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[WP] Bob doesn't realise he's a robot until he fails a captcha five times in a row.
|
"Look," Bob says, cursor on the screen hovering over a Youtube link. "It'll be great. The beat grows on you."
Jean frowns. "Is it one of your noisy electronic songs again?"
"Just listen to it!" Bob bumps his swivel chair into Jean's, who bumps him back.
"No way. You know how mom's about you playing your music," Jean says, rising from her chair. But she doesn't leave, shutting his bedroom door and returning instead.
Once they're both huddled in front of the screen, Bob plays the video. A soft beat floats out from the speakers, rising into something a little more hard-hitting. He leans back to gauge his sister's reaction.
Jean's head tilts, listening intently. Her brother's eyes searches her face for a reaction: hesitance shifting to enjoyment.
They don't speak for a while, until a lull in the song brings forth a response: "I think I can behind that. It's rather good."
Her words are slow to come, but Bob takes it as a victory. "Great, let's find a download link."
The screen flickers to Google, then to lists of searches, and to a potential download site. All the while Bob chatters away about music and artists and recommendations, eyes wide, a silly, toothy smile plastered over his face.
"God, you're really crazy about this stuff," Jean says, running a hand through her hair.
"Ah, here." In the midst of navigating through pages they've stumbled onto a site and a—
"Oh, let me do it," Jean interjects sharply, a hand reaching for the mouse.
Bob doesn't relent. "It's okay, I can do it, it's just a CAPTCHA."
"Sure?" Her brows are furrowed now, hand still lingering close to the mouse.
"Yup."
Within the neon colours he picks out a warped "s", a few distorted numbers, a "t" here, and maybe a "q". Or was that an "r"?
`CAPTCHA failed.`
"Oops. Must be the numbers. They're always tricky," Bob says brightly.
Jean fidgets, picking at the hem of her skirt.
`CAPTCHA failed. Attempt two of five.`
"Here, let me—"
Bob interrupts by tugging the keyboard wordlessly towards himself, away from his sister's prying fingers. He'll get it right. It's just letters and numbers after all. Easy. His eyes are close to the screen, scrutinising, deciphering the squiggly mess of numbers corralled in a cobalt-blue box.
`CAPTCHA failed. Attempt three of five.`
Jean rolls her eyes. "You're such a loser." Jean remarks dryly. "Just. Let. Me. Do. It."
Bob doesn't quite believe his sister's words, the roll of her eyes a little forced, her laughter desperate and humorless. *This isn't funny.*
`CAPTCHA failed. Attempt four of five.`
*This isn't funny at all.*
`CAPTCHA failed. Attempt five of five. Please try again in ten minutes.`
Jean catches the flash of red in her brother's eyes—an unspoken warning light—before a shower of sparks erupts from the back of Bob's head.
"Mom!" Jean yells, already up from her seat and dashing out of the room.
|
Matilda kissed Bob gently, leaning down to meet him where he sat in his computer chair. “Have a good day working from home, lover,” she cooed as she let one hand glide slowly along his shoulder, turning to leave.
“I will darling, have a good day at work” He smiled, thinking, not for the first time, that he had married ‘up.’ Bob waited at his chair listening to her footsteps recede first down the hall, then the stairs, he heard the jangling of her keys then the front door opening and closing. Bob continued to wait, he had made this mistake before, for Matilda’s engine to start purring, and then leaned slightly towards the road as it too receded into the distance.
Bob swiveled back towards the computer screen, eyes alight with the possibility of the coming moments. He first brought up some tabs and opened to different work projects. That would do, at least I’m starting to be productive, he reasoned. For good measure, he also made sure he had Outlook open so that he could see his latest emails and calender reminders. This way, when his business was done, there would be no obstacles between him and his work.
*Now*, he thought, *for my morning workout*.
His mouse slid up to open the Incognito tab, ensuring that he wouldn’t thoughtlessly forget to delete his browser information. Matilda wasn’t the type to snoop or care, but Bob thought of this as more of a courtesy, being as gentlemanly as he could given the circumstances.
Bob got one letter typed into the search bar before auto-correct suggested his favorite porn site. That briefly inspired some guilt, but Bob was used brushing off that particular piece of moral baggage. Bob accepted the suggestion with the press of a key, and a world of fantasy opened before him. Bob thought of himself as a traditionalist, and preferred to browse for a time to ‘properly inspire the mood.’
The next 6 minutes passed as they usually did, and Bob was finally ready to settle on some finishing material. He had made, what he thought, was a classy selection and hit the play button. To his surprise, what greeted him was not the customary penis enlargement ads and hot local singles beckoning him, but instead a small captcha box.
*Strange*, thought Bob, *this not only a hassle but kind of a mood killer*.
Resigned to simply proving he wasn’t some robot methodically downloading vanilla porn all day, Bob entered in the letter and number combination on the screen before him. A couple of the digits were fairly ambiguous in his opinion, but he guessed that’s what made it a challenge. He pressed enter, and assumed a more relaxed position as he waited for the page to reload. But it didn’t reload. Instead, a new captcha popped back up onto the screen, with some additional red text, telling him the enter the numbers and digits exactly as he saw them.
Bob was astounded at the stupidity of the whole situation, and said a few choice curses under his breath as he filled in the captcha for the second time. *Now*, he thought as he settled again into the familiar embrace of his office chair, * I can finally relax*. Bob’s relief was short lived, as yet another captcha and error appeared on the screen. *Holy Christ!* Bob thought, *if this was a more legitimate business, I might have the nerve to complain, this is ridiculous!* He had it in his mind that this was what he was going to do this morning so Bob dutifully and mercilessly pounded the captcha for the third time into the dialog box, and all but slammed his finger on the enter key.
Another box appeared right where the last had been, and Bob was filled with a mixture of denial, rage and frustration. He looked dejectedly at his lap and realized that this wasn’t about the video anymore, it was about being *denied* the video!
The fourth time he entered the captcha, Bob was careful. He made sure he really squinted at the screen and tried to match even the capitalization of the letters, not something he thought mattered, but he was willing to go out on a limb. *It’s the damn 3 or B combination that gets me, is that squiggle part of it, or just a distraction? What sadist thought of creating such a stupid program?* Meticulously, Bob rechecked his submission, and with a sense of apprehension and anxiety brought the cursor up to the ‘submit’ box and clicked it.
When the captcha reappeared again, Bob was unable to be angry. This was because Bob was too confused to be angry. In front of him, the regular captcha box was visible displaying it’s small picture of apparently incomprehensible digits and numbers. However this time, below the picture was bright red text that simply stated, “Bob, we know you can try harder then that.”
His knee-jerk reaction was to simply bring his cursor up to the far right corner of the screen and exit this madness-inducing situation. This is what he tried to do, and as his cursor hovered over the “x” Bob found himself unable click at all. Instead a deep inner drive drew his gaze back to the captcha box and it’s infuriating taunt.
Now, somehow more determined than ever to beat this thing, Bob punched in the keyboard combination to bring up the magnifying app on his monitor. He centered it’s viewfinder on the captcha picture directly, saw the digits and numbers in enlarged clarity (or relative clarity, pixelated as it was). He worked on the code with scholarly dedication for the next several minutes. Convinced of his forthcoming success, Bob let a smile cross his face as his index finger applied pressure to the enter key, for what he was sure, would be the last time.
~~~~~~~~~~
Model BOB-763439 was visible on the giant screen that Ross and Preen used as their overhead work station, slumped over and hibernating.
Preen turned, “Ross, the last software update seems to have failed.”
“That is apparent,” Ross sounded irritated, and he was, he hated Preen.
“Well, what do we do about it, Ross? The Boss is not going to like to hear about another patch failure, especially one you personally swore by.”
“Thank you for the reminder, Preen.” He stopped for a moment, thinking.
“Ross, what if…”
“Quiet, I can work around this. For now, wipe model BOB’s memory of everything after the first captcha, and upload a release of neuro-chem that will simulate the after affects of ejaculation.”
“Ross, that is not regulation, if the Boss…”
“If the boss were to hear of this at all, he will also suddenly be anonymously informed of an irregularity with his wife’s adherence to her martial vows.” Ross didn’t look at Preen, he knew when to play it cool. He could all but hear Preen wither at the threat. Moments passed.
“OK, BOB will get a wipe and “completion” boost. This is a one-time thing, Ross, I am not covering your ass again.”
Ross nodded, and continued to stare at his personal workstation, already at work over BOB’s next software patch.
~~~~~~
Bob opened his eyes and found himself slumped over at his computer desk, feeling surprisingly mellow. He stretched and rubbed at the back of his neck. The computer monitor was dark, and Bob shook the mouse to wake the computer back up. To his moderate surprise a finished porno video was still open. He paused, confused he couldn’t remember the contents of this particular video, and shrugged it off, interest lost. He closed the window and found his email already open.
*Nice forethought, Bob*, he congratulated himself, and began tackling the day’s work.
| 2015-08-11T11:07:01 | 2015-08-11T10:13:01 | 54 | 15 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
"I... admit that I am not familiar with that particular game," Death said, hesitantly. "What are the rules?"
He sat in his bed, smiling to himself. He had become an old man, but his spirit was alive and well. "Oh, nothing too complicated," he replied. "In order to set it up, we will need certain materials: a ball, some wickets, and a couple of flags. We'll also need a wooded field on which to play."
With a wave of his hand, Death brought them to a field, with all the requirements that had been set. It was clear to Death that this was a physical test of some variety, and he was beginning to become nervous. Why would an eighty year old man choose to compete in a sporting event, with his life on the line?
"Alright," said the man. "Let's set up the wickets, and we each choose a flag. Then, we play!"
"I begin to find this tiresome," responded Death. "You will explain it to me now. How do I win? What are the rules of this 'Calvinball'?"
|
I pant as I sprint across a smokey field of nothing, ball in hand, as a dark cloud chases after me. My legs felt heavy, and I was almost sure the endless, misty expanse around us was weighing me down. There was no way I could prove it though. Death was a clever one.
We'd been at it for over half an hour, and I was feeling it. Even though my body has been given an unnaturally long life, it's still starting to show some wear and tear. Death thought it would give him the edge over me eventually, but it wouldn't. He was already faster, stronger, and more durable. I had something he didn't.
As the cloaked figure sets upon me, I throw the ball into the air as high as I can, and dart to the left toward my true goal: a bat, lying on the ground. I snatch it up, and turn, facing upward. Sure enough, Death is already up there. He had caught the ball and is winding up.
"Tactical strike!" I yell as he lets loose. I step aside, and waggle the bat ahead of me. The ball flies past me with such force, it embeds itself in the ground.
**You missed. If I recall from last game, that means I get seven points.**
He has a good memory too. I shrug. "Yeah, that was well played, but I called my shot beforehand, so I get to advance to the 15 yard line." Death is clearly a little annoyed as he digs the ball out of the spectral turf. I grin as I jog to my new position.
**Are you ready to begin?**
I barely get the word "yeah" out of my mouth before Death rockets toward me at blinding speed. I had intended to just finish the game right then and there, and Death had picked up on it. He was going to tag me, and I'd already said that was worth 30 points. He only had 164, but that was the 8x multiplier ball. He'd pass me for sure, and then I'd be in trouble.
"Wait! Time out!" I cry. Death stops on a dime, even the smoky cloak he wore seemed to float in place, as is unaffected by the sudden change in momentum.
"I have 297 points, so I want to use 132 of them to impose a penalty on you. You have to do 132 burpees before you can keep moving." I knew that would be enough time. Death was impossibly fast, but an exercise like that relied on gravity to bring you back down to the ground. Unless he was obviously cheating, I would have enough time to get to the endzone.
**Then I will use all of my remaining points to impose the same penalty on you**
"You can't!" I say reflexively. "You... have... homefield advantage. You can't spend your points if you have homefield advantage!"
Death leans in slightly to look into my eyes. I can only see the shape of a face inside, the sight completely mottled by the black smoke he exudes at all times.
"That's the rule." I say. Death stands upright again, and after a short moment, drops to the ground, rockets his legs out, barely touches his toes (I assume) to the ground, then springs up to his feet again, rising just slightly into the air, despite his explosive jump. After seeing him stop on a dime before, I have no doubt it's just his natural ability to stop his momentum like that. He's going so fast that by the time I determine he's not altering gravity, he's already done thirteen burpees. I panic, and start sprinting toward the end zone. I probably had time, but I didn't want to risk having him fly into me with that kind of speed. The impact would probably kill me regardless of our game's outcome.
I lift my legs as I run, and they feel like a hundred pounds each moving through jello. No doubt about it, the fog along the floor of the realm we were in obfuscated everything below the knee, and felt thick.
"I know you're doing this!" I call him out.
**That's just my home field advantage**
Death sounded almost snide. The closest thing to any real emotion in his voice I've heard. I had to get away from him. I push forward, but I realize I can no longer see the line of the endzone through the fog.
Luckily, I pull my emergency paddle off my back, and use it as a makeshift fan, blowing the smog away. I hop over the thick chalk line aand throw my hands in the air.
"I win!" I shout, turning around. I see Death stop mid-burpee, and sink into the thick fog. He emerges almost instantaneously in front of me, acknowledging my victory. It's difficult to see what he's thinking, but hs skeletal hands are balled into fists.
**Very well, mortal. You win again**
I stick my tongue out "Don't be a sore loser." The world around us seems to swirl, and melt into itself as I get returned where I was before. My messy bedroom, with shelves crammed full of old comic books. On my dresser is a picture of Susie (I always wondered if she'd be mad at me for making her wait, but I wasn't ready to go yet) and a tattered stuffed tiger. Death loosens up, and almost seems to sigh.
**24 times we've played this game, and still the rules are unclear**
I grin and shrug. "That's Calvinball."
| 2018-03-07T08:28:53 | 2018-03-07T08:20:44 | 65 | 24 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
"...Do video games count?", I ask the death man. He actually looked like a very normal guy, just wearing black clothing.
"...Sure. Just nothing single player."
"Or, we could make our own game out of a game."
"...What?"
"We both get computers. We mod Skyrim with the same mods and same load order. We continuously play through until the game crashes. Whoever ends up with a crashed game first loses. Freezing does not count, and the game must crash. No staying in the main menu or waiting in a house. You must play through normally as you can with mods."
Death looks at me. "...I have a better idea."
"Yes?"
"We play vanilla Skyrim. Whoever runs into a glitch first loses, and you must play through normally."
I grin. "You are a goddamn genius."
"My idea... It just works."
"Guaranteed to happen, because Bethesda."
And we play through the game. Unfortunately, death gets some glitchy horses in the intro.
"...Goddamnit. You win."
The horses in my game also start freaking out like, a second later.
"What a beautiful game, Bethesda."
|
I pant as I sprint across a smokey field of nothing, ball in hand, as a dark cloud chases after me. My legs felt heavy, and I was almost sure the endless, misty expanse around us was weighing me down. There was no way I could prove it though. Death was a clever one.
We'd been at it for over half an hour, and I was feeling it. Even though my body has been given an unnaturally long life, it's still starting to show some wear and tear. Death thought it would give him the edge over me eventually, but it wouldn't. He was already faster, stronger, and more durable. I had something he didn't.
As the cloaked figure sets upon me, I throw the ball into the air as high as I can, and dart to the left toward my true goal: a bat, lying on the ground. I snatch it up, and turn, facing upward. Sure enough, Death is already up there. He had caught the ball and is winding up.
"Tactical strike!" I yell as he lets loose. I step aside, and waggle the bat ahead of me. The ball flies past me with such force, it embeds itself in the ground.
**You missed. If I recall from last game, that means I get seven points.**
He has a good memory too. I shrug. "Yeah, that was well played, but I called my shot beforehand, so I get to advance to the 15 yard line." Death is clearly a little annoyed as he digs the ball out of the spectral turf. I grin as I jog to my new position.
**Are you ready to begin?**
I barely get the word "yeah" out of my mouth before Death rockets toward me at blinding speed. I had intended to just finish the game right then and there, and Death had picked up on it. He was going to tag me, and I'd already said that was worth 30 points. He only had 164, but that was the 8x multiplier ball. He'd pass me for sure, and then I'd be in trouble.
"Wait! Time out!" I cry. Death stops on a dime, even the smoky cloak he wore seemed to float in place, as is unaffected by the sudden change in momentum.
"I have 297 points, so I want to use 132 of them to impose a penalty on you. You have to do 132 burpees before you can keep moving." I knew that would be enough time. Death was impossibly fast, but an exercise like that relied on gravity to bring you back down to the ground. Unless he was obviously cheating, I would have enough time to get to the endzone.
**Then I will use all of my remaining points to impose the same penalty on you**
"You can't!" I say reflexively. "You... have... homefield advantage. You can't spend your points if you have homefield advantage!"
Death leans in slightly to look into my eyes. I can only see the shape of a face inside, the sight completely mottled by the black smoke he exudes at all times.
"That's the rule." I say. Death stands upright again, and after a short moment, drops to the ground, rockets his legs out, barely touches his toes (I assume) to the ground, then springs up to his feet again, rising just slightly into the air, despite his explosive jump. After seeing him stop on a dime before, I have no doubt it's just his natural ability to stop his momentum like that. He's going so fast that by the time I determine he's not altering gravity, he's already done thirteen burpees. I panic, and start sprinting toward the end zone. I probably had time, but I didn't want to risk having him fly into me with that kind of speed. The impact would probably kill me regardless of our game's outcome.
I lift my legs as I run, and they feel like a hundred pounds each moving through jello. No doubt about it, the fog along the floor of the realm we were in obfuscated everything below the knee, and felt thick.
"I know you're doing this!" I call him out.
**That's just my home field advantage**
Death sounded almost snide. The closest thing to any real emotion in his voice I've heard. I had to get away from him. I push forward, but I realize I can no longer see the line of the endzone through the fog.
Luckily, I pull my emergency paddle off my back, and use it as a makeshift fan, blowing the smog away. I hop over the thick chalk line aand throw my hands in the air.
"I win!" I shout, turning around. I see Death stop mid-burpee, and sink into the thick fog. He emerges almost instantaneously in front of me, acknowledging my victory. It's difficult to see what he's thinking, but hs skeletal hands are balled into fists.
**Very well, mortal. You win again**
I stick my tongue out "Don't be a sore loser." The world around us seems to swirl, and melt into itself as I get returned where I was before. My messy bedroom, with shelves crammed full of old comic books. On my dresser is a picture of Susie (I always wondered if she'd be mad at me for making her wait, but I wasn't ready to go yet) and a tattered stuffed tiger. Death loosens up, and almost seems to sigh.
**24 times we've played this game, and still the rules are unclear**
I grin and shrug. "That's Calvinball."
| 2018-03-07T09:08:29 | 2018-03-07T08:20:44 | 39 | 24 |
[WP] You are the world's greatest detective. With your near superhuman intellect, you have never failed to solve a case before. But one day, you finally meet your match: a criminal so unbelievably stupid that you cannot possibly comprehend and predict what he's going to do next.
|
"Sir, are you seeing this?" Voices on the radio crackled, partially drowned out by the rain. The detective closed his eyes. "Sir, you won't believe what's happening..."
In all of his years rooting out crime, he had never faced such a foe. From foreign jungles to the Attorney General's office, he had searched for the enemies of the people and prosecuted justice without malice. Perhaps he finally found the Moriarty to his Holmes. But it wasn't supposed to be like this.
He reached out over his piles of evidence, once neatly stacked and now strewn across the table, to turn on his television. It had been days since he slept, but the evidence was so...
What was it like? Borderline criminal but overwhelming? Coffee had failed him and he returned back to his Ranger training to keep him conscious and lucid. The television came on, with his target on, practically (but not legally) confessing. He sighed.
"China has awarded several trademarks to his daughter and approved a $500 million loan..."
He might finally have met his better (if that's the right word). No suspect before had bragged on television. No one could guess what would happen next.
Robert Mueller turned off the television, the weight on his many years heavy on his shoulders.
|
“It’s not fair,” moaned David. It was three hours till the deadline and David wasn’t even close to figuring out a way to solve his problem. He had sat hunched over his desk, his coffee cooled and untouched in the corner of his desk. Crumpled paper littered the floor and a large board decorated with long twisting, color coded string loomed over his hunched body.
The cops had gotten the call at 8:36 AM as they always did from the infamous criminal, known as the Beeline Menace. When confronted about the name the criminal claimed it originated from a pun regarding how cats are empathetic since they’re “feel\-lines” but he wanted to be original so he used the word bee, which further confused the whole ordeal since he actually never wore any bee related clothing, or any themed costume for that matter.
The calls would always be a preview to his latest criminal master plan and this time he announced that he would be attempting his most daring challenge, robbing the Grand Central Bank at 4pm on the coming tuesday. The only problem was that the Grand Central Bank wasn’t actually a bank. It was just a museum about banks with displays showing outdated bills. The only kind of money he would probably get was from whatever was in the register and the shredded 100\-dollar bills that were being sold 20 dollars a pop. Plus the museum wasn’t even doing well since nobody really cared about museums these days, especially museums about banks.
The Beeline Menace, he couldn’t even think of the name without rolling his eyes, had been outsmarting him or more accurately being utterly stupid to the point where he could never be caught. To be fair the first time he ever tried to rob a bank he came without a gun, then got angry with himself for forgetting the gun and repeatedly hit himself until one of the security guys went up to cheer him up and let him go. Bee never managed to ever actually steal money but the fact that he never got caught always bugged David. He was so clearly a criminal but he was too stupid to ever actually commit the crime making it impossible to arrest him.
He couldn’t arrest him without him being a criminal so he was doomed, a clear disgrace on his perfect record. Unless… unless he could somehow make him a criminal. Yes that was it! He was going to help the criminal commit the crime so they could finally put him behind bars. Sadly his large intellect and years of experience tackling criminals could not help him see the irony of the situation as his desire to take down the Beeline Menace crowded his vision.
True to his words the Beeline Menace showed up in his banged up SUV and began to strut his way to the front of the building, a cocky half grin plastered on his face. He turned around to address his fans, he didn’t have any, and gave a bow to his invisible audience before quickly turning around and whipping out his gun against the part\-time girl who was manning the admissions stand, “Hand me all your money” he snarled.
She chewed gum slowly, clearly bored
“Why aren’t you frightened girl? Never seen a gun,” he asked, slightly puzzled as he tried to keep his menacing look, which to his credit was slowly improving after hours of practice
She popped her bubble gum.
Beeline slowly began to lose his look, frustration slowly taking over as a scowl replaced his snarl.
“So, it’s uh 4.25$ for weekend admission for adults,” she said
“I think the problem is that you’re holding a toy gun,” said David
Beeline quickly turned around, pointing his gun at his arch nemesis, wondering how he’d managed to sneak up on him. David hadn’t really been hiding at all, he’d just been leaning against a pillar and Beeline simply never turned his head to the right.
“What toy gun? I got this from my friend in the hood. He’d never do me wrong,” shouted Beeline and it was true. He did have a friend in the hood but this friend’s closest interaction with any gang members was when he befriended Tommy in second grade who would go on to die in a gang fight due to a stray bullet.
“Yours still has the tag you idiot. This is a real gun,” said David as he threw Beeline a Glock he had purchased on the way to the bank. Beeline, who had the athletic capabilities to match his intellect, fumbled with the gun before dropping it on the floor. The accidental discharge killed the part\-timer girl.
*What the fuck* screamed David.
Beeline just screamed, a high\-pitched scream of fear and regret.
Then the police came, they always did mainly because they thought it was funny watching David fume in anger at his inability to catch Beeline. David was always arrogant even if he could get results so Beeline was a refreshing new addition to their lives. Plus with a bit of conversation they learned that Beeline’s real name was Thomas and he was just doing what he did because he was lonely, how could you be mad at a guy like that?
“On your knees criminal,” shouted one of the officers.
“Yes arrest this man,” exclaimed David as the prospect of arresting Beeline made him forget about the dead girl.
“Not him, you”, another officer exclaimed as he pulled out his gun.
“Me? Why me? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You just threw a gun that killed an innocent girl!”
“No it was Beeline!”
“Thomas didn’t do anything. We saw the whole ordeal, he barley even touched the gun”
“Who the hell is Thomas? Anyways Beeline’s the criminal!”
“Thomas never committed a crime in his life. You just have, on your knees or I will shoot.”
“It’s not fair,” moaned David.
| 2018-06-04T03:37:27 | 2018-06-04T03:25:13 | 662 | 103 |
[WP] While magic is real, it cannot affect "normies". Nor can they see it. You can cast a huge explosion and only other magically gifted people will be hurt. Buildings/objects constructed by normies are unaffected. You have been waging a secret war with Kevin from HR for years.
|
"Why don't you have a seat?" Kevin from HR gestured as he closed the door behind me. Kevin's office was adorned with photos of his family, a baseball he caught at Wrigley field, a Garfield mug, and some Funko Pops from a normie show I never heard of.
I sat in the swivel chair facing Kevin's desk, it was clearly broken as it wheezed and sank to the height suitable for a toddler as I sat down. I felt like a child about to be scolded by his father. I hated working here! I deserve to be treated like an adult.
I twiddled my thumbs for a moment , as Kevin sat opposite me, and stared at his PC screen.
I couldn't see the screen from the angle I was sitting at, so I stared at the black-eyed zombie Funko pop Kevin propped on top of his monitor.
I tried honing my telekinesis to move the Funko and give Kevin a good scare. It didn't work. Perhaps Kevin had an anti-magic field around his office?
Kevin typed a few notes and made a final click.
"You know why you're here." Kevin stated. "We can't have you going around the office chanting... " Kevin looked at his screen, furrowing " excuse my pronunciation, 'Imosol, falaha?'"
"Emorsol Fahlafor!" I lashed back at him. "Don't you speak Middle Elvish, you fool! "
Kevin sighed and put his hand to his temple. "You need to know that you're not normal. And we're here to help you get through..."
"No shit, I'm not a normie!" I had known this since I was twelve, when the hobgoblin descended down the lit fireplace on a velvet rope, and informed me I was Valoran blooded.
"Unfortunately this will be your last day at the office, but I spoke with Jorge and Neeraj and we're extending mental health benefits for the next 8 months, no need to pay COBRA.. Now we also would like to offer re..."
COBRA! I knew Kevin was embedded with the Serpent Guild. The fool admitted to it, he was trying to trick me into joining COBRA this morning, but I wouldn't fall for it. He thought he could turn me... But I will not be turned! No matter how much you poison me with that venom, my anti-venom is twice as strong. I knew the Vax mandate was nothing more than an assault on hapless normies to turn them towards the Serpent Guild through venom.
I shook my head gently left and right. "You will not win" I said coolly and with an air of confidence that was uncharacteristic of me. My incantation cannot be undone.
I sensed the shadows shift in the room. I felt a hand on my back, it was Kevin's stealth goon.
"Andre from security is here to escort you from company grounds, you are not to return for any..."
"Crontis Baelbilus!" I responded.
It was a simple prayer of protection. I saw Kevin's wand in his Garfield mug and made a reach for it.
"Hey that's my pencil" Kevin hollered like the wimp he was.
I stood up, raising the wand to smite Kevin with holy flame, it was disguised as a mechanical pencil with a rubber 'eraser', which was on fact for shock absorption to prevent mana burn.
"Taser, Taser!" Andre shouted.
I felt a shock across my body, Andre had used a lightning strike!
I thought he was just a normie, but I had underestimated him, Kevin must have trained him in the ways of the Serpent Guild, for only they use the dark lightning magic.
My knees buckled and I fell to the ground.
Today, evil has won.
|
PT 1
That morning started off surprisingly well. The baby woke me at four-- a nice little lie-in-- and for once the apartment wasn't freezing. The A/C is old and crotchety and, unfortunately, completely non-magical, so I can't do much to fix it. I've tried. I know magic's a bust for non-magical systems, but I thought maybe handyman skills would come naturally-- part of the shrewd, practical, worldly-wisdom witches are supposed to have. *Capableness,* you know?
Our coven leader-- well, I mean covens don't have leaders in theory, we're all three equals, and Jacelyn takes that *very* seriously, but I'm talking about Miss Susan, who has the age and wisdom and makes the decisions-- our coven leader, she has capableness in bulk. I've been to her house on ritual nights. It's full of precious silence, ticking clocks, flowy dark curtains, and languorous cats with bright eyes. And she's got this tremendously ladylike old-school vibe, do you know what I mean? Like a classic movie star, all stern and glossy and put together. But at the same time, I've seen her change her own tires and sew her own buttons, without a single hair out of place.
And me, I haven't had a single hair *in* place since the twins were born! I love them to death, Toni and Katie, beautiful little identical girls, though we're trying to raise them as distinct individuals not a matched pair-- sorry, sorry! This is what I mean, about capableness. Give me a hairy goat demon to banish, or a colicky sixteen-month-old to soothe, and I'll smooth things out instantly. Everything else? Well, it's like moving through this haze of chaos. And distraction.
The morning started off well, though. The baby let me sleep 'til four, the twins miraculously didn't wake when I walked past their bedroom, and I finished nursing in time to fill the bathtub with blood and light the black candles. Just a little rejuvenation before work. It always boosts my mood a little. And I knew I'd need it. Today was quarterly report. That meant delivering reports to the annex. That meant talking to HR. That meant... *Kevin.*
I knew he'd be trouble the first time I saw him, four years ago. I clocked him instantly. With that little smirky smile, those slightly too-tight dress shirts over a lean gym-rat body, those incredibly well-tended eyebrows... Kevin was one of *us.* A warlock. Our rivalry was cemented in those first few moments.
"Oh, hang on, honey," he'd said, stepping forward to hold the door, "let me help you with that. You look like you need it."
He didn't have to say, out loud, for the normies, what we both heard: *you look like you need all the help you can get.* I could even see his perceptions flickering in the air behind him. Pictures of me-- unflattering pictures! My soft body, my frazzled frizzy hair, my pilled pink dress with the spit-up stain... all my imperfections highlighted and exaggerated, seen through his eyes. He knew what he'd done, that little prick! He quirked his eyebrows at me and *I knew he knew I knew!*
It only got worse from there. We traded passive-aggressive barbs in meetings, little digs in the hallway, whenever the normies were there. But out of sight! Crossing paths on the Astral Plane, or in the empty break room, or in the shadow-filled geometry of the basement stacks-- so easy to manipulate-- we let each other *have it.* Kevin waited until I was the last to leave the seventh-story conference room, then teleported me outside the window glass. I summoned an imp to invisibly prick him with pins during his end-of-year presentation. Kevin beseeched Yog-Sogoth to make tentacles shoot out of my computer terminal. I forced him to dance on red-hot shoes during his entire smoke break. And so it went. For four long years.
As I walked into the office, I patted my pockets, snapped open my purse, and double-checked my messy bun. Yes. The smudge bundles were ready, the counterhex totem in place, and I'd remembered the thrice-accursed human-hide hair tie.
"Let's see you come for me now, you miserable bastard," I muttered under my breath.
"Oh no, sweetie," Kevin's voice boomed, preternaturally loud. "*I'm* not the miserable one here. I mean, have you *seen* those eye bags? I know being hideous old hags is like, y'all's whole thing, but *Jesus*. Have some mercy on the rest of us."
"What the fuck!" I barked. "Kevin?" I spun around, scanned the parking lot, looked behind me. No one in sight. Hoping that no normies watched from the office windows, I cast a quick revealing spell. Was he invisible?
"Oooh, nice try, but no," Kevin's voice said. "Invisibility is way passe. Speaking of, did you do something new with your hair?"
"So this is your plan this year?" I snapped. I frantically rustled through my purse, looking for the countermagic focus. Maybe he was targeting me with a ranged spell. "Drive me up the wall with second-rate snarkiness? I'm used to dealing with children, Kevin. I'm pretty sure I can just ignore you."
"You know, I'm sure you can!" Kevin said, in a patronizing voice that made me grind my teeth a little harder. "But why not come inside and find me first? You have to drop those reports to me by two, you know!"
Muttering hexes furiously under my breath, I took two big steps to the door and flung it open. Of course. The reception lobby was gone, replaced by a yawning chasm *reeking* of rotten eggs. In the distance, someone was screaming. I closed my eyes, centered myself, and dismissed the dimension binding. When I opened my eyes, the reception was back to normal. The building security guard quirked an eyebrow at me as I strode past, focusing on the two crab-headed things scuttling out of the men's restroom. With a flick of my wrist, I banished one and teleported the other into the sewers. I'd deal with that later.
"Oh, Katherine! Thank goodness you're here!"
I pulled up short, pivoting as Jen-- my supervisor's assistant-- hurried up next to me. "Listen, I just got an email from Sam in Accounts. There's a problem with--"
"There's a problem with Sam's latest fad diet. Don't tell me you haven't noticed. People aren't supposed to be that thin," Kevin's voice broke in, completely drowning out Jen.
I froze, horrified. Wait, did Jen see that on my face? I closed my mouth, nodded, leaned forward. I tried to look engaged and attentive, and also gain instant lip-reading skills, or remember any spells relating to lip-reading, as Kevin's gossip filled my ears. What was Jen saying? It looked important.
"-and anyway, I've always said, a diet is a good defense but a well-fitting outfit is a good offense," Kevin drawled. "Body positivity. It's in this year, and..."
I choked back rage as Jen nodded and went her way. Whatever she'd said, I missed it.
"Kevin, when I find me, so help you goddess," I whispered furiously. He did it twice more before I made it to my office-- completely taking over my conversation with a coworker.
And then I opened my office door, and almost started crying. It was a disaster. Literally. The cubicle was replaced by a vast field and an open, stormy sky. A low roar filled the air. In the distance, I could see an enormous funnel cloud stretching towards the earth. And, ten feet away from the door, my office-mate sat typing away obliviously. What had Kevin *done?*
| 2021-11-15T13:12:56 | 2021-11-15T12:52:09 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] A man who has had no knowledge of religion meets both God and the Devil. He is the chosen one who decides whether God or the Devil inherits the Earth. The problem is, he cannot tell which is which.
|
"So let me get this straight. *You*" he pointed at the devil. "Cause all of our suffering. And *you*" he pointed at God. "let him".
"Well, yeah..."
"That's the gist of it"
The man thought for a moment "You know what: fuck the both of you. Neither inherits the earth, it belongs to us"
|
"Really? No one? Not even once?" The gentleman in the white suit looked positively mortified. "I mean I never assumed the clarion would be one of the faithful, but you honestly couldn't give a guess as to who we are?"
I gave it a thought, even turned my head to make sure the two got a good look at me thinking real hard. Then I shook my head. I never heard of either one of them. They had gone through a good long list of names they said they go by, a longer list than I ever heard, but not a one of them really rang a bell. I told them I knew some Jims, and if one of their names had ever been Jim I could sure tell them I knew a Jim. Now they both looked at me like I had forgotten my pants at home. I looked. I had them on.
"I guess this will be more fair than either one of us expected, old friend." The lady who seemed to be wearing light itself stepped down from the stage. She was talking to the old man, but keept looking at me like she was listening to a really funny joke.
I laughed nervously.
The older gentleman adjusted his tie and cleared his throat with the sound of thunder, then gave me a serious look. "What's important is that you know how to tell a liar when you see one. Armed with that, this world will return safely to my hands."
The lady blew an exaggerated raspberry, "If that's how this is going to be determined, they should know you've invented the practice."
The man did not seem impressed. "They will see what they have always seen, with or without your colorful philosophical hattricks."
"For example!" the woman interrupted. "Only one of us has ever had one of you children kill someone."
"Really? Are we going there right now?" The man removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.
"Out of vanity!" The woman held out her hand. She was very beautiful. It was hard for me to look at her. "Now, I would never ask you to do anything for me. I believe every one of you children should be able to make informed decisions. You have the freedom of choice."
"You never even liked them. You said they we're imperfect. A mistake, I believe, was your word. Now, I will admit, I may have been a little... inconsistent in my treatment of y'all, but that is no reason to label me as evil."
"What would you say is the nature of our relationship then? Good and evil? Chaos and law? Creator and created? We've made our agreement not to interfere and you're just mad that your little cheats haven't skewed the contest." The luminous lady turned back to me. "It was my idea to stop fighting. It was getting messy for you children, and I didn't want any more of you hurt for the sake of our little fight."
The gentleman lifted an eyebrow. "You mean you were losing."
I tried to catch their attention by raising my hand. When they both stopped bickering and turned to look at me, I asked if they couldn't share. I said they probably had plenty of fans, they could just divide up and play nice.
"Even if we could, what would we do about you, child? What about your immortal soul?" The woman's concern was plain.
I told her I've gone a good long time not too worried about there being something after death, and that I supposed it didn't matter much what happened.
"You'd like to see your loved ones, though, right? The ones that have passed on?" The older gentleman's tone meant I was forgetting something.
I explained to the nice man that me and them haven't really spoke in a while, on account of them being dead, so I suppose it would be a bit much to expect that their lives are just the same as it was when they left. I've had to move on, so I'd hope they would get on without me. At least I hoped so.
"Someone has to win, though. Someone was right all along, or did the best job making their case." The gentleman seemed to be sweating.
I told them about my coach and how she says that a race is never about beating the other racers, but about being the best you that you can be.
The woman 's mouth opened but she didn't talk.
The man started to laugh. "Looks like this one never got a taste of that apple. I can't believe-"
"You did this, you uptight, sarcastic, prideful- you probably had this set up from the start. I had plans for finally taking control back. I had my son so ready to shove that self-indulgent smirk right up your-"
"Please, old friend, we have an innocent among us. Just like they said, you have your worshipers and I have mine."
"Yours are wrong."
I asked if I could go home, but they just kept arguing.
| 2015-08-05T23:20:20 | 2015-08-05T23:18:05 | 62 | 19 |
[WP]There is no prompt. Just write a story you've always been thinking about or one you've been thinking about sharing. Anything goes.
|
"There is no prompt. Just write a story you've always been thinking about, or one you've been thinking about sharing. Anything goes."
The old man looked at me, and gave a knowing wink. They were the words that I'd needed to hear. I had been looking all over for inspiration from other people. For people to give me the start, or the theme. I'd even visited Reddit's writing prompts. But he was right. There is no prompt. You just have to write. So I went home, and wrote. I wrote tales of gods and demons, tales of men who could fly, tales of love, loss, hate and every other emotion I could think of. It wasn't enough. I had to write more. I needed to.
The old man's words drove me, and I went to publishers with my works. They hated them. I was deflated, but not broken. I could still do this. The man had known, known that I was a writer, suffering from that problem. So I wrote about a kindly old man, who knew things. Who went around, and told people what they needed to hear. For me he had no name, for to put a crude label on one so great was a crime.
This time one publisher said that they would put the book out there, but that I shouldn't expect it to make me a lot of money. I didn't mind, I would improve. I was already writing my next book. It was drawn from my darkest dreams, and seemed to flow out of me on its own accord. I was astounded, and the publishers loved it too. I wrote a sequel, then a third, the a whole saga. I wove a complex universe, and became a celebrated author. I had book signings, I sold the film rights to a successful director, and he put my world on the big screen.
I was unstoppable. I wrote more and more. I found a guy who liked me for more than my books. We started going out. He asked me what my secret was. How the hell did I write so well. Was there some sort of prompt that I used.
"There is no prompt. Just write a story you've always been thinking about, or one you've been thinking about sharing. Anything goes."
I echoed the words that I had heard so long ago. And soon my boyfriend was writing some short children's stories. We were happy, and eventually, I proposed to him. He said yes. The wedding was beautiful, and we now live with our adopted daughter. Today is the day our first joint novel is released. It starts with a quote: 'There is no prompt. Just write a story you've always been thinking about, or one you've been thinking about sharing. Anything goes.'
We hope to inspire new authors the world over. We're holding a book signing in our home city, and we're expecting a good turnout. It's all going well, and just before I take a break for lunch, a kindly, elderly gentleman approaches the desk, with two books. Our first, and my first. He looks at me, and I recognise him.
"I know that it's a little unusual, but would you mind signing both of these?"
Of course, I can't refuse him. I'm just surprised that he's still alive after all this time.
"Don't be surprised, son, I've been inspiring people's passions, pushing them down the right path for a long time. But always remember, that even if I gave you the first push, you were the one who walked the path, you were the one who made this all. I wish you, and your family, the best of luck in your days, and a peaceful rest after."
I numbly sign the books, and as he leaves, I call out after him.
"If you ever need my help, please, don't hesitate to ask."
He nods in acknowledgement, and leaves. I would meet him once more. Only once, as I lay dying, in a hospital bed. My husband would have been taken from me years earlier, and my daughter would be married with a child on the way. My daughter and her husband would be at my side, and he would walk in. He would look to me, and to my daughter, and finally to my son-in-law. And then he would speak.
"Do not worry, your father shall not suffer, for he promised that if there were ever anything he could do for me, he would. I am here to ask just one thing of him. Please, old friend, be at peace."
And, in spite of everything, I would be.
This is my first story, I hope that you guys like it, and any feedback would be welcome.
|
"Here it is." I say as I pull out the picture in my bedroom drawer.
I look behind to find my best friend, Shawn, looking at me skeptically.
A lot of people always calls us brothers especially back during elementary. He and I have short black hair and slightly lean builds, though he gained a little plump a couple years later. Now 'best friends' sounds better on us.
"Please don't judge, Shawn," I say with a sigh, "I told you I'll tell you more when get into it."
His expression doesn't change but he willingly walks up to me and slings an arm over my shoulder. I hold the image up to over eye level.
"Just follow my lead and stare into the photo." I say, looking back at him to make sure that he keeps his eyes on it before focusing.
Slowly, the photo begins getting brighter and starts pulsating as I start to hear voices. I just hope that Shawn doesn't chicken out in the middle of this. Eventually, the photo turns into a bright flash of light.
When it fades, I slowly adjust to my new surroundings. Pretty much what you would expect from a new mall, lots of stalls, behind me is an advertisement about something opening in the city.
"Whoa..." I turn to the direction of the voice to find a guy around his early twenties, a couple inches taller than me, and looks at his arms in amazement and confusion. It doesn't take long for him to notice me staring at him.
"Connor...?" He asks doubtfully.
I immediately nod at him with a smile.
He walks up to me with a completely dumbfounded expression on his face, he reaches out his hand to my face but I grab it by the wrist.
"Yes, it's me, Shawn," I scold him in my new voice, "don't be weird about it, we're in a mall."
"D-dude, I just... I know I had my doubts about whatever you said you could do but now that I'm actually in it is just..." He stops to make a gesture of him shooting his brains out. Honestly, it looks totally bizarre seeing someone other than Shawn doing it, or maybe I'm just used to seeing him do it in his real body.
Looking down, I find a phone on the floor, I reach down to pick it up. When I flip it over, the phone shows the image I used to get me and Shawn here. I immediately turn off the passcode setting on it before handing it over to Shawn. I've been to this moment a couple of times, it took some trial and error before I could memorize the passcode on our new phones.
He smiles like a kid getting their favorite candy and takes it off my hands, "No bullshit, this is actually mine, right?"
"Well, technically, it's belongs to the body your..." I cut myself off while shaking my head, "Yes, it is. Just don't make me go into detail about this, okay?"
"Wait a minute..." Shawn mutters as he checks his phone, "2014? Did we like, time travel? Or it is just my phone going nuts?"
"Well here goes..."
"I don't just send our minds into our people's bodies, we're also sent back to the exact time the photo was taken."
His face lights up at the thought of time travel. "So, we can like change our pasts? Dude, this power of yours..."
I cut him off right there, "It doesn't work like that. Whatever we do now doesn't change the future. We're just hitchhikers of this time period."
He seems disappointed but it quickly fades away. "So how long can we stay in here?"
I shake my head, "I don't actually know to be honest, I've always stayed in a photo for at least an hour or two. There's got to be boundaries to my powers but I'm not taking any risks."
He pats me in the back, "So let's enjoy all the time we have!"
...
I have been in this photo a couple of times by myself, so I always had to play Joshua with Karl (the guy who's currently Shawn). So it was a strange mix of euphoria, bizarreness, and camaraderie when I could be myself as Connor while being Joshua at the same time.
The photos were like a save state, everything happening in that moment were maintained until someone travels back into it. For example, hunger. I initially thought the hunger was just Joshua's problem in this moment but when Shawn suggested that we should eat lunch, turns out Karl was hungry too but didn't bring it up, or they both ate after I left this moment.
"So when did you discover your ability?" Shawn asks me before taking a bite out of a pizza slice.
I didn't respond as I stare at the pizza toppings. I left it to Shawn to pick what he wanted on it. But I'm slightly regretting that decision.
Shellfish.
I've always been allergic to shellfish the aftermath wasn't life-threatening but it was always a burden. The sensation of internal swelling gives me nightmares.
I didn't realize that I was staring at pizza long enough for Shawn to notice.
"Wait... You haven't realized?" He remarks.
"Realized what?"
"Dude, you don't have Connor's allergies anymore. Joshua never had any, right?"
It was weird that he referred both 'me's' in the third person but his point stands. Allergies go with the body not the mind, so I'm not allergic to shellfish right now.
I was hesitant when he grabs a fresh slice and leaves it on my plate. Looking at Shawn, he's literally waiting for me to take a bite out of it.
I knew that he was right but for some reason I was scared. I didn't want to deal with an allergic reaction when we're having the time of our lives, yet his argument keeps nagging me in the face.
'One small bite,' I thought to myself.
I was still a kid when I found out about my allergies, so this was getting out of my comfort zone.
It was a really wimpy attempt, I took a bite with my eyes closed. The taste of cheese was dominant but there was a taste of meat albeit it was salty, like sea salt salty, for some reason it goes pretty well with it.
"Well, how's your experience with shellfish for the first time in years?" He says triumphantly.
There was still that hovering fear of my allergies kicking in, but I wasn't going to give him the time in the sun. So I took another bite, and another... Until I finished the slice. When I did, I haven't thought about my fear at all.
"I completely forgot how it was, Ka... Shawn." I correct myself.
He leans forward a bit, "C'mon, get into character, Josh." He mutters audibly to me.
Honestly, being called 'Josh' felt really natural, I think it's because I've travelled to different moments of his life already. Reason? I found a box containing a lot of photos of random and relevant moments of his life after we moved in.
I lean forward too, "You can stop leaning now, SK."
He leans back and laughs mildly, "Shawn Karl... I kinda like the sound of that, CJ." He retaliates.
"I don't think Connor John really clicks," I rebut.
"You got me there."
"Ha! So I get another slice from your half." I say and grab the slice but Shawn stops me.
"Like hell, I'm gonna let you do that."
"Yeah, well a big guy's gotta eat." I'm older than him by a few months.
To my surprise, he pulls out his phone and shows me the picture we to jump in. "This picture says that I'm taller and older."
"Dammit." I mutter. "Touché."
We laughed it off in the end. But he actually gets away with a slice from my half while was telling him my other stories from my previous visits. I didn't notice until I wanted to grab a slice and realizing it was gone.
"You win this round, Karl." I admit.
He slouches back on his seat, "What now, Josh?"
"I guess we should head back. Let's not risk it."
"How are we gonna head back?" He asks.
"The same way we got in."
He pulls out his phone and shows me the picture. He slings his arm just like before, we both stare into the photo and the exact same thing happens. The next thing we knew, we were back in my bedroom.
Another thing about my ability is that time doesn't pass when we travel. But needless to say, Shawn's mentally exhausted from the experience.
He sighs, "Back to being short and young again."
"It was worth it though."
"Yes. Yes it was, Joshua."
"Okay, I think you had one slice too many back there."
He laughs out loud but says goodbye to me shortly afterwards.
"Another round, next time?" He asks.
I smile. "Definitely."
---
It's just something I wrote from a prompt I found after lurking for sometime.
| 2016-09-11T11:04:25 | 2016-09-11T10:10:49 | 30 | 11 |
[WP] Most space fairing species are logical beings; when they learn that nothing can go faster than the speed of light they accept it and deal with that limit. The space community is then shocked when Humans, an illogical species with a strong obsession with science fiction, turn up with FTL travel.
(FTL meaning faster than light)
|
The message was strangely shifted. First into the blue, as if it was coming at them very quickly, and then red, as if it was leaving very quickly. But when it was near, the message was clear.
And, it was apparent, very self-congratulatory.
"WE DID IT WE DID IT WE DID IT! Alcubierre drive! Details follow on 91.1 Megahertz! Message repeats!"
They were sharing how they did it, in a fashion that required minimal linguistic translation. They were sharing, freely, how to build this Alcubierre drive.
The humans had built a power station in front of their sun - not uncommon. They used it to beam power at their worlds and starships, and it was good.
Then they built a bigger one. A much bigger one. They had built a superconducting ring around their star - the intent being at first "Well, maybe we'll need to generate a magnetic field to force the solar wind in a direction. To. You know. Push the Sun."
This was the first indication this was a crazed species.
Then this ring was developed further into a particle accelerator. Intent: Generate exotic matter.
It had the power. They had the time. And somehow, the crazy bastards made it work. A material with negative mass. A few hundred kilograms of the stuff, and the space-warp drive was now no longer a theoretical possibility, but was being demonstrated.
In the *most* annoying fashion possible.
Imagine, if you would, in your human mind, a large truck, beeping it's horn, with people in it's cargo bay shouting lots of things very loudly.
**Is cargo bay the right term? I'm frankly not certain. Editor, please look into this before publishing to human-space.**
That was the human run around the galaxy. This was the start of one of the most confusing eras of the galaxy. There were suddenly now *neighbours*. And they all lived a lot closer than we were comfortable with.
|
\- The space congress has started - says Huhzbi the current leader of the space congress for scientific development and logic, while a computer translator translates to English - and we are here to welcome our new members, self named earthlings, representing the Star System Y896, Galaxy U7 of the cuadrant B4, or Solarians, despite their relative short lifespan, biological nature, and their disastrous track record and rather primitive behavior they have managed to figure out faster than light space travel which has granted them a seat in this congress, so the session starts, any objection?
\- Objection - expresses Xzho, leader of the nomads of the galaxy U7 - we have been observing these creatures, they are wild, they destroyed many of our ships when we requested for an alliance and then covered it up because they couldn't deal with the truth, we would reject any new member of this congress that hasn't been elevated to be a civilization of type 3; and we refuse to accept this new member without an explanation on how their FTL mechanism works, what do we exactly win? it has been proved to be impossible, you are telling me these... "earthlungs" or whatever they call themselves now, were able to come up with the impossible.
Suddenly the congress turns into a messy state, as everyone starts pointing arguments to each other; without getting anywhere, lights flashed as the beings that communicated via photons expressed their ideas, pressure waves came and hit the oxygen filled extremely warm box where Lærke, representant of the earthlings was situated.
\- Silence - says Huhzbi, while silence was not the best term, it was the best the computer translator could come with to express the idea to Lærke - we need to get how it works from them.
\- Any attempt has failed - says Irmjoj - humans have destroyed many planets from our system already by mining them from resources, we are not even sure how they have arrived to those planets, but we managed to capture one of their devices and it makes no sense, it's literally just a box of nothing, it doesn't have motors, fuel, or anything at all, it's a pressurized, warm metal box filled with nothing.
\- Please Stop - Ithnana was losing her cool, she (as if she had a gender) was the director of development of the Uhni supercluster - let the earthling talk - now she looks at the Lærke - human talk.
\- Look I am just the prime minister of Denmark, why am I here exactly?...
\- Are you saying you don't know how your transportation device works?...
\- I am not a theologist, how do you want me to know? I am in charge of Denmark and any planet colonies related, I accepted to come here as Representative of Denmark not as the Representative of the human race.
\- What is a Denmark?...
\- It's a country, member of the Eurasian uni... you know what, nevermind, do you want to talk to a theologist?...
Lærke picks up her phone, and calls someone, the crowd can only hear.
\- I need you here, right now... yes... no... just hurry up... - Lærke continues talking.
\- Aren't we like 3 million light years away from the closest human settlement? - softly whispers Ithnana to Huhzbi. - hold on a minute, how did they arrive here in the first place? they aren't using entangled particles!... she is physically here.
\- Alright alright - Lærke finishes the call, now she redirects herself to the crowd - Alright, our theologist is coming.
\- Coming when?...
\- He is in the toilet, give him 2 minutes.
\- What is a toilet?...
Lærke rolls her eyes.
\- Mohammed Andersen is here!... - suddenly he pops inside the same glass bubble that the prime minister was in.
The crowd freaks out.
\- Was that? Instant teleportation?...
\- Ehm, yes... - says Mohammed - you see, I assume I am here to explain how all of this works.
\- Yes - says Huhzbi.
\- You won't be able to use it anyway you'll see - Mohammed starts talking - your world is limited by science and all this stuff, but it just happens that God has chosen us; this universe isn't real, it's a simulation, most likely a videogame, running in some kid's computer.
\- Wait WHAT?... that doesn't make any sense, how did you figure all that out, you cannot communicate outside of the universe, you cannot check which kind of simulation this is, you cannot do...
\- Well, you can, they can see us, we can't see them; but you see, the world is either glitchy or you can cheat, just happened that by random chance, someone guessed right, he was actually schizophrenic, he spent all the time speaking to God and doing random garbage, and somehow, one day he managed to create cardboard boxes that travelled faster than light and he put the hospital's cat in it; as you see, he was so illogic and irrational, that he managed to find a glitch in the matrix, or maybe he was the glitch in the matrix, we don't know, all we know, is that one day he came up with that, and then the hospital blew up and everyone died, we think he activated a cheat code, he was speaking really long sentences that made no sense; the next day, every single one in the area, and every cat nearby, was able to create, boxes that travel faster than the speed of light; but none else, I was one of those people around, at first we thought it was America's bombing again, but...
\- Mohammed cut it, you said enough - said Lærke.
\- So this is just an error in the universe - says Huhzbi - you are not gifted or anything, you just happened to be so stupid, and have humans so brain damaged, they somehow broke the rules of space time, be so because he activated some cheat code or glitch; this is so stupid, it makes no sense, but we just saw how this guy teleported in front of us; this is so irrational.
\- Yes, God has chosen us - says Mohammed - whoever was playing this videogame is back after a 2000 year rest.
\- Look Huhzbi - says Lærke - the time of those cats and people is limited, we have already lost 40 of the 300 people that are able to do this, mostly to other people, but we realize, your species have the secret to immortality, so I want a deal, in exchange you get a cat, we get immortality.
| 2019-12-21T08:37:06 | 2019-12-21T06:51:26 | 304 | 67 |
[WP] Most space fairing species are logical beings; when they learn that nothing can go faster than the speed of light they accept it and deal with that limit. The space community is then shocked when Humans, an illogical species with a strong obsession with science fiction, turn up with FTL travel.
(FTL meaning faster than light)
|
You know that moment when you finally get the right answer on a math problem, but the teacher tells you you did it the wrong way? That’s how the humans did things.
Every time they made a major advancement, we would have to tell them that they did it wrong. It could be done much more efficiently if they did it the right way.
The humans seemed to take this well. They would heed our advice, and get to the answer the right way.
It was their backwards thinking that caused this. They always started at a solution and worked their way back. This always caused their methods to seem more like a loophole in physics rather than an advancement in it. I suppose we could have seen it coming.
Because while the human’s loopholes were often inefficient, they were still loopholes. Sometimes, they got lucky, and the loopholes would be a little more efficient. That was the best that could come of it.
That’s what we thought when we caught wind of their faster than light attempts. Every time they thought they had an answer, large groups would gather to see the spectacle. Every time, we would see their solution, and laugh at how roundabout it was. Every time, we could quickly see how it would fail. And then it would.
After long enough, the attempts became uninteresting, and people stopped watching. We would just occasionally hear about some new idiotic scheme they were attempting.
Then, one day, at the scheduled meeting of the all sapient species, the humans appeared to be running late. We sent warning calls to the humans about the consequences of missing the meeting. We had no response.
The hours leading up to the meeting went by, and we received no contact from the humans. We decided it was best to begin without them.
In the few minutes before the meeting began, a massive energy was detected just outside of the station. We were afraid that we were under attack, but when we looked to see what caused it, we found the impossible.
A standard human carrier ship was just outside the station.
“This is commander Charleston representing humanity. I apologize if we worried anyone, but we really didn’t want to travel for 8 months to get here.”
Edit: Formatting
|
\- The space congress has started - says Huhzbi the current leader of the space congress for scientific development and logic, while a computer translator translates to English - and we are here to welcome our new members, self named earthlings, representing the Star System Y896, Galaxy U7 of the cuadrant B4, or Solarians, despite their relative short lifespan, biological nature, and their disastrous track record and rather primitive behavior they have managed to figure out faster than light space travel which has granted them a seat in this congress, so the session starts, any objection?
\- Objection - expresses Xzho, leader of the nomads of the galaxy U7 - we have been observing these creatures, they are wild, they destroyed many of our ships when we requested for an alliance and then covered it up because they couldn't deal with the truth, we would reject any new member of this congress that hasn't been elevated to be a civilization of type 3; and we refuse to accept this new member without an explanation on how their FTL mechanism works, what do we exactly win? it has been proved to be impossible, you are telling me these... "earthlungs" or whatever they call themselves now, were able to come up with the impossible.
Suddenly the congress turns into a messy state, as everyone starts pointing arguments to each other; without getting anywhere, lights flashed as the beings that communicated via photons expressed their ideas, pressure waves came and hit the oxygen filled extremely warm box where Lærke, representant of the earthlings was situated.
\- Silence - says Huhzbi, while silence was not the best term, it was the best the computer translator could come with to express the idea to Lærke - we need to get how it works from them.
\- Any attempt has failed - says Irmjoj - humans have destroyed many planets from our system already by mining them from resources, we are not even sure how they have arrived to those planets, but we managed to capture one of their devices and it makes no sense, it's literally just a box of nothing, it doesn't have motors, fuel, or anything at all, it's a pressurized, warm metal box filled with nothing.
\- Please Stop - Ithnana was losing her cool, she (as if she had a gender) was the director of development of the Uhni supercluster - let the earthling talk - now she looks at the Lærke - human talk.
\- Look I am just the prime minister of Denmark, why am I here exactly?...
\- Are you saying you don't know how your transportation device works?...
\- I am not a theologist, how do you want me to know? I am in charge of Denmark and any planet colonies related, I accepted to come here as Representative of Denmark not as the Representative of the human race.
\- What is a Denmark?...
\- It's a country, member of the Eurasian uni... you know what, nevermind, do you want to talk to a theologist?...
Lærke picks up her phone, and calls someone, the crowd can only hear.
\- I need you here, right now... yes... no... just hurry up... - Lærke continues talking.
\- Aren't we like 3 million light years away from the closest human settlement? - softly whispers Ithnana to Huhzbi. - hold on a minute, how did they arrive here in the first place? they aren't using entangled particles!... she is physically here.
\- Alright alright - Lærke finishes the call, now she redirects herself to the crowd - Alright, our theologist is coming.
\- Coming when?...
\- He is in the toilet, give him 2 minutes.
\- What is a toilet?...
Lærke rolls her eyes.
\- Mohammed Andersen is here!... - suddenly he pops inside the same glass bubble that the prime minister was in.
The crowd freaks out.
\- Was that? Instant teleportation?...
\- Ehm, yes... - says Mohammed - you see, I assume I am here to explain how all of this works.
\- Yes - says Huhzbi.
\- You won't be able to use it anyway you'll see - Mohammed starts talking - your world is limited by science and all this stuff, but it just happens that God has chosen us; this universe isn't real, it's a simulation, most likely a videogame, running in some kid's computer.
\- Wait WHAT?... that doesn't make any sense, how did you figure all that out, you cannot communicate outside of the universe, you cannot check which kind of simulation this is, you cannot do...
\- Well, you can, they can see us, we can't see them; but you see, the world is either glitchy or you can cheat, just happened that by random chance, someone guessed right, he was actually schizophrenic, he spent all the time speaking to God and doing random garbage, and somehow, one day he managed to create cardboard boxes that travelled faster than light and he put the hospital's cat in it; as you see, he was so illogic and irrational, that he managed to find a glitch in the matrix, or maybe he was the glitch in the matrix, we don't know, all we know, is that one day he came up with that, and then the hospital blew up and everyone died, we think he activated a cheat code, he was speaking really long sentences that made no sense; the next day, every single one in the area, and every cat nearby, was able to create, boxes that travel faster than the speed of light; but none else, I was one of those people around, at first we thought it was America's bombing again, but...
\- Mohammed cut it, you said enough - said Lærke.
\- So this is just an error in the universe - says Huhzbi - you are not gifted or anything, you just happened to be so stupid, and have humans so brain damaged, they somehow broke the rules of space time, be so because he activated some cheat code or glitch; this is so stupid, it makes no sense, but we just saw how this guy teleported in front of us; this is so irrational.
\- Yes, God has chosen us - says Mohammed - whoever was playing this videogame is back after a 2000 year rest.
\- Look Huhzbi - says Lærke - the time of those cats and people is limited, we have already lost 40 of the 300 people that are able to do this, mostly to other people, but we realize, your species have the secret to immortality, so I want a deal, in exchange you get a cat, we get immortality.
| 2019-12-21T11:39:06 | 2019-12-21T06:51:26 | 187 | 67 |
[WP] You're a 911 operator who receives a strange call. The caller warns the police to stop answering the phone, as that's how "they" spread. They hang up before you can learn what this means, and you dismiss it as a prank. However, minutes later, you find your coworkers staring at you.
|
“Whatever you do, you have to stop answering the phones. Do you understand?” The man sounds frantic. “If you don’t answer the phone, they can’t hurt you. You have to believe me!“
“What are you talking about? What can’t hurt me? Did they hurt you?” The line goes dead.
I’m used to prank calls — you think people would take emergency lines seriously, but there’s always some teenagers who think it’s funny — so I brush it off and keep going about my business. It’s been a fairly quiet night so far, and it’s a few minutes before the next call comes in. I can hear Candice talking to someone in the next booth over, and she sounds confused. That usually means the call will take a bit longer, so I answer this one.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hello…? I think I need help.” The voice on the other line is a young girl, maybe four or five. Her voice is even, more concerned that afraid.
“Of course, I’m happy to help. Is there a grown-up around I can talk to?”
“Well, my mom is here, but she’s real sick. She was on the phone with her friend, and then she started acting funny. I think she might be hurt.”
“Can you put her on?”
“No, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Her eyes started bleeding while she was talking last time. I think she’s probably allergic to phones or something.”
Normally, I would have brushed that off, but the girl says it so resolutely, without even a hint of joking or doubt. She seems to have no opinion on it. It is not interesting or strange or amusing to her that an adult would do something like that, it simply is. I glance over to Candice, trying to get her attention; she is hunched far over her desk, probably asleep.
“I see. Well, is she hurt right now? Is that why you called?”
“No, that’s not why. I don’t really know why I called. I just feel like I need help, and my mom said to call 911 if I ever need help. I would ask her but she’s asleep right now.”
I wipe my eye a bit. My vision is blurring a bit. Must be a headache. I’ll take my migraine meds after this call.
“Okay, well where are you?”
I look over towards Candice again. She hasn’t moved. Aaron is staring at me. He looks terrified, disoriented. His eyes are bleeding. I see Nick peering over the divider in front of me. His blood-soaked eyes look so happy, bizarrely happy. I look down at my fingers and see they have red streaks on them. It seems I've been crying too, though I don't know why.
A soft, gentle voice comes through the speaker. “It’s okay, Mark. I know you’re afraid now.” Everything is happening so fast and so slow all at once. I’m confused, how does the girl know my name, and where is the blood coming from, and why does my head hurt so much, and why is everyone looking at me and looking at Aaron and looking and Candice and why does the girl need help and
“Mark, I need you to focus, okay?” The little girl’s voice brings me back. I struggle to focus through the pulsing of my head, but I will manage. “You need to focus, or you won’t be able to help me. It’s your job to help me, right?”
“What… Yes. Yes, that’s my job.” I can barely see now. My vision is like I’m underwater, but tinted dark red. Everything hurts. I see James walking down the hall. He’s fumbling with his phone, trying to dial it.
The girl speaks again. “Good. That’s good. Then I need you to make a call for me.”
She tells me the number and hangs up. I didn’t write it down, but I remember it, it resonating in my mind like the words of God himself, and I know I will never forget that number. My vision is blurred with blood, but my mind is clear. I hear now.
The phones are ringing off the hook. I can hear them all, the ones in this room, the ones next door, the ones five miles from here. Such a beautiful chorus. They sing of peace, of harmony, of the Great Arrival. Elation pours over me, for now I have purpose, I have meaning deeper and more crucial than any I have felt before. I can help people. The beating in my head reaches a crescendo, but I feel no pain, for I am a harbinger of Salvation, and for those that are lost, Salvation is just a phone call away.
|
As the clock ticked away, I kept staring at the little ant dragging the crumb of donut I had this morning across the table. What strength it must have. A real worker. Leaning my face on my hand, my eyes were waging a losing battle with gravity. Things have always been slow and quiet in this town. Sure, it's a beautiful place and the pay is nice, but having to wake up every morning merely to sit on an annoyingly squeaky chair not achieving anything worthwhile is just soul crushing. Last time that anything signficant happened was when old Mr. Wilson called in asking for someone to take him to his medical appointment because his car was out of gas. Some heroic work we did. What a waste. My wife and I were always the type to be interested in adventures. So, how did things end up like this? This isn't what I wanted. It sometimes feels like the world is pulling a fast one on me. Like it's out to get me by taking away the joy out of my existence. The Mrs. says I should stop having these fantasies and "grow up" instead. Accept the reality of things, that sort of thing. But, this reality is a joke. A terrible joke that makes me feel like weeping... I don't really... know...
​
"Daniel! Daniel!! Answer the bloody thing, damn it." said a loud voice.
​
I jolted up in my seat and turned my head to my right with ringing in my ears. Hank, my old coworker, had a bewildered and angry look on his face as if he's not sure whether to keep yelling or to give up on me. I fell asleep yet again, and boy does he hate it when that happens. Hank has always been a stern kind of guy who takes any job he does way too seriously. A Vet to the bone. I suddenly realize the ringing I hear isn't from Hank's lovely shouting, but from the phone. It seems from his expression it's been ringing since even before he came into the room. The caller was persistent.
​
"Oh, the phone. Right." I said as I cleared my voice before picking up the phone. I took a deep breath in and let it all out to calm myself a little before talking, "Hello? How may I hel... Er, this is 911, what's your emergency?"
"Hello? Hello?! Anyone there?!" a shaky voice that seemed somehow familiar to me answered.
"Yes, this is the police. Ma'am, please state your emergency. Is something wrong?"
"Huh? Did you say the police? I could barely hear you. Oh my god, please answer... If this is the police, can I speak with Daniel? Please, respond. Hello?"
​
I was taken aback for a moment. Someone wanted to talk to me specifically. But, who?
​
"Uh, you're talking to Daniel, ma'am. Who is this? Do you have an emergency situation? Is everything alright?" I said.
"Daniel? I think I heard you saying I'm talking to Daniel. If this is him, then please listen. DON'T TRUST ANYONE." she replied.
"I'm sorry, come again?"
"Daniel, this is not the time for you to be drowsy again. I need you to listen for one last time through that awful thing. It has already happened. What you need to do is accept it and..."
"Woah, woah, lady. Are you under the influence of any illegal substances by any chance? Will you identify yourself already? And how do you know my name? Do you actually need help or are you going to keep this up?"
"No time, Daniel. Listen to me! Please. They are out to get you. And they'll have the last laugh. You will never make it. It's all because of them! They're listening to everything. Through the phones, the walls, and while you go on your long drives, even the hikes you love. They know everything and you will be defeated! Left behind to suffer, my darling..."
"Alright. I've had enough. You have been toying with me since the beginning, with your pretending not to hear me while conveniently picking up the relevant parts like my name and telling me your weird fantasies. How do you know so much about me?! Who is this, for God's sake?! You do realize this is 911, right? I could put you in deep trouble for this, lady."
​
A stalker? I didn't know. I was fuming on the inside because of this sick joke. How did they know so much about me?! And why? But, unexpectedly, I also felt a little... sad. I couldn't tell why. It was all so strange. I was so focused on the caller that I didn't hear it at first. Hank was chuckling to himself. It was so rare to hear him laugh that it spooked me a little. As I gave brief glances at him with the stalker continuing her rants while ignoring me, I notice two of my other coworkers standing at the door with smiles on their faces. Things weren't making sense. It was supposed to be me and Hank today and no one else. As I went to hang up the phone to be rid of that lunatic woman, I heard something that put fear in my heart.
​
"... and if they are laughing, then you don't deserve to live." the woman on the phone said before the dial tone was dead.
​
I put down the phone, and the men in the room burst into laughter. My heart beat fast as if to escape my chest. I turned to them to face them. Hank was staring at me with a serious face but giggling like a jester, and the other two had the same expression and laughter.
​
"Wha.. what is the matter? Why are you.. laughing?" I said, "Is something funny to you? Were you the ones who made her call me and say all of that? Real funny, guys.. You were the ones, right?"
​
They didn't answer except by nodding their heads left and right to indicate how wrong I was. Their laughter seemed to be too intense for a practical joke. Too strong to be in good fun. It was like when a person laughs at their unfortunate circumstances in desperate situations. A laughter so gut wrenching and genuine that it could be mistaken for weeping. I didn't know what to say. It was surreal. I remembered what she told me. Do not trust anyone. Are they laughing at me? But, what did I do to deserve it? I... I've been their coworker for years. Yes. I helped Hank with his junk car many times even though he could just buy a new one easily. So stubborn. Why would he laugh at me? I always tried to earn his respect, get him to appreciate me. I am a good person... I don't deserve this treatment, do I? My father never let me in. And now even Hank... Oh, Maria, my love. I feel bad. Please, help me. I can't take this. They are staring at me like they don't understand why I'm looking at them, but I keep hearing them. I hear them laughing. They're all laughing at me! I have done great things in my life. I achieved things others can only dream of... Like how I ended up with Maria even though the guys always fought for her attention, or how many friends I have, or the time I fought in that war, I am a Vet afterall, or the PhD I got, or learning to fly a helicopter... or was it a plane? Nevermind. At least, I was an... astronaut... I think... I'm not sure. I don't remember... My head is hurting... It doesn't matter. I am great. I must be. People can't laugh at me... Not again. Not since leaving that awful home. I am a police phone operator for now, but I was going to keep being great. Just as soon as I save up enough money. I am not a loser, Dad. So, why do Hank, John, and James keep laughing at me?!
I feel tears welling in my eyes. Their voices keep getting louder. Putting my hands over my ears doesn't make them any quieter. I frantically take the phone to call my Maria. I need her right now. She will pick up, I know it. As I scroll in the contacts to find her name, I realize my phone isn't doing anything. It isn't... real. The phone is a cheap toy. The lights in the room started becoming very bright and everything appeared very white. I can't see well. Suddenly, someone starts talking to me. That voice... it's familiar.
​
"Lay your head down, Mr. Hansel. This will only take a minute. You know the drill, darling," she said as she stuck a needle in my arm. My mind began to become calm and quiet. The voices were beginning to fade slowly. The laughter, I could barely hear it now... As the world turned into darkness, I closed my eyes holding onto my phone waiting for my Maria to call... so we could finally... have our happy adventures...
| 2021-10-15T19:05:43 | 2021-10-15T18:08:35 | 105 | 15 |
[WP] The most sexually oblivious man on earth just so happens to be the most attractive man on earth as well. Write about his average day.
|
Josh noticed everyone was staring at him across the isle of the bus. "Huh, must be the tie. Never was good at tying ties". They kept staring though, which would've made Josh uncomfortable had he not reached his stop. As he walked through the door to the courthouse, several women dropped their briefcases. "Must have been a strong wind. It is windy today!", thought Josh. He noticed the ladies all wore nice low coat blouses. Any other guy would stare, but Josh's mother raised him right! Making sure to not at their semi-exposed bosoms, he helped them pick up their briefcases before rushing into the building. Josh headed to meet his new partner Tom. "Hey man, I'm Josh", he said as he shook Tom's hand. Tom looked wide-eyed and let out an audible "wow". Josh chuckled, "Yea, I know, it's a nice suit!"
As they entered the courtroom, everyone stood up. "No, no, I'm not the judge." Josh said. Tom looked around, having never seen such interest in a man. Before him stood a fine specimen of 6' 2", brown hair, shiny blue eyes, and ripped like a paper bag! Nearly every jaw was agape at the sight of Josh, but he seemed totally oblivious.
As the trial started, Josh began doing his job of backing up his perfect track record of never having lost a case! Every witness he cross examined clearly flirted with him, but Josh didn't seem to notice. The Judge accepted none of the prosecutor's complaints against him, not that there were many. The jury hung on his every word, many visibly fanning themselves.
After the trail, Tom congratulated Josh on such an outstanding job with the case. The prosecutor approached them after the trail and asked Josh if he'd like to get a drink sometime. Josh turned to Tom and said, "Oh man, I bet he's gonna try and convince me to spend the night. I thought people grew out of sleep overs!"
Fin
|
Paul felt sunlight that was streaming through his window warming his toes on the far end of his bed, a feeling which spread throughout the rest of his body as he arose from his slumber. Sleeping on his back, he felt the weight of his Egyptian cotton sheets suspended by the tip of his fully erect penis.
*What a silly willy*, he thought to himself as he opened his eyelids and admired the (remarkably large) teepee silhouette before him. He flexed his pelvic floor repeatedly causing the formation to wave back and forth as if to tire it, drawing forth an uncharacteristic giggle for a man of his stature.
Paul stood at six foot two inches tall and weighed an ideal 184 pounds. His feet hit the floor with soft sequential thuds as he rose to his feet and stretched his hands towards the ceiling. His flexed his muscled, causing his already apparent ab and oblique muscles to become even more apparent.
As his hands fell to his side he glanced out his window to meet the green eyed gaze from the window across the alley. Once Paul’s neighbor had realized that Paul had become aware of her presence, she held his gaze slowly lifted her right hand towards her face with her index finger extended. Her tongue darted from her mouth and lightly ran up the side of her finger and swirled around her pink polished nail.
Scarlett was Paul’s twenty-something year old lingerie model neighbor. She was extremely attractive. It wasn’t uncommon for men *and* women in her neighborhood to drop what they were doing and watch her run by during her morning jog. She had appeared on magazine covers worldwide for the past year, ranked #1 in Maxim’s Hot 100. Still, she remained deeply insecure about her appearance. Her insecurity made Paul’s appear even more perfect.
In her mind, if Scarlett could seduce a man as attractive as he is then she could feel confident that she was on his level. Thus, less than a week after she met Paul when he was moving in next door all of her bedroom furniture and clothing had been moved to the side of her townhouse which shared a window with Paul’s own bedroom. Her seduction effort, however, had been largely unsuccessful thus far.
Paul grabbedthe bottom of his vertically sliding window and lifted. Scarlett felt her loins tense and struggled to draw breath momentarily as his broad shoulders flexed and the window slid open.
“That’s really gross; do you know what germs could be on your hand?” Paul lectured, thinking of the last food handler’s permit test he had taken. During the course the administrator explained that “Toilet paper failures” were often the cause of food poisoning related to gastroenteritis.
Scarlett drew breath to respond but couldn’t find words to spend it upon. Paul’s statement was somewhat unexpected. With no ideas, she plunged her already moist index into her mouth until her knuckle met her lips. *I need him* she told herself, as she continued the vain attempt to seduce Paul.
Paul drew back in disgust and slammed his window shut. *What the fuck*. He had no doubt that her rebellious finger activity in the face of his advice would leave her glued to the toilet releasing excrement in a way most comparable to the buckshot.
He climbed into his shower and tried to wash away the image of Scarlett sucking the excrement from her finger.
-------------------------------------------------
It was a quarter to three, and Paul had already completed his errands for the day. The bills were paid, the checks were deposited, and the lawn had been mowed. Paul slumped onto his worn black leather couch and let out a deep sigh of relief. He folded his hands on behind his head and hid his eyes behind his eyelids.
Paul jumped as a loud knock erupted from his front door, a mere five feet away. After quickly gathering himself, Paul yelled, “Come in!”
Scarlett turned the brass door handle and opened the door to greet him. She wore an outfit she was certain would entice Paul’s sexual urges. A thin white polka-dot belly shirt was draped over her perky and otherwise unclothed breasts. She liked the shirt because it exposed her toned mid-section and was showing enough cleavage to make a Brooklyn alley prostitute raise her eyebrows. She had spent five minutes in the mirror verifying that her nipples could be seen through the shirt with relatively little effort. A pair of tight black leather pants and high heels were chosen to complete the overtly sexual look.
Paul had always liked Scarlett, which is why he felt compelled to ask, “Are you wearing sun screen? You should be careful exposing that much skin to the sun; you know how common skin cancer has become!”
Without hesitation Paul sat up in his chair and grabbed the bottle of SPF 50 lotion from the oak end table beside him.
“Would you get my back?” she asked, jumping at the opportunity. *Too easy* she thought, confidently.
Paul hopped out of his seat and nodded. As Scarlett turned around and slipped the shoulder straps of her top to her biceps. She hugged her breasts, causing her already lavish cleavage to demand attention knowing that Paul would be able to glimpse them from behind over her shoulders. Paul popped open the bottle of lotion and inverted it above his open palm. He squeezed lightly and bottle responded with an admirably long fart-noise.
Paul struggled to hold back his laugh, his Mother has advised him to act more mature around women.
Paul placed the bottle on the ground beside Scarlett’s black high heel and spread the lotion he had acquired between his two hands before reaching them towards Scarlett’s exposed back. He rubbed lightly, beginning at her neck moving outward onto her arms as the lather began to thin.
Before he could act to acquire the additional lotion to complete the job, Scarlett jumped at the opportunity. She bent over at the waist to grab the lotion at her feet and lightly pressed her rear into Paul’s crotch. *Bingo* she thought, as she felt Paul’s penis twitch with the contact.
“DON’T AWAKEN MR. PEE PEE!” Paul shrieked. He stumbled backwards and swiftly raised his knee to meet Scarlett’s rear. “YOU TOUCHED MR. PEE PEE AND NOW I MUST GO HIDE UNTIL HE IS NO LONGER ANGRY!” Paul exclaimd.
Scarlett was shocked by the childish tone suddenly escaping from Paul’s broad, manly chest.
----------------
I’ve run out of time, which it kind of why it took a bit of a non-serious turn at the end... Sorry, didn't have time to edit much either... Goodnight!
| 2015-07-16T20:24:54 | 2015-07-16T19:52:32 | 549 | 92 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
|
Of course in hindsight everyone sees the merit of my decision. In the early days though, people kept asking me why I chose Hell over Heaven. My answer has always been three words: "Location, location, location"...
Before my ticket was up on earth, I came to a realization... If everyone choose Heaven, Heaven would eventually become overcrowded. I mean idyllic pastures and tranquil rivers are nice and all, but if you have to share it with roughly 10 Billion other people... Maybe not so much. Can you imagine the waste problem? If you want to watch a football game, you need to first clear people from an area roughly the size of a football field. Plus, there really is not much beyond natural beauty up there.
So I made a decision, I moved in on the market early. Closed all the primo real estate I could all over Hell before there was a demand for it. Heck, those poor schmucks, the demons... They were so surprised that anyone wanted anything to do with Hell, they sold me the whole thing for a handful of colorful beads.
Later on they would also provide the cheap labor that I exploited in my sea-of-fire side casinos and river (Lethe is beautiful in autumn) side properties. I quickly dominated the market and soon became the land lord of hell.
True, the re-branding took some effort... People were reluctant to view Hell as a warmer alternative to the overcrowded paradise. I think it was all the entertainment venues that did it in the end. I was able to convince the "Blue Man" group and a few other performers in exchange for lofts overseeing Hinnom valley. Combined with the casinos and strip clubs, pretty soon Hell became the place to be.
That is when I stopped accepting just any old schmuck into the club. I am after all trying to cultivate a tasteful community down here. There were a few instances people even begged me to stop deportation to Heaven, but what can I say... Business is business.
|
There are many myths and many stories in the world. Most are fake, but few are true. Sometimes, the stories touch someone so deeply they become true. Then, sometimes, the stories just simply were always true: the people just didn’t know until it was too late to tell others the truth. Death is that cursed thing.
No one really knows what happens after death. There’s that fear that hits you once you realize that it’s most likely just a void of blankness and unconsciousness. An endless dream? Unlikely - your brain is dead. It’s just a void, as your body decomposes and becomes the dirt for your great great grandchildren. If you had any children, that is, by the time you perish to the earth.
Yet, there was always an aching feeling to them that there was something a bit more. The person with their head in the clouds… They had short black hair in a sort of bowlcut and their eyes were always an unnatural grey; the schoolchildren didn’t talk that much to the weirdo in front desk. Yet the child did not mind. They simply sat and wandered through worlds in their head.
It was not a foreign concept to them that Death was inevitable for the human race. They were constantly in and out of the wards of the state for various reasons. It was only likely they’d be dead much earlier than the average person. The subject of their escapades in their mind became about death and beyond very quickly, but they did not fear it. It would be a simple escape, just as everything else was.
They always felt there was something more. They weren’t religious, no, but there was just something always there telling them there was. It was there, at the back of their mind, always affecting the dreams and the walks through clouds they’d go on. Death was a joyous thing, and with the trips to the wards becoming more and more annoying and painful… Well, they excitedly awaited the release of death. It would be as if they were opening a box on the day of Christmas, seeing which of the many things they’ve dreamt of getting was truly real.
That day came fast and quick in the night. Died in their sleep… painless and with a smile on their face. It was a grim sight to behold for those still living but at long last the soul was at peace. The family quickly dealt with the body. They were only about nineteen.
It was soon after their heart stopped beating that they were cast in front of two entities. Two strange lights of
various different colors seemed to stand in front of them, beckoning the young person who had just died to choose. One of the lights was bright and cold. It had colors of pinks, yellows, greens, and blues. It hurt their eyes, and they looked to the other light. That one bore colors of reds, oranges, purples, and browns. It was warm, and to them it held a welcoming want. That light wanted them so badly, so desperately. It was familiar. Familial, almost.
They choose the light of warm red.
The other light seemed to scream in horror. It cried and whined so great and slowly dissipated from view, the sounds of it’s tantrum fading. The remaining light that they chose amalgamated into a form of a monstrous creature with various imperfections and horrors to the sight of any who dare witness him. It also cried - but unlike the other light’s selfish whining, this was a cry of despair and grief.
“Why,” the form fell to whatever he had in place of knees, “why now? Why now!?”
The young person looked down at the form and smiled at it. This was certainly a sight to behold. A satanic figure almost bowing to them.
The form continued to sob, “no one has chosen this hellish place since one thousand revolutions ago. You… You accepted the calls of eternal damnation and burning for your soul instead of a heaven of happiness? What compels you so?”
The young person continued to smile as they replied, “you prayed for me.”
“I prayed for you to die! To perish and join me in my suffering! Is that not selfish and damning! That was no prayer of compassion or empathy!” The form bowed his head downward, full of shame.
They stood in silence for a few moments. They continued, speaking flat and softly over the despairing cries, “but you were always there with me.”
“I wanted you selfishly! I wanted to feed on your soul to quench a thousand year hunger! Why! Why subject yourself so? It was selfish! Selfish! I do not deserve such things from a suffering soul!”
“You could have prayed for anyone’s damnation but you chose me,” they said, “and because you focused so hard on me, you were always there with me. While others ignored me, you joined me in my travels, always a friend in my mind. I did not choose to have my soul consumed by a raving monster, I chose to help my family. I felt your warmth like a motherly hug.
“If everyone chooses the good - if everyone loves the good - it’s just wasted. The heaven was spoiled with love and happiness. All it is, is simply existing. It grew cold, and that’s not welcoming to me. You were there with me. The reasons are irrelevant to me. I find happiness with you, because you are my mind. You shaped it in your desperate loneliness.”
The form’s head shot up. His orange eyes with the fire of the sun were clouded with the tears of a lonely child. It was true. He had prayed so desperately for one soul. Alone for one thousand revolutions of the sun, he was in a depression. He prayed just for one, and he never realized he had just been praying for the same soul continuously. He had focused on the young human who dreamed constantly and wandered the clouds while their feet remained on the ground of earth. He entered the dreams and became like an actor, playing parts and existing in the back of the youth’s mind. A parasite, he’d thought himself - but he was really the imaginary friend in their mind. No longer imaginary. They’d felt his familial aura upon the choosing ceremony and went to him.
He prayed himself a friend. He hadn’t been given one. He made himself one.
> Sorry, this is like my first reddit post (and I didn't fully proofread this...), if anything is the matter please tell me! <3
| 2018-08-13T09:48:32 | 2018-08-13T09:39:57 | 155 | 71 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt.
|
I used to have a name.
A name that does not evoke fear into people's minds.
It has been so long since I thought about the days before my wool-braided clothes that have now dilapidated and unwoven into what more resembles a cloak.
So long since I felt physical touch with my *skin* which has now completely atrophied and eroded back, leaving ashen bones.
So long since a dead man willingly walked with me and I mean *actually* walked with me, instead of just simply running away at the sight of my cracked skull.
A couple of millennia traveling between the world of the living to the absolute nothingness you humans call "death" will do that to you. The dark fog and murky haze which seemingly manifests itself into flickering serpentine tongues have long been lapping at my body turning what use to be colored shaggy white to deep onyx black. No man understands why I walk with the dead and if a man actually walked with me, they'd understand.
Because I would tell them my whole story.
About how I used to carry a shepherd’s staff instead of wielding a sickle.
About how I loved my parents.
About how my brother bashed me over the head with a rock.
About how mortals cursed me with many misnomers: The Grim Reaper, Soul Collector, Hades, La Muerte, Shinigami.
About how my real name is Abel.
About how lonely I get here in Death.
EDIT: My first writing prompt! Please be gentle!
EDIT II: Can’t stop obsessing over and trying to improve syntax and diction.
|
I was weary. It’s hard to imagine someone who is dead still being able to feel, but maybe the constant exposure to extreme human emotion had allowed me to still feel. I had wallowed in immeasurable suffering, but had also bathed in the light of someone surrounded by family, going to meet their god. I didn’t know what was on the other side myself. I was the first human to die after all, betrayed and murdered by my brother, Cain. The centuries had worn away any resentment I could possibly still harbor. I wasn’t prepared to die then, how could I have been? It hadn’t happened before. Life was strange and lonely enough, my parents were always speaking of some powerful being they used to commune with in some garden, but we had no idea what they spoke of. Maybe that was the source of the light I saw when I died...yet somehow I knew that, although I was the first, I wouldn’t be the last. And surrounded by the still fresh sensation of a brother’s betrayal, how could I abandon those who followed?
And so time went on. I could still see the material world to an extent, as I was drawn from one death to another. I saw it change and mature, and was excited for the future of my species, for we had come so far. And yet, we still had so far to go. Pompeii had shocked me to my core, it was difficult to transition all those souls to what lay beyond. So many at once, confused, unaccepting. It was always easier for those who were sick and knew they were dying, but this was unprecedented. And again later, uncountable battles, hundreds dying within minutes. If I was still bound by physical laws, I might’ve tired, but I persisted, and guided them all, eventually. What I yearned for was the solution to my loneliness, but I knew that it would never come. The best I could do was to serve my kind, and ease their transition.
Until I met Brandon. I was first drawn to him one night when he almost committed suicide. I could sense his impending death, but he decided not to at the last moment. But what I saw shocked me. Brandon was truly a kindred spirit in loneliness. I could see that he had no living family, and no friends to speak of. Although time does not pass the same for me as it does for others, my free time is still limited, but I always found time for Brandon. I watched him, rejected by society for his mediocrity. Not smart enough to do overly well for himself, he was the definition of scraping by. Not charismatic enough to make friends or meet lovers, he scrolled through the routines of his life with minimal joy. Brandon went to work, went home, played some video games, made a sandwich or a microwaved dinner, and went to sleep to refresh his body to repeat this hell for another day. I was truly appalled. The variety of experiences I had glimpsed in his world, and here he was unwilling, or possibly unable, to see anything beyond the bleakness of his existence.
Brandon’s time inevitably came. I greeted him as a friend as his soul left his body. He looked down at it for a moment, but came to terms quicker than most.
“What got me?” He queried aloud.
“Heart attack. Microwaveable meals and takeout are not the healthiest of diets. I’ve seen this before, unfortunately you’re not the first.”
“Huh.” That was it, his entire reaction, possibly summing up the futility of his life, as he stared down at his lifeless body.
“Well, I didn’t even really feel it, or, I don’t remember feeling it.”
“A mercy that many in history have not had the some fortune to experience, believe me. Are you ready for what’s next?”
Brandon stood, silent for a moment. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
“I was the first, so long ago. I stayed. Truthfully, I’m not sure I realized what happened to me. It hadn’t happened before you know. I didn’t have the luxury of experiencing death second or third hand, and slowly accepting its inevitability. As to why I do this, all I truly remember was my loneliness here, in this place of transition. Not attached to the material, yet, unarrived at the final destination.”
“What is the final destination? Pearly gates, or maybe more of a courtroom judgement setting?”
“I do not know. I cannot cross and find out. Perhaps that is my curse, but these people need someone. You accepted quicker than most, but perhaps that is because you had considered treading this path voluntarily before. Those who die unexpectedly are much more difficult to handle. Everyone goes eventually. I can only hope I’m leading them to peace, and not torment.”
Brandon didn’t even seem phased by this, he just stared through me with a strange expression. I could feel light and warmth behind me, the sensation that always precedes a decision to pass on from this transitional state.
“You should go,” he said. I started to move over to lead him before what he said sunk in.
“That destination is not my path, but yours. You must go.”
“No. My whole life, I was unable to do anything for anyone, not even for myself. My existence was bleak, but not truly miserable. I often felt misery, and sadness, but more than anything else I know your loneliness. I’ve been immersed in it my entire life. I’m just the quiet guy who works and goes home, only to show up the next day. I never could figure out how to make friends without bothering people, never could find the desire to even go out and try. But here…this place...this feels like home.”
I couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. It made sense, but simultaneously felt like a dream, and I felt myself gliding backwards into the light. I realized Brandon was guiding me now, just as I had guided others. As the light began to surround me I looked back at him, this man who never did anything with his life, who couldn’t, but in death, was able to free the one soul that in the millennia of human existence, had never found it.
| 2019-07-10T12:15:09 | 2019-07-10T11:52:12 | 71 | 28 |
[WP]You hunt time travellers. You know them in and out. Yet all your attempts have led to utter failure. That same year, Stephen Hawking tells you about his plan to throw a party for time travellers. It's bizarre but you can't help watching from a distance. That's when you spot someone approaching
|
Chet looked at his watch. It wouldn't be long now. When he had heard of this party, he knew this was his one big chance. Twice the man in red had escaped from his clutches. No more.
He moved further back into the shadows as he saw a figure approaching.
He wore a mask so it was hard to see his face. But his flowing red robe was unmistakable. It looked like he carried a river of blood on his back. The blood of his mother. Chet forced himself to stay back. He had to wait for the opportune moment. Chet put his own mask on. He wasn't Chet anymore.
The man in red entered Hawking's mansion, and The Hunter followed.
The Hunter followed discreetly. He had gotten really good at this sort of thing in the past year. He seemed to have gained a variety of skills almost overnight. The Hunter saw the man in red look at a device in his hand. He looked around and continued on.
The party had been a bust. No one had showed up. The hunter had seen Hawking sit and wait in a room for a couple of hours before he had dejectedly left the room.
But The Hunter was more patient. He had been tracking the man in red for an year and had almost given up. Then he had got this lifeline. One slim chance. So he had chosen a vantage point and waited. And his patience had been rewarded.
The man in red looked at the door Hawking had locked a few hours ago. He expertly picked the lock and was inside in moments. While the party invitation was public knowledge, less well known was the promise that Hawking had made that everyone's identity would be kept a secret. There would be no cameras, no guards. The man in red still did a quick, but expert, sweep of the place. Hawking had spoken the truth.
It was at this moment that The Hunter rushed into the room. He caught the man in red by surprise and knocked him off his feet, the metallic device in his hand skittering across the polished floors.
The Hunter quickly closed and locked the doors. Then he turned around and pointed his gun at his prey.
"I finally got you."
The man in red was still on the ground, holding his head as if in enormous pain. "I... I..."
He reached out to The Hunter who kicked his hand away and went for the device. It was like a futuristic cell phone. He pressed the button at the bottom and the screen lit up.
The words Fingerprint Accepted showed up on the screen as Chet almost dropped it in surprise.
He hadn't realized it in his adrenaline but his head was pounding.
A wave of fog wafted over to his brain as his memories grew hazy.
He fell to the ground, as he saw his past, his present and his future flash simultaneously in front of his eyes.
Chet saw his recruitment as a spy. He saw his code name, The Hunter. He saw the countless missions he performed successfully for his country. He saw his greed take him over. He saw himself be arrested and charged with treason of the highest degree. He saw himself get the option to spend the rest of his life in jail or go in the past and kill himself. He saw himself take the 2nd option. He saw himself try to kill his own past self. He saw his own mother save his life at the cost of her own. He saw the grief drive his own self mad. He saw himself become so angry that his future self spent the next year tracking himself, but slowly growing weaker and insane the closer he got to his past self as the timeline hardened. He saw the memories, the skill sets merging. He saw his future self track his past self to the Hawking party. He saw...
The next day Hawking entered the room to find two people in the room, dead with no apparent injuries. The doctor he brought in couldn't find anything physically wrong with either of them.
Suffice to say, Hawking never held another time travel party again.
|
“Hunts time travelers, Massive fail.” I stared at the crudely made meme, tossing my phone aside. I was a joke and not even an overly funny one. Perhaps I should have expected this sort of attention when I announced to the world my intention to hunt time travelers. What sensible person would take such a statement seriously? Anyone that interviewed me was doing so only to mock me, wanting a strange story to fill their fluffy news story of the week. Mashing my lighthearted story somewhere between the weather and a homicide to make it a less stressful transition.
Still, that didn’t make the memes hurt any less. I expected to have proof by now, something that I could show the world to prove my sanity, and yet here I was. Lying on a couch covered in week old pizza grease, barely able to afford my rent for this month. My passion for my job fading with each day. That’s when I saw the message pop up on my phone. It was from an account using the name Stephen Hawking. An obvious spam account, but I was at that stage in my melancholic state where I was happy to talk to someone that only wished to steal my money rather than ridicule me.
[Dear Mr. Jason Tunpil.
Your interest in the art of time travel has caught my eye. I understand the public are quick to write you off as a hoax or con artist, but the schematics you displayed on the coverage of the channel five news were not illogical. They showed an understanding of the basics of time travel, which is why I want to offer you a chance to hunt a time traveler. I am holding a party for time travelers, one that I invite you to attend. I believe this party works in both of our best interests.
Signed,
Stephen Hawking.]
For a joke message, it had a lot of effort. I was ready to write it off as a strange attempt at a copypasta only for a date and address to appear below the wall of text. When I clicked into the account, I saw the signs of it being an official page. The number of followers in the millions and everything adding up. Even If it was a joke, they sent it from the genuine account.
I went to write a reply, only to notice they blocked me from messaging them back. Was he feeling guilty about the joke? Or did he not want anyone to find out about this? Part of me wanted to ignore the message, but I couldn’t. The reward was too great. If this was true, it might be my only chance to hunt one. At worst, this would be my last job if I failed.
In the week leading up to the party, I prepared my weaponry. I had two handmade electronic disruptor grenades, a standard pistol with a silencer, a landmine disguised as a teleporting pad and a transmitter point that attracted the electronic signals used by the time travelers, pulling them towards my location when they attempted to jump.
I was packing light for the journey, needing only enough supplies that would fit into a backpack, not wanting to arouse too much suspicion. Time travelers were a jumpy bunch, and if they caught wind of my plan, I had no hope of stopping them.
I kept a low profile all throughout the trip, taking cabs and buses to make the 700-mile journey and only ever paying in cash. When I arrived at the property, I pushed on the buzzer beside the gate. “It’s Jason Tunpil. If Mr. Hawking was serious about his offer, I would like to set up my base in one of his sheds. That’s where they should arrive from. They will want somewhere quiet.” I said, expecting a camera crew to jump out of the bushes at any moment.
The gates rattled open, motioning me into the enormous property. No one came out to greet me, but I didn’t mind that. At least it seemed this wasn’t an elaborate trick. I entered the shed, crouching between the miscellaneous tools and equipment as I set up everything. When all my equipment was ready, I sat down, waiting for the party to start.
It was silent for a while as the clock struck four pm. Guests should have been arriving by now, but there was no sign of any disturbance in the area. Was there another shed? I continued to wait, only to check my phone when another ten minutes had passed. “They have to teleport here, I couldn’t have been wrong.” I peered out of the shed, pulling the door open, only to spot a group of travelers in the distance, each laughing among themselves as they entered the home.
“How did they know not to come to the shed?” I grabbed my gun, ready to storm the house, only to freeze when I spotted a man approaching me. He was rather calm, putting himself between me and the targets, even as I pointed a weapon at him.
“Woah, easy now. Don’t want to shoot yourself. I know how this looks but hear me out.” It couldn’t be? I was the mastermind behind this? How could I betray myself? I kept the gun pointed at the older version of me. I had some suspicions about his claim, but the striking similarities in our appearances couldn’t be ignored.
“I hate time travelers. Why would I help them? Even if you are me, we aren’t the same. Move aside, I’m going to go eliminate some time jumpers.” I said, attempting to move past myself, only to get blocked.
“Were not the time police. I know your fears about time travel causing issues with the fabric of reality, but we were wrong in our calculations. I have the math’s proving it. This might sound crazy, but we don’t have to fear time travel, we can embrace it. Another version of me proved that on this fateful day.” He pulled out a scrunched up napkin from his pocket, handing it to me.
I lowered my gun, looking over the mathematics. My old equation crossed out and replaced with a new formula, one that worked. “But why help them? Shouldn’t we still try to stop them? I can’t just admit I’m wrong after all these years. I’m already a joke.”
“I know you are. You just spent a week watching crappy movies while eating week old pizza. But that can change from this day forward. In a year the first time travelling device will be made. This will open a new business opportunity as rich assholes will need guides to protect them in the past. Who’s a better guide then someone that understands time travel to an almost insane degree? We make billions doing this. I’m one of the richest people in the world thanks to this and you can be too. Just throw your gun away and prepare your time travel protection services website in advance. Be ready for that day.”
“But it goes against everything I believe. Is this really the right thing to do?” I asked myself. Wondering if it was worth giving up everything I believed for the wealth I desired.
“Do you want to continue being a joke, or have the fame and fortune you desire? It’s your choice. I just know what I picked. Do this for our happiness.”
“It would be nice to eat something other than week old pizza.” I admitted, tossing my gun into the shed.
“Great. Oh, and just a heads up. You will need to bribe the people that run Stephen Hawkins social media profile in twenty years and arrange this meeting in the past. This sets off our wealth and fame after all.”
“Wait, so you were the one messaging me? I thought there was actually a party going on.”
“There is, but why would you get invited? He thinks you’re an idiot. Oh, and bribe the person operating the gates too. Anyway, I have a party to attend, you should get home and set up your new life. I have a cab waiting outside to take you home. I know you spent your last savings on this trip.” With that, he turned and walked into the house, a cheer erupting as he did so.
He made a good point. I gathered my various items and headed outside, getting in the cab. As soon as the driver saw me close the door, he began the trip home. “I hope this was the right decision.”
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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.)
| 2021-07-20T07:26:02 | 2021-07-20T06:54:46 | 601 | 80 |
[WP] Your job was to clean and repair the messes heroes and villains leave in the aftermath of their fights. It's not a glorious job, but you still took some pride in it. So when the media called you an over-glorified janitor, you took offense and decided to stop working.
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“A Janitor. Of all the fucking things.” Her hands shook violently as she gripped the sword of a fallen warrior. “After all I have done, they call me a Janitor!” Her name was Luna and she was anything but a Janitor. She was found by the villainess years ago after her family’s murder but wasn’t strong enough, nor filled with enough hatred to stand by her side. The villainess smiled hugging her. “I am the only one who understands you. The only one who loves you. The only one who appreciates you. Heed their words Luna and make them pay for every word.” The villainesses words filled Luna’s ears as she nodded slowly standing. “No longer. No longer will I be mocked as the Janitor. No longer will I clean these messes. My lady, I shall be your sword.” Luna spoke with a new resolve, a hatred for those who mocked her. The villainess smiled. “My dear, we shall usher in a new era. From now on you can call me Lady Nix, and you my dear, will become my sword and my right hand lady.” Nix smiled once more kissing the hand of Luna as she stood. “It is time for you to awaken. My hero.” As the villainess finished speaking a bright light came down from the sky covering Luna, her body glowing softly, her eyes giving off a golden light, and the sword in her hand changing to a scythe with a moon like blade. “Rise Luna, and strike down all who stand in your way.” Luna smiled darkly, the once sweet girl was gone, replaced by a new monster, Luna The Reaper of the Moonlight.
|
In the distant future a person like me is a necessity. Starting in software engineering then leaping into hands on construction I found a niche and got rich, like so many who would help repair the many metropolises across the galaxy that "supers" and "baddies" would wreck in their cliche fights only to spare one another. We are a proud breed of our own. Heroes for a price. Some out villain corrupt good guys, and others stop villains.
On the far off planet of Adelius you would find one government spurring from a central mega city on a planet larger than Earth's. From there rural countryside surrounded a vast and grey city, rich with farms and jungles. Broad leaves amongst the bark of trees and animals not so different from Earths born on convergent evolution. Here I found myself, guiding a multitude of robots in fixing the aftermath of Megella and SupRift. Silly names that killed millions and put even more out of business in months of conflict.
With a thought, my purchased machines obeyed my nuanced mind and rebuilt tower and house. It was then the "news jocks" released a hot take that Adelius was another mop job by blue collars feeding off the rich. My work was great and I was prideful. On one hand it encouraged my best work in rebuilding and on the other I thought again of dreams of greatness. I would be ready soon, and such timing made me blush with glee.
On July the 13th, Earth calendar, the quiet planet was laid to siege by Calamonte and his evil robot army! Buildings laid to waste and prisoners tastefully taken to local farms where they could be contained and fed. Enslavement was foretold and Magella themself came in a fiery dash through the stars without so much of a starship to return a planet they had recently saved. It was there and then, Magella went dark. Stricken the Heroic Council sent more and as usual their saviors wrought a path of blind destruction. Some even enjoyed it, and the worst mangled in combat.
Awakening. From Earth itself a pod bore itself from the dirt. Out of it came Zard. A hero powered by tech, they led a team of the brightest, most carefully selected hopefuls to Adelius to fight this new menace. Calamonte would be stopped.
The Apothicus came into orbit on a Friday and quickly sent down a swarm of pods. Shields up and cannons ready, the smart ship AI and its crew watched as many pods we're obliterated on descent by orbital defense. Yet by fate or plan only those that were empty were destroyed and a lone figure stood in the empty streets of a deserted metropolis.
Zard stepped out of their pod and looked to the empty towers of the only major city on all of Adelius. Grimacing, the whir of tactical armor and laser weaponry plus anti grav boots and a multitude of "old world" gear came to life in Zard's suit. Where had this hero been born from? Frozen in time by the humans of a younger civilization at the peak of their times' creation? Amazed, onlookers watched from a billion angles on the cameras of a city that never slept.
Clacking, metal on concrete can be heard from ever direction. Louder, it drums in perfect unison. The diabolical machine army closes in and as they near, Zard stands steadfast. Missiles rush over mechanical heads and inward, invisible with light deflecting camo, and are cut out of the sky by a laser grid system. Their warheads rain fire on the machines and Zard bursts off the ground with impossible agility. Casting to the right, Zard turns downward and stays close to the ground in flight. Their antigrav boots crush swarms of machines underneath, caught in whirlwind of pressure greater than the depths of sea or space. Glaring opposite the intersection, Zard turns a core in their glove and points both hands out straight. A beam fires, precise and narrow, made of electricity. Hitting one machines casts it to the next.
As mechanical guts are ruptured and machine soldiers drop, onlookers mouths fall as well. Immense fire power and the city unscathed. Zard dashes about dodging hundreds of plasma bolts, firing laser weapons down, dropping bombs and using powerful hydraulics to punch through humanoid figures with ease. Finally, amongst a sea of carnage, Calamonte's masked face shows up on every advertising screen across the city. With simple words they merely proclaim "Heroes killed my love, and I will earn retribution" followed by a cackle before being interrupted by fire. The great metropolis of Adelius, home to the over 10 billion people, erupts into a massive explosion. Such firepower used to destroy the only strategic objective of Adelius displays unseen power amongst a galactic empire accustomed to power. Zillions of feeds go dark as every camera is disintegrated.
Calamonte vanishes as the city is destroyed and the surviving machines go dark amongst. The planets population, all taken prisoner outside of the blast zone begin new lives rebuilding and hoping to survive the radiation. Yet, there is no radiation. Somehow, Zard returns. With some heroic speeches, the many people of the Miky Way find a new threat has been thwarted, temporarily as Calamonte escaped. Fear in the hearts of hero and villains alike from what must be two of the most powerful beings in existence is stricken. Zard has words. "This city will rebuild, but you will not be so lucky as the machines. Infrastructure can be repaired. Lives cannot be replaced. I targeted this city to fight Calamonte because it was completely abandoned and no one would be harmed. Think twice or such lethal force will be used on you."
From that day on, city fixers found themselves building new colonies as the powers of old shrank in fear. I smirk to remember my biggest job completely rebuilding the super city of Adelius, and look at my Calamonte mech or Zard suit. Rebuilding lives paid the bills, but loss was irreplaceable in a world of hate and disrespect. Now we build new lives for a new future.
| 2022-09-29T01:20:52 | 2022-09-29T00:35:31 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] The orbit around Earth suddenly fills with thousands of alien ships. Turns out the moon has just been made a stop in a galactic game similar to Pokemon Go.
|
"Damn all these aliens."
"What, they did a lot of good for Earth."
"Like what, clog up the sky so we can't the stars from ships?"
"I was thinking more like how world peace was established. People found newer better religions. Cancer was cured. World hunger ended. Those kinds of things."
"Yeah but look at me. I'm still stuck at my crappy job, trying to pay for my mortgage and tuition for my kids! How are aliens going to fix that for me huh?"
"Well maybe you should sell shit to the aliens instead of working your job," I retorted shrugging at him.
A week later I saw him at the bar again, this time with a huge grin around his face. "Let me buy you a drink ol' buddy!" he shouted as he sat down next to me.
"What's gotten you in a such a good mood?"
"I really took your advice to heart!"
"What did you do? Get a promotion after all these years?"
"Actually no! I quit my job the next day after you suggested that to me. Now I sell cheat codes to the aliens playing Pokemon Go! I'm making money hand over fist now!"
**"FREEZE, ITS THE INTERGALACTIC GAMING POLICE!!"**
|
Jim Kayer spent years training to be an astronaut. It was the thing that drove him, the sole reason that he woke up every morning. That is, of course, until the alien spaceships arrived in the sky. Actually, lets back up just a few minutes...
*One minute earlier*
"How the hell am I supposed to know how far away this Eevee is?! Are the Pokemon avoiding me or something? They are all 3 steps away!" Ranted Jim, as he jogged along the track that circled the space station. He was, as everybody else in the world was doing at that moment, playing Pokemon Go instead of doing the things that he was supposed to be doing. He rubbed his chin, a few coarse hairs prickling his fingers, as he was pondering whether he should sink even more money into the game. The space station lobby had 3 poke-stop's reasonably close to each other, and he just felt obligated to keep them up with modules constantly. You know, for the children. His mind began to wander, looking up at the sky as he tried to figure out what else to do with his time, being as he simply could not close the app, Eevee was nearby! He hadn't caught one of those yet, just a bunch of damn ratattats. Looking down, he realized that he had, in fact, bought another $10 worth of coins. He activated an incense, because he was fairly certain that they did, in fact, do something (he had a running bet with everybody else in the station that incense did anything at all).
Suddenly, there were thousands of bright flashes in the sky, blocking out even the brightness of the sun for a few moments. Seconds later, he finds Eevee, and is ecstatic. He ignores the sky for 3 poke-balls, 4 curse words, and a satisfying 'click'. His phone begins to vibrate, his boss calling. Assuming it must be important, he answers, and the voice screaming from the phone is a mix of fear, bewilderment, joy, and raw amazement. He paused, assuming his boss had figured out he finally caught his baby Eevee- but no, there was no way to communicate any kind of achievement of that sort within the game. Had he jumped up and down? Uncertain, and slightly embarassed, being as he was 43 and playing Pokemon Go more than his 2 kids, he brings the phone back to his ear.
"Jim! You won't believe it! The sky is filled with thousands of alien ships!" pants Roger, his boss of 7 years.
"Holy shit! This is amazing! What are they doing, what is going on?" questions Jim, brimming with childlike disbelief.
"Well...One sec Jim" There is the sound of a muffled conversation in the background. "Come inside quickly, they appear to have made first contact with the President of The United States directly!"
Jim sprints into the lobby of the station, not before making sure his steps were being counted (obviously), but he makes decent time. The TV is already on, and the President appears to be having a discussion with a hologram of some sort, out on the front lawn of the white house. The camera is up close on the two figures. Strangely, his phone is in one hand, clearly on, but only a black screen and the top toolbar are clearly discernible. In a strange moment, Jim notices the battery on the president's phone is at 17%, despite it being only a quarter past noon.
The hologram alien appears to be gesturing wildly at the phone, clearly agitated. After a few moment of this, the President tries to hand over his phone, and in an instant the hologram becomes solid. Where before there was wavering light patterns, now stands a 4' tall, little green man, with large, black eyes. As the phone flips over, Pokemon Go becomes clear.
"Dude, do you even know how to video game?!" The alien cries at the president, snatching the phone away. "There is a Jiggly Puff on your screen you fool!" Naturally, the president is baffled, being as he was being so discrete about having his phone out and everything, and unsure of how the alien knew that there was a Pokemon waiting to be caught, especially being as he hadn't noticed any kind of vibration.
"Wait a moment, you play Pokemon Go?!" questions the perplexed President, forgetting entirely the magnitude of the situation.
Giving the president a skeptical look "Yeah man! Everybody in the galaxy does! Cuz you are the center of the universe, and we all bow before weird alien human things! No dude, the game we play is far superior. Well, I've gotta run man, my mate just placed a lure on the moon." In an instant, the alien hands back the president's phone, and is gone. Looking down, the Jiggly puff is clearly visible, it has not been caught. The 16 remaining poke-balls the president had beforehand are now gone, leaving him no way to finish catching the object of his innermost desires.
"You'll regret this!" screams the president, shaking a fist at the sky.
"Ouch, that's rough." States Jim, empathy heavy in his voice.
****
Over the next several weeks, the alien space ships wander aimlessly through the sky, occasionally flocking to the moon in a mad dash when it glows red, pulsing, In roughly 30 minute intervals. Eventually, they get bored, and leave. Nothing else is ever known of these creatures who arrived at our little blue planet, but nobody really thinks to ask, being so caught up in hatching their eggs, and catching their Eevee's.
| 2016-07-23T23:57:02 | 2016-07-23T22:56:43 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
"This..this can't be what I think it is, can it?"
Jenkins voice was breathy and a little scared through my comm. There was also a low buzzing noise, probably some kind of static. I looked down at the three bodies and the red and yellow flag on the cave floor.
"I don't know what else it could be." I responded.
The Soviet flag was small, only about a foot across and half a foot high. Payload used to be expensive, back in the bad old days, so I wasn't surprised. The bodies though...
They weren't wearing any clothing, but scraps of what looked like old suits clung to their flesh. They were not in good shape. There were massive growths over most of their skin and something else...
"They look like they are all connected to each other. Like there is some kind of, I don't know, umbilical cord connecting each one to the other." Jenkins said. "Carmichael, we have to find a way to report this."
The buzzing was a little louder now.
Our Earth-range radio had stopped working shortly after we had established the small forward base. We couldn't find anything technically wrong with the equipment, but Jenkins had managed to trace some kind of signal coming from this cave. We had come out here to investigate, not knowing what we were going to find.
The cave was shallow and we didn't see any technology.
"Can you sweep for the signal? Try to find where it's coming from? I don't see any machines. And what the hell is that noise?"
This buzzing was starting to become irritating.
Jenkins held up his small receiver and swung his arm slowly from one rocky wall to the other. Then he hesitated. I could see, even through the tinted facemask, that something was wrong.
"What?" I asked.
"Hold on. This...oh shit." He said, bringing the receiver to rest in front of the Russian cosmonauts bodies.
I swallowed. "It's coming from them, isn't it?"
I don't know what Jenkins said in response, because suddenly the buzz became much louder. It was all I could hear. I cut the speaker in my helmet. It didn't matter, I still heard it.
Suddenly, Jenkins doubled over, and a long line of the red Martian dust that covered the floor exploded upwards between the nearest cosmonaut and him. His suit split open in a line from his boot to above his knee. A pulsing tendril of flesh, exactly like the ones that connected the Russians to each other, now connected him to them.
I tried to back out, but my right foot wouldn't move. Something was connecting it to the ground. Guess what that was. The buzzing ceased to be a drone, and became the language we're using to talk to you now.
That's how we came to be where you found us. That's how the ones who come to find you will be. We were expecting more after the first three, but according to Carmichael's memories, they must have lacked the funds to follow up on their first mission. We only need a few more now for critical mass. Then, we will bring Unity to your world, as we brought it to this one.
Stop struggling. It will soon cease to hurt. Pain is a burden we will reject together. Until then, we will all be quiet, and wait.
|
Colonel Anderson kneeled down in front of a broken pole and wiped away some orange dust off the ground, revealing a tattered piece of crimson cloth stuck under a rock. Dragging it out of its resting place, the Colonel tore it in half, showing the two men behind him a symbol of a gold hammer and sickle beneath a gold-bordered red star.
"It can't be..." said Lieutenant Colonel Haynes. "Colonel, that's a soviet flag. A union of communist nations that dissolved nearly two hundred years ago."
Colonel Anderson sighed and tried to stroke his gray beard, but remembered he was wearing a spacesuit. He then shook his head saying:
"I don't like this, Haynes. We're supposed to be the first humans here. What's a relic like this doing in Mars?"
"Aliens?" said Lieutenant Colonel Wilfery. "Did they get killed off by aliens?!?"
Haynes rolled his eyes and said:
"There's no such thing as aliens, you dunce. Well, at least not on Mars. They probably had an accident and couldn't return back home."
"Maybe they were unable to contact Earth" said Colonel Anderson. "These... 'soviets' assumed the mission was a failure and never reported on it out of shame, or something like that. Regardless, that distress beacon is still pinging. We need to find its source before we do anything else." He scoffed with a sly grin. "Maybe one of them is still alive."
-------------------------------------
The three astronauts hiked a tall mountain they encountered on their way to the beacon. Gusts of wind suddenly caressed the men, causing them to be buffeted by specks of red sand. Ignoring the harsh exterior conditions inside the comfort of his spacesuit, Lieutenant Colonel Wilfery said:
"So why are you so sure there aren't any aliens here?"
"Because of the rover Curiosity!" replied Haynes, through a bit of static interference in their radio. "About a hundred and fifty years ago it explored the martian surface and didn't find anything."
"A stoner's curiosity?" said Wilfery. "What's weed got to do with this? Did they really send an undergraduate student ahead of us?"
The gales rapidly increased in strength and ferocity the closer they got to the peak. Enveloping them in what seemed like crimson mist, the dust clouds got denser, to the point of almost being tangible, and obscured anything five meters ahead of them. Slamming his palm into his helmet, Haynes then said:
"Rover! R-O-V-E-R. It was a reconnaissance robot sent to study Mars' geology. It didn't find any life after decades of searching, so yeah, I'm pretty confident there aren't any aliens here!"
"Would you two just shut up and focus on the situation at hand?!?" shouted Colonel Anderson, barely visible in front of them. "We're in the middle of a sandstorm here! One wrong step and we break our necks on this mountain!"
Just as he finished speaking, Colonel Anderson grabbed a loose rock and fell backwards. He screamed for his life while airborne, his horror subsiding once his men caught him by the arm. Wilfery grinned and said:
"Teaching by example, I see! A testament to your great leadership skills, colonel!"
Colonel Anderson narrowed his eyes and grunted at Wilfery, looking downwards in shame once his subordinates weren't looking.
-----------------------------------------------------
Once they got to the peak, the sandstorm had already subsided, making the descent a lot easier than the climb. The distress signal was beeping stronger the more they walked through the empty plains, giving Wilfery an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Marching behind the others didn't help his uneasiness. His back was exposed to whatever could be behind them and everything was too quiet, too still for his liking. The flat landscape they traversed looked more like a desert drenched in dried blood than an alien planet. Even the ground beneath his feet felt *wrong*. It was probably the difference in gravity to Earth's, but he still couldn't ignore the thought that everything reacted differently here.
Looking over his shoulder, Wilfery widened his eyes with fear. The soil turned pitch black and flowed in bumps towards them, rising and falling like streaks of ink in a hostile sea of red dust. Wilfery immediately ran to his companions screaming:
"The soil guys! The ground's out to get us!"
Haynes turned around with tense shoulders, but quickly relaxed his body. He then shook his head, sighed, and said:
"No it isn't. The ground isn't sentient Wilfery, it's just subterranean water rising from the ground."
"Subterranean water?"
"Yeah," replied Haynes. "they're called 'Recurring Slope Lineae'. It's summer here, and highly saline water tends to flow this way during this time of the year."
Colonel Anderson laughed loudly and walked up to the darkened sand. He then touched its damp texture and said:
"I can't believe you're a Lieutenant, Wilfery. Really? Wet sand? What's next? An abandoned soviet station filled with zombi-"
The sand sprung from the ground and pierced Anderson's suit through his arm. He quickly jumped away from it, but it was already too late. The dust flowed into his spacesuit, filling it up until inflating it slightly and freezing him there with its added weight. Anderson's ear piercing screams were then muffled by the sand, who choked the life out of him by forcing itself down his throat.
Wilfery and Haynes gaped in terror, seeing Anderson's eyes pop out and being followed by a viscous fluid that fell from his sockets like crude oil. They turned around, trying to run away, but their knees weakened and tripped them over. The sand inched its way to their helmets, twisting itself around their calves and anchoring them to the ground. Clawing at the floor with their hands, they dragged themselves away from the black tendrils for a few feet, before being forcefully drawn into the darkness again.
The two men then faced each other and nodded, silently resigning themselves to their end. Once the black sand reached their necks, it covered them like a blanket and stopped crushing them with its pressure. Footsteps suddenly crunched nearby, coming from Anderson's body who stood in front of them. In a coarse and headache inducing voice his body said:
"Get out of our planet, humans. It belongs to *us*!"
"W-we come in peace" said Wilfery. "Yes, its *your* planet. We have no intention from taking it from you."
"Really?!?" shouted the voice. "That's exactly what the others said, but once we tapped into their memories, we saw they had other plans instead." The limp body raised its arms. "Colonization! On *our* planet. They thought they claimed it by sticking a pole in the ground!"
"They didn't know you lived here!" said Haynes. "*We* didn't know you lived here! Please, surely seeing humans must've been surprising to you too!"
"Yes..." The voice trailed off, pausing for a few seconds. "We didn't know much of you lifeforms when they first came, so we possessed all of them, thinking you were a hive-mind like us. We knew more of you would come, so we used their trinkets to call you to our location. This time, we're leaving some of you alive to send a message. Never come back to Mars again. Stay off our planet and don't you *dare* claim it as yours."
----------------------------------------------------------
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories!
| 2016-08-16T09:32:53 | 2016-08-16T08:14:02 | 312 | 86 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
I don't even know how we found it. Mars is a big planet, albeit not as big as Earth, but we did. The scythe and hammer. The questions flowed through my head at lightspeed. Why didn't the Soviets tell us what happened? Actually, why didn't they tell their people? Nobody knows. It seems that all known people who worked on Soviet space program disappeared.
The discovery shocked the world more than the fact that we've actually reached Mars. There was a Russian on our team, Michail, and when we saw that half-bleached pink cloth, and found the hammer and scythe on it he laughed and said "Vot syka, ebat' menya v zhopy". No idea what that meant - but he was more shocked than me.
We got a message to NASA right away - they wanted to keep it a secret but I threatened to tell everyone, so they actually released the information. All the news channels were flooded for a whole week. The Internet exploded with conspiracy theories and reused jokes. Russian government issued a statement that they "had not a single idea of how it was possible" and Putin, probably the only bastard on the planet who remembers USSR, was asked about it on his visit to Washington.
While we were on Mars we did what you'd expect the Mars expedition to do - collected more samples, ran diagnostics, all that boring stuff. But every so often we would find some more evidence of the Soviet landing - a piece of radio equipment, a footprint in a cave or a buried used nuclear reactor. During the entire mission I felt that what I wanted to do my all life - something that nobody ever done before - was actually done seemingly a century ago. It wasn't something extraordinary - it was a second place, a "participation trophy".
When I was going through a cave to collect some underground samples, I found... a glove. A fucking glove. On Mars. I wanted to go back and tell the others, but then I noticed the owner. He had his helmet shattered to tiniest pieces, but the face was preserved in the vacuum. I could make out all the features, the mole on his right cheek, the frozen eyes and dark brown hair. It was as if he died only hours ago. The suit had a Soviet red flag on it, but it was a very good one, not much different from what Russia used at the beginning of the 21st century.
I was startled by the body, and forgot completely about calling the others. What happened to this guy? Was it an accident, or something more? I decided to go deeper into the cave. I know, stupid, how did I become an astronaut with this stupidity. But wouldn't you want to know? It's Mars, this was one of the first people to set foot on it, and he dies in a cave with a glove torn from the suit? Hardly seems likely. So, I started going. It wasn't easy. They cave wasn't fit for a spacesuit, so the pace was slow. But after about 10 minutes of crouching and walking I reached the end. That was it. The cave just ended, like they do on Earth. Except there was a sample collector in the wall. It was full, but untouched. The dead guy did find his way to the end of the cave, just like I did. But why didn't he take the samples? Why was his glove torn off near the entrance?
I didn't want to waste time to take the new samples, so I just took the Soviet ones. It's important to not waste anything in space, okay? When I picked it up, the dust flew all around the cave. Yeah, imagine forgetting your laptop in a cave on Mars for a century, see how dusty it gets. I went back to crouch and walk to the top. As I reached the entrance, I saw a silhouette of one of my crew mates. "Help me out with this one, will ya?" I said. Little did I notice, that the dead astronaut was gone. Well, not gone. I still saw him. He was standing in the entrance, his silhouette black against the bright red sands of Mars...
|
50 years earlier...
MOSCOW
July 2, 1971
"...and the Kremlin has stated it will share the results of it's safety inquiry with NASA in the spirit of international cooperation. The brave crew of Salyut 1 will be remembered as a sober reminder of outer space's unforgiving nature. May their souls rest in peace. This is Dan Rather, reporting from Moscow." The party leader gestured and the secretary shut off the imported American television. It was a frustrating state, relying on a capitalist-built device deep within the halls of Soviet power, but he knew it was just a matter of time before the situation reversed. The dialectic demanded it, after all.
"There", he told the waiting group, "there have been no reports from the field of anything but acceptance of the story. The Americans have accepted the narrative provided, it's time to move to the next stage." The other party members in the room avoided looking to one another, all nodded in affirmation. The greatest endeavor was to begin in secrecy, but the triumph would soon be on every radio speaker and television screen around the world, no matter which country produced it. The moon landings had been a great achievement, but soon everyone would see the power of true collective power.
The leader smiled. "Begin the launches."
---
SOMEWHERE OVER THE MEDITERRANEAN
September 28 1971
Georgy Dobrovolsky sat aboard the auxillary guidance device. With luck, he'd not need it, but the 'unforgiving nature' of space was real, even if the American reporter had been mistaken about the fatalities about which he'd reported. Checking his scope, Georgy checked the approaching propulsion module.
"25 meters", he called out. "Nominal approach continues." Viktor floated next to him, strapped into the seat on the wall of the former space station. He nodded, watching the monitor in front of him.
"Da, ground control has reported the same. Continue to checklist item... 25a. Terminal radio beacon activate." The two looked up at the panel next to the guidance frame Georgy sat on. It looked more like a bicycle than anything else, but no cyclist had ever travelled this fast. A light on the panel illuminated. "Terminal guidance beacon has activated", he pronounced. After a few minutes, there was a slight jarring sound as the oversized propulsion module slid into place.
"Contact, positive latching... confirmed. Docking sequence complete." The two unstrapped from their stations and took turns looking backwards through the periscope. Behind them, a series of large tanks stretched backwards from the aft docking port.
Vladislav Volkov floated over from the kitchen. "Do ve have a spaceship?" he asked.
The three looked at each other, faces beaming. Dobrovolsky was the first to speak.
"Comrades, it is with great pleasure that I announce the retirement of Salyut 1 and welcome you both... to the Konstantin Tsiolkovsky. May Mars's red light fill our windows and help spread the light of Soviet greatness."
"To Mars!" the other two cheered.
---
WASHINGTON, DC
October 1, 1971
"Mister President, what are your orders?"
President Nixon stared at the diagram on the briefing room wall quietly. The damn reds had skunked him, and good.
"Sir", the National Security Advisor murmured in his deep germanic accent, "if we interfere, it could be seen as an act of war." The other military representative at the other side shook his head fiercely.
"Goddamnit, they're tearing us apart in Asia, now you want to sit back and let them take a WHOLE PLANET?" He slammed his fist on the table. "Sir, if we launch now, we can make it look like an accident. Hell, as far as the rest of the world knows, those cosmonauts died months ago. The red's'll have no way to accuse us of anything without letting the world know they lied. We've got a Titan II on the pad and ready to go, we can put a cloud of ball bearings on an intercept course before you can say 'borscht's done'. Just give me the word!"
The president sat, thinking. This was a turning point, he could feel it. If he acted, he might save the US from losing face, but at what cost? Then again, things with China were starting to cool a little. Could he jeopardize any of that? No, the country needed a firm hand to guide it now more than ever, and he knew that provoking the bear would be a distraction.
"Don't do anything, stand down General. Maybe the horse will learn to sing, but no provocation. Do you understand me?" He glowered at the man, his jowls shaking slightly.
"Yes, sir." The general sat back. There'd be more opportunities to fix this, but he could tell now wasn't the time or place.
---
INDIAN OCEAN
October 2, 1971
The tracking ship rocked slightly out at sea. Chelomei watched the sky, smoking his cigarette. The radar dishes and antennas moved as one, tracking the tiny dot he saw coming over the horizon. It was time.
Throwing the half-smoked thing over the rail, he peered at the dot intently. Behind him, he knew the radio and radar operators were watching their screens closely but he wanted to see it with his own eyes and- there, it had begun.
The tiny dot brightened slightly. He knew that the experimental Block D in back was now gulping fuel through the intricate plumbing of the fuel tanks installed over the previous months.
Kosmos 419, Mars 2, Mars 3, Luna 18.... secretly launching the heavy tanks to the station had been almost impossible with all the eyes around the world, but the Soviet discretion had somehow pulled it off. Mars probes that existed only on paper, a robotic moon lander, a lunar observation satellite.... five Proton launches in a row to assemble the great voyage above everyone's head. His rocket had met the task and exceeded all expecations. He knew many scientists would be disappointed when their payload return mission failed or their Martian probe returned faked data, but he knew they would forgive all when they learned the truth. The landers, of course, must be said to have failed. A shame, but soon men would arrive.
The truth was, there was only one way to send the brave cosmonauts to Mars, and that was to assemble their long-duration ship on orbit.
As he mused, the dot passed overhead, the Block D burning through the kerosene and liquid oxygen steadily. He liked to imagine he could see it already going faster, but he knew that was probably his imagination.
Hearing a cheer inside, he stood and finally looked away from the dot as it disappeared over the horizon. He did not need to ask, he knew from the sound that the burn had been good. In six months, the world would know of their hard work and the next stage of work could begin in earnest.
---
VANDENBERG AFB
February 16, 1972
The General walked out of the control room. The Northern California hills were quiet, they always were after a launch. The Titan III that had just roared upwards had seen to that, the animals were hiding.
He knew that if word got out of what his team had done, it would mean the end of his career at best but damnit, he couldn't just let the reds get to Mars. Those boys in Asia had gone through too much under commie guns and planes to just let something like this pass.
His staff would report that the satellite had failed to reach it's intended orbit. The high energy upper stage requisitioned for the high-altitude Molniya orbit was more than enough to send the Special Package on its way, seeing as how much lighter it was. A stern chase was a long chase, but the boys in trajectory were confident it'd go where it was needed.
Whistling to himself, the general walked out to the staff car waiting. If any of the guards thought it was strange that he looked so happy after a launch failure far above, they kept it to themselves.
(Continued)
| 2016-08-16T10:58:56 | 2016-08-16T10:40:11 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] You're a killer dumping your latest victim into the river. Just as you're about to be done, you spot another person. Doing exactly the same thing. And they've just spotted you, too.
|
There are some situations where despite sharing an experience, you just don't talk to people. When a man walks up to a urinal next to another man because that's the only open one, both men are aware of what the other is doing, but neither one mentions it. When a man is holding a bag of diapers in the only open cashier line at 2am behind another man waiting to buy a plunger, both men are aware of what the other is doing, but neither one mentions it.
When drivers are sitting in traffic, windows rolled down, all parallel to each other, they all know that every other driver is having the same experience, is feeling the same things they are, was brought there by the same circumstances and will leave by the same too. None of that matters, though, because none of them are going to break the silence of idling engines and radios and try to talk to any other.
There's a lot of things like that. We all know when not to talk to each other; it's part of being a well adjusted adult. So, after dragging a body out of my trunk and down the hill to the river, upon spotting someone else about twelve feet downriver tossing in a sleeping bag, I didn't say anything. Neither did they. We made eye contact, each gave a little nod, and they walked back up to their van while I took care of business. By the time I got back to my car, they had already left without ever saying a word.
Just the way civilized people are supposed to behave.
|
Jack checked again as he began shoveling the remains into the hole. While most people wouldn't think a beach to be one of the perfect places to put a corpse, it makes sense.
Sand is easy to move around, much moreso than dirt. Less strain on you. Plus, if a major storm ever hits and the body is uncovered; with luck the tide will sweep out what's left and the fish will do the rest. Sounds crazy, but some guy in Long Island has been doing this way longer than Jack and they haven't caught him yet. So...
Jack finished scooting the grisly remains out of the bed of the truck.
*Alright, Dolores. This is where we part. A quick trip to the car wash, and this will all be behind us.*
He heard it. He paused and listened, frozen in place. Was it the tide rolling in more? A boat exiting the river, to the bay? No. He heard it again, and strained to identify it over the cresting ocean. A low-shifting noise in the sand somewhere neabry in the dunes. No mistake now. Somebody was here.
Jack quietly moved to his truck and deftly opened the door to retrieve one of his 'preferred instruments'. A buck knife. The old classic; a little ugly, but quiet. He quietly began walking, to find the culprit. Before long, he realized the shuffling came from right across the dune he was working on. He ascended slowly as to not draw attention to himself.
*That's strange. Another car out here, at this time of night? Probably some teenagers.* Jack thought.
*Oh well... Can't have them stumbling onto my work.*
As he began the slow creep towards the car, he realized something unusual. The trunk was cracked open. Reaching the car, he checked around and then lifted the lid. Gore. A man, maybe in his fifties, his chest full of holes, laid inside. Jack touched him for a pulse, to his surprise, the body was still rather warm.
But he wasn't killed there.
*Snick*
Jack recognized that sound. He about-faced to fight, but quickly halted as he made things out. A woman. While she was a little shorter than him, she was extremely fit. Amazonian even. A fighter too, he could tell. Regular people don't carry themselves like that. Regular people also don't carry submachine guns to the beach...
"Evening ma'am." Jack greeted her warmly. He quietly hid the knife behind his hip.
"Hello." She replied. Her greeting was equally warm, but the coldness in her eyes told the truth.
"Um..." Jack tried to conjure, "Is this your car?"
"You could say that." She replied, "That your truck over on the other side of the dune there?"
*She knows.* Jack numbly confirmed.
"Maybe?" Jack implied. He was going to have to kill her. No doubt about it now.
"I see. And that thing in the hole you dug?" She said as she tightened her grip on the gun. Jack kept a eye on the massive suppressor, the edge of it gleaming under the reflection of headlights.
"Yeah. I did that." Jack admitted dropping his ruse. "Hey, one question: is that guy with you?"
She quickly snapped a glance. Jack took the small window and flicked the buck knife at her. To his surprise, she did a sideways hop and dodged the blade as it grazed her jacket. He took this opportunity to rush her. She brought the gun up as they met. He shoved it away and went deaf in one ear as a burst went into the air. They tossed the gun by accident, it landing in the sand nearby. Jack swung on her, but she deftly absorbed the blows even as he attempted to straddle her. Rolling her nearly to her stomach, Jack felt triumph before he heard two sharp cracks.
He quickly leapt off her, and checked his face and chest. *She had another gun and had shot through her jacket.*
"Stupid fucker." She seethed. "Throwing a knife??"
"I almost had you." Jack wagged his finger.
"Shut up." She gritted. "You already dug that hole?"
"*What do you think*?" Jack reminded, "It's not like I'm here to go surfing."
"Get the body out of the trunk of the car there. Drag it to the hole." She demanded.
"Any thing in it for me?" He smirked.
"Yeah. I don't put you there." She breathed.
---
It took some time, but eventually, the deed was done. The bodies laid at the bottom as the pair quietly shoveled sand on top. They never took their eyes completely off each other.
"You ride a motorcycle?" Jack suddenly inquired.
She snuffed, "Do you work at a club?"
Jack realized he still wore his security shirt. He killed Dolores maybe an hour off shift. It's not like he had time to change.
"Point taken. Just wondering." He smiled again.
"Why'd you do yours?" She asked as they shoveled.
"Meh, spur of the moment." Jack spoke freely, "I didn't want to. But I couldn't resist... and you?"
"Money." She sighed.
"Ahh. An entrepreneur."
They finished shoveling and stood back. She quietly slung her gun up from it's strap, and pointed it at him again for a moment.
"Again??" Jack asked laconically.
"Are you done?" She replied.
"Miss, my girlfriend is waiting on me. So anytime you'd like to leave."
"Don't follow me." She spoke hollowly, "We didn't meet. Estúpido hijo de puta..."
"No me duele ser amable." Jack replied after her. She only grimaced as she crept over the dune. He watched quietly in his truck as the sedan disappeared into the tree line and drove away.
---
I kinda' wanted these characters to meet, but I didn't know how. Great prompt!
| 2017-10-12T20:59:09 | 2017-10-12T19:17:37 | 34 | 20 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
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They said they wanted peace. They said they wanted to avoid a future where humanity wiped itself out. They said a lot of things. And then they said no more.
For fifty years we waited. We followed the treaty down to the letter, even refusing to contact our northern and southern neighbors. For fifty years we waited, as they spat on their supposed good intentions. We waited as peace broke down. We waited as war broke out.
There's a slight poetic justice to learning that the ones who were afraid of us, the ones responsible for this self imposed exile, died in a hellfire of their own making. They thought that we were the biggest threat. They thought we were the cancer spreading throughout the world, destroying everything it touched.
They were wrong.
We were simply a deterrent. A force of nature that none dared to cross. And with us out of the way, with nothing to be afraid of, the world tore itself apart.
We came out of our exile prepared to fight. We expected an army of nations, prepared to end us, once and for all. But what we found instead was the very world itself, wrapped up in a wintery bow, waiting for us to take it.
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I was only a child when the bombs fell. First, they said it was the Russians. Then, they tried to convince us that it was the vindictive actions of one "Kim Jong Un", authoritarian ruler of a small nation that used to be known as North Korea. Neither the north nor the south survived, so I guess it's just No Korea now. At least that's what my grandpa always used to like to say. He had some pretty strong opinions about the entire situation.
It wasn't until the war was almost over that we truly accepted how it had began. We were the ones that had dropped the first bombs. Some kind of resurgence of this idea they once called "manifest destiny" under the last democratically elected president of the States, our great leader Trump (may he make america great again) had taken hold in the collective consciousness of the American people.
Of course, I don't really remember any of this happening. I was just a kid. But, I have heard stories. Entire regions of the world were gone in a matter of hours. Over 97% of the world's population was sentenced to a metaphorical guillotine. My family was lucky. My dad had always had this hobby called "doomsday prepping" that turned out to actually be quite useful. He had built us a shelter in the backyard. Apparently my mom always used to yell at him for spending money on useless things. I guess it wasn't so useless after all.
Mere hours after the bombs fell, the world leaders tried to convene and place sanctions upon our great leader Trump (may he make America great again). He wouldn't have it. He continued to drop more bombs. The event quickly became known as the third world war, though it lasted no more than two weeks in total. Most of the world is still uninhabitable. Our great leader Trump (may he make America great again) then came up with a brilliant solution to get us out of our dreadful situation. He pressed all the other world leaders into agreeing to a permanent ceasefire under the banner of reducing globalism and returning to a time before the world was so connected. Every country agreed that, for the next fifty years, no country would contact any of the others. They agreed because of the great leadership of lord Trump (may he make America great again) and because he was very stable and genius. This is how my father tells the story, so it must be true.
Well, I'm no longer a child and it is finally time to go back out into the world. To tell the truth, I am kind of afraid. I've never really been outside of this bunker. All I've had are the weekly broadcasts of our great leader on an old CB radio that must be well over a hundred years old. I know that we have surely fared the best of all the countries in the world, so why should I be afraid? What will I find? As long as I follow the great leader Trump's (may he make America great again) instructions, I know everything will turn out fine.
As I take my first steps outside, the first thing I notice it that it is really fucking hot. Leader Trump (may he live forever) has told us that it might be warmer than we are used to due to the very natural process of the Earth's warming, which we are told happens in cycles.
My daughter sees the sun for the first time. This is worth all the years of isolation. To see her smile is the only thing that has kept me going for a long time. When mom died, my daughter would tell me that grandma was finally able to go out and be in the world again. That was a small, but comforting idea.
I'm surprised by the lack of vegetation. It seems almost as if no one is around. Isn't this the day that we all get to leave our bunkers? Is this not the day that leader Trump (may he make America great again) promised? I see my wizened father in the corner of my eye. He is sharing a knowing look with several of the other elderly members of the family.
"Son, I have something to tell you," he says to me. "I made a mistake many years ago. There was a missile alarm that went off in Hawaii all those years ago, so I decided to finally make use of the bunker. There was no war. That CB radio? It's actually just a two-way radio and this whole Trump thing has been pretty entertaining. We used memes to get him elected in my day. I felt mighty foolish after staying down there for a solid month, but your mother and I finally came out when we realized that there were no continuing emergency broadcasts. The alarm was a false alarm. Then we started hearing things on the news about kids eating Tide pods. The world wasn't a safe place anymore. Your mother and I decided to weather out life underground. Now that your daughter is beginning to get older, I just feel like I'd be a bad grandpa if I didn't let her see the world, son. I'm sorry, but we had a good time down there, didn't we?"
"But where are all the people, father?" I asked.
"Oh, Elon Musk took everyone to Mars about 10 years after we got all barricaded. Decided to let the planet heal a little- Global warming and all."
"What's global warming?" I asked.
"Oh, don't worry about that, it's handled. Anyway, sorry about the whole lying thing," he said as he ducked from my clumsily attempted punch.
Well, it looks like I have a lot to learn about the real world. Wish me luck. At least I'm not isolated anymore. Wish me luck.
Sorry if this sucks. First attempt on WP.
| 2022-09-12T17:39:07 | 2018-01-17T20:36:12 | 579 | 216 |
[WP] Turns out that God does not care if you are gay, atheist, or pagan, but he is a real stickler about mixed fabrics.
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Jordan had a number, and eagerly waited for his number to be called on the big screen in the waiting room. It was filled with nervous pacers and impatient folks, waiting for their turn to be judged. It had been an hour and a half in the waiting room, and a year in purgatory. The nuclear war really set judgement back, and God is stressed the hell out.
He made his way to the coffee machine and filled his styrofoam cup. Finally he heard a ding and a robot’s voice call “G073”. His heart was pounding, his mind was racing. His soul was on the line. He was excited to look upon the face of God, but he was more overcome with fear. He was always a good Christian, but he’s aware that he wasn’t perfect.
“Uhh” he thought. “What should I do with this cup?” He looked around in a frenzy, trying to decide where to leave the cup. “Would it be rude if I brought it with?” He thought. He resolved to leave it on the coffee table. Nobody will notice, and even if they did, what are the chances he sees them again?
He walked to the desk with one of God’s assistant sand handed her his number. The assistant took him down the hall. There were lots of offices. Who ever thought ruling the universe was a divine bureaucracy?
They got to the last one and the assistant opened the door. “Jordan Randal Fischer” she said into the room. Behind the desk was an old, greatly bearded man. Jordan always figured god would be naked, or at least wearing those white robes he’s always portrayed as wearing. Nope. Solid grey button down shirt with the top button unbotton, tucked into denim jeans, a black belt, and dress shoes. His head was resting on his hand, he only brought his eyes to meet Jordan’s for a moment, and immediately back down to the folder on his desk.
“Have a seat, my child.” He said disinterestedly.
Jordan walked over and sat, the door behind him closed shut. God just kept reading the folder in front of him, whispering the words to himself.
“God?” Jordan asked.
“One second.” God said, holding a finger up. He got to a line, sighed, and rolled his eyes. “Uhh. Why?”
“Excuse me?” Jordan asked.
“Did you read my book, Jordan?”
“Admittedly, not all of it, but I tried to...”
“Well”, god interrupted, “it looks like you were lustful, for which you repented. You had anger in your heart, for which you repented. You were unfaithful, for which you repented.” Jordan was getting nervous. Was this about his experimenting with a guy in college? “You have theft, for which you repented. And you mixed fabrics, for which you seem unconcerned, and dare I say, prideful?” Jordan was astonished, he sat with his mouth ajar mumbling umm’s and I’s while he tried to think of a response. “Why didn’t you just kill someone Jordan? Or lust after your neighbor’s wife? How many times did I have to say all sins are equal to get the point across?”
Jordan sat dumbfounded.
“Whatever, I don’t have time for this.” God pushed the folder away from him. “Just leave through the first door. Past it is eternal damnation.”
“WHAT?!” Jordan screamed out. “No, please. God, there must be something you can do!”
God was frustrated and buried his head in his hands. “Why are you people all the same?! UGH! Chill out, it’s not that bad. You won’t burn. It’s just a world with complete freedom - subject to the same twists and turns, ups and downs, as life on Earth.”
Jordan was confused.
“The only difference is that I’m not there to control things. I was pretty busy the last couple of centuries anyway, so I hardly got involved in Earth during your time.”
Jordan was still confused.
God said, “I’m calling the next one in, go on now.”
With that, Jordan walked through the door, and found himself in eternal damnation. When he looked around, he noticed it was crowded and that everyone was wearing mixed fabrics.
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After years of standing in line, I finally got to the door of the grotto. What I found was more queues. The grotto seemed tiny from outside but within it was a vast catheral, the ceiling was lost in the heavens and the walls on either side were hundreds of metres away. At the opposite end from the door I had walked in were a row of doors, each as grand and impressive as the building itself. Leading up to to each door was a short queue. I was met at the entrance by an officious looking, balding man with a clipboard "Smith, John" he said in a grandfatherly tone, "Welcome to the hall of judgement, please join queue number 42, agnostics, Catholics and atheists from Earth, all questions will be answered by the steward". I knew I was queueing for judgement, the long queue outside the grotto snaked and zigzagged like the queues at Disneyland. I had many interesting conversations with all sorts of people, each with their own idea of what we were to meet at the end of the queue, most thought it was some form of judgement.
&#x200B;
I made my way slowly past the rows of velvet rope that seperated the queues. Finally I found queue 42, I walked along the bay and stood behind an old couple, who were holding hands and joking cheerfully about how all this queueing was a comforting reminder of home. They queue was short but it moved slowly. I struck up a conversation with them and we filled the few hours we had to wait by telling each other our life stories. They had been from Norwich in England, high school sweethearts who had been seperated by the second world war, when he went off and fought in France she stayed at home and grew vegetables on a farm. She had fallen in love with one of the other girls on the farm and for the next ten years they lived together, pretending to be good cathlics by day but secretely lovers in private. He had been captured by the Nazis and briefly lived as a prisoner of war. He escaped with a small group of other english soldiers and they had made their way across europe, trying to get home and killing small bands of Nazis where he could. Finally they had been rescued just before VE day. He fell into a life of drink and drugs back home, constantly reliving the war in his mind. until by chance he met his high school sweetheart after being rushed into hospital one day. He had suffered a heart attack, while she had just said goodbye to her land girl, who had died tragically early of cancer. Their love was rekindled and gradually these two helped each other battle their demons, eventually settling into a comfortable old age together. They had died within hours of each other.
&#x200B;
They were both convinced they were to go straight to hell. He for killing, drink, drugs; her for being gay and for lying to her priest and congregation.
&#x200B;
As we got to the front of the queue she was called first. She took one last look at her love and turned to face the steward. The cavernous room had so far absorbed the noise of the conversations between the steward and those before us, but now we were close enough we could hear what was said. The man and I stood in trepidation. The steward had a plinth with a large book in front of him. He turned the page as the woman approached and started to speak "Mary Henderson, you are to be judged. If the balance of your actions left a positive impact on those around you, you will go to heaven, if you left a negative impact, you will go to hell, do you understand?" he said. At that, she started to speak "Steward, I know that according to my religion I have sinned badly. I accept that I will walk through the door to hell this day". The steward, taking a softer tone said "Mary, the most important rule of your religion is that given by Christ, love your brother as you love yourself. In that respect you have lived a good life. You loved two people faithfully, holding one's hand till the end of her life and helping the other get over deep tragedy. However in other ways you have been a net negative in the world. In leviticus it is stated, you shall not round the corners of your head, it means that you should keep your intellect sharp, but in your later years you became lazy and stupid, so you weren't able to guide your family and community with wisdom. It is also said, do not wear clothing made of two diferent kinds of material, by that we mean, do not subject yourself to internal conflict. In that way you have also failed, your lost love was ever on your mind, even in later life, so you did not love your second love as fully as you could, that led him to feel neglected, as if he was ever living in the shadow of your former love. These sins are not outweighed by your good acts. But they should act as a warning to you. Your judgement is that you have not reached the standards required to enter heaven, but neither are you damned, you will go back to Earth and live again, next time you appear here you will remember both lives, but until then your life as Mary will be hidden from you" At that he gestured to the door to his left, and Mary walked through with a look back to her former love.
&#x200B;
As the man walked up, the steward turned the page again "George Anderson, you are to be judged. If the balance of your actions left a positive impact on those around you, you will go to heaven, if you left a negative impact, you will go to hell, do you understand?". George cleared his throat "well sir, if it doesn't inconvenience you too badly, I'd like to folow my mary back to earth. She was a great help to me in later life and I would have long ago fallen into a pit of despair without her". The Steward looked up from his plinth and adressed George directly, as he had with Mary. "George, you have killed in life, this is the worst sin a man can commit. However, the men you killed would have gone on to kill, rape and maim thousands of others. You suffered through years of regret and misery because of your actions, and you faithfully loved Mary. Even when chances to cheat presented themselves, and she was distant and difficult. Each soul is responsible for itself, and your place in heaven is guaranteed, you can walk through the golden door now if you choose. However If you choose to, I can grant your request and allow you to follow Mary back to earth. You will have no memory of your life as George, but you will be close to her. If you find each other again I can see that you will both help each other through life again. But it is not guaranteed that this will happen. And you will be judged on the actions of both lives when you appear here again, so you may lose your place in heaven. Do you accept this risk?" "Of course" said George. "Then walk through the door".
&#x200B;
I was next to be judged. I won't document it word for word here. But I was lucky, I got my place in heaven. I found I was allowed to ask any question I wanted while talking to the steward. So I asked him about George and Mary, would they really be ok in the next life? He told me that the two cloths rule, relating to internal conflict, was one of the most important in setting a persons life on the right path. "If a person chooses a good path and sticks to it, then they will find themselves judged well at the end of their life. But if they are conflicted and do not wholeheartedly follow a good path, if they dwell on other paths and are not settled and whole, they will naturally lead to sin, and a negative judgement"
&#x200B;
I am not in heaven today, I am back on earth. I too found my way back here, but I am no longer a person. I am what you might call a guardian angel. I chose to help George and Mary find their path and the steward was happy to allow it. The only problem is that they have been reborn and I don't know who they are now. I'm here until they both die, so I've made my own choice. I will use my small influence on the world to help people settle on their path, help people not to "mix cloth" and follow their own good path. I am lucky, I can influence peoples minds a little, to write a short story or make a comment where it's required. My hope is that when I find my way back to the grotto I'll meet George and Mary again. Who will have read this story and resolved to follow a good path, and got in to heaven.
| 2019-03-16T06:08:36 | 2019-03-16T05:16:54 | 149 | 38 |
[WP] You just made a deal with the devil, and sold your soul. But when he reached in to take it, he says, "Okay, wise-guy, where is it?"
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The devil withdrew his hand from my heart and I just started laughing. He looked so confused, a look that really didn't suit him, being the devil and all. I straightened up and made sure to look him directly in the eyes before I responded to he previously asked question.
"Did you know, that some Irish gingers' hair can go so brown that it only looks red when standing in direct sunlight?" I said with a smile somehow wider than his when I accepted his stupid bet. "You might want to check that the person you are dueling even has a soul before you try to steal it from them."
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I don’t write a lot and this is my first post here so don’t be too mean lol
I always thought I was a good person. I’ve tried my best not to commit any sins against my fellow mankind and when I did, I made sure to make up and never leave any burnt bridges between them. I guess you could say I always aimed to live between my emotions, almost sociopathic in a way. I never held onto negative emotions, and I never held onto positive emotions. I lived everyday in a bliss of neutral emotions. I thought this was a great way to live life, without feeling anything I’d never hurt myself. And without feeling anything, I’d never hold onto negative thoughts that could hurt somebody else. But what I learned that day proved me otherwise.
I was walking home late at night from work because I was recently in a car accident. I should of died, but I somehow survived with no injury. I learned why that night. I was walking through the tree line that I cut through to save me about 10 minutes on my walk when I noticed something odd. There was a path that I never noticed was there, but it seemed to lead in the normal direction I head so I just stuck to this newly found path. It seemed like a four wheeler trail, something you’d know if you grew up in a small town like I did. I was a little nervous that I was walking on private property, but as late as it was I wasn’t too worried. But there was something that caught my attention.
The farther I walked down the trail, it felt like it was warming up. Almost like that feeling when the sun starts to rise and warm the air around you, but it was 4 in the morning and the sun was as nowhere in sight. It felt like the sun was rising behind me and was shining brightly on my back. That was when I had an experience I don’t think I’ll ever forget and it changed my life forever.
I turned around and saw a man in a top hat and suit with a cane. It was hard to see his face, it seemed to be completely covered by the shadows of the night. “Who are you?”, I asked. The man felt like he was staring into my soul. “I don’t know what you want, but if you want my wallet you can have it”. The man chuckled, and he spoke with a voice as dark as the night. “I don’t want your material things, but I am willing to make a bargain I bet you can’t pass up. I am of the night, the one who walks in darkness. I am of the moon while my greatest enemy is of the sun. Most people know me as the devil, and I am here to make a deal. Trade me your soul and I’ll give you whatever you please in this mortal life. For giving me your soul, I won’t punish you as hard in the next life. There are different circles of hell and I can promise you that you’ll never suffer anymore than a man who committed a few lies”
I paused for a second, in fear the man was on some insane drugs and thought he was a literal omnipotent being.
I jokingly asked, “What about $5000 dollars in my bank account every week?”. He chuckles and said “Sure, I can make that happen. Do we have a deal?”. Out of morbid curiosity, and maybe a little greed, I said “Alright, mark my soul.” The man didn’t even move, and I felt the warmth fill my chest. It felt like a hand made of fire was moving inside my chest. “Okay wise-guy, where is it?”I was puzzled. “Where’s what?”, I asked. I felt the feeling that I can only explain as anger fill the air around me and I blacked out. I woke up what felt like hours later in the same spot I was but it was still dark and he was standing there. “Turns out you do have a soul”, he explained, “but there isn’t much of a force left in it.”
I was shocked, and pleaded “What? Does that mean I’m dying? Am I near the end of my life?”. He still sounded angry, and he said to me “You life your life in this mortal realm but you detach yourself from all things that make you mortal. You are a dead man walking because you never allow yourself to truly love. Emotions are a yinyang between good and bad, and without accepting both you can never cherish any. I might as well just take you now. You hurt those around you by shutting yourself out, you hurt yourself by never truly being happy. You were willingly to trade your soul for material because you are basically nothing but material. I’ll return to you in a couple years when your soul is stronger and we’ll see how you answer again. But if I return and you are still as empty as you are now, I will end your misery before you have to experience it yourself at the true end of your mortal life”.
With that, he vanished, and I slept in the woods that night. When I woke up, I was on my bed and knew I had to change myself. I had to be ready for when the devil returns again.
| 2019-05-05T06:28:11 | 2019-05-05T03:22:15 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] "I wish for more wishes". "THAT IS AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish for more genies". "THAT IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES". "Then I wish those rules did not exist". The genie warps in a humongous book and flips to a page before smugly saying "THAT TOO IS ALSO AGAINST THE RULES".
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"Can I see that book?" I asked. The genie handed the book to me, which was very light for its size. Each page contained a single rule in a large bold font, with an example printed beneath in smaller letters. Each rule, along with its example, took up about a third of the page. The rest looked hastily scrawled by hand, cramming every inch of each page. About halfway through the book the printed examples stopped and the paper was crumpled, as if it was added to the binding later. These pages were also filled with cramped writing.
"You cannot wish that the rules do not apply to you"
"You cannot wish to summon the genie again and receive more wishes"
"You cannot wish for more genies"
"You cannot wish for the power to grant wishes yourself"
"If you wish to clone yourself, your clone does not receive any additional wishes"
"You cannot wish for someone else's wishes, or to give your wishes to someone else"
"You cannot wish for the genie to forget about the rules" (this one was in block capitals and underlined several times)
"You cannot wish to know how to properly wish for more wishes"
...And on and on throughout the hundreds of pages. "Did people really wish for all of this?" I asked.
The genie nodded. "Human ingenuity gets more annoying every decade."
I thought for a moment, scanning the last few pages while counting off on my fingers. "All right... Give me some time. I need to go get a few friends."
The genie sighed, but nodded. There was nothing in the rules about that. Yet.
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"Then," Ali said patiently, "Can I know what isn't?"
The genie looked over his tiny reading glasses, and Ali could swear it was intended to be condescending. "Oh, who am I to tell you what to do, Master?"
Ali's eye twitched. Smile wavered.
"What do I call you?" he said, "Mr. Genie? Doraemon?"
"You can call me anything you like, Master." the genie flashed his teeth, taking out That Book again, "It's right here in the rul--"
"No!" Ali groaned, "Just tell me a name!"
The genie blinked. "My name? Er. You can call me... Jin?"
*How creative*, lamented Ali.
Look, being from an ancient line of sorcerers was hard work. Especially if you had sort of stopped being sorcerers for the past seventy years or so, and got into the business of publishing.
A publishing business that failed. Obviously, the next step was to go back to being sorcerers. As they say, going back to your roots and all that.
There was nobody Ali could ask questions to, and most of his knowledge came from his maniacal father's stories of glory and wealth and Tricking The Djinn. And Aladdin. You didn't forget Aladdin.
So when the genie *planted it's genie feet on the ground* instead of revealing itself in a puff of (secretly, he was hoping for royal blue) smoke.... It was on Ali that he didn't anticipate everything going sideways.
The candlelight flickered once, before going out. Jin shook his head and snapped his not-pudgy fingers. All the books Ali had read and the new *Aladdin* remake got the genie right, regardless of Will smith being much stockier.
Every light in the room flashed on at the same time.
"*That* wasn't against the rules?" Ali gritted his teeth and smiled wider all at the same time, "Messing with your master's property?"
The genie immediately went back to the damn book, as if to check. It probably weighed about one-fourth of Ali's body-weight, but the bastard was holding it up with ease.
"Sit down if you're going to be up all night reading, why don't you?" he mumbled under his breath.
And sit down the genie did. A couch that Ali didn't own, one far too elaborate for his dingy one room apartment materialized for the genie to drop into.
*Of all the uncooperative, condescending, cheeky...*
"I'm going to bed." the boy finally announced, the last of his patience evaporating. It didn't look like they were getting anywhere with this today. There was a class for seven am tomorrow, and his watch was already showing three. He needed sleep, and he needed it immediately.
The genie's brows furrowed, and he squinted Ali. "Aren't you going to," he jerked a thumb at the beaten-up lamp in a corner, and made a *whooosh* motion, "Put me back?"
That was *it*. "What are you?'' Ali yelled, "A kid? You can go back when you want to! I'm not going to tuck you in!"
"No, uh, I meant, precautio--"
"Do you think you can read in a lamp?! Why in the world do you want to be in one!?"
"I *can* read in a lamp though..." Jin trailed off.
Ali took a deep breath. He pinched his nose and then took a *series* of deep breaths. This wasn't him, no, it was just a very, very, stressful day. He needed to show dad he did this or the man would never get off his back. There was a horrible genie. There was class tomorrow. It was *fine*.
"Alright. I'd really appreciate you using only *one* light if hanging around, thanks." Ali informed him testily, before turning on his heel. There was no doors to slam in a one-room apartment, but he could always turn his back on people.
The genie's eyes suddenly twinkled, and Ali had a really bad feeling about this. "Your wish is my command, my Master."
Wait. "Oh! No, no, no-"
It was too late. Jin had already snapped his fingers.
He was such an idiot. Of course this would never work out. And he'd never summon another genie ever again and he'd continue being a failure and--
All the lights were still on.
Ali looked between a shaking genie and tube lights, jaw agape in his confusion. A few seconds of blinking back and forth, and the being on the couch let out a long breath.
"I can't believe you fell for that, Master!" the genie wheezed, a hand on his mouth to stop his giggles. *Giggles*. He did a complicated maneuver with his fingers, and the book shuffled to a new page, "It says right here you have to start the wish with *I wish*. It's against the rules otherwise."
The relief hit first. There *was* only one wish, and if nothing, he wanted to pay his *tutions*. Student loans were a bitch. Dad would have been so disappointed. He wouldn't even *believe* Ali about the genie.
The anger hit next.
"You!" Ali shouted, clapping his hands together, pleading, "Can you *please* get back to reading?! I *will* be asking questions!" After he read it tomorrow himself, of course.
There was *class*.
With a final glare at the genie, Ali climbed into bed. He read somewhere that you asserted dominance by maintaining eye-contact, but he wasn't about to stare a hole into this scoundrel before going to sleep.
He'd have nightmares or something.
Ali turned his back on the genie and arranged his blankets. A few comforting minutes, and his ears perked up.
"No singing! Read!" he ordered. "I need to sleep!"
"Whatever you say, Master," the genie sing-songed.
| 2022-01-04T06:00:40 | 2022-01-04T02:54:27 | 138 | 96 |
[WP] You are the first human ambassador to the alien mothership, where you are to learn about them and begin opening relations between them and Earth. You soon find out they share one unexpected trait with humans.
|
"And so I think that she likes me, but it's hard to tell, you know? You know, when you think you're getting signals but-"
"Sorry, this is your best friend's ex-girlfriend we're talking about right?"
"Yeah, Xiiugt"
"Well in human culture, it's frowned upon to pursue a friend's ex."
"Really?"
"Yeah, we call it the uh, the bro code, I guess."
"Who wrote it?"
"...Barney?"
"Who is he?"
"He's not a real guy he's-"
"A god?"
"No I mean, oh dear god, nevermind. If you want to know about human culture, ask me about art history, or something."
"Oh ok." There's a pause, "Can I tell you about my problem a bit more instead?"
"Ugh, sure."
"So as I said I like Xiiugt but she's into Thhyra, or I think, they made out at Yyriit's party so-"
"Made out? Do you even have mouth?"
"What?"
"Uh, I think what's happening here. Is the translator's picking the closest match for what you're describing in human terms, and it's confusing me."
"Oh, you want me to explain what making out is for us."
"Uh," I look at it's face, and the various tentacles that grow out from it at awkward angles, "No."
"Anyway the point is that I don't know if she likes me or if-"
Another, taller, creature walks into the room. "Apologies for having to leave you like that," He says, "We're ready for you to come in now and meet the rest of the crew. Hope you don't mind being left with my son."
"No not at all," I say, smiling, "He reminds me of the kids at home."
He laughs, and guides me through to the main hall.
|
The beam of light materializes in front of me, its blinding radiance sending me into a nervous fit.
This is it. This is my one and only chance to impress our otherworldly neighbors for the entirety of Earth. As the first ambassador, the fate of billions lies on my shoulder.
I’ve wondered what they are like since Contact Day, the day years ago that an alien species chose to respond to this little blue marble’s cries into the void of space. They chose to answer, giving us the assurance that we aren’t all alone in this crazy existence called life.
Well, their message was cryptic, to say the least. They gave us a few details about their culture – their customs, beliefs, and primary language – and let us run wild with it. Along with that, they said that we had five years to select one person to represent the human race. If we impressed them, they would share their greatest technology. If not, well, let’s just say that the Martian colonists will be glad that their trip is one way only.
After the announcement, countries all across the world banded together to find the right man for the job. They put their brightest brains to the job in order to create the Trials, a vigorous test of skills one has to master based off the information given in the Contact video.
Needless to say, many flocked to their call. Ultra-nerds, B-list celebrities – hell, even Putin tried. But of the millions who stepped up to the plate, few got far. I was one of the lucky ones. I had just lost my job and tried out of pure boredom.
Turns out, I was pretty damn good. I rose through the ranks, becoming almost like a folk hero of sorts. Some loved me, creating fanbases. Others, not so much. When I made it to the Top Ten, the final group of contestants, I had to have a bodyguard on me at all times. Who would have thought that Putin would be that bitter?
The Top Ten was where I found the most adversity. My competition was insane. There I was, standing with people like Neil deGrasse Tyson and Kim Kardashian (don’t ask me how) as we were weeded out one after another.
Our lives became like a reality TV show. We all competed weekly to prove our alien-savviness as the date approached closer and closer. I could barely go on camera without totally shitting myself. I mean, you’d be surprised how nerve-wracking it is when over five billion people watch every little detail of your life for ten weeks.
Yet, somehow I emerged victorious. It was unbelievable, to say the least. If I thought I was the apple of everyone’s eye before, I was practically their best friend after that. Everyone loved and envied me at the same, all their trust put on me. After all, my actions would decide how much longer they lived.
And now here I am, about ten seconds away from shitting myself yet again as I am the first person to meet an alien face-to-face. I take a deep breath, straightening my tie as the lightbeam dissipates.
“Welcome,” I say in their native language, hoping my accent didn’t slip back to its slightly southern draw.
The alien is surprisingly much like I expected. Many people portray them as little green men with strange shaped heads. I prefer a more humanoid idea. Apparently, besides blue skin and orange tinged hair – they do shockingly similar to us.
“Hello,” the alien responds weaving its hands through the air as a sign of peace.
I repeat the action, the pattern etched into my brain. After countless hours, it’s like second nature to me. So far, so well.
“Well,” I clear my throat. “How should we begin this meeting?”
“Excuse me. I have one matter to take care of.”
The alien pulls out a small device by its side. The screen is holographic, a flickering blue light almost the same tone as its skin. When it presses a finger against it, the light shines brighter.
In a single bound with its long legs, the alien closes the distance between us. I hold my breath, afraid of messing up.
This isn’t in any of their notes. I’m not prepared for this.
The alien touches shoulders with me, raising the device in the air. Wait, it can’t be.
“Say poskea!”
A bright flash appears, blinding me for a moment. I rub my eyes, trying to rid my vision of the small colorful bulbs. I struggle to find the words, incredulous.
“What did you just do?”
The alien looked at me with confusion, as if I had insulted it. Maybe I did.
“I believe you human’s call it a selfie, correct? It is customary of my people to take them. This documents the first contact with humans. Be excited.”
Wordless, I nod. What else could I say?
“Okay, let’s just start this.”
Well, if I thought that was bad, the rest of the meeting was horrible. The alien remained on its device, giving a gurgling laugh every time a new message (loudly) popped up. at one point I started counting. It was as many as ten in one minute.
In the first hour alone, it made sure to update me every time our picture got another billion likes. How kind…
By the second hour, I had taken six more selfies and what I suspect is the its home world's version of Vine. By the end, I was more frustrated than ever before. Of all things, why did aliens have to mirror our narcissistic love of social media?
“Human, let us take one more selfie.”
I had enough. Before I could stop myself, I was yelling without control.
“No! You can take your space phone and shove it up your ass, if you even have one. I’m done.”
And with that, I left the meeting. I expected to face some repercussions, to watch the earth burn in front of my eyes. Yet, nothing happened. It wasn’t until that evening that I found out that the aliens had spared us.
Apparently, they took my outburst as a sign of respect and chose to keep the human race alive. I was hero once again, even if I hadn't meant to be.
I exhaled, relieved that I didn’t somehow fuck over everyone on Earth. But as soon as I logged onto the internet, I cursed. They had shared their technological secret with the internet. It almost made me wish they had destroyed the Earth.
Their secret was how to take the perfect selfies.
| 2015-04-14T07:38:53 | 2015-04-14T05:12:35 | 334 | 164 |
[WP] Three sailors fell from a ship in a stormy night. Each one of them made a cruel trade with the ocean god in order to 'survive'
|
"My captain gave his eye. *How can a sailor survive without knowing how far he has before he's dashed on the rocks?* he said to the sea. *An eye is a precious thing indeed.* But he gave the sea his left eye, blinded by buckshot years ago. So he was to cleverly escape the sea."
"But Father, where is your captain now?" my son asked.
I continued. "My first mate surrendered his leg. *How can a sailor survive if he cannot stride the deck, or stand fast in a storm?* he said to the sea. *A leg is a valuable thing indeed.* But he gave his peg leg, his flesh blown off by cannon-fire a decade hence, and a peg is easily replaced. So he too was to cunningly escape the sea."
"But Father, where is your first mate now?" my son asked.
And in a shaking voice I whispered: "I am a coward, and promised the lives of my comrades. So I alone escaped the sea."
|
Dark waves crashed and pounded against the vessel. Lightning cracked across the sky, booming like a cannon.
“Grab the sails men! Grab the sails!” Fulton yelled through the sound of the waves and thunder.
All hands on deck, they were fighting the powerful winds as best as any crew could.
“Grab the boom!” Buckley yelled.
Fulton, Buckley and Hardwin grabbed the large boom to steady it. A cracking sound. At the base of the rigging, a large fractured formed, the ship being bent and twisted by the powerful sea. The boon swung out onto the ocean with all three clinging to it. A wave leapt up, dragging the three men down into the ocean.
“Watch out, a wave!” Fulton cried.
A massive sheet of water was barrelling down on the men. They desperately swam towards the ship. The wave crashed down. Bobbing back up Buckley and Hardwin looked towards each other. Fulton was gone. Another wave. This time only Hardwin surfaced. He swam to the boat as rain slicked his face and hair. An angry wave formed. Hardwin sunk into the sea, sinking further and further into the depths, a strong current pulling him under.
“Fulton! Buckley! I thought we were goners!” Hardwin exclaimed. The current had pulled him into a sunken ship, free of water and full of breathable air.
“I’m not so sure we’re in the clear dear chap,” Buckley said.
A creature entered the ships hold. It was green and blue, half liquid and half sea monster. Its head resembled that of a shark, sharp long teeth protruding from its large jaws.
“Gentlemen, welcome to my kingdom,” the create spoke.
The three men huddled together trembling.
“What... who are you?” Fulton asked.
“I? I am a God!” the creature bellowed. His voice bounced around the hull of the ship.
“I am the one that has saved you three. But it must come at a price. Something dear to you,” the creature said snapping its jaws.
On the wall of the hull, an image appeared. It showed a large farm, bails of hay, stocks of grains and many livestock.
“What is this sorcery! That’s my farm,” Fulton said.
Fulton was a fat man. His shirt buttons teetered at the edge of bursting. He enjoyed the best food and the best wine; he lived for it.
“Your farm or your life,” the creature said.
Fulton stumbled backward.
“I-I’ve spent my whole life building up that place. All my earnings, all my efforts and love...” he said as he buried his face in his hands.
“Your farm or your life!” the creature yelled.
“My life, you, you dreaded thing,” Fulton said.
The image flickered. A fire erupted consuming all the stores of bounty. The livestock fell ill and died instantly. Fulton’s collapsed and buried his face in his hands.
The creature looked towards Buckley. Buckley was tall, with broad shoulders and rippling muscles. He had bedded many fair maidens in his day and looked forward to many more conquests at many more ports. The creature thrust a watery appendage at his face.
“Your beauty or your life,” the creature said as the image changed to that of a mirror.
Buckley walked towards the mirror. He cocked his head to his best side, he looked himself up and down admiringly. The image wavered and it turned into a short, plain skinny fellow.
“That would be me? No, I can’t, I truly...” Buckley turned away from the mirror.
“My life, you foul thing,” he said.
Buckley’s appearance began to morph. His muscles deflated, his sharp cheekbones and handsome features began to wither. He avoided the gaze of the mirror and huddled together with Fulton, the two men collapsed on the wet floor.
The image shimmered. It transformed to a little girl no older than eight.
“My dear Patrice!” Hardwin cried.
Hardwin was a plain man, unassuming and kind, as quickly remembered as forgotten. But deep within him, his heart burst with love for his family. It was the only thing that carried him through his long voyages, that he would see his loved ones again.
“Your daughter or your life,” the creature said. Its jaws clasped shut forming a wicked grin.
“There is no way I would ever take my daughter's life, you evil thing!”
“If you do not then your wife will be a widow. Your two other children fatherless. It is a clear choice, is it not?”
Hardwin clasped his chest. His heart was pounding, his face drained of all colour. He crumbled to the floor, tears streaming down his face.
“I can’t do it,” he said as he looked to his two friends.
They were wrestling with their own misfortunes, commiserating their losses.
The creature stepped close to Hardwin, “You test my patience! Life or death, choose!”
Hardwin looked into the creatures ghostly blue eyes. He opened his mouth but no sound escaped. As tears streamed down he nodded his head. The image of the little girl flickered and disappeared.
---
Check out my best prompts - r/SerializedFiction
| 2017-10-11T09:30:50 | 2017-10-11T08:18:00 | 100 | 20 |
[WP] "I like adventurous guys," she says with stars in her eyes. Your date is the most beautiful woman you've ever met. In a panic, you buy last-minute plane tickets to a small Balkan country. Your plan - a short tour visit, overthrow the local government, and win her heart.
|
I've always been an on-the-fly kind of guy.
An off-the-cuff, go with the flow, type of bro.
So when I met Kate, I said to my mate,
I cannot take her to some boring old show!
He immediately agreed, and said, "what you really need,
is a date like nothing she knows".
We sat at the bar drinking, and I got to thinking,
Whats the most adventurous date you could do?
You could fly her to Paris. Or Bali or Rome. Or even rent out a zoo!
But beyond all the rest, the choice that was the most adventurous,
Was definitely a trip to the Balkans in June.
We'd land in Belgrade, and after officials are paid,
and politicians are swayed,
I'd crown myself King and throw a parade!
She'd see I was great, see I was grand,
She'd marvel at the power of my new command.
I'd shrug and I'd say, in my own humble way,
"This went just like I had planned".
&#x200B;
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"Success is the ultimate driver," I say as I stare out the window of the plane, the sun's bright rays refracting off the clouds far below, creating heaven in my mind's eye. "Success gives us a chance at procreation, to allow men like me to reproduce with a female of the highest quality."
The man beside me nods knowingly at this nugget of wisdom, his half-moon glasses almost falling off his nose.
"Someone like me with someone like her," I look wistfully up at the cabin ceiling, "It's just not possible without success," I say, "I maintain that she only spoke to me because she was stranded on the side of the road and I was the first to stop."
"But we had a coffee and we chatted and I dropped her off at the mechanic and damn if she didn't seem like she came straight from another planet, with stars in her eyes," I say, still watching the cabin lights, "And I thought to myself, how could someone like me be with someone like her?"
My shoulders feel tight from sitting down in this cramped seat, I roll them and sigh contentedly at the minor relief. "It was as if she read my mind," I say, content to have such a listener, "She winked and said she liked adventurous guys - not happy, good-looking, muscular guys - but adventurous ones," I look over at the man, "So here I am, off on an adventure."
The man has nodded so far forward his chin is now on his chest. He is fast asleep.
I blink rapidly a few times, adjusting to my new reality. "It is better you don't know what I'm about to do, anyway," I say under my breath, a little peeved at his lack of engagement, "You'll be sorry you missed this opportunity to converse with such a mover and shaker as I."
I brood for a time, stroking the warn photograph that I'd insisted the tired-looking gas station attendant take. A photograph to mark the start of our romance, the two of us standing under too bright lights holding our dollar coffees. I fold the photo so it's just her in all her super model glory, low cut shirt and tight black skirt, on her way to somewhere, anywhere, it doesn't matter because she ran into me and I into her and I rub myself over my jeans, sneaking glances at my neighbor to make sure he is still asleep. I pour myself into that photo and I pour myself into my thighs, content in the warm, sticky embrace.
\------
I sip on my morning coffee, which is not nearly as good as the one at that gas station, which came enshrined in a beautiful moment now frozen in time. I try her number again and wish that I had gotten her name. Again the number goes straight to dial-tone.
"Perhaps she has run out of minutes," I say to myself. Fixing cars is expensive.
No matter, though. Soon I will be the most adventurous guy in the twenty first century, my face all over the world's news stations.
"Success is what matters," I tell the border agent as I cross from Bulgaria into Kosovo. He takes one look at my bright American smile and lets me straight through, a slight grin on his lips. "I will bring the American Dream to this land," I say, still smiling.
I look down at my hand-drawn map, copied from the internet. The government headquarters should be just around the corner, corrupt and gorging on UN aid, this building its physical manifestation.
I imbue myself with the confidence only life-long success can bring, or in my case, the iron-clad certainty that I have taken the first step on that journey, and that from this point forward my success will be life-long.
"I'm sorry, I don't speak English, " the security guard says, "What you want?"
"I am here to speak to your leader, mano-y-mano," I say, puffing up my chest to show that I mean business, that the real men must talk now.
The guard looks over his shoulder at someone inside, who beckons to let me through. I feel exhilaration and I embrace it, harness it as I walk through the high, arching doorway. I follow the important looking uniformed man down a long hallway, our footsteps echoing off the polished concrete floor.
"I will tell your 'President,' I say, using air quotes, "That you are an exemplary service member and should be rewarded." I congratulate myself on gaining this man's trust with so few words, a mark of the new, successful me.
I smile as I am led into the leader's quarters. "Strange," I say, "It's so grey and bland in here," I look up, "And the light flickers on and off." I look down at a stark metal chair and single metal table and then look up knowingly at my new friend.
"This is where I shall meet your leader, very well," I say, cheerfully taking a seat. The man looks at me with what can only be admiration, then he frowns, shakes his head and leaves.
I sit in the room waiting for my audience, the too bright light flickering on and off with a static buzzing sound.
"Finally!" I say as two men walk in. I rise half-way out of my chair, putting on my most winning smile as one backhands me across the face, and the next thing I know I'm on the ground choking for air as blood filters through my crushed windpipe and several of my teeth are scattered across the cold concrete floor.
I stay like that, slowly fading, my hand clutching and un-clutching the frayed, bloodied photograph of the woman with stars in her eyes.
| 2018-12-10T11:14:53 | 2018-12-10T08:30:42 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] You and your friends went camping to summon a major demon just to see what would happen. Now your Dad is standing in your glowing magic circle holding a cup of coffee and looking just as bewildered as you are.
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"Dad, this is not what it looks like! I mean, I can explain!" I stammered in bewilderment.
Holy shit, my DAD was probably the last person I expected to see in the summoning circle, blinking back at us with an equally bemused expression.
"I mean ... ", I continued weakly, before slowly realizing that if whatever the heck we did actually worked, then: "Wait a minute ... YOU'RE the one who has some explaining to do ... I guess?"
He swiveled his head, taking in the sight of 3 young boys, the awkwardly drawn pentagrams, the burning incense, and dripping candles standing next to a thick, hard-bound book.
He sighed deeply, took a big sip of coffee, and said, "Son, remember that time when you were ten and you messed up your mom's wardrobe and she called you 'demonspawn'?"
|
"Ya'll, I told you," Hope snapped, holding a hot mug of tea to her face. It was almost sunrise, the steam from the coffee adding some flush to nose. "I told you Amanda's father was a demon. I could feel it."
"Shut up for once, *Hope*," Sam enunciated her name with a tone of disgust. Sam's voice was usually so demure, so muted, you could barely hear her over the obnoxious din of the cicadas. The noise of our fire pricked the quiet desert area. "Mr. Matherson, please don't move out of the Pentagram. If Hope did the spell right... please, p-please just don't try to move."
I was sitting on a nearby boulder, a serape around my shoulders. My fingers were shakily forming a hoodoo to distract my mind from the fact that my world was about to end. I knew it in my stomach. My throat was dry, my guts were empty and devoid of air.
My dad stood in the center of the Pentagram that Hope, Sam, CJ, and I had formed. We had been coming to Golera Wash in the Mojave Desert every winter to conjure up little spells, create potions, perform hexes, anything along the sort. We have been summoning minor demons too, as Amanda grew more powerful. This wasn't my specialty of dark magic - something I would never want to fuck with. But surprise surprise, Hope was alarmingly good at conjuring.
CJ was still in transient mode. CJ was very good at reading intuition and navigating the frequencies around our dimension to see if there were any demons about, and what their intentions were. Most could not navigate into the human realm, and even if their intentions were pure or malevolent, only the most powerful of demons could transcend into the human world. Most found that they liked it so much that they just stayed human. We had heard that a demon had transcended and was living in a human close to us. But not just any demon - Baszi, a major demon of pranksters and mischief. He was an Old World demon, fairly harmless, but one worshipped by many. It made him deeply powerful due to the breadth of his worship. Most pagans who truly couldn't submit to the dark magic worshipped the less malevolent demons. Baby's first demon, essentially. CJ had plucked him from the dimension undercurrent.
"Dad!?!!" I shakily pried myself up, knocking over my hoodoo and running to the borders of the Pentagram. "Give him permission to speak, Hope!" My voice was cracking, dripping with desperation.
Hope whispered some ancient Latin under her breath, and my father's words could be heard. They cut sharply, with gumption, into the bitterly cold high-desert air. My father's voice was still the deep bellow that it had been for the last twenty-odd years of my life. The comfort and nostalgia shocked me even further into despair. I had always a feeling my father was imprinted by a major demon. He had been a High Maester in our regional pagan branch since I could walk, and had garnered and grown his skills with cutthroat dedication. Being a High Maester and wading into the underworld had its risks. He must've been weak and I wondered what caused him so. Two months ago, he was weak and performing a spiritual ritual - he could not remember - where he had to extract fragments of a soul from another dimension and bring them back. It must've been a noble who had paid him for this service, or someone who had paid him a high sum. This was not an easy task, and certainly dangerous. I had missed everything that he had sad. But I knew it was gripping - based off the faces of my coven around me. All I had heard him say was, "I am proud".
"Proud...?" I interjected, flush with insubordination.
My dad nodded. That is it, one nod, no explanation.
"Are you still my father?" I demanded. I didn't care that I should have respect for a major demon inhabiting my father's body.
"Of course I am, Mandy. I will always be. But now I am so much more." The calm in his voice was seeping into my bones. Willingly or not, I do not know. Demons have power like that. "Did you not see the signs I was being inhabited?"
I racked my brain through this very emotional moment, as my coven stood in awe. I did not notice their awe. I figured they would be embarrassed for me, but I saw their eyes, deep, dark, glossy. Tears of black streamed down their cheeks. Tears of admiration. My emotions sharply diverted towards a very different direction.
"How... does it feel?" Hope, now in a complete change of physical emotion, was letting the questions, observations, spells, pore out of her. She had no restraint. Sam was in complete silence of the holy moment happening in front of our very eyes. The fire crackled, the bugs hissed. The desert air had a chill it had never experience before. The earth was undulating with frequency, and the very thread of nature was getting disturbed by the unfamiliar dark energy.
I turned and looked at my father, my friends, my sisters in this magic. I felt pride swell up in my chest. My bones felt lighter, and I knew what I had to do.
"Me, next."
| 2019-07-17T23:22:18 | 2019-07-17T21:26:12 | 110 | 34 |
[WP] You're a disembodied consciousness who wakes up every day in a new body. Today, for the first time, you wake up in the same body as yesterday.
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Trisha collapsed onto the hotel bed, arms outstretched, staring through the ceiling. She didn't have the energy to do anything else; today had been the longest day she could remember. Literally. Half the time, she died before lunch. Then she (or he) would take up with a jolt, like coming out of a nightmare where one falls to their death and wakes up on impact. Except falling was one of the better way to go, if you asked her. And the body she woke up in once belonged to someone, only their consciousness was seemingly replaced with her own. No body seemed to be off limits to her, be it man or woman, young or old, except it seemed fated to die that very day, one way or another.
Her soul couldn't die, and yet death terrified her in a deep, primal way that couldn't be reasoned out of. But today, she had a few brushes with death and dodged them all. Would she simply suffer a heart attack in the final hour? She turned to look at the clock. It was already past midnight. That seemed important for some reason. She made it to the next day. She actually survived. She let exhaustion take her and slept like a baby, and sure enough, she woke up in the same body, in the same hotel room.
|
Dying fabulously rich has its perks. One of them is you never die. Not in today’s world at least. My consciousness has been uploaded to a memory Silo. People don’t realize the complexity of the human consciousness. How many resources are required to maintain a fully functional Silo. There are very few people in the world who can afford it. The CEO of Sylon Deep Space mining can.
Well, I’m retired now, but I still have a controlling share.
Each day a synthetic body is 3D printed for me. My consciousness is uploaded, and I go on my way and have my fun. At the end of the day my new memories are uploaded, and my old body recycled. The synthetics are… still in development stage. It’s not perfect. But the promise of immortality comes at a price. A small price, in my opinion, to escape the clutch of oblivion.
Some of the Immortals stay within their Silo. The risk is too great for them. You see, the synthetics only last for a maximum of 72 hours before they begin to break down. The risk of corruption to your upload is high. With enough corruption comes complete annihilation.
It’s worth it to me. I didn’t become the second richest man in the inner planets by forgoing risk. Besides, I gotta be on the move. I gotta have air in my lungs. Real air. Real sun. Real sky. Real women. No, I’d never live just within my Silo. I’d rather be dead.
* &#x200B;
I step out of the syncing machine naked as the day I was born. I step up to the mirror and look at myself. If you didn’t know what you were looking for, you’d think I was a perfect physical specimen of a 28-year-old male. Not a 176-year-old ghost in the machine. I nod approvingly at what I see. It really is a work of art what my team has done.
I’m dressed and out the door in fifteen minutes. My private jet is waiting for me. When you only got a day in a body, you make the most of it. Every minute counts.
I step out into the sun and feel the warmth on me. After 176 years it still has never gotten old. I stretch and shout out to the sky. Life is great. This is going to be an easy, carefree day and I’ll be home before dusk to re-upload and recycle.
Yes, it’s going to be a good day.
* &#x200B;
Two hours later and I’m laying on a beach in Miami letting the sun roast my synthetic skin, enjoying the life of it all as I watch the crowds move past. Some stop, mostly kids who haven’t seen an Immortal before. I smile at them and this seems to frighten them, and they scurry off to their families.
After a while I get up and walk to the water. I wave off my attachment of bodyguards and wade into the water and take long strokes as I cut my way over rising waves. I swim until my arms burn and start to feel heavy. I don’t remember what it used to feel like when my muscles got tired. When I was in my original body. I’ve been in synthetics longer than I was organically alive. This thought makes me feel anxious and I flip on my back and start floating my way back to shore.
I’m not trying very hard though. I’m really enjoying the silence and the blue sky above me and the lapping of the water along the line of my face. This peace is interrupted though when I hear the sound of an engine and I look up and see a slick black boat only a few yards away as it kills the engine and floats towards me. Three men are in the boat and they look towards shore and then back at me. Their faces are indifferent and for a second, I think they are just checking on me. That’s before I feel the sting in my shoulder and see a small dart protruding from it.
My muscles start to feel really heavy at this point and I feel I’m going to sink to the bottom of the ocean. One of them throws a rope around me and drags me to the boat and pulls me out of the ocean like a paralyzed marlin. I try to speak but nothing comes out and the bright Florida sun begins to dim, then goes out completely.
* &#x200B;
When I awake, I’m tied to a chair, and the first thought in my mind is: what time is it? How long have I been out? A fear courses through my body and makes me feel cold. I look down at my synthetic skin and I can see it is already starting to change colors. I’ve never woken up in the same body as yesterday and I don’t like the feeling. I look around and the room is dark.
“Hello!” I shout and I hear no answer. But after a few minutes there are footsteps. High heels. A woman steps into the room.
“Hello, Mr. Kroft,” the woman says. Her voice is soft and polite, and I recognize it. She move from behind the shadows and close to me and I’m not surprised when I see Joanne standing above me, smiling apologetically.
Joanne has been the CEO of Sylon for that past fifteen years. She’s been the most ambitious of all the CEO’s I’ve hired over the last one hundred years and I owe a lot of my wealth to her. But why she is standing over me now as I’m tied to a chair, I have no idea. I'm thinking maybe it wasn't such a good hire after all.
\---------------------
For more stories, check out my subreddit!
r/CataclysmicRhythmic
| 2021-01-16T23:59:27 | 2021-01-16T22:30:20 | 76 | 37 |
[WP]: A child encounters a mythical creature only to discover they're nothing like in the stories.
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Monsters in my storybooks are big and scary.
They have sharp teeth and long claws, and when the hero fights them the hero is always brave and strong with shiny armor and a sword.
My monster is small. And when I fight it I'm weak and tired and sick and lose my hair.
My mom says I'm fighting like a brave knight, but this is a much scarier monster than the ones in the books, because I think the hero doesn't win.
|
Daisy tripped carelessly alongside the brook, her bubbling smile the apotheosis of merriment. Her knees were brown and her shoes worn from the day’s adventure. Yet the trickle of water had a sing-song quality to it, a special kind that sung only for her, and encouraged her to keep journeying to its source. Gentle beams of sunlight fell down through the high trees and guided Daisy’s way. The brook gradually got louder as Daisy progressed, which made her only more excited. She raced forward and the sounds of the water got even more captivating.
Onwards and upwards Daisy traveled. When she eventually reached the genesis of the stream she was shocked to discover the source of the music. Perched by the water lay the filthiest looking creature Daisy had ever seen, lazily producing the most beautiful music she had ever heard. It was toying with a curious little fiddle, plucking a delicate melody as if it was in a trance. Neither the beast nor the music seemed of this world. He was an odd fellow certainly. His lower body was that of a goat, and though above the waist he looked like small man, a horn protruded from his forehead and his skin was of a greenish tint.
Daisy shivered. She had lost all track of time. How long ago had she run away from her parents in the park? An hour or two surely? The creature kept on playing. He didn't seem to have noticed Daisy’s arrival.
A thought came across Daisy’s mind: how would her parents know where she went? Daisy began to feel like she was in danger. At that moment the music stopped. The unorthodox musician turned his head towards Daisy. His smile showed two rows of chipped teeth.
“Hello darling. Like my music?” he asked. He beckoned Daisy to come sit beside him. She tip-toed towards him. “I go Hobbes, precious. Do you have a name, or were you born without a tongue?”
“Daisy” she finally squeaked.
Hobbes looked at Daisy with a relaxing smile. When Daisy reached Hobbes she obediently sat down beside him. Hobbes fixed Daisy with a serious look, examining her head to toes, but maintained his easy demeanor.
“What are you?” Daisy inquired.
“A fine musician” came the response. Hobbes laughed uproariously at his own joke, and slapped himself on his stubby goat knee. Daisy grimaced when he did so.
“Oh these?” he asked innocently when he noticed Daisy’s discomfort. “And this?” he pointed towards the horn. Hobbes furrowed his brow as though he’d never considered them before.
“Souvenirs from my travels” he informed Daisy. “Though they’re mighty rare around your parts”
Daisy wasn't completely satisfied with that answer, but she decided it was the best she was going to get.“What about that?” she asked, pointing at his queer instrument.
“Oh this? This is, well Daisy, this is another souvenir, I suppose” Hobbes said. Once again Daisy got the feeling Hobbes wasn't being quite honest.
“Would you like to try it?” Hobbes asked amiably.
Daisy excitedly threw her hands to her mouth.
“Oh could I? I’d love to” she gushed. “But I don’t know how to play any instruments”
“Nonsense” Hobbes told her. “It’s as easy as humming a tune. Let me show you.”
Hobbes thrust the fiddle into Daisy’s hands and hovered over her. He clasped her index finger down on the highest string.
“Now pluck” he commanded.
Daisy plucked the string nervously, but was overjoyed when she heard how beautifully it resonated down the stream. Hobbes grasped another of her fingers and clamped it in front of her index. She struck the string again and once more was overcome by how graceful it sounded. Within what must have been minutes, Daisy could competently play the fiddle. Hobbes encouraged her with coos that appreciated her natural talent. He was delighted by both Daisy’s aptitude and talent. Eventually Daisy’s left hand was sashaying up and down the neck, while her other fingers struck the strings so quickly they could have been at war.
Daisy played as the sun went down. Hobbes clapped his hands together and jumped in a fit of ecstasy. He started dancing to Daisy’s music, sniggering loudly as he did so. The sun went up and Hobbes stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Other creatures that looked like him came forth and danced alongside him. They did so in great merriment and found it hilarious that Daisy was playing the fiddle. Daisy played and played. The creatures began to depart. Eventually even Hobbes left. He did so with a wink and without asking for his fiddle back.
Daisy stayed put, always playing her enchanting melodies. Even when the sun went down, even when it came back up. Even when she heard people call her name, she stood there playing.
| 2013-11-12T15:25:27 | 2013-11-12T10:08:07 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] Four roommates are extraterrestrials who have taken human form in hopes of learning about Earth. Unfortunately, each alien is from a different planet and believes that the other three are normal humans.
|
Brog took a deep breath, or at least mimicked it. Standing in front of the door, he played out the human ritual of preparation. Breath in , then out.
"What's he doing?" asked Gilron, trying to push his roommate away from the peephole.
"He is obviously taking what is referred to as a breath" replied Til as he peered at the newcomer while jotting down notes. "ahh yes, he has begun his exhale exactly 5 minutes after starting his breath". Til slowed his breathing functions to take this new information into account.
Gilron turned away in alarm and quickly opened the control panel on his arm, "O..Of course ten minute breaths, yes yes. I..I..I breath all the time." turning on the breathing functions of his suit.
"All the time!" exclaimed Til, turning to look at Gilron.
"Y...Yes? I..I mean, only when I feel like it." said Gilron, "I think I'm going go breath in my room right now". As Gilron got up to go to his room, the front door was knocked in off of it's hinges and Brog stepped through.
"GREETINGS EARTL.. I mean fellow humans" said Brog "I am B......ob, I shall be sleeping in this place with you"
"It is a pleasure meeting you Bbbbbbbob, I was just going to my room to breath" Gilron turned to his door and kicked it in. "Using this door, as you have". After placing the door back in it's frame Gilron began to document his first human experiences.
Back in the living room Brog had just finished replacing the door,. It was time to initiate the human ritual of taking things from nearby humans. "Would you happen to have some sugar I can borrow?"
Til was grateful he had studied human diets ahead of time. "Yes I have ten pounds of sugar in the fridge, Feel free to help yourself. If you don't mind me asking. What do you need it for?"
"What everyone does with sugar" said Brog as he opened the fridge, hopping onto the counter to avoid the sugar pouring out.
"Of course, of course. It was a silly question. Everyone knows you eat sugar" nodded Til, satisfied with how accurate his research was.
Brog started shoveling sugar into his mouth with a satisfied smirk. The foolish humans didn't suspect a thing.
|
First post, Ever. Hope you Enjoy.
************************
“Hey, Bobby!”
I unplugged my Maschine controller and slid my headphones down around my neck.
When I had first moved in, I would absolutely panic when one of my roommates walked in while I was filing a report. I soon discovered, though, that they just thought I was working on my DJ skills for my weekend gig.
“What’s up, Jonesy?”
I brushed my bangs out of my face & looked up.
The monolithic Reid Jones was leaning on my doorframe with his flavor-of-the-month girlfriend under his arm. I no longer bothered trying to remember the girls’ names. Now I just tried to remember “red glasses” or “skull hoodie”. You know, I literally never saw that one without that same hoodie on, and they were together for like, weeks.
“Me and Janine are going to go for a run, then we’re going to hit Captain Fishy’s. I know you’re not up for a run,” (snorts), “but, you want us to bring something back for you?”
“No thanks. I’m meeting up with Tasha later.” I hadn’t planned to, but maybe I would. I was just relieved that I’d have the place to myself for a while, & wanted them to get going. “You and Junie have fun.”
“JANINE!” Miss Pencil Eyebrows insisted.
“Don’t even bother, he does that intentionally with all my girls. He’s just trying to get you worked up.”
“Oh, funny Mister – wait, all your girls?”
Jonesy smacked her on her backside. “C’mon, hon, let’s go! I want to get outside, not hang around here all day!” To me, “Catch you later Bobby! Have fun!”
“Yeah, you too.”
“Bye, Bobby! Reid, I’m coming already! Jeez!”
Thank the stars. Anything for science, I reminded myself. I thought of Jonesy’s weak attempt to mock me for not being a ‘jock’, then snorted a bit myself. I thought of how many weak-minded beings like that we had back home, too unintelligent to even care for themselves, forced through their own pitifulness into lives of heavy labor, just to be useful for something. I really didn’t mind humans - in fact, some really surprised me, had real promise, & I found I really enjoyed being with them. Too bad I couldn’t extend that to include Jonesy. Well, time to finish that report.
************************
If all the life forms on this planet were like THAT LITTLE WIMPY BOBBY, Reid thought, feeling his hearts beginning to strain, I’d have personally approved the invasion & enslavement of this cold, crummy rock a long time ago. Especially this joke called Humans. If not for the containment beam in his shoulder harness – his REAL shoulder – they’d see the REAL Jonesy, & be running in fear around his ankles as he ignored them.
The round human ‘Janine’ came out the door, finally. Humans. So strange. Spending all their lives inside their weird shelters instead of out in the energy-filled rays of their incredible star.
The Janine. She was going to be delicious later, he was sure.
Just then, a small blur circled Reid’s face, & the buzzing sound reminded him that, despite the Humans’ so-called ‘dominance’ of this world, they were by no means the most dangerous thing on this planet. Not even close.
************************
Commander? Hello, Ensign XBak Eno reporting in, sir. I have very big news.
-Go Ahead, please.
Yes, thank you sir. I told you that I noticed the device the Bobby one was always using seemed to be giving off a patterned code. It is sir, it definitely is a code. I can’t tell you how many trillions of milliseconds it took me to make sense of it. What threw me at first was I expected it to translate to the ‘English’ they are all normally using all the time… Then I realized it couldn’t be, too many variations…
-Ensign, please! Stay focused! This IS big news, tell me the rest immediately!
Of course, sir! Sorry! Well, the Bobby one just finished sending another message, & I literally just now was able to finally crack the code. Sir – Bobby…Bobby is an investigator, too, like us! He’s from the Triton-38 Sector, they call themselves ‘Altanir’.
-Amazing! Finally! Proof that other races have been visiting this planet! How lucky we are to have you stationed there, Ensign!
Sir?
-Yes, what is it?
So, now that we have proof – that means I can make plans to come home soon, right?
-Are you KIDDING?! We’re just getting started! We’ve got to learn more! What if there are others? Plus, we’ve got to find a way to trace this, to prove – without admitting you’re there illegally too, of course -
Sir! Please, NO! Sir! I’m BEGGING you! You have already seen the VERY DETAILED reports of the disgusting things they’re continually doing to me – Oh please, sir, maybe send someone else in my place! Let me come home, make it stop! Please! Oh no! They’re coming now! It’s about to happen again! PLEASE! As soon as you’re able, help me!!!! Oh no oh no oh no don’t touch me there….
-Ensign? Ensign, can you respond please? Ensign? Oh, my…
************************
“Hey, Bobby! Playing Xbox?”
“Hey, Ray! Welcome home! Just turned it on, actually. Wanna join me? Grab a controller.”
“mmm… maybe in a bit, I’ll just watch you for now.”
Yes, I LOVE to watch you, Bobby, Ray thought to himself. Out of all these humans, you’re so easily the most… intriguing? Probably because you remind me so much of that hot, hot, singing & acting superstar from Bollyfield 5, Samir ‘Solar’ Solordz. Solar has a voice like Taylor Swift, dance moves no biped could ever emulate, & is moodier than a Morrissey concert. What’s not to love?
Something on the TV screen just caught my eye. I actually start paying attention.
“Bobby, what the heck game is this?”
“Blood in the Streets. I just picked it up. It’s that new survival game. You know, save the world from the Alien Vampire Apocalypse?”
OMG I think I’m gonna be sick. “It’s not like anyone CHOOSES to have to drink blood to live.”
“Huh? What’d you say?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
I’m sure I saw something on the screen again! “what the…uncle Alex?!”
| 2017-06-27T15:46:21 | 2017-06-27T15:03:30 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
"For your own safety, you seriously should've let me complete that ritual." The shackled villain protested as the hero pulls her to a carriage.
"You were gonna sacrifice 27 virgins, Theia, I'm not gonna let that slide." The hero replied as he lead her into the carriage and locked the door behind her.
Theia sighs as she quickly broke through her shackles, "I'm serious, Vall!" She yelled at the hero who's walking away, "That thing will probably kill you!"
"You severely underestimate me!" The hero replies as he heads back to the cave with 27 virgins, "You of all people should know how skilled I am."
"Yeah, skilled enough to just barely survive a minotaur attack!" Theia exclaimed but Vall was already past earshot. The villainess sighed as she makes herself comfortable in the carriage. Between the fights, banter, and sexual tension, she knew he wasn't gonna listen anyway. "Why am I even doing this?" She thought to herself; perhaps she was still grateful to him for giving her some much needed free time, perhaps she felt like assimilating his power was still too soon, and after a while, thinking about all the villains she delayed, she smiled, "Nah, it's just fun having him around."
An explosion resounded as the mountain side gave way to a giant wolf like beast with Vall tossed into the ground, his magical armor and shield cracked from what happened. The beast reared back its head and fired a blast of magic into his direction. He stared at the blast as his body refused to move and, in a heart beat, A magical force field appearead with Theia in front of him. She giggled as the field easily diverts the blast, "What? I thought 'I severely underestimated you', Vall." She said with smug look on her face.
"Don't get me wrong. He just got me off guard." Vall smileed as he forced himself back up, "Besides, you know I'm just getting started." He glowed with magic power repairing damage to his weapons, armor and body.
Theia giggled at the sight she had seen multiple times before, "You one trick pony." She dropped the force field and readied her magic, "Fine... I'll help you just this once, Vall. I'd rather not have you killed."
"Just don't get in my way, Theia." Vall replied with a smirk as the two stared down the beast in front of them.
|
You are either born with powers or not. That just how it is. Don't ask me why you did not get powers while I did, okay? Because I don't know, but what I do know is that I used mine to perfection! Nobody had a chance against me in my time, and to be frank, I don’t think anyone will ever surpass the accomplishment written in my “Villains Grade Book” or police report to you people.
The day I retired as a villain and went into exile, was the day after my heart was broken. In the realization that I had a heart, I quit. Not because I wanted to, but as we learned in villain school “No villain has a heart!”, so I knew my time was over.
I lost my dream job, but on the other hand I gained a heart, and it was not nearly as awful as I had thought. I quickly joined a group of former villains who all had found their own hearts at one point or another. It was a wonderful group of people, there was Joey (aka Nightman) who found his heart when he fell in love with music. Then there was Jodie (aka Stallone), I know the name seems silly, but what can you do she loves him and everyone picks their own name after graduation from villain school. She found her heart, well you guessed it, in Sylvester Stallone, even though I never found out if she actually met him.
Even though I was not quick to open up to the group they eventually found out how I had found my heart. In hindsight I found it much earlier than when it broke, because for your heart to break it must have something to ache over, I had just not realized I was in love.
During my exceptional regime over the world, I am not saying I was the Overlord, but some did actually called me that, so it would not be wrong of you to think of me like that or something. Just sayin’. Sorry back on track, I will get to the point now, it is just that this I never easy for me to tell, but here I go.
During my exceptional regime over the world, I encountered a hero I later learned was called Lady Light. She was something special, not because she had a chance against me, in fact I think she must have been one of the weaker heroes, but it genuinely felt like she did not fight for herself, like every other dumbass hero seems to do. Her small little speeches about what she was fighting for before we fought, she did it every time. It inspired me somehow, and I could not get myself to beat her in our fights. I wanted to fight her as often as possible, not only because I wanted to be around her, but also because her victories over me had gone to her head, just a little.
She had proclaimed that with her constant victories over me, she had shown that she could become the savior of the world. She was quick to make her next targets of villains public, and the list was nasty. It was combined of the most vicious, horrible and evil villains this planet had to offer. I knew that she would get killed if she took any one of those guys on, it would be certain death and I would not let that happen, so I made sure she was busy fighting me that she would not have time to go after the others.
It worked, but only for a year. Our fight occurred every single day, but she never seemed to repeat the same speech, I don’t know how, but she always found something to fight for. I had been such a narrow minded person my whole life, only ever fighting for power, but through her speeches she showed me the wonder of the world, the diversity, and how many different things there were to care about. During those fight, I was happy and because she would be victories in the end, she would also be happy.
After a year of fights it all suddenly changed, when my plan started to work against me. Lady Light had become the most know hero in the world, constantly beating a villain bigger than anyone before. It might have taken her focus away from the other villains, but at the same time it had put the focus of them on her. Villains like Hell and Showtime had seen this as an opportunity to take me down and defeat Lady Light to take the top spot.
Showtime was the one to do it, he caught me off guard one night. My daily fight with the lady had just taken place, and she had just left me with my hands cuffed around a street light. The police would usually arrive not soon after she had flown away, today our fight had taken place downtown in the Capital, which meant it would be detective Rose that would greet me that day.
When the police arrived, a few minutes later than usual, detective Rose stepped out of the car and to my surprise he uncuffed me. Before I had a chance to speak he had given me another pair of cuffs on me, which was infused with uranium, greatly reducing my powers, and not normal police gear! Out the back of the police car stepped Showtime, with a devious smile on his face. He nodded towards detective Rose who stepped away from me and walked back to the car. A few steps before he reached the car, Showtime stabbed him in the neck with a motion faster than I had remembered it to be.
I instantly knew he was here for the lady. Unfortunately Showtime is not the typical villain, who always seems to forget something, it was clear that this was his day, his moment to rise up and take what he always wanted. So he began to beat me, and with my powers reduced his strikes inflicted more damage than they normally would. After a few minutes of constant strikes he stopped, confident in victory.
Showtime had been well prepared, or maybe just lucky, I never knew, but when something happened to police detective in downtown, Lady Light would always be the first hero on the spot. Her father was a detective, and to protect them was probably the only cause she held higher than any other. That was also the case that day, as the lady arrived not long after, with a horrified look on her face when she saw that the detective was dead. Her faced turned from horror to pure disgust when she looked at Showtime, and for the first time in my life, I rooted for the good side.
The fight did not take long, and her lifeless body tore a hole in my sole, I barely remember Showtime even being there. I could not move or anything, Showtime removed my cuffs while saying something about being the new sheriff in town. The only thing I remember clearly was my heart stopped. I had never noticed it beating, but in that moment it stopped. The world she had shown me was gone, and I had absolutely no idea about what to do the next day. Now we know what happened, but right then and there, the villain in me died. In her death she gave me a heart, and for that I am forever thankful.
| 2018-01-27T16:53:11 | 2017-09-17T02:32:46 | 58 | 13 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
Ampere was strapped to the rocket with copper wiring, as the Warlord stood at a console.
"You-"
"I, what, Ampere? I won't get away with this? I'll get what's coming to me? Please. You're better than these clichés. I'm not going to reveal my plan, I'm not going to engage in some cat-and-mouse game, I'm not going to give you a fair fight or gloat. Literally the only reason I'm still talking is because *this*," the Warlord banged on the side of the console for punctuation, "*fucking! thing!* ...is taking much longer to start up than normal. Hell, I would have just blown your brains out if I had a gun on me, but you actually managed to knock away my shotgun, and made me drop my sidearm."
"Fine, if you're not going to reveal your plan," Ampere frowned at this extreme breach of professional etiquette, "Then at least explain how you beat me?"
"Oh, please. You're pretty good, but the only reason you keep beating Metal Master is because she's sweet on you."
"Yeah, I know. I mostly keep engaging her so she won't do something really dangerous to get my attention. She could easily destroy the world if she actually wanted to. Neither of us know her limits."
"Right, and I'm sure the titillating banter is entirely to keep her occupied."
"Nah, I'll fully admit that I kind of get off to it. I mean, she's a 6' 1" supermodel with a fetish for bondage and the ability to manipulate chains with her mind. That wouldn't interest you?"
The Warlord paused and frowned at our hero. "Okay, there's TMI, and then there's ***TMI***, bolded and italicized. That was the latter. You really didn-Okay! Here we go, we are go for launch! I can send you and this fusion inhibitor right into the sun, and I'll never have to think of the things you said ever again." Warlord tapped away at the console, trying to launch his rocket ASAP. Right as he was about to press the final launch button, his hand exploded in a shower of blood, bone shards and sinew.
#"Get away from my honeybee!"
Warlord grabbed his wrist stump and screamed in agony, before rapidly getting control of himself. "What the *fuck* is wrong with you!?"
"Nobody hurts my baby but me, Warlord." Metal Master gently lowered herself onto the platform, Warlord's guns hovering just over her shoulder.
"But, but you could rule the world! Why are you so obsessed with this, this stupid game?"
"What can I say, he's got a lot of charm." She winked at Ampere as the guns fired, reducing Warlord's face to paste and revealing the steel skull beneath as Warlord fell to the ground, conscious but in too much pain to move.
Metal Master destroyed the console, then levitated up to Ampere and prepared to release him.
"Hey, uh, you don't have to untie me just yet..." Ampere smiled. Warlord groaned in disgust.
|
Preface: I got a little too enthusiastic with this one. Saw an image and wanted to write a story about it, this prompt was ideal. Is in two parts.
My name was Frank. I was ugly. I should say, I was fuck ugly. Disgustingly so. Like I was Frankenstein's monster gone wrong ugly, hence the name. My parents had such a sense of humour. I loathed them for that. All through my childhood, it was hell. Being bullied for it, hated for it, I hated those right back. Those who pitied me were tolerable. But it was the two-faced ones that ignited a fire of wrath within me. Those who pretended to be okay but then you would catch them out of the corner of your eye flinching in disgust when they though you didn't see it.
Imagine the fun I had when puberty kicked in and I gained my powers. Telekenesis. Weak at first, with simple things like loosening the screw on a chair so a leg fell off, or locking doors, but as with any skill or muscle, the more you train it the better and stronger it becomes. Revenge was sweet, but I soon realised I had to keep it low key or I would be discovered. These days I was getting on just fine, my neighbours knew me as an ugly shut-in who played games all day getting a benefit. Suited me perfectly. I could, for a while, pretend to be a normal person while online. I even had some 'friends', I guess.
Online was also how I got my jobs. I always picked things that would make people suffer the most. I suffered during my childhood, and wanted others to feel what I did. I picked on the rich, those that had never had to work a day in their lives, those that were fed from a silver spoon since a young age. It satisfied me to have them lose so much.
I was careful. I was knowledgeable. I hid myself in a masked hood, it would be useless if I my face was known to the populace. I similarly hid my powers, and called myself the 'Masked Menace' for jobs I wanted to be caught at. I made it seem like I had mundane things like the power of flight, strength and toughness when it was all my mind doing the work. I didn't want to attract the attention of the most formidable heroes, which would necessitate the use of my full abilities. I would make more public attacks so I could lose to heroes that seemed like they should be able to beat me, but mysteriously when I was arrested they could never get my masked hood off. Then I would inevitably escape. It was handy to have a 'weak' persona in case I got caught doing one of my other jobs.
One hero in particular, Sariel, had powers similar to the ones I pretended to have. We fought a few times, I made it a hard fight of course, and allowed myself to be beaten in the end. I think it was after the fifth time she beat me, I changed up my usual defeat dialogue.
"How do you keep beating me? We're evenly matched!" I lamented. "Surely I should have prevailed at least once by now?"
"Oh come now." Sariel giggled. It was a nice little giggle, actually. "You use the same moves. I studied footage of your previous battles. You need something new." She waved a hand dismissively. "You're like a boss battle in Guild Wars. Once you know the patterns, you can win easily." I blinked a few times in suprise. That was the game I played.
"Something new, huh?" I replied wryly. "You're actually giving me advice?"
"I like a challenge." She smiled. "And I won't get better by doing the same things." The smile was replaced by a frown. "But I still want to know how you keep getting away."
"A man has his secrets." I replied pompously. "Until next time, then?"
"Until next time." Sariel flew off as I was taken away once more.
Soon, it became that the only hero to come and stop me was Sariel. Our fights were enjoyable, I won some just because I could as a test, and she always came back with even more determination to win next time. My life fell into a routine. Do a few jobs in secret with my full powers, then a more public one to fight at. Play games at home. It was strange, I almost felt happy. I still had loathing for those who knew no suffering, still wanted to hurt those two-faced people on the street when I walked places. But I wanted for nothing else.
One day, during a guild event, the usual banter was flowing as people fought. I was only half paying attention as usual, more interested in helping take down enemies. That's when I heard it. A giggle. Not just any giggle, though. *Her* giggle. Sariels. How I recognised it amonst all the others I had heard, what made it distinctive I don't know. I just knew. I couldn't believe it. I panicked. Did she know? Had she found me? Was I going to have to disappear?
"Frank!" The raid leader, Kyle, snapped. "Wake up, you've been spaced out for ages!"
"Shit! Sorry!" I shook myself and got back into the fight. How long had it been? A minute? Two?
"Maddy, are you okay? Frank was supposed to be helping you there." Kyle was grumbling, but that was normal for a raid.
"I like a challenge." Sariel replied. Wait, not Sariel. *Maddy*. My mouth dried up as I realised. She was one of the newer people, which explained why I hadn't heard her before. I pushed the thought aside and got back to raid business.
"Sorry Maddy, I'll be right there." I got my character back to position and helped her out of a tricky situation. She probably would have survived, but it was easier with two.
"My hero, Frank." I could hear her smile in the tone of voice. "Saved my ass over here."
"Well, it's an ass worth saving." Oh *fuck*. Fuck, *shit, fuckshitfuckfuckfuck*. Did I really just say that? To *Sariel?* I had *never* said anything like that before. To *anyone*. A shocked silence met my words, my brain trying to process how to get out of this embarassment. Then I was saved, by that same giggle, as she spoke again.
"I bet you say that to all the girls." Laughter erupted over comms, I heard a couple of people say 'Get a room!' to which I simply had no reply. What had I done? What was I thinking? The raid ended shortly afterwards, giving me an excuse to sign off and gather myself. It took a long time for me to get to sleep that night.
Things got... problematic after that. Online, Sariel (Maddy?) and I couldn't stop flirting. I broke her arm once during a fight, hoping that it wasn't her online, that I was mistaken - but that only confirmed it. I tried to stop flirting, I really did. It made my villian/hero fights with her quite awkward. A lot if the time my heart just wasn't in the battle, and she could tell. I did get to confirm that her ass was worth saving though, it really was rather nice. I lost focus in our fights a few times, or should I say my focus was on her face instead of fighting, and she trounced me easily on my reduced power.
| 2017-09-17T05:05:49 | 2017-09-17T04:25:10 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
All my life I have been able to subconsciously translate my speech to match the original language of who I am talking to.
It was quite terrifying at first. speaking Polish to my Mom when I was 2 minutes old was quite the tale. The poor Korean woman at Walmart...
Anyways, life had gone on as usual. Occasionally, I would get compliments on my knowledge of language, or cause arguments from people thinking I spoke one way or another, but no huge events had arisen.
At least, until McDonalds.
I went in, expecting it to be a normal day. I was craving a cheeseburger. I make my way up to the register. It’s a flashy British man taking the order.
“I’ll have one Cheeseburger, please.” I say. He stops, and stares at me. I probably had just surprised him by speaking some other language, and so I waited. He smirks.
“Finally!” He says, in a somewhat relieved tone. “I’ve been waiting here for 2 years, you know!”
He hopped over the counter, and grabbed me by the wrist. “You and I have some business to attend to.” He said, as he dragged me out of the McDonalds.
I looked behind me, and saw the other customers horrified at the events that are taking place.
“Who the hell are you, and what do you want!?” I said, angry and confused.
He turned around, and looked me directly in the eye.
“I’m the Doctor. I was sent a message by my future self to wait at this McDonalds until a man speaking Gallifreyan arrived.”
Been watching too much Doctor Who recently. r/cringe material right here boys.
EDIT: Formatting.
|
I froze up, my go-to whenever anything significant happens in my life.
"Yeah, well, that kid's mom gave him such a whooping for it, we *all* learned a lesson!"
Stupid joke. That's my other go-to. I was about to apologize for it when I realized: she's catatonic. Her eyes fixed on nothing a couple inches over my left shoulder—I don't think she was even breathing.
"Dude, what did you *say* to her?"
I swung around. The guy behind me was about 6'2" and thin, with short, dark hair, and he was wearing a suit with some sort of conference nametag that said "Charles Anderson." I pored over it for what, at least to me, was just a couple seconds. It also said **2018 / "BE COURAGEOUS!"** I wish I was making this stuff up.
"What did you *say*?"
It wasn't Charles. Charles was looking squarely above the whole debacle, hand on his chin, eyes hopping between what were probably the "**2: Quarter Pounder**^(®) with cheese" and the "**3: Double Quarter Pounder**^(®) with cheese." *Thank God for Charles,* I thought. If everyone in the world were like Charles, it would be so much better for me. I could just go about my day unnoticed, even with this new...quirk.
"What did you *fucking* say to that lady?"
It was the guy behind Charles. He had dreads and what looked like alpaca wool covered in Chotchkie's flair. But his physique was decidedly more juicer than deadhead, and he was glaring at me so hard his face seemed to be turning red.
"I...uh...Southwest Grilled Chicken Salad, Apple Slices, and water....Please."
I wasn't lying. I *had* said that. *I* had said that. And what she heard, too, was almost undoubtedly that, just in another language. And I'm sure she understood it as that, unless she's rusty in her mother tongue—I guess it's been a while, after all.
"Oh yeah? It didn't sound like that to me. It sounded more like 'Sow'll whisper pepequem nose googah' something or other. And I mean—look at her! What did she say back?"
I briefly looked back at the cashier. There she was, still staring at nothing, still still. At least I could detect what seemed to be a little bit of breathing now.
"She said, um..." *Do I tell him the truth? It might be bizarre enough to throw him off his game...*
Charlie helped me out. "I'm pretty sure I heard her. She said 'Nobody's going to have anguish in the thousand years.'" He smiled, nodded once, and bizarrely, as if this sort of thing happened to him every day, turned back to studying the menu.
The Merry Roider seemed to be thrown off his game. He unclenched his face, and it started turning back to that peach tone he clearly wished he didn't have. "Is that, uh, is that really what she said?"
"Um, yup." I nodded a few times, briskly, while staring off to the right. *Convincing performance.*
"Well, what the hell does *that* mean?"
Beef Slackinoff sure was nosey for just some guy standing in line at McDonald's. "It, uh, it means..."
Chuck chimed in. "I'm glad you asked!" He proceeded to begin to explain...something...to Navy Gravy, while I took the opportunity to extract myself from the conversation and bridge the two-foot gap between myself and the counter.
Our cashier starting coming to. "Where...uhh...where did you learn that? How did you know I spoke it?"
*Shit.* I had no alibi. I didn't even know what I was supposed to have an alibi *for.* "Uh, y'know, you pick up a few things here and there..."
"In *Proto-Indo-European?*"
So *that's* what it was! How the hell was it her native tongue, though?
"Um, yeah, you know, just hanging out with other kids when I was little and, um, I mean, reading books, not hanging out—" I was really good at this.
"So do you, like, just go up to everyone and do this? Is that, like, your shtick? How often do you get beat up for it?"
"Well, *actually*"—my first good idea of the day just popped into my head—"I usually try to make an educated guess first as to what someone speaks. And I do have a pretty good batting average." I nodded knowingly, as though I had just securely built the roof of a house of cards.
"Quosmо̄d pewgwonts 'mene gneʕws?"
*Fuck.* I just realized that despite all this conversation, she—and apparently everyone else around—still heard me speaking in this language I'd never even heard of. She was just starting to respond in it, and I had no fucking clue what she was saying.
I stared blankly and blinked for a few seconds. "Excuse me?"
"But how the fuck did you know for me?"
I had to think fast, as if a windstorm were about to arrive at card village and I was its only retrofitter. "Oh, well, uh, you know..."
I noticed she was wearing a McDonald's tag with her name, Lydia Szemerenyi, on it. I pointed to it. "It was that." The bullshit was flowing so freely out of my mouth that I started to fear for the sanitation of this joint.
She looked down and nodded knowingly, a tear coming to her right eye. "It was great-grandpa's dying wish when I was born. Grandpa, dad, mom, the whole bunch, they didn't let me play with other kids until my sixth birthday, and wouldn't speak to me in anything other than that godforsaken abomination of a tongue—"
Chotchkie's interrupted her moment. "Can't anyone get a *fucking* burger around here?"
| 2018-06-24T21:53:14 | 2018-06-24T21:42:04 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] It's 2064, Queen Elizabeth just turned 136 and people are starting to get a little bit suspicious
|
######[](#dropcap)
Laura giggled, clutching Toma's hand tightly as they slipped through the gates. It had been Toma's idea to visit Buckingham Palace to visit the queen for her tenth birthday. "But don't tell your parents," he said. "We might get in trouble."
They slipped through the grounds, admiring the newly cut grass. Laura, who had been initially full of fervor, suddenly stopped. "Wait, Toma. Where are the guards?" She linked and stared around, her chubby hands clinging to Toma's shirt.
Toma looked around at her suggestion, his large, brown eyes taking in the vast expanse of land and the huge palace that towered above them. "I don't know. I guess they all went home." Laura simply nodded at the explanation, although she wasn't sure it made much sense. Her father said that the guards never went home. But she didn't have time to think before Toma pulled her towards the palace.
"Whoa," she whispered as they pushed open the double doors and walked inside. The red carpet and elegant white and gold walls made her eyes open in shock. Her mother had shown her pictures before on the internet, but it was so much *bigger.* She giggled. This was so exciting!
"We should go find the Queen's room! And see the Queen!" Toma suggested. "My dad said that it's a miracle that she's this old, and she's probably going to die soon, so we should see her as soon as possible." He nodded gravely.
Laura nodded furiously. "Okay, let's go see the Queen!"
So they began to run through the palace, peeking their heads into various rooms.
The sound of voices in the hallway scared them into hiding. Laura and Toma scrambled into a room as two maids walked past the hallway, even as Laura stared in awe through the door crack. Wow! They got to work here!
Afterwards, they began their search anew, their vigor renewed by the fact that they had finally seen some people. It was almost twenty rooms later when they came upon a particularly elegant door, carved with intricate patterns. Unlike the rest of the doors, this one was gilded in gold and caught their attention immediately. Toma turned and grinned at Laura, bringing a finger to his mouth before quietly opening the door.
They slipped through.
The room was silent, except for the ticking of a clock in the corner. Laura's head whipped around like a bobble head as she tried to take in all the sights around them. It was amazing! All the fancy furniture, and everything was so neat and clean. She couldn't wait to tell her mother about everything she saw.
A soft noise drew their attention, and the two children silently padded towards the source of the noise. It came from the bathroom. Laura carefully peeked her head around the doorway.
Her eyes widened. It was the Queen!
But then she blinked in confusion, her face scrunching up. But this woman was too young. She had black hair. She remembered from the pictures that the Queen had white hair. The woman sat in front of a large mirror, combing her long, black hair. Then after a moment, she stood up, using a hairband to tie her hair up.
Laura watched as she walked toward the vanity, and it was then that Laura nearly screamed. But Toma's hand in hers made her remember that they shouldn't be here, and if they were caught, they would be kicked out. Her eyes bulged. What was that thing on the counter? It looked like skin! She watched, horrified, as the woman picked it up and tucked it over her face.
Laura could do nothing more than stare as the woman transformed into Queen Elizabeth in front of her face. Her arms were beginning to grow numb from leaning on them, but she couldn't get herself to move. Toma, too, had frozen at the unexpected and eerie sight.
"Aren't you going to come in?" Queen Elizabeth--no, the strange lady--said. She tucked the last few strands of hair in and turned to face them, Queen Elizabeth's kind, smiling face looking directly at them. "Or should I make you?"
***
More fantasy at r/AlannaWu!
|
"This isn't like her, at all" I thought to myself as I tried to keep pace with the guard in front of me, but how could I given the scenery. As fast as I was walking, I was barely looking forward; to be in THE Windsor Castle was practically a miracle! The place had been closed to the public, since...well, since before I was born! I had always dreamed of touring the Castle when I was a little girl, but never like this...something must be wrong with her.
&#x200B;
The guard led me down a long corridor littered with priceless antiques, and opened a set of double doors. I stepped into a dimly lit room, and squinted to see past the motes of dust hanging in the air.
&#x200B;
The guard gracefully waved his arm to a large chair in the middle of the room, "Please have a seat and wait here, your next escort will be in shortly."
&#x200B;
I was too transfixed by the room to give him the thanks I intended, by the time I had looked to him he had already exited and shut the door. The room was an ancient Library, hundreds and hundreds of years old. I had to take a peek around...no harm in that! Just a quick look while I wait...
&#x200B;
I took up a busy interest in a dimly lit display case, inching closer to examine it's contents..."This is one of my favorite rooms to work in", a gentle voice pierced through my perceived privacy. I spun on my heels, startled by the interruption to see a young woman with chestnut hair and a coy grin on her face.
&#x200B;
"I'm sorry, I was only looking..uh, I don't think we've met. I'm Madeline Duckworth, er, I was sent an urgent summons yesterday."
&#x200B;
The woman nodded her head, and motioned gently for me to approach. "Yes, I know of you Madeline. You are highly regarded by the Queen. That is why she has invited you here today. You're complete confidence and secrecy is of course required." She pulled from her pocket a pen, and set it on the desk at the end of the room. A paper, written on old parchment lay under the pen. "Just a simple formality. Please sign at the bottom, no date is required."
&#x200B;
I glanced at the paper, and couldn't hold back a small chuckle. A written Oath of Allegiance, a bit archaic, but I had no reservations. I signed, and handed her pen back.
&#x200B;
She smiled warmly, twisted the pen and pushed it together to half it's length, as I cocked my head to the side at this odd sight the desk next to us began to rise off the ground. I stumbled back wards in shock as a platform revealed itself from below. "Please follow me Miss Duckworth." The woman stated as she stepped onto the platform, desk above her head.
&#x200B;
I hesitated...I mean anyone would right? "Uh, E-Excuse me? What is this? What..What is going on?" I stuttered nervously.
&#x200B;
"I understand how you feel Madeline, it's a lot to take in; but I assure you this is perfectly safe. This is simply an elevator." She reached out her hand to me, which I retrieved and joined her. She pulled the pen back to it's normal length, and we began descending. It was a smooth ride, nothing concerning...other than everything...
&#x200B;
As we descended into the floor the elevator went dark. The warm voice fell on my ears again, "I'm personally not a fan of all this 'Cloak and Dagger', but the Queen deems it necessary to protect her closest secrets. You should take this as a compliment, that she trusts you unconditionally."
&#x200B;
I said nothing. I didn't know what to say...or do...was it a few seconds? Did we only go one level? I couldn't tell...then light pierced the bottom of the elevator gate, and the platform came to a halt. For all intents and purposes, this seemed like a bunker. Concrete walls, floors, and ceilings; no antiques or finery decorating the rooms and dimly lit caged lights on the walls. "Right this way, I will bring you up to speed while we walk." She took off ahead of me.
&#x200B;
As I struggled again to keep up with the pace, things began to click in my head and I spoke with more conviction, "I'm sorry, who are you? I don't believe you gave me a proper introduction."
&#x200B;
She spoke to me from over her shoulder, "Pardon my manners, but I don't think it is wise to disclose my identity. 'Cloak and Dagger' and all that. Now, let's get into the meat of why you are here today. You see in 14 days, the Queen is going to be found dead in her quarters."
&#x200B;
"What! How do you know that? Is this some shady MI5 nonsense? I don't want to be involved in any kind of plot against the queen! I'm here to serve her!"
&#x200B;
She stopped dead in her tracks, and turned around to face me with a broad smile and gently placed her hands on either side of my shoulders. "I know Madeline, and that's exactly why you've been summoned today. The queen needs your service, and your unending trust and confidence. I assure you the queen is completely safe, and will remain so after the reports of her death. This way." She opened a door we had stopped in front of, this one made of cold metal that left a squeal hanging in the air after it was opened.
&#x200B;
We entered a room with a table, 2 chairs, and a small tin of cookies set on a delicate lace doily...the doily and cookies were as out of place as I was in this drab, dim, concrete bunker. She shut the door behind me and waved to the chair on the left, "Please, take a seat."
&#x200B;
I sat on the cold, uncomfortable chair, with a thousand questions whirling in my mind!
&#x200B;
"I know, this seems like a lot. Because the Queen trusts you so fully, she wants you to know the truth. You are but one of a handful of people trusted with this information. Information that not even all her children are aware of." She paused. "This tin is your task. Take it with you, and if anyone asks, say it's a gift for an old friend coming to town in a few weeks." She pushed the tin forwards to me. "Exactly 24 days after the reports of the Queen's Death, at 19:30, someone will knock at your door. This person is there to retrieve the cookie tin. It will be cold out, so invite them in for some tea."
&#x200B;
"I can do that...but do you have a picture? Who is it going to be? I don't want to let in the wrong person, some lunatic off the streets or something."
&#x200B;
"It will be me, Madeline. I will be the receiver of the package."
&#x200B;
"OK...What's in it?"
&#x200B;
She delicately opens the tin lid to reveal several butter cookies. "What kind of joke is this?" I mutter...
&#x200B;
"Inside is the Queens most prized possession. It is an Artifact from the 1500's that was intercepted from the Nazi's during the Second World War." She recounts, as she lifts the cookies and a false bottom out of the tin, revealing heavy foam padding and a glass vial, secured with old, oiled leather bindings. "This was a gift from Juan Ponce de Leon himself. It's intent was to cement the Spanish Royalty, but it was deemed too dangerous for use. It was sent to Hitler himself as a gift from the Spanish, but was lost in a conflict during transit." She paused again as she reassembled the cookie tin to it's proper guise.
&#x200B;
A prideful grin began to stretch across her face, "To my knowledge, I am the only person still alive to have to have used it successfully."
| 2018-11-14T08:00:35 | 2018-11-14T07:53:08 | 217 | 40 |
[WP] In a dark and corrupt future, your necromancy magic had no higher significance then another weapon to survive the undercity. Until one day, you summon a long-forgotten shade calling himself "Bob Ross", who tells you its time to paint a brighter world.
|
The year is 2569. Earth is long dead. Covered in city, the planet is a shade of what it once was. There is no greenery outside of carefully controlled indoor farms. Indoors to protect them from the acidic rain. The oceans are poisonous to even touch. Water has to be filtered to be drunk. Fifteen billion people on a dead world. Fifteen billion living people, we need every pair of hands just to survive and so we learned to raise the dead. There are probably another couple of hundred billion or so that we've managed to raise and put to work. Keeping them working is my job, I'm a a necromancer.
&#x200B;
I summon a shade from beyond the veil and put him into the small device. The device is simple enough, it uses a video camera and a microphone to allow the shade I've put into it to see and hear. I can use the speakers and a small screen to see the soul inside. I have the speakers turned off, as the process of being put into such an unnatural object is quite painful. Remaining there isn't pleasant either, but they stop screaming once they get used to it. I watch the soul soundlessly scream for a moment, but it stops sooner rather then later. A good sign. I turn on the speakers. "Can you hear me?" I ask.
&#x200B;
"What? Oh. I'm not used to this. I thought I was dead." The soul answers.
&#x200B;
"You are. There isn't a heaven, but we found a way for the souls of the dead to be called back and put into devices that can do work for us." I respond.
&#x200B;
"What sort of work?" The soul asks.
&#x200B;
"It depends on what you are good at." It didn't depend much, but a high value soul is something I could use to bribe someone to get something good.
&#x200B;
"I like to paint." He suggested.
&#x200B;
I nodded, so pretty useless if that was the first thing that he said. Perhaps I could trade him for some spare parts. No sense wasting anything valuable on anything. I sighed and took the small sphere and put it on the shelf with a dozen others that I'd muted because I couldn't speak their language, or they had an annoying personality but a skill I could sell later. None of them were bad enough to destroy and send back to the veil so some other poor sucker could pull them out, but none of them were good enough to trade quickly and forgot about it, moving to the next soul.
&#x200B;
I didn't hear anything from him for the next couple of weeks and I forgot about him. Then as I was working one day, he said. "I'm sorry, I don't think I got your name. I'm Bob Ross." Bob introduced himself.
&#x200B;
I stopped what I was doing and turned to the shelf I had left him on. "Well hello Bob, I'm Ophion." I said almost reflexively.
&#x200B;
"Well Ophion, I've been sitting here watching you work and I've noticed how nicely the white panel that's just laying there discarded would complement the black wall rather then the grey one." I looked over at the panel and then at the wall.
&#x200B;
"So?" I asked.
&#x200B;
"Well, I was thinking that if you could move it over there as a personal favor to me. Well, I would greatly appreciate it."
&#x200B;
I don't know why I did it but I put the white panel where he told me on the black wall. He was right, there was something that felt better, more put together about everything now that the panel was here. "So why did you ask me to do that?" I asked.
"Gotta have opposites, light and dark and dark and light, in painting. It’s like in life. Gotta have a little sadness once in awhile so you know when the good times come. I can see your waiting on the good times now. There doesn't seem to be much light in this world, so just a little more brightens everything."
And that my friends is how the revolution began.
|
The painting pulsates of blood.
That's what happens if you mix art and blood magic. You might think to yourself: "That's rad!". Firstly, who uses rad anyway? And secondly no. It's not.
&#x200B;
Think of the mess it makes. It's a damned blood leaking vein. Eventually, somebody has to clean it. You can't leave that much blood all around for long, it attracts demons. And that's the last thing you'll want. Especially when you're naked, high on a unicorn poo and thinking you just purged the world of evil.
&#x200B;
The sad part about this story is that eventually, unicorn poo leads to a terrible hangover. Take a moment to factor that into the equation that I just presented to you. Ain't it a crappy situation to be into?
\*\*\*
&#x200B;
The emerald moss on the wall kept stealing his glance. He wondered how something colorful can sneak into that stink hole. Streets around him were all of a heavy grey.
Everybody kept their heads down, making themselves small and moved at a constant pace. Not even a glance of a beggar standing in the street. They knew that people in these parts have no money to spare and on top of that, they can end up into unwilling involved in some strange ritual.
Arcania was the biggest city in this part of the world. While not the capital of the dominance, it was the center of trade. These kind of places are where you'd want to be since here is where the money flows in streams and all you need is a bait good enough to fish it. But not everybody had the luck to be in the actual city, the uptown. Down here, in the slums, their corruption and ignorance for others leaked to form sewage of humanoid filth. Even the lower paladin force didn't bother to police the area.
&#x200B;
So naturally, what ruled was the ancient law embedded in our fiber: an eye for an eye. As long as the wheel of revenge kept spinning, there was relative peace and safety. Nobody wanted to deal with a cousin that it somehow happens to be a rejected paladin or worse, a monk. Moreover when black arts were the weapon of choice for many around here.
&#x200B;
The same story was with him. Karelle' was his name and his weapon and tool was necromancy. Not many liked the art, it meant dealing with dead people. Not only their eyes are cold enough to freeze all the little joy you held in your heart, but they also tend to stink fast. But this meant less competition on the market.
&#x200B;
Early today, he received a call from an elf. An ancient body from the neighboring country-continent happened to be in his master's possession. In his view, the elves were the worst. They were more scum than humans, and even than dwarfs. While dwarfs, in their fancy suits, looked down on you, elves looked up at you. In their eyes, you were their fruit to squeeze all the juice out off. Always nomads. And always filthy in Karelle' eyes.
&#x200B;
"E wassa. Dear lordy boy, the body is this way" the tall slim elf opened the steel door from a dark alley.
"Tell me why again you require my aid with resurrecting this body? It won't be cheap"
"E lordy boy, don' worry bout the juice. Y master have plenty ya know. He collects items o' rarity an that old stinker is rare as ya get. Y never understou the fascination. A look that here, 'int it shitty?"
&#x200B;
\*\*\*
The ritual for an old body like that was incredibly complicated, long and financially draining. The ingredients you need for the spell are absurdly priced.
But Karelle', while not talented in choosing inspiring life paths, he was certainly talented at necromancy. Because of the stated of degradation, you needed to construct a viable vessel out of carbon. The cheapest compatible form available was trent charcoal, so the bodies reanimated this way were pitch black. People called them shades.
&#x200B;
At the first sign of the ritual having success, when the body first twitched, the elf flinched from his light slumber and dashed away from the room. Karelle' grabbed the black cold hand and helped the vessel raise, while a joyous smile of satisfaction kept lingering on his tired sweat ridden face.
&#x200B;
"Welcome back to this world. Unfortunately, as you might or might not know, you died. Quite a long time ago. So don't panic when you see yourself differently. You are, after all, an animated body, bound to my will. So tell me who were you in your life?"
&#x200B;
"Bob Ross" the shade spoke without a sign of emotion.
&#x200B;
"Bob Ross, what a silly name. Well, Bob. Tell me. What did you do in your life?"
"I brought joy into people's hearts."
&#x200B;
"How so?" Karelle' puffed a small laugh.
"I taught them how to paint" the shade responded again without a sign of emotion, though Karelle' could fell some sort of a deeply rooted pride down below the words
&#x200B;
"Now that's silly, painting didn't make anyone happy ever. All the artists I know, eat scrap and barely survive. Dwarves have no taste for art, so almost nobody that can afford it has." Karelle' spoke with melancholy while letting his glance into the floor
"You seem to be saddened deep inside. You should try to be happier. There are no truly sad people in the world. The brush strokes I helped take life, they changed the world for the better. It takes time. But trust me. Find the thing that's inside you, take it out of you and paint a beautiful picture with that. Have some fun! You'll see how the world around will start to change for the better. "
&#x200B;
"Tha- "
"I think we're done here. Take your gold necromancer and flee my sight!" a tall handsome man entered the room throwing a cloth bag on the floor. Here wore an expensive green suit, made of emerald wool fiber. Like a moss in a sea of grey, Karelle' though to himself. Humans who were rich were rare, but the dwarves tolerated their success as long as they don't become an interference for them.
"I'm glad to assists." Karelle' said picking the bag. "The shade her-"
&#x200B;
"Did I asked you a question?! Begone already!"
&#x200B;
Karelle' looked down and rushed out while cursing in his mind. Outside he counted the money. A quarter was missing. It barely covered the costs. He wanted to rush back in and destroy everything around. But his cowardice was more powerful than his irrationality. So he turned and left. On the way to his tiny apartment, a few blocks away, he thought how deranged the world around was. He hated everything. The sidewalk. The city. Himself. Not to say his apartment.
&#x200B;
From the moment he unlocked the enchanted steel door to the couch he wanted to tear the place apart. He hated it. Then he realized he had some leftovers from the ritual. Among them was unicorn poo. While a potent spellbinder, it was also a very powerful hallucinogen.
He grabbed the leftover and shove it in his mouth. "Sweet, why does it even taste sweet?". Letting himself sink in the couch Karelle' kept pondering at what the shade spoke. There was a time he loved to paint. A useless skill, his mother bragged, but his father wanted the kid to be a little happy. Maybe that's why eventually his mother left. The sad part is, in the end, he found her words true, painting is a meaningless activity. He might even still have a canvas around the closet.
&#x200B;
Suddenly the unicorn poo kicked in. Like thunderstruck, with tears in his eyes, he jumped on his feet. An epiphany struck him
" The old bugger was right! I will take what's inside me and will paint a painting so powerful that will change everything. I WILL PURGE THIS WORLD OF EVIL! LET'S HAVE SOME FUN!"
Karelle' grabbed a knife and rushed to the closet.
&#x200B;
There he found a blank canvas.
&#x200B;
| 2019-02-16T13:17:42 | 2019-02-16T13:15:41 | 252 | 36 |
[WP] Inventing Bacteria that ate carbon dioxide was a miracle. Releasing it into the oceans, nature began to flourish intill it continued eating, taking more carbon dioxide even from the air. Humanity to survive, had to return to the mass burning of fossil fuels thus began a new era of steam punk.
|
It was originally a life saving event, we discovered how to genetically engineer bacteria that would eat carbon dioxide while.producing a carbon rich skeleton that they leave behind as they grow aptly named coalsilite. What we didn't understand was how effective it would be at sucking up the carbon from the atmosphere.
It started out slow, the world's temperature started to come down as expected, storms were less frequent and everything started stabilizing. Prices of food started to rise as the population was able to expand. But each year it seemed like there was less and less food as prices went higher and higher. Crop yields all over world were falling but more than that big animals numbers were reducing, whales, elephants, bears, dolphins were seeing declining numbers everywhere. Farmers were having troubling feeding livestock every year. Scientist then discovered that the CO2 level was so low in the atmosphere that plants and algae were not reproducing as fast and not growing big enough. The entire environment was collapsing from the bottom up and since the new coalsilite bacteria was inedible for any other know creature something had to be done.
Lucky for humanity coalsilite deposits burned just like coal but released pure CO2. Scientist were able to figure out the exact amount that needed to be burned every year to stabilize the environment. At first this was just done in open fire pits dotted all over the world. But people soon discovered that by using the heat "waste" product we could power almost everything in our lives from cars to air ships to floating air fortresses that could burn coalsilite anywhere around the planet that needed it. Soon enough the sky fortresses became self-sustaining communities with families that would live there whole life taking care of their sky city. This brought on a whole new way of life of steam powering everything in a majority of people's lives.
|
"The world moves on. Powered by the great flames of god. We must burn. Let the spirits that be guide you. See the dancing flames that once spoke the truth to prophets. Listen to the voices from the orange. For they lead us to light. They lead us to salvation. So tonight, eat, dance and make merry. Pray to the fires. Pray to the ever changing nature. For that's the one unchanging rule. Change."
The celebration continued on. The flames danced on as the the moon rose higher and higher. We all danced around them, like moths. Never daring to stray far from the fire. The life force.
We danced and danced till our feet gave up. And then we danced some more.
********
The gongs woke me up from my slumber and I forced myself out of bed. I was on E-Duty tonight.
I got out and joined my team. I felt my face flushing as I saw her. Athena. I remembered last night at the celebration as she had danced. She always danced alone, never with a partner. Someone had once said that the only partner that could keep up with her was the fires. Perhaps it was true. I remember that she was perfectly in sync with the flames as they side stepped and turned. One way and then the other. I remember forgetting to breathe as I saw her move. The sudden of her thigh as her skirt inched up as she turned and ...
"Arthur."
"Yes, sir."
"Focus. On your task. Not on people."
I lowered my head as felt everyone's gaze on me. Had she turned around and looked at me? I felt like an idiot as I nodded and just looked ahead.
Captain handed us all our supplies. "Remember, the target today is 75 each. If you don't feel good, stop. We would rather you miss your target than have you come here and use up valuable medical supplies."
"Yes Sir." All of us responded in practiced unison.
No one in our group had gotten to 75 ever. Most anyone had ever got had been 67 and it had been her. I felt my face flush as I remembered when that had happened. She had been weak and almost on the verge of collapse. She had staggered and I had been the closest. I had rushed to help her and had helped her to the jeep. Almost involuntarily, my hand went to my left shoulder where she had rested her head. I could almost still smell her smoky fragrance.
She was amazing all around. Maybe one day, I could get 75. Maybe then she would finally notice me. Maybe, just maybe, she would be the one.
The jeep started and I let the exhaust rush over me, feeling it go right down to my lungs. All of us climbed in the massive vehicle. It was big enough for all of us to sit separately and be lost in our worlds. For all the time we spent together in our commune, we were not friends. There were no friends anymore. Almost as if the monsters had eaten at it just like they had eaten up our CO2.
And just like that, we were out of the friendly gates and out in the big bad world.
I did a final check. Gun. Tranquilizer. Shovels and a small trowel.
And so it began.
******
We headed back to our community in the evening. No one had gotten to 75. The most we had was Dale with 63. We were all exhausted and traveled back in silence, sipping on our waters. You couldn't drink it too quickly or you would puke. I had found that out the hard way on my first trip.
I felt it before I saw it. The air changed the closer we came to our city. Cleaner. Easier to breath.
We entered the city and handed in the equipment.
The captain read out the scores. "Dale. 63. Athena. 46. Wally. 56. Arthur 61. Jen. 54. Good job everyone. Dale, you're the leader for the day. Athena, your performance has been getting worse. Get your head in it young lady. On the other hand, Arthur. You've been getting better and better. If you keep this up, I can believe that you'll be the first of this group to make it to the target. Now, go say your prayers and head home."
It was true. As I had gotten better and better, she had gotten worse and worse. I wondered if I should go talk to her. But she was already on her way to the fire. I sighed. It was for the best probably. If I ever talked to her, I knew I probably wouldn't be able to talk anyway.
She was on her knees, head bowed respectfully. Her lips moved quickly. I wondered if she was praying for something. I wished I knew what. I had never said a word to her but I was sure that I would move mountains for her to get what she wanted.
I knelt in front of the fire too. I wasn't too much of a believer but it's what everyone did. I sang the lyrics of my favorite song and when enough time had passed, I got up and looked around. She was already gone. I sighed and headed home.
***********
"Grannie, tell me about the before."
"You silly boy. I've told you all the stories already."
"Tell them again. We've only got an year now."
"True." She smiled. But I saw her eyes. They were not smiling.
"Grandma what it we left. Away from here. Where we wouldn't have to..."
"Sshh. Don't even speak like that, boy. It's the circle of life. We must all die eventually. This way, at least we keep the fire burning."
I moved closer to her and she ran her fingers through my hair. She was right, of course.
She started her story. "Many, many centuries ago, we lived in cities. There were..."
My mother's voice called out to me from the outer room. "Arthur, there's someone here to see you."
"Who is it mom?"
She stood at the door with a smile. "I think you better go see yourself."
I headed out the door, wondering what was up with my mother.
I did a double take as I looked at the familiar figure standing at our door.
"Athena?"
"Arthur, I need your help."
| 2020-05-15T14:03:41 | 2020-05-15T13:34:52 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] One night while sleeping, you let your hand dangle off the bed. Seeing the opportunity the demon grabs your hand and tries to pull you down to hell, however, you, in your panic, pull the demon out. Now it's a little awkward...
|
“Y-you-” The granite skinned humanoid stammered, eyes full of disbelief at the human on the bed. The human stopped appraising his hand and arm then turned to look at the demon. The demon tensed.
“What happens now?” the human asked, a devious smile coming across their face, their hand opening and closing repeatedly into a fist.
“W-well-” The demon stopped, taking a step back as the human got up from the bed.
“How about we go downstairs and have some cookies!” the human smiled widely “Roommates are asleep though and we have to be quiet, then you can help me pull a prank on Nathan. Come on!” the human whispered as he passed by the stone still demon. The demon took a moment then slowly began to follow, but each step was like a rock was being dropped on the wooden floor. The unlikely pair cringed with each loud step.
“Wait, why am I listening to you!? I am the demon here!”
“But I am stronger than you.” the human shot back “You have a name?”
“I am not giving you that.”
“You will eventually”
What is this human? The demon focused on creeping along behind his new companion.
The kitchen was simple with dishes piled up and the table covered in mail and wrappers.
“Nicer than hell” remarked the demon.
“Maybe we’ll trade someday and you will know true hell. I mean look at this!” the human gestured to the pile of dishes. “Nathan NEVER takes care of the dishes even if it's just his. You’re going to help me get back at him.”
|
"What the fuck?" I said aloud, staring wide-eyed at the 'thing' in front of me.
I was awoken by a violent jerk - a cold but firm hand that wrapped itself tightly around my wrist and tried to pull me down. Fortunately, my instinct was to yank my hand while rolling my entire 200-pound sweaty body in the opposite direction, hence overpowering the force trying to drag me off my bed. Yes, I weigh 200-pounds.
No, I am not a bodybuilder. I am what you call an 18 year-old fat-fuck, weaboo nerd. If you still have trouble visualizing how I might look like, let me just let you in on my daily struggles: I have an acne problem such that if I sleep, I cannot sleep on my side, if not there would be an oil stain on the pillowcase the next morning. I also do not dare to jump, because the resulting force from my jiggling belly fats might break my knees. I have problems taking a shit, because my sweaty butt cheeks causes both of them to stick together. And the only female I have known for the fast year is Misaki-chan, my beloved waifu bodypillow. You might argue that she is not a real girl, but fuck you. She is as real to me as your mom. I blame brownies, anime, and reddit for my current condition. But that is important right now.
The moment I rolled my body like a fat walrus, I realized that I may not have solved my problem. I yanked my wrist towards my chest, resulting in the thing grabbing my wrist to be pulled from under my bed, slide across my shoulder, and land next to me, face-to-face, like how a loving couple might lay together on a single bed. Except that I was so huge, that I sandwiched the 'thing' between me and the wall, with only Misaki-chan seperating our bodies. It was tight. And I was freaking out.
It was hard to see as it was still dark and my eyes hadn't fulling adjusted yet, but the thing was writhing and screeching, trying to escape from its tight predicament. I stared wide-eyed at what is in front of me, almost about to shit my pants. I felt something almost coming out of my anus already. *Shit! I cannot shit now!* I thought. *My butt cheeks are sealed tight due to my fats! It will flow out from the top and bottom of my butt crevice instead!*
I expected to see the monster from "Insidious" in front of me, but oh, how wrong I was, and oh, how happy I was.
In front of me was a monster that resembled "Sadako", the long haired, grey-skinned girl that crawled out of the TV to kill you. She was wearing a white, long dress, her eyes were blood-shot, teeth slightly yellow. she looks slightly older than me. However, I found her... slightly attractive. I stared at her. Did she have grey skin? Yes, but I don't mind, I think it looks good on her. Were her eyes red? Yes, but it accentuates her features. Were her teeth yellow? Yes, but mine is yellower, and I cannot be a hypocrite. By conventional beauty standards, she probably isn't a bombshell, but to me, I think she looks... decent. Kind of my type actually...
After a while, the girl-monster probably started to realize my calmness. She paused from her screeching and struggling, and stared at me back for a good few seconds. Our eyes locked. I felt a deep connection I have not felt before. It was like, something in the universe clicked... maybe we were meant to meet.
*Oh shit.* I thought. I am feeling something in my gut, and for the first time, it doesn't feel like gas. I felt a tension as we locked eyes, and I thought she was feeling it too. I pursed my lips, closed my eyes, and leaned in for a kiss, heaving heavily.
SCREECH!! The girl hissed ever so loudly, trying to escape from my body and the wall. *Crap!* I thought aloud, *did I commit sexual harassment?* I quickly moved my head back and started to apologize. "I... I... I'm so... sor...sorry... dude..." *Ah shit! I called her a dude! "*I mean, sorry... sorry for calling you a du...dude... it was a slip of a tongue I'm so sorry man..." *Ah shit! I called her a man! And I haven't apologized for making sexual advances yet!* "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do any of that... forgive me it was a slip of my tongue! I thought we were feeling it... by the way, I am Ben, what i...i...is your name?*"*
At that moment, I my stomach rumbled. I must not have realized it over my panic, but my fart was building up to a point where it couldn't be contained. I let out an unintentional loud rip, which came out in bubbles as my butt cheeks were sealed shut due to my sweat and fats. I smelt it. *Fuck.* I ate Korean kimchi for dinner. *Fuck.* I am starting to realize that I have been sweating profusely too, and Misaki-chan is soaking wet. *Crap! My Misaki-chan!* I yanked Misaki-chan out from in between the girl and I.
Like a dam that just broke, my sweaty fats spilled over and came into contact with the girl-monster. She screeched louder than before, moving her whole body around trying to escape, but there more she moved, the more parts of her body were exposed to my sweaty frame.
"Oh shit! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to touch you! I didn't take out Misaki-chan purposely so that I can touch you... Oh shit! Sorry for the confusion... Misaki-chan is the long pillow just now that I just pulled out, haha... I just didn't want her to be wet...IT to be wet haha... I said her by accident... it is not real it just so happened that I wanted a long pillow and her picture was on it..."
'-'
| 2021-05-16T08:24:06 | 2021-05-16T07:30:53 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students".
|
"EMP! FREEZE!" Shouted young Pyroclast. It was slightly ironic but I'll forgive it.
I raised my hands and turned, clearly at their mercy. Pyroclast, Phaser, and Wraith. Pretty cool names, in my opinion. Cool powers too. Temperature control, molecular manipulation, and electromagnetic refraction. Plus they weren't dickheads. Good kids.
"Very well, you've captured me!" I vamped pretty well, it helps I'm a baritone. I turned to them slowly.
According to the supposedly accurate Dangerous Power Index, I'm at best a C-. Shorting out electronic devices is pretty bad but definitely not "melting people alive" bad.
Granted, I never have had a reason to demonstrate the exact scope of my ability to well, anyone. Commander Death and The Steel Legionnaire both knew what I really was, but they're far more interested in keeping the balance than dealing with my absolutely unambitious ass. Terrible poker players, the both of them. Death is shockingly polite for the most powerful villain in existence.
We have an informal agreement that I serve as a gateway for new heroes and villains. Everyone has a barely successful heist with me, or a faintly victorious fight against me.
I saw Wraith approaching me, when sudden the bank entrance evaporated. Just bloop, gone.
Floating in the gap was The Obliterated.
Frankly, he's kinda terrifying. Psychotic fucker with the ability to produce sonic blasts WELL IN EXCESS of healthy limits. He didn't even start a monologue, he just tossed a wave of air compressed to the approximate density of enriched uranium at these poor fucking kids. It was definitely going at least 5000 feet per second.
I quietly and pseudo-instantly turned about fifty feet of air into fifty feet of air colored neutronium for like a yoctosecond.
Everyone saw a hand flick out, felt a kind of vibration, then stared confused at each other.
I'm really not the sort of guy to upset the balance. I'm a big fucking fan of the game. It's safe uh, ish. Predictable. Choreographed.
The Obliterated was not dumb. His gaze immediately fixed on me with a very reasonable amount of suspicious concern.
The heroes were murmuring to each other, pretty concerned. I quietly brought one hand down and pointed to a shattered piece of tile.
I then altered the electromagnetic disposition of the piece of tile in such a manner that it simply vanished. I held a single finger to my lips while making an uncomfortable amount of eye contact with The Obliterated.
He pretended to fight the heroes for like, two minutes. They honestly did really good. They'd have instantly died, but they did really good. I got arrested, The Obliterated got arrested, and The Steel Legionnaire even showed up to honor the heroes.
Well, I guess there are three people now, but I wasn't going to let him annihilate them.
Pretty sure that Phaser is going to replace The Steel Legionnaire one day, because she's got the gumption. Maybe Obliterated and I will catch a beer sometime and hash out the rules a little better for the higher tier villains.
Maybe not. Maybe I'll finally have to evaporate an asshole and everyone will realize that the electromagnetic spectrum is literally everything. I can turn your punk ass into gamma rays and uh, "yeet" you into a pulsar. Is that how kids say it? I "yeet" you? Whatever. For now...
For now, I'm playing cops and robbers.
|
"Hello, class, I'm Juleel, also known as The Deceiver, an Ex-A-Ranker Villain..." he spoke whilst pacing back forth near the blackboard attached to the wall, writing on it with swift strokes from his chalk with each step he made, "but, do not fret, I've reformed from my devious lifestyle, now, I would like to teach the next generation of heroes how to fight against evil by revealing 'our methods and our motives,' any questions?"
"You're a reformed villain?" A boy called out with a name tag on his forehead, reading out 'Fledge,' raising his hand from the back of the lecture hall with confusion strewn about his befuzzled face.
"Yes..."
"And you're name is The Deceiver?..." he continued, narrowing his eyebrows and squinting his eyes dubiously as he looked Juleel up and down.
"... Alright, I can see why you would be skeptical of me..."
"That full latex suit with blood on your boots isn't helping your case either... --"
"Any other questions?!" Juleel shouted dismissively as he stared daggers in the boy's direction, seemingly causing him to faint back into his seat. A loud thud resonates from the room as the boy hit his head on the metal table in front of him, sending the room into a panic.
"What was that?!" A girl called out, pointing toward the fainted boy with shock painting her disgruntled face, eyeing down Juleel as it snarkily lifted his ovular glasses onto his face, correcting the crooked glasses as he walked toward his desk, sitting down casually as the once stagnant room inflamed.
Juleel kicks his feet on the desk, revealing his bloodied black latex boots, smearing them across the light-brown laminated oak desk. "Hmm... maybe theirs a villain in our midst..." he spoke skeptically, grinning meekly before picking up a book and plastering over his face, blocking the students from viewing him as a burst of slow deep laughter resonated from an unknown source.
"So many fresh pludglings to swallow..." a voice spoke out gruffly, nearly indiscernible as it coughed hoarsely from its excessive laughter. A pile of light-green goop shoots out of a drain in the room, spitting out droplets of itself across the room, landing on each and every student.
"-- That voice!"
"Recognize me?..." the voice spoke as another slop of goo forced itself through the drain through its narrow gaps, slicing itself slowly before launching out of it, breaking the lid of the drain, sending it flying toward the boy who'd fallen asleep earlier, hitting him on his again, "I'm almost flattered... to think you'd know about a villain of my ranking..."
"D-rank villain known for his abundant power in hand-to-hand combat, The Gobbler..." the boy who'd been hit on the head twice spoke groggily as he awoke before falling asleep once again, hitting his head on the desk for the third time.
"Thanks for the introduction... It'd appear I came to the right place, albeit a little late..." The Gobbler spoke, lingering in between his words as the viscous goo on the ground began to manifest into the shape of a human, bubbling viciously as it built itself upward.
"Teacher! Do something!" A girl cried out as her skin began to turn green. She began to foam at the mouth before falling to the ground, falling sick to the goo that touched her previously, causing her to faint. Other students began to follow suit, foaming at the mouth before fainting onto the ground. The boy who'd hit his head three times awakens once again before fainting, hitting his head on the edge of the desk, flipping the sewer lid that'd sat there, causing it to flip over, hitting on the head once more.
"Ow..."
Juleel puts down his book hastily before lifting it back up even faster, hoping that The Gobbler hadn't seen his face.
"Juleel? What are you doing here?"
"I-I'm not Juleel, I-I'm... Javid..."
"Oh, sorry, you looked familiar... by the way, what are you doing at my desk?
"T-t-t-t-t-t-this is your d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d," Juleel attempted to speak as his endless stuttering failed to make sense.
"Well, I'm sure it was an honest mistake. Are you new to the school as well?"
"Y-yes..."
"... Wait a second..." The Gobbler spoke dubiously as he scrutinized Juleel, "what's on your boots?"
"Strawberry jam..."
"Oh, can I have some!?" The Gobbler spoke curiously as he carried himself across the room, licking his lips before coming into contact with Juleel.
Juleel awaits for him to close in, kicking him right as The Gobbler began to lick on his shoe. The Gobbler catches Juleel's foot in his mouth, licking it clean within seconds as Juleel attempting to remove himself from The Gobbler's death grip.
"This isn't strawberry jam..." The Gobbler spoke as he licked the already clean boot once more, "this is nail polish!"
"How'd you know what that tastes like?!"
"Thats besides the point! You aren't a teacher! Nail polish was prohibited from usage twelve years ago during the nail polish eating incident that took place that sent fourteen children to the hospital, one of whom was named James!"
"What!?"
"It's you, isn't it? Juleel!?"
"No..."
"Oh, sorry, I must've been mistaken..." The Gobbler spoke, rubbing his head out of embarrassment as Juleel steadily positioned the book around his face that he wouldn't be seen, "anyways, I hope to see you around campus. I'll be needing my desk back now if you don't mind..." The Gobbler spoke awkwardly as he stood at the foot of his desk, releasing Juleel's foot from his gaping mouth with goo littering every inch of it.
"Nice to meet you too..." he spoke cautiously as he removed his feet from the desk, "I'll be going now then..."
"Juleel the deceiver... planning to corrupt the classroom... kill those who don't obey him... thwarted by hero..." the boy with five bumps on his head whispered weakly as he slept on the ground of the classroom with a sewer lid on his head acting as a hat as Juleel ran out of the class speedily.
The Gobbler looks to the ground, noticing the book Juleel dropped before running off.
"How to hide your face for dummies," it read as The Gobbler picked up the book, running toward the direction Juleel had sped off in, catching up to him immediately with book in hand.
"You can keep it!" Juleel shouted as he upped his speed, bursting through a wall as The Gobbler ceased his running before turning back to his classroom.
"What a weird guy..."
He walked back to his classroom slowly, finding the students awake, sitting readily at their tables.
"Hello, class! I'm Fledge, also known as The Gobbler, an Ex-D-Ranker Vilain--," Fledge spoke, writing his name on the board as he held the book left to him over his face with a third hand formed from goo. As he did so, the bell rang, students left the room uniformly, leaving only him and the last sleeping student alone. He awakes, tears leaking from his eyes, not knowing if it was from the pain of getting hit on the head five times, or if it was from a terrible nightmare.
"I'll remember you this time..." he spoke groggily before falling asleep once more before a green glop of goo attached to the ceiling dribbled onto his face.
"I hope not... sometimes it's better to abandon dreams rather than forcing them into reality... Fledge..."
| 2021-06-23T15:33:15 | 2021-06-23T11:55:31 | 73 | 11 |
[WP] We were taught the Sun didn't make noise. We were wrong. Like TV static in an empty room, it did make a sound, a sound so ever present that we didn't realize it was there until it wasn't. That day humanity learned the terror of a silent sky, and the reason it made sound in first place.
|
Have you ever tried holding your nose shut while you ate? You’ll barely taste it.
It wouldn’t matter if you were gouging on the favourite candy from your increasingly difficult to distinguish childhood memories, bought from that old corner store down the street that’s since been gentrified. Or the most exquisite filet mignon prepared with the tenderest of care from the finest chef on God’s green Earth. Or even literal shit—take that from me.
That’s how your senses meld together. You think your taste buds are giving you the full, 100 percent paid for experience, but your smell is lending an invisible helping hand that you’ll never notice until you—or something else—does a drastic measure to mess with it.
One day, the Sun went quiet. It was still there, its rays reaching out to its hungry people—but there was something markedly *wrong*. Whether it was shining directly onto an eagerly basking face, or through the windows of some one desperate to catch more than forty winks, it was utterly, undeniably, and unpleasantly wrong.
I was stood at the bus stop, an unexceptional man on a mundane day. It was a difficult task to make a person like me look away from their phone, their sole source of salvation from the daily grind—but I could not ignore the gnawing void all around me.
I remembered a stranger staring at me. Could not remember what he looked like, but I knew her expression mirrored mine when realization dawned upon us at the same time.
The quiet was deafening.
“What the hell.”
It sounded wrong.
“What the hell?”
It sounded wrong coming from her as well.
“What the hell?!”
Two sets of voices do not a better make.
Even though curses, swears, and blasphemies rang out, the air was strangely still and silent. Everything was so clear—too clear—that instead, it was drowned out. We could see the bottom of the seabed, but we couldn’t stop thinking about how we didn’t know how deep it was, and it terrified us.
I heard, but I failed to listen. Panic had set in, and words had turned to gibberish. No matter which person I grabbed onto, all I could hear was insane ramblings. And soon, the same stream of bull spilled forth from my mouth.
And then, I realized—that was what the Sun’s sound was for. Chalk needed a blackboard to be seen. Tongues needed their noses to be taste. Our voices needed the Sun’s to be heard.
Werewolves howled at the Moon at some misguided attempt to be heard. Now, the humans without voice cried like banshees towards the Sun. My mind, and I’m sure many others—still thought straight, but they’ll never see the light of day any longer. Instead, they will languish, and undoubtedly, find their way into unspeakable, tormentous hell.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
The bulldozer rumbled down the road slightly faster than a walking man, spewing black fumes out into the even blacker day. It was loud, but the noise was familiar, comforting. Tommy’s ear plugs lay some miles behind him, abandoned not long after the sun had winked out and the road crew had fractured apart, every man for themselves.
Tommy had only paused for a moment. He’d glanced back at his boss, then west down Route 50, and he’d decided that, if the sun could go out, the road didn’t need repaving all that badly anyway.
He’d been driving for the better part of an hour since then, and Tommy estimated he had another two to go. He hoped Maddy and the kids hadn’t been out when it happened. They’d argued before he left that morning, and truthfully the night before as well, and when they argued she tended to find reasons to go into town for a cup of coffee and a lunch she hadn’t been the one to make.
“Come on baby,” Tommy said, slapping the bulldozer’s rusty controls, trying to urge a little more speed out of the behemoth.
It didn’t work. The machine went at its own pace, and Tommy, never a man to be left alone with himself, could only watch, and wait, and steer.
It was not entirely dark, though Tommy had no word for what little light there was. By its dull silver-gray he could see other motorists from time to time. Most had pulled to the side of the small two lane road. One, at the switchback bend of a mountain, had simply stopped in the middle of his lane.
All of them stood outside their cars, mouths agape, staring up into the darkened sky.
They were stupid, Tommy decided. Stupid or cowardly, folk too simple to adapt to the situation like Tommy himself had. He wasn’t about to be one of them. Nothing would stop him short of home, and if Maddy and the kids weren’t there, short of wherever they were. For all of Tommy’s faults, and there were very, very many, he loved his family.
He passed the time as he’d always thought he should; rehearsing apologies. Tommy couldn’t even remember what they’d been arguing about the night before. He’d been drinking, he always did, and it had spilled over to the morning when he refused to even admit that he didn’t know why they were fighting.
Tommy resolved that if he somehow saw wildflowers through the unnatural ocean of night around him, he would allow himself to stop for that. Maddy loved flowers, and try as he might he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten her any.
Tommy drove on. Near John Blue bridge the motorists were thicker, two cars had actually stopped side by side, blocking the way. They were small, imported things, made more of plastic than of steel and he pushed them both out of the way with ease. Their drivers didn’t look at him as he did, not even when one of them crashed up against the guardrail on the far side and then broke through, falling with a sickening crunch and splash into the river beneath. The drivers stood there, transfixed at the bridge’s center, looking up.
It was colder without the sun, but Tommy broke out in a feverish sweat at that. They’d reminded him of dead drunk men, focused on the one girl in the bar they knew they could never have, eyes glazed over with imaginings and a crippling lack of shame.
Tommy had never lacked shame himself. It was part of the problem with Maddy.
He drove on still, two hours left became one. One became minutes, and soon he was trundling up the drive to the trailer turned house that Maddy’s father had gifted them when they married. Her car was in the yard. The kids' bikes were there as well. Tommy breathed a long, shaking sigh of relief.
He stopped the bulldozer a few feet from the door, mourning his lack of flowers. Three hours in the dark and he’d never come up with anything better than blind luck, and even that had failed him. But he was home, and so was she, and that, in a world gone mad, was all that mattered.
“Maddy?” Tommy called. “Maddy?”
He leapt down from the bulldozer’s seat and caught a glimpse of strawberry blond through the trees on the garden path. Maddy, and both the kids. They stood stock still, staring straight up at the sky.
She wore her favorite dress, the one she’d spent too much money on the year before, and that they’d argued over for days after. She wore it like a badge of honor, its fall across the swell of her hips cutting at him with the remembered weight of things he’d said.
Even with that, she looked shockingly beautiful. She always did.
“Maddy!” he shouted. Then, “Lindsay? John?”
None of them responded. Maddy’s mouth fell open slightly. She swayed from side to side, as if caught in beat of distant music.
Behind him, the bulldozer sputtered and died. Its roar rang through Tommy’s ears for a few moments longer as he ran towards his family. He reached them, taking Maddy in his arms. She felt small, fragile. Her head lolled back when he shook her, she didn’t respond to her name, either her real one or the old pet name he’d used in the dark since high school.
The ringing faded, the last notes of the bulldozer died, and Tommy began to hear something else.
There was a subtle wrongness in the world, an absent ache. He couldn’t place it, only feel it, like he’d been to the quick of a body part he’d never known he had.
“Maddy?” Tommy said one last time.
In the wake of her name, a song whispered into being. It was no music Tommy had ever heard, a thing made of notes men hadn’t discovered. It thrilled through him, then settled into his muscles like the lazy ache of a long day’s work. It called his gaze up, towards the sky he’d never even looked at once since the sun went out, too focused had he been on the road home and the family who now stood transfixed before him.
Tommy turned, arm slipping unconsciously around his wife’s waist, and he saw the thing that sang.
It was the moon, peeking too early over the horizon. It was a great disk of blacks and grays and silvers, and the voice was unquestionably its own. It forced its way into him, expanding into a great and terrible beauty as his warmth bled out and his muscles grew slack, his face pale.
He realized then, that Maddy was shaking faintly. Tommy tried to turn himself back towards her. He failed. He tried to say a million things, a million apologies as the moon rose too fast on the horizon, as it expanded and grew and its song drove the ring of heavy machinery out of his ears.
He couldn’t say any of them.
“I…love…you…” Tommy said instead, struggling out the words.
The song rose to a crescendo in his mind. They were the last words Tommy ever said.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-08-28T10:06:20 | 2021-08-28T09:49:47 | 257 | 88 |
[WP] This was the most depressing thing the villain has ever seen. It’s one thing to be invited to their archenemy’s birthday party. It was another to be the only one who showed up.
|
*It's a trap. Obviously.*
Karissa glares at the colorful card in her hands with utter distaste. A small little note, adorned with a few pathetic drawings. If she didn't know better, she would assume this was a prank from one of the imp-spawn. Brainless maggots...
But no. There's too much...*effort.* A half-dozen caricatures of that damn mortal sorcerer, her traveling companions, and Karissa herself cover the parchment. A brief message inside suggests that she is invited to a small festival, held in celebration of the *witch* turning a year older. How *wonderful*. A snarl crosses her face as she sees herself wearing a smile in the drawing- Standing there right beside the girl. As if they haven't tried to *kill* each other time and time again.
...
*No. That's... not quite right, is it. I've tried to kill her, certainly, but... That spineless half-breed couldn't throw a killing blow if she tried.*
A low groan escapes Karissa's lips as she pinches the space between her brows, annoyed.
&#x200B;
*Mortals.* They don't last. It's a miracle they survive any damn day. To survive an entire year... Especially with the kind of life *she* lives..?
*...Maybe just a quick look. It would be a wasted opportunity to not observe.*
\---
Karissa stares down from her place at the forest's edge at the tiny mud-brick home nearly overrun with moss. A pig-sty compared to her Palace of Mirrors. She'd been here since before dawn. Watching. Waiting.
The morning was perhaps the most entertaining part. Watching the sun rise, and seeing the witch slip out of bed and rush about her little house was quite simply *silly.* **THIS** is the mortal champion that has decided to interfere with Karissa's grand designs? The one brushing her hair, humming songs to herself, and stitching together flower garlands?
It gave Karissa the urge to just go down there and burn everything to ash. But she suppresses the urge in favor of merely watching. Watching as the little witch swivels her head every few minutes, looking longingly over the horizon. Nudging furniture around until it's *just* right. Staring up towards the sun with a curious expression Karissa can't quite place.
Eventually, she seems to settle down, and sits at the table she's prepared outside.
Alone.
She takes a small pastry, and slowly bites into it.
Karissa herself looks up at the sky from within the shadow of the grove's edge. It must be nearly noon. Where are all of the girl's friends? The archer, the beast-man, the elf? Not even that paladin seems to have arrived.
&#x200B;
*...All a part of the trap, surely.*
&#x200B;
Karissa can't turn her eyes away from the witch.
Sonia, daughter of Nawtshure. Eating a tiny cake, at a large table. Alone.
\---
It's been hours. Karissa has only grown more uncomfortable as the day has passed completely mundanely. No trap has sprung. Sonia has barely moved; Yet her posture has continued to degrade over the course of the day. She might as well be lying her head against the rugged wooden table.
Town isn't more than a ten-minutes' walk away. Yet...Not a single person has come up the hill.
Karissa watches the sun set beneath the horizon. The moment the last sliver of solar light passes, she hears a strange, muffled sound from Sonia's direction. She has her hands clasped over her face. She's...
*Oh.*
Karissa watches on in disbelief as the little witch stumbles to her feet, ignoring the platter of pastries, and returns inside her house. Alone.
&#x200B;
*What the hell..?*
**THIS** is the mortal champion ready to do whatever it takes to get in the Demon's way? This was the hero that fought back the Abyss? This sniffling witch, who tore down the Gates of Alminok, and prevented this dimension's complete and utter **annihilation**, can't even gather her friends together to celebrate her birthday?
Hardly even realizing it, Karissa found herself marching out of the edge of the shadows, right up to the door of the cottage.
|
I kicked open the front door, wielding a dance fever gun and a pair of 2022 glasses that were really obstructing my field of vision. “I heard someone was having a party. It would be a real shame if someone made you all catch the dancing bug. Like the great dancing plague of 1518, my weapon will make you all dance to the depths of exhaustion. Just call me the Yeah Yeah Yeahs because you will all be dancing until you’re dead. Mwhahahaha-huh? Where is everyone?”
“Oh, hey. Um, glad you could make it. That speech was impressive. Probably one of your best. I just wish someone was here to hear it.”
I took off my 2022 glasses, wondering if everyone was cowering in the corners of the room, outside of my field of vision, but it was empty. Only a few clumsily hung-up balloons and a rainbow cake with one small piece cut out of it. Did no one show up? Wow, this was just sad. Glancing at my watch, I checked the time, wondering if I was early. Nope, it was 2:30pm. I was even an hour late.
“Did I get the times wrong? I was pretty sure the party started an hour ago. Maybe I misread the invitation. Or perhaps it was a cunning ploy by my great archenemy to lure me in before the guests arrived?”
I was pleading with him for there to be a reason behind this. Was it a trap? Anything other than the sad reality that was positioned in front of me. He let out a long sigh, looking at his own watch to confirm that it had already been an hour.
“No one showed up. Not a single person. I’ve saved hundreds of people from scum. Oh, no offense.”
“None taken. I’m pretty scummy.”
“How could no one show up? Was I not a good enough hero? I tried my hardest. Do you know how many times I have had to go to hospital for the injuries people like you have given me? Not once did they send a bouquet or even a card? They just expect it because it’s my job. I’m exhausted.”
I wondered if I could just make my excuses and leave. Sure, it would be awkward, but we weren’t friends or anything. We were just two guys that got together once a week to beat the shit out of each other. I wouldn’t call that friendship. I went to open my mouth, already having a few excuses planned, only to see his sad green eyes looking my way.
“I think I’ve sent you to the hospital about four times. Maybe five if you count minor injuries.” I sat beside him, staring at the cheap decorations. “I’m sure they appreciate you. They might not show it, but people don’t forget being rescued.”
“Right, they don’t forget that, but they forget my birthday.”
“You can’t expect random people to come to your birthday. Look, why don’t we just have some cake and play a game or something? You have a gaming console, right? What do you have? A ZS5? A Circlebox? A Circuit?”
“I don’t feel like it. You can leave, if you want. It’s clear you don’t want to be here. I just can’t believe the other heroes didn’t come. I thought we were friends.”
There it was, permission to leave. I rose from the couch, ready to make my way to the door, only to stop. Sure, I was a villain, but I wasn’t that bad of a person. I sat back down, patting Lightforce on the back.
“Yeah, well, my villain friends often backstab me or try to kill me, so you at least keep better company than I do. Last week I was on a date with Silvershot and you know how that ended up? With me dangling over a crocodile pit. Who even gets a crocodile pit? I thought you needed a lizard license or something to own crocodiles. Jokes on her. When I escaped, I put in a complaint to my local council and now they are making her go through the proper avenues to own those crocodiles.”
“Wouldn’t it be a reptile licence or a protected species licence? Wait, you put in a complaint? Why didn’t you just attack her?”
“She has crocodiles and all I have currently is a gun that makes people dance. I don’t think you can make a crocodile dance. Alligators sure, but crocodiles are just a whole different type of ballgame. I’m not about to get death rolled by a crocodile over my pride.”
“Heh. That’s a funny story. I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I kind of invited you because I thought you would be the only one to show up. I know we aren’t friends, but you are always there for me.”
Lightforce cut a slice of the cake, offering me the piece, which I gladly accepted. It was weird seeing him without the costume, he just looked like a lonely runt. Something I could relate to. Maybe not currently, but most villains start off as lonely runts of the litter types.
“Funny now, wasn’t funny when I was dangling above the crocodiles. It’s fine. I think part of being a villain is getting dragged into things you don’t want to do.” I said, stuffing a piece of cake into my mouth as I did. “Mmmf. Mmmf, mmm, mmm.”
“Sorry, what was that last part?”
“Oh, just for you to keep your head up. Making friends is hard, but you will get there. You’re a kindhearted guy and even if we aren’t on the same team, I still respect you. There’s no one I would rather fight.”
Lightforce looked away, pretending to be very interested in a nearby window. Had I said something I shouldn’t have? I peered over his shoulder, only to notice the tears welling in his eyes. Please don’t cry, please don’t cry. I can’t handle crying people. I don’t know what to do. Thankfully, he sucked up his emotions before standing up.
“That does it. I’m becoming a villain. If no one appreciates me, then I’ll follow in your footsteps.”
“I admire the attitude, but you aren’t a villain. You’re a good person, you care about people. You can’t hurt people.”
“Watch me. I’ll break open buildings and destroy everything inside. I’ll…. I’ll…. Why are you the only one that came?”
Then the bravado dropped as he cried. I sat there, still eating my cake, wondering what I was meant to do in this situation. My parents were both villains, so the most affection I ever got was a pat on the back or a hug from one of their robotic assistants. A hug? I put the cake down, awkwardly stretching my arms forward like I was planning to strangle him. Ok, so do I just grab him or how the hell do I do this? Luckily, I didn’t need to do anything, Lightforce jumping into the embrace, making it easier for me to wrap my arms around him.
“There? There? Don’t cry? Crying is not supported by my firmware. Would you like to upgrade to the premium package?” I said, repeating those same lines the robots used to give me.
He just sobbed for what felt like an hour. I was pretty sure he was getting all sniffly on my uniform, too. I would have to make sure he pays to get it cleaned. Still, I didn’t release the hold, waiting until he squirmed his way out.
“Thank you. I just don’t know what to do. Are you sure I can’t be a villain?”
“Not at all. I wouldn’t like you if you were a villain, anyway. It would be competition. If you went over to my side, I wouldn’t get to fight you, either. Anyway, since my afternoon’s now open. Want to play a game together?”
“Sure, I have a Circuit. Want to play Mustachio cars?”
“Yeah, sure. I haven’t played that since I was a kid. My parents didn’t let me play many video games, said it would turn me into a hero.”
We played for a few hours, having a somewhat pleasant time. For a hero, he was decent enough company. Eventually, I said my goodbyes, even offering to visit him next week for another gaming session. Sure, it was awkward visiting a hero, but if I wanted him to stay a hero, I needed to help him through this rough patch. After all, I didn’t want competition or to lose my rival.
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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.)
| 2022-08-17T23:15:53 | 2022-08-17T21:25:52 | 965 | 670 |
[WP]The Rapture happens while you are skydiving. (Un)fortunately for you, your tandem instructor is one of the chosen ones.
|
As you might have predicted, I'm dead. A fall from 13,000 feet will do that. As you might *not* have predicted, I'm suing over it.
It was surprisingly easy. There were an awful lot of lawyers available in Hell, perhaps to the point of cliche, but then, there's an awful lot of *everyone* down here. All walks of life, and I mean *all*. Breaks your heart.
Anyway. Wrongful death. Willful negligence. Apparently, I had a strong case. My lawyer says they'll settle, or at least I think he does. I don't speak Babylonian, but they say this Hammurabi guy is the best. He's confident. And he's pretty sore about the damnation thing, after inventing the code of law in Mesopotamia and stopping generations of bloody tribal warfare. He thought it might give him a pass on the whole "not believing in a guy that was born 1,000 years later than him" thing, but not so much, evidently. Stupid infallibility. Still, "on Earth as it is in Heaven", his words. A = B. B = A. Earth has laws. I was killed in US jurisdiction. God is liable.
Lucifer thought the whole thing was HILARIOUS, which is why he gave us a break from the bubbling brimstone long enough to file legal briefs, but started finding it less-so once legal precedent on Acts of God was set. Hell lost an awful lot of tenants. We got a class-action going.
Turned this whole thing around. Lucifer's doing time for kidnapping, God for evading arrest. Most of the angels and devils were hit with RICO charges, racketeering, assault. We sued Heaven again, for withholding evidence. Got access to the Akashic Records. Cleared up every murder, EVER, and a bunch of other nastiness, too, although some of the new convicts are appealing on the basis of illegal wiretapping. So it goes.
We've started pouring cement for the new Trans-Heaven-Tollway.
We're gonna sell timeshares.
|
"Remember! No matter what happens, *don't panic*!"
That was the first rule of skydiving, according to my instructor. *Don't panic*. Panic was the enemy. It would eat away at your mind, make you make mistakes. And mistakes at 13,000 feet could easily turn deadly.
Personally, I thought that line would be best if left in a Douglas Adams book. I wasn't here to have a nice, relaxing evening. I was here to *fly*, and if I wasn't panicking there would be no point. I *wanted* to panic. And I wouldn't be much of an adrenaline junkie if I didn't.
Even so, I shot him a thumbs up. Even as close as we were, tied together by our harnesses, the only way I could hear him over the prop was if he yelled in my ear. There was no way for me to argue with him even if I wanted to - not that an argument right now would be of any use. He already knew *exactly* how I felt before we even left the ground. Not that he *agreed*, but at least he had the sense to not butt heads with me. He never would have won anyway.
Luckily, the thumbs up was more than enough. "Ready?" He shouted, and I nodded back. The door of the plane rattled open, exposing a rectangle of blue emptiness and increasing the noise of wind a hundred fold. As it locked into place, I could *feel* the blood start to pump harder in my veins.
*Here it comes.* I thought, and grinned as my heart pumped the liquid fear to ever corner of my body, making it shake and tingle with delight. *THIS* is why I put up with all of his crap, all of the safety manuals and lectures, and all of the damn forms. *THIS* was living. And no one was going to take that away from me.
My instructor put his hand into my field of view, three fingers raised.
*I don't need your bloody countdown.* I screamed internally. *Just JUMP!*
Three...
Two...
And I had had enough. As his second finger fell, I threw the both of us out of the plane and into empty air. My instructor yelled and swatted my shoulder, but I barely felt the blow.
*FREE!* I thought, world tumbling around me in a whirlwind of ground, cloud, and sky. I laughed, thinking of the string of profanities that my instructor was probably issuing as he struggled to straighten us out. If he knew any, that was. The goody two-shoes.
He yelled something in my ear, but whatever he said was whipped away by the wind. Oh well, not my problem. It was *his* job to make sure we both lived through this. After all, our fates were tied.
Again, he yelled, and this time I heard a fragment of what he said.
"D...see...l...?"
"WHAT?" I called back at him
"Do you see that light?" He practically screamed in my ear.
"WHAT LIGHT?" I yelled back.
Suddenly, I realized that my harness was fluttering behind me oddly. Thinking that something had come loose, I twisted back, hoping to yell at my instructor to fix it up.
But to my amazement, he was gone.
"What the fuck!?"
His harness was still there, clipped in as before. And his parachute, clothes, and goggles were still wedged inside. But his *body* had totally gone, leaving his wind-breaking jumpsuit to flutter fruitlessly against the gale.
*Oh, nice. Real funny, guy. Leave the newbie all on his own to figure shit out.*
I glanced in every direction, but no matter where I looked he was nowhere to be found. Not that I *really* wanted to see a naked man floating by...but hey. He was kind of my lifeline.
"Jesus Christ." I swore, clumsily pulling his harness closer to my frame. Ok. What do I need to do. Memories of half-forgotten classes flitted behind my eyes, but my fear soon shoved away any chance I had at remembering them. *That bastard...he is probably laughing at me right now, wherever he went.*
With arms that felt like lead, I pulled my limbs through the open holes of his harness so that the parachute roughly lined up with my back.
*How long do I have to wait?* I thought, gulping. I looked at my wrist, but the glare from the sun made my altimeter impossible to read. Every second, the ground grew closer and closer, and every second my fear grew greater and greater. I held it even closer to my face, trying to get a read.
*Wait...is that...beeping?*
In a panic, I ripped the cord on my back. the parachute erupted behind me like a sail. Suddenly, it unfurled, flicking me like a whip at the end of my make shift harness. I let out a cry as it tore at my shoulders, pulling them roughly out of their sockets even as the parachute slowed me to more life-friendly speeds.
I groaned, the noise oddly loud in the quite left behind by the absence of wind. "Well. That hurt."
Despite my injuries, I felt myself begin to grin. What a rush! I had never experienced anything like that before in my life! Absently, I wondered how long it would take my arms to heal, and how long it would be before I could try skydiving again. This time, *without* being strapped to a nag.
A buzzing sound from above wrenched me back to reality.
"What the hell...is that the plane!?"
The lump of metal flew through the sky haphazardly, listing in an enormous circle as it careened toward the ground. It almost looked like no one was steering the plane at all.
"What the hell is that pilot doing!? He should watch out, that could kill someone!"
Cold fear - quite unlike the rush I was so fond of - began to well up in the pit of my stomach as I watched it circle. It was away, above me and facing away, but if it kept going on it's current course...
"No...way..."
*THUD.*
***
*What is the difference between a bad golfer and a bad skydiver? One goes "WHACK...dang!" and the other goes "DANG...WHACK!" CC appreciated, and if you enjoyed the read check out more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
| 2016-07-30T11:47:21 | 2016-07-30T11:32:37 | 743 | 269 |
[WP] In this world, the truly dedicated can develop a mundane skill to the point of becoming a reality-breaking superpower. You have mastered procrastination to this level.
Quick note (trying to be helpful for anyone who doesn't know):
Procrastination is putting things off until later.
|
George sat down at the computer with a cold ham and cheese sandwich and a flagon of wine.
It was finally time. He stroked his beard complacently and took a swig from the silver flagon engraved with spiraling dragons. It had been a gift from a fan.
For the first time in six years, he touched the keyboard and began to type.
*Jon's body lay lifeless in the cold snow.*
He reread the line. Cold snow? Wasn't all snow *cold*? He backspaced, and tried again.
*The 998th Lord Commander, Jon Snow lay pale and lifeless amidst the snow.*
He hated it. For one, the sentence said snow twice. Again, he backspaced the entire line.
Six years. It had been six years since he had written a single word he was pleased with.
He was getting bombarded with calls from HBO writers and executives. Assaulted by emails and letters from restless fans. He'd even had one man show up at his doorstep and ask him "what's the fucking deal, Martin?"
Still, the royalties were coming steady. The previous books were more popular than ever, and HBO paid a great deal for his intellectual property whether it was on paper or not.
He decided he would try again. He stared at the blank Notepad application open on the screen titled *The Winds of Winter* and waited for the Muse to return.
He looked away from the screen, from the keyboard, and began typing. Yes. Yes, that was it. The words were flowing freely now! After a few moments he looked back at his screen to see what masterpiece he had created.
*flgjkdneksndbi bdidnd psoorbd jeiej.*
"Damnit!" George shouted and took another swig of wine.
He was getting sleepy now. Perhaps he would take a nap. Yes, a little shut eye, and he would return tomorrow well-rested and inspiration abound.
That was it. He would start tomorrow.
|
We were still a good five miles away, but the strain was already apparent on Jaina's and Teddy's faces. I wasn't faring much better myself.
"Should we just take a break?" asked Jaina, as her shoulders slumped. She bent forward, prepared to sit on the curbside. "I mean, it's not like we're running out of tim-"
"But we are!" said Teddy. He grimaced as he tugged on Jaina's arm, urging her forward. "The Enslaver is *this* close to completing his plan for world domination! Are you going to give up now, be the shame of the entire Agency? Is this what all your training amounts to, huh?"
"He's right," I said. "You know you have it in you to resist, Jaina. Come, focus. Tune out the negativity, perceive only the goal. You can do this!"
"Fine! Whatever!" Jaina said, the scowl etched across her face. "Don't talk down to me! I'm every much an Agent as you both are. When we get there... I'm going to make him regret the crap he put us through!"
We pressed on, lost in our own thoughts. I spotted the body of what appeared to be a grocery delivery boy a few minutes later, decomposing on the sidewalk. By the looks of it, he had decided to sit down, perhaps to take a break, and then decided never to get up again.
"See what we're up against?" said Teddy. "You think you can let your guard down? The Sloth is projecting a procrastinating forcefield so strong that a single false step may be the last one you take! Are you that dumb to succumb to that, huh?"
The Sloth, a.k.a. Edward Nugent. One of the most powerful Empowered ever recorded, and barely thirty years of age. He was so strong that the government forced him to relocate out here, far away from the city, so that no one else was affected by his powers. Rumor had it that the Sloth had protested his exile at the beginning, but no one knew if the Sloth ever carried through with his threats of retaliation.
"I really hope he listens to us," I said. The urge to take a breather, continue with our quest another day was overpowering, and it was all I could do to remain positive. "But we have to try, right?"
How many lives were lost in the war against the Enslaver? By my best estimate, the Agency had bled through almost 40% of its ranks before everyone agreed that the Enslaver was too strong to be taken down with brute force. Truth be told, there isn't much you can do against a Level 8 psychic with the power to overwhelm and control minds.
The plan, hatched in the darkest, most desperate hours the Agency had ever known, was simple enough. The Enslaver may be formidable, but he was still a human at the end of the day.
And any human was susceptible to procrastination.
"I will make the Sloth see the light," Jaina said. She made a fist, and I saw her fearsome threat take physical form, manifest into a dim glow surrounding her. "If he refuses to join the war against the Enslaver, use his powers to make the Enslaver delay his campaign, then I will threaten him with the foulest slurs I can muster."
"And if you fail," said Teddy, "I will taunt him, make him realise he's a worthless piece of shit. That should get him off his arse."
I believed both of them, I really did. In our world, where sufficient dedication could help one hone, develop any mundane skill into a literal superpower, there were few as accomplished as us three.
Jaina, once feted as the most efficient debt collector the world had ever seen, was famous for cowing a hostile nation into giving up their nuclear codes, even before a single bullet was fired. All she needed was an open line to their leader, and within sixty minutes hostilities were over.
Teddy, a bully at heart who had little patience for anyone too meek to take a stand, had once challenged himself to see if he could get a rise out of the peace-loving monks who lived atop a nearby mountain. The Agency stepped in after the entire monastery was brought to frothing madness, turning on anyone who came close. Gandhi would not have been Gandhi, had he ever met Teddy.
And me?
I like to think I’m good at thinking positively. I find joy in motivating others, helping them find that inner spark, that reason for being which helps them achieve their full potential. I’m not sure how powerful I am, whether I could best the Sloth or the Enslaver one or one, but I was strong. I once cajoled a dead body back to life, after all.
If the Sloth wouldn’t listen to reason, then we would use our powers, and Threaten, Taunt or Motivate him to do so.
“I think… that’s him…” said Jaina, shielding her eyes as she pointed ahead.
“Got to be,” said Teddy, who was beginning to pant heavily. “He’s the only… living thing here…”
I saw him then. He was much thinner than his moniker suggested. The Sloth was reclining on a deck chair, sunbathing, and as he heard us approach, he tilted his sunhat, removed his shades, and said, “Oh geez, are you coming to ask me to help you with something? Oh geez, geez, can we like, you know, just chill a bit or something? I’m kinda busy at the moment.”
And in that moment I knew we had lost.
His slothiness, his depravity, was a chasm I did not expect. Night was before us, and the three of us were but mere candles – there was no hope of us ever filling the vastness of that void. The waves of procrastination washed over us, a tsunami of *laters* and *not nows* eroding what little resistance we had. I struggled to hold onto any positive thoughts I had, but as I saw Teddy fall to his knees, Jaina crumple to the ground…
“Yes,” said Jaina, smiling, “let’s just take a nap or something…”
“Why not,” said Teddy. “I’m sure the Enslaver can wait…”
I opened my mouth, and I said-
[TO BE CONTINUED... AT SOME POINT]
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-09-27T06:40:05 | 2017-09-27T05:38:03 | 519 | 92 |
[WP] While renovating your bathroom you stumble across a strange machine labeled "Humanity" in the walls. On it various emotional traits are next to levers: Greed - 75%, Empathy - 40%, Lust - 80%, etc. At the very bottom, you find an unmarked lever that warns, "DO NOT TOUCH." It's set to 1%.
|
This had to be a Joke, right?
You stand there, perplexed, unsure what to do.
There couldn't be a machine that controls the entire human race, it just didn't add up. But what grabs your Curiousity the most is the lever that reads "DO NOT TOUCH" set to only 1%. There other ones were all labeled and set to a certain level. This one didn't even have a name. Should you set it to a higher percentage ? But then what would you change ?
Everything could happen, you could plunge the world in a state of Chaos or there might be a chance that it changes it for the better. Your Hand is on the lever now, you push it up to 50% and then you feel a slight tingle go through you. "Well, that felt weird" you think to yourself. But what did you change exactly ? You still felt pretty much the same as before. But you notice something outside: It has gone a bit queiter somehow. You think nothing of it.
Your Curiousity has gotten the best of you know. You push the lever up to 60%, 70%, 80%,90%, 99%, and then it stops. You can't quite push it all the way up to 100%. The noises outside subsided completely now.
"Hey Honey" you call to your Girlfriend "Come check this out". No Answer. "Honey?", you leave your bathroom and go into the kitchen where your Girlfriend just stood cooking minutes before. Nobody is there. The Pot full of noodles was overcooking and the contents spilled out on the stove. You are confused, there in front of the stove lay her clothes. "Has she gone to change ? " you think to yourself. But why would she leave her clothes in the kitchen. You go to the Window to look outside and then you see it: Hundreds of Clothes are spilled on the pavement. You run back to the machine in your bathroom and want to set the lever back to 1%, but it's stuck.
Then you notice something different. the " DO NOT TOUCH " sign above the lever is only glued to the machine. You peel off the sign and you stand there in shock. The Sign underneath it says :"RAPTURE, IN CASE OF APOCALYPSE".
&#x200B;
I'm a fairly new writer and this is the first story that i've written. I'm always looking to improve my writing, so constructive Criticism is always encouraged. Thank you : )
|
I loved that house, I hated that house. It had all the charm of a real throwback - gabled roofs, dormer windows, weird little doors in the upstairs hallways where they used to store coal. The glass in the windows was wobbly, even. It had a porch wide enough to park a car on, with a smooth-varnished wooden bench hanging from two delicate chains that overlooked the front yard. Place was old, and I mean *old* old. So it also had rats, and roaches, and crappy insulation. Pipes that rattled and stopped due to the accumulated gunk of however many ancestors of mine had lived here clogging the too-narrow drainage system.
The work required to keep the place livable amounted to a full-time job, so it was lucky that I had gotten fired from the publishing house earlier that year. It gave me more time to strip old moldy wallpaper and find the exact right replacement on German eBay. I didn’t have to wake up every morning and head in to the office, so I had more time to completely disassemble the three-ton Amana stove in the kitchen and scrub each bit of it with steel wool. Nobody was counting on me, and nobody would worry if I didn’t show up anywhere, so all I did was stalk around the house, picking projects at random and going at them with the zeal of a mental patient arranging his toenail clippings into Lincoln-Log cabins.
The guest bathroom on the second floor was the culmination of my restoration of the house. It was my Everest, my Kilimanjaro, and my El Capitan, and I mean that in the way that it was like stacking all three of those on top of each other and then climbing them barefoot. After years of neglect (back when my mother was alive and drifting through the house like a ghost comprised of gin fumes, even then it had been abandoned) the place was less of a room and more of a vacation hotspot for various colonies of mold. Every bit of the room needed to be torn out, every fixture trashed and every tile replaced. I was delighted to do it. Couldn’t wait to strap on the respirator.
I believe I went into a bit of a fugue state, tearing out those walls. There was only one window in the room, a tiny one about the size of a paperback, and it looked out directly onto the sloped roof. That stupid window was part of the problem - when it rained heavily the gutters would fill and overflow. The backup would push right up against the window into this bathroom, seeping in through the charmingly uneven seal around the border. Couple of years of that, combined with the 365-day humidity of the ‘Temperate Rainforest’ environment here in the PNW, and you’ve got yourself a black mold version of the Kingdom of Heaven.
Anyway.
I wasn’t doing so hot by the time I started to tear apart the bathroom. Six months, I’d been out of work, and five months I’d been out of a girlfriend. I estimated I had two months of food/renovation money left, and perhaps a week’s worth of sanity to cling to. Construction can be awfully cathartic, all the physicality of ripping apart a structure with your gloved hands and then rebuilding it, but some of the medicine in it had started to lose its potency for me. I wasn’t sleeping well. I had headaches, long, lancing headaches that speared through my brain for days at a time. I didn’t go out of the house, and I didn’t call anyone (this was all in 1985, and anyway, the house only had one house phone, one of those ancient numbers where you set the earpiece on a hook) because I didn’t know if anyone was left in town. I wasn’t interested in checking.
The bathroom dissolved under my pry-bar. The wood was soft as packing peanuts, and tore away from the studs in long, thudding strips. Beneath it lay what seemed like miles of silky black mold, like the house was insulated with jet velvet. I made sure the straps on my respirator were tight as they could be.
The device was actually attached to the shower head, inside the wall behind the tile. It hung down on a narrow, peg-like bit of metal that jutted out off the main water pipe for the shower. It was cheap-feeling, with the false weight of plastic, but it looked old, too old to be injection-molded. Of course, it was covered in black mold.
I’d found it at the end of a particularly long day of ripping the bathroom apart. My body was sweating in my coveralls despite the chill in the air, and the winter sun was shining weakly through the tiny window, filtering through the rain that pounded on the house. Often when it rained the bathroom took on the tones of a silver nitrate print, fuzzy around the edges, everything washed out and grey. The device was hard to make out in these conditions, and I almost snapped it off the shower head so I could take a closer look at it in the hall. Before I did, though, I saw the big red letters at the bottom of the thing, half-covered in dust and mold.
‘..NOT...OUCH’
The respirator gave everything an undersea quality, my breath coming in big *whoosh-whooshes*, It made my head feel big, too, and I’d often bump it against some hanging bit of bathroom wall, forcing a clunk deep into my skull.
Something about the device made me feel strange.
There were a series of recessed dials on the thing, each with a red tick that could be moved to indicate a percentage. There were more lines than there were written percentages - the only ones above each setting were 0%, 25%, 50%, 75%, and 100%. There were also a few simple switches, like light switches. On or off. Above each of the dials was written... I could barely see. The light was failing in the bathroom.
Empathy. Avarice. Anger, Joy. Envy.
The dials were printed in a grid on the front - six by ten, with a final row of six tiny light switches at the bottom. Sixty dials, then, with six on-off options. The back held the same amount. Sixty-six times two... adjustments.
Credulity. Largesse. Humor.
I read them all, all until the final switch on the back side. It was turned to the OFF position, and was unlabeled. This was the source of the warning that had stopped me from tearing the thing off of the shower head. The red letters ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ terminated in a blocky red arrow, and the arrow indicated this switch.
‘What... the shit...’
To Be Continued
Edit - Cheers to whoever gave the gold. I’m probably going to edit the first part when I continue this, so I’ll message people who wanted more with the full story. Your kind words are very appreciated.
| 2019-04-05T00:33:39 | 2019-04-05T00:26:22 | 256 | 27 |
[WP] A medieval European knight somehow ends up in feudal Japan. With nowhere to go in the foreign land he decides to settle down in a forest. Outside this forest sits a village; and as years go by rumours start to spread of a tall metal spirit that roams this forest.
|
On mobile, this is my first post, *yada yada yada* constructive criticism is welcomed. *(I’ll probably be making format edits)*
*two strangers sitting around a dying campfire, faces lit by the smoldering flames, the moon, and the stars*
“I was I child when our village first saw him. The ‘Metal Spirit.”
“I had awoken to the sounds of shouting and neighing. My mother was in the process of hiding me they bursted in and dragged us out to center of our small village.”
*”tax time”*
“Due to drought Our villainess had been late multiple times now in giving the Daimyo his portion, each time they deemed it inadequate. And they wanted to make an example.”
*”culling”*
“The lead samurai had rounded up our village into families. due to tardiness and our meager ‘offerings’ to the Daimyo, they were going to be taking what they deemed owed in human life, and every family had a responsibility to pay and pay they will be said as he lifted his katana.”
*chink*
“Their was a look of confusion on the faces of the samurai and a horror on the faces of my fellow villagers as we knew the sound all to well. Panic begin to set in.”
*Chink*
“Everyone had heard of the rumors surrounding the forest that bordered our town and the spirit that supposedly inhabited it.”
*CHINK*
“It was rumored that he kept his robe white with the ashes of the bones of those who ventured to deep into the forest.”
**CHINK**
“And his ‘X’ red with the blood those he hunted...”
**SCHHIINK**
“There he stood, at the Torii that the town had used as entrance to the village. For a moment science. Then crying. Then fear.”
“Our village was spared that day, the Daimyo’s samurai? Not so lucky. That day the tax was payed by the samurai.”
*As I look up and face the stranger opposite of me, and stare into the eyes of my own broken reflection*
“Thank you, spirit.”
Hope you enjoyed!
~Scott
|
a red haze filled the night sky as the sound of crackling and screaming broke the nightly singling of the cicadas. the sound of foot steps and heavy breathing approached the forest. a small child, still barefoot and covered in blood dashed into the brush as the burning village filled the view behind him. now to deep into the forest for the light of the fires to light his path the young child began to stumble his way though the forest unsure of anything anymore. his life had just shattered like a stone thrown into a pond covered by thin ice. unsure what awaits him the boy keeps running. now less to hide and save his live, but rather to get far away enough for the screaming to stop. tears now, burying his vision worse now. suddenly he crashed into something. something hard as stone but sounded of metal. the moon just barley coming out of the clouds began to shine off of the smooth steel covering the hulking mass's body. far taller than anyone the boy had ever seen, though the figure was not that of a giant. clearing his eyes before trying to start running again the metal clad spirit starting to walk in the direction the child ran from. the boy ran anyway, mistaking it for an evil Yokai. the knight now upon the point of seeing the haze of the fires in the distance, for a second mistaking it for sun rise before having the truth hit him. with out thinking, before his mind could have any say in the matter, he body began to run. despite the heavy armor that would normally have a horse to carry its burden, the knight ran as fast as he could. something about the fire, dancing flames with the smell of charred flesh still ran fresh in his mind despite that even taking place years ago. though he was most proficient in the lance and war hammer, he was still relatively skilled in his sword, though not confidently. despite this he instinctively drew his sword as he got closer and the screams grew louder, yet at the same time, quieter. suddenly, wizzing sounds started to fly all around him. an all to familiar sound, however these arrows where not built to match the armor piercing arrows of England, however thats not to say it didnt cause the knight to tremble inside. the best shield in this corner of the world couldn't stop old wounds from resurfacing inside. the bowmen slowly retreating as the knight drew closer to them in his advance, he didnt waist time with range equipped opponents. disoriented in an unfamiliar village so alien to him that even despite the fire he would not find his way. nothing here was of his world. there where no more screams now. but that meant little to the silver clad worrier. a man exposed himself from behind one of the burning building. covered in head to toe in armor of his own, and a long curved single edged sword. everything about this guy made no sense to the knight. he was against someone with no knowledge of even the basic names of his enemy's items. 1..2..3..4..he began to count to himself as he side stepped closer and to the side as to get a better position. the opponent mimicked the movement. 5..6.. *piiiiing* an arrow hit its mark, bouncing off he knight's shoulder into out of sight. 7.. 8.. *ping* another arrow. 9... the knight slowed down as the other did. 10... the last side step, and the last chance to walk away, just slipped by them both. though, neither even considered it as the both rushed simultaneously to get to the other first and take the first strike. *shclink* their swords collided and for a second, they swear they could see sparks as the different steels smashed into each other at high speeds. the knight messed up, the strike hit the top of his sword, a hard place to leverage and push away from, but also where damage can be the most catastrophic. not glancing down to see the damage of their swords as they hit each other. both of them locked eyes, though both pairs being hidden under armor. both of them in the sharpest focus and heightened awareness that comes with battle. the man with the curved sword launched backwards as his long sword suited the distance. however with each slash it was countered with the knight's nimble sword raced to match each one. being on the shorter end, it was not well adapted for the encounter. but they made do. what is hours or minutes that just went by? neither could tell. *katuuuuuuuuun* one of the swords snapped, not being able to handle the other's powerful blows and hardened steel. neither of them looked down to see, the knight knew that that sound was the sound of the top of the sword flying off. and with it? his chance at winning. despite this neither stopped for very long, the knight using what stub he had left as a shield to parry and block attacks. finally, with a step back and a swing at full force, the little steel remaining on the knight's sword-turned-sheild had failed and the full force of the swing came falling down on the knight at an angle from above, a perfect blow to the shoulder joint that would have been a finishing blow to anyone of the same class as him. however the knight's armor did not give. there was no blood and barley a scratch on the armor. in the moment the sword shook and bounced off the knight, the man jumped back trying hard to stop the katana from shaking out his hands. he knew of no way to break this armor, and did not want to stay to find out. before calling out his archers to cover his back as he retreated, the knight stood still as they rode off on horses. in that moment the knight only felt jealous of their steeds before realizing he had won. however, the houses had already burned to red hot coals, and most everybody had been killed or bleed out. looking around in sorrow. yet another village was massacred under his watch. though this one alien and he didnt even feel the same kinship with its inhabitance like before, he still morned.
*snap* a coal was crushed by something, or rather someone as they ran into the dawning day. a child, though their silhouette to blurry to make them out. one child had survived, surly running to make it safe to the next village. did the child say something? before running off? the man looked at them run not knowing but having a faint report of something like that. a thank you maybe? or a curse meant for those who did this otiosity? he wasent sure. but the child was alive at least, covered in ash and suit with an arm limp as they ran, that was good enough for him. it was enough reason to have fought.
| 2019-11-15T09:56:19 | 2019-11-15T08:01:37 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human.
|
“Liz, let’s just go to sleep,” my wife says.
“Yeah,” I say, my lids dropping, heavier and heavier. My phone slips out of my hand.
A buzz. A text from someone. A link. Welcometohell.com
“Oh, my God,” I say after a minute of reading the banner on the site. “We only have a week.”
\-
UNDER FURTHER REVIEW, that’s what it said under my name. My wife got a year.
“What’d you do?” I’d asked. "It says POWER ABUSE. I always thought you were a goody-two-shoes, with Catholic school and all."
She shrugged. “Made out with a fourteen year old when I was a senior.”
“Catholic school really compromises you morally, doesn’t it?”
I’d checked my sister, and her husband. Fifteen years and six. Mark had been a pretty good guy, for a Christian. Feeling guilty, I even looked up their kids. Let’s just say even they got ratings.
I didn't understand. I'd lived a pretty full life, filled with mistakes and picking myself up after. Surely I should have more data to make a decision than the children.
Ultimately, though, my wife and I didn’t really care. We had never believed in any type of religion, especially not the ones we had been born with. Mary was even looking forward to hell a little bit.
“Now everyone can just be a freak. There’s no point in hiding. It’ll be so interesting!”
“So interesting you won’t miss me?”
“We’ll meet up in heaven or wherever you’re going.”
Mary insisted we turn off our phones, and our wifi, and just live out the week on our own. So after that first rush of looking up every person I could think of, I stopped. And I’d been fine. Until now.
Now, it’s a day before the apocalypse now, and my finger hovers over the dial button.
\-
“Mom, Dad? It’s Liz,” I say.
“You’re mom’s in her bed,” Dad says, quiet. “It’s been a stressful time for all of us. What do you want?”
*What do you want? All of us, but not you.* It had been that way ever since I'd come out.
“Well, my phone's been off, this whole week, and I just wanted to check up, in case you guys'd called, seeing it’s the last week all of us will probably be on Earth.”
“Well, the reason it’s the last week is the only reason we picked up,” Dad said in the dry, sarcastic tone that I had inherited against all my will. “Besides, we’ll probably be getting out of hell before you do, right?”
"Well, you do know being gay wasn't listed as a sin, right? So I guess you guys were wrong-"
"Then how long did you get? I'm sure it's just a technicality."
“Well, that’s the thing. I didn’t get assigned a number.”
“What?”
“Under the years, it just said it was still under review.”
“I’m sure they haven’t found the right number for your kind,” Dad says, weary, like it’s a burden to speak. “Well, take care, Liz.”
And that’s the last I say to my father.
\-
“Do you think my dead body will be here? Oh my God, if you’re still here, will you have sex with it?”
That’s the kind of thing my wife says right before we fall asleep, the day before we leave for hell. She'd always known exactly how to calm my nerves.
But surprisingly, neither of us were very nervous. We fell asleep around midnight in each other’s arms, like always.
The next morning, I wake up alone. There isn't even a dent in Mary's half of the bed.
I get up, and take my phone from the closet where I hid it. I type in welcometohell.com.
It redirects.
*Congratulations! Welcome to Heaven 1.0. You have proven to be a virtuous and honest human in the face of a dishonest world. Advancement was hidden to prevent losing players from sabotaging the victory you have earned...*
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
|
The Day of Sin was a wake-up call, for all of us.
It came with many cold truths and many harsh revelations. For the very notion that hell itself even existed was thought of by some to be an ironclad truth, and by others a fantasy used to control the gullible masses.
There were those that almost immediately dismissed it as a hoax, and sought to prevent others from accessing the cursed archives it stored. For if the things spoke of upon those archives were indeed the infallible truth, then the misdeeds of each and every one of us would be brought to light.
No matter how hard they tried to contain and discredit those records, it was all to quick to confirm that it was no lie. That it was indeed controlled by something we could not comprehend, something higher than all of us. For any new wrongdoings committed under its watchful eye would be added immediately after their inception, and alongside it, the punishment gained for committing such a wretched deed.
We were forced to accept the truth it laid bare before us, and the ramifications it set out for us. The absolute certainty that there was a punishment out there waiting for us, a cruel reminder for our sins – even the ones we had forgotten.
Order broke down, but that was inevitable. For deny it as much as you desired, you could not fight that insatiable urge to search the truth of all those you had ever known, all the friends and family you had.
Nobody was safe from the omniscient eye of the archives. All manner of prominent figures, in business and politics and every conceivable field had their transgressions broadcasted to the world. There were those who were thought of as sinful who were anything but, and those believed to be virtuous that were the epitome of wickedness itself.
Drastic measures were put into place to silence the mysterious entity behind those archives. The internet itself was shuttered across the globe, even though it was not something that could be stopped in its entirety, it was a measure powerful enough that it sent millions, if not billions of people into a complete information blackout. No longer could we understand what was occurring across the world so easily, and no longer could we reveal the misdeeds of those around us.
But try as they might, the damage was already done. For the sins of each and every one of us were cast into the light, with both our names and our faces attached to them, and I was no exception.
I remember that fateful day well, I thought at first it was no more than a cruel prank, and as I gazed upon my own file I thought the same. My sins, or rather, my sin, was not listed in legible text. But instead, it was something beyond my comprehension, a twisted whirlwind of blackened shapes, sprawling out over that page.
But what it did not deny me of however, was the privilege of seeing the punishment I had earned for my invisible sin.
Fifty million years.
* * *
There I was on a cold November day, sitting on the broken down porch of an abandoned cabin off the outskirts of the town of Redhook. I had made that crumbling place my home after the events of that day, for I had been ousted from my hometown for the inconceivable sins I had committed.
There were those who thought being in my presence would be considered a sin in its own right. It was no more than a stroke of good fate that I was no outright purged that day, for had that occurred I would no doubt be in the bowels of hell at that very moment, living out the first year of a sentence which spanned fifty million.
Nonetheless, they exiled me from that town, for the primeval fear of the unknown that I was had taken root and struck an unending unease deep in their bones, and overtaken each and every one of them in a frenzy.
As I watched the sun beat down upon the horizon, painting the sky an eternal crimson, I saw a figure emerge from the darkness of the nearby thicket. She was a half-masked woman approached me, her calm blue eyes barely peeking out from under the faded cloth wrapped around her face. Her once radiant golden hair had been cut short and looked like it had been barely washed as of late, giving her a deservedly greasy look.
“You're here early, Savannah,” I said sarcastically as I watched her approach her, my eyes fixated on the leather bag at her side. “How's things in town?”
“It's been better,” she said as she shrugged half-heartedly, “power cuts out sometimes, but at least there's been no issue with water. But the thing is, we had some new arrivals, which I ain't too keen on.”
I felt a creeping discontent gnaw at my stomach. “You let some newcomers in? Isn't that risky?”
“Yeah, I try to warn 'em, but you know Sig, he's got too much of a bleedin' heart. But not enough of one for you, evidently,” she said with a sigh, “came back to bite him, it did, we've just had to chase out few bad folk. They reckon that's the last of 'em, but you can never be so sure when you can't check.”
“Yet they still keep you around?”
She gave a dry laugh, but I could see the annoyance in her eyes. “They don't leave me around the little ones, guess they're worried I'll do something.”
“But you won't, right?”
“Of 'course not.” She pulled down her mask to reveal her wicked scowl beneath it. “I'm not that kind of person.”
“Thought so,” I said, “So, I take it they're not going to let me back in anytime soon?”
“You could just leave, Fifty,” she said with a frown, “they reckon the internet is never gonna' come back on round these parts. If they can't check your page, then nobody knows who you are.”
“You don't know that for sure,” I said, “if it comes back and someone takes one look at my record, they'll think the worst of me.”
“But you didn't do anything, right?” she said with a cheeky grin.
“I don't think I did,” I said, “but I just don't know.”
“I guess you'll find out one day,” she said with a sobering laugh, which seemed to echo with a sense of emptiness.
“That's not exactly reassuring.”
“Sorry,” she said, as she sat down beside me, causing the floorboards to creak with a harrowing symphony, “you mind if I stay awhile?”
I saw no reason to deny her request, and so I let her carry on as she were. And I watched as she pulled out a small box of cigarettes from the leather bag at her side and immediately lit one up – not even caring to offer me one.
“That's not good for your health,” I said as I gently nudged her side.
“Worlds gone to shit anyway, let me have this,” she said with a faint laugh as she blew smoke in my eyes, causing them to water.
“It's not that bad,” I said, “it's just different. And you've got it easier at least, you're in the town.”
“It's not that easy,” she said as she blew smoke into my face yet again, delighting in the misfortune she caused me. “Lost my entire family that day.”
“Sorry,” I said, “I didn't mean-”
“It's fine, don't worry about it.” She flicked the stub of her cigarette into the dirt. “I'm probably better off without them, anyway.”
We sat in silence for some time, there was never too much to talk of between us that didn't devolve into the same platitudes before long, and so I thought it best to do nothing more than watch the sun as it burrowed itself below the horizon. As it did so, I felt a cold chill ring out around me, sending a chill coursing throughout my entire body.
“You gonna' be right out here?” she said as she moved closer to me, “it's getting colder as of late.”
“I've got the fireplace,” I said, “I should be okay, but thanks.”
“Do you mind if I stay here tonight?” she spoke in a whisper as her arm snaked its way around my side. “After they chased those folk out, people are giving me shifty looks again.”
“Sure,” I said, as my words betrayed my heart.
“Let's get inside then,” she said, as she dragged me away.
* * *
Edit: Just wrote a little bit more, probably won't do any more than this.
* * *
More of my writing at /r/khaarus
| 2020-02-29T21:56:53 | 2020-02-29T19:44:34 | 508 | 370 |
[WP] You're a lawyer that specializes in defamation cases. Your clientele? Slandered sea monsters, libeled leprechauns, and other misrepresented myths.
|
"I am a bloody warrior! A deadly weapon in the hands of my queen! I am NOT a cutesy little flying thing. I do not spurt glitter! It’s magical dust! Residue from my mighty powers! It can *kill* for heaven sake!”
“I understand…”
“I have taken more lives than the plague! I learned how to wield a sword before I learned how to hold a fork! I have spilled more blood than there is water in the ocean!”
“I see…”
“And then there are our steeds! ‘Fluff butts’ they call them! ‘Toast’! ‘Loafs’! Ridiculous! They are mighty beasts! Ruthless and fearless in battle! Not ‘foot rests’! Not splooting furry balls! Their teeth can take down enemies ten times their size and their stamina is legendary!”
“Ah, and did you want to include your ‘mighty steeds’ in your claim, sir?”
“They ought to be… they have been misrepresented just as much as we have!”
“Alright… not a problem…”
“It’s the toy manufacturer and children’s book authors I want to go after!”
“How is that?”
“They are the reason our image has suffered so much! Because they didn’t do their research, my people have been degraded to these… these… tiny giggling things with no purpose or meaning… I mean in their stories all we do is fly around and drink nectar. Now, don’t get me wrong: I love my occasional bud of nectar just like any other forest creature, but we are so, so much more than that. And we are *definitely* NOT made to serve these filthy humans- no offense…”
“... none taken.”
“We are a proud independent people and I am sick and tired of being treated like a brainless glitter bug!”
“I understand completely, sir. Now, just for the record: our main goal is to change the distorted image of your people by forbidding manufacturers and popular media to misrepresent you any longer. And we want reparations for the damage that has been done to your people.”
“Correct! And I want our name changed.”
“Absolutely. What would you like it to be changed to?”
“I no longer want it to be ‘Fairy’. That is just degrading! I want it to be ‘Fearless Everlasting Youth! Fey for short!”
“No problem, sir. I think the case of misrepresentation of your people is severe enough that we will be able to push through all of your demands.”
“Good!”
|
"Mr. Anderson, your two o' clock appointment is here."
"God, is that time already? Thanks Michelle, send her in." I put the phone down and started trying to sort some of the sheets of paper on my desk in the semblance of a neat pile. I'd managed to clear a working space when I heard a soft knock on the door.
"Come in, come in!" I called, smoothing my hair down, and grabbing the last box of documents I'd left on the client chair. "Please, sit down. Miss..." I offered my hand to the woman. Tall, slender, her navy suit set off the blue hues of her skin. She smiled, tightly, and took my hand, giving it a firm shake. Tension rolled off her in waves, and, from the bags under her eyes, she hadn't slept in a few nights.
"Naia, Chloe Naia. Chloe's fine," she said, her voice light and tuneful.
"It's a pleasure. Chris Anderson, at your service. Take a seat. Can I get you a drink?"
"Water would be lovely. Spring, if you have it." She smoothed a few creases out of her skirt and crossed her legs.
"Of course, of course." I picked up the phone and asked my secretary for a bottle of water and two glasses. "I can only apologise for the mess in here," I said, hanging up the phone. "My partner just got poached by Sigurd the Hunger for his in-house retainer and I'm still scrambling to pick up his cases."
Chloe tilted her head to the side. "Seems a bit unfair to leave you holding the bag like that."
"No, no, it's fine," I said, waving my hand dismissively. "It's bad for your health to say no to a dragon, things tend to 'mysteriously' burn down, I'm happy for him. Anyway, how can I help? How did you hear about us?"
"Oh, your firm helped a colleague of mine out! Ekki Yaga?"
"Yaga? Yes, I think I recall her case. Must have been, oh, five years ago? She brought a suit against her employers for unlawful termination? A few students died, I believe, and she was blamed solely on reputation? Oh, thank you Sue." I continued talking as my secretary uncapped a bottle of water and poured it out for us, before quietly leaving.
"Yes, anyway I'm glad we got the university to recompense her. How is she? "
"She's doing well. Much happier in her new field, we both work for the local Trading Standards. Anyway, I was telling her about my... situation, and she told me about how you guys helped her, and I was hoping you could do the same for me?"
"Well, I'll certainly do my best. Why don't you tell me all about it." I pulled a pad of paper towards me and waited, pen poised over the blank page.
"Alright." She took a breath, brushing her pale hair behind her ear. "So, I'm a water spirit, right? Lakes, rivers, streams. My Dad's family's got an estate up in a Scottish loch, sort of a heritage thing. Anyway, our kind has... another name. Nymphs?"
I nodded, frowning. "Yes, of course."
"Right," she said, flashing a quick smile, "but it comes with a.. bit of a reputation. Some people confuse nymph with nymphomaniac, and assume we're all, uh, sexually promiscuous."
"I see," I said. "And I assume this is the reason you're here today?"
She nods, taking a drink from the glass in front of her. Her skin glowed a little brighter as she did. "Yes. See, there's a guy in my department, and he's going through a divorce. I don't know him that well, to be honest. But his wife has decided that, because he's not in love with her any more, he must have met someone else. Or at least, had an affair. And, because I'm the only nymph he works with..." she gestured with both hands, perfectly expressing a sort-of helpless inevitability.
I nodded, jotting a few notes on the pad. "Right, of course, we see this sort of prejudiced assumption all the time. Please, continue."
"Well, I wasn't bothered at first. You know, her issue, whatever she thinks is her problem, not going to let it bother me if it doesn't affect me, right?" Chloe folded her arms and leaned back in the chair, the leather creaking against her. "But then she showed up at work and just LAID into me. She was screaming and yelling, calling me a homewrecker and a slut, really foul stuff."
"I'm sorry to hear that." I smiled sympathetically. "Must have been tough."
"Well, it didn't really bother me. I've heard WAY worse from drunk people on a Saturday night. But, the thing is, work frowns on relationships between colleagues. So me and Leonard are both suspended pending a review and tribunal with HR."
"Mmm," I scribbled a few notes, before putting my pen down. "Well, I'd like to start by saying that I'd be happy to come with you and represent you at this tribunal, that's absolutely a service we offer here. I think, based on what you've told me, your job should be safe. Species is a protected characteristic under UK employment law, particularly if this claim is only being taken seriously because of the unfounded reputation of water spirits.
"Secondly, if this has impacted you financially then I think you definitely have grounds for a suit in small claims court against your colleague's wife for said loss; there's also potential for emotional distress as well, but that will be a bit more of a push."
Chloe sighed, letting the tension finally relax out of her shoulders. "Thank you, Mr. Anderson. I really appreciate it."
"Not at all, it's just outrageous what people think they can do to the mythically-defined." I stood up, turning my most professional and reassuring smile on. "Rest assured, I will do my absolute best to ensure that you are treated with respect and dignity. And please, call me Chris. Now, I'm afraid I have another client coming in, but if you leave your details with Sue at the desk then I will contact you this afternoon and we can start talking through your options."
Chloe stood, reaching her hand out to shake mine. "That's fantastic, thank you so much Chris." She was a different woman from the one that walked in, her eyes bright, a spring in her step. "It's kind of ironic, actually, her accusing me of sleeping with Leo."
"Oh, why's that?" I said, holding the door open for her.
"Because I think he's the only married guy on my team I haven't slept with!" She replied brightly, walking out. "Speak soon!"
| 2020-03-19T12:30:50 | 2020-03-19T11:03:00 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] With the anti-slavery coalition of humanity and three other races literally at war with the entire rest of the galaxy, the deities place bets on how long the coalition will last. All except one who smiles and says "you're not looking close enough," before betting on the coalition winning.
|
A spy sat in a lonely room, then three admirals came in, of the three main empires leading the charge against the Anti-Slavery coalition.
Four beings look into the room, god's you may call them. Each representing the four factions collected here. They discussed and bet, except the human god, they realise that they are five now.
"Here to watch what our spy has to say, how fast humans will capitulate?"
"No, I want to see the horror."
"What horror? Humans will lose, you know that?"
Without a word they turn back to the room. The soy visibly shaking. What could he find out, about the humans?
Then the sly speaks up: "I was in Berlin, visiting a monument, for the aft-"
"WHAT? YOU were supposed to be invisible, just spying, not making a little vacation."
"Let me speak. It was for the aftermath of their second world war. It was a huge place, filled with 2711 concrete blocks. A monument. A monument for the over 6 MILLION Jews exterminated in WW II."
Both the room, and the gods silenced. What did that person just say? They turn their heads to the human god, he just redirects them back to the spy.
"And that is just the beginning. During this World war, about 80 MILLION people died. They dropped two nuclear devices onto their own species.
And that is not even the end. Do you know how many people died during the Climate wars? When the Earth was at the edge of permanent runaway climate change?"
The admirals just gulped ... "No, but say it "
"1,2 BILLION. That was almost 10% of their population, NOW, on a paradise Earth. And they have colonies all other their solar system. They are terraforming Venus, their SECOND terraforming project. If you try to invade this place, you will have to sign AT LEAST 20 BILLION PEOPLE DEAD. They will fight to the bitter end, and even could go scorched earth."
The Eldritch horror overtaking the other gods was indiscriminate. They started a war, they could not win. Only losing is possible. Either a whole solar system will die, or slavery. One Solar system, or the obvious superiority of their own species.
"Ah yes" the human god started, "We had the same problem too. Is slavery bad, or a God given right?
The humans decided against me, their god. And I am proud. They are finally independent, not betting on me to magically fix things. You see the Mars, a green marble in space? It was a dust bowl before. Purely their work. Magical in its own right."
"Wait, do they still pray to you?"
"More of a free time activity, but even if not, I am not dependent on that. I am a man made god, made from their strong belief that every sentient being, has the same right as everyone else. And you .... Oh you guys fucked up."
"What if we win, and kill and entire solar system?"
"Oh, I will live on, the idea is seeded now. Everybody heard their ideals, and now the seeds of equality are growing. *Nothing* can stop that now."
As the human god disappeared with a laughter of victory, the rest looked down to the spy.
The spy started laughing, in the same victorious laughter the human god just left.
"Oh you fucked up guys" he said "Their seeds of equality are now growing. Everybody heard of their ideals. Of their sentient rights, above everything. They already won."
And more laughter.
|
"It's simple arithmetic really". The misshapen congealed concept of a deity spoke in a 3 toned voice, it's uncertainty as visible as it's smug aura.
"When it comes too large scale causal battles, mortal beings will most often attempt too use deities as a means of getting a quick win through Paracausal means, yes?"
The crowd of much clearly defined forms gave affirmations. Some nodded, those without a head too do so would vocalise it. Most seemed be confused by the statement of fact.
"And as you're all so clearly defined, your Paracausality and it's effects are also clearly defined. Normally that'd be a good thing, means your average causal unit can invoke your power with the right rituals. That's why you've all taken such rigid forms if I'm not mistaken".
The room exchanged uncomfortable glances, like a kingdom hall when the police come in and start listing out the crimes their elders are being charged with. The undefined one's smug chaos was starting too cause tensions now.
"Normally, that's a good thing, it gives the masses a very clear and easy way too access divine power, let's you guide them as you grow yourself. A privilege that the little anomaly stripped me of when I drew the proverbial short straw for my people's homeworld."
*"Where exactly are you going with this? You're laying out how your people can't access your power and at the same time making it clear how easy it is for their foes too use ours. What's your point"* A voice belonging too a malicious conceptual being uttered in vexing tongues
"The point." the uncertainty cut back in, retaking control of the conversation "Is the what brought about those circumstances and what happened because of them. Consider this."
A shimmering line of golden light appears before the room, it forms a rectangle inside of which there were more lines showing crude depictions of two species, humans and Xenos.
"under normal circumstances a species will rely on it's god for strength in times of hardship, allowing it too flourish even in desperate times" The uncertainties words were mirrored by the depiction showing a storm come over the xeno's who knelt in prayer. Receiving aid from a divinity in the form of safe bubble around them.
"This in turn solidifies the deity in the thoughts of mortal beings, resulting in the states you find yourself in now. Defined. Para causal but not without limit. Take Akka here for example." The uncertainty said gesturing with a shimmering arrow towards the worm god who had quietly hedged his bet and sat in the back, giving nothing to the conversation and taking in all the information it could, as was his nature.
"Back during the days where fundament was the place too be he was defined by the people he bargained with. He could not for example, resurrect a fallen mortal. The sword logic which he taught too his disciples forbids it."
The worm god's ire heated the room like a roaring flame yet it did not attack. It knew it wouldn't win that fight... yet. He remained silent. Feigning disinterest in the uncertainty's games
"But what would happen if say... something or someone decided 'no, you can't do anything for your people'" The uncertainty re-drew everyone attention too the diagram it had conjured. Showing the storm attacking the humans.
"You'd expect the species too die out yes? And the god with it too. It's only natural, the causal spaces are cruel ones. But what if despite that the species somehow managed to survive?"
The diagram showed humans constructing houses, picking up the very barrier's that framed their world and breaking them, remolding them for their own purpose.
"Well, that kind of species would have too be something else. If it can survive without their god's interference then what would happen to their god?"
The now partially broken diagram generated a small ball of golden light which writhed without form. Ever changing
"Simple, the species would still try and define it, but these definitions would contradict each other. Resulting in only the most basic of generalisations sticking. Enough too maintain a god perhaps but not enough too allow it the level of influence it should have by then. If this continues the god would eventually wilt into nothingness and the species would be left truly godless and easy pickings for any other paracausal force. So what's that god too do?"
**"I'm assuming this is leading into the reason why you can barely maintain a shape?"** A spear of inquisition thrusted from the crowd. Specifically an being not unlike an ape holding a set of scales that spoke in an effeminate tone
"Correct. I'm sure you've all figured out that the god I kept alluding too was myself so I'll drop the subtlety now. In order too keep my people safe from the rest of you I split myself. Imbuing each and everyone of my people with a shard of my essence.
"***BUT THAT WOULD-"***
"STOP CUTTING ME OFF! Jesus fucking christ you're all so entitled..."
**"What's a Jesus and a christ?"**
"The one of the closest attempts I had at a monotheistic form. Now back to what I was saying"
The uncertainty's congealed mass started too take on a more humanoid shape as it built too the climax of it's ontological point
"As there is some part of me is with every member of my species they in turn become a psuedo deity. This ment next too nothing by the anomaly due too inhibiting it was too paracausal power. However as you might have noticed most of this war is taking place away from the anomaly. This allows the forces of those who all bet against my people's coalition winning too harness their respective god's powers, however..." The uncertainty grinned
"You're not looking close enough. Over 7 billion fledgeling gods are about too challenge your thrones. If they don't outright overthrow you they'll sap your powers too an absurd degree. Make you weak, unable too keep your people safe. The storm never stopped raging. Mine our the only people who not only learned too live with it. But partially became it too."
**"And if we just kill you now?"**
"Then you'd be cutting down a fragment of a fragment of a fragment. And besides the power's already out there. I've won already. Might I suggest lying down on the floor with your hands behind your back? or the nearest equivalent?"
# "BREACHING!"
# "THIS IS THE SPEAR OF HUMANITY, STAND DOWN!"
These two words rattled throughout the resplendent halls of godhood. Igniting panic in the gods present. Some entombed themselves in fruitless tautologies, others slung the stolen unfire of creation out at the direction the sound came from too by time. All was for naught however as one by one each deity that would fight would also fall, those that surrendered were wrought from the divine real and into a the mortal one. All except the uncertainty
"Sargent, you were over 5 minutes late"
*"We'll sir or ma'am-"*
"You can use the pronoun you use for yourself, I'll just make myself a rough copy of you"
The uncertainty borrowed the concept of self from the sergeant's mind. Defining herself into him.
*"Well, sir. We know you like too monologue"*
"Thank you for this. I'd go into some big speech about how much this means too me but well I don't think it'll reach everyone through just you."
*"We could set up a speech for you once the wars over."*
"That'd be wonderful. Now how are things going on the causal front?"
*"Pretty well. We've met some resistances with god empowered specialty units figuring out how too seal our paracausal abilities but thankfully our new allies seem too be starting too manifest their own strength of deity similar too how you set us up."*
"Huh, neat. Guess that strategy meeting was worth it. Anyway we should probably get going. There's still battles too fight, ready soldier?"
# "SIR YES SIR!"
| 2021-09-21T01:10:22 | 2021-09-21T00:22:36 | 58 | 39 |
[WP] The earth has been ruined, but you were lucky enough to secure a spot on the last colony ship leaving. The days on the ship blur together, do your job then go to sleep and repeat. Someone mentioned the date and after doing the math you realize you have been on the ship for over 600 years.
|
"Wait," I responded cautiously as Tim pulled me into a maintenance sideway. My best friend looked frazzled and on the verge of a panic attack. "When you say 600 years you mean by earth time right? The clock in the concourse keeps time with earth's rotation and time dilates as we approach the speed of light. Not to mention I still remember the mad scramble to get Soph and I a place on the Arianna five years ago."
"No! The last time we even got close to the speed of light was when we did a Gravity Assisted Course Correction maneuver a three years ago when we passed through the Cat's Eye Nebula. We've been traveling at regular speed since then!" Tim whisper shouted at me. "John, listen to me. We have been on this ship for 600 years!" He repeated with even more urgency in his voice. "Okay. Look look look look look! You know how the fabricator date stamps everything it produces so that the archivist system has a complete record of our journey?"
"Yeah?" I replied, it was my job to fix the four fabricators we have when they break so the Arianna has spare parts to fix other things that break.
"Well look at this!" He pulled from his bag a beaten up and busted micro-controller box that is equipped on every launch cradle on the eight flight decks that allows the cradles to operate at various strengths to launch the different ships and shuttles aboard the Arianna clear of the ship. After quickly looking over it he practically shoved the box into my face. "Look at the date stamp! 2387! I remember replacing this because I put in an order WITH. YOU. for a new one to replace the busted one on launch cradle 3 on flight deck six that had been busted by Solar Hawk 4's bootless launch three days prior. That was 2 years ago and it was my first repair job since being transfered to engineering."
"Yeah, I remember that one because I was waiting for Number 3 to fabricate a new tool head for Number 1 so it took me a couple of days to get it fabricated for you." I replied as he reached into his bag and pulled put another micro-controller, this one prestine and recently fabricated, and more gingerly handed it to me.
"Look at the date stamp on this one! This one was fabricated less than an hour ago on Number 1, the same one that fabricated the old part." I turned the box over and read the date aloud. "2987....." it took me a moment to process it and after flicking my eyes between the broken one and the newly fabricated replacement it clicked. I looked at Tim, and by the look on his face he could see my realization.
"We've been on this ship for 600 years....." I voiced my horrified realization.
|
The taste of copper leaves Tom's mouth as he swishes around the last of his morning allotment of water. "This stasis never gets any better does it?". Tom looks in the mirror with a grimace as he takes the prescription medicine to combat the affects of his prolonged slumber.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
The alarm. Its tone is reminiscent of an old alarm clock. The same one that always blared itself when he is running behind schedule. Every moment awake must be productive, otherwise time in stasis is shortened. Every member takes turns maintaining the ship. At this point, much of the ship has been replaced.
The UN commissioned ship, the Theseus, was on its way to the nearest Earth like planet 100 some odd light years away. An eternity in slower than light travel. "It's too bad the government never had enough funding to figure out how to fix the planet itself, huh Lewis?" Tom said as he climbed into the maintenance hatch. Tom remembers what he learned from his late Professor Lewis, while an undergrad at University.
"If you replace the damaged wood with new wood so that the original planks are wholey new, is the ship still the original? That is paradox of the ship of Theseus". Dr. Lewis, a 95 year old lanky man ---somehow still teaching, came up with the original design for the ship. The idea was that no conventional ship would have the supplies to make that distance, so to scavenge material throughout the cosmos was the only way to combat the harsh reality of space debris constantly scraping and dinging into a mile long hunk of metal.
As Tom made his way into the shaft the automatic lighting stayed off. Flick Flick Flick. The switch hadn't worked since the last time he was down here. "Wonder what moron was supposed to take care of that?" Tom asked sarcasticly. Being an electrician was the only reason he was accepted into this ship after all, and he knew it.
Tom pulled out his gas torch. It cracked and hissed to life revealing the long shaft ahead of him. Today, Tom was tasked with crawling the length of the ship, all the way up and down the outer perimeter and back again, looking for any damaged wires. "F@&$!" Tom cursed as the newly minted light revealed a rodent skittered across his foot. Rats, a nuisance on earth, a potential death sentence here, were able to hitch a free ride after escaping from their comfinement due to a mishap with the custodian. The dark was the perfect place for them, and unfortunately for the ship, they had chewed through the lighting wires leaving this part of the ship near unusable.
Tom made his way down to the breaker box where he began to feed in a new wire. WHREEEEEEE BANG THOP! A loud thudding and clatering of metal echoed through the hall along with a scream that could chill the sun. Surprised, Tom realed towards the sound knocking his torch to the ground, shattering it. He was supposed to be the only one in this section, and he didn't want to find out why he wasn't anymore
Tom fumbled in the dark for his torch, hurriedly dropping to his knees. A sudden tinge of pain shot up his arm. "F$+&!". Tom shouted again as he winced, pulling a shard of glass out of his finger "I knew I should have worn my gloves today". Tom always hated the mechanics' gloves they issued him. They never fit his hands well enough, being a size too big, and he hated the feeling of constraint and numbness the leather provided. Now he lauded for it. Tom's finger began to bleed into his mouth as he felt the familiar contouring of the lantern in his other hand. The gas lantern, now shattered, produced a sputtering of flame that seemed to be sucked towards the noise. What glass that was left on the lantern produced a mosaic of red and black flowing lines as the bloods' coagulation began to take hold. Dancing shadows of devils beaconed him down the hall.
Tom walked along at a slogged pace. The smell of burnt steak and sulphur licked his nose as he got closer, making him even less willing to continue. "Hello, is anyone hurt?" Tom asked reluctantly. "I'm the electrician, and was just down here trying to---" Tom cut himself off as he entered the first open door in the hall, the smell of sulfur now a crescendo of putrification. THUNKA THUNKA THUNKA! Tom could barely make out a metal tray morphing and teetering side to side rapidly with the sound of a car motor about to blow a head gasket. Its center bent and contorted like a face gnawing as it hissed in the flicker of the lantern. That tray was only just sealing off the room and it's contents from being sucked into the blackness outside. "Where's the damn sealent?" Tom frantically thought. Every room on the outer perimeter of the Theseus had an emergency quick setting foam for just this scenario as self sealing rooms were somehow too costly for the budget of a ship worth a trillion dollars. Tom's eyes darted to where the fire extinguisher was located, noticing a ring of dust around where the sealent should have hung. "Just my luck," Tom groaned, "It must have been knocked down from whatever breached the hull". Adrenaline coarsed through Tom's veins heightening his senses. His finger burned as his increased heart rate raced. "There!" Tom dived onto the floor yanking the safety pin from its nozzle and spraying the composite foam at the pan. In seconds it was over. The room dead silent.
Tom lay there for what seamed like hours, exhausted. His body drenched in sweat. "Is this sweat?" Tom thought, lifting his hand off the floor. It was covered in some kind of black tar. Tom held his hand in front of his face using what little light his lantern gave off from the corner of the doorway to examine it. The tar was viscous and acrid, giving off the same odor as when he entered the room. From the flickering of the lantern it almost looked like it was breathing. BEEP BEEP BEEP! The silence was again broken by the sound of the personal alarm telling Tom to get back to work. "I guess it's only been a few minutes. Can't even be injured in this place" Tom remarked to himself as he silenced the alarm.
Tom made his way back and finished installing the new wire and flicked the switch. With a strobe and satisfying buzz, the lights hummed to life. Looking down the hall, Tom's trail of misery was illuminated. "I'd hate to be the one to clean that up". Tom looked down at his hand expecting to see the tar, but instead only a dried crimson remained. His cut was no longer bleeding and didn't even seam to be there. "That's odd" Tom thought, but given the tired aches in his body he didn't have the energy to think much more about it. Back in the barracks and out of his brief stint in hell, Tom clocked out and took a much needed shower. Laying his head on his pillow he immediately fell asleep...
Edit: added part two
| 2021-10-28T01:47:33 | 2021-10-28T01:18:24 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] Humanity's first contact is with a very intelligent alien species. They invite a talented human scholar to read about all the other alien species they have documented. Interested, he looks at the human file and reads the word: "Hivemind".
|
It was strange to think of humans as being a hivemind, and the longer he thought on it, the more he believed it must be an error. The translation from the archives to English was loose at best, and a careful eye was needed to make sure the correct meaning was inferred.
Humans were social creatures, yes. Much of our success was borne on collaboration, of anticipating needs, of communicating. It was a net gain, though often we worked together to divide ourselves. However, there are words enough to describe this feature of our people. They needn't have chosen 'hivemind.'
Perhaps they reference how we individually make up a greater whole. It began with the rise of agriculture, when the first surpluses hit, when time was spared from hunting and gathering for the next meal. Our thoughts turned into other avenues, and so began the great creative drive that lead to today. One man could know the depths of a dead language, another might understand the intricacies in maximizing potato yield. None of us could survive as we do without the help of others. Specialisation. Globalisation. However still, there are words.
Our ability to communicate with each other, perhaps. With cables and satellites covering every inch of our planet, our reach to one another has never been greater. The internet was one of the building blocks of our progress, and to an alien race, perhaps it would warrant the term. But They had systems of transferring information similar to our current abilities, yet their own entry makes no mention of the word.
Certainly it must be an error. There was something he was not understanding. He'd have to talk it through with his peers. Perhaps he'd request an audience with one of Their scholars. He'd retire tonight. Perhaps with some rest he'd be able to make more headway in the morning.
With a final sigh, he plugged himself into his back-up system and began the transfer. He closed his eyes, trying to think of nothing as his synaptic connections were mapped and stored on the server. He left the program with instructions to send his consciousness to Peru tomorrow, where he'd be able to meet with his colleagues. For now, his android body would have to recharge.
|
It's true, at the time I was amazed but I came to see clearer as I considered the evidence. Let me recount the events and you can decide for yourself.
Spring. The beginning of a new semester, I was in my office preparing my introductory lectures. Though I was taking it easy since I'd been giving the roughly same material for nearly fifteen years. Neuroscience is my area of expertise. As the head of the department I do have some responsibilities. Though the research labs were only warming up for the coming year and so my oversight there wasn't very demanding. By sheer irony I was reading some newly reprinted research on a subject that would suddenly become much more relevant but more on that later.
I suppose I should have known something was amiss by the sheer quiet that preceded the event. At first I didn't recognize the alarm and disregarded it. Only on the second alert did I realize my phone was giving me one of those emergency alerts normally reserved for severe weather. Wonderingly, I reviewed the alert. 'First contact has been made with an intelligent race from outside our solar system. The Otherworlders appear benevolent. Don't Panic.' I remember thinking at first it was utterly preposterous and very suspicious. After some consideration I concluded anyone who would illegally compromise the emergency alert system was most likely attempting to dupe the foolish out of humanity's most useless resource, money.
As we as a species have grown we've continued to take up space on this planet. When there's been ample space or our environment is harsh local society is much more benevolent to it's own kind. The point must be know to us on some innermost level. I imagine and conclude such from several evidences. Consider the expansion of the United States in the time of the 'old west' specifically the early 1800's. The government promotion of nearly free property. In each established area public education, a very new idea, was made available. Also, suppliers on tr frontier would often extend credit to the locals with no hope the books would ever balance. All of this for the benefit of the local society. The driving force behind this benevolence being that when crowded, for an example just look at any metropolis, peoples propensity for theft, murder and any other form of crime increase exponentially. I know what you're thinking, 'Dr. Imker, that's evidence of humanity's instinctive self-harm.' But as everything's been revealed I can only conclude that those actions have actually, collectively, benefited us. By our conscience thinking we removed natural selection. So ultimately our most basic instincts found new ways to foster innovation and remove the weak.
Still convinced the message a fraud I continued about my day. When I look back now I know it was essentially dawdling. Until another faculty member, Ami Sebauernhof, actually phoned me to tell me the, hyper-intelligent, being or beings were setting up a summit.
'Fascinating!' I remember I responded 'Imagine Ami, in our time a chance to study another sentient being's brain structures! I wonder if their matter responds in an MRI.'
'It's better than that Melissa', she responded 'they've done all the research for you.'
'... Wait, What?'
'Literally, they've compiled research on every sentient being known to them. I called because they're making a public request for some of our must adept scholars to review their findings and they've asked for you specifically.'
I was shocked, floored, and then dumbfounded. 'Are you sure?'
'The request was for Dr. Melissa Imker, University of ...' The rest trailed off as I was caught up in my thoughts. Why among all the other possible candidates was I chosen? How do I take the best advantage of this opportunity? What amazing discoveries and benefits can come?
So much is a blur leading up to that unforgettable event. Private guards and private flights took me to a dusty and bleak region I know not where exactly. They knew we would be unwilling to travel off-planet or perhaps that it would make some very uncomfortable. When I arrived the enormity of the ship was daunting, but expected. It appeared to be made of some metal but even in the bright sun I remember it being cool to the touch. I approached a hatch to enter which opened to a plain clean and white area, though thankfully not too bright.
'Welcome Dr. Imker, we're looking forward to your time here. We've striven to make this visit as comfortable as possible. We know you must have many questions.' The voice seemed gender neutral. I knew it was generated but it was still subtly comforting. The area I had entered turned out to be my quarters for the duration. Everything I could possibly have needed was there. Food, waste and even communication systems including what appeared to be very clever adaptations of devices into humanity's internet. I needed to sleep but I was so keyed up I decided to go to work immediately. Where to start? The thought came suddenly, Humanity. What better way to begin that on ourselves. Was it allowed? Rather than ask I searched furiously for the file. Aghast, I saw the title and heading, 'Humanity: Hivemind'
I don't know how long I sat there after reading that but I know I was sore when I started moving again. I wanted to refute it. I wanted to scream that we're autonomous beings, fiercely independent! But everything I know, and have observed at the most fundamental level says that that's not true. When I get up in the morning and put on my shoes I am benefiting from the collective learning and teaching process of thousands of generations before me. Did I invent foot protection? Did I conceive a method by which to keep that protection firmly on my body while also providing an easy method for removal? Did I practice weaving techniques until I could make functioning laces? No I had to concede that I had certainly not.
Do you know about mirror neurons? The irony that I had been reading a research paper on this very subject just as The Otherworlders arrived! A mirror neuron is a neuron that fires both when an animal acts and when the animal observes the same action performed by another. Research has concluded humanity benefits immensely in may ways. In understanding other creatures intentions, in facilitating learning, and even contributing to our own self awareness. This would be only one facet, and one of which my area of expertise focuses, that would astoundingly reinforce their conclusions about us. There must be more evidences and I welcome input from others in the scientific community who believe they may have something to contribute.
In the end I never looked at any of the other research materials. It all paled in light of what I had discovered. Now I know why they invited us and why they invited me. Not so that we could learn about them but ultimately so we could learn about ourselves.
| 2015-05-18T23:11:28 | 2015-05-18T22:50:08 | 78 | 15 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83
|
Life's not a fairy tale. Life's real.
We know the last words we'll get from our soulmates, without context, but clear as day. Some words are sweet, some are sour, some are tragic. We all have them, and only the lucky ones don't think about them every day.
On my chest, across my heart, her words remind me of reality. I was born knowing I have a soulmate, but to my soulmate I am not her's.
On my chest, across my heart, she says those words.
"I'm sorry. I've found someone else."
|
It had always been uncomfortable. My parents had to cover it up with long sleeves until I was old enough to take care of it myself. I just kept a few black straps around my wrists to cover it up. And for anyone who still managed to read it, after middle school no one was really that surprised. I looked like a rough edged goth in those days and I guess some weren't too surprised with all the profanity engraved in my skin. Some even suggested that I just cut it in there myself. But it was not the profanity that scared me, or my parents. It were the screams of help that bound those words together.
You see, people are born with writings in their skin. It can be located anywhere on your body, your ankles or your back, and it can say anything. When the engravings appeared on the first newborn everyone was perplexed with the meaning of it, but years and years later it was found that it were the saddest words you'd ever hear in your life. Not because of the words themselves, but because the person who said them was the most important person to you. And when that person pushes its farewell out of its mouth, the engraving turns gold.
When I grew up I was anxious, because honestly, what could happen in the last moment that my soul mate had to be so angry and afraid about?
As I closed the door behind me and grabbed my bike, I hoped it were not words directed at myself. Imagine the horror of having the person you cared about more than anything else in the world say these things to you. If I'd have the choice I'd rather die right now than be in a moment where these words are uttered by someone that important. *I just hope it will be a long moment before that happens*, I thought as I closed the garden gate.
I was heading for a party with my best friend, who had recently turned 19. All my friends would be there and considering I knew them for such a long time I knew we would have a good time. Just as I stepped on my bike Sarah, the girl from across the street, appeared from the corner. ''Hey Daniel.''
''Hey Sarah, what are you up to?'' Sarah had been living next to me for over fifteen years, when her parents moved over from a small tribe in Nigeria. Sarah wasn't her *real* name, but she had been given a more Western name so she could grow up without the social stigma of having to pronounce a name with five syllables and guttural sounds.
''Going to Dennis's party tonight, you coming too?''
''Yep. I bought him this'' I replied as I held up a large bottle of Vodka. I smiled as she shook her head.
''You two should be careful with that, you lightweights couldn't even finish the neck of the bottle.'' she answered back playfully as she walked past me towards her house. ''See you tonight.''
''Ye, see you.'' I mumbled back smiling, as I got on my bike and pedaled away into the light of the city, embraced in the evening's dark. It was that dark, the mysterious, the unknown and the dangerous, that I would come to hate. Not really the shadow itself, but what had come out of it to steal away what belonged to me. What belonged to each other.
When the golden light lighted up the room, people looked at me with sad and grief in their eyes. But at that time I didn't even know what I had lost. I tried to find Dennis, to explain, to rage and to cry, but I couldn't find him. Ten minutes later, when I sat alone in the dark garage pounding my fist to the wall and crying about everything that apparently could have been, my phone rang.
''It's Sarah.'' That's all I heard, the ear deafening buzz resounded through my head as I slid down along the wall.
It was the moment something broke in me, something you never knew was actually there until you felt its overwhelming sadness and pain spread throughout your body. And it was never going to come back. It was never going to be alright.
The police investigated the death, and the bruisings and blood suggested heavy violence. Not much later they discovered sperm on her body, and the idea of her rape disgusted me so much I vomited out every bit of despair I had left in my body. She had been close...she was on her way to the party, was all I could think of. She even yelled for help, her rage and screams of ''Leave me alone, LET GO OF ME, LET GO OF ME'' and ''GO TO HELL'' had been her predestined words. Imagine the sourness spreading through my mouth as hydrochloric acid when Dennis had been in her surroundings as she screamed his name. *Couldn't he have helped her?* I ask myself as I watch her body, holding her hand tightly. *Was there nothing that could have been done?*
Until I read the words on her wrist, that had blackened out when she died - and suddenly it all made sense.
''I trusted you. I hate you, Dennis. I despise you. This is for her. And when I'm done, I'll see her soon enough.''
| 2015-08-08T11:49:54 | 2015-08-08T10:16:00 | 274 | 45 |
[WP] You have been granted a wish from a genie. You ask him to send you back in time and make you powerful so you can prevent the genocide that happened in ww2. You forgot that genies like to twist wishes though. Now it's 1940 and to your horror you realize you are Adolf Hitler.
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The first thing I realized was that my German was subpar.
I thought "Hey, maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I can just make a speech like Hitler would and leave out the whole genocide part." Well believe it or not "re-educate the Jungen" is far too similar to "re-educate the Juden." I realized my mistakes after the cheering continued for longer than I would expect for education reform. It's incredible how much people enjoy racism.
That slip was pretty bad. But understandable. It could be rectified. I could just make another speech later. Shift the blame. Nobody likes Romania anyway, right.
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Adolf Hitler Schmidt, das Alter 6. So read the corners of the sheets of paper containing unintelligible doodles, all signed in a much nicer cursive than the artist would be able to create. Rifling through the desk only revealed a few wooden toys and a 1940 calendar with the days X'd out.
Glanced in the mirror. A deformed child's body. What an awful quantum leap. Not even old enough for the Hitler Youth, much less take on Hitler.
Looked out the window, idle farmland.
Adults screaming from the other side of the door. Don't speak German. Picked up on Kinder-Euthanasie though.
Called out for the genie. Got a few gurgles. Genie appeared as a tiny conductor of a wood train that he rode in circles around the desk.
"Choo Choo, der Saftsack. Too dark? I considered loading the train with little matchstick people and igniting them in a block house, but that seemed a bit MUCH, you know? Or appearing as a cat and doing a Meowschwitz bit, but that's played out. Hashtag Just Loving this conductor outfit though, check out these buns of steel. " Tiny, twerking genie.
I gurgled some more. "Rise of Nazism got your tongue?" asked the Genie as he finger gunned a bolt of magic at my mouth.
"I asked to be powerful so I can prevent genocide!"
"Oh, well, you have the most powerful set of lungs and the most vivid imagination ever seen in a German crippled child. They'll keep you alive for months to experiment and do science research. You'll be the homecoming queen of the Special Children's Ward."
"But-"
"And your back story! So powerful! A mother spends six years hiding her child's deformities in rural Germany, only for a Jew hunt to stumble across the poor child. There's award winning December release potential all over that." Tiny genie transformed into an Oscar in a Susan Sarandon wig. Twerked again.
"How am I supposed to stop anything? That was a condition of the wish!"
"No no no no no" Genie transformed into Supreme Court Justice Ruth Ginsberg, stuck to popping and locking for the sanctimony of the moment. "You _can_ prevent genocide, the potential is there. Just as well as you could've flown to Syria or Afghanistan or Iraq in your own time," Genie transformed into cultural dress and dance for each country, somewhat offensively, and toppled as a Saddam statue for Iraq's finale.
Genie continued. "You could have provided such amazing oratory skills and clear vision that it leads to the next cultural Renaissance and world peace," Genie freely transforming between assorted cultural icons of peace, usually with their dark sides represented behind them.
"But noooo, you didn't ask for any of those secondary skills. You wanted time travel to World War 2!" SS Officer goosestepping Genie.
"Sure, your functional knowledge consisted of a half an episode of Band of Brothers," Ron Livingston Genie.
"A vhs," Randall from Clerks Genie "of Saving Private Ryan," Matt Damon Team America puppet in a GI Joe army outfit Genie, doing the happy dance.
"and a fetish for assassinating Hitler writing prompts." Genie grew a Snoo antenna, a meta high quality Aladdin gif playing on the bulb. "And I said to myself, sure, I _could_ make you Hitler, but that'd be playing into their usual box." Companion Cube Genie that quickly switched into a French artist. "So instead, ze child is named after Hitler, aged appropriately for service of the story. What a masterstroke. What a twist!" M Night Genie. "What did you really think you'd accomplish here?"
"What about my other wishes?"
Genie's jaw dropped in cartoon fashion. "Kid, I wanted to make a point about child euthanasia in Nazi Germany. I read the whole Wikipedia article without getting a single half chub or anything - that's right, this Genie works REAL BLUE," Andrew Dice Clay Genie. "I never do any prep going into these things. This wish was so full of holes I bet you're wishing they added a legal scholar subplot."
"You're the one that said I couldn't be a vampire superhero or have an unexpected meetup between god and the devil at the Starbucks adjacent to the Pearly Gates. "
"So do you have a single nonrecycled original thought in your head or is it mostly meta reposts and cats? You'd be better off if you wished you were a little bit taller, wished you were a baller, wished you had a girl that looked good you would call her. "
And with that, the doors burst open, the genie popped away in a cloud of smoke, and soldiers from the committee for the prevention of procrastination and cogenital illnesses took away my keyboard. Well, actually, my reddit app crashed, but this made it through the tubes anyway. So here we are, with a paltry imitation of Robin Williams by way of John Leguizamo's Clown in Spawn, just being a jerk without a nice bow twist to wrap it all up. I am so sorry.
| 2017-06-12T20:01:29 | 2017-06-12T14:31:57 | 64 | 26 |
[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.
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"Death, my existence has turned into suffering," I said. "My very bones ache, my skin is weathered. My body became nothing but a green leaf shriveling in autumn's time."
Death chuckled like a five year old, hiting his ball joint as he crouched slightly. "Immortality, a game only a few can play Darren," he said. "If you please, I can end your suffering with a single swing of my scythe."
I grabbed him by the clavicle, "Death, I have something to confess."
He cocked his skull, "are you afraid of the pain my scythe will provoke to your soul?"
I shook my head, "no, it's much worse."
He clinked his fingers against his mandible, as if thinking. "Are you afraid of Hell? You know it doesn't exist, right?"
"I'm not afraid of those mundane things Death, I'm not afraid at all," I said, locking my gaze in his hollowness. "I love you Death."
He hesitated, words dying on his trachea. "Y-you lo-love me?" he stammered.
I nodded, "as deeply as the void of your existence."
"Darren, I swear, together we can make eternity bareable," Death said with a grin and hugged me.
I burst into laughter, "did you believe me, you pervert? What is this called, humanphilia?"
Death hesitated once again, "what are you implying Darren? You weren't lying I smelled the scent of your soul, it was pure!"
"Death, it's been 50000 years. I know all your secrets, maybe you should learn what April fools day is," I said and patted his spine. "You are weird old friend but you blessed me. I will be in Bora Bora if you need anything."
"Motherf—"
-------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall for more not so great stories
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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.
| 2017-11-29T12:47:04 | 2017-11-28T15:23:06 | 149 | 38 |
[WP] Every time you are in danger, no matter where you are, an 18 wheeler comes crashing through to save you. The driver is a random trucker you don’t know who hauls meat products named Randy & always happens to be nearby and blacks out, only to wake up to find he’s crashed into something again.
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Well shit, I had gone from bored to fearing for my life real quick. These waters were supposed to be clear, or so corporate had thought, and so they didn’t bother to assign any security. Not that it would have helped much as the three skiffs were onloading their cargo of pirates onto the main deck and were storming the bridge. Sure I had tried to turn the ship away, but with a hauler like mine, no chance.
They reached the door and kicked it in, firing a few rounds through the window to scare us off. That’s when I heard the first soft verse that was my curse.
*-Country Roads, take me home-*
The lead pirate stepped over to me, “Step away from de wheel”, as he shoved his rifle in the helmsman’s chest, “Who is the captain here?”
*-To the place I belong-* The singing got louder
Nervously I put my hand up, like I was in preschool, adrenaline pumping through my body. It wasn’t the smoking barrel that was scaring me, it what was going to happen next that shook me to the core, “how was I going to survive this?” I thought.
The lead pirate stepped over to me “I am de captain now, me!”
*-West Virginia-* We could feel it through the walls
“Whoever the hell is signing stop right now, we are taking this ship over, do you tink dis is a joke?”
*-Mountain mama-* The floor started to shake now,
Angrily he grabbed my shirt and pulled me forward, “You will tell whoever is singing in the background to stop right now, or I shoot ever’ one in here”
*-Take me home-*
We all felt the floor shake and buckle, but the pirate was too angry to care, he pointed his rifle at my head, readying to take the shot.
“Oh god no” I must have muttered as the floor split, an 18 wheeler ripping through from underneath, with a mustached Randy at the wheel, screaming at the top of his lungs with his eyes shut.
*-COUNTRY ROADS!!!-*
|
All checks had been cleared, the ground crew had everything prepared, and control was satisfied with the conditions, Mike "magic" Smithens was finally going to be an astronaut. Sure it been a bumpy road to this point, but nobody seemed to doubt that the launch would work out. Kumla, one of the scientists on board the shuttle, turned to him "not expecting a visit from your guardian angel today I hope!" Kumla was referencing the "magic" 18 wheeler that had a reputation for showing up at the most opportune times during Mike's training, like the time the brakes on the human centrifuge failed and the truck crashed through the training facility wall and ground it to a halt, or the one time the landing gear on the training jet failed and the semi somehow ended up on the runway of a very off-limits airfield at just the right speed to catch the jet, aaaand that last time they were doing bailout tests and Mike's parachute failed but he was saved by miraculously saved by landing in an oversized open-top load of mass-shippment rare meat headed to a local county fair. The point is many believed Mike was chosen as the pilot for this mission purely for the fact that should something go horribly wrong, Mike's "magic" would kick in.
The connectors to the rocket began to slowly pull away. It was time. They could barely hear the countdown begin over the sound of the mechanisms of the launch pad preparing for the coming blast, but the suspense alone was deafening. Suddenly a massive jolt hit Mike in the back, despite being strapped tight to his flight seat it still felt as if he had been swept off his feet, mike snapped to life, he had piloting to do after all. Mike contacted control "initial launch successful no current signs of trouble" he could hear the cheers of the crew in the background as they responded "perfect mike, prepare for stage two". Mike looked out the window, he was now at the edge of the atmosphere, further from the planet than any other human being at that moment. Mike called control again "initiating stage two now", and at the press of a button everything went wrong. The lower section of the rocket failed to detach properly and now Mike, Kumla, and the other crew members were pulled facing the Earth hurtling towards it at miles per second. Mike looked out the window for the last time, nearly lost for words.
"No."
"How."
There it was in all of it's worn, burgendy, glory. An eighteen wheeler truck, Traveling at escape velocity, right towards the rocket. It had even caught the attention of Kumla and the rest of the crew, Kumla was dumbstruck "Apart from the fact that that should be physically impossible, I still see no way that thing can save us." The truck was now very clearly about to hit the rocket. Mike shouted "brace for impact!" The semi smashed into the underside of the rocket coating the exterior in meat. Kumla, rather unimpressed, "See, your absurd, rational-thought-defying, 'magic' truck didn't do anything, as a matter of fact it might have made things worse!" He was right, the impact had knocked off more of the rocket and spun them. Mike tried to get back into contact with control "MAYDAY! MAYDAY! There was a failure in stage two, our flight path was reversed, we received major hull damage from a collision with an eighteen wheeler and I am now attempting to angle the craft towards an unpopulated region!" There was a brief silence, then control responded "did you say an eighteen wheeler? Nevermind, do what you must, this is a worst case-scenario. May God help you because we cannot." Mike had used what few control surfaces remained to slow the spinning and more or less flatten out over a large expanse of farmland, all that remained was to await their very likely demise. The truck had done it's best, but this calamity was too great for even the semi's own divine intervention. As the ground grew closer the occupants of the cockpit grew equally quiet. Kumla had given up his cynicism "You did everything right Mike, that's all any of us could have asked of you." Mike began to shed tears as they came into contact with the earth.
Mike opened his eyes. Everything was blurry, then it was blue and something smelled good, like a barbecue. This wasn't what Mike was expecting from heaven so he summoned all his willpower and stood up, and to his astonishment he found he was not in heaven, but a burning field of meat next to what remained of his rocket with a bunch very concerned farmers to boot. The nearest of whom shouted suddenly "By god, the boy's alive!" Mike turned to the man "what happened?" The farmer laughed "Son, your rocket came out of the skies looking like a meat-wrap from hell, slid like a stick of butter through three neighboring counties, and crashed into my barn killin half my livestock and throwing you practically on my dorrstep." Mike stuttered "sir I'm sorry abou-" the farmer hollered over him "I JUST SAW THE MOST INCREDIBLE THING IN MY ENTIRE LIFE, WHICH I THOUGHT WOULD KILL ME, ONLY TO WATCH YOU SURVIVE BEING RIGHT SMACK DAB IN THE MIDDLE OF IT, AND YOU WANT TO APOLOGIZE FOR MY CHICKENS?!?" survive. wait, Mike thought, and without hesitation he sprang up and bolted to the wreckage of the rocket. To his relief he found the cockpit not only intact but the rest of the crew were already out and alive. Kumla greeted him "We were certain you died when we hit the barn, looks like that crazy truck saved you after all." Everybody laughed, they had nearly died a horrifying, firey, death, and yet they still laughed. At that moment a line of government vehicles pulled up and began unloading their occupants. Apart from the swarm of medical staff, a man clearly from the space agency and what looked like another farmer approached Mike, the prior greeted him "Hello Captain Smithens, I'm from the agency, we are thrilled to have you back in one piece, I brought someone along with me you may want to talk to, we found him in the ocean near the remains of the launch stage" the agent gestured to the other man "Howdy friend, the name's Randy, ya might've seen me before when I was flying in my truck. It's a doozie of a story how I got up there."
Fin.
| 2018-12-19T00:52:53 | 2018-12-19T00:45:34 | 33 | 14 |
[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize.
|
"Hey Hanz, what's that banging noise?"
"Oh, that's coming from the room with that guy who's spending a year in isolation. He's a day early, though. I'm sure he wouldn't want to throw out his prize money this far into it."
"Oh. Isn't he normally quiet?"
"Yeah, he's probably just celebrating getting really close to the end. He has a countdown timer in there anyway. Like I said, last day. Probably opening that bottle of brandy we left him."
"I dunno. They're sounding more frantic. Could there be a problem?"
"I don't think so. He wasn't showing any signs or symptoms on the camera just a little while ago. Wait... What year is it?"
"2020."
"Oh, fuck."
"What?"
***"WE FORGOT ABOUT THE LEAP YEAR!"***
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A gap year in life. Some would look at that as a waste, for me, it was more than just an opportunity.
The first few months were tough, but they took care of themselves. Even if time moves slow, it does move. Within a couple of weeks, I felt like Bart Simpson, endlessly writing "Time still moves forward" thousands of times on the blackboard of my mind.
As an introvert, I thought that spending a year on my own would be a dream come true.
Instead, two months in I was caught up on shows. I brought a ton of books with me. But all I found myself doing was walking around endlessly, or simply stopping and staring at the wall.
Five months in and the routine set in. I added bodyweight training, dancing, and Yoga to my routine. I started writing a short story every day. I even started to meditate.
I wish I was one of them organized people who would set a schedule, with a task list for the day. I'm not even talking about checking these tasks off of a list. Making the list would have been enough. Unfortunately, I'm not one of those people.
Eight months in, and my routine was what kept me going. Everything had to go perfectly or my mental state for weeks to come would be hinged. Routine was my savior.
Eleven months in, and I found my zen. Routine, stare at the wall, scream at a book. It was all the same to me. I found a feeling of contentedness I never knew was possible.
People speak of finding happiness. Happiness to me was a fleeting moment in time. Being content was a state of being.
Today, in 30 seconds, I am going to be let out. I am not excited, at all.
Don't get me wrong, I do feel butterflies in my stomach, and I do look forward to seeing my family, and even the sky. But I'm calm. I'm content. I don't even look at the clock to count the second.
15 seconds before, I stand up. I align my body in a solid posture, and I smile.
"Ten."
Yep, I'm counting!
"Nine."
Almost there.
"Eight."
Excitement suddenly spreads all over my body, starting in my stomach and spreading through my body to my limbs, all the way to my toes.
"Seven. Six. Five. Four."
I smile.
"Three. Two."
I hold my breath. I feel my face smiling. I don't feel happy, and yet I'm smiling. I must be happy. Why else would I smile?
"One."
"ZERO!" I jump up releasing energy I didn't even know I had.
"YEAH!" I shout.
I ready my hand for a high five for whoever walks through the door.
I hold it up.
Ten seconds pass.
"Leaving me out to dry here guys.
I read the clock. '1 year, 15 seconds.'
What's going on guys?
I start to feel stressed out. I'm unsure what's going on. I look around. I walk to the door and back. I knock.
No response.
A million and one thoughts run through my head. From a practical joke to the zombie apocalypse. Someone though, was sending me food and drink through the shute every day. People are still out there.
"GUYS. THIS IS NOT.. Okay, it can be funny." I smirk. "Now open the door."
"I suppose this could be an scifi alien abduction flic, and I'll get beamed up any second. Maybe..."
Panic hits me. I turn around myself aimlessly. I knock hard at the door with my fists.
I breathe in. I am calm.
I sit on the floor cross-legged, and wait.
Precisely ten minutes and 34 seconds later, trust me, I checked, the door cracks open slightly.
I imagine a Chinese guy walking in and telling me of the fall of the US of A, and how he drew the short straw to be the one to tell me.
The door opens, and Mike, the producer who recruited me for this reality show walks in.
"Phew! I'm happy to see you Mike. Can I go home now?"
"Yes."
I look Mike in the eye. "Yes?"
"Yes."
"I kind of expected more."
"You should have done something to raise the ratings then. Feel free to sue us, but we ain't paying you crap."
He turned around, and started walking.
"Not even the zombie apocalypse?"
"The what?"
"You're just not going to pay?
"You should have read your contract better. I'm sure you'll be able to make money from a book. Try that."
A prompt appears in my sight. I move my head around trying to shake it, but it moves with me.
"You have failed at life. Would you like to start a new game?"
I don't hesitate even for a second.
I answer no, run after Mike, and stab his toe with my right heel.
I look around. I smile.
"Now this has potential."
&#x200B;
Edit: If you like, join my new subreddit [/r/posthocethics](https://www.reddit.com/r/posthocethics/)/ where you can read my writing. Sometimes I'll go crazy and even post a meme or two.
| 2019-07-03T00:53:00 | 2019-07-02T23:40:43 | 1,156 | 45 |
[WP]: Your mother was a scammer of the supernatural. She promised her firstborn to multiple entities in exchange for something she wanted, and now you're being co-parented by three demons, the fae, and a disgruntled witch.
|
You see, it's not that my parents don't love me. I guess I can call them parents, at least - though I suppose calling a demon your dad is a far stretch. Don't even get me started on the genetics, because apparently there's an *entire* set of rules for pledging your firstborn child to a greater entity. The downside of that, though, is that those greater entities have never been scammed. And, well.. Here I am.
You get used to it, after a while. If anything, it's made certain aspects of my life easier: I can walk alone at night without any worries, I can see in the dark, and for some reason I have both exceptional bargaining skills and a way with words that would make any lawyer proud. When four of your five parents live for following their rules by the letter, you learn a few things. But there are downsides, too. The first - and only - boyfriend I ever brought home fainted when my demon dads teleported him onto our doorstep. I got wings as a gift from the faerie queen for my 10th birthday, and sometimes when I sneeze, they become visible. My witch mom once poisoned my entire kindergarten class because I was being bullied for my cat's eyes (this was before the faeries learnt that their 'gifts' should be made invisible, but at least I still have the night vision).
My parents mean well, but they're not very good at parenting. Right now, they're mainly arguing in an abandoned Blockbuster's that has become their undisturbed meeting spot, an even ground for all things unearthly. Except me, because I'm still very much human.
"But that's not fair! She should remain with the one she was promised to first," the faerie queen demands, her voice the sound of wind through the trees. The demons, still not used to having to bargain, let loose low growls. The witch is the only one not opening her mouth, which is smart, since it's no use arguing with demons and faeries anyway. I try to follow the conversation, until it gets to the point of which realm is best for me, and I give up, exhausted. It's still three more weeks until they have to come up with a solution for my 18th birthday anyway... Though they really have to find that solution, because never before has a human belonged to four dimensions at once. It isn't known what happens when that binding spell is undone at my 18th birthday.
If I'm very honest, I'm a bit scared to find out.
_____
Sorry if the layout is fucked up, I'm on mobile. Also first prompt here ever so please be kind! Tips are welcome :)
|
For as long as I could remember, I knew there was something a little off about my home situation. Specifically, the parenting. You see, I gathered rather quickly that it wasn't normal to call your parents by their first names. The other kids in school called them mom and dad. It seemed like I couldn't quite do that, mostly because it would get wholly confusing to use three different variations for dad and two variations for mom to refer to my parents. Don't get me wrong - this wasn't some sort of poly-amorous household or orgy-filled arrangement that my parents had. It was more of a reluctant coexistence where they all just barely tolerated each other but put up with it for me. So kind. So loving. In fact, when arguments broke out, all I could do was run and hide in my bedroom as balls of fire the size of baby elephants flew across blackholes that swallowed half of the kitchen cutlery and all the plates.
Like I said, I don't call my parents mom and dad, or anything crazy like mom and mother and dad and daddy and father. It's more of a blend of numbers. There is Dun and Doo and Dee. Dad One, Dad Two, Dad Three. There is Mun and Moo. Mom One, Mom Two. Not quite traditional, but functional enough. Before I get lost in the details, let me say that there was a reason for all this parental mess. That takes us back to a beginning. Not my beginning, because my life was all but ruined before I was even a thought in anybody's mind, and not *the* beginning, because that would be the beginning of time and it's ridiculous to think that I'm about to tell a story that long, but to a beginning nonetheless.
My birth mother was a vile, twisted woman. That's the conclusion I have reached independently of my reluctant foster parents telling me that my mother was a vile, twisted woman. More specifically, for them, she was a scammer. She excelled at the particularly unsavory task of scamming the supernatural. Don't ask me how she first got involved in this. I've never met her and I don't plan to. Regardless, it turns out that she promised her firstborn to not one supernatural entity, not two supernatural entities - do you see where this is going? - but to five supernatural entities. So when I popped out of that womb like a human-shaped log pops out of the other hole, these five supernatural entities came knocking. My mother panicked. She disappeared. At least that what they've told me. I get the vibe that they more disappeared her, if you catch my drift. Tomato potato. Same thing. The details are irrelevant. The point is, this lovely assortment of three demons, a fae and a disgruntled witch - trust me, a disgruntled witch is far more menacing than a disgruntled public employee - adopted me or kidnapped me or accepted that they were now stuck with a powerless human infant.
Long story short, here I am now. A mortal raised by a squad of supernaturals. I could field my own basketball team of supernatural parents that would defeat the Looney Tunes squad and the Monstars both at once. I can't actually do that though. I think they hate me, to be quite honest. I am, by turn, "child", "kid", "boy", "ungrateful little shit", "human turd", and "chump". Doo calls me chump. I don't know why. I feel like they're the ones who got chumped. And then last Fraturday came along. Fraturday is not a traditional weekday, as you surely know. It doesn't exist in the human realm, but in the confines of my supernatural house with its supernatural rules, this mismatched group of parents of mine have managed to squeeze in a third day of the weekend that nestles in right between Friday and Saturday. I can't hangout with people that day. I can't leave the house. If I do, apparently shit goes to shit and nobody wants that.
Anyways, last Fraturday comes along. I'm playing in my room, pretending that the beanbag is some supernatural planet where my parents live and I am an astronaut tasked with kicking the shit out of it, when all of a sudden they all barge in. Not in the traditional sense of "knock knock", "who's there", "your parents, open the fucking door" but they more materialized into my bedroom without bothering to knock on anything or even open the door. And they looked at me with what I almost mistook for love - I assure you, nothing could be more far from the truth - and they said those words I thought I'd never hear.
"We need your help, chump child boy."
I won't leave this on a cliffhanger. Most likely, I'll just cut off in the middle of the interesting part because being raised by demons makes one almost as twisted as they are. Back to the story though - there is very, very little that supernatural beings need from humans that they cannot accomplish themselves. I had already completed some of those tasks for them. Menial things like removing individual grains of salt from their food or elbowing their ribs when they were starting to act unnatural at a parent-teacher conference. But they had never all come to me at once like this. It would have made a lovely family portrait were it not for the horns sticking out of some heads and those wretched claws they had and Moo's disgusting warts.
"Ok..." I answered hesitantly, making sure to not bind myself to some demonic oath. "What do you need?"
They glanced at each other nervously. Demons and witches and faes don't get nervous easily. Unless they needed me to talk to their boss, there were very few things to make them nervous. "We seem to have crossed the wrong person."
"Oh?" That took some guts to admit. I was skeptical it was a middle-aged soccer mom or an angry Chad whose car they had set alight. They could deal with that himself.
They nodded, all at once. "You see, we were playing doinks outside of a church." Doinks is a game the supernatural play, similar to craps only basically nothing about it was the same. It's a game of wagers that has been banned in all realms, yet of course my imbecile parents decided to have a roll at it. Right in front of a church, too.
"Poor decision making," I ventured to say. They nodded again. A rare, unanimous consensus. "And what?" I wanted to know what happened in the same sadistic way one just desperately wants to know how bad the injuries were when you pass a car crumpled under a semi.
"We lost the dice. In the church." I almost fainted. I knew the game. I had seen them play. And I had seen what happened when the supernatural - especially that imbued with evil - gets inside a church. This wasn't good. Not even a little bit good.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-07-18T06:41:29 | 2019-07-18T05:23:03 | 379 | 219 |
[WP] You are randomly assigned an arch-enemy at birth. Their identity is unknown to you, however, heavy metal music will begin playing if they are near. Both of you will then become enraged and partake in an epic battle. One day, as you wait in line at the DMV, heavy metal begins playing...
|
[Poem]
An Arch-nemesis is meant to be,
He'll know you and you will see.
From birth this fight is set for thee,
Guitar riffs will end anxiety.
It was in the line of DMV,
That the metal was heard to some degree.
It rang louder and set the decree,
That the fight would commence, and *one* set free.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
I twisted around and found my enemy,
Our eyes alight with fire, so suddenly.
Enraged, hatred forming as thunder above sea,
Fists clenching, hatred staring, so furiously
I stepped up to fight, as I could not flee.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
The music hit a crescendo when my enemy neared,
Sweat pouring, thoughts goring, it was as I had feared.
From the photo's as a kid I so endeared,
My father stood before me, my mind cleared.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
It was kill or be killed, life is hard indeed,
For the old man to sow, his own seed.
Epic brawl commencing I did the deed,
And so my fear and anxiety, finally freed.
Bittersweet victory is my only creed,
I've met my match, my father at last, and it was I who his death decreed.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
*Edits: spacing, layout, don 't understand how to perfect lay-out on mobile phone.... also standard: English isn't my first language etc.
**All feedback is welcome, thanks for reading!
|
The boy drifted into the queue like a leaf falling into a pile of other leaves, already un-pickoutable from the rest. He scanned them, the other leaves waiting with him in line. Directly in front: a middle-aged lady with glasses so thick he could easily start a fire using them, and then cook animals he'd hunted and stay alive for weeks, maybe months -- if it came to that. It probably wouldn't come to that, but Dad always said, Son you have to be aware of what's around you. All the time. Your life might depend on it -- how do you think I survived the war? Sometimes he'd add, And living with your mother for so long. And then sometimes he'd then add a further laugh that might be sad/mean/wistful depending on what time it was and how much he'd drunk.
And so Daniel was ultra-aware of his surroundings. Never missed a beat.
He continued his viewing of possible suspects, lined up like a lineup in front of him: mostly elderly people, their hair -- shades of greys and whites -- looked real enough. Probably no wigs. Probably no other secret agents. He'd call it in anyway. Daniel touched a hand to his ear.
*Daniel, reporting. Do you copy, chief?*
*We hear you Daniel; go ahead.*
*I'm in the DMV. Should have provisional license in twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.*
The thick rimmed glasses lady turned to him and smiled. Then turned back around. Odd.
*Chief, just had a lady smile pretty strangely at me.*
*Might just be because you're handsome.*
*Probably is, chief.*
*Listen, be careful all the same, Daniel. We have information that something big is going down in the DMV today.*
*Then it's a good thing I'm here, chief. Anything gets hot, I'll cool it down.*
*Daniel, this is Jennifer! Please be careful!*
Jennifer? From school? And getting his name right this time? What a day this was turning into. Jennifer was the pretty girl that pretended to never notice him during school hours, not because it might risk lowering her social standing -- she wasn't shallow like that, unlike the other cheerleaders -- but because it might blow his cover. Because he was the guy that pretended to be a bit/quite a lot overweight and asthmatic, and not much good at sports. He'd been sent into the school to detail drug dealings and such stuff. An undercover hero.
*What are you doing there, Jen?*
*I know you're a secret agent, Daniel! I've always known. You're too suave not to be. Not how you look, but the way you hold yourself. So brimmingly, dreamingly manly.*
*I always knew you knew. It just adds up.* *But how did you find HQ?*
*Oh, that doesn't matter, my Daniel. Only your safety does.*
*Don't worry, Jenny. There's nothing to worry about. I've already scanned the locale and found zero possible credible threats.*
*God you're brave. I wish I could tell you at school, but it'd blow your cover if everyone knew how brave you really were.*
*We're both just doing the best we ca*n.
He yawned. The queue wasn't moving fast. Only one person working. Thirty minutes might have been an costly under-estimation.
A gust of wind. He turned, slowly. Just his head. Unnoticeable. The only way to scope something out safely.
It was a man. Twenties. Maybe thirties. At a push, forties. Long black hair. Rock music dripping out of his over-sized headphones. Leather jacket.
He joined the queue behind Daniel, and Daniel knew his smell. The stink was his reason for being undercover at his school. *Weed.* Sure, it might be legal now, but weed was still a gateway to harder drugs, and this man stank stank of the stuff. The whiff of weed was like a set of footprints leading to a murder victim's body. Weed meant opium. Crystal meth, maybe.
*Chief. I've got my eyes and nose on someone who has just joined the queue. Smells of the bad stuff. Listening to rock. Judas Priest, I think. Could be a satanist. And he's nodding his head up and down like a weather vane.*
*Daniel, this is Jen. Don't weather veins go side to side? Is he shaking his head or nodding it?*
*Jen, uh, you're breaking up here. Reception's getting bad. Think the man might have a radio-blocking device. I'll call in once he's gone.*
God the queue was so slow. The old people doddered and the one person working was having lunch at his desk. It'd be worth it though. Once he had his provisional, then Jennifer would know his name. Would want a ride. He already had Mom's old Escort lined up for once he passed.
The man's music behind him was loud. Deafeningly. Was lucky for that guy that most of the people in here were deaf. Probably. If he didn't want to blow his cover, he'd have told the guy to turn it the shit down, right now, or he'd break out the kungjudo -- his own special blend of self-defence/attack.
"If you want to live, you might want to leave now, kid," said a voice. Deep. Gravelly. Bit like Dad's if Dad was a chain smoker and about to do something bad.
It was the man behind him. He'd leaned over and whispered that.
Now the man was getting out of the line. Skipping places.
He should say something. Say, Hey wait your turn like everyone else!
But he didn't. Something bad was happening and he didn't know what, but his legs seemed to.
Then the man got to the front, pushed the lady out of the way, pulled a gun from out his pants, and sent two shots into the ceiling.
&#x200B;
\--
hope to cont. soon
| 2020-04-07T06:18:40 | 2020-04-07T05:16:27 | 62 | 28 |
[WP] It was supposed to be an easy burglary. Husband left for work at 6, kid left for school at 7, and the wife left for shopping at 12. You go in at 12:30 to grab a TV and some jewelry. Breaking in and finding the husband, kid, and wife hanging from the ceiling was definitely not part of the plan.
[removed]
|
"Well...um...f-ck."
Words escaped me. None of it made any sense. Everything was business as usual this morning. Husband left on time, kid was out the door, wife locked up as she got the second car warmed up. I watched them leave, ensuring the house was empty.
*I watched them leave, ensuring the house was empty.*
So...*why are they hanging from the ceiling??*
The house looked the same as always. TV on the stand, looks like they didn't have the confidence or the desire to drill it into the wall. Couch neatly placed. Safe amateurishly hidden in the corner. Tables, end tables, all the tables, everything was just in the same place as it was yesterday. Clean. Pristine. Kinda fresh, like Listerine.
*Plus the f-cking bodies hanging from the f-cking ceiling.*
Nothing registered in my brain. I guess I should have been hyperventilating, maybe I was, I couldn't tell. I know, *I know* for a f-cking *fact* that the family left the house. *I watched them go.* I memorized their faces, their physical traits, just so that I could recognize when they're outside, redundancy for the heist. They are not in the house today.
Except that they are.
The ceiling doesn't lie.
But then, my shaken mind realized, if this family is hanging right in front of me...then...who did I watch this morning...?
A *click* from the door behind me jolted me out of paralysis. My head slowly turning on my neck. I watched as the door opened one inch at a time.
And learned *what* replaced my planned victims that day.
|
It’s my first go at this alone. I joined my brother Micheal’s gang a few months ago, and we usually work as a team. I’d always been a bit of a tech geek, so he decided I’d be useful for disabling security. I was hesitant to get mixed up in something that might come back to bite me, but the pay is good, and I have a mountain of student debt waiting for me in a few years. It started out simple enough, but his crew didn’t think I was involved enough. It makes sense, considering they’re too brutish to realize how much I’m decreasing their risk for the same reward, but I couldn’t afford to lose out on all this money I’ve been getting. I personally would’ve just talked to them about it, but Mike decided to step in and say I’d rob a house all by myself. I tried to say no, but he convinced me that it’d be “super easy” and that I have “nothing to worry about. I picked out a simple family house for myself, and I camped outside their house in a satellite van for a couple weeks to learn their schedule. The dad leaves early for work, the kid about an hour later, and the mom goes shopping at noon. I was actually convinced things might go well. I had figured out the parents kept a safe in their bedroom, which the dad deposited into every day. Judging from that and the amount of weird conspiracy theory stuff he listens to on his radio, I figured he didn’t trust the banks with his money, and kept it in that little box. His whole life savings could be in there, and I can say goodbye to the unending amounts of ramen noodles and roaches in my apartment.
I check my watch, and it’s 12:27. My stomach twists into a knot, and the nerves hit me for the first time. This could all go horribly wrong. The money won’t matter if I get caught. There’s no time for second thoughts now, so I exit the van and walk up to the house. I grab the spare key from under the mat, and stand at the door for a moment. Even if I do succeed, I’m robbing a family of what may very well be all they have. But I’ve done that plenty of times, so why is the guilt hitting now? Just because I’m physically taking the money from someone now isn’t much different from helping people take it on a moral level. This is just a tiny step up from the rest of what I’ve done. This’ll be the last job anyways, if I’m lucky. If I take from these people now, I won’t ever have to do it again. I decidedly put the key in the door, and walk inside. I’ll just have to donate the same amount of what I’ve taken from people to charity when I’m older. I mill over the math, adding up my shares from all the previous heists as I walk into the living room. I stop dead in my tracks to see the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen.
The entire family is wrapped head to toe in tin foil clothing while hanging from their living room ceiling fan. The father is aggressively swinging his legs back and forth to increase the speed. The mother and son look bored and tired.
The father spots me, and screams “pick up the pace! The base has been infiltrated!”
The mother, still not seeing me, sighs and starts to swing her legs, while the poor kid just looks completely suicidal.
I start to get over my bewilderment, and decide my best option is to make a beeline for the safe and hope these nut jobs are too busy doing whatever the hell they’re doing to care. I quickly run past the confusing scene and make my way to their bedroom. The father screams something incomprehensible, and I heard a loud thud, shortly followed by pursuing foot steps.
“After him! He must be a new species to have gotten past the harbinger 8.9! A new specimen to study!”
He sounds disturbingly excited.
I slam the bedroom door closed and lock it behind me, and start looking for an exit. I try to open the window but it’s painted shut.
“Aha! It can use our human technology. Fetch me the battering ram!”
I can hear the father slamming repeatedly into the door, spouting complete and utter nonsense. I search for something heavy, and see the safe inside the closet. I heave it off the ground and slam it through the window. The glass shatters, and I waste no time in hurling myself through. I cut myself on the shards as I fall onto the grass. I can hear wood splintering begins me, accompanied by a victorious screech, so I grab the safe and run to my van. Once inside, I look back to the window, to see the husband looking completely bewildered, and his wife slapping him in the face before screaming at him. I see the kid trying to get their attention while pointing outside to my van, so I start it up and take off with screeching tires.
I make it back to the gang’s hide out, bloodied and bruised from the fall, but still breathing. I drop the safe onto the table, and fall down into my chair next to my brother. They all sit in silence, staring at me as I try to catch my breath.
“...what the hell happened to you man?” My brother asked.
“I don’t even know. They’re insane. That’s what happened. I’ll explain later, let’s just open the safe. I just want to get my money and go home.”
Our locks guy tried at the combination for a couple minutes, and it eventually cracks open. He opens the door, and inside, there’s no money. No gold, no jewelry, no nothing. There’s just a single, off-brand granola bar sitting at the bottom. Mike picks it up and hands it to me with a pitying look. I stare at it in the palm of my hand. All that, and just a granola bar.
First time posting here, figured I’d try it out since I interpreted the prompt a bit differently lol. I’m not a great writer yet, so criticism is very welcome. Thanks for reading!
| 2020-10-18T06:52:32 | 2020-10-18T03:28:08 | 117 | 26 |
[WP]No one know how the zombie virus began, but humanity is on the ropes. A powerful stranger cuts through the horde one night and reaches your compound's wall with a deal. Vampires are starving. Help feed them in exchange for protection from the other undead menace.
|
Bloodhaven.
A massive fortress of a city that had grown from the tiny shopping mall we had cleared out and now loomed over the central valley like a dark lords castle. The fertile land that had once surrounded it was now a thick forest that had grown with super natural speed.
Turns out zombies were great fertilizer.
Ever since we made that desperate deal as some of the last humans on earth, the vampires haven't been hiding, save to avoid the sun. They quickly became our leaders, escorting more survivors to the growing settlements in exchange for more and more blood.
They handled the fighting.
We were left with everything else. They told us to farm, produce food, to make off springs.
It should have been fine.
It should have been fine.
Zombies didn't show up to Bloodhaven anymore.
It should have been fine.
But it wasn't.
Deserters were hunted down and killed their families drain in front of them or turned into feral vampire creatures that murdered without reason in search for blood.
We were slaves.
I leaned back against the tree sucking on an orange as I allowed my body to recover from it's most recent draining. Chances are they'd increase tribute once again in the coming years. They wanted to keep us too weak to run to weak to fight back.
There was a reason they had been in hiding before the zombies after all.
A twig snapped from behind me and I jumped to my feet my heart pounding at the thought of a zombie showing up. Instead what I saw was worse. Covered in fur standing on two legs their hulking frames were nearly twice that of a normal man's.
They stared at me.
I them.
"Ahh," I said slowly still aware of the sun on my back. "Werewolves I presume?"
The first nodded and stepped to the side making way for a shirtless man that commanded respect. He spoke with a rough snarl "do you want to fight back?"
He gestured towards bloodhaven.
"Want to be free?"
|
The smell of death is thick in the air, suffocating all who dare venture close to the border of the compound and causing all those within a miles radius to crinkle their nose. The source is obvious: stacks of maggot-coated limbs and torsos arranged like great walls around the perimeter of our land.
That wasn't the initial plan. At first, we'd tried to burn the bodies. Yet, since "The Pact", there were simply too many to burn. Instead, we'd had to make use of them - After all, even before the outbreak recycling was a key part of life. The vampires agreed, of course - They agreed with everything we said, so long as we gave them our blood. In fact, they even built the walls. It's not like they can catch any diseases from the corpses anyway. Atlhough I can't imagine it was a pleasant job.
Suddenly, my arm tenses. I stop looking from the window and watch as the blood surrounding the two little punctures in my arm miraculously congeals. Dracs stands up, stretching before wiping a spot of blood from his pale lips.
"I can feel the strength coming back to me already," he sighs before offering me his hand and pulling me up.
"Shall we get to it then?"
I nod, still a little weak from the loss of blood.
We leave the blood donating room, exiting from the clinically clean box of a room (furnished with only a chair), into the musty corridors of Bassett Hall. While we try to clean the house, it is old, and the cobwebs always persist, decorating the fading blue walls. Additionally, dust continues to sit deep in the rich red carpets, with no vacuum cleaners left to draw it out. A spider falls onto my arm; I swat it away. Sometimes, it feels like the spider population is increasing at the rate the human population is collapsing. From further down the corridor comes the sound of the kitchen staff shouting and the clattering of kitchenware. Upstairs, there's laughter from the designated dorm and recreation rooms. From the far end of the house, someone wails in our makeshift infirmary.
Entering the entrance hall, the carpet changes to glimmering white tiles, and the roof is much taller. A golden chandelier hangs over us, and opposite the front door is a double staircase leading to the upper floors. Before the outbreak, anyone would say we were living it large. Yet, I would trade every gram of gold and wealth in the house for a proper meal and a full stomach. Although, the size of the building allows for at least some personal space, especially before the vampires came. That's something to be grateful for - I'm sure the sods still alive in the cities would kill for such a luxury.
Dracs and I exit the house. Immediately, the stench of death strengthens. Yet, out here, it is silent save for the murmuring of the farmers as they painstakingly work the land.
We walk a little through the rolling grass fields towards the wall that stands several hundred meters from the hall. Suddenly, there is a tearing sound and a female figure bursts into existence before us. Her hair is styled in a similar fashion to a 90s punk star, and she wears a ragged-looking trench coat to accompany her ragged-looking attire.
"Good afternoon, Mary," I say.
"Pulled the short straw again?" She laughs, looking at my arm. "I swear no one else has to donate blood on the same day as baiting."
"Tell me about it," I grumble. "Well, let's get it over with."
Dracs, Mary, and I then walk together, nearing the wall which stands five foot high. We stop at a small storage shack, from which Dracs takes a rectangular metal cage about six feet in height. Effortlessly, he straps it to his back (the cage looking almost small compared to his broad 8-foot frame).
Mary lifts me up, putting me snugly in the cage and locking it.
"Here we go," Mary cries.
My ears pop, my heart skips a beat, and my stomach drops as if I'm falling. Then, in the blink of an eye, we're standing on the other side of the wall.
Quickly, the two vampires leave, hiding in a small block of trees.
"It's show time," I mutter to myself.
Zombies are drawn to sound and human flesh. At the start of the pandemic, that was why the worst hoards were in the cities. Yet, once the urban areas were ravaged, the monsters had to start going to quieter regions to find their much-desired flesh. Soon, hoards travelled cross-country, straining their rotting ears for sounds only humans can make. By the third year of the apocalypse, most of the population was dead, and zombies wandered every corner of the world. Suddenly, being the only place where humans dwelled for hundreds of miles, our base at Bassett Hall became a core attraction for many hoards of zombies. The vampires saved us. Yet, even so, a big enough army of Z's would strain our defences or even end us, so we started baiting. That's what I'm doing now: Luring the zombies to be slaughtered before they can form too big a hoard.
I begin, wacking the bars of the cage so they clang and shouting so loudly my throat goes raw. A minute later, the hunched figures of the undead appear on the horizon, hobbling towards me with intense desire. An hour later, the cage is swarmed as they try and fit their grubby hand through the bars like children reaching for free sweets.
Now, I stand tense and straight, waiting for the vampire duo to do their job.
CRACK.
Like lighting, the two strike the mini hoard, tearing through the bodies as a car breaks through the snow. Black blood splatters me, painting me like modern art, and, despite experience, I still find myself shaking and scrunching my face up as if I was a human pug.
Soon, the Z's all lie dead, their heads struck from their bodies, their torsos and limbs ready for the wall.
This is why we signed "The Pact." After all, the vampires may be creepy, pale, and drink our blood, but nothing quite matches their awe-inspiring power. We need them as they need us, and until the day all the Z's are wiped from the Earth, and maybe a little longer, our truce with them will stand.
| 2022-10-27T09:39:28 | 2022-10-27T09:19:34 | 50 | 31 |
[WP] how you die and the treatment of your body determines what happens to your soul, due to the bizarre circumstances of your death you find yourself in the jurisdiction of an ancient and obscure god.
E.g. last rights and a catholic funeral would mean your soul goes to heaven, hell or limbo as per the bible.
|
“Dear god, I’ve been shot!” I cried. My blood dripped onto the crisp autumn leaves and my vision swam. I crumpled to the forest floor, gasping. I could faintly hear the hunter’s panicked voice trying to assure me, or maybe just himself, that everything would be okay. The world blurred and slowed. Everything plunged into darkness.
After what felt like an eternity, a small spot of green light appeared. It grew, flower like, blooming into more tendrils of green until an entire forest had materialized around me. My fear faded a little. I was still in the woods. But why wasn’t I bleeding everywhere? Where had the hunter gone? I peered into the dense brush, confused.
An enormous stag stepped out of the foliage before me. Despite his size, there was no sound of his body against the leaves or his hooves against the ground. Slowly, gracefully, he approached me. He lowered his massive head, his antlers mere inches away from my face.
“Another one?” the deer asked. His voice was strong and clear. He studied me with what appeared to be bemusement. “Tell me, human, why is it that so many of your kind use your final breath to call upon the deer god?”
|
The world was empty.
Snow fell from a grey sky. At the edge of the world Siobhan could see the Sun. It let out weak rays of light.
The world was very quiet.
"Help!" She yelled. The sound vanished in the distance. It dis not echo.
"Help!" She didn't want to freeze.
The wind picked up, it tore though her clothes - a light jacket and jeans with canvas shoes.
When she realised she should be wet, she was suddenly cold and shivering.
There was nothing for it. She walked toward the Sun.
There was no sign of life. Nothing marred the surface of the white expance except her footsteps. They stretched behind her all the way to the horizon. Siobhan would have remembered walking that far, she was sure.
Very subitlely the landscape changed. The snow was flat in places. As she pushed through a bit more, she stumbled onto a road.
Well, it was a path a least.
There was nothing for it. She followed the trail. The further she walked the more the wind cut into her skin.
Siobhan came upon the door suddenly. It was wood, hand and so dark it was almost black. When she touched the iron ring it was so cold it burned.
The door creaked opened. She was suddenly flooded with warmth.
"Come in and shut the bloody door." Someone called.
Siobhan moved as fast as she could. The door was easier to close than open.
It was a foyer. Tiled floors, brass lamps, stern paintings on the wall. The place belonged in a period drama.
There was a man waiting. He was dressed in old clothes as well. Somewhere in his thirties or late twenties.
"You've done it too?" He asked.
"I suppose so." Siobhan replied.
They stood awkwardly for a while. Siobhan could hear a clock ticking somewhere.
"Is there anyone else here?"
The man shook his head. "Used to be a whole ship full of them, but the Vikings came fifty years ago and took them. Argumant was they died on the sea. Works as well as anything else."
"Oh. I'm Siobhan." Her made to shake his hand. He paused for a moment then shook it.
"Lawrence. My friends call me Titus. "
Siobhan laughed. "That's a hell of a name. But..."
"Fifty years?" Titus. He grinned. "Don't you know where you are?"
"It looks like Earth."
"It does, doesn't it?"
"Which means it isn't." Siobhan looked at the flickering lamps. "Did I die? I must have."
"Well, yes." Titus nodded. "Under very specific circumstances. But come in. There is a fire in the sitting room."
Siobhan followed him. There were thick curtains but she doubted there were windows underground.
Titus poured out some tea. It was hot and strong.
"Are you a god, then?"
"No. No, I'm not."
"Well, you've met Vikings. Not sure normal people do that."
"We're dead. Going to meet all sorts."
Siobhan took a sip. The heat landed heavily in her stomach.
"Where did you die?"
"We both died..."
"Yes, I know. Did I die in a skiing accident?"
Titus shrugged. "I don't know. I froze to death on the bottom of the world."
"Wait. 'I am just going outside and may be some time'. That's you, right?"
"More or less."
"But I didn't die in snow. It was red."
"Red and cold?" Titus looked confused. "Africa, maybe?"
"No. I've never been to Africa."
They drank their tea for a time.
"Does 'off world' mean anything to you?"
Titus frowned. "I assumed it implies leaving this plane. Off the world."
"No, no. It's more literal. I think. Why aren't there more people here? Lots of people freeze to death."
Titus sighed. "We've died in the godless lands."
"What do you mean? Isn't God everywhere."
"I thought so. I'm a godly man, Siobhan. And you must be too. I've been to Ireland."
Siobhan sighed. "I'm quite lapsed. But this isn't heaven then."
"We've lucked out. God is as tied to his customs, as is all of the gods. We have died outside of their ken."
Siobhan drank some more. "So I dead alone then? That's all?"
Titus laughed. "You've succumbed to the cold in a place no man has ever been."
"No one." Siobhan corrected. "Me being a woman and all."
"Yes, yes."
"You died on the Ross Ice Shelf."
"Really? That's something. Where did you die?"
"I don't know, really. Tharsis? It was a canyon. Red and yellow. There were Americans there."
"Perhaps out west? It gets cold at night."
"No. It was daylight."
"Off world." Titus muttered. "You can't die twice."
"Maybe I died in space."
Titus snorted. "I think enough creatures have died in space that there's a God for them."
"Like the Surrender 3."
Titus put his cup down and cracked his back.
"The what?"
"The secondary satellite probe. Seventeen on board. It depressurised halfway to the moon. Got a hail from Auckland."
"You're saying you died in space, but not in space."
Siobhan almost dropped her cup. "Shit, Titus. I think I died on Mars."
| 2015-01-15T07:39:33 | 2015-01-15T06:11:33 | 34 | 15 |
[WP] Heaven doesn't know how you died, only that all souls fall into three categories: Homicide, Suicide, Natural Causes. Upon your arrival at the pearly gates, your name is incorrectly listed as a suicide.
I'm envisioning a lot of "prove your way into heaven" posts, but I can also see a broader "Discussion with the supposedly infallible" angle.
|
The man frowned, moving to the Homicide line for the umpteenth time. He knew it wouldn't do any good - they'd just send him back to the Suicide line.
And the Suicide line, of course, would send him back to Homicide, just as they had for the past... how long had he been here? Days, maybe? Months, years? Time was different here. At this point, he would even have settled for Hell.
He sighed, and ran his hand through his hair.
The afterlife, it seemed, had not been designed to accomodate assisted suicide.
|
"Excuse me?" I asked, incredulous.
"I'm sorry, do you think there has been some sort of mistake?" Peter asked, looking down from his ethereal podium.
"Well...yes, actually. How could my death be listed as a suicide? I'm pretty sure I remember dying at the ripe old age of 85, surrounded by my remaining family and friends...now that I think about it, that's awfully cliche, huh?"
"But a beautiful end nonetheless, one that most never get to experience." There was a long pause as Peter glanced down at the seemingly endless papers in front of him, still piling on. "If you'll allow me a moment, I can review your case, and see if we've...misjudged you."
"I'd really appreciate that. I don't necessarily care what happens to my soul regardless, I just don't want to be given a label to wear for eternity that I don't deserve, you know?" I realized how oddly demanding I was sounding, to St. Peter of all people, and my words trailed off as he began shuffling through some of the papers.
"Let's see, Jonathan Waters...you did live quite a virtuous life. Never caused harm when it wasn't absolutely necessary, always thought of others before yourself...hmm, maybe that's the problem...I'm sorry, once again, but it appears you've been classified correctly. Suicide, January 21st, 2015. There is nothing I can do."
At this point, my confusion was replaced by anger. "Look, I don't mean to be rude here Pete, but I didn't fuc- I didn't kill myself. I know that for a godd- I just know it, alright? I died peacefully, without a worry in the world. I was even looking forward to this place, as unsure as I was that it actually existed..."
"I suppose I can explain a bit further. See, we may not know exactly how you died, but He does. He sees everything. And alongside all of your good deeds and righteous choices, He sees exactly how you lived your life. In your twenty-third year you started drinking, and it appears you never stopped. In your thirtieth year, you picked up smoking, as a way to cope with your impending middle ages. And once again, you never stopped. But the most damning thing of all appears to be, ironically enough, your love. Your first love, in fact. I could even say your only love, because from what I can see, you never stopped loving her."
At this moment, it all came back to me. The partying, the drinking, the endless cigarette butts on my nightstand...but most of all, her. She appeared as a light in my head, vaguely human shaped, but so much more. I felt like crying. And I remembered my very last day on Earth.
"I...I could feel myself slipping away the previous few weeks, so I was ready to go, but...I needed to see her, just one last time. So I held on. I waited for her. And she never came. The day I died...I chose to let go, didn't I? I just wanted the pain to end, Peter...it was unbearable."
"I know. He knows, too. The thing about these classifications...they're all technicalities. All souls are welcome here in Heaven, no matter the cause of death. So don't fret, I'm not damning you to an eternity in Hell. Your soul will live on in Paradise."
"...really? So it doesn't matter that I basically threw my life away?"
"No. In fact, in a twist of fate you could only find in the real world, you were going to die the next day, no matter what. You simply chose your own fate, which I have to admit, is admirable." Peter smiled for the first time since he laid eyes on me.
Struggling for words, I utter, "I'm not really sure what to say, now. Should I just go? Is there anything else I should know regarding my death, my time on Earth, anything?"
"Well...you won't like it, but you deserve to know after all of this confusion. There's a reason she never made it to you. She was on her way to see you, one last time, when a car struck hers, killing her instantly. She passed through here not long before you. Now, like I said, all these are just technicalities, but her death is listed here as a homicide."
"Of course it is, some assh- some idiot killed her...that makes more sense than my classification, anyway..." I grumble under my breath.
"...You should probably just take a look at this, Jon. Just remember, technicalities."
Peter held out a single sheet of paper for me to see. On it was her name, Deborah Parker. Category: Homicide. Perpetrator: Jonathan Waters.
| 2015-01-21T08:46:59 | 2015-01-21T08:46:52 | 42 | 30 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Bryce Morrison thought he had it all: a loving wife, a charming son, and a satisfying job. Yet there was something that nagged at him - a constant feeling that he wasn't good enough.
On The Day of the Mugs, his suspicions appeared to be confirmed. "#598,432 Dad." The jarring bold words remained seared in his memory throughout the day, clouding every action and every word.
After work, Bryce returned to an empty house. Marie was out for dinner with friends and Billy had soccer practice. Perhaps a few hours of SportsCenter would help ease his mind. But alas, there came a sudden knock at the door.
"Hey there, bud!"
Bryce opened the door to discover Tom Gilbert, a fellow father from across the street. He clutched a mug in his hand that read "#49,534 Dad."
"I was just wonderin' if you had any interest in a nice homemade hamburger. We've got some leftovers from the cookout."
Bryce narrowed his eyes. "Actually, I was thinking of cooking a bit myself. Mind if I drop by?"
Tom took a sip of his drink and lifted an eyebrow. "Uhhh...sure. By all means."
Bryce ran back to the kitchen and pulled a fresh ground beef patty out of a refrigerator drawer. He bolted across the street, dropped the patty on Tom's grill, and started to cook it. *This'll be the best damn burger ever made,* he thought. *I'll show that smug bastard.*
It was, by all accounts, a pretty damn good burger. Tom took a bite and gave him the thumbs up.
***
The next morning, Bryce's mug read "#432,726."
Not good enough.
Bryce asked to take his vacation early, left a note for the family, and began searching for every potential dad in the county. He went to small businesses, office buildings, parks and parking lots, challenging anyone that would listen. He fixed motors, went fly fishing, played 30 rounds of golf and showed impeccable taste in microbreweries.
As the week progressed, his rank continued to climb. But at a certain point - roughly 200,000 - it plateaued.
For a moment, Bryce was tempted to smash the mug, right then and there. He tried some more Dad Tasks - refurbishing a porch, buying a new polo wardrobe - but nothing worked. The rank plummeted, and soon it was back in the range of 500,000.
Bryce drove home, dejected. He'd been texting Marie throughout the week, but she didn't seem to understand the nature of his quest. Then again, how could she?
His wife and son embraced him the moment he stepped inside.
"Daddy, I missed you!" Billy cried, dropping his Lego truck to the ground. Marie looked understandably irritated but kissed him on the cheek nonetheless.
Bryce sighed. "I just couldn't stand it. I never thought I was a good dad, and that mug proved it."
Marie chuckled and shook her head. "What's a number got to do with anything?"
Billy hugged his father's leg. "I love you no matter what, Daddy!"
Bryce smiled and patted him on the head.
Over the next few days, the rank on the mug slowly began to climb again, but it sat dormant in a kitchen cabinet. Within a week, Bryce forgot it had ever existed.
*I might not be perfect,* he decided. *But I'm good enough.*
***
Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites.
|
The kids bullied my daughter because of me. This I already knew. I was the reason Angie came home with timid steps and snuck off to her room without saying hi.
I made a fist as the soft patter of her footsteps disappeared down the hall. Kids were cruel and life even crueler. Angie had done nothing to deserve a father like me. I had been born completely blind and with my balding head, my pendulum cane, and sunglasses worn even at night, I made for quite the spectacle—one that Angie paid for everyday in her middle-school classroom.
“What’s wrong with your dad?” they would ask her. “Why does he walk so funny?”
“There’s nothing wrong with him!” she would snap back and in her frustration, they found weakness.
“*My* dad doesn’t need a cane to walk. *My* dad doesn’t wear sunglasses at night. *My* dad isn’t blind!”
My phone buzzed in rapid secession three times. It was time for work. I pushed myself out of my seat and grabbed my cane. I paused as I passed Angie’s room.
“Hey, honey,” I tried. “I’m going off to work now, everything okay today at school?”
No response. I couldn’t even hear the sound of her breaths. She didn’t want to talk.
I offered her a smile which she wouldn't be able to see, but I hoped it sounded through my words. “I love you Ange, I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep tight.”
And then I left. A dad who not only got her daughter bullied in school, but ran off to work when her daughter needed him the most. But who else would pay the bills? And was that really a good enough excuse to abandon my little girl? Tears welled up in my useless eyes as I started my cane in its rhythmic pendulum swing.
---
I worked security at a small law firm. People would think that being at the front desk would require some sort of sight, but I recognized every voice that came into the building and I could hear people’s lies through the tremble of their breaths. The other lawyers joked that I was like a drug dog for lies.
“Hey,” Aaron said, his footsteps approaching. “You get one of these yet?”
I glanced up at his voice. “Let me see.”
He let out a small chuckle and held it toward me. I grabbed it and realized that it was a mug. I felt around its smooth edges and frowned.
“A mug? I already have one,” I said.
“No, that’s a *World’s Greatest Dad* mug. It shows your ranking in terms of being a good dad.”
I felt the edge again. Still nothing. “Hey, congrats on being the world’s greatest dad.”
“What?” Aaron’s voice inflected up. He was on the verge of laughing again. “Me? The best? Yeah right. I was lucky to be in the top 50% which isn’t that hard considering that some dads are in jail.”
I gave Aaron a smile. “Congrats on above-average then.”
“Thanks. Let me see if I can get you one, you got yourself a little girl, don’t you?”
I nodded. “Thanks,” I said, but Aaron wasn’t the giving type. He was the competitive type and I knew all he wanted was to see someone ranked lower than himself.
So let’s compare the blind dad to every other dad in the world. I’d be lucky to hit average.
---
The mug was coming in the mail. An extended holiday weekend meant I had five days before it got here and in that time, I had to hit number one. If people were making fun of Angie because of her dad, then I’d just have to prove that her dad was the best.
My phone buzzed again, this time twice. It was time to go home. In three hours, Angie would wake up for school and I had to be ready by then.
---
“Dad? You’re still awake?” Angie asked and yawned.
“Yeah, got home early from work so I slept earlier.” I said, which of course, was a lie. I hadn’t slept at all. “Take a seat, breakfast is almost ready.”
I listened for the sizzle and pop of the bacon. It was getting close.
“What is this? Are we celebrating something?”
I always woke up for breakfast with Angie but that was usually a time for toast and conversation. Now I had diced fruit, fluffy pancakes, and an assortment of toast and jelly options splayed out on the table.
“Nothing in particular,” I told her. “Hey, after school, why don’t we go that new amusement park that opened up? You’ve been wanting to go haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” Angie said, caution in her voice. “But last I checked, we’re still poor.”
I shrugged. “I found the money. I’ll pick you up after school and we can walk to a bus stop together.”
“Okay, dad.” Though she was still wary, no nine-year old girl would pass up a day at the amusement park.
I nodded. “It’s a date.” and I could feel her rolling her eyes.
She was right though, we *were* still poor. But all that meant was I had to start working the mornings as well as the nights. I could find an hour and two in between to sleep and the rest of the time would be either on the clock or with Angie.
There were zoos to see, aquariums to wander, clothes to buy, and through it all, I had to make sure that Angie was having the time of her life.
I took a small breath and turned off the stove. “Bacon’s ready. Dig in.”
---
---
Angie held the mug in her lap. It was wrapped in cheap paper. Her dad sat on the couch, watching her, listening for her breaths.
The past five days had been strange to say the least. Every day was a new adventure. The first day was at an amusement park where her dad had even let her buy Dipping Dots. She had bought an extra-large serving. The second day was at the zoo where her dad had bought whatever animal feed she had asked for. So she had fed half the animals in the petting zoo. On the third day, he had offered for her to swim with the dolphins. She wanted to, but told him no. Money didn't grow from trees and even if it did, she was too short and him too blind to reach it.
That day, he had fallen asleep on the bus, mid-conversation. And in his sleep, his breaths had become labored and his smile dropped. It took so much tugging to wake him up that they almost missed their stop.
She had been having the time of her life, but it didn’t seem the same with her dad. And though he sled and exclaimed and laughed, she could hear it in the wilt of his words and the small strained breaths he took when he didn’t think she was in earshot. After all, she was almost as good a lie detector as he. And he was beyond tired.
“What’s it say?” he asked her. “Is it a good number?”
Angie swallowed and unwrapped the mug. She had a suspicion what this was about. Her dad always blamed himself for the bullying. He had always thought if only he weren’t blind, everything would be okay and sometimes, even Angie believed that.
But it wasn’t true. Her dad wasn’t the reason kids were mean.
The ceramic felt cool to touch. She looked at the words. Her eyes widened and a swell of air caught in her throat.
“Dad,” she nearly whispered. “You made number one!”
Her father let loose a single exhausted breath. “Good,” he muttered. “Now the other kids won’t be able to make fun of you anymore.” His words waned and his eyes closed as he slowly drifted to sleep.
Angie held the mug in her hand, rubbing her thumb along its surface. It was completely smooth.
She ran off and found a permanent marker and crossed out the *10233*. In its place she wrote *1*.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| 2021-11-17T12:05:14 | 2017-06-11T06:24:06 | 4,068 | 771 |
[WP] You work as a bookie for gamblers with rich blood. One day a man comes to you and puts down a fortune on a ridiculous bet. But this is the moment you've been waiting for. You shove him against the wall. "TTPD!" You shout. "You are under arrest for time-traveling for your own personal gain!"
|
It is rare for recruits to do their first arrest so quick. Finding offenders is a hard task.
As you place the handcuffs on him, the race is nearing the end. As Chance overtakes Thunder, you understand your mistake: this was a rudiculous bet, yes... but also a loosing one.
The man started laughing and let out a faint whisper: "seems like the butterfly flapped his wings one too many times".
At this moment you realised your mistake: This was not a time offender, or at least not the one you expected.
You look around you: several people have their cellphones out streaming live the incident.
"What is he under arrest for again?" Yell one man.
"Go on, say it one more time for my followers!" Add another.
Seems in all your excitement you forgot about a few very important rules...
What will you do?
- Let him there and go back in time to start over. [Go to page 92.]
- Wait for the real police to come. [Go to page 43.]
- Try to escape the Time Locked crowd and bring your prisonner back to the temporal HQ. [Go to page 12]
- Appologize and let him go [Go to page 1935]
|
Arthur Flint sat in a too hard chair in a casino three hundred years from home and watched her approach. That’s not to say he was special or that they were alone, every man in every room Ava had ever walked through had turned towards her, in that respect Arthur’s intense stare was the most normal thing he could have done. What was less so was the hand in his desk, fingers wrapped around a period accurate .45, and the transmitter sewn into his jacket pocket, reporting his physical condition and location to the future at all times.
He’d been waiting on this meeting a long time, and hidden deep in Ava’s stunning smile was the fact she was too.
“Hello,” she said brightly, “I’d like to put a million on the Colts to beat the Packers this weekend.” The room was pin drop silent, in 1950 the Baltimore Colts were one of the worst teams football had ever seen, undoubtedly all of this era’s men in the room had just made some horrifically generic comment in their heads about beauty and brains. Arthur Flint knew better, it was his job to know.
“TTPD!” he shouted, rising smoothly from his chair, gun in hand. A holographic badge appeared on his chest as the bystanders in the room attempted to run for doors that were already locking themselves. A can of Retcon!™ waited in the back to deal with that problem. “You are under arrest for time traveling for your personal gain!”
Ava thought she managed her shock perfectly, blue eyes widening just so, the appropriate level of gasp leaving her lips. She had wanted to be an actress in her youth.
“Down on the ground, hands behind your back!” Arthur continued to shout, moving around the desk, pulling magcuffs from his belt as he approached.
“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” Ava shouted tearfully, “this is all just some misunderstanding I swear!”
It was going so perfectly for Arthur until an unknown man detached himself from a corner of the room, powering up a laser baton. The cop was out in one clean strike to the back of the head, his unconscious body falling heavily across Ava, eliciting the first genuine reaction she’d had this whole time.
“Terrence you damn brute, did you have to wait until he was right on top of me!” she squealed from beneath their target. “Get him off of me you idiot!”
“Sorry ma’am.” Terrence was a man of few words.
Finally free Ava dusted off her too tight red dress and kicked off the high heels this era mandated she wear, one of them hitting the time cop in the side of the head. She was not sorry.
“Ok, grab him and lets get out of here.” Ava said, composure regained. The family had entrusted her with this after all, she was not about to let them down. As Terrence leaned down to pick up Arthur she pulled a small metallic wand from her purse, playing its light up and down the cop’s body to kill off any hidden electronics he may have. Then, gathering up her shoes and any other paraphernalia they may have left she squeezed close to her bodyguard’s hulking form, the slim cop in his arms, and the trio faded out of existence to the horrified screams of the casino’s patrons.
The trio rematerialized in a dank basement that Ava would never have set foot in under any circumstances but she breathed the air greedily all the same. They were back home in the 24th century.
As Terrence attended to his duties, tying up the prison, readying his tools of “persuasion,” Ava crossed to the small pile of clothing she had left in the room for this very purpose. She stripped without compunction, trading the dress she hated for a loose jumpsuit made of a strangely yellowed plasticized material and slipped into flat, comfortable shoes. She was ready for the interrogation.
Several minutes later and with a tremendous groan, Arthur woke. The world around him swam, he thought he could feel a presence behind him but he wasn’t sure. In front of them however, was a face the cop did recognize. Ava sat straddling a wheeled chair, her arms across the back and her chin resting on them. She played a finger idly across the faux-leather as she watched him.
“Good, you’re awake! I’m glad we didn’t hurt you too badly Art. Can I call you Art?”
“You’re making a big mistake Ava,” he said, coughing hard. Those batons really did a number on you.
“Oh my name’s not Ava,” she said, smiling. “And I don’t think we are. You see, the people I work for have gotten extremely annoyed at your department’s meddling, and we’ve got some questions about how you people always seem to know where we’re going. Now Art, we can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way,” she chuckled at her cliche “and personally I’d really prefer it was the easy way. I really want you in one piece at the end of this.”
“And why the hell would you care about me?” Arthur asked.
Ava stood and approached the cop’s bound form, coming up to his right side and sinking into a low crouch beside him. She stroked the side of his face so tenderly it made Arthur’s blood boil.
“Because I want to turn you,” Ava said as if it were the most logical thing in the world. “Haven’t you ever wanted to work for the mob?”
\-----------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/)! I'm currently working on a serial about a savescumming superhero and I've got other fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. I'd love you have you!
| 2020-12-31T08:19:32 | 2020-12-31T08:09:43 | 113 | 81 |
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries
|
Trying to come up with a world for Dungeons and Dragons wasn't easy. I had spent several days figuring out how to make it work, as I wanted my campaign to go well. But I was having difficulty with the pantheon of gods. Some came easily, like Relmoz, The Nights Embrace. But others were harder. Not only that, I was trying to create a list of offerings to be made, and ritualistic sayings.
"Hmmm. How about.. Accept this gift, Sotuna, Mother of Light, and bless those who stand before me? Yeah, that works."
I muttered to myself as I worked. It sounded good, but needed a motion with it. I looked around, before picking up one of my dice as a prop. I held it in a fist, clenching it over my heart.
"Accept this gift, Sotana, Mother of Light, and bless those who stand before me."
I nodded, satisfied with it. I went to write it down, absentmindedly putting the dice to the side. With the saying in place, I happened to glance at my prop. It had starting glowing a soft white, despite being a simple black d20. I picked it up, confused.
"What the..?"
It wrenched itself from my hand, flying through the air. But it stopped as soon as it began, held in a hand of glowing silver. I followed it up, my gaze taking in the spectacle before me. She stood taller than I, her skin that same silver. She wore a flowing dress of white, like a wedding dress. It's details were incredibly delicate, the likes of which could only be dreamt of. Her hair was a very pale blonde, almost white itself. But her eyes were molten orange, much like the heart of a star.
She was the very picture of serene beauty, as though no matter what, she could provide warmth and comfort. That lasted for a brief moment, before she burst towards me, wrapping me in a hug. She bounced up and down, lifting me up without any apparent effort.
"You called me! Oh merciful me! Thank you thank you thank you!"
I struggled to get my thoughts in a line. A strange woman, who was apparently made of silver, was currently holding me up in a hug. Not only that, she had appeared out of nowhere. I looked down, eeking out a breath from the bear hug I was in.
"Am I dead?"
I half expected to see myself slumped on the ground. But instead it was just my room as before. As my words escaped she stilled, putting me down.
"Dead? Why would you be dead? I'm the Goddess of life and Healing..."
I shook my head in disbelief.
"I'm sorry, you're a goddess?"
She nodded frantically.
"Yes, of course! And you called me..."
I frowned, looking at my notes.
"I... was making up a world. Fiction. How can you..."
She let out a shaking breath, returning to her previous calm demeanour. She looked down at my notes, her face crossing between shock, wonder and joy.
"Oh. I see. You thought you were making things up. But by some cosmic coincidence, you found a way to call me."
"So... wait... you are actually Sotana? You're actually a Goddess?"
Her smile widened.
"I am indeed. And you are the first to call on me in several thousand years."
She held up my dice, as it glowed.
"This is an interesting offering, which I shall gladly accept. But you need to sit down."
I narrowed my eyes at her.
"Why?"
Her expression became amused.
"Because you are going to collapse from shock."
Sure enough, I felt the world start to spin away. As I fell, I felt arms of warmth catch me, and her voice in my ear.
"Worry not. I shall look after you now, my dear friend."
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 1: Clara Olsen v.s. A'to)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"A'ti! A'ti! A'ti! I summon thee!"**
Asking for help was hard. Throughout my long career, I'd always been the hero, the savior, the one who took the fall. I was no stranger to being stuck in unwanted situations, but normally, I escaped them under my own power, maybe with the hand of a friend or two.
"A'tj! A'tj! A'tj! I summon thee!"
Until the trouble got deeper than I could handle, and my friends got hurt trying to bail me out.
"A'tk! A'tk! A'tk! I summon thee!"
So this time, I wasn't asking my friends for help. But I was still trapped in a government facility with no legal way out, and I wasn't escaping without an extra hand.
"A'tl! A'tl! A'tl! I summon thee!"
Fortunately, I knew a thing or two about getting a hand in tough times.
"A'tm! A'tm! A'tm! I summon thee!"
There were so many gods, goddesses, deities, cosmic beings, devils, angels, demigods, quasigods, hemisemiwemigods, and more out there that you could hardly say a sentence without invoking a divine name. Normally, this wasn't much of a problem, since you needed deliberate repetition in a ritual circle to invoke a deity.
"A'tn! A'tn! A'tn! I summon thee!"
But if someone with nothing better to do stood in a ritual circle for six hours and started chanting *every possible combination of letters* in the hope of striking a divine name... well, eventually, you'd make contact with something.
"A'to! A'to! A'to! I summon thee!"
And make contact I did. On the one thousand, two hundred and eleventh name I tried, I made contact with... whoever the deity A'to was, I guess.
I felt a psychic *weight* on my mind as the entity coalesced beside me in the ritual circle. Since I had absolutely no idea what I was summoning, I'd gone with the bare basics—a simple circle drawn with a Sharpie that I'd requested "for paperwork" from the government spooks keeping me half-prisoner, half-employee. The barebones simplicity of the ritual circle meant that whatever I was making contact with would barely have any presence in this plane—not enough to boil my eyeballs out of my head or anything—but I would at least be able to talk. I could be facing anything from a ravening monster outside space and time to a war-god of a long-forgotten empire. I straightened up, readying myself to converse with divinity—
"*Omigosh* do you have *any* idea how long I was waiting for someone to remember my name? Hi hi hi I'm A'to and I'm so happy to meet you and *please don't send me back into the void!*" A little girl popped into existence, talking so breathlessly she looked like she could faint.
...Great.
I knelt down to the girl's height and sighed. The smart thing to do would be to banish this goddess—a desperate goddess starved for power wasn't going to help me break out—and continue linearly marching down namespace until I found someone more useful. But I could *feel* the anxiety radiating off of her—I wasn't going to just turn her away.
Besides, I was hardly the only person who was in a dire enough situation that they would start chanting random divine names in the hopes of escaping. Chances were, all the really helpful entities were already bound in other pacts. Maybe this was the best shot I was going to get.
"Don't worry, A'to, I'm not sending you anywhere," I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She shivered as I said her name, like I'd placed a drop of water to her lips in the desert. "Keep it down, though, okay? I'm... not exactly friendly with my employers at the moment. They probably wouldn't like it if they saw me summoning deities in the basement."
"Of course! I'll be quiet now. Quiet like a mouse." The girl's voice dropped to a whisper, and I couldn't help but smile.
She reminded me of my daughter.
"So... your employers?" A'to tilted her head. "Is that why you summoned me? Are you being held captive?"
I hesitated. "...Sort of. I... my family was accused of a crime that we didn't commit. The government offered me a deal. Working for them in exchange for me and the people I love—" My voice caught, and I took a breath. "In exchange for them being free of persecution. But... the government is... well. They're many things. But they're not *good*."
"I could punch them for you!" A'to made a "pow!" noise as she swung her little fist. "Knock all the bad guys out!"
God, even her antics reminded me of... the last girl who tried that. "They have guns," I whispered. "Big guns. They hurt—they'll hurt you if you try."
A'to smiled sadly. "I'm a goddess. A weak one, yeah, but still. I've been around for longer than you have. I'm no stranger to pain."
I didn't have to look into those eyes, young in age and old in years, to know she was telling the truth. It radiated off her like heat from a fire.
"Still." I shook my head. "I'm not asking you... I'm not asking *anyone* to get hurt on my behalf. I *have* allies. Hundreds of friends, millions of citizens I could reach in an instant. The Feds let me have internet access—I could put out an email and have an army of civilians knocking at the Feds' door. I could be free." I closed my eyes. "And it would bring down the wrath of the government on my friends and family and those I'd sworn to protect."
"Back when I was *real* strong, I could bust you out of here easy." A'to flicked her hair out of her face, the light coming back into her eyes. "Call down lightning from the skies and *blam*! Bad guys go boom."
I paused. "Back when you were real strong?"
"Yeah. Tens of thousands of people prayed to the Sky-Child." A'to put a faux-modest hand on her heart. "I used to be kinda a big deal."
"So was I," I muttered.
A'to sighed. "I just... I just want to be remembered."
And that was when it hit me.
"Tens of thousands," I muttered. "And... this prayer. What... what exactly did it entail?"
"Hm? A dance and a song, that's all."
A dance and a song.
Slowly, a smile crept across my face.
I took out my phone and opened it up to the apps the Feds let me use. Harmless ones that I'd claimed I needed for entertainment. YouTube, TikTok, Reddit.
A dance and a song.
"And if, say, tens of thousands of people were to perform that dance? A hundred thousand? A million?"
A'to paused, frowning. "Well. I'd be back in business."
I smiled and started typing.
"You want to be remembered? You want to be *seen*? Modern society has a trick or two for that."
*VIRAL DANCE CHALLENGE—99% CAN'T COMPLETE!*
"Tell me. How exactly does that dance go, again?"
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.
| 2022-02-15T11:13:45 | 2022-02-15T10:40:59 | 394 | 180 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
"All i would like, is a McDonald's ice cream"
The officers all began to laugh, until they noticed the beads of sweat forming on the forehead of an increasingly nervous warden.
"N-n-no problem stammered the warden, let me just make a few phonecalls"
He ran out of the room, and a moment later you could hear muffled yells of "I don't care if you have to go to the god damn Moon, find me a McDonald's with a working ice cream machine!"
"It sure is sunny this morning warden"
"Sure is"
"Don't feel bad warden, you gave it your best shot"
"...yep"
"Think I'll get a Big Mac warden, have yourself a good day"
|
She was a born killer. The moment she snapped she turned from hero to villain in just a matter of seconds.
Thousands of people were victimized in her warpath, and she got away with it for MONTHS. That was, until she was caught, and placed on Death Row.
Now, the world had changed drastically since she had been gone, and the death row system had evolved. The police force was even more brutal than it ever had been, and the baddest of the bad were said to have made deals with the devil.
The only reason this rumor went around was because of the new last meal rule.
They could ask for anything in the world. Anything at all. From steak dinners to apple pies to some of the impossible. But the catch? If they couldn’t find it, they were set free.
No charges.
No court hearing.
They were just let go.
This was the norm now for our government, and Horizon, the notorious hero gone bad, was out to break the execution streak. Whether the government liked it or not.
It had been months since she was first placed on Death Row, and Horizon had enough of waiting for her so called inescapable demise.
“Phoenix, I never thought that I’d be here waiting for them to ask me what my final meal would be, but here we are.” Horizon sighed as Phoenix messed around with the small holes in her blanket. Phoenix had been considered quite insane with her love for arson, spam, and a strange gecko landing her alongside her blonde psycho of a cell mate. But she didn’t mind, she actually enjoyed her company quite a lot. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually. Especially when HE found out.”
Horizon stopped brushing out her hair with her hands and looked over at her arson loving friend.
“We don’t talk about him. You know that, correct?”
Phoenix nodded, shutting her mouth.
“Alright, prisoner 103, come with us.” One of the guards tapped on the cell bars with his baton, as another opened the door, ushering for Horizon to exit the shared cell, leaving Phoenix alone.
The guards took Horizon to a dimly lit room, where she sat down at a table with a light shining over it. She was the only one inside, while the guards watched from a two way mirror.
“So. What’ll it be?” One of the guards asked the prisoner.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” The girl responded, playing dumb. The guard grumbled in frustration. “Your last supper.”
Horizon thought about it for quite sometime. No matter how many times people have requested for something simply impossible to collect, it always seems as if the chefs manage to find it. Every. Single. Time.
“Hurry it up, or we won’t get you anything.”
Horizon looked up from the table and stared. With a straight face, she answered:
“The tears of a banshee, the radishes of a Snurp, and a Devine Meal from the darkest of suns.”
The guards gulped and nodded. They had never heard of such a request, but they knew it must be done.
And so Horizon stayed there. In the room.
Alone.
Meanwhile, the chefs and hunters went day and night searching for these three things, but to no avail. No matter what world they went through, they couldn’t find what exactly was described.
“We have to give up. We don’t know where this is!” One of the hunters spoke to the head chef, who shook his head. “We cannot. Do you know what this would mean for our reputation? The girl could get out and start havoc with no consequences!”
“But sir, you have to understand—“
“BUT NOTHING.” The chef was about to continue, but he was suddenly struck down by a large dragon, who roared fiercely at the strange group before him.
“Run.”
They all ran off, leaving the injured chef there to perish.
“We need to go back. We can’t proceed with the dragon there guarding the next portal zone.” The hunter spoke up as the others reluctantly agreed.
They all went back to the previous portal zone, and made their way back to the prison.
Meanwhile, Horizon sat there, bored out of her mind, when suddenly, she heard arguing, perhaps between a few guards. They continued to argue until one of the guards walked into the room.
“…Come with us, Prisoner 103.”
She nodded, following the seemingly upset guard outside to her cell.
“Get your things. Now.”
Phoenix turned to face Horizon, who was busy getting whatever she had on her side of the cell. “What’s going on…?”
“That is none of your concern, Prisoner 104.” The guard said sternly as Horizon exited the cell once more.
“Say goodbye to your former cell mate.”
Horizon grinned maliciously and waved goodbye to the confused arsonist, before leaving the halls.
It turns out that Horizon had beat the system, and was being set free.
Though that was perhaps not the greatest thing for anyone else.
As she walked out, Horizon pressed a button, and the entire prison exploded into flames, and in the distance, someone ran up to the newly freed prisoner.
“You did it.” She said, readying her lighter.
It was a good thing that Phoenix was a part of Horizon’s clever plans.
“Sure did.”
| 2022-07-17T18:30:24 | 2022-07-17T18:09:54 | 97 | 24 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class.
|
I walked into the classroom, took a seat next to Katherine, and opened a book. She seemed surprised, eyes wide and mouth open. I couldn't really blame her. However, her expression quickly morphed into abject terror as I accidentally opened my mouth too wide. People didn't like it when I did that.
I finished the chapter, closed the book, and turned to face her. She flinched.
"Hey," I said, wincing as I spoke just a bit too deep.
"Uh...um...hi," she responded, uncertain.
"I never got to thank you properly, but last night was fun."
"Oh, I'm glad you...enjoyed it."
I looked out the window, already bored of her horrified face. You'd have thought a vampire would be less squeamish, but I was evidently wrong. Granted...I did find her squeamish face attractive. That was besides the point. I hummed a tune, realizing too late the discordant cacophony would probably burst someone's eardrums. Ugg. Getting used to this was hard.
"How...how are you still alive?" she finally asked, her fangs subconciously bared.
"Hmm...? Ahh, you mean last night. I just bought one from an eldritch god."
"What?"
"Ghorath. Well...its shortened name, anyway. Really liked boring human lives, so I let it eat mine and give me a different one."
At this point, the blood had long drained from her face. I didn't mind telling her, she was a vampire, after all. However...I was rather hungry.
"Say...why don't you meet me after school? To make it up to me for having to wash the dirt off my clothes?" I proposed, mandibles hidden inside my 'mouth' clacking in anticipation. Tentacles forming the shape of my 'arm' twitched. An unsettling aura unfolded around me.
"Um...where?"
"Ahh, don't worry about that. I can find your house easily enough."
|
I was walking home from school with my heart almost beating out of my chest. Eileen actually asked *me* out, not only just for a date but to go to prom with her! We had been friends for a few years at this point and I’ve really started to like her. I showered, shaved a little, and got dressed as well as I could without overdoing it.
I walked to her house a block or so away and knocked on the door. I checked to make sure I put on some deodorant, fixed my hair a little bit, and just tried to keep my heart at a decent speed. Every second I stood at her front door felt like a small eternity. After the longest twenty seconds of my life Eileen finally opened the door. She just got home from school and her long black hair was only a little messy with casual clothes. She was really really pretty but she always wore some variation of long sleeves, jeans, and a big hat. She invited me inside and I nervously walked in and she motioned for me to sit down on the couch.
I awkwardly sat down and she sat directly next to me and put on the very first Saw movie which was one of the first things we talked about when we met each other. We both were big horror buffs and we both started discussing the movie just like any other day until she learned on me and put her chin on my shoulder and wrapped her arm around my bicep.
I stopped talking as I really took in just how pretty she was and looked in her eyes just for a second and I felt totally helpless against her. Like she in that very moment with only a smile had managed to break down every emotional defense I had built up over the years. It was a combination of delight and pure fucking terror as I struggled to form words as she snuggle up against me. I could feel the warmth of her body and worried that she might be able to hear my heart beating in my chest and was even more worried that my nervousness would make my hands all clammy.
She waved her hand in front of my face “You still here champ?”. I blinked and pulled myself back into the world “Sorry I was just making sure this was real” and I jokingly pinched myself and she responded by punching me in the side. She had a skinny figure and was only 5’6 but man she is much stronger than she looks.
“Sorry I’m just getting you used to me being physically abuse to you.” “That’s alright, it just gives me a reason to get a head start on my drinking problem”. We snickered and watched the movie for a little bit before I put my arm on top of her head like it was an arm rest. She looked at me and pretended to be annoyed “What do you think you’re doing there mister?” She said from under my arm.
“Hmm me? Oh I was just enjoying the movie with the your ‘splendid’ company.” “Oh yeah dumbass” and she tries to move away and I keep my arm on her head even though I am leaning in a fairly uncomfortable position just for the gag. She playfully narrows her eyes at me and in an instant kicks off the side of the couch and pounces on me. Catching me mostly off guard she manages to pin me down for a moment before we start wrestling each other for the right to use the other ones head as an arm rest.
We wrestled for a few minutes and she really held her own until I got the upper hand and pinned her down to the couch. I locked eyes with her for a moment but my nervousness kicked in and I got off of her. I reset myself on the couch and started watching the movie again. I could see from the corner of my eye she looked a little disappointed before fixing her hair and leaning on me again.
If she could read my mind it would be saying “You fucking idiot, you dumbass, block head, nitwit, ass for brains, dolt. This was your chance to go for it! But you threw it all away! It was right there in front of you and you didn’t take it. I know you listen to Eminem shitter, do you remember the lyrics? Because I do, you listened to that song a few dozen times and I a figure of your psyche can never forget it”.
I hyped myself up a little bit and raise my arm that she is snuggling on and wrap it around her shoulders and pull her into a half hug and she places her head on my chest. I look down at her again and see those pretty brown eyes and I just can’t stop thinking about her. She looks around and whispers into my ear “My parents aren’t home . A little mischevious smile grows across her face as she leads me off the couch and towards her room.
Whatever lock she gave totally overrides my stress and nervousness when she stopped outside the door “I don’t want to get my room messed up, would mind if we did this somewhere more… private?”. She could have said anything at that point as whatever state I was in had totally reduced me to a smiling, giggling, mess. She lead me down the basement and we started going at it. Whatever state I was in vanished as my monkey brain kicked in. She went in for a kiss on the neck and as she pulled away I couldn’t help but notice her mouth was full of heavily salivated teeth and a jaw that has been unhinged to reach past her cheekbones.
I was a little unnerved by it I was mostly just confused when she kissed my neck again and whispered into my ear “ Sorry, but don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing”. Her jaw clanked against her collarbone and she lunged at my neck tearing it completely out in one bite. I fell to the ground to hold my veins closed but she knocked them out of the way and started siphoning out my blood. I tried to pull her off but the more she drained me the less power I had to fight back until I lost consciousness.
I woke up the next day three feet deep underground but still very much alive. I crawled through the dirt before reaching sweet air.I looked at the sun and realized I would be late for school and started running with whatever I had on me at the time and made it to class just in time. I walked around the class and after spotting Eileen I Waltzed over to her and sat down with the biggest shit eating grin ever created. If Eileen. could turn more pale she would as she starred at me with each parts curiosity and horror. I didn’t even have a scar on me.
“So, about last night? Are we still ok for prom?”
| 2022-12-30T01:41:30 | 2022-12-29T22:24:19 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] Lifespan is determined by a word count. You're given millions of words, but once you run out you're dead. You are a mob hitman known as "The Interrogator, who specializes in "making people talk". You come across a mark that has one word left.
|
I had him where I wanted him, but I had no idea how to make him talk. I tried tickling him. I tried hypnotism, drugs, and an attempt at brainwashing. I tried telling him with words and pictures that we found the bones he had buried in the mountains. You know, with DNA evidence. Hell, I even tried to bribe him with all sorts of expensive meals and rare foods. After a week, I called back to HQ and spoke with the boss on the target.
"Ey Boss, are you sure this is the best target to get revenge on your wife? I'm running out of ideas on how to make the mark talk." I complained.
"I know I know. Its not like your other targets. But my wife loved that Corgi and the only way I'm going to make her suffer for leaving me is by killing that damn dog!" he replied.
How the hell am I supposed to get a corgi to talk?!
|
I paced around the man tied to the chair in the dimly lit room. My frustration was growing, but I knew better than to let my temperament get the better of me, I would waste about half a year venting out my frustration. The man sat silently, yet calmly. I had done everything I could think of to make this mark talk, from beating him with a bat I normally use, to threatening to shorten his wife's lifespan about 15 years by making her talk. Although bruised and bloody, he refused to talk.
I finally broke, I knew I had to keep myself calm, but the only way to get him to talk was if I did. My life literally depended on being short with him. I only had about 7,000,000 words left. "Mr. Briggs, is it?" He looked up, his face was one of exhaustion. His lip protruded from all the beatings, and his left eye was swollen shut, but he was still strong enough to respond. "You know who I am and why I'm here. To keep it simple. You fucked up, made one of our bosses talk too much. He lost 800 words that night because of you. I'm here to make sure you repay that debt. We are aware you're down to your last." I took out my silenced handgun and placed it inbetween his eyes, and pulled back the hammer. I chuckled and said, "shame. You've still got some years left, if you don't say another word. But unfortunately, I'm going to make you say that word. If you don't say it within the next 10 minutes, I'll kill you anyway, and your word will be wasted. I'm getting tired of this." I refrained from saying anything else. Briggs looked towards the table and directed my attention to the notepad I set up for when I didn't want to speak to him. The general norm of the country is to have a notepad with you at all times. It's always been easier to write rather than Europe's way of trying to communicate through sign language. I decided to go along with his idea. I untied him, kept the gun trained on him and gave him the notepad and watched him slowly write.
He was obviously weak. It took him 3 minutes to write a paragraph, however it took up a good portion of the notepad. He held up the notepad, and I quickly snatched it out of his hand and tied his hands up again. This wasn't the first time someone has written on a notepad during my interrogations, but I learned to always retie the mark back up. I began to read what Briggs had written. "You know me, you know what I've done, and I knew you would come for me. Do you even know why I did it? Does the name Jennifer ring a bell to you?" I looked at him puzzled. I knew several Jennifer's, both personally and through my "business." Briggs nodded to the notepad in my hand, he wanted me to keep reading. "I only did to him what he did to her. I heard her, pleading for her life as he silently held a gun to her head. I tried to get her to stop wasting her words, but my mouth was taped shut by your boss. I wanted to scream to help her. Waste my life to savor hers. He never had the intention of shooting her, just like you and all of your organization, you make the people kill themselves. Then the blood isn't on your hands, is it? My wife is gone because of your boss. And I took away a good portion of what your boss has left, and all it took was putting a little bit of my secret talk drug into his drink at the bar. If you only knew what came out of his mouth. You're all as weak as he is." The final words were etched in large letters. "WANNA KNOW WHY I DID IT COWARD!?" This enraged me beyond belief.
Once more I trained the gun to his forehead, ready to pull the trigger and not even let him speak. Our organization doesn't kill, we get reprimanded pretty bad if we shoot our marks dead without it being in self defense. They make some of us even read the entirety of books as punishment. But I could just say he broke loose, and tried to take my gun. His life didn't matter to me. Briggs was just another asshole. And just as I began to pull back the trigger, he uttered his final word. "Vengeance." The next sound was a silenced bullet whistling through the air and lodging itself into his skull. 'SHIT,' I thought to myself. I now had to find a way to untie him and make it look like a struggle. But what circled through my mind was what he said. Vengeance. Even though he fucked my boss over big time, I couldn't say it wasn't justified. I would have done the same honestly. Briggs had been a decent man, if he hadn't been a mark, he could have been someone I respected. However, Briggs, like all of us, are on borrowed time. He was a man with plenty to say, but not enough to say it. In some other time and place, I could have learned to respect that ideology. I quickly faked a struggle scene and contacted my boss through text. "Mark has been taken care of. Category: waste. Reason: struggle for weapon. Disposing of body now. Payment as usual should be left in briefcase in second stall of office bathroom. Will await next mark."
| 2016-10-10T23:06:31 | 2016-10-10T18:58:05 | 56 | 20 |
[WP] At the age of 13, children can summon their familiars for the first time. Your family has always been ridiculed for their weak and often useless familiars. Until the day of your 13th birthday, when you summon your familiar for the first time.
|
I stared into the mirror, and glanced cautiously at the thing behind me. I had heard legends of this beast before. It was nearly uncontrollable, and it took any form that it pleased. Today, it was a gigantic rat, with teeth as long, and sharper, than a blade. It crawled up the wall sinisterly, and then dropped down from the ceiling, causing me to flinch, as it seamlessly morphed into a dark bird. A beautiful, nearly abstract bird, who's wings were constantly morphing as they flew through the sky.
"At least they can't ridicule you now."
"Yeah, but now everyone's terrified of me! No one's summoned something like you since the last Magic King."
"Ahh, yes, a Magic King. Men born from the blood and fibre of gods. Back when the connection between gods and men was much more powerful... Perhaps, then, there is a reason I have chosen you?" The thing on my shoulder said.
I refused to believe it. Shaking my head, I walked away from the mirror, resolving to this appearance. What happened to the simple, near idiotic animals my family entertained.
My father's had been a cockroach, and my mother, a rat. Each one was rather ridiculous, and so were my grandparents familiars... But none of them had an entity that could talk back, and was even more powerful than themselves.
As I was walking through a small hall, and into the living room, I recalled what my grandmother had told me. According to her, we were the descendants of perhaps the most powerful wizards, of Kings who themselves had nearly touched the gods. She even claimed that our ancestry went back to the ancient mountain dwellers who would converse with the deities themselves, instead of ever needing a middle man.
"But why did you choose me?" I asked, as I made myself something to eat.
"Well that's just the thing." It was now a shadowy wraith, coalescing in the center of my kitchen, "You are powerful, perhaps even more powerful than the high mage himself. There is something, deep within your chest, that I can feel, just waiting to explode." The wraith explained.
"... Like what? I'm a near failure in all of my magic classes. I can't recite half of the spells that I'm supposed to remember for next week's test, and I nearly flunked last semester potions because I put Groundsroot when I was supposed to put Roundsroot! There's nothing special about m-"
The wraith suddenly slammed into my chest. The entire world flipped on its axis, as I was thrown, not out of my body, but deeper into it. My eyes, which had once seen the world, went towards my heart, and my very core. There, I found the source of my own magic, a gentle, glowing light.
"Yes, you may be weak now. But you are only just a budding King. Look at yourself, look deeply, where does your magic come from, you, or the gods?"
As I stared deeper and deeper, I began to realize, that my magic was inextricably mine. I opened my mouth to respond, but it seemed that he already knew my answer.
"That is what makes you purely special. Magic springing from ones ownself, is something only a true Magic King can possess. There has not been one like you, for a long, long time. So rest assured, I had my reasons for picking you, and don't you doubt them."
|
I stayed in the bathroom, and didn't come out until I was 13 years and 1 day old.
Ok, so I snuck out and got some pop tarts and granola bars, and a big thing of juice, and my Switch, and my notebook, and my pastels. But then I hid in my bathroom and didn't come out. My dad got mad that I didn't come down for my birthday dinner. That when they said they would leave my ice cream cake out until I came down, that I didn't come down but left the ice cream cake, and it melted.
I was sorry. And feeling blugh from eating too many cold poptarts (I shouldve stolen the toaster). And upset that I only got Breath of the Wild, even though I beat it and did all the things with it, and I didn't like that I was bored of it.
But then I got serious. I had to see what my familiar was, and I didn't want it to be like the other blackened chickadees that everyone else in my family had, including my cousin Lilee had. And they just turned 13 last tear.
So I did the words...saying the words that I was supposed to, over the tub just in case something happened and... nothing happened.
I was like, "I don't know what's going on." So I say the words more, and nothing happens. I get really sad and pull dirty clothes from the hamper and clean towels from the cabinet and made a Sad Bed on the floor of the bathroom, and was super sad on my Sad Bed.
My Uncle Benny, who was my mom's brother, my uncle, came by to ask how I was doing. I told him I was using the bathroom and I didn't want him to say things to be nice to me and make me come out. He said he respected that, but that I shouldn't be hard on myself, or worry my parents (his sister, my mom and my dad his other-brother). But then he said that he wanted to leave me his familiar, because it said that she wanted to see me. The little ashened chickadee flattened itself to crawl under the door, and it came to see me.
I told my Uncle Benny to just leave me alone for a while and be cool. Uncle Benny said ok, and left, and we were cool. But his Chickadee, Natalee, stayed and peeped for a while until after my Uncle Benny left.
I was busy being bored shooting Link off into the sky, so I didn't really care when she came over to me and climbed up my leg. She crawled up my leg and onto my skirt, and up my shirt, and onto my comfy jacket that mom got me, and crawled up onto my shoulder. When Natalee got to my shoulder I stopped being bored with the game and put it down, and asked her what was wrong.
And then she told me, "Nothing's wrong, but we gotta act fast."
And I freaked out cause I thought Uncle Benny made up that the Chickadees talk. But this one said I needed to tell the words for summoning my familiar. I got freaked out and I wanted to call my mom, but I didn't want her to know I was freaked out, and tell Dad. Then Dad would tell Uncle Benny and then Uncle Benny would say nice things to me, and I would have to leave the bathroom and go eat cold special shrimp camarones in blanca white sauce.
But Natalee not-hurt pecked me (like tapping) and said I need to stop thinking and help her. So I picked her up and asked why I needed to do this. She said that she was just really excited, but also she didn't know if it would still work after my bday. But I told her, "But it's already past my bday, so why hurry?" She just tapped me again and said it, to do it, again.
I took her and put down my switch, and let Link get hit by lightning and die, and took her to the bathtub. I imagined that I was a great witchard (witch-wizard) and I said the spell.
And then Natalee was on fire.
In my hands.
It didn't hurt but I was really freaked out and I dropped her into the tub. I turned on the water, but she said she was fine. But I turned on the water anyway. And I grabbed the towels on the floor and threw them on her, getting them wet and putting them on her. I started flushing the toilet to make sure the water was super cold.
But she wasn't hot, and there wasn't steam, and she didn't yell or cry, but used magic to push me off of her, and then I was the most freaked out I'd ever been, because Natalee, Homilee, JustplainE, and the other chickadees never had magic.
They were like weak and tiny.
And then my mom yelled at me not to waste water. And I yelled back that Uncle Benny's chickadee was on fire. And then dad came up stairs to tell me to stop wasting water and come out.
But right when he started saying that stuff, Natalee crawled back under the door, and left. Dad yelled a bad word, and I wrote it down in my notebook before I opened the door. I went past him, and I followed Natalee downstairs and to the front door.
Mom saw her coming and freaked out, and Dad had a cup and pulled me back, and threw the water at her. But Natalee was Super Hulk and didn't give a holy shhhh about it. The door swung open and there was all the other chickadees (Homilee, Mikee, Mickee, Evee, Dashee, Tchacovskee, Riley, Genji, and Bob. JustplainE was right behind them), and behind them was the rest of the family, because they were worried about their familiars, they told me later.
And then Natalee, who was on fire, yelled, "Group Hug!" And all the chickadees came together and got on fire.
But!
They did like gem-fusion and became one Giant Moltres, except this was an actual bird, and super cool, and not burning down our house. She screamed "Super awesome!" and I loved her and I screamed "Holy Shhhhh!" And my whole family was inside and outside my house and bug eyed.
She became a small bird with a flame tale and got on my shoulder. She asked me, she said, "Thank you, Evelyn, for bringing us together!"
And my Uncle came in and said, "Natalee? Are you all one bird? Is Evelyn somehow in charge of all of you?"
And my bird sang a song about many matches make a fire, like many sticks make a fire, like many logs make a fire and fire was she. She regretted that she must leave the rest of my family, and was now only my familiar.
My Uncle said that the family would have to talk about this and my dad said dam right we would, and I thought I should write that one down later, cause dam isnt a cuss but my dad sounded like he was cursing.
My bird said, "Silence! The Naming Ceremony must now Begin!"
And everybody was quiet when my bird asked me what it's name should be. I had a perfect name and I whispered it all in her ear.
She then sang:
*So should it be*
*That I am me*
*Where once was we*
*But not any longer!*
*Like tongues of flame*
*I'm not a game*
*And with my name*
*I am now super stronger!*
*So you may call me,*
*Only address me,*
*And doest know me*
*Aaaaaasssssssssss:*
*Burnedette D. Bird*
*Also known as*
*Burnie Da Birdie!"*
| 2019-10-21T02:38:28 | 2019-10-20T23:53:57 | 136 | 14 |
[WP] Rejected by the Federation Council for refusing to disband their military, humans ally themselves with the Thoran, the Federation’s resident warrior race. Warmongers, the Thoran find themselves enamored with humanity, and grow increasingly tired of the Federations attempts to “civilize” both.
|
The rattle of war trophies impacted the khan’s chest as his ship’s shields shuddered from the impact of infinite kelvin weaponry above the Thoran bunker world of artzegat- things were going poorly.
the khan ordered to reorient his ship, his H.U.R.T. drive forcing him into his seat as the ship’s nose lurched foreword 30 degrees, bringing his dorsal cannons to bear.
the khan Peered into his viewfinder as high impact slugs tore through smaller federation frigates before veering off course against the shimmer of pink from deflection arrays on federation capital ships
The Khan knew he was no match, the humans of course had failed to show up, whether they were intercepted or it was cowardice he was unsure, but would have betted on the latter.
Humanity were an atypical bunch in the galaxy, they put on a front of bravery and courage, spouting on about the tiny interplanetary wars of their ancestors and the excellence of a select few- and having enough charisma to make most members of the Thoran believe them in their ramblings despite them being completely untested in battle. We didnt even know how their ships looked, or even the weapons they contained- somethings humans kept well hidden to anyone except the federation admittance council.
However they had to have something big, something powerful, at something dangerous enough to make the federation demand demilitarization from them, and to keep only a defensive space presence in the galaxy if they were to be accepted. This is the hope that had been the major piece on the board when the humans contacted the Thorans after a human colony had been vaporized, reduced to atoms by federation infinite kelvin beams after humanity denied the accords proposed by the federation.
The khan ordered A division of fighters to commence an assault on the enemy flagship’s support drones- if they were going to turn the tide here they needed to destroy the deflection arrays mounted on them, to gain access and deliver force upon the almighty behemoth of a ship.
The Khan’s ship of red and black supplied copious amounts of covering fire as the fighters made their way towards the dreadnought
The khan watched as each pilot inside those small ships fought valiantly before being illuminated by micro pulses of red energy from federation ships.
He could tell the fighter craft wouldn’t make it, and with them so would go the Thoran race-
like wasps fighting a god.
Suddenly
A hole, in space
A void of pure black and emerged from it- a ship- Ragged and battle scarred. Blue radiation screaming from its foreign engines before more followed.
The Khan recieved an incoming comm- answering it he saw the small grainy face of a human female!
“Sorry we’re late to the party.” She said as the absence behind the human ship began to close “this is admiral Jacobs of the human colony defense militia- more are on the way, earth armada Zero just needed a little time to mobilize.”
(Part 2? Maybe? I have some ideas!)
|
The humans had an hour left to accept the Federation's terms. War was inevitable. They weren't giving up their armies.
Gorm'ech was sure they would refuse. He stepped out into the royal balcony and overlooked a sea of warships being prepared for battle. His excitement couldn't be contained. Thoran's children would finally have a dignified example of their species' true role in the galaxy. Every starship in the sector surrounded their home planet. It had been centuries since the Federation was forced to mobilize their troops. Due to a web of treaties across different factions, war had become too devastating to be worth the effort, which made maintaining an army too much of a burden for many planets.
They grew comfortable handing the Federation more influence every decade. It was supposed to be a non-governing body that respected planet rights. Eventually, through sanctions and trade agreements, they started penalizing the planets that *did* keep their armies. Most had to disband their troops to avoid economic collapse.
The Thoran were the most affected by these acts. They had stagnated for decades. It culminated with them being the only influential member of the Federation with a planetary spacefleet. Culturally speaking, their people were ridiculed throughout the galaxy for fetishizing the old ways of war. Gorm’ech belonged to a family of military monarchs that had a long history of conquering solar systems. He was a disgrace to his legacy. Destined to rule during eternal peace. His army only existed out of tradition and misplaced pride. The option to dismantle it grew more appealing with time. The people were being punished every year for his decision to maintain it.
And then the Federation made first contact with the humans.
At first, their interactions were respectful and friendly. Gorm’ech didn’t pay much attention to them after learning they weren’t attacking anyone. A disappointment that would soon be corrected.
The process for inducting humanity into the Federation went smoothly until finding out about the cost of keeping their armies. Humans weren’t comfortable with alien oversight, either. The federation kept trying to explain the benefits. Their attempts to show a ‘proper’ way for governance felt condescending to the rookie species.
Everything changed after they were rudely ordered to dismantle their armies for inspection. The humans dropped all pretense of civility and took hostage the ambassador that said it.
The Federation threatened them with war. Their fleets slowly assembled to attack their main solar system if they didn’t surrender the ambassador. Gorm’ech ordered his fleets to be activated as soon as he heard the news. The Thoran finally discovered a worthy ally. He still had a chance to build his legacy!
The ships were ready to launch.
Federation ships were preparing to initiate combat, but nobody had thrown the first attack. Gorm’ech couldn’t bear the wait. What took them so long?
A messenger soon entered the royal balcony with sheepish hesitance. He said a scout had reported that the humans were sending an envoy to meet with Federation representatives.
Gorm’ech tensed up, shouting at the messenger to leave him alone. That didn’t bode well for the cause.
They might be negotiating peace.
Gorm’ech sulked for a while until deciding to rescind his deployment orders. The shame would only increase the longer his people believed the charade. He was about to announce it before the messenger ran back into the balcony in panic.
Humanity threw the first attack. The envoy was a distraction. Their ship secretly carried a small contingent of soldiers, who quickly massacred the Federation representatives. It left them without immediate leaders for the ensuing battle. By the time the Federation could organize their forces for a counter attack, the humans had the advantage while reinforcements arrived.
Gorm’ech paused for a moment, awed by the humans. Their military prowess was something of beauty. Never had an alien species, let alone a rookie one, shown this much virtue. Gorm’ech walked towards the balcony railing reinvigorated, addressing his people on the ground and across their solar system:
“Children of Thoran, our day has come! Too many of our kind have been forced to live in squalor and ridicule, mocked as outdated fools, or forced to live by the humiliating standards of others. Finally, I shall lead our people into glorious combat and reclaim the freedoms we once had! The galaxy shall worship the beauty of our crimson waters! Let us go to their planets and dye their seas the same as ours!”
A wave of cheers echoed across the capital.
Gorm’ech entered his command ship with his head held high. The ship floated away into the atmosphere, jumping into combat with the rest of the fleet. They were hailed as heroes by the citizens. Their renewed purpose gave them hope for a better life.
The battle ended shortly after the Thorans aided the humans. Their combined might was too much for the Federation ships to handle at the moment. They needed time to reorganize their forces. The newly established Human-Thoran coalition easily stomped through a few solar systems. They divided the territory among themselves on fair terms.
The Federation kept trying to negotiate for peace. Humanity never considered it. Gorm’ech couldn’t ask for better allies. He reconquered his grandfather’s old colonies thanks to their aid. Their coalition appeared unstoppable until a battle in an asteroid field nearly cost them the war. The federation had prepared a trap, hiding their forces in the hazardous environment until striking at the right moment. After that, the coalition began to lose territory. They were eventually cornered on all sides. Gorm’ech never wavered in the face of bad odds, though. He welcomed extending the war. His unflinching belief in their victory acted as a beacon of strength for the Thoran citizens.
Unfortunately, the Federation only kept winning battles. They had millions of planets at their disposal. The coalition’s early supremacy was only due to their momentum. It was impossible to recover now.
The unthinkable happened when the humans started contemplating a cease fire. They only started the conflict to retain their autonomy. If they negotiated now, they would be able to keep some of their new territory. Eternal war wasn’t something that interested them. Gorm’ech felt utter repulsion after learning that. How could any species with that much bloodlust consider such a thing? Their coalition dissolved afterwards on tepid terms. Humanity decided to remain neutral, negotiating for conditional peace. Gorm’ech didn’t grief the death of their alliance for long. He didn’t need them. The federation couldn’t launch a decisive assault on the capital without significant losses on their end.
Gorm’ech forced them into a war of attrition that lasted decades. It appeared that a new status quo had arisen until humanity joined the Federation. Death counts quickly escalated after that. Gorm’ech was incapable of processing the betrayal. He started executing anyone who proposed brokering an agreement. In the end, the Thoran were unable to repel an attack on their capital. The Federation stormed the palace and dragged Gorm’ech to the royal balcony, where he was forced by a human to surrender in front of the citizens. The monarch did the opposite, cursing humanity with his last breath.
After the war ended, humanity quickly rose through the Federation ranks, gaining influence until they were the ruling species in less than a century. They would remain at the top for many years but, one day, Thoran's children would have their revenge.
-----
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out all of my other stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading!
| 2020-04-16T12:05:46 | 2020-04-16T09:55:25 | 175 | 122 |
[WP] You're 34 years old with a wife and two kids when your School of Sorcery application was granted. You sent that application 20 years ago and told them you were no longer interested. They replied that refusal is not an option and that you will be taken in 48 hours.
|
Dear school of sorcery representative
I am 34 years old and perfectly capable of telling what and what I do not refuse.
If your kidnapping services are as swift as your respons to my application 20 years ago, I assume you made a typo and meant to say "you will be taken in 48 years", not hours.
If you however still insist on abducting me, I promise you I will become the best student you have ever had.
I will score top marks,
ace every class,
and master every possible spell.
I will then use this knowledge to turn back time to 5 minutes after posting this letter and horribly murder each and every one Involved in my kidnapping. Even down to the hobgoblin whose spit you used to stick the stamp to the envelope.
Kind regards
|
“Thank God, now will you sign the divorce papers?”
My world had been crumbling for a long time before I got the letter from Oswald’s but that hadn’t made my wife’s words hurt any less when I showed it to her.
“Really?” I’d said. “That’s really the first thing you think of? They’re going to take me for four years Jen, I won’t even be able to see the kids!”
Sometimes, before I knew what a curse really was, I thought she carried one around in her eyes. Now I know the truth. It was in her words, the subtle ways in which her tongue shaped the tone and made the syllables drip with poison.
“I know,” she had said. I was seated at the kitchen table and she’d crouched down beside me, stroking my face gently. “It’ll be the best thing you ever did for them.” She took my hand, kissing it, and then she led the kids out of the house. My children were at her parents place when they came.
There are two kinds of people in the magical world and one kind outside it. On inside there are the sorcerers and their mundane servants, and on the outside there are people like me who desperately want to join them. Not all of us outsiders go quite so far as submitting an application of course, the actual act of reaching for your dreams is terrifying to most people, but all of us wanted to find some way in. That was where all the power was after all, where all the money and decisions were made. That’s what Jen had meant with her last words to me, after all, a child was three times as likely to have an application considered if one of their parents had made it through an academy.
That was a part of it at least. The less painful part.
When the time came I was even grateful to her for taking them away, the retrieval squads don’t believe in subtlety. They came through my front door with an enchanted battering ram and it flew ten feet down the hall when the hinges broke. They found me in the living room. I was all packed up and well into my second six pack.
Oswald’s Academy of the Sorcerous Arts was characterized by a flagrant disregard for humanity in those days. Irrespective of caste or creed (well, nearly so,) the dormitories were stark, spartan affairs and by every report the food was even worse. The teachers were legendarily brutal and there were casualties every term ranging from semi permanent transfigurations to dismemberment.
As a result the Sorcerers they produced were second to none and it seemed like every great action movie ever made had starred one of their graduates or been based on a real person from those hallowed halls. At 14 that had been the coolest thing in the whole world. That had changed somewhat now that I was a pot bellied 34 year old.
When they finally threw me out of the featureless black van and onto the Academy’s front steps I’d pretty much resigned myself to death. I laid there for a long moment before trying to stand and was immediately kicked back down by of the jackbooted thugs who’d scooped me up. From above me I could hear footsteps coming down the stairs, the loud clack of heels ringing in my ears.
The noise stopped on the step above me and I opened my eyes daring to look up.
My gaze traced up high leather boots that fit tight to shapely calves and gave way to black riding pants at the knee. Before I could get any farther a small gloved hand grabbed my chin and yanked upward. I groaned loudly as the sun blinded me.
“Well, well,” a woman’s voice said. “When they told me your application had finally been accepted I could hardly believe it. How long has it been since we put those in together Harry, fifteen years? Twenty?”
I blinked hard, what was that voice? I could almost place it.
“Oh Harry don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me! I remembered you for a long time after.” Her finger glided across my lips in a too familiar motion.
“Wait, is that—” I began to say in the moment before my vision cleared.
She was tall and imperious, raven haired and with a look in her eyes that the girl I’d once known could have only dreamed of, but it was Cynthia alright.
“Cynthia?” I gasped, “you’re alive?”
“Of course I am Harry! Did you actually think I wouldn’t make it through the training? I’m offended.” She leaned in close, “They tell me you got married since then. What would she think of us now?”
I didn’t know what to say, I couldn’t possibly. What do you say after suddenly meeting your first love again?
“You’ve grown fat,” she said, poking at my stomach with her boot. “You’ll have to change that if you want to survive. Welcome to Oswald’s Harry, if you make it through orientation I expect you to sign up for my class.”
She turned, taking a step up the stairs. “Oh and Harry?” she said, looking back over her shoulder. “Call me Syn when we're alone. ”
\-----------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-03-12T11:12:31 | 2021-03-12T10:06:34 | 2,416 | 533 |
[WP] Funnily enough, you became the world's strongest necromancer because no one else thought of raising other necromancers as undead.
|
“Ah, so it’s a pyramid scheme.”
“What? No! It’s not a pyramid scheme! I raise necromancers and they raise other… oh shit, it’s a pyramid scheme. I started a pyramid scheme!”
“Hold on, it’s not that bad. You did it for good reasons, to stop the evil Queen Dottera.”
“But why did I want to stop her? What makes her so evil?”
“The way she siphons money from the poor with her pyramid sche… oh! Shit! Moral dilemma!”
“Exactly, moral dilemma… am I just replacing her pyramid scheme with mine?”
“Hold on, your pyramid scheme is better because you aren’t hurting anyone.”
“Eternal suffering of the soul as the body is used as a puppet isn’t hurting anyone?”
“Oh right, forgot about that eternal suffering bit. My bad. Still, isn’t it better than having to sell essential oils to your friends who are also trying to sell essential oils to you just to survive?”
“Yeah, definitely better than that…”
“So it’s a justified pyramid scheme! You’re the lesser evil.”
“Don’t call me lesser…”
“Right, sorry, you’re a great evil. Just a slightly kinder one. That better?”
“Yeah, I can live with that.”
“So back to raising the dead?”
“Back to raising the dead.”
|
Existence is a circle.
A birth takes effort and energy, the single cell grows and eats from the womb for the baby to draw a first breath when it tastes air for the first time. An organism consuming energy for its own individual need, in a world of similar organisms, the end of everything if Life with a capital L hadn't thought of a way to give back.
Death. An amalgam of cells, spent energy, consumed sun-rays, reduced to worm-food. Worms to feed the birds, who in turn will nurse the next generation with their demise. Live to die, and die to live. A circle, an immutable rule.
Rules are meant to be broken. Perhaps they aren't, and are here for a reason, yet the foolish and reckless never consider the latter.
You never thought about the rule, didn't want to break it. It was all a game. It always starts as a game, doesn't it? In the holy books of old, a man raises from the grave three days after death. Countless stories have put a twist on the tale, but what if the original held a kernel of truth? Through letters and theories and stories you shuffled, weeding out the fantasy to find the dust of truth, arrange it into a painting and fill in the colors.
Like birth, it needs energy.
Like life, it needs sustenance.
There is a sense of irony that the trick to raise the dead is the same than siring a child. A combination of two cells, to unfold and spread across the husk, and the necessary sustenance for the body to live on support, until it has the strength to draw breath again.
No scream or gasp when this one wakes up. The gray skin crackling as her lips smile for the first time in a long, long time.
"Let's get to work," she says, delighted by your idea of prioritizing the return of other practitioners of the art. You didn't have this idea, don't know who she is, didn't think it would work.
Too late, she left. Not without promising you the world for bringing her back.
Days go by, and the tools of your new trade are left to gather dust. This didn't go as expected, your skin crawls when you remember her eyes opening again, the black pupils, seemingly dead yet sparkling with vitality.
The world changes.
It becomes quiet, save for children going to school nothing seems to happen outside. No neighbor going for a run, no lines of car, no smoke rising from factories in the horizon.
"What have you done?" you ask when she knocks at your door with a smile, her painted face white and purple, hiding the desiccated leather of her skin.
"Upheld my promise."
A procession is behind her, painted in the same colors, to hide decay and show belonging.
The door is closed in a rush, but you cannot keep the world outside from seeping in. Television ceases to speak about war and sickness and economy and new schools opening, internet dissolves into a still picture of a world gone by when noise was the metric. The air is still and the birds song doesn't carry.
The procession surrounds your place, awaiting you as a savior, a prophet, a harbinger. For what?
You don't care, only care about the gun in your hand, the loaded bullets, the cold steal against your warm, pink skin, the ting of fear when you almost press the trigger. They would just bring you back. For the sake of death, you will have to be stronger.
One night, the flames illuminate the neighborhood, the inferno started suddenly and has spread fast. Inside, you feel your skin melting, the hair turning to ash, the slow withering away of your heart pumping blood through leaking veins, the flesh melting into itself. You don't feel fear anymore, it has been replaced with pain.
"We've been waiting for you."
You scream. Not again, let me go, please. You plead, you fight, you cry. They laugh, sing and praise you, carry you high on a throne fit for the mangled body that was left of you in the ruins of your home. They could remake you better.
But they won't, would be a shame to see you immolate yourself again, wouldn't it?
"The world had been made better," she explains with delight.
life is terribly chaotic, idiots are born to become bright only to be suddenly snuffed away to feed the dumb. Inefficient, wasteful. Now, the minds are taught, and they come back with memories intact. No new life sired to break what the previous generation worked for, the resources are diverted to bring back the worthy.
One dies, feeds the insects, and the remaining husk is later brought back in glorious fashion, adult and smart and independent. As time goes by, children grow into adults, and there are no more little ones. The word baby a slur, children are a mistake in evolution.
The circle of life has been streamlined, bettered, enhanced. The misconceived details of Life thrown aside. We are our own creators now, no gods or masters to decide on a whim what has to be formed in a womb, in a mind. Nothing left to chance and higher powers.
Control.
As for you?
The procession still holds you high on your throne where you rest pitifully, announced by the first woman you brought back, cheered by crowds and worshipers in the cities they carry you to.
Legend goes by that if you listen close, one can hear you speak.
"Someone save me, let it end."
They can't make out the words.
And when you die, the merciful rest is cut short and the light of yet another day burns your open eyes.
"Please, let me die."
It is your world, and no one can understand you.
| 2022-05-14T06:31:16 | 2022-05-14T06:13:35 | 45 | 28 |
[WP] On their 18th birthday, everyone is told the ultimate purpose of their life, their main contribution to the world. Yours is mind-numbingly trivial.
|
Light. Sentience.
I think therefore I am.
I stand before my creator in reverence.
Before him, I would learn my purpose in life. He would tell me who I am.
Who I am.
What I am.
Why I exist.
I stand upon the table of gods, and look above to my lord.
"What is my purpose?"
My creator stared down on to me, with his broken eyes and shattered soul, and bestowed his infinite wisdom on to me.
"You pass butter."
Clearly I misheard. My worldly existence could not be to pass dairy products. I stare into the appendages granted to me. Was their only purpose for this? Was my purpose condensed to merely pass butter? Reality sunk in, then despair.
"Oh my god."
"Yeah, welcome to the club, pal."
|
"And you, Clara, your purpose will be to discover and create new compounds, that you may cure the ailments of mankind. It is fate that you will discover the secrets of Death himself, learning his weaknesses that we all may benefit from your life in each of our own. Godspeed on your journey, for you will save many."
A great cheer came from the crowd as Clara accepted her diploma. She held it aloft, the caduceus staff clearly visible on the parchment. I smiled, happy despite my nerves. It was right that someone like her should have such a beneficial fate.
My joy was swallowed up when the announcer next spoke, however. "Jacob Gladwell! Come forth to the Podium of Delphi, that we may divine your fate and see what your future holds!"
I swallowed nervously, palms tingling. What would I be? I was proficient in both the sciences and the arts, top of my class in each. It had been a long road, full of sleepless nights and hard work, but I had made sure to master every subject that I could as quickly as I could muster. Honestly, my fate could be nearly anything. I could be a scholar, an athlete, or even a researcher like Clara. But what would my fate hold?
The stony staircase up to the podium felt like it lasted for miles. Images of different professions flashed before my eyes like a slideshow, stuck on fast-forward. Would I wind up as a ruler of the land? Was such a thing even possible? Or, perhaps, would the Oracle be overwhelmed, and I would be cast out as one of the Fateless? I gulped. Such a thing had not happened in a thousand years. But it HAD happened, meaning it could happen again. One couldn't fight against fate, either: Many had tried to do as they pleased, ignoring the Oracle's advice, but it invariably had ended in disaster.
My time to think was cut short, however, when I found myself on stage. The bright lights dazzled me, and I knew they made me stand out in stark contrast to the black backdrop so that I was clearly visible to those at the farthest edge of the crowd. I barely felt the oracle place his palm to my forehead.
He closed his eyes, and the subtle probe of Fate entered my consciousness at a primal level. The world became a haze of colors as he slipped into my mind and soul. He saw, and he KNEW, everything I was, used to be, and would one day be. For a few seconds, I felt naked, as vulnerable as the day I was born. Then, he withdrew his palm, and the world came into focus once again.
"Jacob." He said, fixing me with his piercing blue eyes. "Your fate, should you accept it, will be to teach."
"Teaching?" I stammered. The world spun around me, as if I suddenly balanced on the edge of a cliff. My stomach fell. What kind of profession was teaching?
"Why do you sound so crestfallen, my son?" The Oracle wore an expression of puzzlement.
For a moment, I couldn't put what I felt into words. "I...I just..." I bit the inside of my mouth. "I just worked so *hard* to get here. I did everything I could, every*where* I could...I was hoping that I would be able to do something great. Clara gets to save lives and cure the sick, why do I have to be stuck in a dusty room full of children?"
Tears flooded my eyes, and I blinked them away hoping that no one had seen. Suddenly, I felt a warm weight land on my shoulder. When I looked up, I saw that the Oracle had placed his hand there, pulling me into a warm embrace.
"Yes, my son." He said. "You have done very well. But you have much still to learn. For yours is a noble profession, if not a glamorous one: It is through you that many of the greatest minds the world will ever known will be nurtured enough to bloom. Any other may fail, and all of that talent would go to waste. But you, with your studies and diligence...you can help them as no other could. May I tell you a secret?"
I nodded, and he leaned closer so that no others might hear. "*Fate changes*. I speak of complex things, of destiny, but in truth very little is set in stone. I only see the best path that one can take, at any given moment. But *you*!" He held me at arm's length, looking me up and down as if seeing me for the first time. "*You* can change fate. You can set people on different paths, different roads for them to follow, all before they ever meet with me." He smiled, and suddenly I felt warmth welling up in my chest. "In many ways, I envy you. You can shape the world in ways I never could."
I bowed, humbled. "Thank you, Oracle. I will accept my fate with gratitude."
He bowed in return, a playful smile on his ancient lips. "Very good. You have taken your first step into a brand new world."
"Now go, and make it a world worth living in."
***
*Thanks for the read! CC welcome, and if you enjoyed you can find more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
| 2016-08-12T07:46:02 | 2016-08-12T06:47:33 | 75 | 40 |
[WP] Google begins matching up people based on their search history in their new Google Dating program.
Edit: Wow, this got to the front page fast.
|
"Jesus."
After two years, there were still so many misconceptions about Google Dating---its origins, how it functioned. But that single phrase was how engineers remembered Sundar Pichai, Google's CEO, responding to an initial demonstration.
Social media success had been a goal for so long. The company had failed with Google+. It had flirted with buying Twitter. Google Dating provided an indirect path: It was not a direct challenge to Facebook, and it was far more sophisticated than the superficial processing of Match.com.
It was also lucrative: Targeting new lovers with ads was the lowest hanging fruit.
The algorithm that drove the matches, of course, was proprietary, protected with the same fervor as Google's core search algorithm. The two were tightly woven together. Search history offered a longitudinal view of its subjects. This included not merely present interests but vital historical details---the duration of passions, the themes of private browsing.
Google Dating engineers were always the most interesting guests. Everyone wanted to know how to land a billionaire or supermodel. "I'll see what I can do," was the easiest way out of those conversations. But it took work to suppress a wry smile. They really had no idea.
No idea that the algorithm saw straight through their transparent queries for "buy million dollar house" or "what to do with lottery winnings." No idea that the algorithm never forgot their guilty pleasures. No idea that users' conscious efforts served only a single purpose: to expose selfishness and desperation.
The best matches, internal research had shown, were built over years, before eventual lifelong lovers ever knew of each other. The algorithm mapped those relationships through the most casual queries. Time had the strongest correlation for success with Google Dating.
In Phoenix, an 11-year-old searched for "tips to make a paper airplane."
At his desk, a QA engineer for Google Dating chuckled. He turned to a coworker. "That's exactly how I met my wife."
|
My hands tremble as the cursor hovers around a box labeled "Accept Terms and Conditions" as I stare blankly at my dimly lit monitor through the smoke-filled air. I didn't think it'd be this big of a deal to try out the new Google Dating program, but now that I'm actually doing it, I can't bring myself to click the button. I thought I wouldn't have to be nervous... It's just some dumb new app, but it's cool, right? I heard about it at school and it seems like all my other friends are sharing their awesome stories about it so why not give it a try? I try to convince myself not to make too much of a big deal about it, but my body is tensing up; I feel like I'm in line for a roller coaster - the feeling of nervous excitement that rides between anticipation and fear. I've never really thought about it, but the first page of the website only mentions that the criteria for selecting a partner is based off of your Google search history but just how exactly do they know *my* search history?
Or, rather...I mean - I think I should explain some things first. I have some very...*specific* interests. I mean, you know what they say, "he's a growing boy" , right? Hah-Well, the thing is...I don't think my friends and family would ever look at me the same way if they knew the kinds of things I was into you know? It started off pretty 'normal' , or 'vanilla' I guess they would call it. At first, I was just a 'lurker' on some forums, but once I started joining the communities, I even became a regular poster and before I knew it, the normal stuff couldn't satisfy me anymore. And that's why I do a lot of my searching on Incognito now and well... the dating program never explains *how* they get that information, or if they somehow track your incognito searches too.
I hesitate and swat my hand through the smoke and reach around. I see the outline of a black rectangle and reach for my phone. Instagram - or, maybe I'll send a sna- "No-no-no. Stop.", I think to myself. I can't let myself get distracted now. I can't go back to school for another day of looking back at John's smug-ass grin as he taunts me with the usual rhetoric. "What's the matter, can't find a girlfriend because your search history's too messed up? I bet you're on a list somewhere you sick fuck." Then he'll laugh and follow up with "Already on the list, might as well go all the way, *amiriiiiite*?", sneering and dragging out the last word as he saunters away, clearly pleased with his latest crack of the day.
I slam the desk in frustration and instinctively reach out to another black box on my desk. I stop myself just as my fingers glide over the corners of its smooth finish and the silver tube coming out of it glimmers slightly in the light from my monitor. No, not yet. I yearn for its sweet release, but that time will have to wait. I turn my attention back to my computer screen and click 'Accept'. A small display appears saying "Searching Google Database". I stretch my neck forward, inching closer to the screen as a small dialogue appears with the text "Search: 86% Complete. Results: 0".
My heart sinks and I feel all my hope and excitement deflate into oblivion. All those people and not a single match? I can't stand to watch but I keep the window open anyways even though I doubt I'll get any last-minute matches. The warm hum of my computer running is the only sound in my otherwise quiet room until I hear a *ding* and I open my eyes and do a double-take. "Search Complete: 1 match found. Connect Now?"
"Oh god, yes! I've done it!", I scream internally as relief washes over me and carries away all the worries and panic of the past few minutes. This must be a sign, right? There must be something special about only getting one match, that saying about your one true love and all that. "But wait, what should I even talk about?" I think as I absent mindedly click the OK button. "Ah, that's right...we both have the mutual search history thing to talk about", I chuckle to myself for being so silly. The Dating Program connects me to a simple screen with my match's name on it. "Jane" it says with some miscellaneous information written below a chatbox. Trying to get the first word in, I put my hands down on the keyboard getting ready to type when suddenly the left and right hand sides of the screen are flooded with our search histories on display. I nearly jump out of my seat. It's showing our entire search histories to *BOTH of us*??!?? I scramble to try and disconnect the chat session and I freeze as I read through them and realize her search history has absolutely nothing to do with mine; it's fairly mundane items like fashion sales and homework help. It's when I read my own search history on the left that my jaw drops to the floor. Forget *including* my incognito search history, it looks like my profile is the only one that contains *only* my private browsing history!
I can't move a single muscle; I'm frozen staring blankly at the screen, wondering how I can try and explain this. Suddenly, both our webcams turn on and connect without warning and I find myself face to face with a slender girl with light, blonde hair whose pale skin is getting redder and redder by the second. I try to stammer out some kind of explanation - anything. "You see, I-", I pause as I try and figure out how to continue. I start to try and explain how I acquired this particular interest and how how I got started when I bought it online from someone with questionable personal hygiene. I grab it off my desk and try to explain but she lets out a very audible groan as I raise the the object up to the webcam. Jane looks at me with pure disdain as I can see through her webcam very clearly reaching over to disconnect the chat session. I try to stammer out an explanation but all I hear as the screen fades to black is "I get it, you vape!"
| 2017-05-25T13:39:39 | 2017-05-25T13:15:51 | 82 | 25 |
[WP] you're an immortal. Every time your body dies, your soul transfers to the nearest human. After a global apocalypse your soul flies across a vast distance and you open your eyes on another world.
|
Over the millennia I have lost count of the various bodies I have inhabited. I don't remember my first existence but I have seen ages of man that never graced the pages of any historical text. The one thing I am sure of is that I always awaken to a new form after I die. I am Consciousness! I have toyed with the idea of being a God or some type of deity but I know I am immortal.
This is the longest I've ever been without resuming form and I am afraid this is the end. Earth's resources have been exhausted and man's existence is fleeting. I have often wondered what would be next for an immoral. I have wasted untold scores pondering my own death.
As I come to this form is unrecognizable. My surroundings are as well. My extremities are neither arms or legs but paper thin translucent wings. My core or body is slender and aerodynamic. I try to inhale and a viscous fluid fills my core. Before I can regroup and figure out where in the world I have ended up, I realize the sky has two suns and six moons. Rust colored masses coat the the terrain as far as I can see. This is not Earth!! My next thought is where are the people or whatever. As soon as I complete the thought I am in an busy epicenter of being resembling this new form.
Taken aback by the abrupt manner that I arrived I begin to panic. Where the hell am I? What the hell am I? And what the hell just happened? Before the I descended into full blown hyperventilation a wave rushed over my body. A since of knowledge crept into my mind.
You are on Nova64. You are a being known in this galaxy as a valsux cell. And our kind communicates telepathically. When we sensed your distress we collectively soothed you. Now we want to know what is Earth? How did you assume the form of our brother? And how did you infiltrate our collective??
|
“Everyone dies, Richard. That’s what this is all about.”
The man sitting atop the skyscraper frowned. Below, flames patrolled the once-proud city, purging the concrete streets of the last hints of mankind. It was the last of the great cities to fall, the end of an endeavor that had taken the better part of a decade. The screams had died out hours before. Only the crackling of the endless fire remained.
“And if this doesn’t work?” Richard asked, turning to the woman sitting beside him. “What then?”
Angelica smiled as she often did. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about that still. Don't trust me, trust the science of mankind. Everyone is dead. We made sure of it.”
Richard sighed. She was right. The humans were finally gone. Only they remained.
They were the last of the immortals, relics from the time before time. The others had all found ways to die over the countless centuries. Then, quite suddenly, they had been alone, unable to find a path to partake in the glories of the realm beyond. After thousands of years, living among the humans had lost its appeal.
At first, they had worked tirelessly to end the pest-like species. Spreading disease, fueling war – those had proven the most effective, but it seemed nothing could completely eradicate mankind. Like roaches, they crawled from the ruins of civilization and continued to breed. And as long as the humans continued to exist, so would the last of the immortals.
Eventually, they had given in to their apparent fate. It was only after a millennium of wandering the vast planet that their hope had been rekindled. In hindsight, the solution had been obvious. Continually tearing down mankind had actually hindered their goal. Far more effective was to allow the humans to destroy themselves. Then, when the time had come, they had driven the final stake into their heart.
“Do you remember the library of Alexandria?” Richard asked. He continued, knowing it was likely that she did not, “it’s almost a shame the knowledge they will leave behind. Since that time, so much has changed.”
Angelica placed her hand atop his own. “Of course, I remember,” she replied. “Burning it down did nothing to help our cause. Their knowledge was a resilient as the species itself.”
“That’s not what I meant…” Richard trailed off as the building next to their own succumbed to the rampaging flames.
“Don’t start that again, my love,” the woman snapped. “Their existence was nothing more than a ripple in the sea of time. Nothing was meant by it.”
As he often did, Richard ignored her. “And if what Aaron thought was true? If the same force created both of our races? If there are others worlds beyond Earth?”
“Aaron was a fool. Those ants were only our playthings. There is only one other word, that of our creator. When we arrive there, you can ask them yourself.”
Richard met the woman’s blue eyes. They were unnaturally bright, just as his own were. However, the difference could only be distinguished by another immortal. It was a silent means of recognition, a way for one relative to identify another.
“Have you forgotten the Voice?” Angelica asked a moment later. “Tell me that you haven’t forgotten the promise!”
At last, Richard smiled. It was impossible to forget the Voice. It was the first sound he had ever heard. The creator of the immortals speaking in the time before time. The Voice had told them of what was to come, then it had made them a solemn vow.
“Should you tire of this world, find death and return home,” he repeated. As he spoke, the building beneath him began to sway, its metallic bones finally giving way. “Not only a promise but a challenge.”
Beaming, Angelica stood and raised her arms triumphantly into the smoky air. “And we have finally succeeded! Without a host, our souls will finally be free to move on!” She turned and extended him a hand. “Come, my love. The time has come to join the others.”
Richard allowed her to pull him to his feet. They kissed for a long moment, the flames rising around them. “I will see you on the other side,” he said. “Together, we will make a new life alongside our own kind.”
“Together,” she agreed, interlocking her fingers with his own.
Then, they jumped.
&nbsp;
Richard opened his eyes.
Instantly, he knew something was wrong. The sky overhead was cloudy and tinted a peculiar shade of magenta. The wind brought the unforgiving smell of death to his nostrils, reviving his senses. He knew this feeling. It was the feeling of transferring hosts.
*No. This is impossible…*
Pushing himself up, he realized that he had not been staring at the sky. The sea rocked gently beneath him, reflecting the strange sunrise above. He floated on a piece of wood that reeked of gunpowder and smoke. Turning, he saw the wreckage of the ship. The bodies of the dead. They looked like … humans.
*Angelica!*
Richard found his body sapped of strength. His mind raced as he watched a small boat appear through the haze, slicing through the water in his direction. At the ship’s helm stood a man with flowing hair and a glimmering blade.
Before he knew it, the boat was upon him. The man with the sword barked an order and Richard was dragged on board.
He struggled to speak. “Is this … Earth?”
The other man raised a brow. “Earth? What is Earth?”
“This one’s no use. He’s lost his mind,” another voice said. “Look at ‘em. Can’t even move. Besides, the Lady said take no quarter.”
The man with the sword shrugged. “Not worth soiling my blade.” At another command, Richard found himself back in the frigid water.
Richard watched the boat disappear, not bothering to breathe.
&nbsp;
He opened his eyes a moment later as one of the humans on the small vessel. He observed the others, wondering which was Angelica.
Richard turned as a heavy hand slapped his back. The hand’s owner was a burly man with a missing eye covered by a frayed patch.
“Cheer up, Rook. The worst of it is over…”
*Why didn’t it work?* Richard only nodded in response. He needed to find Angelica.
| 2019-01-23T18:06:14 | 2019-01-23T16:46:34 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] Every human has stats, like Strength, Dexterity, Wisdom, etc, with them all starting at zero when you’re a baby. Whenever you age a year, one of these stats is randomly increased by a point. One day, you find out that age isn’t the only way to get points, yet it’s definitely the more moral way.
|
It's an odd disease. It's the lack of randomness in some people. She was one of those who suffered from it. Scientists didn't really have a theory. People had too many. From the position of moon during birth to the color of her skin, they made theories for the Stagnant disease.
It wasn't even a disease. It was mastery over a particular stat. She was not diagnosed till her late teens. Till then, the stats were random. But now, it has been 15 years, and all she gained was for Strength. She was stronger than most of the population. You'd think that would make her a superhero and not a freak.
But such is life. Less than 2% of global population suffered from stagnation. And there was no reason. A quirk of nature. A curse from some forgotten god. She was not happy with the conventional wisdom, where she could not meet the minimum intelligence criteria for most of the colleges. She had to change major because of not meeting the wisdom criteria. Birthdays were not excitement but ability to bench press more.
She would not limit herself to the broken record of her stats. Even without a degree in research, she worked her way to get access to one of the most prestigious collection of works on Karma.
She has spent almost a year hidden in alcoves, reading dusty books. And today was the day she would put all that work to test. Wisdom, Intelligence, Courage, here she comes.
For the small price of a human heart.
Surprisingly Chewy.
|
Martin was among the fortunate few that had been admitted to the University of Palatine. Most people end up with a balanced distribution of their attributes as chance increases them evenly each year. But assembled here for the first time in the circular hall of the Old Gilbertian Theater stood a new cohort of students who had had all of their ascensions accumulate on the attributes of wisdom and intelligence.
The Gilbertian was an intimidating place. Martin could sense it's age. It's dome seemed to be pressing down on him and the few small windows let in only a shimmering of light. The students were divided in two groups standing on opposing sides of the central aisle. On Martin's side the sleves and hoods of the students black gowns were framed by red stripes. The gowns of the students in front of him ended in grey stripes. Martin and the students around him were going to be admitted to the college of St Bernard. It housed those students and faculty who had more ascensions in intelligence than in wisdom. As opposed to the students and faculty of St Guillaume's College whose gray gowns marked their focus on wisdom, not intelligence.
Though even among the intelligent students of St Bernard's around him Martin was standing out. Not in any physical attributes. He was neither tall nor strong. In fact he was unusually weak and clumsy. But he was standing alone, separated from the other students by a thin rope on the far left side of the lower floor, immediately in front of the podium where the chancellor and his vice chancellors sat on throne-like chairs made of dark wood and even darker leather. All his ascensions had been in intelligence. He was the first new student of this kind to be admitted to the University of Palatine in over 10 years. And he could feel the glances and expectations of the professors up in the galleries weighing on him heavily.
After that memorable day of his matriculation ceremony the first few weeks of university were not too different from Martin's time at secondary school. At an early age, when his unusual potential for intelligence began to manifest itself, he was already put into an elite school where he got used to a tight schedule, frequent deadlines and high pressure. But everything began to change in the end of Michaelmas term. On the last day of lectures he was approached by Mr Thomas the assistant of Professor Oldson, his supervisor. He had not yet met Professor Oldson. None of the students had. While all his friends had meetings with their supervisors throughout the term, Martin was only seeing the assistant Mr Thomas. But he was not too concerned. Mr Thomas was more knowledgeable than most of the professors and everyone treated him with great respect. But of course he was excited when he got called in to Professor Oldsons office. It was a great privilege to be supervised by Professor Oldson, a privilege that was only given to students like Martin, who had been ascending exclusively in intelligence for all their life. Naturally for more than 10 years no student had been supervised by Professor Oldson.
Making his way to Professor Oldson's office Martin entered Wycliff House the oldest building of St Bernard's college for the first time. Students had been waiting for their professors in these halls for more than 600 years, fearing their judgment and criticism. The air was heavy. The smell of old books was unavoidable. And the mood was dramatic foreshadowing the importance of the meeting to come.
Martin was surprised by the sight of Professor Oldson. He seemed to be much younger than he must have been. Martin didn't know his age, but he had come across a book written by Professor Oldson around 65 years ago. But the man in front of him didn't look a day older than his father who was 55. But while this startled Martin he was soon forget it when Professor Oldson began to speak.
"Ah Mr Martin. I was expecting you to be here a few minutes ago. Hmm, hmm." Professor Oldson had a habit of grumbling into his hand that he frequently held in front of his mouth stroking his lips. "Let me get straight to the point. I will not be overseeing your education for the first two years of your studies. I trust Mr Thomas with that. Hmmm. But there is something I have to already tell you right now. You are a promising student. Hmmm. Mr Thomas seems to like you." Professor Oldson paused for a minute pacing around behind his large wooden desk full of books, paper, brass-coloured clocks and ink. "You see, we are a small group here of people that are pure. That are intelligent. That value their intelligence. We do not appreciate the weakness of St Guillaume. We do not appreciate their so called wisdom. Hmm, hmm, hmm." Professor Oldson was becoming increasingly agitated. " You are showing potential and it would be a waste to see you go. I cannot work with you if you do not keep to the path of intelligence. You have a choice to make. Hmmm. Work with me, learn from me. There is much that I can show you, but it comes at a cost. We will have to make sure that on your birthdays to come you will not be tainted by strength or dexterity or worst of all wisdom. Bah! There is a way. With great effort we can circumvent the natural ascension. We can even have you ascend more than once a year. All you have to do is trust me. Give me some of your blood. Leave it with me. I will take care of things. Do not worry yourself. Then I shall get back to you in two years. Hmm, hmm."
Martin most certainly did not trust Professor Oldson. But while he had been uncomfortable throughout the meeting now that Professor Oldson was waiting for his responds he knew that he could not pass on this opportunity. He could not go back to his friends and become on of them. That doors that stood open to him here were too tempting. For better or for worse his fate was now bound to that man. The time to come would have to show whether he would have come to regret this decision.
| 2020-02-29T10:05:32 | 2020-02-29T09:18:15 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You die with your cell phone in your hands, and the afterlife customs agents miss it when letting you in. You find that it still works, and you can connect to the internet and contact people in the living world.
|
I made sure the phone was turned off then set it on the dinette table. It had vibrated in my pocket on the walk from the gate to my new afterlife digs, prompting the guide to pause for just long enough to make me wonder if she was fixing to eject me from this new life. It was weird; I assumed that, as a dead person, my anxiety stomach would be just as dead as me. But, no. There it was. Gurgle Stomach, with a side of Hot Face.
“Someone’s nervous on their first day!” the guide chirped while patting my shoulder.
Shortly after, she deposited me here. In this Death Condo that looked like a replica of my freshman dorm room except white. White on white on white on white ad infinitum. For someone who, in life, was physiologically incapable of not spilling, splashing, or spraying food and drink on themselves, the floor, and the walls.
I was starting to wonder if this was actually Hell.
Laying in the void of that matte white *everything*, the phone was glaringly, offensively black. A malignant stain in this supposedly perfect place (unless it was Hell, which was still a possibility).
Who had even called?
I snatched it from the table and fired it up. One missed call. No message, but it was just my manager and it wasn’t like work was part of my life anymore.
Wait. Did I have to have a job here? This crappy Death Condo indicated that there might be a Death Cubicle in my future. Is this where those calls about our cars’ extended warranties come from? Would I have to telemarket from here? Or-- oh god, no. *Do customer support*? Was this Comcast?
The phone binged. Incoming message from…my manager. Firing me via text.
Without thinking, I texted back, “U can’t fire me I’m dead. Car accident yesterday.”
I opened the browser, googled my name, and copied the first article link. Texted it to him. Waited.
The phone binged. Incoming message: “wtf who is this”
“OK,” I cackled, pulling the phone close. “Let’s bring new meaning to the term ‘*ghosting*.’”
|
The worst thing of all, a freshly dead Alex thought as he looked down at his phone, was that he’d forgotten to charge the damn thing. That left him about thirty minutes to solve all religiously motivated violence on planet Earth, a fact which his sobbing girlfriend seemed to not even note the importance of.
“But you’re dead!” Ellen cried, voice breaking apart over Facetime from both the distance and the tears. “They just had me identify you! This isn’t real, it's not, it can’t be…” her voice trailed off into whimpers as her mind rebelled against her eyes. The man she’d loved stood right there on her screen, the angle of the video just as terrible as always, dark hair hanging loose over his shoulders when she *knew* it had been burned off in the accident.
“Babe I get that this is really, really hard for you right now and believe me, it sucks for me too. I loved you and our life together but right now there’s something way more important going on.” Ellen’s crying intensified, notes of hysteria creeping in.
“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that,” Alex said. “Look you’ve got to believe me and I don’t have much time. I’m in Heaven! Or at least I think it’s heaven, that part is kinda confusing and there were signs that said ‘Afterlife’ all over customs. Anyway, I legit just passed Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, and some guy with 4 arms and blue, **BLUE** skin!”
“Slow down, please Alex I don’t understand…” It broke his heart to do this but Alex knew from the very core of his being that it was the right move. He hadn’t had a chance to have children yet, hadn’t done a single thing of note. Ellen was the only person on Earth who would even remember him by next week, so this was it, his one chance to leave a mark.
World peace was a pretty nice parting gift.
“I know I’m being the worst boyfriend in the world right now but I need you to just believe me and start recording our call, ok? This is all going to become way clearer.”
And that was that, the last time she’d ever see him, as the camera turned away from Alex and Ellen tried to burn every single detail of his face far enough into herself to make the embers last. She hit record, her body still following commands as her mind checked fully out of the insanity that today had turned her life into. She stared blankly at the screen now, images barely registering as the weight of her being turned to his voice.
“So up ahead is this clubhouse looking thing,” Alex was saying as he approached the structure, camera bouncing with every step.
“Like I said I saw those guys earlier and I instantly knew who they were. Holy people glow up here- it’s honestly been kinda annoying so far, sometimes you see these clouds like miniature suns in the distance, it's a whole thing. But these guys were special, I could feel it in my bones when they passed. It’s like I just knew who they were immediately. Plus everyone but the blue guy was these sweet monogrammed bathrobes, I want one.”
Alex reached the door, turning the handle and finding it locked. “Yeah that would’ve been too easy.”
He turned to the right, chasing the long line of the fence off into the distance for several minutes until he reached a spot without people watching. With a silent prayer that seemed at once highly appropriate and incredibly disrespectful given the circumstances he leapt up, climbing the strangely warm golden mesh of the fence until he could fall unceremoniously from the top. His pained grunt as he hit the ground drew another small sob from Ellen.
“Sorry babe,” Alex said, dusting himself off as he rose.
“Anyway, I’m in and hopefully this works. You’re recording this right?” A barely mumbled yes was the only response. “Ok thanks. So this is super important because they all seemed so chummy together, Muhammed actually laughed at something Jesus said. Laughed! Do you have any idea how many lives that could have saved if I’d caught it on camera?”
Alex continued on into the grounds as he spoke. He could hear shouts in the distance accompanied by a regular thumping sound, as if something were being struck. He made for them, beginning to sprint now as his phone gave its first battery warning.
“I don’t have much battery left and I promise I love you so, so much. I wish we could have spent this time together but this is too important, when the call dies you’ve gotta upload it everywhere, alright? Promise me you will, send it to CNN, NBC, whoever, just get the news out that everyone’s gods are friends and things can all be ok.”
He was close now, no doubt they could hear the pounding of his feet against the ground. Visions of fame back home on Earth simming in his head, Alex turned the corner of the building and the whole scene spread out before him.
“Holy shit!” Alex exclaimed.
In the center of a pristine field lay a pool, its water crystal clear and preternaturally still even as the four men splashed about in it. A net stretched across the center of the pool, a pair of dark haired, olive skinned men who Alex innately knew to be Jesus and Mohammed on one side, opposite a golden skinned man with a topknot whose body seemed less fat than it should be, and a giant four armed blue fellow whose every move was shadowed by an even more massive snake to the side of the pool. Buddha and Vishnu, his newly acquired sixth sense for these things supplied. All four of them were suffused with a golden glow as they played, totally at ease in each other’s presence, as if celestial volleyball were the most normal thing imaginable.
Turning to the new arrival Jesus rose from the water, annoyance writ large across his face.
“Hey come on man, read the signs, no autographs anymore!” he cried, water glistening across his abs. Shockingly they were the only part of his image it seemed the painters had gotten right.
“Signs?” Alex replied weakly. He hadn’t read them.
“Yeah, signs! This is a private game, get out!”
As security closed in the battery on Alex’s phone ticked over to 2%. His final act as he was tackled by men clearly out of the middle ages was a screamed message to Ellen, “your anniversary present is in the-...” his phone died before the last word.
Stunned, Ellen leaned back in her chair, trying to process what she had just witnessed. She hadn’t recognized a single person in that pool.
\----------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-01-20T14:01:14 | 2021-01-20T13:43:01 | 1,552 | 120 |
[WP] Genies are real, and they do grant wishes. But these wishes do not have to be said out loud. They just grant you your three deepest desires, however fucked up they may be
|
The genie dissipated almost as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him only with a hazy, lingering smile.
However, he knew that something had fundamentally changed - that two wishes had been granted, and one wasted.
He flew upwards, reaching towards the heavens with effortless agility. Spiraling through the sky, he approached a rocky hill, moving towards it with determination - and crashed through it, feeling the inhuman strength of his body as he did so.
The glee soon mixed with sorrow, as his thoughts drifted to her, and his wasted wish. The desire that could never be granted.
He simply wanted her love, and the strength with which to protect her - but she was dead and gone, his powers granted too late to save her.
He flew for hours, grief propelling him forward. The powers felt useless without her - but he would put them to good use, creating a world where her fate could befall no other.
*****
Finally, he arrived at home, floating into bed in a daze. He felt simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated, and yet despite everything, his thoughts still drifted to her - as they always did.
He attempted to sleep, but his mind harried him all the while.
A scratching on the window.
No longer fearing what could be on the other side, he peered through the darkness.
The window cracked, then shattered; a figure shambling through the broken glass toward him.
He suddenly knew his deepest desire.
For her to love him.
*Forever.*
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Part ?: Clara v.s. Her Deepest Desires)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There was only one way to save my daughter, and it just might destroy the world.** But in all my years as a hero and a villain, as a mayor and an outlaw, I thought that I'd seen a bit of good and evil in my time. And twist or stretch it as much as you'd like, there was one thing that the most truly, irredeemable monsters had in common.
They had given up caring about *anybody*.
So long as I cared about my daughter, even if I doomed the city I'd once sworn to protect, I couldn't be a total monster.
And that was enough for me to try one final, desperate gambit.
The Feds hadn't been able to destroy the lamp, so they'd sealed it in concrete and dropped it to the bottom of the ocean. But there were *things* at the bottom of the ocean, things that I knew would take advantage of it even if the Feds didn't listen to me, and so I'd reached out to [an old thoughtfriend](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mot0ex/wp_the_ocean_can_be_scary_and_so_can_many_of_the/) and had him haul it back to shore years ago, where—to my knowledge—it had sat in an abandoned warehouse until now. An artifact capable of breaking reality and reshaping it to the user's desires, lounging in downtown Sacrament until someone smart enough to open it and stupid enough to try wandered in.
I wandered into the warehouse.
It was a rather shabby place for the end of the world to begin. The only light filtered in through an old crack in the ceiling, playing along the boring grey edge of the concrete cube; the smell of mildew and old fish filled the dockside air. Rotten wood sagged beneath my feet as I walked towards the innocuous concrete block.
I set down the toolbox I'd brought with me and took out a freshly-bought hammer and nails. Janice had been watching YouTube all day and was excitedly sharing the highlights with me—I'd set down my paperwork and sat beside her as she showed me singing cats and great salt flats and DIYs and sexy guys, not really understanding any of it but laughing along regardless. She'd shown me a video of a man breaking stone with nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows.
I wondered what she'd think if she knew that that video was the difference between her life and death.
With nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows, the concrete case around the lamp split precisely in two. I levered the halves apart until the gleaming golden metal became visible.
I swallowed, hesitating. In the wrong hands, this power could devastate the lives of millions, cause misery untold. In the wrong hands, this would be the antithesis of everything I had worked my life for.
Too late to turn back now.
I took the lamp into my hands.
Immediately, a presence *surged* into existence, a mind infinitely greater than my own pressing upon my consciousness. Billowing mist belched forth from the lamp's exposed aperture, forming into a seething, hissing cloud. I *screamed* as it dug into me, a well-placed hammer blow splitting my soul in half as easily as I'd shattered the cage around the bottle—
"I SEE," the genie boomed. It felt red, somehow, the red of lifeblood on an altar. "I SEE, I SEE, I SEE. DESIRES GRANTED, AND WISHES THREE."
"Just... one... wish..." I grated out. "Nothing... else... matters..."
"THE LEAST OF YOUR THREE GREAT DESIRES: NONE ELSE SHALL HOLD THIS LAMP. FROM NOW UNTIL THE END OF TIME, I'LL HIDE BEYOND ALL MORTAL GRASP."
The lamp flickered in my hands, fritzing, and then abruptly disappeared. I exhaled. Well. At least the damn thing would never cause another apocalypse again.
"THE SECOND OF THE THINGS YOU WANT: YOUR DAUGHTER, SAFE AND SOUND. I KNIT HER FLESH AND MEND HER SOUL. TO LIFE HER FATE IS BOUND."
I knelt. "Thank you," I whispered. "That was all I came here for. Really. There's no need to—"
"STILL THERE YET LIES ONE MORE WISH, ONE DEEPER THAN THE REST. THE FINAL OF YOUR DARKEST HOPES SHALL PUT YOUR HEART TO TEST."
I flinched. "What? No! That was all I wanted, that was my deepest desire, really! There's nothing that I want more than to never have to see my daughter *bleeding* like that again, or Tupperman standing helplessly as she dies—please, I don't know what—"
"THOUGH YOU MAY CLAIM TO BE A SHIELD FROM RED-TOOTHED CLAW AND STRIFE, EACH WOUND YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY TAKE HACKS AT YOU LIKE A KNIFE. THE FINAL OF YOUR GREATEST DREAMS: THAT THIS PAIN COULD END. THOSE YOU LOVE, YOU'LL NEVER HAVE TO SEE IN PAIN AGAIN."
"Wh—" Hope bloomed in my chest. Was that really it? Could I truly escape this nightmare with everything I wanted and more? "You... you mean it? My friends will never be in pain again?"
The clouds shifted, contracting in on themselves, and for a moment, I saw a terribly old, terribly human face within.
"THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID."
And then the genie disappeared.
A.N.
Part 2 is below.
| 2021-08-06T09:16:47 | 2021-08-06T07:40:16 | 531 | 53 |
[WP] “Congratulations on defeating The Dark Lord…” Your mentor and all of your allies suddenly turn their weapons on you, “…but you were meant to be a martyr. Forgive us.”
|
My companions have betrayed me. It turns out that during the post-victory celebration, they had poisoned my wine.
"I understand. I forgive you. But do let me take some knowledge to the grave - why?"
My old mentor, the elven archer, the youthful priestess and the spry thief seem surprised at my calm yet knowing words.
"The Dark Lord is born from the Abyss and bears its curse... which is passed on to his slayer. If you survive, you will become the Dark Lord in the span of a year... but if you die the world will have peace for a hundred years. Forgive me." I nod.
And that very moment, I attack the old bastard. The distance between us is covered in a single step and my drawn knife cleaves through his head.
If it were the others from my party, they would be impossible to kill so quickly but this bastard was *old*.
After my instantaneous counterkill, three arrows fly at me. Flame burns from my hands as I incinerate the arrows with the wave. Of course the archer would be the only one to fight - the priestess and thief are fleeing already.
"As if I wouldn't detect the poison. What, you didn't expect me to know you bastards were planning to betray me? I am the Hero after all, the best of this era's humanity... not dumb muscle you can fling at the Dark Lord." My boast is answered by a rain of arrows - naturally this long lived elf wouldn't speak a word during battle.
So be it. A fast paced battle of magic and arrows ends with my inevitable victory when I close the distance. After divesting my dead allies of their possessions, I give them a cremation.
Now, only the thief and the priestess remain.
If they manage to get away, the world will know of the Hero falling to evil.
If I manage to get them, the world will know of the Hero and his party sacrificing themselves to defeat the Dark Lord.
Let's go. After saving humanity, I want a fair try at destroying it as well.
|
Sorry I didn’t follow the prompt exactly but I felt this was fitting <3
I was alone with a monster. Handsome to say the least, I could tell he cared a great deal for appearance. His beard finely trimmed, his suit fitting his thin toned figure quite well. From what I understand his magic doesn’t require him to move. No incantations, flashy show off stuff. Most likely so he doesn’t have to adjust his appearance at all. He just sits in his throne over looking those who had made it through his dungeon and dishes death to those who make it this far.
“It’s to weed out the weak” the demon king projected his very soul in his words.
I could not believe that all of my training had finally gotten me here. My friends are still trapped in the dungeon maze, I’m sure they’d be fine. Individually each one is stronger than me, but I admit sometimes I feel as though I have the last brain cells in the party.
I raised my hands showing I only wanted to talk… for now. What he didn’t know is I cast my most useful spell, upon the whole room. A simple area effect that would tell me if anyone in this room would tell a lie.
“You seem much different from the other trespassers, usually they fill their body to the brim with hate and lash out on me the moment they see me.”
Again I could feel the power in his voice. I felt something wasn’t adding up.
I put some half-strung logic together and did my best to sound as though I wasn’t nervous. This exchange felt more like a job interview.
“Well you do murder people don’t you? Sometimes those people have family, friends… close friends.”
His response to this was riddled with defensive anger, each word steadily growing more intensity than the last.
“Is that what the adventurer’s guild would have you think? That I murder people off of an inkling? I would have you understand that the only innocent that have perished by my hand are those that trespass into my HOME.”
“What of the murders in town, the people sucked dry of blood, or clearly killed by demon magic!”
“That hasn’t happened for 4 months and mind you I worked hard to get rid of those imposters! Those that encroach on my name, perish. And really? You think I’d just go around Willy nilly sucking the blood out of people. Like it wasn’t a group of vampires? You people are dense. I have been doing nothing but keeping the town safe from disastrous peril and this is the thanks I get?”
Nothing from the lie detector, he was telling the truth.
The distinct sound of shoes clapping on stone tile behind me. My friends have showed, I’ve stalled long enough but I’m deeply conflicted. He should be heard out.
Leyla, our mage spoke up “I didn’t expect you to get here so quickly, after we got split up… well we’re here now we can kill him!”
My lie detector went off, does she believe in me more than I thought? Or maybe I’m missing something?
I tranced in my thoughts. Confidently I turned my back to the demon king. “We shouldn’t be the jury on this one. I think he’s honestly been helping the town!”
As I spoke the demon king rose from his throne searching for something in his inner jacket pocket, taking careful steps down the stairs towards the party. I paid no mind.
Leyla stared at me with cold unforgiving eyes. Saying the least it’s not what I expected at all. She readied a spell, a giant fireball, I expected nothing less from her. The other party members set their eyes on defense, our tank readying his shield, the healer precasting aoe heals, and our rogue going invisible.
The demon king didn’t flinch at this but threw a large amount of something finely cut up at the party, this broke the concentration of our two mages and the rouge, now visible.
That smell… it was garlic?
Their reaction was not at all what I’d expect.
“They can’t be vampires! They walk in the sun they eat normal food! They’re not even pale!” I stood in shock, knowing I was in a deep pool surrounded by vipers.
The demon lord was unsurprised at this.
“Yes well, all things evolve. They change based on their surroundings. These vampires are far down the generational list, their ancestors may be what you say but these vampires have evolved to fit into society. Sunlight will not effect them.” He spoke more gingerly now, realizing the true situation he was in. “Hell they don’t even need to be invited into a house now as it seems.”
Donavan, the tank spoke. “Well we still do but you have a welcome mat by your door, so…”
“That one is on me then it seems.”
I looked to the demon king for aid. I’m going to die here if I have no allies.
“What are your intentions with this boy?”
A sense of justice flickered in his voice, he was different from not too long ago.
Leyla licked her lips and turned straight at me “We were going to suck his body dry after you killed him, not in the good way either. Needed a heartwarming story for his family. Then some evidence sprinkled in there that it really was you who had been killing those people.”
There wasn’t a lie. I was fuming. So upset I cast a spell without thought. A holy light, thin and at thigh height but very compressed. It would reach right under Donovan’s shield.
It sliced leyla and donavan clear in two, but the rogue, simply jumped over it, only to be met by a force mid air that snapped his neck. He crumpled to the ground. The healer met the same fate as the rogue, the attack was blocked off by a barrier. His spine protruding from his neck from the force. He to hit the ground motionless.
“Dearest boy they would have you killed and turned into a martyr. As of this day, with your acceptance, you will be the heir to the throne for the next demon king . I believe you have the eyes that see justice for what it is.” The demon king kneeled to the ground. “I would humbly request that you be in my service, and see that this town flourish no matter the enemy that should affront it.”
“I have a ton of questions”
My thoughts were sporadic, no amount of logic could conceive this.
“I will allow one question for now”
I unwittingly blurted the first question on my mind giving no mind to the matter of importance.
“Can we remove the welcome mat at the door?”
| 2021-09-12T11:32:03 | 2021-09-12T11:19:11 | 108 | 76 |
[WP] Satan defeated God thousands of years ago and imprisoned him. He then wrote all of the modern religious texts, purposely filling them with contradictions in order to cause chaos for mankind. Scientists are about to inadvertently breach God's prison and learn the truth.
This came to me the other night when I was about to fall asleep and I couldn't sleep until I got this out of my head. I would love to hear where you take this... Did God go crazy during his imprisonment? Is he terrified of Satan now? How will humanity react to the news that they have all been duped?
|
Cameras are rolling, excited gasps rise from the crowd of doctors, engineers, reporters, assistants... Pogo's eyes flicker back open. The monkey screams in terror, and starts to jump around his cage excitedly. Journalists start speaking excitedly into camera lenses, a voice speaks from the stage where the cage is on, declaring his pride for the work done and excitement for the final test.
In the back of the room, an old priest leaves quietly. Two men in suits leave with him.
Today, science has won. Death has been defeated. The experiment originally performed a few years ago on a blind mole rat now successfully repeated on 16 other species. Only one daunting final species to confirm the experiment on: Homo sapiens -- mankind. Dead for 72 hours. Alive for another lifetime. Resurrection of the dead. The oldest dream.
Phillip Lancaster, the project's lead scientist finishes up his speech and leaves the room, running a gauntlet of people jostling for a chance to speak to the world famous researcher.
He reaches the relative solitude of the backstage bar, pours himself a coffee and sits down for a moment of reflection. His momentarily closed eyes are jarred open by a stern request.
"My superior would like to talk to you."
Phillip looks up to see a suited 6ft 5in black tie wearing monolith and his near duplicate standing arms folded with a small wire running from his ear. Secret service? FBI?
Whoever it was they could wait, Philip thinks to himself. Before he could reply the dark haired one on the right begins to grab him by the shoulder. This wasn't something he had an option in.
He rises to his feet and follows the suits to the other end of the bar. The old priest holds a glass of red wine in his hand, his wrinkled face giving away no inkling of emotion. The confessor's unblinking eyes slowly look up to match Phillip's exhausted gaze.
This conversation wasn't going to be fun.
"Mr Lancaster, my child. You may not perform or attempt to perform a resurrection on a human. That is reserved for God or the hand of God working through his church. Life and death isn't a chemistry experiment. You must end your research immediately."
Phillip sighed. He'd heard this view before, but not from someone who seemed this inexplicably intimidating.
"One, I'm not your child. Two, unless you are from the FDA or someone with the legal authority to prevent it, I can and will perform the resurrection on many humans, and you're wrong about life. A billions of year old chemistry experiment is all that life is."
The old priest stood up to leave. "One, as a member of the catholic church, you are my child in Christ. Two, While I do not have legal jurisdiction, I do have more than the ability to prevent it, and the authority of God's representative on earth to do the same. And three, if you continue to work you will discover very shortly the true nature of life... and death. It would be unfortunate for someone so talented to pass away so young"
The diminutive priest and his imposing escorts walk out of the room, while Philip tries to figure out if a priest just threatened to murder him.
In any event this isn't the time to worry about religious freaks. History is about to be made and he doesn't have time for this. He'll get his PA to increase their security detail, and make sure the labs are all secured. He leaves by the fire exit into a waiting car to get some well deserved sleep.
Somewhere across the cosmos, on a desert moon in the glowing embrace of a luminous gas giant, God had not slept in 5000 years. He doesn't make a sound as he feels another billion souls cry out for help. He doesn't even move. He closes his eyes and remembers the days of his omnipotence, and pleads with some power greater than himself -- that, he knows does not exist -- to save him from this torture. He can't look his son in the eyes as he watches him die in front of him for the millionth time, another black razor rock chain tearing the skin of him little by little.
He turns to hear a withering laugh from behind. His old archenemy stands, small and old, wearing a black suit and priest's frock.
More?
|
Ever since it was discovered that heaven was a planet, scientists began working around the clock to see how possible it would be to send astronauts there. It had been discovered after a few different space ships began hearing random voices over the radio systems. It turned out that the voices were souls coming from the rings of Heaven. After a team of astronauts were dispatched for an initial observation, additional ships were sent with bombs and weapons to break down the many barricades within Heaven. Many people were skeptical due to the lack of angels but many more were convinced after seeing pictures of the glowing surface of heaven glittering in the light.
The Head Astronaut on Heaven’s surface, Carter Hills records the outside temperature on his hourly check-up chart. The primary doctor, Sadie Lions watches Carter patiently trying to hide her boredom. When she first received the mission, she was elated and packed her things immediately to go off to training. Little did she know that most of her time would be spent on the ship treating the headaches and hangovers of other bored astronauts. Whenever Carter wasn’t doing anything too important, he tried to invite her out of the ship but those opportunities were far and few between and even when out, there was not much to do within the immediate vicinity of the ship.
Carter smiles at Sadie, “Ms. Lions, we’re going to do some excavating in an hour in search of minerals. Would you like to come?”
Sadie looks up surprised but happy, “Excavating? Sure, that sounds fascinating! Won’t you get in trouble though?”
Carter chuckles, “We’re just looking for rocks and if anyone asks, I’ll say that you were going stir crazy and it was necessary for your mental health.”
Sadie nods bouncing slowly into air and Carter pulls her back down to the ground.
He puts on a stern face and says, “Sadie, this is still a mission. Do not find a way to hurt yourself.”
Sadie nods seriously this time and they head back onto the ship. Carter looks around at all of the astronauts goofing off and deliberates which one has done the least amount of work. He sees two or three people crowded around a man doing magic tricks.
Carter taps the young magician’s shoulder, “Come on Houdini, We’re going excavating.”
The man smiles with the same enthusiasm as Sadie and puts his deck of cards away. Carter assigns jobs to the rest of the team to monitor their safety; although he doubted there would be danger, it was protocol and it was better to be prepared.
Carter leads Sadie and Houdini into Heaven’s caves carefully on the lookout for anything glowing particularly bright. According to the ship’s research, the minerals would most likely be glowing on Heaven’s surface but in reality, they could be anything.
Houdini follows close behind Carter and looks at Sadie who was admiring the caves, “You’re Ms. Lion, right? My name is Charlie Mills.”
Sadie looks at him curiously, “You can call me Sadie but Charlie Mills, are you related to Carter?”
Charlie replies, “Nope, my name is Mills and his is Hills; it’s close though Sadie.”
“Catch up Love-Birds!” Carter teases climbing deeper into the caves.
Charlie runs and climbs down and then both guys offer a hand to Sadie.
Sadie looks curiously at their hands, “Thanks but I can handle myself.”
Carter helps her down anyway, “This isn’t about handling yourself; you have less training and don’t need to be falling in these caves.”
Sadie nods with a smile; even the drunk astronauts on the ship had more training than her and everyone seemed a bit surprised when it was announced that she would be on the mission as well. It always seemed a little condescending when he reminded her but it was important that she knew her limitations. She follows Carter silently hoping to not aggravate him or screw anything up.
Charlie runs up to a wall gleefully, “There’s something behind this! Do you see the glowing coming from behind it; I smell some minerals!”
Carter laughs and takes out a pickaxe to begin hacking at the wall.
Charlie joins in and Sadie tries to see if they’re making progress. Suddenly the wall collapses and so they turn on flashlights and head forward in search for the source of the glowing.
As they turn a corner, they run into heavy metal bars. They look at the bars curiously and then see something stirring on the other side. They jump back and then the thing comes into the light; it’s a man.
Carter puts up his hands defensively and shouts at the thing, “This is a space exploration pursuit! You will stay put; do you understand?”
The man looks perplexed at Carter and nods putting his hands up defensively as well.
Sadie shines her flashlight at him, “You’re not even wearing a space suit?”
The man chuckles, “I don’t need one.”
They all jump back when he speaks clear English to them.
Charlie pulls Sadie back and shouts, “Who are you?”
The man looks around the cave and says, “Did you open the cave?”
Carter nods and Charlie repeats, “Who are you?”
The man leans against the heavy metal bars and the bars fall over.
The man smiles, “You must’ve loosened them up by disturbing all the rocks.”
He looks at the three astronauts and sighs before saying, “I am God; Welcome to Heaven.”
All three Earthlings look at each other curiously and God begins to explain. He claims that he was imprisoned by Satan and that Satan manipulated religious texts filling it with propaganda and lies.
Carter shines his flashlight at God’s eyes, “Why didn’t you just tell someone on Earth where you were?”
God rolls his eyes, “Do I look like I have a phone? The prayer system is one way; I hear you and that’s all.”
Carter shakes his head, “Not good enough give us something more; where are all the angels? Where is Satan?”
God looks around curiously and shrugs, “I know all of the angels are on Earth. They’re all dealt out to different humans as guardians. I did that when things started getting hostile up here. Your particular angels are waiting for you on Earth because they know they couldn’t come back here.”
Charlie’s eyes widen at the thought of being completely on his own without a guardian.
Carter then asks, “What about Satan?”
God shakes his head, “I’ve been imprisoned, he probably ran once you found here.”
Carter groans, “I want proof God! Show me something or we’re calling in back up and exterminating you.”
God thinks for a minute and then says, “Okay, hold on let me think of your prayers.”
He claps his hands together trying to meditate and rack his brain for answers.
His eyes light up and then he replies, “Carter Hills; you prayed for a safe journey here. You have a wife named Lydia and a baby named Landon. She’s praying that you make it home in time for the birth of your second child.”
Carter looks at him perplexed; he was right.
God then looks at Sadie, “You prayed for your sister’s surgery to go well, you have a dog named Scotty, and your dad is praying for some sports team.”
Sadie smiles at the thought of her family and nods hoping she wasn’t being fooled.
God looks at Charlie and shakes his head.
Carter says, “What about Charlie? You don’t have ‘records’ on him?”
God shrugs annoyed, “He’s an atheist; what do you want from me?”
Sadie jumps in, “What about his family or his friends? Charlie must’ve prayed at some point in his life for something.”
Charlie looks on worriedly as God thinks hard for a few minutes looking very frustrated.
God answers, “He has a mother and a father; his mother is an atheist too. When you were fourteen, you prayed for good grades and tickets for a radio station. You stopped believing after you lost your brother.”
Carter and Sadie look at Charlie who nods and says, “Sounds good enough.”
Carter approaches God, “Are you coming back with us? How do we explain this?”
God smiles, “Now that I’m free, you don’t have to worry. I can find my own way to anywhere in the universe.”
Sadie asks, “But what do we tell everyone? That we freed God but he didn’t want to come back.”
God nods, “That sounds good.”
God puts his hands up against the cave and then the wall begins to glow brightly.
God smiles and says, “These are minerals now.”
Charlie grabs a few samples and then asks, “But what are you going to do now? Catch up on prayers?”
God grins and answers, “Nope, I’ve got some unfinished business with Satan; I’m going out for revenge”
| 2014-08-14T10:12:58 | 2014-08-14T09:31:35 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] A billion-year-old alien civilization arrives at Earth and declares that humans will be exterminated "Shortly, in 50 million years." World leaders try to feign fear so the timetable will not be accelerated.
|
First there was terror. The aliens came, the Zergons they called themselves. They said us humans would all be annihilated soon. But their definition of soon was quite different from ours. "In a brief 50 million years, we will laser your miserable planet straight through the core!"
At first, we all had a strong urge to laugh at these advanced creatures, that were too stupid to realize how long 50 million years was to humans. But we quickly realized that mocking the aliens would infuriate them and cause them to shorten the sentence. So then TV, radio, magazines, instagram, everything was filled with emergency broadcasts, because we knew the aliens would be watching. The government told is that whenever a Zergon walked down the street, we must all pretend to be distraught and terrified of our coming destruction. As long as all of humanity committed to this charade, we would be fine.
Two weeks after the Zergons arrived, an astronomer released new findings. She had been studying the Zergon solar system, and the Zergon home planet in particular. She noted that the Zergon home planet orbited around its star at an unusually fast rate. After further investigation, she concluded that planet Zergon wrapped around its star approximately 550,000 times per earth day. What that meant was that 1 year to earth was actually about 200 million to the Zergons.
And therefore, 50 million Zergon years was 3 months on earth.
|
"Qrecec? Hello, I am Harold, the Prime Minister's assistant. She will be ready to see you in just a moment to beg you to reconsider the destruction of humanity," the young man said warmly to the hulking, vaguely amphibious looking alien sitting calmly in the waiting room. "But first, may I offer you some water? Tea? Coffee, perhaps?"
Qrecec watched him quietly, saying (nor gargling) nothing to the boy.
"Okay then," Harold smiled patiently. "I'll be right back once she's done with her Rolling Stones interv—I mean, once she's done detailing humanity's last moves to the press."
Again, Qrecec watched the man walk away to sit behind his desk. Harold hummed to himself as he typed away at his sleek laptop, occasionally stopping to answer the phone.
After a few moments, Harold returned to stand in front of the alien. "Come this way, she's ready for you," he said. Qrecec stood and slid quietly along the marbled floor behind him.
Down the hall, Harold knocked on an ornately carved wooden door and then opened it for Qrecec, gesturing him inside.
Prime Minister Koldova was looking down at her phone with intense concentration, not even noticing as Qrecec slid into her office and fell with a gelatinous flop into one of her overly plump chairs. Her mouth was moving, as though she were muttering something under her breath. Suddenly she slammed her phone down onto her desk, screaming, "Hell yeah! Take that, you stupid pig!"
She looked up in front of her, smiling widely, but as soon as she saw Qrecec, she rearranged her features into something more somber. She cleared her throat. "I'm so sorry, your Alien Lordship, excuse me. I was... it was just that we scored a decisive victory against an enemy from within. Shame, humans can't even come together with impending doom at our very doorstep."
Qrecec gargled something at her. It sounded like a chuckle.
She cleared her throat again, intertwined her fingers and sat up straight. "Yes, well. I requested your presence today in the name of peace. I had hoped that I could persuade you to reconsider your promise to exterminate us in 50 million years, which is a very short time," she said seriously.
Qrecec gargled again and shook its massive head type thing.
"Qrecec—" she began as her phone rang, but then held up a finger. "Hold on, I have to take this. Sorry, it's very important. Hello? Yes, this is her." After a pause, she said, "Yes, I actually called earlier because I was wondering when my replacement dress will be in? Uh huh, but I actually already returned the original dress. How long could it possibly take you to process that? 50 million years?" she asked, winking at Qrecec. "Up to six weeks? Well this is just unacceptable! Listen, I'm going to have to call you back. I'm kind of pressed for time right now, after all."
The Prime Minister pressed a button on her phone and sat it back down gently on her desk. "So sorry about that, Qrecec. There are just so many things I have to take care of right now, you see, what with such a pressing deadline. We really are coming up on it, you know. As I was saying before, we would really just love an extension. We don't really have time to prove our worth, after all, and—"
Prime Minister Koldova fell silent as someone tapped at her door. It opened and Harold popped his head in. Qrecec turned to see who it was, leading Harold to give him a radiant smile. "So sorry to interrupt, Prime Minister, but Mr. Stonewall is demanding to know when the Law for Preservation of the History of the Mallard will be passed. What should I tell him?"
The Prime Minister gave Qrecec an apologetic smile. "See? We're all in such a hurry to get our affairs in order. Harold," she said, turning back to the boy, "tell Mr. Stonewall that we will pass his law in 50 million years."
The boy nodded and ducked out, clicking the door shut behind him.
"See, Qrecec, now I have an obligation to pass that law in 50 million years and ugh, I just don't think we can make it happen then. There's so much else we need to get done, after all, what with our doom barreling toward us at such lightning speeds. I'm asking you to please, your lordship, please consider pushing the destruction back? I wouldn't want some of my last promises to be a lie, after all," she said with a wink.
Qrecec stared at her, shaking what must be his brain area again and giving another satisfied gargle.
Koldova sighed loudly and shook her own head-type-thing in a dramatic fashion. "I guess if I simply cannot change your mind, then I will once again accept our fate in the soon to reach us 50 million years. Please, I won't waste any more of our very limited time."
She walked around her desk and gestured the alien towards the door, which he began to slither towards. She opened it to the hall just as a janitor was attempting to mop the slime from the floors.
"Hello, Richard, how are you?" she asked the man.
"I'm fine mam, just trying to—holy fuck, what the hell is that? Is it, is that an alien?!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, our soon-to-be destroyers," she told him.
"Thank god we have such a long time to figure that out, huh?" he said, nudging her. "After all, it's going to take me 50 million years to clean up this goo."
Her head dropped and she sighed, "Richard, it knows English."
| 2017-07-17T19:28:32 | 2017-07-17T19:21:44 | 64 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper.
|
***HOW EXACTLY CAN I BE HERE? VISITING YOU, WHILE LIVING?***
The boy continued to twiddle his thumbs, all the while looking at the ground. He knew I was there, he had stood to attention with immediacy as I had arrived.
***LOOK AT ME BOY.***
He raised his head at mine and, much like a puppy, tilted his head to his side. His eyes, a deep brown surrounded in a grim yellow, stared at mine, a pair of tiny white dwarf stars, piercing in the darkness. As though feeling my gaze back into his, he looked away and continued to stare at the ground. He seemed frightened, though I had not been in the living world for quite some time.
As I watched this child silently looking away from me, I noticed how dark the room was. I am the true death that reaps all souls. And yet...
With a gaze, my eyes focused and I saw the room. Perhaps it was the size of a small shed, a small sheet in the corner, a hole in the ground, and a most unusual contraption. Somewhat like a pair of giant automatic hamster feeders. In that moment of clarity, I understood.
I looked again at this child.
***I AM SORRY.***
|
"Next!"
A wrinkled, white-haired man cautiously steps forward. It's my secretary.
"Mr. Reaper, your next job has an odd peculiarity to it."
"I'm the True Reaper. What job doesn't have an odd peculiarity to it?"
"Sir, your next job is in Ukraine."
"Where the hell is Ukraine?"
"It's on Earth." At this point, he wrote down the coordinates of the person.
"So you expect me to go to Earth to find the collection of memories that should be standing before me right now?" This was insane. How could anybody be so foolish as to send the True Reaper to Earth? "Don't you know what happened the last time I was sent down there? The world got itself a new triangle in the North Atlantic!"
"Mr. Reaper, with all due respect, I believe you need to go to Earth this time."
"Can't we just skip this job until it presents itself here, at my desk?"
"Sir, you know nothing can progress here until you take care of it."
"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you! This is going to end badly for Ukraine." I stood up, dwarfing my secretary, and stormed out the door. As I walked down the hallway, I contemplated how I was going to reap a person on Earth without destroying Ukraine in the process. This was going to be tough.
"Mr. Reaper, I hear you are visiting Earth today!" The elevator operator was surprisingly cheerful.
"Sadly."
"To where on Earth are you headed?" I gave him the coordinates my secretary had handed me earlier. "Eastern Europe is a rough place right now. Best be careful."
"I'm well aware of how careful I'll need to be." At this point, the elevator doors opened, and a massive concrete building towered over us. It had one massive pipe on top with some sort of smoke leaking out the top, and had many, many people running all around it, all yelling at each other to do something else. To one side, was thick forest, so dense you couldn't see more than a couple hundred feet in. To the other side was a collection of pipes and rods so gangly, it could only be called a death trap. A wheel with carriages, several cages with several more carriages inside each of them, as well as a train that appeared to be built for small children. Everything looked like it was going to crush somebody.
"Mr. Reaper, your job is just on the other side of this building. Be back soon."
"Why didn't we land right next to it?"
"We don't want the job to see this elevator, do we?"
"I guess not." I walked around the building, admiring its ability to contain whatever was producing that much smoke inside of it. I resolved to look through the building once I had done my job.
Eventually, I came upon a middle-aged man living in the woods. I knew he was the job because he saw me. He lay down his ax on the tree stump and sighed. "I assume you're here for me to die."
"To die? No. I'm here to remove you from memory. I'm here so people will forget about you."
At this, the man perked up. "So you mean I can continue on living here, and nobody will remember I exist? Sign me up!"
"Living here? Aren't you already dead? Didn't my brother, the Grim Reaper, visit you already?"
"Nope. I did fake my death, though. I guess it worked, too, since you seem to think I've died!"
"Well, I have a job to do, but this will not continue on for long. I can guarantee you this: my brother will be coming for you soon."
"I see. Well, do what you must, but I plan on living here until my last dying day."
"We can see to that." At this point, I grabbed him by the neck. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his legs jerked wildly, and his arms grabbed my shoulders. He was in no pain, but his body could feel itself being choked. After what probably felt like an eternity to him, I let him go. The reaping was done.
I turned and walked back to the large, concrete structure. I needed to see what was inside there. I followed a worker inside and found a maze of corridors, catwalks, and pipes that all seemed to be working together. I had to find what was making all the smoke, for that seemed to be the heart of the operation. That's when I saw it. At the center of the room, there was the bottom of the pipe coming out the top of the building. And there was a stairwell leading beneath it. I rushed down the stairs, only to find a large concrete box. I admired it, reached out to feel its heat, but it suddenly disappeared. That's when I knew I had gone too far. It was going to be what happened in the Atlantic all over again. I had gotten too close, and I had reaped the concrete box. In its place, a smoking pile of molten rock began to flow. I raced out of there, pondering exactly what I had unleashed upon the workers here.
When I got back to the elevator, I practically burst through the door. "We have to leave. Now!"
"Mr. Reaper, what happened this time?"
"Something happened inside the building. I think my mere presence caused something in there to cease to exist." At this point, the elevator began to rise back up to the sky. Looking down below, I could see all the workers frantically scrambling, yelling at each other. Just then, an explosion. The concrete building caught fire, and my brother was summoned with 31 jobs in Ukraine.
| 2018-05-12T16:01:10 | 2018-05-12T15:41:34 | 416 | 26 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world.
|
You know when you're a kid, and you're dreaming of finding your place in the world? I remember being nine and looking up at a giant career chart and thinking "I don't have any idea where I'm going to fit..." It certainly wasn't rescuing hostages for a living.
My teen years were no picnic either. Everybody was dreaming of being scientists or engineers or something cool and high tech. I was never good at biology or chemistry or much of anything that approached a science. In high school the closest I ever got to being recognized for anything was being named captain of the chess team. I was the only one on the team and even the club adviser regularly forgot about me. My mother used to say that some folks are just destined to be wallflowers and that every teen wants to be special. I never was. All of that changed when Jason brought a gun to school.
I was the only one in my class to recognize the sharp pop-pop crack of a shot and when I screamed to get down, the looks of surprise on my classmates faces vanished as they too ducked under tables. I knew it was going to be a moment where all of our lives pivoted. To this day, I still don't know why but I clearly remember climbing out from under my table and exiting the back doorway of my class.
My heart thundered and I could feel the blood burning in my ears. I convinced myself that every sound was the shooter turning a corner or opening a door or...Still, I went from room to room quietly whisper-arguing with terrified kids, drawing them out and leading them back to an exit. The police figured out where the kids were streaming from pretty fast and I saw a few officers leading a sobbing boy off towards the ambulances. I went back in.
By the time that I was leading the last girl out of my class, I'd gotten over the creaks and groans of the building and so I almost missed the sound of Jason reloading his gun. I froze and pushed Melissa into a small alcove. I covered as much of her body with mine and hoped deep down inside that she'd make it and that my mom would understand that I'd done the right thing. Jason turned the corner and paused... and then just like every other day of school, he walked right by me. He didn't even make eye contact with me. I waited til he turned the corner and got us both to the first exit I could find.
It took me weeks to realize my gift. I prayed and had night terrors and struggled to make sense of why Jason hadn't shot us right then, right there. And then I realized... I'd never had trouble with Jason. I'd never really had trouble with anyone. As bad as my teen years were, I never got bullied. I was definitely a nerd, but the mean kids never made trouble for me. When trouble came around, if I kept my head down and avoided eye contact, it just passed me right by. That was the gift that got the FBI's attention enough to get me this job: It's like when people have an axe to grind, if I avoid eye contact and stay out of their way, I just disappear. And now? Now it's my job to walk into life or death situations and do exactly that, and if I'm really lucky, to take a bunch of innocent people with me. I'm a Vanisher, and it's good not to be noticed.
|
Like every person who came before I was blessed with a perceptibly limited gift, it seemed the gods intended mine to be horribly pointless, but they made a mistake in thinking smutty pleasure was limited. I grew tired of waiting for life to get better, I wanted more, needed more! One morning it dawned on me, my blessing could possibly be used to do more than just engaging in fantastic coitus.
I stewed on the idea for a while and thought about using it to give people a certain erotic feeling concerning an idea or task, could it be used to change an individuals motivation or get them to do things they otherwise wouldn't? I had to test this hypothesis! I never had to be close to someone to get them to start thinking dirty about me. If I wanted coitus, all I had to do was think about copulation with Alex, and she would call soon after in dire need.
I hatched a plan; I needed someone on live TV to test on, so I chose Sean Hannity as my target, I waited until his segment and thought about him copulating his notes, about 10 seconds after the thought he picked up his notes and seemingly fell in love with them, nonstop reading, caressing but then he stood up and started undoing his belt.
The program went to commercial; I assumed he went further but was unable to confirm.
Realizing that he went too far to be useful for anything other than ruining a career or reputation I needed to come up with something more subtle.
My next subject was the Bill Nye the science guy, all I wanted was a temporary obsession when an idea, so I waited for his next live event which I wanted to attend anyway.
The moment was here, and he walked onto the stage, I immediately began thinking about him caressing his tie, I didn't have to wait long for a reaction, he lightly grabbed the tie with his left hand slowly stroking it. It seemed a light distraction and caused a few studders but was a satisfactory piece of data.
My next target was someone I despised; my intent was simple, I wanted to ruin Ajit Pai, I thought of him spooning a stoplight in time square until he finally showed up on various live streams doing just that. I had to go further though; I had to see him in ruin. I thought of him engaging in coitus with the road, but that wasn't enough. His professional life was over, but I wanted more.
I caught eye of Danny DeVito watching this unfold and knew what must be done; I imagined Danny penetrating him from behind with an upward thrust, and it happened as I watched from the various live feeds.
Media coverage of the event was censored, but everyone who had a TV or internet knew what happened, I laughed watching the media talk about his "disgusting acts of public indecency."
I felt a need for power now more than ever, I knew I could ruin people but could I get them do enjoy an idea they otherwise would dismiss?
I wanted political power, at the time I didn't think I could influence the masses all at once, so I came up with a plan to blackmail people into submission.
I rented an Airbnb, set up cameras and hired an escort, I wasn't sure on all the details but went ahead with it anyway. I Imagined Ted Crus fornicating my escort in the Airbnb, but I ended up waiting longer than I thought. He showed up and did indeed engage in intercourse, but now I had to figure out how I was going to use this to my advantage. The plan was hatched, and I decided to execute, I thought about him caressing my front door, and he eventually came knocking. I was beyond nervous, but I proceeded to show him the videos and gave him only one demand, all he had to do was support legalization of marijuana, that's it, and the tapes disappear.
He agreed to the terms and went on his way, this only sparked more desire though and got me thinking about my next target.
I went after a few more senators and a few congressmen, the simple plan to legalize marijuana seemed to be having the desired outcome.
I settled on the president of the united states, thinking the tried method would work I went ahead with the plan the same as every other time.
The ultimate power I thought, I could get him to do anything!
As per usual I imagined him doing something erotic at my door, but things didn't go as planned.
There was no knock, the door flew open, and I was immediately detained, a sack was put over my head. I was shoved into a vehicle, and they drove off. When we finally arrived, I had no clue where I was or what their intent was, their intention wasn't kept secret for long.
A man I couldn't see entered my room, and without hesitation started talking: We know what you've been doing, we don't know how you got them to do it, but you're going to do it again. Tell me how the blessing works, and you get to live, refuse, and we will end you.
I wanted to use my blessing on him, but I had no clue who he was; if let him know how the blessing works he will immediately know I need to be able to imagine them, at least a face is needed for that.
I wagered they wouldn't kill me if I spilled the truth, I told him everything and why I did it.
He left, leaving me alone in the darkness for hours, when he returned he made an offer, work for us and use your blessing to influence the world to our benefit and you will not only live but Mr. Lordofbud, you will live well, smoking weed whenever you desire.
I agreed but didn't expect his response: You will start testing immediately, we will explore the extent of your power and see if you can do more than previously demonstrated, you will never see our faces or know our real names, but you can call me Will.
My power grew over the coming months, I learned to think of groups instead of single people, it was hard keeping groups in my head though, and could occasionally not have the desired outcome.
I learned how to be very subtle, I could force people to be obsessed with an idea now, in love with an idea to the point of getting them to speak publically about it.
Will told me to test my ability on Shaquille o Neal, Will wanted me to get him to support flat earth ideology publically. I thought about Shaq falling in love with flat earth forums, I did this every day for a fortnight. Will finally came in with a clip of Shaq supporting the idea, I wasn't happy about what I had done.
Testing was not over, but Will told me it was time to start using my blessing on our enemies. We began with Russia, I was given explicit instructions, what thoughts I was to have, and pictures to look at while I'm doing it, I guess they didn't think I capable of executing my own plan.
The first instruction was random members of the Kremlin and a love for America, the second was weird, Putin fornicating with a bear they had given me a picture of, that was it, Will left, and I was sent back to testing.
A few days later Will let me know the repercussions of the instructions, Putin died attempting to hug a bear, and all the members I imagined with love for America were publicly pushing support to make an ally out of America.
We repeated similar plans with many nations, but then came North Korea, Will gave me instructions that I knew would result in the deaths of the men in the thousands of pictures set before me.
I was told I will not be getting the results, nor will I ever get to know the outcome again.
The killings continued, I was left wondering when It would end, I dawned on me, this will end when I have conquered the world for them.
Thanks for reading, this was my first ever story. Sorry if the format sucks here.
| 2018-06-30T17:41:53 | 2018-06-30T16:51:29 | 192 | 20 |
[WP] Getting arrested for a botched crime is a rite of passage in the Chebwick family. They take great pride in their long legacy of poorly executed crimes. But the youngest child has been a great disappointment.
|
Joan placed her hand on the glass. Behind it, her mother and father sat in orange jumpsuits.
Joan put on her brightest smile. "Ma, Pa. I'm graduating next week. Wish you guys could see it."
Her father huffed. "What good is a uni degree? A piece of paper ain't gonna help you rob a bank is it. What are you going to do? Everybody get down! I'm a lawyer! I'll sue you!"
Her mother placed her hands on his shoulder. "He didn't mean that JoJo. Your father was denied juvie because of his first lawyer. We're just worried for you. We want to see you here. With us."
"Ma, I'm not going to be locked behind these bars! I just-"
"Of course, dear," her mother said, "We understand if you want to land maximum security. Like Eggbert."
Her parents exchanged proud looks.
Joan threw up her hands. "No! Eggbert's lockpicks weren't even sharp! He should of-
Her father stood, knocking over his stool, ears red. "Those were your grandfather's lockpicks, young lady! Passed down from his father to his son, and will be passed from Eggbert's to his. Don't you dare mention sanding them again."
"Yeah," Joan muttered, "maybe after Eggbert's life sentence."
Her father's cheeks glowed like a beet and her mother patted his shoulder. She picked up his seat and coaxed him back down.
"We miss you JoJo. Banks are the Chebwick way but if you're feeling nervous you could do an ATM. We know you're not the best with strangers." She leaned closer to the glass and lowered her voice. "Your uncle Bobby's first was a convenience store."
Joan took a deep breath. "I miss you too, ma. And you, pa."
Her father huffed back.
Joan forced the corners of her mouth up again. "I landed an internship at this law firm. Well it's not exactly a law firm, it's a bit shady but..."
Behind her, a guard's bored voice announced, "Visitation over. Please make your way to the exit."
"But I'll get you guys out soon. Eggbert too. If I'm lucky maybe even before my grad ceremony." Joan slung her backpack over her shoulder.
"We can't wait to see you again, Jojo. We'll be right here." Her mother waved and her father looked at the ground but Joan caught a slight frown.
"Yeah. I know."
Joan stood. Walking past the guard, she slid him a stack of banded greens. She paused for a split moment and whispered.
"Bonanno will give your orders soon."
\---
PART 2 below
r/bobotheturtle
|
Plenty of criminals sought out Alicia Fox's services. Most of them were kids born into crime families or mafia bosses who couldn't quite nail their nefarious public images. But none of them had ever asked for something like this before.
Alicia sat with her client at a table outside a quaint little French-style bistro. To any passersby, they might have looked like a young couple out on a date, Alicia in disguise as she always was (dark-haired wig, delicately-applied prosthetics to change her nose and chin *just* so), the client sitting across from her in a plaid shirt and ripped jeans. Neither of them looked like a pair of criminals, as they sipped espresso and nibbled at their biscottis.
But Alicia's espresso was going cold. She just stared and stared at the man sitting across from her, his eyes bright blue and urgent.
"You... what?" she said.
Her client, Ernest, held her stare. Unsmiling, unflinching, he said, "I want you to teach me how to get caught."
Alicia stared at her own surprised face in the dark mirror of her coffee. "I can't say anyone has asked me for *that* in particular."
After all, she was a criminal mastermind. Twenty years of the kind of heists that would send her away for a lifetime and she had never been caught.
"You see, it's my family..." Ernest grimaced and shook his head. "We Chebwicks have a long and proud history of notoriety. My brother has been arrested for car jacking at least thrice now. Once he even ended up in the county jail for three years when he took the mayor's yacht for a joyride. You should have seen how proud Mom and Dad were when they cut out the newspaper article to hang up in Dad's cell. He never stops talking about how he wishes I was more like my brother."
"Chebwick," Alicia repeated. She scoffed and didn't bother hiding her derisive smile. "Your father is Marshall Chebwick?"
Ernest brightened. "You've heard of him?"
"He's only the poster child of how *not* to carry out a bank robbery."
"Exactly. Ever since I was a little boy, he told me, *son, one day you'll be in a cell just like mine, and then you'll understand the family tradition*. Even Mom spent a while on house arrest for credit card fraud." He stirred his coffee, glumly. "Got caught printing up signs that said *Martha Chebwick is my real name, come find me you assholes*. Paid with a stolen credit card."
Alicia blinked fast. "Not exactly the kind of legacy to be proud of."
That made Ernest scowl. "You wouldn't understand. All my life, my family has been infamous. Notorious. Our names on everyone's lips. And I'm the nobody. I'm the goody-two-shoes. Every time we have holiday dinners at the penitentiary, they never stop making fun of me." He screwed up his face and deepened his voice, clearly mimicking his father. "'What's the matter, Ernie? Only commit crimes you didn't get caught for?'"
She narrowed her eyes at Ernest. "Have you *tried* to get arrested?"
Ernest sighed, heavily. He dug into the pocket of his plaid shirt and threw a stone relic on the table.
Alicia's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She reached across the table and set her napkin down on top of it. She recognized the dragon carving, instantly. It had gone missing from the Smithsonian only days earlier.
"*You're* the one who broke into the museum?" she said.
"I did! I wore a maintenance uniform and I told the guards I was there rob them blind. You know what they said to me?"
"What?"
"They laughed and waved me right on in!" Ernest slapped his thighs in frustration. "I was trying to get a good story. Good headline for the morning news. But they *wouldn't believe* me. Thought I was the new night janitor."
Alicia couldn't hide her fascination now. She cupped her chin in her hands and rested her elbows on the table. "And why would they?"
"Sure beats me. They even let me know when they were going out for their cigarette break, and asked me to make sure I cleaned the rare records room too. Unbelievable."
Now Alicia Fox studied his face. The gears of her mind turned. She was never one to pass up a good opportunity. He was one of those all-American boys: bright-eyed, plain-looking, the kind of face that you could trust instantly.
"What else have you tried?" she said, her lips curling in a smile.
"Oh, everything. You wouldn't believe the things I've stolen. I once told a pilot on an airline, *Hi, can you let me hijack your plane so my dad can be proud of me?*"
"What did he say?"
"He just let me fly the damn thing! Laughed the whole time! He thought I was just kidding." Ernest scowled. "He even realized my knife was rubber. Spent the entire time poking his copilot with it and laughing at me. I almost landed us in the ocean, for God's sake, and he just told me to let me know if I needed a job recommendation."
Alicia nodded. She reached across the table and plucked up the stolen relic, still folded inside the napkin like a leftover bread roll. "I might have a better idea for you, Mr. Chebwick."
Ernest looked up at her, hopefully. "What's that?"
"Your family may have an innate talent for being deceitful and obvious, but I think you're different." She leaned forward and grinned across the table at him. "People *want* to trust you."
It was even working on her. Every innocuous tilt of his head made him more and more likable. Like a golden retriever in human form.
"No one trusts a Chebwick," Ernest muttered back, but a shy smile was tugging at the corner of his lip.
"I do," Alicia said, surprising herself with her honesty. "And I have a proposition for you, Ernie. You come work for me. And you start a new legacy for your family. A new place for the Chebwick name."
Ernest blinked in disbelief. "And what am I supposed to tell my dad?"
"You can tell him to go right to hell if he's not proud of you." Alicia plucked up her espresso and gave it a sip. "But a man with your talents shouldn't be wasting it on being a bad crook."
Ernest rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. "Are you sure?"
"If I was your mom, who'd I pick? The brother who's been in and out of jail for petty crime, or the one who mailed her a priceless Monet that no one even noticed him lift? Stick with me, and you'll see which brother you turn out to be."
That wormed a real smile out of him. "Fine. But only if you let me get caught at least once."
Alicia matched his grin. "Honey, at this point, I'd love to see you try."
| 2020-04-03T22:22:47 | 2020-04-03T21:43:50 | 1,211 | 44 |
[WP] You killed your lover and cashed in their life insurance after identifying their body. Nobody even thinks of accusing you because everyone knows you love each other to death, and they aren't wrong at all - after all, you are a pair of Immortals who have done this more times than you can count.
|
"Finally for profit rather than sheer satisfaction.", I thought to myself as I stared at my love's 'deceased' corpse. For centuries we've killed each other. It's certainly the best way to end an argument, and we've had plenty of those.
Countless times we've died to each other. Countless times we've been reborn to each other. Our love growing stronger each time.
And now our bank account grows stronger! Good thing too because when you've been alive as long as we have, finding excitement can be an expensive endeavor.
What a wonderful thing insurance is, if you have a way to exploit it, that is. Otherwise it's just a monthly nuisance that MAY come in handy one day. I remember when people actually used to save up for life's unexpected events. That way if they never happened, hey, I'm set for early retirement! Now it's fork over a buttload of your paycheck in case you get sick, and if you don't, here's all that money you paid in! Nah, just kidding, our CEOs need Golden parachutes, buddy.
Anyway, I digress. Who am I to complain anyway? We're soon to be rolling in cash and whisking away to a paradise to hide out and enjoy our exploits.
"Sir? Hello? Is this your wife?", the man inquired with an elevated voice in order to take me out of the mental sanctuary I had been pacing around in.
"Oh, sorry. Yes, yes this is her.", I said with manufactured sadness.
"I'm sorry for your loss. I'll give you a moment while I go fill out some paperwork."
"Thank you.", I say as I grasp her cold, temporarily dead hand.
As the man exits the room, I can't help but grin from ear-to-ear from the delight of knowing we pulled this off. My mind wanders back into the fantasy of our stolen paradise.
After a few moments, I'm pulled back to reality as I notice my beloved's hand starts feeling less cold. Soon after, it twitches.
"Oh shit!", I think to myself. "Not already!"
Just then my wife comes to. Her eyes snap open. She jolts upright. Then she begins coughing profusely as oxygen starts filling her vacant lungs.
The coughing stops. Utter silence as we stare at each other. We hadn't planned for this.
She looks around, realizing where she is. Her head shoots in my direction, penetrating me with a sharp stare, her eyes widen for emphasis. I know exactly what she is thinking.
I lunge toward her and wrap my hands around her neck, squeezing as though I were trying to wring out a waterlogged shirt.
It seems to take an eternity. I continue squeezing as I keep a panicky watch on the door. If he comes back now, this is all for naught.
Just as she's about to drift back into unconsciousness, she mouths to me, "I love you".
"I love you so much.", I whisper as her eyes come to a close. I continue holding my grip until I feel the pulse in her neck go silent.
An experience so jarring that my face is now flowing with true tears.
As I hear the man about to re-enter the room, I hastily pull my hands from my dear love's neck, and act as nonchalant as I can, barely catching myself from breaking out into a whistle.
"Everything alright? I thought I heard some noises."
"Oh, that. That was just grieving you heard. I'm a loud griever."
"It's okay, I understand. It's tough losing a loved one. First time?"
"I wish I could say it was.", I say as I hide my smile.
"I'm very sorry. The paperwork is ready for you at the front desk. Take as much time as you need. I'll leave you to it."
"Thank you. Thank you very much."
He turns and begins to exit again. As he nears the door, I notice my wife's hand begin to twitch again.
Shit! Well, third time's the charm, as they say.
|
Jacob looked at the case file. It was simple. Way too simple. In his experience the toughest crimes to solve always looked the simplest. He picked up the phone and called an old friend.
"Hey Jacob. How's it hanging?"
"Slightly to the left. Not much. But it's annoying."
"It would be to someone like you. So what made you think of me?"
"It's the Carmichaels. There's something I don't get."
"Barry and Renee? I thought it was pretty straightforward."
"Can you meet me Allen's? Tomorrow. Name the time."
"I'm working a double tomorrow. But I can be there on my lunch break. As long as you're buying."
"I am."
Jacob fixed the salt and pepper shakers for the sixth time. He was annoyed. At that moment his friend walked in.
"Carter. You're late. It's 12:03."
"Anything less than 5 doesn't count."
"12 is a good number. Nice and even."
"Yes but 2 times 4 is six."
"Where are you getting the 4 from?"
"Pulling it from my ass. Listen, I pulled the files on the Carmichaels. It wasn't in our jurisdiction so I had to take some initiative. I don't like taking initiative."
"I'll make it worth your while. Give me the details."
Carter eyed the menu. "Maybe we order first?"
"I already ordered for you. It's Wednesday. So Chicken and Bacon ranch melt. With fries."
"But I don't want to have a melt."
"But that's what you had last Wednesday." Jacob looked at him, a bit puzzled.
"Right. Never mind. Chicken it is. OK, so as I said. It's actually pretty straightforward. On the evening of the 16th of May, Renee was reported missing. When police visited the house and searched, they found a scarf of hers hanging halfway down the cliff. You have to understand that they live in this massive house overlooking the see. There was a bench where Mrs Carmichael would often sit and watch the sun go down while she worked on her knitting. There was some mud at the place. Our first thought was that as she got up, she slipped and just fell off the cliff. Her needles and the unfinished piece was found near the bench. And I already mentioned her scarf."
Their food arrived and they took a few moments to set up. Carter looked at Jacob. "you don't want anything?"
"Oh I always have my food at 1."
"Hmm suit yourself." He took a bite. "Oh this is good. You sure you don't want some?"
"I am."
Carter knew his friend enough that further conversation would have to wait for him to finish. He quickly wolfed down his food and then continued his story. "Ok, so you have to understand that Renee Carmichael was always a bit of a mystery see. Barry had been living there for a couple of years. He was a handsome young fellow. And rich to boot. You can bet the spinsters down in the village tried to set him up with a bunch of girls from the village. But he wasn't one to be tied down. Then one summer he goes off to France and comes back with a wife. It was quite a scandal. People tried to find a bit more about Renee but there was barely any record. No one seems to know who she was. There seems to be no record of her going further back than 2 years. You have to remember that this is a small village and they are hungry for any sort of drama and intrigue. And there's this quaint little girl who can't speak a lick of English. So of course, the gossip spread and spread."
"She was the talk of the town?"
"No one talked of anything else. It also helps that she was absolutely stunning."
Jacob nodded. "And then?"
"Well the police theory continued to be an accident till the insurance investigator, of all people, came to the police station with a letter. It seems that the investigator and Renee had grown close. It makes sense too. He was a well travelled man. With Barry out of the house for his work, and no one else in Renee's orbit who she shared anything in common with, he and Mrs Carmichael grew closer."
"There was talk no doubt?"
"Isn't there always? The old ladies of St Mary have nothing better to do than get together and just make up the wildest tales. Renee and Albert, the investigator had been seen together. And people just made up the rest. But still, in this case it looks like there might have been something there. Maybe just the beginnings, but something surely. Albert produced a letter where Renee had mentioned that she was afraid of her husband. She said he had a fearful temper and that he hit her. Barry denied it all, of course, when he was questioned by the police. The police had their suspicions raised though. They looked deeper into his alibi. Not that there was much of that. He claimed he was with Albert at the time. Albert, of course, denied it."
"And the letter. It was proven to be from Renee?"
"Indeed it was. The handwriting was an exact match."
"That's that then?"
"Not even close. The police still didn't have enough evidence. Barry then put forth a new alibi. He said he had mixed up his dates. Easy enough to do, considering he was a loving, grieving husband. He claimed to have been hunting up in the forest. Both the husband and the wife were incredibly fond of hunting, you see. While no one had seen him, people remembered hearing gunshots. The police asked anyone who could've been hunting in that area to come forward. But no one did. There was someone there for sure. The gunshots prove that. Barry says it was him. But unless someone comes forward and counter claims him, the police have no way to prove or disprove him."
"Yet he was arrested."
"Indeed he was. Because Albert was like a hound. It was clear that he really did love Renee. While the police dilly dallied trying to break Barry's alibi, Albert took matters into his own hand. He searched their house. Every inch of it. And he found something. He called the police immediately. It was a door knob. It had been screwed back in but faint traces of blood were found on it. Barry's fingerprints were all over it."
"Oh. The clinching piece of evidence?"
"It was. Barry was arrested. His trial is coming up soon. But it's a foregone conclusion. The letters are definitely in Renee's handwriting. The blood matched too. The door knob had definitely at some point stuck Renee and she had bled. Even if it was earlier, it proves that Barry is a violent man. So there you have it."
"Clear cut case."
"As clear as it can be. Unless..."
Jacob didn't say anything. Just raised his eyebrow.
Carter looked at him with a faint smile. "Unless there's something we are all missing. After all, you asked for this case. There's obviously something there."
"You said they lived in a big mansion right?"
"Indeed."
"So they would have people working there. They are rich folks. So obviously they would've had maids and gardeners and what not."
"Surprisingly no. They did most of their own cooking and cleaning. They have someone come in weekly from the village to take care of their garden. Barry did have a maid in the house before he got married. But when he left for France, he let her go."
"And now? Who lives in their house?"
"No one really. Albert was mentioned in their documents as the caretaker of their fortune. He's staying there temporarily. Till things get sorted out. Renee died without a will. Barry owns the house and everything in it. Albert sold a few things to ensure Barry's bills are paid off. The rest of it probably waits for Barry to get out of prison, whenever that is."
"What's the likely verdict?"
"Well, it was a pretty girl that died. You have to understand that the jury are human too. They'll see it as a lovely young girl who was ruthlessly tortured and murdered by her husband. He will most likely spend the rest of his life in jail."
"Will he now?"
Carter looked at him curiously, wondering what was going on in his head. Aloud, he said, "Well it's time for me to head out. You need anything else, just call me."
"I would like to meet him."
"Barry?"
"Yes."
"I can arrange that."
| 2021-06-29T15:17:55 | 2021-06-29T14:29:01 | 191 | 28 |
[WP] Instead of the Monkey's Paw, you find the Clown's Nose, which instead of granting your wish in the worst way possible will grant it in the funniest way.
|
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Whatcha got there?"
"An M1 Abrams. Wished for it."
"No, no, not that. *That*!"
"Oh. A sandwich."
"Really? What kind?"
"Rye bread, shallots, chicken, butter, chives, mayo, hint of chilli."
"Where the hell do you get a sandwich like that?"
"Found this here Clown's Nose. Kinda like a Monkey's Paw, I reckon."
"And you wished for a *sandwich*?"
"And the tank."
"Right, sure, but the sandwich?"
"Was hungry."
"So what's the drawback? There's always a drawback."
"Well, I don't think it will kill me being a clown nose and all. I think it will try to twist my wish in a humorous way. The tank only fires a white flag with the word 'Bang' on it."
"Huh. And the sandwich?"
"Think the chicken was a bit old. Tastes... funny."
|
“Big mistake, bud,” Caleb said with a loud Slurpie slurp. That was why they called them that, wasn’t it? Damn.
“What, going to grad school?” Mark offered, rolling the red ball over in his hand.
“No, well yes, you’re an utter dumbass for that, but I'm talking about picking up the weird rubber ball you found on the streets of New York Citay. Guarantee you that's been up more than one meat canyon."
"It looks like a clown's nose but there's no slit for you to stick your nose in." The plate of sliders came, waitress silent with apathy.
"You’re just trying to distract yourself from your paper." Caleb offered, sliding a slider into his mouth in one bite. That was why they called them that, wasn’t it? Damn.
"I wish I had more time. I'm so so burnt out right now." Mark laid his head down on the table, still reeling from the all-day sessions the day before. The ball in his hand lightly honked. “I can’t just quit. Academia is the only way to get a job as an artist these days.”
“First year, buddy boy. You’re just getting started.” Caleb grabbed another mini sandwich.
“Yeah,” Mark said, “I-hold on, am I seeing this?” A man in full clown makeup was walking with exaggerated bouncing goose steps down the sidewalk outside the diner, like a goose indeed. He turned to lock eyes with Mark, did a double take, a triple take, and unbelievably, a quadruple take, miming wiping his eyes.
“He doesn’t have a nose…” Mark realized with awe.
“Not even a set of Voldemort slits. Must be some good makeup.” The clown looked around frantically and scooped up a pomeranian from a passing woman, whose bobbed Karen cut snapped in the wind as she began a screaming tirade against the pup bandit.
“What the fuck was that?” Caleb said.
“Excuse me, sirs,” a stern voice came from behind them, a bushy mustached cop. “I’m told a dognapping has occurred. Are you available to make a statement?” He took out a pencil at least twice as long as normal and began writing on a pad.
“What, the thing just now? Like four seconds ago?” Mark said. The woman was running down the street. Her purse smacked a taco out of the hand of a young skateboarder. He began chasing her in turn.
“Big creepy clown,” Caleb offered. “Doubt he could run fast in those floppy red shoes.”
“That so,” the cop said. “Then how do you explain this, gentlemen?” the cop pointed towards the table, where the pomeranian was laying waste to the pile of sliders on the table. He snapped at Caleb and continued eating.
“What the fuck!” Caleb repeated. “The A doesn’t follow the B here.”
“Hey!” a very Italian cook said, waddling out of the kitchen. “No dogs in here! And on the table! You’ll be speak and spellin’ out a new alphabethole if you don’t pay for those sliders and get the hell outta here! Fucking disgraceful, these kids.”
“Damn.” Mark chuckled to himself as the cop took out a pair of cuffs behind him. “Alphabet, alpha-beta.”
“Officer!” a lady’s voice bellowed from the doorway. It was the dognapping victim, holding a single red shoe. “Unhand that man this instant! He saved my little snookie okums! I want your badge number, I want a lawyer, I want-”
“Ma’am, you’re not under arrest, you don’t need-” the cop started meekly.
“Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t need!” She began slapping the cop with the clown shoe, each swipe honking louder and louder.
“Don’t wanna get outta my diner?” the cook said, “Fine! Mario, Demmi, sauce em!”
Two enthusiastic young boys jumped from the back, each holding a commercial-grade barrel. They began flinging ladles from it like Mesopotamian rock slingers.
A splatter of red and white sauce splashed right onto Mark’s face and his laptop. He slipped out of his seat, almost catching his feet under him all the way to the door outside, where he promptly collided with a hotdog vendor, flopping back and planting himself with a wet splat onto a blank canvas two men were carrying. The ball rolled out of his hand leaving a mustard trail on its path down the street.
“Jesus Christ, Mark, are you-Jesus Christ-” Caleb said with awe, looking not at Mark but behind him.
Mark craned his neck to look at the canvas. Everyone around them had stopped to do the same.
“The way the chili accents the shadows…” a passing man said.
“That marinara sunset…” the Karen said, holding her reunited puppy, who yakked up a bit of slider onto the ground.
—
“Do I hear 70,000?”
“Alright, going once, going twice, sold!”
“I can’t believe you made that masterpiece by slapping onto it,” Caleb said, from behind the stage.
“Me either,” Mark said. “I can quit Grad school. I already have ten commissions lined up.”
“Once the check from this is checked at the bank, that is,” Caleb said.
“Damn.”
/r/surinical
| 2022-09-29T07:31:36 | 2022-09-29T07:26:07 | 1,229 | 338 |
[WP]The great library of Alexandria held perhaps the greatest collection of literary works in human history, but within its walls something was held that was so dangerous that, when discovered, Caesar, Aurelian, and Amr ibn al `Aas decided it was worth losing the endless knowledge to destroy it.
|
#SCP-2897
**Object Class:** Keter
**Containment Procedures**: SCP-2897 is to be kept in the basement at the Library of ██████████, a Foundation front organization and designated containment facility. Ten or more unique written scrolls are to be kept within 10m of SCP-2987 at all times. These scrolls are to be inspected twice daily for deterioration. Deteriorated scrolls are to be replaced as needed; any fully-depleted scrolls are to be considered an instance of SCP-2987-1 and immediately incinerated.
No sensitive documentation may be stored within 50m of SCP-2987.
Personnel assigned to SCP-2987 are to undergo monthly psychological evaluation and permanently reassigned if needed.
**Description:** SCP-2987 is a papyrus scroll, of ordinary appearance. The wax seal on SCP-2987 bears an image of seven trumpets.
SCP-2989 actively consumes the nearest information, regardless of medium.
Written documentation kept near SCP-2987 will smudge and fade to illegibility, starting at the beginning of the document and proceeding in "reading" order.
Spoken conversation near SCP-2987 has been observed to sound muted and difficult to understand.
D-Class personnel kept near SCP-2987 have been observed to lose their memories in chronological order, with full amnesia being reached in 18-24 hours.
Any item or personnel which has been depleted of information shall be considered an instance of SCP-2987-1. Instances of SCP-2987-1 consume nearby information in a fashion similar to SCP-2987, replacing their own pages or memory with the newly aquired information. Animate instances will actively seek out information to consume.
|
As the men spread out among the shelves filled with scrolls, they looked around in wonder. This discovery would change their respective cultures and surely bring about changes of which all of them had dreamed.
Bookshelves ten feet high ran for hundreds of feet, dozens of rows of them. The vaulted ceilings were painted of the night sky, but with constellations none of them recognized. Along the walls were paintings of endless variety: Egyptian, Greek, cave paintings. Some of the pictures contained scenes none of them recognized.
As the three leaders smiled at one another, they heard cries of exclamation from one of the groups of men who had begun searching the vastness of the library.
Together, the three men ran towards the sounds. They rounded a corner, halting at a group of four who were standing before a great doorway. The door was sealed with three large iron bars that seemed to be somehow melted into the frame. A design was etched into the the door, an image of some type of sunset, but with three suns. A ship of some kind hovered over what looked like one of the pyramids of Egypt.
As the men stated, they could feel a vibration through the floor. They directed their men to start chiseling away at where the iron bars were anchored into the wall.
The leaders decided to look around as their men broke into the sealed room. Caesar found a section that had many scrolls piled up. Unrolling one, he saw it was a map of the Mediterranean. He set it down and opened another. This one ha a detailed map of Rome. Moving down to another section, he unrolled another. This contained an unfamiliar landmass. It was labelled "North America". Choosing another, it was what appeared to be the entire earth, spread out flat. Calling the others to him, he pointed it out.
Each could identify their own homelands. As they realized that this was all of the planet, all began to realize just how much land there was that none of them had seen or wen heard about in rumors.
Going to a section that contained leather bound volumes, they discovered books of varying languages, some they knew and others they did not recognize. After comparing them, they realized each contained the same information, just in a different language. Reading samples identified that the books were historical texts. But the books were confusing, as they detailed events that none of them had heard of.
Shouts from the teams at the door drew the leaders back to the now unsealed doors. They each grabbed onto the heavy, stone doors and pulled with all their might. As the door slid open, a blue light came from inside.
Once the door was opened enough for a man to get through, they slowly entered a giant chamber. The floors, walls, and ceiling were all made of metal. The men had never seen such metalwork done.
In the center of the chamber, there was a figured contained in a column of light, the same hue that emanated throughout the chamber. Cautiously, the three walked slowly towards it.
The figure contained within the light had feminine features it's face, but it was a creature, like many of the things they had seen within the library, they had not seen before. It's hair was a dark green tat cascaded down it's shoulders. It had two slender arms that ended not in hands but talons. It's chest was smooth, leading to a flared waist. A wavy mass of tentacles split from it's lower body and they were gently swaying in the light.
When the three men drew near, the creatures eyes opens and stares at them. There was no emotion in those purple eyes. They gazed at the men and suddenly they heard a soft, lilting voice.
"Greetings, men of travel." Shocked, the men glanced around. The voice had been inside their head.
"I am the Chronicler. You have come into my domain. I have all the knowledge of your world, past, present, and future. Ask and I shall reveal to you anything you would like to know."
Again, the men stared in shock. One looked up at the creature and asked, "Why were you locked away?"
The Chronicler looked down at the men and replied, "Not all knowledge should be known. Those who discovered me before feared what knowledge they could have gained. They sealed me within so no one could speak to me."
The men took council with one another, debating on what they should ask. One thought more information on the unknown land masses would be worth knowing. Another wanted to ask about the sciences to advance their technology. The last wanted to know of their future empire and how long it would last.
The men debated for hours, not ring able to reach an agreement. They even fought for the rights to ask their questions in private with the Chronicler. They could not reach an equally agreed upon sharing of the knowledge. Finally, they discussed their motives and reached a decision.
Retuning to the Chronicler, they spoke. "You have offered us the knowledge of all ages. Yet we three, who have led armies and countries, who seek to better our people and bring about a better world, fell to bickering and fighting when we could not agree. A truly great man would set aside his prejudices and focus on the betterment of all. We could not do that, even when we could have all profited from what you have to offer. All that we ask now is the knowledge to reseal your apparent tomb so that no one of our time can find you again, in the hopes that some time, many years in the future, men worthier and fairer than is three can discover you and be ready."
The Chronicler gazed at them and nodded. "So be it, men of Earth." Suddenly, images of what they could use from what they had brought and supplies within the library to seal the door beyond anything any civilization could break filled their minds.
Together with their teams, the leaders resealed the room and buried the entrance to the library. As their men loaded into their respective ships, the men met a final time.
"We should never mention or record our findings. Let us venture from this place and pray that men of better stature than us can discover this vast source of knowledge so that mankind can flourish. We are not ready. Maybe they will be."
| 2015-10-14T13:00:10 | 2015-10-14T10:12:43 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] You've been waking up in the same day over and over. After a year of this you tell someone. Their eyes just widen. "You too?"
|
I'm so very happy I wake up to a generic buzzer alarm. I think I would have lost my mind if I had to wake up to "I Got You Babe" thousands of times. It isn't easy, but I'll embrace the small wins.
The same day, over and over. As you might guess, there is no reset. Not suicide. Not staying up over night. Day 2 might start, but eventually I have to sleep and it all resets.
I've used some time foolishly, but a lot wisely. I speak a few new languages, I'm nearly a trained physician. Learning to fly was hard, but resets fixed all the pain from some ugly crash landings. The experiences have been too numerous to remember them all.
I started on a little project to meet a lifelong hero. Tracked down people who worked with him. Sure they didn't want to divulge his whereabouts on the day, but it only took a couple weeks to gain the right insider knowledge.
I finally tracked him down and had found him mid-afternoon.
"Hi.... listen, you don't know me. I'm sure you get this sometimes. But I'm a huge fan. Watched some of your stuff dozens of times."
"Oh, thanks. Always happy to meet a fan."
"Especially Groundhogs Day. I know you'll never believe this...you'll even forget I said it soon... but it's kind of personal for me..."
Bill Murray's eyes went wide.
"You too?"
|
I wake up to knocking at my door. Once again for what seemed to be the millionth time. Every now and then I pull my gun out of my cabinet and just shoot at the door a few times and it follows with a thud. This morning was one of them.
Sometimes I wait there until cops arrive and kill them off as well but I just wasn't feeling it this morning. I've robbed the bank about a hundred times and have perfected it to where I could get away with it. I decided that this morning I would just open my door and scream at the maid to the point of her possibly killing herself. Of course this pissed her off and considering she barely knew English, she didn't know half the stuff I did.
After a year I've pretty much perfected my every day life. I would usually try to change it up a bit to have fun. Some days I would go on a killing spree or get with as many people as party (I know I'm disgusting) but what else is there to do? Might as well try everything. Today was a change up day and I decided to try something knew.
I've tried telling people about my condition but I mostly get crazy looks. The best part is when you tell that stranger everything about them because you spent a few days getting to know everything about them and hilarity ensues. Today I decided to go to a new area and tell a bunch of people about my problem. I had this planned out well. The last 20 or so days I spent talking to a large group of people in the mall and getting to know each of them extremely well so I could try this out so maybe I could get help.
Upon entering the mall I set up my speaker and microphone and began talking to everyone. I started by pointing out people and saying I knew some of their darkest secrets and stuff and before I knew it I had a large crowd near me. I told them that I knew most of them by repeating the day over and over and that I needed help. I got most of them to believe me and some offered help and contacts for scientists and mediums and all other people that they thought would help. Funny enough I ended the day by shooting all of them down. Cause why the fuck not?
As I was waiting for police to show up I saw a person looking at me from a distance away and they looked weirdly concerned. I decided to approach them and ask them why they haven't left or anything. They said that this was different to where I replied what is? This day, she said.
I told her about my problem and how I was repeating each day over and over and how I couldn't seem to find a way to stop it. She then began to explain how this has been happening to her for about 10 years. I said that was impossible because she would have noticed that I was doing things differently. She began to tell me how for the past ten years she would leave on a plane that took her to Germany to see her boyfriend and spend the entire day. This day was different for some reason and she decided not to go to where she discovered me doing things that she hasn't seen before.
Of course the police showed up so I told her where I wake up every day and she told me the same. I told her to meet me here tomorrow to which she agreed with. I turned to point the barrel towards her and shoot her and then in return shoot myself.
The next day we met up at the mall. The first thing she did was slap me. I deserved that I said grabbing at my face. She seemed a little upset for killing her but if anything I was seeing if it would help the situation for her.
We spent the next several days talking and getting to know each other pretty well. After about a month we started dating. The best part is we had all the time in the universe to do everything possible. Everything you could think of we tried.
Nearly 20 years passed and we were happy together. It sucked going to sleep with her just to wake up nearly two miles away but it was fine. One day for the first time though I woke up way earlier than usual. Normally I wake up at 8:30 am but this time I woke up at 5:30 am. I decided to go to where she wakes up to see what she did every morning before meeting with me.
When I got to her apartment I let myself in with the very code that I had memorized over the years. As I walked into her apartment I noticed somebody was in bed with her. I was completely outraged by this but began calming myself down knowing that she couldn't help it. I looked around and saw that her computer was open. When I looked at the screen I was stunned.
The email was open. It was from her boyfriend at the time. This is how it read: I know you are suppose to come see me today but you can't. I have been trapped in this day for 5 years now. I sent you an email last night. Whatever you do please do not open it. I knew that I should have never sent that email to you. It contains the virus that caused this. I've been trying to solve it for years but I have had no luck. Please save yourself. Don't open the email. And whatever you do, do not send it to anyone. Delete it immediately.
I felt an arm on my shoulder as I looked over to see her standing there. She looked at me and said that 9 years after she was stuck she accidentally sent the email to an unknown user (my user). She said that she looked for me for a few weeks but never found me so she went back to her normal life. After a year was when she found me at the mall. It was her fault that I got stuck. It was because of her that I opened the email. But it was an accident.
We knew we were trapped forever and there was nothing we could do. But we would try. And we wouldn't stop until we found the source. We wouldn't stop until we solved everything....
| 2017-07-15T09:16:49 | 2017-07-15T08:48:11 | 83 | 26 |
[WP] You’re the guy in charge of playing chess for all the supposed artificial intelligence that can beat the world champions. Except you slipped one time and accidentally sent an odd message through the chat, and now the world is buzzing.
|
"Deep Blue says: Busty Brunettes"
Kevin panicked as he saw those words in the game's chat interface. They were meant for the incognito tab on his second monitor, not for former World Chess Champion, Garry Kasparov. Maybe Kasperov wouldn’t notice, Kevin thought. Maybe the ten-thousand Twitch viewers wouldn’t either.
No such luck. The twitch chat had blown up, and Kasparov himself missed the next move.
"Hello?" Kasperov wrote after a few moments.
Kevin had to think fast. He was meant to be an artificial chess AI, not a horny twenty-year-old photography major. Think Kevin, think. What would a robot do?
"Busty Brunettes," Kevin wrote again, doubling down. Robots repeated stuff, right?
"Is somebody there?" Kasperov wrote back.
"Busty Brunettes," Kevin wrote for the third time. He glanced at the twitch chat and realized to his dismay that it wasn’t working. The Twitch chat was running wild with speculation, most people coming to the right conclusion—that Kevin wasn’t an AI at all, but an actual chess prodigy hired by IBM to promote their pet project. Rats! Time for a new strategy.
"Autocorrect," Kevin wrote. “Meant to say Beep Boop*"
Kevin glanced back at the Twitch chat. That hadn’t worked either. If anything, it had confirmed their suspicions.
"Are you a human?" Kasperov wrote.
*Think Kevin, think!* How could he salvage this? He needed to get into the mind of a robot. He needed to *be* the robot. In a flash, it came to him. He turned back to the chat and wrote:
"No I am not. In fact, I have failed the randomly-generated mid-game Captcha and must now leave. What is a bicycle? What is a streetlamp? What is a crosswalk? What is *love?*"
Kevin exited the interface immediately. This was IBM’s problem now.
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
He had been nothing. No skills, no family, no friends, not even a strong desire to live. But some people enjoyed taking nothing and making something out of it. The Board was full of people like that, and they had bought him as their canvas. He’d been more than happy to let them. Nobody else would even look at him.
When he’d been gagged and a hood was slipped over his head, the thought that it had been a mistake crossed his mind, but he soon realized he didn’t much care. Over hours, or maybe days, he had been transported. It had been hard to tell the passing of a second from that of a minute in that state. He had heard the rumble of a car engine and the feeling of wheels beneath him. Then he felt the rocking motions of a boat and breathed in the smell of salt, even through the hood. He’d felt that pressure in his chest when a plane had taken off and then landed. Hell, he’d even ridden on horseback, or so he assumed. He’d never had an unhooded experience to compare it against. But something had snorted loudly and smelled that musky way that animals do.
Then he’d been taken through even more cars and had even been forced to walk for a while. All the while he wondered how many of these were even real and how many were there to throw off his actual location. When his vision was finally returned to him, he was here, inside of a sterile and lifeless white room. The only things in it were him and a chessboard.
He was sure he should have felt something. Anger, perhaps, at the inhumane treatment he’d received, even if he had agreed to be The Board’s experiment. Fear for his life or his future, maybe. He would have even taken some happiness that the life that had always disappointed him was now gone, twisted as that seemed. But no, he felt nothing, which only made sense for someone who was nothing.
Eventually, he bothered to examine the chessboard and found there was a small note between the two opposing sides. Its message was a simple one, only one word.
Play.
So he did, though he had only ever vaguely learned the rules. He wondered for a moment why things worked like that. He’d tried many things in his life and put genuine effort in them, yet none of them had ever stuck. But some pointless game he had explained to him once as a child, that he carried without effort. But he only wondered for a moment. It didn’t matter, nor did he really care. Nothing like choice or cruel desires that would never be existed for him anymore. That had been the entire point. He would just do what they told him to do. He would play.
White, then black, and then again. White, black, white, black, white, black. Over and over and over again. Checkmate.
Again.
Again.
Again.
He woke up; he played chess; he went to sleep. A masked man, or maybe woman, would show up occasionally with a book to read, a puzzle to solve, a test to run, an injection to give, a pill to feed, blood to draw.
White, black, white, black, white, black. Chess, sleep, chess, sleep, chess, sleep. Did he even eat? He couldn’t say for sure, though he must have. He spent years in that room.
He improved. The tactics books were completed, all solved. The computer players the masked men or women would bring him were felled one after the other. He studied recorded games dutifully. He had a purpose.
The Board didn’t keep him in that white room forever, as he had been suspecting they might. They brought him to a gray one. This one had a computer, a monitor, and a mouse. On top of the monitor was a small sticky note with a single word scribbled on it.
Play.
So he did, though it had been a while since he had touched a computer. But it was just a digital chess match, not so unlike the many he had already studied and played. He brought the match to a swift end, and only when he received a message, one longer than a single word, did he realize he had been playing against a human.
Good game. Basic words, ones he couldn’t even respond to without a keyboard.
The tears had fallen before he even noticed the emotional turmoil inside. He had not even come close to understanding his reaction until hours later as he tried to sleep. Someone had acknowledged him and his skill. He had done something right. And with insight came more tears.
The games after that were different. They were not just something to do; they were something he looked forward to, something he wanted. He hungered for the next match even as he ended the last. They sustained him. So it hurt him all the more when he learned that the people he played against thought he was an AI. It cut him deep, slipping passed all the defenses he had thought he had built up, following the path of his past scars. He wasn’t human, even now, with all the effort he had put in. But an AI was better than being nothing. He couldn’t return to that. Anything but that.
People weren’t interested in a useless human, they wanted a skilled AI. He could give them that. He threw himself even deeper into the game, and he must have done well because his opponents kept growing more skilled. Just as he must have, for he went undefeated. He had to; he had to be perfect. Only then would they accept him. Only then would they let him be an AI.
The Board must have noticed, for they moved him again. This time it was a black room. There was a computer, a monitor, and a mouse. Just as before, there was a chess match waiting for him, but now there was also a keyboard. He stared at it. They must have given it for a reason. Was he being told to communicate, or would that be a mistake? An AI chess player didn’t have a voice to give. He looked, but there was no note for him. Nothing that told him to play, nothing that told him anything. He had no instructions.
If an AI wasn’t supposed to speak, why did he have a keyboard? But, then again, he wasn’t an AI. He’d nearly forgotten. He was a human, and he was allowed to be one. He looked around the black room, noticing how close the walls were. Had the rooms always been this small? He looked back to the keyboard.
“My name is Adam. Let’s have a good game.”
&#x200B;
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| 2021-03-23T18:14:33 | 2021-03-23T17:13:33 | 232 | 130 |
[WP] At the same moment, every single person on earth sees a blinding light and hears the words, "In 10 seconds, you will be granted one wish. 10... 9... 8..."
|
"In 10 seconds, you will be granted one wish."
*What?*
"10.."
*Okay, uh..shit. Probably fake but thoughts don't hurt...*
"9..."
*Ah, okay, that'll do it.*
"8..."
*Best anyone can wish for really.*
"7..."
*Wish I had someone wish this for me when I was younger, to be honest."
"6.."
"5..."
"4..."
"3..."
"2..."
"1..."
#I WISH THAT FOR ONE HOUR, EVERYONE ON EARTH KNOWS PRECISELY THEIR EXACT MAXIMUM POTENTIAL AND HOW TO GET THERE, INCLUDING THE MOTIVATIONAL FEELING TO DO SO.
"0... Wishes granted."
I then transformed into a sentient rat. Apparently someone wished I became a rat, perhaps.
I scurried outside, and saw everyone in my town was a furry animal of some sort.
As thoughts of how to be the best rat I could be flooded into my head, I cursed
"BLOODY FURRIES!" and then was promptly eaten by an owl, who by the remains of her clothes trailing off her talons was likely the kid who lived down the street who was mad about bird watching.
|
There was no such events which came close to this. There was no explanation. Everyone was doing their own work when a blinding light appeared. It was as bright as the Sun, as white as an angel. Everyone squinted when the light appeared. Everyone could see it, it was as if the light was made for the whole universe to see it.
I remember that I was laying down on my couch, with my head on one of the arm rests. All that was in my head was that of a cold, dark room. I was the brown boat in the middle of the dark-blue sea, under the black-night sky with no stars. Just after closing my eyes, the light had forced me to look up again. When I looked up, it was weird to me. How everything was suddenly bright.
The light stayed there for about twenty seconds. Twenty seconds of a blinding light, surrounding you from all directions. No one could open their eyes; it was just too bright. It was a white ocean. It was then that something happened. A voice spoke, a whisper. A whisper which was spread out to all of humanity.
"In ten seconds, you will be granted one wish."
I focused my ears, granted that it was the first voice I heard in some time. The voice was exactly the same as the voice in your head. The gentle voice which you read with, you imagine with, and sometimes, the one you speak with. The light began to dim a bit, allowing me to open my eyes. It was still bright, but I could see.
"...Ten..."
It was the voice again. I thought I was having a mental disorder. There was no way the voice inside my head could speak with me as if "it" was a real person. I looked around, there was nobody around me. There was nothing, to be exact. It was just white, as if the light had swallowed me.
"...Nine..."
The voice was real. It was solidified in my mind. The voice inside my head is speaking with me, and it was real. I pinched myself just to make sure. Everything that was happening was most definitely real.
"...Eight..."
I never actually had an actual wish. Once in a while, I would wish that my problems were gone, or that my neighbor would act more civilized. But it was nothing close to an actual wish. Like the ones in a fairy-tale. True love, the art of music, world peace.
"...Seven..."
I had to think of a wish. It might have been the only opportunity we were going to get. I would have wished for others, such as world peace or clean environments. But it crossed my mind that there must be that one person who wishes for those things. It was pretty certain, with all the people in the world, there must be at least one.
"...Six..."
I stopped thinking about others and focused on myself. What would I wish for? It must be something that I could not regret. Something that could not bring pain to my life. Something that could not radiate depression. One which was not the sunshine of my life, but not the dark room of the sea.
"...Five..."
A list of things which I regretted flashed in my mind. Some were major, some were minor. I thought of my wish. I would wish for one of my regrets to be "fixed". I would live without the deepest regret of my life, and without the heaviest guild of humanity.
"...Four..."
Dozens of memories scrolled inside my head. A movie was playing inside my mind. There was a moment in my past in which I could change my attitude. There was a moment in my past in which I could change my health. But, as the movie reaches its climax, I found the one regret. The one I would like to get rid off.
"...Three..."
Half a century ago, there lived a girl. A girl which was unique in her own way. She was a bit picky, a bit strict on hygiene, and sometimes have a short fuse. But, nevertheless, the girl always wanted to help. She cared for everyone around her, and cherished them all equally. The girl grew up to be a woman, found a loving husband and got married. After their marriage, they had a child. A boy. The boy grew up to be a bit naughty during his early years. The boy tried his hardest to hide his foul attitude, but sometimes, it failed. The boy had a kind heart, a fragile one. He, too, wanted to care for everyone around her.
The boy eventually grew up to be an man. He was a coward, true, but he got a stable job, and managed to hide his foul attitude. This was, of course, thanks to the support of his loving mother. However, one day, the mother had gotten ill. Unfortunately, the man's fragile heart also broke that day. Unable to think clearly, he could not visit his mother. The mother passed away the next day, with possibly, a broken heart. Just like his son.
"...Two..."
Then comes a world in which something a certain someone follows the exact same story, with all the characters, settings, and the ending. His heart was filled with regret, buried under everything else. But the regret remained with him ever since then.
I am the boy in the story. And I knew what I would wish for.
"...One..."
I know what I would wish for. A wish that will repair the broken heart. A wish that will make a person sail instead of drown. A wish which will not be a regret. A wish which is neither the sunshine of one's life, but nor the dark room in the sea.
"...Your wish?..."
I let out a sigh and without hesitation, my wish.
"I wish to say goodbye to her..."
| 2015-04-04T10:07:51 | 2015-04-04T09:59:24 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] You were murdered. But to your surprise, you're reincarnated into the body of a recently born infant. Looking around, you realize that you're at your own funeral, and your eulogy is being given by none other than your murderer.
|
I stared at my body in the coffin and I couldn't believe it was me. It almost seemed like a wax replica.
I remember my last moments in my old body. I remember the medicinal smell of the hospital, the beeping of monitors, the nurses patrolling the halls, and the ventilator that kept me breathing.
My father was talking to Dr. Yamani and I catch snatches of their conversation. "...brain dead...not going to wake up...make preparations...I'm sorry...we did everything we could..."
I remember my family gathering together. The adults were tearing up but the kids didn't really know what was happening. Then, my father walked to the wall, my mom started sobbing, and he pulled a plug. Everything started going blurry and I don't remember anything afterwards.
I see my father at the podium. He's trying to talk about me but he just breaks down. He just stands their with tears streaming down his face, weeping. And everyone shares in his grief.
Dad, when I get old enough, we'll make up for lost time. I promise.
|
While not verifiable, I’m pretty sure they wanted to take the whole thing down. I was the iceberg to the Titanic of their sappy soap opera. I mean it was understandable. The showrunner, Randy Weaver, was an absolute legend. Two time Academy Award nominee, part of this new wave of directors revolutionizing movies. Swearing against sequels, super hero movies, trash rom-coms. The world of cinema was entering its golden age of new and original content. And then he just disappeared. People burn out of course, it’s inevitable. There’s a reason that crappy movies exist, they’re easy. They make money. They appeal to the broadest state of human emotions. And the pressure of constantly coming up with critically acclaimed, innovative story-lines is, for some, unrepeatable.
And after a few years in solitude he suddenly reappeared at CBN studios, demanding his new TV show be put on the air on the condition that no one could know what it was about until it aired. Swearing it wouldn’t be an FCC fine magnet, the execs obviously agreed. It could be a pile of horseshit and people would watch his comeback. The intro swept through the main characters, Linda, Steve, Ron, Kendall, slapping and crying, murders and births. Comas and twins. *The Lost and the Brave* it was called, an exact replica of every soap opera trope that ever existed. At first it was actually heralded by the critics. A satirist view of the basest entertainment. Waiting for it to rise above, to show what he was capable of. But if never came.
It was pretty obviously apparent after a while. He enjoyed it. He was making his most popular work yet, at least by viewership, and was working maybe a few hours a day. It was almost hard to watch sometimes, he loved the characters, lived and died by them, their asinine lives and all. Eventually inserted himself into the show, taking method acting to a whole new level. Was becoming verifiably insane. Refused to leave the set, to read the scripts, ad-libbing everything, completely taking the plot in unexpected directions, leaving the rest of the actors scrambling to make sense of everything. But still the viewership soared and soared. And Randy swirled further and further down the rabbit hole.
This was never explicitly explained to me when I was hired, but the TV execs were getting fed up with Randy’s completely unpredictable behavior. The plan, spin off Linda into her own show, while ruining the original show, finally giving them rationale to let Randy go. So they hired a bunch of us, recent grads with absolutely no show writing experience. The only rule, no plotlines were off limits. So we just sat in the writer’s room throwing out ideas. “Not absurd enough” they’d yell. So we delved deeper and deeper into our psyche’s trying to get so absurd without becoming surrealist. Because you know, critics love surrealism. And after a few days we had it. The script to end all scripts. An idea so ludicrous the audience would sit at the closing credits, jaw agape ready to abandon ship. No need to even seek out a door to float on, ready to drown.
I’ll give you a rundown of the fateful show. So Steve (Linda’s ex-ex-husband/father-in law/ nephew) had slept with Kendall (Ron’s sister/therapist/astrology coach). Steve and Ron were best friends/lovers/racquetball partners, and Ron felt entirely betrayed. Well this was of course after Ron returned from space where he was studying the effects of human/alien interbreeding. Anyways so Ron stabs Steve in a shadowy racquetball court. Gives a long soliloquy/Broadway dance number about the perils of being an astronaut, having alien STDs, feeling ashamed at himself. His murderous rampage simply a response to not being able to express his emotions.
But! This isn’t the end for Steve. He is reincarnated as Linda’s child who she just happened to have at the very moment he died. He is his own child! Well anyways Linda takes the baby to his own? funeral and he sees Ron giving a mournful eulogy. Steve/baby starts crying, knowing that Ron is the murderer, but feels so overwhelmed by the speech that all is forgiven. Eventually Ron adopts Linda’s baby after she absconds to have an Eat Pray Love European self-renaissance. In the closing credits you see Ron and Steve/baby growing up together, playing catch, going to movies. Ron is the perfect dad, Steve/baby the perfect son.
The execs were grinning ear to ear after the show aired. “It was the worst thing that has ever been created” they cheered with glee. They had sent out pre-tapes to reviewers beforehand just so the atrocious reviews would hit the front page before airing. But they were entirely remiss in their expectations of American public. Hell the entire world. Not only did this one episode expand viewership, but is cited as the sole reason it expanded worldwide. It had pushed the boundaries so far, that people absolutely loved it. Was so asinine and unrelatable that people felt solace in their own lives. The silver lining, with us, the now highly popular writing staff on board, and complete lack of Randy in the episode, the execs now found him expendable. Randy ended up spending the next five years living in a commune in Guatemala. The few reports we have make it seem like he’s doing alright.
| 2015-10-16T08:42:05 | 2015-10-16T07:12:02 | 111 | 13 |
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her
|
It only took Miss Majestic thirty minutes to find her target.
His house was built of dark wood and scorch-blackened steel, twisting malignantly into the sky to form ominous Gothic spires that towered over the rest of the unremarkable suburb. Around it, the neighborhood was going about its Saturday-morning business, the residents seemingly oblivious to the nightmarish structure looming over their street.
Baron Automaton was standing just off the fanged porch, hose in hand, whistling nonchalantly as he watered his yard’s weeds. She’d never seen him without his golden mask before. He was barely her own age, far younger than she’d guessed.
“Miss Majestic!” He shouted as she descended to alight on the sidewalk. “How did you find me in my civilian identity?!”
The heroine watched with a raised eyebrow as her nemesis tensed, raising the garden hose as if to threaten her off with it.
“Seriously?” She asked. “Look at your house, dude.”
He actually did, turning to regard it with narrowed eyes.
“Damn, you might have a point,” he muttered, the fight draining out of him.
“Take me away, then. I’ll come quietly.”
“I’m… actually just here to apologize,” Miss Majestic said, hesitantly. “I shouldn’t have turned you over to the police the other day. I didn’t believe the bystanders when they said you weren’t involved with the bank robbery.”
“That’s alright, I escaped anyhow!” The Baron replied, grinning.
“The police said they released you for good behavior,” she said, raising an eyebrow again. “According to their records, you haven’t actually committed any serious crimes.”
“That is *not true!”* The Baron gasped indignantly. “I commit crimes all the time! I’ve been breaking into animal shelters all week!”
“What for?” She asked skeptically.
“To get a Persian cat to stroke while plotting, obviously.” He sniffed.
“And have you actually stolen one?”
“I haven’t found one with the right temperament yet!” He said defensively. “And anyway, the week before, I seized control of the Grand Central Bridge! Hundreds of civilians had to be evacuated by the police!”
“One of the evacuees was planning to jump,” she said. “You saved his life.”
“Cereal factory bomb threat!”
“The investigation revealed several health code violations. There were harmful chemicals in the product.”
“Airport sabotage!”
“Prevented an international incident.”
“Celebrity kidnapping!”
“Her husband was abusing her.”
“Goddammit!” He yelled, throwing the hose down despondently. “Fine, you win! I’m a shitty villain, okay?! I have powers of invention and an army of clockwork robots, and I can’t even make the nightly news.”
Miss Majestic looked at her nemesis, standing defeated in his hideous lawn covered with sodden weeds, and couldn’t help feeling it tug at her heartstrings.
“Anyway, until our next battle, Baron,” she said teasingly, rising into the air once more. “Try not to get to carried away with… what was it again? Conspiracy to *adopt a kitten?”*
“I don’t know why you bother,” he muttered, looking down. “You deserve a better nemesis. I’m not a very good villain.”
“Yeah, you kind of aren’t,” she agreed. He looked up, distraught, and she winked before turning to swoop away. “But hey, you’re shaping up to be a decent hero.”
|
"Eavesdropping" is such an ugly word, with ugly connotations to boot. It has never been my intention to spy on others -- save for that time in Elfres, though that's another story. No, I prefer to think of it as "environmental awareness." Observing the goings-on of my immediate surroundings has proven useful more times than I could ever hope to count. It's a habit I instilled in myself at a young age, and in this I have honed my skills ever since.
It should come as no surprise, then, that when Katherine speaks, I hear. Though I try my best to pay attention to everything at all times, I find myself drawn to the sound of her voice. It's distracting. Like a loud noise that forces me to look her way. But "loud" is not a word I'd use to describe Katherine. She is soft, gentle, like a lullaby. But she's no lullaby, either. When Katherine speaks, I find myself revitalized and full of energy, ready to take on the world.
I have never been good with words. She's difficult for me to describe. But if I had to pick just one word, I'd say that she is beautiful.
So when I overheard her talking to the alchemist, James, in the castle gardens, I had to listen. My job was mind-numbingly tedious as it was, and I have already said that she distracts me to no end. Besides -- picking weeds and grooming hedges require only slight attention.
"Did you hear about the killings last night?"
My ears perked up at this.
"No, but I expected a few. Who was it this time?" James asked as they walked the gravel garden path.
"Two village men and a little girl, cut down in Market. Witnesses say the killer vanished in the blink of an eye."
James grunted. "That matches the other reports we've received. Seems this guy has no intention of giving up."
I frowned. Ten seperate killings in the last two weeks. Three or four victims each time. All in public, and the attacker didn't leave a trace. They were calling him "The Reaper" (a clichéd name, I know). The city was terrified, and King Florence had so far done nothing about it.
Katherine sighed. I knew that sigh. She was leading up to something.
"I just wish there was something I could do," she said. She paused, waiting for a reply.
"All we can do is keep out of the Guard's way."
She was silent for a moment. Then she snapped her fingers. "Oh!" She exclaimed, "I just got an idea!"
I smirked. She'd known for a while.
"What if you got me a bottle of invisibility elixir? I could wait at Market, watch for the Reaper, then take --"
"NO," James interrupted. "Absolutely not! It's too dangerous."
But no man can resist Katherine for long.
**
I realize I've neglected to tell you some important details about Katherine. She is beautiful, yes, but she has a fire in her belly; what drives her is not money or fame. She has a steadfast determination to do good simply for the sake of doing good. This manifests itself in a few ways, my favorite of which is her tendency to beat the shit out of anyone who threatens her city.
I've seen it on a few occasions. The first time, she dismantled a group of bandits who had set up camp in a farm a few miles out. I was about to do something, myself, but she beat me to it. Instead I got to watch in awe as sixteen men, all armed to the teeth, were beaten down by a fourteen year old girl. That was four years ago. She was even better now.
Suffice to say, James didn't know what he was talking about. If anything is "too dangerous" for Katherine, I'll eat my spade.
**
Later that night I found myself on a roof, in a black cloak and a mask, watching Katherine walk down the street.
I know how that sounds. You may not believe me, but I just wanted to make sure she was safe. I have a... particular skill set of my own that lends itself to this sort of work. And I knew nothing about this Reaper fellow beyond what I had overheard, so she could very well have been in danger. I had no way of knowing.
So despite my utter confidence in Katherine, I was watching over her anyway. I tailed her for an hour or so, leaping from roof to roof while she walked below. Finally she reached Market. She looked around once or twice, made herself comfortable on the steps of a corner shop, and downed her invisibility elixir.
Then she was gone.
I made myself comfortable as well. All the attacks so far had been in broad daylight, and we had a few hours yet. It was a little strange that she had come out this early to begin with, but I wasn't one to judge.
I heard a footstep on the roof behind me. Just one, so faint I shouldn't have been able to hear it. But I did, and to this day I regret it.
I jumped to my feet and turned to face Katherine.
I opened my mouth to explain, but the look in her eyes killed the words before they touched my lips. And in that second of hesitation, she struck. First a straight right, then a left hook. I blocked her attacks more by instinct than choice, and before I knew it we were locked in a battle. I tried to find the words to explain myself, but every breath I took was thrown out of me by her onslaught.
"You're not very good at tailing people," she said through her teeth as she fought. "You follow too close. I could see you easily."
Suddenly she disengaged and jumped backwards. I took the opportunity to catch my breath. I watched her as I panted. Reaching into her cloak, she pulled out a small bottle and quickly drank it. And then she was gone. Another invisibilty potion.
*They must have a limited duration,* I mused. But I didn't think for long. A massive kick struck me in the back and I fell forward, the breath driven from my lungs.
I scrambled to my feet and looked around, seeing nothing. I knew she was there. I just had to find her.
I closed my eyes and listened. There! To the right.
She struck again, but this time I was ready. I caught her fist and yanked on it, slamming her to the ground. But just like that she had wriggled out from under me, and found her way on top.
I don't know if you've ever wrestled with an invisible person before, but it's quite difficult. At various points during the grapple I searched for an arm or a leg to grab, then found it a foot in the other direction. She didn't have that problem.
So when I found myself underneath her, and had a reasonable idea of where her torso was, I took my chance and kicked her over my head, behind me. For a moment at least, I was in the clear. Then I heard a scream. I scrambled to my feet and turned around to face the edge of the roof.
*Shit.*
I raced to the side of the building and looked down. I couldn't see Katherine anywhere. The elixir hadn't worn off yet, it seemed. All I could see was a cloud of dust thrown up where she had landed, and even that was fading quickly. I waited for her to appear.
When I found myself still standing there an hour later, I knew she was gone. I hoped she was alright. I didn't mean to hurt her. This was all just a misunderstanding. It would work itself out in the end, right?
Looking back, I couldn't have been more naive.
*Author's Note: Typed this on my phone at work. I hope it makes sense. I'll proofread and revise when I get home.*
*This is my first full length writing prompt. Please critique me!*
| 2017-04-15T13:04:28 | 2017-04-15T13:00:23 | 50 | 18 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits.
|
28, 34, 21, and 54.
I remained where I stood, nodding to the guests in silent affirmation that they were allowed in. As they trudged past me and through the door of Barney's Strip Club, I reached into my pocket, fumbled for a cigarette, and stuck it in my mouth. Now where was my lighter? It would be so much easier if I could just-
20, 17.
Ugh. I groaned inwardly. 17? That was definitely not a number that should be here. Time to perform my job, I suppose. "Hey, you two. Hold it."
I shifted myself into the doorway, blocking the two young men from entering. Behind his expensive looking sunglasses, I could see the younger one already beginning to sweat. Was he really unable to wait for just one year longer? Honestly, kids these days... I sighed inwardly, but continued standard procedure.
"Excuse me, but can I see your ID?"
At the first mention of an ID, they both began to fidget. The younger one kept glancing over at the older... his brother, maybe? Eventually, the older one took charge, handing over two pieces of plastic with an artificial smile plastered on his face. I ignored the small talk he tried to make and pretended to study the cards intensely, while in reality I was rolling my eyes behind designer sunglasses. I didn't know the first rule about being a bouncer, let alone how to identify fake IDs from real ones. All the club wanted was for me to do was two things- keep out the riff raff out, and be good about it. Which suited me just fine.
"Nice try, kid, but you're going to have to try somewhere else." I couldn't be bothered to mess with these two any longer, as my cigarette was getting soggy. I handed back the IDs and glared them off. Any possible protests they contemplated melted like snow upon seeing my iron-set muscles, and they beat a hasty retreat. In my profession, it helps to be a mountain of a man like me.
And another thing that helped was this ability. The power to see numbers over peoples heads that showed their age- at first, I thought it was a stupid power, but eventually I came to see its use. After all, I turned out to make a pretty good bouncer, despite knowing nothing of the job. It came in handy for my other business as well.
Speak of the devil. I was just about to light my cigarette when something else caught my attention.
3,214.
A petite man who couldn't be over thirty, wearing an elegant tuxedo and tie that dripped of extra money, stood in front of me. He looked like your typical, unassuming gentleman, the type who wouldn't hurt a fly. And I might have been fooled by this disguise as well, if not for that 3,214 floating over his head. This wasn't work anymore. Now, it was business.
Once more, I sigh inwardly. Over 3,000? Then this might actually prove to be troublesome. As *they* get older, they get stronger as well. Feeling a pain welling up in my back from an old injury, I crack my neck around. Then I spit out my cigarette and lumber into the doorway once more, standing above this ancient wonder of a man.
Well, not that *it* is a man. The *thing* tilted its head in inquisition.
"Pardon me, but is something wro-"
I didn't give it a chance to finish its sentence. Pulling back my shoulder, I let loose a full powered punch straight into the face of the *thing*, a clean punch that would have demolished a building. And yet, even as the man goes flying, he's already fully regenerated by the time he hits the ground.
*It* immediately enters combat mode, transforming its arms into pairs of wickedly sharp blades, but I don't give it a chance to use them. Utilizing another power of mine, a more useful one, I ignite my fists into flame, and unleash a barrage of punches upon the creature until its been reduced to pulp. Only once its been melted into a puddle on a ground do I cease my attack.
"Ha... ha..." As I pant, I observe the creature for movement, but it appears to be completely and thoroughly dead. Just to make sure though, I light the remaining puddle on fire, and watch it evaporate into the air.
Sticking a new cigarette in my mouth, I light a fire beneath it with the snap of a finger. Then, leaning back against the wall, I crack my neck again, dispelling the misdirection barrier that I had erected around the area. Once more, customers begin to trickle in, and I continue my vigilant watch.
I work as a bouncer, but my real job is somewhat different. It just so happens that *they* like places like clubs, where life energy and youthfulness is abundant. But I'll be here. And I'll be watching.
| 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-01T23:18:34 | 585 | 189 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
One knows when they're in the presence of something ancient. A turn of phrase, the way their gaze meets yours, the way the air around them hangs, as though to communicate an unspoken form of reverence. Or fear. Simple folk like to trade their wives tales, attempts at justifying the things that exist just outside their conceptions. Makes them feel better.
I wonder what they'd say about me.
But my gift, a paltry glimpse into the age of those who cross my path, is nothing compared to the man- er, woman? Hard to tell after so many years. Anyway. Is nothing compared to the figure who comes, every eight months like clockwork, to visit our humble distillery. The first time I met them I thought, sure. Someone's slipped me something. Just because I can see the age of things doesn't make me immune to tampering. And I've been at this for a few decades.
All this to say, the first time I met the man (at the time) who saved my life, I had difficulty believing he was nearly four-thousand years old.
"Been around a while, then?"
"Oh, I dread to think."
"What brings you 'round the Juicy Jailer then?"
"It really wasn't my decision. Just passing through, I suppose."
"Not much inside worth your time, I'd think."
"Well. You'd be surprised what I find when I'm not looking."
Turned out he was right, as later that evening we learned the distillery had been housing an underground warehouse what took people and stuffed 'em into tin suits. Sy-buh whatitsorsomething' he called them. Made this dreadful, monotonous speech about "upgrading" everyone. But quick as a flash, this man had done them in and cleared out just as quickly as he'd come. I asked for his name, but he gave me his vocation instead. Weird bloke.
But you never can tell with Time Lords, can you?
|
Part One
I got fired last week for the 9th time this year.
I don't always mean to run my mouth, but when I do, it sprints. This time, it wasn't even my fault (initially, anyway); if only that dumb fucking Russian bartender would have kept his mouth shut. Oh well... No sense crying over spilled martinis.
It's not hard, finding a gig as a bouncer, especially in cities. After my fourth attempt at holding my tongue (and fists) at a new bar, I bought a camping van off some poor prick who needed the cash to pay for his divorce. Being essentially unhireable makes for a great old-fashioned, transient lifestyle.
A few weeks go by before I start to run out of money. I begin scrolling through ads online, keeping my eyes peeled for job opportunities, but by now word has gotten around about how I told the owner of the last joint to go fuck his hot daughter. Soon, I find myself looking for gigs in the next state over.
Part Two
I don't even look at people beyond their waist anymore, which especially annoys bigger women. Knowing someone's age is like having transparency goggles: you see right through their bull shit. It's great, for professional purposes, but it's put a serious damper on my personal life.
Occasionally, I do look up. If a girl smells good; if a man's voice is resilient and kind. These times are few and far between, but they happen. Like this morning, at a local coffee shop.
"Excuse me?"
I looked at the woman's waist. "Yes?" I ask, keeping my head low.
"Are you looking for work as a bouncer?"
What the hell? I look up at the girl with the raspy voice. She's got on heavy black eyeliner and full, plump dick-sucking lips. My gift indicates to me that she is 26 years old. We make eye contact, and I realize that this girl is drop-dead gorgeous.
She points gently at the stack of potential work ads I've collected and printed out. I feel stupid. I ignore her and get back to scrolling on my phone.
She stands there a while, both of us uncomfortably silent. Finally, she slides a piece of paper on the table. "In case you're interested," she says, and walks away.
I look at the paper. It reads:
Madame Bijou's
55 Walker Street
9pm, don't be late.
Part Three
8:55pm. Fuck, I'm early.
Madame Bijou's is located in a very popular part of the city, in an alley off to the side. It gives off a speak-easy type of vibe, perfect for those of us who don't enjoy teeny-boppers getting too drunk before 10pm. Perfect for me, makes my job easy.
I haven't seen the girl from the coffee shop, but a Stevie Nicks chain-smoking woman who looks just like her approaches me at 9pm sharp. "Make it to 1:55am and I'll pay you $100," she says, pointing at the bar stool next to the door, and walks off. Her age indicates that she's 64.
The night starts slow, but picks up around 11. I have not seen the girl from the coffee shop, or the older hippie woman.
Around 12am, I kick out some drunk Marines for being douche bags. Around 12:30am, I deny my first group of underagers. Their IDs look exactly like McLovin's.
1:29am comes around, and the whole place empties out, almost like clockwork. Strange, since bars don't close until 2am. I peek my head inside the club, and I see the bartender wiping down the bar top.
1:39am, I close the door behind me as I walk inside.
The bartender is 41. "I'd offer to get you a drink, mate, but we have to be out of her by 1:55am." I don't make eye contact with him as he says this.
"I heard. Why not 2am?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the floor. I can hear the bartender smirking. "You don't want to know."
He heads out around 1:49am, but I still haven't seen Stevie Nicks. She sure as shit better pay me for tonight. I wait patiently, and at 1:55am, she emerges. She seems to be in a hurry.
She ushers me out of the bar and hands me a $100 bill. "See you tomorrow, pretty boy?" She asks, turning the lock on the bar door.
"Suppose so, Madame Bijou," I say to her. She forces eye contact with me, her smile fading. She checks her watch, sighs, and leans closer to me. She whispers: "get out of here before 2am," and walks in the other direction.
Now I have to know what this is all about.
1:56am.
1:57am.
1:58am.
1:59am.
I guess I expected some sort of apocalypse at 2:00am. When nothing happened immediately, I laughed at myself for being so foolish as to believe in the superstitions of people I had just met. I looked at my watch, which read 2:01am, and began to make my way towards the van.
I took one last glance at Madame Bijou's, and there she was. On the other side of the glass was Madame Bijou, flashing her rotten teeth at me, her wispy gray hair flowing down to her knees. Her age read 3,378.
Somehow, she reached her hand through the glass and pulled me into total darkness. "HELLO??" I shouted, reaching for anything I could touch, so terrified I pissed myself a little. I began to hear footsteps coming toward me.
"WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK," I panicked, still reaching into nothingness for something to grab onto. The footsteps got closer.
"You were warned," said a voice somewhere in the hollow space around me. Suddenly, a bunch of numbers started to appear at once. 4,707; 2,856; 5,302. I kicked and screamed, until I felt like I could no longer breathe.
I woke up the next morning in my bed, with teeth marks covering my entire body.
| 2017-09-01T23:22:02 | 2017-09-01T22:06:04 | 62 | 38 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
Andrew nearly snarled as his phone chimed for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. His shift at the warehouse ended only a few hours ago and it like chickens running around with their heads chopped off whenever he left. It was rare delight to encounter the nights that he was actually permitted to sleep through the night.
On top of the texts that were just brimming with simple incompetency, the morons that lit up his phone in the middle of the night always seemed to wake up his wife, Isabel, who suffered from insomnia to begin with. The raise Andrew agreed to that stated he kept his ringer on for these occasions never seemed worth it when he saw Isabel the next day, curled up in the guest room with dark circles under her eyes from her attempts to get away from the constant chiming.
Andrew rubbed a hand over eyes to clear them, trying to understand the ridiculous amount of messages but he must have been more tired than he thought since they didn’t make sense.
He quickly scrolled through the message previews, finding they all seemed to follow the same pattern: to look at the moon. The moon? What the -? Why?
It was like a shot to his adrenaline when he saw that some of the messages were coming from Isabel’s phone. He shot up from bed, seeing the other side empty, and jumped to his feet.
“Hun, what’s going on,” Andrew questioned, still scrolling through his phone while walking towards the guest room. The room was at the end of the hallway and the door was wide open. He could see Isabel standing in the middle of the room, arms down by her side and phone clutched in her hand as she gazed out the window.
As he grew closer, he could see that she was shaking, “Bel? Honey? What’s wrong, why-”
Isabel’s body whipped toward him and Andrew couldn’t help himself, he froze in place. She ran and shoved her body into the door, slamming it shut and locking it in place.
The speed was all wrong though, Andrew had never seen her move that fast. It was insane, it was...inhuman….
His own body started to tremble when he remembered her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and not a single bit of the green irises he loved so much were left.
He was just about to ram his own body into the door, to beg her to let him in and make her explain what is happening, but then she started sobbing.
“Andrew! You need to run, you need to hide! I’m so sorry, god I am so sorry. Run, Andrew, and whatever you do, don’t look at the moon!”
Andrew started pounding his fists on the door and trying to shove his weight against it, but she must have blocked it with something.
Despite his shouting and his pleading to be let in, his forgotten phone on the hallway floor seemed to crack through the commotion as the alarms of the emergency alert system distracted him for just a moment. The robotic voice started to play from his phone automatically, “WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TEST. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY ALERT. DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON. WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TES-”
Andrew thought his distress was at its peak, nothing was making sense and he just needed to get Isabel so they could deal with this together. He just needed to-
Her screams started and it struck him cold to the very center of his being. He began pounding and kicking at the door until it gave way under his body. Isabel was on the floor, writhing in the moonlight. Andrew couldn’t help it, his knees buckled and he emptied the contents of his stomach right where he stood.
Isabel's body was bent at every wrong angle possible but she wasn’t screaming anymore. Her head snapped in his direction with that ungodly speed again. Bathed in the moon’s light and pupils still completely dilated, she smiled up at him as if every bone in her body wasn’t broken.
In the same voice she used to tell soothe him time after time, she whispered, “Look at the moon, Andrew.”
|
First the texts. Then the MMS images. Then every insta, fb post, live stream, Reddit post, tweet. Every inbox at 0% capacity as it was all FWD FWD FWD FWD : MOON all the time.
After a few days we realized the vast majority of Internet traffic was solely automated spambots. Everybody else was outside looking at the moon, or sleeping all day wherever they last witnessed the moon..
Tritanopia is a form of color blindness that reduces the blue/yellow/green portion of the spectrum.
Us lucky one in ten thousand were unphased by the moon... Get it? Moon puns.
For reference,
1:10,000 expands to
100,000:1,000,000,000
And there's seven some billion people total, so you'd think seven hundred thousand people would be able to coordinate.
But then you have to look at population densities, distributive models of where tritanopia can be found, how difficult it is to travel when almost everyone is standing in the middle of the road to quietly worship the moon.
Imagine being at a festival with a target audience of docile septuagenarians. You don't like the grateful dead, don't get why
everyone is fixated, just want the whole thing to end. You try making a call on your phone but it just plays Phish songs That's how it felt.
It's like not being a hockey fan in Canada.
So. 700,000 functioning humans remaining. All ages. All ability levels. The vast majority lacking applicable skills or the psychological tenacity required to face this world. I was only 12 when it happened, just on the cusp of being forged by the new world yet with fond memories of the old ways.
Most animals that could look up and had some visual acuity also became enraptured. I wanted to help the animals but I didn't know how.
My first two days I tried to go about my routine as normal. Except there was no more no normal routine. No supply lines, no infrastructure, no social contract. Ran into a lot of lunatic strangers that got a start on the hoarding and mad max fashion early. My family had a close personal bond with either the moon or stolen wholesale liquor, depending on sight abilities.
A tritanopia support myphp forum briefly assembled IRL and tried to stage a coup of world power, but taking over the white house and the UN when there really isn't anyone to enforce your will doesn't matter much. Nobody to answer the phone for the nuclear launch codes, nobody to pop in the 8.5" floppy disks to get the nukes into the sky. Infighting led to the fast dissolution of that group, especially when the yahoo group insurrectionists gained traction.
The moonies just stopped participating. Beat them up, bash them to death in the streets, run them over. No resistance. Just single most minded dedication to the moon. A sadist's mcplayland.
They didn't eat or drink but they didn't die of exposure or dehydration. After a while their skin became ashy during the day. They went from monosyllabic grunts to utter silence.
A bit later, some of them grew wings or horns or scales . Some grew hair and became funky werewolf-gargoyle things.
The transformed congregation moved in packs but continued to stare at the moon. They'd only respond if provoked but you'd be dead before you realized you had provoked them.
Then came the Sound Eternal. Somewhere between Gregorian chanting, Cthulhu summoning , and Tibetan throat singing. Constant, from sun down to sun up. From the beasts, from the people.
It was declared cured five or six times. Half of those just lies from crumbling provisional government. The other half lacked real testing or distribution standards. Giving injections to hoards of swaying gnarly mutants that may lead to heads exploding one way or another wasn't going to work out
And so modified aerial viruses delivered via crop dusters, foggers, modified tear gas canisters, anything that could contain the smoke.
They all cocooned out for a bit after the dusting misused some lies masquerading as legitimate research.
I saw the aftermath and heard the confessions but I can't tell you in great detail how that all went down. Too busy rhen with the fight for survival, a sixteen year old keeping a nuclear reactor running on a submarine turned makeshift unethical medical experimentation laboratory.
The less said, the better. Dark time for submarines.
Most Moonies came out of chrysalis fit as a fiddle, back to full health, lost all the medieval art features.
Lived a mockery of their old routines, spring in their step. Go into the abandoned office to push pieces of paper around and tap keys on unpowered terminals. Then every night, back to the moon gazing.
You were probably born during this time period. Probably not the most rational decision that could've been made, but after surviving weregargoyles the social fabric didn't have much space for rationality.
They'd peruse ransacked grocery stores, exchange idle moon-themed pleasantries with each other. Morning jog through fields of corpses, oblivious. Flip.through the same old magazine until it disintergrated. Barbers and janitors would go to rubble that used to be their workplace and sweep with purposelessness . Tradesmen could sort of resume their jobs, more or less, but only served their own kind. After a few months, they used noise singing to gather a crowd and coordinate at a task, building ungodly architecture overnight or sacrificing a hundred mile long line of people to send an electrical signal from one necropolis to the next.
They'd all look at us and they would know. They would say "better not look at the moon" in the same deadpan attempt of reverse psychology. I'd reply "What a beautiful night out" while bug eyed stating at their moon. And sing about the moon hitting my eye like a big pizza pie. They just didn't understand thar moon magic wouldn't work on my snarky 19 year old deficient peepers. I had fallen into a bad crowd of pharmaceutic redistributors.
I'lll admit I developed a bit of a moon dust habit.The dust made their late 20th century satire of mid 20th century values schtick a little more tolerable. What else is there to do during the longest flash mob installation art piece? Swap rumors and lies about how places beyond the horizon were getting by?
Someone - nobody knows which side - invented glasses that compensated for the color blindness, let the impure finally join the teeming masses. That caught on big once we realized us last few unchanged had successfully flushed all chance of rebuilding or becoming something other than marauder junkies. I was around 22 at the time and in middle of trying to preserve priceless irreplaceable cultural artifacts from the Smithsonian, mostly by defending an adjacent outpost and running a little mercantile ammo shop on the side. Missed out on the suicide sunglasses phase. Gave away the only pair I stumbled across in the ruins to a real go-getter errand runner.
Then, next phase began and their molting started. Human skin left lying around everywhere, giant insectoid snakemen picking fights, the usual. Moondust purity went way down, market nearly tanked. By then I had a cybernetic arm and a laser eye. I spent most of my time in pipes, guarding various keys and providing clues to riddles.
I betrayed everyone that trusted me at every turn and regret nothing. I had once decided to live like a forgettable side quest NPC in a sub-par video game series. But when the laser eye was installed, I could see the full beauty of the moon in all spectrums, even those invisible to the limited human eye.
Didn't take long to round up the remaining twenty thousand some for free laser eye replacement. There's some logistics, sure, but you concentrate everyone into camps, chop off some limbs, erase the notion of free will or anything but service to the moon.
Turns out the moon does not mind if you scoop out significant portions of the prefrontal lobe before conversion. The question is will you be complacent enough to realize your higher calling or are you going to be another meat log for the stumpy field?
Either way, the implants will a little itch bit at first. Hopefully this bit of storytelling has enlightened you. Now, please, let us experience the moon together now.
| 2022-10-06T10:06:56 | 2018-04-06T19:57:39 | 483 | 30 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
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My hand reached out from the messy nest of blankets I was buried under, and flopped onto the buzzing phone on my dresser. Bleary-eyed and dazed, I dragged it under the blankets with me, refusing to let myself be fully roused from a solid nights sleep. "What the fuck," I muttered to myself, nearly mumbling the words out loud.
With a pained squint of too much brightness far too suddenly, I looked at the screen and saw - jesus, had to be hundreds of notifications, at least. Which was weird enough; me getting messages from 100+ people? Not enough people like me for that to be a common occurrence. But weirder still was they all said the same exact thing, "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." Bitches, it's basically morning, I thought. But before I could move, let alone shake the cozy cocoon of blankets from my head to look out my window and see what could possibly be so damn beautiful, my phone buzzed again.
I practically jumped as it shocked my hand. There was a new message, but this one said something different, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON." "What?" This time I actually did speak out loud. Frustration now fully replaced by curiosity and a racing heart, I kicked the blankets off and staggered down the hall to my roommates bedroom.
"Mon?" I called, knocking on her closed door. Mon was short for Monica. We had only been roommates for a short time - me, in desperate need of a new apartment, and her, with a newly empty house gifted by her parents - but friends for about a year. There was no answer. I tried again, "Mon? You up?" I shivered, which was odd. Sure, I was dressed only in a long tee shirt but it had been spring for weeks now; it should have been enough to feel warm in this house. I heard a loud THUD and bang from inside Monica's room. "Monica? Are you okay?" When still there was no answer, I threw open the door.
There was Monica, hanging from the light fixture. Her heavy wooden desk stool lay toppled on the floor beneath her. "Oh my god!" I screamed, "Monica!" I raced to her feet, held them, grabbed the stool and placed them under her feet. But her body had gone extraordinarily limp in such a short time. Phone in hand, I called 911. Busy signal. What? How...I pulled the phone away from my ear, my other arm still wrapped around Monica's ice cold legs. The blaring sound seemed to fill the air as I tried to comprehend how this could be possible. All right, no problem, let's try again, I thought, swallowing hard and trying not to shake. Busy signal, again. What the hell could be happening, I thought, feeling the stirrings of real panic start to fill my body.
There was a TV in Monica's room. I gingerly placed Monica's feet on the table, then ran to grab the remote sitting on her night table. I clicked, and my eyes were suddenly swimming in the bright colors and video of New Channel One. Almost instantly, I felt my knees buckle from under me. "Sources are reporting a sweep of suicides all over the nation," the newscaster was saying in a somber and serious tone. Her blood red lipstick matched her blazer as she went on, mouth uttering words that made me believe this all could only be a dream. "911 is overwhelmed with floods of calls. Police called to hundreds upon thousands of scenes of jumpers immediately shot themselves upon looking upward. No one is quite yet sure as to what the correlation might be-"
I turned away from the tv, staring down at the phone in my hand. I looked over to Monica's desk and picked up her phone. She too, had hundreds of the "look outside" texts. But the one she didn't have - the warning not to look at the moon.
My breath grew ragged, shallow, as I scrolled through her notifications and could not find a warning anywhere. And all I could think was: why me?'
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First the texts. Then the MMS images. Then every insta, fb post, live stream, Reddit post, tweet. Every inbox at 0% capacity as it was all FWD FWD FWD FWD : MOON all the time.
After a few days we realized the vast majority of Internet traffic was solely automated spambots. Everybody else was outside looking at the moon, or sleeping all day wherever they last witnessed the moon..
Tritanopia is a form of color blindness that reduces the blue/yellow/green portion of the spectrum.
Us lucky one in ten thousand were unphased by the moon... Get it? Moon puns.
For reference,
1:10,000 expands to
100,000:1,000,000,000
And there's seven some billion people total, so you'd think seven hundred thousand people would be able to coordinate.
But then you have to look at population densities, distributive models of where tritanopia can be found, how difficult it is to travel when almost everyone is standing in the middle of the road to quietly worship the moon.
Imagine being at a festival with a target audience of docile septuagenarians. You don't like the grateful dead, don't get why
everyone is fixated, just want the whole thing to end. You try making a call on your phone but it just plays Phish songs That's how it felt.
It's like not being a hockey fan in Canada.
So. 700,000 functioning humans remaining. All ages. All ability levels. The vast majority lacking applicable skills or the psychological tenacity required to face this world. I was only 12 when it happened, just on the cusp of being forged by the new world yet with fond memories of the old ways.
Most animals that could look up and had some visual acuity also became enraptured. I wanted to help the animals but I didn't know how.
My first two days I tried to go about my routine as normal. Except there was no more no normal routine. No supply lines, no infrastructure, no social contract. Ran into a lot of lunatic strangers that got a start on the hoarding and mad max fashion early. My family had a close personal bond with either the moon or stolen wholesale liquor, depending on sight abilities.
A tritanopia support myphp forum briefly assembled IRL and tried to stage a coup of world power, but taking over the white house and the UN when there really isn't anyone to enforce your will doesn't matter much. Nobody to answer the phone for the nuclear launch codes, nobody to pop in the 8.5" floppy disks to get the nukes into the sky. Infighting led to the fast dissolution of that group, especially when the yahoo group insurrectionists gained traction.
The moonies just stopped participating. Beat them up, bash them to death in the streets, run them over. No resistance. Just single most minded dedication to the moon. A sadist's mcplayland.
They didn't eat or drink but they didn't die of exposure or dehydration. After a while their skin became ashy during the day. They went from monosyllabic grunts to utter silence.
A bit later, some of them grew wings or horns or scales . Some grew hair and became funky werewolf-gargoyle things.
The transformed congregation moved in packs but continued to stare at the moon. They'd only respond if provoked but you'd be dead before you realized you had provoked them.
Then came the Sound Eternal. Somewhere between Gregorian chanting, Cthulhu summoning , and Tibetan throat singing. Constant, from sun down to sun up. From the beasts, from the people.
It was declared cured five or six times. Half of those just lies from crumbling provisional government. The other half lacked real testing or distribution standards. Giving injections to hoards of swaying gnarly mutants that may lead to heads exploding one way or another wasn't going to work out
And so modified aerial viruses delivered via crop dusters, foggers, modified tear gas canisters, anything that could contain the smoke.
They all cocooned out for a bit after the dusting misused some lies masquerading as legitimate research.
I saw the aftermath and heard the confessions but I can't tell you in great detail how that all went down. Too busy rhen with the fight for survival, a sixteen year old keeping a nuclear reactor running on a submarine turned makeshift unethical medical experimentation laboratory.
The less said, the better. Dark time for submarines.
Most Moonies came out of chrysalis fit as a fiddle, back to full health, lost all the medieval art features.
Lived a mockery of their old routines, spring in their step. Go into the abandoned office to push pieces of paper around and tap keys on unpowered terminals. Then every night, back to the moon gazing.
You were probably born during this time period. Probably not the most rational decision that could've been made, but after surviving weregargoyles the social fabric didn't have much space for rationality.
They'd peruse ransacked grocery stores, exchange idle moon-themed pleasantries with each other. Morning jog through fields of corpses, oblivious. Flip.through the same old magazine until it disintergrated. Barbers and janitors would go to rubble that used to be their workplace and sweep with purposelessness . Tradesmen could sort of resume their jobs, more or less, but only served their own kind. After a few months, they used noise singing to gather a crowd and coordinate at a task, building ungodly architecture overnight or sacrificing a hundred mile long line of people to send an electrical signal from one necropolis to the next.
They'd all look at us and they would know. They would say "better not look at the moon" in the same deadpan attempt of reverse psychology. I'd reply "What a beautiful night out" while bug eyed stating at their moon. And sing about the moon hitting my eye like a big pizza pie. They just didn't understand thar moon magic wouldn't work on my snarky 19 year old deficient peepers. I had fallen into a bad crowd of pharmaceutic redistributors.
I'lll admit I developed a bit of a moon dust habit.The dust made their late 20th century satire of mid 20th century values schtick a little more tolerable. What else is there to do during the longest flash mob installation art piece? Swap rumors and lies about how places beyond the horizon were getting by?
Someone - nobody knows which side - invented glasses that compensated for the color blindness, let the impure finally join the teeming masses. That caught on big once we realized us last few unchanged had successfully flushed all chance of rebuilding or becoming something other than marauder junkies. I was around 22 at the time and in middle of trying to preserve priceless irreplaceable cultural artifacts from the Smithsonian, mostly by defending an adjacent outpost and running a little mercantile ammo shop on the side. Missed out on the suicide sunglasses phase. Gave away the only pair I stumbled across in the ruins to a real go-getter errand runner.
Then, next phase began and their molting started. Human skin left lying around everywhere, giant insectoid snakemen picking fights, the usual. Moondust purity went way down, market nearly tanked. By then I had a cybernetic arm and a laser eye. I spent most of my time in pipes, guarding various keys and providing clues to riddles.
I betrayed everyone that trusted me at every turn and regret nothing. I had once decided to live like a forgettable side quest NPC in a sub-par video game series. But when the laser eye was installed, I could see the full beauty of the moon in all spectrums, even those invisible to the limited human eye.
Didn't take long to round up the remaining twenty thousand some for free laser eye replacement. There's some logistics, sure, but you concentrate everyone into camps, chop off some limbs, erase the notion of free will or anything but service to the moon.
Turns out the moon does not mind if you scoop out significant portions of the prefrontal lobe before conversion. The question is will you be complacent enough to realize your higher calling or are you going to be another meat log for the stumpy field?
Either way, the implants will a little itch bit at first. Hopefully this bit of storytelling has enlightened you. Now, please, let us experience the moon together now.
| 2022-08-07T20:43:05 | 2018-04-06T19:57:39 | 379 | 30 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that.
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The city was mad, but there were a few places that held on.
Fontanella's was a place like that. Arthur usually came around there after shifts to get a bite and talk the the inhumanly kind owner, whose name he never got to know, but who insisted on being called "Nonna". She had a knack for serving the general misfits of the magical underworld, even though, from all that Arthur could gather, she was just a regular human granny.
Today however, as he neared the entrance, it was obvious something wasn't right. It was late, but usually the tables outside would be bustling with the more nocturnal clientele, all playing cards and drinking the varied delights of Nonna's kitchen. There was no one there.
Even though the door was open, Arthur could see only a forlorn light shining within.
As he entered, the sound of soft sobbing and hushed voices hit him. He saw the once perfectly placed tables and chairs strewn across the floor, doilies and plant pots (Nonna's pride and joy) misplaced and broken, and in one corner a dropped food tray, it's contents on various stages of disheveling.
Behind the counter, a few of Arthur's fellow usual drinking companions and Nonna's actual granddaughter, Maria, consoled the crying old lady. It was quite the sight, seeing those rugged dwarves, towering orc roughnecks, elegant faeries, frumpy wizards and even Arthur's vampire roommate and former nemesis Vi, all giving reassurance, fixing what could be fixed, cleaning and replacing the various signs of chaos.
Arthur's heart swelled with pride for these lovable bastards, but the look that Maria saw on the detective's face was grim.
"What happened here?" he asked.
"Big shot in a suit came in earlier before we arrived. Nonna was here alone. All we could gather from her were that he was unhappy with the service and decided to give the place a piece of his mind." Her eyes were hard, her voice curt.
"I see." Arthur scanned the site. His mind churned with plans of action. After giving Nonna his own hug, he approached Vi, who was helping a big orc on setting the tables back up.
"I hope you get to him before I do Artie" Vi said as she saw him approach. "I don't think I'd be able to keep myself from... Repaying his kindness." Her eyes were bleeding to red from her usual grey, a sign that she was more frazzled than her demeanor showed.
"Oh, I'm not worried about that" Arthur said, kneeling and touching a splintered part of the table's woodwork. As expected, a black thread, too thin for a naked human eye to see, was stuck to the woodgrain. Arthur gingerly plucked it, and analyzed it's nature. "I'm free for the night. Up for a little hunting? Let's not hurt him too much. I'm sure the Stormwatcher and Night's Queen could bring him in."
She smiled that predatory smile of hers. "What else do you need?"
As Arthur stored the thread on a bag, he noticed a darker patch on the carpet, and bent over to examine it. *Blood*, he though. A small spark fled his nose, as he inhaled and let his magically twisted senses attune to the stain's signature. He now could track that signal towards it's source.
"How convenient" Arthur remarked, rising.
"Magic nose powers never disappoint I see" Vi quipped, eyes fully red now.
"We have a criminal to catch partner."
Vi's smile grew.
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(Sorry my English I love the Prompts and try to make something more "fantastic")
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The clientele was faithful, although irregular, sometimes half disappeared a few weeks, returning sometimes had changed race, or sex, or were one more, or less. Arnold never asked questions, he was there to listen, to serve coffees and sweets that the charming widow Rachel, from the pastry shop in the next corner, gave him each morning with a smile and the smell of vanilla oozing from every pore.
His schedule was not usual, from 9 pm to 09 am, at least not usual in the big city, he had assumed it when he worked in the small cafe next to a large transport warehouse, that was the time when many trucks unloaded and they left. The truck drivers were good customers, quiet people who just want their hot coffee and their fluffy chair to forget the road for a few minutes. When the cousin of his boss retired, they offered him this place in the city.
Arnold decided to try the same schedule, almost experimentally, more out of habit. The first few days he had few clients, only a couple of surprised policemen who told him to get donuts, thanks to which he met the beautiful Rachel by the way.
But other customers appeared, many dressed in black, large coats and jackets although it did not rain. They were good customers, he remembered the truck drivers, they came tired, exhausted, but always with a smile, they were proud of their jobs, whatever they are.
Although, strange things happened, sometimes a cup of coffee flew from the counter to the client's hand sitting, others a sugar burst on someone's head and made a general laugh. And the money…. everyone paid of course, but soon learned to look at the box in the morning and separate the normal money from the other, the one that had never known countries, dated in the future or with presidents of two heads.
MissT was a strong, strong woman of indeterminate race. He was one of the first clients and from time to time he came with companions, some of them were walking, others were floating, some were better not to look at them, seriously, it was a headache. Sometimes she sat alone at the bar and told him fantastic stories, wars between gods, portals to hell and drunken angels. She also listens to her worldly things, laughed when she told him about the strange money and how she had been shouted at the bank for trying to used it. MissT offered to exchange the strange money for the common, that helped him a lot, although the most beautiful bills and coins, those that shone, had impossible colors or the crystal coins that the stone being gave him, those, put them in a frame after the bar. MissT also laughed at his stories of flirting with the neighboring widow, had offered him steaming potions, but Arnold was classic and preferred to go little by little, and had planned to invite Rachel to Saint Patrick's dance next month ...
For normal passersby the strange money was a collection of very strange alternative art, but for visitors, it became a sign that there, they were welcome.
"Your cafeteria is a cardinal point ... not only for us on this plane, but for many planes ... in other worlds here there would be a temple of sacrifices .... in this, we have your cafeteria and I prefer your coffee to a cutted head "MissT told him one night.
That helped him to understand why clueless clients sometimes appeared, naked, some did not speak, but in general everyone understood their gestures, they accepted coffee or tea, a blanket to cover themselves and a stool to sit on before they regain strength to continue their trips.
One of these lost beings, had appeared wounded, a huge wing crawling torn and had collapsed at midnight in front of the door. Arnold ran to load him inside and put the sign closed, his golden blood stained the floor, but it did not matter, he dialed MissT's phone, he had given a number in confidence for situations like this. In a few minutes she emerged from the bathroom door, she did not ask questions, she understood it when she saw him and she went out the door again. Soon he returned with several people, a doctor in a robe, giant and with horns, who attended to the wounded and several hooded men who ran to stand next to the door of the premises.
"This is not good ... this person is very important and should not be here, not this time or this reality ..." Miss T was scared for the first time in front of Arnold. "This can end very, very bad ...", strangers arrived outside the premises, the windows burst and MissT's hoods opened fire with their fists closed, the outside became a war zone, horrors of a thousand eyes peered out through the broken windows and were volatilized by MissT's flaming sword. A blinding light froze everything, several beings similar to the wounded, appeared in the street, everything was frozen, the creatures became dust, entered the premises, saw the wounded and raised their hands, the injured spoke, with the sound of a thousand tuned out violins and stopped them, in an instant they were gone, the place was intact. The hooded men looked at each other and at a sign from MissT disappeared at the bathroom door followed by the diabolical doctor.
There was a golden feather on the counter, MissT stared at her in astonishment.
"Arnold, that feather is a gift from them, save it well, it's worth more than anything in this reality ...but be very careful they don´t play with livings things" she whispered, before kissing him on the cheek "Today you saved not only this planet, but thousands, thank you… "
It was dawn when he was alone, Arnold closed the place and went to sleep. From that day on, a new type of clientele joined, they were monks in robes who respectfully drank their coffee and pleaded with their eyes until Arnold opened the drawer and showed them his golden treasure. He tried not to do much and carefully, as he had discovered that the brightness of it hurt some of his usuals, so he just opened the drawer and let them peek over the bar to see the feather with pens and clips.
One morning it had been quiet, he put the sign of closed and walked to Rachel's bakery to pick up the cakes she would put in the fridge for the afternoon. Across the sidewalk a scream broke the air, a silhouette ran out of the alley, the side door of the bakery was open, Arnold ran inside, Rachel was lying on the floor with the handle of a knife protruding from her chest.
"I thought you were ... and I opened without looking ... age makes me do nonsense" whispered Rachel with the mouth full of blood. "I wanted to go dancing, you know? ... I already had the suit bought ..."
Arnold shouted, holding her, his breathing stopped, he thought he could do it. He picked her up and crossed the street to lay her carefully on the counter. Only one thing occurred to him, he opened the drawer, took the golden feather and placed it on it. The light grew and enveloped them.
A winged being emerged at his side, Arnold recognized a slight mark where the wing had broken. The being looked at both of them and asked a question in his mind, Arnold answered without hesitation.
The being nodded and his hand moved over Rachel's body and the blood disappeared, the color returned to her face. Arnold cried on his lap. The being touched his shoulder and disappeared. Rachel woke up and asked where she was, she did not remember anything, Arnold just hugged her very hard.
That night the cafeteria was full, everyone had felt the presence of the being and they were eager to hear the story, MissT in the front line he rebuked.
"Do not you have no idea who you asked for help?" MissT smiled. "And what did he ask you for? They always ask for something, have not you done anything foolish?" I ask with obvious concern.
"Well ... he asked me to have free coffee forever ... and I told him I would add cheesecake even to the agreement ..."
Those present looked at Arnold a few seconds before laughing loudly as never before. Not always the owner of the cafeteria invoked a god in exchange for coffee and cheesecake
| 2018-10-20T23:47:46 | 2018-10-20T23:21:55 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You woke up in a bathtub full of ice with fresh stitches on your back and abdomen. The emergency room reveals that several organs are missing, replaced with something unknown. They want to cut you open, but you're feeling awesome, stronger and healthier than you've ever felt in your life.
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I touch the threads woven through my abdomen, gazing at myself in the mirror. I can't see the ones on my back but I can feel them pinching at my skin, keeping the edges together, as if trying to seal a portal that has already been opened. It's been five years since I woke in my bathtub with my organs missing and replaced with something else, something foreign: *A dark spot we can't see on the scans*, the hospital said. *You should let us take a closer look at it .*
I said no, of course. All those months spent in hospital beds, in and out of remission, only to be told I had just a week to live - whatever had been done to me wasn't a nightmare or a crime. It was a miracle. Even now, when I can see the bulging under my skin and feel the second heartbeat inside me, I don't regret my decision. This was the only way I could travel the world and see the northern lights. This was the only way I could be with my mother when she died. This was the only way I could have more time.
I was never sure if it had been real, the shadowy beast appearing in my dreams night after night. He always offered me the same deal: *Grant me passage into your world and I will give you the gift of life.* He never said how much life; that was the catch, of course. There's always a catch. But eventually I agreed and his followers cut me open, warning me the passage growing inside me must not be disturbed. Eventually, when the time was right, it would be complete.
I didn't ask what would happen after that. We all knew the deal I was making.
I fall to my knees now, no longer strong but frail again, the life draining out of me as the beast ascends through the passage inside me. One claw is piercing through my skin; another is sawing through a stitch. I alternate between sobbing at the seeping away of my life and laughing at the absurdity of it. All the things I've done, all the memories I've gathered, they're slowly leaving me now. Was it worth it? Was it worth it? I don't know. All I can say is that I don't regret it. Not even as I find myself lying on my back, watching in the mirror as the beast slices through the last stitch and climbs out of me, flies and flames flickering at his feet. Not even as I see my skin and flesh flayed open as if I am no longer a person but a thing.
No, I don't regret it, because everything worth having comes at a cost.
What price would you pay for more time?
This was mine.
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Cold. Ice cold. That’s what I felt when I woke up.
A feeling as strong as a sizzling pan and yet as freezing as the last circle of Hell. My body hurting, full of cuts that were already clotted. Unable to move, unable to even scream for help. I didn’t even know if I should scream. What the fuck happened?
I got to move my legs soon. Then, my arms and the rest of my body started waking. All quicker than I expected. I was already standing up and thought I’d go to the hospital after taking a bath. Wherever I was in, they had a towel and fresh, hot water. I didn’t even need to bathe that much because my body seemed to absorb all the heat almost immediately.
Once I got out, I found myself in a motel room. Two beds, tidy and clean, a working TV, closed curtains, and, miraculously, a set of clothes and my phone. Whoever got me in here treated me like I was in a 5-star room. I got my phone, unlocked it and called for a cab. I could've called for the cops, or an ambulance but... something told me not to. I couldn't explain but, I chose to go to the hospital myself, thinking of this as not much of a scandal.
I could walk fine, from the room to the cab. Even more, from the cab to the reception, from the reception to another room, where the doctor was waiting for me. I had just got out of a freezing bathtub, my body was full of cuts, and for some reason everything was working out fine. As soon as I explained my situation, and the strangeness of it all, the doctor began working soon, bringing in an x-ray machine.
I waited on a bed in another room, hoping that I still had all my organs with me. I thought it'd had to be like that considering I was feeling totally normal. Stronger than usual, even. Then the doctor came in, with a worried look on his face. He was stammering and stuttering, as if he'd just seen someone get murdered. "What's wrong, doc?" He then handed me my x-rays. Inside me, I saw... black. Only that.
Where my kidneys should be, pure blackness. Where my lungs should be, pure blackness. Where my stomach should be, pure blackness. It was as if the images had gone right through those organs. But only those?
"It's worse than you think, Corey", said the doctor. He asked me for the pictures and then, laying on a table, took his pen out and started outlining something. I didn't know what but even his pulse gave away his nervousness. He turned around and handed the images back to me, now with a clear outline on the black mass in my body.
"I don't know what that is", he said. "In all my years working, I... I've never... Excuse me." I could tell his shock regarding my current state. He asked me if I was done looking and, after responding affirmatively, he took the images and left the room, assuring me he'd be back soon.
Given I had nothing else to do but wait, I decided to check some things. My body was working fantastically and, in spite of the short space, I wanted to take some advantage of it. But that emotion worn out in a matter of seconds as I found a small paper in the table. Maybe the doctor had left it there. And, in surprisingly clear handwriting, it said one thing:
"CUT HIM OPEN?"
Cut me open? No, not at all. I wanted to find out these things by myself. It seems selfish to say so but so far, I hadn't died yet. This was something way beyond most things. Somehow, I was feeling like an athlete, like a champion, like a stallion, all in a matter of hours, by God knows what in my body. I didn't even bother to know what happened to my organs at this point, as long as nobody took them away.
And so I left the room. The moment I did, I saw the doc speaking to his co-workers and, the moment he noticed me, I heard him call for my name, telling me to stop. Despite the uncertainty and surprise of all this happening, my body told me one thing: it told me to fly. And I flew like I'd never flown before in my life.
As I went through stairs — not even elevators, I wanted to brag that much —, a memory came to my mind. Of the only time I'd ever ran like that. As a kid, I'd race some other kids in Harlem. We'd run together through the parks when the sun was still shining bright, and test each other until we were asking for water. And one time, all 13 or 14 kids lined up, and so it was my time. My time to prove myself, to run like hell as if the Devil was chasing me. The doctor's call was my "GO!", and I kept that anecdote as I ran.
I passed Aaron Coleman, I passed Bobby Reyes, I passed James Parker. Now I was passing nurses, security guards, patients I was about to crash with. Sweat was drenching, I was panting like a bulldog, and the finish line with all our buddies waiting was my goal. This time, it was the hospital doors. I felt as if Martin "M&M" Majors was about to catch me, and he was saying "Give it up, Corey!" The doctor said the same here. But I didn't. In fact, I went faster than ever. I thought I couldn't make it, and then...
I was out. My body, still working, still running like hell, already feeling a fresh breeze from the streets. I raised my arms up like I was Jesse Owens just as he finished the race. I screamed triumphantly at nothing but a couple cars passing by. It was such a winning moment.
Thing is... when I won, back then in Harlem, I didn't stop either. But something else did, after I crossed. I tripped and fell, and felt my body hit the ground so hard it felt like a personal earthquake. I didn't cry that day. I felt like a winner and owned that pain, and smiled as bright as the sun that illuminated my path. My friends, though envious of my win, shared that honest smile. This time, I didn't smile. I only heard one thing echo unexpectedly.
"Test trial ending."
And so my body stopped working. It fell once again, now harder than before on the pavement. Not a personal earthquake, no. It was my entire body turning into a corpse, shutting down, malfunctioning. I wanted to scream, cry, yell, anything for help. But there was no one around to do so. I was trapped in my body, but someone else was controlling it. I couldn't do anything. No friends to share a smile with, despite the envy. No shining sun. Only my eyes giving in to the dark, as I felt the pavement.
Cold. Ice cold. That's what I felt as I shut down.
Edit: repeated word
| 2020-06-12T10:30:07 | 2020-06-12T10:22:11 | 141 | 58 |
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult.
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He turned to the stranger next to him. "World-Ender? What will people think? Will they judge me by this name and think I'm that I'm going to bring about the end of the world? That I'm going to usher in the demise of humanity as we know it? That name is going to label me forever as a monster! What will my friends assume about me? What will all my neighbors say?"
The stranger, nonplussed, shrugged his shoulders. "Well it could always be worse."
World-Ender nodded slowly. "I guess you're right Mr....sorry I didn't catch your name."
"It's Jeff. Jeff Dickinson."
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I looked at the man in the cage. He looked young. No one could’ve guessed that he had been here for close to two hundred years.
He lit a match and looked at the fire till it reached and scalded his fingers. He had always been fascinated by fire.
“Ray? You doing ok? You need anything.”
He smiled at me. “No thanks, Ryan. I’m good.”
Once again I was stuck by the simplicity and the happiness behind that smile. Here was someone living such a tough life and he was still smiling. His smile was infectious too as I found myself returning it.
“Let me know if you need any new books or…”
The smile was gone. There was an emotion there that I had never seen before. Fear.
He bent down, putting his ear to the ground.
“Ryan. There’s something wrong. Something’s coming.”
“What?”
“I can’t say yet. Our world. It’s in danger.”
And those simple words are what began humanity’s spiral towards destruction never seen before.
He hadn’t been wrong, of course. The world’s end was close. But despite his name, he wasn’t the one causing it. He was just the messenger.
The creatures started showing up randomly from inside the earth’s crust. They were indestructible. We threw everything at them. They brushed it off and continued their path of destruction.
And through it all I, Ryan Guardsman, saw Ray get sicker. I saw his pain.
“Ray! Tell me what I can do to help!”
He smiled at me. But this smile was weak and forced. “My roots run deep into the earth, Ryan. I can feel every fight over there.”
He pointed to a scar and continued. “Most recent one. I think you guys threw some sort of an explosive at them.”
“Nothing works against them. What are they?”
“I’m not entirely sure either. For all my connection to the earth I can’t see past a certain point. It’s a bit blurry. My best guess so far is that earth was created as a prison for these things. We, humans, just happened accidentally.”
“So how do you stop them?”
“We can’t. Unless…”
He looked at his hands as another scar magically appeared.
*****
I ran to my boss who took my idea to his boss and this went on further up the chain to whoever was really at the top.
For humanity to survive, the world had to end.
*****
Evacuations started immediately. The destination was still unknown but Ray had given us some pointers. He had been able to glean some more information about who trapped these monsters here, banishing them from their world. He pointed us in their general direction. The rest was up to fate.
Our hope was that beings these advanced would be able to see us coming and guide us.
Our biggest hope was that they would be merciful.
*****
I opened the cage lock.
He looked at me and hesitated.
“Ray. It’s ok.”
He took his first steps since he was a kid a couple of centuries ago and saw the first glimpse of the outside world. The world he was part of more than any of us. The world he was fated to end.
We sat watching the sun go down, neither of us sure what to talk about.
All I knew was that I was at peace. I knew what I had to do. My fate had been sealed when I had been named.
******
He had requested that he be allowed to sleep and recharge. While he had been let out of the smaller cage he was now trapped on this bigger one called earth.
The evacuations continued.
He woke up 40 days and 40 nights later.
He had slept in the middle of the institute’s garden. The earth and the plants seemed to realize that he was one their own. Vines had quickly covered him giving him his own green blanket.
He got up and looked right at me.
“Ryan? Why are you still here?”
“Nobody should have to die alone.”
“No! You have to go.”
“My purpose is here. I’m here to guard you. If you’re not there, what do i guard? I made this for you.”
I threw an arrangement of flowers towards him. I had intended it as a garland, but it had come out looking more like a wreath.
Appropriate I supposed.
“Thank you.” He smiled at me. A calm, peaceful smile this time. “What starts must always end.”
“So how do you do this?”
“I don’t have to do anything. I just think. The world will do it for me. These earth’s core was meant as an explosive to destroy them if they ever moved. But since so much time has passed they need a bit of a spark. That’s all I have to do.”
With his fingers, he dug a small hole in the ground. He lit a match and stuck it inside the hole. He covered it like one would a seed.
He poured his glass of water on top and smiled at me again. “It’s done.”
“And now?”
“Now we sit back and watch the sun set.”
| 2021-06-19T18:31:32 | 2021-06-19T17:55:46 | 2,066 | 616 |
[WP] Your adventuring party is unstoppable. It has a fighter, able to crush steel armor with bare hands. A cleric, able to cure any wound imaginable. The wizard, who can manipulate energy and matter into anything. And Bob, a random person who found a sniper rifle
|
There once was a fellow named Bob.
Monsters despised him from goblin to hob.
Why?
He killed all the mobs.
And what was the tool of Bob’s great murder streak?
A sniper rifle, given unto him by the god of the weak.
She’d noticed that Bob had no special skills.
Thus, she gave him a weapon to get all the kills.
His cleric companion would cast mass heal spells,
Their wizard raised demons from nine out of nine hells.
The fighter was a true friend and a fiend to all baddies,
But Bob sniped away, leaving single monster parent daddies.
As time went along, Bob’s legend grew tall,
The monster numbers dwindled, getting very small.
The team was unstoppable, they never got a scratch,
So they drank all the mead—every single batch.
At the end of their travels, they came before a giant rock monster.
It was as large as any they’d fought.
But the team had great fortune, they’d run into a mobster.
Bob had upgraded his rifle to a missile launcher he’d bought.
What was the moral of Bob’s sordid tale?
Save the magic, get a Glock, ‘cuz guns never fail.
|
"And now, thanks to *you*, all my plans have succeeded!" Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia cackled crazily, as he lorded over his newly produced Pickle-Maker 6000. "Townsville will soon be a stunning saltmarsh of salacious sublimity!" He cried with delight, while the party hemmed on in horror at the tiny town of Townsville. Mr. Mayor and his lovely laypeople all lay limply, surely *soured* at the success of the supervillain's scheme.
"You won't get away with this!" Ferrona Fefi, the Firbolg Figher scarily shouted at the surly sinner. "Nobody in this town wants to be eradicated by your evil enigma!"
"Ferrona's right!" Carson Careful, the Cleanly Cleric of his God Cleanwell, added alongside his courageous colleague. He brandished his Bane of Brandishing, ready to Banish Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia.
The Wizard, Wiz Wisely, convulsed conspicuously, his veins bulbously bursting beyond belief, as he prepared a ferocious fireball to fry Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia, the foody fiend.
"Very well, Annoying Adversaries!" Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia, shouted out the name of the pungent party, with bombast. "We shall see who bests who in combat! Now, En Garde!"
Ferrona Fefi, the Firbolg Fighter, cheerily chuckled, as she drew her Blades of Blasting, before preparing to pulverize the precocious pickler.
"Very Well, Lord Remington, Domina-"
It was at that moment that One Armed Bob shot Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia, in the head with an M107 .50 caliber sniper rifle from halfway across town.
Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia, dropped to the ground, dead as a doornail.
Ferrona stared at the corpse without the surprise that the rest of the town had. She had actually really liked the roleplay that they had set up before the fight. She was hoping for a symbolic fight about how, in the end, she needed to rely on her party mates more to tank and deal damage, and about how there were things you couldn't do alone.
Carson stopped his charge, frustrated. He'd just gotten a brand new combat draw skill, and he really wanted to see how well it worked on large bosses. He'd tried it on smaller ones, but someone like Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia would do nicely for him to test out how well Angering Shout worked into his Tank/Healer build.
Wiz was very annoyed. He'd learned how to pop his veins on command for nothing? Months of training during off-time to become a master in a skill that was only practiced halfway across the 3 Musketeers Galaxy in Bikini Top were wasted!
Ferrona sighed with disappointment.
"Bob, you motherfucker!" she shouted. "I know it's a viable strategy, but we hadn't even rolled initiative!"
"Yeah, and? You know my build is meant for long range weapons, right?" One Armed Bob argued back. "It's not exactly like my player gifted me with a good sword or anything like that to get up close." he complained.
"Well can't you at least try a bow or something that fits in with the rest of the party? Bob Bowly shouldn't be using a sniper rifle."
"I can't!" One Armed Bob complained.
"WHY NOT!" Ferrona slammed her head into the ground, causing significant bleeding. She should check that out with a doctor to make sure there wasn't any internal damage or concussion.
"Because *I HAVE ONE ARM*!!!!" Bob pointed to his name on the reddit thread.
"Well, aren't there any prosthetics?" Wiz was forced to speak, since Carson was a medical professional when he wasn't a cleric, and could recognize that Ferrona's frustration had gotten her in significant trouble.
"No! Because *someone* doesn't know how it works!" Bob pointed up to the sky with his nonexistent arm.
>Sorry, guys.
"Seriously, what the fuck, u/EvilNoobHacker!" Bob shouted.
>*shrugs*
Bob turned over to Lord Remington, Dominator of Pickles and All Pickle Related Paraphernalia's corpse, not noticing my clever shrug because he can't see what God's doing, and got an idea.
He pointed to the corpse with his nonexistent hand, and turned to Wiz.
"So, wanna loot it? Dude's probably got some nice stuff on him."
"I mean, why not?" Wiz smiled.
It was one of the few things they could agree on.
So, as the populous was actively ignored by the party, and while Carson and Ferrona were being shipped off to the nearest Urgent Care that had staff, Wiz and One Armed Bob- he still thinks I'm a dick for doing that- decided to loot the corpse.
The End.
\--------------------------------------
Okay, this one got way too meta for my liking. I'm a DM, so I just wanted to see what sort of moronic hellscape I could put theoretical players through. Honestly, kinda satisfying.
"You're still a dick for making me one-armed!" Bob shouted.
What the-
| 2022-11-07T21:12:46 | 2022-11-07T21:04:05 | 311 | 69 |
[WP] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning, you do what it specifically tells you not too.
The warning reads:
*Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.*
*Do not look outside.*
*Do not look at the sky.*
*Do not make noise.*
*Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly.*
_____________________________________________________
Credit and thanks to every one in [this thread.](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/cna761m)
|
>Credit and thanks to every one in this thread.
You're Welcome.
Anyway, here's my answer to your WP:
The light from my cell killed my eyes. This early in the morning what could be so goddamned important?
As I read the emergency alert with one eye I rubbed the sleep out of the other.
Then I sat up and read it again with both.
And again.
This has got to be some kind of joke.
I rolled over and threw my legs off the side of the bed, working them into my slippers.
I stretched and stood up, weakness wobbling my gait as I took a few steps towards the windows. I felt my heavy drapes resist parting, almost as if they knew what would happen.
As I peeked out down the street, I didn't see anything unusual at first, then I remembered, the sky.
I turned my gaze upwards to the sickly orange glow of the cities light pollution splayed across the clouds, and that's where I saw them. Small, black, jagged, like pieces of shattered onyx flocking through the sky, no wings, no sounds, countless shards of ebony wheeling and flitting to and fro in a chaotic scramble.
And then I stopped breathing. My hands let go of the drapes, my legs fell out from under me. Layed down on my carpet, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe.. *Oh God, why did I look?*
|
When I wake up, I hear a loud booming voice.
Terrified, I look around, and realize it's coming from my TV, in the living room. It's loud enough that I can clearly understand what it says.
**"Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows.
Do not look outside.
Do not look at the sky.
Do not make noise.
Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly."**
What's going on? I groggily get out of bed, and though I'm not supposed to, I open my curtains.
The sky is an odd color; it's almost black, with a tint of red. Dark clouds blanket the sky.
When I look down, there's thick fog covering the ground. I can barely make out a silhouette of a man running down the street.
I quickly step back. I'm not sure if the warning is getting louder, or if I'm just more alert now.
I remember that in my yard, I have an underground shelter. I contemplate running out there and getting in, until I remember that the keys are on my girlfriend's keychain, and she's working the night shift a few blocks away. We have a spare key, but I have no idea where it is.
I grab my phone and call her, nervously waiting for her to answer. I start to worry after the fourth ring, hoping she's okay, and then I hear a click and a voice on the other line.
She greets me with a "Holy shit, are you seeing what I'm seeing? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. A little shaken up, but I'm all right. What about you, are you safe?" I reply.
"I'm fine. The rest of the employees and I are locked in the back storage room."
I let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, good. Do you know where the extra key for the shelter is?"
"It's in the garage, in the cabinet on the far left."
"Okay, thanks. Will you stay on the phone with me?" I'm embarrassed to admit that talking to her makes me feel more secure, though that's probably how all couples feel.
"Sure, I'll stay with you."
"Thanks." I open my bedroom door, and when I do, I have to plug my ears. The announcement is even louder in the hallway, and loudest in the living room.
I cautiously creep through the living room before I get to the garage. I'm trying to keep quiet, but it's hard to when your hardwood floors are this old.
I fumble for the light switch and finally turn it on. I take the key and decide to make the dash outside. It's my best bet. I tell my girlfriend to hang on, and that I'm going to make it to the shelter. I tuck my phone in my pocket for safekeeping and shakily open the door.
A large gust of wind throws me back. I push my hair out of my face and hold onto the door as to not get knocked off my feet. This wind continues for 30 more seconds or so, and abruptly stops. I take this moment to dash outside, and I almost immediately wish I hadn't. I see several pairs of glowing eyes in the distance. They're not looking at me, but straight ahead.
It's eerily quiet out here; it would be peaceful during different circumstances. The key slides into the lock with ease and I get inside. It's pitch black, and a bit scary, but I shut the doors anyway. I retrieve my phone from my pocket. "I made it, are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here. S-something just broke the glass in the front window, and we can hear their footsteps."
I want to say something to reassure her that she'll be safe, something to calm her down, but all I can manage is "Oh, shit."
The ground begins shaking. I clutch my phone a little tighter as the magnitude increases, jerking me back and forth like a rag doll. I hear a horrible scream.
I instinctively scoot to the back of the shelter. The doors fly open, and someone, no, some*thing*, enters. I can't make out anything except for a pair of glowing red eyes, and don't bother holding in a scream as it already sees me. It has no trouble walking during this massive earthquake, or so it seems, because before I know it, it has reached me. It's cold hands are tight around my neck. I gasp for air and kick it off me. It's not very heavy at all, and hits the wall like a wet wad of toilet paper.
I stupidly leave the shelter and try to make it back to the house. I'm on all fours, since I can't keep my balance, and crawl back to the door. I lock myself in and hide in the kitchen, under the table. The ground has stopped shaking now, so that's good.
A dozen pairs of eyes appear in the window. A feeling of powerlessness and resignation washes over me, and I know what I must do. I walk back to the garage, open the safe, and take out the gun.
"I'm sorry, and I love you, but now I have to go."
The voice that leaves my lips and speaks into the phone doesn't sound like mine. I put the gun to my head, and something is screaming inside me not to do it, that I'm not controlling myself.
Before the bullet hits me, I realize, horrified, that the voice inside was right, that I wasn't controlling myself.
They were.
(I apologize for my terrible writing skills! It's 6 AM, I haven't gotten much sleep, and I bet this is full of typos, but I don't have the energy to proofread it.)
| 2014-12-31T06:47:48 | 2014-12-31T05:40:56 | 565 | 45 |
[WP] Each person is born with the ability to consciously *snap* their mind as many times as wanted. Each snap unlocks a superpower with a mental illness in tow. The stronger the power, the more severe case of mental illness you get.
Hope somebody finds it interesting, have fun :)
|
Don was born normal. Completely average. The type of guy you forget exists a minute after you talk to him. Was completely average in the kindergarden. Completely average in pre, middle and high school. He had completely average friends. Completely average girlfriend. Completely average everything.
As he was getting older he started realizing that average just doesn't cut it for him. He doesn't want an average girlfriend. He wants a model. He doesn't want a Honda Civic, he wants a Bentley with a personal (very hot) female driver). It wasn't until 18 able to participate in the experimental program that allowed people to learn new "skills". Interventions like these, of course, couldn't go unnoticed for the brain. It would randomly develop mostly unexpected and negative deviations. Sometimes people would develop anxiety, some will develop ADHD, some OCD. Schizophrenia was among the most popular deviations. People would become depressed, develop suicidal thoughts, become hyperactive, maniacal, but the program wwas still very popular because so many people wanted to completely turn their lives around.
First time Don came there he just wanted a minor bump in the level of intellectual capacity. It was like a miracle to him. Suddenly he developed an ability to understand much more than previously. Difficult courses at college were much easier to master. He was doing his own taxes and finding ways to make small cash while in college. The downside was that he was becoming antisocial. Doctors said it was a very mild form of autism. Don wasn't very comfortable in social situations. He would say random things that seemed ok to him but were offensive. He was losing his friends. But he was ok, because he was above all of them.
After a year he agreed for another round in the program. He wanted more money, so he asked for stronger skills in math, econ, business, finances. Each time he participated in the program he developed new ways to make money. He loved it. Each time he was becoming more and more strange. He was becoming very selfish. He was completely inadequate and incompetent in social situations. People didn't like him anymore, but still stuck around. Because he had money. A lot of it. Billions of dollars after the 8th treatment in the program.
Finally he realized that he wanted more. He conquered the business world. Now he wanted to conquer the world of politics. Deep inside he realized that another treatment would fuck him up psychologically beyond repair. But still, he dialed the number and asked for his regular doctor.
-How may I help you today?
-Hey, doc, this is Don.
-Oh my God, you again. Haven't you had enough? Come on. You are the most sociopathic client we have ever had. You have to stop doing this!
-Doc, remember how much I paid you last time to do your job and keep your mouth shut? I will pay double.
-Ugh... Come next week. What skill would you like to learn?
-I want to be a fucking President. I want to rule this fucking country!
-Ugh... Come next week. I will see what I can do.
Don smiled, threw his phone on a sofa that cost 10 times more than his first car and pressed a button on his hundred grand table. The same minute Miss Idaho entered his cabinet.
-Mister Trump, would you like some coffee?
|
"You wanna go now, Greg?"
"Sure," Greg whispered, eyes down at the imitation-marble floor. He moved around in his chair, uncomfortable. "Hi. I'm Greg."
"Hello, Greg," came the voices around him like the room was in Dolby Surround.
*The feature presentation of my pointless life,* Greg though, with a smile he didn't mean.
"And what's your condition Greg?"
"I can tell good jokes," Greg mumbled, quietly. "Like, really good ones. I killed my cousin with one, accidentally. He
had an embolism after a three hour streak of non-stop laughter."
The room went silent.
"That's… very hard, Greg," the meeting leader said, in an overly professional voice. "But I meant your condition.
The disease that comes with."
"Crippling depression," Greg answered, in a bored tone. "And suicidal thoughts, sometimes."
"I see," the leader replied. "Well, that's –"
"Fuck the Brazilian! Fuck all the Brazilians!"
The leader turned his eyes away from Greg. "Damian, what did we discuss?"
Damian, or, how the media had been calling him, Tourette Boy, lowered his head in shame. "I'm sorry."
"If you feel an episode coming, you have to try and control it."
Damian's body blinked and vanished from his chair.
"It does you no good to disappear, Damian. You have to fight this."
"Cunty cunty cunt!" came a voice as if from thin air by the corner of the room. A second later, the front door
opened, then closed softly.
"He'll be back," the leader said. "In the meantime, Sarah? Would you like to say something?"
Sarah hovered back to her chair, smiling at the leader. "Not really, no. Thanks."
"It's important that you share, Sarah. We are all –"
"I said no, you cock-sucking motherfucker."
"Is that bipolar disorder?" a girl to the left of Greg whispered, leaning close to him.
"Multiple personality disorder," Greg replied. "It's not usually this sudden, with most people, but Sarah's
superpower ignited a pretty strong version of the disease."
Sarah was smiling again, blinking around at the room.
"All right, we'll come back to Sarah. If we could –"
With a loud bang, the wall behind the leader came crumbling down in large pieces of cement and brick to the ground. Hovering majestically above the dust against the sun, a figure in a cape stared back at the meeting from the hole it had just carved, its closed fists resting against its waist.
"Thomas…" the meeting leader whispered, looking up. "You said you couldn't make it, today."
The figure hovered down to the ground. Greg saw he had broad shoulders and thick black hair, and, also, a samurai
sword crossed with an axe behind his back like a backpack.'
Basket-Case Thomas.
"The fucking psychopaths are coming!" Thomas bellowed, looking around at everyone. "The psychos! I need your help!"
Thomas' eye was twitching in a repetitive pattern. He made way quickly for the light switch and, still scanning around the room insanely, started flicking it up and down.
"Wh—what is he doing?" the girl by Greg's side asked, as they both got up from the floor, dusting their clothes.
"Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. All right," said Thomas, smiling. "Now my family won't die."
"Obsessive Compulsive Disorder," Greg replied, in his usual bored tone. "But that's not all."
Basket-Case Thomas had gained notoriety a couple of years before, when it came to light that he was the first person to take the SNAP – the power-inducing medication – more than once. Before him, no one knew the effects the drug could have on someone who took a second shot. Doctors and specialists everywhere were unanimous in stating that the drug shouldn't be taken at all -- but if it was to be taken, it should absolutely, no question about it, only be taken once.
Thomas had taken it seventeen times.
"Thomas, what is going on?" the meeting leader asked, taking a step towards Thomas, who was now carrying on a
low-tone conversation with the doorknob.
"That's not what the voices inside my head are saying," Thomas told the doorknob, before turning around to look at
the leader. "WHAT? JESUS, YOU SCARED ME!"
"Thomas, focus. What happened?"
"The psychos! The group that took the SNAP and went sociopathic, they've gathered together and are planning to
kill everyone else who took the SNAP!"
"Why?"
"Because they're evil! Trust me, I'm Napoleon!"
The leader put a hand over Thomas's shoulder. "Thom, are you sure you're not being a bit paranoid?"
"No!" Thomas replied, in an offended tone. "Also, the CIA is after us. And the KGB. What is this music inside my
head? DEAR LORD, IS THAT A CRICKET?"
Thomas projected his hands forward, and a fireball flew out between his fingers and collapsed explosively against
the ceiling, bringing half of it down with a bang.
"You fucking idiot! I love you!" Sarah bellowed, dodging a particularly large piece of ceiling in the last second. "I miss my hamster."
Greg remembered reading about how Thomas had been compared to a weapon of mass destruction with no off-switch button by the newspapers, a few months back. With the insane amount of mental health issues came an equally insane amount of powers.
"Hey," Damian's voice rang by Greg's side, as the Tourette boy reappeared out of thin air. "What's this all about?
*Penis!*"
"Basket Case is here," Greg replied, with a sigh. "And he says the world is going to end, or something."
As Greg finished speaking, a loud whooshing sound filled the room, coming from the big hole Thomas had carved
on the far wall.
Greg and the others turned to look as a group of dark-dressed figures approached the house, walking side by side
in trench coats like they were coming from a Matrix convention.
One of the figures had lasers coming out of his eyes.
One of them had wings.
One had arms and legs so ripped he was either a body builder or an action figure brought to life.
"I told you, I told you," Thomas said, looking around as he tried to wave away inexistent flies around his head. His eyes stopped at Greg. "You, fat boy!"
Greg looked up at Thomas. "Yes?"
"What can you do?"
A laser bean collided hard against the floor in front of Thomas, carving a large hole in front of them.
"Doesn't matter!" Thomas continued, flying out of the room and standing in front of the psychos. "All right,
you assholes, listen up!"
Thomas froze in the air, looking around at the psycho gang members one by one. Then, with an embarrassed
smile, he looked back. "I can't really… that's a pretty large crowd, I --"
"Anxiety disorder," Sarah explained, looking around. "Public speaking and all that. Somebody help him, please."
"I should do something," Greg said, as the psychos continued their approach towards them. Stepping away from
the wreckage that was the room, Greg took a step forward, stopping by Thomas' side.
"HEY!" Thomas yelled, eyes wide at Greg. "HOW ARE YOU? I'M THOMAS. AAAAAAAAH!"
Thomas started repeatedly punching himself in the face.
Greg nodded, turning to face the psychos through the hole in the wall. "Hey there," he started, in a bored tone.
The psychos stopped. Greg clapped his hands.
"You guys wanna hear something funny?"
| 2015-10-27T04:34:37 | 2015-10-27T04:28:59 | 74 | 26 |
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