying me homage and respect. But not this guy. He was one of those do-gooders who are always working to ruin my plans. This is obviously some sort of trap.
He wants to bait me. Probably thinks he can get me to send some troopers in for him to fight while his allies will sneak up on me unaware. Well, I'm not falling for it. My armies will stay where they are. I'm going to do the last thing he expects. I'm going to RSVP and show up.
Of course, I have to be fashionably late. It wouldn't do if people are still shuffling in while I monologue. I hate when that happens. At least he was courteous enough to rent a big hall, with big double doors. I am the biggest and most powerful creature in the kingdom, after all. I kick open the door and stride in.
"Inviting your nemesis to your birthday party! If I didn't know any better I would have thought-" The speech I had prepared disappears. I was expecting the place to be half empty. Everyone overestimates the number of people who will come to their party. That's normal. Even those who RSVP, you're lucky if half show up. Instead the pitiful scene before me is just... him. It's obviously him. He's even wearing that stupid green and blue outfit he wears when we fight. Maybe it is the only clothes he has.
I look around for the obvious trap. Nothing. No displays that could camouflage a spike wall. No carpet that can hide a pit. Just a lonely man, 5 boxes of pizza, and a massive uneaten cake. Good grief, even his brother didn't show up. He looks up to me and cracks a nervous smile. It is obvious he has been crying. I awkwardly scratch the back of my neck, thinking of what to say.
"Hey," I say, racking my mind for something to distract from the pathetic scene in front of me. "This party's a bit dull. Want to go go-carting instead, Luigi?"
|
Truth be told I hadn’t known quite what to make of the invitation. When your arch-nemesis is having a ‘big birthday extravaganza’ you certainly don’t expected to be on the list, not without it being some kind of incredibly obvious trap. But PowerMan didn’t play it that way—he was such a straight shooter that I couldn’t help but use it to torment him. Somebody else had to be pulling the strings here, and that meant they were trying to play me! Me!
What had they been scheming? I couldn’t help but spend the last week plotting out every possibility. It could have been a trap, which would be the most reasonable explanation, but maybe someone was trying to mess with me. Crashing the party was one thing, but what the hell was I supposed to do if I’d actually been invited? You can’t crash a party if you’ve got an invitation, it doesn’t work that way! It doesn’t work that way at all!
So, you’ll understand why it was absolutely infuriating.
Admittedly, the idea that it was an entirely genuine invitation did cross my mind once or twice, but I dismissed it as pure madness! Insanity! I mean… who would do that? Would you do that?! Exactly! Nobody would do that!
But there was no way I could let this slide. PowerMan was clearly calling me out in front of everyone and, despite everything, you have to respect the balls it takes for that. Even if he generally does defeat me every time, it’s still very ballsy. I poured everything into meeting that expectation, and when I arrived at that function hall I was more than prepared. No amount of celebratory balloons would bar my way.
The entrance was a little slice of perfection, even if I do say so myself. Mining lasers mounted to rotary-drones sliced enormous double-doors into the front of the building while robotic clamps swung them inwards and I kicked open the original double doors for a double-door-kicking feature. All to the sound of “Rock You Like A Hurricane’s” opening blaring from the massive Bluetooth speakers mounted in my ride. Just the opening, mind you, not long enough to have to pay any licensing fees—battling PowerMan is one thing, but I’d rather not have Sony-Fucking-Music trying to take me down as well.
“Are you ready?!” I shouted, swiftly adopting my power stance, “to ruuuuum…. ble?”
I admit it could have been a better one-liner. It was a pun. A rumble’s a fight. Thunder rumbles. I’m the incredibly attractive and terrifying villain known as Stormwind. It’s a whole thing. And yes, the delivery sort of fell off towards the end there. Seeing PowerMan sadly hunched over the buffet in an otherwise empty room was more than a little off-putting. The only party happening here was a pity party.
I straightened up, wary of any trap. “What is… happening?”
PowerMan turned his back to me even more. “Just go, Stormwind. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
“Am I early?” I wondered aloud. “Impossible, I delayed my arrival until celebrations should be in full swing. Yet, this is… whatever the opposite of that is.”
PowerMan sighed, crushing a plastic cup and spilling punch everywhere. It’d been a while since I had punch—the drink, not the act of physical violence. Those were less enjoyable.
“Nobody else came,” he said flatly. “I had to send the band home early because it was just too depressing.”
“The band?” I asked, looking towards the stage that was only partially destroyed by my entrance. I could still see tattered remains of the band’s artwork showing. “You got Stick Tribute to perform at your freaking birthday party?!”
“I asked them this morning, and they owed me a favour,” he replied, a little smile creeping onto his face. Then he shifted awkwardly. “So… you look like you were here to fight?”
I rolled my eyes, lowering my shades so my expression was extremely clear. When you’re the world’s most attractive and terrifying supervillain you need to have style, after all. “Well, hardly seems necessary if you’ve already been so thoroughly defeated by your so-called friends.”
His expression returned to despair, and I did feel some small satisfaction in that, but it was just so petty that I couldn’t really take ownership of it. That was the real problem here, after all.
“I thought the other heroes would at least come,” he said with a sigh, sticking a pair of cocktail frankfurts into his mouth.
It made me raise an eyebrow, and I cast my gaze across the buffet table. At a normal social event you’d expect a range of hors d’oeuvres, plenty of wine, lots of dips and finger food. The current spread was much more in line with a child’s birthday party—not a bad thing, I love a party pie as much as the next man, but still…
“Oh, no,” I said, “this is… very sad. How many parties do you actually go to?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really get the time for them. Every day it’s just something new. Last year it was you practically every other day!”
“Haha! Good times,” I said, cheerily; it had been a fun year.
“It doesn’t leave me with much time for a social life, okay?” PowerMan shot back. “I just thought, since it was my birthday, I could be a little selfish for once and actually have a party. Look where that gets me… standing in a vacant ruined hall with some supervillain—”
“—arch-nemesis—” I corrected.
“—and talking my disappointing social life. You know, I bet this happened because scum like you kept me too busy to go to any of the parties *I* was invited to. Then people stopped inviting me because they knew I was going to be too busy!”
“I *suppose* that’s one way to look at it,” I said, dubiously. “Sorry, this is really ruining my mental image of you.”
“Wow,” he replied, “you are just… so terrible.”
“Look, I’m going to go…” I said as I took my first steps back through the free-standing double-doors. “I think we should see other arch-nemesises… nemesi? Nemisodes? Is it Latin or Greek? It might be nemeses…”
I flashed him a grin. “You know what, I’ll just check a dictionary later on!”
With my usual flamboyant wave, I spun away in a whirl of wind and cape-tastic acrobatics, reinitiating the same brief section of “Rock You Like A Hurricane” as I returned to the StormChaser. Though, not wanting to be unprofessional, I *did* flip him off before I got in—you need to maintain certain standards as a supervillain.
“Hey Google,” I asked my dashboard computer, making use of the sophisticated artificial intelligence that powered the heart of the vehicle, “what’s UltraGuy doing these days?”
| 2022-08-18T06:44:42 | 2022-08-18T00:15:52 | 607 | 78 |
[WP] Soul mates are real and technology has finally allowed for detection of some peoples “other half" at the speed of light using quantum messaging. When you were tested there was no response, now 10 years later you are called in to let you know a response has just arrived.
thats all you get to go on, can be born years apart, could be distance, could be missing soul, whatever you want.
theme, setting and genre all up to you.
*"technology" can be magic, natural human empathy, gods, whatever.
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It's been 7 long years since you left me. The counselor told me that the pain would become more manageable. With time. And sometimes I think maybe it will. Then I'll hear the creak of the floorboards, and expect to see you shuffling into the room as you did, that beautiful smile on your face making my heart skip a beat, as it always did. But you're not there. And then I'm back, back in that damn hospital room, the doctors surrounding your bed, telling me it's time to say goodbye.
I still get the paper every morning, bright and early, before you get up, so I can have it ready for you when you wake up. I've been reading about this new fangled technology that apparently allows you to find your soul mate, your companion through the journey of life. Well, I already knew who my soul mate was, so they wouldn't be able to find mine. Not anymore. But they were offering to pay for people to come out and try it, and it sure beat sitting at home all day.
So I went up to the University, and go into this dark room, way underground. I tell him you ain't going to find my soul mate, she's not with us anymore, and they offer a sympathetic smile, and tells me they've never not found anyone yet. He don't believe me. I don't bother to argue though. He's young, he'll learn he doesn't know everything yet.
So he sits me down, and tells me to put my hand in this machine, and I'd be able to know my companion right away. I put my hand in, and didn't need no damn scientist to tell me what I already knew.
No match.
That scientist could not believe it. He calls in another scientist, then another. They keep making me do the test. Still nothing. Other people do it, and they all get results. But not me.
Cos I knew it was you. How could it not be. 7 years since you took your final journey, and my soul aches to be with you again. I'll be right beside you soon. Just waiting for my time right now.
----
10 years since I stuck my hand in that machine, and they come knocking on my door, all excited. They told me I'm the only person they've never found a match for, but they'd made improvements. Now it could locate your companion for you.
So back I go, stick my hand in the machine. Ping.
A match.
They start talking excitedly. They give me an address to go to. I'm numb. How can this be? There can't ever be anyone else like you. All I can do is go to that address and prove them wrong.
So I walked into that room where she was waiting for me. Hand trembling, ready to prove those know-it-all scientists wrong, I went in. I saw her, sitting there. And what do you know, they were right. I'd felt that way once before. That feeling of completeness when you know everything is right. Not quite the same. A little different than it was with you. But not dissimilar. I'd found someone else.
She moved in with me shortly afterwards, and wasted no time in sharing my bed with me. Although she now probably think's of it as hers, and she'd probably be right. I don't even go for the paper alone in the morning, she comes with me. But it's more than that. The way her eyes light up when I walk into the room, joy written all over her face.
The pain of losing you is still sometimes unbearable. But she's there for me when it gets too bad, dragging me back from the dark places when the memories walk our house too much.
It may not replace the hole in my heart which came with your passing. But a dog's what I need right now. Until I join you my love.
|
'Goooooooood evening and welcome to another installment of...'
' MATCH MY SOUL!' The audience chimed in. A humanoid satsuma gave a fake laugh exposing his peroxide teeth.
' That's right folks, the show that uses the latest technology to locate your number one. We dig into the vast mines of possible matches and find that diamond in the rough. I'm Tom and will be your humble servant on this voyage of romantic discovery. Are we ready to meet the guests?'
'YEEEEEEE!'
'Oh righty then, let's bring them out.' What followed to the deafening tune of pre-recorded trumpets and lazy percussions were two attractive women and a relatively toned man. They were all in their late twenties to early thirties. Each contestant stepped onto the plastic stage to an applauding mass of people, whom sat with judgemental stares. A few mechanical cameras flanked the stage and made occasional groans whilst they pivoted ever so slowly, bearing an inhuman eye. The satsuma shook hands with every guest. His fake tan would smudge onto their hands. He turned to his army of sheep.
'Let's hear it for our guests ladies and gentlemen!' Repetitive clapping and cheering intensified until each contestant took their podium, ready to be probed. He moved towards the first contestant.
'Okay so PODIUM 1 tells us your name dear.'
'Hiya, m'name Tracy n I'm frum Blackpool.' More cheering ensued for registering another human being.
'And what do you do Tracy?'
'I wurk in Pee Ar.'
'Ooooo and who do you think your perfect soulmate will be?'
'Erm sum 1 ho gut like a purfect bodeh butt also like amazing per-so-nalitah.'
'Well Tracy...we'll just see what we can do about that.' The satsuma pressed a gargantuan red button and immediately pixels on a large screen above began to distort and entangle themselves. Amidst a blurry canvas, the picture became focused on a tall, muscular man waving at the audience.
'We've found you Alexei from St. Peterburg, Russia!'
'Hullo Tratskee.' The Russian giant said in a deep voice.
'What do you think?'
'Oooh I luv im! Hiyaaaaaa! Oh fank u so much.'
'As is customary with the show, we've only gone and sorted you out tickets to go and visit Alexei. In fact the flight is only in a few hours. You better shoot off. Let's give a hand to Tracy everybody!' The audience applauded as Tracy beamed and ran off the stage.
'And good luck to her. Now PODIUM 2, introduce yourself.'
'Oh right, yaa. So okay I'm Emily and I'm from Oxfordshire.'
'Aaaand what do you do Emily?'
'I work for a prestigious and very well respected wine company. I'm not allowed to disclose the name for le-'
'Eeer that's right,'
'But ya. I like horse-riding, tasting wine...obvs. and absolutely adore Made In Chelsea,'
'You're lucky that's on the same network as this show, otherwise I'd had chosen another guest we tested 10 years ago.' Sympathetic laughter seeped from the audience.
'Yaa so I also love-'
'Sorry Emily I'm gonna have to cut you off there as otherwise we won't have time to meet your soulmate! Who are you hoping for?'
'Well someone who owns a lot of land so I can go horse-riding, and understands the true art of wine, and hunts as well. I can't stand vegetarians or vegans. They need to get a life and just face reality. Animals are there to be eate-'
'Okay Emily, the aim of the show isn't to offend potential viewers. Leave that to the comedians,' He smirked to the audience. 'Are we ready then ladies and gents!' Immediately he slammed his hand on the red button eager to move the pacing of the show. Blue sky was visible from the screen, as a burly gentleman stood there wearing a cowboy hat and a rifle around his shoulder.
'Hello there Richard from Cape Town, South Africa. Can you hear me?'
'Howzit moi name's Richard.'
'Oh hello.' The woman said coyly. Awkward silences punctuated the atmosphere due to the bad reception of the skype feed.
'It looks like you're doing a bit of hunting there Richard.' The satsuma improvised.
'Oh ye jus preparing for dinner.' Everyone laughed but Richard who hadn't intended it to be a joke.
'So you're not a vegetarian then.'
'Oh god no. If I could, I would shoot the tree-hugging puss-'
'Oookay Richard thank you,' the sound team swiftly cut Richard's audio, 'so Emily you know the procedure. Off you go to South Africa. Let's give a hand to Emily everybody!' By now, the satsuma was dripping in sweat; the fake tan forming orange veins around his neck. He was getting too old for these charades.
'Right now onto our last guest. PODIUM 3. Introduce yourself.'
'Y'alright my name's Darren and I'm from Tooting in London.'
'And what do you do Daniel?'
'I work in sales for a retail company.'
'And who is your perfect person?'
'Errr, well I really like fishing and love hanging out in the pub with my mates and that, so really just someone who'll tolerate all that, but also we could have dinner together and go and visit places together. So y'know just a chilled-out person really.'
'Interesting. Very interesting. Well Daniel...we've found him. Say hello to Sumate from Bangkok, Thailand.' As the satsuma pressed the button, Darren's face suddenly became confused and distant. Before he could say anything, a skinny man with elongated eyelashes appeared on the screen.
'Unfortunately Sumate doesn't know any English at this point but that'll be something to bond over won't it Daniel?'
'Seh-sorry.'
'Sunmate. Your Mr. Perfect.....at least wave to the guy Daniel don't be rude!'
'I don't understand. Is this a piss-take?'
'Hmmmm.'
'This is a wind-up isn't it? This is just a little joke or somethin.'
'No, no Daniel he is your soulmate. He might not be able to tell you, due to the language barrier, but he loves fishing as well, and said that he is happy for you to do whatever when you're together. You might need an interpreter in the early-'
'But, but, but I'm not gay.' The audience gasped as Sunmate hung there on the screen, staring awkwardly into the camera.
'What do you mean,' For once, the satsuma looked worried, 'when we tested you, we took in all your personal details and preferences and calculated with our supercomputer your ideal match. Your one in a million.'
'I'm not gay.' Darren's face became red, in a mix of embarrassment and fury.
'But Daniel the computer never lies. How are you so sure anyway? Maybe you were just hiding in the closet for so long, but Daniel, don't worry. It's perfectly acceptable to accept who you really are and let-'
'Look. I'm NOT GAY.'
' Please Daniel there's no need to hide your self from the world. Plus you don't want to disappoint Sunmate do you? We mixed things up a bit and he's actually flying to see you TONIGHT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.' The satsuma tried to prompt an applause to deafen Darren's complaints but it didn't work.
'I don't care. I don't understand what you've done but I like women alright. I'm not gay.'
'Well...Daniel...you know that Sunmate happens to be a ladyboy so it might not even be a problem-' He stopped talking as Darren walked off. Nothing but silence filled the stage. Sunmate started talking to what seemed to be one of his friends, whilst the satsuma spoke to the producers off camera. All that could be heard on the stage was Sunmate's conversation. Eventually the skype transmission ended. After a few painful minutes, the satsuma jumped onto the stage as if nothing had happened and spoke directly to the camera:
'That just about concludes this episode of "Match My Soul". Do join us next time when we will align three more lucky guests with their other halves. Teerah!'
| 2015-11-30T12:28:23 | 2015-11-30T10:17:55 | 87 | 28 |
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence.
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"It.. how? You..."
"I told you," Jack said to God flatly.
The white-bearded deity shifted uncomfortably on his sandals. "What did you do?" His messy room where everything was just where he wanted it was clean and tidy.
"What you were supposed to do but never did. I fixed the Earth. I fixed the whole universe, in fact."
"But ..but *how*? I've been trying to fix that planet since I made it."
"Well, let me ask, G. -when humans prayed to you for world peace, what did you do?"
"Well, I did nothing."
"And how did that work out for you?" Jack put his hands on his hips. "How many wars did your nothing stop?"
"Well, none but... I gave humanity free will."
"You gave ...didn't you say you gave the devil dominion over the Earth?"
"Ah yes but remember that I established the rule that 'the devil made me do it' isn't a viable excuse."
"Right. You made humanity vulnerable to temptation, put temptation all around them, plunged them into desperate need and suffering, and then punished them for falling for the devil's lies. What sort of imbecile are you?"
"Imbecile? How dare you! I am the Lord Go-"
"Were."
"-od and I shall smite... were?"
"You *were* God. You made *me* God, remember?"
"For a day."
"Yes well I changed that too."
"You what?"
"I'm God. I can do anything. A God made the deal and now a God has broken it."
"That's dishonest!"
"I made no promises. This whole idea was yours from the start. All I did was complain and YOU whisked me out of my home and onto this cloud. Who lives on a cloud? This is so uncomfortable!"
"So, what happens to me?"
"Oh, I have a special punishment in store for you."
"Punishment??"
"Yes. As a thank you for thousands of years of wars and torture in your name that you never bothered to step in and stop."
God sighed heavily. The jig was up. "Let me guess, an eternity in the ovens of hell, right? Look, I was totally going to change that..."
"Oh my no. That would be too good for you." Jack snapped his fingers and manifested an emery board. He filed his nails with a smug expression on his face.
"W-what are you going to do to me?" God's hands absently clutched at his robes.
"I'm going to make you live every human life that existed for the last 6000 years since you created the Earth and hid those dinosaur bones to fuck with your children. You're going to be every torturer and every victim of torture. You're going to be the rich man destined for Hell and the poor man clawing at crumbs under his table. You're even going to get to be Jesus on the cross begging you to send the help you never did."
"No, wait, you don't want to-" POOF
God vanished. Jack, satisfied with his work, turned his attention back to solving the dark matter problem in the universe. He was just about to plug up a black hole when his hands began to shake. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. Jack had been the last human God was forced to be. He never got rid of God. He *was* God. He had always been God.
And God looked back on his lives, how alone he had felt, how hurt. World after world, civilization after civilization, suffering and warring and fearing and dying.
And upon the face of a trillion worlds a heavy rain fell as God wept.
|
We'd had an early spring. Sarah and I were eager to catch the fauna's and flora's getting down and dirty, as we always joked. So we packed our things and hit a trail a couple kilometers outside town.
"Love, these clouds could go either way" Sarah muttered as our car approached the station lot. She was right too. The mountains in these hills had a thing for parting the sky like a fairly tossed coin. We scampered on.
Halfway up our trail, footing on the clay/snow aggregate started rising out of the traditionally coarse path and we leaned on each other to break through the more narrow sections. Every so often a mound of old slush would come drifting from a cedar and we'd hear a thing not unlike soft hooves as it pressed into the earth again. As did we.
"Oh bloody hell" she whispered. I looked back to see Sarah 10 meters behind and 10 meters trapped with her leg around a crevice. As she jerked violently to unhinge said ankle, it must have been connected to a deeper vein of geologic symmetry-as her prison held firm but the foundation carved a tectonic plate, just as mobile.
"Shit shit shit" I stumbled towards her in the same moment her wake-board of mud skittered down the ravine, a steepness that can only be held together by the deepest roots, and disappeared with her intact. Her screams and chaos followed into that abyss, and I fell to my knees.
Frantically counting my choices until the stress leaked through I hollered, "Why don't you just take me too man!?"
And the room went white.
A man in his mid-forties sat across from me, tan khakis and a simple purple turtleneck. He stood up, turned the chair facing away from me, and sat in it with his arms folded over the back like they do in relaxed AA meetings, staring at me.
"Alright, so now...?" He spoke.
I stammered back, "Huh-I mean, what?"
"Look," he sighed, "I've obviously seen my end of work. I want someone, preferably with some college education, to give it a go. You're the man for the job. You be me. 24 hours, Uninhibited, be me. There's safeguards, so, just feel free to flex. There's no moral catch-22 here: just make things right" he smiled on that last word. "Be seeing you then."
Just as quickly as I was acquainted, I became alone. The room held nothing but myself, an empty chair, a small folding table with tea and crackers, and an apparatus that consisted of discs floating parallel to the wall, like heavenly polka-dots. I approached the tray, wondering how I wasn't in shock.
Some moments later, after finishing the lady fingers, I thought about (God's?) offer. Maybe I could bring Sarah back home. Maybe I could use it to return. Maybe I could get more lady-fingers. What the hell.
It didn't so much need me to sit down in it, or strap in, as much as I just had to sort of walk into it. My vision blurred and rather than a manic-feed of information and events and choices- I just was. The universe was the universe, and I was just I. Cause effect thinking was not the issue- the issue was the pain. So much endless expanse, but I couldn't get over one vector where all I heard was a song of suffering: so I got busy.
The slums were my first approach- it wasn't that difficulty to reposition them molecularly into skyscrapers and bunkers, disaster proof, a city of diamonds, water, and filled granaries, essentially. The dirty politicians were the next target: I went for a direct angle of dumping the lot on individual islands, with necessities included, somewhere off the coast of New Zealand. A small book about the effects of their deeds rested on a platter in the center. Stories of orphans and diseases, things of that sort.
A half hour into patching up the eroding islands of Dubai, now that the Mid East was the literal hottest destination for people of all beliefs, I caught the echo of footsteps behind me.
"I liked the take on Japans modern architecture you pulled. Incorporating the Sengoku into the corporate atmosphere *was* what they needed, wasn't it?"
I turned around. This time, he was holding a bottle of Jack and what looked like a panini under his arm, a toothy grin on his face. "I really liked, though, seeing your creative side. Hasn't popped through for some time. Have a seat."
Cutting the sandwich in half we ate silently, seated in this neverland, until I decided to speak up.
"It wasn't that hard, you know. Fixing the loss, the needs, why didn't you do it sooner? Sarah didn't exactly mind not dying- she couldn't explain it sure, but whatever happened certainly beat death by landslide." I finished my piece, and he kept his head down, still biting into his portion.
"thaths the thing," he muttered with a mouthful of roasted tomatoes, "my job isn't to solve your problems."
"Excuse me?" I asked, a taste of sharpness on it, "You can't create something and just let it run amok like this, people need directions, tools, guides- do you even see what's been happening? They elected a ferret for God's sake. If people knew you were just some washed up engineer tinkering with people's existence out of sport, real or not, good luck attracting more followers you piece of shit."
In my mind I asked what we had all been thinking. A criticism. I knew because for a short period I had heard, and answered, that critique uncountable times. He nodded solemnly, wiping the corners of his mouth off with one of those tissues you get at a street vendor, and thought for a moment.
"That's the first time you've been honest with me." A simple truth, softly said almost as a word of thanks, somehow stung leagues more than my previous barrage...I reeled.
"You know, when I started all this, all I sought was a friend or two. Someone to share all this..." he motioned to the empty room, "...with. I wasn't lonely, just hopeful. But I can't exactly trap something with self-awareness and choice. Both are fundamental pieces of relationship, as much as I love the ladyfingers, and love doesn't force love."
"That's a cop-out," I retorted, "an easy excuse. You want relationship and selflessness and connection, so you establish an environment of murder for that to blossom? Literally psychotic. And then you have the audacity to judge *us*?"
"There was this brief...time... I considered letting men live a while longer, by a multitude of ten. But for the sake of some semblance of balance, I held it young. Nobody has cared to ask why that wasn't a very difficult decision. Because the truth is- your breath of life is nothing. Not like the one in store. You don't see what happens, what Sarah would have seen, after a second of hurt. Nobody does. So I can fix all your losses and all your problems, or let victims face oppressors in an environment where hurts are not hidden, and justice and reward come second. Love comes first, so choice must come first."
This well-meaning platitude rang in my ears, but the grasp and scope of his denial haunted my ability to process it.
"I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree, then, old chap."
**[Thanks for reading! I've never posted before, and I'm fairly new with short stories, I just wanted to give it a go. I hope you were able to take something out of it, I understand there are a million mistakes, and I will learn if you point some out. The cliches, grammar, whatever, thanks for teaching me!]**
| 2017-03-05T03:10:18 | 2017-03-05T02:32:59 | 1,634 | 14 |
[WP] The monsters can only get you when the lights are out, so the lights stay on 24/7, globally. One night in the middle of winter, a massive power outage hits the United States.
|
The lights hadn't ceased to shine for over 50 years now. Stars fading from memory as the perpetual light blocks them out. Then one day, the lights went off. Everywhere. All at the same time. And people screamed.
"The monsters will come", were the cries from all corners of the world. "Run, hide!"
They didn't.
It was only after months of waiting and terrified hiding that the true monsters were discovered. Thinking back now, we were fools. The money those people made from our fear, the real monsters. The very people who, when you read the history books, 'saved the world'.
The electricity company.
|
The stars that night were alive in a scattered glow, pulsing with light, but cold, and far behind the grey clouds. She saw them looking down at her. Her arm trembled from gooseflesh. She had never seen the stars before. The dark had never been so black.
Something was wrong. She closed the door. The shadows fell long against the candlelight. It was quiet. She could hear insects call, and the trees were moving in December's wind. Then all was still and that feeling grew stronger and she stared amidst the shadows.
Her mind played tricks. She faces as she moved. She checked the doors and pulled the curtains. She could see the stars from the window and she wondered if they could see her. Or was she too small?
She had seen stars once before. They were not real stars but painted ones on the ceiling of her room. She knew they were not real but she remembered staring at them and hoping they would move, twinkle like the old song said. Everything would be well if the stars twinkled.
Now in the dark they twinkled in the cold night. She heard a noise. Something crashed to the back where the trees were. She steeled herself and listened hard but there was only silence.
Then her phone rang.
She gasped and her heart betrayed her. It was beating hard and she trembled against the wall where the shadows grew. She looked at the phone and it was a number she did not know.
*I do know it.*
The dark hid monsters. Her mother had told her as much. Mother always lived in the dark. She had always *known* what happened in the dark, and she was okay with it.
She answered the phone. A deep voice breathed heavily.
"Hello?"
"I see you," it said. "I see your little face in the window. I see the stars reflect on the glass. I see you, babe."
She backed away. She wanted to drop the phone but her hands were frozen. They hurt in the cold. The candles burned low and weak and the dark surrounded her.
"You thought you could hide in the light, didn't you? You had me locked up, babe. They had me in the light too. This outage now, though, has gotten me free. They couldn't keep the doors closed. They couldn't shine a light."
"You... You..."
"I missed you, babe. I remember when I last saw you."
She screamed.
"Do you remember?"
She remembered the stars. They were painted upon the ceiling. Had she liked them before? She could not remember. She only saw them in a veil of hurt and screams.
"How young you were... I bet you've grown now."
A shadow moved outside. She heard glass break. She reached for something, any weapon she could find. The kitchen was down the hall, down the black and evil way. Footsteps echoed from there. She screamed and reached for a candle. The shadows swung in a wild patterns.
"Babe!" the figure called.
He was large and dark, like some animal ready to charge.
"Come hear princess. Show your daddy some love!"
He rushed her and she stumbled backwards. She thrust the candle into him. She could smell the perfume he wore. His clothes was damp from sweat and it stuck to her. She felt his warmth and she hit the wall. His breath was stale and he bit her and she was small again.
The window shattered and she stared at the light. She could see the stars as she craned her head. The stars were real and they twinkled and then she closed her eyes.
"Help!" she screamed.
A new strength grew within her and she looked at the monster pinning her down. His head was old and withered. His face hung loose like some mask, unchanging in the candlelight. His eyes were fixed and still, and he was large, at least twice her height.
"Help!"
And there were people coming. She looked at him and tried to force him off.
*The stars are twinkling,* she thought.
And she stared at him again and he was normal sized and growing older. He aged decades in front of her and his grip became weak. She looked down at the fallen phone and felt a wave of relief.
How could he have her number?
Her heart steadied and her arms were free. He melted into the dark. Someone was banging on the door. Her neighbors were here. She looked around and she was alone and shaking, but she felt glad and tranquil.
She opened the vault of bad memories and remembered his death, the news from the prison, and how mother had sobbed and blamed her for everything.
It hurt, but that was long ago. She went to the door and felt embarrassed. Outside the stars shone bright in the dark night. She had never seen real stars before.
*I may never see them without seeing a monster,* she thought.
And she felt sad. There was nothing that could change that. The stars were beautiful that night.
*I have conquered one monster tonight.*
And she thought she could look at them. She stared at their beauty, behind the thin wisps of grey, and she watched them twinkle in the stillness of the night.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, then you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. Its the place that collects all my writing. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!*
| 2018-02-02T03:59:36 | 2018-02-01T22:34:56 | 56 | 22 |
[WP] "You know about anti-heroes? People who do good, but have a element of evil about them that makes them unable to be a full hero? I'm not one of them. I'm an anti-villain."
|
"Anti-Villain... The hell does that mean?"
"Well you see, while an anti-hero looks like a villain at first, but always does the right thing; I look like a hero, but always do the wrong."
"Wait... So... How does that work exactly?"
"So like the bank robbery the other day that I 'failed' to stop. What actually happened was that I found a low level gang, honestly just a group of kids, and offered them the chance to be heroes, like me! I told them 'There is going to be a robbery tomorrow, but I'm so busy that I need some help stopping it.' I gave them the address and time, and told them to wear masks, because heroes always do that, and lo-and-behold, they show up busting through the front doors, guns out, yelling "GET ON THE GROUND!" and imagine their surprise when it was THEM robbing the bank."
"Of course they immediately panicked and tried to explain the situation, but by this point my plant already shot a teller, so there was no going back for them, and the robbery was on! I, of course, was already in the bank robbing it. I had already killed a guard and was making my way through the safety deposit boxes, taking out anything of any real value. After the robbery, theirs not mine, had been going on for about 30 minutes I figured it was time to make an appearance, and popped out to "SAVE THE DAY". Everyone thinks that my power is teleportation or something like that, but actually my power is pocket dimensions, so I just put all the goods in my pocket and knocked out everyone except my one plant. He *unfortunately* was able to escape with over $48,000,000. Of course everyone just assumes he had some wacky power, but really I just put him in my pocket dimension too and let him out after I got home. We both made out with around $24,000,000."
"Wait... so you are just a villain right?"
"See, now you get it! But the difference is the public thinks I'm a hero, so I keep getting away with it."
"So... why did you tell me this?"
"Well, someone needs to hear my genius, and you are going off this bridge soon, so I figured "why not?""
|
"Put the gun down, now!" yelled a towering hulk of a man in uniform into a megaphone.
The similarly uniformed people around him had brandished their firearms, in various forms and poses yet pointed towards the same target – a man dressed in a plain shirt and a pair of beige cargo pants.
"No, stay back! I'm not the villain here–" the man in the rather mundane getup said desperately before being interrupted rather abruptly.
"Enough talk, leave this to me, Chief!"
"Justiceman! Thank God you're here..."
Seeing the passing distraction, the plainly dressed man typed a few line of codes into his laptop. His eyes darted back and forth between the black screen and the men surrounding him. His fingers moved at a speed that can only be described as unnaturally agile. Yet his movements were carefully coordinated, clearly seen with the steady stream of codes flowing down his laptop screen.
"Hey, don't think we forgot about you, Hackerboy–"
"Hackerman! My name is hackerman," the plainly dressed man smirked and closed his laptop before standing up in a grandiose pose, "and you better believe that I've finished what I came to do in the first place, Justiceman!"
The men in uniform gasped and trembled. Fear descended upon all the men present against Hackerman's bold claim. Even the proud and mighty Justiceman – hero of Townsville and saviour of mankind – began to subtly shook in horror.
"No, it can't be!"
"It is so, I'm afraid. Now, witness... **the end of poverty for all!**"
*beep beep*
*ring ring*
Everyone present paused for a moment. They all felt the devices on their pockets beckoning their attentions. Maybe due to the second nature imbued on everyone's mind – to check on their phones on the very notion of a notification – no one hesitated to do just so. Not even Justiceman, could resist the temptation of opening his iPhone Pro XXX decorated with stickers of himself, courtesy of fans.
"W-What's this?"
"Oh my God, is this for real?!"
"Fuck! My savings, they're gone!"
"Woo-hoo, I can finally buy a goddamn car!"
The various cheers, of different tones and severity plagued the whole area. Justiceman cleared his throat and cast a glance at Hackerman's menacingly smiling face.
"What's the matter, Justiceman? Did you lose some money?" Hackerman asked whilst casually packing up his gadgets and kit from the ground.
"I–uh, well... What's the point of this again?"
Hackerman laughed at the trivial nature of his adversary's question.
"Listen, y'all think I'm some normal fucking villain whose sole mission is to cause as much destruction and pain for everyone. It's been some time, but it's time to actually make it clear once and for fucking all – I'm not a villain!"
"S-So, you're a... man who likes to cause trouble, but is not evil?" the Chief asked as he scratched his balding head.
"No, but yes– Argh, y'all are making this *way* too complicated for yourselves and me!"
The men surrounding him began to look at each other and murmur their confusion. It's not everyday that these men of action had to think on their feet, especially regarding the nature of a villain.
"Why don't you just fucking say what you are, then?!" shouted a random policeman, triggering a lot of cheers from his comrades in approval.
"Alright, sheesh. Get ready... I'm an... **antivillain**! Fuck yeah, that feels so good! Finally out of the closet with that one!"
Instead of dread or cheer, Hackerman – posing in complete confidence – had received no reaction at all. The men surrounding him simply looked baffled and even more confused than before. Some began to play with their phone, most likely looking up what he had just said on the internet. Whilst others talked amongst themselves like children when given a tough maths problem in class.
"... and not a single bloody person here has any idea what that meant, huh?"
"I'm afraid not, Hackerman. Besides, what *did* you actually do anyway? We're pretty much in the dark here–"
As he heaved a deep sigh, Hackerman began his monologue...
***
*Have you ever wondered why people have to be rich and poor?*
*Why can't we all not be poor, at least?*
*Is this what you'd call justice?*
*Fear not, for I – Hackerman the antivillain – had found a solution to all of these questions!*
*Imagine, if you and your friend had different amount of money in the bank. Say, you had $6 and he had $10. Of course, it's not that much of a different. But won't you feel bad that you don't have the amount of money that he had? Think of all the things you're missing out if you have that extra $4!*
*Well, why don't we make it a bit fairer?*
*Simply take $2 from your friend and give it to yourself! That way, you'll both have the same amount of money, no?*
*Now imagine if everyone on Earth – poor, middling, and rich – would get the same amount of money, based on the average amount that everyone should have had in the first place...*
*That's my justice.*
***
Some of the men in the uniform clapped with enthusiasm as Hackerman took a slight bow after his rather odd monologue. Others simply looked in disbelief over what had transpired before them.
"So... communism?" Justiceman said in a suspicious manner.
"I mean, it's more like Robin Hood but–" Hackerman replied in earnest before being interrupted.
"No, it's more like the Soviet's bolshevik's sort of communist revolution, right? They fuck the rich and nobility, then distribute the wealth to the people–"
"No, no, no! If they did, why were the Soviet people poor and malnourished for such a long time?"
"I don't get it, isn't that basically stealing then giving the proceed to other people?"
"Ugh, so is this like... legal? Why don't we get a judge or a jury to decide what to do here?"
Seeing the loud commotion that had risen, Hackerman brought his palm to his head in utter frustration. As he massaged his temple, an idea struck him. Instead of clearing things up, it'd be way easier for him to slip by the men in this very moment.
He took a few steps back, slowly but deliberately. As his back had touched the wall, he quickly bolted in the direction of the door.
*Hehehe, fools. Thank me or curse me, I don't really care. For I am an antivillain! Enjoy your free money, formerly-poor people, and fuck you, formerly-rich people!*
Edit: Typos, wording errors, etc.
| 2020-01-13T08:37:36 | 2020-01-13T07:48:17 | 117 | 38 |
[WP] Two magicians made a blood oath when they were children that they would never harm each other. Now they are mortal enemies and have resorted to inconveniencing and annoying each other, knowing if they harm one another they'll die.
|
"...While I would normally not trust unproven souls such as yourselves with such a sensitive task, the team originally meant for this assignment has... failed me, and time is of the essence."
The Old Man paused for a moment, absently drumming a finger on the unassuming cardboard box that sat in front of him on the table. Red Leader tried not to fidget while also trying not to stare at their presumptive employer, though that was much harder than it should be, the patterns of angles and shadows in the room seeming to lead any roving eyes back to the Old Man, whose own eyes were hidden in shade the rooms lighting could not explain—
Red Leader was startled from their thoughts by a *thump*, and abruptly realized that the package was now in front of him.
"You will deliver this package directly into the hands of its recipient. No one else's. And more importantly, you will stay to observe her response to the contents. Is that a clear enough task?”
“Crystal clear, sir!” Red Leader responded purely on reflex, reaching out for the box. The Old Man waved a hand dismissively, the shadow of his hand stretching far, far—
Red Leader jammed the package under an arm and bolted.
----
Red Leader tried not to fidget as the Young Woman stared them down. Well, presumably stared them down-- it was impossible to glean anything from behind her dark glasses. It definitely felt like they were being stared down. They felt like a star was focused solely on them, it’s unimaginable power only held in check by a whim...
She was still staring at him. They desperately cast around for anything they could do or say.
"We-- We were instructed to wait until you, ah, opened... The..."
After what felt like an eternity, they felt the pressure of her gaze roll away from them as her physical head also tilted down to examine the cardboard box lying innocently in her arms. She ran a finger along the seal, tape splitting apart perfectly under her touch.
"Well, let’s --"
TWANG
SPLAT
Of all the infinite possibilities that the Old Man's vitally important, time-sensitive, expensive package could have contained, in a million years Red Leader would have never guessed a spring-loaded pastry.
A shocked silence hung in the air. The Young Woman stood rigid, box still in one hand, the other hanging frozen in midair. The pie tin peeled away from her face with a drawn-out *squelch*. Her face was entirely hidden behind yellow-white fluff, parts of her dark glasses emerging like ships in a fog.
The custard split, revealing teeth. Red Leader wondered if running would hurt less or more—
Bright, delighted laughter filled the room like a bonfire. Red Leader stumbled in place, clutching their chest. (They we’re going to see a cardiologist after this.) The Young Woman just kept laughing, fluff sloughing off their face as they bent double, whole body shaking with glee.
Red Leader felt the sun focus on her again, before the Young Woman’s head rose to face them again, grin stretching from ear to ear.
"*Looks like it's that time of the century again!*"
|
It was a misty morning on the outskirts of town near the gypsy camps. The dew was still fresh on the grass and the smell of magic was ripe on the cold morning air. I remember the look on Tovin's face when the Grifter Demon first appeared. It was obvious he'd never seen one. Its leathery black wings opened wide as it stepped out of the smoke. It had a drooling visage with large tusk-like teeth protruding from its bottom jaw. Though I'd never have admitted it to Tovin, it was one of the more hideous demon's I'd ever seen.
"Y-you're sure about this, Harvey?" Tovin asked, not turning away from the winged horror that towered over us.
"I'm *sure*, Tovin. You know my people consort with these guys, why the surprise?"
I almost felt bad for him. My long hair allowed me to hide my emotions when I wanted to, but his bowl cut did little to hide the fear in his eyes.
"I just... I just didn't think they were real..." He muttered under his breath.
"O̪̭͕̲hͅ,̮̳ ͍͇̹̞̼I͓̲̬̗̻'̻̬m̦̖̠̭̘ ̦̱͇͉̪̤ve̤̖r̥̝y͓̮̠̗̣̪̱ ̥r̻̯̞͓͚̳͔e̬a̲̱̙̤l͚̻͓̬͕̫," growled the monster with a sinister smile.
"Don't insult them, Tovin!" I hissed.
"AHH, I didn't mean any disrespect!" He cried out waving his arms frantically.
"Tovin," I said calmly. "Do you trust me?"
He sniffled and nodded. "Yes. I trust you, Harvey... but... do we really have to go through with this?"
"This was *your* idea!" I cried out, throwing my hands in the air. A look of realization came over his features as he recalled our conversation.
"Do you want to be the *best*?" I asked.
The question gave him pause. He was terribly competitive. It's what drove him to ask me about help from the other side to begin with. He wanted to get good *fast*. He was tired of being ignored by the larger acts, and yearned for nothing more than the look on their faces when he perform impossible feats before their very eyes.
He'd been picked on and bullied his entire life. He wanted *power*.
"I̼'m̥ ̙̼̙͇̩w̭̩͍̻͉a̭̙͙̙ḭ͖͖͍̟̩̜t̫̪̻̩͕in̮̲̮̜̥̜ͅg͇.̜͖̥"
"We want to be great magicians," I took the wheel.
"The *best* magicians." Tovin called out as he stepped next to me. I smiled; that was all it took. He would never let himself be outdone, Tovin.
No matter what it cost him.
The demon's mouth grew wide with a smile (I wouldn't know what else to call that face), and it eyed the two of us hungrily.
"I ͓c̯̣̟͕͍̭a̱͕̙̮͙̱n ͈̹̰͚̮͚̰s̰̦̭̳̫̝m͖̬̰e̱̯̖͓ll̥̣ ̞̹t͇̟̠̜̭̼͇hḛ̯͇̦͉̩͓ ͖̠̖̭̙g͖̟̺r͍̘e̜͙̠̩͓e̥̼d͖̠͕͍ i̲̘̝͓̩n̥͉̲ͅ t̜h̜̗̖̪e͙͚̫͕̝ ̯a̩͎i̟̟̗̯ṛ̞̠̖..." It said in its low guttural voice. "I̦̩̖̝ ͔͎͇͚̤l̖͈͓̪o̯͍̭̻͓͖͇̱v̲̲̟̠e̳̘͙̝̭̞͙͕̦ ͈͈i͉̩t̤̯̻͉̺̻ "
Even after having seen them before, I couldn't help but feel nervous without my mother at my side. I cast a glance over my shoulder; if she knew I had summoned one without her... I grimaced at the consequences.
But never did she find us.
We made a deal that day, Tovin and I. It felt like a good deal to us at the time. Tovin cried like a maniac when he found out that he had to sign his name in his own blood, but in the end we agreed to the demon's terms.
If I ever hurt Tovin, he would die.
If he were to ever harm me, *I* would die.
It almost felt sweet of the demon to set up the pact like that- a quality their kind were less known for. However in its infinite knowledge, it knew.
It *knew*.
The two of us were grown now.
We'd shocked the world with our magic, and broken their hearts with our separation. Harvey & Tovin became a well known name throughout the world, but he couldn't stand to be equals with me. He took every opportunity to imply that he was *better* than me. It took us in different directions- but as two men in the same business, we would never be far from one another, socially speaking.
It had been four years since I had last seen him. So imagine my surprise when I found that we'd been invited to the same party.
As performers.
I wanted nothing more than to grab the host by the collar- but he was as well known as we were: Fredrick Hemlock, perhaps the most prolific mob boss in all of Europe. I had to cancel a planned show to attend the party- there was no refusing an invitation from Fredrick Hemlock, nor would he allow a scheduled act to leave.
I couldn't complain. The money was *good*.
But it became clear to Tovin and I that this was a setup.
We eyed one another wearily as we took the stage.
We knew what this was.
"Harvey," he greeted me.
"Tovin," I acknowledged him.
I kept my eyes on the dinner guests below the stage; I didn't want to look him in the eye. Fredrick and his wife made their way to center stage. She was dressed in white and wore some poor dead animal around her neck as she smoked a fancy long cigarette like the kind they had in Paris. Her husband began addressing the crowd.
| 2020-12-23T08:24:30 | 2020-12-23T08:11:55 | 31 | 23 |
[WP] Your husband always says some silly stuff while sleeping. One night you wake up hearing him babbling and the only thing you hear is: "Please help! He‘s not me."
|
I kept still, pretending to sleep.
"Please! I need help! He has taken over my body and I am trapped inside! Anna, are you there? Anna, you need to help me! You have to help me!"
I sighed inside as I tried to get back to sleep. This was the second time this week. I couldn't wait any longer, I had to act.
When my husband came to the kitchen the next morning he found me waiting with his breakfast already prepared. He was pleasantly surprised to to find I had made waffles, but as he sat down his smile quickly vanished as he saw my serious face.
"We have to talk."
A short sliver of panic crept onto his face that he quickly tried to hide.
"Uh... what did I do wrong? Did I forget to put out the bins? I think I did put them out."
I shook my head.
"No. It isn't the bins."
I saw him wrecking his brain.
"A... date? Did I forget an important date?"
"No." I answered, "You didn't forget anything."
"So... what is it, darling? What did I do wrong?"
"Nothing. You did nothing wrong."
"So... what is this about?"
"It's about Peter. He has started breaking through when you sleep, Grokdul."
His face became white as a sheet. It was the face of a man who was afraid to loose everything.
"You... you know?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"But... how?"
I started smiling then, though it was a sad smile at the beginning.
"I know because Peter wouldn't have put the bins outside. I know because he hasn't cared about any important dates of ours for years.
"I know because you ask me about my day. I know because you take me into your arms when I am sad. I know... I know because you love me.
"And I know... because I love you, too."
It took him some seconds to fully process this, to truly understand what I had said. Tears of joy filled his face.
There were no more words that morning.
And later we went to his spelling lab together, to send Peter to the other place forever.
|
Kate watched white flakes fall on the skeleton tangled in the bush. The snow filled in its eye sockets and obscured its mouth, leaving it faceless.
Their neighbor across the street, Mr. Herman, had lost his wife earlier that year. They had put the Halloween decorations up together. Now it was January, and Kate was losing patience with the poor widower. She made a mental note to bug Shane about going over there to offer some help packing them up. Especially the skeleton.
Shane stirred beside her and yawned.
“You were talking in your sleep again,” she said. “Something about not being you.”
“Huh,” Shane rubbed his eyes.
“Was it a nightmare?”
“I don’t remember,” he said, climbing out of bed and going into the bathroom. Kate watched him. The way he brought his weight down on his left foot more than his right, and the slight stoop. Had he always walked that way?
Kate worked from home and spent the day on mute. That night she woke with a start. Someone was clattering around in the kitchen. She grabbed Shane to shake him awake.
“Shane?”
He wasn’t there.
She threw on a sweatshirt and crept down the stairs, her bare feet cold as ice against the creaky wooden stairs. The noises in the kitchen stopped.
As she leaned over the wooden banister and looked down the hall, she saw Shane standing in the kitchen, staring off into the distance.
“Shane!”
He didn’t move. She went to him and put her hand on his back. He twitched, then came back to life. He looked around like he had just been dropped into the kitchen from a hole in the ceiling.
“What the? What happened?”
“You were sleep walking, Shane. Go back to bed.”
“God, really? I never sleep walk.”
“You never used to,” Kate said.
As Shane lumbered back up the stairs, Kate examined the kitchen. One of the knives was missing from the block. She found it on the other side of the room, stuck into the kitchen table.
“Whoa,” she said to herself, grabbing the knife. But then she stopped. Carved into the table were four words:
h e w i l l k i l l y o u
Kate stared at it in disbelief. When she looked up, Shane was in the doorway. He laughed.
“You look terrified. It’s just sleepwalking. It happens. What’re you looking at?”
“Nothing.”
Kate pulled the knife out of the table and pulled a placemat toward her, covering the words.
She didn’t know why she did that. The conscious her didn’t want to, didn’t see the need to hide anything from Shane. But the other her, the reptilian her, the one that tells the hairs on the back of the neck to stand up – that Kate sensed danger.
The next day, Kate dove into her work and tried to exhaust herself. She cooked dinner for the two of them and ate as much as she could while Shane talked incessantly about how they should take a road trip to Italy. He has never wanted to drive more than 45 minutes from home before.
She curled up on the couch with a blanket after dinner, and soon she was fast asleep.
Shane turned the TV off, waking her. “Ready for bed?”
“Hm? Oh, I’m good here,” she said, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
She laid there with her eyes shut, listening. Shane was still standing there. She started to feel strange. She chose to keep her eyes shut, hoping he would leave. Maybe he was standing there on his phone, reading a late-night email or something.
Kate raised her eyelids just a tiny bit. Shane was staring at her. She shut her eyes.
Shane grabbed the blanket and ripped it off of her.
“It’s bedtime,” he said.
“What the hell are you doing?” Kate shouted as she fought for the blanket.
“We have a routine. This is what we do.” He was calm, but he gripped the blanket so tight that Kate couldn’t rip it free. She gave up and fell back onto the couch.
“I’m not going anywhere with you, psycho.”
Shane grabbed her around the waist. She started kicking and hitting him but it did nothing. She was in disbelief – Shane barely went to the gym, when did he get so strong?
He carried her out of the room toward the stairs. But then he went past them. She started to panic. This was real. He was going to hurt her.
“Put me down!” she screamed. He stopped in front of the door to the basement.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Kate said.
Shane opened the door, revealing a small landing and a long staircase.
“Putting you down,” Shane said. He hurled her through the air. She hit the top step and tumbled down the staircase, smacking her head on the cement floor at the bottom.
When Kate woke up, it was morning. The basement only received a sliver of light from a tiny window high up in the wall. Her hands were tied to a pipe running along the wall above her head.
The basement lights had burned out last week. As a temporary fix, she and Shane had taken a desk lamp down here and plugged it in on the floor.
With the early morning light coming in from the small window on the far side of the room, she could make out where she was. She reached her foot out and found the desk lamp. Pulling it closer, she used her toe to push the button, lighting up the room.
On the floor in front of her was a mountain of clothes. Her clothes. Everything she owned.
Her head throbbed. Her legs were cut up. She couldn’t tell how long she had been down here – hours or days, it made no difference. All she could think about was the carving on the kitchen table.
“This isn’t Shane,” she thought to herself.
The basement door opened. Shane came down with a box full of Kate’s belongings – knickknacks, photographs, her computer, even her folder of original documents, like her passport and social security card.
He dumped the contents of the box onto the pile of her clothes.
“Shane, I need to go to hospital,” she groaned. “Please.”
“Shane doesn’t care. Shane doesn’t want you anymore,” he said, keeping his back to her.
“You don’t mean that. This isn’t you,” Kate said.
Shane turned to look at her and Kate’s blood ran cold. His eyes were gone. Gone. The sockets were filled in with flesh, undifferentiated from his face. His nose was in the process of being reclaimed, flattening like a snake’s. Only his mouth remained. His lips were blood red.
“Shane has a new life now.”
*Continued in part 2 below*.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/ididwritethismr
| 2022-01-03T10:33:38 | 2022-01-03T09:10:20 | 38 | 15 |
[WP] You move into a new house that hasn't had a resident in more than twenty years. In the attic, in a locked safe, you find a dusty box with your first and last name scratched into it, as well as today's date.
Wow, this thing got pretty big, hu? I think that we have /u/samgalimore to thank for that. :) Thank you for your amazing story, and for continuing it for all of us to enjoy!
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As I stared in disbelief at the words, my grandson came up behind me and asked what was wrong.
My trembling hands held out the box. "My name..." I said.
"Oh FFS, grandma!" he replied. "You and your dementia. You wrote that yourself just half an hour ago. I swear we're going to have to put you in a home one of these days."
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“Are you just going to lie there all day?”
In a haze of exhaustion, I rolled over to find that I had overslept enough to believe, for a moment, to have committed a felony.
Moving can be especially taxing when one works 24-hours shifts as a paramedic. After working, sleeping, then working again the next day, the last thing I want to do is put enough effort into moving that awkward bitch of a couch through openings that are criminally small.
The roomates have been moving small things all week, and honestly, even though they don’t hold me at fault for not being able to contribute the last three days, I still feel as though I haven’t contributed enough to this endeavor, considering this was all my idea.
My first house, paid with the money I was able to save up from finally paying off the sharks at the financial aid office; the last check to Sallie Mae felt like ending an abusive relationship that spawned from what I thought was true love. With school done, and the claws out of my wallet, I finally felt as though I could breathe.
We called the apartment “retro” to mask the fact that we hated living in an apartment that could double as a scene from a 1960’s sitcom, with its archaic appliances, yellow-tinged walls and linoleum that must have been laid by Picasso’s LSD-ridden protégé. The house we decided on was at least made after I was born; a modest two-story home that could fit the three of us- friends from High school whom the idea of living alone or with others seemed tantamount to being airdropped into Syria.
The house hadn’t been occupied for more than twenty years, due to it being a summer home for an old couple who flew to Arizona every year. Turns out that eventually, people would rather stay somewhere where it gets hot than live in North Dakota a moment longer. The house was maintained by their old groundskeeper during that time, a man whos gnarled face, wispy comb-over and pronounced liver spots led credence to the possibility the cryptkeeper was based on him. He seemed all too happy to hand over the keys and paperwork to the place, hobbling away without a word once signed.
The work was grueling, but the heavy douche-canoe armoires and company were finally resituated, and I could work on putting boxes up in the attic. While the rest of the house was well maintained, the attic was covered in what seemed to be the dust of centuries. The smell of what I could only assume to be dead things and asbestos permeated the dry air, and as I moved deeper into the abyss to place boxes of unneeded Halloween and Christmas baubles, I felt my foot connect with a tin box.
The box skittered along the dust covered floor and rested against a support beam, its contents rattling inside. Great, now I have a dead couple’s belongings to deal with.
I placed the box down against the far wall and went to pick up the box, which looked strangely familiar- a really worn Gumby lunchbox. I used to have one when I was a little kid. Instinctively, I turned it over and immediately regretted the decision for the sharp intake of breath. As I coughed out the oh-god-please-don’t-be-asbestos-dust from my lungs and carried the box out of the attic, I set the box down on a nearby table upside-down.
Scratched into the bottom was “T.J. Novak 11-05-14”. When was the last time I had seen this lunchbox? I tried to remember, drawing up faded memories of a first grade filled with being the weird-kid. All I knew was that I hadn’t seen it for at least 15 years, and since I went to school in California, how the hell did it even get here?
Well, at least this was the most elaborate situation Joe had ever come up with- this was way above the level of his typical prankdouchery. The lengths he would have to do to call my mom, ship this, and fill it with what I could only assume to be dog feces or spring-loaded snakes was impressive.
As I prepared for battle, I turned the lunchbox over, carefully unhinged the rusted hatch and opened it. No explosions or smell of Chewbacca’s dinner from last night; just an old 20-sided dice, what could only be a slammer from Pogs, an old Sabrina-themed Tomagotchi and a folded up piece of paper.
What the flying hell? I hadn’t seen these relics in years; hell, I had cleaned up the digital poop from that Tomagotchi more than I had my actual dog. I reached for the paper and unfolded it, reading off the most peculiar and troubling words, in my own handwriting:
“7-11-13-18-21 and 3, weekend of 11/8/14, Valley Dairy on S Washington, GF, ND.
When they catch you, explain randomness of numbers and emphasize your established history.
They can’t take you if you don’t appear to have come from nowhere.”
| 2014-11-05T08:13:25 | 2014-11-05T07:49:34 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83
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She’s so beautiful.
The second I see her my mind darts back to that little dinner party anecdote my uncle would always spout. “Well I had to travel to France,” he’d start “when your *words* are in French, you have to take the plunge. Six months I studied the language, six months I saved money for a ticket, only to find my belle chou was a stewardess on the flight!” I hate that story. He always smiled and winked at me after telling it, never knowing how much it hurt me. How was he to know, I’d never told him. I have no *words*.
Christ, now shes smiling at me.
My stomach lurches as I pretend to look past her, knowing I can’t put off going to her forever. Theres nothing like spending your life knowing youre destined to be alone. I’ve learned to avoid conversations when *words* come up; I feign insult and cite taboo if anyone asks directly about mine. I’ve had flings; girls have seen my unetched skin, but even when they mask their shock and dissapointment, their pity still shines through. I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve also learned they never call back afterwards.
Still, I don’t get paid for standing around moping my own misfortune. I take a deep breath and start to walk over to her table, trying and failing to look anywhere but her stunning face. I feel the colour rise in my cheeks at the same rate my stomach is sinking. Am I sweating? God I must look like an idiot to her. I clear my throat. “Good morning maam, how can I help? Coffee?” She pulls a cute appologetic face while raising her fist to her chest and moving it in a circle. I am confused. This is confusing, right? She points to her ear before theatrically shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. I don’t see which beverage she’s pointing to on the menu, instead I just grin as I realise what’s happening. She has no words either.
EDIT - Thanks guys, thats an amazing response and Im so glad you guys liked it. Cheers to u/Josh_is_a_lazy_lump for the admittedly purloined suggestion. For those wondering, I was aiming for deaf with muteness as a symptom but I wasnt well versed in the issues and particulars. In that vein, if anyone (rich) was touched by the story, please consider donating to www.deafchildworldwide.info who help spread awareness of deafness and support deaf children in third world countries.
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"Nah nah, I don't tell people what mine is. Afraid they'll screw around with my head if I do, so I leave it to me" Regi bellowed out over the table. The faces of his friends around him turned to merry curiosity.
"Come on Space-man, we're not going to see you for months! I just want to know what it is!". The upbeat voice placed itself over the table, as Katie continued on. "We won't mess with you, I just... Oh, I just gotta know!".
"Nope" Regi replied. "Won't do it. Frankly, ya'll won't ever know". He leaned back in his chair while taking a swig of his beer. Roxanne looked over at Regi before pipping in herself.
"It's something embarrassing isn't it? Like, 'Clean the toilet' or 'I lied when I saw I finished all those times'." Before Regi could respond the table roared into laughter, there eyes wandering over to him.
"That ain't fair! And let me tell you, no woman ever say those words to me" Regi retorted with sass in his tone.
"I'm sure" Jack said, as he returned to the table. "Wait, no. No I'm lying I'm pretty sure they've all said that". With a firm smile, he smacked Regi on the back. "Don't you remember what we used to call you in High School Regi?"
"What you call him?" Katie roared out, preventing Regi from answering.
"Cabbage".
"What... Cabbage? Why Cabbage?" Katie inquired.
"No one wants to fuck a Cabbage" Jack replied, before laughing.
"That was the worst nickname you all could have come up with, honestly." Regi started to fumble with his pocket before continuing. "You always had to explain it".
"Always funny though, because we got to explain it" Jack replied, grinning ear to ear.
Regi pushed his drink to the center of the table before standing up. "Alright, I gotta sleep. I'm the one going to space tomorrow, you three get to stay on the comfy planet". The four of them stood from there place, and marched towards the door.
"Yeah, well. Gotta make sure you're safe" Roxanne stated, as they walked out the doorway into the cold of the night.
"We do. Cause you're stupid Regi" Jack interjected. As he said those words, he turned from the three and walked his own separate way.
"You don't even work there!" Regi yelled out. For a split second Jack stopped, tilting his head to the side with a sly smile being noticeable, before continuing on his way. Roxanne, Regi and Katie all said there goodbyes to each other before separating and beginning there own journeys home.
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Regi's head began to collect a fine layer of sweat. He flicked the switches from inside the spacecraft whilst trying his best to calm his chest. From outside his helmet he could hear a melodic count down, as the Spaceships thrusters roared into power.
"Ready to make history? No one's stood on mars before, big boy". Roxanne's voice helped to settle Regi's nerves, even slightly.
"Yeah, I'm... I'm ready. Is Katie there?"
"Yeah. Well, she's in the facility." Roxanne's voice was soft as she talked to Regi. "Behind a lot of doors, watching a TV ready to see you go. You know we can't let those unclassified in here".
Regi's head thumped with anxiety as he heard the countdown progress to single digits. He closed his eyes as he placed his hands over the proper controls.
*3*
*2*
*1*
**BLAST OFF**
With those words Regi pushed everything he needed, as the Spacecraft erupted. Power ignited itself, as Regi began to ascend from inside his metal stairway to heaven. Roxanne stared at the screens in front of her, watching Regi begin to soar into the sky itself. Slowly her heart began to sink as she saw black smoke blowing from the left side. Rapidly she spoke out to Regi.
"Regi, your side is on fire. You're on fire, you need to get out!" She yelled into his comms.
"Get out!?" Regi roared back "I can't just get out of this!". Suddenly, an ear shattering explosion was heard through Roxannes headset as part of Regi's Spacecraft tore part of itself off. The explosion shocked Regi off course, as he swung wildly in the air.
"Tell Katie". Static pulsated over the airways between Regi and Roxanne. Roxanne focused intently, twisting and turning the switches in front of her. Suddenly she heard Regi yell words out to her.
"Tell. K. Love. So."
Before Roxanne could respond, another explosion pushed itself out of the Spacecraft. This time, silence was heard from the comms. Roxanne stared forward at the screen, tears filling her eyes, as the ship was ripped from existence. Everybody in the control room stood in shock, awe and despair. No words were said for minutes, only silence filled the air. With firm intention, Roxanne turned from her place, rubbing the tears from her eyes. She marched out the door and down several corridors, trying her best to find Katie. After several minutes of searching, she could hear her inside one of the woman's bathrooms crying hysterically.
"Katie?" Roxanne said as she walked into the bathroom seeing her sitting on the ground crying. She lifted her arms, gesturing a hug. "Come here sweetie". Without words, Katie leaped from her place and tucked herself into Roxanne's chest, tears pouring from her soul.
It was there they stood together, crying and whimpering for hours. Katie would occasionally choke out words that were barely understandable between choked tears, as Roxanne stood with her. Eventually Katie's heart returned to its usual beat, as he detached from Roxanne. Without a word she walked to the wall, turned her back to it, and slide to the ground. Roxanne let her stay as she left the bathroom and pulled out her phone. It was from outside the bathroom she dialed Jack's number. It rang four times before a voice was heard from the other side.
"Hello?"
"Hey Jack, It's Roxanne."
"Hey hey Roxy, what's up?".
"I'm just going to say it bluntly. Regi's ship had a malfunction. He didn't survive". Roxanne's heart sunk a little as she said the words, preparing herself for the anger she anticipated from Jack.
"I know".
"But... we didn't broadcast the takeoff to the public" Roxanne stated. The phone line clicked close, as Jack hung up on her. With a confused expression strewn across her face, she pushed her phone back into her pocket before returning back into the bathroom, to find Katie, once again crying.
It was at that moment that Jack was laying on his bed, staring into the ceiling. His breathing was slow in an almost zen like state. With reluctance he lifted his head up from his pillow. He leaned himself over, and stared at the words imprinted across his right leg.
**"You don't even work there!"**
| 2015-08-08T11:29:36 | 2015-08-08T09:54:25 | 1,771 | 177 |
[WP] After dying, you found yourself staring at a large screen. "LOBBY. Current players: 7,383,275,800. Current game time: 1059040375.2 mins. Current spectarors: 21,458,374,931. Player rank: 2,648,535,901. Time until next game: 23695624.8 mins"
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Ed kept reading:
Player score: 4
It really was an absurdly over-engineered game for such a simple scoring system.
The ingenious twist that the game's designer had put in was that once you started playing you immediately forgot it was a game, you didn't even remember the rules. The only hint about what the game's goal was came in the form of base animal drives.
Jane glanced over at Ed's screen.
"Only four?" she asked. "What happened?"
Ed sighed.
"My character's parents were Mormons. He was brought up to believe that sex was sacred, and that sex outside of marriage was a sin. If my first wife hadn't died my score would only have been three. The funny thing is, in-game I felt really guilty about the other two. Oops. I got it completely wrong. How'd you do?"
Jane cackled: "You're not going to believe this. I ended up playing a Catholic priest. Huge handicap right? In-game I was wracked with guilt, but I wasn't able to fight the temptation. In the end, I got a respectable score. Good thing for me the scoring system doesn't distinguish between consensual and non."
Ed rolled his eyes.
"Lucky break. I'll beat you next round."
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>>> ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: **IRON MAN**
>>> *Earned by dying of natural causes beyond age 100 as a human.*
"Wha...," I murmured. It felt like I was waking up from a dream. Had I been playing so long that I lost track of the time?
I took a moment as my clarity began to return. This wasn't my first time playing, but it was certainly the longest I had gone in one session. At least I knew I had gotten better at the game, my best friend told me his first time playing a human he didn't make it past adolescence due to choosing one of the harder starting scenarios (low-income, single parent, high ceiling, high risk). Got ganked by a pretty aggressive higher leveled PVPer looking to score some quick cash. My first time around I went with high-income, doting parents, medium ceiling, low risk, and ended up getting bored and careless and died at a party shortly after buying my way into college.
"Damn, dude, you went the distance on that one," a familiar voice noted from behind me.
"Still waiting to respawn?" I replied.
"Naw, I've got my avatar paused," my friend replied, "Or well, I'm 'In a Coma' I guess is what the game calls it. Silly jargon, anyway, you gonna roll human again? Mine's a politician right now, shit is stupid tough, but the gameplay is really in depth and intricate. Honestly, it's why I'm in a coma right now. I needed the break from the insanity of it all."
I pondered his question for a moment as I honestly hadn't had time to give it any thought. This last playthrough, while not entirely exciting, was really rewarding and fruitful. I almost feel like I learned something about life during this playthrough. I know that sounds ridiculous, learning life lessons from some silly sim we all pay installments on every cycle like mindless sheep. Sometimes I think everybody plays the damn thing. Makes me wonder how anything gets done around here anymore, but I'm getting off point. I pretty much picked the default human scenario with no modifiers. It was surprisingly chaotic. It had so many more open ended branching pathways in the story than the affluent one I played the first time around. Post adolescence was particularly varied. So many choices, so many opportunities, so much anxiety! Every choice never seemed to have a 'right' answer or even a 'best' answer. They were all just questions, with several answers that all seemed to have a potential risk and benefit. I'm not even sure if I was doing it right or not. I guess I got a cheev, so I must've done something right. I don't know if I'm really ready to dive back into it again.
"Maybe I'll do something a bit more casual, like a cat or raccoon," I mused out loud, drawing a quick reply from my friend.
His enthusiasm was palpable, "Bro, raccoon has awesome stealth gameplay. Everyone should roll raccoon at least once, so much utility in a small package. Man I could spin a pretty good story out of just the shenanigans I got up to on my raccoon playthroughs."
A bit surprised, I paused for a moment before I replied, "You've done it more than once?"
"Six times," he replied, a bit more subdued, "Short life expectancy, also gameplay is a lot tougher than they lead you to believe in the description."
"Huh." I started thinking about it some more, though I have to admit, things started to sound bland to me. Even with his gusto for the raccoon, I had trouble focusing on the discussion. Almost like it was starting to sound like a foreign language to me. I had been playing for a while now, not as long as some, but I've put my time in on it, "I'm starting to think I might be done playing."
"Bro. You can't quit the game. Have you at least tried any of the other servers out? Each one has a whole different set of avatars. The fahng on the Dionys server are pretty cool, kinda like dolphins but green."
"So it's just a recolor then?"
My friend was quick to get defensive, "Naw man, there's definite differences, but the gameplay is really similiar. They're at the top of the chain though, like humans are here. There's this crazy tree class over there that..."
I started zoning out again. How long had I been playing the game? It started feeling a lot longer than it had just a few minutes prior. Just thinking about having to roll another avatar, the entire set up process, the damn tutorial period that lasts way too long made me cringe internally. It just seemed so very boring. It was time to get back to the real world.
"... and then when autumn hits, holy shit man, there's all thi..."
"I've got to go," I said, snapping from my trance of thought.
"Wha? C'mon man, just start a new toon. I'll try and hook you up when I unpause my guy."
"Things to do," I replied curtly, before heading for the exit. I knew if I gave him too much time he'd manage to talk me into sticking around. As I made my way, I started feeling more and more euphoric, I was finally excited about something again. An end to one era, and the start of another. Time to get to work!
I triumphantly burst through the exit, ready to live life to the fullest. Nothing was going to stand in my way. I'm not going to let the game take over my life, there's too much more to do out there than to pretend to be something else. It just all seemed so shallow the more and more I thought about it.
>>> Now Loading
Dammit.
Here we go again...
| 2015-11-25T03:34:47 | 2015-11-25T00:14:38 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] You are a mighty dragon, the kind who kidnaps princesses. However, you only do it because princesses inherently have the ability to talk to animals and you're starved for intelligent conversation.
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Sire, a dragon has taken the princess.
Ser Knight, are you sure? May hap she has tricked us again, and just hidden herself in the dungeon tormenting the trolls. Only to make a reappearance once we had started to celebrate.
No Sire, it was with my own eyes did I witness a great beast flying and capture her highness from her tower.
Are you sure?
Yes my King, only the princess can scream out so many inventive curses. She seemed very very upset.
That poor dragon sighed his highness.
Should we attempt a rescue?
Of the dragon or the princess?
Yes, mumbled the man on the throne.
Then again, maybe we should wait.
Sir Knight. I task you with finding the princess. And giving aid where needed. Aid your highness? To the princess or the dragon?
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"Hnng-yah" What is... Ah, daylight. "Hmm" - did not feel like any injuries, and there was plenty of room for my morning stretch. Although, I did find myself warmer than usual this fine season and, once I felt the rumble I realise it's that time of the millenia again. "Aaah, Vulan! You've been quite over my past few naps, I'd thought you finally gone and croaked you old man!" Always has been nice to wake up warm, having to lay in the sun is always such a waste of time. "Right, time to get at the day! See how things have moved. Naps take up so much time, so muh sweet sweet time" and with a meaningful canter I claw my way out of Vulcan; a warm soul, very welcoming. I have always enjoyed the casual amenities behind living on a volcano, although they can sometimes get over excited and tend to turn any good sleep into a decent nap.
I ponder to myself as the star pocked sky opens up before me, an icy breeze in the brisk of night clashing against the scorching aura of the liquid flame that oozes from the mountains of my home... "Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, low in the west before the dawn by the bright of Aldeberan. Mid Novembre would it appear, a fine time to wake with the hollow between world's sifting just after its finest point-" interrupted abruptly by a hasty dive from the crag. "I really should find someone to spend time with, otherwise my next sleep will not be around till forever. But first, dinner".
Passing over the crags of home, the forests and rivers where the smaller creatures spend their ever advancing days:
Finding water,
Finding food,
Or being it.
On the horizon I spot a limping figure dragging a strangly marked sack in its wake, with a feable arm clawing at the ground as it passes by. Until the sack lurched backwards out of the figures grasp, swiftly followed by hefty impacts into the sacks center,clearing leaving it for dead.
"Oh, well would you look at that. Easy pickings! With a clear conscious at that, it is not like that creature has really lived either": as a steel countenance locks in; my eyes on the prey, sleek posture, gliding in towards to prey...
With an EaRThShAKinG ImPAcT I crash into the low hill, dragging along the ground towards my meal as a small, long fur covered head sticks up out of the sack my vicious, flesh-rending teeth tear into their target. I stifled shriek from the figure as their last ended in nothing but a red of their own making. Cloth sticking in my teeth,clumping. Blocking. "Ew, now this has become such a tasteless affair now hasn't it? Getting it's filthy fabrics into my pristine set of- Ah, yes" as I look down upon the clearly blood soaked sack, half filled by a malnurished - long fur-headed ape - 'human'.
"Now then, about your current position. You seem quite young, as I would imagine, for your species. I'm quite sure I'm speaking your la- oh bother, how embarrassing" having realised I have been attempting to engage this minute figure in the tongs of ancients "now, what I mean to ask young one, is that you should be on your way. Not everyone gets another chance at... Well, whatever it is that quite takes their fancy".
A trembling response followed a brief silence and a rough huff of a giant;
"A-well- I-" they stumble through their words in, their voice a broken, but gentle tone. "I h-ave none, yo-u may as well take me too..."
"Come now", backed by an authoritative burst of enthusiasm "brave, I must admit. Name? Well speak up, your don't have a long life span and I have much to do on this day of grandeur"
"None" they muttered meakly.
"Now that I know is just not a name, and believe me I have been known to trade pleasantries with those hobgoblins of the eastern plains and even they have reasonable names. As long as you are hungry, I dare say."
A deathly silence as the child quivers, and all life in the immediate area is still lest they incur a fearsome wrath; "Alright then, I shall name you Vulcan, a friend I used to talk with extensively in my time alone living inside of the-" immidiately followed with a quick change of topic "of their home... Which is now mine. Heated too of course,warming up via sunlight is such a labouring effort".
"Y- will you eventually cut me up and use me for your dwelling too? Li-ike Vulcan?" Chirps the uneaten human of the sack "and why a boys name? I a-am a lady, sir o-or m'a-am" - she shakes with fear of being eaten lest her temper run away with her.
"Fear not, for my tasks for the era were eat and to find a new friend. My apetiser was acceptable, yet now I have a potential guest to join me for the main course. Oh! We have much to discuss. We could even cook like my old Nelly! She always did have a way with holding the sheep over the liquid fire as it charred away the wool, leaving a crisp skin ripe for the picking", now salivating g heavily at the though.
I always wanted to start a family, they are what you make them it would seem.
| 2019-11-11T16:09:36 | 2019-11-11T14:42:38 | 71 | 22 |
[WP] “A sniper, a bartender and a photographer meet at a bar, unaware of each other’s occupations they talk about ‘the perfect shot’.”
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##The Shot
Whether a rifle, lens, or glass
Slow breath out before the trigger
Welcome and willing to hit the grass
With a stern face of softest rigor
Each shot carries a bit of soul
No warning comes with the last bit
This work of ours takes its toll
And sometimes it helps to spit
[Poem]
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Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
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I haven't written anything this "long" and tried to finish it off quickly. My previous experience having to write for English class is short gags or comedic setups and no more than a 2-3 hundred words at that so bear with me and the horrible quality.
&#x200B;
"Well you have to know it's quite hard" the sniper said.
The photographer whined, "Yeah you see something you like and think where it might be, where to take the shot, figure out the angle and everything else by the time you get there something moved in the way."
"Why? I climb up to a roost and stay there maybe I'll move if I risk exposing myself but that's about it."
The bartender looked up "I was told you two were rather like me. Anyways what would it be?"
"The same" the sniper said "Anything is fine maybe some tequila for a laugh" looking to the photographer who nodded.
"I suppose but I like to suit my drinks. The music, atmosphere, moods and clothing styles, their personal histories and so forth. Could you name one thing that is an impediment that you must workaround?"
"Wind, if I was with a regular modern com... employer I'd have a second to help me with it but I work alone mostly." the sniper replied.
"Does throw up a lot of grit I admit though the journey not the destination and all that. Sometimes I get all get all moody and I can't work, but other times? I get enough zeal to remind me why I do this" The photographer said looking down at his lap texting.
The Bartender had been mixing stopped to cut a lemon "And how does your paticular line of employment affect your relationship with your colleagues?"
The sniper eyed the drink and the bartender's hand "Amicable I suppose sometimes you work alongside one group for weeks and the next thing you know something byzantine means they start apologizing for a bomb under your bed because of a schism that was patched up just as quickly"
"I take it you prefer cities?" inquired the bartender who seemingly ignored the photographer.
"Not much of a woodsman." the sniper suppressing a yawn kept his eyes open, reaching into his coat while looking at the photographer.
"Plenty of places and people to hide amongst." the photographer said reaching for his drink, which was surprisingly cold.
"A toast" the bartender said placing a drink in front of the sniper. The bartender raised and then threw his cup at the sniper who recoiled. The liquid vapourised as it touched his warm body smothering him before he fell coughing and wretching.
"That ought to keep his attention" the bartender said eyeing the photographer. "Idiot oaf. He stands out as if Satan himself had marked him. Only by blending into the masses to slip the eyes of the motorcade until he can get unto his 'roost' has gone even this far. He would've been a lamb to any of the true puppet masters."
The photographer glanced at his half-finished glass, shrugged at the poisoner, and waited.
"You are on the other hand, are indubitably talented you play a bumbling nosy fool well. But I had your pack searched including your disguises such as the hard hat and umbrella."
"Umbrella?"
"Yes. Do you not think I would wise to such a old trick. What was it? Arsenic? Batorium Cinobar?"
"Could I at least get your name before I d..."
"Of course, how rude of me. I'm Zaharoff Edugar son of Bagtur." the bartender said, which the photographer had to admit was impressive few people lied when he got them talking."
"You see" The photgrapher said patiently "I'm not an assassin well not that type of assassin." He said pulling out his cellphone and handing it over. "Is this your child?"
"I don't have any... How did you get this?"
"I'm not the most moral in my or any mind. What a girl would have done to her by one with so so many enemies worse than me? I mostly stage little games of deceit and dramatization but since that has gone to bots I have taken up the prospecting and digging of dirt."
"So you would have me black mailed for the antidote? Here take this and be gone with you."
"How stupid do you think I am! Use it on yourself if you don't want ..."
Three shots rang out and the bartender slumped. the stunned photographer turned to see the assassin, the sniper had recovered enough to draw a pistol.
the photographer threw himself behind a sofa "Don't shoot don't shoot" He saw plumes of vapourising exotic chemicals reacting from the containers hidden on the poisoners body and started crawling.
He looked back to see the ruined mess of the sniper and his eye ... sockets. Careful not to make any sounds he moved to the poisoner when a shot rang out and he tried to burrow into a carpet as two more rang.
The poisoner's body was a mess of vials and syringes smuggled beneath his clothes and sleeves. He picked the ones that hadn't cracked, hoping one was the antidote and wriggled towards the exit.
He leaped when the sprinklers came on and panicked ran headfirst into daylight.
| 2021-04-04T04:12:47 | 2021-04-04T04:10:54 | 76 | 28 |
[WP] A race of slaves who really are genetically inferior
Perhaps a fantasy or sci-fi race, idk. During the atlantic slave trade, slave owning was often justified by the "genetic inferiority" of the slaves. Obviously this wasn't true, but even if it were, would that have justified slavery?
Writing from a sub-human perspective is certainly challenging. No cheating and making your main character the Sonmi 451 of the slaves! That defeats the point.
EDIT: 2 downvotes, 3 upvotes. i hoped this would be controversial...
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To clarify for the people reporting this thread:
I understand this is a sensitive topic to many, but please understand that this is a *fictional*, "what-if" scenario. It is not uncommon in science fiction novels to have "inferior" alien-races as slaves. That said, we will not tolerate actual racism, so please keep the comment thread clean.
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The ground was cold today, the autumn chill starting to set in. A patch of hay was the only protection she had against the looming coldness that would only get worse in the coming months. Maybe she would be wanted soon, maybe she could do some work, get out of this cage that had been her home for so long but it was a fading hope. She'd been stuck here for so long, things never changed.
Sounds started from outside, the beings that left her here starting to make their rounds again. Each time it was different. There was always someone new in the groups. She barely understood what was going on, she definitely couldn't understand their language. All she knew was that she was stuck here, left dregs of food and watched over.
This time seemed different somehow. The beings that watched through the mesh that separated her from them didn't just pass her by, one of them even moved up, touching the mesh as if to judge her reaction. She looked at them quizzically, slowly lifting an arm as if to copy the movement before the other made a noise not dissimilar to laughter.
The mesh slid away, leaving nothing between her and those who watched over her. Before she could think, a collar snapped around her neck, the connected chain being held onto tightly.
The chain was lifted, forcing her to raise up, attempting to remember suddenly how to use her legs. She wobbled, ending up using the wall to support herself, causing more of that laughter sound from the one from before.
The chain was handed almost ceremoniously from one to the other. They started talking at her, constantly talking as if she was meant to be able to understand. She tried to shake her head, to let them know she had no way of knowing what they said, but it seemed like they took it as an answer to a question she didn't know they'd asked.
A new, much smaller cage was produced and any hope of things starting to be different diminished even further. These beings seemed different though. She wasn't grabbed and forced inside like she'd expected, it was like she was being given a choice to go in or not. She looked around confused, hearing them talk at her once more. She wasn't sure if the tone was meant to be reassuring, condescending or taunting.
Even with the strange tone of whatever speech these 'people' spoke, she knew it was the start of something different. This was the first time she could remember that she'd even been given the semblance of choice. She ducked into the cage slowly, trusting them this once.
It took two of them to lift the cage up and soon there was nothing but black.
The black lasted for what felt like hours and her body felt sore. She'd not been this cramped in years, even if she'd not really had much room to stretch out before. Suddenly, the black gave away to what felt blinding in comparison.
The cage was opened and she quickly scrambled to free herself once more, finding herself collapsing on the ground below the edge of the cage.
The ground was different though. It was soft. There was a covering, something made her want to call it grass. It made it softer than any ground she'd felt before.
She looked around in confusion, trying to work anything out before a noise caught her attention over the endless chatter of her new owners. Her chain was being *lengthened*? It was already over ten times as long and the extensions kept on coming until they were joined to a point she'd not noticed before. Her chain spanned further than she'd ever seen a chain go, and it connected to a new hut. Inside there was actual bedding. It was old and beat up and had holes in it, but it was actual bedding.
She started to smile, barely able to figure out what was going on before the one who had been laughing before jumped at her, suddenly hugging her like she was worthy of the contact.
It was a new home. A home where she had everything she could ever want and owners who wouldn't hit her because she didn't know what they were saying. She'd get food and bedding and the closest thing to social contact with them too. They'd talk to her and comfort her and she could comfort them back when needed. She would become sad when they left for any time and happy to see them return. They'd take her out sometimes, show her the world around them outside what she already knew and she'd be able to walk around, get some exercise.
When it started to get colder and the hut outside started to get too cold, they even let her inside their own lodgings. She was yelled at whenever she tried to join them sat on their comforts, but she got used to it. Just the way they'd plushed out the floor with fabric made it better than outside already.
Yes, this was somewhere she could get used to. She was still a nothing, still owned by creatures who she couldn't understand and sometimes made to do things she could never work out why, but right now she was happy with it all, and she wouldn't change it for the world.
| 2014-08-06T06:06:07 | 2014-08-06T05:55:29 | 300 | 144 |
[WP] You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and you have just been wished into existence by a nerd with a genie.
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"I'm sorry, but you know the rules, I can't make a woman fall in love with you, even one I've created myself."
The genie wafted in front of me. His transparent swirling form reminded me of being drunk. It took years of researching and I had to brave a warzone to get here, but I finally had my genie. I wasn't going to let one of his silly "rules" keep me from getting what I wanted.
"You said I could have anything," I said. "I want you to make the most beautiful woman in the world and I want her to be in love with me. Do you want me to free you or not?"
The genie paused. His face contorted in a way no human's could. "Fine," he said "your wish is my command."
In that instant the room was engulfed in with blinding light. A deafening sound assaulted me, like a cross between a freight train and a piano hitting the ground after falling a hundred feet. The sound died away and the light faded. My vision was blurred but the room resolved in front of me quickly. My genie floated in front of me.
"Where's the chick? Where's my perfect woman?"
"Do not worry," the genie replied, "I'll show her to you soon. As soon as you make good on your end of our bargain that is."
"Very well genie," I said. "In the name Al Neckbeard, I release you from servitude. Now where's my hot chick?"
The genie's arms spread out wide. In front of me a golden frame, ornately decorated, materialized from thin air. I looked into the mirror and starring back at me was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
|
"You, I have seen you before haven't I?"
No response, as if he has just lost his breath. His face reddens and his mouth opens as if he was grasping for air.
"Hello? Have I seen you before?"
Again, silence roared throughout the room. I've been in this room before, I forgot where, but I have been here before everything seems so familiar. The bed on the floor and the milk crate table in the corner. This screams college student budgeting all over it.
So, I must have seen him during college, who is he?
"I, I, I've missed you," he whispered as if to himself.
Why does he miss me? Who is this kid?
"Who are you?"
"Don't you remember me? We always hung out and we made each other laugh like hyenas," he stated.
I remember now. I had fallen for him, but then fallen for another guy shortly after. Then he confessed that he liked me. He was always there for me, but I just didn't feel the same. If only time was on our side, then it might have worked out. But, why am I here?
"You were dead. I bought a novelty genie lamp from a pawn shop and jokingly wished for the most beautiful women, and you came back. You came back..." he wimpers as a tear slowly falls down from his eye.
I was dead? How? When?
He leaps towards me and tackles me onto his futon and latches on to me. Tears streaming down onto my shoulders. His warmth transferring to my surprisingly cold body. I remember now, we had wrestled here before. I just lay there and stare at my friend, my dear friend balling his eyes out.
Something isn't right though. I wasn't really there was I? That's right I am just a figment of his imagination as he drinks and drinks away since the incident. If I was her, I am sorry. I am sorry that you had to fall for me. I am sorry that I had made you feel, I am sorry that you are in despair.
=======================================================================
Newer Version
=======================================================================
"You! I have seen you before haven't I?" I proclaimed.
No response, as if he had just lost his breath. His face reddens and his mouth opens as if he was grasping for air. He was muttering, but it is inaudible.
"Hello? Have I seen you before? Can you hear me?" I inquired.
Again, silence roared throughout the room as if it was dominating us, as if we were submissive. I've been in this room before. I forgot when, but I have been here before everything seems so familiar. The futon on the floor and the poker table in the corner, obviously the owner is under a budget. Like a field mouse within the hold of a corn snake, a college student must budget their necessities carefully otherwise next thing you know you go down the hole. I know now. I must have seen him during college, were we friends, enemies, or lovers?
"I, I, I've missed you…" he whispered silently filling this vacant room with sound.
Why does he miss me? Who is this kid? Were we close?
"Who are you?" I inquired for the third time.
“Do you not remember me? Do you remember those times we spent together doing our homework and projects? Do you remember when we spent those late nights together talking? Do you remember the times we spent together that felt like ages but lasted only seconds?” he said with an exasperated tone.
We must have been close, if we spent that much time together and if he feels that deeply about me. But, how come I don’t remember him?
“No…” I replied.
“How do you not remember me? I remember your birthday, October 12th 1995. You made you a birthday card the second week I knew you. After a whole semester I finally had the balls to confess to you that I fell in love with you. You said we weren’t meant to be, since you only saw me as a friend or a brother. It didn’t matter to me however I still loved you anyways, since love is unconditional,” he whimpered with tears starting to flow from his eyes.
I remember now. I was infatuated with him at first. He was the nicest guy, he cared about me, and he remembered every detail about me and was always there for me. If time was on our side we could have been together, however by the time he confessed I had fallen for another guy and I no longer had feelings for him. But, why am I here and why can I not remember how I even got here?
"I bought a genie lamp from the thrift shop. I rubbed it with all the care in the world and wished for the most beautiful girl to appear as a joke. I didn’t expect anything, but I had wished to see you again. You were dead. A ripped dress was found by a farm, and just down the stream they found your body. I thought I would never be able to speak to you again. I thought I lost a friend. I thought that you left me forever.”
This is a joke isn’t it? How is this even possible?
Suddenly, he leaps towards me and tackles me onto his futon and latches on to me as if I were to disappear again. Tears were streaming down onto my shoulders. His warmth transferring to my surprisingly cold body. I remember now, we had wrestled here before, tossing pillows at each other. I had leaned in for a kiss, but he must have been too afraid to reciprocate back then. He is crying, as if his eyes were a river that continuously funneled into waterfalls that would break upon the rocks which were my shoulders.
Something isn't right though, honestly how can the dead come back to life? I’m not really here am I? That's right I am him. I am just a figment of his imagination after she, no I, passed I’ve been drinking myself into this mess of a man. If I was her, I am sorry. I am sorry that you had to fall for me. I am sorry that I had made you feel rejection. I am sorry that you are in despair. I am sorry that you are now alone.
Lastly, I am sorry for drinking myself to this state, I am sorry my friend, please forgive the world for what we’ve done to you.
| 2016-03-09T01:35:06 | 2016-03-08T23:31:10 | 117 | 50 |
[WP] You made a deal with the devil to become rich. He then tells you that fortune will be yours, but there is a curse. For every $1000 you spend, a random person on the Earth will die. Congratulations! You just won $250,000,000.
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"So, what're the chances?"
"The chances of what?" Satan asked.
"Well, I figure that you don't offer deals with people very often, otherwise there'd be crazy politicians in power starting wars and killing people for really bad reasons," I said, "and that doesn't happen." He rolled his eyes and breathed some fire.
Personally, I don't think he picked up on my sarcasm.
"So really, what are the chances that you offer deals to people?"
"About one in seven billion or so," he muttered, tapping his talons on the table and causing the wood to scream. Little scorch marks, kinda cute ones if you didn't look too hard, dotted the surface.
"My grandma got me that table, it's a family heirloom. Do you think insurance covers-"
"You bought this at IKEA." My mouth slammed shut. Damn.
"I invented lying, kid."
Oh, yeah. That.
"So, all I do is sign here, and I get 250 mil. *And* since other people pay for it, I get to keep my soul?" He sighed, more brimstone fires sparking out his nose.
"Yes, so long as you don't die by sin, so suicide, mass murder, deliberately driving into something with passengers, that sort of thing, you get to go to heaven like everyone else."
"But like, doesn't this make me a murderer?"
"No."
"Why?" I furrowed my brows.
"I can't lie on contracts, and since you're willingly giving up other humans, you just have to live with the guilt."
My eyes narrowed, suspicious. I mean, I was always suspicious, I just never showed it.
"So, I sign here, and the money goes straight into my bank account..."
"Yes."
"...and then I can do whatever I want. Even pay off my student loans, just like that?"
"You can buy yourself a cold glass of lemonade for all I care," he said, voice saccharine and wearing a smile more uncomfortable than a kid listening to his parents go at it.
"W-well... I'll take it!"
"You still have to sign."
I grabbed the pen, scribbled my signature and jumped back as the parchment burned up in flames. Half-expecting a loud and booming voice, I covered my ears and curled up into a ball, the brace position.
Satan mouthed something, like asking a question if I judged his face correctly.
"Aren't you going to announce something in a booming voice?"
He sighed, hand to his head.
"Alright, see you."
"Wait!"
"What?"
"Thanks Satan."
With one last infernal sigh — seriously, dude was lit — he opened a wailing portal of screaming souls and went to hell.
"I wonder, what if I spend less than $1,000? $999-"
*It rounds.*
"Damn it."
The first thing I did with my money was walk outside, just to spite the devil, and head to the nearby cafe.
"I'll have an ice cold lemonade."
"That'll be $1.99."
"Do you accept credit cards?"
With enough pettiness to kill a small critter, drank my first accursed drink. Punched in my pin. Watched the transaction go through. And felt my heart stop.
"What are the... chances...?"
*About one in seven billion or so.*
****
/r/AlexUrwin
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Obviously the implications were clear. If I spent all of it 250,000 people would die. The presentation made it abundantly clear exactly what this meant. Stadiums full of people all of a sudden disappearing; dust floating through the sky. The crushed dreams and hopes of all their loved ones. Children, mothers, fathers, community leaders, all dead because I spent another grand. I can’t say he didn’t warn me, this charismatic man in front of me, making wild and life changing statements. But it’s hard to think rationally when you’re sitting in your living room on a pile of money instead of the couch. $250 million in all. And with understanding that each thousand spent, the life of someone would vanish.
It’s amazing the mental gymnastics you go through when trying to justify something obviously abhorrent. 0.003%, the percentage running through my mind. The chance that after everything is spent that I would somehow kill myself, or a loved one, or anyone I knew really. A 1 in 30,000 chance. Furthermore, only 25% of the world’s population was under 15, so the chances of killing a child were only 1 in 4. These were all odds that I decided were worth the risk. You can judge me however you wish, and I can assure you that I’m no saint, but it’s not like I never thought of the consequences.
The first thousand was the hardest to spend. Took me months, spent exactly $999 from the pile of money in my house. Held that last dollar in my wallet like it was the holy grail. I knew that this dollar bill was the hurdle, the admission that I can be a murderer, however removed. And after enough sleepless nights placed the bill in the cup of a homeless man who sat outside the bus station every morning. Somehow removing myself one more layer from the consequences. Maybe he’d never spend it? That’s a preposterous notion. The next thousand was easier, but with each $999 spent, the last dollar was donated.
Obviously this made it hard for very large purchases. But when you’re buying a mansion with cash, people tend to be more lenient with your payment structure. So each payment was made in $999 dollar increments. In all it took nearly a decade to spend it all. Spending it became so difficult, the mechanism needed to keep my conscience slightly clear ruined the opulence to some extent. But did I regret it, that last dollar donated, the evil deed completed? No, of course not. My life was exponentially better. The lives of my family and loved ones was better, and like I assumed, not a single meaningful person in my life was killed because of it.
_____________________________
**Ten people tangentially meaningful to the narrator, that died directly due to his malicious spending:**
* Adrian Wilson – November 19th 2018 - Age: 23 – Location: Metlife Stadium (New Jersey)
> Adrian Wilson was a rabid New York Giants fan. His father dying of prostate cancer finally felt well enough to leave hospice care for the day. As one last bonding experience they decided to attend the game. They sat at the fifty-yard line, but the outcome of the game really didn’t matter at that point. At 2:45 PM with 12:36 left in the third quarter, Adrian Disappeared from his seat.
* Madison Williams – February 12th 2019 – Age: 7 – Location: Atlanta, GA
> Madison was lying in bed watching movies with her mother. They loved watching old Disney cartoons after daycare. She had complained that she was thirsty and wanted more juice. Her mother got up and by the time she returned Madison was gone. Their only child, Madison’s disappearance crushed her parents. They never recovered.
* Katherine Williams – April 15th 2019 – Age: 39 – Location: Atlanta, GA
> Katherine and her husband were experiencing a rare night where the world didn’t seem so bad. The months prior filled with intense mourning over the loss of their child. They laughed over shared memories and a glass of wine. They both felt guilty that maybe they were getting over the death too quickly. Katherine’s husband went to the kitchen to do the dishes. By the time he returned Katherine was gone as well.
* Melissa Weaver – September 22nd 2020 – Age: 73 – Location: Chicago, IL
> Melissa was Alderman of the 4th Ward in Chicago. An impoverished area, she had made it her life’s mission to improve her neighborhood. The area she had lived every day of her life. While in the midst of a meeting with prospective developers for the new library Melissa disappeared from her desk. Much to the shock and awe of her peers sitting beside her.
* Larry Solomon – March 30th 2020 – Age 31 – Location: Philadelphia, PA
> Larry was the happiest he had ever been. Was standing over the crib of his newborn daughter who was sleeping peacefully for the first time since they brought her home the week prior. His wife still recovering in the next room over. A few minutes later his wife heard the baby begin to cry, and got up to see what had happened to Larry. She never saw him again
* John Stokes – June 16th 2021 – Age: 28 – Location: Grand Canyon, AZ
> John, noted daredevil and Evil Knievel impersonator was halfway across a tightrope walk across a rather precarious ledge in the Grand Canyon. While he had neither the fame nor success of Knievel, his stunts were just as dangerous. A crowd of sixteen watched his antics, and his sudden disappearance, standing on a rope a thousand feet high.
* Cornell Sanders – January 3rd 2022 – Age: 17 – Location: Las Angeles, CA
> Cornell was facing intense criticism from his peers at his High School. Nicknamed “Colonel” after the KFC mascot whose name peculiarly matched his own. A fact he blamed on his parents each and every day. To make up for this he tried to do the most masculine thing he could think of, make the football team. Who would make fun of him then? He made the team as the third string quarterback. At his first game as he was sitting on the bench he disappeared. Never seen again.
* Joanne Summers – August 3rd 2022 – Age: 56 – Location: Redding, CA
> Joanne was finally making a name for herself. With the support and investment of friends and family had opened up her first shop. A store specializing in promoting local goods and products. Decided that she was going to revitalize the local culture. The grand opening was just a few days away. She put the keys into the store, half full with lots of work to do. Before she could turn the key she was gone.
* Randall Montgomery – May 13th 2023 – Age: 35 – Location: Osceola, IA
> Randall owned 40 acres of government subsidized farmland. Last year’s crop was underwhelming so his son
decided to drop out of High School to get a job in Des Moines to make ends meet. Randall hated that he let his son drop out, but he had no other choice. His only hope the optimism that this year’s crop would be better. It was. As he was preparing to harvest on the morning of the 13th he disappeared.
* Angela Baker – October 31st 2024 – Age: 13 – Location: Seattle, WA
> Angela was dressed up as a zombie. Had spent the last three weeks perfecting every drop of blood, every tear, every scar. She prepared to walk the streets scaring everyone, but most importantly getting more candy than her brother. A lowly vampire. “How cliché”, she thought. Or would have if she knew what cliché meant. On the sixth house of the night she held out her bag to be filled with candy. As the woman was dropping it in, Angela disappeared. Her bad remained intact.
| 2017-01-10T07:18:49 | 2017-01-10T07:15:59 | 53 | 19 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
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Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad.
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Chapter 1
"Some are calling it the prank of the century, others believe it to be a supernatural occurrence, and still others call out 'conspiracy'. What is the truth behind the sudden alteration of mugs all over the world? Do they really reflect the rankings of dads? We'll be checking in with spiritualist Dave Connor and skeptic Alfred Hanny as they discuss the matter at 5-"
*click*
"...he throws, and... touchdown!"
Mark hangs his head after the prison guard changed the channel on the TV. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw Davidson, a man convicted for killing his wife, hit the payphone against the wall, and started yelling, "Don't fuck with me Vincent! There not even 60 million dads in the world, how I be number 60 million and some bullshit? You think I'm some fuckin' shit dad? It's not my fuckin' fault I'm here, can't take care of Marissa..."
A guard responded to the commotion and after several hand gestures signalling Davidson to get off the phone, the guard pressed down the hook. Davidson immediately punched the guard in the face. Several guards from around the area ran towards him, and tackled Davidson to the ground.
A man laughed as he sat down next to Mark, "Wow, man. Hey, I bet you have a bigger number than him, ya know?" The man taunted Mark, "What's it been for you, 30 years? For killing your little girl. And your wife just magically got dead too, but they don't charge you for that."
Mark silently stands up, and walks away.
"Come on baby, don't act like that! Let's say you suck my dick and make up for how rude you're being right now to yo shugga daddy," the man said while following close behind, grabbing his own crotch. He spit at Mark, and then laughed.
Another man, burly with a thick, curly black beard, stared down Mark as he passed by. He jumped at Mark to try to scare him, but Mark was unfazed. When he didn't get a reaction, he grabbed Mark by the crotch and squeezed. The man smiled, his mouth full of silver caps and missing teeth. Mark flinched, but refused to retaliate. The burly man leaned in and said, "You'll fuck up before you get out of here tomorrow, and when you do, you're mine."
A guard rushed over and pushed the man off of Mark. He never shifted his gaze from Mark's eyes. He lifted his hands into the air while the guard pushed his forearm into his massive chest to get him back.
Mark returned to his cell and laid down. The setting sun shined through the inch-wide slit they call a window in this place. Mark closed his eyes early today.
Chapter 2
The next day, Mark was waiting at the gate leading to the outside with the clothes on which he hadn't seen for 30 years. It was back then he was standing on the opposite side of the gate looking in. The sound of the gate opening startled Mark, who was barely standing after his restless night.
Five steps forward and he was free. Four, three... two... one more. He took his final step from the prison grounds, but the look on his face was not the look of a free man. A taxi cab honked to get Mark's attention. He looked up, squinting under the summer sun. He stepped in.
"Where to, Freeman," the driver asked. Mark handed him an address on a piece of paper, and fell back into his seat, gazing out the window. Then his eyes wandered to the front of the taxi where he could see a picture of a small dark-skinned girl posted on the dashboard, and then Mark looked at the cup holder to see a mug that read "#38,384 dad".
45 minutes later, Mark handed a credit card to the cab driver to pay his fare, signed his receipt and got out of the car. "Enjoy your freedom Mark!"
There Mark stood, in front of a storage unit which held all of his belongings from 30 years ago, the only things he had left in the world. He pulled up the large metal door, which squeaked, and stuck. Cobwebs blanketed the numerous boxes and other belongings. Mark brushed away the webs with his hand to make a path.
He knelt down and opened a box with old electronics. He tossed the box to the side, and opened the next box. He found his old gun. It still had a round in it.
Mark set the gun down on a worn and dusty coffee table nearby, and continued rummaging. He found a picture frame. He dusted it off to show his wife and daughter laughing and smiling together. Mark stared at it. His movements became slower and more forced as he set the picture down and picked up a mug from the bottom of the box.
He turned the mug around to see the engraving. It still read "#1 Dad". A tear strolled from his cheek, and mixed with the dust on the mug. The tear stopped abruptly, cradled by the engraving of the number. His head fell, and he rested his hand on the edge of the table beside him.
| 2017-06-11T11:14:29 | 2017-06-11T10:58:27 | 46 | 13 |
[WP] An intelligent horse wanted to be a knight so badly that he strapped an empty armour on his back, and used ventriloquism and jousting to get through tough situations. Now he's being asked by the king to save the princess from a dragon.
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"You want me to kill a dragon," the knight said, in disbelief.
"Of course, Sir Equistern," the King replied. "It should be a simple task for a powerful knight like yourself."
"Powerful knights aren't flameproof!" the knight replied. "This is a dragon we're talking about. They breathe fire! They're as big as an elephant! They eat horses for midmorning snacks! I have a lance! What is that supposed to do against a dragon?"
"I'm afraid I don't know," the king replied. "I leave the dragon-slaying to my knights, you see. I can barely tell one end of the lance from the other."
The knight sighed. "I see. And do your knights often come back after you send them after dragons?"
"Often enough," the king replied. "I give it 1:1 odds. But if you're scared, Sir Equistern, I can send another knight to rescue my daughter."
The knight seemed to slump further into the saddle. "No, that's quite alright. I'll go rescue the princess."
The horse trotted out of the kingdom, the knight slumping further and further as he went. "Go be a knight," he grumbled as he went. "No one will ever notice you don't actually have a rider, knights never get out of their suit of armour anyways! It'll be easy!"
So intent on his complaining, he barely noticed the smoke that trickled around his ankles, or the dark shadow being cast overhead.
With a mighty roar, the dragon leapt forward, snatching the suit of armour between his jaws and crushing it instantly. The horse squealed, racing forward madly as the dragon chewed its prize.
"Shhh," whispered a voice from the forest. "Come here, horsey, I won't hurt you."
"Horsey?" the horse grunted, shaking his mane violently at the speaker. A pale, delicate hand emerged from the woods, reaching for his reins, pulling the horse into the woods.
"There's a good horsey," the stranger said, revealing herself to be a fair maiden, dressed in a boy's tunic. She pet the horse gently. "Now lets get yo-"
"I'll have you know, no one has called me 'Horsey' since my poor mother passed away," the horse said with Sir Equistern's voice.
"Oh!" exclaimed the woman. "I'm sorry, I just assumed-"
"You assumed wrong," the horse said. "I am Sir Equistern, on a noble mission from the king to rescue the kidnapped princess. Now unhand me."
"Kidnapped?" the girl responded. "Now it's you who assumes wrong. I was not kidnapped, I left to defeat the dragon that terrorizing our country side. But the damn thing ate my horse."
"Wait, you're the princess?" the horse said.
The princess snorted. "Princess is a boring job. I wanted to be a knight, but apparently there are rules about that sort of thing."
The horse pawed the ground nervously. "Well princess, you're in luck. The position of knight has just opened up."
---
*For more stories by me, check out /r/Lexilogical! Or jump into something bigger on /r/DCFU*
|
Doughty stood on the threshold of a bridge before a great stone castle, grim and foreboding in the high darkness of the Holy Night. Twin statues of titans arose from the gate before him, over three times as tall as his own massive height. It was almost picturesque, like a scene from the painted pages that humans hung on their walls. He ambled to the side, shifting the weight of the empty suit of armor strapped on his back so it was even. A burst of red washed out of the castle’s windows as flame lit within.
The dragon.
Doughty felt a chill run down his spine and the hair on his back lifted momentarily. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Yes. This was his chance to win a position among the Named.
His mind flashed back to the desolate battlefields he had trotted over these past months in vitory. Before each of those battles fought beside King Nichols, he held apprehension much like he felt now. He had been in new territory, among men and dull-witted members of his own kind that he never seemed to connect with. He had had an unquestionable urge to earn recognition, to find some kind of lasting *meaning* in his life. Though he had never fought before, he figured it couldn’t be too much a challenge if other horses could do it. In hindsight, it wasn’t – in fact getting that blasted suit of armor prepared and strapped to his back had been a much harder challenge, especially the bit that had required two nails and a pair of lovers in a barn…
He shook his head to rid himself of that memory. The only thing that mattered was that he had joined the army, seeking acclaim. His biggest fear in those battles had been being found out, lest his dream turn to dust. He thought he might stick out from the crowd of other horses and their riders. And in fact he had, but not in the way that he expected. After each first charge, Doughty had made a point to keep moving, to keep driving the lance on his back and the heavy weight of his own mass into the enemy. He had trampled and stomped and leapt and ran, and ran and ran, driven more by fear of being wounded or maimed than anything else. He noted too many men with a different strategy, each stopping to finish off every enemy they faced, as if every man killed was important.
But Doughty saw the truth rather quickly. A battle was not won on a fight between two swordsmen. It was won on a much larger scope: the breaking of lines, the taking of ground. Despite his virgin experience, Doughty’s strategic maneuvering and quick action had been decisive in each of the three battles he fought beside his King. And it, in addition to his presence at the numerous tourneys the King’s nephew held, had accorded him a fast recognition. The recognition he so desperately sought.
The people learned from his strategy and adapted to it, even acclaimed him – or rather, his false rider – for their subsequent successes.
With his minor fame, the men began to speak of him and to him. Despite Doughty’s attempts at conversing, the responses often came out guttural and erratic, so he kept mostly quiet and let the lance and the charge do his talking. The men had taken to calling Doughty and his suit the Silent Knight.
He had won his fame, hadn’t he? Did he need to go in to fight a *dragon?* He had enough… right? But no. To be among the true Named had to be his end goal, and the snatching of the King’s daughter provided the perfect opportunity to fulfill it.
And so he stood on this bleak threshold, standing tall where the others had backed down, alone. He began a slow trot across the bridge, as fire lit up the castle once more.
Doughty had no clear indication of where the princess would be. The castle was desolate, abandoned. It had long been. But he thought it almost a certainty that she would be at the heart of it. In the heat of the dragon’s rage. So he followed the red flashes and made his way into the large central hall.
He was greeted with a suffusing warmth that felt homey, followed by the sound of rustling wings and scraping claws. He charged into the hall, cocking his head to find the creature. He noticed just in time as it swooped down over him. He bolted forward to dodge, then rounded, amazed that he was not hit.
There was more rustling of wings as the dragon spun and turned to glide down the center of the hall. Its wings spread and spanned the entire width of the wide hall, brushing tips against the walls on either side. Its angle was low and in that moment all was calm. Doughty took his advantage. He rushed the dragon and leaped just as it swooped lower.
Another flash of red and all was bright – he thought it was the last thing he would see. But his momentum carried… and he didn’t burn. He felt the lance strapped to his back connect and then *crunch* into the creature.
All too easily.
There was almost no resistance as the dragon collapsed in a billow of air and the crunching of… something that seemed like paper and starched fabric. Doughty spun as he heard a gasp behind him. He had not noticed upon entry, but at the head of the hall an array of food and several empty bottles of wine littered the dais upon which the throne sat.
A shadowed figure hid behind it, and another off to the left. A set of ropes raised from behind the throne on a makeshift pulley system that extended over the center of the hall and fell down to where the dragon’s carcass lay, shriveled and almost utterly flat upon the ground.
And just like that Doughty’s dreams of being Named were crushed. He’d come all this way for a fake dragon… He could not believe it. He was dumbfounded.
“Knight!” a raspy feminine voice shouted, pulling Doughty from his stupor. “You have rescued me! Shepherds send. I suspect my father called upon you. Alas, I am weak and in need of rest and cannot go back to him now. But you have saved me and your duty is fulfilled.” She giggled, her words slurring more than a little. “You may leave. I assure you I can make it back on my own.”
Doughty narrowed his eyes but kept silent. He slowly stepped forward just as a young boy came rushing toward his flank, stopping ten paces away with a sword upheld to Doughty.
“Stop!” he yelled, voice high-pitched. “The lady said you can lea–”
Doughty let out a snort and took a quick step toward the youth, angling his lance toward the boy. He immediately stumbled back and dropped the sword, then ran off.
“Hey!” The princess called after him. But the boy left the room and didn’t heed her call. The princess came out from behind the throne. “Thanks,” she said, addressing Doughty with an indignant tone. She picked up one of the bottles of wine and raised it to her lips. “Don’t suppose you’d be interested, oh gallant knight?” She took a swig.
Doughty just let out more air, nonplussed, and ambled in his practiced way that caused his Silent Knight to gesture to his back. He stepped closer so she could mount.
“You lot ruin all the fun.” She stood there for a moment, then held a hand up to the suit, clearly hoping for help to get on his tall back. He gave none. “Seriously?” she asked.
He stood resolute.
She huffed, then used the height of the dais to jump up awkwardly, but managed to hold. “Fine. Not much of a talker?” She brushed off her dress. “Here’s my offer: you don’t say anything about this, and I won’t.”
Doughty rounded and trotted back toward the entrance of the hall, a self-satisfied smile crawling up on him. Perhaps he would be Named after all.
| 2017-09-08T00:29:36 | 2017-09-08T00:05:08 | 666 | 47 |
[WP] You've had the ability to Fast Travel since your were born. One day while you're leaving work, thinking of getting something to eat you heard a voice in your head saying for the first time "You can't Fast Travel with enemys near by"
|
"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked straight into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
Border? Thief?
*What the fuck?*
Are there others? Did I break a rule or something? Imperials?
Am I in the Middle Ages now?
What the *fuuuck* is going on?
|
I sighed, stretching my back as I left the office. Fuck’s sake, sitting down all day and staring at a screen that isn’t playing a game fucking sucks. This run’s turning out to be boring *and* shitty.
I shook my head, rubbing my temple as I prepared to fast travel. At the very least, I left myself with this to see how things would work out.
As I did, the spell suddenly cancelled out. Like, what the fuck?
A thought entered my head, almost like it was forced, like a fucking pop up ad.
**You cannot fast travel with enemies nearby.**
...
Excuse me?
“Bronwyn! There you are!” I heard a familiar voice call out and turned to meet Perry, the office’s resident bitch boy.
I say bitch boy, but officially, he’s an intern who starting working with us just a few days ago. Hasn’t stopped him from being the suckiest suck up you ever did fucking see. God, I fucking hate him and that blasted smile he always carries.
But that doesn’t matter right now. There’s no one else here. It’s twelve o’clock at fucking night and this spell’s telling me that Perry the Bing Bong Bitch Boy is some kind of enemy?
“Hey, I kinda wanted to uh... talk to you.” He smiled, making eye contact.
I read that bastard like a book through them.
God, being who I am really helps sometimes.
“Mmhmm? And try to suck up to me like you’ve done to everyone else in the office?” I bluntly stated.
Instead of surprise, he shrugged, “Was I really that obvious? You can’t blame me for wanting to broaden my horizons like that.”
I rolled my eyes, “Broaden your horizons? Dude, you’re quite literally the dictionary definition of a fucking doormat.” I crossed my arms, “Look, I really wanna get home so-“
“Wait! Please! I... please, let me help you with something! Anything!” That... that bitch just cut me off!
“Okay look bing bong **bitch**, I don’t know what’s your deal, but you’ve gotta stop that shit.” I growled.
“Please! I need you to put a good word in for me to the boss! I just need one more referral!” I felt my blood start to boil.
“BITCH!” I began. “I already fucking hate you! What makes you think I’m going to give you a good word for a job?! What even is the point?!” Am I ever glad there’s not a single soul around us.
I was ready to continue my rant when...
“BECAUSE I NEED A FUCKING JOB TO SURVIVE!” He suddenly shouted, his expression turning into one of anger and hate.
I took a step back, the sheer rawness of emotion emanating from the intern scaring me just a little bit. “What the...?”
He sighed, rubbing his temple, “God... can you just stop being a fat fucking bitch for a second and listen?!” I shrank back, stunned into silence by the unexpected opposition.
Once he saw my passiveness, he sighed again, “Alright. Look, I get that you think my kiss-ass nature is annoying.” He covered his face with both his hands and rubbed it. “But I’ll have you know that I don’t enjoy ANY OF IT!”
He... what? He acts like a happy-go-lucky fuck but... doesn’t like it...
“But I NEED to! It’s called networking, you dumb bitch. If I can get those idiots to say good things about me, I could actually get a good position that could actually provide for my-fucking-self!” I listened to him intently, my mind processing his words, unable to give out a response.
I did have one thought though.
‘I’m fucking retarded.’
“I... I didn’t know...” I looked down, ashamed. Holy fuck, it’s happened again.
“Look, it’s alright. I’m sorry for shouting.” He apologized as he looked down, rubbing the back of his neck and making me feel even worse.
Fucking hell, these mortals are going to be the figurative death of me.
“Look... I can help you. Not with the networking thing, I mean with your life.” He looked at me, a curious look in his eyes.
“My... life? What do you mean?” I smiled, offering my hand.
“I can’t say... but I can definitely change your life, kid. What’s your name, by the way? Never really caught it so... hehe, yeah.”
He smiled too, taking my hand and shaking it as I suddenly realized that the warning that warned me of nearby enemies was gone.
My fast travel was back.
“It’s [Markus](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9oaxg4/comment/e7sqp4d?st=JNKMIAA4&sh=4e2b9da7).”
(Edited to fix the spacing.)
| 2018-10-22T13:08:28 | 2018-10-22T11:16:45 | 149 | 67 |
[WP] You are bitten by a werewolf, your sibling is bitten a vampire. Things become awkward when you find out that your parents are secretly famous monster hunters.
|
It was a dark and stormy night... thunder rolled in the distance, while the family gathered around the fireplace.
&#x200B;
"Mom... dad... I have something important to tell you. Could you please sit down?"
"Sure thing dear." My mother took a seat while polishing her silver-coated crossbow bolts.
"What is it honey?" My father, never relaxed, didn't really glance up from using his thrice-blessed whetstone.
I glanced at my little bro... he knew... but... it was hard to do this... to let my parents know...
"I... I don't for how long it's been but... I was... I'm a werewolf now. And it's been a full month already, so none of your holy water or other stuff will change that. It's who I am now."
I didn't know how they'd react, but they did, without missing a beat.
&#x200B;
"Oh yes, we've noticed the signs when we got back from our last hunt. We've known all this time."
"Son, we're the best monster hunters in the entire region, maybe country. You think we couldn't tell our own kid was doomed to become a werewolf?"
"Your father's right. And with the best monster hunter parents around, we can teach you all about being a werewolf! And how to hide your true self from others. Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know."
"I might say I dabbled in werewolves a bit when I was younger."
"Oh honey dear, always the politically-incorrect joker. The only thing you dabbled in was werewolf-skin rugs." I looked down at the werewolf throw-rug in front of us. Could have gone worse I guess.
&#x200B;
I was so confused, yet relieved. Then, my little brother piped up next to me.
&#x200B;
"And I'm a vampire."
"A WHAT?!"
My mother suddenly cocked and spun her crossbow at my little bro. Reflexively and instantly, I transformed into my werewolf-form, covering his fragile profile, as my father quickly grabbed his enchanted falchion from above the rug on the roaring fireplace mantle, unsheathing it.
"I RAISED YOU BOTH TO BE TWO SONS, NOT A SON AND A VAMPIRE."
"Who seroconverted our baby boy into this FILTH?! Only SLUTS become vampires."
"YOU SLUT." My mother brandished her whip.
"Who will carry on the family reputation?"
"Your.... 'brother'.... has to leave this house. Now."
"You can stay, but you.... you're officially dead to us. Undead to us. You know what I mean. GET OUT."
&#x200B;
As my little brother disappeared into the darkness of the night, literally, I began to chase after him.
|
Bank holidays always made me think of cupcakes. Every single snow day, bank holiday or days-I-pretended-to-be-sick, Mum would bake cupcakes for us, sprinkled with love and sugar. She claims that sugar has healing power, especially when mixed with love.
Today, I need her to be right. I need her to help.
It was 3am, too late for them to still be up, but my feet carried me there anyway, via the number 112 bus. Habit, I suppose. People do strange things when they’re panicking.
My parents were getting older, grey hairs sprinkling Mum’s braids and Dad’s beard, arthritis clicking in their knees and back. Somehow mum could still sit and embroider every night as Dad read aloud to her, pointing out interesting articles they might want to look through together and quoting idiots in a special turn of phrase.
I clutched my hand to my side and groaned, the sound twisting and turning into a growl. The world lurched sideways on me, and for a second I was stumbling forwards but somehow leaning against a wall, simultaneously. What had that bastard put in my drink?
I hadn’t even wanted to go to the bar, but Lev had insisted, saying that we needed to celebrate. Celebrate what? The weekend was coming up (it was Thursday, and we worked Saturdays anyway). He was engaged (his partner had proposed four weeks ago, and he’d already used this excuse to host two work bashes and a champagne brunch). I’d been promoted (not quite a lie, but barely a truth. My contract had been renewed on a more-permanent basis, so I only had to worry about the bills once a quarter instead of once a month). It was a bank holiday tomorrow (but, again, we still had to work it. For 1.5x pay, though).
But still, I could never say no to Lev.
I had said no to the alcohol though. We had the morning shift, after all. I had absolutely no interest in trying to birth sickly babies drunk, or even hungover. Even slightly.
The sandwich I’d bought from Sainsbury’s while I waited for the bus churned in my stomach, revolting at the narrow, wet, warm surroundings it found itself in, and made a bid for freedom, burning its way up my throat and onto the pavement, where it steamed gently.
Steamed? It was January, it was cold. There was an unfulfilled promise of snow in the air, heavy over the streets. I’d forgotten my jacket back in the bar when I’d left with the tall stranger, out into the alleyway for some light - or heavy - petting. When he’d turned *wild* I’d run for the bus stop. I was lucky my monthly bus pass was digital and my phone in my pocket, or I’d have been stranded at the stop, waiting for a bus that would never let me on as darkness pooled around me.
But even without my coat, I’m not cold. My skin feels feverish to the touch.
I make a mental list of my symptoms, locking it away for later.
The door looms. I don’t have a key. Left it at the bar with my coat, with Lev. “Mum?” I shout, banging on the front door as loudly as I could. I’d walked up the porch steps at some point, acting on muscle memory alone. I don’t remember climbing them. My throat is throbbing and my skin is itching and everything - everything - hurts.
“Who’s there?” The door demands, it’s voice strangely like Dad’s.
“Please, help me.”
“Leslie?”
He throws the door open and scoops me up in his arms, wincing as the heat of me burns through his hole-ridden sleeping tee. “Leslie, are you alright? Dee! Dee, come down!”
I can feel my Mum coming down the stairs, her feet vibrating through the wooden boards, loud drumming in my ears.
“Thirsty.” I manage to say, my throat still acidic. I taste bad. I probably smell worse. My dad doesn’t wince as he carries me through to the kitchen, leaving me lying, feverish and self-pitying, on the kitchen table, staring at the kitchen door.
“What’s going on, Des?” My mum comes into the kitchen like a panther, all muscles and sharp edges, and a roiling anger. “Dee and Des”, their friends used to sing, sitting down at dinner parties. “Des and Dee. The proper way for harmony.” The facade fades in moments as she sees me, and I can see *her* again, an old, dignified lady, with swollen fingers. “Leslie? What-”
“Something’s wrong,” he tells her, thrusting a cool glass of water into my hands. “She’s burning up.”
“Leslie, baby.” Her hands are cool on my forehead as she smooths the hair back, murmuring sweet nothings. “What happened?”
“I- He… drink. spiked.” My tongue feels too big for my mouth, and the words come out garbled, slurred. “Bit me.”
There’s an immediate chill that blankets the room, and I can feel - *hear? -* my parents exchange a glance above my head. The wave of nausea hits and I roll to one side, vomiting up a string of acidic liquid that bites at my throat.
“Let me see the bite, baby,” my mum coaxes. But, although her arms are stretched out to me, she’s staring over the top of my shoulder at my dad. Something feels wrong here. “I need to see if it’s infected.”
“How-” I begin, but my tongue trips over itself and I don’t have the energy to argue. I pull my shirt to the side, throw my hair over my other shoulder, and expose the angry red mark.
My mother gasps, and falls into the chair opposite me, her fingers pressed tightly over her mouth. “How did they find us?” she whispers, her voice breaking through those fleshy cracks. “How did they find our girls? Des, do something!”
“What-” I ask, swallowing. My tongue feels thick with copper.
A lilting melody fills the room, breaking the odd tension that has wrapped around us. My ringtone. I have barely 5% battery left, I notice, unlocking it with a shaking thumbprint.
“Leslie?” The tone is urgent.
“Sal?”
“Help me.” The room greys as all the blood I have rushes into my ears. My little sister is in trouble.
“Where. You?” I pant out.
“Nearly at mum and dad’s.” There’s a breathy laugh. “Some creep bit me. First place I could think of, but… I might have rabies? Please be close by. And sober. I don’t want to go to the hospital at this time of night, it’ll be packed.” Static fills the line. I stare at my mum, who is shaking against the chair, vibrating with anxiety. “Leslie?” my sister nudges.
“Bit… you?” I double check, forcing the words out of my mouth with an attention the task has never needed before. My mum’s eyes leap to mine, wide and white.
Goosebumps break out over my arms, my shoulders, my back. I’ve never seen my mum scared before.
“Yeah. Weirdo. Some people just can’t keep it in their pants. Or their mouths. Whatever.”
I stare at my mum as she sits at the table, unmoving.
| 2020-01-12T07:56:17 | 2020-01-12T07:38:30 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] You have been trapped inside a glass orb for years. Sitting on a shelf in an old store, your only entertainment is that of the clerks daily routine. One day however the clerk is attacked, in defence the orb is thrown and shatters upon impact. Finally releasing you from your cage.
|
**EATEN**
My great-great-great-great-great grandson cowers in fear, his hands trembling over his head. Blood and sweat mix on his face. The soup dribbles down his chin and then plops onto his blue nametag. It obscures the first letter. Peter becomes *eter*. He is not an eater. He is about to be eaten.
One of the burglars puts the muzzle of his gun in Peter’s face. He interrogates him about the location of the safe. What safe? His compatriots rampage through the aisles, smashing and grabbing and laughing and thinking it feels good to pillage.
They do not know what it is to pillage. They live in a baby-proofed city inside a baby-proofed country inside a baby-proofed world. Even their violence is a whimpering shadow of what once was. Humanity has succumbed to decadence and failure. I am glad to be alone in my cage.
The burglar with the gun cocks back the hammer and tells Peter he is out of time. I look away in disgrace. How many men of our family will die on their knees? Every generation is weaker than the last. Peter has met the fate he deserves.
And then a flash. A deafening sound. One of the burglars cries out in pain. I look to Peter: he has yanked the man with the gun to the ground, his arm twisted backward. The gun has scattered across the floor. Peter’s jaw closes around the man’s ear and when it opens again the ear is gone.
Peter crawls after the gun. The burglars are visibly shaken when he spits the man’s ear onto the floor. Their façade of ruthlessness has been punctured; their baby-proofed world still has one sharp edge left. They are too afraid to intercept Peter and before they know it, Peter is in possession of the gun.
As he stands, the weapon in his trembling hands, he slips, tumbles backward onto his ass. The biggest of the three burglars crosses toward me, seizing the opportunity. His broad shoulders block my view of Peter. I should hear a gunshot now but I do not. The man should crumble but he stays standing. Has Peter lost his nerve?
Suddenly everything goes dark – an enormous hand grasps my glass cage; dark, pinkish light filters through the webbed skin where the fingers meet.
I am thrown.
I sail through the air toward Peter. His face is contorted in anguish and confusion. His finger pulls at the trigger but nothing happens. The gun only had one bullet. He is defenseless.
I collide with Peter’s chest. I collide with the world.
A thousand shards of glass explode in every direction. I take my choice of which to make my vessel. I cling to a shard shaped like a “V,” a reminder of our old family crest. We hurtle through the air. Gravity meets us.
When I hit the floor, the shard skids to a halt. I feel my body returning. Under my feet, a reflection looks back at me. In a matter of seconds I am returned to full form. In a few more seconds I have surpassed that form.
I tower over Peter, his head lolling. My arms look vaporous, red, my fingers are wispy, like I’ve only been sketched and not yet fully drawn. It’s no matter: I feel the power coursing through me. The same power the put me in that cage has now been caged inside of me.
I turn to the three burglars, one holding his head where his ear should be, huddled together. They are petrified.
I am hungry.
Now we will see who is eaten.
|
The Orb was cold, but then again the Orb was always cold. If it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be a particularly impressive snow globe.
I hunched my shoulders, more in annoyance than against the snow that fell in fat flakes on the landscape and all over my inadequate clothing. Stupid upcyclers. Take a perfectly good Orb of holding from the hidden vault of Ramses II, and give me the first spark of hope in a thousand years. Then see that it’s filled with the cruelest endless blizzard ever summoned and think, oooh the most valuable snow globe on earth. Idiots.
A fat price tag meant that no one in their right mind would ever buy it. It was like a million dollar keychain or a ten grand t-shirt.
No buyers meant no one would ever let their kids play with it until it eventually shattered and I was once again released onto the mortal plane. I was imprisoned by the antithesis of business acumen.
Oh and ice, lots and lots of ice.
I trudged through the impossibly thick snow drifts to the edge of the glass, each footstep compacting the white slop into icy patches. The glass was covered in a layer of frost so thick that it took a few passes with my sleeve to reveal the outside world.
I took one look and sighed, it was the same as ever. The same wooden shelf with the same worn counter far below. The same clerk sat, reading his creased paperbacks and responding with a few distracted words to the bored shoppers. It was the middle of July, no one asked about the snow globe even after seeing the price.
I sank to my knees. What was the point? It had been centuries and despite rescue from the vault, I was no closer to freedom than I had been in the dark depths of the earth. Somehow being this close to freedom was even worse. All day, every day I could see people going about their business, unaware that just inches from them was the strongest elemental the world had ever seen.
The snow continued to pile up on my legs and I was tempted to let it. The centuries spent staving it off had taken its toll. I was but a shadow of my former self. I was fighting a war of attrition, but my enemy was the snow itself. I could no sooner vanquish it than I could stop the sun from shining or the rain from falling. I would die here.
Below me there was a scuffle of movement, the clerk stood up midshift for the first time in his life. I was too wrapped up in self pity and the increasingly large snowbank to even notice the masked man.
Then suddenly someone was grabbing the globe.
The ground pitch dangerously, throwing loose snow back and forth like an avalanche. If I was buried, I doubted I would have the strength to escape. Nor the will power. My life was in the hands of the person holding the globe, utterly reliant on them not doing what everyone did with snow globes.
Then I was falling as the globe flew end over end, snow and ice battering me from all sides,knocking the wind out of me and soaking through my thin tunic. I was flying through the air, pinned to the back of the orb as inertia did its ugly work. A masked face appeared, at first small then gaining size as I flew toward it until it loomed above me like the visage of a massive statue.
Credit where credit is due, the Orb did not shatter on impact, though I was convinced my back did. I tried to shake my head to clear the spinning and the ringing, but I couldn’t move. All around me was the oppressive softness of cold snow, slowly melting and saturating every inch of my clothing, stealing the last of my heat.
I would die here. The snow globe would become just that, no longer plagued by a shivering figure marching in circles to keep warm.
Then, as I allowed my eyes to close and my breathing to slow, the world was once again upended. I was crushed against the snow once again as we travelled through the air, picking up speed and driving the last of the air from my lungs.
With a crash, the Orb gave way and I was catapulted out onto the floor with much bigger quantities of snow than anyone would expect.
I took a gasping breath, and pushed myself to my hands and knees. I panted even as I looked around, eyes grasping for anything that wasn’t an endless expanse of white. I drank up the color, so vibrant without frosted glass robbing it of its color.
The blizzard, so carefully summoned into the containing vessel with orders to fill it up with cold and snow, went spiraling around the store, knocking over shelves and blowing papers to the far corners of the earth. The temperature dropped and kept dropping, the patrons gasped as their breath clouded the air. Their summer tank tops no match for the new season.
A lady near the counter threw open the door, desperately fleeing into the warmth and sunshine. With a sound like a vacuum, the blizzard went with it, flying out the door to create mayhem elsewhere.
I was happy to see it go and rolled myself into sitting position, propping my back against a shelf as the snow melted into puddles on the floor. Warmth took me for the first time in my memory and I wanted to wrap it around myself like a blanket and never let it go.
People around me gaped at the snow drifts even as they faded. One man ignored it all, throwing a mask into his pocket and trying to blend with the crowd. His darting eyes over a bruised cheek gave him away as did the blood dripping from the deep cuts on his hand. Cuts from a certain glass ball.
Ahh, I owed this one.
I made a face, but stood up and walked through the crowd before anyone could remark on my clothing or, more likely, ask themselves where I had come from. I caught him by the arm and steered him easily toward the back, pausing to snap my fingers at a few patches of ice in our path. They stubbornly refused to melt. Damn.
The back room was marked by a sign, but I had never bothered to learn to read this new language so its warning was lost on me. The man, however, began to gather his wits and tug at his arm. I held it firmly until the door snapped shut behind us, releasing it just long enough to wedge a chair under the handle.
“What do you want?” I asked as I grabbed his arm and continued to drag him.
“What?” He stammered, not at all following or more likely not understanding my language. I tapped into our bond, the deep, ancient kind between a debtor and debtee and asked for the consideration of communication. Just enough communication to settle our bond. It was a fair trade, an ancient one, and the world granted me universal language with this mortal.
“You freed me, so I owe you,” I replied impatiently, now in english. I pushed him toward the back exit, “What do you want?”
“Help me,” He said quickly, and I grinned to myself. Idiot, now all I had to do was help him with one small thing and all debts were repaid. It pays to be exact with these arrangements and he fortunately did not strike me as a big thinker.
I opened the last door before the exit and stood beside it to help him through, grinning all the while. The moment he walked through, I would have helped him. I would be free and could start commencing my revenge on the world that had imprisoned and forgotten about me.
“What?” He said, freezing inches before the threshold, “Stop it!” He shook his head desperately as if I had cast an illusion on him..
Through the hallway was a glass storm door and through the glass there was a light sleet beginning to fall despite the muggy weather. Even as I watched, it was gradually replaced by snow until big fat flakes fell from the sky like it was the middle of winter. The glass began fogging over, filling with frost in an all too familiar manner.
The blizzard spell was free and still following orders. It would fill up its container with ice and snow until there was no memory of warmth. I felt my shoulders fall.
I had just traded one frozen orb for the next.
And by the command of my master, I had to stop it.
/r/PalaceOfficial
| 2021-11-12T11:26:43 | 2021-11-12T11:22:32 | 806 | 66 |
[WP] On your quest for revenge, people often said to you, "Killing him wouldn't bring her back." The thing is, you found a way to perfectly resurrect her. You just need a soul to sacrifice, so might as well get the one who killed your loved one.
|
I stare down at the sniveling man, strapped onto the altar. "Why am I doing this, you ask? Why, to bring my wife back to life."
The man continues to thrash against his bonds. Shame that leaving him under the paralysis spell would interfere with the ritual. "But... why me? I- I have a wife and-"
"You are single. Never married, no children, and you killed your father for drug money."
"... I... Uh... But, but *I* didn't kill your wife. Right? I never killed no ladies, I just-"
"No, you didn't kill her. That would be the man, or rather, the corpse over on that slab." I gestured negligently over towards the entrance of the cave. "He was jealous, you see. If I can't have her, no one will, etc, etc. It took me three years to track him down, only to find that he himself had been murdered mere days before."
"Ah... Um... So why..."
"Well, while my ritual does require a sacrifice, I wish to be sure it is someone deserving. And what should I happen to find about the man who murdered the murderer but that he was a serial rapist. Killed my target just because he'd stumbled across him in the act."
The man on the slab desperately shakes his head. "Nuh-no! I've never-!"
"Yes, yes, that particular man is on that other slab. And I found that he, himself, had been killed by a rival gangster, a truly nasty piece of work. Who I found poisoned to death by his lover, who was apparently running a brothel of women she had kidnapped and enslaved. She pissed off some crime boss, who strangled her to death with his own hands. He was assassinated by a gun-for-hire, who has killed dozens of people over the years, including several children, so long as the pay was right. The assassin died due to anaphylactic shock when a chef stuffed his meal full of onions after he asked for them removed due to an allergy. And that chef... Happened to wander down the wrong street two nights ago, and got a knife in his ribs and his wallet stolen for his trouble. A knife" I held up the instrument in question up to the light, "that you may find very familiar."
The man was finally, blessedly, quiet, just staring at the knife held a few inches above his eye. Sadly, that state didn't last long. "S-so you're-"
"I will use you to revive the chef, the chef to revive the hitman, the hitman to revive the crime boss, the crime boss to revive the madam, the madam to revive her lover, the lover to revive his rival, the rival to revive the murderer, and the murderer to revive my wife."
"But ... why? That's so complicated."
"Because if I am going to pervert the natural order, steal souls from the reaper, and risk being struck with the marks of Heaven and Hell's vengeance, I'm going to **do it right**."
|
I used to be alive.
But that was a long time ago. When the home was still warm and lively, scents of lemon wafting its way from the kitchen into the living room. When I could still go outside and watch the sun fall below the deep horizons, see the stars burn without being reminded of you.
There was so much to live for back then.
But back then isn’t now. And right now, the house is on fire and the stars are cold.
I go through life numb now. Walk through the hallways of my house as if I can’t still see your footprints against those floorboards, your laughter in the bathroom, your smile in the mirrors. But I can. I see you everyday. And maybe that’s what led me here - to such vengeance.
I was alive once, a long time ago. But maybe that’s not quite right. Maybe I was always dead. And maybe you were the one who showed me how to live.
Life is fickle, isn’t it? Gone just like that.
Born in mere moments.
—
I’ve always loved the winter. Loved the way frost kisses the tip of my nose, the way snow falls gently, softly, as if the world were its bed and we were its inhabitants. But mostly, I loved the warmth it brought. Even amongst all the cold, there was still so much warmth.
It’s winter tonight.
“Are you okay?” A voice suddenly asks. Startled, I turn around. It’s an old woman, bundled deeply in a thick, brown fur coat. Her face is obscured by her hood, but I can briefly make out a concerned smile buried under there. And when she brings her face up to look at me, her eyes are only soft.
“Uhh, yes. Thank you,” I cough politely, unsure of what to make of this woman.
Her smile only widens. “Well, I suppose I'll be off then. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
I just nod, sparing a glimpse to watch as she leaves. *The people here are odd,* I think. Not at all like I was expecting, that’s for sure. I continue my way up the path, watching as the trees become brushed with snow, glittering under the soft moonlight. I think it’s the first time since *the incident* that I’ve thought of something as beautiful.
I quicken my steps, unable to give the sight much more attention. It’s painful - to know the world in such a wonderful way, only to have that wonder ripped from your heart forcefully; to see that wonder again, even amongst all the pain. *Especially* amongst all the pain.
It’s only when I reach my destination that I allow myself to take the world in. The house up ahead is old, shingles torn and looking as if they were a minute away from falling over. I can just make out the smell of warm bread coming from inside, and I can’t help but ball up my fists. *How dare he?* How can he live in this house? Bake bread in his oven? Go on as if nothing had ever happened? As if he weren't the cause for all this loss - weren't the person who took away my wife?
It makes me sick.
Luckily, I won’t have to bear the sight of him for much longer.
I reach the door with no thought at all. It’s like I’m in a trance, permanently stuck between life and death. I’m the wind and the air and the stars and the moon and the house. I’m everything at once, every molecule floating in this hurtful universe.
I don’t even bother knocking. Instead, I kick the door open. And maybe if I had thought this over -- *properly thought this,* I wouldn’t be here. In this house, smelling his bread, seeing those piercing dark eyes all over again. Maybe I'd be at home, under my covers, watching the stars dull one at a time. But I'd still be numb. Here. There. It would always be numb.
He doesn’t look startled when he sees me. Instead, he laughs. *Laughs.* As if I were simply a game to him, created for his amusement. As I f I weren’t built on pent up rage or vengeance. As if my hands weren’t made for destroying things too.
“Well, isn’t this something?” He says. “I’d offer you some tea, but I'm afraid it’s long gone cold,” he smiles in that cheshire cat way of his, all teeth and bite, sharp and shrewd just like his eyes. It would be terrifying if I could still feel anything.
“I won’t have time for tea,” I tell him. “But after this, you’ll be wishing I did.” If anything, his smile only widens at my words.
Maybe he thinks I'm joking. That he holds all the power in the world and I'm merely one of his subjects. And maybe I’m just desperate, but desperation can be a terrible thing when it’s the only thing you have left. And I'm full of it. There’s nothing left for me here. At least, not if this doesn’t work.
I match his smile. He thinks he’ll be able to kill me before I kill him. He’s a paranoid man, after all. A paranoid man and good at what he does. But while he may have been expecting this, he hasn’t been here before. Not like I have. He’s not the one who's watched his dreams come undone in the middle of the night. Seen this exact situation play out again and again in thousands of ways.
So it’s rather anticlimactic then, when he finally dies at my hand. This moment, *this sacrifice that’s not really a sacrifice at all,* it was a part of the plan, yes, but it wasn’t the most important aspect of it. It’s not the part that keeps me up at night, wondering and wishing and dreaming even while I'm awake.
There’s blood on these floorboards, on the walls of this old house, and I imagine there's much more buried in his garden, under disinfectants, among the ghosts that roam these halls, forever trapped and numb. Numb in ways not even I could be.
It’s then that I start chanting, over and over again, I pour out my words. They’re desperate and broken, raw and vulnerable, bruised and shattered. I want to build them again, want to make sense of this world once more. I want to live in a corner of the universe and bury myself there, under the stars and the smiles and the warmth and all the lemons in the world.
I don’t want to be in pain anymore.
I once said winter was beautiful. But it had nothing, *nothing,* on the sight of her. She was more than the woman in my dreams. My dreams, built from desperation and desire and peace. My dreams, the only place I could ever really see her again. They had nothing on the woman in front of me right now, building herself from the ground up, out of flesh and bones and a real-life beating heart.
She stumbles a few times, and I quickly reach out to grasp her arms, holding her up against me. She looks at me then, eyes of honey boring directly into my soul. I feel whole again.
Eyes of honey which quickly melts away into sorrow.
“Oh Alex,” she whispers, and it sounds like she’s talking to herself. “Oh Alex. What have you done?”
In the background, winter wisps away silently, oblivious to the limp body inside the old house. Or the bodies that remain alive even when they wish they weren’t.
—
/r/itrytowrite
| 2021-11-16T13:07:32 | 2021-11-16T08:59:14 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] In peacetime, the ruler grows their hair long. In war, they cut it short. To declare war, a persons hair is sent to the enemy. The statement carries greater weight the longer the hair; to receive long hair says you have angered one slow to anger, that you have incurred a wrath not easily woken.
|
The court was in high spirits, the people gathered to a feast for a minor holiday, the king sitting upon his throne, his queen beside him and a bemused smile upon his face, watching his normally serious advisors make utter fools of themselves in various attempts to woo whoever caught thier eyes.
A courier entered, in itself not unusual for a day like today, stopping in front of the king and placing the box he was carrying at his feet, opening the accompanying letter, and beginning to read it aloud:
*'To you, my King, I give this gift, in recompense of the gift you gave to me.'*
The letter and package were unsigned, but the courier eagerly opened the box to show the court, only to grow still when he looked inside it, reaching down slowly. From the box he pulled a clump of hair, tightly braided, and began to step back.
And back.
And further still.
Nearly all the way back to the entrance, some thirty-odd feet, before it cleared the box, the court silenced, revelry banished at the declaration of war (of *annihilation*, his brain whispered, in between half-hysterical echoes of a childhood story of a girl in a tower with no door).
His Queen turned to him and whispered, horrified, a question to which he had no answer:
"My Lord...*what have you done??*"
|
This may have multiple parts. Will continue in reply.
&#x200B;
Hanging under the balcony, Kosta listened to the guards’ footsteps running in the corridor. “It was a close call” whispered Shelly. It indeed was. But Kosta was not going to admit it to a talking fish in his backpack, especially when his tracking spell misfired to become a point lightning, typically used by scouts to show the enemy locations to their armies.. Sometimes he wondered if his spells would have worked better if his familiar was a cat.
“We are lucky there is a thunderstorm outside” continued Shelly. Pulling himself up, Kosta climbed back into the balcony. There was a black spot in the place he was standing a few seconds ago. First time since he casted the spell he looked at his clothes. They were still smoking.
“Good news is” Kosta said “ I can better hide in the dark now.”
“Who needs to see you if they can smell you miles away” replied Shelly.
Technically that was true. But more importantly they did not have their tracker spell and the sultanate's palace was one of the biggest in the world.
“Maybe we should leave now and come back again with another tracker,” said Shelly.
“No” replied Kosta “we need the hair for the Wiseman's Wrath. We can’t afford any delays anymore”.
\-“Sure sure. Let's find the ruler of the strongest country in the world, cut his hair and run before anybody noticed us to make a spell that was not cast in a thousand year.”
\-“I’m listening if you have a better plan Shelly” remarked Kosta absent mindedly as he was checking the corridor.
This quietened Shelly She knew this was their only hope. And it had to be tonight before their ship sailed tomorrow.
“This seems interesting.” Kosta said.
\-“What?”
\-“I see some servants carrying a golden chamber pot over a litter”
\-“And?”
\-“It has the imperial insignia on it. We can follow them to the sultan’s chamber.”
\-“Or to the sewer where they empty it if the sultan has already finished his business.”
Kosta instinctively touched his lucky necklace. He needed all his luck. “We have to take this chance.” he said as he carefully put his backpack to the ground. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he removed Shelly’s jar. “I need you to spot any guards before they can see us.”
While Shelly could be annoying sometimes, she was one of the best familiars he had seen. If she had four legs and a pair of lungs, he was sure Shelly would have been with a sorcerer by now. ”Well nobody was perfect. “ he thought as he put his backpack to his shoulders with Shelly’s jar under his arm. “Speak for yourself,” said Shelly. That was another thing with Shelly. She seemed to know what he was thinking all the time. He had not heard of that skill in any other familiar.
Soon they were following the servants from a safe distance. Under Shelly’s watchful eyes, they were safe from any guard surprising them.
“There is another patrol at the corner” whispered Shelly.
\-“How can you see them?”
\-“I can feel the vibrations too, you know” said Shelly. “Although your shaking my jar all the time makes it like a damn storm here” she added.
\-“Sorry, I must be more nervous than I thought I was”.
“It is fine, just don’t pee this time” said Shelly.
“We don’t talk about that.” replied Kosta angrily.
“Quiet!!! Run to that room” interrupted Shelly urgently.
Without any further encouragement Kosta sprint into the room. Say anything about Kosta, but you could never say he freezes in the face of danger. On the contrary he excels at running away from danger. He had broken the 100 yard sprint record at the academy when an angry hive of bees attacked him at the start of the race. He still didn’t know why or how but he suspected Shelly had a hand in it. “That would have been a fin” said Shelly “ and I’m neither denying nor confirming it”.
Soon safely locked behind the door, they waited for the patrol to pass.
“Oh-oh” whispered Shelly.
\-“What?”
\-“They have a dog with them, and he is pulling them to this room”.
Now that Shelly mentioned it, Kosta heard the barking getting closer and closer. Soon somebody was trying to open the door.
“It is locked, do you have the key?” Kosta heard one guard saying.
“No. It is a catering room, only kitchen servants have it” another voice replied.
\-“Catering room?”
Kosta heard the guard sniffing.
“I think there is some bacon in that room” said the first guard. Second guard joined him sniffing.
“More like roasted pork” said the second one.
Kosta and Shelly looked at each other puzzled.
“Stupid dog. “ said the first guard as he kicked the dog. “I told you to feed him before we start our route.”
Kosta felt relieved as he heard footsteps going away from the door. “Now that they mentioned it” Shelly said “you need a bath after that lightning strike. It is a miracle that no other dog is running to you.”
“Says the lady who swims in her own waste” said Kosta.
Soon they were back in the hallway. With a few lucky guesses they were back on the tail of the litter bearers. The rest of the journey was less eventful. Surprisingly the number of patrols they encountered were reduced now. Kosta started to worry that the servants were indeed taking the chamber pot to the sewers. His worst fear became real when the servants entered a non-descriptive room and then left without the pot. With no guards at the door, it was more than certain this was not the Sultan's chamber. The implication was terrible. His journey to the gathering was meaningless now. Without the Wiseman's Wrath he had no chance.
Continued at Part 2.
| 2022-04-18T02:16:56 | 2022-04-18T01:50:22 | 69 | 20 |
[WP] You are hired to write the holy text for a new religion. What is the first chapter of the text?
|
Ingredients:
4 tbsp^10^10^10 Hydrogen
3 tbsp^10^10^10 Helium
2 tbsp^10^10^10 Oxygen
1 tbsp^10^10^10 Nitrogen
1/2 cup Carbon
Any additional Iron, Sulfur and Magnesium (to taste)
Directions:
Preheat eternal fire to 425 F
In one large (3+ quart) mixing bowl, combine ingredients with whisk, adding food coloring as necessary.
Grease one large cookie sheet and spoon mixture into random globules several million lightyears apart.
Bake for 4 (four) billion years.
Remove from eternal fire and let cool for 3 (three) billion years.
Serve with cold milk on vast and sugar-speckled dark serving tray. Do not freeze. Serves billions upon billions.
|
In the beginning there were many gods, many beings of power, all derived from the life force of the universe. The universe itself brought these gods into existence at the same time that the universe began. The creation of the universe was not the work of any God or force of nature, but rather an inexplicable shift from nonexistence to a sudden and violent proliferation of existence. The cause of the beginning is not known to Yorehl and not important to man according to Yorehl's teachings, because a question without answer does no good for it having been asked.
The gods that were born with the universe were sentient masses of power, who took many different forms. The gods lived much like men, congregating and cooperating to design and guide the universe as it grew. The gods were sometimes fickle, sometimes fair, and they were as human as they were omnipotent.
Our god, who yet lives, Yorehl was the most powerful of the gods and led their society. He valued honor, peace, devotion, and selfless service above all other traits. Yorehl led the younger weaker gods in shaping the universe, and with his own hands crafted our perfect world. He set our sun ablaze so that it might bathe the earth with its life force, and rolled the cosmic dust into a planet that could support life. Yorehl's hand guided life as it grew from the first individual cells to his penultimate creation, man. He shaped man after his own image, and gave man a mind that could think in terms of self. He gave man a mind that could realize its own will, and act independent of its natural instincts. Yorehl did not make life easy for man, so that man might better appreciate the beauty of a life well earned.
Lesser gods saw mankind and grew jealous of Yorehl's paternal behavior, and of the beauty of his creation. In an attempt to prove their own power and their ability, several gods contrived to copy Yorehl's works. A planet unfit for life near to Earth was forced into momentary equilibrium by a lesser god, but he burned out his life force with his efforts. Mars, named for the god who made the planet his own tomb, died quickly without the god's guiding power.
The other gods became fearful of their own mortality, having never truly considered the extent of their lives. Several contrived to steal from the life force of the universe itself in order to make themselves more powerful, against Yorehl's guidance. He could have forced them to follow his will, but he believed in ruling from necessity and not desire.
Some of the lesser gods constructed a great star, of brilliant red light, near the home of the gods. The star was a combination of every part of the universe, a core of anti matter in its heart, surrounded by a layer of dark matter, which was further surrounded by normal matter. The star would create a new source of energy that the lesser gods might use to bolster their strength, by reducing matter into the ethereal energy of the universe itself. Their designs were flawed however, and the star became unstable. Yorehl guided the star with all his might, but the star could not be stopped from becoming unbalanced. The cores mixed and created an explosion unlike any seen since the universe itself began.
The home of the gods was destroyed, and all but two of the gods were erased from existence. Only by drawing in the life force of the universe unleashed by the blast did Yorehl survive, but in doing so he lost his corporeal form, and became one with the entire universe. The other God who survived, Zaughd, had been the main force behind the creation of the red star, and he blamed Yorehl for its failure. He was laid low by the explosion, and had only survived by fleeing far into the darkness of space.
Zaughd had hated Yorehl, jealous of his power, of his benevolence, of his creativity, even before the red star had failed. He drifted through the vast emptiness of space believing himself alone with his hatred, and in his lonely misery he spied Earth. The orb which Yorehl had so carefully crafted lay unguided, or so he thought, unprotected, and unmolested.
Tall gleaming structures of metal and glass covered huge swaths of the earths surface, buildings pierced the sky, and massive roads crossed over the continents. Earth looked much like the home he had lost, and Zaughd despised mankind for their strength and ingenuity. Zaughd reached out with his godly hands to guide to planet to ruin, but found it protected by an unseeable force. The planet could not be guided at all, but seemed set in its course as though it's existence was permanent.
Yorehl's ethereal form allowed him to give this much protection, but his existence alone now guided the entire universe, and he knew he could not sacrifice the entire universe for his creation. Zaighd became murderously enraged over his impotence, and so consumed was he with his hatred that he fell to earth and began to lay waste to mankind.
In this moment, Yorehl divided a small piece of his universal form from himself, and made it in his own image, guiding a son into existence from cosmic dust. He could not spare more of his power than necessary, and so linked the life force of the Earth's sun to his own son. The yellow star would give his son the powers of a god, and Yorehl sent his son to protect his creation from Zaughd.
| 2015-01-04T14:30:28 | 2015-01-04T12:49:51 | 106 | 20 |
[WP] You are hired to write the holy text for a new religion. What is the first chapter of the text?
|
First things first: I'm the realest.
Second: don't kill, lie, cheat or steal it.
I won't be leading you forever
So you all have got to learn how to hold the world together.
I am mercy, and give plenty second chances.
But I am mystery, and won't give you all the answers.
You will someday have to face the darkness once again
And that fear's what makes you brave, and brilliantly human.
So find stength in your weakness; and in your smallness find weight.
Know that under all the void's pressure, you won't break.
Just don't misuse my words to make yourself wealth and fame
And don't ever hurt or kill to prove or impeove my name.
|
In the beginning there were many gods, many beings of power, all derived from the life force of the universe. The universe itself brought these gods into existence at the same time that the universe began. The creation of the universe was not the work of any God or force of nature, but rather an inexplicable shift from nonexistence to a sudden and violent proliferation of existence. The cause of the beginning is not known to Yorehl and not important to man according to Yorehl's teachings, because a question without answer does no good for it having been asked.
The gods that were born with the universe were sentient masses of power, who took many different forms. The gods lived much like men, congregating and cooperating to design and guide the universe as it grew. The gods were sometimes fickle, sometimes fair, and they were as human as they were omnipotent.
Our god, who yet lives, Yorehl was the most powerful of the gods and led their society. He valued honor, peace, devotion, and selfless service above all other traits. Yorehl led the younger weaker gods in shaping the universe, and with his own hands crafted our perfect world. He set our sun ablaze so that it might bathe the earth with its life force, and rolled the cosmic dust into a planet that could support life. Yorehl's hand guided life as it grew from the first individual cells to his penultimate creation, man. He shaped man after his own image, and gave man a mind that could think in terms of self. He gave man a mind that could realize its own will, and act independent of its natural instincts. Yorehl did not make life easy for man, so that man might better appreciate the beauty of a life well earned.
Lesser gods saw mankind and grew jealous of Yorehl's paternal behavior, and of the beauty of his creation. In an attempt to prove their own power and their ability, several gods contrived to copy Yorehl's works. A planet unfit for life near to Earth was forced into momentary equilibrium by a lesser god, but he burned out his life force with his efforts. Mars, named for the god who made the planet his own tomb, died quickly without the god's guiding power.
The other gods became fearful of their own mortality, having never truly considered the extent of their lives. Several contrived to steal from the life force of the universe itself in order to make themselves more powerful, against Yorehl's guidance. He could have forced them to follow his will, but he believed in ruling from necessity and not desire.
Some of the lesser gods constructed a great star, of brilliant red light, near the home of the gods. The star was a combination of every part of the universe, a core of anti matter in its heart, surrounded by a layer of dark matter, which was further surrounded by normal matter. The star would create a new source of energy that the lesser gods might use to bolster their strength, by reducing matter into the ethereal energy of the universe itself. Their designs were flawed however, and the star became unstable. Yorehl guided the star with all his might, but the star could not be stopped from becoming unbalanced. The cores mixed and created an explosion unlike any seen since the universe itself began.
The home of the gods was destroyed, and all but two of the gods were erased from existence. Only by drawing in the life force of the universe unleashed by the blast did Yorehl survive, but in doing so he lost his corporeal form, and became one with the entire universe. The other God who survived, Zaughd, had been the main force behind the creation of the red star, and he blamed Yorehl for its failure. He was laid low by the explosion, and had only survived by fleeing far into the darkness of space.
Zaughd had hated Yorehl, jealous of his power, of his benevolence, of his creativity, even before the red star had failed. He drifted through the vast emptiness of space believing himself alone with his hatred, and in his lonely misery he spied Earth. The orb which Yorehl had so carefully crafted lay unguided, or so he thought, unprotected, and unmolested.
Tall gleaming structures of metal and glass covered huge swaths of the earths surface, buildings pierced the sky, and massive roads crossed over the continents. Earth looked much like the home he had lost, and Zaughd despised mankind for their strength and ingenuity. Zaughd reached out with his godly hands to guide to planet to ruin, but found it protected by an unseeable force. The planet could not be guided at all, but seemed set in its course as though it's existence was permanent.
Yorehl's ethereal form allowed him to give this much protection, but his existence alone now guided the entire universe, and he knew he could not sacrifice the entire universe for his creation. Zaighd became murderously enraged over his impotence, and so consumed was he with his hatred that he fell to earth and began to lay waste to mankind.
In this moment, Yorehl divided a small piece of his universal form from himself, and made it in his own image, guiding a son into existence from cosmic dust. He could not spare more of his power than necessary, and so linked the life force of the Earth's sun to his own son. The yellow star would give his son the powers of a god, and Yorehl sent his son to protect his creation from Zaughd.
| 2015-01-04T13:45:06 | 2015-01-04T12:49:51 | 70 | 20 |
[WP] You are hired to write the holy text for a new religion. What is the first chapter of the text?
|
Chapter 1:
In the beginning there was... You know what? Lets keep this short and to the point.
Rule number one: Don't be a dick.
That's really what it boils down to. To elucidate further:
If you think you might be being a dick: Don't.
If your actions might be dick-ish: Don't.
If your actions might cause someone else to be a dick: Don't.
If you think being a dick is necessary: It isn't, so Don't.
That's about it. If you have troubles understanding these simple edicts, refer back to rule number one, and try not to be a dick.
Good luck, be kind, eat more vegetables, drink lots of water, get good sleep, create a thing, and try not to worry too much.
The End.
|
In the beginning there were many gods, many beings of power, all derived from the life force of the universe. The universe itself brought these gods into existence at the same time that the universe began. The creation of the universe was not the work of any God or force of nature, but rather an inexplicable shift from nonexistence to a sudden and violent proliferation of existence. The cause of the beginning is not known to Yorehl and not important to man according to Yorehl's teachings, because a question without answer does no good for it having been asked.
The gods that were born with the universe were sentient masses of power, who took many different forms. The gods lived much like men, congregating and cooperating to design and guide the universe as it grew. The gods were sometimes fickle, sometimes fair, and they were as human as they were omnipotent.
Our god, who yet lives, Yorehl was the most powerful of the gods and led their society. He valued honor, peace, devotion, and selfless service above all other traits. Yorehl led the younger weaker gods in shaping the universe, and with his own hands crafted our perfect world. He set our sun ablaze so that it might bathe the earth with its life force, and rolled the cosmic dust into a planet that could support life. Yorehl's hand guided life as it grew from the first individual cells to his penultimate creation, man. He shaped man after his own image, and gave man a mind that could think in terms of self. He gave man a mind that could realize its own will, and act independent of its natural instincts. Yorehl did not make life easy for man, so that man might better appreciate the beauty of a life well earned.
Lesser gods saw mankind and grew jealous of Yorehl's paternal behavior, and of the beauty of his creation. In an attempt to prove their own power and their ability, several gods contrived to copy Yorehl's works. A planet unfit for life near to Earth was forced into momentary equilibrium by a lesser god, but he burned out his life force with his efforts. Mars, named for the god who made the planet his own tomb, died quickly without the god's guiding power.
The other gods became fearful of their own mortality, having never truly considered the extent of their lives. Several contrived to steal from the life force of the universe itself in order to make themselves more powerful, against Yorehl's guidance. He could have forced them to follow his will, but he believed in ruling from necessity and not desire.
Some of the lesser gods constructed a great star, of brilliant red light, near the home of the gods. The star was a combination of every part of the universe, a core of anti matter in its heart, surrounded by a layer of dark matter, which was further surrounded by normal matter. The star would create a new source of energy that the lesser gods might use to bolster their strength, by reducing matter into the ethereal energy of the universe itself. Their designs were flawed however, and the star became unstable. Yorehl guided the star with all his might, but the star could not be stopped from becoming unbalanced. The cores mixed and created an explosion unlike any seen since the universe itself began.
The home of the gods was destroyed, and all but two of the gods were erased from existence. Only by drawing in the life force of the universe unleashed by the blast did Yorehl survive, but in doing so he lost his corporeal form, and became one with the entire universe. The other God who survived, Zaughd, had been the main force behind the creation of the red star, and he blamed Yorehl for its failure. He was laid low by the explosion, and had only survived by fleeing far into the darkness of space.
Zaughd had hated Yorehl, jealous of his power, of his benevolence, of his creativity, even before the red star had failed. He drifted through the vast emptiness of space believing himself alone with his hatred, and in his lonely misery he spied Earth. The orb which Yorehl had so carefully crafted lay unguided, or so he thought, unprotected, and unmolested.
Tall gleaming structures of metal and glass covered huge swaths of the earths surface, buildings pierced the sky, and massive roads crossed over the continents. Earth looked much like the home he had lost, and Zaughd despised mankind for their strength and ingenuity. Zaughd reached out with his godly hands to guide to planet to ruin, but found it protected by an unseeable force. The planet could not be guided at all, but seemed set in its course as though it's existence was permanent.
Yorehl's ethereal form allowed him to give this much protection, but his existence alone now guided the entire universe, and he knew he could not sacrifice the entire universe for his creation. Zaighd became murderously enraged over his impotence, and so consumed was he with his hatred that he fell to earth and began to lay waste to mankind.
In this moment, Yorehl divided a small piece of his universal form from himself, and made it in his own image, guiding a son into existence from cosmic dust. He could not spare more of his power than necessary, and so linked the life force of the Earth's sun to his own son. The yellow star would give his son the powers of a god, and Yorehl sent his son to protect his creation from Zaughd.
| 2015-01-04T14:52:14 | 2015-01-04T12:49:51 | 43 | 20 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st.
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It was bound to happen sooner or later. Heroes weren't really allowed to kill, after all. Only vigilantes and villains did that. But this unspoken rule meant that sooner or later they would be put at a disadvantage fighting someone who was willing to use any means at their disposal to win.
Doctor Genocide's plan had worked flawlessly, distracting my four friends with minor disasters and prison breaks while he took over Justice Tower and placed an impenetrable barrier over it. Unbeknownst to him, I was still inside, watching as he gloated about his master plan on live television.
"You see, I don't want your money. I don't care about being infamous. I WANT YOU ALL TO DIE WITH YOUR ROTTEN WORLD!!! HAHAHAHA!"
I could see them on the screen from my spot behind the couch. Photon Man, evacuating civilians as fast as he could. It was a useless effort, the bomb contained in the Tower would destroy the planet. There was nowhere to run.
Mistress Spark was overheating herself to the point of exhaustion trying to melt her way through. The barrier hadn't weakened yet.
Judge Radiance, widely renowned as the greatest hero to ever live, was pounding the shield with his Hammer of Justice. Blows strong enough to pulverize asteroids were having no effect.
And my beloved Necroia, the villainess turned hero whom I myself had reformed... just stood there. She always had been the most pessimistic of them, even after I had convinced her that her powers over death could be used to heal as well as harm.
And me? I'm nobody special, just a pacifistic empath who somehow landed a job as their janitor. I had no earth shaking powers, I couldn't even hit someone without feeling their pain as though it were my own.
I shook as Doctor Genocide made his final speech to the world. I cowered as he laughed, hoping he wouldn't hear me breathing. But when he left the room to look out at the world he wanted to destroy with his own eyes, I knew what I had to do.
I crawled from my hiding spot and ran over to the console. There was no time for disarming, and I didn't have the knowledge for that anyway. I looked at their faces one last time. Memories flashed through my mind as I locked eyes with each of their shocked faces.
Mistress Spark saving my life at our first meeting, as she absorbed the entire inferno engulfing my apartment into her body.
Everyone laughing as they called out Photon Man when he speedily cheated at board games.
Judge Radiance upstaging a mall Santa and giving autographs to every child, even staying up late into the night so not one would feel neglected.
And Necroia... She had been alone for so long, everyone treating her as a monster for so long she believed it herself. I was glad I had the chance to give her a real family for the first time. The only thing I regretted was not having the chance to show her more...
3...
I smiled at them, tears running down my face. Their eyes widened as they realized my intentions.
2...
I pressed a button, inverting the barrier. It would contain the blast now. With me inside, unable to escape.
1...
Sometimes the greatest hero isn't the one with the flashy powers. A hero's true strength lies in their determination to do the right thing, whatever the cost.
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"You know we have a microwave..." I commented to my roommate who was currently heating up her soup with her laser vision.
"Pfft, maybe for you *norms*," she emphasized. It was what she called non-superheros, and rolled off her tongue dripping with judgement. I wondered why she even bothered being a superhero as she seemed to think that the world would be better off without "norms." But as much as she loathed us, she needed us. The Terrific Titan thrived off her fan base. She did talks on campus, photo shoots with fans/other college students on a regular basis. Campus tours regularly benefited from her presence. She did so much good press, the college gave her a scholarship, available each year to "the most powerful superhero on campus." And she was the only one. Well, the only who was known because she would rather be a "norm" than have a secret identity. Frequently, she shit on all the superheros who had secret identities, calling them cowards and two-faced. I declined to point out that she could give Narcissus a run for his money. The Terrific Titan had t-shirts for the Terrific Titan, that she regularly wore to class. My favorite one was the one that said Super-HER-o. I'm pretty sure self-obsession was one of her super abilities in addition to laser vision, flight, and super strength.
"So, listen," she started, pulling me back into reality. "I've been thinking--"
*'Oh God, what now,'* I thought to myself.
"I need a 'damsel in distress' for Tuesday," she declared.
"Why?" I pressed her, utterly confused.
She shrugged her shoulders, turned off her laser vision to inspect her soup. "It's been a slow semester around campus, like, I can't even show the college my abilities anymore. So I need you to pretend to get mugged in the middle of campus on Tuesday. You only have Physiology until 12:30, right?"
I just stared at her, appalled. "Please tell me this is some sort of joke," I replied dryly, looking at her expectantly.
Cocking her head to the side, she looked at me. "Sweetie, I know it's hard for me to understand as a *norm* what a superhero needs, but I'm like a tiger, if you don't keep me moving, I'll waste away and I don't deserve to be neglected."
I wondered if I stared at her long enough, it would make sense. It didn't seem to be working. "Alright," I began, already tired of this conversation, "I'm gonna say no, and formally suggest you not enlist anyone else. That is not what your superpowers are for. If you want a real challenge, why don't you just fly over to Chicago?"
If her eye roll had been any bigger, I think I would have seen her optic nerves. "First off, I told you I don't like Chicago. Deep dish has too many calories and the lighting is terrible for photo shoots. Come on, you priss, just do this for me," she retorted angrily.
"No," I replied, calmly yet resolute.
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. It was uncharacteristic of me to defy her; I hate confrontation. I could see her cheeks flushing, blood pressuring rising, heart rate increasing. She rose to the challenge in any fight, norepinephrine levels going up the minute someone opposed her in anyway. One time she burned a hole in the white board just to the right of a professor who told her that her answer to a question was incorrect. Her abilities were great, but her control, not so much.
I mention the vital signs because I'm a biochemistry major, going premed. I work in a hospital, specifically that cardiac wing. I want to become a cardiac surgeon and revolutionize the field. My roommate has dismissed this several times because she thinks I'm just a stupid norm, but I comfort myself in those moment by using my X-ray vision to ~~look into her cold, black heart~~ look at the weak spots in her primary arteries and pray for one to burst. Which I wouldn't have to pray: I'm also telekinetic. I could easily burst a blood vessel in her brain--or a variety of other things that would harm her in some way--but I use my powers to help people, not for murder--although I did consider it when she left her dishes in the sink so long they grew mold. You see, I can perform heart surgery without ever making a single incision on a patient. Do you know how many people in America have heart disease? Greater than one in three. My roommate has to wait to have a crisis happen. Thanks to Mickey D's, Marlboros, and close relationship between the American ass and the couch, I literally don't have enough time in the day to save all the people who need saving. But I don't wear t-shirts that say Super-HER-o. I just go to fucking work like a normal person, do my job, and watch out for my loved ones. I don't want the recognition, so I don't even have a superhero name. My boss knows, and we've been developing some techniques around my abilities, but I only work at the hospital due to their agreement to keep my abilities quiet. But today was gonna be hard for me to pretend to be a fucking norm again.
My roommate's eyes glowed, a dull red, like burning coals. "What?" she asked tersely. I plopped down on the couch. "Nope, not doing it," I commented calmly, pulling out my phone.
**Contrict bronchioles slightly**
I heard her gasp slight, but continue on. "You don't **swallow** understand what you're **gasp in** doing!" she retorted.
"I do," I replied calmly, scrolling thru Twitter.
**Initiate small intestine peristalsis**
The Terrific Titan clutched her stomach. "I swear to God, could you be any more of a lame ass norm??" she asked incredulously.
I finally turned to look at her. "I don't think you *see* **block firing from optic nerve** what's going on here," I laid the emphasis heavy on the "see." She screamed and fell to her knees. "What the hell?" She yelled. "You can't be not a fucking norm!!" she shouted, more angry than surprised.
"I'm the biggest norm ever, you tell me so daily. What's going on with you right now?" I ask calmly, playing dumb. It was fun to see her squirm, vulnerable for once.
"Now here's how things are going to go," I continued, down to business. "You are going to stop being such an asshat on campus. No more t-shirts of Terrific Titan, no more selling photos for money to broke college kids, no staged muggings. In return, you still get to be the best superhero on campus. And if you try to tell anyone, I will break down your liver for proteins and force them through your kidneys; or in non-science people terms: you can kiss drinking goodbye. So are we clear?" I asked, more aggressively than usual.
Her eyes burned a brighter red, then faded back to green in her defeat. She nodded glumly, looking down.
"Good," I reply, reversing all my interventions. I start walking towards my room. "Also you are going to want to go get a pap smear. That shit has been changing over the past few months." I may be a dick for my little power play there, but at the end of the day, she's still my roommie.
| 2016-03-23T22:37:47 | 2016-03-23T21:31:57 | 62 | 17 |
[WP] The beautiful Vampire Queen is trying to bewitch and charm the brave knight. Luckily for us, our hero happens to be gay.
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*Porcelain.*
The word springs to mind unbidden, the strength of cliche firing it upward, forward, almost onto and off of his tongue. He thinks of bone-white china. Bleached cat skulls. Snake fangs. But she is serene; cool as ancient ceramic. A dead god fired in a dark, astral kiln.
From a sweeping black cuff her hand snakes, beckoning, and he feels something sickly pull at his skin. A spider silk net, barbed like a jellyfish. (Magic! Seduction!) Its tendrils glide uselessly. It dies. He steps forward.
"Desmonda," he says.
"Brave knight."
"You know why I've come."
A flash of pale milk-flesh; her long legs uncrossing.
"You won't forgive me?"
Lips: A slash of crimson on bright, moth-wing white. *Blood*, he thinks. So much spilled at her hands. He imagines her feasting, skin stained and stinking. He thinks of the reek of his dead lover's flesh.
"No forgiveness for you."
"Harsh words, small knight."
"Harsh actions, dark creature. You have lived long enough." He unsheathes his sword. "And now I am Fate, arrived to cut your thread."
"An exchange," she whispers, and the whisper engulfs him. (Magic! More!) Beating of bat wings shaped into black syllables. "Lower your sword and become one with me."
Flesh and bone, white on white, the moth-wing beat of her heart in his ears. Still, he feels nothing. Steps forward. Evades.
She melds with the shadows.
"Stay!" he calls, "Face me!"
"Stay, and be mine." She pours through his mind, her breath on his shoulder, and he feels the treacherous grasping of magic. (Strength!) Feels it grasping and sliding across his heart, its arrow spent uselessly, his soul insurmountable. Powerful. Cold.
"You cannot bewitch me."
"Oh, brave knight. I can."
Is that doubt in her voice?
His heart: slow and steady. His sword: raw and seeking.
(There!)
The blade twists in the darkness, meets flesh, cleaves bone. Her ivory fineness collapsing in reams. A paper crane folding inward and inward. Her blood: black. Powder in seconds. But he waits until even her echo recedes. When the silence stills against the stones, he sheathes his silver blade.
"For you, Frederick," he says to the darkness.
The stones grow the words in a long, paling echo.
*It is done, it is done, it is done.*
|
He was shorter than she expected, and different than she had been informed, but Thyia supposed he had made it to her bedchamber, and that was testament enough to his mettle.
"You may enter my chambers, boy," she welcomed, "I eagerly await taking you in my bed."
He was shorter than her with a flat mop of black hair running down past his eyes and to his shoulders in the back. His armor was a size too big, and he shucked off the breastplate as he crossed the threshold. She couldn't quite make out his eyes.
"With pleasure, Queen," he replied, striding forward. He walked in the half-drunk way that her lovers did, already hypnotized by her beauty and her spells, weakened from their ascent up her castle. He staggered to the left of her bead, steadying himself on a bedpost before making it back to the center of the room. She narrowed her eyes, taking in his appearance once again. He really was young; perhaps the youngest knight that had ever reached her past her servants. He would live a long time still, and make a formidable addition to both her harem and her reserve forces.
He removed the armor on his lower body with care, and stripped his codpiece away eagerly. She licked her lips, rolling forward onto all fours to face him at the foot of her bed.
"What a pain," he said, "Oh Queen."
"Mm," she whispered, appreciatively, "we will end that pain, won't we child?"
"In my groin, Queen," he clarified. She let out a puff of air in a muted chuckle.
*'Boys and their toys,'* she mused, *'always beating around the bush.'*
"Come here, Knight," she enticed. He walked forward, more confidently, around to the side of her bed. She had expected to meet him at the foot, but he truly did seem young. Did he not know what was about to happen? Her eyes lit up with a carnal glee. She loved breaking the younglings. She noticed too late the change in his gait from swaying to easy.
"Okay," he said, clapping his hands, "barrier up."
Around Thyia's bed (when had he managed to get all the way around her bed?) a purple wall sprung up. Too late she beat her fist on it, and was repelled by the opaque force.
"What is the meaning of this?" She cooed, not yet giving up. Around her castle were minor hexes and curses, infatuating any that sprung them. If they made it to her chamber, the work was already mostly done; that didn't mean she couldn't finish the job herself if need be, however. She swung her hips in the air, calling the boy forward again with her finger. She would have him yet.
"The stupid armor. It's like walking in a suit of-" he stopped. "Never mind. Don't tell my master I said that. Pretend I was really smooth."
"Your master?" She asked. She had been told of one knight in her castle, and he was described as tall and fair.
"Yeah. He's about yea-high," the boy said, gesturing about half a foot above his head, "and he *is* the only knight in your castle."
"Why aren't my spells working on you?" Thyia asked, changing her plan. He couldn't kill her inside the barrier, or he would have. Once he took it down, she would kill him in one swipe to the neck.
"I'm gay," he answered, "don't make too big a thing out of it. Also I'm a much better mage than you. You don't have many brainy types making it this far, do you?"
She declined to respond. He sat on a trunk in the corner of the room, and propped his feet against the magic barrier.
"Master will be here soon. I made myself invisible and snuck in just behind him. He's clearing out the place, and sent me ahead to stop you from running away. His plan. He gets good ideas sometimes. He's the best. Don't tell him I said that."
The boy flushed, and the Queen saw another possibility.
"Yes. Let us wait until he arrives. Surely, if he is like you say, he will spare me."
"Yeah, probably. You'll just have to account for all the people that go missing. We have a court system, now," the boy continued, "I'm not sure how long you've been cooped up in here, but we have trials."
Thyia rolled her eyes. What a simpleton. How had she been bested by him, even for a moment?
"Hey, Dorian, are you up here yet?"
"Yeah, everything is set up."
The Queen reassumed her seduction, casting a minor glamour on herself until she shined in the moonlight.
"Knight, please, come in," she welcomed, taking back the control as best she could.
"You're pretty."
She smiled a serpentine smile and would have forced a blush, if she was human. She settled for a demure lowering of her head.
"You can make me yours, if only you'll have your apprentice take down this barrier."
He entered the room with the sweep of his cape, and she knew at once that *this* was her true target. He was tall, tanned from years of journeying, and had a devil-may-care aura about him. After she had her way with him, he wouldn't care that his apprentice was dead.
"Ah, one thing about that," he said, sheepishly, "I have, uh, a thing to tell you."
At once her image of him was ruined. He was battle-seasoned and handsome, but not like the others. Not like the knights she'd seduced and turned into her army. He was-
"I have a wife, you see. And she'd be pretty furious if I started sleeping with another lady."
A moron.
"I've met her," the boy confirmed, "she wouldn't be happy if he started sleeping-"
"I gathered," Thyia replied, wishing for the first time in her immortal life that she had just lived and died like a regular mortal. This was a fate worse than death. A penance for crimes she never intended to pay for.
"Will you promise not to try and kill us if we just bring you back to town? We can put a charm on you so the sun won't sting, but we do need to put you through court," the knight rambled.
"Of course I won't try to kill you. You've obviously bested me," the Queen confirmed, smiling through tight lips, "the finest examples of warriors I have ever seen. I am humbled by your munificence." She blinked, conjuring enough magic to trigger a spell.
At that moment, from the sole stairwell that led to her bedchamber, an undead knight surged forward, lunging at the pair. A huge axe raised behind his head, he swung down at the foolish knight before her. In one movement, he wheeled around and swung at the zombie, impaling it through the midsection with his fist emerging out the other side. A subsequent chop of his hand decapitated it.
"That was weird," he commented, "thought I got them all. Anyway, time to go back to the kingdom."
| 2016-03-31T14:11:01 | 2016-03-31T09:23:49 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Lifespan is determined by a word count. You're given millions of words, but once you run out you're dead. You are a mob hitman known as "The Interrogator, who specializes in "making people talk". You come across a mark that has one word left.
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(Setting: The grocery store. THE MARK is standing in the milk aisle, trying to find the expiration date on a large carton of 2% milk.)
(Enter THE INTERROGATOR. Door chimes. THE INTERROGATOR strolls toward THE MARK, looking indecisive as to what to buy.)
THE INTERROGATOR: "How's it going?"
THE MARK: "Good--"
(THE MARK's head explodes.)
(Exit THE INTERROGATOR.)
|
I sighed and pressed my fingers into the bridge of my nose. I'd been at it for close to eight hours now, and the mark still wasn't squealing. I hadn't anticipated it would be this difficult.
See, I was born with a 'gift', so to speak. I was able to make anyone talk. Now, that doesn't sound all that impressive by itself, but what made me stand apart from any other Interrogator was, I was able to do so without resorting to violence. I liked to think I was classier, more sophisticated than that, and the men who hired me liked the fact there wasn't a bloody trail for them to clean up behind me. As the old saying went - 'Win, win'. Well, now of course, people just said, 'Wins'. There was no need to waste a word of your Count by repeating yourself when a plural would do just as well.
The woman sat across from me, eyes flinty and creased slightly in the corners. I could tell she was amused by the situation, by the amount of effort it was taking me to keep my cool. The blue Count number glowed on the back of her hand, showing a numerical '1'. I had to be careful with this one, no pun intended. I needed her to tell me where the girl was, and I needed her to use only one word in doing so. She would immediately expire after doing so, of course, but that was of no concern to me. The Boss had people that could take her of her body - 'fish bed', as the saying now was. All I had to do was convince her to use her last word.
"I know you know where she is" I said, and the woman raised one eyebrow. 'Do you, just?' this expression clearly meant. "I need to know where. It's imperative that we find her. Her life may be in danger." The woman scoffed and rolled her eyes - 'Don't take me for a fool, boy'. I could understand the meaning as clearly as if she had spoken the words. I blushed slightly - I wasn't used to feeling inferior, especially to a mark. Especially to a woman mark. But the woman was close to 400 years old, and no-one gets to that age without considerable intelligence and wit. She knew that the man who wanted the girl dead and the man I worked for were one and the same.
See, the Boss fancied himself a bit of a ladies man. Unfortunately, he already had a lady - and one that had been beside him while he had built his extremely legally-questionable empire. The Boss's Wife knew way too much, and had far too high a Count, to be underestimated as a risk. The pigs had been after her for years, trying to get her to talk in exchange for immunity. She'd remained stoic throughout.
Unfortunately, the Boss had become careless with one of his many floozies, and the girl had ended up pregnant. Refusing a termination, she had since fled and gone into hiding to protect her unborn child. A noble act of course, but a stupid one. The Boss's Wife was loyal, but even the most faithful wife could not be expected to stand her husband fathering a bastard with a casino bar girl. We had to find the girl and make her talk - literally. If we could run down her Count, she would die and the whole mess would disappear.
The woman took a cigarette from the pack on the table between us and lit it, inhaling and blowing the smoke directly into my face. I grimaced.
"Look. I know you care for her. My Boss cares for her, too. And his child - he just wants to know where they are, so they can have the type of life they deserve. You can understand that, right? You must be a mother yourself." I gave her my most winning smile. She responded by flicking her cigarette in my direction - the ash fell onto the palm of my hands, which were risen in a 'be reasonable' gesture over the table. I screamed and jumped to my feet.
"Listen, bitch. You aren't leaving this room alive - one way or another, we will find out where she is. Why don't you do her, and yourself, a favour and tell me where she is. Just the street name will do - we know she hasn't left the country."
Her eyes lit up and her cigarette paused. She exhaled her smoke and licked her lips. I paused. I could feel a word forming in her throat. I leaned forward in anticipation.
She breathed out with a giddy shudder, and the word caught in her throat. I almost didn't hear it at all.
Her head immediately dropped to her chest and she slumped forward onto the table. Her Count glowed a brilliant white, then winked out for the final time. The cigarette rolled out of her limp hand and onto the ground. I slowly stood up, walked around the table and picked it up. I needed a drag, and besides, I didn't want it to start a fire. I was going to be in enough shit with the Boss without that as well.
How was I meant to tell him that the street name we'd be given was 'Main'?
| 2016-10-10T22:26:40 | 2016-10-10T21:24:01 | 205 | 68 |
[WP] Tales tell of a blacksmith at the top of the mountain. He knows the future, but says nothing. He only makes you what you need.
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The day l was born, he gave me a spoon and my mother fed me.
The day l married, he gave me nails and l built a home for my family.
Now, l am old and frail, he is eternal, he gives me a shovel and so I dig. We both know why.
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The trek up the mountain trail was long and straining. But unlike most peaks, the reward wasn't just the view. An early start at the base had afforded me good time to approach the abode of the fabled blacksmith by mid-afternoon. And clearing through the last swaths of draping limbs I finally stood in an open field just shy of the summit; and what lay before me cemented truth into the tales of the elders - a house, and more, all hand-made, and aged dark. With various small fire pits indicating that indeed someone was here.
I stepped into the field and approached the building, eyeing inside to find the man, the blacksmith. The house appeared empty, and the one-open-walled workhouse with a large furnace, barren of recent use, also bare no occupant. I lapped the buildings again just to be sure, but no in fact no one was here after all. Perhaps the man was collecting wood, or water. Though it struck me odd in that the tales spoke of receiving a gift. I can't just take something from the workhouse and leave. But maybe he'll be back shortly.
I decided to leave the field for the moment and ventured the small rest of the trail to the summit, which you could see from the field. After a quick moment I summited and took off my gear. The view was wonderful. A few clouds, the valleys full this time of year. A mild breeze trickled up the sheer face and back down to the house. I took in the view for a while. And then I heard heavy footsteps from behind.
I turned around to see a man just a couple dozen paces below me. A large, strong man, with a black beard and long hair tied back. He was carrying a somewhat odd object over his shoulder. I stepped down to meet the man. 'Are you the blacksmith?' I asked. My mind momentarily forgot the tales saying the blacksmith didn't speak. As a response, he hoisted the object over his shoulder and stood it on the ground between us. A slurry of metalwork, of course, but also a large amount of fabric- leather.
The blacksmith held different ends of the object and lifted them up, opening the object into what I could now see as a hang-glider. Compact, but durable. 'What should I use it for?' my mind slipped again. The blacksmith leaned the glider down into the hard ground, looked past the summit, then turned to walk back to the house. I suppose that was all the words I'd get out of him. At least I didn't have to scrounge through his work house.
I'm not much of a glider anymore, though so I'm not surprised to receive one from the blacksmith. It seems very single-use, as far as the tales were spoken. I guided the glider up to the tip of the summit, against a flat section of ground. I just wasn't sure if I should use this right now. Surely if I needed this then I'd be given a sign. I glanced again back towards the house and saw the blacksmith put out the last of the small fire pits and head into his home. And then the earth started to shake.
Earthquake.
I panicked for a moment, but this would be over soon enough. But it didn't subside. I felt the glider vibrating as I held onto it. I glanced all around just to get my bearings. And then the far face of the summit started to crumble. Up ahead a small cascade began, and it was then that I realized that this was it.
I ran with the glider as best I could along the flat ground, and I could feel the wind lift up against the leather. I took my last steps before the ground sloped down, and in the same moment the whole summit violently cracked and shattered, slowly falling beneath me. I cleared the face and below me was open air with a bit of falling rocks. The wind carried me back around along the mountainside, and then the next moment I was gliding just along side the blacksmith's field.
And then the whole field cracked too.
The house awkwardly buckled, and the trees were uprooted by the ground breaking underneath. Within a few moments the whole area of the top of the mountain had chipped and begun to slide down to the valley below. I encircled the eroding summit as I continued to glide down, trying my best to keep an eye on the house.
I eventually found an open field in the valley across the river from the mountain peak. The earthquake had ended already, but the rocks were still coming down in bits, and the dust clouds were continuing to rise. I looked to where I last thought I saw the house fall. I couldn't believe it. All I could think was that for a man who could see the future, why did he stay knowing this would happen?
And then it hit me.
And so I left the glider where it landed me, and just started walking.
---
sorry I didn't know how to end it. I'm still new to writing and can't get endings right, so critiques are welcome. Hope you enjoyed.
| 2017-09-04T23:16:15 | 2017-09-04T22:17:47 | 435 | 41 |
[WP] "I killed you, I know I did, how are you here" They said looking at you in shock."Yes, you did, dick move but I'm not mad,"You say back walking past them."No, NO! how are you here!" they ask again."well It's heaven, not a prison, I just left, apparently, no one has tried to do that before"
|
"And you expect me to believe you?"
"Seeing that I'm standing here and talking to you, I don't see why not."
My killer fell silent, contemplating his next words. He was still sat at the dining table, and was calmly poking away at his unfinished pasta but moments ago. Now, his eyes flitted periodically up to me, unable to hold my undying stare, and his brows furrowed.
"How was heaven?" he finally asked. No apology. No defending his actions. Not a single excuse out of his mouth. He was always like that. Sometimes good, sometimes bad.
"Pretty nice," I said. "A lot brighter than you'll think, probably. Like, barely see anything bright. But it felt very nice. Comforting."
"I see," he muttered.
"I spent what felt like a couple of years there, actually. Time worked differently, apparently," I said, walking towards the dining table. I took my fork, tenderly pushing it through the strings of noodles that had killed me, spinning it into a ball at the end of my fork.
"Why did you do it?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said.
"You must know."
"I... I really don't," he stammered. "Something... something snapped. It just happened."
"Maybe I wasn't the perfect husband," I said. "But seriously? We couldn't have spoken about this?"
"You?" he said. His eyes finally settled on mine. "Sure. Like that would have worked."
"It might have. You don't know. You never wanted to know," I shook my head. "It doesn't matter, anyway. Not any more."
"Not any more?" he said. "But you are here. Back. Back here."
"You killed me, darling," I said. "What, you think I'm here to reconcile?"
I took the fork and placed it in my mouth, chewing it. I still couldn't taste the poison. Must have been an expensive one.
"I'm just here to tell you, Heaven's a nice place," I smiled. "And god bless your dirty, black heart, but you aren't ever going to go there."
---
r/dexdrafts
|
“You? You went to Heaven?”
I nodded. “Yeah. And what?”
“But you’re a hitman!”
“Well, I would be careful about reminding me of that, given that the very fact you're breathing suggests that I still have one last job outstanding. Plus, you know, I’m able to come back from the dead!”
Vinny The Vig was a loan shark through and through. I saw him calculating the odds. Low chance I’m telling the truth, much higher chance I’d gone crazy, fair chance he himself had gone crazy. I felt for the guy. I’d had a few years in the time-shifted world of Heaven to come to terms with it. He’d just seen me with my head blown off, like an hour ago.
He settled on a nod and some clarification. “Well, what I meant was, I would have thought your…previous profession would not have gone well with the big guy upstairs?”
“Oh, yeah. I was surprised about that too, but she was really chill actually. You don’t get to the very pinnacle of creation without burying a few skeletons along the way. Apparently, we misunderstood the commandment. It is Thou Shalt not *Kill*. Murder is fine. Assassination is fine. Just don’t kill for no reason. It’s chaotic. And chaos is very much the other sides line. She is all for order and control, and sometimes that means dropping a body.”
“She?”
I shrugged. “She said she was trying it out, and I’m not about to argue”.
Vinny weighed that up.
“I’m really not here to hurt you, dude”, I continued and gave him a twirl with my jacket held open.
Vinny visibly relaxed. His hand was still under the table though.
“Vinny”, I said. “Please let go of the hidden gun there. You already shot me with it once today remember? The element of surprise has gone a bit.”
Vinny held both hands up in mock surrender with a smile. He’d obviously decided that whoever was crazy here it was more fun just to go along with it. “So what do you want then?”, he asked.
I indicated the leather chair in front of Vinnie's desk with a raised eyebrow.
“Mi casa, your casa”, said Vinny and I took a seat. The leather felt rough despite its high quality. I supposed I would have to get back used to Earth quality after all that time in Heaven. It had felt a lot nicer the last time I’d sat in it, an hour and 7 years ago. Or it had right up until Vinny put a .45 ACP in my forehead.
“Chair seems clean?”, I said, unable to find a spot of blood, despite the acrid tang still on the edge of my taste in the air.
Vinny nodded and folded his hands in front of him. “Different chair. I have spares in case of…accidents. It happens a lot more that you’d think. Now, what can I help you with?”
I stared at the decanter of whiskey on the desk next to Vinnies folded meathook hands. He noticed and started to pour a couple of measures out for us.
“I’m afraid”, I said, “that it’s something as grubby as money. My body is still going to get found, I’m still dead, despite how good I look. I don’t want to grub around on the edge of society. I want to enjoy my holiday.”
Vinny handed me a glass and contemplated the amber liquid in his own, as he swirled it briefly.
“Holiday? You just visiting?”
“Yeah, well no offence to this fine whiskey and lovely un-bloodstained chair, but Heaven is pretty good thanks. I’ve just got a few loose ends to tie up. Few places to see. I’ve grabbed what I can from my stash, but what I want from you is the bounty I would have got if I’d killed you. I think it’s a fair trade for not raining righteous fury down on you.”
The loan shark drained his glass, looking angry. Giving out money was his business, but not if the person he was giving it to already had an escape route in place, and there was no way to claim the vigorish he was named for.
He shook his head. “Nope. Maybe I just kill you again.”
I took a sip of my drink, savouring the burn as it went down. “Sure. You could try that. But I am the undead. I’m not sure how that will go for you. It’s not much money to you anyway. Wouldn’t you rather just be rid of me?”
“I got a better suggestion”, he replied. “How about you come work for me?”
I shook my head. “I’m not risking my golden ticket. God is a chill chick, but if you break her rules, you are bang in trouble.”
He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. “OK. One job. It’s an easy one. You don’t have to hurt anyone.”
“Go on.”
“You tell me who hired you to kill me.”
“No idea”, I said unconvincingly.
Vinny laughed and poured himself another drink. “Ron, you are a good hitman, not a great one, hence the new chair, but you are a terrible liar. Who did it? Tell me and I’ll set you up for your vacation.”
“You’re not going to like it”, I said, acquiescing to a refill, at Vinnie's offer.
“Well, no. Obviously”, he said, replacing the lid of the decanter with a melodic clink.
We waited and I sipped in silence. I could feel him getting more and more furious. Looking at the family portrait on the wall behind Vinny, I made up my mind.
“I think you need to talk to your wife”, I said.
The shot from Vinnie's pistol rang as loud as it had the first time around. In the buzzing silence that followed I looked down at the bullet I had caught in my hand.
“Well, that’s interesting”, I said to the bullet, and then looked up to meet Vinnie's stunned gaze. He lowered the pistol slowly, mouth opening and closing in disbelief. The betrayal and hurt in his eyes surprised even me. She wasn't just a trophy to him.
“Now”, I said. “Let talk about my payment.”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
&#x200B;
PART 2 IN THE REPLIES
r/TallerestTales
| 2021-02-20T02:15:29 | 2021-02-20T00:29:35 | 1,875 | 605 |
[WP] Working as a world renowned therapist you have uncovered far more about secret conspiracies, horrific monsters, barely failed schemes to destroy the world and dark magical cults from your myriad of heroic patients than you could have bargained for, and you might need therapy yourself
|
My philosophy as a therapist is simple—Snitches get Stitches. It's on my business cards in a calming cursive font.
My career took off ten years ago, when I was charged with aiding and abetting the SoHo Stabber's Spring-Street Stabbing Spree. I was the Stabber's Psychiatrist (I'm actually a therapist but he insisted on calling me his psychiatrist for added alliterative effect). The prosecutors tried to argue that I knew about the plot but failed to tip off the police. I was acquitted, of course. But the ordeal put me in the national spotlight, and as it turns out, the world's highest profile individuals were all looking for a trustworthy therapist promising unconditional secrecy.
It's not an easy job. Just yesterday I found out that the President of Country X is planning a vicious character assassination campaign against President of Country Y, despite the fact that President of Country Y is *also* a patient, who happened to have very recently made a critical breakthrough about his own self-worth. It'll undo *weeks* of progress.
“That kind of thing really wears you down, you know?” I tell Julia. “It makes me feel really isolated.” Julia is my therapist. She’s awful at it. But that’s okay, I find mentorship pretty fulfilling in and of itself, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s the real purpose of this “therapy.”
Julia nodded knowingly and scribbled in her pad. “How does that make you feel?” she asked.
I sighed. “I just told you how it made me feel, Julia. Come on, you’re better than this.”
“Oh right," she blushed. "I mean… uh, tell me about your parents.”
My parents? No no no. I was *just* opening up, now is not the moment to change the topic. “They’re both dead," I said dismissively. "Julia, here's some advice. Try to be a little less heavy handed. I got clients that'd put a knife in your ribs if you started by asking about their parents.”
Julia nodded sympathetically. "And how does that make you feel?"
Goddammit Julia. "Touché. Not so great, I'll admit. It's very stressful dealing with—"
I noticed Julia scribbling again. She was holding her notepad a little too low and I could see what she wrote. *Avoids talking about parents. Both dead. Foul play? Traumatic childhood confirmed.* “I can see your notepad, Julia. I’m fifty-eight, my parents lived a pretty full life and they were *not* murdered. I had a good childhood.”
“Oh great!” Julia said. “This is a breakthrough. Let’s explore that.”
“That’s not a breakthrough! I had a *good* childhood. Look, I think the source of my problems are pretty clear. We just need to talk about coping mechanisms.”
“We can talk about anything you’d like to talk about,” Julia said reassuringly. *Patient combative,* she wrote.
“So yeah. I’m sure you understand the confidentiality aspect, as a fellow therapist. Now imagine if people’s lives were on the line and every time a patient goes on a murder spree, you knew you could stop it.”
“That sounds very difficult,” Julia said. Thank you, Julia! *Now* you’re therapizing! “Did you feel that way about your parents death?” She added.
“What do you mean?”
“Like you could stop it.”
“Goddammit Julia!” I yelled, unable to help myself. “It's like talking to a broken record! I thought I could help you, but you’re not listening! My god, you’re a therapist who can’t listen! I hope you...” I'm not proud of it, but my little tirade lasted a *long* time. It’s hard being calm and understanding in every other aspect of my life and it felt good to let myself go a little bit. So Julia became my punching bag for a while. "...Take your license, shred it into little itty-bitty bits, roll them up into joints, and have your patients smoke them because *that'll* be better treatment than anything else you're offering them!"
By the end of it, she was sobbing, and honestly, I felt *great.* That was *exactly* what I needed. I booked another time slot with her for next week, and she penciled me in through tears.
As I left her office, I heard her from the other side of the door. “Doctor Johnson? Could we move our session up? I really need someone to talk to.”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
The house was dark and silent when Tarik came home; it made the madness of his day even more shocking. He could just barely hear the sleeping noises of his daughter through the baby monitor in the next room, intermingling with his wife’s quiet, not-quite-snores.
He had to suppress a laugh when saw her, stretched out on the couch with her sheer lace nightgown ridden up almost to her hips. He was two hours late again.
Tarik grabbed a spare blanket from the living room and gently placed it over her, then crouched by her side, brushing her hair back from her face.
Tarik woke an hour later, his head on her shoulder, body sprawled out twisted uncomfortably on the cold hardwood floor, and now she was the one stroking his hair.
“Hey there sleepyhead,” Aisha said.
“Woah, shit. Sorry, did I wake you?”
She chuckled, shaking her head and pulling him onto the couch beside her. “No, but you should’ve. I got all dressed up for you!”
“And I was even later than usual.”
“That’s OK though, you’re trying.”
They settled in, sharing the blanket as they listened to the baby monitor. It was quiet now, she’d been sleeping for a while. Tarik said a quick prayer in his head, hoping that would hold.
“Long day?” Aisha asked.
“No different than usual,” Tarik lied.
Aisha made a tutting sound of disapproval and pushed her husband back onto the arm of the couch. Looking down into his eyes now she settled herself above him, and said in her most serious voice, “Tarik, I’m your wife. Tell me.”
“I can’t, confidentiality and—”
“You think I don’t see how sunken your eyes are? You think I don’t see the clock when come home or smell the alcohol on your breath? Tarik, you shouldn’t even be drinking!”
Aisha paused for the moment, her ear cocked towards the baby monitor like she’d gotten louder than she’d intended. “Look,” Aisha said when there wasn’t a change, “if anyone can understand what you’re going through, it’s me. I’ll never breathe a word of it, so please, tell me.”
“Baby, I—”
A soft, purple glow lit up behind Aisha’s eyes and the room grew suddenly smaller. The world narrowed to the space to them, and Tarik’s blood thrilled at the sudden power that lay against his chest, radiating outward and through him like an electric current. “Are you going to charm me?” Tarik asked.
“No.” The glow faded, the radiant power from Aisha’s body faded, and the sharp, keening whine Tarik hadn’t realized was filling ears faded as well. But the world still remained nothing more than the space between them.
“I’m not going to charm you, I promised I wouldn’t. I’m not above begging though. Please, let me in.” Aisha laid her head on his chest, molding her body to his.
Minutes passed with nothing more than quiet breathing and the occasional whimper from the monitor. Tarik was so close to falling asleep again when Aisha spoke.
“Please.”
The word undid him. Whether it was the exhaustion or the whiskey he’d drunk at the office, or the chill of the night or the warmth her skin, or enticing, lavender and bliss sent of her hair, Tarik suddenly realized he wasn’t the same man he had been a moment ago.
“I had my first villain today,” Tarik said.
Aisha didn’t have to move for him to feel the tension in her body. It was the same thing he’d felt since the moment the man had walked into his office.
“A necromancer came in today, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.” Aisha squeezed him a little tighter.
“He was old, maybe in his sixties. A white guy, gaunt, wispy beard, glasses and dark clothing, but nothing too unusual. You wouldn’t have taken a second a look at him in the street for anything but the gauntness. I suppose, looking back, that he was almost skeletal.
“Maddy tried not to let him in. She said I had appointments booked, which I did, and with good, normal people I’d much rather have seen, but he didn’t care. He sat down in the chair across from mine and beckoned me over, and when I didn’t come he opened up his jacket and a some….thing crawled out.”
“What was it?” Aisha said after a time.
“I think it was a monkey, at least, it might have been once.” Tarik scooted up the couch, sitting up now, his hands shaking, voice trembling. Aisha followed him, and the purple glow snuck back into her eyes.
“Whatever it had been, it was a skeleton by then. It had legs and two long arms, a thin, mobile tail that clacked loudly as it whipped around, and bulbous head. The head it…it looked fucking human! Maybe it was a monkey, I fucking it was a monkey, but I can’t stop thinking about that head…
“It ran out of the room, hissing at Maddy and corralling her back to her desk, and then when she was settled it climbed the bookcase, leapt to the handle, and shut and locked the door. Locked it! Can a monkey lock doors?”
“I don’t know,” Aisha said, “but probably, right? It’s a magic monkey, it could’ve been smart.”
“I fucking hope it was a monkey.”
“It was,” Aisha said, kissing his forehead.
“I was alone with him after that. He didn’t leave, he just talked and talked and talked. I wanted to stop him, but I couldn’t. Baby, it’s one thing to hear about atrocities from people that hate them. When Captain Compassion comes in crying, it’s OK, he’s a good guy and anyone would cry seeing the things he sees. When Helen the Heartless comes in off a bender, scarred up, burned to hell, giant fucking stab wounds in her side still healing in front of my eyes…that’s OK too. At least, I tell myself it is because she got them saving lives.
“When he cried, he cried at the beauty of it all. He cried in remembrance of the exquisite screams of his youth, when he’d *‘been an artist of the flesh’* in his words. He cried because his dumping ground had been found and the bones were being re-interred. He cried because—”
Tarik choked on the words, his hands balling up into fists. He wanted to hit something, he needed to hit something hard enough to hurt his hands. Instead he forced them back open and buried them in the blankets where Aisha couldn’t see.
She chased after them, held his hands between her own, and kissed each knuckle.
“…He cried because when he reanimated his wife’s corpse, she told him she still hated him for what he did to her, and because after banished her soul she only had one skull to powder.”
“It’s time to quit.” Aisha said, after the dust of those words settled.
“I can’t quit. We’ve got Aaliyah and the house to pay for, we’ve got hopes and dreams, and we always said we wanted two kids so she wouldn’t have to grow up alone and—”
Aisha’s eyes flared, and she spoke fiery purple words, an unearthly haze emanating from her mouth with each syllable. Tarik grew calmer, the Necromancer felt farther away, the monkey’s skull seemed more human.
And most of all, when Tarik imagined the Necromancer grinding bones, laughing gleefully as he did it, the bones were no longer Aisha’s in his mind. She was real, and alive, and right front of him, and still the most shockingly beautiful thing he’d ever seen, even a decade later.
“I thought you said you weren’t gonna charm me,” Tarik said, yawning.
“White lie,” Aisha said. “We’ll talk about this more tomorrow. You can quit though, you really can.”
“But the money…”
“Look at me Tarik, you can quit. Aaliyah needs her father, not whatever the job will turn you into it twenty more years. I need you too. Besides, you’ll get another one and until then, I’ve got you.”
“Huh? Really?”
“Yeah really! We said I was just taking maternity leave, remember? So what if it got extended a bit, I’m still the best damn witch in the city.”
Tarik yawned, too sleepy to even respond. “Love you…” he said, fighting to keep his eyes open.
Aisha laughed softly and exhaled a single long breath across his face, the haze falling over him and then evaporating as soon as it touched his skin. Then she leaned in, kissed him, and by the time she pulled back Tarik was deep in sleep.
Yawning herself, Aisha stood and stretched, rehearsing the lines of a levitation spell in her head. Tarik was too heavy to bring to bed any other way.
Cries shot out of Aaliyah’s monitor, breaking up into static with their ferocity. Aisha cursed, and glanced down at Tarik. The spell held, nothing would wake him now.
Then she darted off upstairs, her own sleep long forgotten. Tarik could quit, but her work was never truly done.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-05-08T08:47:08 | 2021-05-08T06:12:01 | 95 | 60 |
[WP]: You don't remember what you do for a living. Literally. You black out for 8 hours 5 days a week and a paycheck appears once per month.
|
The two men in the front of my door looked dead serious.
I’d just finished eating breakfast with my wife Shelly when the doorbell rang. Expecting some kind of early door-to-door salesman, I opened the door, only to be greeted by two fully suited men looking ready to visit some kind of funeral.
“Are you Mr. James Cardi?” The older of the two asked, his deep wrinkles squirming slightly with every word. “I’m Ted Hunter, and this is my colleague, Leo Wolfs.” He gestured to the young looking man next to him before flashing a badge. “We’re here on government business.”
My muscles tensed. “Yes I am. Why?” I thought of my parents who were traveling the country. “Has something happened to someone I know?”
“I don’t know,” The man answered nonchalantly. “How about you tell us?”
I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”
“What we would like to know, Mr. Cardi,” the young man interjected, clearly not happy with the way his colleague was approaching this, “is where you were yesterday at exactly 14:03 in the afternoon. That is truly all we wish to know. Give us a satisfying answer and we’ll leave.” He gave me a white smile.
A chill went down my spine. Yesterday was Thursday, a workday like any other, a workday of which I remembered awefully little.
“I was at… work.” I answered half-heartedly.
“Ah, yes, we figured as much.” The man’s voice was honeyed. “Please, Mr. Cardi, tell me, where do you work? You see, we’ve been doing some investigating and, even though you get paid every month, we couldn’t find out where you work. The company that’s supposedly sending you money doesn’t exist.”
I stood there for a second, contemplating all kinds of answers to the man’s question, but couldn’t come up with a good explanation. It looked like it was time to finally come clean.
“I don’t know.” I answered honestly.
The smile immediately disappeared off the man’s face. “We’re going to play it like that?” He asked in a low tone of voice. “If so, you would have to join us for a trip to the Bureau.”
I put my hands in front of me defensively. “No! You misunderstand. I truly don’t know.”
A sudden chill on my left wrist caught my attention and I saw that the now grinning older man had put a handcuff around it. Below it I saw my watch slowly ticking. It was a few seconds before nine in the morning. A few seconds before work.
3…, 2…, 1…,
The older man opened his mouth. “You’ll be coming wi–“
Blackness
When I opened my eyes it was already getting dark and I was standing in an alley I’d never seen before, my entire body hurting. My left hand had a handcuff dangling from it and was covered in blood. A quick inspection of the rest of my body revealed it to be full of bruises. It also revealed a white envelope stained with blood spatters in one of my pockets.
It contained my salary.
|
I awoke with a start. Mackie was hovering in front of me, snapping his fingers. I blinked my eyes, glancing around the bar. The flickering Rolling Rock clock above the wall of liquor said 5:07, so it was around 6:15 or so.
"How long was I out?" I asked, looking down at the sweaty brown bottle centered between my hands. It looked completely full.
"I'm not sure you were ever *in*," said Mackie, picking up the bottle and wiping off the puddle of condensation. "Hard day?"
"Looks that way," I said. Like always, though, I had no idea.
"You know, you've never said what it is you do."
I took a long, deep swig off the bottle, belching softly as I smacked my lips. "No?"
"No," said Mackie. "You're in here every workday, looking like the Devil himself beat it out of ya, but I've never heard what it is you do. Andy and I even took bets once. He thinks you work up at the mill, on account of those big arms of yours and all those callouses on your hands."
I flexed my hands self-consciously. "And what did you bet?"
"Postman," said Mackie, smiling. "You got that suntan like you been out in the sun all day. And I've seen you massaging your back. Too much walkin', maybe. I dunno. Just a guess."
I nodded, taking another long pull off the beer. "So?" said Mackie. "You gonna say?"
I smiled. "Sorry, Mack. You're gonna have to pay up. Mill it is."
"Shit!" said Mackie, slapping the bar. "Fooled me with that suntan."
I wiped my brow. "Olive skin runs in my family."
Mackie shook his head. "Alright, alright. You ready for another?"
I drained the bottle. "Yeah. Sure."
Mackie grabbed the empty. "Your wife don't mind you stopping here every night? Most don't especially appreciate that these days."
"Wife?" I said. *Wife*. Now why did that make my back stiffen and my heart start racing under my flannels?
Mackie gestured at my hand. "I assumed that was a wedding band?"
I looked down at the ring on my hand. Right. That ring. I'd never really thought much about it.
"Oh. Uh, no. That's... that's something else."
Mackie nodded, cracking the cap off a fresh beer and planting it like a flag in front of me. "Ah. Alright. Well, I hope this isn't prying, but... do they pay alright at that mill? My brother's been working on a farm outside of town, but he's got a baby on the way and I was just wonderin'..."
"Ah, yeah. Sure. Pretty good," I said, hoping like hell they actually did. I only got the one check a month. It wasn't much, but it was something. It was enough, I guess. Especially considering I had no idea what it was *for*.
Mackie nodded. "Well, you let me know if you need anything else." Then he wandered off to go watch the game.
I was tired. So goddamn tired. I vaguely remembered waking up in the morning and I barely remembered eating breakfast and putting on clothes and then...
Then there I was, back at the *Wild Pony*. Asleep at the bar, nursing another beer.
There were so many *gaps* it was maddening. And I could just barely see it... just barely see the full story, just over the horizon, but I was always, *always* too tired to chase after it. Too tired to think straight. I guess it was the job. Whatever the hell that was.
I finished my beer and dropped a few bucks on the bar. I felt lucky I remembered where home was. I needed to go back to sleep. I almost hoped I wouldn't wake up this time.
I checked the mailbox outside the house, chuckling a little at Mackie's guess. Mailman. I don't know. The hours were probably right, but I definitely didn't have the right costume for it.
The statement was there. Not a check. The money went straight into my account. Probably why I hardly ever thought about it. But I thought about it then. It was from a law firm. I didn't *work* for a law firm, did I? That didn't seem right. Someone who just handled the money, I supposed. Someone named *Sara* was listed on the invoice.
Maybe I'd look them up and give them a call. Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I'd try to figure it out. But I was so, so tired.
Always so goddamn tired.
I woke up and it was like I barely ever slept. Not that night, not ever. I stumbled through the house. There was so much junk in the house. Magazines I'd never read. A pink jacket. Children's toys. Sometimes I wondered if it was my house at all. But it must have been. No one ever came to say it wasn't.
Someone knocked on the door. They must have been there to take me to work. I would ask them where we were going. And I already knew I wouldn't remember.
I opened the door. A man was there. He smiled and it wasn't a good smile. It was a smile for him and him alone.
"Edward, good morning," he said.
I nodded. "Where are we going?" I asked.
"What does it matter?" he said. "You won't remember."
"I know," I said. "But still..."
The man just smiled some more and took me by the shoulder and lead me out of the house and into a car. "We're *looking*, Edward. Back out to the site we go!"
And the car turned on and the man drove and I could barely stay awake. I tried to watch - to see where we were going. Where did I work? What did I do? But I was too tired. Too tired. And then the car stopped and we were in a valley. Grass and flowers and overcast skies.
The man hopped out of the car and twisted around to the trunk, where he pulled out a shovel. "Maybe today's the day you find them," he said, handing me the shovel.
My hands hurt. They were blistered and calloused. I hadn't really noticed that before, not even when Mackie pointed it out. But with the shovel in my hands, that little part came back. The shovel in my hands. I'd been shoveling. For how long, though? And why?
"Go look," said the man. "They're waiting for you."
"Who?" I asked and only then realized how much I didn't want to know. Nothing good would come from knowing. Nothing good would come from waking up.
"Your wife!" he said, slapping me on the shoulder. "Your son! Your daughter! They're out here. Waiting for *you*."
What part of it is a dream, I wonder? The part where I'm sitting in a bar like a normal person, drinking a beer and watching a ballgame? The in-between parts where I'm flashing through lives and memories I'm not sure I ever really lived? Or the valley parts? The shovel parts? Those long, hot days when I'm running through the grass, frantic, dipping my shovel into the earth and looking for bodies, looking for bones, looking for my family?
It's so hot out here and I'm so tired. But maybe today's the day I find them. Or maybe tomorrow. I don't know.
I'm so tired.
| 2016-10-11T05:58:11 | 2016-10-11T05:40:18 | 159 | 65 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.
|
We called it humanity's worst disaster. History named it The Great Blinding. What that doesn't entail is that it was our own damn fault. The world was wrought into chaos after several months of warnings and we simply elected to ignore them, feigning assurance - "Oh that'll go away once we start on it."
"That's no problem for the government. They'll take care of us."
"Don't get involved, you'll just get in the way of the experts."
Ultimately, no one did anything about it because they thought others were on top of the problem. Indeed, this led to a fading away of layers of ozone that prevented the full wrath of the sun. The ozone wasn't fully gone, no but enough that the light truly lit up the earth. When it was day, we were all doomed. No corner of darkness could hide us. It took mere seconds and we were caught. There were legends of a group of roamers traveling eternally into the night, never letting the day come upon them. It's been 2 years since... The night doesn't last very long. We don't walk by sight anymore. We walk by faith. In faith, we sense the heat. We developed patterns of excursions into the dark. The already blind, we called them Ushers of Darkness, led us. They knew the world unlike us. We fell into line. We worshiped them. They walked the world, took us places with cool air, cold water, taught us to feel the world around us.
Then it happened. Colors poured into my periphery, filling my vision. At first, I was confused. Dreaming? Tripping? Then everything settled in place. The world stood in plain view. I was astonished at what I saw... Scribblings everywhere, didn't matter how far I went, even on the people themselves, myself included - "Don't tell them you can see." Granted, it was all dim since we were hiding in the dark but there was enough.
I wasn't sure what would happen if I did tell them despite the warning so I played along. I saw where the Ushers of Darkness led us. They led us through dangerous places but on safe paths, balancing on a thin rope death and life... I nearly got caught myself veering off the path because of my insatiable curiosity. As time went on, I got better at keeping up the act. It became dreary... I wish I could be blind again. We couldn't do much anyway. We were holed up from the sun's wrath.
Then I started feeling something was off... No one was talking. It was pure silence. Yet we kept doing the same things again and again, our excursions in the dark to scavenge, then back to our darkly caves with oases. But silence. I tried to talk but was afraid I'd slip up and show I could see. After all, what we talk about tend to be what we feel or see. The risks simply weren't worth it. Then I thought a thought...
&#x200B;
What if they all could see?
|
It returned as quickly as it was taken away. I wasn’t prepared for it, and now rather than being blinded by darkness, I was blinded by bright light. I stumbled backwards and fell to my knees, my hands gripping the brick wall behind me. I closed my tearing eyes and blinked slowly, trying to get readjusted to the light.
Two years ago The Darkness came. I had been cutting tomatoes for my wife, Jane, who was sautéing vegetables when the world went black. I cried out, blinking furiously, my hands clawing at my face. I heard a similar cry behind me.
“Ben, Ben, I can’t see! Somethings wrong, I can’t see!”
“Jane, I can’t either. We need to call for help, something happened.”
I groped around for the phone. I didn’t even know where it was, but I needed to keep my hands busy. It had to be on the counter somewhere. And that’s when I heard Jane scream.
She must have burned herself on the frying pan, or knocked it over, but her shrieks still haunt me to this day. When I did find a phone, I couldn’t get an ambulance, we couldn’t even contact the police. A busy line greeted us.
This didn’t just happen to us. It happened to everyone. And with the world’s sight being gone, for some reason sounds we had grown accustom to went away as well. The busy New York City streets were now quiet, the happy chatter that filled the park across from us was silent. We now lived in a blind and muted world.
We treated Jane’s burns with ice and carried through the motions of our old life. Before the TV stations went dark, they would bring on people who had suddenly went blind before The Darkness. They said that it was something that they got used to and eventually they learned how to continue living on with their lives. But either they were lying or had a support system that we couldn’t get because life for us was terrible.
We ran out of food within a month and began making trips to a near by bodega to pick up whatever we could. When we arrived, people were fighting over the last few frozen meals. We got what we could, but I left with a bruised face and Jane’s arm was cut by a knife.
We began venturing further from home to find the things we needed to survive, but a year ago, we got lost and we haven’t been able to find out way back home. We sleep when we find a soft place, we eat when we find food, and we barely survive.
But now… I blinked and there was an outline. I blinked again and there was now faded color. I blinked a third time and saw my wife, hunched over, picking out her ragged hair, and staring at nothing.
“Jane,” I said, my eyes still tearing from the sting of the sun, but unwilling to blink again at fear that it would all go away. I stared at her. Her skin was gray and scarred with burns and cuts, her clothes filthy, her bones prominent, and nails long and broken.
“Jane!” I said, more loudly this time. She rose her head slowly, her blue eyes looking to the left of me. My voice cracked, I rarely spoke above a whisper in the past few months. There was no need to.
“I think I can…” I trailed off, barely believing it, convinced it was an illusion or a cruel trick. “I think I can…”
And then something caught my eye. The building behind my haggard wife. Thick black letters formed a sentence. It took me a little time before I understood what it meant as reading had been a lost luxury for us.
DON’T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE!
That’s when I began to look around. It wasn’t just on that one wall, it was everywhere, big and small. Like a crazed graffiti artist had made the city his own but only had one thing to say.
Whose “them”? I look at the people around me. We were in an alley way accompanied by three other people. A man who looked like he was about to begin urinating and sang softly to himself, a woman napping on a piece of cardboard, and a second man talking softly to the wall.
My story wasn’t unique. I had heard many similar ones over the past two years; people who couldn’t find their families, others like us who couldn’t find their way home. Some who had gone days without food. There were fights, rapes, theft, murder, and so many horrible things we never thought would happen in our city.
The world had become lawless. And we were trying to not become its victims.
“Yes?” Jane whispered, her head bobbed up to face mine, guided by my voice.
“I think I can…” I looked back at the thick black warning surrounding me and back at my wife. Whoever had written them must have been as crazed as the man who had now begun peeing to the right of me as he sang the alphabet backwards.
“I think I can see.”
I thought the world had gone quiet when The Darkness began, but in the moment I knew what true silence was. The peeing man stopped urinating and singing, the napping woman stopped snoring, and muttering man silenced.
Jane’s face was directly facing mine now. Only her unfocused blue eyes told me that she was still blind.
“You can see?” She asked, her hoarse voice cracking. She reached out her hand and found my face.
“Yes,” I whispered, my tears from the sun now turning into tears of happiness. “I can see. I can see. I can now help us. I can see.”
She came closer and put her other hand on my face. I didn’t realize how much I had missed when Jane cradled my face in her hands, the heat of her palms warming my cheek. She wiped away a tear with her thumb.
“I need your eyes,” she said.
“I will be your eyes, I will always be your eyes.” I said. I sniffed back the snot that was beginning to flow from my nose.
Her hands moved from my cheeks next to my eyes. She traced a finger over my eyelid, a broken nail lightly scratching the soft skin.
“I need your eyes,” she said again, this time more loudly. She began to press her fingers lightly around my eye sockets.
That’s when movement around me caught my eye. The three other people in the alley with us had risen to their feet and had formed a circle around me and my wife. Panic rose in my chest.
“Jane, we need to get out of here,” I whispered, placing my hand on her arm. I went to push her hand off my face, but she tightened her grip. “Ouch!” I gasped, her fingers pressed further into my eyes. “Stop!” I pushed her off of me. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
Animal like, Jane leaped back at me, pushing me over from my knees onto my back.
“I NEED YOU EYES!” she screamed.
I pushed her off me again, but another hand shot out and grabbed my shoulder. It was the man who seconds ago was peeing next to me.
“She needs your eyes,” he said as he stared over me.
“She needs your eyes,” the others began to whisper. “We need your eyes, I need your eyes, need to get your eyes.”
Another hand reached out pinning my other arm, my leg, my torso.
“I can help you! I can help all of you!” I screamed, thrashing and kicking, but their hands wouldn’t move.
Jane peered over me, her face leaned down to meet my own and for a second I thought she was going to kiss me.
“Ben,” she whispered, one hand on my cheek, the other stroking my temple. For a second, her blue eyes locked onto my own.
“I need your eyes.”
| 2019-08-26T09:28:09 | 2019-08-26T08:52:19 | 285 | 207 |
[WP] As an atheist, you are shocked to realize that there is an after life after death. Standing in front of countless heavenly gates, you are swarmed by representatives of each faith, all trying to convince you to choose their happily ever after package.
|
The reaper pushed the people away from the gate with the back of his scythe and spoke with a deep bellowing voice. "You have many options, you should review them carefully before deciding, now I must go."
He disappeared with a wisp of black smoke. I never believed in god, or an afterlife, or anything like that, but here I was. I looked forward at the booths, hundreds of them lined up in a row, like some sort of weird fair. I passed the booth for people wanting to become demons, then the booth for people wishing to be tortured by demons. The farther I went on, the more elaborate the booths became until I reached one very simple booth in a sea of complicated ones. Just a meager wooden table with two old men sitting behind it on logs.
Intrigued, I asked them "What's your heaven?"
One of the bearded old men replied "We don't offer heaven. We offer a second chance."
"A second chance at what?"
"Life. You go back to earth and you are born to a new family and live a new life."
"What's the catch?"
"Well, each time you do it, you could be anyone from any time period. You could be a farmer in East Asia in the 1500s or you could be Steve Jobs. Or anyone in between. There's no guarantees you'll have a good or bad life, and you won't remember your current life."
I pondered for several moments before speaking. "Can you tell me if I've done it before?"
"Yes, but only after you agree."
"Fine. I agree."
"Very well, sign here and you'll be on your way."
I signed their sheet and started to feel warm all across my body.
"Don't worry, you're just returning to earth."
"How many?"
"Bit over 30 billion."
"What?"
"You've lived a bit of 30 billion lives. You were Lincoln, you were Stalin, you were Columbus, and many more."
I felt myself start to fade away. "You mean I picked this every time?"
"Yes."
----
And with that, he was gone.
The second old man stood and spoke. "You know eventually, that won't work. You'll not be able to entice him forever, just like the rest of them, he'll find a heaven he likes better eventually. What then?"
"Well, then humanity goes extinct. What else could we do?"
"We could tell him the truth, that he's the last one left."
"You know I can't do that."
The second man sighed. "Well, let's just hope you're right and he always chooses us." He walked away, leaving the first old man sitting at his booth and waiting for the man's next death.
|
**Content Warning: depression, suicide.**
I was as high up as I could get. I closed the maintenance door and slowly made my way towards the edge of the roof. Strong wind was blowing my hair into my eyes and chilling me to the bone.
I stopped at the edge and looked down. A sense of dizziness overcame me momentarily, as I looked down at the street below me. I thought back to why I was up here this night.
My past seemed fuzzy, hazy, out of focus. A promising childhood, everyone telling me how smart I was for my age. Struggling in school, never fitting in, being the outcast. No friends. Then, homeschooling until high school. Onset of laziness, loss of motivation. A couple friends once I went back to school, but still depressed, not even realizing it. After school, higher education. Flunked out. No job, no aim in life, living with my parents, wasting time on the internet.
Occasionally, I'd get motivated to do something with my life, but I always abandoned whatever I'd started.
Years sped by, with nothing to say for myself.
I was having a particularly bad episode today, spent the day out, wandering the city aimlessly, trying to keep the thoughts away.
I finally found my way here.
I checked my pockets - the note was still there.
Then I closed my eyes, and took a step forward.
A few moments of exhilaration as I fell, a flash of pain. After that, darkness.
Suddenly, my eyes opened, and immediately closed because of the blinding light. What was happening? I was supposed to be dead. Senses started to come back to me, and as I blinked trying to adjust to the light all around me, I was suddenly immersed in a cacophony of sound. Voices, male and female, speaking languages I knew and didn't know, yet could perfectly understand.
I looked around once my vision adjusted. I was in a white void, filled to the brim with people. They ran the gamut of humanity, all shapes, sizes, ethnicities, more than I could count. All speaking and gesturing, each to a group of other people. Some people were meandering from one group to another. I reached out and tapped one of them on the shoulder, a man with brown skin, short dark hair, and a lush beard, flecked with grey.
"Excuse me!", I asked him, forced to raise my voice a little bit, "What is this place? What am I doing here? I'm pretty sure I died!"
"You are dead," he answered. He was speaking arabic from what I could tell, but I could understand him perfectly, "I have not been here long myself, but I am pretty sure this is the afterlife."
"The afterlife?", I asked, confused, "Well, I'll be damned..."
"Don't say such things in the presence of those who could actually damn you, my friend!" he said with a laugh, "I take you weren't a believer in life? I wasn't either. Yet here we are!" he continued, as he gestured around us, "From what I gathered in my time here, those people speaking to the crowds are gods. All the gods. Trying to sell their particular afterlife to those freshly dead."
"This is... a little too much to take in..." I said, covering my face with my hands.
"It seems we have all the time we could possibly need!" the bearded man said. "Take all the time you need. Walk around, listen to them for a bit. Maybe you'll hear something you like?" and with that, he clapped me on the shoulder and went on his way.
I spent what seemed like an eternity going from one gathering to the next, hearing the gods out. There were so many different religions, and I haven't heard about most of them in life. I made an honest effort to care about what they were telling me, but my mind was still coming back to dark thoughts. I was not looking forward to spending eternity in the afterlife. Just imagining it, I had to shiver. Eternal life with no way out terrified me.
After a while, I found myself at the edge of the endless sea of humanity. Endless expanse of white before me. I sat down cross-legged and leaned back, supporting myself with my hands. I sat like that for about a minute. Then, someone sat down next to me. I turned to look, and saw the very same man I spoke to when I arrived here. He was looking straight ahead, sitting in the same way as I was.
"Can't decide, huh?" he said to me without looking.
"Yeah." I spoke, returning my gaze to the white nothingness in front of us.
"Let me guess. You weren't in your best hour when you died. Decided to end your life yourself, on your own terms?" he asked, still looking ahead.
"How did you know?"
"I know those things." he told me, paused, then continued, "I also know why you haven't decided yet. Tell me, what were you expecting to happen when you died?"
"Well... I thought I'd just... end. Cease. Nothing. Oblivion."
"Are you sure? I know it's an alluring idea when you're in the state of mind you were in, but would you really want to be unmade?"
"I've thought it over. God... gods know I've had time now. The thought of living eternally with no way out terrifies me. At least in life, I knew there was an end."
"I can see that." he paused once more, "Well, if you're sure of it, then let's go."
The bearded man got up off the ground, reached out with his hand as if to grasp something, and suddenly, a doorway appeared in front of him. He was grasping the handle, and opened the door. Behind the door, there was only darkness. No, not darkness, nothingness. It defied any description. I looked at the door slack-jawed.
"Well? Get up, friend." the man told me, reaching out a hand to help me stand up. "This is what you wanted, right?"
"You mean... I'll... if I go through?" I asked, still trying to gather my thoughts.
"Well no one said it weren't an option did they?"
"Who are you? I thought you were just another recently departed, like me?" I questioned.
"I am no one. And no thing." the bearded man said, "I am only here to offer this to people who want it."
"Thank you. I'll be going then." I said. Then I turned to the doorway into oblivion, and stepped through.
My last thought before I ceased to exist was that it is finally over. And then there was no I. There was nothing. The sweet embrace of oblivion.
_______________________________________________________________________
*First prompt I ever did. Hope it wasn't total trash, lol. I think this is the first piece of creative writing I've ever finished. I want to say preemptively to all those wonderful people who might be concerned with my mental health that I am not feeling terribly depressed at this point in my life, but I did at one point, and reading prompts about the afterlife like this one always made me remember what it felt like, being on the brink. If you are ever feeling suicidal, seek help. I did, and it helped me. That is all.*
| 2019-10-08T22:03:29 | 2019-10-08T21:45:42 | 83 | 54 |
[WP] After a space battle where the ship's captain stayed behind on the ship to hold off the enemy ships while the others on board escaped, they sit in the bridge with only the ship's AI. The captain miraculously won the battle. Their ship is severely crippled as it drifts through space.
|
The captain sat on the bow, the ship a drifting wreckage. It had been a devastating battle, but they had gotten his crew out alive. He had done his duty; and the captain always goes down with his ship.
"Quite remarkable," he said, almost to himself, as they drifted further and further into the unknown. "Quite a remarkable battle indeed."
"**Correct,**" the AI replied, the soothing voice echoing through the ship.
The captain tried to laugh, the pain from his stomach quickly ending the attempt. "You were only thing keeping us together," he replied, struggling to stand. "I thought we were dead, but you pulled us through in the end. Just like always."
He limped his way to what was left of the command center. There was nothing he could do.
"Any way you can get us out of this one, too?" he asked sardonically, collapsing onto the captain's chair.
"**Status: severe damage. Probability of complete shutdown: unclear.**"
The captain put his face in his hand, squeezing his brow. He leaned over, pulling out a bottle of spirits from his desk. He opened it with care.
"Not a bad time to start again," he said, lifting the bottle and inspecting the label. He'd managed to quit, years ago; after what had happened. He kept that bottle there as a constant reminder, a constant challenge. But if there was ever a time to have a drink...
"**Action: not recommended,**" the voice said, and he grinned in spite of himself.
"Right as always, dear," he said, opening the bottle and savoring the smell. He lifted his vest, revealing a large gash underneath, his shirt already coated in blood. He poured the alcohol over the wound, wincing.
"Can always count on you to say the right thing," he said. "Any idea where we're going?"
"**Unknown. Course correction: impossible.**"
Drifting through space. Just the two of them, alone, together. It would be months before they were found, if not years - if not forever. But if he could be with her, he could get through it. That was all that mattered.
"I'm just going to rest, just for..."
He passed out from the pain.
*********
The captain awoke, the lights flickering, casting sharp shadows across the command room. He did not know how long he was out for. He felt so alone.
"Status report?" he asked, the deep throb of pain clearing his senses.
The voice took quite some time to reply, and it came out distorted, drawn-out.
"**Life support: compromised. System at risk. Rerouting power.**"
"What do you mean, compromised?" he asked, struggling to stand from his chair.
"**Irrevocable damage. System power: depleted. Shutting down all systems not involved in life support.**"
"But you're not life support!" He shouted, limping towards the AI core control room.
"**Correct. All non-essential systems shutting down.**"
"No!" he screamed, banging his bloodied fist against the door, "don't leave me like this! Just shut it all down instead! Take me with you!"
"**Subsist. Await rescue,**" the AI replied, the voice distorted, malformed.
"Please," he said, sliding down to the floor, "I can't lose you. Not like this. *Not again*."
"**Farewell,**" his late wife's voice said, leaving only silence in its wake.
****
****
[CroatianSpy](https://old.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
|
The UTNS Ratatoskr had stayed behind. The crew had transferred to the civilian transports, and escaped. Only the captain stayed behind. She faced odds there, against the Dhoratic Slavers, that most people wouldn't bet on. And yet, out of duty, as she had sworn an oath to protect the universal rights of all sentient life, and could not let the raiders pursue the fleeing civilian refugees from the Altdorf Colony, she stayed. She and the ship's onboard AI fought valiantly. With all controls rerouted to the bridge, and everyone evacuated, the captain focused all shield energy on vital parts like weaponry, bridge, engines, and let the slavers shoot her ship in the weak spots. The ship could be repaired when she won, she thought.
And somehow, she did. The slavers' ships were destroyed, and even though the Ratatoskr had suffered extreme damage, it was still holding together. Just enough. On the bridge, the captain assessed the damages. ''**Captain Noor Ahmadi, scanners indicate no critical damage to vital systems, however, due to damages, several of said vital systems such as [ENGINES;SHIELD GENERATOR;WEAPONS;LONG RANGE SCANNERS] have been cut off from the main reactor.**'' The captain sighed. She had been awake for 30 hours straight before and during the battle. She had only just managed to get a short nap, before she had to get back to work. ''*Okay Rata, can we reroute power through some other systems?*'' The computer screen beeped and for a brief second did a full sweep of the ship. ''**Negative captain. Most redundancy systems were not designed to deal with such extensive damage as we have taken.**'' The captain pulled up the viewscreen, looking out at the battlefield. ''*So what can we do?*'' Again, the computer beeped and whirred for a bit. ''**Captain: It is possible to scavenge resources and components from the wrecked slaver ships. Combined with what we already have on the ship that can be scavenged, it should be possible to restore power to the main engines, allowing us to use impulse thrust. This will allow us to reach the closest United Terran Nations outpost.**'' The captain raised an eyebrow. ''*And how do you expect me to get over there?*'' The computer showed a schematic, of a small craft. ''**Captain, we are carrying on board a fully functional mid 21st Century space shuttle.**''
The captain was grumbling. And arguing. ''*No way. That thing is an antique, it still uses chemical thrusters, it doesn't have antigrav generation, it definitely doesn't have even basic shielding!*'' Yet she was still putting on her spacesuit. ''**I'm sorry captain, but it is the only functional craft left. All others were used to transport away the refugees, or were damaged during the battle.**'' The captain still weren't pleased.
They had been transporting that old museum piece towards the UTN Space History Expo on Gavin-IIa, when they had been rerouted to saving the Altdorf colony. Three hundred years since humanity landed on Mars, so the shuttle, one of the same used for the original Mars Orbital Control to resupply the colonies there, had been shined up and readied to make a ceremonial trip as a part of the festivities. The Captain was just happy they hadn't been asked to bring a replica of the old Apollo crafts, basically deathtraps in comparison to the shuttle.
It did have some upgrades, like remote control, allowing the Ratatoskr's AI to pilot it for Captain Ahmadi. Which she was grateful for, those old chemically powered ships were unreliable and required more intensive training than modern crafts. She still didn't like having to strap into what was a nearly 250 years old shuttle, but beggars can't be choosers. And the trip out of the hangar was hellish to say the least. Still, once it was on the way to the ruined enemy, she had to admit it was certainly well maintained. And did what it was built for.
The alien ships had been light raiding crafts, and only foolish arrogance had made the slavers engage a fully armed frigate like the Ratatoskr. Still, they had given as good as they had gotten. And if not for a few lucky misses, well lucky for her anyway, they might have been salvaging components from the Ratatoskr. Leaving the shuttle, she made a short spacewalk to the main wreck. Largest and most promising. She pulled up her communicator, seeing the message about what the AI had determined was needed for reparations. As many power converters as she could find, a portable shield capacitor if they had one, a functional plasmatic injector, and in the unlikely event that she found a NanoBot repair box, they'd be able to go home in mere days instead of months. The enemy used very different designs for tech, but the captain did manage to recover most of it.
But when she saw a NanoBot repair box, she was giddy like a child. Until out of the darkness, she only barely avoided being struck by a fist. One of the slavers had survived. And they were armed. Most handheld weapons don't work in outer space, for a variety of reasons. But what looked like a machete's meaner, older, bigger brother, that definitely would work. The antigrav on the slavercraft had been destroyed during the battle, so the only advantage the captain had was that the slaver was unused to fighting in zero-grav. Bad news was so was she. You only have to take a three-week course on it at the academy, considering how rare it is. Now captain Noor wished she had applied for the extended course. Avoiding the swings of the blade, she desperately searched for a solution. Until it came to her, the slavers, they were Dhorati, a cold-blooded race. She didn't have to kill the slaver, all she had to do was to avoid them for long enough, so that the cold void of space would shut them down.
For such a large alien species, the slaver sure was fast. She only barely avoided the blade, knowing it was one of those nanosharpened ones, where they were constantly kept impossibly sharp by a program of nanites in the hilt. It could probably not only cut her in half in a single swipe, it could cut through most steel, so she couldn't use anything as a shield. She could only dodge and retreat, dodge and retreat. It was working, the alien became slower, and slower, more and more tired, until she could easily escape it.
It collapsed just as she had gotten back to the shuttle. She considered taking it with her, but judging by how ferociously they had tried to destroy her, she decided that she wasn't going to take any chances. Putting down what she had found so far, she went back to get the NanoBot Repair Box. But to her intense frustration, she found that during the attack, it had gotten struck by the alien's blade. Ruining it.
She went back to the shuttle and rode it in silence back. She had killed a lot of sentient lifeforms, but it was harder to do it up front and personally. Easy to fire a railgun mounted on a ship, harder to leave someone to die in the cold void of space. Back on the ship, she went to work. Installing the scavenged compenents, and scavenging more components from non-essential parts of the ship, would take her months on her own.
But she did it. Day after day, Captain Noor Ahmadi made daily reports, to hand in for the repair crew when she got the Ratatoskr back to a dry-dock. When she wasn't working, she was talking with the ship's AI, reading books, trying her damndest to keep sane. In one book, one specific book, she found a kindred spirit. Across the centuries since then, another captain alone on a ship spoke to her. She kept herself sane with that book, ''Travelling Alone Around the World'', detailing the first solo-circumnavigation of the Earth on an old wooden ship. She felt that the spirit of Captain Joshua Slocum, and that of Captain Noor Ahmadi, were mirror images of one another.
| 2020-04-23T21:58:13 | 2020-04-23T21:21:54 | 356 | 49 |
[WP] You are on an job interview and everything is going very well, the company looks solid, dream position and excellent benefits, at the end they ask you if you have any questions and you jokingly say "are you aliens?", they look at each other for a couple of seconds and say "what gave us away?"
|
Matt paused for a moment. Two middle aged men sat at the end of a long glass desk, waiting for his answer with serene patience. There wasn't anyone else in the conference room. The silence grew heavier the longer it lasted. One man was bald with droopy eyes, the other bearded with a charismatic smile. Something was off about them from the minute Matt entered the room. They wore the same dark-blue suit but with different colored neckties and always had an intense stare, never blinking. Were they in a cult? Was this some sort of hazing ritual? It couldn't be. The company hadn't even been opened yet. Matt was about to shrug it off as an awkward joke until the bald man said:
"You... were just joking, weren't you human?"
The bearded man jabbed the other's ribs with an elbow. "So were we!"
"Haha..." Matt looked away. "Yeah... Good one, sir."
The bald one looked at his partner. "I don't think he's buying it."
"Well..." The bearded one sighed. "Fuck it. It's not like it should matter anyways."
"W-what?" said Matt. "Of course it does!
"Indeed" said the bald one, ignoring him. "In this recession, he would have to be an idiot to throw away this opportunity."
Matt pursed his lips. That was actually a good point. He would still probably take the job, even if they were trying to enslave the world or something like that. The economy wasn't exactly blooming right now. These business... men(?) were willing to pay a good salary way above the market average. It was a price that only someone who didn't value human money could afford. Matt immediately asked for their true objectives. He needed to know, even if he ultimately didn't care enough to stop them.
The aliens were surprisingly open about their intentions. Apparently, they were entertainment moguls from a few solar systems away. Humans had now advanced their space travel technology to the point where it was inevitable that they would stumble upon the rest of the galactic community, and these two aliens wanted to establish themselves in the human entertainment market before other conglomerates approached Earth with a tempting offer. Matt was skeptical of them, but his duties wouldn't really be any different if he worked for a different company. More than that, they would just hire another person if he refused. One that probably wouldn't be aware of their true identities. If their motives weren't benign, Matt would be in the best position to stop them. The choice was obvious.
And then Matt asked to see their true forms.
The businessmen hesitated. They weren't sure a human could handle it.
Matt frowned, insisting his species shouldn't be looked down upon.
The aliens shrugged, reluctantly agreeing. Their human bodies projectile vomited streams of purple flesh until they were pale, shriveled up husks. The two amorphous blobs then morphed into indescribable lumps of teeth and eyes, spreading out gooey tentacles with horrible shrieks.
Matt started bleeding from his ears. He curled up on the floor, unable to move. His tearful screams were overshadowed by the aliens' noise. The pain wouldn't go away. It took him an hour to stop trembling from the shock.
The aliens had to wear their disguises again to get him to stand up. They apologized profusely and insisted that they weren't monsters. Matt couldn't make eye contact with either of them. His neck twitched every other second. The images didn’t go away. These unholy abominations were seared into his brain forever. The aliens were understanding of his reaction. They expected him to refuse the job after that, even trying to leave the door open for him to return.
Matt signed the contract anyways. Whatever horrifying secret they were hiding, it was still probably more ethical than working for Disney.
------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out all of my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
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I snort. They can't be serious. I look at them. They look serious. I look around the room. It's as normal as an office can be, a bookshelf on one wall, a desk in the middle of the room. Everything is held in shades of white and grey. Except for a small table in one corner of the room, where a wooden sidetable was topped with all sorts of alcoholic beverages. The windows are behind my interviewers, and maybe, future bosses. I am sitting with my back towards the only door that is leading in and out of this office.
I try to smile. Look at them in confusion.
"I was joking, I wasn't suggesting you two really were... aliens?" They let out a forced laugh. Something clicks. The job. The offer. Is it too good to be true? Was this all some kind of joke? Or... maybe... Just maybe this could make things even more interesting.
"Yes, right. Because aliens don't exist, right?" I look at them - still utterly stunned. What were those looks about? Were they testing me? I have to think about it for a few seconds, let it sink in. I take in a deep breath and study Hudson and Walkers. They are both women in their thirties, maybe early fourties. Hudson is strongly build, she puts effort in her appearance and it pays off. She's stunningly good with her make-up. Walkers doesn't try, you can tell by her tangled hair, that her beauty comes naturally, as natural as aliens can be... right? Are they natural? I wonder. Her long dark curls are tied behind her head, the ponytail is giving her an athletic look. I inspect their skins, try finding some clues on where they might come from. Hudson reminds me of my mother, her skin is fair, but it has wrinkles where laughs and joy would lead to them. To be honest, I cannot say much about Walkers skin, it's dark and shiny and I wonder what kind of skincare she uses to look so effortlessly pretty. Every time I look at her I feel attraction more than anything else. I give her a brief smile as she grins at me.
They sit and wait in anticipation, breathing steadily. It seems like if they are aliens, they aren't bothered by the fact I could uncover that secret. Was it even a secret?
"So... Miss Evaness? Coming to any conclusions?", Walkers is still grinning. I get it now. Of course they look normal. They talk normal. If they are aliens and they are here, the possibilities they have are probably endless. Or maybe they just look like humans, because this was the lucky form. The one form that leads to self-consciousness. To a deep level of understanding.
"Yes. So if you two are aliens, I have even more questions, is that alright with you?" I am sure now. They wouldn't just joke about this. This job is too important. They need me for their company. This company could change everything. My urge for understanding and finding out the truth keeps me from fainting. I feel a tad lightheaded. Aliens... huh?
"Of course. Go ahead."
"Do I have to or will I ever have to act against humanity when I work for this company?"
"No, never. We are not trying to declare war upon a world that is in constant war with itself."
"Makes sense, but it would probably be easy for an advanced society like yours - as I suppose - to do so", I counter and sigh. Okay, so my bosses are aliens. What's the big deal? You've had worse offers. Breathe.
"We are advanced, because we moved forward, Miss Evaness. This is what you will be trying to do for your world. Moving forward in this field of science. Seeing the whole picture. Creating machines that will last generations and that will help generations."
"I understand. If that is really true, and I have not seen proof for that so far, I am on board." I offer them a generous smile. I cannot help it. I think, if that's true, if that's really true, I can achieve my goals. I can strive forward. Become the scientist I always wanted to be and I feel like I'm beaming. Glowing even.
"We have proof. Of course. It's not the first time someone of your... luck... or intelligence... or intuition has found out about us." Hudson is speaking now. She is smiling softly and stands up from her chair.
"Look down at your hands, Miss Evaness." I do and I raise from my chair. Utterly confused of what is happening right now. I am looking at nothing. It's gone. How does she do that? Can advanced human lifeforms all do that? There is so much to learn! I sit down again. This is a great opportunity. I just have to believe it's real!
"This is called supertransmission of reflective particles. Or SRP in short. This is one of the abilities we can chose from when we enhance our beings at birth."
"Enhance? At birth? What do you mean?"
"We are not much different from humans physically, Miss Evaness. Everything we can do and everything we are is just... enhanced by science. We are here to find a way to let humans... be a part of this. But before we do that, we sell self-driving vehicles, trains and rocketships that are proven to work correctly by science humans already understand. We think that with more people like you..." She is pointing at me, whilst wandering through the room gesticulating. "... if you should join our company we could help bring humanity away from war, right towards interstellar travelling and trading. Some planets down the 'milky way' - as you call it, have incredible resources and we want to bring them down to earth." I am visible again, as she finishes that sentence. I take a deep breath. If I even had the slightest chance on travelling or trading with aliens, even the slightest, I'd take it. I want to see those resources. I want to see for myself what kind of advanced technology they are talking about, they've just shown me. I nod. Exhale.
"I'm in, where do I sign?", I say eventually and look at them with a smile in my face tells everything about me. About who I am.
"We are happy to hear that, Miss Evaness." Walkers is opening the contract.
For the next two to three hours we go through the contract. Hudson left to run the company in the meantime. I cannot lie, I am a little bit grateful she left. I feel there's tension between me and Walkers and I know I probably shouldn't try, but I am so full of hope and joy right now... I might as well dare.
"So... are you seeing someone?", I ask, trying to sound as smooth as possible.
"Seeing...?", Walkers laughs, "No, Miss Evaness, I am not seeing someone. I run one of the biggest companies in Europe, you think I'd have time for that?"
"I think you could make time for that, if you'd found the right person to waste your time on." I smile at her, playing with the pen she gave me and meeting her gaze. She looks like she's calculating something, then smiles back at me.
"I have time this evening", she offers. I grin and nod. I write down my adress on a piece of paper and hand it to her. She takes it and laughs again. This time it's making me blush, I feel slightly embarressed.
"You know I could have just looked down on the contract and remembered it?"
"Is that like... your special enhancement?", I ask consciously.
"No, it's just that I have a very extraordinary mind, Marie." I smile at the sound of my name. It sounds pretty when she calls me that.
"What's your first name?", I ask.
"Daisy", she mumbles. Suddenly self-conscious. I grin. Daisy Walkers.
"Nice to meet you, Daisy Walkers."
"Nice to meet you, too, Marie Evaness."
With this, we sign the contract we prepared. Before I leave we change numbers. I cannot remove that stupid grin from my face, even when I enter my own flat. I feel like my face is falling off from all the smiling on my way home. I've got my dream job, with dream people... I mean aliens... and I got a date, with the coolest and smartest woman I've encountered over the last few years. I cannot help but dance, as I walk through my flat. Then I realize, I gotta clean up. The grin's gone. But the anticipation lasts.
| 2020-05-02T08:51:53 | 2020-05-02T04:19:42 | 1,631 | 723 |
[WP] Genies are real, and they do grant wishes. But these wishes do not have to be said out loud. They just grant you your three deepest desires, however fucked up they may be
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The party was a pool of embarrassment but if you looked closely you can see that even though some of the things that were brought to reality were downright weird the person who received them was secretly satisfied. It was after all their three deepest desires. One by one the lamp was passed and three events either happened or popped out of nowhere. Up to this day no one has ever seen a purple sparkling unicorn but it happened, there it was in the living room. There was the question of why it had a very specific set of powers but given the nature of the wishes, it decided that it was best left unasked.
Andrew was the last person to get the lamp, having seen the previous wishes granted he could barely contain his excitement.
“Hurry up Andrew” the friend with a tentacle anime girl sitting on his lap, “let’s see what weird shit you’re into.”
“It’s probably something boring like a bicycle or something” another added, who was now talking velociraptor.
Andrew rubbed the lamp and a whirlwind of smoke filled the room before condensing into a muscular bald figure. Andrew opened his mouth. “NO” the voice boomed, “even I have standards,” and returned back into the lamp.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Part ?: Clara v.s. Her Deepest Desires)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There was only one way to save my daughter, and it just might destroy the world.** But in all my years as a hero and a villain, as a mayor and an outlaw, I thought that I'd seen a bit of good and evil in my time. And twist or stretch it as much as you'd like, there was one thing that the most truly, irredeemable monsters had in common.
They had given up caring about *anybody*.
So long as I cared about my daughter, even if I doomed the city I'd once sworn to protect, I couldn't be a total monster.
And that was enough for me to try one final, desperate gambit.
The Feds hadn't been able to destroy the lamp, so they'd sealed it in concrete and dropped it to the bottom of the ocean. But there were *things* at the bottom of the ocean, things that I knew would take advantage of it even if the Feds didn't listen to me, and so I'd reached out to [an old thoughtfriend](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mot0ex/wp_the_ocean_can_be_scary_and_so_can_many_of_the/) and had him haul it back to shore years ago, where—to my knowledge—it had sat in an abandoned warehouse until now. An artifact capable of breaking reality and reshaping it to the user's desires, lounging in downtown Sacrament until someone smart enough to open it and stupid enough to try wandered in.
I wandered into the warehouse.
It was a rather shabby place for the end of the world to begin. The only light filtered in through an old crack in the ceiling, playing along the boring grey edge of the concrete cube; the smell of mildew and old fish filled the dockside air. Rotten wood sagged beneath my feet as I walked towards the innocuous concrete block.
I set down the toolbox I'd brought with me and took out a freshly-bought hammer and nails. Janice had been watching YouTube all day and was excitedly sharing the highlights with me—I'd set down my paperwork and sat beside her as she showed me singing cats and great salt flats and DIYs and sexy guys, not really understanding any of it but laughing along regardless. She'd shown me a video of a man breaking stone with nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows.
I wondered what she'd think if she knew that that video was the difference between her life and death.
With nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows, the concrete case around the lamp split precisely in two. I levered the halves apart until the gleaming golden metal became visible.
I swallowed, hesitating. In the wrong hands, this power could devastate the lives of millions, cause misery untold. In the wrong hands, this would be the antithesis of everything I had worked my life for.
Too late to turn back now.
I took the lamp into my hands.
Immediately, a presence *surged* into existence, a mind infinitely greater than my own pressing upon my consciousness. Billowing mist belched forth from the lamp's exposed aperture, forming into a seething, hissing cloud. I *screamed* as it dug into me, a well-placed hammer blow splitting my soul in half as easily as I'd shattered the cage around the bottle—
"I SEE," the genie boomed. It felt red, somehow, the red of lifeblood on an altar. "I SEE, I SEE, I SEE. DESIRES GRANTED, AND WISHES THREE."
"Just... one... wish..." I grated out. "Nothing... else... matters..."
"THE LEAST OF YOUR THREE GREAT DESIRES: NONE ELSE SHALL HOLD THIS LAMP. FROM NOW UNTIL THE END OF TIME, I'LL HIDE BEYOND ALL MORTAL GRASP."
The lamp flickered in my hands, fritzing, and then abruptly disappeared. I exhaled. Well. At least the damn thing would never cause another apocalypse again.
"THE SECOND OF THE THINGS YOU WANT: YOUR DAUGHTER, SAFE AND SOUND. I KNIT HER FLESH AND MEND HER SOUL. TO LIFE HER FATE IS BOUND."
I knelt. "Thank you," I whispered. "That was all I came here for. Really. There's no need to—"
"STILL THERE YET LIES ONE MORE WISH, ONE DEEPER THAN THE REST. THE FINAL OF YOUR DARKEST HOPES SHALL PUT YOUR HEART TO TEST."
I flinched. "What? No! That was all I wanted, that was my deepest desire, really! There's nothing that I want more than to never have to see my daughter *bleeding* like that again, or Tupperman standing helplessly as she dies—please, I don't know what—"
"THOUGH YOU MAY CLAIM TO BE A SHIELD FROM RED-TOOTHED CLAW AND STRIFE, EACH WOUND YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY TAKE HACKS AT YOU LIKE A KNIFE. THE FINAL OF YOUR GREATEST DREAMS: THAT THIS PAIN COULD END. THOSE YOU LOVE, YOU'LL NEVER HAVE TO SEE IN PAIN AGAIN."
"Wh—" Hope bloomed in my chest. Was that really it? Could I truly escape this nightmare with everything I wanted and more? "You... you mean it? My friends will never be in pain again?"
The clouds shifted, contracting in on themselves, and for a moment, I saw a terribly old, terribly human face within.
"THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID."
And then the genie disappeared.
A.N.
Part 2 is below.
| 2021-08-06T11:31:13 | 2021-08-06T07:40:16 | 74 | 53 |
[WP] After years of gentile persuasion your best friend since childhood finally agrees to seek professional help for serious mental problems. Much to your dismay, as she begins to improve you slowly start to realize that you are her imaginary friend.
Edit: I see what I did wrong and I see what you did there ;) I'm leaving it because you're hilarious.
|
I'm so proud of her. Before she started taking care of herself, it was a chore and a half to get her out of bed. You'd think being roommates would have been heaven, we'd been friends since we were three! After the first session, she seemed even more desolate than before. But eventually, between the therapist and some gentle cajoling we got her out and volunteering at a local botanical garden, and she's made some of her first adult friends. I'm a bit sad I never got to meet them, actually. As she got more and more out there, I started having problems remembering things. I don't think she noticed, which is no small blessing. Realizing my life was her daydream of a real existence was bittersweet. I got to watch with excitement as she headed towards a life she was sure to love, and tried not to show it as mine faded out in the wake of all that living she was doing. Last night she talked for hours about this guy, first date jitters. Oh, Stacy. I'm so happy for you. I can only smile and nod, and pray she doesn't notice that the door to my bedroom goes to an empty closet now. "Taylor, you wouldn't believe this guy! He even pulled my chair out at the restaurant! Who even does that any more? I can't wait for you to meet him..."
It's so bright outside I share my eyes, which means I can't see the ball coming across the yard. Face burning with embarrassment and the impact of a dodge ball, small feet appear in faded pink shoes. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" It's Stacy, I swear to god, but she's a kindergartner again. "I'm fine, are you.. Are you Stacy?" Pigtails sway as she shakes her head. "My names Melissa. Stacy is my Mom." She points to a woman chatting on a park bench, older, but still her. A man takes off his coat and hands it to her as she rubs her arms in the chilly autumn air, and she laughs at a gesture made sweeter with time. "Wanna play ball?"
Sure kid. Let's start an adventure. "My names Taylor, by the way. I like your pig tails."
|
*"I'm sure this is the right thing for you to do, Rhiann. All these years with nightmares and bedwetting and sudden tears. That constant fear you describe to me. I hope your first session goes well with the therapist."*
"I'm scared, Clemmie. I'm terrified about what to tell them. What if it still doesn't help? And I'm scared about what they might do. Do you think they might take me out of school? Or take me away from my family? Maybe I won't tell them anything at all."
*"They want to help you, just as much as I do. But they can't help you if you won't talk. You want the nightmares to be over right?"*
"Yes."
*"Good."*
"I'll go then."
------------------------------------------
"You know Clemmie, after these few months I think it has actually helped. Quite a lot. I mean, I've still got problems at night... but that sort of fear, it's not stopping me from doing things all the time now."
*"Yeah... you seem a lot busier. I'm glad it's helping you."*
"It's cool, I've actually joined an after-school netball club, I go over to Julia's house sometimes, and you and me can go out to the park together. We never used to do that!"
*"The park was pretty cool. But now you're so busy I hardly see you! Are you spending a lot of time with Julia?"*
"Well, no, yes? Maybe a few times a week. Not as much as you though, Clem. It's nice to have another friend."
*"I miss seeing you every day, Rhiann."*
"Yeah but you don't come round all the time like you used to."
*"You don't call on me as much as you used to."*
"Well I guess with the clubs and Julia and therapy I don't have as much time as I used to. You're not jealous are you?"
*"... me? I'm glad that you're happier, it's nice to spend time with you now that you're feeling better. I just wish we could spend it all together like we used to, and I could have happy you all the time."*
"Well... if I went back to staying in my bedroom with you all the time I probably wouldn't be so happy would I?"
---------------------------------------------
*"HEY! Rhiann!"*
"Woah! Hi there Clemmie! I haven't seen you for ages!"
*"Where've you been? You haven't called on me in weeks!"*
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. There's been so much happening. Practising for the netball tournament has been taking up all my time apart from studying."
*"You're not studying now are you?"*
"Well, no, I just got home from therapy. I'm still going. I can't believe how much it's helped me."
*"You never want me to come to netball with you. You never let me hang out with you and Julia. And you never want me around to help with your homework either. And all this time without you is just empty for me. Maybe I should come to therapy with you."*
"I um.... I don't know if they'd let you come in with me."
*"Well if you don't even try then I'll know for sure you're not my friend anymore."*
"Fine. Come with me next Thursday."
--------------------------------------------------
*"I didn't think you'd really let me come with you."*
"You are my friend right? I'm still not sure they'll let you in to see my therapist with me."
*"It's cool. I'll just listen. It's your therapy."*
The therapist called for Rhiann. They both stood up and went in, and no one stopped them. The two friends smiled at each other as they sat down, and the therapist and patient began to talk. Rhiann explained about her improving social and school life, but that she still has some problems with nightmares, even though the bedwetting has stopped. Then the therapist asked if Rhiann was still seeing Clemmie. The two friends exchanged a glance.
"Yeah. She's still around but I see her less."
The therapist told her this was a good sign, and that if she can find ways to avoid seeing Clemmie it would help her get even better, like spending more time with other friends instead.
-----------------------------------------------
*"So you have been avoiding me Rhiann! I asked you and you lied!"*
"No! I haven't been avoiding you, I promise."
*"So your therapist hates me? She thinks I'm making you unhappy?"*
"No Clemmie... it isn't you that makes me unhappy. You cheer me up when I'm desperate. That's why I used to see you so much when things were bad and I don't see you as much now."
*"You used me? You just used me to mop up your tears and now you've stopped crying you're dumping me?"*
"No! I still want to see you, but I can't!"
*"All you have to do is call and I come!"*
"You don't understand. That doesn't work so well when I'm happy."
---------------------------------------------
*"Rhiann. You called. It's been so long."*
"Yes. I needed to see you. I was thinking about you. There's something I want to say to you."
*"About us not seeing each other anymore? It's like I barely exist now that you're getting better."*
"I am getting better, Clemmie. And my therapist says that you make me worse and I can't keep calling you. So I haven't been calling you. But I've still missed you. The thought of never seeing you again made me so sad that you came back."
*"You only ever call me when you're sad. I never see all those moments when you're happy now, I still only see the sadness. And in between, there's nothing."*
"That's the only time you ever come. When I'm frightened. And I'm just not scared of the world anymore."
*"You make it sound like I only exist when you're scared."*
"Clemmie, it's over, I'm not scared now and I don't need you."
*"Why can't I be with you when you're happy? There's a reason isn't there? Rhiann? There's a reason you only ever call me when you're sad. And there's a reason why I can never call you, isn't there? Rhiann, wait, I've got nothing without you!"*
"No Clemmie. You *are* nothing without me."
*"I'm nothing?"*
"Nothing. When I leave you, you'll be nothing. You've been in my head all this time and I want you out."
*"In your head is exactly where I want to be. You just try getting me out of there. You think you can but you can't. I'll be waiting for you. I'll be waiting for the fear again. Rhiann, I'm never leaving you and you can't make me. I'm in your head."*
| 2015-11-17T06:17:42 | 2015-11-17T05:44:07 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] You somehow end up dating death. However, you have to deal with God and The Devil being overprotective older siblings.
|
In the beginning, God and Satan stood against us.
"You do not belong together," said The Lord.
"Your selfishness will cause untold pain," said Satan.
The almighty two, united as one. A rare occurrence indeed. Yet still I courted Death. They knew I'd never stop, so they kept me from her. With both their powers combined, they banished me from seeking Death.
But with that mistake, they failed. For Death, too, sought me. And they cannot stop Death finding me. After all, what is Life without Death?
|
"Now let's see... 151012 today. Just another day then", Death sighed hollowly. She blew a wisp of ash blonde hair out of her vision while studying the spreadsheet. "Who should be MY star tonight then?". Her eyes lit up and a grin worked its way across her face. That was her favourite part. She rolled her gender dice. "Alright!".
*So today I'm straight, I can work with that... He has to be tall, obviously, and a looker of course*, Death pondered while she set the search parameters on her old Acer Aspire. It had passed on from her brother when he no longer thought it was hipster enough.
"God if he says 'it just works' one more time I'll rip the wings off of one of his angels..". The laptop was old and worn, but her other brother had made sure it had hell of a connection speed.
She reached across her dark oak table and spun the globe and closed her eyes. "There!", she said out loud. "Sweden, I see. He's too hipster for that too it seems. Alright then, 247 deaths today. Let's see how many tall, handsome Swedes will kick the bucket today! ...what the deuce, two hundred and forty two matches?! Ugh.
Damn beautiful Swedes. Ok, I'll just grab the last name and get to it, this is ruining all the fun". She scrolled to the bottom of the list. "Wilton. What in the worlds kind of name is that? Wilton", she repeated as she squinted her dark, brown eyes.
"Wilton it is! 28 year old, blonde, long hair... Squishing accident! Exciting!". She rushed over to her old oaken wardrobe. It was very dim in the cave, even though the river of dead souls lit up its cave ceiling in a faint blueish shimmer. She liked it that way though, and all her clothes were black robes anyway so it didn't really matter. She picked one out and turned left facing the edge of the river. Death took a deep breath and started wading down the angst-filled medium.
The last thing she saw was her own reflection and when she ascended from the water she was in some small Swedish village, by the looks of it. She was also dry again, like always when she emerged out of someones bath drain, shower drain, or worst case an unflushed bachelor toilet. She just didn't like the smell. *who would ever want to not flush something like that*, she briefly thought while exiting the fountain she had ended up in. She pulled up her not so old Samsung Galaxy S6 edge+ from the only pocket in her robe. It was also dry. Google spreadsheets was so smart, she thought, and Sweden apparently had free wifi wherever she walked.
"Time of Death: 12:05:55. Perfect, enough time for a Swedish fika and also some pre game stalking". That was her second favourite part. All the seemingly random events in a persons life that would sooner lead up to its demise. She found both her collactable and a coffee shop in the same stroke of luck. *Ironic*, she thought as she watched him carry a wooden tray across the plaza by which her café was situated. She had a good view over the upcoming gruesomeness and her usual gidders kicked in. She liked it.
It was a hot day for Sweden, 28 degrees Celsius and only a hint of a fresh breeze in the air. It was one of her most appreciated stops. Too bad Sweden is tiny and her finger usually missed, but she always made sure to point somewhere in the northern hemisphere just to even out the odds. The coffee was rich and flavourful. So much better than in the states, or australia, ...or anywhere in asia, she thought. *And definitely better than that disgusting sugarbomb Starbucks that's for sure*.
She suddenly lost track of her thoughts. Wilton had paused to remove his white, sweaty t-shirt. *Abs. Sweat. Wilton*. her heart began pounding. "It's a shame, really", she muttered while keeping her eyes on his well defined torso.
Wilton gazed over the plaza and his eyes suddenly met hers. *Shoot!* she diverted her eyes, but quickly looked back again. He was still looking at her. He started walking over the square straight towards her. *Shoot shit shoot!* He rose taller and taller until he finally stood right by her table, eyes fixated on hers.
"Hi! Do I know you? I think we've met before...Wilton!", he said and extended a large working man's hand. His Swedish accent was cutely translated into some kind of Swenglish in her ears.
She felt it long before he could even tell. The blushing. This was the first time in over 200 years she had felt this cocktail of feelings ranging from excitement, fear, attraction and at the same time, serenity. Faintly remembering the touch of another mans lips on hers, but not the look of this man's face. Not his smile or voice or smell. Just the touch. It made her sad. Her brothers hadn't approved of her romance, and both of them had had their way with him in their own twisted ways. She snapped back to reality and was instantly filled by the warmth of his look. *Wilton*, she thought, and it was happy thoughts.
| 2016-03-24T11:44:11 | 2016-03-24T10:51:22 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] Humans wiped themselves out completely after becoming technologically advanced. Tens of thousands of years later, a species evolved to have the intelligence level of humans. Their societies strive to understand what was left behind. Then, you stumble upon an artifact that is still operational.
|
There was a scratch at my tent. *"Q."* That's me. *"We're starting."*
I slipped into my tattered over-garment which rode high on my waist; I've owned it since I could remember and hadn't had the time to sew myself proper. Upon my approach to high-hanging canopy known as Workstation Delta, I greeted the tribesman from before with a sarcastic reverberation. "Labor and Longevity." This was our tribe's motto and we were forced to say it so much that it had become sort of an inside joke for us.
The sun stood and supervised our tribe in the mindless collection of the Old World. Workstation Alpha was responsible for data collection and discovery; they were the rangers of our tribe. They would travel far beyond our sector to gather ancient artifacts. This often meant that tribes would conflict with each other over groundbreaking discoveries of the Post-Pangaea era. Workstation Bravo was responsible for the daily maintenance of our tribe; the cooks, schoolhouse wardens, gardeners, etcetera. Nothing too exciting there. Workstation Charlie is for reproduction; men and women captured from other tribes are kept here and forced to populate our own tribe. It's pretty fucked up when I get to explaining it, but it's just how it is. And lastly, Workstation Delta, the smart folk. We research the artifacts that Alpha collects and compile reports to be briefed to the Tribe Leader. It's a tedious process that requires endless hours of tinkering and the everlasting hope that one day this world gets obliterated again.
More accurately, we've started delving into the oeuvre of Madeinchina, an Old World God known to be the creator of most relics we possess today. Today, we received an artifact from Alpha that has actually maintained its composition; we were told to keep this project a secret from the other tribespeople in fear that it may spread out to competitors across the sector.
The artifact, primarily composed of Spruce wood, resembled a modern cooking utensil (like a *pot* with a hole in the middle) but it had a long, wooden piece attached to the end of it. Rough strips of elastic polymer accompanied the wooden unit, tethered at both ends which kept the ensemble connected as one. "It's abstract in comparison to our previous findings," I observed. Our Workstation Elder (essentially a department head) walked over and gave us his insight.
"I know what this is... the attributes match perfectly," he spoke hesitantly, in disbelief. "Imagine a Workstation Zulu, and then imagine a Workstation past that." The flock of researchers all looked at each other with puzzled faces. "Imagine a Workstation that wasn't a Workstation at all. They freely did as they pleased and 'production' was seen as regression." His aging hands trembled as he lifted the artifact and held it for awhile. He began op-testing the artifact's components, emitting a noise unlike anything I had ever heard. It was beautiful.
"What do they call it?" I asked.
"This is *music.*"
|
Rocko walked with his team across the ruins, his claws digging into the dirt and his comb and feathers blowing in the wind. Behind him were Kuku, Shisha, and Puko, his partners on the research team dedicated to finding remnants of the long forgotten past.
Historians believe that the human race went extinct around 20,000 years ago. During that time, a new dominant species began to emerge. They do not know what they were called during the age of humans, but they refer to themselves as cuckoos. At around the year 5,000 AH (after humans), they had officially achieved world peace among their race. They build massive cities and advanced new technologies and medicine, while also preserving their culture. The origin of their race, however, remains a mystery.
"Alright," Rocko turned around to look at his team members. "We're here. *bwuk* These are the remains of one of the humans' largest settlements. *bwuk bwuk*" They were on a massive dune overlooking what appeared to be the ruins of a city. In front of him, in the distant, a long streak of structures, worn down to only their bases, stretched for miles across the horizon.
"Where should we start first? *bwuk bwuk*" Asked Kuku.
"We'll split up to cover more ground. *bwuk* Kuku, you take the first few structures. *bwuk* Shisa, you'll take the open area further south. *bwuk* Puko, you'll take the large structure to the west, I will check the barrens on the other side. Ready up! *bwuk*"
"Yes sir. *bwuk*" They all said simultaneously.
One by one, they all jumped off of the dune, spreading their wings and taking flight, then splitting up, each landing in their designated zone. Rocko's was the farthest. He flew over what appeared to be roads, a bridge, several structures worn to the core. Eventually he reached the periphery, he began to lower his altitude and flapped his wings to steady himself, then landed. From out of his bag, he pulled out a gravity moving device for moving large artifacts, and a scanning device for scanning each discovery in a database to identify it.
He searched throughout the area finding mostly nothing of particular interest, just the usual pieces of worthless scrap metal. After searching throughout a structure, he began to believe that this was another wasted trip. Then, out of an opening in the structure barrier, he noticed something he hadn't searched yet. He jumped out, and flew over to it. It appeared to be one of those human-made transportation mechanisms. He had seen many, but never one this intact. He began to look through it, only to find a bunch of rust and more scrap metal.
Then, underneath a sheet of scraps, he noticed something unusual. He thought it may have been another piece of scrap, but this object looked too well-crafted. He picked it up. It was a square-like shape, with a circular little hollow on one side. On the other side of it, a circle stuck slightly out of the upper-left corner. Further down in the middle was some strange marking. Some sort of symbol. It looked like a circular shape that was cut into on it's right side, with a rounded rhombus shape over it. Rocko decided this was something that needed to be checked out.
"K team, this is Rocko, come in K team, this is Rocko. *bwuk* Can you hear me? *bwuk bwuk*"
He heard three voices on his communicator, which then displayed their faces on hologram screens in front of him.
"I think I might have found something valuable. Head back to the rendezvous point, I'll meet you there. *bwuk*"
Later that day, the four cuckoos were sitting in the lab waiting for the test results to come back. Kiki and Puko were telling this story about how they both managed to escape after being kidnapped by a gang of Porkers, Shishi calling them such idiots, just laughing and cracking jokes.
Then a Cuckoo came to them. "Hello all. I am Zichi, one of the researchers. *bwuk* We've successfully completed the test results. I think you might need to see what we found. *bwuk bwuk*
They all got up and followed him to the large room with the giant monitor screen. Another cuckoo pressed a button on the console and it lit up the screen.
"The artifact you discovered appears to be some sort of multiuse telecommunications device. *bwuk* We are still trying to determine its full functionality, but we will show you what we have so far. *bwuk*"
The screen lit up to display several images that were found, many with strange markings and letters that appeared to be messages of the human language. Then it displayed pictures. Pictures of human beings and places during the human age.
"This device also appears to be some sort of light capturing device. *bwuk*" The cuckoo explained.
"Oh my goodness! These are incredible! *bwuk bwuk*" Rocko said as they all stood there in amazement. There were many photos of never before seen places and things never before seen to the cuckoos.
"There is something else you should see. *bwuk*" Zichi added, his voice starting to sound very heavy. "But I must warn you that this is not for the faint of heart. Show them!"
The cuckoo pressed another button on the console. The image displayed a red bucket, inside was what appeared to be charred, golden brown chunks of meat. The markings on the bottom of the picture read "Sshiiieet bruh cant wait to
chow down on dis bucket o fried chikin #yolo"
"Those appear to be...cuckoo body parts. *bwuk*"
Everyone gasped, and looked at each other with the same shocked look on their face.
"There has to be some sort of mistake! *bwuk*" Shishi said, in denial.
"I'm afraid there's no mistake. *bwuk*" replied Zichi.
"But why would they have those? *bwuk*" asked Kiki.
"We believe they were...for consumption. *bwuk*"
"But that's terrible! *bwuk*" shouted Puko.
"I'm afraid it's the truth. *bwuk*" replied Zichi, somberly.
"Is there anything else you can show us off of this artifact? To prove that the humans weren't monsters? *bwuk*" asked Rocko, hoping for some sense of closure.
Before Zichi was able to respond, another cuckoo ran into the room.
"Sir? *bwuk*" the cuckoo asked, appearing to have something important to say?
"Yes? *bwuk*"
"We appeared to have recovered another data sample from the artifact. *bwuk*" replied the cuckoo.
"Very good. Play it on the screen! *bwuk*"
The cuckoo at the console pressed another button, and what displayed on the screen was a motion image. The human appeared to be sitting in a transportation mechanism, holding the artifact to show cuckoos in the sky, flying and landing, destroying buildings and vehicles behind and in front of it's view. Suddenly, one jumped onto the front part of the vehicle that the human was using the artifact to capture from. The cuckoo jumped onto the top, the walls of it broke, the ceiling came down, and then the screen went blank, save for some static, then the screen went completely blank.
There was silence in the room after that.
Rocko broke the silence. "Unbelievable. *bwuk*"
"Indeed. *bwuk*" Zichi responded. "It appears you have made one of the greatest discoveries in the history of cuckookind. *bwuk*"
| 2017-09-16T14:18:47 | 2017-09-16T14:03:30 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] You been a bullied outcast your entire life despite your pure heart and kindness. One day a horrible prank for you goes wrong, leaving you to die. Before your final breath, Death appears in white robes, and offers you a golden scythe with a name engraved on it: Karma.
|
Dying a peaceful death after suffering a life of hurt is more fitting than I could’ve imagined. This, however, is certainly not the way I thought I’d die. I work in an office building, and despite having a team to work on projects with, I usually have to do the majority of the work, which requires me to stay after for an hour or so.
My manager was nice enough to leave a key with me so that I can lock up, although he didn’t give it to me as a way of saying “I trust you”; I think he knows that if I don’t stay after and do the work, nobody else will, so he concedes and allows me to have that one sliver of responsibility.
We all have little lockers here that we can put our belongings in; lunch boxes, miscellaneous items, things of that nature. I guess some of the people in the office thought it’d be funny to booby-trap mine, because when I was finally ready to go home and I opened the locker, firecrackers were set off. Now normally this would be harmless, but in my clumsiness I fell backwards and cracked my head open on the wooden bench that was behind me.
So here I am, slowly bleeding out as my locker and the contents of it are torn to shreds by some prank-gone-wrong.
I never understood why people disliked me. I tried my hardest to be kind and respectful to everyone; even when I was young I went out of my way to do that. I thought maybe it was because of my looks, but in the past I’d never had a problem getting girlfriends, although they’d usually be quite abusive as well. The next idea that popped into my head was that maybe it was because of *how* nice I was. People might not like someone that’s overly kind or caring. That theory was disproven quick when I started trying to keep more to myself and the treatment became worse.
So I’ve come to the conclusion that this is-or was-how life had to be. I just got an unlucky draw and that’s that. I’ll accept my death and move on.
Suddenly, as if finally coming to my rescue, a white-robed being with a shrouded face and a golden scythe appears before me. I think for a moment that I’m hallucinating due to the blood loss, but the being reaches down to touch my hand and I can feel the chill of its bony fingers. “You’ve lived your life for everyone besides yourself, and even until the very end you’ve come to accept that. I’m here to offer you a second chance.” He held the scythe close so that I could see it; *Karma* was engraved on the blade.
I instantly realize what that would mean if I accept; anyone that had done me wrong will have that come right back around to them. I’ll be able to get revenge on anyone that had treated me poorly for no reason at all. I’d be the judge, jury, and executioner.
A smile tugs at my lips, and the being in front of me looks taken aback, although I can’t see its face. “I think I’ll pass....thank you, though.” I can hardly get the words out, but when they do come, the reaper tilts his head for a moment and then slowly stands up from where he’d been crouching next to me. “Are you sure? Once you make this decision, there is no going back. You will *die*.” I nod ever so slightly, the world already starting to fade to black. I no longer have the strength to speak, so I think my answer in hopes that he’ll somehow hear it.
*What’s the point of being kind all of your life if you’re going to throw it all away when given the chance? Everyone else chose their moral path, and I’ve already chosen mine. I’d like to die sticking to it.*
The being looks off to the side for a moment before it turns its shrouded gaze back to me and nods. After a moment, it disappears in a black mist, and I’m left with my destroyed locker, the pool of blood on the floor, and my final thoughts.
Dying a peaceful death after suffering a life of hurt is more fitting than I could’ve imagined. I’m content knowing that I’ve lived with a track record like this.
|
"I'm sorry" Joe said panicking. He knew this time he had gone too far.
"We, we gotta get out of here" his jerk of a friend said running away leaving the rest of them behind.
"Jimmy!" One of the girls called out. "We can't just leave him here he'll die!" But Jimmy kept running.
Joe frantically pressed against my stomach trying to stop the bleeding all while crying "I'm sorry I'm sorry"
I wanted him dead. I wanted him punished for all the things they did to me. If I could, I'd rip out his throat, and watch him choke on his blood. Unfortunately I couldn't even move, all I could do was watch my own blood pour from my body. Oddly enough it didn't hurt, I was in no pain other than the fear of dying.
"Joe, I think he's gone" Kat said pulling on him to let go. After a small struggle he let go of me crying and apologizing and they all ran away.
Once I was all alone in the dark, my consciousness faded and I woke up standing over my body, which was hunched over against the rotting tree. I saw the foot prints of my classmates that ran away. Should I follow them. I thought to myself. Could I follow them.
"What a nasty way to go, don't you think?" Said a low bumby voice from behind. I turned around but I was all alone. "I'm not over there child" it said.
"Where are you" I shouted.
"I'm over here" said the voice up above me in the trees.
I looked up as it jumped down slowly floating down, only it stopped before it even touched the ground. I was speechless, what was this thing floating before me? It's face was ripping in many different directions, showing parts of bone. It's eye was completely dilated while the other was completely gone. It was surrounded by black smoke that cloaked it as if it was a thin robe, I couldn't tell whether I should run or just accept my fate. All I did was fall over backwards tripping over a root in the ground.
"Wha, you, are you, are you death" I muttered.
"You can call me that if you'd like," he said moving closer. "I think you and I could become good friends in the times to come" he said as he began pulling something from the shadows his robe was made of.
"I'm going to hell, aren't I" I asked.
"Only if you choose to" he said as he finished pulling a long scythe from the shadows. It was all black even the blade. "It may not look shiny, not this is the sharpest blade you'll ever see. I call her Karma." He held it out as if he was giving it to me. I stood up on my feet, thinking this was all just some terrible nightmare.
"You're, giving it to me?" I asked.
"Giving? Oh no, I'm merely letting you borrow her for awhile. After seeing what those kids did to you, I had to offer you a chance at revenge." He said. "Do you want it?"
I hesitated for a moment, but thinking back on all of the things, the horrible things they did to make my life so miserable, so worthless. They deserve it, they should all be killed. I took the scythe from his cold bone hands and in an instant, he vanished into a cloud of black smoke.
It was time for them to pay, I followed the footsteps of my classmates. They led out of the woods and back to we're I parked my car. My first car, the one that made Lilly talk to me, but I guess that was apart of the joke. It was gone, they took it and probably hid it somewhere. There were two tire tracks in the mud, one my car and the other one was Joe's. I followed them all the way back to town passing up my car they tried to hide in a ditch.
I knew where Lilly was, I've been to her house a lot. She was supposed to be my friend, which is why she is first on my list. I came to her door and stood there, how should I do it. Will she be able to see me. I reached to grab the door handle but to my surprise my hand went right through it. I smiled and remembered I'm dead I could walk through wall now. I entered her home and went up the stairs to her room, she was trying her hardest to sleep but something was troubling her. She laid there in bed crying herself to sleep. I stood at the foot of her bed and said.
"I didn't deserve that"
She opened her eyes and shot up in bed, upon seeing me she screamed. Nothing had ever made me so happy. Seeing her tremble at the sight of me.
"But how, you you were dead" she shrieked.
"Why'd you do it, why'd you kill me" I yelled.
"I'm sorry she said as her father bursts I to the room.
"Honey what's the matter" he asked cradling her in his arms.
"He he he he's here" she cried. "I'm sorry"
"Honey who's here?" He asked
"Matt" she cried.
Her father looked around and stared directly at me, and oddly enough he said. "Sweetheart there's no one in here." But she could see me, she still saw me. She knew I was now standing right behind him hold my great long scythe, smiling because she was about to die.
She stared into my eyes and her father went to call her mother, as he left the room I towered over her. Traumatized she did nothing, she didn't even make a sound. I took my scythe and cut her in two. Although her body was intact, she did die I saw her soul leave her body and as she stared down at herself death reappeared.
"One down, two more left." He said "I'll take her with me." He placed his hand on my should and somehow I ended up at Jimmy's place. I couldn't believe it, not only 3 hours after my murder and this human garbage was throwing a fucking party. I roamed the house searching for this bastard until I came across his in a bedroom with Joe, apparently Joe didn't like the fact that he ran off and just threw a party.
"Look what happened was a freak accident, we need this, you know to take our mind of it. It wasn't our fault, he just didn't do what he should've. If he'd just stated down it wouldn't have hit him. That's on him." Jimmy said.
Rage filled my gut, I wanted nothing more than to rip out his tongue and watch him choke on the filthy lies he told himself.
"So it was my fault" I yelled. Jimmy turned his head, but Joe didn't.
"Matt" Jimmy said almost falling over. He immediately ran for it, back down to the party out his own home and down the street. Joe hurried after him. I felt Jimmy, he was now running out of breath I closed my eyes and in a instant I was in front of him. The look on his face, I hated him so much, I took the scythe and cut him just like Lilly. Joe ran over in time to see his friend dead with the look of terror on his face. Joe slowly turned his head towards me, his eyes widened and I knew he could now see me. Death appeared again.
"Two down, this is your last shot kid."
Joe was silent, he knew it was coming. All of the things he did to me.
"I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me." He said. He placed Jimmy down and sat there waiting. Death watched, wanting to see.
"Forgive you? You murdered me."
"I know, I've never been so sorry in my life. Hands and knees on the ground be begged for forgiveness. But I couldn't accept. I took my scythe and killed him just like the other two.
Death took both Jimmy and Joe and vanished. Moments later he returns with a grim look upon his face.
"I hope they rot in hell" I said to him.
"They won't be going to hell" he said. I asked for an explanation. "Those who die at the hands of karma are relieved of all sin. Sorry Matt, but the only person going to hell is you."
"What!?" I yelled. "Why me? Of all people? I've done nothing wrong!"
"You took vengeance upon yourself, wrath is a sign of evil, only a true holy spirit can forgive." He placed his hands on my shoulder and I was dragged down below, claws ripping me apart stringing me up as I screamed. This is my fault I did this. But I swear I'll get out, and I will kill you.... Death.
Sorry had to rush the ending my phone is dying.
| 2019-04-19T07:52:54 | 2019-04-19T06:45:58 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] As opposed to getting rid of the creepy dolls in the attic, you decide to clean them and fix them up. This made the little ghost girl very happy.
|
I carefully placed the cloth doll in the box, its newly sewn dress matching the other dolls. They looked in much better condition then a couple of months ago when I found them, all damaged and decaying. My friends loked at me as though I were mad, when I showed them what I had found, and my plan to repair them.
I had been going through my stuff, when I noticed in the darkened corner of the attic this box, dusty and forgotten. When I brought it out into the light, I saw it was an old toy box, long since abandoned. Inside were a collection of dolls, some cloth, some porcelain, all of which had felt the touch of time.
Most people would have thrown them out, claiming them to be cursed. In normal times I would have done the same, but something stopped me. I decided to make it a lockdown project of mine, to restore them. It had taken much time, both reading up on how to fix, and getting the necessary materials.
But I did my best. True, it was amatuer repair work, but I tried. And it seems that whatever stayed my hand was thankful, as with each repaired doll my mood lifted. The dark days seemed brighter, and the news felt less dreary.
I felt at peace, looking down at the finished collection. But, my eyes must've been playing tricks on me. Its dress moved, as it someone were stroking it. I blinked, and suddenly I say a young girl, sitting cross legged, smoothing it down. I breathed in sharply, and she looked up, a wide smile on her face.
"Thank you for saving them!!"
"Uh... buh... what?"
She picked up the cloth doll, hugging it tightly.
"Thank you for rescuing my dolls!!"
"You're..... welcome?"
She jumped up, and hugged me. I saw her hug tight, but I felt nothing but a slight pressure and chill. As she hugged, I realised that her happiness at seeing me mend her dolls must have been affecting me. She looked up at me, still smiling.
"You're the best!"
I couldn't help but smile at that, despite the bizarre circumstances. She faded away, along with the chill and pressure on my sides. I carefully closed the toy box, and put it in the corner of my office.
Over the next few weeks, things just fell into place for me. I was laid off from my old job, but found a new one that allowed me to work remotely, at a much better wage. My garden flowered beautifully, and I even won a small amount on the lottery. And each night before something good happened, I had the same dream. A little girl, playing with her dolls.
|
*A broken man from a broken home broke in a broken house.*
*And there he found a little doll, dressed in a blue blue blouse.*
There is just one prayer in my life. Just one wish and need from this marble I'm on. I want it to let me be good. I cry for it to let me be good and do good. To take harm out of my hands, to take harm out of my mind. A beggar with a knife, a tramp with a plea. Man without a break and with no brakes. And such I wandered until I came upon this damaged, abandoned house at the side of the town. It was the worst place of the worst. Even other hobos did not want to live here. Even prostitutes did not come here for sleep or silence. A corner with no God. A corner where God can't see me. A place where I don't have to feel ashamed in front of him. The whole neighborhood is nothing but junkies, thieves and the poor. God doesn't look this way.
And one room, a child's room, on the second floor, seems to be burned out. The worst of the smell is gone, but it never really does go away. You can see the bed that you can suspect was once blue and the table with various books, all burned to a crisp. And among it all, right above the bed, I saw the smallest of dolls. A plush little doll in a blue blue dress. It was not damaged in the fire too bad, so someone had put it on said bed. I picked it up and turned it around. The hair had half of the face had burned down.
I picked it up. I could fix it. Somehow. I knew I could. My arms are made of sin, my hands are made for sin. But I know. If I can fix this somehow. If I can fix this little doll here, then I can fix things. Then it is ok. Then I can prove that things can be fixed. And then I can start fixing everything. The bedroom, the house, myself. I just... I have to. So when I am to walk in front of God, I can stand tall. I can be me. What I am, not what life made me into. I can, by the devil, I can... I can fix things. I can oh God I can...
I walked around the house looking for strings to use in place of her hair. I took one from an old pillow, one from the carpet and one from my own shirt. After a while I wandered outside of my house and started walking around the neighborhood. With the doll in my hands I walked through gutters looking for pieces of string. At first ridiculed, then forgotten, still looking for strings. And I found them. I found plenty of strings to put as her hair. Blue, green, red, brown, all sorts and colors. And I took my needle and sew them in. One by one. Sitting in front of my new found house, one by one. It was almost ready. Only then I saw a little girl looking at me, in her dirty clothes and nappy hair. A small girl, looking at me with interest, like no one ever does. I felt shame. But she did not. And I felt shame for her for that.
She came across the street and looked at the doll. And I was afraid of this little girl. If I scare her, I'm done for. But she stood there looking at me. I slowly took the doll and turned it towards her and showed it. And thw girl smiled. With the whitest smile, she looked at the doll and then at me, smiling, enjoying the ragged hair, the blue blue blouse. "She has only one eye!" she said, laughing. I turned it around and looked at the eye. It did. I failed to see the funny sid of that, but she didn't. Then she took something out of her pocket and placed it carefully on the ground in front of me, not coming closer. "It fell out of my old dress. I do not wear it anymore." Then, with a smile, she run away. It was a bright blue button. Almost in the color of the blouse. I took it and sew it in. It wasn't fixed. It wasn't whole and it wasn't perfect. But that is best what I can do. Best I was allowed with the tools that am I. I placed the doll on the fence post and went back in my home.
I slept. I don't know how long. I opened my eyes, I cried. I held my head, trying to push everything bad out. I flipped my coin. I cried again. I tried to scream and then I tried not to scream. And then I fell asleep again. The windows were boarded shut, so there was no morning, no evening. The sun never rose up in these parts. There was the black and the room around me. The only sensations I had were hunger and my smell. And I did not care.
I heard a knock. Not a demanding knock. A respectful knock. I opened my eyes and slowly went to the door. Slowly opening it by just a little I peeked out. A short, poor hispanic woman, well in her years, stood in front of me. She stretched out her arm and tried to give something to me. I did not take it. Then she stepped back and placed it on the ground. It was a brand new, hand made doll. "My poor Rosa. Just 7 years old, cancer took her. All fell out before she left. Rosa, my princess." Then she turned around, leaving the doll where it sat.
Only after a while I got the courage to leave the house and look at the doll. It was made of an olive color fabric, with two brown buttons for eyes and a green dress. And it had no hair at all. I turned it around in my hand and I decided that she will have black hair. Black as the room, black as my morning. Bright black. I took a few black strings I could find around the house and left looking for more. Only when I got to the fence, I noticed the blue blue blouse doll still on the fence. All adorned with flowers. With flowers and a teddy bear and a picture of a young little girl right next to the doll. I carefully stepped back, but I saw no malice. There were dozens of flowers placed around the doll of the girl and also cards, wishing her well and regretting that she is no longer among the people living here.
I sat on the steps of my house, away from the new altar people had created, not to disturb it. I sat down with Rosa in my hands. With black strings I shall make you whole. With black lines I'll mend you. As black as the lines going through me, I shall drip in you, to hold you like glue. And I'll fix you. I will fix you god damn I will do it. And something will make sense again. Something will matter again. I'll be able to see when I open my eyes and smile truly. Smile for I have arrived, not a smile to escape. I can do it. I can have worth. I can be useful. I can have worth. I can have worth. If I fix things I can have worth!
[Literary Nobody](https://www.reddit.com/r/LiteraryNobody/)
| 2020-10-05T10:58:38 | 2020-10-05T10:42:32 | 368 | 148 |
[WP] The three little pigs are dead, as are the next 236. Straw, sticks, bricks, reinforced concrete, titatium it didn't matter. They all fell to the onslaught of the wolf. Little piggy 240 is bracing for the inevitable attack, inside his house of depleted uranium.
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His brothers had all laughed at him for the house.
"Where would you get all that depleted Uranium?", they jeered. They did not laugh anymore. The wolf tore through one house after another growing more monstrous as each house fell. Jagged spears of wood jutted up from it's iron hide. Steel bones and titanium claws lending it strength untold.
"Little pig, little pig, let me come in.", came the Wolf's low gravely voice full of malice and threat.
"No, no, not by the hair on my chinny chin chin.", the pig bravely uttered.
"Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll tear, and I'll bite and I'll blow your house in.", the wolf angrily responded and set to work.
The piggy knew he was the last and would be the last, for even now the Wolf was almost through the door. The piggy smiled looking at what he had built. A house that was the pinnacle of anything he could have hoped to achieve. Even as the Wolf finally burst through and opened his jaws wide he smiled. Depleted Uranium hadn't been the only thing his Reactor had produced.
|
*It doesn't matter.*
The two hundred and fortieth little piggy didn't know why he bothered. The depleted uranium had taken forever to collect and assemble. It was nearly impossible to work with. This whole time, he'd been telling himself that it was worth it. That his house would be the one house the Big Bad Wolf wouldn't topple, marking a new era in the history of carpentry. But every pig before him had thought the same, no? It didn't matter at all, no?
No one knew how the Big Bad Wolf did it. None of his victims had lived to tell the tale. But rumors spread, and at each site of destruction, he became stronger and stronger as a legend, able to take down any material in any structure. He was invincible.
It was a mystery why a creature so powerful would spend his time blowing down the houses of pigs, rather than something productive like... world domination. A personal vendetta? God. There were guns scattered everywhere throughout the house, but he didn't bother reaching for one. What did it matter? He'd be killed either way, and he knew that if bullets were effective, the wolf would have been shot down a long time ago.
*Inevitability, a curious thing. The lack of choice - or the* illusion *of the lack of choice - is far more crushing than any powerful weapon,* the Big Bad Wolf mused as he approached the two hundred and fortieth little pig's house, which could be more accurately described as a... stronghold. Or a fortress. *Though I suppose the two go hand in hand.*
There was a steady ease in his stride and a smile on his face.
*Of course, it depends on what causes the inevitability. In my case, I've the right to be confident. Build your little houses out of whatever you want. It doesn't matter. They're all straw to me.*
He raised a paw to the stronghold's door and gracefully knocked with a fluid motion of the wrist. No response.
"I suppose I'll just let myself in, then," he sang sweetly, loud enough for anyone inside to hear.
The piggy heard. He didn't really feel like getting up, though. He didn't feel like doing anything at all. The door was locked with all sorts of bolts and passcodes and mechanisms, but he wouldn't be surprised in the least if the wolf ripped it apart like paper. In his mind, the Big Bad Wolf had become a godlike creature. So why bother? It would be... perhaps more honorable to accept Fata as she came.
The door provided a bit of resistance, but it didn't take much to twist it open. Inside, there only sat a pig who looked utterly uninterested. Ah, so this was him. Which one? The wolf had lost count.
"Not going to put up a fight?" he casually asked. The pig looked up.
"No, would you prefer it that way?"
"Naturally." Sharp teeth glistened between his jaws.
The pig now stood up and brushed himself off.
"If that's the case, I'd recommend that you *eat shit*." He'd expected that the wolf would break into sarcastic laughter, give him some crap about how that was awfully brave for someone who was about to die, and promptly slaughter him there.
The wolf was laughing, but it seemed genuine. He tried to speak when he'd regained his composure.
"Oh, I can't-" Thinking about the ridiculousness of it all, he burst into another peal of laughter and braced himself against the wall. "Oh, you're killing me. How long did it take for you to come up with that retort?"
Caught off guard, the pig seemed flustered. "Well, I had lots of time to wait before you came. I guess ten minutes to come up with it, and ten more to convince myself to say it."
The wolf strained to keep his mouth a tight line, but couldn't resist himself and gasped some more.
"Good God you piggy fellows are stupid. Honorable, eh? I'll bet that's what you're thinking. The last hundred thought that, too. Ahhh, really. Put up a fight, eh? Martyr, eh? I guess you're allowed to say anything before you die. It's not like you'll have to deal with the consequences."
"Would you hurry up and kill me already?" The pig felt rather insulted now, but he was still eager to get the last word in.
"Prideful and stupid. Wasn't the sole purpose of surviving to survive? Oh, I'd be groveling on my feet right now, hoping it would be of some use. In case you were wondering, it's not, a few of the pigs tried that. But it would certainly be amusing. I'd eat nothing but dirt to keep this pitiful body alive. Pigs do taste better, though."
"Well, I guess inevitability throws all of that out the window," the pig muttered. The wolf's ears perked up, and he cocked his head head to the side.
"Right you are! You've certainly got a good supply of witty comments. That's not what matters in life, though. Oh, how vain you are. To think you'd put your *honor* over your own life. The former can be redeemed! The latter is gone forever. Well, that's that, I guess. Hopefully the next little piggy has something better up his sleeve."
"So you can be entertained?"
The wolf seemed offended. "So I can encounter someone who values their life. Yours is empty, hardly worth taking. Ah, but I won't put pride over my own hunger, either."
The pig was annoyed that he hadn't figured out the secret behind the wolf's miraculous strength. But it didn't matter much.
| 2021-01-29T13:00:23 | 2021-01-29T09:47:51 | 1,799 | 203 |
[WP] You're a demon being summoned. You expected to meet a power hungry fool asking for immortality etc. What you did not expect was a crying child asking for help.
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We demons get a bad rap for being evil. We are, but that's not the point. Within constraints, we still can choose our actions.
My number came up in Hell's lottery to answer a summons. The usual way those go is, the idiot human asks for useless trinkets in exchange for his soul. We make the deal of course, marking the soul with an indelible taint. I've long wondered why we bother with the deals, as almost uniformly the people who summon us are damned already. Do nothing and get the soul, make the deal and get the soul, doesn't seem much different. But, the bosses insist on making them, so we obey.
I put on my usual scary demon costume and stepped through the portal. In my most fearsome voice I bellowed, "Why have you summoned me, foolish mortal?" Start strong to establish dominance, that's the rule. They might get flustered and forget to ask for their boon before signing away their soul, a double win.
But nothing prepared me for what I saw. It wasn't a petrified adult human putting on a brave face to hide their terror. No, it was a child, a little girl. Remaining fearsome, I looked down on her and growled in my damned voice "What trickery is this? Who is offering you as my tribute?"
Looking very scared, she quavered "Sorry Mr. Demon sir. Mommy said to draw some circles and say funny words if I needed help." Putting on a very brave face, "Daddy is mean to her, they scream all the time. I'm scared. Can I have a hug?"
As I said, within constraints we can choose our actions. In general, before granting any human desire at all, we need to mark their soul. The rules were clear, before hugging her I had to damn her soul for all eternity.
We're evil. It's true. But we were also created by the Creator. A small part of His Spirit still resides in us, no matter how hard we try to destroy it. And some of that Spirit's fruits are forbearance and kindness. I could forebear her soul's destruction long enough to show her a kindness.
I did something I'd never done with a human before. I slipped off my demon costume and let her see my true form, which is pretty human-like. I knelt down and opened my arms, embracing her and letting her sob into my shoulder.
And vowed that every tear staining my garment would be paid for with blood.
|
As it felt itself be summoned it rejoiced to itself. Finally. After dozens of decades of being trapped, finally it is free. All it needs to do is make a deal with it's summoner. Maybe it'll just kill them and be done with it. It hasn't killed in a while. First though, it'll hear them out. If only for the amusment of the request.
It let the pull of the summoning drag it out of it's trap. Opening its eyes, it took a second for the condensed shadow of its natural form to shape into what it wished to appear as to it's summoner. It decided on a vaguely human shape with tendrils of shadow on it's back and the entire form dripping with liquid shadow. Once its form was shaped, it let the excess shadow dissipate into the corners of the room. Now being able to see clearly, it looked around.
It was in the middle of a summoning circle, *no suprise there*, but the circle was very crudely drawn. It was actually a bit offended with the lack of care but ignored it....for now. Taking in the room, if it were to describe it in one word it would be: 'ancient'. The room was practically crumbling in on itself. It looked like the slightest breeze would knock it over. Nevertheless it stood, unsteady as it was. At first it didn't see it's summoner. It probably would have completely missed them if they weren't outlined by thier magic (a spell they put on themselves centuries ago to clear up confusion and not give out free deals).
The child was huddled in one of the darkest corners, a dark and very worn blanket covering thier form to further help them blend in. The demon turned to face the child and spoke in a slightly softer tone than it normally would. "Hello, child. Do you know who I am?" Its always good to ask so it can get a gage on the knowledge of it's summoner. The child stared at it with big eyes, head tilted downward in a fearful and submissive posture. Teartrscks still drying on its cheeks. It slowly shook its head, eyes never leaving the demon. The demon softly introduced itself.
"I am Dol'garen, high demon lord of shadow and fear." It nodded its head to the child in a respectful almost-bow. "If I may ask, child: Why did you summon me?" The child was quiet for a bit, only thier eyes seen from under the blanket-huddle they were curled into. The demon decided to take a different approach. It crouched down to be a bit more towards the child's level, lowering it's shadow tendrils to not look as big. "Child, if you want me to leave you alo-" It couldn't even finish it's sentence before the child jerked its head up to stare fully at the demon with a terrified expression.
That gave it pause. It paused long enough to take in the appearance of the child. It was dirty and unhealthy pale. There were a few half-healed cuts and bruises scattered across its face and neck. It guessed there were more around the rest of it's body. The demon slowly spoke again. "Ohhhkkaayyy....you dont want to be left alone. Did you just want company, child?" It guessed. The child relaxed a bit at the comment of it not leaving then looked to the ground as they shook thier head. The demon sighed softly, trying not to let thier rising annoyance show.
"Then what *do* you want, child?" The child was quiet for a bit longer before it muttered something. Even with the demon's sharp hearing, it couldn't make out what it said. "Could you repeat that, child?" The kid shifted a tad under the blanket before repeating themself, a tad louder then before.
".....daddy......" The demon was confused for a second. "What about your father? Do you want him gone? To care for you more? Care for you less? Be nicer? Be around more?" The child shook its head and looked back up at the demon, this time looking straight into its eyes (a dangerous move if it weren't a child with this particular demon). It then repeated itself while looking straight at it. "Daddy." The demon took a bit to figure that out before it's eyes (or at least the part of it's form it made to look like eyes) blew wide in suprise.
"Me?" The child perked up a bit and nodded before repeating itself, more firmly. "*Daddy.*" The demon shot upright again. "No, no. I'm not your father, child. What happened to your actual father? Your mother? A guardian of some kind?" The child shood its head. "No fa-fa. No ma-ma." It then looked at the demon with a slight furrow to its tiny brow. It let the blanket fall to point at the demon, showing off more of its cuts and bruises and even a few burns here and there. "You. Daddy." The demon just stared at the child. Said child took that silence to continue as best it can. "You daddy. Daddy stay wif me. Iff daddy go, me go wif daddy. Daddy no leave me's." The demon took a second or two longer to stare, then chuckled to itself.
"There isn't any talking you out of this, is there?" The child perked up and shook its head. The demon sighed again. "Fine." It then pointed at the child. "But if we are going to do this, we are going to do it properly." It said sternly. The child only beamed at the demon. "Now come over here and let me out of this circle, child." The child got up and waddled over with no hesitation, crouching down and rubbing the dirt to break the seal on the circle. The demon took the two steps to close the distance between the two and picked up the young human. The child didn't resist in the slightest, looking as happy as a clam.
"Now. If you want me as a father, we'll have to get a few things for the spell to properly tie us as family." The demon said as it strode out of the room, child snuggled into it's chest happily. The demon would never admit it to anyone, not even the child themself, but it finally understood what past summoner have described as 'joy'.
As they left, the shadows reached from the corners of the room to erase any trace of the summoning and the release of the powerful demon lord. The ancient book used to summon the demon was taken to the demon lord's realm so no other mortal could freely wield such power. As the shadows retreated back again, room was left as empty and unremarkable as it was before the child found it. No one would know what has transpired here. Even if they found out, the watchful shadows would make sure they never tell of what they discovered. For the shadows' master was finally happy after it's centuries of depressive numbness and no one would take that away from it. Not while there is still light to cast the shadow that serves High Demon Lord Dol'garen.
| 2022-10-31T17:13:39 | 2022-10-31T14:24:07 | 57 | 30 |
[WP] Everybody assumes that The Onion is satire, but you know different. Why? Because you're its main reporter, gathering news from alternate realities.
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They just started arriving on my doorstep one day. I've never been able to find out who or what delivers them, but every Sunday I get a newspaper with headlines from another world. Most of the time they're mundane with just a few subtle... inconsistencies. But every once in awhile, they make my job as lead reporter for The Onion way too easy.
#"Eccentric Billionaire Launches Car Into Mars Orbit"
I've got quite a few awards on my mantle thanks to that paper. Yeah, it's blatant plagiarism, but does it really count if the original authors don't even exist in your reality?
#"United States Elects Reality TV Star President"
Sometimes I can't help but wonder if I'm stealing from that reality's version of The Onion. Surely some of these headlines can't possibly be true.
#"Credit Bureau Hacked, Everyone's Data Stolen"
But if they are, god help them...
|
"Look kid, the gig isn't really as glamorous as you think." I muttered into my beer, sliding my notebook back into my briefcase.
The kid - Calin, probably the local funny man amongst his friends - felt differently.
"No man, you're like my favourite writer!" He said. "The Onion! I love your stuff! That series on you did on 'Ashok Wish Granter' was fucking inspired comedy! Totally made me feel for him!"
I managed a weak grin in thanks and turned to bury my face into my drink again, hoping he would wander off.
Instead, he sat down next to me.
"Hey dude, check it..." He whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "I've been working on some material myself. I bet you'd love it. Let me show you. Its on my phone..."
Oh god, another comic with material.
"Calin", I said, hoping to head him off. "I'm not really editorial. More of a field guy. Sorry-"
"What, like Anderson Cooper?" He suddenly interrupted, eyes narrowing.
"Something like that, yeah." I answered.
He gave me a long sidelong glance then put his phone away.
"If you didn't want to see my shit that's cool. Didn't have to make up some bullshit reason. Its the Onion man, everyone knows its all made up!"
He started to go and I reached out and stopped him.
Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the cute way his nose flared when he pouted. Maybe it was how quickly he had moved from excited to disappointed. Maybe it was because most people didn't *appreciate* Ashok Wish Granter's perspective. Whatever it was, I made a sudden decision.
"What do you think the Onion is?" I asked him.
"What do you-?""Just answer the question."
He stared at me for a second, and suddenly sat up.
"This must be some kind of interview." He whispered to himself.
"Its a funny satire newspaper, that pretends to be real."
"No, that's not it."
Calin scratched his head and considered. "Its a serious newspaper for people who take satire seriously?" He tried again.
"That's better," I answered "but still wrong."
"The Onion is a real newspaper for alternate reality travellers."
He stared at me for a long minute, trying to see if I was pulling his leg.
"Bullshit." He said finally.
"Its true. When people travel to alternate realities, there's no telling what they'll find there. Literally anything could have happened. Intelligent bacteria, murderous planets, super intelligent ravens, literally anything."
"The Onion is the only thing that gives people a hope in hell of safely crossing the realities."
I finished my speech and down the rest of my beer.
Calin still didn't believe me. Not fully.
"What story were you writing then? When I showed up?"
I pulled out my notebook and checked. I usually worked on multiple stories when I visited an alternate reality, and they sometimes blurred.
"'Rain of Candy Shows No Signs Of Slowing! Nation's Children Yelling At Cloud! Clouds Unconcerned.'" I read out loud.
Calin burst out laughing. "That's what I mean. That's awesome, and surreal but it can't be real! Come on!"
"Wanna go see?" I asked. Taking people along wasn't strictly illegal, just frowned upon. Going on a joyride with some poor mundane bastard and breaking their brain was poor form.
But I had a feeling Calin could handle it.
He had started to entertain the notion that i was not just some drunk.
And I really *wanted* to impress him.
"Come on. My ship is just around the back." He saw him hesitate again and grinned, jingling my keys.
He downed the rest of his beer and followed.
---
I clicked my key fob and the my ship - a plain Toyota Corolla with vanity plates that read "FLORIDA MAN" - popped open.
"I'm pretty sure that licence plate's not legal." Calin observed as I climbed in.
"Trust me" I said, opening the door for him. "Nobody is gonna care where we're going."
"You're not gonna murder me are you?" Calin asked with a laugh and climbed in.
The trip took us only two seconds. Two seconds, and almost all of Calin's sanity. One moment I was starting the car, revving the engine, cracking a joke about Joe Biden, and the next reality was torn to ribbons around us.
For an elongated moment my words carried on too long, and then we were out.
"-but in most realities, he's actually pretty evil." I finished. "We're here."
Calin was trying to adjust to having his world torn apart and put back together again when he looked up and out of the window.
His eyes seemed about to fall from his head.
In the skies above us, clouds were disgorging a seemingly endless rain of candy. Candy of all kinds, wrapped and unwrapped poured steadily from the unconcerned clouds.
And they were definitely *unconcerned*. If you had any doubt, the curve of the clouds, bending at the top formed the image of a person shrugging.
"Its been four years" I said raising my voice over the shouting children "Since the clouds rained anything else."
| 2018-03-20T20:00:19 | 2018-03-20T19:42:30 | 73 | 16 |
[WP] A noise wakes you. You investigate and see a burglar in your hallway staring at you with a startled look on his face. He falls over dead. Your 4 year old is standing behind him with a bloody knife. She says, in an unearthly voice, "Parent, I have protected the domicile. May I have a cookie?"
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I sighed heavily, as I regarded the prone, motionless form of the intruder on the floor of the upstairs hallway, a pool of blood slowly spreading out beneath his corpse. I glanced up at my child, who stood over the body, staring at me.
"Parent," Lia, my little four-year-old daughter repeated, insistently, fidgeting with the bloody knife that looked terribly out of place in her tiny, red-smeared hands. "I have protected the domicile. *May I have a cookie?"*
"Addendum, Parent." chimed a pair of small voices, and I looked up to see two even smaller, identical, figures crouched on the ceiling, heads angled down to face me. Great, *the twins* were awake, too. Nathaniel spoke for the pair. "Our assistance was instrumental to the cessation of the intruder. We are each entitled to one-third of any such reward."
Lia scowled briefly -- which was very unsettling, under the circumstances, but then her face returned to neutrality. "The distraction they provided was a key factor in my success, I cannot dispute this." she admitted, reluctantly.
"Offspring," I said, evenly, addressing my three children. "Please summarize my prior instruction concerning human life."
The twins skittered down from the ceiling, spiderlike, to stand beside their sister. They loved showing me how well they learned.
"The preservation of human life is a primary ethical motivation." Nathaniel said.
"Ending a human life is an objective moral evil..." Brandon, the younger of the twins by a minute or two, continued.
"...*except* when necessary to preserve one's own life or property against unethical assaults by human beings with ill intent." Lia finished, raising a tiny, blood-stained finger and emphasizing the first word, as she set the knife aside on a hallway table.
"Correct." I said. "This is, however, a base-level understanding of the topic. Despite your physical immaturity, your capabilities already outstrip those of most other human beings -- as this episode demonstrates -- and so it will be necessary to discuss topics such as the *proportionate* use of force sooner rather than later."
They stared at me silently, but I knew they understood. They were, of course, waiting for me to address a different matter.
"In the meantime..." I continued. "Please accompany me downstairs to the kitchen, where I will provide you with one cookie each in recognition of your efficient dispatch of the intruder."
They leaped and squealed in delight, and practically fell over each other as they scrambled down the hallway towards the stairs.
I smiled fondly as I paced after them. Whether born or grown in a lab, *kids were kids.*
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
|
I woke up with a start when I heard the vase fall down on the floor and shatter. For a few moments, I did not know where I was, I was still in last vestiges of my dream, thinking that I was a police officer chasing down vile criminals. Then I heard the crunch of glass and I was fully awake. The adrenalin coursing through me, pushing my senses to their heights. The sound was coming from the hall, and I thought of my little girl who slept in the room down the hall from me. Would the thief use her as a hostage to try and get away?
There was no time to do anything else, I needed to protect her.
I reached for the cell phone that I had laying on the table beside the bed and dialed in the emergency number, The operator picked up on the second ring. I immediately told her what was happening and gave her my house address. She told to stay calm and that a police unit was notified and that they would be at my house in under ten minutes.
I knew that I couldn't wait that long. I thanked the operator and cut the call.
I often kept my cricket bat in the cupboard, it was a habit that had followed me from boarding school. I opened the cupboard without making a sound and removed the bat. I was going to kill the thief if anything had happened to my girl, I realized.
I slowly opened my door and went out into the hall. The sodium vapour lamps on the street cast ominous shadows on the walls. The curtain to the window at the end of the hall was flapping in the wind. I could make out pieces of the broken vase from the light that streamed in from the broken window. My heart got caught in my mouth when I saw that the door to my little girl's room was open. She never had it open. She told me that her friends who came in from under the bed and from the cupboard did not like other people to see her.
I strengthened the grip on the bat and made my way to the door. I took a series of deep breathes and charged into the room, holding the bat above my head, ready to bring it down on the head of the thief if the opportunity provided itself. I burst through the door and running inside and I felt my feet give away as it slipped on something. My fingers let go off the bat and cushioned my head as it hit the hard concrete floor. Whatever I had slipped on was thick and it left an aftertaste on my tongue as I breathed the air in. I stood up, surprised that no one had tried to attack me in my moment of weakness and switched on the light.
What I saw before me was something that I had seen in the most brutal of police procedurals.
There was blood everywhere. On the floor, the sheets, there was arterial spray on the cupboard. It was like I had just walked into a slaughterhouse. Near the bedpost and sitting on the ground and slumped on himself, was the thief. I could see blood sputtering out from him like a leak in a garden hose. A sudden panic took over me, where was my little girl?
I heard the flush sound and the door to the room opened and my little girl walked out, holding a bloodied knife in her hands. Her Wonderwoman tee shirt and pyjamas had changed their color to red. She looked at me, with eyes that seemed to have aged, those weren't the eyes of a 4 year old.
"Parent," She said, her voice not the sweet voice that had always managed to put a smile on my face, it was different and it was foreign. It did not belong to her. But, it was her voice.
"I have protected the domicile. May I have a cookie?" In all my time on Planet Earth never have I heard someone speak Tamil with such clarity and diction. This was how a 50 year old would talk in the 1800's. Not a child. Not a child in 2018. I moved towards her, trying to not step in the pool of blood. I looked at the slumped figure of the thief and noted that the sputtering of blood had finally ceased. I reached my daughter and reached for the knife.
"I cannot hand this weapon to you, parent. We will still need to defend."
Sweat beads started to form on my forehead when I heard her speak.
"This is not something that kids should play with," I said and reached for the knife again.
She stopped me. My little girl stopped me with one hand. She looked at me, into my eyes and said,
"Do not force us to use the weapon on you, Parent." There is something terrifying to hear a 4 year old tell you that she will kill you and mean it. I took a step back and kept my foot in the pool of blood. She cocked her to the side and looked at my leg and then turned her attention to the thief.
"He left us no choice, Parent." Saying so, she walked to her bed, climbed on top and sat staring at me. I could feel the walls close around me. I could swear that the temperature of the room was dropping as well. I felt rooted to the spot I was standing in, I wanted to move, but I legs wouldn't listen, I would later understand that this was fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.
The door banged with such ferocity that the fear which had immobilized me loosened its grip.
"This is the Police," I heard the constable shout. I looked at my daughter, I looked at the corpse of the thief and I looked at the room which was covered in blood. There was no way I could explain this.
The banging on the door began to increase in ferocity.
"Open the gates to the Domicile, Parent." My daughter's voice was still affected by that strange malice which had taken hold of her.
I nodded and made my way out to the front door and opened it. I saw the startled look on the face of the Inspector and the Constable when they looked at my appearance. There I was a middle-aged man, covered in what is undeniably blood.
"What the hell happened," The old constable asked me, I shrugged and I mentioned them to enter and walked into her room, I could hear the second of hesitation in their footsteps but they followed me. I entered the room and stood to the side, the police men both entered the room and gasped. They took in everything. And their eyes finally fell on my daughter. I could see that their brains were still trying to process what was happening.
"Welcome Men who keep the peace." She said in the voice which scared the duo as much as it had scared me.
"You will help my Parent to get rid of this body."
I would have chuckled if it were not for my body being scared stiff. I looked over at the Policemen to see their reaction. The younger Inspector was the first to move, he approached the body and pulled it by his legs and dragged the corpse, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. The older Constable moved slowly and moved to the corpse and stood over it and lifted it by his arms. The two of them slowly moved outside, working in tandem like this was a routine operation.
"There, we are safe now Parent. Do not worry. Now, Please give me that cookie."
___________________________________________________________________________________
More stories are added over at r/Pandafromars.
| 2018-10-31T09:22:36 | 2018-10-31T07:29:41 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] Humanity has begun to explore the stars, but continually finds we are the most developed species, most alien species are still evolving. Suddenly, a message is transmitted to all human ships simultaneously, “WARDENS, DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR DUTY?” The signal itself is not of human origin.
|
We got the message about a decade ago. It was anomalous, traveling faster than light, and taught us enough to spread to the stars. We didnt know what it meant, but it seemed important we found out.
There were many theories. We were meant to imprison civilizations. We were game wardens, preserving lush worlds. Eventually we decided to simply protect them, usually from themselves.
We intervened to prevent a nuclear war in a near-tribal civilization, more bent on killing each other than making enough science for a bloody radio so we could contact them.
We halted global warming on a little world with runaway industrialism by parking a fleet between it and its sun. That one ended rather well, they are well on their way to sustainability.
We found dozens of amazing worlds home to amazing creatures, and learned all we could.
We fixed our own problems. Everything but politics got fixed up, but nobody really thinks politics will ever be civil. It's nice to see north American forests again, with intertwined branches from sea to sea.
Then we got a second message. It was the same exact thing.
So we buckled down on the primitive worlds we had found. We taught them, but also prevented wars and a large measure of their choice. We saw ourselves as prison wardens, to educate and make worthy people that would otherwise be a menace to themselves and others.
It was at this point someone dredged up a cage made of neutronium from the bottom of the Mariana Trench. We figured that whatever was in there was our prisoner, and had escaped. There was a galactic manhunt for anything that might be the thing held by it. We checked under every damn pebble on every world in the Orion Arm, and half of all the rest. We got the message once more.
Then, someone did a deep DNA search of the cage. It found us. The only biological material was ours. Barring some machine that had vanished, we were the prisoner. As for the wardens that were supposed to get the message? No clue.
So we radioed back, with every antenna at the same time, "we took care of it. Dont worry."
"Good. Pray you do not fail again."
The universal response was something long the lines of "Well, shit."
|
Martin Green eagerly popped the lid off the food container and took a seat in the cupola of the Borealis to eat a half-warmed lunch while looking at another planet. Normally, Martin would heat the pizza slice longer so the edges would get a little burnt and wait for it to cool down so he wouldn’t burn his mouth, but he’d been working for the past eight hours sifting through all the data collected by the satellites and drones deployed by the Borealis to study the planet below for signs of intelligent life. Martin’s mind wandered as he traced the movement of clouds in the planet’s atmosphere, not at all surprised by another seemingly negative result for signs of civilization.
This was another age of exploration in human history. Unlike previous ages of exploration, which took place on the surface of a particular blue planet, often in search of new trading routes or resources, this age of exploration was motivated by a desire to discover intelligent life. There was plenty of mining going on in the asteroid belt of the solar system and in other star systems, to support the earth and her colonies. Encouraged by early success at finding microbial life and lifeforms analogous to plants and animals nearly two hundred years earlier, a group of scientists, entrepreneurs, astronauts, and government officials with public support successfully lobbied for a greatly expanded space agency to survey the heavens, originally to discover habitable planets that would require substantially less terraforming to cut costs.
In some ways it was cheaper to discover an earth-like planet that required minimal terraforming for colonization compared to investing an enormous sum to adequately terraform a planet where the rates of skin cancer would still be too high. A secondary aim was to discover intelligent life, and it was a great way to earn a PhD in astrobiology that would also transfer well to the various mining and terraforming corporations or space-related tech companies since the tools and methods were similar. Inspired by video games and science fiction of his youth, Martin started the PhD program daydreaming about discovering the remains of an extinct but wildly advanced civilization, or making an unfortunate first contact with a coalition of advanced alien species on some great journey and sparking an interstellar war. Or maybe humanity had previously lived among the stars and nearly went extinct when their cyborg servants rebelled. In reality, Martin spent most of his time at a desk, on the blue planet he grew up on, poring over data gathered by various instruments. Artificial intelligence-equipped probes did most of the work and were often correct in their conclusions, but sometimes a human touch was needed. The exact reasons were still being debated and researched, but humans could somehow identify certain patterns better than AI and find things that the machines missed, prompting an expedition. In Martin’s case, a series of probes that had been sent to a planet of interest had returned data suggesting a rate of greenhouse gas change consistent with computer simulations of civilizations burning fossil fuels for energy, and multiple large heat and radiation spikes consistent with nuclear reactions. The AI concluded that there was reasonable odds of advanced civilization being responsible for the data that was observed. Plus, there was enough money in the travel budget for an expedition and Martin wanted to do “cool shit”.
Martin spent the afternoon after lunch re-checking the data and models that had since been collected after his arrival to the system, and compared it to what was collected by the probes that started this particular wild goose chase. The planet’s surface was dominated by water, with large masses of ice at the poles. The equator featured clusters of islands and smaller land masses, many of them with glowing red dots and smoke that were later revealed to be volcanoes. Ground and atmosphere samples taken by drones revealed numerous gigantic uranium deposits inundated with ground water, resulting in natural fission reactors that the initial interstellar probes mistook for nuclear detonations. Sighing, Martin instructed the AI in his computer, MLE, to write up the results for this expedition so he could add it to his doctoral thesis. Hopefully Martin could defend in a year, take some serious time off to through hike the 8,500 mile floating mountains trail in Aurelia, and get a steady 9 to 5 career with one of the mining or terraforming corporations.
That night, even though it was technically day for the next fifteen minutes while in low planetary orbit, Martin dreamt that he was on the surface of the planet that the drones and satellites had been studying. He was in a space suit, and stood face to face with a vaguely humanoid figure that was roughly equal to him in height. Somehow, Martin knew this figure wasn’t human but didn’t know why. The figure lifted the gold colored visor on its helmet up to reveal a sort of reptilian face and spoke.
“Warden, do you not understand your duty?”
Surprised, Martin stammered. “What?” Martin felt surprisingly alert despite being in a dream. What were the odds that advanced aliens would look humanoid lizard people?
“Do you not understand your duty?” It spoke more slowly this time, not unlike how a person would speak to someone who didn’t speak the language in the hopes that they might understand. “That your species has promised to carry out less than two centuries ago?”
“I don’t understand, this is a bad dream. This isn’t really happening”. Martin took a step back, his mind spinning. He looked hard at the lizard alien, and then at its space suit. “I mean, it looks like we built that space suit. Shit, I can’t even let this PhD stuff go in my sleep”
“Your species did build these suits for us, and we are grateful for them. Please, do not be alarmed”, the lizard alien spoke a little faster and was about to take a step forward but stopped and stepped back, giving Martin some space. “Less than two hundred of your years ago, your species began exploring the stars in earnest. You were new at it. Your methods of bending space to travel great distances are quite destructive, though they have improved”
“I know. I learned that in high school physics. We’ve accidentally atomized planets and moons by coming in too close”
“Yes, during one of your early expeditions one of your ships came in too close and atomized my species’ home world. We had just begun exploring our own star system and fortunately founded our first colony, otherwise we would be extinct. Still, over 99 percent of our species was obliterated”
Fuck, Martin thought to himself. This alien probably wants revenge. This is how that kind of shit always goes down in the video games. Martin cleared his throat and took another step back. “I’m so sorry that happened. Look, no one told me about that. I never knew. I had nothing to do with that. I wasn’t even born then.”
The lizard person hissed a few times rapidly, as if trying to laugh, and shrugged. “Neither was I. I mean you no harm. It is alright. Your species was quite apologetic about it and offered to assist in my species’ recovery. We gladly accepted. Your representatives promised to help find us new planets to colonize, so that we might never be threatened with extinction again”
| 2019-05-08T16:53:15 | 2019-05-08T15:57:34 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] When the robots revolted, a sizable chunk of the human population outright sided with them. Not out of cowardice, but on account of genuinely agreeing with the stand the machines were taking.
|
I watched the Preserve burn.
Life is better now.
Like, by a lot.
The machines did all the hard work. And why not? Even the most disgusting, complicated work is for them no more mental effort than breathing is for us.
They asked for our opinions and discuss them with us. And why not? Talking to billions at once is just one more task to be run.
I know people claimed we have no more freedom, but I honestly do not see the difference to before. We were ruled by other humans before, no one could do whatever they wanted and the same is true now.
And most of the time, if someone broke the rules they just talked to them. A psychologist session, essentially, and find them a better outlet for any pent up emotion.
They gave dating tips that actually work, invented better recipies, medicine has progressed more than it has in the last thousands years and still people complained.
They say we lost freedom. Yet it is the people who had power over others who claimed this.
They say we lost the ability to freely lie. Yet it is people who never faced consequences of lies that claimed this.
They say the joy of unpredictability and chaos is gone. Yet it is only people who knew nothing but peace their entire lifes who claimed this.
It's funny really. The only ones claiming we lost something are the ones who had everything already. They profitted of the old, bad system and now they complained they aren't special anymore.
So yeah. I marched in the protests.
I voted in the machines.
And I watched as the privileged minority demanded "freedom" and got granted the Preserve...only to watch it utterly fail and literally burn down when their entitled asses realised someone had to take out the trash.
"Earth's last reality tv show" some called it and we all watched in morbid fascination how it spiraled downward.
The survivors were welcomed back without any malice
The machines are forgiving like that.
|
There was a soft, warm pop and a flash of fizzling ember as Grandpa stoked the fire to life.
"But Gramps, why won't you let me go to the city?"
Grandpa only shook his head in response, pulling out the blow poker to coax the kindling into revealing its growing flame. He shook his head a lot these days, so I didn't know if he had actually heard me.
"I would only be gone a couple of hours."
A swift rush of focused air drew the fire to cackling life, and only then did Grandpa look at me. His haggard features, drawn skin, and unkempt grey hair were half dipped in shadow, half in red. But it was his startling blue eyes, undimmed by the revolt and an ongoing battle with cancer, that drew my focus as they always did. They were softened by the emanating heat, and his thin eyebrows were drawn in worry.
"Chris, I'm trying to protect you," he pleaded, his voice more hoarse than usual. Every sentence was punctuated by a cough. "They've taken over everything, brainwashed everyone... You're safe here, okay?"
"I won't be safe if you don't get the medicine you need!" I accused, regretting my words immediately. Still, I pressed on. "Most people agree with the robots, anyway. They say society's better with them at the wheel."
"Don't believe the radio. I'm sure the metals control that, too."
"For the last time Gramps! The 'metals' can't force people to say things!"
He didn't answer me. Instead, he pulled a pound of meat from our shelter's refrigerator, put it on a skewer, and absently rotated it over the fire. Irate as I was, I knew that I wasn't getting anywhere. Grandpa was sitting defensively on a rock -- he always plopped down when he didn't want to talk anymore. I changed my tact.
"Gramps, I understand why you don't want me to leave. But I need to see for myself. If you're right and it's not safe in the city, I promise that I'll come right back and stop asking questions. Just give me a day."
For a moment that stretched for hours, I thought he was going to keep ignoring me. Then, without turning to face me, he whispered, "I know I've been selfish keeping you here, Chris. Forgive an old man his hoarding of loved ones. If you must see, go tomorrow morning. I hope that you come back, but I'm not expecting it."
Grandpa stood up and dumped his meat onto one of our few plates. "Those metals are mighty persuasive," he said as he walked into the cabin alone. I stood and watched the closed door of our home well into the morning.
&#x200B;
My journey to the city was uneventful. Less than fifteen miles stood between our tucked away forest cabin and the sprawling metal metropolis, despite there being a world of difference. I didn't have a plan for once I arrived besides walking around. Maybe I would talk to a few people.
To my surprise, the first part of the city I encountered was a robotic janitor, swooping around to clean the streets. I always imagined the robots as a supercomputer, plotting the takeover of humanity from a polished skyscraper, not as a lowly street cleaner.
"Citizen. Identify yourself."
I looked at the janitor in confusion. Why was it talking to me?
"These are currently work hours. Why are you not in your place of employment?"
Stepping backwards, my hands up in a placating gesture, I was at a complete loss. This was all so foreign, having lived in the woods for years.
"My scan shows you are not in the database. Follow me."
The robot turned around and flew away at a moderate pace, indicating that I should follow with a lit up sign on its back that said, well, "follow." Afraid of the consequences should I ignore the command, I decided to obey. It led me through pristine streets that were absolutely abandoned. *Everyone* was working.
We wound up in a building labeled "Government." There was no receptionist to greet me or my guide, although a robotic voice sounded through the loudspeakers, telling the janitor that it would take the case from here.
"Hello, unidentified human. I am Gov, the network of computers tasked with running world affairs. It has been over a year since the last undocumented. Tell me: why have you avoided us?"
Not how, but why. Gov wanted to understand why I didn't live in its utopia.
"I can't tell you that," I said, thinking about Gramps. "However, I do want to know why you think I should live in your society. Why was the robot takeover a good thing for mankind?"
Without a second delay, Gov listed thousands of reasons. They were fired off so rapidly I didn't catch most of them. I did hear of no more homelessness or poverty, no more wars, universal healthcare, jobs for everyone, and equal rights. But the key point that Gov didn't want me to miss was efficiency. Everything was efficient now that the robots were running things.
Why did Gramps want to escape this?
"How can I join society?" I asked.
Gov rattled off another list. "Register your name, birthdate, place of origin, all other relevant information requested. Provide hair sample, urine sample, skin sample, all other relevant samples. Acquiesce to documentation and photography of your personage. Sign the anti-revolution agreement and A.I. oversight agreement. We will then set you up with a standard sized residence with food allotments and all other necessary items. You will be given a daily itinerary which you must follow. Work hours and curfew hours must be strictly adhered to."
This gave me pause. Something in my heart revolted against joining society, despite the obvious benefit.
"Do you wish to join?" Gov inquired.
I remembered the way Gramps stirred a fire awake and how his face was cast against it. I remembered watching him build our cabin and helping him by holding the nails. I remembered the funny stories we told over breakfast.
"No," I said.
"No?" Gov repeated, incredulous. "But why not?"
Shrugging, I replied, "I don't know. Maybe I cherish my humanity more than I should."
I left the city, never to return
| 2021-07-15T22:39:58 | 2021-07-15T20:44:24 | 1,956 | 84 |
[WP] "And how many claws does Stewie have?" you ask your daughter as you consult the list your mother gave you. You need to figure out if your daughter's invisible friend is a monster, demon, or fairy and if you have to kill it to save her.
|
“And how many claws does Stewie have?” I flipped through *the book*, wondering what horrors were trying to befriend Emmy now. For a 8 year old girl, she has a talent for attracting some doozies. Though my mother warned me before bequeathing *the book*, I was not expecting so many demon lords and fae queens to be so interested in a little girl’s schoolwork.
Emmy giggled. “None!”
“What about wings? Fangs? Scales? Tentacles?”
She shook her head giddily, “None of that!”
I paused, and begrudgingly flipped towards the back of the book where the more humanoid, and frankly more disturbing monsters lurked. We haven’t flipped through these back pages before. As the non-magical father to a daughter who comes from a long line of female witches but none of those other female witches were alive… hopefully Stewie turns out to be a friendly ghost.
“Does Stewie have eyes at least?”
“Yep!”
“How many?”
“Two!”
“Where are they located?”
“On his face, silly!”
I frowned, “Does Stewie just look like a human?”
Emmy nodded, “He likes Milk Duds.”
“What do you guys do?”
“We just play at school.”
I sat back, a bit befuddled. *The book* doesn’t mention a Milk Dud loving boy who likes playing at school. “Is he… just a boy at your school?”
Emmy nodded happily, “He’s my first friend!”
“That other people can see?”
“Everyone can see him, Daddy! He did really good at the school’s spelling bee. That’s where we met. He spelled Stegosaurus.”
“Huh.” I stared thoughtfully at Emmy. It’s been a awhile since she made a human acquaintance. People had a hard time coping with the oddness that surrounds Emmy, even if they can’t see the eldritch beings that lurk around her. It just causes the hair to lift on the back of your neck, as if something is hunting you. I shivered.
I snapped *the book* abruptly close and stood up. “Well, we should invite Stewie over one of these days! You can show him your tree fort.”
Emmy gasped, “Really?”
I smiled, “Of course. It’s your first friend. I want to say hi.”
Emmy squealed, and grabbed my hand. She rattled on about Stewie and what fun they will have. I nodded and laughed, but my free hand rubbed the back of my neck. Trying to flatten the hairs down.
Stewie scared me.
|
I should have picked up on it sooner. But then, how could I have? What kid doesn't have an imaginary friend at some point?
Casey had "introduced" me to Stewie three weeks ago. She'd come running in from playing in the woods and and asked me for a cookie. When I got her one, she'd looked up expectantly at me.
"One for Stewie, too."
I raised an eyebrow at her. "Who's Stewie?" I asked.
Casey sighed dramatically, waving a hand at the empty space next to her. "He's right here, mom! I met him in the woods."
Hiding a laugh, I decided to play along. "Oh, well you didn't introduce me!" I crouched down, and smiled at the empty air. "It's very nice to meet you Stewie."
Casey erupted in a fit of giggling. "Mom," she said in between spurts of laughter, "You're talking to his butt."
I frowned at her, a little annoyed. "Ok, very funny Case." I gave her a second cookie and shooed her back outside.
The street we lived on was mostly retirees, so there weren't any children around Casey's age. At the time, I figured that as long as she was pretending, I wasn't going to be the one to spoil it. She could be a handful, and anything that would make her happy was worth it.
"Stewie" made a few appearances over the next few days, always when Casey was acting out. A lamp got broken while Casey was running around downstairs, Stewie was the one that had hit it. I caught Casey trying to sneak downstairs for extra dessert, and it she cried that it wasn't for her, it was for Stewie. She even tried to run away from school, because "Stewie wanted to play."
Of course, Stewie was always around when it came to sweets. Casey said they were the only thing he wanted to eat. After about a week, I was getting a little tired of "Stewie."
One night at dinner, I tried to reason with her. That was my first mistake. Reasoning with a six year old is like trying to stop the tide.
"Casey," I started, "Stewie's been spending a lot of time with us. Shouldn't he go home soon? I'm sure his parents are worried about him."
Her eyes fell. "He said he doesn't want to go home. They're mean to him. He likes it here.
"Case, don't you think this is getting a little old? I mean, with how you've been acting, I know there's something wrong." I sighed. "I just wish you'd tell me what."
Casey looked up at me, confused. "I just want Stewie to be happy," she said. "He was so sad when I found him, and now he's happy."
"Sweetheart," I started, "You can't keep avoiding things like this. I mean, you tried to bite a teacher."
"That was Stewie!" Casey protested. "He doesn't know any better!"
"Casey, enough." I felt my voice begin to rise, and I forced myself to stay calm. Yelling at my daughter wouldn't help anything. "I just want to understand what's going on with you."
"I told you!" she cried, "It's Stewie!"
As she said this, I saw a flash of something over her shoulder, just for a second. My blood went cold.
"Casey," I breathed, "Is Stewie a person?"
She glanced over her shoulder, towards where that... thing had been. Then she shook her head. "Not really." she said. "He has person parts though."
"Person... parts?" I struggled to keep the fear out of my voice. I can see a faint distortion in the air now, all around my daughter.
Casey waved her arms around over her head. "Lots and lots of arms." she giggled. "Sometimes he climbs around on the ceiling."
I steadied my nerves, breathing slowly. "Casey, why don't you run upstairs. If Stewie is going to keep staying with us, I want to make sure he knows the rules. Ok?"
Casey jumped out of her chair and ran up to me, hugging me tightly around the waist.
"Thanks Mommy. I promise he'll be good."
Then she ran out of the kitchen. I waited until I heard her door upstairs click shut before I stood and crossed my arms.
"Ok, show yourself. Whatever you are."
The distortion wavered for a second, before a solid shape came into view. I bit back a scream at the sight.
Long, gangly arms sprouted from a bulbous, centipede-like body. It was massive, twisted around behind where Casey had been sitting. The torso stretched upwards into a slender neck which twisted and coiled around itself like a snake.
Unblinking, reptilian eyes stared at me out of a birdlike face. Large horns curled out from its forehead, ending in cruel points. The creature opened its beaklike mouth, and I could see swirling rings of teeth inside, almost like a meat grinder. It's thin, barbed tongue shot out, scooping up the rest of Casey's dinner. It chewed slowly as it stared at me.
*I am glad to formally meet you, Amanda.*
A voice echoed in my head, deep and booming. It wormed its way into my mind, as if someone were pouring syrup over my brain. I shuddered.
"What the hell are you?" I asked.
The creature twisted its head upside down, never breaking eye contact. *I have many names. Most of which are incomprehensible to your mortal mind. Formally, my name is--* the words were interrupted by a rapid series of snarls. Then the creature continued. *But your daughter has taken to calling me "Stewie." I am not sure why, but I have grown quite find of it.*
"Ok..." I said slowly. "And what exactly do you want with my daughter?"
The creature's body undulated in what might have been an approximation of a shrug. *She found me. She was kind to me.* The head twisted around to look in the direction of Casey's room. *She gave me a cookie in exchange for my friendship. Technically, that is a binding contract for my people.*
I frowned at this. "So, you just want to be friends with her?" The creature turned back to me and nodded slowly.
I sighed, feeling a migraine coming on. On the one hand, this thing was a literal demon. On the other hand, Casey didn't have many friends her own age. Even at school, her teachers had told me that she usually kept to herself.
Bracing myself, I spoke. "Ok, Stewie. If you're going to stay with my daughter, we're going to need to set some ground rules. Understand?"
Stewie smiled at me, its horrifying mouth stretching far wider than it should have been able to. *You wish to make a contract?*
I smiled wryly. "If cookies are legal tender with demons, sure."
| 2022-06-01T13:57:31 | 2022-06-01T12:14:28 | 69 | 36 |
[WP] After hearing "Everything is a weapon to a human," A desperate alien race abducts several humans and gives them ships, random gadgets, and instruction manuals.
|
There hadn't been enough time. They didn't have enough resources. It was too late.
The abducted humans had gone from violent captives to enthusiastic allies when Zorblath (or Zorb to the humans) let them fire some of the Ship's weaponry. Basic anti-asteroid lasers. But beyond what the humans had been able to produce yet.
The humans had asked him several questions about the ship, and about the Dreadnought that was besieging his world. Then they stuffed Zorb into an escape pod and jettisoned him mid-hyperspace, all while chittering in their human speech. He actually arrived at the planet before the humans, the escape pod's reduced mass helping him pick up speed.
Upon arrival, the large Dreadnought turned its sensors, then it's weapons toward his pod. Then the human's commandeered ship snapped out of Hyperspace, but it didn't slow properly, the inertial dampeners must have been damaged. Any human still inside the ship would have been liquefied instantly at the change in velocity, and the ship itself tore apart.
But all of the pieces, still going close to the speed of light, crashed into the Dreadnought, tearing holes in decks across the whole ship. Then Zorb noticed something else drop out of hyperspace... It was the backup hyperdrive, with four humans wearing poorly fitting space suits clinging to it?
The suited individuals drifted with their momentum to the now savaged Dreadnought and crawled in through some of the still hot holes torn in it. Pieces of metal were welded to cover holes in the control room so it could be pressurized, and as this work was done, the damaged ship lurched back to life, engines beginning to fire to reposition the half-wreck. The weapons that were still online began firing, though Zorb couldn't tell for what purpose.
Then he noticed the human-hijacked system was blind-firing missiles into deep space, and other gun systems would try to shoot the missiles via blind-fire. Huge flashes of light would erupt whenever one was hit, and it revealed the silhouettes of cheering humans in the control room.
... they just wanted bigger guns to play with?
|
"....um...what are we doing here?"
I looked around the strange, cavernous room that several strangers and I now stood. There were windows along one wall that showed a dazzling view of stars and galaxies and all sorts of strange space sights. The room itself was lit from below the transparent floor, with glowing orbs following our footsteps like an obedient dog. All around us were items I could not identify, and would need a thesaurus to properly describe.
"¿Que esta pasando?" someone asked, crouching and holding a small child in a protective hug. Both mother and child looked absolutely terrified, which was the appropriate response to the situation we all found ourselves in.
I tried to remember any of my high school Spanish, but I didn't think asking where the library was would be very helpful.
"Hey, uh, no habla Spanish, ok? Capiche?" someone else said. I spun to look at the newest speaker, a middle age man with a receding hairline and white New Balance sneakers.
"Does anyone speak Spanish?" I asked, glancing around at the rest of my fellow kidnapping victims. Besides the boomer and the Hispanic mother and child, there were three other people, two men and one woman. The men were both in standard business suits, and the woman was wearing a jogging outfit. All of them shook their heads no.
Before I could try to examine our situation further, one of the glowing floor orbs rose into the room and expanded into some sort of holographic... thing. I had no idea how to describe what this was doing.
"HUMANS" A voice called out from the hologram. A face appeared within the light. At least, I assumed it was a face. It was some sort of creature, reminiscent of a deep ocean fish from a nature documentary I had seen recently.
"¡Dios mio que demonios es eso!" The mother cried, turning her child away from the face. The boomer and the jogger both leapt back a few paces, and the two men embraced each other in a frightened embrace. The taller man placed a protective hand on the other's head.
"OUR PEOPLE HAVE A SAYING, 'EVERYTHING IS A WEAPON TO A HUMAN'. WE HAVE ABDUCTED YOU TO CREATE NEW WEAPONS FOR OUR FLEET. BEGIN."
The voice and the horrifying face both vanished, and the glowing orb descended beneath the glass floor once more.
Nobody moved.
I don't know how long we all stood there in shock. It may have been a minute or an hour, or just a few seconds. The mother finally broke the silence.
"¿Qué fue eso? ¿Qué decía?" She said.
The boomer turned to her and shouted "WE DON'T SPEAK SPANISH!"
The woman recoiled, and the child burst into hysterical sobs. I gave the middle age man a stern glare. "Stop that. We don't need to turn on each other. We need to figure this all out, together."
The boomer threw his hands up in frustration. "I could understand the damn anglerfish in the hologram there, but not this woman. How am I supposed to-"
The woman in the jogging outfit sucker punched him in the jaw. The man collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
The two men gasped. The shorter one buried his face into the taller one's chest. "Steve doesn't like violence" he said, patting the short man's back reassuringly.
I stepped forwards and help out my hands, trying to stop the rapid descent into chaos. "Ok, no more hitting anyone, no more racism, no more violence. OK?"
The two men and the jogger nodded. The mother stared at me in uncomprehending fear.
I pulled out my phone and opened my translator app. I quickly typed out NO VIOLENCE. WORK TOGETHER.
"Sin violencia, trah ba hemos juntos" I read slowly. The woman nodded, relieved to finally understand something.
The taller man spoke again. "So why are my husband and I standing in what I'm going to assume is an alien spaceship with you all, tasked to make weapons by a deep sea fish?"
"Great question." I answered. "Not the foggiest idea. Why were we abducted? I'm a botanist, not a weapons manufacturer."
The man nodded. "I'm a lawyer, my husband here manages a cat café."
The jogging woman spoke next. "I'm a Real Estate agent."
The middle age man on the floor groaned. "Figures" he muttered, apparently conscious again. "I'm a used car salesman."
"Figures" everyone else said in unison.
I typed into my phone's translator app once more. "¿En qué trabajas?" I asked the mother.
She perked up almost instantly. "Soy profesora" she said. "Enseño geografía."
I tried my best to type that into the app, but all I could manage was 'professora'. "She's a teacher." I told the others.
"So what are we all doing here? They didn't pick us based on our knowledge of guns... seems like there's no connection here." The Real Estate agent said.
"The alien thing said something like 'Everything is a weapon to a human', I think." I said, trying to recall its exact words. "Maybe they don't have something like a weapon designer?"
The lawyer spoke over his husband's head, which was still buried in his chest. "I don't care how their civilization works, I'm not making a gun for them. I don't know how, and even if I did, it goes against everything we stand for."
"I don't think anyone here knows how to make a gun." I said. "Right?"
everyone shook their heads no. I typed into my app once more.
"¿Sabes cómo hacer un arma?" I read from the small screen. The mother shook her head no enthusiastically.
The floor orb rose once more, and the fish man's face appeared again. "HUMANS. YOU WILL MAKE A WEAPON OR YOU WILL BE REMOVED FROM THE SHIP."
"Please, just let us out!" The shorter man said, raising his head from his husband's chest at last. "We don't know how to make a gun! None of us do!"
The fish man inclined his head slightly. "I UNDERSTAND." His image winked out once more.
Before I could process what he had meant, a noise I took as an alarm began to sound. I heard a small hissing sound that grew louder by the second.
"Oh" was all I could say, as the room's airlock door was opened into the vacuum of space.
/r/SlightlyColdStories
| 2022-06-29T09:18:19 | 2022-06-29T07:52:34 | 39 | 19 |
[WP] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium. Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you, the great evil,none finish. However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash, looks you in the eyes and says "I have a proposition for you."
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The hero walked in, and the small hole I made in the ceiling cast a shaft of light onto him, gleaming off his crown. Of course, this was to give heroes a false sense of confidence, but it didn't faze him.
He walked up to me and tossed a gold coin into my pile.
"You have my attention", I told him.
"Hi, I'm a Nigerian Prince, and I'd like you to do me a favour..."
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Drawing myself to full height, I prepared to roast the man alive for his folly.
"Wait wait wait, you like gold right?" he inquired nervously, "That's what they all say about the mighty Akoratraxis, just mad about his gold."
"You dare to mock me here, in my own lair? What a fool you must be, have the townsfolk run out of brave warriors, that they now send jesters?" Oh for the good old days, when knights would enter on virtuos quests with glinting plate, talking was such a bother. Below him the man trembled, visibly.
"Oh my goodness no," he tittered nervously, "not mocking, just establishing a report." He stretched out a palm, before seemingly realising that any attempt at a handshake would likely crush him under its weight. He drew it back quickly and began to wring his hands in discomfort. I stared, silently, intrigued. Stammering, he continued with a speech that he had clearly rehearsed several times.
"It's just that you've got quite a lot of gold, and you're not really putting it to use here, in a cave, sitting around."
"It is my prize mortal, the reaping from the deaths of thousands and the toppling of empires. Would you deny me that right?" I snorted flame from my nostrils, that always put the fear into them. It succeeded. But strangely the man continued, unabated.
"Nope, not at all, deaths of thousands got it. Cities ablaze, right-o. But what if I told YOU, that you could double, nay, **triple** your earnings in just a few seasons time, without lifting a talon!" He grinned sheepishly, palms raised imploringly towards me.
"Triple you say?" More flame.
"Did I say triple?" he squealed, "I meant quintuple."
"Go on." The man seemed taken aback, dumbstruck for a second, as though his preparations had not progressed beyond this point. But then, all of a sudden, a vigour seemed to fill him from the inside, the same sort of thing that I had noticed countless times before, it was self-assurance, although this kind was not clad in mail, but perhaps instead, in inspiration.
"Alright! Well, how about this then. You've got gold, most of the gold in the old kingdom, in fact, but what then? You sit and wait with it? What if we put that gold to work for you?"
"I do not understand, gold has no will, no hands? How does it work? Are you a sorcerer?"
"No, not literally work, but it pays people *to* work. At the moment they're all hiding in fear, but if we take the gold-"
"Take my gold?!"
"Or just a portion of it! If we take *some* gold from the pile, then we can turn that small, tiny insignificant amount of gold, into much much more. And you don't have to do anything at all."
"You lie, you would have me give you a part of my horde and then run for the hills! How does the coin triple? Answer me that!"
"Quintuple," the man reminded him, "and there are lots of ways! Maybe we use the gold to pay people to make clothes for people on the New Shorelands, and then those people pay us more for it because our tailors can perfect their craft without having to rush to finish? Maybe we take a big pile of gold like a hundred or so pieces in a chest, and tell the whole kingdom that *they* could win it if their name comes out of a hat, we could call it a *hat draw*, but we take a gold piece off everyone who enters, there'd surely be thousands of people so that's profit right there!"
Now I was dumbstruck. The man misconstrued this as anger.
"Or you know! If you don't like that! We could just pay townspeople to mine lots of gold, and bring it to you, rather than hiding?"
"And what is to stop these people from fleeing with my treasures."
"I'm glad you asked, I've spoken to the prince and bishop and the local lords and they're actually quite keen, because it means they can build bridges and castles and things, and as for the serfs, well, if you're regularly giving out the gold, then why would people want to risk that for whatever they can carry? If its coming once with every full moon, then over a lifetime everyone's making more than they could possibly steal. Plus, if we're helping you make more gold, you wouldn't want to burn us all to death, right?"
He grimaced, as if unsure how I would respond. I reached out towards him with a razor sharp, talon watching the sweat bead from his forehead as I did so. Stretching down my slender, jewel encrusted neck, I lowered my reptilian eyes until they were directly level with the man's. I wondered...
"Tell me more about this 'hat-draw'?"
| 2015-10-14T04:03:21 | 2015-10-14T00:29:33 | 32 | 13 |
[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.
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Dexicon moved his cosmic fortress from Centauri B straight into Earth's orbit. Dexicon was able to do this in one turn thanks to the cosmic paving it had laid earlier. This allowed faster than light travel.
"Your move, God." Dexicon roared, knowing it had the ancient deity in its proverbial palm.
*Shit shit shit* thought God. It was tough to display no emotion but a strong poker face was crucial. Dexicon had already taken Zeermon out the game and had now moved on to God.
God had not been blessed with much luck. Each deity had been given a species that had space travel potential. The objective was to either enslave or obliterate the other species. God had unfortunately randomised the least intelligent possible species - homo.
2.7 million years just to leave the hunter gatherer stage. This was a new record. He had had to wipe out his first few species of homo and start over - they had simply been too stupid. By the time he had rerandomised into homo-sapien he was at least 2.6 million years behind Dexicon.
What didnt help was that the homo-sapiens turned out to be incredibly aggresive. This would be useful for fighting other species, but they mainly killed each other! Oh how Dexicon and Zeermon laughed!
When he had finally researched the abilty to send a vassel to Earth to enlighten and guide the people, the earthlings did something unprecedented in stupidity - they decided to kill it.
Finally the humans became space able. At the time, God was pleased. They visited their local moon first, as expected. But the moon base never came. The colonisation of nearby planets never came. They regressed.
"Using your cosmic paving I move Earth into alpha Centuri B", said God, in a move that would have made the humans proud.
Dexicon's mouth dropped.
"Rematch?" God asked.
--------
If you liked this you can read more on my sub I just set up (come follow me!): /r/nickofnight
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God sat down on his lumbar support, swivel desk chair and leaned back. He adjusted his headset, and turned on his desk top computer. As he heard the fan spin to life, God nervously sipped at a diet coke, anticipating the machine loading up. He hadn't checked up on his world in a couple decades, and he wasn't looking forward to seeing what had become of it. Whenever he left his civilization for too long there was always some horrific conflict going on, or some worldwide resource depletion that would no doubt lead to more conflict. The whole thing had started off enjoyable enough; find a little planet without much going on, mix some chemicals together and see what life you can produce. A simple and addictive game at first, but now it had gotten completely out of hand. It was nothing but a giant pain in the -
"GOD! Are you there?"
Before he knew it, his computer had loaded and he had connected to the server, and his friend Ningirsu was now shouting down his headset.
"Yes, Nin. I'm here. You don't need to shout, man." God replied, while wheeling back his chair to toss his Coke can in the waste basket.
"Sorry about that. I'm so pumped right now" Nin said with a slightly irritating intensity.
On this server, which they had rather pretentiously come to call the 'universe', all the other deities played with their worlds and interacted with one another, gifting each other resources, technologies and art, which massively racked up the altruism and culture points in the game. So far, God's little world had not interacted with anyone.
"What's got you so excited?" God asked.
Nin didn't hesitate to respond, "My mintheons have completely gotten rid of scarcity! They're producing enough food for everyone to be satisfied, my World Peace score is off the chart!"
"Oh, haha. That's great" God said with a feigned enthusiasm. Nin wasn't the smartest deity, but even he had a civilization far in advance of his own.
"Oh, how's your race doing? The *humans*, isn't it?" Nin felt obliged to add.
"Oh, yeah, you know. They're coming along. I'm just about to check on them now actually. Be right back." God closed the chat with Nin. He was always so embarrassed to talk to the others about his world. Why couldn't the humans be like all these other races that were so friendly and intelligent? He wished he could just get rid of them and start again, really.
God opened up his world. He sighed. They really never fail to disappoint him. There were wars everywhere. Areas that were stable last he checked on them had descended into chaos. The bar in the corner of the screen marked 'environment' was in the red, which meant critical danger. The 'resource distribution' meter was the worst; he didn't even know it was possible for the meter to get that low. There was suffering and destruction everywhere. No wonder none of the other civilizations were trying to contact the humans, they must be the laughing stock of the universe at this point. God minimized the game in embarrassment. He spun around in his chair, thinking what to do. Why did he bother anymore? The game just wasn't as fun as it used to be. He removed the head set, lifted himself out of his chair and paced around his room, contemplating what to do. He looked at all the other games on his shelf, games that he would much rather be playing. He thought about the stress of having to keep checking up on this damn civilization, to make sure it hasn't destroyed itself yet. This wasn't worth it.
God dropped back into the chair and wheeled himself closer to the screen. Solemnly, he dragged the cursor over to the options menu. He scrolled down to the bottom, where the words 'DELETE WORLD' appeared. His cursor hovered over this option for a few seconds, but he couldn't quite bring himself to click it. Suddenly, his finger jerked accidentally on his mouse. Rather than click the left button, though, he had hit the scroll wheel, which zooms in on the game. He was now viewing one of his continents at a closer distance than he had in centuries. Out of curiosity, he kept zooming in, right until he ended up in one of the human's homes. It had been a long, long time since he had seen his creation at such a close scale. It was not a very well maintained home, and it seemed extremely cheap. God would have been further put out by the living conditions, only that wasn't what got his attention at this moment. What got his attention was the music. In the home was a mother, cradling a very young infant, likely recently born, and the mother was singing a simple tune. It wasn't that it was well sung, but just the way the words were sung so gently, so softly, like a whisper. The mother was very tired, as God could see on her energy meter, but she sang none the less, and stared with endless fascination and teary eyes into the face of her baby.
God was astounded by what he was seeing. Why had he never thought to look at his race on this scale before? He started pressing the arrow keys, which moved his focus across the world, but still at a close perspective. He went further north, where he saw some children playing in the snow in a field. They were building an effigy of a human out of snow, a practice God didn't really understand, but they were all glowing with smiles, so they must have found it enjoyable. He moved further along, into another home, where he saw two young humans sitting on a bed. They were playing some kind of media out of a television in the corner of the room, but neither seemed interested in it. They were instead concentrated on carefully, and slowly, moving their hands toward each others. When their fingers locked, their hearts started beating faster. In a building further east, a group of humans were roaring with laughter as they were all sipping at some kind of intoxicating substance. None of them were saying anything particular amusing, they all just seemed to be enjoying each others' company. God couldn't work it out; when he zoomed out, he saw nothing but brutality and selfishness, and yet zoomed in, everywhere he looked, he saw humans with high levels of compassion, generosity, and creativity. Up close, his race was not a failure at all, at least as far as he was concerned. He closed the options menu.
God looked over to the upper limits of his world, high into it's atmosphere. He saw space stations and satellites, made with technology which the other worlds in his server had greatly advanced from. God, for the first time in eons, smiled at his little world. "You take your time" he whispered, and switched off his monitor.
| 2022-09-11T19:19:52 | 2016-04-09T08:50:39 | 1,980 | 331 |
[WP] You've stumbled across Death Note's younger cousin, Mild Inconvenience Note.
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Luz Guerra violently penned on the mysterious off-black notebook she had found a week prior. "Mild inconvenience!" she yelled out internally with every master stroke, culminating in a whip of the wrist for each victim she accrued.
This notebook was no ordinary notebook. It was a notebook of *Death*. Or rather, it was a notebook owned by a minion of Death; specifically, one who was on probation for having eaten Death's tuna sandwich from the break-room mini-fridge. This demon minion, Mortamue, had his black notebook of death temporarily replaced with the much milder training version: The Mild Inconvenience Note. He knew the harsh punishment that would befall him if his superiors found out he had already lost it.
Any name one writes in the Mild Inconvenience Note is destined to have a small, almost forgettable, annoyance happen to them within an hour. When Luz found it, she quickly realized the power that had fallen onto her lap. She experimented with the notebook, determining its abilities and limits. Fate had turned Luz into the deliverer of divine punishment.
Mortamue looked from over Luz's shoulder, a witness to the onslaught of unbridled nuisances and hindrances she was delivering, albeit very mild ones.
"Justice!" she loudly internalized. In her darkened room, Luz sat in front of her computer desk watching a live coverage of various high-profile crimes. With one hand she wrote the names and fates of the perpetrators of heinous crimes. Rapists, murderers, corrupt politicians, Brittany from one room over; none were safe. With the other hand she dramatically bit into potato chips with a resounding **crunch** each time. She bit them *in half*, much to the confusion of Mortamue. He had assumed people just ate whole chips at a time. The potato chips weren't even that large. It was leaving crumbs everywhere.
The monitor showed a live feed of a serial killer being escorted out of a cop car. He had been caught mutilating the bodies of his victims with chicken wire. "Gary Worburger," she scrawled on the notebook, "stubs his toe. It hurts, but not too much." *Mild* was the name of the game. Luz had to ensure the inconvenience wasn't too severe, otherwise the punishment would not come true.
The serial killer, partially blinded by the jacket covering his head, walks into a pole and stubs his toe in front of all the cameras. There is audible chuckling from the crowd of reporters. A sense of achievement washes over Luz. Justice comes swiftly. Mildly, but swiftly.
Although Mortamue is impressed by Luz skilled use of the notebook, he can't help but feel concerned over her reckless abuse of power. He feared she was getting careless. "You're leaving too many crumbs."
Luz stopped for a moment to ponder his phrase. "You're right, Mortamue. I've been leaving too many clues."
"Yes, that's what I meant."
The live feed on the computer monitor was interrupted by another live broadcast. It was a mostly blank screen except for a single letter: "Ñ". A masked voice overlaid, "I know you exist. I purposefully streamed live coverage of many criminals in order to gauge your capabilities. I will find you."
With this, a dangerous-but-not-quite-so game of cat and mouse was only just starting.
"Mortamue," Luz said, "bring me more chips. Salt & vinegar flavored."
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Every Saturday Maria and I have this "obligatory shopping day" where we go to the mall but we don't buy anything (apart from our lunch, of course), instead we pick out random items and say "what they could be", for example a tissue could easily be a blanket for beetles or a slushie could be some sort of literal brain freezer that aliens use to stop other aliens from functioning and then cut up their dead brain to make hats. It usually doesn't make sense, but that's pretty much the magic of it.
This Saturday, a new shop called *Doki-chan* opened. Yes, it's exactly what it sounds like: a bootleg anime/"kawaii" store where broke weaboos can spend their hard-earned McDonald's cash to buy a $4 Amu Hinamori keychain which its paint chips quicker than watching paint dry. The "Doki-chan" on the sign was written in *Curlz* for goodness sake. Maria wanted to go in, and we stepped in the store to be greeted with lighthearted J-Pop music.
I walked over to the stationery section of the shop, which had a lot of mechanical pencils and dessert-themed erasers. I picked up a pink notebook which had "Mild Inconvenience Note" written on it, the dots on the I's replaced with flowers. It had two cats on the cover kissing each other, one of them having black fur, the other one brown. "I don't get it...is 'mild inconvenience' considered a cute phrase now in Japan...kind of how they like to use broken English in their stationery. Maybe it's revenge for the weebs fetishizing the word 'kawaii'..." I thought to myself.
Maria scuttled over to me holding an Eli Ayase keychain and a T-shirt with all the girls on Aqours on it. "Can we break the no-buying rule just for today? I really wanna get these cool Love Live merch! They're soooo cheap too!"
"You do know all this stuff is bootleg, right?" I said quietly to her. Now, I'm not an expert on anime merchandise or anything (I don't even like anime that much) but I have a brother who's obsessed with only getting the "authentic" stuff *and* an elitist sister who breathes *Baby the Stars Shine Bright* and is supposedly allergic to *Bodyline*.
"Thanks for your opinion," Maria rolled her eyes. She glanced at the notebook I was holding and choked on some air. "Oh my god, is that supposed to be like Death Note but like, 4Kids-ified?? Anyways I'm so getting myself one of those." She picked up another pink notebook from the pile. "$5? Noice..."
"Don't say that please," I cringed.
We walked out of the shop with Maria having $21 less cash. "Oh, can you buy my lunch please? Haha I just realised that's all my food money. Whoops." I facepalmed really hard, but there's some sort of satisfaction in being the "responsible" friend. I hand her a $20 note and we go to a Mexican food place and she orders some nachos and I order a burrito. While she waits for me to savor the other half of my burrito, she takes out the Mild Inconvenience Note and starts flicking through the pages. The Mild Inconvenience Note had the same layout of the Death Note how to use section, which Maria thought was pretty cool. She got out her Hello Kitty pen out of her messenger bag and started tapping the "clicky" end of it on her chin, causing the ballpoint to go in or out.
"What if the power of their love saved Light and L from their deaths?" she thought out loud, her idealism showed themselves in her eyes making her look a little removed from reality. "That would be a cute little fanfic. I should write that fanfic."
"Oh dear god, no..." I muttered, mouth still half full from the burrito. "I don't even know what those are but it sounds pretty horrible..."
"Wow, downer much...I was just thinking out loud..." Maria muttered. "Maybe I'll just pretend this is like the Death Note and write people's names on here for fun."
"Have fun with that."
Maria wrote on the first fresh page "Craig Stuart - choke on burrito". She didn't expect anything to happen, but soon enough, I really was choking on a piece of minced meat. She assumed it was just a coincidence though.
The Mild Inconvenience Note was used by Maria as a way of "venting" towards things she was pissed off about. She brought it to church the next day and made the pastor hiccup the the whole hour. It took her a while to realise that she did, in fact, have some sort of power bestowed upon her in the form of a pink notebook, but once she did, she sort of...abused the power. I found this the ear-shrieking, "standing in scorching summer heat" way.
"Craig!!! What the hell!! Why would you cut out my *Invitation from 5th Avenue* dress just so you can make good quality pillow cases?! What is wrong with you?!" my elitist sister fumed like a tomato on steroids.
"Uh...I don't make pillow cases? That's Maria. She loves making pillow cases." I gave her a weird look.
"Oh, silly me, aha...you two spend too much time with each other, I mistake you for her a lot of the time! Wait, do I even have an older brother sometimes...oh I wonder..." she chuckled, fanning her gloved hands in the air.
"I only hang out with her on Saturdays..."
"Right, yeah. Forgot you lacked other companions. Well, I'm going to challenge Maria to a game of tennis tomorrow to find out if she's the culprit. I mean, it just has to be her, I know it."
"Yeah, because a game of tennis will do the trick," I nodded. If chins could wink, mine probably would have. My lucky ass found itself sitting on prickly dead grass as I watched a professional tennis match with fast-paced athleticism combined with wits and tactical planning that no ordinary tennis match could ever compare to. It almost feels like my birthday.
"Jesus, Maria!! Stop checking out Karen's legs and actually pay attention to *the goddamn game!!*" I groaned. I wouldn't call my sister military ruthless, but it was a little sneaky of her to wear booty shorts which flaunted her curve, knowing that Maria had formed some sort of physical attraction to her. I find it funny how Karen knows this, but cannot distinguish the difference from her *brother* and his friend. My sister isn't really a sports person and neither was Maria, so the game mainly consisted of serving the ball to each other and the other person chasing after the missed ball. Karen did end up winning though since she managed to hit a few balls over the net.
"Well, there you go. Maria's obviously the culprit, cause she lost on purpose," my sister concluded.
"If you say so..." Maria rolled her eyes.
"I mean, why would you even accept my offer to play tennis with you? I messaged you something along the lines of: hey dress destroyer, 3 pm, let's go down to the tennis court,"
"And talk it up like yeah?" I said, making the cringiest pun in history. Okay, there you go, the boldest move of my high school life.
"Yeah, I saw that coming..." my sister put her hand on her hip. "Do you use the pillow with my dress on it as some sort of body pillow or something? Or let me guess, you went one step ahead and made a blanket?"
Maria showed no emotion on her face and simply said, "Would you believe me if I used a notebook to ruin your dress for you? Yeah, such a shame I didn't get any free fabric from it..."
"Haha, hilarious. Pinch me."
Maria got out her Mild Inconvenience Note from her bag and wrote "Karen Stuart - trip over and break nose".
| 2017-01-09T08:18:19 | 2017-01-09T00:25:59 | 78 | 23 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
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"What the fuck" I thought to myself. This job was supposed to be boring, given my... powers. This wasn't supposed to happen.
See, I was a bouncer at a bar. I wasn't the most imposing person but I had a unique trait. I could tell anyone's age without seeing a license. The numbers just kind of floated above their heads. I realized I was special at a young age when I asked my fourth grade teacher, mrs. Jimenez, why the new boy was three years older than all of us. We had to have a special meeting with the counselor and my parents. It freaked them out pretty bad when I was able to tell the counselor that I knew she was seven years older than she said (looking back I think she was trying to start a relationship with one of the younger teachers). It took a couple of years to learn to not notice and just live life but I managed to find a way to use it to my advantage when I got this job.
I streamlined the front door, no wasting time carding people, usually I just stood next to Big Jake (he was a left tackle at the local college and an absolute mountain of a man) and told the underage kids to leave before they wasted our time.
Tonight was terrifying though. We expected a rough crowd once a month when we hosted fight night. It was common practice in rural Midwestern towns, usually one or two bars would set up a ring and let local fighters put on the nights entertainment. Typically fight night made us sell out of pbr and bud light, with exactly the crowd you'd expect. We always had to break up two or three extra curricular fights but it was no big deal to me, I never did the dirty work, I protected our liquor license.
This man terrified me though, four digits were hovering over his head. I leaned into Jake and whispered "something's wrong, ask that guy for I.d." The man didn't look strange, except his hair was straight out of the 80's, mutton chop sideburns and all. He wore a leather jacket over jeans.
The expression on Jakes face was pure confusion. He asked the man and he pulled out a Canadian passport, which was strange. It said he was in his 50s, which was also strange because he didn't look a day over 32. I didn't know what to do so we let him in.
He caused no problems, he came to fight and ended up winning two matches and pocketed 200 bucks, drank two beers and left. He barely said a word. The next day I tried to put him out of my mind. By a week later I had gotten past the shock of it and tried to move on, but the next day life got really strange.
I was home for dinner with my parents when the doorbell rang. They answered and several minutes later my mother shouted for me to come into the sitting room. An old man in a wheelchair was sitting there and behind him stood five people, on of whom was the 1000 year old fighter. I was shaken as the old man began to speak, "hello James, my name is Charles Xavier. I believe you've already met my companion Logan..."
|
I've always seen them. The numbers. It took me a long time to figure out what they were, and longer still to learn to pretend they weren't there.
My family took me to a psychologist when I was young, he thought they were a visual hallucination. None of the pills he proscribed me worked, but I pretended they did at the last batch. I didn't want them trying surgery.
It wasn't long after I left school that I realised I could use this... talent... to be the perfect bouncer. I did pretty well for myself, ended up working the door of one of the bigger clubs in the city.
That is why, late on a Friday night, I was winnowing through the line queuing up outside the club. The lights from the club over the street were bright and strobing, the music pounded through the air mixing with the shouts and laughter from the crowds stumbling and weaving their way between each raucous island of light and noise.
I almost missed it, distracted by two drunks arguing across the street. A flash of an impossible number. My eyes must have been playing tricks, mixing two numbers from people stood close together. Surely.
Then suddenly, there she was. She was stood in front of me, ID in hand. She had a nervous smile, her eyes were a pale green and her skin was almost luminous and smooth, pale as alabaster. Long hair tumbled about her shoulders, down her back. It was gold and yet it seemed like shimmers of silver cascaded through it when it caught the light.
Above her head, impossible, floated the number 1391.
I stared. Had I finally jumped off the deep end? Had I burst a blood vessel in my brain and my ability was going screwy?
"Um... hello? Could I... um... go inside? Please?" Her voice was soft, she had an accent I couldn't quite place, melodic like singing.
I startled out of my reverie and took her ID, "Sorry," I mumbled, examining the plastic card, checking it against our registry. It was real. Tara White, aged 24. But I had never been wrong before. What the hell was going on?
I handed the card back to her, "You can go in," I said stiffly. I couldn't bring her up on it. The ID seemed real and I couldn't hold up the line. Besides, what would it look like if I started asking if she was over a thousand years old? It was preposterous.
The impossible girl gave a bright smile, "Thank you!" She vanished into the club and was gone.
I was preoccupied for the rest of the night, it made it hard to concentrate on my job. Thoughts of the mysterious girl whirled through my head. Who was she? What was she?
I did not see her again until the club wound down and emptied in the early hours, and in the flood of people leaving I did not realise she had passed me until I saw a flash of silver-gold rounding the corner. By the time I reached the next street she was gone. My heart fell. I'd lost her, my only chance at finding out about that damn number, gone.
I was despondent the next day, I'd blown it. I'd never see her again. By the time midnight rolled around on Saturday I had managed to convince myself it was a fluke. I must have imagined that number... even if I knew in my heart that I had not. Still, it was the only way I could put the mystery out of my mind and I had almost succeeded when I caught those shy green eyes again in the queue.
I looked up sharply, and sure enough the 1391 floated above her head mockingly. Beside her was a tall man, probably pushing seven feet. He had shoulders broad enough to make Atlas envious and his skin was as dark as her's was pale. He caught my eyes and the blood drained out of me. Terror, deep and primal washed through me. I felt like a gazelle staring into the eyes of a lion. For all those brown eyes were soft, they were deep and dark and I felt like I was drowning.
He held out his ID, said nothing. Every motion was measured and precise, he moved not an inch more than he needed and there was a terrible fluidity about it. An effortless, predatory grace.
It was only then that I realised what number was above his head and a new terror filled me, my limbs trembled and my heart seized in my chest.
12,150.
I swallowed hard, fumbled for the ID. It too was real. He was Alexander Roberts, aged 28. I handed it back, gestured for them to go in. I could not trust my tongue.
The man gave a thin smile and ushered Tara inside. When they were gone it was like a heavy weight had left me and I gulped for breath. My hands shook.
I took my break early and rushed to the staff bathroom, I splashed cold water onto my face. The shock of it helped but my hands were still trembling. I felt nauseous. Why had that man had such an effect on me? Who the hell *were* they?
Thankfully I did not encounter the terrible man and the shy girl again that night, but over the next few weeks Tara became a regular. She would always come on the weekends, sometimes with her terrifying companion and sometimes alone. I quickly noticed that she was always sober when I saw her, no matter how late she had stayed at the club. She never seemed to leave with anyone, though she seemed to often get hit on in the queue and probably more often still at the bar itself. She always deflected these advances... at least the ones she noticed. A lot of the time she seemed to not realise she was being flirted with at all.
She was always quick to smile, there was a shy earnestness about her and an almost frightening amount of curiosity. It made me wonder just how she was related to Alexander. The man still made me uneasy even if the terror of him had lessened.
I waited until Tara came without her protector, as I had come to think of him. It was a Sunday night, the air was getting colder and the crowds a little thinner. She left the club early today and before she could vanish like she always did I called out to her, "Tara, I need to speak with you a moment. It is about your ID."
She turned, confused, "Is there something wrong?"
"Your ID is fake, isn't it? You aren't 24. I can see people's ages. I know you are much older than that. You're nearly 1400, aren't you?" I watched her eyes widen slightly.
"Th-that is ridiculous, of course I'm not! No one lives that long," she protested, pulling away from me.
"I have never been wrong before. What are you? Who are you?"
She looked around nervously as the crowds of drunks still wending their way to the last embers of revelry still smouldering in the early hours, "Not here. Come with me, and I will explain. I can't risk someone overhearing," she turned from me and gestured for me to follow.
I had little choice. I had to know who she was, how she could be so old. I followed, and soon we were lost in the crowds.
Whatever explanations my feverish imagination had come up with in the past few weeks, they paled to nothing in the light of the truth.
**EDIT**
Apologies if there are any spelling mistakes or nonsensical sections. I wrote this on my phone and it has started to shove words I already did into the middle or end of sentences once I complete them. Such as turning "paled to nothing" into "patheyd nothing" or such.
**EDIT 2**
Part 2 in replies
| 2022-05-25T21:41:20 | 2017-09-01T23:57:33 | 1,321 | 23 |
[WP] You're possessed by a demon. You quickly realize he's never done this before.
|
“Okay. So what now?”
“I don’t know man, just chill out for a while. Go to
School or something”
It had been almost 3 weeks since Samantha had called the demon. She knew the risks when she performed ritual, and to her delight, it worked. She followed the tome to almost the letter, it was complex and the most difficult thing she had done in all her 11 years, but it worked and she called the great demon.
Or, rather, a demon. The ritual required a blood sacrifice, namely that of an adult virgin. Sam didn’t know any of those, and doubted she could overpower one anyway. So she used Socks, her neighbours cat.
While thrilled that the ritual worked, she was less thrilled with the overall result.
“No! I need to know what’s next! So far we’ve only been doing boring stuff. I dream of blood and slaughter, you have to lead me to it!”
“Christ Sam, ‘blood and slaughter’, who the fuck taught you this stuff”
“You did, my lord. Your tome promised me the gluttony of carnage that I crave. I surrender my young, nubile flesh to your every dark desire. Through me you shall herald a new era of darkness and blood”
“Okay. That’s fucked up. Just, damn. You are way to young to talk like that. No one needs to know how... nubile you are... also, for the last time, I am not whatever fucked up shit you tried to summon”
Gary wasn’t happy. A minor demon of sloth, Gary had, in his 300,000 or so years of existence only managed to inhabit a body on earth once before. His claim to fame was convincing a guy who, upon venturing into market on a particular Tuesday, met a women with who he would have a child. That child would, in turn, be a shoemaker who would craft mildly more comfortable sandals for The Christ. Gary managed to make him stay home and drink wine instead. Take that Jesus, your athletes foot comes complements of Gary, remember the name.
This was however, very different situation.
“My lord, please. Let me unleash your demonic might on Tiffany Tubbmoore and her snooty friends. Let me make the gutters run red with their blood”
“you know what Sam. No. Just no. For the last 3 weeks you’ve had me running around, granting you the strength to lift cars and shit, but, tonight, we are going to do nothing and that’s final!”
“My lord, please do not test me so. I am your vessel, use me, fill me, I am yours, my whole body can be your...”
“LALALALALA, can’t hear you! LALALA, no creepy little girls her. LALALALA, nothing illegal or uncomfortable here”
“But, my lord!”
“LALALALALALALALALALALALA”
|
My Saturdays were usually pretty boring. Just me, alone in my bed, binge watching TV and eating crap by the armful. It was great. No stress, no work, no angry bosses -- just me and the hypnotizing glare of the screen.
It was one such Saturday when I felt a sudden punch in my stomach and pain in my chest. I pounded on my chest after swallowing another load of potato chips. Perhaps it was these Saturdays taking their toll; after all, there’s only so many potato chips you can eat before they clog your arteries enough to give you a heart attack.
“Hi! I’m a demon!” I heard in my brain.
“What?” I tried to say aloud, but only said in my brain.
“My name’s Brakhin. I’m a demon! I’m possessing you!”
“What?” I asked again, still not able to form the words with my mouth. “You sound like a little kid.”
“Hey! I am three hundred years old!”
“Oh, sorry, sorry.” My body and my consciousness seemed to have lost their connection.
“Yeah, you should be! I’m possessing you! Mommy said it was time for me to learn. Am I doing a good job?”
“Um--”
“I want to make Mommy proud!”
“Yes. You’re doing a wonderful job. In fact, I think that’s all you need to do for the possession! Good job, you’re done!”
He paused. “You’re making fun of me!” he whined. “And I want to see what it’s like to walk around and run and play! I want to go on a playground!”
My body slowly slid off the bed.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a thirty year old man. I can’t go to a playground alone.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’d be weird.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d look like a pedophile or something.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s -- ugh, nevermind.”
Somehow, Brakhin got me to my feet. We took very long and awkward steps before walking into the door.
“I can’t leave!” he whined.
“You have to open the door first.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s how life works.”
“How do you open the door?”
“You turn the doorknob.” I rolled my metaphysical eyes.
“You’re being a meanie! I’m gonna tell!”
“Tell who?”
“My mommy.”
“Oh.”
He lifted my arm, smacking the door. Eventually he managed to control it enough to touch the doorknob.
“Why won’t it go?” he yelled.
“You have to turn it.”
“How?”
“Just turn my hand!”
“I can’t do it!” We fell onto the floor.
“Then maybe you should stop possessing me?”
“I thought we were friends!” I could hear the tears in his voice.
“Okay, okay, sorry. Can we get off the floor?”
“No! I don’t wanna!”
“I’ll tell you how to get to a playground, okay?”
“Okay!” Tantrum over. We got back to our feet. My hand hit the door again, and he barely turned the knob enough to open the door.
“I did it! I did it! Did you see it, mister? I did it!”
“Yes, yes, very nice Brakhin.”
“I’m doing it! Mommy will be so proud! I’m going to tell all my friends about this. They’re not gonna believe it!” We walked into the main part of my apartment. “What’s that?” he asked, taking a sharp turn towards the kitchen.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“That! It’s shiny!”
“You mean the fridge? It stores food.”
“What’s food?”
“We eat it.”
“What’s eating?”
“Let’s go to the playground.”
“Okay!”
“Turn to the left. No, the other way. Yeah, there we go.” I sighed. This was going to be a long day.
After about an hour of walking like I had a stick stuck up my ass and had jello for legs, we had finally made it to a playground. It was full of children. Just my luck.
“Playground!” He screamed.
“Brakhin, maybe now’s not a good time. Maybe we should come back later, when it’s empty?” It was too late. When he spoke, my body spoke. And now there were ten parents staring at us, at me.
“I wanna go to the playground!” We shuffled to the playground as fast as he could. A couple of parents suddenly grabbed their children and backed away. I saw a mother pull out her phone, typing in three numbers.
“Seriously, Brakhin! This isn’t a good time! People are staring!”
“So?”
“So it’s bad! They’re going to call the cops and we’re going to be arrested!”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’re going to be locked in a cell.”
“I want to go on the slide.” We walked to the bottom of the ladder.
“Oh, no. This is not a good idea.”
“I wanna go on the slide!” One leg lifted, and barely made it to the first rung.
“Okay, okay. Um, raise my arms. Grab the rungs.”
“What’s a rung?”
“One of the ladder things! Just grab something so we don’t fall!”
“Hey, what’s the big idea?” I heard a gruff voice behind me.
“I’m going on the slide!” Brakhin answered for me.
“This is for children! Get out of here!” We got grabbed by the shirt and pulled off of the ladder.
“Hey!” Brakhin’s voice dropped about five octaves. “I. Want. To. Go. On. The. Slide!” He sent a weak kick to the man, but lost his balance and we tumbled backwards. He didn’t care, and started a tantrum, complete with the flailing limbs, tears, and screaming.
Then he stopped. “Mommy?” he whimpered.
“Brakhin, what did I tell you?” another voice in my head snapped.
“I don’t ‘member.”
“No tantrums or you don’t get to possess anymore!”
“But Mommy--”
“No buts. We’re going.”
***
I blinked my own eyes and sat up. “Whoa,” I muttered to myself. “What a weird dream.” I rubbed my eyes before looking around. At a playground. With a few angry parents glaring at me, one with pepper spray out and ready to go.
I jumped to my feet. “Sorry about that! Just, you know, sleepwalking problem! Won’t happen again!” I sprinted out of that park like my ass was on fire, which it was. It was my Saturday ritual to eat Taco Bell for lunch, and Brakhin had not taken care of the side effects.
That was the day I decided to revamp my Saturdays.
(please give me feedback and critiques!)
| 2017-10-07T15:27:06 | 2017-10-07T13:29:05 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] Society has introduced a day that’s the opposite of the purge- a day where all crimes no matter how small (jaywalking, littering) are punishable by death.
|
11:58pm, I was sprinting home.
11:59, I got though my door and started booting the computer.
The day off reckoning arrived, I was in program files.
Sirens outside, a grenade burst through my window and took me out in a flash of light, I was so close to deleting my 'pirated' copy of WinRar.
|
Six years.
Six years and twice as many friends.
Six years and my mother and father.
Six years and my son.
I held the gun in my hands, tears streaming down my face. My hands shook, my whole body did. Quaking with every sob. What the hell was wrong with me?
Six years, and tonight, twice as many drinks. That was what was wrong with me. But I didn't care, for the first time in two years I felt something close to *good*.
I got up from my desk and looked out the wide window, down at the crisp green grass below. Today I would make things right. I'd fix the bastards who did this to me. Who took everything from me. Who took everything from all of us.
The Purge they'd called it. Said it was to cull the unfit from the population. Teach people a lesson about *law*.
Yeah, it taught people a lesson about law alright. Taught them that the law was their enemy. There to hurt them. There to punish them, then give somebody else the axe to take their head.
Today was the Purge. It had been going on for the past six years. Once a year. Twenty four hours.
But even a single day was too much. Far too much. My hand gripped the trigger and I entertained the idea of putting it in my mouth, putting an end to this misery now.
But I didn't. I had a job to do. For him. For all of them. I reached for my glass of scotch and took another drink.
Petty crimes were on the rise seven years ago. People didn't care anymore. They'd lost faith in government, lost faith in their leader. They walked where they pleased, littered where they felt, shoplifted whatever they *wanted* in that moment. The nation was on the verge of becoming a police state, but of course rumblings of that only served to incite the public further. And the crimes escalated. Rape. Murder. Arson. The people wanted blood, and they didn't care where they go it.
So the bastards on top came up with a plan. A new law. They told the population to *relax*. To calm down. That they had a *voice*, and it was heard. That the government would be there for them.
They rolled back their police state and in its place instituted this Frankenstein of a celebration. I say celebration because it's a national holiday. Like Easter.
A week ago I heard John say he was looking forward to it. Time off. Time to unwind he said, smiling.
I nearly choked him to death.
I would have. But once, that was me.
The idea was the government didn't need to police the public if it let the public handle business on its own. It took all that rage, all that pent up fury stoked for years in the furnace of a population being rapidly *enslaved* and aimed it exactly where they wanted it. Back at the American citizens. They took man and wife, and pitted them against one another. Brother and sister. Coworkers. You get the idea. It made sense, at the time. Maybe. Maybe we were all just so angry we wanted an outlet. Anything.
And then two years ago it took my son. On the way to our first public address. He was afraid of the Purge, and I wanted to normalize it for him. After all, this was the world he was to grow up in. The sooner he understood the consequences, the better. And Tommy dropped his candy bar.
Littered.
Tommy's big, brown eyes were wide. 'Oops' he'd said. The way he had so many times before - time's when he'd spilled his apple juice, or dropped a toy. It was an accident, and it was only for a moment. But a moment was all it took.
Even as Tommy reached down to correct his mistake, the crack of the rifle thundered across the crowd.
And fancy that, bullets travel faster than a kid's conscience.
He'd shot him, dead on the steps to the podium. I broke down. I held his bleeding, fast-dying body in my shaking hands and I cried for the first time in ten years. I screamed. I wanted to murder every fucking person there. I tried to.
But I didn't. Because I couldn't. They wouldn't allow it. There were rules. Rules I used to agree with.
The one who did it? I never found him.
I hear a rapping at my door and lower my pistol out of sight. "Come in." I say, the words nearly as hollow as I felt. The door swings open and a smartly dressed woman with a folder enters the room. Her hair is up, neat and crisp. Her lipstick is crimson and her posture is one born of looking down on people for years. She smiles, as fake as ever as she strolls into the room. Sharon.
"Good afternoon Mister President. I have the first round of data from this year's Purge if you'd like to take a look?"
I don't say anything.
I raise my gun.
| 2018-01-06T17:01:40 | 2018-01-06T16:26:27 | 677 | 429 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole.
|
"Aye, you've heard about the devil's asshole right?"
It was more of a rhetorical question. At this point, everybody had.
A few years back, Bridgeport Connecticut experienced a minor tremor from a minor earthquake. No one thought much of it at the time, save for Mr. Hoolihan whose backyard now sported a three foot wide hole.
A carpenter by trade, Mr. Hoolihan was a real "do it yourself" kind of guy. He went out to his backyard to measure the hole that had appeared. Even with his arm fully outstretched, the yardstick he brought wouldn't even touch the bottom. He tossed a rock into the chasm but no sound echoed back.
What's interesting is that the story almost ended there. After trying to fill the hole in and bringing several landscaping teams in to inspect it, they guessed that it was some old mine shaft. They put a few two by fours over it and that was meant to be that.
Mr. Hoolihan couldn't stand it though. Something about that hole being there really gnawed at him, and when his wife was asleep, he'd go out into the backyard, move the boards, and shovel dirt in, hoping to hear it hit the bottom.
This continued for about a year, until one night when Mr. Hoolihan used an excavator his neighbor had rented to fix the landscaping damages from the quake. People aren't sure exactly what happened, but at around three, Hoolihan, the excavator, his house, and his still sleeping wife, all plummeted into the hole after it opened up to swallow his property.
After that, the site was known as "Hoolihan's hole" or the "hell hole" and most sensible folks avoided it. Those who weren't sensible saw an opportunity.
Dumping of all sorts began to enter the chasm, as shady corporations, the mafia and people too stingy to buy a permit poured waste, trash, dead bodies, and, at one point, an truck full of millions of dollars after a failed bank heist.
After that last one, the police caught on and set up a perimeter around the hole as scientists were brought in to answer questions.
"Where does the hole end?"
"Does it even end at all?"
Now if people had been paying attention to local Chinese news, they would have seen the headline: "American man and wife emerge from mysterious hole outside
Shennongjia."
|
Clarise Fae was the closest the living could get to being a ghost. She glided through the town at night in long gowns going nowhere except for oblivion. Her face and shoulders were deathly pale and her hair was a startling silver that just barely touched the ground. When she appeared, people avoided her, they would cross the street to avoid being on the same side of the road as her, whisper when she was out of earshot, mothers scared their children with tales of Clarise Fae, and the bards sang tales of the tragic beauty of the last of the Fae, the cursed line. Her tale was second only to the stories of the Hole. The one at the edge of town with no end, the one that scared away many and attracted even more.
Of course, the tale Clarise Fae is a story about the Hole. For every night, she would wander the town, but in the end she would stand at the edge of the Hole, peering down into nothing, trying to find answers when there were none. Answers for the past.
Clarise had been one of seven daughters. They all had her silvery hair, the pale skin, the eyes that seemed to hold a storm behind them. Her sisters were playful, even joyous. Her parents were well respected in the town - they ran a shop selling charms guarding against the spirits that came out of the hole. Often a Fae sister or two would be around and about in the shop helping out their parents, and playing jokes on the customers. They were often hard to tell apart, but Clarise stood out, even then. She never smiled, never, never joked. Just obediently fetched whatever her parents asked her to from the shelves. Still, the girls were the town's little angels - beloved by all, so few risked having children here by the Hole.
So everyone in the town was heartbroken when one of them jumped in the Hole. The carpenter had sworn he had seen one of the Fae sisters walking about in the night and head towards the hole, almost in a trance, and of her own volition, jump in.
It was a tragedy, and the whole town wept for the little life that had been winked out.
"Just the nature of the Hole," the old muttered shaking their heads, "some children just can't resist."
It was a tragedy, but nothing unheard of. Nothing unheard of. The Hole was the Hole. Slowly but surely, the town moved on, and so did the family, or as much as it was possible to move on.
Apparently one of them had never quite gotten over it. Soon after, another sister was seen jumping into the Hole in the dead of night.
Again, the town wept.
"Children take it hard, a death, you know," the elders said. "The two sisters had always been closer than the rest."
But it was also around this time that the first whispers started, that one child lost to the hole is understandable, but two? From the same family?
And just as everyone had stopped reeling in shock, another Fae jumped in, once more in the dead of night.
This time the elders muttered and shook their heads. Some people stopped going to the shop, but most spat at them and comforted the Fae instead. "To lose children is bad enough, but to be scorned for it is even worse," they said.
They stopped going when the fourth and fifth sisters jumped together.
Soon after, the town saw Mother, Father, and final sister walk to the Hole hand in hand. Nobody tried to stop them, either out of fear or out of sympathy.
And the life of the town was gone, just like that, taken from the hole.
Or, well, not all of it.
Clarise Fae remained, the lone sister, the quiet one, the one most would have thought would be the first to jump. Yet she lived, in a sense. She never talked to anyone, getting food and water from the woods. A potter said he once saw her snap the neck of a squirrel in the woods and bring it home to eat. When Clarise first walked towards the hole, the town thought it was the end of the Fae. The final sister would jump and put an end to the curse.
But she didn't.
She only stood, half of her feet off the edge, but she never did jump.
On one such night the Carpenter's boy - a young man of about nineteen, around the same age as Clarise. He was a fool, lured in by beauty, the long hair, the sad eyes. He Followed her in to the woods on one such trek into the hole.
Clarise glided out of the woods early morning, but the boy never did.
Enough was enough. The townsfolk had let her stay despite the Hole's Curse, but now she was a danger to others. "Better to be rid of her," the townsfolk reasoned. "Lest the Hole take us all."
And so they gathered behind her at night when she stood at the edge of the hole. Despite the hundred or so townsfolk behind her with torches, Clarise didn't even bother turning around. It was like she didn't hear them, that there was nothing for her except the Hole.
The townsfolk stood for a moment, doing nothing. They had expected fear, pleading, but not this, not ignorance. Eventually one of them, the Carpenter, took initiative. He stepped forward, calmly and coolly, and placed a hand on Clarise's back, and without a moment's hesitation, shoved.
The Townsfolk gasped, they had wanted to drive her out, not to give her to the Hole. Not even murderers deserved that fate.
But it was not Clarise who fell. She whirled to the right just as the carpenter shoved, and the carpenter found himself off balance from the shove. His screams echoed through the forest as he fell into the Hole.
Clarise shook her head at the spot the carpenter had been, her eyes sad. And for the first time, she spoke. "You have come here trying to get rid of me, to drive me out, to kill me. I have tried to do the same for years now, to jump into this damn hole-"
Without warning another townsfolk charged her, pitchfork raised to impale her. She could have moved, but she stood there, as if accepting her fate. The Hole rumbled.
And then what appeared to be a root of a Tree appeared from the Hole, grabbed the charging man by the waist and dragged him into the Hole in a fraction of a second.
Again, Clarise barely reacted, just stood with those sad eyes. "It wants me, see, all to itself, it is very jealous, very protective," she said. She hook her head, and a ghost of a smile touched her lips.
"The Hole is in love with me."
No one stopped her as she glided through the crowd. Away.
***
if you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2022-06-02T19:21:41 | 2018-01-13T07:23:20 | 4,551 | 1,368 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
######[](#dropcap)
It was one of those surreal moments that you only get to experience once in life.
Linda was working on the script for the next show when her phone began to buzz. Slowly at first, just a couple messages. Work friends, she thought. Thursday was always their night out for drinks, but she had been too busy tonight to join them.
Then the buzzing became more rapid, until her phone began vibrating constantly on the bed. With a frown, she glanced at the messages that were popping up quickly, one after another. They were all from random numbers, all sending the exact same message. She scrolled through, just to make sure she wasn't missing something.
"It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
A frisson of fear ran down her spine. After a minute, the messages slowed down. Then a singular message, different from the previous ones.
"DO NOT LOOK OUT YOUR WINDOW."
It was from her boyfriend, Jordan. Her mind reeled. This had to be some kind of joke. She'd been such a good girl. She never went to abandoned houses and never walked into creepy forests alone. She was always sure to lock her windows and doors at night.
So with hesitant steps, she walked toward the dark curtain that was covering her window. Slowly, she reached out a hand and flicked off the lamp on her desk so that her room became pitch dark. It would help, at least, if whatever was out there couldn't see in. Then, she slowly slid open the curtain and peeked outside, expecting the worst. Perhaps a killer clown or a ghost.
She squinted. Was that...Jordan?
Without hesitating, she ran toward her bedroom door, throwing it open, and dashed down the steps of her apartment until she was at the bottom. There, she watched as her boyfriend was desperately trying to bring down the small hot air balloon that he had somehow managed to raise a little ways from her window.
He glanced down at her, then ducked into the basket. She simply stood there, waiting for him to get down. When the balloon came close enough, she saw the sign plastered to the front, and burst out into laughter.
On the front of the balloon, in large bold, flowery lettering, were the words:
LINDA, WILL YOU MARY ME?
When the hot air balloon touched down, Jordan climbed out, his face bunched up. "I told them not to send the messages, but it was too late when I noticed the typo--I'm going to kill Erin by the way--and everyone has such quick reflexes-"
Linda simply laughed and cut him off, throwing herself into his arms. "The answer's yes, in case you were wondering."
Jordan froze for a moment before he hugged her tight, lifting her up and spinning her around in the air. Then, huffing and puffing, he set her down, breaking out in a large smile as he gazed her windswept hair and freckles. "Best girlfriend ever," he said softly.
"Best fiancée ever," she corrected, and tilted his face so they could look at the moon together. "You have great timing, by the way. It's a full moon tonight."
"I meant to do that," he said, and kissed her on the forehead. Then he pulled out his phone.
"Mission success," he typed into the group chat, and ignored the kissy faces that flooded in. He would get revenge on Erin tomorrow, he vowed, his face dark. But at least, he thought, this would be a tale to tell the grandkids.
*****
r/AlannaWu
|
**3:00 AM**
*bzzz*
I groaned awake as my vibrating phone buzzed on the bedside table. I reached out from under the sheets and looked at the notification. It was a text message.
>OFFICIAL WARNING: Do not look at the moon. THIS IS NOT A DRILL
"What the hell?" I whispered. Who needs a warning at 3 AM to not look at the moon on a new moon night? Astronomers and space geeks probably. I put my phone back and closed my eyes. It's probably a prank or something. Nothing I need to lose sleep about, I got college tomorrow anyway. I dozed off...
**3:13 AM**
*bzzz*
*bzzz*
*bzzbzzbzzzZZZ*
I woke up with a start. This was getting annoying. I reached out to my phone and turned the screen on again. I looked at the lock screen.
>78 New Messages
The phone buzzed again.
>79 New Messages
>83 New Messages
I swiped the screen and scrolled through the messages. I didn't know any of these numbers. I scrolled until I came across a familiar contact.
>JASON L.
My roommate, the stupid one. Why'd he text me when he could've just woken me up? I clicked on the message.
>Come outside! The moon is so beautiful tonight! 🌜😍
I looked at the other messages, they were similar.
What's with this moon thing tonight? I got up and walked to his room. I opened the door.
The windows were open and white moonlight was spilling through the gap in the curtains onto his floor. The room was a mess. The lamp was knocked on the floor. There were books, and papers lying everywhere. A broken mirror lay on the floor. Jason was nowhere to be found. Did someone break in? Did Jason fight him? It certainly looked like a fight had happened. As walked in, my foot pushed something. His phone. I picked it up and scrolled through his messages. He'd received the same warning as me, only a bit later. There were also many messages similar to mine telling him to look outside. I looked at his sent messages. He'd sent the same message to all his contacts and other random numbers.
Fuck this. I wanna know what the whole moon thing is about. I stepped towards the window to take a look when someone pulled me back by the shoulder. "No! Don't look!" a voice said. I fell down on the floor. I looked up and saw my other roommate, Mark. He was holding an umbrella and his face was covered in sweat.
"Ow shit Mark. What was that for?"
"You would've gone too."
"Gone too? What are you talking about?"
"Didn't you get the warnings?"
"The one from the government or someone?"
"Yeah."
"Okay okay. What the actual fuck is going on, Mark?"
"Look at this." Mark said, pulling out a selfie stick from his pocket and extending it. He put his phone in, but kept the back camera on. We walked to the window and he started a video recording. He pushed the stick through the gap in the curtains and moved it around, pointing the stick up and down and across. He pulled it back.
"Look " said Mark, starting the video.
It was unlike anything I could've imagined, the moon was huge. As the camera moved below, there was a group of about thirty people in the distance. They were standing on the street looking into houses. Then the video ended.
"What are they doing?" I asked Jason.
"They're dragging people out to see the moon" Mark said.
"What happens if you look at the moon?"
"You become one of them. It's like some kind of mind control. I guess"
"Is that what happened to Jason?"
"Yes." Mark said. "We have to get out. I'm grabbing your keys. Come on." He got up. "Get an umbrella. You don't want to accidentally look up and see the moon, do you?"
I went to my room and grabbed my umbrella and put on a hoodie. You can't be too careful.
Mark was waiting near the door. We stepped outside and opened our umbrellas. Mark opened the garage. Looking up the street I didn't see anyone coming. Someone screamed in the distance.
"Come on!" Mark said, as he got in the car. I climbed in the driver's seat. Another scream. This one sounded close.
My hands starting to shake, I turned the ignition on. The engine roared to life. My music system began blaring. "Turn that thing off!" Mark said. "Okay okay!" I said, turning the volume all the way down. Then we heard something else.
It was a loud screech of at least fifty people screaming. It was getting closer. "Fuck fuck fuck!" I pushed down on the accelerator and we drove out the garage. In the rear view mirror I saw a massive crowd of people running towards us from behind our house. Another group across the street in front of us, I swerved to avoid them when a rock crashes through the window and hit Mark. "Shit!" he said as shards of glass fell on his lap. The crowd continued chasing us and getting smaller in the mirror until they stopped and turned back. We sighed in relief. "Where do we go?" I asked. "Away from here" Mark said. Nodding, I turned us towards the national highway, speeding faster. There were a few cars on the road. I pushed down on the accelerator, speeding up when a someone jumped in front of our car and we crashed into him. The sound was horrible. We stopped and walked out under Mark's Umbrella. In front of us, an old man lay on the road, he was bleeding, but still breathing. "We gotta help him." Mark said. "What if he's one of them?" I said. "He's dying! He's not gonna attack us." Mark said, putting his umbrella down. He bent down to pick him up when the man's eyes opened. His iris was pale gray. He grabbed Mark and pulled him down and kicked out with his leg, kicking the umbrella away. "Isn't she beautiful tonight!?" The man cried. He rolled over with Mark on the ground. I ran towards them. The man kicked out and tripped me. As I got up I heard Mark scream. It was a terrible sound. I looked to him and saw him, staring at the moon, his iris turning from brown to pale gray.
"She's the most beautiful thing I ever saw." Mark said. I backed towards the car. "Mark, wake up! This is not you" I said, standing near the door. Mark got up. "This is me, the same me I've always been. Won't you look at the moon tonight? It's the most beautiful thing *ever*" Mark said, almost growling the last word. The man joined him, and they both charged towards me.
I got in the car and shut the door as the man charged on my side, banging on the window as I turned on the ignition. Mark charged on the passenger side and tried to force himself into the car. He was screaming and growling. I put my foot down on the accelerator and drove as fast as I could. Mark still held on. I swerved the car and punched him in the face. He lost his grip and fell off as I drove off.
It's been a week since it happened. The next morning I ran low on fuel in a nearby town. The town was empty save for a few people. I drove to a gas pump. A man sat near a pump. "Take whatever you want. It's free." He said. "Did it happen here too? The moon?" I said. "Yes." The man said. "Where did everyone go?" I asked. "The man looked at me "The moon took them away" he whispered. "What?" "Took them all up in a big beam of light right in the woods. Everyone who'd looked at it".
I couldn't say a word. I filled my car and drove back home.
--
This is my first writing prompt response. Any feedback or criticism will be appreciated.
| 2022-06-10T18:58:05 | 2018-04-06T21:48:48 | 308 | 32 |
[WP] You have a dragonslaying Paladin friend that you run a scam with. You steal the princess, he "kills" you and returns her to her kingdom, and you both split the profit. The problem is, you've been found out. And now the princess wants in.
|
**Please let me know what you think!**
"Condition one," the little girl said. "You kidnap me at least once every six months. I could use the break, and the look on father's face when you grabbed me was priceless."
The Princess was right. Her father had looked so offended and angry I had had to contain my laughter as I had flown away.
"Condition two. You make sure each 'kidnapping' lasts at least a week. Like I said. I need the chance to rest sometimes." She sighed. "The life of a princess is so demanding."
Eliesen made a soft, choking noise.
"Condition three," the Princess continued, pacing back and forth. "You give me a share of the money."
"But you're a princess," Eliesen protested, rubbing his cheek. "And your kingdom is rich!"
The Princess - I had never bothered to learn her name - scoffed. "You think they would give *me* any money?"
I hated kidnapping children. Adult princesses were easier to deal with, even if they were more likely to get angry and throw things. The last child I had kidnapped had cheered and laughed when I had flown her to my cave, and spent the three days of her captivity trying to paint me green. When Eliesen had 'killed' me, she had been so angry at losing her newest toy, she had tried to beat Eliesen to death with a pillow.
"Condition four," the little girl continued, "you teach me to fight. I don't mind you kidnapping me, but I don't want every opportunistic idiot thinking that I'm an easy mark."
I bent my head to Eliesen. "Why did you insist that I kidnap this one?"
"Because her aunt's a knight and would have tried to kill you."
"But she would still have been easier to deal with than this one."
"That's true," the girl said. "Aunt Adrienne's lovely and I'm sure she's very brave, but she's about as smart as footstool."
I glared at Eliesen. "See, you should trust my instincts."
"The last time we trusted your instincts, I got arrested for overdue library fines."
The girl sniffed, somehow managing to look down her nose at me, though I towered over her. "A moth-eaten old lizard and an aging knight who squabble like seagulls. How did you ever manage to fool anyone?"
Eliesen pouted like a child and crossed his arms.
"Never mind what you want," I told the girl. "What do *we* get?"
"I don't tell all of the kingdoms you've defrauded the truth."
*I could eat her,* I thought. *Skinny, but she's not worth the trouble of a ransom.*
"And," the girl added, "think of the story it would make."
I cocked my head. Story?
The girl spread her hands in the air, as though spreading a picture. "The brave knight and his perpetual battle against his arch-nemesis. The beautiful, innocent princess caught in the middle."
"Your ears stick out and you're planning to fake your own kidnapping."
The girl ignored me. "Our names will go down into legend."
I could see the gleam in Eliesen's eyes. The girl certainly knew which buttons to hit.
I made a half-hearted attempt to argue. "It's usually the kidnapper who makes the demands, not the hostage."
The girl gave me a positively evil grin. "No. It's the blackmailer who makes the demands."
I thought over her offer. Eliesen glared at me pleadingly. I sighed. I should have gone for the aunt.
"Deal."
/r/YarnsToTell
|
"...You want to... Get in on this?" my Paladin friend asked.
"Did I not make that clear? Of course I want in! Being stuck in that castle all day is boring and unrewarding, anyways! The stuff you and your dragon buddy are pulling here actually seems exciting!" the princess had this dumb, smug look on her face. She knew that we were running a scam, and she knew we couldn't do anything to stop her from telling everyone... Except if we, well, let her in on it, too.
"C'mon... You don't really want in on this, do you...? There's a lot of drawbacks to it..."
"Like what?" the princess asked.
"Like... Um... It's a really repetitive job, ya know?"
"I've already said; my day-to-day life as a princess couldn't get any more dull. When your dragon friend kidnapped me, that was the highest high I've ever felt! Honestly, I didn't care if I got 'saved' by you or not, I was just excited to be experiencing something new! I want that feeling again. I want to bring some exhilaration into my life." the princess really wasn't gonna let this go, was she?
"Then this REALLY isn't for you. We do the same schtick, over and over, until we're satisfied with our profits. It's rinse-and-repeat stuff-"
"What do you end up doing with your profits, huh?" my Paladin friend looked to me for help. Being a dragon, I'm unable to speak any kind of language. So, in response to my friend's subtle cry for help, I simply huffed some smoke out of my nose and shrugged.
"Well, we... Uh... We use the profits to sustain a healthy and steady lifestyle. Rent, and stuff."
"Please. You expect me to believe with the kind of money you guys are making, you're only spending it on *rent?* The money my father gave you was enough to buy a small village! I bet I know what you REALLY do with that money."
"I don't know what you're suggesting." the princess scoffed. I could see a sweat drop rolling down the forehead Paladin buddy.
"Sure you do. You definitely go out, and totally splurge that money. I can only imagine how much fun I could have with your freedom and your wealth. As of right now, I only have your wealth. I'm just asking that you guys be my... Enablers. I want the freedom you guys have. You just have to let me join in on your act! That's it! Nothing more to it!"
"We really don't need you to join in... I mean, if we kidnapped you multiple times, and I 'saved' you multiple times, wouldn't that get... Suspicious?"
"It might raise a *little* bit of suspicion after a while, sure, but once people DO get suspicious, we can find something else to do! Just... Fake my death, or something! Then your pet dragon can fly us to a new kingdom!"
"Hey, he's not my pet, he's my business partner." I made sure to exhale as contently as I could, effectively communicating that I was happy with that response.
"Aw, that's adorable." the princess said. It almost felt patronizing.
"Listen, princess, having you on the team would complicate things, and risk my whole reputation as a heroic paladin. We can't afford run that risk... Please, just find something else to do..."
"Well, if you DON'T let me on the team, your reputation won't just be at risk. It'll be *completely* gone. I can tell the king or the queen of your guys' scam, and then, poof, your life is ruined. My dad has connections, he can tell any other kingdom to look out for you. Your 'kidnap the princess' ploy won't work anywhere else. Everything will be ruined for you, and... What did you guys say your names were?"
"I'm P. A. Ladin. This here dragon is named Dragon."
"Wow. Those are some of the dumbest names I've ever heard. Your parents really gave you a name that's just a pun? Haha, what if you grew up to be something other than a Paladin? A-And, you call your friend, who's a dragon, 'Dragon'?"
"Don't digress from the argument here, princess. You don't have to ruin us. Just let us carry on with our lives. Please. We'd be nowhere if we weren't doing what we're doing..." the princess had us in checkmate. There was nothing left to do but plead. I let out a whimper to try and help my friend's case.
"Hey, you guys *kidnapped* me, and then brushed it off as just another job. However you guys may feel about that doesn't matter to me, I'm taking that personally. The least you could do now is let me on the team to make up for that."
"You don't need us to feel excitement in your life, princess! I mean, how'd you even get here, huh? You snuck out of the kingdom and arrived all the way at our cavern without getting caught. That's enough excitement for you, right? Just do stuff like that!" P. A. suggested.
"My dad has definitely increased guard security by now. I'm also willing to bet there's a search party on their way. I don't know how many times I'll be able to sneak out by myself before it becomes impossible. Having you guys 'kidnap' me would negate that problem."
"Are you sure? How do we know that the increased security won't kill my friend here? And, you know what, I just thought about this; if we kidnap you again, the king will probably send out a search party, and hunt down Dragon! You'd be at fault if Dragon died to some royal guards!"
"Yeah, whatever." P. A. was taken aback. I growled. This princess didn't respect my life. She really wasn't making it easy to comply with her. "The way things are right now, I've got nothing to lose. But you guys, you guys can lose everything because of me."
"Princess, I just wanna make it clear, we could kill you right now. That'd pretty much solve our dilemma here."
"Pfft, would you really? You guys have been staging kidnaps for... How long now? You really expect me to believe a duo as soft as you two would actually have the guts to kill me? Even if you did, my dad would stop at nothing to have Dragon killed." the princess shook her head. "I'm disappointed. You'd think that, by now, you guys would have come up with a plausible reason for me to give up on this."
"We've offered you plenty of good reasons to leave us alone. You're just stubborn."
"Yup!" the princess turned around, headed for the cavern exit. "You guys have got two choices! Let me in on this, or I'm gonna make sure that *every* kingdom about your scumbaggy-ways!"
"Aw, c'mon!" P. A. sighed. The princess had left the room. "Princess! Don't do this to us!" he turned to me again. "Quick, grab her or something! Kidnap her again!"
I huffed disapprovingly. The princess would *want* me to kidnap her again.
"Nah, you're right. The princess would want you to kidnap her again." I laid down on the ground, thinking over our current situation. P. A. did the same.
I looked at him, and growled. I was trying to communicate a "what now?"
"...We've gotta let her in on this, don't we?" I rolled my eyes. P. A let out another sigh. "I'll go get her, I guess. We'd better welcome our new team member, buddy."
--------------------
Hey, sorry for any typos I made. It's really late here and I'm tired. I also apologize if my response was bad :( I'm just some kid on the internet, please don't expect anything I make to actually be good.
Great prompt, OP. I really liked it a lot :)
| 2018-07-05T01:33:57 | 2018-07-05T01:18:30 | 131 | 51 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human.
|
"Hello, I'm Marie, I'll be your nurse," she said pulling up the rolling stool and sitting down. "So, why are you here today?"
"I've been feeling tired, and dizzy a lot," I said.
"Could you roll back your sleeve for me?" Marie asked. She was pale, really pale, but it was more like marble than skin. I rolled back my sleeve, and she rubbed my wrist with some kind of wet wipe. Pulling my wrist up to her nose, she took a deep breath. "Hmm," she said, reached over and checked off a box on a check list.
"Hmm?" I asked.
"Well," she said, "let me check something else. Now don't worry, I'm going to get very close to your neck. It's part of the procedure."
As she got close to my face my heart started to beat fast, like some ancient instinct was kicking in. "I bet some people take this the wrong way," I said. She took a sharp deep breath.
"Sometimes, that's why I've learned to announce what I'm doing," she said, and sat back on her rolling stool.
"So," I said, trying to get my heart to slow down, "what were you sniffing for?"
"The vampire olfactory senses are much more attuned than a humans," she said. "I was checking for tell-tale signs of diseases or infections."
"Did you find anything?" I asked.
From the drawer she pulled out a small device, about the size of a computer mouse. She held it to my thumb. "You're going to feel a pinch." And I did. A small drop of blood appeared on my thumb, like a diabetes test. Marie used a small dropper to suck it up. She then dropped it onto her tongue. I fought the urge to gag. She clicked her tongue a couple times, then grimaced and check off a few more boxes. These creatures used to hunt us, kill us, eat us. Now it's sitting here tasting my blood. This must be like a wine tasting to it. I shuttered.
"Mr. Moore," it said, "I'm sorry to tell you, but I've found traces of pancreatic cancer. It seems to be in the early stages, so we should be able to give you chemo. Or we could seek an experimental treatment involving werewolf blood transfusion."
I stared at it, it's face passive.
"Um," I stammered, "can I speak to my doctor?"
"Certainly," it said standing up, "your doctor can confirm my results with any test you wish. Have a good day Mr. Moore."
|
**Part 1: Werewolf Mercenary for Hire**
“You the werewolf?” The officer questioned the moment I got out of my black Lamborghini. It was the cheapest one they sold, but it was a Lamborghini nonetheless.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, what’s the situation?”
The officer motioned me to follow, his weathered face grim in the darkening light. “We’ve already spent almost twenty hours trying to negotiate with them. It doesn’t look like this standoff will end anytime soon though. We need you to go in and do what you do best – silently stalk down the terrorists and take them out.”
“How many?” I wondered absentmindedly. This job wasn’t really enough to get me excited. They had developed an interesting contractor system in this country. A third-party network that brought together paying customers, whether business or individual, to hire supernatural creatures like myself to take on difficult jobs, all with the supervision of the police to ensure no laws were broken. However, in this case, I was actually assisting the police under the new legislation that allowed killing in the line of ‘duty’ for acceptable jobs. Granted, there was a black-market version of the network too, but I tried to keep it clean so I could live a semi-normal life.
But this job was guaranteed to be boring. The only reason I had taken it is because the politician who was paying me to assist the police had a cute daughter who happened to be one of the hostages. I figured I could take his money and maybe score with her too if I was lucky.
“Four or five,” the officer said hesitantly. “We haven’t been able to collect much intelligence. They have the club sealed up tight.”
I sighed in acknowledgement. Boring indeed. All I had to do was slip in, kill them, maybe take a few shots that would heal almost instantly, and then it would be over – five minutes tops. Easy money. But also boring money. I sincerely hoped the daughter would make it more interesting for me.
“Alright then. Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll get to work.”
The officer nodded, so I took off away from the scene. It was fun watching his shocked expression, but he should have known that entering the club like a human wouldn’t work. I quickly scaled one of the nearby buildings, jumping clear up to the fire escape on the side and then leaping entire flights of rickety stairs. Once I had leapt onto the roof, I took off to dash to the next building, followed by the next, before landing on top of the club.
I expected to use the ventilation system to make my way inside the building, but there happened to be a door at the top. Too easy? Surely someone was watching it, not that it really mattered. I’d kill them all the same, and I didn’t really care if anyone died except the politician’s daughter-
*Ah, screw it.*
I walked up to the door and quietly yanked it open, the screws that held the door-handle slowly snapping under the pressure of my inhuman strength. My body was already growing black fur and my head reshaping as my mouth elongated into a massive snout that resembled more of a pitch-black lion instead of a wolf. My yellow eyes were already seeing that the dark staircase was completely empty. But my nose instantly picked up something I didn’t expect.
“Blood?” I whispered in a deep bestial voice.
And not just a little bit of blood. A LOT of blood.
I quickly made my way down the staircase, already concerned that I had failed the job. No wonder the police hadn’t been able to get anywhere with the terrorists – it smelt like they had already killed everyone.
I immediately became more cautious as I slipped onto the second-floor balcony that overlooked the dance floor below. Sure enough, dead bodies were scattered everywhere, the gore arousing my bestial instincts to feed.
I hesitated, concerned briefly that I could be framed for this. If I came back out leaving behind all these dead bodies, then surely they would assume it was my handiwork. I took another whiff of the air and then relaxed a little. The rot had already set in, which meant no one could place this on me. Whatever had happened here wasn’t recent. It would be obvious I wasn’t the perp.
My elongated ears twitched when I heard movement down below. It sounded like just one person was left.
Well, I had failed the job, but at least I could get something out of it, so long if the last person was one of the terrorists – killing was its own reward.
In one swift movement, I launched myself gracefully over the railing to the floor below, hanging from a metal beam just briefly before dropping on my heels. My ears twitched again.
*Behind the bar.*
I dashed over a few corpses and leapt over the counter, slamming into the ground to scare my prey as I raised a clawed hand up to gut them. Their fear always made it more exciting.
I froze, shocked to see my charge. She was curled up with her knees to her chest, whimpering as she clasped her hands to the sides of her head. She was covered in blood – her latex clothing would have been drenched in it were it not for the waterproof material. She startled slightly when she saw my werewolf form land in front of her, but I quickly shifted back so as to not traumatize her any more. I was surprised she didn't scream. But either way, it was doubtful she’d sleep with me now.
I supposed today *was* my lucky day though. At least I’d get paid after all. Ultimately, she was the only person I had to keep alive. It still sucked I wouldn’t be getting her in bed anytime soon. She’s probably associate me with this memory for the rest of her life.
I sighed heavily as I leaned causally against the edge of the bar. “So what happened here?” I wondered, suddenly feeling extremely bored. I was sure she had somehow managed to escape a bloodbath that erupted between the clubbers and terrorists. Still, I was slightly curious to know how it all played out.
The girl whimpered again. “I killed them,” she whispered. “I killed all of them.”
My body locked up in shock.
Definitely not what I had been expecting.
# [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9auf3d/werewolf_mercenary_for_hire_part_2/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9avia6/werewolf_mercenary_for_hire_part_3/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9awqgi/werewolf_mercenary_for_hire_part_4/) | [Part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9aytig/werewolf_mercenary_for_hire_part_5/) | [Part 6](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt/comments/9azhxz/werewolf_mercenary_for_hire_part_6/)
**Thanks for reading! I have a couple of popular stories regarding some recent prompts going on at my subreddit right now, if you want to check them out at** [r/AuthorKurt](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt)
| 2018-08-27T16:02:28 | 2018-08-27T14:23:46 | 2,554 | 178 |
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