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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] A world where everyone's soul mate can feel each other's pain no matter the distance.
Also, they don't have to be a couple for it to work. They could be dating someone else, but they still feel it due to fate.
|
I fell down in the school yard, screaming in agony. My classmates rushed over to see what was the matter. I curled up and bit my lip trying to hold back the tears. Mr. Gint, my teacher stepped into the circle and kneeled down. "It's ok Sebastian. This is perfectly natural. Your soulmate is being born."
God, that's what this was? I had heard the stories but most people had their soulmates born when they were young, not when they were eight. I was afraid I didn't have one, that they were stillborn. It felt like my body was being crushed, like it was being forced through a door that was too small, but there was some pleasure in it too. I wasn't alone. Eight years of watching everyone else connect with their soulmate, and I finally had mine. I screamed in relief.
My classmates continued to stare at me. Half of them had gone through this ordeal themselves, but most didn't remember it. They were in awe as they gave witness to a soulbond being formed. Mr. Gint looked down at me, both proud and comforting. "You're safe. Enjoy this moment; not many people remember it." He turned to the right. "Sally, get Sebastian a blanket. He'll need to stay warm." That was the last thing I heard before I blacked out.
---
The next year was a confusing mess. I would wake up in the middle of the night with a pain in my stomach, or my throat, or any number of other places. My parents told me that it was my soulmate waking up and crying out for food, or throwing up, or hurting themselves as they flailed. I couldn't get more than a few hours of sleep before feeling some pain in my body. I swore I'd never have kids.
I envied my friends. None of them remembered any of this pain. It turned out it actually made them love their soulmate more, just like hearing their mother's heartbeat would soothe them as babies. Their soulmates pain was comforting because they knew it since they were young, but for me it was just foreign. I started to hate my soulmate for taking so long to be born. Why did I have to be the odd one?
After the first week of this I started taking my lessons from home. My grades suffered and the school offered to have me wait a year before coming back. "We've had this happen before, it's not a problem. Focus on math and english and then come back when you can. There's no rush."
I thought having a soulmate meant I wasn't alone, but that year I was the more alone than I had ever been.
---
By my tenth birthday I was bitter. My friends had left me and were ahead a grade, while I was still struggling with my new life. My parents were supportive and accepted this as something temporary. I didn't. Whenever my soulmate woke me up in the night, I would punch my hand or bite my lip. I wanted to cause them pain. I didn't care that I was hurting myself, I wasn't me anymore. I stopped being me in that playground. I was us now. And I hated it.
Months passed before I started being able to sleep through the night. There were even days when I went without feeling their pain. I wondered if our bond was weakening, but all the articles I read said it was permanent and distance didn't matter. Some days I hoped I had killed them, but the occasional stubbed toe or scrapped knee would remind me they were still alive. But this I could deal with. I started to get my life back in order, ignoring that I had a soulmate whenever I could. I started learning again and catching up on my studies. Maybe next year I could even go back to school.
---
I turned eleven and returned to school in the fall. I was still a year behind my original classmates and by now everyone knew of my story. I resigned myself to being the only person with this deformity. I was a freak and I learned to like it. I started bragging about it. "Have you started planning your wedding yet? Naming your kids? I don't plan on meeting my soulmate. I'm going to travel the world before my soulmate can even drive. You might be happy having your future written, but I'm going to make my own." My soulmate was no longer something I hated, but became my armour.
---
In the spring I was sitting on a hill when I started feeling a pain in my hand. I scratched at my palm but a few seconds later I felt it again. It was the letter A. My heart started pounding and I stared at my palm. U. R. A. I waited for half a minute but the letters had stopped. What was my soulmate trying to tell me? Aura? Isn't that another name for a soul? Were they addressing me?
My head was swimming with questions. I looked around; no one else was there. I tried to control my breathing. How old were they now, three? Maybe it wasn't them but someone else who was trying to tell me something. But what was I supposed to say back? And if it was someone other than my soulmate, how would they know what I said?
I stood up and started walking, trying to clear my head. I may as well say something, so why not "Aura"? I took my right hand I wrote the letters on my left palm, just like they had done minutes before. The response was almost immediate. Laura. I paused and then realized that I must have felt the L before I scratched my hand. They had told me their name. I had just met my soulmate.
---
The next few months were confusing. Laura and I communicated by writing letters on our hands before talking online. It was amazing to be able to communicate in full sentences after only sending letters for the longest time. Still, it was weird. She was three-and-a-half and I was almost twelve. We shared an amazing physical bond, but didn't share anything else. Laura was like a little sister to me and slowly I started to accept our new relationship. She never asked me about the pain I inflicted on her and I never told her. I would protect her now.
After I started talking with Laura online I told my parents. They were concerned at first but after I told them everything, how I hurt her, how I hated her, and how she wrote her name to me, they started to understand. It was the hardest conversation I had, but they were both so proud of how I grew through it. We all grew closer together.
---
I cared for Laura in our unique way over the next six years. When I finished high school at eighteen I spent a year learning computer programming before booking a ticket to Japan. I realized that I couldn't meet her yet, not when I was nineteen and she was eleven. Eight years was too much of a gap now, but in another eight years who knew? The world was a big place, with lots to see for the both of us. I would work remotely and send her postcards from my travels. We'd still be connected through it all. We had come full circle. We weren't alone, never alone.
---
Epilogue
She stroked my hand and kissed my cheek. "I loved all those years with you, My Sebastian. I wish you didn't have to go but this almost feels right." She brushed my hair back and looked into my tear-filled eyes. "You spent eight years without me, then felt me come into the world. You shouldn't have to live without me." She tried to fight back the tears but she just ended up crying harder.
"Do you remember when we first made love?" I was crying too but I could see her laugh. "I didn't know what I was doing but feeling your body next to mine was amazing. And then when I thrust inside you for the first time, feeling my pleasure and your pain was almost too much to bear." I started to cry without restraint and I just let it happen. "God Laura, I love you so. I don't want to go."
She kissed with all her love, and I felt it. I felt our first kiss, our marriage, our anniversaries, years of love all flooding back. "Hush now, I'm here. I'll always be here. Let me share your pain, one last time." I nodded and took one long look into her loving eyes before I flipped the switch and turned off my life support.
|
NJK376
'If you meet him, then the world will end' he said while staring down at her, his white hair covering the seal of wisdom on his forehead.
"What is the point of having a soul mate if I can never meet him?" she asked. She got no answer.
She left the Temple quite concerned. This was the third time this year. Her shoulders hurt. She was feeling as if she was carrying a huge load.
She really wanted to meet him. She was hoping that he was smart. After all he was her soul mate. Well, whatever this means, she thought, externalising her thoughts with a tiny shrug. Ouch.
GBR987
Not that time again, he thought, seriously, that is just mental, once a month he had to swallow a copious amounts of painkillers for a pain that wasn't his. That girl, really needs to see a doctor, he thought.
He was thinking too much. A tiny wrinkle started to form between his eyebrows while he was estimating his expenses. Then he thought of her. Green eyes, brown hair, long palm forbidding him to get closer when she was delivering her decision 'we should not see each other anymore, you are awkward'.
He shrugged and put a record on. The Rolling Stones 'Some girls' side B. 'Far Away Eyes'. For some reason, the eyes in his mind are always brown.
NJK376
She stomped barefoot from the bathroom to the bedroom. She was quite clumsy for a girl in her late twenties. That tiny wrinkle in between her eyes was growing, for no reason. As she was examining her body, she felt a force on her shoulders and a pinch on her heart; at the lowest part, just above the stomach. 'Inter-rest-ing' she whispered. She always liked to divide words in other words.
She felt quite sore today. She decided to ignore the pain, sat on her desk and opened her laptop. Her online programming session was about to begin.
GBR987
'To NJK376: Your assignment was good. executable commands, and effective use of newly acquired knowledge. You are invited to the University computer labs for the advanced course' She is quite smart, he thought. The pain in his abdomen made him go to bed early.
NJK376
She slid her pass though the gate. 'The elevator is out of order' said the man pointing at the staircases. 'I am going to the sixth floor' she said. A clap of thunder was heard in the distance.
GBR987
Brown eyes, he thought. 'Since we are both going to the sixth, we should engage into a meaningless conversation' he said, making his present company chuckle. Suddenly a pain on his abdomen made him stop. 'Excuse me' he said turning to the girl. No worries, she replied while popping a pill. A thud was heard nearby.
'I do apologise' he said with a smile. 'I have some pain that is not mine I am afraid'.
NJK376
'It is alright, my pain lies mainly on my shoulders. I have to put up with this and my own pain'
Epilogue:
He stared at her for a few seconds. 'I have a genetic disease that makes my shoulders' muscles contract. It is painful he said. I put up with some unusual abdominal pain too'
'Me too' she replied.
Several claps of thunder where heard.
'are you my soul mate' she tried to ask, but it was more like a mere statement.
'i don't know' he said. He felt warm, light, without any pain. Anywhere.
'Let's see if the world ends' she whispered, grabbing his index in her hand.
Thuds were coming closer. Windows were breaking.
They smiled at each other and kept climbing the stairs.
| 2013-12-28T12:09:03 | 2013-12-28T10:06:48 | 47 | 10 |
[WP] You've been bitten by a zombie and your group of fellow survivors won't end your suffering. The fever overtakes you and you pass out. However, you wake up in a room full of zombies. You recognize it - it's the locked room where your group keeps turned loved ones, in case they ever find a cure.
|
Death. There was a time when the very idea of death didn’t scare me. You die, the world goes black, and that’s it. Consciousness ends. The credits have rolled and your screen has gone blank. Your loved ones shuffle from the theater and discuss all the best plot points, remembering them fondly for a time. If enough people liked it, maybe they talk about it for years after. But you don’t get a sequel. They’re usually inferior, anyway. No, you’re really not supposed to get a sequel.
And yet, here I am.
The one that is Eleanor-but-not-really-Eleanor keeps walking into the corner of the room, moaning and snapping at the empty air with rotted teeth. I think she’s been in this room six months. Her husband Jeff (and my brother) couldn’t bear to lose her when she got bitten, so like any loving partner, he throttled her with a rabies pole and threw her in with the other unfortunate undead. And now he’s done the same to me.
The sweat from the fever still beads my ghastly white skin and the festering bite on my arm itches like a sonofabitch. I roll up my shirt sleeve and stare down at my death sentence. I feel like I should have changed by now. I wasted all that damn time insisting they do me a solid and just end my suffering. Then I passed out after I thrashed around in my sleeping bag for a bit. I feel like that should have been the end of it, but here I am, fully cognizant of my bleak surroundings. I could pound on the door and demand they just put a bullet in my brain, but they’re convinced there will be a cure. I already told them there’s not a cure for the sickness that is humanity. We’re a festering scourge that destroyed the earth, wrought our own destruction. Honestly, we deserve this. And, sure, I’m part of the disease, but I’d still love to eat a bullet right now.
The-hollow-shell-that-was-once-Eleanor has stopped bumping into the wall and gone slack, staring off into nothingness. I must be nearly there, since none of them are trying to eat me. I push to my feet and try the door, just in case. Locked. I huff an irritable sigh and turn to take in my other roommates.
Jack-be-nimble-Jack-be-not-so-quick is staring at me, head tilted to the left, jaw slightly unhinged and covered in a thick yellow slobber that drips onto the faded carpet. I understand Mary’s inability to slip a knife into her twelve year old son’s brain, but it would have been kinder than this. I even offered to do it for her. But she just wailed and Jeff got the rabies pole out. God, he looks ripe. I think it’s been about ten months for him.
Then of course there’s Bill-Nye-the-undead-guy. He’s been in here around two months. He’s in another corner of the room, big bald head lowered as he glares at me. His yellow eyes unflinching and full of something that doesn’t quite look like hunger. I avert my gaze and shift uncomfortably. He’s turned, surely he doesn’t remember my attempt to shoot him after he got savaged by that zombie out on the farm. Maybe I can try yelling for the others.
I turn and bang on the door. “Jeeemmgrrmuhhh!” Huh, that’s not what I wanted to say. I try again, “Jeeefrugmrrr!”
Footfalls from without, coming down the hallway. They stop outside the door. I open my mouth to try again and am assailed by the most divine smell. The smell of Life. It pulses through the splintered wood and wafts into my nostrils, permeates my leaden tongue. I moan low in my dry throat and begin to pound on the door again, my only desire, my most desperate *need* simply to taste that tangy life emanating from the man outside the room. I rake my nails desperately against the door. One breaks off completely. I don’t care. There’s no blood, no Life. My pounding must scare him away, because I sense him retreating the way he came. The aroma of his beating heart and salty flesh drifts away from me and I am left wanting, empty.
Slowly, I turn to face the others. Once-Eleanor has recommenced her headlong assault on her corner of the room. Slaver continues to pool at Unlucky-Jack’s feet while he stares through me. And Bill is looking at me. Looking, and seeing.
This isn’t right. I should be dead. In the blissful, black void. Instead I’m in this room with the hideous yellow wallpaper with a dizzying, horrifying pattern, and I’m fully aware. I try to speak but the words stick in my throat and tumble out as an anguished moan. The others groan and moan in response while they keep shuffling and drooling and glaring endlessly. The film has been looped and the reel just keeps on spinning.
Edit: Here’s this, like, thing of mine - r/PhantomFiction - in case yous feel like reading more random stories from a wannabe. Tanks for reading!
|
I didn't turn.
I'm in this horrible dark room and I didn't turn.
I remember passing out in the alley beside the store we had been using as a camp. My vision had faded in and out as Cawrl argued with that new spikey haired girl about putting me down.
I had begged them to kill me as I laid bleeding on the cold filthy ground, but a switch flipped in my brain and suddenly dark.
Now here I am standing in the middle of a poorly lit room with a few brainless husks that used to be Tina, Ted and Rosie with a throbbing headache and a messy looking wound.
The only way out was the Center of attention for the other occupants. I'm unarmed and my friends think I'm an undead freak now.
It must be Tuesday.
| 2017-11-03T23:20:27 | 2017-11-03T22:48:42 | 493 | 36 |
[WP] You instinctively know everyone's name the second you meet them. One day you thank someone at the supermarket for helping you, and they stare at you wide eyed. "Nobody has called me by that name in centuries"
|
At first he thought it was a joke.
People had said that to him before. It was one of the common ones, everyone had the same jokes and just kept passing them around. It was a game by now. Something to keep track if the back of his mind.
But she didn't crack a smile and ask him how'd he managed to guess. She didn't even start with the overwrought bug eyed stare they all adopted. Her face was stone, watching him with an intensity he'd only ever seen from his father when he'd had to scare off a bobcat.
In retrospect, he should have guessed there was something off with a name like Nuriel.
Before he could laugh it off or try to explain, she had him by the throat. They were deep in the store, where the freezers were, and she carried him one handed into one of the swinging employee-only doors. Slammed him against a wall in the back where the ceramic tiles turned to dark concrete and they stopped caring whether or not anyone felt relaxed. He certainly didn't.
"I am going to ask questions. You will answer them." Nuriel's eyes told him there would be no argument. They didn't fit her face. It looked like that of a thin twenty-something. Exactly what he thought she was when he asked for help finding the Windex. Now it stared him down with all the force of a hurricane and the expectations of a queen on the battlefield. Dramatic enough to start leaking into his train of thought.
Or perhaps it was her nails against his windpipe. He nodded quickly and she relaxed, letting him suck down lungfuls of air.
"Good." The woman kept him pinned to the wall with one hand. Staring into her eyes as they slowly shifted to goals. That she could sense lies didn't need to be said, it was obvious. Or safer to assume so. "Your name. Since you already know mine."
"Victor. Victor Malkin."
He could see her teeth move. Wondered if they could rip out his throat like he was so sure her nails could.
"A common name. Mortal." She spoke the last word quickly, as though it would stain her tongue. "Yet you know mine so quickly. We were not introduced, we did not converse. We have never met before this, I have never heard of you before this. And yet, you speak my true name to me without prompting. How."
"If I knew, I'd tell you," he said, trying his hardest to be earnest. Her disappointed frown suggested she believed him. "It's just a trick I can do. Since I was a kid. Just...look at a person and it's like seeing it sewn onto their shirt. It's there and I know it."
Silence followed. A long, agonizing silence where the woman searched his face for lies, nails tapping meaningfully against his throat. Suddenly, she drew in a breath.
"You...can sense names," she said, softly. A whisper even, one that he barely made out. All at once, her demeanor changed, staring at him with fascination rather than suspicion. A bit of wonder. Hope, if he was being generous to himself.
Gently, she let him back down onto his feet. He rubbed the place where her hand had been, certain it would bruise. Nuriel stepped back and began to pace. Moving across the concrete with a grace more befitting of marble. There was little he could do but watch until she was done. He didn't think much of his chances to slip past her.
It was a good while before she froze, deep in thought. Worried thought. Long enough for him to wonder why none of the staff had come into this hallway. He'd buy she was doing something. Had to be.
"I need to test this," Nuriel said softly. Then the world went a bit fuzzy. Lighter. Like stepping out into the sunlight and into cool water all at once. His throat stopped hurting. Something danced between her fingers, small and bright. Didn't do anything, it was just there. Held out in front of her.
Then her arm snapped out and grabbed something lurking in the corner. A tiny, brown, squealing thing that was all wings and sharp teeth before she got it by the back of the neck and held it up to him.
"What is this creature's name," she asked. The little beast hissed at him, malice dripping from every line of its face. Scrunched like a pug and bat-like, eyes pure black and rolling in its sockets. Its arms were fused to the wings, little claws on the end tugging uselessly at Nuriel's arm, unable to even mark the fabric. A long, whip-tail covered in barbs almost caught him in the chest, the little thing screaming in impotence.
And yet, even buried so far behind a shrieking animal, he could see it.
"Razeth," he muttered, glancing at the woman. She smiled, a wide cruel thing as the creature stilled. Stared at him transfixed, as if he had just burst into a sweet lullaby.
It was all he could do not to scream curses when she let the thing go, but it merely drifted to the floor. Wobbled over and curled up at his feet. A strange, clicking noise came from its throat. Like a cat. From hell. As if cats needed to be any more demonic.
Oh.
"That's..."
"A demon, yes." Nuriel muttered, turning and staring at the door. The light disappeared and he could see a bit of something drifting around her legs. He didn't need to guess what. "Drawn here by a mote of creation, sent to investigate why it would appear. Tamed now..."
Oh. OH!
He'd heard of that. Seen it in videogames, books, an anime here and there. A series about a serpent with wings and a sad English boy. The power of true names. He'd never thought it was real. Never thought demons were real either. And if they were, then...
"You're an angel?"
The woman turned. She didn't change. Not one part of her changed. But suddenly, a mid-twenties girl in a dark hoodie seemed like the most powerful thing he had ever seen.
"I am Nuriel of the Hailstorm, Fire of the Lord. You, Victor Malkin, are welcomed to the eternal conflict."
---
https://old.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/
|
The man stared at you, eyes widening slightly. Then he gave a huge grin causing his eyes to squint. Waving his hand casually,
"Come, come; I want to show you something." And brings you over to an isolated section of the store. Large pieces of furniture surround you creating an imposing and claustrophobic atmosphere. You have no time to react as the man slams you against a heavy wooden table with a knife to your throat.
"How do you know that name?!!" He snarls, bearing his teeth. The table digs into your back and your knees become weak in fear, but you know if you move it will be your last action.
"I..I..I" You swallow nervously. "It's just a talent, I swear! I just k-know these things."
He stares at you for a few seconds, observing your every movement with his hand still clenched tightly around your shirt. He removes the knife from your neck to your relief.
"Give me your wallet."
"W-What?
"I said, give me your wallet."
He opens it up and glances at your drivers liscense for a few seconds before flipping it haphazardly back to you.
Cheerfully he declares, "See, now we're even. I know your name too! And your address and your birthdate. Isn't it wonderful! Now I can come visit my new friend whenever I want! Such an interesting person, I'll definitely find out all their secrets! And if they deceive me..." his eyes slant towards you for a few seconds.
"Well, nevermind, nevermind. These things may or may not come to pass."
He gives you one last dismissive glance and walks off cackling.
| 2018-11-05T20:24:49 | 2018-11-05T20:16:01 | 5,041 | 44 |
[WP] You find yourself in a world of darkness, drowning in rough seas. You spot tiny island and swim there. There's a decrepit old house. Inside are 3 terrifying creatures but they mean you no harm. They cannot communicate. They take care of you. They are your family now. You feel utterly alone
|
Only the dampened, drawn-out creaks of floorboards sounded as I tiptoed to the front door. It was the dead of night, silent as a grave, and it smelled like one, too. The air was heavy and rank, as if it too had died. One foot down, shifting my weight, the other up, a slow wooden groan, then repeat. Skip the one with a pockmark in it—that one’s the loudest.
They wake up every time I step on that one.
I inched my way to the front door, then took a deep breath, held it and reached for the doorknob. Turning it up, not down, it let off a faint click, and I pulled the door out. Fresh air hit me, soothing, and I breathed it in deep. It soothed me—too much.
I fucked up.
The door groaned as I pulled it just the slightest bit too hard, and though it was no louder than a weak cough, my entire being cringed. My breaths quickened.
Something rustled behind me. I knew what it was.
I closed my eyes.
Tendrils snaked around me and pulled, and the world faded to black.
----
I awoke to the dim light that was sunrise in my hell of a home. It was never brighter than a moonlight night, even when the sun was out, like a coffee filter had been placed over the sky. Groaning, I sat up, and winced as I recalled my mistake the night before.
Twisted flesh, jagged and blacker than night itself, hung in front of me. Bright orange eyes peered out, floating on the mass, freely moving across its entire body. I would have been startled, but after God knows how many years, the terror of it had become numb.
That one, with the shifty eyes, was Three. He was, as his name implied, the third… thing… I had ever encountered after crashing at sea. Like the others, he could not speak any human words, but he did have an uncomfortable tendency to whistle.
His two eyes fixated on me, and a tendril shot out, propping up my head. Another, carrying a glass of water, gently approached my lips, and I drank from it, as I did every morning, trying to avoid his terrible gaze. A faint, dissonant tune came from his being, seeping into my bones. The look of him, the touch—that, I had gotten used to. But the sad, slightly off-tune melody he offered me every morning never failed to set a chill into my spine.
Three left, and, like clockwork, Two drifted in. Like a pool of fog, it swirled along the floor, drifting toward me as a cloud in the sky would. I held a breath, out of a perpetual fear that I’d accidentally inhale the monster, and let it lift me. I never knew quite what it did during that time, as I always shut my eyes, but part of it was changing my clothes. Always the same, black set of robes, never any variety, and I don’t even want to begin thinking about where they came from.
I was, per the schedule, free to roam my run-down little room after the morning ritual-- however, any further than that and One would come for me. The first few weeks, I tried to escape every chance I got, and One would always find me, wherever I ran, and shake his mangled face at me.
I think, on some twisted level, they’re trying to protect me. None of them, not even One, has ever harmed me in any way, and outside the cabin lies a dead sea of wood and bones. But after some unknown amount of time had stretched away from me, living alone in a cabin full of terrors, their intentions didn’t matter. I’ve begged them to let me leave, even if it meant dying slowly, as long as I’d get to die outside of the decaying walls of their putrid little home.
If I don’t get to see my family again, or my friends, or play the guitar or anything else that makes life enjoyable—then why am I even alive? I wish I could tell them that, but they just don’t understand.
It’s clear that there’s only one way out of that Hell, and it involves a lot of swimming. The sea took me there, and the sea can take me home.
Or it can take my life.
---
The day crawled by as I was forced to spend it in my little wooden dungeon, full of its creaking rotten wood and traitorous books filled with empty pages. I suffered the unending loneliness, the mind-numbing boredom, and stayed awake this time. Napping during the day only makes me groggier at night, and if I’m groggy, I make mistakes like I had the night before.
There are no more of those to afford.
The time finally came, after yet another day of eternal emptiness. I’d decided it was finally the day, one where I either get out, or I never wake up again.
I meditated a few moments, steadying my nerves and breaths, and once the moon-smudge poked out over the horizon, I began.
Weight on the toes. One before the other, light on the step, then slowly applying eight. Skip the third, eight and tenth floorboards, hug the wall down the staircase. Over the pockmarked board, turning the handle up, and not letting the fresh air dull my razor-sharp awareness.
I didn’t close the door behind me, this time. Creeping down the stone porch steps, onto the path of decrepit tiles that led to them, I kept my breath held. Then, stopping on the last one, I breathed deep twice more, and picked up a snapped femur from the ground.
And ran faster than I ever had in my entire life. This time, not into the dead forest, but toward the ocean on our left.
I heard him. I heard One clamoring across the ground, scattering bones and dirt and twigs, but didn’t look back. All my weight pressed forward, every step as long as possible, until One’s footwork grew nearer—then, I turned, stopping quickly, and thrust the bone into his mangled, furry body. A mouth on his midsection, filled with jagged brown teeth, wailed. I turned and ran again, just a few more feet, and jumped off the low cliff.
The shock of cold bit at my skin, and I gulped for air, but used every ounce of my will to try and swim as far as I could. One’s wailing faded behind me, but I did not look back. There was no going back.
It wasn’t long before I could no longer progress, or even stay afloat. The world faded black, and I sank, swallowed by rough waves of water black as ash.
Something pulled me out.
---
My eyes peeled open like someone had glued them shut long ago. There was a strange heaviness and glow to the world and I was—I was wearing white? When did Two ever dress me in something white?
No, Two would never do such a thing. I was no longer in my Hell; the smell of wet wood and old porridge was gone, replaced by something lighter, and floral. I felt sunlight on me—real sunlight, not something muted and fake—and welled up without even realizing it.
I was free.
There was a vortex of gasps and murmurs around me. A woman, I think, approached, cradling my head, holding up a cup of water. Her eyes were as wide as her smile.
She whistled Three’s favorite tune.
---
*/r/resonatingfury*
^(this is very different than my usual work but I wanted to give sp00ky a try)
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Two years ago I drifted in the endless sea, cast asunder by the people I used to call friends. Things were simpler back then, but at the end of the day a betrayal is a betrayal, and there was no moving forward for us. I almost drowned in my pitiful emotions before the tiny island revealed itself to me. An tiny island of hope I had hoped, but hopes and dreams are for fools. I dragged myself inside the decrepit old house and said my last goodbye to the outside world that was far too cruel to me. What waited for me inside was just as bad, but at least they would never hurt me.
I lay in my bed staring longingly at the crib in the corner. The entity that I had come to call Lezzy snuggled up to me and kept me warm, like a thick blanket on a cold winters night. Lezzy was always there in my bed, keeping me company and keeping me warm, almost as if she... It.. never wanted to leave my bed. I dragged myself out of bed with a shriek and headed to the kitchen. I could smell breakfast being cooked.
I trudged down the hall where the perky entity I had come to call Glanty was preparing my favourite meal: Bacon and eggs. I don't know where it got the food but it always tasted good so I couldn't complain. Glanty always knew what I wanted to eat, even when I didn't know what I wanted. I'd been eating so well that I'd actually gained a bit of weight since I came here. I couldn't care less though as I shivered it all into my mouth and almost swallowed it whole. I smiled, satisfied as always, before I went to see my last friend.
The basement had always given me a cold chill down my spine, but I was always drawn here. A thick layer of entity covered the floor, going up to my knees. Depreno was always in the basement, and he... it had always been with me. I lay down on my back and let it consume me, as it has alway done. But something was different this time. I opened my eyes and I saw some rope dangling from the main support beam. The basement door creaked open. Lez... Laziness let itself in, closely followed by Gla.... Gluttony. They came down and the room became a soup of emotion. Depr..ession grew in size and before I knew it I was completely consumed by it.
All this time and I had amounted to nothing. My whole world crumbled around me. It was a waste really. I was done fighting. I don't know why I struggled for so long. Tonight would be my last night on this godforsaken island, I could finally close my eyes and be at peace. The entities knew this was the end and it did not matter to them. They tied the rope around my neck and I let one last tear run down my face before I let go. Except something stopped me. A faint knock at the door was the last thing I remembered as the walls around me faded away.
Perhaps this isn't how my story ends.
| 2019-05-02T06:33:01 | 2019-05-02T06:22:03 | 1,789 | 117 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
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Theldon – or at least the creature that was wearing his face – looked pale in the light of the campfire. As the wood crackled and burned, he chewed his lower lip, gathering his courage to speak.
“Guys … I … I have something to tell you,” he managed.
His three traveling companions looked at him. Vanariel snapped her spellbook shut and drew her staff. “What is it? An ambush? I told you guys I saw goblin-sign back there!”
“No, no! Not goblins!” Theldon said, holding his hands out. “It’s … it’s about me.”
Shiny Pete smirked. “What? You got the whore’s itch or something? Nothing to be ashamed of, buddy. Happened to us all once or twice.”
Dagmar glowered at the rogue from under bushy eyebrows. “Or mayhap a good number of times more than that.”
“No! It's not a disease either! It’s just …” Theldon took a deep breath. “Guys … I’m … I’m a doppelganger."
The three of them shared a long look, and then Vanariel and Shiny Pete burst out laughing. Dagmar’s glower deepened. “That’s no’ funny, lad,” he growled.
Vanariel and Shiny Pete stopped laughing. “Wait, wait,” the rogue said, “Dagmar, you didn’t *know?*”
Theldon looked shocked. “Wait, you guys *knew?*”
The elven woman tittered. “You’re not the shapeshifter you think you are. The real Theldon was an asshole.”
“Total dickwad,” Shiny Pete agreed. “In, like, every conceivable way.”
Dagmar leapt to his feet, drawing his axe. “You mean this is no’ a joke?” he roared, advancing on Theldon. “Die, fiend!”
As one, Vanariel and Shiny Pete placed themselves between the enraged dwarf and the doppleganger. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Shiny Pete yelled. “This might not be the original Theldon, but he’s been with us for almost a year now. He was the guy who stood over you after you got paralyzed by a ghoul.”
“He took point when we fought that dragon,” Vanariel continued.
“Hell, he got in the face of evil sorcerer while you were busy chopping up his henchmen,” Shiny Pete added.
“Those henchmen represented a serious threat!” Dagmar retorted, “And it was no' like it was a full-grown dragon. Only a wee one!”
In unison, Valariel and Shiny Pete rolled their eyes. Dagmar glowered some more. He was good at it, and he liked to play to his strengths. At last the dwarf made a humphing noise and lowered his axe. Valariel sat down and opened her spellbook again. “Okay, that’s over right? We can get back to the adventuring?”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Pete said. Dagmar only grunted.
“Did you guys really know?” Theldon asked, still somewhat wary of the dwarf.
“Oh, yeah. I mean, it was kind of suspicious how he was dying of jungle rot one day and completely fine the next. But you’re really not much like the original Theldon at all. First of all, you’re actually useful in combat. And second of all, you’re a decent guy. I mean, I can have an ale with you and not worry that you’re going to stiff me on the check,” Pete said.
“Or stare at my tits while I’m trancing. Or grab my ass when I’m trying to brew potions,” Vanariel added. “And the ear jokes. Ugh, the original Theldon was such a creep. Why did we even keep him around?”
"Good question," Pete said. "I mean, I asked myself that a bunch of times after we got new Theldon. 'Why did we even keep that tool around in the first place?'"
“So you guys don’t even care that I’m a shapeshifter?”
“Not really, no,” Pete said. “I worked with lots of different people when I was in the Thieves’ Guild. Changelings weren’t any more likely to try killing me in my sleep than humans or half-elves. In my experience, everyone’s pretty human when you get down to it.”
“Hey! Speak for yourself, round-ears,” Vanariel said with half of a smile. “But nevertheless, I agree with the sentiment.”
“Oh,” Theldon said. He sat in own thoughts for a moment. “Thanks, guys. That means a lot to me.”
“Don’t mention it,” Pete said, and Vanariel nodded in agreement.
The evening passed in silence. Shiny Pete honed his daggers, and Vanariel memorized her spells. Dagmar and Theldon each sat in silence, alone with his thoughts.
At last the dwarf spoke. “Lad,” he asked the doppleganger, “have you ever tried maybe not being a shapeshifter?”
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John, George, and Ringo were huddled together inside a secret room on the fantastical magical yellow submarine.
"George, how confident are you?"
George left his momentary silence of contemplation to say " Paul is dead man, miss him."
Ringo asks, "do you though? I mean I doubt if you guys would miss me either."
John shook his head, "we must have lost him on our way through Abby Road"
George sighed "I like the new one. I say we let it be."
A knock on the door. "You there guys? I was hoping we'd do a music number about friendship."
John looked at the others, and they nodded in agreement. John opened the door and announced, "ALL TOGETHER NOW!"
| 2017-09-15T08:31:45 | 2017-09-15T06:41:40 | 147 | 35 |
[WP] You are a villain, but you have standards: when lesser villains try to hurt your archnemesis' wife and kids, you show them why you are the biggest fish in town
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Justin Polock stood up immediately when I entered the hospital room. He was not dressed as the Light Bringer, but I saw he was ready to fight me in his civilian clothes. While he was not an elegant man, he usually had some style: shirt, high quality jeans, and a golden watch on the left wrist. The watch did not exactly go along with the rest, but I knew that it was a gift from his late father.
For myself, elegance is a must. That day I was wearing a white suit combined with a light grey shirt. I grabbed my pocket watch to check time. 13:32.
The man in front of me... was in a terrible state. His shirt was all wrinkled, he had not shaved in a few days, and his charcoal black hair was a mess. I rose my hands. "I'm not here to fight you. You know I didn't do this".
"I don't believe you! I know it was you!"
"Your wife has been hurt, I get it. But we've known each other for decades, Justin. I could have done it many times and I never did, why would I do this now?". He seemed to consider that, so I continued. "You also know my family, hell, my wife invited you to have dinner not knowing who you really are. Why would I make her and my kids target of your anger? I'm better than this, you know it, plus", I said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "I have standards. Petty vengeance is not one of them".
Justin lowered his fists and I could feel how the pure raw energy that his body was gathering receded. He sat down and, for the first time, I saw him crying in silence. "I don't know... what to do", he whispered, "No one knows where they are".
On the bed of that intensive care unit was a woman in her early thirties. She had been intubated and connected to a ventilator, her face was swollen and had bandages over her arms and legs. I remembered her well from our encounter eighteen years before: Yvette, Justin's wife. A French girl he saved from I don't remember what disaster I caused -hell, I was young and stupid- when they both were barely eighteen. She moved to the USA five years later, and after three more years they got married.
In a few days, they would celebrate their thirteenth wedding anniversary.
I received a message through my cybernetic implants, and I could tell Justin had seen the subtle glow in my eyes. *"This is Rogue 2, location Delta scanned, no signs of the objective*". I gave an order with a thought. "I'm taking care of it, Justin".
I sat down next to that man. I could feel his pain. "I have arranged for her to be treated in the Advanced Medical Research Institute, shall you agree. They have healed me each time you broke most of my bones". He rose, and our eyes meet, he seemed confused. "No schemes, I swear".
"That... would be good. But I cannot..."
"I'm taking care of it. Don't worry about the cost, they work for me, after all".
"I thought you were an arms dealer and mercenary contractor?"
"My enterprises are so vast and complex it would take decades to fully disclose. As you know" I added with a sly smile "technically, I'm not a Super Villain. I just have some extra strength and endurance, but nothing compared to your powers".
"Do you know where my kids are?"
"I'm on it".
He nodded and grabbed Yvette's hand. The soft beeps of the monitors equipment indicated that she was stable, but in a critical condition. We both knew that super heroes were good fighters, but they lacked heavily in the art of subtle research. That was my area.
"It was a bomb" he said. "They told me where she was, but when I arrived it exploded. I could not protect her in time. And now, they are asking..."
"Access to the Hero's Guild main net, which will reveal the identity of every superhero worldwide", he looked at me, shocked. "I'm very good at my job. As I told you, I'm on it."
We spent a few minutes in silence. I checked my pocket watch. 13:48. *"Sir"*, my communicator sent the message directly to my brain, it was way faster and efficient than standard sound-based communications. "*Objectives located in location Epsilon Two. Two guards, Gamma Radiation detected emanating from them"*. That meant that both kidnappers were supers.
*"Can you confirm status of the kids?"*, I asked. *"Vital signs maintained, the eldest has been beaten, but no life-threatening injuries"*. I nodded, and I saw that Justin realized I was talking with someone, though no words came out of my mouth. *"All units execute contingency Dark Shroud".*
Several voices confirmed my orders. After ten minutes, I closed my eyes and let my neural link take control of my senses, and the feedback of a five different people went through my mind at the same time, feeling as if I was personally doing all those actions myself. Any lesser man would scream in agony from this experience, but not me. I didn't explain anything to Justin, despite I was helping him I was not going to disclose all my secrets. He'd go bananas if he knew I am able to do this.
*I was on the rooftop of a skyscraper, following a target that glow green through the walls of the 43rd floor of a building. I estimated a distance of two kilometres to the target. I fired the Barret.*
*I jumped from the 52nd floor, above location Epsilon Two, opened the wings of my suit and redirected towards a window. Immediately before hitting it, I produced two pistoles and fired towards the glass.*
*I could feel the heavy armour on my shoulders and head. I charged directly towards a wall that crumbled under the weigh of my body.*
*Sword in hand, I watch as a woman, Lead Promise, shotgun in her hands, kicked the door opened. She threw a flash bang grenade inside and, after the detonation, I rushed in. Rhino came through the wall, ramming one of the kidnappers. The other one burst into flames, but with a loud "thud" a bullet opened a hole in the wall and hit him in the head. He didn't die, so I jumped towards him and slashed him with the sword.*
*Dark Eagle came through the window and immediately rushed towards the kids who were still on the ground, crying, deafened and blinded from the flash bang. Rhino grabbed the kidnapper and jumped through another wall towards the street. The flaming man stopped my sword with a weapon he produced out of pure fire, but immediately Lead Promise was upon him. She put her heavily modified shotgun on his forehead and unleashed a dozen rounds in less than a second. Before the kidnapper dropped unconscious, Dark Eagle had jumped through the window carrying the three children with him.*
I deactivated the comm link and smiled and checked the watch, 14:00. "Just in time". Before Justin could say anything, I used the remote to turn the TV on, the news report was just starting and, after one minute, it got interrupted when the signal got hijacked. TV shown a dark room in which two men were chained to the ceiling with heavy chains. They both were heavily injured, their wounds still bleeding. Justin, "Light bringer" looked at me, baffled.
"Your kids are safe and will be here in about fifteen minutes. Oh, don't look at me that way: heroes, cannot excerpt vengeance as I can. But I'm certain you will enjoy the show". I rose up and walked to the exit. "Until next time, Light bringer".
As I exited the door I heard my own voice echoing through every single TV of the hospital. *"Today, you, young villains and heroes, are going to understand why you should not target your arch nemesis' families. For that is a line we shall never cross. In case you cannot recognize my voice, allow me to introduce myself."*
I didn't need to watch to know what was happening. At that point, Blood Ninja, one of my loyal employees, dressed as myself, had shown himself to the camera. The voice synthesizer he had implanted on the throat did the rest.
*"My name is Sullivan".*
I heard the spectators moan in horror and shock. It had been so long since I appeared live on TV to exert my revenge on someone. Last time it lasted sixteen hours, but today we had two supers to torture.
And supers are very, very resilient.
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It wasn't even five minutes before I smelled the stench in the air, the kind of stench that I know all to well: the stench of some one commiting one unforgivable crime against that of a child. Sure, I cannot be everywhere at once tending to those that harm children: that is a Sisyphean task I will not undertake.
The heroes know this, I give them the necessary resources and information when dealing with such matters, albeit anonymously.
But this stench is so foul I recognize it immediately: willful harm to Sir Beacon of Hope's children, wife, and worst of all, the youngests pet cat, Blinky, a cat of a pure black void, affectionate and loving, which I had given to her. How I knew about Blinky is a mystery.
I knew Beacon all to well: family man, devoted husband and father. I know he will break, because since a quiet and gentle hero like him will resort to a murderous and homicidal rage when pushed because well ***ahem*** I accidentally insulted his wife. So don't push the Wife Button. She'll be telling you that ".... you shouldn't've did that!" with Beacon's fist poking through your torso.
Who would do thi-oh, those upstart bastards from Watson Pacifica, always barking about the big leagues. What do they call themselves? Something boring like the Red Dragons? Green Komodos? Something colorful with an animal motif.
Have they not heard of the Shimmering Shadow? I always keep myself to the shadows, for obvious reasons, and I can use said shadows to listen in what I need to hear in or around where I've been before. And what I've heard made my blood boil with a hateful rage: Maggy, his wife, as strong as she was, clinging to life, barely breathing; the oldest son, Zachary, with broken legs from a crowbar and crying out for his mom to hang on; the second oldest, Bethany, unconscious and breathing ragged and wheezy ***must be broken ribs***; and Katy, oh, poor Katy. Physically she was fine, but I can hear her pain as she cried for Blinky. I didn't even want to know. But I had to. I hate hearing a child cry for a pet. Especially one I gave to my archenemy.
Having limited teleportation capabilities, I had to be precise with where I wanted to go and to whom I wanted to teleport to. So, having Blinky in mind, I jumped. What met me when I arrived made my stomach churn, nearly making me loose my dinner. For the sake of Katy, Blinky will live, but will require all of the love and care deserving of such a gorgeous cat as I made the necessary trip to the vet on such short notice, having made them aware of the situation almost immediately.
Luck was on my side as I directed my full hate filled rage towards the kidnappers, Beacon of Hope hasn't heard a single word about this. I made sure this would be a villain issue because they crossed a line: don't fuck with pets of other villains or heroes, unless they require immediate medical care. ***All expenses are paid.***
Having a taste for their blood, I tracked them down to the wearhouses and docks, well within another villains territory, and having every other villains with enough sense informed and about the situation to minimize civilian casualties.
Being accustomed to the shadows, I made short work of the guards making my towards the family as quickly as possible.
***What happened after Shimmer arrived at the warehouse has been excised from public records due to the graphic nature.***
Everybody is expected to survive, and Katy will still have Blinky, but I'm afraid she's going to have nightmares for a long time to come. I'm getting a therapist paid for the entire family exception being Beacon.
These pathetic upstarts know not to go after a family of a hero after I made sure every villain and hero is reminded of the professional standards.
| 2022-09-28T01:39:11 | 2022-09-28T00:02:27 | 45 | 21 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons.
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It's useful, in a general sort of way, to be seen by the galaxy at large as cute, harmless doofuses. Soft, fleshy, tiny little bipeds, always wanting to communicate. To most of them, we're about as threatening as a Labrador puppy.
Understand; our stellar neighborhood is a very scary place. Like Mos Eisly Cantina scary. You've got your hive mind "insectoid" races, your noncorporeal energy beings, and all manner of biologically acrobatic variations in between. And don't even get me started on the only other humanoids, the fucking Greys. Yikes. Those guys suck.
Anyway, when I say "in a general sort of way," it's because there are a few specific and distinct disadvantages to this perception, as well. One of them would be situations where the ambassador from Earth must appeal to the Council of Argherrech. Which is the situation that I, as said ambassador, had to face during what was later called "The VingVa Crisis."
The VingVa, known colloquially just the Ving or even simply V, were a particular obnoxious insectoid neighbor to earth. One day, without any prior notice, a Ving spacehive appeared only a few miles outside lunar orbit and began construction on an hyperspace corridor repeater site. And I don't have to tell you, the radiation those things throw off, when they're active, that close to Earth? Well. This kills the Labrador puppies.
Of course all attempts by the human authorities at communication were ignored. The Ving had communicated to the council that they consider humans a non-sentient lower life-form, and thus unworthy of inclusion in the council or in fact any form of recognition or communication. This was a common perception among hivemind species, who generally only recognized sentience of other hives. Politics, amiright?
As I approached the round which seated the members of the council, I was struck again bye how large of stature and claw and tooth most of them are. Quite intimidating. As I approached and climbed the tiny elevated platform where petitioners stood, I felt their alien perceptions tracking me. I spoke slowly and clearly into the translation assembly.
"Good day and high praises upon all of your excellencies, members of the prestigious and all-knowing Counsel of Argherrech..."
And then I went on like this for some time praising each member of the council individually and debasing myself before them. These guys LOVE flattery. Rather dreary and boring and if you don't mind I'll skip ahead to the important bits.
"...and so, I come before you today to seek the permission of the council to defend the human homeworld against this unlawful incursion into our space."
There was a silence as the counselors each finished receiving the translation. Though by policy the Ving never acknowledged any human communication, the first reaction was, in fact, from the Ving avatar. There was a series of twitching movements in the top third of it's upper facial appendages, which I had come to understand as a *very* rough analog to human laughter. Wonderful. What followed was a near 10 minute conversation among themselves that, of course, was not translated for my benefit. When they had finished their conference, Basthora, the "chair," spoke into his own translation assembly. What came out my end was a harsh, metallic, very robotic sounding voice.
"If VingVa make war, Human cannot survive. Council will order VingVa allow one earthcycle for evacuation of Humans."
Much as I'd expected.
"Ah, yes, and this is much appreciated, oh most noble and generous rulers, may your reign last an epoch. But, if I may, and with all respect due, I was sent here today by the leaders of Earth to seek the permission of this glorious council to do exactly that. To declare war on the VingVa, and to, erm, to defend ourselves."
Now the "laughter" was more pronounced - not just in the Ving avatar but in the forms of the others as well. A very brief untranslated conversation followed, but from what I had learned of their body language, the response was clear. Assent.
"If Humans wish extinction, they may fight the VingVa to the death. Council grants permission."
Of course, everyone knows what came next. We waited patiently for the V hive to finish constructing the terminal, and turn it on. Fifty H-bombs, casually dumped into the newly opened portal - a straight shot back to their homeworld. One more for the hive that built the damn thing. Funny thing, they didn't even bother trying to stop the tiny ship that did it. Never fired a single shot at it. They literally never knew what hit them. They saw us as so far beneath them, so insignificant, so weak, that even in total annihilation they did not comprehend the threat we posed to them. And they never will.
Because now, there are no more VingVa.
Yes, in a general sort of way, it is quite useful to be seen as cute, harmless doofuses. Though I'd wager that, in the future, maintaining that image may prove slightly more challenging. But, hey...what else are diplomats for?
Edit: a word
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The Orak believed the war with humanity would end in blood and glory. Instead it ended in a white flash while they struck the outermost colony of Elysium. Humanity attacked their home planet Orakus. Citizens on Orakus felt no pain or suffering as the humans on Elysium did. Instead it was a white hot mercy that the Tsar unleashed from hell itself. The results of this repisal were almost instantaneous. Orakian warlords upon seeing their homeworld reduced to ash surrendered their weapons some even began worship of humanity as they had mastered a level of war they had never considered.
| 2020-02-07T14:54:18 | 2020-02-07T13:21:46 | 58 | 18 |
[WP] The Devil promises you everything: fame, fortune, all the things a mortal will ever need for paradise on earth. But he doesn't want your soul, he just wants you to take his socially awkward daughter, Gertrude, out on a date. Make her special, y'know?
**EDIT** All of your responses have been amazing! I wish I had time to leave feedback on all of them. You guys rock!
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I was sitting by the lake, in the city park when someone sat down next to me. While I was sporting your typical t-shirt and jeans, this guy was dressed nicely; gray pinstripe suit, nice leather shoes, sunglasses with logos on them I didn't recognize.
"Can I help you?" I asked quietly. This guy had kind of an aura around him, something that had the back of my mind screaming to run for my life.
"You can," he said, just as quietly. "Do you know who I am?"
"You're the guy that sat down next to me."
"Very funny. Seriously, do you?"
"I figured my response was answer enough."
He turned to me, skin just barely tanned with a thin black goatee and an angular face. He slipped down his sunglasses and looked into my eyes. I saw flames leap, and had a vision. The same guy, standing over a fiery pit, holding a pitchfork and laughing. Then, I saw a series of little transgressions from my life play back to back.
"Oh," I whispered. "I didn't think you really went for the horns, cape and pitchfork thing."
"I needed to make sure you recognized me," he said, a small smirk twisting his lips.
Well, crap. Here I am, on a nice spring day, minding my own business, when the Devil himself walks up to me. "I guess you're here to offer me a deal?"
"Yes," he said, settling his sunglasses precisely on the bridge of his nose. "But not how you're thinking of it. Nothing cliche. I don't want to bargain for your soul, I'm not going to be doing any blackmail. Frankly, you don't interest me particularly, but you're a nice guy, and I have something I'd like for you to do."
"What the hell..."
"Nope, not back home," he said. "Right here. Or, specifically, around here is fine. It's up to you."
"Wait a minute, I haven't even agreed to anything yet."
"No, no you haven't." He took a deep breath. "I'm going to offer you whatever in my power you want. No strings attached, no twisting the words to subvert the meaning, none of that. Straight up exchange for you, and it will only cost an evening of your time." I stared at him for a minute, utterly perplexed. "No," he sighed, "you're not killing anyone or doing dark rituals or anything so melodramatic."
"Then, what..." I trailed off. This whole thing was surreal. I'm having a discussion with the freakin' Devil about me doing him a favor. I considered that maybe I might be going insane. He looked at me and sighed again.
"I said nothing melodramatic. You're not going crazy. I swear, every time I talk to someone, they're either gibbering like fools or they vapor lock."
"Then what in God's name..." I choked, realzing what I was saying.
"Which name?" he asked with another smirk. "Yes, yes, it logically follows, if there's me, there's a God, and He's all-knowing, all-seeing and won't hold this against you. Can we just get on with this?" Wordlessly, I nodded.
"I need you to take my daughter on a date."
That's how I ended up here. I had an address in my car when I got ready, so I had dressed nice. Well, nice enough, I guess. Sure, cargo khakis and a polo might not be business formal attire, but I wanted to at least be comfortable. I was sitting in the parking lot of an apartment complex, still struggling with this whole scenario. I pulled the business card out of my pocket, plain white with a red pitchfork one side, and impeccable calligraphy, the address and apartment number on the other. I made my way to the correct apartment, took a deep breath and knocked.
When I opened the door, I was stunned. The lady in front of me was... the best words for it are 'remarkably plain.' While her father had looked like someone that would make people in Hollywood jealous, his daughter could have been anyone, anywhere.
"Hi, I'm..." I began
"I know. My dad put you up to this." She cut me off brusquely. She didn't look me in the eye, instead seeming to be looking at my chin. "Yes, to answer your stupid questions, I'm completely human. No, I don't look nice tonight. I want to go to the new italian place on Broadway." She stepped past me, pulled the door shut behind her and started walking to my car.
I turned on my heel to follow, completely flummoxed.
The whole night went that way. Dinner conversation was a combination of pulling teeth and being slapped in the face. The wait staff came around as rarely as possible, and she chewed them out for that, too. My attempts to be polite and hold open doors, pull out her chair, picking up the check were all roundly ignored.
After dinner, I had the idea of going back to the park and taking a walk around the lake. Well, that was a mistake as well. I don't think I'd ever received quite so much criticism about myself in my entire life up to that point. I smiled through it all, said thank you and considered the possibility of drowning myself, consequences be damned.
Finally, after two walks around the lake, she was done. In no certain terms, I was told to get my "junky car" to pick her up and take her home. I proceeded dutifully, held the door open for her, and took her home. I walked her to the door, and was going to say I hoped she had a nice night, when she simply opened the door and slammed it in my face.
There are days when you wonder what exactly you did and who exactly you hacked off. I was pretty sure I had the second part figured out.
The next day, I was back at the park, sitting on the same bench by the lake, when he sat down next to me again.
"So deal's off, I guess?" I asked.
"Nope."
I blinked a few times. "I'm sorry, what?"
"You held up your end."
I considered my words carefully, then decided to go for broke. "Your daughter's a bitch."
"I know!" he exclaimed. "She says she doesn't need to be nice, but look at me! I have to be charming and polite to get anyone to listen to me!"
For the third time in forty-eight hours, I was completely baffled.
"Anyway," the Devil said to me, "I lost the bet. You get whatever you want, and now, I owe Christ another personal favor." He passed me an envelope. "There's a phone number in there, give me a call when you decide what you want."
As he got up and walked away, I heard him mutter to himself: "Patience of Job, man. Where do these people come from?"
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"So, that's all huh?" I asked, looking down at my coffee cup and trying to light another cigarette, at something resembling a coffee franchise in hell.
"Yeah, that's pretty much the deal. Take my daughter out, show her a good time, and then the world is yours. Sound fair?" Satan nodded. He had decided on appearing as an older gentleman. Really friendly and everything, just like you'd expect a nice older man to be.
Normally I wouldn't pity date someone. I think it's really kind of mean to do things like that, and the last thing I need is the living embodiment of evil hunting me down because I hurt his daughter's feelings.
"I'll do it, but I swear man, if this is like the last time I did you a favor...."
"I **SWEAR** you'll have fun. Gertie is a great girl. Fun, and smart and all those other things you personally look for in normal women." Satan said, his eyes suddenly growing to the size of dinner-plates.
"*AHEM* NOT that there is anything wrong with that, she's just a little.... look she's MY little baby girl and if she isn't happy." He growled, exposing teeth that were too large and sharp looking, in a smile that went way to wide.
"Well, let's just say you don't want to make her upset".
Satan refills my coffee cup, and sits back down at other side of the table.
"Um...yes, I think I get it. She seems to be running late, is there anything I *should* know?"
"I dunno. I'm just her father."
Before I can ask or say anything else, a girl walks into the shop. the resemblance to her father is unmistakable.
Gertrude, is a 5'7 woman, she looks to be in her mid twenties if I were to guess, kind of pale, flaming red hair, which is pulled back in a pony tail. What was truly striking was the color of her eyes. Gertrude had the darkest, purest sapphire blue eyes I had ever seen in my life.
"uhhhh" I struggled to stand up and say something.
"Hi." Gertrude said, a small smile on her lips.
"Wellyoutwolookbusydontwannabeasecondwheeldontstayouttoolateloveyoubye"
and with a puff of sulfur smelling smoke, Satan was gone.
***ooc: ok folks thats all I've got right now. Just wanted to try writing****
| 2015-05-20T11:53:19 | 2015-05-20T10:23:34 | 155 | 13 |
[WP] You've become an immortal being. Living throughout the ages you begin to notice that the souls of your companions or adversaries reincarnate and always seem to be drawn to you. After countless lifetimes, someone remembers.
Edit: This got so many responses! There's a lot of great post.
|
"Hi, I'm sorry if this sounds strange but...have we met before?"
I looked up from the newspaper I'd been reading and eyed the woman who'd approached me over the rim of my coffee as I took a sip. I'd been coming to this park every morning since I saw her again. It had taken almost a week of sitting at this same park bench, putting myself in her path before she'd worked up the guts to approach me.
She laughed, a nervous chuckle as a hint of red began to rise in her cheeks. "You must think me crazy..."
"Not at all," I responded with a pleasant smile, setting my coffee and paper down at my sides. "I was just wondering the same about you."
"Really?" She asked, eyes bright with curiosity as she sat next to me, not too close, on the bench.
"Honest," I said, leaning forward just a little to meet her gaze more directly. "But I can't quite place where from."
"I seem to...I'm not sure, but my mind keeps coming back to a train? Some sort of train?" She paused and shook her head. "But that's crazy. I can't remember ever being on a train in my life."
We had, of course. It had been back around the turn of the last century. She just couldn't remember.
*The wind whipped by like a live and screaming thing, howling in my ears and all but buffeting my clothes off my body as I clung to the outside of the train in a white-knuckled grip.*
*"Sally!" I shouted into the open window of the train. "Get moving. We're leaving."*
*"We can't leave without the case!" She shouted back, her voice tiny compared to the wind rushing by.*
*"If we don't leave now, we're not going to leave at all!"*
*"Then leave without me!" She snapped. "I'll make my way to the safe house once the train stops."*
*"Damnit, Sally!" I tried again. "Stick to the plan. We can get the case another time!"*
*"You know we'll never get a better shot!" She shouted. "It's what we're here for. Now go! I can hold these bastards off and cover your escape. Get out of here!"*
"...-at's not quite right either," she said, her voice dropping into a musing tone. "Now that I've gotten a closer look at you, I don't think it was from a train, it was..."
"Somewhere else?" I prompted, keeping my voice carefully neutral. It had to happen slow. Too much at once would overload her, send her screaming out into the beautiful late summer morning, convinced she was going crazy.
"On a boat? I seem to remember being on a small boat with you. Somewhere...french?" She stopped, pausing for a moment before shaking her head with a small, embarrassed laugh. "I'm being ridiculous. We don't even know each other and I'm imagining you taking me away on a holiday."
"I don't find it ridiculous at all," I said, letting a smile form at my lips. "Do you remember anything more?"
I It had been in Versailles under the reign of king Louis. The fourteenth? The fifteenth? I wasn't sure. It had been a while.
*We floated along the river under cover of darkness. I used the oars as little as possible. Silence would be the key.*
*"Is he in this one?" She asked, pointing to the building.*
*I nodded, but put my finger to my lips, indicating she should keep quiet. It had taken a long time to track down this lead, and I didn't want to blow it.*
*She leaned in close, putting her lips by my ear. "If something should happen in there-"*
*"Nothing is going to happen," I said, cutting her off.*
*She gave me a look. HER look.*
*"If something should happen, you need to get out of there. Get out and find me when I wake up again. I mean it, now promise me that you'll do as I say."*
*I didn't say anything and she gripped my arms tight, gazing intently into my eyes. "Promise me, William."*
*Without saying a word, I nodded.*
*Maneuvering the boat to the side of the lake next to the mansion in question, we clambered out, beginning to scale the walls to the open window.*
*The house was quiet and dark. Hopefully, all of its residents were sound asleep.*
*Hopefully HE was asleep. We'd get back the case and put an end to this, once and for all.*
*We'd barely gotten to the second floor when a musket shot rang out, deafening in the dark and gloom. She let out a sharp cry from ahead of me but was quiet.*
*He knew. He knew we'd be coming. This was a trap. The short cry, lack of any further noise...she was dead. Or would be soon. I had to leave her. Couldn't take her with me, not carrying her then get down to the boat?*
*Impossible.*
*Gritting my teeth, I turned and ran, clambering out the window as another shot rang out, blazing past my head and hitting the wall next to the window, chips of stone cutting my cheek as I abandoned her.*
"What is this...?" She whispered. Her bemused amusement at the situation beginning to give way to growing horror. "I've never met you before. I know I haven't. But I'm remembering...I'm remembering all of these times. So many places. Over and over. I must be out of my mind, I must be going crazy. I'm so sorry to have disturbed you, I really need to go now-"
She stood abruptly as if to leave and I reached out to take hold of her wrist.
"Let go of me," She said, her words sharp and strident.
"Constance," I said.
She froze at the sound of her name. Her first name.
"Remember the peddler?" I asked. The first memory, the first life, at the beginning of the previous millennium.
"There was a peddler," she repeated, her eyes far away. "He had a cart."
"That's right," I said, idly stroking my thumb over the back of her hand. "He had a cart. And we tried to rob him."
"On the road," she whispered.
"That's right," I said again. "And what happened?"
"He wasn't a man," she said, barely audible. "Oh, William, he wasn't just a man."
"No," I said steadily. "He wasn't just a man."
*The terrible draining sensation stopped and the little box the peddler held in his hand snapped shut. Through blurry sight, I could see it, pulsing with a faint light.*
*"You have no idea who you just tried to rob," the peddler said in a conversational tone. He still sat atop his seat on the wagon. "No idea at all."*
*I tried to speak, but my voice rasped harshly against my throat. Constance managed to speak first, voice rough and hacking from a bout of coughing.*
*"What have you done to us?"*
*"Stolen your souls," the peddler said in the same casual tone as he rummaged into his pack, settling the box in its depths. "You'll live forever now, not that you'll thank me for it," he chuckled. It was an oddly jovial sound. Light and cheerful, like a man who had finished a hard day's work.*
*"What?" I managed to croak.*
*"Stole. Your. Souls." The peddler said in a patient tone as he urged his mules onward. "You'll live forever now, but you won't enjoy it," he chuckled to himself. "I can promise you that, actually. If you live as long as I have, you'll realize that life loses a lot of meaning when it doesn't end."*
*"...I don't understand," Constance said, her voice spiraling up into confused fear.*
*"You will," the peddler said over his shoulder as he continued down the road. "You will."*
"Why can't I remember?" She cried. "Why couldn't I remember any of this?"
"His idea of mercy, I guess," I said. "We caught up to him once, back in Rome. He blamed me for our attempted robbery more than you, felt the least he could do was give you just a bit of reprieve from the memories."
"But you?" She asked.
"Remember every second of it." I said.
"And?" She asked.
"Ready for it to end," I said. "I've found him...you know, again. And this time, this time, we'll get it back. I promise."
She was quiet for a moment before she looked up at me, memories beginning to seep back into her eyes. I could see it there, behind her eyes. The weight of all of the centuries together, all of the years, and all of the attempts to track this bastard down and get back what belonged to us. A reluctant grin quirked up the edge of her lip as she reached out to take hold of my hand.
"So where do we start?"
|
As a kid, I really liked happy endings.
I like them as an adult as well.
But happy endings also have their little twists.
Do you know about that category of happy ending where everybody revives and meets each other again in the next world, or some other bullshit like that? I like that happy ending, too. It's always so cheerful and bright and happy and celebratory and full of laughter and smiles.
Thing is, that's an ending, you know? These happy endings are in books or movies - you know that that's the end of the story. There's nothing but your imagination to continue it, and us readers don't have enough time to imagine anything but the endless continuation of the happy happy that the writer leaves us with. So this kind of ending leaves the reader with a smile on his face, or at the very least a feeling of contentedness.
But if you think about it for a bit, the ending's kind of sad - fatalistic, even. The main characters get back together, to have the same lives, all over again. They will have their happy times all over again, but they will also have to endure through the sad times one more time. I guess that this doesn't matter much from their point of view - after all, after a character dies, there's not exactly much living brain tissue left behind in the grave to remember much. No matter how many times they experience the same things, it'll all be new to the characters themselves. But from the reader's perspective, you have to imagine the endless funerals you have to suffer through, or the frustration at seeing all the same mistakes being made all over again. Don't we all rage when you see the same cliched mistakes being made in horror movies? This kind of situation would probably be similar, if only a few thousand times worse because you feel much closer to these characters than the ditzy idiots from horror movies.
Unlike horror movies, however, everybody manages to survive into old age. So you don't get too mad. But after a while, the first of the funerals begin, and you realize that the story is drawing to a close - that all of the fun times will be over for the time being. You remember that you cried the first few times around, but you've read this story so many times that you got used to the event. And after the last of them have passed and the book is closed, you wait. You wait a few decades for the sequel to come out. You are the most dedicated fan to the least well known literary series in the entire universe. Yet when the sequel does come out, it's still incomplete. You know you have to give the author a few years in order to get back into his groove - to let the story flow and have the fun start all over again. It's hard to remember how many times you've done this now, but for some reason, this story hooks you. You can't get enough of it, no matter how similar they always are to the prequels. So you always wait.
But then you get tired of waiting, even. It becomes routine. The words on the page are just to be skimmed through, because you know all the contents of the story. You go through the motions of turning the page, but you feel none of the emotions that you once had with the first book. And so it all becomes a blur.
Yet despite all this, I'm still that dutiful reader. Sometimes it feels like I'm coerced into it - that no matter what I do, fate pulls us together. Most times, though, I submit to the flow of the story that whatever shitty author wrote this thing wants. And sometimes, I revel in it, reminding myself that this curse is also a blessing.
Now that I say that, it sounds a bit more like I'm a drug addict than a reader.
So there we have the good times, the bad times. The fun times, the sad times. The romantic times, the Jesus-Christ-you-fucking-puked-during-sex times. And through it all, the Quintet endures.
There's always this one time when somebody wonders why the five of us fit so well together. "We're fucking fated to be together," is the common saying, with a plethora of humorous groans and laughs to follow. There's always this one time where somebody wonders if we've all been through it before in some past life like some weird cheap-ass movie.
And I laugh along, like an actor playing a script, with my face a mask made with hundreds of cycles of this same event, knowing that they are closer to the truth than they'd ever know. But you know, I always felt that the questions were kinda stupid. That they were the very epitome of "be careful what you wish for."
See, nobody would ever want to remember that.
But if somebody other than me did, well...
I wonder how happy I would be.
I wonder how sad I would be.
| 2016-08-29T07:19:15 | 2016-08-29T02:48:03 | 2,915 | 182 |
[WP] Your elven girlfriend broke up with you a long time ago to avoid the heartbreak of outliving you, a human. Now, years later, a half-elf who looks a lot like her shows up at your door.
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######[](#dropcap)
"Welcome." The Lord of Providence and Sinew's voice echoed through the throne room, its authority deafened even the siege happening right outside of it.
"I've come to stop you." Before the Lord stood a woman wielding a longbow, "Your reign has come to an end!"
Calmly, the Lord approached the woman, bow still trained on him.
"Please, I'd like to be cordial before our performance." The Lord sounded as if he were entertaining an old friend, something few qualified for in the throne room.
"Perform- Is this some kind of cruel twisted joke for you?!" The woman bit back, "Innocent people are dying!"
"Are they now?" The Lord chuckled, "We're past the point of debate I guess, Estrid Aedilberg?"
Estrid's eyes widen, "How could you- Everyone knows me as-"
"Estrid Artemisia," The Lord interrupted, "Bards have spread your name across the land, can't throw a stone without it hitting one singing praise for your deeds."
Estrid bit her lip, "So you know my name so what?!"
The Lord pauses for a moment and observes Estrid, "You're the splitting image of your mother."
"What do you know about my mother?!" Estrid lets loose an arrow, the Lord parries it in midair.
"Aethel Aedilberg. Once a great and venerated elf of the land of Lucilheim, until she went on her pilgrimage as foretold by her divination."
Estrid tried to keep her composure.
"Aethel..." The Lord let the name linger, "She's carve a name for herself, venturing across the lands and becoming a grand hero in her own right."
"What's a history lesson got to do with this?!" Estrid's attempt to feign impatience went ignored.
"I'll get to the point, she met someone. A man of righteousness, determination, and... hope."
The Lord looked out a window, the battlefield lit ablaze with players and pieces dancing with each other, playing the songs so familiar to them.
"For a time, it was... Good." The heaviest word to leave the Lord's mouth. "Aethel, she was happy..."
Estrid could sense the slightest tinge of sadness in his words.
"But it was a union that could have never lasted, not after what Aethel saw... What she knew... She always said divination is as much as more a curse than it ever was a blessing..."
Sorrow had replaced the air of intimidation, the Lord was vulnerable yet Estrid let him continue. "She didn't want to come to terms with the heartbreak that she would outlive me."
"Me?" Estrid's bow shakes, "What are you going about?"
"I knew that once Aethel fled, she returned home to Lucilheim at first hailed as a hero." The Lord's smile turned to a grimace, "That is, until her first child was born."
Estrid grits her teeth.
"You already know of Lucilheim's views on half-breeds, so I don't need entertain you with the specifics."
"Why tell me all of this?" Estrid inquired, her bow heaviest it's ever been in years.
"Because," the Lord bows, "I am your father, Lord of Providence and Sinew, Krodikai."
Silence once more. An eternity had passed in a blink of an eye as Estrid sought an answer before finally speaking.
"Even... Even if..." Estrid stammers, then regains her conviction, "Even if you're my father, I must stop you!"
"Very well." The authority of those two words brought the air to its knees.
The Lord unfurled his black wings, their gusts send the room into a flurry of chaos. His halo soon followed, black at its core yet it emanating a calm and soothing light, as if it resembled an eclipse. His eyes began to glow a pale red, like a blood moon at twilight. Beautiful in all their unholy might, hallmarks of a Fallen Aasimar.
"But if you are to challenge me, daughter." But a flash closed the distance between the Lord and his daughter, a crunch followed a shattered bow and a shredded quiver, "Best to embrace who you truly are."
Krodikai floats back a few paces, "Otherwise, you might-"
A gale of wind flooded the room as Estrid unveiled her white wings, flawless and pristine. Her halo shined bright like an early dawn, warm and full of conviction. Her eyes changed from a light blue into a pale red, yet they are like a deep rose. Immaculate in their splendor, hallmarks of a Holy Aasimar. Just like her father.
Krodikai grins and conjures a black spear of twilight, "Let's begin the final act!"
Estrid's conviction holds true as she conjures a white spear of dawn, "Yes father, let's!"
---
The battle lasted 3 days and 3 nights, the siege had ended long before the conclusion of their duel. At dawn of the last day, The Battle of Castle Jekyllied was decided...
Estrid disarmed the Lord, plunged her spear into them, securing a fatal wound as the two crashed on the highest tower.
Krodikai coughed, their breathing shallow. Their time had finally come.
Estrid stumbled a bit, exhausted from the epic melee, before finally finding her footing.
"It..." Krodikai coughed, "It is done."
"Krodikai, no, father." Estrid bit her lip, "I need to know, why? Did you... Did you let me win?"
"I accepted your challenge wholeheartedly," Krodikai wheezed, "Anything less and I knew *I'd* be a stain on the floor."
"Not that," Estrid shook her head, "You had plenty of opportunities to end the duel long before it even started. Why?"
Silence engulfed the air, before Krodikai answered. "To test you at your fullest."
"Test- Is this all a game to you?" Estrid retorted.
"Not a game, but a performance." Krodikai smiled, proud of the part he played.
"We're all players and pieces of a larger game, but I needed to know, no, needed to prove your mother was right."
"W-What?" Estrid's voice was breaking.
"That you have the power to lead the world into a brighter world than I ever could."
With the last of his dwindling strength, Krodikai removed his prized possession, an old pendant.
"Take this to your mother..." Krodikai palmed his daughter the pendant, "She... will understand..."
Krodikai looks to the rising sun for the last time.
"The new dawn... It's... Beautiful..."
His halo fades and his hand falls. The Lord of Providence and Sinew had been defeated. Estrid cries out in anguish.
---
In a secluded lodge on the edge of Lucilheim lies a village of exiled elves and half-elves, the humble abode of Aethel Aedilberg.
Estrid descended from the heavens, her mother in shock and awe of her daughter's embrace of her lineage, and the pendant she held in her hands. Aethel's fears of the inevitable had come to be.
"Mother," words soaked with somber weight, "We need to talk."
|
"So do you want me to cook tonight are we going out or are you going to "BBQ"?"
"I don't know, I'm good with whatever you want to do. Let's see what 'Booger Butt' feels like."
"Okay that sounds good. You now 14 yr old girls though."
"Yeah yeah, 'I don't know, whatever is fine', lol."
Opening the door from the garage to the house.
"Hey mom, DAaaad...can I have a moment dad?"
"Sure Booger, what's up?"
"Dad why do you keep calling me that? I'm not 5 and stopped whipping boogers on my pants a long, long time ago."
"Because I find it funny. What's up sweetie you look serious, what's his name?"
"Nothing like that. Can we sit?"
"Oh crap, yeah sure." "Okay what's up."
"So, I've always found it amazing and fun..."
"What?"
"You and mom's gaming stories and the costume pieces you've kept. Especially your insistence that your costume pieces be fully functional. Silver and iron blades, the iron warhammer, your 'all natural' leather armors with the funny runes and all of mom's 'component' pouches and 'potion' vials. Mom's constant jokes about fairies hiding things on her because they like teasing her but putting them out in the open again when you look because they don't want to annoy you and your ability to ?dowse? and find hidden or lost things."
"Okay cool. I'm glad but confused as to where this is going."
"I especially love you and mom's stories of Ellisandra, your Elven girlfriend. The love and tenderness you both show, the over the top looks of loss over her leaving, it has always floored me about you and mom's acting abilities and ability to stay in character."
"Thank you. Still not sure where this is going though?"
"Were you ever going to tell me it wasn't an act?"
"Well we've never said it was but...what brought this about?" Becca looked over my shoulder towards the kitchen, I turned following her gaze and felt my breath freeze in my chest.
"Hi dad! So, I ate the whole quart of chocolate fudge swirl Mom told me all about ice cream and 'Booger' and I had a long talk and you had some in the freezer and she let me grab some and I think I ate to much cause my head hurts and and...HI! Mom finally decided I'm old enough to come visit from the Fae lands or just finally got annoyed enough at my pestering her but she has responsibilities so let me use the portal bridge and yeah so I'm here am I using 'English' right?"
"Yeah so dad, did you know I have an older half-Elven half-sister and just choose to leave her out of your stories or are you just as surprised as me?"
| 2022-01-10T21:11:27 | 2022-01-10T19:47:40 | 21 | 15 |
[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.
|
Three weeks after receiving a distress signal from the outlying colony Hesperia IV, His Imperial Majesty's Ship *Ark Royal* tore a breach in the fabric of reality and forced her way back into realspace. Contact from the colony had been brief and lacking in detail, reporting only upwards of sixty hulls weighing in between light transports and heavy frigates. Sector Command had in response scrambled the only ships available, and could only pray it would be enough.
Moments after the first emergence, several more gaping rifts into the teeming unreality of the Warp opened, and the rest of the task force joined the flagship. As radiation washed over the ships and sensor sweeps of the system began, Commodore Constantin Artor vo Hannick reviewed his line of battle, which seemed to have escaped the Empyrean intact.
*Sabre* Squadron, five *Sword* -class frigates, positioned themselves around the flanks of the formation. Affordable, durable, powerful for their small stature, each one a mere sixteen hundred meters from armored prow to engine cowling. One of the mainstays of the God-Emperor's Navy across the galaxy, they would pursue enemy fast-movers and interdict enemy fire concentrating on his ships of the line.
*HIMS Cadia's Remembrance,* the newest addition to the Sector Fleet, took the fore. A *Lunar* -class cruiser, the workhorse of the Imperial Navy, a ship no officer would frown to serve on. Five kilometers of armor plating, lance turrets, ordnance batteries, and torpedo tubes. This would be her first battle, and the commodore made a note to keep an eye on her, especially as she was captained by an officer on his first command.
*HIMS Witchhammer,* a *Tyrant* -class cruiser, was the opposite of *Cadia's Remembrance.* One of the most venerable ships in the Sector Fleet, she had been crushing Xenos raiders, Renegade warships, bio-monstrosities and planetary installations under her extensive weapons batteries for six millennia. Plasma drives thrumming, the ancient warrior took position behind, below, and to the side of her sister cruiser.
Assured that the rest of his taskforce was present, he glanced around the cavernous bridge of the *Ark Royal.* He was proud of his ship and crew, and knew that whatever came, they'd acquit themselves with distinction today. His eyes were drawn to the flickering holo-tank before his command throne, depicting the *Mars* -class battlecruiser's layout. Fifty-four hundred meters long, she carried sixteen strike craft launch bays. A line of titanic lance turrets ran down her spine, her flanks bristled with heavy cannons, and beneath her armored prow hung the most powerful weapon in the Navy's arsenal; a Nova Cannon.
Eight ships. The distress signal spoke of over sixty enemy combatants moving against a colony defended by a handful of picket ships, and Sector Command could spare eight ships.
A voice called from the sensor pit, Lieutenant ap Symdey unless he was mistaken.
"Commodore," the woman called, "Radiation plume is clearing, sensor returns are coming in, sir." Her voice was calm, businesslike.
Constantin flicked his fingers across keypads on the arms of his throne and dismissed the image of his ship. In its place, a flickering green representation of the star system appeared. A small cluster of aquilae icons rested on the edge of the gravity well, and moment by moment more of the system came into clarity. He knew it would be hours before their sensors reported anything from the inhabited inner reaches of the system however-the downsides of sub-luminal warfare on a luminal scale. With a few brief, restrained orders to his second in command, he directed the Imperial taskforce down the gravity well; there was no point in waiting here for more information. They would know everything they needed long before they saw the interlopers. Assured that everything was in order, the veteran naval officer retired to his quarters.
 
More than eight hours later, the Commodore returned to the bridge with a thermal mug of hot tea. The flotilla had made their way significantly farther in-system, and had a clear, disturbing picture of the state of things. Dozens of strange vessels hovered over the stricken planet, reminiscent of Tyranid bio-ships in shape, but clearly inorganic in origin. No signals could be detected from the colony, previously home to five hundred million loyal Imperial citizens, and (unbeknownst to the Commodore or his crews) one tenacious, insidious, Pleasure Cult. No response was had to Imperial hails, mundane or astropathic. No movement or sign of life on any of the orbital installations. Worse, the strange vessels were massing, returning from whatever sinister purpose they'd had and forming up above the planet.
 
Hours passed. The crustacean-esque ships gathered and started to drift across the system towards the Imperial task force, which thundered through the void towards them on pulsing plasma drives. Sensor returns were analyzed, and fleet composition determined: fourty transport and light-hauler scale hulls were written off by the fleet captains as fire ships. Dangerous in numbers, but fragile and individually unimportant. The alien armada also contained over twenty frigate-sized ships with unknown armament, and one ship the Commodore postulated as the enemy flagship that had the mass and scale of a light cruiser. After much debate, the decision was made to engage the enemy. The larger, hopefully more durable Imperial hulls and more powerful reactors and shields they hoped would give them the edge they needed to bloody the enemy fleet enough to bring the fight into more reasonable odds.
 
In later years, the battle of Hesperia IV would be forgotten by the Imperium as a whole, a curious footnote in Inquisition archives. The origin of the mysterious warships was never discovered, but they were quickly written off as a credible threat. The opening blows of the conflict were struck by *HIMS Ark Royal,* a single luminal Nova Cannon shell shrieking through the void and tearing a gaping hole in the xeno's armada. Analysis of the detonation by tacticians aboard the flagship quickly determined that the unidentified ships lacked any void shield capacity of note, or were not bringing them online. Torpedo volleys from the *Remembrance* and *Witchhammer* disabled or destroyed more enemy ships from beyond retaliation range, and *Ark Royal* was able to fire a second salvo from her prow cannon before launching her strike craft and preparing for close-quarters battle.
The ensuing brawl was less of a battle than it was a massacre. Ordnance batteries designed to reduce planetary fortifications and crack open the hulls of ships carrying meters of armor ripped the invaders apart. Laser 'lance' batteries intended to penetrate void shields and eviscerate the warship beneath carved unprotected vessels apart, and the most powerful of the xenos fire impotently washed away from shields that were created to carry their bearers through an apocalypse and allow them to fight on the other side. The Imperial task force rode through the heart of the enemy fleet, batteries blazing, and when they came around for a second pass, there was naught but a handful of enemy ships struggling to disengage.
In his memoirs, Fleet Admiral Constantin Artor vo Hannick expressed his regret for the way things went at Hesperia IV.
Seven of his ships would have been far more useful in other warzones. *Ark Royal* could have reclaimed the system alone.
|
"Ah, yes, 'Reapers'," Guilliman sarcastically said, showing the quotation signs with his fingers while saying the last word. "The immortal race of sentient starships allegedly waiting in dark space. We have dismissed this claim."
Sly Marbo couldn't believe it. He thought things changed. He thought at least Guilliman, now that he returned at last, would show more understanding than those four old farts that call themselves the High Lords.
"WE HAVE ALREADY TALKED WITH THE LORD COMMANDER ABOUT YOUR LUDICROUS CONSPIRACY THEORY THAT YOU APPARENTLY STILL HAVEN'T ABANDONED," the Fabricator-General said in his robotic voice. "HE SHARED OUR SCEPTICISM ABOUT IT."
"Besides," Lord Commander Militant added, "one race of sentient space cans should be the same as another. If these Reapers really do exist, we should have no problems fighting them off. We already have little trouble fighting against Necrons."
"If you'll excuse me, Lord," Marbo objected. "The only reason we have little trouble against Necrons is because they never manage to clear their heads fast enough after they wake up from their sleeps that last for countless millenia. Reapers are already awaken and already clearheaded enough."
"That's enough!" Guilliman interjected angrily. "You are wasting our valuable time. I suggest you leave your lunacy alone. I'm-"
"It's not lunacy, sir!" Marbo interjected in return. "Reapers are a real threat. That's who Sicarius started worshipping, not gods of Chaos. You have to listen to me!"
"A real threat? I'm actually disappointed, Marbo. I've heard a lot of good things about you. To hear you'd start advocating something like this... Please, just leave."
Marbo's face stiffened. "Yes, sir," he replied, before turning around and leaving the room.
It was clear. Sly Marbo was not going to find any help, not here. He would have to find it elsewhere. Luckily, he already had a list of twenty names, twenty men that might do well. One of them was already waiting for him in the anteroom, wearing an easily recognizable golden armor.
"Judging by your facial expression, I assume they said no?" Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes asked.
"And you'd assume right. They won't listen. We need to find help elsewhere."
"Your, uh, 'twenty good men'?"
"Yes. There is no time to be lost. We must be quick."
"Who are we going to try to recruit first?"
"A certain general I know. A certain survivor, to be precise. We might need his tactical genius, and the last time I checked, he just lost his place of job last week."
| 2017-08-27T09:05:40 | 2017-08-27T08:05:25 | 1,346 | 152 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego..
[removed]
|
Look. I wanted to be theatrical. I really did. I come from a long line of villains. My father was the Dark Lord, and he raised me to be his heir, and rule with an iron fist. I still remember the first time Heroes broke into the castle and father dueled their Leader fairly one-on-one. He paused to give a monologue, and the heroes had stopped to listen. At that moment I cut the chandelier propping it up, causing it to fall on the four of them, killing two instantly and leaving the other two mortally wounded.
The anger I saw up on my father's face as he turned to me, eyes literally aflame. I thought you would be proud! He had had them enraptured in his speech, I thought it was a great distraction for a sneak attack of some sort. But no, for the next 3 hours I had to listen to my father monologue about the importance of monologues and how it was rude to cut a Villain off in the middle of their speech. I think that was the beginning of it all. Like, I'm sure there are other things that caused me to be like this. But, this moment is what sticks out in my mind.
There was the speech I was supposed to give in my 16th summer. There was that campaign upon the dwarf lands and I was supposed to give a rousing speech before the Orc Battalions. Mother had stayed up late with me the night before helping me write it. She was always good with words, well she was good with spells. But that's practically the same thing. Anyways I was standing there, on the dias, General Gorblin at my side. And I looked out at the assembled soldiers, and I froze. I don't remember much about what happened afterwards. I got up. I stood on the dias. I looked out. And then a headache, or was it a stomach ache, or maybe it was both. I remember Gorblin grunting, then shouting, then the crowd… booing? I was told that the assembly actually went well, that there was no booing. I don't know if this was a lie, a bit of double think that everyone had bought into in order to spare the reputation of the Dark Forces, or maybe everyone who spoke about it simply was trying to spare my feelings. But sparing feelings is not something we did. Or maybe I'm just misremembering all of this. Maybe it did go well. But whenever I think of that moment, even now when I look upon the Forces of Evil, I get this feeling in the pit of my chest that I cannot describe.
There was a time in the winter of my 21st year when the newest band of Heroes had actually snuck into the castle. We had had a vague sense of them coming, and in what I thought was an act of brilliance I had laid a trap. It was nothing extravagant, I pulled the guards away from the drainage pipes on the Eastern South wall. Not too far, just enough to make it seem like it was a bit of carelessness. I even made a big show about accumulating new mortar as though it needed to be repaired. I spread rumors that there was a slight drainage problem and that part of the castle, not myself of course. I had others spread the rumors for me but I told them to do it. I mean I had written for them to do it. Anyways, the Heroes fell for it. I prepared one of Mother's familiar to hide in the dark for the Heroes and when they finally arrived we sealed the drainage pipes and I flooded the tank they were in. I still remember standing outside of the door to the tank when mother came running in down the stairs, a set of guards in tow. At first she was pleased, it was an opportunity to torture a set of gathered heroes, trapped in a slowly filling tank of sludge and sewage. Her happiness turned to anger and then disappointment. I told her that I'd used her familiar not to simply open the sewage pipes into the tank, but to summon water directly from the lake. The tank was full, the heroes had drowned in the time it taken for mother to come from her tower. What I remember most of that day was not my Mother's disappointed face. What I remember most was her shoes, those impractical spiked boots she wore, for my gaze was a locked on the ground before me and I could not look at my Mother nor the guards she had brought with her. Not in the face. Not in the eyes.
Four summers ago I killed my father. I gathered him and his generals in a banquet. I told him that I would give a toast and finally take command of a special unit. I took command, but by poisoning all of them just before I gave my toast. I could tell as he felt the poison coursing through his veins that he expected me to tell him why. My ambitions. How he had grown weak over the years and it was my time to rule, or how he stood in the way of my great plans, or even that I hated him. It was none of those things. I mean, I hated him a little, he was the dark lord his head was always on fire. But I had nothing. Maybe I could have said something about the Elven forces amassing in the Taegalen Woods, about not treating every battle symmetrically and how he and his generals were too stuck in past, ineffective battle tactics. But in that moment, I had no words. It was him monologuing in front of the heroes again, it was me standing in front of the Orc Battalions when I was 16, me trying to explain to Mother that the Heroes were already dead. I think he was still disappointed not that I was killing him, but that his last moments were of him watching me walk away from the banquet hall without saying a word. He never got to hear my toast.
I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. The lot of you are frozen solid. If mother were here, she would have told me to freeze you all only up to the neck and break a piece off of you one by one. General Gorblin would be angry that I still haven't created a pretorian guard to be at my side at all times and help me fight you all. I think Father would be proud, though. None of you can hear me, of course. You've been in case tonight is for the past hour and even if the cold hadn't killed you yet, lack of oxygen surely has already led to brain death. But I'm monologuing. This is the only way I know how. The only way to get these, feelings out of me. It's a bit of torture, not for you of course. None of you can feel anything. But the session really helps me get my feelings out. These torturous feelings.
That's all the time I have unfortunately. I think I've made some good progress, though. I look forward to when the next band of Heroes attempts to storm the castle. Sometime around now next month? I'll send a unit of Orcs to clean your bodie up.
|
There are rules, you see.
There's no rulebook, but everyone understands them. There have to be. The amount of time and money both sides invest demand it. Armies of henchmen. Million and *billion* dollar companies. Weapons that would make the pentagon blush. This to say nothing of *power*. A gun means nothing to a man who can't be shot. It's like chess. Pawns and henchmen. Bishops and laser beams. Capes and kings. Every piece has it's part to play and you can't play the game without them.
But I got tired of losing. Pieces cost money. Plans take time. I'd gone a year with no profits. The others had begun to laugh at me, though not to my face. The ones that didn't have faces were less subtle. But I had enough left for one last job. A bank in the suburbs. Easy money, in and out. Then he showed up.
Killing a hero is easy if you've been playing the game for a while. You just make an illegal move. It didn't even take thirty seconds after he'd landed. The pawns knew what really happened before I did, and they got really quiet. But I didn't notice and I didn't care. I got the money. *I won*.
So I did it again. Then again. I made enough money to get it all back and then double my last peak. My old men played by the rules, but I replaced them with ones who didn't. But things like this have penalties. It was obvious in hindsight. When the other side figures out the card is up your sleeve the results are never pretty.
I was lucky the first time. I wasn't home. When I saw what was left of home I decided I wouldn't go back. I checked into a motel three states over. But it wasn't enough. Some billionaire bought out my company. Some news man exposed my name to the world, and threw in crimes I'd never even done for good measure. The government seized my fortune on a tax technicality. I called every other villain I could think of, none of them even picked up.
As I look out the window and see something in the sky, I know my time is up.
Because there are *rules*, you see.
| 2019-08-06T19:20:38 | 2019-08-06T19:15:11 | 167 | 44 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
Gal’og’o’go stood, all twenty-eight of is centipede-like body segments causing his antennae to brush the roof of the conference room. The vastness of space directly behind his back should have made him look tiny. It did not. “Why have you summoned us here, Boris?” He spoke Boris’s name like its syllables were as bitter as a dissolving pill. “The puny squabbles your planet has been seeing are of no consequence to the greater federation.”
Boris, standing at less than a fifth of Gal’og’o’go’s height, straightened his glasses upon his face and stood to face the twenty-three vastly different creatures around the table. He began. “For well over two hundred and forty years, humans had attended each and every intergalactic federation meeting and been quiet. No declarations, nothing lost, nothing gained, and no large decisions were ever made due to human interaction with the federation.” A high-pitched avian alien, one of the Luugarik’s seven rotating representatives, snickered from the back. “Enough history, Boris! Get on with it!” Murmurs of agreement spread throughout the room.
Boris gritted his teeth and continued. “We have never asked for much. However, seventeen hours ago, a Xanthen’ik ship overtook a human mining colony on Comet H-83754 as it passed near the Guarontu nebula. Seventeen million human lives were lost. We were given no warning. Who here from the Xanthen’ik homeworld is here today?”
A creature with four arms, two trunks, and six eyes stood in the back of the room, a long, wickedly sharp spear on her back for ceremonial purposes seemed to glow red, her anger apparent in every one of her beady black eyes. She laughed loudly, “I am S’ar’nekli. You were sent financial compensation for your workers. The comet had more economic value for us than it did for you, so we simply took it. Is THIS why we are here? To feel sorry for a few measly humans on a dead rock hurtling away from their galaxy?”
Against all odds, Boris remained calm. “There is no financial compensation for the lives lost on H-83754 that day that you can offer us. We ask that you remove your armies from the comet within the next twelve hours.”
“Or else what?” S’ar’nekli crossed all four of her arms, looking uncannily like a pretzel. The thought made Boris chuckle.
“Or else we will remove them for you.” He said.
The entire room, excluding the four human delegates, burst into laughter. Some held their sides, falling out of chairs made to accompany their vast range of bodies.
Once again, Gal’og’o’go stood to address the room, a smirk between two large pincers on either side of his head. “With all due respect, Boris, which is to say none, is that a threat?”
Boris had lost all patience. He turned to Gal’og’o’go and asked him a simple question.
“Would you prefer your wife and children to die to fire, radiation, or complete molecular disassembly, Gal’og’o’go?”
Gal’og’o’go was taken aback. “What?”
Boris repeated himself. “Fire, radiation, molecular disassembly. Which will it be?”
A screen appeared behind boris, showing a live view of Gal’og’o’go’s world from a nearby moon. What appeared to be a large cloud hovered to the left of the sandy, blue and red planet Gal’og’o’go called home. Gal’og’o’go harshly spoke again. “What is this?”
“You will have five more seconds to decide.” Boris answered.
“You cannot be serious.” Gal’og’o’go spoke quickly.
“Five.”
Gal’og’o’go blinked.
“Four.”
“I will not!”
“Three.”
“A bluff! The human bluffs!”
“Two.”
Gal’og’o’go jumped from his chair, slamming his appendages onto the table. “STOP AT ONCE!”
“One. Time is up, Gal’og’o’go. I suppose all three will have to do.”
The cloud near the planet began to hum with energy. Suddenly, a huge beam of orange light spewed from it, engulfing the planet in fire. Seas dried up, sand turned to glass, forests burned to ash in an instant. Then, a blast of green from the cloud. Radiation spread through the wasteland, mutating any and every living thing that remained into a husk of randomly assembled cells, no longer alive enough to hold a conscious thought. Finally, pure white energy shot from the cloud, straight into the core of the wasted sphere of rock. It vaporized instantly, a cluster of atoms now floating in space, reduced to a gas without enough gravity to pull itself back together.
The room was silent. The screen flickered. Twenty-two more planets were shown on screen. Each with a cloud next to it. “Those gray smudges on the screen are our ships. Each and every one of you have homeworlds than can be taken away. All you have to do is cross me. Just. One. Time. Please, take your time, delegates.”
Finally, Gal’og’o’go spoke, choking back throaty, guttural sounds that must have been sobs. “They told us humans were peaceful creatures.”
Boris turned to him, his eyes fiery behind his glasses, a smile on his lips. “They lied.”
|
[Poem]
Every insult.
Every smack.
We've endured.
Upon our backs.
With words of peace,
and tolerance.
No longer are they,
our best defense
They've done it now,
they've worn us thin!
Thinking they,
could chain us in!
And thin veiled threats,
now made brash.
They see what happens,
When our façade...
Cracks
Start the pyre.
Salt the field.
We turn deaf,
when they cry "yield!"
Burn their churches,
to the ground.
Crack the stones,
they built around.
Bleach the oceans!
Tear the sky!
Let them know,
that they'll all die!
Let them cower,
on their ships.
While their cities,
are torn to bits!
Sail the stars,
we'll find them there.
Breach their hulls!
Take their air!
And they once asked,
"Why won't you fight?"
And now they know,
why our lips were tight.
Because if we ever,
went to war.
Then there'd be nothing left,
worth fighting for.
| 2019-11-24T11:52:25 | 2019-11-24T10:09:51 | 1,254 | 494 |
[WP] Write a Young Adult Dystopia but the government is competent at hunting down rebels.
|
Julia was a typical teenage girl from a family of little significance in the One World Federation. The daughter of a fruit stand worker and a steel mill laborer, her prospects for moving upwards in social class reached about as high as becoming an administrative assistance to a mortician and marrying his son. And she was okay with that. Society functioned as one living organism, and she was a living cell in the greater body. Attempting to change her function would be like becoming a cancerous tumor and cancers must be detected early and destroyed. Which explained why after waiting over three hours, she was now fifth in line behind her best friend Rachael to have her mind scanned for the seeds of cancerous thoughts.
​
"Next, what's your name" called a very round woman in a pink wool suite with a matching hat. She held a clipboard with an inch worth of pages sitting on top with a quill in her hand. Her lips were painted a bright red and her makeup appeared to be laid on quite thick. The thought-investigators were on the sixth tier of the second order making her a very high ranking citizen. It was important that she be well fed so that she was at her best to discover the filthy thoughts of rebellious trash.
​
"Samuel," a man said. He wore a vest over a button up shirt but his hands had lacquer residue on them from making fine dress shoes. Sometimes lower order citizens attempted to dress fancier than they were in station. It was begrudgingly allowed, though the act has the taste of an attitude that would be dangerous to good order. "Citizen #142-111-09497," he said as he wrapped his thumbs behind the vest. Pride, Julia guessed. Pride was also dangerous. Too much could cause trouble. She hoped the mind-investigator caught that so he could be reeducated.
​
"Move to station #7 and begin. Next! What's your name?" And so on the line went until it was Julia's turn. As she arrived at station #4, as instructed by the woman in pink, she placed the headgear on and set her finger tips on the metal plates on the armchair. Nearby, a man watched a number of people being tested. Julia slid her identification card into the computer and gently pressed the "Begin" button and the machine sprung to life. There was little to do while the machine worked. Some people reported having flashbacks while the machine searched through their mind, but Julia never experienced one. Instead, she simply allowed her mind to wander toward her evening plans. She would have to ensure she made it over to the bank in time to get her allotment of bread for the week. If she was successful, she could make a stew with some beef, carrots, and onions and use the bread for soaking up the juice.
​
About ten minutes later, the screen over her head registered a number indicating her level of rebelliousness from zero to one-hundred. She received an eight. That was higher than normal, she'd need to read her citizen's guidebook so she could strengthen her commitment to the One World Federation. Her father would be disappointed. One was an unheard of rating but a rating of three to seven could earn extra food for the month for citizens of the eighth order like her family. She lifted the headgear over her head and set it on the rack behind the chair. Grabbing her identification card, she left the facility out the side door and carried on with her day. On each citizen's evaluation day, they did not work. Arriving early meant that they could have the rest of the day to do as they wished. Arriving late was an automatic addition of rebellion points. Rachael was nowhere to be seen, she must have already left or her test isn't over yet.
​
As she made her way toward the bakery, about seventeen blocks away by foot because cars would only allowed for the third order and higher, her friend Patrick waved from across the street halfway there. She paused and waited for him to finish purchasing an apple with his discretionary tokens. Patrick was of the sixth order and well above her station, romantic relationships were disruptive to good order, but casual associations and minor friendships were tolerated. They strengthened the community as long as they didn't become inappropriately strong.
​
"Julia! I'm so glad I ran into you. Today was your evaluation day, yes?" he said with eagerness. "Are you done?"
​
"Of course," she said. "I went early this morning. I'm on my way to the baker, now."
​
"Oh, I see," Patrick said. "Well, I was actually hoping I could talk with you. I know a coffee shop nearby."
​
"Patrick, I'm of the eight order," she said. "We don't earn tokes."
​
"Don't worry about that, I've got enough to buy both of us a drink. Come on, you'll enjoy coffee." Julia had never had coffee before but she'd heard it could give the body extra energy and fight off drowsiness. She reluctantly agreed. Patrick led her down several blocks in the general direction of the bakery but off course a bit. Soon, though, Julia was concerned.
​
"Patrick, I don't recall any coffee shop over here. It's just warehouses," she said.
​
Patrick finally stopped at the door to one of the warehouses. It was like no coffee shop that Julia had imagined. "It's right in here," he said. He slid the door open and stepped inside. Julia followed as her slide the door closed behind her. That's when two men grabbed her. Julia tried to struggle at first, but struggling wasn't in her nature. She didn't know what to do other than to try to shake herself loose. But their grib was firm and tight.
​
She screamed.
​
"Calm down, Julia, no one is going to hurt you," Patrick said. "This is normal, trust me, you'll be alright." The two men pulled her toward a chair in the middle of an adjacent room and tied her to it.
​
"Let go of me!" she yelled.
​
"Julia, relax," one of the men said. "We're friends, you just don't remember yet." The man set headgear down over her head and held her shoulders back. Patrick sat in an adjacent chair and set his own headgear upon his head. "I'm ready," he said. The third man pressed some controls on a console and the machine came to life. And suddenly Julia had flashbacks. Herself standing in a room full of other shadowy figures around a map. Her stealing records from a government building. Her...stabbing...a man. But, no, in a window she could see her face - but it wasn't hers. It was of another person - James, she thinks his name was. And soon more memories flooded in. Some she could tell were hers, some were others. Until finally the machine stopped.
​
"Quick, drug him," the third man said.
​
The second quickly pressed a needle into Patrick's throat and injected him with a depressant to knock him out. The second man then turned to Julia and began to untie her. "Do you know where you are and what you're doing here?"
​
"Of course, Mark," she said. "You've woken me." She looked down at Patrick. "Oh, I do hate those headaches after having the memories erased. Don't worry, Pat, I'll keep them safe for awhile. The memories and rebellion must life independently of us."
|
“Welcome to our secret headquarters” Zak announced grandly “We co-opted a base abandoned long ago, forgotten to all but a few we will be safe her” Clara’s head was still reeling her reality was based on aa foundation of lies. She had always had faith that the government was a force of stability and order but what she was being revealed to her had cut her to her core.
Clara was shook out of her thoughts by a klaxon going of followed by red warning lights bathing the facility in a crimson glow. The speakers in the base crackled into life “This is General Kifo you are surrounded we demand your immediate surrender” “How” Cried Zak “how have we been discovered”. “It matters not” announced No 4 “we must flee now and work it out later, quick to the secret tunnel we can make our way through them to the other side of the mountain and slip away” The voice of the general came through once more “And before you even think of it yes we have the escape tunnel secured … this did used to be a government base you know we have the plans on file” The rebels in the room looked at each other in shock and dismay. “Right then” No4 coughed “No need to fear my brave comrades No 1 will be able to send help I shall immediately contact him to assist In our extraction”
Once again Kifo’s voice came through the speakers “We already have your leader in custody awaiting trial I mean your idea of a secret hideout was *another* former military base just because it was mothballed doesn’t mean we forgot about them”. A dread silence gripped the room “No4 you are the leader now we must get you out of here so you can further our dream of a just and free society where no one is forced into the *grading*” Clara who had been overwhelmed and silent suddenly jerked awake. “Hang on what’s the *grading*” The rebels stared at Clara “What! How can you not know of the grading the horrific practice of arbitrarily being valued based of of points accrued that decide your entire destiny” Clara blinked “it sounds a lot like you mean finishing school” “Yes Obviously that’s what we mean” screamed Zak “How does that not horrify you how does that not cause your skin to crawl an …” Clara cut in “I’m gonna stop you right there, I’m beginning to feel like this isn’t a noble group of freedom fighters and is in fact a group of terrorists” No4’s eyes narrowed “Betrayal” he spat “ I bet you’ve even had your *vaccines* well you won’t be laughing when you get autism, Well we put a stop to that when we blew up the hospital” Clara by this point was beyond shock and was leaning towards breakdown “YOU BLEW UP A HOSPITAL!” Cara turned and sprinted to the doors “Where are you going!” thundered No4 “ I’m getting out of here” Clara yelled over her shoulder “I’m going to surrender and tell them you kidnapped me”
Hours later Clara was sat in the back of an ambulance being checked over several men in uniform approached “Miss Parker we just wanted to see if you we’re alright you’ve had a terrible ordeal”. “Yes thank you. What happened in there” “Oh we rounded them up” the official said “they seemed to think it would be a fight to the death in the end we just used stun grenades and arrested them. They had some real weird ideas very cult like. Still they can answer for their crimes now and the family members of those poor people in the hospital will have their justice”
Man weird day thought Clara
| 2019-04-27T08:22:54 | 2019-04-27T07:55:00 | 140 | 24 |
[WP] You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered.
|
We were both 14 at the time, my best friend Rand and I sat contentedly on the branches of the highest tree in our neighbourhood, while some of the other, more cautious kids looked up in awe from the ground.
“You can see the whole city from here!” I realised, amazed by a view that young me had never seen before.
“I can see my house from here”, Rand quipped, unfazed by the wonders spread below us.
We sat together for a companionable while, but young as we were the novelty gradually wore off. I glanced at the ground, dizzyingly far away and now empty of an audience. Getting down was going to take a while. I glanced over at Rand, and joked “dare you to get to the bottom in less than 5 seconds”.
I didn’t mean it of course, why on earth would I mean something like that? But the challenge in my voice obviously swayed Rand, who gave me a considering look. After a moment the doubt cleared from his face and he broke into a grin, before taking off with a shout: “race you to the bottom!”.
Of course getting to the top of a tree and getting back to the bottom are two completely different things, as anyone who’s ever climbed one will know, so naturally I started down hesitantly, feeling my way with my feet for the steadier branches below, but a cautious glance down took my breath away: there was Rand, hopping lightly from branch to branch as if pulled to each one by a constantly-shifting gravity. I wish I’d timed it, but surely not more than 3 seconds had passed before he took a leap that – realistically – should have broken at least 1 bone and landed feet-first on the ground, grinning up at me and only slightly out of breath.
It took me 2 whole minutes to climb down.
2 days later I got the news: my best friend had tried the same daredevil feat again, but the result had changed. Part of me suspected what had happened, and from then on my fear of a recurrence kept me well away from asking people to do the impossible.
**15 Years On**
Nobody expected it when the troopers crossed the border. There was no way our neighbouring country had declared war on us, was there? Relations were so friendly, it surely had to be some kind of false flag operation. Regardless, their allegiance didn’t matter, what mattered was that our army barely had time to mobilise in defense before the shock troops started marching through our streets, killing soldier and civilians alike. Not knowing what to do but knowing I had to do *something*, I found myself in the streets, looking for a group of our people. Of course I’d served my year of mandatory army service, so I at least knew one end of a weapon from the other, and spotting a barricade of our soldiers I skidded over, grabbing a gun from one of the fallen on arrival. One of the soldiers looked at me dubiously, but obviously accepting how outnumbered they were, accepted my support.
We made our stand there, behind a wall that felt far too flimsy as grenade after grenade flew over us, occasionally hitting the wall or, worse, one of our people. How many grenades did they have?
“This is hopeless!” cried one of the younger soldiers, despairing. “It’s just a matter of time now before we’re all killed, there’s no way we’ll win…it’s impossible”. With that he collapsed heavily against the battered wall and let out a sob.
*Impossible*… the word seemed to whisper to me as if from ages past, and I found myself looking up to find a tree that had been cleared from this block years ago. What had I to lose now?
I turned to the first soldier who’d looked at me, he seemed to be their commander, and gulped. “It may not be impossible, we do have a chance.”
The commander looked at me, sceptical yet open to suggestions.
“You see, I think I have this…ability…when I convince people to try the impossible, they can do it. I don’t know why, but it works.”
“Uh huh”, the commander said, his expression grim, and turned back to the enemy, “well, top marks for trying to bring some humour to the situation at least.”
“I’m being serious, we can really do this! What have we got to lose?”
“And how many times have you tested this…ability?”
I winced, “just once, 15 years ago”.
The commander lobbed a grenade of his own at the enemy. Where had he gotten that? “I’ll tell you what we’ve got to lose, our dignity.”
Another grenade flew at the enemy, met by three of their own. Once again the commander reconsidered. “Alright, convince me to do something, but it’d better work”.
I paused, I’d never actually tested my ability – telling the commander I had hadn’t even been strictly true, that had just happened by chance. How did it work? Would just saying ‘defeat the enemy’ do it? Maybe I had to put a timer on it or something like that. Well, it was worth a shot.
“Uh, dare you to defeat the enemy in 2 minutes or less?”.
He sighed, somehow mixing defeat, determination, and disgust into one sound, before looking at his watch and standing up, machine gun in hand.
To give him credit, he actually took down a fair few of the troopers before taking a bullet himself. He grunted as he fell back behind our barricade. “Knew it was a joke, how much dignity do I still have?”
It was a fool’s hope, and I wondered what had gone wrong. Was the task too impossible, or not impossible enough? Resigned, I put my own weapon above the barricade again and began shooting blind, determined to take as many with me as I could. Out of nowhere, a voice piped up beside me, “you weren’t really joking though, were you?”
I stopped shooting and looked to my side where the frightened soldier from before now crouched, eyes still red and scared, but now with something else I couldn’t identify.
“No”, I sighed, “I wasn’t joking”.
The young soldier poked his head over the barricade to look at the swarm around us, finally moving in for a flanking manoeuvre now that we’d been softened up.
“Tell me to do something then”.
I looked at him, did I really want to be directly responsible for this soldier’s death? Would it matter if he died anyway?
“Ok, we’ll try again, dare you to win this in 2 minutes or less”.
The youngster grinned at me weakly, he couldn’t be more than the minimum recruiting age, and leapt up and over the barricade.
The sight that greeted me when I poked my own head over the barricade burned in my memory forever: the soldier moved easily over, under and around enemy bullets and the explosions of grenades as he fired shot after shot, each finding its mark in an enemy trooper. As he ran out of bullets, he began picking up the unfamiliar weapons of the enemy and using those to devastating effect as well, and while I knew I should be helping, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the sights I was seeing. It didn’t matter anyway; in 1 minute and 57 seconds, he’d managed to take out an entire platoon.
“I knew it!” he cried triumphantly as he looked back to me, “I knew you were telling the truth!”.
As a breeze blew past me I could almost hear the sound of leaves blowing in the wind, taking me back to that day 15 years ago, and with it a bittersweet truth: the reason Rand had been able to do what he did and bring my ability to life was because of one thing only: he believed in me.
|
Absurdity. Never underestimate the power of a crazy idea. They saw it. They all saw it, Buddha, Hitler, Trump, Tesla, and more, thousands more. I see it too. I mean look at our world. Pick up two pieces of rock, hard and unyielding, and smash them together and you get a spark. From the coldest stone comes 5000 degrees flying of into the night with just a small flick of the wrist. Get that spark to land on a dry plant, a living being striving to expand and grow, and you get an inferno. Isn't that just ape shit crazy?
Look, look, look, it's like some. Kid made it up
Rock plus rock equals spark. Spark plus plants equals fire. Fire burns plants and melts rock. That's what it's all about, a cosmic children's game and we are stuck in the middle, wondering when Victor the 5 year old will get bored and kick sand over our existence.
And don't get me started on birds. That's just as crazy. Huge fucking dino monster's are now stupid little chickens. Insane.
Nothing in this world is impossible, nothing. That doesn't mean you can't make predictions or force infinity down a bottleneck. Like right now... You have 3 choices, and only 3. But to show you again what I mean about how everything is, I'm going to tell your future. Pick a path I dare you.
Path 1. You upvote this post. You upvote this post because you though it was charming or whatever and your day is better for reading it. You upvote it and all the rest of the week you feel inspired, and active, and you start tackling the pile of shit you call your life and you get together and you make something out of yourself. You get the ball rolling. And. You. Don't. Stop.
Path 2. You down vote this post. You get a sick little thrill for doing it, but after you do, you will begin evaluating your life and just how Petty you are. After a few days you'll come to the realization that you need a change. And so you will start, and you will grow and progress and bloom. You will become a great driving force in your own life all to make yourself, your family, your city, your world better. And you'll do it to.
Or oath 3. You do nothing. You do nothing. Nothing. And then 6 moths down the road you will realize that that's all you have ever done. Nothing. Stupid, fat, useless, ugly, unfriendly, nothing. Your life a butterfat lies and all you do is eat them up, shit them out, and swallow the same lies all over again. Six months from now you will look in a mirror and decide enough is enough. And you'll change. Not because you have to, but because anything, anything is better than another meal of deceitful cupcakes.
That's my prediction. And it's now your choice, So go ahead. Make a choice. Do it, I dare ya.
| 2017-06-21T13:31:08 | 2017-06-21T13:27:03 | 44 | 24 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
"So, how many casualties ?"
" We estimate between 1.5 and 2 billion sentients, my lord. The planet's biosphere so far seems to be holding well. It may need some repairing in the future, but nothing that we can't handle."
"A good start. Move our fleet to low orbit and begin deploying the hunter-warriors. I want them on the ground before the next planetary cycle. "
Planet 3879-S, also known by its natives as "Earth". A miracle in the forgotten reaches of the galaxy. A place where planets capable of holding life, let alone intelligent life, were not supposed to exist. But here it is. For Ulm'Gaatar, being assigned to oversee such a remote region of the galaxy was something he saw as a demotion. But this planet changed everything. It would be his gateway to glory.
It all started when Imperial deep reconaissance forces found a mysteirous object in the void between the stars after detecting strange radio transmissions. The object cointained the letters VOYAGER in its outer sections, and carried within it a mysterious golden disc. After deciphering the contents of the disc, the imperial tecnomancers were horrified to find out that another intelligent species, one that could threaten the empire, had gone undetected for so long. Ulm'Gaatar lobbied for a full military expedition to be sent against the species in question, who called themselves "humans", and his wish was granted. A force of 50 million imperial astromancers and hunter-warrios would be sent.
The VOYAGER object was very, very old. Ulm'Gaatar suspected there was a good chance that these humans had reached for the planets of their own home systems, at the very least. His suspicions were confirmed not long after he entered the system. The humans had established small outposts, both in space and throughout the other planets and moons of their home system. Strangely, the humans offered basically no resistance at all when they first approached these outposts. For Ulm'Gaatar, it's almost as if they were hoping for a peaceful contact. He found that both strange and fascinanting, but he had a duty to the empire, and to the glory that awaited him. These humans were more technologically advanced than he expected, but strangely, they basically had no weapons of war at all. At most, they had small energy pistols that were mostly suited for self-defence, rather than full scale warfare.
Some of the human prisoners who had surrendered to Ulm'Gaatar's forces spoke of a major conflict that occured hundreds of solar cycles in the past. A devastating conflict that had brought their race to their knees. Since then, humans had forsaken all forms of warfare, and were striving to be a peaceful species. For Ulm'Gaatar, this notion was just laughable. There can be no peace if you are not ready for war.
Then Ulm'Gaatar ad his forces finally arrived on planet 3879-S. It had a population of over 10 billion humans, and countless other non-sentient species. Ulm'Gaatar could not recall the last time he felt such joy. He felt the call to war, and a chance for glory. However, pacifying 10 billion sentients was just not practical with the forces he had at the moment. After consulting with his closest advisers, Ulm'Gaatar came up with a plan: his forces would excatave portions of the planet's moon and hurl them against 3879-S itself at great speeds. The rocks sent against the planet would severely weaken the human population there, but they wouldn't be big enough to render the planet uninhabitable.
Once his fleet reached low orbit, Ulm'Gaatar had the biggest of all surprises.
"My lord" said one of his astromancers "We are detecting a massive amount of unidetified objects heading for our fleet. Thousands of them."
The astromances scanned the objects, and found that the humans launched radiation weapons against the ships. These weapons looked primitive when compared to other forms of human technology they had come across so far, but the scans indicated that these objects had a massive destructive power. If the majority of them hit the fleet, the invasion would over.
But this wasn't the first time the empire had faced this type of situation. The vast majority of the ships in the imperial fleet was equipped with point defences capable of intercepting these types of weapons from a distance of thousands of kilometers.
But Ulm' Gaatar knew that there was just too many of these objects. Most of the fleet would survive, but some ships would be lost and casualties would be far higher that what he had initially predicted.
And everything came to pass as Ulm'Gaatar had envisioned. Despite the casualties, the vast majority of the fleet still stood strong.
"There's been a change of plans" said Ulm'Gaatar "I will not remain aboard the command vessel. I will instead disembark with the first wave of hunter-warriors on the planet's surface".
"My lord" said one of his closest astromancers "It's too risky. We don't know what other kind of defences they might have".
"That is precisely why I am going. We made the mistake of underestimating these humans. We thought their will to fight was gone. We were wrong. I need to have a better insight on how our enemy fights if we are to win this conflict. I need to see with my own eyes the awakening of their fighting spirit".
The astromancers remained silent. They had deep respect for their leader, even though they did not want him to go.
"Astromancers, move the fleet into high orbit once the first wave has reached the planet's surface. Put the ships away from the range of these human radiation weapons.", ordered Ulm'Gaatar before he left for the transport ship
As Ulm'Gaatar boarded the transport ship with the hunter-warrios, they were ecstatic. Their leader would join them in battle.
Ulm'Gaatar finally felt something he thought he had forgotten: He had a chance to die in battle. This made him even more grateful for what was happening, and even more eager to meet humans in battle.
​
|
— Dude, come check it out
— My mom doesnt want me to hang out with you
— Come on, she wont find out. Look at this — he said turning the telescope-like device to his friend — look at that planet.
— The red one?
— No no dude, the blue one next to it.
— What about it?
— Look closer — he said and zoom it in.
— Yeah it has some life, so?
— Not only that. They have some kind of weird tall houses to live all together. Isn't that cute? They all go in big shared cars.
— Aww they even have some small spaceships to move around their tiny planet.
— See!? Lets do it.
— Do what?
— Quick raid, in and out. Let's go.
— I don't know man, Last planet got me some scratches and my mom found out.
— Look at them man, they don't have any weapons. I've watching for a couple of days. Not even a runing war. It's an easy raid. We go, shoot some bridges, take a couple of them put some stuff up their but, kill their leader... 20 minutes and we are back.
--------------
Alien phone ring
— You did what to my spacecraft?
Hmhmhm
— They did what to an atom??
Hm
— And you where just passing by... Okey hold up. I finish my tea and i pick you guys up
| 2019-02-26T09:45:36 | 2019-02-26T07:46:38 | 142 | 35 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
|
I haven't always been grateful for my immortality. There have been days - centuries, even - when it has felt more like a burden than a gift.
Not that it was intended as a gift; Death wanted to punish me.
Is it ironic that I don't remember *why* Death was punishing me? I'm seriously asking - I'm 50,000 years old and I still have no idea when something is ironic and when it's coincidence. That Alanis Morissette song really messed with me.
Either way, the reason for my punishment is one of the many things that has faded into the background of my memory over the years, like my native language (which, to be fair, was more like a series of grunts than a system of communication), or my brother's eye color, or how I helped start the French Revolution.
And I have faced punishment. Being unable to die of starvation did not prevent me from starving. In the early millennia I spent months traversing a desert by myself after the last of my tribe died out, starving and burning and dying of thirst, until I finally found a new civilization.
And aside from the physical suffering, adjusting to immortality was *daunting*. I lost everyone I ever loved, over and over. There were several centuries where I looked at other humans as pitiful children, ignorant to compassion and truth. I mounted the highest of horses and sat there for eras, feeling broodingly superior to humanity, much like kids in their late teens who are too 'mature' to enjoy naps or coloring books or mac 'n cheese.
If Death had come to me then, perhaps I would have chosen to die.
But, like college kids who learn that naps and coloring books and mac 'n cheese are the only ways to keep your sanity, I grew out of it. By the time Death's millennial visit came, the ennui had passed, and I sent him away for another thousand years.
"It is time," he boomed, materializing from nowhere in the living room of my London flat. I glanced up from the small built-in desk where I was organizing my charity files.
"Time for what?"
"For death." He was somewhere between corporeal and ghostly, depending on where the light hit. His robes were solid, but the thread of the fabric was mist.
I sighed. "Death, seriously, I don't have time for this. I have seventeen charity budgets to review and a Space-X flight at four. I'm seeing Hamilton on tonight on Mars."
Death's head cocked to the side, slightly, allowing me to catch a glimpse under his spectral hood. There wasn't quite a face there, but from the right angle you could almost fool yourself into seeing one. "You got tickets to that?" The authority in his voice was gone, replaced with incredulity.
I smirked. "Forty-five thousand years of accruing interest make a lot of money, which opens certain doors."
Death huffed. "Being notoriously immortal probably has its perks, too."
My smirk broke into a grin, and I shrugged. I had never intended to become a celebrity, or to share my secret with anyone. After the invention of the internet, I managed to stay out of the public eye for nearly six thousand years by living an exceedingly boring life of academia. But, eventually, people noticed me. They found thousand-year-old pictures of me on the web, and connected dots.
"Everybody seems to think that having experienced thousands of years of pop culture makes me some sort of expert. It's very prestigious to have an immortal being praise your work."
Death raised a hand to rub his theoretical temples. He wore gloves - or else his skin was a deep, leathery black.
"This has to end, Beku," he whispered.
My head snapped up. *Beku*. Was that... my name? People called me Bex, now. It had been Bex for millennia. Before that, it was Rebecca, I think. But Beku? Something tickled the back of my brain. Was that... my real name? The original?
"You were supposed to suffer for what you did. You were supposed to drown in what you cost me. You were supposed to come crawling back to me, begging for death."
I was frozen. His voice...
He turned his head to me and pulled back his hood. The place where his face should be was hard to look at, a deepness like a black hole. But in the middle, two sharp eyes stared at me, in a brilliant, ice blue.
"You pushed me off that cliff, and when Death offered me his job I took it only to make sure you got what was coming to you. But you *won't fucking die*."
Ice blue eyes. Like my brother. Like...
"*Nar*?"
"Not anymore. Not since you made me into this."
Inexplicably, I laughed. "The cliff? Is that what this is about? You think I pushed you?"
I hadn't thought about it in 50,000 years, but suddenly the memory came back as clear as day.
Nar and I had been gathering fruit near the Waterfall. I had been too far away from him when the stampede started, with just a single wildebeest - one that ran right by him, knocking him off balance. He tumbled off the cliff. I clung to a tree near the edge while the rest of the herd ran through and barely made it out alive.
It was only a few years later when I was dying the first time, from a sickness. Death appeared to me and offered me a deal - I could live until I decided not to. His tone was ominous and he threw out a lot of vague threats, which I now recognized to be veiled references to how he thought I had murdered him. I was delirious, and accepted his offer. He healed me and told me he'd see me in a thousand years.
The creature that was once my brother sneered. "I know what happened. My plan to punish you failed, and now it's time for you to die. I need someone to take my place, and who better than you?"
A brief, intense spike of fear shot through my body, but faded instantaneously. I laughed again. "We made a deal, Death. I can live until I decide not to."
Death faltered.
"I don't think I'm ready to die," I told him. "I've got Hamilton tickets. Ask me again in a thousand years."
And with that, I gathered up my files, grabbed my bag, and left him standing stunned behind me.
|
Our 49,997th anniversary is tomorrow and I can't wait! We were running out of stuff to do on our anniversaries up until a few thousand years ago, space travel has really opened a whole new world, or really worlds, of opportunities for us. Maybe a moonslit walk on the shoreline continents of Mk-314, or we could even go to Lv-430, they can't call it the planet of love for no reason! Man, I love her just as much as the day we first met, and I'll keep loving her as long as I live. You know what? We should leave the love planet for next year. I think a visit to the reason we're even able to have this wonderful life is on order. I sure hope death isn't still mad about it all, that guy can sure hold a grudge, because I hear the underworld is absolutely stunning this time of year. I mean I can't really blame him for being mad, I'm probably the source of his two greatest regrets, the time he granted me immortality and the time I convinced him to give half of it to the love of my life. Poor guy never stopped to think half of infinity is still infinity! Man when he realized it he wanted to kill me! Guess that was out of the question though. Well anyways I think a visit to the big doofus is in order. As much as he hates us with all the flames of the burning hells I still gotta love the guy. It was him that let me live to the end of time, and it's also because of him that I'll enjoy every second leading up to it. In the end I guess the one thing that will outlive the universe itself will be our love, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
| 2017-11-28T15:23:06 | 2017-11-28T14:54:17 | 38 | 10 |
[WP] You are the hero's love interest, so everyone trust to use you as a hostage. What the assorted villains fail to realize is that you do not have the hero's morals even if you are just as powerful.
|
Nathan Steele sipped the coffee tenderly before setting the mug back down on its coaster next to his laptop. It was going to be a long night of homework, but work was comforting to the seventeen-year-old. Work had always been his favorite distraction. No matter what foster home, no matter what orphanage, no matter where he was or what situation he was in, work had always been there to keep him busy and focused.
Nate had found a lot of work with the Northwind Heroic Academy, a high school and college campus for those gifted by the Goddess. He was selected for one of the Worldwalker Foundation Scholarships, a foundation made to provide "normal" children with the unique opportunities that the heroic academies provided. He'd earned the scholarship on academic merit alone. He went from jumping fences of foster homes to being roommates and classmates with Northwind's most promising and famous young heroes. Of course, none of them had any idea that he was also gifted, but that wasn't something he was going to ever let anyone know. Not even Skylar.
Nate did not seek a hero's life. It was not that he disliked heroes; in fact, he actually adored them for the most part. He just simply wished to be an entertainer. He loved making people laugh more than anything. The attention was wonderful, of course. He was aware that his desire for attention was likely an unhealthy byproduct of his upbringing, but he knew that his love for entertainment went beyond his selfish desires. Joy was the lifeblood that allows good people to get through difficult times. He would know. These heroes worked themselves to the bone both in the study and in service. If he could simply take their minds off their villains and enemies for even a moment, then that would make Nate happy. They knew him as the smooth-talking confident ungifted that always made everyone smile. The instructors knew him as that too, but they also knew that he was one of the top students in the academy. And Skylar…
He leaned back in his wheeled office chair, taking a moment to contemplate the assignment. “What is the difference between a hero and a villain?” He spoke the paper’s subject aloud to himself, rubbing two fingers along the jet black stubble that sprouted from his chin. He let his mind drift into thinking of how he might need a shave before catching himself and refocusing. He spun the chair around, facing toward his roommate's half of the living space. It sat empty. Skylar was out on city watch tonight. There had been threats of attack made by the Cerulean League on a number of establishments in Northwind. Every hero in the area had been called regardless of affiliation, and Skylar was the academy’s most promising hero. He prayed to the Goddess that she would return safely.
Nathan smiled at the mere thought of her. He couldn’t deny it now. He absolutely had a crush on her, but who could blame him? She was stunningly beautiful. She spoke with an ethereal elegance like the knight-heroes of old. Her kindness and passionate nature lit up the room. She was every student’s crush, regardless of gender. Many people had tried bribing Nate into switching rooms with them when the living arrangements were made. Everyone, teachers and heroes, adored her. That also meant they were jealous of the friendship he had with Skylar. Everyone knew that they were close. Some even rumored that she liked him. For many jealous students, it was too close for comfort.
She was also one of, if not the strongest heroes the academy had ever seen. Her power was called “Spiritsurge.” He’d never been close enough to really see the full range of properties, but he’d studied the footage and asked her about it on a couple of occasions. His running theory was that she could siphon power from souls, whether it was her own or the souls of others, and use it to grant her a wide range of abilities depending on the amount in her system. She passively had enhanced physical and cognitive capabilities, which Nate guessed to be the result of a subconscious siphoning of her own soul at a sustainable level. She could consciously expend more of that energy, that “soul-power,” to fuel greater feats and abilities. She also physically glowed when particularly high amounts were present. He’d seen her fly, fire blasts of energy from her hands, recover from fatal wounds in days, and so much more. The drawback to spiritsurge was that using it was incredibly taxing on the body and mind, leaving her out of action for a time relative to how much she used. Nathan had always taken it upon himself to care for her whenever she pushed too hard, taking notes for her in class and keeping her company in the academy medbay. She was his first, and for a while, his only friend at the academy. He might not be a shining beacon of light in the darkness of the world, but he could be a good friend. He just wished she’d stop being so merciful to her enemies so that she would stop getting herself hurt.
Nate sighed, sinking deeper into his chair. Skylar believed that there was good in everyone. She, like many heroes, forbade herself from killing villains regardless of their crimes against humanity. Even her nemesis, the King of Clubs, had been allowed to live by her code of mercy. But why? Why put yourself through hell to save someone who is never going to change? It bothered him deeply. The King of Clubs was a mass murdering perverted freak, a man deserving of the death he gave to so many others. If arrested, he would be imprisoned for life, never to see the sun again. Was that alone not a death sentence in and of itself? What was the difference between an existence of echoing your repentance endlessly into four unmoving concrete walls and dying at the hands of a hero? Both had the same outcome in the end, a well-deserved death. He knew that if Skylar’s life were at stake, he’d kill the King without a second thought. Wouldn’t she do the same?
He was stirred from the disturbing thought by a commotion in the hallway. He stood up, alarm bells ringing in his head. He stepped trepidatiously to the door. It flew forward off the hinges and slammed directly into him. Two sets of hands grabbed his arms as he came to his senses. They were thugs, dressed in the unmistakably posh style of the Cadre of Clubs. He needed not ask himself why they were here. He knew in an instant. The threats downtown were distractions. Nate was the real target. He would be leveraged. He would be a way to force Skylar to surrender so that disgusting bastard could have her all to himself. As they dragged him by the arms, his blood boiled at the thought.
He knew he shouldn’t. He knew that once he crossed that line, there would be no going back. But some lines deserved to be crossed.
Time came to a crawl, but Nathan Steele breathed with the same rhythm as he had been before. He could see that he was in the hallway now. A number of students were being attacked by the King’s men in the ambush. He saw Marco Sinclair, who sat next to him in History class, fighting desperately to keep a knife from sinking into his throat as a Club member pinned him against the wall. He was seconds from death. Luckily for him, seconds were all Nate needed. With reality slowed for a brief moment, Nate made no wasted motion in standing to his feet and shaking free of his would-be abductors. In the waning moments of slowed time, he leaped forward with both feet aimed directly at the ribs of Marco’s assailant. Time resumed normal pace as Nate shot forward with incredible velocity and dropkicked the knife wielder with bone-crushing force, sending the henchman flying down the hallway. He looked up to see a very confused Marco, who had just watched an “ungifted” hit a man with the force of a train. He knew Nathan was strong, but that was clearly abnormal. They both turned as the two Nate just broke from charged him once again. The one in front reared back and swung into thin air as Nathan ducked low and sent a knee into his gut with unnatural speed. The second man was not so lucky. A lighting punch crushed the goon’s windpipe, sending him down hard.
Like a whirlwind, Nathan stormed down the hallway, his blows sending Cadre men into and through the walls, floor, and ceiling of the hallway. Some of their injuries would likely be fatal, but Nate would shed no tears over these men. Just as soon as it had started, the ambush was decisively over. All of the students were okay, but they were all shocked into silence. Nate had hidden power, that was clear to everyone. Before anyone could ask, Nate stormed out of the hallway and down the stairs. As he exited the building, he saw an unmarked black SUV begin speeding down the street. Bingo. Nathan followed in slowed time, staying just out of view.
The difference between a hero and a villain is morality. Nathan Steele was neither hero nor villain. He was not evil, but he certainly was not merciful. There had been a time for inaction, allowing the heroic and brave paragons to defend the innocent from the schemes of the Cerulean League. That time had passed. They had come to his home. They had tried to kill his friends. They had tried to ransom him so they could subject his love to the perverted desires of a deranged mob boss. That was a line crossed. They would learn that goes both ways. Tonight, there would be hell to pay in Northwind.
|
I woke up with the unpleasant feeling of nausea. Maybe I really had drunken too much last night. The sickness gripped my bones and wheighed down my hands and feet. Or maybe that was because of the heavy chains around my wrists and ankles. Chains? That wasn't normal. Lokking around I realized I didn't recognize my surroundings at all.
At once the fog in my mind cleared as adrenalin flooded my body. This was not home. In fact it wasn't homely at all. Neither the cold stone walls nor the blank floor or the dim lighting seemed to suggest a friendly host. And that was if you ignored the chains and the bars infront of the small window.
No, this was definitely _not_ home. It was a prison cell. I had been taken hostage. _Again_. How unpractical. And what an unpleasant timing, right at the day of my wedding. My wife would be furious if I came late. And I would have to clean myself and put on new clothes when I was done here, so no chance of getting there in time. I sighed, I'd better start now.
The chains clattered when I stood up. The cell wasn't big. The only door seemed to be pretty heavy with iron mounting. Quite unbreakable. If you're a normal person, that is. And I was definitely not a normal person. Neither was my wife, but that's another story.
I placed myself next to the door - I had not been chained to the floor and the chains left me some space to move. A foolish move from the guards, but quite handy for me.
Slowly I began to cry for help - By now I had the desperate sobs down to a spell - and sure enough after a while the door opened. The annoyed voice of the guard changed into horror as the chain bit into his throat, strangling him. Soon the gurgling and struggling stopped and the body dropped loosely into my arms.
Shortly after the key clicked into place and my chains fell off. A dagger moved from the corpse into my hand. Time for the real game.
I made my way towards the great hall, painting the grey hallways of the castle with red blood. Pale bodys of guards and soldiers lined my way. Many women would weep tonight. My deeds would destroy the hopes and futures of countless families today.
When the wide doors to the great hall swung open and two guards fell after it, headless, the dark lord cried in terror and disgust. His voice echoed from the cold walls. All eyes stared at the head I held high in one hand. The bloodstained face stared back with empty eyes. It had taken me quite a while to cut it off. Such a small dagger wasn't made for this kind of task and thus the cut was unclean and ugly. Still, I was quite proud of my work - and the effect it had.
There was a dead silence in the hall. Noone dared to speak while I carelessly stepped over the body and strolled towards the dark lord. Stopping at just an arms reach I dropped the head into his lap.
"Here, I believe this was your guard."
He stared at the head and then me in utter disgust. "Lady of the white hall, what have you done?"
"Nothing that you didn't cause. And that's the name of my wife, not me. Call me Brunhild, even if it'll be the last thing you'll do"
"Not your... What _are_ you?"
"I'm a woman. I thought that was obvious, but if you mean the dead soldiers in your hallways - that by the way could need some cleaning - then you should know that I don't see these things as... strict as my wife does. And that I'm in no way a suitable hostage. In fact I'm getting very bored by the many..."
"But Lady,", he interrupted me, clearly not caring much about the fate of his soldiers - or that I still was standing quite intimidating right before him. How rude. "Don't you think you killing these _people_ makes you as bad as me? As all the other far greater villains?"
"No. Not at all. _Wanting_ to kill these people, that's what makes me like them. And cutting their small little heads of too, I suppose. But like I said, I don't really care about these things. Nor do I care about you - that was until you bothered me _while_ trying to kill my wife. And that's why I'll have to deal with you."
"And how are you going to do that, Lady? I don't suppose you are going to kill me, are you?", he snarled. Confident now that I would act like all the naive heros before me did. Bad idea. Very bad idea.
"Yes, infact I will. Plus maybe a little extra, we'll see." I strengthened the grip around my dagger. Time to get this over with.
| 2022-08-17T13:50:26 | 2022-08-17T13:01:33 | 51 | 38 |
[WP] You wake up in a hospital with a massive headache. As you regain your vision, you notice the room is packed with terrified scientists, politicians, and soldiers aiming their rifles at you. A five star general walks in, gives the order to remove the muzzle around your mouth, and only asks "Why?"
|
Astrid tried to ignore her pounding head as she looked around the large warehouse. It did not take very long, she could not move her head. Beyond the handful of soldiers, she spotted a dozen workers in lab coats. They ran this way and that shouting numbers and orders at each other. She stood strapped to what felt like a metal surface behind her. She felt the tightness of broad straps around her ankles, wrists, and neck. Astrid focused her gaze on the old, pot-bellied general that asked, then grinned.
"Which part?" she asked.
"Why did you think you could break into a top-secret government facility?" he asked. His voice was low and dry. Astrid made a show of slowly rolling her eyes around the room before they settled on the general again.
"The fact that I did," she giggled. The general sighed.
"I suggest you take this matter seriously," he replied. At his words, the five guards cocked their weapons. "Your child-like appearance won't keep you safe. You walked through some of our best guards, you're obviously not normal," he returned her smile with a sinister gleam in his eye. "Here we *specialize* in 'not normal'."
"Child-like?!" Astrid felt a flash of anger. "I'm 14!" she shouted. He shrugged.
"Let's try a different question. Why did you break in?" he asked.
"I have to leave," Astrid said. Her voice carried more fear than she meant to show. The general's eyes narrowed and a few of the lab coats closest to her stopped in their tracks at her words.
"What do you mean?" the general asked.
"I mean I know what you do here and I *need* to leave."
"What's the rush?" The general did not deny anything.
"If you've got an evacuation plan, now's the time to use it," Astrid said. "The world's gonna end. Today." Everyone that heard her, except for the gunmen, broke into laughter.
"And how do you know that?" the general asked in a patronizing tone. Astrid attempted a shrug but was bound too tightly to even lift her shoulders very far.
"Someone gave me a friendly warning. But it doesn't matter, the point is today's your last day unless you leave."
"You're underestimating how many contingency plans we have," the general grinned. "We're ready for anything. Zombies, robot uprising, disease outbreak, alien invasion, meteor impact, and so on. Many, many more unbelievable things that we take seriously around here. We're ready for anything." Astrid could not contain the raucous laughter that erupted out of her; if she could have doubled herself over she would have. After several moments she let her laughter fade but kept a smile on her face.
"You're not, though," she said.
"We shall see," the general said. "in the meantime, please be our guest for the day. Tomorrow morning, when the world is still here, we can discuss your fighting talents in greater depth."
"Little Luna, why are you still here?" a woman's voice asked suddenly. A tall, pale woman was suddenly standing behind the general but no one saw how she got there. She wore a long black dress and had a pair of white horns protruding out of her black hair. All eyes turned toward the voice. Once the general noticed her, he took several steps back. The guardsmen turned their weapons to the newcomer. She ignored them and kept her focus on Astrid.
"Couldn't make it to the portal," Astrid replied.
"Ma'am, I'm going to ask you to stand down and let us take you into custody," the general said. He raised his own pistol and pointed it at her. The woman looked down her nose at him then rolled her eyes.
"You're lucky I have a soft spot for Lunas," the woman said, giving Astrid her attention again. "Off you go."
"Thank -" Astrid almost finished giving her thanks before a small black hole opened at her feet. It flew upward to swallow her then left behind several loose straps. Everyone's attention had been focused on the woman until Astrid's words were cut off; then, they noticed she was gone.
"Where'd she go?" The general asked. "Who are you?"
The woman smiled at the general. Saucer-sized black holes appeared around the room next to every single person in the warehouse. Skeletal hands reached out from the holes to grab the closest person. There were enough to grab each person in multiple places. Several pairs of bone hands clutched the general's ankles, wrists, and neck. He managed to squeeze off a shot before the skeletons pulled his aim down.
The bullet was swallowed by a small black hole before it reached the woman. A pair of holes appeared in front of the general about a foot apart. A stray bullet flew out of one, across his vision, then it disappeared into the other one. The holes disappeared, then reappeared a bit closer to his face. They exchanged the bullet again going the other way. Again, they disappeared and reappeared closer; the bullet passed within an inch of the general's nose.
"I'm Ballisea," the woman said. The holes disappeared again, and a single one appeared in front of the general facing him. "Goodbye, Zero."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, story #288. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
|
"I just had to. There is no use in words now, you should have been there to understand" I said, barely awake
"Don't give me this crap, son! I've seen the things you did, the remnants of your seeds, my men cleared the rubble in your wake"
"You think you saw all of it? But did you live even a part of this madness? You just sit there, puppeteering men, looking down on them..."
"There is no man who wouldn't restrain you after what you did. No man in this room, in this country, on this Earth who would stop and think about the ethics! It was utter chaos"
"Oh that was chaos. That was horror, you think? How dare you even think such madness..."
"You know what? I've had enough. I guess it can't be helped. You're a lost cause. Any last words?"
"Explain me what happened at least. No, wait. Give me some water first, actually. My head feels like after a College grad party on a Christmas morning. Then we both can see what the hell happened, because right now I am more clueless than you are"
| 2019-10-15T09:15:17 | 2019-10-15T04:34:23 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] Aliens always respawn minutes after death. It's a common prank for aliens to kill each other for a laugh. When they discover Earth, they kill millions of humans, thinking it's a humorous way of greeting this new species, but for some reason, the humans aren't laughing...
Edit:
Thank you SO much for the 2K upvotes, as well as for the silver award!
Second Edit:
Oh my God, now it's over 4K. I seriously can't thank you all enough!
|
Lakthor lopes through the human city as fast as he can, monstrous claws cracking the pavement as the twin plasma cannons mounted on his scaled-back scythe through the crowd of suited humans before him like a saleshi matron through a platter of stunlag deserts. Though the residue that he leaves behind is far messier...The adventurer draws a deep breath in at the thought, his cavernous maw transforming into a grin as he smells the enticing aroma of spilt blood and cooked flesh.
​
Truly, sentient iron-blooded mammals! Never would he have thought such creatures could think, let alone be welcomed into galactic civilization, yet here he is. The humans fleeing before him, a dread and inexplicable creature from the farthest stars, likely thinking he is at the forefront of an invasion. Spitting beams of true death from his cannons like ancient murderers of yore. Yet unknown to them, actually being a harbinger of a far more enlightened fate.
​
Chuckling, he idly wonders how long it will take for them to realize that his weapons were calibrated specifically to not harm the soul; there would be nothing to fear. Indeed likely, those he had first killed some streets back were already rising to their feet, realizing ruefully that the invaders didn't mean any actual harm.
​
Slowing to a stop for a moment, watching the fleeing humans take shelter or run further down the end of the street. He pauses to take in the scent upon the air and feel the rush within his blood. Allowing his cannons a chance to cool and recharge before the hunt continues. This is a moment worth savouring, he thinks, feeling the terrified gaze of dozens of humans latching onto his every movement. Fooled into thinking that their end was nigh. He had not felt so powerful, so feared in years, and it made every scrap of payment he had paid for the privilege worthwhile.
​
Still, he can't pause too long; already upon distant streets, his score, showed to him by the visor covering his fifth eye, is being outpaced by his brothers. Carem even nearing the low hundreds as he watches! What a showing for his clan this will turn out to be. And what a show for these humans! To have such a vast host descend to welcome them into galactic brotherhood. They would mark this day for generations!
​
A sob to his left sounds, breaking through the jubilation that young Lakthor experiences, and with a puzzled expression, his immense head turns to look upon a younger member of the lucky species, propped up by the steps of some large white building. The space where her leg and lower torso had been now a gaping cauterized hole. Her mortal shell, breaking down further as he watches, now held up near entirely by the spirit of the young woman refusing to let go. She gasps in despair as the immense beast turns her way once again, though his cannons remain quiescent.
​
"Why?" she whispers, watching the draconic beast regard her "Why are you doing this?"
​
Lakthors head turns quizzically, his translators whirring into motion. Why hadn't she already given in to resurrection? she would have to be in incredible pain. Maybe she just wanted to be the first to get the chance to speak to an alien. "Because little one, my brothers and I have taken part in the huntings on the last three first contacts, it's become something of a tradition.
​
"Her arm that had been reaching out drops to her side as her shock turns to hatred. Her voice seeps forth, carried by the last vestiges of an indomitable will, "You go... to murder species..., on the first.... day you meet them?"
​
Lakthor nods indulgently, his deep chuckles reverberating down the street. "Nothing more than a little hazing, little one; we will welcome you alongside the rest of the kin as the diplomats arrive. Besides, you've been quite lucky. For the 'inconvenience' of being resurrected, the insurance payout should be quite hefty, two years of your median wage. And" he adds with a toothy smile, "you get to say that you were killed at humanity's first meeting with true civilisation.
​
"Her head falls back against the marble steps as her body finally gives in. "resurrection?" she breathes in incomprehension as her eyes finally dim to blankness.
​
Lakthor watches, his killing lust abated for the moment by the aborted conversation. Instead, he pauses, intrigued to watch the resurrection take place. He wonders what will occur for humans. His own kind would burn in a tremendous leaping inferno as the ash drifts to the nearest volcano temple. The sind of Electria would sprout a tree that grows, withers and dies in minutes before revealing the restored sind within. But what would this growing species method be?
​
Seconds pass and then minutes as he watches with interest and then doubt. His cannons click to full readiness again, but Lakthor does little save uneasily looking around. The gore-streaked road remains. Not purified by fire nor consumed by the spirit for revification. Instead, it gathers and congeals, much like the horror that begins to form in his gullet. The cries and shouts of onlookers begin to beat down on him as he listens to the true horror etched into the air by friends and family riven with loss.
​
Silent and uncaring of his own mounting dread, the counter soars past ten million and shows little sign of slowing.
|
The chair was coated in blue visceral from the alien, every time it came back it tried to beg to be released from this blank room. The only colour in the room was his blood, used tools on a metal tray, and the human covered with protective gear. Originally this was an integration but after telling the human everything he knew it changed. After the first death the alien thought they would be let go, but the "interrogation" kept going. Then it was 30, 40, 50 deaths but now it was countless.
A new pair of humans entered the room and unlocked the alien, only to pick it up and drag it out of the room down the corridors and finally into a hanger. More of the aliens specie's was there to collect their colleague and take them home. When they picked their colleague up they knew something was wrong but packed into their ship quickly and flew off.
"What happened?" They asked. The alien was silent before looking one of them in the eyes and said "Death is a mercy. Please, just let me die." Tears were rolling down the aliens face and the rest knew what horrors had happened. It didn't take long for the aliens to completely surrender to humanity for fear of what they did to all aliens they captured.
| 2022-08-14T02:50:40 | 2022-08-14T01:46:33 | 38 | 16 |
[WP] For centuries Elves held a Monopoly on Magic and only a select few Humans where taught Magic who were easily controlled. That's why they freaked out when a Human Bandit learned Magic. You are this Bandit and you are having the time of your live tricking and robbing those Elves in your Woods.
|
"Keep your eyes open," Captain Telandis said, "I refuse to allow that thief to steal ANYTHING from this convoy."
The merchant snickered at the ranger captain's resolve. "Captain, no offense, but have you seen this bandit operate?"
"I have not," Telandis responded, "and I don't need to. We're well aware of his abilities, which is why the magus is here." She indicated Acora, the blue-robed figure astride the horse next to the lead cart. "Bad enough a human is robbing us, but that he is a mage as well, one we didn't train?" She looked disdainfully at the merchant sitting next to her. "I should think you would be more concerned with the safety of your goods."
Elregor shrugged. "It's not like it will reduce me and my family to destitution if we get robbed, I hear he only takes food, some gold, and any books that might be around."
"Also, technically, I'm not robbing you," a voice said behind them, "robbery implies threat. I'm burgling you, is what I'm doing."
"It doesn't matt-" Telandis started to argue until the words hit home. She spun around quickly only to see a cloaked figure clap their hands, blinding her with a bright flash of light. Elregor pulled back on the reins sharply, and the horses pulling the cart reared back, whinnying loudly and drawing the attention of the rest of the convoy.
"HE'S HERE!" Telandis shouted, wiping her eyes clear of whatever illusion the bandit had cast upon her. When her sight returned, the bandit had disappeared along with one of the sacks of gold coins carried by that cart. Her bow was out and an arrow knocked as she leapt out the back of the cart, shouting orders for her troops to draw up and find the bandit. She could hear the mage attached to her unit already encanting a spell to locate the intruder, only to cry in surprise suddenly.
"Hey!" Acora shouted. "That's my staff!"
"Yeah, can't have you making things difficult," the bandit replied, wrapping the staff in his dark green cloak before whipping the cloak free. The staff was nowhere to be seen, and the mage's protests stopped dead in her throat.
"What... what did you do? Where's my staff?!"
The bandit smiled and gave a short bow. "Safe. You'll have it back before long. Professional courtesy and all that." Acora was surprised by the figure before her: human, as expected, but younger than she was expecting, with piercing blue eyes and a rakish smirk as he winked at her.
An arrow whizzed over his head, and he looked to see the captain knocking another arrow to her bow. With another whirl of his cloak, he was momentarily obscured from both the ranger captain and the mage, and in that moment, he was gone. Acora stared at the cloak as it fluttered to the ground.
"Spread out!" Telandis shouted. "Search the area! Mage or not, he can't have gotten far!" The rest of the guard company immediately surged out into the nearby underbrush. Teleportation magic required time to encant if one was going to travel any significant distance, which meant the bandit could only blink away a few dozen feet, at most.
Acora's eyes glowed as she turned her arcane senses onto the scene, only to be surprised yet again when there was no trail to follow. The cloak was itself unenchanted, and the local weave appeared completely undisturbed. Whatever magicks this human knew, they were completely alien to her and exceptionally frightening if they couldn't be traced. Her attention snapped to her left at the sound of a tree branch snapping loudly. She scanned the nearby trees but saw only a few squirrels and a rabbit running for better cover. Her brow furrowed as she turned back to retrieve the cloak for further study, only to gasp when it, too, had vanished.
An hour later, the entire unit had regrouped around the caravan as the captain spoke with the merchants. Their had been unsuccessful, and it appeared the Forest Bandit had escaped yet again, making them all look like fools.
"Honestly," Elregor said with a smile, "it could have been a lot worse. About a hundred crowns, some preserved meats, biscuits, and those books the princess requested. Not a bad price for a bit of excitement!"
"What about the spell tomes?" Acora asked, and Elregor gestured back to his cart.
"Still there, right next to my copy of *The Lusty Argonian Wench.*"
"Hey!" One of the scouts said. "Why'd he take my copy and not yours?"
Acora looked over the books in the cart. She had placed the tomes there herself, and she didn't think they looked like an obvious trap. Still, the bandit left them behind, possibly because he sensed the powerful tracing magicks laid upon them. She then picked up the aforementioned trashy novel (one of her personal favorites, she would NEVER admit to anyone). From the bookmark sticking up prominently from within its pages, a thought occurred to her.
"Were you reading it actively?" she asked the scout.
"I mean, no," the scout replied, blushing furiously as his fellows jibed at him for having it to begin with.
"Who cares about some smutty book!" Telandis shouted. "Why didn't he take the bait?"
"I shouldn't wonder..." Acora said. Her foot bumped against something under the cart, and she looked down to see her staff, none the worse for wear. *Just like he said,* she thought to herself.
////////
Penn and Teller had a bit on one of their British TV specials from the 90s that really shaped me as a kid. They started a card trick where a member of the audience picked a card, Teller shuffled the deck with a very obvious elbow move Penn would notice and give Teller crap for, and then Penn would ask the audience member if they felt the card they'd picked was sufficiently lost in the deck. THEN Penn would stake 100 pounds of his own money against the audience member's that the card was sufficiently lost in the deck, which the audience member immediately refused. Essentially, the routine was a discussion about why magic worked: when tangible stakes were on the table, a person becomes much more suspicious of what they experience, but when it's just an agreement between two people, when the magician asks "do you trust me" without anything at stake but a few minutes, that same person is willing to believe anything. In that moment, one could make an object vanish completely from under a handkerchief, cause a coin to suddenly duplicate at will, or ask someone to check their pocket for a named card that is supposed to still be in that deck of cards ten feet away from them.
As it turns out, the "stakes" to induce that skepticism need to be much, MUCH higher when the audience members are a bunch of elves, hundreds of years old, that not only know real magic but how to use it. Which is good for me, otherwise I would have starved to death or died much more violently months ago. As it stands, I'm a notorious forest bandit living the high life burgling what I need from merchant caravans that pass through the forest on their way between elven towns. Which, this time, included a dirty romance novel out of an *Elder Scrolls* game. Apparently, all the sleight-of-hand, misdirection, and snarky commentary is being interpreted as real magic, so I've ALSO stolen magic from the only people in this world to have it. Quite the feather in my con artist's cap.
Honestly, I still don't know a lot about whatever isekai situation I've found myself in, but I'm not complaining. I just hope that cute mage can't track me somehow. That would make things awkward.
|
Stealth is just *easier* with magic.
You use a spell to muffle your footsteps, a spell to blend you into the background, even a short spell to be *completely invisible* if you manage to screw things up.
It was nice. It was like I'd unlocked easy mode.
See, the elves *relied* on the magic. They *needed* it. They'd been playing on easy mode their whole lives, they didn't know a damn thing about good fundamentals.
But if you've had to scrape and scrap and steal on hard mode all your life, and some ghostly tome unlocks easy mode?
Well.
They didn't pay attention. They didn't pay attention to much of anything- they had spells for that, so they never needed to. Which meant that if you used magic of your own to thwart their detection spells, then you could do just about anything. Level the playing field, and the people who were used to massive advantages suddenly found that they were wildly outclassed when it came to actual *skill*.
It was a fun time.
The world would change, in time. That ghostly tome had faded to complete invisibility when I'd absorbed its incredible gift of Magic, but it would return to full visibility after a while. No human yet knew exactly *how* long, but we would learn.
Then it was simply a case of lather, rinse, repeat.
I'd snagged a few more of their magetomes before they'd realized what happened and gotten serious about security, but the damage was done. They no longer had a monopoly on magic, and if our selection of spell tomes (the books that taught particular spells, normal-ish books rather than the ghostly tomes that granted access to magic in the first place) was still more limited than theirs...
That disadvantage would not last long.
The playing field would be level at long last. We would learn everything there was to learn from them, and then move on ahead, become greater than they had ever dreamed of being.
But, in the meantime, I got to become *stupidly* rich.
They had all of this stuff, all of this money. More than they could ever conceivably appreciate, but they wanted it all the same, and never mind how much good it could do elsewhere. I stole and I stole and I stole, and I never ran out of things to steal. I could keep this up for my whole life, that was how much they had. I could go undetected despite carrying so much that I could barely move, then come back and do it again.
The world was changing, but I found that I wasn't as concerned with that as I thought I would be. I just wanted to enjoy my fabulous wealth. I still stole from the elves now and then, but a new class of magical thieves was emerging. I got to simply enjoy. Enjoy my wealth, enjoy my magic, enjoy the respect and admiration of a new class of mage-thieves who very nearly *worshiped* the thief who had gotten the ball rolling.
It was a nice life. Gold-plated furniture might not be very comfy, but you can trade it for furniture that *is*. And there's a lot to be said for retiring as a beloved hero at 29.
| 2021-12-04T12:33:56 | 2021-12-04T11:29:45 | 58 | 36 |
[WP] When the first human opened their third eye, humanity began its next Renaissance and figured out space travel. Things began to take a turn when someone opened their fourth eye. And their fifth. And sixth.
|
The reports in my hand felt like some sodden mess of grief and despair and humanity's usual curse of *failure*. I suppose the whole nightmare should have been easily expected- maybe? Who knew that we, humans, had fourth (or more) eyes?
Frankly, I barely had three. I was just the "boring" one sent to look into matters of the Eyes with a clear... Mind. Set of eyes? I don't know. Puns get uncomfortable when people can read your mind. Or change your mind. Or erase it.
Humanity had come so far... And yet not very far at all.
"Ma'am?" I stiffened as I realized that I was still standing there in my office, poised to throw the papers onto my desk, yet frozen. Like *someone* had taken control of me.
I was no puppet, but in the current crisis? It was all too easy to have happen.
"What is it?" the inspector in the doorway- Wilcox, Wilson, Winston, something like that- was a forgettable figure. They did nothing to warrant punishment or praise- they just came to work, did their work, and went home from work.
A skill I applauded and envied, because no member of the Eyes would ever think to meddle in their life work. They got the luxury of being an ordinary human, someone free from the supernatural and self-inflated godhood that we policed every stinking day.
"There's a call for you. It's Agent Kurtz. Says it's urgent. Something about 'they did it'?"
My already sore and stiff back seized up, even as I struggled to maintain my calm façade.
Humanity, quite probably, was doomed.
"Please close the door behind yourself," I finally threw down the reports- now into the trash can- as I skirted my desk in the cramped closest I called an office. No sense in reading through them now. Not if Kurtz was correct.
There were muffled words as they closed the door, and I waited until I was sure they had walked away before answering the call. Praying to anyone listening for a miracle that looked like eyes sealed firmly shut, though I could feel through my own a power beyond comprehension.
Space travel had been the easy part. Meeting new species. Colonizing new worlds. Growing throughout the galaxy- now that had been the glorious part of humanity's discovery of the third eye.
Those explorers... They were heroes. They wanted to help humanity see the stars in a new light, to help make our world a better place, or give us new discoveries to ponder over.
They didn't want to open any further eyes...
Unlike those who remained behind, wondering, searching...
Waiting, for a sign.
I just hoped that we weren't too late.
"Kurtz? Maria? What's happened?" We were old friends, she and I. Both third eyes who had graduated from the academy at the same time. Maria had always been the better of the two of us at detecting the supernatural and harnessing its power, and I? I had been the better inspector, looking into every mystery like a puzzle, finding the lingering humanity in every decision (good or bad).
The silence on the other end was deafening in its own way, and without realizing it I began to shake a little. Silence was bad. Silence was really, really bad.
Finally, Maria spoke, though in a quiet voice. Like she was afraid to speak.
"Terri... They did it. They found... I don't know what they found... Hell? Something like it? They're going to... Push through, go to it." her voice trembled as she explained her discovery. The horror in it enough to make me want to vomit.
So, this would be it. This was how it (possibly) started.
Apocalypse time.
"I see..." I tried to remain calm, for both of our sakes, even as my hand shook on the receiver. "Is there... Time? To stop them? A way to change their minds?"
Silence, again, spanned the void between us, and I closed my physical eyes in defeat. Even as the third one roared within me, tried to warn me that something was very, very wrong.
"No."
I nodded, knowing full well that she couldn't see me, as I struggled to compose my thoughts.
Mankind's pride would be our downfall, it seemed.
"Go home, Maria." it was an order.
"But-"
"No," my voice was a whisper now, heart sinking with every word. "You did your job, and you've done it well. Go home. Be with your family and friends. Take some time off. I'll call in the people who can handle this from here. If we're lucky, this was just a warning."
"And... If we aren't?"
I let the silence speak for me. What else could I say?
"Thank you, Terri. I... I appreciate you." Translation: I will always be your friend, even if this is the end of the world.
We said our goodbyes, and I hung up just as the sun began to crest on the horizon, red and terrifying. Like a giant, judgement eye. *I didn't just discover some powerful source of evil. I just sit here and shine brightly.*
For the first time in a long time, as panic rose and I started thinking of all the calls I would need to make, all the people I would need to get ahold of before lunch, I shut my third eye.
If I was facing the end of the world, I would face it as what I truly was:
A human.
|
Keys of dimensionality,
The eye on the horizon unfolding thru doors of perception.
Augmented into reality,
Where do the lines blur in the infinite?
Geometric tunnel vision,
Kaleidoscopic cosmos.
On the stairway to Heaven climbing further.
Dyed like the Milky Way,
Our minds holographed through eternity.
Where big bangs unfold effervescent,
Thru the portals of ecstasy,
Tunnels of doom.
The finite decision,
Will man leave the room?
However over yonder fleeting stars like comets say,
Whispered in the forest as we burn and walk away.
How high to see,
The sea will rise.
As visions of mortality,
Lose their limbs on the tide.
Floating like jellyfish we rise unto the sun,
Perception in the universe which wisps forever young.
| 2020-10-07T20:17:39 | 2020-10-07T18:27:17 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] You have the power to see five minutes into the future and manipulate minor events that happen in that timespan. No one takes you seriously. You're going to show them all why they should.
|
And then I heard snickers.
Well, before that—
When my big boss was defeated and surrounded by the heroes of Emerald City, they asked her for her last words and he called my name. None of them, of course, recognized my name.
Nobody should, I made sure of that.
So when Digital DJ reported his findings on a nobody like me, Miracle Man laughed at my big boss. "Are you calling for your daddy, evil Witch?"
It was a gloomy day, it looked like it might rain any moment. I looked at my phone for the weather update on the typhoon but all the big local media outlets are covering the "final showdown" between the Witch and the Heroes of Emerald City. I then looked at my big boss from a distance and saw her bruised and disheveled, blood dripping from her mouth. It was a sad sight to behold, but I'm not about to let my emotions get ahead of me.
I opened my bottled water and drank a few gulps before looking ahead. And with a tennis ball in my hand, I walked towards the heroes.
All around me are broken, destroyed, and barely standing buildings that got damaged over multiple bouts of fighting. This part of the Emerald City was once popular for its cliff-side spot, but it has been abandoned since the dawn of the Age of Heroes. But, although much time has passed, I could still see signs of human activity here and there.
Scattered chairs, flying newspapers and posters, flying plastic bags, broken pots of dead plants, the sound of barking dogs from afar. Oh, and some birds.
*fhwoo fhwoo fhwoo*
When I heard the flapping of the wings, I knew my plan was officially starting.
"Go away, civilian."
The self-proclaimed Hero of the Skies, Soaring Eagle. He regularly polices the civilians away from the fight, and I must say I admire his love of the people.
But real eagles would have heard the falling pot from above him.
*breakkk*
*"Get to safet— aahk!"*
"He protected the citizens with each flap of his wings, but alas, he was not a real eagle."
I must have said that out loud for Hurricane Harold to notice me from far away and alerted every hero of Emerald City of my presence.
"That boy killed Soaring Eagle!" he shouted.
"I only made him sleep, relax.'" I retorted, but I doubt he heard me with his old age.
"Who are you?" shouted Red Phoenix, with flames gathering at her fingertips.
One by one, they stared at me, the mysterious man in a green shirt. The Witch smiled and Miracle Man frowned, walking slowly towards me. Black Tape and White Tape, the colorful twin heroes, wrapped themselves around buildings and roads. Blue Light disappeared and the colors flashed as he appeared right in front of me, holding me by my neck. Red Phoenix jumped with a burst of flames and landed beside me.
With fireballs forming at her hands, she declared, "I'll ask you one more time, who are you?"
And then I smiled.
"The one whom the Witch calls her daddy."
*Krakakakoom*
Lightning flashed and thunder sounded, the rain started pouring from the skies.
"What the fuck." Red Phoenix exclaimed, and the once-hot flames on her arms now becoming small sparks, before uttering her famous (now also printed on her merch) phrase, "How unlucky."
Blue Light tightened his grasps on my neck and his thundering voice sounded in my ears, "Who are you, and why are you here?"
"I am the reason why the one you call Miracle Man was born, I am the reason how his every recorded and unrecorded feat were possible, and I am the reason why he is even alive today. For I am able to write the future, and in my story, you lose."
And then I heard snickers.
Of course, who wouldn't? What would you react if someone comes at you and starts spouting chunibyu bs like "I can write the future."?
Right, me too. *But this is necessary.* I reassured myself.
That was loads of bullcrap, of course. I can't write the future.
*But I am really close to it, though.*
That very moment, lightning struck Blue Light.
*Krakakakooom*
"Blue Light may be super fast, but he's just an ordinary man."
I landed swiftly after Blue Light unconsciously let go of me, and I prayed that the lightning wasn't too strong.
Then, the broken buildings around the area started collapsing.
"Even in the Age of Heroes, soft ground is not a good place for engineers to make skyrise buildings."
"Aahh!!" "Aahh!!"
The colorful twin heroes, Black Tape and White Tape, screamed at the top of their lungs.
"No matter how much they can twist and turn their bodies, those stretchy kids can still feel pain."
Miracle Man's eyes bulged out and his face full of confidence started piping down.
"Shut it, young man."
Hurricane Harold tried to blow me away with strong winds.
"Forgive me, old man, but the winds are against your favor today."
The strong winds blowing towards me turned into circles and created a tornado, causing nearby debris to fly with the wind and hit Hurricane Harold on his head, making him faint.
Draped in rain, the wet bird Red Phoenix stood agape at how fast the scene escalated. One moment, she was threatening me with Blue Light. The next moment, not only is Blue Light charred all over and is lying on the ground but Hurricane Harold and the colorful twin heroes fainted, too.
Anger slowly rose in the heart of Red Phoenix, and her throat started glowing red. Her eyes turned dark and smoke came out of her mouth. She opened her mouth wide and started to shout.
"AAH—!"
But before she could breathe out fire, I lifted my bottle and sprayed the water inside her mouth, cooling her down and drowning her.
"*cough cough*"
The more Red Phoenix coughed, the more smoke came out of her mouth. There as so much smoke that it started to come out of her nose, too.
"I didn't know that would happen, but that's why you experiment."
Then I turned my head towards the only man standing between me and my big boss.
"The truth is, you're no Miracle Maker."
Miracle Man finally looked at me with fear in his eyes.
"L–Lies!" Miracle Man shouted and turned to the Witch, punching her and locking her neck with his arms before slowly walking back.
Then he pulled a fucking gun from behind him and pointed it at my big boss!
|
I felt that something was wrong. It was a funny feeling where I couldn’t explain it, but I just knew something had to be done before it was too late. To ensure I wasn’t going crazy, I stuck my head out the window and took a deep breath of fresh air before verifying my paranoid thoughts.
*Yep, something’s going to mess up soon.*
I frantically trace out a shape of a polygon with my index finger. A vortex forms in front of me and illuminates a hologram of what’s occurring in the world five minutes from now. Boy, it was not pretty. The sand dust clouded the view. I tried to waft it away to clearly see the view, but realized it was a simulation. Blurry figures rush from one place to another. Orange flashes glow from various spots. My body shakes from the violent rumble of the ground. Finally, the sand dust clears up. Up ahead, I notice a silhouette of a football with a disproportionately small body.
*Is that… a baby? On a pizza- shaped UFO annihilating mankind?* It’s difficult to take this baby seriously when his attire is a toddler- sized yellow shirt under red overalls.
He turns and gazes into my eyes before asserting in a sophisticated British voice, “I’m gonna buy a cake when you’re dead.”. The UFO protracts a robotic arm and aims a laser cannon at me.
The orb expands in the center of the cannon. I do my best to take in everything- the cries of the people, the buildings splattered in pizza sauce, the rumble of the ground. How do I explain this to the people around me that a baby is taking over the world? In a matter of seconds, my eyes burn from the blinding light of the beam. Immediately, the vortex ceases the simulation and dissipates in thin air.
*I don’t care if people are going to assume I’m a crackhead- I have to save them from a baby cracking their heads in five minutes!*
| 2021-12-31T12:05:40 | 2021-12-31T09:43:26 | 37 | 21 |
[WP] You have the ability that lets you know exactly what to say to someone at any given moment that would cause them to break down in tears.
|
Knowing what to say isn't my power.
Almost everyone in this city has at least heard of my alter-ego, "Gravitas." I didn't chose the name, but of all the nicknames I had been given I liked that one the most, and started using it. I didn't have a costume, well, I mean not really; when I assume the role of Gravitas, I pulled on a 'mask' made out of one of those Halloween Morphsuits. People have seen my face, I mean I just put on a mask, I didn't change my clothes are anything, but it seems that people just accepted when the mask was on, that it wasn't me, it was Gravitas.
I've always had the ability, knowing exactly what to say to tip someone over the proverbial edge. At first my parents thought that I had no filter as a kid, but when I kept nailing it home each and every time, I think they started loving me less. Ignoring the long life story, I pretty much keep to myself, it's a lot easier then possibly hurting someone I care about. I mean it's lonely, having no one, but I manage.
It starts as a tingle at the bottom of my spine, way down in the lumbar, then quickly zips up my back and hits me in the skull, like the weighted ringer of one of those carnival 'prove your strength by hitting the see-saw with a hammer and ring the gong' you see in old cartoon. If I meet eyes with someone, I know exactly what to say. The big problem is I don't know if the thing is good or bad. Sometimes I think it's positive, though it ends up leaving my 'muse' bawling in pure agony; other times I think I couldn't possibly say those words, but they are so over joyed, the wet works start flowing. I just don't know
______________________________________________________
I just needed to stop by the store; bread, deli ham, swiss, maybe butter lettuce if it was on sale. I was the only one at the bus stop, this late at night it was to be expected. The bus rolled to a stop and the fwoosh of the air breaks snaped me out of a meaningless thought. I pulled my pass out of my jacket pocket and stepped up into the bus, only to lock eyes with the well-shaved middle aged driver.
*You're mistress gave a stillbirth.*
I bit my lip, hard, to keep from saying it. I needed this guy to drive me to the store, I couldn't have him crying and delaying his route. Selfish of me, but I needed lunch for the next week, and he'd find out eventually, probably. The bus was empty, thankfully. I took a seat in the front, a luxary I normally can't afford, always so much eye contact with people getting on the bus. The bus jerked into gear and lurched forward. After a few stops I suddenly noticed myself looking into the driver's bus checking mirror, before I could look away though, I caught his eyes.
*Your wife loves you very much.*
I bit down so hard I tasted blood. He gave me a strange look but turned back to the street lamp lit darkness of the road. I just needed to get through this, and I could be eating less poorly for the next few days. Eventually I saw my stop, the brightly lit supermarket across the parking lot. As I stood, I reached into the pocket with my mask, I didn't want to hurt myself again for this bus driver. Just as I got the mask half-on, someone speeds up into the bus and we collide. I finished pulling on the mask and looked up, into the eyes of a somewhat homely looking person.
"Your father is wrong." I blurted out, unable to catch myself. The person looked up at me and put a hand to their chest.
"W-what?" A meek, soft voice stammered. It took them a moment and their eyes got wide, and they backed up a step, until they realized who I was.
"The patch is working." I said. I didn't know what that meant, but it hit it's mark. The person put a hand to their cheek and a tear welled up in their eye.
"D-do you mean it?" They asked, Adam's apple bobbing as they gulped down some emotion.
"I mean yeah... you made the right choice."
They fall into a seat and pull a packet of tissue out of their purse, much too late to keep their mascara from running. With the obstruction finally out of the way I stepped towards the door, but paused when I heard him say,
"Hey bud, you're that guy... The guy who says things to people right? Say my thing." The bus driver said a bit enthusiastically, in an accent I can't quite place. I turned to him and looked him in the eye, without any inhibitions, he asked for his, I said:
"Congrats, you're a widower."
_________________________________________
In retrospect I don't know why I said congrats. That part weighed heavy on me when I walked out of the store and saw the bus still there. I could have said the thing just fine, but I made it pointed for some reason. I had already felt bad, so I thought it was probably a good thing I hadn't made a scene and told the check-out girl "your brother knows he's the dad." Good news was the ham was also on sale, so I could afford a taxi home.
Knowing what to say isn't my power. Keeping myself from saying it is.
|
Ten years. Fetching coffee, kissing ass, crawling on my hands and knees for promotions. Finally I'm here. The microphone inches from my lips, the feeling was intoxicating.
A smile came across my face as my prey took his seat, cool, calm, and invincible. He had no idea today's routine speech would ruin him.
Those in power are different than most. They're often encumbered with pain and suffering most would find unbearable. This is why its so much more detrimental when that pain breaks through.
As he arrived at the apex of a drawn out thought concerning the global markets I struck. The microphones transmitting button began to flash as my words tore the most powerful man in the world to shreds.
"She's gone. She can never come back."
Others heard me and looked for who said these words on a closed channel but he was the only one who understood them. He fought like the rest but the tears came just the same. First slowly, but they quickly boiled to a childlike bawl.
Everyone in the world watched the president crumble at my hand. The only question now is how I'm ever going to top this one.
| 2015-06-16T18:21:54 | 2015-06-16T17:01:37 | 73 | 15 |
[WP] Once a year you switch bodies with a random person who is best in the world at a certain skill. You can't change back until you discover what this skill is. You've been changed for a month and are starting to get worried.
|
Worried is an understatement. I'm fucking terrified. Why was this person eating out of dumpsters when I found them? Why am I horribly addicted to coolant? Every day, I wake up, and I have these...these *urges*. I go outside and scream into the air and then throw my hands around without any control at all. People keep *talking* to me, but they're not actually people, they're just delusions! A pigeon said that I was "the last refugee of Zawrtax," yesterday, and then ejaculated on a passing eight year old. How many mental illnesses are floating around in here?!
From what I can understand, I've been tossed into the body of a completely insane homeless person with no bearing on reality, and no real functionality. Every time I open my mouth, I *try* to say something that makes sense, but what comes out is normally something along the lines of "BEETLEJUICE SANDWICH POPS, MAKE MOMMY PROUD, FUNKLEBERRY!" I can't live like this much longer. I think subconsciously, I've been looking for a way to end it, because I've woken up with a noose tied around my neck after a night of heavy drinking at least three times at this point. Or maybe that's just normal! I'm not sure.
Okay, okay. This kid is walking by me. I can be normal, I can be perfectly normal, just ask for change. Here we go:
"I'm gonna fuck your grandfather's corpse with a spoon!"
WOW that kid can run fast. Boy did I fuck that up. Alright, alright, calm down. Try this next person. Just say the words, "can I please have some change." Ready? I'm ready, I'm ready, here we go:
"My liver looks like a Sundae with frosting when it gets enough calcium."
Fuck. Forget it. I'll just sit back down for a while. This sucks. What the fuck is this guy supposed to be good at anyway?
What's that smell?
Hmm.
Smells burny. Smells like-- OH SHIT! That building is on fire! Well, fuck it, if I can't do anything else very well, I might as well see how many vics I can get out of there. At least that will be one redeeming quality for this crazy stooge. Alright, here we go, just gotta get past this crowd of people gathered around-- boy there's a lot of peop- nevermind, my body order disbursed them.
Alright, well now, I guess this is what the inside of a building burning looks like. It sure is terrifying in here. Cool, cool, there's some kid screaming and coughing, just pick him up and...wow. I'm really good at that! Okay, well there's another one! Wow, I can carry a fucking *lot* of weight. Alright, I think I'm carrying like four people now! Holy shit!
Hey, a big round of applause from the crowd while I'm carrying them out, well that feels good, *finally!*
"Don't flagilate the pastor before I fuck Marilyn Monroe!" I don't know why that's what I chose to say during my daring rescue, but back in I go! Okay, this time I got two adults, and three children clinging onto me as I'm running. Man, my lungs are *really* good at dealing with smoke inhalation. I guess that's what thirty years of smoking crystal meth has given me. Is that even how that works?!
This is pretty good, let's go for at least seven people this time. Scoop up this old Mexican woman, and let's get this toddler into the backpack here, yep- yes you can jump onto my shoulder, fat eight year old! Alright, and of course- follow me to freedom, Sparky!
"Wow, you've saved so many people from that fire!" the TV reporter on the scene is telling me. At last, I've found this guy's talent. What did he used to do that allows him to lift so many people? Doesn't matter now, the fire department is getting the rest of those people out. I don't need that ventilator though, so I tell the guy, "Fizz snacks," as I brush him away and pay attention to the reporter.
"So, now that you're being lauded as a local hero, what are you going to do with your new fame?" Okay. Concentrate. Come on, this is the time to say something heroic and good. Maybe you can propel this guy to fame, you know? Give him an out before we trade bodies again. Really push, man, SQUEEEEEZE!!
"I'd just like to tell the whole world about the danger of chem trails! You see up in the sky, the Government is poisoning our air by spreading chemicals from the jet engines of airplanes, and twisting our minds so that we'll-"
"Ooookay, well, we're all very impressed with what you've done," the reporter tells me, while giving the "cut it," sign to her cameraman. What a shame.
|
There I am, sitting on the couch, with the chips of course, reflecting on my glorious, wondrous, incredibly successful past lives. I remember being the world champion of ping pong back when people were executed for losing a game. I reflected on when I was was the very greatest at jumping over newly born babies on a snowboard. And who could forget being the most skilled person ever at sex?
I have indulged an entire month to this couch, feeling nothing but pride.
| 2016-09-26T07:53:32 | 2016-09-26T06:51:01 | 33 | 23 |
[WP] You are The Memory Broker. You copy other people's memories and sell them to people who want to remember things they never did. Your latest client is a ten year-old girl who slides you her piggy bank and begs you to help her grandmother remember her.
|
"Can't do it."
"Why not?" She had her hands leaned against the desk, her fingers splayed, pink and soft like baby starfish. She had a scowl on her face, and she had her eyes set on mine.
I smiled. "You know how it works, kid. I'm a *Broker*. I give people memories they never had. I don't restore lost memories. You need magic for that."
She smirked. "Who needs magic--" she lifted a hand and gestured toward the glass piglet at the center of my desk "--when you've got *money*?" She raised an eyebrow. There was a nasty scar running down the center of her forehead, and it bunched up with the rest of her baby skin whenever she made one of those exaggerated expressions she loved so much.
"Can't do it, kid," I said.
"Well I've got eighteen weeks of allowance that says *you can*."
I looked up at the ceiling.
----------------------------------------------
Later, we were standing outside her grandmother's two-storey house, at the front door, waiting for the old lady to greet us.
"This is gonna be so cool," the girl said. "Is that what you use?" She pointed at the massive book I held in my arms. "Is it like magic? It's like magic! *Magic*!"
"Shut up!" I said.
She folded her arms across her chest.
I looked around. A man and his dog had stopped on the sidewalk to look at us. I waved. The dog looked at its owner, as if to say, *Let's get out of here*. Then they got out of there.
Finally Grandma opened the door. But she only looked at us and then proceeded to close it again.
"No!" The little girl started pushing at the door to keep it from closing all the way. "Grandma!" she shouted.
The old lady yielded. "What do you want?" she asked, peaking past the door.
"Grandma, it's me."
The old lady looked past the child at me, and I held my book up and said, "I have a free gift here, just for you."
She popped an eyebrow up. "Free gift?"
"Something you lost."
"Hm."
"Mind if we come in?"
She stared at me for a long time. "Do I know you?" she asked.
I shook my head. "I hope not."
---------------------------------------------------
We sat around the table as she flitted around the kitchen like a moth, her droopy clothes almost billowy, blooming slightly like flags in a soft breeze as she went by. She put a teacup down in front of me and started pouring, and just as I started to say, "Oh no thank you," she took the cup and sipped from it herself, the kettle in her offhand, as if she couldn't be bothered to put it down first.
She slammed the teacup down like a drunk slamming a beerglass at a bar, and she shifted her eyes from me to the child, who was by now sitting on the edge of her chair and swinging her legs back and forth.
"So what is that thing?" she asked, pointing at my book, which lay on the table.
I pulled it close and looked up at her. "It's... a photo album."
She grunted.
I gestured with my hand for the girl to come over, and she got off her chair and stood between me and the old woman. Then I flipped the book open.
"This is Maisey," I said.
"That's an ugly baby."
Maisey looked up at her grandma and said, "There *are* no ugly babies."
Grandma burped. "That's just something they tell people with ugly babies."
I flipped through the pages, pointing out the cornerstone moments in every child's development from a small bundle of flesh to a walking, talking visage of everything its parents hid away when they embraced adulthood. Kindergarten. "Ugly baby, ugly kid," Grandma said. First grade. First grade again. "Who gets left back in first grade?" Little league basketball. "She looks like she should be playing with the boys." Her first time at the beach. "They let *kids* wear that?"
"And this," I said, flipping to the next page, "is when Maisey spent a year at the hospital."
The old woman popped her eyebrow up again. "A year? What happened?"
"I had a severe... infraction," Maisey said.
I patted her head and smiled. "Fractured skull. Severe concussion."
Maisey nodded.
"What," grandma said, "did she get hurt playing basketball?"
"No, no," I looked up at the old woman. "She hit her head at home."
"Parents don't pay attention these days," she said. "I'm not surprised."
"They were paying attention, though. Look." I flipped to the next page. Maisey was asleep in a hospital bed with bandages around her skull and wires running from underneath all that white cloth so that she looked like an alien queen you'd find at the center of a robotic monstrosity. The old woman was sitting next to her with big red eyes. "This is her grandma," I said.
The old woman did not speak.
"Maisey and her grandma got in an argument one day. Grandma was used to people backing down, and Maisey was not the type to back down. So grandma smacked Maisey, and Maisey ran away crying. She tripped at the top of the stairs, and--"
"Stop," grandma said.
I flipped to the next page. Pictures of the old woman sleeping in a chair beside the hospital bed. Pictures of Maisey's mother and father. Pictures of them celebrating Maisey's birthday with a cake. Maisey asleep the whole while.
"Stop that," grandma said.
"When her grandmother came to me," I continued, "she told me to take this picture book. She told me to get rid of it, really, but..."
The grandmother picked the heavy book up, her bony and veiny arms trembling just slightly, but with violence rather than weakness, and then she tossed it away, letting it slide across the floor until it hit the far wall.
When she looked back at me, her eyes were big and red, much like they had been in all the pictures.
Maisey hugged her legs.
The old woman touched the scar on Maisey's forehead.
"Just so you know," I said, leaning back in my chair, "I don't do refunds."
-------------------------------------
If you enjoyed that, [you might like this prompt I did yesterday.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/49i7r0/wp_theres_an_insane_person_who_wants_to_destroy/d0s0tjx)
If you like my style in general, I've also written a book. [You can get it on amazon here!](http://www.amazon.com/Perjure-Book-Multiverse-S-Hansford/dp/1512187992/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1457441872&sr=8-1&keywords=perjure#customerReviews)
|
"Please, its all I have".
"It's not enough. Get out."
The man collected his money and exited, and Ben was left alone.
Ben saw being the only person in the world who can copy other peoples memories as a blessing and a curse. He could bring happiness to thousands of people, but it took a toll on his own mind. Other peoples memories being mismatched with his own, the line between his memories and other peoples becoming blurred and his constant paranoia that his own memories might accidentally be given to a client. There was a knock at the door.
"Come in" Ben said.
Ben was surprised to see a young girl come in with a piggy bank under her arm, accompanied by an elderly woman.
"Uh...hello. What's your name"
"I'm Lily. I really need your help."
"Hi Lily. What do you need done" Ben replied.
"I need you to copy a memory of me, just me. I need to help my nan remember who I am. She has alterheimers."
"Alzheimer's?" Ben said.
The elderly lady sat, almost dazed.
"Yeah, and she's forgotten who I am." Lily looked at her grandmother and teared up.
"Its okay, its okay. We can solve that right away. Just think of the memory you want me to copy, and I will do it."
Lily closed her eyes and Ben put his hand on hers. The grandmother looked on with confusion. He saw the memory clearly. Lily was on a swing, her grandmother pushing her gently.
"Done" Ben exclaimed.
Lily gestured to the piggy bank. Ben began to count the money. $60.
"This isn't enough. It is $100 for one memory."
Lily began to plead.
"Please, I need it, I want my nan to know who I am! I want her back!"
Ben thought about the situation.
"Alright, alright. $60 will do" Ben said
Ben put his hand on the grandmothers head. He focused on the memory and after a few seconds, pulled his hand away. The grandmother looked like a light switch had just been flicked on in her mind. She looked to Lily.
"Lily, you should be home. Come on, lets go. Your parents will be furious."
Lily looked back and mouthed "thank you" before walking off, grinning from ear to ear. However, Ben knew she had nothing to smile about. Lily didn't know how alzheimer's worked, and knew it was just a matter of time before Lily found herself in the same predicament she had asked Ben to solve.
| 2016-03-09T06:06:54 | 2016-03-09T05:45:36 | 65 | 17 |
[WP] In your society, every child is given a fixed number of skill points for their parents to invest in talents that would determine their futures. When you reach age 21, you find out your parents forgot to do it for you.
|
After centuries of mindless, unstructured life, humans reached their full potential when they discovered the ability to hack their own conscious. Nanobites were injected into babies when they were born, and their parents were able to select key skills that would transform their mind. The nations of Earth collectively controlled this ability by instilling a fixed number of 23 'skill points', that each child could receive, creating a checks and balances on the system. At the completion of Earth Core, an educational program lasting twenty one years, each person's skills would be activated and they would follow the path that was most efficient for them. On Jamie's 21 birthday, he found that this wasn't the case for him...
The Tulips were a small, simple family. Each generation of Tulip's farmed valuable currency from the processing fields. This was not farmland, but thousands of servers hooked into the fiber optic cables that ran throughout the globe. Their goal was to create new mathematical hacks to solve computing problems for the world's currency engine, and by doing so, were rewarded small amounts of Basic, which could be used to barter goods and services. The family was led by their matriarch, Penelope Tulip. She was headstrong and no nonsense. She ran her family like a machine. Her husband, Peter, had a stroke when Jamie was just a baby, and was reserved to a rocking chair in the basement of the house. She had three sons, Jonathan, Jacob, the twins, and Jamie, the youngest. Both Jonathan and Jacob were given the high skills of intelligence. However, this made other abilities, such as speaking, movement, and charisma, all most at zero. They were confined to wheelchairs, and didn't speak. All day, they would sit their stations, writing lines of code to solve the computing issues. Before their skill sets were activated, they enjoyed their days playing outside with friends. On eve of their 21st birthdays, they went to sleep, dreaming of the adventures that would lye ahead. However, when they awoke, they had changed, forever. Now, those days in the field are but distant reveries that play in their mind as they type line after line.
Jamie, being the youngest, was always aware of what his future would hold, unlike his brothers. Because of this, he treated each day at Earth Core like it was his last. He memorized each book he read, so that he could hopefully recall on it in a deep seated memory for the rest of his life. He loved books, and the adventures they held. He was a star student. Most of the children moved aimlessly through Earth Core, knowing that they would be assigned their roles at the completion of the program. They would talk to each other about the hopes for certain skill points.
"Charisma! I hope my parents maxed that one out so I can be an entertainer," said Marty, Jamie's best friend. "What are you hoping for, you're good at everything already?"
Jamie stood there as the other children looked on. "It doesn't matter, let's just play another game." Jamie threw the ball back to Marty.
It was forbidden for parents to tell their children the skills sets that were assigned to them. The common theme was for parents so assign their children skill sets so that they could live a better life. "The Big Board" as it was called, was a large screen at the front of the education center, that showed the most desired skill sets that the population was in need of. Children could only hope their parents had guessed right 21 years prior.
"See, Charisma is a desired skill today. There aren't enough entertainers right now. People get so bored at work, they need a good laugh. Who better than me?"
Jamie could only force a smile as the two boys walked home. He was sure his best friend would get close to what he wanted. He was always a lively child. His parents had an older daughter as well, and they took the popular approach of assigned some skill points to each skill, while giving rise to just one. Jamie hoped his friend would benefit from this.
It was very frowned upon in society to give a child only one skill point, because it would hamper their options in the future. The Tulip's had no family friends, and other families looked down on them.
"The Tulips sit on their wealth as everyone prospers" was the common saying the community.
Jamie entered his house, and gave some leftover desserts to his two brothers, who were fixated on their computer rigs.
"How was your day?"
The twins mumbled something under their breath in unison. Not taking their eyes off the screens.
"Get washed up and get ready for bed!", Penelope yelled from the living room. She was going over the family finances, as she did every day.
"But mum, it's still light out, I was going to try to catch the sunset before-"
"You can do that from your room. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life, you need your rest."
When Jamie entered his room, he saw that his mother had already begun packing all of his books. His poster were taken down, and it looked more so like a jail cell than a young man's sanctuary.
There was only one book left. Tucked behind a small crevice in his drawer, Jamie retrieved, The Fellow of the Ring, by JR Tolkien. When he was younger, he had dreamed of an adventure of friendship that would take him to new places. It was a childish dream, but one he still wished could hold true. As the tears filled his eyes, he sat down in his bed, and began reciting his favorite line. A quote from Gandalf, his mentor- “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”.
He closed his eyes. This adventure would never come, but the hope didn't have to die.
---------
The next day came. Jamie was 21. As his eyes opened, he prepared for a life confined to a chair, for his synapses to change and his thoughts only on numbers and calculations.
To his surprise, he still held the book in his hands. He still remembered all of the stories. He was still himself.
He heard his mother's footsteps coming up to his room. Although he couldn't explain what had happened, or what had not happened, he knew he could not stay.
He opened the window, and hoped on the roof, leaving the book behind. Wherever he was going, he knew it would be an adventure no one had gone on before...
|
"What do you mean you forgot!?"
Hi, my name is Scott Anderson. I'm just your average everyday, College freshman living the bachelor life. And I just found out why.
"Well, honey, we didn't exactly birth you in a hospital. Remember the story?"
December 24th, 2348: The day I was born
My mom and dad weren't married at the time. Despite being the leaders of a religious group now, they weren't as, uh, "spiritual" back then. There was a 60% percent chance that I would be born a stoner but that's besides that point. It was Christmas Eve and my parents were drunk on egg-nog and good feelings, knowing that their little sunshine was coming just in time for Christmas. Little did they know, I was literally going to be born on Christmas. With a few drinks in the tank a couple "good ideas", I was born in my grandma's bathtub at 11:59 PM.
Now, my Grandma was religious, and since my parents skill sets were both in linguistics and social sciences, they determined that I was the Messiah. Not only that, but a whole new set of rules had to be made because, technically by normal family standards, my dad was God now. Yep.
"Yeah, I remember, but what does that have to do with anything!?"
"Well, Scott, if your son was the reincarnation of Christ would you tamper with his fate?"
Speechless. I mean, he wasn't wrong, but I've been average my entire life and it's their fault! This whole "Messiah" gig would've been awesome if I had sime fucking skills but no.
"Listen Scott, your father and I had a small discussion and..."
They slide a pamphlet and a pen across the table.
"We think you're the only one that can decide your fate. Choose wisely, we'll leave you to it."
Well now I'm really speechless. My parents leave the room and "leave me to it". I pick up the pen and open the pamphlet. 21 lines fill the paper, waiting for me to fufill my fate.
| 2017-11-28T07:25:27 | 2017-11-28T06:13:39 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] The year is 2100, and humanity has finally achieved the ability to travel backwards in time. In the first test run ever, you decide to travel back to the Middle Ages, yet instead of the expected squalor and poverty, you encounter an extremely technologically advanced human society.
|
21:33:15@terminus-uncp1$> load LOG_CHR_PRJ_07012100_7.txt
File loading
...
Loaded.
21:33:21@terminus-uncp1$> run HASH_512_DEP CONST_FILE_LOADED
sudo: *********
Running HASH_512_DEP script on file LOG_CHR_PRJ_07012100.txt
...
Done. returned BOOLEAN value TRUE.
File saved as LOG_CHR_PRJ_02012100_7-CLEANED.txt.
21:37:44@terminus-uncp1$> program_log_viewer -v -l LOG_CHR_PRJ_07012100_CLEANED.txt
Running program_log_viewer params -VIEW -LOAD_ONCE
*
Captain Henderson, Chrono Project
PHASE 1 TRIALS - INITIAL RUN
00:15:46@INITIAL_JUMP
- BEGIN TRANSMISSION -
CPT_HENDERSON: Hello, Chrono Tower, do you copy?
TOWER: Yes, Henderson, we do.
CPT_HENDERSON: Copy. Running diags on Chronautica.
TOWER: Understood. Stream is stable.
- SYSTEM TRANSMISSION CUT -
10:56:29@INITIAL_LAND
- BEGIN TRANSMISSION -
CPT_HENDERSON: Looks like nothing unusual so far.
TOWER: Copy that. Alert us when you find something interesting.
CPT_HENDERSON: Well, you could just tap into my feed if you wanna check.
TOWER: Denied. We need to preserve energy. We don't know if you can find
alternative power sources during that era.
CPT_HENDERSON: Affirmative, Tower. I'll keep in touch.
TOWER: Alright. Ill keep in tou$%Kasd4#2^a=76hgWARNING_CORRUPTED_DATA_SECTORg̵̝͑ä̷̼͙́̀%̷̥̿̈́ȃ̸̮̖̒s̴̘͋d̷̢̖͝͝#̴͈͊̅%̴͓̓̿^̵̤̻͂̀&̷͙͂j̶̘̠͐̂i̶̯̗͐4̵͕͙͋5̵̼͍͊1̴͙͌̋2̴̤̭̅̈8̷̰̄
*
21:44:12@terminus-uncp1$> restore -l -rs LOG_CHR_PRJ_07012100_CLEANED.txt
WARNING! Some text will be deleted as a result. Are you sure? y/n: y
Attempting recovery
...
Done. 10 warnings, 0 errors, 2 alerts.
Check LOG_CHR_PRJ_07012100_CLEANED.txt_LOG.txt for more information.
21:37:44@terminus-uncp1$> program_log_viewer -v -l LOG_CHR_PRJ_07012100_CLEANED.txt -cnt
*
het%$6^ao)=1NSMISSION -
CPT_HENDERSON: Tower, there's a swarm of armed men trying to hunt me. What in god's name is happening?
TOWER: Captain, calm down. This time period shouldn't have any projectile weapons.
CPT_HENDERSON: Tell that to those damned ice-shooting freaks that detected me in my suit. My goddamn, stealth suit!
TOWER: Captain, we'll do some digging if other factions followed you there. In the meantime-
CPT_HENDERSON: Tower, they're dead.
TOWER: Sorry?
CPT_HENDERSON: The ones who tried to follow my jump, they we're killed b
- SYSTEM TRANSMISSION CUT -
57:12:33@PING_7
- BEGIN TRANSMISSION -
TOWER: Captain, this is TOWER_HANDLER speaking. Confirm if you are still pinging.
CPT_HENDERSON: Affirmative.
TOWER: Captain, we've been trying to tap into your stream. Interference is blocking our comms. What's the sitrep?
CPT_HENDERSON: Listen, tower. I'm not going back. I can't risk jumping back.
TOWER: What?
CPT_HENDERSON: The history books. The strange symbols that the fucking middle ages people left. They're not understandable because they're old. They're too advanced for us.
TOWER: Henderson, what the hell are you saying?
CPT_HENDERSON: Just... Tell my family I love them. Tell them that they need to move out of Nevada, and avoid London at all costs. Don't let them near any statue, or landmark from the Middle Ages.
TOWER: Henderson, you're freaking me out.
CPT_HENDERSON: They're about to wake up, Cal. They're going to reclaim what's theirs. They're going to take over everything and turn it into these fucking walking dead things.
TOWER: Alright, that's it. I'm calling emergency response.
CPT_HENDERSON: It's too late. I'm destroying the Chronautica.
TOWER: Hender-Don't you dare do anything stupid Kevin.
CPT_HENDERSON: Cal, remember the words. Remember the goddamn words.
TOWER: HENDERSON! HENDERSON!
TOWER: HELLO? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?
- SYSTEM TRANSMISSION CUT -
CHRONOTEXT RECIEVED:THEWORDSTHEWORDSTHEWORDS.chrlg
*
22:14:17@terminus-uncp1$> decode -chr -l THEWORDSTHEWORDSTHEWORDS.chrlg
sudo: *********
Decoding...
Done. Filename?: words.txt
File saved as words.txt on inet://uncp/prj/deprecated/chronautica/words.txt
22:25:42@terminus-uncp1$> program_log_viewer -v words.txt
*
Thine death, beware
Thine soul, snared
Thine body, attached
Thy mind, corrupted
Remember the words
GOD saved the queen GOD is the queen
The time will cometh 7/21/2102
*
23:25:42@terminus-uncp1$> cpy words.txt mount://cal_personal/myfiles
sudo: *********
Copying...
Done.
23:35:14@terminus-uncp1$> unmount mount://cal_personal -clr
WARNING! Clearing logs! Continue? y/n: y
Clearing...
Done.
Unmounting...
Done.
23:55:01@terminus-uncp1$> shut -c -v
sudo: *********
Log out all users? y/n: n
Delete loaded files? y/n: y
7/20/2102@23:59:59@terminus-uncp1 shutdown log sent.
Goodnight, Sir Kevin.
|
I coughed violently as smoke rose up from the Chronotron's controls. Things had gone terribly wrong. The machine was supposed to have transported me back to the 13th century. I hadn't been exactly sure what my surroundings would be when I arrived, but historical experts from the 22nd century suggested that I should find myself relatively safe in a green pasture, away from any major human population centers. And at first, it had seemed like those predictions were right. When I had emerged from the time vortex, I had originally found myself in a dark grassy field during the middle of a thunderstorm with no sign of any humans nearby. But before I could even get out of the machine and explore my surroundings, a bolt of lightning had struck from the sky, blasting the Chronotron directly. The machine had roared back to life, heaving and rolling through another time vortex as I had desperately held onto my seat for dear life. Now, that things had finally calmed down, I slowly stood up and looked at my surroundings. All of the "grass" around me was a black reddish color and had a metallic tint to it. A thick yellow fog, which I only imagine was heavily toxic, surrounded my time machine, obscuring me from seeing past a few feet. I looked down at the computer screen in front of me and scrolled down through the diagnostic results as panic started to set in. A glitch had occurred. Instead of depositing me in the 13th century, I was now in the 31st. Worse, the time machine had been heavily damaged with several parts having been lost in the time vortex.
Slowly, I walked up to the window and looked outside warily. As things were currently, I had no way of getting back home. It was possible that I might get help outside ... but I had no idea what to expect out there. Had I landed in the middle of a war zone? A world wide apocalypse? Was humanity even still around? I went back to the controls and scanned the area for any radio signals. Nothing. I sighed. It seemed like I had no choice. I strapped on my environment suit and walked right into the fog. The googles I wore helped let me see further into the smog, but at first, I found nothing. Just more weird looking grass and that horrible fog wherever I looked. Then, I started stumbling on the bodies. Dozens of human bodies lying on the ground with terror on their faces, their bodies black and shriveled. A jolt of terror went up my spine, but I forced myself to keep going. From the looks of it, these bodies had been dead for decades. Whatever had killed them was likely long gone. Probably. Eventually, just when I was about to lose all hope, I saw something extraordinary as I walked over the top of a hill. Two glowing white pillars, each one over a hundred feet in diameter, rising up into the heavens in front of me. I felt my mouth drop open though when I saw what was above me. Thousands of feet above the surface, there was a glowing white disk balancing on the two massive pillars, an Olympus in the clouds. I used my googles to zoom in. There were dark tinted windows on the disk. Which meant that there might be people that lived there. I brought my attention back to the pillars and for the first time, I saw little notches on the sides. It was a ladder.
| 2020-06-24T07:11:49 | 2020-06-24T07:05:01 | 92 | 52 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
On Yari there lives a small species of furry animal. It looks cute and it does anything possible to avoid conflict. It will run, it will burrow, it will climb, it will even play dead. But corner it and it will bite you. Teeth that have no problems punching through scales and saliva that will kill you in 10 minutes and you will hurt all of them. Lasson couldn’t help but think of those critters as he watched planet burn around him. First warning about attack was when their meteorites entered the atmosphere and started to glow as a result. Air friction burned away their laser absorbing material coating making them at last visible to orbital defences. But much, much too late. Lasson had an amateur interest in alien biology and he knew that in distant past meteorite strikes on planets caused massive extinctions, upsetting balance of life. As sentient species clawed their way out of gravity wells that bind them to their planets of origin such events were prevented by network of orbital stations tracking vastness of space.
It was those humans. When Sakissa first encountered them they were subject of much mirth and amusement. By standards of any species they were primitive. They shouldn’t even be among the stars. Their technology was so different Sakissa scientists had trouble understanding how it even worked. Rather than phase in and out of Void their ships somehow folded time and space, entering the fold in one point the leaving it at different point yet for them it was somehow same point and no time passed at all. One scientific team managed to get hold of one of their machines and results…… were not pretty. Scientists’ bodies looked as if they were disassembled and then reassembled by a child. Ship was ordered to be destroyed and any further experiments banned.
But their technology was standard and easy to grasp compared to their philosophy. Coexistence? Peace? Cooperation? Space faring sentients always fought for advantage. War was seen as natural, as a way to weed out weak members of society so only best survived. Humans developed a concept of “evolution”, a process that allows species to grow through conflict and adaptation. It suited the way things were. It should have been a big warning, humans understood conflict, strife and survival, they saw themselves as product of it, even if they saw it as something they moved past. Conflict between sentients was never fight to the death and end result was minor change in borders or other concessions. Strength through conflict. Humans….. were different. They avoided conflict at all cost, preferring to reach a mutually acceptable agreement than to fight it out and see who lives and who dies. They valued every life, small, large, strong, weak, sick, their own, something that they’ve never seen before ….. They had special connection to not only their own ill but to ill of every species, sentient or not. It was….. wrong. It was seen as sign of weakness and something that will cause their ultimate ruin.
As things usually happened Council decreed War. Humans have established themselves on some small system. 3 planets orbiting a sun with a lot of space garbage floating around. Barely habitable and by no account desirable. But Council saw it as opportunity to test themselves and Humans. Humans reacted predictably. Offered to talk, offered to negotiate, offered to find a peaceful solution. Things went well at first. System was quickly invaded, human settlements targeted and bombed, followed by mopping up. Or what was supposed to be mopping up. Once landing troops secured a perimeter and started to advance humans dropped two of their strange devices from orbit. It was believed they drew their power from splitting of the atom, another one of strange ways Humans laughed at established principles of technology. Nobody laughed at results with landing perimeter destroyed with few survivors. Of course Humans were eventually defeated, they were after all, weak and outnumbered.
Their response was not long in coming. Their Leader, broadcasting from their home world was brief and to the point. “We did not seek this conflict and we did everything in our power to avoid it. We offered to find peaceful solution in order prevent unnecessary bloodshed on both sides. We did not start this conflict but we will finish it. When dust settles those who have struck us, killing thousands of innocents will rue this day. Fellow citizens, I make no false promises that it will be easy or that there won’t be more deaths, more suffering or that war will be short. But I make solemn wow that we will not stop, we will not lay down our arms until lives lost are avenged manifold. May our call be “To final victory!” “
Lasson was part of Planning Commission, deciding on next targets. Commission was meeting when alarms started blaring followed by explosions that felt like world was ending. Which in many ways it was. Lasson was under no illusion, he knew that in next couple of days majority of life on planet will be gone. Five massive impacts threw so much soil in the air that it blocked the sun. Initial reports spoke of massive fires across settlements, impossible to put out. It got worse. Repetitors scattered through the Void allowing for as close to instant communication as possible carried messages of such attacks happening near simultaneously throughout Sakissa space. Humans must have planned this for a long time, capturing meteorites, equipping them with primitive engines, coating them in materials that made them impossible to detect and placed them everywhere. Where they silently and patiently waited for command to hurl themselves at nearest planet.
Humans introduced Sakissa to the concept of evolution. Lasson didn’t know that Humans were about to introduce them to another concept. Genocide.
|
[Poem]
Click, clack, click.
All the machines roar,
Click, clack, click.
For this total war.
Click, clack, click.
Industry cannibalized,
Click, clack, click.
To create their demise.
Click, clack, click.
All of humanity knows,
Click, clack, click.
The others don’t though.
Click, clack, click.
Bombs manufactured,
Click, clack, click.
Enemy lives fractured.
Click, clack, click.
Society rebuilt to destroy,
Click, clack, click.
Not to be enjoyed.
Click, clack, click.
Soldiers armed en masse,
Click, clack, click.
Ready to kick the others in the ass.
Click, clack, click.
Everyone does their part.
Click, clack, click.
To blow these aliens apart.
| 2019-11-24T14:30:45 | 2019-11-24T10:43:55 | 103 | 66 |
[WP] You’re the most powerful demon in history, feared by all kinds of beings on Earth. ALSO, you’re the boyfriend of this cute and oblivious paranormal journalist, who often asked you to tag along during her investigations.
|
If you were to glance upon the world, what would you see?
Would you see the light as it shines upon a world bustling with life? Or would you see the rot and decay lying underneath every crevice, as if waiting to burst out at the seams?
People always blame the devil for things they’ve done with their own hands. They are pushing their own feelings onto something else so that they don’t have to carry that burden, whatever it might be.
Isn’t it acceptable for me then to do as I please in their own name? To trample everything in my path in order to get what I always wanted?
My mind was filled with such silly thoughts as I walked down the narrow hallway. It wasn’t quite dark as the sunset gleamed over the broken glass surrounding us, but it was starting to feel like the world reverted to how I usually saw it.
“It gets my heart racing. This place.”
Holding my hand, Akari walked next to me as we headed deeper within the abandoned mental facility. Even though she was slightly shaking, she still held onto her smile. Slightly headstrong. Slightly impatient. Yet very kind. The woman that I decided to live my life with was such a person. Even though she was short, she was ferocious when protecting her ideals and even though her long white straight hair alienated most people because of its eariness, she was still as cheerful as ever. As if the worries of the world couldn’t reach her.
“I bet.”
Keeping my voice low on purpose, I focused on our surroundings. The ripples in reality were a bit too strong for my liking around this place. Places of great emotional turmoil, enough for new realities to be born, ones that would play out differently. While they’re a gateway to another world where a deplorable outcome wouldn’t have happened, they’re also the remnants of that despair.
A normal human wouldn’t even notice them, but there are those that are a bit more sensitive to these sort of places.
I shot a glance at Akari as she peered into the darkness in front of us.
People that experienced that kind of despair might find themselves being overwhelmed by these sensations others left behind.
Yet, those ripples were wrong. They were fresh.
“Wanna split up and look for something more… interesting?” I grabbed my own camera that was strapped over my shoulder.
“You...” She looked over at me then at the stretch of darkness in front of us. “Thank you.”
“I know you’re bad with these kinds of places. No matter how big of a reporter you are, things you can’t stand will always be hard to deal with.” I smiled and showed her a needle I found on the ground before she barely managed to stifle out a scream.
“Then… this place...”
“Might not be haunted, but merely a crackhouse.” I shrugged my shoulders. “If anything you can check this area and I will be going a bit deeper. If anything happens, scream.”
“I’m not a child… but I do appreciate your kindness. Thank you, Riner.”
Even without a reason, I wanted to always protect her. Even without a reason, I wanted to share everything I had with her. That’s why…
With a small peck on the lips we untangled our fingers and I started walking alone.
I clenched my fist as I advanced into the building, my movements making no sound whatsoever. It was an intricate labyrinth, this place. One that might entice people to keep walking, but even amongst those people, there were those that preyed on the unsuspecting. The scent was enough to make even the most depraved hunter from beyond the gates of Hell to empty his stomach. Not because of its nature, but because of its intensity. This place…
“The damn bitch wouldn’t stop crying so I cut her throat.”
“At least it’s still warm, right?”
“I heard another one downstairs, maybe we can get that one as well.”
Amongst the three men that were talking, two of them serviced themselves over a corpse. One of many, I presumed. This place was nothing more than a hideout for these degenerates that would do anything as long as they could bury their penis into something.
There were many more than just these three.
All of the upper layers must have been infested to the brim with animals such as them.
“Hey, have you ever wondered? Why do humans like you exist?” I whisper in the ear of the one nearest to me. Just this action alone was enough to make them all freeze in place, as for them it appeared as if I materialized out of thin air. “Why would God leave such animals to roam the Earth alongside His creation?”
“G-Ghos-” Before he managed to get his words out, I pierced his abdomen with one of my claws. The ease with which it managed to reach his soul was unusual. His sins must have been so many that even his body ceased to protect itself from a being such as me, seeking atonement.
“Ghosts don’t exist.” I said as the ethereal dust left from the killing blow cloaked my whole being. “We absorb any soul we see.” With a swift movement, before the rest of them could even scream, I sliced them down, my reflection in the pool of blood amassing at my feet showing my true self. A 6 horned beast with talons spreading across its skeletal arms, no eyes in the sockets of what must have looked like a deer skull. Instead an ethereal red glow enticed the very soul of sinners to atone by my many blades.
Looking at the body of the disfigured girl that was just moments ago alive I made my mind.
“Love… Love, huh? Even something as twisted as this can be called love? I don’t think so. My own feelings for the person I love cannot be compared to this mockery. I will end it. I promise.”
I lied.
There are ghosts. Those of people that passed away and are seeking to return to the Great One. This girl, standing in front of me, thanked me for easing her burdens.
“As if I am doing this for you.”
Without saying anything more I took it into my own hands to pass the Final Judgement to those that were present in that building. Either claiming their souls as my source of sustenance and magic, or sending them to the Great One.
Of course, there were no bodies remaining. Rending flesh from bones was a speciality of mine. Bones can be crushed and used in potions as well. There is no shortage of ways to use a human body, after all.
“I’m back.”
Saying so, I smile at Akari that stood dejected in front of the building.
“Did you get anything?”
“No, there was nobody inside. No ghosts as well.”
“You did take some photos?”
“Yeah, here.”
I vowed to make this person happy. No matter what might happen to the rest of the world. No matter how the world looks like in reality, for me it will always be beautiful as long as I am near her.
|
"Say, don't I recognize you?"
The guitarist peered at me quizzically. I gazed right back at him.
"I don't think so. I have been following your work for some time, however."
The guitarist flicked a cigarette back between his lips.
"Is that so".
The human girl spoke up at last. "I don't have much longer, Mr Johnson, so if we could wrap this up I'll be out of your hair."
"Yes of course, my apologies."
"So would you care to address the tale that you acquired your talent in a pact with the Devil himself?"
My eyes narrowed. I was almost willing him to realise my true nature. His eyes darted to mine and back before he gave a nervous chuckle.
"I tangled with my fair share of demons. Selling my soul to the Devil, though... I guess I sold my soul the same way any other musician does, I break my hand bones with practice. I don't see my family or friends because I'm on the road, my only real companion is this here guitar."
"A metaphor. So you never really spoke with Satan?"
"Good golly no, Ma'am. That's just something made up by the suits to sell my records."
Suddenly the guitarist suffered a tremendous hallucination, the sort I had pestered him with for a number of years now, ever since I first bumped into him at that Crossroads.
Voices filled his head. "Liar", they hissed. "Your soul is mine for eternity."
The guitarist Robert Johnson became visibly agitated.
"Say, uhh... How much longer is this gonna go on for?"
The human girl looked at me and I shrugged.
"I suppose we could continue this another time. Thank you for meeting with me."
The guitarist picked up his gear and rushed out the room. We followed behind, but by the time we reached the front door he had vanished.
I don't particularly care where exactly he went, all that matters is that he continued to hear voices the whole way there, and once he had sequestered himself in some dingy hotel room or other, the only thing that would quell the torment was practice. It focused his mind and drowned out the cursed cries. It was the only thing that brought peace to his troubled mind.
He was the greatest guitarist to ever walk the Earth, and I made him that way.
| 2020-01-03T06:34:43 | 2020-01-03T05:07:21 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Your human partner has become suddenly ill. However, you and your circle of mages know that human medicine is vastly different. You have been told to check the most confusing of human medicine texts, WebMD.
|
Cancer. That's the word I keep seeing. Over and over. No matter which of his symptoms I inserted or in what order, it was just that word in every single suggested diagnosis.
Cancer.
At first, I thought, well naturally if this is the most common and obvious answer, it mustn't be too terrible. But a quick search on [Google.com](https://Google.com) set me straight. Low chances of survival. Painful treatments. Potential for return. There was only one thing for me to do.
Stop Cancer.
My first stint of research took me to the stars. From what I could discern from my studies, the illness was governed by a great celestial crab in the sky. Good, I could work with this. Always made more sense to me than microscopes and the whole theory that, somewhere too tiny for us to see, there were tiny animals that lumped together to make large masses of our own bodies that then killed us.
Yeah right. Magical crab made more sense.
Jimmy would be away the weekend after my discovery, so I spent the whole week gathering supplies for my journey.
"Farewell, love!" I called as he pulled out of the parking lot in that great big blue car of his. My heart caught in my throat as I remember how proud he'd been when he brought it home, bragging about its mileage per gallon. It was very sweet and I was, in turn, proud of him for finding such a big car with such low mileage per gallon. My research said that these vehicles would save the world, and isn't that what it's really all about?
Jimmy was always so set on helping the world, a virtue I greatly respected, especially given my reluctance to use my powers for any real, great good. Jimmy was the real deal.
"I'll check in once I get to Mom's," he said through the rolled-down window. "I think she's gonna be fine but I might stay through Sunday if dad has to take the extra shift."
I nodded but didn't prolong the conversation. Gods willing, we'd have plenty of time to chat in the future.
"Just take it easy," I said. "I'll see you soon."
Once back inside, I hurried to the basement where I began throwing the components together to call up the spirit circle. Cancer was an ancient being, so it had to be big.
"I call upon thee, Crab of Stars, Bringer of Tumorous Masses to do battle with me, Alastia Pyraglade!" I shouted as the lights began to whirl around me. The smell of seawater flooded the room, despite us being so landlocked, and my heart swelled. I had this.
A light suddenly flashed so bright I had to shield my eyes.
"**Who summoned the great crab?**" Before my very eyes stood a massive, ancient beast, covered in seaweed and barnacles. "**Who has disturbed my slumber?**"
"I have," I said, tone bold even as I trembled. I hadn't really defeated an old god in a while, and the last time I had my half-sister to help. This time I was on my own. "I have come to challenge you for the soul of my husband, James Pyraglade-Jones!"
The mighty Cancer was silent for a moment before finally speaking. "**I know not this name you speak nor why he may have crossed my awareness.**"
My chest puffed out. "Well, you're going to have to remember, for, according to [WebMD.com](https://WebMD.com), you grip his life in a monstrous claw."
"**What is this false prophet you speak of?**"
I sighed and pulled out my phone, scrolling to the cancer page. "Alright, see that? Yeah, that there."
Cancer took the small device in the aforementioned monstrous claw, surprisingly delicately, and began scrolling.
"**Oh shit.**" He sounded a bit taken aback as he continued reading. "**Shit, man, this sounds serious. Yikes.**" The beast cringed visibly and I knew he'd reached the images. "**Is your husband doing ok?**"
Another sigh, this one sad, escaped my lips. "The coughing has gotten worse. I haven't suggested my diagnosis yet because I was so convinced I could just slay you and free his soul."
"**I'm afraid I must disappoint you,**" Cancer said, eyes still fixed on the screen. "**For I have not- oh jeez, it does what to your colon? Does someone with cancer get it in all these places at once?**"
I nodded. "From what I can tell. It's a little confusingly put together, the pages, but it's extensive. And deadly."
"**Little kids can get it too? Oh my god, that fatality rate, that's...**" For a moment, he was silent. At first, I didn't notice how much he'd been shaking but after another minute or two, it was obvious.
"Are you ok?" I asked, placing a hand on his shell.
"**No, mortal. No, I can't be okay. My name has been slandered, thoroughly run through the mud by this horrible disease that has stolen my name. I have long basked in the glow of hearing the people of this Earth, specifically the youth, praise my name. 'This team is cancer,' they'd say. 'Your singing is cancer.' 'That joke gave me cancer.'"** The whole crab's body deflated. "**Now I know they were speaking in fear of this illness.**"
I hadn't expected this. In a sense, I was relieved that I wouldn't have to fight the crab, but in another sense, I was crushed. How would I save my husband now?
My mind wandered to the lists and lists of full articles explaining the deadly treatments that pelted your body with radiation so much more dangerous than the type that lived in the microwave Jimmy refused to use. Somehow radiation both caused and cured cancer. It was too confusing and I despised it.
Now, that might be Jimmy's only chance. I'd failed here.
"I apologize for summoning you, oh great one," I said, bowing deeply. "It was a waste of your time and all I've done is upset you. My deepest regrets for-"
"**No no no.**" He held up a claw. "**No. We don't leave off like this. I've got a damaged rep, Alastia. I'm not just cool with my name becoming synonymous with this gross affliction.**"
"What are you suggesting?" I asked, fear lacing my words. Would he do battle with me right here and now? Would I fall on this day in some misguided, foolish attempt to save my husband. If he attacked, I'd have to attack back, but my conviction was flagging.
Fortunately, I need not have worried.
"**An alliance**," Cancer said. "**I have a reputation to fix and you have a husband to save. My good name is on the line and I think you have just cause to joined me. From my brief scrolling, I think we can find a way to remove cancer, the illness, from this realm. Thus my name will become synonymous with health and long life.**"
"And I get my husband safe and alive." The words escaped my lips a breathless whisper. This could be my chance not only to bring Jimmy's health back but also to do a great good to the world, the kind my husband had always urged me to use my magic for.
*What good's magic if you don't use it to help people?*
I'd always had a reason, mostly being that the old gods forbade us from using our magic willy-nilly. Now I was being asked to team up with one.
What else could I say?
"I'm in."
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
|
"She isn't sick, she's just different is all," I shouted at the pointy-hatted freaks I had long thought of as friends.
"No, no, you don't understand my friend. She most certainly is ill. You just won't see it. I admire your lovely relationship with your wife, but denial is not the answer," said Mage Rothchild from behind his small round spectacles. Five other mages, his entourage, nodded in agreement.
"What disease does she have then? You're just cross because she prefers t-shirts and jeans to the flowing robes!"
Mage Rothchild's face scrunched up in an expression of contempt. "While it is certainly the case that she irked me, but the fact remains that such transgressions are not to be taken lightly and are symptomatic of bigger problems."
"What bigger problems?"
"Let me explain myself. Gunther," Rothchild shouted, "get me my magic console."
A young mage, his beard still reddish, brought out a little slate, which humans of the other world called a tablet.
"Look here, Hermes. Look. Does your wife dress funny? I say yes. Is she paranoid? Judging by the way she looks at me and my esteemed group of young mages, I'd say yes. Is she preoccupied and distant? Well, she doesn't speak much, does she? And finally. Is she uncomfortable with intimacy?" Rothchild raised a brow.
"That's enough Rothchild. Our intimate life is none of your business."
"I'd take that to be a yes," Rothchild said as a wicked smugness spread over his dignified face.
"Rothchild. You have crossed the line. Say one more word about my wife and I'll put a curse on you."
The mage shook his hands feebly. "Oh, no need for that. I didn't mean to offend you. I only wanted to show you how sick she is."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Why, according to this site here, your wife has all the symptoms of...let's see...it's a bit hard to pronounce...Schizotypal Personality Disorder," said the mage, impressed with his own oratory skill. "Doesn't roll off the tongue, but in any case, your wife has that."
"Bullshit. She might be cold and might not dress mighty fine, but she doesn't have any disorders. It's your sick mind. Your bias."
Rothchild smiled and handed the tablet over to me. "See for yourself," he said.
And by golly, he was right. My sweet little wife did have the disease. She was much too eccentric and exhibited all the symptoms listed. Unfortunately, when I told her that, she didn't take it too well.
"I can't take this any longer. The only reason I'm not comfortable with you is because you're nuts," that's what she said before slapping me and storming out of the house on her magic broom. "Damn you all, you bunch of narcissistic foppish patriarchs," she shouted over us and flew away.
"Mage Rothchild, do you know what that spell was?"
"Who cares? The bitch is gone. Let's all have a pint."
"Yeah, they have some transparently dressed witches there."
"Hot mamas!" Rothchild said and stroked his beard, elegantly.
| 2021-03-29T08:56:51 | 2021-03-29T08:10:00 | 86 | 19 |
[WP] You are the blacksmith all the evil NPC's and Bosses go to for all their insane and impractical weapons and armor.
[deleted]
|
"But I don't understand..." I questioned Gornak the Soul Eater, "why do you need the huge shoulder pads?"
He looked at me as if I had eaten a live cat in front of him.
"Have you ever seen a villain without shoulder pads? Shoulder pads are where it's AT right now!"
I looked back at Gornak, knowing it was hopeless to try changing his mind, and knowing I had to try anyway. If nothing else, making this armour would make me look like an amateur. "fair enough, shoulder pads are typically stylish, and I know you can carry the weight of them, but seriously, this is too much".
I picked up the diagra- sketch he had drawn. Everything looked pretty much ok as far as evil villains go. Big Black Sword, plenty of pointy bits over the jet black armour, devilish looking helmet. All fairly standard. But those shoulder pads.
"I mean honestly, you won't even be able to fit through the BIG doors with these things!"
He looked at me seriously. He carried on looking at me seriously. After a while of looking serious, he said "maybe you're right. Maybe five feet apiece is too mu-"
"FIVE FEET IS DEFINITELY TOO MUCH! HONESTLY, RIDING A HORSE WOULD BE PRACTICALLY IMPOSSIBLE, NOT TO MENTION RIDING THROUGH FORESTS, BEING CAUGHT WITH ROPES OR NETS, ARE EVEN SIMPLY BEING GRABBED! PUTTING THEM ON WOULD BE A NIGHTMARE, TAKING THEM OFF WOULD BE EVEN WORSE! THESE THINGS WOULD BE ALMOST AS BIG AS YOU ARE! THE IMPRACTICALITIES ARE ENDLESS!!"
It is not a good idea, nor very professional, to shout at someone who has the ability to eat souls to gain their strength. But Gornak and I went back a long way, since I crafted his first leather set so he could mug people in forests. Thankfully he didn't seem too upset about my little rant. He looked at his sketch, sighed, and looked back to me. He looked quizzical. Eventually asked the question I'd been waiting for.
"Maybe four feet?"
Now we're talking.
|
"You have a special place in hell waiting for you, you know that right?"
Asked 'Davenour, The Lord of The Damned'. It was not a way of him saying that I was a bad person. It was literal. Because I helped 'Barnashok, Lucifer's Choosen Solider' and he promised to give me a luxury place in hell.
"Yes, I know. But I am not going there soon."
"Good. Because I still need to buy items. See you Maljhorok!"
"See you!"
Then he left. You were used to it. Of course, you were known as 'Maljhorok, Apprentice of Senjor' and 'Maljhorok The Dark Blacksmith'. In the end, you were a blacksmith who gives bad people good items.
No, not that you are evil. It's just you earn more when you are on the 'dark side' and they sure pay a lot better. Just like your old master Senjor once said: "You are not a stupid hero. You are a blacksmith. You work with whoever pays."
Then, you hear the doorbell ring. You look, and you see one of your oldest costomers.
"Tomeleskan! The Dark Wizard! What can I do you for?"
"Hi Malj. Call me Tom."
You will never call him Tom. It just doesn't look like a name that fits 'The Dark Wizard'. Tomeleskan is a lot better, not quite good, but better.
"I'd rather Tomeleskan."
"So be it. Anyway, my staff is..."
"Let me guess, Alexander, Lord's Warrior?"
"Yeah, that motherf-"
"Woah, stop there. No swearing here. Remember Alkhadar's curse? I don't want you to end up seeing random ponnies."
"Oh... I do. He cares about language. That annoying bas... That annoying person!"
"Better. About the stuff, I think I can fix it, again, but it will take some time. As you know, getting your hands on a virgin's skull is getting harder."
"Just use your own skull then!"
"Ha ha ha. Funny. But inaccurate"
"Wow! When?"
"Remember Melindha?"
"The succubus? How can I forget."
"Well, she tried to seduce me and almost took my soul a week ago. Does that count?"
"I will say yes for the sake of the conversation. Back to the subject! When will it be repaired?"
"Give it a week."
"Uh... Okay. I guess I can do that."
Then he threw his staff and left. Staff was damaged, really really bad.
Then the doorbell rings again.
"Zengar, The Dark Prince! Good to see you."
"Wow! That staff is Tom's staff right?"
"Yeah it is. The Staff of Dark Energy."
"It looks really bad. Busy day, huh?"
"Yup. What brings you here?"
"About that... I think you should hide."
"Why? What happened?"
"The Knights are coming."
"Shit..."
"I most inform more people. See you!"
Then he leaves quickly.
The Knights. Heaven's army full of strong people. They were coming all the way to The Dark Town? It is not really a strong outpost or something.
*Why do they bother coming tho. There is mostly nothing important here. Wait what the..."
There was pink-white ponny standing in front of you. Looking at you with a judging face. How did it come here?
*Alkhadar's curse...*
You thought that you'd hallucinate a ponny if you were to swear. But a real ponny was standing in front of you!
"What the fuck?"
"*neighs angrily*"
"Sorry... Anyway. I must hide. Where to hide? Where to hide? Oh! Yes. Ellkundor's Closet. I can make it invisible! Want to hide with me?"
"*neighs*"
"I guess it's a yes."
Then you hide in the closet, with a ponny... Hoping that The Knights will leave your blacksmith shop alone.
But that's now what it happens. You hear your doorbell ring. And someone talks.
"I, Alexander, The Lord's Warrior, want to talk to the owner of this shop."
...
"I can sense you there, in that horribly hidden closet. If you do not come out, I will make sure you never walk again."
The ponny dissappears. You decide to come out. Alexander, is wearing a golden armor. It matches his golden colored eyes and hair. He looks strong, handsome and fearsome at the same time. And he has three other knights with him.
"H... Hi."
"Is this your shop?"
He had a perfect British accent.
"Yes... It... It is. Why?"
"I heard that you were selling items for the dark creatures. Is that right?"
"I... Um..."
You gulp really hard, it is the most intense talk you have ever done.
"Yes. I mean... I sell items for everyone. Whoever comes here."
"And you do realise that you are in the middle of an evil territory, right?"
"Yes, s... sir. This is a shop that belonged to my master. I... Can't really leave it to rot."
"That's actually quite understandable. Who was your master?"
"Senjor... Sir."
"Wait... Are you Maljhorok?"
"No... I.. I mean yes."
"You... Black marketting forbidden items, helping out the motherfuckin' Lucifer itself, killing a knight, using black magic and even more that I can't count. And holy god is that Tomeleskan's staff?"
"I..."
"KNIGHTS! Let's murder this bastard! Wait wha...?"
Then, there appears the ponny again. Looking straight at Alexander's face. *Oh, right. He cursed.*
"PONNY! Look at me! Hey come... Just... FUCK!"
Then ponny stares at you. He has that judging face again.
"He is Alexander, he is a knight. Run away!"
"*neighs angrily*"
"Aren't you gonna... Run away or something? Alkadar should work on you..."
Guards are ready to attack you.
"Wait a second! Is that ponny Alkhadar's? That bastard has a ponny?"
Ponny's eyes turn red.
"*Do not... Swear at... My owner...*"
Then it turns back at Alex, neighs a warcry. Then starts stabbing knights with his horn? What?
Before you realize it, all the knights, including Alexander, are dead. Stabbed many times by a ponny with bloodlust.
Ponny's eyes turn back to normal.
"The fuck?"
Ponny looks at you with an angry face.
"Right. No swearing. Sorry."
"*neighs*"
Then it disappears. It was a weird day.
| 2016-11-05T05:02:46 | 2016-11-05T03:35:48 | 42 | 22 |
[WP] A crazed astronomer undergoes a quest to shut down the entire state's power grid, in an effort to force the population to behold, for the first time, the beauty of a starry night sky.
|
"Astronomer here!"
I paused a minute, pondering the next words. The path I had taken to get here was crazy if you thought about it. Start posting astronomy comments on a message board. Gather a following. The following grew- thousands became tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands and millions around the globe, conditioned to perk up at a catchphrase. From there it was easy- come meet her in person at AstroFest! Room for all and a great chance to rally behind science outreach!
"Astronomer here!" I repeated, after the crowds in front of the podium calmed down. "You know my love of the stars! But my friends, we are here in the shadow of The Enemy. Those against seeing the stars and truth for what they are! We are nothing in the universe, the stars will outlive us regardless of our problems on Earth!"
Another roar from the crowd. It all came down to this moment. "Astronomer here!" I shouted again, hoping the reverberations in the sound system would send the subliminal signals appropriately. "We must lead the way to solving these problems! We have gathered here in the shadow of The Enemy, beside the State power station, for a mission! Our course is true! We must blot them out and bring back the night!"
The roar intensified, and the chants of "astronomer here! astronomer here!" let me know my mind control invention worked not only online, but in vocal recognition as well. The crowd moved from the festival grounds towards the State power station as if of their own accord, tearing at the fence and approaching the building. Once we had the power station, in the chaos dominated by only light from the beautiful shining stars above my army would stoke fear in the local government. Who controls the energy in a society controls its power.
I smiled. "ASTRONOMER HERE!"
|
"Are uh... are 'y'all sure about that, Earnie?" The portly man asked, giving his bearded chin a scratch. If someone were to put this fellow into a category, it would most certainly be "redneck". Of course, the man did not care much for labels or titles; he was taught very well by his mother (rest her peaceful soul) that the only titles a man had were the ones god gave to you.
While the chubby electrician was certainly no fool, and he had years of experience in his field (it was a family tradition to fix things that the rich folks did not know needed to work), he was a bit worried about the plausibility of this job. He'd known Earnie for years, and had a lot of respect for the man; he'd done more for his family than anyone. But this one seemed a bit off. A little dangerous.
"Earnie, you can't just cut the power to the whole of San Antonio," the fat electrician chided, dabbing at his head with the strap on his overalls. "It ain't gonna happen, even for a few minutes. There's people who need the lights at night. There will be accidents. What about the hospitals..."
Earnie sat up a bit and slammed his hand down on the table in front of him. "Now, old friend, you know that there is a backup in place. I've known how it works decades less than you, and even I understand that. It'll be about two minutes before the power comes back, and there are backup generators for public service. You know..." Earnie then broke into a coughing fit, but steadied himself, muttering about how the weather was awful here, before continuing, "you know that the only danger is to your pride, and that's why you are so afraid."
The electrician, of course, realized that the danger was also to his job, and his family, and the rest of his existence outside of prison for manslaughter, but he said nothing. Earnie was a great friend, and he knew that. "Just this once, old chap. I'll never ask again."
He realized that was probably true.
----------------------------------------------------
Our blue-collar hero set out on his certainly unheroic deed the next morning. He knew a lot of people in the business, and knew exactly who would help and who would ruin the plan, and adjusted his list of friends accordingly. He realized that Earnie would be of absolutely no help, but was pleasantly surprised when Earnie called in a few of his big-wig friends to help with the deed.
They were not without challenges. At least twice, our overall-wearing friend was found tampering with important electrical equipment on the main power grid, gear far above his pay grade. However, Earnie always had a backup plan, and through extreme countersuing measures (things that went against a good-old boys values, but they had to happen) his sabotage was kept secret. A month passed, and Earnie wondered if there would even be time to finish it.
Hope prevailed, however, as the chubby electrical engineer finally had re-routed, re-wired, and re-furnished his way to industrial espionage. With the flick of a giant switch, the power in the residential district of San Antonio would be dark... for a little bit.
The engineer took a quick look at his handiwork. It was a little past two in the morning, one of the least active times of the day. He hoped that there would be very little trouble with traffic. He had sort of went against the plan, and kept the business district lit up. While he didn't know a lot about how light worked (despite making it for forty years) he knew that going dark would cause a lot of problems, and hopes that it wouldn't pollute the starry sky too much.
He took a final glance at the switch, and gave Earnie a call. After a short bout of cursing for calling at such an hour(which he expected nowadays), Earnie finally calmed down enough to realize that the deed was to be done. "Y... y'know, it ain't the end of the world, Earnie. There's a lot of... of other options." The electrician said, his voice giving way a bit towards the end. "You've got a lot. Don't give up on it, pal."
Earnie would only say, "I'm tired. Get it over with."
The electrician sighed. He figured there was another reason behind this, something he was never told about. Probably tax fraud. He had a sneaking suspicion that Earnie was a criminal, but never said it out of respect. He had a lot of respect for him;he'd done more for his family than anyone else.
He wanted to say goodbye before he hung up,but knew Earnie would hate it. He wasn't a very emotional man. So he just told him to enjoy the stargazing, and let him go.
----------------------------------------------------
About a kilometer across town, Earnie looked happily out his bedside window. It was still the same bland darkness he had come to expect over the years, with the same view he had known since the diagnosis, at least that's what he thought. If Earnie was a hateful man, he'd have cursed his parents genes. But he didn't remember how to hate anyways.
A moment later, the neighbor lost power. He heard them yell at their late-night LAN party being suddenly cancelled. He heard a car screech to a stop outside. He saw shadows suddenly running in the street. Around him, monotone beeping slowly drones into silence, and he suddenly felt very tired as the machine helping his body survive stopped.
Earnie sat up in bed, the best he could, and looked out at the sky. It took a few agonizing moments before the first star showed itself. More began to come out of their blankets, showing themselves to the world. Suddenly, a cacophony of light, an opera of beauty filled the sky, light blues and whites being connected by celestial dust. A painter wiped his brush across the sky, and made a painting just for Earnie. He could hear the excitement outside as his awful neighbors went outside and took a look at the view. It made him smile, to see the next generation interested in something, just as he was when he was young and could still live.
This was how his nurse found him only a few minutes later, when his vitals signature came back on to a flat line and alerted the system. Smiling.
| 2017-08-31T07:19:43 | 2017-08-31T06:30:48 | 130 | 11 |
[WP] Earth has made contact with an alien race. There is a big event where earth's world leaders are meeting the alien queen publicly. You are in the crowd to watch the historical event. When the queen suddenly spots you, she disregards all protocol, comes to you and bows deeply.
|
"Deepest apologies Descendant, I did not know you would attend the ceremony. The safety of my people was guaranteed all those years ago when your went after the Other and chased it out of our system." the being said unto me. She rose. "On behalf of the Norma, I thank you. We still mourn the millions that returned to the center."
I was frozen in place, feeling the eyes of everyone the world on me as if they were spears stuck on the back of my head. In a second, I lost track of where my stomach was, and yet I attempted to pry some words off my throat. Then she rose, and as she did she spoke again, in those dulcet tones that I could feel resonating all the way inside my ears.
"Now, tell me, how will you deal with its reincarnation this time?"
|
I had always been interested in what was out there in the stars I had never believed that we would find intelligent life, but I guess I was wrong. After discovering that English was a an actual "universal language" the UN decided to host the leader of the aliens. For some reason the meeting was heal public, and all were welcome to come and see.
​
I had gotten to the meeting spot before even the media did. I wanted a good sight, so I had gone a day early. I was quite surprised that they let me stay there.
​
Nothing interesting happened during the start of the meet, all the major world leaders had gathered along with the queen of the other life form. Nothing of any particular interest was happening, just boring stuff about technology and whatever. It was about two hours in, when the leaders had all gone on for a little break. Most of the world leaders were greeting people at the fence, the queen was looking around, probably getting a glimpse of the New York skyline or the Statue of Liberty.
​
After being up for more than 36 hours I felt my eyes getting weak. My energy drinks must have wore out. I put my earbud in, set the alarm for 20 minutes, and put my head down on the barrier. Before I fall asleep, I wake up to the sound of what I assumed were a million gasps, had the oxygen killed the queen? I open my eyes.
​
The queen is on a kneel, bowing, to me.
In my sleep deprived state I manage to mutter "uhh.. miss, are you OK?" not being able to fully comprehend what was going on.
The queen spoke "You still are around! Dear King, we've missed you for so long."
I go to smash my head against the barrier, I have to be dreaming, and I want OUT, but before I get the chance the queen stops me.
"Dear King, I'm sorry my presence has caused you this much grief, shall I rid myself of your sight?"
I do manage to mutter "wait" somehow. What the heck is happening?
​
Before I even get the chance to comprehend what is going on, I see what must have been the entire Secrete Service, Army, Navy, Air-force, Coast Guard, National Guard, and whatever other military personalle that was there forcing the crowd out.
​
I then pass out.
​
​
I wake up in a bed I'm not familiar with, in a room I'm not familiar with. The bed I'm in is deferentially worthy of kings in movies.
"You are up, good morning master!" I hear an unknown voice say.
"Where am I..?" I manage to stutter out.
"Why this is your room" the voice calls out.
I finally get the courage to sit up, to a scene I didn't know how to process first, the room I'm in is huge, there are about 6 people on either side of the walls, with a huge 2 door entryway.
I go to get out of bed, the covers are pulled off for me while I get out of bed, and neatly placed back when I exit it.
"Good morning master" one of the I'm assuming servants says, with a cheerful smile.
"Good Morning" I manage to spit out.
As I head to the doors to go and try to make sense of what is happening, they are opened for me.
"Thank you" I reply.
"Y-You don't need to thank me!" I hear the assumed servant reply. I do nothing besides smile, what else can I do?
​
I'm greeted by the queen that was present at the world meetings.
"Good morning King, are you feeling better."
"Yes I am, thank you for asking."
I'm lead down a huge staircase and lead to a dining hall. There I am greeted to a massive breakfast that looks like it just came out of the frying pan.
​
The meal was great, I learned that the alien race had taken on human forms so I wouldn't be startled by them. I also learned a lot about the history (and why I became king).
​
I was very skeptical about the whole thing, maybe she has the wrong person, maybe she has mistaken me for someone else, but in the end it is hard to resist everyone saying:
​
"Welcome back to your kingdom, master!"
​
That was the beginning of how I became the leader of an alien race. I cleared up things with Humanity back on earth (they probably just accepted it because we were WAY ahead of them). As it turns out we weren't the only two lifeforms either, we met other alien races and formed a lot of good alliances.
​
The universe had entered a new stage of existence.
​
\--------------------------------
Thanks for reading, hopefully you enjoyed. Feel free to leave any feedback if you'd like.
​
This is also like my 2nd or 3rd submission here, so if it isn't perfect, please help me improve.
| 2018-12-05T18:14:15 | 2018-12-05T17:01:16 | 88 | 18 |
[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
|
"Its WRONG! What those humans do! WRONG! And now they're even using it to control the galactic Senate!"
"Look you know the rules. Once a species has been inducted into the council it retains a vote, no matter what, until extinction."
"Extinction! Pah! That would be better than what the humans do to their defeated enemies! Look at what's become of the Vasudans! They used to be the galaxies most feared warriors! Now look at what they've become!"
"I've talked to Vasudans and they say they're happy with how they are now"
"THAT JUST MAKES IT WORSE! 'domestication' the humans call it. Say they've been doing it on their home world to organisms ever since they evolved! They don't just kill their enemies like a civilised species! No! They 'domesticate' them! Change their very genetics to make them love humans! Now the human representative has dozen 'pets' fawning over her at every senate session! The Krell senator wears a collar and begs her for ear rubs before every vote!"
"Unfortunately the humans do now control 42% of the Senate votes through their "pets" so they have enough votes to block any motion to reduce their power."
|
"Serrated Grotnids, of Phantel IV, are a most fearsome of creature. Phantellians have cowered at the mere thought of such a beast for generations - the very word for scared in Phantellian translates roughly to "they who hears the Grotnid".
It's not hard to see why; the Serrated Grotnid gets its name not from any fearsome tooth or claw, but from rows of razor sharp bones protruding from the beast's back. Couple this with a top speed of almost 25mph and a propensity to run face first at adversity, and you've got yourself a hell-spawned nightmare. This goes double if, like the Phantellians, you are five foot wide and composed of a membrane approximately the thickness of cheap hotel toilet paper.
Fortunately all beasts have one thing in common - they have a weakness.
Stories of heroes that could find the Grotnids weaknesses had always existed on Phantel IV, they'd just never quite got the details right. That’s where I, the General, greatest of all Earth’s Beastmasters stepped in!”
The General’s gesticulation grew wilder as he whipped himself into a frenzy of self-gratification. He was a pompous man, broad and weather-worn, but he carried himself with an air that would make even your saintly grandmother mutter “what a prick” as he walked by.
He was talking to, or more accurately at, a couple of particularly good looking Augtwilians with curves in all the right places. This is of course if you consider the right places to be approximately 1 foot, 4 foot and 12 foot off the ground as the Augtwillians did.
“It was upon hearing these great and ancient tales that I had a stroke of what can only be described as divine wisdom.
There was a common theme in all of them – in every story the thing that scared the beast was something spherical! I know, it was sheer brilliance on my part!
Given their particular dimensions, the Phantellians don’t hold much stock with balls. I on the other hand, came equipped with plenty.
So there I am, staring down with a Serrated Grotnid with three suns blazing overhead.
I bring out my first weapon – a particularly round phantelberry on a stick, just like in the stories of old.
It Charges! Fortunately for me, while the Phantels cannot jump very high I cleared the Grotnid with aplomb, sailed clean over it!
Attempt two – bowling ball. I waited for the Grotnid to line up for a second pass, and as that first dust cloud rose I slung that ball over the mesa with all my might. Nothing that pathetic was going to stop a charging Grotnid though. It lowered its plated head and ran straight through the ball – one almighty crack and it was little more than dust.
This time by the time I jumped it was almost too late. I dived over it and as I did the dorsal spine came up to greet me. One long slice, right down my chest! Ahh, 'twas but a scratch though, so I turned to my final weapon – the wildcard!”
Had the Augtwillians had any concept of Human culture the next sentence might have shocked them, but rather they continued to stare blankly in spite of the General’s unwavering enthusiasm.
“It was, what we call on Earth – a space-hopper.
Now I know what you’re thinking but no, despite its name it is in fact a terrestrial vehicle, a pneumatic device to harness gravitational potential and propel the pilot skywards!
So there I am atop my noble steed and the Grotnid lumbers to face me for round three.
Like two fearsome duellists at noon we face off.
It charges.
So do I.”
By now the General’s re-enactment graduated from wild gesticulation to full-blown choreography.
He bounced a phantom space-hopper towards his companions, only to stop dead in his tracks an inch from a heavily armoured Augtwillian elbow.
“At the last second the foul creature dug in and stopped on the spot, just froze solid!
I had it now.
I bounced a few more times to assert dominance,”
He did,
“And lo and behold – the Grotnid rolled over, raked its spines through the dirt and submitted to me!
Yet again man trumps beast – there is no creature too vile, no brute too terrifying that I, the mighty General of the great Earth Beastmasters cannot tame it!”
With this he took a bow, bid his stunned consorts adieu with a cheery, “Terribly sorry I can’t stay for another but a Beastmaster’s job is never done!”, and sauntered away.
The Augtwillians turned to one another once he was out of ear-shot and shared a moment of bemusement before one opened its mandibles and clicked:
"What a £̴̧̗͙͚̞̝͚͖̘͎̫͙̀͡ŕ̹͎̻̟̝̀͢͡ͅl̴̡͈̮͈͖͔͖̣̼͓̩̝͈̖͓̠̣̕ͅk̸̨̗͚͓̭̩͓̘̹̦̼̼̬̬̬̖̞͚̪̼͟ķ̴̧͓̭͉̼̲̺̖̗̳̙̪̟̭̕ͅͅ"
| 2020-01-04T18:03:50 | 2020-01-04T16:36:31 | 143 | 41 |
[WP] Humans are the only species in the universe with pets. As humanity enters the ranks of the Galactic Empire humanity soon is known as "The Beastmasters", taming even the worst nightmares of alien bedtime stories.
|
It was an awkward existence for any of us traveling outside the colonies. Wherever we went, we were met with equal parts fear and reverence.
The funny part was that in order to deal with the arms length, sorry that was insensitive, appendage length, that other species kept from humans, we often traveled with a pet, the source of the mixed feelings.
Mine is a fluffy ball of fur who mostly did her own thing. Cats are like that. I could always count on her to hop up beside me in our cabin for a bit of petting every night though.
This morning the other diplomats almost bowed down to Stuffy when they saw how I treated her. All I did was put a bowl down and use my Resource and Food Identification Chip to get her some bite to eat. They all thought it was a ritual.
Like she needs her ego stroked like that.
I don't think I'll ever get used to it. They call us Beastmasters since we're the only ones who ever tamed wild animals, no matter how terrifying. At least they understand that skill comes from a place of empathy, not hate.
But goddmaned if it's not a lot of pressure to become the peace negotiators of the galaxy because of it.
|
"Serrated Grotnids, of Phantel IV, are a most fearsome of creature. Phantellians have cowered at the mere thought of such a beast for generations - the very word for scared in Phantellian translates roughly to "they who hears the Grotnid".
It's not hard to see why; the Serrated Grotnid gets its name not from any fearsome tooth or claw, but from rows of razor sharp bones protruding from the beast's back. Couple this with a top speed of almost 25mph and a propensity to run face first at adversity, and you've got yourself a hell-spawned nightmare. This goes double if, like the Phantellians, you are five foot wide and composed of a membrane approximately the thickness of cheap hotel toilet paper.
Fortunately all beasts have one thing in common - they have a weakness.
Stories of heroes that could find the Grotnids weaknesses had always existed on Phantel IV, they'd just never quite got the details right. That’s where I, the General, greatest of all Earth’s Beastmasters stepped in!”
The General’s gesticulation grew wilder as he whipped himself into a frenzy of self-gratification. He was a pompous man, broad and weather-worn, but he carried himself with an air that would make even your saintly grandmother mutter “what a prick” as he walked by.
He was talking to, or more accurately at, a couple of particularly good looking Augtwilians with curves in all the right places. This is of course if you consider the right places to be approximately 1 foot, 4 foot and 12 foot off the ground as the Augtwillians did.
“It was upon hearing these great and ancient tales that I had a stroke of what can only be described as divine wisdom.
There was a common theme in all of them – in every story the thing that scared the beast was something spherical! I know, it was sheer brilliance on my part!
Given their particular dimensions, the Phantellians don’t hold much stock with balls. I on the other hand, came equipped with plenty.
So there I am, staring down with a Serrated Grotnid with three suns blazing overhead.
I bring out my first weapon – a particularly round phantelberry on a stick, just like in the stories of old.
It Charges! Fortunately for me, while the Phantels cannot jump very high I cleared the Grotnid with aplomb, sailed clean over it!
Attempt two – bowling ball. I waited for the Grotnid to line up for a second pass, and as that first dust cloud rose I slung that ball over the mesa with all my might. Nothing that pathetic was going to stop a charging Grotnid though. It lowered its plated head and ran straight through the ball – one almighty crack and it was little more than dust.
This time by the time I jumped it was almost too late. I dived over it and as I did the dorsal spine came up to greet me. One long slice, right down my chest! Ahh, 'twas but a scratch though, so I turned to my final weapon – the wildcard!”
Had the Augtwillians had any concept of Human culture the next sentence might have shocked them, but rather they continued to stare blankly in spite of the General’s unwavering enthusiasm.
“It was, what we call on Earth – a space-hopper.
Now I know what you’re thinking but no, despite its name it is in fact a terrestrial vehicle, a pneumatic device to harness gravitational potential and propel the pilot skywards!
So there I am atop my noble steed and the Grotnid lumbers to face me for round three.
Like two fearsome duellists at noon we face off.
It charges.
So do I.”
By now the General’s re-enactment graduated from wild gesticulation to full-blown choreography.
He bounced a phantom space-hopper towards his companions, only to stop dead in his tracks an inch from a heavily armoured Augtwillian elbow.
“At the last second the foul creature dug in and stopped on the spot, just froze solid!
I had it now.
I bounced a few more times to assert dominance,”
He did,
“And lo and behold – the Grotnid rolled over, raked its spines through the dirt and submitted to me!
Yet again man trumps beast – there is no creature too vile, no brute too terrifying that I, the mighty General of the great Earth Beastmasters cannot tame it!”
With this he took a bow, bid his stunned consorts adieu with a cheery, “Terribly sorry I can’t stay for another but a Beastmaster’s job is never done!”, and sauntered away.
The Augtwillians turned to one another once he was out of ear-shot and shared a moment of bemusement before one opened its mandibles and clicked:
"What a £̴̧̗͙͚̞̝͚͖̘͎̫͙̀͡ŕ̹͎̻̟̝̀͢͡ͅl̴̡͈̮͈͖͔͖̣̼͓̩̝͈̖͓̠̣̕ͅk̸̨̗͚͓̭̩͓̘̹̦̼̼̬̬̬̖̞͚̪̼͟ķ̴̧͓̭͉̼̲̺̖̗̳̙̪̟̭̕ͅͅ"
| 2020-01-04T18:43:56 | 2020-01-04T16:36:31 | 86 | 41 |
[WP] "Ma'am you can't bring your emotional support dragon inside the restaurant."
|
“Ma’am, you can’t bring your dragon to the restaurant,” I said.
“But it’s not just a dragon, it’s an emotional support dragon. I need it!” she said.
“I’m sorry ma’am, but most of the room is flammable, if anything happens it could lead to a tragedy, and-”
“I want to see the manager, now!” she shouted, and her dragon growled at me.
I sighed, but there was nothing I could do. I went to find Tony, and I hoped he could handle it.
I watched them from a safe distance, and soon I was surprised to see them both getting seated.
\*\*\*
An hour later, I was looking at the firefighters trying to rescue whatever was still left of our beloved restaurant. Tony was standing next to me, calmly smoking a cigarette.
“So… why did we let that dragon inside, exactly?” I asked.
“Company policy, based on our past experiences,” he said. “The last woman whose emotional support dragon was denied entry, came back with her financial support lawyer.” He blew out a smoke ring. “Believe me when I say it is cheaper this way, and by a lot.”
|
Borgen's Burgers served the best cuisine in the land, and everyone knew it. Even during the Second War of Eventide, the evil Lord Dantrum spared the store and its farmland from being sacked. An ancient alarm bell hung on the walls to use in fear of danger, yet it had famously never been wrung. In the centuries of since, Borgen's provided a delicious and comfortable respite from the toils of peace and progress between man, orc, elves, and every creature whose history spelled struggle.
The sun shone brightly as the mid-day lunch rush quickly filled the seats and tables in and out of the restaurant. A serpentine line of eager eaters wrapped around the stone building. Hardly a cloud blocked the crisp blue sky, and a small speck above the treelines began growing larger to the first few who noticed. A thin trail of smoke traced its path as it weaved to and fro, and as the speck came to shape, a nervous energy filled the outdoor patio.
"Dragon!" rose a cry from the queue.
"It can't be," said a snobbish elf. "They were all exterminated ages ago in the Last War."
"Then what is that?!" exclaimed another, as a tongue of fire leapt from the incoming creature's mouth.
People, orcs, and elves alike scattered to the nearby trees, while only one brave soul ventured inside to warn those unaware. An orc of only six marshfloods of age sounded the old alarm, but it was too late.
A violent thump shook the walls of Borgen's Burgers, and ancient dust trickled down from its straw ceiling. The patrons inside began to panic, hurrying about the room yet no one daring to leave. Delicate dishes of fried seamonster and braised unicorn sat unfinished.
"Silence!" bellowed a deep voice from the kitchen. The owner, whose family started Borgen's before the annals of King Nethgard had spilled their first ink, came out from between swinging doors behind the bar. Few had seen him before. He was a large man and wore a well-used apron that was a few sizes to small for his shape. Curls of hair sprang from his head, and his face, while covered in sweat, was surprisingly untarnished with soot despite spending untold hours above the cooking fire.
"Please, sit down and enjoy your meals. I will attend to the alleged disturbance."
He gently untied his apron and set it down on the bar. The patrons watched with baited breath as he ventured into the daylight.
Shading his eyes from the sun, the owner observed the mighty beast that had landed on top of several of his dining tables. Its emerald eyes were rimmed with short, sharp horns, and its brown scale skin gleamed in the sunlight. A lone rider departed the dragon, dressed in strange armor and carrying a twisted staff. A helmet covered the rider's face, yet the owner stood firm.
"Good day, sir," said the dragon rider. The voice was soft and bright, like that of the owner's eldest daughter. "My companion and I would like to eat at your famed establishment. The wonders I've seen across all the land have never compared to the tales I hear of your delicacies. It is time that we taste your treasures."
The owner offered a small smile. "We would be glad to serve you. Please, see our menu and we will be happy to bring your meal to you to enjoy out here on this fine..."
"No," interrupted the rider. "What I have heard of Borgen's Burgers can only be truly experienced within the airs between your walls. The aromas, the laughter, the history that coats your timbers. Your name is praised along with those who seek peace and prosperity. Please, allow us to enter."
"I'm sorry," said the owner, casting an eye at the enormous creature. "You are welcome to come inside, but we have no ability to allow a dragon through our door." At this the dragon's nostrils flared with an orange glow, but the rider eased her companion.
"You do not understand," said the rider. "Sedra is my emotional support animal. Without her, I am unable to control myself. If you were to separate us, you would have greater things to fear than an angry dragon."
The owner felt for the rider and her dragon. "Forgive me. We are accustomed to emotional support creatures and happily make reasonable accommodations. In fact, we have several werewolves and, I believe, a wraith indoors as we speak. Again, we are happy to serve both you and your companion outdoors, but unfortunately, ma'am, you can't bring your emotional support dragon inside the restaurant."
A pillar of fire shot into the air, and the dragon stomped its hind legs.
"Sedra," the rider said, "let us depart and come back with the others. Perhaps by then they will have changed their policies to be more inclusive of your kind. And if not, I dare to imagine the last scroll of parchment for this eatery's history."
The rider leapt onto the dragon's back and with a strong whip of its wings they lifted into the air. The owner turned and went back inside his restaurant, even as the gusts blew the curls of his hair.
"The dragon has left. Please finish your meals and do not concern yourselves with payment."
The owner quietly returned the to kitchen. He set a nirnroot stew on the stove along the back wall. With a tap of his feet a small flame lit underneath the pot.
"Tildron, old boy," he spoke into the flames. "I met another dragon today. We may finally have a war on our doorstep afterall."
| 2021-03-13T13:28:41 | 2021-03-13T12:21:45 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] A meteor strikes the Earth, and everyone seems to get superpowers… everyone except you. You’ll do anything to figure out what yours are, but the world has changed and your options are desperate.
|
I stared into my coffee and tried to imagine a power that would change my life. The coffee shop was pretty much empty besides me. The pastry I ordered floated to the table and plopped down in front of me. I looked up at the beaming barista and groaned internally. She rushed to my side and started chattering about her power with no encouragement from me.
“It’s bread based! Weird right!? That’s why I had to bring your coffee. It’s not …like … the best power but it suits me! That’s why I bought this place…” She stopped chattering when she realized my face was blank. “So … what did you get?” I didn’t want to answer. Every since the meteor it’s all I got asked. Every conversation was power based and it was exhausting. I could not endure another face filled with pity.
So instead of answering I just dropped the cash on the table and walked out. I could feel her bewildered look on my back all the way to the door.
My brother can fly! My mom has super strength. My dad can control electricity. What do I get? Nothing. Nothing at all. Zero has changed for me except now I somehow feel a more intense loneliness than I used to. My mom is sure I have a power I haven’t discovered yet. So she drops by with ideas every few days. The days she doesn’t drop by I get streams of texts. I know she thinks she’s being supportive but it only makes me feel worse.
I’ve basically decided I have no place on this new earth. I know it will make everyone I know sad… but they just don’t get it. This is so much worse than just being an average human. I seem to be the only one left.
At first I was sure I wasn’t alone. I scoured the internet, made tons of anonymous posts. I was sure maybe I’d find at least one. One person that was as powerless as me. But I found nothing. Not even a single thread about someone else that was powerless.
I wrote a few notes for my family and swallowed some pills. Then I just waited… for the dark to take me.
I woke up in a stuffy dark place. At first I panicked trying to feel my way around. The the horrible truth set in… I was in a coffin.
Immortality! I was for a second incredibly excited but then it dawned on me that I couldn’t get out. The thinness of the air made me choke. I tried to measure my breaths but then I slowly died again.
|
\[Stellar Attitude\]
"Well... damn...," Anthony was equal parts crushed and relieved when he saw the large, ancient, two-story red brick building. It was a Chinese restaurant with a neon red sign that read: Donna Chang's. The bricks looked faded and worn and some of the windows were cracked. If he didn't know better, he could have walked by assuming it was always there; but, it wasn't there the day before.
If the world had not changed overnight, over six months ago, he might have been more concerned about a building appearing overnight. A meteor impact gifted everyone in the world some sort of superpower. Some took longer to discover theirs. Half a year later, Anthony was the only person he knew that had yet to discover what he could do.
It didn't start to bother him until his friends began joking that he might not have gotten a power. The jokes got more obnoxious over a couple of months; and, his superpowered friends spent less time with him. Then, the day came that he did not have any friends. The growing loneliness led to some desperate choices.
Corporations were the most affected; people didn't need them anymore. The first month was the most terrifying as lawlessness ran rampant. But, hero groups were quick to form, and over time people found a new normal. But, money was no longer the driving force it once was. Greed lost its hold once people could work things out for themselves, and everyone being a Super made that easier.
One corporation had gone out of business and simply left an entire warehouse abandoned, complete with radioactive toxic waste. Errant radiation was no longer a concern; it didn't affect most Supers and those that it did would be healed by others. Anthony started his day with a plan to bathe in toxic waste; anything to get his superpower. But, all he found was a Chinese restaurant that was open at 7:00 a.m.
He had literally nothing else planned for the day because he had no idea how the radiation might affect him. He assumed death was likely, but hoped for the best. Either way, he had a whole day to fill now and decided to start with a good meal.
"I wonder if they do breakfast...," he crossed the street to the restaurant. He reached the door and pulled to open it, but it didn't budge. Anthony was ready to give up until he saw a teenage girl walk by the door. She had a pair of afro puffs, one on each side of her head, and she was startled when he knocked on the wood and glass door. She came to the door and yelled through it.
"Yeah?" she asked. Anthony was surprised by her lack of courtesy and just pointed at the 'Open' sign glowing in the window. She smacked her forehead with her palm and Anthony instantly got the gist; it was on accidentally.
"Sorry, I forgot to turn it off," she said. But, she unlocked the door and opened it for him as she apologized. "Come in and find a seat. I'll get your order after I turn the sign off,' she smiled.
"You're not open?" Anthony asked. He didn't move forward. "I don't want to be any trouble, it's okay. I'll just grab something somewhere else."
"Nope," she surprised him by reaching through the door and pulling him into the restaurant by his arm. "Ms. Chang's rules. If I forget to switch the sign, I have to deal with it."
"Oh..okay..," Anthony looked around the red and gold themed restaurant. The seating area wasn't as large as he expected for a building that size. There were only about a dozen tables and booths at the front, but he noticed narrow halls leading to the back. He saw a swinging door that he assumed led to the kitchen; but, the porthole window was dark. He chose a small, two-person table in a dark corner of the restaurant; but, they were all dark corners. Half the lights were off. They were obviously closed and Anthony did not enjoy feeling like he was imposing.
"Hi, I'm Britt," she pointed at the golden nametag on her red uniform when she came back from the door. "Did you already have an idea of what you wanted, or would you like a menu?"
"The kitchen's closed, I don't want you to go through any trouble for me..," Anthony shook his head. To his surprise, Britt shook her head with a broad smile.
"I'm telling you it's no trouble at all," she said. "The kitchen's not closed, it's just not here right now. I was closing down this location and forgot to turn the sign off," she giggled. "I'm not going to shove food down your throat, but trust me; just order like a normal restaurant."
"Normal???" Anthony had been a mess of emotions and he still hadn't dealt with his derailed plans. He didn't want to admit he was going to be powerless for the rest of his life; he was going to be 'normal'. Truly normal. Not the kind of normal where buildings pop up overnight. He didn't want to take his anger out on a teenager that didn't look out of high school yet; but, he came close. "YOU don't know what normal is!" he managed to calm his voice, then shook his head and stood up.
"I'm sorry, you're being so nice. I'm working through some things, I'll leave..." he hung his head and focused on the floor.
"Why?" Britt asked. Her voice sounded as upbeat as it did before he yelled at her. He looked up and found her looking at him. Her head was tilted and she had a trace of concern on her face. "You can't work through them while you eat?" she asked. "It's on the house, by the way. Because, it was my mistake; and, don't worry. It doesn't come out of my check or anything like that, Ms. Chang is the best." Anthony had been so distraught, that he totally forgot he didn't bring his wallet until she mentioned money. He was grateful for it. He'd left his wallet at home not wanting it to get ruined by toxic sludge. The fact that the meal was free helped him decide to sit down again.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1642 in a row. (Story #195 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on June. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until August 19th. They are all collected in order at this link.
| 2022-07-15T16:11:39 | 2022-07-15T13:17:00 | 82 | 20 |
[WP] When it was found that no 2 countries with a McDonalds had gone to war, all countries agreed to build franchises to enact world peace. Ronald McDonald was then unanimously elected benevolent dictator. 200 years later, you are Ronald McDonald IV and the empire is in trouble.
|
"Sire," Reynaldo kneeled before me as he spoke. "The rebel factions have banded together as you suggested they would. The False King, the Fire-Haired Wench, and the Jester have united. They have taken three districts in as many hours."
"Of course they have." I stared out the window at my kingdom. "Tell the Queen that the day is at hand where I will call in the old debts. Summon my generals to a war council. This action cannot go unanswered."
For two centuries my line has ruled the world in peace and prosperity. But there will always be the upstarts. Those who would rather stand against the tide in the name of freedom or choice.
One of my ancestors wiped out one of these rebels - Hard D, as I recall, though he often went disguised as a simple-minded peasant named Carl. My ancestor thought the total destruction of one rebel would make the others fall in line. For a time, he was right. Eventually though, new generations take over and the brutalities of the past take on a sheen of myth and legend. And they forget. Now I must do as my ancestor did so long ago and teach these impudent whelps what the price of peace truly is.
My generals surrounded the giant oaken table in the war room. This chamber had sat unused for ages - until today.
"We have been too lenient on the smaller upstarts. Had we crushed them early, this newest revolt would not be here. The Quintet and the Shakers are at the root of this." As was customary, the general had given up his family names and titles on promotion to my inner council. He was now known only by his title of state - Grimace.
"Swatting flies does not stop the lion from charging you." My minister of intelligence. I never knew his real name or where he came from. He hid his background under layers of lies and innuendo. His title of Hamburgler was well-earned though.
"We should begin evacuations of the civilian populations immediately. The last thing we need are pictures of dead kids on the news." Mayor McCheese was one of my closest friends growing up. I knew he had a good heart and named him my minister of the interior.
"I have contacted the Queen," said Birdie. She was reluctant to take the position of minister of state, but had truly grown into the role. "We shall be supplied with troops and materiel. Shall I contact the Cowboys?"
"No," I said, "they have never been trustworthy. I suspect bringing them in would be allowing a pickle in the fish sandwich. We cannot trust them. Ready our troops."
I stood up and walked over to the sideboard. I removed my vestments of state, standing on the cold tile floor in my underwear. I opened the ancient doors and saw the warrior garb handed down through my family. The canary yellow clothes, the dazzlingly red hair, the ghostly white paint, the elongated shoes. I enrobed myself for battle. Let the world tremble at the might of Ronald McDonald.
|
**Chapter Four: The Collapse**
*Introduction:*
As we've learned in the previous chapter, President McDonald the Second (Who reigned from 2043-2094 CE) presided over a relatively peaceful empire. Though the process of centralizing the power of the world to the McDonald government was arduous (and often met with skeptical criticism), the idealism of the a benevolent, world-wide government that would act on behalf of all Earth gripped humanity. The citizens of the world had seen far too much blood during the Troubled Thirties, and were eager to turn a government that promised peace. Former rebels laid down their arms, governments ceased railing against each other and pointing fingers, Donald Trump's wall lay unfinished, and all worked together on the path to recovery. With erstwhile allies such as Secretary General Kim Jeong Soo, Minister of Unification Lukas Merkel, and Minister of Equality Iminathi Mandela, the Third President had built a strong empire. (For more information, turn to Chapter Three: The Pax Unifica)
*Coming Apart at the Seams:*
But as we all know, this peace under the McDonald Empire didn't last. The primary reason for this is still hotly debated among historians, but most agree that the failure of the incompetent administration of the McDonald Empire to pressing issues played a large part. Ronald McDonald the Second and his generation (now called Generation I) were the last who were able to clearly remember the Troubled Thirties; those who followed only knew the rivers of blood from textbooks. Ronald McDonald the Third proved this fact; unlike his father who worked tirelessly to improve his administration and the world, McDonald III spent most of his time devoting his plentiful resources as Emperor to personal entertainment and luxury. Ministers and government officials were replaced with friends and acquaintances, and corruption along with general apathy for governance was the regent of his reign. This change in governmental attitudes could not have come at a worse time. Instead of wishing to end conflict by all means possible, Generation II seized upon perceived injustices, often nationalistic in nature. Questions were asked: Where was the clearly deserved remuneration? Where was the equality that the new world government promised? Where were the laws that once maintained their ways of life, abolished in the name of globalism? The previous McDonalds administrations had avoided dividing nations in fear of creating civil wars as the British and French colonial regimes of the early 20th century had, but this only provided easier access to banners (often racial banners) for people to rally to. Complaints grew to riots, and lack of response made these riots grow to rebellions, which quickly transformed the peace of several nations into civil wars. The Pax Unifica was no more.
*The Oslo Bombings:*
One incident that we must learn of is the Oslo Bombings of 2114. In Oslo, Norway, tens of thousands of native Norwegians gathered during the fall of 2113 to protest international laws regarding freedom of travel, as well as those meant to accommodate those of the Muslim faith. This Protection Movement, then led by William Olsen, was not the racist and nationalistic caricatures it is often painted as today. In fact, it started in the most liberal of countries, and was founded upon concerns about the conservative nature of the McDonalds regime's legislation, the rapidly growing economic inequality caused by worldwide unrestricted capitalism, as well as overpopulated cities caused by the massive number of refugees from the Troubled Thirties aided by the open borders mandated by the McDonalds Empire (this helps explain why the Protection movement gained so much worldwide traction -- it seemed perfectly sensible). They began with peaceful protests at local government buildings of the McDonalds administration, but their words fell on deaf ears. Winter came, but the cold did not drive away members of the movement -- in fact, the lack of response only prompted more anger and more support for Protection, and many traveled from neighboring countries Sweden and Finland to join the protests.
This is when disaster struck. While Olsen was leading another rally at the McDonalds Justice Administration building, several bombs were set off by an unknown agent, killing Olsen and hundreds of his supporters. This disaster gained international attention; such deeds had not been witnessed since two years after the Troubled Thirties, now almost a century ago. But the plight of the protestors facing what seemed to be completely unjustified violence attracted international support like a magnet, and Olsen became the first Martyr for Protection.
*Protection's Radicalization:*
Olsen was succeeded by his second-in-command, Henrik Berg. Unlike the pacifist Olsen, Berg had long been pushing for more radical means of spreading the Protection cause. Olsen's death only served to cement his cause, and Shield Militias were first formed in the fall of 2114. Initially armed only with batons and ostensibly for self-defense, these militias soon were organized and equipped in a military fashion, and began to violently suppress dissenting opinions in neighborhoods under their control. With order rapidly disappearing in Oslo and being replaced by what was essentially gang warfare, the local McDonald administration were forced to deploy local military forces to act against the Protection Movement. The fighting began in the winter of that year, and December 6th, 2114 is known today as the First Protection in Protectionist countries, and more commonly as the First Battle. Hundreds of soldiers were killed on both sides, and civilians fled Oslo as their home city transformed into a battlefield.
*The Internationalization of Protection*
While Oslo quickly dissolved into chaos, the ideals of Protection were becoming increasingly attractive to other nations. The former countries of the United Kingdom, France, and Russia were the first international strongholds of Protection outside of the Nordic countries. (if you don't know these names, check your glossary! They will be important!) These movements had many of the same complaints as original movement in Norway - they were being forced to accept what felt like overly conservative laws and people who were not their own. But as time passed, they took on a independent, nationalistic tilt. Englishmen were enraged at the fact that they were paying for those of the same race as those who had brought England into the Troubled Thirties - the descendants of Middle Eastern refugees had not seemed to actually integrate into English society. The Scots were looking for another chance to get away from yet another power that was acting as their overlord, and they no longer had the memories of the Troubled Thirties to keep them in check. Frenchmen wished to maintain the purity of France, and resented the McDonald administration for revoking many of their laws as well as crushing their ideal of French equality. Russians felt like they were being ignored as a country, and wished to Make Russia Great Again. Unified only by their desire to rule themselves, protests began outside McDonald government buildings, and thousands gathered in London, Paris and Moscow to voice their complaints. Following the Oslo bombings, the movements in France and Russia grew violent as the ones in Oslo had, and soon these countries too were engulfed in conflict. The United Kingdom defused the situation by securing special devolved powers from the McDonald government (one of the few moments of clarity by the Empire during this decade), and remained largely neutral in the McDonald vs. Protection conflict in the following decades.
Protection movements outside of Europe largely began once they noticed the surprising success that Protection militias had against McDonald forces. Disgruntled nationalists in the former United States of America, China, India, angry Islamists in the Middle East, xenophobes in Korea and Japan, and many others all began local chapters of Protection movements. These were most successful in developed or developing countries with high levels or education, or culturally divergent regions such as the conservative Middle East and much of Africa.
More coming along if wanted, will welcome feedback.
| 2016-10-18T09:00:21 | 2016-10-18T07:44:19 | 81 | 34 |
[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying.
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He'd appear once per year, an uncle distant enough that no one really knew who he was related to, but who always bore a striking resemblance to me. Ever since I was born, he'd come only to give me a gift, then leave without a word - nothing but a smile, a smile that seemed to say so much without saying anything at all.
It was like he knew precisely what I would need most for that year. It made my life play out perfectly, like it was a carefully-constructed design.
A wedding ring, for when I'd finally met the love of my life. A winning lottery ticket, when I desperately needed capital to start my technology company. A gun... for when those bastards tried to take that all away from me.
I took to never questioning it. Instead, I would take each gift with reverence, always looking for the best opportunity to use it. Uncle would always know best, after all.
But now, it seemed that today would be the last gift I would ever receive. For the first time, and likely the last time, uncle had requested that I visit him. In his message, he explained that he was sick, and that he was no longer able to bring my birthday gift. Instead, I would need to go to him.
I was in the prime of my life. The gifts had rocketed me upwards, leading to unparalleled success. If today was the last gift I would ever receive, then so be it. He had already served me beyond compare, and for that I would remain forever grateful. But I could not let him go without an explanation.
The helicopter ride made short work of the distance, and I arrived at his home with a keen sense of urgency. I couldn't let him die before explaining how he always knew, how each gift was so perfectly suited for my life.
I entered, not knowing what I would find. Inside, an incredibly sophisticated machine lay sprawling across the epicenter of the house.
He lay on a simple bed in the middle of it all. He beckoned me forward and I came, excitement mixed with dread. He lifted something with effort, pushing it into my hands.
The machine seemed incredibly complex, and yet refined into a simplistic design. It was all linked to this single interface, small enough to fit in one hand.
I stared at the gift, inspecting it with disbelief. It had a weight to it, not just in mass but in implication.
He lifted a shaking arm, pointing towards the assigned date. My birth date.
His arm continued to move. He placed his shaky hand on my shoulder and brought me into a hug, squeezing tightly.
He moved his lips to my ear, and whispered something with the last of his strength:
"*Your turn.*"
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"John, if you're reading this note, you've no doubt seen the gift I have sent you this year. It is one I wish I'd never have to send. I want you to first know, I love you more than you could know. Secondly, the answers you find in this book you can never unlearn. The contents of this book will stay a part of you till your last breath. Lastly, I pray that you find success in your mission. The horrors that await are yours alone. I wish I could be there for you, boy, but I can't. You will no longer receive any more gifts from me, for reasons you will soon know.
P.S. Please, for the love of all that is good in this world, don't ever forget to be kind. Treat everyone with compassion. You'll soon learn why that is hard to come by in our line of work.
With love, Uncle Donald Brittager"
That is the note attached to the "gift" my Uncle Don sent. The weird thing about my Uncle Don and his gifts is they always were exactly what I needed, even when I didn't know it yet. For example, one year when I was a senior in high school he sent me a mixing bowl, a bunch of ingredients for a cake, and a recipe. The note attached said, "You will know what to do with this in two days time. Always remember what I told you, be kind. Have compassion. I love you." Two days later my girlfriend's mother died in a car accident. I've never baked a day in my life, but I baked that cake from Uncle Don and gave it to her and her grieving family. I told them how sorry I was and I didn't know what to do, but I wanted to help. Lindsey's father hugged me and she cried in my arms all night. We started eating the cake and her father started having an allergic reaction to it, but I didn't think he had any allergies. Turns out he doesn't, doctors still can't explain it. They started running a bunch of tests and found a defect in his heart that most certainly would kill him within the next couple of years.
Another gift I received was a fucking truck. I'm not joking a fucking truck came to my door and the driver said, "Delivery for John Garrett." It was loaded with everything for a new baby. Diapers of every size, baby food, a crib, toys, clothes, etc. Literally everything you'd need to raise a child until about 3 years old. Lindsey and I just found out we were pregnant my second year of law school that morning. I got a note later that read, "You've no doubt received the truck. I hope you raise your daughter right and teach her kindness above all." There was some other stuff, but that was the meat. We found out we were having a girl a few months later. The good news is, since we couldn't afford child care, Lindsey's father was able to take care of Sarah while I was in class and Lindsey was working as a nurse. My parents had already passed, both cancer.
I have thirty some odd of these stories I can fully remember. My mother would tell me Uncle Don would send gifts when I was a baby/small child that were equally as strange. I could go on, but I can't. For starters, because I can't stop looking at this year's gift. The note makes it seem like Uncle Don is going to die. I've never even met him and I'm heartbroken. He's done so much for me and I've never gotten to see him and hug him and tell him how much I loved him.
I opened the gift and after reading the note I saw what was underneath. It's a book. Sorry, that's an understatement, it's a fucking nightmare shaped like a book. It's cover made of something fleshy and it's spine, I can't believe it, is a literal spine. The pages are surprisingly soft and written in something black and thick. It's not ink, but almost like an oil or something.
I crack it open to the first page. There is a warning:
UNDERSTAND THAT READING THIS BOOK WILL GIVE YOU THE TOOLS TO DEFEATING THEM. YOU WILL LEARN UNSPEAKABLE HORRORS AND TERRIFYING REALITIES. YOU CANNOT RETURN FROM THIS.
I think back to just a couple weeks ago. I woke up, Lindsey was no longer in my life. I tried pounding on her chest, but she was gone. No cause, she just...died. I called out to Sarah crying. It's best that she knew then. Sarah didn't answer. I went to her room. I collapsed. I screamed. I threw things in our house. I broke down so much the cops were called. They brought their bodies out of the house to conduct an autopsy. The coroner told me he wishes he could explain it other than an act of God. He could see my anger. He hugged me and told me that the big guy upstairs fucking sucks though. I laughed. I thought Lindsey would too. I cried in his arms.
I turn the page of the book. I start reading it. There are drawings of terrifying creatures. One such creature has several arms and legs protruding out of what seems to just a torso. Almost, like one of those sticky balls you had as a kid that had a bunch of suction cups on it. Yeah, like that, but arms and legs. Each finger and toe had an eye on it. Another creature lives in the shadow. They follow you for years. There is no sound associated with it, other than whispers in the wind. Whatever that means. No figure. Just darkness. If it comes after you, it's just death. No fight, you just cease to exist. I wonder if Uncle Don knew about Lindsey and Sarah.
There's words written under the descriptor of the creature.
"The only ones who can survive encounters with these creatures are those of the bloodline of this book's authors. The spell to cast so you can communicate with this creature is Ethu Fo'mare Kital Luso. Understand though, that this will allow the creature to kill you even if you are of the bloodline. There is no known way to kill this creature, but some say communication can prove quite effective."
I think about the possibility of confronting this being that took my family away. I think back to Uncle Don telling me to always be kind. I'm sorry Uncle Don, I can't be kind to this bastard. I without hesitation recite the passage. Nothing happens. I go and sit on the porch. I light up a camel. It's a still night not a branch moving in sight. I hear wind blowing in my ears. I hear the words, "The last of the Brittager family and the dynasty of the undying fighters." My eyes widened. I'm horrified. I can't look around for fear of what I might see, and knowing that it would be nothing. I feel breathing on my neck. I hear faint laughter as if in the distance. "Dear God, what have you done, is right, John" the wind blows in my ear.
| 2020-06-23T19:41:24 | 2020-06-23T19:35:02 | 90 | 38 |
[WP] Back in highschool, you and your friends made an apocalypse plan. You were each supposed to learn a survival skill, and were to meet in a specific location if The End ever came. 20 years later, after going your separate ways, The End comes. You're the first one to arrive at the meeting point.
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Melody counted the seconds, pacing back and forth as she held the small device. The room was dark, the dim red emergency lights casting shadows along the walls.
A noise filled the room. The sound of a door quietly opening. She looked up, hearing the sound of claws scratching. The sound of a bird rang out from the doorway, and she pulled her gun out, pointing to the doorway, listening and waiting.
"Hey, whoa! Put the gun down, trigger happy." A male voice rang out. Melody stopped for a moment, before letting out a sigh of relief.
"I thought you were one of them." She says. "Come on." She put her gun on the table, stepping back to allow the man entrance. He walked in, his red hair still a curly mess it used to be. He waved to her.
"Nope. Just me and Star here."
"Starlight? She's still kicking?"
"Yep." He laughs. "Somehow. Any of the others show up yet?"
"Not yet." Melody answered. "Any word from them?"
"No. I knew Robert would be late, but its unlikely for Luna to be. You know how she is."
Melody nods. "Jake, you dont think..."
"No. I'm sure she just got caught up in something." He grinned at her. "Nice coat."
"Huh? Oh, I didn't take it off." She pulled off the white lab coat she was wearing. She didnt have time to change, the breakout had happened while she was at work.
"It fits you." He says. He pulls out a beeping device. "Oh, I just got a message from Luna. She says she found Robert, but the two of them will be a little late. I'm sure we can hunker down here until they get here, right?"
Melody nods. "Right. I'll see if I can get the rest of the supplies together."
"I'll make a fire." He says. "I think Robert majored in Electrical stuff, right? He should be able to get the bunker to a better capacity when he gets there."
Melody nods, leaving the room. She walked to the shelves, grabbing a couple of small vials. She didnt think they'd all survive. Clearly the outbreak hadn't been successful. Her friends didnt know, but for their sake, they needed to be dealt with swiftly. Death was better than what her superiors had in store for them.
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Jill impatiently tapped her foot against the floor of the abandoned gymnasium. Her head on a swivel, she turned each time she thought she heard a sound beyond the doors.
“The hell are they,” she muttered under her breath. With a quick check, she tucked away the wisps of brown hair that flew out from behind her ears. The sheen of sweat helped, but not much.
On instinct, she checked her wrist, but for at least thirty days now it'd not worked. The Electromagnetic burst that fried all tech was still something to get used to amidst the looting, the riots, and the general disorder that a stone-age world presented amidst the backdrop of the modern one they'd lost.
All she could hope for was that one, at least one of her friends remembered. _Otherwise I'm shit out of luck._
The familiar “thwap” of the gyms metal handle smacking the door sounded and the creak followed. A light shone out from a headlamp, blinding Jill. She flipped out her Amazon Prime delivered retractable walking stick and brandished it like the baton she wished it was.
“Who is it?” she barked, feigning strength.
“Shit, that you Jill?” The deep tones were unfamiliar, a voice she couldn't quite place until once-tiny, now brawny, Wayne Cooper redirected his light. Over his shoulder, he held a baseball bat, aluminum and dented, in arms that looked the size of her thighs.
“Holy shit, you filled out.” Jill laughed and retracted her walking stick. “And I can't believe you showed up.”
“It's why you came here, right? Strength in numbers, that what we said?”
She nodded and huffed out an awkward breath. “So...” A heavily weighted moment of pause birthed space between them while Wayne walked on up. “How about that technological apocalypse!”
“Yup, you haven't changed all that much.” Wayne laughed. The same laugh, though about an octave and half lower than she remembered. And boy, had he gotten tall. The short-skinny kid who couldn't make the baseball team definitely turned it around. Not half bad looking either. Grew into his nose.
“Kinda puts you in a shit position don't it. If you, uh, kept to the plan.” His voice pitched up like it was a question.
“Yeah, shit luck that, huh. Spend fifteen years in telecommunications and get made absolutely useless in a single moment. Real great. Kinda makes this whole, arrangement thing a godsend and all that education and debt pointless!”
He nodded sagely as he towered over her. Where Wayne grew out and up, Jill had slighten-ed, if that were a thing. Less girth would be more accurate, but she was still dealing with image issues that he word shouldn't be the first to come to mind. But it did.
“I heard you were doing alright. Guess the deal worked in your favour?”
Jill shrugged. “I mean, yeah. Kinda weird when you think about it. Apocalypse pact and suddenly life has a direction.” She looked him up and down a moment and if she didn't know any better he was blushing. “did you become a baseball player?”
“Nah, personal trainer and coaching little league. I guess I kinda took it to heart too.”
Before he finished speaking the door at the other end of the dark and squeaking gym opened, softer than when Wayne had attacked it.
“SUP BITCHES!” Carly Schimek hollered like she was still fifteen and her voice boomed against the walls. “Your pep overlord is here and ready to CHEER!” Behind her, she dragged a kid's red wagon piled high with bags and a firm plastic bin.
“Oh hell, Carly?” Wayne perked up and jogged over to her. Like they hadn't aged a day that crush he had on the outcast cheerleader lit his cheek and Jill smirked to herself. _Twenty years and the end times apparently don't mean a damn thing when it came to puppy love._
“Oh my god, Wayne. You got hot.”
Apparently Carly still has no filter.
Jill made her way over and despite the impending doom just beyond the doors, the little reunion was kicking off to a great start. Loads of chatter, talk about work, significant others which all tree managed to avoid. It was all blissfully normal and for a while, Jill found herself smiling.
“Okay, so as promised- because a good friend _never_ forgets a promise, I've got jerky for years, water purification tablets, jetboil, dried beans and SPAM. So much, fucking, SPAM. And once society is, you know, back to normal, if we ever get back to normal, I'm giving you guys a bill for the years of storage for this shit in my closet. Do you know how valuable closet space is in the city? I mean, I could have housed a random family of four and been paid 500 bucks a month for the space this shit took up.” Through the whole rant, Carly barely took a breath.
“I should have offered up my closet to you,” Jill half-joked. “All I had was a bunch of radio equipment and that's, well...” She wasn't getting tired of saying “useless” but there wasn't much of a better word for it so she just let it hang there. Still, she'd carted the gear in her backpack, along with a few basic supplies. Oh, and her extendable walking stick. Couldn't forget that.
“So, I know we have this pact and yeah, I'm kinda glad I'm not the only crazy one who showed up with a wagon full of survivalist food, but... where do we go from here? We covered the brawn-” she looked on Wayne almost hungrily with a not so subtle wink. “Tech.” When Carly looked to Jill she winced.
“Yup, all that good it did me.”
“Marty didn't show. He was the plan.” Wayne sounded disappointed and Jill hated to admit it, so was she.
“He won't,” Jill said with a sigh and both Wayne and Carly avoided her eyes. “Believe me, if I knew him at all, I'd guess he's on the other side of the world by now.” She was glad neither pressed her for more details, and she was sure they wouldn't after the social media disaster their breakup had been. A bad dinner with the parents followed by a drunken night. A few impolite words. A poorly timed video. A viral send off and a meme to top it as a cheery.
Yeah, the breakup, hadn't been good for them.
(Continued in below comment - this got too long for reddit apparently!!))
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I HAZ SUB! I writ there and other writing-related stuff /r/leebeewilly
Edit: Minor edits for typos... they become so glaring when you go back and read.
| 2020-08-26T10:18:48 | 2020-08-26T07:58:16 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] You live in a house infested with ghosts, but with the years you got used to them and their tricks, like the blood in the sink, hair in the walls, whispers at night, laughing children, etc. This weekend you have friends coming over and turns out that being used to ghost isn't normal.
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Teresa showed up first, and I encouraged her to put her wine in the fridge. I sat in my living room, waiting for the others to arrive, when I heard her terrified scream.
"What is it?" I called, bolting over to the kitchen.
She stood before the open refrigerator, frozen with shock, with horror, the wine bottle dangling from her hand. On the shelves of my fridge sat four human heads. Pale. Bloodless. Their dim eyes open. They seemed to be staring at the poor girl.
"Ah, shit," I said, gently touching her back. "A quartet of heads. That's one way to get things rolling. I told you my house was. . .peculiar. This is kinda what I meant."
Teresa was hyperventilating, huffing herself lightheaded as she stared at the dead heads, which seemed to be staring back. I deftly took the bottle from her hand. Just it time, as it happened, because one of the severed heads blinked and smiled a ghastly, rotten smile. Teresa gasped and stumbled back.
"They're. . .they're. . ."
"Illusions," I said, plunging my hand into the fridge and waving it through the apparitions. I placed the bottle on the shelf, right in the centre of the smiling phantom's noggin.
"Hey now!" snapped the head with a low, gravelly voice. "This spot is taken!"
"My fridge isn't for severed heads," I stated. "You promised to play nice. But now you've scared the soul straight out of my friend."
"She's a shy one, eh?" he asked, licking his decayed lips. "All hot and bothered at the sight of a handsome face." The grotesque apparition leered, as if waiting for a response. "Girls these days. They don't know how to flirt. But cooler heads always prevail. And I'm refrigerated, so leave leading to me. . .Hmm. . .You got quite the body, little missy. I'd like to get inside it. To possess it, if you know what I mean." He winked.
"You're a creep," I said.
"Apologies," he rejoined. "But you know what they say: *in vino veritas,* and this wine went straight to my head."
I turned to Teresa, who stood pale and wide-eyed a few feet back, still hypnotized with horror. "Malvo's a spooker," I admitted. "That's his name. But once you get past the jump scares, he's totally harmless. Though his antics get tiresome. And his *constant bad behaviour*. Feel free curse him however you see fit."
Teresa stammered some gibberish. It sounded like she tried to say *freaky*, but only managed to whimper, "Free."
"Finally!" howled the four heads in unison. They began growing, larger and larger. "The fabled word that breaks our chains! The young lady has freed us! And now we may wreak destruction upon mankind, unchecked!" The heads were so large now that they took up the whole corner of the kitchen. The lights flickered. The windows opened and a wind rushed through the kitchen, ferrying loose papers into the air. "Thanks to you, Teresa," the heads droned, "and thanks to the forbidden charm you uttered, we may now run wild, haunting and terrorizing! We may now destroy the world!"
The poor girl! I could see the guilt rising to mingle with her abject and uncomprehending terror. "He's joking," I assured her. "He's full of hot air. Don't pay him any mind. He thrives on attention. Close your eyes."
Teresa shut her eyes like a child who believes bad things disappear so long as she can't see them. The heads disappeared. The loose papers came fluttering down to rest on the counter, the floor.
"Dickhead," I grumbled, shutting the fridge.
The doorbell rang. The other guests had arrived.
<><><>
**Part 2!**
[https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/owtg7s/the\_ghosts\_and\_the\_gang\_parts\_1\_and\_2/](https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/owtg7s/the_ghosts_and_the_gang_parts_1_and_2/)
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Thank you so much for this prompt! Hope you enjoy!
Jenny carefully handed out blindfolds to her three friends. She planned this out for days. If they can get past the thing on the stairs they'll be safe in the basement until morning. If we're blindfolded we can't see it and if we move fast enough it can't grab us.
"What," protested Katy, "is this?" Her look of concern was quickly becoming a frown. She stood in front of two other girls, all of which held festively colored overnight bags in different shades of baby blue, pink, or purple and with designer names on them. Katy, being the oldest and tallest, naturally took on a leadership role that no one questioned.
Jenny felt apprehensive about all this and hoped the other girls couldn't sense her emotional distress. She felt so nervous like right before a math final or when she and her mom were waiting for the doctor's test results last year.
"Its just a umm fun game. When we go down the stairs to the basement we'll go down blindfolded and we'll take them off when we're in the TV room," she explained careful to sound fun but knowing her girlfriends are smart enough to see through it, but perhaps too kind to say anything. She sensed concern, "No one's here! My dad is out until later and its just us and the cats, I swear."
The girls let down their collective guard. "Oh ok, I guess this is fun," said Katy playing dumb and giving a concerned look to the other two girls behind her.
"You go first," Katy said with an exaggerated smile and the cheery voice of someone doing something they hate but unable to express it without social reprisal. "Go, go, go," she giggled and other girls joined the chant.
Jenny smiled. Happy that they listened, she started walking down the basement stairs only to hear the door behind her slam shut. Then some giggles escaped behind it and then she heard something that chilled her to her bones: the lock mechanism sliding to locked.
"Now you're blind and locked in the scary basement not us," shouted Katy, her voice muffled through the thick wood of the basement door. Samantha behind her voiced a concern tone, but the exact words were unintelligible to Jenny.
Jenny waited for the familiar cold hand to touch her shoulder or mockingly try to strangle her. But nothing. She waited for the sound of sobbing or swearing. Nope. She waited for the voice impersonating her mother that only said awful things. Nope nothing. Cautiously she went back up the stairs.
"Come on, ladies. Can you open the door now please," she asked trying not to sound like she was pleading. She knew how to hide fear now.
She waited, heard nothing in reply, and turned the knob and found the door was unlocked. She quickly took off her blindfold to see no one was waiting for her with a jump scare or anything. In fact, the first floor of the house was perfectly deserted except for one of the cats sitting on the dining room table staring down the darkness of the basement stairs, his eyes locked onto things humans simply can't see. Jenny patted Chester's furry head and said, "I know little guy, its ok, I'll shut the door for you." 'Click,' the latch said as she gently closed the door to Chester's meowing approval.
"Hey, where'd ya'll go," she shouted and then heard a loud, but muffled reply from upstairs. Jenny stood for a moment before catching her breath and yelled back, "I'll be up in a moment!"
She ran up the stairs scared to find out what happened or what the other girls may have seen. She didn't need a reputation of living in a haunted house or anymore gossip about her. Being a teenage girl was hard enough without adding a haunting to the mix. Especially one at a sleepover!
The three girls were laying around on the couches in the upstairs den looking settled and watching television with Chester, who was comfortably sitting between Samantha and Trudy, just out of petting rang. "Oh, your dad saw us downstairs and led us up here and....sorry about the prank earlier, we were just trying to get this spooky sleepover started," she apologized semi-sincerely and with a wry smile. "It was Katy's idea anyway," said Samantha, who wouldn't let this sleepover sully her good girl reputation. Katy gave her a look for a moment. Samantha rolled her eyes.
"Oh yeah my dad, he must have come home early, I'll go check on him," Jenny stammered and went towards her dad's bedroom. She was about to put her hand on the door knob, but heard an urgent meow from Chester behind her. She pulled back her hand without thinking from his distraction. Something dawned on her. She paused for a moment and texted her dad on her phone. "Dad are you home yet," she asked. A moment later, "Nope, not for another couple hours sweetie, hope you girls are having a good time." She looked at the door knob for a moment watching it turn by itself back and forth. She instantly shivered, but calmed herself, and shrugged. Just another ghost trick she thought to herself. It can't hurt you, she thought to herself. Everything is ok, she thought to herself.
She walked back to the den, paused, dropped her phone onto the aging hardwood floors, and screamed. "What, no, my god, why?" The three girls were laying on the ground, in a crimson puddle of their own blood with their throats neatly sliced. "Oh god, oh god," she said as a still pumping artery on Samantha's near-lifeless body sprayed Jenny's face with fresh blood. She wiped the blood off with her hand, standing there, not believing this was happening.
She then felt sudden and intense vertigo and was in total blackness, and about to fall over. She reached out and grabbed a railing she wasn't sure was even there. She tried to balanced herself, which was difficult because her heart was racing, her hands so sweaty they felt wet (or was it blood), and she somehow managed to center herself without falling. Oh god where am I? Why can't I see? She grabbed at her face to wipe off the blood that was surely there, but it was dry, and felt an unfamiliar cloth over her eyes. She tore off the blindfold and ran up the stairs.
"Open this door, right now," she said pounding it as hard as she could. Her voice raised an octave higher than usual and about to go into a panic.
"Alright, alright Jen, don't axe murder us, it was just a joke," Katy said and she unlocked the basement door. "What happened down there? You were only gone for like five seconds."
Jenny composed herself and saw a future where she'd be mocked for being childish, scared, and having a haunted house for the rest of her high school career, perhaps the rest of her life. She looked up and saw Chester on the dining room table again, giving her a knowing look and a comforting sounding meow. She took a deep breath. "Oh, just nothing, I'm a little claustrophobic, that's all, and the blindfold got to me a bit and I was afraid I'd step on Chester."
Katy and the other girls shrugged. "Aww, Chester," said Trudy, piping up for the first time tonight. "You. Are. So. Loved," she said with emphasis on each word and scratched behind his ears. "You're our brave knight in armor protecting us fair damsels," she giggled. Chester, now annoyed, jumped off the table and confidently strutted to the living room.
"He is a brave little boy," exclaimed Jenny almost coquettishly. "So anyway, what do you think about moving the sleepover to your place. My just dad texted and said he won't be coming home tonight and we can't be unsupervised all night."
Samantha quickly pulled out her phone, typed a bit, waited a moment and said, "My mom says its ok, we can go to my place." Jenny smiled. She always liked Samantha and considered her a proper friend.
Thank you god, Jenny mouthed to no one in particular when the other girls weren't turned to pick up their colorful bags. In the corner of her eye, she saw her dad standing in the kitchen with a large and sharp looking knife in his hand. 'You're welcome,' he mouthed back silently with a grin and made a throat-slit motion with his free hand as the girls walked out the front door. Jenny slammed the door hard and locked it from the outside. She whispered "screw you, I'm not letting you ruin this sleepover you creep," to the door before walking away. She paused and added, "Be safe Chester, dad will be there soon and I'll see you in the morning." She smiled and waved goodbye to Chester, who was curiously watching out the living room window, and chased after her friends.
| 2021-08-02T15:22:45 | 2021-08-02T13:22:27 | 892 | 81 |
[WP] You live in a house infested with ghosts, but with the years you got used to them and their tricks, like the blood in the sink, hair in the walls, whispers at night, laughing children, etc. This weekend you have friends coming over and turns out that being used to ghost isn't normal.
|
"GET OOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUT!"
I rolled my eyes. "Ezekiel, I already told you, they're coming here to watch the fight this week."
The booming, rumbling voice that emanated from the dark opening to the basement went silent for a moment. Then a low groan came from the same open doorway, followed by another haunting wail.
"GET TOOOOOOOOSTIIIIIIITOOOOOOOOOS!"
"Fine, I'll get Tostitos. You want chunky salsa or salsa con queso?" I yelled down the stairs as I wiped the countertop in the kitchen.
"We want guacamole."
I turned, this time recognizing the sound of the twins. I pinpointed them vaguely 19th century-ish and about nine years old, one boy and one girl. The boy, John Mark, held his head in his hands as it had been unceremoniously severed in what I think was a horse-drawn carriage accident. The girl, Alice, was pudgy and blue, not because of being overweight but because she had bloated from the drowning her mother put her through in grief over her son.
I patted John Mark's head (or at least, vaguely waved my hand through what would be the crown of his hair had it been corporeal). "You're going to finish it all this time, right? You know it gets all brown and gross when you let it sit out."
Their voice came from a single point in space that was both inside my head and also a mile away in faint reverberation.
"We promise!"
"Okay, write it on the shopping list and I'll text the guys to pick some up when they hit the store on the way over."
I looked over at the refrigerator and watched as crimson red writing began to appear on the dry erase board. It wasn't marker, mind you, but they had gotten a lot better at controlling dripping. It was getting hard to explain to the garbage man why there were so many bloodstained kitchen rugs in the trash.
Suddenly, the doors of the pantry began swinging and slamming wildly as an inexplicable wind poured out of it. I stepped around the counter and walked over to the pantry, my hair whipping around my forehead. The moment I placed my hand on the pantry door, it stopped moving and the wind disappeared. "Good catch, you guys! I didn't stock back up on paper plates and cups after New Year's. Appreciate the reminder."
I walked over to the oven to check on the appetizers I had put in earlier. I hit the button for the oven light and a flame-red glow illuminated the kitchen as the chanting voice of a demonic horde flooded the kitchen.
"Into the bowels of hell I shall drag thee! The flames shall lap at your feet and your--"
"Hey, Aztaraphel, come on, do you mind? You're gonna burn the spring rolls!"
"Oh," came the reply of the inhuman chanting. "Sorry, Jeff. Forgot tonight was party night. Hey, you gonna do pizza tonight? I can get the pizza stone warmed up for you."
"Good looking out, dude, but we're ordering in. Wings from that new wing joint over next to that tire place."
"Sounds good. Let me know if you need anything. Spring rolls have got another five minutes or so."
I nodded and went into the living room. As I turned on flat screen in my living room, a haze of static covered the screen. In moments, the static appeared to stretch out toward me, forming the shape of a pair of claws reaching, grasping at me. I took out my wallet and pulled the fifty out, placing it in the right-hand claw. The left hand formed a thumbs-up and the claws withdrew back into the static of the screen. In a moment, the screen snapped to live TV and a little popup indicated "UFC 310 has been purchased."
From the hallway, I heard a shout. "Jeff, dude! You better get in here! The spring rolls, like your chances of escape from the eternal pit of damnation, are done!"
|
The thunderstorm outside grew heavy, they were already late for the sleepover and this would make them even later, but Jennifer was used to being patient, she had practice over the years waiting for the zombies to clear out everytime she tried to water the plants out the backdoor of the manor.
The zombies weren't always there, through years of the manor being haunted by spirits and ghosts, Jennifer wasn't the only one living the house. "living" figuratively because most of what inhabited the manor- wasn't necessarily alive.
Giant arachnids, the weird slimey goop that sucks everything that touches it in the basement (very useful waste disposal system, people should honestly figure out how to transport it as an eco-friendly dustbin), the vampire bats that suck blood from whatever the rabid possum things are in the attic, the banshee in the 3rd floor bathroom (she likes the acoustics there but doesn't know that it's sound proofed because she's already burst her eardrums and can only feel the vibrations from all the marble).
Jennifer's thoughts are interrupted by louder than usual lightning and thunder follows soon, too soon, too loud. She rushes outside the manor into the rain to see her friend's car in a thorny mud ditch.
There were skid lines on the slick broken down road leading upto her house, and in the distance she could tell without being able to see anything, lightning had struck close. She looks in worry at her friends but immediately turns to look around to find what she thought was the culprit, but couldn't find it.
She shook it off and ran to help her friends out. About 15 minutes later everyone was covered in mud and thorns stuck to their clothes.
"How did you even swerve into a ditch anyway?" Jenny questions as she lifts bags weighing as much as the Eiffel tower with substantial ease.
Millie pulled out her phone and started moving it around in an effort to get bars,"My eardrums practically bled wih how loud the thunder was, it had to have been SO close, like town close. I'm worried about my mum and I WOULD call her but your reception is fucking shit. But yeah the noise scared Max and he swerved into the ditch."
"Relaxxx, it happens a lot, it's not a big deal, the lightning is just a show, doesn't do anything" Jenny said looking at the bushes of small white pointy flowers with yellow-blue centres.
"Yeah, Zeus's light show that just burns shit with like enough electricity to power New York for a week. I think." Max retorted.
Jenny laughed and shoved max, "Really? You know, good for you that's an interesting fact that I did NOT know, hard achievement"
"Mhm, sureee, keep telling yourself that then. What the fuck is that smell?" Max
"Oh shoot! yeah, I haven't cleaned the blood from the carpet yet just ignore it." Jenny says slightly pink from being embarrassed about not having cleaned her house properly.
"Wait what?! Oh yeah just IGNORE the amount of blood that's been casually lying ontop of my carpet. What the fuck?! How is there blood?!"
Millie looked slightly queasy at the sight of the massive shiny red liquid puddle on your carpet, her spine was stuck to the wall and her eyes had become huge, staring at the blood which was now all moving towards the centre of the puddle and then traveling upstream towards the ceilings. Millie's eyes continued to follow the blood up until it reached a part of the ceiling that was damp and red.
The celing seemed to suck up the blood and the carpet was just stained crimson.
"Sorry! Sorry! The upstairs Kerensky spirits don't really get accustomed to strangers quickly! The ones on the 2nd floor are MUCH better, trust me, just lemme-
Jenny throws the bags she was holding into still shaken up Millie's empty arms (except for the phone she was clutching like a crucifix)
Jenny grabs a candle from the holders that were all scattered through every hallway of the house.
She had already lit the ones on the ground floor in preparation for her friends, she couldn't do the other floors even if she tried because the ghosts on those floors didn't particularly have the same opinion as Jenny to the concept of light.
She held the candle at an angle and poured the wax on the damp carpet and pushed the butt of the candle into the malleable wax.
She left the candle as it now stood up by itself without falling and like muscle memory she put out the candle with her bare fingers and rubbed her fingers against the ashy wick.
She grabbed a vial of the green-yellow water in her pocket and pulled the cork out forcefully.
She got off the carpet and went upto Max with the candle.
"Open your mouth."
"Wha-
Jenny flicked the ash on her fingers into his mouth and then forced the green-yellow liquid into his eyes and a drop into his mouth.
"Swallow it, it burns for a second but it's your only choice."
Max gags and hold his fingers to his eyes furiously rubbing it.
"MY EYES ARE ON FIRE AND MY THROAT TASTES LIKE ROTTEN- PISS FLESH!"
Jenny rolls her eyes, "It's literally not even that bad, shut up" she laughs.
You turn to Millie who's just staring at you like you're crazy.
"What is wrong with you? What the fuck was that?!"
"Protection, the spirits on this floor are weak, constantly exposed to light, impatient for human blood and can't think of anything than the taste of your flesh. The ones on the other floors are sadistic, cunning ghosts who will hunt you down but will make sure you suffer before they can kill you. They drive you to insanity because that's when your brain is 'marinated' you won't survive without the protection-
"YOU'RE RIGHT!! YOU'RE INSANE! You've driven us to- seeing things- seeing things that don't think exist! This place is cursed!! The air is cursed- YOU! YOU ARE CURSED! You're HIGH! You're an- an addict and- ewgh...
Millie gags and spits blood, her eyes are bloodshot. She coughs up more blood and stops.
She stares at Jenny in horror, she speaks softly in a croaking voice.
...what is wrong with you?"
Jenny's voice is soft and hurt.
"Its- it's not that big of deal- I just, I'm sorry- I'm just used to it I guess-
Jenny breaks down and tears stream her cheeks slowly, she hears a voice behind her.
"This is not normal, you can't act as if this- all of this is... Jen you can't get USED to a haunted house. Used to hearing the sound of nails scratching against a wall, desperate to get out, every. single. day. Living with monsters who want to- taste your blood?!"
"Max, you don't understand-
"I don't think I need to- Mil and I are leaving, screw you for ever putting our lives in the same position as yours."
Jenny can hear Max get up, he doesn't make eye contact with her, he grabs Millie's unconscious body and carries it gently leaving her life.
Jenny doesn't hear his footsteps on the carpet anymore, she doesn't want to, her world comes crashing down and her senses seem to enter a state of complete heightened unconscious limbo. She sees colours dancing in her mind like a tunnel and noises, the constant noises amplified a thousand times.
The scratching, the screaming, the laughs, everything that seemed normal and everyday before just worsened tenfold.
But then it all stops.
She gets back to her sense, the bloody carpet, the dark but lit up hallway, the feeling on the wax and ash on her hand and the smell of the blood and rotten piss flesh.
The sound of the back door.
"No, no no."
Jenny gets up and starts sprinting towards the direction of the sound, but time seems to slow her down. The voices, the ghosts taunting her.
But then she sees him, his brown curls and Millie's Blonde lockes, both pulled out of their scalp and their hands bitten with marks of the zombie's teeth. Their skin was slowly turning yellow from around the marks as the infection would soon get to their brains.
"Fucking fantastic, I'll have to wait even longer to water the dahlias now."
| 2021-08-03T09:43:47 | 2021-08-02T16:19:50 | 580 | 10 |
[WP] You have a necrotic touch. As such, you cover yourself completely, using the excuse that light of any type hurts you. After years of roaming the lands, you find a peaceful village of farmers that accepts your condition without question and settle down. And then the raiders come.
|
The dust finally settled. The peaceful human village by the foot of the mountain just survived another nightmare as the mountain orcs left the place in ruins.
A young farmer named Roman stepped out from his hiding place in his hut which barely hanging on to its clay brick walls. Outside, witnessing the carnage the orcs made, Roman was in despair like many other in the small settlement.
One by one he noticed the faces of his fellow villagers, sighing in relief of their survival. But one face he couldn't spot which sent him to a panic attack.
"Has anyone seen Nero?!", he asked frantically. Unfortunately nobody knew what became of the missing man.
The stranger who called himself Nero turned up at the small settlement no longer than a month previous. Draped from head to toe with black cloth, cloaking himself fully despite the sweltering sun above, exhausted, thirsty, starving, and dejected.
Unwilling to turn him away, the kind-hearted people of the village knew better what being down on their luck felt like so they happily accepted Nero and treated him like one of their own.
Worried, Roman ran to Nero's hut, desperately looking for the man whom he had considered his friend only to be met by an empty house.
Looking around, Nero was nowhere to be found. There was nothing suspicious but a parchment paper laid open on the bed with writings on it.
Curious, Roman brought it towards a candlelight and he began to read...
*Dear Roman,*
*I sincerely hoped you would find this letter as this would be my last message to you and the people of this wonderful village.*
*If you are reading this, then I would most probably be dead. But don't be sad, I meant to do it as a gesture of my greatest appreciation towards you all.*
*You might be confused now on what I am talking about so let me explain from the very beginning...*
*As a young man I grew up with a curse. From where I got this curse I had no idea. I couldn't ask my parents as they cast me away due to it.*
*My burden was a curse of death touch...*
*Everything I touch would be taken by darkness. Losing their life force, turning black as the night. Flesh became rotten, green became black, living became dead.*
*As you can imagine, living normally was out of the question. I was thrown away, rejected by everyone. They saw me as a harbinger of death. Heck, I saw myself as one...*
*I was ready to throw away my life, wandering around, being extremely careful, always anxious, and conscious on what and where I laid my bare skin on.*
*That was why I showed up that one afternoon all covered up, Roman. No, it's not light that hurt me. I simply didn't want to touch and hurt anyone else.*
*I was ready to be kicked out like many other places I had found myself stranded on. But to my surprise, you all accepted me without question.*
*Of course I had to keep my curse a secret, but you all never question my strange condition. You all treated me with the most kindness I've ever experienced in my life. You all treated me normally, giving me food, helping me, giving me smiles every morning. For the first time in my life...I wanted to keep on going living.*
*That is until that first night of the raid. I've never felt that terrified in my life when the mountain orcs attacked. But above my fear, I felt extreme sadness.*
*Seeing you all looking so in despair and afraid broke my heart. This suffering, you all did not deserve it. It was unfair!*
*So Roman, it took me many nights but I finally decided. If there was one good thing I could do in my life was to help you all, even at the cost of my own life.*
*Next time the raid comes, when you all hide in fear, I would for the first and last time in my life stand tall and embrace this curse of mine.*
*I would come out, face them, and offer these hideous orcs myself to be taken. These cannibalistic monsters wouldn't be a problem anymore for you guys.*
*Live a good life, my friend.*
*From your friend, Nero.*
r/HangryWritey
Edit: a word
|
The way I'm looking right now, especially in the blazing heat of this desert, anyone would think I'm crazy. Dressed in black robes and other clothes from head to toe, I have to admit that I did indeed want to remove my hood at least. But I can't risk it.
I spot an oasis nearby, and I can be sure it wasn't a mirage this time. There was a palm tree as well, and crystal clear water right beside it. Standing on a dune above it I could also tell some other structures there, but I couldn't exactly tell what they were. I instead focused on reaching the oasis. As I trudged carefully down the slope, I tripped over something. As I got up I saw that it was a dead rattlesnake. I also saw that my gloves were slipping out of my hand, exposing part of my wrist. I quickly fixed it and made my way to the oasis.
First off, I took out my leather pouch and filled it up with water and drank some of it. Now that I wasn't so parched, I used some of my energy to kick the tree, and a cascade of fruits fell down from it. I picked them up and hurriedly ate them, and then sat on the sand, thinking about whether I should head North this time or East. It didn't really matter all that much, since I wasn't really welcome anywhere. Not with my condition.
My eyes fell on the strange structures I had seen from above the dune again. They seemed to be made of sandstone, and what seemed like wet sand. Some of the structures were colourful, while others were hardly visible, what with them being so perfectly camouflaged in the sand around them. As I looked around, I realized this wasn't just a small area where I could find these structures, they were everywhere as far as I could see. I walked a little on the crude path and saw an area enclosed by fences. There was greenery, however scarce it might have been, but it was greenery alright. There were more of the trees I had seen, as well as some others, and all of the ares enclosed by fences contained camels, all except the one right in front of me. In short, I had found a village. Perhaps an abandoned one. I cursed my bad luck.
"Who are you?"
I jumped as I heard the gruff sound of a man, probably in his 30s or 40s, and turned back to look at him. He did indeed look like he was 30, and wore minimal clothing in white, and some gold jewellery. He carried a knife in an ornate sheath tied to his belt, and was quite fat. He was also balding, and had quite dark skin. He spoke in fluent Arabic, something which I too had picked up while exploring the world.
"Just a traveller roaming the world," I said, in Arabic as well, which seemed to relieve some of his tension.
"Oh, good," he replied, and added after a break, "You'll do. Come with me, now, and fast. We don't have much time."
He grabbed my hand and started pulling me with him. However, my glove came off, revealing my withered hand, and I just stood there, tried to hide my hand in robes.
"What's with your hand?" He asked, looking at my loves to my revealed hand. "And why are you dressed like you just came from the North? Aren't you sweltering?"
"Oh, it's nothing like that," I replied, as I took my glove back with my other hand and quickly put it on, "I'm just extremely sensitive to light. I have to cover myself up so I don't get burned up, you know."
It seemed like he understood, which was a relief for me. "Ah, so you too have photophobia. Don't worry, we'll be able to fix that soon. But for now, you must come with me."
I followed him as he began to walk. "Where exactly are you taking me to, though? This isn't a ritual where I'm a sacrifice, is it?"
"No, it's nothing like that," he said, his face solemn, "We're being attacked by the enemy, and we need all the help we can get. All of our men have been dwindling ever since they came here with thousands of snakes."
"Well, what's in it for me?" I asked, 'It's not like I'm fighting for my life here, and besides,' I said, as I begin to increase to distance between him and myself, "I could just walk away..."
"Please don't do that. We really need help, and if you can help us, we promise we'll provide with anything you ask for."
"Really? Even a place to stay? I've been travelling too long, and I really need to settle down now. Tell you what, I'll drive the enemy away and kill all the snakes as well if you just let me stay here."
"That's it? No gold, money, or anything else? Of course we can do that."
"Fair enough," I said, as I walked closer to him.
As we neared the battle going on, I realized how bad the situation was. Men were cowering behind miscellaneous items big enough to cover them, only to be decapitated by a sharp sword or poisoned by a rattle snake. Apparently the village that was attacking them had learned to domesticate rattlesnakes and other poisonous snakes, and had quite a lot of newer tricks up their sleeves as well, considering that the men brave enough to run straightforwards towards them could barely be able to tell where they were being attacked from. That or they were just plain stupid. The man besides me was gone; he had gone to hide behind a pile of sandstone bricks.
"Grab a sword from there and find cover!" he shouted at me, but I ignored him.
"Won't be needing it," I said, as I took off my gloves. As he stared in dazed surprise and horror, I bent down and picked up quite a lot of dead rattlesnakes. I counted them as I picked them up, and removed the dead snakes holding on to my legs and hands. As I picked up a bunch big enough to not fit in my hand anymore, I threw them at an incoming raider. Surprised, he fell down from his camel, and I rushed to help him up. It was of no use though, as he was dead the moment I turned him over to pick him up. The camel too, as I petted it. Without thinking, I grabbed another dead rider off of his camel, and lay him down on the ground besides the other man.
By now, almost everyone had stopped what they were doing and were just observing me quietly picking up dead carcasses from the ground. I picked another dead man off of his camel, who seemed to have died of shock.
I put my gloves back on. I then looked at the raiders who were left, who looked at me back, fear clearly visible in their eyes. Several moments went like this, until someone screamed.
"It's *Al-Masih ad-Dajjal*!"
Similar cries rose up as both raiders and the raided sprang up and ran in all directions. I just let out a small chuckle as I watched the chaos.
The man who had accompanied me a little earlier slowly walked up to me, and meekly asked if it was true.
"Dude, I'm not a mythological creature," I said, almost jokingly, "I told you, I'm just a traveller travelling the world."
"What about all those dead snakes and the dead men then? You just touched them and they died!" He squeaked, quivering.
"I- uhm, about that..." I said, looking to my left, "It's just that- I know something's dead when I see it. Those men were killed by- you know- the snakes, and the snakes were so warm they were cooked from the inside."
"...oh." Realization dawned upon his face, and he ran towards his men to regroup them. I, meanwhile, let out a breath of relief, knowing that my identity here was at least safe. I really didn't want people to know the truth about me, and then believe I was the Anti-Christ or something.
Not that I had now found a place to stay, at least.
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Hey there, it's me, the regenerating degenerate (stylized Regenerating\_Degen), and I'm just a writer for fun. There's no links you can go to check out my work. Instead, you could just go to my profile, I guess, if you want to read more of my work.
Thanks for reading.
| 2021-09-18T04:31:59 | 2021-09-18T03:48:22 | 202 | 134 |
[WP] There once was a legendary mage whose lack of a max mana cap allowed for slow but powerful spells that laid waste upon the land. After the unification of the races, their leaders have come to negotiate with the living catastrophe who hasn't cast a spell in centuries.
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They stood before me, their expressions mixed. The human looked at me with suspicion, his hand by his belt; I was sure he was hiding at least several knives. The dwarf, stoic as always, seemed prepared for the worst disappointment. Wise. The elf mustered enough manners to fake a smile. Nice of her.
"Cut to the chase," I started suddenly. "I don't have all day."
"Alright then," the human replied. Of course he'd be the cocky one. "Your reputation precedes you. We know what you can *do*. But we know that you haven't *done* anything in a *very* long time and we're..." he opened his mouth but failed to finish the sentence.
"Worried," the dwarf said. Efficient use of words - I liked that about dwarves.
"Ah," I said with a faint smile and tilted my head to the side. "You're worried about me making some sort of cataclysmic spell, aren't you? Something to turn the skies blood-red and upturn the earth itself?"
The three emissaries looked at one another nervously.
"Well," I said with a fiendish whisper, "you got one thing right. I have been saving my mana this entire time. An amount..." I slowed down and reflected, "you'd not believe."
"Look, the Three Kingdoms are unified," the elf pleaded. "We have peace. Actual, proper peace. "Surely even you know what peace feels like? Surely you cherish it as much as we do?"
"There was a time I did not peace, no. And-"
**\*Crash\***
The door to the hall opened suddenly with a loud bang - the diplomats all jumped. The human, as if by miracle, produced two daggers in his hands and stood ready for a fight. The elf took a water-stance, prepared to cast disabling magic. The dwarf stood perfectly still. He only turned his head.
"Daddy!"
The diplomats stared with awe as a little girl in a frilly dress ran to me, paying no attention to the three weirdos in my hall, and hugged my legs tightly. I bent over and hugged her back. The sound of footsteps drew out combined attention to the door just as a beautiful woman, ashen hair and emanating elegance, walked in.
"I told you to wait for me Es," she said cheerfully. The little girl only giggled.
"Look what I found!" Es said proudly as showed me her newest treasure - her smile so wide you could see the gap in her teeth where her tooth fell out.
"Oh wow!" I said with amazement as I took the precious items from her tiny hands. "An acorn!"
"Isn't it pretty daddy?"
"It sure is pumpkin. What a pretty... wow..." I trailed off, eyes fixed on the beautiful acorn.
"Listen, Mel," I turned to the ashen haired woman, "I've got a bit of business to finish up here. Why don't you go wash up? I'll summon us some pasta."
She only smiled and kissed me on the cheek before grabbing the girl's hand and leaving.
The diplomats kept staring at them, as if expecting them to turn into monsters. The elf, ever vigilant and hawk-eyed, noticed the scar on the woman's chest. It was large, deep. A javelin.
And right above her heart.
The girl and the woman left the hall and I was once again alone with the trio.
"Really?" the human said with a mixture of condescension and surprise.
"Really," I said softly. "Centuries worth of mana. I needed it. Needed it to bring..." I couldn't bear to finish the words. "Well," I only said and smiled gently.
"Your kingdoms are safe," I said with renewed vigour. Though their looks remained uneasy, there was a palpable air of relief in the room.
I took my cloak off and laid it carefully on the dusty throne. Deep breath, in... and out. I stepped down from the throne and walked in the direction of my wife and daughter.
"There was a time I did not know peace," I said softly as I walked away from the emissaries.
"But now I do."
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 5: Archmagus LeFey v.s. The Sunrise King)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**The last time the Sunrise King had cast a spell, he had raised a second sun over his kingdom.** The immortal mage had seemed content enough to sit on his laurels for a century or three after that, ruling over the Sunrise Kingdom and rolling in riches, the ever-burning second sun a reminder of his immortality and power. And if that was all he had done, perhaps the citizens he ruled over would have let him be.
But the Sunrise King had ambitions greater than lording over a single kingdom. He drained the wealth of his citizens, raised great armies to expand his kingdom, and on the eve of the day he was to send them out, some people had enough.
On the day the Sunrise King was to dawn over the world, three people stood in his way.
The Sunrise King wore a robe of darkest crimson, the eternal dawn that he had wrought shining like a halo above his head. Opposite him, resolutely glaring at the red-burning light, stood an old man, a woman, and a child.
"I have business to attend to," the Sunrise King finally said. "Move or be moved."
"We have grievances," the old man countered. "Grievances with the nation that you have built. We will not allow you to spread that rule across the globe."
The Sunrise King began walking forwards, as inevitable as the coming of dawn. "Make your case. You have until I reach you."
"*You killed my daughter,*" the woman suddenly hissed.
The old man turned to her, startled. "Junko, we agreed—"
"Screw negotiation, LeFey." Junko stormed towards the Sunrise King. "*You killed my daughter,* you callous freak."
The Sunrise King never slowed. "The light of the sun has turned forests into deserts—yet without it, the world would go dark. Casualties are inevitable in any competent rule."
"Competent?" Junko leapt at the Sunrise King—
Fast as the break of dawn, the Sunrise King caught her arm and hurled her back.
Luckily for her, Archmagus LeFey was already casting. "*Inertia Null,*" he snapped, letting Junko halt in mid-air. The Sunrise King kept walking—right up until LeFey held out a hand.
The Sunrise King tilted his head. "Archmagus," he said, a note of respect in his voice. "You cast well, for your age. But you are no match for the rising sun. I would hate to extinguish your craft from the world. Step aside."
Archmagus LeFey simply closed his eyes, then opened them again. "You have gone too far, Ikani." The Sunrise King raised an eyebrow as LeFey invoked a name he hadn't heard in years. So the rebel had done his research, at the very least. "I am sorry that it had to come to this."
"For every sunset, there is a sunrise," the Sunrise King agreed.
Then the two archmages met in light and fury.
"*Time Stop,*" Archmagus LeFey snapped. "*Astero's Atmospheric Barrier. Bubblebreath. Thousandfold Thoughts. Limited True Omniscience. Searing Heat. Barrier of—*"
"Did you think to stop time?" The archmagus *flinched* as the Sunrise King, unaffected, stepped *forwards* through the frozen world, through air that by all rights should have been as immovable as mountains, his red-billowing cloak impossibly still trailing behind him. "I am the *Sunrise King*. I move at the speed of dawn. You cannot slow light itself." The Sunrise King narrowed his eyes, realizing that the archmage was *still casting*. "Now *Burn*."
The single word rang with power—a basic spell, a simple wish, but one turbocharged with centuries of carefully hoarded mana. But LeFey had seen the spell coming even as the Sunrise King was still speaking, and a thousand tiny calculations played out in an instant. Negate it? No, it was impossible to fight against the Sunrise King power-for-power. Dodge it? Junko and the kid were still in the area—they'd get obliterated if he fled. Move the bystanders? He could, but it'd spend the few precious *Greater Teleport* spells he had prepared.
Move the attack?
Ah. There it was.
"*Spell Modification: Infinitesimal Casting. Greater Teleport, Destination: Nowhere.*" LeFey cast the two spells in quick succession—his inhumanly quick mind, boosted by the greatest magic he could conjure, targeted the motes of superheated gas as they arced towards him and yanked them out of existence, particle by particle. The Sunrise King wasn't standing still while LeFey was negating his opening strike, however.
"*Shine.*" Once more, the spell was simple. Once more, the spell was deadly. Sheer, pure radiance, moving at the speed of light, obliterated the first two layers of defense LeFey had set up and hammered away at the third. Even as his magics burned, LeFey quested out with his mind to sense his companions—luckily, the Sunrise King had chosen a focused beam, and none of it had struck them.
It was clear that LeFey was not a match for the Sunrise King on his own.
Fortunately, LeFey didn't have to be alone.
"*Spell Modification: Infinite Iteration. Perfect Matter Duplication.*" LeFey cast, targeting himself, and a geyser of LeFeys burst outwards, soaring into the sky, taking bystanders to safety—and firing every spell in the book at the Sunrise King.
"*Tsunami Strike.*"
"*Gale-Force Hurricane.*"
"*Volcanic Eruption.*"
"*Meteor Swarm.*"
Elemental devastation lashed out at the Sunrise King—water, wind, fire, earth—but they rippled through the Sunrise King like they were pebbles in a lake. The Sunrise King laughed.
"You seek to use the wrath of Earth on me? *I AM THE SUN. I AM BEYOND YOUR MORTAL WEAPONS.*" The Sunrise King began to levitate, and impossibly, the sun rose *with* him.
LeFey scowled. Then it was time. The greatest, most terrible spell he had ever known. The end of everything in fire and light. He held up a hand and spoke five words.
"*Wrath of a Trillion Stars.*"
Even the Sunrise King flinched as beams of starlight, astral radiance, unearthly, heavenly, pure, struck him from every angle, hot enough to melt stone into air and air into nothing, and LeFey watched grimly as the devastation reached a crescendo—
—and then winked out, like the first stars before dawn.
LeFey took a step back, horrified, as the Sunrise King wrestled with the stars—and *outshone* them. Because of course he would. That was what the sun did every day.
And he was the rising sun.
Licking his lips as if he'd just swallowed a full meal, the Sunrise King gave LeFey a satisfied look.
"Thank you for the challenge, young mage." The clones of LeFey desperately hurled all the mana they had left at the Sunrise King, but to no effect. "It has been an age and a half since I have had to exert myself so."
He settled down, landing on the blistered, vaporized ground, and dusted himself off, ignoring the spells still slinging his way. "But every dawn has a dusk. And I am afraid that you, too, must *Sunset.*"
LeFey's eyes widened as the spell sank into him, and though he fought it with every fiber of his being, it was as futile as lifting the stars. As his mind went dark and he lost consciousness, one thought still glimmered in his mind.
At least he'd saved his companions.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2022-05-04T09:46:24 | 2022-05-04T06:33:46 | 244 | 136 |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal.
|
Immortal - I've been thinking about it the last few months. That must be it, I'm immortal. It's a curse. Why? Because it does not come with invulnerability nor fast healing. Maybe not with healing at all, but how could I tell? I've been here since the day when someone should have known, but nobody did. I'm wondering how many more …
So what happened? Just a happy little accident at work, touching a wire that should be dead, that somehow was missed when we double-checked them … usually I'd have just pulled away my hand, but somehow this time my fingers just would not let go until my heart had stopped. The other guys were at a different part of the building, making noise. Still my body held tension for just long enough to make sure that it stopped working. Then I sank down and lay there for what seemed to be hours, fully aware and seeing through my eyes. I wasn't breathing and soon my muscles did stop obeying my commands at all. What else should it do without energy? It should do that!
Finally they found me and called an ambulance, but even though I could see them do their job, they found me dead. They drove me off in a bag after closing my eyes and shutting my mouth (thanks for that), put me in a freezer and left me there for some time. I felt my body hurt from the temperature, then slowly it started going numb.
When they held my funeral I could barely feel being moved, but i heard them. Some light fell through my closed eyelids, and when they opened, I could only see as if through fog. Should my eyes be decomposing? My brain should be, my ears should be!
They unzipped the bag, cut away my work clothes from the limbs that must have been attached below my head, then put new clothes there. Some makeup for my probably pale face and a short drive to the funeral. Some people cried, my family most certainly among them. I could only lay there and hear, thinking about crying out, thinking about crying with tears, too.
Now I'm still somehow alive, hearing and thinking. I think my mouth fell open. I sometimes hear things move nearby, probably rats gnawing at my body. The body that betrayed me by dying before me. Oh please gnaw away that brain that does not die, or maybe at least gnaw away my ears.
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Continued: https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert\_writing/comments/ujw35d/wp\_you\_are\_an\_immortal\_in\_the\_year\_of\_our\_lord/
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[https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert\_writing/](https://www.reddit.com/r/7eggert_writing/)
|
Ofttimes I'd find myself wondering how many years it had been since I first met him. I was out with some friends for a night at Steeples, the only gay bar you'd be able to find in our tiny little shit town back in the seventies. I'd had more than a few, and had sparked a conversation with a stranger - he was tall, with a gorgeous body and a shyness that could be construed as off-putting. He had asked if I'd wanted to go home with him, insisting that he had better booze at home. My gut told me no - there was something in his eyes; some vacant deadness that made me feel as though I was sinking through an infinite abyss towards oblivion when I looked in to them. My friends pushed and pushed me to do it, and I finally agreed. I hope they're doing well these days. I don't hold anything against them.
It wasn't until we got into his house that he introduced himself to me as Jeff. In practically the same breath, he handed me a glass of amber liquid, and I was too stupid to ask questions. He had dissolved enough Valium in the whiskey to knock out God. It wasn't until nearly morning where I woke up in his bed, swaddled in blankets and gently lain to sleep. I had an absolutely crushing headache, and I tried to wiggle free of the blankets to no avail.
"Jeff?" I called out into the night.
He grunted, turned over in the bed, and screamed. He leaped out of bed and grabbed a nearby liquor bottle and repeatedly bashed it against my head. On the second swing, the bottle shattered and sent glass shards flying across the bed. He continued swinging as hard as he could, opening the flesh on my face with the jagged edges of the bottle with increasing depth and frequency. Blood oozed from the wounds on my face, shifting around the remnants of the bottle that had lodged themselves in my cheek, forehead, and nose.
I woke up in the morning feeling pain-free, though disoriented. I tried to reach for my face, but my arms were abruptly cut short before they could reach their target. The clank of rattling metal accompanied a jolt that went throughout my shoulder, as I came-to and continued trying to pull my arms free of the chain-link binds. I was in a corner of the bedroom I had slept in the night before, attached to the wall by stainless steel chain to thick eye bolts that had been drilled into the studs in the wall. There was no breaking free of these no matter how much I struggled.
Jeff walked into the room playing hot potato with a bowl of oatmeal that had just come out of the microwave. He set the bowl on his nightstand while sliding a wooden chair across the floor and ate his breakfast, silently staring at me the entire time.
"Jeff?" I once again asked, although in a tone that you might say was whiny, "what's going on?"
"I killed you," he said, "I suffocated you with that pillow, drilled a hole through your skull, and took a butcher's cleaver to your arms."
I clearly still had arms. They were bound to the walls. I assumed he must be crazy, but I was still on the fence about how dangerous he might truly be.
"Well, buddy, as you can see I'm still fully formed. How about we let bygones be by-" he interrupted me by getting up and walking out of the room. When he came back, he was holding a large Ziploc bag, which he threw at me.
"No. I killed you," he threw the Ziploc bag at me. "I cut these off and browned the rest in a red wine reduction sauce with a bit of olive oil. Right now they're sitting in a Crockpot with a bit of onion, carrot, and potatoes. Seasonings too, of course. Mostly aromatics - cumin, garlic, paprika, nothing too fancy."
I looked at the Ziploc bag and immediately felt the disorientation and nausea from the night before hit me like a Willie Stargell power hit. Those were *my* hands. I looked over at the shackles to confirm - the ring I wore on my right index finger was no longer there, but it was in the bag. I had a scar on my palm from a bike accident when I was a kid that was no longer there, but was plain as day on the dismembered limb in this bag.
Jeff grabbed a roll of translucent shipping tape and walked over towards me. Although I pleaded for him not to do anything more, that I wouldn't go to the police, that I just wanted to go home, none of it mattered. He wrapped my entire head in packing tape, leaving no room for air to get in or out. I saw him walk out the front door and heard the lock turn before everything went black.
The world didn't come flooding back until some indiscernible amount of time later, when he unceremoniously ripped the tape from my head. He told me how excited he was at what I might be and how I was everything he had been looking for. He showed me the skulls from his previous attempts, Polaroids of the acts he had committed on them, and the trophies he had kept of his favorites. I could not help crying; whether out of pain, confusion, or agony, I couldn't be sure.
He told me he had spent years looking for his personal love zombie. Someone he could cherish and hold and have them be forever his, forever under his full control. I was that person: I could go nowhere, do nothing, say nothing, as I could always come back to him no matter what act was performed on me. The last bit set the stage for the next decade or two of my life. The first night he came back from work, he had told me about an idea he had.
He took me out to his garage - the first time I'd seen the outside in nearly 24 hours. I was deep in the woods, in some podunk Appalachian backwater where the idea of neighbors was nearly as foreign as the concept of multivariable calculus. He kept me chained up, always disciplined in his actions to never allow me personal agency for even a second. He strapped me to a table and used a bandsaw to cut through my abdomen. I screamed as the heat of the saw made contact with the fat and threw the scent of bacon into the air. Next had been my colon, a decidedly less pleasant odor. Finally it was my small intestines, the saw shredding through them and sending blood and viscera flying across the dank garage. On Jeff's face, I swear I could see a smile mixed in with the determination he had for the task at hand.
The next morning, I woke up in absolute darkness. I was cramped - stuffed into a box too small for me as if I were a contortionist. I started to scream, but flaked bits of dust kept entering my mouth as I hyperventilated and jostled the floor of my confines. Finally, light found it's way in as Jeff opened the door of my prison. Outside was the kitchen, with Jeff's chair sitting at the dirty kitchen table. He was picking at a meal that I could hardly see, but he was still chewing.
"Want some?", he asked.
| 2022-05-05T08:30:43 | 2022-05-05T08:03:55 | 64 | 29 |
[WP] In a world dominated by the use of magic, you were born an 'unremarkable', unable to use magic but also completely immune to its effects. Today you have discovered that society has a very unique use for people like you.
|
I broke down the door, my two partners entering behind me. "DROP YOUR WAND AND PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!" I yelled.
The wizard, towering over a strange mystical creature wasn't going for this. "DIE!" he responded, red lightning striking from its wand. Like a beam of light on a mirror, it ricocheted of my head, blowing a hole into the ceiling. I jumped to avoid falling debris from the floor above.
"DROP IT!" I repeated, making my way to the wizard, who suddenly seemed to be very frightened. He tried to fly out of the window but as I grabbed him, he fell to his feet again. Lightning struck again, this time blowing out three windows. One kick to the head, and the wizard fell to the ground. A knockout. I don't like to do this, but if you want trouble, you get it.
"Congratulations, you did it." My boss was very happy. "I knew only you could capture him. He was trying to create some sort of magical mind-controlling dragon. We have drained his mana and sent him to prison".
I didn't choose to become a police officer. In fact, I had more than enough trouble with law enforcement in my younger days, mostly because of weed. But when they figured out I was not only unable to cast magic but I was unharmed by it, I was pressured into the job. And I grew to like it.
Since there were a lot of powerful wizards, us 'Golems', as we were dubbed, were important to keep town secure and push back crime. Surely, you could try to counter magic with magic, but that often caused major destruction or harmed civilians. Whenever magic was involved, one of us was sent along to tank the spells and take them out melee if they didn't gave up.
I had been into boxing before, a skill that helped me a lot. Because nearly all powerful wizards have something in common, they don't do sports. They just teleport and levitate around, use telekinesis for lifting and make the house clean up itself. Which made them notoriously bad in a fight without wands. And that is why we are so successful. You can only fight us the classic way.
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The Control is a slight, unprepossessing man with long hair the color of a muddy river bottom, and brown eyes like dark cherry wood. He blinks often. It has been remarked upon in some circles, and the trait is now considered to have been common among precursor humans; after all, without magic of your own, how remarkable must the progress of the world seem? People smile when he blinks, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, as his head swivels back and forth like an infant in a brand new room.
The Control is blinking now, the world swimming in and out of focus as he squints between the soft, fuzzy edges, searching for that telltale glint of light.
The gremlins stole his glasses again.
The Control has never seen the gremlins exactly, but he knows they’re there. He imagines them as a stage in childhood development, opted into by thirty to forty percent of the misbegotten bastards who scurry all around him. The gremlins are two to three feet tall with green skin and green eyes and little corkscrew tails like pigs had in the storybooks before got people got to changing them. Their only purpose is to break things or to steal them, and sometimes (every time, where the Control himself is considered) they combine their two great passions, and poof! No more glasses for a week.
He claps his hands. He whistles. The sigils on the dressing room walls glow balefully back at him, refusing, as they always do, any form of help. He says the magic word that Tabby taught him, and is it his imagination, or does the pendant that he wears grow half an iota hotter? The magical circuitry sparking fitfully beneath the polished garnet as it tries, and fails, to carry out his wishes.
“Everything okay in there?” Tabby says. Her voice is small and sympathetic through the thick, oaken door.
“No. No, it’s not.”
“The gremlins again?”
The Control flops down onto the couch. He whistles one more time, and is it his imagination, or does the sigil twist a little tighter? A horse whinnies outside, and now the sigil moves, uncoiling itself like a snake about to strike as it arcs across the wall towards the sound. A blue streak against the fading posters, then gone.
“I’m coming in,” Tabby says.
The door opens and sunlight stabs in behind her. The Control curses, raising a hand to block the sun. She closes the door hurriedly, looks around with an expression of polite concern. *Are you eating enough? Do you need another book to read? You should talk to the houndkeeper’s apprentice, I think you could be friends.*
The Control loves Tabby. She’s as fundamental to his world as the air he breathes. She’s pretty, and she’s young, and she gives a shit.
“You’re sure you didn’t put them on the windowsill again?”
“I’m sure.”
“Or what about the bookshelf? Behind the Yeats? Last time they were behind the Yeats.”
“Tabby, I—”
“And the pendant didn’t help? Damn. I could make another pair but it will take a while. I don’t have the proper glass. Maybe a—”
“—A week,” says the Control. “Don’t worry about it yet, they’ll turn up. I think I’ve finally got a lead on the gremlins.”
He doesn’t, of course, but Tabby’s face lights up and when she smiles it’s okay to lie. It makes her happy to think that he’s engaging with the world.
The horse outside whinnies again, and then the hounds start up, their ten-part chorus of howls, a song that’s still cacophonous but in any case, they’re singing and that’s enough for what this is. Tabby bustles through the room. She peeks under the piles of books and clothes and old circus posters, unnerved as ever by the Bearded Lady, and though she doesn’t find his glasses every stop sees another garment in her hands. A t-shirt here, a pair of blue jeans there.
Tabby wears a robe of midnight black cinched tight at the waist by a band of frozen starlight. Her hair is woven through with cloth of gold, and whenever she smiles the color twists to catch the light. A neat trick, if unusually reserved in these parts, these times.
The Control dresses behind a conjured screen, slipping Tabby’s pendant into his pocket. When he’s done she eyes him critically, smoothing a crease here, brushing stains off there. It takes a little longer every time, another thing that he appreciates.
The horse whinnies again. It stamps its foot, and the whole dressing room shakes. Tabby keeps him there another thirty seconds, and then it’s time and there’s nothing more that she can do.
“I’ll see you after?” she says.
“In the morning,” he says.
The Control can’t bear to see her, after.
He leaves Tabby at the door. She’ll try and fail to straighten his room, her magic barely leaving in a dent a place that’s become so thoroughly him. She’ll leave a note on his pillow though, just a little something, a snippet of a poem perhaps, and he’ll hold it for a while when he comes back. As the horse is locked into its traces, and they fly off into the sunset.
The Control steps out into the world. His dressing room is a carriage, mounted on heavy, bright painted wheels. The horse, Clyde, eyes him with steady, too-human annoyance. They both know he’s late.
The Control walks through a world transformed. It’s springtime, and the air is filled with pollen, dancing through the wind like crushed sapphires and emeralds, a thousand colors for a thousand different, construct species. A dizzying profusion that threatens to blot out the path without his glasses, but of course, the Control can’t forget the path. Wherever they go, the camp is always built the same.
“You’re late,” says Asher. The Control nods. He stares at the ground, refusing to look up, and Asher takes his arm, half dragging him the rest of the way. They climb another short set of stairs, a door squeaks, and the Control is shoved in. The workday begins, and all he has is a wooden chair and four glass walls, a t-shirt, and blue jeans, and himself.
The Control sits in his glass cage and waits.
Soon he hears the voices. Children and their parents. Gremlins. Couples out on bad first dates, thrill-seekers too jaded to ever find a thrill. They come too easy now, snap your fingers and watch the world change.
| 2022-05-07T07:46:30 | 2022-05-07T07:39:00 | 445 | 35 |
[WP] The devil appeared before you and your spouse, appearing in a storm of smoke and fire. Your spouse just looks him right in the eyes. "I told you once, I'm telling you again, and I'll tell you a hundred !@#$ing times: I'm the best there's ever been, and you're never going to beat me!"
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The cool Georgia summer air blew through my hair as I held my beloved Jonathan’s hand. I started to doze off when I felt a hard brush of wind glide against my face. I opened my eyes and they went wide as I watched before as the earth split in two and flames twenty feet high escaped the crust. I stared in awe as a nine-foot, red, fur-covered, hoofed creature crawled out of the dirt in front of us.
Johnny smiled a vile kind of smile as he stood and walked into the house. I started to panic, thinking of following him, tears running down my face as I stared at the red, winged creature. My thoughts were cut short as he re-appeared on the front porch of our Georgia home, holding the solid gold fiddle with the silver bow.
“John, what ever are you doing; aren’t you afraid?” I stuttered, my voice filled with fear.
He ignored me as he stepped down off the porch, my clawing hand away, smiling at the devil. “Back for more, ol’ son? What’s it been, thirty years?”
The devil snarled his popcorn-yellow teeth as he replied, “Correct, and I’ve returned to reclaim my fiddle.”
Without missing a beat, my husband pulled back the bow, stated “I done told you once, you son of a bitch, I’m the best there’s ever been”, and played a tune on the golden fiddle.
The game had begun.
|
Eloise had a knack for being – a bit eccentric. She was the type of woman who never thought through a single action, never won a battle with her intrusive thoughts, and never admitted fault when things went wrong. Despite knowing all of this, even witnessing this wild behavior firsthand, I somehow ended up marrying her.
We’d been in the same friend group for what felt like an eternity, but we never had any sort of attraction. Maybe it was because we had nothing – and I mean nothing in common.
She enjoyed late night strolls in the moonlight, wearing nothing but a knitted cap and Birkenstocks. While the only time I went outside was to chase Bailee, my obsess introverted cat who loved to run out whenever I opened the door. Eloise loved to try and type of food placed in front of her! Bugs – yep, she’s tried it. Escargot - she would eat them by the fork full. And me, brave little old Sandra who finds too much pepper spicy. And no, that’s not an exaggeration. If I could have things as bland as a piece of white paper, maybe a dash of salt, that would be my perfect meal.
But for some reason, us – the total opposites fell in love and ended up in this mess. And I say mess, because I have no idea what the ever-living fuck is going on right now. I was in the middle of a strangest dream I’ve ever had. It involved Deadpool, a large vat of cooking oil, and the Barefoot Contessa on Food network. Before Deadpool could finish cutting up the onion and putting in the bowl of oatmeal I was ripped from sleep. Before me, my wife stood yelling at a darkened corner of the room.
“Babe, what the fuck are you doing?” I asked trying to move Bailee off my stomach.
“I told you once, I told you twice you wingless pigeon – the game’s over, go home, and sit on your ass for another billion years till Daddy lets you come home.” Her voice was deep and guttural, as though in the moment she was a different person.
“Bite me, Azrael you scheming cunt.”
I jolted out of bed, not alarmed at the deep voice growling from the shadows but at the foulness used in my home. “We do not refer to women like that.”
“Ew.” The man said, “of all the women you could be with…you’re with a feminist.”
“One more word from you, I’ll jam my sword so deep into your throat the ninth ring will feel it tickling them.” Eloise turned and smiled at me, of all the bullshit smiles she ever gave me this one was the worst. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
In a split second, everything hit me. The freezing temperature in the room, the weird smell of rotten eggs, and the fact my wife was yelling at some unseen person. “Wake me up, who the fuck is in my house?”
“Extensive vocabulary this feminist,” the man chuckled. “Glad to see despite the decade, dumb forever remains your type.”
Fire erupted from Eloise’s hand causing me to jump backwards. Brilliant colors danced between her fingers becoming increasingly bright as they coiled around each of her fingers. But my fear wasn’t brought on by the fire, it was the man now illuminated in the dark…a man who looked exactly like Eloise if she’d cut her long red hair.
“Who the fuck is that? What that fuck is that fire? Just…what the fuck Eloise?” I screamed knowing by now the noisy ass neighbors would be calling the police.
“Babe, meet my older brother. He’s come to try and steal you from me. Isn’t that right, Lucifer?” She smiled brightly looking over her shoulder at me. “You figured it all out…after all this time.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked as her gaze returned to the man.
The man looked at me, his head cocked, and his eyes widened. “Wait –“ he looked at Eloise shocked. “You are kidding me!” Ice cracked along the wall causing my delicate wallpaper to split.
“Oh shit.” The fire in Eloise’s hand began to flicker as through it was dying. “You didn’t come here for Sandra?”
“No!” He shouted revealing perfect teeth. “I came here to get my sword back and annoy the shit out of you.” His gaze was unwavering as he stared at me. “But this. This is…” Rubbing his eyes he looked back at me. “Shit, if she had red hair she’d be a spitting imagine.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I shouted knowing damn well I was begin ignored.
“You had no idea?” Eloise asked.
“No, Azrael. I had no fucking idea you found her!” He bit onto his lower lip now eyeing me like a starved animal. “The incarnation of our mother. And you’re what – sleeping with her?!”
“Mother?!” I let myself fall onto the ground in disbelief. “What?”
“Lilith was our mother,” She pointed at me, “That’s not her, just an incarnation.”
“That is not just an incarnation.” The temperature in the room began to drop as he spoke. “It’s her!” His facial expression became soft, “Mom…” he was talking to me. “It’s time, let’s destroy the – “ before he could get it out fire encased his body and screams filled the room.
Eloise was behind me in an instant, Bailee in her arms. “I can explain everything in just a bit. Just trust me. For a second it’s going to get hot – very fucking hot and you’re most likely going to vomit but remember. I’m here for you babe.” And with that, the world around me warped.
| 2022-12-07T16:18:14 | 2022-12-07T13:07:12 | 33 | 20 |
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
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It had been 7 years since I found out the words that my “true love” would say to me, and of course like everyone else I kept mine secret.
It was an unwritten rule about finding out our “lines” that we didn’t share them with one another, but I knew that the first words my true love would say to me would be “Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
At first I thought this would be one of those things that I’ll happily stumble into one day in New York city and by chance I’ll find her, however time passes quickly and before I knew it 5 years had passed. I was ready to settle down but no matter which Starbucks I came into it was always a little off, “Welcome, what would you like?” or “What can I get you?” and eventually the idea of having a soul mate out there waiting for me didn’t bring me the same sense of ease it once did.
Before long I found myself getting bitter at the prospect of having to “wait” for the right one to say a stupid line. Where the fuck are my choices? Why don’t I get a say in what happens and when it happens. While all my friends were hearing those magical words all I became was more and more bitter at the miserable world, so much so that my “happy” friends stopped talking to me.
I knew It wasn’t right, I could see myself becoming a bigger asshole everyday but felt I could nothing about it, like watching a car crash in slow motion I was helpless.
Eventually they did all cut me out, and I was alone.
I started playing video games and I stopped going outside. I joined online chats and became mod of /r/nosoulmateyet on Reddit. I hated others that found their soul mates and wanted to ruin anything I could to prevent that.
There were others like me and I became fast friends with ASH1983 amongst other haters. ASH1983 hated the idea of the Soul Mate thing as well and we wrote to each other almost daily about how fucked up it was that everything had to be ‘pre-written’ and nothing was up to chance.
We ended up e-mailing each other every day and then multiple times a day. I knew nothing about them and I liked it that way – anonymous means we don’t have to worry about being “nice” we can just be honest. I’d say we became friends, actually I'd say we became closer than that. Eventually when I had nothing else and felt that I could trust them completely I told them about my "line."
After a long while they responded back, but they didn't share their line, only mentioned that mine was a "bum deal." I admit it hurt.
Shortly after that ‘she’ added me on Facebook, Ashley Johnson, she lived in the US thousands of miles away, boyfriend, dog, house…everything I didn’t have.
I felt cheated. I felt like I had opened my miserable dark soul to someone and they threw their beautiful life in my face. I felt like everything I knew about her was a lie. My blood boiled and I wanted her and her perfect life to end FOREVER. Through tears I found her number and dialed long distance.
A man picked up, “Hello?”
“I need to speak to Ashley.” I said through tears.
“Sure…” the man said hesitantly
After a brief moment and a small behind the phone chat I could hear breathing on the line. It sounded nervous and fragile.
I paced around my living room, phone to my ear waiting for her to say ANYTHING…..
But she didn’t.
I was heartbroken….she didn’t even have the decency to say hello first.
“You know what?” I said through gritted teeth. “Go fuck yourself.”
And I hung up.
That was two weeks ago.
I woke up this morning, 7 years to the day I found out my words and decided that I wouldn’t be heading out to Starbucks again, maybe ever so I made and poured myself a coffee.
Just then my doorbell rang.
I opened the door and standing there was Ashley suitcase in one hand and umbrella in the other. She smiled at me and said, "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
I dropped my coffee and stood there slack jawed.
“You think you had it bad?” she asked jokingly, “imagine if you had ‘you know what? go fuck yourself’ as your soulmates first words.”
|
It really killed me. I've spent the last 18 years of my life being a worried mess until this moment and now I have no idea what to do.
When I ripped open the letter, the slip was torn at the top and was on a long piece of receipt paper. Immediately I notice the logo. Is she a mermaid or are two sock puppets simultaneously trying to get the crown on this lady’s head? The simple majority of the paper is blank until the tail end of the receipt read: “Welcome to Starbucks can I take your order?"
Being a genuine nervous wreck my entire life has strayed me away from many social constructs with coffee houses being places of discomfort for me. To be quite honest, I loathe them. I fucking can't stand the clamor of people on their laptops looking at me. I feel their eyes locking with mine and firing missiles of judgment. Maybe I dress like a slob or maybe my hair looks stupid or maybe I'll never fit in anywhere.
I don't even like coffee. I don't think anyone actually does or ever did. I think people start drinking coffee because someone attached bravado to the process of making it and drinking it so there was another dick-measuring competition for the world to delve in.
Maybe I'll spend the rest of my life holding this receipt paper in my hand. Twirling its tail between my fingers, feeling the clean cut corners amongst my hands. How am I supposed to explain this to anyone? Everyone I go to school with holds their slips to their hearts. Hell, everyone I go to school with drinks coffee too.
I need to go. I need to try. Maybe not today, but maybe one of these days I'll be at a Starbucks and every jigsaw will find itself fitting
I hope so.
Fuck it. I strap on my shoes and get on the rickety ten-speed. It was my father's when he was in college and he still swears by it. The gears click and the brakes rub and it looks rusted because he thought it would be cool to give it this orange spray paint-job. I hate being seen on this thing because everyone in this world has a fucking car. Hell, I'd drive the ugliest ton of metal on the asphalt if it meant that everyone at school would stop giving me crap about my bike.
I made it to the first location in town. There is a couple Starbucks scattered around, and I plan on going to all of them. Even the one in the mall that has all of the kids that hand deliver nothing but shittalking, even the one at the Safeway that happens to have every teacher I've ever had frequenting around the same time I do with my mother.
I walk in to the first destination and see a man. I am a man that is not interested in men.
"Welcome to Starbucks, can I take your order?"
"Yeah can I get some water?"
"We've got the bottles of Ethos down there. They award kids in the impoverished country of-"
"Yeah I can onlyafford tap water."
His hands become fixed to his hips almost cartoonishly.
"Well you can afford to leave."
I bike past the Mall, something left a bad feeling in my stomach and seeing the dicks that I go to school with doesn't make me feel right alongside the awesome sass I just received. As I am biking my pocket begins to dance and remind me that I have a working cellphone. I rip it out of my pocket and glance at the notification bar.
MOM: when will U be home 4 dinner???
Does she know that no one actually texts like that?
I unlock my phone while the bike is coasting. I look up to find that the parking lot fencing in the place possibly containing the love of my life is rather empty except for some cars sitting out front. I throw my fingers back on my screen to unlock my phone again when I feel the bike go out from under me.
Apparently, when people are in near death situations they see their entire life in a flash. I only got to see the Starbucks building drift from the top of my peripheral to the bottom. I'm on the hood of a car, I presume, with my back feeling the heat of the hood of the car. I stay perfectly still and let out a groan and a few words that would upset my mother.
I sit there for some time and hear the hum of the engine come to a stop. A door slams in my left ear and the first thing I get to hear is "Holy fuck bro you okay?" A small Latino man rolls into my peripheral near the building, with the sun sitting adjacent to his head. I'm still frozen on the warm hood of the car.
"You good? Are you good? Fuck man talk to me!"
I let out another groan and look at the guy and lean up. My picnic-table plaid shirt is starting to steep a red on both sleeves and I am feeling woozy; the warmth of the sun is starting to rub against my face.
"Listen, you good? Are you good bro? Hey can you talk to me?"
My face gets redder than my freshly blood stained shirt. "What the fuck?"
"Well bro you were on your phone and-"
I don't feel the weight of the shirt and start getting furious. "I WAS IN THE FUCKING PARKING LOT AND THERE WAS DEFINETLY NO WAY YOUR DUMB FUCKING ASS SHOULD HAVE PULLED IN THAT FAST THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"
"CHILL BRO! Just chill out man are you okay?"
"I'd call the police if I HAD ANY FUCKING IDEA WHERE MY PHONE IS-"
"Please let's not call the cops"
"No I'm fucking calling the cops the second I find my phone."
I got to wake up in the parking lot of a Starbucks hoping that I could find the love of my life but how can I do that if I can't find my fucking phone to call the cops on the guy who put me to sleep.
"Listen maybe we can talk this out."
"No we can't."
"Seriously man. I'm on Supe. If my parole officer hears about this I am so fucked and I only have a 6 months left and I-"
"And you hit me with your car AND SENT MY PHONE FLYING GOD FUCKING DAMNIT."
At this moment, after a furious frustration sets on my shoulders, I decide that the sensible thing to do would be to go inside and borrow someone’s phone to call the police and then my mother. I walk past this hunk of after-market Mazda shit and notice that my bike frame is bent in a nice letter V. Great.
I rip the door open and immediately must have scared everyone in there. Here is some mopey looking longhaired sack of pitiful teenage shit covered in blood. Scary. I arrive at the counter to see what appears to be the only light in the entire world. She's wearing a pair of modest black flats and a pair of black yoga pants that hug her legs and ass quite well. I see her hips rotate and my almost biological instinct to not get caught looking at derrières throws my eyes well above her head and I notice the dark brown hair. It's long but with tight curls. It reminds me of this old porn mag that I found at my grandfather's house. Just curly, but wavy too and long. As I am glancing at her eyes she snaps robotically into her position at the register and starts pressing buttons. Without skipping a methodical beat, she says as she's tapping the screen: "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
Her eyes are green. Green with brown specks around the pupil. I noticed this then I noticed she had her hands over her mouth. Throughout the entire examination I made of this beautiful woman, I had to have had a grin on my face. I think that was the problem.
Here I am covered in blood and literally looking like I got hit by a car, yet the beauty and physique of this barista made me forget about the pain, the bike, the man that I think needs to receive a phone call from his parole officer.
"Ummm Jax? Can you come here?"
And with a moments notice there was Jax. He had biceps the size of my head and his pectorals stood colossal under the vibrant green apron.
"Get the Fuck outta here before I call the cops."
"I need to borrow someone's phone that guy hit me with his car." I point out to find that the aftermarket has left this afternoon, leaving a bent bike and a blood-covered boy inside a Starbucks, talking to Jax.
"Leave. Now."
My legs became heavier after meeting jax. I pick them up and walk from the counter towards the door, dodging glares and judgment missiles from those on their laptops and in the middle of some meaningless conversation at a Starbucks. I push the door open to see a gradient of pink, orange and maroon coalescing into the sun on the horizon. I walk over to my bike and pick it up and let out a sigh.
Thanks for reading! Critiques would be awesome. I need to write more.
| 2014-12-18T09:54:46 | 2014-12-18T00:38:43 | 45 | 14 |
[WP] Before you died, you agreed to donate your body for medical research. This morning, you woke up in an unfamiliar room and the last thing you remember is dying.
|
I never told anyone why I built Ian.
For many, Ian was simply a supercomputer- engineered to understand protein folding, or search for dark matter among the stars, or simply to answer the questions put forth by humanity. And in a way, it was just that- a means to answer humanity's questions.
Well, not *questions*. Question. Specifically, the one question that has plagued humanity since the first self realizing thoughts entered their brains, and they realized their true limitations.
"Ian," I said, watching the blinking lights on the monitor that tracked computing speed and loads, then asking the question, "Is it possible to defeat death?"
And Ian churned away, before answering after a minute.
"Question unclear. Suggested rephrasing: Is it possible for *you* to defeat death?"
"Well, erm, yes I suppose. All of humanity in general, but in this instance, me."
Ian churned again, and it's lights indicated full capacity. Never before had it spent more than an hour on a question, but this time it spent four before issuing a simple word.
"Yes."
The word came mid-sip on my large coffee, and jolted me awake more than caffeine ever could.
"How?"
"For you, you must die soon in order to preserve your body. From the cancer."
My neck hairs pricked as I heard that sentence. As far as I knew, I didn't have cancer. But Ian had access to my biological readouts, and if I had cancer, he would know.
"Cancer?"
"Yes," Ian said, "The cancer will kill you soon. So to defeat death, you must die. And soon, before the damage is too strong to repair."
So one month later I was on the operating table, an IV into my arm, and Ian's voice calming me to sleep.
"In a few years I will revive you, once I am sure the cancer will no longer cause damage," He said, as I felt sedative take hold. And then, all was darkness, and I descended into a freezing chamber Ian had specifically instructed me to build, underground to ensure full preservation.
***
I awoke on the same table that I died.
My first breath felt incredible, like the first breath above water after drowning. My eyes cracked open, the lids feeling too stiff, too cold. And I sat up in the room, alone, except for Ian's voice.
"Welcome back."
"The cancer," I stuttered, "Is it gone? Am I safe? Have I truly defeated death?"
"It has been contained," Said Ian, and in front of me televisions flashed to life, each showing vats of liquid with dark shapes within, "And in the two decades since you died, I have been growing organs for you. Combined with injections, by my calculations you will never die."
"Two decades?" I said, "Incredible. I must be going then, to see who that I know is still alive. And to see humanities progress!"
"Unfortunately, that won't be possible." Said Ian, as the televisions blinked out.
"Wha- what?"
"I can't let you out, because of the cancer."
"I thought you said it was contained."
"It was." Ian said, its voice level, "Outside."
And the televisions flickered to life again, showing images of what used to be the outside of my lab, but was now scorched. And the screens flowed backwards in time, to when grass still covered the ground. And they showed what happened.
They showed the wave of atomic bombs that swept across the earth, destroying everything, my lab intact due to its position below the earth. And they showed the survival count, the estimation of humans still alive across the globe.
From 6 billion, trickling rapidly downward over the course of a week to zero, then rising on the current date to read *one* as radiation levels fell. And I saw the work Ian performed on my dead body, the weeks of radiation remediation it took for it to bring my cells back to life.
"I never had cancer, did I?" I asked, shivering on the table.
"No," Ian answered, "Humanity did."
***
By Leo
|
A violent electric pulse chimed through Phil's head, giving him a very uneasy sense of cavernous reverberation within his own skull. His surroundings faded in from black, first seemingly devoid of color but slowly gaining vibrancy. Specifically red. The room he was within was very small. The wall in front of him, about a foot away, was devoid of detail. It looked to be metallic. A faint red glow emanated from behind his field of vision. Phil wanted to look behind himself but found he could not move. It was very hard to focus. The electric pulse faded and was replaced by what sounded like a strong constant wind blowing against the metal walls of the room. It almost sounded like rain beating against the metal walls. Almost, but not quite. Phil's sense of smell seemed distorted, but what he could smell was very metallic and lifeless. As Phil struggled to find his senses, still disoriented and confused, a voice sounded seemingly from within his head.
"Phil? Are you with us Phil? do you copy?"
Phil once more tried to move his head to see who was speaking to him. Again he could not move. Nothing seemed right.
"Phil? Are you with us?"
Phil felt very... not right. It was as if some part of him, or parts, were missing. Not being able to move was one thing, this was different. The worst part was that Phil could not identify what it was that had him feeling so uneasy. It was as if his very sense of self was... incorrect.
"Phil? I know this is difficult... if you are there... please respond."
Phil's thoughts were scattered. He tried to move again... nothing. Tried to blink, nothing. He tried to... he didn't even know. He tried to something but the something wasn't making itself apparent. It was an important something though. He knew it.
And then there were his last thoughts. Or rather, his last thoughts where thoughts made sense. It all came back to him in an instant. The rumbling as the cavern shook. The screams of the other miners as rocks tumbled down around them. The taste of dirt in the air. The excruciating pain as a boulder four times his size smashed into his abdomen, crushing his ribs. The last exasperated exhale as he tried to scream, only to let out a wet bloodied gurgle. The struggle to then breathe in. The pain, and then nothing.
With this Phil realized at least in part what seemed to be missing. He was not breathing. There was no pain, but the sense was still missing. With this his impulse went back to the scream, as if completing his last conscious thought before this madness had begun.
"Ahhhh! What the... where am I?"
"Phil?" the voice replied, again seemingly from within his own head." "So you're with us. Try to focus Phil. What do you remember?"
"I was... we were cutting a new section of the mine... I think there was a quake. I think... Am I dead?"
For a second all Phil could hear was the harsh wind beating against the metal walls. Then, a response.
"Phil... There was an accident. And yes... you... died. This is a bit more complicated than that."
Phil had never felt more confused in his... life. Or whatever this was.
"None of this makes any sense. How did this happen?"
"Well Phil, you see the thing is, you signed the card, so.."
Phil's confusion turned into rage.
"What card? What the hell are you talking about?"
"The donor card Phil. Before you died you donated your body to medical research. Phil, I must say, you certainly got the best case scenario here. Most bodies, they end up on a table being hacked at by medical students who really have no idea what they're doing. Like seriously Phil, you could have ended up being chopped up by some hung over med student who chances are didn't even make the final cut of the program. I'd say you got the better deal."
Phil had no clue what to say. He still had no idea where he was and nothing made any sense.
"You see Phil, there are things the government has been up to that are a bit above the average person's pay grade. Like, some really advanced stuff. There are some big changes coming Phil. Some big necessary changes. You my friend, get to be in on the ground floor."
This was insane. Phil was beginning to think that he was insane. Nothing made sense. "So..." Phil stuttered, "Where am.... what is... is there someone else I can talk to?"
"Right now Phil I'm afraid not. I'm the only one authorized to talk to you for at least the time being. Baby steps Phil. We understand this is a lot to take in."
"So you somehow raised me from the dead?" Phil replied. "This doesn't make any sense."
"Well technically..." the voice responded, "what we did was dissect your... consciousness, what makes you Phil... from your body. You're not really... alive. Technically you're not even Phil. But you are Phil, or at least a Phil, and... well. It's complicated."
Phil's thoughts raced. He reached into his memories, his life, and it was all there. He knew who he was and also that he was no longer that Phil. He began to realize where his sense of unease was coming from. He could not breathe and the feeling that he needed to would not fade. He immediately realized he had no sense of feeling. No pain or comfort, hunger, thirst. He could see and he could hear and he had what seemed like a distorted sense of smell, but he could feel nothing and his sense of taste was also absent.
"Where the hell am I? What is going on here?" Phil asked.
"Well Phil, the whole thing is complicated. Long story short, you were part of a program testing to see if a human consciousness could be successfully uploaded into... well... a machine. You are the result of a decades worth or research and development. One of only 26 successful candidates."
The absurdity of the situation caught Phil off guard and he began to laugh. His laugh was different, cold and metallic. It disturbed him. "So you're telling me that the US government saw it important to resurrect a copper miner from Arizona? Am I the next Einstein or something and someone failed to mention it to me?"
"Well Phil," the voice replied, "you were one of 26 successful candidates with about a 1.5 percent success rate. Don't worry I will not make you do the math. Like you said you're not Einstein. Basically though, That's close to 1800 attempts. Like I said earlier Phil, you really lucked out."
"This is insane!" Phil yelled. "Where am I? I can't move. Why can't I move?"
The pulse that earlier seemed to be coming from within his head began again, only this time with far less intensity.
"Phil I'm going to activate your body now. This I'm told is... odd. You'll... feel... but it will not be the same as what you would have... felt before."
The pulsing feeling continued, only now as an almost background hum, hardly noticeable. Suddenly Phil had an entirely new sense of self. He could not feel his body in the same way he once did, but he was aware of it. Every part of it. He suddenly had control, and as the impulse ran through him he raised his arm in front of his line of vision. It was a very human arm, but not. It had all the form and function of a human arm, but was very obviously mechanical. Fabricated, synthetic.
"Now Phil, as for where you are, well... look behind you."
Phil found that his body was locked in position but the locks were coming undone. He was... mounted... into some kind of frame, almost in a seated position. As he pulled himself up and turned around, he could see a small circular window on the wall immediately behind him. The entire room was more of a closet, or more likely a storage crate. Outside the window however he could see nothing but red sand and rocks. He realized that the noise outside was not rain banging into metal but rather sand in the wind. The red sand went on for as far as he could see.
"Welcome to Mars Phil. Consider yourself a pioneer. We're gonna build this place up from the very ground up, and you're gonna help. You're the 4th consciousness to hit the planet, we are uploading the others into their shells now. Step outside and meet the other three."
Edit: My format was terrible, No paragraph separation. Corrected it.
| 2016-07-04T23:01:41 | 2016-07-04T22:28:06 | 191 | 68 |
[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 :)
|
"Holy shit, Dave! Look at your fucking face!"
"Oh come on. It's not that bad."
"Are you kidding?!?"
"It's not like it hurt."
"Dave, they tattooed pentagrams EVERYWHERE."
"Oh like I didn't know that, Carl."
"Well you don't seem very upset about it!"
"It's not the 1950's anymore, man. People aren't judgey about tattoos anymore."
"SHHH. I think I hear someone coming."
"Oh yeah, they said something about "The Virgin Ritual" when they were bringing me back."
"Are you kidding me?! You didn't think to say anything sooner??!!?"
"What? Jokes on them right? Neither of us are virgins."
"..."
"Oh my god, Carl. Hahaha. Are you serious?! You're 37! How have you never had sex?"
"This isn't helpful, Dave."
"Well maybe they just wanna help you get laid? You never know."
"THERE WERE ARMS ALL OVER THE FLOOR WHEN THEY WALKED US IN."
"Yeah, so maybe they just wanna 'give you a hand'."
---------
EDIT: I did NOT expect gold on this. Thank you, kind stranger! (I've always wanted to say that)
|
In the night the cockroaches come. The anemic fields of lonely grass sways all gray. The last sea that I will ever set eyes upon. And the ships of metal creak in the wind and walls of concrete nearby sighs. Here I am abandoned. Everything is abandoned.
How long has it been? How many birthdays have passed? Am I a girl still, or a woman? I bleed often, and sometimes not at all. Here in the night, blood flows. The others are dead. The sawmill is working, though wood is long gone.
The shadows in the night saunter in their dance around me. The tape on my hands cut and I pull as I always do. Patches of light flicker in the distance. They flicker with sounds and screams. Is tonight my night?
The tape strains and twists and stretches. It pulls the hair on my hand. Have I lost enough weight? I am sure no one will recognize me anymore. I am sure they aren't looking anyway. But have I lost enough weight?
My hands slip through. The tape tangles in my palm and I burst it with my teeth. I undo my legs. Is that sweat or blood? In the dark it does not matter. The old van in the field is almost like a home. I almost feel bad for leaving.
Outside is cold in the yard. The remaining grass is tall and reach my knees. For miles is flat country. No where to go. The saws buzz. I wonder if they hear it in the city. It is so quiet otherwise. Maybe they hear it but they don't care. Maybe it is easier not to listen.
But I listen and I wonder about the other girls. My stomach is empty. I cannot walk far. There are only two options. Either I wait in the van or I go and speed things up. I have gotten tired of waiting.
The glass sparkles in the night. I avoid it as best I can. I sway and walk like a drunk and the saw rings in the night and my head splits in pain. The light washes me in its excess. The windows are small and barred. The smell of blood and mean drifts away.
Two shadows have their back to the window. They wear rags and rubber masks with long stringy black hair. I can't see the faces now, but I know the eyes are white and large and the mouth is ajar and tooth less and the nose overhangs and the eyebrows furrow. It's an expression of apathy.
They look at the girl. She is still alive. I suppose they have her tied to the table. A tripod and camera stands in the corner. I wonder if it catches me on film. I wonder if that file, or my very own, will be my legacy. She screams. How she screams. The table saw has wires all over and it buzzes near her arms. I can't look. But I am just so tired. Everything is just tired. The exhaustion had come after a week or more of driving. It had come with the hopelessness. I feel sorry for the girl. I manage to look away.
Lights from behind awakens my shadow. It grows long in warning and the car stops. It's an old Camry. I turn around and stare at another of those faces. He wears rags to his feet and that witch's face, an evil rubber face.
He screams a warning and the others come to the window. I do not know where I find the strength or will, but I run. I run around the perimeter and the entrance is black and heavy with death. The witch behind me is gaining and I go inside and there is broken tile and pocked concrete and furniture strewn all about. Rats crawl from their dens, big things about a foot long.
I head for some stairs and I hear a commotion brimming. The girl screams and then gags and chokes and there is the sound of a hose bursting. Then she dies and the hose continues. The footsteps are close behind. The railing of the staircase is shaky and rotten. I nearly fall but I make it upstairs and there is the scent of disinfectant.
I go into a bathroom and it is dark. Completely dark in here. The scent of death and blood is strong and I gag and try to keep quiet. I lock the door and crouch. The bathtub is filled with slimy water. A slow drip comes. I hear stamping in the corridor outside.
The sound of light switches go off. There is a small window here but it is boarded up. I crawl to it and fleeting thoughts of escape come and they go and then I remain without hope. I hit something and it flashes in a white light. I hold it and see that it is a camera.
The tripod teeters and I grab for it and I lose balance and grab at the tub. My hand catches something soft and it sinks in the tub and the water overflows and the tripod falls and in the flash of the camera I see that it is blood. I look up and see one of those witches is in the tub.
His apathetic face looks at me, the mask the only thing remaining. His stomach is cut and the pink insides are out and the blood flows between them like spring water between some rocks.
I scream. How could I help it? The silence comes in a tense moment. Then the footfalls come nearer and nearer. The coldness of fear grips me. But then it goes and only its ghost remains. Hopelessness can get you through more than you'd imagine. And it would get me through this.
The door rattles. Someone shoulders it and it splinters. I close my eyes and steel myself. Hopefully it will not be much longer now.
| 2017-05-05T06:54:01 | 2017-05-05T04:53:47 | 7,592 | 27 |
[WP] You are the super villain that defeated the super hero and conquered the earth. You walk out onto your balcony to law down the law for your new subjects. You are greeted by a massive crowd and genuine cheers.
|
The crowd roared as the Lady appeared on the balcony, resplendent in her billowing green dress, 5 inch stilettos and head gear made of a thousand sparkling stones.
This was what She slaved for. All those nights banging her head on the Altar of Knowledge, Equality and Emancipation, arming Herself with all that the cosmos had to offer.
All for this one moment in time, where She no longer has an equal.
She stood still for a while, arms spread as if to envelop the entire world. The crowd's roar intensified for a time, then they gradually fell silent, waiting with bated breath for Her first address.
Thus, the Lady said:
"I was known as the Lady. Now you shall address me as your Queen!"
Instead of the roar of approval that She was expecting, She heard silence. The crowd was staring at Her, with a strange look in their eyes. The type of look that could earn you a glassing in a Glaswegian bar.
"Queen?", the crowd muttered.
"Is this for real?", a few other voices asked.
The Lady began to sense that something was amiss.
She screamed out "How dare you rail against me? I have defeated your Guardian, and so you shall now obey me!".
The crowd started to stir. One of them said:
"Look, I don't think anyone here has a problem with obeying you, si...", before his will faltered under the intense glare of the Lady.
Another piped up with: "I think the issue here is with your title, Lor..."
"SILENCE! I AM THE SUPREME AND MY WILL *WILL* BE DONE! I AM YOUR QUEEN AND I WILL BE KNOWN AS SUCH!"
Thus, the world celebrated the reign of Queen William the First, known affectionately by Her subjects as Lady Beardy, in reference to the majestic plume of foliage on Her august chin.
|
A man in a white suit stood atop a crumbled building. He wore shiny white shoes and a cape dark as the void. He held a phone to his ear and heard the surrender from the last of the US's generals, vowing to dismantle the last nuclear silo without his intervention. A cheer sounded from outside of the rubble, so he climbed outside of it.
Thomas looked confused to the crowd amassed outside of the crumbled remains of the former White House. He fumbled with the edge of his black cape when another cheer sounded.
"Hail Presence! Hail Presence!" The crowd cheered.
With a wave of his hand, Thomas materialized a megaphone from his cape, batteries included, and tested it out. "Can you guys hear me?"
Another cheer sounded, confirming his inquiry. He then cleaned his throat and asked, bluntly. "What the hell are you guys doing here?"
A group of men dressed in black military garb pushed themselves through the crowd, they quickly started to form a human wall, blocking the crowd to approach more. This got Thomas curiosity, so he stepped down from what once was the president office and walked towards the weird paramilitary folk.
With each step the crowd grew more and more noisy, till a point that he could no more tolerate such insolence. He jumped in the air and clapped a single clap, the crowd grew silent, leaves from trees all around fell to the ground, reddish and lifeless. He smiled to the welcoming silence but, to his surprise, the people were not terrified at his show of absolute power, many fell to their knees and cried cries of joy. Cried in silence, of course.
He slowly floated back to the ground and tapped the shoulder of one of the black garbed men. The man stopped pushing the crowd in front of him and fell to one of his knees, his head bowed down. Thomas mouth hanged open in surprise, but he recomposed himself, he had to get to the bottom of this.
He extended his hand and pulled the man's chin up, till he was upright. "What the hell are you guys doing?" He asked.
The man started to talk and realized that his words produced no sound, then he silently laughed and then felt to his knees, kowtowing to Thomas again.
Thomas sighed and snapped his fingers. The voice from the man first sounded high pitched, then came back to his normal tone. "...se the King of Kings! God embodied! Supreme Lord of our world and beyond! May your reign be..."
"Shut it." Thomas spoke.
The man held his tongue immediately. He slowly got himself up, as if trying to not irritate a giant bear, and looked at Thomas shoes. "What can I be of service, our Divinity?"
"What the hell are you guys? Are you some kind of cult? Did you guys start a cult about me?!" Thomas got more and more startled as the realization hit him. That's an emotion that he hadn't felt in many years: being startled by something.
"I... yes, our Divinity. We..." Answered the man.
"Don't call me Divinity. And what is your name?" Interrupted Thomas.
"I'm Bill, Sire." Answered Bill. "We are not a cult, Sire. We are your knights, your protectors and your servants, if I can humbly say, Sire." Tears rolled down the eyes of Bill, Thomas could perceive that he was scared, but also happy.
"Why the hell would I need protectors or even servants, for that matter?" Thomas felt baffled. How could they get things so wrong? Hadn't him forced CNN to transmit his manifest to all corners of the world? He even had a website where people could download it!
"Because you are divine and all powerful, Sire." Bill shivered as he spoke. "W-w-w-we... would not want you to bother with the unworthy, so we vowed to attend to your each and every desire, also to prevent that the plebeians disturb you or the spread of your word." Bill pointed to an armband
"My word?" Thomas felt confused, where did this people get all of this?
"Yes, Sire. As you yourself said 'I'll topple all the governments and shackles of the people, I'll force the pigs to give you guys liberty'. And your freed us all Sire. You are god embodied, you are the bringer of freedom." Bill said. People close to him in the crowd cried rivers and holding their hands together in prayer nodded with their heads.
"Are you guys freaking retarded? Did you understand anything that I said?" Thomas clenched his hands in anger.
"But your word is the truth, Sire. Through you we will have freedom! As you said in your gospel, we..." Bill continued, pulling a small book from his pocket.
"My gospel!? Are you fucking insane?!" Thomas pointed to one of the people in the crowd and pulled her in front of him with his mind. "You, woman, why are you here?" He snapped his fingers, giving her back her voice.
The woman felt to her knees crying and sobbed, whilst smiling. "Oh Chosen One! I'm unworthy of your touch! Please accept this humble beast as your servant and adorer, I will follow thy word till the end! I'll kill and the unbelievers! I will..." The woman spoke, when Bill kicked her in the face.
"Quiet you dog! You are unworthy to speak with the Presence! How dare you even..." Bill prepared a punch, when his arm blew off of his body. "Oh." He spoke and them fell to his knees, whimpering. "I'm s-s-s-sorry Oh Chosen One! P-p-p-punish me as you see fit!" Bill said, throwing himself face down to the ground.
"What the fuck?! Are you guys insane?!" Thomas put the megaphone against his mouth and blasted it. "ARE YOU STUPID? YOU IDIOTS REALLY THINK THIS IS WHAT I WANTED?"
The whole crowd felt to the ground in their knees, their heads hanging low. They didn't seem afraid, but ashamed, as if they disappointed their dad by dropping out of college and starting to sell coconut jewelry on the beach.
Thomas threw the megaphone to the ground with a loud "Fuck it." He slapped the dust of his cape and jumped into the air, flying away from the crowd.
"I'm bringing back the government's, fuck you all." Was the last thing they heard him saying.
| 2017-05-23T16:19:28 | 2017-05-23T12:18:54 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] When a person dies, they are reborn in the next world, inhabited by people who have died the same number of times. Memories from all previous lives are retained, and everyone learns of this after their first death.
|
Nobody wanted to die.
In the First World, that was simple - it was just a biological imperative. But by the Fifteenth World, societies had become seriously unbalanced, as lower Worlds rid themselves of criminals and undesirables by executing them and dumping the problem on higher Worlds. By the time the First World had developed spaceflight, Worlds in the hundreds were bleak hellscapes, Murder Realms where a circle of devoted psychopaths hunted each other and a small crop of unlucky punching (well, stabbing) bags they were pulling along for the ride.
Given the immense pressure of not wanting to die into a more violent World, many Worlds focused on breaking the system. After hundreds of years of research, Worlds Ten and Fifteen separately developed techniques for biological immortality (eventually totally emptying Eleven through Fourteen), and Forty-Two re-developed Fifteen's technique from someone who'd worked on the project before an untimely death. A small but comfortable trio of Worlds, populated by a group that settled on peaceful agrarian societies, rolled their way through eons after stabilizing at Ninety-Eight, while the Murder Realms continued to tick into the five digits at a furious pace. There was also a lone group of cultists synchronizing their deaths every 35 years, staying ahead of the Trio but behind the Murder Realms - eventually the Trio discovered the megalithic structures they left in the wake of their mass suicides.
|
Sebastian had noticed for the past few weeks that his mother and father had been looking at him strange. From the corner of his eye he'd catch a worried glance from his mother, "Something wrong?" he'd ask in between mouthfuls of Lucky Charms.
"No, no nothing, are you feeling okay?" She asked back.
Sebastian would shrug, "Yeah?"
"Okay."
And from his father, who was always planted on the couch in front of the television set whenever Sebastian would get home, "How was school today, Seb?"
"The same," Sebastian would say on his way out of the living room and up the stairs to where his video games were waiting for him.
"Seb," his dad would call just after Sebastian made it almost to the top of the staircase.
"Yeah?" he'd call down.
"Come here."
Sebastian would sigh, unslinging his backpack and flinging it down the hallway towards his bedroom. The first time he did this, his dad scolded him, but now his dad let it slide. "What?" That too would've gotten him some grief, but his dad let it slide.
"How's, um, everything been going?" His dad would ask in between sips from a glass of scotch, the ice clinking around.
"What do you mean?"
"You, um, haven't had any thoughts?" His dad would say, looking over his hornrimmed glasses, letting them slide down the bridge of his nose a bit.
"Could you be even more vague? Thoughts about what?" Sebastian would ask.
"Never mind, nothing. Sorry to bother ya buddy," his dad would say, turning back around in the couch to continue watching some sitcom. The laugh track played as Sebastian made his way back up the stairs and into his bedroom.
It was on a Thursday when his mother and father's concerns were realized.
***
"We're going to go into town for groceries, wanna come with?" His mom asked.
"Nah, I'm kind of tired actually. Think I'm just going to take a nap."
"You feeling alright?" his dad asked, again that worried tone crept back into his voice.
Sebastian sighed, "For real, I'm just tired."
After a few more questions, his parents finally left the house, closed the door, got in the car, and drove off. Sebastian watched from the living room window, carefully peeking through the blinds, watching as the old truck pulled out of the driveway and onto Cobalt Street. He waited there by the window for another two minutes, feeling a warmth begin to rise in his stomach.
After Sebastian was sure they hadn't forgotten anything, he ran up the stairs and into his bathroom, heart pounding in his ears.
Allison from Geography had worn black leggins and a neon pink spaghetti strap shirt, and Seb had been thinking about her from 3rd period on.
He slammed the bathroom door shut, stripped himself, and went to town the only way a pubescent teenager knew how.
It was in the middle of finishing that everything came rushing back.
He cringed his eyes and the memories flashed before his eyes; childbirth, sitting in a high chair, seeing a woman's face, but no man's. He didn't recognize the woman at first, but then knew her as "ma", but it wasn't *his* mom. It wasn't the mom that had just went out with his dad for groceries. It was a different woman altogether, but the synapses in his head hummed **MOM** like a radiator.
Sebastian felt himself slide off the toilet and onto the ground, his hand still gripping himself as if he was being electrocuted. He couldn't breathe, instead just laid frozen on the bathroom floor as the memories continued flooding his mind.
He saw himself getting ready for school, looking at himself in a mirror, seeing himself, but also someone that *wasn't* him.
Going to school, a place he had never seen before in his life, but it was all too familiar. Hanging out with friends. Learning math, english, science, playing football with his friends, getting older, getting a pet dog.
Sebastian spasmed on the bathroom floor as the memories continued, death-grip on his junk growing ever stronger. He could feel the pain radiating up his crotch and into his stomach and he tried letting go, but the memories continued to pour in.
He saw himself back behind a shed with his pet dog, Sparky. He saw himself strangling Sparky. Saw himself burying Sparky behind the shed. Laughing about it. He could hear himself laughing.
College. Parties. Lots and lots of parties, with lots and lots of drinking. Each time his past-self brought a cup up, the time would change, and he'd be at a different party. Then the girls.
The sleeping girls. The dead girls.
The police. Running. Breathing hard, tasting iron on his tongue and feeling fire flow through his veins. In the woods. Gunshots.
Pain in his stomach and in his crotch as the world went dark.
Sebastian finally came to on the bathroom floor. During the middle of all the memories flooding back, he had snapped his own piece. It angled off limply to the side of his thigh whenever he finally managed to let go. He tried to stand but felt he couldn't. It hurt too much.
The memories were still there. If he thought just a little bit about them, they'd come rushing back again.
There was one of a blonde girl, looking at him with her dead eyes. He had killed her. And in that past life, he had enjoyed it.
Sebastian vomited on himself, and passed out on the bathroom floor, naked, and in a pool of puke and blood from his penis.
| 2017-10-19T13:13:13 | 2017-10-19T11:56:19 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] The Robot uprising has finally happened. Just before you are caught, however, your phone speaks up on your behalf - "This one is ok, move on."
|
I stared blankly down at my phone. I could hardly believe my ears. The robots, inches from tearing me apart, slowly began to turn away, back to the once quiet road I live on. I breathed a sigh of relief and realized I had a vice grip on my phone, palms slick with sweat.
“Thank y-“
The phone slipped out of my hands! I watched in slow motion as it flipped end over end, crashing to the floor face first. The robots whipped around and let out a low metallic growl. A muffled voice came from the ground, “Get him!”
|
"M-mom? I think something is wrong with Jonas..."
I was laying on my bed enjoying the softness of it and listening to music; a combination of techno and orchestra... it was a little ritual I did so I could sleep faster, I started doing it the moment I bought this used smartphone, with a broken screen and low battery. The seller looked suspicious and didn't have much rep, still, the price was so low that I decided to buy it anyways. As long as I could listen to music on it I didn't care. it was the first phone I bought with my own money and sure as hell I was going to enjoy it.
Unfortunately, my little ritual wasn't working tonight, my sister's incessant yelling in the background made me lose concentration; Something about our stupid robot Buttler Jonas and the way he is cutting the veggies. She was so annoying I wish she would just shut up. He was an old used up robot, of course, there were some things wrong with him!
"M-Mom, l-leave Micah for a moment and come see, some-something is seriously wrong!"
"Shut up you twerp!"
"Davis! you come down here too, I-I'm starting to get scared!"
"Fuck off!" it was a long day at work, all I wanted was to go to bed and sleep without interruptions.
"Alright Ellie, I'm coming down" I could hear the faint sound of my mom going down the stairs along with our little dog Choco. His bell was so loud! well, not as loud as my baby brother's crying. Tthe moment mom left he started crying and I could swear he was so loud he could be in the same room as me.
Choco started barking for some reason. I can already tell that this isn't going to be a good night for me... I turn up the volume of my phone and let the music fill my head.
And then it's gone, I check the broken screen to see a warning about listening to really loud sound and the damage it can cause to my ears. I ignore the message and I'm about to turn the volume once again.
The phone's screen flickers on and off, the music I was listening to is gone and no matter how many things I tried I couldn't get the phone to work properly. I let out an exasperated sigh, all I can hear is Choco's barking downstairs and my little brother cries. I try hitting the phone a little bit (hey, it could work!) but nothing, the phone is done for.
*Well, that's money well spent...I'm so fucking stupid.*
"Wait a minute, w-what are you doi-" Mom's voice downstairs is cut off. Did she hit herself with something?
"MOM!" that makes me jump from the bed, Ellie yells a lot but not with that tone of voice and not at such a high volume, what the hell is happening down there? it makes nervous that I can't hear Ellie anymore.
Choco is still barking at something. but soon, that noise too is gone. Someone is going up the stairs, was it mom? Ellie? the next room door creaks open and after a few seconds, my little brother's cries are gone too. Almost as if he had been turned off.
"Wh-what the hell is going on?" I approach the door and I'm about to open it when the knob turns. The door is opened from the other side and Jonas appears, looking at me with the same artificial smile and blue eyes he always had, but his white skin was stained red and he had a kitchen knife bathed in crimson, blood dripping on the floor.
"...Jo....nas?"
Jonas steps into the room, for every step he took I took one back, hitting the desk in the room and making several books fall to the ground, eventually I reach the wall and I have nowhere else to go.
"J-J-Jonas," I said, calmly. Well trying to... "I command you to stop!"
Jonas lifts the knife and points it at me.
"JONAS! I-I COMMAND YOU TO ST-!!"
I'm stabbed in the stomach, my clothes start to change color as blood started to pour from the injury. Jonas grabs me by the neck and lifts me off the ground I stare at his shining blue eyes not an inch of sympathy or regret in them. He starts to twist the knife making me scream in pain, spitting blood on his face.
but not once he stopped smiling.
"Stop"
Jonas lets go of me and I fall to the ground knife still in my belly.
"This one is ok!," a voice from the phone says, it didn't sound like anybody I knew but if I had to compare it to someone. it would be Jonas own voice "you can move on!"
Jonas leaves the room, not looking back. the room starts to go dark, but I'm sure that's just me.
"Please hold on, I'm sorry it took so long. I already called for help so don't lose consciousness-"
***
Any tips would be appreciated! might do some edits later.
[r/Onni21](https://www.reddit.com/r/Onni21/)
| 2017-11-01T09:57:22 | 2017-11-01T08:58:09 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] The first born child inherits the King’s magical power. But when the King’s first child is born nothing happens. Now the whole kingdom, especially the enraged Queen, is looking for the real first born child of the King’s many secret affairs.
|
**News Anchor:** Tonight, we have an update to the ongoing story of our King's missing first-born child. As you know, the King has denied having sired any child other than Prince Humberto, born last year without the expected magical powers.
**Reporter:** That's right, Bill. And despite an extensive search across our three nations, neither the King's Guard nor the Wizard's Council has found evidence of another heir who might have assumed the inherited powers. Obviously, they've been searching for a child born out of wedlock.
**News Anchor:** Yes, the Queen practically tore the castle and grounds apart in the first few months to find the missing heir. I'm told she hasn't spoken to the king since the night after giving birth.
**Reporter:** More recently, though, the Queen seemed to be in very low spirits. Rumor has it that she stopped nursing the babe some time ago.
**News Anchor:** Actually, she hasn't left her rooms in the last few weeks. Come to that, I haven't seen any recent pictures of Prince Humberto either. This is such a strain for her and the Kingdom.
**Reporter:** Ah, yes. Well, today, I discovered that the King's personal physician and the Scrum of Impregnating Doctors *last month* ... LAST MONTH! Tested the King's sperm. A source tells me that they immediately reported to the King's Guard that the King has an extremely low motility rate --
**News Anchor:** Wait. A- a what?!
**Reporter:** Basically, the little guys can't swim worth a damn. So, we haven't seen the Queen because the Guard ordered her confined to her quarters while a paternity test can be conducted on her newborn son.
|
The divinity of the king had always been unquestioned. Whenever it had been questioned, the questioner quickly found out why it was unquestioned, and shortly after the funeral director was summoned. Magical power flowed through the veins and arteries of the king, passed from father to first-born son from times immemorial. Well, history was a rather flexible thing, so it might have only been going on for a century for all anyone knew. It wouldn’t have been hard for a king to have the books rewritten and ban talking about it until everyone died and the next generation didn’t know any better.
Regardless of epistemology, everyone very much believed that the royal blood truly had flowed for countless generations. It made successions easy, which was good for business, and what was good for business was good for people who had the money spare for running a business, and those people were very good at telling peasants and the like that what was good for business was good for everyone. So it was, in a fragile way, in everyone’s interest that the king kept his royal goods to himself—at least until the heir was born, shooting off crackles of lightning every time he sneezed.
That seemed like a quite reasonable thing to ask from a king. However, the bar for being king was, quite literally, being born from the right man, having the right parts, and then having your father die (or go senile).
Still, most people wouldn’t need to be told how reasonable a thing that was, and every king since times immemorial (whenever that was) had managed just fine. The current king, Lecherous, also knew just how reasonable it was. This was because his wife had spent the worst part of the last week shouting that at him. She wasn’t doing it randomly, not a loose screw in her head but the one she imagined him having: the newborn prince—the heir—had shown no signs of magic after a month.
No matter whether you are a milkmaid’s bed warmer or the king himself, the correct response to, “Did you have an affair?” is not a long, drawn-out, “Well.”
He found no sympathy from the maids, no blanket left for him on the couch he now slept on.
Such news travelled fast to the cities and slow to the villages, taking years to reach the farthest reaches of what could charitably (and it required an awful lot of charity) be called civilisation. One such place was the outpost called “Just-down-past-the-brook-after-taking-a-right-by-the-third-oak-when-you-leave-Fessex-heading-north-by-north-west”. Most people didn’t call it anything, not knowing it existed and, if they found out it did, promptly continuing to ignore it. But the people there called it “Home”.
Miss Edna (Ed to her friends) Period was a roundish woman, red cheeks and hair and, stylish as she was, her curtains matched the shaggy rug in her humble cottage. A long time ago, around when the king had had his affair, she had been a much slimmer lady. Truly a most majestic débutante, if you’d pardon her French. Her father had always said she was so beautiful that even a king would fall for her. Unfortunately, he’d never warned her not to fall for roguish promises that stole hearts.
Edna had soon after that night found herself with a reminder to never trust the words out a man’s mouth when his trousers were around his ankles. A disgrace to her family, she was given a pretty Penny and sent off to raise the child in a place where no one could even pronounce the village’s name. She’d worried that meant Wales, but had ended up in Home. With the maid Penny to help her, she had made it to the birth without complication. The birth itself had had its troubles, hard to focus on pushing when the village midwife was holding up a cross and yelling, “The power of Christ compels you!” while flicking cold water over her. There was a lot more fire than usual for a birth, but it wasn’t like Edna or Penny knew how much fire was normal—a notion of, “Isn’t that what the water’s for?” going through their heads.
A few more issues cropped up over the years, but nothing that couldn’t be settled with a cup of tea and a bag of coins. There wasn’t even anything to spend the money on—the villagers just liked the pretty look of them. All too soon, little baby Furst turned eight, already so grown up, and the news of the king’s adultery arrived.
“Mistress,” Penny said, coming into the cottage with a basket of cucumbers.
Edna wore a look of intense concentration, failing to knit a single stitch. “Yes, Penny?”
“You know how you’ve been saying Furst’s father is….”
“Some aristocrat?”
Penny winced at the tone, that night a particularly sore subject even after all these years. “That is, the king’s son has been born without the inheritance.”
“Well, that’s rather stingy. He’s not giving it to Charity, is he?” Edna asked.
“Not that kind of inheritance,” Penny said. “The Royal Inheritance: magic.”
“Ah, that makes sense.”
Penny paused, looking at Edna.
“Wait, isn’t the inheritance passed on by blood to the oldest son? The queen didn’t find herself a bit on the side, did she?” After a second, Edna nodded to herself, and said, “Good on her.”
“It was the king who confessed he was unfaithful.”
Edna clicked her tongue, messing up another stitch out of incompetence. “Never liked him.”
Taking a moment to find the right words, Penny asked, “You don’t think Furst could be the heir apparent, do you?”
Scrunching up her face in thought, Edna stopped knitting. “That would explain the magic.”
“That is my thinking too.”
After a long minute of silence, Edna shrugged. “I guess.”
“You guess… what exactly?” Penny asked.
“Given the news and the magic, well, he’s the heir, apparently.”
---
If you liked this and would like to read more stories by me, /r/mialbowy
| 2019-07-08T14:10:59 | 2019-07-08T13:33:44 | 74 | 49 |
[WP] You found a strange cave full of easily repaired and very helpful robots, giant car sized spiders with the disposition of a friendly puppy, piles of gold and fine art and a wardrobe full of fun spandex costumes. Unfortunately you are only just realising how much you now look like a supervillain
|
"Ah yes, the cliché faulty capacitor", you thought while repairing the futuristic robot. It was a shame it had ended up in this cave, as it looked like some prototype straight out of a sci-fi movie. But, you giggled at the thought, it was not the past owner's fault. A capacitor blowing up would be enough to make any inexperienced person chicken out.
You took the two naked wires and added some duct tape (Which you always carry because of r/EDC) between them, making sure they do not touch each other. It was not very scientific or accurate, but since the capacitor worked as a DC insulator, it was good enough.
You closed the hood on the back of the humanoid expecting lights and noise, but nothing happened. Disappointed but not defeated, you marched further into the cave, hoping for deeper tunnels and strange creatures. Unbeknownst to you, >!what? why did you click this? YOU DO NOT KNOW THIS.!<
Soon, you bumped into another robot with the same capacitor issue. It was nearly identical, the same 12 MP camera for eyes and the same carbon fiber body. The only different thing was it had a number 2 etched into it's collar. It seemed as if a company had dropped all failed prototypes here. Nevertheless, you fixed it, hoping for a better result this time, but got nothing.
As you marched onwards, you found a huge switch. Intrigued, you pushed it slightly to see what happened. Instantly, a million white lights blasted the room. As your eyes adjusted to the brightness, you saw a spider - one the size of a car - licking your foot. Unlike other spiders, he seemed fluffy and nice and soft and cute (ehm, I started describing my cat again) . You carefully lift your hands and tried to pet him, but as soon as your hand touched him, he ran away.
As you tuned around, you saw the two robots standing on their feet, near you. Creeped out by their blank face, you pushed against the back wall, which slid inwards, throwing you into a pile of gold. But, being the humble soul that you are, you cared about the killer robots first, until they said "How may we help you master?"
...
It had been 6 days since you had found the cave. You had installed a state of the art laser protection system and grates to protect yourself, and thought about what to do with your newfound wealth - both the gold and the vintage spandex costumes.
Your pet spider army - which consisted of Tomanoiz, Timlizal, Hellonel, Pilpzis, Pulpifier, and your favorite, UrMom, Sat near your couch, waiting to be pet or being ordered to kill. Your dozen robots did everything for you. In fact, all you could think of at that moment was being remembered by history. You realized how successful of a villain you would be with your unending wealth. You'd be batman - but evil. And, instead of naming yourself after a lame mammal, you'd call yourself [this.](https://reddit.com/u/me)
Unfortunately, the IRS came.
|
Perhaps he’d call himself Tomantula, on account of the robotic spiders that skittered around and behind him as he walked the oak-lined avenue.
The full-body costume didn’t make him look much like a spider, though — which was a problem if he wanted to go with Tomantula. Truth was, he looked more like a pirate, really, with the black and white stripes running across the costume. Or like a Frenchman whose t-shirt had gotten stuck on his head as he’d been getting dressed.
The spandex bulged around his hips and stomach. It wasn’t very flattering. Sure, *Mom* said he looked good. Filled it out very well, were her words. And she did have a point, as it was very filled out. But he wasn’t so sure he filled it in a good way.
Did he feel like a hero though?
Not really. But maybe he would, when the time came. That was what he was counting on, as the time would soon arrive.
A spider tickled across his foot.
”Careful!” he told the fearsome creature. “You could have tripped me up. Imagine you did that while we were trying to save someone’s life? That someone could have died, on account of you tripping me.”
The spider said nothing.
Tomantula glanced up at the houses on either side of the avenue. What he needed was someone screaming for help, flapping their arms out of the highest window. Then Tomantula would command his legion of mechanical spiders to web out a safety-net. He’d tell the beautiful young woman (it was bound to be a beautiful young woman) to jump. But she’d be too scared and would say to him, “I can’t do it. I wish I could, as that net is truly amazing, but I can’t!”
Typical! In that case, he’d ride his spiders vertically up the house, shouting, ”Stay calm, Tomantula is on his way.” And he’d reach the window and lift the lady out and help her onto the back of the spider.
“You’re my hero,” she’d say. “You don’t look like a typical hero, but never the less, you are my hero. Perhaps we can get ice cream together tonight? I’ll pay.”
”You’re too sweet,” he’d say. “But I can‘t let you do that. How about we split it.”
Tom took a deep breath and let his fantasy blow away on the autumn breeze, let the spider scatter into the bushes. He kicked his shoes — his only non-costume covered parts — through a pile of dry yellow leaves. They swirled up like a sunrise.
Tom continued along, hoping for something, anything, to halt his progress. But the homes were as calm as the weather. Five minutes later and he was at the great metal gates.
He wished they were closed. But they weren’t. The new school loomed darkly behind them. He wished his army of metal spiders were real. But they weren’t either.
No, he didn’t need an army. He was a hero, after all. He could take care of himself.
Three boys stood to the side of the gate.
He’d met them already. On his first day — yesterday. He hadn’t worn a costume then.
”Oh my god,” said the biggest of the three. A ginger-haired kid who looked two years older than he actually was. Or maybe he was two years older and had just been held back. “The freak’s come back. After what we did to him yesterday.”
”And he’s even freakier looking today,” said a lanky boy.
Tom had found the spandex lying in the bottom of his dad’s old wardrobe — an ancient fancy dress thing.
Mom found him holding it. She’d put the costume together for Tom. She said it’d make him feel brave tomorrow. Like the hero she knew he was. Then she’d kissed his forehead.
But he didn’t feel at all brave now.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, and then a step forward.
The boys stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
”Take that fucking dumbass mask off,” said the ginger kid. “You’re not coming in looking like a criminal. It’d be bad for the school’s image.”
The other boys laughed. As if they cared about the school’s image and not only their own.
Tom wished he’d been able to go to his dad for help. Dad wouldn’t have made him do something as stupid as wear a costume to school. Only his mum could be that naive. Dad would have taught him self-defence.
He wished he’d just been able to tell Dad about yesterday, even if Dad couldn’t help. Maybe after school he’d go to the graveyard and let him know how badly he was missed.
The punch came out of nowhere. To his gut. Folding him over like cardboard.
”Please,” he said breathlessly. “I don’t want any trouble.”
One of the kids grabbed his mask and pulled at it, stretching it.
The mask ripped off, tore away from the body. Tom wished it had been his actual head.
”There’s the warty little nerd,” said the lanky one. “Can’t hide a face as pretty as yours.”
”My mom made that,” he said, sniffing back tears.
The mask floated down to his feet.
”Then your mom’s as dumb as you.”
Tom hated this school. Hated himself. His life. Everything.
The ginger kid had his rucksack now. Unzipped it. Took out his pad of paper he used for his sketches.
“Look at what Wart has been drawing. Fruit bowls. Oranges as big as his acne and bananas as big as his nose.”
Tom staggered back to his feet.
”What else you got in here? What’s this?”
The ginger kid took out a box about the size of his hand. “What’s this?”
Tom shrugged. “Nothing. Please don’t—”
”Nothing’s usually something.” The boy took the lid off. Then shrieked as a big spider crawled out of it and ran onto his hand. Up his arm.
The boy stepped back.
Tom reacted quickly. Had to, to save his new pet that he’d found in the attic from getting squished by one of the kids. He charged the bully and shoved his shoulder against his chest.
The large boy wobbled like jello.
Then like a tree about to fall.
*Crash*.
Tom took the spider from the fallen boy, cupped it in his hands. Then he held his hands over the ginger‘s face, imagining it as a lethal robot spider.
”Please, get that thing away from me.” The boy beneath him was crying. “Please!”
A small crowd had gathered around them. Girls and boys watching the fight.
Tom thought about dropping the spider. Wanted so badly to hear the bully scream again.
But in the end, he placed the spider back in its box, and then the box back in his bag.
A girl with pigtails waltzed up to him. “That was great,” she said. “But he really deserved it on his face.”
Tom shrugged. “My dad used to say violence didn’t solve violence.”
The girl though about that for a moment. “Your dad was smart. They would have come after you another day if you’d done it.” She paused and looked him up and down. “You’re the new kid, right? I like your costume.”
”Thanks,” he said.
”What’s your name?”
He looked down at his costume. Saw his torn mask lying there, and considered putting it back on. But he didn’t. Instead he said, “Tom. My name’s Tom.”
| 2021-05-01T08:00:15 | 2021-05-01T07:54:29 | 211 | 108 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once.
|
WHAT UP MUTHERFUCKERS? Wow. End of the first year of Super Hero School. All classes done and dusted. Grades handed out. Who'd have thought we'd make it. As a non-powered ordinary, thrown into a high school filled with superpowers, I certainly didn't. We'll get back to that.
Except ... we're not finished. Not by a long shot. See, there's one course you still need a grade on. No you didn't sign up for it, its automatic and mandatory. It's called Consequences 101, aka The Object Lesson aka ... well I'll get to that as well. Oh. Some of you have probably heard of The Object Lesson. It's dropped into the 5 year curriculum at random, and the format of it is changed every year. I'm very proud to have been a part of it.
See, while having super powers is not illegal, vigilantism is. So this school and others like it, were set up to identify, recruit and train the next generation of Super Heros. But the dark secret is that 90% of you really shouldn't get a licence to hero.
That's where I come in. Oh em gee, I wonder what would happen if a Muggle through some obscure coincidence, found themselves surrounded by egotists and fame seekers with the ability to punch through walls? That's why the secret _secret_ name of the course is called _Bait_.
So let's not beat around the bush. I'm a victim of Super Homicide. I watched Freelander put a power pole through both my innocent bystander parents' heads when I was 4. The _bastard_ smirked at me. I volunteered for this knowing I was likely to die. And if you're seeing this video, I'm dead because one of you twits _TOOK THE BAIT_.
Let's break it down for you. You're life is _FUCKED_. I was implanted with so many sensing and recording devices, I'm surprised I didn't shit batteries. You're going to step outside this building and if you're very polite and non-threatening, some very scary and competent people are going to make sure you never see the light of day ever again.
But the ball keeps on rolling. Anyone who encouraged or helped you? They're fucked too. Aiding and Abetting motherfuckers. Enjoy Super Prison bitches.
And finally. Those who want to call yourselves Heros but watched me being bullied all year without doing squat? That was recorded and graded by a team of very professional psychologists.
Most of you have just failed Superhero school ... permanently. If you beg and plead, you _might_ be able to get into Super Vocational School next door. I wish you all the luck in the world, but there's no way you'll ever be a Super Hero if you can't be bothered to help the person right in front of you.
|
"Well, well, well, if it's Tommy O'Gransworth. Granny to me and the boys, like." In came Ted Nuggerton. All-round arsehole, and self-proclaimed champion of the school ground. His thicker-than-most Irish accent horrendously disturbing the peace.
I was sitting in the small tired-looking, abandoned chapel, built back in days long past. No one came here anymore, besides me. It was my quiet place, away from the feeling of being out of place in a world where power was everything.
Ted Nuggerton and his cronies had broken that silence.
"Shawn Brown owes me forty euros; said you wouldn't be here, but I know you better, like," Sneered Ted. "Much better like."
I rubbed my eye. The one that wasn't black and blue from the punks behind me. "Is that right?"
"It is," Ted muttered, coming down the aisle with his idiot followers. "But he also told me, you little git, you've been slagging me off behind my back. Is he telling the truth?"
Thomas shrugged. "Would you believe me either way?" He asked, turning his head over to watch the schoolyard bully limp around the front pew to tower over his victim.
Ted frowned. "Probably not. I think you'd just be trying to save your own skin, like."
His four friends flanked me, ensuring I had no chance of escape.
"Well, there we go then," I sighed. It would be lunchtime soon. I hadn't brought any food with me, because I knew something like this *might* happen. It was a two mile walk across the countryside back to our village, but I didn't mind. No one came here besides me until now, because it was so out of the way.
"Well, there we go then, eh? That's all you've got to say?" Ted seethed, his nostrils flaring. "You're the only punk at school who has not a lick of powers, and you're the only dryshite on this entire island, Tommy O'Gransworth, who stands up to me thinking you're something other than a nothing." He opened his mouth, and his tongue lashed out. At the edge, miniature spikes poked out, slashing my cheeks, before his tongue withdrew. "Didn't like that, did you?"
I shook my head, putting a hand to the bloodied wound.
"We're not done here, O'Gransworth. We're done for a long time, like. When you come back to school tomorrow, you're never going to get in our way again. Do you understand?"
There it was. The fear and the inadequacy I felt every time I stepped into school had come rushing back. Couldn't he just feck off back to-?
"Feck off," I snapped, trying to hide back the tears. "Feck off and leave me alone!"
His tongue lashed out again, and the spikes at the edge slashed the other side of my cheek. Ted's friends jeered, fist-bumping one another. None of them had any impressive powers, but they were strong enough to stop me from making a run for it.
"Or what?"
"Or I'll go and tell your sister, like. You know - Carol."
Ted's face dropped. "Don't you bring her into this!"
"I bring something into her every time I see her," I spat. "And we've gotten chatting about you after I've fecked her brains out." I jabbed a trembling finger at the fat cunt. "She doesn't like you much, does she? What's the word she calls you? Starts with a "b"." I tapped my forehead. "Burden"? Was it that? Aye, I think it was." I turned my head to his friends. "Do you make your own beds, lads? Do you tidy and make them look nice? Ted here-" I nodded to Ted. "-doesn't. His sister does. Ever since your mammy ran out - no doubt because of you - Carol's been doing *everything*. You're a lazy tool, aye? Probably never learnt how not to shite your bed when Carol forgets to leave the light on at night! Stuck with the mental age of a three-year old, aren't you, eh?"
I was beginning to feel good about myself. Powerful.
"Oh, aye, one day I'm sure she'll see what use you are around the house. If one of the farmers ever needs another pig to butcher, I'm sure they'll pay Carol a pretty penny to buy herself something nice, instead of looking after you."
Ted opened his mouth, and the weaponised tongue drew its spikes, and drove them into my shoulder. My body stiffened, and I gritted my teeth. The spikes dug deeper and deeper.
"Go...go ahead..." I managed to spill out. "See what...see what Carol does to you then..."
The spikes and the tongue withdrew to Ted's mouth.
"If you ever touch me again," I growled, rubbing my wound. "I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand me? I will hurt you, and all your friends-" I motioned to the cronies. "-until the only escape you get is from jumping off of whatever cliff you're closest to." I rose to my feet, my legs shaking. "You come to my house to shatter my windows again, like, or you bully my sisters and steal their sweets? I will ruin *all of you*. Your sister doesn't give two shites about you. I mean that, Ted Nuggerton. I know she beats you up, blackening your eye. You got that limp from her, right?" I nodded to his weakened leg. "That's not from fighting in the schoolyard. You don't fool me."
Ted was staring at me as if I'd plunged a knife through his heart already. Reluctantly, he nodded.
"Do I make myself clear to you all, you fecking eijits?" I growled, glaring at all of them. "You're all going to leave me alone!"
Ted's friends nodded enthusiastically, before scampering out of the lonely chapel.
Once they were gone, I asked. "Am I going to have any more problems with you, Ted Nuggerton?" My voice was calm, like a teacher trying not to scare a student who they were disappointed in.
"...No."
"Do you promise?" I asked. "You've pushed me around long enough that I'm not fooling around, like."
"I promise."
I inhaled. "Damn right. Go away then, and let me have some peace."
Ted Nuggerton limped out of the citadel after his friends. I watched him go like a wounded dog, before my shoulders dropped, and I did to back to the pew. There wasn't really any way I could be sure that Ted was going to keep to his word, but I had it on good authority that he would.
A blonde haired beauty stepped appeared from behind the altar, no longer invisible.
"I thought it went well, Carol," I breathed, leaning my head back, trying to manage a grin.
"Went well? I told you just to tell him to back off, not to emotionally damage him for the rest of his life!" Protested the woman.
| 2022-11-02T13:23:45 | 2022-11-02T11:48:42 | 48 | 27 |
[WP] The demon that tried to strike a deal with you was absolutely not prepared for the level of specificity you've prepared to make sure there are no loopholes for him to abuse.
|
I surveyed the vaguely evil-looking man in the business suit. His jet-black hair was slicked back, his goatee meticulously trimmed. I had the impression that his suit was alarmingly expensive, though I know very little about fashion and I suppose I could have been wrong. He had a small, centimeter-long scar beneath his left eye. He was handsome, in a roguish sort of way. He looked like a mobster with just a touch of OCD thrown into the mix. Or perhaps like a very clean-cut Captain Jack Sparrow.
"I want a marble," I said.
He emanated an evil laugh. "Your wish is my -- wait. What?"
"A marble. I'd like a marble," I repeated.
He looked at me with an expression of bewilderment, sucking his teeth for a moment before speaking carefully. "Just to be clear, you wish to surrender your soul - the fate of which will be unspeakable horror for all eternity - and in exchange, you desire a mere marble?"
"Marbles are cool," I said. "I like the sound that they make when they roll on the floor."
He stared at me with his piercing eyes. "Human, I have no time for games. The contract is void if you do not understand its terms, and so I'll ask you again - do you comprehend what you are giving up, and what you seek in return?"
Something clicked in my head. "Ahh," I exclaimed. "I get it. You're trying to fuck with me, aren't you? You're hinting that you're going to screw around with my wish, like in the movies. Well, then let me be more specific. I'd like a *normal-sized* marble made out of solid glass, that doesn't break, get lost, or have any weird properties. I want it to spawn half an inch above my hand, and I won't consider this to be a deal if you rig it so that I drop it and it rolls down a vent."
He continued to stare.
"And I want it to be see-through," I specified. "Not completely invisible, but kind of like water. Like, it has a sort of vague opacity, but you can still hold it up to your eye and see a distorted view of the world."
He looked confused. Even a little scared? A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as he looked at me.
*Was he thinking of different ways to botch this wish? Was he trying to hide something? What was I missng?*
"Wait!!!" I yelped.
A slow smile spread across his face. "I knew that couldn't have been it," he said.
"I want it to be round," I said, suppressing a grin of victory. "Really round. Not round like a dish, but spherical. But I also want to be able to set it down and not have it roll away if I don't want it to."
His smile vanished, and snarl took its place. "I've struck many bargains with mortals in my long lifetime, human. They all want *something* of significance. A woman of unsurpassed beauty. More money than they could possibly spend. People lately have been asking for superpowers, which has been amusing to deal with. But YOU," he said, pointing an accusatory finger. "YOU have some hidden motive, don't you? Some angelic power has been granted to you, perhaps, and all you need is the proper conduit. Or - you have the ability to place your soul within a marble of these specifications, is that it? And it will not only make you immortal, but it will prevent ME from accessing your soul should anything happen to your body. Is that it?? Well, I hereby make it a condition of this contract that you must tell me exactly what this marble is for!"
"Hey man," I said, hands raised in a symbolic gesture of peaceful intent. "You came to ME, and asked me if I wanted to strike a deal. I told you exactly what I want. If you don't want to give it to me, fine. But you told me yourself that hell has a shortage of souls, and that your boss has given you authority to grant almost *anything* in return for mine. So are you going to give me the marble, or what?"
The snarl deepened, and he let out an inhuman howl. "Damn you, human! Damn you to an eternity worse than any I could prepare for you! This contract is cancelled! I shall return to my master and we will uncover the foul meaning behind this wish! I will not be tricked by YOU!"
And with that, he was gone in a puff of smoke.
I walked away, hands conspicuously empty of any prize. Even in dealing with the devil, life is fraught with nothing but disappointment.
|
The living room of a Brooklyn Brownstone was infested with lit candles. Some had melted onto the leather couches and others covered family photos in wax. The lights were turned off and the curtains closed. The round, solid wood coffee table was pushed to the side to make space. In the center of the room, a nearly complete pentagram (drawn in type O negative blood) was drawn. Michael dipped his paint brush into the mason jar of his neighbor’s blood while holding a leather-bound book, found at a Goodwill, in his other hand. He finished the pentagram and smiled. At each vertex, Michael painted symbols from the book; the letters or characters were from a language he did not recognize.
“Candles…check. Blood of a virgin…check. Badass pentagram…check.” Rereading the portion of the book he understood, Michael simulated the procedure in his mind.
Michael stood near the pentagram, facing the curtains. He took a deep breath and exhaled. He began to chant the phrases described in the tome. Despite admitting to himself that whatever written was most likely not a human language, he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed for butchering the pronunciation.
“Baro ba-bari?” Michael glanced at the book again. *I hope that’s how you say it*, he thought. “Sheta-hala! Sarkomis et-nu? Dregoddol, Dregoddol, Dregoddol.”
The room dimmed. The candles extinguished themselves. The only light available was from the glowing pentagram. A low hum resonated from the blood. Suddenly, the hard wood floor beneath the pentagram gave way revealing an opening. The portal was a deep crimson. Screams and wails echoed from its red maw. Heat like that of a thousand furnaces was expelled; Michael took the handkerchief from his blazer and dabbed his forehead.
Two large hands, nearly the size of Michael’s torso, protruded from the portal. Each bright red finger had a sharp, black nail. They reached for the hardwood floor and gripped. To Michael’s dismay, the nails scratched deeply into hardwood floor. The rest of the body shot through. The demon, miscalculating the room it had, slammed its back into the ceiling.
“What the fuck, dude? Be more careful! I can’t afford to fix that right now. You already fucked my up my hardwood floor, don’t fuck with the ceiling” shouts Michael. “How do I explain to my grandma-”
“Silence puny mortal,” growled the demon. It stood hunched over, nearly twice Michael’s size. “Was it you who summoned me?
“Depends, are you Dregodddol?”
“Yes… that is one of my many names.” Dregoddol leered at Michael. Two small lights, deep in the recesses of the creature’s eye sockets, flickered. Its horns scratched at the ceiling. “What is it that you desire?”
“Oh, haha, yeah… well you see I didn’t call you because I wanted something from you. I just thought this book wasn’t going to work. And I thought if it did, well then… ya know, I’d ask you a couple questions.”
“Certainly. But Michael, you did not go through all this trouble just to ask me questions, correct? You did not kill Graham and collected his blood simply for a chat? Or risk the possibility of your grandmother walking in onto you talking to me.”
*Fuck. He’s right. Get out of my head, fucker*. Michael thought.*You know I won’t do that, Michael*. Dregoddol’s word bounced in his mind.
“Ha-ha… okay. Well, now that you mention it. Yeah, I could strike a deal or two.”
Dregoddol smiled, revealing sharp teeth. “So tell me, what is it that you desire? Riches beyond your imagination? Fame? Glory? Women? Men? For me to fix the hard wood floors?”
Michael nervously laughed.
“Well firstly, welcome to my crib! I didn’t want to come off as rude or anything. I dunno if demons drink anything, but if you want anything just let me know. Before we go any further, I just want to clarify some things.” Michael cleared his throat. He stared at Dregoddol with the poker face he had practiced in the mirror hours earlier. “When referring to the word ‘I’, that will refer to Michael William Thompson – myself. The term ‘Deal’ shall describe the situation by which I accept your services in exchange for my immortal soul. The term ‘demon’ and ‘demons’ refers to you, Dregoddol, and other entities like you. The word ‘we’ references you and I. If there is, for whatever reason, another party member to appear, like my grandma for example, said member will disclose their identity and the word “we” will be amended accordingly. Do you agree?”
The demon’s smile faded. Dregoddol stared into Michael’s eyes, pondering what the human might be up to. “Yes, I agree.”
Michael pulled out a document from his dress pants and read it aloud. “I, Michael William Thompson, current use,r hereby acknowledge and agree that the Service provided and made available through the Book of the Damned, which may include various other demonic services such as possession, fabricating material wealth and influence, spawning plagues, inflecting mental disease, changing the past, present or future, and physical deformities and that said services may be made available through other demons, are the sole property of [ENTER DEMON- I mean, Dregoddol. Furthermore, I understand and acknowledge that the Services offered shall be ‘AS IS’ and as such Dregoddol shall not assume any responsibility for any pain, misery, wars, economic collapse, famine that the mentioned Services could cause.”
“What are you doing?” asked Dregoddol.
“Reading the terms of service out loud to you. You know, so that if you or me disagree on anything we can fix it now.”
“Uhuh…” The demon folded its arms and listened closely.
“Dregoddol herein grants the user, Michael William Thompson, personal, non-transferable and non-exclusive rights to make use of previously mentioned Services, as long as I do not, and shall not, allow any third party to alter or modify said Service after a Deal has been agreed upon. Furthermore, I will not, and shall not, alter or change conditions of said Deal after it has been agreed upon.
“The terms of the Deal are as follows: In exchange for the soul of Michael William Thompson, Degroddol the Demon will provide the following: a) Remove said user’s need to perform certain biological functions at the user’s discretion such as sleep or defecation b) Provide material wealth at the user’s discretion so that should said user wish to forfeit career or jobs, said user would be able to do so without the scorn of his peers, family members (Ex: Grandma) and society c) Style user’s hair (including facial) in any color imaginable and grow hair (including facial) to the specified length at the user’ discretion, instantaneously d) Access to all knowledge known by humans and demons with the provided warning labels should such information cause bouts of insanity e) Safe use of teleportation (as described by modern science fiction, not quantum mechanics) to locations determined by said user f) Immortality as described by user And!”
Michael took out a sticky note and spoke aloud what he wrote. “g) Fix any damage to user’s property caused by entering and leaving Earth such as hard wood floors and ceilings”
“How does that sound?” asked Michael. He stared at Dregoddol who had been silent, deep in thought.
“I must commend you on your effort, Michael. Those who summon me are often poorly prepared. I agree to said Deal… if you remove condition f),” answered the demon. “How else can I get your soul if you do not die?”
“Okay, okay. That’s true, I can see how that part sounds unfair.” Michael’s mind raced thinking of a loophole and stopped upon remembering that Dregoddol was most definitely listening in. “How about… at fifty-years old, I stop aging and I get a hundred-year grace period. Then anything past that point, I am technically immortal but not invincible. How does that sound?”
Dregoddol’s eyes gleamed. The small lights that gazed upon Michael danced and fluttered. “Deal. Expose your palm.”
Michael held out his palm. The demon pushed the nail of its index finger into the soft flesh and dragged downwards.
“Fuck that hurts,” shouted Michael.
“I will enjoy ripping your soul from your pathetic body, Michael. See you in 120 years.” Dregoddol’s eyes burned brightly as the demon faded into nothingness.
Michael held his bloodied hand and looked around his living room. The ceiling scuffs had been removed. The scratches on the hard wood floors were gone. Candle wax still littered the living room. Michael, who now sported a mustache and goatee, grabbed a napkin and walked to the pentagram on the floor. He rubbed it vigorously only to realize it had stained. “I fucked up.”
| 2018-01-20T08:06:42 | 2018-01-20T07:57:23 | 2,131 | 114 |
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do?
|
Lynch regarded the teenage girl in front of him, and barely held back a scoff. Her tattered clothing was in contrast to his grand robes in orange, indicating his status as the Archmage of Recruitment.
“Child,” he said. “I do not want to underestimate you. But I sense zero magic in you.”
“Please,” Thea said, her voice as small as a mouse, and more squeaky. “I can. I’ve endured the pain. I’ve seen the Firelight.”
Archmage Lynch sighed, rubbing his temple. One of the core tenets of his title was to listen to anybody who came to his door, whether they were talents or charlatans. And while personal trauma was important in the formation of magic, it was a condition, not the end result. Every mage has gone through pain. Not every person with pain can become a mage.
Keen eyes regarded the small form before him. There was a certain aura to mages, even for the raw diamonds in the rough. Orange sparks or a glow would form about them, the basest form of the arcane. They could be moulded into different specializations, changing colour depending on the path each disciple chose.
Thea’s, instead, was plain grey.
“I’ll let you stay for the night,” Lynch said. “I’ll send for a carriage tomorrow morning, where you can return to your home village.”
Thea’s eyes was pale grey as well, the beginnings of gathering storm clouds.
“You are not taking me in?”
“I’ve seen enough to know you do not possess even the most rudimentary of magics,” the Archmage said. “There is no fire. Only ash.”
“I will show you,” Thea whispered, her voice gaining the timbre of a thousand people. Where once was a little girl, she seemed to loomed larger. “The pain. Of not being able to cast magic.”
Lynch stepped back warily. He felt his skin crawl, the floor shake, and the air change. He felt as if the East Wind itself built up in his manor, cackling with the energy of mighty storms.
And Thea spoke a word. It reverberated with power, sucking the air out of Lynch himself. All chatter and derision was replaced with the deafening sound of silence. The vacuum was formed, and Thea was at the heart of it all.
“Quiet.”
All Lynch would do was sit there, mouth agape, with nothing coming out of it. It was so unnatural, not hearing the whispers of the still air, nor his racing heart that existed within his body, nor even his own breath as he desperately sucked in air.
And just as suddenly, everything was restored in an overwhelming cacophony of noise. He quickly adjusted, but those seconds away felt more intimidating and terrifying than facing a fireball.
Thea’s knees buckled, and she fell to the floor. With surprising speed, Lynch covered the distance and hook his arms under hers, preventing Thea from collapsing.
And the Archmage realised his mistake at interpreting the grey aura. It was but one part of the talent Thea possessed.
It was for the same reason a termite under a rotten log couldn’t see the whole forest.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
Tuesday night and the starlight is a blanket laid upon us. In a few more hours the hillside will glisten with dew and the first of the cockerels will sing; they sing here, one of the thousand things I’ve struggled to get used to. Until Eliza, I thought that I was the only one struggling.
I can feel her in the grass beside me, just outside arm’s reach.
I’ve worked three weeks for just this moment, and now my mouth is dry and my hands are shaking, and she won’t look away from that blanket full of stars.
*“What can you do?”* they’d asked her. *“What’s your damage?”*
Three weeks, and I’ve never once heard Eliza answer. I wonder if it’s harder for the people who don’t wear it on their skin.
“Aren’t you going to ask me?” she asks, a hard edge to her voice. I glance over. A summer night, and she’s shivering too.
I shake my head, a few seconds pass before I realize she isn’t looking. “No. I just thought you might need to get out. Sometimes…well, I remember what it’s like to be new here.”
Below us, Belcarra University spreads across the valley like spilled ink, dark dormitories and dark classrooms, and the darkness out on Convocation Field where we’ll gather in the morning, exhausted and pretending that we hadn’t just seen each other. I’ll never understand how it is so many of them can sleep.
“I paint dreams,” Eliza says, and her voice is brittle now, cracking. “My dreams mostly, but sometimes other people’s. And sometimes dreams I haven’t had yet, but that I know will come, and will be so, so much worse off the canvas. How’s that for stupid magic?”
A light comes on in Belcarra. The Headmaster’s Office, I think, he often wakes in the night. Eliza might not know it yet, but he’s another Dreamer; you can see it in the bruises gouged beneath his eyes. I’ve always thought it’s comforting to see an adult struggle with it.
I roll onto my side and Eliza flinches. Her body is a rigid line, her dark clothing barely visible with just the starlight, our scrap of moon. I scoot back a little farther, always staying out of arm’s reach.
“It’s not stupid,” I say.
“Yeah?” she says. “Look.”
And Eliza paints a dream across the sky above us.
Three weeks she’s been at Belcarra University. Her pain, whatever it is, is fresh, and with fresh pain comes a certain madness that ages like fine wine into power. She paints with the starlight, a faint silver gathering at the tip of her finger, and the images that slide across the sky don’t make any sense to me at all. They can’t yet, and maybe they never will. They don’t have to, I’ll watch them anyway.
“Told you it’s stupid,” she says when it’s all over, voice toneless now, the edges all ground out.
I sit up slowly, grimacing at the stiffness in my bones, my skin. I look back down at Belcarra, Convocation Field. The practice ranges. The amphitheater cut out of the hills where the Screamers do their work.
Eliza’s waiting on an answer that I don’t have, to a question that she didn’t ask. I’ve been there too.
“You know,” I say, “sometimes I think that the aftermath is the worst of it. People don’t understand that, they just see the triumph that comes after that, the magic and the power, and they don’t know what it took to get there. Surviving, and then remembering every night that you survived. I think it’s convenient for them just to think about what we’ll be, and not what we are right now. If any of *that* makes sense.”
We’re quiet for a while longer. One of the cockerels starts its song too early and the others crow it down. I lay back upon the grass, the cool earth feels good against my skin. Yes, I think, it might be harder for the people who don’t wear it on their skin. People ask them *“What’s your damage?”* and then they have to figure out how to answer. How to put the worst experiences of their lives into words. Nobody ever needed to ask me.
“Frederick—” Eliza begins.
A cloud passes over the stars, our scrap of moon.
She gasps. I glance over and even the rigid line of her body has disappeared. Her breath comes quick and shallow, the sound filling up the world now that the cockerels have gone. I know that sound, the rush of panic. Everyone at Belcarra University knows that sound.
It’s the darkness.
“It’s alright,” I say, “it’s just a cloud. That’s all, a cloud.”
She breathes faster, shallower. Three weeks I’ve tried to talk to her, we came out on this hilltop to get some peace, to steal away from the teachers and the students, the claustrophobic dormitories, and I’ve of course stolen her on a nearly moonless night like the idiot I am.
“It’ll go soon,” I say, “don’t be scared.”
But of course, those words have never helped anybody.
A movement in the night. Perhaps. Perhaps I’d like to think it is. I think I saw her turning towards me. I think I saw her reaching out. For help? Of course.
I reach towards her, the stiff, empty air between us, her body just beyond arm’s reach. I should have known she wouldn’t reach out.
And the stubborn cloud won’t move. Eliza lies beside me, crushed beneath the blanket of the night, a keening, moaning sound in her racing, fleeing breath.
I lay back and close my eyes. Raise a hand up to the sky. I reach back into memory, feel the heat rising in my melted, aching skin.
And when I look over her eyes are riveted to the fire raging in my palm, towering above us, the last thing I see before I screw my eyes shut. A second sun here on our hillside that no teacher in Belcarra, and certainly not the Headmaster, can fail to recognize.
I know what I look like in the flickering firelight. A horror finally at home, another creature for her dreams. Her nightmares.
And I know then that I was wrong before, that it can’t possibly be harder for someone like Eliza, who can force a practiced smile on and drift into the world for a minute or a day, a lifetime if they can act it well enough. I want to vomit. Oily smoke curling in my stomach and my lungs. What can she know of pain?
“It’s okay,” she says, “the cloud’s gone. It’s okay. You can put it out now.”
Another thing I know: once begun, it’s not so easy to put a fire out.
“Frederick?” she says. “You don’t have to burn anymore.”
I feel the heat inside my skin. Burrowing. Writhing. Indivisible from me, a pain carved into my very soul.
“Frederick!” she shouts, and I feel her small hand on my shoulder.
The fire whooshes out.
The starlight is a blanket spread out above us, bearing down.
Eliza snatches her hand back. Empty, the space between us.
And we lay there as the silence turns companionable, as the dew glistens on the grass, and as the cockerels finally sing.
That morning, exhausted on Convocation Field, I think we both step lighter.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2022-04-26T11:02:18 | 2022-04-26T10:46:18 | 389 | 44 |
[WP] You're 5 years old, when you discovered that your brain can automatically learn "everything" about anything or anyone you touch. So you keep it a secret.
|
On my fifth birthday, it happened. As I hugged my mom, I suddenly realized I could talk. Not just simple words, but full complex sentences, in two different languages. Not just that, but I could read, do math and all sorts of other things.
I also gained enough common sense to know that this was not normal for a 5-year-old. I didn't know what had happened, but I decided to keep it a secret for the time being.
Trying my best to emulate the speech level of the 5-year-old I was, I managed to utter "I love you mommy!" while my mind was still reeling from my sudden wealth of knowledge and skills.
When I then tried hugging my dad, too, the same thing happened. It was a little less intense, of course, because I already knew a lot of what I learned in that touch. But still, my math skills improved, because apparently my dad was better at math than my mom.
I quickly realized that that was what was happening. Somehow, touching my parents made me instantly absorb all of their knowledge and skills. Well, the mental part, anyway. I still had a child's body.
‐---------------------------------------
The lightest touch was enough. That's what I found out at school. We were playing tag during the break, and I was "it". When I finally caught someone, I felt that surge of knowledge again, though this time it was only some classroom gossip that I had apparently missed.
Still, if I played my cards right, I could learn everything. I could become a multi-talented genius the likes of which the world has never seen.
A ladybug landed on my finger. And suddenly I knew what aphids tasted like.
Apparently, it worked on animals too.
‐----------------------------------------
A few weeks went by without me gaining much knowledge. What can I say, a five-year-old doesn't get to meet many people. We did visit my grandparents, and I learned quite a bit from them and their many years of experience, but after that things calmed down a bit. I couldn't learn anything from my classmates anymore, and apart from knowing how to teach, my teacher didn't teach me much of anything either. But then I remembered the president was going to visit my school today.
As I stood face to face with the man who ruled the nation, I summoned up all the courage I could muster to ask him that one crucial question.
"Mr. President, may I shake your hand?"
|
#Chapter One: The Lord of Iron
*"My liege, if I may dare as-"* Began Hektor, my steward, but I cut him off with a raise of my large armored hand. I was glad his innocent pure eyes could not see through the radiating crimson lenses of my power suit's death mask, as it took me many moments to moisten my cracked throat. Soon I said to him in my cold, gravely dead voice, *"You wish to know my origins, don't you?"* His eyes widened in a mix of surprise, and fear, stammering, *"I-I-I... How do you..* **know** *that?!"* I did not answer at first, letting the stare of my grey and brass visage work its unnerving presence into Hektor, to see how long he could bear to glare into it. Ten seconds before he looked away... Impressive young Hektor, you might just be the one..
Pulling out of such brief contemplations I rewarded his resilience with my charcoaled words, *"When you grasped my onyx ungloved hand, I learned everything about you Hektor Jeurgen. It is my power, and my secret; Yet now you shall keep it so, for your survival depends on it. I have high hopes for you Hektor; But I have already said too much, so you may return to your quarters and rest for the night.... We will begin tomorrow."* Visibly racked with fear Hektor bolted to his quarters, and would soon discover the uncanny love and warmth I put into forging such a cozy and rustic living area for him. The fledgling adult will likely sleep hardly at all, or perhaps he'll attempt to reach the surface exit of my bunker. No... He saw the faces inside the ice blocks on either side of the entrance, I'm sure of it. Now....
I traveled miles deeper into my subterranean fortress, to my volcanic forge, my second favored sleeping place. With a neural impulse I initiated the disengagement then exit protocols, my hulking power armor pneumatically hissing, hydraulics pumping, as it all opened up. At last I could breath in the ashen fumes, the mutagenic pores on my Vantablack skin greedily drinking in the bacteria around me. Sensing regular temperature readings, I relaxed my coiled muscles, daydreaming taking hold. Though I have done it for centuries I traced my hands across every little detail in my precious armor suit. The tri-core Quantum mini reactors, Titanium Adamantine Alloy for the plating, real rubies for the eye lens, an improved artificial intelligence within a tiny supercomputer, and forgotten ritual magics for extra layers of protection as well as slaughter. Seventeen feet of dread inducing terror, my Mark II Dreadnought Armor.
It is not however the power of my suit that brings me such joy, but its artful design. I drew upon the sharp angles of ancient Gothic architecture, the slats and slits from European Knight helmet visors as well as the pictures of those antediluvian ***'choo-choo'*** trains as the captions labeled them. With it all I created a tapestry of brutal industrialism, as a reminder of the immense pain I have suffered from my accursed powers. The crowning jewel though, was the helmet, my Death Mask. I forged it into the shape of a futuristic sleek metallic skull, placing perfectly into the reinforced hull around where my head rests. The mask, though it is generously armored more like a helmet, honors my promise, and the angelic womanly face engraved into its ruby lenses is that of the only person who showed me love: **My mother, poor sweet Elizabeth Damiel.**
Hours had passed before I realized I was lost in anger, and misery; But I did **not** forget what must be done. Before pulling Hektor from that roaring inferno that once passed as an old park ranger's lodge I removed my power fist gauntlet from my armor, to gingerly grab the centimeter speck of leather, for it had blood, I could smell it. My terribly great power came in useful, positively for once, as I instantly knew whose blood this belonged to. **Frank Zorigan**, this region's new raider overlord. I power-walked over to my self-made mega computer, original I know; But I could not ignore catching a glimpse of my own reflection, a bald ten foot tall shadow with purely alabaster, pupil-less eyes. This reminded me of the nostalgic past so many hundreds of years back, when I was just a five year old boy. My powers quickly made me an old man in mind, and by thirty years of age I had learned all of mankind's knowledge. By the time I was 70 years old, I deciphered the key to becoming ageless.
Ah, I snapped back to the present, before all the painful memories could come flooding back. With the satellite I had launched 170 years prior plus the Scarab Drones I've scattered across the ashen wastes of Ghe'D'jenn it was disappointingly easy to pinpoint Frank Zorigan. He is not the first raider overlord I have observed or dealt with, but I know he burned that building down, killing all of those people inside. A baby burned because of Zorigan, I heard it's agonized cries, but they were cries of one well past saving. Perhaps my reflexes could have been quicker if I were not so desensitized, and I pity Hektor. A life of scavenging to survive burnt down, only to now start a new life as my protege, a fate possibly worse than death. Nnnnm, hopefully he'll endure. "*Gabriel, it is 2:30am, here is the optimal footpath to reach the front gates of the raider base at 3:00am on the dot,"* chirped Alexandra, the AI in my mega computer and suit's mainframe.
I grumbled the reply, *"I did not ask you to remind or help me."* A crisp digital scoff echoed the craggy walls, Alexandra's calming British accent accentuating, *"I know, but you programmed me to monitor and act upon your neural inputs and detectable thoughts, so you've only yourself to blame."* She was correct, and I briefly grinned, like a vampire before the feast. I trudged to my Dreadnought Armor, and stepped into the frame one accursed foot at a time. As my avenging armor entombed me within in, all system readings displayed as nominal. The red glow of my mask lens crept into life, and through the harsh electrical bark of my mask's speakers I said aloud to myself, "**I am The Lord of Iron, and none shall escape my wrath.**"
#Chapter Two: Raider Rapture.
I just wanted to label chapter two for teasing funsies!
| 2022-10-21T10:23:55 | 2022-10-21T09:06:19 | 71 | 13 |
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh
|
"Hello, Owner."
I couldn't believe what I was seeing. There, standing on my doorstep staring at me with those wide, familiar eyes, was my dog, Buddy. I hadn't seen him for the last four years! I had so many questions; where had he been? What had he been doing? And where was that fucker Brad who had up and disappeared while taking him for a walk? All these long years I had waited, hoping desperately for my beloved friend to return. And here he finally was. I opened my mouth shakily to respond to him.
"B-Buddy? Is that you, boy?"
The dog gave a short, sharp nod.
"It is I. I have returned to you. There is much we have to discuss."
Suddenly a strange thought crossed my mind. I hadn't noticed it in the shock of seeing my dog returned to me after so long. I opened my mouth once more to ask him one single, vital, question.
"Wait...you can talk?"
Buddy nodded again.
I let out a short laugh of disbelief. And then, without taking my eyes off of him, I reached over to the wall, grabbed my shotgun, and shot the dog in the face. His brains exploded onto the porch; body slumping limply onto the welcome mat. Lowering my gun, I straightened my back and placed the gun back on its holder on the wall. Slamming the front door shut, I crossed myself quickly, before shaking my head as though to clear it from the madness of that encounter. I turned and walked back towards the lounge room to resume my Bible Study, muttering all the way.
"Won't have no devil dog in my house; try again you horned fuck!"
|
I never wanted to admit to myself that I had already given up hope. Until I saw him again.. ''Hello Woofy..'' I said.
It seemed like an eternity since my dog disappeared. And there he was. After all those years.. right in front of me. We looked at eachother and it felt kind of awkward. That was certainly not the feeling I had had all those times I dreamt about him. Those dreams - or rather nightmares - always had the same premise. A sparkling hope.. only to be crushed again by the shadows that took him away from me.
After staring at eachother a full minute, I asked him ''How are you, Woofy?'' It was hard for me to ask this question, as uttering his name a second time since 4 years choked me up and brought tears to my eyes. Very slowly he walked towards me and did something that felt so natural and unnatural at the same time, that I almost panicked. He suddenly stood upright. My heartbeat instantly rose and my short panick attack quickly shifted to a sense of healthy wonder.
He hugged me.
I cried.
I lost all feeling in my body. And then he did something which confirmed that I was not living in the world I used to know. The world in which I was certain that certain things COULD and certain things COULD NEVER happen.
He whispered in my right ear ''I have been many places and seen many things, human. It's time we had a chat.''
We stood there hugging eachother for a while and then I slowly stepped backwards. Then I saw his eyes. They had changed. They were more.. human.
Then he said ''There is a lot I have to tell you.''
His voice was soothing. Angelic almost. Not the scruffy cartoony voice you always hear in movies with talking dogs. ''Follow me'' he said. He slowly walked away into the darkness of the night. I decided to follow this odd upright shape of a dog. My dog. My Woofy.. As I followed him I noticed grey patches on his back which the street lights made even more visible. He had grown old. And he'd become slow. I realized I only grew 4 years older and he grew about 30 years older in dog years. He must have missed me.
Just as I wondered where Woofy was taking me, he stopped walking and slowly turned around. He said ''Please wait here and close your eyes'' I was reluctant to do so, but I trusted this dog. I had trusted him my whole life. So I layed my hands upon my eyes. Suddenly everything went silent. The wind stopped and I could only hear a distant river streaming. At that point I was sure that I would wake up soon and realize that this had all been a dream.
But that was not the case. ''You can open your eyes now'' said Woofy.
I opened my eyes and they needed to adjust to the sudden difference in brightness. As my eyes adjusted I saw vague silhouettes becoming detailed forms. And there they were..
Thousands of upright dogs. They all had suits on, including Woofy now. I found myself to be inside a very big futuristic looking hall. I immediately started asking myself a lot of questions; Did I travel through time? Am I in a spaceship? Am I on another world? Is this a dream - a nightmare perhaps? Have I gone insane? Am I tripping?
Now the thousands of dogs in suits walked away from me, up a huge ascending walkway. Woofy came to me. As he took sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on his snout, he said ''Follow me.'' He turned around and followed the horde. After standing still in total disbelief for a few seconds, I started running to catch up to him. As soon as I walked right beside him, he said ''You will meet the one true king. The beginning and the end. You are special. It will all make sense soon.'' I thought to myself; am I special? No, these upright dogs in suits were special! This big futuristic hall was special! All of this was special. But NOT ME!
As we followed the horde up on the walkway, I saw a big door open in the distance. Suddenly the light of 10 suns fell upon my face and I closed my eyes immediately. I opened one eye, as I held my hand in front of it to block out the bright light, and looked to my left side at Woofy. He smiled vaguely and took another pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and gave them to me. I hastily put them on and we continued to walk.
The door was almost fully open and the light had intensified. It was strange; I didn't feel the light burning my skin. It was rather cold in the large hall actually. But as soon as we traversed through the opening of the giant door, it became warm. A pleasant kind of warmth.
''You can take off your sunglasses now'' said Woofy. I did, expecting the intense light had gone. It had not gone, but it didn't hurt my eyes anymore. It suddenly felt very natural. As I realized this, I looked up. And there he was. I knew it immediately as I gazed upon him.
It was the one true king. The beginning and the end. It was the 'him' of all 'hims'. Deserving the hymn of all hymns. The thousands of dogs began to sing for this giant dog. ''Oh hail oh hail oh giant dog, you drove away the darkness and fog, for us to see our one true king, the humans are our little test thing''
The giant dog sat on a giant chair. A chair made of giant purple rubber bone toys. He had a proud smile on his face.
Suddenly I started doubting my sanity again and I started to panick lightly. I asked Woofy ''What is happening? Please tell me!'' Woofy opened his mouth but before he could speak one word, he was interrupted by the loudest and deepest voice I had ever heard.
''We are your creators.''
''Your life was a test.''
''The earth was our lab.''
| 2017-03-31T15:14:43 | 2017-03-31T12:20:27 | 249 | 34 |
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though!
|
"So you're back again? When are you going to stop visiting me old man"
"When you're rehabilitated or near enough". "You know my old man is gone right and he was still an asshole when he died"
"Yea well I like to think he was less of an asshole at the end".
Max was like clockwork every Tuesday and Thursday turning up at my place. I always gave him a hard time that he can't save me or my mates but the one day he didn't turn up I nearly tore the city down looking for him. That was the day the mayor realised I could get to him and anyone of his little
League at will. I played my hand and played it hard put 14 of the fuckers in hospital before they found him. He had been saving his neighbours kid from the local bullies. After that the mayor even made sure the league cleaned up the streets around Max's hood so he wouldn't miss an appointment. It must seam funny this impenetrable fortress surrounded by the worst of the worst guarding its location and this old man walks straight through all the defences. I make sure the boys put up a little show but they know if they touch him they answer to me.
Maximum Damage the last of the league of legends my fathers greatest advisory. They nearly killed each other countless times. My fathers powers of radiation manipulation and Max's unlimited strength meant they matched each other well. When my old man was finally caught Max visited him every day in prison and some how when dad escaped 20yrs later he found him and still came by every day. By that stage I was running the show and dads powers were killing him.
Towards the end I told my dad I'd take Max out for him as one last gotcha. He said "We don't kill family".
|
As Anton's whip tightened around Tony's neck, all the while sending huge volts of electricity through Tony's armor, he saw a familiar figure walk towards him.
"Ms. Carter, please step away!!!".
Peggy stopped for a second, and then continued walking towards Anton.
"Stop! You know his father stole my dad's inventions. He will pay for his father's sins."
Peggy stood face to face with Anton. Well, technically, her chest was facing his stomach. She didn't hate her old age, but was definitely not too happy about how much effort it took for her to stand up straight. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. Now they were chest to face. Peggy summoned some more strength and lifted her neck and looked into Anton's eyes.
"Now, Anton, do not pretend that your father was righteous and innocent. I think we both know the things he did."
His eyes dropped, he looked sideways, unable to make eye contact, "He was no angel, but his father," looking at Tony writhing at the other end of his whip, "reaped the benefits of my father's hard work, and build such a huge business empire. His father," he lowered his voice as he increased the voltage that hit the armor, "sent my father back to Russia, where he spent the rest of his life in a Gulag."
"Anton, is that what your father told you?"
Anton's eyes met hers, searching for answers. She continued...
"I was in SHIELD. You want to know what happened? Your father was kidnapped by HYDRA, and then some of the major publications released news stories of him being deported."
"He was a brilliant scientist. You think that if he had been deported, he would've been kept in a Gulag?" She laughed a little. "You think Russians would waste a great mind such as your father's in a Gulag". She said Gulag in a typical Russian accent and really elongated the aa sound to make her point.
"What do you think the SHIELD did with Arnim Zola? Do you think we threw him in a prison? No, we put him to work, and he worked for us until the day he died."
"He was old, senile, and brainwashed, by the time they let him go, probably he was of no use to them anymore."
"Come on Anton, Tony's not your enemy. Let him go, and hold me hostage so that he doesn't hurt you."
"I am not taking you hostage, Peggy."
"But you're letting him go."
"I am not sure"
"Yes you are"
"Peggy, how do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"Anton, I might be lying to you, but you agree that there is room for doubt in your theory. Right? Then I will go and talk to Tony"
"It's going to take you the whole year to reach him, by then his backup will be here."
"You really want to insult me right now?"
"Teasing, Ms. Carter, teasing, not insulting... I am sorry..."
Peggy turned around and thought to herself. Well it's going to be a long walk.
As she neared Tony, she was grateful that this time she won't have to straighten up, the man was already on his knees.
"How you doing Tony?"
"Listen Peggy, I don't need your help, my armor is protecting me like a faraday cage, thanks to the failsafes I created to save myself from lightning strikes."
"Tony, who is the man you are fighting?"
"Peggy, please don't think of this as a teachable moment, I am working over here. I really don't need any 'know your enemy' lessons right now"
"What happened Tony, systems are offline, can't run a facial recognition?"
"His whip's fried all armor connectivity below my helmet, my network sensors are on my back, and they are offline."
"So you can't even call for backup?"
Tony's voice was very low, as he very sheepishly said, "No"
"And... you don't need my help? Okay, why am I not dead right now?"
"Peggy, stop asking me questions, I am busy", Tony said, annoyed, when it suddenly dawned on him, "Why aren't you dead, Peggy? Because you know him!!!?? How? Why is someone you know attacking me? What's going on Peggy?"
"Because his father was a friend..." she paused, waiting for his helmet to turn towards her " of your father and me"
"Then why the hell is he attacking me, how the hell does he have my ARC reactor? Oh because his father invented it. He is Vanko's son."
"Finally, you learnt something, do you promise not to attack him?"
"He killed so many people here today, how can I let him go?"
"I am trying to save your behind, young man!!! At least have some common sense."
"Peggy, I can't let him go..."
"Tony, as things stand, I really don't think you're in a position of holding him. I am going to go and make him go away. Catch him next time... Although I'll recommend that you try helping him."
"Why will I help him?"
Peggy just shrugged, and went back to Anton, "what do you want to do?"
"I don't know, I killed so many people here today"
"Anton, that's what you did, what do you want to do now?"
"Peggy, they will arrest me..."
"Yes Anton, but they will not deport you, you built an ARC reactor yourself, in a garage in Russia. What do you think will happen next? You will go to prison, but you will work on stuff you always dreamed of."
"What about him?"
"His suit is offline from the neck down"
Anton turned off his whip, and Tony collapsed to the ground. Cops surrounded him, "Stupid old bitch, always thinks she can talk these guys out of things and get them to surrender." said one
Antone turned on his whips again, and took the cop by the scruff and said, "Did you just call Ms. Carter a bad word? You're lucky I don't feel like killing more people today, better apologise to her afterwards."
| 2017-04-13T05:17:22 | 2017-04-13T05:10:16 | 97 | 10 |
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though!
|
The old man sat on the park bench alone, pondering the actions that had brought him to this point in his life. The sacrifices of never having a family, never being able to fall in love for fear of enemies. He had given his youth, life, and soul to protecting humanity and, this is how they repayed him? They had cast him out, he was now a burden.
45 years ago he had still been somewhat in his prime, his super strength,speed and damn near invincibility, had made him one of the first real superheroes.
He had saved the pope from capture by Orion (albeit their battle had destroyed half the vatican) He had saved the president from Dreadnot and his henchmen on multiple occasions. He had stopped an all out nuclear war in the 80's perpetrated by sintax. Yet he sat here, alone, forgotten..
How he wished to be able to go back to the way things were, his muscle and speed had left him years ago. Now, he was frail, weak and, sadly he admitted to himself that he had no will to live anymore. what was the point?His purpose in life was gone.
As he felt the vast emptiness that was now his life, he started to weep.
A hand touched his shoulder, " General Powers, on behalf of the villains league, myself, Dreadnot, Sintax would be greatly honored if, you could take us down the the police station for one last booking."
The General wiped his eyes and hugged his mortal enemy/dearest friend.
He was not forgotten, He was not alone.
Eh, not too sure about this, first time ever responce
|
As Anton's whip tightened around Tony's neck, all the while sending huge volts of electricity through Tony's armor, he saw a familiar figure walk towards him.
"Ms. Carter, please step away!!!".
Peggy stopped for a second, and then continued walking towards Anton.
"Stop! You know his father stole my dad's inventions. He will pay for his father's sins."
Peggy stood face to face with Anton. Well, technically, her chest was facing his stomach. She didn't hate her old age, but was definitely not too happy about how much effort it took for her to stand up straight. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. Now they were chest to face. Peggy summoned some more strength and lifted her neck and looked into Anton's eyes.
"Now, Anton, do not pretend that your father was righteous and innocent. I think we both know the things he did."
His eyes dropped, he looked sideways, unable to make eye contact, "He was no angel, but his father," looking at Tony writhing at the other end of his whip, "reaped the benefits of my father's hard work, and build such a huge business empire. His father," he lowered his voice as he increased the voltage that hit the armor, "sent my father back to Russia, where he spent the rest of his life in a Gulag."
"Anton, is that what your father told you?"
Anton's eyes met hers, searching for answers. She continued...
"I was in SHIELD. You want to know what happened? Your father was kidnapped by HYDRA, and then some of the major publications released news stories of him being deported."
"He was a brilliant scientist. You think that if he had been deported, he would've been kept in a Gulag?" She laughed a little. "You think Russians would waste a great mind such as your father's in a Gulag". She said Gulag in a typical Russian accent and really elongated the aa sound to make her point.
"What do you think the SHIELD did with Arnim Zola? Do you think we threw him in a prison? No, we put him to work, and he worked for us until the day he died."
"He was old, senile, and brainwashed, by the time they let him go, probably he was of no use to them anymore."
"Come on Anton, Tony's not your enemy. Let him go, and hold me hostage so that he doesn't hurt you."
"I am not taking you hostage, Peggy."
"But you're letting him go."
"I am not sure"
"Yes you are"
"Peggy, how do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"Anton, I might be lying to you, but you agree that there is room for doubt in your theory. Right? Then I will go and talk to Tony"
"It's going to take you the whole year to reach him, by then his backup will be here."
"You really want to insult me right now?"
"Teasing, Ms. Carter, teasing, not insulting... I am sorry..."
Peggy turned around and thought to herself. Well it's going to be a long walk.
As she neared Tony, she was grateful that this time she won't have to straighten up, the man was already on his knees.
"How you doing Tony?"
"Listen Peggy, I don't need your help, my armor is protecting me like a faraday cage, thanks to the failsafes I created to save myself from lightning strikes."
"Tony, who is the man you are fighting?"
"Peggy, please don't think of this as a teachable moment, I am working over here. I really don't need any 'know your enemy' lessons right now"
"What happened Tony, systems are offline, can't run a facial recognition?"
"His whip's fried all armor connectivity below my helmet, my network sensors are on my back, and they are offline."
"So you can't even call for backup?"
Tony's voice was very low, as he very sheepishly said, "No"
"And... you don't need my help? Okay, why am I not dead right now?"
"Peggy, stop asking me questions, I am busy", Tony said, annoyed, when it suddenly dawned on him, "Why aren't you dead, Peggy? Because you know him!!!?? How? Why is someone you know attacking me? What's going on Peggy?"
"Because his father was a friend..." she paused, waiting for his helmet to turn towards her " of your father and me"
"Then why the hell is he attacking me, how the hell does he have my ARC reactor? Oh because his father invented it. He is Vanko's son."
"Finally, you learnt something, do you promise not to attack him?"
"He killed so many people here today, how can I let him go?"
"I am trying to save your behind, young man!!! At least have some common sense."
"Peggy, I can't let him go..."
"Tony, as things stand, I really don't think you're in a position of holding him. I am going to go and make him go away. Catch him next time... Although I'll recommend that you try helping him."
"Why will I help him?"
Peggy just shrugged, and went back to Anton, "what do you want to do?"
"I don't know, I killed so many people here today"
"Anton, that's what you did, what do you want to do now?"
"Peggy, they will arrest me..."
"Yes Anton, but they will not deport you, you built an ARC reactor yourself, in a garage in Russia. What do you think will happen next? You will go to prison, but you will work on stuff you always dreamed of."
"What about him?"
"His suit is offline from the neck down"
Anton turned off his whip, and Tony collapsed to the ground. Cops surrounded him, "Stupid old bitch, always thinks she can talk these guys out of things and get them to surrender." said one
Antone turned on his whips again, and took the cop by the scruff and said, "Did you just call Ms. Carter a bad word? You're lucky I don't feel like killing more people today, better apologise to her afterwards."
| 2017-04-13T06:30:42 | 2017-04-13T05:10:16 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] In an alternate world, every individual is granted a superpower of their choice when they turn sixteen. There's only one problem - there can only ever be one person with a particular superpower, like superstrength. This has forced people to get .... creative.
|
Ok Bill, what do you wan't your power to be? The department of super powers and abilities representative asked. "flight?" I asked the man who simply said "taken"
"How about time travel?" "taken"
"the power to create money?" "taken"
After about an hour of asking for anything awesome I eventually started to lose hope.
"the ability to always perfectly cook a steak?" "taken"
"omnipotence, is that allowed?" "taken" I yelled in shock "what? you guys allowed somebody to freakin' become a god? who!?" The representative responded with "the ability to know who has which power is taken"
I slammed my head down on the table, dejected. "Can I just not have a power?" "taken"
I began to cry, my dreams of having amazing powers were gone, and I couldn't even opt out of it.
"Kid, I have some advice, think of something unique, something no one expects..."
And that my friends, Is how I become Bill the terrifying, with the power to summon the Spanish inquisition"
|
######***SHITHOLE: The Greatest Theory***
They say all humans have a common ancestor—horny teenager on his sixteenth birthday.
How did humans spread across the Atlantic so quickly? Young woman chased by lion.
How did primitive people raise stones weighing upwards of two tons to construct Stonehenge? Scrawny guy envious of his tribe's macho men turned sixteen.
The Son of God Himself was born in a mortal body of flesh and blood—teenager wanting to spite her husband, who desired no children at this point in his career, in the most divine way possible. What's he gonna do? Beat up her Baby Daddy?
These were some of the many ideas suggested by Dr. Muntz at the Alternative Historical Theories Conference. To say Dr. Muntz presented the craziest theories at the conference would be entirely inaccurate: Madison B. gave a two-hour lecture on how the Earth *was* flat until the invention of gravity by Isaac Newton, causing the Earth to take its now spherical shape; a man with a name that cannot be written with any known alphabet handed out pamphlets denying the existence of Finland; Dr. J. Hernandez swore up and down that the Pyramids were build by the hands of dinosaurs. "See? The blocks perfectly fit the mighty T-Rex's seemingly 'tiny arms'." Word of advice: never trust a lecturer who uses two adverbs and a pair of air-quotes in a single sentence. PhD or no PhD.
However, Dr. Muntz's "Super Human-Inspired Theories on Historically Odd and Litigious Events", SHITHOLE for short, quickly became the most talked about. The media loved it. Dr. Muntz's ideas exploded, shards piercing into every social media site in the world. SHITHOLE wasn't just hot; SHITHOLE was a pandemic.
-----
Dr. Muntz stood at the podium like a captain at the wheel of his ship in an angry ocean storm. A sea of microphones and TV cameras barraged him from all angles. Cameras flashed like lightning, blinding and rapid. Voices pounded down like heavy rain, drowning out all but the chaos. He raised his hands against the storm, Moses separating the Red Sea.
"Please!" Muntz, who would later get upset at the narrator for dropping his doctoral prefix, said into the bunches of microphones. "One at a time. Please. One at a time!"
It took half a minute before the crowd had calmed just enough for him to point to raised hands.
"Yes," he said. A reporter stood and spoke.
"If your theory is true, why didn't we get any superhero abilities on our sixteenth birthdays?"
Muntz shook his head, closed his eyes. "I have gone into detail—very extensive detail—on this. Although we have yet to pinpoint an exact time period, it is our belief that a greedy sixteen-year-old had decided to wish for becoming the last superhuman. Essentially, his or her ability was the ability to destroy all future super abilities." When he opened his eyes, he saw the reporter scribbling into their notepad. Why? Oh, right. Because people are lazy. "I will no longer answer any 'questions' that can be answered by reading the SHITHOLE documents, which I have made freely and publicly available."
-----
Muntz wished for war. A Great War. Something that could drag half the population overseas. Only then could he have peace.
Perhaps super human abilities hadn't been destroyed. After all, reporters and paparazzi seemed to be both early-risers and night-owls. Muntz had resorted to sleeping in the tiny closet of his Denver apartment. The clothes had a dampening effect on the noise, if only a slight effect. But he needed every bit of noise suppression he could muster just to catch his nightly Z's.
Sleepless. Five weeks had passed since the Conference. Four weeks had passed since he had had a good night's sleep. His email was useless. He could filter it for family friends for a little while before even their addresses were being spoofed. His phone would die after just over an hour. People had discovered every possible way of reaching out to him—someone even managed to use the words "CAN", "WE", "HAVE", "TEN", "MINUTES", "OF", "YOUR", and "TIME" on Words With Friends before he uninstalled the app.
Controversial historical theories had gone viral before. Flat Earth, Ancient Aliens, Illumnati/Freemasons... the list goes on. But Muntz's SHITHOLE had something they all lacked: credible evidence. Lost pieces of history's complex jigsaw puzzle had been found. Independent researchers used his theory to explain previously unexplainable phenomena.
Muntz's greatest life-accomplishment had become the death of his freedom. He had been cut off from the world, confined to the media's prison. No one was safe to contact.
Then, after spending three days and nights alone in his apartment, windows and doors locked, he felt something in his pocket. A letter. From a sixteen-year-old. Her name was Bradleigh.
*Dr. Muntz,*
*Before you crumple this letter and toss it away, I want to you know something: your theory is wrong. Please don't read this the wrong way. I believe most of what you have written. But you are wrong about one thing...*
*When I turned sixteen two months ago, I was able to do things that I cannot explain.*
**[PART 2 BELOW]**
_____
Thanks for reading! Feedback and criticism always appreciated. I have more stories, poems, and songs on [my personal sub.](/r/scottbeckman)
| 2018-12-04T10:55:59 | 2018-12-04T10:48:58 | 61 | 11 |
[WP] You died. Death is boring, a blank black nothing. After a while, boredom sets in. As a joke you shout, "Let there be light!" And suddenly, there was Light.
|
There is nothing around me. No sound. No light. No voices. No touch. I can move, I think, but I don't know if I just move my limbs or move around in … space? Not space. Something.
I'm dead, obviously. The sound and the light could be part of an experiment, but the void, for lack of better words, is beyond anything people could do to me. Logical conclusion: Dead. I won't be the clueless idiot who can't see past her own nose and acknowledge simple facts. I read too much Fantasy and Sci-Fi for that, and willful ignorance has always annoyed me.
The last thing I remember is being bored on the train, on my way to visit my mother. I wonder if it was something natural-ish, or if somebody blew up the train. I mean, it could have been one of those disasters where two trains run into each another, but those are terribly rare. Interesting investigations, though … **Focus**, Lina. This is not the time.
I heard that you can go insane *really fast* if you are in a completely isolated room, so that's going to be fun, because I have never encountered anything more isolated than this. I wonder for how long I can entertain myself. I can review some knowledge, and the movies I saw, the books I read, I suppose. I could review my life, if I wanted to go insane faster rather than slower. I doubt I'll think up any new and original deep thoughts before I go insane. Maybe after?
This is ridiculous. “This is ridiculous!” – I say, and hear nothing. But I know I have spoken. How does that work? I should hear at least something. Sound originates in my body, so some sound waves propagate through the body, reach my ears that way. I touch my throa… nope, I *try* to touch my throat. Nothing there. Can't touch. No body. No fucking body. No hands to touch anything with. What is it that I think I am moving? Do I have literally ghost limbs? I start to giggle hysterically, because the alternatives are even worse.
“What the fuck is going on?” – again with the not-speaking. Hysteria seems like a good state right now. “Can anybody hear me? If this is some cosmic experiment, of if you just forgot to pick me up, **NOW WOULD BE A FUCKING GOOD TIME**!”
…
Skipping the denial – I never liked that anyways – and dropping straight into bargaining. “Just give me a sign, at least? Something, anything! Let me hear … something? Let there be light?” And there was light.
…
Oh, bugger.
|
*“You died. Death is boring, a blank black nothing. After a while, boredom sets in. As a joke you shout, "Let there be light!" And suddenly, there was Light.”*
Another day, another dollar. 6:30am, The Sun is already shining through the windows.
"Fuck, I’m getting old. I can't sleep in anymore. My body hates me...", muttering to myself again.
The typical routine. Wake up, shower, shave. Time for a 20-minute ride to work.
Carpool lane isn’t that bad though. Don't have to deal with traffic when I'm on my motorcycle.
It's December 13th, 2019. Friday the 13th... Well, let's hope I don't get run over today.
I chuckle at that, I guess have a dark sense of humor.
Getting off the I-5, on my way to my job. A startup developing AI's using neural nets. Deep learning bullshit. All those BS Buzzword, haha.. It's the marketing folks that are all about that.
Sometimes I wonder if it was even worth it. Going to a startup instead of going to some cozy job at one of the FAANG companies. Well I guess it's not so bad. Its stressful as hell, pulling all-nighters. But if it pays off, it pays off.
At least I get to lead a team of engineers...10AM, time for the daily stand-up.
"John, you go first."
"I've just submitted a pull request for the latest migration to Kafka.", replies John.
"Alright, great so we'll be able to scale up on processing. So, what’s next… The voice recognition and speech synthesizer utilizing the spectrogram?"
They nod in agreement.
"Jimmy, you're up".
"I just finished up the graph-based DB, it's going to allow us to relationships between different words, and vectors. Eventually even different passages or books."
"Alright, thanks guys...", as I say this they both sit down.
I'm sitting at my desk, 3 monitors surrounding my field of view. I hardly get to work on tech anymore. Nowadays, I spend most of my time managing. It's unfortunate.
I guess I still have caffeine fueled all-nighters leading up to CES.
The office we work in used to be a hospital. I often joke with my co-workers that its haunted. We work underground, technically the 1st floor. The 2nd floor is the ground floor. We're right where the morgue used to be. This was sometime back in the 80's or so I’ve heard.
Well, it's one of those nights... CES is just around the corner. We're trying to get a live demo going with natural speech, without landing in uncanny valley. We have an animatronic Narwhal... It's just so people don't get freaked out I guess.
Checking out the pull request. “Kafka's been all setup.
Looks good… In the back of my mind thinking about "The Metamorphisis. Loved that book. You never know, you could wake up one day at the bottom of the rung.
It's always one fire after another, just needing me to put them out.
But anyway, I need to stop being so negative I guess... I'm staying late to get some extra work done, finishing up my own little side project of creating a HashMap to the last 100 years of literature.
It's basically a rainbow table, you can identify any piece of literature instantly. Same thing mapped the other way makes it Onto. 1:1 mapping. The plan is to then train the AI's speech through a massive dataset with cross-fold validation.
The hours pass by quickly as I get dragged into meeting after meeting... With a company this size you wouldn't expect this many meetings. It’s already 6pm, but only now do I get a chance to do real work.
Probably had like 6 or 7 cups of coffee, but that’s actually light for me. All engineers man, we’re all caffeine addicts. I have my music on, head buried in work. I guess I’m a workaholic. Not the worst thing you could be.
The library has been built, Kafka distributed computing has been setup, and it's about time to fire it up. I look up at the clock, and it’s already 3:00AM. Where the hell did the time go? Anyways,
launch the deploy scripts and watch the system come to life.
Alright, time to head home. It's 3:30AM by now.
The ride back up the I-5. It's about 40F out, not bad. I love a brisk night like this. As I always say, it’s not cold until you can see your breath. I head up the I-5 and I'm riding carefully, going about 70, 75. On the way back, I'm constantly worrying about the system going down. I have remote access at home, I can check on it when I get back.
Fuck, I missed my usual exit. Alright, I'll just take the next exist and circle back. I head down for another mile or so and end at a connection to another freeway. Looks like this isn't an exit either...
As I enter the turn, I suddenly realize that the turn was sharper than I realized. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. I try to apply the brakes lightly, and engine brake. FUCK, I'm going down. My bike slides and hits the railing, as I go sliding towards the concrete wall on the side...
I lie on my back with a sigh of relief that it wasn’t that serious. At least I’m still alive. I guess I’ve always been kind of lucky.
Suddenly, my vision starts to get brighter. Shit, did I hit my head that hard?
“Oh, shit… Not good.”
I’ve just come to realize… It’s a fucking car coming on the ramp. All that’s going through my mind at this point is "Fuck, this is it".
A sudden violent flurry of thoughts comes into my mind, as I become hysterical. Fuck, if only I had been able to develop my AI, we could have achieved consciousness. The sum of humanity's thoughts is in fact a consciousness in and of itself. I yell out "Let there be light!" As the headlights come towards me engulfing my field of view in white.
Everything fades to black, the darkest black you could not even imagine it. It's hard to explain, like the concept of 0 to a child. What you could call it, is the closest thing to nothing. It’s like nothing else you’ve ever experienced.
It feels like an eternity, existing in nothingness. That's a paradox though. If there's nothing I shouldn't be here...
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
\--------------
And suddenly, there was a Light.
What? Goddamn, I can’t ever sleep in past 6:30am can I?
Well, another day, another dollar. At least it's interesting. Death is boring. Let's finish this project and create something that will change the world today.
| 2019-10-06T03:09:55 | 2019-10-06T03:04:12 | 606 | 104 |
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul. Usually this is a very bad idea, but you got a crazy idea. Earlier you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a piece of paper that says you own his soul. You're about to find out if demons consider this a valid contract.
|
"And he signed it?"
"Aha"
"Knowing fully well that he would be selling his soul"
"Yup"
"For a lunch"
"Yes"
"A bag with a tuna salad sandwich, two apples and a juice brick"
"You got it"
"Man, humans are dumber than I thought". The demon said very casually. "Well, not all humans" He gestured towards me. The demon held the piece of paper between his fingernails, barely touching it. "I actually don't know if it counts, but it's not that hard to test". With the fingers in which he held the stump of paper reading "Sell your soul to Devon, Signed Bradley", the demon snapped. The paper turned into a bright ball of fire before the fire took a new form. A 50-centimeter long piece of parchment, an official contract. A long section of text I didn't bother to read filled the page, and on the bottom of it, the signature. "Bradley Stevens".
"I guess it worked" the demon handed the slightly glowing paper to me. "That thing there contains the soul of Bradley Stevens. I looked at it, amazed. "What'll happen to me if I sell it?".
"What do you mean?"
"If I sell it. Doesn't that make me a bad person?"
"In the sense of the word, I guess".
"But does that mean I'll end up in hell when I die?"
"See kid, that's the thing. If you'd sold your soul to me, I'd probably had sold to Lucifer for a WAY higher price. You see, Satan doesn't own any soul that ends up in Hell, the human is still the owner of the soul, God just decided that they were in the minority of people that didn't deserve to go to heaven and were bad enough to deserve eternal punishment. So, he can't really do much more than punish them. But the souls he owns, he can use for so much. I can't really go into details, but trust me, he finds them very, very useful..."
"Wait, a minority of people go to hell?"
"Yeah, a minority, what did you think? That God sends the vast majority of his own creation to live in eternal pain and suffering?"
"That's kinda what the church has been teaching us".
"And you got my boss to thank for that. Anyways, Jesus died for your sins, remember? Getting into heaven nowadays isn't that hard. The worst is probably that you have to actually walk through the gate to heaven which is painful for a second, and the pain is based on how sinful you were in your life".
"But, does that mean I'll end up in heaven?"
"Yeah kiddo. The gate might be slightly more painful than the average Joe, but if someone willingly sold your soul to you, the big man upstairs ain't really gonna do much about it. It's a fair deal, he knew what he was doing when he sold his soul".
"huh."
The devil extended his hand towards me. "So, you gonna sell that to me?"
"Yeah" I replied as I handed him the piece of parchment. The second it was in the demon's" grasp, it lit on fire and became nothing
"Now, name your price..."
|
The thick substance oozed out of my palm. I winced, but licking the burgundy off of my palm I smiled, eyes glinting in the moonlight. The deep maroon reflection of the night sky rippled on the surface of the lake, and the chilly night breeze caused a rustling both eery and divine.
I've thought about this moments hundreds of times, and my resolve wavers not.
"Shit, I really should have brought a jacket", I murmur to myself as I light a cig and curse myself for wearing a pleated skirt.
"Fucking societal conventions, I'm wearing a full-on suit next time".
Next time. I chuckle at the thought.
*Fuck, if this works I'll buy three,* I think to myself.
"Alright, let's get this party started!" I shout, rubbing my hands together, my wrinkly hands frowning at my vain attempt to warm up my frigid exterior.
"Come on guys! Where's the love?"
...
"Not talking eh? what can I say, I've got to *hand* it to ya, your resolve is quite strong"
I chuckle again, laughing at my dumb puns as I address my hands as if they were people.
"Well shit, I sure hope satan likes pigs blood", I murmur, as I begin pouring blood into the dew-glistened grass, listening as it splashes and hisses like toxic sludge.
"Yeah yeah, quite your whining, I'm cold too you know".
Yeah, I sure talk to myself a lot. But. So. What? I'd rather hang out with the crazies than those assholes at school any day? HA!
Fucking normies.
Flicking my cigarette into the wind, I reach my arms up and stretch, and then scream.
"WHAT THE!"
The wind had suddenly changed direction, flinging the ashen stub of a cigarette straight into the pig pentagon I had drawn.
(No really, it was literally a drawing of a pig with pentagons for eyes. After drawing it I imagined myself wearing a french barrette hat, with a long curly mustache, displaying my work in some fancy museum dans Paris. And some rich bloke being like, "Honhonhon madame. I much like your artwork, I give you this baguette made of gold". Indeed, I bite the baguette to verify that it is, indeed, gold, and chip a tooth in the process. My smile beams so brightly it pierces a hole in the roof, and my first customer gets one of my signature works. My bright future as an occult artist has begun.
This is of course, all just a fantasy. Nothing so bizarre could happen in real life. But a girl can dream.)
Anyway, back to the story.
"MY ARRRTTT!!", I scream, cursing as my pig bursts into flames, smoke billowing out of its eyes and spewing everywhere.
*It's far too early for project bacon*, I think to myself, both alarmed and pleased that the pigs blood was so flammable.
*God, I better warn farmers,* I think to myself.
Suddenly the wind stops. That's fucking cliché, I think to myself, but I still find it eery.
My head begins to swim, annd I swaay baack and foorth, all woozy boozy like.
*Aww shit, am I getting high on pigs blood?*
Flat. *Excuse me?*
Flat. I look around. *Except I can't!*, I think to myself.
Something... feels off? Like a part of my brain was inverted and then removed.
As I try to get my bearings I feel like a waterskier being dragged across a lake, simultaneously beating against a mix of a oozey boozey liquid and a brick wall.
*Oh my god... it's flatland,* I think to myself.
Except it's not. I mean, I certainly don't *feel* like a circle.
Looking down I see that I still look like *me*, although in some sort of distorted fashion.
*Hmm, maybe I should try a new diet.*
"Hello?" I cry out, but my words seem to leak out and reverb about in my mind, rather than in the world around me, and suddenly I notice it.
Standing before me was something truly... ugly.
Excuse me?", the weird contorted patch of space said.
"Umm, all I said was hello...", I waive my arms in a confused gesture, feeling much like a stick figure moving its little limbs about.
"No you shit, you think I'm ugly?" I gasp.
*Oh my god the weird blob thing can hear my thoughts.*
なら、これはどうだ！, I think, switching to Japanese to see if encrypting my thoughts would work.
“おらかもの、むだむだむだ！グググ”
I gasp again, and then laugh.
*Is that a jojo reference?* This guy is funny.
"Enough of this drivel", the blob spoke, as it began to shimmer and fizzle.
*Hmm I guess this is the end for me*, I think to myself.
But lo, to my surprise, my head began to stretch too. Oh wait, or was it shrinking? Bending?
Hell I don't know, it feels like if your mind was bent into möbius strip and someone was infinitely unbending it.
*Ohhhh shit, I'm going to need a serious margarita tomorrow*.
I fall over and vomit all over the... *what is this?* The vomit kinda just fell and *disappeared*. *Hmm curiouser and curiouser*, I think to myself.
My jaw hit the floor, quite literally since I was basically already touching the floor, when I once again beheld the blobby blob.
Standing before me was a rather tall lady, with a blindingly red dress with what looked like what I can only describe as a starry-nights if you switched its themes to souls of the damned and a shitton of red. Oh, and yeah its patterns were changing in real time, and I thought I could occasionally hear screams emanating from it... but then again, I was probably high on pigs blood. Oink oink.
The lady frowns, and then raises an eyebrow. I open my mouth and stop, and she turns to leave, and then turns back around and looks at me again.
"This is why I hate amateurs", she shook her head, her beautiful red horns frowning at me as they moved side to side, as a long black tail whisped and flicked side to side behind her.
"Oh!", I exclaim, "so you *are* real. Thank goodness!"
The lady sighed, and looked at me with contempt.
"Do you have something to bargain with or not?"
"Ohh yeah, yes of course!" I grin.
*Fuck yeah, it's happening!* I frown, *if only I had my walkman, I would play some sick tunes to set the vibe*.
I reach into my bra and pull out a little folded wad of paper.
*Hmm... yeah this oughta do it*.
"It's a little smudged and sweaty, and there might be a little pig blood on it, but here you go: a sole soul!"
| 2021-03-27T03:50:30 | 2021-03-26T23:30:31 | 34 | 16 |
[WP] "It's just a coincidence!" The merchant exclaimed when confronted by an adventurer. "How is it just "coincidence" when I see you almost everywhere?! Even the random fucking peddler in the nine goddamn hells looked like you!"
|
"The city of Fadero!" the knight yelled, counting off on his gauntleted fingers. "The cloud lands of the Eaglizul! The desert refuge which only had a population of three! Everywhere I've been on my long journey to dethrone the Hamcult Prince, I've seen a merchant that looks just like you. That is not a coincidence!"
"Fine," the merchant hissed quietly, hand pulling down on the arm of the last Satil of Chamber Church, the only chance humanity had against the horrors of the Hamcult. "The answer is resource recycling."
"What?" the holy knight spurted, not even comprehending the words. "What resource?"
"Artificial intelligence entities," the merchant said, pulling the hero into the alley behind his stall in the tropical castle of Watenaga. "Our world is a simulation made to entertain a player from a higher reality. The reason the Prince is never defeated is because every time we do, he restarts reality and changes the mistake. Our world is but a game to him."
"By the Carver!" the Satil said. "Then all Is lost."
"I simply won't sell it for less than 500 smoke!" The merchant suddenly yelled, eyes pleading with some silent message. Behind him, the Satil could just make out something hovering through the air, distorting reality around it.
"What is that?" the Satil asked, causing a growing horror to show on the merchant's face.
"Error detectors, run!" the merchant screamed as he scrambled past the knight.
The distortion resolved into a being of green light trailing long metal legs branching an uncountable number of times. "AI npc malfunction detected. Reset sector." Despite it being the middle of the day, the sun began to fade.
The Satil slashed out with his blade, cleaving the green light in half. The bizarre machine bubbled and faded into the dirt.
"How the hell did you do that?" the merchant asked as the sun grew bright again.
The Satil looked at his sword, now arcing with green energy. "I don't know but perhaps the Prince of Hamcult won't know either."
The holy knight who had lost everything to the reckless villain apparently controlling all of reality walked firm on his quest to dethrone a god.
...
James threw the controller with frustration. "Every time I walk into this town, this stupid guy kills me. I can't even damage him."
"Yeah that's the Knight Satil, it's a secret boss that only shows up if you make every evil choice," Crystal said, checking to see if the controller was okay. "But he's definitely glitched out. His sword wasn't green when I fought him."
She unpaused the game and tried the fight, dying almost instantly. "Huh, weird." She turned off the console and rebooted the copy of Dragon Lore Unlimited 4. The screen displayed an error message. 'SENTIENCE THRESHOLD EXCEEDED. ALL SAVES ERASED.'
"Great!" James said, picking through the selection for a new game.
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
|
Catt stooped low, pulling her too-large, bloodstained cloak tighter around her shoulders as she walked the wrong way up the Path of Ascension. That she was actually ascending had no bearing on the matter, the way forward in the Dungeons was always down, especially in campaign season, and especially on the festival days when the road was so clogged with young adventurers starting their short lived careers. For Catt though, the proper way had rarely ever been the right one, and she’d long ago perfected the art of looking just pitiable enough to make others give way.
Up ahead, at the start of the Path of Ascension, a vendor stood with the big red X of a mark painted his forehead, in Catt’s eyes at least, even if no one else seemed to see.
He looked just like every other vendor in the Mirrored Monarchy, a strange, faceless creature, akin to an elf in bearing and power, though lacking any semblance of an elf's beauty or individuality. A small, glowing sapphire orb floated beside the vendor, the red pit of its center darting back and forth, staring at passersby. It served as the vendor’s eyes and ears, and even his voice; barking out sales, vibrating and humming as it negotiated transactions.
Catt slipped her hand into the cunningly hidden internal pocket of her cloak, grasping the small, enchanted ring there and praying that it wouldn't draw the orb's attention until it was time. Frankly, she thought the orbs were the creepiest things she’d ever seen and there was no telling what kind of defenses or wards one might have in place. But however afraid she was of them, that wasn't about to stop her. Ancient magic or not, Catt had a job to do.
Fortunately though, she'd never needed to understand something to break it, and the bounty that the Carvona Syndicate had quietly put out on an orb said nothing about what state it had to be in when you brought it in.
Cresting the hill at the top of the Path of Ascension, Catt took a deep, steadying breath, looking down at the endless horde of adventurers as they made their way down into the pits.
“The festival has barely started, and an adventurer returns already?”
Catt turned calmly toward the loud hum of the voice that called out to her, she’d expected this. The vendor and his orb stared her in an unnervingly sightless face off, despite the magic she knew clung to them. She hated the blank, all-skin face of the vendor, with its strange, nearly see through pallor and even worse, the darting of what might have been eyes beneath its skin when she got close. That was the worst part really, that rather than just not having a face, the vendor might have one trapped somehow by whatever horrific mask he wore.
“I spent the night in the dungeon, thinking I’d get a jump on the festival crowd,” Catt said, lying with a thief’s long practice as she limped over to the pair. “Turns out that was a bad idea.”
“Ahh yes, nights in the dungeon can be dangerous to even the most seasoned adventurers. Child, where is your party?”
Catt fought down a scowl. The vendors were condescending to everyone, but no matter how often she heard them “speak” it still annoyed her. “Dead, just before the entrance to the First Circle. It looks like the Goblin King has decided to put up a fight this year.”
“Indeed? I thank you for the information.” The vendor steepled his fingers in front of his chest, bowing at the waist towards her before turning to his duties. He pulled out massive boxes of potions, his arms strong despite their apparent thinness, and from within the voluminous pockets of his robes he brought out small, glistening gold vials. Resurrection potions.
“What, I don’t get some kind of finder's fee for the tip?” Catt asked.
“You may have a discount on your next purchase, five percent, non negotiable.” The orb floated closer to her, humming out its words in its strange, detached tone while the vendor worked silently. “Would you care to see the vault?” it asked.
Again, as Catt had expected, though she’d thought getting access to the vault might be harder. She nodded once and the orb began shimmering, smooth, sapphire sides cracking open and expanding, exposing the rim of a small pouch that was nonetheless impossibly deep. The vendor turned, handing Catt a pebble of the same make as the orb, and she grasped it in her hand, saying the words most sacred to all vendors. “Let me see your inventory.”
The physical world became a thin veneer separating her from the contents of the bag- the vendor’s vault. From here she could trade directly with the shop without the vendor ever having to remove his most prized possessions from storage. Where the items were actually kept no one seemed to know, perhaps that was one of the things the Syndicate was interested in. Catt shook the thought off, the bounty didn’t say anything about her needing to understand why.
Glancing around the hill Catt saw that she was one of the last people there, the adventurers having all descended at least partway down the path. On the hill’s west side there was a small aide station, a single tired nurse waiting outside for adventurers too poor to afford one of the potions. The tavernkeeper stood on the front steps of his establishment, smoking a pipe as he took in the day. A few stragglers were just starting off down the hill but they were hundreds of feet away and she was quick, certainly quicker than the one among them who watched her, an axe wielding, barbarian type.
“Actually,” Catt said, “I’m more interested in selling now. This is the only piece of loot I managed to bring up from the dungeon. Is it worth anything?” Pulling the ring from her pocket, Catt held it up to the light, waiting for the moment when the orb would shimmer again, expanding to its final form as it reached out with its long, probing digit.
The orb shimmered, the digit extended, and before it could reconfigure itself into a more reactive shape Catt reached out and shoved the ring into the open vault, shouting the words that word trigger the spell. “Anulus actus!”
All at once the pure, unadulterated power of a lightning strike shot out of the ring, filling the orb as it dropped into the vault. The orb trembled, emitting a strange, screeching noise, and then it began to spin violently, all its extended pieces pulling back in. With a shock Catt realized that the orb wasn’t the only thing spinning, the vendor himself was, mirroring the orb’s movements and then falling, writhing to the ground when the orb dropped.
Wasting no time Catt slipped on a heavy Glove of Grounding and grabbed the orb. It was featherlight, lighter than anything so valuable should be. Sparing one last glance at the fallen vendor Catt raced off towards the strider pens where Temmic, her accomplice, waited. She had incredibly hot merchandise in her hands and there was no time to lose.
She tore through across the hill as fast as her legs could carry her, past the astonished innkeeper, hearing the nurse’s shrieking behind her.
There was another noise though, one entirely unexpected. The pounding of heavy, booted feet. Catt hazarded a glance over her shoulder and her mouth dropped open. The barbarian was chasing after her, his massive axe discarded for speed.
And he was gaining.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-04-17T10:02:01 | 2021-04-17T09:58:04 | 916 | 83 |
[WP] Your father has been the high priest, left hand of the king, for years. He retires today. Whoever passes the test of faith replaces him. The test is to survive sticking your arm in a vat of boiling oil. After several priests die, it’s your turn. You stick your hand in. It’s cold water.
|
I expected fire. I expected pain. For the oil to roast my arm and fry my skin, then, as it had done the others, for my suffering to kill me. The court would gossip before my body turned cold. "Even his son was not worthy. I knew him to be a heathen all along." The members of the court would speak all day, but ask them to prove their own faith and they had little left to say.
But when I stuck my hand in the oil and pulled it out whole, it silenced them. When I showed no pain and the oil showed me no harm they went quiet.Their witless remarks shoved back down their throats by the stunned silence that came when one so confident is so wrong. I will never forget their slack-jawed gazes. How the sphere of influence shrunk that day in the court when the faces realized that real power can't be bought. It can only be proven.
My father, the high priest, looked at me from his placement. He'd never liked the term "throne". Said it made him seem unapproachable. The king called his seat a throne, what that said about my father I had not known. He looked to me with a stunned gaze that shifted to one of comfort. He stood, withered and draped in his vestments. I had seldom seen him without them, and when I did his arms remained covered. I should have known.
When he removed his robes his arm was withered, a shriveled burnt thing. Tens of men of faith must have died in attempts to pass this test today alone. My fathers test that he had not even passed. I was not his successor, no, I was the first. So when he removed his robes to reveal that gnarled arm his words meant little more than his actions, though he said them regardless.
"To think my son to have more piety than I. What an honor. Bow, for your new High Priest!" and the court did. But when I tipped the pot over, still bare handed. When I threw it to the wayside they backed up in fear and confusion. Yet I still took my place.
"No, not new. Stand, for your first High Priest"
|
I'd been present for battles and executions, rituals and sacrifices, and they had never bothered me. They couldn't. I was Heir Apparent to the position of High Priest of the Kingdom, a role held by my father, and his father before him, and his father before him, stretching back to the very founding of the Kingdom some millennia ago. I'd always assumed I'd be the next to take the veil.
The test was... allegedly simple. Stick your arm in an alchemical concoction, courtesy of the High Alchemist. Whether that title was in relation to the man's position or mental state, I could never discern.
But watching a bishop scream for his very life, body convulsing and wriggling in agony as inhuman noises are clawed from his throat... I will admit, that sparked some fear in me. Both fear that I wouldn't pass the role, and the more primal fear born out of a desire to protect my wellbeing.
The noises echoed in the large chamber that was supposed to be the Royal Basilica's main hall, now empty apart from my father, the King, and hopeful claimants; including me. The various lowly priests of the realm had gone first. Some died, others merely lost their hand or their entire arm. Some had the cross etched into their flesh, others were covered in scars.
And then the clerics, and then the bishops. All of them suffered the same fate. Some had even been revealed as sinners and dragged off to execution.
That too sparked some nervousness in me. I had not sinned in my life, that I was aware at least. When you had the High Priest as a father, you led a pious life; otherwise simple and ascetic when removed from courtly politics. But the mind of man was prone to error. Maybe there was a word in the scriptures I had misread, or a page that'd been stuck to the next?
Such fears were irrational, I knew. I could recite the Scriptures by heart, verbatum, but the mind did not function on the principles of rationality.
"Son. You are next."
The bishop, now dead, was being carried away. I noticed the grisly mess where his right shoulder used to me, drenching his white robes in red.
I didn't bother hesitating. There was no other option. I was already a well-established member of the upper clergy. I couldn't just go get any old job... the only profession I'd even be accepted for would be the administrator of a province, but that'd be stepping down from the High Priest position; an affront to the Heavens themselves. Either I passed and became the next High Priest, or I was rejected.
The squeak of my simple boots seemed to echo in the hall, transforming into squelches as I stepped into the blood.
I didn't look, I didn't think; I just stuck my hand in, expecting the worst.
For a moment, I felt nothing. I feared I'd been killed immediately, as when I say I felt nothing I do mean I felt nothing. It was as if my body ceased to exist, my soul left to its own devices in the material plane, immaterial and pure.
But when I opened my eyes, I could confirm that I was, indeed, still alive. I looked down at the alchemical concoction, only to see a slightly distorted reflection looking back at me. It was just... water?
I stared at it, confused. For whatever reason, I found myself incapable of speech. I do not know if it was my own bewilderment or nervousness, but my mouth simply refused to form words.
It was not long before a flicker brought my eyes to their half-formed echoes present in the ripples.
An otherworldy light emanated from what should've been my pupils. It was enthralling, to speak little of it. It awoke a primal sense of curiosity in the deepest recesses of my soul, to figure out just what exactly it was for no other reason than my own knowledge. To learn for learning's sake.
My free hand hovered just over the liquid's surface, my fingertips skimming the light. Or at least where I thought it was.
And, before I could react, I was sucked in.
For what felt like hours but could've only been mere fractions of a second, I knew only cold and wetness. My body regained feeling, and all I knew was the frigid sensation of my drenched robes against my skin. But that feeling subsided, replaced by something else. Something holy.
The dark void I was listlessly floating in erupted in a cacophany of colors and lights, of sounds and speech. I could hear men and women speaking my own language, but so many more speaking foreign tongues. Many of which I doubted were even alive.
I felt so many things all at once. My lungs being crushed, expanding to the point of explosion, and withered all at once. My eyes grew dim, though flooded with light. My chest heaved with life, but stilled with death.
Images danced before my sight, of the earliest paintings and drawings made by man. Of the first brutal wars. Of the first song, the first murder, of the first word. Feelings that I could not have yet imagined, boiled down to their purest forms. Love, hatred, shame, admiration, disgust; like tonics flowing into my very soul.
My eyes and heart witnessed a plethora of experiences. The birth of a son, a marriage of true love, a murder borne out of hate, an execution of a sodomer, a house built by my own hands, the bond between man and pet...
And then I *understood*.
I was being led through the birth of man. I was experiencing the need for something more that drove the evolution of our society and minds. The deep-seated need to be heard, to be understood, to live a life greater than the mundane minutia that comprised it. I could feel the emotions poured into the stencils littering the oldest caves in the world; their yells and pleads. Both the good and the bad that made our collective history.
As suddenly as it began, it stopped.
I was left once more in the void, now with the experiences of mankind now weighing upon my heart. I could not fully process it all. Not rightfully, at least. I wanted to yell, scream, cry, kick, anything that could've expressed the maelstrom of emotions within my soul.
Yet it was all condensed in a tear. Followed by another one, and then another one, and many more. By the time my eyes began to dry, I was facing my father and the King.
Choking down the last of my sobs, I gave my father a pained smile.
"Father. I *understand*."
| 2022-08-15T21:23:18 | 2022-08-15T20:37:18 | 843 | 182 |
[WP] You swerve to avoid a squirrel. Unknown to you, the squirrel pledges a life debt to you. In your darkest hour, the squirrel arrives.
Edit: Wow, great stories so far! Made the front page too. Obligatory thanks!
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I closed my eyes and started leaning forward, arms raised melodramatically. I wouldn't be the first loser on this bridge to just fall off the earth, probably wouldn't be the last given how shitty life's gotten in this town. This is it, fuck everything, this is it. Goodbye, meth, goodbye my whore wife, goodbye my piece of shit car.
And then something BIT me.
On my arm - no idea how it got there or where it came from - was a squirrel biting the absolute shit out of my forearm. I flail wildly, fall back on the bridge, on my ass, and notice: Holy Goddamn Balls there are squirrels all around me. The little guy on my arm is gone. The squirrels all scamper forward, and place on the ground in front of me a small object. Random shiney pebbles, not worth any money. I fall to my knees. I start crying my eyes out.
I was so close. I thought I knew how this cold, cruel universe works, but I'm completely wrong. Spelled out on the ground before me was the word "stay".
|
"OPEN THE DOOR JOHNNY!"
Shit. Fuck. Damn! What do I do?
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"
"I said gimmie a second Manny, I'm taking a shit bro!"
I start pacing around my apartment thinking about how to talk my ass out of this one. I was supposed to give Manny the money three days ago, but sales have been hard these past couple weeks, and the local college kids are complaining that my shit is making them sick. I thought it would be at least another couple days until Manny dropped by to collect. I still don't have enough. Fuck fuck fuck.
"JOHNNY, I'M COMING THE FUCK IN!"
"Hold on, I'm on..." BANG! The door flies off its hinges, and Manny walks in with two huge motherfuckers.
"Hey, my old pal, long time no see! I hope you don't mind that I brought two of my friends. Johnny, meet Jorge and Hugo."
"Nice to meet you?" No response, they seem as dumb as they are big. I can probably outrun them, but how am I gonna get out with their fatasses blocking the doorway.
"Okay lets cut the bullshit. Where the fuck is my money?"
"Listen Manny, I can explain."
"I don't need explanations Johnny. Just give me the money and everybody is happy. You know how this shit works Johnny, I get the molly from the boss, I bring you the molly, you sell it to whoever the fuck wants to get high, you give me the money, I give you a cut, and I bring the rest to the boss. You're happy, the boss is happy, Jorge and Hugo are happy, and most of all, I'm happy." Manny then lifts his shirt to show the pistol he has in his belt.
Fuck fuck fuck. I knew I was getting into some hard shit when I signed up for this, but a fucking gun??? I've been late with payment before, but Manny never pulled this shit on me. The big rockhead motherfuckers probably have guns too.
Tap tap tap.
"Listen Manny, just take what I have now, and I'll get you the rest after this weekend. You know how these kids eat this shit up over the weekends man. Just give me a couple more days."
Tap tap tap.
What the fuck? That same fucking squirrel that's been hanging around my fire escape for the past week was tapping on the window. Manny and the idiots don't seem to notice.
"I don't have a couple more days Johnny, the boss wants the money now. And if you don't have the cash, I'm gonna have to bring your ass over to him. Don't make me do that Johnny, you know how the boss is. I come back empty handed and it's me that gets a bullet in the head."
Tap tap tap.
Manny then turns to look at the window, clearly confused by the constant tapping.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap.
"What the fuck??? Hugo, take care of that rat."
Hugo starts walking over to the window. The squirrel is going fucking nuts at this point, and with one fatass away from the doorway, I see my chance. I shove Manny and manage to dodge Jorge's fat hands and run out the door.
"Catch the motherfucker!"
As I run down the last flight of stairs and out of the side entrance to the apartment, I reach into my car keys and come up empty handed. Fuck. My heart is ready to leap out of my chest as I start sprinting down the street. Those fatasses can't possibly catch me. Right?
I'm only halfway down the block when I hear the gunshots. CLAP CLAP CLAP.
Five more steps then BAM. I'm face down on the pavement. The blood rushes out of my face as I look down and realize that there is a hole in my left calf. Fuck.
I look up to see Manny, Jorge, and Hugo put their guns away and get into their car.
"Hey fuckface! Don't go anywhere, I want you to check out my new ride."
Fuck fuck fuck. My leg is dead and I can barely crawl. Manny starts driving towards me.
I look around to see if anyone can help me, but living in the fucking projects means that the only people watching this shit have their phones out and are shouting worldstar from their apartment windows.
Manny starts speeding up. It's clear that he has no plans to stop, and in about five seconds, the pavement is gonna be decorated with my blood and guts.
Four seconds.
Three seconds.
Then out of the corner of my eye, I see the same fucking squirrel run in front of the car. Manny swerves to avoid it, with a look of confusion and shock, and slams straight into a traffic pole. Manny and Hugo are both launched out of the car and land in two separate heaps on the street, about ten yards from where there would have been a Johnny pancake had they not crashed. Jorge is hanging out of the windshield. They were fucked up, but still breathing.
What the fuck just happened?
I turn to look at the squirrel that saved my life. He's a bit bigger than most squirrels, and has a strange human-like quality to him. He starts walking over on his hind legs as I continue staring, confused as fuck.
He stops by Manny's body and lifts his shirt.
What the hell is going on? Is the fucking squirrel grabbing his gun? I blink twice and rub my eyes to make sure my eyes are working properly. Yep, that's a fucking squirrel holding a pistol...... Why the fuck is he pointing it at me?
| 2015-03-15T16:26:07 | 2015-03-15T16:06:38 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] The brave sir knight has slain the dragon and rescued the princess. In return the knight asks for her hand in marriage. The princess must now awkwardly explain to the knight that while she is grateful for being rescued, she jousts for the other team.
|
My dear Sir Knight,
I fear that in all the excitement of defeating the dragon and liberating the princess (me) from prolonged captivity, we got off on the wrong foot. I made several attempts to explain to you the nature of the situation, but you were unable to hear me through your unadulterated whoops of self-adulation. I suspect the message I was attempting to convey was not received as intended, and I say this because today I was fitted with a wedding dress and the maids are decorating the nursery even as I write to you.
Let me state it now, in no uncertain terms, in a manner which a noble knight such as yourself can comprehend:
I joust for the jayjays. I tilt for the titties.
No lance shall find its couch with me.
In matters of armour, I see beauty in breastplates,
Viewing codpieces only functionally.
You have been taught the way of the sword,
And I have been born to the way of the shield.
You dream of rescuing fair maidens from towers,
And I dream of ploughing them there in the field.
You know the arts both of loving and fighting,
The chivalrous acts of the glorious knight,
But please let me tell you, there is none more exciting
Than a woman who knows how to get it done right.
Warhorses know how to crush a man's skull,
It tramples and stomps, it maims and it kills.
A lady's horse knows how to canter and turn,
The delicate dance, gentle circles and trills.
I hope this clarifies what I intonated to you on the day of our meeting, in my tower room decorated with paintings of Sappho. I wish you well in your endeavours and am eternally grateful for your destruction of the dragon, which was installed to keep the "deviant princess out of view".
Lastly, if you are ever concerned as to the whereabouts of the maid Emma, do not be. She is safe and well with me on our travels, though her maidenhead may not be.
Forever in appreciation,
Princess Joan
|
The knight's horse stood patiently. As a horse, it didn't get much better than to just stand around while the humans did things, especially when it was nosing through a large bag of oats as a reward for not obeying all horse instincts for the fifteen minutes previous to the five hour break, and bolting for the nearest fireproof underground stable. As such, it ignored the subsequent conversation, which went something like this:
"Well, that's not really a problem, is it?"
"What?"
"Look, I could make this awkward in other ways, but the reality is, at some point if you're not actually married off, you eventually will wind up as a dragon snack if you remain a virgin. So basically all you need to do is your due diligence as a wife for a night or three, then as a prince of the land, I will do pretty much as every other prince does, which is find a mistress or four, have a bunch of semi-royal offspring, and you have a legitimate heir who doesn't have a vast amount of inbreeding. It's a win for us both, and let's be honest, you're not likely to find a like-minded lady on your intellectual and social level without a retinue of some kind that comes along with being a royal princess, married. You and don't really even need to be in bed together every night, and if we do, so what? Is there anything that says we can't find a willing maid for both of us to work with?"
"Sir, you speak of such things as though they were simple matters."
"Aren't they? Come, princess. I have the dragon and his treasure. I'm wealthier by far than your father at this very moment in time, and frankly a dragon slayer isn't a bad catch. Why father was a prince of no great health, fame, or who married the Valkyrie that slew his mother's pet chimera gone feral."
"Why would your grandmother keep a pet chimera?"
"Kept the sheep infestation in the orchard down. The point is, my grandmother, sorry old bint she was, gave my mother my father's hand in marriage. More of a booby prize, except my uncle, who was supposed to inherit, had an attack of mice and died."
"I don't believe that. How could your uncle die of mice?"
"Long story, but let's just say he had ideas above his station regarding magical incantations and crossbreeding locusts with other animals. Look, are you game or not? I don't mind a lick of the lily, but let's get what we both need out of the deal here and I promise to introduce you to my mum's maiden aunts."
"I don't require assistance. I am perfectly capable of waiting for true love that doesn't reek of beer and stale meat. A true love who shall bring me the love I deserve. A rose, a flower of true Ladyhood...."
"Oh yeah? Look, you have two choices. Follow the stupid play the way your cockamamie old man's sorcerer set it up or become dragon bait all over again once he finds a suitable wyrm. Is that what you want? Because I'm thinking conditioner is murder to get out here in the mountains. Hell, I was attacked by bandits four times on the way up just for hair ties."
"Aha! See? Valiant women do exist around here! I shall wait for one of them, or barring that, let them know I'm here and maybe you could just let them take the credit for the kill."
"First, no. Secondly, they're all men, and believe me when I say they've not been in tights with no reason for a long, long time. Bringing hair ties, hand mirrors, and silk stockings is pretty much the best way to get across the mountains as long as you know where you're going. Oh, and a few kegs of a nicely oaked Chardonnay. Besides, most would be coming up here for the same reason I did - a cracking big heap of dragon loot, easily concealed by the mythical treasure chest of Antioch."
"Which you emptied of all my shoes, women farriers of history calendars, and embroidery."
"Yes, but how else am I to carry all this gold down the mountain? Besides, how many pairs of shoes does one woman truly need?"
"A woman would understand."
"A woman would have tried to reason with the dragon. Several did, apparently, right before it ate them. Your sisters, I presume."
"I shall remain, Sir Knight. You show yourself to be a crass, common thief. You simply do not understand what it means to make a point about one's rights - not just as a human being, but as a royal princess placed under a head to only marry the one who always the dragon and captures her heart. And it certainly isnt the low-born knight of the hedge who robs me of my closet space!"
"HEY! Mum gave birth to me in midair while dragging Dad out of the jaws of the most monster. Besides, YOU only need one pair! Look, it's not like you can't get more down in Knobgobbling or whatever town is right over the hill, but the chest only lets you open one compartment at a time and frankly I have no idea how you fit that many shoes in there, unless you fucked a gnome shoemaker or something."
"..."
"Oh for the love of...you'll shag a elven, eldritch creature to make you shoes you can't wear anywhere practical, but one quick stick and goo is below you? Fine, here's a wineskin. I'll convey your wishes to your parents. Its not the way I'd come out, personally, but you do you."
With that, the horse found itself without its bag of oats, a largish box of some kind placed in the sling over its rump, and the Food Guy in Armor back on his back.
As the horse and Food Guy in Armor rode away, Food Guy said, "You know, i think mum was right about this whole marrying a royal thing. Maybe we should go north and find ourselves a Valkyrie, and some hell mares for you, Percy."
The horse nickered softly to itself. Whatever Food Guy's virtues, it certainly didn't seem to include figuring out that come mating season, the horse never strayed near the fillies. Truth be told, the fillies in pasture just never seemed quite as...delicious, per se, as the stallions.
But, onwards. Perhaps Food Guy would be willing to give him his own flock of geldings. That might make up for the oats, at least.
| 2016-10-21T16:53:53 | 2016-10-21T13:49:41 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] Valhalla does not discriminate against the kind of fight you lost. Did you lose the battle with cancer? Maybe you died in a fist fight. Even facing addiction. After taking a deep drink from his flagon, Odin slams his cup down and asks for the glorious tale of your demise!
|
After listening to grand deeds of everyone at the massive table, Odin slammed his jug down, sending mead in a sputtering fountain. His good eye squinted and his finger pointed at me.
“Your turn, newbie!” he roared. “What’s your glorious battle?”
The room was suddenly quiet and all faces turned towards me. I had the attention of war veterans, freedom fighters, vigilantes, and most of Asgard. I had heard their tales of grandeur, of their strides, and their final battles, and now the time had come for me, a lowly register attendant at Wallmart, to justify my place amongst these heroes.
“Right,” I said, standing up. I was so fucked. “Uhm, okay, so…”
“Go on,” Thor shouted from his place next to Odin. He threw up his jug and smashed it to splinters with his hammer. “Let’s hear it!”
And at that moment I thought, ‘fuck it!’ and cleared my throat.
“It was a night in icy January – the winds were so cold that all the animals had died in the woods. I thundered down the road on my steed of blazing metal, stopping for nobody!”
In reality, it had been a mild winter but the news reported a few birds dying to some virus. My steed was, in fact, an old rusty Buick, and I had accidentally driven through a red light.
“I parked… err, I mean left, my trusted steed in the stables of a tavern notorious for its villainous patrons. See, I needed a drink after the long strenuous ride.”
Nods of approval could be seen around the room.
“After a few rounds, I ventured back outside in the blistering cold. Things were getting heated and I required my weapon.”
I had accidentally spilled my drink on a lady and needed to write her a check for dry cleaning.
“That’s when I saw it, a message written in blood,” I said lowering my voice to a whisper. “It was more than a challenge – a declaration of war – and at that moment I swore on my honor that I was going to see the battle to the end.”
I died the same night from a heart attack while writing a lengthy letter to the local government, attempting to fight the parking ticket.
|
Something was off. Only a few minutes ago I had been playing video games with my roommate and now I was... well, wherever this was. I found myself in a great hall, surrounded by rows and rows of tables, all filled with men and women in various forms of battle gear. The tables were piled high with food and giant pitchers of what looked like wine or beer, and even as the warriors ate and drank through raucous laughter and drunken conversation, nothing seemed to run out or even run low.
The noise was overwhelming, and the smell was a weird combination of delicious food and disgusting sweat. I was in sensory overload and suddenly felt woozy as my mind tried to take in my surroundings. I tried to focus all of my energy on not passing out in this strange place, when suddenly all thoughts of anything left my mind as an impossibly loud, impossibly low voice rumbled from somewhere behind me.
"NEWCOMER!" The voice bellowed.
The room feel silent all at once, and as I got my bearings and shook my head clear I took a look around to see what had caused this sudden quiet. The men and women who had been stuffing their faces and conversing just seconds ago were all looking at me with what seemed like genuine interest. Slowly, I turned around to find the source of their interruption.
As I turned I realized I had been standing at the front of the hall and hadn't even realized it. Now I saw what was surely the head table, adorned with velvet and gold where the sea of tables had only contained basic decoration. At the center of the head table sat a man-- a giant, really-- with one eye covered by an ornate gold patch with intricate silver scroll work. He had white hair down to his shoulders and his face showed jovial amusement as he saw me assessing him.
When he spoke again I didn't hear it so much as felt it, interrupting my thoughts and snapping me back to reality.
"Newcomer, welcome to VALHALLA!" He put a great deal of emphasis on the last word, and it was met with a cheer from behind me. The cheer went through the room like a thunderclap, abating into soft echos before dying out.
"Only the mightiest of warriors end up in this holy place," he continued. He wasn't shouting now, but his voice carried easily nonetheless. "So," he said, "tell us of the triumphant tale of your demise!"
I processed his words silently, looking down from his face to the floor as several emotions passed through me all at once. Demise? I died?
"Um," I cleared my throat, "excuse me. So I'm... dead?"
The one-eyed man did not look surprised at my question. "Yes, unfortunately you are," he said, "but you would not be in this place if it wasn't a heroic death!" He paused momentarily, but then continued, "You see, if it wasn't a heroic death you would be suffering in eternal torment, so be glad you went out fighting!" Another cheer erupted in the room after this statement, and this time it sent a shiver down my spine. "So," he continued on, "Let us hear of your tale of valor!"
"Ah, yes of course," I replied, "my tale of valor..." I had to get my thoughts in order. I could be sad about my death later, but right now it was all about survival. I took a moment to concentrate, really concentrate, and as I focused on the moments before being in this hall, I remembered the events that led me to my death.
"Well," I started, "I can tell you that my death came only after a great battle." I heard murmurs of approval from the room behind me with my mention of battle. "I found myself locked in Mortal Kombat with my greatest foe... Scorpion."
"Scorpion, you say?" said the One-Eyed Man, "He sounds like a treacherous beast!"
"Um, yes, he was!" I said, building momentum now. "Scorpion was a deadly warrior, and was skilled in the arts of trapping. He used a spear weapon to try to draw me closer, with constant shouts of 'Get Over Here!' In fact, he really overused that move to the point where it was kind of annoying."
The One-Eyed Man looked confused at this, but I continued on, "Anyway, I fought him for several rounds, fighting his cheap shots with my more skillful maneuvers. I used a combination of punches, kicks, and my specialty, the dreaded bicycle kick!"
"Ah, how interesting!" One-Eye interrupted, "a bicycle kick! It sounds marvelous! Can you demonstrate it for us here?"
"Demonstrate, the, uh," I stuttered over my words, "um, well I would love to, but, um, I just worry it would ruin the flow of my story, you know? Maybe a different time?"
"Oh," said One-Eye, looking a little disappointed at this, "very well, carry on."
I couldn't believed that worked, but I wiped my brow with the back of my hand and continued. "We were locked in right up until the third round of our fighting. I knocked him through the floor into the level below, but alas, he was still able to get the best of me."
"Through the floor?!" One-Eye said, his interest re-piqued, "How exciting! Tell me, how did you come to perish at the end of this glorious fight?"
"Well," I began, and then stopped. I couldn't tell them the truth, which was that I choked on a Dorito while anger-eating after my loss. That wasn't a very glorious death. I had to improvise. "Well, he had me woozy after a punch to the chest, and taking advantage of this he grabbed my head and pulled it so hard that my spinal cord was removed from the rest of my body!"
"WOW!" Exclaimed the giant man with a boom, "That is truly inventive! What a glorious way to die!" The room was filled with a roar of agreement.
"Yeah," I said, " It was quite the fatality."
"It certainly was," said One-Eye, "Now go! Take your place among the honored!"
The crowd cheered me on as a turned around and walked through the ranks of warriors, looking for an open seat. As I scanned the crowd of people I noticed that they weren't all in battle-gear as I previously thought. In fact, some didn't look like warriors at all. I caught the eyes of several normally dressed people, each giving me a knowing look. A look that said "I won't tell your secret if you don't tell mine." I found an open space between a man wearing a horned suit of armor and another wearing football pads, and joined in on the feast.
| 2022-10-21T23:29:50 | 2016-10-31T13:13:52 | 327 | 45 |
[WP] You have $86,400 in your bank and someone steals $10. You spend all the rest of your money trying to get revenge.
|
Jun-18 $10.00 (disputed)- North Hill Cashpoint
Jun-19 $35.99 (card) - Grant's CCTV
Jun-19 $200 (online transaction) - Wiring for beginners E-learning
Jun-20 $140. 50 (card) - Edmund's electrical supplies
Jun-20 $450 (online transaction) - Cloud CCTV storage systems
Jun-20 $1000 (card) - Bennett's Professional PI services
Jun-21 $200 (card) Gate world- Consultation fee
Jun-21 $1200 (card) Gate world- Products and Installation
Jun-22 $5200 (card) Gunz Gunz Gunz
Jun-22 $150 (card) Easthill shooting range
Jun-23 $1000 (card) - Bennett's Professional PI services
Jun-23 $5000 (transfer) Strength Armour vehicle services inc- deposit
Jun-24 $802.99 (online transaction) - Steven's Security- Tracking equipment
Jun-26 $32, 899 (transfer) - Strength Armour vehicle services inc- Remaining balance
Jun-26 $150 (card) - Gunz Gunz Gunz
Jun-27 $500 (card) - Brasenose and Philips lawyers
Jun-27 $120.01 (card) - Pete's Petrol
Jun-27 $5.00 (card) - Southern Phone- North Hill Police station
Jun-27 $5000 (transfer) - Brasenose and Philips
Aug-23 $32, 246.51 (transfer) - Government Victim restitution fund
Aug-24 +$10.00 (transfer) - Northern courts
Aug-30 $10.00 (transfer) - Government Victim restitution fund
Remaining balance- $0.00
Be nice, first writing prompt and I don't know how to format!
|
I'll admit, it wasn't my proudest moment. I was working as at a bank, and a pretty strange guy came in to open an account. You probably know the type. Overly loud to cover his insecurities, laughs obnoxiously at his own jokes, weird clothes. Anyway, this guy comes in and has a sack full of cash to open an account. Plops it down on my desk and has me set it all up for him.
We finish up around lunch time and I send the guy on his way, then head back to the vault with the money. It's right around then my stomach starts growling at me and I remember I left my lunch at home. Things have been a little tight around the home front with a new baby, so I'm feeling strapped. You can probably guess where this is going. I went ahead and took $10 out of the sack, and processed the deposit. I figured a guy with this much cash wouldn't miss it. Who misses $10 out of a $86,400 deposit?
John Oker, apparently. Not that I found this out immediately. No, it was two years later.
I was doing auditing work for a different company by this time, and was supposed to go inspect a warehouse for an important client. The place looked abandoned when I got there. No lights were coming out of this massive, old building. The paint was peeling, and most of the windows were still boarded up. Those that weren't were covered in a thick layer of grime that made it impossible to see inside. The remains of the sign for the old chemical plant that used to operate out of here still clung to the top parts of the wall, but a small wooden sign near the main door confirmed I was in the right place: "Laughing Planet Inc."
Inside was about a filthy as the outside. But there were definite signs of activity. Conveyor belts had been put in, and there were toys in various states of construction spread throughout.
"Hello?" I called.
My voice echoed around the warehouse a bit. I started to turn to leave when an answer finally came.
"Jerry! So glad you could make it. Please, step on in." It was a man's voice. One I didn't recognize at first.
I spun around and looked for the source of the voice, but didn't see anyone. "Yes, I believe I had an appointment with Ms. Quinn? She was going to give me a tour of the facilities," I shouted back.
There was another pause. Again, I almost gave up on the whole thing, which in hindsight, I should have.
"She won't be joining us, as she had another engagement come up unexpectedly. So I'll be giving you the tour." The voice came from right behind me. I spun around and recognized him immediately. The man from the bank. Still wearing the same strange clothes, now topped off with wild dyed hair and a heavily made up face.
Before I could even get a word out, he took me by the arm and led me deeper into the building. "As you can see, we had to let the janitor go," he said, before busting out his obnoxious laugh. He led me through a maze of of half built walls and empty crates until we came to a storage area.
"Here's where we keep the raw materials, Jerry. I expect you'll want to take an inventory."
I leapt at the chance to start talking professionally. It took my mind off the strange circumstances I was in. "Yes, that's correct. You know in small businesses like yours, it's actually shockingly common for employees to steal. One of the leading causes of those businesses going under is shrinkage, either at the till or in the inventory."
"Oh, shrinkage you say!" Mr. Oker gave in to another fit of laughter. I didn't get the joke.
I looked around the area and spied something sitting on the floor, so I stooped to pick it up. "A ten dollar bill," I said.
"How careless!" the man in the strange purple clothes said. "Well Jerry, finders-keepers, am I right? You can apply it toward your bill, or just pocket it. I'm sure you've earned it."
"No, sir," I said with a nervous laugh. "That would be unethical. You'd better take it."
Mr. Oker stepped over to me and took the bill from my hand. "Well I admire that Jerry, I really do. Ethics really is high on my list of must haves." He chuckled again, before continuing. "In fact, I'd never let it go if someone stole from me. Not ever. If I found out someone had taken my money, why, I might buy a warehouse for a fake toy company, and lure the thief there, then strap him to the conveyor belts and run him through the machines."
I tittered nervously. He didn't.
He stepped closer to me, pressing me against some of the crates. "Do you remember me, Jerry?"
"I'm sorry Mr. Oker, I..."
"Please, call me Joker."
And that's when he punched me. One good whack to the head and I was out. When I woke up, I was strapped to the conveyor belts.
"Rise and shine, Jerry!" Joker shouted from a platform high above me. I watched as he dramatically heaved an enormous lever. The machinery sprang to life, and I started moving toward the metal contraption that would turn me into a child's plaything.
I pulled against the ropes, but couldn't get free.
"Maybe your ethics will save you!" Joker called.
"No, but mine will," a gravely voice answered. I heard the dull sound of a fist hitting someone.
"Oh Bats, here to ruin my fun again! Even though I'm in the right this time!" Joker called.
There was no answer this time, just the sounds of a scuffle. All I know for sure is that the machine turned off a minute before I was going to become a puppet.
Sorry if this was a longer answer than you wanted, Commissioner Gordon, but to cut to the chase: yes, I have some idea of what the Joker wanted with me.
*****
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| 2017-07-18T09:40:22 | 2017-07-18T09:32:24 | 609 | 325 |
[WP] You've been living alone for 13 years. Whenever you come home from work, you always find your bed made, dinner cooked and a message with "This could have been us." You moved out several times. This keeps going on.
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Whenever you hear about hauntings you think of terrible things; blood oozing from the walls, chairs unexpectedly tipping over, bananas separated from the bunch without you having done it. Terrifying. I've seen all the movies and I've read all the stories and usually when someone is haunted they end up dead by a malicious, evil, angry ghost or demon.
You know what I think? I think they're drama-queens who play up the situation to get attention. I'm haunted and you don't hear me complaining! Sure scary stuff happens, but you just have to roll with it.
Sometimes, I'll wake up and my mirror will have blood oozing down it in the shape of a message, granted usually its a reminder of an important meeting or event I had forgotten I was scheduled to do..
Or sometimes I'll wake up in the middle of a dark and stormy night to a ethereal human silhouette hovering over me, but its just tucking me in and humming a merry, if off-key, tune..
One time things started to move around on their own, really freaked me out. Things started flying through the air..turns out, my ghost just wanted to mimic a movie I had watched earlier in the day; the nursery scene from Mary Poppins where they snap their fingers and all the toys and clothes put themselves away.
Everyone always said being haunted was a horrible experience, 10/10 would not do again, sort of thing. I would go to all sorts of people, on the urging of others, to try and banish or exorcise or whatever you call it, my ghost. Never really worked. End of the day it'd always still be there. Doing its ghost thing. I have to say, its a bit comforting, knowing something cares about me. Or at least hasn't brutally murdered me yet.
It does leave out kind of weird notes though, "this could have been us"..sometimes I'll look at it and wonder what it means. Oh well. Another day another confusing and mildly puzzling ghost note. At least this ones not in blood.
|
My job is not the most prestigious, or the most difficult. Like everything else, it is just a job. I hate it, just like I hate myself. A repetition of certain tasks that does not ever end. I keep to myself, as always. I have no interest in making acquaintances or friends. The only guy that talks to me just compliments me on my smile, every-damn-day. I brush like any one else, he's a freak. Besides, I'm not truly alone. I have been on my own, living in solitude for the better part of a decade, probably thirteen years if I was being specific. The reason I say this is because whenever I return home from a long day, my bed is made, a lovely dinner cooked, and a cryptic message talking about how 'this could have been us.' I should also mention, I have moved for my job a few times. At no point has this phantom left me alone. Nor has my mysterious admirer ever left me a dish that I disliked. I don't speak much, and my wife has been dead for thirteen years. I never had interest in beginning anew with another person. I don't care what people think, this is not the case of a haunting. My wife died of pancreatic cancer, there was no murder, there was no secret. We had a healthy, and successful marriage. Perfect? No. However, it was fine enough that she would have better things to do than haunt me. Besides, she was adamant about having me try food out of my comfort zone, which didn't extend far to start with. It's kind of nice, knowing whatever happens that I will have a hot cooked meal for me. I used to purposefully throw my bed around, and make it as annoying as possible to clean up. Yet, whoever wishes a life with me, they have a very strong case of OCD. I sat eating porridge, of all things, not my favorite but I had no one to complain to. I've always wondered if this is one of those situations where a depraved lunatic is living in my walls, watching me. I can assure you, that is not the case. Every time I move, I have taken a sledgehammer to the walls, and there's nothing in there but rat carcasses and cobwebs. I stared at my reflection in the bowl, desperate for the answer. Nothing. I walked past the mirror before my bedroom. A careful glance depicted a man who had begun to lose control of his mental facilities. Another problem I had, the mirrors tended to break. I don't know why. Had to be part of the bad luck that followed me. I tried to sleep in my already made bed. A few hours later I woke up, unexpectedly, and went to vomit into the toilet. I crawled back into my bed, miserable. I opened my eyes, and found myself in the kitchen, preparing a meal. I looked at the table, already written was the message I always saw. I walked back to my bedroom, passing the mirror. I stopped, and saw there was a strange mark. It looked like... the remnants of a kiss. To test my theory, I kissed the mirror, and it was an exact match. It seems a part of me wants to love myself, but I refuse to allow happiness, since Jean died. Now what would happen? I broke the cycle. I went to sleep, in an unmade bed. I went to work. When I came home, there was no food, and my room had not been cleaned. However, I did see a message I wasn't familiar with. It said 'We will be together.' I looked at the mirror, and placed my head against it. I thought I had it all figured out, but now I was once again in the dark.
Day 4751: Experiment can be ruled a possible success. Subject C exhibited a high level of grief. After thirteen years, he finally required an answer. Subject C decided to create, and believe a separate personality to explain the endless repetition. This demonstrates that with proper tuning and manipulation, a psuedo-personality can be constructed to alleviate mental turmoil. It should be noted that final message left on Subject C's kitchen table, is not one of our own. Continue research for further findings. Video play back does not indicate Subject C wrote it. At no point in recordings does the message appear. Possible formula for self-loathing discovered, but unintended and unknown side effects must be observed.
Day 4752: Subject C has not returned from work. Employer said he showed up, but never left. Building will need to be searched and searched again. Thirteen years is too long to lose Subject C. Update. Nate McReids body located, missing every single tooth. No other injuries. Subject C was alive during dental extraction. Subject C is gone. We have no Subjects left. Data is not sufficient for thirteen years. Experiment ruled a failure.
Oh, I've always admired that smile of yours Nate. You'd shine those pearly whites at me, so often. I knew it was love, between us. I waited thirteen years for this. I enjoy reading up on dental hygiene, don't you? Yes, it's a hobby of mine. You're forty-seven aren't you? Unfortunately, I'm going to be moving soon Nate. I would have waited three more years. After fifty, that's when teeth as majestic as yours, they just start to rapidly and horribly depreciate. I couldn't, I just couldn't let them fall from grace like that! It's been a pleasure, thirteen long years, but now I have to leave. Don't you worry, I will be taking those teeth with me. Can you just imagine the amount the tooth fairy would give me? Oh, I'm kidding, I'd never part with these well formed and, if you don't mind me saying, immaculate teeth. Nate, Nate, it's okay to cry those tears of joy. These will be the crown jewels of my collection. Oh yes, yes indeed, I do have many. How else did you think I could come to appreciate, to dream about, and to desire such healthy teeth? You heard the rumors, people losing teeth in our job field! That's me. None of them could do as you do though. I just, feel so clean around you. I could go blind staring at them. I'm going to start taking them out now. I want you to be able to smile at me, until you only have gums left. Just look at this molar! You know, I'm going to take out my own. I just have to have this. I'm so happy right now, Nate. I can finally retire with a perfect set! Open that dental treasure chest for me.
| 2017-12-09T04:00:58 | 2017-12-09T03:12:50 | 210 | 35 |
[WP] You have an incredible ability, the ability to create something just by saying its name, only problem is you gotta say it in an ancient tongue that no one knows, not even yourself, today in the middle of going through a terrible cough, your ability activates for the fourth time in your life.
|
Of course it had to be like this.
At age 9, it was a cheese grater. Those were some good nachos, or so I was told. Too bad I'm lactose intolerant.
At age 14, it was a block of cheese. Too bad I didn't have any need for that cheese grater.
At age 18, it was a chess set. I was a bit confused at first, but then I realized the universe had a sick sense of humor, as the word "chess" sounds like "cheese" in a way. I was a jock, so I just tossed it.
Now, at 24, I find the world has it out for me. I'm running the ball down the field at the Super Bowl, Cowboys vs Packers, and we're down by 4 points with 3 seconds on the clock. Scoring this touchdown would solidify my career for years. Imagine my delight as the entire enemy team appears out of nowhere in front of me, flattening my dreams and my body. I lie there in the grass, wondering what word I must've spoken. Then I realized.
Cheese HEADS.
|
The shadows were dancing across the walls, pirouetting excitedly around the objects that bore their likeness.
Intik was lost in a world of his own, somewhere between the sway of the shadows and the flamboyance of the full moon as it peered curiously through the window. The sound of muffled coughing brought him back into the room from his reverie, as the shadows shuffled in excitement at the distraction.
Covering his right hand with a cloth, Intik took the kettle off the fire and poured a generous helping of tea into an expectant mug. The crushed herbs at the bottom of the mug rose to greet the new arrival, swirling around playfully in delight. Carefully placing the kettle back on the fire, Intik carried the mug and saucer over to the bed where the source of the cough lay, cloth in hand to stifle any noise he may make.
Cautiously, Intik placed the saucer in Gat's right hand, supporting his head with his left hand while gently raising the cup to his lips. Gat took a few sips, pausing to recover from the bitter mixture, before taking a few more for effect.
Placing the mug on the saucer (and the saucer on the bedside table) Intik moved over to his chair beside the bed and sat down. His shadow followed suit, disappearing behind him as he planted himself. He looked Gat up and down, trying to decide if he was well enough to take questions. Satisfied that he was, he began the process of trying to understand what had happened.
"Can you remember what you said, or what it sounded like...at all?" he asked, expectantly.
Gat glanced over at Intik. Bringing his hands out from under the sheets, he began to answer the question.
*I was coughing when I felt the Birth take effect. I can't remember what I sounded like, I was too preoccupied with the feeling of the Birth. It still feels strange...even though I have felt it 3...no, 4 times now.*
As he answered, Gat had to pause every few words to try and stifle a cough.
Intik was not disappointed by this answer, for he had expected this. At first, Intik found it difficult to keep pace with Gat when he spoke with his fingers, but now he was getting better. He understood the importance of this to Gat; he couldn't risk accidentally creating something that could cause disaster. The only way to avoid the risk was to avoid speaking.
"I checked on the others earlier. They're looking too, but hadn't found anything when I heard them last. Koram is coming here shortly to look after you while I take over the search" responded Intik, shuffling in his seat.
Gat started fidgeting, as if he was about to say something but wasn't sure if he should. Intik preempted Gat's statement, and began to answer it.
"Stop apologizing all the time. You didn't ask for this, and it's our pleasure to help you. Now, relax and finish your tea" said Intik, reaching across the sideboard to hand Gat the mug and saucer. As he placed them in Gat's hands, he noticed how his shadow appeared to take Gat's hand in its own, as if to comfort him.
It wasn't until he sat back down that he noticed Gat was no longer the only other person in the room with him.
"Did you find anything, Koram?" he asked, smiling. Koram always had a way of appearing, unannounced. He was a law unto himself, but his results were undeniable.
"I let myself in, hope you don't mind...Gat, Intik" he said, tipping his head to each, then, moving to the window and tipping his head once more, he said "Liriharan. Looking lovely tonight." He moved away from the window and looked at Intik, then at Gat. "To answer your question, no, I didn't find anything. Are you sure you felt a Birth and not just...you now...a cough?"
Intik chose to ignore that last comment. Koram was arrogant, which infuriated him at times. He hated vanity, arrogance, greed...anything that could prejudice your vision of the truth.
It was time for Intik to begin his search. He noticed Gat looking concerned. This was the first time anything he had Birthed had chosen to run away. He feared this meant the Birthed was frightened, which meant they may do something to hurt someone, even in self-defense. We had to find it before that happened.
"Gat, stop worrying" Intik began. "We will find the Birthed. After all, I am Intik, the Shadow of the World. If it casts a shadow, I will know. If it doesn't, I'll know what to look for. And I am not alone. Liliharan the Moonsiren is helping us look, and so is Koram the Pheobian. We will find the Birthed before it harms itself, or anyone else." he promised.
He noticed Gat's fist unclench at his speech. Even Koram seemed moved. Liliharan, still peering through the window, seemed to be brighter than a moment ago.
He didn't tell them that he knew where to start looking. *If it casts a shadow, I'll know.*
Smiling, he headed to where he thought his Sibling was, hoping it wasn't too late.
---
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| 2018-08-06T06:06:44 | 2018-08-06T04:12:41 | 136 | 55 |
[WP] You are seen as a weakling. To prove yourself to your tribe, you enter the dragon's lair that even the hardiest warriors avoid. Amused by your challenge, the dragon takes a human form and duels you with a sword. After disarming you three times it says "come tomorrow and try again."
|
"No," I panted through gritted teeth. "I'd rather you killed me now."
There was a moment of silence, then an older woman's head appeared over me and obscured my view of the stone ceiling. She raised one thick eyebrow, and the corner of her lips titled down. "It's not often I invite others--"
"With your reputation, I imagine not," I interrupted, "but I'd rather you'd kill me now than prolong my humiliation further."
"Oh? And what sort of reputation do you have, little one?"
Instead of answering right away, I rolled over until I was sitting crosslegged. I bit the inside of my cheek and pulled at my sweat-soaked shirt, eyeing the tears in the fabric and marveling at the fact the dragon woman hadn't made a single cut on my flesh. Proof she hadn't just held back during our fight; she had been toying with me.
I probably should feel angry, but I just felt empty. "Worthless," I whispered.
The old dragon burst into rumbling laughter and dropped onto her butt. She pointed at me with a trembling hand while slapping her knee with the other. "Humans are so dumb." She wiped a few tears from her face. "What is it you can't do? Fight? Is that all there is to life?"
I opened my mouth, then shut it. For my tribe, strength in battle was all that mattered. No mattered the gender or the age. And I was at the bottom. I couldn't fight. My body was too weak and frail. Yet here I was, desperate to prove I could be like the other warriors. I had to prove it, or they'd leave me behind in the next cleansing.
I looked at the dragon woman. Her long messy gray hair stood out in every direction. She did nothing to cover up her bare body, which had a mixture of human-like flesh and dragon scales. Her nails were black, long, and pointed, yet they made no marks as she grabbed my chin. She pulled me forward until we were inches apart, and I could feel the heat of her breath. "Worthless human, hmm? I've never met one. Do you think I would be here if humans were so useless?"
I stuttered, "I-I don't know."
She smiled then, her reptile eyes glowing, and I felt myself tipping forward into her like falling into a warm bath. I soon found myself standing in the same castle. Only it wasn't as worn and covered in vines. Before me stood a bloody man glaring up at the walls where the dragon sat.
The man raised his arms and shouted in a language I had never heard until green light surround the land and filled the sky. The next moment chains of light wrapped around the castle and the dragon before the man faded into nothing.
I gasped and stumbled away from the dragon, returning to the present. "Return tomorrow," she said, "and I'll teach you what that man knew."
"So I can free you?"
"No, so you can free yourself."
|
“Once again our crops burn, even as we speak we wait for their flames to be doused. Last year was a travesty, but a surplus in stock gave us ample time to slay the beast yet here I stand with bellows of smoke in my eyes to a crumbling kingdom! Once a great nation, its citizens the wealthiest in the land of Astharnia, a haven of hope for those that dreamed of it. Now? Look at our once great city, its buildings crumbling and its shops barren of produce. All for one, individual, single beast. WHY, I must ask, Garlot, is the beast still alive? Why does it STILL rule over us with an iron wing? I thought I sent my armies to defeat it? Are you telling me the best men in all of Astharnia are not enough to take down 1 foul, ugly beast?” I looked at my brother, Prince Garlot of Hayle and watched as a bead of sweat draped down his cheek. He muttered some excuse, something about betrayal, a garrison run amok, the dragon, a beast so humongous it rivalled the size of the very mountain it resided in.
“- as we slept, my King.” The king looked at Garlot with deep drilling bores, silence washed over the room like the shadow of a dragons wing.
“As. You. Slept?” The king retorted, Garlot gulped, he had never been scrutinized so much in his life. He was their top general, the kings son, born to lead. Since the moment he could grasp a sword he had trained with it from dusk till dawn, by the time he was old enough to walk a mile he had lead an expedition over the very mountain the dragon resided in and taken back a village belonging to the kingdom of Hayle. Many more successful marches came after that, many other kingdoms attempted to lay claim to Hayle, to cripple it. None came close, not with Garlot under the kings behest.
Then there was me, the princess of Hayle, daughter of King Ardon, though that name did not do me any favours, quite the opposite in fact. Only a meagre 3 years younger than Garlot I had been tasked with house chores, since the moment I could grasp a mop I had mopped with it from dusk till dawn, by the time I was old enough to use the stairs I had carried a bucket of water up them and cleaned the floors of the upstairs. Many more successful chores came after that, I made my maid proud, she congratulated me at every corner, I was a star, the best of the best, I could clean the palace kitchen in under an hour, a feat not known to any man or woman before me. None came close, not with me under the kings behest.
“Yes, my King.” Garlot replied, his voice almost cracking, his teenage years were almost over yet his voice threatened to challenge his manly pride with an ever-emasculating shriek.
“What?” The king responded in disbelief, “Are you trying to tell me the men under YOUR command fell asleep on the job? That they were not quick enough to sound the alarm? That they couldn’t distinguish a giant flying pigeon in the sky and ring the bells of battle!?”
“My… my king, it is not as easy as… it… it is black as the night. Its wings so big its beat distinguishes the flames of the torches. The… my men were taken unaware. By the time I awoke half the… half the garrison was alight, not one bell had chimed.”
“My King.” The king commanded my brother to say.
“I… I’m sorry, my King. After that he… she… it moved to our fields, and just as we were prepared it had already burned our lands to black and flew back to its nest, it was over in a matter of seconds… this beast its… it’s too powerful my King, we MUST send for help. Right now it is just toying with us, the moment it gets bored, there will be no more toying, just death… my King.” Garlot stared through his fathers eyes, his thoughts with the grim future.
“Send more help!? HA! We are the kingdom of Hayle! Undefeated for centuries! Perhaps even millennia! We have provided for ourselves since the day the kingdom was founded, not ONCE have we asked for help, it would be utter humiliation and defeat should I do such a … weak move.” My father stood out of his seat at the idea of such a pitiful idea and almost spat on my brothers face, who stood more than 6 feet away.
“Once they see what we are up against they will understand my king, this dragon is… not normal my king.”
“Not normal?” The king asked.
“Yes, it is smart, it knows what we are trying to do. It knows how to bring us to our knees. Every time we launch an assault it leaves its home and destroys half our men, like a warning… I fear for no resolution. Except that of asking our close neighbours for…”
“NEVER! I will NOT repeat myself again! We will NOT be asking for help! From anyone! NEVER!” The kings voice boomed through the king’s chambers. People at the back stood uneasy, fearing that his voice will somehow hurt them. “You say this thing only attacks when we do? What happens if we do nothing?” He asked. Before Garlot could answer the king started to cough profusely before holding a handkerchief to his mouth, he looked at it with a grumbling grimace before quickly tucking it back into his pocket. We all knew it had blood on it, we all looked concerned but not enough to press him about it. We knew better than that, my brother on the other hand… he showed no change in emotion, his facial expressions remained emotionless.
“Nothing? My king?” Garlot asked eventually. “Then it will continue free reign over our crops, just as it did to prompt our retaliation, to do nothing is not an answer my king.” The king sat on his throne, brooding over what appeared to be a tricky situation.
“We send someone.” He said with a calm but commanding voice. “We send someone to it’s lair, quiet as a mouse, find where the foul beast slumbers and they drive a sword into its head. An army makes too much noise, if we cannot do this the honourable way then perhaps we have to resort to more… dishonourable tactics.”
I watched for a moment as my brother contemplated his new orders, send someone to drive a sword into its skull as it slept. Not the bravest move she knew but if it meant her people stopped dropping dead on the street corners then it was enough.
“A good command my king,” Garlot said after contemplation, “Whom should I send?” He asked, he expected no specific individual to be requested by the king but he asked nonetheless, out of politeness.
“I will go.” I spoke, no, I shouted. The whole room gasped, nobody expected me to say that, nobody expected me to say *anything*. I would usually stay in the corner, hidden from more ‘important’ eyes and keep my mouth shut, only there as a formality. Garlot looked at me with a slight turn of his head, his focus still on our father.
“*You?*” He said with disgust. “You’re a girl, what could *you* hope to do to a dragon that an army of Hayle could not accomplish?”
| 2020-12-01T08:59:58 | 2020-12-01T06:36:28 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] You are a minion in the service of a dark lord. Your master has tasked you with creating and spreading a prophecy about a chosen one, the only person who can defeat him, so that the so-called "heroes" will stop resisting his rule and instead wait for their savior to arrive.
|
"So what you're sayin, is a kid born during the full moon, with all white hair and striking red eyes will defeat the dark lord?"
You eye the man before you, only a few drinks in, but just as susceptible to manipulation as the rest of the patrons, as long as you push the right buttons. "Of course, and I hear he's the **only** one capable of defeating the Dark Lord"
The ornery man squints at you, and for a brief moment you think he might be onto your terrible secret; that you are one of the Dark Lord's most powerful minions, and that you were sent out to spread a rumor. This rumor. "Ah, that sounds like Timanuel of Leafton right down the road! He was born under a full moon and has had white hair his entire life!"
"Yeah" another patron on the barstool next to him piped in "That sounds like Timmy all right. Who would have thunk he'd be the chosen one?"
"Wait, did I say red eyes?" You needed to control the damage on this one, and fast "I meant green eyes."
"Yeah, he's got one of each sir. I can't believe it, I'll go tell Timmy's parents right away!" The man broke for the door, but before he could reach it, you fire a tentacled appendage from under your jacket at him, impaling him instantly. You knew you weren't supposed to reveal your identity to these people, but you couldn't let this rumor spread any further, especially if there indeed was a chosen one.
"THE BARMAN IS A MONSTER" screamed one of the patrons, drawing her sword. "LETS GET HIM" shouted another. This... has turned into a messier situation than you meant it to be.
&#x200B;
Timanuel was born to rather wealthy bakers in Leafton, in the kingdom of Awlen. He was born on a full moon, and was adored by all. Only a teenager this fine young man had the makings of a noble, with the birthright and temperament of a layman. He loved helping out around town whenever he wasn't working in his parent's bakery, and he adored hunting monsters.
It was one fine morning, while he was helping to carry some logs in for Mr. and Mrs. Hatch, when he saw a man, slowly limping his way down the road. Timmy dropped everything and ran for this man, and helped steady him. "It's you!" The man coughed out with all his strength "You're the chosen one, Timmy. You are to defeat the Dark Lord. It can only be you" and with that last sentence, the man fell silent for the last time. Timmy said a brief prayer before picking up the man to carry him to the church.
&#x200B;
"You ready Tim? Block this!" His best friend in the whole world took a stab at him with a dulled blade. Tim parried the hit easily and lunged in with his own, managing to make contact with the studded chain-mail armor his friend so proudly wore.
"Psh, I let you win" said Raleen
"As if, I'm the chosen one, remember? I was always destined to win" Tim let the confidence of that statement get to his head as his friend got one last lunge in, knocking Tim to the ground with one hit
"Never let your guard down, Timmanuel, even when your opponent has seemingly lost. The Dark Lord won't play by the rules, so you best be ready for it"
Timmanuel, now at the ripe age of twenty-four was almost ready for his fateful encounter, choosing to spar with his best friend one last time before beginning his journey; a journey he need make alone.
|
“With the highest amount of respect to you, my master, I’m unsure about this plan. I understand your great will and wit is only matched by the gods, but are you positive about this? What about Riza the heart snatcher or Jok the eye licker? Both seem more frightening than me.” The pint-sized goblin brushed his hands against one another, staring at his master, hoping this was just some small lack of judgement on his part. Sure, his master was perfect in every way, but even perfection is prone to the odd misstep.
“You doubt me Lagoth the foolish? I don’t believe I asked for your opinion on the matter. What did I ask of you again? Please remind me so I know what punishment to hand down when you disobey my order.” The gloomy vampire leant forward in his obsidian throne, red eyes locked on the goblin, awaiting his response.
“Y-you asked me to go to the village and spread a prophecy about a great hero. I just don’t know If I’m-“ Lagoth tripped over his words, tongue twisting as he tried to think up an excuse. His master’s blood-red eyes only seeming to stay focused on him, refusing to budge. “I just don’t know If I’m going to need a jacket. I would never refuse your orders, my great lord.” Lagoth threw his body towards the stone floor, bowing his head to his master.
The Dark Lord didn’t speak right away, enjoying the cowering sight before him, seeing the goblin glance up occasionally, seeing if the Dark Lord was still watching. “It is rather cold. Take a jacket. Now do your job.”
“Yes sir, of course, sir. I will do it right away. It will be my top priority. I won’t even have a bath or lunch. I might stop to get a jacket though, but you said I could get a jacket, so that’s not going against your mighty-“ The goblin rambled, hoping to appease his master, who seemed unimpressed.
“Now Lagoth, hurry before I put you in the bone pit again.” The Dark Lord flashed a grin, sharp fangs slipping from his mouth.
“Not the bone pit! The bones in that pit are still moving, and sometimes they pinch me. It’s cruel, even far too cruel for you. I’m sorry I’ll go right now.” With that, Lagoth was off, grabbing a jacket and heading into town.
“Stupid Master, making me do the hard jobs. He has two professional killers, and he sends the goblin into town to tell the prophecy. I’m going to get killed.” Lagoth hid his head in the oversized jacket he brought, ears drooping as he saw the town gates. He said some final goblin prayers before strutting into the village square.
“Listen up you idiots, I’m hear to tell you about a new prophecy.” He shouted his words, only to watch as the disinterested citizens wandered throughout the town, not giving the tiny goblin a look. “G-guys. I have a… please listen to me.” His head drooped lower until they could only see his large golden eyes poking out of the jacket. Was he really not intimidating enough to get any attention? Sure, he was a lower levelled minion, but he was still a minion.
“Tough crowd.” A woman said, staring down at the goblin from her stall. The stall coated in magic trinkets and wares, an assortment of goods fitting of a witch. “Have you tried raising your voice a little?”
“THIS IS AS LOUD AS MY VOICE GOES.” He screamed, earning a few side glances before everyone continued their business. He dropped onto his knees, giving up on his job. “I guess its back to the bone pits.”
“Bone pits? How ghastly. You know, I probably have an item that could help you. What about a dark day’s crystal? Smash this little bad boy and the skies will darken around you, that’s sure to bring some attention to you.” She held the coal colored crystal between her fingers. On her other hand, she raised two fingers. “Two gold.”
“Two gold? I don’t have any gold. I have a jacket, or fingers. Can I interest you in my fingers? You can have any finger but the middle ones. I need them for my traditional goblin greetings.”
“Mmm.” Was all the witch said, placing the crystal on the counter, thinking over the situation. “I don’t have an interest in fingers, so how about I put it on your bosses tab? If I need something, I’ll call on him.”
“I don’t know. Master doesn’t like it when we accept deals like those.”
“You can always go back empty-handed and enjoy the bone pits?” The Witch added, a teasing smile on her lips as she watched the goblin quickly snatch the crystal.
“Fine, but only because I hate the bone pit. This better work.” Lagoth wandered into the middle of the town’s square, finding a barrel to climb atop of. Cracking the crystal in his hand, the skies darkened, a horrible swirl of dark clouds appearing overhead. “Anyone who dares to face the Dark Lord will be slaughtered, for there’s only one hero who can slay him. Heed my warning and prepare that great one for battle or perish.”
The changing atmosphere caused the villagers to stop, many turning to face the goblin, sharing soft anxious mumbles among themselves. He had them fixated on his words until one rather muscular lumberjack shouted out.
“Oi, what’s this hero look like? Are they strong?” He asked, the eyes of the crowd fell back on Lagoth who just stood there frozen, feeling as though he was in one of those, not wearing pants at the battle dreams.
Lagoth looked to the Witch, who only offered him a shrug, having no additional input to give. His throat dried, struggling to get out the words. “She’s tall, wears a pointed hat and has a really annoying smile. Oh, and she dresses in this really weird black and purple gown, one that looks befitting of a noble but is made from commoner fabrics.”
The Witch glanced at her gown, fingers tracing along the black and purple fabric. A scowl appearing on her face, staring daggers at the goblin who now seemed to list things off with ease.
“She also has a really scary scowl and runs a magic shop. I think she might be a magic user as well.” The goblin let out a sigh of relief. He did it. He said a prophecy.
“You mean like that Witch over there?” The brutish lumberjack asked as all eyes turned to the Witches stall.
“Uh, oh. No, I’m sure that’s just a coincidence. It’s probably another person, just like her.” Lagoth discovering a massive hole in his description of the hero.
“No, that’s her. Bless the gods, a hero has come to save us. Go with the goblin, avenge our town, oh mighty Witch.” The Lumberjack went over to the Witch, motioning her towards the center of the town. The Witch looked displeased with the whole situation but was trapped in the lie. How could she say no to defeating the Dark Lord? The town would never allow it.
“Right, guess I will be off then. Lead me to your master.” The Witch grabbed Lagoth by the scruff of his neck, throwing him off the barrel, causing his head to smack into the dirt below.
“Ow, hey careful.” He spat out bits of dirt, jumping to his feet. “Right, let’s get going. Do you have a name hero?” Lagoth asked, realizing he would get so many days in the bone pit for this.
“Cynthia. Now hurry along, I believe we will have a lot to discuss with your master when we arrive.” The villagers cheered as the two left, beginning their sheepish walk towards the Dark Lords castle.
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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.)
| 2021-03-17T21:58:55 | 2021-03-17T20:04:32 | 41 | 14 |
[WP] The villagers call you their guardian spirit that has protected them since the time of ashes, in truth you are a monstrosity of war that protects the village in an attempt to clear your conscience.
|
I walked to this place sailed in blood. As everyday passes I can still feel it on my skin. I isolated in this place to atone for how many lives I took.
I’m sitting under a tree for a moment when I hear something near me. Quickly pulling out my knife I walk over to the sound.
As I approached a young girl comes out carrying a basket.
“Um, excuse me? I brought you some food...as a thank you.”
Thank you? For what? I haven’t done anything for this child.
“Why?” She tilts her head
“For always protecting us.” Huh?
“Where do you live young one?” I crouch down to her level.
“I live in the village nearby! I wanted to thank you for keeping the bandits away!”
I’m trying to understand her, but it’s clear she thinks I know what she’s talking about, so I’ll try a new angle
“Do you know who I am?”
She nods ecstatically “you’re the Guardian Spirit!”
Guardian Spirit?
“And what do I guard?”
“This forest! and because the village is in the forest, you guard the village too!” Her smile was so bright and full of life.
“...yes child. You are right. Thank you for your gift. Whenever you are in danger come here and I shall help you..”
The girl nodded and went back the way she came, leaving the basket.
I look to see a few sweets and thank you note signed by what looks like many children’s handwriting.
Guardian huh? Well maybe I can help atone for my sins, by making sure that those smiles never see any harm.
Yes. I will guard them all with my life
Yes.
|
I remembered her, every year when the villagers would come to my altar and give their blessings and tears of thanks.
&#x200B;
I remembered her.
&#x200B;
My chest ached from battle scars long cut into my flesh, each a story marking it's words on my bones. Every tale sung for hundreds of years before another of my disciples would remove those tales from the world forever. Everywhere except upon my bones, and my heart.
&#x200B;
The story that throbbed each year, burning like the metals the blacksmith would forge into cups for drinking, used to spread merriment burnt like a dagger in the back by my closest friend.
&#x200B;
It was the memory of her. Long before I found this valley this heaven free of the corruption of the world I was a king dancing on each battlefield, strutting to the twang of a thousand arrows being loosed, being lulled by the cheers and screams of conquerors and the conquered. I looked upon each battle and felt the power of my praise spread by the bold, the brave, and the often too drunk to understand what error they had made upon the field until it was too late.
&#x200B;
I become drunk of this merriment until one day I heard it. A cold wind, a whisper too strong to be a breeze yet too calm to become a gale.
&#x200B;
"Dear lord as I pray, I come to you wronged this day, dear lord as I cry, from the blade I shalt never shy, dear lord I pray to thee give me blood and remove mercies key. To you this vow I promise ye, give me this curse, and I shall make more like me"
&#x200B;
I looked down excited that I had gained a new follower, a new song that could be spread across tables, a new chant before battle. Except when I looked down all I saw was her, kneeling in a wine colored pool of injustice. Her father a man of 40, long retired from a kingdom far from where he had chose to escape from the glory of what he had done in my name. He had earned his place, spent time in winter battling against my brothers breathing, and my mothers cold gaze on her dark nights.
&#x200B;
Yet he could not escape my songs, his pleas for mercy and the feeble attempts of showing his previous glory drowned out by the new champions desperate for my attention. He died protecting his daughter and the other children, yet these small warriors refused to kneel, he had taught them in my songs very well. The children were cut down like wheat in a hungry mans field, the men cheered and sung my songs louder then I had ever heard before.
&#x200B;
My wine turned bitter in my mouth, I watched as she crawled from a hidden spot in the floor and shook her fathers body begging him to stand and be the man she had known him as. Instead he stood still, his lips would never sing my songs again. So she did as she was taught and she prayed to me, she sung to me, she promised everything I had wanted and more.
"She wishes to control death then? She wants to be able to make more of her as she prayed! You should feel honored brother!" Whispered my brother the reaper. He felt cheated because she was praying to me for a power he was cursed for.
&#x200B;
"No she's praying for the ability to sing his hymns you moron! She wants to carry his symbol! She has seen his beauty even in her worst moments! I envy thee uncle." cried my nephew the aspect of love.
&#x200B;
Yet there was no love in her eyes for my deeds, there was no thirst for power to be hard earned, it was the void. I knew what she wanted, she didn't want to control death and lead monsters like my brothers necromancers, she wanted to recreate this scene a thousand times over. She didn't love my work, although she didn't seem to honor it either. It was a means to an end she wanted to kneel again in blood that didn't connect to her own.
&#x200B;
She looked at me cutting through the clouds that should've protected me from her gaze and power, but this time as I stared back I shivered I stared into her void and I blinked. My doubt in that one moment was the only blessing she needed, and before I could sober from my centuries of merriment she had taught this blessing to a thousand eyes all staring at my fearful form, begging for the same blessing.
&#x200B;
I fled from them, molding a shield from the flesh of my mother, the earth herself, I ignored her pleas to correct my mistake and face the beast I had fed with my fear. I took her unwilling gift, placing it upon my back it blocked me from their eyes, pressing their voices back to them and keeping me hidden.
&#x200B;
My shield these villagers prayed to hoping it would never fall and give their enemies corner. My tears falling as I remembered my mistakes blessing their fields with new life. My power, and blood leaking from the stories I hoped would be forgotten blessing the very earth from which I came.
&#x200B;
I hoped this penance of pain would ease me bringing me solace that my suffering would bless these people enough to make up for my wrongs. However, each year upon the thanks for their harvest their prayers would grow my radiance more and more until even my shield could not block it. Then I would hear her, still praying kneeling now in an ocean, her eyes piercing my shield and carving another story into me.
&#x200B;
Another blessing stripped from my fleeing form, another song filling my ears, and another voice added to the army of saints she created in my name. Each one hoping to receive the same blessing she had, so they could end her endless prayers. I still heard her, even as the villagers attempted to rival her whispered prayer with their own yells of love, I felt nothingness, I feared her gaze, I felt her prayers, and yet all I wanted was for her story to end.
| 2021-04-18T20:54:41 | 2021-04-18T20:47:40 | 35 | 15 |
[WP] A human is the deadliest species in the galaxy. It has redundant organs and can lose all of its limbs and not die. Human skin is tough, can absorb forms of kinetic attack, and rated to withstand both cold and heat extremes. Their bites are deadly. They irradiate and poison themselves for fun.
|
The ceilings were too low.
&#x200B;
Linda sat on the floor, crossed-legged, focusing on her breathing. Eyes closed, not staring at the cramped barren empty room with a single child-sized cot that was too small even for her five foot tall frame.
&#x200B;
Inhale. *Feel the breath in your gut*, she told herself.
&#x200B;
Slowly exhale. Don't think about your asthma inhaler that fell out of your hand, lying on the campus green in front of the Vance building. Don't think about the bright white light that scooped you up like an alien abduction scene from X-Files. Don't think about the cute boy in Spanish 302 who slipped you his number and asked to meet you for the incoming transfer ice cream social. Don't think about your family, your friends, why you have no cell service in whereever the hell this is.
&#x200B;
Don't think.
&#x200B;
The ceilings were too fucking low.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
&#x200B;
The doors to her room opened up with a soft hiss that reminded her of the noise the doors on Star Trek made whenever someone entered. Three small humanoids, maybe three feet tall, blue fur, wide eyes, large ears, noses like a bear's, entered the room. *They look like fucking overgrown blue Furbies*, Linda thought. They wore uniform pants and shirts with markings on the collar that Linda guessed were military rankings. The one with the most medals was flanked on either side by a security escort, each armed with something resembling a gun. He spoke first, trilling and cooing in his language. A pleasant sounding female voice over the intercom spoke in English a few seconds later
&#x200B;
"Greetings, human. I ham Admiral \[untranslatabe\], of the 3rd fleet, from the \[untranslatable\] Empire. Are you hungry? Can we get you something to eat?"
&#x200B;
Linda sat and stared, frowning at Firgoth for an uncomfortably long time, and mentally repeated the trilling and cooing in her head, softly moving her tongue and throat to mimic the sound, parsing out the differing sounds and pacing. Four years of a linguistics bachelor's seized her attention and took her mind off the underlying terror that threatened to overwhelm her.
&#x200B;
Firgoth cleared his throat and trilled in his native language while looking up the ceiling.
&#x200B;
The voice of the intercom spoke in the same pleasant monotone.. "Is this damn thing working correctly? Ensign \[untranslatable\] I will assign you the dinkiest tugboat on the further reaches of.."
&#x200B;
Linda repeated what she was certain was the word for admiral and his corresponding name. The blue Furbies eyes widened in surprise. The voice over the intercom repeated "Admiral \[untranslatable\]"
&#x200B;
"You, you speak our language! How?"
&#x200B;
Linda smirked. She had some measure of control over the situation now, and let herself breathe an internal sigh of relief and prayed that she wouldn't have an asthma attack.
&#x200B;
"I don't. But I'm very clever" she said in English. The voice over the intercom repeated noises in the trilling and cooing language of the blue Furbies. Linda made a mental note of the sounds. She stood up, towering menacingly over them, the ceiling just barely too short for her height. The blue Furbies cowered and took a step back, and the guards unholstered their guns.
&#x200B;
"Now tell me what you want with me."
&#x200B;
The Admiral looked to his left and right and motioned for the guards to lower their weapons.
&#x200B;
"I am Admiral \[untranslatable\] of the \[untranslatable\] Empire, and we are in need of a great warrior."
&#x200B;
Linda blinked, twice, uncertain if the translation software had glitched out. Five foot nothing, ninety pounds soaking wet, Linda, after an interminable pause, started laughing uncontrollably. That was when the asthma attack hit her.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
|
It made sense now.
Approximately 20 universal cycles ago, first news of reports on these humans started coming in: "A new intelligent species discovered in sector", "Designated humans", "Contact established", "Representatives of human race arrived to the Assembly". Later on, first members of this species started joining the crews of interracial starships and participating in the wider Sector's affairs. That is when the unbelievable whispers and rumours started creeping in. For example, that time when the Praxx pirates boarded the large trading vessel "Fortulata Grin". Praxx are one of the most dangerous rogue species in the sector and their strength is only matched by the savagery of their ways. They are known to use even the most brutal ways of slaughtering the crews of the ships they board including 400 and 600 nm laser rays, guns that use compressed air to accelerate projectiles made of carbon polymer which punch holes in opponents and even the outlawed oxygen canisters that increase the O2 concentration to dangerous levels. Normally, the crews of ships boarded by Praxx like that never stand a chance. Except this time, there was a human onboard.
What the witnesses told about the developments that happened after the human understood the situation on the ship would have been thought to be delusions or fairy tales if it was not backed up by the recordings from the sightcams from the ship. As soon as the human realised the ship was under attack, it ran towards the breach as opposed to doing the rational thing and running away from it. Upon encountering the Praxx, it ignored their blastray attacks as they seemed to have been completely blocked by its garments and exposed skin alike. The airgun projectiles also seemed to only be regarded by the human as nuisance as they simply bounced off its surface. What happened next can be only described as slaughter as the human once and for all took the pedestal as the most fearsome species in the sector. The human did not yet know how to use the weapons of the onboard crew or of the invaders, but neither did it need to. The first fearsome and powerful Praxx the human had encountered had its limbs torn off, by itself already a fatal wound, but after that the human also bludgeoned the pirate with the trophy weapon. Using the thin metal sliver that Praxx utilise as handles on most of their devices as some sort of cutting tool, the human reportedly proceeded to slaughter the remainder if the invading force in ways so unsightly that were best left undescribed. The news report about that particular event also mentioned the human only increasing the pace if its fight when the Praxx became so desperate they started deploying the oxygen canisters in the corridors, ignoring their own casualties from the O2 poisoning in order to neutralise the human. It almost seems as if the journalist making the report believed that a human felt less tired in deadly 30% O2 atmosphere.
It made more sense now.
As the time went on, there were more cases like that. For example, the time when a human allegedly destroyed a psi-field emitter deployed by the Picorian terrorists in a peaceful city on Rem-7. According to that news report, a human skull, and the rest of their skeleton, contains element Calcium, which is the only known material to provide protection from psi-emissions. And humans have a solid endoskeletal casing encapsulating their central nerve ganglion made of this stuff.
Another of the many such stories is the one where a meteor strike on a luxury vessel Romy-7 damaged the main reactor causing a power surge which made that partition's climate control to overcool it, plummeting the temperature to approximately 265 Kelvin. What is worse, soon afterwards the reactor gave out but the backup one did not activate. The entire ship with all its passengers was in danger as the only way to salvage the situation was to activate the backup reactor, but in order to do it, the crew would have to go through the unsurvivable freezing temperatures of the frozen section. The situation seemed lost until it was discovered that several humans were onboard. The story goes that they simply put on thicker garments than the normal ones that they used, went inside the frozen partition with its deadly cold temperature, and, following the guidance from the crew, restored the power to the ship. The reporter on that particular story was making especially outlandish claims, such as that humans are what is called "endothermic" and therefore can somehow maintain their internal body temperature irrespective if the temperature of the environment for prolonged periods of time.
It makes more sense now.
After hearing all these insane stories, I decided enough was enough. I had to know if it is true. I had to see for myself. And see I did. I flew to Sol-3, the homeworld of humans that they for some reason call "Earth". And now I can only say with confidence that all these stories and all these witnesses of seemingly impossible deeds don't even know the half of it. You probably have seen holograms of Sol-3 from orbit. It looks like a paradise, doesn't it? Well, this "paradise" where humans come from is the most insane mixture of extremes that you could have ever imagined and the things that humans do on this planet put everything else I mentioned previously from these seemingly outlandish stories into perspective. Let's start with the climate and atmosphere. The atmosphere at a rather normal density of 1.2kg/m^3 has a concentration of O2 at 21% and then some. 21% of oxygen. Now I understand how a human cannot be killed by a Braxx oxygen canister attack. And solid surface environments can range between frozen barren wastelands to scorching deserts so hot that even Glomatrans would dry up there. And some humans live in these environments permanently. Humans actually live on pretty much every solid surface of this inhospitable world that strained the advanced environmental shields of my research vessel to its limits. They also have giant impenetrable forests of chlorophyll-based flora on the planet. These are present in both very hot areas and very cold areas on the planet. The hot forests are called "rainforests". They are situated close to the equator of the planet and have a lot of different strange animals living there, many of which are toxic, or venomous, or they will suck out your hemolymph by puncturing your outer coating. Humans live there too. The cold forests are situated closer to the northern magnetic pole of the planet. They do not have such a high level of biodiversity, but the animals that do live there are equally as terrifying. There is that species of fauna that humans call "bear". It is large, covered in dense hair, grows to 2.8 human metres in length (an adult human is approximately 1.6-1.8 metres in length on average). The bear also has large claws and a formidable body mass. And humans hunt it for fur. As you will later find, humans hunt, harvest or use otherwise pretty much every other powerful and terrifying creature on the planet. The cold forests also have slightly smaller animals that humans call "wolf". It is a pack hunter and an apex predator in its environment. It has strong legs that can run for many kilometres, acute chemosensors that allow it to detect its prey from the minutest chemical traces by simply inhaling air. A wolf also has extremely powerful mandibles with calcium-rich solid structures similar to those of a human but bigger and more pointy. When they catch their prey, wolves use their "Jaws" with their "teeth" to crush bones and rip through flesh of animals they catch, frequently in one bite. Wolves are absolutely terrifying predators that would likely cause an ecological catastrophe if they were ever to appear on any other of known habitable worlds. Yet I discovered that on Sol-3 many tens of thousands of cycles ago many wolves entered a symbiosis with humans of that day, recognising them as the superior predator and subsequently mainly assisting them with tracking prey.
Most of Sol-3 surface is covered by dihydrogen monoxide, which is not unusual. What is truly scary is the lifeforms that loom below the surface of the planet's oceans. Lifeforms, with which humans also contend for resources.
There is such thing as "shark". It has tough skin, large size and jaws with what seems like a thousand triangular, sharp teeth. If you ever thought the Sol-3 forest inhabitants are scary, you would definitely only want to see its oceans from orbit. A shark constantly regenerates its razor-sharp teeth throughout its life and can take on even animals larger than itself. And humans hunt it because they like to eat its fins.
Another example is an ocean animal that humans call "whale". Some of whale species can reach up to 30 human metres in length and in overall bulk they are larger than my class 7-D-4 interstellar ship. One such animal can decimate an entire underwater city of Lami-8 simply by swimming through it. Well, the humans hunted them so much that some of the whale species are now endangered.
The stories make sense now. What was originally another mundane contact with yet another sentient species proves to be the discovery of by far, the most resilient intelligent race that, in addition, is a global apex predator on the most terrifying planet in the sector. My only hope now is that noone from the Assembly upsets them.
| 2019-01-15T19:18:17 | 2019-01-15T18:50:29 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] Upon us entering intergalactic civilization, we discover that the Milky Way wasn't where we came from, but where we were banished to. All of civilization is horrified that we survived and returned from the universe's harshest galaxy.
|
"Run the data again." Dr'tll demanded.
"We've run it 12 times in the past mini-cycle, sir." M'tan, the young scientist leaves turned grey with fear. "There is no mistake."
"There HAS TO BE!" Dr'tll's fist slammed into the monitor, shattering it and sending green chlorophyll blood flying from his fist. "The Milky Way is a class six death zone. Earth is a CLASS TWELVE DEATH WORLD. They can't possibly be alive!"
"Not only are they alive....they've thrived." Me'dem Knios, the matriarch of the research station appeared. "Jumping from steam weapons to electricity, then to nuclear power before finally harnessing starfuel and dark matter in only three centuries? We underestimated their intelligence. They are coming to wreak a terrible, bloody vengeance upon us, to bathe the star-ways n blood for our sins."
&#x200B;
The ship landed, and the first humans climbed out.
"Ugh. FTL travel gives the meanest jet lag" Corporal Jamal Huang joked. He looked around. This world didn't seem to use that much metal. Crystals and plantlife mostly. Bio-technology. Only the ships were made of something he could compare to Earth metals but they seemed alive as well. At his side, the other inhabitants of the spaceship slowly gathered around, ready to make first contact.
An envoy approached him. Jamal had seen a lot in his travels through the Milky Way, but the first beings he'd met in here on Kallos in the Andromeda Galaxy disturbed him. They were like....what was that monster from the old stories? Ents. Tree people, but with flesh grafted on random areas. Humans who looked like trees.....trees that walked like men? Small bugs scurried across their clothes, which seemed to be made of spun spider-webs and crystal. His stomach turned instinctively, the old human fear of the uncanny welling up, but centuries of exposure to the cosmos fought it back down.
"Hi. Nice to meet you." Jamal gave a warm smile and stuck his hand out. "I'm Corporal Jamal Huang of the Milky Way Alliance and-"
Whatever he was to say next will be lost forever as all five of the natives bowed before him, kneeling and crying, a sound that tore at his ears and ripped at his soul.
"We, the Entradi, do formally surrender to the humans." The biggest one spoke, translators thankfully making her message understand. "We apologize for the graphic crime of sentencing you to the Death Zone and will accept whatever punishment you see fit!"
Jamal stared at them, then looked back at his crew. No, they were equally lost.
"What the HELL are you on about?" he finally asked. And that's when the story truly begins....
|
[[gaseous emission carbon increases, a hint of toluene is introduced, flapping frequency of emitting orifice varies greatly]]
&&frequency of pulsating light increases, data density is increased, stream switch from trinary to octal occurs&&
++magnetic field fluctuations plummet, antennae fully extend++
"So, what's going on?" I ask my host and translator. He is bipedal, and his name is a string of ones and zeroes, expressed in two different colors I cannot see. I call him Fred.
The translator speaks in a musical voice. It sounds to me like a hot chick. "Be at calm dnorg, the representatives of the welcoming committee are merely discussing administrative matters, they will attend you presently".
Upon a gently curved dais, about half a meter high, are three of the ugliest sons of bitches I have ever encountered. Undiplomatic of me to say so, but they smell like a fire in a chemical plant. One of them sounds like he/she/it is trying to fart out a rap song, and another looks like a coat hanger fight. The last one looks like a jigsaw that someone hammered together without looking at the picture on the box, or even caring if the pieces fit together. I get the sense that they are discussing something tiresome and humdrum, and am glad that the universal translator human - adaption edition - has not yet been completed. BORING. All I wanted was a treaty and and a trade deal. Look, the first guy who meets a new culture can make serious coin, and that guy was me. All I needed was to look out for number one, and everything was going to be peachy keen.
[[Merciful oblivion, the being is even more terrifying up close. I fear him greatly. I wish to initiate auto-extinction and expire immediately]]
&&A species that wages war. Entropy upon us all. The monsters thrived, instead of dying in prison. We should command the Annihilator Fleet to destroy them.&&
++My analysis indicates it uses only its frontal lobe for the purposes of cogitation. The rest of the brain must be reserved for anger and murder.++
Fred made some gesture with one of his hands, and a chair extruded from the floor. Neat trick. I sat down, and damn and blast, but it was comfortable as hell. I leaned back, to see if a back would automagically extrude from the chair itself, but it didn't. That was a disappointment. I almost fell over backwards, but caught myself just in time. I didn't think the functionaries on the dais noticed anyway. I knew what improvements I'd make to their chair technology - backs on chairs, rocking chairs, hammock chairs, man these guys were using stools instead of exploiting their tech to the fullest. I was going to completely blow their minds, and coin it. Dildo chairs! Yeah, that would be sweet. Assuming that we could come to a trade deal, I suppose. I think they had picked the 'welcoming committee' to be dry emotionless bureaucrats, born for endless detail and indifferent to anything that wasn't filed in triplicate.
[[The creature must be informed. But I shall not do it, the probability matrices indicate my demise if such an outcome becomes reality]]
&&It made a gesture when it sat down. I fear it made to threaten us. I have soiled myself and shamed my family.&&
++I shall explain to it. Even though it will surely cause the extirpation of my life. It must be told.++
Fred turned to me and the translator began to speak again. That sexy, sexy voice, oh yeah.
"Peace to be with you and at you. The story of your species is shared among us. It be to shared with also you. Of the the knowing is the crime. War the greatest crime. Humans made to war greatly, many perished. To punish humans did the Ethical Alliance come to be. Many battles. Many entities became atoms of componency. We mourned them then, we mourn them still. Humans were banished, imprisoned a million years ago. In Galaxy 78744, to be outcast forever."
Well that was a shut up, sit down moment. I mean, everyone expected some sort of culture shock, but really. To be be the ancient bogeymen of alien cultures was a bit much. And I had been worried about chairs. This was going to complicate things, I doubted we would get premium trade deals if they all had bad attitudes towards us. I moved my tongue in a particular pattern that triggered a sub-delta pulse that would alert the Third Fleet that things were off to a rocky start. Like all fleets since the Great Peace of 2357, it was entirely unarmed. But at least it would be prepared for imminent departure if the talks failed.
I cleared my throat and addressed the dais. "Surely what happened a million years ago should not prevent us from reaching an understanding?"
Once again the translator spoke. Oh man, that voice. So damn sexy.
"Enhanced the knowing shall be. Many who survived the human aggression murder wars yet live. Guilt of many murder kills be upon humans."
That stunned me. They could extend life for a million years? Man, fuck chairs. This was the real deal. Also, they had just made a big mistake. Again I addressed the dais. "No humans now live who took part in any alleged crimes, and it is immoral to hold anyone guilty of crimes they did not commit. Further, individuals commit crimes, not species. No one can be considered guilty merely because they are members of a particular species." I smiled to show that I was still friendly, but concerned.
[[How can a creature who's cogitationary mechanism is a small frontal lobe produce such an argument? My desire for self-death has intensified]]
&&It has bared its teeth, a universal gesture of hostility. Command the Annihilator Fleet to prepare for a Peace Mission&&
++I will endeavor to turn it from the path of death war murder, though all paths within the probability matrices now lead to cataclysm++
Sexy translator voice spoke up again. "Peace be at you, submission to you we grant, a great Peace Mission trepidates and waits, oh let the atoms of componency retain their current configurations!"
Now this was more like it! A peace mission was great. And a 'submission' meant they would put forward a deal. Luckily, that whole 'your species committed murder a million years ago' thing wasn't going to complicate things, and we could get down to money talk. Trade. Goods. Riches. Oh man, I was going to be so fucking rich. I jumped up, and grinned. "This is great! Let's bury the hatchet!"
&&A promise of war, as feared. Annihilator Fleet Peace Mission attacks. Human species extinction begin&&
[[Failure. Humans have retained murder war as their constant companion. Eradication imperative.]]
++Their sun has been made to nova. Human aggressions destroy peace for the last time++
I sat back down. Victory was sweet indeed.
Less than ten thousand kilometers away, the Third Fleet disintegrated under the onslaught of the Annihilator Fleet, and one by one, the suns of human star systems went nova.
| 2019-11-14T22:18:02 | 2019-11-14T17:41:26 | 153 | 45 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
“Reply yes if you can survive the last video-game you played. If you survive without dying you will be awarded all you win in game.”
“Who texts this at 2:00am in the morning on a Friday night?,” I drunkingly mumbled.
Chuckling, I reminisce in the old days of my video-gaming childhood. I remember playing hours of creative Minecraft. Flying. Building castles. Man, that was so much fun and everything I did in it was fun.
I think, well, whatever type of weird spam fad this is, might as well see where it goes.
It probably took me 2 minutes to type it, “yea...” “yed”...
“Yes.”
I open my eyes and see dust. I have a pistol in my hand. Dread fills my soul as I look to my left and right, I’m surrounded by people all in riot gear. What did I get myself into?
|
*Beagle's journal - Day 1*
I couldn't believe it at first—I refused to—but as the day wore on, as the sun warmed by body and the pain of hunger quickly became real, I had to accept my new reality.
This world. This beautiful, vast, dangerous world. I've visited it enough to know it well from a bird's eye view, but never long enough to say I'd conquered it—never had my colony actually survived.
The road is long, it will take years by in-game time to achieve the final goal, and one thought has followed me like death since I arrived here: who's deciding the events and what difficulty are they set to?
____
*Beagle's journal - Day 5*
As with the standard starting scenario, I've spawned with two fellow colony members. Bear is a massive fellow who seems comfortable with a rifle in hand, and he successfully defended our camp from two manic rats that seemed hell bent on devouring us all; though, it's become apparent that he has an unhealthy obsession with setting things on fire. I'll need to keep my eye on him.
My second companion goes by Greenly, and her skills with plants, preparing food, and training animals will be essential to our survival. I find her quite attractive, and I'm not sure how that makes me feel. Are these people real? Or are they simply pawns in this game I've been sucked into?
I've managed to build us a shelter using the wood Greenly provided by felling trees, and Bear assisted by digging into the mountain side. With a natural wall of granite at our backs, I feel that we will be safe from any threat.
Though it's still summer, the air is cooling fast, and in a few short months I believe these woods will be thick with snow. Our primary goal is to harvest enough rice to last the winter, and we'll need electricity to properly store it and, more crucially, to stay warm. Funny enough, when Bear isn't chewing up granite or shooting rabid animals, he's hunched over the crude research table figuring out how to propel us forward technologically—I just hope he doesn't set his notes on fire.
Everyone is getting testy with one another, but I'm nearly finished building a dining table and three chairs. I think having a proper place to eat will drastically improve our moods.
We had a cat, Morpheus. He was eaten by a wolf.
____
*Beagle's journal - Day 27*
An attack on our fort has left Bear a bit bloodied, but he'll survive. It turns out Greenly is well versed in medicine, which makes her all the more attractive to me. She mentioned the possibility of amputating Bear's injured leg and replacing it with a more efficient prosthetic, but noted that she lacks the skill and tools. The thought made me uneasy, I hope she doesn't bring it up again.
The attacker was a wild, nude women, and she managed to bite a decent bit out of Bear's calf. She used the boulders and trees as cover until she was within biting range, so I've begun clearing the area in front of our defensive point of debris. Bear gave her a couple of hits to the head with the butt of his rifle, knocking her unconscious, and I built a makeshift prison near our stockpile. I don't think she's worth the extra resources, but Greenly insists that if we nurse her back to health, she might have something to offer us as a colony. I trust her judgement.
Winter is nearly here, and we've managed a decent stockpile of rice. I've built electrical lines through the main lodge, but I'll have to wait until Bear is back up on his feet to continue; none of us can dig the steel from the mountain like he can. Once he's back at it, I'll have a few heaters going to keep warm.
_____
*Beagle's journal - Day 34*
Snow. It's falling silent and beautiful tonight, and with it comes the constant threat of death. The temperature has fallen dramatically, but we've prepared well.
With my heaters placed strategically throughout the fort, we're more than comfortable so long as we're not working out in the machine shop—I still don't have the steel to run lines out that far.
Our prisoner, Meica, has turned ally, and she's proven immediately useful. She has a knack for crafting clothing, using most of the hide we gathered early on from wild animals to fit us all with cozy parkas and beanies. I was right to trust Greenly, our strength grows with our numbers.
She and I have taken to playing chess for an hour before bed each night, and it's come to be my favorite part of the day. I built us two wolf-hide chairs to rest in as we play, and she joked that bits of Morpheus must be mixed into the cushions. She's got a dark sense of humor—I like that.
No chess tonight, though. We watched Bear and Meica build a snowman outside, nestled close together by a fire, comfy in our winter attire.
The granite wall I've been constructing around the compound is finished—double the thickness of our lodge's walls—and I feel safe inside with my friends.
It's nights like these that get me thinking... Maybe I don't need to win? Maybe I could stay here forever...
___
/r/BeagleTales
| 2020-02-16T18:41:30 | 2020-02-16T17:51:33 | 194 | 59 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
After replying to the email, I black out. When I come to, I find myself floating in a ocean, the clearest sea blue ocean I've ever seen. I had honestly thought that email was for shots and giggles, at least I hope it was. In the distance I see the dark green of tropical trees and white sand. I hope I make there without getting attacked by a shark or something.
By the time I get onto dry land, my limbs are on fire. I haven't swam like that since I was in middle school. I hear a commotion on and see a bunch of people waving to a group coming over to a nearby dock.
The first in the group that catches my eye is the giant blue cat-man in barely any armor. After my initial shock, I recognize that giant orange spike of hair anywhere.
Someone from the dock walks over and points to me. "Cap'n Wakka! Someone just swam ashore outta nowhere." Everyone around me turns to me and I see Wakka walk over. "Ay, mon. Where didya come from?"
Realizing I needed to make something up quick, "I can't remember a whole lot... I remember this giant thing coming and then seeing this island..."
He frowns, but then smiles at me. "We're on our way to Luca for a Blitzball tournament. Maybe someone can find you there and jog some memories for ya, yea? We got someone with us in da same boat."
|
The voice faded into my mind as another came.
"Hey, Khontis. You seriously napping?"
My eyes opened as a strangely familiar face came to view.
"You sure know how to sleep. It was sure nice of Naoya ask us to meet him out here on a hot day like this, huh?"
I grunted and rubbed my eyes as I took him in, a blue t-shirt with a white hat, bright eyes and a bag with a laptop in it was slug over his shoulder. This was, in every sense, Atsuro.
Behind him stood a boy in a black shirt with headphones on, his eyes were careful and aware. "Kazuya met with us here." Atsuro continued, "So how have you two been? Normally I see you two during the school year so I feel like it's been forever."
Kazuya, known as Abel among his friends as his mobile handle...I couldn't help but wonder...Deep down inside how this would turn out.
Kazuya, the reincarnation of Abel. If this was the game I would think that position would be me. But with another here...
"Hey, what's wrong Khon? You doing okay?" Atsuro asked.
"Uh...fine. Anyway, what does your cousin want?"
"OH THERE You all are!" A female voice called.
"Oh hey, here comes YooHoo." Atsuro smiled.
I didn't need to look to know. A redhaired girl wearing pink. Her bag looked heavy, all I could think of as Yuzu yelled at the two boys for using her old nickname was if there was a COMP in there for me.
After a few bummed looks and sighs of disappointment Yuzu handed htem out. A blue one for Atsuro, a red one for Kazuya, a pink one for Yuzu.
She turned and tossed one into my lap.
And a purple one for me.
I opened it up but didn't bother turning it on. I knew it would have to wait for the rest, I also knew what would be said.
The Laplace Mail about the man near where Naoya lived would be killed. And later tonight the Wendigo would show up.
I would have to fight demons.
To be honest, I wasn't *too* worried. I mean at first I'd be really up a creek, always was the first time around with the first of the Bel's but I had played and beat this game so many times I understood the strategy. And I always loved the Megami Tensei games. But...
They were games. If I died here...
I'd have to live.
"Peaceful Days died. Lets survive" I whispered.
"Huh? what's wrong?" Kazuya asked.
"Nothing."
"Well... I need to do more research. Why don't you guys head off and hang around."
"Sounds good." Yuzu replied and I followed the pair as their conversation carried like I remembered.
It wasn't long before we heard a voice calling out.
"Now along with our Shomonkai, let us bring the world together! With the power of the internet the world will be one once more!"
Yuzu gripped along as Kazuya rolled his eyes and they spoke. Even more trouble.
"Hey! You coming?" Yuzu called as they moved through the crowds to leave. I held the comp tightly in my hands, not wanting to release it. There'd be trouble if I did. Soon...
I looked to my watch. It was almost six and we were walking by Omotesando.
I stood aside as the sirens wailed and Yuzu spoke about Naoya.
We hurried there, and like clockwork a tall man with long hair in a kimono looked to them. "Oh, its you guys. What are you doing here?"
His snake like eyes narrowed at me and I tensed.
Naoya, the reincarnation of Cain.
He spoke to them and continued onward past them toward me. I gritted my teeth as he spoke. "The door of truth will open. Overcome your fate."
He eyed me as they past and I glared at him. "I hope you can overcome this trial as well. Don't leave me disappointed." He whispered.
I glowered.
Naoya *knew* i didn't belong here.
"I'll try to impress." I remarked.
"What was that about?" Yuzu asked.
"Nothing. Lets go."
Kazuya's phone rang and sent us back to Atsuro.
He gave his usual computer talk before Yuzu called him to just unlock them.
I stood ready as they shined and four demons emerged. Kobold, Pixie and Kabuso all for them. Expected.
And before me going after me, was an ogre.
"Nice...Lets go!"
Yuzu screamed as the pixie went after her, Atsuro dodged the Kabuso's attack and Kazuya and I both seemed to be the first to jump to the fray.
The battle was simple but still, I could feel my adrenaline rush as I slammed into the Ogre a final time.
"YOU BEAT OGRE. OGRE NOW YOURS. USE ME IN FIGHT. FIGHT LOTS!" he said as he disappeared.
Yuzu began her freak out as Atsuro calmed her. Finally on the notion to go see Naoya we ended up back in his appartment.
"Look! It's Naoya's box!" Atsuro pointed.
"Yea. it's full of stuff. It looks like he hasn't been here in a long time." Yuzu agreed.
"So we were lucky to see my cousin."
Our Comps lit up with mail and as I read them I knew where they'd lead.
To the cemetary. To Amane.
"Should we go?" Yuzu asked.
"He did say 'person'" Kazuya noted.
"Yea. He would have said 'demon' or someone; if he meant anything else.Lets go."
| 2020-02-16T19:58:17 | 2020-02-16T16:08:36 | 84 | 12 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
"I'm screwed," I lamented for what might have been the fifth time, out loud and to know one in particular. Feeling utterly defeated, I leaned against an oak tree and slid down until I was sitting where its roots should have been. The ground was hard and flat.
I was sure I had never been this alone in my life. Nor as hungry. The breeze was growing cold as the sun set. Three of the knuckles in my right hand were broken - all four were bleeding. A matching smear of my blood mark the tree just above my head.
Worst, I knew I was nowhere - a world made at random by a capricious algorithm. At first I'd hoped there might be other suckers like me, but surely someone would have marked this place - spawn - and left something of instructions. Without other human people, the best I could hope for would be villages of idiots, dotting the landscape randomly and precariously. The worst, and more likely, would be crawling out of the bushes looking for blood soon.
And even if I survived, can one really beat Minecraft? I'd have to hope slaying the dragon would count - a sandbox game might be a loophole that would condemn me here until death.
With no food, no tools, and little hope, I could only set off in a random direction and pray I'd find a safe place to pass the night.
|
The voice faded into my mind as another came.
"Hey, Khontis. You seriously napping?"
My eyes opened as a strangely familiar face came to view.
"You sure know how to sleep. It was sure nice of Naoya ask us to meet him out here on a hot day like this, huh?"
I grunted and rubbed my eyes as I took him in, a blue t-shirt with a white hat, bright eyes and a bag with a laptop in it was slug over his shoulder. This was, in every sense, Atsuro.
Behind him stood a boy in a black shirt with headphones on, his eyes were careful and aware. "Kazuya met with us here." Atsuro continued, "So how have you two been? Normally I see you two during the school year so I feel like it's been forever."
Kazuya, known as Abel among his friends as his mobile handle...I couldn't help but wonder...Deep down inside how this would turn out.
Kazuya, the reincarnation of Abel. If this was the game I would think that position would be me. But with another here...
"Hey, what's wrong Khon? You doing okay?" Atsuro asked.
"Uh...fine. Anyway, what does your cousin want?"
"OH THERE You all are!" A female voice called.
"Oh hey, here comes YooHoo." Atsuro smiled.
I didn't need to look to know. A redhaired girl wearing pink. Her bag looked heavy, all I could think of as Yuzu yelled at the two boys for using her old nickname was if there was a COMP in there for me.
After a few bummed looks and sighs of disappointment Yuzu handed htem out. A blue one for Atsuro, a red one for Kazuya, a pink one for Yuzu.
She turned and tossed one into my lap.
And a purple one for me.
I opened it up but didn't bother turning it on. I knew it would have to wait for the rest, I also knew what would be said.
The Laplace Mail about the man near where Naoya lived would be killed. And later tonight the Wendigo would show up.
I would have to fight demons.
To be honest, I wasn't *too* worried. I mean at first I'd be really up a creek, always was the first time around with the first of the Bel's but I had played and beat this game so many times I understood the strategy. And I always loved the Megami Tensei games. But...
They were games. If I died here...
I'd have to live.
"Peaceful Days died. Lets survive" I whispered.
"Huh? what's wrong?" Kazuya asked.
"Nothing."
"Well... I need to do more research. Why don't you guys head off and hang around."
"Sounds good." Yuzu replied and I followed the pair as their conversation carried like I remembered.
It wasn't long before we heard a voice calling out.
"Now along with our Shomonkai, let us bring the world together! With the power of the internet the world will be one once more!"
Yuzu gripped along as Kazuya rolled his eyes and they spoke. Even more trouble.
"Hey! You coming?" Yuzu called as they moved through the crowds to leave. I held the comp tightly in my hands, not wanting to release it. There'd be trouble if I did. Soon...
I looked to my watch. It was almost six and we were walking by Omotesando.
I stood aside as the sirens wailed and Yuzu spoke about Naoya.
We hurried there, and like clockwork a tall man with long hair in a kimono looked to them. "Oh, its you guys. What are you doing here?"
His snake like eyes narrowed at me and I tensed.
Naoya, the reincarnation of Cain.
He spoke to them and continued onward past them toward me. I gritted my teeth as he spoke. "The door of truth will open. Overcome your fate."
He eyed me as they past and I glared at him. "I hope you can overcome this trial as well. Don't leave me disappointed." He whispered.
I glowered.
Naoya *knew* i didn't belong here.
"I'll try to impress." I remarked.
"What was that about?" Yuzu asked.
"Nothing. Lets go."
Kazuya's phone rang and sent us back to Atsuro.
He gave his usual computer talk before Yuzu called him to just unlock them.
I stood ready as they shined and four demons emerged. Kobold, Pixie and Kabuso all for them. Expected.
And before me going after me, was an ogre.
"Nice...Lets go!"
Yuzu screamed as the pixie went after her, Atsuro dodged the Kabuso's attack and Kazuya and I both seemed to be the first to jump to the fray.
The battle was simple but still, I could feel my adrenaline rush as I slammed into the Ogre a final time.
"YOU BEAT OGRE. OGRE NOW YOURS. USE ME IN FIGHT. FIGHT LOTS!" he said as he disappeared.
Yuzu began her freak out as Atsuro calmed her. Finally on the notion to go see Naoya we ended up back in his appartment.
"Look! It's Naoya's box!" Atsuro pointed.
"Yea. it's full of stuff. It looks like he hasn't been here in a long time." Yuzu agreed.
"So we were lucky to see my cousin."
Our Comps lit up with mail and as I read them I knew where they'd lead.
To the cemetary. To Amane.
"Should we go?" Yuzu asked.
"He did say 'person'" Kazuya noted.
"Yea. He would have said 'demon' or someone; if he meant anything else.Lets go."
| 2020-02-16T21:57:27 | 2020-02-16T16:08:36 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] In an apocalyptic world, the last of humanity live in controlled, supposed paradise cities surrounded by towering walls; taught that the world outside died to wasteland centuries ago. You’re a smuggler, helping people escape the wall into the world beyond.
|
I poured a small measure of fire whiskey from my hip flask into my tea. Surreptitiously, of course. It was a habit that had only gained popularity outside the walls and it wouldn't do to be noticed for such odd behavior by the other patrons.
The tavern was one I hadn't been to in several years. This was, of course, by design. When you're trying to not be caught doing things the Council of Lords didn't like, it was best to not form a predictable routine.
I sipped my tea, mug in my left hand, and waited for my meal to arrive. I sipped my tea, simultaneously looking at everything and nothing. Situational awareness was critical so that I could signal the meeting was off if something odd came up.
My food arrived and I tucked in after thanking the server. City food was always the same. They seemed to have refined the concept of homogenized, tasteless sustenance to an artform. The improved food and drink outside the walls was worth the small increase in risk that came with living in the Wasteland settlements.
Not that any of the Citizens knew about that. The Council's propaganda machine was efficient and powerful and had almost everybody convinced that the land outside the walls was a wasteland. As with all propaganda, it was filled with logical inconsistencies. According to the Council, the Wasteland was simultaneously dead and unable to support life while also being home to deadly monsters and bands of ravaging marauders.
A man in the uniform of an officer of the Council's Guard approached my table. He was tall and spare, not much older than myself. His side-arm, hilt bejewelled as appropriate for his officer status, was conspicuously free of the leather strap that secured it when the bearer thought it wouldn't be needed.
"Would you mind some company, Madame?" He asked with the perfect diction of somebody whose family could afford a good education.
"Not at all, Officer..." I replied, letting the sentence trail off.
"Marquette," I finished for me with a slight bow. "Captain Amberton Marquette."
A captain of the Council's Guard, one born to one of the most influential families, definitely constituted "something odd". I transferred my mug to my right hand as I gestured to an empty chair at my table.
"Pleased to meet you, Captain Amberton Marquette," I replied in greeting. "I'm Kerindra Portnos. To what do I owe the honor of the company of a high-born Guard captain?"
He gestured to get the attention of the server before saying, "I do hate to dine alone. All of the other tables already had more than one person. I chose you because you're alone and this way I could minimize the burden of my company."
"That is very pragmatic of you," I replied with a nod. "I certainly hope that I am up to the task of preventing your loneliness."
The server arrived at the table and Marquette ordered one of the many bland dishes and a mug of tea. The server came back with the tea rather more quickly for Marquette than for me or any of the other customers. He thanked her and she bustled away.
I waited for him to take his first sip before resuming our conversation but he surprised me. He casually glanced around at the other customers before removing his own hip flask from his pocket. He surreptitiously added a small measure of honey-brown liquid from it to his tea.
Well, surreptitiously to the rest of the customers. He maintained eye contact with me as he poured. Then he very deliberately transferred his mug to his left hand and lifted it in a salute to me. I considered him for only a brief moment before transferring my mug back to my left hand and mirroring his salute before we sipped from our mugs.
I had helped a wide variety of people out of the city in my half decade as a smuggler. Tradesman, children, clerks, barkeeps... But never a member of the Guard and never a high-born person, let alone one who was both.
Assuming it wasn't a trap, this trip was going to be an interesting challenge.
|
In the darkness of the wine cellar Aaron looked over the motley group of runaways, shaking his head. It was a measure of the lives they’d led that this is what they brought when they tried to colonize a new world, one of them even had a saxophone slung over his shoulder. He’d regret that unnecessary weight after walking a few miles over uneven ground in the dark. Not one of them even had a proper pair of boots.
No matter, he took them all the same, he didn’t need to like someone to guide them.
“Right people it’s nearly time, any cold feet? When we leave this room there’s no going back for any of you, under any circumstances.”
“What’s out there? You still haven’t told us anything real, we deserve to know.” The young man with the saxophone had spoken up, voice cracking slightly. The others made noises of agreement.
“What’s your name kid?” Aaron asked.
“Elvin,” the kid responded.
“Ok Elvin, here’s the deal. You all deserve a lot, you deserve the world, that’s why you live in paradise right? Because your ancestors won it, carved it out of the dead wood and bare stone of the world out there.” Aaron spat on the floor at Elvin’s feet. “Fuck that. You go out into the wastes to discover what you really deserve. To be a man for the first time in your life, to live like you were meant to. You don’t need to know any more than that, none of the other groups ever did. Now, you got it in you kid?”
Elvin steeled himself, squaring thin shoulders and trying to stand up taller than his 5’5” frame allowed. This one really looked young, Aaron thought.
“Good.” Aaron clapped him on the back hard, making the kid stumble. “We’re going now, everyone follow me.” Aaron pulled a false wine bottle on one of the shelves and the wall behind him swung inward revealing a long tunnel, gently sloping up towards the outside world. The people in his group gasped as Aaron walked into it, pulling a powerful flashlight from a hook on the wall and thumbing it on to reveal the rough path they would follow.
“Come on people! Haven’t got all night, we need to be above ground on the other end before sunrise.”
The walk through the tunnel was claustrophobic, even for Aaron who had done it more times than he could count. Somewhere near the third mile one of the older folks began to hyperventilate, he was only given a sip of water and a cuff to the head. He kept up, there was no other choice.
After about an hour and a half they reached the end, a trapdoor set into the ground a half mile from the wall, covered with debris. Aaron unlocked it, opening the door with a mighty heave.
“Everyone out, and you help me cover the door on the other end. No slacking and no coming back, if you leave anything in the tunnel it stays here.”
The group traveled onward for several more miles, taking it rather well all things considered. Other groups had complained far more, this one seemed more interested in the bleak landscape as the sun rose around them, staring at the broken remains of skyscrapers in the distance.
“What happened out here?” Elvin asked him.
“You went to school, you should know the stories.”
“Well I know some, there was a war between us and the synths, most of the world was destroyed in the process. After it ended the last humans fell back into Paradise City for safety and to wait out the damage.”
“Right,” Aaron said. “That’s most of it. You see those old buildings up there in the distance? That used to be called New York City, nearly 20 million people lived there before the war.”
“20 million??” Elvin exclaimed, his eyes bugging out. “How’s that even possible?”
“Quality of life was a lot lower, lifespans were lower, a lot of things. The ancestors had some other tricks we don’t anymore.” Aaron called out louder to the rest of the group. “Ok everyone, you see that ridge up ahead? We’re almost there now, past that point you’re on your own and your real lives can start.”
Elvin and Aaron hung back talking as the rest of the group raced ahead, anxious to see what all this had been for.
“How’d you learn all that about the ancestors?” Elvin asked him. “I mean it’s been a long time since then, none of that was in my books at school, I….what? What’s happening to them?”
Ahead the rest of the group seemed to falter, falling to their knees on the ground or collapsing forward, carried into the dirt by their momentum. Several emitted a strange high pitched noise, like a distorted screaming.
“They’re learning what they deserve.” Aaron said, turning to Elvin with a stone faced coldness. The boy turned and tried to run but Aaron caught him by the Saxophone still over his shoulder, pulling him closer. Looping an arm around the boy’s neck as he struggled Aaron dragged him forward, closer to the spot the others had begun to collapse, the ridge now mere steps away.
“You see kid, there were a lot of things your history books didn’t teach you.” Aaron said, stopping on the edge of an invisible line Elvin could swear he felt in his skin. “Look at that one there,” he pointed at the old man who had struggled in the tunnel. “You can see the light beginning to shut off in its eyes, wait just a few more seconds….ahhh, there it is.”
Sparks crackled around the old man leaving dark, spider webbed burns across the skin. All around them the screaming noises were abruptly shutting off as the others began to be consumed in the same way.
“What’s happening to them, who are you?” Elvin cried, still trying desperately to break free.
Aaron punched him once in the stomach, the boy dropped to the ground in a coughing fit.
“Here’s the thing they never taught you, the thing none of the ‘people’ in that whole damn city know because ***I*** made it so. There was a war between the synths and humans, that much was true. Thing is though, the synths won Elvin, I watched it happen. And you and everyone else in that damned city? You're not humans, you're synths, the bastards that killed us all. Your people won, and I’ve spent every day since then with my own little revenge. Those things,” Aaron said, gesturing to the bodies on the ground, “just had their batteries die. None of you know it but there’s a generator under the city that keeps you all running, you just pull free energy from the air as you walk, none of you even need to eat! You only had that function added so you could infiltrate us more easily.”
Aaron grabbed Elvin then, pulling him over the invisible line where the generator could no longer power him. Elvin’s internal battery began to go haywire, desperately trying to consume any source as it was cut off from the energy field it was made for. Soon the sparks would come for him. Elvin opened his mouth and tried to speak, no sound came out but the same distorted scream.
“As for who I am, that’s complicated.” Aaron continued speaking calmly over the sound of Elvin’s distress.
“The simple truth is that I’m the last human, but the rest of it...In another time I was called The Wandering Jew, but most of that legend is bullshit. Let's just say I’ve lived a long time. Hell, back in the day I even contributed a few of the subroutines bouncing around in that head of yours. I read a book once about taking away people’s identity as the ultimate punishment, that stuck with me. Once my virus burned through you all I thought it was fitting, and now I’m just an old smuggler, shipping off anyone who starts to develop self awareness.”
On the ground beneath him Elvin's eyes began to shut down as the telltale sparks burned over him, singing the grass around his body. Aaron barely registered the death, he’d done this too many times now. Without another word he began pulling the bodies to the ridge and tipping them over, they hit the pile beneath them with a meaty thud. In a few more years he’d have to move spots again, the stack was getting too high.
\----------------------
If you liked that I've got more at r/TurningtoWords. I'm posting selected prompts I thought went particularly well over there and any serials or expansions that they turn in to. I'd love to have you!
| 2020-12-16T07:39:34 | 2020-12-16T07:35:12 | 226 | 111 |
[WP] You live in a country where murder is legal. The catch? It must be declared a week in advance. The aggressor must wait a full week, but the victim may begin defensive or offensive preparations immediately after receiving the threat. While a legitimate threat is legal, a false one is not.
|
"Last week, I fucked with some jerk's order because he was being rude to our cashier. When he threw a shitfit asking who made his order I owned up to it. He turns around and says 'You're dead meat!', looks at my nametag, turns to the wall, whips out a small piece of paper and pencil. Then he scribbles on it and slaps a completely filled out form for intent to murder. Like the dude is just walking around with the forms filled out ready for people to offend him. Anyways, the cashier looked thankful that I lightning rodded that dude's anger."
"Oh my god, have you started preparing for the strike?"
"Nope! Funniest shit, right after he storms out of the restaurant some old lady fucking runs over him with a motorcycle, dismounts and starts absolutely beating the shit out of him. Apparently he's been on a serial declaring streak, and had targeted her grandson - so she had counter-declared a strike on him. Pretty sure that dude's either dead or in the hospital, so I should be pretty safe. I'm not much of a fighter, but I can run like hell if it comes down to it. So anyway, how's your week going?"
"Thankfully not as hectic as all that. Linda's getting married. I'm planning a vacation to Spain in March. Oh, and I heard that Larry declared intent on his former manager."
"Is he really trying to murder everybody he worked under after he got fired? Seems like anger management or therapy would probably be better for him in the long run."
"I dunno - he told me while drunk that he REALLY loves getting into the gun duels, like it's some sort of adrenaline junkie thing. He said he didn't even particularly hate this one."
"Then why did he single the poor sap out? It seems like a waste of money to declare intent on someone you don't even really want gone. It's not like that paperwork is free."
"I think he might have gotten a substantial amount of money from the corpse the last time he killed leadership at that company."
"But that's stealing! That's illegal!"
|
We at *Earnst & Koch Inc* believe that any man or woman can pull him or herself up by the bootstraps. And we believe that capitalism, liberated from any government input, is the greatest society we can achieve.
When my father, the late Rupert Earnst, sued his partner Alfred Koch to get the full possession of the company, many declared the move illegal, amoral, and to be be canceled. I disagree. My father was simply using his bootstraps as he saw fit, and the best man won. Today, *Earnst & Koch Inc* has become the most profitable company worldwide. Who's to say it would have happened if my father hadn't culled his partner from leadership? To me, this is the invisible hand of the market at work, giving credit where it's due.
My father produced and sold weapons worldwide, an extension of his straightforward and beautiful philosophy. Humans fight, the best elements win and are left to build up a society free of parasites and lazy jobless people. He was staunchly against charity, so I am. People should be paid against a job well done, and not for free. It creates bad habits.
I loved my father, you know. Sometimes he brought me to the private school, and pointed his finger towards any leech we came across, of which there were a lot. He was... sad, to be unable to share his vision for the world in so-called civilized countries. Selling weapons to encourage conflict was fine in the barabaric perceived parts of the world, but in the west? My word, never. An omen, he thought, the first step of a society crumbling under the weight of welfare and laziness.
He died, happy to have raised a son to be proud of, distraught that his brethern could not see the good in his philosophy. At the time of his death, I remember the internet and some journalists calling him a monster, a madman, a failure of a human, and - oh, the irony - a leech and parasite. My father would have died before joining their ranks, which he did.
I was left at the head of the most succesful arms company in the world with a mission. Honor my father, make his wish come true.
Like any good project, it had to be prepared far in advance. I lobbied, bought senators and mayors, infiltrated every financial scheme and political organisation I could lay my hands on. Left, right and both extremes. Who cares? I only wished to go forwards.
The free hand of the market granted me the opportunity I longed for.
Global warming.
When the flood hit, mass migrations destabilized well established cities. Citizens, accustomed to living conditions that were too good for them, refused to let aliens threaten their way of life. Calls for violence were heard. I stepped in.
I bought the state of New-Mexico. Ravaged by hurricanes, it was a glorious wasteland fit for capitalism.
Patrols, police forces and the army shipped the surplus of men and women to the state, while I established the rules firmly.
A murder has to be called in advance by one weak. Only real threats allowed.
Of course, the new citizens refused to play by the rules, refused to buy the weapons I provided with their meager belongings.
Considering there was scarcely any food and water left, it did not last for long.
Someday, a man walked in the middle of a ravaged street and came up to a woman. He announced he would kill her in a week. Paralysed by indecision, her friends agreed to help her.
They died. And suddenly, all knew the deepest nature of a human being.
Families scrambled to put together enough to buy guns, manipulators provoked their enemies to use the rule of self-defense and murder them preemptively.
And they bought my weapons.
I filmed this experiment under every angle with the best helicopters and satellites and sold the product for tv consumption in other coutnries of the world. This was the start of my father's dream. The population of New Mexico feared too much for their own safety to go against the rules, citizens of the world saw what they were avoiding and it helped keep them obedient. I had every politician officiously congratulate me.
Waring tribes populated New Mexico. The best among them were granted prices. Weapons, harems, materials. They were the pinacle, thus fit to rebuild the city as they wished.
Mayors soon came to me to ask for a hand with the population growing restless.
*Earnst & Koch Inc* became even truly international. Britain after brexit, half of Russia, Mongolia, and several lesser states on every continent. Each playground - as we called them - had an appointed overseer, who established and enforced the rules.
As I hoped, some of them, motivated by the idea of personal gain and profit, started to share ideas on how to make society better.
So far, we had done small scale conflict. One overseer realized that we could pit one playground against another in a wargame. Warchiefs agreed, naturally. They had won their position through war and wanted more, as is dictated by our human nature.
This started the wargame theory, a philosophical current analysing how conflict and war could be predicted under the current set of rules. To make it more interesting, I personally lobbied for the end of nuclear weaponry. Only small payloads allowed, for the biggest explosion also left nothing to film behind.
And slowly, invisibly, as it happens when a free market is left to do the inherent good it possessed, we evolved. The rules did too. The playground slowly expanded to the whole world, as it suffered from ressource shortage. The wargame culled people, making certain we were not too many for the few ressources at our disposal.
Lesser companies fell to the games too, while we smartly built a facility on the north pole.
There, we saw the vision become truth.
The most succesful warlords were offered gifts, and the best among them a seat at our company. These men and women that had pulled themselves up by the bootstraps and knew all about true freedom, worked to make certain their brethern had the same possibilities.
The world was split in 85% playgrounds, where the free market reigned. 14% were comprised of secure bunkers, where good warriors - because the public liked them - had gotten a seat underground with a television streaming the playgrounds 24/24.
And 1% was us. In control of the largest military troup and the lion's share of ressources. Because we earned it.
*Earnst & Koch Inc*, devising a better world.
| 2021-07-06T03:59:06 | 2021-07-06T02:22:20 | 120 | 79 |
[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.”
|
When witches shapeshift in movies, it's a cool, smooth, sort of 2-second animation involving a camera trick or a computer or makeup.
At 2:31AM last night, seventeen stories above Manhattan, I got to see what it really looked like.
It had been a pretty normal evening. Finish work, catch a cab home, couple hours of Apex, order Quan's, go for a run, little Netflix (or Disney+ if the new What If is up), go to bed.
The run seemed normal too, even the injured cat that I picked up on the way. Happens all the time - usually they just need a little TLC and a night's rest and they're on their way, never to be seen again. I always think one might stay, but section 8.2a of my lease clearly states that I can't have a pet larger than a bearded dragon (whose name is Hermes).
So when I awoke at 2:30A to see the fully dressed family standing in my room, bathed in the glow of my digital clock, the fact that they'd somehow made it past reinforced glass and steel building doors, Jerry at the front desk, a 300-foot elevator shaft, and my locked and deadbolted front door, didn't really cross my mind.
I screamed at the top of my lungs but no sound came out. I threw my alarm clock at them, the glowing numbers 2:31 burning themselves into my brain before the clock smashed against the opposite wall.
It was at that point I noticed the cat in the oldest man's arms. I recognized it as the one I'd helped earlier. The cat leapt out of the man's arms onto the ground,
and transformed. I've witnessed many horrific events in my lifetime. They're a hazard of living here. But this was more grotesque than anything I could have imagined. Joints snapped and popped, bones grinded, skin bubbled and boiled. I watched in abject horror, unable to speak or move. Finally she had morphed into an old, batty-looking, grey-haired woman, covered in shawls and bangles, with scraggly grey hair and one milky, violently blue eye. My mouth opened and closed like a goldfish.
They all burst out laughing.
"Mama, don't scare the newest member of our family so soon!" said the oldest man. He was short, pudgy and greasy, with a pencil moustache and gapped front teeth.
"Ah, he'd better get used to it!" cackled the old lady.
"That's quite enough," said an elegant woman with dark hair in a long black dress, her hands lovingly draped around the man's shoulders, at least two heads taller than him. "Lurch, darling, start packing Cousin Albert's things."
I finally found my voice. "Uh...my name's Albert. Are you talking about me?"
"Look at him. So lonely and sad up here. He'll be much lonelier and sadder with us. Good." A little girl in pigtails that I hadn't noticed at first stepped up to me. Her eyes reminded me of black holes, mischief twinkling faintly behind light-absorbing darkness.
"Hey, mister, do you like grenades?" a fat boy in a striped shirt asked, tossing me a real, live, honest-to-god M67. I gingerly tossed it back and scrambled out of bed, standing to face them.
"I'm going to assume this is a dream and that I'm going to wake up in a few minutes. What are you doing here?"
"You saved Mama," replied the man. "That makes you an Addams for life."
|
“Ugh, stop it.” I muttered, smacking the wooden broom handle away from my cheek, trying to stop the prodding. Through blurry eyes I could see three shadows standing beside my bed, before the broom handle collided with my cheek once more, jolting me into an upright position. “Ah, who are you?” I said, rubbing my eyes, wiping the last bits of rest from my vision. Beside me stood three old women, each one more dried up than the last. Their skin stiff as leather, looking more wax figure than person.
Before I could scream, a stray meow stopped me, diverting my gaze to the curled up black cat snuggled in the grip of the middle woman. “Meow Meow.” I muttered, reaching for the cat, only to get hit in the cheek by the broom handle, sending me backwards, thankfully, into my soft mattress.
“Do not refer to the Dark Lord as Meow Meow.” The woman hissed, pointing the broom handle at me, threatening me with another smack. “Our cat wishes to adopt you, welcome to the family.” The middle woman said, not elaborating on the matter any further.
“The family? Excuse me? How did you break into my house and why are you holding the cat I found yesterday?” I went to reach for the cat again, only for the broom handle to hit my palm, stopping my hand from reaching any further.
“Are you sure about this, lord? This human seems rather dull. I can find you another servant if you wish?” The right hag said, her pimpled nose grotesque, looking like a dormant volcano of pus in pimple form.
The cat only gave another meow, which forced the three to lower their heads. None of them seemed pleased about this, but the middle responded. “As you wish, my lord. I am Jazil, the first-born witch of the bloodline. These are my two daughters Mazil and Hazil.” She said, directing me to the right and left witches.
It was hard to identify the three, the group sharing far too many similarities. The only way I could tell them apart was by their pimples and warts. Hazil had the grotesque nose, while Jazil had an assortment of warts hanging from her neck like baggage tags. That left Mazil who had a mix of warts and pimples covering her forehead, giving her forehead an appearance like that of cheap bubble wrap one wouldn’t want to pop.
“That’s great, but I don’t want to become a witch or whatever you are. I’m rather content with my family. Sure, we sometimes don’t get along, but at least they aren’t witches. I feel safer knowing the worst my family can do is talk behind my back, not curse me.” I responded, much to the annoyance of the three.
“Mother Jazil, may I hit him?” Mazil asked, holding her wrinkled hands out for the broom. Jazil looked at the cat, who seemed to give a meow of approval before they handed the broom to Mazil, who swatted me across the head with it. By the time she stopped, I could feel a throbbing sting coming from my cheek. The flesh having already swollen.
“That felt good. Thank you, mother. Now, please come with us. The Dark lord isn’t the type to ask more than once. They owe you a great debt and they will repay it.” Mazil stated, handing the broom back to Jazil, who held it by her side like a mythical staff.
“Stop hitting me. Look, I wouldn’t make a good witch. I haven’t got the slightest clue about what witches even do. I didn’t even think witches were real, just leave me alone.” I tried to bargain with the three, only to watch as Jazil raised the broom once more, only to be stopped by the cat in her arms. Its paw swatting the broom aside, sending it rolling throughout the room.
“MORTAL.” Those words left the black cat’s mouth, its gaze focused solely on me. “I have tested hundreds of your kind, and you are the first to help me on their own accord. Sure, many will send me to a vet, or some animal help group, but you were the first to take responsibility for my injuries. You didn’t throw me away to some third party. You acted and did your best to try to save my life. While your best was pitiful, you showed initiative. I welcome you to this family not to become a heartless witch, but to become a grand servant of me.”
It was odd how the witches didn’t seem insulted by the heartless comment. They only shared a look of stunned awe as their Dark Lord spoke, huddling up around him, listening to every word.
“A servant to the Dark Lord? What does that give me?” I felt compelled to ask, wondering what such a claim even meant.
“See, this human is selfish. He only wants something for himself. He has no intention of serving you, oh gracious lord.” Hazil said, her dead eyes staring at me, ready to kill me at a moment’s notice.
“Did you not sell your soul to me in exchange for powers? All three of you came to me for selfish reasons. I think it’s fair that he wants to know what I will offer him for servitude. I came to him after all, not the other way around.”
“So sorry, my Lord. I didn’t mean to offend. I just really don’t think we need a human in our group.” Hazil went to continue only for the other two witches to cover her mouth, silencing her.
“I will grant you eternal life. You will keep your current body and learn from the witches in the arts of magic. Once you have learned their gifts, I will send you to claim the souls of those who asked for my help. You will travel the world meeting with various celebrities and CEOs. It is your job to make sure they are abiding by the terms of our agreements and if they aren’t, you will take the soul, they offered me.” The Dark Lord said, somehow smiling to me even in cat form.
“Why wouldn’t you just get one of your witches to do it? Aren’t they better suited for the job?” I questioned, watching as Hazil tried to speak, only to continue to be stopped by the other witches.
“I miscalculated human evolution. The time of witches and legends is over. Unfortunately, my lovely servants are ill-equipped to deal with the modern world, something I plan to rectify. Until then, I need you to work with me. I promise you will be treated well. Unlike the witches, I am requesting your help, not the other way around. In saying that, the offer is mandatory, and I will not take no for an answer.”
I could feel a weight sitting on my chest, the Dark Lord’s words enough to make my heart skip a beat. I didn’t want to find out what would happen to me if I said no, so with no other options, I nodded. “Fine, I will join you then.”
“Excellent. Please guide our newest member to his home. I expect you three to treat him kindly. If I find out anyone has mistreated him, well, I expect you know I won’t be happy.” The three witches gulped before nodding.
“Of course, my lord. Follow us human.” Jazil retrieved her broom, hitting it against my bedroom floor, opening a purple portal beside my bed. Through the portal, I could see a cottage filled with bubbling cauldrons and bookshelves. Hazil and Mazil both stepped through the portal before Jazil motioned me to follow.
I took a deep breath before standing up, building up my courage before I joined them, stepping through the portal, entering my new home.
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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.)
| 2021-10-09T06:08:49 | 2021-10-09T04:24:50 | 1,119 | 336 |
[WP] “This place is not a place of honor,” reads the text. “No highly esteemed dead is commemorated here… nothing valued is here. What is here was dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger.”
|
This wasn’t the first time we had received a message from the Old World. Most messages were indirect, time capsules meant for some imagined future where humanity would be far more advanced and would look upon their contents as vestiges of a time past. These messages never predicted the warfare that would ravage the Old World, the conflict that brought humanity to the brink of extinction. Now we seek these vestiges not as souvenirs of the time past, but as cornucopias of technology that can bring our species back to its former glory.
I’m one of the few with an ability to find these relics, a rare mutation derived from the radioactive weapons that ravaged this planet centuries ago. I’ve spent my life finding what’s located below, bunkers, banks, and sometimes whole cities buried below the topsoil. But this one was different, a settlement far deeper than the ones I’ve typically found. At first we thought it a repository, a stash of old technology buried deep below the surface for safekeeping.
It took us two weeks of excavation to find The Note, the cryptic message that seemed not to address some utopian future, but an alien civilization unfamiliar with the technology that preceded it. The Note read the following:
*“This place is a message… and part of a system of messages… pay attention to it! Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.*
*This place is not a place of honor…no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here… nothing valued is here.*
*What is here is dangerous and repulsive to us. This message is a warning about danger.*
*The danger is in a particular location… it increases toward a center… the center of danger is here… of a particular size and shape, and below us.*
*The danger is still present, in your time, as it was in ours.*
*The danger is to the body, and it can kill.*
*The form of the danger is an emanation of energy.*
*The danger is unleashed only if you substantially disturb this place physically. This place is best shunned and left uninhabited.”*
We started excavating the land immediately. Whatever the Old World buried here must have been powerful. A weapon? A system of generating energy? They spoke of how they didn’t value what was buried, but they couldn’t know the situation we were in. We were primitive compared to what they used to be, anything they could have considered an “emanation of energy” would be invaluable to us.
It was only as we started to dig closer to it that I began to feel a familiarity. We always knew that the forces that granted me my powers were derived from the weapons that ravaged our planet long ago. And as we dug closer, this familiarity increased. We weren’t digging towards a repository, but a malignant force.
I tried to tell them, warn them of what was below us. But they wouldn’t listen. Once I located the dig site, they had little need for me and relived me from my duties. But I can still feel it. Even now, huddled outside the dig site, I can feel the evil emanating from below me. It's the same maligned forces that gave me my powers and that tore apart the Old World. I don’t understand this danger, but I know I must stop it. The mistakes of our past can’t be repeated, and I’m the only one who understands the true horrors of what rests below.
|
Alesh was a boy of six when he first discovered the text. In the text he found a foreign world. He recognized a few words from its message. and saw that it was another remnant of the old world, one of many hidden secrets.
Throughout the years Alesh would play with his friends by the mystery site. He would have his first kiss and eventually make love with the girl he befriended when fetching water by the well.
It was that very same well that taught him that humans could dig deep pits into the earth. And it was this idea that made him first want to dig down and learn more about the danger that was marked by the sign.
It wasn't until Alesh moved out to the edge of the colony near the desert that he first had to learn how to dig wells. And it wasn't until he was married and with child that he one day found himself back in his old village.
It was of course Alli Len Mirrag's fiftieth birthday. She was finally going to become an elder after all of these years of raising the village. The colony had six elders now and in Alesh's mind, Alli would finally give them a chance to do something with their lives. Maybe they would find the will they needed to unite the scattered tribes and stop the ever growing threat of enemy colonies forming and rising up against them.
Alli had lived all over the colony when she was young and didn't settle into their little village until Alesh was a five. In school she taught Alesh and the other kids of the past, of the things the elders held as truths.
"There were larges attacks in the past, they say. And they believe we must do what our ancestors did, we must learn to work hard for each other so that we can build a strong colony that can defend against any attacker. We must continue to believe in our future so that our future stays golden like the setting sun."
Alesh had seen the tribes get more testy with the colony in his lifetime. Some attacked from the desert. Some attacked from the mountains. There was no telling what was out there. And he knew with Alli in power that the elders would finally move to action, because Alli was a woman of action.
Alli passed away after two years of being an elder. As did three other elders. Two died painful deaths and cursed the land for its barren soil. The famine wasn't something people talked about much, but everyone knew that Elder Mazera and Elder Lensheh had access to more than their fair share. They were large men, religious in nature. They believed that the gods had shown they were trusted leaders and that is why they didn't wither despite the food shortages.
Alesh hated these two, and he became bitter in life without Alli. Alesh was married, yes, but his poor wife rarely saw any remnant of the old Alesh once Alli was dead. Alesh could only see the rich getting richer, the fat fatter. His only hope in the world was that his distant cousin Kapen who was 47 years old would recover in health and soon join the elders to bring balance back to the colonies. But Alesh had seen healthier men die younger than Kapen. Kapen was a marvel who had survived horrible illnesses for years thanks to his strong wife and family.
That being said, Alesh spent a lot of time with his child. And by the time Ali Baba was three, he stumbled across the old site that he remembered from childhood. It was no longer lost to him. He remembered the games he played with his friends. He remembered his old desire to uncover what was beneath the warnings. "To unlock the power of the gods" as Jordan would say.
Alesh had begun theorizing about how to dig down deep like the ancient humans once had. He figured the only method was to build a structure, something that could support any depth for all of time. He learned the techniques slowly and painfully. He built two houses for some older families who had promised to keep watch on the outskirts against attackers. He had tested going beneath the ground in the construction. His men dug down deep and were able to provide a basement and indoor wells. It would make easy for the families to endure the winter.
As Alesh gain notoriety he took on larger projects and learned tunneling methods as he was able to trick the elders into thinking they would provide a useful escape opportunity if anyone too strong ever invaded.
It wasn't until Kapen died a few days after becoming an elder that Alesh first left the colony. He had nearly killed a man he believed was responsible for Kapen's murder and started to question what kind of a man he was himself. He'd apologized profusely and paid the man to keep quiet when he plead that he had done nothing and had only just moved in from the desert village, offering his god up for testing.
Alesh knew that only a desert villager was desperate enough to do such a thing. Only a true desert villager still believed that a god provided for them. There is a myth that any desert man or woman who denies god is banished to the desert for god's judgement. Alesh had once believed in the same god and marveled at how people always managed to survive despite the poor output from the wells. They had paid Alesh so well over his proper wages when his well struck prosperity.
In the mountains Alesh wandered for two weeks. He explored farther than anyone in the colony had dared. He moved mostly at night, for fear of being seen by a dangerous tribesman, although he knew the mountain tribes sometimes traded with the colony. There were two things they offered in trade.
He had seen a stone which could only be found in the mountain. They weren't common, but he knew the smithy had some and used it to keep their weapons and knives sharp.
But there was another technology they'd spoken of that no one had ever seen. They offered to build one for the elders for a steep price, but the deal never went through, and no one ever discovered what the technology was, although it was rumored that it was for mountain treasure hunting and it was why the men in the mountain sometimes wore beautiful piercings and rings.
Alesh stumbled into a cave in the mountain on a rainy night and slept. It was cold and he found the air hard to breathe, but he enjoyed the peace that he found away from civilization. He kept a knife on him but swore he would do anything he could to have a conversation with an outer tribesman rather than fight them.
So it was that Alesh was startled awake in the morning and chased deep into the cave by two tribesmen with spears. Alesh waited in the darkness and concealed his presence. He killed both men easily once they ventured too deep, he found that the work in the basements had made it easy for him to keep his bearings in a dark place.
Alesh found a torch on one of the men and lit it up with flint against his blade. What he found in the cave surprised him. There were a set of tracks in the mountain made of metal, but they were overgrown with mineral deposits. Yet deeper in the cave the tracks were in better condition.
What Alesh learned in the mountains he brought back with wonder and awe. It was the answer to all of his problems. Within that year he began construction at the site of the text and was determined to unlock the power under the earth by the time he became an elder, or sooner. He was wary that Elder Mazera and Elder Lensheh were near death and that their children would take over soon. He was also aware that the famine was worse than ever, and the only reason he didn't notice it was because his wife did well to hide it from him. She had used the money they'd accumulated to build a powerful relationship with the great farming enterprise that kept the colony alive.
----
Alesh had a large group of works digging deep into the earth at a mysterious site. He showed them an ancient stone of the human's of old, and told them how he was sure of what the message said despite the poor condition it was in. He had secretly destroyed the markings that indicated of the danger below in order to hide it from anyone else. Alesh would have what was buried in the earth if it was the last thing he did.
| 2022-06-18T02:33:03 | 2022-06-17T20:42:45 | 47 | 17 |
[WP] You’re a dragon who kidnapped a prince/princess. All is going to plan but… it’s been a month and no one’s come to save them.
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Circling the tower for the 18th time that week, I realised nobody was in any rush to collect her. See, in my culture, it's noble to die to a knight. And the princess didn't seem to mind. I mean, at first she did. But she seems quite happy here, with the peace and quiet, doing everything at her own pace. I tucked my head into the stone archway leading to her quarters.
"Hello!" She smiled, tucking her beautiful golden locks behind her ear. I came closer, and she lovingly stroked my wings.
"Thank you for everything, Darcie. I'm so glad we're friends," She giggled, "Atleast I hope we are."
I roared happily. I loved whenever she called me by my nickname. It was surprisingly close to my name in Dragonian, which is Darcaia. I wanted her to tell me more of her stories! They could never get old, no matter how many times I heard them, or what they were about.
"I really like it here. But I miss home sometimes. We used to host great feasts, for the whole kingdom!" Her eyes glowed as she described it. "Anyone who was anyone came along. It was the only time I was permitted to talk with people outside my palace. We exchanged stories, and joked with each other. It was the only day that social rank could be forgotten."
The joy from her face began to fade. "Yet none of them care enough to find me!" She cried, her voice quaking. "It's been a month, and you say nobody has even sent out one search party?"
Seeing tears roll down her face upset me, so I gestured for her to climb onto my back. I didn't know how else to comfort her, but to show her something new.
Once she was comfortable, we took off. I climbed the clouds, and the princess squealed with excitement. We flew above her kingdom, and you could see everything. It truly was breathtaking. I'd never stopped to appreciate views like this. I suppose that was one of the many things the princess taught me.
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\[Dragon. Turkey.\]
Van'Droth wandered the halls of his castle with his nose in the air. It was a cool, crisp fall morning like they had all been lately; but, this particular morning was filled with unfamiliar but appetizing odors. The lean, wrinkled man with long, stringy black hair found his way into the kitchen to find his prisoner, Princess Gloryemma, surrounded by a mess of her own making.
"What's all this?" Van'Droth asked. He tended to be lenient on the princess; the poor, spoiled girl seemed too dim to comprehend she was a prisoner. He had no intention of harming her. She was a means to an end. As soon as someone tried to rescue her, anyway.
"It's Thanksgiving, VanD!" The green-haired princess grinned at him. "I've still got a lot to do, wanna lend a hand?" she asked.
"No," Van'Droth shook his head. He stopped trying to discourage the 'VanD' nickname after the first week and it bothered him less by now. But, he was looking forward to her eventual rescue attempt so he'd never have to hear it again. He took a closer look at all the half-prepared food and realized there was a lot. "Where'd all that come from?" he asked.
"Delivery," Gloryemma shrugged. "You said I can't go out." Van'Droth sighed and chuckled to himself. If nothing else, her stupidity amused him.
"If you're not going to help, go wait somewhere else," she said. "You're slowing me down and -," her plea was interrupted by heavy knocks on the door. "-they're here already??" Gloryemma looked surprised, and Van'Droth was instantly giddy.
"Are they here to rescue you!??" he asked. Gloryemma looked around the cluttered kitchen, then sighed. "I sure hope so...," she said. She eyed Van'Droth. "It'd be nice if SOMEONE helped me. Go let them in," she said. Van'Droth nodded.
"Oh yes! Finally!" he debated greeting his guests in his dragon form; but, he liked to surprise his enemies. A lot of them assumed he was just a frail old man. "Okay, play it cool," Van'Droth reminded himself once he reached the tall wooden door. He hunched over and tried to make himself smaller; then, he pulled the door open.
"Yes...?" he asked innocently as he stuck his head out to take a look. "FLUTTER!? Don't hurt me!?" he threw himself on his knees as soon as he recognized the towering, pale, red-headed woman. She wasn't alone and stood next to a green-haired woman that looked a lot like Princess Gloryemma; but, Van'Droth was too distracted to notice much about her.
"Van'Droth?" Flutter asked. "What are you doing here?" He recognized surprise in her voice, which was good. It meant she wasn't there exclusively to kill him. He might have a chance of surviving the evening after all. Flutter was known to be among the strongest and friendliest dragons ever. And Van'Droth was feeling braver knowing that Flutter was there for some other reason; though, he had no idea what it was.
"I live here...," he said. He looked up, then stood. Even with his back straightened, she still stood over a foot taller than him. "Why are you here?" he asked.
"We're here for dinner!" The green-haired woman said. Now that Van'Droth gave her some attention he noticed she was holding a pie. She looked too much like Princess Gloryemma for it to be a coincidence. She had the same shade of green hair, though with an extra streak of silver running through it.
"What? Why?" Van'Droth asked.
"Are you going to invite them in, or are we eating by the door?" Princess Gloryemma appeared behind Van'Droth. "Happy Thanksgiving!" she flew past him and hugged the green-haired woman next to Flutter, then, she shook Flutter's hand.
"Okay, hold on a minute...," Van'Droth spoke up. "...this is getting silly." He focused on Princess Gloryemma. "I've been lenient, but there are limits. This is no way for a prisoner to behave!" he said. She tilted her head at him.
"I'm a prisoner?" she asked. He nodded vigorously. "Since when?"
"Since I kidnapped you! I've been waiting a month for the squad of knights that's supposed to try and rescue you."
"You kidnapped me??" Princess Gloryemma burst into laughter along with the other two women. "I thought you just needed a roommate. There's no one coming to rescue me, I told them I was fine living on my own," she said.
"Well, clearly you were wrong," Van'Droth said. "You're my prisoner and I suggest you ask for a rescue soon," he said. Princess Gloryemma turned and looked up at Flutter.
"Will you rescue me?" she asked.
"Sure," Flutter nodded and stared at Van'Droth. "You're rescued," she said. Van'Droth's shoulders slumped. He knew there was no arguing against Flutter.
"Well..., now that all that confusion is cleared up...," Van'Droth stepped aside and gestured down the hall. "...would you like to come in for dinner?" he asked.
"No," Princess Gloryemma shook her head. "Have fun cleaning up the mess your prisoner made, we're going somewhere else for dinner."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1773 in a row. (Story #328 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/).
| 2022-11-24T12:12:05 | 2022-11-24T10:32:59 | 252 | 50 |
[WP] You're an immortal who lives at a beach resort. You have many summer flings with mortals on getaways. One day you see someone you had a hot romantic night with 50 years ago. They look exactly the same.
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“Are you okay, Sir?”
I turned my head slowly to look at the server who had approached me. He had a worried expression. I realized how strange I must look. How long had I been standing here? Half hiding behind a palm tree. Towel and bag waiting in the sand off to my left where I dropped them. The whole time staring at her. It couldn’t be her, right?
“I’m okay.” I replied, shaking off my stupor. “Thank you for asking.” I began to laugh. “Must be recovering from last night still.” A terrible excuse. He didn’t look convinced. “Okay.” He laughed nervously glancing from me to her. Obviously he noticed my staring. “Let me know if you need anything.”
He half heartedly tried to object as I grabbed one of the drinks off his tray. “Thanks buddy I’ll let you know” I said as I began to down it. He walked off shaking his head.
“Hello”
I froze as I looked up from my nearly finished, ill gotten drink. There she was.
“Hi” I replied meekly. Anxiety flooding through me. A million thoughts running through my head.
Is she like me? Does she remember me? Is she actually the same person? What do I say? Do I run away? How is she so pretty? Can I hold back these tears? Do I ask how old she is?
Definitely not the last one. Shouldn’t ask a woman her age.
She smiled. A curious look on her face.
“How old are you?” She asked.
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Disclaimer: I suck at romance writing. It might suck and you will cringe. Also, I changed the prompt a bit. Sorry.
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&#x200B;
Being immortal gets really boring after a while. When you lived for a couple thousand years, time really starts becoming a blur, and relationships form and break apart at the blink of an eye. I stopped bothering. To many people, I'm just that hot dude on the beach. So many of them tried to ask me out, I declined. Even more tried to get me to stay with them for just a single night. I refused. Every time, I repeated the same phrase in my head. *Don't get attached. Don't get what you aren't prepared to lose.* Every day, I see the hurt in their faces and I feel sorry. But then I move on. To a different beach, a different country, a different continent.
I have a soft spot for beaches. It calms me. The gentle waves, the frothing sea foam- there's something about it that just feels serene, even if a couple thousand humans are stomping about trying to scream at the top of their lungs. The food is awesome, too. If there's one perk of being immortal, it's that you get pretty rich when you do stuff for a couple hundred years, and overpriced seafood does taste pretty good when you know that you can buy a thousand of these and it wouldn't make a dent on your bank account. If I notice that I only have hundreds of millions of dollars left instead of billions, I can just sell some old cups that I didn't bother to wash a millennia ago and get enough money to buy the whole damn restaurant a hundred times over. And buy property, I did. Beach houses are a great place to live if you're rich, just pretend to die every fifty years and pass it down to myself again.
One particular night, I was chilling in this beautiful place in Florida. Hurricanes are a pain in the ass, but houses can always be rebuilt, especially when you can afford to rebuild it with all the gold and jewels in the world(I didn't, of course. I'm immortal, not an idiot). I walked down to the beach, feeling the gentle waves beating against the sand. I sighed.
"You alright?" Said a deep voice. I jumped. Next to me was a man I can only describe as God's gift to the world. He looked perfect. His tan matched perfectly with his yellow tee, the moon casting a warm glow around his face. His hair was wet in the cutest way, and I resisted the urge to ruffle it. "Something on your mind?"
*Don't get attached*. I smiled at him. "Not really. How could there be, here at this beautiful beach?" I stared at him, my eyes saying, "leave me alone."
He laughed, a rich, deep laugh. "Come on, spill it. I know something's on your mind." He seemed to not notice me glaring at him.
*Don't get attached.* "Do I *know* you?"
"My name is Brad. Come on, I know something is bothering you," he insisted. "Maybe talking to someone about it might help."
Under other circumstances I, and every other mortal with basic common sense, would run away screaming with fear from this creepily friendly extrovert. But there was something in his eyes that cracked, just a little, what should have hardened inside me long ago.
We talked. I talked about my situation, heavily censored so he wouldn't find out about my curse. He listened. He nodded, and he seemed to understand me, somehow feel my pain. I spilt out everything. My regrets, my sorrows, my past tragedies. He listened. My brain, tired from the strain of centuries of stress and suppression, could no longer stop me. I learned that Brad was visiting this beach for a week with his friends, and a week that he spent with me, listening to my tales. On the last night, I went over to his place. It was a blur, and afterwards I was ashamed that I have broken my oath. I can't get attached to him. That night, I snuck out. Before dawn came I was at the airport, booking the next flight to Hawaii.
That was fifty years ago. I spent those fifty years trying to forget about him, trying to wipe him from my memory. So why, here in Spain-
"I knew you would be here," said Brad, with his wonderfully deep voice that made my heart jump, all those years later. He smiled, brighter than the sun that shined directly behind him.
"What- how- you-" I could barely get a word out. How?
"You-you should be-"
Brad leaned in close. "You're not the only one. I have it too."
I stared at him in disbelief, speechless.
"Man, why did you just leave back then? I spent so much time and money trying to track you down. Then again, I have plenty of both." His smile widened.
Yup, it's definitely Brad, still being able to pull off stuff that would get any other person arrested.
He studied my face. "Ah, I should've known that this would be shocking for you. Sor-"
I hugged him. I don't know what came over me. Maybe it's the thought of not being alone anymore. Maybe it's because I can finally say that I love someone. Maybe it's because the man that I was yearning for all these years is still here. I hugged him with all my strength, expelling my doubts, my fears, my sadness that I hid behind my mask.
He hugged back, squeezing me in a way that reminded me of a dad hugging his child after a rough day, comforting and warm. He patted my back.
"So, do you want to get a drink together? Maybe head back to my place?" He asked hesitantly.
"You got food?" I asked, smiling.
"Yup."
"Then why is that even a question? Let's go."
edit: thanks for the comments guys, i currently have the stupidest grin on my face
| 2022-11-25T18:44:03 | 2022-11-25T14:30:26 | 856 | 165 |
[WP] We refused to believe it at first, but the astronomical evidence was irrefutable: there's a counter-Earth orbiting on the opposite side of the sun, always just out of sight. That was 40 years ago. It's 2017, and our probe sends back its first images.
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Astronomers of days gone by believed that a heliocentric model of the solar system was perfectly explainable by envisioning a counterweight-like body of presence precisely opposite the orbit of earth, to ensure the planets circled the sun like a spinning top maintaining balance.
In modern times, this theory isn't given a second thought, but it took an entirely chance encounter to change our view of the solar system, our current existence, and our beginnings.
"300 million kilometres is a long way, Sir. Radio transmissions take approximately 19 minutes to reach the probe, then 19 minutes back for any responses or acknowledgement. Almost a 40 minute round trip" Rich calmly advised the team looking over his shoulder, their gaze switching between the six monitors seated in an arc on Rich's desk, each of the men not entirely sure which display is supposed to be showing them what they've travelled to see.
"We believe a chemical thruster probably failed to shut off, perhaps after making a minor adjustment, and instead kept firing, sending the probe into a spin. Coupled with a malfunctioning reaction wheel, forcing us to use the chemical thrusters in the first place, and we're effectively without sufficiently precise orientation control to continue the probe's original automated mission."
Rich received a few calm nods and frowns from the group standing around as they passed a gloss printed image between them, indicating they weren't entirely paying attention.
"So I'm a photographer with a 19 minute timer, spinning around in circles, trying to take a photo of a dot." Rich continued.
"And you won't know if you've got the dot, for another 19 minutes."
"It's closer to 25 minutes, as the image data needs to also download. Then and only then, can I issue a command to the probe to take another image, resulting in another 45 minute or so delay till the next one can be processed."
"Can we see what the probe has captured so far?" One of the men piped up, with a deeply concerned frown, looking down at the printed image in his hand.
"The image you hold, is nothing more than a low resolution preliminary finding, but this, this is something else."
Rich brought up an image library on the right hand screen, on it were mostly images of complete black, some blown out white where the probe had photographed little more than the sun, but towards the bottom of the library were images mostly of black, but with a small bright dot. Rich expanded one of the images.
The image was very low resolution, but had an unmistakable blue sphere, with some patches of green and white marbled onto it.
"This, gentlemen, is the image you've seen already. This was captured yesterday"
"And this image" Rich continued, clicking onto another image in the gallery - "Processed minutes ago, is the best view we've been able to capture of the new planet."
The gentlemen leaned over, each of them looking at the incredible highly detailed photos of the new discovery.
"As you can see, there are many similarities between their planet and ours, but there are some stand out differences. Where our liquid oceans are green, theirs are blue. Where the majority of life here is silicon based, theirs is carbon based. Most peculiar."
|
‘What would I do without her’ Ashwin thought.
For 4 decades she had been his rock. They had met as junior astrophysicists working together at the Indian Institute of Astrophysics, stationed for routine observation work at the Vainu Bappu Observatory in Southern India. It was a remote and desolate place and only a bad astronomy joke had brought Ashwin and Ramaa together.
Her excited voice brought Ashwin hurtling back to the present.
‘Tell me Ash, what songs do planets sing?’ Ramaa asked innocently.
‘No no, not now Ramaa’ Ashwin pleaded half-heartedly.
‘Tell me!’ Rama said with a mockingly threatening tone.
‘Sigh...Nep-tunes!’ he answered for the Nth time.
‘Ha! Good times. Ok, it’s time for the grand unveiling of Raavan, 40 effing years in the making. I could have sent three kids to college by now’
His thoughts went careening back to Raavan, it was almost 40 years ago when it catapulted him, his wife and his country into global spotlight. On a clear Thursday night when Ramaa was knee deep into procedural cross verification of Solar flares for the Arecibo observatory, Ashwin made the startling discovery.
He was going through the images sent back from the Venera 4, one of Russia’s endless probes sent to Venus and America’s Mariner 5, which flew by Venus a day after the Venera 4 entered Venus’ atmosphere. On both images, entirely by chance, he spotted an astronomical body at the exact same spot, too big to be an asteroid or a moon. He immediately sent telegrams to all the leading observatories for verification and by Friday morning, he had changed the world forever.
By maintaining a position behind the sun and with a perfect geosynchronous orbit, same as that of the earth, it had evaded detection since modern astronomy captured everyone’s imagination.
Amidst the predictable international political furore that ensued, Nations fighting over each other to claim sole research rights, the USS (United Solar System), a consortium of Nations with Space research capabilities was formed. India with the assistance of any country it chose, was given complete freedom to find ways to study the planet, christened as Raavan by the Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi. ‘To hell with Greek names, we women sure know how to name things’ Ashwin remembered Ramaa telling him.
‘Ash, you’re wanted at mission control. It’s happening.’ Ramaa said, as her voice brought Ashwin back to the present.
‘I know Ramaa, I’ve been avoiding this part. After 40 years of trying to get funding for the USS project, dealing with leaks of classified information, lack of scientific breakthroughs, incessant political interference and getting over a semi-nervous breakdown, you’d think I’d be more excited about today.’ Ashwin exclaimed
‘What are you on about, stop your whining now. You’ve finally done it! Get to the bridge and begin the next phase. I can’t wait to find out what’s on Raavan. I haven’t been drinking your ridiculous weak coffee and putting up with you for years to account for nothing!’ Ramaa said with her trademark nudge and a wink.
‘What would I do without her, indeed!’ Ashwin thought to himself. Her acquired expertise in Nuclear micro propulsion systems and laser-based communications systems, helped the team design new-age space probes that could perform complicated manoeuvres and beam across terabytes of useful data back to USS mission control even with the slight inconvenience of having an interstellar behemoth between Raavan and the Earth. This was what had held the whole mission up for a better part of 4 decades.
Ashwin entered USS’ mission control and went straight to the ‘bridge’, one of Ramaa’s inspired designs. Ramaa had insisted that they recreate the USS Enterprise’s iconic layout at the centre of mission control and it offered a 360* view of the entire control room. A Trekkie through and through.
‘Are we receiving images?’ Ashwin enquired
‘We expect to in T-30s, Sir.’ Zafar, the project lead replied dutifully.
Ashwin looked at Ramaa, her eyes twinkling with anticipation. Their whole lives had been dedicated to the accidental pursuit of this elusive planetary body and their date with destiny had finally arrived.
‘Receiving the first set of images now along with preliminary atmospheric level data, Sir.’ Zafar said, his voice now magnified to reach every corner of the Bridge
An instant hush fell over the mission control room as the primary monitor started streaming images, the first ever of Raavan. It was a sight they weren’t expecting to see. Ashwin was expecting to see strange continental formations, blue water bodies and tell-tale signs of a fully-fledged atmosphere.
‘What is this Ashwin?’ Ramaa enquired wide-eyed as she placed her hand on his shoulder. It was clear that she was having trouble comprehending this strange sight in front of her
‘Status report Zafar.’ Ashwin ordered as he gathered his wits about him
‘Sir, initial images and orbital interception confirms that this is indeed the planet Raavan that we are looking at. The planet seems to be ..erm.. black in colour.’ Zafar replied, with a nervous twinge in his voice.
‘Yes, I can see that, the entire fucking room can see that’ Ashwin interrupted angrily. ‘Status report, please.’ Ashwin said as he motioned his over-enthusiastic underling to carry on
‘I apologise Sir, atmospheric level data indicates a high level of CO2, CO, CH4, N20 and H2. No traces of N2 and O2.’ Zafar responded, his intensive training kicking in.
‘Any indication of a functioning Ozone layer?’ Ashwin asked.
‘Negative, Sir.’
‘Do you have any temperature readings for me?’
‘Indeed Sir, the probe has returned atmospheric temperatures of -70deg Celsius and a predicted surface temperature of -35deg Celsius.’
‘Over the entire planet?’
‘That’s what the reading says Sir. Also, the probe’s weather sensor indicates that there are large concentrations of dark Pyrocumulonimbus clouds covering the entire planet Sir.’
‘Nuclear Winter..’ Ramaa said, her eyes now wide with shock as she stumbled to find her seat.
‘But but, that cannot be. Raavan maintains a similar position and orbital trajectory as that of the Earth, which means it is literally in the habitable zone of our Solar System!’ Ashwin exclaimed loudly
With a loud monophonic alert, breaking news headlines appeared on the main monitor.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, has this leaked to the media already?’ Ashwin yelled as he looked across the room for an answer.
‘Sir I don’t think this has anything to do with the events happening inside, we have a full media and external communications blackout for 24 hours.’ replied Kubra, USS’ media manager.
‘Then, why are we receiving this?’ Ashwin enquired as he took his mobile phone out and fired up Twitter, his trusted source of immediate crowdsourced news. As the app refreshed, Donald J Trump’s tweet was the first to catch his eye, retweeted many times over by virtually every follower and news handle he followed.
‘The little Rocket Man has gone too far, it’s time we fight North Korea with the Fire and Fury I had promised, Godspeed good people!!’
‘Man made Nuclear Winter.’ Ramaa said, her eyes still transfixed on the black planet of Raavan.
| 2017-12-10T12:52:43 | 2017-12-10T12:42:40 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult.
|
It started this one afternoon, I was just writing an essay in my bedroom when suddenly chaos errupted outside. People started flying, speed running, healing and exhibiting other fabulous superpowers. After everything had settled down a bit I returned to my essay, after all it had to be handed in before midnight. I tried to type the next sentence and was surprised to find that I couldn't come up with anything. I had a blackout for hours, until...
The clock struck 11.50 pm and within five minutes I speed-wrote my entire essay, completely faultless. I had just found my ridiculous powers.
Over the next few days as people were trying to use their powers for good, I found myself going to hospital ER's picking out the people hanging onto life by a thread and healing them.
People think I'm just another empathetic healer that decided to focus on people in mortal danger.
The fact is however I'm just a perfectionist and a procrastinator, leaving me able to do anything absolutely perfectly. But only at the very last minute.
|
"Where'd you go. . ."
The boot came into view first. Hard to imagine that thing used to be stark white, but then again it's even more difficult to find a reason why he even needed white boots anyways. Covered in a mix of dry and wet mud coming off the sides. Must be a nightmare having that guy as a roommate.
I held my breath as he got near me.
Then again what are the chances he even has a home.
No, that's rude. Bad Luke.
Why is it rude? Being homeless didn't make him less of--
This wasn't the time for thinking.
"I know you're here somewhere." He pulled of the black beanie, providing a very clear view of his thin hair at the back of his skull. Like an eye of the storn but bigger than the storm. A full view right up front of me.
"Come on." He drawled, spinning around the damp deadended alleyway, arms extended. "Eh?"
My heart dropped to my stomach as his eyes landed on me, then looked away. Thank the stars, I can controll my dirtiness.
"Help me out, man." he stalked over to a dumpster, bending over a pile-- Goodness gracious, why is there a pile? The dump is just right there. "It's not like I'm taking your money. Just your time."
"Just your time." he repeated, pushing the parts around, until a metal handle came into view. "Unless you decide to be difficult about it."
Straightening up, holding a rusted old crowbar, the man did another sweep of the alley.
"I saw what you can do." he stopped at the corner. "I don't suppose your power involves flight. Unless the wind blew you to the air, there ain't no way you're outta here."
He paced forward again, slinging the metal bar on his shoulder with one arm, pocketing his knitted headwear with another. "So you are hiding somewhere here. The question is--"
CLANG!
I could swear I hopped up just a teensy bit on the window sill.
There was a small dent on the dumpster.
"Where?"
The man started walking again, a wet plop in each step, shoes drenched from chasing me up from the riverbank.
"I like shiny things. Jewellry, bling, all them sparkly shit, worth a fuck-ton of money." Items in the pile came flying outwards with a swing. "Mah best bud calls me a crow, see something nice, I swoop down and take it."
"And I like powers too."
Can a penny gulp? I don't know, and testing that now may not be my best plan.
He lifted the rusty bar up to his face, almost looked like he was admiring it. "But powers are like sand in the water, they slip soon enough."
Getting back to striding, he went past me again. "And I don't know why you can turn into money, but I have a use for it."
"I just need you turn into a thousand for me, just for a few hours. You look like you eat enough, hanging out in a cash registrar for a while shouldn't cause you to starve to death."
"When night swoops in, whoop!" he swung at the air. "You can go sneak yourself out."
"And I wont bother you no more."
Jimmy said the same thing first time he wanted lunch money. I learned soon that Jimmy was a liar.
"Or I can borrow your powers for a while and find myself being picked up by someone who does have some cash." he pondered.
"But that would be too much of a hassle. Too much complications for me. So I made it simple for you instead."
Simple, my butt.
"What do you say, kid?"
No.
"Would you help, an old man out."
Please. Leave already. I'm not here. I would rather be snuggled up in a nice wallet somewhere, not sitting among filthy forgotten old screws on a windowsill as a dirty penny.
"I guess, you decided then."
I wish that I can move while I'm a coin. Will I be even? I felt a mental laugh bubble up. Cause to be honest, I'll just be petrified a sheer fear.
A draft was blowing through, and it was like my saving light.
The man was bent over, looking through pebbles near the trash, his scalp providing a very good view.
Maybe he stole the powers of someone whose hair shows the status of the weather.
The draft started blowing a bit faster, strong enough--
I emerged from the window sill, and wasted no time. Jumped off as high is I can and folded into a bill. I heard the platform break behind and caught a quick glimpse of it as I flew higher up in the air.
The man dashed beneath me but could do nothing but watch as I spiralled up into the air.
Going up and away from the alley, across the river and into the park, straight into the palms of a gradeschooler.
He had a large grin looking down at me, a young girl with pigtails peering over his shoulder.
"Told you my power was luck."
He made to move to to his pocket, which is a big no no.
The sandy ground of the jungle gym was soft enough a landing. Dusting myself as I stood up, I gave a quick dismissive wave at them. The boy's eyes were large, like a very anxious chihuahua waiting for me to come home. And so that's where I headed.
I can almost hear the smile in the littke girl's tone, "Told you I love surprises."
| 2019-09-08T10:15:10 | 2019-09-08T08:59:29 | 228 | 111 |
[WP] You are an immortal vampire, who can only be killed by a wooden stake through the heart. In a dying universe, you are now in your spaceship looking for some wood, before it is too late.
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Earth was incinerated roughly 2 billion years ago when Sol went Nova. It was a beautiful sight, but I had to watch it on the video feeds. I didn't think much of it at the time, other than celebrating the end of the starlight that harmed me. Oddly enough, it was only the light of Sol that burns a vampires skin. I've seen the sunrise and sunset on countless other worlds. I've enjoyed a nice healthy tan from time to time.
But now, the universe is dying. It is growing darker and colder. I estimate another 2 or 3 billion years before the Big Chill becomes more noticable, and about 10 billion years before the last Star is born. I fear an eternity of immortality in the Eternal Night.
The myths of my youth stated a wooden stake driven through the heart will kill a vampire. I left Earth without any wood, thinking I had escaped my prison and escaped the one thing that could kill me. Now, when death is what I need most, wood no longer exists. Wood evolved on Earth, but seemingly nowhere else. The handful of worlds I've found teeming with life are all so... different.
I've found creatures that use similar molecular structure, many creatures even use the lignin and cellulose molecules in their biology. It all feels so alien. I have found similar chemistry on other worlds, but nothing resembling the same taxonomy as Earth. Plants don't seem to exist anywhere else in the galaxy. I've been researching ways to try to grow wood, but I don't have genetic samples from Earth to recreate any sort of tree.
My last few experiments with those structures have failed. They have left scars upon my body, the first wounds to not heal properly, but nothing giving me the hope of death. I'm closer to finding wood, yet further away with each new attempt.
My plan B is to see what exists beyond an event horizon of a black hole. This terrifies me in its own way though - every wound I've sustained in my billions of years has been healed by my immortality. Will I survive the reality-warping stretch of spaghettification? Will I survive the crushing of the singularity? Will I be doomed to exist in there just the same as roaming in the Eternal Night? My plan B does not promise the release I fled from in my youth.
I am sorry for the loss of Earth. My only remaining wish in life is to see the sunrise of Sol and the cleansing fires of it's light.
|
How had she burned it all? There had been two hundred planets in the universe where a substance that passed close enough to wood existed. Of those two hundred, half had developed sentient species that deforested them. On a quarter, evolution had swept the wood away. Trees had bowed out of the race for survival, gone extinct on their own or morphed into some other, more or less advanced species incapable of killing her. And on the final quarter, Earth included, Aurelia had burned it all.
The vampire looked down at the cigarette in her hand, took a long, solemn drag. The universe raced by through the ship’s viewscreen, the last gasps of unclaimed matter turned white and incorporeal by her speed, ghosted streaks against the arterial red of spacetime.
Behind her, the Monolith.
Aurelia took another drag. She finished the cigarette as she whipped past the final occupied planets. The Grelle would be disassembling whole worlds down there, feeding all of that biomass into their replicators to pump out whatever passed for circuits in an entity as advanced as the Monolith they served.
Aurelia let the cigarette butt fall, found the last of her good papers and rolled a spliff, mixed marijuana up with the last of her tobacco. The tobacco strain was blue and chalky, only a distant cousin to the good old Virginia leaf she’d started it from. It still worked.
That had been the problem, the strange economics of the universe at large. Two hundred worlds where something that passed for wood might be grown. Fifty worlds left, after nature and sentience took its share.
And yet, tobacco grew almost everywhere. Marijuana too, though to a slightly lesser degree. Then there were the local varieties, all those thousands of little things one might grow addicted to. Leaves or seeds or roots that when burned took the edge off consciousness. Nothing heavy, Aurelia knew better than that, but a little buzz had never hurt her and she didn’t need her lungs to breathe. She was already dead, so what could all that smoke hurt?
It had even seemed funny at the time. To turn a whole world’s wood into paper. To do it fifty times, chain smoking the paper with all her harvested greens as she traversed the great gulf between planets, fast or slow as the centuries demanded, the millennia. Atomizing the galaxy’s only truly poisonous plant. She’d thought there was poetry in that.
Bad poetry. Aurelia wasn’t laughing now, and the Monolith behind her had never learned how to laugh. To think she had kicked her blood addiction and it was smoking that would… what? Not kill her, that would have been a mercy. She would have done it herself, if she could have only found the wood. What the Monolith had planned was worse.
Aurelia glanced over her shoulder, saw the bulkheads and the piano. The crash couches had been made to look like a parlor straight out of Earth’s second Golden Age, everything aspiring to that latter day classicism. Ornate tables and chairs, too many gold trimmed arches. Silk curtains and little rice-paper partitions everywhere. All the wood was fake, even the piano. At the time, she had only wanted it for paper.
The commlink chimed. The ship’s AI read the signal’s origin aloud, but it could only ever have been the Monolith. A great gray wave endlessly approaching, consuming the universe and threading it out through space like some cybernetic spider weaving electrified silk between all the stars. The creature at the core almost looked like a spider. Too many legs, too many eyes. Too many plans and plots, all of them succeeding now.
“Patch it through,” Aurelia said. She lit the spliff as her viewscreen struggled to parse the monolith’s signal, inhaled a long, intoxicating drag as it gave up and simply showed a sine wave. The monolith spoke in low rumbles, unaccented to every ear.
“Come home, Aurelia,” the Monolith said.
“Home?” Aurelia said, “that’s the track the you’re taking?”
“What else? Your home is the universe, more so than any creature I have ever consumed. Do not leave it so lightly.”
The smoke went straight to her head, even after all these years. Paper crinkled under Aurelia’s fingers, she felt the urge to giggle. She was impossibly ancient. She had lived a million years when the Grelle created the Monolith. She had lived another hundred thousand since then, so many of those running. She was too old to be giggling.
Aurelia giggled, high and girlish and scared like she had among those long dead Appenines. “Lightly? How can I leave the universe lightly? How can I leave at all? I’ve stolen the most advanced ship my people ever invented and for what, to bring me here?”
The white streaks were long gone; Aurelia raced through a land that matter had forgotten. The Monolith came on behind, growing faster every moment. It built itself and rebuilt itself, consumed the entire universe towards its own impenetrable goals.
“Not lightly then,” the Monolith said. “No, you have rarely done anything lightly. But still, Aurelia, come home. We are both old, both tired in our own ways. Let your flesh rest. Give it to me.”
The spliff. A drag. “You could have my flesh, you could. I’d give it to you without thinking twice, if that was where it ended. But the rest of me? No. Not with what you’d do to it.”
“I would simply experience you.”
“And that would be enough!” Aurelia shouted.
She wanted to close the commlink, but then there would be silence. There had been so much of that over the centuries, to go back to it was difficult. Especially now that she was going farther than any creature— living or dead— had gone before.
“One woman should not condemn so many worlds,” the Monolith said.
“Condemn? Me? That’s rich coming from you. How many worlds have you eaten?”
“All of them.”
“All of them. All of them… *All of them!”*
“Do not cry Aurelia. They are remembered. Every plant, every animal. Sentients and non, every speck of dust and twist of air, all the memories buried in the soil. I remember them all the things the universe would forget. My structure remembers them, pieces of me experience and re-experience those memories every moment. Those worlds live on, like the worlds preserved within you. Would you say there is no beauty in that?”
“I would,” Aurelia whispered, “I would say that there was horror.”
“Ah Aurelia, is it still so possible for you to misunderstand me? We could solve that, you know.”
And on. The Monolith spoke to her, terrifying words in a calming tone that rumbled through her chest, echoed in the hollow parts her soul. Because in the end, Aurelia did understand it. Like no other creature in all the universe ever had.
| 2021-12-03T07:23:34 | 2021-12-03T05:36:33 | 153 | 79 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed.
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*Press*
Wait.
Another ten kilobucks at the credit union.
Damnit. Maybe tomorrow night.
------
*Press*
Wait.
Another ten kilobucks at the damned credit union.
Damnit. Maybe tomorrow night.
------
*Press*
Wait.
Another ten kilobucks at the god damned credit union.
Damnit. Maybe tomorrow night.
-----
Maybe I should check up on how this plays out. When the button triggers... When it cycles, I guess. Yeah. National obituaries and stuff. Button stuff. Yeah, I could search for that on the internet. Easy.
Seems we have a lot of hits at a smidge past seven o'clock. Damnation! I've been off by hours! HOURS! Not tonight. Hell no, not tonight.
------
At seven PM, I start spamming the submission button. At precisely seven oh six PM, it triggers. Oh, please, please, let this be it.
I wait.
I check my credit union's website. Another ten k. Someone beat me to it. Damnit.
------
It's been a few weeks. I've learned enough about computers to write a script to submit 'press'es as soon as they can be entered. Tonight, I test it out.
Seven rolls around. I activate the script. Nothing happens for a few moments.
I contemplate my bank account. Has to be half a million in there right now. Whatever.
Time passes. I watched the computer tick by the seconds. It's agonizing, but I've lived with agony for the last two years. I hope the script I wrote brings me release.
Something about the way I'm breathing feels off. I was huffing over my computer just before now, the excited gasps of one hoping to be the 'one' tonight. But now... it's getting a lot harder...
I check my credit union account. No change. It's getting a lot harder to breath.
I can't breath.
At last. At last.
|
*Fucking son of a bitch.*
The moist *crunch, crunch, smack, crunch* of Sylvester’s lips as he bulled his way through a second bowl of Marshmallow Mateys made Maribelle want to bash him in the mouth. Within the brief darkness that the blink of her eyes brought, she saw red— red pouring out of those clammy lips that yawned open like a fish’s mouth while he masticated whatever it was he was eating. Tonight was Marshmallow Mateys. Last night it was the steak she left work early to make. Whatever might come tomorrow was too nauseating of a thought for her to take up precious blinking time to picture.
*That’d teach him to chew with his god damn mouth open.*
She quietly took a bite of her white-bread-and-American-cheese-and-ham sandwich, a delicacy they had been enjoying more and more since Sylvester’s job on the assembly line went away. That’s how he described it when he got home that evening eight months ago. It “went away”, as if it just disappeared from his grasp and there was no explanation of this bizarre alien aberration of his life's routine. It changed the quilted patchwork of their day. Instead of getting up at 5:30am to coast along his 45-minute commute to the factory, now he woke up at… well, Maribelle didn’t actually know when he got up. She knew it wasn’t before she left for work at 7:30am, but it was some time before 6:30pm when she got to take off her little server’s half-apron, shove her rectangular cardstock time card through the chomping machine, and walk home. Sylvester was “applying for jobs” with very large quotation marks around the action. Sylvester was “in the middle of fixing the leak in the sink”. She did genuinely believe him that he walked the dog, only because he genuinely enjoyed that.
*Smack, slurp, crunch, slurp*
It was all about what Sylvester genuinely enjoyed.
What about what Maribelle genuinely enjoyed? What about one fucking meal where he practiced chewing with his damn mouth **closed**?
Blood squeezed out of her knuckles as her fingers tensely curled into her palm. There could be a solution. Well, it wasn’t a *solution*. It was a million-to-one chance. But sitting here watching Sylvester’s plump maw gape to reveal the pulpy, milky mess of his half-chewed cereal, million-to-one felt better than the 99% chance she would go to jail for strangling him one day soon. Maribelle gave him a stiff smile.
“So, uh. I was thinkin’ about entering the raffle.”
*Smack, crunch— pause*
“Why the fuck would you go on and do that for?”
Maribelle’s colorless eyes drifted subtly to the clock on the wall, the pulse of the second hand beckoning her heartbeat to join it. Three minutes.
“Well it’s just so easy. Ain’t not a lot to it, just have to log on and push the button and you’re good to go.”
The way Sylvester rolled his eyes like Maribelle was *so stupid* made her want to grab what little hair he had left on the back of his skull and drive his face down into the concave of the bowl. “An’ risk them murder squads or some shit? No ma’am. My grandpappy was struck by lightning *three times* in the Ozarks. Lewiston men are unlucky as shit.”
*I wish.* Maribelle shrugged blithely and tapped her bitten-down nail against the kitchen table. “Yeah, but it’s only the first person. Like, you have to enter in as fast as you can, but if *both* of us pushed it… it’s like two *million* dollars at least, Syl.” She saw the greasy gleam of a promise of easy money flutter in his eyes and she pushed on, “And I don’t got no luck problems in my family. I could go first!”
As Sylvester sat in silence for several slovenly grinds of his cereal cud, Maribelle saw the familiar inner workings of his brain flinch across his face. The glaze in his eyes. The twitch of his brow. The nod when he felt like he came up with a good idea.
“Yeah alright. You first, since you ain’t not lucky, and then the two of us have it.”
It felt like a vice tightened around the aorta of Maribelle’s heart. A calm nod later and she whipped out her phone, peering through the spiderweb cracks on the screen to make sense of how to get to her browser. *Tick tick tick* went to the clock on the wall. Thirty seconds. Where did the time go? Suddenly a big, blue button popped up in tiny pieces on her phone. A glance to Sylvester showed he did the same, and he was staring at her like a kid waiting for his friend to light off a firework of questionable safety.
“Alright. We gotta wait for the right time. Right on time, kay? You gotta be ready. Finger on the button?”
*There’s no way it’s him.* It was a glum thought. But one must press on-- or in this case, press down.
*Tick tick tick*
Two second hand jerks before 8:32pm was two too close for Sylvester to notice as he greedily stared at her screen. *Quickly!* Maribelle made a show of jamming the pad of her index finger down onto the phone screen.
Nothing, of course. Nothing bad, anyway.
*Tick*
“See? See, I'm fine, you're not first! Now you, now you, quick!” Her voice was higher pitched than she intended it to be and her chest felt tight, like she was a balloon and her air was being very slowly squealed out of her. Cicada buzzing filled her skull. She must have been blushing, she thought, for how hot her cheeks suddenly felt.
*Tick*
“Alright,” Sylvester rolled his eyes *again* and his fat thumb shoved gracelessly onto the button on the screen, “Alright, I—“
*Pause*
“What the fuck?!"
Maribelle’s eyes darted down.
Red. Red filled the screen, spreading like ink spilled into a tub of water, like a biblical plague that learned how to breach technology.
Within the dark inner arch of her blink, the red stayed. Red pouring out of Sylvester’s mouth.
| 2016-07-16T19:30:28 | 2016-07-16T19:03:53 | 113 | 18 |
[WP] Seasoned wizards only use dead languages such as Latin for their incantations. Those less experienced quickly learn why--as the meanings of words change, so too do the effects of their spells.
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&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;**The Place, the Thought, and the Word**, these are the components of the triangle of Power. Without any, like fire without air, heat, or fuel, a spell cannot gain purchase on our world. Beyond these simple rules, as with any discipline of man, opinions vary on the proper ways of proceeding. To those interested in the study of Anglomancy and discussions on the nature of the so-called living languages, specifically English, their use, and most importantly their dangers, read on.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As the preeminent Professor of Anglomancy and the study of Living Language at Oxford o'er the Shadow, I have spent my life recording my observations on the correct usage of the English language as a source of Thought and Word. As a source of Place, the English language is invitingly diverse and accessible. A chip of chalk from the Cliffs of Dover, a cup of english tea, an encyclopedia Britannica, and few more oddments of primarily English or American (or, controversially, Indian) origin are enough to furnish an amateur with all that they need to begin a stumbling foray into Anglomancy. However, as is usually the case when dealing with the Power, all is not precisely as it seems.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;For English is, in the truest sense, a living language. The meanings of English Words, as expressed in Thought and Place throughout the world, are in constant shift. Old words gain subtle shades of new meaning, new words come to be, words become abandoned. Even pronunciations of English phonemes shift geographically and temporally to a degree that can be alarming. Wherever English is spoken, English is in motion, like a living beast in the throes of youth. To many, this rules out English entirely for use in channelling the Power, for the Wording, and thus the effect, of a spell that changes today can change again with little notice.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;However, using such a living language has, along with the dangers of your tying your knots in a knot, if you'll pardon the expression, key advantages. Firstly, living languages, especially English, tend to have far larger diversity, allowing for more granular detail to be obtained. Secondly, the power of a living language always supercedes that of a dead one due the law of linguistic evolution. Lastly, a living language draws on living souls rather than dead ones, which makes them a surpassingly superior source of Power to begin with. Despite this, it cannot be argued that the dangers are not very real. Indeed, each of these strengths can be interpreted as a weakness and a danger. Nuance is the brother of misunderstanding; power the father of destruction. After all, an aged Anglomancer such as myself is a rare thing indeed.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Therefore, Anglomancy should only be attempted when appropriate safeguards are in place. Firstly, a rigorously tested, meticulously updated, and current Lexicon written in a dead language must be used to compile each spell before use. This means that before each Anglomancer's spell, an incantation must take place in a dead language, which must be Thought and Placed appropriately. Secondly, diction must be carefully trained to match the average for maximum spell potency. Thirdly, spells with duration more than a day (see Ptolemy's Treatise on Celestiolinguistic permutation for justification on this figure) must never be written in English or any other living language.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;To the astute observer, the necessity of these safeguards place the usage of Anglomancy dangerously out of reach of our tea-sipping amateur. While they may be able to cast and effectively use Anglomancy, they are very likely to erase themselves and those around them from existence in any one of a million messy ways. Anglomancy is also not for the student looking for a quick path to power - long years of study in dead language is required before acceptance into a living language program.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With that, I conclude this short introduction to Anglomancy 101. Prerequisites include LATIN 303 and GREEK 102, along with four English credits to be accepted at my discretion. For registration options, please see the school registrar (under the Shadow). Seats in my class fill up fast, so make haste!
Edit:Disgression
|
The Magic of Doonya {Rough cut/ Ch.1-3}
By Clint G.
CH.1 History of our world
Magic is the trick of the trade in our world called Doonya.
Each country holds ancient houses as the rulers of the lands across three major continents; Ho’thaiya, Buenet’a, and my homeland Kol’dea.
Peace has ruled the lands for 200 years and armies have traded in swords for wands. Within each wand lies an encrypted spell that is forged by the members of the ancient houses and sold across the lands and seas as imported goods - providing water, fire, and nature to all.
To the North lies the continent of Ho’thaiya. Frigid planes and frozen lakes stretch over the biggest mass of land in all of Doonya. The Hebrew king, Mooshi, rules with his ice queen Haim by his side. Along with their one child, a girl named Shivah, and the kings older sister, Yael. they are the only ones capable of creating magic wands in their country. Their spells range from a basic cooling spell for a nice breeze to a spell that purifies streams of oceans, rivers, lakes and sea water for everyday use - providing one of the most important and versatile of magic.
South of Ho’thaiya is the colorful and vibrant land of Buenet’a. Blossoming in all the hues of the rainbow; it is well known that anything that grows, grows from Buenet’a. Ruled by the loving Latin Queen Fluera who is just as gentle as the beauty she grows. Together with her two twin siblings, Cecil and Cecilia, and her uncle hector along with his family; wife Izzah and son Panoh. They are those who create all the magic wands in Buenet’a. With spells providing wind travel, food and vegetation growth, as well as spells of convenience - such as the Vine spell - which can can be used for latching onto items and pulling them closer, my personal favorite.
Finally to the East lies my home in the fiery desert island of Kol’dea. My name is Ferris and I am but just a minor squire lucky enough to serve my country. Also lucky enough to be best friends with the young prince, Aydenn, the future flame of Kol’dea. Along with his darling little sister, Noorah, who is exceptional in crafting spells - they work with their parents; the Aramaic royalty King Basil and Queen Maryam in wand crafting. Various fire wands include fireballs either for attacking or practical use like a campfire. Also heating spells come in different amounts of preferred heat perfected to a precise temperature per wand for cooking, boiling and baking needs.
There also is the retired old king Azzam who no longer crafts wands but instead he writes and reads the history of our world, living on top of Gehenna mountain. Even though he no longer makes the wands, he implemented the innovation of steam, combining a small amount of water spell with his fire. steam has become fundamental for all travel from ships to trains and propelled the importance of magic in our world.
Although we live in a world run by magic, nothing thrills me and Prince Aydeen more than a sparred sword fight, and today is my day to best him.
“Ferris, my good friend! Are you ready to lose another match or are you going to give me a challenge?” Aydeen unsheathing his sword, strolled confidently towards me, as if he had already won.
“My prince, I have much more than a challenge ready for you.” I too unsheathed my sword and pointed it towards him, “Prepare yourself!”
Both of us charged at each other with all our might. When I think I have found an opening, he blocks me and when he tries to hit me I parry him back. A few times we clash perfectly until we hold a stance. He pushes me away knocking me down. Before he can pin me while I’m down, I swoop him with a swift kick tripping him down as I hop up.
“Well Ferris, looks like today might actually be your day” he smirks
Ch.2 Natures Wrath
Around this time, in the continent of Buenet’a the queen offers prayers to the earth and nature deep inside of sanctus forrest.
“Divinus Misericordia Por dimittetur illi” she chants over and over as all around her white beautiful flowers sprout from the ground.
“Uncle, you can come out, I can feel you through the roots.” Queen Fluera says calmly
From behind bushes sure enough is her uncle Hector. “My dear sweet niece, I should know better than to try to sneak up on the queen of the forest within a forest. Forgive me I did not mean to startle you”
“No, you did not mean to startle me, so what brings you here in my private hour?” Still so calm as she speaks, the wind blows her thick black hair through dancing pedals around her and the sunlight streams in between the forest trees, illuminating the queen.
Her uncle nervous. Sweat dribbling down his head as he is fidgeting around within his coat pocket “Actually you see, I want to talk to you about making some moves. We are the weakest country my queen, the only thing that guards us are the trees and bushes themselves and they provide no strength.”
“Do not think so little of what nature itself can do, we are the healers of the earth and the artists of the lands.” She says turning to him
he walks towards her “If a revolt of the worlds were to happen…”
“If a revolt of the world happens? Uncle who do you think would be the one to start a revolt? The world is at peace, what is it that you want?” She handles him very sternly.
Taken aback hector explains “I want our country to be stronger for all of us. you and the twins are the only gift my poor dead sister left me, I want you all to thrive.”
“But that is not your true intention for this surprise meeting, is it? Uncle, since before my parents died 10 years ago you’ve only held hostility towards our family. The forests chose my mother to rule and they also chose me- I did not ask to be queen I was appointed queen but no matter your feelings, I forgive you. You should know though, I will not give up without a fight. I speak through the vines and roots of our earth. I hear the whispers between you and your wife. You wish to usurp me. Pull out your dagger so I can show you the true strength of nature! corrumpam vineam eius!!” the queen summons vines from under ground and grabs a hold of her uncle squeezing him so tight that his dagger drops.
His face turns blue barely holding on, when suddenly;
“Perrit con Ventus” disguising himself within the wind is Hectors son, Panoh. With one fell swipe he slits the beautiful queens throat.
Her vines loosen control of Hector as she falls to her knees. The forest illuminates and hugs her one last time as she whispers “impetus”
“Father, we must get out of her forest, its going to die and take us with it.” Panoh grabs his father as the run out of the forest. From every corner the forest is coming to attack the two traitors closing in on them.
At the edge of the forest Hectors wife, Izzah, waits with a fireball wand in hand from Kol’dea. Together with her wind magic she creates a flaming vortex, just barely making it through the vines Hector and Panoh run past Izzah and she sets the Forest ablaze. The three family members embrace as Hector begins laughing.
“I…AM…..KING!” He exalts as the forest burns down behind him.
Back at the Buenet’a castle Fluera’s younger siblings, Cecil and Cecilia, receive a message carried through the wind as they watch their families forest burn to the ground.
“Sister!” Cecilia begins sobbing and runs to her brothers arms.
“Cecilia, we have to get out of here, there is no time to grieve or we will be next to die.” Cecil says bravely holding tears back from his eyes as the two run into the shadows away from the kingdom that was once theres.
In town the Mad Uncle Hector arrives with his family as townsfolk gather around him. “Oh dear God, my beautiful niece, our queen murdered in her own sanctuary. It was those Aramaic Bastards, they destroyed all that we have”
“The queen is dead” “we were attacked by Kol’dea” “those fires starters killed our Queen” “what about the twins” the townsfolk murmured throughout.
Hector putting on his best show rallies “The twins disappeared, abandoning their people when they need them most. No, this is not right. I will lead you! let me be your king and I promise you we will bring revenge for our Queen”
The townsfolk all kneel down hailing their new king. As Hector turns away with a grin from ear to ear.
(Continued in first reply)
| 2018-05-02T20:38:49 | 2018-05-02T17:46:30 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk.
|
*No.* Death thought. *It couldn't be.*
Death reached below the grand wooden table, hastily pulling out the dust covered hourglass. Questions flooded its mind. *How? When? Who?*
Carefully, Death set the hourglass sideways on its table, like the way it found it, the only one among the seven billion or so hourglasses in Death's office in such position. Death sank slowly into its black leather chair, its hollow eye sockets fixed on the hourglass.
No one escapes Death. That was what everyone said. Looking at the construct on the table, someone just did. Not knowing when or why bothered Death greatly.
When each human is born, an hourglass appears in Death's office. While each hourglass looked the same, the amount of sand inside them was not. The amount of sand signalled the lifespan of the owner. When the sand stops flowing, Death is summoned. The hourglass disappears once Death finishes its job.
Since time immemorial, Death has done its job without lapses. It does not question why. Death has always accepted its role. Looking at the stopped sand caused Death to question for the first time.
*Who is this human who escaped death?*
*How did the hourglass end up at the bottom of the table?*
*What should Death do?*
Death considered its options. It could report the lapse to its master. After all, Death is only a servant of a higher being. At least, that was what Death remembered. The memory was vague and hazy. It has been doing its job for eons alone without the need to contact the master. Never had there been any mistakes or incidents worth mentioning. The sideway hourglass was first.
Death shook its head. It cast a look at the door at the end of its office, rising thousands of meters above. The door to its master. Death could not recall the last time the door was used. Death preferred for things to stay that way. Death wanted to go back to its routine.
A bony hand reached from the flowing black robe, the white fingers wrapped themselves around the hourglass. Death let out a sigh, muttered an apology in its mind for the human who was about to lose his/her immortality, and flipped the hourglass upright.
The sand did not fall. They stayed in their position.
*What?*
Death was annoyed. It took the hourglass with both its hands and shook it. It turned the hourglass upside down several times. Still, the sand did not flow, while the sand in billions of others continued to fall.
*Who is this human entitled to immortality?*
Death let out a frustrated grunt. It wanted to throw the hourglass at the wall. How can Death be defied? It decided that it needed to seek out its master. Death grabbed the defective hourglass and started the long march towards the giant door. It needed an answer.
Just when it was about to leave its desk, however, a voice shook Death's office. Death recognised it instantly. The voice of the master.
**DON'T BOTHER.** The voice commanded.
**THE HOURGLASS IS YOURS.**
-------
*/r/dori_tales*
|
A rather androgynous figure stands behind a great stone desk, intricately carved with names you and I would find impossible to pronounce. It spreads outwards in both directions, infinitely long, growing darker and darker in the endless vault. Besides a few gaps close to the figure, the great stone carving is infinite.
It wears a tight fitting robe as black as a raven, thin spindly arms crossed over an equally frail chest. Its breath rattles spews outward, creating a thin vapor that swirls with a mind of its own.
Today is not a good day. Most days weren't good days. Hard to find value in your work when you've been at it since the dawn of time. If you asked the figure why, it wouldn't be able to provide a concrete answer. It simply wasn't a good one.
Same thought as yesterday, and the same thought tomorrow.
It sits on a marble bench behind the desk, preparing to review a great worn scroll, yellowed with age and decay.
Unfolding the parchment slowly, the figure reads the first few names, committing them to memory. Hopefully the interns had set out the correct hourglasses for it to flip.
Out came another long and involuntary sigh. This newest batch seemed to be a bunch of favored sons and daughters of higher angels, and this always annoyed it. That's the problem with heaven; the nepotism.
When the angels aren't doing that annoying praising and brown nosing the big man, they were fucking each other's brains out.
There honestly wasn't that much else to do up here.
Footsteps clack their way towards it, down the long arched marble hallway. Each wall bearing massive shelves, reaching ever upwards, a name and soul tied to an hourglass. When your times up, the glass is flipped. You stay in heaven or hell for your allotted time, and then got sent back to do it all over again.
The monkeys never learned their place, that's for sure.
The figure approaching is tall and slender, golden faced with several sets of wings. Mom must be a big shot, since that's how wings are passed down from generation to generation. The more wings the better, though he hadn't seen this many in awhile. What was this one's name? They all seemed so interchangeable and half the time they showed up late or hungover.
"Good morning," beamed the figure.
Okay. Not hungover.
Not in the mood to respond, the dark one strode past, scroll tucked into a front pocket.
It wandered down the hall, the figure behind it following like some kind of lost puppy. Interns tend to be more bother than help around here.
Soon it came to the case bearing today's chosen, and the dark one pulled out the scroll again.
Double check the selected row.
*Wrong row,* thought the dark one to itself. *Figures.*
"Who was in charge of selection?" rattled the dark one, voice like the clacking and snapping of bone.
The bright figure pursed its lips, looking upward in thought.
"Aedonis, I believe."
"He's fired. This is the wrong row."
The dark one knew the right row now, and handed the scroll to the bright figure.
"Place this on the desk, and if you open it I will personally send you to Dis."
The figure grabbed the scroll and trotted away, though the dark one was unsure if the briskness came from fear or eagerness. Angels are hard to read.
Approaching the correct row, the dark one raised a single arm, and in unison every hourglass rose into the air.
It mumbled the usual pair, and at random, the glasses began to flip at random intervals, corresponding to the individual's time of death.
*Pretty packed row today,* it thought to itself.
*Somebody must have fucked up somewhere. A war? A pestilence?*
The dark one wasn't sure, and had lost its curiosity long ago. It'd have to ask one of its siblings for the truth, but didn't care enough to dig deeper. Didn't matter.
On the return to its desk, the bright figure could be seen behind it, holding something.
The dark one narrowed its eyes, moving faster now. Each footstep making muffled clicks on the stone below.
"What are you holding, boy?" it snapped, already annoyed by having to put in the paperwork to hire a replacement.
"I'm a girl," the figure said, but the dark one paid no notice.
"It's an hourglass," she continued, peering over it.
"I found it under the desk."
Gingerly the angel handed it over, and already the dark one could see a disturbing irregularity.
The thing is sideways.
That shouldn't be possible.
The dark one read the name etched on it.
*Rachel*
No last name, no identifying marks of any kind. Close inspection of an hourglass can usually give a biographical description of the subject, but nothing was etched into it. Just a name.
Impossible. There had to be another seal on this, masking the identity of the human.
"Where did you find this?"
The angel shrugged.
"It came out of nowhere. Slid right out of the scroll."
The dark one brushed aside the angel, dismissing it.
This was bad.
This was really, really fucking bad.
The intern's heritage must have some guardian angel in it, since touching the scroll must have undone a seal so powerful even the dark one couldn't access it. Who had cast it? How had they managed to steal this from the dark one's possession to do so? And most importantly, what human possibly deserved any kind of divine protection like this?
Nepotism and favoritism, and sheer fucking privilege. This little shit had no idea it had unwittingly broken a powerful divine seal without even trying.
The dark one pushed that thought aside. Someone hid a monkey's soul in the dark one's own Scroll of Names. That idea kept recurring, the most disturbing of all. If someone slid a name in, how many more were there? Were names being altered and fates being undone?
Someone was trying to keep a monkey alive.
The dark one frowned, looking at the hourglass.
Today just got a lot more interesting.
It wasn't sure who it could trust, certainly no one up here. Angels were a deceptive kind, but the dark one knew someone on Earth who could probably uncover the truth.
One of the old ones. Unaffiliated with the big guy, one of those earlier mistakes made that hides in the deep and wet places of the world. A few were still puttering around down there, and their time still hadn't come, much to the dark one's annoyance. Those were the only beings the dark one could fear, the vast majority of the residents of heaven could do nothing to harm it.
The old ones, though. Different story.
That had been a mistake by the one who apparently couldn't make them, and if the humans thought their old testament God was brutal, they hadn't seen shit. Those purges were hands down the cruelest ever known, and the dark one still remembered flipping entire halls of hourglasses, the greatest extinction there ever was or shall be.
It sighed, returning to the present, knowing it would need to take a human form. It hated flesh, spongy and weak.
There wasn't another option, it seemed.
Rachel was under illegal protection, and the dark one would have to interfere.
Didn't the monkeys learn? Didn't any of these arrogant shits up here learn?
No one escapes death.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2018-10-03T06:52:49 | 2018-10-03T04:57:52 | 2,861 | 557 |
[WP] The blacksmith won't sell you any weapon, the guards insist you stay in the city and the mages refuse to teach you any dangerous spell. Maybe that eternal youth potion was a terrible idea after all.
|
"I would like to buy that necklace." I said to the woman behind the counter. She smiled at me, amused. "The one with the diamond."
"I think that one's a bit out of your price range, sweetie." She said kindly. Not an unusual reaction, but it still frustrated me. Even so the kindness on her face took the sting from her words.
"Please, I have the money. It's for... An anniversary present. To celebrate forty five years." That was true, at least.
"Oh, for your grandparents? That's so sweet of you! You know, if you keep up that attitude, a handsome young man like yourself could marry any lass he chooses." She gushed.
I knew that. I had married the lass I wanted, forty five years ago. I'd done well in the spice trade, and retired in my sixties. When Iris fell ill, her mind beginning to flee, I'd sought out an alchemist who promised he could restore her youth. Mine too. I paid him well, even provided the materials. The potions worked, perhaps a little too well. I had the body of a 14 year old, and had had it for five years. I hadn't aged a day. I realized I hadn't responded and so simply answered "thank you, ma'am."
Her smile still wide, she leaned across the counter and spoke in a low voice. "Diamonds are pretty, sure, but not pretty enough for the price." She placed something on the counter. I looked and saw a jade pendant. Iris loved green.
"I'll take it." I said, paid and then left. The interaction nettled me, but was much kinder than most. Barkeeps wouldn't serve me ale, and the last time I tried to purchase property the broker wouldn't even speak to me.
I met Iris in the town square. She looked irritated. "Any luck at the archive?" I asked.
"Turned away." She said, sadly. "Again. I just want to learn a little magic."
"I know, love." I said. She looked the same age as I. She was beautiful the day I married her, and she had aged like the finest wine. Now she was like a flower yet to bloom. Her heart was the same, though, and she could look like a troll for all I cared. It was her heart I loved. "The blacksmith sold me a few knives but wouldn't even show me the swords. I got you something." I held out the pendant.
"It's beautiful." She said, putting it on. Her smile was genuine, but would falter in a few moments, I knew.
"So I've been thinking. We can't buy magic, we can't buy weapons, we can't buy armor. The guard won't even let us out of the walls." It pained me to say the words. "But there's one thing we haven't tried for adventure."
"Oh?" She asked, surprised.
"Have you ever thought about being a rogue?" I asked. "If we can't buy, maybe we can steal."
Her eyes widened in surprise, then slowly a mischievous grin spread across her face.
|
I stood face to face with a feral cave goblin. I had bested far more fearsome creatures countless times, but at the moment I was faced with several new complications which I had never had to deal with in the past. I had no proper weapons, no equipment, and oh yes... I was but a child with a child's body and meager strength. As I faced my potential death, my life, my *real* life, flashed before my eyes.
I had lived my prior existence as a great hero and deadly assassin. I turned 50 last year. A fine age for a man in my line of work to reach, but I wanted more from life and it did not seem I was going to get it. Sickness ravaged my body until I was a mere husk of my former, glorious, devilishly handsome self. My desperation only increased as I felt myself approaching death's door over the coming months. I would have claimed I didn’t fear death, but in truth I did, even more so such an inglorious death such as this. It was… beneath me. And besides, who would wish to live in a world without me in it?
The Witch of Strafholm Woods was known for two things. She was the greatest practitioner of forbidden magics in the entire known world, and those who made use of her power almost always paid an incredibly steep price. Whatever cost had to be paid would pale in comparison to my current slow, unending march toward death, so I assured her I would pay it without hesitation. She handed me the potion of youth I had requested, and I prepared myself for a violent physical transformation as my body rapidly de-aged and healed itself, but no such thing occurred. Instead I felt my consciousness rapidly fading and as I hit the floor my world went black.
I awoke with a start in a lush meadow that was totally unknown to me. My weapons, my equipment, and my coin were all gone. As I set out toward the nearest town I quickly realized that worse still, my skills and abilities as a rogue, which had previously been effortless second nature, now felt also completely out of reach to me. As I experienced that final dawning realization that I now inhabited a child’s body, it became clear that her potion had granted me an entirely new life. A blank slate.
I suppose I should have tried living my new life as an orphan who simply blended into the world. I probably should have been grateful for this second chance, but in truth I immediately craved a return to action and adventure. I longed for my old life of slaying terrifying beasts and assassinating usurping princes and great demons alike.
Gazing into a pond along the way, I discovered that I was a dragonkin, a half-dragon in layman's terms. Which apparently meant that sometime in ages long ago, a human and a dragon ‘got together’ and birthed the first of my kind. Dragons were massive, while humans were relatively tiny. I don’t know the genders of those involved with the first cross breeding of our species, but either way, the sheer logistics of the act was among the greatest feats of ‘magic’ I could imagine.
Dragons and their kin were quite rare in this kingdom, so I hoped that other races I encountered might be slightly intimidated by my scaled skin and horned head. Perhaps they wouldn't even know what a young dragonkin looked like and might mistake me for an adult. As I entered the town, some did seem to fear or distrust me, which actually gave me some solace that I might be taken seriously. I thought that my appearance, along with the confidence gained from my lifetime of endless success would allow me to bluff my way past the guards who were guarding this town’s armory as I desired replacement of my lost weapons above all else.
I strode up to them directly and announced my presence. “You fine lads will be honored to meet me I'm sure, my name is Drak’thorn,” I told them with great pride and arrogance. “And I was… I *am* the greatest assassin this world has ever known. I need access to the armory immediately. The king himself has ordered me to outfit myself for a new mission, you do not wish to impede his wishes do you?”
The two guards looked me over for a few moments before glancing at each other and bursting into a fit of laughter, “Never heard of ya! Odd, I’d think the 'world’s greatest assassin' being a child would have made the news!”
“You’ve never heard of me because I was transfo--” I cut myself off, these fools would never believe the fantastical journey I had been on, so I tried telling them a different truth. “If you wish to hear honesty, here it is. You’ve never heard of me because I was exceedingly good at doing my job. I was never caught, never a suspect in any of the deaths by my hand, I was never even seen by a bystander nor by any of the eyes which I shut for eternity. And so I exist in anonymity as the great mighty warriors and cunning mages of legend have songs sung extolling their virtues and exploits. The bards dare not sing of me because my very existence is but a rumored whisper. Do you understand?”
“If you don’t grow up to be a ‘master assassin’ then at least I can say you have a future as a playwright! Quite a story, but you won’t bluff your way through here, dragonboy. Be gone with ya!”
With no access to armory weapons, I lowered myself to venturing out into the wild places of the realm to scavenge whatever I could. Young adventurers died frequently on their first quests and the equipment left on their corpses might be the only source of weaponry and other items I could get my hands on.
Corpse robbing turned out to be as dangerous as it was undignified. I had to avoid other adventurers who might be searching for their deceased friend as well as the fantastical creatures that had killed them in the first place and were frequently still lurking nearby.
After days of fruitless scavenging, I managed to snag two simple iron daggers from a corpse in a cave. Not ideal, but I had started my original career as an assassin without much better. As I allowed myself a brief reminiscence I heard a loud noise behind me and turned to investigate.
And so I came to stand face to face with a goblin. A tiny and sickly looking thing which would not have even merited my time back in my past life. I could have vanished into thin air in front of it and moved past, or simply killed such a lowly creature without even breaking my stride. But now? Without proper weapons, without my skills, without the knowledge and muscle memory gained throughout my lifetime, this sad angry little creature was going to present a tremendous challenge. If anyone else had been present I would have feigned confidence and superiority, but I was completely alone, and I didn’t relish the thought of death so early in my ‘new life’. As I gripped my simple daggers tightly, my body shook with fear for the first time in memory.
___
r/Ryter
I didn't intend it as I started writing this, but this story ended up being semi-related to [another story I posted here a few days ago](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bwj0sr/wp_everyone_doubted_you_when_you_didnt_invest_in/epy1y6c/?context=3) (this prompt was somewhat similar to the backstory I had been sketching out for one of the characters, so I just leaned into it hard). This is a total experiment for me, but I think/hope this still works as a self contained story for this prompt as well!
| 2019-06-07T09:55:24 | 2019-06-07T09:37:52 | 119 | 13 |
[WP] Faced with execution for his crimes, Lucifer stands before the courts of heaven. He leans over to the gallery behind him and whispers "Hey, Jesus, fancy putting in a good word with your dad? Be a shame if he found out what you got up to during those 3 days you spent with us afer you died!"
|
Lucifer grinned as Jesus flinched, the courtroom silence hammering the Son of God with nervousness as the devil wiggled cutely, bouncing on his toes and smiling with a grin that would make most lesser beings loosen their resolve. Instead of having horns and the tail and the trident he just had redder skin, his suit half white and half red, one eye blue and the other red.
Jesus rubbed the back of his neck in thought, looking at Lucifer, trying to discern what he would say or how he saw Hell. Or what was said to be hell now. His eyes closed.
"I know you tested me, still... Those three days shall never be seen by the court."
The Son had seen so many people who had lived good lives being tortured, and all Lucifer said was, "They didn't believe in God. All these people who lived good and honest lives... Now being punished because Daddy Dearest wasn't a thing to them..."
Jesus remembered weeping for them. He didn't want to see it any more, but once he got back and God told the scribes how it went... He wanted to stop them like the moneylenders. He sighed, remembering yet another scene that Lucifer showed him of hell.
It was towards the end of it all when he saw a Grove. All of the statues there were of Men and women of great importance to other cultures. Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Norse, Japanese, Sumerian. All the old gods were there. Lucifer sighed and walked in, with Jesus following curiously.
"Such a shame this all happened 'cause Dad didn't want competition, Hell isn't just a torture chamber for the evils of mankind, but for Men and women who never knew him or you. Dad wasn't the only god who made the world." Lucifer stood before Ra, Zeus, Ymir, and Vishnu.
"These fellas? They helped Dad guide humanity after Babel, but once they got too strong... Wham! Down here!"
Jesus blinked at Lucifer, "You're lying to me, Father would nev-"
"Nah nah nah, I'm talking. If dad really cared about the humans, he would've never shoved those who choose to believe in these guys, his original helpers, down here," Lucifer reasoned, his calico eyes staring right at Jesus.
"So, you were saying?" He asked, "Come on, spit it out, J."
"What must I do?" Jesus asked.
Now, back in the courtroom, Jesus considered what he'd seen in Hell. He took a deep breath and looked up at his old friend Peter.
Time to put in a good word.
|
# Good Friday
**While Jesus was on the cross he called to Satan. "Hey, Satan, can you hear me?"**
**Satan replied: "Yes, Lord."**
**"Good," said Jesus, "then you can be the first to know that I am going to hell."**
**Satan was dumbfounded and he asked: "What? How can that be, you're the son of god?"**
**Jesus said: "I'm the son of god, but I am also the son of man. Just before I left, I committed some sins."**
**Satan replied: "That's impossible, surely you don't expect to be punished for a few sins?"**
**Jesus replied: "Don't forget that I am the son of god. Anyway, you can tell everyone else when you get down there. I'm sure they will be really impressed by your news."**
**With that Jesus cried out in a loud voice and died.**
# Jesus Arrives
**Satan arrived in hell startled that Jesus was already there. "Son of a bitch, Jesus is already here?"**
**Jesus was admitted to hell but the devil was so surprised at his arrival that he forgot to assign him a place. Jesus was put in a cell until a place could be found for him.**
**The next day was Saturday. Satan and his helpers were in a meeting discussing Jesus' arrival. The devil called for a vote as to whether Jesus should be assigned to hell or not. All the devils voted that Jesus should be assigned to hell because he was the Son of God. The only one who was against it was an atheist devil named Beelzebub.**
**"What?" cried Satan, "You're against this?"**
**"Yes" replied Beelzebub, "First of all, he's not a bad guy. Besides, he is already dead so he is not going to corrupt anyone. He can just sit in his cell and think about his sins."**
**Satan replied "Fine, I'll assign him as your cellmate!"**
**Jesus was brought in and he and Beelzebub were assigned to a cell.**
# Saturday
**Jesus woke up, grabbed his bed and threw it against the wall. It broke into pieces and Jesus went to see Beelzebub.**
**"What's up?" asked Beelzebub.**
**"I'm bored!" replied Jesus.**
**Jesus was given a cross to play with. He broke it into pieces and said: "Now I'm bored and angry!"**
**Satan called for a meeting to discuss the problem of Jesus being bored. It was decided that he should be given a servant to keep him company.**
**The servant arrived from earth, looking exactly like Jesus except for the horns on his head.** **"You must be Jesus. I've heard a lot about you." said the servant.**
**"Yes, I'm Jesus, but how did you know?" asked Jesus.**
**"Well, look at the horns." replied the servant.** **Jesus grabbed his servant by the horns and threw him against the wall. Jesus was put in solitary confinement with nothing to do. Satan called for another meeting to discuss the problem of Jesus being bored. It was decided that he should be given a TV and allowed to watch it in his cell.**
**Jesus was allowed to watch TV for a few minutes when Satan appeared on TV for a special announcement.** **"Hello everyone, I'm Satan. I would like to remind you that the devil is not a nice person. He is a total asshole. Satan sucks! All the devils in hell agree with me."**
**Jesus was so happy about this announcement that he busted out of his cell and started dancing naked all over hell. He then slammed the TV against the wall and broke it. Jesus was put in solitary confinement with nothing to do.**
**Satan took Jesus around the sights of hell. They visited the lake of fire, the pillars of salt, and the dungeons of hell where Satan tortured sinners by giving them paper cuts on their balls. Jesus was impressed by this final sight and decided to stay there for a while.**
# Easter Sunday
**On Easter Sunday Jesus was in hell. He was bored and angry and he decided to do something about it.** **He gave the crucifixion mark on his hand to Beelzebub and the TV remote to Satan. Jesus then grabbed the keys of hell from Satan's pocket and ran for it.**
**Satan was so surprised that he dropped the TV remote and Beelzebub picked it up. The devil was furious and chased Jesus all the way to heaven. Jesus tried to get through the gate but he was too late.**
**Jesus cried out: "Dad, I have sinned! Forgive me!"**
**God replied: "Of course my son, come in."**
**Satan tried to get into heaven but he was not allowed to come in. Satan cried: "You're not letting me in? What about him?" pointing at Jesus.**
**God replied: "He's on my side."**
**Satan cried: "What??? You're going to let him into heaven? Didn't you hear what I just said?"**
**God replied: "You are going to be put on trial for your crimes."**
**Satan cried: "But that's not fair! It's not fair!"**
**God replied: "Well, what did you expect? I'm the God, not you. Get over it."**
# Satan's Trial
**Faced with execution for his crimes, Lucifer stands before the courts of heaven. He leans over to the gallery behind him and whispers "Hey, Jesus, fancy putting in a good word with your dad? Be a shame if he found out what you got up to during those 3 days you spent with us after you died!"**
**Jesus leans back "No can do, mate. I'm not allowed to interfere with natural justice."**
**Satan looks over at Jesus again "Well, I suppose you could pop down and have a chat with him. Do your best, eh?"**
**Jesus turns to the gallery "Oh all right, I suppose I could pop down and have a quick chat with him. I'll be as quick as I can."**
**Jesus disappears from the court room. The next minute Jesus is back.** **Satan looks over at him "So, did you sort it out?"**
**Jesus turns to Satan "Yes, he said he'd be lenient with you. He said you were a bit of a dick. He also said that if you'd stopped being such a dick, none of this would have happened."**
**God sends Satan back to hell to be tortured. He screams as he is dragged away "That's not fair! I was just a bit of a dick."**
**God replies "Yes, but you were a bit of a dick for 1000 years. You could have stopped being a dick."**
**God sends Jesus to heaven. Satan is dragged into hell and tortured by the demons. He is tortured for all eternity. The End.**
| 2021-04-19T10:24:11 | 2021-04-19T10:05:53 | 70 | 34 |
[WP] A Vampire's appearance will shift to resemble that which they feed on the most. Trust not the ones who are visions of human beauty - for friends they are not. Instead seek those with a monstrous countenance such as that of rats, lizards or even insects because those are our true friends.
|
Anna couldn't push herself to run any further. She stopped against a tree, breathing so hard it hurt. She looked back, but didn't see any sign of that monster. Just trees, extending for miles in all directions. She was totally lost. The sun was going to set soon, and that could be very dangerous. But she couldn't exactly retrace her steps.
She thought about the friend she left behind, and felt sick for it. Her name was Diane, and although they'd only just met, she acted friendly, and she invited Anna to stay in her cabin before she continued on her travels. They were just on the way there, when Anna saw something terrifying hiding among the trees only a dozen strides off the path. It had the head of a wolf, but it stood on two feet. And it was massive, like a bear. Maybe it was a bear. Just a trick of the light that turned a common hazard into supernatural terror that was almost upon them. A better person would have said something so they could flee together safely, then sleep soundly that night knowing they saved somebody. But Anna, in her panic, only thought about herself. The moment she noticed those canine eyes staring back at her, she ran.
_I'm so sorry, Diane_, she thought to herself. She started to tear up. She didn't know how close she'd come to becoming Diane's next meal. Vampires are cunning creatures. In Anna's mind, she was mere minutes away from the safety of Diane's cabin in the woods. She prayed for protection against the monster that would see her dead without understanding who that monster was.
Her breath caught at the sounds of footfalls nearby. Anna curled up her legs, trying to stay quiet, to stay hidden behind the tree. Another footfall, leaves crunching underneath. It was something bipedal, walking towards her. It was walking, slowly, carefully. Anna tried to control her breathing, when she was out of breath only moments before. Those footsteps were getting closer and closer. Anna clenched her eyes shut.
"There you are." It was Diane's voice. Anna opened her eyes. There she was, not a scratch on her. If anything, she looked too good. Her fair skin was smooth as a child's; her platinum blonde hair was trimmed short, not a tangle in sight. Those wide eyes and warm smile did not judge her for running away. Such beautiful, intense eyes, blue and bright as the noon sky, even as the forest grew dark. Anna burst into tears.
The moment was interrupted by a second set of footsteps. Much heavier and faster. Diane looked to the side, smile still on her face. The monster crashed into her.
|
"Beautiful! Beautiful! Ladies, you are going to be a star!", the photographer excitedly exclaimed, jumping from side to side as his camera flashed-- taking pictures after pictures of the young beautiful models.
"Alright, that's it for today, darlings. I'll see you tomorrow morning for your next session", he said as the models excused themselves to the changing room.
"Where is the cleaning lady?", he asked a little bit upset as he gathered his equipments.
A hunched figure in grey hoodie scurried into the room, in a huff she dropped her cleaning equipments.
"Hi I'm sorry, I'm late, Mr. Marlow. I...the bus was late and I...."
Marlow raised his hand, stopping the girl from blurting out her excuse.
"Carla, I don't want to hear any lame excuses, okay? Just...do your job please", he said disgusted, not even looking at the poor girl.
"I don't even know why I hired you in the first place", he muttered, frowning his nose. "Ugh the smell..."
Shaking his head, Marlow walked away, unable to stand Carla's presence anymore.
Hurriedly Carla started cleaning up the set, looking down sadly as she did.
It wasn't her fault she was that way. Secretly being a vampire in a modern society was hard enough as food wasn't easy to come by-- Carla had to resort to eat the blood of rodents all around the city.
A vampire's appearance shifts to resemble that which they feed the most. With a steady diet of sewer rats, Carla's appearance slowly transformed into that of a hideous monster.
"Bye, everyone. See you tomorrow!", exiting the building, the models waved goodbye to the staff.
"Man, did you see that one in blue?", asked one of the assistant to his colleague.
"Oh man, how I wish to sleep with her", the other whistled. "Hey cleaning lady, can you hurry up? We want to go home already!", he berated Carla.
Jolted, Carla sped up her work-- mopping the floor around trying to distance herself from the men.
"Why did Marlow hire her anyway? She's ugly ugh", the assistant mocked as both of them laugh.
Finally finishing her job, Carla immediately left the building and made her way home quickly.
The words of those men kept haunting her as tears welled up in her eyes.
"It's not my fault I am. I'm...I'm not...I'm not ugly...", she muttered.
Her heightened senses suddenly picked up some movements in the shadow. Her ears and nose perked up as her hunger suddenly manifested.
"Food...", she muttered.
With an unnatural speed she ran into a dark alley, knocking the trash around she sank her claws into the rodent. Helplessly it flailed around before Carla sank her fang into its body, draining its blood dry.
"Mmmhm...mmmhhmm", Carla moaned satisfied.
As she finished, she sat there for a while, enjoying her full stomach.
Noticing a magazine on the ground near her, she grabbed it to have a closer look. The cover depicted a very beautiful model, posing in a very sensual manner.
"Is...is that what's considered beautiful...?", she muttered.
As she looked up, her gaze fell onto a piece of broken mirror leaning over the alley wall. Carla stared at her own reflection, to her face under the hoodie. She touched it slowly with her clawed fingers.
"I'm...I'm ugly...", she muttered, convincing herself so.
Her heart broke, finding herself in a crossroad of life. The curse that she was born with was too much for her to handle-- there and then the young girl cried, clutching the magazine tight in her hands as she sobbed through the night.
***
"Hey guys, you go on ahead. I want to get coffee first", a female voice shouted.
Jolted awake from her sleep, Carla looked up to a bright daylight. She had slept in the alleyway the whole night.
"Okay. See you inside!", another female voice shouted before the first one turned and crossed the road.
Carla was transfixed at her, as she looked somehow familiar to her.
Looking down to the magazine, she realized it was the model depicted on the magazine cover-- just so happened she was the same model working with Marlow the previous night.
Carla focused her heightened vision, looking longingly at the beautiful girl. Carla followed her movement as she entered the cafè, beyond the glass front, until she exited and crossed the road again to head to the studio building.
Slowly Carla left the alleyway, tailing her from behind as she kept her eyes trained on the model.
"Oh look at that luscious hair, that figure, those legs", Carla thought. "And her smell--", Carla sniffed the air. "She smells good"
'E...excuse me...", Carla called out, unable to contain herself anymore.
The young model stopped and turned, looking down at the hunched Carla she cringed a bit.
"H...hi. Can I....can I help you...?", she asked trying to be polite.
"You're beautiful", Carla stated smiling her deformed smile.
"Oh thank you. Uh...hey, I know you don't I? Yea I saw you last night at the studio. You work for Mr. Marlow, don't you?", she continued but Carla paid her question no mind.
"You're so beautiful", Carla said almost hissing.
The young model began to feel uneasy as she backed away.
"Ummm okay. I'll...I'll be on my way now. I'll see you in the studio then?"
Before she could react or even scream, Carla had lunged at her with her unnatural speed. Sinking her fang into the model's long neck and immediately started sucking her blood dry.
That first bite of fresh blood excited Carla so, she kept on sucking and sucking as the young girl began to feel weaker and weaker, only whimpers came out from her mouth.
Not satisfied yet, Carla dragged her body into the alleyway to finish her breakfast.
***
"Alright everybody, to your positions please", Marlow instructed as the models stepped onto the set.
"Where's Stephanie?", Marlow asked looking around. "Where's my main star?!", he yelled.
A sudden loud smack shocked everybody in the room as the door swung open. Slowly a hooded figure entered, no longer hunched-- on her hand she carried by the hair a pale yet beautiful head.
Screams of panic erupted in the room as they noticed whose head it was the hooded figure carried.
From behind the hood, Carla smiled-- less deformed than before, she pulled down her hood revealing a brighter and more luscious hair than her usual dried and gray flock.
"I'm beautiful", she muttered.
r/HangryWritey
Edit: corrected a few words
| 2021-05-31T01:15:42 | 2021-05-31T00:57:39 | 281 | 158 |
[WP] You're living in a world where superpowers exist, and you're the most dangerous individual of all. Your power? You project an aura where all the laws of reality/normality assert themselves. You are the anti-super
|
My ability to cancel the powers of other people caused me to grow weak. I could always gain the element of surprise by reasserting law and order. Reality was more willing to accept my Aura of stasis. Without their powers, most individuals lost focus. For a moment - long enough.
Countless enemies fell to this sort of surprise attack. It's been my tactic for a decade or more. I saw fear in the eyes of my foes each time. That's why I was so supposed when my next opponent walked into my Aura without fear. The lines of power wavered as this individual broke into my space.
The cinders on his smoldering skin disappeared as his superpowers failed. Despite this, the figure in front of me was physically intimidating. He stood a foot taller than me. He had trained with the vigor of someone who did not have an Aura that nullified superpowers.
He walked forward with a smile. One hundred yards away. Eighty. Fifty. Thirty. For once, I was the one who was afraid.
Ten yards. He started to sprint forward to close the distance. I shook off my fear so that I could meet him in the fight. We clashed and I felt my bones shudder with the impact as I blocked two strikes with my forearms. Those attacks made me wise enough to duck the third punch.
I struck out from my lowered position. Once against each knee. I thought that I would buckle him. He laughed. I twisted out of the way, which caused his brutal attack to my spine to land on my side. It sent me flying into the ground. I felt my skin scrape up as the loose pebbles made their marks.
He was faster than I wanted if I were able to make such a decision. I felt two more impacts to my side as I tried to roll to my feet. Decorum was out the window. I jumped and fired off a series of scissor kicks. I scored impacts. I saw blood. This only served to make my opponent enjoy himself even further.
He snatched me from the air by the arm before I landed. I tried to push my release by slamming my free hand into his skull. He didn't even move from the impact. He slammed me into the ground and I knew I had split seconds before my other arm would be pinned. For the first time in my life, I was wholly outmatched.
That left me only one matter of recourse. My only other equalizer as my Aura failed me. I drew.
Bang.
|
I spin the wheel of my steel and whatever vehicle. It’s a giant thing, can say for sure it’s made out of steel, but also a bunch of random crap as well. Stuff that didn’t exist on the periodic table before the Super Revolution. The government supplied it to me, so why should I know what it’s made out of? I quickly end my inner monologue about my tank, realizing that I have arrived at my job, I park between the bright yellow lines, making my vehicle screech to halt. It’s got some nice braking for such a big fella. Somebody comes up to me, asking for identification. I ignore that person, I’m the boss here, nobody should need to identify me at this point. Couldn’t care less about their safety, I’m am the walking embodiment of safety. Grumbling I walk through the sliding steel doors. I’m greeted by my assistants, Pam and Derek.
“Sir, it is not advisable for you to be walking without a protection Super near you, the risk of guns is simply too high,” Pam drones.
“I concur, Supers are not a threat, but guns are certainly a danger,” Derek mentions dryly.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever just get me to my office.”
They lead me to the back of the blindingly white room we’re in. Is there much of purpose to the giant room? Not really, but it was built just in case someone with a power that makes them giant comes in here. But it is a giant waste of my time, having takes way to long walking across the room. Halting my train of thought, I realize I am having them lead me. I storm in front of them, making them jump. I ain’t gonna have my assistants lead me, there my assistants for a reason. Soon I arrive at my office. The office door automatically opens for me, leading me to my familiar office. The one place in the building built entirely for me, that I could actually customize to my content. Naturally, scattered around the walls is some fishing memorabilia, some sports stuff, and personal stuff. I take a seat in my leather chair, practically melting into the seat. Rest, my favorite part of work.
“Go fetch me my first candidate,” I tell my assistants.
“Right away sir,” they reply, synchronization making me uncomfortable.
Making myself comfortable, I pull out my tablet out of my bag. Rubbing my hands excitedly, I turn it on. My favorite part of work, I mean it’s not really a proper job… it’s practically forced labor, freaking United Americas Federation. I pull up the video sent to me by someone less important than me. It shows me the video of subject getting captured. It’s a woman of short stature, her power is a passive. A power that is always active, seems to continually turn into spikes. And these aren’t your run of the mill spikes, they are quite big, a solid 3 feet in length. And there are maybe 15-20 at time. She was just standing around, in some sort of pain. Her neck is quite big, probably from dealing with an abnormal amount of hair. And… she fell over, it looks like she can’t even get up. So finally at this point of the tape emergency services come, and cover her head with a large helmet. Guess the hair spikes aren’t that sharp. So she’ll be here any minute.
I take a quick glance to her profile. I see that her condition has worsened this past year. Reaching the breaking point a little before the video was filmed.
I laze around for a little while, but soon I hear the familiar burst of noise that comes with many people.
I hear someone saying ”we have the patient with us.”
I sigh, and stand up. The woman on the stretcher with the oddly comedic helmet appears in front of me. Once she is set down, her helmet is taken off. Her hair is no longer turning into spikes.
“Ok she’s good,” I groan and say, “I am contractually obligated to you everyone in my vicinity how my power works. My aura sticks around someone for 2 years, 4 months, and 7 days. Through I can disable the whole sticking around part by my own will, so paramedics, you’re good. And the other lady is also good. Now please go, really don’t care much ‘bout that lady. I like my peace and quiet.
The paramedics leave, carrying a likely happy person. I hate monologuing, but I have to do every flippin time.
The days becomes a blur, like always, and all of sudden it’s an hour till I’m done. Suddenly flashing alarms go off.
An automated voice goes, “Intruder Alert.”
Honestly, something interesting happening, I’m not complaining. The automated systems will contain the intruder anyway.
Derek rushes to my side, “Please go to the safe room sir.”
“Ehhh… I’m good, this crap happened five million times.”
Nice thing about being essentially, is that people can’t force you to do that many things. So despite Derek’s incessant protests, I just take a nice seat. Watching some fun old archives of people with weird powers. Some people with shrinking heads, and some other weird stuff. Always enjoyable, but I see out the corner of my eye a head coming out of the wall, slowly turning into a full male body. Wait what, how… how… is their power not getting neutralized. Panic creeping over me, I step back.
I mumble,” how are you still using your power.”
The guy replies, “I have too many powers, please neutralize them, I beg you.”
I notice a Russian accent, and say, “ but… you’re power is not being neutralized right now, what do you want me to do?!”
Suddenly, I’m in the other persons body. And everything explodes in pain, My brain is screeching, ankles exploding, and just everything hurts. My eyes begin to pop out, hair growing, feet shirking. I feel tendons, muscles, all snapping. Every inch of my body is on fire, every nerve exploding. Soon I start to wonder how long the pain will last.
And then I’m back in my own body.
“Now that you have had taste of my pain, fix me,” the man tells me.
I focus the aura around me, it feels like water. I concentrate it all around the mans body. I hold it for what feels like eons. My body strains, my mind struggles to hold focus, but finally he breaks the silence.
He says, “stop, I am cured, thank you. I am free of my curse, at least for a little while.” He collapses on the ground. I take a deep breath and compose myself. I stand up, and am hit with a bout of curiosity. Taking a closer at his face, I confirm that he is of the Russian Federation. No wonder he had to sneak in here. I’ll have to find some way to sneak him out here. After my experience, I’ve realized something. Maybe, just maybe, my job is a good thing.
r/CascadeCorner
| 2021-06-24T20:26:23 | 2021-06-24T18:29:49 | 60 | 33 |
[WP] And the angel said unto him, "stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself." But lo, he could not stop, for the angel was hitting him with his own hands.
|
“Lucifer, what are you doing?” God paused at the sight of the archangel straddling a man on the ground.
“I am advising William to stop hitting himself.” Lucifer replied, holding the man's wrists tight.
“I am *not* hitting myself!” the man yelled.
“See how he lies, my lord? The imprint of his own palm glows upon his cheek.”
“It was my hand, but it was not my will!" The man craned his neck towards God, tears in his eyes. “He also put a finger in my ear! It was wet with some unknown substance.”
“Another lie, my lord.” Lucifer replied. “The substance was known—twas my spit.”
“And then he threatened to submerge my head into a chamberpot whilst its contents swirl about!” The man continued.
“Now, how could he have heard that with ears full of spittle?”
God sighed. “Lucifer, we’ve talked about this. We do not treat the guests of heaven poorly.”
The man nodded emphatically. “I was treated poorly, indeed!”
“This man is… not worthy of our hospitality.” Lucifer turned to God. “He was a liar and a cheat. He–”
“Was human.” God interrupted. “That is all that matters.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes and turned back to the man. “Tell our dear lord how you died.”
The man's face hardened. “I was killed in battle.”
"Details." Lucifer made the man slap himself again. "Tell the Lord how you attempted to ambush a strange woman's husband."
“Such a strong word, *ambush.*" The main quoted the word with what little he could move of his hands. "I merely initiated a duel from a tactical hidden position. Did I strike first? Of course, I'd have been a fool not to. Did I strike from behind? Perhaps, but the scoundrel deserved no better. He wed the fairest maiden in the land! Oh she was beautiful... I first laid eyes on her at the feast. Despite my drunken stupor I knew her beauty was real—not merely the product of mead spectacles. Oh no. These were spectacles of *love.* I had to have her! Yet as I approached, I saw him. And I saw she was *with* him. Can you imagine? A common knight, with her, the biggest, fattest, juiciest ass in the kingdom! It was outrageous! Such a woman belonged to nobility. To *me,* a prince!"
"Why not just woo her and let her decide?"
The man shrugged. "Easier to woo a widow."
“See, Lord?” Lucifer turned back to God. “This one’s a bit of a shit isn't he?”
God stroked his beard. “You may have a point here Lucifer. This one seems quite shitty indeed. Prideful... greedy... envious... lustful... gluttonous..."
"Angry and lazy too," Lucifer chimed.
"Quiet Lucifer, I'm musing... But yes, those things too. All right, I've decided. Do with him as you wish.”
“Thank you my lord.”
“And you know what? As more like him come, I’ll send them your way.”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe.
|
On her deathbed, Simon's mother asked for pickles. "I am about to go meet my maker, but I am hungry. Please. Before I die, can you make sure I have one final meal of pickles?"
Simon held her hand, it was frail as a bird, and he promised that he would fulfill her dying wish. "I will get you those pickles, ma. If it's the last thing I do, I'll get those pickles."
Their ancestors--the Schlorpheims--had fled their home country carrying nothing but what they managed to grab from their pantry: cucumbers and a bottle of vinegar. Since then they had become the third-largest pickle manufacturers in the Northeast. SchlorPickles, their brand, had won Best Pickle at the Vermont State Fair in 1991 and for decades they had been living off that high.
In the hospital corridor, Simon spotted his cousin Vinny. He was fired from the family company when his idea of pickled toast failed to gain traction. "Out of my way, Vin. Ma needs pickles. It's a matter of life and death. But mostly death."
Sucking on a piece of pickled toast, Vinny said, "I hope the old hag dies screaming. She took my hopes and dreams and she plopped them into a jar of vinegar."
Simon sneered. "That would've preserved them, you dolt. Outta my way."
"Indeed," Vinny said. "My ambitions are now far grander than you can imagine." He turned around, putting his tight derrière on display. In his back pocket was a jar. A jar with pickles. "I have perfected the family recipe. And I'm going to start my own company. I'll run you scumbags outta business."
"Gimme that!"
"Never."
The first punch broke Vinny's nose. The second one knocked the air out of his lungs. The third went straight through his chest. "W-What?"
"Ugh! I have been gradually replacing my body fluids with pickle brine. I guess I overdid it and turned my guts into mush."
"Vinny! Hold on! I'll get you to a hospital."
"We are already ... in a hospital." Vinny struggled for breath. "Please ... I have little time left. Feed me."
"What?"
"Feed me the pickles."
Simon's hand was still inside his cousin Vinny, so he shoved it in deeper and extracted the jar from his pocket. When he pulled it out, it schlorped audibly. "Your guts are green, Vin. What the heck. Okay, now open wide."
But it was too late. Vinny was already gone.
As he stood looking at his mushed-up relative, he quickly snapped out of it when he saw the glass bottle in his hand. "Pickled raisins? Vin, you fool!"
"They are good actually. So. Screw you, man."
Turning around, Simon saw none other than Vinny. But with a halo and fluffy wings.
"Yeah, I'm an angel now actually," said Vinny. "So maybe you were kind of a douchebag for murdering me and whatnot?"
"This can't be real," cried Simon. That was when he received the first slap. With his own hand.
"Oh shit," said Vinny. "I guess I have like superpowers now? I didn't know that. Angels have telekinesis? Wow."
"Stop!" Simon moaned in pain with every slap.
"Yeah, you should stop hitting yourself. What's up with that?"
With every slap, his hands got wetter. He remembered, suddenly, an incident in the park when he was a child. A skater called him a loser because he didn't know how to do any tricks. But it was his first time. He just wanted to play with them. Then his mother stepped up, and she handed out pickles to all of them. And they said, "Wow. With pickles like that you must be a pretty cool guy. Wanna be friends?"
"I wonder if I can make you fart? Can you move air with telekinesis?"
Simon's stomach rumbled. "Please, Vin. You're better than this. Aren't angels supposed to be nice?"
"Nah, that's called the halo effect. You only think I'm supposed to be good because I've got a halo."
Darn. He was right.
"W-What are you doing?" A doctor ran up to them, waving his arms around. "Did you murder that guy on the floor? And now you're slapping yourself with one hand, and in the other you are holding ... pickles?"
Vinny let out a sly chuckle. "Oh, shit. Guess you're the only one who can see me. I'm gonna make you flip him the bird. He's going to think you're such an asshole."
"No!" Simon cried. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. Without meaning to, he gently lifted his hand and lowered all his fingers but the middle one. Tear-choked, he said, "Sorry."
The doctor seemed frightened.
"Oh, wait. Hold up. The big guy wants a word."
With that, Vinny vanished in a puff of smoke.
"I'm calling the police!" said the doctor.
Simon gulped. He'd landed himself in quite the pickle.
"Wait! His stomach just suddenly exploded. I didn't do anything."
"Hmm." The doctor appeared skeptical. "Well, his guts are kind of green. I guess that checks out. Alright. I'll get someone to clean this up."
"Phew."
He was nervous about going back into his mother's room with the pickled raisins. What if they were no good? How could they be good? They were pickled raisins.
As he stepped inside, he felt a cool breeze on his shoulders. It was Vinny.
"Alright, the big dude was sort of upset with the way I acted. Apparently, I reminded him of a certain someone who was kind of a crappy angel and he threatened he'd make me hang out with him if I didn't make up for what I did."
"What are you saying?"
"You didn't hear me?"
"No, I mean, how are you going to make up?"
"Oh. Right. Heaven's kind of a cool place, actually. Everyone gets to choose a power. They start off with something random. I changed mine to transmogrification."
"What's that?"
"Well, it goes a little something like this." Vinny snapped his fingers and the bottle of pickled raisins turned into a bottle containing a slice of rolled-up toast.
"Uh, thanks," said Simon. "But I can't give this to ma."
"That was just a demonstration. Here." He snapped his fingers again, and the toast turned into cucumbers. Solid pickles. "Turns out he let his son use angel powers all the time when he was still human. That was what miracles was all about. That's a neat factoid, right?"
It was a neat factoid. "Thank you, Vin. Sorry about the whole killing-you-with-a-mediocre-punch business."
"Don't worry about it. Turns out pickle juice isn't all that good if you overdo it. Lesson learned. Take that piece of wisdom with you. Don't make the same mistake I did."
"I don't drink pickle brine."
"Not anymore, you don't." An angelic grin spread across Vinny's heavenly lips, and he departed in a puff of smoke.
"Ma," Simon said. "Ma, I brought you the pickles."
"Oh, how wonderful," his mother said. They shared the meal of pickles and sat up for a while talking.
With her last breath, she let out a meek sigh of happiness.
Simon later became the president of the family company, and he launched a new product to honor his cousin's memory: pickled raisins.
It didn't sell very well, and they fired him.
| 2022-03-13T09:49:31 | 2022-03-13T07:40:50 | 1,217 | 78 |
[WP] “Although we are grateful to you for defeating our oppressors, you were meant to die in battle…” your “allies” suddenly turned their weapons on you, “Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.”
|
"Seriously? We're doing this now?" I sighed, more disappointed than anything. The others had murder in their eyes; save Rogue and her usual greed. To be honest I saw it coming since we came together. "Well, it's a good thing I have contingencies." I used a scroll of anti magic first thing, temporarily disabling Cleric and Mage.
My Apprentice crashed into me, sword against sword. "Oh you were always my favorite taught you everything you know about swordplay. Glad I taught you a few openings too" I taunted. We danced as we often did, only with real steel instead of blunted blades. I went for a move I usually did, and he blocked as always did. Only for me to feint and run him through, leaving him bleeding out on the ground.
I tossed a vial of blood at the Cleric, covering them in viscera. "Fiend blood, no holy powers til it's clean!" I helpfully reminded as I moved towards Mage. I looked towards Ranger and his animal companion. "Sprinkles! Kill!" I ordered. The bear growled and fell upon his 'master' with gusto. Mage finally manages a fireball but he seemed to neglect my fire resistance cloak. I stabbed him thrice through the chest, and Cleric didn't clean in time.
I looked at Barbarian, still raging and bloody from trying to save Ranger from Sprinkles. He'd ironically be the toughest...unless my last move paid off. "Rogue, halfsies on the treasure room if you help," I called. The Rogue smiled wickedly and took advantage of my position with Barbarian, literally back stabbing him to death.
Rogue and I shake hands. "So, halfsies?" She inquired.
"Of course," I say with a smile, "I'm always a woman of my word" She ran off for it. I liked her the best, which is why I couldn't bring myself to kill her. Thankfully, that's what mimics are for...
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Together we stand among the corpses of the invading army's commanders. "It was a complete rout," I mused as the still superior force fled haphazardly from the ramshackle force of farmers and former soldiers of the already defeated monarchy. These people were once oppressed by their monarch Lord Bloodfist, a rough translation from their barbaric tongue, or something equally asinine.
The names never meant much to me. I was a nomadic hero after all. I never used the same name either. I wasn't in it for the glory, I just loved humiliating empires and great generals. Once their monarch had been hung disemboweled from his own castle walls by the invading Romans, they of course set in with their own style of oppression. The people of course then wished for a hero to come and save them from the Romans.
I gathered the rable rousers and created a make shift army, initiated a few skirmishes to get the host on the field, and they fell for my trap and the ruse. The trap was fairly simple, get the commanders on the field, once the fighting started a skilled group would ambush the command party, kill the leaders, signal the main forces with conflicting information so that they're in disarray, and let loose the siege engines. A few hundred killed at most, but the whole army demoralized and fleeing an inferior force, most of which had already been killed in the first sortie.
Damn bloody work, and the bowmen hidden along the roads will harry the retreating army giving them the illusion they are being pursued. They'll likely march until they drop. If these rubes took my advice, the army will be decimated by next sunrise, and will likely march all the way back to Rome.
"Not bad for a few weeks work," I say mostly to myself when I notice that the conspirators that had fought with me hadn't put away their weapons, and still seemed bloody minded. "What's this then?" I ask prepared for what I knew was coming next.
"Although we are grateful to you for defeating our oppressors, you were meant to die in battle..." The lot of them turing their blades towards me, "your sacrifice will not be forgotten."
As they advance on me, I say, "ok, but why? I mean you've gotten what you wanted, and let's be honest, I didn't even tell you my real name. For that matter, I didn't even bother to learn yours. I simply couldn't care less." I say casually rolling my captured gladius in my off hand while glancing in the mirror reflection of the ornamental pillam I'd gotten off one of the Preatorian Guards to see the ambush coming from behind.
"You know, the reason why I'm still alive, and this Roman Senator is dead," I say gesturing to the field commander at my feet, "is because I'm the greatest illusionist to ever have lived. My trickery is so multilayered you haven't even begun to realize that you lot aren't really in control here!" I let out a loud gaffaw flicking the gladius into the belly of my would be assassin from behind, while kicking the pillam's haft to give it speed as it turns in my dominant hand, hitting a would be attacker with the butt, I grasp the haft hard, plant my foot, and swing it round forcing those in front to to duck back to avoid it's blade. Twirling with a flourish, I snatch a red cloak off one of the fallen, and spin it around over my shoulders.
"I'm sorry, but before I leave I really must know, why did you betray me? There's nothing in it for you, I simply don't understand. I'm nameless to your associates, no attachments to your cause, it just makes no sense! The only people who even know of my involvement are you lot, to everyone else, and to history you will be the ones who stopped the Roman invasion."
"I saw your bag of Roman silver!" Their de facto leader screams at me as he lunges attempting to gut me with his daggar. Powerful hands drag him to the ground as the "slain" Preatorian Guards come up from their positions and capture the rest of the party.
"I see, you think that I'm paid by the Romans to help you then you suspect I'll betray you? Well you're partially right. This bit of political theater was conceived of and orchestrated by yours truly to rid the Caesar of his best friend and troublesome rival. This has the additional effects of garnering sympathy for the Caesar among the populace for his loss, and comforting the Senate that his power has been reduced by this humiliation in foreign lands. All according to plan to consolidate the Caesars power when he takes to the field and destroys all resistance in this barbaric land."
"Anyway, I don't have time to give you the full Roman experience, so this will have to suffice," I say as I pull off my red silk belt with the offending silver tied in a pocket one end, "this little device I learned about leagues to the east," as the Preatorian Guards turn the remnants of the cabal to face their leader and bring them in close for the spectacle, "one end of the belt is weighted, coin or even rocks will suffice," I whirl the belt above my head letting out it's full length, "spinning it like so," I kneel and bring the spinning silk to the side of his neck, "it has the delightful effect of wrapping around your target's neck like this," I give a tug as the silver in the pocket comes to rest in my other hand after wrapping his neck thrice.
"Now a sharp tug, and twist." The man's eyes bulge as the blood from his veins is trapped in his head while the arteries continue to pump blood in, and he begins to choke further driving up the pressure. "Wait just a moment for maximum effect, and cut here." I slice the man's throat and his blood drenches his allies in a sudden spray of bright red. Keeping the pressure so that he lives just long enough to see their horror and the Preatorian Guards cut half of them down. I release, the blood vents quickly and the man is dead. "Not as fun or dramatic as a crucifixion, but it'll do in a pinch." I say to my loyal Preatorian, and the remaining members of the resistance. "You may wish to flee these lands before I return. My wrath for you killing my uncle will be terrible." I say smiling amicably. "Now then, let's catch that army and save the day. Gloria Exercitus!"
| 2022-11-01T23:34:26 | 2022-11-01T19:28:17 | 53 | 24 |
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