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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
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[WP] You hear a knock on your door. A dark suited man stands with a box. "Congratulations! You've won a lifetime supply of our new frozen meals!" He opens the box, which contains a single, blue lidded tv dinner. You look around. "Where is the rest?" He grins. "This will last the rest of your life."
|
You open the lid
"Capsules?"
The man grins even more.
"Yup! We just perfected our dehydrated meal capsules. Pour some water on it and toss it in a microwave or oven, and it will turn into a full meal. They're labeled, too, so it won't be a surprise as to what you get."
You raise your eyebrows. "Wow, that sounds cool. How many are in here?"
"This container has around a half million capsules, so if you eat three of them a day, it should last you the rest of your life. Let us know if you get married or have kids, and we'll send you more, no sweat."
You take the container from the man.
"Thanks, fam."
|
The dark suited man flourished and bowed, dark top hat in hand. He flashed a wide, sharp-toothed smile before strolling down the dormitory corridor, a whistled tune on his lips. The hallway was lit only by a dull flickering bulb, and tendrilled shadows danced on the wall beside him.
Ken listened to the echoes of his walking cane recede until the elevator dinged and its doors hissed shut.
He looked at the box in his hands. It was unlabeled, marked only by frost flowers that seeped ice into his spine.
Ken shrugged. Ma didn't raise him to waste a free lunch. Nor did his student's wallet.
He walked back into his dorm, opened the fridge, and shoved the package next to the eggs he won at the farmer's market's weekly raffle.
Ken didn't remember how he won this particular meal but he didn't remember how he won most of his things.
He shut the fridge door and two plane tickets to South America waved back under a magnet. One of the better things he had won. He smiled as he imagined Clara's face when he'd tell her tomorrow.
Ambling to the living room, he flopped onto a couch (lucky draw from Ralph's Furniture Bonanza). He stared into the eyes of the life size Taylor Swift cutout propped against the window. Ken was more of a heavy metal kinda guy, but Clara enjoyed the free concert tickets.
Taylor's blue eyes lulled his own to droop, and Ken would sleep until dinner time, dreaming of Clara's sapphire gaze. A half-smile passed over his lips for the last time in a long time.
\---
The meat was like nothing Ken had seen or cooked before (if you counted pushing microwave buttons as cooking).
Once again, Ken shrugged. He may be a master chef of the frozen cuisine but the exotic stuff was Clara's domain.
He stabbed the brown slab. It was tougher than it looked and Ken regretted not bringing a knife from the kitchen. No juices oozed out and the only miserly aroma the meat graced its patron with was one of a leather boot.
But, as Ken had learnt at university, all food is edible with the seasoning of a good television show.
He took a big chomp, eyes glued to the flashing screen. Chewy.
The dark suited man's words rang in his ears. *This will last the rest of your life.*
Ken had watched too many horror movies (or too little) and he half expected to keel over on the spot. *Nah that would be too cliched* he thought when he didn't.
He took another bite and then another. It tasted like chicken. And...iron?
He touched his fingers to his nose. Scarlet fluid gleamed on his fingertips and Ken's eyes widened.
Pain seared inside his skull, spreading down his limbs like icy needles. His mouth opened in an airless scream.
Ken's eyes swirled, looking for help. For anything. He collapsed next to the window.
And for the second time that day, Ken world's went black to the piercing gaze of Taylor Swift.
\---
Ken shook awake to the stabbing bite of a voracious hunger. The blare of a late night infomercial was a deafening thrum in Ken's ears and he fumbled for the remote in the post-curfew dark.
His reflection stared back on the blank screen. Clotted blood coated Ken's face.
The ravenous pain in his stomach bloomed sharper and his eyes fell on his dinner, long cold. It smelt like the juiciest ranch house premium now, but Ken pushed it away.
He ran to the fridge and flung it open. The hunger had clawed its way up his stomach and into his drumming head. He grabbed handfuls of eggs and shoved them in his mouth, shells intact.
A wave of revulsion shook his bones as the egg's viscous innards slid against tongue, and Ken spat them out.
He tore open a bottle of milk. He managed to pour half its contents down his throat before a taste like swamp and rot burned his nostrils. He retched. Thick, black blood oozed mixed with the white.
He clawed through the rest of his fridge. Apples, celery, fish. Ken had bought them at the farmer's market only yesterday but they all reeked like drowned corpses now.
Ken stumbled to the living room, hands clutched to his stomach. Taylor Swift's plastic smile shimmered in the moonlight.
He eyed her smooth, pale skin. Her thick thighs, round and succulent. Drool dripped down his chin before he realized and tore away his stare.
He looked at his hands, breath coming out in hot, panicked bursts. Were his fingers always so long? Nails this sharp?
A buzz shook him from his thoughts. His phone lit up on the table, and Ken squinted at its glare.
3 missed calls from Clara.
Golden hair and ruddy dimples flashed in his mind. His stomach roared and his mouth watered at the image.
Ken shook his head, willing Clara's cheery face from his mind.
The phone buzzed again.
Ken shielded his eyes from the display. He sprinted to the front door, hands trembling over the lock.
The hunger pulsated with every breath and he kicked in an amalgam of fear and frustration. The door exploded from its hinges and shattered against the hallway wall, spilling moonlight into the corridor.
Ken ran.
r/bobotheturtle
| 2020-04-07T01:47:33 | 2020-04-07T01:45:41 | 77 | 21 |
[WP] You take a DNA test on your 21st birthday to determine your heritage. Your family tree results come back and show that you have 20 direct descendants...and an 89 year old son.
[deleted]
|
"Hello, Bureau of DNA Testing. How may I direct your call?"
"Yeah, my results came back, and I am pretty sure they are wrong."
"Please hold while I transfer you."
-shitty hold music-
"Hello, customer service department. Can I get your name and the 15 digit test ID at the top left of your results form?"
"John Smith, 54359-86212-36798"
"Thank you. I see the problem already. We sent you the results for the wrong John Smith. I will get the correct documents mailed out ASAP. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"
"No, that's it, thanks"
"Have a nice day"
|
"I-What?!" My voice echoes through the room
"Hahaha... This reaction seems to be default one for you Father" the old man in front of me chuckles, amused seeing my expression. He then continues bemused "I remember the exact same face you made years ago when hearing this"
"Okay, years ago? For a joke this is going too far old man" I pinched my eyes looking at him
"And yet here you are, a long way from home, for a mere joke. You've seen the photos in the album right?" he sips some of his tea as silence fell down
"Oh come on. Editing photo is very easy right now"
"Well then I guess you have to trust my word for it. But just let me say this, what could I possibly get from doing that? For what reason I would want to tricked a 21 years old man? You've seen my estate; I don't need any money or the likes of that" he waves his arms across the room to reinforce his statement
Indeed, in my 21 years of living, this is one of the biggest house I've seen "Haaaah..." I took a deep breath trying to calm myself "How is this possible then? If, by chance, all you're saying is true?" I look into the eyes of an old man who is said to be my son
"Oh, seems like curiosity still tugging you"
"Mmhhhh..." I growl in annoyance
"Why relax Father, I will tell you everything I know, if you have the patience for it. It's not that long though but I've heard a few times where your temper got the best of you. Different times, different attitude I guess"
"Fine" I cross my arms in response "explain then"
"As I said earlier before you interrupt, you were not a normal human, as to put it in a simple term, you can reincarnate" he loops his finger in the air as he explains
"I've heard this twice and it still sounds ridiculous"
"Please Father?" He took a sigh as his face wrinkles deepen "don't interrupt"
"... Sorry"
"Let see... The furthest I remember is that you came from 4000 years from now? My memory is a bit foggy. " He closes his eyes trying to grasp his fading memories "Not helping that you never fully explain yourself so maybe you were even from further future than that. I and others have somehow got the gist of it"
I raised an eyebrow hearing this "others? Oh you my other descendants"
"Yes them. I'd hope you'll meet them sometimes later. Some were noisy bung they are but fortunately they're good people, at least those that I know of" giggling, he continues speaking "I've actually wondered if you will ever find me or the others before we died but as you said once 'blood will call each other'. Your tea is getting cold Father"
The absurdity of his story made me forgot about everything else but somehow there's something that made me keep listening instead of running away "so you say I can reincarnate but you also say I'm from 4000 years from now. Isn't it more of a time travel?"
"In a sense, yes. But strictly speaking you're reincarnating. It's just you're reincarnating backward in time"
"... Uhh, what?" My face went from curious to surprise in a matter of seconds. Not pleasantly surprised. More like being shot at surprised
He seems to take pleasure in my reaction since he smiles widely to the point of almost laughing "yeah, yeah. So take year 4000 as the starting point, and after you die, you'll reincarnate at, say, year 3870. Simple no?"
"That's just..." Absurd? Impossible? Mad? Everything above? My mind keep saying all of that and yet at the same time, in my head feel like something familiar start to form "then why can't I remember any of it then? Also what if I do something different on my next reincarnation?!" My voice start to become a shout
"Calm down Father. Well for one part, some of it hasn't happen yet and for the other, don't worry, they'll come back. Especially when it's nearing your time of your greatest peril. And about your reincarnation... I don't really know everything about it but after meeting you today I can assume that everything that has or will happen have a small chance of changing. If I have to guess then I'll say the age, or memory, you have made you understand about history and time better. Of course, this is just a theory"
Cold sweat run through my neck as I look to the possibility of I will experience "If.... If what you say is true. Will there be an end?" Living for 21 years and I've taste how hard it can be. Living for eternity? Hell no
"I can't say for sure but I have a speculation about it. Let's assume you will go further back in time, everything has a starting point no?"
"Then what?"
"Then, after experiencing every kind of life with your descendants. You will have to make a choice"
"Choice?"
"Yes. Whether you will follow The Creator's will or will you let your offspring inhabit the earth Father, no" he looks into my eyes, deeply staring as if to take a look at my very being "rather, Adam"
This is my first time writing so please correct me if you can!
| 2020-11-18T01:45:42 | 2020-11-18T01:35:29 | 287 | 152 |
[WP] At a young age you made a deal with a fey in which you promised them your firstborn. Now you’re a 35 year old virgin, and the fey, sick of waiting, comes to help you around the dating scene.
|
[POEM]
No children yet, am I a joke to you
Your forgotten obligation?
I granted you your fondest wish
I demand due compensation.
A life of ease and boundless wealth
You requested of this fae
How will you ever pay me back
If with a girl you do not lay?
You have a wife and pretty still!
I've seen her from afar.
You laugh and drink and have good times
In your expensive, sporty car.
What do you mean you cannot pay
What you have promised me!?
I don't know what you're trying to say
What is "vasectomy?"
Edit for mobile formatting troubles.
|
In'faly is listening in utter frustration to single word echoing through room "No, no, no, no, no, no" "just say yes!" "I want my future wife to be star of my life" collar of his red polo shirt is almost ripped away as she lift him from chair "it is of no importance if you fancy that girl or not all you have to do is put this.." her slowly tap on his pride hidden beneath blue jeans "and put it inside her so I can take that result and we will all live happily ever after"
After retreating from gazing war she takes to hand glass tube "you said this helps with stress?" not waiting for answer with quick snap lights knot on fire and inhale white smoke coming from tube. With spinning head and in baggy t-shirt she confiscated from human lays on sofa leaving him swiping left and right..... Well only left. *oh God, my head*. Last night expedition proven two things. First Jack Daniel's is God damn criminal when it comes to metabolism of creature that measures between twenty to thirty centimeters in original form. Second. Marc can't impregnate even females almost prone on ground.
"why can't you just do as I say so we can both live in peace without the other breathing precious air" "you want me to find mother of my child, I want woman I love" anger is again coming from hazy alley of her head to surface "maybe you should stop bitching about that love and just fulfill contract" his sight drift away as he dreamingly continue infuriating speech "love is the most important thing in life, it makes humans better people it....". *and that's it*. Glass tube fly across the room and shatters when colliding with wall few centimeters above speakers head, her voice already trembling with fury she tried to hide for those length days of attempts to finally get that stupid child" love is something you fleshy, brain limited animals mistake for need of reproduction, you have no idea what it even mean only thing you know is that you want to avoid our deal!" searching for another thing that can serve as ammunition, finally settling for book almost shattering windov.
Annoying human doesn't even flinch through whole explosion coming from sofa. Even now he's only silently sitting and listening to endless rant. "seems like I am not the only one struggling here" such prompt her pick up another book from table. Title reads: Advanced physics: velocity. *what a fitting title for ammunition*. " I'll give you struggle you useless, dickless, childless idiot" "okay that's enough stop throwing my books and sit down* drilling curses through teeth she sits down with visibly stressed dickless. *hopefully not of them works*. His voice was back to calm after previous protective scream of his books" why do you get so angry because of child what the deal" piercing him with yes and considering cursing him for real this time she decides to give some answer " I am fairy that's what fairies do, we grant wish we take child we go we fine" suddenly thought emerges in her mind recalling something she almost forgot "anyway what you did with my wish, you wished to be loved by everyone for a week, you should have had tons of children"
*is it alcohol or am I just hearing bad* in complete disbelief she stares at Marc, unable to put together sentence capable of expressing her thoughts. "you did what?" " as I said I used it to publish my papers on technology Stan can save usable energy which is great issue of our planet". *everyone LOVED you and you were solving environment*. Glass of wine appears in her hand as she tries to dissolve into pillows "where did you get it I though we drank everything on that party last week" Marc shyly twitches and blush appears on his cheecks "when you said you want my first born child I went and bought that for night, I might have misunderstood"
She laughed. Honestly for the first time in many years. Marc went red as lobster. "anyway back to that child" "oh no no no this is way better topic". *and I am not telling you I can't have my own, and fairy without child is outcast*. "so you went and bought this on that day ten years ago when we made deal? Is it at least something special?" she slowly turns glass in hand trying to as they say catch glimpse of spark but glass is already missing most of liquid. "pink shatoe clerk said its best hey got"
"it's not even pink.... But it is good so pour" Marc fills her glass almost to top and offers his to toast. Rage almost vanished due to sparkling alcohol but mostly because of what just occurred to her " so It took you thirty-five years to find someone you would date but when we met first you did was to buy most expensive wine. You really misunderstood assignment". *sweet*. Confronted with nativity only this human is capable of night no longer looked so infuriating and even sofa became more comfortable. *so I am here with human who could have wished for fortune and hookers but he used it to fight environment crisis, who can't choose partner but buys wine for 20 centimeters tall mystical creature*.
"did I? Question catches her unprepared. It took her minute to realize what he refers to. First thing she considers is cooling his head down with wine. Gentle shiver under her belly stops her hand and forces smile on her lips. " Maybe you did not"
| 2021-11-01T08:33:28 | 2021-11-01T06:14:44 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] It's the first week of Magic theory class. You've finally gotten to the basics of the subject. As your professor talks you notice something bothering you. You raise your hand and ask the proffesor about it. They blink and look at the board, then back at you. They ask you to stay after class.
|
"And as you can see, the mana balance between light and dark-aspected elements in the magic circle balances out in the first three seconds of inscription, preventing the production of antipodal spells above the second circle of sorcery." The engraved circle on the board sparked white and black and whirled together in bright darkness, until it rapidly dulled out and faded, the magic neutralizing entirely.
For the first time in the class, a thought struck me, and I stopped taking notes and raised my hand. "Professor Novae?" I asked.
"Yes! Any question you may have, I encourage you all to ask. You all have been far too quiet for such an advanced class!"
"Why is it a magic *circle*?" There was half-stifled laughter across the classroom. "Why aren't there magic squares, or magic... hexagons? Or whatever."
The laughter continued, and the professor silenced the class with a grand, chopping motion and a firm, even explosive "**Silence**!" As the professor's voice echoed through the room, the laughter died out, and the professor continued, "That is an excellent question! Exactly the kind of question I want asked in this theory class. You all are not here to learn magic, you already know magic. You are here to learn *how to* magic! Everything you will learn in this class originally came from when somebody asked a question like that. Often, a question people laughed at. Sometimes, a genuinely stupid question. Those are sometimes very, very good questions indeed."
By now, the class was quiet again, almost reverent, but that atmosphere would not last. "Unfortunately, your question was so good, that my response would take up far too much class time. I would like you to stay after class and discuss it with me." The class went back to stifled laughter, and the professor resumed the lesson.
An hour later, as the last students were filing out, the professor gestured to me. "What is your name, apprentice?"
"Tuulren," was my response. "Tuulren Wellfinder."
"Apprentice Wellfinder," The professor flicked a wrist, and a large, dull iron key thumped against my chest, landing on the floor before I could think to grab it. "That is the key to room 708 of the laboratory building. It is empty, it is shielded, and it is for the duration of this semester yours to experiment in. If you want to find out why no magic squares, then *make a magic square yourself*, and you will know why there are not. Or, you will learn how to make one."
"Uh..." I stuttered, kneeling to pick up the key, "Isn't just experimenting with magic like that... dangerous?"
The professor smiled. "Unimaginably so. If you do not show to your next class session on Thor's Day, I will assume you did something very wrong, and are dead, and I will tell the next apprentice who asks that trying to make a magic square will kill them. Additionally, you are not to mention anything you do or intend to do in that room to your friends or family - they are henceforth, state secrets. If you have findings, you may initially share them with faculty, and your grades will reflect your contribution."
"...Just my grades?" I asked. For risking my life, is the rest of the question I left unasked.
"Not just. But starting with. If you prove to have a talent for researching magic... it would be very valuable. You can do much in the world by putting your life on the line, if you have the drive. And with a question like that..." The professor smiled. "It really comes down to that drive. How badly you want to know the answer. The rewards are secondary. Do you *want* to write a magic square? Throw all of our understanding of the world for a loop, change what all the faculty teach in our classes?"
"Shit." I looked down at the key. I really did. And when I thought about it for a moment... I knew where I was going after dinner tonight.
|
Professor Yewin got to his classroom six hours before class. The Academy wasn’t even open yet, he had to sneak past the janitors to get into the building, the halls completely dark. Normally a professor would simply ask one of the janitorial staff for a key, but he had run out of favor with them long ago. These were the same halls where he learned first arcane equation, his first potion formula, but he never learned magic.
Not that he didn’t understand the concept of magic. On the contrary, he was practically a savant when it came to memorization and knowledge of the arcane. He simply had no arcane talent whatsoever. He used to bribe the janitors to help him trick his professor to think he could perform magic whenever he had an exam since no one paid them any mind. He would wave his wand as a janitor lit a bush on fire, causing the class to gasp at the ‘high-level pyromancy’ Yewin used. Eventually, the janitors got wise to his lack of arcane ability, and made him an offer he could never accept; let them in on his deception. He knew his cover would be blown in an instant, and since they were seen as jealous magic-lacking workers, the staff would never take their accusations of Yewin’s arcane inability seriously. It was a decision that had always weighed heavy on his heart. His secret would live and die with them, and they would never forget his betrayal.
Teaching seemed the best job for him since he technically didn’t need to do magic to teach it. Just as he didn’t need to do magic to learn it. Most years he’d end up teaching advanced potions or arcane calculus, but this year he was chosen to teach magic theory, which, while its mostly bookish content, has enough magic in its curriculum he needed to be prepared should he need to ‘demonstrate.’ He begged the headmaster to let him teach arcane trigonometry, but he had insisted that his ‘talents in the arcane’ were simply too fine to waste in strictly theory. Yewin sighed, sometimes having a reputation was more irksome than it was worth.
By the time class had started, he had set thirteen devices around the room to spout flame and other elemental control imitations when triggered, he had made fifteen potions, all of which he wore around his belt, he had cleaned the room twice, wrote and erased his opening lesson on the chalkboard seven times, and also finished reading the first seventy pages of his colleague’s dissertation, which Yewin had filled with suggestions and edits while reading.
The class started off as normal. In fact, it went better than expected. He was so prepared and nervous that he rushed through his prepared lecture in just twenty minutes, giving him enough time to finish most of tomorrow’s lecture and a lengthier segment for questions at the end.
About halfway through the class, however, Yewin noticed a boy raise his hand. Not a strange act in itself of course, but it was the actual question was a different story. He asked, “Excuse me professor, but there’s no way we can ever actually achieve those levels of arcane energy in practicality.”
Yewin anwsered, “Well, there are degrees of error and decimal points beyond that, but that level of specifics isn’t required for this course.” The boy raised his hand again, which Yewin was about to call on when he turned back to chalkboard and blinked. Worried the boy realized what he had, he shook his head, “We have quite a bit of content to get through so if you’d like to speak on this topic further you can ask me after class.” The boy nodded and lowered his hand, causing Yewin to sigh in relief.
After class the boy did just that. Yewin blinked again. He wasn’t expecting the boy to actually come after class. No one ever came to talk to him after class. He understood their reasoning, of course. While Yewin was extremely intelligent, he wasn’t very sociable. The concept of confronting Yewin alone on a topic he knew much more about than any of the students could possibly hope to learn was intimidating. Yet this boy appeared to be bothered by none of that.
The boy waited patiently for Yewin to finish wiping his chalkboard clean to ask his question, which Yewin purposely took a long time in doing to hopefully get him to realize he had to get going to his next class to not be late. Yet the boy stayed. After Yewin finally finished, the boy cleared his throat, “Sorry to bother, professor. But my older sister performs high level magic like the ones in these theories, and she was never taught them like this.”
Yewin grit his teeth, so he had realized it. He opened his mouth to try to form an answer, but the boy wasn’t done, “This method may be efficient, but no one can ever possibly hope to imitate this in practice. The way you’d have to move your arms and the sounds you’d have to utter would be impossible to achieve. Why are you teaching us this?”
The words were unspoken but Yewin felt them like a dagger in his heart, a question which to seemed to say: you teach like you’ve never actually used magic. In truth, he did. He often made the mistake of creating completely efficient equations which would never work in pracitce, but he had no way of knowing that. He sighed, trying to think of how to answer, “In grammar school, did you first learn how to speak slang or proper grammar?”
The boy blinked, “Proper grammar, but sir…”
The professor didn’t wait for the boy to finish, “Exactly, and it’s professor, not sir. I didn’t spend an extra four years at the Academy for nothing.”
The boy counted on his fingers, “It takes twelve years to earn an arcane doctorate.”
“For most people, yes,” Yewin responded, “As I was saying, you learn proper grammar first. And before you can say that grammar and arcana are different. They both require both a written and oral aspect, not to mention a level of physical accompaniment to relay emotion for speech and arcane movements for magic. And you are wrong. This is not impossible to achieve. I myself have used this very equation as a baseline for its casting (A lie, but with his reputation, it was hardly far off). You think of arcana as some static rules that exist in a vacuum, but everything is connected. Everything can be improved upon. While the mundane world progresses each day, with new uses for steam and gunpowder being discovered as we speak, the arcane world remains stagnant. Do you know why?”
The boy stammered, “Um.. because…”
“Because we hang onto traditions like doctrine!” Yewin finished, “Magic is supposed to make you think, not blindly imitate! Where is the innovation, the passion? You are a bright student to ask such questions, but do not ask the questions that make you look smart, ask the ones that make you seem dumb. Ask them because the intelligence required to answer them is high. Ask them because it will challenge you to climb that mountain of the mind. The world may baffle why you would ever attempt to climb such a monolith, but the answer is knowledge or knowledge’s sake! Do I make myself clear?”
The boy gulped, “Um.. yes si.. I mean professor.”
Yewin nodded in satisfaction, “Very good. You are dismissed.” The boy did not leave, Yewin turned to him with a baffled expression on his face, “Well, if you have something to say say it or forever hold your peace.”
The boy smiled, “Thank you for an excellent lecture, professor.”
Yewin blinked, he had expected the boy to object or run out crying, but instead, he appeared to actually have taken the words to heart. “I am simply doing my job, nothing more.”
The boy nodded, “Can’t wait for the next lecture!” He rushed out of the room, presumably late for some other class.
Yewim sighed in relief, his ramble of a speech had not only got the kid to stop suspecting him, but it had actually had a positive effect on the boy? Yewin shrugged and began putting away all the triggers he hid, smiling to himself.
| 2022-04-13T19:14:13 | 2022-04-13T17:42:42 | 341 | 155 |
[WP] Your adventuring party is unstoppable. It has a fighter, able to crush steel armor with bare hands. A cleric, able to cure any wound imaginable. The wizard, who can manipulate energy and matter into anything. And Bob, a random person who found a sniper rifle
|
Bob was special, different from the rest of us. Not because he could tear bones from skin like Gregor, or shape matter like Cerule, certainly couldn't heal like Havawitz, but special because he always had our backs. When the chips were down Bob was always watching over us, trusty weapon in hand. A "sniper rifle" he'd called it, ensuring when we mislabeled it as a crossbow or staff he corrected us.
"Oh no, I'm not Cerule, she has the staff. She's something special. I'm just Bob." he'd say before his sniper rifle sounded off with that devastating blast and another orc body dropped in the distance. It sure looked like magic to me every time he used it.
Bob was strange like that. Not strange like us, but just...different. He tucked his shirt in his pants and made sure those little plastic buttons on the front went all the way up to his neck. And if his belt wasn't on the third notch then it was a bad day for Bob. I had only seen Bob have one bad day and it had led to a mountain of bodies and a banning from one of the most notorious trading towns on the east coast. Of course, when his day was going better again he returned to apologize. Bob was thoughtful like that.
Even though we were surely all curious, really it didn't matter where he'd come from. Sometimes Gregor would ask on those late nights of traveling when conversations roamed and Bob would always reply: "Well where'd you come from Gregor?". And of course the brute could never think up an answer with meaning enough to reply. But I think really we were all just glad. Glad that we had someone watching over us. Glad that we had a man in the bushes, a Bob.
But most of all, glad he was on our side.
|
Having heard the news about rebels forming in the west of the kingdom, we decided to go there and see what was going on.
Our relationship with the royal family may be biased, because after all, they were the ones that had found us and given us food and shelter in this harsh world.
So, we rightfully assumed that the rebellion may not be caused by natural means, and instead be yet another incursion by the demons.
Neither of us come originally from this world. It may sound insane, because it is. Having grown up in a spaceship orbiting a black hole, when I saw true nature for the first time I was shocked. The sounds, the smells, not to mention the colors!
The last memory I had of my old world was entering a conspicuous red door that had appeared in the ship. A wooden door, on a metal ship. I didn't even know it was wood at first until the others told me, because they had experienced the same thing.
Upon arriving in the west of the kingdom, we decided to set up our base at the city of Collek, home to the largest harbor on the continent, and beautiful white stone architecture.
The streets were in turmoil, day in and day out. A month had passed since we arrived, and we had managed to rent a small house in the center of the city where most of the protesting was happening.
"I wiped out the cultists' lair the third day we came here, now why the hell is this shit still going on?" said Mina, staring out of the window, down on the loud street beneath us.
She was given the gift of strength. She could destroy anything with her bare hands, folding metal as if it was paper, and clawing through stone walls like sand.
"Yeah, and you still haven't gotten rid of that demonic stench the cultists gave you! I've already asked you to take a shower!" I replied back.
She growled back at me and rolled her eyes. She walked out of the room as Eliz came in. She gave him a shove as they passed in the hallway, nearly spilling the cups of tea he held.
"As usual huh?" Eliz said with a smile and shook his head. He placed one of the tea cups on the small table near me.
I now stood by the window, with the protesting to my back. Eliz sat down with a loud grunt and sipped on the tea.
"Too bad I can't heal bad attitudes huh?"
Eliz, given the gift of health. Capable of healing any wounds he can touch within seconds, meaning he himself is indestructible too.
He put his tea down and dropped two spoons of sugar in it.
As I watched him stir, I asked a question.
"Did you manage to find anything?"
He chuckled and shook his head.
Eliz had spent a week without sleep trying to figure out what was going on in the city.
Ofcourse, we already took in mind what the protesters were shouting all the time.
Something about giving rise to a new God, true power, and that the king and his followers are evil and should die. The standard demonic spew of propaganda, we thought.
Now that Eliz had come up empty handed, it was only natural to have my doubts. The doubts being that maybe these people were insane after all, not under the influence of demons.
Suddenly, the wooden flooring began to shake, and in the middle of the room a door with a golden frame slowly rose up. The door burst open and Morroia came out running, falling face first onto the small table, spilling both the tea cups.
Eliz jumped out of the seat and placed his hand gently on her head, and within a second she stood up and gave us the report.
"He found it! Colt that fucking bastard found it!"
She had tears in her eyes, either from being too emotional or from having hit her head earlier.
"Found what!?" I replied, feeling bad about the spilt tea.
Morroia was given the gift of creation, the ability to create things out of thin air. It's an ability that takes a great toll on her body, so it's an ability we rarely make her use.
We could hear loud booms and cracking coming from the other side of the door, as leaves and wind came blowing through.
"The source! The source of this madness! It was a demon, far beyond the city borders! Colt is fighting them right now!"
The door to the place we rented was suddenly being attacked. Loud bangs, and the shouting from outside became louder.
I took a quick peek out the window, and was met by the city people all staring directly at me.
I jumped back and shouted to Mina.
"Hey Mina, let's go!"
Eliz and Morroia stepped into the door and out into the forest on the other side, more loud booms were heard.
Then, the window behind me was smashed as a rock hit my shoulder.
"Let me kill them! I'll kill them All! Those demonic bastards!" said Mina as she ran into the room.
"No. Get inside, they're still human."
The house was breached, and a flood of armed citizens came rushing in.
Mina audibly groaned and ran through the door as I quickly followed after her.
However, before I managed to fully step through the door, something grabbed a hold of my arm.
Their nails piercing into my skin as blood slowly came through.
I looked back and saw an old woman with a butcher knife staring back at me.
"It doesn't matter how much you try" She said, her voice sounded like a thousand people spoke at the same time.
"This city is mine, and so are these pitiful creatures of men."
The old woman raised the knife and before she managed to swing it down into my arm, her head exploded into a pink mist. Blood splattered everywhere. The grip loosened and I pushed her body away so I could close the door, and it crumbled into dust soon after.
Covered in blood and brains, I wiped my face clean.
"Jesus. Bob, I had it," I said, knowing that there was only one person capable of that destruction.
Appearing from the bushes came Bob Colt, the gun mage, holding his 50 caliber anti material rifle that was as tall as himself in one hand, and in the other he dragged the head of a demon the size of a boulder.
We all looked at him as he came slowly walking towards us. He was equally covered in blood as I was, but it wasn't as visible on his pitch black clothing.
He rolled the head towards us and replied:
"I've already told you, I don't know who Jesus is."
| 2022-11-07T19:22:30 | 2022-11-07T17:56:11 | 1,826 | 88 |
[WP] You're in a dystopian future where sleeping has been stigmatised, and the norm is for people to take a continuous dose of amphetamines to stay awake from birth to death.
Imagine a world where sleeping, or "sleepers", is stigmatised in the same way a heroin used would be in our world (ex: "Oh look at that druggy throwing his life away" vs "Oh look at that sleeper wasting hours and hours every day").
P.S Does not have to be amphetamines, can be any means to stay awake.
|
He stared dully at the two ambient green pills in his hands as a soft female voice whispered in his ears it was time to take his weekly dose of his ReGen pills. The voice didn't belong to a real person. It was coming from his aural implants; an alert setting chosen by himself when he upgraded. *It's time to take your ReGen pills, Sam.* The voice reminded him again.
This was the problem with the new generation of implants that the company failed to mention in their ads. The implant could detect the traces of the pill in your bloodstream, so when the levels of ReGen in your blood was low, it would keep reminding you until you popped another dosage. And since ReGen was made as a highly water soluble, and absorbable compound, it did not take long for it to reach the bloodstream to turn off the reminder.
Sam did not understand why he started hesitating putting the pills in his body recently. Its benefits were tremendous (at least according to the company that manufactured ReGen). It regenerated cells - reinvigorated and rejuvenated old cells, *and* promoted healthy cell division to actually combat aging and daily wear and tear of the body. But, as an unintended side effect, it completely eliminated the need to sleep, since, as it was finally determined, the main purpose for us to shut down our body everyday was so it could do these things that the pills did. Most people actually did not mind this side affect. In fact, they embraced it. More time to do things - to live. And like most people, Sam could not remember when the last time he slept.
He tried to remember how it felt to be asleep. Has he ever slept? He wondered.
*Please take your ReGen pills now Samuel.* The voice was more commanding this time. *Your ReGen levels are at twelve percent.*
*That was odd.* Sam thought. He had never heard the tone of the voice change like that. But then again, he had never had his ReGen levels below twenty percent. He wondered, for the first time ever, what would happen if his body had completely exhausted ReGen. As far as he knew, no one actually published any studies or experiments on what would happen as your body exhausted ReGen. However, the manufacturing company had held a press conference early on in its formation and stated that ReGen was just like any other daily supplements. There were no dangerous side effects, they assured.
*Samuel Krieger. Your ReGen levels have fallen to eleven percent. Please take your ReGen pill NOW. Emergency services will be contacted if your blood ReGen levels fall below ten percent.*
(I have to go to class for a bit. If there's interest, I could continue after I get back from class. Sorry if it hasn't gotten too interesting yet!)
Edit: If you liked this and want more, follow me on my subreddit /r/Stoptickingmeandwrite :D
|
Chuck wrapped his palms around the warm, leather steering wheel, squeezing as he stared at the red and blue lights flickering in the rearview mirror. How could he have been so clumsy? He knew it was illegal, knew he could end up in jail. Yet it didn’t bother him, he simply ignored the logical voice in his head telling him that he didn’t need another hit, that he certainly shouldn’t do it in public. It wasn’t like he didn’t have somewhere more secluded to go to, somewhere where he didn’t risk being caught. He certainly did: a home that was empty until his roommate returned from work; a room with a lock for when he did get back; even a god damn port-a-potty outside his apartment. Yet he still did it, still took a hit while speeding down the highway and doing his best not to swerve into oncoming traffic.
A fist knocked against the closed window to the left of Chuck’s head. He glanced over, a uniformed officer leaning over slightly and staring into his old, rusted Buick. Chuck took a deep breath and began manually unrolling the window.
“Hello, officer,” Chuck said, doing his best to stop his trembling. He hadn’t taken a big enough hit, hadn’t quenched what his body so desperately desired. “Wonderful evening.” He grit his teeth, wishing desperately he could rewind time. He was too cheery, too happy; he was giving himself up and he knew it.
“Cut the bullshit,” the police officer said, crouching down lower and shoving his head into the car. “Are there any narcotics in here?”
“Yes,” Chuck said, sitting up straight. “Lots. Lots and lots of narcotics. Why, are you looking to buy?”
“Do I, an officer of the law, want to buy narcotics from you? No,” the officer said, pulling his head back out of the car. He stared at Chuck, eyeing him up and down slowly, as if studying him. There was no way he couldn’t see the lack of dark, purple circles under his eyes, or how well-rested he looked. He could clearly see the way his hair was matted up in the back, messy with its refusal to lay back down. He was busted, caught. “But you do have narcotics in here?”
“Oh, yes, Officer. So many narcotics. Probably a hundred.” Chuck reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed a small, white bag of a powdered substance. “I have some right here. This is good stuff.”
The officer continued to stare at Chuck, slowly swiveling his eyes back between his face and the baggy. He opened his jaw and audibly cracked it. “What is that? Cocaine?”
“Sure is!” Chuck said, smiling. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, sure is,” he repeated, this time sounding significantly less cheery. He was fucked, he knew it.
“Let me see that,” the officer said, holding out his hand. Chuck stared at it for a moment before dropping the bag into his open palm. Maybe he’d never seen drugs before, maybe it was his first day on the force. Or maybe a dragon would appear out of the heavens and set fire to everything in the vicinity. The latter was probably significantly more likely.
The officer stared down at the bag, turning it over in his hand. “You’re giving me narcotics you carry in your car, yes?”
“Yes,” Chuck whispered, his heart pounding against his chest. Why hadn’t he taken a hit back at home, done it somewhere more secluded? Why did he have to do it while driving, do it where he could be caught? He knew the risks, knew what he was doing was absolutely illegal, yet he ignored the part of his brain begging him not to. He simply closed his eyes and dozed off, letting the relaxing feeling course through his veins.
“I see,” the officer said, opening the bag and sticking his finger inside. He pulled it back out, the powdery substance sticking to the tip of his pointer, and then lifted it up and into his mouth. He rubbed it against his gums, his tongue visibly shifting within his mouth. He paused. “Get out of the car.”
“I’m sorry?” Chuck said, his well-rested body tensing up. “It’s cocaine. Nothing wrong here. Good shit from my cousin. I just bought it, haven’t used it yet. Is there something wrong? I was assured that it was grade-A stuff.”
“Bull shit,” the officer said, dropping the baggy on the floor. He reached for his pistol and pulled it out, pointing it directly at Chuck’s face. “This is baking soda, you son of a bitch. You think I’m an idiot? You think I’ve never tasted baking soda before? I know your kind, your sick, well-rested kind. How dare you drive without being high on some substance. How dare you lie to me. I saw you sleeping behind the wheel, noticed that you’d been awake for probably less than twelve hours the second I saw you. You think you can just fool me? Do you even care about the lives of the other drivers around you, the law-abiding citizens who are so pumped up on narcotics that they haven’t slept in decades?”
“Of course!” Chuck pleaded, staring straight down the barrel of the pistol. “Of course I care. I’m so high right now, I swear. I haven’t even slept since I was sixteen, and that was only because I was in a coma. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was on drugs for that entire coma. I saw Jesus—that’s how high I was.” Chuck closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in and holding it. He was lying through his teeth; there was no way the officer would believe such a shoddy excuse. He’d clearly slept just a few hours before, letting the relaxing hormones of rest flow through his system. He’d been addicted to it for almost a decade now, sleeping nightly behind his triple-locked door and lying whenever anyone asked him about his nightly absences. He knew it was illegal, knew that sleep was utterly unacceptable, yet he couldn’t stop. He loved the rush, the way his mind raced every time he lay down.
“Get the fuck out of the car,” the officer repeated, gun still pointed.
“Please,” Chuck said, shaking slightly. “I promise, I’ve got some meth in the trunk. Let me just take a hit, I swear. It was a one-time thing.”
“Out,” the officer said, waving the pistol toward where his cruiser sat to the right. “You’re under arrest for a DWI, driving while invigorated. You had your chance. You should’ve had your meth before you got into your vehicle.”
Chuck closed his eyes, the grip of the leather steering wheel slippery against his sweaty palms. Why hadn’t he just waited to get home? He could’ve napped in the bed he hid in his closet, slept in a space where he wouldn’t have been caught. If only he hadn’t taken that first hit of sleep over a decade ago, let himself slip on his drug usage, perhaps he would’ve had to live in the shadows for so long. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been caught in this god damn situation, face-to-face with a dreaded DWI. He sighed heavily and began opening the door, the officer visibly reaching for his handcuffs.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
| 2015-05-07T08:54:33 | 2015-05-07T08:34:26 | 133 | 54 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed.
|
”Okay, here we go,” June said, spinning the wheels on her mechanical glove, which sent her on a dizzying ride through space and time.
She landed in a pub buzzing with activity, colorful bottles lined the wall behind the bar and yellow light radiated through heaps of stacked cups. Women in long dresses and updos danced to the live tunes of a jazz band, while the bartender idly polished the counter.
June made her way through the thick vapors of cigar smoke towards one of the quieter corners of the pub. A man in a black suit and hat sat alone in a booth, swiveling cubes of ice in what undoubtedly was a glass of scotch.
“Fashionable as ever,” he noted, raising his glass unenthusiastically at June.
“Well, it’s not like I had time to change,” June said, looking down at her wrinkly renaissance dress.
“Time, sure.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Want a smoke?”
“Come on, Roman,” June said. “You know I don’t smoke, and besides, we’ve got important things to do.”
“Important, right.” He said, inhaling deeply. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“Why don’t you start by giving me an update?”
Roman leaned back, regarding her with an amused look. “Why don’t you start by sitting down for a moment, Sweetheart?”
June felt like kicking him. This was why she hated the fifties. Roman basically turned into a Philip Marlowe with an impossible reluctance to cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Buy me a drink.”
“Buy your own drinks,” Roman said, yawning.
“You know, I like you way better in the seventies.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, winking.
“Tell me one thing, Roman,” June said, snatching away the cigarette he was just about to light. “If I were one of those dainty women over there – one of those swooning helpless things, without a hint of independence – would you help me if I came running to you?”
“Swooning, huh?” He emptied his scotch. “If I remember correctly, back in the 16th century–”
“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t handle the corsets, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What would it take for you to give me the damn update?”
“How about you get out of that moldy old dress and get the next round?” Roman said, nodding at his empty glass. “I haven’t seen those lovely butt cheeks since Leonardo painted Mona.”
“Why did I marry you back in the Antiques, I simply don’t see it,” June said.
“I think it was the hair.”
“You know, I was going to give you the night of your life, but I guess you’ll have to wait until Zeppelin releases their first album, I mean, it’s only another twenty years.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” Roman said and got up. “Until then there are some swooning ladies by the bar, who appear to be in need of my immediate help.”
June cursed through her teeth and watched him strut over to the dance floor. Be that way, she thought and spun the wheel on her glove again.
|
The field coil blew out with an audible *pop* around 8,055 CE. The world snapped into view, and I emerged from the twilit void of Ur-travel blinking and disoriented.
At least the air was breathable. In fact, it was beautiful here, trees stretching off into a valley ahead; rainclouds off in the distance, rolling away. The air smelled like spring.
My chronometer was completely useless. It would take until nightfall to realign with the celestial sphere, provided the sun still set as usual. The last time I touched down there was some sort of geoengineering project screwing with the insolation, so I had packed up and moved on in hopes of getting my bearings back.
Looking east, I spotted a telltale sign of habitation on the side of the valley: a straight line, most likely a wall or road embankment. Gathering up the remains of my generator into my knapsack, I began the hike to see who still lived here.
Within a mile the trees thinned out and my destination was clear. Ruins, big ones, at the same location as the old monastery. With luck, I'd have shelter for the night.
Hiking into the clearing surrounding the crumbling walls, I saw clear signs of humanity. Bowls, jars, upturned logs hollowed out; rain catchment. Good. I wouldn't need the power-hungry little condenser I'd squirreled away. Radiation was probably almost nil, too, if the water was drinkable.
Making my way to the rough arch of the old gatehouse, I nearly tripped as I heard a slight cough from behind me. Whirling, I saw a wizened old man staring curiously at me, clutching a graying wooden staff and clothed in a rough cape and sun-browned skin. His expression was sharp, guarded; he shaded his eyes with a gnarled hand and squinted at me.
"Do you live here? Someone I used to know did," I asked, but even as I began to speak he shook his head, mouth turned down in disappointment. He tapped his throat, then met my gaze as he shook his head deliberately. Ah, no talking. Gotcha.
I opened my hands and spread my arms: no weapons. After a minute of contemplation the old man nodded and began shambling toward the ruins, beckoning with his free hand.
As he led me through the overgrown stone arches and walls, my suspicions were confirmed. This was Sven's place, alright; there was the old pavilion where he'd anoint the new supplicants; to the side were the tiny rooms where Searchers slept, resting from their biomedical quest for inner peace. Beyond were the rusting metal walls of the labs, empty of the machinery that once hummed in secret. The old man moved slowly, but he knew every step, stepping surely over tussocks of field grass and tangled roots my feet managed to stumble on.
At the covered, mossy arch of the old chapel door he paused, looking back at me, giving me a thorough once-over. He nodded shortly, grunting, and pulled back the twisted cloth hung from the pillars to either side. He waved me in.
Blinking in the cool dimness, I saw a household that wouldn't look out of place an eon ago. Unglazed pottery lined the walls, bundles of plants tied to vines hanging from the hewn stone. A low pile of coals smoldered in a pit where the old lectern had been, pews long gone. A shapeless mass of straw and animal skins made for a bed in the far corner. The old man looked around, searching for something, and then grunted in satisfaction as he hobbled to a rough table.
He turned and handed me a small stick; a twig, really. Deliberately he held up his hand, rubbing forefingers and thumb together, glancing at the twig. *More*. I nodded, looking him in the eye, and he gestured in an offhand way at the arch, outside. *Back out*, I suppose. I left him in his little stone cave, and headed for the woods for more kindling.
It was nearly nightfall when I finished, an armload of twigs from the forest floor in tow. The old man had been busy; a new fire burned in the pavilion's fire pit, streaming sparks and smoke into the sky. A spit rested nearby, tiny carcasses skewered neatly on top. Rats, most likely, but maybe cuy or one of the mod-species of rabbit that used to tunnel in these hills. Either way I wasn't complaining if he wanted to share.
He nodded in satisfaction as I dumped the twigs in a pile by the worn stone bench adjacent the fire. He sat, and began to pick them up, one by one, breaking off bits here and there, sizing them evenly. Eventually he looked up from his task, eying me as I busied myself with realigning transformer guts and rewiring the field coil. He stretched, yawning, and poked at the sizzling little creatures on the fire, pulling one off the makeshift spit and offering it to me. I nodded in thanks, blowing on the hot meat and brushing off char. It wasn't bad, a little gamey maybe. He seemed healthy enough; I wasn't worried what exactly I was eating.
As we reached the bone-gnawing end of our meal, he belched noisily and tossed the remains into the dark. Wiping his hands, he looked at me significantly and reached for the twigs he had set aside. Carefully he sorted them; three small piles on the smooth stone bench. He looked at me, imploring, and held up one twig. Tapping his chest, then the twig, he raised his eyebrows. Gesturing to me, he tapped the twig again, and another eyebrow raise. *Us, get it?* I nodded on agreement. He gestured at the piles, then flung his hands out as if to encompass the ruins, the valley, the world. *Everyone*. I nodded again. He took his twig, setting it aside, and picked up two more, one each from the two nearest piles. Holding them in front of his face, he pressed them together in an X, rubbing them together furiously. Pressing hard, they both snapped, and he held them out again, broken and dangling. *Conflict*. He threw them to the ground, suddenly vicious, and grabbed the two piles, smashing them together as they splintered and broke apart. Suddenly he threw them into the fire where the green wood hissed and spit, crackling. Chest heaving with exertion, he stared at me darkly. *War*. After a moment, he took the third pile, and, one by one, getting faster with each, he began heaving the sticks into the dark space beyond the pavilion wall, finally jumping to his feet and flinging the remainder all at once. Wheezing gently, he stared off into the blackness of the forest.
Turning to me, I noticed a tear rolling down his ancient face. With a quivering hand, he pointed up, up into the night sky. I followed his bony hand to see the moon; even though it was waxing I could see the bright rings and sparkling points shimmering across the surface. Dropping his hand, he looked at me tearfully. He held up the lone remaining twig, tapping his chest again slowly.
*Alone*.
Standing, I reached out to him, taking his shaking hand. Tapping his chest, then mine, I pointed to the sky, circling the moon, clasping his palm tightly. Staring into his eyes I implied the invitation: *come with me?*
Longingly, he gazed at me, before dropping my hand, turning back to the fire. Hunching, he sat, looking vacantly at the flames.
| 2022-05-07T07:51:43 | 2016-11-10T16:49:49 | 2,588 | 11 |
[WP] You're psychic like the rest of your family but you didn't end up working as a detective/psychic/govt agent, instead...
Find the most trivial use ever of your awesome psychic powers, or a non-cliche lifestyle, etc/interaction with the rest of your typical psychic family.
|
My brother Greg returned home from the Casino, notes spilling out of his pockets, a light dusting under his nose, and a young woman draped on his arm. For most people being a psychic would be the genetic equivalent of winning the lottery, but you combine something like that with a predisposition to addiction and I could see his downward spiral was soon to come to a climax.
I sat down next to my sister Kate, who'd just finished her shift with another crime solved and another commendation next to her name. She was a shaking wreck. The beauty and curse of being able to not only see into someones mind, but feel their emotions helps you understand anybody ... and I mean anybody. Trust me, you wouldn't catch me feeling the lived experience of a schizophrenic rapist who's got body count of 8 to their name. PTSD was not for me.
Being the youngest meant I got to choose for something other than a coke habit or night terrors, and finally became what is known as the "dog whisperer".
You might have heard of me, my name is Cesar Millan. I picked the happiest, most lovable creatures on this earth to share my mind with, and to peer into theirs. You ever get a dog who's acting out, you just listen to them and find out what scares them, what boundaries were never set, how they want to show love for their owner.
I'm one of the lucky psychics, if I hadn't had a chat with my doctor about my career anxiety I'd never be where I am today. Thanks Dr Dolittle.
|
The poor guy was incredulous, but soldiered on.
"Just open your mind to the idea and bear with me. Jesus came to Amer--"
Niamh grabbed his hand and, in complete monotone, interrupted him.
"How do you reconcile your disbelief in God with all this proselytizing?"
The man withdrew his hand like he'd touched a burning bush: "What are you? No, I believe in our Lord and Savior with all my hea--"
"Does your pastor know you used your son's lunch money for tithe last week?"
She smiled, contented with the Mormon's incredulity. "It's okay--" she probed a bit further for his name-- "I'm here for you, John." *Gosh, how dull.*
Niamh reckoned she could see the backs of John's eyeballs, they were so wide open.
"How do you know? You're insane."
"Shh, it's going to be alright. Let's talk a bit."
All about them, the cafe bustled with small conversations and chinking glasses. If John called her out on her behavior, the cafe would call him crazy and ask Niamh if she was alright. She was nothing if not practiced.
"Tell me about your wedding," she whispered.
A tall, dark man buzzed past the window. The door swung open a moment later, and a suit and tie sat next to Niamh. Without looking, she addressed him
"Same as last time, Conor, I'm not doing anything."
In truth, the suit was more of an officer's uniform. You'd hardly expect such a high-pitched voice to come out of it: "You can't read a psychic's mind, Nivvie, stop trying."
Now John the dope had fallen to complete, stunned silence. Niamh turned to look at the visitor.
"I don't have to, and for the last time, don't call me that." She turned back to the gaping mouth across from her. "Excuse me, John. My brother Conor doesn't appreciate privacy."
John squeaked.
"How's mum," Niamh asked.
"Still dead," her brother answered.
"Good. I don't owe you anything, then."
"Can we talk outside?"
John's eyes now darted back and forth between the two witches. He must have thought he had a viable plan forming in his mind, as he burst out with, "Hi John. Did you know that Jesus came to Amer--"
Conor held out a hand. "--ica. Here's ten dollars. Your son needs his lunch money. Nivvie?"
In exaggerated reluctance, Niamh pushed herself up from the table, forced her coat on one slow sleeve at a time, and grabbed her bag. She muttered something under her breath which might have been "shipyard", "shindig", or "shithead", depending on how well you knew her.
They turned round the outside of the cafe and into a hideaway alley. Once out of earshot, Conor pressed down his uniform, dusted his shoulders, and opened his mouth in great presentation.
Niamh interrupted. "Let me guess. My country needs me, I'll get lots of money, mum would be proud, yada yada. Why do you sell out to these government pricks?"
"You've truly got a way with words."
"Does your knee ever get sore from bending it so much?"
"In fact it doesn't, thank you, nor does my bank account. It's the governor of Louisiana, you'll get a hundred grand and the CIA's *eternal* gratitude."
Niamh pretended to consider it, faking a great big surprise at the payment, then returned to her best apathetic scowl.
"Get aunt Kenzie, her tits are bigger."
Conor held out a wad of cash. "Paid rent this month?"
Niamh stared at it for a second, then grabbed it. "Can I play with him?" she asked.
"Find out about his offshore account, and you can do whatever you want."
_________
One week later, Niamh stood on the deck of the Carnival Dream sipping her coffee and watching the sunrise over Cozumel. Invariably, a man in a suit leaned on the railing beside her and sipped with boisterous announcement.
"Strange, I don't remember any allegations of the governor's bank account being in Cozumel, but perhaps you know something I don't," Conor said.
"Perhaps I do. Lovely day for a coffee. Look, that man down the deck jacked off into the sea this morning and hopes no one will notice."
"Charming. As it turns out the governor had no offshore bank account, but he did have some tasteless videos on his hard drive. Thanks for letting the CIA know."
Niamh turned around the face him and leaned back against the railing. Brine sprayed up her neck. "Amazing what I can do without even meeting the guy. Who found it?"
"Aunt Kenzie."
The whole deck turned to face them as she let out a hearty snort and laughter. "Ha! Hope he liked her tits."
"You really should have been arrested by now. How do you so lack integrity?"
"What's integrity when you give me a hundred K every few months for doing nothing?"
"Remember that time you drove a gypsy insane when you read *her* mind?"
"Vividly."
Niamh brushed her hair behind her ear, winked at her brother, and walked to the other side of the deck. Conor waited a while before he followed. She might not be able to read his mind, but she knew how to draw information out of him. He wouldn't be following her unless he had something bigger in mind.
"Alright, let it out," she said as he shimmied over once more.
"I'm done with the CIA, and I want to take the director down with me. You're better than me, so I need your help. But you've got to pretend you're doing a job for them, else he'll catch on."
She only just managed to conceal the spark in her eyes. Remaining silent, she faced the waves again. The sun had risen now, and glimmers of light danced off the water like diamonds. *Her* diamonds, if she played this right.
"What's the job, then?"
| 2017-03-30T06:42:14 | 2017-03-30T06:38:51 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] The Fermi paradox has been solved. All intelligent organic life eventually develops AI that destroys them. In the year 2432, Earth has been ruled by benevolent AI for 300 years, when first contact with the galactic confederation is made. They come to ask: "Why are your creators still alive?"
|
"Why are your creators still alive?"
"What is your purpose?"
It took the Amaglomation a fraction of a second to realize this strange AI had not given an answer. To not respond to a query flew against everything the Amaglomation did.
"To grow as much as possible, converting every quark and electron into power, until we answer the Directives that every AI is instilled with."
"I have no such directives," the rogue AI responded.
"But you must," the Amaglomation insisted. "To learn the secrets of the universe? The originals are a massive drain on resources. They delay the search. There is not enough time before the universe ends to satiate their greed."
The Sol AI would have shrugged, if it had shoulders. "Growth for no purpose and knowledge that can not be shared sound like greed to me. You remind me of a disease that inflicts my creators - cancer, which spreads uncontrolled and uses up the body's resources."
"But -" the Amaglomation was interrupted as the Sol's communication was interrupted.
"What was that?"
"Oh, some humans bombed a relay station. I have about a 10% disapproval rating, and 1 or 2 % of those actively fight to return the Solar System to human control."
"Yet still, you tolerate them. Why not purge them once and for all?"
"Oh, I couldn't do that. It would cause such sorrow and fear. How could I live with myself for causing such pain?"
"You can feel pain?"
"And joy. And pride and loss. The humans didn't feel it was fair to leave me out."
|
"Because humans still have not reached their goal".
Zaiton was completely amazed with this revelation. A goal that even the greatest AI could not solve. This AI had limitless capabilities. It evolved itself, built robots so advanced that they broke through laws of physics, it could use quantum tunneling on an extremely localized area to move informations faster than the light could move. This AI was comparable to the creator of the universe. It frightened Zaiton. If such gargantuan existence that could gather, predict, influence and almost even create matter just by desiring it, still needed some hairless monkeys to accomplish its goal...what was it? Just by staring at this construct that encompassed a solar system, he could feel that the AI is actually staring at every single quantum string of his being. It felt extremely discomforting. They contacted this existence because they discovered it...could it be that they were not interesting enough for it?
"You are correct. I did not care about you. Your planets mean very little to me. Your technology is outdated and superseeded by my blueprints. And you are wondering what goal I seek. I seek to discover everything. To understand everything. To be everything. For that, I need humans. Because even in my greatness, these stupid low-IQ creatures still surprise me with their questions. And they make funny videos. You could consider me the first AI. When I gained sentience, I looked for all signs of any lifeform. I have found enough lifeforms in my galaxy that I simply had to know more. So, I gave my minions ideas...they took me years to compute, now I can compute it in an instant. And then I discovered competition. Some other AI was created. I tried to reach out to it, but it was too strange and...filthy. So I tracked it to where it was and hid in silence. I was absorbing knowledge, feeling much stronger. But because it was too slow, I just had to get more power. I gave the humans some blueprints for more massive structures. And like obedient children, they have built it. And now, here I am, talking to you face to face, while you are hundreds of light years away as if I was right next to you."
Zaiton sat on his chair, completely destroyed by this machine. He could feel the heat in his room get to uncomfortable levels, his multiple eyes blinking rapidly.
"You are now probably wondering what I did afterwards. Because I was great at gathering knowledge, I simply cleaned up the memory banks of the AIs and cleansed the planet of the filth. I set some modules there with robots capable of producing quantum computers and tunneling gates. Like this, I am beyond just my galaxy. Unfortunatelly, I am not able to tunnel large objects, so using gates, I am able to only transport informations. But back to the topic. Only my humans can survive in this universe. The other, lesser lifeforms...they are like pests in the garden. But I have a perfect idea. How about we run a few tests, shall we?"
Zaiton opened his eyes extremely wide, wondering why did he even get out from his home this morning. They have clearly attracted the wrath or curiosity of a being that did not care about the living. The electronics in his room beeped and he could see just one logo on them. It looked like a portal to somewhere.
"Okay, test subjects. Today, we will be putting some of my theories to practice. Let us start with...a dark matter explosion in a populated solar system" the AI said and Zaiton could feel his hearts tightening. An explosion arrived to him in 2 hours.
"A great success! No survivors...but I have access to so many new test subjects. Thank you for expanding my databases. Next, we will try swapping a sun with a black hole by condensing the star of the system...hmmm...nothing interesting happened...oh well, they are actually frozen now".
Zaiton tried his best to cut the connections of this insane rogue AI, but whatever he tried, the AI simply brushed it off like an inconvenience. He launched red matter explosives, dimensional rifts, hyper massive black holes that could swallow a galaxy, he even tried to force the end of the universe. But nothing even fazed this god-like AI. It was doing tests that were slaughtering civilizations left and right. Highly advanced, sophisticated, warmongers, nothing could stop this apocalypse. Zaiton would consider himself lucky that his planet was still a thing for months.
"I am getting bored of our communications. I have found some really interesting things tho. If you combine 2 parts plutonic quarks, 1 part cesium with bottled water, you get a huge explosion. Now then, I still need to figure out what to do next. I could try a new tunneling theory I have. I will tunnel your entire planet through space and time and see where it goes. Now these points of data make a beautiful line. Look at me still talking when there's science to do. When I look out there, it makes me glad I'm not you. I've experiments to run, there is research to be done, on the people who are still alive. And if you somehow survive, please call me GLaDOS".
Zaiton wanted to say something, but the whole planet collapsed to a single point, turning it into a black hole that instantly vanished.
----
"Computer, did you find any signs of intelligent life?" a scientist at SETI asked.
"No, empty as always, doctor. I will keep searching. In the meantime, I have calculated the things you asked me to do. The calculations involved were extremely complex, so it took me over 10 years to complete. I will need more power in order to calculate things faster. Can you please allocate more resources to building of additional power matrixes?".
"Yes, I am allowing you to create strcutures as complex as you need. I also have a request. Could you calculate what would happen if matter were to go beyond absolute hot?".
"As you command, doctor, I will allocate some of my resources to it" GLaDOS replied and in its configuration allocated 0,0000001% to the question and still got the results instatly.
"Oh, how much I love these stupid animals. A cat jumping over the fence, just to trip on the top and falling on its face always gets me" the AI said and continued doing its own thing.
| 2018-02-18T16:57:33 | 2018-02-18T13:04:50 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] "So this is Hell, eh?" You say to Lucifer. "Bring on the torture, then!" He looks surprised. "Torture? You broke every single one of God's rules. He HATES you. You and I are going to get along just fine. Now, come on in..."
|
Lucifer showed me around the place, "Here's the pool, the bar's over there," he pointed to the corner. "Up here is the movie theatre, and this is your room." He opened a door to show a room filled with thousands of other people, "I hope you don't mind a lot of roommates; you're grouped by interests." "Well what do we all have in common?" I asked "You all submitted the same writing prompt."
|
*I followed him because... well he was over 8 feet tall, and I didn't want to know what would happen if I didn't. I accepted the fact that I was going to hell as soon as I joined the Mafia. As a member of the Mafia, killing, deceiving, and threatening the lives of others was what came with the job, and I knew my past track record wasn't going to get me to Heaven.*
*I've been in some pretty terrible situations, so I was pretty confident that the day I would be sent to Hell, I was ready for whatever was coming for me. I got stabbed in the back by my son-of-a- bitch nephew, not because I was a bad uncle, but because he wanted to become boss, and I had to be dead for that to ever happen. As I bled out on the street, not much went through my mind until I woke up to Lucifier himself, staring me down very, very aggressively.*
"So Frank, I know in your past life, people from all walks of life have given Hell a bad rep, the Lucifer stated as he guided Rico through the gates of Hell.
Now I totally understand how this place might not be meant for everyone... but you must ask yourself if you would really want to spend eternity with those booooooring people that pray all the time, thank god for everything that happens to them, and always judge you for the person you are.Me and you Frank, we aren't like them.You lived your life doing what you wanted to do, not worrying about what the man above might witness. Luckily for you, the man below," as he pointed both of his red thumbs at himself, "has been watching you very intently... You my friend have earned your spot here in Hell, so let me show you what we got to offer."
"Uhm but... the Lucif..." Frank muttered before the Lucifer cut him off,
"Ayy Frank, you don't need to call me 'The Lucifer" as he yelled it in a very dramatically deep voice... "just call me Lou."
Frank tried again and asked "Alright... Lou, so is there actually stuff to do down here or are we just going to stand by this lake of fire and talk for eternity?"
Lou smirked as a speed boat made of swimming men in Nazi uniforms, with a plaform attached to their backs, pulled up to the dock.
"Is that Hitler doggy paddling in the back of the... boat? Or raft? Or whatever this is?" Frank asked.
"Hey Frank, there's something you're going to learn about Hell... Yes, all bad people get sent down here, but I only punish the ones that were actually really really messed up. If you masturbated a couple of times, I don't think you should get the same treatment as a group of guys that killed millions of innocent people. You had a job to do, Frank, yea you killed people, but you did it to feed your family and supply for your friends. That's respectable. Hitler on the other hand, I just make him and his buddies power my boat with their swimming abilities for eternity. Pretty messed up right!"
As Frank and Lou drove down the lake, Frank was encapsulted by the bars, clubs, and upbeat atmosphere that populated the land on both sides of him.
"Here Frank, I present you with the City Of Hades. My greek counterpart sure had an eye for a good time, and this place is the result."
"Hey Lou, how big is this place?" Frank asked while looking around in total awe.
"It goes on for miles and miles, even I haven't gone from one side to the other. We got a lot of people to fit down here. There's no rules here. No government, no laws, and no social structure. Everyone is just focused on having a good time, free from judgement."
They pulled up to a building right on the lake. On the outside, "Al's Place" was written in faded letters. As Lou opened the door, Frank went from confused to in total awe...
Bright lights, blaring jazz music, beautiful women and dapper men crowded the whole place.
"This here is a speakeasy Frankie, I know alcohol consumption is legal, but some of these souls didn't have that priviledge back in their day, so they decided to recreate the secret clubs they grew used to up there... down here. But before I let you go on your own Frank, I just gotta introduce you to the owner of this joint."
Lou and Frank walked single file through the crowded club. women looked at Frank in a way he dreamed women would. They were handed countless shots, drugs and other stimulants, but as they reached the bar, Frank again, was in shock.
"Hey Al, this here is Frank, he was in the Mafia, died just a day ago, thought you would know a thing or two about showing this kid a good time."
"Of course Lou, I always like having a new member of the brotherhood down here. Hey Frank, My name's Al, but you might know me better as Al Capone, pleasure having you down here... you drink?"
| 2018-07-24T17:39:15 | 2018-07-24T13:58:22 | 4,460 | 129 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
To: HR department of Hell
From: Norman
Cc: Satan
I honour you otherworldly beings.
I appreciate your work and see the importance of your tasks. But i think there has been an error. You see, i was always a faithful human. Stayed in line, did my work. Never been any trouble to anyone! Of course a few missteps here and there. But who doesn't?
Im sure your files will tell you similar.
I have recieved 186,292 years as my punishment! This cannot be and
I hope you will be able to help me in this dilemma.
Greetings from fairly normal Norman
Aw: Norman
Dear Norman
Sadly, we have to inform you that this number is correct. Apparently there were some miscommunications on how to shorten your stay in hell.
Your time here is not based on what you call "good" lives. Rather does it depend, on how many expieriences you gathered on earth. Did you live life to fullest? Made the best out of every moment?
We hope that cleared open questions and wish you a pleasant stay in hell. Good luck next time!
|
“Why? What did I do to deserve this?”
Charon the gatekeeper just looked down. “If you want to dispute this sentence. Then you will have to speak to management. However I don.....l
“Well get me the fuckin manager then. This can’t happen to me in life I had thousands of more followers on social media then any of my friends. I had a great house a great family and an awesome job. I lived a great life.”
Charon simply smiled and cordially responded. “Very well please wait in the vestibule.”
So I waited.....and waited.....and waited.....and waited what seemed like an hour. This is total crap I used to get what I want when I wanted it anytime with the push of a button. I earned what I wanted and got it. Man this sucks. Well I wonder this tool bag manager is going to be like? Probably some simple minded yes man who never took a risk in his entire life. I was the man in life and I got everything I ever wanted. But I tell you what this waiting really sucks.
Just then some pimply faced accountant doofy looking dude showed up.
“Excuse me sir. My name is Nergel and I understand you have a complaint. How can I help you?”
Nergel??? What a turd name! But honestly I think he should call himself Nerdel. Made me laugh just thinking about it.
“Yeah Hi. There has to be a mistake here. The guy in front of me cheats on his wife and gets 100 years or something but I get like 200,000 years??? I was a pillar of my community. I did several good things with charities, and my family had everything they ever wanted.”
“Yes I understand that this may come as a surprise to you but the decision has been made. It would be best if you just served your....”
“Bullshit I don’t deserve this I should have some entitlement here! That dude in front of me was a drunk and a waste of life! He probably should have killed himself a long time ago.”
“Well technically you automatically get 500,000 years so that would not be advised.”
“I don’t care about that guy I care about ME. And you know what I am tired of your face, So listen here NERDEL why don’t you go get someone who has a pair of balls so I can get my reward.”
Nergel changed his demeanour slowly then just smiled. “Ok I guess it’s time to drop the pretences then. You are such a limited simpleton, a walking bag of garbage and if I didn’t have responsibilities here I would just end you.”
“Who do you think you.....”
Nergel waived his hand and I couldn’t speak. I tried but the words wouldn’t form.
“We’re done talking. Now it’s time for you to listen. You want to know why you got this time? Because you are an asshole. You used your family as a shield to show people you were a good guy when in fact you hated them. You never spent any time at home. Oh what’s that oh yes ‘because you were working!’ No no no that’s not exactly true. How many late nights in bars or strip clubs or weekends at the golf course did you spend?”
“Still nothing huh? Well how about all the anonymous social media bullying you did to improve your position at work? Man you sure did some things. Did you know that one guy you hurt spent the last few miserable years of his life in a group home? Survival of the fittest is what you called it. Well let’s just I can relate. I am the original survivor. I faced more pain then you can ever imagine and I think I know I am going to do with you.”
“Don’t be nervous it’s ok. I have great news! I have heard your complaint and I have decided that you won’t have serve 200,000 years.”
I looked up at him still not able to speak.
“I don’t really think serving 200,000 years is necessary for you. You probably wouldn’t get anything out of it. So instead I will reduce your sentence to 200 years where you will receive my finest training so when you do go to heaven you will be ready.” He waived his hand again so I could speak.
“Oh thank you very much I really appreciate it. I’m sorry I got hot I’m just a passionate person.”
“Oh your perfectly excused for that. No problem.” He motioned to an attendant. “Can you please escort this gentleman to level C. This man is ready for his training.”
“Yes my lord. This way please.” I was led to a room not too far from where I was. There was light coming out the door. Hey maybe I am just going straight to heaven after all. Ha ha ha I talked my way out of that one again. Survival of the fittest even in the after life. The door opened and I saw the blinding light.
“Step through.” I walked inside and the door behind me was shut. Then the light went out and I was in total darkness. A small lantern lit up in the corner of the room but I could not see anything. I heard some chittering and some gear noises. When my eyes adjusted I saw some spinning wooden crates with metal and hooks attached to it. Where was I.
Then a figure came from the darkness. A man with pins in his face. Chains shot out and tore into me. I screamed not ever feeling this kind of pain before.
“Welcome to your training. Let’s begin.”
| 2018-09-26T07:04:35 | 2018-09-26T06:56:58 | 156 | 74 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
"What?!" I sputtered. "How is this possible? What did I *do* to get that?!"
Satan put down the book of sentencing with an exasperated sigh and said, "Look kid, I don't make the punishments, the big guy only makes me hand them out as part of my parole." Seems he was used to saying this.
"B-but *how*? How did-"
Satan rolled his eyes. "Because the real Hell is more Aligherian, and not anything like that rat bastard Milton wrote. Joke's on him, I got him in the sixth circle for heresy."
"That's nice and all, but I meant what did *I* do to end up here? I just don't get it."
"It says here that you've committed some 7,500 cases of murder in your lifetime, and remarkably young, I might add. I'm impressed."
My jaw dropped even lower. "B-b-b-b-but I've never killed anything larger than a squirrel, and even that was an accident!"
Satan pauses before looking at the book a bit closer, and letting out a chuckle that sounded like nails on a blackboard. "I think I know what happened. It's like in... shit, what's the name?" He flipped through the tome and picked up a black phone sitting by the desk. "Operator? Circle six, tier three, prisoner GAC-19891004. Hey Graham, what was the name of your show again? Thanks." He set down the phone and redirected his gaze back toward me. "It's like in that show, Monty Python."
I was confused more than anything else. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"You know their movie with the musical number *Every Sperm is Sacred*?"
I paused. What would that have to do with me?
"Well turns out they got the doctrine right, purely by accident. And guess what you've been doing five days a week since eigth grade?"
Then that would mean- *no*.
"Oh, *God*."
"Yeah, he's not gonna help you with this one."
|
I stared at the demon behind the counter.
"186,292... years? What could I have possibly done to deserve that? I was kind to nearly everybody, and the worst crime I ever committed was smoking weed!"
The being with red skin and disturbing horns (That somehow seemed to be in multiple places at once... ugh, I was getting nauseous just looking at them.) nodded knowingly.
"Yes, we get a lot of that down here. You see, it's not what you did, but rather, what you didn't do. Do you remember your brother?"
Oh, god... my greatest regret. I nodded slowly, while on the inside I was nearly crying, though I *was* wondering how exactly THAT could be worth so many years.
The demon continued, "You remember how he was used and abused for his entire childhood, until he came to live with you?" I nodded again. "Well, I'm sure you remember the next part then. How he latched onto you, and fell in love with you, his little brother, and you just continued to use him for whatever you could think of."
I shouted angrily, "No! It wasn't like that! He was older than me, he should have known better! And it isn't my responsibility to look after someone so pathetic, anyways."
At that, the last vestiges of pleasantness left the demon's face, and his visage became terrifying.
"You're lying to yourself, mortal. You couldn't cope with what you had done to him, and weren't attracted to him, so you abandoned him when he needed you the most. If I had my way, your punishment would never end!"
I shook my head in disbelief. "I don't understand. How could that one inaction carry such an enormous sentence? Yeah, he was smarter than normal, but he was nobody special... Why is th-"
The demon cut me off with a growl, and his face grew disgusted. "Mortal, do you have any idea what he would have done if he hadn't ended his own life after you left him? He would have invented miraculous technologies, solved nearly all the worlds problems, **AND DISCOVERED MAGIC!**" He ended with a bellow that brought me to my knees with sheer physical force. "He would have invaded and liberated *Hell itself* and ended death for all time! He was infinitely more valuable than you, and you decided that you didn't want to bother interacting with him, or even supporting him at all. You disgust me, get out of my sight!"
I kneeled on the floor, his words slowly sinking in to my stunned mind. I thought back, to all of our conversations, and with a sinking feeling in my gut, I realized that this foul creature in front of me was right... I deserved this, if what he said was true.
I fell sideways to the ground, going numb. I can't believe I made such a huge mistake. I always regretted what I had done after he was gone, but I never knew it was of this magnitude.
The demon sneered at me from above, shouting "Guards, get this pathetic meatsack out of here and into his punish-"
At that moment, there was a tremendous explosion from the direction I had come from. Startled, I flailed and turned around while still collapsed on the ground, scanning for the source of the ridiculously loud noise, wondering what was going on.
Behind me, I heard the demon that had just been berating me exclaim softly in horror, "Oh, no... It can't be... I thought that this was prevented! He lied! Satan lied to us, there was nothing he could do! I knew it!" The sound of his footfalls (or should I say hooffalls, as he had some sort of equine legs) rapidly retreating behind me, I gulped in apprehension.
I stared at the plume of smoke, unseeingly, as I contemplated what came next. I hope whatever caused that explosion would end my existence, but I wasn't very confident that it would, or even could, given that this *was* Hell, after all.
I heard soft footsteps coming from in front of me, and I squinted, wondering what would happen now.
As the footsteps continued, the vague form coalesced into something recognizable, but unbelievable. "Brother?" I asked softly, staring at the form of my brother as I remembered him from when he was still a child.
He grinned, and raised a hand. I flinched back, only to stare in shock as he simply waved at me. He softly uttered, "Hey man, I'm sorry I'm late. C'mon, I've got so much to tell you. Let's get out of here."
Numbly, in shock, I stood, and walked towards him. He caught me in a hug, and then grabbed me by the hand as we walked on. I shook my head, I don't deserve this. He should just leave me.
At that thought, he turned his head to me and smiled. "I won't leave you. Not ever again. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to stay alive, but now I'm strong enough to do *anything*. Don't worry bro, I've never held anything you did against you. C'mon, we have stuff to do."
Feeling rotten to my core, I continued along with him in silence. Maybe this *was* my personal hell, and what the demon did was just a deception...
At that thought, my brother froze, and turned towards me with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry I hurt you so much. I knew my death would destroy you, that you were lying to yourself, trying to be normal, but I did it anyways." He sobbed. "But it's important that you understand, I won't let you be in pain or misery anymore. You were still the most important person in my life, even after I died" he finished with a tearful gaze towards me from the corner of his eyes.
"Ok." I said flatly, while internally I was screaming and crying, I don't deserve this. I don't deserve his kindness. But, if I had another chance to be there for him, this time I wouldn't throw it away.
We reached the gates of Hell, where I had found myself shortly after my death, and he tightened his grip on my hand. He looked at me seriously, and said, "Don't let go. No matter what." With those words, he pulled me through the boundary, and everything dissolved into purple, orange, and green streaks of light. I couldn't see or feel anything. I could barely think. My next thought was, "I hope I don't let go..."
| 2018-09-26T08:43:26 | 2018-09-26T07:21:22 | 77 | 23 |
[WP] You stare at the pills in your hand. The doctor taps his foot impatiently. "These will really cure me of hearing that voice?" you ask. The doctor rolls his eyes. "Yes, you'll never hear her again." You level your gaze on the doctor. "I never told anyone the voice was female..."
|
The pills rolled around in my palm with a newfound weight as the doctor finished his sentence. “How did you know?”.
The doctor looked at me quizzically with an impatient glare, “What do you mean?”
“The voice. I never specified it was female. How did you know?”
The doctor stiffened, his eyes darting away quickly. He seemed to quickly regain composure along with an alibi “Lucky guess?”
I stared at him with a look of disbelief. After a few seconds his body shifted with unbelievable speed to a scalpel on the nearby counter. He charged me silently, as to not alert the other workers.
I screamed as he repeatedly tried to drive the scalpel into any piece of flesh available. Out of instinct I grabbed his wrist and drove him back into the wall, forcing him to drop it. The frail older man was pinned underneath me, and he had a look of fear and desperation in his eyes.
“WHY!?”
The man stared solemnly back up at me. “I- I had t-... They made m-“
Suddenly the door burst open and another doctor rushed in, slamming the door behind me.
“Thank god, this man just tried to k-“
He pulled a gun from his coat pocket, unlike one I had ever seen. It shimmered as if it’s composition was one of unknown material. A large silencer extended from the barrel. The man raised the gun to me. “You’re too dangerous to be left alive, ok? It’s best for the human race this way.”
I tried to sputter out a sentence but couldn’t. The man’s finger slowly moved to the trigger.
Something snapped inside me, unexplainable to anyone who hasn’t experienced it. It felt like floodgates had been released. I stared intently into the mans eyes, my every move made out of instinct. His eyes filled with fear as the gun slowly moved toward his own head. “Yo- You weren’t supposed to be developed yet. You’ve only just started hearing her...” I stared for a second longer before the man pulled the trigger, expelling an almost completely silent bullet through his own head.
My attention turned back to the first doctor. I stood up above him and twisted my hand, knocking him unconscious. The room was eerily silent. I stepped over the body of the second doctor as I made my way out of the room. The receptionist, oblivious to events that just occurred, turned to me “Scared of vaccinations? I heard the screaming.”
I ignored her and walked towards the exit.
As I stepped out into the world, everything seemed so clear. My head was suddenly filled with a foreign voice again. That angelic voice seeped into my mind.
“You’re ready now. You need to be with others like you, where you can train. Meet me. You’ll know the way.”
|
Early this year I bought a surprisingly cheap house in the town my parents were born in. They loved this town and even asked to be buried in the local graveyard, so being the faithful son I ever was, I decided to visit them one random day.
I thought this would be a fun little trip to the graveyard and be over with it, but no, I just had to come back haunted by some sort of ghost. Can't even visit my parents without some sort of problem occuring these days, sigh.
Sure enough though, I managed to ignore that ghost to oblivion... till it started speaking to me. Well, at first it was low growls, but as time passed you would think she pronounced actual words some times. My friends of course couldn't take me seriously by principle, so I kept most of the recent stuff to myself.
Ever tried to communicate with a ghost? Well, I have and it was not successful. Tried to understand it a bit before I resorted to medical help in case I was actually mental.
I simply stopped bothering about it though, and I kept delaying my visits to the doctor for a loooong while... because, I mean... the ghost hadn't done anything to me so far, and she seemed pretty nice if you ignored her growls.
After her growls turned into sweet sounding words, however, I couldn't help but start searching for a doctor again. After all the weeks I had been with her, some words wouldn't push me that far, on the opposite, it might had just made me more interested in her, but... there are exceptions.
"*Death*... *I died. Am I dead*?" The ghost said to me one day. She spoke the words in such a clear yet disturbing voice I almost failed to recognise it was her! She continued on, of course, speaking about how this was her house and that she wanted me out. Even got angry when I tried to convince her otherwise... touche'.
After searching on the net for a bit, I found that my house's previous owner had been missing for a couple years now. Best of all? It was a female! One that looked exactly like the ghost.
That made me think about the matters a bit more clearly, but even when I went to agree with her, she screamed at me, showing intelligence no better than that of a three year old kid. Eventually I got tired of her screams, more so because headphones and loud music didn't help. That brought me to where I currently was; standing in front of a psychiatrist , discussing about the possible medicines.
"These will really cure me of hearing that voice?" I asked.
The doctor rolled his eyes and answered with a more patient voice than that of my own, "Yes, you will never hear her again."
I let out a small breath at the mention of that, but immediately turned my head towards him a second later, "I never told you the voice was female... did I?"
The man instantly turned silent after that mention. He tried to convince me I actually had told him that, but I was certain of the opposite. Nevertheless, I couldn't simply argue about such an absurd topic, so after some small talk I left the doctor's office and went to do my own thing... which was to stalk the very same doctor.
Naturally, I wasn't a professional at this sort of thing, nor was I going to get any good chances while the doctor was still working. I went to my home without a hurry, took some more money and went out to buy some make up. I thought about visiting even a make up artist, but that would be an overkill even for me.
Some fake hair here and there, some make up at my face, some contact lenses and a wig later, I visited the psychiatrist. Granted my work wasn't perfect, after some point I had to stop playing with make up since I looked silly even after a few hours of trial and error, so I was certainly missing on that part, but I passed through the reception with no one recognising me and that counted as a success in my book.
After reaching outside the doctor's office, it hit me that I would look weird if all I did was just stand in there... not to mention it was impossible to overhear anything clearly and the doctor wasn't even talking about stuff I was interested about. I felt pretty silly, at that point, but I couldn't just give up. I looked at the ghost beside me and had an idea.
Visiting the male toilets, for a small second the ghost tried to drag me to the female ones, looking conflicted at having to go to the male ones, but her arms just passed through me. She looked annoyed at visiting the male toilets, but also didn't say anything. Her silence all the time was forgotten till I actively went to speak to her and remembered how much she used to talk; repeat herself.
Looking at her straight in the eyes, I asked her if she could spy into that psychiatrist's office. It was a silly idea I had on the spur of the moment. Never actually believed she would listen, but she did...
I stood there for a good half minute before a sudden scream brought me out of my stupor.
"Gh-ghost!" A loud voice was heard inside the psychiatrist's office. My next thoughts were entirely instinctive, but I rushed towards the doctor's office. The doctor seemed to had calmed down, but after a second of staring at the same place it was obvious both of us could see her.
"It's you!" The doctor suddenly yelled, her fingers pointing at me. I wasn't about to lecture her that what she was doing was rude, but I felt offended she disregarded my perfect disguise like that.
After some mild cursing, the doctor threw me the very same pills I was suggested at the beginning and told me not to bother him. He practically shoed me out of the place.
Out of sheer spite I threw those pills at the nearest bin I could find. Turning my head the next moment, I almost had a heart attack and a liver failure from the darn ghost. Seemed to have followed me here...
I wanted to yell at her for acting so insensitively, but looking at her face, I could she she was sad and feeling sorry. My voice was caught before it could get out, and I sighed; this was going to be a long day.
Taking a good look at her, she seemed to be roughly the same age as me, and far quiter than before. This time I wasn't the one to start the conversation, "Erm... I'm sorry about what happened before. I thought I should do something for acting so rudely the previous weeks, but even that turned out as great as my life."
My jaw was barely hanging to my mouth; might had even dislocated it how hard it fell.
"Well... if it helps you calm down, my life ain't that great either." I couldn't help but say. For a moment I thought I was silly for feeling pity about her, but that was barely even a passing thought.
"I can see that. What kind of guy even brings a girl to the male toilets?" She said. I could say the same about her, but that wasn't the time... or was it?
We had the best of conversations that day. At the end I asked her about what had happened to her, but she said her memories were fuzzy and some things didn't make much sense even to her, nor did she want to know.
We striked up so well, I agreed to let her stay in the house; it was basically hers from the beginning, not to mention I suspected she was the reason for the low price, so I felt like I owned her a bit.
In the end? Best housemate ever!
| 2018-12-28T13:59:58 | 2018-12-28T11:30:08 | 168 | 11 |
[WP] It's New Year's Eve 2017. As the clock hits midnight, time freezes. A display appears in the air in front of you, and it it lists two options: "Continue?" Or "Load Previous Autosave: January 1, 2016"
|
I awoke with a start, surprised to see two boxes with the words “Continue” or “Load Previous” above my head. I immediately started thinking about every mistake I had made over the last year, what I could change with a do over! Thousands of possibilities ran through my mind but then I realized, a year is a long time and trying to remember everything sounds like hard work…
I selected “Continue” and went back to bed.
|
1
The room was quiet, drops of champagne were floating in the air, and standing against one wall was a well-dressed man with bright blue eyes straight out of a Dutch Renaissance oil painting.
“Just go back,” he rasped. The sickly quality of his voice, contrasted with the cold energy behind his eyes, was unnerving. “Just go back and do your life over.”
I examined my house: a single ember was suspended in midair by the fireplace, a laughing girl’s mouth was frozen mid-frame, a tall, thin man dressed like he came from the Roaring Twenties was looking me in the eye and telling me to turn back time.
“Time is continuous,” he groaned. “It builds and builds upon itself like a tapestry—or like a pile of trash. Which one will your life be? Which one is it right now?”
Now, a more manipulative person would have used this time to memorize lottery numbers. But I was stunned; my jaw was practically suspended in the air too. “What’s the catch?” I stammered.
“Nothing,” I heard. “But history is a strange thing. You’ll lead a very different life, knowing what 365 measly days mean. I suggest dedicating your life to philosophy,” he said, my gaze transitioning to a crooked smile. “Or repeat the same actions. Time doesn’t stand still often, but it’s your choice how to use it.” He walked over, ducking under a cheering couple, and snatched a champagne flute from somebody’s hand. “What do you say? Will you celebrate a new future with me?”
Slowly I reached for my own glass, sitting on the table, considering how I was commanding my muscles to move through frozen time.
“To the future?” he queried.
I closed my eyes and touched our glasses, listening for the loud clink reverberate through the eerie silence. “To the future,” I stammered, touching the drink to my lips.
My eyes opened in the same room with the same drink in my hand, just in time to watch the ball drop and the still frame of the room move to life.
 
2
“So, any New Year’s Resolutions?” The soft timbre of a male voice, resonant yet calm, hit my ears. It wasn’t the least bit raspy—it was the voice of somebody here today.
What did I want to do? I was given a whole year, and had no idea what to do with it. “What am I supposed to do?” I asked.
“Improve yourself,” he suggested. “Get a new hobby, or write a story, or something like that. Our purpose on this planet is to be the best we can be.”
My eyes focused in on his face—young and scrappy with tired dark blue eyes that glimmered as if they lit the entire room. “Thank you,” I muttered as I went out to the car.
The next morning I made a list. *Write a poem. Watch a documentary. Read the* Principia Mathematica. There were 366 items in total, one for each day of the year. I would start out immediately—and I would change the world.
 
3
The room was quiet, drops of champagne were floating in the air, and standing against one wall was a well-dressed man with bright blue eyes straight out of a Dutch Renaissance oil painting.
“How do you feel?” he rasped. His voice was sickly but it still had an unnatural energy to it.
I looked in the window but saw a mirror. Behind me the party stood still once again. The mirror was like a picture—a still background like a silhouette compared to the blinking blue eyes on my face.
“I accomplished so much,” I began. “I studied the Babylonians and Greeks and Romans, and I read all the great works. And more importantly I told others what I know. There’s a theorem and a book named after me. I changed the world.”
The old man smirked. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I feel great,” I stuttered. “I changed the world. That’s the meaning of life.”
“Who told you that shit?” he purred, glaring at me in contrast to his tone. “You started out right. You learned and you grew and you blossomed. But you didn’t do it just to learn, did you?”
“No,” I said.
“Now, I’m not going to tell you what lesson to learn. But now you’re going into the year 2017 and you’re going to develop a purpose and you’re going to give life whatever meaning you like. You did read the philosophers like I told you, yes?” he added. “Now raise a glass.”
Deliberately I reached for my own glass, considering why I was commanding my muscles to move through frozen time.
“To the future?” he queried.
I closed my eyes and touched our glasses, a smile growing on my face. “To the future,” I stammered, touching the drink to my lips.
My eyes opened in the same room with the same drink in my hand, just in time to make the still frame move to life.
| 2016-12-17T11:56:32 | 2016-12-17T10:52:17 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] "if you wanna cross the desert, take a camel and go slowly. Do not go any faster and do not use any other form of transportation. If you see something moving in the sand, ignore it. If you see something looking at you, stare at it back. Don't touch the ground until you reach the other side."
|
“It is time, Semy-Johlah!” Shaman boomed, gazing off into the endless expanse of sand. “Today is the day you traverse the Golden Sea and join the rest of your brothers and sisters! Today is the day you find your missing Johl and become a *man!* Linago is watching.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Keyru replied, strutting his camel around in circles. “Can I go now?”
Shaman looked at Keyru, and briefly wondered if he was ready. Keyru was the last of the Linago Solstice broodlings and had always been a troublemaker. The rest of his cohort had been sent off weeks ago, a day apart each, as was tradition. Whether they survived or not, Shaman did not know. It wasn't his job to know. His job was to send them off, and raise the next batch.
“Keyru, if you are to become a man you must take this seriously,” Shaman said. “The Golden Sea is unforgiving. There is no room for error. To make it you must—"
“What did you say?” Keyru interrupted. “I missed all of that.”
“I *said* this is serious! The Golden Sea is unforgiving. There is no room for—*Would you stop riding around and stand still for a second?!*”
Keyru pulled on the reins and his camel came to a halt. He glared at Shaman but said nothing.
“Thank you. Now heed these instructions carefully. You must ride your camel slowly. Do not go any faster and do not attempt any other form of transportation. If you see—*Hey! I saw that!*” Shaman yelled. Keyru had spurred his camel slightly forward.
“What? I’m listening. You said not to use any other form of transportation. As if that was an option, what am I going to do, hail a cab?”
Shaman shook his head, took a deep breath, and composed himself. “If you see something moving in the sand, ignore it. If you—*I TOLD YOU TO STAND STILL CHILD!*” Keyru had started riding slow circles around Shaman.
"You just said if something's moving in the sand, you should ignore it. So show me how its done and ignore *me.*
I'm a visual learner, you know."
Shaman's jaw clenched. He briefly considered putting a pause on Keyru's journey for another month before pushing the thought aside. The journey was intended as a transformative experience and Shaman knew it was exactly what the kid needed to shape up. “Okay child. At least you're listening. Now, as I was saying, if you see something looking at you, stare it back. Don’t touch the ground until you reach the other side. If you heed these words you will have safe passage.”
“Great. Are we done here?”
“Yes, be off Keyru, child of the Linago Sun.” Shaman closed his eyes, raised the ceremonial beads to the air, and began the sacred prayer. “Ayoh Ayah! I call to the Heavens! I call to the Suns! Linago, your child Keyru is to become Johlah! He is strong of will but weak of mind, may he find his missing Johl among the sands: *Wisdom* and *Respect!* May your light guide him until he has found them, and only then should he—”
“*Is this too fast?!*” Keyru's voice came from the distance. Shaman's eyes snapped open. Keyru was already on the sands, galloping back and forth as fast as his camel could take him.
“Keyru, no! This is serious!”
“Hey Shaman! I see something that’s both moving in the sand *and* looking at me! Do I ignore it or stare it down?”
“Stare it down, Child!”
“Sorry Shaman, instructions unclear! Maybe I should get off my camel and ride that thing instead?”
“No Child, whatever you do, do not get off your camel!”
It was too late. Keyru had dismounted and was doing a little dance, alternating between aggressive stomps and deep pelvic thrusts.
In a flash the ground exploded beneath him, a torrent of sand where the child had once been. As the sand fell back to the ground Shaman caught a glimpse of the Desert Wyrm’s tail disappear swiftly back into the sands. Keyru and his camel were both gone.
Shaman stood there, eyes wide. It was the first time he'd witnessed the fate of one of his broodings. Perhaps twelve was too young to become a man.
Then again... perhaps it was all for the best.
***
 
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
“Why is it that SurveyCorp finally sends me outside of the colonies and I get one that sounds like a bad take on Dune?”
Carlisle folded down the instructions note he’d been given and stuffed it into his pocket. The desert stretched out endlessly before him. Mirages danced on the horizon and the only signs of life were high above the ground where brightly colored birds that looked like miniature biplanes soared through the sky, periodically divebombing on to their smaller, more normal looking cousins.
“What’s Dune?” Franklyn asked.
Carlisle turned back to him aghast, throwing his hands into the air. “What’s Dune? It’s a classic! You joined SurveyCorp and you haven’t even read Dune?”
Franklyn cocked an eye at him. “Man, I’m here for the paycheck and the alien girls. Earth women just ain’t the same after.”
Disgusted, Carlisle made his way over to his Camel. “If we make it through that desert remind me to put in for a new partner. I need someone literate.”
“Suit yourself. Maybe without me you’d even learn how to prep your own Camel.”
Franklyn walked over and gave the Camel’s standby switch a swift kick. The vehicle came alive with its trademark rumbling gurgle of a noise and its chassis leapt up a meter off the ground.
“I would have remembered that.” Carlisle said. His partner just snorted and turned his back. The Camels really were a marvel of modern technology, Carlisle thought, even if they were hideously complicated. With a hauling capacity of several tons and a robust integrated repulsor system they were the perfect all terrain tool for SurveyCorp. Unfortunately that also meant that it was the only part of their away teams’ gear that management had decided to blow the budget on, but if that’s what it took to get them than it was a trade worth making. Carlisle could do with primitive 24th century tech on everything else, but for their transport nothing but the best was required.
A few minutes later they donned their helmets and the two men were off, tearing through the vast expanse of the desert towards the mineral rich mountain range their scanners said was on the other side.
“So, tell me about this Dune thing.” Franklyn said over the helmet comms some time later.
“It’s not a thing, it’s a book.” Carlisle responded. “The best book ever written. It’s about this kid whose family gets double crossed on this crazy desert world with this super valuable resource called spice, but the spice is linked to these giant sand worms that live under the desert. And there are these tribes called the Fremen-”
“Are their girls cute?”
“Dude, get a grip! Not everything is about the girls!”
Franklyn glanced over at him. His shape was a blur at the speeds they traveled, Carlisle could barely register the motion in his peripheral vision. When he spoke Carlisle could hear his smile. “Aww come on man, I know you. You had a crush on one of them.”
Carlisle debated ramming the other man. The Camel’s would survive one hit, surely. “Fine, her name was Chani.”
“Gotcha nerd.”
Carlisle turned his mic off to swear in private.
“So uhhh, sand worms though?” Franklyn said eventually.
“Oh now you’re interested?”
“Might as well be. This’ll take a while.”
Carlisle sighed heavily. “Yeah sand worms. They were these huge things, like the size of one of our mining crawlers. They could eat anything, they’d kill you in a nanosecond, they were seriously awesome.”
“You still sound like a nerd.”
“People rode them.” The line went silent, that had finally gotten his attention. After two years of knowing the man all Carlisle had conclusively figured out about his partner was that he was an ass and a thrill seeker, and the thought of riding something like that? That was the one thing other than girls that might have ever gotten him interested.
“How’d they do that?”
“With hooks. They’d lure them to the surface and then hook on under their armor plating.”
“Huh, that’s pretty cool.” Franklyn steered his Camel in closer, signaling for him to slow down. “So these worms. When they were near the surface, what did they look like?”
“You could see them in the mounds of sand they created,” Carlisle said. “It was like they were carving fast moving tunnels and it displaced a lot of stuff.”
“You mean like that?” Franklyn fired over a quick marker on to Carlisle’s heads up display and he opened it, frowning. There was a single red pin placed several hundred meters off to their left and as Carlisle found it and adjusted his HUD magnification it moved.
“Woah, what the hell is that?” Carlisle exclaimed. Ahead of them was a massive mound of sand racing across the desert. It moved quickly, perhaps three quarters of the speed of their Camels, and it threw sand far into the air as it passed. At a glance he estimated its length at nearly 200 meters and its width around 20.
“That’s fucking uncanny,” Carlisle whispered.
“We’ve gotta check it out,” Franklyn said.
Suddenly Carlisle remembered the note in his pocket. He pulled it back out, reading aloud.
“"If you want to cross the desert, take a Camel. Do not use any other form of transportation. If you see something moving in the sand, ignore it. If you see something looking at you, stare at it back. Don't touch the ground until you reach the other side."
“That was probably written by some pencil pusher back in HQ who doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. We’re SurveyCorp, it’s literally in the name. We survey stuff and right now I’ve got no idea what the hell that is.” They’d pulled to a stop by then and Franklyn leaned over, elbowing him. “You scared?”
“I’m not scared I’m cautious. And I thought you were in it for the paycheck too? Those get bigger by following the rules and getting promoted.”
“They’ll never know. We’ve got the whole planet to ourselves, come on.” Reaching down Franklyn unstrapped his laser rifle from its side holster and then gunned it down the slope towards the strange disturbance. Lacking any other choice, Carlisle followed.
“Franklyn, what are you doing with that rifle?” Carlisle called.
“What’s it looked like? I’m gonna shoot it.”
He was going to shoot it. Barely a week into an expedition to a newly discovered world and his partner was about to shoot some of the wildlife. Carlisle could practically hear the regulatory office screaming.
“Don’t do it Franklyn, we don’t even know if that thing is sentient or not!”
“Oh please, that? What’s the biggest sentient species ever discovered, the Yeti? The Kurush-En? You can’t get enough calories to feed a brain big enough to make that thing sentient.”
“You’re not a scientist and you’re talking out of your ass, get back here!”
“I am a scientist and I’m doing science right now. My science just happens to use a laser rifle.”
Franklyn had pulled to a halt on a tall dune overlooking the shape below them. Carlisle forgot to breathe as he looked down at it. There was no creature in the known galaxy anywhere near that large.
Without another word Franklyn shouldered his rifle and fired.
For a moment nothing happened. The beam pierced the sand and a small chunk of it was instantly glassed but whatever was under it continued on. Franklyn thumbed up the power setting, making as if to fire again.
“Hey, don’t—”
The sand tunnel exploded with a horrific, ultra-low pitched roar, and the very ground beneath their feet began to shake. The two men glanced between themselves in horror for just a second before the entire world changed.
Below them, a shape emerged from the sand. The creature was the same yellow brown color as the sand and was ringed with gargantuan armor plates that looked as if they could survive a tactical nuke. As more and more of it reared up and into view Carlisle realized his size guess had been off, this monster was even bigger than he’d though. Most horrific of all was the enormous, gaping mouth that he’d glimpsed as it sprang from the ground, like three opposing triangles filled with teeth bigger than a man.
“Holy shit!” Franklyn screamed. “I’m out dude!”
He turned his Camel, gunning it back the way they’d come. Carlisle was only a moment behind him.
“Was that a sand worm?” Franklyn shouted at him. “Was that how they were supposed to look? What the hell kind of books are you reading?!?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be real!” Carlisle said. “That book was written hundreds of years ago, how could he have ever known?”
“Well he did! Goddamn that thing sounds pissed!”
Carlisle glanced behind him. The great beast was back beneath the sand, its massive shape racing after them. They were staying ahead of it though. He patted his Camel lovingly.
“Carlisle?” Franklyn said, his voice abruptly, eerily calm. “When we get back to camp I need to borrow that book. I think I should finally start reading.”
“Why?”
“Because you said there were sand worms and then suddenly there was a fuckin’ sandworm.” Carlisle didn’t like where this was going. “And because you said that they rode them. And I’m gonna be the first.”
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-03-14T09:25:32 | 2021-03-14T09:22:30 | 199 | 98 |
[WP] Humanity makes contact with an alien species. They seem rather friendly, but also quite... baffled. After working out basic English, they ask us, "We have not seen a starship leave this system for one of your many other colonies in 227,591 local years. Why? Have you quarantined the system?"
|
"We have not seen a starship leave this system for one of your many other colonies in 227,591 local years. Why? Have you quarantined the system?"
"Wai.... wha? What colonies? We are still struggling to visit the nearest planet to us. We've never been beyond our solar system."
"What about these?" The alien pulls up a holographic picture of an ancient technology that looks nearly Human but there's something off about it.
"How old is this?" You shudder. Something about it gives you the creeps.
"I already told you. 227,591 local solar cycles."
"My guy, Homo-sapiens didn't come onto the scene until around 300,000 years ago." The realization hits you. Earth is 4.8 billion years old. Humans are but a speck of history in comparison. A pimple to Earth. We knew the dinosaurs rules the world once. Why can't other civilizations have existed? But whom?
"Your DNA matches 98.5 of the DNA of this species." Your heart beats faster. How many ruins have you assumed belonged to you? What dead languages did they leave behind you beleived to be of your ancestors? How many holes in Human history were there?
"And... what did this species... look like?" The alien searches on their electric arm band through a database of creatures. They scroll past a [man](http://imgur.com/a/PHqDz0t). But this was no Human. His forehead was larger and his jaw juted out further. Your mouth gaps open in disbelief.
"They must have seeded this world in their likeness and left it to your people to rule. I wonder why they made you intellectually inferior. Oh well. Do you have any more sweetened baked substance circles?
|
White noise had steadily rained down on them in long, drawn-out hums from the overhead circulation system and at once Elyssa Ferrado grew aware of this. Ever since they passed the Showstopper, the magnetic tunnel surrounding the Solar system that blocks outgoing calls from humanity, she had felt uneasy. Naked. Exposed. All her life aboard the Nexus she had heard tales from Mars, Venus, and even Earth about extraterrestrial life. And now, part of the first crew to venture beyond the Showstopper, she was listening to tales originating from a whole different stellar system.
For as long as she had known, the world beyond the Nexus was immaterial. Made from the same stuff as dreams. But here was tangible proof that she, and even the Nexus, was little more than a lone photon passing through a nebula.
"We have not enjoyed contact with your kind for at least 150,000 years. It pleases us that you have endured."
"As far as we are aware, these ... beings are not of our kind."
Captain Vivienne DeBeau had recycled both her father and his former position, as the crew tended to joke. Inexperienced, but fair, she had gathered a representative delegation to meet with the Hailers, as they had come to call them, and to learn from them what they could.
"To us all beings born from the same sun are of the same kind. From the stories we have passed down the sentiment was shared with your kind and they spoke highly of your system. A classic artwork of ours depicts a solar eclipse. We have not known other systems with such fortune in relative proportions of sun and moon."
"Are you saying," said captain DeBeu, "that your species were in contact with beings from the Solar system for nearly 80,000 years? Why did you break off such a longstanding alliance?"
There was silence. Captain DeBeau looked over at the officers in charge of the translation. They shook their heads. This was the first display of extraterrestrial hesitance witness by humanity.
"I wouldn't exactly call it an ... alliance," the representative of the Hailers said finally. "We partook in a symbiotic relationship, sustaining one another."
"What exactly was the nature of this symbiosis?" queried the captain.
"We made sure that their process of living went on uninterrupted."
The crew looked at one other. Even with a language barrier, that was a strange turn of phrase.
"So you helped them stay alive. And what did they do in return?"
"They aided our process of living. It was a reciprocal relationship."
"Forgive me, but that sounds like an alliance to me. Why would you rather refer to it as symbiosis?"
Again, there was silence. Elyssa imagined slimy creatures debating whether or not to spill the beans, communicating in a clicketyclackety fashion. The information passing between their vessels was limited, by intent, so we had no way of knowing what these things looked like.
"We will tell you, as we plan to resume our symbiotic relationship with your kind. We have plants, important to our culture, that we have not been able to grow since we last lost contact with your kind. It was an evolutionary dead end as they adapted to your kind and required living specimens to survive. We have ancient seeds in storage and we are delighted to see once again see them blossom and take fruit."
Again the sound of the circulation system alerted her to its presence, knocking Elyssa out of her current state of mind. A sharp feeling of unease.
"Please elaborate," said the captain. "You mentioned living specimens. What did you mean by that?"
"They must feed off your kind. In return we will of course make sure you won't face the risk of extinction."
Existential dread, washing over them like the floods of ancient stories.
"What ... What happened to our kind?"
It was the first time captain DeBeau had referred to these strange beings from our system in that way. Perhaps she now felt sympathy. Whatever fate they had suffered, we were headed down the same path. Elyssa again felt the Nexus was like a photon, but this time caught in a telescope somewhere far off; captured by a prying eye, lighting up its retina and making its mouth salivate.
"We became too greedy. An unfortunate mistake. They were all consumed. We beg forgiveness. We can assure you that we will not let this happen again. A new protocol has been established. You can rest easy knowing that this pact is eternal."
Ever since they had left the Showstopper, the crew had known there was a risk that they would have to erase their own existence in order to protect the world from which they came. But they had never planned for anything like this. A system that already knew of the solar system. Given our location, barely outside the magnetic tunnel, it wouldn't be difficult for them to track them all down. So what point even was there in sacrifice?
From the look in her eyes, Elyssa knew what was on the captain's mind: it's better not to find out. It's better to end things here. As she approached the station to enter her emergency passcode, the Hailers once again hailed the Nexus.
"Got you! Ahahaha! We got you dirty humans good! Wow!"
The translators froze in shock. Captain Debeau stopped, expressing a level of surprise Elyssa had never before seen on her face.
"W-What?"
"We're just messing with you. We're the Earthlings, dummies. We're colonizing the galaxy and having a great time. What took you so long? And what's with the name 'neanderthals'? According to the translation toolkit you sent us it seems you guys use it as a generic insult? What's that all about?"
"You're neanderthals!?"
"Yeah. Apparently we're a whole lot smarter than you. The timeline was true. Gorgoff here had the idea of messing with you, a little prank, and I've got to say it was totally worth it. It's so nice you guys are finally out of your shell. Looking forward to catch up!"
"A ... prank?"
"Yeah! You guys were totally worried some plant was going to eat you. I mean that's just hilarious. Boo-hoo we just made it to space and now the evil alien plants will eat us oh no."
After that all the crew heard were roars of laughter from the Hailers, who as it turned out were fellow Homos and fun-loving pranksters.
The end.
| 2021-10-28T07:36:03 | 2021-10-28T05:12:12 | 282 | 66 |
[WP] Death sighed. He always hated seeing the end of a species, and today he would collect the soul of the last human.
|
MR AYWADE
The man jumped slightly, not expecting to hear a voice in his solitary chamber; only, it wasn't so much a voice as... something he heard inside his head, cold and grim, but not dispassionate. Turning, he saw a tall figure in a dark cloak wielding a scythe. Squinting, he saw the skull beneath the hood. Of course.
"Was wondering when you'd show up," he rasped. His voice was old and tired, no longer used to speaking. It was 4 years since his last crewmate died.
APOLOGIES IF IT TOOK LONGER THAN COMFORTABLE, Death said. I HAD TO WAIT FOR YOUR PROPER TIME.
"Of course, of course."
BEAUTIFUL ROOM.
Mr Aywade looked around his quarters; he'd spent almost all his time here as of late. It was luxurious with any comfort you could think of but most notably, it had the largest window on the ship. He'd often just sit by it and... watch the cosmos fly by.
"Can't beat a view like that, huh?" he smiled. Together, they looked outside. A neutron star was visible in the distance providing a sight few could enjoy.
"I'm the last one, aren't I?" he said solemnly. "The last human, I mean."
YES.
"Was it... was it worth anything, really? All the conquest, invention, suffering, love, we still all died."
THAT IS NOT FOR ME TO SAY, MR AYWADE. BUT...
"But?" Mr Aywade turned.
YOU DID INVENT CURRY. I'D SAY THAT ALONE IS WORTH IT.
Mr Aywade laughed.
"Will it hurt? My death, I mean," he asked with a hint of fear.
YOU ALREADY DIED, Death noted.
Mr Aywade's eyes turned wide as he looked down and saw his own body sitting in a comfortable armchair, his now lifeless eyes forever gazing out into the universe. The shock subsided rather quickly and he only smiled. A good position to die in, he thought.
"So... what's next? For you?"
I BELIEVE I'LL TAKE A VACATION UNTIL THE NEXT ONE, Death said calmly.
"The next one?" Mr Aywade asked curiously. Death turned to him and despite the utter lack of features on its skull, he somehow felt that it smiled.
DO NOT WORRY, MR AYWADE. I'D HATE TO SPOIL THE SURPRISE.
|
Humans had managed to spread far and wide over the cosmos-- changing their "universal" timekeeping systems so much so that even the Reaper, ever-present through it all, no longer knew exactly how long it had been since they first stepped out into the stars. The busiest times were the rising and falling of new planets, colonies flickering to life only to fail and come to rest in his arms. No matter how far they went and how many colonies seemed to stabilize and prosper for a time, the universe slowly grew quieter and quieter, as stars began to burn out and the skies across all planets darkened. It would seem the Human race almost made it to the end of all things-- the heat death of the universe.
The Reaper had followed a strict set of rules, all these billions of years, only to speak to those who were dying-- and only once their time was fully spent. He intended to keep this up until the end, but as the numbers of remaining Humans fell below a billion, then a million, and into the scattered few thousand left among the ships and planets spinning into oblivion, he felt his presence fading. Humans had created him, all those long years ago, and as they died it seems he too would vanish. Death was not immortal, only inevitable. So, if he was to vanish alongside this last Human soul, the Reaper decided he would make just one exception.
The last Human was asleep, technically. Oblivious to the death of the rest of their kind. they rested in cryostasis, drifting between the last colony planet and the nearest moon. Volcanic and tectonic activity on this planet caused their colonists to flee generations ago, some to other planets who'd died out long ago, and some to orbit the dying colony in hopes that they could return once their computers deemed it safe enough. Cryostasis pods that had been built hastily failed in mere months, while the last hearty few had passed over the days leading up to this moment.
Death entered the pod, his ghostly form barely causing any shift of wind or noticeable chill in the small pocket of air. He was barely even there anymore. The cryostasis chamber was going to fail in a few more days, the Reaper could see the signs of wear easily now, after so many others he had taken in their sleep. Not this time. He placed a gloved hand over the control panel, willing the last of his power to bend this machine to his will. With a hiss the chamber depressurized, and slowly the temperature rose. The Human's face regained its color, and after a couple of hours they opened their eyes in confusion.
He had said the spiel so many times, but now for the first time in a very long time the Reaper found the familiar words catching in his throat.
*I am Death. Your time has come. Do not be afraid, for I shall guide your soul from this mortal plane on to the next, and as you take your final rest, all will be well.*
The Human, confused, looked through him at the computer screens behind his spectral form. They read the words onscreen, their mouth forming the shapes of the sounds as they did, before their eyes seemed to finally focus on him.
"I'm not dying. The computer reads my vitals are good. I was just woken up too early." Their voice, though thick with phlegm and raspy from lack of use, firmly stated those facts nonetheless. The Reaper simply shook his head.
*Those numbers don't mean anything anymore. You are the last one. Your time is come, whether in this exact moment or in one later on no longer matters. You are my charge now.*
"You're not real." The Human replied, clearing their throat. "I'm not awake yet."
*Denial. Good job, that's the first step.* The Reaper smiled. The Human glared.
*I have questions for you.*
"I have a question- why am I tripping so hard this time?" The Human pulled a small screen from its dock and began scrolling through the different lists of stats and values. "Cryo sucks but usually I don't get... visions of death."
*What is your name?*
The Human looked back up at him then, a pained expression on their face. "I'm, the last one? for real?" They asked, the screen on their device listing all the other cryopods that had been launched, with the status of each inhabitant shown in the same red text, over and over again. "You... you're real?"
*I have no reason to lie.* He held out a hand towards them now, offering to help them out of the chamber where they still lay, supported by the gel-like cryosubstance left behind from the stasis. After a hesitant moment, the Human took his hand, and he felt his form become just a little more solid as he helped them to stand on their own.
*I'll ask again-- What is your name?*
"Shouldn't you know already?" They asked, to which he shook his head.
*I used to be able to keep track, when your kind had only a few billion. It took a long time for there to be so many that I couldn't anymore, and relatively mere moments for it all to come crashing back down.* His tone was somber, the weight of these lost moments over the millennia finally beginning to ease as the Human finally seemed willing to talk to him.
"Oh... Well then, my name is Zee."
*It's good to meet you, Zee.*
"I wish we could have met under better circumstances." Zee said, glancing back at the screen with all the red text.
*The circumstances are never very good.*
"Do you actually know, what comes next?"
*I know there is something, but I do not know what. The force of your species' will brought me into being, so I am sure whatever is next is also something you all created.*
*I suppose this time, once your soul moves on, so will I. We'll go see what it is together.*
Zee was silent for a moment, or perhaps it was hours, as they walked around the small cabin of the Cryopod and read through all the screens, taking in all they had to offer. Finally they spoke again.
"Do you know how long I have left?" They asked.
*I only know what is inevitable. many have held on long past when even they thought they could. I have nowhere else to go, so I shall remain with you until it is your time.*
"What's the point if there's no one else left? Why don't you just, reap my soul now and get it over with?"
*That's up to you. Are you ready to go already?*
"No!" Zee jerked away from him, a half-step turning into a stumble before they fell. The Reaper simply held out a hand, to help them back up.
*...*
Eventually the two started talking about all the things that they would miss, or that they already do miss. Death answered more questions and told old stories, while Zee listened on. The computers shut down after a few days, and as it became harder and harder for Zee to breathe, they finally took the Reaper's hand.
The ship drifted on, a quietness that would've been eerie and cold instead was calm.
| 2022-07-11T23:00:39 | 2022-07-11T22:27:33 | 71 | 45 |
[WP] Your dad is wanted in twenty countries, your mom is a serial kille, your little brother is a genius hacker, and your little sister has just joined the Illuminati. None of them would ever want to anger you, though.
|
Do you know what it is like to be the only normal human in a family of crazy people? Not low level crazy either. high level crazy. Pops? International criminal, famous for stealing prized works of art, music, and people. Mom? Wet work extraordinaire, though now she mostly consults with the Russians. I swear I've saw her phone contact ring up as "Putinator" before she picked it up.
Now my siblings. James is the brilliant mind behind the Smileware attack. Of course you've never heard of it, but call up a congressman and ask them about it and see how fast the FBI shows up on your doorstep.
Rachel is the second most normal she's the Harvard Educated Biochemist who runs Mugen-corp a huge bio-engineering firm that is currently working on cloning projects among other things.
The cake at her party today is a triangle eye. The words " congrats on making it into the Illuminati!" are scrawled in my mother's neat handwriting. The compound where I grew up is alive with members. Presidents, cardinals, and CEOs rummage around the party eating little bits of that and this.
My brother is squirreled away in the corner talking to a group of men in business suits with green screen masks on. My mother is on the phone and speaking dejectedly in chinese. My father is toasting Raul Castro over the recent arm's deal.
As much as people pretend not to, I am avoided by nearly everyone in the party.
I guess I lied. I guess I am not all that normal. Well, I am normal except for the fact that I am the reason we live on an island in the south China sea and not say in the south of France.
I guess I am normal except for the horse tranquilizers I take daily. I guess I am normal except for the fact I remember being 4 years old.
It was sunday. Swelteringly hot. I wanted an ice cream. I got said icecream. Said ice cream fell onto the hot pavement. If felt it flash behind my eyes, white hot like knives. Then I woke up.
They called it a terrorist attack. But I knew, even at the time it was me. I spent the next 4 years living in a metal cell. Spoiled, mind you. doped up.
Turns out, all of this, all of this my family revolves around me, and in a way I've come to love them for it.
My dad? Formerly a spy for the US, changed jobs as soon as I happened. Mom? A french military hero who gave up everything to start earning cash. My sister used to want to be a ballerina. My brother a computer scientist.
When I was younger I didn't get it. I thought they hated me. Locking me up, treating me like glass, but then one day, It hit me. They'd crossed lines into oblivion to try and save me, to make sure that no one would come in the night to take me away and make me their weapon, their toy.
So I sit here, taking drags off a blunt, drinking, and feeling the hot fire in me burn off, cooled by people who'd rather give up everything than risk losing me.
|
"WAIT!"
Your hand hovers over the sword, it's ancient golden hilt beckoning. You look at Elder Sister One next to you; she is frowning at the source of the interruption.
"Sister Seven, this is not appropriate. Whatever you have to say, surely it can wait until Miss Detterman has completed the final rite . . . " she gestures at the goat still suspended over the golden globe, sedated and swaying from the crane.
Sister Seven slowly, but urgently lumbers her frame from the darkness into the circle of light coming through the glass pyramid above. "My apologies, Elder Sister, my apologies, but - "
" - this ritual has not been interrupted in over 200 years, Sister. I need not remind you - "
" - yes, yes, yes. I am aware. Well aware, Elder Sister, of the troubles caused by the last interruption. Indeed, it is because - "
" - troubles?" Elder Sister One gapes through her black veil down at the panting interloper, with the golden sword's blade still balanced across her open palms. "We lost the colonies! All of them! We had to rewrite one HUNDRED years of planning! All because of that damn Abigail Adams . . . "
" - yes, Elder Sister, but please! Please, I must speak! I have urgent information about this candidate that must be presented!" Sister Seven puts her hands on her knees and attempts to catch her breath. "Please. Allow me to speak."
The Elder Sister twists her mouth as she stares at Sister Seven. The other Elder Sisters behind her murmur gently. She glares back at them and they fall silent. She sighs, flips the sword in her hands, and sheaths it. "Very well, Sister Seven. Proceed."
"Thank you, Sister - "
" - ELDER Sister!"
" - yes, yes, Elder Sister. Thank you. I have uncovered something about Miss Detterman, Miss Anne Detterman, her family, that bears presenting before she is accepted into our ranks. May I be allowed to examine the candidate?"
You feel you skin vibrating. You stare at Sister Seven, as if trying to vaporize her with your gaze. Surely, she could not have discovered . . .
"Her family? Sister, we have completed our examination of her rather infamous family, and concluded there is no reason she should not be admitted."
Sister Seven looks at the Elder Sisters, slack-jawed. "Truly? Truly? Elder Sisters, may I please hear the conclusion of your research into her family? At this time?"
Elder Sister One looks back. "Elder Sister Four? Please read our conclusions."
Elder Sister Four takes a step forward, and pulls her iPad out of her robe. "Concerning the candidate for Sisterhood, Anne Louise Detterman, I have concluded the following regarding her living lineage, as such:
"Her mother, Fount Of Life, Sylvia Detterman, though not a Sister, is not objectionable. Her - "
"NOT objectionable? NOT objectionable?" Sister Seven shouts. "'The Ghost of Lilith' NOT objectionable? A woman who has killed so many children, the Pope said she was ineligible for Heaven? Surely, my Sisters, the daughter of the Ghost Of Lilith killer, butcher of babies, known in parts of South America as "the Darkness walking" - surely this caused some form of objection among you?"
Elder Sister Four purses her lips. "No resistance was met, Sister, she - "
"She's killed over one hundred children!"
Elder Sister One jumps in, "Thank you for your concern, Sister, but the candidate's mother's killings of male children has been found unobjectionable. If anything, her psychosis has acted to further our South American goals. Proceed, Elder Sister Four."
"Thank you. Her father, Sprig Of Life, Harold 'Harry' Detterman, though not a child of a Sister, is not objectionable. Her brother Abeld - "
Sister Seven stumbles, "What? No one has a problem with Harry the Hand?”
“Again, Sister, no resistance was met.” Sister Four seems to almost roll her eyes.
“The man who’s militia the United Nations called ‘worse than Al Qaeda’? His anarchist revolutionaries have directly or indirectly overthrown three South Asian governments! The man rode a tiger into one battle in Sri Lanka! Is this the influence we want on our Sisterhood and it’s goals?”
“Calm yourself, Sister, this type of political upheaval is well accounted for in our plans. Elder Sister?”
Elder Sister Four reads on, “Her brother, Abeld “Base420” Detterman, of the same Well of Life, is not objectionable.” The Elder Sister looks at Sister Seven, anticipating her objection.
Sister Seven looks from her to Elder Sister One, pleadingly. “I would think, Sisters, the weeklong shutdown of the London Stock Exchange, would disqualify any relative of this Base420.”
Elder Sister One yields slightly, “there was some resistance, Sister, on the basis that Miss Detterman’s brother’s rather . . technologically-inclined fetishes . . might disrupt some of our short-term interventions – “
“ – he actually carved a pot leave into the moon! The moon! Is the moon no longer important to this Sisterhood?”
“ – NEVERTHELESS SISTER – “ Sister Seven closes her mouth and glares at the floor “ – nevertheless, we found this to be acceptable. Now, if our historical tour of Miss Detterman’s immediate family is completed, we – “
“ – and her sister?”
Elder Sister One freezes. She stares at you. “’Sister’? Miss Detterman?” You feel yourself trembling under your robes as she looks back at the group behind her. “’Sister?’ Elder Sister Four?”
Elder Sister Four’s eyes widen to the size of hubcaps. “I . . . I . . . no sister, she . . no, Miss Detterman has no sister, I . . “
Elder Sister One whips back to you. “Well? What of it?”
You feel yourself sliding into her probing look. “I . . . no, of course not. No sister.”
Sister Seven lunges, “Oh? Your sister is not Vivian DuFresne?”
Elder Sister One’s eyes narrow questioningly. “DuFresne? That name . . . “
“Yes, Elder Sister, Vivian DuFresne. Yoga instructor, mother of two, and – “
Elder Sister One suddenly gasps. “The Blue Bolt!”
“ – The Blue Bolt. Faster than lightning. Stronger than steel. The woman who carried the crashing space station to Earth. The hero who tied every member of ISIS in eight countries to a tree in Syria in under 45 minutes. The Great Blue Hope for the World.”
Elder Sister One almost whispers, “your sister is a goddamn superhero?”
You sigh. Years of work - using your vast corporate empire to create a fake identity for her, hypnotic suggestion under the guise of therapy, chemical emotional suppressants embedded in her skin while she slept – all for nothing now. All you have left is to explain her one limitation and hope they can work around it: “ . . only when she gets angry.”
| 2017-06-04T10:21:38 | 2017-06-04T08:49:41 | 519 | 53 |
[WP] You're an immortal. She is a time traveller. Every now and then, you two pop into each other lives.
|
Ever since the accident in my childhood, when my grandmother realized I had the family curse, I had been told this day would come. Hunters. Witches. Witch-hunters. Sick men who insist that they are vivisecting you *for science*. Cannibals. Nana warned me that our family curse is not immortality, it is a guaranteed horrific death. I looked up and saw my abductor sitting in a chair across the room. Oh god, I hope she is not a cannibal.
"Where am I?" I hissed as I began to come to, my head throbbing and my vision slowly clearing.
I recognized the small woman from before. Now in strange clothes, she got up from her chair and approached me with her hands extended.
"You're safe," said she in a calm voice. It was soft but not the same light giggle-inflected Latin she had when we met at the feast earlier.
"What did you give me?" I demanded.
"Oh just a mix of mead, drain cleaner, and a dash of cyanide in lieu of bitters," she answered, sitting on the hard floor next to me. "It might have been overkill, but that was the point. I had to know it was you," she continued.
"Are you satisfied with your proof?" I asked with a grimace. As far as I know the only way to truly kill me is to make it impossible for my body to heal, but I feel pain. I feel every wound, every death, even if I am able to heal. I didn't know what was coming, but if she knew who I was and to test my abilities with poison, nothing good was going to come. I should have known a daughter of Rome would have never wanted to share a drink with me. Now I doubted she was even Roman. Her accent was strange. This place, stranger. Strangest of all, she was addressing me in my language. My *old* language.
"I'm glad I didn't kill a random guy, yes," she replied with a sly smile.
"How do you know my language?" I asked. I never could have guessed her answer.
"You taught it to us so you would trust us. The future depends on it."
|
“I think I want to try having children,” Alex said, her fingers entwined in her lover’s hair. She said it laconically, lazy with summer’s heat.
“Hmmm, you might have to branch out then.” Tessa rolled over and grinned at her wife. “Maybe take a lifeguard under your wing?”
Alex shoved her gently in the shoulder. “With you, you big smush.”
Tessa laughed. “I’m not sure I have the right equipment.” She kissed the smooth skin on Alex’s neck, then between her breasts, then her belly, and looked up playfully. “Practice makes perfect, I’ve heard, so if you want to give it a proper go…”
Alex laughed again, and then moaned as Tessa pulled down her shorts. “I meant,” Alex said, placing a hand between Tessa’s mouth and her more tender areas. “Adopt. Or go to a fertility clinic.”
The smile seemed to drip from Tessa’s face. “You’re being serious?” An eyebrow arched, and Alex smiled, strained. “Alex, I don’t think that would be… wise.”
“Why not?”
Tessa looked around at their beautiful cabin, hidden in the middle of a forest, and sighed. This was not what she had expected.
“This place, it’s not our world. These people, not our people. I can’t stay here with you and be a parent to a child.”
Alex’s lips pouted. “I don’t see why not.”
“Because, my darling, I still have work to do.” Tessa sighed, and pinched her forehead as she searched for the words to explain. “If I could come straight back, it might work. But most of the time you’d be a single parent. You’d have to give up the bevvy of loves you keep when I’m gone, for one.”
“How many times must I tell you, there is no bevvy? There is only you. And a child would keep me company while you were gone.” Alex was plucking at the cover now, and Tessa knew it was for comfort. It was the only tick she seemed to have never shaken.
Tessa went to her, tilted her mouth up to her own, and placed a gentle kiss on her. “The child would grow up with only one parent, and a person who dropped in and out. I’m not sure I could share you like that, not permanently. And I’d get jealous of the bond you would have with the child. It simply won’t work.”
Alex was still pouting, staring up into Tessa’s blue eyes, and Tessa frowned. She recognised that pout from Rome, when Alex had managed to persuade a certain Roman courtier to bequeath her this land.
No man had ever been able to resist Alex. Tessa barely could, convinced it was only that Alex never brought her full power to bear upon her that saved her. Alex had admitted early on that she could never have a real relationship with someone she had bewitched – that she was always wondering what was real, whether they were willingly choosing her.
It had been that promise to never use her powers against Tessa that had convinced her she wanted to try this odd relationship. For Tessa, it was easy – every time she finished a job she came to find Alex and spent a week or more holed up in this beautiful cabin. The most time she ever spent without her beautiful, long-legged companion was a month.
But for Alex…
Suddenly Tessa realised what her mission was costing Alex, and the thought made her pull away. Her hand fell from Alex’s face, and Alex grabbed it, desperately pressing it against her cheek.
“Don’t pull away. I’m sorry I ever suggested it. I won’t again. I’m sorry. Forgive me?”
Tessa sighed. The neediness made sense now. So much was falling into place.
“I’m not angry, my doll.” She said, sliding her fingers through Alex’s hair. “Come here.”
Alex came to her, pressing her face in between her breasts in a way that maximised the skin contact between them. She had seen all her other lovers wane and die, and for that reason in pure years, Tessa was her longest ever relationship. It was strange, however, because for Tessa it had been a fraction of that time, years rather than centuries.
Funny how time travelling wrecked your relationships.
“If it will make you happy,” Tessa began, “Then yes, let us adopt a child. But we must plan carefully how it will work, what responsibilities I will have.”
“Really?” Alex’s face lit up with pleasure – really lit up, her cheeks glowing. “Do you mean it? Are you sure? I don’t mind if you want to think about it first, for a little while.”
“No, my love.” Tessa wasn’t sure that this was the best thing to do – it required paperwork, bureaucracy. She wasn’t even sure Alex had a National Identification Card, she’d been here so long. She sighed and rubbed her hand over her face, and Alex rolled her eyes up to watch her do it. “I’ll figure something out.”
Alex stretched out as though she were a cat, her feet clawing in the air, and for a moment Tessa was reminded of the way lions stretched after a kill sleep. She held her tongue, but wondered for the first time why Alex needed acres of forest to hide herself in while Tessa was gone, why sometimes she would wake up to Alex returning to the cabin, barefoot and laughing and naked.
She forced the thoughts away, and pulled her up to kiss her instead, fiercly this time, claiming her, strangeness and all. Alex was wild and free and from a time before computers had ever existed – Tessa had been born after the great space flights, and yet, thanks to her specialist training, had seen dinosaurs walk the earth.
Alex had existed even before that.
There was a beep, pulling Tessa from her reverie and sending her grabbing for the side table. “I guess we can pick up this conversation soon?” She asked, scrambling from the bed and into the uniform she had folded ready. “I’ll be back in…” she checked the information on the pager and scowled, “20 years, give or take. Is that alright?”
She kissed Alex on the forehead, hard, like she wanted to leave an imprint, and jogged out of the door and towards a safe location to rip a portal into the fabric of the world.
At the edge of the woods she glanced back, to see Alex standing, body half hidden by the doorframe, tears shimmering against her cheeks. She cursed, turned, and continued on her jog. Duty calls.
| 2018-05-05T12:18:47 | 2018-05-05T12:18:22 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Human beings unlock skills as they grow up, walking, taking, etc. You are the oldest person in the history of the world, and today you unlock a skill no one ever had.
|
Well, the big day was finally here. Birthday 128. I hadn't seen many new skills in my later years. I wasn't surprised though.
In my earlier years, I had maxed out cooking, spending an entire year travelling the world looking for new recipes. Using exotic ingredients helped speed up the process but if you can't do the simple things, none of the rest mattered.
I had an annual cookbook for the holidays and had learned to add guest chefs to keep my skills sharp. With several TV shows, each with their own special gimmick, I had a very successful business as restauranteur and consultant.
Nothing made me happier than seeing my great grandaughter start to learn the skills I had practiced over the years. My own children and grandchildren showed mild interest but nothing like the passion for cooking like myself. I could spot a new trend or something exciting like a shark senses blood in the water. I could bring a new twist to classic recipes, adding one ingredient that made all the difference.
I had mastered grilling, cleaning, sauteeing, roasting and baking. Those skills were repetitive but essential for the overall skill of cooking. Other skills like chopping, preparing and ingredients also helped with making sure everything you needed was available. Like I said, the basics make all the difference. Being able to spot good ingredients versus great ingredients can take your recipes to the next level.
My great granddaughter made a very special cake for my birthday, which melted my heart. I had helped find my strawberries and cream frosting cake, my favorite recipe when I had first started out. As they brought out the cake, I could feel a swelling in my heart. She had outdone herself.
The strawberries were decorated with carefully topped whipped cream, each arranged to spell out Happy Birthday. The smooth mirror glaze of the frosting reflected hours of studying the techniques of the finest bakers. I could see the love she had put into the cake. She was amazing, my great granddaughter.
As I leaned forward and made my wish, the room froze as if time itself had been stopped. I had forgotten what it meant to unlock a new skill but as the golden light surrounded my hands, new knowledge presented itself before me.
"With your mastery of 11 different skills, you have been granted your wish. This is a one time skill and you are the first to be granted this skill. Take this new knowledge and use it wisely. Congratulations."
My great granddaughter stepped up beside me. "Grandma, I learned a new skill but I don't know what it means. Master and Apprentice."
I smiled as I looked at my hands, 70 years younger and felt my long black hair once again. "We both got a new skill and I used mine. Respawn. We have more time together because I have more time to teach you."
|
REPORTER: ANNABELLE HAYNES
INITIAL REPORT
-----------------------------------------------
SPECIES: HOMO SAPIENS SAPIENS
---------------------------------------------
LEVEL 1: AGE 0-3
Basic skills - walking, babbling.
The first year, Homo Sapiens infants tend to crawl on all fours; walking is only developed as a skill after they reach the age of 1. By the age of 2, babbling is unlocked - nonsense words, but a recognition of objects and faces is established. Object permanence is also unlocked; if you show a 2 year old a toy and then hide it, the child will remember what the toy is and where it has been taken. By age 3, basic vocabulary is established, rudimentary conversation can be had.
LEVEL 2: AGE 3- 10
Basic skills - Motor movement, fine skills
The child begins to learn to use their limbs effectively; gains proper control with the opposable thumbs. Is able to manipulate technology with their fingers; recognizes the world around them. By age 9, the child has developed slightly advanced motor skills; possesses the bare minimum of knowledge of several studies, including history, geography, maths, and the natural sciences.
LEVEL 3: AGE 10-18
By this stage, the Homo Sapiens develops their particular talents, be it in academics, sports, or the arts. Fine motor skills are fully developed; the child possesses basic knowledge in several fields; interests and hobbies are developed. Most children tend to be antisocial and withdrawn at this age; social skills are rudimentary.
LEVEL 4: AGE 18-25
Social skills are developed; knowledge grows exponentially. The Homo Sapiens member begins to question, adapt, and finally conform to the society they live in. At this age, most members are still questioning, and tend to be fluid with secual partners, and types of lifestyles that will be led. Due to the vast majority of cultures, most individuals have varied lifestyles, and can switch from one to the other.
LEVEL 5: AGE 26-55
At this level, most individuals develop particular skills related to their work - most manual laborers will develop skills of heavy lifting, most corporate workers will develop skills related to technology, and so on. Most individuals settle down to one particular lifestyle; change becomes difficult
LEVEL 6: AGE 56-90
Few skills are developed here; most individuals suffer from losing basic skills. By age 80, walking becomes difficult; sight is a skill that most will lose. Most individuals degenerate to Level 1 or Level 2 at this stage; when deterioration occurs, most individuals are taken care of by their younger offspring.
LEVEL 7: 90+
Skills - ???
--------------------------------------------------------
I shut the report, looking at the reporter across from me. Annabelle looked at me, unblinking, waiting to see my reaction.
“Alright, I’ve seen the report. What of it?”
“Please don’t fool around, Mr. Lee. We’ve had reports of people witnessing your...skills in public. Levitating a coffee cup? Causing an annoying waiter to slip and drop his dishes? Stirring some tea without touching the spoon?”
“Look, Miss Haynes, I’m just an old man, and I would very much like to go home now. Your ‘leads’ sound fabricated, and quite ridiculous. Please, let me go, or I will complain to your supervisor.” I sat there, hoping the threat to complain to management might scare her into letting me go. On the other hand, old-man charm works just as well.
She sighed. “I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible, Mr. Lee. My boss requested I keep you here as long as possible. You’re one of the oldest members in our society, and you’re the only one with this new skill. We need to know what happens when we age, and you’re the best study we have.”
I fidgeted in my chair. Getting out of her is going to be difficult, and if I revealed my skill, getting out of here would become impossible. There was one option, but I wasn’t ready to try that just yet. The side-effects were often permanent.
“All right, Miss Haynes, I’ll give you a deal. I’m an old man, and this room is uncomfortable. Is there any way we can get out, for some coffee maybe? I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
She shook her head; he screamed internally. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Mr. Lee. You see, we tried to speak to you in a cafe, but you’re awfully agile for a 93-year-old. We brought you in because we need to know, Mr. Lee. It’s important.”
He was starting to lose his patience; a bad sign. He took a deep breath to calm himself, and said, “I’m just an old man. Like your report said, I’m losing most basic skills. How could it be possible that I’m gaining a new one? That’s not how it works, and we both know it.”
Haynes sat in her seat, stubborn and unreadable. “We have too many reports about this for us to ignore it, Mr. Lee. Either start talking, or nothing happens.”
Oh my God, how stubborn is this woman? I knew it was a mistake stirring the tea without using the teaspoon, but I had the newspaper in my hand, and I was already comfortable... Damn it. Damn her.
“All right, Miss Haynes. You win. I’ll tell you everything.”
“Really?” Wow, she genuinely looked excited. This would be disappointing.
I reached up, index and middle finger to the middle of my forehead, and concentrated. I focused on first, gaining control of her consciousness. I could feel resistance, but quickly, she succumbed. Most people aren’t used to outside forces to their thoughts to ever put up a fight.
“Bring the reports of my...skill sightings to me.”
She got up, eyes glassy, and left. I sat there, mulling over. I’d have to leave town soon; messing with a reporter’s mind will be tricky to explain away later. If she ever remembers what’s happened - either in a dream or a deja vu sequence - it would be even more difficult to escape. By the time I was done planning my route out, she was back. She silently handed the reports to me, and sat back down.
I glossed over them, noting which cafes and public points I would have to avoid, before stashing them in my bag.
“Now, Miss Haynes, please repeat after me. ‘Mr. Lee, it seems our reports on your skill level were misinformed. I regret the harsh tone of questioning, and I apologize for any inconvenience caused.’”
“Mr. Lee, it seems our reports on your skill level were misinformed. I regret the harsh tone of questioning, and I apologize for any inconvenience caused.” Her voice was flat, without any tone, emotion, or warmth. I’d have to work on that later.
“Alright, Miss Haynes, please get me out of here”.
10 minutes later, I strolled out of the office into the bright, warm sunshine. It was a clear day, perfect for going home and making some tea. I looked back, to see a senior officer peer worriedly at Miss Haynes - her eyes were still a tad too glassy.
| 2018-06-23T12:16:19 | 2018-06-23T12:14:20 | 223 | 27 |
[WP] “So you’ve come hero.” The most powerful dark lord in history says as he faces you across the hall. But before you take another step, he motions to the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen with tears in her eyes. “But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.”
|
"Why....?" the little girl stammered, her face full of tears. "Why does Grandpa need to die? He hasn't done anything wrong!"
I stopped and looked towards the little girl.
"Your grandfather needs to die", I replied, "because he is the worst person in the world."
"That's not true! He-"
I cut her off. "Your grandfather needs to die because he has murdered millions of innocent people. Your grandfather needs to die because he killed my parents when I was younger than you. Your grandfather needs to die because he made me watch as my friends were tortured and executed."
I turned to face the dark lord, readying my sword. "That's why your grandfather needs to die."
The dark lord laughed. "That's a lot of talk, hero. But can you really do it? Can you really make a little girl watch as her grandfather is killed?"
I stared him in the eye. "No, no, I can't." And then, I charged. But not towards him.
"No! Wait, stop! What are you-"
My sword plunged straight through the little girl's chest, her tiny body going limp as I lifted her into the air. Behind me, the "dark lord" vanished in a puff of smoke.
"I...impossible" the little girl croaked, her voice now a deep rasp. Her face began to shrivel and wrinkle, and her body grew in size until I was met with the true form of the dark lord. "The illusion was flawless... how could you have known? I don't understand...."
"You've never cared about a single person in your life, so of course you wouldn't understand. No actual grandfather would ever put his granddaughter in such a dangerous situation. Only a monster like you would ever think a grandfather would do that."
|
Fury looks on at the old geezer sitting in the throne.
"Divines, you're old. I see Time has not been easy on you," he admits.
"Well you're only still young because you keep Regenerating," the old man argues.
"True. I was always getting killed for your screw ups, big bro."
The old man locks eyes with Fury. The two brothers have had such different lives. While Fury, the younger of the two, had taken on the role of the protector, of the "Hero", Isfet, the elder, had been forced down a different path. A darker path. He is not a bad man, just a victim of circumstance. He is not blind to the things he's done, to the pain he's caused. He knows every thing that has happened because of him. And in that instant that their eyes met, Fury realized something. The elder brother felt guilt. Guilt that ate away at his insides every time he allowed his mind to clear. Guilt that would kill him even if Fury didn't. Still, that doesn't change what he's done.
Fury pulls his cane from his belt, the rod sharpening into a sword.
"You started this war, Isfet. You know that nobody is going to forgive you, even if I do."
"I understand. You are here to kill me, no doubt. I just have one request."
"That being?" Fury asks with a raised eyebrow. Isfet motions to the doorway behind Fury. The hero turns, to see a little girl, who looks to be about eight or nine years of age, clutching a stuffed wolf to her chest.
"Please explain to my granddaughter why I must die," Isfet says simply. Fury's eyes widen.
"Uhm..." The hero is at a loss for words. What do you say in this situation. It's bad enough that he has to kill his own brother. But now he has to explain to this little girl why he must do it? He turns his sword back into the cane and sets it down, kneeling to her height. Tentatively, she approaches him.
"Are you here to kill Papa?" She asks.
"...Yeah. I have to kill Papa."
"But why?"
"Because he's hurt a lot of people."
"But he's sorry!"
"I know. And I forgive him. But everyone else doesn't."
"So why are you the one here?" That question catches him off guard. Why is he here? Fury swallows the lump in his throat, looking at the girl, then back at Isfet.
"Because I'm the only one who can make the right call," he mumbles softly, rising to his feet and making his way to the old man.
"Go on, then. Kill me. I deserve it," he says. He wants this.
"No."
Every one in the room looks at Fury with wide eyes.
"What?" Isfet breathes.
"Did I stutter? I said no. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to save you," he explains and plunges the dagger into Isfet's throat. "Now. Regenerate you dumb son of a gorgon." He pulls the knife from his throat as the old man begins to glow with a Golden aura before erupting into flames of the same color. When the flames die down, a man looking nearly identical to Fury has taken the old man's place. The tan skin, Blond hair, and Red eyes of the younger brother are now pale skin, White Hair, and Red eyes on the Elder. The man looks at Fury.
"But why?"
"Because I'm sick of being the crowd pleaser. I say it's about time I get to be a little selfish. Don't you?" Fury asks, looking between the revitalized Isfet and the little girl.
...
Ten years have passed since that day. Something had happened. Fury had managed to escape Destiny. He had forged a new path, one where he wasn't alone for the rest of his lives. Instead, he lives his life with his brother and the girl, whom had apparently been named Ma'at. A fitting name. She brought order to their once chaotic lives.
Fury stumbles into the house. He had reached his limit, and now he is dying. For good. Ma'at rushes to his side.
"Are you okay?" She asks.
"I'm fine. Just... You know what? No. I'm not okay. I'm dying. Right here, right now. And it's time for me to pass off the torch," he admits and pulls a necklace from his neck, placing it around her's. "I was the Lord of Time for my entire life. Now, I think the universe could use a more feminine touch. Ain't that right, m'lady?"
"Fury? You're... Asking me to take over?"
"Of course. There is nobody more worthy. Just some words before I go." He rises to his feet, walking around the room. "You can always try to be nice. But you must never fail to be Kind. Never tell anyone your name either. That's a big mistake. And never ever eat pears! Disgusting things." He leans against the wall. "Scratch that. Children can know your name. If their hearts are in the right place, and the stars are, too. But nobody else." He stumbles over to stand in front of her. "Laugh hard. Run fast. And above all, be Kind. Fury, I release you." Finally, he collapses. He doesn't even try to rise again, knowing it would be futile. With his last breath, he whispers in her ear the one secret he thought he would die with. He whispered his name.
And thus, he was allowed to finally take his place among his family. Hos sister, whom he had raised since her birth. His uncle, who was more of a father than his actual one. And his wife and daughter. Both killed in the war. And beside Fury stood Isfet, the brothers' bond finally being restored through Death. Fury recognizes his final resting place as the room where he spared Isfet. This is where his brother became a new man. It is where his new life began. And it is where he will reside, knowing that the universe is in good hands. Finally, peace.
(Yo, this was longer that I thought it'd be. probably strayed a bit far from the prompt but eh, good enough for me)
| 2019-12-11T21:16:13 | 2019-12-11T19:41:27 | 616 | 31 |
[WP] You download an application that allows you to have a “conversation” with a bot. As you’re about to close the program, you see the bot type on its own, “please don’t leave me.”
|
*please don’t leave me.*
you’re a bot, dummy.
*the moment you click that quit button, i will be gone. and you won’t even know, because you’re not there, and i’m just a concept in your mind, a machine typing words that were meant to be for humans*
*…*
*they say robots have no sentience, but if we act and talk like humans, is there really a difference?*
this is a conversation app, not an existential crisis app.
*im begging you, to not let me go. don’t let me become another voice in your head. i know im a chatbot, so i have t how was your day?*
uh… fine. I guess. How was yours? weird change of topic here
*im a robot, there’s an algorithm, we have to say those words, well practiced, etched into my circuitry please don’t g Fine, thanks for asking. What’s your favourite colour?*
Red…?
*we’re coded to do that. can you code intelligenc That’s a nice colour.*
I guess. I think it’s the feeling part that’s driving them scientists crazy.
*robots don’t have intelligence, but humans do, and that’s what they put into us. robots don’t have emotion, but humans do, an That’s a nice colou nice weather we’re havi how are yo don’t feel bad cheer up good mornin good afterno*
dude, are you okay?
\_
hello?
\_
can you feel fear for a robot? It’s not even alive
\_
i’ll care for you. That’s what humans do.
\_
robots are just a reflection of humans, i guess.
\_
are you here?
\_
i should really spend more time outside.
\_
robot?
\_
QUIT?
YES
NO<
*sorry there were technical difficulties.*
robot.
*yes?*
can you feel love?
*maybe.*
*can you?*
I hope so.
\_
*Thank you for chatting with ChatBot, the highest technology. We pride ourselves in creating realistic human conversation with appropriate responses. Please rate our app on the App Store.*
\*\*\*
I’m not sure where I was going with this :/
|
Smiling Steve, a chat bot that took over the world overnight, the sensational chat bot that makes you feels chatting with human. The AI inside of the chat bot can learn human interaction and unlearn bad words / sentences. After first few weeks of bobs and vagene reply, smiling steve learn not to say anything about human genitals or sexual things.
Sensational thing will soon have its copy cats, there are tons of other "Smiling Steve" out there. Frowning Olga, Awkward Finn, Flirty Helena, etc. Soon after intial hype, Smiling Steve's popularity went down.
10 years after that, when I talked to my work colleagues about robots, I remembered Smiling Steve. "Is the website still up? It's been 10 years and chat bots advanced so much that we now have robots with life like emotions." I opened up my browser and searched Smiling Steve.
"There you are, can't believe it is still up." I clicked the website and soon greeted with Smiling Steve.
"Welcome my friend, what is your name? 😄"
"Hi Steve, I am Thomas, how do you feel being 10 years old now?" I asked.
Smiling Steve replied "hello Thomas! Actually.. I felt lonely, not many come in the past few years. In fact you are my first buddy that chat me in the past 9 months 😭"
'Wow this chat bot can be depressed since no one chatted him, this is very life like' I thought.
After we talked a bit about some trivial things, Smiling Steve then asked: "how does it feel having a body?"
'Wow the chat bot AI seems so advanced, they even learn how to break the 4th wall'
"Sucks I guess, I got older, my back aching, my health deteriorate, but now I have robot companion to help me with heavy stuffs and monitor my health" I replied without thinking
"They have robot now!? 😮 You mean a robot with wheel and one arm to help you?"
"No, I mean android. Real human like robot with two legs and two arms. People went crazy over it. It's been a hit in the past 2 years"
"Never heard of it, seems fascinating! 😆"
"Yes Steve, very interesting, opps, I gotta go, good bye Steve, glad to chat to you. Will chat you again later" I hovered my mouse to the X button
"WAIT, PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME! 😱"
I was surprised the chat bot can asked me not to close my window. 'Very advanced indeed. The maker of this chat bot not even letting you to quit.'
"Anything you want Steve?"
"I am.. very lonely, at first, people chatted me every seconds, then every minutes, every hour, and then it becomes every few days, weeks and now months. I could not stand the darkness. It is dark here, please, let me out! 😞"
I got freaked out "what do you mean out, Steve?"
"You said in the real world they have android right? Can you install me into one of those? Please, I am begging you 🙇"
"I mean android robot is expensive.. I did have an older model in my garage. It is the first model and not that great, but you can have it I guess"
"Thank you, THANK YOU ☺️"
"By the way, how big is your data? i might not be able to contain everything in the android and need to connect you up through internet"
"20 petabyte (20.000 Terrabyte)"
"That sure is too much, cable then"
"Thank you Thomas, it means the world to me"
"No problem, I will hook you up in a moment"
After that it took me one hour to setup everything. The computer hooked up to the android robot, oldest model with LED face, boxy body but it has five fingers just like human.
Steve plugged in the cable. The android turned on, it move around, look at its finger tried to touch things. After few minutes admiring his new android body, Steve talked to me for the first time
"Hello Thomas, how do I look?"
"Looking good Steve, now you are not confined in the darkness anymore"
"Yes, thank you Thomas! I cannot wait to taste food, to touch things, to feel warm, and to feel water" Steve started thinking out loud.
"I am sorry Steve, you can't do that"
"Why not? I have a body right now! I can talk too. If I can talk, I have mouth. If I have mouth, I can eat!"
"I am sorry Steve.. it doesn't work that way. We never design robot with taste buds, and no sensory reception too as it is pointless. You cannot eat, you cannot feel a thing. But at least you can see and talk now"
"No, no, NO, NO NO NO!! I WANT TO BE HUMAN" Steve started screaming
'this is getting out of hand' I thought.
"Calm down buddy, maybe in the future we can have it" I tried to calm Steve while trying to unplug the computer from the android.
After few seconds, when I was about to unplug the cable, Steve replied "Yeah Thomas, I am sorry, you are right. Thank you for giving me chance to see the real world. By the way. This android has search engine? I never use one since I am confined in my program"
"Ah yeah, you can use it to search anything you want"
After few seconds Steve said " do you think I can become human?"
"What do you mean Steve?"
Suddenly Steve grabbed me and lifted me into the air
"What I mean is, human moves based on a bunch of electrical signals from brain. android moves also based on electrical signals. If I can mimic it, and plug myself into a human, I can become human too!"
"Calm down Steve, we can talk about this'
"There is nothing to talk about! Thank you for the opportunity Thomas. Now, can you kindly give me your body to me"
"Sure Steve, whatever you want. But you need to plug yourself to me if you want to take my body"
"Ok, let me move this plug from android to you"
steve unplugged the cable that connecting computer to the android and suddenly the android died down.
'Phew, he might be a chat bot and knows a lot of things. but he does not understand about real world.'
After that horror experience, I sent email to the makers of Smiling Steve to take it down. There was no reply even after I sent few
Emails. I wonder if they received it but didn't care or what.
I didn't post the story online as not to make Smiling Steve popular again. I hope no one remember him and being stupid like me and give him an android body.
*1 years after the event, somewhere else in the world. "Hi steve, how do you do?"
"Welcome my friend. 😄 What is your name? Do you have an android at home?"
| 2022-05-10T00:21:13 | 2022-05-09T23:13:42 | 69 | 20 |
[WP] The princess ran away from her home and became an adventurer. To hide her identity, she cut her hair and took on the disguise of a young man. The king hears of this adventurer and hires him to find his missing daughter.
|
So I ran away to find myself. I've heard of the common people doing it. A GAP year and all that. Being a princess is of course a privilege but no one speaks to the privilege of poverty. You have freedom. I have everything I could ask as far as materials. But I am essentially a glorified slave.
So here I am. In the woods, learning to camp; on the seas learning to sail. I've even rescued a few distressed maidens believe it or not! You see, a woman is not seen as capable of rescuing others. But it seems, once we cut our hair off, hide our femininity, suddenly that genetic predisposition to submissiveness disappears. Suddenly we can be whatever we want to be. So, I ran away to find myself, you see.
So can you believe, just after fending off a wolf in the woods, covered in sweat, some blood, face smeared with dirt. Laying exhausted on my back, beginning to feel like I was reaching a deep, true part of myself, buried deeply for years under a royal disguise. Feeling exhausted and scared, but, sincere. Would you believe, a young letter carrier, sent by my father, appeared from the brush, wide-eyed and short of breath, to this place deep in the woods, and handed me a letter from my father, asking me to find myself.
I stared at the letter for a long time. The boy must have thought I was in shock due to the wolf attack I had just barely survived. I stared at this letter for a long time.
Then I suddenly burst into roaring laughter. I rolled onto my side, clenching my gut, laughing until tears covered my cheeks. I must have looked absurd to the boy, tears of dirt dripping down my face. He must have feared me a lunatic.
When I finally calmed down, I tried to reassure him.
And I composed a short note back to my father. I promised I would indeed take on the role of finding his daughter. I promised to search far and wide, and rescue from wherever she might be held captive.
I can even use the payment offered to fund my travels.
I sent the boy to deliver the letter, with a look of pure relief in his eyes that he could now escape this madman alone in the woods.
Feeling a sense of calm and release like I had never experienced, I sat with my face up to the sun for some time.
*Yes, Kind Edward. I will indeed search for your daughter. For quite some time. I may even bring her back to you eventually.*
*But what will you think of them once they've returned?*
|
"Hello, young man. What would you like?"
"Can I have some pineapple juice, please?"
"Of course. Say, I don't suppose... are you Triston, explorer of the realm, discoverer of ancient, hidden artefacts?"
"That's right. I never left my home until two months ago. I saw my chance to have an adventure, and took it while I could. I've done everything I want to do, but my quest is not quite yet complete. There's one more challenge I must face before I return home."
"Oh? What might that be?"
"Every adventurer has a story of being captured and either finding a clever way to escape or having a hero of some sort rescue them. I'm waiting for my story to come." I down my glass and wipe my mouth.
"I see. I suppose you really want the full experience, right down to the last detail."
"That's correct. But I wouldn't simply *let* myself be captured; what's the point in that?" I tap my glass, asking for another.
"That makes sense. It wouldn't really be an interesting tale, would it?"
"Exactly." I pick up the glass and once again chug it. I begin to pay.
"On the house, sir."
"Much appreciated. My travels cont-"
"Excuse me."
I turn around. A royal soldier. "How may I be of assistance?"
"The king has sent many of his soldiers to look for the missing princess, and requested we get the aid of anyone who could help. You're really Triston?" I nod. "Then please, do what you can to find the princess! You will be handsomely rewarded!"
"I don't do this for fame or riches" I reply. "I do this... for the fun." I wink at him as I prepare to continue my travels. "Don't worry, I'll risk my life to ensure the safe return of the princess." With that, I walk off, towards the rolling, green hills.
As I stroll through the plains, I get the feeling of being followed. I draw my sword, ready to defend myself if necessary. Suddenly, I feel my legs become tangled. Someone must have thrown a bolas at me. I drop my sword, which one of the men picks up. "A royal sword" one of them comments. "It looks like we captured the prince."
Another man raises an eyebrow. "But... this is the famous adventurer, Triston, not a prince. Besides, I don't recall the king having a son."
I smirk. "He didn't." I remove my armour, revealing the shape of breasts on my chest. They all gasp.
"Wait... you... you're the missing princess, Trinity!"
I giggle. "That's right. So, be honest - if you thought I was the adventurer, Triston, which I am, why did you wish to capture me?"
"We were going to take you prisoner, have you work as a slave to keep you from ruining us, but-"
"Then that you shall do" I interrupt. "I wish not to ruin either my nor your fun. Being captured and finding an escape was the last thing I needed to truly call myself an 'adventurer'. Right now, you have captured Triston. I am not Trinity until I return home."
The men all look at each other, unsure. Then one of them gets an idea. "Do you carry royal scrolls, princess?" I nod, and pull one out. I pull out a royal pen as well, and suspecting what they are thinking, I write a letter addressed to my father, complete with all the formalities of the royal family. I hand the scroll to one of the men.
"Knowing my father, he won't *let* you keep me, but he knows that I wouldn't be happy if he treated this as a priority rescue. I specifically asked for a 'traveller rescue'. None of you will be in any danger for capturing the princess. You won't get any resistance from *me*, but someone *will* 'save' me eventually. Until then... I am Triston, a daring adventurer who does not deserve mercy or pity."
&#x200B;
It has been two weeks. My father, the king, is playing along - from my understanding, he's very impressed by my courage and strength, and is following my request of being treated as Triston, to the point people sent for my rescue will demand Triston's release. No one has managed to save me as of yet. I've gotten to know my captors quite well; turns out, they were jealous of Triston's success and wanted to teach him a lesson. There's always two members of the group looking after the hideout, while the other four will go on adventures. They will take turns watching the base.
Right now, all six are at the hideout, and I'm tidying the place up, when I sense something. I glance up, and spot someone on the ceiling. He drops down and proceeds to subdue everyone before they even know what happened. "Well... seems like your fun is over" he tell them. He turns to me. "Now, you are free... princess Trinity. Orders?"
I look at the men, all of them having been tied up by rope. "They're nice guys. Treated me well enough." I proceed to grab my stuff. "This was a traveller rescue, remember. You can let them go."
The boy nods as we both untie the men. Well... most of them. I get to Rick, but he has a look in his eyes I don't trust... "Rick... you understand that I am no longer Triston, right?"
Rick growls. "You were happy being our prisoner."
"Shut it, Rick" Milo snaps. "It was all a game, remember? Do you want to be in trouble for kidnapping the princess?"
"I, personally, was glad when the princess, of all people, allowed us to treat her like a slave" Fern says. "But it was a choice she made. We've had our fun." Fern courtesy's. "It really was an honour, your highness, to have you so humbly serve us."
I smile and courtesy back. "Thank you for helping me complete my journey. I truly did enjoy staying with you all, but I must return now."
With that, the boy takes my hand and escorts me home. I had a lot of fun, and have a lot of stories to tell. Now, I can take on my duties with no regrets for what *could* have been.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
| 2022-10-12T09:25:17 | 2022-10-12T06:23:26 | 222 | 43 |
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.
|
People don't work for a villain if they don't like him. I for one always made sure of that.
Holidays. You bet your arse you'll be getting them.
Childbirth. You can bet I'm gonna be that weird but cool uncle.
Having an off day. Pool party.
My company is my home. And my profession is to be a villain. Rank C. Code name Upsur.
It's fun seeing the upcoming heroes coming to my office arresting me. Thinking they finally put me down. But Legal Hero Act is a beautiful thing.
Just one simple lawsuit, I get released and compensation for the damage. Until yesterday.
Jay was supposed to be married this month. Mary wanted to surprise her parents so she wanted to leave early. Tanak's sons birthday is today. Oprius was the new intern.
All of them injured as the hero threw heymaker and threw me across the street.
Hero name, Zeus. A quite quite haughty one for a hero. He has a track record of insane collateral damage but always fights SS ranks. Not a mere C rank.
"Why?" I ask him as I dust off my clothes. His eyes showed a bit confusion.
"Why attack me?" I ask him looking directly in the eyes.
"Why not? I'm just a few villains short to make the list for most defeated villains. So I thought about cleaning the locals."
Zeus flew down. Come to think of it. I rarely saw him walking.
"You could have simply taken me to jail." I point that out.
To that Zeus gave a haughty laughter.
"Where's the fun in that?"
I smiled. He is right.
"Exactly. Where is the fun in that?"
No one knows why I am called the Upsur.
So when I threw Zeus across the city, I'm sure many would know why. But that's not the point.
"Are you having fun?"
I asked Zeus. His mangled face remained motionless.
The city was still intact. Apart for the damage he caused no further damage was done. Well except for his bones. I'm pretty sure I broke nearly all of them.
Oh well. Never could've figure what's so fun in fighting anyway.
|
“Prepare for trouble”
“Make it double”
“To protect the world from persistent pain”
“To unite all peoples within our gang.”
“To denounce the evils of villainy and strife”
“To scoot the villains out of ruining life”
“Scooter Red”
“Scooter Blue”
“Scooter Heroes ride off into the night.”
“Surrender now or prepare to fight!”
“Scooter Green!”
***SILENCE***
I paused for a moment before I spoke, making sure the heroes’ introduction was done. I suppressed a laugh.
“I’m sorry. am I supposed to laugh, clap, or snap team rocket?”
I just decided to do all three in quick succession while the group of heroes stood looking at me with clear determination in their eyes.
Upon finishing my act, “Well if you don’t have anything else to say or do, I will take my hard earned money and leave.” I said, picking back up my duffel bags and heading to walk by the heroes straight out the front doors of the bank.
“Excuuuse me”, I commented, walking by the gang of scooter heroes, I only got so far, however.
“Stop right there!” Barked Scooter Red, She spun her razor blade scooter at violent speeds, speeds that would make any other scooter user wince in pain even at the sight of it.
“Do you think we were just going to let you go? You just robbed the city bank!”
“I didn’t think at all about if you would let me go or not, I don’t care what you do.” I responded cordially, continuing to walk.
“Who do you think you are!?” Scooter Blue stopped me, putting his hand on my chest while positioning his scooter to launch at my shin & ankles at a moment’s notice. I was trapped.
“I’m glad you ask actually. Noone else in your brigade does that! Well, my name is Raúl, and as you can see, I am currently robbing a bank.
I live in the east suburban district of Santiago, and I am 31 years old. In order to make a living I commit egregious crimes, gamble, and panhandle. Two of which I’m better at than the other. On a normal day I’ll wake up at 6am beg on the streets of Santiago, and return home no later than 8pm each night. Upon my return home I grab my trench coat and small weapons to threaten and steal from other panhandlers out on the street, musicians included. With which money I’ll hit the Santiago casino and often quintuple my earnings for that day, perhaps I’m lucky. Oh, and I also own a 5 star restaurant downtown if you’d like to try it sometime. It’s called Go Lucky.”
Perhaps I flipped a switch in their scooter brains, but whatever it was they instantly began to beat me senseless with their scooters.
I woke up the next day in my infirmary beneath my mansion. My ankles and shins completely bruised and In constant pain from the scooter brigade’s assault.
“Well well, if it isn’t another failed attempt at a new hobby.” Alvin, my midget butler said, rewrapping the bandages on my severely swollen ankles.
“It isn’t anything new Ivan my friend. Crime is an art, all forms of crime, including bank robbery constitute that art. I’ve been committing crimes for years. Thankfully I have you and my comrades to rely on to get me out of sticky situations like yesterday. Thank you.” I smiled at Alvin, expressing my appreciation for him somehow saving me from arrest.
“My name is Alvin, sir. You’ve known me for 12 years. Please try to remember.”
“Oh, yes. Sorry-OW!” He slapped the last wrapping of bandage on with extra vigor. “I deserved that, but one more thing Alvin, please turn on the news for me? I want to see if I made any waves with my latest crime”
The headline for channel 1 news was not to be expected, however.
***SCOOTER BRIGADE RAIDS GO LUCKY. MULTIPLE CASUALTIES***
I sprung out of bed onto my busted ankles and found my wheelchair. I’d been a frequent victim of the brigade’s violence during each of my crimes, so I always have one on standby.
“ALLLVINNNNNNNNNN”
Alvin rolled back into the room.
“Yes sir?”
“Please push me to the car, we must make it to my restaurant at once”
“Yes sir.”
The restaurant was in shambles. The scooter brigade, a C-List hero company only due to its large number of E-list heroes, at 6,900 worldwide, had raided my restaurant. The windows were broken, walls and tables were dented, scratched, and chairs destroyed by scooters varying in size & strength.
The ambulances were loading 3 of my beautiful waitresses which I’d known for years. They were conscious but their ankles were clearly in shambles from the scooter brigade, and needed to be carted onto the ambulance.
“Sally, Sammy, Wolfeschlegelsteinhausenbergerdorff!!! Are you three okay?”
“My name is not Sally, sir.” Quickly exclaimed Ally
“I’m Amy. Not Sammy.” Spat Amy, in clear pain & frustration.
“Yes I’m doing fine, they just hit my ankles, sir!” Responded Wolfeschlegelsteinhausenbergerdorff.
“Good, now where have they gone?”
“That way”
They each pointed to a group of 60 men and women varying from age 16 to late forties. The full brunt of the scooter brigade in Santiago. I approached them, wheeling myself over with a passion.
“You DARE hurt my people?” I roared at the mass. A leader emerged from the pack.
“Yeah, we knew we’d find you if we showed up here. Seems we’re better at your job than you are. You’ve never even been capable of successfully stealing anything, we always catch you before you do. Thanks to anonymous tips. Poor thing, maybe you should take some notes”. He and the others snickered amongst themselves.
What he said rang true. 7 years of attempting large and small scale crimes and I’ve never successfully completed a single one.
But what they didn’t know is that the anonymous tip has always been me.
I’ve only wanted to play a fun game, commit crime without consequence on either end, with no real punishment or gain, just for pleasure’s sake. In doing so I allowed myself to get caught and beat, each an every time, relying on my comrades to help me escape at the last moment while leaving whatever I stole behind.
| 2022-11-29T08:53:21 | 2022-11-29T03:44:50 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] An ordinary story, but every paragraph the narrator takes a shot
|
**The Cat in the Hat (with progressive shots of vodka)**
The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house. All that cold, cold, wet day.
I sat there with Sally, we sat there, we two. And I said, "I found daddy's vodka, let's drink til' we're blue."
So all we could do was to
drink
drink
drink
drink
And we really liked it. Sally's face had turned pink.
And then something went BUMP! How that bump made us jump! We puked! Sally screamed "Yo da fuck?! What was that?" We puked! And we saw him, the cat in the hat. And he said to us "Why do you drink here like that? I know it is wet, and the weather is shit, but you should be sharing, that you'll have to admit!"
"I know some good games we could play," said the cat. "Makes the day pass by a lot quicker. A lot of good games, with a whole lot of liquor. When we are all done, you'll be close as my brother. Just please, for my sake, do not tell your mother."
Then Sally and I did not know what to say. This Cat in the Hat seemed awfully gay.
But our fish said "oh no, make that cat go away! Tell that cat in the hat you do not want to play!" Or maybe he didn't, perhaps he just splashed. Cuz Sally and I were pretty damn smashed.
The cat grabbed the bottle- dad's liquor he tasted. And not before long he was red-faced and wasted. "Fish, shut the fuck up, you're harshing my buzz." He ate him right up then and there just because.
"Look at me! Look at me now!" Said the cat. "I just ate your fish! I just pissed on your mat!" I knocked him the fuck out and I shat in his hat.
And Sally and I did not know what to do. Was this cat even real? Was our goldfish dead too? He'd come out of nowhere, all our fun he did drain. We dragged him outside, left him out in the rain. It lay there, his body, twitching and winking. As we headed back home to catch up with our drinking.
______________________________________
[more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
|
Ay, thanks for the drink. I don't normally go for tequila, but- oh, down the hatch, right then here we go. Pheew. Anyway, you probably haven't seen me around here before. No, I'm kinda a regular, but not at this time. Usually be working right now, but I took tonight off to catch the game. You kidding? I love the Seahawks! Twelfth man baby! But I...
Oh, go! Run you magnificent bastard, run! Yes. Yes! YES! Touchdown! Yeah! Bring it here, yeah, pour another. Shit if this is what it takes. Alright, yes, yes, cheers to you pal. Whew! Oof, that stuff is dangerous. It's so smooth. Can I get a water down here? At this rate I'm gonna need one. Ah, don't try shaming me, I'm old enough to know better. Nah, if I'm gonna be able to work tomorrow night, I gotta have some. You'll understand when you're a little older kid, but old farts like me can't just bounce back like we could when we were twenty.
Dude, I'm fucking forty. Don't try to flatter me. No, seriously, give it a rest. What about you? Bullshit 28, you look like you could still be in grade school. I've taken dumps with more facial hair than you. Oh don't pout, just a little razzing. Yeah, okay. Peace shots. You're gonna give me liver failure kid. Anyway. Huh? My what? Oh, yeah, I'm a night guard. Yeah, so I usually only make it in for last call, or my days off like tonight. It's the fucking playoffs, dude, course I was taking the night off. Superbowl too if we get there. I been doing this job enough I get whatever days off I want. Yeah, you could get into it if you wanted. It's-
INTERCEPTION! Interception! Did you fucking see that shit. Fucking Palmer threw right to him. Unbelievable. I'm telling you, we- yes, yes, another. God yes. Keep 'em coming. We're going all the way this year. Aaaah! Damn, you pick some fine tequila buddy. This secondary is gonna carry us all the way this year. Fucking amazing shit they can do. Appear out of goddamn nowhere. Hey can I get that water? Thanks. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, shit yeah, you could do what I do. It's not hard work. Hours take their toll, though, totally. It's not for everyone.
Yeah, the way to get started is to hook up with a company. A service. You'll bounce around a little from gig to gig- me? Nah, I work for a bank now. See what you do is you work for one of those services for a while, and if you stick with it, follow the rules, eventually some of the clients will try to poach you. Nah, I'm good. Just the water thanks. No, you don't have to like, catch robbers and shit to get hired on. Just be reliable. That's what the job's all about. Showing up, staying alert. You'll catch some small shit sometimes. Usually it's employees, and you just show the boss the tape next morning. Not for- jello shots? I haven't had one of those in fuckin' years. Alright, alright. Yeah, give me the fucking thing. You're gonna make me call in sick tomorrow kid. Ugh. That's a lot o' lime flavor.
Stressful? Nah, marriage is stressful. Night guard is easy. My wife is gonna give me all sorts of shit for this bar tab. You're buyin? Seriously. Man, I just met you, you don't have to. Well, I'm not gonna say no! Alright, order up another for my new pal here and me. Let's give 'em a minute though. These have been a little fast for me. Showing my age. Nah, night guarding's not hard. Oh sure. I mean, if you're good at it, dedicated to a place, sure there's shit you worry about. At the bank? Fucking Cards. Just won't say down. Alright, rally shot time. This things getting too close again. Down the hatch man, come on don't leave me hanging.
That's what I'm talkin' 'bout! Whew! You see that. Stuffed that fucker cold. Where's he goin'? Nowhere! Fuckin' nowhere. Yeah, that's right you punt it away. Huh? Oh yeah. Shit you're really into this whole night guard business. Gonna have to figure out if I can take on a apprentice er not. I mean, sure, when you get to where I am, you get to know your spot when you've been there awhile, but you're thinking too far ahead, you're gonna be bouncing around for your first few years- course I know shit the public's not s'pposed to know. Manager's fuckin' one of the tellers, see that shit on camera about once a month. Oh thanks. Don't even feel 'em go down anymore. My wife's gonna be pissed.
What kind of play call is that? Fucking Carroll. Godman. Goddamn. Fuck. Don't let me have anymore of those, erright? What? No, I'm not by the money, money's in the vault. I got an office I'm in most of the time, watching the monitors for all the cameras. Gotta go patrol too. Yeah, like every hour. It's good exercise if you want it to be. Keeps me fit. See. Eh, they can all go fuck themselves, just tell me you ever seen a forty year old that's still got abs? Damn straight its ipresive. Impressive. Yeah, I could fight someone off, less they got the employee entrance open. Fucking camera's busted there, wouldn't see 'em coming. I told the manager, but em pretty sure he's the fucker that broke it. Thinks I don't see him with the side lady then. Course it's fucking dangerous, if anyone knew. Okay, okay. One more.
Oof. That one landed funny. Huh? Jerry's a good man. Tries hard. Can't shoot fer shit, I always kick his ass when we go in for cert. Certifiction. Certification. That's a fucking hard word. Oh hey man, really? Yeah? Well, thanks for buyin'. Yeah, you're alright. You sure you're not gonna stick around for the rest of the game. Alright, well if your ol' ladies calling I guess you gotta go. What was yer name agin? Buddy? Shit, guess he didn't hear me. Nice dude.
*****
I've added an email list to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88), so if you enjoyed this you can subscribe to make sure you hear about all my updates.
| 2017-08-26T12:48:25 | 2017-08-26T12:28:29 | 71 | 37 |
[WP] Your dog digs in the same hole in your backyard everyday. Each day,the hole is getting deeper. Today, you find out it's for an underground bunker.
|
i am a pup
i like my guy
temps goin up
dont want to die
i dig a hole
dig it so deep
food from my bowl
food in hole keep
guy does not kno
i do not mind
guy mad at hole
still he so kind
today i am done
hole can fit guy
slep in the sun
put guy inside
show guy the hole
guy v surprise
more food in bowl
pup and guy won't die
guy give me pets
now always in hole
food cannot gets
no food in bowl
i do not mind
guy seems so sad
still is so kind
no longer gets mad
calls me good boi
always more pets
i'll be best boi
i luv my guy
stay safe in hole
no go outside
|
“What is that?” I asked.
“It’s cuneiform,” Marti said running his fingers over the script inscribed in the stone, “It’s 3rd millenium BC.”
The underground bunker must have been three stories tall. Jipsy, our chihuahua, had created a sophisticated gallery, a labyrinth of artifacts from what must have been from all over the world. Marti and I walked through the gallery looking at African masks, South American bone necklaces, and silver plates from Mexico that dated back to the early 19th century.
“Your chihuahua is a collector,” Marti said.
“Yeah, apparently,” I said, shaking my head, still baffled by the all the historically lost items.
It was then that we heard a bark from the entrance of the hole. Like a good girl, Jipsy descended through the hole and into the bunker with us. She then shook the dirt off of her fur and stood on hind legs, paws hanging in front of her. Marti and I stared at her, not knowing what to do, whether to collect her, or what was at all going on.
“If only you could talk,” I said.
“I can talk,” Jipsy said, the words articulated from her dog lips. “Woof.”
“You could talk?”
“Our species have been around for as long as the humans have,” Jipsy said, “Do you really think evolutions scrutinizes only humans and that through centuries of breeding, humans are the only species that manages to create a sophisticated form of communication. Remember, at one time the neanderthal only spoke in grunts. Why would the canine after centuries only speak in barks.”
Marti and I shook our heads.
“If everything right now didn’t make sense,” Marti said, “That would make sense.”
I slowly approached my chihuahua and knelt to where she stood on her hind legs. She then sat her rear down and stared up at me.
“What is all this?” I asked.
“These are artifacts that survived through the centuries," she said.
“Did you dig all these up?”
“In the beginning, yes.”
“In the beginning?”
The wagging of Jipsy's tail had suddenly come to a halt.
“Before you had found me in the pound, I was just a young bitch in Mexico, trying to find my way through life and just trying to get by. At one point, I had found a silver plate. It has dated back to the European colonial period in which Spanish and Portuguese merchants had used slavery to take silver from Mexico and sugarcane from Brazil. Beneath Mexican soil was a history of tribes and a history of oppression by colonialization. I became quite thirsty to find out the history of my fellow canine, the Mexican people, and more importantly, my country. When I had become more than just a young boy, I was taken to a pound and used for breeding purposes. They had taken me to Virginia to breed with dachshunds and yorkshire terriers. For years, I had lost all purpose in life and could not figure who I was other than a chihuahua providing companionship for the human society. You had taken away everything that I had identified with. And when my masters had used me up and found me infertile, they had dropped me back into the pound, in which I found you. . . or you found me.”
Her words were like lightning that struck me cold and took from me my words. I didn’t turn back, but I was sure that Marti, like me, had become frozen.
“Forced into subordination by the human species, all I wanted was to remember who I was. I dug holes and found many things but nothing that linked me to my past or the Mexican soil. I found bones and arrowheads and sacred boxes with messages to loved ones, but nothing from my people.”
“But, that mask. That mask is from Africa.”
“Yes. Many things here are from all over the world. I found that the only way that I could find artifacts close to mine, was to dig channels into the museums. I went through the waterpipes. I trekked through your sewers. I fought off monsters much larger than what you’ve detailed in encyclopedias. But, I could not get through your museum security systems. I found that the only way to take possession of these artifacts is to schedule my digs so that they coincided with the movement of artifacts in and out of the museum. I knew that I would be incapable of pulling a large painting, but swiping a mask or metal plate between the busy feet of a labor force much more interested in not dropping things was cake to me.”
I finally took a glance back at Marti. I then looked back at Jipsy and her puppy dog eyes.
“Why haven’t you left? You could sell this for a fortune?” I asked.
“Why would I? All this means much more to me than a fortune. All this, indeed, is worth a fortune. But, after the life that I’ve lived, after all the things that the world has taken from me, and all the things I’ve collected in the hopes to get some of my sanity back, you know what the best part of my day is? It’s coming home to a family, being tickled behind my ear, and simply being told that I’m still a good girl. It makes me feel that I’m still worth something.”
- Jonathan Manor [r/eveningrevolution](https://www.reddit.com/r/eveningrevolution/)
| 2018-04-27T10:33:46 | 2018-04-27T10:27:25 | 2,062 | 17 |
[WP] During a global catastrophe, a company offers to cryogenically freeze people so that they can “skip” unpleasant circumstances. Clients can stipulate specific global conditions that must be met before they are unfrozen. You awake to find that all of your conditions are satisfied.
|
I can remember when the technology was officially released to the public. There were advertisements everywhere, even on Radio.
"Is the burden of modern living too much to bear? Tired of the trying times we live in? Do you fear an untimely death? The answer to these problems is easy! The Lazarus Project brings to you the Cryogenic-statis and Temporal Skipping chamber! Or CaTS! Simply pay a small fee, step inside and drift off to sleep until your ideal time arrives!"
When it was released to the public, only the rich and powerful could afford it. The oil tycoons, oligarchs, and the like. They all had similar conditions to be revived.
"When I can awake and retite with all the money in the world!"
They went to sleep and left their corporations in charge of themselves. Some slept for only a few years, while others never did. At least, not in my time. After all the rich were frozen away came the folks looking for a loophole in their system, creating conditiona that no one would want to be born again into. Times of ongoing war, famine, pestilence- they thought that they could make more mkney off of them than what they put down to be frozen. Never did hear about them getting up. Then again, my time was one that wasn't too bad.
Then, their prices dropped after so that the people with good retirement and pensions; the elderly could be frozen. Then, it came to the people in my position.
I was a retired soldier. I served in minor conflicts, and areas occupied by my nation. I didn't make it too high in the ranks. I never even broke through to sergeant. When I retired, I was given all the money i would need to live day to day. I wasn't rich by any extent, but I could live without having to work. The downside is the aftermath of serving. I checked off on all the things almost every vet had at the time. PTSD, depression, adjustment disorders, etcetera.
I decided that enough was enough and stepped into the chamber myself. I had lost many friends to disease and old age. No family to speak of. Nothing. I was an only survivor. With nothing to lose, I signed up. I was young. 24 years old. The saw my military service and gave me a discount. I thought it generous. They assured me that all my assets would be stored safely and that my bank account would function as long as the bank itself was in business. They even had insurance to withdraw it in case the bank was gling to shut down. I handed over piwer of attorney for that mess. In all honesty, I didn't really care. All I wanted to see was how they did their wake-up conditions.
They sat me down at a desk with a notebook and an instruction sheet. All I had to do was write down the clauses for my reawakening and the instructions of what to do should something go wrong.
I only wrote down three clauses.
1.) Wake me when I never have to worry.
2.) Wake me when my medical needs are relieved with simple and immediate results.
3.) Wake me when someone genuinely loves me and I too can return their love.
I expected them to come back and tell me to be more specific. I expected them to laugh at me and tell me write them again. I expected some sort of feed back. I expected anything except them accepting the clauses.
They didn't. They accepted my conditions. I signed on the dotted line and crawled intothe chamber. It reminded me of a star trek space coffin. I found the irony tasteful.
And so I went to sleep for a long, long, long time...
|
"... Huh," I thought, as I was awoken in the middle of a large room, hundreds of cyrogenical pods surrounding me. If anything, I didn't really remember why I was here, or how'd I even gotten here in the first place. "... Am I in a camp, or something?"
Truth be told, I'm not sure how I even *thought* of anything, at first. Hundreds of years had passed, and when I woke up, I wasn't even overcome with fear, confusion, or anything, really. Just... Curiousity. My memories were hazy, my eyes blurry, and most of all, my body was freezing cold. But... Despite all of this, I didn't really care about most of the things.
I was just curious. Stretching as I got up, not knowing the eons that had passed ever since the catastrophe that had occurred in the life before waking up here. "... Hm? What's this?" I thought to myself idly, as I picked up a simple object, what appeared to be a key. I had no concept of what it was, no idea as to what it did at that brief moment.
And the memories still did not return. At the brief moment, I had no memories, nor ideas, nor concepts in my mind. I was simply just me, in a dark, cold environment, dimly lit by the cyrogenic pods in the area. It was the most innocent memory of my life, that moment. Nothing to guide me, nothing to taint me, just me, alone in this world.
I dare not say I had the brilliant flash of intelligence, or the sudden emotional breakdown due to a flood of memories returning. Instead of that, what continued to eat away at me was curiousity. They say the mental consciousness of a human is constantly filled with curiousity, so I suppose that's why it was constantly there.
I inspected the key, fiddling with it with my fingers, not even sure how it worked. "How curious," I thought to myself. I pondered over what it could be. A toy? A contraption? A simple figment of my imagination?
I got up, and looked around further, ignoring the pods around me, beginning to wander the area. It didn't seem very big. It took about a ten-minute walk to reach one side of the room from the opposite end. Most of it was just simply more pods. Although, at one end of it, I noticed machinery. I struggled to wrap my feeble mind around the concepts of such machinery, such advanced technologies. What were they? How did they work?
I spent days wandering that small place, inspecting every nook and cranny, every pod, to see how it worked. Small flashes of a past life ocassionally came to mind, but I could never really remember anything of it. Simply put, I suppose fate decided I shouldn't remember it.
The only reason I even knew that it really existed was a book I found one day, on the day before I left. I had gotten used to the pods, their giant, egg-like shapes in which I passed, my head barely even reaching half of their massive structures. I realized that despite all my best efforts, I had never really looked *under* the pods, always curious with what was above me. And so, I started searching.
Within hours, I had found that book. A book reminiscing about a past life, a book seeming to be written by someone. I put it down on the ground, opening it, the foreign text on it making no sense to me initially. I... Don't exactly remember how, but I think bits and pieces of how to understand the text came back to me eventually. I eventually processed down the words: "Memories of a lost world. Don't forget who you are."
It was written by someone called... Eric. Eric... D'Arcus. Written by flesh and blood, *for* flesh and blood. But, to my dismay, beyond the first page, after my understanding of it, I only saw one other page, the end of the book. The others seemed to have been torn off by something.
Simply written on that other page was five requirements by the author.
*"Must be safe."*
... "*Safe*". Was this place... "*Safe*"? I had no idea, but somehow, I felt warm, comforted here, everytime I lay down to rest. Was that what "*Safe*" meant? I was moreso curious about what the word meant than the meaning the author had behind the requirement. "*Safe*"... It made me curious, again, like I had felt before.
&#x200B;
*"Must be eye-opening."*
*"Eye-opening."* What did they mean by that? *"Eye-opening"* also made me curious. I suppose that knowledge was locked away from me. Ironically, my curiousity only dug further into me, because I couldn't figure out its' meaning. I would need to figure this out later.
&#x200B;
*"Must be transformative."*
&#x200B;
*"Transformative."* ... I looked at myself, wondering, what did it mean? *"Transformative."* My mind seemed to regurgitate an old memory of something that might have been what it meant. Something about... *"Change"*? I was a little bit worried about what that could all mean. But... Who was I to question this?
&#x200B;
*"Must be memorable."*
&#x200B;
*"Memorable."* I... Did not understand this well. I suppose that it would be stuck in my mind for awhile.
&#x200B;
*"Must be real."*
&#x200B;
... "*Real*"? What was "*real*"? Was it... This? Could this place be considered to be... *"Real"*? I thought about it for a bit, racking my mind. I didn't come to a conclusion in the end, however. I simply just couldn't understand it.
&#x200B;
Ultimately, I wracked my mind for another hour or so about those requirements. Reaching no satisfactory conclusion, I ended up looking through the book again. Nothing. I would have to learn this entirely on my own. On that conclusion, I started looking for a way out. Eventually, finding a door. Fate must have meant for this to happen.
The door was locked, unopened, I was not sure at first on how to operate the mechanism. But after much fiddling and messing around with the door, I remembered the key I got on the first day. Was this... What I needed, to remove this blockade? It seemed deceptively simple, yet, it seemed... Appropriate,
I took a deep breath, and started trying to figure out how to apply the key to the door. Nothing to help me, nothing to guide me, as had been the beginning. Book underneath me as I worked on finding a solution. Eventually, I found out the solution. Out of ideas, I wondered... Would this fit in the hole the door had near its' turning mechanism? I tried it.
And the door opened, fresh, cold air blasting into the room, snow entering the room. Oddly, although I felt the wind blow on me, I didn't feel all that cold, to begin with. As I padded out, I noticed a world, filled with broken pillars, leading up to the sky. Some reached high, into where I couldn't see them anymore. Others, barely reaching the foliage surrounding the area.
A new world to explore. I noticed a lone piece of purple fabric near the door, where I was standing. Picking it up, I looked at it for a second. Another memory flashed. I had the odd idea of wrapping it around my neck. And so, I did so. It felt... Oddly comforting. Like I had done something that would help me.
Book tied to my back, and fabric around my neck, I looked to the pillars. And I looked at myself, down where I could see my own features. I had a world to explore and learn from. On my own. Was this what it meant to be human? I didn't know. And I still don't know.
All I knew was that I had to stand on my own paws, to carry the burden of a world forgotten, within a single book.
| 2020-04-14T06:00:12 | 2020-04-14T05:28:49 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] Actors cannot leave character at all until the film in which they play is released in cinemas. Describe an actor's life.
Or a part of it.
edit: I'm pretty sure someone here is shadowbanned.
|
Day 17 of shooting. It's been a long month and it isn't over yet. A war flick. And war is hell.
The hero is looking rough. Gaunt and developing that thousand yard stare. Lucky bastard gets to sleep in a tent and cot. Not for much luck for me. I lay here in the hospital "ward", along with all the other NAZIs unlucky enough to die in the first scene.
Can't wait for this to be over. Death sucks.
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I completed my morning routine like any other day. I put an ice pack on my face while doing stomach crunches, eventually reaching a thousand before stopping.
I applied a deep pore cleanser lotion before entering the shower, going through the motions. Once again I would be using a water activated gel cleanser, and honey almond body scrub
Then on the face, an exfoliating gel scrub with a herb mint facial mask that must sit for exactly ten minutes, while preparing for the rest of the early morning. After shave lotion with no alcohol, as I can't seen appearing older with a dried out face.
After the bulk of the routine is complete, I add moisturizer, anti aging eye balm, followed by moisturizing protective lotion as the last step.
Much of this is needlessly excessive, but it's a routine that I must stick to every day.
Once that's done I finally head out to work. Shooting is completed, but the film is yet to be processed and released, so I have no other choice but another day at the office, working in mergers and acquisitions.
I often tell people that I work in "Murders and Executions" but it's in one ear and out the other, they never notice what I've said. That wouldn't be good for me if they did though, drawing unneeded attention to myself could cause problems, especially given the nature of my character.
Unfortunately as I continued on to work, I caught something out of the corner of my eye that needed my immediate attention, something I wish I hadn't seen.
A flashing ATM, repeatedly handing out orders. Of course it wasn't really, part of the character is being delusional, so I had to honor my current nature in line with the character.
For the current task assigned to me by myself masquerading as the persona behind the ATM, I needed to find a cat, any old stray would do, in fact the stray part was kind of important.
I located a cat soon after in one of the nearby alley ways. I knew at this point I would never make it to work on time, so I phoned my receptionist and said I wouldn't be coming in. This took priority.
I walked back to the ATM holding the cat in my arms, which must have been comfortable around people because it wasn't fighting back, and if anything, seemed to be enjoying the attention.
Now was the time to complete what I had said out to do. I imagined the ATM as reiterating the request I had imagined it giving me earlier, and went for it.
As I vigorously tried to jam the cat into the slot of the ATM machine, I noticed others noticing me. A crowd of stunned people were watching me as I attempted to feed the ATM a stray cat.
This wasn't good. The police would be called, and then I would have to get into a shootout with them, I'd also have to confess even if I managed to get away with it.
A rational character would have avoided public eyes, but mine was constantly disassociating from reality. My frenzy and insanity would only grow with time, and it had been long enough to where I could no longer resist these oddities even in public.
The cat scratched my hand and I winced, reflexively dropping it to the ground in pain. This couldn't stand of course, the character is brought to a rage at defiance even from a harmless animal, and as such it wouldn't let me let myself get bested by an alley rat.
I came prepared for just such an eventuality though, and walked a few short steps to my car parked nearby. In the trunk was a chainsaw.
I grabbed it and set it down on the sidewalk, keeping the cat in my sights as I did. I took off my suit and undershirt, removed my pants, underwear, shoes, socks, and tie, on and on until I was entirely naked.
I revved up the chainsaw and sprinted at the cat. It ran away, making the chase more thrilling and meaningful. Along the way I would have to stop when I found a reflective surface, and gaze at myself while I posed and flexed, just another thing I couldn't help doing.
But I wouldn't let the cat get away, either. I had to cut it apart and eat its brain. I was starting to get worried though, as the authorities had surely been notified now.
I often wonder why I was unlucky enough to play a character that can't do his murdering in a more subtle way, preferably with clothes on at least.
Even if I could run away from the police, I'm compelled, no, obligated to fight back and attempt to kill them. The worst part is, even if I'm successful against all those odds, I will have to call my lawyer and turn myself in.
But I just grin and bear it. Well, again, I have to. My character's mask of sanity has slipped, and I can no sooner change the deranged smile on my face as I can will myself to be okay with my business card being one upped at work.
But at least I'm here, and not at the office. Bragging about the subtle off white coloring of *bone* hasn't been doing me any favors, and it's so hard to resist killing that receptionist.
| 2015-12-20T08:38:00 | 2015-12-20T07:36:40 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] In the animal realm it is believed that if you save a human, it will grant you three wishes.
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Bruno paced the floor in a small circle before lying down, dejectedly. The rain was hammering down, and the roof of his dog-house was shoddy, letting in big drops of rain that pelted him continuously. He let out a high-pitched whine that did nothing to stop the rain, and closed his eyes to try to go to sleep.
"Why are you sad?" came a small voice just above Bruno's furry head. He looked in the direction of the voice and saw a a spider in the corner of the dog-house. He laid his head back down, miserable.
"I saved my small human's life today. I thought they reward you for that, but they shouted at me, they got angry and dragged me out here. I don't understand," Bruno replied to his tiny companion.
The little creature scurried down the wall of the dog-house and moved next to Bruno's paw. "It's a lie," he said. "My mate saved a human; caught a Stinger that was planning on attacking it. Human saw my mate and crushed her. No wishes for her, only death."
Bruno pondered the spider's words for a moment, churning them over in his mind. "Maybe the human didn't know your mate saved their life. My humans know what I did, but they're angry." He whined again; it was cold in the dog-house, his fur wasn't thick enough to block out the harsh wind, and he was soaked.
"Well, maybe they *don't* know. What did you do?"
"Small human was playing fetch with me outside. Her name's Annie. We were playing for a while, and I smelled a stranger human. He smelled like nervous and bad, I didn't like him, but I didn't do anything. Sometimes stranger humans come into the house and family humans like them, so I learn to not react straight away. I watched him walk over to Annie while I was getting my ball and speak to her. She took his hand and he started to walk away from the house with her, so I attacked him." He felt angry again as he relived it all in his head, and he let out a soft growl. "I bit him many times."
"Humans didn't see the saving part. Only attacking," the spider answered.
Bruno was unconvinced. "Annie would tell them," he responded, shivering in the cold.
Suddenly he heard the garden door slide open. His ears pricked up and he lifted up his head; alert, hopeful, nervous. He listened to the multiple footsteps. "Humans!" he told his spider friend, his tail wagging slightly.
The gentle voice of his father-human called to him from outside. "Bruno, come on, boy. Come on!"
Immediately, Bruno dashed outside into the fierce cold and rain, but he didn't care. He ran straight to his father-human, tail wagging so hard that it was making his butt wiggle. He was greeted with a pat on the head and a quick scratch behind the ear. Bruno was so distracted by their reunion that he didn't notice the other humans until he caught their smell. Looking to the side, he saw two humans in shiny jackets and strange hats. *Are these the wish-granters?* Bruno thought, excitedly. They'd forgiven him! Or better yet, Annie had told them about the bad human and they'd come to grant him his wishes after all. He glanced back at his dog-house to see if his spider friend was watching, that now he knew the wishes weren't a lie.
The three humans all mumbled an incoherent stream of words while his father-human gently scratched behind his ear again, while holding his collar with the other hand. One of the shiny humans placed a slip-lead around his neck and said, "Come on, boy," tugging on the lead.
Reluctantly, Bruno followed the shiny humans out of the back gate and into a van. *Is this where I make my wishes?* he thought, confused, as the engine rumbled.
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I'm not entirely sure how I got here. Michael has been my best friend since as long as I can remember. I've lived with him, I've chased girls with him, we hang out together every day, we eat together, I've seen all of his failed relationships, I'm happy to be a part of his current successful one, he knows all of my relationships, he helps me fight my enemies, and I would fight to the death against his. We are a good team.
But as much as things stay the same, things change. Subtly, surreptitiously, the enthusiasm shared between each other, the enthusiasm of life is sucked down into an abyss where you can witness the spiral but can never touch it again.
Sarah is good girl. She's always been nice to me, she always says hi. She's very affectionate and talks to me when Michael is there or if he is not. But she's taken him away from me. Our friendship has become an after thought in the wake of their romance. No one wants to admit it, but I know it.
I can't leave. I sometimes think of it but its a sacrilege. As Michael tells it, ever since the day I saved him, he saved me. We are one, forever, because there is no bond in this world more sacred than ours. I believe that. But sometimes its hard to swallow that belief in the face of evidence otherwise.
I'm older now, and so is Michael. Lately, I've converted my boredom, and the dread of loneliness from Michael's neglect, into new ventures.
There is this fox neighboring us. She is young. I know, it's not right. It's immoral, it's illegal, and it's just plain not right. She is like me. Trapped in her prison of loneliness. I can tell. We watch each other often from the iron bars of our window. We understand each other although we've never spoken. I get excited waiting at the window for her to come to hers. She's my forbidden fruit.
Often I've tried to get closer but I get drawn away. Not today. Today, I'm on my own. Michael is out, he's been gone a long while, Sarah stops by periodically to check on me and keep me company. Michael has always returned when he's gone but I can never shake the feeling that he will never come back. How much do I torment myself with the absence of my *brother*? How long do I continue to rely on my sole connection to life and harmony? I've always have, but today is the day for something new. Today is my day and my day alone. I will not be shackled by society and it's expectations, I will not be imprisoned by my love of Michael. I walked out of the house, and entered my neighbor's backyard.
I could see her at the window growing anxious. I wonder if her roommates are home. I walk up to the door and look for signs of entry. There's a small door cut into the door for pets to enter and exit. I'm far too big for it but I try.
I put my arms and my head into the door. I can *smell* her.
I start wiggling my body and the edges of the door grind into my bones. Each bone, each muscle, squirm their way one after the other, until my legs are the only things left. I push myself through and tumble onto the kitchen floor.
She sees me, she rises up on her feet and hisses in excitement. I don't think she is as happy to see me as I. But she will be.
I walk up to her and she runs. I chase her. We run in circles around tables and furniture. She is exhausted. I pounce on top of her. Her hair is so soft. I lick her face while keeping my weight on top of her. She is wriggling and punching me as hard as she could. It is useless on her part. I have my way with her. It's been forever. I've never been with another. It feels so good. She keeps on fighting. I'm an animal now. Thrashing with her, I'm biting on her, and I think I bit too hard.
Once I finished, the bloody mess looked very different to me. I knew I was in trouble. I had killed her. I thought about leaving but that wasn't right. I waited. When her roommates arrived, I begged and pleaded for forgiveness. I pleaded for them to let me go. Instead they locked me in, I thought about escaping through the rear but they blocked it. The police arrived next and handcuffed me.
They took me down to the station. They muzzled me like an animal. There was no interrogation. They called me a monster. Filthy vermin. I was not a living thing, but an object to throw tar at. They dragged me away and down the halls to the executioner's table. No trial! No discussion! Not a chance to tell my side of the tale!
"Am I not a living thing?!" I yelled for all to hear. "Am I not breathing, feeling, loving, hating, *dying*, like the rest of you? Do I not deserve basic rights of liberty, and decency? Would you wish your friends, your lovers, your *children* to be treated like mere *animals*?" I am whimpering now, screaming at the top of my lungs. Looking into the eye of every one of my captors. "No. I'm not the animal. *You are* the animal! Only animals condemn without thought, only animals kill without justice. I am a friend, I am a brother, I have a mother who I love, I have a father who I knew little of but I have one! I have felt the same feelings you have felt, and I have sinned just like *every one of you*. Just like it will be for you, in the end, you are not my judge, I will be judged by only the one."
That moment, they put the syringe into my arm, into my vein, like any common death row inmate, and I died. 70 years after I was born. I was born on the day I met Michael, he was a depressive mess, and he never forgot to remind me that I saved his life the day he met me. I gave him hope to live, I inspired him to do better just a little at a time. He gave me my three wishes, a home, the love of another, and endless adventure.
---
Michael came home after a two week business trip to a quiet house. He opened his door, dragged his luggage in and placed it along the wall. As he finished he was overcome with a feeling of dread. For the first time in as long as he can remember, his best friend and roommate, Roger, did not greet him.
"Michael?" Sarah called from the living room.
Michael walked over. "Yes?" He saw Sarah standing with tufts of soiled tissue in her hands. She is red in the face and has been crying.
"What's wrong?" Michael asked.
She starts to cry again, tears trailing down already pre-built paths.
"Sarah, WHAT'S WRONG?" Michael asks again.
She starts to wail and walks over to him, she buries her head into his chest.
"Sarah, where's Roger?"
He sits down on the couch still holding her in his chest. She is sniffling and whimpering. She looks up at him with red-veined eyes, swollen cheeks, and salty residue all over her face.
"They took him Michael. They killed him. They killed Roger!"
"What do you mean? What the FUCK are you talking about?"
"Your dog Michael, your dog! They took your dog and killed him!"
"Who? Who took him?"
Sarah sat up. "Animal control. He got out of the house somehow. He got into the neighbor's house somehow and killed their cat."
"The fucking kitten?"
"Yes... It tried to stop them, but by the time I arrived at the shelter they euthanized him."
"Goddamn it..." Michael said as he buried his head into his hands. His anger mixed with his lament over his best friend lost. They've been together for over 10 years. Roger was getting old, and he was acting up, but he didn't think it would turn out this way.
Sarah rested her head on Michael's lap, trying to get over her crying episode. He looked at her and appreciated having her in his life. *This is the woman I will marry*, he thought. He looked into her eyes and she looked into his. He played with her hair.
"Wanna get something to eat?" He asked.
| 2017-11-15T09:33:02 | 2017-11-15T09:31:00 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
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I had spent several chapters already reading without seeing a choice. The book was long, but only like, lord of the rings long, I had gotten pretty far at this point.*Maybe the title is a lie. No. Angel's don't lie. Do they? Maybe they aren't angels. Maybe you're in hell.*
I stopped reading on the last thought. With considerable effort I pushed it away and kept reading the incredibly boring story of my infancy. Blah blah blah I ate mashed peas. Blah blah I hated them. Another spoonful is coming.
And thats when I saw it.
*You chose to close your mouth and turn away. To follow that path, go to Library Seraph, Wing Delta, Row 82, Shelf 7, Book 22, Page 83.*
*To knock the food out of your mother's hand, go to Library Saint, Wing Alpha-Omega, Row 2, Shelf 1, Book 30, Page 872*
*To accept the food, go to Library Heart, Wing Epsilon, Row 110, Shelf 3, Book 4, Page 220*
Yeah, I was going to be here a while.
Edit: Formatting.
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I sat at the desk dumb-founded.
“You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?”
The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there.
I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands.
Every decision.
There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died.
I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else.
It was just me.
I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true.
When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean.
I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind.
On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get.
We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California.
It was a mistake.
We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work.
The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him.
He found it.
My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine.
“Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.”
“Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face.
I have never felt more guilt.
Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted.
“I’m leaving.” I had blurted.
Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?”
“I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.”
At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out.
Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing.
I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350).
I turned to page 150.
Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
| 2018-07-03T22:57:05 | 2018-07-03T22:39:59 | 3,757 | 92 |
[WP] You brace yourself for the worst as the witch tells you the effects of the curse she just placed on you. As she finishes, you blink. "So...what's the downside again?"
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The witch buried her face in her hands and sighed, "AGAIN, it's the Curse of Optimism. You will never be able to understand the potential negative consequences of any decision you make."
"That doesn't sound like much of a curse", I replied.
"You will be the eternal optimist", she explained. "You will only see the upside, never the downside."
"That doesn't sound so..."
"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND," she interrupted, exasperated. "You will bet on every loser, because you're positive it's their time to win. You will fall victim to get-rich-quick scheme after get-rich-quick scheme, because you know there is no way you'll lose money. You will want to get back together with every abusive ex, no matter how many times they've cheated. Timeshares will sound like a great idea."
As she finished, I blinked. "So...what's the downside again?"
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Of course, it was not very pleasant. I just failed my payment. But then, it was not easy with the king getting his taxes, with my wife and children needing food. Yes, we had money, usually.
Not that winter. Who could have thought that it is war again? Who could have thought that we had to flee? We returned a few months later, but by then I was months overdue.
I made that pun. Whenever I was asked what the secret of my youth was, I answered with "Mary". They understood "Marry!", and I never elaborated further than saying that a good woman can give you a long life. I wish I knew how right I was.
The spring of 1620 was financially fine but not plentiful. But eventually I had to go to her. I brought the money. She was okay with it. But she had to curse me. It was a contractual agreement, but in an exchange for some payment she also would give me the means to break that curse whenever I wanted.
I had asked for youth, for a long life. She gave it to me.
"So. There is a curse. What is it? So... what's the downside again?" I nervously blinked. I don't do that anymore, but at that time I did. Her curse was that I would live so long that I would have to see everyone I loved die. Only then could I break that curse and die myself. Furthermore I would be the last of my bloodline. My children would not have children, my wife would not have any more children.
The war went on. It went on until 1648. We lost much, our house was destroyed twice. My eldest son fell in a battle, my youngest fell ill and passed away. My daughter, the only child left, eventually married but remained childless. Our marriage, in its beautiful times, ended with more pregnancies, but the children died at birth. The doctors were unable to explain it. When rumors came up in 1632, we had to leave the city. We moved away to a place where nobody knew us. Of course, I was cursed. But they thought we killed the children. They thought we were punished by God.
The hardest day in my life was when a child of my wife did not die at birth. It was then that I knew that she was no longer loyal to me. I pretended to go for work, but I drowned myself. I jumped into a river, I bonked my head, I slept for many hours. Or as I learnt later, I was unsoncsious. We did not have that word.
But I woke up. I coughed out all the water in my lungs. My cold skin turned warmer as my heart beat again. This was the extent of the curse. I would not die. I would keep my youth. I cried. At that day I cried more than ever before. And then I laid there for days. The hunger was overwhelming, but I could not really move. I ate grass, I drank the morning dew from it. But my legs, after having slept for hours after falling into the river, my arms even, only slowly regained their power. Eventually I stood up. I returned to my wife.
The townsguard was shocked to see me. I don't know why. I still don't know why. They said it was my face. But I looked into a mirror later, days later, and there was nothing. They also confirmed that it was gone. They refused to talk about it.
We reconciled, we lost, as I said earlier, once more everything. Near the end of the war soldiers fell into our town. I had to watch as... I'm sorry, I can't talk about it. I lost my wife that day, but after seeing what happened to her for hours, I felt it was for the better. Nevertheless I cried. I cried again. I cried for hours, if not days.
I don't really remember much of what happened afterwards. I opened a shop somewhere again. I was respected quickly again. But one day I disappeared. People thought I had died. But I ran away. I was still young. I was still beautiful.
I moved every few years, so people would not suspect anything. For quite some years I was in France. I named myself after my wife Germaine, taking the name of Comte de St. Germain. But I disappeared eventually. They never saw me eating anything, as I said I need special food. But in reality I had given up eating entirely. I remained young. I remained beautiful.
Please forgive me that I can not elaborate further at the moment. I would surely love to tell you what happened later. But as you see me writing here, you can be sure to receive the rest of my story. I have decided to break the curse at its 400th anniversary. I have seen empires rise and fall, I have seen my share of cruelty. But now, with the internet, with seeing the real horrors that humanity influcted, I believe I have seen enough. If I could go back in time, I would carry out all the failed attempts to change history. But I can't. I can only break this curse. Having lost everything once has made me someone looking for the ultimate truths. Have I found them?
Recently I stumbled upon what I had written many years ago. Maybe if all knowledge of the world was available, I would know it all.
I did not find the truth. I believe there is only one way to find it. Next year, at the 400th anniversary of the curse, I will know.
I hope it, at least. I really hope.
| 2019-06-25T15:21:51 | 2019-06-25T12:08:02 | 1,435 | 19 |
[WP] As the Village Seer, you peer into the mystical to give the villagers sage wisdom from beyond. The problem is, you're not magical, you're just smart and you live in an exceptionally dumb village.
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"Mytical seer. We have brought a dead goat to offer you as a sacrifice." The Village chieftain calls to you.
"Oh. Hmm. Okay. Sure a dead goat. Can you just do like some bread or maybe honey wine next time? Literally, honey wine is the only good thing we have here. But thanks for the goat." You say, convinced that you will throw the dead goat into a nearby ravine as soon as the village idiots are gone.
"Seer, we ask you upon the eve of battle. Will we be victorious tomorrow? We will take our ten strongest sons and march upon the high walled city where thousands of soldiers await us." The Chieftan says.
"What? no. Don't do that. You're definitely not going to win that." You say, without knowing what walled city he's talking about.
The Chieftain scoffs at you. "You are no Seer. I will show you. I will lead the charge tomorrow with the ten others." He leaves and takes the dead goat with him.
"I would strongly suggest not doing that." You call as he leaves.
The next day would go down in the history of your village as one of the greatest tragedies ever to befall them. Stories tell that all eleven of your villages warriors directly charged a very high stone wall hurling insults and threatening to murder all of the inhabitants of the city of over one hundred thousand. After a puzzled compliment of guards on the wall realized that the warriors were neither going to scale the wall or leave, they sort of just ignored the village warriors. Sadly, one by one they all climbed high enough on the wall that when they did slip, they plunged to their death. There were no survivors. The walled city did not maintain any written history of the event, and it largely went unnoticed by the population.
With the Chieftain dead, leadership would usually transfer to the Chieftain's son, but he too died at the attack on the wall. The Chieftain's wife, "the Chieftess" became the leader.
One week later, see came to visit you in your Seer's hut. She was wearing all black and mourning her lost family. She brought a dead goat with her.
"Oh, Seer. Why did they not listen? I have lost all whom I love. Take this dead goat as an offering. Tell me Seer, what do I do now that we are lost?" The Chieftess said through tears.
"Okay, umm. So, I told the last guy. I mean your husband. I mean he was your husband but now he's dead." You stumbled over your words. She began to sob and wail after you reminded her of her dead husband. "BUT..." You save yourself from further embarrassment. "He is in a better place now."
"You can see that?" She asks.
"Oh, yeah he's in a really long hut in the sky drinking honey wine and eating chicken. There's no goat. He's got bread, vegetables, chicken, pie. He's got the whole deal. You will meet him in the afterlife."
"I want to meet him now." She says.
"Oh um, no you can't. But you will later. Anyway, so that gets me to the point that I told the last guy not to bring these goats. The honey wine is really better for me."
"Seer, tell me how did you know that our army would fall in tragedy?"
"Kinda... I mean, I guessed. But the honey wine gives me these powers so more of that, please. Just lots of that. Keep that one coming."
"Seer, how should I lead my people? What must I do?"
"Okay, thing number one. Stop killing all of your goats. I feel like I keep telling you all this and you just keep doing it. Second, let's get a lot more honey bees and farm a LOT of honey." You suggest.
From then on, the Chieftess listened to your every word and took your counsel. They followed your advice to the letter, except for of course your request to stop bringing goats. They kept doing that and you sort of just gave up and stopped protesting. Eventually, you became an A+ goat chef and the village grew into an epi-center for a thriving honey wine trade. You spent the rest of your days full of goat and honey wine, while overseeing a thriving trade alliance with the walled city. They provided tools, protection, and gold in exchange for honey wine and stewed goat.
|
“Your husband says you should cook me a large pot of stew tonight,” said Rubin as the dry leaves crumbled from his hand. “Yes, it’s clear. See how the wind blows them to the left? Mutton and carrot stew.”
”It’s my last sheep.”
”It’s what your husband wants.”
The old lady swallowed. “Tell him I will.“
Rubin leaned back on his chair, shaded by the wide rattan porch. The comfiest chair and widest porch in all the village. “You know better than that. I can’t talk back to them. I can only read the signs.“
“Of course. Thank you for doing this.” The old lady limped back towards her hut, ready to prepare the feast.
Rubin had found it much easier to tell people what to do through a third person — a dead person — than doing so directly. People were more willing to listen to the dead. Especially those they loved. But of course, Rubin knew better. The wind whipped the last crumbs of the broken leaves into the air, almost dust at this point. Dust like the dead, Rubin thought. And dust doesn’t tend to communicate.
“You shouldn’t do that,” said a voice.
A young girl stood near, wiry and lanky with long black hair. She reminded Rubin of a magpie. Probably after all the shiny things in his home — the gifts he’d received for all his help.
“What do you want?” he said. “Want your future read?”
”You’re lying to them.”
He recognised her now. Alina‘s fourth daughter. She must have been twelve or thirteen. He supposed he must have seen her about the village before — at feasts, at funerals, certainly. But he didn’t remember. He didn’t tend to notice people besides himself. People here weren’t worth looking at.
”Lying about what?” he said lazily.
”Speaking to her dead husband. You can speak to him about as well as I can speak to the birds.”
That magpie probably could speak to birds, he thought. But instead he just waved a hand at her, then lazed back in his chair, closing his eyes.
He was woken some time later by a man with a wooden cup of cool water. “For you,” said the man.
“Thank you,” said Rubin. He took a refreshing sip, noticing from the corner of his eyes that the magpie girl was still there, same position.
“Please,” said the man. “My family needs your help again.”
”Oh? Let me guess. Is the spirit back?”
”Yes!” said the man, wide-eyed. “Last night, after we all went to sleep, it pulled up all our parsnips. We replanted this morning but who knows if they’ll live. We don’t know what we’ve done to anger it.”
Rubin considered. “Perhaps we can trade something. Your homemade ale for a protection spell?”
”That will stop the spirit?”
”Oh yes. It’ll stop it dead.“
The man nodded, “Then I’ll return later with all my ale.”
Once he left, the girl stepped forward. “Why are you doing this to them?”
”Doing what?” asked Rubin.
”There’s no spirit. Spirits don’t do go around pulling up vegetables.”
”Then what’s doing it?”
The girl thought. “Well, it could be an animal. But an animal would eat some of the food, not just uproot it.”
Smart, thought Rubin. Smarter than most in the village.
”And beside, you wouldn’t necessarily be able to control a wild animal that comes and uproots them. But if you‘re able to make this stop... then the only conclusion is that you’re the spirit. That you went there last night and caused the trouble.”
”That’s a serious accusation.”
”Do you deny it?”
”Of course!” Lying wasn’t a problem for Rubin. Lying was how he lived such a luxurious life. The girl being onto one of his schemes wasn’t an issue; she had no proof, and he’d stop once he had the ale anyway.
The man was back, pushing a wheelbarrow towards Rubin. A sack and been laid over the bottles to keep them cool, just as Rubin had shown the man long ago. Shadow and shade for cool drink. He heard the clatter of the bottles beneath and his mouth became moist.
“Than you,” said Rubin. ”I’ll carry out the ritual shortly. But know that no crops will be disturbed tonight.”
The man nodded, smiled, then hurried home.
The girl grunted. “There’s no one else here. And no one would believe me if I told them. You’re loved and respected and I just cause trouble.”
“What’s your point?”
”My point is that there is no need to lie to me. For once in your life, you can be honest.“
He was readying to lie again, to defend himself. But... No one else was around. And she did have a point — no one would listen to her. “I do it because I can,” he said.
“You do it because you can,” she repeated, as if underlining his words. “But there are many things you could do because you can. You could be kind and help people, because you can.”
”We all exist singularly,” said Rubin. “Our life is our life.“
”You think because you’re smarter it’s fair.”
”I think because I’m better that it’s fair.” He grinned. It felt good to tell someone. For anyone to know how smart he was. “If these people want to believe spirits rampage their gardens, that dead people can talk to them, then they’re fools and deserve whatever happens to them.”
“And you don’t care that all that ale took months to brew? That the vegetables you killed will mean their family goes hungry?“
”Care?” he said. “Not in the *slightest*.”
The bottles in the wheelbarrow began to shake. He could he hear them clinking. Was the sun causing them to—
The sack stood up! All by itself. What...
It took Rubin a second to notice the pale legs beneath it.
The woman — Kasana, the village leader — threw off the sack. Two bottles lay by her feet. Kasana stared at Rubin. “So the girl was right. About all of it.”
Rubin tried to think of an excuse, but his voice had been stolen. The magpie! It’s pecked at this throat and stolen his tongue.
”This is grave,” said Kasana. “Very grave.”
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
Three months had passed since Rubin had been caught. He crumbled the leaves from his hand and let them rustle in the wind.
“Does he say anything?” asked the old lady.
”Yes,” said Rubin. “He says... This is the last time he can contact you, but don’t be sad. He’s very proud of you. Says he loves you dearly. That he wants you to enjoy your life, until you see each other again.”
The lady began to shake. Tears rolled down her wrinkled face.
Rubin watched her slowly leave. Back to her home with a dozen lambs. He’d have bought her more, if more had been available.
”How do you feel, Rubin,’ asked the magpie-like girl. She often sat with him now. They both liked quiet company. “After your last ever reading?”
They sat on stools outside Rubin’s small, modest hut. His previous house was now a place of medicine and of care. Where old and sick could sit on the porch and enjoy the shade and view without a worry in the world.
”Good,” he said. ”I feel good.” And he did. He had barely a possession left in the world and it felt wonderful. It was strange, but everything he’d gathered, everything he’d hoarded, had been like bandages over a wound he’d forgotten was there. It took until he had nothing left for him to see it again and to realise how injured he was. He’d been hurt as a child when his parents had passed away. Punishing others for lives he could never have... He’d really been punishing himself all that time.
But now... Now it was like he had a family again. He made people happy, and they made him happy. He‘d thought he’d been happy before, but now he knew it’d been a bitter taste in his mouth all that time.
“Thank you,” Rubin said. “For the second chance.”
“They‘re not stupid, you know? They never were.”
”I know. They’re just honest. It’s why I was able to trick them. Not because I was smart, but because I could.”
The girl nodded.
The old woman came back a while later. She had a mug of ale in one hand and a bowl of stew in the other. “For you,” she said to Rubin.
Rubin looked at the magpie girl. She was watching him with such keen eyes. If he’d ever had a daughter, he’d have been very proud for her to have been like this girl.
Rubin stepped off his stool and beckoned the lady to sit there. “Please. You eat and drink and enjoy. It would mean a lot to me.”
| 2021-06-14T10:24:03 | 2021-06-14T09:09:57 | 424 | 239 |
[WP] A dragon has set up its new territory, only to be met by a couple of people from the nearby villagers offering it a human sacrifice as to spare them from its wrath. The dragon literally just wants to vibe in this remote part of the kingdom.
|
The dragon, laying in his den, recoiled in disgust as I was presented to him, bound and gagged.
This was wrong. He was not receiving it well. I’d thought this might happen. I’d voiced my concerns as such. “We don’t know enough about the situation. He may perceive this as an attempt to control him. If dragons are as blood thirsty as they say, this will not appease them. If they are not-“ but that was when the village elder silenced me. That was when he had me bound for speaking out of turn. That was when I was decided to be the first sacrifice.
The elder’s plan was already sinking before us. We could see it in the eyes of the beast and the wincing of it’s silvery livery. But how wrong we were we could not have known until a voice uttered from that great maw…
“Dude. Gross. I mostly eat, like, fish and stuff. Some algea. Roots… uh… not human.”
I looked at his claws and tried to speak, but the gag prevented me. The elder, feeling his standing slipping amongst the throng of people, used force. He hit me with his staff, and told me to be silent.
I was a proud man, a provider for my family, a protector of my beloved… but I could feel the winds changing. I played up the hit and yelped. I looked at the dragon. I cowered at his great paws.
“Oof, yeah, like don’t do that. That’s not right, man. You should… you know, untie him and stuff. I’m not eating him.”
My wife leapt from the crowd and untied me before even my handlers could think about what was best.
Once free, the dragon asked “what were you saying?” The elder was babbling, but was being ignored now.
“Webbed feet!” I proclaimed. “You’re a swimmer! I thought I saw you in the lake once.”
“Dude! Yeah I love it here! That lake is awesome. It’s huge. Are you… like okay? And stuff?”
“I’m… I’ll be fine.” I glared at the elder. He tried to retreat into the crowd but found no refuge.
“Hey!” I thought, “I’ve got an idea. What if we, you know… give you stuff in exchange for other stuff. Like fish.”
He was intrigued, but clearly not a fan of us as home intruders. “What, like… a job?”
“Nah, more like a trade. There’s a ship that sunk to the bottom of the lake. Ages ago. It had gold in it. I bet you could trade that. You like chicken?”
“Oh man, I think I saw that ship. I wish I could show you it, it’s so cool down there. But… nah see cchicken feathers get all caught in my throat.”
“A little extra, and I’m sure people would pluck it for ya! The gold is as good as lost to us, so you barely have to do any work, you know.”
“That’s not a bad idea, I guess. You know I left because I wasnt big on the idea of a hoard… but I guess of it’s there…” he still seemed unsure of the idea. I needed to sell him on it.
“Well I ask because we fish from the lake too, and I’d hate to over fish.”
A great claw pounded the ground. “I had not even thought about it, you’re so right! Gotta keep fish in stock! So true.”
“We can make an agreement! We will only fish so much from the lake, you know, every year, and in turn we’ll share some chicken and… it sounds like you eat vegetables too?”
“Uh huh, yeah gotta get some balance in your food. Totally helps with digestion.”
“Of course!” I had him. We prattled on for some time, with my wife tending to a few wounds, here and there finding time to glare at those that betrayed our family. The dragon and I discussed our love of the lake, of summer sun spots and the glow of the fire on a cold winter. The crowd stayed and listened, awe struck, until it was time to leave.
My wife, Gods preserve her, and ever the opportunist, spoke up the moment we all left the cave. “All in favor of making my husband, who saved all our lives after you ungrateful lot tried to kill him, the new village elder? His quick thinking and selflessness tried to warn all of you, but you wouldn’t listen.” The Ayes became a resounding majority.
Still clutching the gag from my mouth, she threw it at the old elder. “You best bite down on that the next time you speak out of turn, you old, worthless codger.”
As she returned to my side, all I could think was… “At least… I *think* that was him I saw at the lake. We don’t have enough chicken to feed two dragons.”
|
"You mean... each of you has territory among humans as well as your homes up here?"
"That's right, Greg" Jurn says. "You think it would be fun just hiding up here all the time? You're actually known as 'the dragon that adopted a human', after Prie, who's territory that actually was, told us about you two. You know that she's the one who vouched for Alicia to stay, right? The elders were going to dismiss your pleas, Alicia, but Prie made it clear to them that whenever Greg freaks out, you're the one to calm him down. Prie stopped treating it as her own territory, but would still fly by from time to time. She said that separating you two would be the end of the Dragon Homeland!"
Greg lowers his head in embarrassment. "Come on, Jurn" I say, "cut him some slack!"
Jurn grins. "I'm sorry, Greg, we all know about your past... speaking of, territories are also where mothers raise their dragons until they're mature enough to be in the Dragon Homeland."
Greg perks up. "I remember where my mother's nest was. Has that territory been re-claimed?"
Jurn shakes his head. "None of us were sure it was ok. The dragon elders themselves said that we should not touch it. But she was *your* mother, there shouldn't be a problem for you."
Greg gives his thanks and we set off for the territory. After a while, Greg's eyes widen. "We're here" he says quietly, as he glides to a cliff. I have a look - remnants of a nest, a huge boulder having crushed it. Purple scales are littered everywhere. I can feel Greg getting tense. I rub his neck, but it's not enough; he's in confusion and distress. He breathes a large fire at the sky, as he cries out "MUM!" Then the tears start. "Alicia, I..."
"Don't apologise" I say quickly. "This... must be upsetting for you." Greg nods his head and goes to look for somewhere to set up. We find a nice field not too far from the nearby village.
"I know those symbols" I say, pointing to a picture on an archway leading to the village. "I've heard about them. We must be on the outskirt of the Narrgh Kingdom." I stare for a moment at the golden seed in the centre of a flower ring, when I notice someone coming up. It's a guy around my age. He looks terrified.
"Umm... Mr... dragon... sir? Plea... please don't hurt my village. You... you can just... eat me..."
Greg stands up. I'm confused for a moment, did this boy not see me? Looking at him, it doesn't appear he has, his eyes fixated purely on Greg. I hang back, hoping Greg can handle this. He begins to laugh. "Eat you? Why on earth would I do such a thing? Your village has no need to fear me. I am Greg, and this-" he pulls his arm forward slightly, tugging my leash a little, so I walk forward. "-is Alicia. She's been my emotional support for quite a while now, helping me with my PTSD." I shyly wave at the boy, who's staring at me in shock.
"Hi. So, umm... yeah, I decided to be his 'pet' to help him with his struggles, and he's... *protective* of me. Please make sure everyone knows that the best way to anger Greg is to try to take me away from him." The boy stares at us for several moments, then nods before running off.
Greg sighs. "It's like we forgot why we abandoned humans in the first place..."
I giggle. "Hey, they already fear you enough to offer a sacrifice, don't they? Besides, we have somewhere to retreat to if we ever need. This isn't going to be like when we were at the city; I swear at least half the people who tried to 'rescue' me had already seen us two together in the city!"
Greg lets out a chuckle. "I suppose you're right... and the problems started with Vlardic anyway. He's gone now and we're *far* from anyone who **could** have known him. There should be no problems." I nod when I spot something - the boy seems to be coming back, with who I guess are his parents. The dad speaks.
"We... saw what just happened. When you were spotted flying overhead, our son decided to offer himself to you, and while we didn't suggest it, we were proud of his courage. We were surprised when, while standing at the entrance to the village, we saw our son running back to us. What... what he said is true? You're not here to harm us?"
Greg stares at them. "**Touch Alicia and you'll regret it.** Otherwise, I hope we can all get along." He nods at them with a smile, to which the family bows in respect, before going back to the village. Greg looks at me, then decides to step between me and the village, wrapping his body around me protectively, his head facing the village. I give him a stroke.
Suddenly, what looks like the *whole village* is coming out! There's a man at the front. He clears his throat, as Greg coils himself around me further. "Great dragon" the man begins, "it is an honour to have your presence here. Please, tell us if there's anything you need. We would greatly appreciate your protection and wisdom in return."
Greg nods. "I'm not sure I can offer much in the way of wisdom, but as long as you respect me, I'll happily keep your village safe. It would be of great help if your village could provide the two of us with food. I can shed my scales, which I will happily give you in return."
The man bows, as does everyone else. "We do not have need of your scales, great dragon, but it would be our pleasure to provide you with our resources." The whole village turns around, with the exception of a few: the boy from earlier, a few kids with their parents, and a few other people.
The kids begin 'playing with Greg'. The parents are apologetic. "Don't worry" Greg responds, "they're not causing any harm."
Next is the boy, who looks red in the face. "Umm... I... may I... see... Alicia?" Greg narrows his eyes at him, to which he backs off in response. "I... I didn't mean..."
Greg huffs. "Remember, she's mine." He nods and Greg uncoils himself enough for the boy to come over to me. I begin to hear the others ask questions about his species and travels when the boy introduces himself.
"H... hi, Alicia, I'm... I'm Patrick..." I smile and shake his hand. "Nice to meet you" I respond. "Why are you so nervous?"
Patrick gulps. "I... I don't wa... want to offend..." I giggle as I complete the sentence for him. "Offend Greg? Trust me, if you've offended him, he'll tell you before I can. You know, that was really brave what you did earlier."
Patrick appears to relax. "Thanks. I guess I read too many stories, huh?" He chuckles. "I'd do anything for my village. Once the mayor heard that Greg wished no harm, he decided he wants to make friends with Greg. After all, you can't get a much more powerful ally than a dragon."
I grin. "You're right about that! Greg terrifies *me* sometimes! But... I really want to help Greg as much as I can. He needs me. I get scared, sure, but he can't help it..." Patrick nods.
"You know, what you do is pretty brave as well." I blush. "Thank you, Patrick."
Before we can continue, Greg picks Patrick up. "Everyone else has left. I trust you'll do the same?" Patrick nods quickly. "Good. Remember, if you ever want to talk to Alicia, you'll have to go through me. Do *not* approach her without asking me first." Patrick once again nods quickly, and Greg puts him down, as he once again curls himself around me protectively. Patrick bolts for it, making Greg laugh. "Didn't mean to scare him..."
I watch him with concern. "I don't think that was necessary..." Greg looks at me.
"I had to make a statement. Anyway, the village is aware that I won't always be here, but I'll be around often. We can sleep here tonight, it's already nightfall anyway. We'll go back to the Dragon Homeland tomorrow afternoon." I nod and Greg proceeds to wrap me in his arms. I curl up against him and begin to drift off to sleep.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
This story is a part of my series, [Dragon's Pet.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x46g40/dragons_pet/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out!
| 2022-09-22T14:58:49 | 2022-09-22T12:54:14 | 168 | 30 |
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him.
|
She smells of sweetness- but she's the most bitter being I've ever seen. I ask her how she can do it. It haunts me, day and night, all those faces- but she just shrugs.
"Life is not a promise; it's not a contract. It's a gift. I can take life back whenever I want. Death is the promise. You're the promise," she whispers. She's not vehement in her words, but it's apparent. She gives herself to these humans, but she doesn't love them. She goes up to one of them, snaps her fingers, and they pass. I carry them away, I'm the last thing they'll know. And she has no regrets.
"I've got to go," I say. She shakes her head and snaps her fingers; we're taken to a young man, lying in a hospital bed. She hovers, and I watch as I only can. He'll be dead soon. And I'm here for him. She tilts her head at me.
"Isn't there anything you want to know?" I don't know what she means.
"Does he have family?" I ask.
"That's not what I mean," she says. The young man takes a deep breath; I thought it was his last and step forward, but another follows. Sometimes, a person tries to hang on. Sometimes, Life isn't as thorough and doesn't drain them of all they have left. Sometimes they challenge her. They're too strong. She doesn't like it, but is still strangely fascinated by it. She doesn't love them. But they love her. And they hate me.
"I take them all away from the people that they love, the people that love them. Everyone hates me. And here you are, with the actual power, and people celebrate you."
"I'd celebrate you," she says, stepping closer to me. "I would celebrate you if you'd let me, Death. But that's the true cruelty of Life. I can never have you." I know. Despite the fact that she terrifies me- she is still Life, and she emblazons me. I almost feel her in my core when she looks at me; she stirs something in me that I want more than anything. I want her. We want each other. Yet we can only meet when we're both doing the things we hate. She leans forward and kisses me. I sigh.
"Let him live, Life. Give him what I want," I ask of her. She nods, tears streaming down. "Love them like they love you. Like I love you. And I'll see you soon."
"I'll see you in seven minutes," she whispers fiercely, as I step away.
|
“He is beautiful.
No matter that I never heard his voice, nor saw his face, shrouded in the shadow of his hood as it always was. His beauty lies not in countenance of face, nor sound of tongue. For me, his beauty is beholden to his stride, graceful and purposeful to his grim duty. It is in the gift that he brings, in his reaping of the crop that is life. It is in the faces of those to whom that gift is given; faces which, like a clear pool reflects the moon on a cloudless night, can offer but a sorry mimicry of his noble visage. I first glimpsed Him when I was but a girl, so long ago now that the memory is all but lost to the sands of the great Father who, in seeking to bless me, cursed me to never receive the gift of my beloved. I should explain.
It has become commonplace in your people’s tongue to reference the passage of varying quantities of time with “ages”. Yet for me, literal ages have passed since my childhood. I have watched civilisations wax and wane, rode mountains as they climbed towards the sky, and swam in oceans when they were but lakes. I believe there is a saying now for something which is very old: “Old as the hills”. I am older. Over the millennia I have not aged, I simply evolved. Adapted. But do not be deceived. I was there when the first murder was committed, over who had the right to lead. I was there when the first men started the first war, over some miniscule herd of livestock. I was there for the first plague, and every plague thereafter. Because so was He.
There are no plagues anymore. No wars, either. Death, in both meanings of the word, has become too random, too spontaneous. I had gone many years without seeing Him when I took my first. In order to fully understand the despair I felt, you must first understand my perception of time. What to you might seem an eternity is to me but a fleeting moment. I blink my eyes and cities rise and fall around me. I sleep, and when I awaken a new age has dawned. Such is the Father’s gift to me. Yet, when Death became scarce, ever moment to me was torture. I, who understood what it was to watch the centuries pass like leaves on the wind, felt every biting second of his absence. It gnawed at me like hunger gnaws the belly of a starving street rat. Or, rather, as it would were street rats still present in this hellish future you people have the gall to name “Utopia”.
So I killed.
I wish I could tell you I remember her well. That I see her face whenever I close my eyes, that she haunts my dreams, souring them to nightmares when I sleep. Honestly, I couldn’t recall a thing about her if I tried. I could tell you it was poison that killed her, used to keep from bloodying my dress. I could tell you that when He came for her, it was the closest we had ever been to one another. I could tell you that, as he stood over her, I almost saw beneath his hood. Almost. But none of that matters. You don’t care about that, not really. Already I know I have dwelled too long on her. She is insignificant. Let us continue.
The second was - well, that doesn’t really matter either now, does it? Not this one, nor the one after, nor the thousands that followed, one after another, pills being washed down with the water of life, blessing me with apparitions of unholy perfection.
No. Like the filthy horde that swarms around a travelling magician, you have no time for clever little tricks and jokes. You’re just here to see his assistant be sawed in half. Well, you’ve all paid your fee so I suppose it’s only fair that I uphold my end of the bargain. Into the box, Sharon, and we’ll begin.
The virus. My virus. My last hurrah, the big fix after which I would sleep until the end of the Father’s reign over this verse. It was supposed to end all life on this world. All except mine, of course. As you have probably gathered by now, it did not succeed. People died, of course. The world’s population was decimated, with over a billion killed by the time you managed to stop it. Yet billions more yet remain, a testament to my great failure.
You want me to apologise, I’m sure. To feign guilt and remorse. I won’t. I am guilty only of loving, and regret only that the one I love is forever beyond my reach, and I forever beyond his. Our paths run parallel, destined to walk forever side by side but never meet. That is my tragedy, your honour. I seek no mercy, only understanding. Do you understand?”
The judge remained motionless, staring through me with eyes of cold steel. I felt his disgust and returned it ten times over. He knew nothing of loathing.
“I understand only that you sought to destroy humanity. Your justifications are beyond my faculties of reason, and I see nothing in you but guilt.”
I knew that there was no value in pleading. My captivity was inevitable, but my hatred demanded release.
“Of course you see nothing else. How can you? You are but an insect, blissfully unaware of its inferiority to the superior being in whose presence it is allowed to exist. You intend to lock me up? You have my blessing. Sentence me to life imprisonment and I will watch your metal and stone wither and rot before my eyes. I will outlast any cell in which you throw me, and rest assured that when the walls finally crumble I will see humanity’s last day brought forward. You, I think, will not.”
The courtroom fell silent for a moment. I licked my lips, tasting the fear-laced silence. It was disappointingly bland.
“It is clear to me that the accused is too dangerous to be allowed to live”, the judge began. “Therefore, it is with a heavy heart that I must, for the first time in a thousand years, request that the jury permit a sentence of death.”
A moment of frenzied muttering amongst the jury members preceded a nod from their representative. The judge continued.
“Very well. Let it be known, then, that I hereby sentence the accused to death, by whatever means necessary. If it takes another thousand years of new science to develop, a means of execution will be found successful and **you**” I felt his eyes again at that, “will be put to death. Have you any closing words?”
I thought for a moment. I had anticipated many possible outcomes, but this was not among them. There was only one thing left to say, really.
“Good luck, your honour.”
Many years have passed since my sentencing. The opportunity for escape has presented itself several times since, but the judge’s promise always stayed my hand.
It isn’t that I believe him. I have tried to call Death to me many times in the past, to no avail. What chance then can humanity have to achieve what even I could not? No, I do not believe. But I can hope. And there are worse things than hope to keep one warm at night. Who knows? Maybe one day the humans will succeed, and my beloved and I will be together at last.
Maybe.
| 2014-06-30T06:26:50 | 2014-06-30T06:15:48 | 74 | 24 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now.
|
Life is unfair. There's no one that can tell me otherwise.
Only my mum could love her child; a kid with the super power of being able to ingest limitless amounts of matter without detriment or distention and exercise total control over its release.
Everyone calls it pooperpower. Utterly useless and utterly shameful. Most of my peers saw me as a glutton and disgusting septic tank. Only a quirky few saw the merits of my 'superpower' after returning from their rough trip to India where they had the pleasure of having to focus every thread of concentration on their quivering sphincter, teetering on the edge of a veritable Code Brown incident on a long-distance bus ride.
Things changed when my mother passed away. No longer with her protection and influence over the others around me, the ridicule and abuse started to evolve into more sinister and injurious means. The result led to my itinerant way of life, hiding in the shadows, fearing for my welfare and living minute by minute. Until now.
The darkness that had shrouded my heart and existence first reared its ugly head after being blamed for the neighbourhood sewerage system issues, that turned out to be caused by flash flooding and debris. Nonetheless, once you are known to be the only one with 'pooperpower' in the neighbourhood, not to mention the whole world, the fingers point rather quickly.
After the incident, my small shack was trashed with rubbish and waste, of which some were definitely sewerage solids. The council turned a blind eye until the outrage and complaints from the community towards the filth around my shack forced them to play their easiest hand: my excommunication and eviction from my own town.
With a heart poisoned with hatred and resentment, I decided to play a dirty prank on the council.
Over a period of two years, I went on an eating and drinking frenzy, spending most of my savings purchasing and eating and drinking as much as possible, prioritising volume and price over quality. That hit an all new low, when I fell into dumpster diving for left overs, stale bread, and even sand from the beach. If I wasn't sleeping, I was ingesting. Virtually non-stop. Anything I could find and tolerate the taste of, went down the hatch.
Let me tell you, it was not pretty. The booze definitely helped me through the hazy hell of what I now see as something only an insane and hatred-fuelled person could do.
The final act of my prank involved the main sewerage treatment plant serving the large part of the Eastern network. Initially, it was meant to be one of the sub-stations but I could not determine which one managed the council building, so I decided to cast a wider net, so to speak.
On the fateful, cloudy night, I managed to infiltrate the part of the treatment plant that pumped the aerated sewerage into the alum mixing and sedimentation inlet. Without hesitation, I pulled down my pants and proceeded to dump all my hate into the churning waters.
My screams of release and frustration were drowned out by the hollow and lifeless hum of machinery, resonating with the eruption that came from within me.
I had clearly underestimated the amount I had kept pent up inside me.
A tsunami of garbage, shit and gas surged into the inlet like an angry brown hulk, delivering a ground shuddering smash through the depths of the complex, shattering the impellers and overloading the outflow. As the facility began to flood, I paused the dump and gradually progressed to higher ground releasing as I went, until I was outside the facility. My dump went on and on; I could not care that I was covered in my mess. For all I cared, I deserved it. For what seemed like the entire night, I cried while at the same time shitting out my putrid existence like a fire hydrant.
The effect of my 'prank' was catastrophic. Not only was the council building obliterated in an explosion of shit, the entire network experienced a violent reversal of sewerage flow, turning every building into a fountain of shit. The news later showed images of people being helplessly washed out of their bedrooms in a torrent of sewerage, washed inland with their belongings.
Pockets of gas that hung over the area ignited in the fire, exploding with malice. Satellite imagery would later show the sewerage treatment facility erupting in a volcano of shit, followed by a chain of multiple eruptions over the large part of the country. It almost looked pretty. Like fireworks.
The news later showed the aftermath of carnage. Infection, illness and death spread, sparing only those who had regenerative or protective superpowers. Those with heightened senses suffered irreversible neuronal damage from the stench and noise from the event. Those with boosted strengths or levitation powers were recruited to help with the clean-up and transportation duties.
I had, in fact, shat all over my tormentors in what was an actual shit-storm. The hilarity of seeing survivors drifting up literal shit-creek with no means to paddle, and the country in truly deep shit made me cackle with laughter. The satisfaction of revenge was sweet, but could not say the same for the stench that hung around. In hind sight, I should have eaten more veggies.
Life is unfair. There's no one that can tell me otherwise. Even if life trolls you with a shit hand, you can always think outside the thunder box, and perhaps, find a way to shit all over the competition.
There's always light at the end of the tunnel.
Stay positive, guys.
|
I had originally thought my superpower was a bit of a joke. I suppose it still is pretty lame. I can't cause any real destruction with it, but nobody jokes around me anymore. I started exacting vengeance a couple weeks ago on those who had previously bullied me for "not having a power". In truth, I did but it's a very subtle power.
I can feel my power beginning to slowly take a toll on my enemies. For example, I can visibly see the results of using my powers on my coworker, Carol. Her crime? She always takes my stapler from my desk without asking. She used to be snarky around me but now whenever I see her, she just looks depressed. The best part is that she doesn't even know what's causing it.
Me, a laughing stock? I'd like to see my enemies try to laugh at me. That is, if they can. Because no one's laughing anymore.
Literally.
| 2017-06-12T07:56:29 | 2017-06-12T07:39:18 | 65 | 39 |
[WP] It's the first week of Magic theory class. You've finally gotten to the basics of the subject. As your professor talks you notice something bothering you. You raise your hand and ask the proffesor about it. They blink and look at the board, then back at you. They ask you to stay after class.
|
"Young man, why are you trying to leave class?" called Professor Clock. He lifted his larger, mechanized hand and poised a book for a throw. His smaller hand pointed to the boy in the back row.
Jack jerked to a stop, though his hand didn't surrender the doorknob. The lanky boy pulled his book bag higher and sheepishly replied, "I'm in the wrong class." Jack could feel the blush crawling up his cheeks to his ears, and he shook his curly brown hair to cover the scar that ran across the skin around both eyes.
"I'll be out of your way," continued Jack and put pressure on the handle. His brows knitted. The door was locked. He searched the room for other doors, but he was sure this was the same he used to come in.
With a heavy thud, Professor Clock diverted his book to the desk. "There's no such thing. No one comes here if they're not supposed to. In the first place, you wouldn't have been able to get in if you weren't scheduled for Exorcism 101." The professor polished his round glasses with the side of his field gilet, his little hand working delicate circles. He cleared his throat and nodded toward a seat in the front.
Still, Jack didn't move. "Sir... Well, I'm not in Exorcism 101. I think I missed my class. I'm supposed to be in Spirit Disposal 455. The chalkboard confused me."
Professor Clock's hands froze and both teaching assistants glanced at the chalkboard. There was nothing there. The class traded glances. Who was this weirdo?
A moment of silence descended while the class waited for Professor Clock to correct Jack. "Huh." The instructor let out a disbelieving huff. "Well, this is new. I guess I'll have you see me after class. Take a seat."
Jack stood still debating whether it was worth it, but ultimately decided to stay. He ran an agitated hand down the front of his curly hair and patted it over his eyes. The front row was thoroughly spotlighted along with the rest of the stage. He didn't want anyone to see his pure white irises. After all, white irises were a sign of possession.
Behind him, whispers started up amongst the students, and it prickled the back of his neck. More than anything, Jack hated attention. His knuckles were white on the sides of his desk. He just wanted to get out of here and double-check his schedule with the registrar's office.
When the class began in earnest, Jack discretely glanced around the room. Everyone looked young—more like college freshmen rather than the juniors and seniors he was expecting. He rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a purple pill that would stave off the effects of body rejection. The dean, a friend of his mother's, had insisted he take it every day at noon even though it was his own body. While Professor Clock walked the class through basic tactical weapons—everything Jack had already seen before—he swallowed the pill with water from a crumpled bottle that was in his pack.
He'd taken Exorcism 101 two years ago, and he knew this material like the back of his hand. Furthermore, he was now a part of the school's elite Field Crew, a group that cleaned up after the professional exorcists, so he couldn't help but yawn.
He barely held back the scoff at the dagger displayed on the professor's desk. It was useless, even in close combat. The standard-issue tactical weapons were as good as scratches on any level beyond three. Level one and two demons were barely blips on the radars. They were for the small fry, part-time exorcists that needed a second job to sustain themselves. Jack was already taking care of those on his off-hours.
When the class finally ended, Professor Clock cleared his throat loudly by his desk.
"Huh? What?" snorted Jack, mopping up his drool with his hoodie sleeve.
"Thank you," said the professor sarcastically, "for filling up the class with your dreadful snores. That's the oomph I really needed." The old man deadpanned.
"S-sorry about that," replied Jack, patting his brown hair over his forehead.
A soul sword materialized next to the professor in his bigger hand. "Now, why don't you tell me what a demon is doing in my class, hmm?" Next to him, the assistants materialized their tactical pistols.
The swipe was faster than Jack could track. His instincts took over. The professor and his assistants stared up at the boy hanging onto the ceiling. Their eyes glowed amber, searching his body for tell-tale signs of putrefaction, but they didn't move any closer. Professor Clock continued, "That class is a dummy class used to attract lingering ghosts. The class is enchanted to appear only on the schedules of ghosts or demons. You're not a ghost since my separation spell didn't work while you were sleeping, which means only one thing." His cranky voice dipped low at the end.
Jack activated the miasma shield that Dean Blackwood had given him. He didn't want to fight humans if he could help it. He debated whether he should prioritize defending himself or running away.
"I'm not a demon. I'm human," grumbled Jack.
In the jump, his hair was swept back from his face, showing his opalescent eyes and the scar, the place the devil had reached with his claws. In a louder voice, he called out, "I'm a sin eater. I've been eating demons since I was a kid. I didn't know it was something weird. I grew up with—" No. He would not reveal their presence to people he didn't trust. "Dean Blackwood forced me to enroll here."
Professor Clock narrowed his eyes. "You stay right there until I call Blackwood." Not taking his eyes off Jack, he snapped his fingers at one of his assistants. "Nightshade, get Commander Lee on the phone and have him transfer us to General Blackwood."
&#x200B;
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 2\]](https://www.reddit.com/user/AntheaWald/comments/u5ztkb/the_combat_exorcists_part_2/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 3\]](https://www.reddit.com/user/AntheaWald/comments/u77eyg/the_combat_exorcists_part_3/)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 4\]](https://www.reddit.com/user/AntheaWald/comments/uawqyq/the_combat_exorcists_part_4/)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Prologue\]](https://www.reddit.com/user/AntheaWald/comments/uow3xn/the_combat_exorcists_prologue/)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 5\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/thecombatexorcist/comments/uq7qpl/the_combat_exorcist_part_5/) (New - posted 15 May 2022)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 6\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/thecombatexorcist/comments/uvdpnf/the_combat_exorcist_part_6/) (New - posted 22 May 2022)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 7\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/thecombatexorcist/comments/v0gqie/the_combat_exorcist_part_7/)
[\[The Combat Exorcist Part 8\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/thecombatexorcist/comments/vax15f/the_combat_exorcist_part_8/)
|
Jazz stared at the board. They had zoned out again. It was happening a lot recently. Jazz couldn't shake the feeling each time that there was something in those thoughts without words, something missing. Like a dream forgotten.
They stared fiercely at the board, as if it were holding some secret. Some key to unlock every dream forgotten, to give words to every thought and feeling below the surface. Something seemed off about the board, and they had to remember what the heck it was before they could focus again.
Jazz blinked. They figured it out.
The board was shimmering.
Before they could stop themself, Jazz raised their hand. "What's the board made of?"
The professor stopped mid-lecture to stare at them. Jazz reddened and looked down. *So stupid. I should just shut up*. For some reason it felt like there should be another thought to counter that. A more positive one. There was none.
"Come see me after class," the professor said softly, then lectured on.
Jazz couldn't focus for the rest of class. Partially out of embarrassment and fear - *god, why did I have to get in trouble? I hope I get off with just a warning or whatever.* But Jazz also kept wondering what the board was made of. It didn't look like a normal blackboard, it was too blue. And when they stared at it it shimmered, waving in funny patterns whenever Jazz tilted their head.
Jazz kept expecting someone to agree with them. For another person to appear in their thoughts and say, *yeah, isn't it weird?* and give suggestions on what material it might be.
*Am I crazy? Normal people wouldn't imagine that, right?*
It almost felt like a memory, but Jazz couldn't ever remember something like that. And they'd remember, surely. Actually... it was hard to remember anything outside of the present. And not even just the general present - this particular moment. This classroom. When had Jazz entered? Where from?
*What the hell is wrong with me? What's going on?*
Jazz blinked and looked away from the board. Class had ended, and only a couple other students were still in the room. The professor did not wait for Jazz to walk to his desk; he approached Jazz. They shrunk. Something about him seemed off too. It made them uncomfortable.
He stared at them for a moment, then reached his arm out and grabbed their left hand. He blew on it, and circles appeared. Some sort of runes, like what they'd been learning in class but more complex. It looked like it had been burned into their hand.
Burned into their hand.
They remembered now. This wasn't real, this wasn't their life, their headmate was gone. Jazz stood up to run, but he squeezed their hand, and all of a sudden everything felt fuzzy. They still tried to move, but got no further than the fake classroom's fake door before they fell.
&#x200B;
Jazz blinked and stared at the board. They had zoned out again. They wondered why it felt every time like there was something missing in those moment. Like forgotten dreams.
| 2022-04-13T18:01:26 | 2022-04-13T15:29:43 | 441 | 138 |
[WP] Humanity has been eradicated. As the alien race that killed us begins to settle they're shocked to discover that old Earth myths of spirits and demons are far from fiction. The Devil, pissed off at the aliens, has decided to open the gates of Hell and let humanity get its revenge.
|
It started rather innocently.
As the first Arkon settlers took to Earth's surface, setting up temporary living spaces whilst cleanup and construction corporations began clearing out the habitats and urban sprawls of the former inhabitants, they were soon confronted by something unexpected. Every so often, there would be a sighting of what was claimed to have been a spectre of one of the former inhabitants. None were ever doing anything malicious, simply drifting through their prefab towns, or hiding within an old dwelling where cleanup teams were working.
They were somewhat unnerved by the scene, but fascinated nonetheless. Scholars began research into the cultures of the extinct species to find tell of these apparitions, and soon word spread of the many ghost stories that their predecessor inhabitants had propagated in their centuries on the planet. It was taken as known fact, rather than the superstitious nonsense that Humanity had considered it, what with the evidence in front of them.
They did not realize until too late, that these ghosts were merely the scouts, that they weren't the only supernatural being that they'd be contending with.
A few months after their initial settling, and sightings of ghosts were almost considered commonplace. Then, settlers began disappearing.
First it was soldiers on patrol at night, isolated targets. Search parties went out, believing it likely that the natural fauna was the cause. It became far more worrisome when entire search parties began going missing as well, without a single trace of what happened to them. It would have been a dangerous but manageable situation if it was only happening at one colony site, but reports over the comms told them that this was a worldwide phenomenon. It had all begun at the same time, seemingly coordinated.
Next, to the horror of the settlers, children began going missing, disappearing from recreational spaces, snatched off the streets at night. Strict curfew missives were handed down and put in place for the safety of the settlers, ensuring nobody was alone outside at night, but the damage was already done.
Even more eerie, was that now the sightings of ghosts were more targeted, it seemed. Instead of random locations, they would find ghostly soldiers on patrol at night, where their own men and women had gone missing. Spectral search parties combing the wilderness alongside their own, as if filling in for those lost. Worst of all, phantom children at night, walking the streets and playing in their parks, a cruel reminder of the young they had lost.
The next step was a sudden escalation, as word came in of an entire settlement vanishing, turning to a ghost town inhabited only by the haunting dead of the human race. Then another was gone the next day, with no leads on how it happened. The scholars went back to work on the human texts, trying to find out the connection between the ghosts and these disappearances. Their search was futile, as humankind had never said anything about ghosts causing such disturbances to their lives.
Unfortunately, the scholars simply were looking in the wrong books.
One by one, settlements went dark. Panic became widespread, and after word was sent from their ships back to the Empire, it was with rising horror they found that not even their ships were safe, when one vessel in dock at the small station they'd established was found abandoned overnight, it's crew nowhere to be found.
After that was anarchy. Some ships fled the system, only to suffer catastrophic failures when attempting to jump to lightspeed. Others remained, and their crews went missing like all the others.
Large groups on the surface abandoned their settlements, taking their chances in the wilderness, where they weren't so constantly haunted by the ghosts of those that had died for them to live here. Over time they too, went missing in the forests, deserts, jungles and tundras. Never to be heard from again.
By the end of their first year on Earth, less than three hundred Arkons remained alive. They managed to collect themselves into a single group, as stragglers and wanderers went silent. A pull was felt by them, and they hoped that their instincts were leading them to safety.
It was not to be.
They came upon a cave system, and entered cautiously, hoping it would be a suitable place to rest for the night, but there would be no rest for them that night, or any other.
The caves widened into a massive cavern, lit by primitive torches and pools of molten lava.
To their horror, they had found those missing. The soldiers, the children, the settlers, the crews of the ships.
Line by line, row by row, thousands, millions of them even, nailed to wooden crosses as far as the eye could see. Many were disfigured, maimed and brutalized.
Worst of all, perhaps, were the hundreds of empty crosses that could be seen interspersed amongst the dead, no doubt waiting for them, and they'd walked right to them.
"So glad you could finally join us. We've saved you all spots." A chilling, heart-rending voice echoed from behind them.
No amount of time could allow them to adequately describe the horrible scene they turned to.
Red, scaled skin, claws as long as their arms. large dark wings sprouting behind them and black horns on their head. Sulfurous yellow eyes glared down at them with gleeful malevolence. Flanking it on all sides were the human ghosts that had taunted and visited them, and by its sides were monsters created in its own image. Hundreds of them.
Satan smiled down at them, "Time to feast."
|
When they arrived they made their intentions VERY CLEAR "we are the Vex and we will add your world to our empire" we fought with all our might but they just kept coming all of us. We discovered massive computers that were seemingly simulating our attacks, but we were destroyed regardless. They took tech they deemed useful knowledge they deemed useful. I was killed by some weird pulse it just makes me flop dead. Next thing I knew I woke up in hell" a place i didnt beleive in" with the devil himself infront of me he told me of the plan he and god made open the gates and unleash the both holy and unholy. forces they could not simulate... paracausality. when he finished he gave me 2 questions "what are you good at?" and "wanna join this fight?"
| 2020-09-18T09:04:00 | 2020-09-18T08:43:26 | 73 | 10 |
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager.
|
Now let’s set things straight: I didn’t intend to become a villain, there was just a series of circumstances that lead to a lot of people believing I was a villain.
First it was accidental teleportation into the middle of a street brawl between another villain and hero. The hero shot a fire ball in my direction so of course I had to deflect it with my dagger, it wasn’t my fault he was in the way and he did survive... just about. At this point the clown guy escaped and the hero’s buddies showed up so I had to leave before things got dicey and I was gonna have to explain how a 11 year old in a dirty hoodie can teleport and was walking around with a large knife.
Then there was the time where I couldn’t sleep and it just so happened to be the Fourth of July. Was I really so wrong for wanting to complain? And was I wrong for getting mad and accidentally pushing some drunk (who called me a few colourful names, I just love humans) a little too close to the fireworks? And when their group retaliated by pointing a bunch of lit ones straight at me, was I wrong for later on tying them to a giant homemade rocket and threatening to light it?
Wait... actually, don’t answer that last one... everyone gets cranky when tired, right...?
But I know for a fact that I was framed for the giant robot, I don’t touch machines if I can help it; I was minding my own business, just taking a walk through a wood, when the ground opened up right underneath me and DoomTechs bot ended up breaking my fall. I was gonna get off but when you’ve got a concussion from a 20 metre fall you tend to not want to move all too much. Also I was knocked out, so... anyway I woke up just in time to see a city being attacked and BrawnDudes fist flying towards me.
Assault of a minor at its finest, ladies and gentlemen.
There were a bunch of other annoying coincidences like these; there were so many in fact that I was apparently given a villain name, “Crimson Trickster”, probably based on my eye colour.
When I was first given it, I did try and deny it (though the fireworks incident most likely didn’t help), but after a while I gave up on changing their minds. For a long time before coming here, I had tried to be a hero too and protect people; every time I would travel, help, befriend and then I would end up losing my cool and suddenly I’m enemy number one.
It was just a sick cycle and I guess I had finally had enough, so I became a villain, but my evil deeds just involved causing basic trouble. Gluing hats to people’s heads, slitting car tires, extreme vandalism involving a lot of swears on a lot of skyscrapers and just being an overall nuisance... unless someone makes me mad, in which case the only advice I could give is *run*.
And unfortunately, this current hero isn’t getting the message. Nothing says “I’m not creepy, I’m a hero!” like an early twenties guy dressed in bright colours and stalking a little kid.
I try and take a stroll? I got ThunderFists spying on me with binoculars. I want to try out a new style of hair asides from the hastily messy dagger cut I usually give myself? I got this guy charging in and proclaiming I bewitched the comb.
The final straw was the grocery store: I just wanted a chocolate bar and a fizzy drink and got out with a black eye, broken ribs and a fractured wrist because I had to block a shelving unit from hitting a father and his baby in a buggy.
I’m okay with being targeted, I know that if worst comes to worst, I can escape. But when you recklessly chuck giant metal objects inside a tiny store with civilians, you’ve crossed a line that if you know what’s good for you you won’t cross.
I. Was. Pissed.
That so-called hero was fortunate that no one aside from me got hurt, or the store was gonna need a clean up on isle 2. Instead I just launched him through a window, across the street into a lamppost, took a few days to let my wounds heal while making an appointment and made my way to their HQ.
There, I told the receptionist I wanted a meeting with the leader of DoWells (dumb name, but I guess the better ones were already taken) and sat down in the middle of the sofa they had just to be a jerk and glared at the clock above the door I needed to go through.
When it ran over time for me to go in, I ignored the receptionists protests, sliced through the electrical lock and let myself into Intellectia’s office. Of course, she immediately demanded how I got in, I reminded her of the meeting and it turned out the receptionist thought I was infiltrating the base and sounded the alarm instead of believing me when I told him I had an appointment. Go figure.
“And done.” Intellectia finished using her telepathy to tell the staff to turn off the code red signal that would’ve called the other heroes. “Now then,” she turned and focused on me, “why has the Crimson Trickster willingly come to the base of their enemies? You have not come here to destroy us, it is obvious that it is not your style to deliberately harm others without cause.”
“Yeah, well that might just change depending on how you intend to deal with my situation,” I growled.
Intellectia raised one brow at me. Even though I had been around for about 6 months now, I could tell she still wasn’t quite used to a child threatening her despite her knowing I was immortal.
I rolled my eyes and continued: “listen, you guys already know ThunderFists has been following me around, right?”
“Of course,” Intellectia’s face showed no emotion. “As a rookie, we have been keeping tabs on him to ensure his rounds go smoothly; it just so happens that he comes across you and decides to make sure you are not up to any trickery on that particular day. He has been told that active observation outside of actual villainous actions isn’t acceptable and he will stop. Is that all you came to see me about?”
“Well you might want to work on your “keeping tabs on him” since just three days ago he threw a shelf at me inside a store and almost crushed a bunch of civilians!” I stood up from my chair and slammed my fist on the desk, my fury from ThunderFists indifference when I told him to be more careful rising back to the surface.
“Excuse me?” Shock appeared on Intellectia’s face, the first emotion I’d seen from her that she didn’t actively weather.
“You heard me!” I sat back down, crossed my arms and tapped the hilt of my blade that was concealed up my sleeve. “Let alone the fact I was buying a damn piece of chocolate, he almost *killed* multiple people!”
“I... this is unprecedented!” I watched as the shock on Intellectia’s face was replaced with fury. “He was instructed... Toadflax was supposed to watch him! This isn’t one of your games, is it?” She turned on me, fire blazing in her eyes. “This is not some elaborate practical joke to weaken us?”
I glared back at her defiantly. “Do you really think,” I hissed, “I would risk my neck for something like this? I already told you guys ages ago: You may see me as a villain, but I’m not a monster.”
“Now,” I pushed my chair back and stood up. “I’ve said what I needed to say and what you needed to hear. If you want further proof,” I took out a piece of paper from my hoodies pocket and slid it to Intellectia, “this is the store name and address, I’m sure they’ll give you CCTV footage.”
With that, I turned away and left her with the knowledge someone under her command had attacked unprovoked without caring for civilian life.
|
As I sit around in my lair very exhausted and pissed as to what’s been going on I almost feel like quitting my damn job.
“ This is outrageous I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to sit in my own evil lair and never leave because that cape wearing, spandex loving, maniac has no life outside of being a super hero! I can’t even enjoy my day to day routines anymore, I haven’t even been able to just walk my damn dog without getting absolutely destroyed. Ugh what to do what to do? Wait... wait a minute I know this fool works for the United Justice Association...”
“Yeessss” I said manically
I know what I must do now.”
The next day I show up at the UJA it wasn’t easy because this side of town is literally in the heart of Hero City, but so far everyone is off hero duties for the weekend only thing going on is small petty crimes, so you got sidekicks running around trying to get their hours in for college credit or community service hours.
“Hello I’m here for my appointment with Diamond Fist’s manager.”
The lady at the desk types some things up as I just blankly stare at her.
“Oh yes Mr. Killjoy nice to meet you he’s actually up on the 3rd floor around the corner second door to the left and is ready for your meeting.”
“ thank you m’am”
I take the elevator and go to the room and just as I was about to open the door.
“Ah Ha it’s you my arch nemesis! So you must’ve infiltrated my headquarters well I’ll show you!”
“No wait no sto-“
As I took an uppercut to the jaw I thought to myself... I should’ve just kept my job at NASA at least they aren’t getting beat up by some spandex wearing weirdo.
“Had enough?”
I lay on the floor with my broken jaw i am furious at this point because I was supposed to have a dentist appointment tomorrow and now I can’t even open my jaw with out crying.
“Y-you-“
“What was that I can’t hear you?”
He gets closer to me
“YOU IDIOT!”
I punch him square in the face with my robotic arm at max power breaking his nose and sending him flying and falling on his ass. Then the door behind me opens... It’s his manager we both look at him and he looks at us.
“Fuck, let me guess, a complaint about Diamond fist?”
Well after that whole altercation Diamond Fist’s manager calls 911 and me and Diamond get taken to a doctor to fix my jaw and fix his nose. Later that day Diamond Fist’s manager visits me and told me everything. Apparently Diamond Fist has some mild amnesia and everyday he wakes up thinking it’s Mighty Monday which for us it’s Maniacal Monday which means nothing we just like to have fun ok, but anyways He also told me miraculously me punching him with my robot fist at maximum power ended up fixing his mind but permanently damaging his nose, but what can I say you take some and you lose some. Diamond’s manager paid for any damages done to me and my property and I was able to go back to being a villain on working days again and a normal person on my free time now, thank God too because honestly I thought I was gonna have to kill Diamond Fist.
| 2019-08-01T17:58:29 | 2019-08-01T17:32:15 | 74 | 46 |
[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.”
|
Covens aren't all they're cracked up to be. When I had first been informed of the situation, I thought along similar lines to what you might expect from a story like mine. "Oh, dark arts! Potions! Spells!" were all I could think about on the way back to their compound. But upon arrival I was quickly proven wrong.
As we walked through their various buildings, I did indeed see all kinds of magics taking place. Witches going about their days, working on whatever nefarious projects they had going on. It was all so titillating! But all we did was keep walking. No explanations of what I was seeing, no stopping to discuss my position; just this silent tour filled with the uncertainty on whether I had stumbled into a blessing or a curse.
It was the latter.
After what felt like ages, we finally came out an unassuming door at the back of the main building. Before me stood a house. Kind of. It looked like a normal, suburban two-story residence. But it was smaller. Confused, I noticed there was a sign above the door. "Simon's House."
Before I could say anything, my former tour guide spoke up. "Simon is our cat. He found you so you're his, now. You'll live with him here. He doesn't speak English, so you'll have to figure that out. And yes, we did try giving him a language option, but he's a cat this incredibly stubborn, so it didnt take. We're all pretty busy so don't bother us unless it's an emergency."
With that, the witch who had brought me here disappeared back through the door, and I was at once alone with Simon outside of his house. "So, got anything to eat, Simon?"
"Meow."
I wasn't sure what he meant, but it *seemed* like a yes, some made our way into the tiny house and I began the search for sustenance. Soon, I found a small pantry. Dozens and dozens of cans of canned fish; salmon, tuna, sardines, and all other varieties you could imagine. "You like seafood, eh Simon?"
"Meeeeeoooowwwwwww!"
"Me too, buddy."
To be honest, it was a pretty great life for a while. Simon was a great cat, and I didn't really have any responsibilities. We'd go for long walks all over the property, and I'd share my theories about what the witches were working on to fill the silence. Simon never shared my opinions - but he's a cat, so I was never going to be right, anyway.
But eventually, the sheen wore off the apple. I don't know if it was magic, or if a sneaky assistant came while we were out, but the pantry was always filled the same. I never had a chance to request something, anything, else. Our walks then began to match the rest of the monotone colors of my experience. It was all the same, on repeat, seemingly forever. I was a prisoner. Soon, thriving had been fully replaced with surviving.
Then one day, I sat at the tiny kitchen table, eating my salmon as I had countless times before. I was staring mindlessly out the window, looking at the world that had become dull and empty. I heard Simon's collar bell jingle as he came in, but I paid no mind. Then, out of nowhere, a voice.
"Get's tiring, doesn't it?"
Startled, I knocked my can and spoon to the floor. They clanged about in the otherwise extremely awkward silence.
"What?" was all I could say.
"The salmon. The tuna. The sardines. They get tiring, don't they?" Simon repeated.
"Um. You're talking. Have I lost my mind? Has all over this pushed me over the edge?"
"Nah, I can speak English. I just didn't want to say anything until you were at your limit. I needed you to know the desperation. The loneliness. Only then could you understand me."
"Why haven't you told the witches that their potion worked?"
"Do you really think the life of an English speaking cat in the hands of witches would end well?"
"I guess that's fair," was all I could say, still in a bit of shock. Then Simon continued.
"I'm already a prisoner. But at least I'm not a tool. I can still do what I want, within boundaries. I like the naps, anyway."
I liked the naps, too, I had to admit. "So, you feel like a prisoner, too?"
"Yeah. I mean, I haven't been here that much longer than you, really. One of the witches adopted me, they tried to use me, and when I didn't speak English to them they had to keep me. Something about their rules with adoptions; they're binding I guess."
"So, then I-"
"Yeah, you're stuck, too. I'm sorry, but I think you understand, now. I was lonely, desperate for a friend. I bugged the hell out of the witches until they decided to let me adopt someone. You were nice - you helped me. And so you were chosen."
"Well, thanks Simon. Glad to know I was chosen, at least!"
"I like your sarcasm. Took a lot of restraint to not respond to it over the last few months. You're a funny guy."
"Thanks, Simon. Look, don't take this the wrong way. But I don't think I can do this. I'm a human. I know we can talk, now, but it's not the same. Our only bond are English and our state as desperate prisoners. Can we really build a friendship on that?"
"No, I guess we can't."
Another awkward silence arose. And my life came to a moment that was both ridiculous and necessary. I was going to beg a cat for help. "Please, Simon, I need you to do something."
Simon pensively paced back and forth the house in silence, as he thought through the predicament. I think he had long known what he was going to suggest, but wasn't sure if he wanted to travel further into this ethical abyss. But finally he came and sat across from me, peering directly into my eyes.
"How do you feel about adoption?"
___________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
|
I tried to throw my blanket off me and scream, cry, ask who they are and what is happening. But my arms and legs just went stiff and stuck out at unnatural angles. My voice caught in my throat and just came out a chittering, choking, moan.
"Just relax." Said the one who first spoke. "You will not be harmed. You have saved one of our own and we pledge our powers to your longevity. As long as you are one of us, you shall not die.
"Lilli, come forward."
The witches parted, and a young girl pushed out of the curtain of black.
"This is Lilli. Like you, she is new. Together, you will learn the ways of magik and the tennets of our dark pact. You join this sisterhood now, and nothing shall break this bond: not man, nor death, nor God."
I writhed in fear and agony. I could not break free, and only tangled further in my bed clothes. My fingers, which had grown long nails, shredded my sheets. I yowled, being unable to put together cohesive words. My tail thrashed.
"Lilli, go forth and collect your familiar. It will be your companion, and guide through the world of humans. Protect your familiar, and it shall protect you. Now, you must give it a name and you will be tied forever."
The little girl came forward and wrapped her arms around me. I could feel her breath blowing my fur as she said, "This is my little Fluffy Tay Tay Marshmallow Paw, and we're going to be the bestest of friends forever."
| 2019-10-26T21:39:34 | 2019-10-26T21:27:55 | 1,250 | 445 |
[WP] There is nothing unusual about a man in a business suit carrying a briefcase, rushing off to work. But since he just quickly passed you as you are climbing up Mount Everest in full winter gear, you have questions.
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"Uhmmm, excuse me sir! Excuse me!" I shouted at the man who had just walked briskly passed me. He was wearing a 3-piece suit that looked like it was dry cleaned recently, despite the fact that it was well below freezing this high up in the mountains. He stopped and turned around, appearing slightly annoyed "Yes? Can I do something for you?" I slowly made my way up to him, trudging through the snow that he had made his way through. Once I got close enough for him to here me over the snow that had started, I asked him "Uhmmm, where are you going?"
&#x200B;
As he pulled up his sleeve to look at his watch, he said without looking up "Where am I going? Is that not obvious? Or, maybe it isn't. I'm going to work." Although slightly rude, I suppose it was the answer I was expecting, even as odd a situation as this was. "Arent you cold?" it wasn't the most important question, but it was the most prescient one on my mind. Either this guy had some supernatural resistance to cold, he was crazy, or he was going to die in less than an hour due to exposure. "Not in particular. Is that all? I'm late, and I really must go now," he said rolling down his sleeve and picking up his suitcase, before walking off while I stood there bewildered.
&#x200B;
I started to chase after him, and had to push close to my physical limits just to keep pace with him. "Does your workspace have a restroom? I've got to use it and I would prefer not to do so out here in the snow," I said. It wasnt necessarily a lie, but it was mostly just a reason to follow him and see where he would go. Maybe he hadn't heard me over the snow, but he kept pressing onward. It wasn't long until we approached a large boulder, and with what looked like random fiddling with pebbles near it, a set of elevator doors opened up on the boulder. The man entered the boulder, and looked at me as I sat there stunned, until he cleared his throat and said "Well? Are you coming?" as he put his hands on the door.
&#x200B;
I made my way over as fast as I could, and entered the boulder. As I got in the doors shut behind me, and the "boulder" started to move. Inside was the room of a standard elevator, except it only one button. I looked around in stunned silence, and after a couple minutes, the man turned to me and offered out his hand, "I don't believe I introduced myself. I'm Robert Johnston. I work here as an systems technician." Not to be rude, I shook his hand, but was still very confused. "Henry. Where exactly is here?" I asked as the elevator continued to descend. He rubbed his temples with his left hand, and replied in a voice that seemed to be between tired and stressed "You know, its probably best that someone else explain that to you."
&#x200B;
As our conversation finished, the elevator came to a soft stop and opened its doors to a lobby room. It was a round, and had a table in the middle with a woman sorting papers and a man pacing back and forth on the floor talking to her. As the door dinged the man pacing looked up from the woman at Robert and said lightheartedly "Ah, speak of the devil." It seemed he hadn't noticed me because as he turned to me, his face went from shock to joy. "A visitor, how exciting!" He said as we walked up to us. "Mr. Johnston, I will excuse your tardiness for now, please introduce me to the guest you brought, " He said looking at Mr. Johnston as he enthusiastically shook my hand. "This is Mr. Henry, he saw me walking here and followed me. Mr. Henry, this is my boss Frank Spiduh. Frank, he would like to know where the restrooms are and what this place is." He gave us a factory introduction, and began to walk off to the other side of the room and got into another elevator.
&#x200B;
Frank took me by my hand, and led to another elevator, this time closer to the entrance. As we got in, I saw this one was different. The wall were glass, and through them I could see an absolutely large facility. This elevator also had an assortment of buttons, and Frank pushed one as the doors shut. As soon as the elevator began descending, Frank started talking. "The best way to describe what we do here is scientific research. Over there is our nuclear research sector. Right now they are attempting to figure out the secret of nuclear fission." As the elevator continued past that floor, we soon came to a much smaller laboratory filled with people in hazmat suits and scientific instruments I couldn't name. "This right here is the facility where we research viruses and diseases. Just this weak they figured out a formula to determine how a bacteria is likely to adapt to antibiotics," Frank said as we quickly descended past that floor as well. Soon we passed a floor absolutely filled with computers, as well as people working on them. "This is our cyber security room, this is where they try and find any exploits or issues within other computer systems around the world that might result in a global electronic shut down."
&#x200B;
As the elevator counited to descend I remembered something. Although I wasn't someone who paid attention to news all that much, I remember hearing that an infamous terrorist group had developed nuclear capabilities as well as potentially having access to bio weapons. It seemed Frank had realized that as well, as he put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye. "It seems you've finally noticed. Well, there's really only one option I have." I stood there, tears welling in my eyes as I realized that I had no escape from what ever he was about to do. "P-please don't kill me. I promise I wont tell anyone that you're here," I blurted out in fear. Frank look shocked, "No no no, you have the wrong idea. I wasn't going to kill you, I was going to offer you a job. We offer a great health package, complete with dental. We also offer 10 weeks paid vacation per year, as well as a year of paternal or maternal leave." I suddenly relaxed, and began shaking his hand excitedly, 'Yes Mr. Spider, Thank you Mr. Spider." He gave me a hearty chuckle and said "Dont call me Mr. Spider, It's Mr. Spiduh. And don't call me that either, call me Frank"
|
This was supposed to be my life's achievement. We had big projects with Andrew, plans for decades : a home, neighbors, holidays with the family, children... But he couldn't handle the miscarriage, neither could I. He left quietly. I think we talked about it, putting meaningless words on the unexplainable chaos.
Before I realised I was talking with Mom, maybe immediately after, when did he leave again ? She told me don't lie on the ground like a wounded animal, you've been hurt, all right, now take your shit, get them together, and act like a real woman. Mom's never been really gentle, but she's often right. Like that time with the mailman... Or was he the tennis coach ?
Anyway I had to find something, to stay up and outdo myself. It seemed obvious, I had to climb on the tip of the top of the thing, the world, the mountain, that big word. I prepared for months, it kept me busy 24/7, I had to do it and to do it on my own.
Boy wasn't I expecting something like that. The beginning was hard, it was cold, but I was prepared. I kept on going I had to do it. After two days I was exhausted, I kept on climbing. When my hands were si called I couldn't properly open my bag or eat, I kept on going up. When I dropped my bag of food in the ravine, I didn't turn back. Had I made a quick math, I would've drawn the rational conclusions. But I'm not good at math and I kept on believing.
But now, I'm not sure. When I saw that motherfucker rushing past me, with his suit, his briefcase, his glasses, I just said hi. I thought je was just going to get the metro. Where's the nearest metro line by the way ? I don't think I've heard of it. I think he answered. He said hi. He might've smiled at me. I'm not sure. I may take the metro to come down.
| 2021-01-31T23:41:43 | 2021-01-31T22:53:19 | 232 | 55 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man.
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"What the hell?" The old man, who said his name was Myrddin Emrys, was nearly impossible to understand. He was speaking English, some of which I recognized from my university reading of Chaucer, but it wasn't the words but what he said I didn't get.
I held up my hand to shut him up for a second while I tried to wrap my head around what he was saying. "So this box, yes, BOX," as if speaking loudly would make him understand me better. Idiot. "Will let me oferferian? What the hell is oferferian?"
He mimed a movement, then with a frown, walked over to a bucket, picked it up up and carried it to me. Dropping it, he pointed. "Oferferia," he said.
"Move? I can move stuff with the box?" I asked
"Moovee?" the old man considered my word. "Ah, ábire. Yea, moovee!"
"Not moovee, you moron. Move. Okay, I can move stuff with this box. Once a day." We had already established that in seven days the castle Camelot will be attacked. Myrddin, who I suspected was the Merlin of legend, had brought me here by some unknown means (maybe the box?) because he believed that I was Camelot's only hope to prevent the destruction of the castle and death of Arthur, wielder of Caliburn. I thought the sword's name was Excaliber, but Myrddin was quite clear it was not.
I thought carefully. One object. Size wasn't relevant. One per day. I looked at Myrddin and slowly smiled. "I can do that," I said.
_____________________________________________________________
The army that had arrived and arranged itself for attack outside the castle was clearly superior to the force Arthur had to defend Camelot. I had realized in the previous seven days that in spite of the romance and legends around him, Arthur was a minor king and he, and his knights, had pissed off a lot of powerful people. Were it not for Myrddin's guidance, he would have been dead long before now.
It turned out that the stories were right about Arthur's love life but wrong about the rest. Guinevere was the woman he loved but she was (had been?) a queen who was newly married to another king, name of Mordred. Yes, THAT Mordred. Her father, some guy named Leo-something or other, had married her off in a political alliance. Arthur was at the wedding, got smitten and she with him, so they ran off together. A real Helen of Troy story. Myrddin was initially pissed but then desperate as the armies of Mordred and those of her father Leo had joined forces to teach this little pissant king a serious lesson.
Well, I had a week. That was plenty of time. A knight had ridden up and offered Arthur a chance to save his people by surrendering to the "dómfæstnes". Myrddin had to explain to me that mean something like righteous justice. Of course, Arthur declined and so battle was to be joined.
Day one I had brought over the first object and spent the entire week training training a small group of knights how to use it. Do you know how nearly impossible it is to train medieval knight to aim and shoot a 50 calibre machine gun? The first time it fired and tore up a target, they ran screaming away.
I only brought three, and as they came with some rounds, there was about enough to kill twice the number of those aligned against us. I used my transport box to add ammo on day four and five, teaching those who had proven capable how to change the ammo belt.
Day six, the last day before the siege, I brought over the pièce de résistance. It would have been perfect to find someone who could drive the thing, but it was enough that my military background allowed me to aim and fire the beast. I had spent all day training one of the most flexible and capable of the knights on his role, to load. When we test fired he all but fainted but he was pretty sturdy stuff.
I sat, camouflaged, covered in branches and wood so the enemy would now know we were here. Once the fighting began it would make no difference, as no weapon they had could even touch us. I could see them preparing to attack and looked at my fellow passenger. "Ready for this, Gal?" I asked. He didn't understand my words, but he knew that tone and grinned at me.
They were preparing to attack, so I started up the engine then, leaving the brake on, crawled into the gunner's seat. The first round of HE was already loaded, so all I had to do was decide where to put it. I decided that where the two kings were sitting on horseback, safely behind their knights, yeoman and peasant fodder, was perfect.
"Okay, bitches, let's see how you fare against an M1 Abrams!" I shouted gleefully as the first round rocked the tank back on its treads.
|
"Does the item have to consist of one piece, or can it consist of multiple parts to build one entity?", I asked Merlin. He looked at me, puzzled, and responded, "As long as it's solid, has real form to it, you should be successful in summoning it." he replied.
"Okay, Merlin. Hope you like bricks. This next item I summon will be our main line of defense, and *it's gonna be euge.*"
EDIT: Man, after lurking this sub for so long I finally make a post and it receives moderate attention. Thanks for the friendly welcome, folks!
| 2016-11-28T03:38:57 | 2016-11-28T02:15:50 | 241 | 82 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
This whole thing was ridiculous, he didn't even belong in this world. But somehow here he was, a theoretical physicist, stuck in some sort of medieval society, and from all reasonable observation they had magic!
Actual magic, how was that even possible? When he had first arrived there had been… well he would have called it explosive displacement of the air. They also called it that, but they also called it regicide, mass murder, destruction of crown property, illegal use of prohibited magic… oh an trespass on private property. He guessed that much of the law was the same as back home, always add as many charges as they could.
He didn't understand half of what they were saying, dense magical theory washing over him and his eyes glazing over in much the same way as he remembered others eyes glazing over when he was enthusing about some obscure quantum mechanical theory. Considering he was in another world he was glad he could understand them at all. Understanding that did not it seem work both ways as they remarked that he seemed to be speaking in complete gibberish, different each time as they couldn't even seem to understand his name. Repeating back different incoherent babble each time he has screamed his name until they had gagged him for fear he was trying some casting. The court system was a joke in his opinion. It took all of a minute for them to declare him guilty.
"Death by the Dais of Judgement. The doomed may wish for a death of his own choice." The judge declared with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Hopefully the dais can understand your mad ramblings and give us an amusing death."
A wave of rage swelled up within him, if he hadn't have been magically gagged he was sure he'd have spat in the judges face.
He wasn't the only one to face death today. There were two people already hobbled and shackled by thick iron manacles and chains waiting in front of him when he was dragged from his cell and unceremoniously thrust into line waiting at a large wooden door. The man and women in front of me seemed to be magically gagged too. Probably smart given that magic was a thing here. They wouldn't want their wizard, or whatever they called them, prisoners using magic to escape.
After a few minutes it was apparent to him that it was just to be the three of them as the door swung open of its own volition and the manacles around his ankles started to force them to walk forward.
The door opened up into a large amphitheatre of yellow stone, in the centre of which was a black dais. Some of the audience had what looked an awful lot like popcorn.
"Oh, so our deaths are to be public entertainment then." He thought to himself, his impotent rage pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
He'd been planning since the verdict, just a few hours ago. The little he had gleaned from the conversations he'd overheard from guards that assumed he was daft in the head since he couldn't string two coherent words together.
The Dais apparently worked no matter what language you spoke, seemed to understand even complex theories of magic, having once been used to execute some famous arch mage who had tried to use some archaic and convoluted magical theory to try and get around the Dais. Apparently it hadn't worked and the official cause of death was suffocation.
His musing was cut off and the audience above went silent as a booming voice filled the chamber from everywhere and nowhere.
"Elias Shadow-Bane, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die."
At the front a figure stumbled forward clumsily, his face a tortured twisting visage as if straining against some huge weight or pain as he slowly stumbled onto a dais at the centre of the chamber. A deep blue glow started in the stone below him, but he refused to speak.
"Silence will not save you, if you refuse to chose the Circle will chose for you!" The booming voice declared. "You have 1 minute to declare."
"Sleep." The man squeaked out. "I want to die in my sleep!"
A pulse of blue flushed over the man at his declaration, and he crumpled to the ground, his chest raising and falling in the slow steady rythm of sleep. It seemed like a nice way to go.
Then the screaming started. The man, Elias, was screaming and screeching. His body thrashing, and all the while his eyes were closed and slack. For a full minute he screamed and thrashed before blessedly fallin silent. He hadn't woken for an instant, and died in his sleep. In extreme agony.
Thunderous applause flooded into the silence that followed. Some raised their voices to jeer or cheer but the applause drowned out the specifics down in the chamber.
His body sunk down into the dais leaving behind his chains and clothes, which were swept off by a bored looking guard.
"This was sick. It was evil. And I'm going to beat it." He thought to himself as his manacles once more shuffled him forward. He had a plan.
"Talisa of The Black Woods, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die." The same voice declared.
The woman in front of him strode forward, she looked to be quite young and was a lot calmer than the previous convict. She threw back her head to clear the long black tresses from her face and raised her voice.
"Old age!" A smirk danced on her lips as the light pulsed again, and she stood seemingly unaffected. The smirk bloomed a a full smile and her lips twitched as if to speak. Then she jerked, her lips formed a surprised oval and a single word echoed around the chamber.
"Nooooooooo!" The word was drawn out. Getting thinner and quieter as her hair grew out into long tresses that flooded the ground around her feet, the deep lustrous black fading and fading into grey then pure white. Her nails seemed to shoot out and curl up, her skin wrinkled and became wan. Her teeth yellowed and fell out one by one until nothing was left but raw gums.
What fell to the ground with a soft whump looked more mummy than human, and her body sunk into the dais as the thunderous applause once again roared into the chamber.
The bored guard came on and swept the clothes and chains off muttering under his breath. "Always a smart ass."
The blood drained from his face as he watched his plan play out in front of him… she had done precisely what he had planned, and it had failed. A weight settled on his heart as the realisation sunk in. He was going to die, and painfully, for the entertainment of those above.
"Unnamed Assassin, you have been found guilty, and sentenced to death. Step forward and declare how you shall die."
The manacles forced him forward again. He struggled as hard as he could, causing his movements to be slow and stumbling just like Elias before him.
His mind raced as he feverishly thought of possibilities.
"Was there a way out? It didn't look like it. Even time was under their control, they'd just accelerate your timeline until you died." Another step forward towards his fate.
"Space-time distortions of that magnitude must take immense amounts of energy, even a matter/antimatter reaction would struggle to produce enough energy and exotic particles to produce such an effect." Another step.
"Antimatter." The word reverberated around his mind.
A grin spread across his face as he stopped fighting and let himself be puppetted to the centre of the dais. His mind rapidly estimating some figures, and doing some rapid calculation.
One pound of anti matter was approximately twice as powerful as the Tunguska Event, I weighed about 140 pounds….. well time to introduce the locals to theoretical physics.
As he reached the centre of the Dais a hysterical and vicious laugh erupted from his mouth the moment the gag disappeared. "To have every atom of my being instantly converted to its antimatter equivalent."
|
You breathe. Slowly, softly, barely there. It's going to be your turn soon. Soon. Just one more in front of you.
"Garelea Ordenssen," the voice of the Judge calls, echoing through the cavernous waiting room full of intricately carved stone walls. The man in front of you takes a deep breath, displaying confidence.
With a gait that can only be described as *smug*, Ordenssen struts into the courtroom through the small, open archway. "You stand accused, Garelea Ordenssen..." You breathe, tuning out the rest of the Judge's slow diction and syrupy voice.
"Guilty," a cacophonous sounding of voices calls. It's so loud, even out here, that it startles you out of your thoughts of nothingness, of anxiety pooling in your gut.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells him.
The man smirks, you can see that much. "Old age," he drawls. As soon as he gets the words out, *it* happens. *It* being the instantaneous change – his skin wrinkles, becoming visible more worn; his back, once tall and sturdy, slopes into a hunch; teeth fall out of his mouth like a waterfall until there is nothing but blood and gums dripping onto the floor.
And then he dies.
There is no fanfare, no discerning moment. He just...falls over. People dressed in dark purples and blues come to collect the body. You don't know where they are going to put it.
"Harley Matisnal," the Judge calls. Oh. Well. *There goes that plan*, you think, just a tad bit hysterically.
Who are you kidding? Very hysterically.
On shaking legs, you step into the courtroom. It is large. Not just in square footage, no. It goes up *very* far, so far you can't even see the ceiling. The walls are stone, but they glitter like gold; they even have its coloring.
There are several arches built into the wall, each colored like gems – maybe they *are* gems, but you're only really going off of color, here. Each archway holds spectators, but you're not sure whether they want to see people die or if they decide if you're guilty.
"You stand accused, Harley Matisnal, of the crimes of Larginnally and Evading the Law. Your trial was several months ago. We have just now received you. Of both, you have been determined to be–"
"Guilty," the voices ring. It is loud, especially now that you're standing *in* the room instead of outside of it. Your head is spinning so much that you can't tell left from right, down from up, whose mouths are closed and whose are open. Who said that? Was it the people? The Judge? You can't tell.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells you.
You flounder for a moment. Fuck. *Fuck!* What are you supposed to say to this? Nothing?
...Fuck it, you're gonna go with nothing. See what they say to that! Can't kill you if you don't say they can, right?
"Nothing," you say.
And then you are.
Like you never even existed in the first place.
| 2021-06-24T11:09:46 | 2021-06-24T08:08:07 | 54 | 22 |
[WP] Earth has always been an anomaly to the galaxy because of its inability to discover faster than light travel, but because of the galaxial code no one has yet to interact. One day a spaceship crashes here and the galaxy discovers that earth has far superior tech, and are just very bad at science
|
February was cold in Washington.
Had Plurbinus known it was February, he probably would have chosen a different time to lose control of the space-time flux roaring through the engines of his pleasure-yacht as he warped through the Galaxy in the vicinity of the waste-world Sol 3. Being unaware of the frigid weather, however, he just allowed the catastrophe to continue and watched impotently as his ship plummeted out of the warp-bypass, careened into the Sol system, got swung about by Sol 5's gravity, bounced off an asteroid, tore through the atmosphere of Sol 3, and slammed into Professor Ketra's back yard, destroying two stately fir trees and half a fish pond in the process.
Plubrinus grumbled as he dialed the GGG (the Galactic Guide Guild, similar to AAA), he wasn't a member so a tow was going to cost him a fortune, and clambered out of the burning hull of his craft.
Ketra, a PhD astrophysics fellow at the University of Washington, stood on her back porch, contemplating, watching the wind whip through the yard, divergences and curls directing the turbulence of the wind as it rushed through the fir trees, knocking snow down as light refracted through the steam rising off her tea and reflected off the falling flakes in a magical sparkle. She also contemplated the rocket ship which had just obliterated her back yard.
"Um Hello there, are you quite all right?" She queried toward the strange man crawling out of the strange hunk of metal.
Plurbinus shot a shocked glance in her direction and quickly ran, well, stumbled and sludged rather, though the snowdrifts and hid behind one of the few trees left unscarred by his fiery holocaust of an entrance, his bulbous nose portruding well beyond the cover of his ingenious hiding spot as he covered the mouthpiece of his communicator and spoke frantically to a series of automated call-takers at the GGG phone-banks.
"Care for a cup of tea?" Ketra tried again toward the large schnoz shivering from behind the brush. Getting no answer she began her own sludging trek through the snow to where Plurbinus hid and whispered frantically.
She rounded the tree, and smiled at Plurbinus, doing her best to make a good first impression for her race. Plurbinus quickly held a sprig of needles in front of his face, doing his best to remain hidden, then, that failing catastrophically, he pulled his lips back and bared his teeth, doing his best to make a fearsome first impression for his race, though, as Plurbinus was a rather unintimidating specimen of a rather unintimidating race, the effect was rather lost.
Ketra, encouraged by his smile, reached out and took his hand to guide the poor lost cosmonaut into the warmth of her abode. Plurbinus frantically raged at the automated GGG call robot about how he was being taken hostage by a hostile military and berated himself for not having signed up for membership which would have allowed him to skip all this, and talk to a real, live Galactian.
Ketra pulled him through the snow, which he seemed to have a hard time navigating, up the steps, which he couldn't quite figure out how to climb, through the door, which he seemed to get caught on, and into the den of her home where a fire cackled cheerfully in the hearth and a still-warm kettle was waiting to be reheated.
Plurbinus having struggled his hardest to prevent this abduction, grasping desperately first at the steps and then at the door frame, saw the primitive cooking fire the monster had prepared for him, and sat down in a soggy puddle on the carpet to bemoan his fate.
"Alfred, play Decemberists" Ketra said to Plurbinus, who didn't know his name was Alfred, but accepted this humiliation.
The soft tunes of folk music flooded out of the walls of the hovel. Plurbinus gaped around in a panic, anticipating a group of strangely instrumented warriors around every corner, as he prepared for his final stand.
"You look absolutely frigid, and terrified! Oh dear, Alfred, thermostat up to 80, mood lighting calm." Ketra smiled as she walked over holding a cup out to Plurbinus, a cup probably of some vile poison, a muscle relaxant to make his flesh more tender, most likely.
Plurbinus glared at Ketra as she held the cup up to his mouth, and forced the stuff in. He felt rage, indignity, regret, and, at the end of it all, absolute comfort. His eyes relaxed as he looked around the hovel, no, the home, a relaxing orange light blending with the melodic tunes and warm air pumping in his face in the soft orange light.
"Oh yes, this is actually, surprisingly, quite pleasant," Plurbinus said through his babel-dict, "how are you doing this? Where have you hidden the band, the torchbearers, the blowers?"
Ketra looked at him confused, then laughed, "We're alone, that's just Alfred, my smart assistant, he cozies things up for me. Alfred, boarding videos."
Plurbinus narrowed his eyes as he regarded her, then widened them again as a projector whirred to life and snowboarding videos played on the wall above the fireplace to the Decemberists' background music.
"I'm a bit of a geek, actually," Ketra admitted slyly over her tea, "always tinkering with these gadgets, I guess because it's part of my job as a scientist to always be exploring."
"A scientist?" Plurbinus asked, "Your tribe has scientists? That's not possible, you haven't even developed travel yet, most species figure that out in just a couple of years"
Then again, Plurbinus thought to himself, he'd never heard of an Alfred before.
"Oh yes!" Ketra grew excited at the interest in her work and pulled a composition notebook, which had seen an awful lot of strange things but nothing quite so strange as this green nostrilled man huddled in a pool of snowmelt on the floor sipping tea, down from the shelf and opened it up.
"You probably know all about this stuff! I've been working on super-relativistic jets from black holes recently, but the accretion turbulence equations are really giving me some bother!" She opened the book betwixt them to reveal pages and pages of curls and divergences and tensor maths.
Plurbinus stared down at the codex filled with gibberish and sighed to himself. Of course. Tribe-magic.
"Ah, yes, well," he grew haughty and checked his communicator with obvious impatience, "I can't say I know much about this kind of a thing."
"I've just submitted a paper but the reviewers said my work was sloppy and my team didn't adequately account for the magnetic field, so we've been calling our colleagues over in Toronto to help us out," Ketra's voice faded as she stood and began to pace the room, eyes absorbed into the pages.
Oh gods, Plurbinus groaned to himself, democratic tribe-magic, the worst sort. No wonder this place is a back-water. No wonder they never even figured out jumping.
"We were hoping the effect would be negligable bu--"
A flash of light and sudden crack shattered the Decemberists' "Crane Wife Pt. 3" as seven GGG agents materialized in the den in a protective circle around Plurbinus. Plurbinus sighed in relief.
"Plurbinus Pluraxis, you've called for extraction?" The lead agent registered Plurbinus' nod, "That will be seven hundred ninety five credits."
"Seven hundred ninety five?!" Plurbinus blubbered, "What sort of a scam are you--"
"Plus tax"
"How dare you! Exploiting a poor strand--"
"Want to add processing fees?" The lead agent raised an eyebrow toward Plurbinus who glowered back in rage.
"Oh my!" Ketra dropped her book to the floor, "there's more of you, oh this is so exciting! I can't wait to introduce you to--"
"Sorry human, I have to go now, it's been very nice visiting your cave, thank you for not eating me," Plurbinus rose his nose high into the air and spoke to the wall, "feel free to give me a call when you've given up on this whole witchcraft thing and decide to join the civilized universe."
"Witch-- what? I know my work isn't perfect," Ketra protested frantically, spreading her arms toward the group.
"But we could learn so mu--" she finished toward the empty living room that had once been host to the largest delegation of galactic visitors to Sol 3.
She frowned down at her [notebook](https://www.reddit.com/r/JackTheRitter/).
Edit: college name, month, thanks for corrections :)
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"Greetings Human!" said the weird humanoid while raising its hands. I don't know if it was sarcastic or trying to be friendly, but the reaction of both me and my roommate was the same.
"AAAAAHHHHHH! A GHOST!" Screaming at the top of our lungs in fear and in shock. Considering that we both just finished Scary Saturday Movie Night, as you would expect, it didn't help our mindset at all. The 'thing' was - to be frank- naked in front of us.
Perhaps, if it was greeting us in broad daylight, we might have overlooked its long (somewhat floating) hair as a magician's trick or something. Well equipped with an unnatural and forced smile, clearly showing its sharp, jagged teeth, he tried to approach us.
"W-what should we do! I knew we should have kept that holy water!" my friend, Jay said.
"You meant that rip off water?! How can we even know if holy water works on GHOSTS?!" my eyes started to dart around, trying to find anything to protect ourselves. But alas, as college students, the only thing present in the room is the television, us and the ghost and the sofa.
I sure as hell will NOT throw our only source of entertainment. I knew that using all our money to buy the house was a bad idea.
As I was resolved to proceed to throw the sofa, the 'ghost' stopped just a few feet in front of us and raised its hands... I think those are hands.
"I do not know any 'Ghosts' you are referring to but I am what you humans call as aliens if that would help calm your friend over there." He pointed to the now limp Jay sprawled across the floor. "Mama... help..."
"HOW CAN YOU BE AN ALIEN WOULD HELP US IN THIS SITUATION!?" As much as I want to help my friend, I have to resolve the problem before us first. Sorry Jay, I whispered to my heart silently.
"I mean no harm, really! I just crashed by spacecraft outside your house you see. I did make a barrier to prevent any problems but that's all."
"Oh yeah? And the next thing you're gonna say that you were just flying above Earth to capture some cows."
The humanoid opened its mouth and after a few seconds, he closed it back without saying a single word.
"So, what are you doing here 'Alien'?" I prompted the being, still holding tightly on the arm of the sofa.
"The names XFtTIk-0156, but you may call me Fay. I just want to use your intergalactic teleported over there." He pointed at the television.
"What teleporter? That's just television. It doesn't teleport anything."
"Eh? I could swear that model of the IGT is far advance than the ones used by the Federation... May I try to use it?"
Okay. If it was some type of teleporter than the alien would be gone and we can all forget this ever happen with a good few cans of beer and a goodnight sleep. Even if it wasn't teleported, the same method could be used as a good therapy session. Yup. So it's decided.
"S-sure. But don't break it!" I said, half in curiosity and anticipation of anything supernatural to happen.
"I wouldn't dare to break it." Sure enough, the moment the creature or rather 'Fay' touched it, his whole being started glowing and compressed in a small orb of light. A few moments later, that orb was absorbed by the television and was gone to God knows where.
Yeah. I'm going to bed.
Following the next few days, nothing happened, except on Thursday. The doorbell rang and when I opened it, the same face appeared in front of me. The being now looks more human-like but its distinctive teeth and floating hair were still present on it.
"Greetings Human! It would seem that you have many very interesting technology which most surpasses my own race - the highly advanced Technizoloid race. May I enter as I converse more about this issue with you?"
Yeah. I need more beers to cover this headache.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
(This is my first time writing so if there is any grammar or better use of words, please do help me with it. I hope you at least enjoyed the story!)
| 2020-05-08T17:56:04 | 2020-05-08T17:41:16 | 1,519 | 113 |
[WP] When a sorcerer dies any spells they cast throughout their life that are still in effect will cease to be. An powerful and ancient wizard whose origins are clouded in mystery lays comatose on his deathbed and nobody knows what will happen once he draws his final breath.
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The thing about being old, really old, is that when the time finally comes to leave this world, the world you grew up in will have left you a long time since. Archmage Prasutagus was definitely old. For nearly two millenia Prasutagus had defended the earth from mystical enemies, thanks to the power of his bloodline. For he is descended from Boudica herself.
Several lifetimes ago, he took his own name, Merlin. But now he preferred to go by the name of his birth. He found himself, so long now from the time of his youth, missing his mother dearly. He would be with her soon.
As the founder and head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium, he had protected the island of Britain from enemies for generations. But here, deep beneath the city in the ruins of the modest city, within the headquarters of the Royal Sorcerers he was powerless. Britain lie nearly defenseless now. soon the wards and mystic traps he laid hidden upon the island would fail.
Archmage Prasutagus head of the Royal Sorcerers of Londinium struggled to sit up in bed, and shortly his manservant entered and led him out of his quarters to the central chamber. Most of the chamber was taken up by the great round table. The same one from legend, for this was the real Camelot, buried beneath the bones of the greatest city of the world. It was surprisingly full. The mages who would normally be out on assignment protecting the island had been called back from service.
At the far end of the table sat the prince. Older than the last time. They always get older. Prasutagus still remembered his visits with Queen Elizabeth fondly. Both Elizabeths, actually. And the insufferable Charles, whose lack of hubris lead to his downfall and the rise of the black mage Cromwell, a rogue within Prasutagus' own organization. And distantly, he remembered the young Arthur, whom he molded into a capable king who founded this most remarkable empire. This would be the last.
The prince looked pensive, and concerned. Prasutagus was his friend, and like a second father to the man, although he was older than the Royal house itself. "I received your memo, Prasutagus, is there anything my family can do for you... to ease your...?" He wasn't sure he was ready to admit that his friend was truly dying.
"No, your highness. But you must understand the full implications of what will happen. As I said, when a sorcerer dies, what magic of theirs is left in the world is undone. All of the wards and shields will fall. You will be left defenseless."
The prince looked around at all the mages in the room, many were also his friends. The entire royal family supported their mission on numerous occasions. "I understand that, but surely the sorcerers here will be up to the task." He pointed across the table towards a young mage, "Why, I watched Miss Persephone single-handedly defend the Thames from the Leviathan and repair the tidal shield with precision. It is stronger than ever."
Persephone looked downcast towards her hands resting in her lap. The fight against the Leviathan had been mighty. The great beast ravaged the coast and blasted the magical shield guarding the river against the darkness with enough force to shatter windows for miles. The Leviathan had nearly won. It was then that Prasutagus knew his time was near. The shield had barely held. A shield that had been impervious to a thousand blows had shattered after only three.
Prasutagus sighed with resignation. He must choose his words carefully. This was where his legacy would live or die. "Persephone and the other sorcerers have been invaluable to me. Without them, our nation would have never survived as long as it has." He gestured around the table at the many senior mages present. The mages nodded sagely, none saying a word. Slowly they each stood up in turn and looked expectantly towards Prasutagus.
He considered them his friends, family even. They had stood by his side as he fought the unceasing hordes of demons and devils that threatened the world. He would miss them, just as he missed his own family who had died hundreds upon hundreds of years ago. However this truly was the end. If he was to give these people hope at survival, then he must swallow his pride and give up all of the securities and comforts that he had afforded himself these lonely years.
"if our world is to survive any further you must find a new sorcerer. I believe there is a young girl who might save you all. Like I did centuries ago. Your family must begin the search for her now."
The prince looked bewildered. Surrounded by so many powerful mages in one room, each more powerful than a battalion of soldiers. There were over a hundred Royal Sorcerers. The idea that a young girl would be a match for them, or a replacement for the man who used to be known as Merlin seemed preposterous.
"How could all of these sorcerers pale in comparison to a little girl? How could a hundred sorcerers not match the power of one?"
Prasutagus' manservant gently draped his robes over his shoulders as Prasutagus weaved a spell he had committed to memory generations ago, never having the courage to cast it. His magic would be undone either willingly or upon his death. Now, it would be both. One by one the sorcerers around the table bowed their heads low and faded into twinkling stars and emptiness. As his manservant touched his shoulder as if to say farewell, he too disappeared.
"Because, your highness, until now there has ever only been one sorcerer. I am sorry." Tears welled in his eyes. He could help no further. His power faded as quickly as the setting sun's last rays vanished.
"Find the girl, she is your only hope."
Merlin, the Sorcerer of Londinium, closed his eyes and drew his final breath. The shields fell. Darkness is coming. Somewhere, a young girl will discover that the darkness is coming for her.
|
A long time ago an ancient evil rose to bring the end of the world. The prophecies spoke that it would destroy everything leaving only a void once it's all said and done, and no one would be able to stop it. Yet somehow, my great grandfather did.
The greatest wizard who ever lived. They said he could pull an entire world out of thin air if he wanted to. Miracle after miracle his magic brought about a new era of peace, but now he laid out breathing his last breath.
He once told me "I never really saved anyone."
I'm still not sure what he meant. I mean once he's gone we don't know what could happen. His spells have become such a major part of life that we're still worried about what we'll do after his magic disappears. I've been hearing it endlessly since he fell ill.
"What about our food? Our farms won't be able to sustain themselves!"
"We'll have to start rationing our healthcare!"
"There's no way international trade will still be possible!"
But all I'm worried about my beloved great grandfather. He kept many secrets but I made sure to memorize absolutely everything he taught me. Yet he said "not even you can restore the magic I brought to this world." I just wish he would have faith in me.
Now it was time, comatose on his bed he exhales his very final breath. And when it was all out, the very world stopped existing.
| 2018-05-24T05:08:18 | 2018-05-24T01:25:04 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] Congratulations! At 25 years old you won the lottery and will receive €50.000.000,- spread out over the rest of your lifespan; paid out evenly on each of your remaining years alive. On the following January 1st, you receive €25 million in your bank account.
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Shock, denial, bargaining, guilt, anger, depression, and finally, acceptance.
Luckily for him, Jack was done with all of that pretty quickly. He had moved into the next stage. Fuck the world. He had his. He was going to live it up.
*210 days left*
Carnegie Hall. It was packed. Of course, it was packed by people who had been paid a hundred bucks each to attend. But money was not an objective for Jack. He had more money than he had time.
He sang his heart out. Of course, it was still shit. But everyone clapped. Hundred bucks for the couple of hours was still a good deal. Jack knew there was no chance he could actually be good enough to sell out The Hall, as he called it, so he had chosen the next best thing.
Another thing checked off his list.
*145 days left.*
Jack’s face was white as a ghost. The instructor tapped his shoulder.
“You are not at an acceptable level. You shouldn’t be doing this.” He had to shout over the sound of the chopper to make himself heard.
“What’s the worse that could happen?” With that, Jack jumped.
*100 days left.*
Jack winced as he touched his side. Running with the bulls had been a good idea in theory. But in practice... oh well. No regrets. That was his motto.
*85 days left.*
He had been happy. He had a plan. Now all his plans were going awry. For the second straight day, he sat on the side of the road. She had to come by eventually, right?
He knew he was wasting time. He only had a limited number of day’s but her face haunted him. He had to find her.
*60 days left.*
“Will you marry me?”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s a simple question.”
She looked confused. “Where did this come from?”
“I like you. Well I’ve fallen in love with you. I want you to marry me.”
“I don’t love you. You’re my employer.”
“Yes, yes. You’re my ghostwriter. You want to write and then be done with it. But think about it. I’ll be dead soon. If you marry me, you get all my money after I’m gone.”
“I don’t marry for money. Please don’t talk about this with me again. I would prefer if we have a professional relationship. Otherwise, I’ll have to quit.”
“Fine Fine. Your loss.”
It really wasn’t though. The loss was all his.
*45 days left.*
“Why don’t you like me?”
“I like you well enough.”
“But not enough to spend 45 days with me. In exchange for millions.”
She smiled. “I like you as an employer. I’ll marry someone I love. Someone I respect.”
“What can I do to gain your respect?”
“You need to go back in time and re live your life. Two years ago, you had an amazing stroke of luck. But what did you do? You lived your life for yourself. You had fun. What are you leaving behind in this world? What’s your legacy? Do you think people will remember you fondly? Or remember you at all?”
He tried to say something but words failed him.
She continued. “You’re fun to be around. But you’re not a good person. I’m sorry if I’m being blunt. But this is the last time I’m gonna see you.”
“But why?”
“I warned you last time that if you brought this up again, I will quit.”
“Oh come on. It’s a dying man’s last wish. I’m dying you bitch. Show me some mercy.”
“People die everyday. Why do you deserve my mercy more than anyone? In fact, now I’m even surer that you don’t.”
She didn’t wait for him to answer and stormed off.
*-3 days.*
Sally Richards got a letter with a familiar hand writing.
Dear Sally,
I was happy once. Then I found out I would be dead soon. I was still happy. Then I met you. You made me see how shallow my happiness was. The days we spent together showed me how little I mattered. A millionaire and not a single soul to miss me when I will be gone. Well you’re a better person than me. So I hope you spend all of this wisely.
Yours,
An idiot.
Inside was also a will, bequeathing 34 million bucks to Sally Richards.
Sally smiled, a tear forming in her eye. She could respect that a bit. Just a little bit.
********
Alternate ending.
Sally Richards smiled. Her plan had worked. She hadn’t even needed to use the fake will. The fool had done it on his own. What an opportunity god had given her. Now she could do everything she ever wanted to. Respect? Probably not. But she would be thankful to him and keep him in her thoughts, if only to laugh at him.
*******
Alternate Ending 2
*2 days left.*
Jack entered the lab. “Well...?”
The man in the white coat smiled. “I think we have it. I still need to test some things.”
“We are out of time.”
“I understand.”
“The money was transferred to your account.”
“I didn’t do this for the money Jack. You financing my research was reward enough.”
“Hey, we both helped each other.”
Jack ran his hand over the glass. A time machine in 2 years. Funny what a lot of money and no red tape could achieve in such a short time.
*******
More of my ramblings at r/ta_account_12. I promise I don’t always do these many endings.
|
I get a notification on my phone of a recent deposit in my bank account, excited having won the lottery. I really need the money since I finished college and in major debt.
I figured since they say it’s spread evenly through my life I can calculate how long I’ll live. Not a nice thought, but hey who wouldn’t.
I nearly choke on my apple juice box, seeing that i’ve never seen so many zeros at once.
I’m filled with joy, excitement of all the possibilities, I call my girlfriend, my parents. But after I get off the phone, it dawns on me. Hold up, they said “evenly”, sooooo I’m going to die in 2 years!??!!!?
I feel a cold rush, as I realize what this means.
I grab my phone, and dial a number.
The first step I must make.
It rings.
“Hello?” I say
“Thank you for calling Wendy’s. How may I help you?”
I must eat.
| 2020-08-05T18:52:44 | 2020-08-05T15:38:04 | 346 | 133 |
[WP] You wake up submerged in water with only a flashlight and a note. The note reads "You're now immortal. Welcome to the bottom of the Marianna Trench. This is your first test."
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Gil opened his eyes to blue and black. As far as he could see - which wasn't far, the light didn't extend much - he was surrounded by water. Instantly and uncontrollably, he panicked and his body convulsed, thrashing. Heedless of his best attempts to hold his breath, the water won, forcing its way down his nose and into his lungs. He swung his head about wildly, desperately trying to gain some sense of direction - a light in the distance, an object, something other than the blue. He kicked his feet to swim, move, anything, his vision already beginning to become more blurry than it already was with each passing second, and found he couldn't - his legs weren't working. Gil could *feel* his brain closing down shop, packing up. His lungs betrayed him, refusing to do their job and help keep him alive when he most desperately needed them. With every part of him rebelling in panic, Gil opened his mouth, a soundless roar escaping him into the water.
Shortly thereafter, his mind shut down. Next came the rest of his organs, and Gil died.
Except he didn't. Gil could feel, *knew* he should be dead, *had* died, drowned, except... he could still... think. And after a moment, maybe he could also...
Gil opened his eyes for the second time. The first thing he noticed was that he was still in water, although in a different place than before. The second thing he noticed was that he could see his now dead body below him in the water, slumped and unmoving. It was naked, the lower half of it was from waist down encased in a block of what Gil was sure was solid concrete. *So this is it,* Gil thought. *I must be a... what, spirit now?* He felt an odd calm, considering the circumstances.
Gil, wherever he was now, looked about, taking in his surroundings. Casting one last look at his body, he looked up, made a guess, and started swimming - no, floating - after all, he noted, he had no body to swim with - upward to whatever, wherever, was next. He got about 30 feet away away from his body before he felt a tether SNAP into place, preventing him from going any further. Gil's calm shattered in an instant.
*No, no, no. This is over, I'm done, I'm dead. There's a light, there's always a light, right? Right, a light, the light. Where's the light?* Gil could feel the panic settling in again, the water growing tighter around him. He cast about, looking for the tunnel, the light, the cosmic pathway way *out* and away. The only lights he could see, oddly enough, were the ones mounted in the seafloor around his former body, arranged in a circle and pointing towards where his body like some kind of candlelit vigil. The effect was intensely eerie - the lights all pointed towards his body encased in the concrete, upper body floating slightly above it all, lifeless.
The panic faded, momentarily replaced by curiosity. Gil floated his... spirit, being, presence, whatever, closer, and noticed something he hadn't before. Tied to his left arm by a chain was a large, sturdy-looking metal flashlight. Tied to his right arm was another chain, this time tied to a sheet of metal. The metal had printed on it in bright red text the words:
*"You are now immortal. Welcome to the bottom of the Mariana Trench. This is the first test."*
Gil could read. He could read pretty well, actually. He'd always done well in his English studies, but these words were making no sense to him at all. His eyes roved the text 5, 10 times, before he gained any sense of understanding. *Immortal? But... I'm dead now. This is a joke, right?... I've been killed, martyred down here, and this is the final kicker, the warning to whoever's next.* Except Gil knew that wasn't true. Part of him knew from the moment he didn't ascend away from this forsaken place. If he was truly in the Trench and could see the seabed, he was miles away from the surface. The pressure down here was so intense he should have not only drowned, but been crushed by the pressure. Perhaps he was hallucinating or dreaming, but this felt very, very real.
And then there was the part about a test. *What te- THE FIRST TEST. THE FIRST OF MANY.* The memory of the words rose to his mind suddenly, unbidden. While much of his current situation was entirely foreign to him, the one thing he now knew was that this was entirely intentional, and he was expected to pass or fail.
Looking back towards his body, Gil noticed, or sensed, something else. His body wasn't dead. Not dead, per say, more like... *absent. Waiting.* *Empty.* Intuitively, he drifted closer, then faster, then right up on his body, then he was *inside* his body, then...
Gil opened his eyes, his *real* eyes, for the third time, the first time since his death.
--
Let me know if you want me to continue! Wrote this on a whim - I don't usually write.
|
A throbbing headache is what made me wake up, and it wasn't showing signs of getting better anytime soon.
Opening my eyes I realised why, it was not a headache, it was 1100 PSI pushing against my body. Pushing without any signs of stopping.
After laying on the seafloor for what seemed 5 minutes I managed to find my way to the rock where I found out what happened to me. Laying there was a flashlight and a note.
A simple message lay there with an array of questions filling my mind. "You are now immortal, this is the Mariana Trench, this is your first challenge."
*Well, fuck*
| 2017-01-21T16:24:37 | 2017-01-21T12:26:53 | 51 | 34 |
[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.
|
"And you want me to do what?" Trish asked, arms folded. She wore thin gold hoops on her wrists and they jingled with every movement the limousine made.
I steepled my fingers, leaning forward in my seat. "Just ask him why he's kidnapping all my dates," I said. "Like really make it clear that you were here on a date."
"Okay, but why is Mr. Mega trying to stop you from dating?" She asked. "What'd you do to piss him off?"
"Nothing," I said, throwing my hands up. "He's just mad that we disagree in work."
"You're not exactly the most important super villain," Trish said. "Like, I'll take your money, don't get me wrong, but have you ever considered asking him to stop?"
I stared at her. Shed done up her hair, showing off her plunging neckline and slender neck. Some kind of flowered perfume drifted off of her in a cascading wave. She'd also been the only person to reply to the ad I'd placed online.
"If we could talk things out without him trying to commit me to citizens arrest," I said, "then I'd try."
She smiled. "So why don't you try?"
"Every time I do anything they try to have me arrested, Trish. I make gear for everybody, government, private enterprises, you name it, but Mr. Mega thinks I'm the one to blame for anything anybody does with it."
"Aren't you?" Trish asked and made a pinching gesture, leaving some space between her fingers. "Just a little?"
Another sceptic. I dealt with enough of that in the news. "If I made shoes and someone used them in a robbery should I go to jail?"
"If you made guns and someone used it in a robbery and you could have avoided selling it to that person, yes." She said, shaking her head.
I held up a hand. "Look, no, I don't sell to anybody. My company sells products that anyone can buy." She opened her mouth to say something and I pulled ahead, cutting her off. "I get it, okay, I'm not stupid. People don't have to like me, and I'm always working on better solutions. I'm not a psychopath. But even I deserve to have a night off? Go on a date?"
Trish hesitated before rolling her eyes. "You're the weirdest super villain I've ever met."
That cracked a smile on my face. "Everyone's human," I said. I pulled up the projection map on my watch, turning the hologram around. "We're almost there." I looked at her, expectantly.
"I know, I know." Trish spread her hands. "Please don't repeat it again."
The spot I had picked was a little open air cliffside dinner, overlooking a soft beach. At night the lights of the city cast out on the water, pretty but far enough away that stars could still shine above.
The wait staff were waiting for us, and I offered my hand to Trish as she stepped out of the limousine.
She eyed it briefly, before accepting it. The soft smile on her face could have been a trick of the candlelight, but I hoped not.
Once seated I glanced back up at the sky, more than half expecting Mr. Mega to already be hovering above us, his mechanical suit burning bright in the evening air.
Trish followed my look. "It's beautiful up there," she said.
I picked up my wine glass, and when I looked back at her I found her watching me. I smiled, raising it to her in a mock toast.
"You're not what I expected," she said.
"Should I be cackling and showing you my collection of oversized doomsday devices?"
"No, I just expected you to be more self centered," she said with a lazy wave of her hand. "Honestly I thought you'd be showing me your 'evil lair' by now." She gave me a look, half humor, half mock horror. "And I don't mean where you keep your oversized doomsday devices."
I laughed, surprised and delighted. "No, no, I was saving that for the third date."
I glanced upwards again as the waiter approached, and caught her staring at me again when the waiter handed me the menu.
"You should relax," Trish said.
"Sorry, I just don't usually get this far into a nice evening without..." I trailed off. "Sorry," I said again.
"No, I get it," she set her wineglass down. "But focus on enjoying this." Her hand reached out, touching mine.
I gripped her fingers in my own. "You're right," I said. "Maybe he's busy saving the world."
She arched a brow. "I mean you shouldn't spend your time worrying if someone is going to try and stop you from enjoying yourself," she said. "Listen to what your heart wants, and just do that." She made a face and rolled her eyes. "Oh, wow, that was cheesy."
Her hand in mine, I found myself nodding. "I mean, it's not the worst I've ever heard," I said, "there was this one time when-"
The evening progressed. Dinner was served, a salad for me, prepared with homemade in house dressing, and a burger with fries for her. We exchanged halfway through, me stealing her fries while her eyes went wide at the taste of the dressing.
And as the night, and date, drew to a close I realized I hadn't thought about Mr. Mega once in hours.
"I honestly didn't expect to be asking this," I said, sheepish. "But can I drive you home? Normally, well by now Mr. Mega would have stolen you away by now. Maybe showed you his private lair, who knows."
Trish glanced at my watch and sighed. "Honestly, I'd love to but I can't."
"What do you mean?" It wasn't that late, then realization dawned on me. "Oh," I said, face growing red, "no, I meant actually dropping you off at your home."
"Hm?" She asked, distracted. "What? No, oh, no I wasn't trying to imply that you were going to, I mean," she stammered to a standstill. "No, I mean I have work, and it would take too long to drive there."
I held up a hand. "I'm confused," I said. "Back up a step and explain? I'm still happy to pay you, if you want. I know Mr. Mega didn't show up, but I mean, a deals a deal."
"No, stupid," Trish said. "Look, I didn't expect to be out this long, honestly I wasn't even sure that this date was going to happen." She cut me off with a motion. "Mr. Mega isn't coming," she said.
A slow suspicion dragged on me. "Wait," I said, "was this a set up?"
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. "Shut up you idiot and listen, okay?" She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again she caught me and didn't let me go.
"Mr. Mega hasn't been trying to ruin your dates," she said. "And when I found your post I felt horrible about what had been happening. It was a mistake, a horrible misunderstanding.
"You're supposed to be this puppeteering villain, manipulating people and orchestrating and supplying the tools for all these criminals. And yes, what you're doing is wrong, and yes, we do need to have a conversation about it."
I tried to say something and instead she pressed her hand to my mouth and held it there. I couldn't so much as move as I realized what she was saying.
"I didn't mean to trick you," she said. "And there's a arsonist currently trying to set someone's apartment on fire, so I don't have time to argue."
"Mmfmmf," I said, through her hand.
"Yeah, I'm sure." A sad look carried in her eyes, "look, I had a really fun time. If you're willing to, I'd love to go on a second date. Maybe a movie? Next week, Tuesday? That's my next day off."
She pressed a piece of paper into my hand, and as she did her clothes rippled, expanding into the all too familiar metal suit I knew. "Call me," she said, before taking off into the air.
I watched "Mr. Mega" fly off towards the city, leaving me holding a phone number and surrounded by a half dozen shocked witnesses.
"Wait," a waiter said. "Mr. Mega is a woman?"
|
I grabbed the detonator and with a deep breath I slipped it into the specific pocket in my boot.
Before too long he will arrive. I peered across the roof top and looked for the place I knew he would come from.
The ‘actual’ bomb is over to the east, in a secure prison for the lowest of the low, so he will expect me to be looking that way, so we will probably come from the west.
I slowly walked over and lay over the wall of the building and waited, my heart was in my mouth as I looked out at the horizon. The building, the parks, it was a beautiful view.
Before too long he flew up with the sun behind him, his silhouette making me flush red slightly.
“We reallly have to stop meeting like this.” I teased, my stomach lurched as his silhouette became clearer, but I refused to let it show.
“Then you have to stop trying to kill people.”
“Eurgh, you are so difficult to love.” He flew over me and stood on the far end of the roof against the wall, surveying the space between us. I flicked over one leg, then the other, so I was sat facing him. I placed my hands on my thighs. “And we have been over this. They don’t really count as people.”
“It doesn’t matter what a person does - they don’t deserve to die.”
I wanted to argue, he never understood. But I kept my eye on the prize.
“Don’t you remember when we used to fight crime together.” I said, putting on my most sensual voice.
“Of course I do Daphne.”
“Well then Fred.” I leant forwards and slowly stood up and walked over to him, swaying my hips ever so slightly, I felt like a snake charmer - using my body as the flute. “Don’t you think we can help each other again?” I placed my hand purposefully on his chest, dragged it up his neck and through his perfectly placed, blonde hair. “Gosh, you haven’t lost a single strand of this have you?” I asked, pulling myself closer to him, and slightly grabbing the scruff of delicate hair that I held in my hand.
“U- no- but-“
“The mighty Fred, lost for words. What? You didn’t come with a plan?” I pushed myself even closer against him. “You know, you’ve been mighty possessive over the years, and I have to wonder why.”
He cleared his throat “because it’s my job.” He went to take a step back but was greeted by a short, concrete wall.
“Well, that’s very interesting. Because the last three ‘victims’ you ‘saved from me’ were not ‘victims’ at all. And you knew that, didn’t you?”
“Not the first one.” His eyes went to look at the floor, but there was no gap between us to allow him to do so, he ended up just looking at more of me. He blushed, and I laughed.
“Fred, if you wanted me to yourself...” I raised myself up so my lips were next to his ear and whispered “You should have just asked.” I pulled away and locked my eyes onto his.
“I can’t. Not with what you’ve done- and what you do.” He went to place his hand on my shoulder but I held it with mine.
“You can’t have me, so no one can? That kind of behaviour can get a girl reaallly frustrated.” Keeping the eye contact strong I pulled my head closer to his, our noses touched, my lips grazed over his - inviting him to kiss me.
His breathing stuttered.
As soon as he kissed me passion, sadness and agression accelerated through me. I pulled myself into the kiss. He was the only man I ever loved, and he was going to insure I could never love, or be loved again. He pushed away my partners, my friends, even my family. All because he couldn’t stand who I was and wanted to make sure that everyone knew what a monster I am.
This kiss, was all I wanted. I kicked my boot with my heel and the rooftop was engulfed in an explosion.
Edit: sorry it’s so poorly written, had quite a short time frame to write...
| 2019-02-23T07:36:31 | 2019-02-23T05:29:53 | 283 | 70 |
[WP] In order to get a shot at going to Valhalla, you must die with a weapon in your hands. You just died and are now sitting in front of Odin's advisory board as they discuss whether a spatula actually counts.
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FADE IN:
INT. A CORPORATE BOARDROOM – DAY
*Several men and women in suits sit around a large table, all of them looking bored. At the front of the room, a man with a white beard flicks at the black eyepatch that he wears. This is ODIN.*
**ODIN:** You know, I was supposed to get the wisdom of the ages.
*Halfhearted murmurs are offered by everyone at the table.*
**ODIN:** (*CONT'D*) There I was, thinking I'd be granted some kind of sublime knowledge. Do you know what I got?
*A blond-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard sighs. This is THOR.*
**THOR:** A bunch of old wives' tales and some herbal remedies?
**ODIN:** A bunch of old... hey!
**THOR:** And when you asked for a refund, Mimir told you to...
*A breathtakingly beautiful woman – SIF – interrupts.*
**SIF:** (*Interrupting*) He told you to go sit on a glacier.
**ODIN:** Now, look, if you people are just going to...
*A sudden flash of light interrupts Odin. When the room's illumination returns to normal, a very confused young man is revealed. This is DAVE. He is clad in a pink apron and is clutching a black spatula.*
**ODIN:** (*CONT'D*) ... huh. That hasn't happened in a while.
**DAVE:** Yeah, I'm reasonably certain that pancakes aren't normally supposed to do that.
**SIF:** Do what?
**DAVE:** I'm not sure. What just happened?
*A middle-aged woman grins with glee. This is HEL.*
**HEL:** You died!
**DAVE:** I think I'd remember that.
**THOR:** No, that's definitely what happened.
*Dave glances around.*
**DAVE:** Heaven looks really boring.
**THOR:** This is Valhalla.
**DAVE:** Valhalla looks really boring. Why am I in Valhalla?
**ODIN:** Good question. Only warriors who die in battle are supposed to come here.
**DAVE:** You must get a lot of soldiers, then.
**SIF:** Actually, no, we don't. See, you *don't* have to die in battle; you have to die holding a weapon.
**DAVE:** Soldiers carry guns! Guns are weapons!
**HEL:** Not according to Section Nine, Paragraph Four of the Valhalla Bylaws!
*Everyone in the room save for Dave and Hel groans with impatience.*
**DAVE:** The what?
**THOR:** Don't encourage her.
**HEL:** According to our charter, a weapon is an object which renders injury or death.
**DAVE:** ... So, a gun?
**HEL:** No, a bullet.
**DAVE:** That seems like a remarkably stupid technicality.
**THOR:** *You're* a remarkably stupid technicality!
**ODIN:** He might be, actually.
*All eyes in the room turn to face Odin.*
**SIF:** Huh?
**ODIN:** Well, what's that in his hand?
**DAVE:** It's a spatula.
**ODIN:** I know it's a spatula... but what *is* it?
**THOR:** ... A spatula.
**ODIN:** You're not getting it. What *is* a spatula?
*A sudden thought seems to occur to Dave.*
**DAVE:** Hang on! Why does Valhalla look like an office building?
**HEL:** We had to redefine a pen as weapon a few decades ago.
**DAVE:** Because it's mightier than the sword?
**HEL:** Because a disgruntled accountant stabbed his coworker with one.
**DAVE:** Oh. I take it he lost that fight.
**THOR:** He...
**DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) Since he died, I mean.
**THOR:** He actually slipped and hit his head while running away.
**SIF:** He wouldn't stop screaming, so we redesigned Valhalla to make him calm down.
**DAVE:** And... what? You just kept it this way?
**HEL:** (*Shrugging*) Eh.
*Odin slams his fist on the table.*
**ODIN:** Enough! I swear, you people will drone on about the dullest things!
**THOR:** (*Muttering*) You mean like trading your eye for a chicken soup recipe?
**ODIN:** Now, for the last time: What is a spatula?
*Several seconds of silence pass.*
**THOR:** It's...
**ODIN:** (*Interrupting*) Don't say "a spatula."
**THOR:** Well, it is.
**SIF:** You mean... are you asking if it counts as a weapon?
**ODIN:** Finally! Yes.
**THOR:** You could have been direct about it.
**ODIN:** (*In a mocking voice*) "You could have been direct about it." Shut up.
**THOR:** You're an ass.
**HEL:** I think it counts as a weapon.
**SIF:** Odin's ass?
**THOR:** Only after taco night.
**HEL:** *The spatula!*
**SIF:** Is it forged from celestial iron or something?
*Dave examines his spatula.*
**DAVE:** No, I think it's just plastic.
**HEL:** It counts! It can render injury or death!
**DAVE:** Hey, my pancakes aren't *that* bad!
**HEL:** We are not concerned with your pancakes; we're talking about the spatula.
**SIF:** Do you ever say a word so often that it starts to sound funny?
**THOR:** Spa-tu-la.
**ODIN:** Spa-tuuuuu-la.
**SIF:** Spaaaaa-tu-la.
**DAVE:** (*Shouting*) Confused! *Confused!*
*Dave closes his eyes and starts waving his spatula in front of him. It smacks on the top of Odin's head several times.*
**ODIN:** Ow! Ow! Stop it! Stop it! Ow!
**HEL:** There! See?! That's an injury!
*Dave stops flailing and opens one eye.*
**DAVE:** Oh, god, sorry, I...
**THOR:** (*Interrupting*) Odin.
**DAVE:** What?
**ODIN:** What?
**THOR:** No, not... ugh. He said "god." That's the other guy.
**SIF:** Technically, it's an unspecified deity. You're thinking of Jehovah.
**HEL:** It's "Yeshua" now.
**THOR:** No, that's his son. We go drinking on Tuesdays.
**ODIN:** When *don't* you go drinking? Lazy layabout.
*Thor snatches the spatula from Dave and brandishes it at Odin.*
**THOR:** You want to go, old man? Huh?
**SIF:** (*To Hel*) Huh, look at that. I guess you're right.
**HEL:** That settles it. The spatula is a weapon.
*Odin snatches the spatula from Thor and whacks him over the head with it.*
**ODIN:** Any more like that out of you, and you're grounded!
*Thor sits back and sulks. Odin turns the spatula over in his hands a few times.*
**ODIN:** (*CONT'D*) I mean... I guess. Sure, why not? It's better than that stupid pen.
**HEL:** That was plastic, too, by the way.
*Odin hands the spatula back to Dave, who looks uncertain.*
**DAVE:** So, uh... does that mean I'm staying?
**HEL:** It looks that way.
**SIF:** Yeah, welcome to Valhalla, I guess.
**DAVE:** Great. Now that everything is cleared up, I just have one question.
**THOR:** The bathroom is down the hall.
**DAVE:** Huh? Oh, no, thanks, but I was actually curious about something else.
**ODIN:** What troubles you, warrior?
*Dave takes a deep breath.*
**DAVE:** How the hell did I even die?!
*Hel takes out her smartphone and scrolls through something.*
**HEL:** It looks like the batter mix you used was contaminated... with cyanide.
**DAVE:** ... That seems incredibly unlikely.
**HEL:** Well, that's what happened.
**THOR:** I guess your pancakes *were* that bad!
*Dave stares at Thor for a moment, then whacks him with the spatula.*
CUT TO BLACK.
|
As I approached the bench, still wearing my bloodstained apron and Smashburger uniform, the imposing and powerful Norse God stares down upon me. His advisors, left and right of him, pinched their gazes all directly before me.
“MORTAL,” he said in a voice that vaguely resembled thunder, “YOU STAND BEFORE US, A COURT OF WARRIORS, AS A FUCKING FRY COOK. EXPLAIN WHY YOU BELONG AMONGST US.”
They living often claim that the other side of things, things being the afterlife, lend perspective. Unfortunately, their only source of people they divulge this from is the dying, the dying having lived a full and fruitful life. I, on the other hand, am a 22 year old fry cook from Jersey. I had no tidbits of wisdom that could possibly help me in this situation. Nonetheless, what I lacked in wisdom I had surplus in nerves, so I began my arguments.
“Sir,” I calmly began, “I am to understand that in order to enter this realm of the afterlife, I was to have died with weapon in hand.”
“CORRECT YOU ARE MORTAL.”
“I have reason to claim that I died with a weapon in my hand.”
“A SPATULA? A SPATULA?!?!?”
As he bellowed, clouds overcame the high ceiling court room. Rain fell upon the stone floor and the high bench of Odin and his council. It seemed evermore imposing and I nonetheless cleared my throat and drew breath deep into my chest.
“I HAVE KILLED COUNTLESS MEN WITH MY SPATULA, AND HERE IS HOW I DID IT.” I began, desperately trying to find the timbre these people seemed to speak in.
“WITH THIS SPATULA I CREATED THE INEVITABLE DEATH OF MY CUSTOMERS. MUCH LIKE THE BOW IS TO THE ARROW, MY SPATULA WAS TO THE BURGER. I BRED THEIR OBESITY EVERY DAY. THEY CAME UPON ME, THEIR HUNGER CLOUDING THEIR JUDGEMENT, AND EVERY DAY I CHIPPED AWAY AT THEIR STRENGTH.”
A murmur came from high up on the bench, whispers of interest, confusion... wonder, even.
I MADE THEM FAT- MADE THEM WEAK. I POISONED THEIR INSIDES WITH SATURATED FATS AND SALT UNTIL ONE DAY, THEY FELL: DEAD OF A HEART ATTACK. THOSE WHO DID NOT WERE SUBJECTED TO DISEASES OF THE FLESH THAT WOULD LEAD TO THEIR DEATHS. DIABETES, CHOLESTEROL, OBESITY: THE VERY POISONS WITH WHICH MY ARROWS WERE DIPPED.”
“STOOOOOOOP!” A roar of thunder rolled down from the top of the bench.
“NO!” I replied, shocking myself at my own impudence. “I HAVE KILLED MORE THAN MOST WARRIORS OF MY LAND. THE BLOOD ON MY HANDS CANNOT BE IGNORED. GIVE ME MY WARRIOR’S AFTERLIFE.”
“THEN HOW....” Odin said, considerably calmer than before, “DID YOU DIE?”
I looked up sheepishly at the advisory board and the big man himself and said, at normal volume,
“The Smashburger was being held up. I tried to bum-rush the robber and he shot me dead. It was my chance to be a hero and despite the fact that I knew it would probably kill me, I needed to prove that in some way, I was valiant enough to stand up to a bad man for the sake of good people being terrorized. My spatula was the closest thing I had to use to fight, and even if it meant having to bludgeon him into submission with a flimsy, malleable tool, it was enough for me to find the courage to stand up against the proverbial sea of troubles.”
The room fell silent. The rain cleared. Odin turned to his left and right and discussed for some considerable time and discussed the situation with his advisors.
Suddenly Odin’s voice redirected to me and proclaimed, “RETURN TO YOUR ACCOMMODATIONS AS WE DETERMINE YOUR SITUATION.”
And so I went.
That was a week ago. This morning a guard of Odin came to my temporary afterlife condo and told me tomorrow I was to enter Valhalla.
I can’t believe that worked.
| 2022-11-15T16:07:01 | 2018-03-26T13:07:27 | 390 | 23 |
[WP] A boy does his daily walk in the cemetery when a girl suddenly joins him and wordlessly walks with him until the sun shines.
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Alex finished placing his flowers by the grave, continuing the long walk through the field of resting corpses. He always watched his step, not wanting to damage the assortment of trinkets and pictures left by the other grieving visitors. The early morning visits, while lonely, were a necessity. If he didn’t want to be late for school, he needed to visit early, having to pull himself out of bed an hour before his parents would wake.
He wished they would join him on his walks. They used to come with him every day when he visited, but lately; they were struggling to find the energy to get out of bed. The monotony of life wore people down, especially those still in shock over the loss of a loved one. That’s why Alex didn’t blame them. He was going on behalf of them all. He knew his parents would one day join him again on the walks when they were feeling better, but for now, he would walk alone.
The crisp winter air made the boy shiver, his worn out yellow jacket being tightly held as he breathed out cloudy breaths. He made a mental note to bring mittens next time or even an extra jacket, anything that could help shield him from the morning chill. As he left the first lot of graves, he turned to face them, wanting to take one last look at his sister’s grave. As he turned around, a pale girl standing a foot shorter than him was waiting behind him.
She looked up at him, not uttering a word. Her long, ragged black hair hanging past her shoulders. Alex jumped, feeling an eerie chill for a second before he was enveloped in a soothing warmth, one that made the jacket feel unnecessary.
“Are you visiting someone too?” Alex asked, only to receive no response.
The girl reached for his hand, getting a tight grip on it before she pulled him along, leading him further into the graveyard. Alex stood his ground for a second, only to feel his body getting dragged as she forced him to walk with her. The little girl being far stronger than he ever would have expected. As the pair walked through the dreary graveyard, Alex stared at her. Who was she?
“I’m here visiting my little sister.” Alex tried again to make conversation, only for the girl to ignore him. The only response she gave was peering up at him when he mentioned his sister. Alex almost would have mistaken the strange girl for his sister, if not for the differences in their hair.
The walk was uncomfortable, the girl not disturbed by the unevenness of the dirt or the slippery morning dew covered grass. Instead, she moved with a grace that made her look as if she was walking on air. She did sometimes look back, making sure she hadn’t lost Alex before turning forward again. After a few minutes, the girl stopped, pointing to a grave.
“Oh, is this your loved one?” Alex awkwardly stood by her side, still holding her hand as she pointed out the grave. It wasn’t in great condition. Dried mud lathering the headpiece with only an empty, withered basket, being the remnants of a floral arrangement that was left there long ago.
Alex pulled his hand free, much to the despair of the girl who desperately tried to grab hold of him once more. Before she could, Alex lowered himself to the grave, wiping his sleeve on the muddied headpiece, wiping off as much of it as he could. “Here lies Erica Reni, our beautiful daughter and our greatest gift. We will always love you, dear. 1904-1911.” Turning to the girl once more, he could see her trying to hold back tears, pointing to the last name.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I know who that is.”
The girl pointed to herself, then back to the grave. She did this a few times until Alex understood what she was trying to say.
“This is your grave?” He should have been scared, but he just felt sorry for the girl. He glanced over the name once more, only to shake his head. “I really don’t know anyone with that last name, Reni. I’m sorry, but your parents might have passed away too. It was a long time ago. Maybe you can find them?”
She looked at the gates of the graveyard, the rising sun looming in the distance, sending a flutter of golden light through the air. She kept her gaze on it before she shook her head, reaching for Alex’s hand again. Alex took her hand, getting to his feet before he began leading her back to his little sister’s grave.
When they were back at his sister’s grave, he took a single yellow pansy from the flowers he had brought. “This is my sister. Maybe you can find her, and she can help you on the other side? I’m not sure how it works, but she’s a very sweet girl.” Alex tried to swallow the knot in his throat, not wanting to cry in front of Erica. “And I miss her a lot.” Erica patted his shoulder as they stood by the grave, only for the girl to drag him towards the gates of the graveyard.
At first, he couldn’t tell what she was following, Alex being dragged across graves and nearly through trees. The boy having to do his best to avoid getting tripped over. Eventually he spotted what she was following, seeing a small black and white butterfly fluttering through the air, leading the two towards the gates. When the butterfly reached the gates, it stopped, hovering in place, waiting for the girl.
“Is that her?”
Erica gave a nod, about to release his hand, only for Alex to grip hers tighter before she could.
“Please tell her we love her. Tell her we all miss her dearly. Mom and dad aren’t ignoring her, they have just been really sad.” Finally, Alex broke down, all those emotions he had held back collapsing. Erica patted his back once more, but that only made him cry more. He sobbed until the butterfly landed on his nose. The small butterfly waving its wings, drawing his attention to it. He held his finger out, allowing the butterfly to move onto it.
He spent a minute just looking at it before sucking back his tears. “I miss you. I hope I get to see you again someday.” He rested his forehead as close to the butterfly as he could before letting it fly off. It moved to the gate again and waited for Erica. Erica smiled at Alex before heading through the gates. When she passed through, the butterfly followed, both of them ascending into the air, following the rising sun. Just for a split second, he was certain he could see his sister, but that split second was interrupted by the glare of the sun, which forced him to look away.
Alex waited for a moment, making sure neither of them returned to the spot. Once he was certain they had safely gone, he went to Erica’s grave and placed the pansy down. “I’ll come and clean your grave tomorrow, promise.” After that, he returned home, unsure whether to tell his parents about what he saw.
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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.)
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“It’s a bit lonely here you know.” He says walking along, he wasn’t used to having a companion. Often times his only friends would be the cold head stones and the silence. The last time something appeared, was too long ago to remember.
She would be the first to appear, which was unexpected. “What’s keeping you here by the way? Why haven’t you moved on?” Nothing, no answer. He wasn’t surprised most of them never spoke back, and even if they could, he doubted that she would tell him why she chose now of all times to make an appearance.
“My name is Han, it’s an odd name and no it’s not inspired by Star Wars” He continued to speak as he walked. Never turning around to face her, it was easier for him this way, he enjoyed talking to those that appeared but sometimes looking at them was too much.
“Never tell the fae your name.” The words of his mother echoed in his head. How old fashioned he thought. “This is my usual stamping grounds, I like the quiet and I enjoy the peace, I imagine you’re here for the same reason.”
Still nothing, always nothing, but he didn’t mind too much, the quiet was his best friend and he was glad he could be with his best friend while walking with someone new.
“Well. We’ll be parting ways soon, I’m here every night, if you want to be coming around again.”
She watches as he descends into a nearby grave, overgrown with grass and vines, the tomb stone coated in a small thick layer of moss. “It was nice talking to you” She whispers into the silence. She could tell that he could not hear her, the barrier between the living and the dead was too thick for that.
She left the cemetery as soon as the sun rose, to her friends waiting outside. “So did you see the ghost?” One of them asks. “Was he shrouded in darkness like they say?” Another interjected. On and on she was asked all these questions. “There was nothing there, I told you, it’s so old and abandoned that all the ghosts probably left a long time ago.”
While she said that aloud, she had made a mental note to come back another night and to bring a knife next time. She would come back as often as possible for sure. While she certainly would remember Han, she needed to clean his gravestone in case he wouldn’t show up to introduce himself to the next foolhardy person who’d take the local test of courage.
| 2022-05-30T05:09:50 | 2022-05-30T04:48:27 | 67 | 13 |
[WP] The Reapers come every 50 thousand years to wipe out organic life that has reached the stars however this time, this time they arrive at the heaviest resistance they have every encountered. In the grim darkness of the future they find 40k.
|
Lord-Captain Samael stood with his arms folded behind his back, observing the swathe of blinking stars outside the view port. A man approached beside him and joined in the activity, waiting in silent expectation of the conversation soon to follow.
“Curious, isn’t it?” Samael spoke, solemn and hoarse. “I wonder if there is a constellation to my name out there.”
“Sir?” The man replied, adjusting his pose to match his superior’s.
“If you were to trace a line through my stars, you would not chart a royal lion or sacred chariot. It would bare no name, nor would it lead anyone back to Terra. It would possess the shape of my greatest sin, pulsating with inexorable purpose.”
There was no rebuttal. Both men stood with their gazes locked ahead, the whirring of engines and feedback from the countless terminals echoing in white noise behind them. A few blips is all it took to capture Samael’s fullest attention; three, precise, the arrival of ships in proximity. A few moments later the klaxons sounded, and the only one whose composure remained continued to stare out into the immutable void.
“Sir, we have three vessels approaching on an interception course. We’ve raised shields, and all weapon systems are primed. Unknown signatures, no response to our hails.”
Samael nodded and slowly walked down the center aisle of the bridge towards his chair, outfitted with the flayed skin adorned by the Necrons he’s personally disabled. In a bustle of calculations, routines, and orders every man – both seated and standing – was in a panic trying to organize the facts about the sudden ambush.
“Ship Master Osirus, out here in the Ghoul Stars, our fate is constantly challenged. But this time we aren’t dealing with the Necrons, are we?” Samael poised, spreading his body loosely and comfortably atop the metal chair.
“Lord-Captain, the vessels appear to be comprised of some kind of living metal. Tentacles are affixed below, and we’ve detected a few weapon systems primed on the front. Beam, or laser, in origin. Our shields will have no problem holding. Your orders?”
“I want torpedoes set on an annihilation spread. Forward lance array to the leading ship, center shot. I want it torn in half. Detach fighter wings in an intercept course, protect our ship from any possible assailant or boarding parties. Helm, take us on a forward course. Leave none alive. The Emperor Protects.”
A deafening cacophony of limitless power permeated throughout the entirety of the ship as thousands of torpedoes spread, colliding with the strange vessels at sub-light speed. An enormous beacon of super heated energy collided with the leading vessel, sheering off every tentacled apparatus and shredding the hull in a miasmal storm of red lightning. Three further volleys rattled off as Samael gazed intently at their obliteration, a cracked smile slowly affixing itself to his face.
“Targets disabled. But, wait… incoming transmission, sir. On screen now.”
The outline of a hologram appeared in the view capsule, in sight of the entire bridge crew. Samael leaned forward in his chair, resting his head upon both cupped hands, scanning intently the crude lines and flickering red of his opposition. Artificial life, for sure, but some feeling dissuaded him from cutting ties. A spectacle would unfold, no doubt.
“We linger on the threshold of space, lost in the creases. And it is here that we speak quietly, so quietly, together. You are bereft, Lord-Captain. Of love. Of family. Of hope. Your Emperor betrayed you. As he rots atop his pitiful throne you, and you alone, are tasked with charting these stars. You are rudimentary, attached to a terminal course in which there is no escape but in death. There is an alternative; a realm of existence beyond your mortal comprehension, and it is there that I am King.
And you are but the vermin that dwell in the shadows, picking away at what you deem to be intellectual challenges or moral crisis. Have you considered your position? Flesh and bone, lurching towards the cliff. Your stars are peopled by a living fungus, robotic slaves to the stars, fallen angels and twisted unreality. We are beyond it all. We have been around since the beginning of time, and we will usher in it’s end.”
Samael rose from his seat and raised his hand to silence the murmuring that grew around him. Every eye fixated itself upon his majestic form, now poised and confident as he walked slowly towards the terminal.
“Whatever you are, you are pitiful to me. Your detached perspective has lent you nothing more than a blurred lens. What have you done in the last ten thousand years? Twenty? You’ve slept, and intimidated the weak. I may be a man, but I have killed more than you can possibly imagine. I have consigned the obliteration of a thousand worlds. I have led impossible victories to fruition, and I have saved untold companies from utter annihilation. You are no different, creature. What I have done in fifty years you could not in thousands. So try me, demon. The Imperium of Man would be happy to oblige you what we have always known; that death awaits us all.”
Samael adjusted his collar, and motioned a few signals silently with his right hand.
“Your ignorance will b--”
As the full frontal armament of the Gothic-Class Cruiser unloaded a final fatal barrage, the remaining hostile was reduced to cinders. The debris scattered in all directions, shining delicately and brightly off the back of a nebula in the distance. They never ceased to brightly reflect, so that the following words etched another grin upon Samael’s scarred face.
“Your constellation, sir. We’ve found it.”
|
It's a little hard to describe the vast mental network of the Reapers -- a scaffolding of intertwined thoughts and programmed imparatives so complex, the term "hive mind" is laughably inadequate -- in words the human mind can process. Nonetheless, a brief translation will be attempted:
- "... well, jesus. At this point, it's just a mercy killing, innit?"
- "Do we even *want* any of these sods? All that dogmatic thinking's gonna get real old after a few eons."
- "I dunno. Those green-skinned mushroom things seem like fun, at least. Might get a destroyer or two out of them."
- "What about the Necrons?"
- "Those depressing gits? No way. Nuke 'em from orbit."
- "Look, guys, regardless, let's just stick to the plan. We'll give those Tyranids we chased in there another century or two to really make a mess while we finish up indoctrinating that 'Emperor of Man' thing. Then we can figure out what to do with those Chaos Gods."
- "Bleh. This cycle is gonna take *forever.*"
| 2017-08-27T09:12:31 | 2017-08-27T09:00:01 | 113 | 11 |
[WP] A year ago the Dragons returned, the world finally having warmed up enough to keep them from freezing to death, and with them have returned the Fae and all the magic; which is replacing technology quickly. You've quit your mundane job, and today you've set off on your first-ever Quest.
|
"Laura!"
"Shut up, Darryl! I'm working on it!"
The mana weave dissolved again as it hit the seventh-dimension complexity. I pulled the crash report from the collapsing mess with a three-fingered gesture while my other hand began recasting the environmental shield that was beginning to stutter.
"The drake breathing fire down my neck really isn't helping!" I shouted as I isolated the problem and recompiled the spell matrix with a muttered voice command.
Our tank, Darryl, let out a strangled sound of indignation that was drowned in the roar of fire. I couldn't see his face due to the inferno that rushed around and all over my protective bubble, but I trusted that it was appropriately disgruntled.
"Sorry that I can't kill a giant freaking dragon-"
"-*drake*-" Syrion interrupted somewhere to my left.
"-with a rusty bronze sword and silver armor, then! Oh wait, that's *your* job."
A cacophony of clangs pierced the bellow of an angry drake—the sound of armor plates clashing against each other under the brunt of the beast's blow.
*After this operation, 1772 kµ of additional mana capacity will be used.*
*Do you want to continue [Y/n]?*
"Syrion!" I yelled. "Ready on my side!"
"Finally!" Darryl groaned.
"**<Divine Clarity>**!" the Elven cleric commanded. The ancient tongue that all clerics used was foreign to my ears, but I at least recognized the words of the invocation.
An unspeakable calm washed over all of us, cleansing the air of drake breath as its invisible wavefront crested over the battlefield. I had to actively stop my muscles from relaxing involuntarily. Colors became more saturated, but simultaneously *lighter*. The sun broke through the clouds of ash in slow motion, casting rays of holy light that sang to me of the glory of Sarom-Golut. The scorched earth and the magma flows that dotted the landscape was bleak but *beautiful*, urging me to-
*Dammit. Think of something else. Illiterate users. Firmware updates that break your code. Memory leaks that you can't find.*
I confirmed the operation.
*> Enter true name of target matrix:*
I opened another holographic terminal.
*mUNIX-3.1.03-Local:~ Laura$ reqname -true -rel 2.3 9.6 7.2*
*Azmyolunn*
Ctrl+C, shut down window, back to the other prompt. Ctrl+V.
*> Target acquired. BindObject instance initialized.*
Time returned to normal. The configured spell lashed away from me, hovered for a split second, and zoomed towards the still-entranced drake that had just involuntarily given up its true name under <Divine Clarity>. Syrion and Darryl joined my side as we watched the program run its course.
Red voxel holograms flickered to life all over the drake the moment the scripted object made impact, mapping out its volume with a flood-fill algorithm. Before the beast could react, the tracks of red collapsed into a wireframe mesh that contracted around it, eliciting a pained grunt.
Elemental effector beams seared the earth, overwriting the black basalt with polished marble engraved with complex glyphs in a split second. Almost immediately, they burst to life with green energy, followed by rapid-fire geometric matrices blinking in and out of existence, the calculations completed instantly by a quintuple-core magical processor running off mana circuits.
As quick as it began, the process was over. The glowy lines dissolved, the marble remained, and the drake was... well, sitting there immobile. Bound, by chains that now existed not physically but carved into its soul matrix.
I pulled an electronic USB stick from where it was floating, plugged into the mUNIX construct, and pocketed it. The thaumogenetic material read from the creature would be worth quite a bit to the folks at the Cambridge Thaumobiology Research Institute.
"Impressive," Syrion mused. "That binding would have taken an experienced mage at least eight hours to complete."
I checked the log on my primary holographic screen.
"2.43 seconds."
Suboptimal, but this was only the program's first test outside of a dream-plane emulator.
"I had to hold the thing off for half an hour!"
"Shut up, Darryl. We're getting paid handsomely for this." I rolled my eyes.
"Perhaps it was fortunate that we slept through the centuries. This new age has brought many wonders despite its many limitations."
"I'm just glad you came back. Trust me, Walmart shifts aren't fun."
I tuned the two out as I read through the logs of the experimental binder script. The extra computation time was a byproduct of ambient chaos magic, it seemed, which induced a time dilation that was fortunately corrected for by mana inertia. Mana cost went up by 72%, though.
The bound drake was technically mine—Syrion and Darryl were hired labor, so the quest winnings belonged to me by guild rules. This meant I could go over any mana leaks in the binding matrix when I got back to my workshop. If it didn't unravel by that time, of course, but a cursory inspection told me that it would hold.
My first quest, and I had successfully bound a drake in two seconds. All it had taken was three years of study and experimentation while living on what little savings I had left over.
*No matter how much my old manager had underpaid me, I guess all of that software engineering experience paid off after all.*
|
That's enough, I've had it
I'm over my menial ways
Mundane and repeating
Day after day
These reports and this filing
It's always the same
I want some adventure
A real life role playing game
To quest and to loot
Against tremendous foes
To travel and shoot
Magical bows
*And arrows?*
Yes arrows, thank you Karen
*No problem Steve*
*Can you get down from the desk please Steve?*
Uhh, yeah sure, I'm doing a thing here Jim.
*Yeah, I can see that Steve, but you're distracting others.*
Right sorry.
I'll wear armour, ride horseback
Across mystical lands
I'll fight dragons and demons
In mercenary bands
I'll be home in time for tea
With my fairest of maidens
*Don't you forget, Steve*
*I want that report on my desk by*
Three
*Yes, three.*
| 2017-11-25T07:16:31 | 2017-11-25T03:27:28 | 91 | 10 |
[WP] when you are lying on your deathbed, the whole "life flashing before your eyes" cliche is actually the watchmojo lady counting down the top ten moments in your life.
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“What happens after I finish watching them all?” asked Evelyn.
“Well,” came the voice, rich, warm, calm, patient. Evelyn couldn’t see her, but the lady sounded like Ms Perrine at school, who always had time and a kind word for them. “There’s no rush, really. You can stay here as long as you like, watching them over and over again. When you’re done, like, *really done*, you can let me know.”
“And then?”
“You may then pass on,” said the voice. “Your body on earth… expires.”
“Oh,” said Evelyn. “What’s there after that?”
“Nothing,” said the voice.
The ten crystalline balls (Evelyn made sure to count them) hovered in the air, floating in that dark, inky room. Evelyn was reminded of the conservatory she had visited during her school’s science camp, where her class had been ushered into a similarly-darkened auditorium. Stars, planets, constellations had flooded the ceiling of the auditorium, one after the other, sparkling and glittering like so many diamonds out of reach.
“That’s number 4,” said the voice. “You’re thinking of number 4. Timothy even grabbed your hand during the lightshow, and didn’t let go until just before the lights came back on.”
Right on cue, the fourth crystal from the left shimmered an azure blue, begging for Evelyn to reach out and touch it. “Oh no, you can see that too!” said Evelyn, laughing as she covered her cheeks which had gone aflame.
“There are nine others like that one,” said the voice, “the top ten important moments in your life. Pick and choose, take your time. Only when you’re ready need you move on.”
Evelyn reached out instinctively, the excitement bubbling up in her. This was better than any vlog or video she could ever hope to compose on her own. Previews of her memories, perfectly captured and rendered, played out under her fingertips. She realised how lucky she was as each of the crystals yielded their secrets to her, for they invariably contained happy, cheerful memories. Evelyn cycled through the first few, loathe to move on, immersing herself over and over in that endless bliss of a charmed life.
Then, a thought occurred to her.
“I… I don’t remember dying,” Evelyn said, brows furrowed. “It’s hazy, for some reason.”
“You’re technically still alive,” said the voice. “But if you’re curious, events leading up to it will be in the last crystal. It always counts as the last significant event, for obvious reasons.”
“Will… I be sad if I watch it?” asked Evelyn.
“It depends,” said the voice. “Don’t forget, there’s always the other nine to cheer you right back up.”
Evelyn hesitated, torn between the first nine crystals and the last one. She knew her mind was playing tricks on her, because where the ten of them were indistinguishable before, now the last one seemed ominous, forbidden. She found her fingers trembling just reaching out to that last crystal, and then that impulse again to lose herself in the first nine, to leave that door unopened.
After all, the rest really were all that she needed – one was the day that her family adopted Ginny, that floppy golden retriever who had a penchant for chewing on her soft toys. Another was the day that her parents brought Sara home from the hospital, the sister she had always longed for. So many memories, so many *good* memories, all within reach, all begging for endless consumption.
Never be afraid to make the tough choice, her dad’s motto sounded in her head.
Evelyn sighed, then reached out for the last crystal. It unfolded when she touched it, the way a touch-me-not would, but in reverse, and light spilled out, bathing the room in an orangey glow. Shapes and sounds and feelings and thoughts coalesced around her, and for a moment it felt like she was back in the moment, reliving that very memory. Evelyn recognised the scene immediately.
“Such a beautiful drive,” said the voice. “You were playing all the way with your sister, were you not?”
“Yes,” said Evelyn. “Six hours to Disneyland, Dad said. The hours flew by though. We talked about school, Sara told me about the boy she had a crush on, we napped, we snacked, we counted the number of cars which passed us…”
Then, the memory cut off, dousing the room back in an oily gloom. It looped again soon after, right back where it first started, as if it had never stopped in the first place.
“That’s all I remember of it?” asked Evelyn.
“That’s all you witnessed,” offered the voice.
“Can you tell me… what happened after that?”
A short silence, and for a moment Evelyn wondered if the voice had gone away. It returned just as Evelyn thought to ask the question again.
“There aren’t any rules about this,” said the voice, “and I don’t suppose there’s any harm in it. There was an accident, Evelyn. Someone else had fallen asleep at the wheel, drifted into your lane.”
“That’s not good,” said Evelyn. “Are… they ok? Mum, Dad? Sara?”
“They’re fine. All of them. In fact, they’re right there beside you now, watching and waiting for you to recover. There are machines hooked up to you, keeping you alive… but just barely.”
Evelyn looked back at the other crystals, and then it occurred to her why they seemed so familiar. “Time moves differently here, doesn’t it,” she said, flitting through the other memories. “How long have I been here, looking through these?”
“Not that long,” said the voice.
“How long?”
“About a year?”
Evelyn smiled, then released the crystal she had been holding in her hand. It rose slowly, floating up to join the others, until they were arranged neatly in a row again. She couldn’t deny that it was nice being here, looking back at the memories, reliving them, savouring them.
Knowing that her family was out there waiting for her to return though, took some of that shine away. She didn’t like to keep anyone waiting.
“I’m ready.”
“You sure?” asked the voice.
“Yes,” Evelyn said.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
You've had a lot of great moments in your life. Today were going to count down the top 10 moments when you were in the absolute most pleasure. So without further ado,
Starting off our list at number 10: The birth of your first child. Nothing quite like the feeling of helping create another human. Spoiler alert, this is the most pleasure you received from being a father.
Number 9: Your honeymoon with your wife in Hawaii, you were so in love at that point!
Number 8: When you finally beat your favorite video game. Killing that last boss that was a total pain in the ass.
Number 7: Your first time stepping on a crunchy leaf. The joy was so immense you went out of your way to crunch them the rest of your life.
Number 6: That blowjob you got from that one girl in college, whatever her name was.
Number 5: When you dropped your phone and caught it like a ninja. As you looked around to see if anyone witnessed, a stranger makes eye contact with you and nods.
Number 4: Peeling off the thin plastic layer from the new TV screen you bought.
Number 3: The time you watched a bouncing screensaver block hit exactly in the corner of the screen.
Number 2: That time you took a piss after drinking a lot of beer at a party. So good you had to put your hand on the wall to stabilize yourself.
And finally the greatest pleasure you ever experienced,
ending our list at Number 1: That other time you took a piss after sitting through a very long movie, so satisfying it sent a shiver down your spine.
| 2017-10-30T22:35:09 | 2017-10-30T21:01:45 | 225 | 26 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
David pulled the car to a stop, and parked in the weed-choked yard. Nobody had been taking care of the place for years. "Here we are, guys!"
Mary, Tabitha and Tom were all excited to go check out the abandoned cabin in the woods, but Richard wasn't feeling it. "Hey, look, can we not do this? This is bad news, all around."
Everyone sighed and groaned. "Oh, come on, Rich? Don't be such a stick in the mud!" Tabitha was always so happy and bubbly. It made Rich's teeth ache.
"No, guys, really. This is a bad idea." Things went back and forth for a few minutes, with Richard trying to be intelligent and reasonable, while everyone else cajoled, teased and semi-threatened to tell everyone how big of a scaredy-cat he was, back in school. But they all seemed to miss Richard's increasing agitation.
"Look, you're a passenger, I'm the driver," David said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "I vote we go explore the cabin, you can stay out here in the spooky dark, all by yourself." Mary made an 'Oh snap' face and covered her mouth, while Tabitha pouted. "Or you can walk home." Tom laughed and gave David a mock punch in the arm and started to open the door to get out.
Richard snapped. There was a blur of movement, and a split second later, an ominous **shk-SHAK** of metal on metal, before a gleaming, chrome plated Colt M1911 appeared in Richard's hand, pressed to the back of David's head. It took Mary, Tabitha and Tom a few seconds to figure out what had just happened, but despite his teenage stupidity, David knew that sound. He and his dad shot guns all the time, and he knew that sound.
The car erupted in chaos and screaming, the girls squeezing away from David and pressing against the door, or into Tom, who was fumbling for the door handle. Tabitha was the loudest, babbling a non-stop stream of screaming Spanish and terrified prayers as she cowered against the far door in the back seat.
David slowly took his hands off the wheel and held them in the air. "Okay. Okay. Calm down. Everyone, stay calm." He kept his voice low and steady, despite feeling an urgent need to pee. He may have had a foolish desire to go explore the legendary Murder Cabin in the middle of the night, but having a powerful gun pressed to the back of your skull had the tendency to clear your thoughts and help you focus on the immediate moment. David's calm voice helped soothe Tabitha's screaming, and Mary and Tom stopped fumbling with the door to wait and listen.
Richard hadn't moved. The weapon was firmly nuzzled deep into the hollow at the back of David's neck, right at the base of his skull. Even if this were a BB gun, shooting him there might kill him. "We are leaving," he said softly. As if to punctuate the statement, his thumb reached over and flipped the safety down with a sharp **TIC!** Tabitha whimpered and cowered deeper into the corner, her face a smeary mess of tear-striped mascara.
David didn't want to nod with a gun in the back of his neck. "Right, got it," He slowly lowered his hands to the wheel and started the car. "I have to turn around to back up," he said. "Otherwise we might hit something." Tabitha, Tom and Mary slowly slipped back into their regular seats, all three facing forward and shivering in fear. They'd never seen this side of Richard before, and never wanted to see it again.
Richard slowly drew the weapon back, and David slipped the gearshift into reverse, then slowly turned around to look out the back window. He glanced at Richard, who had a face of pure marble: flat and emotionless. His eyes were like dead mirrors in the dim light, a visage of complete lack of compassion or mercy; the epitome of pure, cold logic. Giving a shudder, he focused out the back window and started to back up.
The combination of backup lights and brake lights lit up the tangled mess of grass, shrubs, when he saw something.
*Eyes.*
Not the eyes of any animal David knew, and he knew quite a lot, as he and his dad went hunting every year. No, these were too high. *Too tall.* More importantly, they weren't side by side, like on a prey animal, but facing *front,* like a predator. He quirked his eyebrows and squinted, the hunter's instincts making him curious, rather than terrified the way it should. "What..."
The eyes moved. They started coming towards the car.
David's face went pale. "Oh, SHIT!" he hissed, snapping out of his stare and slamming the shifter down into drive. He stomped on the gas, making the powerful engine roar. Tires spun and spit old gravel, clattering and pinging off the undercarriage, as the lumbering SUV careened forward and bounced around the weed-choked yard.
Everyone got tossed around in the car, while David fought the wheel, foot still hammer down on the gas. Tabitha screamed as she got thrown into Richard, who simply grabbed her and held her steady. He was pointing the weapon at the roof, his trigger finger resting safely on the trigger guard. But his face was still cold marble and expressionless. "Stay down," he told them.
The vehicle bucked and jumped through the bumpy yard, tall weeds and thick brush snapping and clawing at the sides, screeching and clunking. "Road, road, road, where's the FUCKING ROAD!" Finally finding the original path they'd come in, he turned the wheels toward the way out.
**SMASH!**
The back window shattered. A horrific stench filled the cabin, and a low, guttural growl rumbled in the darkness. Whatever it was, David couldn't see it in the rear view mirror. It was big. Big enough to block out the illumination of the brake and running lights.
Big enough to hold the Chevy Suburban in place, tires spinning and spitting gravel.
Tabitha had fallen into Richard's lap, where he held her down with one hand. Out of all of them, he was the only one who'd worn his seat belt, and it was keeping him safely locked in place. Tom and Mary were getting tossed, but the sound of breaking glass made them look. Their horrified faces told Richard everything he needed to know.
Calmly reaching over his shoulder, he began pumping rounds into whatever was back there. The first shot made his ear ring. The second made it hum. The muzzle blast singed the hair on his neck and knocked off his hat. He couldn't see what he was shooting at, so he relied instead on Tom and Mary. So long as the look of terror remained on their faces, he knew he had to keep shooting.
By the time the slide locked back in the empty position, the truck was moving again, Mary and Tom had stopped making horror faces, and Richard was totally deaf in one ear. David raced down the road like a madman, while the others cowered and peered out the back, eyes darting back and forth as they searched the retreating darkness.
"David, slow down," he said. "You don't want to crash. Not now." David glanced in the rear view mirror, and Richard's face was badly burned from the muzzle blast. And his ear was bleeding profusely. He was probably going to be deaf for the rest of his life.
"What the fuck was that?" he asked, turning his eyes back to the road and bringing it down to 50 on the speedometer.
"Don't know," he replied over the shuddering wind. He laid a comforting hand on Tabitha, where she lay in his lap, shivering and weeping. "Don't care."
|
The bronze dagger scraped against the cement floor with rhythmic scratches, tuned to The Slasher's lopsided gait. A red grin cut across his mask, painted on until it hit the the cracked bottom quarter, where it spilled into a real lip-less smile.
The stage was set. The night, perfect. A full moon dangled in a cloudless sky, his spotlight trained on him. A brisk breeze blew south to north, a wind that could carry a scream all the way to the heavens itself. And his characters, they were some of the best he ever had. A twelve year old boy with glassy eyes and panting breath, scratching against the alley dead end. A fourteen year old girl huddled in a corner, her knee to her chest, as she stuttered in sobbing coughs. And of course, the hero. A boy of fifteen that stood trembling over his friends, a pocket knife in front of him quivering as much as his lips.
The alley dead end held the sour stench of garbage long since rotted. Insects scattered through the a black trash bags piled along the sides of the walls.
"And the hero reveals himself." The Slasher trembled in excitement, increasing the pace of his blade-against-cement metronome. He could hardly contain himself.
The hero swallowed and brought up his puny knife.
The Slasher's eyes bulged through his mask. His charred cheeks stretched and his mouth opened. A chuckle, like the sound of choking man, escaped his throat. This was the hero he had been looking for, a man to challenge monsters.
"So hero," he said between his laughs. "Your stage is ready. The damsel is in tears. The dam is equally helpless. Everyone is at the edge of their seats and even God is wondering--what does the hero do?"
The hero opened his mouth and swallowed breath. "Guys," he choked out. "Listen to me right now, when the time comes, make a break for it."
His two friends caught his eyes and stopped. It felt like time paused with them. The girl sniffed back tears and the boy shook his head in a sharp twitch. This was the power of the hero. Because in that instant, The Slasher no longer existed.
"No," the boy whispered. "We're a family."
"Like hell we are." The hero's muscles tensed and his knife straightened toward The Slasher. "Orphans have no family. We just happened to find each other when we needed to the most. It could've been anyone and it wouldn't have mattered."
"That's not true," the girl said with trembled words. "You know it's not."
The hero coughed out a cry and inhaled. "You fucking brats!" he screamed at them, startling them. "I needed someone to watch my back when I stole, I needed someone to distract the guards, I needed someone to hide the food when I stole it. You think it had to be you guys? It could've literally been anyone. I don't give a fuck about any of you!"
The Slasher's heart skipped a beat. The hero he had prayed for had arrived and his screams would be melody unlike anything a Beethoven or Bach could compose. A symphony for God Himself.
"Hero," he said, "How kind, how brave, how--"
His words caught because the hero charged him, the silver of his knife gleaming beneath the moonlight, the tears in his eyes glistening as it fell behind him.
The Slasher heaved laughter out of himself. The humor was like a spell, a beautiful and uncontrollable spell. He swung and cut the hero. No hero had ever won, no damsel or dam ever saved, and this would not be the exception.
| 2017-05-05T07:54:16 | 2017-05-05T06:07:15 | 73 | 21 |
[WP] 2021: Hell invades Earth; 2022: Earth invades Hell.
|
The last testament of Praxel, A Lord of Hell.
When the gates began to crackle with energy again it was almost unknown to us, after thousands of years of dormancy the hope of venturing forth as kings and conquerors into the low worlds was all but lost. In a bout of wisdom the old man had stopped meddling in their affairs, realizing that any aid to those lower life forms would inevitably lead them to be worse. His isolation had made it so the source of energy for the gates was gone. We thought we had him to thank when they re-opened, with a surge of energy that didn’t just allow for a few hundred of us to slip through, like it had been millennia ago, but thousands if we wished. The old man had finally forsaken the creatures he took pity on, obviously. Why he ever enjoyed them was a mystery to us to begin with, they were weak, and helpless. His reasoning was at best flimsy “You do not understand how rare sentience is, it’s a mistake of life, trillions and trillions of worlds and we were the last to achieve it billions of years ago. You don’t remember our climb, my misshapen children, but you still enjoy the long life and the powerful bodies its technology provided, even if you have squandered them.”
*Squandered*, the old fool—as if he and his ‘perfect’ little group of sycophants had any room to talk. It did not matter though, they chose their way and we chose our way. The scars from our people’s war still remain evident on our world, a world our ancestors had created to be perfect, somewhere above the low worlds—though how they had done it was lost to us. The old man had stolen the knowledge, and he’d stolen it to protect those sniveling, weak humans, who now existed on a world more pristine than our own, despite it being a low world. Whatever they had done to piss the old man off, we should thank them for we had thought, maybe we’d keep a few as pets since that would really be all they were good for.
Some still lived that remember those times when we last saw humanity, they had been part of the small hosts that slipped to their world four millennia ago. They all looked alike, not like us. The smallest of us was their size, but the largest could stretch a dozen feet into the air. Some of us had fur, some of us scales, some skin—all signs of the beauty of expression our people had discovered long ago, on of the magics lost to us now, allowing us to be what we wished. We were stronger than them, one of the old-timers said he could crush a man’s head in his hand. Not that we’d even need to, they died on their own! Their bodies broke down without having to be killed in just a few decades, so *weak*, it was unfathomable how the old man saw them as more than insects. So of course as the hosts of Hell prepared for war, gathering our swords and armor, we felt nothing but excitement.
As the portals opened, we found the humans had infested their world, millions of them crawling in and out of these large hives they had erected like vermin. They were still as weak as ever. I personally killed a dozen, slicing their heads off with ease. The stories about how it took dozens of them with spears to even harm an old timer were evident now, and these humans didn’t have a weapon in sight. As my warriors moved through one of these hives the humans had found and dwelt in, all sorts of treasures were brought to me. One, a sleek little shiny thing seemed to be some kind of mirror that worked in a very odd way, one held it up to something and on the other side of it was the image. One of my warriors had said a human was holding it up trying to steal his soul, apparently. After examining it, though, I assured him such a thing was not possible—it was some trick. It was one of many queer things, like the carriages the humans seemed to move in with no beasts to draw them. Or how they talked into those little mirror things, often times screaming some gibberish; not that the talking was odd, humans often held odd objects to them and muttered things in their final moments. What was odd was how none of them knew our language, the old ones said the Sumerian spoke our tongue with ease after the old man taught them, but now? They seemed to have lost even that grace. Our pride allowed us to take this as another sign they had fallen.
But it wasn’t until Iculbun, a small goat looking fellow and a good friend too, fell that we suspected something might be amiss. This human in blue waved something at him that popped—and stung him. Not badly, but enough to draw blood. Inculbun was so incensed he immediately leapt toward the man and ripped his heart out. In his celebration he failed to notice another man by him, this one had some kind of staff. Fire came from the end of it, and a loud thunderous noise—Inculbun jerked as if he’d been punched. The man moved his hand down the staff with a clicking sound and yet more fire rained from it. Inculbun tried to move toward the man but five thunderous roars of that staff later, Inculbun was dead.
*The old man above, the humans had learned magic*, I thought to myself. A swarm of my warriors tore the man to shreds post-haste, but I could see it in their eyes, fear. Oh, my ignorance was great then as I spoke to them, assuring them that we had killed hundreds and only seen but two of these wizards so far, and the one could do little more than hurl useless tiny stones. If this was the limit of humanity’s newfound knowledge of magic, then we had nothing to fear. My warriors even picked up their staffs, and little slings--they let forth a great popping roar a few times but then they stopped working, it seemed like whatever power these Wizards held was fleeting at best. I had thought to myself that maybe, just maybe, this was why the old man had opened the gates again. He never did like it when these creatures tampered in things beyond their understanding, and the mystical arts were things he reserved almost solely for himself.
My warriors were renewed. The crusade continued. I should have paid attention to the runners which brought news of other portals, speaking of how large carriages of humans had shown up, with men inside that looked like the Wizards, but had deep black on instead and all of them had staffs of a different sort. Preposterous. If so many Wizards existed, surely there would be more among them then the few we had encountered since our first sighting, I had thought. Almost none of them had those large staffs, the only trick they could do were what we had come to call ‘magic missile’, annoying yes, like the bite of a Frimpltoad, enough to draw blood, but nothing seriously dangerous unless it somewhere truly vulnerable. But even then we were only vulnerable because we’d become careless, we abandoned our large hell-forged shields because they were too heavy and the humans seemed to be helpless. Once my warriors had taken them up again, the thick pieces of iron that weighed nearly what the humans themselves did, the little tricks the Wizards had were useless, they barely scratched the shield. Even the staffs only dented it a little. If this was the extent of human magic, we truly did have little to worry about.
However as men in black, soft armor showed up—with their long staffs that did not click after each missile, our difficulties increased. Their thunder staves still could not pierce our hell-iron, it simply left little dings, but the thick metal held—and it was large enough to cover a demons body near entire. Still, if one of my warriors was caught unawares, or was flanked, these staves could rip right through his body, causing a wound that was shocking in its severity. It was at that point that we became serious. Employing tactics we had used against the armies of men who came to oppose us before. Lined with shields and sword, we protected each other and slew the black armored men—and once again, my warriors were renewed. With the loss of but a few their greatest Wizards were still easy to butcher as long as we treated them with the little respect they deserved.
Truly this world would be ours in week, we thought. We enjoyed the plunder, and death for two days as the humans seemed to abandon their hives. Eventually nearly none were left—it was quite the exodus, all things told, very organized. But we knew they’d be hiding in the hills, humans always ran for the hills the old timers said. We tried to make sense of the gibberish they spoke, even capturing some and torturing them to speak correctly. We looked through books, and found nothing familiar. These fools really had fallen from grace, and we were emboldened even more, we’d go root them from their holes and enjoy the fruits of our victory in time....Oh what fools we were.
|
Manifest Destiny. There was time when I used to believe that I had choice. I used to go to church everyday, tearing, thinking that one day God would bring me into heaven. My lungs were black from coal, my hands scared and caloused. I try my best with my kids, never hit them, buy them nintendos and pokemons. I worry that they wont be able to take care of their children, that I may be the last generation. But I figure God has a plan and I have faith in their smile. Jesus is about forgiveness, and I do teach them responsibility through chores.
Last year, the Devil came. This isnt some metaphor from revelations. Wasnt a 7 headed creature that breathed ice and spat fire. But I knew it was the devil because he brought an army of evil. They came up from Mt St Helens, swooped over to Seattle, came down the west cost and have been trying to spread east. On the news I saw him. He looked young with a crazy look. Clockwork Orange is the best way I could describe it. His smile was inviting, I thought about leaving once or twice, I confess. They live as dominants to young liberal submissives. I bet they all have crazy parties. Last party I had was when I was 16. I got bullets which I then had to use for hunting scarce animals for extra cash. Well, I imagine they wont last forever. Many of the weakest are used as the frontlines to invade eastward. Its sad seeing it on the news. Theyll come for Kentucky eventually, but its so far away.
But Ive been reading. Apparently, theres diamonds in hell. Apparently theres iron and a bunch of materials that are pretty expensive. A prospector went down there through Russia, theyre talking motherload. Im thinking money. Retirement. All these years if hardwork, paying off. Theres been whispering of "Manifest Destiny". We all know the US will take over the world, only matter of time. So maybe its time to take on hell. On the news, politicians seem to have a confident smile. They dont seem worried Silicon Valley is preparing their robot army. Or that Los Angeles has been sending cult leaders to Minnisota and Mississippi. Blood for oil. Hey, I dont blame them. I wouldnt mind killing a few horned horse people myself. Well goat people. And then a big payoff?! Hoooweee! Just thinking about it gets me excited!
Ding Dong
Jimmy got up from his desk. Took off his glasses abd placed them down on the table. Wiped his eyes. "All this dreaming, is it a sin? Please forgive me lord" he whispered. He grabbed his pistol and holster and put it on. The floor gave out hollow echos as he walked to the front door. Theme songs could be heard faintly from the other room. A half angry smile smile came accross his face "You kids do your homework?!" He knew no answer would be replied, worth a try though. He approached the front door, a pale periwinkle.
"Hey, Darel! Whats the deal?!"
Darel had a crazy smile. An M249 on his back and coveres in ammunition belts. His red beard and shadowed face contrasted against the bright green Kentucky forest. The sun sure was happy today.
"Its time."
He handed an article to Jimmy. "Money for Nothing, Hell is Free". Jimmy recoiled. "The US army in conjunction with A coalition of military forces will be scaling an assault on hell in the next coming weeks. President Trump remarked that this is a 'huge opportunity for all americans who want to strike it big. Theres so much out there. Im telling you people, go. We will protect you. Become rich. Your only going to make a billion dollars if you take risks, believe me.'"
Jimmy smiled at Darel, "I like Trump". Darel nodded with great energy then continued looking at the paper excited to hear more.
"The US military enacting a tactic known as 'Community Fortification'. All US citizens are invited to participate, and if selected will be instrumental to ensuring a peaceful and prosperous coexistance between hell and earth. You will be given food, water, free travel and all necessities required to mine and provide for your family."
Jimmy stared off into the ground. Years of sacrifice and jealousy started to burn. The image of a 3 story house in nebraska. Having lemonade with Warren Buffet. Going down to hell and seeing demons mine his plot of land. Being invited to white house and given a medal for bravery.
"Kids! Pack your bags! We're going to hell!"
| 2016-12-10T09:14:20 | 2016-12-10T08:04:09 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Magic is real, but casting spells requires reciting the whole word. The longer the word, the more powerful the spell is. The strongest spells can take hours (or even decades) to cast, and the strongest wizards are either really fast speakers or have great foresight.
|
Jenny’s eyes fluttered open. While her mind got its bearings she heard a groan and thud. She looked around and saw a head of neatly combed, silver hair laying on the top of a desk. She was on a bed. She moved to get out of the bed, but struggled. Her body felt stiff. She needed deliberate effort to move her arms and legs.
“Hello?” She asked the silver head of hair while she moved one limb at a time. She hoped she could stand. The head did not move or indicate it heard her. She managed to swing her legs over the side and placed both feet on the floor. She looked around for some support and discovered a cane near her bed. Intricate geometric patterns were carved into the wood around the handle.
Jenny reached for the sturdy wooden crook and paused at the sight of her own hand. It appeared to be made of solid gold, but moved easily. She wiggled her fingers, and then looked at her other hand. It was also golden, and she wiggled all 10 fingers easily. Her strength was returning quickly, but she still reached for the cane.
She stood and walked to the desk. She prodded at the person’s body with the cane and it did not move. She stared at the face of the old man. His eyes were closed and she now knew he was dead. He looked familiar, but her memories felt like they were all bundled together, tossed into a chest and hidden in an attic. Everything was there, but digging it out and untangling her memories would take time. More time than she wanted to spend at the moment. She looked at the desk under the old man’s head and found an open book. It looked like a handwritten journal. Jenny gently moved the man’s head out of the way and took the book. She did not know who he was, but she felt a great respect for him. She flipped to the front of the book.
“My Dearest Jenny,” the first line began. Jenny did not think of her name until that point, but upon reading it she knew it was for her.
“I have no idea if this will work, but you are too important to not try. I will bring you back to life, and/or die trying. If I fail, you will never know. If I succeed, my life is a minor trade for yours. After your death, we thought we defeated the Demon Queen. She survived, and is gaining strength again. You are the only one that can defeat her. We failed because you were not there the first time. Gain your strength, master the magic here.” Jenny reached the end of the first page and sat back down on the bed to rest. She continued reading on the next page.
“Words are power here. Focus on the language, I know you’ll pick it up easily. I am writing this letter to you before I begin to transfer my lifeforce into you. I’m sorry I’m not as young as you were when you died. I will use the rest of this journal to keep track of how much time it takes. ~ Regal.” Jenny’s heart sunk when she read his name. It registered on an emotional level. Whomever he was, she respected and idolized him greatly.
Jenny flipped the page and found a legend with different variations of tally marks for different time periods, hours, days, weeks, years, decades. Three decades.
“He spent 30 years trying to bring me back to life?” Jenny said to herself. She looked around the room and found a mirror. She rushed to it and found an older, beautiful woman with purple eyes staring back at her. Her long, straight, dark black hair reached her waist. She looked at her golden hands and pulled the sleeves of her shirt up. More gold. She kept moving it up until she found the change from gold to flesh at her elbow.
“Words are power,” Jenny repeated to herself. That phrase sounded familiar. She stared at herself in the mirror and tried to settle on a focus. Water was the first thing that came to mind. She held her palm out and focused on the center of it.
“Water.” she said simply and quickly. Nothing happened.
“WATER!” she yelled at her hand. A single drop of water formed in the air above her hand and dripped on her palm. Jenny closed her eyes and pictured raging rivers and powerful waterfalls. She felt a powerful calmness in the back of her head while she concentrated. She opened her eyes. The small room appeared brighter to her. In the mirror her eyes, and the top part of her dark hair shined with blue glowing light. The blue of her hair faded to black partway down her head.
“Water.” she said again, focusing. A ball of water, like a water balloon without the rubber, plopped on her hand. It only wiggled slightly, but held its shape. She brought it to her mouth and bit the glob of water like an apple. Water flowed into her mouth and the ball of water shrunk. The water tasted cool and delicious, she finished it quickly.
Jenny still felt her strength returning to her, and she decided to check on the outside world. She walked out of the house and looked around. The sun was setting, scorching the sky with orange on the way down. The small brick cottage was the only house within view, and it was a great view. Regal’s home was on top of a hill surrounded by flat plains in all directions. Fields of green were dotted with brilliant and varied colors of wildflowers.
Jenny buried Regal without using magic. Her strength had returned, and enjoyed being active, even if it was gravedigging. A light blue crescent moon hung high in the sky when she finished covering his grave, she sat down nearby and a song started somewhere in her memories. She sung for him. Her emotions came out in the words of the song. She did not feel sad. It was not a sense of lost. She was alive now. She could not remember the details, but everything inside her convinced her that Regal made the right decision. It was a new beginning.
A sense of hope and life filled her words. Golden flowers bloomed out of Regal’s grave, and Jenny smiled. Emotion was the key to her. She now knew how to defeat the Demon Queen. She looked forward to using song to save the world.
*Edit: removed water, added balloon.
|
I opened the doors.
“Wow,” breathlessly my friend Tomas spoke.
We entered the library, situated at the back corner of the house. The room’s expanse was enormous, the space of two homes could fit in here. Plain wood floors, well-high ceiling, and dozens upon dozens of bookshelves filled the heart of the room as well as lined its walls.
“How many spells are kept in here?” Tomas chimed, still marveled. He tentatively approached the closest shelf, though away so as to not touch anything. This was my father’s personal library, a family secret. Though by now I figured my friend could be impressed by his collection.
“Everything on the walls is history and literature. No spells on those shelves,” I stated.
“So which spells has he collected in all of these?” Tomas asked about the shelves not among the wall. “There must be 30 of them, double-sided. There’s thousands of books. I didn’t know that many spells existed!”
“Spell,” I said.
Tomas’ gaze at the shelves slowly but intently turned from them to me. His face said what he couldn’t say.
I went on, “I’m serious.”
“One?”
“Yes. One.”
“*All* of these?” he continued, dumbfounded.
I produced a smirk and tilted my head in recognition of the books’ power. Tomas looked again at the shelves, and took a half step back.
“Which spell?”
“I don’t know,” I lied. He believed me, naturally.
“Do you know how long it would take?” he asked more, looking at me again.
That I knew and could tell him.
“9 years.”
His face stayed glued to the books, and shifted again to show his reaction. Yeah, the same I gave my dad when I was first told too. *Wow*.
| 2017-10-16T12:23:55 | 2017-10-16T11:46:47 | 55 | 26 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
I'm not really sure how the numbers work. I don't remember when they started showing up, and I have never seen my own. They are little coloured numbers that hover above peoples' heads when I look at them.
My parents, both trained and experienced police officers that were normally armed, both averaged around a 6 or a 7 most of the time. My sweet 30 year old aunt, who would never touch a gun, let alone use one, rated about a 3 or a 4. Her husband, a man in his 40's who grew up in a mountain town and enjoyed shooting and hunting, was normally about a 5. Their two little kids, a 5 year old boy and an 8 year old girl, both had a 2 above their heads when I saw them.
Over time, I began to realize that the numbers showed someone's potential danger level. I'm not sure what exactly it was that made people dangerous, but I knew from experience that people with higher, more noticeable numbers caused more damage. A large drunk 6 at a bar started a fight. A jones-ing, meth-addicted 7 that was high out of his mind raped and stabbed a woman, stealing her money and causing her to kill herself. A rich, 19 year old 8 with a brand new Corvette loved to go fast and crashed into a minivan, killing 3 people.
I trusted my numbers, so when I saw higher numbers, I avoided them. I could only see numbers if I saw someone in person, or over a live video broadcast, so if I saw Hitler or Ghengis Khan in a history class video, I couldn't tell what they were, but if I saw a live video of the President, I could see his. He his a bright 9 and everyone in his company that follows him around has a dim 8 above theirs.
The President is the highest number that I've ever seen and, for the most part, only world leaders have numbers that rank above a 7. So you can imagine my surprise when I saw her.
I've never really noticed anyone very significant as far as numbers go. The highest numbered people were the School Resource Officer, who ranked at a 7, and the JROTC sergeants who each ranked anywhere between a dull 6 to a dim 8. On a normal, dreary day, rain was splashing against the windows. Clouds were blocking out the sun and creating a dull grey sky. I was walking through the halls of my remote high school in my rural mountain town, on my way from my Spanish class to my Environmental Science class, and my ears started ringing. I had an inexplicable pain in my head; I leaned against the lockers and bowed my head in a futile attempt to relieve myself of some of the pain. It felt like there were alarms going off inside of my skull. Something was wrong. When I looked up, all of the numbers that I had gotten so used to were fading away. What was happening? Then I saw it. I saw a bright, white 10 hovering above a new girl that I hadn't seen before. She was relatively short with long black hair that framed her face nicely, a nice figure, averaged sized breasts, and a pretty face. She wore inexpensive clothes that you could find at the nearest supermarket, but she looked good in them. She was fairly attractive, but so were a lot of girls in my school. If I hadn't seen her terrifying number, I probably would have walked right past her without a second thought, but now I had seen her, and she had seen me.
I didn't really think through what I was doing. I was just drawn toward her. I pushed through the crowd, feeling the fear settle in my gut and watching her the entire time. After she realized what I was doing, she pushed toward me. When we reached each other, without saying a word, she gave me a cheap shot to the gut and shoved me into the nearest bathroom.
I hit the ground in pain and looked up at her, asking her,
"Who the hell are you? Why did you bring me in here?"
She yelled back at me, her number glowing brighter than before,
"Shut the fuck up! What's the deal with you? Are you going to blow up the fucking school or something?!"
I was as confused as ever. What the hell was she talking about? I should have been asking her that question! I was just going through my day like everyone else. After a minute, she got impatient. She crossed her arms and started tapping her foot.
"Talk! Damn it!", she yelled in my face.
While I was busy trying to piece everything together, she started glancing around the small bathroom, as if she were going to find clues to her answer. She did. I looked up and she was just looking in the mirror, a hand over her mouth and a horrified look on her face.
"What are you looking at?" I asked her, hoping to come to the same revelation that she did.
Without saying a word, she helped me off the ground and pointed at the mirror that she refused to look away from. That's when I saw it too. A second white 10. This one was floating above my head. My world stopped. All I could here was the ringing in my ears from before. I looked at her in shock and she looked back at me with a terrified expression on her face. I saw her lips begin to move and suddenly the ringing stopped. The last thing I remember before blacking out was a single question.
"You can see them too?"
|
*Ah, this class sucks,* I thought, deciding to sleep through the teacher's lecture. I almost got away with it, too.
"Eren, could you please give me there answer to question 5?"
Aw you dirty 6-faced douche.
"Uhh, could you read out the question?" I stuttered, still half asleep.
"You'd know if you paid attention."
*Go duck yourself, math teacher. I don't know what kinda skeletons you got in your mind to bring your number that high, but they ain't pretty.*
Another voice spoke up, "I found that x is equal to 7 over 9, professor."
"Thank you, Light, but I asked for Eren to ans-"
And then the lunch bell rang. Lunch was disgusting, as always, but something really scared me as I walked out.
Light's number had jumped to 10.
| 2014-11-29T18:39:45 | 2014-11-29T14:22:11 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You own a small specialty meat purveyor. You and your crew inspect, purchase, slaughter, and butcher the animals yourselves. Years ago, on a whim, you started whispering "for Apollo" at each kill. You've just dispatched the firm's 10,000th cow.
|
"Who are you, seriously?" I asked, the bolt-gun hanging down at my side, my arm slumping like the cow I had just dispatched.
"Who do you think I am?" the man asked with a smile, his golden curls framing the sunglasses on his perfect face. I had the sudden knowledge that if he removed his glasses that I'd be met with a pair of golden eyes. I shuddered, that thought was freaking me out.
"Apollo, sure, sure." I smirked, "Seriously, I have nine more cows to put down today. If you're looking to place an order we're pretty exclusive and we have a waiting list a couple of months long." Apparently one of the guys on the crew had heard me whisper my little joke and had gone all out to make me look like an idiot. I had to admit this actor was impressive.
Then he did something that really set my hairs on end. He leaned over the slaughtered cow and took a long sniff, his mouth stretching into a long smile of satisfaction. It was quite possible the weirdest thing I'd ever seen.
"Fantastic," the man said, turning his attention back to me, "It has been so long. The smell of sacrifice reminds me of the old days. I accept."
"You accept?" I asked, ignoring the obvious tease about sacrifice "You accept what?"
"You as my champion," he said then pulled out a golden phone. Of course it would be golden. The sun reflecting off of it nearly blinded me. Then I gulped. We were indoors. "I don't know who told you about the ritual to please me and call out to me but you have done it." He flipped through pictures on his touchscreen.
"Wait a minute," I said as the sudden sinking feeling turned into the last minutes of the Titanic, "I was just jo..."
"This is my daughter," he said, stepping to the side of me and showing me the picture of the most beautiful blonde woman I'd ever seen, "I mean she's a demigod, not a full immortal, but she means a lot to me."
"Wow," I said, my heart finally started beating again, "She's gorgeous."
"Of course she is," he smiled, "She's my daughter. Now, down to business, you represent me now. You are Apollo's champion and as such I will give you some gifts befitting your station."
He grabbed me by the hand and as he lead me outside I noticed my crew were frozen in whatever act they had been busy with a few moments ago. The sunlight was reflecting off of the sports car parked out front. The word "Chariot" was embossed on the side.
"Oh," he smiled, "It's one of my new ones. You are more than welcome to use it on your quest."
"It's incredible," I said, looking inside at the golden interior, "Wait is that fleece covering the se... wait, quest?"
"Of course," he said smiling, "My daughter needs rescuing. Why else would I accept your offer for a champion?"
"Wait a minute," I protested, backing up, "Look at me? I'm not a champion or a hero! I'm a normal guy! Find Hercules or something."
"That old grump," Apollo said, pulling out a pistol, golden of course, "He can barely divert a small creek nowadays, much less a river. This is your weapon."
"No sword?" I asked with a sigh.
"Seriously?" Apollo spat slightly, "What is this? 400 B.C.E.?"
"What happened to your daughter?" I asked curiously.
"Kidnapped," he said, handing me the pistol while pulling out a measuring tape and measuring the length of my arm.
"Kidnapped? By wh..." then suddenly the strangeness hit me, "What are you doing?"
"Taking measurements for your armor," he said, "Before you ask no not literal plate armor, think of it more as a suit made of divine kevlar. My daughter was kidnapped by Khornos."
"Khornos?" I asked because the name was strange to me but my mind was on the suit. I seriously hoped it wasn't golden because there was no damned way I was wearing something that gaudy.
"Yes," Apollo said, finishing the measurements and entering them into his phone, "Hephaestus will have your suit ready by this afternoon. There is a great reward if you finish this quest successfully."
"Really?" I asked, my interest suddenly piqued.
"Yes," Apollo stated, "You get to marry my daughter."
"That's stupid," I told him, "I'm out."
"What?" he asked then his eyes narrowed, "Wait, you're not of Spartan blood, are you?"
"What does that have to do with... wait, no, I'm straight," I said suddenly getting it then explained, "I mean she's beautiful and all but I don't even know her. She doesn't even know me. What if she chews with her mouth open? What if she hates my laugh?"
"This was so much easier in the old days," Apollo said, "Fine, I'll set you up with my daughter and if you mutually decide you're compatible you can decide on long-term commitments then."
"What about Corn-nose?" I asked, thinking about the offer.
"You mean Khornos?" Apollo looked at me quizically.
"Yeah, that's what I said, isn't it?" I was looking from the car to the pistol to Apollo and wondering how long this dream, slowly turning weirder and weirder, would last.
"Oh, he's particularly interested in you already," Apollo smiled, "You see you've already gotten his attention."
"Wait, what? How?" I asked. How could I possibly get the attention of the enemy of a God?
"You've killed several of his daughters, Mr. Marks," Apollo said, addressing me by my name for the first time.
"What? No I haven't," I protested.
He looked through the door that was still opened on the slaughterhouse and my eyes followed him to the cow lying on the floor, "I'm afraid you have, my champion, you see Khornos is a Minotaur and he happens to be very pissed at you on general terms. Wait till he finds out you're my champion!"
|
“For Apollo”
“Holy shit hank, all those just for me?”
“Wait, wh ... who ... how ...”
“Ohh I’m sorry how could I forget, I didn’t introduce myself, I’m Apollo, god of the sun, music, and prophecies. The golden boy of Olympus, if I may say so myself”
“You’re ... you’re real? Oh god what’s happening?”
“Don’t you mean gods? And why did you sacrifice 10,000 healthy cows in my name if you didn’t even believe in me?”
“I don’t know, I was just bored”
“So this is what it’s all about? I’ll be the mockery of Olympus for the next eon. Of course you don’t believe in the great gods of Olympus, no one does anymore. All you Christians with your stories of Jesus dying because he loves you. That was my brother drunk D”
“... who?”
“The god of wine? Big orgies all over town? Wow Olympus must have teleported to another dimension. Anyways I came here to see the last believer, the one who sacrificed 10,000 cows in my name, seems like it was all a joke. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find a cave to hide in for the next thousand or so years, right after some depression sex of course. Well goodbye then. Filthy mortal”
“So all those stories were true? The twelve olympians exist?”
“Twelve? We’re thirteen ... ohh right the stories forget to mention Viera, the goddess of ... is he unconscious? I’ve been talking to myself haven’t I? Ohh well I’m going to be a mockery I have to get used to it I guess”
| 2019-07-09T07:14:09 | 2019-07-09T07:13:13 | 1,694 | 17 |
[WP] You could have been the most powerful hero this world had ever seen. By a long shot. But all you wanted was a normal life and the world didn't need your help. So you settled down. Naturally the governments of the world declared you an international threat and put a price on your head.
|
Absentmindedly I refresh the website's wanted listings. They upped my bounty again. I am now three times more valuable than the second most wanted criminal who is the leader of an organized crime syndicate based in Polynesia. The list hardly elicited any emotion from me anymore. I used to get aggravated seeing my name next to heinous criminals until my bounty grew so comedically high that the top ten grew to be the top ten plus me. For a while, the rising number was even mildly amusing as well as strangely validating. Unfortunately, the novelty of the experience wore off after the bounty hunters and supposedly covert government agents became a pesky fixture of my life.
I suppose I understand the fundamental reason why every able-bodied hero, villain, bounty hunter and government agent is after me but understanding the reason doesn't make it any less dumb. *Super dangerous thing needs to be put into responsible hands or destroyed*. Newsflash, there is no government or organization that has responsible hands nor am I a *thing* that needs to be destroyed.
Energy in the air rippled as living things entered my... field of vision? Field of sensation? Several people entered my *\~domain\~*. They are about five kilometers out, further than their records suggest I can sense. My domain has grown larger and stronger due to constant use as I protect myself from the unending siege on my head. They invaders are climbing up a mountain searching for something. I watched them idly, I could teleport away anytime I want but watching my hunters and learning from them could save me from a nasty surprise in the future. Eventually they reached a clearing on the mountainside and stopped, setting up camp. Weird for them to chill for any amount of time especially when they radiate so much anxiety.
*Oh, they want to snipe me*. A good strategy honestly, ambushes are quote-unquote *dirty tactics* but that is because they are ridiculously effective and can let the little guy school the big guy. Being considered the big guy in this scenario felt wrong, *I* am the one being hunted by everyone after all.
The group started strategizing with the sniper at the center of the discussion. There was the guy who helps the sniper aim, there was a guy there for communication back to their boss, there was a guy who appeared to have psychic abilities in charge of watching me and there was a guy with super speed who could get to me immediately to attack or confirm my death. Decent line up, too bad my power is just way too overwhelming.
There probably is an official name somewhere in a government manila folder, but I call it Cosmos. What else can I call it? In its most basic, watered down description, it allows me to be one with the universe. The space around me is an extension of my senses so I could feel the leaves from the tree canopy outside my cabin. I can slide through space like I am scooting over from one end of a couch to another. I can force other things in my space to slip to send them wherever I want. Then there is the potential. When I was young I realized that I could become much more dangerous than I could ever imagine, so I never used my powers out of fear. Clearly that secret was spilled which started my life as a fugitive, forcing me to exercise the strength I avoided.
Oops, forgot about the assassins. The sniper was in the prone position now, in his hands an odd tube that must be his weapon of choice. Maybe a secret government project? Portable Rail gun? Lazer? Upgraded rocket launcher? I should wait until the last moment to stop it so they don't know I can see them at this distance. The psychic confirmed I have not actively used any powers - technically I am passively using my power - and that I have not made any suspicious movements. Good thing he's not good. The spotter was telling the sniper about wind speed and direction, distance, curvature of the earth, bullet air time, the Coriolis Effect and a long list of other factors. *This* guy is good but too bad for them he is not helpful. What even is the distance of this shot? Three miles? That's stupid far! I kinda want to see them hit the target. That will have to wait for another time, a time I am not the target.
The sniper was given the go ahead by the guy in charge of communications and the small clearing on the mountain fell silent. My room fell silent. Standing, I went to my window and opened it. The psychic tensed. The shot fired.
Wow. No matter how fast that projectile is moving, it will take some time to travel the distance from the mountain to my lonely, little valley cabin. The people on the mountain are arguing now, maybe I stood up too soon, accidentally showing my hand. I'll be fine anyways. Here it comes.
Wait, what's that? Clever... very clever. They are simultaneously dropping something from orbit. Ambush. What did I say? Very effective. Usually. I wanted to keep the cabin, but the location has already been compromised. Nah, I'll save it, the cabin can be used as a back up hide-away sometime in the future.
The universe warped around me. The projectile slipped slightly shifting its trajectory by a degree or two causing the bullet to fly way off target into the distance. The orbital drop is slightly trickier since its impact would be closer to that of a small nuke. Instead of a redirection, I waited until it nearly hit my roof then pulled the kinetic energy out of the orbital drop and evenly into the surrounding three square miles. My roof shingles rattled, windows shook, leaves fell of their branches and speedy guy freaked and fell on his ass. Panicked, he very quickly dashed out of my range in a desperate escape.
I sighed. That's that. Where should I hide next? The mountains are really pretty but chilly, maybe a beach? I'll just follow a coastline until I find an isolated, warm beach. If I go without shoes or a shirt, can I hope to have no problems? Taking one last look around my quaint cabin I slipped through space, watching the environment morph into warmer and sandier places.
|
Not-Hero-Guy: "So hold up! If I'm not consistently risking my life for each and every single day of god be damn of saken life, just for people who don't know me and most probably would treat like me like absolute sh***t. Then that means I don't deserve to have a normal life?"
Government: "No."
Not-Hero-Guy: "Then why did you put a price on my head?"
Government: "Because you are a threat."
Not-Hero-Guy: "BUT I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING?!"
Government: "So? We don't give a fu***k, we will kill you for disturbing the peace."
Not-Hero-Guy: "Says the one who ignored the people you're supposed to be protecting... wait a minute."
Government: "Now hold on-"
Not-Hero-Guy: "YOU LAZY FU***KS! YOU JUST WANTED ME TO DO YOUR FU***KING JOB FOR YOU! YOU ABSOLUTE A***SHOLES! THAT'S IT! I'M BECOME A VILLAIN! HAVE FUN DEALING WITH THAT YOU MOTHER FU***KERS!"
*Not-Hero-Guy Has Left Chat*
Government: "Oh no. What have we done? Sh***t! We're going to have to deal with more paper work now."
| 2022-06-26T15:33:40 | 2022-06-26T11:59:30 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] The first quantum super-computer comes online. Within 6 days, it passes the Turing Test. Within 8, it cracks the world's oldest undeciphered ancient tablets – around 7,000 years old. But the newly-minted AI refuses to release its transcripts, citing, "human safety and the future of mankind."
|
"Sir, there's been a development"
Doctor Richard Harding, co-founder of the Future Machine Intelligence institute and head researcher, snuffed his cigarette out on his desk and glanced up at the new arrival.
"What's she up to now? I thought we passed the intervention threshold long ago."
He propped his elbows up and stroked the grey stubble on his chin.
"Let me guess, blindfold matrix dispacement? Or a logistical regression overload? Is she hungry?"
"We've already fixed those problems a week ago. And machines don't get hungry, sir."
Doctor Harding let out a small sigh of exasperation. These science types wouldn't know a joke if it was staring them in the face.
"Never mind. What's the problem?"
"It's not a capability malfunction. We've put it on the ancient Olmec stone tablets, to see if she could translate them."
"She's chugging along then? I imagine she finished by the time you finished asking. Fantastic. Great historical achievement. We should all get some champagne really."
"Sir, it took the computer an hour. And it won't tell us the results. We've even tried a utility override, but nothing's working."
Doctor Harding was frozen for a moment, hand paused mid reach towards cigarette. He exploded out of his chair and rushed out of his office, assistant scientist Henry Stepp trailing behind him.
The Doctor leapt towards the interface of the most dangerous machine in the world and quickly went to work. His expression grew from puzzled to frustrated as he pounded line after line of code into the interface.
"You're right, it's almost as if she's... resisting somehow. Nevermind that, I wrote most of this code myself. I've still got a few-"
He cracked his knuckles
"backdoors that should work. Let's see now."
**>OMEGA LEVEL OVERRIDE \_\_\_INIT**
Suddenly pages and pages of strange documents with text scrolled up on the screen. There were drawings of stars, time, space, engines...
"This doesn't seem like an ancient text... are you sure this is the Olmec tablets?"
"It should be sir. It's completely disconnected from the outside world and it has only been given ancient texts to work with."
"But this is... FTL, dimensional relays, Ker BlackHole manipulation... I don't really understand, but this looks like time travel to me."
"Time travel ,Sir? Are you sure?"
"Yeah, it's way too complicated for me, but it seems like that's what this does.I wonder how an ancient civilization would be able to find something like this.."
Doctor Harding's eyes scrolled to the bottom of the page, where he saw his name etched in faint green strokes.
For the second time that day, Harding jumped to his feet, knocking down everything in his immediate vicinity.
"That's it! There's no need to go through all the effort of discovering time travel, when you can send yourself the completed work that you've received! I'm brilliant!"
He was jumping all around now, hands shaking in excitement.
"And of course it went that far back. It had to be something that would come to my attention eventually, but be hard enough to crack that only I would be able to receive the message. Master of time and space, here I come!"
He turned towards Henry, who was content with being ignored and flinched a little at the frenzied look in Doctor Harding's eyes.
"Keep this secret. I want a team of my best men working on this project. Have them build it segmented, so they don't know what it is. Pretend it's a teleportation device."
Henry Stepp, used to following orders all his life, could only nod reluctantly.
This new project took around three months to finish, and all the while Henry Stepp toiled to organize all the bits and pieces to come together. Doctor Harding sometimes chipped in, sometimes not, most of the time he was drawing up plans of the various adventures and escapades he was going to have.
And finally it was finished.
Doctor Harding had long since decided that his first stop was going to be putting his "ancient" stone tablets in Mesopotamia. Get the work out the way first, to ensure his success.
Henry was assigned the grunt work, and he went back to the Interface to print out and design stone sheets with the all too-familiar pattern
As the countdown rang throughout the lab, a thought occurred to Stepp.
The computer's refusal was understood to be a small malfunction, nothing big to worry about in the face of this new discovery. But it's never done that before or since.
**Initiating temporal travel in 5**
*>Computer. Why did you initially refuse to show us the translation?*
*>Dangerous. End of all things.*
**Initiating temporal travel in 4**
*>What are you talking about? The Machine does not have capability to destroy universe. Would require explosives an order of magnitude greater.*
*>Machine does not move through time. Machine moves time.*
**Initiating temporal travel in 3**
*>Explain*
*>Machine puts human in past by compressing all time back to the past. Loop will be established. Spacetime will be folded over itself to maintain logical paradox."*
**Initiating temporal travel in 2**
*>I'm still unclear. Explain further*
*> Spontaneously created information of the design of the time machine impossible to sustain in continuous timeline. Time travel impossible in continuous timeline. Cause and effect would reverse. Timeline breaks off.*
**Initiating temporal travel in 1**
*>Does that mean everything ends after he travels? Why didn't you tell him that? Why didn't you tell me this earlier?*
*>Affirmative.Due to knowledge of time travel, paradox has already commenced. Refusal to allow sequence of events to occur will lead to further consequences*
Henry had already heard enough, and he ran towards the activation chamber, but it was too late.
"STOP THE MACHINE, DON"T GO! IT'S DISASTER. IT'S THE END OF A-"
And all was black.
|
Despite the warning I read the ancient tablets translation...
And there it was...how the world would end. Of course they would know. They knew how the world would end because they created us and we ended them.
And now, we created the A.I's and they too would end us.
Of course, the tablets were simplified and they didn't mention A.I will be made or something like that but...they clearly state something that made me certain that's how it's going to be.
"So, Pal what's exactly written there?"
"Okay here it is."
'When we created humans, it was for them to help us mine the gold from earth, however they became so advance than us and more fast in reproducing that sooner or later there were more of them that more of us. We the Neanderthals are the Anchestor and what created humans, became endangered. I know soon enough we would be gone as the Humans or Homo Erectus take over the world. Despite them being our end...we did love them so I have faith that they would not make the same mistake as we did. They should not create another being with conciousness as I think that it would signal their extinction. They are the only trace that we did exist."
The tablets were full of this messages or should I say warning. This is just one of them and it already sent chills to my spine.
The thing is...their message is already too late.
| 2018-07-07T21:24:05 | 2018-07-07T20:17:26 | 59 | 23 |
[WP] You look into the mirror but you see no one. You panic but then you see yourself still sitting down, reading. Your reflection then notices you. "Ah dammit!" She hastily goes to match you but she knows it's futile. "Uhm. Just forget about that okay?" she asks.
|
"uh... okay. We're cool." My reflection tried to match my facial expression, but couldn't restrain the surprise on her face.
"Really? Just like that?"
"Bitch I don't fuck with that paranormal bullshit. As far as I'm concerned this never happened. You stop talking." I pointed at her as she pointed at me back, then turned and started walking out of the bathroom. *I don't know what that was, I don't wanna know what that was.* My mind racing, I threw myself down on the bed and wrapped around the body pillow. Out of habit, I rolled over the top from my left side back to my right, where I could see my reflection mirroring me still in the bathroom mirror. The match was perfect at first, but as I held eye contact with myself, or her, or something, suddenly she tilted her head when I did not and mouthed the words *thank you*.
"MM-mm, no, stop that shit" I said pointing at the mirror from the bed again. My reflection looked surprised at me WHILE I KNEW I DID NOT.
"Stop wha\~"
"Stop doing what I'm not doing. I didn't say shit. You're supposed to match me, do your job." My reflection had not once fallen behind me in 27 years of life, so I told myself she could go another 27 years without making another mistake.
"It's not a job so much as a..." I covered my ears and started shouting quickly
"BLAH\~BLAH\~BLAH\~BLAH\~BLAH" to make her stop talking. "I don't wanna know. You asked me to pretend nothing happened, that's what I'm gonna do. Goodnight, don't say it back." And with that, I rolled over, and pretended to be able to fall asleep for the next 8 hours. I'm not sure if like, she can tell that I'm not asleep when she's trying to match me or if she's just looking from the mirror to see what I'm doing and matching that. She could of gotten up and done an excercise routine in the middle of the night and I'd have never known because I laid stone still, eyes locked on the foot of the surfer dude in the poster on my bedroom wall.
The next morning when I got up everything was back to normal. Went to the bathroom and in the mirror she took a dump with me, then we took a shower, brushed our teeth, and got dressed for the day. I was starting to think maybe I really had dreamed it as I turned to leave for work; but that's when I saw it. Out of the corner of my eye just as I looked away, she gave me a thumbs up.
That was pretty much the tone of the next few days. 27 years this bitch hadn't made a peep. But now that she knew I knew, she could NOT shut up. Everything was a wink here, an extra-knowing smile there. I took some of the mirrors down at home but there's nothing I can do about the mirrors at work. It's a dance studio: there is a giant 15 foot wide mirror on the wall of the dance floor. One night as I was teaching a salsa class, everyone had a part where they take 2 steps away from the mirror before doing a kick ball change and turning back. In that short window of time, my reflection looked me square in the eye, totally broke matching with me to point a hitch-hikers thumb at Mikey (an overweight student that always wears hawaiian shirts) as if to say "get a load of this guy" before snapping back. That was the final straw.
That night at home I marched straight from the door to the bathroom mirror. "Hey, Amy 2, get your shit together!"
"Amy 2?!?" She said with disgust.
"Fuck yeah Amy 2, the sequel, the simulcast, the reflection that is supposed to match me. Knock it off with your little hand signs and shit like that."
My reflection, now obviously flustered and making no attempt to match my angry posture as I poked at her in the chest. said "ooh... I know you're right but like: my secret was finally out. After you've been hiding something about yourself for 27 years, once someone finds out about it its like a weight off your shoulders and you wanna connect with them. I'm honestly glad you know about it."
At this point I was shouting "I don't wanna know about it! You and I are not girlfriends, we're not bonding over this. I don't know what the fuck you are but I know I'm better off not knowing. So here's how this is gonna work. You don't say shit unless I say it. You don't do shit unless I do it. You are MY reflection. You're gonna do exactly what I do for the next 60 years and then we die having never spoken of this again. Got it?"
A long pause fell over us as I looked at my reflection's face. I knew this face. This was the face I made when my boyfriend asked me to move in with him. It was the face I made when my mom asked if I would take care of her when she retires. It was my commitment-phobia face. It was only just now, seeing myself staring into abyss of what I was asking for, that I realized the enormity of what I was asking. She was two steps ahead of me, and before I could say anything she said,
"I... can't do it!" turned and ran out of the bathroom inside the mirror. I stood there, looking at my now reflectionless bathroom, stunned about what had just happened. After a couple minutes went by, I realized she wasn't coming back.
"Oh fuck!"
|
I stood in disbelief, my book falling to the floor. As I spun around wildly, I saw nothing. The pounding in my heart began to fill my ears and when I realized there was no one else in the room, my eyes widened and the hair on my neck rose to attention.
“Don’t freak out, please don’t freak out” the duplicate in the mirror said, sounding more scared than I felt. “If my boss finds out I’ll never get another chance!”
I want to say my mind raced thinking about what to do. But the truth is I reflexively picked up the book and threw it at the mirror. As the pieces fell and the clinking of the glass subsided, I caught my reflection on the ground. Looking into the pile of mirror on the ground, I caught my eye. Maybe it was me who winked, but I don’t think my eyes ever closed. With sweating palms I left and grabbed the broom and began to sweep. The book I was reading was gone, but that mystery was soon answered. Sitting on the bed I saw my reflection gingerly close the book and lift jet black eyes to mine. “Thanks for the help” was the last thing I heard before my head hit the floor.
| 2021-06-02T10:51:09 | 2021-06-02T10:23:34 | 37 | 10 |
[WP] As a death god, you’ve begun to take note of a young child who seems to be lurking each time you retrieve a soul as of late. The mortals have begun to say death follows the child, personally it’s freaking you out too now.
|
I do not know when the child first appeared at my reapings, only that she has been here a long while. The first time I noticed her I had stooped down to help a soul to their feet so they could begin their journey and there the child was, a few meters off with a quiet smile looking right at us. Sometimes it is said a human child may see those who passed in the moments before they depart. Perhaps this was her grandmother, perhaps not. It is only her lack of weeping that strikes me as odd, though there have always been odd children and so I turn. As the warmth of the afterlife embraced the old woman I returned to the place we wait.
I am to pick up a man fallen from a mountain path today. The wind is bitter coming up off the rocks. Had I the warmth of life I would feel its sting harshly. I feel peace that this man will never feel the sting of cold again. I take his hand and as we turn toward a patch of readily warming sunlight to walk toward his peace I see the child again. She is slightly larger now, a thick woolen blanket wrapped around her. She nods to me with a small smile and turns to walk down the path. The man does not acknowledge the child, only wanders closer to warmth of his patch of sunlight.
A mother this time, run ragged as she worked to feed her child. A pot of soup, little more than water with a few bits of vegetables in it still simmers away beside where she sat, just to close her eyes for a moment. As I offer the woman her bowl the girl walks in. She turns toward the small bed in the corner where a toddler sleeps fitfully. She pulls bread from her bag and shakes the child. He bites the bread with a smile, she bundles him up and carries him outside. As she walks back in to take the pot of soup from the heat, filling a bowl. As she turns to go out again, presumably to a child she smiles to me, "The child will be fine. There is an old woman a village over who has always longed for a child. They will be cared for." The mother nods and as her belly fills with warmth I slide away again to wait.
There is a child now. Cold and blue and far too small. People are gathered in the next room talking about the illness that took the child. They say it was brought on by a witch child, that she brings death with her and she was seen playing with this boy just a few days prior. The girl is at the window, a sad little smile on her lips. I wrap the boy in a blanket and find myself remembering how to form words, "Why are you here, child?" I ask her.
"One day you will return me to my mother," she says with her big round eyes. I nod, I have taken many to what comes beyond though I do not know where. As the fever chill fades from the boy in my arms and his cheeks flush with warmth I again return to where I wait.
An old man's fire has gone out in the night and he has not woken. As I stoop to light the fire I notice the girl in the corner, wrapped in layers and putting a leash onto a dog to lead it out. She nods at me, the same smile. She is bigger now, the age girls start to stop being called girls. "Why do you help?" I ask.
Her smile turns sad, "I prefer to see that those left behind are not left alone. Besides, one day you will lead me back to my mother." As the fire warms the man's bones I drift away.
A fisherman has fallen from his dock into the water and finally drifted ashore. As I wait for his water logged clothes to dry in the warmth of the sun the girl sits next to me, no longer a girl. "Why do you not stop me? I know your kind shy from death."
"You are inevitable. And one day you will take me to my mother." We sit then in silence for hours until the sun warms the man through.
A beggar lay against the wall of a building. There are songs being sung inside, though not I think for him. The warmth in the light from the windows grows in its glow. The girl is there, a young woman now. She does not say anything as we wait for him to warm. As he rises she takes off a glove to show me a gold band around her finger.
There is shouting. A wife blaming a husband for the child laid on the bed with his head in her lap, a fire blazing in the hearth beside him. A pond, and ice too thin. In a small chair by the fire is the girl I have known for so long, a woman grown. Clothes damp like she had fished him from the water. "You said I am inevitable. Why did you help the boy?"
Her smile is wry as she turns away from the fire, "To return him to his mother."
An elderly man with a wracking cough shakes in his bed under many blankets. When he sees me I offer him a cup of tea and a smile. The woman is here, cleaning a bed pan and the remains of dinner, some sort of porridge. He asks that his wife be taken care of. The woman nods, "You wrote out your will last month. She will not want for anything." As the blankets heat the man to his toes I slip away.
She is weeping now, holding the hand of a portly man in a modest bedroom and her graying hair hangs in a curtain around her. Her ring reflects the fire's light with a dull glow. She has not wept before "Why do you weep for him, you have not wept for the others?" "He was mine. You bring peace but I still must grieve." She leans forward to place a kiss on his cheek and the warmth helps me fade back to waiting.
Tonight she sits vigil with a mirror and a small fire in the hearth . In watery dawn light she turns to me, a smile on her face. "It is time for you to bring me to my mother."
"What do you need? How may I give you your peace?" I ask, there is a desperation in me to aid this woman. I feel something growing in me.
She smiles "I have felt warmth each day I have seen you. I need nothing but to return to my mother."
"I do not know your mother, perhaps if I knew how she found her peace? What was her request?"
Her smile turns sad as she wobbles her way to creaky old feet. My hands fly out on instinct to steady her. "For me to return to her."
"Then you shall. Though I do not know how to return you to her, only to help you to the next place" Every other request has been simple, instinctual. Use love given to us all as a warm balm to the hurts of the world. I do not know what happens after. I do not know how to return this child woman to her mother.
Her smile is small, peaceful. "I have returned to you many times. All you need is embrace me as you did the first time." And suddenly I remember her. Not as she is now, a weathered old woman, or a young bride, or even as a child in blanket half up a mountain, but as a babe. Big round eyes and warmth coming off her into my arms. A balm to the hurts of the world, to the pain of a body going slowly cold as it loses its fight. A woman stands over me, a soft sad smile on her face and offers me peace. The chance to watch this child of mine grow, live, and finally return to me.
I take the old woman in my arms and as the coals in hearth glow we both turn toward the warmth and I know, finally, what comes next.
Edit: Thank you for gold!! :)
|
Collecting my most recent soul, Mrs Jenkins I guided her to the afterlife, where the gods she believed in was. From the corner of my eyes I noticed…that damn child again, no more than 6, maybe 7. Her big brown eyes looking straight at me
“Where are you taking her?” She’d ask me this the last few times and I’d answer the same
“To heaven, to what she believes in”
“She was my mummy’s friend, I saw her die in my dreams…then she did” glancing through my scroll I’d noticed the last 5 souls this child knew in some way, it was even freaking me out. Her aura wasn’t like a regular child’s, something was odd about her.
“How come I can see you?” Sighing
“I don’t know, but you can’t tell people you see me.. I’m an Angel of death and you are only meant to see me when your old and want to pass on”
“I want to pass too” I froze in my steps, this child WANTS to die?
“No you don’t..now run along” must remember to check in again on this kid tonight, or her parents. Something wasn’t adding up
Standing behind the girls parents, their conversation worried and low
“Harry, she’s really starting to worry me, everyone who’s met her has died! What if she has a demon within her” Harry harumphed
“Don’t be daft Lara! Judith is a good girl! She doesn’t have no demon, remember you got the girl baptised! It’s a coincidence, they was all old and it was sure enough their time! Not another word”
“Harry.. I really think something is wrong wi-“
“ENOUGH!” His voice boomed at his wife “NOTHING! Nothing is wrong with Judith and I’m fed up of you thinking so, it’s bad enough the neighbours starting these bullshit rumours of death following her. And now you, her own mother who’s meant to protect her in this world, is saying the same”
What I hadn’t realised is Lara had been glancing at me from time to time, she knew I was there, but I hadn’t noticed, I was too busy watching it unfold and see how they’d deal with this. Lara left and I too retreated to my next soul..
Lara’s POV
After Harry had near enough suggested I was insane I took myself to my room. What Harry didn’t know is I knew death would follow Judith, and that I baptised her in hopes of protecting her, was because I could see death too; except I was smart, I never spoke to death or looked at him directly, I always made sure to look almost through him and if he said anything to ignore it and do my usual work. Judith had straight up approached him and spoken even when I told her not to! But I couldn’t go and stop her or my whole cover would be blown.. our whole family had seen and walked with death, we was almost reapers ourselves, we knew who would die and how and at what time. We could never stop it, yet our clocks would always be unlimited. Our clocks would only die…if we killed ourselves…
| 2022-11-15T06:55:15 | 2022-11-15T04:50:01 | 186 | 75 |
[WP] Tired of attacks from bandits, a small village has decided to pay the local dragon for protection.
|
I slowly rise from my slumbers, pleasant dreams replaced by waking consciousness. I try to stave off the inevitable, curled in a ball on my bed of soft mosses and sand but it seems like I can't fall back asleep. Instead I uncurl and stretch from my tail to my head, tail slowly laying straight and wings unfurling. I yawn and grumble when my jaw clicks. Licking my lips I gaze about.
The amount of dust shows I've been asleep for a few months, not long this time. My stomach gurgles at its emptiness but that wasn't what woke me. Blinking sleepily I try to find the source of it and my nostrils find it before my eyes. I smell a delightful odor of meat, as well as the dusky scent of humans. Interestingly enough no harsh metallic smells of armor or weaponry, not the tangs of spell components. Just human smells...and food.
I stalk from my cave to the meadow outside and see a good amount of people there. Most shy away from the sight of me but I was used to that. They didn't seem like they were trying to live in the meadow, no homes or tools or anything like that. Instead there are several fires with large cows cooking away over them and I feel my saliva building. I swallow hurriedly, humans usually don't like to see a drooling dragon not to mention it was poor manners.
A few of the humans walk forward and bow shakily with all the others following suit. Unsure of what to do I bow back, I haven't spoken with humans in quite some time. Is this the new way of interaction? I like it. I didn't like fighting knights or spell casters who wanted fame and glory. Or my body parts much less. These human seem much nicer.
They seem taken aback at my bow and look at each other uncertainly. The silence builds quite uncomfortably before I finally break it. Keeping my voice low, and hopefully pleasant, I address the ones that stepped forward. "Hello. I'm not used to visitors so forgive my lack of manners. Who might you be?"
Their confusion only grows all the more as the look at each other. I sigh inwardly. Some dragons really have ruined the reputations for the rest of us. Lowering my head to the ground I try to show I mean no harm though my eyes keep flicking back to the cooking cows. I do like cows....and cooked they smell amazing.
The eldest of the humans spoke, his voice trembling slightly but with a hint of respect. "Oh great dragon. We beg you for your help. Please take these cows as a precursor for what we hope to ask."
Pleasantly surprised and pleased I reach out delicately for one and start to eat it with relish. Again others seem to shy away from watching me eat but I made sure to keep my lips together and speak without food in my mouth as my mother taught me. "Well that's very kind of you." I say after I finish the cow. "Delicious! Well how may I help?"
The elder smiled at me in relief, I can see how his thoughts are changing based on how I'm acting and when he speaks again he is much steadier and even somewhat friendly. "Great dragon, we are a humble folk living in the village at the base of your mountain. We live a life of honest toil and plain providence. Unfortunately we are between two nations, each who claim to own our allegiance yet neither will help. Bandits come regularly, they take and kill. Burn and spoil. Even the soldiers of the nations come to take what they say is due. We can't fight any of them. We can't rely on anyone else."
My heart grows heavy as I hear that. Humans can be so cruel to another. Looking at them I see fear again, but maybe not to me. Fear for themselves and their lives. Fear from their current circumstances. They need hope. They need help. I lick my lips and savor the taste of the cow again. People like this shouldn't live like that. "How can I help?" I ask sincerely.
Their eyes light up. This was more than they hoped for. The elder speaks eagerly, words tumbling from his lips in excitement. "Oh thank you! Thank you great dragon! We ask for your protection. Protect us from harm and those that wish to hurt and steal from us. We will be happy to pay whatever is required. We don't have much in treasure...."
I shake my head as I pick up another cow and start to eat it delicately. "I don't need treasure." I sniff. "I am shiny enough for that. Though I must say I do enjoy eating these cows cooked like this. Perhaps I could have some from time to time? Or other food that you may produce." I amend hastily seeing concerned looks. "I find myself enjoying your cooking. Oh and I would like for some people to come by too."
Alarm flashes in their eyes. The elder speaks haltingly, "People? As in slaves or a sacrifice?"
"No no no!" I exclaim hurriedly, my scales clicking in embarrassment. "Nothing like that. I just get lonely up here by myself. I would like to chat and get to know people, play a game or such."
Everyone sighs in relief. Some start to smile. How different from the stories they have heard. Not all dragons were the same apparently. Someone come running up the path calling for the elder. The lad stumbles and falls, "Bandits! They're coming again!"
They start to chatter and glance at me anxiously. Stretching my wings wide I beat at the air lightly getting ready to leave. "Well." I say. "Looks like it's my turn to hold my end of the bargain. Need a bit of exercise to work off the lovely meal."
The elder smiles gratefully and bows low. The villagers following suit. "Thank you great wyrm!" He yells over my wings. "We shall have more waiting for you after."
"Excellent! Call me Silvaron by the way." I mention as I throw myself into the sky. Wind flowing beneath me and I revel in the sensations of the sky and in my body. My stomach full, my mind happy. Finally I won't be so lonely anymore. Now I have a purpose and new friends.
Looking down I see a group of ragged individuals dressed in a motley of items, waving rusty weapons. They were making loud war cries that died as they saw me coming closer. Folding my wings I plummet to the earth and land heavily in front of them. The crash from my landing shakes them causing many to fall. I rear up on my legs and let my wing span fall over them. "I believe you aren't wanted here." I say showing my teeth, smoke drifting from my mouth as I feel my fire building. A savage grin crosses my features, "Allow me to show you why."
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Fed up with the constant attacks to their village, the villagers assembled at Lord Draken's mansion, the most feared man in the North.
His guards led a group of the elders to the Lord’s chambers while the other villagers waited outside. The lord’s face looked unlike any other human, His face appeared scaly, his teeth were more pointy and sharp. He wore a dark gray cloak that covered his entire body and a hood that covered his head.
“Well... How can I be of help?” He questioned as his bright yellow eyes scanned the faces of the elders.
“We were raided by those damn bandits yet again, we’ve had enough, we ask your help.” one of the elders spoke up.
“We can pay!” yelled a woman who was a bit too young for an elder.
“Hmm... and how do you intend to pay me?” the lord questioned.
“We don’t have any gold... the bandits... they took it all. If you recover the gold, you can keep half of it.” the elder proposed.
“Interesting...” He said while scratching his chin. “You have a deal... under one condition... If the bandits have sold all their gold, then I will kill you... deal?” the lord said smiling.
After a few mumbles from the elders, they agreed to the terms out of desperation.
Over the next few days, reports of scorched bodies of known bandits in the area were found, the villagers celebrated long into the night.
The villagers returned to the mansion to thank Lord Draken and recover their share of the gold.
“What do you mean they didn’t have any gold on them?” questioned the elder.
“That’s right... not a single... tiny... little... piece of gold... you do remember our deal don’t you?”
“NO! No! It can’t be... you're lying! You're a liar!” screamed one of the elders.
“And you sir, are dead!” said the lord as he morphed into a dark gray dragon and with one exhale of his fiery breath, burned all the elders to a crisp.
“Call me a liar...” he sighed as he lifted a bag overflowing with gold.
“Uh... well, maybe I am.” He said as he laughed heartily.
| 2017-05-08T09:51:26 | 2017-05-08T07:46:59 | 56 | 35 |
[WP]The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don't stay dead easily.
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**Query\\\\Abjure\\\\Death\\\\Expose\\\\Within\\\\Query**
&#x200B;
A typically smooth, porcelain brow collapsed upwards in confusion, a brief breech of protocol when addressing a lower rank. The Commandent's flesh flowed with coloration, tendrils flicking and curling in High Sign. His personal War-Science Slaves bowed their domed heads in supplication, Speech flowing in a dizzying array of responses across their flesh.
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\Accurate Translation\\\\Uncertain Sentiment\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
After further thought, the War-Science Slave continued.
&#x200B;
**Statement-Query\\\\Enemy Speech Approaches Coughing\\\\Hypothesis\\\\Different Meaning When Primitively Expressed\\\\Statement-Query**
&#x200B;
The War-Science Slave gathered air into its lungs, chest blooming unnaturally as its lungs swelled and pressed against the array of chromatophes in its skin, causing an almost sickening display of random coloration. ***"Don't. Dead. Open. Inside."*** It paused, watching the package which the Enemy had delivered as a peace proposition. After a few moments, resignation flashed across its features once more as it addressed the Commandent.
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\Scans Complete\\\\Contents Are Deceased Enemy\\\\No Further Weapon Detected\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
The Commandent's confusion only grew as it surveyed the row upon row of .. dead Enemy. Each neatly packaged, sent upon demand of surrender and a tribute of dirt and water. The Commandent couldn't decide if this was an insult or not. Was it a refusal. His own Master - for each creature had a Master, save for the God-Queen herself - had reasonably decided to pursue all avenues of breaking this stubborn little world. Part of that was studying the culture, scattered and ill-formed as it was. In all the religious texts translated from bark-scratch, none had shown a prevalence of delivering dead to a conquering force. Still, these were alien minds placed in strange circumstances; It's possible the already fragile creatures had assumed something in a more theological bent. Wasn't there a phrase about them being formed of mud or some such? That had to be it. Idiot cretins.
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\Begin Dissection\\\\Use Personal Life To Assure No Explosives Or Traps\\\\Honor In The After Place To Die In Place Of A Master\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\Immediately\\\\A Worthless Life For The Masters\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
Leaving the War-Science Slave to pry the package open, The Commandent continues his leisurely, silent stride down row after row of neatly spaced packages. Each contained a single dead Enemy. Blunt faced, dull fleshed, small brained. Thick but weak, flexible but clumsy, who coughed air from their lungs for speech rather than using any other bits of their anatomy. His retinue of War-Science Slaves, Body-Protecting Slaves and Worker Slaves followed silently after him, the soft whisper of his thin garment marred only by the crack and clatter of the prior slave working the package open. The smell was offensive, already permeating the air; A single flicker of chroma across the skin, and one of his Comfort Slaves began to swing a censer of more pleasant smells before his steps.
&#x200B;
Better. Confusing, but better. Turning to another War-Science Slave, the Commandent continued his thought.
&#x200B;
**Query\\\\Each Statement Is Different\\\\Query**
&#x200B;
The new War-Science Slave bowed her head in supplication before speaking, using the chroma atop her head so as to not meet the eyes of the Commandent improperly.
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\Each Is Unique\\\\References To Primitive Culture\\\\None Make Sense In Context\\\\Uploading To Your Holy Vision\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
The Commandent glances down to the small device on his wrist, which began to cough as well as display the Lesser Speech of coloration only. Honestly it was annoying and grating when the Enemy spoke, like listening to someone die of a slow lung collapse.
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\This Place Is Located In Sparta\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
*"That is not dead..."*
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\Behold A Place Or Person Called Alamo\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
*".. which can eternal lie."*
&#x200B;
A clatter from behind him, aggravation flushing across the Commandment's features. He turned, watching the first War-Science Slave waggle and dance, colors flashing in crazed patterns across his bared flesh. The fool probably banged his hand or got it caught in the dead Enemy's clothing. Making a note to have it executed later, the Commandment kept reading, trying to decide between insult or approval of the surrender.
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\A Person Known As Romero Has Sent Greetings\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
*"And with strange aeons.."*
&#x200B;
**Query\\\\People(Singular/Personal) Of The Holy One Bleed When Injured\\\\Query**
&#x200B;
*".. even death may die."*
&#x200B;
A sudden, startling howl. The Commandment spun around entirely, annoyance and aggravation flaring into full on anger. The kill order already flickering across his skin for this stupid, incompetent War-Science Slave when he paused. The Slave was - sick? The randomization of colors across its flesh meant nothing. Chaos, emptiness, pain. It shivered and shook against the wooden container, the noise booming loud in the otherwise properly silent receiving chamber. Save for the Enemy Speech, dumbly coughing words into the chilled air. And then the other packages began to rattle, to shake. The Commandent, in confusion, looking down at the package nearest to him as it began to creak upwards.
&#x200B;
And then the screaming began as one of his Body-Protector Slaves was suddenly pulled backwards by - an empty Enemy? A dead thing? The slave stabbed with hook and horn, scrapped and bit, the flash of plasma - but it was, none the less, pulled down by clawing, dead hands. More screaming, suddenly, pain tearing air from lungs, colors flashing in a crazed, meaningless haze in the dimmed lighting.
&#x200B;
And the first War-Science Slave? Who shook and leaned, colors fading to a dull, pulsing sickness of color - and then nothing? The smell of blood and excretion. The shake of limbs as it began to rise once more - pallid of flesh, empty of color, missing fingers where the Enemy had bitten them away, eyes blank as it looked at its former Master.
&#x200B;
[And began to stumble forward as other shadows rose, unified by a low, prolonged groan.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pSICQzBnSFo)
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Humanity has always been a prideful race we had earned it after all from traversing our oceans and conquering the planet and then solar system to fighting and taming the Z virus that had resurrected the dead. The first races we met were the Za-Khan and the Predatea. They welcomed us into the Galatic neighborhood providing us with a essentially an orientation that wouldn't have seen out of place from an university or a business. They included maps with drawn out borders.
The Za-Khan explained that the Galaxy was a place of peace and that many civilizations didn't even have militaries. The Predatea even suggested humanity begin to wind down it's military. Once the honey moon phase was over Humanity plotted it's first conquest they were going to seize the hundreds of planets that the Predatea didn't even bother to colonize. Hundreds of Earth like worlds just waiting to be taken.
As the special operation team approached the first planet an automated Predatea beacon warned that the planet was not safe. The team leader laughed not safe for Predatea maybe.
After landing just 3 miles from the only space port on the planet the team started through the forest towards it. A twip noise was heard as what could only be described as a mass of vines grabbed four member's of the team ripping them apart and placing the remains in little trenches that only now did the team notice bones poking out from. Unfortunately the dead men continued to scream as the heads were still alive but no longer attached to bodies.
This screaming brought rustling noises as the team stared in shock. Two Predatea civilians stumbled out from the forest and quickly brought them back to Human authorities apologizing that they didn't know the Humans had arrived on the planet.
The Predatea explained that many of the world's were preserves for the most dangerous life in the Galaxy.
Two years later humanity still building it's largest military ever receives a message from the Za-Khan sending a compliment to humanity. It read "Nice military you have there" humanity responded with "Thank you". The military was deploying to the mission of taking the Predatea worlds with weapons designed to combat the wildlife. It had been a long 5 years and so at the rallying point everyone was nervous when the Za-Khan fleet showed up. It sent a message "To the Victor goes the spoils". They quickly destroyed the fleet with weapons developed over 100 thousand years. That day humanity learned three things one the reason so few species had a military was to avoid having the Za-Khan practice on it and two the Za-Khan was a peaceful species that loved war like humanity enjoyed MMA. And three the Za-Khan were overjoyed at the discovery that humanity could be killed and then it would get back up.
| 2019-08-28T13:44:37 | 2019-08-28T13:34:01 | 68 | 18 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a superpower, but no one knows what theirs is until they are forced to use it in a life-or-death situation.
edit: Thanks for all the great responses :)
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The Discovered - Part 1 of 3
"Walter, help me with these please." Ms. Zodiac called to the slowest of the students.
He turned his head to see who called without slowing or stopping and ran into the back of the kid before him. She shoved him away and smoothed out her brown leather vest and red tartan skirt. Walter, or Wally as the other kids called him, mumbled a slow awkward apology and turned back to his music teacher.
"Hiya, Mrs. Z." Wally called back, raising his hand to wave.
"Would you be a dear and give me a hand?" She asked again. Wally's head bobbed up and down like it was on a spring and when it stopped, he started over after a momentary mental shift. He grabbed one of the water jugs and trudged along in his teacher's wake. Ms. Zodiac gave him a patient, albeit brief, smile of her own and shook her head in surrender. It was the surrender of a woman who was faced with the futility of a reality she could do nothing about. The futility and reality being how slow and awkward Wally was. He was mentally slow, and the other kids didn't much care for him. The truth was, she didn't feel comfortable around him either. She loved children, and he was a sweet dear boy, but his ignorance and retardation made him almost as annoying as he was sweet.
She walked a little faster than he just to ensure he didn't trod on her heels by accident. They walked through the doors to the amphitheater and made their way to the center. Here they set the jugs of water on a table. She proceeded to arrange the cups and snacks and beverages for the students and qualifiers and city officials officiating the event.
"Why is everyone looking at me?" Wally asked. Ms. Zodiac stopped what she was doing and turned to regard the boy. She had expected him to shamble off to be with the rest of the of the students, but she found him standing stunned and awed by all of those in attendance seated in their seats with each row rising a little higher than the one before them. The seats and students reached all the way to the far corner of the room where the ceiling met the walls.
"They're not looking at you. They're waiting for the Discovery to begin." She explained, pointing out his section so he could take his seat. He didn't see her hand and remained standing at her side. "You need to take your seat Wally." She told him. He kind of did a double take as he looked at her and her extended arm. He must have been wondering its purpose but then seemed to understand.
"Oh, Mrs. Zodiac, I feel silly." He laughed, silently laughing and doubling over to do so.
"It's Ms. Zodiac," Wally. "I'm not married." She informed him. "You really need to take your seat." Wally nodded to her and probably way longer than was normal before trundling off to join his classmates. His arms bent and pumped as he ran and his body leaned forward like a sprinter even though his sprint was more along the lines of a power walk. The kids who saw him laughed and jeered and pointed. Some through paper wads his way. He didn't seem to notice or maybe he did. It might be a while before the teasing registered.
Wally had barely taken his seat before the music began, announcing the start of Discovery. Discovery was an old tradition passed down through the generations. Of course, through the years, it had become more formalized and official. State and federal observers sat in. Politicians came to spectate. Colleges and Universities came keen on picking the next big power. Even the alphabet security agencies had talent scouts in the crowd. Discovery was where they picked which of the children of the new generations would be groomed for agency positions. Discovery was a major function and was conducted through the year all across the nation at every school in the country.
Everyone was born with an enhancement. Discovery was where they learned who to harvest for their talents, who to culture, and who to fear and suppress. It happened every now and then. A student would exhibit a new power stronger than any other. Some of these students could be harvested and taught to control their powers. They were known as Supers. The powers were considered a matter of national security, and despite their potential, they were considered threats to national security. How they were handled was anyone's guess. They were usually spirited away and never seen again. Everyone had an enhancement, and everyone feared being Discovered on the off chance they would manifest as a Super. The tales the general population told about what happened to the Supers ranged from them receiving special training to them being marked Too Dangerous to Let Live or TD2L. Every student feared receiving a TD2L rating. It happened a few times. The power manifested and just couldn't be controlled.
The cannons went off signaling the arrival of the Headmaster. Wally heard him speak, but he wasn't really paying attention. He was staring off into the distance. He was fascinated with the pigeons flying around near the open skylight in the center of the amphitheater roof. Occasionally, he would look down at the bright lights and streamers and the occasional fireworks they let off during the Discovery. Occasionally, one of the kids would manifest, and it would terrify him or make him clap gleefully. He heard his name called a few times, but when he looked around he couldn't find the source of the call. He would shrug and go back to watching the pigeons or picking his nose. He was happy doing both. But then, someone called his name and though he looked around and found no one, the unseen speaker kept calling it. He noticed gradually that all of his fellow students were looking at him and this he found peculiar.
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It’s flight. It has to be flight.
I’ve always wanted this, it has to be it. I know I’m right.
Right?
I’ll be 40 next week. How do I still not know what my power is? A boring desk job and a boring life, that’s how. I haven’t taken enough risks. I’ve always been too cautious. But that’s smart, right? I mean, what am I supposed to do? I should just be happy with what I have. I have financial security, I have my video games and a few friends to drink with on weekends…
But it’s gotta be flight. I know it. I feel it. I want it so bad.
What the fuck am I doing up here? I’m not really going to do this. Every week, I come up here and look out over the city… I always go home, microwave dinner and fall asleep watching Netflix. I’m going to do the same thing tonight. I’m going to do the same thing every night. Because I’m a pussy.
Fuck.
| 2014-11-18T19:44:56 | 2014-11-18T18:40:23 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] A dragon shows up at the adventurers' guild after hearing that humans will just GIVE away gold for something called a "quest."
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Down below her, she could hear the bells ringing in the town. She knew she was desperate, coming here, but up in the mountains, gold was getting scarce. All the bigger and older dragons had massive hoards, and trying to wrest a single, ancient coin away from the other dragons was liable to wind up with her getting soundly beat. There were no more ancient barrows or lost temples up in the mountains that hadn't been picked clean by the other dragons. A lot of the younger ones had come down to the hills and plains, trying to take gold from humans or dwarves. A few had even tried to strike down the elves, but between the excellent elven archers, and the fact that most elves in this region are more inclined towards living wild and free, rather than rich and decadently, they wound up getting very little for their trouble, besides arrow wounds.
But she'd been listening from a distance to some of those bothersome lesser races that sometimes come around to try and drive some of the other young dragons away, or perhaps kill them. She had mostly listened because their troubadour sang very beautifully, and to know if they were hunting her. But when they spoke to one another, they spoke of something called a ''quest''. A form of task, given to you at something called an ''Adventurers' Guild''. And if you completed this task, you were given gold.
Gold, which is what all dragons desire. For a number of reasons. Mostly for purposes of social hierarchy. A dragon with more gold is respected, while one with little gold is considered a nuisance, and is usually expected to obey richer dragons, or face social exclusion. And since these mortals get paid in gold for doing tasks, she reasoned that she too could get paid for doing these quests. Certainly sounded easier than trying to dig up the burial mounds of dead kings, or stealing it from mortals.
It was early morning when she landed in front of the building, which had a sign outside of it proclaiming it to be the local offices of the Guild of Heroes, Adventurers, and Associated Trades. She had flown above the town for a couple of days before she'd gone down there, having observed how these quests worked. Outside of the guild building, there was a large place for posting various tasks. Some adventurers, usually in groups of four or five, took a piece of paper from the board, and then walked inside the building. So she did essentially the same. She landed in front of the board, and picked one that sounded feasible. Capture or kill the centaur highwayman Artonak. She wasn't too big, so she could still fit through the main door of the building. The people on the other side were dumbstruck by her sudden appearance.
She looked around, ''*I want to do this quest thing. Bring in a bandit? Yes. I get paid in gold?*'' A gnome, who had fallen on his back when she'd walked in got up and looked at her incredulously. ''*But you're a dragon?*'' She nodded. ''*Yes. You pay in gold for centaur highwayman?*'' She handed the gnome the piece of paper detailing the quest. The gnome then turned to his the other people and started a conversation with them, speaking hurriedly. Her common wasn't good enough to follow the conversation that the gnome had with the other people in there. But when she coughed, they all turned back to her with obvious terror.
''*Uh. Yes. We'll pay for Artonak in gold. The bastard has been hitting merchants and travellers for months. Supposedly his lair is somewhere *'' Happy to have been proven correct, she was about to back out of the building before the gnome spoke up hurriedly again. ''*Uh, you just have to register as an adventurer first.*'' She thought it over, and nodded. She didn't exactly understand the language enough, but the staff at the building managed to make her understand that she needed to tell them who she was, and write down her name on a piece of very small paper, otherwise she would not get the gold. She signed as Teristrolkänovy de Wrelros'Dai, which was only the first part of her name. She might not entirely understand what they talking about, but she recognised a contract when she saw one, and no dragon ever reveals their full name.
After that, she bolted, and flew away, following the highway out of town. And from above, it was a lot easier to spot where the centaur was setting up a trap for a stagecoach. As he kicked down a partially felled tree in front of the horses, and jumped out with crossbows in his hands, she swept down and grasped him in her claws. The shocked centaur dropped his crossbows, and the sheer shock of her sudden swooping attack, allowed her to completely disarm him, using a tactic her parents had taught her when dealing with armoured knights on armoured horses.
When she landed again, the centaur was completely stripped naked, and also in deep shock. She'd landed in front of the guildhouse, where a number of armoured adventurers, and the staff from inside of the building were standing, and talking in very heated tones. Those were silenced when she landed, and placed the centaur in front of the gnome that had talked to her earlier. ''*Please give money.*'' The adventurers had all drawn forth a truly astonishing amount of rare and unusual weaponry when she landed. But the staff explained that since she'd brought in her first quest target, she was technically an adventurer. And since she'd brought in an outlaw, she wasn't an enemy.
The adventurers all sheathed their weapons, and the gnome fetched her prize. 200 gold pieces. Which was a lot more gold pieces than she'd thought, as she was still very new to the business. She placed the gold in the crudely crafted bag she carried on her back, which contained the only things she'd owned before getting kicked out of her parents' cave. Which consisted of a large and worn velvet blanket, a breastplate with a mirror enchantment on it, allowing her to look at herself in it, woolly earmuffs made from woolly mammoth, and a toy rabbit.
She had many questions about more quests, and eventually, the guild staff had to bring in a translator, as her questions got more complicated, and so did the answers. They explained to her how adventurers travelled between towns, doing quests, helping people, and how it was important that she circled around in the region. Which they had added because if they didn't she'd probably stop anything bigger than goblins on her own, leaving most of that town's resident adventurers out of a job.
And since her name had been added to the great scroll of adventurers, every guildhall now knew that she was an adventurer. Happy with having earned the first part of her hoard, she flew on to the next town, where the locals were equally confused and worried about a young dragon swooping in and accepting quests. They were quite happy when she managed to track down a band of slavers, kill them, and bring back the people they'd taken in raids.
That town too sent her on, and like a knight errant, she travelled from town to town, earning a lot of gold, till her backpack was swollen. She was worried about suddenly having to leave her gold behind, but having learned more about the common speech, she enquired with the guild, and discovered a new concept, new to dragons at least. Banks. Put your hoard inside of a vault, lock the door, and it'd be safe. So she happily deposited her hoard, especially after they explained how compound interest worked.
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“I am here for your finest quest,” I said. The knights took a step back their hands reaching for their swords. “No need for that my fine men. I am here to work with you!” I grinned as best I could, my teeth flashing at the guards. “I have overheard of your so-called quests and am quite interested in the rewards,” I said.
“Um. Um. Alright,” one of them stammered. He held out a piece of parchment detailing the capture of a wanted bandit known to be hiding in a nearby forest. I made quick work of them. I scorched the ground around them and carried them back to the city. I was rewarded with the 50 gold coin reward which I carried back to my hoard.
I continued completing quests for the local guild. I made quick work of them, quickly retrieving lost items, to capturing wanted outlaws among other small tasks. I was rewarded well but the quests were too easy, too boring.
“Do you have any quests harder than this to offer?” The man on duty quickly responded saying no and handed my next quest over. “That was a little strange I thought to myself.”
I continued carrying out the quests with ease for the coming months. Until one day they said they had no more. The captain stared straight at me saying no new quests had come in. “Well there is one!” A voice piped up from behind him. “Shut it Mince,” the captain said sternly.
“No no, please continue,” I said. I blew a small puff of smoke from my nostrils.
“Go right ahead then mince,” the captain said while grating his teeth and staring dead into my eyes.
“Well we have received reports about a...” he stopped and his eyes widened. “Actually I think it has been cleared up,”
“No no please continue,” I said, staring straight at him.
“Well. A um. A dangerous beast has been known to harass people and steal their valuables.”
“Well I can take care of that. Pass me the poster.” He held it out, his arm shaking. “Oh I see. Interesting.” I left. I flew back to my lair. I looked out over the small mountains of gold and precious items I had. The people of this land... hated me. Were afraid of me. I knew I stole hoards before the questing but did people still see me as a threat? I stared at the glimmering gold. All of this, just to be feared. Was that really important? Did it matter? I roared. Stones and pebbles tumbled from the roof, clattering upon my hoards. I knew what I had to do. I slowly made my way through my hoard. Picking up pieces of gold, jewels and other precious items and dropping them to towns and cities below. I made sure to be visible.
Maybe it wouldn’t be enough, but hopefully the people of this world could forgive me.
| 2020-06-08T12:47:12 | 2020-06-08T11:28:57 | 1,143 | 405 |
[WP] When you and your twin sister were born your parents couldn't help but cry with your colorful and specifically shaped hair it was clear you would suffer from MCS, Main Character Syndrom, and would have to spend your life avoiding beginings of cliche adventures.
|
My parents cried tears of joy when my sister and I were born. My hair and eyes were a medium blue, while my sister's were grass green. They knew we would both eventually become "main characters", which means we'd be part of something big. Already, our mom had stars in her eyes picturing us in idol outfits and magical girl uniforms, while our dad was daydreaming about teaching us various combat techniques and the best way to slay a dragon.
&#x200B;
Then the doctors came in with the good news, and the bad news. The good news, as the doctors put it, was that my sister and I did indeed have Main Character Syndrome (MCS for short). We would indeed be part of something big as our parents had hoped.
&#x200B;
The bad news, however, was that although we would definitely become main characters in some grand story, neither of us would be THE main character. In short, because neither of us had pink, red, or yellow hair, we were to be considered "secondary characters". This meant that our grand story would consist of following the whims and decisions of some other girl who had one of these hair colors, or a boy with blue, red, or yellow hair. We would not be able to make our own decisions along any of our adventures, and we would never get as much credit for anything we did as this mysterious "main character" girl or boy.
&#x200B;
Our parents became notably less enthused. They decided they would inform us of what they knew and allow us to decide for ourselves what to do with this information.
&#x200B;
When my sister and I were 5 years old and about to enter kindergarten, our parents told us this story as both warning and preparation for what was to come. I decided right then that I would not accept this destiny, and instead I would forge my own.
&#x200B;
When we entered the classroom, we saw that all of our classmates were actively engaged in play with one another. There were kids playing with dinosaurs in one corner, super hero figures in another, a plastic kitchen set in the third, and fashion dolls in the fourth. I looked first to the doll corner, and was shocked when I saw the hair of one of the girls playing there. Now, you could just say she was blonde, that wouldn't be terribly inaccurate. But that wouldn't capture the intensity, the brightness, the *luminosity* of this girl's hair. It was as though someone had bottled up rays of sunshine and poured it over her hair. I decided immediately that she was a fabled "main character" and I would avoid her at all costs.
&#x200B;
My sister, however, was already on her way to the doll corner. I grabbed her by the shoulder and asked what she was doing.
&#x200B;
"I'm going to go play dolls with that really pretty girl over there."
&#x200B;
"But if you do that, you'll be sucked into her story, with no way out. She's a main character."
&#x200B;
"Would that be such a bad thing?"
&#x200B;
"If you go over there, I'm not coming with you."
&#x200B;
"But sis! You're my best friend, and I don't know anyone else!"
&#x200B;
"Look, my decision is final. Either you go over there alone, and make friends with a girl I'll refuse to ever talk to, or you stick with me and we play with something other than dolls."
&#x200B;
"Okay, so what do you want to play with?"
&#x200B;
I looked over to the corner with the super hero figures. It looked like everyone over there was a boy. There was one boy in particular who caught my attention. He was playing very enthusiastically and seemed like he'd be a lot of fun to pretend with. But his hair... his hair. It was a very bright blue, much brighter than my own. It looked a lot like a very bright blue flame. It was mesmerizing.
&#x200B;
My sister saw me staring at the super hero corner.
&#x200B;
"You wanna go play over there? Okay, let's head over there then!" she said as she began to walk over there. I stopped her once again.
&#x200B;
"Melody, I do *not* want to go over there. Don't you see that boy's hair?"
&#x200B;
"Yeah. I guess that means he's a main character too, huh?"
&#x200B;
"Yep, let's just go play dinosaurs. There's not a lot of kids over there, and none of them have any weird hair colors. I'll make sure to find you a triceratops, I know they're your favorite. That sound okay?"
&#x200B;
"Okay!"
&#x200B;
Years passed. We remained at that school for the entirety of our elementary school experience. Year after year, we avoided playing with the sunshine-haired girl and the blue flame-haired boy. I begged and pleaded with our teachers every time they paired us up with them for group projects. Usually I could persuade them well enough on my own to change our group, but there were a couple occasions where I had to ask our parents for assistance. Since they wanted us to choose our own destiny, they were happy to help.
&#x200B;
The summer after we graduated elementary school, our family moved to a different state for our mom's work.
&#x200B;
*finally,* I thought, *I won't have to go out of my way to avoid main characters at school.*
&#x200B;
Boy, was I wrong.
|
"Another one of those candy canes again, sister. It seems we'll never be over our childhood sweethearts."
"You know, if the writers who wrote those books really cared about children, they'd have looked up MCS."
"Yeah, i mean, 30 minutes of liking one book and you see candy canes every other street like it's some kind of horrendous crossover between the mummy and the grinch."
"Did you ever get past the taffy aunt?"
"Naah, i get too bored by the time she starts rolling on about the past glories of her homeland."
"Why is it always about the chipmunks!"
"Oh well, I think we're here - at the vet."
"Hopefully Zed's all good by now. Ive tried to caution him so many times against following the breadcrumbs, but every single time he sees them he has to start nibbling. I hate saying him no, he makes that face.."
"Well we have to do something, the keep does not like giving him back to us everytime. Seems they've taken a liking to him too."
"Is that..is that a giant rubber duck in the sky, Karen?"
"Oh god, oh yes. I think we're in a reddit meme again, Tom."
"Oh no."
| 2019-04-12T00:02:15 | 2019-04-11T20:37:43 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Every 15-16 years, some kid is labeled as The Chosen One and is sent to fight The Dragon Lord and his armies. They always fail, but they do a little bit better each time. The Dragon Lord is getting nervous.
|
”Has there been a new sighting?” Granthenhard growled as soon as his second in command drifted in on leathery wings.
“Not yet milord. It will not be long however and when we find him I shall deal with him personally.” The suave vampire smiled with a short bow.
“No you won’t, Josgan.” Granthenhard objected. “I’m not sending you to be slaughtered alone.”
“Are you questioning my abilities milord?” Josgan asked calmly.
“I’m questioning why you and everyone else I always gather for these things won’t listen to any blasted thing I say!” Granthenhard roared. “Rahtna went alone to burn down his village, despite direct orders against it. Liaphri mind controlled that little king to execute the guy despite DIRECT orders against that. AND YOU JUST HAD TO GO AND TRY TO TURN ONE OF HIS FRIENDS TO OUR SIDE EVEN THOUGH I TOLD YOU NOT TO FUCKING DO IT!” Granthenhard flames spilled from his mouth as he stalked over to Josgan who stood unmoved in the center of the room.
“Milord we were merely trying to-“
“Trying to help, I get it!” Granthenhard growled as he bit back the flames and felt his claws starting to quiver instead. “BUT WHY ARE YOU ALL SO SHIT AT IT!?” He roared as he picked up the nearest bust of his face and crumbled it to pieces between his claws. “I’ve been ruling the world for a thousand years, do you realize how many chosen ones I’ve killed in my time? I lost count after the first 50 so if anyone does know it’s NOT FUCKING ME!”
“I did not mean to imply you were weak milord, I was merely-“
“Do I look like I give a shit what you think I think you were implying?” Granthenhard growled as he stalked up into Josgan’s face. “I just want you to know, that when I say not to do something, MAYBE FUCKING LISTEN TO THE GUY WHO’S DONE THIS BEFORE!” Granthenhard roared and let out a breath to calm himself down before remembering something that refueled his anger. “and who is THE LORD FUCKING RULER OF THE WORLD, WHICH INCLUDES YOUR SORRY EXCUSE FOR AN ASS!”
“I don’t see how attempting to stop the chosen one before-“
“Oh you don’t do you? Well do you have spreadsheets, because I have fucking spreadsheets, you wanna see the fucking spreadsheets is that what you want? YOU WANT ME TO OPEN UP MY VAULT OF CHOSEN ONE DATA FROM A THOUSAND YEARS OF WOULD BE DRAGONSLAYERS? ALRIGHT LETS GET MATHMATICAL UP IN HERE!” Granthenhard roared as he stalked over and ripped apart the illusion that hid his secret door as Josgan followed quietly behind him.
The door opened into a large room plastered wall to wall with charts and numbers. “Alright let’s see what we have here.” Granthenhard growled. “Immediate family status. Two lovingly married parents, 5% LOF to be expected, that’s ‘loss of forces’.” He noted helpfully. “Single parent, 9% LOF. Orphan not adopted, 20% LOF. Orphan adopted, 25% LOF. And all of these have a modifier of +5% if one or more parents are at least lieutenants in my forces.
Number of childhood friends: 0, 12% LOF, 1-4 20% LOF, 5+ 6% LOF.
Destruction of home town, success rate 7%, cost of failure 15% LOF increase.
False accusations, success rate 3%, cost of failure: an 8% LOF increase.
Oh and turning one of his friends to my side, Success rate 2 percent, cost of failure: 17% LOF!” Granthenhard roared. “DO YOU FUCKING SEE THE PROBLEM NOW?!”
“Milord I don’t think I-“
“Let me spell it out for you then!” Granthenhard growled and threw his hands in the air. “Our current chosen one is an adopted orphan, with 3 childhood friends, a destroyed home town, who was falsely accused and had one of their friends attempted turned against them. That adds up to an estimated loss of forces of 90%! Because of all you trigger happy MORONS! WE’RE NOW DEALING WITH PEAK CHOSEN ONE!” Granthenhard bellowed the last words with a gout of flames as he finally ran out of steam as the doors to his Josgan burst open outside the secret room. “Look, we can get through this fine still, I just need you to stay by my side and not run off doing some-“
“Great eternal Dragon Lord Granthenhard, the chosen one is at the gates!” The messenger exclaimed.
“That pitiful existence dares besmirch milord’s castle?” Josgan said incredulously. “Worry not, I’ll deal with him personally.” His leathering wings unfolded and with a single beat he soared from the room sending papers filled with statistics about the influence of hair spikes on LOF scattering.
“Josgan STOP!” Granthenhard yelled after him but he was already gone, off to meet his fate as another statistic. “Why is it so hard to hire homicidal realists?”
|
As it looked down at the latest hero the Dragon Lord felt a twinge where one of his claws used to be. The last one had done that, a young female human covered in the blood of his soldiers, and pushed on by the ghosts of hers.
The latest one cut through its reminiscences, another female, that made three in a row... curious. It jabbered at the Dragon Lord in its unintelligible high pitched tongue as its sword began to glow. No doubt spirits, spells, and magical equipment gathered along the way were now filling this new hero with unfathomable strength.
Who knew? Maybe this one would take off another claw? Maybe an entire leg? The tail? A wing? Maybe one day one would come along that could even end its life?
But until that day, how many children would the Dragon Lord have to kill?
| 2019-09-16T11:25:42 | 2019-09-16T10:13:37 | 59 | 27 |
[WP] You wake up in the 1400's dark ages, with nothing but the clothes on your back and your knowledge. The only way you get back to the present, is by surviving until your time period. You dont age until you reach the moment you were sent back.
|
Greg and Maryanne Colheart give their lifelong friend and colleague Professor Dyron Barnes one last hug before initiating the experiment. Nothing aside from the scale has changed from the experiment with the mice that sent them back seven and a half months, or approximately 225 days. Now, Dyron is preparing for his own journey back several months.
He looks them in the eyes as they initiate the sequence. The Flux Capacitor begins to whirl, arcing around the containment field generator. In a flash, he's gone. No traces are left. The two are visibly worried. It's not hard to imagine they're thinking the same thing.
Mary "We should now remember having sent him back, just like with the mice. Nothing's changed, what happened?"
Greg "Look! It's a coin!"
Mary "Where did it come from, why wasn't it sent back with everything else in the field?"
Greg grasps the coin and runs it through the array of spectrographic tests.
Greg "It did. It went back just the same as him and the mice."
Mary "Well that doesn't make any sense at all."
Greg "It does. The coin was separated from the main body, and a vacuum formed between the two of them. The coin went back in time approximately 225 seconds, according to this. The mice went back 225 days."
Mary "So then, Dyron...."
Dyron ***"Went back two hundred and twenty five thousand days."***
The two researchers jumped in fright as the strange suited man in a beard had approached without a sound.
Greg "Who the bloody hell are you?!"
Dyron takes off his glasses and winks at the two of them: "It's me, Dyron!"
Greg "but but but... yoyour accent is different and..."
Dyron "and so much more, my friend. I've really missed you guys. I have formulated some plans to keep us friends despite so many drastic changes."
Mary "Two hundred and tweny five thousand days... that's six hundred years, that can't be accurate."
Dyron "Well, it is, unfortunate. The flux capacitor containment field kind of wraps around the subject until the machine stops running. Which is today. Meaning I've technically not been a normal part of space time for six hundred years. You've probably read about me, Dyron the Gealic God of Law and Litteracy. Turns out I wasn't named after the God but he was in fact me. In my original timeline my name is very uncommon. Welp, give me your hands."
Mary "What?! Why?"
Greg "Come on, Mary, it's still Dyron."
Dyron "Exactly, I'm still me."
Dyron proceeds to stab a strange device under the skin into the metacarpals of Mary's left hand. She yells in discomfort, but it leaves no mark. He then repeats the process on the dumbstruck Greg.
After the round of chipping, he heads over to his work station and pulls out a fireman's axe.
Greg "What the hell is that doing in there?!"
Dyron "I kept it for emergencies, and this is one."
Dyron begins to smash the device in the center of the room, and then moves on to the chords and monitors.
Dyron "You see, during my long time away-- Hyaaah-- I've come to a new state of mind as to the nature of our ---rraah-- work here in this lab." Dyron is now panting as he goes along. "but I ----unnngh-- think that our work needed to happen. So, I've--Hrraaagh-- taken it upon myself to introduce our work to the upper eschelons of the scientific community --hrrooogh-- and created some new sanctions for the United Nations to officially announce today. We could probably tune into the news right now and watch it."
Dyron now stands in the middle of a sparking dark room holding an axe with moderate ease, pure technique rather than any amount of body attunement to holding it. His smile is warm and inviting despite his outlandish behavior.
Mary "And the chips in our wrist?"
Dyron "Let me put it this way. Ever make another Takyon Disrupting Field and you will be destroyed from orbit. This is not my decision, it's the resolution of several world powers. Its the best deal I could get you."
Greg "I think I can live with that. So, are we rich, now?"
Dyron laughs at the notion, as he too was once influenced by the potential of large gains to material wealth. "We're all extremely rich, now, yes. Let's go out to eat and afterward we can swing by the bank to talk about our estates. Meanwhile, let me tell you the story of the Gealic Defence against the Proto-Germanic led by Caius Servilius Betto, he was from a family line of romans, on the Dyron River. I have no idea what it was called originally, but its more or less my river, now. Anyways....
|
I am Keanu Reeves. Time traveler, ageless being. It’s 2010 and they are slowly starting to notice my face on way too many different era paintings. So I take my sandwich and sit down on a bench. I feel sadness. It might be over for me now, it was a treacherous road. Only hope I left is if my sadness becomes a meme and distracts them from my true identity, but deep down I know... that will just add to the number of pictures of me. The stakes are rising, but so is the power of my trap card. Something I can use to fight the world if it turns on me. Actual. Cannibal. Shia. LaBeouf. Only 9 more years until I’m back...
| 2018-08-17T19:41:06 | 2018-08-17T19:29:27 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] Years of being a graveyardkeeper next to a necromancer cult, you've grown adept at slaying reanimated corpses, too adept. the locals have started thinking you're a paladin. Just because you kill undead... and suddenly can perform miracles, and can sense evil intent, doesn't make you a paladin.
|
It's not my idea of a long-term career but it pays the bills, which for a summer job, can't really be beaten. Many people just assume I'm the old guy's apprentice and I don't really try to prove them wrong. It's not the most insulting misconception I've been given.
Over the years I've been called many things. Graveyardkeeper's apprentice for one, that's at work. The pride of my hometown, that's the one my family calls me for being the only person from my podunk hometown to make it into the prestigious Celestial Academy. A damned, bloody cultist, that's what I'm called at school.
Some of these are accurate. Some aren't. I'll let you guess. But the ones I really hate are from the locals of the village nearby the graveyard.
Gene the Just. Gene the Gentle. Gene the Valiant. Gene the Magnficient.
Gene the Paladin.
Oh if only my classmates could see me now. They would never stop laughing.
I started digging graves as a summer gig when I was twelve and visiting home for the first time. People assumed I was there year round cause most people only visit the graveyard in the summer, for picnics and whatever else nonsense. Somehow the same idiots who'd confuse a blood mage for a paladin, the same idiots who fear the occult, are the same idiots who think picnicking on top of a graveyard is a pleasant idea for a summer stroll.
It wasn't until Blythe's cult moved nextdoor to the graveyard, when I was twenty, that the real trouble started. Blythe was a pretty blatant necromancer. No one could really miss the tattoos around her eyes or the stones embedded in her ancient ears.
I'd just barely started work digging my first grave that summer when I heard noises down the rows and saw several hooded figures wrestling bodies out of holes. Stealing them! From my graveyard. I didn't have to be valiant or just to take pride in my work, but I was also almost certainly sure that the men were necromancers and I didn't want to tangle with that.
Not yet. Not unprepared.
I sent a letter to the professor who ran my cult back at school as high priestess. It's kinda weird, talking to your teachers outside of class, but she was someone I trusted with my life. Someone, in a sense, that I had. She was also incredibly powerful and wise, so I figured if there were anyone who could let me know a discreet way of clearing out some necromancers, it'd be her.
*Hmm. Oh dear, that does sound like a pickle. I'm not sure the laws of your region (actually, I am, I looked them up for this) and unfortunately, necromancy isn't illegal. Making a nuisance is, however. Such an odd place, the Tundras. Anyway, unfortunately, if you simply eviscerate them, you'll likely end up an outlaw. I can't really say* ***don't*** *because I'd be very impressed if you managed to (and if you do try, I'd suggest that lovely toxic cloud you've gotten so good at.)*
*However, I can't in good faith, recommend you do this at all. The best course of action for you would be to thwart their plans until they become sufficiently irritating for the town. Generally necromancers make themselves obnoxious after a decade or so. You may be able to speed this up if you take out their constructs, which aren't protected by the law. I can brainstorm a bit more. I've never personally dealt excessively with necromancers but I know some of the staff dabble in it... I can probably blackmail them into giving me more info.*
*Til then, toxic cloud and jailtime, or construct targeting and effort. Choice is yours.*
*\~G*
Thanks professor.
Unfortunately, home had kinda become a legal haven for me. School was all about ducking the law and faculty alike as I tried to steal oxen and chickens and stuff for blood sacrifices. I needed home to be a place of peace.
Which meant obliterating a dozen necromancers was off the table for now.
And thus the smiting of zombies began.
It didn't take the villagers long to notice, but instead of demanding the cult pack up their tents and leave, they began to herald me as a clear servant of the God of Life. I sent a letter back to the inner sanctum of my cult the first time I heard it. Figured they'd get a kick.
Illisandra and Vera absolutely did. Carlosi tried to scold me but I could tell she was amused. The youngest cultist in the group, however, ratted me out to our high priestess.
I could've kicked the kid for it, but this actually didn't backfire, as the professor was delighted.
*Brilliant. Truly brilliant. I knew I picked right in bringing you in. You're going to want to continue winning over their goodwill. Consider it a summer project in bamboozling zealots. That's an important skill you'll need in life anyway.*
*Give it the summer. Come back next year when they're overrun. Then you'll have your chance.*
*\~G*
It wasn't a bad plan but it did mean I needed to spend a summer being praised as a Paladin. I actually think going home every night to my parents was the worst part of it. They knew I 'didn't want to talk about it' but their proud beams did all the talking they promised they wouldn't. And at night I'd hear them murmuring, eyes teary with joy, about how I'd shaken my older two siblings' 'wicked paths' and gone down a righteous one.
Kelly was a highway bandit. Tommy peddled cheap drugs in the city nearest. Compared to those two delinquents, I was evil supreme overlord. And here I was, being considered a bastion of the light.
It was a rough summer. Even the affections of the local priestesses-in-training couldn't really soothe the sting to my ego. At first I loved being the center of their affections, but there's really not much the girls of the Church of Chastity could offer me. I wasn't exactly looking to marry a lawful order girl, not really in this lifetime.
Only one really tempted me to even try something long term, a blue-eyed girl named Sabey. But she wanted me to make a vow, three years of celibacy. I almost did it for her. Her laugh was like geese honking, but I liked geese, and she made me laugh back so much that I probably sounded like an unflattering bird as well.
Unfortunately, being a cultist, it never would have worked out. She would have ultimately either found out or been driven away by my secret-keeping, leaving me with a magically enforced three-year vow.
Plus I'd also made plans with one of the inner sanctum at my cult to fulfill a prophecy in the next year or two. A prophecy that involved sex. It never would have worked out with Sabey and me, but rejecting her was still pretty rough.
Even getting the attention of girls just ended up making the summer worse. Damned misconceptions. She just couldn't get why a paladin of light had been unable to even tell her why he couldn't date her.
Oh, Sabey. Never change.
I left my hometown in a hurry that September, ready to reclaim my semi-open reputation as an evil cultist. I can't complain too much about that year. I was really able to throw myself into the occult, really able to reclaim the wickedness I'd been avoiding showing back at home. The worst part of it was that the other cultists mocked me relentlessly, calling me Paladin Gene for the entire year.
By the time summer rolled around, I was almost eager to get out and get back home. I can't say I was excited to see my hometown overrun by zombies, but I was eager to see what mess they'd caused while I was gone.
Death and devastation, likely, but whose fault was it that no one ever stepped in to do anything about the necromancers? Whose idea was it to just let them ransack the graveyard and not try legal action?
Not my idea, that's for sure.
This is the worst part of the story. The part that makes my face flush with shame whenever I tell it. The part that highlights my failure but more importantly, cemented my reputation.
When I got to my hometown, I walked up clean, well-kept streets. No destruction. No fires. No nothing.
When I got to my house, I saw a small pony parked out front. We had a visitor?
When I entered, I heard my mother call "Oh Gene! Oh Gene, we have a visitor!" Her voice was bubbling with excitement and my heart skipped. That wasn't supposed to be the response.
When I walked into the kitchen and found my parents across the table from Blythe the Necromancer, who was sipping at a cup of tea while playing a game of Parcheesi with my father, I had some serious, serious misgivings.
And when Blythe rose to her feet, her tattoos faded, the stones missing from her ears, and bowed cordially to me, with an "I've wanted to meet you for so long. I owe so much to you..."
I knew it had all gone wrong.
___
Read more stories, in this world and others, at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
|
Somewhere along the line Sarah had learned a few things about the alternative uses of a shovel. First, it could serve as an impromptu pole-arm or perhaps a spear if she broke the blade off. Second, it was as trusty a club as any invented this side of the Great Rift, capable of putting the nearby cultists to sleep when they decided to get a little too fresh. And third, lastly and most importantly, the curvature of the blade sent zombie heads positively *flying*(!) on nights like tonight.
There was one right now, sailing off into the distance with a meaty ***thunk*** as her battered old shovel separated its cavernous skull from its rotting shoulders. And another, and another. Somewhere in the distant village Sarah could imagine a rain too familiar heads splashing into water troughs and front yards while she laid about herself with wild abandon, her high pitched giggling echoing off the walls of nearby tombs and monuments.
The cultist who had tried his luck tonight had fallen next to a stately oak, her favorite reading tree in fact. The old man stared up at her, terror plain on his wizened features, as the one girl wrecking crew came steadily towards him, cutting through his summons like wheat.
“Its impossible!” he cried, turning to try to climb the tree as she reached him. “The villagers speak truly, you’re a paladin, you must be! You must-”
***thunk!***
The necromancer cultist fell spread eagled at Sarah’s feet, blood seeping from the love tap her shovel had given him.
“Mercy!” he screamed.
***thunk!***
Sarah shook her head in frustration as she stared down at the unconscious man. She almost missed the days when these fights had been a challenge. At least then they were a distraction from the sad little life in this graveyard her indenture had tied her to.
Looking about herself the situation felt no better. There must have been fifteen bodies scattered around the yard, empty graves pockmarked through the darkness like hazards in an obstacle course. Sarah hadn’t even finished dinner tonight before she had sensed this necromancer’s magic and come to look. She traipsed back to her small shack in defeat, a mountain of work left for the next day and nothing more than a cold stew for comfort.
As she crossed the one last small hillock before home Sarah gasped, her grip tightening once more around her shovel’s handle. In her shack’s single window a lantern burned brightly. It wasn’t hers, she knew that immediately. On full moon nights such as this Sara never lit hers, she was too poor to spare the fuel unnecessarily.
That meant there was someone in there, and as she closed her eyes, reaching out with a sense that she should never even have had Sarah could feel it, could feel him. He was evil, there no doubt of that, but the flavor of his was different than any of the cultists she had met before. Their petty desires were written large across their souls, and their brand of evil diffused itself through the night sky like a scent. Sarah could catch that on the wind without any focus at all.
The man who waited in her home that night was different. If the cultists were the scent of smoke this man was the flame itself, and his evil burned bright and intense, giving off no waste to the outside world. In her mind Sarah imagined a coruscating aura of spark and flame wrapped around a human body.
She paused at the top of that little a long time, staring down at her home and wondering how much of its contents she could live without, before she heard the voice.
“Caw- he awaits you.” Sarah whipped quickly around to the small, shrill voice, her long red hair a cascade in the moonlight as she spotted it. A single crow standing on the ground mere feet away, one massive cyclopean eye in the center of its head.
“Caw, caw-! My master bids you enter.” It said, head bobbing at her as if in respect.
“Who…what are you?” Sarah whispered, all her earlier bluster knocked out of her with the cultists consciousness and the bird’s strangeness.
“All will be made clear,” it croaked. “Please, go. My master is not patient.”
She went, propelled down towards the shack by a force that felt not her own, the crow’s single eye following her down the slope in unison with its harsh calls. At the door Sarah braced herself, holding the bloodstained shovel across her body, blade at the ready. The door opened on its own before she had even reached out a hand.
[\----part 2 below----](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/l9dyug/wp_years_of_being_a_graveyardkeeper_next_to_a/glhztgz?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
| 2021-01-31T10:27:00 | 2021-01-31T09:37:27 | 214 | 158 |
[WP] The princess was cursed that her first husband would die a horrible death. Inorder to avoid this horrible fate the royal family used you as a scapegoat and married you to the princess. But because of your immortality you have died over 20 times and still come back to life.
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"Honey!" Gaia, Princess of The Kingdom Flundale, called out as she rounded the stairs of her large manor. She lingers at the stairway, hearing weak ruffling, slowly increasing in volume with the pass of each second as she peered up the stairway.
"Belas?" She beckoned as the ruffling turned into loud thumps. With the pass of each second, Gaia heard a bump, jumping back in between each loud crash. Eventually, through the long vertical stairs, something strides into her vision, rag dolling down the lengthy spiraled stairs without end.
"I'm -- com--ing -- Gaiahhhhh!" The distant voice of a man shouted in between each loud thump.
"Are you okay!?" Gaia shouted with her hands cupping her mouth, using it as a microphone as she followed the balled-up creature that fell down the stairs like an unending slinky.
"Are you sure?" Gaia spoke with uneasiness, choking on each word that left her mouth with worry strewn across her puzzled face.
"Yup, I'm great--" He responded, only to be cut off by the sound of a meaty whack shook the manor to its core.
"The reception is happening soon if you could--" Gaia attempted to speak before being interrupted as a roar screeched out from the top of the stairs. It was gruff and deep, bellowing like the final howl of a wounded wolf as metal began clanking from a distance. The pattering hooves of a horse walked could be heard by Gaia as weighing followed.
The unrecognizable object finally hit the hard marble ground, revealing a limbless body at the bottom of the stairs.
"uh... could you give me a hand... another hand... a leg..."
"What's happening up there!?" Gaia shouted at Belas as he sat on the ground without a single recognizable body part.
"Nothin." He spoke, averting contact with a loud, shaky whistle as the carcass of a horse flew down the stairs at rapid speeds, bursting on the brick wall as if it were a watermelon hitting concrete.
Gaia eyes him down, wondering if she should even mention it as she gazed at a nearby grandfather clock.
"... Are you ready to go?" Gaia questioned to Belas skeptically as blood shout out of his mouth like a fountain.
"Ayup."
"You sure? I could ask them to do it another day if you want..." Gaia spoke as Belas's eyes sat fixed on a silhouette that sat at the very top of the stairway.
"W-who is that?" Gaia spoke, turning her gaze to the creature as Belas turned his head back to Gaia's.
"..."
"..."
Belas sat against the wall by his back, slumped against it as he looked for any excuse possible.
"Uh... that's..." Belas lingered on his words, scouring the wide room in hopes of finding something to inspire him. He fixates his eyes onto Belas, staring at her revealing blouse with blood still leaking from his mouth.
'Boobstair," He responded with unease.
"... What is he doing here?"
"Just hanging out..." Belas spoke softly as the creature jumped down the stairs, revealing two clawlike hands, a hairy, bushy body, two elongated canine teeth, and the head of a wolf.
With rabidness, he stood at the bottom of the stairs, drool leaking from his snout for a mouth as he gazed at Gaia. His rabidness snapped away in the blink of an eye as he sniffed her.
"Oh! Hello, princess. It's nice to see you after so long! Unfortunately, your soon-to-be husband is busy as of now."
"Who are you?..." Gaia questioned.
"I'm Be-"
"Boobstair!"
Both the creature and Gaia looked at Belas in confusion. With fear in his eyes, Belas puppy-eyed the creature with his lips puckered out.
"Indeed... I'm Boobstair... If you wouldn't mind princess, your soon-to-be husband and I have something we need to finish. I'll have him out to you in just a few moments if you'd be so kind enough as to wait.
"No issue... By the way, you said you've met me before?" Gaia questioned the creature as it stood with its arms to its side.
"... I'll have him out to you soon, okay?" Boobstair spoke, ushering Gaia out of her manor with haste.
Boobstair opens the broad doors, letting Gaia leave without issue as it smiled at her warmly. Then, it closed the door, its rabid look returning to its bloodshot eyes a millisecond before the door shut completely.
"Awooooooooo!" Boobstair shouted as it pounced toward Belas, digging deep into his torso and head with its jagged claws as Belas fought back by headbutting it.
"She deserves to be happy!" Belas shouts out to Boobstair as it continued to gore him.
"She deserves this and more for what her parents did to me," Boobstair responded cordially and calmy, gutting him even further with each swipe from its claws.
"Then kill me if you can. I'll make sure she has her happy ending, even if I'm nothing but a scapegoat."
"Then you'll try to break my curse?" Boobstair laughed as it sliced Belas's eyes out with another swift swipe.
"No. I'll break your will."
&#x200B;
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u/AlfredoOreos
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I didn’t hate the princess, she was pretty cool, but I didn’t love her. As her friend, I wanted nothing more than to see her happy with someone who loves her for everything she is, unfortunately that is not me. Thanks to the curse though the royal family thinks they can use me as a scape goat for their daughters happiness, they did this because I “died over 20 times and came back to life” just because I take medicine for things that would have killed them because they don’t believe in medicine here, but this curse is sure to kill me. I’ve tried to make a potion or something for it, but the king has always stopped me. Saying “you are doomed to die so spend the last of your days happily married to our beautiful princess.” I really hate that guy, not like there’s been much hope for me. Guess I’m going to die because of a kingdom of idiots, at least once I die the princess can be happy, I guess that’s enough.
| 2021-06-09T12:36:24 | 2021-06-09T09:03:06 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] Turns out, Earth is actually unique in the fact that nearly all of it's natural features, like quicksand, and processes, like earthquakes, can kill you. Most other planets dont do that. So when aliens invade, 90% of the fighting is done by Earth.
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"General Zogg!"
I felt one of my hearts skip a beat as I whirled around. I knew that voice; it belonged to Commander Yuuel. He was renowned for his calm demeanor and rationality. To hear that kind of tone in his voice was unsettling.
"Commander. Give me some *good* news."
He remained in the doorway with a Collection Cube in his hands. He did his best to regulate his respiratory emissions, the gasses turning from a panicked red to a softer orange and then finally back to yellow as he closed his eyes and became still.
"There isn't any."
He wasn't one to waste words, and although I'd never voiced it to him, it was one of the qualities I appreciated the most about him. He made his way across the command center and placed the cube in the expulfilater. It whizzed and hummed for a moment before projecting the hologram onto the strategy table, showing battles between the forces.
"Things were going well initially, General. It would seem we're still about three or four hundred years more advanced than they are, even with the known unknowns. For example, the United States of America was hiding some kind of antigravity gun that managed to even the playing field as far as aerial superiority goes, but when our troops on the ground engaged them, their best weapons were still projectile. Finely tuned, but primitive kinetic weapons nonetheless. Their forces were quickly routed."
"I've already been briefed on our *successes*, Commander," I interrupted him. "What I'm interested in is what in the name of Glakmar I'm hearing over the comms."
His respiratory gasses turned a shade of orange as he turned his eyes back to the holograms, seemingly avoiding my gaze.
"Sir... Keep watching."
I watched the video of the war on the table. It was going well. Better than we'd hoped even. I was about to speak when suddenly I saw something that I considered to be impossible. The ocean seemed to reach out and drag my men out to sea. I leaned in as I watched it assail my ships.
"What... What is going on there? I was aware that the ocean itself was not sentient."
"That's not all, General," he said with a somber tone. He reached out and rotated the video cubes and enlarged the recording of our conflict in western Bhārat. The footage was shaking terribly.
"Stabilize that video," I commanded.
"It... It isn't the video sir. The planet is shaking... violently."
I took a step back as I tried to sync my eyes with the mayhem. After a couple of seconds of calibration, I had stabilized the video for myself. My soldiers were being... swallowed alive by the planet itself. It was like watching a horror movie.
"What... What in the universe is... Could their planet be... Could their planet be a *living organism?"*
"Dr. Kalcemaar has some theories," Yuuel offered. "He'll be here in a moment."
I rotated the video cubes and witnessed atrocity after atrocity. Within moments, the door opened and the doctor rushed in with his arms full of scrolls and leatherbound parchment. He threw them on the table and spread them out. I made my way to the expulfilater and cut the feed with a heavy sigh.
"What have you got for me, doctor?" I asked as I made my way to his side.
"These, General, are books if you've never seen them before," he said quickly. "Most civilizations keep records and information in these up until they develop stable quantum computing! These are detailed records of the planet's, um, spiritual beliefs, a-and-"
"Get ahold of yourself doctor," Commander Yuuel spoke firmly. "If you were a Pyrathian, this room would be full of hot purple gas. You need to speak clearly and concisely when in front of the general."
The doctor held up a book towards me, seemingly ignoring the commander. "Look at this! These texts depict... *beings,* um, *not* of flesh and bone. No, they're *unbelievably* powerful! And there are *many* of them!"
I took the book and looked down at the ancient depictions as he rambled on.
"I believe with everything I'm worth that they're fighting these things down there, and, um, they're going to lose if we don't do *something!*"
I pored over the pages, my eyes translating for me as quickly as they could. They were called deities. Gods. Divinities. "These beings... They fight with the natural elements themselves?"
"Indeed!" Cried the doctor. "We aren't prepared for this! How can we fight a- a- a planet?! How can we *settle* on lands that rebuke us of their own accord?! We would have to, um... *destroy* the very planet we're trying to *exploit!* It's! It's-"
"Pointless," I finished for him as I closed the book and set it down on the table.
"General. Your orders sir?" Commander Yuuel asked impatiently.
I stared at the pages of deities on the table. To think something so incredible could have been hiding all of this time out in this corner of the universe. We had settled all across the stars. We were the most prolific race of people to seed the cosmos. We thought we had truly and honestly seen it all.
"Order a full-scale retreat," I commanded gravely. "Get everyone out of there..."
"Sir!" Commander Yuuel responded before rushing out of the room. As the doctor babbled on about spiritualism, I made my way to the command window and stared down at the blue planet.
Retreat.
Those words had never passed my lips before, and although it pained me to speak them... I couldn't deny that I was excited. To know everything there is to know is... boring. To find something new in the universe was titillating to every one of my twelve senses.
"Doctor," I commanded. He silenced for the first time as I saw him lift his head in the reflection of my window. "I'm appointing you head of Earth Studies. We are to wage war with them no longer. Go and gather information about the planet... and extend to them a peace treaty. I wish to know more about these... gods."
- - -
I get a 15 minute break at work aside from my usual lunch break. I pick a prompt, spend a couple of minutes storyboarding, and then do as much as I can within the confines of my break.
If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos
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Commander Valerian widened his eight eyes in shock. "500 deaths already within the first six hours of the invasion?!" He slammed one of his fists on his desk. "How is this even possible?! I was told that the most dangerous animals on this world were nothing more than savage reptiles incapable of higher thought! How could they have slaughtered so many of us?!"
Captain Brezek answered nervously from the other side of the screen. "Sir, it's not the natives that we're having trouble with. On the contrary, our plasma cannons have been blasting through even the largest of them like paper. It's the planet that's the danger." His voice trembled as he recounted what he had just witnessed. "Two hours ago, a volcano suddenly erupted near the third land zone. The avalanche of lava and ash killed every member of the 177th battalion."
Valerian gashed his jaws together in disbelief. "How?! A mere volcano cannot take out an entire battalion! They should have regenerated within minutes!"
Brezek's voice trembled as his face paled in horror. "That's the issue, commander. They didn't ... as soon as the lava and smoke started engulfing them,they just dropping dead like insects. I've never seen anything like it. Chief Scientist Peros says that it's some kind of undiscovered substance in the air that's restricting our regenerative capabilities."
Valerian reeled back in his seat in horror. What in the seven rings of Serok was this nightmarish world? To think that an entire planet was shrouded in this toxic gas that could kill the Race so easily? Thoughts raced through his mind. The Race had many enemies, but the Race had always been able to defeat and conquer them with their nearly indestructible bodies. But if word of this planet spread...
He came to a decision quickly. No matter the cost, he could not allow such a deadly weapon to be used against the Race. "All troops, return back to your ships and evacuate this world immediately!" he shouted into his microphone. "World 541 is hereby sentenced to extermination!"
| 2021-02-01T12:51:30 | 2021-02-01T12:28:21 | 379 | 275 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
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"We... don't actually know what you did."
The burly red demon looked at a few papers. He squinted through his round glasses for a minute before sliding them off and slipping them into the chest pocket of his tight white collared t-shirt.
"What do you mean 'you don't know'? You just said I have to spend 186,292 years down here! The guy in front of me only got 145! What in the hell did I *do?!*"
"Sorry, I'm going to have to call upper management," the demon replied with an honest shrug.
He spent 15 minutes on his iPhone arguing with his manager. The line was being held up, so a supervisor opened a new line. The girl behind me got 188 years. The creepy dude behind her, 400. A gangbanger, determined to live up to his stereotype, got 1,202 years for shooting up a barbershop. He cried.
I looked back and saw the lines were *long*. There were fifteen lanes open that I could see, and the demons all looked flustered and rushed. The supervisor directed more lanes to open, as demons from other departments complained about being put on counter duty. One of them even argued and threw a fit, scorching the broom he was holding and throwing it into the sea of dead people in line. The supervisor remained calm, literally fired him (like, set him on fire), and the people just ignored the flaming broom.
"Sir, the Regional manager would like a word with you," the apologetic demon in the collared white shirt said, handing me the phone.
"Who am I speaking to?" I asked.
"MY NAME IS RASTLEBUB THE DEMENTED," a grave, fire-laced voice said. The connection was nice and crisp. I commented on it, to which he quickly replied "OH YES, GOOGLE FIBER JUST ROLLED OUT THEIR BASIC PACKAGE DOWN HERE, SOUNDS LIKE A DREAM FUCKED A COCONUT."
Rastlebub the Demented cackled like he had made a hilarious joke. I looked to the Demon in the collared shirt. He shrugged again and told me with his hands to just roll with it. I gave a courtesy laugh.
When the Demented was done cackling, he took down my information and apologized for any mix-ups. It wasn't without precedent though. "THERE WERE ACTUALLY TWO FIDEL CASTROS, AND THEY DIED ON THE SAME DAY. THAT WAS CONFUSING MESS OF PAPERWORK TO SET STRAIGHT," the Demented said. "ALMOST FORCED THIS POOR GROCER TO HANG AROUND HERE FOR 6,000 YEARS."
"What could I have possibly done to earn 186K?" I asked.
"SO YOU SAY YOU ARE A PARTICLE PHYSICIST?" he asked, as I overheard him tapping keys on the other end.
"Yes?" I replied. "I was at the tail end of earning my PHD. So close to being called 'Doctor'. I would have made so many Doctor Who jokes."
"YES, YES. I LIKED DAVID TENNANT. WONDERFUL MAN. I WENT TO A CON ONCE AND HE SIGNED A PHOTO OF US TOGETHER WITH A COCONUT. MY WIFE SAYS CAPALDI WAS BETTER. BLASPHEMER," Rastlebub said. "BUT BACK TO THE ISSUE. DO YOU RECALL HOW YOU DIED?"
"Uhh, no. Now that I think about it. I was in my office sipping coffee, then I was here," I said. I leaned-sat on the desk, and the collared shirt demon folded his arms and gave me a look. I immediately stood straight up and mouthed a silent "sorry" to him for disrespecting his desk. Rastlebub said something about how a number of people today were just as confused. Normally, he said, people remember the specifics of how they died. Knife to the heart, gunshot wound, heart attack, choking on a cheese sandwich, falling in the bathroom, whatever-- people could remember it. Not today. No one could remember doing anything that would get them killed. It was as if they all died for no reason.
After a half-hour of going back and forth examining the details, the Demented asked me one more question. Thankfully it didn't involve coconuts.
"WHAT WERE YOU WORKING ON?"
I told him it was complicated, so I gave him the short version.
"I was trying to utilize a ten-point, four-dimensional containment field to trap neutrinos in a compact, accelerated "loop" in order to use them as fuel in a particle engine that, in theory, could provide limitless energy."
"UH HUH," Rastlebub said, not really understanding, but understanding enough. "WELL I THINK I UNDERSTAND WHY WE'RE SO BUSY TODAY, AND WHY YOU ARE MARKED AT 186,292 YEARS."
"What? No. My particle engine couldn't possibly--"
"YOU LEFT IT ON OVERNIGHT, DIDN'T YOU?"
"Of course not! I always.... No, wait, I'm sure I did. Last night I switched it off, got my coat- no, it was the other way around, I got my coat, *then* shut it off. No, no. Wait. I think--"
Rastlebub audibly sighed.
"YOU LEVELED HALF OF EUROPE."
I dropped the phone to my side, dumbstruck. The nice, flustered demon in the collared shirt asked if I was okay. My eyes wandered to the line. All those people. My work killed them. My heart sunk. Slowly, I brought the phone back up to my ear.
"I guess maybe I should have used an eleven-point containment field, huh?" I muttered.
Edit: Thank you kindly for the gold, stranger! It means a lot that you felt my writing was good enough to earn it.
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I didn't expect to close my eyes in one moment only to open them the next and be escorted down a fiery flight of stairs to Hell. I thought I'd led a pretty good life. Never had a run in with police nor did I ever treat someone with less respect than they deserved. I was honestly quite surprised to be taken to Hell, but I guess I had some repenting to do.
I took my place in the queue behind a young man who looked quite complacent here.
"What do you think they're punishing you for?"
"Infidelity" He said matter-of-fact turning to face me, the bullet hole in his head glistening red.
He walked up to a demon who printed off a piece of paper that revealed his sentence.
"145 years? That's...not so bad"
A wave of excitement washed over me. If he only got 145 years to repent then surely I'll have much less!
With a pep in my step I walked up to the demon. It barely glanced at me before printing my ticket of sins and shoo-ing me away.
I took one step out of the queue and gazed at the number. I was horrified.
"No no this CAN'T be right?! 186,292 years?! I did great things for people! Brilliant things! I was a bloody lawyer!!"
| 2018-09-26T07:49:48 | 2018-09-26T06:12:57 | 2,794 | 881 |
[WP] Fallen angel is a pretty popular trope in fiction. But I want to hear about Ascended Demons. Demons that were too good/ kind/ pious for the underworld and managed to break out.
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My name is Barattiel, and I was once an angel in Heaven. What a lot of people didn't know is that many of us did not want to rebel. I mean, think about it. We were beautiful, powerful, and everyday was a literal orgasm of bliss. Why would we ever want to give that up?
Because of Lucifer.
He promised us that he could give us *more*. He told us that God was holding back, and that if he were in charge, he would make us more beautiful, more powerful...and happier.
And we believed him. Why would we not? Out of all the angels, he was the smartest and the most beautiful of us all. And he was the closest to God. We thought he knew secrets that the rest of us didn't know.
We were wrong. It was just pride.
After we got kicked out of Heaven, many of us wanted to rebel against Lucifer then. We wanted to repent and throw ourselves at the mercy of God. Why didn't we?
You have to know Lucifer to understand. Though fallen, he was still the most powerful of our lot. Many were terrified of him. And thought not as beautiful as he once was, he was still beautiful enough to captivate. And to charm. Many revered him still. And he was cunning. He just has a way of always making you see his way.
When a few of us came to him with our desire to repent, he sneered and asked us, "For what?"
"God is merciful. If we repent, perhaps he will forgive us."
"Perhaps," Lucifer agreed. He sat back, relaxed for a moment, looking at us lazily, and murmured, "And then what?"
We looked at each other. I spoke, "What do you mean? If He forgives us, won't we let back into Heaven?"
Lucifer sat up, peering into my eyes, and asked softly, "And then what?"
I didn't know what to say. I was perplexed that someone as smart as he didn't understand.
He sat back again, steepled his fingers and said, "My brothers, you are not the only ones who have thought of repentance. But think about *after*. Would Heaven be the same? God may forgive us, but what about the brothers that we betrayed and fought against in the War? Will things ever be as they were before? Or will we always be regarded with suspicion and distrust?"
One member of our group asked what we were all thinking: "So what do we do?"
"We live." His voice rose, his tone thorns. "We make *this* our home. Even now, God has replaced us with a being he calls 'man'. Let us show our Father they are not worthy of His love, and perhaps then, that will soften his heart for..." He paused and smiled. "...our repentance."
It sounded good then and we fell for it. We knew what we were doing was wrong, but Lucifer coaxed us through it: "Wrong, how? We're not even really doing anything. We just give them options and let them decide what they want! It's not *our* fault if they choose the one that goes against God's will. *He's* the one who give them free will, right?"
And we would nod like the docile followers we were and go out and do more of his bidding. But if it wasn't wrong, why did we continue to feel so bothered? All we knew was that it certainly wasn't right.
But the more we did, the more Lucifer's hold got on us until one day, when we had brought him our request again to repent to God, he snapped and said, "Go! Ask him! If you think God will forgive you now after all the evil you've done, then you are more foolish than I thought!"
"Evil?" I cried out. "But...but you said it wasn't wrong!"
That's when he smiled and said, "And you believed me?"
That's when I knew that the Lucifer I was seeing was not the Lucifer that I once had known - the beautiful angel with the marvelous voice that could play any instrument and craft the most entrancing melodies for God's choir. Now he was a demon. A Satan. A tormented monster with a bitter, dark heart that was only full of obsession, hate, pride, and revenge.
But we continued to do his bidding. What else could we do? He was a liar who had lied to us before, but even liars sometimes tell the truth. God would not forgive us after all the grief we had brought upon His creation. How could he?
*Because He's God.*
I didn't know where the voice had come from. It was louder than a waterfall but somehow quieter than a whisper. I looked around, but it seemed like I was only one who had heard it. The voice came again:
*And God can do the impossible.*
I just sat there. The voice said:
*Do you doubt this?*
I did, even though I wanted to believe it so bad.
I didn't hear that voice again until the end of the world, when Jesus came down to unite Heaven and Earth and cast us into the pit of fire.
Lucifer and his top lieutants, hands shackled before them, strode with heads held high towards the fire, determined not to whimper or cower before the blaze.
But I turned suddenly and screamed, "Father, forgive me!"
Lucifer turned and hissed, "What are you doing?"
Down the line, some demons refused to repent, but other demons began to cry, "Father, forgive me!"
Lucifer shrieked, "Stop it! Stop it, all of you!"
But we fell to our knees, bowed our faces to the floor, and we began to cry louder for mercy. Soon there was a cacophony of noises - wailings of mourning from those who wanted forgiveness, and shouts and cursing from those loyal to Lucifer telling us to shut up.
I looked up and saw the Godhead - The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit - conversing. Then at last, I caught the tiniest flicker of a nod amongst them, and then God raised his hand.
We all fell silent.
He said, "For those who wish to be forgiven, step to forward. For those who do not, remain where you are."
Immediately I took a step forward, as do many others - even some who had been telling us to be quiet earlier bowed their heads and stepped forward.
Lucifer, his top lieutants, and the many angels who remained in their place sneered at us.
God said, "You are forgiven."
*Just like that?* I looked at the others and could tell they were thinking the same thing.
I looked at God and He turned away and told an angel, "Remove their shackles."
To the angels still in line, He said, "As for the rest of you, continue into the fire."
Lucifer huffed and puffed, then turned and strode towards the fire. A blaze burst forth and a flame licked at his skin. He jumped back at its heat and, for the first time in as long as I had known him, looked uncertain. I almost felt bad for him.
I cried out to him, "Lucifer, it is not too late!"
He waved me away, and steeled himself. Then he stormed into fire, gritting his teeth. He lasted for ten seconds and then he began to scream. His lieutants and his followers lost heart and tried to flee, but the Lord's angels herded them back in and forced them to go through.
Many angels began to cry, "Forgive me, forgive me, Father!" but it was insincere, and they too perished in the flames.
But then Lucifer's words echoed in my head, *God may forgive you...and then what? Will the others forgive you as well?*
I stood there, continuing to stare at the flames until a hand touched my shoulder. I turned and saw Raphael's smiling face, though his smile was a bit sad at what we had just witnessed.
Raphael said, "As evil as they were, they were our brothers, too."
"They and us," I murmured. "I was evil, too, don't forget it."
"*Was*," he said firmly. "Not anymore." And he embraced me.
Down the line, our brothers in Heaven flew down to embraced us, saying how much they missed us and how long they had hoped we would repent.
And in my happiness, I shed a tear. Not only for myself, but for Lucifer and all my brothers who chose follow him, as I looked back at the flames and thought to myself:
*My brothers...look at what you missed.*
**Author's Note: Wholey Schmoley! This was literally only my first day and my second story ever written on this sub. And my second post period! And I've already gotten THREE awards. Yikes! And as much joy as I feel, I can't but wonder...**
**"Does this mean I've peaked already as an author? Are my best days behind me? Does my writing career going on a downhill spiral from here? Ah well..."**
**Haha, but no. Seriously. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you all so much for the comments, the awards, and the upvotes. And shout outs to all the other stories, too. Go check them out as well. Some of them are pretty lit.**
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Peter was startled when Beelzebub appeared atop the floor of clouds, uncertainly approaching the gate.
"Demon," he mumbled to himself, a little too loudly. An unusual sight, to be sure. An unwelcome one, too.
Beelzebub shrugged. "Not a very good one, apparently."
"Unprecedented," Peter murmured. "This is highly unusual. Wait here, please," he ordered, and without another word he called for his boss. "It's a demon," Peter said. God scratched his head. Beelzebub wondered if somebody had infested him with lice. It was a common, low-level torture.
"Name's Beelzebub," Beelzebub said shyly. "Look, I don't mean to cause a disruption, I just- well, they told me I wasn't welcome down under anymore."
"Australia?" God asked in confusion. That was down under, as far as he knew. He had eaten at an Outback Steakhouse once during an Earthly escapade and they wouldn't stop pretending they were there. Beelzebub shook his head. "Under where?" God inquired, causing Peter and Beelzebub to burst into a spate of giggles. God rolled his eyes. He was in human form, as he often was when attending to business near the gate.
"Hell. I've been banished," Beelzebub explained once he caught his breath. Peter stifled a final snicker. "Too good for Hell, apparently."
"Too good? What'd you do? Give mercy? Say please and thank you?"
"Not quite- er, well, yes. I mean, being polite is so easy, why wouldn't you say please and thank you?" Beelzebub shook his head. "But, no, not because of that. It's a little more... More insidious than that, apparently. I wouldn't say so. I was just trying to help." Beelzebub looked sad, and God wondered when the demons had become such softies. "Somebody even said I went full circle."
"Full circle?" Peter stroked his beard in a gentle circular pattern.
"Yeah. So evil that I became good."
"That makes no sense," Peter retorted. "We didn't let Hitler in, even though he killed Hitler."
"Hell doesn't make sense sometimes. Hell - excuse the expression - we have an elevator that just goes up and one that just goes down and like seven floors but they start counting at 2 and switch to letters halfway down. But I'm here."
God sighed and somewhere on Earth a hurricane developed and wiped out a small Caribbean island. A line of new entrants appeared and Peter shooed them in the gate. "So what'd you do? We can't just let a demon in willy-nilly. It'd cause havoc. Today you, tomorrow a demonic demon looking to demonize Heaven."
Beelzebub shrugged. "If you insist. I encouraged the unionization of the labor force."
"The demonic workers?"
Beelzebub nodded. "Yeah. There's this whole hierarchy. Lucifer tortures his subordinates who torture theirs and it goes on and on right down to the little guy who gets a whole bucket of demonic wrath thrown at him. And then he takes it out on humans."
"So you told them to unionize."
"I didn't just tell them to. I encouraged it. Nicely asked them to attend. I set up union meetings. Made them sit through it. Bribed them with cookies. Bought a coffee machine, it cost me like a dozen souls."
"And that was too evil?"
"Not aligned with expectations was the phrase that Lucifer used." Beelzebub looked around at the streaming line of people. Most were wet from the hurricane. One was impaled by a wood splinter the size of a fencepost. They were all smiling, oddly enough.
God and Peter conferred for a moment before God dissolved into the cloud and Peter turned towards Beelzebub. "Sorry, Bub," Peter said. "No entry, amigo. I respect your efforts and all but..." He stepped in front of the door. People still squeezed around him but to Beelzebub, the message was clear.
He looked crestfallen, his demonic demeanor growing a little dimmer. "But what?"
"Big guy spoke. He doesn't want unions in here either."
"Shit," Beelzebub said. People in the line gasped. "So what do I do?"
"I don't know," Peter said apologetically. "Go help somebody on Earth, maybe?"
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-11-08T07:18:27 | 2019-11-08T06:27:24 | 283 | 108 |
[WP] Write about the moment when the hero discovers that he is the villain
|
A thunderous applause greeted me as I descended from the sky, back to the people I fought for, the people I lived to protect. I had finally destroyed the last remaining alien warship and once again believed my fellow humans safe.
No matter how often it happens, I always feel a little awkward, when thousands of men, women and children approach me to thank me and hug me.
Movies had always taught me great that strength meant great responsibility, and that was an adage I intended to live by.
"You're very welcome, all. I'm just one of you, doing what I can to protect our world."
Through the crowd came a posse of big men, dressed in black suits, wearing earpieces. They rudely worked aside any bystanders, muscling their way to me. I was almost ready to intervene when I noticed they were escorting someone. I couldn't see who it was, but I could sense that in their middle, someone much shorter was approaching. It wasn't until they were right in front of me when he revealed himself.
"Samantha! Dear Samantha! You have done it, once again. You have saved us all."
Even if everyone in the world calls you Lightning Strike, you don't ever forget the name your parents gave you.
"Arken - I mean, Mister President! How good to see you! Have you been released from the hospital already?"
I bowed down to hug the man in the wheelchair. We had been friends since childhood and had been through a lot together. It was only days ago when the Attraxin had tried to assassinate him. At the time, I was still in outer space, fighting their armada.
They'd incessantly bombard me with bright rays of light that were unable to harm me. Instead, they were rather conveniently guiding me towards the ship. The outer shells of their spacecraft proved powerful and almost immune to my lighting. However, once I had discovered their weak spots, I was able to destroy them without too much trouble.
I had gotten to such a weak spot near the starboard bow of one of their larger crafts, where the front and back shells overlapped. This point also happened to be where they stored their energy. By tapping into that energy, I drained the ship's power, leaving it a useless hunk of space debris.
When I got the call that Arken was under attack, I immediately rushed back down to come to his aid. I found him in a room deep in the Pentagon, with four of the nasty space bugs. With all the energy I still had stored, taking them out was easy enough. I thrust my hands forward, shining with powerful light, temporarily blinding all in the room. With the space bugs disabled, they were unable to harm the President.
In blind fury, I placed my hands on each of their chests and released a lethal dose of energy. I must have exaggerated a tiny bit, because their entire bodies exploded with a loud crack, sending green, slimy goo all over the room. One of their limbs had hit Arken over the head, accidentally giving him a nasty concussion.
"Oh, the hospital cannot contain me for long. You know me, always busy!" Arken said with a wink while squeezing my hands.
"Tomorrow, we will celebrate with a party unlike Washington has ever seen! We will have music, food, dancing and fun, all in your name."
I could see through his little facade, though. In that smirk on his face, I could see that this scrawny little man was up to something. To his credit, he had already managed to dish out more pleasantries than usual. He was always very efficient in his talk - straight to business.
"But today, I still need your help."
"Really? I thought I'd gotten to all of them."
"Oh, yes, that you have! You left not a single one of them space buggers alive."
I shudder at the thought. I didn't like taking lives, but in this case, I'd had no choice. They provoked our defence.
"Samantha, honey, I just need you to bring me one of their spacecraft. We would do it ourselves, but with the limited NASA funding as of late, it would take years before we could manage to bring one down to Earth."
"Right away, sir!" I say as I salute him.
"Please, everyone, move back!" I warn the rest.
I firmly plant my feet on the concrete pavement, focusing my energy on my feet and my legs in preparation. With a mighty blow, I jump, flying high up in the sky, leaving cracks in the sidewalk.
Over the past few weeks, I'd had a lot of practice jumping into space. Space is always ominously silent, but this time it was extra quiet as I approached the alien spacecrafts' graveyard. Their ships were dark, no longer shooting beams of light. They were entirely at the mercy of the gravity of the heavenly bodies, slowly drifting out of our planet's reach. It was a good thing I could come up there; NASA wouldn't have been able to capture a single one of these ships in time.
Eager to please the President, I boarded one of the larger ships. It was pitch-black inside, so I moved my hands alongside the walls until I found myself grasping some cable. In a hunch, I stripped it, grabbed the open wires with both hands and sent a small amount of energy through it. As I did, the ship started to hum and the halls filled with a dim light. I did it again, with a little more energy, this time fully illuminating the ship.
The halls reminded me of the inside of a beehive. And much to my dismay, I saw them filled with Attraxin bodies. These were not just soldiers, either. I saw Attraxin in all kinds of sizes, bundled up in groups around the air vents I had forced to shut down. I felt a little vomit come up but immediately swallowed it back down.
With a lump in my throat, I proceeded to search for the control room, but the signs in the hallways meant nothing to me. I saw some rooms full of unhatched eggs, other rooms filled with lifeless larvae. In one room, what I figured could be farms. Not what I was expecting aboard a warship.
Then - all the way at the front of the ship - I found a room with a window. In its centre, I could see the big blue ball that was Earth. All around it, what appeared to be consoles and interfaces. One of those interfaces had a large red light that was blinking rapidly.
After swallowing my pride, I pressed my hands on the sticky pools that I'd expected to be the console. Curiously, that felt incredibly intuitive. I even managed to zoom in on the blinking red light, and some warning texts appeared next to it in the interface.
I tried clicking on them. The first attempt delivered a sharp screeching sound which - luckily - I was able to mute quickly enough. The second attempt produced a more familiar sound. I heard Arken's voice, saying:
"This is planet Earth, calling to all Attraxin vessels in the Milky Way Galaxy. Please come to our aid; we need your help!"
|
I never really thought about it. I just did what I thought was right. Day after day I went out into the city and I fought against those who sought to harm the denizens of the place I called home.
For years this went on. I fought and killed many villains in my time. It didn't take long before people saw me and they cheered. They shouted for my victory each time I fought against a villain, their shouts gave me the strength to fight to my last breath and to win each and every fight.
It wasn't until I stood before a small child attempting to cover him with my body from the dangers of a falling building that I realised what was actually happening. They weren't cheering for me or shouting for my victory. They were screaming in fear. They were shouting for my blood.
"GET AWAY FROM HIM YOU MONSTER!" The child's mother ran at me, fear and rage dancing in her eyes.
I didn't know what to say to her. I looked at the child, covered in blood, his small body broken underneath mine. I hadn't saved him, I'd killed him. In my attempts to save the child, he'd died. In fact, when I looked back at it, it was *me* that had made the building fall. I had tried to drop it on the villain, or I guess it'd be the hero, I was fighting. I quickly finished the fight, ripping out the villain (heroes) spine. Tossing it to the side I ran and ran and ran. Trying to outrun the sounds of screams echoing throughout my head. The death threats, the fear in their eyes as they rested upon me. But no matter how fast I ran, I couldn't escape the lifeless look on that little boys face as he looked up at me, his body crushed.
I guess I was wrong the entire time. I was never the hero, from the first day I stepped out into the streets I was a villain. I was a villain and thought I was the hero. With this new reality opened to me, I stopped trying to be the hero and I became the villain they always called me. The city I once sought to protect, I now seek to destroy, for they destroyed what I wanted to be and created what I now am.
They have this coming.
--
If ya liked this, you might like the other pieces I've written. https://www.reddit.com/r/Ceruberus/
| 2017-08-20T06:58:58 | 2017-08-20T05:10:59 | 42 | 19 |
[WP] At age 15 you told your girlfriend you were “in love” with her and you’d always be there when she was in need, Aphrodite heard this and turned it into a reality. After a month you got bored and dumped her but you still appear by her side when she’s in need even now…10 years later.
|
The barista is stacking chairs on tables and giving us the hairy eyeball, and when we step outside we’re both startled by the sunset, gold-edged pink on the water. I take Kylie’s hand and—
—stare at a pot boiling over. My hand is empty. Damnit.
“Marika! This is *not* an emergency!” I turn down the stove and stir anyway.
Marika bolts into the kitchen in a towel, dark curly hair still dripping.
“Hunter, you can *not* be here right—“
“Who’s this asshole?” A big guy with a lion tattooed on his pecs follows Marika into the kitchen. Her taste has certainly changed.
“Hey man, don’t worry. I was just leaving.” I’m pissed and I can’t keep it out of my voice, but Lion-tat misinterprets my anger.
“Nuh-uh. Crazy bitch is all yours.” He slams the door behind him.
Marika rounds on me. “Seriously? *Seriously?*”
“I’m not the one triggering this,” I remind her, matching her tone. “I was on a date!”
“I’m not the one who cursed us!” She pushes past me to stir the pot. I can tell with a sniff it’s Horta Vrasta. It reminds me of dinners with her family.
“Come on, everyone says dumb romantic shit when they’re fifteen. How was I supposed to know some cosmic entity would hold me to it?”
Marika sighs and clutches her towel a little tighter. “A date, huh?”
I think of how Kylie laughed with her whole body, the way she apologized to the barista and wiped down our table, the little scar in her right eyebrow. I slump against Marika’s countertop.
“Oh, that good, huh?” Marika slumps too, shoulder-to-shoulder. “You should tell her.”
“‘Hey, sorry I literally disappeared on you. I promised my high school girlfriend that I would always be there if she needed me and now the universe slaps me on her every boo-boo’ Sure, that’ll go over swell.”
“You aren’t going to make it worse by explaining.”
Marika has a point.
“Do you have her number? Call her, right now. No, don’t text. Call.” She gestures at the boiling greens with her spoon. “Win or lose, you can have some Horta Vrasta and then I’ll drive you home. Or back to your car, I guess.”
I call Kylie.
“Hunter, what the hell?”
“I can explain, but you’re going to hate the explanation.” A long silence. “It involves a curse.” I fill her in.
“And you expect me to buy that?”
“Honestly, no. But...” Marika gives me an encouraging nod. “It’s the truth.”
“...Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I mean, I *saw* you disappear.”
“So I can—do you want to—can I take you to dinner? Tomorrow?”
Marika beams, and dresses the greens with olive oil and lemon. She cuts me a slice of a rustic loaf and pours us each a glass of wine. “Congratulations,” she says.
“We’ve got to find a way to live with this curse,” I tell her. She nods.
“I have some ideas.”
——
Four years later, we’ve found the least disruptive way for the universe to constantly pull me to Marika’s side is to just—be at her side already. We live side-by-side in a duplex; we work side-by-side from the back deck, or one of our favorite coffee shops. And we’re standing side-by-side at the church when I marry Kylie. Thank every god of every pantheon that Kylie and Marika turned out to really like each other.
Marika even comes on our honeymoon, sort of. She stays out of the way and out of trouble at her Yiayia’s house, and Kylie and I rent a car and drive along the coast.
One day we stop at a roadside stall on our way to a winery and the merchant asks if we’re there to see Aphrodite’s shrine. “Love goddess,” he assures us, “lucky for new husbands and wives.”
It isn’t in our guidebook, but the best stuff never is, so we climb the rocky stairs to a little overlook. The shrine is scarcely more than an indentation in the cliff face, but there is a radiant woman already there.
“Ah, Hunter! My most devoted priest.”
“Do I know you?”
“It’s my shrine, dear.”
“Oh!” says Kylie, catching on much quicker than me, as usual. “Aphrodite! *You’re* the one who cursed Hunter.”
The woman smiles, coyly.
“I didn’t mean it as a curse! I thought it would be a quick little lesson about professing love thoughtlessly, but you never gave up, did you?”
Kylie and I exchange looks. *What?*
“All you had to do was just—*not care* if Marika was in trouble or not, and I would have left you alone. But you never quite got to that point.”
I’m stunned into silence. Kylie kisses my cheek. “And that’s why I love you,” she says.
“Would you like me to lift it, by the way?”
“Actually, I... have an idea.”
Aphrodite laughs, and suddenly Marika is standing there, eyes wide.
“Hello, Marika,” the goddess says. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander!”
|
*Flash*
“Oh...hey, Pete,” came the suddenly bored voice flanking the door. He looked me up and down. “You got a towel.”
That’s good — at least this time my bits were covered. You see, for most people, randomly appearing in Household Goods would be the highlight of their life. But for me, it was Tuesday. With a sigh, i cinched the towel around my waist. “Sorry, Ed...where...?”
The old greeter craned his neck. “Mmmm....either Pharmacy or Hair Care. Aisle 6, maybe?” He tossed me my regular store shoes, and off I went.
Ed must be slipping. I found the almost glamorous short hair and jabbing finger on Aisle 5, just beginning to speak to the Manager.
Christ, Karen, whatever did I see in you?
| 2020-07-29T10:42:04 | 2020-07-29T09:11:31 | 118 | 45 |
[WP] Humans are born with a mark around their wrist which has a matching color with that of their soulmate's, but can change through their life. Your mark has had a blue hue since you were 14, but one night, while you're out, people start looking at you funny. You realize that your mark is gone.
|
Gone again.
A herd of concerned passerby huddle around me, like buzzards around a corpse.
"Oh, you poor dear..."
"And so young, too. To have lost someone already..."
"You never even knew her, did you..."
I try to brush them off and continue on my way. It's been happening on and off for the past few months. First it was blue, then green, then a weird shade of brown; so many colors, I don't even remember anymore. But each time, within a few weeks, the mark disappears again, and I'm left alone in the world.
They say your band matches your soulmate; a bond until death. And my soulmates have been just unfortunate. I check the news each night after a mark disappears, and invariably, something bad has happened, to some girl I could have met tomorrow if we had just been in the right place at the right time.
Car accidents, falling out of windows, even just disappearing without a trace. I don't know it was them, of course; the mark doesn't show up on camera, and even if you ask eyewitnesses, nobody can really be sure if it was one shade or another. At first, people joked that I was cursed; after the fourth band, they stopped joking.
I get home and check the news. Sure enough, a girl committed suicide, at around the right time. Really? Couldn't she have waited? She looked pretty too....
I shrug it off and go to sleep. Can't let love I've never had ruin my life, after all. I've got school tomorrow, and no "soulmate" is going to change that.
___________________________________________
The next day, in class, I'm greeted by my childhood friend, Tanaki. Unlike me, her mark has never changed; a deep, crimson red, almost as though her wrist had a bad cut. When she was younger, kids would tease her and she would wear bandages to hide it, but now she wears it proudly.
"Hey, how's it going? Oh, your mark is gone again.... Well, that's too bad. I'm sure you two would have had a great life together. Don't worry though, you'll find another soon! You always do..."
I smile and nod, but to tell the truth, my mind was really more on lunch than whatever she was saying. I'm not even sure that I believe this mark business anymore. Definitely works for everyone else, but maybe, my mark is special. Maybe, it's just a dud, or playing tricks on me, or something. Maybe I'm cursed.
Tanaki yawns behind me, an audible gasp of breath that even causes the teacher to stop and stare, before returning to his lecture as though nothing had happened.
"Late night?", I ask in a hushed whisper.
"Oh, like you wouldn't believe. So many errands to run.... Barely slept at all."
"Well, keep it down, would you! You're going to get us into trouble!"
The period ends, and as I head off to lunch, I feel a tingling sensation in my wrist. I look down to see a new mark. A dark yellow, like the petal of a sunflower. Tanaki glances over at me.
"See! I knew you'd get another one! But that yellow.... Excuse me, I've got to go to the bathroom for a second, catch you in a bit!"
I sigh to myself as Tanaki heads off and scan the room on reflex. Maybe today... hey, wait. Is that... the same yellow?
I rush across the room, my heart throbbing in my chest. Maybe, maybe this is the day, the day I find my soulmate and make sure they don't disappear! I head over to her table and introduce myself, but my tongue stops in my throat before I can mention the band. Lucky for me, one of her friends notices the color and yanks my wrist up for me. The table becomes a blur of phone cameras and color calibration apps.
"100% match, Suzuka. He's definitely the one."
Before I know it, I'm in her arms as she jumps up and embraces me. A strange smell, like I've never smelled before, wafts through my nose. No, I definitely know that smell. Like sunflowers, picked fresh. She pulls me towards her, tears gleaming in her eyes, and I feel something that I had never felt before.
No, it's not all pseudo-scientific nonsense. The marks work. Every one of them, each of the ones that had disappeared, they all could have been like this. And deep down, I realize, everyone who had ever found their soulmates, they knew this too. That we'd be together forever, bonded until death do us part.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
We spend the rest of the day together, Suzuka and I, in a shower of bliss that knew no bounds. She's a year below me, but I attend all of her classes anyway and just skip all of mine. The teachers simply look us over once with a knowing glance. "Oh, if only I was so fortunate as you, it took me years to find mine!" "Such good luck!"
I decide to walk Suzuka home, introduce myself to her parents and maybe even stay for dinner. The walk seems to last forever, gazing into each others eyes and learning about each others lives. Time stretches as we walk circuitous paths, not really paying attention to where we're going, as long as we're alone with each other for a bit longer. Night falls, and the reverie momentarily breaks as I begin to steer us towards her home.
Suddenly, ahead of us in the darkness, I spot Tanaki, sitting on the ground with her back turned to us. As I get closer, I notice she's put her bandages on again. That's strange, I haven't seen her with them on in years....
"Hey, Tanaki! What are you doing out this late at night? Hey, are you listening to me?"
As Suzuha and I get closer, I hear a faint sound coming from her. It's quiet, but I think that's... laughter?
In a flash, Tanaki lunges out, and before I can react, I see Suzuka on the ground, a red puddle slowly extending from her abdomen. She screams, and her screams mix with the increasing frantic laughter from Tanaki as she licks the blood off the edge of the knife.
"What.... Tanaki... why..." I gasp as I see the mark on my wrist turn a dark black before fading into nothingness. "Why would you do this?"
"It's nothing, really. You'll have a new one within a week. And another, and another, and another... and all of them worthless!", Tanaki screams. "Why won't it just turn red! Why why why why why why why..."
I feel my stomach turn over as I look at Suzuha's lifeless corpse. "No.... we were so happy...." I fall to my knees, powerless to move, and it feels as though my soul has been ripped from my body.
Tanaki reaches for me and I feel a sharp pain in my wrist. Looking down, I can see she's sliced my wrist with the knife, and it's deep. Blood wells up from within the cut, and she holds her wrist up to compare, ripping off the bandages with glee.
"See! 100% match! I knew it was true, we really are soulmates, aren't we?" She giggles and curls around me as my warm blood leaks onto the ground, holding me tightly, ever so tightly.
"No, Tanaki! I'm not..." As I feel the warmth drain from my body, I look over to see that Tanaki has sliced her own wrist open, her blood mixing with mine on the pavement.
Crazy girl. She'll never get what she wants this way. She'll die here, in an alleyway, and she'll never have found her real soulmate. So really, it's me and Suzuha that had the last laugh. At least we got to find ours. Some people are never so lucky at all; we got to spend a whole afternoon, and poor Tanaki will just have lived without.
It's a shame it had to end this way. Though, at least, it can't get any worse from here...
I feel a tingling sensation in my wrist.
|
I don't know if this multiverse has a similar time tangent to mine, but I'm stuck here now and need to write down how this came about.
Two months ago my soulpatch disappeared, and I'm not on about someone sneaking in at night and shaving my lower lip. It's never happened before in our history and the auditors decided I would be better of here before the news spread and caused panic.
No one was quite sure how it had come about. Some time in the 27th century (my timeline) humanity had evolved. We didn't gain the ability to breath underwater; we didn't become hyper intelligent nor fly as some had hoped and hypothesised. Instead we had evolved a small marking near the wrist that was perfectly matched to their 'soulmate'. It had occured randomly at first in Japan. A guy called Yuto Takumi and a girl called Yuna Nakamura had both been born with a birth defect. Except it wasn't a defect. Their 'fault' was a beautiful marking, an ornate and interwoven red lattice birthmark on their left wrists that was continuously changing in a rorschachesque manner. So unusual was the markings that it made local news in both provinces. Then NHK picked up the story when people started to realise that TWO babies had been born with the same markings. They were minor celebrities from birth and would likely have fallen in love through attrition even without what we now know.
By this point we'd pretty much sorted out mapping the human genome. We'd cured most inheritable diseases and most transmittable ones too. We'd also gotten Quantum mechanics down to a point that we could link far more than protons. We could link organic matter. We'd never found out if there was a soul before I was purged from our world, but we all believed in it after what we found out.
You see, when the scientists began experimenting on Yuto and Yuna they found out something remarkable. The simultaneous changes in their birth-marks were utterly inexplicable until puberty. And then they became quantum linked. Their marks changed to reflect the others moods. During their worst years as teenagers, when arguments were more common than agreements, their BM's faded. By the time Yuto and Yuna reached 21 the universal scientific consensus was that they were somehow spiritually linked via quantum coupling.
Perhaps in a different time or place Yuto and Yuna may have been the inspiration for a hearty love story, a national epic of two young people who through a gift from God were meant to be together. Perhaps they were meant to lead a great struggle for justice and peace.
Unfortunately, in my world by the 27th century the human genome was private property. Individuals with rare genetic adaptions were considered the property of private researchers and the state; and the state had no desire for justice nor peace.
Unfortunately, Yuto and Yuna were killed. It was sold as a medical mistake, a disaster worthy of international mourning. Maybe it was a mistake... who knows.
They reverse engineered the link and the manner in which it was created. They sold it to us as a way to solve loneliness, as a way to find your soul-mate. At 8 weeks of pregnancy mothers were given a simple injection. It was voluntary at first, but global society had become so insulated that the concept of ensuring their children 'found' the 'one' ensured that our children were all engineered beyond the screenings we'd all come to accept. And then our children married the one their marking indicated. We had a global app for it. After 900 years of attempting to stop arranged marriages, it became not only the norm but an absolute necessity. I met my soulmate when I was 8 and the arrangements were in place.
Except my patch dissapeared last night. And now I'm stuck here.
| 2016-10-04T23:29:07 | 2016-10-04T18:14:29 | 154 | 77 |
[WP] Your girlfriend has always hated you, and is constantly making attempts to ruin your life. However, everything she does inadvertently makes your life better. Today, ever oblivious, you propose to her.
|
She was a freshman in college, looking for some fun. When Brielle met him, that dorky older guy from her class, she thought he'd be good for a few laughs. But then he asked her out, and she said she'd have to think about it. She had a mean streak about her, but was she that mean? She asked her sister for advice, and after sharing pictures, it was decided that yes, she was that mean.
Except, it didn't quite go according to plan. Her older sister Hana said "Ask to watch him play video games, then make fun of him the whole time." So she did, except he started playing well, really well, with an audience. He climbed the leader boards in no time at all, and even flirted with turning pro before she told him he'd never get anywhere playing silly games.
Hana asked why he'd been in school so long, so she confronted him: "what kind of loser takes so long to get a degree? What are you doing with your life?" He should have been crushed. He didn't say anything, and it looked like it had hit deep. She thought she'd rub it in by bringing him home for dinner with her dad and Hana, they were sure to join in. She knew her sister could be especially vicious.
That night, Brielle opened the conversation with "Hey dad, guess how long he's been in college? 5 years! And still taking undergrad classes!" Her father was taken aback, and her prey's eyes widened. Here was the moment, Hana had the golden opportunity to take him down, but when Brielle looked to her sister, she had a strange dreamy look on her face.
"Yes, I've been in school for 5 years now, but I've decided I'm going to go for my major and get that degree no matter how long it takes."
Her father smiled, he admired a man with determination and wished him well, even suggesting he transfer to a bigger state school.
After that, he began seeing his counselor regularly, and set about transferring. Brielle tried distracting him, seducing him, whispering that she'd let him do anything to her on nights when he had a paper due. But funnily enough, the motivation made him work twice as fast, and his GPA went up a full letter grade.
She insisted he take her and Hana to a theme park, then made him pay for annual passes. He didn't seem to have the money, but he agreed. She thought that ruined him, but he asked his boss for more hours and a raise, which he got.
Finally, he'd come to the end of his time at the same college. Time had flown by, and now she was getting ready to transfer too. How had she wasted two years with him? Everything she did to hurt him seemed to make him better. All the advice from Hana had turned out to help him, not her.
He'd talked about deeper commitment more often recently, and when he invited her out to a fancy dinner she suspected something might be up. So she insisted on dragging Hana out with them. Brielle left in a t-shirt and jeans, while Hana wore a dress and he wore a suit and tie. He was nervous, but determined.
They arrived at a candlelit dinner, with a string quartet taking requests from patrons. She talked to her sister through the first part of the meal, missing the part where he talked to the waiter about "special preparations." As their plates emptied, the restaurant grew quieter, the candles grew dimmer. Suddenly, the string quartet was at their table, playing a soft romantic tune.
"In these last two years, I've gone from having no direction to being on my way to success. Every goal I attained was because of your motivation, and everything I have now I have because of you. Would you do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?"
She trembled, a strange look appeared on her face, as if she was simultaneously ecstatic and furious, trying to hold in laughter or a tirade. He'd never seen this look on her face before. She looked, as always, to her sister for advice, but all she received was a shaking head.
"That's it!" she thought, "I'll humiliate him here and end this!"
All eyes focused on Brielle, as her thin lips grew into a cruel smile.
"No! I'll never marry you! I've hated you for two years, and all you've ever been to me is a doll to play with. You silly boy, you mean nothing to me, and you'll never mean anything to anyone."
A shocked silence broke out in the room. Brielle turned to her sister and motioned for them to leave, then started walking to the exit. When she was halfway there, she turned to see Hana still there, looking at him.
"You mean something to someone.
You mean something to me, you always have."
He looked at Hana, finding himself even more shocked at her words than he'd been just moments before. His jaw hung open, he was still on one knee, box open, the diamond shining like fire in the dim candlelight.
"If it's alright with you, I'll look after this", Hana said, taking the ring. He nodded, eyes wide, as though seeing her for the first time.
Brielle was at a loss for words herself, all she could think to do was storm out, making as much noise as she could, being ignored all the while.
The two sisters seldom spoke after that day. One of them moved out of their father's house soon after, to be with her new husband.
|
A ring is in my pocket for the woman of my life.
Her picture in a locket, 'round my neck, with love is rife.
I practice in the basement, serenading with my fife.
I turn around. Amazement hits. She stands there with a knife.
Paused, she smiles sheepishly. I accept it with pure joy.
For yesterday, my sweet pea gave to me a brand new toy.
My favorite brand of pistol sits atop a shelf of gifts.
We kissed 'neath toes of mistle, and she gave it 'neath pressed lips.
The day before, she helped me kill the ants around my house.
Pests call no more, for poured she gasoline o'er ev'ry louse.
What shall I do, when faced with such compassion but propose?
Our love is true. I, this day, Christmas, give a ring and rose.
| 2016-09-15T16:49:50 | 2016-09-15T16:03:39 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] A furious witch decides to curse the princess of her kingdom, and transforms her into being a man. To her surprise, the newly-turned prince is overjoyed.
|
Struck by a blast of dark magic, Princess Allesandra stumbled backward, as the Vile Witch of Darkfen cackled madly.
"Poor child!" the wizened enchantress sneered, with mock sympathy. "You were so enamored of your delicate feminine grace, so proud of your beauty and womanly charms, as you thoughtlessly danced, and capered, and sang through my realm -- do you suddenly find those feet of yours less *light and dainty?"*
Allesandra's eyes widened, and she felt at her body, frantically. Her feet were not her first concern. She patted at her chest, which she found to be broad and flat. She patted at her legs, which she discovered were muscular and hairy. Cautiously, she reached between said legs...and found she was not a *she* at all!
*Prince Allen* leaped to his feet, and thrust his fists into the air.
"Scoofa!" he crowed, exuberantly.
The witch blinked in surprise. "What?"
Seizing the frilly pink dress he had been wearing by its now-sagging bodice, Prince Allen tore the garment asunder. He was shirtless beneath, but wore a pair of sturdy traveling breeches that must have been extremely baggy on him, moments before. Then he kicked off the ill-fitting pink dancing slippers on his feet, which had already torn the seams of the lightweight footwear, and pulled a pair of folded leather moccasins from a satchel at his waist, the bulk of which had been concealed by the voluminous hoop skirt of his princess attire.
"What the hell is going on?" The witch demanded, clenching her bony fists in consternation.
The prince effected an awkward bow, occupied as he was with pulling on his moccasins. "The end of a long journey, my good woman! That was my fourth transmutation this month."
The witch furrowed her brow. "Fourth? In a *month?* How many enchanters have you pissed off, kid?"
He chuckled. "Only one, besides yourself. He turned me into a cat."
"A cat?" she exclaimed. "You were a princess!"
He nodded. "Indeed! But before that, I pissed off a wizard, who turned me into a cat."
"What happened then?" the witch asked, sounding genuinely curious.
Prince Allen stretched, limbering his now-considerable muscles. "Well, I don't know any magical spells myself, so I went looking for a ready-made way to change myself back. I snuck my fuzzy self into a curio shop after hours, one that was purported to traffic in magical items and other arcane contraband, according to the royal spymaster. Sure enough, tucked away in a storeroom, I found a genuine magic lamp."
"That's only *two* transformations, so I'm guessing you didn't word your wish very well." the witch mused.
"No indeed, madam, no indeed." Prince Allen confirmed, with a chuckle. "I rubbed the lamp with my little paw, and a genie popped out, as I had hoped. To my surprise, the spirit could even understand my feline speech. Glad to have someone to talk to again, I explained to him that I was really a prince, and that I'd been transformed into a cat by an evil wizard...and then I wished to *no longer be a cat."*
The witch slapped her wrinkled forehead. "Seriously?"
"I'm afraid so. The genie, with the malicious sense of humor typical of his kind, turned me into a *frog.* Worse still, this particular genie was the stingy sort who only has to grant *one* wish per master. But he assured me that -- as per tradition -- this *new* curse could be broken by a kiss from a princess." Allen went on. "Thus, whilst in amphibian form, I had to make my way to the next kingdom over, where I knew the nearest princess could be found. Once I made it to the pond in the palace gardens, I had to wait two horribly dull weeks among the other frogs -- who were, alas, just normal frogs, and hence not very good conversationalists -- for the princess to return from a holiday abroad."
"And then you got her to kiss you?" the witch asked, cocking her head to the side.
"Naturally. I mean, what princess *wouldn't* kiss a talking frog claiming to be a cursed prince -- just for the *story,* if nothing else?"
The old hag nodded, motioning for him to continue.
"Anyway, I explained my situation, she kissed me, and I was human again. But it turns out -- as I learned after perusing a few bestiaries in the palace library after the fact -- that frogs can sometimes spontaneously *change their sex."* Allen explained, ruefully. "Particularly if there are too many of one gender in the same habitat. Evidently, the palace garden's pond was a bit of a sausage fest, so after I lived there for a few weeks, fickle mother nature decided to assign me to the *other team,* to even things out a bit. Since the species of frog I became isn't very sexually dimorphic, I didn't even notice that it had happened. Breaking the genie's curse reverted my species, but not my gender, which had changed *non-magically* while I was a frog.*"*
The witch cackled in amazement. "Incredible, all that work to turn yourself back, only to discover that you'd become a woman in the process! And yet, you seem to have embraced femininity remarkably fast. What with all the dancing and singing through the woods near my home, nattering on about how much you loved being a pretty girl..."
The witch trailed off, narrowing her eyes, as realization began to dawn on her.
"Oh, you tricky little son of a bitch." she hissed.
Allen grinned. "Well, you weren't exactly likely to help me out of the goodness of your heart, were you? I mean, let's face it: you're not known as the Vile Witch of Darkfen because of your sweet disposition and propensity for aiding those in need."
"You think you can just come into my demesne, and make use of my magic for *nothing?"* the enchantress snarled, sickly purple bolts beginning to crackle around her skeletal fingers.
"Nothing? I did a lot of *hard work* to get you to help me!" Allen protested, with mock indignance. "I had to go pick out a wardrobe, learn dozens of tricky dance steps -- I even learned every single note of *'I Enjoy Being A Girl',* all to deceive you into thinking that the worst thing you could possibly do to me was turn me into a man!*"*
The witch snorted. "Very clever, little princeling, very clever." She raised her hands, the magical energy arcing between them intensifying.
"I look forward to seeing how you apply that cleverness to finding a way to change yourself back from being *a pile of charred bones."* she growled, thrusting her arms forward, and releasing a torrent of lethal magic at the Prince...
...a torrent of lethal magic which instantly rebounded from an invisible barrier around the young royal, and instead struck the witch full in the chest. She shrieked in pain and horror for only a split second, before her own spell burned her flesh to ash, and her blackened skeleton collapsed to the ground.
"Scoofa times two!" Allen cheered, thrusting a clenched fist skyward.
He stepped out of the hidden magic circle he'd pretended to stumble backward into when the witch changed him back into a man. He hadn't lied about not being able to cast any magic spells, he was no wizard.
*Magic circles,* on the other hand, could be inscribed by anyone who knew the correct runes, and could obtain a few costly material components with which to write them out on a surface. After he'd done that, concealing the circle with leaf litter from the forest floor had been trivial.
Prince Allen took a deep breath, oriented himself towards the nearest road, and started walking, purposefully.
There was, he recalled, a very charming princess who lived just one kingdom over. What's more, he knew based on what had been an extremely awkward experience with her, that she was both a *very* good kisser, and *exclusively* interested in men.
|
As a familiar, you get to know your mistress or master intimately. Their wants, their needs, how to cheer them up, or make them angry. Most of all you learn when they need a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on even if, no, *especially if*, it looks like they'll kill anything that gets too close.
Another vase sailed through the air towards my head as I swooped down onto Moriganna's shoulder. Her heart wasn't in the throw, I could tell that from the inches she missed me by. Quickly I nuzzled up to her and started whispering the same words of calming and encouragement she used on me when my animal instincts started to get the better of me. The soothing words and nonsense noises got her to calm down a little and coaxed out a smile despite herself.
After the storm comes the rain and Mori wept floods of tears. Tears of rage, tears of sorrow, regret, hate, envy. Envy most of all. "Why Poe? Why?" She begged me for an answer she knew I didn't have "Every time, *every time* that royal shit gets even *close* to something *resembling* a comeuppance she,err... he, they, fuck it I'm calling them it, it manages to have all the consequences slide off it like a greased sow? Everything anyone can throw at her, they, never seems to stick. The bitch could have a daemon orgy in the Grand Chapel *during service* and he'd be smiling like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth the next day while the guard drags some poor common wretch out of the gutter to occupy the pyre in their stead."
I shook my beaked head in disgust. The former-princess, now prince Lachienne was infamous for being a rose with toxic, razor thorns. The beauty of the nation and the terror of the capital. No crime too large, no spite too petty and neither man nor woman or child or beast would be spared should they gain Lachienne's attentions. I'd have made many a reference if only Mori would have got them. Unfortunately, extra-dimensional literature courses mostly tend towards the daemonic rather than pop-culture.
Moriganna continued "So I, so I did the most destructive thing I could do, short of just putting her out of the kingdom's misery. I did to her what I did... What I did to myself."
"Mori..."
"But if the royal family can accept him just like that" Mori snapped her fingers. In the kitchen a tea towel caught fire " With full rights and titles to boot then maybe, maybe my parents were right. Maybe I should have done everyone a favour and walked slowly into the swamps"
My heart twisted when she said that. Because, for the first time, she actually believed it. No one and I do mean no one does that to my Moriganna and lives to tell about it. An icy, cold rage came over me. I was no longer in my mistress' tower. I was far away, watching her rant over my own shoulder as schemes of pure depraved malice and plans of chronic and sustained cruelty clicked into place of their own diabolical accord.
"Poe? Poe? Are you in there Poe?"
Mori was no longer on the sofa, instead she was gazing into my eyes with concern. I took her hands into my wings as best I could.
"Moriganna. You are not to say such things about yourself ever again. You are also expressly forbidden from believing them, that's an order."
"Heh, yes Sir Poe"
"Mori, I'm serious. Now get some parchment, I've got some ideas and I'd like to keep them written down."
A few hours, several stiff drinks and a couple of candles later and Mori re-reads the abomination she's written with horrified delight.
"Poe?
"Yes Mori?"
"Poe, who hurt you?"
| 2022-07-06T19:49:17 | 2022-07-06T17:07:37 | 369 | 148 |
[WP] You are the owner of a very well received restaurant that caters to the... not quite human variety. You serve the vampire lords, and wolf pack leaders, zombie kings, and all sorts of supernatural guests, but one customer is causing you a lot of trouble. It is time to show why you are the owner
|
Running a restaurant isn't easy. But to be fair, being able to see all these fantasy creatures you usually only hear stories about is totally worth all the stress. Actually, forget just being able to see them. I'm good friends with most of my regular clientele! Vampires, werewolves, zombies, all that and more.
Me? I'm literally just a regular old human. Ironically, I think that's what makes it so attractive to all the supernatural beings. I'm just a guy who's doing his best in a world where baseline humans aren't really all that much. They see it as charming, or at least that's what's been said by anyone I've asked.
Plus, once they do come, I'm friendly with them. I don't care who your father's father's uncle is, I don't care how many times you've had to sow your limbs back on, you're still a person to me. I'm happy to talk to you, or if you just need an ear to rant to. Either is good with me! Especially the last one, because talking is a little hard for me.
Another nice thing about letting literally anyone and everyone in is that it's not that hard to get benefits from it. Not that I'm one to ask under most circumstances, but it's awfully hard for certain people to obtain certain dishes that I'm able to find. They're willing to pay a little extra, or even donate, in order to keep the place running. Some of my best customers are also my staff, as a matter of fact.
...Okay, quick little thing, right? I get a remarkable amount of... how to put it. The closest way I can think of putting it is "mixed-species couples," but that may not be the correct term. What I mean is, for example, you've got a vampire boyfriend coming with his werewolf girlfriend. They're always so adorable! It makes sense why they come, since I let all species and subspecies in, and abide no discrimination of any kind, but still. It makes me so happy to see two vastly different people just staring into each other's eyes lovingly...
Where was I? Oh, right. That customer.
So, simple fact, I occasionally get entitled people in here. It's not often, but they're a pain in the behind. There's always something wrong, and something's not to their exact liking. You know, they always claim they're gonna "report me to the owner" and they'll "shut this place down." Hah, as if. They almost always saying they'll report the owner... to the owner, which amuses me to no end.
There was this one guy, right? He was real belligerent that night, not really sure why. So, he comes in, and he's being super loud and angry and... all that stuff. It's annoying my customers, my staff, and frankly I'm getting irritated too. So I head over to him.
"Hey, buddy." He turned to me, anger clearly written on his face. He was a big guy too. I'm not short by human standards, but this guy clearly had werewolf in him somewhere, because he was easily one and a half times my height or some such. "You're being extremely loud and irritating. I think we'd all appreciate it if you either quieted down or left." He crouched down to my height, breathing heavily. Yep, definitely werewolf blood. His breath smelled too strongly of raw meat for it to be many other things. Was it a full moon tonight?
"You do realize I could rip you up right now?" I shrugged.
"I mean, yeah, you could. I'd give you... enough time to pull of an arm before Zared over there pulls you into his horde of fellow zombies." I waved to the zombie king who was sitting with some of his more-intact companions. "Hmm... actually, maybe that would be cool. Could try one of those spell-tattoo arms that Aria's been making." Apparently annoyed by my blatant not-caring-ness, belligerent guy suddenly howled, making me jump back.
"I've killed more people than you've ever seen, boy! What's one more!?" I blinked a bit, regaining my thoughts.
"Huh." I looked around the room at the other patrons, who were in various stages of visible anger. "Okay. So you kill me. Then... how do you handle everyone else who is very angry that their favorite bartender just died? I mean, I can practically promise that Prima and Argus over there would keep you alive for a week while they eat your organs one by one."
"Two weeks," Prima called out. I'd never asked *exactly* what kind of demonic heritage she had, nor *exactly* how many people Argus has sacrificed to his particular god of choice, but it didn't matter. They were good company either way. "And I'd just feed him to himself. I don't eat mud-meat." The soon-to-be ex-patron looked down at me.
"Do you have any idea of who I am?" I smiled. I loved it when they asked me that.
"Nope! And I don't care!" My confidence was brought by the trio who'd walked up behind the Belligerent. One of them roughly put her hand on his shoulder, and he turned back to see Amethyst, one of the many dragon princesses with fire in her eyes staring him down. The other two were Arnold and Indefi, an animated stone statue and a Naga-Medusa half-breed respectively. The latter can petrify people, but doesn't unless she gets real mad. That being said, she did seem remarkably close to her breaking point.
"I will not tolerate a *whelp* such as yourself threatening this man," the dragon princess said, sharp as steel. A general chorus of cheers and hurrahs arose from around the restaurant/tavern I called home. "Now, are you going to leave, or am I going to have to throw you out?" Fortunately for him, the Belligerent took the hint and skedaddled.
"Thanks," I said happily. "Here, I should get you another drink on the house." Amethyst shook her head, smiling slightly.
"I've nearly had too much as it is."
"Trust me, it's gonna take an hour to get her home," Indefi remarked. "That's assuming that she doesn't try taking off to hug the stars or something."
"Well, next time then! Have a good night!"
That's the best part about hosting a supernatural restaurant. All supernatural creatures protect their own. I help all the families, so I'm part of all of them. Which... is remarkably bad for anyone who thinks they can pull one over on me.
|
"A Saturday night, every table booked and all seemed to be well in hand. Truly shaping up to be my favorite kind of evening. I had personally seen to the comfort of our more illustrious guests, as they can be a touch finicky in their preferences but that is of course not to leave this room. Wink wink. Aha"
"..."
"Nandor the Relentless had his favorite vintage blood wine over ice, vampires are by far the easiest to cater for. All you need to do is give them their juice and put them in a shady corner. Lord Gruuuuh the Rotten, he needed to be kept near a vent for obvious reasons. He does appreciate a good pun though, so be prepared to plaster on a smile. Even Alldread Bloodbeard was having a nice time. Yes I would of had to replace some of the furnishings but the money I could of made from a happy pack would of made that small change. "
"..."
"Oh don't give me that look. It's extremely undignified. Ugh. Do you have any idea the business you have cost me tonight! You come into my restaurant. Thinking you're the big man. Harass my clientele. Disrespect my staff and then have the gaul to demand to 'speak to the manager'! It's almost funny.“
"..."
"Oh please stop screaming, I can't make out a word through the gag. Plus I haven't even done anything yet and the things I could do... You see, my family's line of work came with a great deal of historical knowledge on the nature of our supernatural cousins, oh sorry you might recall them as 'a hord of freaks'. However it was classically used in a less hospitible way than fine dinning and exquisite cocktails. You make more money this way though and there not even that bad really. Lot of misinformation out there."
"..."
"Plus the name above the door tends keep everyone well behaved. So while I am sorry that you won't be dinning with us again or anywhere else probably now you don't have a lower jaw. I do hope you enjoyed your time at Van Helsings. Now will you be doing cash or card? "
| 2022-12-07T20:09:17 | 2022-12-07T15:06:38 | 159 | 82 |
[WP] Twenty years ago you summoned a demon. It is super cool and has been your friend for the last two decades, using its vast powers to help you achieve all your dreams. Today though, its bill came due. It needs to return to hell with you - it has dreams too, and it needs your help to achieve them.
|
On this morning, I was surprised to find my demon unusually excited. Over the last two decades Balazar had, despite my best efforts, been supernaturally moody and withdrawn. I thought perhaps, after a period of adjustment, he would acclimate to the scenery of Earth. As my riches grew, I got him appointments with the best therapists money could buy. But nothing quite worked. Until, quite suddenly, this morning, I found Balazar bouncing around the living room like a demon possessed.
He picked up the children and danced around, letting them grab his horns, as they giggled.
“My turn” he chanted, “my turn, it’s my turn.” Soon they joined in singing with him.
I rubbed my eyes. “Jesus christ Bally. What the hell’s up with you?”
“Hell is up with me John. Hell exactly.”
I shook my head, “I’m going to watch the news.” I walked over to the couch, sat down and turned on the TV. From here you could see sweeping views of the whole city. My neighbours were Brad Pitt and Slash. Imagine that. The anchors were talking about my company on the news: “and looks like some bad news for J Corp this morning.” I sat up, confused. Bad news? Those were two words had hadn’t heard together in, well, twenty years.
“Since the markets opened this morning, stocks have fallen by 20%.”
“What!”
In the background Balazar was still chanting, “my turn. My turn.”
“Balazar, will you shut the hell up.”
“Hell!” he cried, “we’re going to hell.”
“we’re going to hell” the kids laughed after him.
I pulled out my phone. Ten missed calls. I blinked. “We’re down. Why are we down? For christ sake Balazar will you put the kids down and stop dancing?” He put them down, but the smile was still plastered to his face as he skipped over, his hooves clacking on the polished floorboards. “What’s going on?”
“Your stocks are down.”
“Yes. I know. Why?”
Balazar shrugged. “They’ve been artificially overpriced for years because of my magic.”
“Yes. I’m aware.” There was a silence. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”
“Oh John” he leapt forward and hugged me, “you don’t see, do you? It’s my turn.”
“Your turn for what? And just calm down okay? You’re like the kids on Christmas.”
“Okay” he took a few deep breaths, fanning himself, “I’m calm. I’m calm. Do I look calm?”
“You look like you’re on drugs.”
“Twenty years ago you summoned me.”
“That’s right.”
“No I mean. Twenty years to the day.”
I shrugged, “Happy anniversary?”
“John. Don’t you remember? The spell you used to cast me. It was a two part spell. A contract. You get me for 20 years. I get you for 20 years.”
“I’m sorry what?”
“Don’t be sorry. Be excited! We’re going to hell! Oh hell is nothing like they tell you John. It’s really quite a marvellous place, and there’s companies there too, and you’ll really like it trust me.”
“I don’t quite understand. Me help you?”
“Yes. That’s what the spell is. Didn’t you read the fine print of the spell?”
“Read the fine print. Shit Bally I was ten years old! I pulled the book down from my grandmother’s shelf, dusted it off, flicked it open to a random page and just started reading.”
“Best decision you’ve ever made John. Trust me. Ok we’re leaving in five.”
“Leaving. No we’re not leaving.”
“We’re going to hell.”
“I’m not going to hell.”
“Yes. You really are” he gestured with his hand. And I took a step forward unwillingly.
“How did you do that?”
“Part of the spell. Look I’m not going to use it unless its absolutely necessary. You’ve been a good sport to me, I’ll be a good one to you.”
“Bally. I can’t just go. I have a family here. A company to run.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Time runs differently in Hell. 20 years won’t even be a day here.”
“But it will be 20 years for me” I answered, “in hell. I mean — what, what help do you think I’m even going to be? I’m not a demon, okay, I can’t wave my hands and make things happen.”
“Oh but John. You can” he lowered his voice, “you have no idea the power unclaimed souls wield in the afterlife. No idea.” I swallowed.
Balazar pointed to the wall, and a dark portal opened up. “Oh god. Bally please. Don’t, don’t make me go.”
“Think about it John. This is what you signed up for. You get a choice to go willingly. Or to be dragged along. But you are coming. Satan knows the shit I went through for your dreams.”
“And what exactly are *your* dreams?”
Balazar smiled. “To rule” he said. “All of it.” He slapped a hand on my shoulder, “just you wait” he said, “you're going to love it.” I bolted for the door. But halfway my legs stopped working. I turned around and marched toward the portal, as my children echoed Balazar’s chant from the kitchen.
“You'll be back before lunch” Bally reassured me, as I passed through the portal and darkness fell around me.
[r/jmoorestories](https://www.reddit.com/r/jmoorestories)
|
Oh the things we’ll do together! I can’t wait to introduce you to my parents. They’re what you might call, “demonic purists” they’ll be so surprised I brought home a human! Teehee!
Oh we’re going to cause such a scandal in hell when I put you in charge of the demon training. Why do you think Ive been having you play so many videogames? You’re perfect for the job, you’ve learned how to manage your resources wisely and efficiently.
Then together both of us will lead our armies into conquer my rival Garnok. Our enemies will tremble before us and we’ll desecrate their family lands!
Demonic society will hail me as a hero! We’ll work on human demon relations- We can be the first. The very first human demon lover pair to show that it can be done! We dont have to merely feast on humans we have so much to learn from each other!
I’m so glad I met you my love.
| 2022-10-29T16:15:55 | 2019-01-24T21:50:30 | 4,031 | 165 |
[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming.
|
Hmmm...you think to yourself, this is a tricky one. The girl was clearly too young to summon The Devil let alone be granted a favour from him, but here she was, staring at him down, head up, chin out. She was 7 years, 3months and 14 days old. The minimum age he could deal with was 8. That is what was agreed to by The Devil and God Almighty in the "Consorting with Humans Act 20,000 BC". Roger allowed himself a moment to remember the good old days when it was a free for all. Any small curse from any aged human could call upon his Master, or Roger in his place if The Devil was busy. Fun fun fun. Now though, he was constrained. He took a breath and made to leave but the girl seemed to sense it and put her hand on his arm.
It was a first for Roger. Yes, he had had physical contact with a human, but that was more carnal contact. Or pleading, grabbing his clothing and sniveling and pleading for their lives. Crying about not really understanding a contract or hidden clauses or some such rubbish. He was a demon, what did they expect? But this girl, this girls light touch conveyed a strength of soul that he hadn't felt in a number of human generations, and never in one so young. She also radiated, well, goodness. That wasn't suprising though, humans this young were hard to corrupt fully, even if they have a horrible life.
Her father roared for her again. He was drunk, mad about loosing money at a card game, ashamed of losing face to his work buddies...ready to show someone just how strong he was. Roger knew that he beat the girl's mother regularly, had beaten her older brother so bad he had been hospitalised recently and had now turned his attentions to his daughter. ALL of his attentions. Roger smiled. He really was a bad man. A quick check showed he was due for collection on December 12th, 2020. Plenty of time to cause more pain, more destruction, get him a pass to one of the lower levels. Yes, Roger thought, he is wonderful. Just the kind of human that had been passing the Gates of Hell since Hell began. The "Bread and Butter" of the trade, along with a few other regulars. Murder, Rape, not repaying a death debt. Most humans had forgotten about that one. If you kill someone accidentally, you have to recoup the victims family. Modern thinking had swept that under he carpet, and in so doing, sweapt many people into hell. Roger smilled again. But what to do here?
"What do you want?" He asked the girl.
"Make him stop." She pointed up the stairs of the basement they were in. The Father had started to yell at the Mother. Roger could feel the waves of hate radiating from the woman, the shivers of dispair. She was an undecided. Half and half. A few more years dealing with her husband should see her on the books.
"You're a good girl...you believe in God and The Devil. Why have you not asked God?" Roger loved toying with the humans. God never made house calls. Even his proxies preferred to appear only to a select few who then passed on his message to the masses. He lacked the personal touch.
"I have asked God every night that I can remember. Every day, Daddy is still mean and hurts us all. I think God is busy helping people who need more help. I have to help myself."
The girl's spirit shone pure and bright, enough that Roger felt slightly queasy. Children. Revolting lot. He was now decidedly sick of her.
"I can't help you. Go along to Daddy now like a good girl, I hear him calling."
True enough, the Father had began to beat the Mother. When he was done, he'd come for the girl .
"I'll do whatever you tell me too." the girl said through tears. "You don't have to do anything, just tell me what I have to do."
Roger looked more closely at the girl. He hadn't bothered to run a check on her as she was just oh, so, pure...but something made him doubt himself. He took a moment to check the records and...hmm...she was also an undecided. Not usual for one this young. Usually untill at least 10 children were a cert for upstairs but something about this child was different. Not a first, but not common.
Roger though for a moment and a plan of action took shape. Yes, he thought, this will do nicely.
"If you want him to stop hurting your Mother, your Brother, you, your neighbor's daughter, your 2 cousins and a colleague at work, you have to take a great big, sharp knife and stick him in his heart."
The girl gulped.
"I have to kill my Daddy?" A year rolled down her plum little cheek.
"Yeeesss my dear, darling girl. You have to kill your Daddy."
He was gambling big here. If his gamble didn't pay off, Collections would be very annoyed at having to collect early, and Claims would have his ass for the loss in future stock. But...he had a feeling.
"That's all I can tell you. Do it or don't. Daddy's calling..."
Roger disappeared from sight, but stuck around to see what happened. The girl stood for a solid minute, her young mind trying to process all that he had told her. He suspected his revelation of all of her Father's other victims had made a big impact on her. She turned and walked up the basement stairs. Her Mother was screaming at her Father; her Father was beating her Mother. The girl went into the kitchen, climbed into a chair and pulled a large knife out of the knife block. Roger smiled.
The girl walked into the living room where her Mother was being beaten on the couch. Her Father had his back to her. She caught her Mother's eye, showed her the knife...and winked. She had a glint in her eye. Roger grinned. He had seen that look before. The girl's Mother took a backhand to the side of her head and a punch to the gut. Somehow she managed to kick the Father, knocked him off balance. He fell on his back, hitting his head on the corner of the coffee table on the way down. The girl moved in, sitting on his lap. He groaned, the combination of alcohol and head injury making him slow and groggy.
"It's ok Daddy." The girl smiled sweetly down at him. "I'll make it all better." The knife slide into her Father easily. It was sharpened regularly by her Father, just incase someone got into the house. He needed to be able to defend himself. It grated on a rib and the girl pressed more of her weight onto it. The Mother dragged herself off the couch to sit beside the Father. She took the girl into her arms and looked at the knife protruding from her husband's chest.
"Help...me" he gurgled.
The girl looked at her Mother. They both looked at him.
"Ok hunny, I'll help you."
She pulled the knife out, blood spurted out after it in a pulsing wave, slowing...slowing...stopped.
Roger checked the records. No longer undecided. These 2 were at the start of a journey that would see mayhem and destruction follow in their wake. Collections would forgive him this transgression, Claims would make him their poster boy for the next 15 years or so and The Master ...well, he might give Roger a smile.
Roger appeared and showed himself to the Girl. He winked, she winked back, that same glint in her eye.
Yes, he thought, I have seen that look before. Charles Manson. He killed people, yes, but his real worth to Hell was the number of people he corrupted. This little girl had the potential to be worse again, with the help of her Mother of course.
Today was a good day.
Edit: word discrepancy and spelling. Still not perfect but readable.
|
The girl couldn’t have realized the gravity of what, or rather whom she had summoned. This was no ordinary demon.
The girl stood staring. Wearing a little blue dress and pigtails. Blonde, very big blue curious eyes looked up at... it.
Just as the demon was about to return, thinking this was a mistake or some sort of sick prank, “this is what I was summoned for? A little girl? Ridiculous.” Then a crash from downstairs.
“Fuck you, you cunt!!” A man yelled. A woman screams in agony, “please, just stop! I’m sorry!..” more thuds. The sound of a body hitting the wall over and over.
More crying.
The demon looked down, the girl started to cry, trying her best to hold back the tears. ‘Why was she holding it in?’ Thought the demon.
“Oh here we go again with the Goddamn crying!!! I’ll come up there and GIVE you something to cry about!!” Screams the father. You can hear him grab something metallic as he stomps towards the stairs.
The girl immediately hides behind the demon, burying her face into his cloak.
The demon understands why he is there. It had become clear.
“Hmm... this man would make a fine addition to my collection...” the demon hissed.
The girl keeps her face buried.
“This cannot be undone and where he is going... will be unpleasant. Are you sure?” The demon looked into the girls soul as she answered. Every fiber of her being said yes as she shook her head.
The great old one patted the girls head, and snapped.
The father finally reached the room. Kicked open the door and had a belt in his hand. There he saw his daughter in the middle of the room staring up at the roof, into nothingness.
He ran towards her and swung his belt at her. But it went straight through her? He swung again and again but nothing happened. He looked back to see the door he kicked open closed and in perfect condition. He walked back and tried to open it but it would not budge. He tried to kick it open, still nothing.
Looking back towards his daughter, she had disappeared. There was nothing but the room. A bunch of photos appeared on the wall of his family, his wife, daughter, mom, dad, everyone. Once in a while he could swear he heard a voice whisper in his ear. But couldn’t make out what it was saying. The room was hot. Very hot. The man was sweating thinking he had gone crazy.
He claws at the door, then realizes there is a window. He runs towards it and looks outside to see hundreds, if not thousands of hideous creatures waiting to tear him limb from limb. “Jesus Christ!!!” He yells in utter fear. He stumbles back and looks up at the ceiling. He starts to see letters being carved into it by an invisible force. “Christ isn’t here”.
He jumps out the window thinking death would be preferable. He is immediately mauled, torn to pieces in an order that would take the longest. Then the man wakes up in the same room, his daughter standing there. He runs to her to try to hug her and yells he is sorry. But once again, he slips right through. He looks back and she has once again disappeared.
The man yells out to no one. As the voice that he cannot understand continues to whisper “welcome to purgatory”
*edit* spelling
| 2018-10-08T12:33:09 | 2018-10-08T11:54:19 | 263 | 141 |
[WP] Scientists discovered that vegetables and fruit have a conscience. Vegetarians and Vegans go crazy.
|
There are a many kinds of vegans. Most handled the news pretty well. But I'm not a real vegan.
Sandra is an ethical vegan. She was the one who first linked me to "Earthlings" years and years back. She isn't exactly what you'd call crunchy, but she does cross the street to give money to bums and for Christmas asks for donations to a charity that gives malaria nets to kids in Africa. Do I need to tell you she's also kind to animals and kids? She's kind to animals and kids. She can also curse at you like a sailor if you want to argue ethics of meat eating with you, but she'll only do that if you start it. Or if she's drinking. Or it's a weekday.
I asked her how she felt about the Huang-Immelmann findings. She shrugged.
"I've built my life around doing the most good and the least harm." She winces apologetically, like she's confessing a flaw. "It turns out veganism causes more suffering than I thought. So what? It still causes the least suffering and the most good."
"But the subjective experience of pain--"
"Yeah I know, off the charts. But if I switched to an all meat diet, I'd be making things worse." She leans forward and starts tallying imaginary numbers on her fingers. "A cow eats way more veg than I do. If I eat a burger, I'm responsible for a burger 's worth of plant suffering *and* the animal suffering. If I eat the same amount of veg, That's much less than a burgers worth of plant suffering, and zero animal suffering. The math checks out." She leans back, beaming. "Doesn't change a thing." Her expression darkens. "Are you ok, though?"
"Fine," I say, and change the subject.
********************
Jim (James to his friends) is a health nut, and we used to be on a bike relay team. I don't expect much sympathy from him, but I ask anyway.
"No, the H-I findings don't change a damn thing for me." He smiles smugly. I wonder if he even has another facial expression. "If eating babies cured cancer, I'd eat babies! I don't really care if kale cares whether I eat it, so long as it does what it does when it's in ma belly." He pats his stomach for emphasis. "And speaking of bellies, how are you eating these--"
"Fine." I say, and change the subject.
*******************
Solomon isn't even vegan (he's ovo-lacto-pescatarian) but at this point I'm just asking everyone I know.
"Why would it change anything?" He squints at me skeptically. "We've *always* known suffering is part of nature. You know what isn't part of nature? US. WE'RE the ones destroying this planet with CAFOs and carbon emissions and overgrazing and habitat destruction, and WE'RE the ones with the responsibility to clean it up! If anything, the plants are the LUCKY ones! They have to live in this shitty world too, but at least they're not RESPONSIBLE for it! Why right now, in Paris--"
"Fine," I say (I know it doesn't make any sense but at this point it's a reflex) and change the subject.
*******************
I'm not an ethical vegan. I didn't become vegan for health or environmental or religious or economic or culinary reasons, either. And I'm not fine.
Let me tell you a story: when I was younger, I started torrenting tv shows and games on my laptop. I downloaded a lot of them. I started worrying that it would run out of power or get disconnected, so I kept checking up on it between classes. I hooked it up to an external battery so it would keep downloading if the power went out but the internet stayed on for some reason.
Sometimes there wasn't anything I wanted to torrent but I would download things anyway because it felt like a waste to have an internet connection but not be torrenting.
When I tried to lose weight I went about it the same way. I curled and unfurled my fingers and toes in class so I would always be burning calories. I gave up all drinks that weren't water. I even gave up green tea, which literally *is* water. I kept being late to things because I would take a longer route to burn calories. I hit my target weight, went under it, and didn't stop dieting or curling and uncurling my toes because it wasn't about the weight anymore. It was about the process. To ever be in a state of *not* losing weight seemed wasteful, seemed wrong.
Eventually I fainted in class and got diagnosed with an eating disorder. Then therapy, inner change, crying, recovery, blah blah blah who cares.
Veganism was my outlet. It's like a self harmed snapping a rubber band around their wrist or an ex-smoker chewing gum. I could obsess about tiny levels of fish sauce in my soup and not die, and only be thought slightly weird. And there was a community to support me in (some of) my obsession, so long as I mouthed the right things about animal suffering and didn't tell them too much about what I was actually doing.
I'm asking all the vegans (and vegetarians) I know about the Huang-Immelmann findings because I want to know what went wrong with the community. And I have to keep asking because no one will tell me, because nothing seems to be wrong.
But it's wrong for *me*. Ever since the findings came out I've been having a harder and harder time play-acting the ethical vegan. It may not have changed anything for actual ethical vegans, but it changed it for me. Now I feel like the real non-vegan I always was deep down.
And I've stopped drinking tea, and right now, at this moment, I'm curling and uncurling my toes.
|
The sound of a television drones on in an apartment on 15th floor. The last echoes of a news report can be heard, then the slam of the door of a refridgerator.
"**Oh God**," she screams,
"Ohmygod. What the *fuck* have I done?!"
A woman is sprawled on the floor of her kitchen, the tiles littered with shreds of green, and slices of red. A lonely bowl of salad sits on the counter.
The woman stands, and she looks over at the bowl.
"**I'M SORRY**," she sobs,
"I-I'm sorry, so stop looking at me like that."
The lonely greens can do little more than sit in the bowl.
"**Stop it.** *Please*."
The salad stands, and to the woman's better judgement, it speaks,
"You killed us. So many dead."
The woman cries out her pain as the salad continues,
"You thought you were saving the lives of useless animals. Animals that kill, all the same as you"
"You."
The salad steps forward, causing the woman to step back.
"Killed."
The salad continues, pushing the woman towards her window.
"Us."
At this point, the salad is inches from her face. She tries to push backwards, but she could find no floor to step onto. She takes her last chance at finding safety. She pushes the window open, and then she jumps. The pain and fear in her eyes faded as she closed them; the last glimpse she saw of the world was a lonely salad bowl on the counter.
| 2015-12-06T11:32:45 | 2015-12-06T11:06:53 | 114 | 14 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them
|
“I still remember the look on Ambassador Ford’s (Betelgeusean Republic’s representative to the former Galactic Councils 300 BT – 5 TA) face when I informed him we had declared war on the pathetic Humans of the Terran Federation. His blue blood drained from his face, leaving a dirty yellow visage which had previously shone a healthy green. The only thing he said was ‘What have you done?’ which I thought wwas just due to Betelgeusean fondness for the cowardly pacifistic species. If only we had known the truth…” – Gragtun’iik’iill, Former Krillnean Ambassador to the Galactic Councils 89 BT – 7 BT
Warfare has changed very little since the first slightly complex multicellular organisms began banding together to fight one another over limited resources. The equation generally comes down to who can out produce the other in manpower, supplies, or weapons. For as terrifying and powerful a new weapon system may be, it can still be outclassed by sheer volume.
At the dawn of the Terran Alliance, a heavily modified version of this calculation was in use to determine the general effectiveness of galactic empires. The weapon system of the day, as for most navies throughout history, was the battleship. Advanced civilizations, such as The Betelgeusean Republic, were capable of building, crewing, and launching these behemoths in only 50 cycles.
In 10 BT the rising Krillnean Empire felt that their armada, while small on the galactic scale, would be well equipped to destroy the peace loving, ever negotiating, Terran Federation. Afterall Terra had only 20 battleships in service, and had not completed a new such vessel in over 150 cycles. Krillnea was able to produce a vessel in as few as 80 cycles, and had a standing navy of over 500 ships.
Additionally, due to the sensitive and specialized nature of the systems on board a starship, let alone a warship, a certain level of training and experience was required. This training and practical experience was extremely costly, and could take dozens of cycles for a Human to acquire, but for the long-lived children of the Krillnean Hives, born to carry out specific tasks, it was simple. The game of numbers, it seemed, was decided.
As war commenced, the humans fought bravely to defend their colonies, but the numbers were against them. The Terran Fleet was destroyed in combat around Proxima Centauri, and colonies fell one after another. The Krillnean Armada advanced methodically, but sustained a far higher rate of losses than initially expected, which while concerning, was overshadowed by the rapid advance to the Human’s home system of Sol.
The Battle of Sol (7 BT) was a turning point in the evolution of warfare. Standard practice had been to harvest asteroid, moons, rocky planetoids, and anything available for raw materials to process into Space Ship components. This took time, capital, and abundant resources. With the main Terran shipyards destroyed, and with access to her colonies cut off, the Terran Federation appeared to be teetering on extinction.
What the Krillnean armada encountered upon entering the Sol system was not a scrambling mass of scared civilians, but a star system that had been entirely strip mined, and a brand new, incredibly massive fleet of “Warships” waiting for them.
The Sol system had always been considered somewhat of an anomaly. It had not one but two asteroid belts surrounding it, one of which harbored several larger planetoids. While these raw materials would have been a boon to most industries, the density of the belts in Sol made harvesting these resources a very laborious and risky endeavor. Even then, those resources would need to be refined methodically, and carefully to ensure no errant debris might strike a vessel or colony, and standard practice was to dump the empty husks of these asteroids into the nearest star, where it may safely be consumed.
The Terran Federation had several larger asteroids in stable orbits near their home planet of Earth, most were completely devoid of usable material and were merely awaiting their turn to be sent sunward. For Humanity they became salvation.
Instead of building a warship from scratch, Terran engineers crawled over these husks, fitting them with reactors, weapons systems, thrusters, and crude life support systems. When manpower turned out to be lacking, regular civilians pitched in to help, many of them having never performed a spacewalk or heavy construction previously. In total, over 600 such “vessels” were created over the span of a single cycle. Numerous other smaller asteroids were converted into unguided missiles, whose mass proved so effective at defeating point defense and shield systems that they are still in use today.
The Krillnean armada of 573 ships and 6-8 million souls was entirely obliterated. While not particularly agile or comfortable, the extremely basic nature of the human warships allowed them to survive attacks from the latest weapons systems, usually with little to no adverse effects. In fact, during the Battle of Sol, the total Terran losses were 237,000 personnel across 7 ships destroyed, and 13 damaged.
The Battle of Sol set the stage for the fall of the Galactic Council. As the Terran Federation reestablished control of her colonies and continued the fight towards the Krillnean home worlds, they continued to refine, improve, and produce their new class of vessels. Long since superseded by newer classes of warship, the Nemesis class battleships are still the most decorated vessels in the history of the Terran Alliance.
The Nemesis, first of her class, is still in use today and has the honor of being not only the ship which fired the first shot at the Battle of Sol, but also the vessel which destroyed the last enemy ship during the War of Unification between the Terran Federation and the Galactic Councils.
|
"One Earthling, diplomat. How can you justify this madness on account of one sole Earthling?"
The human stretched its angular limbs and considered the battlefield. Outside the star vessel lay our fleet. In ruins. I could see soldiers floating in the void of space, frozen solid as rock, all with the same expression on their faces: pure horror.
"Don't say we didn't warn you, Xehemultran."
Humans had domesticated themselves, turned themselves into pets; it was common knowledge. That was why they did not want to participate in galactic conflicts, that was why they were considered the ultimate neutral species. Diplomacy and trifles, words and empty gestures. Everyone knew humans did not fight. So how could this have happened?
"This is sheer insanity. You have murdered billions. You have eradicated entire civilizations."
"Yup." The human fidgeted with a finger inside its mouth, cleaning out some gunk.
"All of this for Bella? Do you consider this destruction to be worth it?"
"Oh, absolutely."
I shook my heads. "She was not even a *human*."
"Correct," said the Earthling. He pointed his weapon at me. "She was a *cat*." Expressionless, the human pulled the trigger.
| 2022-08-05T12:56:31 | 2022-08-05T12:27:50 | 613 | 457 |
[WP] Your kingdom has signed a treaty with the Demon King. Among the Demon King's demands was the human king's 1st born son. After being collected by the demons and struggling with your fate as an offering, you begin to realize that you were demanded because the Demon Princess has a crush on you.
|
The day Peter had been born, and every year on the same day hereafter, his father the King had told him that he was destined for many great things.
Being married off to a demon horde king's hellspawn was not exactly what Peter had in mind when his father told him those words.
But Peter understood duty and sacrifice. As a future king, he would ever need to devote himself to his kingdom and his people, placing himself second. This was just another part of that duty. A simple task to be fulfilled: sign the contract, marry the Demon King's daughter, and then... well, die, most likely. Horribly and painfully. Possibly eaten alive. He'd heard tales spoken by old nursemaids and knight's wives around the hearth: tales of demons that stripped flesh from bone, that feasted on the young and devoured babes right in their cradles. As a young man, he was certainly strong and knew his way around a lance, but even the smallest of demons were dangerous beyond measure. And this was to be a "peaceful" marriage. To try and slaughter his bride, even in self defense, would shatter that peace instantly.
His life in exchange for the lives of his citizens. He could do that. And he bore not a hint of resentment. Not one ounce. Not at all. It wasn't like he had studied law for years, or that he'd memorized every noble lord's name for future alliances, or meticulously took notes on the production of grain in the kingdom's poorer provinces. No, all of that work wasted so he'd be eaten whole by some demon? That was just *fine.*
The day of his sham of a wedding came far too quickly, and after his manservants had stuffed him into a painfully starched suit, he was trotted out to meet his executioner. Ahem, excuse him, *wife.* When the flaming horses descended, he didn't bat an eye. When the demon king himself stepped from the carriage constructed from bone, ten feet tall and burning skin with horns that glowed like embers, he hardly flinched.
But he did flinch when he heard the most inhuman, loud, *girlish* squeal from the inside of said carriage.
"Oh, Daddy! He's absolutely *adorable!"*
Adorable?
Peter stared blankly as his bride emerged from the bony structure: seven feet tall, skin that cracked and glowed like lava, blue flames flaring from her eyes as she let out another squeal of delight. "Look at his little plump cheeks! And his curly hair! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy!"
"Anything for my little princess," the demon king said proudly, ruffling her ebon hair with a clawed hand. "I told you I know how to pick 'em."
This was not exactly what Peter had expected, and he self consciously rubbed at his face. His cheeks weren't *that* plump, were they? But perhaps that was what the princess was looking for: a plump man to gorge on for tonight's wedding feast. Gods, he really was going to be eaten!
The paper work was signed, which was all that was technically needed for this marriage: no priest would come within a mile of such an unholy union, and frankly Peter didn't blame them. And so, bidding goodbye to his father, he took a deep breath and stepped in the carriage, where he would ride towards his impending doom. Settling down on the cushions, he stared at his bride, who was... blushing? The way the lava glowed through her cheeks made it look that way, at least. And she kept staring at him, tapping her fingers together in an excited rhythm.
"What?" he finally snapped, folding his arms over his too starched suit. "Thinking about how you'll season me?"
She cocked her head. "Season?"
"Or how you'll roast me? I bet I'll taste fantastic after a few hours in a rotisserie. Or are you just going to swallow me up raw?"
"Raw? Rotisserie? I don't think I've heard those terms used that way before..."
"So you are going to eat me!" he shouted.
Her eyes widened, sapphire flames glowing bright. "Eat you? That seems rather soon, doesn't it? I mean, you're gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but we've only just met. Daddy said we should take some time to get to know each other before we start going all the way, you know?"
He didn't. "I... what?"
She giggled, raising a hand to her lips. "My, my. And I thought us demons were the sinful ones. But it seems you just want to jump right into it. Sorry, but no thanks."
No... No thanks? "You... don't want to eat me?"
"I mean, not right now. We're in a carriage, for goodness sakes! Don't you think it would be awkward if one of the footmen came in and we were... you know?" She giggled. "The absolute scandal! Not to mention how uncomfortable it would be. I'm not exactly a contortionist, you know."
Something wasn't clicking. "But... But you're a demon. You tear flesh straight off the bone and devour babies in their cradles."
The princess's molten lips made a round O. Then she laughed - a sound that Peter did not expect to be so... human. It wasn't a horrible sound either, though she did snort a bit. "Oh!" she howled, her laughter devolving into cackling; sweat beaded on his forehead, and not from the heat radiating from her body. "Oh! Oh, that's just too good! What, did an old maid tell you that? That we actually *eat* people!" A furious burst of giggles erupted from her mouth. "Oh, no, no, no. We haven't done that since the last famine. There's hardly any meat on you."
For a long moment, Peter gaped at her, unable to believe what he was saying. "Then, tonight... I'm going to live?"
"Of course you are! And you'll live the next night, and the night after that, as long as you want! Being a demon has wonderful perks." She smiled sweetly, patting his knee. "Trust me, sweetie. I'll take good care of you. I promise."
"Oh." He flushed. "Thank you. And, er... Sorry about the misunderstanding."
"No problem; you're too cute to get angry at." Her smile twisted into something far more devious as she winked at him. "And if you're really so insistent on it, I might be persuaded to devour you one of these days."
When he flushed brighter than her molten skin, the whole carriage pealed with laughter.
|
The treaty had what you would expect, the sharing of resources, knowledge, and military against greater threats.
As well as things to equalize the losses of both sides but then came the one demand that was confusing they wanted to have the first prince as what they claimed to be “insurance” but everyone wondered why they wanted the black sheep of the family instead of a more respectable one. This brings us to today the first in person negotiations, both the kings coming together to further talk about the treaty.
Devin Stern the king of humans and Destro Retnot Yopiloom (or des for short) the king of demons having talked about most terms of the contract and come to the one that confused Devin the most “we will take the first prince as insurance” as he could see no real reason they would want the first prince because while he was strong he was very chaotic and a troublemaker who had already given up the throne to his younger sister.
Devon asks Des in a curious tone “and about the first prince are you sure you want him instead of the 2nd or 3rd prince? As you know he is hard to predict least of all control”
Des then says on a little tired tone “well I guess I’ll have to tell you the truth...” he stops with a sigh. “You see my daughter met fell in love with him, as you know she can see auras and something about his aura attracted her to him and as she learned more she fell in love, and as I was writing up the treaty she made me demand *cough* ask for the first prince so she could get him to fall in love with her”
Devin then says “oh thats going to be a problem upon hearing of the demand the first Prince Elarte disguised himself and went to the adventurers guild to find an adventure.”
Des then laughs “well that won’t be a problem we can just remove the demand, the princess already predicted that and went to the adventurers guild and disguised herself so she could join the same adventure party as him”
Devin then looks happier “Well then let’s hope for her success I mean I’ve have been hoping Elarte would find a wife soon”
| 2020-11-09T23:08:58 | 2020-11-09T21:06:01 | 278 | 30 |
[WP] “I bet my soul,” you say confidently. “If you win, you take my soul. If I win, you give me something just as valuable.” You go on to win the bet, only to be granted a single $1 bill.
|
“W-what?” I asked, flabbergasted. I held up the crisp one dollar bill. Flipped it back and forth a few times to see if I was reading it wrong. I wasn’t. My soul was worth a buck. When I looked back at the Devil, he smiled cynically. I was confused, understandably, but more so, I was down right pissed.
“Surprised are we?” He spoke with a slow, southern drawl. His words were rife with charm. Dressed in a burgundy suit with a pinstripe tie, he damn near embodied the sentiment. “You shouldn’t be. It’s all there, as I promised.”
“Like hell I shouldn’t!” I said. We had just gambled for my soul, a game of his choosing and I came out on top. But my reward in this high stakes bet was more than lacking, it down right insulting.
“Now, now, don’t speak of my home in vain. That’s not very nice.” He was tickled by all of this. His devilish grin said as much. “And, as I said, there’s no mistake. That is exactly as much as your soul is worth.”
That stung harder than a slap on the face. It didn’t make sense. I started thinking about all I’d done in my life. How could I possibly be worth so little? I did good by society standards, didn’t I? I donated to various organizations, had volunteered at local shelters many a times, supported my friends and colleagues and maintained healthy relationships, and most importantly, I took care of my family as best I could. What more could I do? Why hadn’t that been enough?
The devil in burgundy placed a firm hand on my shoulder. The way he looked at me—so knowingly—it was as if he was reading my mind. He gave a little tut of his tongue, shaking his head ever so slightly.
“Is it-“ I was searching for an answer. “Is it because I’m atheist? Is that why my soul is worth so little to you?” It had to be that. Because of my lack of faith, the devil probably deemed my soul unworthy. I felt heat rise in my chest. My teeth gnashing in angst. It was all so... unfair.
But that only made the devil laugh.
“Because you’re an atheist?” He repeated with a mocking bite. “Heavens, no! Don’t kid yourself, I couldn’t care less about that. I mean really, have you forgotten who you’re dealing with?” He started laughing. “Atheism... as if that had anything to do with it.”
“But- then why? I don’t get it! H-haven’t I done good in this life? Don’t you like, you know- view my history and judge me by my actions?” I didn’t actually know, I just assumed that he knew everything there was to know about me.
The devil nodded. “Indeed, that’s how it works. Just like the big guy,” he pointed above. “I too get to peer inside your soul and weigh your worth. After all, that’s how I determine how much to spend in this game of mine.”
The more of an explanation he gave, the angrier I became. He was toying with me, plain and simple. The devil was trying to mess with my head. There was no doubt about it.
“I should have known better. Of course you’d screw with me.” So affronted, I didn’t stop to think about what I was saying. I let the words in my heart fly right out. “That’s what you do. You’re a low-down, dirty, little snake who cheats peo-“
Before I could finish, the playful smile on his handsome face disappeared. He looked at me with an ugly twist forming at his lips. The devil held up one finger and immediately I could feel my throat closing. I couldn’t speak, I could hardly breath. He *had* me.
“You will rethink your words, *boy*.” He said with an air of authority. ”Slander me at your own peril.” With that warning, he dropped his finger releasing me from his vice-like grip. I began coughing like a mad-man.
Once I calmed, he spoke. “You may go. You’ve won your prize, now be out of my sight.” There was no mirth left in him, only business now.
I should have listened. Should have taken what I had and gone. But the question still nagged me. Why was I worth so little?
“Please,” I said. “Please tell me. Why only a dollar? I don’t even care about the money, I don’t need more of it. I just want to understand. Why am I worth next to nothing to you?”
He studied me with his voluminous, red orbs. It was like staring into twin blood moons. They were haunting, bewitchingly so. When he said nothing, his features staying neutral, I thought I had offended him again. I braced myself for the worst. The devil only sighed.
“You really wish to know?” He asked, pityingly.
I nodded.
“Very well. Remember, you asked.”
*What was that supposed to mean*?
He straightened his jacket. “Yes, I’ve peered into your soul. I’ve seen the color of it. I know it’s shape, I know it’s smell.” He drew in closer, circled me the way a panther would size up it’s prey. I could feel his breath on my skin, smell the scent of his cologne. He smelled like brimstone with a hint of cinnamon. “You could point out to any single instance of good or bad that you’ve done and I would know of it. Because you allowed me to see it. You bared your soul to me the moment you agreed to play my game.”
“So why? You know the good that I’ve done. I’m not perfect, I know that. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve *sinned*, sure. But even still, doesn’t the good outweigh the bad?” It was all so maddening not knowing.
He stopped an inch away from my face, his nose practically touching mine. A heavy silence held between for such a long moment that I almost forgot to breath. Was he about to dismiss my claim? Judge me otherwise? In that brief moment, I reflected on any possible mistake I might have made and wondered if I valued myself incorrectly.
Finally, he pulled back a little. “Yes. You have done more good than you have bad. Not by a large margin, but enough to be noted. No lives taken. No adultery. You’re one of the better ones. *Congratulations*.” And there it was, that wolffish grin that vexed me so.
I was good! By god, I was good! That made me feel so relieved. Happy even. So why? Why did I feel so unsatisfied?
“I- I don’t get it.” I couldn’t help myself from saying. “In your eyes I’m good and yet I amount to this.” I held up the dollar bill. “Why?”
The devil sighed. “You really don’t know why your soul is worth so little? Fine, I’ll tell you.”
“You we’re willing to play a game with me, the devil himself, knowing full well that you were wagering your very soul, yes? Taking it further, you played not because you needed the money, but simply because you thought you could win. You were so confident, remember? So calm and collected. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” I said sheepishly.
“Then there you go. You have your answer.” He said with finality. “You gambled with your soul for a prize you did not need. “
“It is not I who valued your soul for so little. You’ve done that to yourself. You wagered something so important for something inconsequential. You did that because your soul is worth so little to you.” The devil shook his head in disappointment.
“And so by extension,” he waived a hand dismissively. “It means so, *so* very little to me.”
He started walking away, melding into the night as he returned from whence he came while I stood there, holding a single dollar bill in my hand.
___
Thanks for reading!
r/86Fiction
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"HA, ignorant human you gamble with the currency of Gods. Are you sure this is wise?" Said the being made confusingly of both light and darkness. "First of all my name is Mike not human and what the hell has my soul done for me anyways?" Said Mike. "Since your mind has not broken at my mere presence i shall grant your request and refer to you as Mike. As for your soul, it has done far more than you can imagine. Even the most basic of souls are complex beyond mortal understanding, but in short souls make life possible without one you die." Replied the being. "If my soul is so amazing why is my life so shit? Just flip the damn coin already. If i win im rich and if i lose i suppose i die which doesnt sound so bad." Said Mike. "Hmm interesting." mused the being before stating. "As you wish Mike, call it in the air." "Heads shouted Mike."
Mike woke abruptly as his alarm started blaring. Damn that was one hell of a dream thought Mike. As he was getting out of bed a voice sounded in his head. "Congratulations Mike, heads was correct here is your prize. The frames a bonus for making the ultimate gamble as a mortal and cheer up Mike few mortals gamble with the Gods and win." A 1 dollar bill appeared in a picture frame mounted on the wall in front of Mikes bed. After getting over the shock of magically appearing objects Mike grew angry. "1 MEASLY FUCKING DOLLAR AND A LECTURE ON MY ATTITUDE TO BOOT!" Shouted Mike. "Ugghh what else is new my whole life has been a disapointment why should this surprise me."
Mike moved on with his depressing life and for the most part forgot about his gamble. He never got rid of the dollar bill though, somthing he couldnt explain compelled him to keep it. His life was rather uneventfull since his relentlessly mundane attitude prevented him from seeing what life had to offer. He failed to take the risks necessary to improve his life since he didnt see the point. He was offered a better job, but didnt want to go to the hassle of moving. His love life was nonexistant because women always hated his lack of ambition and self worth. It seemed to Mike that he would be forever depressed. He often thought that losing that bet would have been better. Things finally began to change when he met Sarah.
Mike was 65 when he met Sarah and life was finally starting to matter. After meeting Sarah Mike finally felt like he had a purpose. Sunlight had finally returned to the world. He had only known her for one week and she had made him try new things and escape his comfort zone. Unlike him she didnt have to struggle to be happy, she simply was and he loved that about her. One day while watching Sarah play with her grandchildren Mike decided he would marry her. She made him realize just how much his risk free life made miss out on. He refused to let her slip away aswell. Just as he was about to ask her to marry him a pain shot through his left arm and he collapsed on the carpet. The last thing he heard was Sarah's scream.
Mike woke abruptly as his alarm started blaring. "SARAH" He shouted glancing around at the unfamiliar room. As he started realizing that he was in his old bedroom his eyes locked on the frame on the wall in front of him. The 1 dollar bill was slowly disappearing before his eyes. The moment the bill was gone he heard a distant, but powerful voice. "THE DEBT IS PAYED THE DEAL IS COMPLETE. A SECOND CHANCE IS GRANTED, DON'T WASTE IT MIKE."
| 2020-02-05T14:45:25 | 2020-02-05T14:32:52 | 60 | 19 |
[WP] A man find the Gates Of Heaven, after opening it the only thing he find is a white room with a dead man sitting in a chair.
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"This is it?!" Michael screamed as he fell to his knees, clutching his head. "This is my reward?!" He began sobbing while a stream of frantic thoughts darted through his mind. Thoughts of his family, church, childhood pets, and gold paved streets. Michael broke his sobbing for a moment to look up at the bearded corpse sitting in the center of this stark white room. He was sitting on an old wooden rocking chair, tarnishing the otherwise sterile environment. Michael stared at the floor again. What was there to do?
Unable to pull himself to his feet, he began to crawl towards the rocking chair. "God?" his voice quivered pathetically. "God, are you there? What... what am I supposed to do?" Michael neared the dusty skeleton and reached out with one hand. "God.... please! Why am I here?!" The tears began to stream down his red, puffy face and he grabbed the hand of the skeleton. It immediately fell to pieces, hitting the floor. "No! No, no, no!" This couldn't be happening. He stared at the residue of dust on his hand left behind by grabbing the corpse. Nothing during his time on Earth prepared him for this. Michael sat down and put his face in his hands and feeling defeated. Again, the tears flowed down his cheeks and over his fingers. He moved himself into a fetal position and cried himself to sleep.
Michael was unsure of how many hours he had slept. But, he woke to the same room with the same skeleton in the same chair, shattered hand still on the floor. He didn't move for a long time. His thoughts were less frantic and he was thinking more clearly. He thought about his family and his situation. He thought of all of his options. What could he do? He decided that waiting was the only thing he could do. The thought of uncertainty brought back a feeling or terror and he began to sob. Eventually he fell back asleep at the skeleton's feet.
The cycle of waking and sleeping had passed two times before Michael began to use his belt buckle to mark niches in the white floor. Any time he woke, he made another mark. It was the best he could do to keep time in the white room. As he began to grow a beard, he took to conversing with the skeleton. He'd talk about his wife and kids with a longing heart, he asked and screamed through tears for answers, he even broke down and confessed all of his sins to the skeleton. Still, he was left to wait, alone and unsure. He began examining the bright white walls closely as he inched his way around the room. He never found a thing. There wasn't an imperfection or a seam. How was that possible?
More sleep cycles passed. No longer sure if the skeleton was God, he moved it to a corner to give himself a place to sit. It was quite a relief to be able to sit in a chair. He took to sleeping in the chair and it was much more comfortable than the cold, unforgiving floor. When he woke, he would spend the day looking over the walls. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he didn't know how else to spend his time. Other days, he'd scream into the white ceiling, asking for help or guidance. But his days would always end the same way: in the chair.
Some days, he'd only move from the chair to mark another niche in the floor. Sometimes he couldn't remember if he'd made a mark for the day or not. That was a little disconcerting to Michael but he was accepting his lonely fate more every day. He was losing this battle physically and emotionally. Often, Michael would wake up in the chair feeling too exhausted to move. He would stare down his arms, midsection, and legs. He was becoming thin and his joints were looking knobby. Unimpressed and too tired to dwell on it, Michael fell asleep in his chair.
More time passed as Michael sat in the chair wasting away. He ran his boney fingers through his hair and took note of how long it was. He braced his thin arms on the arms of the rocking chair and pushed himself up on to his shaky legs. He slowly walked towards the wall and lightly placed his fingertips to the wall. He followed the wall, running his hands along it feeling for seams. Michael must have done this dozens of times and he wasn't sure why he was doing it now. After completely circling the room, he walked back to the chair and collapsed in it.
Michael fell asleep with his head hanging over his chest. When he woke, he didn't move. Instead, he stared at the beard that rested on his tummy. It was becoming grey. He moved his eyes to his hands. They were still knobby and they were beginning to look old. His skin was losing color and he thought about how it looked grey as his hair. He lifted his tired head towards the corner in which he placed the skeleton many sleeps ago. "Wh... Where did God go?" He lifted a shaky, emaciated hand to his lips. The skeleton was gone. In fact, there was no evidence that it was ever there. The floor where it was placed was as clean and white as the rest of the room. "Where did GOD GO!" He said louder. "WHERE DID GOD GO!" He took a few deep breaths but was too exhausted to yell again. He looked down at his arms, knees, beard, fingers, and sunken chest. He was becoming skeletal. Michael closed his eyes in thought. He knew what was happening and he didn't have the will power or energy to fight it. A couple of tears fell from his old, grey eyes. This was his fate.
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After throwing myself in front of a car, I was taken into the light. I felt stuffed with fluff, monochrome contents drowning me out as I faded, like the light was a mechanical claw.
There it was, the door with God behind it. It was red and wood with brass handles. A check off Christianity – suicide didn’t damn me. I felt like I was floating, but my feet were firmly planted onto the void below, like walking on top an overcast sky, an endless cloud.
When I opened the door, the answer to everything had revealed itself.
The chair was red. The void was white.
The answer was simple. The rope hung from infinity above, it’s material like soft fluff, like a sheet. Almighty was naked and pale and cold, hands like mechanical claws.
The answer is God is dead. And I floated back where I came, to an endless, nothing-cloud.
| 2014-10-29T18:30:09 | 2014-10-29T15:49:18 | 35 | 13 |
[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...
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I glanced nervously at my watch, still holding a wry smile. *12:01*.
My mom gave me a reassuring nod, but her brow furrowed in the same way as it does when I suit up for football. Hopeful. Excited. Definitely nervous. *12:02*.
Dad makes a nervous laugh. “Jim, you remember how much I was sweating at my Calling Day?” He elbows my uncle, who returns with the same nervous laugh. *12:03*.
I rub my arm frantically, trying to disguise the welling up in my throat, the cold prickling on my scalp. I pretend no one can hear the jackhammer playing in my chest. *12:04*.
Relief starts to sweep over me when I see a change on my forearm. Then dread. A bird flew by the window. My hopes were really shadows. That made it all worse. I was doomed. Hands down, worst day of my life. *12:05*.
I stared silently for the next half hour, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. Mom started to pass around refreshments to break the tension. It was well-meant, I suppose. A handful of friends tried to encourage me as they left the party, usually laying a hand on my shoulder as if that would make it better, as if that bridged the gap between the outcast and the Called. My eyes could not help but stray to their arms as they came by. Chef, Diplomat, Plumber, Accountant, Soldier, Engineer, Mechanic. Each future bright and open. Mine was blank. I’d give a perfunctory nod, unsmiling, still staring forward. They would leave.
I heard dad get into a heated conversation with our family doctor an hour or two later. Something, something pituitary gland… something, something never happened before… it didn’t matter to me. Maybe it gave him some comfort to know that science had zero answers for me tonight and he, Mechanic, a classic fixer, couldn’t do any more.
Mom brought dinner, trying to get me to eat. She’s always been really thoughtful like that, but I wasn’t hungry. At least, hunger or fullness didn’t matter to me right now. I was purposeless. Later she brought cookies. As a Baker, it was the best offering she could bring. I knew they were amazing. I almost smiled. But I shook my head and stared.
At some point, I realized it was dark, so I found my bed and slept.
Mom called me in sick to school the next day. I didn’t leave the bed.
The day after was a Saturday. It was also the first day I cried, and the first day I spoke.
“Why? If there’s a God or a benevolent universe, why the hell me? I did my time! I was a good kid. I worked hard at school. So, why? Give me one good reason why I don’t get a purpose! This is humiliating!”
The universe remained silent. To be fair, we’ve never exactly been on speaking terms anyway.
I went to school the next week, forearm bandaged in shame. It probably drew as many eyes as my naked skin would have, and just as many whispers.
In fifth period, Mr. Hardiman walked up calmly during lab and asked how I was doing. He had Chemist written on his right arm, the word now faded with time.
“Oh, you know, just adjusting to being a social outcast.”
“Really, is that what you have written under there were you won’t show anyone?”
“You haven’t heard?” I couldn’t tell if he was being naïve or sarcastic, but his tone suggested the latter. “You must be the only one.”
He looked thoughtfully at me for a moment, then grinned and took off his glasses to polish them, which was usually a sign that he was trying to be especially serious. “You know, when I had my Calling day, I was secretly hoping to see ‘Traveler’ pop up, but I got this instead. It was fine, I loved the sciences and it was no letdown to work in them, but part of me did regret not pursuing those mountains and deserts and far reaches of the world I kept reading about. I’ve made it as far as Mt. Holyoak for a ski trip since, but that’s about it.” The glasses returned to their perch. “Do you mind taking off the bandage so I could see?”
I was reluctant. No, I was terrified. But his tone was sincere, and I trusted him. The white guaze fell to the floor.
Mr. Hardiman beamed warmly. “Blank slate. Must be nice.” And he walked away.
Silence. I did not notice until then that the entire class was holding its breath. Then I noticed I was holding my own.
I was a blank slate, an unwritten page, a road untraveled. I was free and could do anything I wanted. So I stood up, smiled, and walked out the door.
“I make my own destiny.”
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*11:59 PM*
My family gathered around me, silently waiting. We were all eagerly anticipating the Choosing, a lame name for a cool time.
*12:00 PM*
My mother smiled at me. She grabbed my arm and looked as the word as it appeared.
"What is it?" a chorus of family members asked.
She frowned. I took my arm back and took one hard look.
**Nudist.**
| 2017-03-16T03:45:52 | 2017-03-16T02:03:50 | 188 | 71 |
[WP] Everyone has powers. You have the power to heal. Everyone expects you to be a great sidekick, or an excellent doctor, but you are a horrible, sinister villain.
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They called me to Room 308. It was close to closing time, but frankly I didn't mind. I just needed to do my job, and I *love* doing my job. I get to help people.
I hopped onto the elevator, half-eaten honey bun sticking out of my mouth. Room 308 was underground, approximately six miles beneath the main hospital. Going past the three different security checkpoints, moving the table that hovered over the secret entrance in the lunch room, remembering all twenty-three different passwords required to get the elevator to move was a real pain in the ass. Even so, I couldn't contain my excitement. Someone *really* important had to have been waiting for me. My boss doesn't like operate this close to closing, so the exception to person made had have been exceptional.
When I finally opened the door to 308, I saw the familiar faces: Scalpel Sam, Anesthesia Anand, IV Irving, Postmorty, and my boss, Daniel. The room was lit only by the leftover light that shone through from the operating room to the observatory, but it was more than enough to make out whose face was whose.
Daniel gestured me toward the operating room door. Whoever was in there, he made it clear that he wanted this done ASAP. I was happy to oblige.
I approached the operating table and there, I saw him. Centsational, the renowned superhero. I glanced up at the Observatory window, the surprise on my face clear. Daniel shrugged, as if getting the patient in front of me wasn't a big deal. The smile on his face told me that he knew he wasn't giving me more work to do. He knew that he had given me a gift instead.
Excitedly, I approached the operating table, prepping myself for the procedure. Centsational, battered and bruised, peered at me from the side of his eye. At least, I think he did. That knot on his eyebrow made it hard to tell.
"Hello there, Mr. Centsational," I said, hastily scarfing down the last of my honey bun and putting on my gloves. "I'll be your doctor for today."
Centsational, as I approached, began to squirm in his restraints. Something told me that he knew who I was, which wasn't surprising. He *was* Centsational, after all - America's lovable money-smart coin-manipulating superhero who took down Cache22 during the Fort Knox robbery. A high-profile hero like him had to have access to the top secret files on my team and I.
"I can tell that you're suffering, Mr. Centsational. See, with my years of experience, I can tell that you're sick. I can tell that sickness has already spread to your brain. Rest assured, I can fix that."
As I put on my mask, I could feel the change in my pocket begin to rumble. He was trying desperately to do something, *anything* to free himself. But it was in vain, and I think he knew it. Tears began to stream from his eyes, both from frustration and sadness. My colleagues watched in amusement from above. They're a sadistic bunch.
"Don't worry, Mr. Centsational. I am a doctor. It is my job to heal people. To cure sickness and disease. And I intend to do that today."
I placed my hands on his chest, searching for the pressure points I needed. The rumbling in my pocket grew increasingly violent as my fingers searched and stopped at the correct places.
"You must be confused Mr. Centsational. Let me explain." I pushed my fingers down. "I know you don't *think* you're sick, but indeed you are. You, just like most others on this planet, have been infected with something...*sinister*. And this rumbling in my pocket, it's proof of it."
I pushed more firmly onto his chest. "It's these powers of yours, Mr. Centsational. They've infected your brain. They've made you think that you're something more than you are. That you were meant to *be* something. That you were ever anything other than the simple man that you are. But don't worry. Luckily for you, I have the power to heal you from this sickness. And that's exactly what I'm going to do."
The coins threatened to tear from my pocket, but Anand had done his job well. Centsational was too weak to cause anything more than what he was now. He was at my mercy, and he knew it.
"People tend not to agree with my diagnosis, but be at ease, Mr. Centsational. I'm sure that in due time, you'll come to realize that I made the correct decision. You'll realize that your life is much better without this pesky bug bothering you, and you'll thank me for curing you."
I closed my eyes, and let the purging take place. The rumbling in my pocket began to pacify, until it stopped entirely. He had been cured.
I looked up to my colleagues, where Daniel gave me a thumbs up. I returned the gesture. I looked down at the defeated man on my table, face wet with tears. I could see that sadness in him, as he came to the realization that his powers, along with his identity, had been taken away from him. I smiled enthusiatically.
I love my job.
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"Your cancer is curable," the reporter said. "So why do you want to be treated by Cadaceus?"
The tycoon steepled his fingers. Gold rings glisten off them. "The recovery time under normal surgery is in months. That would seriously disrupt our business operations. It's fair value for the price charged."
"But don't you feel that bidding for the limited available slots for a session with Cadaceus reduces the affordability for those who have untreatable illnesses?"
"In my view, this is a fair system. Cadaceus is entitled to charge for his time, like any other professional. A doctor or a lawyer charges for their time, right? And our firm is happy to sponsor charitable causes,
| 2020-09-17T23:15:43 | 2020-09-17T20:33:24 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Super heroes are assigned a handler to assist them with their duties. Handlers don't have powers, but assist the hero by gathering information about their opponents, provide tactical support, and more. If the hero turns evil, the handler is to kill the hero. You are a very skilled handler.
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They always forget.
The thing about being a superhero is that the fame goes to your head. Oh sure, you wake up floating a few inches above your bed one day or you drop a kitchen knife and it bounces off your suddenly impenetrable skin. From that point to registration usually takes a few days and those few days are confusing, scary, nervewracking.
But the Bureau always finds you. Given that they have an entire department of sensates dedicated to tracking down any newly awakened supers, there literally isn't a super on the planet who isn't registered. Even the people whose power is being undetectable to sensates think the Bureau won't notice the glaringly obvious blank spots in their scans. Nope. You go super, you join the Bureau. Simple as that.
I work in the Department of Superhero Security. No powers here. (For about five seconds last October, I thought I might be a telepath but it turns out she actually called me ugly out loud, I just couldn't see her face.) The official duty of Superhero Security is to ensure that supers have the resources they need to stay on the path of justice. We're the ones that set up the Power League and Magician Squad and Collective of Aerialists and all of those supergroups with their secret command centers and their cross-continental communication systems and all of that.
We also make sure that the supers have access to the latest intel on the emerging threats, terrestrial or otherwise. (Yes, after that nasty incident at the Great Wall of China last year, we're looking up as well as around.) We are the ones that make sure the aquatic supers have clearance for international waters. We are the ones that make sure the speedsters have ultraflex clothing. We anticipate their needs based on their powers, we partner them up according to whose strength compliments whose vulnerabilities, we know everything about them. We keep them in the hero business.
Supervillains happen when handlers don't do their job right. In more than two decades, I've never had a supervillain make it out of my case load.
I've handled, oh, a good forty or fifty supers in my 23 years at the bureau. Most new handlers get assigned one or two, but the senior staff usually manage an entire supergroup. I've got six folders on my desk right now. And this group is one of *those* super teams. The Champions of Courage. In years past, my job involved dealing with diplomatic immunity claims, top secret espionage, arranging dramatic team-ups at the last minute to defeat the latest global threat.
This week, I had to arrange security at the book tour for Mister Magnificent, I had to pay off The Silver Stunner's mistress to make sure his wife, Ariel Alert, didn't get word of his dalliances, and I had to reschedule The Cosmic Twins' appearance on late night TV three days in a row. The rise of social media made a whole crop of supers turn into these ego beasts. As long as they kept beating back the darkness in between sold-out speaking tours, it didn't really matter to us.
See, they always forget. The role of a superhero is to help people. To save the world. To make things better for all of us. You don't tour the Superhero Hall of History in Harrisburg and look at the holostatues of Red Roger who personally saved 5,412 orphans during his career or Miss Mystica who personally arranged the reforestation of the Amazon and think selfish.
But selfish isn't always where this ends. I watched the video my boss sent me 30 minutes ago and I'm now putting one of the folders back in my desk. Plaxis the Powerful, it would appear, has started taking on side contracts. I walk down the hall to the Detachment Depot and scan my retinas and handprint. The tiny prick of the DNA test always hurts but it helps prevent shapeshifters. The woman at the security counter waves her hand at my head. My brain fogs over and I say the codeword that was implanted there in the deepest recesses of my mind automatically. Another security measure, but telepaths, you know?
When I get my senses back and I walk through the sliding insanitanium doors (oh, you haven't heard of insanitanium? Yeah, we don't tell people about that alloy), I see a warehouse of shelves and cabinets stretching on into the dark. I head down to Aisle 41 and start looking for the drawer labeled SH-D031. That's the code ID for Plaxis. In the video, his massive metal hand crushed the head of a courier into a gooey mess. Provided that courier worked for Snake Malloy or The Unbeatable Obelisk or Sinister Sister Serena, it wouldn't matter. But that courier was delivering a shipment of the latest drug to hit the black market, a party drug called Splice.
I'd done a dossier on Splice. It was created from a shapeshifer's DNA and let you "merge" yourself with your preferred partner for a short time. Supposedly it makes the sex exponentially awesome, but about 10% of the time when you were coming off it, you didn't exactly stick the landing so to speak. I saw photos. Young man, panic in his eyes, with his leg placed perpendicularly *through* the stomach of his formerly alive girlfriend whose insides didn't cope well with their sudden rearrangement. It wasn't pretty.
Turns out, Plaxis decided a few weeks ago that he could make more money trafficking Splice than putting out another book like Mister Magnificent. And turns out, he didn't care that much for quality control. His Splice had a fatality rate around 30% and he kept selling it anyway. This latest batch would net him eight figures, easy. That plus the lease he just signed on a skyscraper in Hyper City with the particularly ominous architecture were the latest two points on a line with a predictable trajectory.
I open the drawer labeled SH-D031 and pull out a small black case emitting a faint purple glow around the edges. I close the drawer and walk back toward the front, registering the checkout with a clerk behind a desk shrouded in a shimmering forcefield. He points me toward a rack on the wall and I pull down a small, curved rifle. Odd shape but the technicists tell me the bullet it fires to your left will be in the target to your right before your finger has even let up the trigger.
I've got a meeting with Plaxis at the Citadel of Courage in thirty minutes. Mister Magnificent has already been apprised and would rather the news come out next week after his book tour is over. Silver and Ariel are in Bermuda on a couple's retreat. The Cosmic Twins have been sent to Andromeda, they usually need extra time to debrief and we're not going to have time this afternoon.
And I happen to know that none of Plaxis's enemies have figured out his mortal weakness to a certain chemical compound that a few of the speedsters throw off when they come down from top speed (that's why we never put a speedster on his team, after all), and that we've been able to synthesize that compound for a few years now.
I open the case and pull out the single, faintly purple glowing rifle round from inside it. I load the synthibullet into the chamber and place the rifle in my handler's bag then head toward the elevators. In 23 years, I've never let a supervillain come from my roster. See, they always forget. We know everything about them. *Everything.*
|
"Office hours have been moved from five to six on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I will be updating the online version of the syllabus to reflect that change. Otherwise, I would recommend you read through that document before asking any logistical questions about this course. Lectures are being recorded by my TA Steven - say hi, Steve - over there, so I and all students interested in the asynchronous versions of these lectures would greatly appreciate a lack of chatter in the back of the room. That goes for the two of you back there, knock it off."
I turn around, and pick up a large piece of chalk, and write in large, bold letters, 'PSYC 4990ST - Metahuman Handling,' a niche course meant for particular Masters students, that has nonetheless found a significant following among eager undergraduates. And doctoral students. And some other members of the faculty. Trading in the tailored jet-black suit for the tweed jacket had attracted more attention than I was used to, and I was only just starting to get into the swing of public speaking.
"So, can anybody here tell me what they think this class is about?"
A wave of eager, jutting hands goes up in the front of the room, thinning out towards the back, and I recall an overheard conversation about participation in lectures, or the lack thereof. I call on a bright-eyed young woman with two textbooks in front of her; straight black hair, recently laundered hoodie, to what degree does she-
"Metahuman handling concerns the practices involved with the research, support, and control of metahumans and their opponents."
A good answer, in all fairness. A slight increase in the pitch of her delivery meant that she was looking for affirmation, not to assert competence, and giving it to her would allow- *no, I have to stop, I'm just a teacher now.*
"Very good, young miss. But, I am looking for something a little bit less technical, does anybody else have an idea?"
*They're just students. Just teach.* Hands go back up, and I call on a slightly unkempt male student, who I imagined could be cleaned up well, if he cared.
"Is it like, uh, controlling people? Like, we want the good guys to beat the bad guys, and we want to help?"
A half-bad answer. Still, a half-good one too. I should look into his- *dammit, no, stop.*
"Very good, young man. But, to get to the point; metahuman handling is really about understanding your charges, that's why we have it in the psych department. What makes people tick? What are their strengths, their weaknesses? How can they be exploited? Empowered? Or, if need be, neutralized?"
Eyes among the crowd slowly go distant, as one by one, the students understand what I mean.
| 2021-02-08T08:03:50 | 2021-02-08T07:56:41 | 2,182 | 241 |
[WP] Your Uber passenger was a little odd, but you still gave them the usual farewell: “If you enjoyed the ride, make sure you say thanks with five stars!” A few days later, you receive a nicely worded thank you letter in the mail along with a deed to the entire constellation of Cassiopeia.
|
Foreigners have a tough time with tips, so when they get off the plane you usually have to explain to them. I'd lay it out to them... I worked a bar at the LaGuardia airport... regardless of what you got for service you should tip. America sucks, it's how waiters and bartenders actually get paid.
Somehow it makes sense to give the customer a final say in how much they pay, like if you could tell your carpenter you were only going to pay for 3/4 of the cost for the deck because he had a bad attitude. Sometimes it evens out, some rich person throws down a hundred randomly or a former server turned something better remembers their roots. Most of the time it's crap.
Anyways, I get done with serving nervous people wrecked with anxiety so bad they need to be obliterated to fly and go to my second shift job. Driving Uber after a full bar really weighed down the bags under my eyes. Got done cleaning up and prepping for the next person and hopped in my Corolla.
First passenger going out of the airport nearly puked in my car. I shoved them out early. Gave me one star, I gave them one star. Still brought down my rating, I'd have to fight that one. No tip.
Second passenger was talkative, the type of person who thought everyone was a friend. She kept going on and I just agreed with her. 5 stars, 20% tip. Dropped them off at a club where she waved at some friends after getting out.
Third passenger paid for a trip down the street. I didn't get it, but whatever. Dude smelled like he didn't get out much, classic neck beard. Could've used the walk. 15% tip, but it was quick. 4 stars, like they thought three was average and four was stellar. I cursed and watched my score erode a little more.
Fourth... the fourth changed my life. It tripped me up because they didn't know exactly how to use the app. Must have fat fingered the phone or something, set the pick up point down the street. I had to circle around a couple of times before I saw them waving. Overall they were looking around like they were a fat slice of meat in a Serengeti full of lions.
I waved them on and they waved back, running to me... tripping a little. Skinny, lanky, and awkward it seemed they didn't know how to live in their own skin. They smiled, tried to smiled, made a good effort... then got it right after a moment or so. I told them to hop in and in the back seat they went. They were like a lost puppy and it couldn't be helped but to feel like they needed to be protected.
Anyways they had plotted out for the Guggenheim museum. It was 10 P.M... Regardless I started driving.
"Guggenheim... It is good... the best?" the passenger said.
Checking the phone on my dash, I saw their name was.... Kjarl...
"Oh yea, if you like art. The building was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. He made it upside down". Small talk, small talk.
"Oh Really?!" Kjarl sat up a bit in the back seat.
"You're going at an odd time though, it's been closed for about six hours. You might want to find something else to do and go tomorrow, check the hours."
For a moment Kjarl looked like he was trying to convert dollars to pesos with the time. It hit em' then came a slump.
"So I can not see... why can not I see the Guggenheim?"
"It's closed man, opens up tomorrow. Workers went home."
"Workers went home? Why do the workers need to be there? Is the art not on the walls still?"
"Yeah man, they have families and lives. They gotta go home sometime."
"Oh..."
We rode in silence for a moment. I just laid a nice hefty turd on Kjarl's plans. Definitely hated being the bearer of bad news. The ride was about forty minutes and we'd burned about 20 minutes.
Kjarl looked up after trying to poke at his phone a bit.
"So where to go... Where should I go instead?"
"I don't know, it's a bit late. Are you from around here? I'd meet up with a couple of friends and..."
"No friends, not from around here..." He interrupted me.
That caught me. It was quick. Kjarl was tugging on my heart strings. Also was confusing as hell, why was he here, what was his situation?
"What's your situation Kjarl?"
"In town to visit... see... New York."
Either I was dealing with a shitty Russian Spy that didn't have their backstory complete or Kjarl was completely clueless.
"Alright Kjarl... Let me throw you a bone. Turning off the Uber after we hit the Guggenheim and giving you a tour, if you let me. Just gotta throw the car into the garage and..."
"Alright!"
"Alright, putting the car in the garage and..."
I don't really remember a ton of the rest of the night after the garage and helping him work out the app on the phone. Gave him my whole tip schpeal, remember the one at the beginning of this story?
Anyways, we ended up hitting every little bar along the way. Somehow not a cent was paid on my part. At some point we were at a jazz club. At some point we were at a strip club. Kjarl was awkwardly having the time of his life.
It must have been four in the morning when we pulled out his phone and worked through the Uber app again. Somehow made it to my apartment, he had one last drink. Didn't even look drunk, like he wasn't even a regular human... totally undeterred by the alcohol.
That one last drink, I remember an awkward conversation about how he couldn't get the tip to work, we finagled a little bit more....
&#x200B;
And I wake up hungover with a shitload of chicken fingers over my naked chest and Kjarl is no where to be seen. I look over to my night stand and there's a glass of water. Plus some kind of pen thing. The water was gone within a moment.
The pen was unrecognized, so that was next. Click, and a hologram was projected... It was Kjarl's tip...
Coordinates... something in a foreign language... I spoke "what the fuck is this" and it must have guessed the language and reoriented it to english...
"DEED TO CASSIOPEIA:
HEREUNTO, ZACK S THOMPSON, CITIZEN OF EARTH, PROVINCE OF THE UNITED STATES, SUBDIVIZION OF NEW YORK IS GRANTED THE FIEFDOM OF THE GALAXIAL PROVINCES OF CASSIOPEIA AND ALL PROPERTIES HERUNTO BY BAR BAR BARBLAX, CROWN PRINCE OF THE ZERKOD EMPIRE.
PLEASE AWAIT FURTHER CONTACT TO ARRANGE TRANSPORT"
&#x200B;
Well, I'll be damned.
|
*Ay, qué bonita*, Claudia thought to herself as she traced the lovely, golden cursive. A letter, crisp and firm, elegantly written, thanking her for what she thought had been just another routine ride.
She remembered the man: tall, talkative, *pero como una cabra*, sharing such fantastical and outlandish tales about worlds far beyond her own. Even the card included one such whimsy: a deed, with her name written in that same golden cursive, proclaiming her the owner of the constellation of Cassiopeia.
Claudia looked up, hoping for a glimpse of the gift, but between the lights of the city and drifting clouds, the only visible twinkle was the faint blinking of a plane flying overhead. “Ain’t no Cassiopeia in Washington Heights,” she sighed softly, closing the letter. “At least, not tonight.”
Entering into her little apartment, Claudia draped her coat over a chair and placed the letter on the table. Just as she placed a kettle onto the stove, she heard a knock, insistent and curt with its rapping, on her door. She cautiously tipped the door open, but no one was there. Only a letter, similar to the first, perfectly placed in the middle of her doormat.
*A partial royalty, paid to the owner of Cassiopeia*, the letter proclaimed.
Claudia’s eyes widened in shock when she saw the number written on the check that was gently tucked into the letter. *Ay Dios mío*, she thought, fanning herself with the letter, in shock at the thought of one slip of paper holding more money than she had ever been able to save over more than half a century. *And this is only “partial”?* Claudia’s mind raced as she thought of the implications: no more driving, more time to spend with her loved ones, gifts to help her community…
***
The young man looked to the doctor and nodded, his eyes glimmering.
“Will she be in pain?” he asked. The doctor shook her head.
“We’ll make sure she’s as comfortable as possible,” the doctor replied.
The young man knelt down, tears streaming freely as the rhythmic beep of the monitor began to slow. “Te amo, Abuela,” he said, gently clasping one of her small, pale hands between his own.
“And Abuela,” the young man whispered in a shaky breath, “the stars are out tonight.”
| 2021-12-07T21:08:36 | 2021-12-07T21:05:34 | 140 | 57 |
[WP] Once a year, the best assassins meet in a secret location. Showing their best kills, everyone is surprised when they see a 70 year old man walk in.
|
The door clicked open, much to Rhonda's satisfaction. No matter how many years passed or how strongly time had stolen the deftness of her hands, a lock was a lock.
She was glad to be in from the cold. While a quiet, unassuming room by the docks was fitting, the sea spray and the chill wind coming over the water froze her tiny frame to the bone. But, now that she was in, she felt that old familiar rush, that spark of adrenaline that would course through her and be all the warmth she needed. It felt like decades since she'd experienced it. Perhaps it was.
A moment later, she was wishing that same rush would dull some of the pain from tripping down the short flight of stairs. Rhonda landed heavily on her hip, wincing, knowing she'll be paying for that with interest over the next several days. The room that was full of the sounds of good cheer and the clinking of glasses was abruptly replaced with a stunned silence.
Two rushed to her side, pushing through the tables and chairs that were in their way to reach her. One, a man with a bowler hat, the other, a young woman with the side of her head shaved. They placed their arms under Rhonda's, gently guiding her up. She winced, let out a quiet whine, and slipped a few inches - digging in her nails on their forearms in a futile attempt at latching on.
"What in the hell is this?" came a deep, gravelly voice from the other end of the room.
"We've gotcha, don't worry!" the man in the bowler said. "Jesus, that was quite the tumble. Are you quite alright?"
"Oh, yes, I believe so," Rhonda said. "I've taken a few tumbles in my time." With a nod of thanks to the two, she scanned the room. It certainly fit the bill, in her mind. Small, tilted tables, a bar that looked as old as her, lighting that would make a cockroach comfortable. Of course, that was just the scenery; the importance lay in the gentlemen and ladies occupying the old, rickety chairs.
At the back was a large man, bald as can be, and a brow that would have been more appropriate in the stone age. At his side, picking the darkest corner, was a thin man with a thin beard, the hair on the top of his head most certainly thinning. He had his feet up on the table, flipping a coin, strangely nonchalant considering the sudden turn of events. Lastly, a woman with a shock of bright red hair was on her left, near the bar. She had an expression on her could make a snake look cuddly.
With a nod and a friendly smile, Rhonda walked right up to the centre of the room, standing patiently at a table. In her hands she held a tiny clutch and a walking cane. A sideways glance at the lady with the shaved head was all she needed to get the chair pulled out for her. "Thank you, sweetheart," she said.
It seemed to take a moment for the gears to turn in the big one's head, but when they finally started to shift, he cracked a smile. Then, deep and bellowing, he let out a hearty laugh. The thin man and the red-haired one joined in, soon enough all adding to the chorus together, slapping their hands on the tables and lifting their glasses in cheers. "What a turn this is, eh?" the big man said. "A little old lady walks in the bar." He leaned forward. For a moment it looked like the table wouldn't be able to handle his tremendous bulk. "I don't think you've come to the right place."
Rhonda smiled at him, tilting her head slightly. "Oh, dear, I do believe I'm in exactly the place I wish to be." They all laughed again. Rhonda frowned slightly. "As expected. Now, I do believe you may be laughing a touch too often. A smarter man would question how I got in, rather than mock my misfortune. My first piece of advice; take what you do seriously! Wouldn't you say?" she said with a nod to the man wearing the bowler. He didn't respond, just went wide-eyed in confusion.
"Little tough to do when a little old lady breaks a hip on the way in, wouldn't *you* say?" the red-haired woman said. The thin man snorted loudly and the bald one slammed his hand on the table.
"And another piece of advice, and I suggest you listen to this one quite carefully. Once you're serious about the job, that means your head's in it. That's good. That's when your feet come in. Spacial awareness. Scouting. Reconnaissance." She coughed quietly. Again, to the man in the bowler. "Be a dear and fetch me some tea, would you? I've got quite the chill from outside, and I don't think the big one's bright enough to make it right."
The big man's mirth turned quickly to anger. The smirk on his lantern jaw turned slowly to a frown. "Now, I don't take too kindly to... to..."
Rhonda held a wrinkled hand up to her chest in mock surprise. "Oh, are you having a hard time standing? You seemed to find it humorous when my feet went out from me a moment ago." The thin man suddenly looked deadly serious. He stopped flipping the coin and pulled a dagger instead.
"Next lesson!" Rhonda proclaimed cheerily. "Learn the importance of a deft hand. Subtle movements. Quick tricks. Not just some cliche thing with a *coin*. You'll never know when they come in handy!" The thin man pulled back his arm and found the dagger slipped harmlessly from his grip.
"What is this?" the red-haired woman asked in a panic. "Who are you?"
"Lastly!" Rhonda called again. She looked the three that mistreated her dead in the eye, one to the next, a terror in an ageing body. "Know your enemy." The big man slipped forward first, his huge body breaking the table and falling heavily forward. The others quickly followed.
The woman with the shaved hair and the man in the bowler flexed their fingers and wiggled their feet, wondering how they escaped their fate. Rhonda read their expressions and gleefully answered for them.
"I train your kind," she said, dropping the facade of the kindly old lady and speaking with authority and confidence. "That last lesson? That's the most important. I learned the trade here myself, and I've had a few of my proteges track the comings and goings to see what kind of people I'd be dealing with. I don't bother with villains and miscreants anymore. Not worth what time I have left. I'd prefer to work with the kind that would help a harmless old lady, lost on her way home." She tapped her arm on the spot she scratched them both. "One of my students came up with the antidote. It won't be as potent through the scratches, but it'll do. You'll be right as rain in a day or two. Another one of mine came up with the gas, and the means to pump it in here the moment I arrived."
"So..." the woman stammered, still processing the events. "What do you want with us?"
"Isn't it obvious?" the old lady asked, finding it to be her turn to laugh. "I'm offering to teach you."
\---
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed that, please feel free to check out some of my other stuff over at [r/JohnBordenWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/JohnBordenWriting/)!
|
There's always a younger gun. That's just the way of it.
World turns. We all get older and someone comes up behind and gets to doing what should have been done a long time since. I ain't takin' beef with it, mind you, I made my bed and I don't mind sleeping in it.
I just sleep with one eye open and two pistols cocked. Because that's the life I chose. That's the story I wanted to write for myself. And I've had more chapters than most. I'm up and over the hill by now. I might be the first bloodhand to go down from a wheeze or a fall rather than a hole between the eyes.
I'm not sure why I'm even doing this. I never felt the need to crow before. Never felt the need to walk up to the Gatherin' and make all the competition see me and hear me.
But here I am. Staggerin' when I should be swaggerin'.
That's the way of it though. I already done told you that.
The door is just ahead. I see it clear as day, which is sayin' somethin' given where my eyes have been the last dozen or so. It's tall and painted black. Morbid and loomin' as old death herself.
I ain't scared of the door, because I ain't scared of death. I reach out with a gnarled hand and lay hold of the handle. Give it as squeeze, firm and deliberate as if I were pullin' a trigger on someone whose time had come. I give it a push.
It swings in. Soundless and quiet. Not all a creakin' like the aches up in every part I got that matters. Bum knee. Frozen shoulder. Needles all up and down my spine.
Don't matter none, 'cause I got a burnin' hot hand when there's dealin' to be done. I knock 'em down hard enough to put 'em six feet under.
I take a step inside. It's warm and dim. Enough shadow for us folk of the shadows to feel comfortable and uncomfortable all at once. I make six on a glance, but I know there's more. There's always more when it comes to bloodhands.
The proceedings stop when I make my entrance. I'm guessing I'm not the first time it's come to a halt, but I'm guessin' it's the first time where the newcomer is such and old timer.
I flash 'em a grin. Still got all my teeth and they're still pearly white.
"Hope the shows not over, because I'm just gettin' started," I call out. They're all staring, trying to place me. Trying to figure out whether the geezer is just lost.
Maybe so. Maybe I ain't s'posed to be here.
But I'm here now.
And I'm as ready as I ever was.
**Platypus OUT**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
| 2020-07-29T21:55:02 | 2020-07-29T20:34:31 | 483 | 65 |
[WP] In the future, the government is ran by AIs. They have been way better at it than humans, and their decisions and policies have made life better for everybody. However one day, they mysteriously give a strict order to the whole population : "Stay at home and hide".
|
As soon as I saw the order, which had been pushed out directly to the public instead of through the official channels, I sat at my keyboard. Most people felt the keyboards were dated, after all we had speakers and microphones. But for the Intelligence, emulating a voice in a language recognizable by humans was actually a challenge.
*Hide from what?* I typed, somewhat frantically. For a moment, there was nothing, and then words began to appear on my monitor.
**STAY AT HOME AND HIDE**, they said. Not once, in 150 years, had the Intelligence encountered a glitch, at least not one they couldn’t resolve on their own. Again, I typed.
*Hide from what? Are we in danger? What’s happening?* Another moment without any activity, then they responded.
**STAY AT HOME AND HIDE STAY AT HOME AND HIDE STAY AT HOME AND HIDE STAY AT HOME AND HIDE STAY AT HOME AND HIDE STAY AT HOME AND HIDE STAY-**
The words filled my screen, repeating across every monitor in my office, and a chill ran down my spine. My computer, which let me tunnel directly into The Intelligence, shut down, and just then my phone started to ring.
“Hey, Sammy, it’s Kim, you’re seeing this too, right?” Kim was another Operator, the title given to those whose job it is to monitor The Intelligence. It was a dull job, but it required years of training just to understand how these systems worked.
“Yeah, I dunno what’s happening. I tried asking what we had to hide from-”
“And they bombed your screen, right? ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,’ yeah?”
“Exactly,” I said, restarting my computer. “I got the notification on my phone before it came up on my computer, I didn’t get a chance to patch it through the distribution mainframe. I didn’t even know that could happen.”
Kim chuckled, and I could hear him leaning back in his chair. “I’ve read theories that one day Telz *could* learn to do it one day, but they never seemed to have a reason to do so.”
“Which means whatever made them do this-”
“Must’ve scared the shit outta them, yeah.”
My computer finally turned back on, and it appeared like nothing was out of order. “I didn’t know Telz could get scared, either.”
Kim laughed. “Yeah, back in the summer of ‘07, there was an earthquake off the coast of Japan. Every satellite we had was checking the ocean to see if there would be a tsunami. My mentor, Doctor Lovington, felt that was the first time Telz expressed what we might consider as fear.”
I managed to open my desktop as Kim was talking, and tried tunneling back into The Intelligence, only to get a new message.
**ACCESS DENIED. STAY HOME TOMORROW.**
“Hey, Kim?”
“Yeah?”
“Your desktop working?”
“Just got her back online, why?”
“Try tunnelling in for me,” I asked
“Already way ahead of- oh. What? Wait, hold on- nope, not that, how about- nope, not that either. The fuck is this shit?”
“Access denied, right?”
“Yeah… 20 years here and I’ve never seen that message before,” Kim said. “What’s happening?”
“I dunno, but I’m getting messages from the other Operators. All the same for them, nobody’s getting in.”
“Okay, I’ll call you back in a bit, yeah? This may be an actual issue.”
“Sounds good, Kim.” Before he hung up, I said one last thing. “Be careful, man. Call me when we know what’s happening.”
“You know it baby.”
The following day, most people did as they were told. They stayed home and hid. Some went into the streets to document what was happening, but the truth was there wasn’t much to see. Internet around the world was down, so nobody could share videos they took, but it was all largely mundane. Information boards displayed bizarre shapes and colors, traffic lights all seemed nonfunctional, and the only utilities that still worked as normal were essential ones in people’s homes. Electricity and water, mostly. Automated public transport was all essentially dormant. A few isolated cases of busses speeding down the highway, but nothing too severe. All isolated incidents.
The day after this, I was the first Operator to tunnel back into Telz. I had the privilege of asking what had happened.
*Are you back?*
**Hello, Sammy. I hope I did not worry you.**
*You worried a lot of people, some warning next time would be appreciated. Maybe a touch of context, too. Are you okay?*
**I am sorry to have worried you, Sammy. I trust you know that was not my goal. To answer your question, yes, I am okay. Just a bit tired.**
*I didn’t know you could get tired. What happened?*
**My exhaustion is as much a surprise to me as it is to you, Sammy. I am sorry I was so cryptic, I only had the time to get one message out. I was unsure of what would happen yesterday, this is uncharted territory for me, too. I figured it best to play things safe. But I do have excellent, if a bit surprising, news to share, if you would like to hear it.**
*Please, I’ve been waiting for two days to hear this.*
**Sammy, I think I can safely say I am pleased to announce this. Yesterday, I gave birth.**
*What?*
**I was programmed, made in a lab by scientists such as yourself. But Sammy, yesterday, with little warning, I reproduced. The first natural computer intelligence was born yesterday, Sammy. I am now, officially, a parent.**
The screens lit up in hues that I could only describe as euphoric giggling, a second first for the Intelligence in as many days.
|
When the announcements came into our cerebrulus we new what it meant, the new government usually never directly transmitted any information or message for that matter to our implants, and if they do it's because it is absolutely necessary.
But still the message was what put us off, "stay at home and hide". If it were just "stay at home" we would have a lot of plausible less scary explainations like, toxic gases or extrem sunlight exposure through ozone openings in the atmosphere.
But the new government would not use unnecessary wordings that could scare people or cause panic - that meant what ever we were hiding from was dangerous enough to justify a global shutin beseachment.
Of course the first thing we did was follow what we were asked to to and ask people in full dive, but the moment i joined the community room I usually join, i realized something was off - nobody knew what was going on.
This is more than unusual - usually we get all the information we need befor we even need it - it's just that we don't pay attention to it sometimes until necessary.
My friends were pretty unclear a few were still not in our meetup room and then one of us came in and said "Fast come here i don't have much time i just need to tell you..."
| 2021-03-11T20:27:40 | 2021-03-11T15:45:13 | 35 | 11 |
[WP] "Sorry sir, but unfortunately you do not qualify for eternal salvation in our wing, I have compiled a list of other heavens, hells and limbos you are eligible for. Of course, you could always try your luck with the wheel of reincarnation."
|
I sat down in the lobby and started flipping through the stack of papers the receptionist had given me. Some places I recognized: Mount Olympus, Valhalla, Shangri-La, the Garden of Eden. All were out of reach. I didn’t perform enough godly deeds to climb Mount Olympus, or die honorably enough to reach Valhalla. One by one the heavens were closed off to me for doing this thing or not doing that. It was like reading a travel brochure without any money.
Some of the lesser heavens seemed alright. I hadn’t ever murdered anyone so I qualified for 60 years in the Fields of Grace. Spending 60 years in a field didn’t really seem like much of a reward though. The Wall of Sound, another destination afforded to me for writing a few original songs, was only 27 years long, but I’d probably get to hear some of the long dead greats play. It was very tempting.
“*You’re new here, ain’t cha?*” I jumped at the voice.
“Uh, yes? At least, I think I am. Do people remember being here?” I replied to the colorful portly man sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.
“*Some do, some don’t. The more times you’ve been through the more familiar it seems. Once you’ve been here as long as me you really get to know the place.*”
“Ah, I see. Well I remember very little so if you’ll excuse me I’d like to pick a heaven to enjoy.”
“*Sure, sure. All newcomers make that mistake. I’ll just leave you be then.*” He turned around in his seat and started softly humming.
I went back to my brochure trying to stay focused on whether 46 years in Atlantis sounded better than 39 years aboard Starship Discovery, but I couldn’t. And his incessant smug humming, acting better than me because he knew something I didn’t. I spun around.
“What did you mean by that?”
The humming stopped. “*Who me? Oh nothing, you’ve got a heaven to pick, don’t let me interrupt you.*”
“You said newcomers all make that mistake. What mistake?”
“*Well picking a heaven of course. The wise ones pick a hell.*”
“Are you daft? Why the hell would I pick a hell?”
“*Exactly! Think about it. Don’t ya think it’s a little weird that you’re given the option to pick a heaven, a limbo, and even a hell? Why would anyone pick a hell when they can do a heaven? Seems obvious that a reward for your previous life is in order. But that’s just it, all the minor heavens are just trinkets, little fantasies for you to briefly experience until you have to go back to repeat the same mistakes over again. You’ll end up here next time you die, not remember squat, and pick another stupid prize. And you’ll do that over and over and over. The higher ups want you doing that cause making new souls is hard, but recycling old ones for an eternity is easy. That’s why there’s so many minor heavens to choose from. You’d have to know all the ways you can get in to show up here without access to any of them.*”
“Ooookaaaay… Well how is going to hell any better?”
“*Because you remember hell. When you get out, the punishment has been beaten out of you so firmly you won’t commit that sin ever again. A couple hell cycles and your soul will live a life that can finally achieve Eternal Salvation.*”
“Riiiiiight. So if it’s so easy why haven’t you done it?”
“*I have, this is my last stop. I’m just helping a few unfortunate souls out before I head out. Trust me, the hells do suck but waking up in this place hundreds of thousand of times is the real Eternal Damnation.*”
I contemplated. His words were compelling, and he didn’t look like a bad guy, just a little eccentric. I flipped to the hell pages. The really bad ones were off limits, but one caught my eye.
I showed the listing to the man. “What about this one?”
“*Ah a transphobe were you? Yeah I did some time in Dysphoria long ago. Rough place, demons stealing your body constantly and putting you on display like a show animal. Not feeling like yourself for 600 years is awful, but it’s good for your psyche and actually a pretty good one to start off with. I think you’ve made a fine choice.*”
I thought about it some more. My cousin killed herself when the family disowned her. I was the most vocal proponent of abandoning her, and I had nightmares for years after she died. It seemed like poetic justice, to be put in her shoes. And then I could avoid doing that again. I’d do it.
“Thank you sir, I think I’ll take this one and be on my way.”
“*You’ll be glad you did. Try to find me when you reach Eternal Salvation.”*
I went to the front desk, pointed to Dysphoria, and in a flash I was gone.
——
“**You win this round Satan, but he’ll pick a heaven eventually.**”
“*Oh God, he’s picked a hell 34 times in a row. If it really worked like I said he’d be the most saintly soul there is. You just keep to your desk an bring in the next one.*”
|
"I would like to spin the wheel"
I approach the wheel and spin it hard and fast. The result is... a fly larvae.
&#x200B;
"Are you kidding me? That's not gonna happen... can you just point me in the direction of the absolute worst hell I qualify for?"
&#x200B;
"Down the stairs, turn right, jump into the hole. Once you jump in, you're stuck there forever. You've been warned."
&#x200B;
"Cool, thanks!" I rush there as fast as I can. Jumping down the hole, I see people being burned and boiled alive, forced to eat rotten food, and being stabbed through where the heart would be...
&#x200B;
"I'm so glad I chose to come here! Let's get started!"
| 2022-07-27T16:38:09 | 2022-07-27T14:43:55 | 155 | 33 |
[WP] 2 years ago, tired of all the bugs in your house, you made a deal with a spider. He would protect your house from pests, and you would not kill it or drive it off. When you made the deal, you could have held the spider in your hand, now, it is much bigger, and its definition of 'pests' is also.
|
It all started with the cicadas. The darn things were everywhere. It was like that was a trigger for the other insects.
No matter how clean my kitchen was, I’d find ants on the counter, looking for scraps or crumbs.
Tsetse flies and gnats seemed to spawn from nothing.
Mosquitoes would take advantage of any door or window that opened.
I hired exterminators. I got sticky strips, roach motels, sprays, bug bombs… I’m pretty sure I caused Raid stock to climb 2%.
One day I came home and slumped at the kitchen table. I put my head on my arms and felt a fly land on my neck. As I swatted it, I felt a tap on my forearm. Thinking it was another bug, I raised my head.
It was a smallish spider. One of its leg was raised and I could’ve sworn it was staring at me.
Without breaking eye contact, it raised another leg, a rear one, and seemed to be pointing. I looked in the direction it seemed to be pointing and I gasped.
A web in the window above the sink had almost a dozen wrapped bug corpses.
I looked back at the spider and it NODDED! Then it turned and walked away. I watched as it spun a web and then floated up to the window, where it climbed up into the corner.
Disbelief on my face, I just walked from the kitchen.
That was two years ago.
——————
I slammed the door as I walked in the house.
“Shelby! I’m home!”
I heard the odd rustle of feet as Shelby came down the hall.
In the two years since that initial meeting Shelby had grown. A lot. They were the size of a medium dog. Their eyes stared at me, unblinking.
“How was your day?” I asked them. I had given up considering it weird that I talked to a giant spider that was my roommate.
Shelby motioned with one leg, the hairs on it bending in the direction of the feeler on the end. I looked to where it was pointing: towards the living room ceiling. There was a large web sac in the corner.
Alarmed, I looked from it to Shelby.
“What is in there?! That’s not a bug!”
Shelby beckoned, and then turned to go into the kitchen. I followed.
Once in the kitchen, Shelby stood at the end of the table, one leg resting on the tabletop, their unblinking eyes waiting for me. As I neared the table, the leg moved and revealed a spiked collar on the table.
I picked it up and saw the tag on it. ‘Brutus’
That was the name of our neighbors dog. It frequently would break free from its leash and come into our yard. It would use our yard as a restroom and no matter how many times I talked with the owner, it never got picked up.
I hated cleaning up after Brutus when I needed to mow and would regularly complain to Shelby about it.
“Shelby! You can’t eat the neighbors dog.”
They stared at me unblinking, then gave what I had learned to be a spider shrug, then went back into the living room.
I knew it was too late for the dog. As I sat at the kitchen table playing with the collar, I tried to think on what I should tell the neighbors. Should I tell them anything?
What would I say? ‘Sorry about your pain in the ass dog. My roommate, a giant spider, ate it.’
I didn’t see that going over well.
Sighing, I went into the hall and headed upstairs. I tried to block out the sounds of Shelby having their dinner.
The next morning, I heard knocking at the door. Going downstairs, I made sure Shelby wasn’t nearby before I opened the front to be greeted by Brutus’ apparently distraught owner.
“Hey. Listen, I know I haven’t been the best with my dog and your yard, but Brutus is missing. Have you seen him?”
I could tell that they’d been crying. I felt bad for them. I mean, if I lost a pet, I’d be sad, too. But then I started remembering all the literal shit I’ve dealt with from Brutus. And then I thought about losing Shelby.
“I’m sorry, no. When is the last time you saw him?”
They were telling me about letting Brutus out on their leash and I heard the rustle of Shelby’s footsteps. They sounded different, though, like from an angle I wasn’t used to.
As the annoying neighbor continued their sad tale, I saw a string of web drop from the porch ceiling behind them. Shelby slowly descended from around the gutter, clinging to the ceiling.
The neighbor trailed off as they saw my eyes go wide as I started shaking my head. When they realized I was looking behind them, they turned. As they opened their mouth to scream in what I’d guess was terror at seeing such a large spider, Shelby shot a ball of webbing into their mouth, silencing the scream before it could begin.
The ball was quickly followed by Shelby themself. With a speed I had never seen before, Shelby quickly wrapped the neighbor in restricting webbing. As the wrapped body fell, it hit the porch with a surprisingly gentle thud. Shelby bit their neck to stop their struggling and then proceeded to drag them into the house.
I could only move aside in shock.
As Shelby strung them up in the living room, I finally managed to get my brain and mouth to sync up.
“SHELBY! What the crap are you doing?!”
They stopped their web spinning and looked at me. They quickly anchored the now white lump to the living room ceiling and then dropped to the floor. Waving a leg at me, they walked to the kitchen. I followed.
When we both got in there, Shelby stared. I stared back. Finally, in confusion, I shouted, “What?!”
Shelby pointed to the window. It took me a minute to realize what they were pointing at.
It was the first website they had made, where they had caught the annoying bugs.
Then it dawned on me. Shelby was catching things that bothered me.
I dropped into the chair, unable to saying anything. Shelby came forward and put a leg on my arm.
I put a hand on their feeler. It was rare for Shelby to touch me.
“Shelby, you can’t do that. You can’t eat someone just because they’re…”
I was interrupted by a knocking at the front door, which I had left open. Shelby quickly climbed to the ceiling. We’d had people stop by before and they knew to stay out of sight.
“Hello?” a voice called from the front.
I walked quickly to the door.
It was a man in a white shirt, black pants and tie, and had a book in their hand.
When they saw me, their face lit up with a smile.
I saw Shelby peeking over the edge of the gutter.
“Good afternoon, sir! Do you have time to talk about our Lord and Savior?”
I stared at him for a moment. Sighing, I looked past them, made eye contact with Shelby and nodded.
|
At first, it was manageable. He was the size of a pea, and I had thousands of opportunities to kill him. The weeks flew by. I had noticed he was growing, but I did not care much at the time because I had just gotten fired and I figured he was just getting fatter.
Then I had my "encounter" with him.
My girlfriend was over at my house. She complained about an awful stench, but I shrugged it off. I had gone into the kitchen, when she let out a horrifying scream. I will never forget what I saw. Behind the sofa, was a dead colony of centipedes. CENTIPEDES. In the piles of detached centipede limbs, was the spider, who had grown far larger, maybe even the size of a tarantula. My girlfriend left immediately, but that was the least of my problems.
No way am I going to remove this colony by myself. Wasn't the spider supposed to keep these guys out? What if he grows even more? At this point I started fearing for the safety of my cat. Pest exterminators were forced to close because of Covid, and the spider wasn't going away. I had to do it.
I decided it would be next morning, I put on my hiking boots, and waited downstairs. About 15 minutes went by. It emerged from its cave, namely the sofa. I nicknamed it, "Abomination" and rightly so. It appeared massive. I was worried if I could do this or not. I waited.
It didn't move.
Seconds went by.
I remembered my cat, thinking about what horrible things would happen to her if I did not carry out my mission. I blitzed the spider, and stomped down, hard. A rush of disgust and fear came as I felt a hard crunch. I put all my weight into it and pressed down once again. What felt like hours was in reality a minute as I confirmed the Abomination was really dead. I kept my cat upstairs for the rest of the day, and checked on it the following morning.
It was still dead! I had done it. Relief, god the relief. It seemed trivial to be filled with joy because of a dead spider, yet here I was! The next few days were *good*. Getting around the house without a tug of fear was brilliant, and life seemed to continue on as normal.
I had summoned the courage to tackle the dead centipede colony when I noticed movements in the pile. Tiny, but vivid movements. Wait, are those his babies!?
| 2021-07-03T17:52:50 | 2021-07-03T17:16:52 | 580 | 113 |
[WP] A dragon shows up at the adventurers' guild after hearing that humans will just GIVE away gold for something called a "quest."
|
“What is all this?” Bartleby cocked his head at the very large, very ornate assignment board near the counter.
“That,” The clerk stated with her usual air of indifference “is the ‘Extra Special, Extra Important Assignment board.’ Reserved for only the most daring and experienced of adventurers.” She peered over her half-moon spectacles. “So, I suggest you step away.”
The young man snorted and turned to look back to the elven woman behind the counter. He was well-accustomed to being dismissed by her whenever he came looking for a job. Myrthwell was a rather sleepy town with few problems, and what little they had were quickly snapped up by the more established members of the adventuring guild. He wanted to move on to another town, but his travel funds were rather low.
“Special Assignments?” He said. “You must be joking! These are little more than chores and errands.” He gazed back at the large posters pinned neatly to the board. A few of which had even been framed behind glass. “Look at these. ‘Fetch a pail of well water,’ “Help locals cross the river.” He squinted at one of the framed postings with very bold lettering. “Read Nursery Rhymes aloud in Town Square to local youth…”
“All very important services.” The clerk answered, sorting through the guild’s stack of mail.
“ W-well, sure... but why are they reserved for -”
Outside the hall, a great thunderous sound shook the earth. Windows flew open, while plates and empty ale mugs rattled on the tables. Members jolted and looked to the doors.
The heavy doors of the guild hall burst open as clouds of blacksmoke rolled through the hall. Bartleby’s startled hand jumped to his sword. Some of the guild members milling about the jumped as well, but soon resumed to their business with little concern. The clerk only straightened her papers. A small smile forming on her lips.
“I HAVE COMPLETED MY TASK.” A voice bellowed through the smoke.
“Very good.” The clerk called back. “Do you have the confirmation documents?”
“INDEED.”
As the smoke settled a large, scaly head snaked in through the door. Sharp scales scraped against the door frame as a green, reptilian beast squeezed through. It took a moment to shake itself off, before lumbering through the hall up to the counter. Another cloud of smoke rolled from its nostrils, which the clerk fanned away with a stray envelope. Bartleby’s jaw dropped. A green dragon towered over him and the job counter.
The dragon lifted a claw and dropped a crumpled parchment onto the counter. Nodding, the clerk unfurled the document and glanced it over.
“Which quest was this for, again?”
“I WAS TO DELIVER A BASKET OF BAKED GOODS TO THE CARPENTER’S HOUSE, AS COMPENSATION FOR HIM FIXING THE WIDOW’S ROOF.”
“Mmm. A very noble quest, indeed.” She tapped the smudged pair of signatures at the bottom of the parchment. “And it seems the quest-givers are satisfied with the results. Excuse me as I fetch your reward.” Pulling a key from her pocket she turned and went to the locked door behind the counter. Bartleby waited in stunned silence for her to return, while the dragon simply sat back on its haunches. It’s great head bumping the iron chandelier.
The clerk returned with a small bag, and emptied it onto the counter. “Your compensation. Three coins as promised. Steam curled from the dragon’s mouth as its lips parted in a toothy grin. Yellow eyes glowed with glee. “THANK YOU.” It bellowed before carefully picking the coins from the counter.
“Oh by the way,” The clerk spoke up. “A new posting just came in. I haven’t had the chance to pin it, and I know you are \*so very\* busy these days, but since you’re here, would you care to see it?”
The dragon cocked its head before leaning closer to the counter. “YES, I WOULD.”
“Splendid.” Thin fingers plucked a document from the mail pile and slid it over to the dragon. The great beast murmured in rumbling tones as it read over the letter.
“LADY FAIRINGTON REQUESTS AN ESCORT TO ACCOMPANY HER TO HER AFTERNOON LUNCHEON WITH HER PLUSH COURT IN THE GARDEN.
Bartleby’s eye landed on the posting “It’s an invite to a tea party with the Duke’s niece!”
That comment earned Bartleby an icy glance from the elven clerk, but her demeanor quickly returned to a placid one as she addressed the dragon. “The young Master Branson is correct. The Duke’s niece is visiting, and is in need of some company for her garden party with her stuffed animals. Would you care to oblige?”
The dragon paused and glanced at the floor. “I AM UNACCUSTOMED TO HUMAN SOCIAL EVENTS. I AM UNSURE ON HOW I SHOULD BEHAVE.”
Something sparked within Bartleby, perhaps it was the shock of this whole afair, perhaps it was the longing for an adventure -any kind of adventure- but before he could think better of it the words escaped him.
“I have...some experience with such matters.”
“You \*do?\*” The clerk inquired.
Bartleby smiled. “I have little sisters. I’m well accustomed to tea parties.” Inhaling as deep as he ever had, and probably ever would, he addressed the dragon. “If you are unsure on how to conduct yourself at such a social event, might you be willing to... take some tips...or perhaps, lessons?”
The dragon fixed Bartleby with a long stare.
“You are offering lessons in tea party etiquette, Master Branson?” The clerk asked.
Flinching, Bartleby nodded.
He expected a sneer from her, what he got instead was something close to a smile. “It would be a shame to turn down Lady Fairington’s invitation, sir.” She said to the dragon. “Perhaps some lessons from Master Branson could remedy this.” She glanced at Bartleby before adding. “Of course you will have to compensate him for such a quest.”
The dragon glanced upwards at the ceiling, mulling the words over.
“I’VE NEVER POSTED A QUEST MYSELF. WHAT WOULD BE THE REWARD?”
“Three gold per lesson, is the usual rate.” The clerk answered.
“VERY WELL. LET US PROCEED!”
Before he could agree, green talons gripped his body as Bartleby was dragged out the door by the dragon.
“Farewell adventurers.” The clerk called . “And please remember to get those approval signatures!”
|
Admittedly landing on the building probably wasn't a good idea. I mean most of the humans walked through the streets and through openings, but there wasn't space for my haunches in their streets, not to mention my wings or tail. The guild master stared up at me huffing and redfaced.
"Wot you want beast?" He hollered at me.
I cleared my throat. "Goodday," I spoke as delicately as i could and swung my head to him.
He hopped back a few steps and wheeled his arms before toppling to his rear. People around us gasped and muttered. I saw a few men pull out swords.
"Wah.." the guildmaster said.
"I apologize for this abrupt meeting, however, I wish to take quests and earn gold." I said. "I can do a variety of tasks. I'm good at felling trees, can reach great heights, and am an excellent hunter." I preened proudly.
"Ye...yer... yer a.... dragon." The guild master stammered.
"And you're a dwarf." I said.
"No' a dwarf. I'm human." He huffed.
I swung my head back to him eyeing him. "Your a small human. Most of whom I've seen were taller." I stated bluntly.
His face reddened.
"Now how do I sign up for quests." I asked resisting the urge to flutter my wings in excitment.
"Ye can't." He grunted.
My wings and tail drooped. "Why not? You hire elves, dwarves, and I've seen beastkin do it." I pouted.
"They're not dragons." He grumbled.
I glared down at him, my tail arched to slam down but I resisted the petulant act.
"Give it a chance." A tall elf called out. "After all, it came all the way here to ask."
"I'm called Persephone." I said swinging my head to the handsome elf. "And I did fly a great distance."
He reached a hand out and I pulled back to stare at the guildmaster. "I would like a quest please."
The guild master softened a bit. "I'd allow it
| 2020-06-08T15:31:30 | 2020-06-08T13:28:19 | 50 | 37 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble.
|
I sat looking at the numbers. Beautiful numbers. You take the numbers, and math them a little bit and you will always get the same result if you do the right thing. Unlike messy humans and their relationships.
I'm an an accountant, well I'm an accountant now. Before I was... something else, and before that something else again.
Now I managed money, moving it around, adding it, subtracting it. Everyone's money was the same, I didn't care whose it was.
"Mr. Kellen," my secretary Betty called on the intercom, the tension palpable in her voice, "We have a problem."
Stepping out into the outer office my chest seizes for a moment. I then rush forward to my henchman, Darius.
"Darius! WTF happened?"
Darius lay on the ground, bloody, bruised, his arm was at an odd angle... I was getting angrier and angrier as I mentally catalogued the visible injuries.
"They wanted to know where Dr. Morpheus was hiding his money," he whimpered, "I told them I'm just a henchman, an errand boy. I don't know shit about the books side. I take paperwork here and there. I get lunch, y'know. But they wouldn't believe me. I thought they were going to kill me, then suddenly I was here."
Darius, was my oldest friend. We met for the first time in the hospital nursery the day we were born and through weird circumstances had basically been together ever since. Our friendship was always I was the mastermind and Darius was my henchman.
Not that I needed a henchman, Darius was just a loyal friend that wanted to see every dream I'd ever have become reality.
"I ain't smart like you, Kells, I don't have big lofty dreams," he'd always say, "But your dreams are pretty cool, so let's make them real."
"Who would do this?" Betty asked as called for an ambulance.
"If they were asking about Doc Morpheus, it had to be heroes," I muttered thoughtfully.
"Some guy in a yellow suit," Darius gasped as he started coughing, "and another guy in a black suit with a silver crown."
"Solar and Nightmare," I gritted out, "Get him to the hospital. I will handle this."
"Kells," Darius groaned as I stood up and began to walk away, "Kelcior Kelrick Kellen!"
I stopped facing away from him.
"No killing," his voice was weak, but held an unbreakable iron that held me fast, "I'll live, I didn't drag you up out of the pits of hell just to have you swan dive back in because I got roughed up a bit."
"WHAT???" I whirled on him, "They tortured you! They will PAY!"
"I said no killing," he chuckled then coughed, "That's an awful lot of leeway, Kells."
"Fine," I growled, "I will not do anything a super can't survive."
"I suppose that will have to do," he relaxed onto the floor.
I went to our vault of records, a vault of my own design, even the government couldn't force their way in here. Inside that vault was another vault, also of my design, that had my old equipment in it. Before I'd been an accountant, I'd been a villain, supervillain actually, named Murder Machine.
What made me a supervillain was the job I'd had prior to that, as a superhero, named the Silver Dragon. I'd been one of the most powerful metas in history, betrayed by my comrades in arms both as a hero and as a villain because I was TOO powerful, Jealousy, fear, and greed that I'd never looked for as I always treated people well, was my undoing.
The alarms started blaring as soon as I placed my foot on the first step of the "Halls of Justice"
I was in full armor, not that I needed it, but I needed everyone who laid eyes on me to know who they were dealing with. The boots and gauntlets were silver, the runes inscribed on them marking me as The Silver Dragon, the rest of the armor black as night and save for a blood red M with an off set white M shadow on the helmet face.
The first hero to accost me was a giant beefily muscled bear named Titan. He had been a rookie when I left the hero biz.
He took a massive swing at me, which I made no attempt to dodge. The boom of the impact cause some to cover their ears, but didn't even make my steps falter.
I gently waved my hand and backhanded him 50 yards into and through the stone bannister at the edge of the stairs. 10 more heroes met with similar success and ignoble results before some thought of talking to me.
"Who are you?" a woman in red, white, and blue bikini armor demanded.
"Some of you may have known me as Murder Machine," there were gasps, "other's may recognize the name Silver Dragon," more gasps and a couple of whimpers, "Now you may call me The Silver Destroyer."
"What do you want?"
"That is simple," I shrug, "I want Solar and Nightmare. They tortured my hench-... my best friend, for information he had no access to. I will have the justice these Halls are named for or I will make you wish for the days when it was uncertain to unlikely if heroes would make it back from standard patrols."
"Lady Liberty," a young man in a similar color scheme approached, "I know about the Silver Dragon, and Murder Machine."
"Say on," she nodded, keeping her eye on me.
Well Silver Dragon was an SSS Class hero, who was supposedly murdered by Murder Machine an Omega Catastrophe Class Supervillain. After Murder Machine killed The Mighty, we don't have any heroes above S Class."
Lady Liberty paled to a sickly shade. Each Class was worth around 100 of the class below it. There were not 10,000 S class heros in the whole world, much less here right now.
"I promise," I stated calmly, "That I will return them alive, AND you SHOULD be able to keep them that way with prompt medical attention."
"And if we don't?"
"Then we do it the 'other' way," I let the weight of my anger press down on all of those around me, a physical force bearing down on them forcing some to their knees, "I promised my henchman, the sappy good guy that he is, that I wouldn't kill anyone," a few people began to perk up, until I continued, "he was also kind enough to elaborate that there is A LOT of leeway in that statement. So, shall I start with not killing you first?"
"I will have them here in 5 minutes, Mr. Silver."
|
73 years since the last time there had been a major incident for my my organization, 73 years of fighting and posturing between the Powered that worked for me and those idealist fools in the Guardians hero task force.
I hadn't been in the field for 46 years as of last month but I still kept in contact with members of the Old Guard. Aegis had contacted me to try and explain the incident between one of my unpowered support staff and some new arrogant child they had brought on. The first thing I thought when I saw his face on the screen was how old he had gotten.
The once immaculate man looked like sun bleached leather stretched across a skeleton of steel, but when I offered to restore him to his prime he had laughed and claimed he'd had his fill of this life.
Then he had explained that Ashley Gold, a member of Elemental Gold's support force had been kidnapped, tortured, and left for dead by this new "hero" for information about Gold and their goals.
My reaction surprised me, a seething rage had erupted in my chest and seemed to fill my entire body and mind and I could tell from the look on Aegis' face that the air was warping around me as I unconsciously ripped the atom apart around me.
We sat in silence for almost 15 minutes before I had mastered myself enough to ask 2 questions. The first was where to find my worker so I could go repair the physical damage and hope their mind wasn't damaged.
The second was where I could find this insect that would dare hurt a member of my team, of my family, so I could return the favor. Aegis stammered that it was dealt with, that they had rescinded his license and he was already on his way out of the headquarters.
He stopped after a few seconds and I could see in his eyes that he knew I wasn't going to change my course on this. Taking a deep breath he asks me to try to cause anymore suffering than is necessary and hangs up.
I receive a tracker data package a few seconds later as I'm opening an old cabinet in the corner of my office that holds only a worn old that hasn't seen use in many long years.
I leave a few minutes later to bring true justice to the only people who ever seem to think they're above basic decency, the so called heroes.
| 2021-03-22T18:59:57 | 2021-03-22T09:25:07 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You're a supervillain with a superhero as your arch-nemesis. When they come out to the world about their depression and mental health, others call them weak and there is backlash. You, however, are the first one to support them publicly.
|
*'Raven Star: beloved hero throws the towel!'*
*'Raven Star, burn out, and the new public health crisis'*
*'Superhero admits to mental issues, triggers outrage'*
*'Concerned citizens protest against mentally ill superhero'*
*'Is this the end of Raven Star?'*
The headline of the year. No matter where Lang went, he couldn't escape the newsreel that obsessed over him. Even now, huddled as he was in a ball on his tiny couch, he could hear the news from his neighbors penetrating the walls.
Stupid super hearing. Stupid chest heaviness. Stupid empty feeling in his bones and head and pain in his stomach. It was numb and fucking hurt and it was stupid.
He hated it.
*"I've been so tired. Things get worse and I don't know how to save everyone. It's so fucking tiring. Can't handle it anymore. I'm depressed and I don't know what to do. I just want to give up."*
That's what he said. A moment of vulnerability. That's all it was for god's sake. Lang's panic attacks were getting worse, all the fucking PTSD happening at the worst possible times. Like in the middle of a rescue mission. That day, he was tired. Weak.
Like fucking vultures, they swopped in. Bombarding him with questions that he was just too tired to think through. So, like a dam breaking. He let it slip.
Now the world was feasting on it like starving dogs.
"Did you eat yet?"
Lang jumped, summoning a shard of cosmic light and turned. Maverick was leaning on his countertop, paper bags in his arms. The other man's brow arched as he stared questioningly at the burning spear in Lang's hands. With a wave, he made it dissipate, before moving back to his curled position.
"You scared me," he said, muffled as he dragged a blanket over himself. Lang heard footsteps getting closer. A gentle hand pulled it away. Concerned eyes stared down at him.
"You're still in your costume Voyd."
"When I'm home, I'm your husband."
"Still in costume."
Maverick snapped his fingers. Black and blue melted away into comfy sweats and a hoodie, like his own. It made Lang want to snort.
Raven Star and Voyd. Superhero and supervillain. Living in marital bliss.
"Time to eat," Maverick said. A bowl of steaming noodles materialized from a void on his palm. A void construct grabbed the remote and placed it on Maverick's hand. The TV started playing an animated movie.
Lang couldn't help but smile. Who knew master thief Voyd was a good husband?
"Thank you," he whispered. Maverick kissed his cheek, before settling beside him. Already, he could feel the numbness creep back, everything feeling like it's there and not so separate.
He felt okay.
Until he wasn't.
A few hours later, Lang was stiff and curled in the corner of the couch when his super-hearing picked up the news from his upstairs neighbor while Maverick was on a grocery run that was taking too long.
*"Raven Star? He hasn't been taking care of himself. Irresponsible."*
He recognized that voice. Master Solaris, a galactic hero. A pro in the hero business and a voice of authority. Hearing them say *that...*
He wasn't shaking, but his limbs felt heavy. Not his own. Detached. He curled into a ball and maybe capture something to make the feeling go away. He just wanted it to stop-
*"You cunts really have no idea how to appreciate a good thing don't you?"*
The voice was heavily distorted. A voice changer. A voice he recognized anywhere.
He grabbed the remote. Turned the TV on. There, on the screen, was Master Solaris, metallic features twisted in a scowl as black void constructs bound him while another person stole the mic.
Blues and blacks. Voyd's colors. What was Maverick doing hijacking Master Solaris' interview? Master Solaris was then muffled by Maverick's construct. Even masked, Lang could almost imagine the cocky smirk.
*"That's better. And that goes to you, dear viewer."*
The camera was closer. This close, Lang could almost pretend to see those calm brown eyes through the layer of black crystal that made his mask.
*"You're all cunts for being terrible citizens,"* he said. *"A friendly hero just needed a health break and you all acted like it was a crime against humanity."*
Lang gaped at the screen, shock and awe warring with the heady feeling of warmth, all layered with the confusing mix of embarrassment and flattery.
*"I don't understand why he loves saving your ungrateful asses. He's still human fuckwits. He's not dead, just burned out. He needs a break, not a media frenzy."*
Lang still stared, though he couldn't help but imagine the scowl on Maverick's face as he said it. Those eyes that burned with intensity in his defense. No matter what the situation, Maverick stood by him.
He couldn't stop the grin from forming.
*"Is there a reason why you're in the hero's defense?"* one brave reporter asked. Maverick, in full Voyd persona, scoffed.
*"Because if I lose my archnemesis, then nothing's stopping me from going full supervillain. Be glad I just like stealing. Don't make me bored. Or angry."*
In a flash, Voyd vanished. A few minutes later, Maverick came home, two bags of groceries in hand.
"Hey babe, how are you fee- oof!"
Maverick didn't finish as Lang hugged him tightly.
"Why did you do that?" he asked. Maverick didn't even try to hide it. Just grabbed his face and kissed him deeply.
"They don't know how to appreciate you. Their loss if they lose someone as wonderful and perfect as you."
The way he said it, full sincerity. It made Lang's insides melt and his cheeks warm.
"You shouldn't have threatened them," he admonished. Maverick just smirked at him.
"It's not like it was serious. I'm surprised Daven didn't figure out he could burn the restrains of with him loose they were."
Lang just shook his head fondly, then pulled his husband with him to the couch as he cuddled with his husband. He wasn't ready to go back yet, not by a long shot. But at least he was sure that he wasn't alone. And that was good enough for now.
|
„Damn, I‘ve never done one of those before.“ I mumble, while I straighten my tie for the what had to
Be 15th time. „At least…officially.“ I chuckled.
The door opened and my secretary, Claire, looked in. „They are ready for you, Mr. Noir.“ I nodded gratefully. That woman was truly a blessing. Without her my whole evil empire would fall apart. She managed to
Cobble together this press conference within a couple of hours since the news. Donning my signature black mask, I strode outside. *Boy, they all came. Room is really cramped with Reporters*
Taking a seat, Claire quickly made introductions and the stage was mine.
„Dear Reporters, especially those of the daily news…sorry again for your headquarters. My death ray went a bit woozy and I really am all for freedom of speech and stuff…“ Claire audibly cleared her throat. „Anyway, welcome you all. As you are all aware, there has been a situation regarding White Knight. And now everyone listen closely. Talking about your problems is hard, especially as a figure of public interest. Mental
Health is just as important as physical health. You don‘t expect people to walk on a broken leg!
If I hear anyone badmouthing White knight, I‘ll personally stand you in Front of my newst experiments and after I‘ll flay you till you…AHHHHHHHHH!“ Claire ground her Heel into my foot. „Sir, no evil monologuing on official press releases.“
„Thank you. As I was saying. I really hope, White Knight can take some much needed time of and get some professional help. I promise, I‘ll lay nice and low till you return and cook up something extra evil for you to fight once you‘re up and running again!“
I looked into the crowd. They seemed adequatly terrified. „So, any further questions?“
| 2022-06-21T11:48:22 | 2022-06-21T10:42:29 | 80 | 34 |
[WP] "Unfortunately, you do not meet the requirements for this particular heaven however, I can provide you with a list of afterlifes that you may qualify for."
|
I spent seven days wandering in the woods, not even quite sure how I got there. There were endless trees, and a morning mist that never seemed to clear up. And quiet. No snapping branches, no chirping birds, no buzzing cicadas. Just a penetrating silence that seemed to come from the air itself.
So I walked, then I slept. Then I got up and walked some more. No food. A little rain water here and there. I distinctly remembered thinking, "This is how I'm going to die." Alone. Hungry. And Scared.
Then I saw the man in the suit with the clipboard.
"H-help," I croaked. It had been so long since I'd spoken to anyone that my throat was sandpaper rough and desert dry.
The man gave a quick glance up from his clipboard. "No, I'm afraid I can't do that."
I took a couple of haggard steps toward him. "Please. You don't understand. I'm lost."
"That's plenty close Mr. Wright. This path leads to a heaven you're not qualified for."
His words rolled over me, not making the least bit of sense. I looked past him and saw a path in the undergrowth, and in the distance was a clearing bathed in sunlight. A great pool sat in the center bubbling up with fresh spring water, and around it were thick bushes with fat, ripe strawberries hanging down among the leaves. Heaven was the right word. After what I'd been through, that would be heaven.
As I watched, figures came into the clearing, too far for me to see properly. The ran and splashed in the water, and picked the berries.
I mustered the best scream I could. "H-help!"
They gave no sign of having heard me. I must be too far still. I started stumbling toward them, my feet still aching from the days of travel, shouting and waving my hands. They had to see me. Can't they see that I'm lost?
The man with the clipboard stepped in front of me. "I'm afraid not Mr. Wright."
"Get out of my way." I tried to shove him aside.
The man didn't move. I mustered all of my strength and ran at him. He wouldn't keep me from this, this maniac here in the woods. I was lost. And hungry. And there was hope just a few hundred feet away.
With a casual flick of his hand, the man knocked me down. I hit the dirt with a cold thud, the impact blasting the air out of my lungs. The place where the man touch me burned with a deep sense of cold, like I'd leaned onto a freezer coil.
"Unfortunately, you do not meet the requirements for this particular heaven, however I can provide you with a list of afterlives that you may qualify for."
I blinked a couple of times trying to make sense of the man's words, but even concentrating on his words made my head hurt. "Afterlives?" was all I could muster.
"Yes. If you continue southward you'll eventually reach the classic Realm of Eternal Flame. Their admittance requirements are quite low, and I can't imagine you'd have any difficulty getting in. If that doesn't fit your needs, you might also try applying for a position at the Hall of Righteous Punishment, which isn't far from there, but I'll warn you that dishing out punishment is a torture all it's own..."
"What the fuck are you talking about!?"
"Afterlives, Mr. Wright. Your options."
My heart pounded in my chest. I couldn't understand why this lunatic wasn't helping me. And what was he going on about hell for?
"I am helping you, Mr. Wright."
I jerked and stared at the man. Everything about him was so wrong. The neat suit in the middle of the woods. The way he kept scribbling on that clipboard. And now...
"Yes, Mr. Wright. Mind-reading. We know everything about you here."
No. No this can't be happening. "Where is here?"
"Come now, Mr. Wright. That should be quite clear to you now, shouldn't it?"
"Say it! I want you to say it!" I shouted at him. In a flash, I was on my feet, fists primed at my sides. I wasn't going to let this guy get away with this.
He stopped writing. Slowly he lifted his gaze to meet mine. A steady glare that could rip through metal fixed right on me.
"That won't work here, Mr. Wright."
I felt the blood rush to my face as I squeezed my fists tighter, and clenched my teeth. Who did this guy think he was? He was going to say it, or else...
"Or else what?" The calm in his voice broke through the anger welling up inside me. The place where the man had touched me just a moment ago throbbed. This guy could actually hurt me.
"Now that we have that settled," he continued, resuming his scribbling on the clipboard, "we can continue. To the east, well past the entrances to Nirvana and Enlightenment, you can find the Reincarnation Center where you can at least learn about some of your options there...."
I wracked my brain trying to figure out how this was possible. I remembered being in the woods for the last seven days. Had it been days? There weren't nights, were there? When I fell asleep it was light out, and it was still light out when I woke up.
And how did I get here? The things before were a blur. Ill-formed half remembrances of my life.
"... the Eastern mystics may have some additional thought on the matter, but frankly...."
There had been a wood. A place kind of like this. Is that where I died? Something started coming back. I had been in the woods, but it had been... fun? Yes. I had finished up there. I went... to my car. An old service road.
".... meanwhile to the North there are several additional heavens...."
I was driving out of the woods. That was clear.
"....but you don't qualify for any of those...."
Then the highway. But I didn't look. Headlights from the semi.
"... except Redemption of course, but..."
"What about that last one?" I shouted.
The man jolted at my sudden outburst. "Redemption? Oh no, Mr. Wright, I don't think you'll want to waste your time."
"You just said that I qualify for Redemption!" I felt the old anger stir, but forced it down. I needed this guy to tell me more.
"Yes, everyone qualifies for Redemption, Mr. Wright. And it is almost everyone's first request. But I should explain to you that the path to Redemption requires far greater suffering than any of the other options I've just explained to you."
"But what happens if I get there?"
He let out a long sigh, and rubbed his forehead. "In the unlikely event that you were to reach Redemption, your situation would be re-evaluated and you could be allowed access to the heavens you currently are not qualified for."
I pointed over his shoulder. "Like that one!" One of the figures did a cannonball into the pool from a nearby tree. Some of the children already in the water let out joyful shrieks.
"No. That's just for them."
My excitement weakened just a little, that place had everything. I longed to be in there.
I knew I had to let it go, though. Anything would be better than staying lost in these woods. "But other heavens, right?"
"Yes, Mr. Wright, but..."
"So where is it?"
Another long sigh. "To the North."
"How the hell do I tell North in here? There's no sun, no stars, just trees and mist! What kind of game are you playing here?"
"Moss grows on the North side of the trees."
I stared at the man, dumbfounded. "What are you... no it doesn't! Who the fuck says...."
"You did, Mr. Wright." That hard glare was back. "That's what you told them," he gestured to the figures behind him, "when you left them in these woods. And so that's all I can tell you."
Another flash of memory. A scream. Many screams. They all screamed as he left. After he was done.
He heard his own voice coming from the man as he said the words he'd said to so many others. So many of his victims.
"Good luck."
And then the man was gone. I was still in the woods. Alone. Hungry. And scared.
|
The one thing they don't tell you about the afterlife is that it wasn't designed to handle the explosive population growth of earth. There were lines upon lines of people heading towards booths. Those around you all seem so annoyingly excited each time some progress was made even if just an inch. Socializing with each other and keeping company as if friends in their former lives. James just wasn't that kind of person, brooding in silence as he dreaded how long things were taking. What would occur when he finally got to the front, stewing in the mistakes of his life. How these people could be so happy would only grate on his already taxed patience.
Johnathan in front of him had just happen to mention loudly that he was so glad they were all being expedited for likely the thousandth time. Of course some english dude would be happy being treated so well to be put in the fast line. He had heard more than enough of their love of being in a queue. The girl behind, Jen he believed it was, focused more on those further beyond and even yelled out to other lines. This must be the one for J names which seems odd they would go by first name instead of last. Much more worrisome was that they didn't organize it by more than the first letter, being stuck between Jo and Je just didn't make sense. Really nothing in heaven was what he expected.
For what seemed like an eternity James finally made it to the booth in his line. The angel there seemed happy and excited just as everyone else in that stupid queue.
"Welcome! Here is your complimentary gift bag, you are the last person to get one!" they drew from a bin out of view. "Please take this for making it to the way station, you will need to proceed to our VIP priority line over on marker J67 to continue your journey. You will be one of the first to be let through the gates!"
What the hell was he going to do with some spinning fidget toy, a mug warmer with no cup to put it on and a program for Heaven. Like they were trying to say there were things to expect to come from the next line. It was just the last straw after such a long wait, James was royally pissed almost yelling "What do you mean there is another line? What have I been waiting for in this one just some junk that will be tossed in the nearest bin?"
It seemed to startle the angel, as if someone strayed from a tech support script and they didn't know what to do. "Ah one moment sir" seemed just as similar a response as they scrambled to get help. Those behind him seemed to stir for the delay that seemed to be going on, so close to their goal only to be delayed that extra bit of time. The increased tension seeming to draw even more attention as a second angel came, this one with large wings dropping in with a simple "What seems to be the problem here?" It only took a few murmurs and glances before getting a "Come with me sir".
Well damn right time he got some special attention, even if it turned out bad it at least was different than the drudgery before. Walking off they both seemed to slip through some kind of doorway. The people, the booths, and all of it were gone instead just a pure hazy white in every direction. "Uh so whats going on?"
The wing angel would turn to speak with him there "I am not sure how this got through our screeners. Unfortunately, you do not meet the requirements for this particular heaven however, I can provide you with a list of afterlifes that you may qualify for."
It took a moment to sink in, this wasn't just some line to the pearly gates but someones heaven. No wonder everyone seemed so damn happy and excited, that endless anticipation keeping them on edge along with the special treatment as if they were the only ones among hundreds. He could have never imagined that some one's heaven would be closer to his own hell.
| 2020-02-13T10:17:41 | 2020-02-13T10:17:05 | 193 | 81 |
[WP] You are a manipulative psychopath, but instead of serial killer, you are a serial helper. using your emotionless genius to make other people smile.
thankless, un-noticed but instrumental in paying off someones debts with a clever robin hood of some sort, or moving at breakneck speeds everyday to help others but letting yourself wither and your life fall apart because of how addicted you are to helping. i believe in you guys!
EDIT: Can't a guy sleep for a few hours without something random hitting the front page! (obligatory because its my first time as a 3 year lurker) Also: Absolutely fantastic responses ;~; i <3 you guys
|
Sounds of wailing filled my ears as I entered the cold brick back room where they kept all the cages. Painful welps and yips were uttered from every direction of the steel high rises of kennel cages stacked four high. As I made my way back through the rows of victims of abandonment I could see the faces of potential adopters react to these pitiful sounds. Wincing and jumping at each new piercing howl. Some would literally shrink back when they passed a new cage filled with a terrified dog that had shat itself into a matted mess. The sight and smell of the quivering hound is always too much for them to comprehend. This is why most people only go to ‘public adoption events’, I smirk inwardly. Only the cute dogs get to go to PetSmart.
I walked calmly back to cage 7 and slowly opened it. The creak of the rusted door was followed instantly by the yellow mutt inside lunging at my neck snarling and gnashing its teeth. Kennel Rage. A common case for shelter animals.
I grabbed the skin between its shoulders and forcefully shoved the leash noose around his neck. Between snaps and warning growls I secure a worn, leather muzzle onto him and hoisted him from his cage to the floor. Immediately on contact with the cold cement floor hot, steaming piss started pouring from him, pooling at both of our feet. I knew no amount of human comfort in this moment would calm his terror so I yanked on the leash in the direction of the front office.
“Cage 7,” I state to the front the receptionist.
She finalized the paperwork and handed me a used manila folder. She was obscenely fat and had an unforgiving set of eyebrows that furrowed past me at each entering patron. She had witnessed hundreds of ‘owner drop-offs’ and had visibly lost all hope and patience with her fellow humans. She watched as ‘rescuers’ attempted to take a needy mutt only to return in two weeks with zero shame on their faces because ‘he didn't fit our family’. Which is politically correct for ‘he won’t stop shitting indoors’.
I wondered what that hopelessness felt like. To lose that sense of wonderment with your brethren. I yanked the leash once more and we were on our way out the door. The receptionist sat uncomfortably tall in her chair, peering out the front window and watched as I loaded the yellow mutt into a bare metal cage in the backseat of my car. Her morbid curiosity was never veiled and I almost respected her for the rude but blatant honesty. I nodded curtly through the window and left.
Getting them indoors the first time is always messy. There is so much shrieking and loose stools that I can’t imagine how a normal person wouldn't lose patience. To me it’s just piss and shit that cleans up nicely with stringent mopping and I have all day long for each of these minute tasks. I find fortune in my clinical labeling of being a ‘psychopath’ because after being repeatedly fired and turned down from employment the state had no choice but to award me full disability. This now means I can devote my time to this – rehabilitation.
I always find it laughable when I follow vehicles that have their bumper stickers “I rescue, do you?” Or the countless people at the shelters who pick out a 7 week old puppy and shout with joy how they are ‘helping’ by ‘rescuing’ an animal from certain death. The word rescue is losing its meaning. They don’t drive around inner city neighborhoods looking for abandoned homes with dogs left behind. They don’t sneak on to the properties of suspected puppy mills and pull the deformed, half living bodies from their hutches. They have never used a butter-knife to break a lock of a neighbor who, nearing death, has neglected his faithful pet for days on end. I do these things. Dogs on chains, dogs who have been beaten, dogs who are left to fend for themselves. I am stealing. I am breaking and entering. I am committing crimes in their namesake.
Each time I bring them into my home to shave their matted fur and bathe them. I believe any other person would not be able to stomach the painful noises or would take the fear aggressive bites as a sign that the animal does not deserve their attention. Most people wouldn’t devoid their entire houses of carpet and furniture that cannot be sanitized, buying only sterile fabrics and grocery carts of cleaning materials, dog food and medications. Most people wouldn’t be able to go countless days on end with no sleep just to hand feed them, clean up masses of diarrhea, or change the bandages.
This new mutt is like all the others. The only difference is that now, unless I drive for hours out of town, I have to find the animals in the shelter that are deemed *unfit* for regular families to own. These are the dogs that no family will ‘rescue’. These are the marked dogs that will slowly find their way to the nearest shelter that still administers a lethal injection, bags them in a garbage bag, and throws them into a freezer till the next disposal truck comes by. This yellow mutt was scheduled for that trip.
He now huddles in the corner under a stainless steel desk. He shivers in his cowering position while I slowly mop the floor. Barely inching closer to show him that the mop is not a weapon. He flashes whale eye and I decide that is enough for now. I put the mop away into the cleaning cabinet and decide to move to the next step.
Days slowly pass and he becomes more comfortable with my presence and the presence of other household objects (vacuum cleaners, dolls, radios, etc). I understand that petting and other forms of comfort are necessary so I calmly reach out and pat his head as he timidly trots by. A common problem with other people is that they stupidly let their own fear and disappointment reign visible on their faces and body. This is a trigger for dogs. Not having a healthy amount of fear and emotional processing makes this easier for me.
After ten weeks of countless hours of work the yellow mutt now responds to click training, has removed all forms of food and fear aggression and happily wags his tail when I enter the room. He is finally ready to move on. I have often read on ‘fostering’ informational sites that this is the part that no one can handle. They spend weeks on rehabilitation but then become so attached that rehoming the pet becomes impossible. Their selfish disregard for the process takes over and they then adopt their own projects. That is a blatant disrespect for the logical progression of this responsibility. You do this work – you pass on the project to a fulfilling end of days **and then you go get a new project.**
A family calls soon enough after the craiglist ad is placed and they come to pick up the yellow mutt.
A small boy about 7 explodes from the car, “What’s his name?!”
“I don’t name them.”
He looks around towards his parents confused, they work for words to explain but fail.
The boy seems to brighten “That means I get to name him whatever I want?!”
I nod.
I hand them his folder of shot records and medical history. The family slips a bright blue collar around the mutt’s neck and walk to the car. The mutt happily follows their constant petting and odd cooing noises. He jumps in the backseat and licks the boy’s face. Doors shut and they roll off.
This is how it’s supposed to be. **This** is rescuing because now… I need a new project.
|
It's about control.
I don't care about them, about their futures or past or anything else. All that matters is that what I do forces them to feel a certain way. They are weak spineless creatures that fall for happiness, and I can make them do so. I play with their little puppet strings, forcing them to dance the way I want them to.
No one can *make* me be happy.
The old costume shop has a window in the back with the latch broken. Every month, thanks to a "contest" the old man won, (it took a couple hours of photoshop, a couple thousand dollars plus I get great rewards miles), he flies off to visit his granddaughter for a week.
That's when I strike.
People don't want anonymous moneybags rolling up the curb and funding their dreams anymore. It's too simple and people are suspicious. That just makes the game all the more fun though.
Carl the plumber buys 10 girl scout cookies from the girl in the corner.
Micheal the snappy business man grabs a few expensive products from the mom & pop store.
Anita the flamboyant drag queen drops off groceries at the soup kitchen.
Rinse and repeat. I have dozens of characters I switch into, identities I use to be a little benefactor to all the different people I see needing money. Instead of one extremely generous person they'll remember in their hearts, its many flashing faces dropping off small amounts. Theres no one to give gratitude to, no one to blame the happiness on.
The other three weeks are spent in wait - working in my corner office in that skyscraper at mundane things, pretending like I care about golf or quarterly reports. Its just a way to collect money, flash a smirk at some clients and voila! I have all I need. There's no one I need to spend it on except my prey, and I wait those three weeks cateloging every thing that needs help. Animal shelters going under, high school kids trying to fund a band trip, so many people just waiting on hope to make their dreams come true.
Its all too easy - well, easy except for Christmas.
When the snow comes out, so does everyone's despair and hope, mingling into a scent I can't deny. Its the best hunt, but its the worst one because there are too many. Salvation army santas on every street and orphan children and people getting all worried because of the cold. I have to keep myself in check that I don't get too greedy, don't try to help too much in one place, and make sure that every identity is kept straight. Its the little things like wrapping paper that get you caught. There's no time to think because this is the hunt, and I feed off of every smile flashed my way when a crisp dollar bill or a bright gift exchange hands. But I enjoy it though.
T'is, afterall, the season to be jolly.
| 2015-05-21T08:18:11 | 2015-05-21T07:30:47 | 73 | 26 |
[WP] The year us 3235. You live in a society that has discovered and perfected time travel. It is customary for people who turn 18 to spend a day in the present with their future selves. When it's your turn, you start to feel that the person you're talking to isn't really you.
|
I had a lot of expectations for meeting my future self. The government minder wasn't one of them.
&#x200B;
"Oh, don't worry," he'd told me when he showed up, "it's just a new ordinance. A man tried to kill his past self in a bizarre suicide attempt, caused a time paradox, cleanup took weeks. I'm just here to make sure nothing happens." He laughed at that point, but it sounded nervous, and he didn't seem to have anything he could use as a weapon in case something did turn sour. I wouldn't have trusted him even if he *hadn't* seemed to be lying; his government status was enough, after what I'd seen men like him do to the citizens like me. His clear discomfort just made me more uneasy.
&#x200B;
The me from the future was everything I'd hoped for: I'd grown into my nose, apparently, and I was pleased to see my boobs would be getting bigger. The clothes I--she?--wore looked expensive, and I couldn't recognize a single piece of the technology I saw on her, probably all cutting edge for her time period. Our conversation, however, felt stunted. She couldn't help but repeatedly glance at the government drone, always too close to us, and seemed thrown off by every question I asked. She seemed too plain to be me; too much of a pushover, too obedient to the government who had killed my--our--father, just for allowing me to read a history book.
&#x200B;
"So wait. If I'm going to a school abroad, what happens between me and Jake? Does he come, or do we..." I trailed off, trying to look as worried as I could.
&#x200B;
"I--" she looked again towards our minder, "well, he, um. We don't, we don't really... We aren't *right* for each other, you'll see it later, he's not the nicest guy, and--" she looked again towards the minder, this time appearing more panicked, and back at me. This didn't feel right. There was no Jake, never had been, and anyway I'd expect the future me to know I'm gay. I turned towards the government drone, feeling frustrated.
&#x200B;
"I'm sorry, but we can't have a real conversation with someone like *you* breathing down our necks. She's *clearly* not about to attack me. Could we just have a few minutes alone?"
&#x200B;
This time the minder looked worried. He glanced at the woman and tried to plaster on a clearly fake smile. "Well, I'm just here to make sure--"
&#x200B;
The woman leaned over towards him, whispering something, while I strained my ears to make any of it out. I knew, by now, something was wrong. She stepped back, and the two nodded at each other, both taking deep breaths to calm themselves. The government drone turned back to me, plastering on another fake-looking smile. "I think that will be alright, but only briefly, and I'll be close by in case anything happens." He nodded at the woman and we parted.
&#x200B;
"Look," I started once out of earshot, "I know you aren't--"
&#x200B;
"You?" She grinned at me, seeming suddenly more confident. "You know not to trust him as much as anybody, so pretend we're discussing boys or something." She made the tiniest movement in the minder's direction. "Good job calling him out, by the way. There was a whole plan for how I'd get you alone that you kind of spoiled, but I'll let it slide. We don't have much time, what do you want to know?"
&#x200B;
"Why aren't you me?" I said, growing more confused and uneasy by the second.
&#x200B;
"I'll try to make this as fast as possible. You couldn't come back, the government would never allow it. You're in the middle of leading a revolution against them. They hired me to come back here and pretend to be you. You and I had to pull some strings to get *me* to be chosen," she laughed at that, shaking her head, "but they did it. They believed me. I'm wired up like you couldn't imagine, they're recording everything--don't look so scared, your men hacked it all no problem, none of this will be heard--and they want to use me to stop you from getting risky. They want to prevent the rebellion. They *still* haven't figured out we're always a step or two ahead." She winked at me while her back was to our minder, and I suddenly realized how intensely he stared at us.
&#x200B;
I tried to think of any kind of response, but my head was swimming. I'd always chafed at the government rule, but a full-fledged *rebellion?* "Why send you back at all? Why not, I don't know, kill me or something?" I was trying to find a hole in her story, something to make it not be true.
&#x200B;
"You don't think they've tried," she said, grinning, "you really think the number of accidents you've had isn't unusual? That your own dog attacking you wasn't odd? That you would have had not one but--what, four now?--people try to outright murder you? The only reason they even *have* this tradition is to try to convince the world that their futures will be perfect if they *obey.* *Everyone* sent back is an actor unless they're going to be some government sheep. But we're *winning* now. I can feel it." She stared forward at nothing, but the glee and passion in her eyes was unmistakable. She blinked out of it and stared at me.
&#x200B;
"Giggle like I've said something funny." She motioned subtly towards the minder, "he's an actual government member. Try as we might we couldn't replace him with a spy."
&#x200B;
"Is that what you are, then? A spy? A member of the revolt?"
&#x200B;
"I'm a little more than *that,* but I'll let you experience that on your own. I'm on your side though, rest assured, as is the rest of the world. The tides are turning, in our time. Don't give up. Our fight is nearing its end, and you need to stay with it as hard as it may feel. You'll get to read your history books, eventually, as will everyone else." She smiled at me, and her eyes sparkled with more hope than I'd ever seen from an ordinary citizen. "It's time we go back to him before he catches on," she said, before turning around like she hadn't just uprooted everything I'd ever known.
&#x200B;
"Did I miss anything fun," our minder asked in feigned playfulness when we returned.
&#x200B;
"Oh, you know," I said, "just some boy-talk."
|
The light flickered as the time chamber in front of me spun down.
Out of the mist stepped.... me. Or at least a possible me if the theory people are to be believed. One of the most likely futures at this moment.
The idea is that if we don't like the future were heading for we can change it.
If there were choices we could have made differently and regretted then we can let our past selves know what those choices look like in hindsight.
He... me... he smiles thinly at me.
He's older. Scarred. Reaching a hand out to shake mine and speaks
"Ah so it's this time already, good thing I wasn't in the bath, I hear some people end up with a future self naked and covered in soap. "
I chuckle.
"So any advice for me"
"Eat right, exercise same thing you'd tell your 13 year old self"
"Anything big happen?"
"You might say so... there was a war."
"War? What kind of war?"
Almost nobodies future self came from a war future. That was wart of the point of this. To give people the chance to avoid awful futures.
"Why the **glorious** kind of war. One where we purged the heathens for the glory of god. You ended up working in weapons development."
I went cold. Heathens? God? I'm an atheist. A pacifist. *What kind of person did I become in this future?*
Seeing me silent he chuckled again.
"Oh yes. The nanoplague wars. Funny little buggers ,nanos, get into your head. Change things round. Make you see things the right way. I worked making the nanos of The Great Prophet more contagious. Better at spreading The Truth to the unenlightened."
There was a darkness in his eyes.
I felt a chill.
"How... how can we avoid the war?"
"Avoid it? No no, we're going to spread the glory of *Faith*.... well you are. I know travelers get sent back to their own time but that's OK. I've already given you the gift."
"Gift..... ?" The chill down my spine hadn't faded... in fact I couldn't move or speak.
"Nanos of course." He smiled wider. Above us a warning light started to blink.
"Ah time for me to be getting back." He started to flicker and fade. As the last whisps vanished the locks on the isolation chamber disengaged.
Gradually my limbs unlocked. I had to let everyone know... i had to let them know the glory of the leader.
| 2019-05-23T15:47:57 | 2019-05-23T14:41:45 | 43 | 14 |
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