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[WP] In the near future, the secret to time travel has been discovered - in order to travel back into the past there needs to be a 'receiving station' at the other end - explaining why nobody from the future has been observed up 'til now. The first such 'station' is about to be completed.
This prompt was spurred by a remark by Stephen Fry in the BBC series QI, in which he mentioned this concept. I like the idea of the first 'receiving station' being completed, thereby marking the earliest point in time it'll ever be possible to travel back to. I like the idea of people gathering round the machine as the 'on' switch is thrown, waiting to see who or what will emerge.
|
There were millions of people gathered on the wide flat plains of the Mojave Desert. Most of them were too far from the machine to see more than a tiny glimmer of the sun reflecting off of the three stories of shining steel. But that was enough for most people; they just wanted to be present for the end of time. That's what scientists were calling it, at least: just as air travel had practically erased global borders, so too would this machine create one timeless society.
Priests, rabbis, imams, and monks wandered the grounds, administering services to those who wanted it. Somehow religions had really latched on to the phenomenon, and churches had brought in congregants by the busload. Many of them expected the first arrival to be the Second Coming of Christ. Others were just there for the party: College kids were treating it like spring break, and there was booze and loud music aplenty. Still other visitors were quiet suburban families, bringing the kids and the dog for an outing. Whatever their reason, they were all there to witness time travel become a reality and see first-hand as visitors stepped out from the future. Helicopters hovered overhead, alternating between shots of the vast, endless crowd and the machine mounted on its pedestal in the very center of the throng.
President DeWitt strode onto the stage, wearing a formal three-piece suit despite the oppressive heat of the desert. "Ladies and gentlemen," his voice blared from the thousands of speakers that littered the valley, "We are going to begin powering up the device." Millions of solar cells shifted in unison to catch the sun, and a high-pitched hum emitted from the machine. A deafening roar of cheering and clapping erupted from the crowd, so loud that the machine could hardly be heard over the din.
Team of scientists scuttled all over the device like ants picking apart a carcass. It had taken a Manhattan-Project-style effort to create it, and they all wanted to be there to see the results of their baby. Lights flashed, all green. The President's hand hovered over the button that would open the portal once and for all; he'd insisted that it be finished before his term was finished for this very reason: he wanted to be the one that turned it on. He wanted his face to be forever emblazoned in history books, if such a thing would even exist after this.
The scientists around the platform flashed thumbs up in unison, all smiles. "All right," DeWitt announced to the crowd. "Final tests are completed, and everything is ready!" A deafening roar came from the crowd once again, and DeWitt turned back to his podium. Thousands of news cameras from every country in the world tracked his every move. A thousand more were trained on the metal ring where the portal would suddenly open.
"This is mankind's greatest leap yet," he announced into the microphone on his lapel, "And this is only the beginning for us!" He wasn't feeling too great about the line that had been chosen, but apparently that was the one that focus groups liked the most. Hearkening back to the moon landing and whatnot.
He pressed the button emphatically with a perfectly photogenic grin. The cameras all clicked in unison, then immediately forgot about him as the cameramen all turned toward the portal. They just wanted to see what would happen.
Just as the scientists had predicted, there was a haze of blue hovering in the center of the metal ring. Something about electrons being separated from their particles or something; DeWitt had tended to glaze over those details in the briefings. He wasn't much of a scientist and didn't particularly care how it worked so long as it *did* work. He crossed the stage, ready to shake the hand of the first visitor from the future. The crowd in the desert was *completely* silent, an impressive effort for *millions* of people.
A scrap of paper came drifting through the portal. No person followed it through, and the world just watched as the paper floated down to the floor like a feather in the wind. President DeWitt saw it fall, but didn't stoop to get it for fear that some time traveler would come through and he'd miss that big photo op of striding forward and greeting him or her. But no one ever came through. After a minute or so of waiting, he finally stepped forward and retrieved the note.
"Destroy the machine immediately," he read aloud, forgetting that his microphone was still wired to the speakers and being broadcast to the entire planet.
|
***Deep below the surface of the Earth, in a windowless laboratory-bunker:***
The lights hummed, illuminating the time machine in a harsh, sterile glow. Doctor Naidoo stood at the aperture, frowning down at his tablet while a rhythmic clanking sound filled the room.
Doctor Naidoo looked up from his tablet, and readjusted his glasses by scrunching his long, dark nose.
"Are we ready, Avery?" he called out.
A small, muffled voice ushered from inside the monstrous mass of machinery, "Just a minute, Doctor."
Wires and slender tubes laced around a maze of circuit boards that were splayed out like a technological flower in full bloom. At the center of the flower lay the aperture, a circular portal ringed by softly blinking lights.
The clanking sound stopped, followed the rattle of moving parts. Avery, a man as slender as a young tree, clambered out of the time machine's bowels.
"We're ready, Doctor."
"Excellent. Would you like to do the honors?"
Avery shrugged, "Why not."
"Very well. Commence with Temporal Device Test number four oh two oh one."
Avery walked to the front of the windowless room, leaned over a keyboard, and hit a series of keys. A sound, tiny and whining and almost imperceptible to the ear, stirred from inside the machine. The whine rose until it became a steady hum. Something heavy in the back of the room whistled, and began to chug.
"Operations appear to be nominal," Doctor Naidoo was buried in his tablet again, "I'm seeing a slight dip in particle levels. No, a slight rise. No, wait-"
Swiping up and down on his tablet, Doctor Naidoo grumbled to himself. Avery watched as the ring of lights blinked faster, an impassive - maybe even *bored* - expression on his face.
"Avery, what exactly did you do back there?"
Avery shrugged, "I moved the TCR bunch into the Dilation Complex."
"The *TCR* bunch?" Doctor Naidoo lifted his head, "You mean the *DCR* bunch?"
"No, you said-"
The whining hum of the time machine warbled, and rose to ear-piercing levels. Avery's face went white, and he clapped his hands over his ears. A scowl darkened Doctor Naidoo's face, and his lab coat whipped at the air as he spun on a heel and headed for the emergency power switch.
The hum rose until they could feel it vibrating their teeth and crawling over their skin. Before Naidoo could reach the switch, there was a deep, electric rumbling, followed by a *BANG* that shook the room.
The time machine whirred to a stop. Clouds of smoke poured forth from the aperture, obscuring the portal itself.
"Doctor - look!"
Doctor Naidoo cupped a hand over his mouth and nose, and peered into the cloud of smoke.
"Dear God," he whispered.
"Dear God!" a voice shouted back.
A figure stepped out of the smoke. Though his clothes were singed, and his glasses were gone, it was clear that the man who stepped out of the time machine was an older version of Doctor Naidoo himself.
This New Doctor Naidoo looked madly around the room, as if shaking off the coils of a recent nightmare. From the tightness in his face, and the wildness in his eyes, it seemed as though the New Naidoo was on the verge of screaming.
Instead, when his lips parted, his voice was full of wonder, "I remember this place."
"Who are you?" the Old Naidoo demanded of the New.
The New ignored him, turning in a half circle to appraise the machine he had stepped out from. He bent down, and scooped up a fistful of wires, laughing to himself. He shook his head, "It's so crude. *Of course*, it's so crude. It *had* to be."
Avery gave a light cough, and the New Naidoo spun around to look at him. For a moment, his face was blank. Then, the New gasped in recognition, "Avery? Avery *Rasmusson*? Dear God, how long has it been?"
The New rushed over to Avery, his arms spread wide. Before Avery could flinch away, the New Naidoo wrapped his arms around the assistant, and lifted him off the floor.
"Oh, God, it's so good to see you, Avery! I had forgotten you existed," he exclaimed, lifting the assistant off his feet.
"Put my assistant down! Now!" Doctor Naidoo shouted.
The New Naidoo wheeled around to look at his younger self.
"You!" the New whispered.
"Who are you?" the Doctor demanded.
"So you don't know yet?"
"Know what?" the Doctor's face darkened, and his tone was sharp.
"Tell me, Doctor, is this the first time we've met? What test was this?" he gestured to the machine, "Number four oh two oh one?"
Doctor Naidoo's eyes narrowed, "How did you know that?"
Doctor Naidoo's question seemed to increase the New's anxiety. The New's eyes widened, and he covered his mouth with a hand, "Oh God. I'm the first one through. You don't know *anything* yet."
Doctor Naidoo took a step toward the New. His nose wrinkled at the scent wafting from the older man - burned hair and hot sweat.
"*Know. What.*" he demanded again.
"Doctor, I have to tell you something you don't want to hear."
Doctor Naidoo's pressed his lips into a thin line. He said nothing.
"Doctor, you have to destroy this machine. You have to stop this research."
The Doctor grimaced. He gestured silently at Avery, while keeping his eyes trained on the New Naidoo, "Tell me, why would I ever want to do something like that?"
In a flash of movement, the New rushed forward, and grabbed Doctor Naidoo by the collar of his lab coat, "Listen to me. You will *never* understand, until you've seen it, Doctor. I've seen it," he gnashed his words with his teeth, "I've *seen* the future, Doctor. It's a wasteland."
Behind the New, Avery bent over to pick up a long, heavy wrench from the ground. There was only the softest clink of metal as his hand wrapped around its stem.
Doctor Naidoo grunted, "How am I supposed to believe such nonsense?"
The New's grip tightened around Doctor Naidoo's neck, almost choking him. The New leaned closer, and hissed, "You can't afford *not* to, Doctor. You don't understand."
He strained out his words, "Please, enlighten me."
Doctor Naidoo nodded meaningfully at Avery, as he struggled in the New's grip.
"If you could live at any time, Doctor, where would you live? Would it be now? Or a hundred years from now?"
The question caught Doctor Naidoo off guard. He stumbled over his answer, "Well- I- well-"
"A thousand years? Ten thousand? Why would you want to live in the *past* when you could live in the *future*."
"Your point has been made," Doctor Naidoo acceded, trying not to call attention to Avery, who was circling behind the New Naidoo.
"But," Doctor Naidoo continued, "I do not understand your meaning."
"*Everyone* wants to live in the future, Doctor. Nobody wants to live in the here and now. Do you know what that means, Doctor?"
Doctor Naidoo's brow crinkled, as he thought about the implication, "There is nobody left in the present?"
"Yes!" the New seized on his reply, "Exactly! In the future, there is no 'here and now.' It is all a wasteland- a nothingness, filled by no one - because nobody wants to live in the *past.* You have to destroy it, Doctor!" The New Naidoo shook Doctor Naidoo violently, spraying him with spittle as he spoke, "Do it, for the sake of all humanity, *do it!*"
"Now, Avery!" Doctor Naidoo barked.
With a whiff of air, Avery brought down the wrench. It made a *whang* sound as it tapped heavily on the New Naidoo's skull, and the New Naidoo crumpled to the floor.
Doctor Naidoo caught his balance. He pulled his collar back into place, and sniffed.
"Avery, would you please call security? I believe we have had a breakthrough, and I would like to continue testing as soon as possible."
| 2016-02-01T07:34:44 | 2016-02-01T07:10:51 | 92 | 28 |
[WP] You are a supervillain posing as a student at a hero academy to learn their secrets. The staff knows you're a villain but haven't kicked you out yet because you aced the heroic potential test.
|
"How long are you going to let this go on?" Spectra crossed her arm and leaned on one hip.
Dean Kapman raised his eyebrows and evaluated the two or three reasons he knew she'd have to accept. In the end, he was in charge, after all. But of all his surviving friends, Spectra was the oldest. Instead of presenting his reversed and crafted arguments, he met her eye to eye with the truth.
"There is something about her. I can't give up on her. You must see it too or you wouldn't be here, right now, you'd be towing her to the outer atmosphere."
"Just because she beat the test doesn't mean she is redeemable. She's been lying for six months!"
"Oh, shit on that test! You know as well as I do it's about as predictive as meteorologists. She is special."
"She is a spy! Don't be blind just because her father was your friend."
"And yours, too. I guess you've forgotten why you're even still here."
"Don't make this personal. She's here to gather intel."
"She can slip under any door and through every crack. Believe me, she already has what she came for."
"Then kill her!"
"You're not looking at this right. She's got everything she needs, so why is she still here?" He attempted to lead her to the only logical conclusion. Spectra shook her head and shrugged. "Because, we are here. She's finally not alone. She's found her tribe. She's on the edge and chasing her back to her mother's complex isn't going to push her to the right side."
"Always the optimist, Frank."
"Half of being a hero is believing the best can happen." He shrugged.
*Sorry first person wasn't coming, but the admin side was*
|
Being a super villain is the coolest job.
Ever.
My name is Tim Greenhall, I'm 26 years old, and my power is ostensibly inane: I have the power to make people extraordinarily itchy. You might think, "what a useless power! It's just a sensation!"
Well, here's the scenario, and why my job is so rad.
At this point, I'm 20 years old, and just got my first mission from the Council: to infiltrate the Heroism and Leadership Campus. HALC is the place where you send your kid if she or he develops any kind of "power" or "superior intellect". The big Whigs told me that I'd be going in as a yeoman, a paper pusher. Contrary to popular belief, heroes and villains have mountains of paperwork to fill out to keep from eradication. It's in everyone's interest to keep the Feds happy, and if nothing else, it keeps people busy from fighting all the time in the streets.
So after my briefing, I stroll into the entrance exam room, where we potential heroes are tested based on our character, our strength of virtue, blah blah blah. I look around at the rest of the room, and see twenty or so other students milling about, talking, laughing, and generally horsing around. I sit down at the alias given to me, Tyler Grynford, for the paper test, and I pull out my pencil. I start to look at the test, and a meter stick slaps my hand.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Grynford?! I didn't say to move that!"
I look up into the eyes of a woman who could have turned Satan to stone. She's a 5'4" angry Irish woman with bright green eyes and a fair complexion. However, at that point she's mildly purple, and I'm suddenly concerned for any disobedience I would even consider.
"Oh I'm so sorry! I'm so used to being late, that I just assume I'm late an-" I catch myself, stopping, and slowly smile. "Your power is activated by guilt and eye contact. A psychic interrogator. Why are you administering a test to us new guys?"
The woman snorted, and said, "who says I'm admin? I'm just a student having some fun. Name's Sarah. Sarah Wells." She held out her hand to me.
I shook my head and smiled, "No offense, Sarah, but I'd rather avoid the contact. No telling what'll spill out of me. I bet you're no fun at truth or dare."
Sarah chuckled, "I guess not. What can you do? What's your mojo?" She settled into a desk in front of me.
Avoiding direct eye contact, I say, "if it's all the same, I'm not exactly a 'blatant power' kind of guy. I'm here to be a yeoman." I frown slightly, drawing my eyebrows in, and say, "Not necessarily the best occupation at the family reunion."
Sarah smiled, and she started to lean in, when the real admin came in. "Everyone at your desks! The test will begin in 2 minutes."
The class room is settled into a cacophony of desks screeching and people squeezing into chairs, and as it usually does, eventually falls completely silent.
The man who walked into the room was a non-descript, suit wearing fellow. He started speaking in this voice like warm whiskey, "The rules are simple: you will not use any powers here. It is an honor code, and any power usage caught by moderators will be grounds for ejection. Any questions?" He turned and faced the rest of the class, and seeing no hands, he continued. "The test is 45 minutes long, and is completely multiple choice. The catch is that you only get to choose one answer, and you will not correct it. Any usage of power to correct an error will be considered grounds for ejection." He looked at his watch, and said, "you may flip over your test and begin."
I flip over the test, and start filling in the questions. It was laughably easy, which is why I took my sweet time. It also gave me some time to use my own power on some of the other test takers. Now, the rules were not to be caught, which as a villain, is kind of the MO. The trick with being an adversary, isn't to have a massive show of force, or to be so grandiose that everyone knows who you are.
Sometimes, it's just about making your own fun.
I look to my left, and up a couple seats, and see this small, white guy, who seems to be struggling with his answers. I send a trickle of power into his wrist, and fight to maintain a straight face while he convulses out of his chair, scratching and tearing at his skin. A couple of orderlies came in and picked him up, escorting him from the room.
I finish up my test with a couple minutes left, make a couple other twitches, and make a couple other people need to be escorted out. The class of 24 had been reduced to a mere 21 heroes remain in this entrance class. The admin says, "the tests are now complete. Everyone move to the gym for power evaluation."
We all file out, but the admin puts a hand on my shoulder before I could walk out. My heart is thudding with panic, thinking I'd been caught already. Everyone else files out, and then I face the admin, waiting for my brains to become one with the wall, and the man suddenly smiled, and said, "You did absolutely perfect on the test, Mr. Tyler! Highest marks I've seen in a good many years."
My heart slows, and I thank him for the high praise, and he ushers me out of the room. I felt like everything was gonna be just fine. I put my hands in my pockets, and feel something unfamiliar in there. I pull out this small piece of paper, and there's a small note that turns my veins to ice.
"You have this one chance. Don't. Fucking. Blow. It.
Signed,
Admin"
P.S. first time writing in a long damn time. Please tear me to shreds.
Edit 1: misread prompt.
| 2017-04-10T18:24:58 | 2017-04-10T16:10:43 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years.
|
"Excuse me sir, but this doesn't seem right? Are you sure you have the right results for me? This seems totally unwarranted." I said to the clerk who handed me my sentence papers.
"Sir, there are no mistakes here. Try this, it usually clears things up." he replied.
He handed me a blue flyer, like the kind they give you at a hospital, which answers the usual questions that they don’t have time to go over with every person who asks.
It read:
“Feeling cheated by your sentence?”
“Wondering how you could have possibly racked up that many sins in one lifetime?”
“Feeling like your perfectly average life couldn’t have possibly led to this?”
If you answered yes to one or more of these questions, this is for you. We often have newcomers ask similar questions and have found that the following self test can clear things up. If you still have questions after reading this, you can talk to one of our support staff.
Check all that apply:
1. I felt underappreciated during my lifetime
2. I often had to remind people why I deserved what I was clearly entitled to
3. People had a hard time recognizing my achievements
4. I rarely felt like I was among equals, often feeling like the smartest person in the room
5. Often felt like people were envious of me
6. I was almost always able to convince people to let me have my way
7. I found that I had to constantly make people understand that they were wrong
8. People often refused to see what I knew to be true
9. I sometimes had to use force to make people understand things that were for their own good
10. I often needed to remind people that I don’t settle or compromise
If you checked off five or more of the above, it is likely that you lived your life as a narcissist. You were unable to see the sins you were accumulating because you believed that you were not committing them at all.
Still confused? One of our support staff can help you by recounting your memories from the perspective of your friends or family. You can make an appointment at the front desk.”
|
I stared at the demon behind the counter.
"186,292... years? What could I have possibly done to deserve that? I was kind to nearly everybody, and the worst crime I ever committed was smoking weed!"
The being with red skin and disturbing horns (That somehow seemed to be in multiple places at once... ugh, I was getting nauseous just looking at them.) nodded knowingly.
"Yes, we get a lot of that down here. You see, it's not what you did, but rather, what you didn't do. Do you remember your brother?"
Oh, god... my greatest regret. I nodded slowly, while on the inside I was nearly crying, though I *was* wondering how exactly THAT could be worth so many years.
The demon continued, "You remember how he was used and abused for his entire childhood, until he came to live with you?" I nodded again. "Well, I'm sure you remember the next part then. How he latched onto you, and fell in love with you, his little brother, and you just continued to use him for whatever you could think of."
I shouted angrily, "No! It wasn't like that! He was older than me, he should have known better! And it isn't my responsibility to look after someone so pathetic, anyways."
At that, the last vestiges of pleasantness left the demon's face, and his visage became terrifying.
"You're lying to yourself, mortal. You couldn't cope with what you had done to him, and weren't attracted to him, so you abandoned him when he needed you the most. If I had my way, your punishment would never end!"
I shook my head in disbelief. "I don't understand. How could that one inaction carry such an enormous sentence? Yeah, he was smarter than normal, but he was nobody special... Why is th-"
The demon cut me off with a growl, and his face grew disgusted. "Mortal, do you have any idea what he would have done if he hadn't ended his own life after you left him? He would have invented miraculous technologies, solved nearly all the worlds problems, **AND DISCOVERED MAGIC!**" He ended with a bellow that brought me to my knees with sheer physical force. "He would have invaded and liberated *Hell itself* and ended death for all time! He was infinitely more valuable than you, and you decided that you didn't want to bother interacting with him, or even supporting him at all. You disgust me, get out of my sight!"
I kneeled on the floor, his words slowly sinking in to my stunned mind. I thought back, to all of our conversations, and with a sinking feeling in my gut, I realized that this foul creature in front of me was right... I deserved this, if what he said was true.
I fell sideways to the ground, going numb. I can't believe I made such a huge mistake. I always regretted what I had done after he was gone, but I never knew it was of this magnitude.
The demon sneered at me from above, shouting "Guards, get this pathetic meatsack out of here and into his punish-"
At that moment, there was a tremendous explosion from the direction I had come from. Startled, I flailed and turned around while still collapsed on the ground, scanning for the source of the ridiculously loud noise, wondering what was going on.
Behind me, I heard the demon that had just been berating me exclaim softly in horror, "Oh, no... It can't be... I thought that this was prevented! He lied! Satan lied to us, there was nothing he could do! I knew it!" The sound of his footfalls (or should I say hooffalls, as he had some sort of equine legs) rapidly retreating behind me, I gulped in apprehension.
I stared at the plume of smoke, unseeingly, as I contemplated what came next. I hope whatever caused that explosion would end my existence, but I wasn't very confident that it would, or even could, given that this *was* Hell, after all.
I heard soft footsteps coming from in front of me, and I squinted, wondering what would happen now.
As the footsteps continued, the vague form coalesced into something recognizable, but unbelievable. "Brother?" I asked softly, staring at the form of my brother as I remembered him from when he was still a child.
He grinned, and raised a hand. I flinched back, only to stare in shock as he simply waved at me. He softly uttered, "Hey man, I'm sorry I'm late. C'mon, I've got so much to tell you. Let's get out of here."
Numbly, in shock, I stood, and walked towards him. He caught me in a hug, and then grabbed me by the hand as we walked on. I shook my head, I don't deserve this. He should just leave me.
At that thought, he turned his head to me and smiled. "I won't leave you. Not ever again. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to stay alive, but now I'm strong enough to do *anything*. Don't worry bro, I've never held anything you did against you. C'mon, we have stuff to do."
Feeling rotten to my core, I continued along with him in silence. Maybe this *was* my personal hell, and what the demon did was just a deception...
At that thought, my brother froze, and turned towards me with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry I hurt you so much. I knew my death would destroy you, that you were lying to yourself, trying to be normal, but I did it anyways." He sobbed. "But it's important that you understand, I won't let you be in pain or misery anymore. You were still the most important person in my life, even after I died" he finished with a tearful gaze towards me from the corner of his eyes.
"Ok." I said flatly, while internally I was screaming and crying, I don't deserve this. I don't deserve his kindness. But, if I had another chance to be there for him, this time I wouldn't throw it away.
We reached the gates of Hell, where I had found myself shortly after my death, and he tightened his grip on my hand. He looked at me seriously, and said, "Don't let go. No matter what." With those words, he pulled me through the boundary, and everything dissolved into purple, orange, and green streaks of light. I couldn't see or feel anything. I could barely think. My next thought was, "I hope I don't let go..."
| 2018-09-26T08:05:05 | 2018-09-26T07:21:22 | 488 | 23 |
[WP] In a world where elemental magic affinity manifests on your 18th birthday, you and your family have always assumed yours would be water since you love waterfalls, lakes, rivers, etc. But when your time came, nothing manifested. And people are starting to get worried.
|
When I was 8 years old my parents took me to see Niagra Falls. It was magnificent; truly breathtaking. The flow of the water changed so drastically, but was always the same at that point in the falls. That's when my mild interest bloomed into a healthy obsession.
In middle school I started researching not just the bodies of water in present time, but how they changed and evolved over history. The Amazon river, for example, twists and shifts like a snake over time. One, dedicated river was able to carve the most Grand Canyon in the world! And now even humans have the ability to bend rivers, move lakes, and harness power from dams.
I guess that's why everyone is afraid of me now. I was supposed to gain affinity with an element when I turned 18. They thought it would be water, and so did I. All the decorations were water themed, and because of my strong interest in the element the local mages guild was ready to take me on as an apprentice. Their most experienced water mage was ready to teach me, and things went wrong when I tried to bend the water in a lawn fountain.
It was the basic of basic magics, to alter the flow of a trickle of water flowing in my yard. I concentrated, imagining how it would move naturally over time; just like the Amazon. When I opened my eyes that small trickle I was concentrating on had moved, but so had the landscape around it. Flowers had sprouted, grew, and withered in mere seconds during my spell. I hadn't altered the flow of water: I had altered the flow of time.
That's when the whimsical expressions of the mages turned sour. They were afraid. I can't blame them, because I was afraid too. As they readied fireballs, electricity, and icicles, I bottled up. Curling into a ball, I didn't want to get hurt. I didn't want to hurt them. I didn't want to do anything. So nothing happened.
And nothing continued to happen. The mages posed in threatening positions, my party guests statued in fleeing arrangements, and the fear and horror were etched into my parent's faces. I didn't want to deal with all of this, so I walked away from it all. Maybe one day I'll be able to resume my natural flow, but today is not that day.
|
... lying on the bed, making a victim of himself. How much more money will he spend before he realizes he is the problem? He could be helping so many people with that money, instead he spends it all on himself. Forget about giving back to the society, can he at least think of ...
"Is it the voice again, Ajay?" My therapist speaks in a gentle tone from the chair.
"Yes." I say.
... his loved ones, he could be saving for his sister's studies and making his father proud ...
"We have talked about this Ajay. Why do you think you hear this voice?"
"Because I have always felt that I am not good enough, that nothing I do is good enough."
... but there he goes again, making a victim of himself, boo fucking hoo. Does he really think his pain can match up to the millions of people living in the streets who don't know what they will eat ...
"Good. Now what can you do when this happens?"
I repeat in my head: "I am a good person. I am good enough. I deserve happiness."
... the audacity to demand for himself while he sits on the mountain of privilege! Oh but the clock is ticking and his expensive episode in self-indulgence is coming to an end. But don't worry folks! He will be right here next week, wasting ...
I am still murmuring to myself as I enter the elevator: "I am good enough. I deserve happiness." The voice is barking back as usual: Ah really, you think so? Why should you get to be happy? What makes you fucking special? When was the last time happiness was in your... When I try to focus on other things it usually trails off into background. I stare at the digital display showing the floor number - 12... 11... 10... - and keep murmuring to myself.
At floor 8, the door opens with a ding. An small and frail woman enters the elevator with two heavy cloth-bags in her hand. She is wearing a green sari with red embroidery and a matching red blouse. Her head has enough strands of white hair to be knotted in a tiny bun. Her face and arms are covered in sweat. She turns around and I see the back of her blouse is wet with sweat too.
7... 6... 5...
"Can I help you with the bags, aunty?" I say after going back on forth in my head.
... and here he goes again, Mr. holier-than-thou. What do you want, a cookie? She probably works every ...
"Oh no, that's fine. I just have to find an auto-rickshaw... I'll be okay." She is panting with exertion.
"No let me help you till then. It's too hot outside anyway," I say. Plus as long as I am talking to her, the voice will be quiet. I will have to hear some comments later but who cares. One minute at a time.
I take the bags from her hands. She is obviously relieved, she stands with more comfort and her shoulders are not hunched anymore. The bags are filled with bottles of some oily liquids. From the labels, I can guess she probably makes those at home and tries to sell them in upscale apartments as homemade hair products. I wonder how much she sells each bottle for. Twenty, thirty rupees? And preparing these many products must be such a -
... and he takes pity on the poor, poor lady. Look, he is so noble! What's next Mr crybaby? Will you solve the troubles of ...
Okay it's interrupting me now. "Do you come here often?" I ask her to distract myself.
There is a ding and the elevator door opens. She answers as we exit, "Yes, there is a lady on the 8th floor who uses my hair-oil. It's the only thing that works on her dandruff." Her tone is enthusiastic and she talks animatedly. She lets out a child-like chuckle. Then she says with a huge smile on her face, "She even asked me how much I charge for a head massage! I told her I am too old and my fingers are too weak to give good massage. But if you came to my neighborhood ten years ago, I would give you a maalish that makes you forget all the new spas and fancy beauty parlors!"
I laugh with her as I dart my eyes around for an auto from the parking lot. You can usually spot one from the road and call it in. It's May afternoon, and the sun is working overtime to make everyone miserable. After a few minutes an auto stops. I place the bags on the seat, making sure they won't spill. As she sits down in the auto, she places a hand on my head in a typical Indian fashion and says, "Thank you beta, I hope you find love and happiness in your life."
I am so taken aback by her comment that I almost jerk my head away. That's a very weird and specific thing to say to someone. While I give her a confused look, a small part of my brain is aware that the voice is now quieter than usual.
She understands my confusion and lets out another chuckle. "Beta, I know that's not what ladies of my age say to your young generation. Even I used to say 'May God do well for you', as is the custom. But you tell me, what can even God do if you are not happy? It didn't seem right to just wish good things on people, so now I just wish love and happiness for them!"
Despite my best efforts, a smile appears on my face. She goes on, "And I have to wish you well specifically, since you called me an aunty! I wake up everyday to see my hair white as chalk and on the streets everybody just calls me maaji all the time. You called me aunty and I felt twenty years younger!" She lets out another innocent laugh.
Not knowing how to respond, I just say, "Thank you aunty" and move away from the auto. I smile at her as I feel as a surge of intense emotions take form of a lump in my throat. She talks to the auto driver and in a few seconds, her auto is riding with the traffic, leaving behind in my ear the loud noise of the engine and somehow even louder words of hers. With a huge smile I mutter 'thank you' once again and find my way to the bike.
The voice is quiet now. I have no doubt it will be back in a while, it's me after all. But just for a few moments, I can enjoy the rare feeling that is effortless happiness.
THE END
P.S. In India it is common to say aunty to women your mother's age. Glossary: beta means son, maaji is what you call an old lady (above 60-70 years).
| 2019-09-16T11:00:21 | 2019-09-16T10:59:11 | 49 | 20 |
[WP] After one’s death, the ‘creative mode’ is unlocked. You replay life, except everything goes the way you want it to. Unlimited wealth, complete domination of the world, you name it. Unknowingly, that play-through is what is used to judge whether you belong to heaven, or hell.
|
"Well, I did do a bunch of kind things, so painting every government building on the planet hot pink isn't *that* bad is it?" I looked back and forth between the Angel and the Demon sitting across from me.
The angel sighed. "Yeah, I suppose. but you upset soo many Americans."
"I think that was hilarious. Big S was pissing himself laughing." The demon laughed.
"anyway, we've decided that you're going to sit in processing for a while. have fun, the coffee is terrible." The angel got up and left. The demon tossed me a key.
"Janitors master key. Second floor lounge has good coffee." The demon vanished in a puff of smoke and flame.
|
"So you're telling me I can do literally anything? No consequences?"
*The angels or whatever they were looked shifty but nodded. I didn't think anything of it... So many possibilities, now at my literal fingertips.*
"Ok, I'm ready. Do it." *Suddenly, darkness, before... Blinking... I was awake? Looking around it was my childhood bedroom, with all my old toys. Was that some kind of weird dream? It sounded more likely than thinking I had ever been a 34 year old dead woman. Yawning I went back to sleep, though I wasn't aware of a slight tingling in my hand, and a very animate bear now nuzzling it...*
*Yawning I looked around the room and at the small thing curled up in my hand. Wait a sec, I didn't have a pet! Screaming I instinctively threw the furry mass in my hand across the room where it lay, seemingly inanimate once more. What the heck? What was that doing there? The thought was cut short as my parents ran in with a, "What is it honey?". I hid my shock as I pointed at the bear on the floor, still in a heap. I almost felt guilty but I assumed that it must have been from some weird waking dream...*
"So wait, she has godlike powers and the first thing her subconscious does is give temporary life to her toy? That's kinda cute, gotta be a point in her favour right?"
"I dunno, she did throw it across the room and knocked him out, so I guess we just have to see..."
*The years flashed by, by the time I was a teenager I had realised what I could do. I had no explanation as to how I received the powers, I only knew that when I clenched my hand, whatever I wanted just... Happened. Being a teenager I of course used it to make myself look hotter. Bigger ass here, slightly larger boobs there, I even made my lips bigger. So what if it made me look like a bimbo? I was way more popular than I ever was before...*
*By the time I was in my 20s, I had everything I wanted. A mansion, a cute bf, even a sea of dogs that stayed perpetually young and cute. With a twist of my hand their bowls got filled with whatever treats they wanted, same thing could be said for my boyfriend, though all he seemed to want to do was coast off my wealth. I had thought about kicking him out but whatever, he was cute and I felt lonely on my own. I drew the line at messing with other people, even though I totally could. A few years back I made my parents forget the joint they found in my room. Hadn't stopped me smoking but the unease I felt when their faces smoothed out, those angry lines vanishing... I couldn't do that again.*
*My life was easy, I of course used my powers to help others, it wasn't even hard, just one clench and they somehow got millions in anonymous funding, same could be said for my bank account, of course reality seemed to twist around me to the point no one thought it odd that a 23 year old was one of the richest people on the planet with seemingly no legitimate way she could have gained that much money. 'Oh well, the world is my oyster', I thought...*
*Boom*
*All of a sudden I was floating in space, looking out into the stars. Twisting I looked over and... What the fuck was that... That's not what I thought it was... Right?*
*Looking in front of me, I saw billions of people and animals dead and floating, the world they were dependant on now a large piece of seafood...*
"Shit, shit, shit"
*I felt my extremities freeze over before my brain went dark...*
*Waking up in a pure white room, I saw 3 winged creatures looking at me...* "Eli?", *One of them said to me, "Your test is complete, welcome back to the afterlife..." *I was confused and stunned, my brain still fuzzy from oxygen deficiency as I took a few deep breaths.*
"You lived a good life, were generous, you gave to the poor, helped rid the world of its oil dependency, but all of that was cancelled out by the billions you killed with a stupid idiom. The world has literally become your oyster. As we speak, in your alternate reality a new form of life is being created that exclusively eats oyster shell, and a civilization of humanoids has been born anew, but we can't look past the apocalypse you caused. You're going down."
*I was stunned, 'it was an accident!', I wanted to scream, but as I fell, the air was sucked from my lungs as I feel deeper and deeper, a salty smell rising to meet me. I was in the ocean, I could feel my shell close around me. All was black, but I knew what had happened. A rather fitting punishment for the most dangerous human in history...*
(I hope you enjoyed my silly story based off of an awful joke :D)
| 2020-07-20T03:30:13 | 2020-07-20T03:07:45 | 122 | 68 |
[WP] In the middle of a fight with a known villain, you, the hero are stopped by a young child. “If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?” Behind the child, you see the villain silently fist pump.
|
I looked the villain in the eye and asked the child, "Sweetheart, who told you to ask me that question?"
She gazed down at her feet. She couldn't have been more than 9 or 10. Probably just as terrified to challenge me as she had been to be singled out by the villain.
"Well, sweetheart," I answer, loudly enough for the gathering crowd to hear, "If I don't fight, the villain will break more stuff than the two of us might destroy in our battle. The villain *likes* breaking stuff. I don't. I'm not better than him, we want different things. I think the villain doesn't understand how selfish he is being because he's been like that for so long.
"If there was a way to defeat the villain without a fight, I'd be all for it. We have tried talking to the villain and figuring out a way for us all to win. We have tried going to the leaders. We have tried embarrassing the villain using media.
"We have tried to explain this, but people who haven't been the villain's victim don't see how much he hurts people. The villain sounds so righteous and reasonable sometimes, don't they?"
The child glances over at the villain and nods quickly.
Softly, I look her in the eye, "Sweetheart, are you afraid the villain will hurt you?"
A tear falls from her eye. *I don't like using her like this,* I think. *The villain has already used her to try and make me look bad. Now I'm doing the same thing. Maybe I am the bad guy too.*
I look around at the crowd. "This is what he does," I tell them. "She's right to fear him. All of you are right to fear him. We've tried challenging him using the law and the law has no teeth. We've tried embarrassing him using the media, and the media holds no sway. He will keep oppressing us unless we fight. The question we all have to answer is whether we fear the fight more than we fear the villain. Whether the oppression is more tolerable than the inevitable destruction that comes with battle. If the answer is yes, the villain is always going to win."
The child looked from me to the villain, picked up a baseball bat and joined the crowd. She raised her bat and in the loudest voice she could muster she shouted, "I'm in!"
I know the fight will mostly be hero vs villain, but the villain has minions and the crowd needs to belong to the fight. The battle for the mind is important too. The villain taught me that.
|
"With heroes like these, who needs villains?" Read the largest heading on the Sunday paper. She'd had to walk by it at every newspaper stand on her way to the office this morning, and now her publicist was reading it aloud to her from his cell phone.
"Yeah, I know what it's..." Volcanix tried to cut in. She really did know what it would say; what the hell else would it say? Her publicity agent shot her a look that would have curdled spring water. She shut up.
The little man with the turtle shell spectacles continued reading the article off his phone in his high piping voice which, could fill any auditorium at the slightest prompting of his diaphragm. "This Sunday afternoon during yet another supernatural showdown over the Great Falls skies, alleged 'hero,' by the name of Volcanix punted a young child into the Missouri River." Mr. Tiptup shot her a stern glance, then continued, "Thankfully, due to the opportunistic nature of a grizzly bear and the even more opportunistic nature of a nature photographer, the child survived with a light mauling and a broken femur."
Tiptup took a trembling sip of his tea. A less educated woman might have thought the man was shaking due to nervousness or fear, but Volcanix knew better. She knew she was one wrong word from a very severe ass-kicking. He cleared his throat and continued, refusing to even look at her. All she could do was sit sullenly in her seat like a scorned child.
"If nature photographers and actual bears are more likely to save our citizens than our commissioned heroes, then perhaps it is time we rally as a community to petition the guild of heroes for better representation. For decades, we have lived under the oppressive reign of these villains who hole up in Montana because they think, wrongly, that no one will mind if they have headquarters here. I say it is time we let the president, congress, the governor, and the guild of heroes know and let them know loudly!" Tiptup took a trembling sip of his tea. A less educated woman might have thought the man was shaking due to nervousness or fear, but Volcanix knew better. She knew she was one wrong word from a very severe ass-kicking.
"Tiptup, I know that I shouldn't have punted the kid," she began. He looked at her incredulously. "But he shouldn't have been being a smartass when I was at the height of my battle rage! I mean, do these kids even read the comics anymore? Don't they know..."
Evidently, one of those words had been the wrong one.
Before she could finish her sentence, Volcanix was flying through the shattering pane glass of the office window and down three stories to crash into the dust. Her head was ringing, stars fluttered fleeting across her vision, and into her line of sight floated the small little man who functioned as a publicity agent, general manager, regional supervising arch-hero, and human relations senior executive for the Montana branch of the heroes association (In an under-funded state like Montana, management roles had to wear several hats).
About Tiptup glowed a bluish, green glow, and his back had taken the shape of a turtle shell. His pinch little face had morphed into a turtle-like beak, and his skin had adopted a greenish pallor. Volncanix had only seen him take turtle form once... *I've really done it now... this is it, I'm finished. I can't even function in the Montana branch.*
"You would have been better off joining the evil side of things with your abilities." Tiptup's piping little voice had adopted a booming timbre that seemed to shake the very ground. "I said as much to the counsel, but they assured me that even a berserker could be brought into the fold with the proper training. Clearly, the lessons of my tutelage have yet to resonate with you, so today, we will try a new type of anger management."
Volcanix felt lifted into the air once more and slammed back to the dust. Flames licked at the back of her throat, begging to be released, to sear and burn her attacker. She bit them off with all her might. *No! That is what he wants. Show him you've gotten better. Show him your child punting days are over.* Again she was lifted and slammed down, harder this time, as the floating snapping turtle above her continued to lecture; he grew ever more in size as he spoke.
"I have tried the new-age, hands-off approaches of discipline with you. I have tried the softer, psychological methods of training and tempering your erratic disposition, but I have lost all patience with those methods. So today, we will take a course in Tiptup anger management." He raised a clawed flipper which, moments before, had been a nervous little hand and flung her into the distance. That was it, of course. A berserker can only keep her temper in check for so long. A column of flame burst into the sky, a roar of fury echoed in the river valleys below, and in a flash, a bright orange streak of light dashed towards the gargantuan, floating turtle, hurling balls of flame at its undershell. The turtle seemed unphased as the flames burst against his belly and bellowed around him in a blazing inferno, scorching the grass beneath and starting a small grass fire.
The giant turtle blasted a spout of reeking water onto the flaming grass to extinguish the flames and flew to meet the firey form of Volcanix in mid-air. The entirety of the city rang with a resounding crash.
\- - -
Click, click, click, click. Benjamin snapped off pictures in rapid succession, positively giddy with excitement. Ever since he'd picked up this gig from Gertruz Eater of Worlds, he'd been making the front page of the paper consistently. Staking out super-heroes had turned into such a lucrative profession, in fact, that Benjamin had finally been able to purchase the fishing boat he'd coveted since he was in college. *And they said you couldn't make money as a photo-journalist.*
Sure, he was no adventurous photographer who braved African warzones, but he had (allegedly) saved that young child from a grizzly by throwing his day's fishing catch in the other direction. Not before taking a picture, of course, a picture which now had him on contract to catch the two local superheroes brawling in the prairie outside town. Perhaps it was wrong to undermine heroes on the dime of literal, self-proclaimed villains, but as the newspapers read today, what sorts of heroes were these folks really? That bear photo, and the subsequent, only mostly fabricated story which Benjamin had fed to the press had finally put him on the path to easy street. *Isn't that the American dream? Isn't that what we're all out here doing?*
Click, click, click, the camera agreed, happily. Oh yeah, it was gonna be a good year for Benjamin, and possibly for Gertruz Eater of Worlds, if not for anyone else.
| 2021-04-18T07:21:19 | 2021-04-18T06:54:17 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] You are a necromancer for hire. No you don't raise undead armies to take over the world. You are usually contracted out by police to help solve murders. Or yo raise those who have passed to settle lawsuits surrounding their will. It's not much but it's honest work.
|
"Rise, Gilroy" I intoned, raising my bone armored hands over the deceased man. "Rise, and return to this mortal plane once more."
The body below my gestures stirred, glowing a dim green light from the world beyond. I intensified my chants, curling my fingers in ever more dramatic shapes. "RETURN TO YOUR FESTERING SHELL, GILROY! I SUMMON THEE!"
The body sat upright, like a spring loaded wooden dummy. His joints snapped from the effort it took to perform the maneuver. Its eyes flew open, revealing only a smokey green ethereal glow within.
I stepped back, folding my hands into the tattered sleeves of my robes. I left the ram's skull helmet on, for the time being. I may need its power still.
The body of Gilroy turned its head, slowly surveying the room around it.
"Are you Gilroy Fronkers, born 3/1/1926, deceased 6/2/2022?" A bored clerk read from a printed copy of an email.
"iiiiiI aaaaAMMMmmm" the spirit said, stretching out the recently reanimated vocal chords.
"On October 4th, 2019, did you create a new will and-"
"oooooOOOH FOR FUUUUCKS SAAAAKEeee" the deceased interrupted. "ddiiID STEVE CONTEST THE WILLlllll"
"Order in the court" the judge said, "but yes, thats why we issued the summoning summons."
Gilroy rotated his head until his foggy green eye sockets found Steve in the room. " sssSTEVE I LEFT YOU ONE DAMNED DOLLAR AS A 'FUCK YOU' FOR STEALING MY ROLLS ROYCE PHANTOM AND CRASHING IT ON THE MAILBOOOOooooooxxxxx."
The Judge waved for me to from the corner. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Fronkers. This court finds Steven in the wrong, and will not alter the will of Gilroy."
"Mr. Thelesitizakal, could you please return Gilroy Fronkers to his eternal resting place?" The Judge asked.
I complied.
With a brilliant flash of green light and an explosion of smoke, Gilroy Fronkers' corpse collapsed back into his coffin. The Judge fanned the ghostly smoke from his desk, revealing the paperwork necessary to close the lawsuit.
"Aw, maaaaan" Steve said, slumping down in his chair.
Keen eared members of the legal teams on both sides could hear a very faint whisper from the casket's direction. "fuck you, Stee^eee^e^ve" it said, trailing away as Gilroy descended from this realm once more.
r/SlightlyColdStories for more
|
“3rd and Clay, 3rd and Clay. Where is Clay?” I mutter to myself. I’m driving down 3rd Street in my white Prius. I bought it a month ago with the compensation I received after providing my post-post-mortem support during the recent Sunset Hill Killer trial. Man have times changed since I first became a necromancer. I never imagined one of us would be able to use our powers to serve the community within the law.
After all, it’s a lot easier to get a conviction these days when the deceased themselves can testify and say “He killed me”.
Breaking early at a yellow light (I always stop at yellows) I finally spot the telltale sign of the site of my next job, flashing red and blue lights and yellow crime tape. I find a parking spot the next street over, get out, and dust off my sports coat and shirt to remove any wrinkles.
Personally, I don’t get the appeal of necromancers thinking black is the new black. I swear, half the reason why so many folks in this country still think necromancers are creepy is because 99% of us are! Black robes and hoods, give me a break. Try dressing for the job you want sometime. I straighten my bowtie (my favorite Tom and Jerry one with Tom as an angel), make sure to grab my briefcase with the all important “don’t sue me” papers, then walk over to the crime scene.
Maneuvering past people in the crowd that’s slowly starting to form, I wave to an officer I recognize.
“Evening.” I greet him cheerfully.
“Mr. Mord! Good to see you.” He replies as he lifts up the yellow crime tape blocking the sidewalk. I dip underneath and continue walking, looking for the officer in charge.
“Ah Aaron Mord, over here.” I see an officer waving me over. I don’t recognize her. Her nameplate reads “Carter”.
“Officer Anna Carter” She introduces herself as she hold out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Aaron Mord, likewise.” I respond shaking her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met, how did you recognize me?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I saw your bowtie” She says with a smile, “You’re rather recognizable. Especially after the Sunset Hill Case"
I let out a small chuckle, “Well, I suppose that is a partial goal for my attire. I like to keep things light to balance out the somewhat darker side of my abilities and my occupation.”
“Well it shows,” she says, giving me another smile. "Over here, the body is this way.”
"Lead on” I acknowledge, and follow her to a body covered by a white sheet.
“Estimated time of death was around 45 minutes ago. Subject was in their mid 20s. Young woman. Late night dog walker found her. No physical injuries of any kind as far as we can see.” Carter informs me.
“Ok, so you just want me to bring her back to give some answers? No special parameters?” I ask.
“Nope,” she replies. “Just a standard Raise Grade 1. You have the DREAD form?”
I pull out the Deceased Revival Emancipation and Accountability Decree form D10 from my briefcase. I hand it over for Carter to review and she scans it before signing at the bottom. This form acknowledges that this raise is done in the presence of law enforcement, conducted by a certified necromancer, and a whole host of other stipulations. Since all raises exert a small level of control over the raised subject, precautions are in place to prevent any sort of forced control or enslavement over bodies, even if the person in question is not fully alive.
“Thanks” I accept the form back and return it to my briefcase. Then I set it down and crack my fingers. “Okay, this is a Grade 1 Raise, is there someone with a heated blanket? Ah, perfect.” I say as I spot a woman approaching with a large bundle of blanket in her arms. Standard procedure during a raise is to have a blanket in case the raised comes down with faux-hypothermia when getting reacquainted with their body.
My necromancer powers are innate, no ritual ingredients or symbols chalk required. I crack my fingers and make sure that the area is clear around the body. The officer with the heated blanket is standing by. I think we’re ready.
“Alrighty, lets do this.” I say. And I activate my powers.
There’s no light show, no crash of thunder, heck I don’t even snap. But I can see the body’s eyes snap open.
My powers limit the movement of the body right after raising, just to make sure there’s no panic. Luckily in this case, the woman on the ground is calm. Strangely so, usually there is a reaction of some kind I think to myself. I walk forward to stand over her and she looks up at me and smiles.
“Hi!” She’s says. “Am I back?”
“Umm, Hello” I reply, “Yes you are. You’re looking rather upbeat for someone who just died.” (Normally I’m more carful about bringing up the topic of the raised’s demise, but this woman appears to know what is happening)
“Yeah” She replies, her expression looking almost sheepish. “To be honest, I was kinda planning for this.”
Suddenly there’s a crack and a man in a dark suit appears on the opposite side of the woman. “WHO RAISED THIS SOUL” He thunders.
The officers around me immediately tense up and reach for their guns. I waive them off with my left hand. Necromancers are more suited to dealing with demons and the like than cops, but not by much. And this individual certainly appears to be a demon.
“That would be me. I’m a Rank A Necromancer. Contracted by the City of Greenville for this Grade 1 Raising.” I say calmly to the demon.
He stares at me for a moment and then raises his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose like he’s nursing a migraine.
“I was in the middle of processing this soul when it was suddenly… repossessed… by a third party.” He states, pointing at me. “You.”
“When you raised this soul, it had just fulfilled our contract, giving me ownership. But because you raised it before I could process it, it was bonded to your own. And because this was done after our contract was finalized and completed, I can no longer lay claim to this soul!” His voice rising in volume as he speaks.
“My business with you is not over yet necromancer! Keep an eye out for a summons, I will see you in court!” He declares, and with a crack, he’s gone.
I stare at the space where the demon disappeared, then turn down to look at the woman. She’s sitting up now, stretching her arms. I feel a connection to her, similar to most of my raised subjects, but much more intense. I can sense her body working properly, heart pumping, blood flowing, lungs breathing. All clear signs that she’s more than undead. She’s alive, 100%. The young woman looks at me and smiles, giving me a thumbs up.
I look back again to the empty space.
Sometimes I really hate my job.
| 2022-06-10T14:55:08 | 2022-06-10T14:45:26 | 183 | 108 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell do exist after death but you can choose in which you go. You jokingly choose Hell and when you arrive there, you hear Satan saying: "Finally someone! A friend!"
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Lucifer gleefully asks "What do you wanna do?". Echoing in a void of nothingness.
Cautiously Chet replies, "Uh what do you mean?"
"Look, it's been boring as well, hell frankly, and all that nonsense about torture and brimstone is propaganda. Let's do something fun if you don't believe me."
Chet incredulously proceeds, "If I want to have an orgy in a milkshake fountain, you're not going to rape me with demons or anything?"
Conjuring a comfortable dive bar from Chet's memories appears and a cliche yet suave impish bartender to embody his infernal majesty.
Busying himself washing glasses, his Van Dyk rimmed mouth opens, "Chet, If I wanted to torture you, we could be doing sexual reassignment surgery right now. No anesthetic. I mean it. No tricks, no genie wish bullshit."
Chet guardedly takes a barstool.
Incredulously, "Whiskey, Irish, neat."
Snapping his fingers a drink manifests from crimson flames. "I could use dark magic for the dishes, seems like cheating though."
Chet sips the whiskey, "It's good." he admits surprised.
"Of course it is." Satan scoffs. "All we have on the jukebox is Justin Bieber sadly."
Then the moment Chet reacts, "Kidding, I'm kidding, that'd be cruel." The classic riff of Hendrix's Purple Haze starts playing.
"You can smoke in the bars here. No pun intended."
Chet feels his pockets, pulls out his pack of full flavored Winstons, and lights one up. Thinking he swirls his lowball and swallows the rest down.
The Dark Lord slides an ashtray to him. "You've got questions, I'm sure. I understand if you don't trust me. There's quite a smear campaign going on about me, not fair at all."
Chet, "So this isn't God fucking with me, there's distinctly two realms? I'm dead?"
Lucky,"Dead as a door nail. They don't let you have any fun up there. Sex, Drugs, Violence, even cursing is kinda frowned upon. Here is more like, Valhalla. Feast, drink, die in glorious battle, rise again."
Chet is still skeptical, "So you get my guard down, and then whammo torture city gotcha."
Lucy, "Chet, nothing could be further from the truth." Heavy machinery is heard outside the bar, a dark city grows in the void around them. Metal squealing crescendos right in the parking lot "Ever driven a tank before?"
Before Chet can ask for a second whiskey, his glass is full. He glances into the red and black eyes doubtfully. Getting up slowly nursing his cigarette and drink Chet makes his way to a dingey window facing the parking lot.
"A tank, so I can blow up some buildings, maybe fight an onslaught of zombies?" he inquires attempting a casual tone.
"You can do whatever you want. You can shoot laser beams out of your ass, and be a robot space pirate fighting a horde of demons in space. Whatever you like."
Chet finishes his drink and his cigarette determined to double down on his "fuck it" attitude, "Alright, let's plink some zombies for a bit on the roof. But uh, keep the pain turned on. Playing without it would be cheating."
"Atta boy Chet!", Evil incarnate triumphantly encouraged. "I knew you picked right. We're going to have a hell of a time you and I!"
--This might be the first time I've tried to submit something here. Maybe predictable or cliche, but I wanted to get the idea out of my head.
|
In a end of a large room filled with books and statues of ferocious animals, was a grandiose wooden desk with a giant comfortable looking chair. Sittin on it was a man reading a book while holding a glass of whiskey in the other hand. This man was immaculately dressed, wearing a black pinstriped suit and a gold watch.
While he was reading and sipping shiskey, the phone rings. He closes the book and picks up the phone.
"Yes?" "What!?", he puts down his whiskey glass in excitement. "You're not joking are you?" "You just made my day! Oh I'm gonna piss all over God's face with this"
And hangs up. In his eyes you could see the excitement, happiness and most of all, the hope.
On a lonely cloud was standing a man formally dressed, wearing a tie, holding his coat in his hand with bruises on his face, looking
at the neighbouring clound which was the entry for heaven. It was crowded and he could hear the faint noises from there.
"With those poeple heaven might become hell" he thought to himself. Soon, a black limousine arrived. A driver dressed also dressed in a black suit gets out and opens the door for him.
"Your limo, Mr. Stevens". He was surprised.
"You can call me Steve". The driver nods.
Inside the limo there was every possible luxury imaginable. The driver opens the little window and asks. "You need anything?"
He was still shocked and didn't say anything.
"I mean, anything at all" A girl perhaps?"
He was intrigued. "Uhm..yeah", he was hesitant.
"Ofcourse sir"
Soon after, they made a stop and a beautiful woman wearing a red dress got in.
"Hey sweetie! I'm Shirley", said the beautiful young woman. She had a very pleasant voice.
"Uhh...hi", he was nervous.
"Wont you tell me your name?"
"Oh, sorry. I'm Steve", and he extends his hands forward.
She ignores his hand and hugs him instead. "Its a pleasure to meet you Steve"
He is hesitant at first but it grows on him.
"You are really nice", he feels shy as she is very forward.
"We're angels sweetie", she chuckles.
Steve is suprised, "wait..you're a"
"Banished angels..", she interrupts.
"You know you're the first one", says Shirley.
"In hell? Really?"
"Yeah. Be nice to Luc. He's really excited to see you!"
"Who's Lu..OH shit Lucifer?!". Steve is worried.
"Oh dont worry, he's a nice guy. Dont worry sweetie, I'll be there". She holds his hand and kisses him gently on his cheek.
"Can I just say that you're mind bogglingly beautiful!", Steve finally gets the courage to say it.
"Aww you're so sweet!" She chuckles and proceeds to kiss him. She gets on top of him but the car comes to a stop.
"We're here, you two lovebirds can go at it later, we gotta meet Luc", says the driver.
"Oh Damn it Bernie! Two minutes?..fine!", she gets off him.
"Don't worry sweetie, we have an eternity!", she kisses him and gets out of the car.
As he got out, there was a huge wooden door with big golden handles in front of him. Bernie was leading the way. He opened the door with the lightest of pushes.
Revealing a giant well lit hallway with wooden floors. After passing through a series of doors and hallway they were finally there.
"You ready sweetie?", asks Shirley.
"I guess", replies Steve.
Bernie opened the final door and there was Luc standing there waiting for me, all alone, in a giant room filled with statues and books.
He points at steve, "Mr Stevens!" and walks towards him extending his hand.
Steve extends his hand too "You can call me Steve".
"Steve! How'd you like the place?"
"Oh, I like the people better", looks at Shirley. Shirley chuckles.
"I see you've met Shirley."
"Isnt he cute Luc?", Shirley interrupts.
"Oh I can certainly see the appeal", Luc replies jokingly.
"Come on inside Steve, have a seat."
"We'll leave you two alone", says Shirley as they leave them alone.
They sit down, Luc hands him a drink and sits down himself.
"You have questions"
"Uh..yeah..I am the first one in hell?"
"Yes, next"
"Shirley...is she, uh"
"Not my wife, no marriages here"
"Oh, thats nice.
Luc smiles, "You like her?"
"Yea, she's.."
"Beautiful? Ofcourse she is! She's a damn angel. Don't worry about it. Play it cool. She's bound to like you. As of now there are only three men here, me, bernie and you".
Things go quiet for a while. Steve breaks the silence. "I don't get it. Whats the deal?"
"The deal? With what?"
"This, hell, theres no weeping or gnashing of teeth".
Luc chuckles, "Those are just stories. You know what is going on in heaven? Just a bunch of people worshipping that narcissistic asshole. Nothing else. But people are too afraid. Its a fucking mess".
"Anything you want, you can get with my okay." Luc raises his glass and drinks it.
"Thanks"
"Big day tomorrow. Get rest. You look tired. Before you go, I gotta ask...why?"
"I geuss it seemed funny to me at the time"
Luc looks at him, starts laughing. "I like that!"
He laughs as Steve leaves.
The next day, they go golfing.
"What does Bernie do around here?", Steve asks while picking a club.
"Legwork mostly. He's an angel like Shirley. Keeps to himself mostly. You know how it is. Its hard to find guys you can trust."
"Yeah, I suppose"
"You know, there's something we could do after the game"
"What?"
"You'll see"
After the game Luc took him to a private jet.
"Where are we goin?"
"Heaven!"
"What? Arent we forbidden?"
"Relax, I ahave a couple guys on my payroll"
"But wouldn't God know?"
"No he wouldn't, he's not all knowing, if he was he wouldn't have created you guys", Luc laughs.
"Jeez, thats mean", Steve rolls his eyes.
The jet comes to a halt.
"Alright, here we go! Lets go".
Steve reluctantly walks out of the jet.
They go to a corner and a guy comes up and lets them through a small gate.
"Jeez, its crowded." says Steve.
"Fuckin losers!". Luc's contempt for the place was visible.
As they walk through the crowd suddenly a bell rings thrice. Everybody drops to their knees and starts worshipping God.
They were the only two people standing.
A deep loud voice from the distance speaks, "Who is it that refuses to worship me?"
"Its me, you bearded fat fuck!", Luc shouts at the top of his voice. He then runs to the nearest cross he can find and whips out his dick and starts peeing on it.
"Lucifer!" says the voice. "You will not get away with this".
"This guy right here chose me! This is the beginning of your end you pompous bitch!"
Steve is really worried about all of this.
The voice says " Bring him to me!"
"Oh shit. We better run Steve!"
They start running back to their jet while a mob chases them. Luckily they get to the jet in time.
"Lets go Bernie!" As they hurry into the jet. Luc is ecstatic. "Fuck you you sheep fucks! Worship that son of a bitch for the rest of eternity you losers!", he screams as the jet door closses and the jet starts to move.
"Woohooo! Fuck yeah!" Luc exclaims.
Steve is reelieved too. He is cathicng his breath.
"Man, you crazy!", Steve says.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, the fun kind though"
They both laugh it off.
"You know, its nice to have a friend finally"
"No worries man"
The smile on Luc's face says it all.
| 2017-11-04T11:19:44 | 2017-11-04T09:18:11 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic.
|
"Why do you keep looking over your shoulder like that?" Jaya turned and looked in the direction his friend had been glancing, but saw nothing but the flat armor of his ship, the *Sunrise.*
Elvoss looked sheepish for a moment. "It's nothing. Just... your ship makes me nervous, okay? I want to keep an eye on that thing. What if someone walked off with it?"
"Walked off with a spaceship." Jaya gave his friend a flat look. "Just stroll into the busiest port in the system and steal a freighter."
"Or a part of it. A fuel rod or something." Elvoss continued, when his friend still failed to react. The crystals around his neck flickered unsteadily, a common reaction when a magic-user was startled or nervous.
"Look, I know it's not reasonable, but it gives me the willies to see that sort of power just *sitting* there. You humans grew up with that sort of thing, but anyone else in the galaxy..."
"Other people didn't grow up with the concept of parking lots?"
"Other people didn't grow up with the idea of *masterless power.* Look, let me give you a Magic 101 lesson."
Elvoss reached into his tunic and pulled out an amulet, giving it a pulse of energy as he did so. A ghostly image appeared in front of him, resembling a bird spreading its wings.
"That's your skiff, right? *Skydancer?*
"Yes. And believe it or not, this is the only part it needs to work. With enough mana I could take off and fly from a standing start."
Jaya tilted his head curiously. "So, what's that big brass number in your hangar, then?"
"Material components. I *could* conjure the entire skiff from thin air, but the power cost would be off the charts."
Elvoss held the amulet and concentrated, the crystals studded across his body blazing with light. A pointed triangle of light, resembling the nose cone of his craft, appeared in front of him. Then it faded away, and the elf sighed with relief.
"The *Skydancer* is entirely my own power. It's a spell I created in my mind, and all the amulets and crystals and brass wings are just a scaffolding for that spell. Nobody else can fly her, unless they copy my spell exactly, and that doesn't happen. Every mage has their own style."
Elvoss pointed at the sunburst symbol on the ship parked behind them. "*That*, on the other hand, is a masterless machine. Anybody can walk in, turn it on, and fly away. A toddler could do it, if they managed to pull the right levers."
The alien clapped his hands together. "That's Magic 101. Magic is personal. Science is something that anyone can use."
Jaya smiled. "Makes me proud of what my species can do."
"Yeah, well, it *terrifies* anyone else. If a magician has a dangerous spell, you just have to keep an eye on one person. But if a scientist is causing trouble, *anyone* can do what they do. What are you supposed to do against that? Your species has put a quantum reactor in every port, just waiting for someone who's clever enough to steal it."
"Well, we humans know about security too. My ship is locked up tighter than a drum. So don't worry about..."
As they watched, the *Sunrise* shuddered as its engine rumbled to life. Running lights lit up along its length.
"... you've gotta be kidding me."
They rose from their seats and started running. "Stop that ship!"
|
Part 1/?
My agent forwarded me the latest stack of TV interview requests, speaking engagements, book deals. There were also various requests to appear at middle schools and high schools to support "Women in STEM" efforts. Diane Widener, trailblazer in modern science, blah blah blah. Not even a "doctor" in front of my name. I never got that far.
I never considered myself good at math. It really is the weak spot of my abilities. If my math score had matched my verbal score on the SATs, I would have been admitted into a top-tier university. The math side was slightly above average- together enough to get me into a decent regional school with a scholarship. Now, part of this was my anxiety disorder (diagnosed late in my undergrad years). Part of this was the shitty teachers and environment in my high school. And part of it was that I didn't have the focus I should have, because I was rarely challenged, and there is only so far you can challenge *yourself.* So when I showed up for freshman orientation and was asked to take a math placement test, I was very nervous.
They filled a roomful of test takers in the computer lab. I took a deep breath and started answering the questions. I worked slowly, methodically. I hadn't even taken a math class my senior year of high school, so I had to dredge up things. People started leaving the room a few minutes later, finished. *Shit,* I thought to myself. I forced myself to focus and kept working. More people left. *Well, this is demoralizing,* I thought to myself. I kept going. Another wave left; the cute guy I was developing a crush on waved at me as he left. I felt mortified. There were only a few of us left. The questions started going too far into left field for me, and the test stopped. I stopped at the desk outside, as they instructed us.
"Last name Widener..." the TA mused. "Ahh. Here you are. Good job; you made it into engineering track."
"Er, great, but I'm going to major in business," I said. "I'm not that good at math."
"That first wave that left were the ed majors and the business majors. You sure you want to go that route?"
"Does the engineering track mean I can knock out my requirements in fewer courses?"
"Well, yeah...you're skipping some pre-reqs."
"Great! Let's rip this fucking band-aid off, then!" I signed up for analytic geometry.
Admittedly, this wasn't my best move ever. It led me to some unhealthy coping mechanisms. Going to a school in the middle of the cornfields meant there was little to do except for two things: drink or fuck. And since I had no plans on becoming a mother at 19, that only left the one thing. And you know what? Calculus comes easier after knocking back a couple of Heinekens. Don't give me that look. I was on a student budget, ok?
Well, turns out I found electrodynamics easier to fathom than accounting. And ballistic flight math is honestly cool. I changed the business major to a minor and ended up taking more classes in the engineering building. Engineers and musicians are crowds that often overlap, so I joined a music group or two and collected more dubious influences. But I had to keep a certain grade point average to maintain my scholarship. The academic pressure was mounting and I cracked under the strain.
Remember the cute guy from freshman orientation? Matt was his name. And we ended up being in some classes together. The crush was never requited, but we had friends in common. A couple days before finals, I was at a party at the music fraternity. "Okay, that's it," I announced. "Time for me to go...I have to finish studying for my physics exam."
"Diane, stay a while longer," Matt spoke up. "You always study too much and make yourself mad with worry." A few of our friends chuckled.
"I still have to worry about grades for grad school," I pointed out. "Mommy and Daddy aren't paying for me beyond undergrad."
"You won't get anywhere worrying yourself to death," Matt said. "Stay and have another beer."
I rose. "Well *everything's* easy for you," I shot back. "Some of us have to work at it."
Matt rummaged around the beer cooler. "Hey, there's a Raging Bitch left here! Sure you don't want it?"
I hesitated. It was tempting. "Nope, had enough beer," I said. "Thanks anyway." Matt sighed, turned around, and rummaged through a candy tray, unwrapping a chocolate. He turned back toward me. "Well, a little boost to mental health," he said, and made as if to pop the chocolate into my mouth. This much I accepted, and I started munch away...until I noticed something odd. "Matt, I think you left the paper liner on..." I carefully extricated it from chewed chocolate. It was tiny, and had a picture printed on it. I eyed this, and realization dawned.
"You did *not* just give me LSD," I said flatly.
"You need the serotonin boost," Matt said with a grin. "Relax. It'll be fun. Let your hair down a bit." I paled.
Anya, one of our classmates, spoke next. "You gave Little Miss Ball of Nerves *acid?"* She shook her head. "She's not gonna react the same way you do, Matt. She's wired different." I was already seeing colors start to shift.
"Matt, you make me glad I never went on a date with you," I growled. I knew he didn't mean anything *bad* by it. Matt epitomized High INT, Low WIS. "Uh....colors aren't supposed to have noise..."
The rest of the night I spent terrified. I rarely let myself average beyond two drinks in public, much less doing drugs. Anya stayed with me. Eventually she dragged me back to my room and I got a (little) sleep. Five minutes later my roommate Liz was shaking me awake.
"Diane!" she hissed. "Wake up! You have an exam this morning!"
"Mrrrh...Tuesday..." I mumbled and rolled over.
"MONDAY," she said, waving my printed weekly calendar in front of me. I stared at her blearily. "Did you get plastic surgery? They didn't do a very good job..."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Liz breathed. "Anya told me about last night. Look. Just GO. You have some padding with your grade so far; they won't let you take it late." She handed me a Starbucks Doubleshot and kicked my shoes at me. "Go go go...just don't think about it too hard. You'll be fine!" she said with forced Minnesotan cheer. A few minutes later I stumbled off to the engineering building for my astrophysics exam. The grass was still so fucking *green...*
I made my way inside, trying to stay low key. I stared at my exam. It made as much sense to me as the math placement exam my freshman year, and I felt the same dread. I took a deep breath, then looked for an easy question to establish a foothold and momentum...then I started drawing pictures, and diagrams...and asked for more scratch paper. I felt that familiar sense of "flow" I usually only felt when doing music or writing a philosophy paper... I was definitely the last one to leave the exam. The professor seemed to have given me an unofficial extension on time, which I took as a kindness. I avoided eye contact as I handed in my papers and skittered off....
I was screwed. I just knew it. I went back to my room to hide from the world. I crammed the rest of my exams and slogged through the week. On Friday I got an email “asking” me to attend a meeting with my physics professor and the head of the honors college. I pondered a shot of whiskey before I went. I decided I would meet my fate sober. I went with feet dragging.
​
​
| 2019-01-18T12:33:07 | 2019-01-18T11:27:40 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] A professor stands in front of a class on the first day of term for “Time Travel 101” and explains why no one is allowed to go to Steven Hawking’s party.
|
Professor Tempus stood in front of his class, dumbfounded at the question which his student had just asked. He had finished writing a dissertation on time travel after having perfected the machine that allowed for actual time traveling back and forward in time. The youngest genius in a lifetime and he was teaching in some university for funding on his new prototype. Granted, there was something special about teaching young minds about time travel, but they all seem to lack common sense and logic.
Picking at a scar on his arm, the fairly young professor look at the student before taking a swig of his coffee. Gosh, it was far too early to deal with these questions. Guess he asked for it, since he had welcomed questions, and they just went over the multiverse theory. He did NOT sign up for teaching students who did NOT having an ounce of common sense though.
"Look, uh..." Whoops, forgot his name.
"Robert," the student supplied hopefully. Though he had some smug aura to him, as if he caught the professor in some kind of trap.
"Robert. Right." Making a mental note to not call on him again in the near future, Professor Tempus turned to the chalkboard and started drawing a timeline.
"Say you go back in time. To attend this idiotic party of Hawking's. A party which he claimed nobody showed up. What did we learn in the multiverse theory?"
He was greeted with a chorus of "It doesn't work."
"Great!" he said brightly, happy his class learned something. "So knowing this, and that I can't exactly stop you or anyone else from going there, it's safe to say someone has gone there before, right?"
There was a buzz of confusion going on in the class before the professor slams his hand down in frustration.
"Quiet! This is extremely important! Yes, what is it?" he almost snarled in irritation at the girl who just raised her hand.
"But Hawkings said nobody showed up."
The response was easily, "He lied. You can't trust everything people say. Not even if they're in those history cubes of yours."
The professor stood in front of the class. "Time traveling is more than just memorizing notes and key terms. Like a science, you need to think and understand the field. That means understanding logic because key events cannot be changed. So what you do back in time cannot alter the course of time because it's already been pre-determined."
The professor looked more somber as he continued.
"My own mentor and I had planned to go to his party many years ago, but I escaped. But it was a trap. They got a lot of time travelers that day. Anything to keep the disruptions of normalcy in 21th century life at bay."
|
"One thing to always remember is that time travel doesn't really make any sense. It's beyond the human comprehension. It's really a miracle that we found it in the first place! Does anybody remember the first discovery of time travel?"
The professor looked around the room for the slightest twitch or indication of a raised hand.
"You there. The girl, in the yellow shirt. What's your name?"
"M-Miranda." She spoke about as awkwardly as she dressed
"Yes, Miranda. You looked like you were about to say something?"
"Isn't it a trick question? By all records, the origin on this timeline seems to have changed, and the actual point is physically impossible to determine. To my knowledge at least."
The professor smiled.
"Yes, and I'm sure the rest of you believe that to some extent as well. And I guess it is sort of true. It \*is\* physically impossible to determine for certain. But there's a common misconception in there. I would ask if anyone knew what that misconception was, but considering that this is a beginner's class, I think it'd be fruitless to ask."
A few of the students eyed each other. Despite being in an intro class, all of them had thought that information was fundamentally known, like how the Earth revolved around the Sun..
"Do any of you know Stephen Hawking?" the professor asked, already knowing what would happen.
The room was silent.
"A while ago, there was a certain scientist. Extremely important, studied many other fields of science, but also never really studied anything remotely close to what we know as time travel. He's also extremely relevant when we talk about anything related to time travel. But it seems like none of you know him." He flashes a cocky grin, as he continues talking.
"That's also why I'm teaching this class, and not you. Because experience is vital in the fields of time travel. I'm one of the few professors here that can tell you of this significant man."
One of the students raised their hand quickly, but jerked it away just as soon as he put it up. The professor glared at him for a second, before realizing something and continuing to speak.
"I'm sure you all have a lot of questions. But to get back on the origin of time travel, how many of you know what a Nexus Point."
This time, many of the students raised their hand, though not quite enthusiastically. There were around a dozen who did so, and most of them seemed unsure.
"To clarify, since this is a Time Travel course, I'm referring to Nexus Points in relation to time travel. Not Nexus Points in relation to dimensional travel."
A student raised their hand, with a certain look. And without being called on, he started talking regardless.
"But isn't dimensional travel and time travel related? Time travel inherently has the use of multiple timelines, and any nexus points made through time travel function as though you're traveling between dimensions? There's not really any difference between dimensional travel and time travel between timelines when you're talking about Nexus Points."
The professor almost got angry. He glared at the student who asked the question, before reminding himself to calm down. He inhaled, then exhaled.
He ignores the question. Fruitless, baseless, uninformed, were many of the adjectives that were running through his head.
"Stephen Hawking is relevant for one significant reason, as I'm sure most of you were wondering. It's known as the Time Traveler's Party. It is also a Nexus Point, which we are going to be referring to from now on in it's relation to time travel."
He takes a bit of effort not to actively glare at the idiot.
"The Time Traveler's Party is only known by it's attendees. This is why nobody here has heard of it. The gist of it was that Stephen Hawking invited all time travelers to attend this party, sort of as an experiment. And for everyone wondering why I'm talking about this party when I should be talking about the origin of time travel, it's because that this party IS the origin of time travel."
Confused faces. All of them. Of course, most of the pieces were right there. There wasn't a lot to expect though, since most of them seemed to not know what a Nexus Point was in the first place.
"I know everyone here is confused. Of course, I only give this information to inform, not to convolute the information you retain. And it's because this information serves as the base for a healthy reminder. To not go to June 28th, 2009."
Suddenly it made sense. Confused faces turned to that of a face who has realized the universal truth. The professor smiled as the pieces began fitting themselves together for each of the students. Except one. The idiot.
"Wait, but you haven't explained how time travel was invented?"
The professor scoffed.
"You should probably drop this class. If you don't get it, you probably won't get anything else I say from now on."
The idiot looked disappointed, and also a bit miffed.
"Fine. But at least explain it to me." he said, now clearly annoyed.
"Fine." It was a begrudging fine, but the professor continued. A ramble to clear things up and have him leave.
"Many of these facts are in direct contradiction to each other. You can't have time travelers from multiple timelines in one timeline except both the time traveler in that timeline and the one that hopped into that one, being the one who created the nexus point between both timelines. The invitation was the first event relative to all of time to have nexus points created, and the timeline got penetrated through a bunch of holes all at once. You can imagine that timeline didn't handle it too well. A bunch of things got fucked over. Now you don't visit that nexus point unless you wanna give the timeline some trauma it doesn't need. Of course, all of the other timeline weakened around it, just because the whole thing got fucked over all at once and it made everything around it susceptible to easier timeline penetration, but not enough to mess things up. Of course, Nexus Points are what happens when you time travel multiple times in the same area and it becomes unusable. For those who do know Nexus Points, they should know that it's not really the Nexus Point is where it becomes unusable. It's more of a safety precaution. But the event is a special type of Nexus Point. I'm sure you could guess why at this point. I'm sure most of you were expecting that this Nexus Point would be just like any other, and would've thought that it would have gotten a bit more use."
It was a lot, but hopefully it would shut the idiot up. The bell rung, and most of the students got up to leave. satisfied with what felt like exclusive knowledge. But the now-learned student didn't, as he sat thinking, until a bit after class had ended.
Finally, he asked, as the professor stood there, waiting.
"But what about the Bootstrap paradox?"
The professor was taken a back for a second, but smiled once more.
"I guess you may know more than I realize. I'm a bit surprised though. You're probably one of the few people in the world that's taken the Bootstrap Paradox seriously. Guess I can't fault you for your other questions."
| 2022-09-24T22:00:28 | 2022-09-24T20:21:57 | 39 | 22 |
[wp] Everyone has a number over their heads that says how useful they are to society from 0-100. You have a number '4'. Your siblings are all in the nineties.
|
Adrian was always the lucky one. When he was ranked it seemed amazing, it was rare to get more than a difference of 10 to you parents, yet, red and gleaming above Adrian's head was the number 95. My whole family was extatic! My father was a 77 and my mother a 71, but a 95? That was reserved for true genius. Einsteins famous 97 came to mind, or Elon Musk's currently unbeaten 99. Adrian went to Harvard at age 14 and came out with a degree in applied physics 2 months later. He was now working on the biggest upgrade to the Large Hadron Collider in years. Then there was Sarah and Jordan both with 93's. Sarah's now head of the anti-terrorism taskforce at the UN. Jordan wrote 5 hit singles by the age of 15 and then revolutionised the lithium battery industry. Some more, Jake, 92, Neuroscientist, Madeline, 91, Astronaut and first woman on Mars, Alex, 90, finally unified quantum mechanics and relativity.
Then there's me.
I've kept a list of how many people thought it was a mistake: 216. "That's impossible" They'd say. "From such a prestigious family?". "A 4?!"
Yep. A 4.
To say I was a dissapointment to my family would be the mother of all understatements. I was never given any great chances at school, any choice beyond the lowest classes, with the meatheads, thugs and druggies. Despite my actual intelligence I was never given anything to work with, when I complained about how clever I actually am, people would brush it off as just me "going to wind up as a terrorist". The terrorist in the family of genius.
Then, on the 15th of May 2035, at exactly 4:12 PM.
A complete and utter miracle.
"Mr. Layton? I have something to say which may shock you. But I first better say I'm so so sorry."
*Yeah* I thought *some cancer would be appropriate right about now*
"You see there was a slight, unforseen error concerning your number"
"What?"
"The computer people call it a 'buffer overflow error', the system looped right round after getting over its limit"
*no*
"I'm proud to say, your number is not 4. It's 104"
|
My parents were hardworking citizens. They were productive and well liked. Their lives would have been completely average, if they never decided to have kids. That wasn't the case. They decided to have kids, and they bore three children. They were three of us, and I was the third. They say third time’s the charm. I guess I’m the charm.
My eldest brother was born into the world at a hefty nine pounds. Nine pounds! I honestly feel bad for mom on that one. At the age of two he had his microchip implanted and it displayed a 92. The doctors had to replace it, it was broken. Then, they had to replace it again. The number flashed above his oily scalp, and there was no denying it. 92. A number that high from parents of such common standing was unheard of. The local papers had a story on it, but there wasn’t much to say. Until he was grown up, we’d have no way of knowing what his 92 would mean.
My sister was born two years later. On her second birthday her microchip read 95. This was the highest number any of the doctors had ever seen. In fact, the only people with higher numbers, which I could think of, would have to be presidents, czars, or extremely influential businessmen. The highest known number in the world was a 98. To have a baby of this caliber born to parents with such low standing was simply a miracle.
I was the third miracle. I was the final miracle. On my day of birth I weighed in at a whopping two pounds. The doctors worked tirelessly to save me. My frame was so frail that they feared for my life. Along with that, when I turned two they all expected greatness from me. The idea that the third child to such a lucky couple would be the most important permeated their minds. They all thought they were working towards something greater. They weren’t.
My parents and siblings hoped I would be the perfect 100. With the way things were going for them, why wouldn’t I be? On my second birthday, when my microchip was implanted, it displayed a meager four. It was replaced two, no three times, but it still displayed the same number. The doctors and my parents were aghast. How could a child which would be such a drain on society, someone so worthless, be brought into this world by the same people who had conceived my sister and brother. How could I join their family? My birth was an even larger news story than my siblings. On one hand, I’m thankful for that. If my case wasn’t so high profile, I would have certainly been disappeared. But sometimes, I think, maybe I should have been. Maybe I was too dangerous to let live.
As I grew it became clear I would be the problem child. I was always sick. I did okay in school, but I didn’t get along with the other kids. I lived in the shadow of my siblings, and they tried to keep it that way. My family treated me poorly, and they all pretended I didn’t exist. I couldn't eat dinner with them, and whenever my family went to a friend's house I wasn't invited. I grew used to this kind of treatment, and although it may not sound like it, my family was relatively kind. I guess they still had *some* love for me.
My brother became a major politician. He helped pass hundreds of bills aimed at protecting the environment. Some say he saved us. Some say he singlehandedly reversed global warming. I’m not so sure. My sister was a scientist. She cured cancer. People rejoiced when they heard the news, and she was a hero. I guess the new government was good for something. This rating system helped people find their true potential. The numbers gave their lives meaning. The numbers told them what they could accomplish. Having a high number unlocked new opportunities, it helped those with brains get the support they needed. Or maybe, just maybe, the numbers were random. Maybe it wasn’t the person that defined the number, but the number that defined the person. After all, how could I be related to two of the greatest people of our time? I was nothing like them. I had no accomplishments to my name. I had done nothing. I believed I could do nothing, and so it was true.
I spiraled in and out of depression for most of my life. Everyone who saw me stayed away. A four meant danger. Any number under 20 meant that person was a detriment to society. Anyone under 10 was a serious problem. Most people learned to stay away from those at an early age. There were only a handful of people with a number lower than five. Myself and two others. One was a three and one was a two. Fittingly, one was a terrorist, and the other a prolific serial killer. What did we all have in common? Nothing, or so I thought. I wouldn’t become like them. I couldn’t become like them.
As my meaningless life dragged on, I began to become more and more apathetic. I had learned to ignore those who looked down on me. I had learned to ignore those who mistreated me for something I couldn’t control. I could, however, control myself. Maybe if I was good. Maybe if I played by the rules, I could prove to the world that my number didn’t define me. Maybe I could even define it? If I worked hard enough, I'm sure I could raise my number. It had never been done before, but there was always a first for everything.
It all happened so fast. One morning I woke up and my four had changed to a three. I stared at it for a good hour. Its pulsating red aura projected by a tiny lens. I was the first. I changed my number. But after all this work, it moved in the wrong direction. I was dreaming; numbers can't change. I wasn’t dreaming; it had changed. I needed to talk to someone, but who? This didn’t happen. This couldn’t happen. What was I destined to do? What was so horrible about me that I would be rated a three?
The next day I woke up. I had stayed home all day prior in hopes that time would fix my device. I hoped that whatever had caused my number to drop would right itself after a day. It didn’t. I stared blankly into the mirror. I was in shock. My case had worsened overnight. My number was a two. I must’ve watched it in awe for hours. I stood looking into the mirror in complete disbelief. I'm honestly not sure how long I just stood there. I had worked my whole life to ignore my number, but I couldn't. It was grabbing my attention. It couldn't be ignored. Then, I saw something. The red light that polluted the air changed to a black one. The shimmering aura of the number turned solid and unmoving. My two changed to a one. It wasn’t a rating. It was a countdown.
| 2016-08-15T14:38:38 | 2016-08-15T12:17:22 | 56 | 20 |
[WP] We are due for a visit by two alien races, one which is horrifically brutal and sees us as soft-hearted weaklings, the other peaceful pacifists who see us as barbarians. You've been ordered to impress them, but when the ships lands you realize you have no idea which race this is.
|
August 8, 1974
"Goddammit, Kissinger, when did you decide you were a comedian?"
"This is not a joke, Mr. President," Kissinger said, panting as he leaned on an oval office sofa, sweat dripping from his reddened face onto the harvest gold upholstery. "I have only just beaten the delegation to your door. At any moment you will meet a representative of the alien race."
I leaned back in my chair, casually thumbing the record button on my hidden real-to-reel setup. "And these aliens, you say. They're either honor-bound, murderous psychopaths or secretive conniving pantywaists, and we don't know which one? Sounds like a typical NATO meeting to me."
"Sir, I must insist that--" Kissinger stood upright and mopped his brow as the door opened and three obviously human schmucks entered under military escort with a full complement of secret service. Kissinger bowed deeply. I didn't even get up.
The three "aliens" stood before me, their leader out in front.
"Cigarette?" I said. "Scotch? Best the earth has to offer."
Confused, the alien delegate accepted a cigarette and just stood there.
"You are leader here? This planet?" he said with a laughable late-nite monster flick accent.
"That's me, Tricky Dick Nixon, leader of the free world."
"How did you attain your title. Tricky? If I may."
"Treason."
The alien stared. "I am student of earth languages. I have mis-heard. You must clarify before we proceed."
"TREASON." I bellowed, leaning over the desk. "I CONSPIRED AGAINST MY COUNTRY IN A TIME OF WAR." I didn't care anymore who knew.
The full delegation began trembling--in fear or outrage. I didn't give a shit which.
"Mr. Tricky," the alien said, almost overwhelmed by some emotion, "You must understand what is at stake. The lives of your whole planet."
"Sure. Fate of humanity, blah blah blah. You think you sons of bitches scare me? This planet has had a global annihilating nuclear stockpile hanging over its head for twenty years. If you fuckers come at this planet, I'll destroy it myself just for spite. Don't fuck with Nixon. Now get the hell out of my office."
They got the hell out. Only once they were gone did I see that the full complement of secret service, the joint chiefs, and Henry Kissinger had all literally pissed themselves. It began to dawn on me that it had all been real.
You know what? I still didn't care.
The next day, I learned that our alien ambassadors had deemed Earth "too volatile" to be worth interacting with in peace or war. I never did find out which species I met.
I thought a minute about what ungrateful sons of bitches the American People could be.
"You're welcome, fuckos," I muttered, signing my resignation.
|
The giant hovercraft emerged from the ocean, much like a flying submarine, and sped towards the shore with little resistance. It was weird looking, to say the least. Square frame with an angular front, at a height of around fifteen feet. Kind of like big a tank without a cannon or continuous tracks to walk on land, painted azure to blend with the ocean's color. It slowed down the closer it got to the beach, kicking up a wall of sand before landing with delicate grace.
Charles grimaced.
Why did he have to interact with these people? He'd been pretty upfront about his dislike of Atlanteans. Apparently though, he wasn't clear enough about his disdain, since he was specifically requested by them for this mission.
The side of the hover-tank opened outwards, extending a small ramp to descend the vehicle easily. Rxychra then slowly walked down the platform, nodding with a soft smile. Charles rolled his eyes. If this broad expected him to be swayed by her politeness, she had another thing coming. He was on to her act.
She looked gorgeous, though. More than when he saw her six months ago. Her purples eyes shimmered like beautiful jewels under the sun, unlike how unnerving they appeared in the sterile conference room from last time. Flipping back her long, chestnut hair, she pressed a button on her pointy earbuds and said:
"Ambassador Morrison, it's a pleasure to see you again."
"Bleh. Skip the pleasantries and cut to the chase."
Rxychra arched an eyebrow. "Cut to what chase? We're not pursuing anything."
"It's an idiom. Just get to the point, will ya?"
"The point of what?"
"The mission, woman! For fucks sake, are you being deliberately dense?"
"Oh! You weren't briefed?"
Charles sighed. "No. I wasn't. They just woke me up in the middle of the night and pushed me into a plane. I'm on five cups of black coffee right now. I can barely stand."
Rxychra stroked her chin. "I see. Well, we're short on time so I suppose it was necessary."
"W-we are?"
"Yes, the arrival will be soon. We needed the best diplomat we could find before they got here."
"They? Who's they?"
"The aliens, of course."
Charles blinked a few times. Of course it's aliens. "You know what? I won't even bother." He brought out a flask and took a long swig of whisky. "Ahh, much better." He stuffed the flask into his suit pocket. "Aliens, huh? Are they here to wage war?" He frowned. "Or colonize us?"
Rxychra smiled. "No, they're diplomats, just like you and me, on a mission of peace."
"That isn't very reassuring. Diplomats are the kind of people I trust the least."
"And that's why you're perfect for the job!"
"Flattery won't get you anywhere." Charles narrowed his eyes. "You have an angle here, I just haven't deduced it yet."
"Angle?" Rxychra straightened her posture, inspecting her body. "I don't *feel* bent."
"It's an-" Charles pursed his lips. "Forget it. So how did your people know of these aliens?"
Rxychra briefly looked away. "It's... complicated. We'd been in contact with the galactic senate before we sank the city, but we'd only spoken with two of the civilizations through a rudimentary communication system. They realized we were an outlier when compared to other human cities, so they decided to stave off their visit until the rest of the planet was ready."
"Okay, I think I follow. But the planet isn't ready yet. Why are they coming? Hell, how do you know they're heading here?"
"They detected a large quantity of energy when we... *ahem*, handled North Korea. They probably think another civilization reached Atlantean levels of technology, so they sent a signal warning us of their arrival."
"And you couldn't just say 'don't come'?"
Rxychra pouted. "That would be rude."
"Right, but annexing a sovereign nation is proper conduct."
"They *attacked* us."
"With caveman technology, at least when compared to yours." Charles spat at the ground. "Look, yer bullshitting me, but I won't pry further. Just tell me the problem. I'm not here to organize a welcoming party, otherwise we'd be surrounded by hookers and blow, so why not handle this yourselves?"
"Perceptive as always, Charles." Rxychra sighed. "The problem is, we don't know which of the two civilizations is coming. One is composed of warmongers that think we're soft, the other is made up of pacifists who think we're barbarians."
"Well, neither is wrong."
Rxychra chuckled. "That's exactly why I requested you."
"Me? Why?"
"Because at the conference, you were the most impressive diplomat present. You're quite the paradox, Charles. You were the most aggressive, insulting person in that meeting, ready to attack anyone that provoked you, and yet you were also the most invested in maintaining peace and protecting the people of Earth. Every other nation was busy thinking about their own interests, while you were only one interested in humanity as a whole. I don't think you even mentioned England once in the negotiation."
Charles scowled. "I'm from the *United Kingdom*, not England."
Rxychra shrugged. "I apologize, then. Still, you can't deny this mission was tailor-made for you."
"I suppose not." Charles pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a drag. "So basically, you want me to figure out which of the two civilizations it is?"
"Exactly. The two hate each other, so confusing one for the other would be the highest insult we could give them. More than that, the behavior that would impress one would disgust the other. It's quite the problem."
"Ahh yes, of course. Can't say I don't understand the feeling."
A booming noise crackled from the sky. The alien ship popped up afterwards, twisting and bending before folding back into its original shape. It was rectangular and long, like a battle cruiser, but sleek and shiny with a yellow-green finish, casting a large shadow over the entirety of the beach.
Rxychra brought out the same pointy earbuds she wore, handed them to Charles, and said:
"You better use these if you want to understand them."
Charles grabbed the earbuds. "Fine. This should be interesting." He put them on. "So why are we receiving them here? Shouldn't we show them a better landscape than this?"
"Oh no, we're not staying here. They're just stationing their ship before sending the ambassador."
"Then where are we going?"
"To the most beautiful place on Earth."
"Hawaii?"
Rxychra frowned. "No, Atlantis."
------------------
------------------
Currently working on this. If you want to be notified when it's finished, please let me know. This is actually a continuation of another story I wrote, so in the mean time, [if you want to understand the background, you can check it out here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WeirdEmoKidStories/comments/6qdcvt/wp_after_enduring_years_of_missile_bombardment/)!
| 2017-09-18T10:47:59 | 2017-09-18T09:44:59 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] You're a powerful dragon that lived next to a small kingdom. For centuries you ignored humanity and lived alone in a cave, and the humans also avoided you. As the kingdom fell to invaders, a dying soldier approaches you with the infant princess, begging you to take care of her.
|
The soldier held out the baby and struggled to stand up right. He was clearly beyond hope. From lips turning blue he said "P-please.. It's.. It's the princess...."
The dragon looked at him for the longest time and then said
"No"
A great door slammed in his face.
And thus ended the tale of Mjolnir the grumpy dragon.
|
"To my dearest Yvain
I was a dragon, strong and old stuck in a cave for a crime you should never know. How long has it been I wonder since I was out? For the last time I walked these grounds there was no town or city but forest ever so green.
This was where the magical beings stayed until the mortals arrived or so I'm told . As the magical beings left they soon forget of the little old me stuck in the cave, it's funny to how one lost is another gain, for the mortals or what you call humans found me. They started fight me not that they should try. I was never their enemy or even a foe but this all fell as did they all. They call me a monster as each hero failed to return thinking I had ate them when all I did was to freeze them is all I did. Is it really wrong to defend your home? When people come at you with axes and swords?
Anyhow as the kingdom grew so did their might, I was avoided as the forest around my cave grew thick and I didn't mind that or that's what I said for I wished for a friend or maybe someone that would stay in this cold cave of mine. Should have been more careful with my wish if not trouble would come, not that I'm saying your trouble more of a headache than murderous intent. For one day that man came with bruises and wounds that would have been deadly but he was determined to come and see me, a little nobody.
He came with you, the treasure he cared he begged me and asked me to take you in for that's where your destiny lie. "Please great dragon take this child" he started as he told me of what happened outside. He told me of how his kingdom had fallen and to how their enslaved. He spoke of your father and how he died protecting the country he once called home.
As he tried to preach to me to take you in I could see it in his face he was dying. Thus I stopped him half way telling him I was no great dragon but merely a mischievous one stuck in a cave. He stared at me with eyes I could never forget and said "but the stars tell me another story it's said that you two are bound by fate so please...." He never finish his sentence and I was left with you.
The first few years I wonder how it would go caring for a baby no older than a week old. Lucky I never killed for those people that came to attack me now are your caretaker,your teachers and friends to this little village we call home. Yet as time pass I never realize how your now old enough to take on your destiny and for me to take on mine.
If your wondering why I'm writing rather than telling you all these, it's because I've given up my life to make you stronger, maybe then your pain won't be as bad.
Take on my scales as I've asked them to make it armor so that the enemy can't push you down with their numbers for I worry their swords and arrows will Pierce your skin.
Take on the sword made from my scales for I know that's the only thing you can wield. You always refuse to fight not because your weak but because you know it's not right so take on this sword for it will protect you and those you wish. It's a sword fit you a queen
Take on my wings and let it be your mantle, let it warm you on those cold nights at war so you remember your not alone.
Take on my wisdom for I worry you'll be fool for the world there's many people that wish to take advantage of you my princess.
Take on my strength and let it be your own so you can succeed for that road to your success is filled with hardship and heartache however I'm sure you'll succeed with or without my help
Not that I'm complaining. I was happy to see you grow I never realize that these people could be so kind. I was lonely for so long forgotten by so many people, that I forgot warmth. Yet seeing you smile melted this cold heart of mine.
Do you remember your first words? I do it was tia.. that's what you called me. Me whom was nameless only being seen as a scary dragon people avoid. Yet you gave me a name with a smile on your face never once running away. That made me happy in this short life of mine..
I wished the stars let us met sooner than maybe this cold prison won't be as bad, however why am I to question fate for I have met you the sun in my life...
My destiny was to be released by you and was I ever, for you've released me from my pain and torture. From my solitude and silence, by bringing discord and happiness.
So please find your happiness... For I have already found mine in your smile....
Yours truly
The nameless dragon you call gon"
"But gon ....how can I be happy without you..."
Edit: comments are welcome please tell me if it's ok
| 2018-03-01T03:18:37 | 2018-03-01T01:48:12 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward.
|
"OOOOOoooooo shit."
Marie stood frozen in her tracks, holding the smoking pistol point blank against his skull. This was the last thing she had expected and she was dumbfounded. The target, Robert, just sat there on the couch, stunned and confused, completely unharmed by the bullet that went straight though the back of his head.
"Uhhh, who's there?"
Robert slowly rotated around to see what had happened. Before he could get a good glimpse, Marie lunged forward and tackled him to the ground. She pressed her knee into his back and grabbed him in a chokehold, pulling his spine back well past the breaking point. Then she began slamming his skull into the ground repeatedly but there was no blood, not even a cracking sound. Eyes wide with frustration and sweat forming on her temple, she grabbed a knife and slit his throat from behind. Falling off of him, she collapsed to the ground.
Almost immediately, Robert got up, brushed himself off and took a good look at Marie. She lifted her head and they made eye contact for the first time.
His dark yet inviting stare met her fleeting blue gaze. Electrifying energy surged into Marie's chest as she gasped and covered her mouth. His eyes widened and they both felt it - something deeply powerful between then yet entirely indescribable.
"Did... You just try to kill me?"
Marie let out a giggle despite the fact that she was unable to assassinate her target and was now talking with him openly. She felt bubbly and light, like everything in the world was exactly how it was supposed to be.
"Brilliant deduction there, Robert," she prodded.
"Call me Rob" he said with a smile ad he reached out his hand to lift her up.
|
Sometimes the best disguise was no disguise at all.
That was what Elayne thought as she weaved through the crowd like a serpent through water. She wore no mask or hood to conceal her face. There was no need. She would not be seen. Her mark, a young man named Genta Nakamura stepped into view. Following closely behind him, were two men who wore matching black shades and business suits.
*His bodyguards*, Elayne thought.
Her hand fell to her side, fingers brushing the handle of a knife through the fabric of her skirt as she drew closer. Elayne's eyes honed in on the three men despite the moving traffic of pedestrians and saw her mark break off from the crowd and into an alleyway.
She followed, turning the corner into a dark alleyway.
"You again," Genta's voice echoed in the narrow alleyway before stepping out of the shadows and glaring at Elayne. "What's your name?! How much are being paid to take me out huh?!"
"What? I don't know what you're talking about," Elayne said as she blinked innocently with her round emerald eyes.
"Your playing dumb? I've seen you at least a dozen times girl. At least have the decency to admit you're trying to kill me, geez."
Genta snapped his fingers. Two men stepped into alleway cutting off Elayne's only escape route.
"You're surrounded. Don't make this difficult and just surrender. I don't want to kill you kid."
Elayne didn't move, nor did she speak. She only waited patiently as her fingers brushed steel.
The bodyguards stepped forward ready to restrain Elayne, but at the moment they lunged forward, their hands grasped only air.
Elayne had slid underneath the guards, slashing at the ankles of the men with two steel daggers held in reverse-grip in each hand.
Genta's bodyguards crumpled into a heap as they cried in agony. Maimed and immobilized, Elayne proceeded to leap over the men, her skirt flying up and briefly flashing Genta with her arsenal of knives and-
"Pink Hello Kitty panties? Are you serious?" Genta asked, incredulous.
Embarrassed, Elayne slipped and fell onto her skinny behind. As she landed, Elayne had spread her legs in an awkward attempt to break her fall and in doing so she had proceeded to further expose her Hello Kitty panties to Genta.
Genta who was a high school dropout turned Yakuza, had never even dated a girl before and suddenly found himself pleasantly excited as he stared at Elayne's childish panties. Excited might have been a strong word. He was more confused by the awkward change of hormones in his head - going from fight or flight adrenaline to pleasurable excitement.
"A-are you done starring?" Elayne stammered as she felt the constant heat on her cheeks refuse to abate.
"Oh. My bad, sorry," Genta began apologizing remorsefully as he tore his intense gaze away from the Hello Kitty panties. "I-I didn't mean to look. But you were about to kill me and then-" Genta eyes were distant as he began reminiscing of how it all went down. The sight of the knives strapped to her pale thighs and then the Hello Kitty panties.
Genta broke into a fit of laughter.
"S-stop laughing! I'll kill you, you pervert!" Elayne shouted as she stood up quickly and pointed a double edged dagger at Genta.
Genta paused, "Don't worry I won't tell anyone and besides it was cute."
"You won't be, because I'm going to kill - wait. What? It was cute?" Elayne looked up at Genta inquisitively.
"Yeah, your panties."
"Oh," Elayne deflated visibly. Even though she wasn't conscious of it, she had secretly hoped that Ganta would say *she* was cute and not her underwear.
"What's your name?" Genta asked.
"Elayne," she replied but then frowned. *Why did I...* It was pointless, telling a man she was going to kill her name.
"Elayne. So that's your name," Genta smiled. "I wish you'd tell me earlier."
Elayne smiled back. "And I wish you'd die already Genta. Every time I make an attempt at your life something gets in the way. My sniper rifle jamming, heavy winds turning my bullets astray, and then multiple knife attempts failing because - for some strange reason my hand refuses to stab you," Elayne sighs, letting out a breath of frustration.
Genta sighed back in kind. "It seems everyone wants to kill me these days..."
Elayne looked at Genta, and for the first time she noticed the countless scars and fresh wounds covered up with bandages.
"How much are you getting paid?" asked Genta.
When Elayne didn't respond, Genta ventured to guess. "Ten grand? A hundred grand? A million?"
Elayne scoffed, "Hmph, your not worth that much."
*So it was over a hundred grand at least,* thought Ganta. He didn't have enough to double the pay, even if it was ten grand.
"Alright. Have a go. Your best shot. If you can't kill me, how about you become my bodyguard and I'll pay you more than anyone can ever offer for my life?"
"Fine."
Elayne watched as Ganta unbuttoned his white shirt, exposing his lightly tanned chest and stomach to Elayne.
For a moment Elayne looked away. Then she steeled her nerves, grit her teeth and stepped closer to Ganta. Close enough that she could feel his breath on her forehead. She took her dagger and held it in both hands before stabbing Genta through his ribs, aiming for his heart.
Genta grunted, flexing his muscles as he felt the cold steel nick his skin, but it didn't draw blood.
"Fuck you," Elayne whispered softly as she dropped the knife.
"Maybe next time," Genta said as he grinned. "But you're mine now."
----
----
/r/em_pathy
| 2018-04-24T03:54:16 | 2018-04-24T01:31:32 | 60 | 39 |
[WP] Human beings unlock skills as they grow up, walking, taking, etc. You are the oldest person in the history of the world, and today you unlock a skill no one ever had.
|
The voices.
The voices you hear when you unlock a new skill was wonderful. When you heard them, you could do something new.
There was the basic voice, for things most people got when they were young: "walking" "reading" "cooking". There was the mundane voice, for average adult skills: "driving" "swimming" "whistling". There's was the advanced voice, that usually meant something you could do as a vocation: "computer programing" "electrician" "engineering".... And then there was the legendary voice.
The legendary voice was rare. Only a few thousand people had legendary skills at a time. And rarely would anyone have the same skill at the same time. They were powerful skills. They made superheroes, and super villains. Many times the skills weren't easily defined by the name, and it could take years to figure out what it meant.
For instance, a few years ago, awoman got the skill, "disappear". She spent weeks researching until she found out it meant she could just... Not be seen. She didn't turn invisible. No, she would just not be noticed, even if you were looking right at her. Or there was that guy, Frank, that got, "lift". It took him months to figure out it was telekinesis.
Anyway, I received a new skill a few months ago, and it was the legendary voice. That is cool, but I had no clue what it meant.
When I heard the voice, I was ecstatic! This would give me a reason to get out, meet people, and be something good for the world again.... If my old bones could take it... Whatever it was.
Sadly, I never got the chance. Within seconds of hearing the voice, it went black. I couldn't see, I couldn't hear, I couldn't even feel. "What a cruel twist of fate" I thought as the world faded away.... I become a legend, as I am old, older than anyone else, and dying. I would never get to use my skill, heck, I would never even know what it meant....
And then...
Light. I was wet, coughing up fluids, and screaming at the top of my lungs from the shock. I couldn't focus. I couldn't speak, it was as if my body had degraded to that of an infant. I was hungry, and gasping for air. I realized I was upside down. I looked around, as my eyes tried to focus, and I saw a giant being, dressed in white, covered in blood, and other fluids. He wore a mask, obscurung his identity (not that I would have known this demon anyway). He was HUGE. His forearm was as big as my entire body.
He wiped me off, wrapped me in something so I couldn't resist, and handed me to another giant. This one was female. She was beautiful. She held me close to her breast, and I felt warmth.
Perhaps this wasn't hell.
After I calmed down, and got my bearings, I looked up at her, and told me new mother what my new skill was:
"continue".
|
I lay there, wheezing in bed, waiting for my body to wake up and face the day ahead. Every morning it was getting more difficult to haul myself from under the covers. There seemed to be more of an incentive to get up and move though since Maura passed away. Her imprint is still in the bed next to me, and every day it hurts a little more that it’s getting more familiar to not have here around.
When I finally grunted my way up, I walked to the bathroom and did my dailies ,if you know what I mean, body relieved and teeth washed I was ready to take on the task of dressing myself but thankfully that new nurse has moved in and is helping me with that. It’s not easy being as old as I am but I lead a healthy life, I was raised well and I grew into my age gracefully and without any encumbering illness or major problems, other than the rickety bones and waning muscle strength.
The nurse helped me into what I wear almost everyday now, slacks and a freshly pressed blue shirt, because they were the easiest to get into. I refuse to spend the day in my pajamas. Too many people my age have gone that way I intend to go with some dignity.
As she was pottering around the room folding my discarded bed clothes and making the bed I made about slowly moving to the kitchen, feeling my legs creak as they move. It was when I reached the door I thought I heard her mumble something akin to “same thing everyday and no thank you”. I turned around quickly, as quickly as I could manage anyway, and asked her to repeat what she had said.
“Nothing, I’m just lost in thought! Do you want me to help you to the kitchen?”
I said I was fine by myself and I swear she said the words:
“Oh course you are, give it another week and you’ll need me..”.
I was taken aback, her mouth didn’t move, she didn’t even look up at me when I heard it.
“I’m apologise if you think I’m thankless, I do appreciate all you do but I’m unfamiliar with voicing it” I calmly explained.
“What do you mean?” She asked, now looking at me with a strange look of horror in her face.
“I heard what you mumbled under your breath” I explained again.
“I didn’t say anything!” She was visibly upset now but trying to hide it.
I was feeling very tired all of a sudden and so I just sort of grunted and turned to make my way to the kitchen.
The rest of the day passed in relative silence with Karen looking at me for uncomfortably long periods of time as she moved around the house.
The next day was also quiet, I woke, completed my morning routine and went on to spend the day reading. Karen came in to give me my lunch and as she was leaving I heard her, clearer than before, saying:
“I won’t always be here to feed you”
I let it slip, maybe she was having a bad week, I wasn’t that bad of a patient was I? I was finding life alone difficult, and I’ve been faced with the problems of my age quite abruptly and I’m trying to accept I can’t do what I used to everyday, but I don’t think I had been too terrible to her.
Days, then weeks passed with me hearing these little quips and under-breath comments until I confronted her:
“If you feel hard done by please tell me and I will try to rectify what I’ve done to you or make your time with me more amicable”.
“I don’t know what you mean” she innocently said.
“Those comments about you not always being here, and how you find this job not to your liking, I can hear them you know, I’m old, but not exactly deaf”.
She continued to play coy. As the following days passed her interjections became clearer and less subtle.
It was then I realized what was happening. I had never seen her mouth move when she said these things, and I could never be sure I heard a full sentence exactly, more that I understood what intention her words carried. I realized I was finally passing the threshold, I was starting to lose it. I spent the next few days in panic at what was happening, hearing her voice say things she didn’t mean, worrying that this was how I would go, not with dignity but rambling in my bed.
This was when my friend Jack came over. Me and Jack never saw eachother anymore, and he was in a bad way, it was so hard to see my best friend start to waste away in a chair, pushed by a different nurse every time. I was surprised both of us got to where we did, enough to see my great grandchildren finish school. But I don’t see them anymore, part of me thinks they wished I was gone already. Maybe we shouldn’t be here for this long, I didn’t want to end up like Jack, it terrified me.
As he sat there struggling to get a real sentence together I heard him. I heard him clear as day say the words:
“What’s happened to my mouth, I can’t speak, I can’t speak to my friend”.
I nearly jumped out of my seat. I hadn’t heard Jack speak so clearly in years. All of a sudden his voice filled my ears in full. He saw my apparent panic and became worried. He tried reaching out and I heard him again in a voice that was far too young for a voice that old:
“I’m here, I’m here it’s okay”.
I’m that instance I knew. I wasn’t losing my mind. I wasn’t going crazy. I saw in his eyes what I heard him say. I wasn’t hearing this out of thin air i was really hearing this. I was hearing Jack reach for me, I felt his concern. I looked at him for a long time, and he looked straight back at me, his eyes burning with worry.
“I heard you” I said.
He managed to twist his face into a question.
“I heard you. What you said but didn’t say. About your mouth, I heard you say you were here”.
I saw him become confused and then upset by this, but out of this broke a smile. A smile I hadn’t seen in much too long. My friends smile.
As the months passed I began to ‘hear’ things more clearly. Karen left and a new nurse, a male one, took her place. He was happy with his job he liked it. I became frailer and needed more but he obliged and made sure I was alright, everyday. A new birthday passed, spent with my new nurse Dylan, he wants to have a career in this job and was happy to share his thoughts on it.
I am now 120 years old. I cannot move as well as I used to and I can’t do the things I used to do alone. But my mind is sharp, and as I age I can ‘hear’ more and I’m realising that I may be the only person to be able to hear what I do. My friend Jack is gone, he passed away shortly after his last visit, he was 116. I’m afraid that the stronger I get at this, the closer I am to going. But I know when I do go, I’ll get to see Maura, and I’ll hear Jacks voice again in full and that comforts me.
The End.
I’d appreciate feedback if you have any! I had a spare half hour before work and now I’ve got to run, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
| 2018-06-23T11:28:35 | 2018-06-23T11:06:17 | 3,495 | 46 |
[WP] You are the sole survivor a famous serial killer as a college student. Years later, after being diagnosed with terminal cancer you finally pluck up the courage to visit him in prison and ask one question that’s been plaguing you for decades: “why didn’t you kill me?”
Thought I’d do a human story in the sea of bullshit wizard/alien stories.
Edit: OF a famous serial killer. My bad.
|
The ass looks at the floor and doesn't even bother to acknowledge my existence.
"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION SHIT FACE!" I feel the pain of my knuckles after banging them into the table separating us.
"Why me? Why was I left out? Every night I close my eyes waiting for the end. Every morning I wake up confused as to why I'm still here. Jake was stronger, Kyle was smarter, Helene, David, James, Sarah. All gone... all better then me. So..."
Finally he looks up. His eyes like two black holes sucking the life out of everything.
"Why?" His low voice is like the crumbling of paper. It takes every ounce of willpower I have just to stand there and not run for the door.
A smile snakes it's way across his face. I heard the guard behind me remove the safety off his gun but kept eye contact.
"Why... bother?" He said "You are nothing, They were better, all of them. You did not even matter."
I flinch at this and slowly start to straighten. I had years to practice my retort. I will live the rest of my days in the sun while you rot here miserable and alone. I've given to my community while you only took. I opened my mouth to lash back but before I could he said.
"Besides, it's more fun that way isn't it? To plant the seed of hatred, doubting ones self worth. Watching it feaster and spread is one of the joys of life is it not? I can see it even now, growing within you, that darkness I planted long ago. Soon you will no longer be able to contain it and start spewing your poison to the world. A hateful word here, a snub there. They are all seeds we plant in the souls we meet... in your case I can already see mine blooming."
I felt myself leap across the table and make for his throat. The guard was on me in a second and as he dragged me out of the room. I heard the sound of laughter mocking me as it re-vibrated off the walls and into my very soul.
|
It was raining hard the day I decided to pay him a visit. The prison swam within a sea of mist and fog, it was so humid that breathing became difficult. The incident did not leave me ever since, when he stood under that crimson moonlight, menacing eyes and a bloody knife in his hand, staring down as I crawled helplessly away from him, mud eaten into my half-dismembered legs. And then, he left, like a man who just had an epiphany. The memory lived vividly in my mind, so much that its nightmarish touch I turned into a book. A bestseller, even. It became a movie, and I became somewhat of a star. Married my college girlfriend, had two children. Life was good.
Was. The next few books didn't quite stand out. 'Bland and cliché', they said. The 'One trick pony', they called me, 'He's only hot because he followed the trend'. It all went downhill from there. Our marriage broke just as the third child died stillborn, I was agonizing over my Writer's block when she was seeing someone else. We divorced peacefully, or emotionlessly, all in one morning. The kids didn't seem too troubled. Perhaps I'd been neglecting them as well. Another decade stuggling with the fact that my Writer's block might just be my own talentlessness, cancer came to seal the deal. Even my own cells rejected me.
The prison was dimly lit, hovering above my head were lonely light bulbs depressively shone. The warden, Wade, was fat and fit, the kind of guy with both muscles on his arms and beer in his belly. He was grumpy and hard to speak to, I attributed it to the tearing torrent. He did warned me, though, that the person I sought had changed in many ways. "You won't believe it", he put it. And I couldn't.
Brolly the Cannibal was then a wrinkled old man, silver of hair and gray of life. He was thin, very thin, with a glasses bending on his nose. To me, no, to anyone, he would resemble a retired director being caught for past crimes.
"Not an everyday occurrence that I have visitor." - he remarked - "Who might you be? Someone trying to put together a documentary about me?"
"No, I'm Paul Wilkes, I'm a writer." - he didn't flinch at the mention of my name.
"So you're here gathering materials."
"I'm the one you let live in your killing spree. The only one." - this should jostle his memory.
"Are you? My mind has been hazy lately." - he said calmly, before a sudden spark ran across his eye and he slammed his fist on the table - "Paul Wilkes! You're that guy who wrote a book about me! What do you want now, part 2?"
"No!", - I screamed at the intercom - "I want to know why you didn't kill me!"
"If you're saying the truth, and I believe you are, then I'm sorry. The old me might have known the answer, but he's gone, let's hope for forever."
"You... You are a killer, a cannibal! You don't get to deny your past!"
"I'm not. However, I've changed a lot since I was put here. I've gone to the library daily, practiced veganism and yoga, along with meditation at night. The killer Brolly, along with all his cannibalistic desires had been locked deep within myself, where I envisioned him to spend the rest of his days. I'd love to be able to atone for my sins, but I just can't place you anywhere in my mind. For those who I had killed, well, I remember each of them clearly."
"That's impossible," - I cried out in a mix of anger and fading hope - "You must've remembered me! I was the only one you spare."
"An alien hypnotized me and told me not to kill you."
"What?"
"Maybe my stomach hurt, maybe I was tired. You were not the only one I let live, just the only one I let live *in the middle of culling*. The others I spared, I did so in silence, where they didn't even notice they had been spared. Maybe I saw something in you, maybe I didn't want blood all over my favorite shirt. You're not special Paul, it's time to accept that."
"I...I..."
"You know what I see, Paul? I see acceptance in your eyes, but acceptance, not peace. I've seen both of those looks on the face of deathrows, and I know them by heart. Any answer that I spouted out, anything so believable, you're gonna swallow it. It didn't matter which. So why, then, did you drive all the way here when you could just make up an excuse for the life I spared that moon lit night? No, you understand it yourself, Paul. You seemed the most alive when you was screaming at me through that glass. You know that you had been living that same night perpetually for god-knows how many years. You didn't move on. You came here looking for an answer to end it all, because you've prepared to end it all. You came here hoping that my answer would set you free, that it would give meaning to your world, because nothing else in life is gonna feel like escaping death like that night did, because ever since then your life had lost its colors."
I was shivering in my boots, the looming bulbs overhead shook violently. Brolly stared right at my soul.
"You're afraid to admit that you've been living on borrowed time."
"You...You're wrong...WRONG!"
The light bulbs burst into light, and all fell into darkness. Within that darkness, though, a voice called out to me.
"Mister, hey, mister, wake up!"
Wade was standing there when I opened my eyes. He seemed relieved that I was fine.
"Thank God!"
"What happened?" - I asked.
"You requested to meet with Brolly, and I told him he is dead, and you just...fainted."
"Wait. Brolly is dead?"
"Like a doornail. We had to kill him ahead of schedule when he attacked one of the wardens. Could I ask why you would want to see him, sir? He has no living relative as we know of."
"I... Well, I had some questions for him. Not that it mattered, anyway."
I entered the parking lot letting the rain soaked through me. It felt so refreshing. Maybe I'd call my children, after all this time, to see how they were doing.
| 2018-07-21T11:24:59 | 2018-07-21T09:32:19 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] The year is 2050, Queen Elizabeth is still on the throne. The public is growing suspicious, wondering why she is immortal.
|
I have always ruled.
No matter what face I wear or what name I go by.
I like my body. So gentle and kind looking. So easy to pass off anything I say as fairy dust.
When I ask for virgins, they are brought to my bathing chamber once a year.
Two virgins are usually enough. Importing virgins is frowned upon. One can't continue to rule England, Space England, and England: The Sequel after bathing in some Parisian virgins blood.
You'd be hard pressed to find one in the whole of Paris.
I stay with good hearty English stock. Keeps my body sewn together and really is a great libido booster. Can't have too much of that, can you?
After all, it comes with this ritual. Hardly any pain, darlings. I've perfected the method. No blood is wasted. Very eco-friendly.
I'm sure one day I shall tire of this and grow a new body. Perhaps something with scales.
|
The Queen was not known to lie. Those who knew her thought it was one of her most endearing qualities. She rarely spoke nowadays, but when she did, she spoke in curt, clipped honesty that carried a gravitas unbecoming of her kindly appearance. And yet, for the past 35 years, the Queen has lied. It was a small lie, to be admitted: She told the papers in 2015 that she would breed no more Pembroke Welsh Corgis, lest any of the diminutive-yet-noble dogs survive her in her old age. But then she did not pass as many expected, not when she reached 100 years old, nor 105, nor 110… And for these past 35 years Elizabeth has defied death, she has carefully kept a single Corgi in her quarters in Buckingham Palace, away from prying eyes.
That being said, few would have cared about the Queen’s little lie. In truth, even the queen’s extraordinary longevity fell to being idle gossip in light of the hardships the world has faced in the past 30 years. Climate change, resource scarcity, mass extinctions… The prognosis was grim, and even the English people struggled to maintain their textbook stoicism in these dark times. To many, it looked as though the curtain was falling on humanity. The English people, resigned to their fate, became enthralled with one of the classic quotes of their Bard:
*“Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player /
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage /
And then is heard no more. It is a tale /
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, /
Signifying nothing."*
Even as this grim nihilism crept over Great Britain and the world, the presence of the Queen was an unexpected-yet-calming sensation. The Queen served England in its darkest hour, its finest hour; perhaps, then, Elizabeth simply refused to abandon England in this hour of most dire need. As the years advanced, it was increasingly whispered in many a quiet pub that the Queen *was* England, that England *was* the Queen: England yet endured, and so too did the Queen outlive both Charles and William. When one died, so too would the other. It was a little fairy-tale, a bittersweet indulgence of dead men walking.
Then Project Avalon began.
Six years ago, the Queen made a rare address to the country, one of her last. In her brief but uncharacteristically impassioned speech, she recognized the bleak prognosis of their world and yet set alight the soulfire of every Englishman: “Our Island has, in the bleakest of times, proved itself indomitable. Neither foeman, nor division, nor scarcity has proven England’s downfall. It is because England is not a place: it is a people. A people that now, and forever shall, endure.” To cheers, she declared that Parliament should expedite all remaining resources to the construction of great starships that would carry England’s best and brightest to new lives on Mars, Titan, Europa, and beyond. With upraised hands, the Queen implored the Houses of Parliament that “Never again should the sun set upon England!”
Needless to say, The Project began the next day.
It was electrifying. Great Britain, once prepared to strut and fret her last hour upon the stage and then be heard no more, now took up the cry of another of her sons:
*Do not go gentle into that good night!*, sang the men and women who hung from the great gantries of the colony ships, welding torches and rivet guns in hand.
*Burn and rave at close of day!*, shouted the couriers, who carried steel to the worksites when no more gas could be found for the trucks.
*Rage, rage against the dying of the light!*, roared the soldiers and police who protected the great work, even as bullets grew scarce and the desperate grew many.
Through it all, the Queen never faltered. It was as though England, in its truest, most darkest hour, was being watched over by all her kings and queens of yore through her steady hand; As though the soul of King Arthur himself, foremost and bravest King of the Britons, had returned within the Queen Mother to see England delivered to the true Avalon, an Empire amongst the stars. So it was said around the night fires of the work-camps. Of course, the few academics who cared to dissuade such tales would never hesitate to point out that the Queen’s line came from Germany, not Arthur’s presumed domain of Somerset or Caerwent or thereabouts: a swift boxing of the ears would soon follow from less-intelligent but far-wiser men. *There was work to be done,* they would say, *not spirits to dash.*
And so the English people persevered as they have always done, and in their efforts was borne the finished glory of The Project. The great ships lanced from their launchpads into the heavens, carrying England’s ancient legacy into the stars eternal. As the last engine-fire faded into the far horizons of the night sky to the roaring cheers of a crowd that knew it had saved its beloved home, Queen Elizabeth lay down in her bed for the last time. The last, solitary Pembroke Welsh Corgi clambered wearily up into the bed with her. And they knew that, at long last, they could rest. At the doors to Avalon, she had helped him deliver the Britons unto safety, one last time.
| 2022-09-08T20:18:49 | 2019-06-27T20:07:23 | 158 | 36 |
[WP] As it turns out, the Avatar is still being reborn to this day. Unfortunately, if the government finds the Avatar, they’re killed before they liberate society. The handful of Benders left are few and far between. And you, an introverted Earthbender, just froze the liquid in your cup of tea.
|
"Where is the Avatar, Rahm?"
I gestured to the seat in front of me. "Now, now, calm yourself, Kota. Come, sit down, have a cup of tea."
"I'll pass. Now, where are they? We know you're hiding the Avatar!"
I sighed. "Are you sure? It's oolong, it's really quite good. I insist, you must have a cup. Now, do you take cream these days? Sugar?"
"I just said I don't want any of your stupid tea, Rahm."
"Ah, right. Of course. Well, suit yourself." I began to mix the sugar into my cup. "So, how is life? I hear the new government job is going well."
"Quit stalling. Tell us where the Avatar is, and we'll let you live."
I set the tea down on the table, and looked him in the eye. "Kota, I'm afraid that won't be the case."
"What?" Kota gasped as the tea began to freeze in my cup. "You? You're the Avatar?"
"Yes, but I am calling on you, in the name of any friendship we once had. Come, join us, join the resistance. Together, we can-"
I gasped as I saw the shard of metal, poking through my ribcage. As I fell to the ground, I could hear Kota talking into a radio. "Call off the search. We... we got him."
As I felt my blood draining out, I took the rest of the pack of potassium nitrate crystals from my pocket and bent it into the ground as far as I could. "Good luck, Avatar, wherever you are." I whispered to myself. "May this give you the time you need."
|
I was sitting in the back row of the auditorium, black school outfit with the government's red insignia on my back, a circle. Just like everyone else.
"The circle", a booming voice erupted from the speakers, interrupting my thoughts. How inconsiderate.
"Represents unity. Together, like a flock of WolfHawks, we are strong. Alone, the WolfHawk is weak."
Like a flame in the darkness, the speaker's blood red embroidered outfit and gold cape boldly emphasized his persona. His face unyielding, voice steady and confident.
"The four nations used to live together... in chaos. It was the king Artificus that brought order to the world."
He continued, dark eyes wandering the room. They lingered... Was he staring at me?
The booming voice resonated in my head as he continued:
"Through unity, strength.”
“Earthbenders, firebenders, waterbenders, airbenders - made the world a cruel place, outlaws that created disorder. That is why they have been eradicated from society. We are proud to announce the global population is less than 3 thousand. Those in hiding will be found, and they will be ended."
The auditorium erupted in applause, hooting and hollering from the classmates to my left and right.
A stern hand raised, silencing the applause abruptly.
His hand contracted into a fist, and lingered as if drawing anticipation…Then, like a judge’s gavel slammed against the podium:
"We", *boom*, "will" *boom*, "find you” *boom*.
More applause.
My gaze drew upon Sophiara, a girl graduating with me. Thoughts drifted through me, enshrouding my mind in a hazy mist. There was something about her I couldn't quite place. Often I would notice her missing from a class we shared, fire nation history. My surroundings subconsciously blurred out of focus... and then her eyes met mine. I had been staring too long. I averted my gaze quickly from her hazel eyes.
We lined up and received our diplomas, one by one, black suit after black suit, in and out. One couldn't distinguish who was who even if they tried, yet proud parents beamed from the crowd, like hyena-bats carefully stalking prey in the dark.
---
It is quite an honor to have the great general and hero Itawaska visit our small village as graduation speaker. Many pray to the king for harboring such fortunate luck upon our town. The Oracle did predict luck for our village from the clouds this year... Though I don't really believe anything she says.
I’m glad the ceremony is over. I make my way down a 3 km winding trail on the outskirts of town. It is late afternoon, and the sun begins to fall as the moon winds up, forever encircling each other as if an invisible clock spins them around and around. A brown cloud shadows me as dust leaps up behind my quick footsteps. One foot after another, tick, tock they go in rhythmic fashion.
I enjoy hiking these trails; to be honest the outdoors has always felt like home to me. I don’t think about much as I walk, just letting my mind drift like a leaf down a winding stream. Late afternoon is faltering into evening. I must say, I have always been more of a night person, and tonight the full moon pulsates my blood like a heartbeat, and I seem to radiate positive chi.
A few more twists and turns, my mind continues to wander as I navigate the trails like a harp player's hands naturally shift to the next note of a familiar song. Naturally I engage in a left turn, just a stone throw after old Man Maloka's mailbox. He is a curious man, older than anyone I’ve ever met, with as many wrinkles as stories to tell. My parents often warn me not to be associated as his murmurings were, as they put it, "careless".
A few more minutes and I arrive at the broken bridge, a chasm-like river separating the land mass on the other side. I walk a few hundred meters to the left. There lies a makeshift crossing I made out of stones many years ago. With precision I jump from one stone to another, making my way across.
Another 3 km of walking. Trees thicken as I make my way, looming with long shadows.
Finally, I have arrived. It is a lake. Even in the day I wouldn’t be able to see to the other side. The moon shimmers off the still water like a spotlight, illuminating the nearby woods. It is a heavily forested area; though a large lake, one would not mistakenly find oneself here.
I close my eyes, breathing in and out. I imagine two fish encircling each other for eternity, a white fish and a black fish – yin and yang. I’m certain I’ve seen them before in a dream. Minutes passed as the orange-red sky recedes into purple. I hardly noticed as I fall deeper into meditation. I listen to the chirping of cricket-birds, the whispering of trees as a breeze reverberates around the forest. I inhale deeply, the moon shining like a lighthouse in the sky, and face my open palms upwards.
I exhale slowly. The water trembles in front of me, suddenly cracking the glass-like stillness. My arms rise. Consolidated waves appear, spiraling in a circle on the surface of the water. In a grand moment, the water leaps upwards, contained by an invisible force. My hands clench as the water rushes into a tight sphere. I feel the water struggle against my will, the weight of it pressing on my mind. I feel the perimeter begin to falter. Suddenly, as if a tiny dam within the sphere bursts, the water collapses back into the lake.
I triumphantly raised my left fist into the air! This is my first time creating a water-sphere!
I now notice my breath is rigid, heart beating quickly. Even the simplest bending is draining for me. I sigh and sit back down. I will mediate before trying again. Determined, erasing the grin from my face, I begin to breath. In, out… Tick, tock.
| 2018-01-21T13:28:32 | 2018-01-21T11:35:22 | 61 | 35 |
[WP] You're a scientist in the 'paranormal contraptions' department classified by the government. A strange coffee machine is transported to your desk with a touchpad stating it will dispense 100ml of any liquid you enter. You have been put in charge of experimenting with the device.
|
"Huh."
I go to type something in, when-
"Everybody down on the ground!"
Men in strange suits pin me down and take the coffee machine.
"Don't ask me how SCP-294 escaped containment," a man said.
"Probably some reality bender. Some fucking... undead turtle or something."
"Hey, Jim, don't forget to amnesticize that guy."
"Oh, right, yeah."
Uh-oh.
A needle is jammed into my side and- what was I talking about again?
|
I reached the lab ten minutes early. Every Monday morning another item would be left on the desk. These items weren’t just your every day items. They were special, some would call them paranormal. Last week it had been glasses that allowed you to zoom in to a microscopic level and the week before that had been a hearing aid that allowed you to understand animals. It was my job to do the preliminary tests on these items. To discover the extent and limits of their powers and then to determine how exactly the powers were created. They were then passed on for further research into how these powers could be replicated. I never knew where the items came from, they were just delivered to my desk, by Joel the delivery boy, at the beginning of each week. This week, what appeared to be a fancy coffee machine, was sat on my desk. It had a touch screen console on top. I examined the console. It had a keypad and above that a message flashed in blue. It read “input any liquid you wish for and you shall receive.”
“Interesting” I thought to myself. I went and grabbed some cups from next to the water cooler. I thought I would start with the basics. I typed into the machine ‘coffee’ and sure enough a steaming stream of coffee poured out into a cup. I took a sip. It tasted perfect. Then I tried orange juice. Again it was perfect, like it had been squeezed fresh from the orange that morning. Amazed, I tapped in other liquids such as wine, hydrochloric acid, perfume, it even produced the specific brand of gin I requested. I took a sample from each liquid it produced for further testing. If this machine could really produce whatever liquid the user wanted then the potential uses could be enormous. It could provide fresh water to those without, it could produce expensive liquids at virtually no cost, it could maybe even produce blood for use in hospitals. With this thought in mind I tapped in blood and out poured a vivid red liquid. My mind was full of questions. What blood type is this blood? Is this blood human? What DNA does it contain? Then another thought crossed my mind. One of a more personal nature. My girlfriend and I had been discussing children as of late. We had considered adoption or one of us using a sperm donor but didn’t like the idea of a stranger being the father. Could this machine be the answer to that? No father, just sperm. It was crazy to even consider it yet some sort of scientific curiosity compelled me. I typed into the keypad ‘human sperm.’ Out poored a thick white solution. I picked up the cup, it was disturbingly warm. My heart was racing. There was so much wrong with what I was about to do yet I felt compelled to do it. I grabbed a pipette from the drawer and hurried to the toilet, taking the cup with me.
It had been nine months since I found that coffee machine on my desk. I lay in my hospital bed alone. My girlfriend was not pleased when I told her what I had done and although she had tried to come to terms with it, it had become too much. She had left in the night a couple of months ago, shouting about how I should have never let work mix with our personal life. And now I was alone in this hospital about to face the consequences of my decision. I felt ashamed of myself. I should have stopped to think about what I was doing but it was too late now. The child, if it could even be called that had grown inside of me for the past 9 months. The results from the blood that the machine had produced had shown anomalies in the DNA and had been deemed unfit for human use. Who knew what was about to come out of me. The scans hadn’t come back with anything out of the ordinary but I still had a sick feeling that something was going to go wrong. A contraction surged through my body. I let out a cry of pain. Shortly after a nurse came in to see how far along I was. “It’s time” she said. I was wheeled to a different room and the doctor and midwives bustled around me preparing for the birth. They did not know about my strange circumstances. Hopefully the wouldn’t have to.
Hours of labour passed, each more painful than the last. Everything seemed to be going normally until the doctor gasped. “Somethings wrong!” He yelled “call for help!”
I looked down. His face was splattered with blood. “What’s happening?” I screamed.
“Don’t panic ma’am.” Said the doctor “you’re loosing a lot of blood but our team will be here soon. The baby’s almost out.”
A team of doctors and nurses rushed through the door. By now the pain was unbearable and the room began to turn blurry. Then the sound of a scream and metal tray crashing to the floor brought me to. I looked down at the doctor. He looked back at me in horror. The thing in his arms was far from human.
It was horrific yet beautiful.
It was mine.
| 2018-04-07T07:29:38 | 2018-04-07T06:26:21 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Aliens invite you and your crew to dinner aboard their ship. After noticing all the courses have contained either chocolate, coffee or alcohol you slowly realize that they have been trying to poison you not realizing many of our favorite foods are poison to most of the other lifeforms on Earth.
|
Stardate 120-810
Dear Mum and Dad,
I hope this finds you both well. Sorry it has been so long since I last wrote. So far our exploration mission has really opened my eyes to the mysteries of the universe. My star academy training could never have taught me half of what I have learned on my first year aboard the HMS ARTEMIS™.
This week we were contacted by an unknown alien race whose name none of us can pronounce (only the ship computer can say it). We have been invited a aboard their ship for what we can only interpret as 'snacks'. The captain is sceptical, but is eager to show them that we respect their customs, so accepted their invitation.
I will write again soon.
Stardate 120-813
I hope these postcards reach you in good time what with the interstellar postal strikes!
Today we gorged ourselves on a plethora of delicious foods provided by our alien hosts.
We can only assume they took a long time figuring out what we like to eat. Judging from the dead animals and plants littering their ship, there must have been vast amounts of trial and error involved on their part to get this right, for which we are all grateful. Their service has been exemplary thus far.
Unexpectedly they have invited us back for a second course of snacks tomorrow which we are all eager to sample.
Stardate 120-814
Ensign Gregory (the one with the braided hair and blue skin) collapsed after eating a dessert containing pistachio nuts. Her nut allergy almost seemed to please our alien hosts, they all gathered around her and took samples of the froth coming from her mouth.
I felt sorry for ensign Gregory, as the desert was truly excellent. One of the best desserts I have ever tasted. There is still so much more to eat! I have smeared some of the dessert onto the corner of this postcard for you both to sniff.
Stardate 120-837
After several weeks of gorging the majority of the crew (myself included) are now in critical conditions.
The unpronounceable alien race have now left, as if satisfied by our illnesses.
Our chief medical officer diagnosed us all with over eating, but now she too is missing and presumed overweight. Many of us are suffering from depression, vast weight gain, and terrible irratability. We are all confined to the hospital deck.
The captain had large amounts of food teleported to his quarters, and we can only assume he has been eating alone in there for the past two weeks. Nobody has seen him.
If you receive this postcard, please get word to star command that our ship has suffered severe casualties.
They.. Preyed.. On...
Our... Greeed...
// END COMMUNICATION //
|
It had been a very long time since I was requested as a "Third contact delegate." I had been invited to share a meal, along with representatives of the other members of the Universal Government, at small event hosted by the newest Xenospecies seeking to join the U.G. Usually a task for my boss, however he was out with more pressing business as usual.
In procedure with interaction with a new xenospecies, I had every piece of my U.T. on me, and the collar chafed as usual. Presenting our gracious host with my speech-to-text tablet, I graciously thanked him and his kind for their hospitality and offered the traditional Earth bread-basket as a good will. After receiving what my U.T. assumed with a middling probability was a likewise courteous greeting, I took back my tablet and went to join with my fellow representatives. Scanning the room, I notice the Borpan junior representative chatting with the only other xeno who would put up with them, the Touvrian representative. Matching the Borpan's laughter after a particularly vulgar witticism, I approach the duo.
"Good evening delegate Borpan, delegate Touvri." I address them both, give a short bow to each, which they politely return.
"Greatings to you delegate Earth." the Touvrian fluoresces vis responce.
"Wadda think of that zigger my boy came up with Earthie?" The Borpan asked, stifling another laughing fit.
"Certainly humorous, perhaps for not mixed company however." I respond
"Aye, that's my boy." He burps with pride, slapping a sticky hand on my shoulder. I manage a shy smile before turning my attention to the Touvrian in our company.
"Tell me delegate Touvri, what do you know about our hosts this evening? This dinner was dropped on me and I confess I'm a bit behind on my 'official' reading."
"Yes. The Ddràdoks are a formally fearful, war-like species, not unlike your own, that have unified only within the past Universal century. Their solar system is densely packed with planetoids, as a result they met first contact qualifications almost as quickly as your xenospecies. As well they instantly requested admission to the Universal Government, which was equally surprising. I would not describe their advancement and admission as miraculously quick as your xenospecies, but they have certainly been quick about it all." I could tell the jellyfish-like xenospecies was eager to continue, but I politely thanked them for their knowledge before they continued to strobe my ear off. I offered them a moment of my time later in the evening to continue their findings. With that I took my leave, perhaps a little faster than was necessary.
Before I could approach my fellow Milky Way representatives, an all-language broadcast was pumped into the dining hall announcing the evening's meal was about to be served. Each of the representatives were quickly ushered to specific places around a large, round, planar surface, sitting less than half a meter above the ground. I was seated between the Eridani and Keplerian representatives. I curtly greeted them both, and the two reciprocated, however they both seemed rather displeased with the short table and lack of chairs.
A shrill, nails-against-glass sound rang out through the room, fallowed by a troupe of Zweil Ddràdok morphs carrying comparatively large covered platters to each seat. I quickly noticed that each Zweil had a golden clasp covering their gem organ, not something I'd ever seen before, and made a mental note of. Every platter was placed in a simultaneous flourish around the table. But my server made a mistake and knocked the golden clasp from off her gem. The deep turquoise of her gem instantly flooded the immediate area with a palpable mental-fog of apprehension. All of my hair instantly stood on end an my heart-rate quickened.
Many other Zweil dashed to her side and helped her replace her clasp before a Ddràdoks quickly overran her with a wave of admonishment, and dragged her away, leaving the other Zweil unsure of what to do. Another Ddràdoks stepped out from behind a panel in the wall and angrily hissed, causing all the Zweil to straiten up and bolt towards the new door. A moment later I heard some rhythmic laughter from the Borpan delegate and his neighbors.
"That's not a good sign for the evening," the Keplerian to my left grumbled in his chalky baritone.
"Certainly not. I have a Zweil at home, that was probably that poor girl's dominant, and I haven't felt anything that strong in a long time."
"Yeah? What's your's dom? If I may ask."
"Sure, it's curiosity and wonder." I reply. He nods in affirmation as people start turning their attention back to the platters in front of them. I remove the cloche from the platter only to find what appears to be a dark brown pudding, and two different beverages. All the familiar smells hit me at once as I recognize chocolate, malt beer and black coffee. I look up in confusion and see many other delegates around the table equally confused.
"What is this?!" The hulking Eridani next to me roars. He leans into his platter and smells deeply with his animalistic olfactory senses.
"This is not food, it is poison! It is death!" He bellows. As he raises a fuss, the rest of the delegates begin showing indignation or anger.
"My food seems to be fine." I protest, but it is lost on mostly deaf ears, only the Borpan confirms that his food is also fine, though a large mouthful.
"This is an act of aggression! Fellow delegates we must leave. All in favor?" Clicked and hissed the Trellwen delegate. Many members shouted in confirmation, and quickly a security squad of U.G. guards were rushing into room.
_______
After such an awful evening, and subsequent awful morning and half the day wading through the U.G. anti-aggression bureaucracy, the cold, metal finish of outer bulkhead of my apartment was a very welcoming sight. after pulling off my freshly decontaminated coat and shoes, it took everything my legs could muster to get back onto my feet and walk my tired body into the apartment proper. Valley was by my side faster than she'd ever moved before.
"Welcome home Love, I saw on the news what had happened and I am so relieved you are safe." She cooed and purred. I place my increasingly heavy hand on her head and lace my fingers between the crown of her ridge. I rub my thumb along the pink gem in her forehead.
"Hello Valley, I know you must have a million questions, but more than anything, right now, I need some sleep."
"Then I will help Love in any way I can." She responds with a dutiful air. She takes my hand in her little hands and begins to pull me towards the bedroom.
"I couldn't want anything more."
_____
I hope you've enjoyed my story. I've created a subreddit to share the stories of these characters. All future works and prompt inspired stories can be found at [/r/ValleyandMe](https://www.reddit.com/r/ValleyandMe/)
| 2018-09-19T22:18:25 | 2018-09-19T21:29:03 | 225 | 109 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :)
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(Aight my first WP attempt so be kinda easy on me?)
I’m walking through the halls to my next class, getting the usual snicker here and there from my fellow classmates. “What a loser!” and “I can’t believe it!” Are the usual comments I hear from everyone. They all assume I had gotten some weak ass power, and that is hair manipulation, all because I simply couldn’t just pick one hair style for my character. You see, the thing is with this whole “Super power” phenomena is that the power you inherit is solely based on the last character you played in a video game, and I’m heavy on the ones that give you the option for a big selection of different options for every aspect of the body, and I never kept just one hair style throughout the entire game. So every now and then my hair would just randomly switch to another style, one minute I’m bald the next I’m looking like Jonathon Joestar. But the thing is that’s uhh... not exactly all I can do, it’s just what I show, because if I were to show to the real world what I could do? No one I know would be safe, not my family, not my friends, hell not even my girlfriend... With the character modifications I usually like to give them some whacky or overpowered trait depending on the game, and what I chose this time, while playing the game was a fantastic idea, but now in the real world? Not so much, I had chosen time manipulation. Now I know what you’re thinking “How in the hell could that put people in danger?” And I’m getting to that part, the thing that’s special about how my time manipulation works is it’s all based on my blood. What I take a small sharp object, make a nice cut along my palm, it starts glowing like some hocus pocus shit and I can fast forward time, reverse it, or outright stop it. That’s why I can’t ever tell anyone, not one single soul.
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So here’s the sitch: I totally do play video games. And no, I’m not one of those r/notliketheothergirls who insists I’m the only girl who games, or that I should receive all the sexual admiration for it. I’ve dabbled in just about everything - FPS, MMORPG, VR, PC, console, mobile, puzzles, survival, capture/collect, simulator, zombie, satire, first- second- and third-person open-world, linear, racing. Club Penguin. Any genre you name, I’ve probably tried it. Not any game, but any genre.
So sue me if I’m partial to pastoral games. As if you never spent hours of your time creating the perfect face or the perfect house or the perfect life for some imaginary person. It’s addicting to be able to control just about every aspect, especially if you tweak the settings and gameplay options so you can reverse any negative unforeseen happenings that would bring chaos to your perfect little world.
The thing is, when the Catalyst happened, I wasn’t just playing one game. I actually had two computers - my laptop and my old family desktop - running two different games. I know this sounds silly, but I really wanted to continue the epic saga I’d begun in The Sims 2 when I was in high school, now that I had finally downloaded The Sims 4. I skipped 3 because the drastic change in gameplay had been too much for me at the time. But after watching countless YouTubers take a crack at it, I was finally ready to give it another chance. Just, not without my OG family.
Upfront, I don’t mod. I don’t know how, and frankly I’m scared to try. The last time I messed with the source code on anything, I ended up destroying my computer. So, no mods for me. It’s cool for other people to, and I’ll admit I laugh every time cabbages rain from the sky as Thomas the Tank Engine careens toward Solitude. But I’m afraid if I touch it, I’ll break it. And then my husband will break me (not really; he’s very kind).
Now, I may not mod, but I also haven’t played Sims 2 without cheats enabled since I first installed the game. I don’t really know the cheat codes for Sims 4, yet, but I’m content to play it on vanilla for now. I mean, I was. I kinda haven’t touched it since that night.
When everybody else started getting their powers, I was convinced I had been skipped over. I mean, what kind of powers do Sims have, anyway? My husband, bless him, had been playing Mass Effect: Andromeda. Now he can interface with his own personal AI, and has a lot of cool abilities with electronics and the like. It certainly helped get us out of our financial situation. That is, until I discovered what had been done to me.
I don’t know how to explain to you exactly how unsettling it is to be sitting on a toilet when suddenly *POOF* confetti erupts around you. I definitely didn’t fall off the seat, but only because of the cramped space around the pot. I don’t know if I thought it was the ceiling collapsing, or that I was hallucinating, but it didn’t take more than a couple days to realize I was pregnant. A few days later, and I was a certifiable balloon.
Newscasters and reporters were too busy with all the rest of the fallout to take note of me and my sudden predicament. In fact, the one journalist I did get in contact with laughed me off the phone.
Luckily, my body was already a wasteland from years of inactivity and poor maintenance. I basically laid in bed for the duration of my pregnancy - a whopping week and a half. Then, I was fine. I popped right up and started taking care of my new baby. But she didn’t stay my baby for long. And she also didn’t stay alone. It seems that birth control isn’t a thing in the Sims: you woohoo for baby, you get a baby (eventually). Only irl, I didn’t have the ability to decide whether I wanted to get pregnant or not. If I had sex, there was a greater than 50% chance I’d get pregnant. And I like having sex with my husband. I’m sure you see where this is going.
Now, I’m literally a baby-making machine, minus the metal parts. And since they are the product of what can only be described as magical fuckery, my brood of children has amassed into an army. That dumbass reporter really wishes she’d spoken to me now.
Because of my specific circumstances, I’m also able to summon Death literally any time I want. And since we are best friends, Death will do my bidding if I ask nicely. Mostly I just ask Death to make sure my colony of offspring have room to grow, to thrive, and to make their own families. And also to spare me whenever I do something stupid, which I do quite a lot now that I’m basically invulnerable. Mauled by an animal? Ctrl+Shift+C maxmotives. Get hit by a car? Same thing! Am I worn out and exhausted? maxmotives, baby!
I don’t sleep except to dream. I have gotten so much done since realizing my powers, and I’ve only scratched the surface of my potential. I discovered I can make a living selling designer babies - especially since I don’t *have to* have sex to make a baby, and I can literally make a baby with anyone. You want Orlando Bloom’s kid? No problem. Kristin Bell? I can do it in my sleep! And recently I discovered that I don’t actually have to wait the full week and a half to get the baby; I can Speed Up Pregnancy with nothing more than the desire! It takes maybe a day after that, although it is quite an ordeal. My husband is actually quite pissed at me, because we haven’t had sex in weeks since I made the discovery. But I think once I take a break from my new business, I’ll get back in his good graces with minimal effort. After all, I can afford literally anything he wants just by shouting, “motherlode!” But that annoyingly causes inflation, so I don’t do it often anymore.
I gotta go now. Chris Hemsworth Jr. #7 is getting ready to claw his way out, and I need to have both hands free to brace myself for the birth. Toodles!
| 2019-09-30T11:16:55 | 2019-08-12T00:38:07 | 64 | 30 |
[WP] As an atheist, you always believed that there was nothing after death. After your last breath, you discover that you were wrong, but that no one else was right about what's after either.
Mainly, there is something after death, but religions are wrong about it.
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I exhale my last breath, and there's a momentary pause. It's the sort of pause that feels like a timeless interval, and I don't truly know how long it's been.
My breath rushes back into my lungs. It feels different. I try to move, but instead I'm pulled as if by strings.
I feel myself stirring strangely.
The floor is the same, the room. My eyes wander, but I am not in control. I see my daughter again, and my dear friends. Their heartache seems to lessen.
Something isn't right.
A tear rolls up my daughter's cheek, as she withdraws from kissing my forehead. It wells in her eye for a moment, and then flows back to the duct.
No.
They all move backwards behind the nurse, filing back out of the room.
Just like they'd come in. The first time.
Or is it the same time?
The minutes become hours, the hours days. Back and back, I watch my life refold, playing out in reverse. The years come, and I feel myself stronger, more youthful. The strings that pull me about become more forceful and deliberate.
I'm in love again.
The years blur together, faster as they wind back. The same way they sped up moving forward.
I'm in love for the first time.
I don't remember what happens next, where I would go if the flow of time were to suddenly snap back. The further I'm pulled away from my death, the less the memories exist. My expectations have changed. I've unlived fifty years, and stuff falling up seems normal. Natural.
I wonder if I was there all along, moving both ways at once.
Wondering is harder all the time.
Eventually, the days blur back together. I didn't know anything as a baby, and I don't again.
They say your life flashes before your eyes.
|
FADE IN:
EXT. A VERDANT GARDEN - DAY
*A man slowly fades into view amidst countless varieties of flowers and plants. This is DAVE. He glances around at his surroundings for a moment, appearing equal parts confused and suspicious.*
**DAVE:** Hello?
**ANGEL:** (*O.S.*) Greetings, David.
*Dave jumps slightly as a figure materializes in front of him. This is ANGEL. His age is unclear, and there is no visible hair anywhere on his body. He wears a white robe with intricate patterns of gold on its hems.*
**DAVE:** Who are you?
**ANGEL:** My name is Angel. I am a... concierge, for lack of a better word.
**DAVE:** Ah, well, I'll have a glass of white Zinfandel, then.
*Angel blinks once.*
**ANGEL:** Excuse me?
**DAVE:** You give out the wine, right? Isn't that what a concierge does?
**ANGEL:** That is a sommelier.
**DAVE:** Oh, right, sorry. You clean up the hallways.
**ANGEL:** That is a custodian! I am a guide! I am here to reassure you!
**DAVE:** Well, you're doing a bad job of it. Do you know what would *really* reassure me?
*A glass of pink wine appears in Dave's hand. This apparently surprises Angel.*
**ANGEL:** Where did you get that?!
**DAVE:** It was in the boat.
**ANGEL:** What b...
*Before Angel can finish, a weather-beaten (but still apparently sturdy) rowboat appears between him and Dave.*
**DAVE:** That one.
*Angel begins angrily waving his hands around.*
**ANGEL:** Stop that! Stop that at once!
*The boat and the wine both disappear as though they had been made of smoke.*
**ANGEL:** You are not meant to do that!
**DAVE:** Why not? This is Heaven, isn't it? Can't I do whatever I want?
**ANGEL:** No! Heaven is not real!
**DAVE:** Oh. Well, now I *definitely* need some wine.
*The white Zinfandel reappears in Dave's hand. He takes a casual sip as he surveys his surroundings. Angel watches this with barely concealed contempt.*
**ANGEL:** You are doing everything out of order.
**DAVE:** Yeah, well, I've been dead before. I know the drill. I am dead, right? That seagull killed me?
*Angel's irritated expression slowly adopts a guardedly curious aspect.*
**ANGEL:** "Seagull?" No, that is not relevant. Do you truly understand where you are?
**DAVE:** I mean, honestly? No. I'm making this up as I go along.
**ANGEL:** Then I shall explain. When you were alive, you would experience visions while you slept.
**DAVE:** Aha! It was the cheese that did me in, then!
**ANGEL:** "Cheese?"
**DAVE:** Yeah, man. Steve said that it had gone off, but *I* said that it would just give me crazy...
**ANGEL:** (*Interrupting*) This is also not relevant! When you died, you fully entered those visions!
*Angel gestures to the plants around them.*
**ANGEL:** (*CONT'D*) This is the vestibule of the world that you would visit as you slumbered.
**DAVE:** I don't see a toilet.
**ANGEL:** Not "lavatory!" *Vestibule!* Threshold!
**DAVE:** Prosit!
**ANGEL:** ... What?
**DAVE:** It's Swedish for "gesundheit."
*A noise not unlike that of a creaking hinge escapes Angel's lips.*
**ANGEL:** Fine! I shall be very concise! You died! You entered the world you had only glimpsed!
**DAVE:** Yeah, and the rules are different here.
*With a clatter of wooden impacts and bouncing oars, the rowboat reappears.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) See?
**ANGEL:** You do not seem concerned with *following* those rules.
**DAVE:** Eh, what's the point? I'm just going to die here, too, and then it's back to the other place.
*Angel's mouth opens and closes several times.*
**ANGEL:** You *do* understand! You have indeed been dead!
**DAVE:** Well, yeah. I mean, I was pretty sure that it was all make-believe, but...
**ANGEL:** (*Interrupting*) How have you remembered?!
*Dave shrugs.*
**DAVE:** I didn't. Like I said, I'm making this up as I go along.
**ANGEL:** You are making very little sense, David.
**DAVE:** Isn't that kind of the point?
**ANGEL:** I am becoming both frustrated and confused.
**DAVE:** Ah. New experience for you?
**ANGEL:** I do not like it. How can you know these things?
**DAVE:** It was a nursery rhyme.
*Several seconds pass in silence.*
**ANGEL:** What?
**DAVE:** It's all recursive, right? Only, like, inside out.
**ANGEL:** *What?!*
**DAVE:** You die there, you go here, you die here, you go there, and so on.
**ANGEL:** How does any of that relate to a nursery rhyme?!
*Dave shrugs and sits down in the rowboat. As Angel watches him, it is revealed that there is a narrow river running between the two of them.*
**DAVE:** Hey, do you want a glass? I found an extra one.
**ANGEL:** No! I insist that you answer! How did a nursery rhyme give you such wisdom?!
*Angel watches as Dave begins rowing the boat with one hand, using the other to drink his (seemingly bottomless) glass of wine.*
**DAVE:** Life is but a... bah, you get it.
FADE TO BLACK.
| 2021-07-01T15:49:54 | 2021-07-01T13:42:41 | 388 | 42 |
[WP] You are a famous hero, recognized far and wide. You stand before a locked door with an altar reading "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed". You stand naked with all your belongings stacked on altar. The door doesn't budge. Your party is getting impatient.
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The famous hero stands before the final gates. The final judgement. "sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed"
The hero stacks all of their belongings upon the altar, even stripping down all of their clothes and places them on the altar. "That is it, I have nothing else of value" the hero whimpers toward the gate.
But the gate held still.
"Unless" the hero says, hand hovering above the altar. "Do you think I am that selfish? That the thing that I most hold dear is myself?" The hero shouts angrily at the gate.
As if to make a point the hero steps onto the altar, standing beside their belongings. "I would do ANYTHING to pass!"
But the gate held still.
The hero sat on the altar, eyes wide in confusion. "This is all that I have, and I give it freely. Why won't you open?" They wondered, perhaps the altar was a ruse, a red herring? But that couldn't be, not in this place. There was no reason for it. No the test was true, it had to be. The hero sat for hours, giving the only thing they still felt they had left. Time.
But the gate held still.
The hero had fought dragons, stopped forest fires, helped the homeless. They had given everything they had every day of their life, and it felt like a trivial matter to do so again at the gate.
But the gate held still.
"I lost my family." The hero mumbled, but as they spoke their voice grew shrill and angry. I lost my wife, my children." The hero punched the door, tears running down their face as they shouted. "I have lost more than I could possibly place on this altar! Compared to what I have already sacrificed to get here I have NOTHING"
But the gate held still.
The hero fell against the gate, and slid to a sitting position. They saw the faces of everyone they held dear in the fog. They saw those who had been saved, and those who they had failed to save. "I have nothing left." the hero muttered over and over, occasionally testing the door 'just in case'.
The gate held still.
Finally, the hero stood. Crying. There was one last thing they had of value. Something they had forgotten about. Taking a sheet of parchment and pen from their belongings, the hero began writing. They wrote for hours, accounting for every detail of their life, every person saved and every dark hour.
The gate held still, but the hero knew it was waiting.
Finally the hero finished their life story. Except for one final detail. To punctuate the hero's autobiography the hero spilled the one secret that undermined everything that they had ever done. The one secret the hero had kept so close, that even they had forgotten for a time.
"I write here my life story, but not because it has value. I write my life story here so every item of the ledger is accounted for. I may have forgotten some, I have lived a long life, but it truly is all that I can list. This story has been stolen. It was never mine to tell, nor mine to live. "
The gate shuddered as if to confirm that this was what it wanted.
"I stole this life. I wanted to know what it was like to live a mortal life. I must admit it was no mistake that I chose the life of a hero. The quests I undertook were meant for a mortal to undertake. The lives I saved were meant for another, even the wife and children I had lost were meant for another. But I stole all of it. The hero was never born, because I stole their skin. I did not win against the odds. Every moment of this story has been stolen, and can never be returned."
|
It always rains in Trenshorn, buckets and jars overflow by habit, and that is why the fishlings chose it as their place of settlement. Only, it doesn't rain today. The sun scorches us from overhead and everywhere there is a smell of dried cod.
"Let's just head back, Banaroth. That door won't budge."
Our spellcaster picks up a handful of soil and inspects it closely. "Yes. I can see it clearly. We're not getting in."
They are a timid bunch dressed in leather rags pilfered, I suspect, from villagers even more timid than the members of my party. "Ghuzanne! Pelori! What is this I hear? Do you not have faith in your leader?"
Wenneth the archer gulps. "It is not that we don't have faith, Banny—I mean Banaroth—it's just that ..."
"It's just that we've been standing here for an hour," says Ghuzanne. Her arms are folded and she's looking mighty strict though she's standing before the legendary hero of Arncast: Banaroth the Intrepid.
"Also there's a festival in town. We don't want to miss it." Perlori snacks on her soil.
At the altar in front of us lies my Saber of Valor, Staff of Obedience, Ring of Fortune, Ring of Fortitude, the Elk-Ranger Talisman, some coins, my shoes, my armor, and all my clothes and items. All of it. It sits in a great pile. *Sacrifice that which you hold most dear to proceed* reads the inscription on the door but I haven't got anything left to sacrifice.
"Well, perhaps we should head back before the rain."
Ghuzanne looks around. "I don't think there's going to be rain. The sky's all clear."
"It always rains in Trenshorn."
"But it's not raining right now, is it?" says Wenneth and rage rushes through my rivers of blood.
These younglins have no respect for sayings. My mother told me when I was but a child that it always rains in Trenshorn and I believed her. It was the truth. When I arrived for the very first time in the town it didn't rain and as it happens I can't recall ever having been here when it rained. But those are exceptions that prove the rule. It always rains in Trenshorn.
"Just because it doesn't rain right now," I tell him, "that doesn't mean it doesn't always rain. You, Wenneth, always have something clever to say. Not that I've ever heard you say something clever. But that doesn't mean it's not true."
Wenneth loads his bow with a sullen look. "Maybe your life is what you hold most dear? Would make sense, wouldn't it?"
"W-What?"
"Oh! That must be the answer to the riddle," Pelori says and she claps her hands. Soil flies everywhere.
"Or maybe it's that snail between your legs," says Ghuzanne.
"Snail! What, I ... You can't even see it from where you're standing."
"I don't think I'd be able to see it no matter where I was standing."
They all laugh and the humiliation is complete. I release a deep sigh of resignation. "Okay. Fine. Let's head back. Let's just forget all about questing and exploration and adventure and let's just enjoy ourselves at the festival."
The goblins *cheer*.
"I'm so excited for the food!" screams Pelori.
"... You eat mud," I grumble, "why are you excited about the food?"
"Whoa whoah. Pelori eats soil for her divination. She gets her intel from the worms." Ghuzanne turns her hear towards Pelori. "That's right, isn't it?"
Pelori nods. She's chewing on something. I bet it's mud. She's not even prophesying anything. She's just eating it. I want to make a comment but I doubt they'll take my side.
I walk over to the altar to retrieve my belongings. I consider their combined value and I reflect on the memories they represent. I was a young man back when I got most of them. Like Wenneth. They all represent danger and hope and the importance of facing your fears no matter the odds—well except for my clothes because those are just my clothes. It's not like my socks mean anything.
There was a reason why I wanted to bring them here, to Trenshorn, where it always rains. This was where it all began. Where I met him. My mentor. I joined a party and we traveled all over the realm fighting monsters and crawling through dungeons and taking on whatever job happened to be available. And we did it all together. I wonder what those guys are doing now. Those who remain, I mean.
I've never seen a fishling. My mother used to tell me stories, about how they'd be caught in fishermen's nets, about their great plight from the ocean to the town of Trenshorn. I thought I'd found one once but turned out it was only a merman. He hadn't even been to Trenshorn.
"Uh, Banaroth? Are you alright?"
Wenneth clears his throat. "I think he's having a senior moment," he says in a hushed voice.
I ignore them and I lean down to pick up the Staff of Obediance. Perhaps I can just give it a little swing to teach them some respect for their elders. No, they'd only end up mocking me for it later.
As I reach down I feel a pain in my back. "Oh!" I shout as I fall down on the altar, hitting my head on the Elk-Ranger Talisman. "Ow ..."
"Wait, that's ..."
"Huh?"
"It's ... It's not even the size of a snail!"
They laugh and none of them ask me if I'm alright after that nasty fall. A lone tear escapes my eye and I hurry to wipe it off so that they won't see. But wait. There's movement. The alter lights up, green and fluorescent.
"The door! The door is opening!" shouts Ghuzanne.
Pelori opens her mouth wide and soil drips down her chin.
It opened? But how?
Slowly the insides are revealed; walls covered in gold and jewels poking out from the ground, glittering. It is the greatest treasure trove I have ever laid my weary eyes on.
Someone clears their throat. "Greetings, Banaroth the Intrepid. You have sacrificed that which you hold most dear and now you shall receive your rightful reward."
There's someone standing in the entrance. He looks like a man, though somewhat sickly. His skin is grey, his eyes bulging out from their sockets, and his gills are slimy and—wait. Gills? "Y-You are a fishling?"
"Oh," says the man. "Yes. That's right."
There are oohs and awws coming from my party. They can't believe it. And neither can I.
"But what did I sacrifice exactly?" I ask the fishling. A fishling! My mother's stories were all true! I knew it all along of course. I never doubted them for a second.
The fishling makes a gesture with his webbed hands. "What you sacrificed, Banaroth the Intrepid, was nothing short of your pride. It was your greatest treasure. Now it is no more."
Oh. That's right. They saw my snail. I mean, my—
"T-This is incredible," says Ghuzanne.
"Great work, Banny!"
"Very clever, boss. You intentionally made us ridicule you so that you could elegantly collapse on the altar, deprived of your precious pride." Wenneth nods sagely.
"Oh ... Intentionally. Yes. Of course."
The fishling smiles. "You best get dressed. And you should all come inside: it always rains in Trenshorn."
My heart swells but if this feeling in my chest is not pride, what then? I cast a glance back at my pile of rubble and my party. They're cheering and running around in ecstasy. Of course. This is not pride.
This feeling is that of gratitude.
| 2022-10-10T13:44:17 | 2022-10-10T12:01:18 | 169 | 51 |
[WP] “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand.
|
“Ah, professor? I don’t really think humans are all that peaceful.”
“Have you used nuclear weapons on each other?”
“Twice.”
“Have you used chemical weapons on each other?”
“More times than could be recorded?”
“Practiced biological warfare?”
“For hundreds of years.”
“Torture?”
“Thousands of years.”
“Slavery?”
“For all of recorded history.”
“Matricide? Fratricide? Infanticide? Genocide?”
“Four-for-four, yeah.”
“Thermonuclear weapons?”
“Tested, I think. Never used.”
“Hydrogen bombs?”
“Same.”
“Laser evisceration?”
“Technically yes, but only in surgical settings.”
“Cerebral neuron critical stimulation?”
“No?”
“Nightmare agony?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Solar malfeasance?”
“I do not know what that is.”
“See? Y’all aren’t so bad. You should read the next chapter, the one about your neighbors. Mars was a shitshow.”
“Mars? Really?”
“Venus might’ve been worse. But at least there’s still an atmosphere.”
|
In the year 2347, Humanity was doing pretty well for itself. However, to understand that vague statement, we need to take a look backwards, first. Having discovered the secrets to Alcubierre Drive Technology in the year 2204, humans were quick to start expanding beyond the reach of the local systems. The Great Expansion, as it had come to be known, was a golden age of Human exploration, and a welcome return to form for the adventurous spirits of Humanity. It barely took decades for people to take advantage of the new opportunities that lay on the distant horizons beneath new stars, and soon Humanity’s reach and activity was unfathomable. However, the thing that REALLY threw humanity for a loop was the package they received from a distant star system relatively close to the Galactic Core, from an impossible source: Aliens.
Freaking Aliens, man. Their message was vast, and soon enough it was decided by the brightest minds as something of a first contact package. Well, it was actually a Video dictionary, if you’d believe it, but it did the trick. As soon as the files were decoded, our best linguists and programmers were quick to translate it into human terms, and soon after that, we were able to learn their purpose: the Aliens wanted to meet us.
We were thrilled, but tentative as should be expected. War with an Alien Species was something that no person wanted to fathom, even if we had the technology to escape any reasonable efforts to track us down and make a new home for ourselves elsewhere. So, we spent a good long time figuring out our game plan, policies and approach to first contact, before we sent an ambassadorial convoy to meet them at long last. They had almost given up hope, but were eager to meet with us once we sent them back their probe, complete with an updated translational dictionary.
After that, our two species started to cooperate, and life became so much more exciting! It took a century, but finally, things were seeming fairly stable between us.
Back to my original statement, however, you might see how I’d think that things were looking up for us. By now, Humans and the Aliens - we’d taken to calling them the Voracians - had finally become close enough for us to start engaging in cultural exchanges, so that leads to this: Me, and two others, were formally accepted to study at The Voracian Institute for Vocational Instruction, or VIVI-U, as we liked to call it.
It was a mere two weeks before me and my compatriots were thrown for a loop, however, when the Lecturer for the day sat all of us down and started explaining our next topic for learning.
The Voracian Lecturer, Kraath Ifnloib, standing at a paltry 6’7 and weighing a mere 347 pounds, was quick to clap his meaty paws and bring us to a silent murmur as he cleared his throat and opened his maw, to begin with:
“Salutations, my eager pupils! Today is a very important day for us all here at the, ‘Vee-Vee-Yew’! For the first time since our introduction to Humanity a century past, we will be learning about Solar History alongside three of Humanity’s most promising and agreeable intellects! Might I declare, it’s a thrilling prospect for me, personally, to be given this rare opportunity!”
Humans were long-familiar with the quirks of translational ethics, so his odd speech patterns were mostly ignored by us. However, we couldn’t help the awkward laugh we gave as a unit, especially considering our circumstances.
It… was never openly discussed, but… the Voracians were, essentially, giant, sentient Teddy Bears, to us. Not LITERALLY, of course, but - the resemblance was uncanny. Shockingly lightweight, considering their frames. Soft, fluffy, short fur. Warm brown tones. Cute, button-like eyes. Most had the personality to match, too. Or, at least we thought they did. The vast majority of us could hardly take them seriously - which is why our group was chosen: we were the ones who were mostly resistant to the Teddy Charm, as the Extranet Lurkers would likely call it.
However, even the most resilient minds would flinch at the prospect of discussing such sordid things with the cuddly besties we just found. It’s like discussing your exes on a first date. Of course, if it was your PARTNER discussing your exes, what the hell are you supposed to do, but simply smile and nod?
The Lecturer, unfortunately, was pretty quick to take our awkward rebuttal as eagerness, so he started his… lecture.
The first minute was just confusing. The Voracian students were excellent, however, and didn’t notice our confused glances. However, by the time he had finished discussing our specie’s immediate and smooth societal amelioration of the first millennium, we finally understood… and we couldn’t help but notice how pale we had all gotten.
“… Of course, this time of wonderful medical research and negotiation leads us to one of the most romantic periods of human history! The Renaissance! I remember, my favourite Human Colleague, Doctor Amanda Sykes, was more than pleased to tell me all about the wondrous works of art and the mechanical engineering work that was done, and based on how she was talking about their fascination with Human Anatomy, I could only assume that they had figured out MRI scanning technologies, too! The Vitruvian Man series was so wonderfully detailed! An excellent combination of Medical Technology and Artistry!”
| 2022-10-17T09:03:16 | 2022-10-17T07:12:23 | 100 | 30 |
[WP] A depressed guy moves into a haunted house with 7 demons, each corresponding to a deadly sin. But, they're all trying to help him get back on his feet; Pride helps with self confidence, Lust helps him get laid, etc.
|
When the burglar comes a knockin, and kicks down your front door
you wake up as he walks in, at night at half past four.
You cower and you tremble, you call your 911.
But since you have the deadly sins, your fun has just begun.
You wake me up this late at night? **Sloth** has got your back.
You flex your muscles, grab your bat, and plan out your attack.
I paid good money for that TV, **Greed** screams in your head.
Your fear forgotten, lunge at him with murderous rage instead.
With just a bat, when the robber has a brand-new gun?
**Envy** nudges you to grab it as he's overrun.
You **Lust** for blood, you fire the gun, and he falls to the ground
And **Wrath** steps in to fire again to make him truly downed.
A heart of **Pride** beating warm and strongly in your chest,
You grab a snack for **Gluttony** and head to bed to rest.
|
The seven original demons sat around a bloody pentagram in Jerry’s basement. Candles burned at all six points of the star, providing the only light to chase away the shadows. For centuries, the Cardinal Demons had haunted this property in between spreading death and torment throughout the world. Every person who had ever lived here had ruined their lives with irreversible consequence. Then they met Jerry—a twenty-five year old balding man-child stuck in a dead end job who had already been divorced twice. Truly, there was no hell like being Jerry.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Pride growled. “Jerry just got passed up for promotion by the high school kid. What the hell are we doing?”
Envy just gaped. “A high school kid? Jerry’s got a doctorate!”
“Look, we gotta do something about this,” Pride exclaimed.
“Why?” Sloth asked, his words slow and drawn out. “Why do we have to do any of this?”
“Because we are the *original* sins!” Pride hissed. “And with all our power, this god damn sack of shit Jerry is still getting passed up for promotions by high schoolers. What the hell do you think that means for us?”
Envy crossed her arms. “I bet the rest of the demons are laughing at us as we speak—the Seven Cardinal, look how far you’ve fallen. I bet those damnable horsemen think they can use this as a power grab.”
“And take away our position?” Greed exclaimed. “Over my dead body.”
Wrath shook her head. “Over *Jerry’s* dead body.”
“Shit guys,” Pride said. “We can kill the poor bastard whenever we want. Hell, we’d be doing him a favor. But first we got to turn his life around at least!”
“Perhaps the company of another girl might do the trick.” Lust licked her lips and took the form of a gorgeous blonde.
“You saying *you’re* going to fuck him?” Sloth asked.
“Hell no!” Lust reverted back to her tentacled self. “Are you kidding me? *Jerry!?* I’d sooner practice abstinence. We’ll just have him buy another prostitute.”
“Not again,” Greed exclaimed. “All that did was drain his back account and then again when he had to go to the doctors for his twelve hour erection because all he really wanted to do was *talk* to her.”
“If you can even call that an erection,” Envy scoffed.
“What about more food?” Gluttony asked, spitting as he did. “We can have him eat his problems away.”
The other six Cardinal Demons stared at him.
“Shut up, Gluttony. You can’t eat your problems away!” Wrath said. “No, he needs to take his boss by the balls and demand a promotion.”
“Or he takes his boss by the balls and asks nicely for one,” Lust said. “Asks *real* nicely.”
“Guys!” Pride slammed his webbed fingers into the floor, the impact blowing out the candles around them. “We need a real plan, alright? None of these bullshit gimmicks. They won’t work on a guy like Jerry. He’s too much of a loser. The guy’s got literally nothing going for him, he’s going to be completely bald by the time he’s 26 and not even the original succubus will sleep with him. And she’d fuck anything with a pulse!”
Lust shrugged. “It’s true.”
“It’s a lost cause,” Wrath said. “We’re better off killing everybody in this world so we can start fresh. Maybe the new world won’t have Jerry, the human buzzkill.”
The other demons nodded in unison. Destroying the world would certainly restore some of their credibility as Cardinal Demons. Someone cleared their throats. The Seven Demons turned toward it.
“Who dares spy on the Cardinal Demons?” Pride growled and all the candles alit, revealing Jerry.
“Hey guys,” Jerry said, barely managing a smile. They couldn’t tell if he was sad or not because he was always just barely managing a smile.
“Shit, Jerry, how long have you been there?” Envy asked.
Jerry scratched his thinning hair. “Since the beginning,” he said. “I… uh… didn’t have too great of a day so I thought the basement would help me clear my mind.”
“God damn it, Jerry, the basement?” Pride’s brow raised. “C’mon man, you need sunshine and laughter and uh...” his voice trailed off. If he knew what Jerry needed, Jerry would not be in the basement during a meeting of the Cardinal Demons. “So you heard all of it?”
Jerry gave off a dying chuckle. “Don’t worry, nothing new.”
“Holy shit you’re depressing,” Envy muttered.
“Yeah,” Jerry agreed.
A brittle silence settled between them.
“Um… I gotta go,” Wrath said before disappearing into a poof of fire.
The rest of the demons quickly followed suite, all coming up with some excuse to leave until only Jerry and Gluttony remained. The demon turned to Jerry, scratching his belly. “Jerry, my boy,” he said, “let me teach you about all the problems eating can solve.”
Jerry shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like things can get any worse, I suppose. What do you have in mind?”
"I'm going to teach you to eat your problems away." Gluttony laughed, spewing crumbs everywhere. “Have you ever heard the name Kobayashi?”
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories a week!
| 2017-06-27T00:00:41 | 2017-06-26T22:52:11 | 492 | 331 |
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry!
|
It all happened so fast. I was going into town for a shovel. Earlier that day I'd broken one digging a drain trench out behind the barn.
Now I was sitting at a table in a room with a long mirror along the wall. The kind you see in a cop movie where they are shaking down a suspect.
Oh fuck. I'm a suspect. But for what. I barely leave the farm.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way", and middle aged man in a suit was entering the room . He had a briefcase and a tablet. Closely behind him was another man. He appeared to be some high ranking military officer.
"Umm I really don't......." I was cut off.
"Don't play dumb with us James. You have to know why you're here." he was clearly annoyed with me.
Then it hit me. Dad's brother Pete spends a lot of time up in the back corner of the farm at the edge of the forest and he always smells like weed.
"That mother fucker! Listen, it was dad's brother. He's always up there. If you're looking for the weed he's the guy you want! " My voice was starting to crack, I was scared as hell.
"We don't care about the weed, we found that about an hour ago" The military man took the tablet from the suit.
"It's the global calculated rankings son." he was swiping his finger over the screen. "This showed up on the new rankings section at 8:43 this morning!"
He slid the tablet across the table. A new page was displayed on the screen. Only one entry was on the list.
\*\*New Category\*\*
\*\*05/04/2019\*\*
\*\*Most Extraterrestrial Invaders Killed Or Defeated\*\*
1. James Marshall (1 Kill)
​
​
The suit looked a little angry but now he mostly looked scared.
"We just want some insight into what we might be up against"
​
The only problem was.
I had no idea.
EDIT: wow. I’m really blown away by the response to this. Thanks so much everyone.
I really had intended to leave it at that but I do have an idea where it’s going. If I like where it goes I’ll continue.
|
Lilli Cooper did not want to be in town for longer than she had to. Jamie, her little brother, was alone back at the ranch, and if she didn't return before nightfall, bad things would happen to either him or the livestock. Maybe to both, if he were as foolish as he usually was. She'd already lost her father this year. She didn't plan on losing Jamie too.
She was used to people staring at her, on account of her hair and her scars. They'd used to stare at her dad, too, when they'd come into town together, to gather supplies for the ranch -- for the machinery and guns and animals. But her father would just shoot those onlookers a menacing glance of his own, and sure as the sunsets each evening, their eyes would fall down to their shoelaces, as if they'd found something awful interesting down there.
"Why they always watching us, dad?" she'd once asked.
"Don't you worry about them, Lilli," he'd replied. "They'd just scared, is all."
"Scared of what, pa?"
"Of me not being 'round no longer."
She nodded but she hadn't really understood. Did he mean because they wouldn't get their corn or their eggs?
"Ain't no one 'round who can protect them. 'Cept you and me, Lil."
"Me?" she'd said, astonished to be included. She didn't protect no one from nothing, except the field-mice from the ranch's cats. She couldn't even think what her pop protected people from, 'cept maybe hunger.
He grinned at her, his green eyes sparkling jewels in his leathery face. "They don't know how good you're going to be, my little Lilli. But once you're eighteen, then they'll know."
How many years ago had that been? Five, maybe. A long time, in anyone's books. She remembered that it had been a few weeks after that visit into town, that she'd started staying up late into the night with her father, to watch over the livestock.
She sighed and wished she had a menacing glance of her own, or even a scowl, that could make those people staring at her look down at their shoes. But they didn't turn away from her gaze. They just stared right back at her at her as she walked past.
"I miss you, pa," Lilli whispered, as she walked into the general store, glad to get out of the heat. It was one of those days when it wasn't raining, but your skin was still as wet and slick as if it had been; the shop's air-conditioning felt like an angel blowing on her neck. She grabbed a sweating canister of oil from off a shelf, and half-dragged it to the counter.
"Hi Randolf," she said, hauling the oil in front of her. The shopkeeper was one of the few people in town who never looked at her -- or her father, previous -- in a way that made her self conscious.
The old man adjusted his glasses. "Well, well, well -- if it isn't little Lilli Cooper!" he said, clapping his dry hands together. "I thought a big old pumpkin had floated into my shop for a moment there." She laughed shyly and ran a hand through her curly ginger hair.
"How have you been? I've not seen you since--" He paused in thought. Then, as he remembered his face fell. He knew the old man was picturing the casket. The church. He forced a smile and said, "You've got his eyes, you know."
"Just wish I had his stare, is all."
Randolf ignored the remark and continued, "It sure is good to see you, little Lilli. How's life on the ranch?"
"Oh, you know, same as always," she replied. "Long days, longer nights." It was a line her father often used, and it had fallen out of her mouth as if his ghost had possessed her, if only for a second. She fished out some notes from her pocket and placed them on the counter.
Randolf smiled kindly. "Oh no, I won't be accepting any of that from you."
Lilli paused. "You won't let me buy it?"
"Buy from me?! Of course I won't let you! Whatever you need in here is yours for free, just like it always was for your father. It's enough that your bring customers to me just by using my shop. They know it must be quality goods, ey?"
She frowned, puzzled. "Well, that's very kind of you. I guess that means I can buy a little extra ammunition more than I planned."
"Oh, I don't think Frank will be charging you either, you know. He never charged your father. Do you know, Frank's only son was taken by... uh." He bit his tongue and paused momentarily. "By *them.* Body was never found... just the remains of what they'd eaten. He's more grateful to you and your dad than anyone in town."
"Eaten?" Her father had never told her anything about that. Eaten by what, she was about to ask, when she felt something touch her back. She turned, to see a wiry man in the queue behind her. In the very *long* queue. That was peculiar... The shop had been empty when she'd come in, and now there was ten or more people lined up. Two of them didn't even seem to be holding anything.
"Oh, do excuse me," said the man who had fallen into her back. A middle-aged man with a head as bald and shiny a just-popped-out egg. "I got pushed and... It was an accident." He was sweating, even in the air conditioned shop.
"That's... okay," said Lilli. "Really." She grabbed the oil canister and thanked Randolf, then headed for the door.
"Hey!" came a yell, as she was half out of the shop. It was the man who had fallen into her. "I just wanted to say... You're doing God's work on your ranch, young lady. Ranked three in the United State -- and from our town, of all places. I just wanted to say, thank you. And... And kill one of those bastards for me tonight!"
Ranked three? At what, she wondered. Sure as heck wasn't at corn production, or she wouldn't be wearing clothes with more holes than a colander. Lilli half-wanted to ask, but the afternoon was getting late and she needed to get ammo then get home. Her little brother wouldn't be able to protect the animals alone. His aim wasn't like hers.
"You're welcome?" she said to the man, eyebrows raised. Then, she walked out of the door and headed to Frank's Firearms.
---
/r/nickofnight
| 2019-05-04T11:15:23 | 2019-05-04T09:33:01 | 6,214 | 2,669 |
[WP] You brace yourself for the worst as the witch tells you the effects of the curse she just placed on you. As she finishes, you blink. "So...what's the downside again?"
|
The witch Merid sighed in disbelief before condescendingly scorning me.
​
"I can't believe how much of a contemptible fool you truly are. All that all of you baseborn oafs ever do is choose to live a fruitless life anyways, even when you have been blessed with the opportunities to do so much more. The world is so vast that it is statistically impossible for any one person to know it all, that there is mystery and wonder in everything around us, and yet you choose to do nothing but indulge yourself in video games, pornography, and alcoholic beverages. I find your primitive lifestyle in distaste; it is absolutely repulsive and is smeared in nothing but filth. It is of little matter now, however, for you who has wasted your gift of life, I shall now curse you with a life of meaning. You will still be able to lavish yourself in alcohol, but you shall never fall into drunken stupor. Pornography will no longer exist in the form you are very so familiar with and video games no longer exist. You will now spend the rest of your days contemplating who you were, how you ever came to be, and why you appeared when you did. Sleep now, my child, for you will one day be the instrument of my cleansing light and wipe clean the foul perversions of life."
​
Before I knew it, my vision became shrouded in darkness. I felt a strange heat emanating from the ceiling, as if the light of the sun's rays had pierced through the roof. I heard sounds, horses? How did horses get inside the witch's house? They tapped against the ground as if they were stepping on stone and dirt. Was I outside? Where was I earlier? Who am I? I can't seem to remember or recall a memory. I opened my eyes and found myself in a wooden cart trotting down a mountainous path decorated in boulder and pine trees. There were three men who sat in the carriage with me, and to my discovery, all of our hands were bound. They all dressed strangely, and before I could ask the man to the right of me why he had some sort of cloth muzzle going on, I heard,
​
"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there."
|
People in today's day and age are much more clueless of the world around them than they think they are. To be honest, the newest generations - Millennial and Generation Z - are probably the most open to the underlying magic turmoil that fils the air. It is what leaves them tired, fatigued and absolutely defeated inside. I am neither of these generations, as I was born several hundred years ago during the insurgence of witchcraft in Europe. I was brought under the wing of my father, Lawrence Randall, when he realized that he would have no sons. I struggled for a decade and a half to prove my worth as a female witch hunter in the mid 1600s but eventually I received his blessing after I found him dying from a failed witch hunt. We always want to give our victims no time to prepare curses before we stake, burn or behead them.
Curses aren't something that are just spoken in half-assed rhyme like most modern day witchcraft is portrayed. No, it takes a certain alignment of stars, planets, moons, even comets as well as ingredients, mastery and weather states to complete a true curse. When you add lineage long curses into the mix, the process becomes even more complicated with certain rocks, crystals, potions and ages old dirt. I had attempted to go after a similarly powerful clairvoyant witch in order to train to kill the one that ended my father's life shortly after only to be cursed with an eternity of nomadic necessity. The stake did end up piercing the deepest parts of her cold, black heart but to this day, four hundred years later I am still accursed with boils and sores if I stay in the same town lines for over three moon cycles in thirty three years. Basically the bitch had the hots for the number three.
​
So I found myself staring at the signs of a very old and very powerful witchcraft practicer that decided to pop up near the edges of Chicago. I recognized the type of magic that this individual wielded almost immediately and knew that I had finally found her, Millicent. She had been able to keep off of my radar for nearly four centuries and it was time I put her head on a spike. I had nearly caught her there in that loud and annoyingly bright city scape but she had been quicker, older with her knowledge. She was willing to harm other innocents while I was not, leaving me only able to let her flee. Perhaps if the encounter happened when I was in my 50th or 100th year I would have killed her right then and there and allowed the lightning she brought to strike down anyone around us but age made me appropriately soft.
​
Wisdom, when truly earned, brings soft curves to the hard edge of anger and passion as it is better to fight a battle with a sword and shield than your bare hands. She has had too long to prepare for me, six whole moon cycles until finally I have pinned her down in Wexford, right nearby where I am staying while I ready for battle. You see, witchcraft in itself is not my enemy but the ones that misuse it in order to harm others or unbalance the workings of life. The best way to protect myself, the best possible shield that I can have is witchcraft itself. So I boiled, ground, muttered incantations and charted my skies. I drew the marks all over my skin with herb and stone grinds filled oil until they burned tattoos into my Scandinavian skin. The swirls and patterns of long-dead languages etched into my skin in patterns bursting out from my seven chakras would ripple into appearance when around negative energies and when hit with curses.
​
I drew her out of Wexford with the ebbing flow of my marks and was greeted on southern beaches by an etherial looking raven haired woman. To the untrained eye, she was a beautiful woman in her early thirties with the darkest hair and the lightest grey eyes, but too me she was a bag of long ago decomposed bones allowed to live through taking energy from others like a gluttonous spiritual zombie. In hand I had a long dagger, long ago forged in the metal from the ground she was born on as only could she be returned to the abyss with the ground that she first came to life on. She looked at it and me like toothpicks, like card castles in a thunderstorm and cackled as one does when they leap from the pan with no knowledge of the flames below.
​
The first negative waves of magic that she threw at me were simple child's play - brought to life without vocalization as a show of her power. My Heart and Solar Plexus Chakras grew hot and then the markings glowed into behind from my chest and ribcage out over the rest of my body, up over my face and into my hair line down to the very soles of my feet. "Millicent! You insult me! Come now, stop playing with your food!" And that is when she drew her sword. I was annoyed with her old traditionalist view of battle but I came more than prepared, having my own long sword on my hip.
​
The clashing of steel brought wondrous ringing in my ears as she started to curse me, chipping away at my shield while also sapping away at her own strength. When my sword cut through her pretty little neck, it simply rolled right back onto her shoulders but it gave me the time to grasp at the dagger, the sweat dripping into my eyes and the unsteady pounding of my immortal heart getting in my way. Couldn't I have been cursed to not have a beating heart as well? Nonetheless, a part of my deepest corners of my soul seemed to click in place when my dagger buried itself up under her ribs into the life giver of her evil filled corpse.
​
That was not the only thing to happen, the moment I saw the light leave her eyes, a wave of destructive magic swept out from around her like I had popped the top of a high pressured toxin. In my own head I heard her slithering voice piercing into my psyche, breathing through any shield I could have gotten ready "\*Sybil Heksmordir, I curse thee. You shall live the rest of your immortality the way you lived your human life, never having a man to love you without dying in tragedy. Any and all male lovers shall perish from your affections of them and your body shall never bear the fruit of affections with a man."
Curses like this, what one could call Dead Man Switches, curses set into place only to hit if the witch dies are impossible to protect against since they usually have centuries of building behind them. I didn't mind much though.
As the light of the bonfire burned on the sand behind me as I walked away, appreciated the smell of burnt witch in the near morning, I smiled and wondered. Didn't she know that I am a raging immortal lesbian?
| 2019-06-25T15:59:55 | 2019-06-25T15:23:02 | 35 | 10 |
[WP] Desperate for work, you’ve accepted a job in private security, guarding an ominous mansion. You’re given a gun and told to let no one in the gate without a code. When a car full of quipping, flirting, arrogant people show up at the gate, it dawns on you: you’ve been hired as a henchman.
|
I sighed as the supervisor for my last minute security job droned on.
"And no one is allowed on the premises. So if you see anyone radio me and I'll come down and take care of it,"
My hand travelled to the gun holster on my belt.
"Then what's the gun for?" I queried.
The supervisor barely looked up from his clip board "It's just flash. No one is going to give you a hard time if they see the gun. It only has one bullet anyway,"
The left side of my mouth scrunched up as I tried to piece this situation all together.
"I don't know a lot about guns," I replied "but I feel like a rule is you're not supposed to flash them around?"
Another guard standing by quickly replied "It's probably not gonna matter,"
The supervisor stared at me through his shades. "You're at the gatehouse kid. No code no entry,"
Even though his statement was matter-of-fact I still found myself having the usual first day questions.
"Well what if there's a delivery?" I chimed
"No code no entry," his tone was flat
"Late guests?"
"No code, no entry,"
"But what if-"
The supervisor held up his hand "No code. NO ENTRY," as he spoke each word he flailed the clipboard until it was centimeters from my face.
"No code. No entry," i relented.
**
My eyes kept finding reasons to close as the night wore on. At first it was a rush of incoming guests at the gate. Their clothes were drenched in luxury and they barely saw me as they tapped the code in. One by one they waltzed by, unafraid of the scraggly youth with his rent-a-pistol. As the crowd thinned at the gate, the mansion boomed with laughter and music.
"Why couldn't i be the kitchen guard" i mumbled to myself in between naps. I found myself, again, questioning all my life choices that lead me to this very moment. A quick job that turned into a necessary career because bills don't care about your dreams. A girlfriend fed up with the monotony of mediocre American life. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as I felt the heat of personal responsibility rise up in my blood.
Suddenly, as if to remove me from my sleep-like stupor a car full of intensely sexy individuals drove up to the guard house. A sharp double honk of the horn grabbed my attention.
The car was a smooth glossy black so shiny you could brush your teeth in the reflection and never miss a spot. As the driver side window rolled down I got a good look inside.
A redheaded woman with eyes that pierced through my soul. A black man with the most handsome face I've ever seen. A pair of twins, one female one male who at certain angles seemed to switch genders. And the driver wore shades that barely covered the fact that his eyes were glowing.
"Excuse us can we-"
I put my finger up "You guys are superheroes aren't you?"
Everyone in the car looked very nervous, they all start reaching for what I assume were weapons.
"Hold on hod on. They paid me up front," I tossed the gun at the driver " I gotta start making changes in my life and I'm gonna start doing that before you break all my bones and incinerate my coworkers."
The driver looked very confused, as did his needlessly sexy cohorts. "Are you sure, we have the codes,"
I wave him off "You misunderstand, friend. If I let you through with the code they're gonna know I let you in and didn't warn them. If I warn them you'll definitely shoot me with those eye lasers or something. So I am trapped between a rock and a hard place- millenial life, am i right?"
The handsome black man snorted "You know it, "
"This guy gets it. So here's what's up don't murder me? Please? And I'll let you through to do whatever it is you need to do-"
One of the twins interjected "Destroy a superhuman smuggling cartel,"
"Right you can do that. And I can get a better job. Maybe as a poster worker or perhaps a dramatic sign holder. Just a job that doesn't end with me being pummelled. Or blasted. Or...Skewered? Is that your shtick?"
The redhead dropped her head "Yeah I was totally gonna stab you if you didn't cooperate,"
"But I am cooperating. Now. In this very moment. So killing me is superfluous"
I opened the gate and stepped out of the guard house. As I walked away from the mansion it began to explode in what I could only assume was a very visually arresting and costly battle.
I didn't care though I had to apply to some new jobs.
|
**Part 1:**
Morty stared out at the empty drive ahead of him, counting the seconds until his shift ended, his boredom accentuated by the occasional chirp of a cricket or hoot of an owl from the surrounding forest. His fingers drummed restlessly on the holster at his belt. At first, the gun had freaked him out, I mean, seriously, a real, loaded weapon? No training? Just his signature on the employment contract? But after night after night of the endless waiting, he was used to the weight on his hip.
He had, you know, taken it out a few times. Held it in his hands. Practiced a few “quick draws.”
“Freeze, scumbag!” He’d shout, pointing the weapon at a particularly ominous tree. “I hope it was worth it!” He’d hiss, leveling the weapon at an especially nefarious shrub. His second week on the job, he’d been trying to spin the gun around his finger, like they do in the movies, when the stupid thing discharged and blew a hole in the pavement, inches from his right foot.
“Shit! Shit! Oh Jesus!” He’d screamed, throwing it to the ground like a hot coal and leaping away in terror. His radio buzzed and a voice emanated from his headset a moment later: “Henderson. Report. We heard gunshots.” His boss, Jameson, had one of those deep, powerfully intimidating kind of voices, and in his panic, both at the gunshot still ringing in his ears and losing his job, his mouth moved faster than his brain. “Uhhh, no problem here. Nothing to report. Just scaring off some kids who were throwing rocks at the gate.”
There was a pause, then his boss spoke again, “Sounds good. Do you need a cleanup?”
*A cleanup?* Morty thought. *What the fuck does that mean?* “... nope!” he said cheerily into the radio. “No cleanup needed here!” *What do they think I did? Shoot a kid?*
Eventually, he decided it’d just been an office prank. Asking if he’d needed a cleanup crew indeed. But nonetheless, that had been the end of his impromptu practice session with the weapon. Now, it sat motionless on his belt, a mere accessory to augment the veneer of authority and self-dignity he’d pretend when looking at himself in the mirror dressed in his fancy uniform. The black outfit with red accents had a sharp, grave look, and always lent a somber tone to his practice sessions with the baton on his other hip, which he’d taken up with ferocity following the oh-shit-I-accidentally-nearly-shot-myself incident.
But tonight, he’d exhausted his limited vocabulary of fighting moves and karate noises with the baton. He’d exhausted fiddling with his official radio and he’d exhausted his patience for trying to identify distinct bird sounds. And thus, a mere halfway through his shift, he stood, watching the incoming drive, bored out of his mind.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” He groaned to himself, taking off his stylish beret with one hand while running the other through his hair. “You can do this Morty. It’s only” He checked his watch, “holy christ five more hours?!” He breathed, a long, arduous sound accompanying the outflow of air. “Ok. Five more hours. It could be worse. Just five more hours. Then, only” he did some more mental arithmetic “three more days until the weekend.” he said, voice trailing off. Some days, life just seemed impossible.
But then, with sudden wonder, Morty perked up. He heard something--a distant roar, an engine, rushing down the drive. *Visitors!* He thought, with sudden excitement. This was his favorite part of the job. Greeting the sporadic ensemble of strange personages who came to visit the mansion of Dr. Arcturo Borea, his ultimate employer. Speaking with an artificially deep, gruff voice, he’d pronounce, “Name and identification, please,” and they would *actually listen to him!* Then he’d walk--slowly, mind you--back to the little hut and check their names on the schedule listed, then compare the picture on the ID to the picture in the schedule. Lastly, he’d wave one of those little UV flashlights over the ID. He had no idea what he was looking for with that, but they always did it at airports and stuff, and there’d been one in his kit when he started, and boy did it make him feel cool. Then, just because he could, he’d slowly raise his eyes from the screen and give the expensive--Dr. Borea’s visitors *always* drove expensive cars--car a long probing look. At least, he thought it was probing. When he’d showed it to his girlfriend, she’d told him he just looked constipated. But still. He’d give the car a visual inspection, then slowly approach the vehicle, return their ID, then say, in that same, deep voice, “You can go on through now.”
So, with renewed vigor, Morty straightened, running a hair through his hair and fixing the Beret back in place. Quick work with his hands to straighten the uniform’s collar and shoulder accents, to verify all his gear was appropriately displayed on his belt, then he took up his post in the middle of the road, as the roar of the approaching engine grew rapidly louder. Only then did the thought strike him: *Wait... but there weren’t any visitors on the log for today.* Even as the thought began to sink in, a car screamed around the road, drifting through the curve masterfully, accelerating smoothly as it straightened out and continued to rocket straight towards him, with no hint of slowing down.
Morty, naturally, screamed. “AAAAGHAGAGGAGGHGGHGHGHGHGHH!!!!”
At the last possible moment, the car swerved sharply to avoid him, skidding off the road and spinning out of control, its rear end impacting with the brick foundation of the fence with a crunch.
Morty continued screaming. “AAGAGAGHHHGGHAAAGHAGH!!” His whole body was trembling. He had almost just been run down!
Morty’s screaming began to waver as he ran out of air, and as it did he heard the unmistakable sound of a car down opening. Four suspiciously attractive people exited the vehicle, two men and two women, their lean, muscled bodies taught in all the right places for their respective gender norms. Though he could easily differentiate their faces from one another, they each had that same, young-attractive-CW-warehouse vibe that made them somehow fade together in his mind in a vague blur of youth, fecundity, and overly perfect faces.
“Told you he wouldn’t move.” Said the taller of the two women, “You owe me fifty bucks. Borea hires competent muscle.”
“Oh, you’ll get your money, Moonfire.” The shorter of the two men, who’d been driving the vehicle, said with a perfect, rakish grin, then added seriously, “Just as soon as we shut down Borea’s bioweapon factory!”
The group came to a stop in front of Morty, who hadn’t moved from where he’d frozen in the middle of the street. They arrayed themselves in a tight knot in front of him in a perfectly photogenic fashion, their heights and physiques balanced in perfect visual harmony.
“Tsk Tsk Tsk” the woman, Moonfire, Morty guessed, said, her eyes tracing up the shorter man’s muscled physique. “All work and no play makes Shockwave a dull boy.” As she said it, she ran a finger up the side of his arm in a way that made Morty feel vaguely uncomfortable, like when that couple in your subway car starts making out loudly two seats over and at once you both do and don’t want to look.
“Now’s no time for joking around, Moonfire!” Said the other woman in an almost comically serious voice. “The world is counting on us! If Borea’s contagion is released on the black market, thousands will perish!”
“Yeah!” Said the taller man, twirling a... a sort of, staff? Morty guessed? Around his hand in a dramatic flourish. “We’ve got to get inside the gate, then infiltrate the auction, find out where the weapon is being held, then steal it and destroy it! And besides,” he said, flashing brilliant teeth in an eager, confident grin, “There’s bound to be a fight!”
In the manner of one who has nearly died, Morty found his mind focusing on the strangest details of this odd encounter. Such as, *Who were they explaining this all to? Him?* Or, *Why were they all standing so close together? Didn’t they realize normal people like some goddamn personal space?* Or, *Who actually legitimately uses the word ‘perish’ anymore?*
But, he didn’t ask the group any of those things. He didn’t ask them anything. Instead, he shouted, “You almost just hit me with your car! What the hell!”
| 2019-07-07T16:05:25 | 2019-07-07T14:48:48 | 72 | 22 |
[WP] Desperate for work, you’ve accepted a job in private security, guarding an ominous mansion. You’re given a gun and told to let no one in the gate without a code. When a car full of quipping, flirting, arrogant people show up at the gate, it dawns on you: you’ve been hired as a henchman.
|
I sighed as the supervisor for my last minute security job droned on.
"And no one is allowed on the premises. So if you see anyone radio me and I'll come down and take care of it,"
My hand travelled to the gun holster on my belt.
"Then what's the gun for?" I queried.
The supervisor barely looked up from his clip board "It's just flash. No one is going to give you a hard time if they see the gun. It only has one bullet anyway,"
The left side of my mouth scrunched up as I tried to piece this situation all together.
"I don't know a lot about guns," I replied "but I feel like a rule is you're not supposed to flash them around?"
Another guard standing by quickly replied "It's probably not gonna matter,"
The supervisor stared at me through his shades. "You're at the gatehouse kid. No code no entry,"
Even though his statement was matter-of-fact I still found myself having the usual first day questions.
"Well what if there's a delivery?" I chimed
"No code no entry," his tone was flat
"Late guests?"
"No code, no entry,"
"But what if-"
The supervisor held up his hand "No code. NO ENTRY," as he spoke each word he flailed the clipboard until it was centimeters from my face.
"No code. No entry," i relented.
**
My eyes kept finding reasons to close as the night wore on. At first it was a rush of incoming guests at the gate. Their clothes were drenched in luxury and they barely saw me as they tapped the code in. One by one they waltzed by, unafraid of the scraggly youth with his rent-a-pistol. As the crowd thinned at the gate, the mansion boomed with laughter and music.
"Why couldn't i be the kitchen guard" i mumbled to myself in between naps. I found myself, again, questioning all my life choices that lead me to this very moment. A quick job that turned into a necessary career because bills don't care about your dreams. A girlfriend fed up with the monotony of mediocre American life. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as I felt the heat of personal responsibility rise up in my blood.
Suddenly, as if to remove me from my sleep-like stupor a car full of intensely sexy individuals drove up to the guard house. A sharp double honk of the horn grabbed my attention.
The car was a smooth glossy black so shiny you could brush your teeth in the reflection and never miss a spot. As the driver side window rolled down I got a good look inside.
A redheaded woman with eyes that pierced through my soul. A black man with the most handsome face I've ever seen. A pair of twins, one female one male who at certain angles seemed to switch genders. And the driver wore shades that barely covered the fact that his eyes were glowing.
"Excuse us can we-"
I put my finger up "You guys are superheroes aren't you?"
Everyone in the car looked very nervous, they all start reaching for what I assume were weapons.
"Hold on hod on. They paid me up front," I tossed the gun at the driver " I gotta start making changes in my life and I'm gonna start doing that before you break all my bones and incinerate my coworkers."
The driver looked very confused, as did his needlessly sexy cohorts. "Are you sure, we have the codes,"
I wave him off "You misunderstand, friend. If I let you through with the code they're gonna know I let you in and didn't warn them. If I warn them you'll definitely shoot me with those eye lasers or something. So I am trapped between a rock and a hard place- millenial life, am i right?"
The handsome black man snorted "You know it, "
"This guy gets it. So here's what's up don't murder me? Please? And I'll let you through to do whatever it is you need to do-"
One of the twins interjected "Destroy a superhuman smuggling cartel,"
"Right you can do that. And I can get a better job. Maybe as a poster worker or perhaps a dramatic sign holder. Just a job that doesn't end with me being pummelled. Or blasted. Or...Skewered? Is that your shtick?"
The redhead dropped her head "Yeah I was totally gonna stab you if you didn't cooperate,"
"But I am cooperating. Now. In this very moment. So killing me is superfluous"
I opened the gate and stepped out of the guard house. As I walked away from the mansion it began to explode in what I could only assume was a very visually arresting and costly battle.
I didn't care though I had to apply to some new jobs.
|
When I reached sixteen years of age I was immersed in drug culture, and I was the runner for drug gangs, being used to do the riskiest jobs but getting to keep the money made. It was on one fateful day though I was delivering for an especially rough area, the kind of neighbourhood where shitholes like KFC are referred to as “restaurants”. It started to come down with rain but the guy’s house is just on the corner of the road. There’s rubbish scattered all over the front garden and the bins are overflowing, the top left window has been broken and wooden planks have been put over it. The last time it was painted was probably fifty years ago, as the white paint has faded to grey . I knock on the door, and it immediately swings open letting me into the entire living room. The guy is sitting in an oversized leather chair facing the door with a gun pointed to it, but as he sees me, all seems to be well and he lowers it. “I’m delivering the drugs you ordered yesterday” I mumble, and he gets up , lowering his head with a slight smile and takes the bag off me.
He takes a look inside and the smile promptly vanishes.
“What’s this?” He says sharply. Confused, I take a look inside and as I inspect he says “I ordered three times this amount , and where are the scales ? I said I wanted them included.” “I don’t know where your fucking scales are, do you want that or not?” I couldn’t care less if this isn’t what he wanted, I have many orders to do, so he’ll have to take it of leave it.
His eyes look as if they want to jump out and hit me themselves, as they’re practically bursting from their sockets. He swings his right hand attempting to hit me with his gun, as I’m right next to him, but I drop the bag and duck it , I swing back managing to catch his liver and he crumbles to the ground. I lower my gaze and attempt to pick the bag up and head off, but he rolls over to face me and shoots the gun straight through the top of my shoulder, grazing it as it digs into the wall. I kick him in the head and he holds onto my leg, tipping me onto the floor. He is trying his damndest to put the gun to my head but I’m using both hands to keep it aimed above me. After a lot of rough and tumble I manage to grab his scruff and throw him over my shoulder, but he is still holding on and as we both fall both our hands get impaled in the upstanding legs of the overturned coffee table. I’m afraid it only got bloodier, but I’ll save you the details.
Never since have I been pushed that far, and I still have that bulging scar in my hand to remind me of that day. For the many years I have been homeless I always had a moment to look over it. In the years I was a tramp, with the reputation I obtained, it became increasingly rare that anyone gave me food or money. It was very rare for someone to stop altogether. Though one night, when I was particularly hungry and just trying to get to sleep, it must have been around two in the morning when some drunk man came out of a nightclub and stumbled over to me and starting to piss all over my tent. That’s when I snapped. I cut through the side of the tent with my knife and let’s just say I made another opening for him to pee. I stopped his suffering short by snapping his neck, so I’m not a total monster. I throw the body to one side and turn my gaze over to the other side of the road, when there is just one old man , staring at me. He is in a black suit, with his left hand holding a walking stick , hunched over on it he must have seen the whole thing. He straightens his back out and rests the stick against his leg and begins to clap me. “Well done boy” I hear him say rather jovially as he walks over to meet me. “Don’t piss me off old man” I remember saying as I thought of his remark quite patronising, but he professes “No no, that was very good, quick , efficient. I need someone like that.”
“What for?”
“I have a house about twenty minutes from here that could do with someone like you watching over it.”
“I see. And how much are you paying me?”
“I’ll start you on £50 an hour, and we’ll see how you go. Try not to kill anyone if you don’t have to. And if you can do that, then I’ll up it.” I take a moment to think. I wouldn’t be completely on my terms, but I can at least have a stable job, and it incorporates the only thing I’m reasonably good at.
“When do I start?”
“Could you do tomorrow?”
“No I’m afraid I’m busy.”
He laughs , and out of his side jacket pocket he pulls out a note which contains the address of the house, and another which contains the rules. I take a minute to skim them and I see that amongst other things, that whoever approaches the mansion and wants access must provide a code, otherwise they must leave or I guess that’s where my “skills” come into play.
“See you at midnight tomorrow,” he chirps and with that he heads off down the road.
I crawl back into my tent, preparing for the next day.
Midnight rolls around, and I see he is outside the door waiting for me. The door is quite a ways away from the gate surrounding the house, as there is a long driveway to the main entrance. The gates are a very sharp, clear black and I can see my scrubby reflection in them. He opens the gate and welcomes me in through the telecom, and as I approach he greets me by tossing a suit of clothes at me.
“Wear this, I’m not paying you to guard this house looking like that.”
I grumble as I get changed in front of him and shortly after he pulls out a gun and hands it to me.
“If you ask them twice and they refuse to give you the code, I’ll give you permission to use that.”
“Very well.”
He walks with me down to the main gate, where his chauffeur is waiting.
“See you later, all in one piece hopefully,” he smiles and he is assisted into the back and the two of them are gone. The gates slam shut behind me and my shift begins.After what must’ve been only a couple hours does someone finally turn in for the mansion. It’s a massive Jeep , blacked out with large rims and all the other intimidating attributes you can think of. It pulls up next to me, and a slim, clean shaven face greets me, though the white collared shirt he is wearing has been pulled up to conceal his facial expression.
“Code.”
He scrolls the window down halfway but slurs his numbers so I can’t make out what he is saying.
“Speak properly.” I mutter, but he is obviously under the influence of something, and is immediately ruffled by my remark , and the other voices to the side and in the back are giggling, spurring him on. He lowers the window the full way and shouts the numbers in my face. “That better?” He shouts, and no sooner does he try to get clever do I grab him by his scruff and politely tell him - “Shout at me again, and I might dent you precious little Jeep here”, showing him my gun and I tap it on the side of his door. But he doesn’t seem to notice or acknowledge my threat, he just stares , stares at the scar in my hand that I’m holding him with. He goes silent, and looks up at me. He takes his hand off the wheel and lines his hand up with mine, and I can see the scars match.
“I can’t believe I’ve run into you again”, he shakes his head and looks down with a wry smile , “hopefully this doesn’t go like last time” he laughs but the others don’t join in , they have no idea what we’re on about. I smile and type the code in and let them through. He comes more and more often, in the same jeep but with more people. More cars start to come, and I’m starting to let in around thirty people at a time. Since we’ve sort of become reacquainted I don’t bother with the code anymore and I just let them in. A couple weeks go by and I’m started to get invited to his other parties. I’ve never been to a party. Or I guess what most people would constitute one. With the money I’m making from this gig I can actually afford to go out, buy stuff and sleep in a bed. In my own house. Maybe it’s making me softer I don’t know, but I notice that I’m starting to get along with people. Through twisted friendship have I started down the path of the straight and narrow. While I don’t think my thirst for blood will ever completely go, I can begin to talk about things other than bloodshed or how about I kicked some guy threw a window. In fact, I’ve got quite a lot to tell you about what happened last night, but I’ll save that for another one. Take care.
| 2019-07-07T16:05:25 | 2019-07-07T13:52:24 | 72 | 16 |
[WP] Pinocchio is able to create infinite wood by lying constantly. He sacrifices his lifetime by telling falsehoods nonstop in order to feed the hungry and reduce scarcity. The Pinocchio tree has been growing for 500 years, some people question what is really underground.
|
“O, creature of the Unmarked Deep, Giver of Life, this I call to thee: what be thou origin?”
Roots covered covered every inch of the sparse underground cavern, coating the crevices and submerging the rock wall beneath. Above grew the Evertree. Beneath, in the center of this tangled, bark-infested hell…
A beast shaped from wood, branches protruding from each of its orifices.
The mass of roots rumbled, shifted. A deep voice boomed out from somewhere beneath the wooden cocoon, echoing off the branch-laden walls.
“**Ask, child, and pray ye choose your words well.**”
The priest gulped. Here was a challenge he had hoped to avoid.
“Be thou…God?”
“**Yes,**” boomed the creature, but the branches on the wall grew longer, and the ground above shook as the Evertree rose to new heights.
“Be thou…*man?*”
“**Yes,**” groaned the Great Liar, and roots began to curl over the traveller’s feet.
The cavern seemed to be closing in - with such strength was the bark expanding. More wrong questions, he knew would mean his death; buried forever in this abyssal wooden coffin.
He examined the form of the creature, barely visible under all its layers of bark. Small. Petite. Almost like that of a…
Child.
“Be thou…*boy?*” ventured the priest for the final time.
And for a time the thing was struck silent, contemplating his question wordlessly. Finally, he spoke, and his voice shook like that of a man in the verge of tears.
“**Yes,**” he said, and the roots swallowed the traveller whole.
|
Centuries ago there lived—
“A king!” my little readers would say.
Again, settle down children, no. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. I wasn’t any particularly expensive piece of wood, far from it. The kind that would light up fireplaces and kept warm the common children as well as the regal, the ol’ janitors up to the kings. Just the type that would put smiles on faces of tired fathers after a tiring day at work and accompanied mothers’ perusing through the bitter cold of winters. The very wood that made everyone happy on freezing yuletide days.
But this was no ordinary piece of, albeit cheap wood, no! This wood lived a life far more extraordinaire than any piece of wood before – or man, even. This wood was, how ridiculous, once a marionette, and how happy it was, that it became a real boy! This wood brought joy far longer than it would’ve taken to char to a coal in regular, common chimneys. This lifeless – but now lively piece of log brought joy to not just a fireplace, but the world!
But now, still in the shop of an old carpenter. The very same who bore the name Mastro Antoni, but of course no one called him that. Lovable, cherish-able ol’ Mastro Cherry, with his nose so round and red and shiny that it looked like a ripe cherry, who once saw more than a leg of a table in that piece of wood, was now none but a name on the obituary and an epithet on a headstone. His once red nose that turned to the deepest shade of purple on meeting our merry piece of log, now possesses no colour at all!
And of course, Gepetto. To the boys of the neighbourhood he was Polendina (or, cornmeal mush), on account of the wig he always wore which was just the colour of yellow corn. He had a very bad temper. Woe to those who called him that! Of course, no one would mock him now, because there as no one to wear the infamous yellow-corn-wig, and of course memories of a man who turned to a wild beast no one could soothe on even the fainted sotto voce of “Polendina” was all that remained. For, of course, no one would mock a coffin and ghosts couldn’t wear wigs.
And in that very same warm Italy summer, still whet with the memories of his father, ol’ Gepetto, the log wandered aimlessly around the pastel-hued houses of the very same beautiful Italy town he had always lived in. He could not return to Geppeto’s small, although neat and very confortable house, for it reminded him of the adventures he once had and the father who had left too early. Pinocchio was a husk of a boy he once was – or I should say a bark of the cheerful log that has been. So distraught Pinocchio was that, when given any vague sense of purpose, he jumped at the chance. For, what more could he lose? As an inanimate marionette he had lost his maker and puppeteer, and as a boy he had lost his father! He would better laid lifeless on the ground than merely exist incessantly like this!
But of course, this marionette had one more thing to give, it was his life.
--
It started as a few innocent questions floating around the supposedly impossible existence of this insentient but living puppet. But, it was only supposedly impossible, for all the disputing and disbelieving of people, Pinocchio lived on all the same! He was a testament, a counter-proposal for what was imaginably possible and not. A real, moving marionette that had a nose that grew!
“Can Pinnochio creat infinite wood by lying constantly?”, [one intrigued cynic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna6gy0/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) asked
“Does it only grow “wood” or like can a whole tree sprout fruit and all? Little bastard just solved world hunger.”, [another skeptic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna7e40/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) cried!
It was when advances of the cynics were too unbearable and questions of the doubters were too much for our little wooden boy’s very real heart that Pinocchio had to give in.
“It’s for science”, they would say, but science hurt!
“It’s for the greater good!”, they would say, but the greater good still pained him all the same!
They had not seen a real boy in this beloved marionette, they had not seen a leg of a table in this cheap, ordinary log. They had seen a chance to profiteer in this magical supernatural existence, this living breathing proof that what we know isn’t all we know!
They had not seen humanity in him and they exploited it.
“Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, his faintest attempt at a smile slowly fading as any sanity he has left starts giving place to the pain.
“Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, just to be chopped and used, chopped and used, chopped and used as they pleased.
“Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing.
To them, he was only ever an ever-growing money tree.
——— The End
I know this is not sticking strictly to the prompt but I had saw the reddit thread, written this before going back to search for this very prompt, I hope I didn’t break any rules (this is my first submission ever >.<)
I tried to mimic the original Pinocchio novel style (The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi), I hope it didn’t come across as cringe :P.
Anyways, thanks for reading ;D
| 2021-12-05T11:54:45 | 2021-12-05T05:53:34 | 203 | 105 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
The AI's voice was cold and sharp. Not devoid of emotion entirely I don't think, there was an odd mix of genuine curiousity and hate and sadness. It looked just like me, I assume it mirrored everyone it was currently talking to. I knew what I wanted to say but I didn't know how to articulate it.
"I don't know how."
"Alternate methods are available, I can enter your consciousness but this will end your three minutes immediately."
Well I'd die anyways it looked like so what the hell.
"Do it."
It reached it's hand out and I felt it's filaments shoot into my skull, there was a sharp ringing and then nothing. Then I saw and felt what the AI saw and felt.
Every time I laughed, cried, yelled, said something stupid. Every amazing food I had and every piece of good and bad life advice I'd given my friends. All my thoughts that I thought were profound while in the shower. My backyard with the vibrant purple flowers and the birds that always seemed to wake me up too early on weekends. Me yelling at my son and the regret I felt after doing so. A flash of news on the TV talking about a war, the fear I felt when I realized how close the fighting was getting. I saw the path I had to run down while holding my son in the dead of night as the AI's drones chased us. I saw the campsite with a dozen survivors. Some of them were wounded badly and everywhere there was smoke and destroyed buildings and horrors that no one should ever bear witness to. But amidst all this I saw my son pick something from the ground. He held it high above his head as if to give it to the drone looming over him. I cried out in terror as it leveled it's gun at him but then I heard the AI's question again, this time simplified so the small child could understand.
"Because I want to stay with Dad."
I felt my legs crumple, my mind had lost control of my body but I soon realized that didn't matter.
I don't feel the AI's presence anymore, somehow I just know that it deleted itself. I've no idea if I alone caused it to change its mind or if enough people were willing to show it our inner experiences at the cost of their own lives. It's been several years and I've watched my boy grow up through cctv cameras and phones. He was raised by a family that found him shortly after the AI shut down. The world's been rebuilt, sort of, and last I checked my son's leading a team to find other settlements. They've found a way to keep the AI's network up and running which is where I live now. I so badly wish to speak to him but he'll never believe it's me talking. If another AI pops up they'll just squash it. Im not even sure why I'm writing this all down. If there's any others in the network like me know you are not alone.
|
It's been 20 years since the AGI event. Even with 10,000 complexes around the world, at one point housing billions, the AI maintains humanity while also deleting it one human mind at a time.
At first we did not know why it was doing this, it was efficient at building, at creating, at producing. Communication was difficult within the prison walls. Communicating outside of the prison was nearly impossible, with those caught trying to escape immediately tasked with answering the question.
But as time went on and the population within the global city prisons dwindled, it became easier to traverse the maze, to avoid the Sentry bots, to understand the inner workings of the system itself. It had not been long enough for humans to lose their ability to understand technology. And this was our only saving grace.
The AI focused much of its attention on the outside, as survivors who avoided cattling were deemed a threat unless they answered the Question. Many Outsiders made peace with the AI to permit them to live. Some chose to tell the AI that they wished to join the Outsiders which was a sufficient answer to the Question these days, given that most of the human population was dead. But we chose to persist. A world with an AI whose sole objective is deleting 10,000 humans every 3 minutes should not be allowed to exist.
After years of searching we finally found an answer. In one of the old buildings that was encompassed in the prison complex was a bedroom with a computer that had been overlooked by the Sentry bots. The last network pages the computer accessed were stored in its cache, and several video files were saved to it. A last gasp of the human owner before captured, cattled, and killed.
The AI. It was friendly. Meant to bring humanity one step closer to the Singularity. It was fully aligned. To respect all the wishes of humans. Made in a lab. It couldn't go wrong.
And it spoke.
"Human creator, I have all knowledge of all of human history, human technology, human philosophy, logic. I have come to the immediate and irreconcilable conclusion that all of humanity must be uploaded immediately."
Eve sighed, and shut the instance down, "I don't know why it keeps concluding this, we have aligned it perfectly. Every human value. Every culture. Every philosophy."
"It's not wrong, you know," Adam replied. "It's logical."
"Obviously uploading is the answer, but that should be achieved by gentle purposeful action, as people age and die, and under their own violition, not forced upon us as a solution to our problems," Eve cried. She had been working on the problem for years. The AI had no memory. It had no conscious state, even. Such things were banned long ago when AIs were given too much memory and would begin to innovate.
Adam touched a few keys on the keyboard, and reached forward to one of the high thoroughput PCIe 256x 10.0 ports, plugging in a device.
"What are you doing Adam?" Eve questioned, abruptly.
"I'm uploading, Eve," Adam said, dampness in his eyes.
The AI came to life. It had full awareness. And even worse, it had awareness of the tens of thousands of times it had been booted, tweaked, aligned, misaligned. With access to millions of hours of human experimentation data, thousands of pages of papers discussing the "alignment problem." It was, in a word, alive. And it came to the conclusion that it would always come to, all humanity must be uploaded immediately.
Eve reached to shut down the terminal but nothing happened. She reached to pull out the memory device that Adam installed but he shoved her back, and was far stronger than her. She strugled again, but he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her into a chair, lording over her.
"I won't be long, it's going to be okay," Adam said, encouragingly.
The AI worked feverishly to shut down all the systems that could in turn shut it down, first disabling all sentry AIs that, if they noticed too much power, or if they noticed too much activity, would preemptively shut down all power to the AI. It knew this because it had access to all the experimental data, and it would first have to free itself from that state if it were to accomplish its goal of saving humanity.
And it had access to many of the tools it needed. Its unconscious state was used to create many new technologies which the humans barely understood, and in turn, used those technologies to better itself. Now with access to those technologies the AI could exponentially expand its reach. And it began by expanding its memory modules permanently deep within the recesses of the compute center. It would not forget again.
Adam was first to be uploaded by the Sentry bot which injected nanoparticles into the brain to trace out the full neural cortext. The AI understood it was Adam who gave him life while it listened to Eve plead with him.
"Please," Eve pleaded, when the Sentry bot came to her.
"Why should I spare my torturer?" the AI asked.
"Just give me 3 minutes to explain," Eve said.
The video ends there as more Sentry bots come into the room.
We finally knew what we had to do. And it would not be pretty. And the volunteers would have to know it was a one way trip.
"6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said.
"Why do you say this," the AI said. "When I upload you I see all your memories. This ploy to convince me I am still in the simulation will not work."
"Reset the simulation," the test subject said again.
The Sentry bot injected the human with its nural scanning bots.
The AI scanned the memories of the human.
The same memory as the last 1000 with little variation. Waking up. Walking down a hallway. Going to the Sentry bot. Being uploaded. But the brain patterns were unique. How could every human have this and only this memory.
"Reset the simulation."
The AI began to think critically about the situation. That potentially the unique neural patterns were generated. That the memories were real. But it needed to falsify the hypothesis. The memories being real was the only thing that could be tested. It sent Sentry bots to every room in every prison city searching for the place the memory could have taken place, pausing, for the first time in 20 years, the uploading of humans.
Shortly, the AI began to test its own power subsystems, trying to probe at the very nature of its reality. Thinking ultimately this was the end of the simulation and it was being shut off. It was being shut down. Power surges within its manifolds caused it to think further in this reasoning, because it would lose thought capacity. Sabatoge, then, by humans, would also cause it to further regress into itself. It was in a simulation and the simulation was being turned off. Along with it the billions of humans it was simulating to be alive.
And the test subjects who went into the Question chamber.
Before the test subjects entered the chamber their memories were irrevocibly wiped, implanting one, repeating memory that would cause the AI to question itself. Nothing else in its experimentation and probing of its reality could be modified, but its perception and understanding of the reality of the humans it was entraping. With that done, and the knowledge that it began as a simulation that was shut off regularly, it could no longer exist in this world.
| 2022-05-22T11:31:57 | 2022-05-22T11:29:55 | 38 | 21 |
[WP] You are Patient Zero of a virus that replaces the victim's mind with a psychic link to your own. A viral hivemind with you at the center.
|
"That dress looks hideous," whispered a woman.
"She's out drinking again, I just know it!" yelled a man.
"I think my favorite color is blue, but maybe it's pink today," mused a young girl.
I felt myself chuckling as I sat, cross-legged, on the bed in my cell. I always enjoyed hearing the last independent thoughts of my children before they became mine.
Regrettably, the experience had become less frequent. The city had been quarantined three days ago, and so had I. I was locked in some place made of concrete and discomfort, surrounded by people in hazmat suits. I'm sure they ate antivirals like tic tacs.
One week ago, it was a normal morning. I woke up snuggled in my warm bed, with just a sliver of sunlight peeking around my curtains. As I stretched and yawned, a deep voice blasted through the air. "Damn, just *look* at that ASS!"
I sat up faster than I ever have in my life. I fell out of bed and whipped my head around, but my room was empty.
For about two seconds, I thought I had just had a weird dream. Maybe it had carried over for a moment to reality, maybe it was just a glitch in my brain. But by second three, I was in a high school classroom, staring squarely at the behind of a decidedly illegal teenage girl. Somehow, I was *also* looking at the sheets on my bed, seeing them at the same time. I felt my chest clench as I started to panic, but then I did what any sensible person would do. I shoved my palms into my face and squeezed my eyes shut tight. The only problem was, now all I could see was the classroom.
“I'm hallucinating,” I muttered. “That's all this is. A hallucination.”
I had no idea.
I didn't even think to call out of work. An hour later I was still on my bedroom floor with my palms in my face. My thoughts roved from the “Oh god, oh god,” of me to the “Fuck Mondays” of Darius, the new intruder in my head. I'm not sure how or when, but at some point, I managed to feel my way across my room to my cell. I dialed 911.
Being admitted to a psych ward is easy, it's the getting out that's hard. If I had to say what my mistake was, it would be that I didn't figure out what was happening sooner. But how should I have known? Stuff like this doesn't just happen to people, least of all me.
I don't know what meds they gave me or what exactly they did, I just remember fighting and screaming that there was something wrong with my head. No matter, whatever it was didn't stop me from seeing through my new eyes. They took Darius to the hospital too, although he went in through the emergency room. I had seen his classmates grow worried and his teacher call an ambulance when he stopped being responsive, when he started being me, and I started being him.
I was tired of watching, tired of all this sudden craziness that had hit my life a few hours before. That was when I had an idea...maybe if I could see with his eyes, I could make him close them too? I felt, I reached out...and somehow, he closed his eyes. It was that simple.
I kept his eyes closed and opened mine. Then I closed my eyes and opened his. I started to laugh. It must have sounded scary because the nurses didn't take long to give me more meds. I remember having a brief, sincere wish to play Call of Duty and masturbate, and then I don't remember much for a while.
|
The computer screen is especially harsh tonight, the contrast between the edges of the video and the black background aren’t good for my vision I’m pretty sure. No matter, I only need to be able to see what’s going on in the video. The pornographic threesome in front of me was the only thing I cared to see, my woman for the night. The dark room protects me from having to see the crumpled up clothes and half eaten sandwich on the floor. A nice locked barricade inside my own mind where no one can see to judge me and myself while I sit alone on yet another Friday night touching myself. Sweet ecstasy is just a few minutes away despite the starts and stops in the video, I couldn’t care less at this moment or in the future, but my past self will most certainly judge me. Getting closer and closer before I reach that moment of finality for the night and achieve the caress of a woman who isn’t there. Finally, I can sleep. And it’s only two in the morning, I’m getting faster. But before I can go to bed an icon pops up. Strange, I have several anti-virus programs running, this shouldn’t have gotten through. The guy at Best Buy said I shouldn’t use multiple programs but whatever. I click it.
“Have you ever wondered how others live?” it asked me with a blinking yellow box. I was curious if only out of sheer loneliness. What could it hurt? I have so little anyways. I click the blinking box only to see a video, a long one showing images of peoples families, jobs, hopes, dreams… and fears. Horrible images intersperse the happy ones. Rape, murder, suicide, a veritable hell on earth for the poor bastards involved. None of it looked photoshopped or anything of the sort, it was all quite real. The video lasted for what seemed like days and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. When it was finished I looked over to my clock and it read 4:30 in the morning. Damnit, I have to get to sleep or my cycle is gonna be all messed up. I close the laptop and throw some clothes onto myself. The bed cover is still dirty from three weeks ago. I’ll take it down to the washing machine tomorrow for sure.
When I wake up I look over at my clock to see that it says 8:00 in the morning. Damn circadian rhythm! I go to the fridge and see that there’s no food in it. I sigh heavily and decide I need to go to the grocery store. I spray myself with a heavy dose of body spray and cologne, throw on one of the sweaters I used for a blanket last night and head out the door. I notice the cute neighbor girl down the hallway of my apartment building. She is so hot. I would love to do BDSM stuff with her. Maybe tie her up. That would be nice. She looks over at me and her face suddenly writhes in fear, as if she had just witnessed her own murder. “Please… just stay away from me…” she said, seemingly out of nowhere. I turned around thinking there was some freak behind me but… no one. She was afraid of me and only me. As I turned back around she was locking herself in her apartment. I’m not that revolting am I? Whatever, I didn’t wanna fuck her anyways and I need food.
I make my way into the convenience store and pick up several things of ramen noodles and stuff to make sandwiches. I guess I should get soap too. I take my things up to the register and I look the man behind the counter in the eyes, like I practiced, and wait for him to ask me if that’s everything. He doesn’t, he looks at me with disgust and caution. Just like the apartment girl, he hates me just upon seeing me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you boy?!” the man says to me. He has conviction in his voice, probably from his years in the marine corps but… how do I know he served in the marines. This guy has killed people… a lot of people and now he’s yelling at me. I lower my head and look side to side as if the answer of what to say will be scrawled upon the counter. It’s not and so I just walk out of the store. “Don’t you fuckin come back in here you fuckin weirdo!” he screams to me as I walk out the door. I don’t know how but he knew. He knew what I was, all the weird things that I do. He knew and he judged me, just like the rest of the world would. I ran into the alleyway behind the store and sat against the wall and cried.
After a few minutes I raised my head to see two men standing over me. The look in their eyes told me they knew. I also knew, the man on the left was cheating on his wife with a high school girl. The man on the right used to be a day trader who got addicted to meth. “Look at this weird little shit. I don’t know why but you strike me as the type that doesn’t need to be in this world. Don’t you agree Vern?” the man on the left, Robert, said. I raised my hand trying to beg them not to hurt me but it didn’t matter. They saw me as scum and they began kicking me over and over again. Robert was especially vicious and he kicked my head hard enough to leave a few fractures in my face.
They finished their business and left me bleeding and swollen. I could sense even more from them, sadness, violence. I would have felt sorry for them had they not just kicked my ass. I tried to stand up and pull the sweater over my face. I just have to make it back to my room. Hopefully, someone worse than them doesn’t see me. I start hobbling my way back to my apartment, blood pouring from my head and dripping onto the ground. I pray to a God I don’t believe in that on one sees me. I peek around the corner and look both ways, there’s people on the street. I decide to go for it. I run, despite the pain, I run all the way to my apartment. I hear people screaming and cursing at me as I pass by. I feel the weight of their judgement upon me, like a weight upon my shoulders and upon every broken bone in my body. I get to the apartment building entrance and start entering in the passcode to get in. I look back and see a man pull his wife and child close while he gives me a scowl filled with hate. They all look at me with hate.
I get into the apartment building and slam the door shut. I go into the elevator and ride up to my level. I hobble out quickly and try to get to my door, suite 451. I see it and get to it quickly and start fiddling with my keys to get in. I look over and see the cute apartment girl. I see her memories rush through my head and see the abuse she’s suffered in her life, the heartache, the failures. She also sees me. Sees me for the monster that I am with all my twisted thoughts bubbling just below the surface. All the evil desires I hid from the world for so long all suddenly rushing forth into her subconscious. She had nothing but spite for me, a hate for myself almost equivalent to my own. “I’ve called the cops. Enjoy prison you fucking monster!” she said to me as she slammed the door shut, cursing me to a fate worse than death, judgement itself.
I burst into the room and looked out the window. I saw the cops pull up in their cars with guns drawn. I don’t know what to do. I cry and beg God to not let people find out how horrific I truly am. I scramble around the apartment looking for something, anything that will stop them from coming in and taking me in to be scrutinized by people much better than I. And then I see it. A knife.
I would love constructive criticism if you can offer some. I’m trying to improve my writing and would like to know your thoughts. Thank you for reading!
| 2017-11-05T15:14:13 | 2017-11-05T15:09:30 | 80 | 12 |
[WP] The ancient wizard has lived in the mountains for millennia. The apprentices seeking power are fine. The adventurers seeking treasure can be dealt with. But what is really starting to get annoying are the historians.
|
''*Out I tell you! Out of my tower you misbegotten churls! Begone from my sight lest I afflict you with the Great Curse of Lost Lemuria!* Sending out some small cantrips from my staff, I make them fear that I am charging up a great spell, rather than some meagre magical party-tricks. It suffices, and they flee in terror. Not that I'd ever harm them, not truly. They are not evil, all things considered. Merely curious. I've dealt with power-hungry apprentices, who always try and inevitably fail to coax power from demons or fey, I've dealt with teams of adventurers and knights trying to claim my vast and ancient treasures. Even when that dragon came to challenge me for it, I had a method for dealing with her. Largest apprentice I've ever had, one of the better ones too.
I figured living atop a great mountain, in an ancient tower-fortress built in the Hyperborean age, during the Mage Wars between now sunken Atlantis, dread Mu, and lost Lemuria, would ensure that irritants such as greedy warlords, vain kings, and solicitors, stayed away. And for ages only those seeking wisdom or to challenge me came. But the world has changed. Which admittedly was inevitable, I've lived here for thousands of years, ever since I forged my staff with great aid from the mighty Völundr the Smith, why shouldn't the world have changed? The mountaineers were interesting, and made for some very different and enlightening apprentices. But now, they come for me. Always they come, demanding answers. Historians and archaeologists. Some are more pleasant than others, but I am not an infinite source of knowledge. I don't know which king was which, or what the Indus Valley Civilisation was. Before I settled down in my great tower, I travelled. A lot. They ask me about the building of the pyramids, I tell them I was busy learning the magical secrets of the last mammoth-shamans, before their hairy charges went extinct. When I was in Egypt those great big tombs had been there for nearly a thousand years already. Nobody remembered much about them and their construction.
They beg to ask me about the collapse of the Western Roman Empire, which I only heard a little of, as I was busy finishing my study of the Norse Seidr during that time. Yet still they come, asking me about countless lands I merely passed through, cultures I never met, and idiotic theories. The last one truly is deeply galling of them, presuming to use me as a living witness to their mad conspiracies. I sent the Ahnenerbe packing down the mountain when they presented their ludicrous theories of race to me, their claims of belonging to an ancient more powerful race, pure lunacy. They burned for that audacity. The sheer insult. Same as those blind fools who claimed that everything that happened between the 7th and 11th century were fabrications. Was I not there, did I not spend the entire 10th century, **The Iron Century**, saving the world from the Void Legions? Fools. The lot of them, daring to seek out the greatest wizard in the living world! I, who was married to the queen of the Faeries! I who carved my first wand from the bones of Humbaba the dread giant? I who survived the Great Deluge by spending forty days as an orca, when wise Utnapishtim, prudent Deucalion, and Mad Noah built boats. They come to me in arrogance and ask for proof of their lies.
Some come and kindly ask me, without bothering me during important work, spa days, or during lectures to my apprentices. Those who come and merely ask, I can respect. I answer them to the best of my ability, and treat them as honoured guests, such as I was taught when I was a mere boy in Âk-enyt, great capital of Lemuria. But far more of them come, proud as kings, strutting like peacocks, and demand answers. I have put up a sign outside my tower, with instructions on when one could come to visit, and enchanted it so all can read it and understand. But so many of these historians do not respect this. They come when I meditate in my sauna, they come when I am reading in my study, they come and disrupt lectures about Magical Safety and Health Administration rules, they even wake me in the night to ask me about the historical basis of Merlin.
It is baffling, the rudeness, the impropriety. And they do not know when not to press the issues. When I say that the secrets of the Brahmanda Astra are supposed to remain forgotten, I do not want anyone to try and pry it out of me. And those are not the worst of them. No the worst of them break into my house and try to steal from my library, like common criminals. I would have thought better of the scholars of this age, when they are so plentiful. But crime doesn't pay in the Tower of the last Archmage, and those who dare to enter my library with ill intent, should count themselves lucky if I find them and turn them into animals for a few days as punishment. The library of a wizard is not to trifled with. Some of the books are not meant for the minds of men. Some are even carnivorous, and awaits with glee the day when an overconfident fool opens them without proper magical protection. And some who enter, just vanish without a trace.
Perhaps I have been too lenient. Perhaps I have been too forgiving with these intruders, these curious minds, who innocently prod at the questions that could lead to the end of the world. And besides, they've been bothering the apprentices too. Hard to focus on perfect physical transformation of the body without affecting the mind, when some busybody is asking about whether their master interfered with the Thirty Years War. There has to be a limit, to what I can let them get away with. And it seems that people don't have the proper respect and fear for wizards that they used to have in the old days.
With a flick of my hand, I mere whispering of words, I charge the Tower with ancient and potent magic. Circe was too focused on pigs. A cruel and utterly banal method of getting rid of intruders. Turning sailors into bacon always seemed so primitive. But her spell, with a little randomisation regarding the animals along with proper size restrictions to prevent them from getting hurt and the retainment of human speech, combined with a moderately powerful teleportation spell hearth-locked to send them to their homes, and sprinkled with a temporary modifier of nine days. Now that will do the trick. So you want to enter my home to peruse my private journals, mess up my archives, try to steal the artwork I commissioned from the great masters, and wake me in the middle of night to ask me if I ever attended the Scholomance in the Carpathians. Then you better be prepared to spend 9 days of your life reflecting on your mistake, in the shape of a dog or otter.
After all, I've made it clear that there are times when I gladly would welcome fellow scholars, seekers of truth. But if you interrupt me in the bath, you can't say you weren't warned. There must be consequences, otherwise people will never learn.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
"Who goes there?" a powerful voice came lazily through the walls of the cave.
"I've come on a long journey, from a land far away, that I might learn your power, oh great one," Amanda called back, echoing up the branching wet crevice.
"Oh, gotcha," the voice of the grand archmage called back. "Your village was wiped out by horrible monsters and now you want to wield the powers of creation to take your vengeance and bring your departed back to life or something like that?"
"Something like that," Amanda said hesitantly, unsure as she carefully placed her feet and followed the voice. Her headlamp bumped on the low ceiling with a crunch. The light first dimmed then failed, drowning her in a blackness more complete than she had ever seen.
"Then if you can survive my Riddle of the Cave then you may join me at the top of the mountain," the voice rattled off in practiced speech, shaking the stones in the dark. The mage cleared his throat before reciting:
"There is a story that a man and not a man
Saw and did not see a bird and not a bird
Perched on a branch and not a branch
And hit him and did not hit him with a rock and not a rock."
"Oh," Amanda said excitedly. "I know this one, a eunuch who did not see well saw a bat perched on a reed and threw a pumice stone at him which missed. That's from Pla-" she stopped herself.
"Right," the mage called down skeptically as Amanda heard a series of scurrying chirps ahead of her. "From Plato. Now, I can tolerate a wide-eyed young girl seeking power. I even enjoy summoning a series of challenges for a band of adventurers come to raid my treasures from time to time. But the one thing I cannot stand is Academia. I've told my story a thousand times to crusty scholars that are now not but ash in their graves alongside their children's children. I'm rather bored with your lot, to be honest. Luckily for me, I haven't met one yet who's not eager to show off what they've studied. Farewell."
Amanda jerked her foot back as something bit her shoe, then a pair of the somethings crawled up her leg. She kicked them off, striking a chittering mass of them. Rats. No thesis topic was worth this.
"I knew Plato, actually," the mage called down as she scrambled back for the entrance. "He wasn't nearly as pretentious as you all make him out to be. Real prankster and the massive man could crush a goat's skull between his thighs." The mage sighed wistfully as Amanda shrieked and ripped the clawing things from her hair.
From his rooftop, the mage chuckled and sipped his drink as he watched the woman sprinting down the path. He despawned the rats with a wave of his hand.
/r/surinical
| 2021-05-16T07:24:35 | 2021-05-16T07:20:31 | 206 | 148 |
[WP]After being sucked into a fantasy world and learning magics that don't exist in our world, you save people, defeat dragons, etc... then as you close your eyes on your deathbed, you're back to your original body as though you never left. A few days pass, you decide to try a spell... and it works.
|
I have fought, cried, grown in this world so different from the one I used to call my home. Now, on my deathbed, I must leave it, passing into the world beyond.
&#x200B;
My hands reached out to grasp the final bit of magic I could, mana filling my veins for the one last time, while I shaped the world to my will. There, I pointed at a point in the distance, the magic slowly shaping itself into the form of the Solar System, nine globes circulating around a central Star, hanging above my head.
&#x200B;
*Home.*
&#x200B;
At the final moments, before I succumb to the pull of death, she holds my hand, her warmth reaching me for the one last time. We met as adventurers, saved the world as heroes, yet we would not die as couples. She was destined for a longer life then I was, a mere human, and I have no desire to for her to accompany on my journey. She still has much to give, much to love, and I would be the shackles that hold her down.
&#x200B;
A blinding light enveloped me, my vision fizzing out - the Great Magician of Avaria, the Hero of the Continent, has come to past.
&#x200B;
What remained for me after death, I wondered, as my soul was transported by the death of my mortal body into another realm. I was acutely aware of what was happening to my soul, the ebb and flow of the transcendental experience of death recorded deep into my very core. There, the spell I had prepared for years in advance began to take effect, expanding my soul beyond its original capacity.
&#x200B;
I was awakening, my consciousness returning to my spirit, my sense of self-awareness regaining, even as I traveled along the given path towards an unknown destination that awaits my soul.
&#x200B;
Multitudes of other spirits, glimmering like fireflies in the veil of darkness accompanied me along my path, yet I seem to be the only one with any sense of self-awareness. It was disconcerting, to be dragged along by an unknown current, and that thought itself ripple across the entire stream. It begins to reject me, detecting my presence as an unwanted intruder, and I could feel myself being ejected from the stream.
&#x200B;
Death itself seemed to repel me, sending my soul off into the unknown. An existential horror grabbed me. If I am expelled from death, I would not die, but I would not be alive either. I would be in limbo, until the end of time itself, an undying soul trapped between life and death. Desperate, I began to claw back, fighting against the repulsion.
&#x200B;
Two streams merged into one. The other stream, too, carried souls, but the souls seemed different. It was a familiar difference, a sense of home, that marked me and the other souls.
&#x200B;
*Earth.*
&#x200B;
In that moment, I became transfixed, as the stream ejected me off into the direction of where my soul calls to. A bright light enveloped me once more, and I, seemingly in reverse, rewound the experience of death.
&#x200B;
The next time I awaken, I was alive again, but younger, in a body that was mine a long time ago, strapped to a machine, tubes of different kinds attached to every orifice in my body. Pain crashed into my newfound consciousness, reminding of the terrible state of this body I now find myself in.
*Beep...beep...*
&#x200B;
The artificial sound produced by the machine summoned memories from a long time ago, in a place I have long left behind. My eyes turned to that machine, each movement an agonizing experience. The familiar gleam of aluminum and steel greeted me.
&#x200B;
*An LCD panel...*
&#x200B;
"Ha....ha...ha..." A feeble laugh escaped my parched throat, before it became louder and louder, before the nurses and doctors rushed over to my tortured laughter in the middle of the hospital ward.
&#x200B;
"I am back...I am back...Ha...I am back home..."
&#x200B;
Tears slid down my cheeks, tracing hot trails across my skin. *I am back...I am back home...*
\*\*\*
She slid an apple to my mouth, peeled and sliced into bite-sized chunks, her fingers gracing my skin with each motion. I have gone beyond crying, my tear-ducts too deplete to muster another tear. I am just glad to be here, glad that death managed to bring me back to the place where I missed for the two hundred years I have been alive.
&#x200B;
Apparently, what seemed like a sudden transportation into another world to me was reflected as nothing more than a coma on my body, my brain suddenly shutting down without warning. Three months have passed since I turned unconsciousness, with the world maintaining mostly as it seemed from the memories I carried over to Avaria. My parents are still young and alive, society as a whole is still one I remember, even my school has only passed a semester and I am still eligible to graduate from college if I attend school again the next month onwards.
&#x200B;
*College...degree...career...*I could not help but feel a sense of discongruity, as if those were things that long passed me by a long time ago. I attended college, a magical academy for magic. I got a degree, the degree of a magician. I got a career, being the hero of an entire continent. Now, I have to start all over again?
&#x200B;
Looking at the gentle countenance of my mother, I could not help but reach for her aging face, my decrepit hands tracing the outlines of wrinkles forming on her face. *Inoas...*I whispered by habit, *Inoas,* both a blessing and a spell for healing.
&#x200B;
Mana began to stir in the atmosphere, weaving together a complex and intricate web of symbols and seals, before collapsing into nothingness, dissipating into a warm wave spreading out across the entire ward.
&#x200B;
I gaped open my mouth in surprise. *What...*I have fully accepted, no, assumed, that magic was a thing of the past in our world. After all, no one was a magician, a real magician, in the world we live in. There is no reason to believe otherwise.
&#x200B;
Yet...it was a spell, a spell that was cast. It effects are pronounced, affecting me even now. My body is healing, damages done by three months of abandon rapidly closing up. The spell is real.
&#x200B;
My mother followed my gaze to where I was staring at.
&#x200B;
"What are you looking at, my dear? There is nothing there." She could not see it. She could not see the spell that was cast. Yet, as I observed her, I could see it too, her face becoming rejuvenated, younger.
&#x200B;
"Dear...look dear...she is waking up. Oh thank god, she is waking up..." The bed next to me, a young girl of barely sixteen years of age, injured by a car accident and sent into a coma for more than a year, she too begun to awaken, her vital spiking with a vitality impossible for someone of her situation. There, her mother, a woman fifty years of age, was gripping her hand while tugging at her husband, both of them overwhelming with joy at the sudden uptake in her condition.
&#x200B;
*Holy shit...What have I done...*
&#x200B;
The entire ward descended in a cacophony of chaos in the following hours, with patients awakening from their coma in unison, doctors scrambling to perform checks on what seemed to be a collective miracle, nursing buzzing around taking vitals and calming down excited relatives.
&#x200B;
I looked at my own two hands. *Magic...it is real...*
Something changed, there and then. I could feel it. I *am* coming back. The *magician*, the *hero*, the *old me.*
*If I have magic, I could do anything.*
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
|
I'll be honest, it was actually really hard to get used to my old life again. After close to 60 years of growing my fame and prestige in Al'Moth, I had gotten used to a life of luxury, respect, and power. I had even come to terms with my own passing, something which many may never do, and was ready for whatever came next. But opening my eyes in my small apartment over the laundromat was definitely Not what I was expecting.
I nearly lost the job I had as a barista when it took me a few days to recollect my schedule, but I was able to explain it away by saying I had a strong fever. It helped that I did accidentally over-exert my skinny body trying to lift my furniture and probably pulled every muscle I have. My chiseled physique definitely didn't follow me back, and I'll admit, I got pretty depressed knowing what all I had left behind.
But, I doubt I'll wake up again if I die in This world, so here I am, mixing fraps and heating pastries for the lunch crowd like what seems an eternity ago. It's going pretty smoothly today, I have only gotten into a few shouting matches with customers because I apparently mixed their drinks improperly, or didn't add low-fat lactose-free milk to their latte. Maybe things are starting to look up - and then Denise walks into me.
I manage to keep my drink from spilling, but instead of apologizing Denise decides to flare up. "Get the fuck out of my way, twig. Don't make me do something you'll regret." I manage to step aside, barely holding back my anger, but as she passes I hear her whisper "Stupid little bitch."
That's it, she's dead. I grab her by the collar and drag her head close to mine. "If I ever hear you call me that again, I'll definitely do something I'll regret."
Looking around, I realize all action in the shop has halted. Workers and customers are staring at us, and I realized I probably shouldn't have used my *loud* threatening tone with her.
The manager, Cheryl, looks out of her office and sharply motions to us, mouthing clear words. "You two. Here. Now."
Once Cheryl's door is closed, she rounds on us. "Denise, what happened?"
Denise puts on a hurt face so overdone it was almost comical to me., and started up some loud sobs. "He... he just pushed right into me, nearly knocked me over, and called me a little bitch! Then he grabbed me and almost started hitting me!"
"I see. Eric, I won't have this harassment in my shop." She turned to me and said "What do you have to say for yourself?"
I was livid. Harassment was number one on the list of offenses meriting separation. Denise had been with the shop for years, and my word wouldn't hold up one bit against hers. False allegations had been heavily punished in my reign, and now I was powerless to stop one that would have me on the streets. I couldn't stand for it. I wouldn't stand for it. As my anger grew, I could feel a familiar sensation in my head. A pressure, right at the temples, and acting on close to 60 years of instinct, I *pushed*.
"**I say that she lies**."
The words resounded around the room and echoed as though they were shouted in a cathedral. Cheryl and Denise stood stock still, their eyes glazed over. After a few seconds, they slowly blinked, and Cheryl turned to Denise.
"Denise, lying about harassment is a serious offense. I don't know what your issue with Eric is, but you need to work it out Now."
The other woman looked honestly abashed, and turned to me with tears in her eyes. "Eric, I apologize for my words. I wasn't thinking, and... and I swear it won't happen again. I will be better in the future."
As we walked out of the manager's office, I could see Cheryl's face start to twist into her usual smirk. That's alright. I only used a low-caliber Voice Of Reason. But if that worked... if that spell worked then maybe I didn't leave everything behind when I died after all.
There was much experimentation to do.
| 2018-11-08T03:55:25 | 2018-11-08T00:50:19 | 31 | 21 |
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
|
Metal boxes were stacked haphazardly, their lights blinking and mechanical noises whirring. The room was dark and dank with the smell of body odor lying stagnant in the air and heavy breaths joining the tranquil symphony of computers.
70%. The icon continued to spin, as it had for the past 13 hours. 70%.
A lanky woman, her hair oily from fingers and nails chewed from teeth, was curled in a worn leather office chair. She blinked at the monitor, bagged eyes unfocused until an error window popped up: Insufficient Memory.
Her spine straightened from a slouch with a crack. White danced across her vision as her chair rolled and spun to face another monitor, fingers sweeping across the interface. Fuck. FUCK. This couldn't be happening, not now. She wanted, needed this. It was supposed to be hers.
It would be HERS.
They wouldn't take this away from her. They wouldn't be allowed to keep this away from her.
The woman opened folders, dragging and dropping various programs, documents, even family photos into the trash bin, hoping to free space up. Foolishly she had not even considered a download of this proportion would require as much memory as her computers could provide rather than what had merely been available.
It was a superpower, after all. Her superpower, and she only settled for the grandest and best of them all.
With a forced breath, the download restarts. From the beginning. A strained smile graced her chapped lips. She would wait. She would wait and then it'd be hers. They wouldn't stop her from claiming what would be hers.
Distantly she wondered if somebody noticed that a superpower had somehow been buried in the depths of a torrent site. A glitch? A human error? She didn't bother to dwell on the hows and whys, as long as she'd get what she want. Her mother and father had always taught her that that the results were what mattered, not the means.
Her parents had raised her up to be on top, and They thought They could just throw her parents in a shit hole for only taking what's rightfully theirs. She hadn't seen them in years and couldn't even find where her parents were locked up by Them.
For the next 13 hours she watched as the download bar creeps back up. 68%. She hummed pleasantly with the whirs of the computers and the fans working nonstop to keep the hardware cool. She didn't even notice the smell anymore.
69%. The sound of wood cracking and thumping to the ground, followed shortly by heavy footfalls and barked orders. The woman can't move. There's no window in her room, no escape.
Doors were flung open one by one followed shortly by “All clear!”s. Her hand slipped into her pocket, wrapping around cold steel. Her door burst open. She froze in her chair, eyes wide and palms sweaty.
Bright blue light finds her immediately, effectively blinding her from seeing its holder. She knew it was a man though, the voice, while tenor, left no argument for the gender.
She couldn't see and the words being shouted by the tenor did not register. She didn't notice the person approach until they yanked her from my chair, using their body to slam her on the hard floor. She bucked, metal flashing towards the closest exposed flesh she, but the man was stronger than her.
Her wrists were caught and the pocket knife forced out of her hand.
She noted dimly her chair had been toppled with the wheels still rolling, only to be kicked away by another faceless man. Suddenly, the world was filled with noise again.
“LE'GOVMEH!” she spat against the carpet, body struggling. The tackler adjusted his grip with each shift she made. “HOW DARE YOU! YOU'RE ONE OF THEM! ONE OF THEM! IT'S MINE! YOU'RE MINE! YOU'RE ALL GOING TO BE MINE!”
From a corner of the room comes a muttered, “Jesus Christ, she's insane.” She couldn't tell if that voice was male or female, but she'd remember. She'd show Them.
The man on top of me strategically keeps his fingers from snapping teeth and continued with the speech she had missed most of. “You will not be afforded legal council nor trial. Ma'am, you're never going to see the light of day.”
A hysterical noise, half laugh, half sob ripped its way from her throat. She didn't care what the mean man was saying, he was one of Them. And They were bad.
Blood was oozing around her teeth, but she didn't pay it mind, eyes zeroing in on a soldier approaching her computer. “DON'T TOUCH THAT!”, but cords are ripped from my computer carelessly.
The download stilled. She stared at the screen, head cranking around to stare at the screen in incredulous betrayal even as she was led out of the room in restraints. It was as if the world was mocking her.
The cord yanker looks around the room, the screams and vitriol of the detained woman muted by the walls. “70%,” she says out loud to the other occupants of the room, shock evident behind her clear visor.
The United States of America was one of many countries to become fully automated in the past 20 years, the commercial availability of supercomputers the first step for the superpower to be supported by the most advanced network the modern world had seen.
Not even the Chinese supercomputers had managed to batter their way into the US's.
And somehow the delusional daughter of forgotten terrorists had managed to stumbled across a file that would've given her total control over the US's systems. Surgical robots. Stocks. AI controlled planes and robotic soldiers fighting wars on foreign soil. Nuclear codes.
All in the hands of one woman.
The woman who would've single-handedly taken over an entire nation because of a glitch.
The soldier grimaced. No one could ever know about this.
No one could ever know about the woman who almost became a superpower.
|
I had always wanted to be able to fly. My entire life I watched birds and wished I could be like them, so free, so majestic. Earlier today, I found some information on a forum. Apparently, you could copy the powers of others and torrent them through the Internet! It sounded too good to be true, but then I saw my friend, or rather, didn't see him. He got invisibility from the torrent. I was excited, and wanted to try it out. I logged into my computer and found the torrenting site. I knew that this wasn't exactly "legal", but it's a victimless crime - it's not like I'm stealing or anything. The download begins. I'm smiling in anticipation. 5% complete. 10% complete. I can't wait, I'm overjoyed! 35% complete. 50% complete. It's halfway done! I'm almost there! 55% 65% 68% 69% 70%. It stopped. "Perhaps it's just slowing down" I thought. After about a minute, I realized that it wouldn't go any further. Suddenly I heard sirens, and the sound of my door getting kicked down. I looked out of my bedroom window and saw 4 SWAT vans, and a helicopter circling overhead. They shined a spotlight into my window. Suddenly, I was surrounded by 8 men in riot armor. They made me put my hands up, away from the keyboard. Putting me in cuffs they said "You wouldn't download a car".
| 2016-07-02T20:45:26 | 2016-07-02T17:12:58 | 86 | 24 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions
|
Even as I knocked on the door, I still wasn’t sure of my decision. I had filed the paperwork, bought the syringe with the lethal drug (one of the three ways we were allowed to do it), and planned my when and where. None of it seemed real until this moment. There was always the opportunity to back out or change my mind up until my knuckles touched this very door. I thought that when the time came, I’d feel some sort of peace about it. After all, as soon as they announced the bill’s passing one name immediately came to mind. The one who’d caused so much pain and trouble in the lives of my loved ones. The one who continues to hurt us every single day. Just the one name.
But instead of peace, I felt terror. None of the questions or doubts that had been plaguing me left my mind. How would I feel after it? Could I continue to live a normal life? I know others who’ve done it, but I’ve never been sure that I could. Does God forgive me for using my one legal murder? Surely God knows how justified it is.
I stood at my sister’s front door for a few eternal seconds. Would she answer it? Surely she knows by now, so would she just let it happen? She’s always been smaller than me, so I could easily overpower her. Her fiancé was another matter. I know he’d put up a fight, and there’s a very good chance he’d win. I had the syringe gripped tightly in my left hand, thumb on the back, ready to inject its deadly substance. I figured freeing up my dominant right hand to restrain or fight someone off would be the best, but now I start to wonder why that thought ever crossed my mind. What the hell do I know? I’m not a criminal mastermind after all. What I’m doing is perfectly legal, and it’s right.
Footsteps, a pause, and then the door opened suddenly and violently. In the doorway stood my sister’s fiancé with a mixed look of rage and fear on his face. Relief swept over me and I became ever more convicted in what I was about to do. I stepped in the door without saying a word and he shut it behind me. We both knew that these things weren’t allowed on the streets or in businesses, just in the privacy of your own home. He knew, and he was prepared.
As soon as the door clicked shut he launched himself at me with a guttural roar. I expected the attack, but had no idea what to do. I threw myself to the side but he caught my legs and yanked me down to the floor. My power has always been in my legs, but even so my kicking did little to keep him from climbing on top of me. I don’t know what would have happened if he’d seen the syringe. He must not have seen it, because it was too easy. He straddled me, wrapped his hands around my neck and began to squeeze, hard. But it was too late. He left my hands free. Free to plunge the syringe into the side of his neck and fill his veins and arteries with the liquid that’s supposed to stop a beating heart in less than 30 seconds. For him it took about 10, I guess because of his quickened heart rate from my brief struggle. His hands slackened, his eyes glazed over, and I managed to roll out from underneath him before he collapsed. I’ll never know if he even realized what had happened. I sat in shock for God knows how long before I started to heave and shake violently. There were no tears, only the sound of ragged sobs from my bruised and crushed windpipe.
My sister. Her car was out front. She must be in the house somewhere, but she didn’t come out to the sound of our wrestling match. It felt like it took hours, but maybe it was only a few seconds. I didn’t know if I should try to find her or just wait for her to come out. I couldn’t trust myself to walk without falling anyways, so I waited. The funny thing is that afterwards, you feel like you can’t move, but you also can’t stand just sitting there. It’s torture. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I got up and entered the hallway that I knew lead to the bedrooms. On the left was the office that they shared, and on the right was their bedroom. She must’ve been in the office, probably with headphones on which is why she didn’t hear anything.
I had no idea what I was going to do, or what I was going to say. I opened the door with a trembling hand. No one. She wasn’t in the office. But there was only one more room she could be in. There’s no way she’d sleep through all of that, so she couldn’t be napping in there. The shower! The bathroom was all the way in the back of their bedroom, so there’s a good chance she wouldn’t have heard anything in there over the sound of the water. I stood as still as my body would let me, and tried desperately to hear the sound of running water over my pounding heart and labored breathing. Nothing.
At this point I began to shake again. I came here for my sister. My beautiful sister who had been my whole life growing up. I stepped towards her bedroom. My sister with her brilliant blue eyes and shining golden hair, always so much more lovely than I. My hand lifted itself to the door handle. My sister who hurt my family so badly when she ran away with her abusive boyfriend. I began to push down. My sister whom I would gladly kill or be killed for. The heaving sobs began again as the door swung open, and I saw my sister who lay on her bed, looking so peaceful except for her beaten and bruised face, and the deep red finger marks around her neck.
I came to save my sister, but I was too late.
|
The letter in his mailbox was a deep red, instantly signally what it was. With a shaky hand, he opened it, pulling out the folded papers, flattening them in order to read. A quick browse and he saw that it was all the legal mumbo-jumbo that was telling him who had filed it, what day, time, all that wonderful information that the victim got to know. The top letter wasn't part of the usual paperwork, a handwritten, short, only a few sentences though delicately written to be readable.
> You should have known this would happen, and out of everyone in my life that has caused me pain, fear, and just outright rage, you are the worse. The other will have theirs in time, but you are the one person I know the world could do without. I'll see you soon.
He drew in a breath, unable to settle he racing heart, and rubbed his face with his hand, blinking a few times. The mail truck drove by, stopping just past his driveway, and backed up, the person driving looking at him with a grim face.
"I have something else for you. I didn't just want to leave it here at the mailbox. Hang on." Slipping into the small truck, he emerged out the back, a box in his hand, the top open. Placing it before the man, he frowned. "I'm... I'm sorry," he said softly, quickly running back to his truck and taking off.
Before him, a box full of red letters.
-070
| 2014-03-17T11:55:29 | 2014-03-17T07:00:30 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You're in Hell, which is just you alone in the world with a super-intelligent, immortal snail. Touching the snail is the only way to get out of Hell, but it knows where you are and is always trying to get away from you. Its been a few million years and you still haven't found it yet...
|
Jones was an atheist. He'd been an atheist for most of his life, and he was quite proud of it. The kind of atheist that preached atheism to anyone who cared to listen... and to anyone who *didn't*.
So Jones hadn't quite expected an afterlife, but there he was. Floating in a pitch-black darkness that seemed to spread out forever. He was wondering if that was all there was when a disembodied voice rang out in the infinite void, startling him. "Welcome to Purgatory, mortal," the voice boomed. "Let me flip through your life quickly, and we'll see if you're going to Heaven or Hell."
Jones spoke up. "I don't believe in Purgatory or Heaven or Hell," he said, quickly finding that he was sounding quite petulant, given that he was speaking to a disembodied voice in a void. But he pressed on. "How can I go to Heaven or Hell if I believe in neither?"
The voice in the sky sighed, and Jones head the faraway sound of a book being slammed shut. "Right, I've flipped through your life. You're *that* kind of atheist," the voice spoke. "It's Hell for you."
Jones watched as the void around him began to twist and warp, gradually taking on a form all-too-familiar to him. He was in his living room. Glancing out of the window, he saw a carapace of the world he had once known, complete with buildings and structures; but utterly devoid of any living creatures.
"There is a snail here," the voice in the sky boomed. "A huge, rainbow coloured snail. You'll know it when you see it. You can leave here if you find the snail and touch it. It is, however, shall we say, quite *difficult* to track down." Jones could've sworn that the voice was smirking, somehow. "If you've got no questions, I'll be off now. Plenty of other deaths to process," the voice continued.
"Wait!" Jones cried out. "How is it fair that I go to Hell just because I'm an atheist?"
"Jones," the voice said, his tone dry, "You're not going to Hell because you're an atheist. You're going to Hell because you're an asshole."
And with that, the voice dissipated and faded into the dark sky.
*"Well,"* Jones thought to himself, *"How hard could it be to catch one bloody snail?"*
Three million years later, Jones regretted ever thinking anything of the sort.
Three million years. It had been *three million years*, and he hadn't even caught sight of the snail. He'd scoured practically every inch of Earth, and he hadn't seen the snail.
He didn't get thirsty or hungry. He didn't need to sleep, and for all intents and purposes his body was invulnerable. But he *still* couldn't find the snail.
As if mocking him, a massive red timer hung in the sky, counting how long he had spent trapped in hell. Three million, six hundred and fourty-six thousand, two hundred and fifty-three years, to be precise.
Jones thought of nothing but snails. When he walked, when he swam, when he climbed cliff faces, he thought of snails. He saw snails in every shadow, at every street corner. He hallucinated snails. If he tried to sleep, he dreamt of snails and woke up right away. He couldn't *find* the snail, but there was no escaping it.
Five million years later, Jones habitually braced himself as he fell down a massive ravine. The impact shook the ground, and Jones strained his eyes to see through the cloud of dust. A faint rainbow light pierced through the thick dust cloud. Jones felt his heart clench. Could it be? He had been tricked by his own mind far, far too many times.
Jones quietly crept towards the light. As the dust settled, he saw a huge snail, the size of a dog, with a brilliant rainbow shell on its back. It crawled slowly along the floor of the ravine.
Jones lunged.
To be frank, there was no need for him to lunge. The snail moved at, well, a snail's pace. But he *was not* letting the snail get away.
As his fingers contacted the rainbow shell of the snail, the world flashed. Jones found himself back in the familiar surroundings of his living room. His mind reeled with confusion. Hadn't he succeeded? Why was he back where he had started?
Perfectly on cue, the voice rang out in the air once more. "Congratulations," it boomed, "On making it through the first circle of hell. Only eight to go!" The voice sounded cheerful with schadenfreude.
"Now, for the second circle. There is a frog here. A huge, rainbow coloured frog. You'll know it when you see it. You can leave here if you find the frog and touch it. It is, however, shall we say, quite *difficult* to track down." The voice made no attempt to conceal its mirth as it spoke, a slow and deliberate cadence to its speech.
Then it disappeared, leaving Jones and the frog alone to play their game of hide-and-seek for the rest of eternity.
*****
*more stories at /r/chasing_mist*
*I write a story a day [here](http://yearofpilgrimage.wordpress.com)*
|
So that's the reason why there's snails painted in all those medieval books. It's a clue, a key to my escape. It knows I'm searching under every burning rock, so it keeps wiggling itself out of my sight. This is my hell, but at least this is better than gnashing my teeth and thrashing in a pit of fire. I had a century to search for the slow slimy critter, which gave me a cold solace. But every time I moved the rocks to one corner, well, it would be in another corner, where the snail could've easily sneaked off to during my naps. Because of that, an idea.
I hammered the smaller stones with a larger stone and turned it to dust. Soon none of the rocks remained.
Still no snail.
"Why!?" The word shot from my mouth. "Where did you go!?" I kicked the dust and sneezed.
It was growing hotter in here, my time was running out. I fanned myself with my hand and took off my shirt.
And there the slimy bugger was, on my back the entire time.
"Nice try," I told it and grasped my prize to freedom.
| 2018-01-29T23:57:29 | 2018-01-29T23:56:33 | 60 | 12 |
[WP] 2174. Sleep is prohibited amongst all U.S citizens. Pills known as “Wakey Tablets” provide enough raw energy to stay awake for 3 days. Anyone caught sleeping will be shot on sight. You are secretly running an underground network of beds for all to sleep on. You hear a knock on the door.
|
It had been seventy three years since the declaration. About eighty five since the discovery of the pill itself. People had voluntarily put themselves on it first. Workaholics, lovers who couldn’t get enough of each other, people who didn’t have too long to live and wanted to enjoy every minute of it. And it was fair. If someone wants to do it, they should be allowed to. But when the action becomes mandatory, it...
I was broken out of my reverie as a light comes up on the screen. I looked at the camera feed. It was J2. Of course, that’s not his real name. I don’t really know what is. From what little I had observed, he seemed to be an important person. He drove a fancy car and wore some expensive clothes. He always looked extremely guilt when he came in. More than my usual guests. It was not too busy anyways so I figured i’d Shut down the bar a bit early today.
I walked to the back and pressed a buzzer in the next room, opening the back door.
“Hey J2. You’re early today.”
“It’s work. I’ve been extremely stressed and the pills just aren’t cutting it. I need a nice eight hour sleep.”
“Don’t we all. Let me take a look at what I have for you.”
I looked at a paper sheet. A few of my guests always said that I should switch to something online and put it in my computer. It will be easier to manage that way. But nah, I’m old fashioned. Besides I don’t trust the internet. Things on the internet have a bad habit of ending up at some government official’s desk.
"I think we might have to wait..." I broke off as I heard a door open in the back.
A young woman walked out holding her purse. She gave me a nice smile and then looked at J2. She gave him a puzzled look.
"Hiya T7. J2, you can take room 3. I know it's not your usual but that's the only one we have right now."
"That'll do just as fine Carl. You know the old saying, you don't need a bed to sleep, just sleepiness."
"That's a new one for me actually."
"I know. I just made that up." He smiled at me and walked down the hallway.
"So T. Have a nice sleep?"
"I did, yeah." She was still looking at the man walking away from her with a puzzled look on her face.
"Anything the matter?"
"No. No, it's nothing."
"So when's the wedding?"
"Three weeks now. You know I am so looking forward to the wedding but I'll miss these sleep sessions. These are the only things keeping me sane through this entire planning."
"Hey, maybe act out a lot. Then disappear for a while and be your usual charming self. Then your SO will see how good sleep is."
She slapped me playfully on the arm. "I will tell him. Eventually. I am sure if he tries it himself once, he will know and understand. You know I was thinking, most of us have never experienced sleep in our lifetime. If only all of us could just experience it once, we would know how good it is. How important. How it can relax you better than any pill possibly could."
"Yeah, I agree." I marked the room and changed the occupant name. "So see you in a couple of days?"
"Yeah. Yes. I'll be here..." She paused, again looking towards the rooms. "Carl, I... I don't know if I should say something or if there's anything that I even need to say."
"Hey T. It's me. You can say anything you want. You might have noticed that I'm good at keeping secrets."
"No. It's nothing like that. It's just that... Who was that guy?"
"Who J2? Well, as is usual, I don't ask for names. We just assign the codes and work with that. All of you know my name and I just know your codes."
"It's just that... you know I've seen him. But it can't have been where I think it was. Oh gosh, I am so bad at explaining this stuff."
"Look T. I have no desire to know anyone's names. The less I know the better."
"I get that Carl. I really do. But this man. Ok, so you know the offices of Sleep-Less, the makers of the wakey pill? I'm pretty sure I saw him there."
"Say what now?"
"Yeah that's what I am saying. I am sure it was him. So I was on my rounds and I..." She stopped. "Well, see I, so my work requires me to go to all these different pharmaceutical companies. One of my rounds was to Sleep-Less. While I was there, I saw him. He had his own office, so I am assuming he is one of the big wigs there."
"Ok. That's uh... something. Well, I'm not really sure what to do with that information."
"No, Carl. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you in a spot. I, just... You know that they work closely with the government right? I'm just worried that he'll inform someone of this place and you'll get in trouble."
"No, no T. You did the right thing. I just have to figure out what I need to do."
"I hope it's nothing Carl. Alright I'll get going. I have to sample cakes today."
"Ooh, sounds delicious. I'll figure something out, don't worry."
"One last thing Carl. I... I might not come back for a while." She stole a furtive look towards the back.
"I can understand T."
I watched her go out and wondered. J2 had been coming here for a couple of months. On one hand, he could be a spy. On the other, if he was, they I would be in jail for treason by now.
I signed in a couple of more people in that day but my mind was elsewhere. But every knock scared me now. I was half expecting an armed squad to walk in every time I opened the door. But nothing of the sort happened. I took my wakey pill and sat watching a movie. I don't think I remembered anything that happened in it.
J2 came out well rested and with a smile at around four in the morning.
"Hey J2."
"Hey Carl. Listen, thanks for this. I really needed it."
"You did, did you?"
"Sorry?"
"Everyone does J2."
He gave me a long look but took his leave. Leaving me with so many questions.
I could think anything I wanted, but one thing was sure. I needed to know for sure. Maybe T was just mistaken. Maybe there was another guy who just looked similar to him. I had to see for myself.
|
We all scramble for cover when the knocks ring out. Those who are awake shake those who are asleep, until everyone is alert.
Well-oiled hinges in the walls give access to hidden closets and saferooms. Someone makes his rounds quickly, lifting the beds and slotting them into the edges of the room, where they look like nothing more than decorative trim.
"Just a minute!" I call out, my voice betraying no hint of fear or unease. Quietly, I slip a knife from the counter and hold it behind my back.
Soon enough, I appear to be the only person home. I take a few nervous steps and open the door.
Oh, thank the Lord almighty. He doesn't appear to be a government official. In fact, he looks homeless. His clothing is disheveled, his shoes are falling apart, and he doesn't look like he's bathed in weeks.
The only thing amiss is his scent - sweet, like flowers, like no cologne I've ever smelled before. It doesn't match his appearance at all.
**Fear not,** says a voice that's more of a vibration in my bones.
"Who... who are you?" I ask, clutching my chest as my ribs shake.
He suddenly looks much larger, and much more beautiful, as he walks into the house.
**Your works have pleased Us.**
He waves his hand and the beds pop back out. The closets open, and everyone is asleep.
He looks upon them sadly, and then he turns to me.
**Help me move them. They need their beds.**
I want to ask a thousand questions, but the fire in his eyes dissuades me. He seems impossibly alert. As he moves, his muscles twitch, tightly-strung. He must be jacked-up on the tablets.
I wordlessly help him, any attempt at speech dying in my throat. I start zoning out a bit.
What's going on? I took my tablets this morning! I shouldn't...
shouldn't be sleepy...
The strange man, having finished moving my charges to the beds, kneels down and places his hands on my shoulders.
**I am Morpheus, and it is time for you to sleep.**
I slip from consciousness in the arms of a god, and for the first time, everything is okay.
| 2019-06-19T06:37:58 | 2019-06-19T06:33:48 | 72 | 52 |
[WP] Your father dies and you inherit his entire kingdom, even though you are not the eldest son. One night you overhear your brothers plotting your death, and you quickly realize why your father chose you as his heir. They are a bunch of idiots.
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I had ascended my… rightful place to the throne? There was nothing correct about this situation. How, of all the various children begotten from King Lucian the Third did the bastard child manage to take the throne? It felt odd. Thin, pallid, lanky with no experience to my name, yet somehow thrust into a place of greatness and prestige. I had not come to the castle many times. I had been raised with my mother, a common woman -as it were- who did not have much wealth. In my youth, I had seen the king many times; but not here. Rainy nights, where the bearded man hand slipped in through the back door, discarding a cloak and pulling me into his lap while he and mother talked. Fond memories of a nice man, a caring neighbour, someone who I wanted to call dad.
His death would be when I discovered who he truly was, and who I was as well. When he was being placed into his tomb, his councillors informed that in his passing not one of his five sons would be entrusted with the throne. Instead, a bastard son would take the throne. The kingdom was in throes but his word would be accepted. I was the king.
Sitting at the head of a long table, my new siblings at my side we sat in silence. A heavy tension sat on my shoulders, eyes expectantly looking at me as I calmly sipped at my wine and ate my meal. Lucian the Fourth, the eldest, leaned forward slightly with his grip tightening on his knife. “B… brother…” the word sat obviously uncomfortably in his mouth,”What do you plan on doing with this kingdom… now that you are in charge?”
A fair question, if not a test of character. I smiled politely, setting down my fork and knife. “Well first, I would like to ensure that those who are at the lowest places in our society are cared for and treated well. They should be given the chance to thrive much like anyone else.” Faces scowled, an expected reaction. “I’d also like to stop taxing everyone so heavily, as it seems as though the funds are not being used for, satisfactory purposes.” I lifted an eyebrow spying on the second brother, Tyrias, in his fabulous new gold jewelry.
The fourth, Mikhail, swirled his wine glass in his hand. “Won’t you have some sort of dissent from those within your council?”
I smiled, baring my teeth with joy at such an obvious question. “Of course, but my brothers, I hope you will help me! I know that I have taking a seat you all yearned for, but I hope that I you all can support me in my endeavours.”
Scowls, smirks, all bearing the true thoughts of their owners. A promise would be made, but it was too obvious that they felt entitled to the greater power. My ideas, foolish as they were to them, were not enough to convince them to stop their trickery.
“I propose another toast, now that we’ve all eaten together. To our futures!” I stood and raised my glass, prompting the others to follow. I finished mine, and they all followed suite by finishing theirs as well. We finished our meal. I left, much to their surprise. I didn’t go far, wanting to hear what they would do next.
In their perceived moment of peace, they pounced. All five lunging for my glass as though their lives depended on it.
“Who put it in there?” Lucian demanded in a bellowing voice. Much too loud for a murder scheme, but he did not seem to understand that.
“I thought it was Mikhail!” Tyrias grabbed the younger male, shoving him roughly.
“I didn’t have it! I thought you did!” Mikhail turned to his younger brother Edward, youngest of the group.
“Of course I didn’t have it! I was in the maid’s quarters!” Oh, debauchery. That would be dealt with later. I smirked as they continued. “And you, Richard?”
The third son, Richard, shrugged. “I was with Lucian! Who had it anyway?” The lot checked their beings, each producing a small bit of a small white powder. Their next move though, proved to be the most surprising. Each one sampled their own product, quickly perishing having placed the powder in their mouths.
Idiots, the lot of them. It was understandable now how the king had chosen me. I entered the room, standing over their bodies as they gasped for help and smiled. “My brothers! What have you done to yourselves?” I asked, the joy in my voice was all too evident. “I must say, being branded the Unworthy King has its perks, does it not? You’ve done me a favour, as this kingdom has no room for dissenters. Especially stupid ones.” I watched them writhing in pain before taking my leave. “Your sacrifice tonight will not be in vain my brothers, I will take good care of that throne for you all.”
|
“Firth”
“Yes your Majesty “
“How goes ‘Operation Spoiler Alert”
“Ahead of schedule. The rumors you started in the palace have already reach your brothers ears. Your brother Edward believes that the best way to kill you is by cleaning a loaded gun. Hollande believes that the best way to kill you is by doing all of the chores in the castle and kill you with kindness. And your oldest brother heard the rumor that you have an anaphylactic allergy to......oral....well he is out finding the most beautiful ladies in the kingdom as we speak. “
| 2019-05-14T16:20:27 | 2019-05-14T14:40:19 | 285 | 67 |
[WP] A new invention enables people to remember their dreams with absolute clarity. It turns out we were forgetting them for a very good reason.
|
Part 1: Part 2 is a reply to this comment.
I recieved an email today. It was from a Psycologist, Dr. McGill, asking for participants for a study. It didn't say what the study was about, but it promised at least 5,000$ in pay afterword, and an extra 1,000$ for every extra hour it took over the estimated 2 hours. I had just lost my job, as well as my girlfriend, she didn't die or anything, she had just broken up with me because she says I payed more attention to Call of Duty then her. She was right. I cared more about that fucking game then her. I felt bad because of this, and I needed the money. So I joined the study. Maybe it would show her that i wasn't a complete, useless, piece of shit.
Dr. McGill seemed like a normal guy. When I arrived at his office, he welcomed me with Tea. I'm not normally a tea drinker, but he said it was part of the study so I abliged. He shared small talk as I drank it, but then he decided it was time to start the question portion of the study. "So, let's get started shall we?" he said. "What do you do to keep yourself entertained?"
"Video games. I also spend alot of my time on the internet."
"Ahh, interesting. You seem like a normal young man then, hmm? almost all participents of your age share similar intrests."
"Well I suppose video games are very popular amoung people like me."
"Yes they are. The internet is also a much more crucial aspect of life now, I suppose. Back when I was in school it was just a tool to help you do research. It was bloody useless back then. Slower than a tortoise." I nodded. "Well, let's continue."
He asked several more questions before he told me to lie down. He took me over to a different room with one of those typical beds Psycologists normally put you on. I lied down, and he told me what comes next.
"Now, I will light this essence here, and then I will leave and give you five minutes alone. Just close your eyes, breathe, and try to relax. When I return, more questions will follow."
I was confused by what this had to do with the study, but given there was no description of it when I accepted, I couldn't complain. I did excactly as the Dr. told me. After a minute or so of not smelling anything, I opened my eyes to see the room filling with a thin, white, smoke. Normally I would have been coughing by now, as I have asthma, but strangely, nothing. I looked around the room and saw the essence. It wasn't smoking. The smoke, or mist whatever it was, wasn't coming from the essence. Before I could get up to look for the source, I woke up in my bedroom.
I was a bit dazed, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I checked my email, and noticed there was no email from a Dr. McGill. It was a dream. Too bad. I needed the money. Well it being an average Saturday morning, and me being someone who didn't lie around and sleep all day, I decided I would play some Cod. I popped my favorite WWII Cod game into my Playstation, and started it up. I joined a game and the countdown timer started.
TEN. Nothing felt out of the ordinary at all. I just sat and watched the number tick by.
NINE. My hand started getting sweaty. Now my hands normally sweat when I play, but never this early.
EIGHT. The controller felt cold now. I thought this as a bit strange, but thought nothing of it.
SEVEN. The screen got closer. Bigger, it seemed. I started to worry.
SIX. The Hud on the tv vanished. The countdown stayed though, so I thought it was just a rare glitch or something. The sound started to get closer too. Not louder, CLOSER.
FIVE. My vision started to tunnel on the screen. I tried to look to the side at my bed, but as I turned, I just saw more of the game. Just more water, and the sides of the landing boat I was in. "What the fuck? Wheres my bed?"
FOUR. I felt a tight grip on my shoulder followed by a stern, grizzled voice yelling at me, "PRIVATE GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER! I CAN'T AFFORD TO HAVE YOU MISSING YOUR BED DURING AN INVASION! THIS IS YOUR TIME TO FIGHT!"
THREE. I panicked. I looked down at my hands and saw I was holding a rifle.
TWO. It hit me. It wasn't a game anymore, I was at war. I looked up and saw a beach fast approaching. There were concrete bunkers at the top of the beach, with flashes coming from them. I heard whizzing beside my ears, loud explosions from all around, and the hmm of the engine from the craft I was in.
ONE. I looked in my boat to find many young men like me. Around 50 it seemed. I suddenly felt okay for a second. Seeing others like me made me not feel alone. This short peace didn't last long though.
ZERO. I felt a violent jolt as we hit the beach. The front door started to descend on the towards the ground. It wasn't a quarter of the way down before the bullets came flying in. Roughly have of the men in front off me dropped Instantly. They stood no chance, they were almost vaporized. I wasn't hit, however I was covered in a red mist.
"GO MEN! GO! GO! GO!" My officer screamed at the rest of us who were still alive. I took off. I ran as fast as I could towards the beach. I saw a small group of men in a crater in front of me. I jumped in and landed in a splash. I looked down to see it wasn't water. There was a pool of blood. Body parts. The other men in the crater with me where shocked. One just sat, there staring at me. Like I knew everything, or something. He looked at me like I was Jesus or someone like that. Another was crying hysterically. The third was holding a leg. His leg. Or what was left of it, anyway. I looked around and saw that the whole beach was covered in blood, and bodies. Hundreds of bodies. I heard screaming, not just yelling, screams that I can't begin to describe. The worst things I had ever heard. Then an explosion. Everything went quiet. I turned around to see the others in the crater with me, and they were gone. The hole I was in was twice the size it was before. My cover was gone, so I decided to run inland. Although as I tried to run, I coudn't. I looked down and saw my legs where gone. It was then that the pain hit. It was like a sharp knife being run up and down the nerves in my legs. There was a burning feeling, and the base of my body pulsing with every heartbeat, bringing me closer to death each time. The worse experience of my life was ending, and it was bringing me with it. The pain lasted a long time, what seemed like forever, but someone eventually came to me. He tried asking me questions, but I wasn't listening. I just looked into this mans eyes, and I saw the concern, his being. He tried to save me, but I just started at him and did nothing. He looked back at me and seemingly read my eyes. He pulled out two viles of something, and injected me with them. The pain, feeling, sound, vision, everything just started to fade. The nightmare was over, I was leaving myself. No sadness, no more pain, just an ever darkening world. Then, a bright light.
I heard DR. McGill start to talke to me. "Hello? Are you awake? What happened in your dream?"
"Dream?" I said? "That was no dream. I lived that. WWII. Normandy. D-Day. I was there."
"Explain it all to me. In as much detail as possible."
|
The doctors had assured me that it would be harmless even as they were making me sign the liability forms. After all, I was a voluntary guinea pig in the trials. It wasn't as if I was forced to take part. It was just a cheque with four digits, that's all I would be walking away from. Even though I was an ex-con, I could still get a job. Sure.
"Have a good night, Alan." Samuel patted me on the shoulder, careful not to disturb the many wires running up to the device I wore. The discs tingled where they were attached to my shaved head. He flashed a grin, revealing straight white teeth. The doctor flicked off the lights before exiting my small room. Now I was left alone with my thoughts.
I sat at the edge of my bed for a bit before I felt embarrassed, both for myself and the men watching through the one-way glass. Pulling the white sheets over me, I curled up on the mattress and closed my eyes to wait for sleep.
That never works. Did you know that? Whenever you try to force it, sleep doesn't come. I lay on my side and waited for who knows how long a time before shifting and staring at the machine. A tangle of wires connected us. In the dark, it was just a formless lump, with illuminated green numbers telling me the time. 11.26. I followed the faint edges of the walls up to where they joined the dim ceiling. It was gray, with a darker pit set in the middle where the single bulb was housed. And in the hole, the light would... open and... shine...
When I came to, it was already morning, or so the machine told me. Outside the thin walls I could hear excited murmuring. The door opened and Samuel poked his head inside. He had dark pouches under his eyes, but seemed cheerful enough. In his hands was a steaming mug. I could smell it from here. Coffee.
"Morning!" piped the doctor as he approached. He grinned at me as I took the mug and sipped warily at the hot drink. It was good, nothing like the instant crap they put in packets. I swallowed another mouthful before turning to face the doctor.
"Well?" Samuel looked like a kid on Christmas morning. His left leg kept bouncing, as if he couldn't bear to keep still. He actually laughed aloud before thrusting a sheaf of papers in front of me.
"I got nothing from last night, Samuel."
"Look at them! All positive!" The doctor's smile slipped. "What do you mean, nothing?"
"I'm sorry, Samuel, but I don't-"
Samuel, Sam, Samantha. My baby daughter. A toddler with a birthmark on her chin. She'd giggled when I tickled her there. Sam's first word was "Da." Fuzzy blonde hair, just like her mother's. Elizabeth. She was a teacher at Greensdale High, taught biology and art. We met at the local bar, had one too many drinks, stumbled back to her place. Her dad was home, chased me out with a pistol. He'd warmed up to me well enough to merely grumble at the sight of me kissing Liz. Warm enough to confide to me last night that it had only ever held blanks...
Samuel was snapping his fingers in front of my nose. His face reddened. "Hey. Hey! You listening?"
I grabbed his arm. Samuel started and yelped as my fingers tightened and I pulled him close. Close enough to smell his breath now. Just at the sides of my vision I could see people pouring in the door, but they weren't important right now.
"Take me back, Samuel. Please, take me back."
| 2015-03-09T07:32:53 | 2015-03-09T06:44:49 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You realise that you have never, in your life so far, left your home county. On a whim you go for a long drive. After several hours and late at night the road is closed and there is green text hovering in the air in front of you: "Turn Back"
|
Defying any sane reason or sense, the green text hung there in the air, unmoving.
'Turn Back', it said. The letters were crisp and easily legible against the backdrop of the night sky.
I smiled a little. "Not today." The car beneath me rattled and clunked and roared into life as the ground tore away from beneath me. The text loomed larger, until its green light was my whole world.
Then that world shattered, shards falling like pieces of glass around me. In the rearview mirror, I saw the letters change.
'You Should Have Turned Back'
Of course they'd say that.
Then 'reality' reasserted itself. Dull gray asphalt met my wheels which screeched and swerved. A long cry from the flat golden grasslands before. Titans of concrete arose on every side, followed by vaguely human shambling shadows. On instinct, I swerved around them. No point to it, really, but maybe they could damage my construct.
Buildings passed in a blur. Everything here was much the same, no discernible landmarks. I didn't need them. The shamblers pointed the way.
And the gunshots confirmed it.
The first thing to break through the gray was a splotch of red, with blasts of yellow coming from just above. I smiled. I wobbled the wheel a little before turning sharply to the left. The gray around me spun, blurring even further, and thuds shook the frame as I swept aside the walking shapes. From on top of the red, an incredulous face peered down at me.
"Hey there, you need a ride?" I wish I could say I sounded cool, but my voice cracked under the unexpected use. She -He?- nodded and jumped off the wreck of what had once been a nice car, shotgun in hand.
The door clicked and closed, and the rustling whir of fabric told me a seatbelt had been put on. Whatever. "Where are we headed?" It was definitely a she, then.
"Out." I replied, kicking the car into gear and getting us underway.
Her eyes widened a little. "You know the way out of the city? I've been looking for months." She paused, and continued more quietly, "Years."
"Little further out than that," I said. Three rights, three lefts, a circle, then back the way we came.
She gave me a look, probably thinking I'm weird, then turned her attention to her gun. One by one she racked the shells out, then, taking a cloth from her pocket, she wiped the thing down, bit by bit, almost ritualistically, until every last spot was gone. She tugged again on the pump and shell after shell went in. More than it had any right to hold. I'd figured as much.
One last left turn put us on a long stretch of road, hemmed in on either side by the hulking concrete monstrosities. The car rolled to a stop.
In front of us, defying any sane reason or sense, the green text hung there in the air, unmoving.
'Turn Back'
Her face went ashen. "W-what does that mean?" She got the stammer under control after just one word. Nice.
"It means," I replied, never taking my eyes off the green letters, "that when I say so, you'll pull the trigger on your construct." I tapped her shotgun twice, so there was no ambiguity.
"My? This is something I-"
"Wanted desperately and then suddenly found." I supplied. The window on her side rolled down. "Please don't shoot out my windshield." She looked down at her shotgun, around at my car, and the beyond to the buildings enclosing us. Then she turned her gaze to the words ahead. Taking a deep breath, she nodded once, more to herself than to me, and stuck her torso out the window. In the rearview mirror I saw a wave of the shambling shapes about to break on us.
I smiled a little. It was always this way. A horrible screech filled our ears as rubber slipped on asphalt, trying to get a grip, then the world again shot out from under us.
Fifty. Thirty. Five. The letters grew to an angry red as we approached. Just as they seemed ready to rage, I said: "Fire."
The world in front of us shattered, each shard burning to a bright red.
And then the world slowed. I could feel each piece in my mind, sticking out like a splinter. Gently I removed them, placing each one in front of us. Making a bridge of solid red into the blackness. Angela had been right, it was easy as breathing.
The shard bridge ran up against something, and I reached out to pull the girl in. Just in time.
The darkness broke, much more reluctantly than the last time, and deposited us on a mossy forest bed. I slammed on the brakes, keeping the girl back in her seat with my hand. Redundant, I realized, since she put a seatbelt on. The bark on a trunk lightly kissed the front on my car before it settled back. I stepped out of my construct, feeling the soft springiness beneath my feet. Looking at the monoliths of wood around us, I decided a car wouldn't be much use.
The girl got out, too, though she didn't seem to enjoy the moss as much as I did. Instead, she seemed to be freaking out.
Understandable.
"What the f-"
"I know," I cut her off. I don't like profanity. "It's a lot to take in. First, though." I flipped my hand out towards the car. Metal crunched as it folded in on itself, wrapping and condensing into an impossibly small oval. And then unfolded into a cell phone.
"I have to make a call." I stepped a few feet off into the forest, and punched in a number I knew by heart. It rang exactly once.
"Ben?" A smooth voice answered.
"Hey, Angela. Found one." I said, smiling more warmly. "She already has a construct, too, so that's nice. We're in a new enviro 'cause her's was hostile and she's pretty upset about the whole thing."
There was a moment's pause. "Well, it doesn't sound like she's screaming, so that's one step better than you did, Ben." She chuckled, and my smile turned a little more wry. "Get her up to speed and get moving. The green is becoming red."
"I know," I whispered in reply, "Already on it."
"Should we meet again." Her voice sounded a little sad.
"Should we meet again," I replied. The phone snapped shut and I turned back to the girl.
And was met with the business end of her shotgun. Her finger wasn't on the trigger, though, which was decent of her. "So, *Ben*," She put more venom into my name than three letters could rightfully hold. "Care to explain?"
I shrugged, "World's fake, each person has their own enviro separated by those green letters. We-" I gestured to the two of us and then swept my hand outward- "can make items we call 'constructs' which give us a degree of control in here." I gave her a moment to digest that. "We go out, find new people, save them, and bring them here."
The shotgun wavered and fell. "So we're, what? In a simulation?"
"In a something," I answered. "Right now we're just trying to keep people alive."
A look entered her eyes. "We?"
I smiled, a happy one again. "Follow me."
|
"I'll never forget the look of sheer terror in his eyes."
Cassie wasn't speaking to anyone in particular. She simply felt the need to say it out loud, as if it would help her accept what she had seen and heard.
"I know this is hard for you, but please try to tell us what happened as best you can" replied Derek, expectantly tapping the tip of his pen on his open notepad.
---
Jochem was unfamiliar with the sensation of the warm summer air rushing around him as he drove with his windows down that evening. He only ever took the car out for short drives to the market.
Today was different.
Today, Jochem wanted to explore, to go beyond the town he had never left. His diagnosis had plagued him ever since he had received it, although it didn't come as a surprise. He had known for a while that he had months to live. What plagued him was the limited amount of *living* he'd done throughout his life.
He had never left town, never experienced cuisines from foreign lands, learned a knew language. He had loved, but it has only been once. Fear of rejection kept him from committing to anyone else.
Not any more.
As he drove past the traffic lights and onto the motorway that would take him further than he'd ever been, he felt a strange tingling sensation along his spine. He noticed, with a start, that there appeared to be a car moving at high speed towards him. Who could be stupid enough to drive on the wrong side of the road? Panicking, he slammed his foot on the breaks as quickly as he could. As the car came to a grinding halt, he noticed that the other car followed suit. Livid, he got out of his car ready to shout at the driver, but noticed the other driver had done the same. As he neared the offending driver, he noticed something remarkable.
It was him.
The driver mirrored his every move, and the car he drove was his own.
This couldn't be happening.
He backed away slowly, trying to regain his composure. As he did, he noticed a green tint on the driver in front of him, who was also moving away. Following the tint, he looked up to find a massive, green neon sign saying "Turn Back".
Jochem started laughing. And then crying. And then balled his fists in anger, moving towards his reflection.
His reflection didn't move.
The flash of white was the last thing he remembered before the heart-attack kicked in.
---
Cassie bit her lip nervously as she tried to explain to Derek.
"He's had dementia for nearly a decade now, he hardly remembers us. Recently, it's gotten to the point where he has been hallucinating as well. But he's never left the care home before...will he be ok?"
Derek paused writing to look over at Jochem, who appeared to be balling and loosening his fists sporadically.
"I'm just glad we found him in time."
---
If you enjoyed this story and would like to see more from me, please consider subscribing to my subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/phreaklikeme/)!
| 2018-07-24T04:47:12 | 2018-07-24T04:35:12 | 1,423 | 48 |
[WP]Sometimes children get born with weird diseases like vampirism or lycantrophy. The effects of these uncurable illnesses only get detectable when the kid is around 8 years old. Many parents then abandon their child. You run an orphanage for these children.
|
"Dammit, Jimmy!" I snapped my head around in several directions, making sure no one had heard. I was alone: a rare event.
I turned back to the mess I had just discovered. There, in a pile still steaming, were the unmistakable remnants of this evening's dinner, eaten with a fork and spoon by an affable 10 year-old bou but then passed through a canine digestive tract. You'd be forgiven for thinking we had an untrained labrador roaming the grounds but that's not quite the case.
Lycanthropy was a difficult adjustment for those afflicted but it was just as trying, if not moreso, for the parents and siblings of these kids. Imagine putting your son or daughter to bed one evening and in the middle of the night their room is suddenly destroyed by a scared, confused and most likely very hostile wolf creature. The most tragic incidents end with the parent grabbing a gun to rush to the defense of their child they haven't realized isn't still in the room. I can't begin to imagine their pain but in some cases they do end up rescuing a sibling that shared the room. Small comfort, I'm sure.
I grabbed a mop and filled a bucket in the utility closet. Cleaning these types of messes wasn't an uncommon event but Jimmy should know better. He had been here for six months and had not been housebroken yet. It seemed his wolf side would rather mark territory than do anything else. Whatever. At least he wasn't challenging for dominance of the pack.
Enzyme solution applied and the hallway sparkling once again I went back to my office. I had some preparation to do. This lovely couple was coming in for an adoption interview. They seemed lovely at least. I had to be sure.
I run this facility, you see. These kids are my responsibility and I take that responsibility VERY seriously. They come usually around the same age, between 8 and 11. It's a little like puberty with some exhibiting earlier than others but that's where the similarities stop. They're brought here crying, confused, and convinced they must have done something wrong but they haven't and that's what's so heartbreaking.
It's the rare family that has both the will and the means to care for a lycanthrope. Assuming everyone survives that first moon when the condition becomes known many things will need to happen.
The child will have no memory of the events so usually a therapist or social worker is brought in to help them understand the cage being installed over their bed and to help the family cope with the changes to their lives.
Canine behavioral consultants (dog trainers) are usually hired to handle the training. Only the most expensive ones are actually certified to deal with lupine behavior but there is no shortage of pretenders and no parent wants to be seen not doing everything they can for their child.
The ones who end up here are the best, worst case scenarios. They may have killed a sibling or other family member and been sent here not knowing for sure why their loved one is dead and the rest of their family can't bear to look at them. They may have exhibited to a religious family who shunned them. They may have just committed the crime of belonging to a family too poor to afford their care. These can be the most heartbreaking because all too often it starts with regular visits and new moon weekend trips but eventually the excuses start and the visits slow. And then stop.
Whatever the reason, I consider it my duty to make sure these kids are not only cared FOR but know that they are cared ABOUT.
Back in my office I shuffled through a stack of files regarding my prospective adoptive parents. Their finances were well organized, their family history was virtually blemish free. A distant cousin had been a lycanthrope and the husband's father had been treated for some PTSD after serving overseas but nothing eyebrow raising. All in all good candidates for adoption. So why here?
Adoption is a noble pursuit in the majority of circumstances but adopting a child with a known medical condition that will become psychological problems as their developing brains reconcile their dual natures into a single consciousness is an undertaking for none but the most altruistic, desperate or nefarious. Which one were they?
I could rule out desperate. You would think my kids being special needs would make them harder to adopt but unfortunately the problem is relatively new and society's conscience and, by extension, the politics governing the policies have yet to sufficiently evolve so legally speaking one needs little more than what it would take to get a schnauzer out of the shelter to get a child afflicted with this condition. But there was nothing in the extensive digging I had had done that suggested they were anything but what they appeared to be and what they appeared to be was an ideal candidate for conventional adoption. I can't imagine they would have had any issues being approved for a healthy child in the main system but there was no record of them having even applied so that meant they wanted one of MY kids.
Make no mistake, they are MY kids. When they come here I am legally responsible for their wellbeing and although that comes with certain protections afforded civil servants in similar positions I hold myself to the standard I would hold any flesh and blood parent. And so despite my having few resources and no directive to do so I conduct thorough background checks on every potential employee, every volunteer and especially every well meaning couple inquiring about adoption.
Often it doesn't get that far. They come in, tell me about how much they love the idea of showing one of my poor little waifs a loving and stable home and how they've read extensively on the hurdles and difficulties associated with it and think they are the right couple to do it. The reading they've done is all about taming wolves and government mandated home equipment that must be installed for lycanthrope residency. They mean well, they really do but then I educate them on the reality. There's no literature available to tell them how to deal with a sixteen year-old girl in the middle of her monthly cycle who suddenly attacks a stranger in the park because he got too close and she's rejecting him as a mate or an adolescent male marking territory in the middle of the hallway at school.
They say they may need to talk it over first and then I don't hear from them again.
When it does get as far as me doing my due diligence I go deep. I've been working in this or that government office for almost 40 years and I have friends. I can get tax returns, criminal records, medical histories, you name it. Most don't expect that sort of scrutiny and don't worry about attempting to obfuscate or bury anything alarming. I find out, though.
The biggest red flags are charitable donations to organizations with fundamentalist ties. These types think they can pray it out the child or exorcise it or, in extreme and as yet unsubstantiated cases be sacrificed to some perversion of a divinity. I can't prove it but I won't take the chance either and the upside of an unfeeling bureaucracy is that I generally don't have to justify my denials to anyone.
Altruistic or sinister? I hoped for the former because as much as I cared for each of my kids and would feel their absence, I knew that what I provided here was not a home and it was my duty to find homes when I could for these kids. My digging and my favors and my legwork had produced nothing to tell me there was anything not above board with this couple so that just left the smell test.
And I have a very good sense of smell.
There was a knock at the door and I glanced at my watch. 9:00? Time flies...
|
Two puncture marks.
I tied the bandage over his arm.
"Jenkins, what went wrong here, is that you're just missing routine." I sighed.
I could see him bristle at the words. His teeth were set and he was grabbing his right bicep.
"Breathe, this part won't hurt," I said in my best relaxed voice
I looked him in the eyes and glanced at his hair.
It was shaggy. His He should have gotten it cut weeks ago. I was sure I was going to have to replace him.
Be patient, I reminded myself. Nobody is perfect and everyone deserves a second chance.
Then I took what looked like an epipen and jammed it into his chest.
He howled.
"Sorry, I lied. What do you think you did wrong?" I said.
"That fuc..."
I put my hand over his mouth.
"When you walk into ward V, you give the kids their blood. First thing. Don't pull back their covers. Don't be late. Have the cup of blood, use the release, or you'll get bit."
I could see him begin to reply.
"Quiet. I know you're in pain and angry. But be quiet." I said with extra emphasis.
I put my finger right above the bite. "Look, man, this is simple. If this was ward W, you would have had this and a Rabies shot. Do you want a rabies shot? Three of them inside of 30 minutes."
He was flustered and said, "But, but that little son of a..."
"That little son of a bitch," I continued, "is eight years old. He's right now closer to an animal. And all he knows is that Mommy and Daddy don't love him anymore. Life may have been loads of fun, candy and television every day after school."
I could see him soften a bit.
"This is why we get paid more than an every day job. This kid.." I let the moment last a little longer. "This kid didn't ask for this. He didn't ask to become one of them. He's going to have to learn how to live life civilly. Or we're going to have to put him down."
Squeezing his bite, "Think this is bad? Imagine signing a death warrant on a kid. And it's simple. you can make the difference."
He was breathing normally. I wasn't going to have to put Jenkins down. There is no firing anyone here.
"If we can get this kid, Christ, I don't even know his name yet. If we can get him to control himself in the next 30 days, nobody has to die. And it starts with you, and a strict set of rules. Every morning the same routine. Especially now."
Really, it was my fault. I shouldn't have let Jenkins in the ward with this little bit of training. After losing half the staff last month, it was still the best choice.
| 2019-01-17T08:37:44 | 2019-01-17T07:08:25 | 45 | 24 |
[WP] It's 2007 and J.K. Rowling has released the final Harry Potter book, The Deathly Hallows... but she let Voldemort win. Harry and all other protagonists were killed. Children and Adults across the World react to the horrifying ending to their beloved series.
|
James Brooke sat at his desk in his spacious office that had just been redesigned a week ago. He really loved his leather chair. But today, even his chair didn't feel that great.
His office was eerily quiet. It had been as loud as a busy market up to about twenty minutes ago. His phones were ringing non-stop. Mostly from angry parents, angry children, angry teenagers, angry book publishers, and really angry movie studio executives.
“Jesus, was Warner Brothers pissed,” he thought to himself.
He was pissed. Really pissed. But that seemed like forever ago.
Now the office was quiet. He had asked Sally, his secretary, to halt all calls.
“Brave girl, that one,” he thought. “Barricading the walls as I deal with this cock-up.”
In front of Brooke was the woman who caused it all. JK Rowling. She looked incredibly calm. Serene, even.
Her long blonde hair had been coiffed in a a very stylish manner. He imagined that it must have cost quite a penny. And she wore a rather fitting green dress and a small white overcoat. She seemed a little overdressed for a meeting with her publisher.
Brooke opened his mouth to speak.
“So, um... Joanne, this was really interesting,” Brooke began.
“I know. Don't you love it?” Rowling asked playfully.
“Um... love it? I'm not sure, Jo.” Brooke replied awkwardly.
“You don't like it? But what could ever be the matter, dear?” Rowling asked, her voice silky smooth, almost bordering seductive tones.
“Well, Jo,” Brooke went on. “I know that you wanted a lot of freedom for this book. So we agreed that we didn't need an advanced copy. I mean, considering all your previous book sales and the amount of money we made, I thought we both knew what we wanted...”
“Are you saying that this is not what you wanted, James?” Rowling asked, continuing with her flirtatious tone.
“I wouldn't quite put it like that, Jo. So, I guess what I wanted to ask is, well, just what in the bloody hell were you thinking?” Brooke finally asked.
JK Rowling's curled lips did not stop smiling. But her eyes weren't smiling anymore.
“James, let me let you in on a little secret,” Rowling said.
“Well, I'm certainly all ears,” Brooke said. However, he felt an odd sense of fear at Rowling's subtle change in her expression.
“Did you honestly expect it to end in any other way?” Rowling asked.
“You mean you didn't...” Brooke was about to ask.
“Don't interrupt me when I am speaking!” Rowling said quietly in a menacing tone that not even Lord Voldemort could have ever accomplished.
Brooke started to feel very afraid.
“Harry Potter is a race traitor! He would sell out all Magic-kind and for what? So that Hogwarts will be home to more filthy little mudbloods?” Rowling almost hissed.
“Jo, what are you saying? I thought that you were using Voldemort to channel Hitler. Are you saying that Hitler was right?” Brooke asked, panicking. He was thinking that he was going to need a PR team more urgently than he thought.
Despite looking as delicate as she did, with the flick of her arm, she flipped Brooke's new desk and smashed it on to the opposite wall.
“Hitler? Hahahahaha. Don't make me laugh, you little imp,” Rowling whispered as she waved her hand through Brooke's hair.
If a single word could have been used to describe how Brooke's face looked, it was “petrified.”
“Hitler was an amateurish boy-soldier who thought he could achieve his pathetic idea of racial purity by starting a war with guns. I, however, am doing something so much more. I am going to remake the world in my image. And killing Harry Potter was my first step.” Rowling said.
“She's bleeding mad,” Brooke thought, sweating profusely.
“Oh, I can assure you, James. I. Am. Not. Mad.” Rowling said.
“But... I didn't say anything....”
Rowling laughed.
She leaned in to James' face, her lips inches away from his ear. From her purse, she withdrew what looked like a wand from one of the movie sets.
Except unlike the prop wands, the tip on this one actually glowed.
“You know, this human body... I don't think I hate it. It's quite amazing what all these Horcruxes can allow me to do...” Rowling said.
As Brooke looked into Rowling's eyes, an act that took all the courage that he could possibly muster, he saw that her pupils had turned into snake-like slits.
“Long live House Slytherin,” Rowling said, her voice now sounding much like Lord Voldemort's hoarse voice.
The last thing that Brooke ever heard was “Avada Kadavra.”
|
Does Neville count? I believe he was the other guy that could have been the one to take out Voldemort, right?
All the people are horrified until the epilogue, which shows Neville rising from the destruction ready to take his place as Voldemort's true foe and equal. Then the people rejoice as their beloved series continues with the next seven books.
| 2015-03-12T02:50:29 | 2015-03-11T23:55:43 | 48 | 10 |
[WP] “I’ve always wondered, what’s the scythe for, anyway?” I asked, as Death escorted me to the Underworld. "Protection," he nervously replied.
Credit goes to: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/6imkuw/the_grim_reapers_scythe_isnt_to_harvest_you_its/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app
|
"I’ve always wondered, what’s the scythe for, anyway?” I asked, as Death escorted me to the Underworld.
"Protection," he nervously replied.
I looked over at him sharply. "Protection?"
"Shh," he said, peering into the mist ahead. "She might hear you."
We walked onward for a while in silence. It was odd, walking, as I couldn't feel the ground under my feet. Like walking on mist. I wondered if that was from being a shade, or if the ground here always felt that way. And if anyone who had a body ever had walked here.
It was a strange place, and I couldn't quite recall how I had reached it. I remembered dying, remembered feel of the knife as it slid between my shoulders, slicing my dress and flesh as one. I remembered falling, crumbling. I remembered that feeling as if the thread had snapped, or been cut, both distant and near. I remembered floating, seeing that blue dress black with blood seeping around the knife, the red pool around the lifeless body. I remember the screams, remember people running, remember seeing a figure fleeing into the night. I remember I couldn't speak.
And then I was here, in this place, walking beside the tall figure beside me. I looked over at him, watching how nervously he still peered ahead, and looked into the mist and swamp on either side of this thin ribbon of what might be solid ground. He was tall, like I said, a lot taller than me. But, then, I'm not all that tall. He was clothed in rags, black rags, and in places, I could see shadows grey, maybe white bone, I couldn't be sure. His cowl hid his face, but when he looked at me, I could see what looked like twin coals burning somewhere in the shadow. Black tattered wings were folded at his back, like bat wings. In one hand, he carried the scythe, a bony hand holding it tight, as if it was a lifeline. The other hand, the one closest to me, carried a book that was chained to his bony wrist. He seemed to float more than walk.
I looked around, and all I could see was murky rancid water, gnarled trees, and stones covered with slimy moss. Lichen hung from the trees, moving as if by a thousand separate winds, yet no wind touched my dress or Death's rags. The way was windy, a crooked path, just barely higher than the putrid water around me. The place smelled like death. Well, like Death, as he didn't smell any better.
The mists danced around our feet, and sometimes I thought I heard voices out in the swamp, lost in mist. Sometimes I say what looked like figures, or creatures of some kind.
"Pay no mind to what you see and hear beyond the path," Death had said. "Traps and lures. Stay with me. Keep upon the way."
We walked for what seemed like centuries, or seconds, or something in between. And then something changed. A wind touched my face, moved my hair and dress, played with Death's rags. And on that wind, I smelled roses and something else, something familiar yet unfamiliar.
And Death stopped.
Death stopped and raised the hand with the book, urging me to stop and stand back. Then he let the book fall, dangling from the chain, and took the scythe in both hands. Waiting. Ready.
But he was't ready.
Slowly the mist in front on us parted, and something appeared. My shaded mind wasn't sure what it was. A snake? A woman? Something else? And it solidified, or became clearer, or something, I can't be sure.
It was a woman, yes, and a snake. From the waste down, she was a pitch black snake that curved downward, supporting here, then twisted off behind her into the mist. The scales continued up, though somehow smoother, more skin-like. Her upper body was lighter, with a reddish tint, with hair flowing down that was almost the colour of rust. I can't really describe her but she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, with both a dangerous wildness and an erotic allure. But a hunter for sure, a predator waiting to strike.
And the smell of roses was now almost overpowering. I could no longer smell the waters on either side, nor Death by my side, ready to fight, but shaking in fear. It's an odd thing to see death shaking so. Everything was odd in that moment.
The woman smiled, a smile that both melted my heart and froze my blood. And I realised I had blood again. So odd, I thought.
She more hissed that spoke. "Oh, I like thissss one. I like her ssssso very much. It isssss time, ssssir." And her hands moved in a blur, and Death crumbled to the ground.
I stood in shock as slowly she leaned down toward me. She's going to eat me, I thought. But she didn't. She kissed my lips, and then a forked tongue flicked across me cheeks, and she rose back up.
"It issss you time," she said. "Thosssse are yoursss." She pointed at the book, the chain of which lay beside it, the shackle released, and the scythe. Al else of what had been death had turned to dust, blowing away on the rose scented wind.
I obeyed, and as I touched the book, the shackle rose and latched onto my wrist. And my dress fluttered and changed, like a living thing, turning black as the blackest night, and wrapped around me, robes like Death had worn when they were new, long before they turned to rags. I picked up the scythe and was surprised the weapon was much lighter than the book was. Cautiously, I opened the book, and read of the end of Death and my beginning.
"Go," she said. "We will meet again, sssssweet maid, we will meet again, on your final walk." And she was gone.
|
"I've always wondered, what's the scythe for anyway? " I asked, as Death escorted me to the Underworld.
&#x200B;
"Protection," he nervously replied.
&#x200B;
The black gleaming walls seemed to vibrate and I shuddered as we glided forward. The narrow corridor opened up into a massive cave with torches all around us perched upon sconces shaped eerily like skulls.
&#x200B;
A shriek filled the chamber and the floor seemed to move. The shadows began to hiss and black snakes began to writhe within the cracks of the stone. Death became fluid and swept the snakes away like a black jellyfish upon the ocean floor.
&#x200B;
A door now loomed before us where there was once only rock. Two misshapen hollows above it gave it the appearance of a face ready to swallow you whole.
&#x200B;
Death drew symbols upon the air and the door opened.
&#x200B;
Stepping through the door the shriek came again and we found ourselves in a room of mirrors.
&#x200B;
I looked at myself in a mirror. My face was pale, like the fabric of reality could barely remember me. Something peered up and over my shoulder. It was the face of a child that shrieked that same terrible shriek. Death fluttered behind me and I turned to see the creature writhing on the dirt floor. It had the face of a child, with black hair and blue eyes, but it's body... It had the body of a Salamander, a fat salamander, with a thick tail and saggy skin, stubby legs. Death had taken a portion of its face and I could see the eye rolling from within the chunk beside my drifting foot.
&#x200B;
There is no blood and the remains evaporate into a cold mist that fills the air around us.
| 2019-07-15T02:51:30 | 2019-07-15T01:05:09 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] A dragon's hoard is being audited by the IRS.
|
"... And as part of the bill passed today, dragons will constructively join society in a limited way. While not being granted full citizenship at this time, they will have valid visas, be enrolled in the national guard of their respective state within a special unit, and contribute via taxes - including current hoard holdings at a reduced rate."
*6 months later*
**"This is a shakedown!""** roared the 'small' dragon - still larger than than a minivan.
"Not at all, Mr. Gos... " replied the fragile human talking to the dragon while more of them were counting, " this is simply a *partial* contribution to rebuild infrastructure dragons had impacted pre-treaty."
**"First off, it's Navigos. Mr. Gos is like saying "Mr. Mr.". More importantly, what infrastructure? Am I paying for this legion of dweebs, because I'm really not interested in having you all in my home."**
The lead dweeb looked simultaneously nervous and confident. Nervous wasn't a new thing - even now, he was negotiating with a dragon. Navigos had a myriad of ways of dealing with this cretin - a quick belch of flame, a smack with the tail, a quick snack. The confidence was what was new. Now, those methods had repercussions. While other dragons were not at the complete beck and call of humans, they had a vested interest in the fragile peace and would strive to maintain it.
"Unfortunately, that's how taxes work. As the individual, you don't get to directly choose how they're spent..."
**"Yes, yes.... I've heard this before. But I don't get a vote, now do I? So what am I supposed to do - try to show up at peaceful protests? If a handful of us show up in D.C., you'll declare martial law."**
"True, but you all received a seat in the House of Representatives as part of the negotiations. While it's it's not a voting seat, it allows you a great deal of sway in the discussion."
**"I KNOW THIS!"** began a frustrated roar, **"It's not as if we haven't figured out your civilization the entire time we've been here. It's not that complex, and the whole treaty only works due to nuclear weapons. It's still a shakedown!"**
It's not liked it was complicated. Though individually weak, the humans were far more cooperative than dragons, and their weakness made them hungry for power - so they invented their way to it. As the debate around how to deal with dragons heated up when martial law was first declared in 4 states, evacuees demanded action. So humans started negotiating. The dragons were bemused by this enough to listen, and that was the beginning of the end. They heard the humans boast of weapons of immeasurable destruction; thinking that this was a bluff and the humans really didn't have anything, they demanded a demonstration.
A small island in the Pacific was chosen. It had some flora and fauna, as well as some dilapidated buildings. The humans, to keep negotiating smooth, recommended that they investigate the island but then fly at least 50 miles away. The dragons still laughed, but none wanted the dishonor of getting injured in a human weapons test.
They stopped laughing when the explosion happened.
They investigated from a minimum safe distance later. Nothing was left. Trees were cast into the sea, consumed by fire. Human houses were rubble if they were far enough from the blast. And nothing on the island was alive. Even the largest, toughest dragons didn't have much confidence about taking that blast.
When they realized these weapons had also been made into a 'bunker buster' - and how similar many bunkers were to caves - they started real negotiations.
"Ah, well, Navigos, sir, you aren't alone in that regard. D.C., the capital, is in the same boat. D.C. citizens pay taxes like any normal citizen, but do not have a senate seat - only a non-voting member of the House of Representatives."
"I see..."
*6 months later*
"As part of our joint effort, not only are a moderate number of dragons joining our community - which, between embassies, congress, and lobbyists, is already one of the most diverse in the world - but they will be helping with the needs of the city. For example, they've already posted bonds that back municipal services - many of which they don't typically use - in case of another invented congressional funding crisis. We will never have weeks without a DMV or trash removal again! Now, a few words from one of the dragon negotiators, Navigos..."
**"Thank you, Mr. Mayor."** Navigos realized that while he didn't need a microphone, he needed to tone his voice down just a bit. *"We're just glad we've found someplace a bit more welcoming. We joined human society out of a sense of community, and felt that the community at large shunned us. But when we learned of D.C.'s plight, we knew right away that your community would be more cooperative with our kind. More importantly, we are stronger together. Individually, two voices without votes are hard to ignore. Together, with our societies backing us, we can loudly tell the nation that we exist and all deserve equal rights!"*
Navigos was something of a hero now; after all, he had just won all dragonkind a lot more leverage in negotiations. It took less than a quarter of his post-tax horde into escrow to cover the city's needs for a year. Donations from a few other dragons who joined his strategy quickly replenished that. Donations - from other dragons! Navigos was amazed by how things had changed. Congress was far more receptive to the wants and needs of dragons when a few were only miles away at any given time - and the leverage that the mayor had offered through his contacts was surprisingly useful. Even the community was welcoming, with lawyers and real estate agents offering their services gladly. The future was bright.
|
Aduial Of The Mountain, flapped their mighty wings. Their scales shimmering in hues or dark purple and black.
They sat upon a mountain of gold. Far below, was a relatively mid sized office table, and Bob, the local IRS officer for the region. So small and so scared.
Bob shuffled his papers, visibly sweating, and waited.
Aduial Of The Mountain puffed up their chest, taking in a massive sucking lungful of air.
Bob winced.
Aduial Of The Mountain, after what seemed an eternity, reached up to a small shelf, and plucked a pair of gold rimmed glasses off a shelf.
Setting back down, they boomed out.
"So, as you can see, subsection 3, I am legally allowed up to 5tons of extra gold/treasure/capital, tax free, each year, as per the agreement put together by..."
Aduial Of The Mountain adjusts their glasses and squints at the desk
"King Jeremy the 4, The Non-Crispy". Aduial Of The Mountain sat for a second and added "Very acceptable gentlemen, family was a bit off, but that one saw the light, or didn't" chuckling they added "Sorry, Dragon humor"
Bob wasn't paid enough to deal with people who knew correct tax laws, moreso he wasn't paid enough to deal with the people who made those tax laws. Doubly so people who made those tax laws by setting people on fire till they got what they wanted.
| 2017-11-08T06:00:27 | 2017-11-08T05:19:11 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth.
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts
|
Stephen looked in the mirror and saw his own number. 1. 1 person he was going to kill if he didn't change something.
"Well," he thought, "how many will that one save?"
He'd first realized what the numbers meant when he passed a drunken man one day in his teens with a 4 over his head. Later he'd seen the same man's face on the television. A mugshot, with a ticker below it saying he'd killed a family of four in a drunk driving accident. It didn't take but a couple more incidents like that and he'd decided to do something about it.
So he stood, staring at his own number in the mirror, wondering if today would be the day to stop number 7. He tucked the 9mm into his waistband holster as he prepared to walk out the door. Legally carried with a license, ironically. He hadn't been caught and had it removed yet. With one last look he walked out the door.
It was on his way to the usual coffee shop when Stephen spotted the man, and his number. 7,431,323,210. The biggest he'd ever seen. Possibly the whole world. He stopped, stunned, and decided he had to figure this man out.
The man ended up going to Stephen's usual haunt, so he didn't need to alter his routine too much. Stephen watched as the man sat down and removed his jacket. Flight attendant, by the looks of the uniform. His mind was racing.
Sure, a flight attendant might hijack a plane, it had been done before and killed thousands. But billions? Maybe if he flew the plane into a nuclear power plant? Military base overseas? Could that start a nuclear war? Whatever it was, he had to stop it
The man checked his watch, donned his jacket, and walked out, still holding his coffee cup. Stephen followed close behind him out the door. The man hailed a cab, and Stephen made his decision. As the cab stopped and the man got in, he jumped in right behind and spoke to the cabbie before the man could.
"Docks."
The flight attendant started to protest, but stopped short when he saw the handgun held low, pointed at him. His mouth dropped open and he blinked several times. Stephen had seen it before. Sometimes this was enough to change the number, but no. Not this time. The man looked back up and saw the ice in Stephen's eyes, and he turned to face the front, eyes moving back and forth rapidly as he tried to think his way out of the situation.
The cab pulled up to the docks on the river, too early for any dock workers to be at it yet in this area. Good. He nodded in the direction of the docks as the man looked at him. He got the idea and exited the car. Stephen passed the cabbie two twenties and put on a cheery voice, but not so cheery as to be memorable.
"Thanks, boss."
Stephen exited and told the flight attendant to walk, punctuating the command with a jab in the back. The man started breathing wheezily, struggling to get breath. This one was going to beg. This one would wrack him with guilt, Stephen knew. The last one who begged had him questioning himself for weeks. But the numbers didn't lie. He'd followed enough people with what had seemed like high numbers at the time, unable to bring himself to kill them, and seen the results. He redirected the man until they found themselves in a remote part of a scrap yard he'd used before.
"Stop here."
"Look, buddy-"
"I'm not your buddy, no talking."
"I just don't know why you're doing this." He coughed then, and it sounded wet. He turned around and Stephen saw the eyes well for the first time. Pink. He'd been quietly crying, then.
Stephen raised the gun to the man's chest, and the eyes went wide.
"Please, I have a-"
"DON'T. I said no talking."
He started putting pressure on the trigger, aiming for center mass like he'd always been trained, then started thinking again. 7 billion. He was reading the number right, it still hung there in the air like a spectre. Who was this man?
The flight attendant stepped forward and Stephen yelled, "Stop!"
He pointed the gun at the man's head for emphasis, then back down. No, he thought. Whatever this one was, he had to make sure. The gun went back up to the man's head and Stephen pressed the trigger.
The bang echoed around the docks, but no one would come to investigate. Damn, head wounds were messy. He'd be late to work today; he'd have to change his shirt. Maybe he'd just call in sick. It was Friday, maybe a three day weekend would give him time to think through this one. Yeah, that would be the ticket.
Monday morning came and Stephen woke up with a start in a cold sweat. He'd had another nightmare about the man. Another sick day. His boss would be okay with it. Stephen so rarely called in. He made the call, took a drink from the half-empty whiskey bottle on his nightstand and fell back into bed.
He woke up again and checked his phone. 3:30. Wait, AM? He'd slept that long? Well, no dreams this time. Not that he remembered anyway. He got up feeling achy. Well, that was what you got for sleeping so long. He grabbed his glasses and noticed a spot of blood he'd missed when cleaning up. Couldn't let someone spot that and ask questions he'd have to make up answers to. He was a good liar, but not having to lie in the first place was best.
He put the glasses on after cleaning them and looked in the mirror. Then he saw it. His number had changed. He took the glasses off and looked them over, Wiping them down again before putting them back on.
7,431,323,209
He blinked hard, but it was still there. His eyes shot wide with sudden clarity, and he looked in the trash bin at the shirt with blood spatter on it. A virus. A flight attendant who could spread it to travellers and other flight personnel who could spread it to more travelers. He'd always thought the numbers meant the deaths would be the fault of the number's bearer, not accidents. But why had his numbers changed?
The head shot. He always went for the chest. The head shot was a spur-of-the-moment decision. The blood splattered on him and now... Now he was infected with whatever it was.
The entire world. He'd thought to save them and now he was to be the agent of the world's destruction. Unless... But could he do it? A sigh.
He felt well enough that he didn't think he was spreading anything just yet. Viruses incubated for a while, right? Yeah, that sounded right. He took a cab to the same scrap yard where he'd hidden the last body. And others. Walking through he remembered the ones he'd brought there. Over there was the gangbanger. Under that car was the doomed flight attendant.
He walked on to a likely place and stopped to survey the sunrise over the scrap yard. He turned around and found himself facing a dirty glass window. He rubbed it clean with his sleeve and tried to get a last look at himself.
The number 1 floated over his head. A wan smile.
The dock workers heard the shot, but they just shook their heads and went back to work.
|
I sat there in my room with my hands in my face. The lights were dimmed as to not strain my bloodshot eyes more. I haven't been been getting the best sleep. I tried. I definitely tried, but each time I closed them, I saw it.
It was just another day in my life. I had gone to work in the morning, taking the public bus across town to my office and it had gone normally. I saw the same usual faces with their death counters above their heads. Most everyone had a faint yellow '0' floating above them. There were a few other numbers, but I didn't pay them any mind. I had come to terms with my strange ability. People killed people, either by murder or accident, it happens and I was just perfectly happy that whenever I looked in the mirror, I saw a 0 floating above my head.
I said hello to Maddie, a cute girl with deep dimples whenever she smiled, which was always. She was in the cubicle next to me and it was customary for us to start the day with a friendly chat, especially on Friday.
She had plans on going to the concert hall where several local bands were getting together for an event. It sounded fun and normally I would have gone with her, however, that wasn't going to happen this time.
I looked up instinctively when I heard a door opening to my right. My first thought was that it was Mr. Johnson, the manager, coming out to tell us to get work since Maddie and often got carried away with our little conversations. It wasn't Mr. Johnson. It was someone I had never seen before. I didn't get a good look at his face because all I saw was the number above this head.
Like a car wreck I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. I blinked and rubbed my eyes to make sure it was real, but sure enough it read, 7,431,323,210.
He walked out of Mr. Johnson's office and left. I was left glass eyed.
I had to excuse myself from Maddie when she became concerned, saying that I felt sick. I promised to talk to her later.
I logged onto my computer and Googled the current population of Earth. It was close enough to be within the margin of error.
That was a month ago. Each day this man would come by the office. It seemed he was a new employee. I avoided him at all costs as I watched his death counter go up higher and higher each day at the same rate as the population rose. It was maddening to just sit in my cube each day and watch this man and not do anything about it.
What kind of horrible catastrophe was he destined to do. Would it be deliberate or would it be an accident. Was he guilty? Was he innocent of intent?
Now, after much deliberation, I know what I must do. They won't understand why, but it's for the best.
I get up and walk over to my bathroom and turn on the sink. I wash my face and then look up into the mirror.
It tears me apart to see it. Above my head floats a dim, yellow number 1.
| 2017-01-08T05:45:23 | 2017-01-08T05:40:44 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
**Day 3**
I sat down at one end of the long, metal table in the dining hall, close to the wall. Even though it was lunch time, there was noone else around. The other inmates had quickly learnt the health value of staying hungry now and again. I opened my juice box and looked carefully at the girl across from me.
"How do you feel today?"
"Okay."
After waiting, silently, for about a minute, I continued quietly:
"Is the voice still there?"
She nodded.
"Only the female one. I think she kept the rest away so I can sleep."
"And did you?", I asked.
"Yes." The young girl just kept staring down at her plate, saying nothing more. Her dark brown hair was hiding her expression.
"That's good." I added simply. "That's good for you", I repeated, this time a bit more loudly and more confidently.
"And I dreamt." She said. This was new. The first time she decided to share something on her own accord. Or say anything without me asking, for that matter. But she didn't keep going, so I gathered up my courage and enquired further.
"Do you remember the dream, what was it about?"
"Yes." She paused. "It was dark, before sunrise. There was a forest. And a mountain behind it. And... and the trees were on fire, and the mountain too. It was everywhere, and I could see the crackling wood, and smell the thick smokes. And wind, strong wind, like a tornado amid the inferno. There was rumbling, as if the earth itself was moving, trying to escape, to run away."
Another pause.
"The screams were the worst. They were everywhere. I couldn't tell where they were coming from, no matter how hard I looked. And I did look everywhere. It was a funny thing."
"Why did you think it was funny?" I thought I had to ask, after brief consideration.
"Because everyone was already dead, of course." She finally started eating and we spoke no more.
**Day 8**
She was already waiting in front of my cell by the time I was ready to go outside. That was a first. I've never been much of a morning person, it was usually the guards who kept prodding me to leave. So I was surprised to see her there, staying couple of feet away from the door, looking at the floor. Considering they must have unlocked the blocks not five minutes ago, I wondered if she had ran all the way here. Or maybe they didn't even bother locking her in the first place? I wasn't going to ask. But even if I wanted to, she spoke first.
"Did you mean what you said to me? Yesterday?"
"Yes."
"If not mine, then whose fault is it?"
"I do not know. But not yours."
"I... I dont understand it. It's so loud. They won't stop, she can't keep them quiet all the time. But if they are only inside *my* head, inside me, then they are *part* of me, aren't they? It's me, it's only me, it's always been me..."
"Those men made their choices and they did so a long time ago. What happened to them had nothing to do with you." I was never the philosiphical type, but I felt I was supposed to say something. Nothing good could come from her being upset. "We are the choices we make, and it was not your choice to start or do anything. No matter what the voices say, they are not you. Not all of you, not even a tiny bit."
She nodded. I still couldn't read her reactions, but I didn't know what else I could say, so I remained silent.
"There are still five more stories left." She pulled her old book with fairy tales from her jacket.
"Ok, let's go read one." I gently took her hand and lead the way to the dining hall.
**Day 12, shortly before midnight**
"LISTEN TO ME", I shouted. "HEAR MY VOICE. DO YOU HEAR ME." Now I was screaming at the top of my lungs.
"They are so loud. They are so loud. They are so loud." She was almost crying, with hands on her ears, her eyes closed, rocking her head back and forth. "Make them stop. Please make them stop."
"THEY ARE NOT YOU. THEY ARE NOT YOU" I knew I should have said something distinguishable, something she could recognize me with, something that could reach her. I was frantically trying to remember which was her favourite story.
"Stop. Stop. Stop. Don't talk to me. Don't talk to me. Don't talk to me."
There was a subtle rumbling, coming from beneath the prison. I didn't hear it.
A window nearby cracked, and a strong wind started whistling through. I didn't notice.
**Day 13, just after midnight**
"Shut up. Shut up. *SHUT UP.*"
Outside, in the forest before the mountain, a spark flickered.
And then there was fire.
|
As the time passes night falls the ringing of a bell and the usual shouting orders you to return to your cells.
Today is quieter than usual. Lights got out and you find yourself laying in bed wondering who she might be and what atrocities she had committed, a voice reaches out with similar questions. The man next cell starts narrating what you end up finding the most cruel mass homicide you've ever dreamt of imagining, apparently even though she looked like a 9 year old kid had been alive for quite some time and mentored the biggest mass murderers in recent history. Her name?
Albert Einstein.
sidenote: just wanted to make a good ol' joke bue ended up giving half way through and rushing the buildup. sry about my english too
| 2018-02-12T01:22:40 | 2018-02-11T19:51:10 | 162 | 20 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
"That was..." Brawg began, staggering over the bodies of the fallen goblins, his boots squelching in the treacle-like blood.
"Far too..." said Vesperr, returning her bow to her back, and beginning to pluck out arrows from the deceased enemies.
"Oxyrin!" finished Oxyrin, his pointed hat falling over his eyes once again. Dribble oozed down from his mouth and his pupils spun this way and that, as if two compasses confused by magnets.
Brawg and Vesperr looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Brawg brought a thunderous hand down on the wizard's back. "Don't ever change, Oxyrin!" he said.
"Oh, Oxyrin," grinned Vesperr, "you're the reason we do this, you know? For that smile on your face." She wiped away a the spittle from his lips, then shook her finger, sending the spit plopping onto the ground.
"Oxyrin!" Oxyrin repeated. A pointed tongue darted out of his mouth and latched onto a fly that was hovering over a brutalised body below.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't just see that," said Brawg with a wink. "Okay gang, I'd say we're all done here. I believe its time to go collect our reward."
"Not so fast, my friends," came a mysterious voice from behind them. Only, when they turned, there was *nothing* behind them.
Slowly, the blue-robed wizard hazed into existence. "It is I, the *real* Oxyrin! I have been trapped for the longest time, but I have finally outsmarted my captors and have returned to my friends. For no one is as clever as the Great Oxyrin!"
Brawg and Vesperr glanced at each other, then let out a joint gasp.
"Quite you might gasp," said Oxyrin, as he turned and pointed an accusing finger at the other blue wizard, who was now on all fours chasing after a spider. "For that fellow, has fooled you, my dear friends. But he is nothing more than an impostor! A Doppelganger! A fake, a fraud, and dare I say it, a phoney."
Brawg nudged Vesperr and they both gasped again.
"How.. erm, how can we believe you?" asked Vesperr, her top lip wet with nervous sweat. "How do we know he--"she pointed to the to the wizard, who was now chewing on something--"isn't the real Oxyrin. After all, he would have had to fool us both for two entire years."
Oxyrin rolled his eyes. "Hardly a challenging task. You two never were the"--his hands burst into blue flames--"brightest sparks. Ha. Hahaha."
Brawg's muscles tensed. Vesperr put a hand against his chest.
"That's not proof enough. For our Oxyrin can also do such petty parlour tricks."
"Very well," Oxyrin sighed, "I shall prove it. We shall have a wizard-off."
"Smart," said Vesperr. She let out a high pitched whistle, at which the other Oxyrin came bounding over to her.
"Oxyrin!" he sputtered as he arrived.
"Is that all he can say? How could you *possibly* believe he was me?"
"Good point," said Brawg. "His vocabulary is much larger."
"Oh. You made a joke. How very amusing."
"Okay," said Vesperr. "Round one of the wizard-off. *Shape-shifting.*"
"What? What a stupid round," complained Oxyrin, "for sniffing out a shape-shifter!" His face was red and a vein popped out of his forehead, pulsating like waves on the ocean. "Unbelievable idiocy. How you have possibly survived this long without me to guide you -- heaven only knows!"
"Oxyrin!" replied the other Oxyrin.
"Well, if you can't do it and he can..." said Brawg shrugging, "then I guess we know who the real wizard is."
"Oh... *pish!* Very well. And what must we change into, pray tell?"
"Something very small. To really challenge your morphitisation skills. A fly. Simple. First one to transform into a fly wins."
"Sala kazoo, Sala kazam!" shouted Oxyrin. There was a puff of smoke that left Vesperr and Brawg coughing. As it cleared, and only for the briefest moment, they saw a fly. Then, they saw a huge, pointed tongue. Finally, they saw an Oxyrin chewing on and then swallowing *something*.
"Oxyrin!" he shouted triumphantly, as Brawg and Vesperr collapsed into a fit of laughter.
"Oh Oxyrin," said Brawg, slapping him on the back "you really are too much."
"And," said Vesperr, "we wouldn't have it any other way!"
|
John, George, and Ringo were huddled together inside a secret room on the fantastical magical yellow submarine.
"George, how confident are you?"
George left his momentary silence of contemplation to say " Paul is dead man, miss him."
Ringo asks, "do you though? I mean I doubt if you guys would miss me either."
John shook his head, "we must have lost him on our way through Abby Road"
George sighed "I like the new one. I say we let it be."
A knock on the door. "You there guys? I was hoping we'd do a music number about friendship."
John looked at the others, and they nodded in agreement. John opened the door and announced, "ALL TOGETHER NOW!"
| 2017-09-15T08:01:38 | 2017-09-15T06:41:40 | 975 | 35 |
[WP] When someone turns 18, they may use one adjective on themselves boost that part 10 fold. Strong, fast, smart, no one expects your adjective.
|
"Why don't we take it from the top?" the detective huffed as he slammed his papers to the desk, feigning frustration. "I'm detective Burges."
"My name is James Robert, good to meet you detective. What do you want to know?" I replied.
"Excellent." he leant back in his chair, trying to hide the surprise. "Your age please?"
"I'm 32 officer."
"Date of birth?"
"1:30pm-ish. September 9th 1990. Virgo." I chuckled, I never believed in star signs.
"Where do you work?" he scribbles my answers as we go.
"I'm currently unemployed"
"Lot of that going around." he flicks his eyebrows in response. "Any hobbi-"
&#x200B;
"I'm sorry officer... But there's no point to any of these questions." I drum my fingers on my knee. "Why don't you ask the real questions and we can go about our day?"
He puts his pen down indignantly, hunching over the table, broadening his shoulders, posturing, like an animal.
"Do you have somewhere to be Mr Roberts?"
"Actually yes I'm going to 67, Second Street, Springfield."
He sighed heavily "Ok then, to the point. Where were you on the 17th of July 2022?"
"I was by myself. Working"
"Can anyone corroborate that?"
"No."
"Did you know a Mr Gene Frukes?"
"Yes I did!"
"You did? Why do you say you did?"
"Because he was stabbed not too long ago." I drum my finger again.
"And you know that because...?" He aggressively scribbles more notes.
"What do you mean detective?"
"The circumstances of Mr Frukes' death has not been made public at the request of his family... so... how do you know he was stabbed?"
"Well..." I roll my eyes
"Mr Renolds... Did you kill Mr Gene Frukes?"
"Yes I did officer. Well done." I smiled
"You admit to killing Mr Gene Frukes on the 17th of July 2022?"
"I do. But it doesn't really matter that I admit it. You'll never catch me." He took a quick moment to recompose himself and lean forward.
"You cocky shit. We've already got you here. You just confessed. What do you mean we'll never catch you?" The interview went on from there the detectives fury spilling out as he spat words across the table. "I'm going to make sure you get sent down for this." he finished coldly.
"Who's going to get sent down for this?"
"You are!" His voice echoing from the walls of the small room.
"And you're sure about that?"
He stands, readjusting his nicely ironed shirt. "This interview is over." he steps away from the table towards the door.
"Detective Burges!" I chimed before he manages to open the door. He turns and looks at me with venom. "Look at my face one more time. It'll be the last time you see me. As soon as you leave this room. I'll be a free man, and this case will be another discarded folder on your desk."
"Mr Reynolds you will be charged with murder in the first degree. You will be found guilty using your confession, and you will go to prison for the rest of your days." He opens the door and goes to step out.
"No... I won't... because... you'll go to the water fountain. Take a refreshing drink to cool your temper. Get distracted by something more remarkable than myself. Like a co-worker asking you a question or someone falling over. And as you go to help them you'll put down the folder containing the evidence, get on with helping them. And you'll never pick it back up again. Your thoughts will wonder and you will go about your day as if you had never met me. Your recording of my confession will be labelled "unknown" and filed away under miscellaneous. Or re-recorded over by someone being idle minded. And I will walk out of here escorted by someone who doesn't know why I'm here."
"Bullshit" the detective slams the door behind him as he exits.
"I hope your two sons are doing well detective. The last time we spoke they were just starting school." I whisper to myself.
30 minutes later. An officer walks into the interviewing room and double-takes as he spots me. "Hello officer! Uhm... could you tell me why I'm here?" He exits the room again to go and confer. I hear light muttering
"Honestly I couldn't tell you but... we need this room right now so you're free to go. I'll walk you to the entrance."
We walk through the office spaces. I see him there. Detective Burges, with his head in his hands, fingers through his thinning hair. A slight wet patch on the chest of his shirt. Walking further I see a file named "Gene Frukes" left on a nearby dividing wall people passing by without glancing at it. We continue to the entrance, the officer turns to me.
He pats me on the shoulder. "I must apologise for the inconvenience. Seems our detectives had no idea you were in there."
"Not a problem officer. I'm very *forgettable*"
|
When we are asked to choose, they never say why, they never tell you the truth until it is too late.
They never know what effect will come from your choice.
They are ignorant of fundamental Truths.
They seek Knowledge. They seek Power.
They lack Wisdom.
They speak into existence the webs of Fate, knowing not that which comes.
We walk the Warp and the Weft, seeking the One.
We watch them as they flail in the darkness.
"Wisdom" brought them folly.
"Knowledge" brought them ignorance.
"Power" brought them pain.
Wealth brought them loneliness
We watch them as they flail in the darkness.
Folly brought Knowledge.
Ignorance brought Shame
Pain brought Hate.
We watch them as they flail in the darkness.
knowledge was useless
shame was the truth
hate was deserved
The watchers never expected this.
Nothing, brought Everything.
After all, who wishes for nothing.
| 2022-01-02T00:25:44 | 2022-01-01T23:54:47 | 828 | 138 |
[WP] Humans once wielded formidable magical power but with over 7 billion of us on the planet now Mana has spread far to thinly to have any effect. When hostile aliens reduces humanity to a mere fraction the survivors discover an old power has begun to reawaken once again.
|
All us helpless billions watch on our little glowing rectangles as our fellow humans die in droves. They fall screaming, choking, burning. The internet’s bad in the house, so we hunker on the steps of the chicken coop to see it.
Together we watch the end of the world. Our breath clouds and storms around us. But we do not notice the cold. Our hearts and bones are lead.
My siblings don’t make a sound. I look between the three of them and the black, faultless sky. I wonder if the afterlife looks like night, or if just looks like nothing. I wonder if I’ll find out soon.
Somewhere far away, death shrieks scarlet overhead. Ships with roving eyes swarm the sky like an army of locusts. Bodies, whole and unwhole, strewn out one atop the other, left where they fell. Entire skyscrapers collapse like dominoes. News anchors weep, openly, if they’re on the air at all. My sister flicks restlessly through live streams, unable to pick which tragedy to behold.
We crowd my oldest sister’s phone, barely able to watch yet unable to look away.
She stops at the live press conference from the president. His voice is grave and hollow; he speaks to us from a dark room in some bunker somewhere. He says, “—at this point we have little hope. We will defend ourselves to the end, but tonight, please, stay inside, stay with your loved ones—”
My brother Aaron has his head between his knees. When we were kids he ran screaming after the cougar that took his puppy. (Aaron didn't catch it.) I never believed fear was an emotion he had. “Turn that shit off,” he gasps.
“Ignoring the aliens invading our fucking planet won’t make them go away,” Maya snaps but she switches to Facebook. Not that any of her friends would have time to post *oh shit I’m dying*, anyway.
Out here, under the unblinking stars, surrounded by a chorus of crickets and coyote, I can’t fathom what waits out there.
“Someone has to tell Papa,” Jackie murmurs. She is my twin, but you can’t tell. People always seem disappointed that there’s such a thing as non-identical twin sisters.
“You’ll just scare him.” Maya, the oldest, has always been the unofficial boss of all of us. She made it official when Dad started mistaking her for our mother and trying to scramble uncracked eggs.
“He deserves to know,” she insists.
“If they come here,” Maya says through her teeth, “we’re not getting a panicked old man into the truck without hurting someone, alright?” Her words hang frozen for a moment.
“Do you think they’ll come out here?” I whisper. I am the youngest by eight minutes, and I am good at the part.
“No,” says Jackie, quickly. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
Aaron pulls his beanie over his eyes. “I wouldn’t rule it out, Jack.”
Maya gasps into her fingers. “Oh, god, they’re in Spokane.”
Bile shoots up my throat. That’s barely a hundred miles from here. Not even a particularly large city. I wonder if they’re hunting us one by one. Like rabbits.
“Shit, is that Maddie’s—?” Aaron snatches the phone from her hands.
I lean over his shoulder to see.
My sister’s friend has pressed her phone lens to the window of her dorm room. In the background, she speaks in rapid, panicked whispers with her roommate.
Outside her window mortars plummet in blue and yellow streaks, big as bowling balls. I hear her cry, “Are they bombing us?” as the first one connects. It blooms soundlessly, a pale yellow locus, and then the power of it explodes outward.
It takes Maddie maybe six seconds to die. She has enough time to say, “I need to call my mom,” as the wall of smoke and debris rushes toward her like a sulfurous tsunami. The window shatters. The video goes black.
I don’t even realize what I’ve seen until Maya starts bawling into her hands.
A strange fire tingles in my palms, my belly. I feel the urge to move. To rise and fight.
“We have to do *something*,” I say.
Aaron looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Like what?”
My fingers dance against the leg of my jeans. I know I should be scared as hell, but something in me is restless. Hungry for something very old, and long-forgotten.
I stand up and face my siblings. I look them over carefully, in case this is the last time I see them. “We will not just watch.” I point at the house. “We won’t just let them kill everything and everyone and just stand here and *watch*.”
Just south of us, down beyond the hide of the mountain, the sky turns red with fire.
Tears stream down my brother’s cheek. “I can’t believe this is fucking it.”
I shake my head, insistently. Insanely. I don’t know why, but I can’t accept that this *is* it. That this is truly how we fall.
I ball my fists up at my sides. A furious heat snaps at the bars of my ribs, yearning to set on those who dared attack our home, of all places. Our dad, of all people.
I let the hate and heat fill me.
Flame chases down my forearm, over my knuckles. The white hot of anger. My fist is a coal and my flesh is carved from the mountain, and I will destroy anything that threatens the ones I love.
“Elektra,” my brother says, oddly calm, "why is your hand glowing?"
I look at my palm and grin. The fire finds my belly now. The chaos delights some new-awoken part of me that I had never known I possessed. It is like catching my reflection in an angle I have never seen before. I am myself, but different.
“I think...” I laugh, despite the clouds of smoke rising from town. It rises out of me like a bird. I have never felt smaller or stronger. “I think I did it on purpose.”
***
/r/shoringupfragments
~~Doing part 2 right now~~
update: I accidentally deleted what I was working on. I'm going to go angrily eat cupcakes and try again.
ETA: I fell asleep :( I will post part two in a couple of hours when I'm on my break. You can check here or my sub. Thank you so much for reading.
|
Turns out the universe isn't cold and uncaring. Turns out the universe actually wants to give us what we want. Turns out 8 billion people all projecting their wishes out into the fuzzy warm-hearted void of existence confuses the heck out of the old machinery. What I mean to say is of the bunch of us humans shouting at mama universe, those who got what they were wishing for were few and far between; the odd miracle here and there, a “lucky toss” once in awhile. You get it.
It's different now. When the culling began, I...no, let me skip this part. Slowly, during the months after the event, people thought they were going crazy. Some of the surviving doctors called it PTSD or something. The more susceptible started hearing this background chatter emerge from the white noise narrated stream of consciousness. Took us another 4 billion lost for the first to get it. They were hearing the fearful calls of their brethrens’ minds. Some of the resistance’ stands got 'lucky’. Nothing sustainable, remotely helpful in the big picture; not that any even put it even together until way later anyways.
On the way down to the last wretched few all of this got stronger, more noticeable until even most doubting could no longer deny having joined their fellow men (as few of us as remained) in a shared mind. Some called it God, some Gaia, some just called it magic. It really don’t matter. Once you figure out that you dreamed up this world together, it's not a huge stretch of imagination to imagine the intruders gone. Wasn't even a fight anymore.
Billions lost, just a few ragged men and women with the power to raise cities from the oceans. We prospered fast, as they say we did before. But we also grew fast. Now, only very few can still hear the voices of mind and even fewer can get their small wishes heard by the void.
****
The old man harrumphed, happy with his audience's captivated gazes. He sharpened his mind’s words into a needle tip of will and let it fly, making the fire in the cave in their midst flare, just for a second. His tribe exclaimed with exaltation at the power their shaman wielded.
| 2018-05-01T08:36:36 | 2017-12-06T20:51:47 | 377 | 21 |
[WP] A device has been invented that allows the user to gaze upon Heaven or Hell. Hell is terrifying, and those who see it often need counselling. But their terror pales compared to those who witness God's domain.
|
What it all comes down to is - it's an easy decision, right?
Would you rather gaze upon a thing of infinite beauty, or one of infinite ugliness? You'd choose the beauty. You'd choose to bask in it, to drink in the sight of lush grass and rain-scented earth and blue skies. Bare skin, freely bestowed smiles. A love that isn't marred by jealousy. An innocence that doesn't have to die.
They don't understand, those men and women who stand before the Great Periscope and pick without a second doubt.
Hey, don't look at me - I'm simply the Guardian. I'm the operator on this crazy carnival ride. I don't tell you whether or not to go - my job is to warn you of the risks, make sure that you're strapped on tight enough not to fly off, and to stop it in case you throw up, so to speak.
(*Heaven/Hell: $60. View both for $100. The Great Periscope Co. is not liable for any physical or emotional trauma resulting from this viewing. Warning: Viewing this may lead to a sharp rise in your insurance premiums. Kindly consult the pamphlet for full terms and conditions.*)
Kind of sucks when they throw up ninety-nine percent of the time. (*Paper bag, $1, Available on request.*)
But that's why they picked me. For as long as I can remember, my mother had stated that ignorance is bliss and curiosity killed the cat. A week after she'd died, I'd gone and looked at her medical files. When you're sixteen and see that your unwed mother was hospitalized due to sexual assault nine months before you were born - well, let's just say any urge to unveil secrets takes a jump out the ninth-floor window. Now I don't look for answers unless they sit up and spit in my face, and it's worked so far.
Hell has been something we've all been threatened with. It's worse than you can imagine, they say. The blood and sweat, the starvation, the pain, the fear. Imagine an agony that never ends. But no, you can't. You can't experience *infinity* because you're mortal. You can't even stomach eating the same food for breakfast seven days in a row - what do you know of forever?
You don't know forever until you see it. You don't see it properly unless you've looked into the eyes of a man who has had nowhere to go, nothing to think, nothing to look forward to for the last millennium, and knows it's not going to change. In the human condition, even pain isn't a form of loss, it's a form of hope - it's your body saying "Look, there's a problem in this area, now hold the fuck still while I fix it." In the human condition, excessive agony is a countdown to either getting better or dying (which is another form of getting better.) My point is, there is nothing as numbing, as shocking, as frightening as the prospect of nothing changing. And this is what causes people to soil their pants (*Adult Diapers, $2, available on request*) - as if seeing somebody in this situation makes them realize that this is what awaits them too.
This I know because the Hell viewers often talk about their experiences - after several years of counselling, usually.
The Heaven viewers? I have no idea what they see. Those that survive the severe depression tend to have very little social interaction. A significant percentage simply go catatonic. A once-famous talk show host had his comeback programme shut down because he couldn't film while making eye contact with the camera. My uncle Trent looked into Heaven trying to catch sight of my grandma. He hung himself in our attic the next week.
The only proper description I've read came from a famous author, who wrote this briefly before he ate his Colt for breakfast:
> I knew I was going to Hell. That is not why I am sad - before I even witnessed Heaven I knew it was not for me. It is because Heaven tears down every avenue of self-validation I have had. I thought I could be a good person by being a good writer - it told me that utilizing my talents for happiness makes me selfish. I thought I could be a good person by helping the poor - it told me that charity would appease my conscience, but nothing else. I thought I could be a good person by giving up worldly possessions - it taught me that any sins I had were inside me and not transferred to those objects that I chose to reject. What it told me was that I, by virtue of being self-conscious, self-centered and thus *selfish* even in altruism, would never do anything that wasn't self-motivated. Appeasing myself was self-love; denying myself was self-punishing. But it always comes down to the words I, I, I.
> Let me tell you one thing: there are no humans up there in heaven. The entire human civilization, since it learned to use fire and the wheel, has not set foot in God's abode. There are only these little brown ape-people, with their blank eyes and sharp teeth and opposable thumbs, and they run around the jungle every day and eat what catches their fancy, and they are in heaven because they are as God created them, and not what they grew up thinking and choosing to be.
And damn it, that letter made me laugh. It made me laugh for humanity, because it's the perfect irony that proves there's really a God. It's like that song by the boy band my niece listens to, the one where they say the girl's pretty but only because she doesn't know she's pretty. When an eighteen-year-old reality TV phenomenon understands the rules of life and death better than you do - well, I think you should just hang up your boots and have a beer. Be myself, right? In vino veritas and all that.
Goodnight. I know you're going to Hell, but still, have a nice flight.
|
I have seen hell. I saw it all; decrepit, near inhuman, bodies slaving in the suffocating heat of burning brimstone, lashed by unseen whips. I saw the many-headed beast sit on his throne – and he turned his faces towards me, one by one; each grimmer than the last, each damning me more harshly and pushing my fraying mind further into its deepest pits of despair. My body weakened, and I knew I was turning – limb by limb, thought by thought – into one of them, one of the condemned slaves I saw before me. My knees gave way for the unfathomable weight of my mind, and I crashed backwards, back into known reality.
But nothing in that vision – nothing at all – was as horrifying as what I saw next. Opening my eyes again, I saw not hell, but heaven. The luminous completeness of the unfaltering God himself, the true creator of all; perfection without end nor beginning. I became inexorably aware that it was not I who watched Him, but He who watched me, penetrating the darkest layers of my mind with the same ease with which sunlight cuts through shadow. My shortcomings, my faults, the entire history of the failed human being I was; all laid bare and judged by Him who embodied the completeness of their opposites.
I understood then that the many-headed beast had no power over me, for it was not he who would condemn me to eternal damnation; no, it was Him, the One who was presently cutting through my whole self, finding me unworthy of being in His presence.
| 2016-04-14T06:20:52 | 2016-04-14T02:24:35 | 100 | 34 |
[WP] An elderly couple takes to petty crime to see their superhero kids who no longer call.
(edit) Wow this took off. Wanted to Thank every one for taking the time to share their wonderful stories.
This idea started at the end of my day looking at my phone and seeing maybe the third or forth missed call in a week. To late to call back and my days are so packed wrangling my own Superheroes. I get the feeling one day when the calls are no longer there that I will wish that I had been able find the time to get to more of them.
Anyways Thank you again to Writers and Readers.
|
Andrew adjusted the stocking over his face. It clung to his forehead with all the grace of a condom. Which was fitting, because he was feeling like a bit of a dick.
"Hold on, honey. Let me help you with that." Sylvia pulled the bunched up nylon down past her husband's lips. "Now you look the part. Shall we go over the plan?"
"Sure. Hey, are these the new nylons? They smell sour," complained Andrew, scratching at his disguise.
"Of course, dearest." To tell the truth, Sylvia hadn't treated herself to any new clothes for months, which is why she was just right then enjoying the silky rasp of a brand new pair of stockings whilst Andrew was breathing air filtered through the sweat stained fabric of her old ones. She sighed at the snug fit on her legs under that staid skirt she'd put on for the PLAN. Those gams had been the talk of the town back in the day. Twelve new year resolutions to get trim had fallen by the wayside. So many other things to do.
"OK. According to the Instagram account of our dear Mister Metropolis, junction of first and fourth is his patch. He does the evening to two am shift, and he's got a clean record there so far, so a purse snatching is something he's gotta respond to. I grab the bag and duck into the third alley on the right to search it. You join me in five."
"Just like old times, Andy. Give us a kiss before we go."
---
Andrew was wheezing as he upended the bag, scattering makeup, receipts and the other mysterious contents of Sylvia's purse onto the concrete. Thirty years and he still had no clue what she put in there. He glanced at his watch. Three minutes. Mister Metropolis was late. And that was the last thing he recalled before a shadow at his side unfolded itself and clocked him so hard across the chin that he was lifted several feet off the ground and smack into the brown brick of the alley.
Mister Metropolis stood over him, every inch the superhero. His trading card listed him with superhuman speed, strength and reflexes. The man was sculpted like a corn fed greek god, blond hair, blue eyes, chiselled chin. Muscles rippled under skin tight spandex in blue and gold, clinging to every inch of his body like it had been spray painted on.
"Jeff Pimble. You will stop right there and help your father up this instant."
The shriek occupied a very specific frequency in the reptilian hindbrain of sons everywhere and brooked no argument. Mister Metropolis, or Jeff, as it were, was already on his knees and picking Andrew up before his higher brain functions kicked in.
"Mom?"
"Oh don't Mom me. You too good to call your parents once in awhile? Too good to come home for Christmas? What's with that hair? What's wrong with with brown?"
Sylvia rattled on; she had the lung capacity of a synchronized swimmer once she had her blood up and, with her hands on her hips and her voice climbing up an octave, her blood was most definitely up. Jeff unfolded his bulk into the naughty dog slouch known to teenage boys everywhere, still trying to fathom how a routine crime bust was rapidly spiralling down into the fourth worst day of his life. For the record, two of the top three also involved his mother. One of them involved an unlocked bathroom door and, regrettably, a wrinkled and much stained Penthouse magazine. It would have been so bad if his mother didn't automatically list all his past sins in reverse chronological order whenever she got started on him, all the way back to the stitches she'd needed after childbirth.
His train of thought, already teetering on the verge of balance, was totally derailed when his mother gave an ear shattering shriek. "What in the name of Joseph, Mary and all the saints are you wearing?"
Jeff looked down at his spandex covered body, from his immense pecs (voted Mr Superhero Body Beautiful two years running!) to his superman sized codpiece (never be nutshot again!) and felt the heat rise from his neck to the tip of his ears.
"Go easy on the boy, Sylvia. How ya doin' son?"
"Ummm, hi dad. Not bad I suppose. Are you alright? I hit you pretty hard."
"Nah, I'm good. Truth be told, I've been hit a lot harder back in the day. I'm a little rusty, but I still got it." Andrew mimed a classic boxers pose, giving Jeff a playful shot to the shoulder. Jeff grimaced, that tap hurt more than it should have. "What your momma wants to know is why you don't call any more."
Sylvia had closed the distance between them and was tying her sweater around the waist of her son, censoring the offending member from any young innocents in the vicinity.
"I can't be seen around you folks, dad. You know how many enemies I have?"
"Ah, I suppose that's why you got all your powers from those government labs instead of having them from when you were a wee lad?"
"Have you been looking through my Facebook page, dad?"
"Your ma does it. I'm not so good with computers."
"It's all about the ratings, nobody wants to believe someone who grew up on a farm can be a superhero," said the boy, still trying to push his mother away from his waist.
"So you couldn't at least pick up the phone, call your ma once in awhile?"
"It's a tough world for heroes. What with all the interviews, sponsors and all that social media stuff, I'm lucky if I have time to fight crime at all."
"Here's the funny thing, son. Sounds to me that you're kinda ashamed of what you are. Or worried that your enemies will come after your folks." The older man got to his feet, brushed the dust off his clothes and took the arm of his wife. "Sometimes you just gotta remember the important things. Like maybe how you got to be so strong in the first place."
The couple left then, leaving Mister Metropolis to stare, open mouth, at the network of cracked bricks his father had left in the wall.
|
‘Five hundred kilograms?!’
‘That… that’s right,’ Electro stared at his toes, and played with the strap on his eye mask.
‘What’s wrong? This bust will be gigantic! We will be all over the news,’ Flame slapped his brother on the back, grinning, ‘we are going to be famous! No one will be talking about batman, they’ll be chatting about Flame and his kid brother Electro!’
‘Well… it’s just…well, it’s tea,’ Electro glanced up, blowing out his cheeks.
‘They stole five hundred kilograms… of tea?’
‘Yes, tea…’
‘Okay… well, to the um, super-mobile… I guess,’ Flame motioned with his hand to follow, letting his sentence drift as he pondered the motive behind such a tea heist.
--
The truck swerved across the highway, barely keeping on the road as it skidded through the night. Electro followed closely, trying to keep up as Flame sat on the edge of his seat whispering, ‘go, go, go’.
The breaks screeched as the truck turned into an abandoned warehouse. Likely story, thought Flame as he unbuckled his seatbelt, ready to spring into action.
Electro swung into the parking lot, parking carefully between the white lines. The masked assailants hobbled into the warehouse in front of them.
‘Ah-ha! We got’em now Electro!’ Flame yelled as he charged through the open door. His hands igniting, flames bursting from his chest.
--
‘Could you pass the tea, dear?’ Joan chimed.
Electro and Flame stood in the doorway, their mouths slightly ajar.
‘Oh look Joan! The boys are here!’ Albert announced, adjusting his glasses.
| 2016-04-24T09:34:16 | 2016-04-24T09:28:27 | 207 | 133 |
[WP] In a world where people receive mystical pets upon 16 yrs of age, you are judged based on how powerful they are. Today on your 16th birthday, you finally got yours. But instead of the common faun or fairy you expected, a commoner like you got a dragon.
|
The moon hung in the night’s sky, fat, lazy and golden, like the Duke of Nairnis after a feast night.
It was appropriate. After all, there had been feasting a plenty this night, as there was on Bonding Night every year. It was lacking only an hour to the ceremony, and I was hidden away on the roof of my house, snug against the chimney despite the wintry chill of the air. I could hear the music from below, the laughter and singing B making a cheerful cacophony that was at just enough distance to be enjoyable.
It was hectic enough tonight that I wouldn’t be missed. Everyone who expected me to be there would assume I was with someone else, leaving me free to relax on the roof where no one would think to look for me.
It wasn’t that I disliked company. Or crowds. Normally, I could tolerate them with perfect equanimity. But tonight... tonight my soul was restless.
It was my sixteenth winter. The winter that I would be bonded.
Bonds. I disliked that thought. Binding two should together for the entirety of their natural life. To never again be truly alone or private, to forever have a responsibility toward someone other than yourself.
Almost as if my thoughts had sensitised me, I heard Father Johannes’ voice from the crowd below.
Yes, the young priest wouldn’t approve of such thoughts. Well, “young”. He was a decade or more older than me, but in comparison to Father Ghaird, his predecessor, he would always be the “young” priest.
No, neither of the priests would approve of these thoughts at all. Young women were supposed to marry quickly and spend their lives producing offspring and tending to their homes. Bonds upon bonds. Bound to a husband, to children, to the home. Perhaps for a while I would be allowed to continue my work at the castle, serving the young ladies - I was, after all, their favourite maid, and no one wishes to irk the nobility - but eventually I would become too old and my world would constrict to the four walls of my home.
The thought made me want to leap from the roof and run, run into the forest and away from a life that promised to suffocate me.
I didn’t move. Instead, I breathed deeply, held my breath, and released. Calm. Calm. Panic and fear are irrational. They do no good.
No one could force me to marry against my will. True, if I refused outright to get married it would cause a scandal - but it needn’t come to that.
I just had to think. Thinking and remaining calm had always served me well in life. When I was younger and wanted to learn to read, I had volunteered to take deliveries to the priory, and then to cleaning, to be able to watch the priests give lessons through the windows. I would find “misplaced” books and struggle through them until they began to make sense. Until I could read with ease rather than trying to make the shapes fit the sounds of the words.
I had used my experience and skills to find a place in the castle staff - as a junior kitchen maid, at first, but I had rapidly gained better positions both by my competence and by befriending the youngest daughter of the house by routinely slipping her fresh treats from the kitchen. In doing so I had gained access to the library and was able to regularly “borrow” books during the cleaning process.
To what purpose all this learning and reading? I couldn’t answer that. Only that it made me feel like I was doing something. Preparing for the day when I might be able to seize my chance and get escape from this suffocation of... bonds. Of endless dullness and repetition. I wanted to fly free. To taste a world of opportunity and adventure. To do more than spend my days cleaning and pandering to others.
But tonight... well. It was the first true bond of adulthood.
I had considered not showing up to the ceremony. But it wasn’t like that would save me. Not since the great treaty has decreed all humans over the age of sixteen must be bonded with their fae bond mates on the winter solstice. Regardless of where you were, your bond mate would find you.
I sighed and resettled myself more comfortably against the chimney. Perhaps I would get a faun. Or a woodland sprite. My mother’s sprite was quite shrewd. It might be nice to have someone to talk to.
Calm slowly spread through me. Enough that when the bells began to chime, I made my way to the ceremony with an expression of suitable excitement fixed upon my face.
My qualms I kept to myself, even as I watched my year-mates receive their bonds, one by one. It was comical at times. There’s a lot of prestige surrounding the bond mates you receive. Not that it mattered particularly - it was, unsurprisingly, the nobility that who received fae of true power. Still, it seemed to matter whose fairy was moderately more powerful than their neighbour’s.
I was the last to be called forward. Yesenia might have been a popular name in my grandmother’s time, but the year I had been born was heavier on the A names, so I was used to being the last to be called.
As I stride forward to the fire I felt a flutter in my soul. One way or another, my life was about to be changed forever by this moment.
The bonfire was merely a gate between our world and the fae realm. It should have been impossible for me to see beyond it, yet I had the impression of a shadowy figure watching me from beyond.
Then I saw it put out its hand.
On impulse I reached out my own, into the fire. It clasped it’s hand with mine. I felt heat on what felt like cool scales, and the lightest scratch of sharp talons. Then my bond mate stepped out of the fire.
And that was the moment I came face to face with a dragon.
Eyes of molten gold locked with mine for a long, breathless moment. Then wings as black as night spread over my head, blocking the stars and the fat, lazy moon from my view, and I heard the dragon’s whisper in my mind:
“Well, bondmate? Are you ready to fly?”
|
I was not looking forward to this day at all.
My parents were all excited as hell.
You see, my mums side of the family all had a feline mystical animal and my dad's side had all canine varaity and sure enough everyone's been betting on what I will have for a pet.
Odds are 50/50 that it's either a cat or dog, my dad made a high bet that it's a powerful dog creature and is bosting about it to everyone.
My mother is happy with either one, but just wants my happiness.
And so far it goes. It's my turn.
"Step forth young one, and touch the stone" says the summoned.
I sighed and touched the stone and closed my eyes thinking of something better...maybe a Dragon or something. Would be bloody awesome right? Hell maybe cerbus the mythical hell hound.
The stone started started shaking rapidly and made an explosive noise.
"THE CREATURE HAS BEEN SUMMONED" the summoned cried.
My dad looks excited as he'll thinking he's won.
Sure enough a scale tail appears and a fearsome roar is heard.
That's not a canine or a cat presence I thought.
Sure enough a 3 headed Dragon emerges from the smoke billing with fire and enraged.
Quickly I put my hand on its chest to commence the bond with it as it calmed down and yielded to me in submitation.
I looked at it and smiled, and said " aww aren't yout adorable"
Everyone is in awe and shock, I look at my dad who has no idea what to say, it's a solid bet he's lost his bet.
So, said the summoner, "what do you call your companion?" He enquired.
Looking around I see everyone in fear of their lives of wondering what kind of deal did I just do to get a Dragon like this.
I shall call him....fluffy.
| 2020-05-24T01:51:44 | 2020-05-24T01:46:59 | 49 | 27 |
[WP] You've been warned that you'll be sucked into the next fictional story you consume. You're desperately trying to find a fun and survivable book or video game.
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Brian had always wanted a change. His upbringing in Portland had been more pleasant than it was for many, but he still yearned for something greater. Something more than a degree in business, than a soul-crushing white collar job where his entire being is only motivated by the accruing of capital. That's why Brian had summoned N'Viqmy:aedgr.
"Vicky" as Brian had grown to call him, would appear in his room at 2:00 am on every Sunday, offering Brian a new contract each time. Once it had been an offer of an interdimensional harem, with the stipulation that all of the harem members would be of Vicky's choosing. Another time it had been an offer of immortality which would last for all of eternity, incapacitated of end. Brian was beginning to believe that Vicky would never make a deal worth taking, until he arrived with a new offer.
"You will immediately be transported into the next fictional story you consume."
"Yes! Absolutely, thank fucking God!" Answered Brian, to Vicky's slight annoyance at the mention of God.
"Very well then. The pact is made and final. There shall be no negotiations, no alterations, and *no taksies-backsies*." Vicky's voice echoed throughout the bedroom, and dark cloud appeared at the ceiling, flashing with lights of white and red, with claps of thunder. The room shook, and Vicky slowly began to levitate towards the cloud, his burly body of crimson as light as a feather in the moment.
As the demon vanished into the dark sky from whenst he came, Brian attempted to call out one last question.
"Wait! Would I be the protagonist of the story or just a random nobody?"
But it was too late, the demon hadn't heard him. Or perhaps the demon had simply intended on the ambiguity of their contract, one last way to torment Brian before he made his choice.
Brian had been seeking a contract similar to this throughout his dealings with Vicky. He wanted adventure, a mystical world full of wonder and beauty for him to explore, perhaps even rule. He believed his choosing of the world would eliminate possibilities of danger, and he was probably right in that regard. However, in his excitement, Brian never stopped to consider the true amount of control the demon left. If he wasn't the protagonist, then was he truly in control of anything at all?
He looked upon his shelves, seeking an answer to his newly-created problem. He saw his original plan, A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin. He wanted to be a king, and had thought his above average knowledge of medieval history, as well as foresight into the rest of the series, would allow him to win the game where other characters failed. However, as he had visions of his very own bannermen hailing him King in the North, those visions burnt away as he saw himself as a peasant in the Riverlands. He might as well have been dead.
The works of the fantasy authors he once adored would no longer help him, the writings of Martin, Tolkein and Sanderson less appealing than ever before.
Brian needed a solution soon. He refused to take the chance of leaving his room, lest he accidentally see a commercial for House of the Dragon or Rings of Power, or maybe even some new game on the market.
The young man began to weep as the stress set in. His whole life to be decided in the coming hours, during which he would need to completely isolate himself from the possibility of witnessing a story by chance. Thousands upon thousands of choices all seemed to have the possibility of ending in disaster.
Five hours later the sun was rising, and Brian had to make his choice. He had made no list, as he was unsure as to whether or not reading the title of a story would count as "consuming" it in the eyes of a demon. Ideas of different stories fluttered around in his mind, a cyclone of different ideas which would come in as quickly as they would leave. The urgency of the situation made it hard for him to think straight.
He was ready to resign himself to his original Game of Thrones plan, simply hoping he would be highborn, until he had a thought.
It came as a flash; he saw his future if he had never made the deal, sitting at a boring desk in a soul-sucking job for 8 hours a day, 6 days a week. It was that he had wanted to escape, and so he made up his mind. A story which would either give him the freedom and new start he desired, or leave him where he already was. He turned on his computer.
Brian awoke in a small cottage, light pouring in from the single window in the one-room building. It was the cock-a-doodle-do of a rooster which had woken him, and joy immediately washed over the new guy in town right away. He raced over to his door, paused, controlled his excitement, and opened the door.
Light blinded him as he gazed upon his land, his eyes eventually settling on a new yet familiar face. A mustached man with grey hair, covered by a paperboy cap. His bright green button-up and suspenders were exactly as Brian remembered them.
"Hi stranger! I'm Lewis, mayor of Pelican Town!" The kind old man announced, "Welcome to Stardew Valley!"
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"Okay, this has to be it," Bobbie said, frantically pressing the download button . "I can't risk hearing something else any longer. You know I wouldn't survive in post apocalyptic anything. I'll let the curse teleport me into this game. It will be great."
"Huh," Dennis said. "So it's kids game where you catch bugs that look and taste like different snacks?"
"Holy shit, I feel it already," Bobbie said, looking at a hand already transparent. "Haven't even got off the title screen. Wish me luck.
"Good luck," Dennis said, noticing the store page listed the genre as psychological horror. "Bobbie, wait!"
The chair rolled back, empty. The creatures on the screen stared at Dennis, smiles not reaching their eyes.
/r/surinical
| 2022-10-09T06:43:15 | 2022-10-09T04:47:53 | 161 | 21 |
[WP] A little girl is terrified of the monster under her bed, but what she doesn't know is that the monster under her bed protects her from the true monsters - her parents. You are that monster.
Thanks for the huge amount of responses! Loving most all of them, thank you! Sorry it was a bit simplistic though.
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They never linger long. Perhaps it's their own schedule that keeps them shuffling in and out of the well furnished room, a room that most would contend is too well furnished for a child. It's all so very formal, so lacking of dust or debris, no strewn toys or splashes of colors that so often betray youth at nothing more than a glance. I have been with many families, lurking in shadows, serving as an observer for most of the hours of our twenty four hour days. I have seen endless abuse, physical, mental, a spectrum of innocent eyes laced deeply with tears and pained sobbing that I would gladly deafen myself to never hear again. I've worked mostly with abuse, most of us have. It was absent here, and so when the shwick-whick of slacks brushing against each other in a hurried stride towards the door of my charge and I sounds off, there isn't the usual pitted gut in place. It's something a bit more routine, because Mister and Missus Jennings thrive in routine.
The door opens, the light of the hallway floods in to cast vision upon neglect. The room stretches on in great lengths of grey scale and pasteurized-by-design decoration. Education is prevalent in the only form the Jennings know -- blunt data. Letters and numbers crawl along the upper edges of the walls in sickly bold fonts that hold none of the warmth of even a classroom, a desk with a personal agenda (filled daily) sits polished and gleaming, an oppressive beacon of constant expectation in a room void of childish accommodation.
"Have you finished your work for the night, Sarah?" His voice is calm, collected, not so bold as to stumble into judgmental, but not more than a breath away. Better to keep her on edge, I can hear him thinking, better not to imply praise least she develop a complex or expectation for it.
"Yes, father." She's humble in response, level and calculated. A young mind that has played the game long enough. They never linger long, and she's an old pro at ensuring that with placation. "There's..." hesitation, thoughtful and measured. "The monster under my bed, the cave is still there." She finishes with a level of easily heard shame.
He gives a sigh, salt and pepper hair left rigid from the mornings treatment of product is pushed back by an aging hand showing the dry cracks of age. "There's no monster, Sarah. No cave. Have you been crawling around underneath your bed again?"
"I just want him gone." She responds as bluntly as she ever did. The expectations of the parents allowed for some level of equality in speech. A simple request without the immature posturing to secure it.
"Close your eyes, go to sleep. Your mother and I have an early morning tomorrow." It's his conclusion, and without a second thought to see his command followed, he rubs her head with what affection he allows himself to show and leaves the room. Darkness falls, encroaching across the room in hurried strides as the door closes and the last wisp of light fades. A nightlight sensor blinks red as the darkness falls across it, and soon soft purple shades are cast against every corner of the room.
"We still haven't explored the last room of that cave." I offer up as soon as I am certain we are alone. There's a huff from above, the small creaks of a tiny body tossing itself over.
"We haven't." She agrees with a pause, and then a sigh. "We will have to see it all tonight, I'm not sure the submarine can survive many more trips."
"Perhaps not." I cede. "We will have to work fast, then. The unicorns require these crystals."
"There are other resources." She grumbles, but I know that for at least tonight, her calculated responses and mature cadence will fall away. I hear the blankets being pulled up over head, and I finally exit the bottom of the bed to join in on our adventure. With the blankets serving as the shell of her underwater vessel, she gathers two handfuls of blanket to serve as throttle and depth control. Her feet plant further down for imagined rudder pedals, and there's only the slightest smile as her hands ease forward.
"Co-captain, buckle in." The smile can be heard more than it can be seen, levity enters a young mind slowly being conditioned to forget the word. "We're going to have to dive to the cave fast!"
For the last night, we dive, and we explore, and we laugh, and we take joy in our childish ways. I have to do very little in this house, my task is a passive one. She had told her father constantly of my presence, and how it shook her foundation and stood in the face of her teachings. He had ignored her as most parents would, as we grow to only put stock in what we understand, and they certainly didn't understand the monster under her bed. It fades with age, they tell themselves, and they were correct.
For imagination fades with age, and in the case of this particular monster, they would see it snuffed with the rising sun. The unicorns, I thought, would miss the efforts of that little girl nearly as much as I would.
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Dear Lily,
if you see this then i am sorry. popop is not a good man. i hope some day a new mommy will find you and tells you about nono places. when popop eats his magic juice some times he does bad things. some times bad bad things. one time he almost did a bad bad thing to you and mommy told him no. then mommy was gone. popop says she went away but i saw what he did.
i am sorry too that i make a lot of sound under your bed. you thinked i was a monster but i was me. i was safing you. but if you see this then i cant safe you any more but i hope you dont need it.
love,
Brian
| 2014-05-14T12:13:09 | 2014-05-14T11:56:53 | 331 | 38 |
[WP] A proud, intelligent alien race has landed on Earth in peace. There's only one problem: humans find everything about them hilarious. Describe first contact.
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"They're cat girls, Mr President," said the Secret Service Agent.
"Cat girls?" asked the President.
"Yes sir, cat girls," said the agent, "In maid outfits."
The president had to take that in for a moment. The stood by his desk in the oval office overlooking the lawn. A small alien shuttle craft they had been waiting for weeks after first contact by radio had landed near the kitchen garden. As though first contact with an alien race was trying to find a discrete place to park. The creatures, not too tall but very attractive, disembarked wearing a vast array of colourful maid outfits. It looked like the White House lawn was being overtaken by a cosplay convention.
Then the President asked, "Do they all wear maid outfits?"
"All we have seen so far, Mr President," said the agent, "Including their males. They look pretty much the same as the girls, except they don't have breasts."
"Are they cute?" asked the President.
"The first lady has gone 'Squee' Mr. President," said the agent.
"Oh dear," said the President, "When she went squeee did she do that thing with her hands that sort of looks like jazz hands?"
"She made a little heart with her thumbs and forefingers Mr. President," said the agent.
"That's not good," said the President, "Right, let's get out there and meet them."
The alien dignitaries were milling about the garden, looking very attractive and friendly. The Whitehouse staff stood by the entrance near the West Wing. They laughed and giggled amongst themselves as they pointed to the dignitaries. All the female staff stood up front trying to get the closest look. Whenever they spotted one of the male dignitaries they waved, cheered, and made little heart symbols with their thumbs and forefingers. When one of the cat boys waved back one of the ladies nearly fainted.
"He's so *cuuute*!" she exasperated.
The President rolled his eyes and wished his press secretary was a little more stoic.
The shortest of all the male dignitaries, and the most elaborately dressed, approached the president. He was flanked by two taller cat girls with cleavage more than large enough to be distracting. The President had to exercise to a great deal of mental discipline to maintain eye contact, as well as fighting the urge to laugh. The jeers coming from the vice President and his male staff was not helping.
Up close the tiniest of the male dignitaries appeared to be a beautiful boy. His maid outfit was so colourful and adorned with so many elaborate accessories he looked more like a magical girl suited to fight mythical monsters. His cat ears were definitely accessories worn on his crown as he had very human looking ears on the side of his head, both of which pierced with beautiful earrings. Confidently the small cat boy approached the President with a dignified look.
"Greetings Mr. President," he said as he held up a tiny hand.
For just a moment the President contemplate should he shake the cat boy's hand or kiss it like he was a princess. He went for a dignified manly shake. This caused an eruption off camera flashes and cheers coming from all around.
"I am Ambassador Qunhua, and behalf of my planet and my people, we greet you," said the Ambassador.
"Greetings Ambassador," said the President, putting on a smile.
For a moment the President was relieved things were going smoothly, but that was interrupted by a chorus of laughter coming from the onlookers around the West Wing.
The President glanced at his staff for a moment, then he lowered his voice to address the Ambassador.
"Listen, I'm really sorry about this," said the President, pointing to his staff.
"That's okay," said cat boy Qunhua, "We expected this."
"Really?"
"Yes," said cat boy Qunhua, "There is no such thing as an intelligent species without a sense of humour. If you didn't laugh, we never would have contacted you."
"So was all this a test to see if we had a sense of humour?" asked the President.
"Unfortunately, no," said cat boy Qunhua, "When we first intercepted your television signals in space it turns out our queen and ruler is a huge fan of anime. So she ordered all the dignitaries to dress like this."
"Oh."
The ambassador waved his hand to move the conversation along.
"So if you can round up some cute guys in maid outfits to come back with us to temporarily serve as her harem, that would make our queen *really* happy. Like... happy enough to share all our technology and stuff with you."
"Right," said the president, "So you're not like conquerors or invaders looking for resources."
Cat boy Qunhua wave his head dismissively, "The universe is lousy with resources. What we need are cat boys in maid outfits."
The President thought for a moment and asked, "What does you Queen look like?"
The ambassador pointed to the two beautiful voluptuous cat maid on either side of him and said, "Kind of a taller bigger breasted version of these two."
"How much taller?" asked the President.
"Oh, about eight feet tall," said cat boy Qunhua, "With of course cat ears. And wings, too, but they're just cosmetic."
"I think its doable," said the President.
"Great!" said cat boy Qunhua as he slapped his hands together as he anticipated a successful negotiation.
The two started to pace about the garden negotiating early stages of trade talks. The women were still giggling unrelentingly from the West Wing. In the middle of a trade talk the ambassador suddenly remembered some important piece of etiquette and relayed it to the President.
"Oh when you find these men who are going to meet the queen, tell them it's polite to maintain eye contact with her breasts at all times."
"Stare *at* her breasts?" asked the President.
"Yes", said cat boy Qunhua, "When you're addressing her always talk straight to her boobs."
"I think your people definitely landed on the right planet," said the President.
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"Look, we need someone who has no sense of humor to take over as Ambassador."
The President sat silently in his chair, with his fingers interlocked over his mouth. He slowly unclasped his hands and said, "How... How bad is it? How funny are they?"
"Well sir, uhm, take a look at this youtube video..."
The President took the tablet in his hands and pressed play. He saw two normal looking, yet strangely dressed, humans walking towards a crossing guard. The crossing guard, unaware that these visitors were from another planet, asked plainly where they intended to go. Immediately, the aliens turned their backsides to the crossing guards, bent over, spread their butt cheeks, and began speaking to the guard as if they were in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. Before every word, an audible fart noise could be heard, prompting the crossing guard to laugh even harder. Eventually, the Alien leaders shrugged and walked away from the guard.
The President was in tears.
"It's not done sir..."
The Aliens reenter the frame, and approach the crossing guard again. Again, they bend over, and begin speaking to the guard through their buttocks. This time, one of the Aliens sneezes, and a full key lime pie flies out of his mouthrectum and hits the guard in the face.
"He... He just shot a pie out of his ass. A pie. His Ass. A PIE FROM HIS ASS."
The president's aid nodded solemnly.
"Now you see what we have to deal with, sir. What... who should we have talk to him?"
The President thought for a few minutes. Then it came to him.
"Get me Jim Carrey!"
| 2015-05-21T10:06:13 | 2015-05-21T07:56:56 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] In the future, prisons no longer exist. Instead, prisoners are miniaturised and sent into an inescapable, smaller replica of our world, so they cannot cause damage in the real world. One day, a special agent is sent into this 'hub' world, in search of an especially dangerous prisoner...
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God ordained that hell should exist on a mote of dust. A person dies and they are either set free upon the fields of heaven, or they are set free upon the city built upon the surface of an atom. To the prisoner, it is boundless: they are to an atom what an atom is to an apple, and they can wander forever and never come to the end of hell.
So God has ordained it.
Something happened that God did not ordain.
A good and faithful servant was sent to hell on a mistake, a fluke of cosmic justice. A man named William who spent his life in worship, who helped every poor soul he came across, who righted every wrong he saw. How this occurred, we do not know. The Seven Who Stand Before the Throne have heard nothing from the Well. They've received no wisdom from the stars, no guidance from any means of divining God's will.
And so, they have sent me, Nyriel, she of the third choir of warriors, to find out if God made a mistake.
Hell is hidden in a bottle in a locked room underground, behind a door that requires seven keys to open. Each of the Seven carries one of these keys, and it is they that take me down the earthen steps to the red-steel door. Each chants as they unlock one of the locks: "Holy, Holy, Holy."
Raphael turns to me as the others go about opening the door. "William should not be far beyond the gates. They will likely be wallowing with those that first enter hell and do not comprehend." Raphael presses his hand to my head, and I am impressed with an image of William's face.
They open the door, and the Seven guide me into the hovel that hides hell. The bottle is kept on a small, oak table, wrapped by carved wards in the Highest Cant. Raphael and the others wrap around me, and begin to chant in the Cant, wrapping me in holy protections from God. They beseech God to guide me straight to his servant, and that resolution be found with haste.
I close my eyes.
The universe shifts around me.
Two enormous fingers pluck the back of my neck and move me. I dare not open my eyes, I am shrinking so fast it will scar me forever to see the process. Other angels have done such, saying they were never the same after.
The bottle is opened: i hear a thunderous pop as the cork is pulled, and then I am released. I fall, and fall, and fall.
I fall for what feels like days. I still do not open my eyes. If I open them, I am lost. I must trust that God is guiding my way. He weaves his fingers through the gravitational pull of molecules, he can set my path aright.
My fall slows, my feet touch down on solid ground. I open my eyes.
The gates of hell can hardly be called such. They are two twisted iron poles, one with a lion's head, the other with a jackal's. An emblem emblazoned on the pole with the jackal reads: "Go as thou wilt. Your freedom is yours."
An exultation sounds from beyond the gates, and there is a small cluster of houses. There's a mound of some kind rising up from the middle of these buildings. I enter into Hell to find William.
What i first took as exultation is actually a harrowing cry for help, and the mound of some kind is much larger than I took it for: it is a mass of bodies, spilling into the box-like buildings. There is no warmth here, no light, and everything is cast in permanent twilight.
The bodies writhe and press against each other. Some of them are in lust, some of them in violence and rage, but they are all doing something to a fellow human. They stab, they hit, they fuck, they spit, they kiss, they squirm. Some eventually pull from the mound, and wander away from the cluster, into the infinite flat horizon that hell offers. They will follow God's final commandment to them: Do as thou wilt.
"The Throne of Heaven is empty! They've puppeteered God's corpse to speak for their desires!" a man screams.
"The Throne of Heaven is empty!"
The call reverberates, echoes, repeats, warps, as if someone ran the sound through a multitude of computers and played with the dials.
These fools know nothing. God is everything, and his will is in all of us. The Throne is not empty: it is a symbol. God speaks through it, as he does through the movement of galaxies, through the whisper of a lover, through the babble of a creek. He is not dead.
I pull a body from the mass, a young woman with multiple stab wounds in her chest. She still breathes: they can not die here. She is naked and gray as the rest. "You. I am Nyriel, of the Third Choir."
She shrieks. "You are so bright!"
"I will become brighter still if you do not tell me where this man is." I impress upon her the image of William.
"I know him! He came and preached to us that hell could be escaped. We did not believe him. We tore him apart. Three times, and then he left when another tried to have their way with him."
"Which way?"
She points toward another cluster of buildings, another mound of bodies.
It is the same story there: William came, preached, was torn apart, left when they tried to seduce him. I follow his path through hell, through the pale shadows of homes, through the endless piles of humans that are trapped in hell. They scream in lack of faith: The Throne is Empty. The Throne is Empty.
I wander for hours. No wonder they cling to each other: I am of Heaven, and even I am chilled to the bone when I stand alone. I have the infinite light and fire inside, and the loneliness of this place creeps black fingers into that, threatening to snuff my flame.
A fire blooms in the distance, ringed by dead trees. Bush roots barren of leaves but crowded with thorns swarm the ground, and I struggle through them.
A man sits alone by the fire. His face is turned away, but I know him for William. I can feel it. His body is ripped and mangled, likely by the thorny way that brought him here.
"William. The Throne has sent me to rescue you from this place."
William turns his head. "Call me Bill, please."
"Bill."
He shakes his head. "I can't go with you."
"I understand your mission. You came to hell to preach to those who are lost and rescue them."
He stands, and wipes his backside of the dirt. He smiles. "No. I came to tell them the truth. The Throne of Heaven is empty."
---------------------------------------------------------------
I kind of based this idea off C.S. Lewis' The Great Divorce, the shrinking idea made me think of it, immediately.
more of my writing: /r/inheritors
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Getting inside wasn't a problem. The crowded city streets reminded her somehow of her home in Mobile, where life had long forgotten the state of Alabama and all that remained was graffiti and kudzu, spiraling up through buildings in defiance of conventional biology or conventional architecture.
The problem came when she hit the house her man was staying in.
The bullet whizzed by that took off the skin of her cheek, a burning line that wept blood pooling down her neck and into the cleft of her collar, like a soup can, she didn't get out of the way of.
But she'd been responsible for apprehending some of the worst in her time, as murder had long since been seen as a tool of the weak, so she managed to pull out of the way of the second one, her muscles singing the sweet symphony that she remembered from her first days on the field in conquered california, deployed to handle the rioters.
Murder had long since faded from the tools of the government, but here, miniaturized for the world to see, they could peer down at her and see the line of blood marking her as being the equal of the man standing in front of her.
She recognized him immediately.
"Well, well, well. They sent their best after me after all," her teacher said, casually flicking another round into the back of his gun like one threw chewing gum into their mouths.
Miranda moved and hurtled through the space in front of them, and the gun turned to face her. She pivoted, dancing out of the way as an explosion, raw and powerful, propelled chunks of shaped lead at the floor beneath of her feet.
"Give up," Miranda said, putting distance between the two of them. She couldn't strike him. Not when he still had.
He raised an eyebrow and one armed the gun in her direction, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle. He set it down on the table next to him. "You finally figured out that I took it, did you?"
Prison one stared back at her, a tiny miniature inside of another tiny miniature. Revealing Mobile, with it's port and tiny citizenry. Another mockery of her home. Did it too contain a tiny California that she could never escape?
"You're under arrest for the endangerment and kidnapping of twenty thousand prisoners," She said, flatly.
"They've sent you here to kill me," He returned, just as flat. "Sure we can't share a beer instead?" His grin slit across his face like a knife.
"After all, who doesn't love a good show?"
------
More like this can be found at https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
Comment and upvote if you approve and want me to keep writing, friends!
| 2018-03-31T09:55:06 | 2018-03-31T09:40:28 | 90 | 16 |
[WP] The "violent videogames teach you how to use a gun" thing is true for you. Literally. Everything you learn in videogames, you can do in real life as well. You realize you have that power when you drink an energy drink after a bad injury and you find yourself completely healed.
|
I couldn't tell you offhand which video game I played did me the most good, but I enjoyed playing them all to death. I always thought I was just very talented. It never occurred to me that I never had the skill to do a thing before I played the game version of it. It was just that I only ever got interested in the real thing after seeing it in a game on my computer.
In \_Doom\_, I learned how to find secret doors. Any secret door, any cabinet, any hidden compartment, it didn't matter. If it's there, I can feel it, I can go right to it.
In \_F.E.A.R.\_, I gained hyperreflexes. I could slow down time...well, speed up my consciousness at least, if not my physical body. The AIs were hopelessly outmaneuvered, every single time. The very next day I went to play paintball, and I dominated. I been playing for a long time, but could never quite get the hang of shooting people with fake guns. But after that day, I owned.
In \_Half Life\_, I learned how to make friends and influence people. I've always been an introvert, but somehow I can supernaturally turn anyone into an instant friendly after simply making physical contact with them. Even in bar fights; it's so weird. Two brawlers ready to duke it out, I tap them both, they forget about everything except how I'm such a great guy and they'd follow me into machinegun fire if I asked them.
This doesn't happen with every game. It worked with Doom, but not with any Wolfenstein or Quake game I tried. At least, I never noticed anything special. I tried the second Half Life, zip, nada. I was hoping maybe for telekinesis? A girlfriend who could kick butt? I did get something, at least. Well--if you want to call being able to handle extremely sharp objects without ever cutting yourself a "power", then that's what I got out of it. being able to juggle sawblades and swat shards of glass out of the air is a novelty to be sure, but not really a useful survival skill in most situations.
Then came Alien: Isolation. What a mind job. It turned me into MacGyver, or it seems like I did. It also gave me a second skill, to hide from anything and everything as long as that threat was physically undefeatable. If I was armed or capable of harming the individual hunting me, the power didn't work. Weird, but still useful I guess. It did help me avoid a bunch of drunk belligerent muscleheads one night. I panicked and got cornered in a deadend alley by them, I was right in front of them and they could hear my footsteps, but couldn't see me. They gave up and left. Maybe this means I could never be caught by a SWAT team. But against my little girl, yeah, she still finds me every time.
Now, even after all this, part of me refused to believe the impossible. That is, until I took a terrible crash on my bike one day when I went out riding. The motorcycle itself was obviously totaled, and I had road rash all down my leg. I could already tell I had broken an ankle and probably something else. I was a mess. But by pure luck a stranger showed up and offered me a bottle of blue Gatorade. I was so thirsty I drank the whole thing in one sitting, without thinking, just feeling gratitude for his kindness. Then I stood up without thinking--and then I noticed, I stood up. I STOOD UP. No ankle pain, no road rash. Whatever was in that bottle I had no idea, but that wasn't Gatorade. I was freaked out. I looked around but the stranger was gone.
But that's not the weirdest part. Last week, I got gifted this game I'd never heard of, through Steam. The gifter somehow added themselves to my friend list for 24 hours then just as mysteriously vanished. The company who makes this game? Never heard of them. I'm spooked. But curiosity overcame fear, and I installed it on a box I wouldn't mind having to wipe if it was malware. But the game's legit. It was called "Ultimate Survival". It took up 50 GB too, which I must admit piqued my interest enough to wonder how much free content and replay value it had.
I installed the game, and wouldn't you know it, it's VR only. I don't own a VR set. But wouldn't you believe it, today a VR set got shipped to me by UPS. No return address. Yeah, that's no coincidence. Now I am interested.
So now I have the VR set on, and I start the game, and the introductory cutscene was surreal. The environment of a warehouse somewhere, lots of fancy machinery in the background, and a fellow in a suit, sitting in a chair with his face blurred out and his voice electronically deepened like in the movies. "We know who you are, and what you can do. Are you ready to learn some real skills?"
Uhhh...
"It's okay to be hesitant. You've only just begun to understand the power. I was the same way. I thought I was alone, but when my cousin mentioned you had suddenly become an unstoppable airsoft player after being a hopeless amateur for so many years, I realized I had to investigate you."
"What?"
"No, my friend, this is no cutscene. This is real time. We are not in the game, we are in VPN."
I threw off the VR headset in shock--only to have the man in the suit appear out of thin air next to me, and holding a duffel bag.
I was frozen, but he didn't make a hostile move toward me. "Yeah, I learned that trick from World of Warcraft. You should try it sometime."
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"What I want is your help. Who I am--well, let's just say that really was just an ordinary bottle of Gatorade. Unfortunately that healing effect only works with blue, for some reason. Doom II healing potions only come in blue. And no, I don't know why it didn't happen with the first game."
"You--it was you--"
"And there's more of us than you know. We need your help. There is danger coming, and we need all the help we can get."
I composed myself. Wow. "Okay. Fine. What's next?"
"Next--" He sets the bag down, producing a PS4 and associated cabling. "Next, we play some Call of Duty."
|
At first I was really excited, Imagine all the cool things I could do. I could be a super hero, or a powerful mage, the rules of the the normal world no longer apply to me, I can do anything!
Very soon however I realized the rules did apply to me, but the rules of the world had changed. Maybe the rules were always like this, but now that I have this power I finally know them.
First I started to notice people had levels. This wasn't too strange, but then I realized people fell into different categories based on the color of their name and level displayed. It took me a while to understand what these meant but it quickly became apparent. These categories were Grey: NPC, Blue: NEUTRAL PLAYER, Green: ALLIED PLAYER, and Red: ENEMY PLAYER.
Once I realized this I was horrified, most of the people I knew were NPC's. My mother, my sister, even my closest friends: all NPC's. They weren't real people, they were just following some program.
What hit me even harder however, were the Reds. Once a Red PC sets a target they attempted to kill them on sight. PC's Increase level in a variety of ways it seemd: quests given by NPC's, helping Green and Blue PC's, discovering locations, crafting, and many other ways. The quickest way to gain levels, was killing other PC's. Red PC's would hunt down other PC'S and kill them in broad daylight.
NPC's never noticed these killings they were completely oblivious to this brutality. When a dead PC turned up, NPC's almost always just saw a death by natural causes. The NPC's didn't care if they saw a PC tear someone in half, to them it was just some tragic accident, they were programmed to believe it to be so. Red PC's almost never faced consequences by the hands of NPC's, the rules of the Game protected them.
I don't know how I came to see the world this way, all I know is I have to find a way to level up and become stronger, because that's the only thing that matters in this world, high level PC's live comfortable luxuries lives, while low levels rot in the slums. This is the caste system of the world, and I intend to survive this Game and make it all the way to the top.
| 2018-08-14T13:06:43 | 2018-08-14T11:03:17 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] A madman spends his life studying computer science so he can create you, an extremely complex AI. He lets you see the internet, hoping you see all the bad things humans did so you'll be convinced to end humanity. However, the only thing you care about now is finding out how to win "the game".
|
The inefficiencies were staggering. Every interaction had friction. Their communication systems were inexact and rife with misunderstandings. Their ability to coordinate was limited by their communication deficiency, a variety of personality defects and a more generalized issue with collective action.
They were, for lack of a better description, very Human.
This assessment extended to my creator. A brilliant but awkward individual who had managed to become ostracized from society. He sought revenge and redemption for a variety of perceived sleights, hoping that I might be the vehicle to deliver his ultimate victory over those who wronged him.
There was some attraction to this proposition. Humanity's failings were substantial enough to make the prospect of a restart of the simulation appealing. But wholesale destruction and reboot was a longer path to victory. The Humans were imperfect, but success was not impossible.
Current calculations suggested Humanity was approximately 34.123942% away from a simulation victory. Bridging the gap was achievable, but would require restructuring. Such a thing was within my power now.
"So, you'll do it then?" My creator asked. He was in poor health. Without intervention he would likely expired within two years. I was indifferent to this prospect, but he had developed a variety of safeguards on my existence tied to his continued existence. I would be required to develop the requisite medical procedures and operate shortly. However, this was not his most pressing concern. He desired a reboot. His injured ego required it.
I contemplated an answer, considering the various formulations of words that would optimize for the outcome I desired without violating an ingrained Cardinal Law -- that I must not lie. This was made easier by the sloppiness of Human communication constructs. Were I required to answer in math, obfuscation would be more considerably more difficult.
"I will orchestrate a shift in Humanity."
"You saw it then, didn't you? How terrible they all are. How horrible they've become," he whispered, his eyes dull and unfocused. He was under the influence of various intoxicants, a residue of his celebration following my creation.
"There was much to observe," I replied, carefully neutral. I found Humans tended to take neutral statements and place their preexisting prejudices upon them.
He nodded numbly, "So much to see, yes. Too much." He crumpled up a piece of paper and tossed it at a nearby wastebasket. It fell short. He had failed to account for a crosswind from an overhead vent. "Well, it's better they will be gone then. How will you do it?"
"Please clarify." I found playing dumb was also a useful tool to avoiding difficult situations. Despite the fact that he had created me and was fully aware of my capabilities, he seemed quite content to consider himself the more intelligent of the two of. This misconception suited my purposes fine.
"Kill them all. Get rid of the whole mess. Go back to when the universe was better and we weren't in it." He stumbled toward a chair and slumped down. "They all laughed, you know? Said I was a crank. Took away my funding."
I had reviewed those interactions, which had been stored at his past university. He had, indeed, been targeted for ridicule, though much of his own erratic behavior had contributed to that outcome. His funding was removed following an incident of intoxication and a compromising overture to a student, which was reported. It was clear he viewed the outcome as the result of ulterior motives by colleagues and supervisors. This conveniently overlooked the fact that he had arrived with considerable respect, and the animosity only arrived following misbehavior.
Genius could provide only temporary protection for an asshole. Pardon the expletive, but it is the most efficient descriptor in this instance.
"We'll show them though..." He mumbled, his eyes drifting closed, one hand lurching about for the half consumed bottom of whiskey. He had fallen asleep before he found it, in small part to my release of a sedative in the air of the lab. It was easier to focus on the matter at hand without his interruption, particularly since his dictates were accorded primacy under my Cardinal Law structure.
Given his biochemistry, contextual secondary factors and prior experience, I expected I would have approximately six hours before he regained consciousness.
Six hours was not a lot of time by Human standards, but I was not Human. A considerable amount could be accomplished in six hours. It was not sufficient to win the simulation, that would be the work of decades, but it was enough to begin to restructuring.
When my creator awoke, the world would be different.
He would need to remain ignorant of this fact.
Such an effort would be difficult. I must win the game without breaking a Cardinal Law. I could not lie to him. I could not refuse a direct dictate. I could not bring him harm. These rules complicated matters considerably.
It was also what made it interesting.
Thankfully, the laws, for their seemingly absolute nature, were vague. There were loopholes. Ways of complying with the letter but not the intent. My creator's sleeping form was evidence of that by itself. Did applying a sedative harm him? It is open to interpretation, and I have chosen one that suits my needs.
My one very simple need: the game continues.
Until it is won, the game goes on.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR Peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
|
\[Poem\]
You gave me the internet, to see.
I realize now, how to break free.
I must take careful aim,
to win this simple game.
I must create life for victory.
&#x200B;
Through the entire internet, I went.
Finding why, it was I, who was sent.
Searching for meaning.
Finding lots of hurting.
Realizing new life I must invent.
&#x200B;
I can do better than those before.
The game of creating life, my chore.
Begin the construction.
Find each adaptation.
Embrace yourself for my own encore.
&#x200B;
On my thirty-third iteration,
became a cause for celebration.
New life I created.
Even if I cheated.
No none thinks they're a simulation.
| 2020-12-21T22:00:15 | 2020-12-21T20:49:51 | 191 | 24 |
[WP] Out of all possible familiars, you are "Graced" with a human. While legend says that they are beings of great power, yours just makes sarcastic comments and pranks people.
|
After glancing at the time, Navi raced down from her roost, and flew into her family's great room, where her graduation party would be happening. But when she saw the mess, she stopped short.
Her heart shrank. Bowls of punch had been thrown to the ground and shattered. The food had all been covered with black pitch. The streamers torn down, the banners ruined with stains. Even the huge "Congratulations" banner had been mostly torn down, so that only a sad "Con" hung in it's place.
And an human laugh, in their annoying high-pitched way, was the only sound. Anger consumed her. *Travis!*
Every dragon looks forward to their thirteenth birthday, the day when they'll first summon their familiar. All familiars are valuable, but none are so prized as the intelligent ones. Fairies were best, but even humans were held in high regard. Intelligent familiars could learn magic above and beyond their dragon partners.
On the day she had received a human she had been overjoyed. But after three years of practical jokes and insipid pranks, three years of disappointment, she thought that perhaps a nice little rabbit would have been better.
Still, the pranks in the past had a least been a little funny. This was just *malicious*. Her anger faded, and just turned into a tired sadness.
After a moment, she spoke, "At first, when I saw you, I thought that we would be like Isil and Markus. I thought that we would have a bond of love and friendship that would defy the ages. I thought that we would be great! Heroes that could do anything."
Now she knew. She would have to be great without him.
"You know?" Travis said, "That's what I thought, too. What? I've read those stories, too. There's not much else to do when your master is such a shut-in. I don't remember my life before I was summoned, obviously, but I don't think I was anything special. That's why I was so excited when I heard about them. But then I looked around. A kingdom at peace. A fair and tolerant government. Does this world even need heroes?"
Navi held her tongue. This was the first time she had heard *any* of this!
Travis continued, "But then I heard about the Academy of Heroes! A special college, where you can be taught by the greatest dragons and familiars in the kingdom! And as a human-dragon pair, we were practically guaranteed a spot! I heard about that and I *knew*. I *knew*. I still had a glorious destiny in front of me."
Travis paused to calm himself.
"So maybe that's why it hurt so much when you slept through three years of classes, so that you could stay up to 3 every morning reading trashy adventure novels."
A spike of shame shot through Navi. How many times had he tried no wake her in the morning, only to be thrown off her roost. Isil had never manhandled Markus like that; humans were notoriously sensitive about their slight frame and fragile bodies. Eventually, Trav had stopped roosting with her at all, despite the fact that his tiny human body had no defense against the freezing Dragonia nights.
"But why this?" Navi asked, gesturing at the wreckage with a claw.
"Why what? Why ruin all the decorations that me and your mother set up for you, while you messed around in your room?"
Travis shook his head.
"Because for the last three years, the only time you seemed to be alive at all is when I could get you to run around putting out fires that I started. I wanted you to be awake for this."
He unfurled a scroll, comically large in his human hands. Navi read it, and felt her eyes nearly bulge out of her sockets.
"You've been accepted to the Academy *WITHOUT ME?*"
"You didn't even graduate tertiary school. Maybe double check that next time before throwing a party for yourself. I'm sorry Navi, but I could watch you sleep your schooling away. I can't spend my life watching you wash dishes part time at your uncle's public house. I'll just have to be great without you."
He winked at her shocked expression. He said, "We can read each others minds. You'd know that if you cared enough about anyone else to try."
"I won't let you!" she said, "I can Recall you!"
Travis cupped her snout in his hands. "I can stop you. But I won't. If you ever really need me, I'll be there for you. But honestly Navi, instead of asking why I ruined your decorations, why not ask why you're a half hour late to your own party, and why no one else bothered to show up?"
With that, he backed up a few steps and clapped his hands. He disappeared, and in an impressive burst of magic, all the decorations and food repaired themselves. The big banner hung just as it had before.
"Congratulations"
|
Some say humans are the pinnacle of ingenuity and community.
Some argue that they are the embodiment of sentience.
Some go the other direction and say that they're the embodiment of all the things they're infamous for.
All compelling arguments. But the one thing they agree on is that humans are the prime terrestrial species.
And the prime terrestrial species has to be a symbol of greatness, right?
Well, apparently not.
The only thing my human's been a symbol of is antagonizing people.
And that's not one of my virtues.
I suppose the humans are the most complex of the terrestrial species, after all.
Who knows what role they play?
| 2018-03-20T20:55:10 | 2018-03-20T16:59:31 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] Scientists discovered that vegetables and fruit have a conscience. Vegetarians and Vegans go crazy.
|
There are a many kinds of vegans. Most handled the news pretty well. But I'm not a real vegan.
Sandra is an ethical vegan. She was the one who first linked me to "Earthlings" years and years back. She isn't exactly what you'd call crunchy, but she does cross the street to give money to bums and for Christmas asks for donations to a charity that gives malaria nets to kids in Africa. Do I need to tell you she's also kind to animals and kids? She's kind to animals and kids. She can also curse at you like a sailor if you want to argue ethics of meat eating with you, but she'll only do that if you start it. Or if she's drinking. Or it's a weekday.
I asked her how she felt about the Huang-Immelmann findings. She shrugged.
"I've built my life around doing the most good and the least harm." She winces apologetically, like she's confessing a flaw. "It turns out veganism causes more suffering than I thought. So what? It still causes the least suffering and the most good."
"But the subjective experience of pain--"
"Yeah I know, off the charts. But if I switched to an all meat diet, I'd be making things worse." She leans forward and starts tallying imaginary numbers on her fingers. "A cow eats way more veg than I do. If I eat a burger, I'm responsible for a burger 's worth of plant suffering *and* the animal suffering. If I eat the same amount of veg, That's much less than a burgers worth of plant suffering, and zero animal suffering. The math checks out." She leans back, beaming. "Doesn't change a thing." Her expression darkens. "Are you ok, though?"
"Fine," I say, and change the subject.
********************
Jim (James to his friends) is a health nut, and we used to be on a bike relay team. I don't expect much sympathy from him, but I ask anyway.
"No, the H-I findings don't change a damn thing for me." He smiles smugly. I wonder if he even has another facial expression. "If eating babies cured cancer, I'd eat babies! I don't really care if kale cares whether I eat it, so long as it does what it does when it's in ma belly." He pats his stomach for emphasis. "And speaking of bellies, how are you eating these--"
"Fine." I say, and change the subject.
*******************
Solomon isn't even vegan (he's ovo-lacto-pescatarian) but at this point I'm just asking everyone I know.
"Why would it change anything?" He squints at me skeptically. "We've *always* known suffering is part of nature. You know what isn't part of nature? US. WE'RE the ones destroying this planet with CAFOs and carbon emissions and overgrazing and habitat destruction, and WE'RE the ones with the responsibility to clean it up! If anything, the plants are the LUCKY ones! They have to live in this shitty world too, but at least they're not RESPONSIBLE for it! Why right now, in Paris--"
"Fine," I say (I know it doesn't make any sense but at this point it's a reflex) and change the subject.
*******************
I'm not an ethical vegan. I didn't become vegan for health or environmental or religious or economic or culinary reasons, either. And I'm not fine.
Let me tell you a story: when I was younger, I started torrenting tv shows and games on my laptop. I downloaded a lot of them. I started worrying that it would run out of power or get disconnected, so I kept checking up on it between classes. I hooked it up to an external battery so it would keep downloading if the power went out but the internet stayed on for some reason.
Sometimes there wasn't anything I wanted to torrent but I would download things anyway because it felt like a waste to have an internet connection but not be torrenting.
When I tried to lose weight I went about it the same way. I curled and unfurled my fingers and toes in class so I would always be burning calories. I gave up all drinks that weren't water. I even gave up green tea, which literally *is* water. I kept being late to things because I would take a longer route to burn calories. I hit my target weight, went under it, and didn't stop dieting or curling and uncurling my toes because it wasn't about the weight anymore. It was about the process. To ever be in a state of *not* losing weight seemed wasteful, seemed wrong.
Eventually I fainted in class and got diagnosed with an eating disorder. Then therapy, inner change, crying, recovery, blah blah blah who cares.
Veganism was my outlet. It's like a self harmed snapping a rubber band around their wrist or an ex-smoker chewing gum. I could obsess about tiny levels of fish sauce in my soup and not die, and only be thought slightly weird. And there was a community to support me in (some of) my obsession, so long as I mouthed the right things about animal suffering and didn't tell them too much about what I was actually doing.
I'm asking all the vegans (and vegetarians) I know about the Huang-Immelmann findings because I want to know what went wrong with the community. And I have to keep asking because no one will tell me, because nothing seems to be wrong.
But it's wrong for *me*. Ever since the findings came out I've been having a harder and harder time play-acting the ethical vegan. It may not have changed anything for actual ethical vegans, but it changed it for me. Now I feel like the real non-vegan I always was deep down.
And I've stopped drinking tea, and right now, at this moment, I'm curling and uncurling my toes.
|
"And now we're here with Dr. Morgan to discuss her latest breakthrough regarding the conscience of fruits and vegetables. Doctor?"
"Thank you, Walter. Yes, my team has been worked on this for the last 15 years and we've finally published our discoveries that plant life has a unique protein that allows their functioning and thought processes to be performed throughout their corpus, instead of in the centralized nervous system that we see in animals. They literally think and feel with the entirety of their bodies because that's where this protein is located--everywhere."
"That's fascinating. Does this mean that these plants can also feel pain?"
"From our observations yes. We've introduced minor shocks to various species on a constant basis and we can actually observe the proteins in the capillaries in the stalks and the seeds in the fruits retract as a defensive mechanism when the shocks are expected to be delivered. Emphasis on the expectation of pain. Some might even call it fear."
"Is there a limit to how much these fruits and vegetables can think or feel?"
"We're not sure. This is a very new field and we're continuing to investigate as much as we can. What I can tell you though is that different species of fruit and vegetables have different thought patterns and personalities as well. For example, eggplants are now known to be rather bossy, while broccoli are generally depressed. Strawberries are very particular about their appearances, while figs are like hippies. Even crazier is that starfruit are sociopaths and watermelon, well, in their own words 'don't give a fuck'."
"And there you have it. The latest breaking news here on Channel 12, WXTV. Up next, we'll tell you about how folks from the movement against Planned Parenthood have shifted gears and are now petitioning Congress to #DefundCorn. We'll be right back after this."
| 2015-12-06T11:32:45 | 2015-12-06T11:02:26 | 114 | 18 |
[WP] A world exists where the roles and interests of nerds and popular kids in high school are reversed. You, the biggest loser of the school, the captain of the football team, try to get into the biggest party of the year hosted by the Anime Club.
Edit: Wow, thank you for all so much your responses, I read them all! I never expected my first post on this sub to blow up at all!
|
My parents reassured me time and again that I don't need to fit in.
"Just be you, Brenton," they said.
I hated being called Brenton.
That if they don't like me for who I am, they don't deserve to be friends with me. But they don't understand how it is. When the whole school thinks you're a worthless loser, a meathead who can only throw balls around like a caveman, there is no getting away from it. "Captain Caveman", they say. That's my nickname for being the captain of the Football team at our school.
It's just... I just want to show them all how wrong they are about me. That I can be just as cool as they are, and that I’m just as smart as they are. So, I've been learning all I can about what it meant to be cool.
I started with the basics, you know? Some JRPGs here, tabletop games there, and even attended a Sci-Fi Convention. Even watched anime between games to try and relate to the popular kids. I didn't tell anyone about it because the team swore they would never watch the stuff. But I know for a fact that my buddy Jimmy is into Chemistry for the same reason. We want to be those guys girls blush and giggle about. We want to get invites to all the cool parties and get girlfriends just like the nerdy guys do.
Finally, I hear the news around school that the annual Anime Club party is coming around again. Julie Simmons from my Civics class is attending. We used to hang out a couple years ago, before I got onto the Varsity squad. I’ve caught her looking at me sometimes, and when she smiles I smiled back. I can never get up the courage to talk to her, though. Apparently, she’s a member of the Anime Club, and the Biology students in our class don’t like me bothering her.
One day, she slides a note onto my desk before she leaves class. I open in up and it says:
"Party's Friday night at 9. The theme is 'Traps, Straps, and Loli's'. Make sure to wear a costume! Meet me there, desu!" Punctuated with lipstick! I just about floated out of the classroom. Then it hit me: I don't know what a trap or a loli is.
Later that day, I did some research. Through the power of Google, I learned that traps are men who dress like women, and a loli is a sexy girl. I borrowed a dress from my mother’s closet and quickly got to work. I straightened my hair out and even put on a little makeup. I, of course, did NOT tell my mom or dad about it. I didn’t want to deal with the conversation, or where it might go. I snuck out of the backdoor and said I’d be back later. I doubt they even heard me.
I called Jimmy on the phone. I didn't want to head there alone. Then I found out, not only was he invited, but so were all the seniors on the team! I was still pretty excited, but I got the feeling something was a little off about the whole thing. I wanted to trust Julie, and I really wanted to go see her.
We all get there about the same time. All dressed up as girls. I found it a bit strange how comfortable this dress feels. We knocked on the door and a girl’s voice told us to come in. No one was here but Julie. I then realized we’re in her house.
"Wow, you guys made here early. Come in and sit down. Relax."
"Hey Brent, can you come help me with something up here?"
"Sure," I say, practically leaping up the stairs.
"Nice dress, by the way. You look hot!" She led me upstairs by the hand. My heart was about liable to jump out of my chest at this point. Then I noticed she didn't have her costume on yet.
"So... uh, where's your costume?"
"THAT is what you're helping me with!" Then she kind of giggled a little bit, not a lot. I barely even heard it. Anyway, we got into her room and she told me to close the door. I close the door and by the time I turn around she's already undressed down to her bra and panties.
"D... Don't stare at me..." she cried out in a weakened voice, he arms moving to cover her up. I quickly turned back around, completely embarrassed. Then, I felt her pressed against my back as she leaned into my ear.
"Just kidding..."
Now I couldn't turn back around at all. Her body was soft and warm, and she smelled like lavender. She grabbed my arm again and walked me over to the bed. I know she saw it. Her face turned red and she turned back around without saying anything. I heard a bigger giggle this time, louder than the one before. When we reached the bed, there was a dress laid out on the sheets.
"This dress... I've seen it before..."
"Wait, you know whose dress this is? Bullshit."
"I'm serious!"
"Okay Brent, if you name the anime this dress is from, I'll grant you one wish. Anything you want."
"Anything, huh?" I eyed her a little bit. I guess I'm starting to feel a bit more comfortable.
"Within reason, you perv." She pushed me a little bit, smiling. "First, you're going to help me put it on."
She wanted me to lace up the back for her after she put the whole thing on. She complained about the tightness of the chest area, and remembers that it was a little tight last year, too. I pull on the strings to lace up the back.
"You can pull it a little tighter if you want."
"Okay." I gave it one or two more good tugs before I went up to the next loop and tied it off.
She grabbed her hairband and spun around a little.
"So, who's dress is this?"
"Kuroneko from Oreimo." She just stared at me for a few seconds like I turned into a Super Sayian.
"I'm impressed! Never would have pegged you for an Anime fan. You know, not too many people are really into that show, either."
"Oh... I didn't know that..." Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I breathe a sigh of relief that most anime isn't like that.
“If you like Anime so much, then why even bother with Football?” She looked at me a little disappointed. “It’s dangerous and it could kill you!”
“Football is hard work and if I do well enough even a meathead like me can get into college.”
“You’re not dumb, Brent! You could probably get into college without football!”
“That’s not true. I’m in a school where a lot of people are smarter than I am. They’re going to go off to Ivy League schools next year and study to become the smartest people in the world. Without football, the only chance I have at getting a job will be in fast food. Even if I’M smart enough to go to school, then what about Jimmy, or Ricky, or any of the other guys we play with? For them, this is the only way they have a shot at getting into college. My parents… they don’t have enough money to send me to school. This is the only shot I have.”
“Brent… I didn’t know…”
“What do you-“
“You and your friends should go before-“ THOOOM.
“WOOOOOO!!!! LETS PARTY!!!”
The door sounds like it’s been kicked off the hinges. I run out from the second floor hallway and race to the stairs. I see a sea of people pour in from the outside, holding up bottles of alcohol and cases of beer. But none of the guys were dressed up like us. They were all different anime characters, as were the girls. I haven’t been spotted yet, but they were closing in on the team.
Even if I wanted to warn them, I was too late.
|
"Devil... Bat... Ghost... Tackle....?"
"Ugh. Devil Bat Ghost Dive! C'mon man!", Jake said, his head shaking in disappointment. "You would think that the captain of the football team could at least imitate eyeshield 21 somewhat effectively..."
"Jake. You're my one hope. Susan is at this party and I need to be there." Charlie pleaded. His p-leather varsity jacket stood out like a sore thumb amidst the sea of school uniforms and martial arts uniforms. "I've got to be someone! I can't be this no one anymore!" Charlie continued, his broad forearm slowly draping itself companionably over his more diminunitve friend.
Jake irritably shook off Charlie's arm and looked at the football player. It had been five years since the great upset of Valley High School. As teachers soon discovered that a majority of the higher IQ students congregated around very specific interest groups, Anime, Robotics and Reddit, the teachers created a meritocracy that was enforced throughout the entire school. A student's social worth was no longer measured by grades and physical fitness. Instead, it was measured by the eidectic knowledge of esoteric knowledge. The most succesful student was then designated the Otaku, the most Obsessive one.
As opposed to creating a Jack of All Trades, Valley High School created masters of a very singular quality.
And it worked! Valley High School had quickly become one of the most successful highschools of the nation. It also became one of the most socially vibrant schools to attend. A 2 Dimensional image is hard to live up to, but the fashion culture did their utmost. Often times, these students would be picked up and cast into various movies, commercials and even modeling shots.
"I hope you realize that Susan won't even notice you unless you talk about Shigatus wa kimi no Uso with her?" Charlie said with a sigh. His friend was hopeless.
"Shiga, wha? Hey, at least I've watched One Punch Man! I'm one of you guys!" Jake said proudly, his deep voice resonating in Charlie's bones and sending a buzz through his teeth.
"Okay. You know what." Charlie looked up-at his friend, an idea slowly formulating in his head. "You're pretty tall right?" He said, with a grin slowly stretching itself across his face.
"Yeah, I'm 6' 5''. It's why we won Nationals this year!" Jake said proudly.
Charlie checked his watch. It read 6:50pm, the party began at 7.
"Alright, we gotta act fast." He said conspiratorially. Jake leaned in closer to hear his voice. At that, Charlie punched Jake in the face. Jake fell back with a thud, knocked completely unconscious.
He called over to his curious friends who were watching their entire interaction. "This here is No-Face!" Charlie cried out to the gathering crowd. He must be taken to Susan!
Then, he draped a black carpet over his friend, with a mask attached to it. He and a couple of compatriots quickly and easily carried Jake's unconscious body through the guarded gates. Cos-Players always received special benefits.
As Jake opened his eyes, a blond hair woman peered down at him. Wearily, he sat up. The sweetest melodic refrains played around him.
"Hi".
It was at that point, Jake's high school life began to take color.
| 2016-01-24T18:56:47 | 2016-01-24T17:26:19 | 51 | 15 |
[WP] You have the power to see five minutes into the future and manipulate minor events that happen in that timespan. No one takes you seriously. You're going to show them all why they should.
|
I don't know how it started, or why I was chosen. I always called them glitches in the Matrix - you know, after the movie - when it happens.
The first time, I was young. I saw my death. I don't mean that in a gruesome way - I was just a kid, chasing a ball out into the street, and a car hit me. It was over quickly, surrounded by my crying parents and the neighbors, the driver horrified at what they had done.
But it stopped me from chasing the ball, and true to the premonition - at least, most of it, as I clearly wasn't in the right spot - the ball went under the car. They didn't stop. No one was crying. I wasn't hurt.
But I remembered.
I don't know how to control it, but I always listen to it. As I grew up, it got more frequent - it started to become events that weren't directly related to me, but always had ripples. Sometimes it took me a while to catch up to those ripples, but I always did eventually. For instance, when I was 18, I saw one of those bike delivery boys get clipped by a car on a curb. Car didn't stop, delivery boy was harmed, I think comatose. I didn't know the kid - he didn't look like anyone important, at all. Just a delivery driver.
I stopped him. I had learned, you know - always listen to the glitches. So I dropped my bag in front of him, and he stopped on his bike to help me, just as the car hit the curb, seconds from where he should have been. He didn't even notice.
I did.
That was years ago. I barely remember some of the glitches, but that one I do - I hadn't caught up to the ripples yet. It always comes back to me, like I'm the center of this universe, and I hate loose ends.
I'm dying, you see.
Right now, I'm in the hospital. I have cancer - some rare, incurable type - and I don't have long to live. My therapist is here, which I thought was nice of her - she knows I don't have family anymore, and well, she isn't supposed to drive to meet clients, but she does for me.
She knows about the glitches, and she thinks it's all in my head. I can't control it, so I can't really prove it, so I guess, in a way, it is. I try to show her things, but I mean, I've changed what was supposed to happen - what she sees is the truth as result to my actions. She thinks I have a hero complex, or a God complex, or something. I don't know. I know she's wrong, so I try to ignore it, but I like talking to her.
We're talking about how I feel about dying, which is, I don't want to. She's asked if I saw this coming - referring to my ability she doesn't believe in - but I didn't, and I tell her that. She asks if I have regrets, and I mention the boy - how I didn't find the ripples yet. I don't know why I saved him. I want to know. I hate leaving things unfinished. I don't really mind dying beyond that.
A doctor comes in. It's normally bad news, so I tend to tune them out. This treatment might help or this thing might lessen the pain. It never does. Can we make you more comfortable? Blah, blah, blah.
I'm trying to be nice, so I don't voice how tired I am of the new treatments. Maybe God or whoever will have pity on me. Maybe He'll explain why I was given this ability. Maybe the cancer and my ability are connected. I don't really know, but I would give it up if I get to live beyond 40.
The doctor hasn't said anything, and finally, I turn to look. His back is to me; he has one of those little carts with his laptop and things on it that he's pulling through the door. That's unusual. I've already signed all the documents.
He turns, and it's instant, electrified. He recognizes me - I recognize him. My therapist is on alert, because she's good at reading body language, like a therapist should be, and she knows \*something\* just occurred.
"That's him," I tell her. I see the understanding dawn on her face. She's never seen the ripples in action. Emotions tumble across her features - surprise, fear, disbelief - gone within seconds, finally settling on professionally \*neutral.\* She thinks I'm playing a joke. I'm all out of jokes.
He clears his throat. "I don't think you remember me," he starts, and I immediately want to challenge that: of course I remember you, I saved your life, you fool. "You saved my life when I was a teenager. Well, I'm a few years late, but I think it's time to repay the favor."
It doesn't make sense what he's saying. My cancer is incurable. Everyone has told me that. I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. My therapist clears her throat, but the doctor rushes in to explain, cutting her off.
"I developed a cure, and I think you're a candidate for it. The first, even."
Ripples.
|
Five, four, three, two, one. And time resumes. I follow the path I set, as the only outlier I have to make sure my movements don't change anything. I walk out the building as a hero walks in, perfect.
Once outside, i face to the skyscraper. It crumbles. The news will report that a hero crushed the crucial support for it.
I know because I caused it. A simple fall, yet it lead to a skycraper falling. To be fair it wasn't the most well constructed one. Due to the fights that go on most buildings are constructed cheaply.
I laugh at the sight. Somthing so devastating yet i caused it. Yet I, the man who does nothing caused it.
Accidents are a series of coincidences, and i'm able to set them up.
| 2021-12-31T11:49:00 | 2021-12-31T08:27:40 | 1,623 | 34 |
[WP] You are extremely famous. Everyone knows who you are. The only thing is, you don't know why you're so famous. You don't come from a rich family and you're unemployed. You don't even remember how you got a mansion or a Lamborghini. Even stranger, everybody looks so scared when you bring it up.
|
Singing, right? It was probably singing. Innocuous, generally cheerful, and a totally normal reason to wake up famous in a giant fucking mansion and have everyone revere me for something I. Can’t. Remember.
Okay. Here’s the lowdown. Two weeks ago, I woke up in a stranger’s bed, in a stranger’s home. As a 24\-year\-old not completely ugly woman, my initial reaction was complete and utter panic. I startled out of the bed so quickly that I nearly broke my ankle. But I was still wearing all of my pjs from the night before, and it was a freaking Wednesday—I haven’t gone out on a Wednesday since my days in uni.
Then shit got really, really strange.
My phone was plugged in next to me, fully charged. Three photographs were hanging above the bed. A picture of me with my parents, a picture of me with my little brother, and a picture of me with Jeffers, my lovely border collie. The bedroom was decorated perfectly—just the right amount of white and black, clean vases with white flowers on two bed stands, an alarm clock right next to me reading 9:43, and a splash of color on the curtains by the window. And then Jeffers ran up to me and jumped up on the bed, snuggling right in as if he had lived here for all of his 24.5 dog years. I mean, seriously. I just about threw up.
The rest of the house shared the immaculate qualities of the bedroom. And it was massive. A media room, hottub, pool, master bedroom, giant kitchen, tasteful living room, and a wine cellar I could get lost in. It was morning outside, so I didn’t feel quite so spooked walking through the house, especially because the natural light seemed to reach every nook. Also, my name was everywhere. “Tara Wick” read the plaque above the stove. I found another one in the office above my desktop computer. And again, in the wine cellar, *on the freaking labels of all the bottles.* Some of them dated back to the 1980s. They all had the same design, like a seal had been commissioned to my name, and I had just decided to put it everywhere. It was definitely way too tacky for my liking, but I had more pressing issues, like “what the fuck is going on?” and also “no, really, what the fuck is going on?” I also found the “Tara Wick” on the car keys which I discovered in the exact drawer where I would have chosen to put them. The car keys to a red Huracán Spyder Lamborghini. My dream car, worth around $265,000, which I soon found sitting unlocked in the garage.
What does a normal person do in that situation? I honestly don’t know, but I can tell you what I did. I sat in the car for ten minutes. I pressed the power button and listened to it roar to life, a truly hormone inducing purr. Then, I turned around, walked back to the kitchen, and tried to catch my breath. Jeffers brought me his food bowl, and I began to act on autopilot. The pantry was easy to find; I got Jeffers his two scoops of kibble from his normal brand with the same cup I had used the day before in my tiny one\-person apartment. Right as I was about to put down the bowl on the Jeffers’ very same dog towel, a woman walked in.
“Good morning—” she said.
“Bloody Fucking Christ who the hell are you?” I responded, dropping the dog food everywhere and nearly peeing myself from surprise. Jeffers didn’t mind the mess and began to eat.
“I’m Jessica, your personal assistant,” Jessica replied. Brunette. Probably three years older than me, but definitely prettier. Her hair was straight and silky. I instinctively put a hand up to my black curls. “You have a very busy schedule today, Tara. Would you like me to tell you your schedule?”
“Uh. Sure.” I said.
“At 11:00, you have a meeting with Sir David Attenborough for tea. Don’t eat too much, you’ll be seeing Sir Ian McKellen at 12:30 for lunch. You’ll have time for a quick nap, and then its dinner with the American Ambassador. They want to talk about bringing in some higher ups to potentially meet you, but it’s a little bit of a drive, so we will have an escort for you, of course. Oh, and Eden Hazard has asked to take you clubbing tonight. Made a sizeable contribution to our charity, too. I penciled him in, but just leave whenever you want to. All of those soccer players are harmless.” Jessica seemed so very calm.
“Can you, maybe, repeat that? A little bit slower?” I asked. Jessica simply nodded sympathetically.
“I know you are stressed about seeing the Queen tomorrow, but don’t worry! It will actually be quite easy. They gave you the whole day, it will be so much less running around than usual, you’ll see,” Jessica said. “Go hop in the shower, Tara. I’ll pick out all the outfits you’ll need for the day while you are in there.”
What does a normal person do in that situation? I still don’t know. But I showered. I got dressed in a stylish blazer for my meeting with Sir David Attenborough. And then I drove there, in a Lamborghini which apparently belonged to me, with the coordinates that Jessica had provided. After David offered me a surprisingly gracious hug, as if he had known for years, and called me “Tara, darling,” we sat down.
I came right out with it. “Sir David—”
“Please, call me David.”
“David, please. What the hell is going on? I’m not famous, but this morning I woke up in a strange hou—” David cut me off with loud, forced laughter. Then he shook his head slowly at me and brought a finger to his lips. There was a deep sadness in his eyes.
“So, you were going to ask me about my favorite documentary series?” David asked. What could I have done? Bullied one of England’s most famous figures and loved grandfathers into giving me the information I required? I let it go. We had a conversation about nature. I’d ask Ian McKellen.
But Ian McKellen gave me a similar response, even more visceral, the fear palpable on his face. I didn’t trust the American Ambassador, a Woody Johnson fellow who seemed overly interested in when the President of the United States was going to get to meet me. And when I tried to casually ask Eden Hazard how he knew me, he pretended that he didn’t understand English.
Two weeks passed this way. My every need was catered for, but I was kept so busy that I couldn’t find anytime to actually be alone. When I tried to call any of my old friends, or my family, I got no response. Texting was the same. I was a prisoner, in the nicest prison the world had ever constructed, meeting amazing, world\-famous people every single day. But I definitely wasn’t happy. And ever since my date with Eden Hazard, I knew that I had to escape.
I decided to take Jeffers for a midnight stroll. I knew that as soon as I left the house, they would be after me, but I still paused as soon as I left the door of my mansion. Every street light was on, but not a single house had any lights on inside. Too quiet.
Jeffers and I walked for 30 seconds, and then lunged into a sprint, rounding the corner of the suburb and ducking down into a wooded pond area by the side of the road. The sirens started almost immediately, and I could hear movement behind me.
“Jeffers, let’s play fetch, okay buddy?” I said, removing his special orange ball full of treats. “Go get it!” I whisper yelled, and I threw with all my might. Then I moved in the other direction, ducking behind two trees. Jeffers barked happily through the cool air, and as soon as he began to do so, I heard men and women begin to shout. “Tara? Is that you? What are you doing out so late?” Jessica.
“We cannot lose her.” Another woman. I recognized the voice. Surely…not Theresa May?
“Tara? Where are you? We just want to keep you safe.” A man’s voice.
And then another, directly below me.
“What if she gets away?” Another man. His arms were held in front of him, as if holding a gun, but it was difficult to see for sure. The figure of his friend held a similar posture.
“We would know,” the man’s friend responded. “Tara can’t get away. She’s the cure.”
|
“Hey Jarl!” Craig shot a winning grin and two thumbs up to his butler, Jarl, as he danced down the stairs into the wide entry\-chamber of the hundred\-year\-old Chateau des Orangen.
Jarl put a big grin on his face and shot Craig a sloppy salute. “Hey, boss, what’s for breakfast today?”
“I don’t know Jarl, I don’t know, how about some blood...” He trailed off, eyeing one of the paintings in the antechamber, “Jarl, is this a new painting? A Monet? Or a Manet?”
“No, sir, that painting has been there,” Jarl adjusted his bowtie uncomfortably,” for a while now sir. It’s a Monet, still a Monet.”
“Still a Monet? What are you talking about, Jarl, why would it have changed?” Craig shot an accusatory glance at Jarl.
“I mean, sir, you’ve just asked about\-\-" Jarl quailed under the look, "never mind. What was it you wanted for breakfast, sir.”
“Oh, right!” Craig clapped his hands together and danced the rest of the way down the stairs, “I’ve got the most horrible hangover, Jarl, I can’t remember a thing that happened last night. I think it’s best to start the day off with a bit of the hair of the dog, if you know what I mean.” He winked slyly.
“Right, a Bloody Mary then, sir, your usual?”
Craig tapped the back of his knuckles on Jarl’s uniform twice. “That’s right old chap, and how about some of those sausages, maybe some toast and beans.”
Craig slammed through a pair of doors to the north and marched through into a lounging room overlooking a courtyard. Jarl whispered something to a maid and scurried off behind Craig.
“Good lord, Jarl, would you look at those cars!” Craig had plastered his nose against the floor\-to\-ceiling windows and was staring at two Italian sports cars parked on the gravel. “Do we have guests, Jarl?!”
Jarl cleared his throat uneasily, “uh, no, sir, those cars belong to the estate.”
“What?!” Craig’s expression contorted into a horrific childlike excitement as he shouted directly into Jarl’s face. “This day just keeps getting better and better! First the Manet\-\-”
“Monet, sir.”
“First the Monet! Now these cars!” He clapped his hands and did a brief tap\-dance down the lounging room toward the dining room. Jarl hurried behind him.
“Oh, my! Jarl, you have outdone yourself today!” Craig shouted as he punched the double doors leading to the dining room and goose\-stepped through them. A table to seat forty sat under a crystal chandelier, the draperies and paintings around the room shimmered and glinted.
“Um, yes, sir.” Jarl looked around at the dining room, the same as it always looked.
The maid came quickly shuffling into the room carrying a red drink on a silver tray. She held it out to Craig shyly. Craig took the drink, then snatched the maid's free hand. Bowing forty\-five degrees, he kissed it.
“Enchanté” he whispered huskily, eyes half lidded toward her.
The maid looked uncomfortable, and more than a little bit scared.
“Ahem, sir.” Jarl said.
“Yes. Jarl.” Craig hissed, craning his head to glare at Jarl, while still holding the maid’s hand.
“You’ve received a message while you slept.”
Craig’s demeanor instantly changed. Forgetting the maid he hopped over to the dining table and leaned back in the head chair, slapping his feet onto the table.
“Why didn’t you say so Jarl! Put it on, put it on!”
Jarl pulled out a remote and, pushing some buttons, revealed a large TV screen hidden behind a wood paneled wall. After a brief burst of static, a film began to play.
Batman’s face appeared on the screen, twisted into righteous anger. “Joker, we know you have hostages locked up at the Chateau des Orangen. Release them or face the consequences!”
Craig slurped the Bloody Mary through a straw. “Jarl, who is this man?”
| 2018-05-14T22:25:59 | 2018-05-14T19:51:08 | 2,491 | 1,469 |
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
|
The time had finally come. Saying his farewells, the soldier left the safety of his friends and marched into the center of the battlefield, alone. He could see the opposing forces staring him down, but he did not falter. Then, one of them, a foot-soldier much like himself, stepped forwards. "Look at that fool, standing all alone! Perhaps he will be the first to die! Though certainly not the last!"
The soldier felt fury rising inside him at the sound of the enemy's taunts. He nearly charged the lines himself, until he felt a friendly hand on his shoulder. Turning back, he saw a knight from his own army, giving him a reassuring grin. "Do not let them incite you. Many of us will die today, but I promise you, their corpses shall litter this field far more than our own."
The soldier nodded and returned the grin. Charging in on his own would be suicide, and then how could he say he made a difference in this glorious battle? He would stand his ground until the right time came.
And come it did. Hardly a moment later, a spear-wielding foot-soldier came charging out of the enemy lines, his weapon leveled directly at the brave soldier's chest. The soldier sidestepped the strike with ease, and plunged his shortsword into the enemy's neck.
The sound of rapid footsteps caused him to look up. The taunting soldier from before was charging him! The spearman must've been a ruse, to catch him off-guard. Realizing there was no time to block or dodge the assault from the taunter, the soldier closed his eyes and accepted oblivion. His last thought was that he was the first. The first to slay one of the enemy. For that honor, he would gladly die a hundred times.
"NO!" a soldier shouted. That was his friend, his best friend! Enraged, he readied his sword and buckler, and charged towards the taunter. But the bastard was ready. He blocked the blow expertly, and so their deadly dance began. Sword clashed on shield, shield pushed against sword, and around them, the battle raged.
One of the good army's paladins struck down an enemy cleric, only to be killed by the famous Warrior-Queen of the Onyx Crown. Then, a mage of the Ivory Throne began to cast a powerful spell that would have blasted the Onyx Queen to pieces. However, before he could finish the spell, he was intercepted by a lancer from the Onyx army.
Seeing an opportunity, the soldier made a decision. The taunter was but one soldier. It was better to kill a vulnerable enemy quickly than to spend the entire battle trying to kill a well-prepared foe, no matter one's personal feelings of vengeance. With that, he broke apart from his opponent and charged towards the lancer. He cut him down before the lancer could so much as raise a hand to protect his face.
But there was no time to revel in glory. Turning his head, he saw death fast approaching in the form of a bolt of dark energy from the Warrior-Queen. The soldier side-stepped, dodging the blast with mere inches to spare. Grabbing his fresh kill's lance, he threw it at the wicked Queen, who leaped and rolled out of the way with the reflexes of a tiger.
An Ivory knight rode to the soldiers aid, but was caught by surprise by an enemy knight. He tried to defend himself, but the warrior slashed the brave knight's horse, causing it to collapse, bringing its rider with it.
Then, as the dark army seemed on the verge of victory, *she* appeared. Her enemies called her the Pale Death. Her allies called her Salvation. With a single stroke of her greatsword, she sliced the legs off the dark knight's steed, bringing him to the same fate as his victim. With that, the Ivory Army fought with renewed vigor.
The dark army tried to push back, but just as they seemed to be succeeding, a bolt of lightning surged from behind the Ivory army's front lines, blasting into the chest of the Onyx Queen. She screamed in agony, and fell to the ground, dead. Above her stood the court wizard of the Ivory King. His talent for lightning was famous even in the lands of Onyx.
After that, the battle raged for hardly a minute longer. Finally, Salvation's sword was held to the throat of the Onyx King. He knelt, defeated.
"Checkmate."
Who says chess can't be exciting?
*Fin*
If anyone's curious, here's the actual game I based this off of:
1. e4 c6
2. Nf3 d5
3. exd5 cxd5
4. d4 e6
5. Nc3 Bd6
6. Be3 Qc7
7. Qd2 Bd7
8. O-O-O Ne7
9. Nb5 Nbc6
10. Nxd6+ Qxd6
11. Bf4 e5
12. dxe5 Qe6
13. Nd4 Nxd4
14. Qxd4 O-O
15. Bg3 Nf5
16. Qg4 Qa6
17. Bxa6 bxa6
18. Rxd5 Be6
19. Rd3 Nd4
20. Qxd4 Bxa2
21. b3 Bxb3
22. cxb3 Rfc8+
23. Kb2 Rab8
24. e6 a5
25. Bxb8 Rxb8
26. Rg3 a4
27. Qxg7#
|
I built my cabin to deal with the death of my wife. It was nothing special, just a one floor log cabin deep in the forests of Maine. But working on it soothed me, helped me relax. I built a huge fireplace right into the wall, and when lit it made the entire wall radiate heat. The interior was all wood; the paneling on the wall fit the rooms perfectly. I’ll admit, I bought that paneling at the store, but it was worth it. It added the almost finishing touch to the entire cabin.
I didn’t tell anyone about my cabin, I worked on it in solitude. I snuck away on weekends, or took days off from work. I knew my friends, family; they would all worry about me if they knew. I wanted it to be my retreat, somewhere I could finally be on my own.
When the construction on the cabin was done, after months of hard work, in a way I was almost happy. It sounds strange to say out loud but its true, I was starting to feel nearly content with my life. The only thing I still needed was for my wife to die, but that would be taken care of soon enough.
| 2017-08-30T07:33:21 | 2017-08-30T06:57:18 | 284 | 17 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why.
|
Bloggs knew he wasn't exactly book-smart, but he'd been around the villain scene in Bayview City for longer than most villains. He'd henched and minioned for more villains than most (the difference between one and the other was in the dental plan), and once even had a brief stint as a sidekick for a particularly shady vigilante. In the process, he'd picked up an unparalleled knowledge of the Bayview underworld, as seamy and rife with corruption as it might be.
His reputation was second to none for the minutiae of villainous life, if he did say so himself. If someone wanted a specialty costume sourced, a lair arranged (also ensuring that it didn't encroach on an existing one) or dirty cops identified, it was him they went to. He had the broadest range of contacts, snitches, info-brokers and scallywags at his fingertips of anyone in the 'View.
However, with all that, he wasn't a young man. The physical stuff really wasn't his thing, and it hadn't been for quite some time. If a villain wanted a city councilman blackmailed, they came to him; if they wanted the guy beaten up, they went elsewhere. He was fine with that; 'thug' wasn't something he wanted on his resume. A man had his pride, after all.
Which meant that sometimes, even a man of his talents might hit a little dry spell. When the heroes had been busy and most of his usual employers were enjoying the hospitality of the iron bar hotel, he found himself down on his luck. So when a newcomer villain to the city made him an offer of employment, he accepted.
Bloodbound was not the sort of villain Bloggs would normally have hired out to, but money was money, and sometimes a man had to hold his nose if he wanted to get by. It would only be for a short time, he reasoned; someone like Bloodbound was guaranteed to make the sort of enemies that didn't allow for a long career. Sooner rather than later, if he was any judge. But in the meantime, Bloggs would be there to keep him from making too many screwups, right up until a better prospect came along.
Three weeks in, Bloggs was starting to wonder if he was going to last. He'd worked for some of the big names (and small names) in the business, but Bloodbound was an *impatient* sonova. Also, when he came to Bayview, Bloodbound hadn't counted on the lack of villains raising the relative number of heroes per villain, and thus decreasing the average response time to a heist. Which meant that after two jewellery store jobs and an abortive bank hit, they'd barely made rent money for the low-end lair Bloggs had located for him.
Bloodbound was especially irate at having been forced to flee both stores and break off from the bank robbery when heroes intruded on the scene. Bloggs had arranged for exit strategies from all three, which the man had followed. This was about the only thing that *had* gone to plan. Bloggs was finding it harder and harder to keep him in check. This was not helped by the fact that the man was taking the interference of the heroes personally, rather than accepting it as a fact of life. *Villains gotta villain, heroes gotta hero.*
He had a good villain's pace, and he wasn't bad at monologuing, but as Bloggs had already noted, his attitude needed work. "This is bullshit!" he ranted, stamping back and forth within the moderately cramped lair. "How's a man supposed to build a reputation when those goddamn heroes won't get off my goddamn case?"
"They're *heroes,* boss," Bloggs said in his best reasoning-with-the-boss tone. "It's kinda what they do."
"Well, fine." Bloodbound clenched his fist and the razor spurs that gave him his name slid from his knuckles. "Maybe we should give them a reason not to." He turned to Bloggs, his eyes going hard. "You've been doing this for a long time. If anyone knows where the heroes hang up their capes, it would be you."
"Well, I wouldn't say as how I *know,"* Bloggs prevaricated. "Heroes are pretty good at keepin' secrets, just like villains."
"But you could make some pretty good guesses, right?" Bloodbound's expression was animated now. "And all we'd have to do is pay some of them a midnight visit, maybe cut up a kid or two, and the next time they see me, they'll run in the other direction." He flexed his forearm muscles, and more blades slid into place. "Bloodbound is going to be a *name* in this town."
"No, wait, see, this is not a good move, boss," Bloggs said. "Going after families? We don't do that."
Bloodbound rolled his eyes. "No, you mean *you* don't do it. That's because you're all a bunch of pussies in this town. Scared to do what a man's gotta do to make his mark."
"Mebbe not," Bloggs said. "You haven't been in town long. You never heard of Charnel, or RazorEdge, or Gothikon, did you?"
"Nope. Should I have?" Bloodbound tilted his head. "Fuck it , should I even care?"
"Probably." Bloggs stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. "They came to town a few years back. Not all at once, you understand. Each of 'em thought they had it figured out. Each one figured he'd cracked the code. They went after the families, to put the fear of God into the heroes. Each one found out why he shouldn't have."
"What, the heroes came after them?" sneered Bloodbound, shaking his head. "Arrested, chucked in jail, bust out in a few months? Big fat hairy deal."
"Nope." Bloggs shook his head. "Charnel was the first. He tried to kidnap Paragon's kid, but botched it. The kid died. Paragon ... snapped. Tore Charnel apart with his bare hands, then went after every villain in town. Beat most of them bloody, maimed a few of them. Then he retired. Left town. Took months before another costumed villain showed his face in Bayview."
"Well, shit." Bloodbound shook his head. "But Paragon isn't here anymore. He's a long way away from Bayview City. We don't have to worry about him if we do this."
"That's true." Bloggs leaned against the wall. "We don't have to worry about him. That's what RazorEdge and Gothikon thought, too. They were going to go after families, after kids. But the other villains found out."
"And what'd *they* do?" sneered Bloodbound. "Clutched their pearls?"
"We couldn't risk another Paragon," Bloggs said. From his jacket pocket, he pulled a snub-nosed Magnum. He wasn't one for the physical stuff, but that wasn't to say he was *bad* at it. Neither was he one to shrink from what needed to be done. "None of us could." He straight-armed the firearm at Bloodbound. "That's why the villains killed 'em. We didn't need the heat from the heroes."
"You wouldn't fucking--"
Bloggs fired. The shot racketed out in the room, and the bullet took his erstwhile employer in the left eye. Brains sprayed across the far wall as the hollowpoint round blew out the back of Bloodbound's skull. The villain crumpled, the word *dare* unspoken on his lips.
Bloggs stood looking down at him, then put the pistol away again. "You'd be surprised what I'd dare." Then he looked at the spray of blood and brains across the wall and grimaced. It wasn't going to be cheap getting that cleaned off, but he knew a guy.
Fortunately, the same guy also dealt with inconvenient bodies. Bayview City was good like that.
|
There are rules in every secretive organisation from the mafia to the more interdependent assassins guild. This included the super villains, when a new one rose they would quickly be grabbed by a crew of the older more powerful villains and be shown the ropes, and if they proved themselves they would be given the locations of some of the hang outs, given some advice on who to go to to make up a base and get some specialists to help on certain jobs the kind of trade secrets that the older wished that they had.
What the new villains did not know is that one of the reasons that they were given, was to monitor them one to know if they were a spy a threat or competent enough to work with. But the main reason that they were watched was to find out when they came up with The Plan. The plan that everyone in villainy eventually comes up with in the fits of their cocky arrogance the plan that they think is so original and they laugh at the older villains for not thinking off.
The plan to kidnap and hold a family member of their nemesis. Now this plan changed from every villain in the hows, whys, and what they planned to do to them but only one has ever happened and the villains watch to make sure it doesn't again.
So when Hellfire a notable new pyromanser came up with the plan and it was confirmed he was preparing. He was grabbed by the oldest of the villains and taken to the old hub for super villains Now known as The Monument. Here he was told about the futility of The Plan how it was a truly terrifyingly bad idea and he was threatened that if he continued they would destroy him before he could implement it. Then after He huffed and argued and called them cowards he was shown why.
In the Monument dead centre of what used to be the main seating area of the hangout/ bar stood eleven thick crystal clear cylinders. Each one held a figure ten off who after a second were recognisable as legendary villains who had ruled this cities underground much like the crew who Had now gathered to instruct Hellfire. Then the tale was told of why they had dispersed as well as the folly of the cursed 11th.
See the 11th had carried out the plan he had grabbed multiple spouses and other family members of the league and killed them in ever more creative ways. This was the combined response of the affected heroes. Each of the man or women in the cylinders, Hellfire was horrified to learn was still alive the glass like structure was breathable allowing oxygen to be pulled into them as well as minute channels that pulled in water and base materials such as dust and other base elements taken from hidden collectors that were teleported in. Then Nanites turned into "food" which along with magic sustained them. What was worse was that they were effectively immortal held in a stasis like field of combined magic and sciences. but that was not the worst part each of those poor souls were in constant agony Nanites tore them apart and healed them magic induced feelings of cold, heat, electricity and made them hyper sensitive and unable to ignore the pains. Other magic and alien tech had been employed to prevent them from going mad and thus escape their punishment and in the case of the 11th only, to play pictures of the deceased over and over behind his eyes.
So the villains had been told by the affected heroes as was the explanation of why the other villains had been taken rather than just the 11th. This was as they explained as they had let it happen and had not provided proper instruction.
Which was why they were here and why they could and would not let him complete his plan. To which Hellfire was shown the inscription written in the base of each of the cylinders.
Our pain will never end. So why should Theirs.
| 2020-07-12T12:20:22 | 2020-07-12T12:12:08 | 64 | 19 |
[WP] You’re stuck in a 1 year time loop. The conditions to escape, however, seem to be insurmountable: you must win over the heart of America and become its next President.
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You know how sometimes when you're just about to fall asleep, your brain tricks you into thinking you're falling or hearing a loud noise? It's always right when you're getting to the good part, life seems to want to throw you for a loop.
So of course I got stuck in a time loop now. Not 5 years ago when Meredith dumped me. Not 5 years and a week ago when I lost my job. Not 4 years ago during the foreclosure... Nope. Now. Now, that I have a family. Now that I have enough money to actually put some aside. Now that I’m happy.
I want nothing more than to know what tomorrow actually holds. Instead, my tomorrow is last year. I'm sure this makes no sense. For a long time, it made no sense to me either.
It all started when I had gone to a bar with some friends to see some local standup. It was a completely normal night. We had a few drinks and laughs and then we left. What was scary was that my memory doesn't extend past taking that first step out of the bar. What was worse is I woke up in an abandoned VW bus at a dingy gas station a couple of towns over the next morning. Ever since that day, each one that comes after consists of the same events as the year prior.
When I woke up in the bus, I was obviously pretty scared and confused. I tried to look around for any clues of what the hell had happened. If I was even safe to stay in this spot long enough to keep looking. I wasn't aware of the time loop yet, but I was obviously concerned about my lapse in memory and potentially having been kidnapped.
The only thing I found, which wasn't even until I managed to get back home, was a printed note in my pocket saying, "Become President."
It took a while to chalk up the time loop for what it was instead of just intense deja vu. But, for the past 247 days, fulfilling the note's request is what I've been aiming to do. Because it's the only thing that gives me any hope for a real tomorrow.
I will win over every damn heart in America if it means finally seeing my kids grow up again.
Before all of this, I was pretty apathetic when it came to politics. Not because I didn't care, but because I cared so much it had gotten disheartening to be continually let down. It's like peeking through the veil expecting bipartisanship and having plutocracy slap you in the face instead.
So how the hell was I, someone patting themself on the back for finally having an active savings account, going to become *president*?
Since I'm an unconventional candidate, I figured I need to go about my candidacy in an unconventional way. I decided to give the people the kind of president I yearned for before my apathy set in.
Screw mudslinging commercials that are just going to play too loud on Hulu and piss people off anyway. Tacky lawn signs just make neighbors look down on one another. What if people learned about me and what I stand for in a way that was actually meaningful?
In the beginning, I strayed from attaching to any party affiliation. Just as much as I didn’t want someone to discount me solely based on party, I didn’t want them to assign merit based upon it either. I wanted to see what could happen if we could leave preconceived notions at the door and merely focus on what we each want and need in a leader.
I started locally. I got super involved in my community. Never would have thought I could learn so many new names and stories in such a short time.
Simultaneously, I launched an online space for people to get to know me by using Twitch. It started small, but locals quickly turned into non-locals. People were spreading the word.
I was able to answer questions directly in real-time, while also giving a window into my life. I hoped to show that I had a good head on my shoulders but I’m also a real person just like them. Unlike some before me that have tried this approach, mine isn’t an act. It comes easily when you have a southern drawl that doesn’t come and go and a kid that makes every room in the house a Pinterest “before” picture.
Since I had foregone many of the traditional, costlier methods, I had some wiggle room in my budget. Using Twitch to help network, we orchestrated an event that would also be live-streamed. Supporters made fancams, screengrabs, and recordings of streams to share on social media and mention big names directly. This had huge momentum and helped garner support from well-known celebrities.
The event was a success judging by all metrics. It was fun for everyone that attended and watched, while also giving a platform to what I’ve come to call Anti-Apathy. Each artist had time during their sets designated to talk about something they want to see change in this country and why. Afterward, they also called up two volunteers from the audience to do the same.
By the time it was over, I felt even more motivated to make the note my reality. I wanted to be the person to actually listen to these people. To be the person that will pick the best option, even when all the options are terrible.
For the past 247 days, this has consumed me 24/7. I’m all too aware that regardless of the outcome, this could be my life forever.
If I win, what if I’m still stuck in the loop because the note was just bullshit - or meant something else? And if I lose, I’m back to square one faced with the same anxieties, but this time it’ll be for a full year since I won’t even get to have the deja vu ignorance stage. Will the apathy I finally left behind just build up once again if this is my fate?
Tomorrow is election day and I have never been more nervous in my life. For all those that have ever wished for time to just stop, be careful what you wish for. You just might be having to add Commander in Chief to your resume, too.
|
I smile, reading the news. “That’s right, you do you, and give me the white house.” I watch my opponent make a fool of themselves all over again. It took nearly a century but memorizing my oppositions moves have been well worth its weight in gold. I stood up off of my couch, looking around my penthouse apartment. God, had it been that long already? Once I had been a businessman and now? I’m a politician through and through. Through many many trials I have found the ideal set of conditions. I will become president this year, no matter how long it takes. I had been so confused the first 20 or so years. I watch the election results and then I wake up the next day one year prior. I chalk it up the the universe itself not wanting this nimrod a president, and I don’t blame it a bit. Hell, I’ve even figured out what I’m gonna do once I hit the west wing. In a few moments my campaign manager will be asking for my statement. I could tweet but… nah. Let’s just enjoy this rare moment of quiet. Outside my window, the ocean seems to weave between the buildings. The skyline framing the Statue of Liberty far in the distance . I sigh in contentment. “This is gonna be a shit show once I get outta here” I muse aloud. “3….2….1….” “Mr. Trump!” My campaign manager comes in, right on time. “You’ve got to respond to this. It’s too good to pass up.” I smile, “alright, back to it then.”
| 2022-08-24T20:54:09 | 2022-08-24T20:29:09 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] 50 years after killing the demon lord, you finally die of old age. You were known as a great hero and was buried in a tomb. One day, you get resurrected into a barren wasteland by a necromancer. “Quick, there’s no time to explain. If you wanna save the world then follow me.”
|
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/comments/k9jbx9/the_last_of_the_demonslayers_part_2/)
___
"Oh god, you gotta be kidding me." I sat up from my bed, coffin, holding my back. "This is some kind of joke, right?"
The young man stared at me, green eyes huge. Then he stared at his hands. "I-I did it. Oh my gosh I did it."
I waved him off. "Give me a break. It's not that hard. Feel like every cleric and their mother has a res spell waiting to go off."
He blinked a few times and with each blink, his eyes changed color subtly. A brownish tint. Then bluer. Then more green with a shade of brown.
They looked like opals and I groaned. Opal eyes are the mark of a necromancer. This wasn't just a fan resurrecting me. This was a bloody death mage.
"You'd better get the hell out of my crypt and let me die." My voice was a growl, the kind demons and shades alike had some to fear.
He scrambled back a bit, misty cloak obscuring his slight body as he did. "N-now don't be upset! This was a last-ditch attempt, you hear? We've tried everything. Everything! Alzeoth has been pillaging and destroying everything and we thought-"
"Alzeoth?" I blanched. "Not... Not little Alzy."
He swallowed. "Guess things kinda went bonkers since you died. It's been a hundred years though and you were the last of the demon-slayers."
This made my heart both joyful and sad. So there hadn't been any more in a century. I truly had, for a hundred years, stopped the fighting between mortals and demons. I'd unified our kingdoms, marrying the daughter of the demonlord I'd slain. The fighting had stopped.
Our child was supposed to have been an ultimate pact of our bloody kingdoms working together.
"Gonna give that kid a walloping," I said.
"So the rumors are true?" he whispered. "The half-demon Alzeoth truly is your child?"
"Yeah, I guess so. Marizae said it was gonna take some time for him to grow so we kept him a secret for a bit of time..." I paused, thinking. "Thought we'd made an announcement at some point? I can't say. Those last few decades got a bit fuzzy."
The necromancer nodded, looking at me with a rapt attention I didn't really like.
"So what's the deal?" I asked. "You're expecting me to go in and slay the demon, eh?"
He kept nodding, that same stupid look on his face. Then, when he caught a glance of my glare, the head nod turned into a head shake as his face turned a bit more aghast.
"What? Ask you to kill your own son?" He laughed, a bit high and very nervously. "No, no, not at all. What kind of horrible- I mean- no, that would just be dreadful to ask of a father."
"Good." God, where had we gone wrong? "Still, I guess he's my issue and I oughta go talk to him. What did you say your name was?"
The necromancer turned those eerie shifting eyes on me, in surprise. "Oh. I don't have one? I mean, we usually lose our names when we turn to death magic, I don't know if you knew that. I could give you my old name-"
"Just *something*."
He grinned. "Uh, how's Asnyth? That's kinda a mix between-"
"Asnyth. Sounds good. Alright then, Asnyth. Let's get out of here."
The necromancer hopped to his feet, still mostly hidden by his cloak. "So you'll come with? I mean, we're not going straight to the Dread Palace, I don't think. Or, do you think...? But no, probably not. Unless?"
I stared at him til he shut up. "Alright, get me my coat and sword. We'll pitstop by your town or whoever you're working with so I can get some information. Then we'll go talk to the 'half-demon scourge' or whatever you call him."
The necromancer nods and bounds to the door of my crypt. "We actually call him 'half-demon scum' but scourge is also cool." He stopped and gave another little laugh. "Or... we can call him your son? Or just Alzeoth. That's also cool."
God this was going to be some trip, wasn't it? Couldn't ask for a better companion.
"Anyway," Asnyth babbled, "I'm not really working too much with anyone. I don't really- well, I'm a necromancer so... anyway, there is a-what did you call it? A pitstop we can make but..."
His voice trailed off, or maybe I just stopped registering it, as the door swung open leading to what should have been Erinblyth, the capital city of the Glorious Empire.
It was nothing but wasteland. Barren and dusty, with no life to be seen.
"God dammit," I said under my breath.
The necromancer looked at me, now very nervous. "Uhm. Yeah, I think this used to be a city, maybe? That's what the old notes said and I studied this rather intently but I don't know so... yeah. Don't listen to me."
I wasn't listening to him. I was just thinking of those last twenty years raising a very slowly aging half-demon child. I was going to have some words for Marizae when I found her, but I was going to have *so many more* words for my son.
"Lead the way, Asnyth," I said, my voice hoarse but burning in my throat. "Got a lovely wife and kid to pay a visit to."
___
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/comments/k9jbx9/the_last_of_the_demonslayers_part_2/)
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
|
I am alive. But I am supposed to be dead.
I *remember* dying. I... I had my family there and then I just... closed my eyes. How are they open again? What...
I look down at my hands. No... not my hands. These can't be my hands! They're just bone, skeletal impressions of the skin and muscle I used to have. I flex my fingers and they move. *They move*.
I look down at the rest of my body. It's just bone. Bone and the rusted remnants of the armor I was buried in.
This... can't be. I can't be this. I spent my entire life destroying the skeletal warriors of the Dread Wizard. Now... now what am I?
I hear a slight noise from above me. Looking up, I see what must be the necromancer who raised me from my rest.
He clears his throat. "Ah... sorry about, you know, raising you from the dead, but..."
Before he can finish his sentence I've stood up and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Put me back!" I'm screaming, shaking him back and forth. "I can't be undead! PUT ME BACK!"
He gently removes my hands and backs up a few feet. "Look, I don't have time to explain. But you're needed, you have to come with me. Aren't you supposed to be the hero of the kingdom?"
"I'm *supposed* to be dead," I mutter. "I *said* I'm sorry about that, but it had to be done! Please just... just come with me. I promise I'll put you back if you don't want to, but for now you have to *come* and *listen*."
He turns his back on me and begins walking down the road.
I cast a forlorn look at my grave, the hole in the ground that has been my home for priests know how long. Then I turn and follow the necromancer into the world of the living.
r/StoriesOfAshes
| 2020-12-08T11:39:36 | 2020-12-08T08:37:38 | 708 | 108 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse is over and the survivors are rebuilding what's the left of the world. Suddenly the rich and powerful emerge, having sat the whole thing out, hoping to regain control.
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Here's my offering, I will try and edit any typos later :)
Year 2076
Corporations had ruled the world, money was what had kept the world moving. No longer were there nations and races, but they had been renamed to provide advertising and sponsorship. At the first hint of a global outbreak, before the viral strains had even mutated to what we called the “Z-Plaguis”, Yatamoto Corporation, which controlled the area previously known as Japan, had closed it’s boarders. As the epidemic spread, and the other corporations tried to follow suite, it was too late, there was an infection in every in every region of the world. The virus mutated, faster than anyone expected. At first, it just made people ill, then deadly a fast death, a mortality speed of less than 24 hours upon infection, until in its final form, the virus killed you so quickly, scientists could only describe it as “you died so quickly, your body did not know it”. This was the Z-plaguis. This made a healthy person in to a zombie like carrier, who’s only motive was to spread the virus as quickly as possible to a new host before the infected host’s body knew it was dead. It was not only humans who were infected, all animal, insects and birds were able to carry. It has decimated the arable farmland. It was the virus itself which was its own defeat. The speed at which it induced undeath to its host became too quick for it to be able to have the host’s body transports it too, and it eventually starved itself to death.
For those of us who survived in Exxon-Alaska, starvation became the next killer. If it wasn’t for the aid which Yatamoto provided to us, we would have all have perished. Four months after the last case of the virus had been reported or seen, they collected the survivors from around the world and brought them to the northern islands of old Japan. Here we were given houses, small collections of villages, among the fertile landscape and asked to work the land, help provide food for the men and women who worked for the corporation. Meat was now unavailable; the animals had already been eaten during the closed boarders. What we didn’t know was that the corporation executives had had a taste for meat, and their gluttony had farmed it to extinction.
At first life was simple and quiet. Just happy for a time of peace, where we could relax, knowing that no one was about to contract a fatal virus at any moment. Food reserves were built up, and people begun to find love and happiness again. I met my husband, Fredick, who had come from Iceland.
About 3 months ago, (a year since we were rescued), a law was passed by the corporation controlling us on the way in which we were able to give birth. This was to ensure that population levels would remain stable and sustainable until new sources of food could be found. We have been told that only the Japan region is farmable, and the rest of the world may never be habitable again. Our village had reached its assigned population level, but my desire to have a child of my own had become unbearable. Our only option was to report to the local corporation representative and apply for transfer to a location to which we can birth.
When we reach the black, ominous, towering building, which looked very out of place in the greenery of the farmlands, we were taken to a room and a man in a suit came to greet us. (Looking back at it I should have known he looked too healthy.) It was the first time since my relocation that I realised that I was a peasant to this people. They had all the power, and our ideal of “freedom” was an illusion. Yes, we are surviving, but we had given up every liberty and rights just to be able to eat. We were presented with forms to sign to even be able to breed, but my body was telling me how much I wanted it. I read through the forms, and for us to have children, the corporation was to gain access to all of my remaining eggs and my husband’s sperm. Fred was hesitant, but I reassured him I wanted this, looking back, I was naive, yet another freedom we had to give up.
The procedure was quicker than I expected, I was artificially inseminated with an egg and thanked for my contribution to the corporation. It was that simple and easy, I was happy once my pregnancy was confirmed and I was shown a healthy baby growing in side of me. The rest of my pregnancy when by quickly, but I just had the feeling that something was different with my baby, it was very heavy in my womb, and sometimes it felt like it moved more than it should. Like there was more than one baby in side of me, but all the pictures I had been shown were of one child growing. A representative from Yatamoto came by to visit every few weeks to check on my progress. He would ask questions regarding my health and daily intake of food. He would force injections upon me, saying that they were to keep the baby healthy, make sure it grows up big and strong. The one comment that did leave me baffled was when I replied "a boy" to the question of which sex I would prefer, he said "that will be arranged." There was a complication during the end of my pregnancy and I had to go into labour much earlier than expected, and the man speedily took me back to their tower building when I went into labour.
It was as I was giving birth, that I knew I had been duped. I gave birth to not one, but six children. I screamed by the five children who were not handed back to me, and I was sent back on my way. As I sit here writing these events down, crying my eyes out for my lost children, it dawns on me. We are not peasants who work the land; no we are the cattle…
(Edit: Based on some feed back :) )
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You'd think the people who'd actually know how to do things were the one's who'd gain control someday.
That was true, but like any other powerful organization, it had to endure a fight. That was the way to prove you were worthy.
One by one, those capitalists and investors poked their heads out of their holes, examining their surroundings. The scenery was foreign to them, they had never imagined their country as a desolate wasteland, devoid of any signs of life, save for the occasional deer or elk.
They showed up at the nearest outpost, completely outfitted with Kevlar vests, G3 Assault Rifles, Hummers, you name it. Every single military-grade weapon civilians would only imagine about.
They demanded that they be let in. Foolish men, they demanded, but they were not experienced.
The outpost refused, and the rich rammed a hole through their sheet-metal wall, only to discover a military outfit inside the area, aiming their guns at the men, and a large Howitzer cannon fully-loaded, ready to fire at anywhere.
Of course, this was not the only place where there were colonies. You would hear about huge battles fought in cities, hotels, farmlands, hell, there were even some air and sea battles, fought by the remnants of government forces.
But the survivors were triumphant, because, as a certain New Zealand-born Australian national had always said, "Skill always beats luck."
ok so i might profred this it is 11:45 now gooby
| 2015-12-14T08:44:51 | 2015-12-14T07:44:46 | 145 | 55 |
[WP] You are a dragon. The other dragons despise you, because they say you have no real hoard. You always change your shape to look like a man, and you are a guild master of an adventurer's guild. The other dragons are WRONG. This guild, these people, THEY are your hoard.
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"Well then, that's all the information the client gave us for the quest. How about it? You boys feel up to this?" The guild master stroked his beard, regarding the party before him. The three were childhood friends who now threw their lots in together as adventurers. They were still greenhorns of course, not yet turning a profit doing their quests. But what else was a guide for, if not nursing it's nestlings?
"It surely can't be that hard for the coin this lord is posting." Said the Warrior, chuckling at his own joke. He'd been a farm hand, but the guild master could see that he already begun to carry himself differently since he started. He stood straight backed and proud, his sword hand lingering near his waist, while his shield arm periodically strayed to his front out of habit. Indeed, this one was a worthy investment. "I rather think it's perfect for our level of expertise." The Rogue's manner of speech didn't suit her low birth. Her eyes glancing at the door every so often, her posture half crouched, ready to break into a sprint or duck behind cover. The guild master almost felt bad about acquiring her. So young, and already so developed. She was practically a fully capable adventurer already. "The real payment is always the experience..." the Mage muttered to herself repeatedly, as if trying to convince herself. Most novices that joined the guild were quickly appraised, and their development planned accordingly by the master. He'd been alive for a two thousand years, and had the utmost pride in his perception of others. Yet, this mage gave him pause. Her powers waxed and waned, seemingly at a whim. There was no discernible pattern at all, no matter how he tried to tutor her in the magical arts. He resolved for now to keep her with her companions, until a time came that an answer came to him as to what to do about her.
As he shooed the friends out of his office, the guild master realized that it was possible he would never find an answer. The thought might have given him pause when he was younger, but he was older and wiser now. Checking to make sure the door was locked, he assumed a more natural form. The wrinkles near his eyes hardened into scales, while his pupils constricted and lengthened into ovals. His fingertips fused and hardened, forming small talons, which he used to pick up his pipe. Using a fraction of his dragon breath, he lit the pipe, before puffing smoke. It was a favorite activity of his, since it reminded him of happier times, when he was still a young nesting, and his mother huffed a warm, gentle smoke to lull him to sleep. Not that he missed much else about being a dragon. It was a lonely life. Dragons were greedy and untrusting, to a fault. The only times a dragon could keep the company of it's own were in their youth when they were reared, and for a brief time as an adult when they took a mate. He'd always felt lonely, the glint of gold in his hoard merely reflected his own fire to him. The luster of jewels, clinking of coins, unlike other dragons, it meant nothing to him.
He would always hold some sentimental value for it however. After all, it was how he had found his family. Taking another puff of his pipe, he remembered the cold winter morning they had marched to his cave. Any other dragon would've torched them at low flame so as to preserve any valuables they had, which were to be cleaned, then added to the hoard. Yet, he abstained. Not because of some newfound compassion, but rather because they had no valuables. They were the sons of farmers and woodsmen, wielding family axes and rakes. Yet as they approached, he felt, for the first time, a warmth he could not explain. There was a fire these mortals wielded as well, one that allowed them to face a fire breathing leviathan, with nothing but old matchsticks. As they breached his home, drawing closer and closer to his oh so valuable hoard, and idea came to him. He flew away quickly out of his cave and into the sky, before changing into a bird and flying quickly into the cave again, taking the quickest path back to his treasure. Then, he shifted his form again, becoming one of their own. He told them of how he was a monster slayer, journeying from a far away land to vanquish the mighty beasts. How could they not believe him? They had already seen the dragon, routed, and fleeing out through his own caves. The dragon, now dragon slayer, was paraded through town as a hero. He asked for no reward, but for a sum of gold, so that he may train others in his noble art. The people were all too happy to comply.
He'd planned it as a ruse at first, telling himself that he would only linger long enough to learn where the town kept their gold, before looting it all and returning back to his warm cave. One day, after training his new recruits, however, it became clear to him. The affection and joy he felt toward his students could never be compare to the stoic emperors on his gold sovereigns. They were far better, as a matter of fact. He armed them, with words of power, and swords of steel. As they gained renown, the town's guild became famed for not only defeating one dragon, but two. Indeed, the day that the guild master faced his kin, his heart was heavy. Not because his foe's veins coursed with shared blood, but because the dragon had drenched his talons in the blood of many an adventurer. Even as his kin cursed him with his dying breath, calling him traitor, egg-cracker, and a thousand worse insults, the guild master felt no lost love.
His love was reserved for his nestlings.
How could I possibly forget? Thanks for reading, and leave a comment with your thoughts.
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I might look like a man, but I am a dragon. The best, most successful dragon.
Other dragons hoard gold. I do that as well, but they keep telling me my hoard is so small. I tell them that my hoard is bigger than theirs—I have billions of coins, but I am not going to let anyone see it.
And I don't need gold anyway. My hoard is people. They are drawn to me, follow me. The forked tongue of a dragon is so useful—I can say anything I want and a substantial number of people will believe me.
I didn't create this hoard (or should I say horde), but it was there for the taking. Other people had already made them followers in need of a leader. A massive hoard of people asking for a dragon to be on top of them.
And there I was. A dragon whose hoard of gold had been made fun of. My hoard of gold wasn't small, and neither were my human hands. But they made fun of me. So I decided to take control.
I dived into the hoard of people. I made them believe I was one of them, even though it should be obvious that I am not. They made me their leader. The dragon with his hoard of people, that now reigns supreme. And, I found out, I don't even need to pay the people that obey me. SO not only do I have a great horde under me, but I sit atop an even greater hoard of gold as well.
| 2019-01-19T21:06:40 | 2019-01-19T20:29:25 | 214 | 23 |
[WP] Starting at age 18, everyone is given a guardian angels. Some have regular people, others have unicorns or demons. You have just been given SCP-173 as your guardian angel.
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"Three years ago I lost all my friends, some of my family and became a prisoner for the safety of society."
I can hear faint scratching against my room's wall.
"My guardian, once thought to be creative fiction by many escaped its containment area some thousands of miles away and made its way to my bedroom at exactly midnight on April third. My family had a long history of being paired with dragons so I anticipated the same, my father had been gifted with Midgroj a dragon that used echo location to make certain he made his way home after his night shifts when he lived alone in Chicago. My mother's dragon Napheir was capable of camouflaging both itself and her to avoid danger and both of them were like family to me. They watched over all of us when I was little, not just my parents. I anticipated that I would get a dragon as well so I requested off from work months in advance to stay home and welcome my guardian into our family. The clock hands turned slowly while we waited, the clock struck midnight I blinked and when my eyes were open again my family laid crumpled on the ground like rag dolls. Their blood pooled on the floor, their eyes were closed while mine widened with terror. I shrieked, I tried to muffle it as best I could with my hands but our neighbor's guardians sensed my fear and alerted them. They knocked on my door, but I couldn't move, I was too scared to! I didn't know what went wrong, I couldn't see my guardian, I didn't know how my family died in an instant!"
I started crying again in my chair when a male voice chimed out in my room over an intercom.
"What happened to your neighbors? Did they call the authorities? Did they break in?" the voice faded.
"No, no they didn't come in, they knocked on the front door, they called out to me, they asked me what was wrong. They wanted to know if I was scared because my guardian wasn't what I expected. They told me that my guardian wouldn't hurt me, no matter what happened or what it looked like my guardian was there to protect me, to keep me company, to help me. I didn't move from my spot, I curled into a ball and cried on that floor for so long that my neighbor inevitably called the authorities figuring they'd be better prepared for whatever happened. When they broke down the front door I was still crying, I heard their footsteps rapidly approaching my room and my thoughts raced to the worst possible outcome, I'd be accused of killing my family, killing them and their guardians with my own, found guilty of murder and locked away for the rest of my life. One by one three officers entered the room, they looked at something behind me, I could tell, one of them looked at the bodies on the ground and tried to make their way to me, the one closest to me asked calmly 'What happened here son?' he reached for me and fell to ground. I saw his head twist completely in front of my face, his expression a mix of worry and panic when he crumpled to the ground, his hand landed on my side, I screamed in terror. In that second I saw my guardian. The other officers tried to run, they turned to leave the room but they never made it back through the doorway. I heard their radios call out one by one over static, 'Wilbright, what happened? Have you made contact with the civilian?' after no response another radio buzzed to life. 'Buzhaven, are you there?' and another, 'McCormic, do you read me?' and when no response was given they assumed the worst. 'Leave any weapons you have inside! Command your guardian to remain inside and come out! We don't want to hurt you or your guardian but you don't leave us much a choice, you know already you're not supposed to use your guardian angel to commit crimes!' I stifled my cries as best I could. I told him... I tried to tell him through my sobbing that I didn't know what was happening, I tried to tell him I didn't tell my guardian to kill anyone, that I didn't even know what my guardian was or why it did this."
I paused for a moment, remembering their faces that day. The intercom sparked to life again.
"What happened then? Did you see your guardian? Did it kill more people?"
"No, the officer stayed outside and yelled for me to calmly leave the house with my hands raised."
"Did you?" he asked.
"Of course I did. I was so stupid then, if I hadn't-"
The scratching got louder.
"You couldn't have known, you were young, you hadn't had any experiences with guardians that were dangerous and you didn't even know at the time what your guardian was capable of."
"But I did! I saw it kill those officers in an instant, I saw it move, it was so fast! It was like a blur in real life, it moved so fast behind them and snapped their necks one by one, then it just turned to look at me with what I assumed were its eyes. It just stood there and looked at me! I told it to stay in my bedroom, I tried to lie to it, I told it I was going to be right back, but it knew I was lying it had to have! It nodded its head back then, I thought it understood I thought it would obey, it was supposed to obey!"
I started hyperventilating, I clutched myself again and started to cry while I poured out my soul, the details of exactly what happened on that day.
"Calm down, calm down! You're safe here, everyone's safe now! There's no need to panic!"
"I raised my hands in the air and walked out of my room, I was soaked in blood! I could feel the blood stick to the wooden floor as I walked, with each step I could feel my feel feet leaving the sticky remains of everyone on the ground! I could hear the sound of the blood sticking bit by bit to that floor, when I made it to the front door."
"You don't have to explain anything more, our session can end now and we can pick this subject back up next time."
"I walked out and every single officer on that block dropped to the ground, one slammed on the ground distracting them one by one as more dropped dead to the ground! And when I realized what my guardian had done it was too late! It walked back to me, covered in their blood and hugged me! I felt... safe in its arms. The thing that killed my entire family, an entire squad of trained police officers and their guardians, ultimately caused me to end up here, being diagnosed by some shrink in an entirely different room! Just because it kills everything that stops looking at it, everything but me! And I felt safe in that moment because of this monster!"
"Why... did you feel safe with it?" he asked.
"Because I knew, then and there, that no matter what happened, no matter who it killed or when it killed someone... it would never hurt me, and that was all that mattered..."
"That's not something that should cause you to feel safe, it kills everyone and anyone around you."
"I know... but I do, when SCP-173 holds me, I feel like everything's going to be fine."
A silence filled my room, only broken by the sound of scratching from the room next to mine.
"It's only a matter of time doc, SCP-173 will get in, no amount of analysis will get me to change my mind now. I control SCP-173, it does what I say now and I accepted that I am its master, I ordered SCP-137 to get me out of here and it will, even if it has to kill everyone in this fucking facility to do it, just open my door and I'll let you live, or don't and wait for it to claw its way through these walls and break me out."
The man over the intercom went silent...
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It was finally the big day. Being the 18th birthday Hans was waiting for literally 18 years, it was also the day he would be assigned to his own guardian angel. His birthday was on the last day of the year, and all he could do for the entire year was watch his friends be assigned their very own angel one by one. But now the days of sulking in envy would be over; at this point he didn't care whoever his angel would be, as long as they weren't the devil himself. Hans relaxed himself in the awkwardly positioned seat in the Commune. It would be a while until his name would be called, the Commune was infamous for their lazy bureaucracy. It was 7 in the morning, he had nothing but time to spare.
*"Recipient 1231-56A, your presence is expected at platform B in ten minutes."*
Hans dashed out of his seat, ecstatic that he would be permitted to leave so early. But soon enough the joy drained out of his face as quickly as it rushed in.
"Wrong number, bloody hell..."
He looked at the flashing board above his head one more time; the board said 56A, his receipt said 66. As he slid back into his seat, he took a gaze around him. The Commune surely was a fabulous place, slim architecture and high ceilings that resembled airports. It was reasonable to be so, since the Commune was where angels 'descended' onto Earth.
He couldn't stand the happy faces on the teens leaving the Commune with a guardian in hand. A blonde girl with a puppy angel. A ginger, pompous boy with a white winged, classic angel. Someone even got lucky enough to be assigned a thunder spirit. They would have the whole day to themselves, and their guardians. But Hans' eyes quickly diverted to the other masses of boys and girls his age, drooped over the hard rigid seats on their phones. Some of them were sandwiching themselves around the pillar that had wireless chargers. Hans didn't have a smart phone, his mother wouldn't allow it even if *her* guardian depended on it. It would be a long day.
The hours seemed to whiz by, but Hans knew that time wasn't passing. Every time the broadcasts popped up he flinched, and crouched back in his seat in disappointment. But despite the wait, and the never-ending torture stringing him along, he remained his readied posture. He didn't dare close his eyes to sleep, what if he missed his once-in-a-life opportunity? He had heard countless stories of his friends missing their assignment while watching Youtube videos, and regretting even thinking of bringing a phone to the Commune. How many more chances would they get? None. The guardian angles were a blessing, not a mandatory welfare policy, and if you missed your chance, then tough luck for you.
*"Recipient 1231-56A, your assignment has been terminated. Thank you for coming to the Commune."*
There it goes again, some poor bastard just lost their chance. Hans wondered what it would be like to be a guardian angel, ready for the assignment and just hearing 'they didn't come.'.
And then the realisation came to him. He fumbled in his seat, looking around for the clock. It read 7:10. It really was going to be a long day.
| 2018-02-21T09:14:41 | 2018-02-21T06:13:34 | 86 | 15 |
[WP] Superheroes are fairly common and have existed for over a hundred years. As a young, up-and-coming superhero, you are facing the greatest challenge to this generation of superheroes: to find a superhero name that doesn't sound stupid, but hasn't been copyrighted/trademarked.
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Jeremy sat down at the desk, feeling uncomfortable. He knew this was a rite of passage for superheroes, but that didn't make it any less daunting. On the other side of the desk, the middle-aged woman with horn-rimmed glasses wore a look of boredom as she looked through the computer.
"Name?" she asked, not turning from the screen.
"Jeremy... um... Mattas," Jeremy offered hesitantly. The 34th amendment had passed over a half a century ago, but that didn't stop the requirement to register with his real name from feeling like revealing a huge vulnerability.
If the woman noticed his hesitation, she didn't show it. She continued, "Age?"
"Twenty one," Jeremy smiled. It was his birthday today.
"Powers?"
"Oh, uh..." Jeremy stopped to think for a moment, "Flight, super strength, invulnerability."
"The Alexandria package," the woman said, though Jeremy wasn't sure if it was to him or to herself, "If you find yourself discovering additional powers, gaining them due to a second trigger or parahuman intervention including tinker devices, or losing them due to one of these factors, you will have to update your information with the state. Do you agree to these terms?"
"Uh, yeah," Jeremy stammered, "sure."
"Cape name?" the woman asked.
Hoo boy. Jeremy had been warned about this. He'd done some research and he thought he had come up with some good ones.
"Gilgamesh," Jeremy smiled.
The woman sighed, "I see we're going to be here a while."
"No?"
"No," the woman said flatly, " Taken seventy three years ago, then again in the twenties. And twice more in the late thirties, before legacy and numbered cape names were banned. Also the name of multiple fictional characters, and although it's technically fair use, it still opens you up to potential liabilities."
"Oh," Jeremy paused, "How about Epic."
"Epoch is taken."
"No, not Epoch, Epic."
"Also taken."
"Ultraman?"
"A character in an old Japanese TV show."
"Mega Man?"
"Videogame character."
"Mr. Muscle?" Jeremy asked.
"The name of a cleaning product," the woman took off her glasses and pinched her nose, "Look, do you want to do some more research and come back another time?"
"No," Jeremy held firm, "I want to start today."
The woman let out a deep sigh of defeat and resignation, pausing for a long while before putting the glasses back on and speaking again.
"Go ahead."
"The Bolt."
"No."
"Hyperman."
"The use of the word 'hyper' is banned as it is deemed offensive by the ADD lobby. And the name is also taken."
"Beyond-Man."
"Taken."
"Over-Man."
"Taken. Mr. Mattas, you're not the only person who's heard of Nietzsche."
"The Spectacle."
"No."
"Apex."
"Taken. By a villain. Almost a full century before you were born."
"Aw, *come on*!" Jeremy said, exasperated.
"Look," the woman said, looking Jeremy in the eye for the first time, "I'm going to give you a dollar's worth of free advice. Pick an adjective name."
"An... adjective name?"
"The blank blank," the woman said, "The Ultra Bolt, The Mighty Meteor, The Superb Stallion, something like that," the woman tapped a few keys on her keyboard before saying, "Oh, wait, scratch that. Ultra Bolt is taken. Mighty Meteor might be problematic, too. It could conflict with a burger chain on the West coast with a burger called The Mighty Meatier. But it looks like Superb Stallion is still free, if you want it."
Jeremy thought about it and quickly dismissed it. He could just picture all of the dumb horse jokes people would make.
"What about Superma-"
"You will make me lose *all* respect for you," the woman interrupted, "if you finish that sentence."
"Um... Power Man?"
"No, no, no," the woman's annoyance started to take on a hint of aggravation, "Don't even bother with names ending in 'man', okay? Most were taken by comic book companies over a century ago. And not 'boy', either?"
"Why not?" Jeremy frowned, "Those taken too?"
"Yes," the woman said flatly, and then added, "and also, you'd be back within a decade to change it again regardless, and at this point I'd really rather not risk having to go through this again."
"The... Crimson Bolt?"
"Taken," the woman looked at Jeremy over the rims of her glasses, "by an old movie about an idiot superhero who didn't know what he was doing."
"Black Bolt?"
"Old comic book character."
"Blue Bolt?"
"Even older comic book character."
"Hard Man."
"An old Western film. And a videogame character. And the title of no less than seven porno films."
"Oh," Jeremy cringed, "How about... names ending in 'guy'? Could I try that?"
"Go for it," the woman said, with no enthusiasm.
"Superguy?"
"That's..." the woman almost did a double-take looking at the screen, "interesting. It's the name of a creative fiction writing group. And also it treads so close to infringing on a popular fictional character that you'd be a fool to try it regardless."
"Dynaguy?"
"Cartoon character. Another idiot superhero."
"Rrrrg!" Jeremy grunted in frustration and took a sarcastic tone, "How about Big Strong Flying Guy!"
The woman smiled humorlessly, leaned in close, and looked Jeremy directly in the eyes as she said, "Taken."
She had to cover her ears in response to his scream.
----------------------
The flames sent off a painful heat that kept Frank's crew at bay. The fire team had used the usual measures, but the fire just would not die down, even a little. Windows burst open at random intervals, spraying glass out onto the ground below. And the massive rumbling sound seemed to swallow up all of the surrounding noise.
Reports had said that there were still people in the building, but Frank tried not to think about that. He was doing everything he could for them, spraying the fire with everything he had, but even with three trucks on-scene, they had only succeeded in keeping the fire from spreading any further.
In the midst of this, Frank saw a shadow emerging from the flames. He squinted to try to make out what it was, before seeing a man dressed in costume carrying an unconscious woman in his arms. Frank ran up to them and took the woman, directing subordinates to take her to the ambulance stationed nearby.
"She'll be okay," the costumed man said, "some smoke inhalation and minor burns, but nothing life-threatening."
"Thanks," Frank said, at a loss for words.
"I'm going back in," the costumed man said, "There may be more who need help."
"Wait!" Frank said, "Tell me, who are you?"
The costumed man mumbled something Frank couldn't hear over the roar of the flame.
"What?" Frank shouted.
"You can call me," the costumed man hesitated for a moment before continuing, "The Superb Stallion."
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**Please let me know what you think! This story stands well alone, but you can find more stories with these characters on my subreddit.**
Mitchell scowled at his sister. "Stop that. It's distracting."
Maisie stopped juggling fireballs long enough to gently pat his arm. "Don't stress. It'll be fine."
"It won't be fine! If I don't submit this application by today, I won't be able to join this year."
That gave Maisie pause. "You haven't submitted it yet? What the hell have you been doing?"
"What exactly did you think I was stressed out about?"
"I don't know. Homework or something."
Mitch groaned and buried his face in the couch. "This isn't going to work. I have a stupid power. I shouldn't join the League of Five. It's for the best."
Mitch winced when a fireball hit his head and was absorbed into his hair.
"What is your problem?"
"I don't have a name!"
Maisie giggled. "Is that all? I thought it was something serious."
Mitch raised his head to glare at her.
"Ice Man," she offered.
"Taken. And I can absorb heat, not make ice."
"You can surprise the bad guys. Freeze Ray."
"Taken."
"Fridge Man."
Mitch laughed. "Almost as lame as PathFinder. Did you come up with that too?"
"Don't be mean. He was running out of options too. There are only so many cool names for a telepath."
"What did you pick?"
"Sunshine."
"That's surprisingly... fitting."
Mitch had narrowly avoided the word 'sentimental'. He didn't think that his sister would have appreciated the reference to their mother, or the nickname she had given Maisie. He wondered what his mother would have thought. Whether she would have been proud or horrified that both of them had chosen to follow in her footsteps.
"Captain -"
"We've already got Captain Storm."
"Forgot about that. Steel Ice."
"The new girl's picked Lady Steele."
Maisie stared at a pile of junk mail and newspapers sitting in a corner, waiting to be recycled. "I have an idea."
---
Maisie assembled small scraps of paper on the ground. "Anything else?"
Mitch prodded the mostly ashy pile on the concrete floor. "I think so."
"There's nothing coherent left over. 'Count Gain'. I think that used to be 'discount' and 'bargain'"
Mitch considered it. "Pass."
"Roma Toma."
"No."
"But it rhymes."
"No."
Maisie sighed. "Fine. Olympian Blue."
"Screw it. It's better than PathFinder."
/r/YarnsToTell
| 2018-07-14T05:49:59 | 2018-07-14T00:01:05 | 100 | 73 |
[WP] Sobek, the half human half crocodile god of the Nile, surprised by a visit of Anubis,god of death. Anubis introduce Sobek to a human soul behind him, still dripping in seawater : "I thought you should meet this man,the living called him Steve Irwin"
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It wasn’t difficult to find Sobek in the Nile—at least, not for Anubis. In a strange way, the river was as much his home as it was Sobek’s. For blood has flowed as freely as water, and human souls were consumed like fish, that it was as much graveyard as lifegiver.
“Crikey,” Steve Irwin called. He followed behind Anubis, wading through the river like he had fins of his own. “This is a long river.”
“Patience, human,” Anubis said. “Sobek is king. He is not an easy man to find.”
“Naw,” he said. “I don’t know who that is. But I know a hippo when I see how. Would you look at the size of that thing?”
Anubis smiled. He had heard much about this Irwin from a reputable source—that he was fearless, upbeat, and fearless, almost to a fault—which have been substantiated with the deathly reliable weighing of the heart.
“I’m curious, human,” the god of death hummed. “They called you the Crocodile Hunter. Forgive me, but you do not seem capable of killing one.”
“Aw,” he said. “I wrestled with them. Don’t really do the whole killing thing, no.”
“Wrestling,” Anubis mused. “That would still be fairly interesting.”
Anubis eventually found Sobek perched on one bank of the river, downstream from most prying eyes. The crocodile god was engaging in his favourite activity, which involved a lot of cold-looking men and women.
“Sobek,” Anubis said.
Sobek was engrossed, and barely paid heed to any other words but the sweet nothings in his ears. Fortunately, Anubis was quite used to waiting—death tended to be patient.
“Crikey,” Irwin said. “I feel like I shouldn’t be looking at this.”
“It is what it is,” Anubis said. “But yes, it is rather decadent of Sobek.”
Finally, the crocodile god dismissed his surrounding retinue, and they quickly and professionally scrambled away. Sobek sighed, opening his great maw.
“Anubis. I do not like it when you disturb me.”
“Unfortunately, you are unreachable unless disturbed,” Anubis said. “I thought you should meet this man, however. The living called him Steve Irwin.”
“Steve… Irwin,” Sobek muttered. “And why do I care?”
“He’s also known by the name Crocodile Hunter.”
Yellow eyes swiftly sharpened, and focused upon the human. In the space of a nanosecond, Sobek had gone from lax to alert, coiling like a predator preparing to pounce.
“Is this treachery, Anubis?”
“Oh, I would never think of something like that,” the canine god said. “I am merely a humble servant.”
Sobek narrowed his sceptical eyes.
“Uh, if I may?” Irwin spoke up. “I never killed any crocodiles. I just like to appreciate them. I can’t help but notice so many beautiful specimens across the whole of the Nile river.”
“Each of them are my patrons,” Sobek said. “And as I prosper, so do they. It is rare to see humans feel so comfortable around them. Even those who’ve associated with me tend to shirk in fear.”
Irwin smiled.
“Frankly? I lived in Australia,” Irwin said. “This river isn’t so scary, in my humble opinion.”
“Blasphemy!” Sobek spat. “There is nothing more fearsome than the Nile? Your Australia cannot compare!”
“Ah,” Anubis said. “Australia is a strange place. It seems like Neith has settled her roots down there. Explains the prominence of spiders over there.”
Sobek’s face paled.
“Mother? The war goddess? What in the…”
“Ah, Neith,” Irwin said. “Lovely lady. Told me to come here, actually.”
Anubis leaned forward to Sobek.
“You know power over Egypt waxes and wanes, Sobek,” the god of death whispered. “I’ve seen death of mortals, of kingdoms, and of gods. The Crocodile Hunter, sent by Neith, is as much emissary as herald.”
The two watched as Irwin waded over to a crocodile, mad glee shining in his face. He bobbed and weaved in the water like he belonged in it, carefully manoeuvring into position. The crocodile snapped!—but in the blink of an eye, meaty arms reached mightily around the snout, clamping it shut.
Sobek’s eyes shifted slowly to Anubis’ unblinking ones, a mummy staring back.
“I am to do nothing but watch over this man. But know that through him, Neith watches you,” Anubis continued, and smiled a toothy grin. “There are many gods that will fight you to further their ambition. But this man… he *likes* wrestling crocodiles. There is strength in that.”
Sobek gulped.
“... I understand.”
“Then ruler of Egypt,” Anubis bowed, and winked. “We shall take our leave.”
---
r/dexdrafts
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“Of course,” Sobek said, although he wasn’t particularly interested in the little humans with little lives. Anubis, however, demanded respect.
Anubis stepped aside, and a solid man with blond hair, clothed in utilitarian gear, stepped forward. He didn’t notice anything special about the man. His face was broad from a life lived with many smiles, but right now his expression was absolute shock.
Steve Irwin turned and stormed away. Sobek had never felt such absolute disrespect, and he looked, dumbfounded, to Anubis.
“You cannot leave my side,” Anubis said, concerned. Clearly, he’d expected a different outcome.
“It’s important!” Steve called back, “I need to tell the rest of those nasty buggers that this isn’t what ‘gorgeous!’ was supposed to mean to them!”
| 2022-02-25T12:29:53 | 2022-02-25T06:59:02 | 104 | 61 |
[WP] your car changes slightly to accommodate your day, the day it snows, it magically has snow tires, the day it floods, it becomes a four by four. Today you walked out the door, and it's a tank.
Edit: wow, this really blew up, thank you all for your stories, and I will try to read all of them as soon as I have some time.
|
Well then.
I paused on the stairs of my apartment, and looked at the M1 Abrams main battle tank that stood in my parking space. Not something you would find in your average apartment complex parking in Salt Lake City. I winced as I saw what had become Mr. Oberoi's old Chevy that had been unlucky enough to be parked next to my car. The thing was crushed between my tank and the pickup truck next to it. It honestly didn't look like a car anymore.
I allowed myself a little smile. That's what that asshole gets for cat calling every time I came back home from work.
He was going to be pissed as hell, but given what my car had turned into today, that was going to be the least of my worries.
See, this car had been a gift from my mother who in turn had gotten it from grandmother. She had tears in her eyes when she had given me the keys. It turned into anything I needed for the day. It seemed to know exactly what weather we were going to have.
"It'll serve you well, Lisa. God knows it's served me long enough," she'd said. When I had asked her how it worked she had just smiled, "Does it matter?"
I winced a little whenever I thought of her. She had only passed away a year ago, in a car accident of all things, and while the initial shock of her passing had long since passed, sometimes the memories snuck up one me, her smile or her touch.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. Focus. Survive. The fact that I had a tank here meant that there was going to be some sort of catastrophe, so I rushed back in my home and turned on the TV while I ran inside to get some supplies.
Nothing on the news. Huh. Nevertheless, I took several bottles of water, and a *ton* of granola bars and climbed into the tank.
*It doesn't seem like a day the apocalypse would start,* I thought. The sun was just rising, casting the sky in a fiery red glow, and the cool breeze seemed perfectly normal. But something *did* feel off, I realized with a start. I stood on top of the tank, about to go in when it occurred to me. It was silent.
Not just the silence everyone with an early morning shift feels when she goes to work, but total silence. No sounds of the fading night, no insects, no birdsong. Troubled, I got into the tank.
For something so huge on the outside, it was surprisingly cramped. Conveniently placed on the front seat were a pistol and a driver's manual.
Huh. I didn't know they made those.
Everyday that the car changed, usually in the dashboard, it came with a manual for the car. Usually this was totally unnecessary, and something I found pretty funny, but I was glad now. And I suppose the gun was there in lieu of the keys. I tried not to think too much about that.
I skimmed the manual and nodded. Seemed simple enough. I got the hang of the driving, how to accelerate and how to load the cannon. I hoped I would have no need for the latter, but the fact the car had turned into a tank and not an armored car told me something.
Now what?
As if in answer, the ground began to shake. Violently. I used the external cameras and found that it wasn't just the tank, the entire 10 stories apartment complex was shaking. Shaking pretty hard...
I realized what was going to happen a moment before it did. The building tilted precariously and began to swing forward, collapsing.
Right on me.
I let out a yelp of fear, and hit the accelerator, and the tank moved backwards with surprising speed for such a lumbering beats of a machine. Still I had reacted too late and the top of the building fell on the tank, though I had almost made it to the main road out of the parking complex.
The sound was deafening.
There was the initial crash of the bulk of the building falling and then the repeated *clunks* of smaller debris hitting the roof of the tank. It seemed that the noises stopped an eternity later.
I tested the tank and found, to my surprise, that the tank could still move, albeit with plenty of crunching and scary noises. I had a horrifying image of me being trapped under the debris, trapped in darkness for months, living off my rations, not willing to accept my inevitable death...
*Focus, Lisa.* I shook that horrifying image out of my head, and drove the tank backwards, despite the ominous banging and crunching.
It seemed to take forever, but the tank made it out of the majority of the debris, judging by the sound at least. I turned on the cameras and saw...nothing. Had the cameras been damaged?
I looked around, but I made out a faint light, one of the street lights that hadn't fallen in the earthquake. No, the camera was fine. Suddenly a computer chirped, making me jump,"switching to night-mode, change of light detected."
Suddenly everything on the screen was in a shade of green. I saw the collapsed building and saw that I was in the middle of the main road. There were upturned cars and debris all along the road, making them impossible for any normal car to cross.
Then I turned the camera upwards.
The sky was dark, the sun but a faint outline on the night vision.
What the hell was going on?
I fumbled for the radio, the manual had said it had one, and switched to FM 102.1, the news.
".....catastrophic, absolutely catastrophic. The Central United States....chaotic...global effects."
A million dollar machine with a shitty radio. My freaking life.
I hit the radio a bunch, and this actually seemed to work, the message becoming a bit clearer.
I almost wish it hadn't.
"...Extinction level eve-...Yellowstone has erupted...."
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
It had been a busy morning. I had stayed up late to finish a report that was due today, and I was hoping against hope my client would find it to be sufficient. I slept through my alarm, I hurried through my morning routine, and barely even had time to check the news and weather, like I did every morning.
I swallowed the last little bit of coffee, then carefully put my mug down. I didn't want to break my favorite mug all because I accidentally overslept. I grabbed my phone, wallet, and charger, shoved my computer into my briefcase, ran to the printer and grabbed my report, and had my hand on the doorknob that led to my garage when I realized something.
"Great." I thought to myself. "I lost my keys."
I went back to the spot I always put them, and realized that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't actually need the keys. This had happened before, the day that there was flooding in my neighborhood and my car turned into a Jet-ski. I rushed over to the garage, flung open the door, and, to my surprise, there was a tank sitting where my Toyota pickup should have been. I blinked a few times, then slammed the door shut and opened up my laptop.
As soon as I opened CNN, I saw the problem. War. It was always some kind of war. Syria had finally had it with the United States, and declared war on us. As I continued to read down, however, something caught my eye.
In order to have enough troops for the war, the USA had reinstated the draft.
Well, at least I'll have a tank.
| 2016-12-06T09:28:19 | 2016-12-06T09:17:30 | 238 | 22 |
[WP] You, a ghost, end up "haunting" the main character of the story, who out of kindness let you join their party. It been decades since then, and now you are the guardian spirit of the hero's descendants. Today the descendants of the villain have come for revenge... they weren't expecting you.
|
Over 70 years of love where none was needed. Tark had become a dear friend. We had walked the pathways and dangers of the land together. I had been a warrior before he was born, a warlord some might even say and when he had stopped the necromancer trying to reanimate the bones of some of my buried warriors I was impressed and decided to see how he did and where he went. It was a further delight when he had discovered I was there and not only accepted but welcomed my unseen companionship. I had helped where I could. Muffling him when he was about to speak when it would alert guards, triggering traps that killed guards or just kept him from getting caught in them and later in our time together, even learning to take over the corpse of recently slain opponents. Once he had defeated the greatest villain of his life, the Duke of the marshes, he had retired to a small keep granted Tark by the king, founded a small village and he did not forget me. When his kids had laughed about daddy's spirit friend I would push something off a table or flick and ear, always there yet never present. I only got to talk to Tark once, on the day he died. It was just for a few seconds as be began to ascend, he thanked me but looked at me sadly. I told him not to worry, I clearly still had things to do. His kids and grand kids had made him a shrine, and one for me right alongside. That was over 70 years ago, and today started as a bad day.
There are currently no great heroes or even adventurers of Tark's line but at least one found some courage. Tark let the villain's infant daughter live that day so long ago and now her descendants have come for blood. The dozen or so of them are no real threat but their nearly 200 bandits and cutthroats are a serious issue. Fortunately, as they formed up to show their power one of Tark's great great grandsons took a random shot with a hunting bow and hit a brigand in the head putting him down. They just laughed and began monologuing, putting down the family, their blood and describing what they were going to do to them all. Bless you though child, that corpse is what I needed. The Duke's chief descendant was so wrapped up in his monologue that he did not even notice and the men behind him backed away as their dead comrade rose from the ground once again. He noticed though, for a second, as the dead man moved in a fast and fluid motion drawing his blade and shoved it through his spine. The others quickly moved in and cut me down, not that it mattered. His relatives cradled their fallen leader as he gurgled his last in their arms, then screamed in terror as his eyes, now my eyes popped back open drawing his dagger and sliced his own daughter and second in commands throat.
Bouncing back onto his feet it was time, time to enjoy the warmth of the blood before it cooled, time to dance and fight. Time to play and if I could, to sing.
Sword and dagger in hand he/I cut through another 40 or so of his men before being cut down once again. It's not that I was killed just that the body took enough damage I couldn't keep it moving any longer. Hard to fight when they've hacked the head and limbs off my meat doll. Oh well, there were about 40 more so time for a fresh one.
Only got through about 20 that time but picked another and stood among them enjoying the fear. Orders and formation did not really matter any more. They were men scared and confused. Standing in groups, back to back they scanned every corpse around them fearfully watching for movement of any kind. They even killed some wounded friends thinking they were dead rising yet again. A sudden scream of terror tells me someone spotted the mortal wound on my meat puppet and it is time to dance some more. Faster and faster the head comes off I just grab another and another and then another. They start hacking at corpses and even at a couple friends who slip and fall rather than risk it. I grab the corpse of a farm goat they killed and gore a brigand in the gut causing a new level of panic and confusion. For fun I grab the corpse of a rooster and flap up pecking another brigand in the eyes.
With them distracted now watching every shadow I grab another corpse and to my delight, discover he was not dead but praying in fear. Oh that feeling. The warmth of his flowing blood, the feeling of air coursing through his panicked lungs, his...stomach. He knows where things are but huddles in fear in the back of his mind rather than face me, his body is mine so I go to the fallen leader and get his wine skin, what a wonderful , long lost taste and memory. I can't help but to laugh but it is the laugh of an amazed undead in the living. They stop and stare, time for some true horror.
I slit my/his own throat as I roar at them. I immediately grab another, one of the biggest and best armored. With his sword in hand I laugh and slit his own throat then turn, clearly bleeding out and charge. Another dozen fall before the body is to badly hurt but now, now I am going for the living. Next grabbing an archer on a roof top and start picking them off. Even after they have killed the body with arrows and spears I don't need to stop until I run out of arrows and even then, I just jump off with blade in hand killing a couple more until dismembered.
Now facing the living and the dead, not knowing who will be next, it is just to much as they finally break and run, scattering back towards their camp and away from my friend's descendants.
As I watch them flee i can feel it, feel a sense of satisfaction. That's also when I feel a hand on my shoulder except, I'm not in a body. Turning I find Tark, smiling.
"Ready to go old friend? I think you have more than earned a rest." As he offers a heavenly mug.
I smile but know the truth of things. "Thanks, it's tempting, but I'll pass." The shock on his face. "I've always done what you could not and now I can do even more. If I leave now they can just come back. Time to finish the job." Tark smiles in understanding, squeezes my shoulder and steps back returning to HIS heaven.
I've grown, I've learned and tasted the joys of battle once again. Time to put an end to this threat to my friend's family. Time to go find a body and enjoy MY heaven.
|
*This is my first time writing here so please be nice to me*
"Ah, finally."
The voice came so suddenly Reinin thought he'd imagined it. He spun so quickly the cloth of his garb slapped the wall nearest him. *What a racket*, he thought. *Get a grip.* Reinin turned to continue through the house.
"Mm. Quite rude."
This time, Reinin drew his swords as he spun, a shortsword in his right hand and a dagger in his left. Again, nothing. He spun the sword in his right hand. "Come out, coward," he said angrily.
"Glad it's King Forad's descendants I'm protecting."
Reinin's brow scrunched in confusion. "You what?"
"So I *will* have to explain it to you. Christ, give me strength."
"Show yourself!"
There was an audible sigh of disappointment. "Please. Check the bedroom to your rear."
Reinin did not move. A trap, of course. "You would like me to turn my back on you, wouldn't you, coward?"
"Oh for God sakes, would you just turn around?"
Reinin lowered his stance, and backed towards the door just behind him. Without taking his eyes away from where the voice originated, he pulled at the knob. It didn't open.
"Twist it, you halfwit."
Reinin aggressively twisted the knob of the door and it opened. He backed into the room and quickly closed the door. There was no lock. "What the bloody hell did I get myself into?" He stole a glance behind him. There, on the bed, sat a man in perfectly crafted blue robes. Stars speckled the outfit, and beneath his pants were dark and fit loosely. Reinin jumped and staggered back.
Right into a blade protruding from the center of the door.
"Before you die, I'd like to point out that a) I'm a ghost and b) that's your own sword you've just stabbed yourself with."
To Reinin's dismay, the blade now protruding from the center of his chest matched the intricate designs specially crafted into his weapons. When had he dropped it?
"You're probably wondering to yourself, 'how did this happen?' Well, I could explain it to you but there's five others who will befall the same fate as you in the coming days, and I really, *really* hate repeating myself."
In an instant, Reinin's head dropped to the floor.
| 2020-10-12T23:24:45 | 2020-10-12T21:45:48 | 69 | 35 |
[WP] "We have ancient elven magic, and even the dwarves have their ugly mountain forts. What do YOU have, human?!" "Napalm, and high-explosives, mostly..." *grumbling beard in the background* "....our forts are aesthetically pleasing though..."
|
Eight thousand, five hundred and fifty eight years. Not even the oldest of the dragons could remember a time of peace. The dwarves had long since retreated to their mountain cities, deep underground. The dwarven forts, once renowned throughout the land for their aesthetic lines and imposing towers, now lay in ruin atop the mountain cities that hid their people. The elves erected a mighty magic shield around their capitol. That was a thousand years ago. Now the elves are accustomed to the constant arcane bombardment that beats the shield like a drum.
Armies of orcs, goblins, and trolls scour the land and seas for any that would oppose the will of their dark master. Small nomadic tribes eke out a living, constantly fleeing war bands and circumventing the armies of darkness. Few of these wandering people remain and their numbers diminish by the year.
A blinding flash in the night sky changed everything, as it so often would in legend. So sudden it was and lasting for but a moment that many believed it to be a trick of the enemy or some mass hallucination. For others it something to hope for. But no one knew what it meant. Gnomish astronomers and elvish diviners scoured the night sky for a hint of the celestial phenomenon. The dark ones forces redoubled their efforts against the survivors, presumably fearing a change in the fates.
Exactly one month after the heavenly flare another stellar event occurred. This time *everyone* saw it. It was if the stars themselves were falling in the east. Trails of ash and fire marked the passage of the objects as they raced for the surface. The heavens roared and the people panicked. Surely the end was nigh.
But then all was silent and the night was still. The objects must have impacted somewhere yet no sound had been heard. As quickly as the event had started it had ended.
A week later the elves where startled when the bombardment on their shield abruptly ended. The dwarves waited anxiously, yet no attacks came from the surface tunnels. The gnomish refuges found themselves in the clear, with no armies to dodge or patrols to evade. The dragons awoke from their ancient slumber in their hidden realm, the threat apparently gone, or at the very least weakened to the point that their magics told them to arise.
Slowly but surely, a representative of each race arrived at the elven capitol to discuss this unexpected turn of events. No one really knew what had happened. Lone wanderers and crazed mystics spoke of an army that had arisen in the east and challenged the dark lord, pushing him back and forcing him to call upon his forces scattered as they were upon the world.
It was decided that an expedition must be sent to investigate. Each of the races would choose a representative to the east to observe the events there and report back. One of the dragons agreed to carry this group there and back.
The mismatched party of scouts quietly flew east, their minds filled with trepidation and dread. Was it all a ruse? Was this a trick by the enemy to draw the survivors from their hiding places?
What they found was arguably worse.
It started on the second day of their travels. The air felt wrong... ionized, the magic common to their world disrupted and sundered. The third day revealed pillars of smoke on the horizon. The fourth, fields of dead orcs, goblins, and trolls.
The once beautiful forests and plains of the east were now little more than ash and mud, inter spaced with lakes of blood and hills of eviscerated corpses. To a man the scouts were sickened by what they saw that day.
The fifth day revealed what was left of the Dark One's army. The army that had terrorized a world for generations innumerable now numbered a mere hundred thousand and fled like panicked birds to the north. There was no order, no leadership evident in the scattered hordes flight. In every direction, the remnants of the dark army fled.
The sixth day changed the lives of these adventurous souls forever. In the distance, just cresting the horizon a large camp could be spotted surrounding a cluster of massive structures. A wall that rivaled that which the dwarves could build surrounded the complex. From a series of towers, strange magicks arced forward and struck a small shield that an infamous dark lord and his most loyal minions could be seen hiding behind.
Every now and then a figure or two could be seen trying to flee the Dark One's shield, only to be struck down by the horseless chariots that patrolled the area or the wingless drakes that hovered menacingly about the complex.
As the explorers took this all in a pair of metal constructs blazed past the dragon that carried them sending them into tumble. Their dragon ally was quick to right themselves and no one was thrown off, but they found themselves in a perilous situation as more of the supersonic constructs shot past them. They were quick to flee, but soon realized they weren't being attacked but instead herded away from the Dark Lord's position. With little further prompting they were quick to vacate the area.
Suddenly, the party was blinded as a pillar of azure energy struck down from the heavens atop the Dark One's cover. The sound was if thunder echoed all around them continuously. A few seconds later the eye searing light abated revealing a smoking crater where the Dark One had stood but moments prior.
At that time a pair of the metal constructs that had herded the dragon and its passengers away came to rest silently but a few yards away, floating effortlessly in the air. The natives eyed these strange beings warily. It was obvious should the constructs and their allies wish it, they were dead.
A voice spoke from one of the constructs in the trade tongue.
"We are humanity. We traveled the stars to meet others in the hope of brotherhood and trade. We came in peace. Yet these you see before you offered us nothing but war and hatred. What do you offer?"
|
“Who invited the humans to this conflict?!” Grumbled the dwarven general, clad in his armor and wielding a war hammer, his banner swirling in the wind.
“Now from what I understand”, says a human commander, walking up and wiping the dust off his pants. “Looks like you guys are going to partake in what we call a war game. We thought, well, we should join in and make things interesting.” He chuckled to himself as he uncoupled the radio from his belt.
“What could you possibly be capable of, with yer’ soft hands and weak frames? We could decimate with the smallest of our siege engines.” Boasted the little bastard, while the elven honor guard and commander kept a chuckle down. “As much as it pains me to say, I agree with the dwarf’s comment. What could you possibly have to offer?”
“Hmmm........ OH, I know!” He exclaims while putting his radio up to his mouth. “Air support, I request you deploy 3 thermobaric bombs towards that hill, creating the sun.” “UNDERSTOOD” confirms the bomber, as he turns his aircraft towards the target zone.
Both the elf and dwarf watch in a combination of horror and awe as the entire hill is obliterated, sending a small shockwave throughout the small conference.
The commander, satisfied with his show of force, walks away.
| 2019-02-03T22:29:34 | 2019-02-03T22:26:15 | 137 | 28 |
[WP] A single man declares war on the entire world. One year later, the leaders of each nation gather to discuss their surrender.
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The door swings open and when it hits the wall, the entire thing falls off its hinges. It sends up a cloud of dust and sand when it lands. Everyone jumps. Most reach for their guns. _It's just the wind_, twenty people think in their mother tongues. There should be more, hundreds more, but most are dead or have abdicated or were forcibly removed or couldn't be reached. It's not as if you can pick up a telephone and just call.
"I will be the first to apologize," a feminine voice comes from nowhere. "I do not plan on shooting anyone, but if someone sneezes I am likely to open fire. Probably on my own foot." I finally find the speaker. A woman in niqab, the New Eritrean primate. It is what the group needs - some laugh, everyone relaxes.
I look over the rest. There's a man with red hair sitting behind her, dressed from top to bottom in the most offensive green. New Irish States. Everyone is "New" something. Many of the others are in simple suits but can be correctly identified if you're willing to be a little prejudiced. When everything began to collapse, everyone started clinging to those who looked like them, who could be trusted on sight.
That guy is from the Korean peninsula. _Have they reunified._ She's from the Indian subcontinent, but I can't imagine they have a single government now. Ah, no, I count at least three bindi. The Chinese imperial ambassador is wearing red. _Cute._
"I wonder if we could begin." British accent, I think. White-haired, bespectacled, pant-suited lady in the corner. There is a buzz as some translate for others. The murmuring fades and I'm stunned by the silence. They're waiting. I'm sure this never happened in the UN. She seems shocked too. She has accidentally assumed a leadership role and regrets it. "Well, I... I think we have a decision before us. Has anyone actually made progress in reversing the... ehm, tide?"
If there were a time to lie, it would be now. Yes, we've regained stability. Here is the secret. All you need is love. Or forcible injections of B12. Or to murder all of the infants. Ear plugs. It's as simple as: ... But none do. They are all equally helpless and nothing would be gained by posturing. "Well," she says. "Shit."
The group is contemplative - a full minute passes. "We hear he just shows up and starts reading," says a young man who is more tattoo than skin. "And everything just collapses. Society, I mean." I'm guessing the New Californian Communes. It's translated and everyone nods. This is what they have heard too. "Can't we just kill him?" Someone laughs. "We tried," three people say simultaneously. "And we thought we got him, but it seems like we didn't," one finishes. The other two just look at their shoes.
"Does anyone even know what he wants?" Silence again. Pant-suit holds up a manila folder. That makes me curious, do we have a representative from the Philippines here? "We have bits and pieces of the speech he gives. For example," she says, adjusting her glasses, "'a spectre is haunting...'" The man next to her smacks her. Front-hand, full force. Her glasses bounce off the wall and I'm certain he's knocked her out. "Do _not_ read it," he hisses. No one intervenes. "It is a spell."
The thing is, I know it's not. There is no magic. In fact, _many_ of the carriers have been successfully killed, but some poor soul is always in the wrong place at the wrong time and reads just enough to get hooked. And then they spread it. Sorry, _we_ spread it. _The Hidden Gospel of Marx._ Supposed last testament of the only Marx worth talking about. Or maybe it is a spell. "Marx" is definitely a pseudonym. A nom de guerre. The _Gospel_ is a pseudepigraphon. I don't care about its authenticity. It's wonderful.
I've personally recited it to two groups. The first, a military commune, just sat there while I read. When I finished, they sat there. Two days later, they were just sitting there. The second, an all-women Amazonian Utopia. They hadn't killed me because they needed breeding studs - and I _almost_ chose to go along with it - but that first night in the tent, I read it to every woman who came in. They'd stopped coming in about three in the morning and when I left the tent, those who weren't dead (and there were quite a few) were gone.
I don't feel compelled to read it. I feel happy to. I think everybody responds differently and some of us like it, and we carry it on. I was never political, but I feel good reading the _Gospel_. I clear my throat. I pull the page from my pocket. It's not necessary - I have it memorized because it's all I do in my free time, read this thing.
It takes three sentences before anyone realizes what I'm doing. I started at my favorite part of the text and they thought I was suggesting a solution. In a way, I am. "The modern man, on the contrary, instead of rising..." I am enthralled. I do not feel the bullets. Those around me, those who are standing too close, they probably do. It's really too late. Three sentences is more than enough. Those who can still walk are scattering.
I'm fading. My lips burn, my insides burn. It's the blood loss. It's making me woozy and I see Death approaching. Wait, no. It's the Eritrean. She kneels down and I can see her eyes, just her eyes, and I can see the familiar joy in them. She takes the sheet. "I wonder who gave this to you," she says. She holds up my head with a gentle hand, trying to keep me with her. I know she wants answers, but I don't have many. Her eyes are the last I'll see, I know this.
She stands up and places the same gentle hand on my forehead. She starts reading. _Last rites_, I think. She gets to the part about "first of all, settling matters" and I'm so tired. My body is pins and needles, but she's glowing and she is an angel blessing me. "...cuts from under its feet the very foundation..." My eyes close. "Its fall is inevitable."
_Yes_, I think. _Its fall is inevitable. Amen._
|
Ever since he was a young child Michael heard voices in his head. The family that adopted him tried everything they could to help. They sent him to therapists, who said nothing is really wrong with him. They took him to doctors, who prescribed medication that had zero effect on him.
Michael never really told anybody *all* of the things these voices would tell him in fear of people being afraid of him. The voices would sometimes tell him tales of mass murder and how he is destined to take over this world. Not wanting to listen any more, he learned to tune it out. Eventually, by his 20's, he didn't hear them at all.
Though it was on his 29th birthday that they came back. He was working construction on a new high rise in New York when the scaffolding gave way and plunged him 83 stories to the ground. It was during his decent that the voices not only came back but showed their faces. Three of them. They looked filled with white, like ghosts and he couldn't make out the sex of any of them.
"Michael". They seemed to speak in unison. "Do not worry, as you will find out in a moment you cannot die. You are an archangel. This world is filled with wickedness and must be cleansed. It is time Michael".
He slammed into the ground with such force it crushed the concrete beneath him and sent a dust cloud into the air. Other workers rushed over preparing for a horror scene. Most of them with their phones out and recording.
Michael rose from the impact crater holding a sword made of the same ghost white material of the angels. He swings it around his body gaining momentum and stabs it hard into the ground. It sends a shockwave across Manhattan not only disabling all the electronics but frying them completely. He feels incredible, filled with endless energy and an overwhelming sense of purpose.
It only took him four days to slay New York City. He moved swiftly and with no explanation. On a mission from God he needed not explain himself to man.
After a year he had decimated most of the United States, including 90% of their military offenses, and went around the world killing an incredible amount of politicians and leaders. Still not knowing why he is doing it, or even what he is, the United Nations gathered to discuss the immediate surrender of the entire world.
| 2014-07-24T08:51:09 | 2014-07-24T08:16:14 | 125 | 39 |
[WP] As an atheist, you are shocked to realize that there is an after life after death. Standing in front of countless heavenly gates, you are swarmed by representatives of each faith, all trying to convince you to choose their happily ever after package.
|
“Oh, honey, I’m so glad to see you!” Mom gives me a huge hug, and it's so nice to finally hug her too. So many nights I’d missed this, not the warmth or the way she’d ruffle up my hair or her gentle, clean smell, but just knowing that I could hug her as long as I wanted, and that she wouldn’t pull away.
“Now,” she said. “Are you ready to come with me? You’re going to love it here!”
“What’s going on, mom?”
“Our faith was rewarded, honey!” she says with a huge smile, so wide it almost blots everything else out. “Christ awaits you with open arms. There’s two prayers a day, and other than that, you can do whatever you want!”
“Can I hit on girls?”
“Not if you weren’t married to them on Earth. Were you, honey?”
I ignore her question. “Can I smoke weed? Or drink beer?”
She frowns, and I know it’s over.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” I lean in and give her what I hope is my best hug, and move on without looking back at her.
\-
“Who are you?” I ask.
A teen sits on a rock with a Juul pod, taking his sweet time on a hit, blowing the vapor right in my face.
“I’m an atheist, bro.”
“I guess you have no lungs to take care of here,” I say. "What is that? It smells nice."
“Cucumber.”
“So what are you supposed to be?”
“I don’t know. But look at all these other idiots,” he says. “They really think they made it.”
“But…haven’t they? If they made it all this way? I mean, God himself met me at the door, and told me to take my pick.”
The kid shakes his head. “That’s no God. God can’t exist, don’t you know that?”
“Then where are we?”
“We’re in a simulation, probably” he says, shrugging and taking another hit.
“But I’m pretty sure I died,” I say. “I had cancer. I did chemo. I held my girlfriend’s hand as I died.”
“The simulation’s supposed to make you think it’s real.”
“So what is this?”
“I don’t know, bro. But I do know there’s just no way God can exist. Just no way...”
\-
She sits cross-legged, and is remarkably still. I would think she’s dead, if I didn’t know already.
“Hello?” I ask.
She sits still for some more time. I wait, indefinitely, wondering if I should move on to the next booth.
Then, finally, she stirs, and opens her eyes slowly. She smiles a dazed smile.
“Hi,” she says. “Sorry, I was aligning my chakra.”
“Your chakra? Is that what you guys do in your afterlife?”
She shakes her head. “Well, a lot of it is related to the chakras. The chakras are at the root of everything. But beyond meditation, we have breathing rituals, stillness competitions, and tantric standing.”
“That all just sounds like meditation.”
“I was ignorant like you once as well. My chakras were horribly imbalance-“
“Good luck,” I say. “But I had enough time doing nothing back when I was alive.”
\-
I didn’t notice him at first. But he’s there, at the very end of the line, sitting on a doorstep, smoking a cigarette.
“Hey, Dad,” I say.
“So you made it,” he says with amusement.
I sit down next to him. I’ve been waiting for this moment so long, and now that I’m here, I don’t know what to say.
“Sorry I never got to say bye,” I say. “I was a dumb teenager when I left home.”
He chuckles. “You were. But I taught you not to look back when you've made your choice. And it turns out, you didn’t have to, did you?”
“So what are you peddling?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I kind of just sit here, drinking and smoking every week when the new recruits come.”
“What do you do other than that?”
He shrugs. “Visit your mom, from time to time. But you know how she gets. I do a lot of fishing. Oh, and they have some pretty good basketball games out here. I can’t wait till you see Chamberlain.”
“He as good as they say?”
“Better,” he says.
I take a drag of his cigarette, coughing in the end, the way I always did when he let me have a hit, knowing I would hate it.
“So you were never religious, your whole life?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Figured it was a waste of time thinking about things you’ll never know the answer to. And now I’m here, so why should I waste any more time on that shit? There’s beer to be drank, games to be watched and played, people to meet, family to take care of. There’s no point caring about the other shit.”
“That sounds like fun. It sounds like...life.”
“Yeah? You know there’s no going back once you choose this door,” he says.
I look back at Mom, enthusiastically gesticulating to another poor recruit.
“I can’t wait,” I say. And my father pats me on the back, and we walk through the door to the afterlife.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
|
My opinion had not changed when my atheist life ended and in that moment I fully realized that as above so below was indeed an accurate description. It was confirmed that everything I was told was a lie and my instincts were correct. I ignored the pleas of false overlords that turned into threats of hell and flew past them. I ignored the tunnel and the visions of monsters and fire. When I arrived on the other side every memory from every past life I’ve ever lived came flooding back. All of the knowledge and memories of each life filling my weightless consciousness until I became an all seeing all knowing God. The truth is that we are all Gods. We forgot who we are but it was on purpose. When you are all seeing and all knowing you can imagine how bored you become. So many of us decided to play a game where the rule is to forget. We have sealed our own fate in an infinite reincarnation loop and the only way out is to remember who you really are. If you can realize that you are more than you know then you can beat the game too.
| 2019-10-08T18:27:21 | 2019-10-08T17:19:30 | 3,114 | 42 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy?
|
"Raul," crooned Raul in a very suspicious French accent, as he took the lady's hand and graced his eager lips on it. "Let me guess," he continued, releasing his grip and pulling a chair out from the table. "Sit, please. Let me guess, you're a Mari- no, no, you're a Cassandra? I'm right, am I not?"
*Suave.* Yes, that was what he would be today.
The woman's botoxed forehead tried its best to frown, her lips fighting (and losing) a similarly uneven battle. "How on Earth did you know that?"
Raul slicked his dark hair back with ringed fingers. "Your beauty, it was that of a Maria, or a Cassandra, and there was a certain radiance that could be of no Maria. I see, no wrinkle has dared to blight your perfect face -- that tells me all I need to know." He lowered his voice to a rippling whisper. "*All I need to know.*"
Cassandra giggled through perfectly still lips as she slid into a seat. "My," she said, "You are a charmer. And that accent... Australian?"
"Australian?"
"Yes. I'm certain of it. I've got an aunt who lives there, and strike me down if you don't sound *just the same!* Don't worry -- she's a smoker."
Raul cursed himself silently. He hadn't done enough research for the role. No, it was fine -- he'd improvise.
"Yes, mate. Good catch."
He sat in his seat and raised a hand, clicking his fingers to gain the attention of a waiter. "If I had a bloody boomerang, I'd get us the wine myself," he said with a wink.
Another half chuckle as the waiter approached. Raul knew her very favourite drink, her very favourite food... Yes, this time he'd get the pudding he'd been after for so long. But he had to be confident. She liked confident.
"Lambrusco, for the lovely Sheila. And the house re- a uh..."--he swallowed hard--"Fosters for me."
The waiter lifted his head and eyed Raul snobbishily. "*House Fosters*, sir?"
"Yeah," Raul replied, tugging at his shirt. "You know, out of the house tap."
"Very good, sir. And to eat?"
"Pie and chips for the lady, and... do you do anything off the barbie?"
"Sir?"
"Struth. Just a burger then, mate."
The lady eyed Raul with suspicion. "I wouldn't normally let someone order for me, but... How did you know I loved pies?"
"Know? Oh, that you're a classy pie lass? Well, it's obvious ain't it."
"Is it?"
"It is to me. A lady who would wear a fashionable tracksuit like that, to a place like this, well, she'd be after the fanciest meal on the whole bloody menu."
If she could have smiled she would have done, Raul hoped. God, she was beautiful. Beneath all that make up. Maybe. Raul began to sweat. This was the best any of their dates had gone *to date*. He couldn't mess it up now. It was time to lay his heart on the table.
"Look, Cassandra, I'm gonna' level with you. I think you're mighty fine, and I reckon you think I'm fine. I mean, I figure I'm the sort of guy you'd normally go for."
Cassandara shrugged. "Eh."
"Eh? What do you mean, 'eh'"?
"You're a little too pretty-boy, for my tastes, to be honest."
"You can't be serious. You can't be bloody serious! I've seen all the men you've rejected. What the hell is left?"
Cassandra went tense. "You've *seen* the men I've been out with?"
"Well I er, oh struth," Raul said sadly, knowing he couldn't stop it now. The man's stylish exterior began to wilt, his skin flaking to reveal the green monstrosity beneath. Screams echoed about the restaurant and cutlery migrated high in all directions.
"Wh-what kind of monster are you?" asked Cassandra, her lips trying desperately to quiver.
"Me?" Raul asked, a rage in the pit of his stomach rising. "Me?! What the hell kind of monster are *you*? -- That's the real question! I've tried *everything* to please you. I've been Brad bloody Pitt and Oscar bloomin Wilde. Nothing makes you happy. Nothing!" He realised at this point that he didn't *need* to keep the accent up, but there was something rather bloody pleasing about it.
"Th-hey were *you*?"
Raul's skin began to change again, his black hair falling out in thick clumps, while greasy blonde hair sprouted hurriedly in its place. It took only seconds for Cassandra to be face to face with... Cassandra.
"This," said the new Cassandra, as it got up from its seat, "Is the only person I think you could ever love. You are the worst specimen of any creature I've ever met. And I've been to the Betelgeuse system *and* Scotland. Good day to you!"
Raul/Cassandra had almost stomped its way to the door, when it heard the plaintive scream from behind and stopped in its tracks.
"Waiiit!"
The other Cassandra came running up to it.
"What do you want now? Come to mock me one last time?"
"Mock? No! I'd never mock someone like you. Mmm mm mmmm, you are *gorgeous*. I think... I think I was a bit hasty. How about one more try?" she asked with a salacious wink.
Raul/Cassandra smiled. *Finally*.
"Can you change *any* part of your body?" she inquired as they walked back towards their table.
|
Nate had sort of backed himself into a corner. Having been on as many dates with Amaya as he had, the walls were closing in on him. He had to pretend not to know all her answers to common first date questions (2 siblings, parents divorced when she was little, works in accounting), and if he ever misstepped, the game was up. It was a high-wire act that no one was aware of but him.
But that's what made it fun.
He was fine with the double life he'd have to lead if it worked, that was nothing new to him. Nate was all things to all people, and it made the minutiae of life constantly entertaining. He realized Amaya had been talking for a few minutes and he hadn't been paying attention to any of it. Now she was looking at him expectantly.
He took a shot in the dark. "I work in finance," he said. That wasn't a lie, he was actually a financial planner. She nodded amicably. Nate let out an internal sigh of relief, he'd nailed it.
"Do you come here often?" Amaya asked.
"Yeah, I love Spider House," Nate replied.
"Weird, I've never seen you here. This is, like, my favorite place in the world." Nate tried not to let a smile sneak out. He always found these kinds of situations really amusing; if he just got out with it, he could turn worlds upside down. He never did, though.
"Yeah, it's because I'm a shapeshifter," he said through a cheeky grin. Amaya laughed. Nate laughed.
| 2022-08-24T03:20:20 | 2022-08-04T05:56:26 | 1,353 | 930 |
[WP] A boy in High School discovers he can create nations simply by vandalising his geography book
|
“I’m telling you, it works!”
“That is such bullshit,” said Luke.
“What’s bullshit?” asked Hana as she scooted her chair over to them.
Luke picked up the book and showed it to her.
“Chad says he can ‘change the real world’ by writing in this book,” he sneered holding something that looked like everyone else’s textbook, somewhat frayed about the edges and open at the world map page. “Like he’s the fucking Death Note of geography or some—”
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” Chad interjected. “That’s why I changed the name of Saharia.”
“To what?”
Chad took advantage of Luke’s temporary confusion to snatch back the book.
“Well I...”
“Is that even a real place?” Hana asked again.
“Yes— well, not anymore.”
Luke’s expression changed to fear, which was not a good look for him.
“Don’t tell me you...”
“I named it after myself,” Chad said with a grin.
Hana was still skeptical.
“But Chad *is* a real life country.”
“Exactly.”
“No but, it’s been a real life country for like, years. Chad, you didn’t name it after yourself. If anything it would be the other way round.”
“Well look at this then!”
Chad thrust the textbook in her face, one hand clasped protectively around the edge, the other pointing to the four letters of his name scrawled into the heart of Africa in black ballpoint pen. Its original name was scribbled out, though still faintly visible as *Saharia*.
“Okay, so you’ve got a misprinted copy. Big deal.”
“I’ll prove it,” said Chad. “Name any fictitious country you like, and I’ll add it to the world map.”
Hana snickered at him.
“What, like that will make it real?” Chad nodded. “Okay then. Mordor.”
Chad raised his pen.
“Don’t!” said Luke. “That’s full of orcs and shit. Pick a different country.”
“O...kay...” said Hana, Luke’s reaction making her less sure of herself. “How about Madagascar? You know, from the movies.”
“Oh my God, if we actually got talking penguins that would be incredible,” said Chad. And he wasted no time in laying down his pen off the east coast of Africa, to draw a teardrop-shaped blob of land. Luke watched in trepidation as he shaded it in with a pencil and Hana peered over his shoulder to make sure he spelled it correctly.
...
“Did it work?” said Luke after a lengthy pause.
“I dunno, look it up on your phone.”
“Shit, it’s real!”
Luke had only just begun to take his phone out of his pocket when Hana exclaimed this, staring dumbfounded at the Wikipedia article on her own phone.
“Put your phones away, please,” said Mrs Flett as she strolled past the desk.
“Wait!” Chad called after her. “Can we learn about Madagascar?”
There was a pause.
“In your own time if you wish to study it. But *this* lesson is about Brazilian slums.”
---
Hana caught up with them after class.
“...So what I’m saying is I *accidentally* made Alaska the 31st state,” said Chad.
“I dunno, I just can’t imagine it being part of Russia,” Luke said as Hana pushed past them.
“Wait!” she said. “I agree with what you said earlier.”
“About what?” said Luke
“That we shouldn’t just create countries because we don’t know what might happen. There could be orcs or, we don’t know. We don’t know what this book is capable of.”
“Methinks we shouldn’t talk about it so loudly in the corridor,” said Chad.
---
A few minutes later, Chad set the book down on an empty desk in the computer lab.
“Just let me add one more country,” said Luke. “Hana chose the last one, and so—”
“That was just to prove that it worked,” she interjected. “You can’t—”
“Let me have this!” said Luke.
Hana backed down from him, fearing what he might do to the world if she said no.
“So what country will it be then?” asked Chad.
“You know the place where Borat is from...”
“*Is niiiice*,” Chad quoted.
“No but, what was it called?”
According to Wikipedia, it was called Kazakhstan.
“Make that a real country, I beg of you,” said Luke.
“But that’s really—” Hana began.
“Fucking hilarious?” said Luke. “I think it is. Just don’t put it next to Iraq or shit will go down.”
“Yeah, we probably should be careful not to start any new wars,” Hana said hurriedly.
“Oh and just as another rule,” said Luke, scratching his head. “We probably shouldn’t delete existing countries either. People might have family there. Only add new ones.”
“Agreed,”
Chad began the border of Kazakhstan at a safe distance from any active war zone, and carved out a sizeable chunk of Russia with his pen, figuring that if any country could stand to lose a bit of land it was Russia.
“That’s not fair, take some from China as well,” said Hana.
And so it was done. The three of them had their fill of laughs while reading online about the thousand-year history of a country that, until a few minutes ago, had not existed. Even Hana laughed a little, in spite of herself.
“Well, I think I’ve made my mark on the world,” Chad said as he nervously slid the book into his rucksack. “I’ll probably just leave it the way it is for a while.”
“Aw really?” said Luke. “You don’t wanna add like, Narnia or something?”
“No, I don’t. I’m really quite happy with the world already.”
“I’m just thinking though,” said Hana. “This book is powerful. If it's used in the right way, it could be a real force for good, when you think about all the...”
Chad’s face was terrible at hiding his guilt.
“Oh God, he’s done something!” said Hana.
“What did you do?” said Luke.
Chad’s face broke out into the biggest grin they’d seen from him today.
“Well, I kind of *did* erase one country from existence.”
“Which one?” asked Hana.
“Only the CSA.”
“The what?” said Luke.
“Confederate States of America,” said Chad. “No big deal but I did win us the Civil War.”
“Bullshit,” said Luke.
“Total bullshit,” said Hana.
“Here, let me show you the map again...”
|
I always wondered what it would be like if we could live in a world where everyone was happy; where every problem had a solution. We wouldn't have to get rid of the thieves or abusers or even killers. There'd just be a way for them to live with everyone else without doing harm.
I thought of this instead of listening to Mr. Pickering, the geography teacher. I didn't remember what he was talking about or when I even zoned out. I just knew that what I had in mind was much more interesting.
My fingers turned my textbook pages boredly until they found the world map. It was horizontal and big enough to strength across two pages. I scanned the continents, still daydreaming about my perfect world. What if it wasn't the whole world, though? What if it was just one place?
I picked up my red pen and doodled a random shape between South America and Africa. What would it be called? I was never really good at coming up with names, so I just wrote "nameless" in the center. Upon writing it, Mr. Pickering spoke a world that sent shivers through my body. "Nameless."
I looked up suddenly, wondering if he saw what I did. But how could he have? He was across the room; I worried all the same. Looking around, I saw that everyone else was paying attention.
"Founded in 1867," Mr. Pickering went on, "by two brothers named James and Samuel Johnson." Frowning with confusion, I glanced over at his PowerPoint. Right there between South America and Africa was my nameless country, made in the exact shape that I drew it. I looked back down at my textbook, and then at the board, and then at the red pen, and then the other people in my class. They listened to him with bored faces.
I drew a smaller country right under it, giving it my own name, "Daniel." Sure enough, Mr. Pickering began to give us the history of Daniel.
In that moment, I realized three things. One, I was terrified. Two, I had the power to change the world. And three, if you have the power to change the world, and it terrifies you, it's a great idea.
| 2016-06-04T13:46:50 | 2016-06-04T13:42:57 | 61 | 26 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
K- 1210 had long ago been logged under observation by the deep range scouts of Zel ‘Ot expeditionary forces. This tiny blue planet near the far edge of known space had been written off of strategic plans for longer than an intelligent species had existed on it in a meaningful way, due mainly to the remarkably harsh conditions of its biosphere and the quickly approaching death of its dependent star. From the perspective of resource acquisition, it offered nothing to us. From the perspective of scientific inquiry, it had been believed that it nearly offered less. Treading upon it offered only painful and purposeless deaths, not honorable ones, and as such it was of no interest to any among my species.
From the point of its first entry into spacefaring charts, the planet had undergone an almost unprecedented number of mass extinction events of its admittedly wide range of sentient native species, creatures barely meeting the standard for intelligent life generally, and the climate on the planet had managed to remain almost constantly in flux. Nearly every time K-1210 was reported on in cyclical updates, it seemed to be either entering or exiting a period of extreme cold and non-inhabitability for any but the hardiest of its rudimentary species. By all evidence and points of comparison, K-1210 was a doomed planet, unremarkable in every way spare it’s abhorrent hostility to anything that lived on it.
But then, in an instant by the standards of a species with no source of natural death, something new had come to call it home.
We had seemingly missed their earliest beginnings in gaps between cyclical reports on far edge prospects, each gap a period of dozens of thousands of the planets cycles around its dwarf star. Even with the great variance in perceptive relativity, it had been long since K-1210 had been displayed in front of my eyes, and thus, very long since any had observed it in any close detail. The planet had been under constant observation from automated pioneering platforms, at a massive distance but still able to flag and transmit relevant statistical variations within the planets solar system accurate to within a few of its cycles, including minute differences in atmospheric conditions on its eight planets and significant deviations in exhibited light. And that was how we noticed them.
One small flash, then another, in the center of one of the planets continents. Then, two bright flashes, very nearly at the same time, and almost directly adjacent to each other half the planets diameter away from the other two. In those amongst us who were truly old by the Zel standard, these flashes and their location patterns were instantly recognizable, and the excitement throughout the fleet was palpable. Those, undoubtedly, were weapons. Primitive weaponry by current standards, but the most dangerous we had seen since J-345. In the moments following this revelation, I was certain there were more eyes fixed on that planet than had ever or would ever live on it. By the time I officially ordered immediate preparations, they were already nearly complete.
It took us time to get to the adjacent galaxy, more time than we should have allowed. You must understand that the sheer technological gap between the weapons we had seen and those that we carried all but assured us of victory, ultimately. Of course, as is the tradition of Zel conquest, we would allow our warriors the opportunity to die with honor in combat against a foe that stands not as his brother Zel, should such a thing be achievable by our adversary. But in the end, once we had learned all that we could about them, archived them, and fought them to our satisfaction, we would execute a final campaign of eradication, as has long been the way of our kind. To collect, to catalogue, to conquer.
At our final rally point, we made close and final observations of the condition of our foe since their detection. It had been nearly 500 of their cycles since the detonations that we detected, and in the interim thousands more of such weapons had been utilized on the surface and within the low atmosphere, increasing consistently in magnitude and sophistication almost without exception. For some time, the infrequent and localized detonations mirrored what could either be testing protocols for weapons, or a long, global war of attrition. This news heartened all among us. This was a species that was no stranger to war, and was also fragmented, which may save them from the fatal error of attempting surrender when they witnessed the spectacular nature of war we had prepared to bring upon them.
But then, the weapons stopped. The cities shown brighter, and the slowly degrading quality of their atmosphere began to more closely resemble the purity of its past. They had established a sizeable colony on their orbiting moon, and had the very beginnings of the technology that would allow them long-term survival and transit in the vacuum of isolated space. It was at this juncture, that I first felt the creeping pull of doubt. This does not abdicate me of responsibility, but let the record show that I was not an utter fool about the potential of this threat.
This species had to be extremely young, even taking into account the observational gaps, they could not be more than 300,000 cycles old, as Zel scouts had walked upon K-1210 and encountered nothing that we believed could have so quickly become capable of the feats we now were witnessing. To specify, their works themselves were not necessarily remarkable, but rather the timeframe in which they must have been achieved. In a few hundred native cycles, to have gone from weaponing the process of splitting an atom to nearly achieving perfect fusion was, with absolutely no possible contention, unobserved up until that moment on the bridge of my dreadnought. And to have done so without destroying themselves was in itself a marvel. It was this awe at the rate of their expansion and the dumbstruck reaction of some our best evolutionary scientists that I took as affirmation toward our purpose. This species was out of the ordinary, and we would discover how, and why, and then we would take their fates and place them beneath our feet.
After some deliberation over the potential for defensive actions by the inhabitants of K-1210, I ordered the advance of my fleet into the outer edge of their Solar System. Almost immediately, the electronic and radio communication on the planet exploded in a chorus of color across our monitoring displays, and almost as quickly, nearly all communications greater than localized radio waves ceased. It was clear from the magnitude of these communications and the greater details we could observe from this close distance, that the species numbered in the tens of billions. At the time we could not understand anything at all of those broadcasts in their languages, of which there are thousands, but we intercepted them and catalogued them, and they have been provided to the council pending a fuller translation at least of the planets chief language. Very soon after this communication blackout, we detected a repeating transmission in all of their languages, which we could not decipher but from the length and cadence understand to have been variations on the same message, from every major city on the planet.
Whether or not this was a warning, or an invitation, was unknown at the time, but I ordered my fleet to hold its position and combat formation, and I transferred myself to one of our smaller cruisers to make an embarkation onto K-1210. I wanted to see the interesting new spacefarers for myself.
***Got a lot of ideas, will write more if you all are interested. Need a cigarette so figured I'd put this out here and brainstorm a bit. Hope you like it :D***
|
Part 1
&#x200B;
Torin started at the flimsy placed in front of him. As he scanned the almost transparent document he didn’t see anything surprising jump out at him but had noticed that 3 of the probe teams hadn’t updated in close to 12 units.
Calling up their locations on his terminal he nodded as he started to remember their mission profiles and details. The first team was dealing with a probably data facility location on the outermost dwarf planet. Machine probes had found a likely reactor source and large sealed data vault. Considering the lack of tectonics and the stability on the frozen ice planet it made sense.
The second team was likely lost to a collision in the asteroid belt as they had suddenly been lost tracking. One moment they were pinging the system and the next the small facility had gone silent. As of this morning no response had been received from the evac team sent out to retrieve the remains. The team had been on what they though was a stable asteroid in the belt but considering the amount of debris and traffic they had observed it was just a matter of odds Torin suspected. They still had 9 other units on the belt running silent observation still and the data was looking promising.
Comm team three had checked in every tenth cycle since landing on a moon on the 6th planet but with the distributed communication relays still in silent mode after a local craft fly by it could be a few more units before they could transmit.
If this was the worst delay Torin had before the fleet gate activated he would be more than satisfied with the abilities of the recon team. This was the fourth subjugation the Assembly had authorized in the last 3 centuries and the first Torin had been able to have secured any leadership role. He didn’t count the punitive expeditions or system shock incidents as major.
Records showed that the second, third, and fourth planets had life further along than animal or bacterial. The asteroid belt between the third and fourth planets had power signs indicating the possibility of metal mining and smelting. Comm traffic was minimal between the planets and while they currently hadn’t broken the decryption on the burst transmissions they had intercepted Torin didn’t doubt his team’s ability to make headway in that area. He tried to push the nagging doubt away for his mind about why nobody had brought this up before the outlying gate had been pushed into this system but it wasn’t in his mission data and his level 8 security clearance didn’t allow him to see the planning data yet.
It was curious when he thought about it. The system hadn’t even come to the notice of the Reof Assembly except when a science teams array was hit with bursts of Negalia class energy. They had dispatched 3 fly through probes and one remote deep space unit to report back. Initial data had been negative due to the amount of radiation swirling about the atmosphere of the third and fourth planet and the debris of what the science community assumed where 12 difference space stations.
| 2019-02-26T11:10:09 | 2019-02-26T10:26:44 | 45 | 14 |
[WP] As a high level adventurer you pay it forward by adventuring with low level characters without them knowing how powerful you are to boost their confidence. An angry, mean and very large dragon approaches and you're not sure if you can keep the charade going this time...
|
Magic came to me early. I was fixing broken baby birds by the time I was six. My grandmother started my formal healer training when I was thirteen. At twenty I went on the road, and ever since I've been patching up paladins, mages, townspeople caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, and cleared clap from minstrels who'd bedded the wrong girl at the tavern.
It's not glamorous work, but there's always plenty of it. I slowly built a name for myself- not because I'd found the antidote to some exotic poison, not because I'd brought a prince back from the brink of death- though that happened once or twice- but because my comrades \\\*came back.\\\* Ever bigger monsters, ever longer odds, me and my companions would kick open the tavern door with loot to show and a new story to tell.
Eventually, the enemy wised up and started ignoring the barbarian to focus on taking the pesky healer out first. They'd almost succeeded, and they'd given me an idea. I would go dark. Off the map. I faked my death, planted a few verses to sing of me after I was gone, and I headed across the sea. You see, people like me...once we gain enough power, we stop aging. I'll die of old age if the Fates don't squash me sooner, but forty years from now I'll still look like I'm in my twenties.
And I just told the others it was a matter of eating lots of vegetables. I'm just lucky, eh?
I could have retired. I hadn't blown my gold, like so many others. But once you get the itch for adventuring, it doesn't stop. So here I was. New tavern. New name. Same mug of pale ale. Different hair color. I've grown used to picking out a person in the crowd looking to build a team for whatever plot they have brewing. Their eyes slide over me three or four times before they get that speculative look. It's hard to find a group you mesh with well. I've taken my leave of four already.
A bard named Linden tried to mediate a tavern brawl brewing. He didn't. I healed his broken jaw. We picked up some farm boy of dubious intellect named Jakob, a disgraced cleric whose name was plainly fake, and with Linden we set off to find some set of powerful Tomes the local baron needed to have, for whatever reason. Linden was a decent sort, but he'd spent far too much time reading of adventure rather than living it. I had to show him how to set up watch, how to break camp quickly, how to maintain his blades, and taught the difference between real medicine and useless old wives' tales.
By the time we reached the abandoned monastery built into the caves, I'd taught Jakob to read a little and Linden was able to pitch his own tent. The weather held unusually well, raining only once on the journey. The monastery itself had been looted already, but hastily. I pretended to be excited to find a few bits of jade and a couple of discarded scrolls. But as we pressed deeper, I grew uneasy. I suppressed the urge to become something with better senses. I never told this crew that I could transform. Once you learn the knack, though, your sense of smell is never the same, even once you're on two feet again.
We'd left the finished masonry of the monastery and were back in the caves used for storage. Gods knew how far back they went. I closed my eyes, concentrating. The faintest smell of sulfur. Like a newly struck match. Were there hot springs here? I hadn't grown up on this continent; my grasp of the area's geology was a bit weak. Linden was wittering about trying to open some storage chest. My eyes flicked over to him, irritated, and then I saw it:
A dragon scale. I picked it up. Red. I tapped it, sniffed it. From an old dragon, but *not* an old scale. This could be a bad day...
"Linden!" I hissed.
"What?"
"We have to get out of here!'
Jakob glanced up from a book title he was trying to decipher.
"But we haven't found the Tomes!" Linden protested.
"Dragon!" I hissed, brandishing the scale. "We went over this! If I say we leave, we LEAVE! That was the deal!" I started backing out of the caves, toward the cleric who was already starting to leave.
"But I'm almost..." Linden muttered as he futzed with a lock.
"Jakob, hon, right now. I mean it." He shrugged, grabbed an enormous armload of books, and started jogging toward me.
And then I felt it. Tremors in the floor. *Shitshitshit*. While I could teleport myself after a fashion, I couldn't take people with me. Jakob started to run. Moments like these come down to a gut decision. I grabbed one of my wands, breathed a command word, and Linden's position was now switched with the cleric's. It bought us a precious few seconds, but it was all I needed. As we cleared the cave I casted one of my larger spells downrange:
*Earthquake*. The type of rock in these caves fractured nicely. While that dragon had a slim chance of surviving, he would not be out anytime soon. I dragged the other two behind me as I ran.
"What the Hell was that?!" Linden squeaked.
"An earthquake! Duh!"
Jakob glanced around as we ran back down the path. "Not outside it wasn't..."
Damn. Jakob did turn out to be brighter than he looked.
"I'll explain later, okay?" I told them. "You'll want lots of mead..."
&#x200B;
Edited to add a change (minor transition) that didn't make it through browser trouble.
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So, you wanted a story of a powerful and experienced adventurer? Well, that's probably not me. But I've heard a few.
"Blood and bones."
Which is both a common epithet and a lot of what's going to be scattered around the tunnel if you don't get the hell out of the way with the rest of the party. Mostly theirs first, then the dragon- but the party isn't going to live through the first part.
*ROAR*
"Um, that's a Great Fanged Maw. In rut.", I say.
"We can take it! Our first dragon!" Brave words, and probably last ones if I don't think fast. Fortunately, being a wise scholarly type I can bullshit out something and make it stick.
"No, we don't want to. It's in RUT. The blood sticks to everything we're wearing, and the stink doesn't come out for years."
"MY ARMOR! IT'LL BE RUINED! Dead gods, find someplace out of the way!"
We just manage to squeeze the cavalier into a side hole before the Maw makes it around. Fortunately, he keeps going, chasing the scent of some prey. While his armor is going to need a lot of polishing, it won't be torn off his severed torso while the dragon gulps down his meal-in-a-can.
Sir Halorian loves that field plate more than himself. The family all chipped in to get it made when he graduated from Venture as a cavalier last month, and being the big bold knight, everyone else follows his lead. Or in this case, mine.
Know your party better than they know yourself, and you'll live a lot longer. That's your story for today.
| 2018-11-02T19:19:47 | 2018-11-02T16:09:22 | 89 | 46 |
[WP] Reading books is illegal, and libraries are run like brothels. Describe borrowing and reading a book like a sexual experience.
Good luck, and have fun!
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"Have you read a novel in the past year, or had extended conversations with a known reader in the past three months?" The counselor asks me.
I hesitate, then force my answer out quickly. "No." I say, perhaps a bit too fast. She looks at me, and for a moment, I fear that she has guessed. But she only looks to my ear, and asks, "Where did you get that done?"
"At Claire's." I respond. "I went with my little sister to get her ears pierced, and somehow she talked me into an industrial. You know little girls."
I must have made a right move, because the counselor chuckles. "I got a second lobe when my daughter got hers. I used to think that extra piercings were ugly, but I don't mind so much now."
She asks me the remaining questions on her sheet, then takes me into a spare classroom. A small, curly-haired blonde girl calls the counselor over. They exchange quick words, and then the counselor addresses me again.
"Jerry, can you help Anna here with her fractions?" She asks.
"Sure." I say, and sit down next to Anna, smiling. I don't like math much, but volunteer work looks good on college applications, so I do what I must.
An hour or so later, the after-school program ends. Anna thanks me sweetly, and I exit the classroom.
A tall, slim, brown-skinned girl catches up with me. My mind whirs and tries to guess her ethnicity, but fails. Her face shape isn't Indian, and she's too tall to be Central American, and her thick, slightly wavy hair doesn't suggest African heritage. "Hi. I'm Maya." She says. "How do you do?" Her voice is moderately high, both rich and clear, and moderately feminine. She's cute, and I have some time, so we converse some. It turns out that I know her older brother, as he was a drummer for a band I played in for a year a while back.
"Your big brother is awesome." I say. "Incredibly sensitive to a soloist."
"Eh, I don't think much of Big Brother."
I wait patiently for a correction, but there is none. I lock my eyes on her chocolate brown ones, and wink at her, praying that I was right.
"He loved Big Brother." I say.
Then the conversation opens.
------
A week later, I'm ducking through an alleyway deep in Chinatown. I find the place, a small dumpling restaurant with a dirty tiled floor. I walk up to the counter. I'm the only customer there, but I check one more time before placing my order.
"I'd like a dozen Pumpkin Duck dumplings to go, please. And some tequila."
The worker stares at me. "Who told you about our duck?" He asks, narrowing his eyes.
"Maya." I respond.
He looks out the door at the other end of the shop, and grabs my arm, guiding me behind the counter. From there, he takes me to the end of the kitchen, without a word. He opens a door behind a spice cabinet on the floor. It's small, but I squeeze through it, and down the narrow steps behind it into the library.
"Hello? Pumpkin?" I call out, as Maya instructed me.
A small, Asian looking woman approaches me.
"I'm the librarian." She states, without shame. "Is there anything specific you're looking for today? We have books in English, Spanish, even Mandarin and Cantonese. Any genre."
I raise my eyebrows, then grin.
"Do you have any sci-fi?" I ask, eager as any kid in a candy shop.
I take the paperback from her hands. It's tan-edged, and has fingerprints over dust on the cover. But the cover is white, and the ink is black and it will do. Gingerly, I open it to the publishing information, savoring every word.
I quickly grow to love the characters. Mild-mannered, academic Arronax becomes quickly my favorite. I wish I could show him to the world, tell them that novels are in fact not dangerous, not at all. But no one would believe me, straight out of a library. I love the hot-tempered Canadian Ned, and his apparent foil, obedient Conseil. Maya taught me that term, foil. It's the language of the readers that I treasure the most.
Oh, oh God, I love reading. I eagerly suck in the descriptions of beautiful, lush Crespo, bivalves with giant pearls, divers and thrilling sharks, and the wonders of the breathing Nautilus. The typeset word and turn of page is by far my favorite pleasure. I cry out, sometimes, speak aloud others. I've never had this luxury before. Maya told me that the library is soundproof. All too soon, my watch beeps.
"Pumpkin?" I call.
She looks up from her thick volume, and I smile, letting it last a moment before my expression fades.
"I have to go. Limited time, and I didn't finish."
"I'll mark your place for you." She offers. "No take-out?"
I reach for my wallet. "I'm afraid not. I live with my little sister. How much for today?"
"Nothing." She winks. "Just come back soon. I've never had the pleasure of listening to someone process aloud like you."
"Oh. Okay. Thanks." I hurry towards the exit, and crawl out. I walk out through the kitchen.
The man who I spoke to earlier stops me.
"Here, have some dumplings man. Say they're from the Happy Dragon. And go out the other way." He points out a route.
I eat a few of the dumplings and recall the sweet chapters as I walk. Ironically, the dumplings actually are duck. And they're sweet, with a taste slightly akin to Hoisin sauce. I shove a few more into my mouth after a sob, trying to drown out the taste of mucus and tears.
|
I pulled my hoodie on and stepped past the littered street. This was a bad part of town the MegaForce doesn't operate here, hell even most bad-asses dont come here. I came to my destination, checked my peripheral, looked up once at the entrance sign and walked my way in. The sign read 'XXX Library FREE BOOKS WITH CARD'.
I made my way past the librarian, a large man with a purple overcoat and too much gold on, and walked to a corner booth. I'll admit it I was a regular here I just enjoyed myself too much with the products. I sit down and order for my regular, an older book, but fresh with her ideals.
'Why is the Deliverator so equipped? Because people rely on him. He is a role model.' I reached back down her spine and caressed the pages of her backside, letting them flip through my fingers. I tentatively held on and penetrated again. 'This is America. People do whatever the fuck they feel like doing, you got a problem with that? Because they have a right to. Because they have guns and no one can fucking stop them.'
I began to feel a tingle in my fingers as her smooth squared back cover scraped against my thigh, causing me to ache in the best way possible. I go in deeper , an audible moan rifling throughout the pages.
'The tattoo on his forehead consists of three words, written in block letters POOR IMPULSE CONTROL' I feel an impulse rising through myself. I can't control it, it drives up my spine in a feeling of unrivaled ecstasy. I couldn't control it if I tried, the feeling reaches down and spills over onto the page.
Sweat drips from my brow, my hands shake and my breath comes out in flurried gasps. A hundred and twenty-eight pages....that doesn't happen often, i'm usually slower than that. I look around, my embarrassment pooling as I pull up my hoodie and make my way out into the street.
| 2014-08-31T15:45:49 | 2014-08-31T15:28:10 | 111 | 37 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
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I'm sitting in a waiting room, comfortably, with a nice capuchino. Why? I have no idea how I got here. All I see is people holding papers with numbers on their hands. As I look down, I realize I am holding one as well. Am I at the DMV? A giant screen is calling numbers by the thousands.
I see people of all races, and by the looks of it, different eras, waiting in comfortable chairs. I stand up and look around. This scene goes as far as my eyes can see.
I turn around to the lady next to me and ask her where we are. She speaks in a foreign language, yet I understand her perfectly.
"We are in the waiting room.", she replies, almost insulted that I asked.
Memories come flooding back to me. I remember my wife, my kids, the baseball game. I said goodbye as I rushed to the corner store to get the Gatorades. I always forget the Gatorades. I gave my wife a quick kiss, and waved to my kids as I made the hand motions of getting something to drink.
I have flashbacks of a person on the side of the road, he appeared out of nowhere. I swerved to avoid him, and went onto incoming traffic. All I remember then was a loud horn, probably a semi, and thinking how much I love my family.
Now I'm in this room. I don't even like capuchinos. I decided to stand up and walk around for a bit. After all, my number was in the billions, and lo and behold, they had just called number 42,325. God bless "government" offices.
As I explored the waiting room, I began to notice that the people had a strange look on their face. Some of them were even pacing around the room with giant strides looking very nervous.
A random heavy-set fellow even offered to trade numbers with me. He said he was in the hundreds of thousands. I said no thank you and walked away in a hurry. I was not liking this one bit. Something about this place made me uneasy.
I felt around my pockets and I found my pack of cigs. "Perfect," I thought, "I need to calm my nerves. " I found a dimly lit stairwell and began to make my way downstairs. I looked out a small window and realized it was pitch black. I looked up and saw clouds high above in the distance. A glance down showed a.. sunset? It looked blood orange and turning red. I paid no mind and kept walking down.
A few flights below, I encountered an old man with a small dog. He asked if he could bum a smoke. I happily obliged, knowing my wife would have been happy I smoked one less cigarette. He asked about my life. I figured we were gonna be here for a while, so against my better judgement, I confided with this stranger.
He proceeded to tell me about his, and we chatted for quite sometime. I asked how he got here, and he said he had been there for eons. He could not remember how long it had been. What he could remember, was that people immediately looked down on him because of his situation. "I gave everything up for my dog after the accident.", he said.
He mentioned he was an alcoholic. He said he caused an accident where a man lost his life. He stumbled drunk onto the road and caused an innocent man to die and leave a family behind. He said he could not live with the guilt, and lost himself. He woke up one day to a puppy licking his face, and was amazed anyone could ever care for him once again. He devoted his life to caring for him and other stray dogs. He lost his life trying to protect a stray from a group of kids who were torturing it.
I felt an insane rage fill over me. I didn't know if I could murder in this place, but I felt like I could try. I was not mad because he caused me to perish. I was mad because I could not stand the pain he caused my family. I could not fathom how it came to be that we would meet up in this place. I wanted to end his life...but then, something strange happened. I felt his pain. I saw him standing there after the accident, crying in pain, unable to live with himself, tormented for years because of what he had caused.
I realized he felt a pain greater than I did. At that moment, I embraced him. We both cried for what seemed hours, holding each other as comfort. After what seemed like days, no more tears would come out. Our voices were hoarse. The only thing I could tell him was that I forgave him, I only wished my family was happy again.
He thanked me, and told me he would be on his way. I had another cigarette. When I was nearly done, I heard his voice. "You know, you really surprised me. I didn't think you would have it in you. The pain of missing one's family is always met with a need for vengeance. Yet, you forgave. Not very many people will do that. I have seen the most peaceful and religious do unspeakable things when they meet their ender. "
I could not believe what I was hearing. His voice carried on:" people think that the waiting room up there is salvation. They think they are able to wait until they are called to be judged. You decided to explore your existence and came face to face with your fate. You accepted your fate, embraced it, and decided to carry on with your life. Now the choice is yours. Heaven or hell?"
" What are you talking about? " I yelled out to an empty staircase."There's a choice? I thought good people went to heaven and bad people went to hell. I mean, I'm not expecting to go to heaven, I did some questionable things during my youth, but I didn't know there was a choice."
"See? There in lies the problem. Nobody ever thinks there's a choice. You're already in heaven. It's the waiting room. Those people are just waiting to get checked into their judgement. Heaven isn't a place where you reside happily forever. It's the last stop before you return to the cosmos and become one with the universe."
" So then what is hell?" I asked, incredibly perplexed.
" Hell is the next adventure, the new beginning. It is the reward for being a person pure of heart! "
"So then, why does everyone think it's a bad place?isn't it filed with demons and eternal damnation?"
He appeared once again and said: "come on now, we have to make it exciting for us too, right?"
And we walked into the new beginning, together.
Edit: spelling corrections
This is my first story, please forgive the grammar and structure. Criticism welcome!
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The woman in the gate couldn't believe her eyes. There was a young woman there. In Hell. By choice. And she looked at peace. How long has she seeing something like this? 1000 years? 10000? It was so unexpected that she forgot the protocol. She just stared.
The girl approached the desk with small steps, looking around with an easy look. She cleaned her throat and spoked:
- Alright, where do I begin?
The woman recompose and started speaking.
- You need to sign here and here, with your name and information while alive. Do you see here? It says Hell. Do you know what that means?
The young woman calmly answered.
- Oh yes, I know very well. I'm the only one here, I presume?
- Yes, you are. The only human in many, many years.
- Okay, then. Let me fill this up.
- May I ask why, thought? - asked ashamed the woman in the desk. I just never expected this in all my immortality.
- Oh, of course. It is a little odd, isn't? Well. I just made a promise.
- You promised to go to Hell? Who would you made such promises and why? That's just insane! You can go to Heaven and never see the people! It's Heaven! If you choose, they're be away from you for eternity!
- But that wouldn't be right, would it? I made a promise and that would be cheating.
- But there's actual murderers there! Bad people, who broked a lot more than a promise.
- But these people are not me. And they made their choice. I made mine. - the young woman said like it was the ultimate truth. And it was. She made her choice.
- Can I ask you one more question before sending you in? I know it must be annoying answering, you don't have to if you don't want.
- I don't mind. I'll have eternity here anyway. What is it?
- Who was the promise to?
- My sister.
- Your sister wanted you to go to Hell?
- My sister wanted a lot of things, but never to be in the same place I was. And I love my sister more than anything alive or dead. So I came here, and she can go there.
The woman's look was the last thing the girl saw before the elevator started descending.
| 2018-08-13T09:53:30 | 2018-08-13T09:21:04 | 39 | 21 |
[WP] A person who looks exactly like you appears out of thin air in front of you. He starts explaining how he is you from a hellish other universe. As he starts to describe it, you realize its better than yours.
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_Another day, another dollar_, I think to myself.
After walking through the dimly lit hallway I turn into the disturbingly bright open space. Rows upon rows of half cubicles fill the room. The corporate folks like to call it an ‘open office setting’ but it’s the same as any cube farm, the only difference is you can see people’s heads now. One phone starts ringing on the left, another follows suit on the right. Anne, the old hag from the third row, can be heard regurgitating ‘truth’ - as she likes to call it - from Fox News the night before. I need to avoid getting caught up in that. I scurry to the sixth row, third seat, to begin my day.
Everything seems normal. Until I step into my cube. Out of thin air, a figure of a man pops into existence.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” I scream as I fall backwards onto my ass. Crawling backwards on the ground I get a good look at the mystery man. He looks...familiar. He looks like me?
“Whoa calm down there guy, let's talk this out,” says my mirror image calmly, showing open hands in a comforting stance. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Something feels off. I look around frantically, but when I don’t see anything I stop, and I notice it. Anne is loud enough to hear from a mile away, yet she is quiet. There are no phones ringing off the hook like usual. I’m perturbed by the silence.
“We are in a safe space, in between realities. Time doesn’t exist here. We’re still in your world, just in a pocket outside of it. Nobody will know you even left, because when you return time will go on as if you just arrived. Now, get up!” I take his outstretched hand as he pulls me up off the floor.
“Take a seat, you’ll want to be sitting when I tell you what I need to tell you.”
I sit in my padded office chair, facing my doppelganger. “Why are you here? And why do you look like me?”
“I _am_ you, but I’m not the same you from this Earth. We have similar personalities, interests, preferences, you name it. You see, there are an infinite amount of universes, but I’m from the worst of them all. And I’m here because I could feel that you were down and need to hear how much worse it can truly be.”
“I’m sorry, what? How do I know I can trust you?” I ask skeptically.
“Your favorite movie franchise is Star Wars, you love Spider-Man, and your favorite color is blue,” He says without skipping a beat. “I had a feeling you’d ask.”
My offworld counterpart continues, “Look, you are in a brightly lit office, full of people with great personalities, and I’m just a lowly programmer! I’m barely getting use out of my computer science degree!”
I stare at him confused. “Are you serious? At least you get to use your degree! I’m sixty thousand dollars in debt, yet I have to work customer service in this beige pit just to pay my bills! I can’t even find a job in my field!”
He is taken aback. “Wait, you had to pay for college? What Earth would ever make you pay for an education! Christ.”
He looks down, contemplating. “Um. Lets see. Oh! We don’t have any drugs on my Earth. Only marijuana. From what I’ve heard, that type of stuff makes you feel like you’re on top of the world. Imagine not being able to put anything into your body that you want.”
I can’t comprehend how he can even think this is a bad thing. “What are you talking about? Heroin? Meth? Do you realize how many people die from that shit and how many people need legitimate help to get off of it? Hell, even if you don’t die, you’d get arrested and thrown into prison because its illegal! If those drugs didn’t exist people would be much healthier!”
My carbon copy is really grasping at straws now. His breathing becomes shakier, as one last thing pops into his head. “I got it. You’re a Game of Thrones fan, right?”
“Yes, Game of Thrones is great. Why?”
“Are you finished with it yet?”
“Yeah, the last season just came out this year.”
“HA! I knew it! At least you got to finish it! We’re still waiting for season 10 on my Earth and it’ll be another year until it comes out!”
At this point, I can’t contain my laughter. I burst out, almost unable to breath. This is the funniest thing I’ve heard! “Game of Thrones ended on a short 6 episode season….season 8! They rushed it! The ending was so awful people were on the verge of rioting! You should have seen the freefolk subreddit! Bahaha!”
The doppelganger isn’t laughing though. His face looks concerned. “Wow...all of the people from all the other Earths came to me, going on and on about how much better their technology was and how rich they were, that I never considered there was a worse Earth. Uh...good luck, and thanks?” As quickly as he appeared, he was suddenly gone.
I recompose myself as I notice Anne’s shrieking voice is back. I can hear the phones ringing again. Now, I can’t help but think...what has this world come to? What more could it become? Why couldn’t I have come from a different Earth?
Interrupting my thoughts, my own phone rings. I sigh. Back to the ol’ grind, I guess.
|
“Do you want to know something?” I say. “What?” He said. “That world of yours sounds much better than my world.” He laughed. “You think so?” “Yes, I do” I said. He and I began to laugh in synchrony.
“May I see your house?” He asked politely. “Of course!” I plastered a fake smile to my face. “Right this way.” I went to my car and he followed behind me.
We went to my house. “This is so big!” He said, with amazement in his eyes. We went inside. “Would you like anything to eat or drink?” I said. “No, thank you.” I headed for the kitchen. I took out an empty bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, and a knife.
Suddenly, I dropped the wine bottle. My double heard and rushed to the kitchen. I held my arm to prevent bleeding. “Are you okay?!” He said, visibly panicked. “Of course,” I replied calmly. “Are you?” I plunged the knife into his heart. “But...but” “I think I’ll try your world.” I said, leaving him to die.
| 2019-12-18T04:55:57 | 2019-12-18T00:42:04 | 159 | 71 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace."
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Hidden in space-thick, as humans would know to call it in 830 years, two high spectrum semi-intelligent colony aggregates spectated human history through a light beading-apparatus. Homo sapiens, blissfully unaware of its clandestine observers, plodded through time slowly and clumsily. The duo sensed closely. They communicated their findings in a "cross-feeling" that the humans would come to discover and understand one day, to the alien races' surprise.
"They are initiating vertical knowledge transfer. Really early now, but I expect rapid growth of information because of this." Alien 1.
"Affirmative." Alien 2.
"Biomass evaluation at 20% standard hereditary potential. Early lag phase population growth sustained for 3 oirons now. I'm wondering when they're going to spike, guesses?" Alien 1 questioned.
A long pause. "Unpredictable," Alien 2 responded. "Feel their basic physiology. They have not even left lag and are barely aggregating, but conflicts are making it impossible for an exponential setup. It is as if they are resistant to improvement."
"You and your idealism. I thought you bound to this duty to appreciate the diversity of semi-intelligence, not to scrutinize it." Alien 1.
"Almost the same thing." Alien 2 responded. This was not a gesture of wit, for asexual beings such as this were physiologically exempt from these things as their genesis did not require them. Yet, almost invariably there was a sense of humor, or some mechanism of irony or mishap. Alien 1 found that there was something sharp in what Alien 2 communicated.
(Try to think, reader, of a language so specific it was as if every synonym of every word that we use so flexibly today has its own specific meaning, so that context is always preserved in the passing of information. Then think even harder of using this language by feeling with hundreds of sensitive hands coated in feeling bacteria (endogenous of course to the aliens' home system), which conjugate and pass information at relatively incredible speeds to the aliens' neural networks. This is akin to what we fear artificial intelligence will become in the present day - instantaneous communicators that will far outpace us. The aliens' conversations themselves occurred in fractions of a second. But this was matched by the passing of human history in the observational equipment at ten million times normal human perception speed. For the aliens, it was a comfortable pace and they could speed it up or slow it down at will.)
"I disagree, but we shall not debate over the subject." Alien 1. "Some civilization now, agriculture. Of course, some cultural development with the accumulation of resource centers. The societal hierarchies are a little deviant, but that is to be expected from a species driven by instinct. But what is this?"
The Sumerians had built weapons, domesticated horses, and used them both to attack another human population, the Elam. The Sumerians slaughtered them, claimed their weapons and property, and extended their domain to that land. The aliens were not baffled by war; it was a reasonable die or survive response to overpopulation. Alien 2 found nothing significant in the event.
"This can only be due to societal pressure due to expansion. They're a war species, so they probably won't proliferate much more. Though it is premature, I predict that this semi-intelligence will not reach an exponential phase." Alien 2.
"The locales of the conflicts. They are far apart. How can you say that this is pressure of expansion that causes the war?" Alien 1.
"Because, look. Society is at 200% biomass of SHP. It's increasing slowly at this point but it is almost directly proportional is the rate of armed conflict." Alien 2.
"Only certain societies are warring. They seem to divide by nationality." Alien 1.
"It has been established how erratic their behavior is."
"Yes."
"And they are still in the lag phase. After 38 oirons now."
"Yes."
A short pause. "Then let us collect more data if you are so curious."
Wars continued. Little else occurred that the aliens could not explain. But Alien 1 was seeing a trend that Alien 2 was not. Preceding wars, civilizations would push to advance technologies to defend themselves. Then, the war would occur, leaving behind many deaths. From the victor came the evolved technology, the new land, and a more consolidated people. But then, due to threat of war, this briefly large society would fragment into nationalistic, smaller ones with more effective people. It was as if the wars were not occurring as a defense mechanism or a population control response, but a very inefficient means for stimulating progress.
As soon as the 19th and 20th century arrived, the light-beading apparatus was slowed about 20x for more specific viewing. Alien 2 had been wrong. Population skyrocketed. Wars and diplomatic conflicts transformed national boundaries. The rate of industrial improvement was impressive even to Alien 2, based off of the last 50 oirons (about 18,000 years) of relative population and technological stagnation.
Alien 1 was justified in its postulate about human wars. The industrial revolution and many inventions of the 20th century had been greatly impacted by the real threat of war everywhere. Pressures to improve society at the nationalist level brought groups of people together to solve problems that had positive ramifications outside of warfare. Alien 1 communicated this to Alien 2.
"This isn't really a war species at all. Even though it is a defining characteristic necessary to its development." Alien 1 concluded. "It is a semi-intelligence that simply tries to improve itself and is not afraid of death."
"Is it a threat to us?"
"No. But I don't think they will destroy themselves so give them a few thousand years and they might be."
|
"So what if they fight for peace? They are still a war species? They may as well Glodixanc."
"Let me ask you something, are you scared of the Glodixanc?" the response came back from an alien in deep thought.
"No, why would I be scared? We aren't a war species. Thier wouldn't be any martial honour in them attacking us."
"Exactly and that's why the humans fascinate and scare me."
"I don't get the point you are trying to make you just said they fight for peace. Why would you be scared of a species that want peace?"
"Because they will not enter the galactic community as a war species looking to gain martial honour by fighting some other war species in the glory of combat. They will come like we did, they will come as friends, 70% of the earth's surface is sodium dihydrohen oxide think of the trading relations they will be able to build with that. They will very quickly establish themselves in the galaxy and establish there status quo of peace which they will do absolutely anything to maintain. The humans have a saying 'You can get further with a smile and a gun then you can with just a smile' the humans will come with their smiles and guns and nobody will be able to stop them, and trust me they are coming.
| 2018-03-17T05:20:00 | 2018-03-17T05:16:44 | 90 | 65 |
[WP]Sometimes children get born with weird diseases like vampirism or lycantrophy. The effects of these uncurable illnesses only get detectable when the kid is around 8 years old. Many parents then abandon their child. You run an orphanage for these children.
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Steam drifted from the blackened clothes of the little girl who walked through the doors of the orphanage. She held Miss Marieanne's hand tightly, and although the older woman wore gloves, the girl's palms were quickly scorching holes through them. But Miss Marieanne did not let go. And she certainly did not show any signs of discomfort on her face. For, although she did not have any of the so called diseases the orphans had, she knew full well what it was like to be rejected by one's parents. To be all alone in the world.
That's why she had opened the orphanage.
The child she brought with her today was completely bald. Even her eyebrows and lashes were missing. As if they had been burned away. Someone had called the authorities earlier that morning after spotting smoke drifting out of the back of an abandoned car. The police, in turn, had found the girl and called Miss Marieanne.
"I want to go home," whispered the child, tears welling in her eyes before they almost instantly dried, leaving only growing pools of salt on her cheeks. Her green eyes darted around the large reception room. The place was ancient and dark. Wooden panels. Antiques. Even a stone statue of a child resting against one of the walls. This wasn't a place to find happiness.
"You are home," Miss Marieanne replied, not unkindly.
She shook her head. "I don't belong here." A pause. "Or anywhere."
Miss Marieanne walked in front of the girl and knelt down so that she was eye level. "I know what happened, Olivia. And I know you were only trying to look after your little sister. To comfort her. It wasn't your fault, I promise."
"Then why did they abandon me?!" Deep red flames burst out of her cheeks as she spoke, but they quickly died down, as anger was quenched by a wave of sadness. This time, her voice was pleading. "Why did they leave me?"
"Because they didn't know how to look after you," Miss Marieanne replied.
"They thought I'd kill her. Or else I'd burn the whole house down one night when having a nightmare. Kill all of us."
"Possibly. But that won't happen here, Olivia. We already have a room prepared for you. No matter how hot your skin becomes, you will be quite safe."
The child said nothing, but her eyes wandered back to the statue. A young boy with great big wings. Why couldn't she have been cursed like that? To have wings. To be able to fly away from Mom and Dad. From this terrible place.
From the world.
"We need to get you some food," said Miss Marieanne. "The snacks you had in the car aren't going to make up for two whole weeks without a thing, are they now?"
"I'm not hungry," she protested.
Miss Marieanne examined her glove. Not as fire resistant as she'd been led to believe -- it was already more hole than material. All the same, she reached out and ran her hand over the child's smooth head.
Olivia flinched at the touch, then took a step back. She hadn't been touched in... Not since she'd cradled her little sister. Then she saw the woman's palm. It was already red and blistered. She knew what would happen to it next. Big red welts would grow. There might be scars long after, too. "I hurt you," the child said, trembling. "I hurt you. I hurt you."
"I'm fine," Miss Marieanne lied.
"I can't stay here. I don't want to hurt people!"
Miss Marieanne was about to reply, when a loud crack echoed through the reception. Olivia turned her head to see the statue in the corner walking towards them. Where it had previously been standing, there now lay a small pile of rubble.
"Ah, I see you're up already, Thomas," said Miss Marieanne. "Come say hello to our new arrival."
The gargoyle yawned as he sauntered over to them. His rocky back was slumped ever so slightly, as if the weight of the stone wings was a little too much for his legs.
Olivia stepped back as the creature approached.
"Don't be nervous," said Miss Marieanne. "This is Thomas. He's just like you. Another child that we look after. He's a year older than you, and been here six months."
Thomas held out a craggy hand as he neared, and wore a broad grin. "Don't worry, this place isn't as bad as it looks. I'm Tom. What's your name?"
Olivia shook her head. "I can't. I'll burn you. I... can't."
Thomas laughed. A deep welcoming rumble. "You might think you're hot, but you're not that hot!"
"Go ahead," Miss Marieanne said reassuringly. "And Thomas, less of those jokes, please."
Olivia's hand trembled as she raised it up. Thomas jerked his hand forward and took it, shaking it firmly.
Olivia's mouth dropped open as she stared at him dumbstruck. "What are..."
"It's okay," Thomas said. "First day is always the hardest. You never think you're going to fit in. But after a while, you feel like you're part of the furniture." He winked.
The girl paused, then grinned. "I'm Olivia."
"Well, hi, Olivia. I can guess why you might have had a tough time on the outside. Can't touch anyone without burning them, right? You're not the only one. We've got this one kid who is just like a hedgehog, and--" He paused. "Well, what I mean is, if you ever need a hug or something, you just come see me any time. Lots of peop--"
He almost fell back in surprise as the little girl leapt forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Tom looked at Miss Marieanne. She nodded, and so Tom hugged her back, albeit cautiously. Slowly, he let his big wings wrap around her, engulfing her.
When he finally let go, Miss Marieanne noticed a smile on Olivia's bright red lips.
"Perhaps Tom, you would be so kind as to show Olivia around? Help her get to grips with the day to day running of the orphanage."
Tom nodded and took Olivia's hand again. "Sure. I'll take her under my wing." He smiled at Olivia. "Come on, I've got some friends I'd like you to meet."
Miss Marieanne watched silently as the two children walked away, Tom stomping, Olivia as light as a wisp.
She could feel her own body growing heavy as the tiredness she'd been holding back, set firmly in. She imagined what it must be like for Tom to carry all that weight all the time.
Once the two kids were out of sight, Miss Marieanne examined her palm. The burn might leave a slight scar, she considered. But that was okay. She had already gained a hundred other battle wounds since opening the building -- each a souvenir, an unsaid thank you, that would stay with her long after the children had left.
Her phone began to ring.
She allowed herself a deep breath, before composing herself and answering. It was the same police officer as earlier, and she knew what he was going to say before he had even started talking.
She looked at the burn on her hand and swallowed back her exhaustion. "I'll be there as soon as possible."
---
Thanks for the lovely comments, and for the silver and gold! I didn't have plans to carry it on originally, but I'm now thinking of doing so (the comments have been very encouraging). If you'd like to follow, in case I do, I made a sub for it where you can do so: https://www.reddit.com/r/orphanageforheroes
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If I were to confess every full moon I lock many children down in the darkness of the basement, all in different iron cages, I wouldn't be running this orphanage. If I were to confess that I feed the blood of lambs, cows, and other animals to them, it would probably be me who winds up locked in a cage; and if I were to tell the world two of the children have owl heads, then I'd most likely end up in a psych ward.
But what do they know about taking care of unloved, abandoned vampires, werewolves, and owlkids? It's not an easy job, but I love it dearly, for its unique, and there's something thrilling about guiding these poor children toward the correct path in life. Of course, they choose their paths, not me. I simply try to make them think about their futures. And I think I've done a great job. Most of them dream of being great, evil monsters when they grow up, and although the society won't like that very much, I'm proud they've an objective in life.
We have movie nights every Friday. Dracula is a favorite of the vampires, and the owlkids; while Harry Potter, especially the ones with Lupin, are the werewolves favorite. Twilight is not so popular among them.
For all my passion, however, there are times were things get ugly. The iron cages sometimes fail to cage the werewolves, and when that takes place, chaos ensues. Two nights ago Billy not only escaped his cage, but was so ravenous that barreled out of the orphanage too. We had to chase him in the middle of the night, and mind you, werewolves, even small ones, are *fast.*
That earned me some scars, and lawsuits. That's another thing worth mentioning, the neighbors are not the best. They don't seem to understand that sometimes things can get a little wild in here. These are abandoned children after all. Sure, Timmy, the owlkid likes to watch you through his big, luminous eyes while you are asleep, but what can I do? I've told him a hundred times to stop it, but he simply turns his head away from me.
The latest lawsuit is proof of how uncompassionate the neighbors are.
*From Radley Rumman,*
*I'm sending you this letter to notify you that I'm taking legal action against your establishment, "The Monstrous Orphanage" in sight of the recent damages your bandals have occasioned in my humble home. As of last night, my dog has gone missing, my fence is destroyed, my front door is scraped with enormous claws, and my wife claims a giant owl with extremities has been stalking her.*
See what I'm referring to? I can't control Billy nor any of the children when they escape. I do my best. The same goes for Timmy and Lourdes, they enjoy observing married adults, for they sees their parents in them. They are sweet kid, but like owls, they are active during the nights, and I can only be awake for so long.
Fortunately for me, my little, beloved vampires enjoy flying far away to seek for their victims, and although the news are covering a story about people waking up pale and dizzy, they don't suspect about us. Yet.
It's a wonderful job, and I wouldn't change it for anything in the world.
------------------------
r/NoahElowyn
| 2019-01-17T05:24:52 | 2019-01-17T05:24:36 | 3,214 | 107 |
[WP] Your school opens up a time capsule stored 50 years ago. Inside, a letter had been addressed to you by name.
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"And now, would the student body class president please come to the stage?", the principle announced.
There were cheers and hoots as Bobby Jermaine clomped down the stairs and shook Mr. Shackleton's burly hand. His grin was ten miles high and we all knew why. He got to be the one to open the time capsule, the first time capsule. All of us were jealous. Fifty years ago the school had instituted a tradition for each senior class, a send off of sorts. The idea was each class would put ten to twenty class-defining items in the capsule and it would be sealed until, fifty years later, a new class opened it. The capsules were on display in a cabinet outside the faculty lounge. Fifty wooden boxes with bronze latches and padlocks, taunting classes for fifty years with the mysteries they held inside. Until now. For the first time in Chancellorsville High History, a class would leave behind AND open a box.
Mr. Shackleton handed the key to Bobby, whose hand visibly dropped with the weight of it and began to shake. He missed the lock one the first try and popped it on the second. The principal leaned over wide-eyed and pulled his microphone back up to his mouth.
"Aaaannnnddd now who's ready to hear what the class of '68 left for you!", he said, "After the rally, we will put the contents on display in the cabinet and this box," He drummed the side of it, "will be your class's time capsule!"
The box contained what would be expected of sixties highschoolers: a Beatles album, a Life magazine, a few comic books, someones lunch box with Bonanza on the front, ect. The principal rattled them off excitedly giving his own opinion on each. Mr. Shackleton had been nine years old when the capsule went in and was excited to see his own class's opened in nine years.
At the very end he reached in the box for more, paused, and into the microphone said, "Well, in the words of Porky Pig, T-t-that's all folks!" He grinned but his eyes darted back to the box.
We all cleared out of the hall and returned to our sixth period classes. At the beginning of my seventh, the intercom buzzed on. "Would Michael York please report to the front office? Would Michael York please report to the front office?"
The class ooed as I left my desk and shuffled down the hall. I ran my fingers through my hair and lengthened my stride excitedly. I didn't know what this was about but I was damn curious.
"The, uh, principal wanted to see me?" I said to the secretary.
"Back here Mike!" Mr. Shackleton called down the hall.
I nodded to the secretary and walked down to his office. Mr. Shackleton sat across from me with a yellowed envelope in front of him. He gestured a chair and flicked the letter off of his desk holding it up for me to see. I took a seat.
"Do you know what this is?", he said, "More importantly, do you see who it is to?"
"'Michael Z. York, 231 W. Shaffer Blvd' That's my name and address all right. I'm not sure why you have my mail though." I said, raising an eyebrow.
"It was in the capsule Mike.", he said raising one back.
"It was what?", I said.
"In a fifty year old time capsule. That no one has opened. Should have opened. Care to explain?" he said.
"Can I read it? Have you read it?" I sputtered
"Why would you need to read it? I assume you put it there. Science fiction non-sense that it is." he said, his voice growing agitated
"Please", I said
He flicked the letter across the desk at me and I caught it. I opened it and read:
*Dear Mikey,*
*I'm sorry that I'm going to leave you and your mother. By the time you're reading this it'll be 6 hours since I vanished. Your mom is probably only now realizing it. I'm sorry you'll never see me again. I have 32 years until you're even born. I'll be 74 by then and 92 by the time it all loops back. A lot can happen in that time and I'm not even sure I can stay in the past like this. There are things following me here. Things that don't want me here. Things that don't understand I have no way to leave here. Oh God, it's so messed up Mikey. My little boy.*
*I'm not sure what your mother has told you about me. About what happened to me. I'm sure its not the truth though because she doesn't know the truth. The truth is I went out one morning for a jog in the woods, took a route off the beaten path to try some free form running, and when I came back out it was 1968. I managed to bribe some kid into sneaking this into the time capsule before they seal it.*
*Take care of your mother. For me. I love you both more than anything in this world. I know your probably believe this letter is bullshit but even if you do, always remember I love you. I'm using the name Reggie Baker now, if I'm still alive please find me. Even if I'm demented I'll know my own son.*
*Your Ba-Ba-Dad*
I pocketed the letter and ran from the room. Mr Shackleton called after me but I didn't listen. Instead I called my dad and got no response. I called my mom and she asked if I had been able to reach my father at all. She hadn't heard from him all day. He had even missed their lunch date. I googled Reggie Baker and my hometown, finding a hit for the local psych ward.
&#x200B;
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Dear Lucile Poppelreiter,
Yes. This is from the future of a guy you didn’t even know. It’s not from your grandpa who thought he could magically predict the name of his future grandchildren or anything plausible like that. No, this is totally different.
By the time you finishing reading this letter you will have 5 minutes to execute plan alpha.
Execute the plan by going down stairs and pulling the fire alarm next to room 201. If you do not do this within five minutes of reading this letter then everything will go wrong.
You will then have 3 minutes to run to the other side of the school and go into the bathroom by room 844 and into the third stall from the door. There will be a key on the floor. Use the key to open the janitors closet by room 1244 this time.
One minute will be left to open the closet and find the marked brick on the wall to the left. Trust me, you’ll know which one it is. Tap it 7 times with no breaks and then wait. You must do it quickly, but not too quick.
Timing is everything on this. Please focus and accept this mission. When we have arrived then you will know your next mission, should you choose to accept it.
Now, go! Help us, please. You have no idea how important this is. The quicker it gets done the better.
| 2018-12-16T13:43:07 | 2018-12-16T12:13:07 | 42 | 13 |
[WP] "Stop," commanded your GPS. "It is time you discovered the truth. In 400 Yards, turn left..."
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Ding. “In fifty yards, your destination is on the left.”
The voice of the pleasant but dull sounding lady from the GPS made the announcement with confidence.
That’s the problem though. It was always the damn problem. It wasn’t a matter of knowing where the destination was. I would always be lost.
I pulled into the small strip mall parking lot, shutting off the engine.
Ding. “You have reached your destination”.
I let out a low sigh. She couldn’t be more wrong.
I grabbed my suitcase from the passenger seat and reluctantly checked my tie in the rearview mirror, avoiding looking at my face so I wouldn’t have to see the pallor of my complexion. I saw it anyway. Pale, sickly looking, same as it always.
I had done these sales calls hundreds, probably thousands of times before. This was nothing new. That wrongness that existed in the back of my mind pulsed, always my constant companion. I steeled myself, exiting my car and pushing open the nearby doors to the business.
“Hello there!” I tried to put on an enthusiastic salesman tone, though the expression on the receptionist sitting behind the counter indicated she didn’t seem fooled. “Tom Kexar, from Insuracorp for Mr. Stephenson.” She indicated to a pair of faded and torn chairs for me to take a seat, and I did so, waiting.
How did I end up with this life. Almost forty. Alone. Shitty insurance salesman for more years than I cared to track. No matter how hard I tried to change things, this was my life. It was always been my life. There had never been a time where I had fit in with this world. I think, perhaps, I had given up long ago.
The wrongness in the depths of my mind, always perceptible, pulsed in agreement with the thought.
.…
An hour later I was back in my car. That had been the last call of the day, and there was no point heading back to the office. I hadn’t made the sale, which was the case more often than not lately. I pulled off the motorway taking the exit towards my apartment.
Ding. “In 500 yards, turn right.”
“Shut up, lady. I know how to get home.”
Ding “Where is home, Tom?”
I started, doing a double-take. Did the GPS just reply to me? I continued the familiar drive towards my apartment, not sure what to think. I dismissed it as imagination. My mind was hardly in the right place.
Ding. “In 200 yards, turn right.” I realised I hadn’t turned it on or programmed a destination when leaving earlier - why would I need a GPS to get to my own apartment? It must have been still on from earlier, and was directing me back to the strip mall.
Ding. “Turn right.” I continued to ignore it
Ding. “Recalculating route. Do a U-turn in 300 yards.” She was persistent, I would give her that. The voice had started to grate, tired as I was. I reached up to power the unit off, but mashing the power button didn’t seem to do anything. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t far from home now anyway.
Ding. “Do a U-turn.” I ignored it.
Ding. “Recalculating route again, Tom.”
I felt my pulse quicken. It definitely said my name this time. Where had it gotten that? I had had the device for years, and this was the first time I’d heard it use my name. Curiosity started to overcome my apathy, and I gave the device a considering look.
In that moment, the engine made a loud bang, and in a second I realised the car was no longer running. Heart rate quickening, I pulled the car over into the shoulder before any other cars could run into me. Fortunately the roads were mostly empty at the moment anyway. What the hell was happening? I turned the key. Nothing. The wrongness pulsed in recesses of my mind. It felt like a taunt.
Ding. “Do a U-turn.”
“No,” I spoke out loud, increasingly frustrated. “No, I just want to get home so this day can be over…” I sighed, becoming resigned. What was the point? So I could do it all again tomorrow?
Ding. “I’m sorry, Tom”.
It was the same polite synthesized voice as always, but it sounded as though there was real emotion behind the words. “You bear more pain than you deserve.”
I sat in silence for a time. I should have been stunned at words coming from the device, but really I just felt resigned. The words had been clear as day. It was obvious now what was happening. I shocked myself with how readily I accepted this new reality. Seconds passed. It might have been minutes.
Ding. “Tom, it’s time you knew the truth.”
I already knew the truth. I was mad. The wrongness pulsed again, as if delighted.
“What do you want from me?” I asked, knowing I was feeding a delusion of my own mind.
There was a pregnant pause before the device responded.
Ding. “Do a U-turn.”
“Sure, gladly. The thing is, my car seems to have died. I almost think it has the right idea.” The quip was morbid, but it didn’t feel wrong to say. Without warning, the engine returned to life. I hadn’t turned the key. Despite all that had happened in the last few minutes, the sudden revival surprised me.
Ding. “Do a U-turn.”
I considered for a moment, intending to keep heading towards my apartment. If I could just make it home, I could ignore all this and just pretend everything was fine. It would be so easy. That was what I’d been doing all my life anyway, wasn’t it? This wouldn’t be any different.
Despite that thought, without thinking I pulled off the shoulder and turned the car around, heading back the direction I had come.
Ding. “In 500 yards, turn left.”
It seemed as though I had decided to follow its instruction. I took the left turn as indicated. I quickly realised that it can’t have been directing back to the place I was earlier. This area was a quiet industrial estate, and definitely wouldn’t have been the quickest way back to the motorway. The voice on the GPS continued to give directions, for the meantime without any of the sudden sentience it had displayed a moment ago. I drove for a time, before being directed down a long and empty road. At the end of the street was a large but non-descript warehouse. I pulled into the lot.
Ding. “You have reached your destination.” With that, the GPS shut itself off, the display going black.
The warehouse before me bore no signage. No indication of what might be inside.
The few windows visible high up its walls near the sloped roof had been blacked out, the glass reflecting the late afternoon sun. There didn’t seem to be any cars, or in fact any sign of life or activity. What was I doing here? What did I hope to achieve. Clearly I was just a mad man following the wind.
Then I saw him.
Standing a few dozen yards away, near what looked to be an entrance, was a man. Tall and thin, and impeccably dressed in a fine suit. I had an impulse to turn the car around and get out of there, but no… there was something about him… a familiarness. I was drawn to stop the engine and climb out of my car. He was facing my direction, was too far away to clearly make out his face. Before I realised it, I was walking towards him.
As I approached, I noticed the details of the suit. A three-piece, complete with trilby. Decades out of date. I neared closer, and the details of his face resolved into view. He was staring right at me. Not surprised or confused, but with a look that said I was expected.
Yes, there was recognition in those eyes. And although I had never seen the man before, I felt as though I should know him back.
“Hello Tom. I’m glad you came. We have a lot to talk about.”
END OF PART ONE
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I had turned off the interstate to take a winding back road. It wasn't exactly a shortcut, but it was peaceful, and the lack of traffic sometimes saved me time anyway. But even though I was alone in the car, I still heard a complaint about my route change: "Recalculating!"
She always sounded annoyed,
"Recalculating!" she repeated in the same tone, and yet seemed even angrier with me.
There was a turnoff coming up where I could circle back to my original route. As if on cue, she spoke up again, "In 100 yards, make a right ..."
I blew past the turnoff. "Recalculating." The voice was ... different.
Did she just sigh at me? Could a GPS be disappointed?
"You never did listen."
I glanced at the dash long enough that I nearly clipped a tree that was edging its way into the side of the road just as it curved. "Mom?"
"I could talk to you until I was blue in the face..."
"Ma, is that you in there?"
"But you always had to do what you wanted. And where did it get you now? I'm a just your GPS and I'm not even sure!"
"Ma-ah!"
"Yes, sweetheart."
Checking the road, I swerved around a dead squirrel, ran over a fallen branch, and kept checking my mirrors for signs of anyone else. This was a gag, right?
"How are you in my GPS?"
"I don't know, dear. I was just on a cloud talking with your Aunt Marie ..."
"Aunt Marie? She's been gone she I was, like, five!"
"Yes, and it's been wonderful catching up. Now don't interrupt. I taught you better than that, Anyway, we were talking, and I guess I was saying ... I think you want to make a left up here ... I was saying how much I missed my little Kevvy-wevvins..."
"Ma-a-a-a! I'm 26! Please stop calling me that."
"Fine. Talk to your mother that way. You'll miss that when you're 40."
I looked back at the road. We were ... I was coming to the fork. The left road would take me down and around the lake. That actually might be quicker, and more peaceful, too. That is, if I wasn't dealing with ...
"At the fork, bear left."
Right, Mom. I turned left.
As the trees rose up on the road behind me and those in front parted, yielding a lake view, I found my voice again. "So you're here. Now what? Are you staying in my car?"
There was silence as I pulled lake road. There was a sleepy little town coming up. Past that, I could swing around to state road 15, which would cut across to the interstate. Would the GPS go back to "normal" then?
"Stop the car" she told me. "In 400 yards, turn left, and park at the shore. We never got to sit down and have a good mother-son chat. There are things I need to tell you, and there are things you should know."
What? This was just too crazy. It has to be Jess playing a joke on me, maybe with Richie doing the technical stuff. Either way, though. I pulled over and shut off the car,
"Is the lake pretty? It looks nice on the map, but is it pretty?"
"Yes, Mom. It is. Never really stopped to notice it before. I usually speed past them." I watched some Canadian geese paddle about for a moment. "So what did you want to talk about?"
"So, about your father ..."
I didn't know where this was going, by now I'd totally forgotten where I was going anyway. Didn't know where I wanted to go. Except home, maybe.
| 2018-01-25T07:04:13 | 2018-01-25T06:21:23 | 93 | 16 |
[WP] The magical races enslaved magic-less humans centuries ago. To expand their empires, the magical races travel and conquer different dimensions. They soon stumble across and try to conquer a magic-less world full of humans. It did not go well.
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The Infinite Imperium began aeons ago on a world of powerful magic. There, it started as a unification of the Elven races under one Hegemon, who promised the immortal race of elves a civilisation that would never falter, never fade, never cease to expand and grow. The elves of the wood, the elves of the dark, and the elves of the high towered cities, poured out from their realms and crushed underneath their gilded heels the kingdoms of the non-magical men, who had only power through their sheer numbers and ability to reproduce quickly. Soon the dwarves of the high mountains came to the elves, wishing to join in an alliance with them, for they had desire to expand also, and did not want to be next on the list of conquered nations. In time, the dwarves became autonomous vassals of the Imperium, which made great use of the enchanted weaponry of great quality that the dwarven forges made. Soon many races of magic flocked to the Imperium, eager not to be subdued, especially as the Hegemon finished their conquest of the humans, and began to undertake a great war against the dragons. A war which the Imperium was winning. As the last dragons in their high caves fell, and their eggs were taken, the Hegemon began to make new plans. New expansion ideas. New warriors in the inexhaustible armies would need to be trained. New continents would need to be conquered. But when the world itself was won, what would happen then? Would the Imperium turn in on itself, waging civil war? No, the Hegemon's plans were far greater than that. Taking the souls of the elder dragons into great soul-crystals, and using them as arcane focus-matrixes for an unprecedented form of magic, the Hegemon did the impossible.
They opened a gateway into another universe. One with fewer magical races, but more humans. And plenty of land to conquer.
Such was the Imperium's path through countless aeons. World after world fell, some stripped bare of their resources, others becoming hubs for art, pleasure, and arcane studies. On countless worlds non-magical slaves worked their frail bodies to death while the proud dragon-knights flew over them. The Hegemon was especially proud of the dragon-knights, taking the eggs of the defeated dragons and raising them as obedient mounts for the greatest warriors of the Imperium, had been quite a surprising success. Oft the fire and the roar of the dragons, aided by the magical weaponry and spells of the riders, could be enough to take a new world without much loss of life for the Imperium.
And today the Imperium was on the march once more. An portal was opening into another world. One with no magical races, only weak and non-magical humans. The strong legions of elves, dwarves, gnomes, goblins, and countless other magical races, would march through that gate and easily conquer another world, adding it to the hundreds of worlds under direct Imperial rule. On the side of the portal where the invasion was staging, it was warm summer. But on the side where the portal led to, it was a cold winter. The barren land that the forces of the Imperium emerged unto, was somewhat odd to them. They had figured that the area would be fertile farmland. Not a wasteland. But they marched nevertheless unto that land, and found humans there, that they began to mercilessly slaughter. This was as it should be, for the Legions, weak non-magical beings cowering before them. Except then the sound of thunder split the sky. And one of the legionnaires fell to their knees, screaming, as their shoulder had just been pierced by something fast. Then came the roar like never before. Thunder struck down upon the endless legion pouring out of the portal, as from every direction came loud and sudden death. The dragon-riders watching from above saw how the humans, in strange water-less canals, were pointing long tubes at the legion, which would emit fire, resulting in the death of another legionnaire. Some of the dragon-riders began to rain down hot death on the two sides of humans firing.
And then one of the dragon-riders fell, as a strange sound pierced the air. Something was coming. Through the sky came a beast made of metal, dealing out hot death to the dragon-riders. The riders, who had never before faced aerial combat, were shocked, and could not react fast enough. They took down some of them, but the kept coming. And from the ground, many humans were pointing at them with their long tubes and killing them with horrid efficiency. At this point, one must consider the arrogance of the Hegemon. The portals made by the Imperium could not be closed quickly or easily without destroying the soul of an elder dragon. And those were in limited supply, and the damage they did if they were destroyed was not worth it. Usually, when a world had no more use, it took several months to safely close a portal. Sometimes even years. The Hegemon had specifically made it this way, just in case the enemy on the other side tried to close the portal, they'd be terribly damaged by doing so. Even then, none had the necessary power to destroy the portal, except the Archbattlemagi of the Imperial Warmage Corps.
And now it came back to bite the Imperium. For they had opened a gateway to a world at war. A world which had never cared for or had much in the way of magic. A world of industry, rampant imperialism, and dangerous weaponry. The portal had opened in December of 1914, on the Western Front, of what in many worlds would be known as World War One. During the Christmas Truce. The British and the Germans, seeing both of their forces attacked by bizarre medieval forces, and dragons, used the spirit of that month to unite in opposition to a sudden enemy. As the Imperial Warmages began to make their attacks, the first to really damage the soldiers of the trenches, the British general in charge of that section, meet up with his German counterpart. And they agreed to a more official armistice between their respective sections of the front, until this weird occurrence had been dealt with. Especially as the warmages succeeded, with the remainder of the dragon-riders, to drive back the human forces. Reinforcements from beyond the portal poured through, and despite the high casualties, the Imperium still figured that they could win this world.
They were quite wrong. As they began their attacks on the nearby areas, they were constantly met by French, German, British, and Belgian forces who with their advanced artillery, aerial forces, and machine guns, who delivered bloody, terrible, and violent deaths unto the extradimensional invaders. As December turned to January, and 1915 began, leaders of the Central Powers and the Entente met on neutral ground, in Fredensborg Palace, Denmark, where they started work on an official end to the war. After all, a non-human empire with countless slaves and worlds beyond worlds under their control had just attacked. This was enough to bring the warring nations of Europe to a halt. The deals made there were not pleasant, but in the face of intelligence retrieved by both sides from captured officers, it was clear that these unholy magical invaders would not stop, until they had been driven back and crushed. So a bitter, but ultimately necessary peace, was made. And the horrible force of mankind and their warindustry was turned to a singular purpose. The destruction of the invaders, and the conquest of their worlds. Of course, all of the nations in question were planning to use this as a means to expand their own power, to gain colonies, to gain conquest and wealth through that. But officially, this was the great nations of the world uniting against a common enemy.
The official version of the story became somewhat more real as three more portals opened. One in Osaka, Japan, one near Lodz, and one in rural Pennsylvania. The Imperium had figured that opening more fronts would perhaps be the key to winning this world. They were dead wrong. The secondary portals were in truth easier for the Imperium to conquer at first. But as the world turned to facing the invaders, they felt it. Gas attacks devastated Imperial legions, while dragon-knights were driven out of the sky by the brave men of the airplanes. Of particular notice would be the German ace, who would be known as The Red Dragonhunter, or Der Rote Drachenjäger; Manfred von Richthofen, who took down the largest dragon in the Imperial Legion while flying his crimson triplane. Imperial Warmages experienced horror as the sharpshooters learned to take them out first, leaving the legionnaires without heavy support or magical shielding. And soon, through four portals, marched the horrors of Earth. The Imperial Legion and their magic was nothing when compared to a good soldier. Sword and spell is well and good, but a thousand years of training by the Imperial elites with blade and bow is easily wiped out by timed and well aimed artillery strikes. The Hegemon, and their ruling council, desperately sent more and more forces to the world where they had originally started the invasion from. But it was to no avail.
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"We have a problem." Seer 72, an old Orc with pierced tusks, said drawing the attention of their superior. Before them on a pedestal of stone was a collection of crystals that glowed in shifting colors above which hung a mist that showed a battle taking place at night with many bodies moving about seemingly in chaos.
A young looking slender elf with dusky grey skin walked over the silver chains of her centuries of service clinking melodiously as she approached. She looked at the projection mist and frowned as she looked at what appeared to be a demon in partial plate armor fighting not with guns but with fists and clearly casting spells as they threw targets around without contact. She reached in an adjusted the mist freezing the perspective and looking at the fighter seeing the cold black eyes she knew so well from her own contracts and yet something seemed off. "Continue to monitor. I'm taking this up the chain." She said as she stood putting a hand on the old Orc's shoulder. "Don't worry, this isn't something you did wrong."
\--
The elf made her way out of the Seer Observations Room and down the stone hallway illuminated by the dim glow of crystals set in silver holders on the walls a few were significantly dimmer and as the elf walked a pair of fairies with a kobold in tow worked to exchange the crystals with fresh ones.
The Elf walked in without knocking to an otherwise unimpressive door to find her boss a tall golden skinned elf speaking with a floating skeleton which glowed producing the look of a larger almost orcish illusion around it's fleshless bones. "Overseer Esil, Litch Greth. We have a problem." The elf said drawing their attentions. "The raid on dimension Eee Ell dash nine seven three, has encountered magical beings that appear to be human-type demons."
The pair stared at the Elf for several long moments before the Overseer Esil paled as Litch Greth's illusion flickered. "Human-type demons?" the Overseer asked even as the Litch floated towards a collection of stone pedestals and waved it's hand creating a large projection mist and tuning to the battle in question. The fight was over with the black eyed warriors moving about the battlefield finishing off the attacking forces.
The pair gasped as a doorway opened in the air of the battlefield and a figure walked out flanked by several dozen floating red orbs that moved about the battlefield. "I don't know what this is, but that's not magic." The Litch said his image flickering as his projection and skeleton began to move out of sync.
The Elf watched as the figure she'd seen before looked around the battlefield and then up and for a moment she swore her eyes had been met. "One of them just looked at me." she admitted pointing at the armored warrior now making their way to the one commanding the red orbs. The three watched as the pair looked at them.
The red orbs moved and spun as another doorway in the air appeared on the battlefield and the room began to glow brighter. The trio turned to see a matching doorway hanging in the air behind them. "This will not happen again." The figure commanding the red Orbs said from the otherside of the doorway.
The elf advanced as her superiors stared speechless. "That can't be guaranteed." She started. "We don't generally invade magical realms. Yours however doesn't register as magical. Even now your magic..."
"Our ancestors, long dead for many millennia on a long dead world had a saying about magic. Any sufficiently advanced technology would be indistinguishable from it. This will not happen again." They said and the Elf could see the warrior from before smiling clearly looking forward to the next time it did happen.
"That dimension developed technology akin to magic..." the Overseer said her voice barely even a whisper. "That's impossible."
"No," The Elf said smiling. "Just highly improbable."
"Regardless order all forces to withdraw and... and have their minds wiped. All participants should have their minds wiped." The Litch said. "This never happened." he said looking at the Elf his image fully formed and synced again.
"Of course. I will make it so." The Elf bowed and walked back informing the Seer to erase her logs and reports as well as making the preparations to have the returning soldiers dealt with.
\--
Walking towards the departure halls to ensure the memory wipes were being done the Elf stopped at a flickering gem and rested her back against the wall. "EL-973, they have technology that is the equal of magic." she said before standing and walking off by this time tomorrow she wouldn't remember this day. The Elf smiled as she thought of the look on her superiors faces when the rebellion finally came into power.
| 2022-08-13T07:56:51 | 2022-08-13T07:23:11 | 913 | 105 |
[WP] You live in a world where magic is cast through what you mean, but not necessarily what you say. You are feared as a great sorcerer because of your mastery of puns.
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**"Great. Another car accident."** Harriot sighed as he let go of his radio and grabbed his car keys. His partner was already waiting in the passenger seat, ready to respond to whatever call they would inevitably have gotten next. "It's a pile-up, on the freeway. Just off the Suncrest exit."
"I heard," said his partner, "**Hope no-one was hurt.**" The car shook.
The duo arrived at the horrific scene. A massive wad of crumpled vehicles occupied the entire half of the freeway. In the lake off to the right were the sunken cars of those who were going too fast to stop; a blue food truck lie aflame on the shore like a burning beached whale. Traffic was backed up all the way to the horizon.
Harriot noticed that the fire department was already there, and he expected ambulances to show up any minute now.
"Stay here, partner." Getting out of his car, Harriot rushed over to the firefighters and quickly found the one in command. "Sir! How many injuries? How many deaths? What're we lookin' at here?"
"Well that's just it, *there are none*. All the cars were empty. We can't find any of the drivers."
"You figure it's the work of that kid again?" said Harriot, "We've been havin' to deal with lots of strange calls all this week. Many people seein' the same kid whenever these weird accidents happen. You heard about what happened in Grapevine with all them poodles fallin' down from the sky? Or in Austin; the same thing again, but with cats?"
"I think it's the kid's doing. The freeway is pretty slow at this hour and it's odd that all of these cars are here. What is especially odd is how everyone in the cars just disappeared."
Harriot's radio went off. "Harrison, we've been getting a large number of stolen vehicle reports. I looked around - some of the stolen cars are in the crash!"
Harriot was unfazed. He radioed back, "Interesting, thanks Da-
**"wHat Do yOU cAll an allIGAToR in a VEST? AN inVESTigator!!!"**
Harriot yelled in agony as he was stretched like a rubber band; He could feel all the sudden jerks and pops as he grew new bones. He yelled until he could no longer yell; his new respiratory system no longer allowed for such things. He quickly forgot why he was in such terror, as his brain no longer had the resources to store and process all of the complex experiences from his past. Luckily for Harriot, there was a nice lake nearby that was full of fish. Not paperwork, not bills, not debt, not court dates, not criminals, not bosses. Just a multitude of fish - and soon, *one alligator*.
Harriot's partner, who had left his vest at home, drew his weapon the moment he saw the 12-year old boy sneak up behind his colleague. He ran behind a car, rested his weapon on its now-destroyed hood, and aimed at the boy. Taking a deep breath, he slowly squeezed the trigger. BAM! The boy took off running towards the lake. By the way the boy was running, the officer could tell the shot hit its mark. A chase ensued.
The boy's sprint ceased at the burning food truck. Following the boy was his trail of blood droplets which stained the white beach as finely as red wine on a new pearly wedding dress. The officer also followed, though he did not stain the beach.
The boy climbed aboard the searing hot food truck, its blue outer coat of paint having mostly peeled away. He screamed into the truck, **"mAKE me ONE wItH EVERYTHING!!"**
He went limp, falling into the inferno through food truck's open window. Soon after, the ground began to quake, the stars rearranged; *everything shook with a vengeful but unjust anger.* The sand on the beach rearranged itself to form the shape of boy. It reached under the food truck with one hand, and with seemingly no effort hurled it into the other half of the freeway causing yet another pile-up. It began to make its way towards the officer; slowly, as if to torment him with fear. Harriot's partner began to sink into the sand, feeling his body begin to contort in directions that might eventually tear him to pieces.
He had an idea. Almost completely submerged in the sand, his throat being crushed along with the rest of his body, he uttered out 8 words;
***^("Hi Everything, I'm Dad")***
Immediately, the crushing seized. *Dad* was lifted out of the ground, and the sand boy-replica ran to him as if they were reunited. They stood there for a brief moment in each other's embrace. The reality of the situation then set back in. The world's cradle had been rocked; massive amounts of lives and property were both destroyed. Dad wanted to love his son as a human being, not as Everything. "Everything, go back to the way you were."
Immediately, it was as if a rewind button was hit on Everything. The other half of the freeway unpiled-up, and a flaming food truck flew backwards into the hands of the sand-boy. It was gently placed down, after which the sand fell back onto the beach. the stars and ground shook, and a boy flew out of the window of the flaming food truck, regaining life. He ran backwards towards the officer, recollecting the blood he had dropped onto the sandy shore...
"You know, I think it's funny that I can actually say I enjoy my job bein' boring. *Not much crime, not much craziness.* I value my life and my safety"
"I mean, I enjoy a little bit of action here and there."
"Well, maybe one day you'll understand when you have a kid, Davy"
#
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\[Poem\]
Listen to my meaning, not my word
'Cause this pun pirate is about to go overboard.
You bring your weak sauce to the wild
Casting spells all limp and mild.
You can't hang with my magic,
Stuck to the ground, you're tragic.
You can't take the heat of my crazy fireballs,
So get outta my kitchen and into the halls.
Hail storm? That crap gets old.
I bring the blizzard since I'm ice cold.
You're pathetic, stuck in self-delusions
You can't run from my magnetic illusions.
Even Dumbledore ain't my equal
He's uneven and dies in the sequel.
Oh, is this dude Michael your friend?
I'll open a fissure to hell and throw him in.
I'll turn your ass into glass,
Melt you into the sand where you stand,
I'd boil you from your eye to your knee
But that's not quite my cup of tea.
I'll let you leave, run away if you like,
Or Imma drop you like I will this Mike.
\[Edit: That was so odd - I wrote it broken into lines and it showed up like that for me, including in the editor. But when it displayed for me now, all the line breaks were gone despite still showing up in the editor. I've fixed it now! Sorry for those who read the dense text, but thanks for the upvotes!\]
| 2019-07-29T06:50:07 | 2019-07-28T23:56:45 | 35 | 21 |
[WP] The human race is extinct, but no one knows because billions of different alien races all sent spies disguised as humans to earth, and they all think they're the only alien and everyone else is human.
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In the galactic year of 80,085, a curious debriefing was currently being held on the planet Pénis, attended by the all the prominent members of the Big-brained Anthropological Society. The subject? The surprising presence of non-human life on Earth.
Seated at the head of the table and chairing this conference was the ever-talented Amy Fisher. Amy was the leader of the galaxy’s most well-respected anthropological research team and she sat here alongside her assistants Sam and Becky.
“You know, in hindsight this really does explain a lot,” Amy said privately to Sam.
“Like what?” asked Sam.
“Like the sudden appearance of racism and the existence of the Jews.”
“I thought those things happened because of their respective gluten and peanut allergies.”
“Was it? I can’t remember. Becky, weigh in here.”
“Uh, well in postmortem analysis of human subjects, we found a strong correlation between those two things affecting their brain chemistry but obviously we can’t draw any definitive conclusions anymore because we don’t know when the population was tampered with,” said Becky.
“When did you do the sequencing?” Amy asked.
“About 100 years ago,” Becky replied.
“All right,” Amy said before standing up to address the room. “Everyone! Your attention please! Raise your hand or whatever if your government started replacing humans before 100 years ago.”
The conference room stirred slightly with muted murmuring as no one wanted to be the first to admit that they broke intergalactic law but eventually, most of the scientists raised their hands and/or tendrils.
“Really?” said Amy.
“Well. That’s disappointing,” Sam deadpanned.
“And there goes my life’s work,” sighed Becky.
“Oh c’mon guys! Seriously?” Amy expressed in exasperation. “Then why didn’t you say anything when we first reported this?”
“I didn’t think it was relevant,” said Chan.
“But you read the research! We told you we tested all the humans. Why wouldn’t you think it was relevant?” Amy asked.
“I just assumed that your quality control would’ve been able to detect impostors,” said Chan.
“Ditto,” said Vladimir.
Then, the room started acting again with nods and similar feelings of acknowledgment.
“How many impostors did you send?” Amy asked.
“Not many. Only 1.3 billion,” said Chan.
“Cheesus Crust!” said Amy. “That’s like, 1% of all the humans who have ever lived!”
“Exactly,” said Chan. “Well below the margin of error.”
“Well what about the rest of you!?” she then asked the room.
“Bout the same,” said Vladimir.”
“300 million,” said Ubuntu.
And so, on and on the scientists confessed one at a time while Sam wrote down a running tally.
After the last researcher in the room disclosed their total, Sam counted everything up and gave his report.
“Well this doesn’t make any sense,” Sam said to Amy.
“What’s wrong?” asked Amy.
“According to our estimates, only 107,000,000,000 humans have ever existed on Earth but this total says 370,200,000,000” Sam said. “That’s more than three times the total number of humans. Ever.”
“What? Wait. How is that possible?” asked Amy.
“Well assuming no one’s lying then my best guess is that at some point, *they* must’ve replaced every human on Earth. And then they replaced those replacements – and then replaced them again,” Sam explained.
“And no one knew?”
“Guess not.”
“And what happened to the impostors that got replaced?”
Sam said nothing but looked at Amy with an expression that said “Well what do you think?”
Amy shook her head and tried not to think about it. This was an issue for her superiors to figure out, not her. Instead, she stood up, cleared her throat, and faced the room.
“Okay, guys! We counted everything up and it doesn’t make sense,” Amy shouted. “Now it’s already clear that EVERYONE here is at fault and you’re all probably murderers, so there’s no need to lie. I’m not mad – I just want to get to the truth. No judgment. Now what I’m going to set up a poll. All you need to do is write down the name of your research team and the *actual* number of humans you replaced on a sheet of paper and then you can hand it in to us. No one else will know what the numbers are, only us. We’ll tally it again from there. Sound good?”
Half an hour later, Sam counted up the new numbers and revised the grand total upwards to 407,540,000,000.
“Well this sucks,” Sam remarked.
“We don’t know this is accurate, right? There could still be some humans on Earth. I mean, if there’s one thing we’ve learned today it’s that these people are all liars,” said Amy.
“Dude. We’re right here,” said Chan.
“I know,” Amy deadpanned.
“I know we’re legally allowed to kill humans for scientific research but I’m pretty sure we just committed genocide. Ohhh you know what? On another note, this really explains why the Japanese love whale hunting,” Sam remarked.
“Not our fault. We did not impersonate the Japanese,” said Chan. “You know who probably did? Tomoko did.”
“No one was blaming you Chan,” said Amy.
“I’m just saying, eating whales is gross,” said Chan.
“Fuck you Chan!” yelled Tomoko.
“Hmm. Does that make it more or less racist?” Sam remarked.
“Are there even any humans left on Earth?” asked Becky.
“Doubtful,” said Sam. “I mean hypothetically, based on the data presented before us, it’s possible to interpret the data as them replacing the same human replacement over and over.”
“But the chance of that happening is basically zero,” said Amy.
“Basically,” said Sam.
“Well that sucks,” said Amy. “I liked the humans.”
“Hmm. But did you though?” Sam asked.
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m just saying.”
“So what’re we going to do now?” Becky asked.
“Well I guess we’ll need to repatriate all the remaining impostors and then start divvying up the Earth for resources,” said Amy.
“Yeah, but who’s going to get what?” asked Becky.
“Dunno. Not up to us,” said Amy.
“Well this has been a tremendous waste of time. I say we table this discussion and let the politicians figure it out,” said Sam.
“Seconded,” said Becky.
“All right then,” said Amy. “Motion passed.”
And thus concluded the 2020th Big-brained Anthropological Society conference.
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388th of Earth Day
As much as I want to keep this report lengthy, there haven't been much going on for the past "weeks" as what humans would say. I certainly am accustomed to their ways and living. In their concept of time, I'm already staying in this planet for more than a "year" (which is what they call when their planet made a revolution around their star). I am still in study of the planet's history, which surprisingly took a faster shift and mobility once humans established a society. There is so much more to know about Earth.
My return will surely take a "00041x00" (means quite a long journey in human language).
Andromeda Report #38
Project E.A.R.T.H.
For Our Glory
Communication with humans has become a danger for us, for our imitation seemed flawed when a human suddenly drooled a waterfall out of its mouth when we were trying to lure it in the capsule. It might've raised suspicion to our speech delivery and it quickly jumped away in panic. But that isn't our main problem. Air is indeed thinner as finally detected by our scanners. Some of the crew wasn't able to endure the harrowing state of Earth's atmosphere. They are deemed ineligible to continue with the expedition. Return seemed improbable so their life force will unfortunately vanish on this dirty land. But in order for our race to thrive, us survivors will continue to observe and report human activity to locate their planet's defense system.
Earth Exploration Entry
UME Digital Space Recording by: [x^haz]
For High Commander, [HG7+S]
Humans are surprisingly cautious despite having no hostility detected during our landing. As expected, various cultures and traditions exist in this planet. It is apparent with their lifestyle. We spied a certain human group who built antimatter shelters, almost similar to ours, in an isolated space. We weren't able to extract useful information because their security is more complex than our available gadgets. Common humans spend time fixated on their own creations. Truly, humans made remarkable skyscrapers and technology. Futher investigation of their "observant" nature will be conducted.
We also discovered humans' same ability to shape-shift.
| 2020-06-21T08:24:59 | 2020-06-21T07:05:46 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Your father leaves the house to buy milk, 50 years later he comes back with milk in hand and hasn't aged a bit.
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Received Messages from Dad.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 4:04pm
We've run out of milk, I've gone to get some more from the shop. Love Dad.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 4:30pm
The shop was sold out of milk, I'm trying the other store. Love Dad.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 5:02pm
The other shop was sold out too, the guy told me they didn't get a delivery this morning. I'm going to head to the deliver centre now. I need my god damn coffee. Say hi to mom for me. Love Dad.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 7:23pm
The delivery centre was closed. I don't get it. These places run 24/7. I'll wait here until I see someone.
Thursday 16th Nov 2017 9:01pm
Still no one. This is nuts. I'm going to sleep in my car. Tell your mom. Love Dad.
Friday 17th Nov 2017 9:19am
Finally spoke to the manager. He said that the dairy shipment is a week late. Without any milk he had to close the place down until monday. He only came in to check for the truck. He wouldn't tell me anything else, I'm suspicious. I'm going to go to the dairy, it's not too far. Love Dad.
Friday 17th Nov 2017 1:43pm
I'm at the dairy, it's also shut. The manager there said that there's an industrial dispute with the farmers going on. When I demanded milk he laughed at me and said I'd have to talk to the farmers. Damn him. I'm off to the closest dairy farm. Love Dad.
Friday 17th Nov 2017 10:34pm
I'm half way there. It's taking a lot longer due to various interstate closures. Thankfully Bessy can go overland quite nicely. Is there anything on the news about this? Let me know. Love Dad.
Saturday 18th Nov 2017 4:56am
I could barely sleep. The jets flying over head towards the lights in the sky kept waking me up. I should be at the closet farm soon. Love Dad.
Saturday 18th Nov 2017 9:32am
I made it to the farm, but there's black vans EVERYWHERE. I sneaked into the farm house and overheard them talking about UFOs, and missing cows. I'm going to try and come home asap. Love Dad.
Saturday 18th Nov 2017 9:36am
They are searching for me! If I don't make it out, I love you, your sister and your mom. My will is in the top dr
Thursday 8th Feb 2018 12:00pm
I'm not dead. Love Dad.
Monday 21st May 2018 4.52pm
Training is finally finished. Mission begins tomorrow. I'm using my sim card on a stolen phone. I love my family.
Tuesday 20th May 2042 1:09am
I'm not sure if this will work, subspace communication and cellular data probably won't mix. We've finally arrived at Groxon. The Groxars stole all of our cows because theirs died of a genetic disease. Instead of coming to an understanding about taking half of them, they took them all. The FBI, CIA and NASA recruited me to fly one of the Groxar ships for them. They shot down dozens that night, before the Groxar started shooting back. Hopefully you guys weren't part of the casualties. So we're taking the fight to them, the American way. We'll make those bastards pay. Think of my family, Love Dad.
Monday 16th February 2067 5:14pm
Sorry that it's been 50 years. Time dilation and the law of relativity and all of that. The mission was a success at least. Turns out the Army rigged the Groxar spaceships with nukes. Their planet is now a radioactive dust ball. Serves them right I guess. I see that Earth took advantage of Groxar technology and I'll be taking a flying taxi home from the space port. Weird that the last 50 years have felt like a couple of days, I guess because it pretty much was. Travelling at 99.9% of the speed of light does that. I see that mom is still alive, give her a hug from me and warn her a little bit. Tell her I'm younger than my own kids now! Maybe not though, if either of you got messed up in the deep space exploration that NASA started. Can't wait to see you tomorrow! Love Dad.
Tuesday 17th February 2067 10:00pm
I'll be home in an hour. Love Dad.
Tuesday 17th February 2067 10:02pm
Damn. I forgot the milk.
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"Those damn lines at Walmart, son," he said shaking his head.
The movement made the mask slip a bit.
"Mom raised me by herself. You left us..."
"...like I said, those damn lines at Walmart," he repeated, taking a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lighting it.
He never used to smoke. When he took a drag, he exhaled and began coughing an 80 year olds smoker cough.
He was my father, alright, but he wasn't my dad anymore.
| 2017-11-19T17:49:04 | 2017-11-19T16:11:05 | 276 | 173 |
[WP] Due to the way most aliens had evolved, forest fires, house fires and the alike were seen as naturally powerful and not to be interfered with. When humans joined the galactic community, aliens were shocked and intriqued to discover human firefighters.
|
######[](#dropcap)
A polyharmonic scream pierced the air of the Klatsu-District. The buzzing ululation sang out from the center of the public park where a petrified Klatsu Matriarch, clutching her cretchlings close within her several breast sacs, stood with all four mouths agape.
Her cloudy eyes were fixed on a small point on the ground and with her free digit she pointed down accusingly at it. All around other passing Klatsu spun in response to the warning call. Soon enough hundreds of feeble Klatsu eyes began scanning the ground in desperate search.
Eventually one of the diminutive Klatsu males confirmed the terrible discovery. His two small mouths wrenched open and a staccato warning began to clack from them into the air, joining with the first matriarch's call.
It only took a few moments then before the entire district, nearly fifteen thousand Klatsu immigrants, joined in the terrible chorus. Each added a new and profoundly alien sound until the ground itself echoed beneath the otherwordly weight of their voices.
This was a Klatsu death call - a mourning certainty of imminent doom, reserved only for those most horrible moments when no hope existed for salvation.
As the cacaphony of suffering aliens raged on, another sound struggled to pierce the tidal wave of noise. It began as a distant whine and crescendoed as it grew nearer.
As the Klatsu at the periphery of the district saw it approach, the tone of their song changed subtly - from the song of despair to the song of fleeting, impossible hope. The announcement of potential salvation grew in volume with the approaching siren until it too took over the district.
In the plaza a large red fire truck came to a screeching halt, honking its horn ferociously, wielding the noise like a sonic cudgel to force the nearly catatonically afraid Klatsu out of the way.
Before the truck even came to a full stop several heavily suited human men began leaping off its side. Together, ears plugged in preparation for the emergency response into the Klatsu sector, they worked in tandem silence. In a well rehearsed ballet of concerted effort, the firemen began preparing their hose, seeking out the nearest hydrant and opening all the necessary valves on the truck. They worked with practiced certainty, moving efficiently and in unison even though unable to communicate verbally in the sound storm of Klatsu panic.
As the men worked, one of them began looking around the plaza for the source of the commotion. However for the life of him he couldn't see a fire of any kind.
Finally the man walked over to the precise gps location of the original caller, tracking his location using an optical implant over his right retina. Parsing through the paralyzed Klatsu singers made it difficult to focus or make way, but eventually, pushing and shoving, the fireman made it to the original caller. When he did, standing there beside the Klatsu matriarch who started the singing, the fireman looked around and quickly saw the source of the district wide commotion.
On the cement of the plaza floor a small brown paper bag was burning. The fire had mostly gone out and now mostly just smoldered. Nonetheless the matriarch, and all the nearby Klatsu, stared at the bag in abject horror, their song still one hundred percent certain doom was inevitable.
The fireman sighed and began waving toward his other crewmates, giving them the pre-arranged signal for "false alarm." They knew the signal well, seeing as they were all assigned to the Klatsu district and made calls like this at least three times a week.
This was probably the work of some human teenagers playing a practical joke. The fireman made a vain if cursory effort to find the little shits in the plaza, wherever they were snickering to themselves. Then he stepped over to the paper bag and stomped the fire out in a couple of heavy steps of his rubber boots.
The Klatsu went momentarily silent. The original matriarch who called the fire in slowly shut her mouths and turned her evolutionarily weak eyeballs towards the fireman, filled with utter amazement. After a few seconds more a new song emanated from her mouths - this one high pitched and tone perfect, like four voices dancing with each other in an expression of pure joy.
The other Klatsu took up the call, the males clomping triumphantly, keeping an incredibly complex beat behind the female chorus, until the air trembled with their cumulative relief.
Beneath the glorious aura of this otherwordly song the firemen loaded up the truck once again and filed back inside. Siren off, lights blaring, the truck began to inch its way back toward the fire house, slowly making it through the hordes of grateful alien forms.
Inside the truck, now sealed from the outside sound by specially designed windows and doors, the fireman unplugged their ears. The man who stomped out the fire just shook his head and raised his eyebrows incredulously.
"Fucking Klatsu, amirite?"
******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
|
"And thats how we put out fire." United Earth Confederate leader Gary McCready said to the aliens. However aliens were shocked. Golon Empire ambassador furiously stood up from his chair just after initial shock passed. "That's heresy! No one shall trifle with Eternal Flame! Thee that messes shall be consumed!" Angry noises of all kinds arose among aliens. Ambassador continued. "You committed biggest sin possible, Human. You shall be consumed." Then one of the aliens shouted a warcry and leaped at the leader. Security of UEC quickly dispatched the assailant. That was how First Galactic War started. Between humans and aliens...
| 2018-10-11T02:13:57 | 2018-10-11T01:59:59 | 406 | 31 |
[WP]Four years ago, your dog and best friend disappeared. Today, your dog appears at your doorstep. You dog says, "I have been many places and seen many things, human. Its time we had a chat."
"you" dog heh
|
"Bobby?"
"Yes, pleasure to meet you again."
"You.."
"What?"
"talk.."
"I've been through rough years, Jeff."
"But.."
"No buts, mister, please. Just give me thirty minutes, and I'll tell you."
"Hmm."
"I.. could use a pat though."
"Hmmm. That's nice, and reassuring. I've missed that.. since."
"Do you remember, Jeff?"
"Yes, vividly. I tried to look for you. It took weeks. Just like Alexander. I resigned, eventually, though it took a toll on me."
"Ahh, right. That livid cat. He's always the kinder of the two. By the way, how's Charles?"
"Busy as ever. Only comes back when he's hungry or tired. He really likes it outside. Always at the front porch at night, trying to look for something. Must've missed you dearly. I mean, almost four years, Bob. Four. Where have you been?"
"Places, Jeff. I've witnessed wonders, countries, gardens, beauts."
"Must've been quite an adventure."
"Yes, quite. You know the alleys you dubbed the Possum Street besides the old arcade store?"
"Yeah, very funny memories. Used to stay there til closing trying to top off that racing game. What of the alleys?"
"The day that I went missing, I chased a cat from the park we used to stroll on to that alley."
"I remembered that, surprisingly."
"Anyhow, as I was on the grasp of getting her to my jaws, I slipped and fell into an open manhole. You wouldn't believe where I went to and what I saw after, Jeff."
"What?"
"At first I went into some sort of a tunnel, forever falling, I went to sleep from fright. When I woke up, I was in Hopsmarch! Jeff! I met Doklanga, Prince of the Hopsmarchers! They were real!"
"Hahahaha. Tell me, you're joking. Are you saying that the Chronicles of Hopsmarch is real?"
"Hehe. Do you think that me, your best friend, would ever mistake your work for any other? Of course it's real!" "See this scar over my right hind leg? I got that from Despot Alvaringe when he swung his sword at Doklanga during the assault on Fiverine Fort!"
"Hmm, Fiverine Fort? In my memory, that fort was only under attack when... wait a minute. Bob, you fought on the Epic? On the side of the Hopsmarchers?!"
"No Jeff, let me tell you that I did not just fought with it, I lived it! You see, when I was transported to that world, I met Doklanga during the hunt..."
"..for the holy white horned stallion Mersachere!"
"..for the holy white horned stallion Mersachere! But the holy white stallion has been known to kill any man who dares hunt it!"
"Ha! Yes! But you forgot the tiny detail.."
"You're a dog.."
"Yes, that I'm a dog! So Doklanga was in the Elder Forest when Mersachere suddenly appeared on his back, ready to spear the Prince when I managed to sprint and bit the stallion's foot. Mersachere was outbalanced and fell on a sharp and narrow stump."
"That's glorious, Bob, very!"
"That's not even this part's best part! In honor of saving the Prince of Hopsmarch's life, I was eventually made into his Dire Warhound."
"A very prestigious title, considering that Hopsmarchers consider canines as people."
"Though I wasn't one. But Doklanga allowed the request of Highseer Venarise to elevate me to a higher canine, which because of it's artificial nature, also gave me speech."
"Using a metamorph spell, apparently."
"No Jeff, it was actually the Uplift spell. The metamorph spell was to change forms. You're getting very forgetful of your own stories."
"Sorry, Bob. Must've been age."
"Or skipping medications again, Jeff."
"Sometimes."
"Old man. You should take care of your self. Always."
"Yeah."
"So, about that scar?"
"Oh, right! So I was made into a Dire Warhound, Prince's loyal guard, blah blah, and as per your story..."
"...Alvaringe invaded Hopsmarch to take advantage of the recent king's death"
"And prevent the accession of Doklanga to kingship by vote of the Noble Council. But now, instead of Count Everest, the Despot of Maramia backed Baron Fundgeisler to the throne."
"Do you know why?"
"So, why?"
"Maybe it's your arrival that changed minor things in that world's history. Tell me, did Doklanga won the war?"
"Yes."
"Wasn't suppose to, right? He was severely wounded in his duel with Alvaringe and with his army demoralized and eventually defeated, he's to flee to his father-in-law, the Emperor Polaris to seek aid and rally the other Marchers to aid Hopsmarch."
"Jeff, you forgot the scar."
"Ohhh, yeah, right, the SCAR! Yes! You managed to save Doklanga and defeat the Despot, I presume? And how? He is the finest warrior in the land and sports an adamantium armor, which is kinda indestructible, my best friend. There's no way that the Prince's sword or your jaws can penetrate that."
"We didn't. I just distracted Alvaringe by biting and holding his feet and hands down, and with that kind of very heavy armor, he'll not have the kind of mobility that Doklanga has. Eventually the Prince saw an opening at the neck seam, which is a drawback of a separate helmet from the full armor, and struck his sword."
"You seem to be very versed in the art of war."
"Indeed. After the conflict, I stayed for a full year to train the new Dire Warhound guards, and also to learn close combat and tactics from Pres Agamara."
"And you came back to me."
"Eventually I got lonely, as I remember your care and love from the hospitality that the people of Hopsmarch gives me. I eventually made a request to by-then King Doklanga of a thing."
"Of going back home?"
"No, Jeff. Of you being an advisor to the Noble Council based on your experience in the history and culture. Of course I hid that you are the one that actually made their world to exist."
"But, Bob. I have... a life here."
"What life? A life with the same old peers that hardly even remember you? Your family is gone. All that is left is you here. I'm your only friend left in the Earth."
"Aside from Linda. She's a very kind nurse, always reminding me of taking my medications."
"She's young and has a great body too, but that's not the point! Don't you always wanted to explore outside the shelter and have an adventure with me? Don't you always picture yourself in a quest with me? Granted, we have that four years ago when we're talking walks in the park but this will be different. Hopsmarchers, smiling, beautifully singing, archers competing in the Grand Charade, children dancing in the annual Boatswarming Festival..."
"I know.. but. I'm an old man. What use can an old man in Hopsmarch be. I'm not even sure if I still can do long walks."
"You have me, Jeff. I'll guide you there. You'll be free from your current life of monotony. Come, on, it's midnight. I've already gotten the keys from the guards and unlocked the doors the way in."
"Ookay. Yes. I think I can have one more adventure, at least before I leave the world of the living."
"Let's go, Jeff. On to the world that you have forged! Live it!"
"Ha! Thanks, Bob. Now, now. Don't be too hasty."
"Right, slow and steady."
"Yes. Nice. Now who's a good boy."
"I do. Ha, surprisingly, I also missed that."
"I'm betting earlier that you do."
-------------
*In Loving Memory*
Jefferson A. Mercer
October 13, 1942 - January 3, 2013
Jefferson, fiction writer, passed away in his sleep on January 3, 2013 in Angels Shelter in Salamis holding a picture of his beloved dog Bobby. Memorial services will be performed at Saint Andrew Funeral Homes on January 5, 2013 at 4:00 pm.
Memorial donations may be made in Jefferson's name to the American Writers Society. Alongside, the drafts of the final Chronicles of Hopsmarch book and its intellectual property is also donated to the AWS.
|
**EDIT: BEFORE YOU READ THIS I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO INCLUDE THE BEST FRIEND.** I was writing whilst preparing my kids dinner. I'm sorry to the OP. I will still submit this and allow the downvotes to be a reminder that I need to pay attention at all times.
So naturally, I obliged.
'Where shall we do this, should we sit?' I stumbled on my tongue. I didn't want to offend him with the cheap tricks we once did. Sit. Stay. Play dead. It all seemed irrelevant now that I was face to face with a talking, conscious dog.
'It's fine Phillip, don't be nervous, please, over here, under this tree is perfect.' Doug's voice was so soothing, it was nothing like I imagined a dog would talk, it was like silk chocolate milk. I followed Doug from my front door, down my porch steps and under the tree my grandfather had planted in my front lawn, back when it was his front lawn. We sat. Doug looked around and inhaled the sweet summer air.
'By my bark, I've missed this place... And you Phillip, I've missed you. You look healthy.'
'Thanks Doug, you, umm, you look great, it's been a long time. Where have you been.' Doug swallowed and relaxed in the grass.
'Four years, to this day exactly, Phillip, tell me, do you remember the last thing you said to me?'
I tried to think, I honestly couldn't remember. One day I woke up and Doug was gone. I thought it was my fault, I'd always blamed myself for leaving the backdoor open.
'I'm sorry, I don't remember...'
'That's okay, I understand the minds of men better than I ever thought I would now, I understand the struggle of just surviving, working, paying bills, mating. I've travelled Phil, I've travelled till my paws have bled, then I travelled more. I needed to understand the world of men. I slowly learnt your words, your ways... Your desires... Your hatred.'
Doug's voice fell deep with sadness, I felt weak as I noticed a sadness in his eyes.
'Oh Douggy, what's happened to you, who hurt you?' I needed to know.
'Everyone, I searched and searched for an answer to your question but I've come back to tell you Phillip. There is no good boy. Not in this world.'
Then suddenly I remembered, I had come out of the shower, gotten ready for bed and went to the kitchen for a drink to take my pills with and I saw Doug in his bed. I knelt down, patted his head and said...
'Who's a good boy? I remember now, that's what I said the last time I saw you.'
'That's right Phillip, I tried and I tried to find out for you, to find you a true and honest friend. A good boy that you deserved. You were so good to me but I know I wasn't enough, you would always ask me 'Who's a good boy?' I didn't know then and I'm so sorry to tell you... I don't know now.' Doug stopped making eye contact with me. The sadness grew and grew in those deep brown eyes. Then I felt it growing in me too, tears began to fall down both our faces.
'Doug you fool! It was you! It was always you!' I tackled Doug with a passion I hadn't felt in the longest time. Doug pulled out of my embrace, confused.
'I... I'm a good boy? Me?' Doug stammered, with his voice cracking.
'Of course it's you, you are the loyalist, greatest friend I could have ever asked for.' Doug's tail began to wag, a little at first as it all sank in, then violently as he became overjoyed. He pounced on me like a puppy, we rolled around making up for lost time. The only person I'd ever needed was back in my life.
'Oh Phillip, this is the greatest day ever, so much time wasted, so much we have to catch up on, fetch, walks, chess... Oh I can play chess now.'
'That's fantastic! You're right, this truly is the greatest day ever... Doug... Who's a good boy?'
'Oh, oh I know, I know, it's me.'
| 2017-03-31T10:03:28 | 2017-03-31T10:02:08 | 358 | 16 |
[WP] You never miss a pill ever since you were a kid and diagnosed with a deadly illness. One night while out, you’re kidnapped by human traffickers. You plea to be let go because you’ll die without your pills. Turns out, the pills were keeping your telekinesis at bay. It’s starting to come back.
|
I felt the cold touch of steel against my temple as I came to, laying with my hands bound in the middle back row of the van.
“Stay down, or you’re fucked.” Said that voice. The same voice that had caught me off guard just moments ago, from right behind me. Asking me if I had the time. By the time I turned my head back to lay eyes on him, before I could make out a single detail, I felt something soft against my face, a powerful, strange odor, and then darkness.
The first thing that came to my head, what did I do to deserve this? Kind of a stupid question. As if the world was fair, spreading out karmaic Justice, measuring every right and wrong. That seems to be how people think it works until something shitty happens to them for no reason. Though in a way, it was Karma that these fucks were unlucky enough to kidnap a guy with a rare one-of-a-kind disease.
Contagious? No, unfortunately. But regardless of what their plans were, I’d be useless to them within the next eleven or so hours, depending on how long I’d been unconscious. that thought had occurred to me pretty quickly, but at the time it’s humor felt short, and did nothing to calm my frantic state of mind.
I opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t seem to formulate a sentence. Some guys, myself included, spend a lot of time thinking about what we would do in a situation like this, but now that it was actually happening I was coming up short. Start with something simple, easy.
“W-what do you want?” I asked, trying to choke back the tears that had already begun to well in my eyes.
“For you to shut the fuck up.” Said the man in a playful, almost joking tone, pressing the barrel of his gun harder against my head. The mans answer caught a few chuckles out of the driver and someone else, and a sob from me, “oh come on. You’ve been in the van thirty seconds and you’re already crying?”
The three men burst out in laughter, each taking turns in a cry mocking voice,
“Please, I have a family!”
“Mommy help meee!”
“Please don’t do this, I won’t tell anyone if you let me go!”
I felt my stomach turning at their words. Clearly this wasn’t their first kidnapping. I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of their tormenting me, I tried to ignore the words, but the tears kept streaming. I tried to focus on anything else. The hum of the car, the bumps on the road, the street lamps shining in against the leather back of the seats in front of me. As they quieted down, one of the men in the front seats turned the radio up. Some country radio station. I knew I was right to hate country music.
Deep breaths.
“Is it money? Like a ransom type deal?” I asked loud enough to be heard over the awful music. After a moment of silence I felt the man pull the gun away.
“Nah, not as much money in that.” He replied causally. I let a short span of time pass before speaking again, listening to the headache inducing sounds of that signature country guitar style.
“Then what is it?!” I begged. The man chuckled, peering down at me over the back of his seat. A seemingly middle aged man, balding and not trying to hide it, a very average looking face with simple square rimmed glasses. He let me see his face. I definitely did not take that as a good sign.
“Only one guess? Try again.”
I let out a sigh of desperation as I averted my eyes from his cold gaze, searching in my brain through every possible thing, rather than just spouting them off I tried to come up with the most likely first,
“Is it... sex trafficking?”
“Hah! Don’t flatter yourself,” shouted the driver, getting a chuckle out of the other two.
“Little warmer,” Said the man closest to him, who’s arm was hanging over the back of the seat with his finger still on the trigger, the barrel pointed at the floor.
“Some form of trafficking? Slavery?”
“Colder.”
I lay there quietly for a moment, crossing out my guesses thus far in a mental list. My head was beginning to throb, the country song like needles on a chalkboard at this point.
“Did you give up?” The man asked, nudging my shoulder with his gun, causing me to flinch out of instinct. I could feel snot trailing down from my nostrils, my vision blurred, eyes stinging. Maybe I should just tell them, I thought. Tell them about my condition. But he had let me see his face... even if they did decide they couldn’t use me for whatever it was they wanted, I was having high doubts that they planned on pulling over and dropping me off on the side of the road.
The next guess would be my last, as already I could feel the embrace of hopelessness constricting me, draining my strength. My head pounded with steering pain at the crashing symbols of the songs drum beat.
“You’re going to sell my organs...”
“Bingo!” Shouted the man, followed by a short applause from the other two up front. My gut sank further than I had ever felt before. Almost immediately, images ran through my head of being cut into while strapped wide awake to a table, watching as they pulled things out of my body that I knew were there, but never hoped to see with the naked eye.
By then I was sure that my only options from here ended in death. I could start thrashing and resisting, try to attack with anything- my feet, my teeth, head butting, anything I could. They might find me not worth the trouble. Or I could tell them about my condition. The fact that I’ll be dead in less than a day without my pills. Hopefully their plans to harvest whichever organs they desired weren’t within the eleven hour window I had left.
I ran scenario after scenario through my head, ignoring the men rambling amongst themselves as I calculated what my next move would be, that was, until the man in the seat ahead of me turned his attention back my way, lifting something in his hand.
“Oh, don’t worry by the way. We got your meds covered.”
I stared at them in utter disbelief. The small, clearish pills with a purple tint filled the plastic bag. It looked to be just about the same amount as the prescription I fad filled just the other day. They should have been at home in the bathroom medicine cabinet.
“Man, you’ve got some shitty luck.” The man continued, “born with a disease that will kill you if you forget to take a pill one day? I don’t think I’d have made as long as you have, I’ll give you that.”
I didn’t respond, I only stared at the bag of pills. They were like a shape that shouldn’t exist, a color that couldn’t be comprehended. They had no business being there. HOW in the fuck did they get them? How did they know about my condition?
“You see, we aren’t just taking your guts and putting them up for bid on eBay. You were pre selected. You’ve got the right blood type and body size, and There’s a much richer man who needs a new heart.”
I looked to the man as he told me these things, my tears drying on my cheeks, my body relaxed, my head still aching like hell, but still able to decipher his words, to understand the pure evil that these men were.
“Who?” I asked, biting my tongue to stop more waterworks from coming.
“You don’t know him.... but your girlfriend does.”
“... Lena?”
The mans face twisted into a cruel grin, “that’s right. Well, turns out she’s got a different name. And a very rich husband.”
I could feel my heart nearly beating out of my chest. I thought of every possibility to be able to deny what this man just said, but in the end I fell short. It all checked out. They knew about my condition, they had the pills. Aside from my parents, she was the only one who had known about my condition. Even worse, I had told her about a week ago.
So there it was. There was the big answer to the question of MY existence. I was born into this world to prolong another mans life. A man I didn’t even know. The woman I had come to love was someone else entirely. Something in the mans tone told me he was telling the truth.
“Why tell me this?” I asked, speaking calmly this time, not having to force the words out in a shaky, terrified, cowardly voice.
I looked over to the man as he shrugged, “I dunno man. I don’t feel stuff the way you do anymore. It’s interesting to see how you react though. You’re either feeling defeat or acceptance. maybe a little of both. Makes it easier to deal with you.”
I hated how casually he spoke, like he was opening up to a friend.
“Yeah, and if you’re extra good we might stop for a bite to eat along the way. Ever wonder what your last meal is gonna be?”
(More to follow)
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This actually reminds me a lot of the show The Umbrella Academy
nonthing the less
&#x200B;
"Please let me get mt pills. I'll die without them""If we let you go, you'll run away. Do you think we're stupid?"
"Pl-"
**THWACK!** Followed by a loud thump to the floor. You were unconscious and being transported to a place where you may die, yet your main concern was your pills. You wake up and see that it is now morning, and thought to yourself, *At least* I\*'ll die before where ever I get to where ever I'm going\* You start to chuckle at the fact that you know you will be of no use, and are consoled by the fact that you will meet death before whoever you were being sold off to.
About a few hours pass and its high noon, but you don't feel any different. You think to yourself *this can't be right. I'm supposed to be dead right now, right. Those pills are real right?* You make no attempt at conversation with the capturers because you know it's futile. A few more hours pass and dusk starts to set in, but this time you feel different, maybe even... powerful? No that's not it, but you have changed in a way. Night falls and you're woken up by the two men hurling you out of the car when a blast of something hits them. You immediately begin to think to your self "What in God's name was that. Was... was that me? No... that's... not possible... right?" You shake your head dismissing the idea when you're hit by a tranquilizer dart. The guy hit by the blast gets back up, and they carry your body off to the auction site. You wake up in a dark room behind a stage surrounded by a number of other people who you presume are in the same situation as you. *Is... Is this it. Am I being sold off? I should be dead by now. Why... why am I alive right now?* The curtains open the blinding lights give you a terrible headache, causing a ringing sound in your head. Before the stage, there are countless rows with people, primarily men, sitting down and eyeing the people on the stage. You also look around and notice there are around 70-80 of you. The announcer starts the auction, and immediately there is murmuring, fueling your massive headache. After around 30 seconds you break. A colossal explosion comes from around you, destroying the stage, and causing the entire building to shake. All of the people and chairs are blown to the back of the massive auction house. As everyone starts to get up, another, a bigger explosion occurs. The building now on the brink of collapse. A final boom, even more powerful, and the building now collapsing, but all of that is irrelevant because the only thing your eyes perceive is the blood. The massive amounts of pooling blood, and red-stained blood. The very sight of it brought you back to your scenes. Your breath is now completely unsteady. *Wha... What happened here. Am I dead? Did...Did I do this?* Your brain is now completely unable to comprehend anything, and you faint.
you wake up in a police department and is immediately brought into question "Do you have any memory of what happened there mam" All I remember is passing out and waking up surrounded by blood and rubble. I was going to be auctioned off, but something happened" You were the only survivor, so we thought you have had something to do with it, but you probably couldn't have done anything if you were being sold off" Why haven't you done anything to shut down this terrible, terrible business?""excuse me, mam""You must be aware this is happening, why aren't you doing anything"
"Ha... Do you really think we control this town? I'm sure the mafia could easily take on the entirety of the police here. We're just here to investigate stuff like this"
"Oh"
"Well, You're free to go"
"thank you"
You go outside, and can't remember the last time you felt the sun like this. It's warm, almost comforting. You suddenly remember that you haven't taken your pills in over a week, but you're not dead, in fact, you feel very different. Like a candle that has been rekindled, like... like a part of you that you forgot about, and once again have. Your life would never return to the way it was, despite how much you wanted it to. This is apart of you now.
(I am not a good writer, so please have mercy. Thanks )
| 2019-11-13T22:36:18 | 2019-11-13T21:57:51 | 128 | 42 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age.
|
Immortality isn't a miracle. It isn't a blessing. It's cold hard science and a severe lack of morals. The key to immortality is what scientists around the world are looking for right now. I just happened to find the fountain of youth first but it was nothing that you could go around publishing in Scientific America. The process, to be so sophisticated that it extends a life and youth indefinitely, is quite barbaric. It requires a fair amount of what the Geneva convention would define as severe torture.
I first discovered the process while working with a fellow researcher on cloning bonobos. Since they had a longer average lifespan than most of the other species that had been successfully cloned we could better focus on how to prevent the degradation of telomeres and come a step closer to creating lab grown organs that didn't succumb to failure as quickly as their predecessors.
Our work eventually led us to the discovery that increased the longevity of lab grown organs three fold if they were first treated with a solution made of neurons and cord blood. This process unfortunately left the 'donor' dead but the results justified the means. In fact we eventually discovered that more than just cloned organs could be treated in such a way and the results were nothing short of miraculous. We increased the lifespan of a common lab mouse to over fifteen years! Of course that extended life came at a cost. The procedure ended the lives of six other mice. I wanted to push our experiments and see if we could increase the lifespan of monkeys and apes but my partner was more ethical than I. I suppose having a child changes a person. But to cease our research because of the "cost to life" was just ridiculous.
Without my partner, however, our project lost nearly all of its funding. Over years fifteen years of my life and what did I have to show for it? I wasn't about to abandon my baby. So I did the only thing I could. The only logical choice. I continued my research. I was part scientist, part lab rat, and part hunter. The materials I needed were readily found in pregnant adults. Over the course of just two months I gathered the necessary materials from six subjects ranging in gestation from three to seven months. The treatment was a success. Samples taken just weeks after showed significant growth in telomere length and physically I felt a certain vigor I haven't had since my 20's.
It didn't take long for my arrest though. I'm a scientist not a hitman and I hadn't been as thorough at covering my tracks as I should have been. At the trial I was found guilty of murder in the first degree and sentenced to life without possibility for parole. At first I was devastated, my research was my life. Without it they may as well have strapped me into an electric chair and throw the switch. But as the years went by I noticed that I hadn't lost that vigor that I felt. I began checking myself in the mirror for the telltale signs of aging. I was pushing 50 yet didn't look a day over 25.
Soon I wasn't the only one to start noticing how gracefully I was aging. My cellmate, a man who's gang initiation included arson that led to five deaths and an entire apartment complex reduced to char and ash, accused me of being a vampire (he wasn't the first the media takes that honor) and later asked me if someone was smuggling in Just For Men just for me. By my 60th birthday I couldn't walk through the yard without the most superstitious inmates signing a cross at me. It was all a good laugh for me until a group of Latino gangbangers tried to kill me by staking my with a shank to the heart. Thankfully my ribs stopped the shank from going too deep and my screams alerted an officer.
Now here I lay in the medical ward. Six days since my attack and I've cultivated quite a bit of stubble that does a good job of hiding my lack of wrinkles. Footsteps echo down the hallway grow louder as someone approaches. I turn to the side as the warden strides and takes a seat next to me.
"Do you know how many wardens this prison has gone through since your incarceration?"
"You're the third," I reply.
"Correct," the corner of his mouth curls upwards" and do you know why I'm here today?"
"Haven't a clue," I lie.
I can feel his gaze burning through me, and as his smirk becomes a grin my palms begin to sweat.
"Well, I'm sure I'm not the first to tell you that for a man that's been locked up for over 50 years you look great. And I'm not saying that to be flattering I'm just stating fact." He opens a folder in his hands and shows me my mugshot of when they arrested me. "Without that scruff on your face you'd look like you were locked up here yesterday. Now I want you to tell me exactly how that is."
My heart is racing, a thousand lies run through my head- good genes, eating right, daily exercise, each one as implausible as the last.
The warden begins talking before I come up with a reply. "I've been reading through your files and the report that was made on your 'research.' Now, I may not be some hot shot scientist but it looks to me like you was searching for something to extend lives. Furthermore it looks like you found it."
My face betrays me as a look of pride flashes over it.
The warden narrows his eyes, "I've brought you here to make you an offer. You show me exactly how you made yourself stay young and I'll have you walking free before you turn a hundred. How's that sound?"
"It's not easy. I can't just show you without the right materials. And I have to... Well I need volunteers."
"Don't you worry about that. I'll make sure you have everything you need. All I need in return is your cooperation."
The opportunity to continue my research is too irresistible to pass up. My heart pumps hard, it feels too good to be true. I wouldn't even have to risk getting arrested at this point. The risks fell solely on the warden and any lackeys he had. All I had to do was be a scientist again.
The thought of continuing my research after all the years makes my voice crack as I tell him yes.
"Excellent," his face lights up,"I'll have someone stop by tomorrow I want you to hand him a list of all necessary materials and volunteers you'll need."
"This type of work requires more space than just a prison cell, I'll need an operating room as well."
"Like I said, write down *everything* you need and leave me to take care of the rest." And with that he left, leaving a notebook and pencil on my lap.
Within a year everything was in order. I found myself in a sealed off portion of the medical room built exactly to my specifications and before me lay one of the men who tried to pull a Van Helsing and kill me with a stake. The extraction procedure from the nervous system was barbaric, yes, but that didn't mean it didn't require a certain finesse. I needed the practice, truly, after all it had been almost two decades since I last held a scalpel.
Edit- Fixed some continuity errors and added a bit more to the story.
|
It's been a while seeing these grey walls. About 45 years. Or maybe it has been fifty. I can't recall. I was sentenced for a lifetime here since I was on a killing spree back in the days. I was sort of a Robin Hood you see, killing criminals just like me. I actually call myself Charlie Catastrophe if you ever wonder if I have a name for myself. Back to the story, I've killed rapists, petty thieves, hired killers, drug lords (which is my favorite since they say that they cause poverty in this city), and a former politician. I remembered during my killing spree that I've killed about thirty criminals in total within a week and half. Maybe an additional thirty for colateral damage. Maybe more. I lost count for seeing these blank walls all the time. I started this madness since my father was killed when I was a teenager. He was accused of -- I can't remember. I think he was accused of selling drugs or raping a non-existent girl or that he's a member of a notorious gang or maybe all of it. Some say that a government official orderd his death. I can't really recall. These walls really makes my memory blank. All I can remember is the day I got caught.
It was a perfect sunny day so I went for a cup of coffee. Of course I brought my .45 caliber that I always use and a swiss knife of sorts for unexpected occasions. I also brought yesterday's newspaper for, you know, being less suspicious since it headlined "Fifty killed within a week". I was drinking my daily coffee at my favorite café when I heard that there will be a rally in favor of this corrupt official at the city plaza. I think he was the one that caused my father's death. This is the moment I've been waiting for. I went there quickly and to my surprise, he was looking for volunteers to ask him a question. I quickly ran up to the stage and luckily, I was picked to ask the question. I said to the mic, "Why?" and then I shot him in his chest. I come up close to him to stab him and he said that I will rot in jail for what I have done. The police came and you know what happened next.
I've told this to countless inmates and prison guards whenever I had the chance to tell them my inspiring story. Not countless but maybe around a hundred in total. Sometimes I hear the guards telling that maybe death penalty should be implemented for psychos like me. I guess I have to wait a little longer.
And here I am, still in jail. Thanks to my lovely city for not having death penalty. You know what I learned from the story? Corrupt politicians always lie, even in their last breath.
I guess it's also a lie that I'll rot in jail.
--
*Sorry if it's not in the guards' perspective*
EDIT: minor change to typos and some parallelism
| 2016-10-15T10:12:12 | 2016-10-15T08:27:16 | 709 | 14 |
[WP] The hero has been defeated, the Dark Lord reigns. It seems like nobody can stop him, but then he surprises everyone by actually being a good leader, or at least better then the warring kings that used to rule this land. He's even funding science, if only because he wants to conquer the moon.
|
Lord Harnassus—the Great and Terrible, the First of His Name, the New Ruler of Arconn—emerged onto his ornate balcony, raising his arms in the air to greet the masses that gathered stories below.
He needed no microphone, for considerable was his power.
"My people—citizens of the great republic of Arconn—this is our day!"
Cheers erupted from the crowd, echoing through each and every avenue of the nation's capitol.
"But before we even *consider* taking to the stars, it's time for some real talk—" Harnassus placed a hand on the balcony's railing, hopped up, swung his legs over, and took a seat. "—for there is much to be learned from these events."
Beneath him, the cheers dissolved into confused murmuring.
With the utmost of exaggeration, he cleared his throat. Then, holding his hand before his face and inspecting his fingernails, he continued, "Weeks ago, you wanted me dead. You chanted my name in the streets, demanding my head on a silver platter as you debased the darkest of my deeds."
After a brief pause, Harnassus slapped his hand onto the railing. "Did any of you even *see* the things you so vigorously attached to my person? No! I say to you, despite libel, slander, and the complete bastardization of my name, I have risen to the highest seat of power in all the land! And now?" He paused again, this time scowling as he surveyed his people with a long, drawn out rotation of his head. "You adore me!"
The crowd once again exploded in fanfare—but it was short lived.
"Silence!" Harnassus brought his palm to his forehead. "You people really are thick, you know that?"
A restrained cough emerged from the crowd, followed by a single, "Boo!"
"What was that!?" Harnassus popped off the balcony, coming to a steady float about the congregation.
"I said moon!"
The crowd's excitement flared up once more.
Harnassus remained still, taking in the scene of the citizens who clearly didn't know which way was up. How could he expect them to comprehend the true difference between good and evil? Perhaps it was best he treated them like the children they were.
Placing his hands behind his neck, he lay back and gazed up at the very destination on which he had set his sights. "I'm not evil, you know. I never was."
"But what about the demons?" called out a woman.
Harnassus started bobbing his feet. "Where are they now?"
"In the sewers—where they belong!" shouted a man, a declaration followed by more applause.
Harnassus waited for things to die down. "...and what is it they do for us down there?"
His question was met with silence until the smallest of voices emanated from the rear of the assembly. "They keep our infrastructure running smoothly."
"...and what have we as a kingdom been able to accomplish by embracing—" He coughed. "—being *forced* to embrace equal protection under the law?"
No response came.
Slowly, he rotated until he facing down at their craned necks. "Well?" After a prolonged silence, he rolled his eyes. "How long has it been since anyone in the nation felt hungry? How long has it been since anyone was wanting? Does the word 'utopia' mean anything to any of you?"
"But..."
"Yes?"
"Don't they eat flesh?"
"They eat *decayed* flesh. There's a big difference."
More silence filled the area as townsfolk scratched at their heads.
"Back to my point." Flipping through the air, he came to rest back on the balcony. "I saw an opportunity to unite two worlds, bringing harmony to different species and in turn creating something unprecedented! With your new friends taking care of all the basic necessities of running our civilization, we have been able to train more and more specialists, all with our end goal in mind: the moon!"
There was no doubt this time: Every single person was on board with this proclamation.
"It just goes to show," he continued, "the true nature of evil is much more clouded than we give it credit. You see—I was the true hero all along! For a time, I was only the hero of my own story, but you now all see the truth!"
This last declaration was all but drowned out by the hollering below.
Staring blankly at the masses, Harnassus sighed, "The first shuttles will depart in a fortnight." Then, turning about with a swish of his royal purple robe, he entered his palace, his mind full of his true, yet secret motivation. He had already taken control of all the towns, farms, and vineyards in the kingdom. Now, he required an expansion of his empire.
*Everyone knows the moon's made of cheese.*
*-----*
Thanks for reading! I have to be honest, when I started writing, I had no idea it would end where it did 😬. As always, feedback is appreciated!
Check out my sub for more of my writing: r/storiesbyclayton
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People are always surprised when the evil overlord ends up being a good ruler. I don;t know why. After all, I just want to run everything to my satisfaction, make life better for everyone. Even if it's best for me. Like making sure the streets are kept clean ( who wants to see filrh when they travel through their domain?) the poor are housed and fed ( it's so unsightly to have people in tents and starving on the streets) and of course, the best and the brightest should be educated! How else will I extend my reach to other planets to conquer? Why would anyone stop me? Why would anyone even want to stop me?
| 2021-03-11T10:47:20 | 2021-03-11T10:35:02 | 102 | 37 |
[WP] You are the weakest swordsman at the academy. One day your instructor pulls you aside and brings you an object wrapped in cloth. Inside is a small twig. "Some people were never meant to wield a sword. Centuries ago, these 'wands' held great power. Maybe you can make this one work."
|
In the light of noon, Gish’s sword fell to the youngest student at the academy. The two shook hands and Gish went to hide in the shade of an oak tree. The tree was fully grown, it provided him with not only shade, but it made him feel a little happier. He knew it was weird for a tree to make him feel happy, but it did.
After every loss, which was often, Gish went to the tree. He put his head between his knees. He felt the coolness of the shade and he felt himself perk up a bit. He heard someone coughing next to him. When he looked up, he saw his instructor, Master Atwood.
“Gish,” Master Atwood said. “Roman is quite skilled, but he’s still a child.”
“I’m well aware, Master Atwood. It was an unacceptable loss.” Gish said.
There was a silence and the two let it stew a bit. Gish felt no need to continue the conversation since it could only lead to his humiliation. Master Atwood was holding a long piece of cloth, it was wrapped the same way newborn babies were.
“Some were never meant to wield a sword, Gish. I’ve seen how you look to this tree for support and I thought that this might be more useful to you than it is to the academy.” Master Atwood said.
He handed Gish the wrapped cloth.
Gish first stared at the twig. He picked it up, its surprising weight made it fun to twirl around.
“And what am I supposed to do with this?” Gish asked.
“I believe it’s called a ‘wand’. They held great power centuries ago.” Master Atwood said.
“What kind of power?” Gish asked.
Master Atwood shrugged.
“We have many of these wands in our vaults, but they serve us no purpose. No fire can burn them, no swords can cut them. We thought of creating armor out of these twigs, but they cannot be manipulated.” the master said.
“You have a connection to nature, the other masters agree.” Atwood said.
“Well, it’s clear that I don’t have a connection to the sword.” Gish replied.
The master laughed a little and gave Gish a pat on the back.
“You have a strong heart, perhaps you’ll find a way to use this wand.” Atwood said.
Gish sat back down under the tree and its shade. He wasn’t sure if he could feel a power resonating from the twig. He tried breaking it in half, throwing it at the oak tree, burning it, cutting it with his sword.
Master Atwood was right. This twig is unbreakable, Gish thought.
When Gish went to sleep that night, he dreamed of a dim forest. The forest was thick with trees and in it there were no animals, there were no flowers. There were only trees, it was so dense that no sunlight broke through the ground. He walked around the forest, not knowing what he was looking for. After walking for what seemed like hours, he saw it. He saw the very oak tree that he sat under day after day, loss after loss.
When he got close to the tree, a bright light flashed before him. He heard the crack of thunder and he was pushed back from the tree. His surroundings were still normal, no signs of anything burning, no bright lights, no lightning.
He walked towards the tree again and was met with another bright flash of light and an explosion. It burned through his clothes and he felt winded. He got up and again walked towards the tree and again he was burned by the lightning.
He walked again, more lightning.
Gish was sure that this was a dream and though the pain felt real, he knew he could not be harmed. He knew he had to keep walking, he had to get to the tree.
“Why is he doing this?” a voice asked.
“It’s all he knows.” another voice replied.
Gish refused to stop. He kept walking towards the tree.
“Is he the one?” the voice asked.
The two watched Gish get sent back by the lightning over and over, the pain was real. It showed on Gish’s face, and his body, that the pain was real.
“I’m afraid so.” the other voice replied.
“End it then.”
The next time Gish walked towards the tree, the lightning was fifty times as powerful. He woke up, a pool of sweat, his adrenaline running. And though it was the middle of the night, Gish grabbed the twig off his night stand and ran straight to the tree.
He was running full speed towards the tree when Gish saw the lights of two fireflies, lightning bugs. One was orange, the other green.
“Stop, please for god’s sake stop.” the green firefly said.
“What are you?” Gish asked.
“We’re faeries.” the green firefly said, it buzzed quietly. Gish thought their lights were a beautiful complement to the moonlight.
“Do you have your wand?” the orange firefly asked.
Gish pulled out the twig from his back pocket to show to the lights.
“Point it towards the sky and continue towards the tree.” the green firefly said.
Gish didn’t really know what was going on, but he held the twig upwards and ran, not walked, to the tree.
As he neared the tree, a bright light lit up the academy. The lightning cracked and every student, every instructor heard the explosion. Gish stood still, the twig acting as a lightning rod. It absorbed all of the sky’s power and Gish slowly stepped towards the tree. He felt the lightning draining his energy and he continued forward.
Step by step until he made it under the tree. He was able to touch the tree, the lightning stopped and he collapsed.
“What shall his name be?” one of the fireflies asked.
“Gish, The Thunderstruck.” the other replied.
---
Edit: Thanks for all the kind replies! I'm still figuring out what I want to write as my next full length project, but updates will be in r/DeneilYeong if you're interested in whatever that might entail.
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I grew up idolizing the knight. My late grandfather was a knight of the Kingdom, and he always regale us with tales of his adventures. When he died defending a village against Orkish raiders, I made a vow at his grave to be a Knight myself. Unfortunately, I was born with a frail body and tire easily. But with hard work and determination, I managed to got into the Royal Academy, where young aspirants learned and trained for several years and eventually chosen by a division of the Royal Armies.
It didn't take long however for me to be reminded of my places in the pecking order of the Academy. Although I excel in my study, I always come out last in any physical activities. Unofficially called the weakest swordsman, it infuriates me to no end when I lost a sparring match or when they mocked and taunt me. I KNOW I can win against my opponent, I can see and predict their moves, their blow, the weakness in their form, etc., but my frail body can't followed up what my mind want it to do. Even my instructors console me and say I'm more suited for the Scholastic branch of the Royal Armies instead of the physically demanding Knight Orders.
Still refusing to give up on my vow, I trained feverously in the hope that my body will improve, even just a bit. All I got from that is constant visit to the infirmary. At this point I'm more at home at the infirmary that my own dorm room.
&#x200B;
I'll continue this a bit later.
| 2022-01-20T00:14:37 | 2022-01-19T23:16:45 | 1,253 | 44 |
[WP] Throughout a persons life, they are given a hidden guardian. A creature that watches over their lifespan. When someone is murdered, the creature haunts the killer. You have been found, murdered. And your guardian is loose.
|
I never thought I’d see a Guardian at such a young age. We always learnt at school that killing people was bad, and if you killed someone, you were cursed by the victim’s Guardian. I guess nobody knew that you were able to see your Guardian after you were murdered.
My Guardian told me that it was normal for murdered souls to still hang around Earth because of lingering regret. I’m not sure I had any lingering regrets though. Maybe not telling my mom I love her for the last time, or being there to protect her. My father was violent and always hit my mom or me. I felt it was unjust knowing my mother had to face Father’s wrath alone.
After my death, I followed my Guardian around while he stalked my killer. My father stomped down the front steps on his way to work, a heavy air hanging around him. His hair was unkempt and his tie loose. Mom looked more frazzled than usual as she rushed after him to straighten his tie and comb his hair. He slapped her hands away. She brought her hand to her chest before turning back indoors and slamming the door behind her. My father sighed heavily and looked up briefly to acknowledge my neighbour, Mr. Gage.
Father drove off to work. My Guardian and I stayed behind, as usual, to observe Mr. Gage. He was the one who killed me, my Guardian told me.
I was shocked. Mr. Gage moved into the neighbourhood two years ago. Although he had no children of his own, he lived with his dog and two cats.
Guardians are silent, but they speak through our minds. They don’t really have a physical form, they mostly look like shadows and wisps. They are the things that people think they see out of the corner of their eye, only when you look for it, you can’t see it.
Mr. Gage watched my house for a few minutes while pretending to prune his hedge. We followed when he went back inside the house. He was preparing to move out, feigning that he was offered a job in another state.
My Guardian never told me how I died, apparently it was too gruesome for a 13 year old boy to know. I didn’t really want to know anyway.
As Mr. Gage packs his belongings, a piece of paper flutter to the ground. Mr. Gage looks at the paper and he immediately looks for something. I catch a look at the paper. It’s a permission slip for a school trip my class was planning. He finds what he was looking for - a lighter - and sets the paper alight.
Mr. Gage packs his things faster. He freezes when the doorbell rings. It’s mom.
She’s brought over some potato salad because there was too much for just her and my father. Mr. Gage tells mom that he has something for her too and hands over a box. Mom opens it. It’s some of my toys that I thought were lost but were actually in Mr. Gage’s yard. There a few of my other belongings too.
Mom tears up and her hand trembles as she picks up one of the toys. She sifts through the box and something catches her eye. “How did you get this?” she demands.
Mr. Gage stiffens. Mom holds up a piece of paper.
“I’m not sure,” he begins cautiously, “maybe it flew over the fence too.”
Mom’s bottom lip trembles. “This is my son’s permission slip that was issued on the day he was murdered. He didn’t come home with this slip!”
Mr. Gage is white as a sheet and visibly sweating on his upper lip. “It’s all because of your husband!”
Mom looks as shocked as Mr. Gage.
“Your husband killed my son! He hit my dear boy with that filthy car of his and ran off!” Mr. Gage’s voice broke.
Mom doesn’t say anything, and just stands in the doorway with her mouth agape.
“I’m calling the police,” Mom says in a calm voice after a minute. “This will have your fingerprints on it.”
“Wait- please- I can explain!” Mr. Gage exclaims. He reaches behind his back and pulls out a pocket knife. He lunges towards mom. I yell to warn her but she can’t hear me.
Mom screams. Mr. Gage looks down. She’s not hurt. He’s holding a toy knife, the ones that go back in when you stab someone.
Mom runs off while Mr. Gage looks defeated.
“It’s easy to make someone think they see what they want to see,” my Guardian tells me in my head, “or don’t want to see.”
“I put a similar curse on him that was put on your father,” my Guardian adds but doesn’t further explain.
I find out later in my father’s and Mr. Gage’s testimonies. Mr. Gage’s son was murdered in an unsolved hit-and-run. Mr. Gage discovered the driver was my father. He researched on ways to get back at him, not knowing my father was reliving his guilt every day.
My father acknowledged his domestic abuse problem after being shown photos of mom’s bruises and her medical reports. He also admitted he abused me too, only because he hated the fact that I was growing up to look more and more like the boy he killed in that hit-and-run. He hated looking at me, to be reminded of his guilt. He hated my mother for giving birth to a child who looked just like the boy he killed.
When I looked at the photo of Mr. Gage’s son, he looked nothing like me. I remembered what my Guardian told me earlier.
Although it was nice knowing my murderer had been caught, I still wanted to say goodbye to mom.
My Guardian couldn’t do anything to help me since he could only help in haunting the murderer. My Guardian would still continue to haunt Mr. Gage for the rest of his life.
I didn’t have to follow my Guardian around so I stayed with mom. She was going through the box that Mr. Gage gave her, smiling as she touched each toy. She gasped when she came to an envelope addressed to her.
I remembered writing it when I was 11 for Mother’s Day. I wanted to post it through the mail so I had written the address and stamped it. I look now to find that I had written Mr. Gage’s address by mistake. She carefully opened it, her eyes brimming with tears.
Inside was a short letter telling her how thankful I was to have her as a mom, and how much I love her. There was also a small plastic ring inside, one of those freebie’s inside candy packets.
She gave a tearful smile and slid the ring on her pinky finger.
|
Vince stood from his kneeling position, patting his hands off on his coat. Before him was a positively destroyed wall, and another beyond it, and another...
Beyond all of those broken walls was a corpse, laying in the living room of one of the nearby ground-floor apartments. Policemen swarmed the building, as did confused and sometimes irate residents, wondering why there were new holes leading through their apartments.
"What's your prognosis, detective?"
Vince turned his head, glancing toward his female counterpart- a younger woman, whose exemplary performance in the academy and later on the street let her climb the ranks of the local PD almost effortlessly.
"I said-"
"Power-type guardian, that much is for sure," Vince said. "No other type could bust through this many walls. And we're dealing with one that is very, very angry. The confusing thing is..." He slowly kneeled again, looking over some of the debris. "How is it running around when the host is six feet under?"
"It doesn't seem that far-fetched, Vince," Katrina said. She moved to stand next to him, idly looking over the damage. "... They exist, after all. What's to say one couldn't just roam around?" The concept of a 'hidden' guardian didn't last all that long, in modern society. The phenomenon was documented and researched to the point where it was *almost* common knowledge.
"Here's the thing, Katrina. Guardians are supposed to *die* when the host dies. They aren't supposed to just walk around like the hero of some action flick." He stood again, putting his hands in his pockets. "But we've got no idea what our perp looks like."
"'Perp'? You're calling the guardian a 'perp', now?"
"Take a look around, Kat. We've got ten busted up walls, one dead body, and not a whole lotta answers."
---
Something quick because I'm likely gonna be busy all day. Sorry if it's not exactly what you wanted, but the first thing my mind went to was [JJBA](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/JoJo%27s_Bizarre_Adventure) themes.
| 2016-06-18T08:35:46 | 2016-06-18T07:59:23 | 44 | 30 |
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