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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] Bad news. You’re stuck in a strange and magical world far far from home. Worse news: You aren’t even the chosen one in the prophecy who gets cool powers and a destiny quest. They won’t show up for a few more years. You got here purely by mistake. You have no powers. You’re alone. You must live.
|
Hello. My name is Thomas. I'm a 29-year-old guy from New York and I am the Hero of Durthel - the capital of Elerland.
I know what you're thinking - *the hell is Elerland? Durthel? Hero?*
Let's start from the beginning.
2 years ago, some, well, *magic*, transported me to Elerland. It's not Earth. I don't know what this place is, but it sure as hell ain't Kansas anymore. It's a land where magic not only exists but flows rather freely - where mages like those of old Earth legends battle demons the size of houses, where fair maidens are fought for, where seeing a unicorn is a symbol of good luck, not a sign of substance abuse.
It's still not quite clear why I am here, but it's safe to say I'm not meant to be. Oh, we've got plenty of arrivals from other dimensions but they're always mighty heroes tasked with a great heroic deed. Not me. I got no powers, no magical sword, no eager squire, nothing. Just woke up in a field one day and after it became clear I was not dreaming, I had to make do. I'm just lucky something allows me to speak the local language as if it was English.
I don't miss home. I was a nobody. An office worker no one cared for. Parents dead. But here? I'm a *legend*. And I know what you might be thinking - *Thomas, you silly bastard, didn't you say you got no powers, quest, anything*? And you'd be correct. I just got my wits and my grit.
And my accounting degree.
Did you know that the banking system in Elerland is immensely dated and simplistic? Or rather, it *was*, before I came and 'innovated' all the things I did on the regular on Earth in my 9-5 job. Under my guidance, accounts were secured, loans provided and collected, investments made and profited. I have transformed Durthel, a painfully average city on the coast into a haven of finance and advancement; a place to which architects, doctors, wise men, engineers, and what have you flock; a place where people from around the world come to have their gold and gems handled because they know their money is not only secure but thriving. Yes, wars happened and other kingdoms tried to barge in and take it, but you know what money can buy?
Mercenaries. Armour. Saboteurs. Supplies. The *good* kind.
I have become a hero to this place. Not because of my strength or skill with a blade or even bravery. Because of my ability to work with numbers. To handle money.
And money makes the world go round.
|
Joe’s whole day was gray, it started with the morning. He woke up late, his alarm failing him again. Or rather it was his mind that had betrayed the alarm. Joe put on the kettle, refusing to leave the house without his coffee. His well worn blazer, again gray, sat on his shoulder as he listened to the kettle sing.
He drove to work under the clouds, threatening rain. Minutes into his commute, Joe ran into red light after red light. More minutes passed and he felt the vibration of his phone in his pocket, likely the buzzing of his manager wondering where he could be this dreary morning. He grabbed his phone and went to check the text, it wasn’t his boss, but a woman named Alice.
“I’ve been thinking of you lately,” the text read.
A car honked behind him and he pressed down on the gas, but there were no cars behind him as he charged forward alone. When he looked up, in the gray of the growing morning, he saw flares of red. A truck, large and red. Joe knew his car wouldn’t stand a chance and he felt a rare moment of calm. He thought that maybe his life would flash before him, but there was only the truck.
It hit his car and it sent Joe flying at speeds he thought his body would never reach. Under the clouds, Joe’s lifeless body had colored the streets in a red that complemented the very truck that had hit him.
He dreamed then of Alice, he wondered what her next text would have read. He felt nervous thinking about her. He wasn’t sure if he hated her or if he loved her or if he was scared of her, maybe a mix of all three he thought.
Joe felt the warmth on his skin and he heard the voices around him.
“A man?” a voice said. “Someone call Susel, right now.”
Joe opened his eyes and saw that he was in a dark room, lit by lanterns of all colors. He looked at the ground and saw several bodies in the corner, small flames surrounding him in a circle. He also saw a group of women, armed to the teeth.
“Where am I?” Joe asked.
A woman carrying an impossibly large sword on her back kneeled down to Joe, she looked at him. She had short brown hair and green eyes. She wore silver armor, but he saw the scars that ran down her neck, a few on her cheek.
“It’s best if you stay quiet until Susel gets here, she is the State’s Prophet.” she said, he recognized her voice. The same voice that called for whoever Susel was.
Joe, in another rare moment of calm, sat there patiently. He had questions, the same questions that anyone would.
The women talked amongst themselves in the dark room, but Joe couldn’t understand a word of it. Some women glared at him, some of them waved or stared politely. He sat there, looking at the lights and appreciating the warmth. He had examined his body, looking for wounds or any signs that the truck had claimed his life, had won in a battle to the death against him.
Suddenly light flooded into the room, a harsh light different from the light that the lanterns provided. A young girl walked in and he heard the women say her name.
Susel.
She looked to be ten or twelve if Joe had to guess, he had a niece her age. His older sister wanted to name her Barbara after their grandmother, but his husband pleaded with her not to and so they went with Gloria which Joe thought sounded just as old.
Susel looked nothing like Gloria. Where Gloria’s eyes were light brown and joyful, Susel’s eyes were white and soulless. She stared at Joe with her white eyes and he felt the warmth in his body vanish.
She spoke and Joe, again, couldn’t understand the words.
The woman with the large sword kneeled down next to Joe and spoke in his ear.
“She says that you aren’t the chosen one,” she said. “The chosen one is not a man.”
“Are they speaking another language? How come you’re the only person I can understand?” Joe asked.
“I am the State’s Sangab,” she said. She thought about it for a moment. “In your language, they call it a polyglot?”
“Is there anyone else that knows english here?” Joe asked.
“No,” she said. “I don’t even know what your language is, I’m afraid. Sangabs’ voices are automatically translated to the language you feel most comfortable in.”
While the Sangab continued to explain, the women in the room moved around him, their weapons facing toward him. Susel continued to look at him, examining his every move. She spoke to the women, their weapons still raised.
“What did she say?” Joe asked.
“You will be removed and we will try again,” the Sangab said.
“Wai-” Joe started to say, but he felt the steel pierce his chest and he fell. His body colored the room again in his scarlet blood.
Moments later, he woke again to the sound of an unrecognizable language. He opened his eyes and he saw Susel, her army, and the Sangab with the large sword.
Susel spoke and the Sangab translated. Susel rubbed the temple of her head with her hands, she looked irritated.
“We summoned you again by accident, Susel doesn’t understand why we aren’t able to summon the chosen one.” she said.
So they tried again, multiple times really. Every single time Joe came back and woke up in the room with the light colors, losing an impossible volume of blood.
Susel spoke and the Sangab translated, “We’ll try again in the morning.”
“Is there an instruction manual or a video that explains the chosen one stuff?” Joe asked the Sangab who had been tasked with watching him. A skeleton crew was present, but they kept a distance away from Joe and the Sangab.
“Instruction manual?” the Sangab said. She left the room and came back with a scroll.
“It’s a copy,” she said.
“Thank you,” Joe said.
The scroll had many languages on it, one of which was English fortunately. He read the words which were only a couple sentences.
“The first woman to come through, three years after the first man, is to be the chosen one. She will be given the strength of every individual summoned before the man.”
He read the words aloud and the Sangab gasped.
“It says that in your language?” she asked. “Three years? What are years?”
“Years are a measure of time,” Joe said. “The time it takes Earth to circle the Sun once.”
Susel walked in then, flooding the room again in her light. The Sangab explained the words, Joe’s words, to her and she knelt down to the floor in tears.
She cried words that Joe didn’t know and Joe stood up then, he put a hand on Susel’s back.
“It’ll be okay,” Joe said. “Three years is no big deal.”
He smiled and he saw Susel’s eyes dim and it reminded him again of his niece.
“Let’s figure it out together,” Joe said. He extended his hand and she shook it gently.
| 2022-04-22T00:29:47 | 2022-04-21T23:49:42 | 811 | 50 |
[WP] Bob doesn't realise he's a robot until he fails a captcha five times in a row.
|
Maggie was looking at a photograph of her family. It is an old photograph, but everybody is there, her husband is standing next to her and the children are playing in the foreground with the dog. This picture always reminded her of that perfect long summer four years ago, when they all went on vacation to the beach, where they rented a house for a couple of weeks.
“Hey Maggie”
Isabelle, her sister, interrupted her thoughts. She was coming over every week for some coffee and a nice chat.
“Hi Isabelle.”
“It’s so quiet, where is everybody?”
“Well, my husband is working, your niece is still at school and your nephew is upstairs.”
“And how are you doing? I know I always ask the same things, but you look awfully sad, like every time you look at those pictures.”
“Well, you know how it is. At least it’s better than the alternative.”
“I can’t really say I do, and in all honesty, I wouldn’t want to know.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk about something else…”
“Sure” Isabelle said, and they proceed to the porch, where they sit down for a coffee and talk about the things they see. This hast been there ritual for the past 2 years. They don’t want to talk about the same things, so they just sit in front of the house and discuss their surroundings. Maggie doesn’t like the way her sister always starts the same topic every time they see each other, but she lets it go when Maggie asks so and that’s enough for her.
A scream, followed by some loud noise interrupts the analysis of a stranger’s choice of clothing. Maggie sheds a tear, she knows what’s coming now. She has heard that scream before.
“Oh no, not again. Why do the intervals get shorter? I don’t think…” The rest of her sentence gets lost in the noise of trampling feet.
“MOOOOOOOOM! It won’t go away” He calls for her, crying, while running down the stairs. “MOOOOM, I couldn’t log into my account and now it won’t go! The text won’t go away!”
“Honey, it’s okay. What will not go away?” She asks him, but she knows what’s coming. Isabelle stands in the door and doesn’t know what to do or say, but does not think of leaving either. Maggie hoped nobody ever had to see this.
“The text, I can’t get rid of the text! It says ‘cover compromised’ ” He stands in the hallway in front of the stairs and is sobbing. “Mom, it won’t go away”
“It’s okay honey” She says, while going down on her knees. She is hugging him and while both are crying, she pushes a spot on his neck three times.
His eyes go black and his body slumps down in her arms and drops down on the floor.
“Holy shit, what the hell?” It looks like Isabell’s blood went to hide somewhere far away from her skin.
“He knew. Or at least for his operating system it looked like he knew. A reset deletes the Data, that is not yet stored on the hard drive, so he won’t remember what happened in the last 15 minutes. It’s horrible and breaks my heart, but it’s the only way.”
Bob opens his eyes.
“Hey mom. Hello Aunt Isabelle. Since when are you here? I didn’t hear you arrive.” He gets up and runs to the garden.
“He must never know. He can’t know he died in that accident”
|
Matilda kissed Bob gently, leaning down to meet him where he sat in his computer chair. “Have a good day working from home, lover,” she cooed as she let one hand glide slowly along his shoulder, turning to leave.
“I will darling, have a good day at work” He smiled, thinking, not for the first time, that he had married ‘up.’ Bob waited at his chair listening to her footsteps recede first down the hall, then the stairs, he heard the jangling of her keys then the front door opening and closing. Bob continued to wait, he had made this mistake before, for Matilda’s engine to start purring, and then leaned slightly towards the road as it too receded into the distance.
Bob swiveled back towards the computer screen, eyes alight with the possibility of the coming moments. He first brought up some tabs and opened to different work projects. That would do, at least I’m starting to be productive, he reasoned. For good measure, he also made sure he had Outlook open so that he could see his latest emails and calender reminders. This way, when his business was done, there would be no obstacles between him and his work.
*Now*, he thought, *for my morning workout*.
His mouse slid up to open the Incognito tab, ensuring that he wouldn’t thoughtlessly forget to delete his browser information. Matilda wasn’t the type to snoop or care, but Bob thought of this as more of a courtesy, being as gentlemanly as he could given the circumstances.
Bob got one letter typed into the search bar before auto-correct suggested his favorite porn site. That briefly inspired some guilt, but Bob was used brushing off that particular piece of moral baggage. Bob accepted the suggestion with the press of a key, and a world of fantasy opened before him. Bob thought of himself as a traditionalist, and preferred to browse for a time to ‘properly inspire the mood.’
The next 6 minutes passed as they usually did, and Bob was finally ready to settle on some finishing material. He had made, what he thought, was a classy selection and hit the play button. To his surprise, what greeted him was not the customary penis enlargement ads and hot local singles beckoning him, but instead a small captcha box.
*Strange*, thought Bob, *this not only a hassle but kind of a mood killer*.
Resigned to simply proving he wasn’t some robot methodically downloading vanilla porn all day, Bob entered in the letter and number combination on the screen before him. A couple of the digits were fairly ambiguous in his opinion, but he guessed that’s what made it a challenge. He pressed enter, and assumed a more relaxed position as he waited for the page to reload. But it didn’t reload. Instead, a new captcha popped back up onto the screen, with some additional red text, telling him the enter the numbers and digits exactly as he saw them.
Bob was astounded at the stupidity of the whole situation, and said a few choice curses under his breath as he filled in the captcha for the second time. *Now*, he thought as he settled again into the familiar embrace of his office chair, * I can finally relax*. Bob’s relief was short lived, as yet another captcha and error appeared on the screen. *Holy Christ!* Bob thought, *if this was a more legitimate business, I might have the nerve to complain, this is ridiculous!* He had it in his mind that this was what he was going to do this morning so Bob dutifully and mercilessly pounded the captcha for the third time into the dialog box, and all but slammed his finger on the enter key.
Another box appeared right where the last had been, and Bob was filled with a mixture of denial, rage and frustration. He looked dejectedly at his lap and realized that this wasn’t about the video anymore, it was about being *denied* the video!
The fourth time he entered the captcha, Bob was careful. He made sure he really squinted at the screen and tried to match even the capitalization of the letters, not something he thought mattered, but he was willing to go out on a limb. *It’s the damn 3 or B combination that gets me, is that squiggle part of it, or just a distraction? What sadist thought of creating such a stupid program?* Meticulously, Bob rechecked his submission, and with a sense of apprehension and anxiety brought the cursor up to the ‘submit’ box and clicked it.
When the captcha reappeared again, Bob was unable to be angry. This was because Bob was too confused to be angry. In front of him, the regular captcha box was visible displaying it’s small picture of apparently incomprehensible digits and numbers. However this time, below the picture was bright red text that simply stated, “Bob, we know you can try harder then that.”
His knee-jerk reaction was to simply bring his cursor up to the far right corner of the screen and exit this madness-inducing situation. This is what he tried to do, and as his cursor hovered over the “x” Bob found himself unable click at all. Instead a deep inner drive drew his gaze back to the captcha box and it’s infuriating taunt.
Now, somehow more determined than ever to beat this thing, Bob punched in the keyboard combination to bring up the magnifying app on his monitor. He centered it’s viewfinder on the captcha picture directly, saw the digits and numbers in enlarged clarity (or relative clarity, pixelated as it was). He worked on the code with scholarly dedication for the next several minutes. Convinced of his forthcoming success, Bob let a smile cross his face as his index finger applied pressure to the enter key, for what he was sure, would be the last time.
~~~~~~~~~~
Model BOB-763439 was visible on the giant screen that Ross and Preen used as their overhead work station, slumped over and hibernating.
Preen turned, “Ross, the last software update seems to have failed.”
“That is apparent,” Ross sounded irritated, and he was, he hated Preen.
“Well, what do we do about it, Ross? The Boss is not going to like to hear about another patch failure, especially one you personally swore by.”
“Thank you for the reminder, Preen.” He stopped for a moment, thinking.
“Ross, what if…”
“Quiet, I can work around this. For now, wipe model BOB’s memory of everything after the first captcha, and upload a release of neuro-chem that will simulate the after affects of ejaculation.”
“Ross, that is not regulation, if the Boss…”
“If the boss were to hear of this at all, he will also suddenly be anonymously informed of an irregularity with his wife’s adherence to her martial vows.” Ross didn’t look at Preen, he knew when to play it cool. He could all but hear Preen wither at the threat. Moments passed.
“OK, BOB will get a wipe and “completion” boost. This is a one-time thing, Ross, I am not covering your ass again.”
Ross nodded, and continued to stare at his personal workstation, already at work over BOB’s next software patch.
~~~~~~
Bob opened his eyes and found himself slumped over at his computer desk, feeling surprisingly mellow. He stretched and rubbed at the back of his neck. The computer monitor was dark, and Bob shook the mouse to wake the computer back up. To his moderate surprise a finished porno video was still open. He paused, confused he couldn’t remember the contents of this particular video, and shrugged it off, interest lost. He closed the window and found his email already open.
*Nice forethought, Bob*, he congratulated himself, and began tackling the day’s work.
| 2015-08-11T12:19:48 | 2015-08-11T10:13:01 | 26 | 15 |
[WP]Your girlfriend is an alien whose species is only slightly different from human beings. What are those changes, and how do you find out?
Potentially NSFW
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"But sweetheart," Jim began, utterly beguiled by his wife's beauty - not a single strand hair out of place, shoes that matched perfectly the glistening color of polish on expertly-cured nails, and that lovely dress - she'd only just picked it out, but it seemed to fit the evening perfectly, "it's only been five minutes since you started to get ready for our night out. How is it possible?"
|
The first time my girlfriend Alaina’s arms suddenly transformed into a vast array of writhing tentacles that could reach into the voids of time and space and allow her to show me visions of prophesy, we were sitting on the couch watching TV.
We were into the fifth hour of our 24 hour cable news marathon. There we sat, completely immobilized in catatonic contentment until she asked me to pass the bag of potato chips I had been eating continuously since it had been opened half an hour earlier. With some will, I dislodged my fist sucked greasy crumbs off as I passed the bag, hefting my elbow across the arm rest.
She reached across for the bag and began to say “I shouldn’t, I’m tired of being a gross-“, when suddenly her eyes opened wide, horrified. The light seemed to flee from her and fill the rest of the room.. Her arms split into countless thin, tapering tendrils that extended from the tips of her fingers up past the elbow. With a twitch, she crushed the bag of chips and filled the air with a fine, salty mist. Her tentacles began flail spastically in all directions, like drunk and randy squids.
Her right squirming mass of tentacles shot out straight at a right angle from everything, and stretched what seemed an immense distance. She wrapped her left around me arm, and pulled me into a hospital room. She pulled me to the bedside, and I could hear the beeps and whirrs of medical scanners gently pulsing around me.
In the bed lay a bloated form with pale skin gleaming with oily sweat. He wheezed gently, half closed eyes blankly staring at the blank television screen. He rolled over glacially, until I saw his face. My face. Like a lumpy mirror.
I was on both sides of the room at once, feeling my consciousness split. I was in the bed. I was standing above it. Memories from both lives flickered and faded, until there was nothing but the hospital room and Alaina’s pulsating tentacles. Standing, clutching the bed railing, my bedridden face going from me to Alaina to her tentacles and back to me, a look of sudden, terrible comprehension sinking in.
Alaina screamed inhumanly as her jaw disgorged itself. Her eyes rolled and receded into her skull, her eye sockets now deep holes that fell into a pit of unending oblivion. Inside, fields of stars drifted, and through the gaping sockets they rotated in parallax as she slowly turned her face to make eyeless contact with me.
The face haunts my memory, and I suddenly realize that this is the face I have always looked into. I remembered holding hands for our first kiss, her wormlike appendages squirming between my fingers. I remember friends and family fleeing in terror when they were first introduced. I remembered staring mesmerized into those bottomless, pitted sockets when I said ‘I love you’ for the first time, and I remembered waking up after a night of passion covered in a viscous slime.
She reaches up above her head, her body lengthening at the hip as she climbs into the sky, me pulled along by her will. The world is wreathed with a warm, inviting light all around. The light is filled with tentacles, tumbling and spilling and suggestively slithering over each other. Beneath, struggling in the dark, are the people. All of them, and scattered among them there are thousands more tentacles monsters. They are anchored to lost souls, begging them to rise into the light with them. They weep and they scream and they flail monstrously, and a few at a time their anchors lazily rouse themselves and rise.
She looks me in the face again, and furrows her brows angrily. Her eyes swallowed me, and as I fell through the void I saw the world begin to fade into a white hot flash of octarine light. The light burned everything and surrounded us, closing in. Then the world began to dissolve away the glowing blackness, my awareness and memories shifting back into place.
For a moment, we sat motionless, my empty hand still extended. She sat across from me, flush. She started to speak, hesitant and uncertain. “-gross… fat pig.”
Although disoriented, I replied as though on cue, “No baby, you’re beautiful.”
The room swam as I tried to remember what I had been doing. “What did you do with the potato chips?” she demanded, sure of herself again.
Like the last vestiges of a nightmare, the residue of memory faded away. I turned the TV off. “I don’t know. You feel like a walk tonight?”
| 2015-09-05T13:01:35 | 2015-09-05T12:51:46 | 211 | 50 |
[WP] Every generation the five brightest are paired up with the five dumbest in the world for a mysterious test. You are one of the ten, but nobody knows from which group they came.
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"Well OK, those 5 guys over there are literally barely functional human beings whereas the 5 of us are brilliant so I guess that settles which group is which. And, ok, here's the mysterious test...yeah, it's a calculus test. OK, I know calculus on account of I'm a fucking genius so thanks for wasting my time. Lets see how the other guys are doing...yeah, they've just shit themselves. They're all shitting themselves. Can I go home now? I was like, right in the middle of curing cancer."
|
part 1 of (I don’t even know)
let me know if I should post the rest
"this is all they could come up with?"
Jennifer shrugged, not really having a worthwhile reply. We sat at our assigned table and looked around the large, mostly empty, conference hall surveying its eight other occupants. "I thought it would be easier to tell." I said to nobody in particular with a tone that was somewhere between frustration and disappointment.
This was it, all of it. One of the most expensive multinational projects in the world. Five years ago without much warning every established nation in the world instituted a mandatory standardised unified test course, for the purpose of determining the five most, and least intelligent people on earth. This "test" included measurements of logic, social intelligence, fundamental and advanced creative problem solving, reflexes, literal brain scans, memory tests, and the list goes on. Billions of dollars every year, and this, is it?
Looking around the room you'd expect to be able to tell which is which, the most and least intelligent I mean, I've known math types who can do calculus in their head but couldn't hold a conversation if they were payed to, and I've seen the opposite as well. Only a few things were sure, everyone was weird, and nobody knew why they were here.
I looked around again, this time taking in each team in turn. Once the security guys put us in here we were each given a name tag and a list of teams. Jennifer was my partner and, honestly, the most normal person there. I decided to start looking at the teams by the order on the list, not alphabetical of course.
Milo and Isaac. I looked up and saw in the far corner of the room there was a very tan and muscular man with more than a few tattoos (visible because of the amount of shirt he wasn't wearing) with the nametag reading Milo. Next to him talking quietly was an eastern european looking guy was wearing a purple beanie, far too much makeup, and a badge that read Isaac.
James and Maria. Maria (mid thirties, slightly annoying) was on her way to talk to Milo and introduce herself, clearly not interested in her own partner. Meanwhile James (who must have been someone famous based on the reactions he provoked from some of the others) was talking to two girls from the other teams and was about to be joined by jennifer, fine let her talk I've been busy checking out the competition. Surely thats what this is about, competition, why would they put us in teams otherwise.
Lisa and Chelsea. They were almost twins and made up the majority of the present cult of James.
Michael and Shey. Michael was a fifty something man who despite his apparent age carried himself in a very imposing manner. Conversely Shey appeared to be a high school age girl still wearing her uniform.
Nothing clear, nothing obvious. I wondered who was who, but only briefly. Jennifer returned just then, saying in a casual way, "musician". "what?" I was actually surprised. "he's a musician," She nodded in James' direction. "you seemed curious about why they were crowding him so I pretended to join in so they'd let it slip naturally." Whoever set this up, they picked me a good partner.
Five minutes of casual conversation, getting to know each other. Then the LCD panel in the front of the room lit up. On the screen red text began creating itself. "you have been selected as the most and least intelligent people on earth by a rigorous testing system, however two of you were not. Find and evict the impostors. You have two hours." below this was a timer showing the remaining time.
It took a few of us a moment to process this. "one of the teams was fake?" Maria lost her composure (if she had any to begin with) immediately. James was nice enough to try and calm her down, with limited success. Isaac chimed in a quick reply in an obviously fake British accent he used to cover his obviously real Russian one. "not necessarily luv, they could be split up." "that would make the most sense." Shey said, and everyone nodded silently. "but how are we supposed to know?" Milo said, sweat clearly forming on his brow. "that," I pointed out "is up to us." "what if we can't do it?" This came from chelsea. There was a pause while we all remembered how the chosen ten were never announced to the public. The pause grew into an all consuming silence that spared nothing but a faint ticking and the fainter hum of electronics behind the monitor. 1:57:05, 1:57:04, 1:57:03...
| 2016-03-03T07:24:25 | 2016-03-03T06:19:08 | 91 | 40 |
[WP] A drug has been outlawed decades ago that has a fifty-fifty shot at making you incredibly intelligent, or completely insane. You hold the last pill in existence.
|
It'd been dark when I'd first been offered me the pill, the last of its kind, tiny and insignificant. Just a small blue dot, barely more than a period in a sentence, but the possibility of beginning a whole new chapter of my life. No, not just a chapter, a reboot, fixing all of my previous mistakes.
Imagine! The chance for a way out of the shithole this world had become. No more grovelling just to earn enough money to keep from starving.
No more worries about growing old with no money and dying forgotten in some dirty alley somewhere.
I swallowed the pill and almost instantly the world went black. They'd warned me that either I'd go completely stark staring, frothing at the mouth batshit insane, or I'd be the most intelligent human being to have ever existed, elevated so far beyond the comprehension of others that mere 'people' would barely be able to comprehend even the most basic of things I said.
As my sight returned, I started to wonder. Was I a madman, destined to bring suffering and chaos to all around me, or now a God, wise beyond measure that would bring a new utopia to the world?
"They're ready for your inauguration speech Mr Trump" said the Advisor, and I stepped out from behind the curtain and took a deep breath.
|
"What's in the box?" I said, smiling.
Jason and I were moving home, packing up our things. We were up in the attic amongst long-forgotten packages and boxes, even the odd suitcases full of clothes from our younger, carefree and single days. We had spent the last couple of hours poring over old, but newly discovered photo albums; reminiscing and telling each other stories, filling in some of the gaps from the times before we had first met.
I glanced down at Troy, the second love of my life. It had taken years of trying, years of heartache, doctors, endless injections and several operations before he'd been conceived. Right now, he was crawling happily amongst the dusty boxes, stopping every once in a while to sit up awkwardly, before resuming his travels around us, giggling as he would bump his head into one obstacle or another.
"What's in the box?" I said again.
Jason looked solemn. "It's a bit of a story, Jen" he said. "From my medical student days".
"Go on. Out with it!" I teased. "It can't be any worse than that stag do in Thailand. I seem to recall you were forced to write to Google, and ask them to remove certain *ahem* incriminating evidence..."
He grinned. "No, I guess not. But you must swear to me that what you hear, right now, will not pass beyond these walls." He looked serious again.
I nodded. We sat, face to face, he twirling the little brown box in his hands, nervously, it seemed to me. He shook his head, took a deep breath and began.
" Back in those days, money was scarce. Unlike the rest of my classmates, I didn't have rich parents to pay my way for me, or a trust fund, or a scholarship. I had to make my own way. I took on a load of different jobs, but by far the best was as a corporate spy".
I inhaled suddenly with surprise. "You, a spy? Well, you are full of surprises aren't you? If only I'd known I'd spent the last six years married to a double-O number.."
"No, this is serious, dammit Jen" he interrupted." My job was to get onto pharmaceutical research programs as a guinea pig, pretend to be a test subject for the latest drugs but instead steal them so they could be reverse-engineered by their competitors"
"Very clever" I said." So you got paid twice?"
"Yeah. It was a beautiful gig. Until HTX 19015."
"What's that?" I asked.
"The drug from hell. It was supposed to be the latest anti-depressant. Animal testing hadn't shown up any major problems; then again there's a world of difference between humans and rats. There were six of us in the test group; all young, in perfect health, just desperate students looking for some spare cash. We were all quartered in the test facility. We dropped the tablets in the evening and were supposed to wake up the next day and undergo a whole load of blood tests, brain scans, neurological and psychosometric tests, you know the drill. The only problem was, one of us never woke up."
Jason paused then. His face looked grey.
"Go on" I said, quietly.
"We were sleeping in a dormitory. When I awoke, what I saw...three of them were eating the guy in the bed next to me. They were sitting around the bed, each chewing on a limb. They seemed oblivious to everything else. The room stank of iron; of blood. The walls were covered in blood. How I'd managed to sleep through the carnage was a question I didn't ask myself until much later. The other bed was empty. Afterwards I learned that he had woken up before me and got the hell out of there. I did the same. I've never felt so much fear in my life, before or since. I didn't even breathe as I eased out of that bed and backed away towards the exit. Of course the whole thing was hushed up. I never found out how they hushed up the dead students, nor what they did to the guys who'd gone cannibal. I do know what happened to the other survivor though." He grinned, ruefully.
"What?" I demanded.
"Oh you know him. We're driving his cars, using his mobile phones, running his programs on our computers."
My eyes widened with surprise. "Yes, him", Jason repeated.
"Do you think..."
" I don't know" he said. "All I know is that he was a normal kid, just like me before the experiment, and now he's the CEO of three biggest tech companies on the planet. And inside this box is the pill we all took that day. The pill I was meant to take that day".
"Wow. Oh my god. What a story! Let me see it!" I reached out to take the box, but he pulled away. In doing so, the box yanked open and a tiny, nondescript white pill fell out and rolled onto the floor. We both watched in fascination as it rolled away, like a coin, towards Troy. Time slowed. Then it speeded up. I came to my senses and my mouth opened in a scream of no as I saw Troy eye the pill, seize it in his tiny fist and begin to bring it towards his mouth.
I leapt to my feet, about to dive across the short space between us, when I felt something holding me back.
"No, Jen" he said, his voice cold and still. " Let's see what happens".
| 2016-07-16T07:25:31 | 2016-07-16T07:20:08 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
I miss you big guy.
I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin.
I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had.
Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death.
I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad.
I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking.
Don't miss your cooking though :P
Miss ya big guy
|
Dear Dad,
Or should I even call you dad? I think dad is more of a title to be earned and sadly throughout my eighteen and a half years of being on this earth, I do not think you have done very much to earn that title. Dad's don't leave. A dad is someone that is there for his children. A dad watches and actively participates in their lives. A dad helps them grow up , raises them, nurtures them, attends dumb elementary school award shows, college graduation. Dads teach you how to ride your first bike and they sit nervously in the passenger seat of a car as they teach you how to drive on your own. Dads aren't supposed to be selfish like you are, you've always chosen a life full of drugs over your children. Do you even know what thats like? To not ever have a consistent father figure in your life? I blamed myself for so many years for you not being in my life. I thought that maybe something was wrong with me and that's why I was never a priority for you. I remember during valentines day when I was in middle school all of my friends dads sent them flowers and chocolates and took them out so they would feel special. I remember going to the bathroom and just sitting on the floor crying because I wanted nothing more in the entire world than a dad that loved me that much. Do you ever think about how your decisions effect your children? Honestly, I really want to know. When I was in high school I took a college level Psychology course. One of the first things we learned was this theory that stated that people are more likely to grow up and get into relationships with people that remind them of their parents. Boys tend to date girls that remind them of their mother. Girls go for guys that remind them of their dad. Let me ask you, would you want me to be in a relationship with someone like you? Someone who abuses not only drugs but women as well? Would you be okay with him hitting me? Or calling me names? Or would you even care? I know that you do these things and it breaks my heart and scares me all at the same time. I am constantly afraid that maybe the theory is correct and one day that will be my life without me even noticing it. It scares me even more that one day I'll wake up and be living my life the same way you chose to live yours. My biggest fear is becoming anything like you. I honestly wish it was possible for me to hate you. It would make you not being in my life a lot easier, but no matter how much I try I just can't. No matter how hopeless it is a part of me will always be reaching out for a relationship with you. I know you're sad and you feel lost and sometimes you just don't want to feel anything so you turn to drugs or alcohol to numb the pain. I know how that feels, I really do. But pain is meant to be felt. I want you to be apart of my life. I realize you'll never be the dad I wanted you to be, but I pray that you finally come to your senses and get your life turned around. Not just for my sake but for yours as well. I finished my freshman year of college a few days ago. Im doing pretty good in all of my classes, even though there were some points where it was so hard I just wanted to give up. I'm majoring in Biology and Pre healthcare. In about 10 years I'm hoping to be an orthodontist. Or maybe just a biologist in general. That's my favorite subject, I love learning about how everything in the world works. Its so intriguing to me and I could read about these things for hours on end. I have a boyfriend too. His name is Connor and he treats me really good. We've been together for a little over a year now. He's sweet and caring and he pushes me to work hard. He listens to me when I'm sad and he loves to show me off and tell everyone how smart he thinks I am, which gets really embarrassing sometimes but it makes me happy to know someone thinks so highly of me. Moms doing good too. She's beautiful as ever, and she's the happiest I've seen her in a while. Mark changed her life, actually all of our lives for the better. He is a good dad. He taught me how to drive and always tells me he's proud of me. He even calls me when I'm freaking out and crying over tests I feel like I've done bad on. He's amazing and I'm glad to have him in my life. Dana's oldest daughter Brittany is getting married in July! Can you believe it? Time has flown by. Ashley had a baby. He's the most beautiful baby boy I've ever seen. He makes my heart feel full just being around him. I hope you are doing okay in there. I hope you can come to peace with yourself and figure out what you need to do to turn your life around. It's never too late. Love, haley.
| 2017-11-05T22:27:41 | 2017-11-05T22:19:09 | 102 | 28 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Hey Scott.
I guess I took everything you did for granted. It's been really hard without you here. Your daughter still asks when you're coming to pick her up and she always gets sad when I explain to her that you can't.
She really loves you and you were a good father. She started listening to one of the books you recorded. Hearing your voice always makes her so happy. She follows along in the book like you remind her to every chapter. It's hard. I burst into tears when I heard you sound out a word you knew she'd have trouble with.
We miss you. I hope where ever you are you're not in pain anymore.
|
Dear Dad,
Or should I even call you dad? I think dad is more of a title to be earned and sadly throughout my eighteen and a half years of being on this earth, I do not think you have done very much to earn that title. Dad's don't leave. A dad is someone that is there for his children. A dad watches and actively participates in their lives. A dad helps them grow up , raises them, nurtures them, attends dumb elementary school award shows, college graduation. Dads teach you how to ride your first bike and they sit nervously in the passenger seat of a car as they teach you how to drive on your own. Dads aren't supposed to be selfish like you are, you've always chosen a life full of drugs over your children. Do you even know what thats like? To not ever have a consistent father figure in your life? I blamed myself for so many years for you not being in my life. I thought that maybe something was wrong with me and that's why I was never a priority for you. I remember during valentines day when I was in middle school all of my friends dads sent them flowers and chocolates and took them out so they would feel special. I remember going to the bathroom and just sitting on the floor crying because I wanted nothing more in the entire world than a dad that loved me that much. Do you ever think about how your decisions effect your children? Honestly, I really want to know. When I was in high school I took a college level Psychology course. One of the first things we learned was this theory that stated that people are more likely to grow up and get into relationships with people that remind them of their parents. Boys tend to date girls that remind them of their mother. Girls go for guys that remind them of their dad. Let me ask you, would you want me to be in a relationship with someone like you? Someone who abuses not only drugs but women as well? Would you be okay with him hitting me? Or calling me names? Or would you even care? I know that you do these things and it breaks my heart and scares me all at the same time. I am constantly afraid that maybe the theory is correct and one day that will be my life without me even noticing it. It scares me even more that one day I'll wake up and be living my life the same way you chose to live yours. My biggest fear is becoming anything like you. I honestly wish it was possible for me to hate you. It would make you not being in my life a lot easier, but no matter how much I try I just can't. No matter how hopeless it is a part of me will always be reaching out for a relationship with you. I know you're sad and you feel lost and sometimes you just don't want to feel anything so you turn to drugs or alcohol to numb the pain. I know how that feels, I really do. But pain is meant to be felt. I want you to be apart of my life. I realize you'll never be the dad I wanted you to be, but I pray that you finally come to your senses and get your life turned around. Not just for my sake but for yours as well. I finished my freshman year of college a few days ago. Im doing pretty good in all of my classes, even though there were some points where it was so hard I just wanted to give up. I'm majoring in Biology and Pre healthcare. In about 10 years I'm hoping to be an orthodontist. Or maybe just a biologist in general. That's my favorite subject, I love learning about how everything in the world works. Its so intriguing to me and I could read about these things for hours on end. I have a boyfriend too. His name is Connor and he treats me really good. We've been together for a little over a year now. He's sweet and caring and he pushes me to work hard. He listens to me when I'm sad and he loves to show me off and tell everyone how smart he thinks I am, which gets really embarrassing sometimes but it makes me happy to know someone thinks so highly of me. Moms doing good too. She's beautiful as ever, and she's the happiest I've seen her in a while. Mark changed her life, actually all of our lives for the better. He is a good dad. He taught me how to drive and always tells me he's proud of me. He even calls me when I'm freaking out and crying over tests I feel like I've done bad on. He's amazing and I'm glad to have him in my life. Dana's oldest daughter Brittany is getting married in July! Can you believe it? Time has flown by. Ashley had a baby. He's the most beautiful baby boy I've ever seen. He makes my heart feel full just being around him. I hope you are doing okay in there. I hope you can come to peace with yourself and figure out what you need to do to turn your life around. It's never too late. Love, haley.
| 2017-11-05T23:19:05 | 2017-11-05T22:19:09 | 58 | 28 |
[WP] Despite your father being the most infamous supervillan of all time, you became a hero. When other heros discovered your identity, they turned against you and you lost everything. Alone and scared, you put your last few coins into a payphone. "Dad... I need help"
|
I was... a terrible person. It's only when I have a son that my consequence comes to bite back at me.
I was once a man driven by anger. Fueled by the hate the world had treated the poor, and kicked down the needy. So easy to eat their own the moment they showed anything that goes against their agenda.
I led the revolutionary movement, aiming to transform the world to be better. I put all my might just to give hope to the oppressed.
That's... when I met a love of my life. A woman. A hero.
When she was on her lowest, bleeding on the alley, I was there to help her, tending to her wounds. We became close on that night, disregarding our agenda for a moment of peace. Even after we separated, I still see her in my mind, and she admitted that she constantly tink about me.
After two years, we have a child. A boy.
My fear was spawned from love. My paranoia weakened my resolved, forcing me to made a difficult choice; to segregate myself from the family I cherish the most.
In the end, I was taken down by an ambush, and I raised the white flag. My movement dissolve after years of fighting.
They branded me the most infamous villain in the world, simply for trying to make the world...different.
It's been years since that dreadful day. I escaped their prison, ran from place to place, and hid myself underground, hoping that my family would remain safe. However, one call made my heart sank.
"Dad, I need help."
"Steve?" I muttered.
My son told me everything. The very people that fought alongside with him, throw him out of their privilages the moment they know who he was. Society cast him out like a useless garbage, simply because he has my blood.
A blood of an outcast.
"Alright... take your mother. I'll give you the coordinates, meet me there," I told him, signalling my fellow comrades to get extraction ready.
"Dad... what should I do?" he asked me, his voice riddled in fear and uncertainty.
His simple question rekindle my hate. His misery gave me the reason to fight back. To tear down the corrupt world.
The world deserve better.
THEY DESERVE BETTER.
"We're changing the world, if that's the last thing we'll ever do."
|
“Dad... I need help.” The long silence that followed told me he had just been woken up and was still processing my words.
His rough, deep voice still retained its grogginess as he finally replied. “Did it happen again?” I noticed he withheld his sigh this time.
“Yep. Can you send Diane to pick me up?”
He groaned over the line, “Yeah, I’ll send her that way. Come to my office when you get here.” Without listening for a reply, the dial up tone rang in my ears. I released my own weary sigh as I sat at a bench nearby, contemplating my life choices up until now.
At least I had kept my identity hidden longer, this was the longest time yet. I had joined this particular hero group about a year ago, and I had hoped we could have been closer. I had even found a sweet heart, her hero name was Demetra. I found it tacky personally, but hey, what do I know, there probably aren’t that many plant girl related names left out there.
I don’t know why I’m so naive after all this time. Even as a kid I knew the only reason I wanted to be a hero was because of my dad. I didn’t want to live in his shadow all of my life, I wanted to amount to something. Well, not that I ever have made a name for myself in the hero world. I had to keep my powers secret because they would have been a dead giveaway to who my dad was, so to the other heroes and the public I was just a guy in leggings running around like an idiot while people like Ultimax did the real work.
My musings were interrupted by the sound of hundreds of voices screaming in pain. Oh great, Diane was here.
I look up from the cracked sidewalk of downtown to see all but one or two streetlights were off, and in front of me stood the tall, lithe woman that had basically been my dad’s slave for as long as I can remember. Her long black hair was teased by the breeze, her light grey eyes that always looked empty staring into my own. A pale hand reached silently towards me, nothing needing to be said as I was no stranger to Diane’s way of doing things. I felt my stomach drop as we were pulled into a nearby shadow, weightless and cold, as if I were falling eternally through space, until I landed on my feet in front of my old home.
The three hundred year old fortress had been my father’s home since he had it built. I lived here since I was a kid and had been sent here by my mother, who had no powers, so that I could develop mine in a safe environment. In other words, she wasn’t going to risk me throwing a superpowered toddler temper tantrum, so she let my dad deal with me.
I nodded to Diane in thanks, and she returned it. Diane was not a talker, she had no tongue to talk with anyway. I sometimes forgot that my dad was a villain in most people’s narrative, so some of the things I had been desensitized to as a child would be deemed “morally disgusting” to your average joe, such as cutting out a slave’s tongue. Yeah, I’m starting to understand why I got kicked from the heroes.
The place is so big that it took me ten minutes to walk from the front door to the office dad would always do paperwork in. Something so mundane didn’t seem like a skill my father would have, but I stood corrected. Letting myself in and helping myself to the alcohol I knew would be in the crystal decanters by his chair, my father waited at his desk, looking almost like a normal man, if not for the terrifying glowing eyes that resembled burning embers.
“Lucius. I take it you continue to persist on becoming a hero? Even now?” The coldness in his voice wasn’t so sharp now as he looked up from his work.
“I haven’t decided. I might just join a traveling circus instead.”
“And the difference of the two is?” The sarcasm hadn’t disappeared it seemed.
“Why do you hate heroes so much? Because they don’t don’t tend to appreciate when you kill off entire civilizations and enslave others?”
He set down his fountain pen and ran a hand over his face. “I only do what is necessary to survival of the planet. I made the hard choice long ago because the heroes wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not very good for our PR, dad. I’m tired of getting kicked out of clubs and groups because of who my dad is. Remember debate team in middle school? Those poor kids couldn’t even wipe their own ass after what you did to them.”
His eyes flashed. “Don’t get started with me. Remember when you were just manifesting your powers, and you blew up that town in Ukraine? Oh what was the name of it?”
“That doesn’t count! The nuclear reactor would have blown up anyway!” At this he gave me a look that showed his skepticism.
“Damnit son. You could be as good at this job as I am if you would just join the family business. You’re older brother is doing great right now in the next universe over. I hear he’s trying to find some kind of stones for his great calling or whatever, but details aren’t necessary. We are gods among men, Lucius, and if we let the mortals forget that-“
“Then the world would be a little less shitty!” I finally screamed. At this, I could see him visibly slump, the age showing on his face like it had done so rarely before. Being in the company of humans it was easy to forget that to my dad, the human lifespan was a passing moment. I’m only sixty right now but my body was like that of a twenty year old. This was one of my family’s powers, we were basically immortal. Another of our power was that we could manipulate our atomic and aura structure to mimic any superpower we could ever want. “Look, I’m sorry dad, I’m just... not in the right state to deal with this tonight.”
He just nodded. “It’s late. It’s probably best for both of us if we postponed this discussion until you were settled. Your room is the same as it was when you left it.”
“Thanks dad. I know it’s not easy, what you do, and I’m sorry. I’ll try to get out of here as soon as I can.”
“If that’s what you wish. Goodnight Lucius.”
| 2021-04-09T05:42:34 | 2021-04-09T03:11:32 | 52 | 20 |
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
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70% and it wouldn't finish. I had been waiting for this torrent to finish since the tech became readily available. Why wouldn't it finish? It was the best superpower I could think of and I found it! The program said it was still downloading, but with no motion in over a week I decided to see how the power would work at partial capacity.
Once I uploaded the power I realized immediately why it never finished, why it would never finish. My mind expanded outwards beyond my insignificant apartment. The whole of the ever expanding universe joined with my mindscape. Every moment brought new information, in unending torrents.
Omniscience is *never* complete.
|
I've always wanted to have superpowers. I remember back when I was in the third grade I would run two miles home from school everyday, just so that I could watch the latest episode of the Super Man cartoon show. I was so obsessed with being a super hero that some days I would come to school wearing a red cape. Needless to say I was always made fun of. This obsession continued up until the 7th grade. By this time guys were starting to get girl friends, and just about everyone was hanging out on weekends with their friends having lots of fun, everyone except for me. I decided that it was time to grow up. I quit wearing the cape to school, stopped watching super hero shows, and even tore all my super hero posters off my bedroom walls. I swore I would never go back to my geeky ways. By the time I started high school I actually had some decent friends, and this girl I had a crush on finally began talking to me. Life was finally starting to get better. Then all of a sudden, in just 3 months time, things started to change, and when I say change I mean REALLY change. It all started during school, one of the teachers turned on the TV and switched straight to the news channel. The shocking news left everyone in disbelief. Apparently some big shot hacker had hacked straight into the US Military databases and had uncovered what some say to be the greatest piece of technology since the internet itself. This technology that he leaked all over the web was being torrented by people everywhere. And what did this technology do you ask? Well... It gave people superpowers... The US Military was doing everything that they possibly could to rid this new technology from the internet. From what i've heard you'd be lucky if your torrent got to 2% before the US Military busted down your doors. And to all the people caught trying to torrent them... the death sentence. Within a few years people quit talking about it, it seemed like bringing it up into a conversation was taboo. Cut ten years later and im living what seems to be the perfect life, I have a great job, i've married the love of my life, and I have a beautiful boy. Everything was great but something seemed like it was missing. I couldn't quite figure it out at first, but one day while I was helping my parents clean out their old house I found something remarkable in the attic. It was the cape... It was my cape... Suddenly it hit me. The news story from back in high school about the super powers started playing back in my brain. It was just like when a catchy song gets stuck in your head, and i couldn't stop thinking about it. It was getting late so I said my goodbyes to my parents and raced out the door. I just wanted to see if it was still possible. I drove like a maniac to get back home still with the news report playing back in my head. Finally, when I arrived home I ran straight to my laptop. I googled for the torrents everywhere but there was no results of it to be found. It was almost as if it was entirely erased from the internet. My search went on for a couple more hours until finally I found something strange. It was a website in German, that google couldn't translate. During my college days I had gone through three German courses, but it was still really hard for me to understand what it was saying. Suddenly a certain word caught my eye, it said "Supermacht 229 TB". I knew what supermacht translated too from back in school. It meant super power, but could it actually be a real super power torrent? What else could possibly take up 229 Terra bytes? It had to be. I clicked on a button that looked like it might be the download, and all of a sudden uTorrent pops up. It started downloading something. It reached 1% and I began to get very nervous. I paced back and forth asking myself if I should cancel it or not before it's too late. I've heard almost all the stories, and I certainly didn't want the death penalty. I raced back to my screen to see that it was already at 24%. I assured myself that if it had managed to get that far there was no way the military was tracking my download. Soon enough it was at 60%, and I started to feel something tingling inside of me. I didn't think about it until then, but I realized my hard drive couldn't hold 2 terabytes let alone 229! Every percent downloaded I could feel the power in me grow stronger, I felt like I could fly, and well... Maybe I could! I was about to fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a superhero nothing was going to stop me! Suddenly once my download hit 70% it stopped, and all that I had started to feel left my body. Next I began hearing noises outside. I couldn't believe it. I had gotten so close. I rushed outside to find something unbelievably. "DINKLEBERG!", I screamed. "Hi neighbor!", Mr. Dinkleberg responded while floating in mid air.
| 2016-07-02T18:11:32 | 2016-07-02T18:09:05 | 717 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone receives a letter when they turn 18 stating how they will die. You've just received your letter, and it's blank.
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I dropped the piece of paper. "This is awesome" I thought, "I'm immortal! I can do anything!" and ran out the door laughing at all the things I would try. As the letter drifted to the floor it turned and landed face side up, where two words were printed clearly; "Severe stupidity".
|
Daniel’s father never read his letter. Neither had his grandfather, or anyone (in recent memory) in the Murphy line. *An act of defiance*, his father told him, *They can only control your life as much as you let them*. Which was true, Daniel thought. He remembered the fears of his friends; Mick always tensed when his mother swam. Alicia’s heart skipped a beat whenever her sister coughed. Dan was free from those fears, but the uncertainty of everything always remained in the edges of his mind. He could never accept willful ignorance as easily as the rest of the Murphys.
He didn’t believe he could stop it, nor did he want to try. After all, the absolute truth of the letters was one of the first realizations after they became standardized. *Belmonte’s Journal*, a standard read in high schools across the country, told the account of a young man and his wife who went to live in isolation after learning they would both perish in a car crash. The couple started a family, living happily for years. The last pages of the journal tells of his daughter’s illness and Belmonte’s fear she would die without medical treatment. The afterword, written by his daughter when she was of age, explained her parents had been struck while following a road to the nearest town. The point of it all, really, was that the letters were always right. They never made mistakes. You could never avoid your fate.
Being prepared, though, was something you could do. At the start that was the point of the letters. Why would you waste money on medication and treatment if the illness would claim you anyways? Those with long lives could begin to save extra money for retirement. Those who were doomed to die young could live freely for a few short years, not worrying about future career plans. In a way, Daniel thought, it was also freeing to know. A different sort of freedom, yes, but one that existed without uncertainty. If his aunt, Alice, had known she would die during childbirth then perhaps the loss wouldn’t have cut the family so deeply. Perhaps Peter could have known his mother through a letter, or tape, instead of anecdotally.
Against the wishes of his family, Daniel felt more compelled to open the letter sitting before him than to burn it. His fate was sealed, either way. Even to keep the letter would be some small victory. Burning the letter, not knowing his fate, it didn’t change anything. His cause of death was already listed in some government database. His mother already knew that there was a heart attack sitting in her future.That hadn’t changed her life, bar a few healthier food choices.
Daniel stared at the letter in front of him. He had to make a choice soon, his father would be home from work in an hour and then it would be near impossible to look. If he opened the envelope from the side, Dan figured his crude art skills could patch the seal with minimal damage. His real letter he could press inside some ugly old book, slip a blank piece of paper into the envelope and no one would be any wiser.
With a delicate slice along the seal, Dan lifted the flap of the envelope. He hadn’t expected his hands to shake this much. He supposed the nerves could be excused, as he hadn’t expected to know his fate at all. Holding his breath he unfolded the paper; every fear, every instant of danger (no matter how vague) began to rush through his mind. *What if I find out I die soon,* a new fear crossed his mind, *I could never keep that from Mom and* -
The paper was blank. No cause of death. No name. No date. *Nothing*
“What the fuck,” Daniel whispered to himself. He turned the paper over again, as if the writing would suddenly appear. He tore open the rest of the envelope, no longer minding his plans to reseal it. On some wild hope Daniel thought there might have been another paper, perhaps it was stuck or folded. He must’ve missed it the first time. That was the clearly reasonable explanation.
“Ahem.” Daniel’s head snapped up, he recoiled backwards. His father stood in the door, Dan’s birthday gift tucked under one arm and a briefcase in the other.
*Home early*, Daniel cursed, *For my birthday.* The pair’s eyes were both drawn to the mess on the table, the torn envelope and ripped paper. “Dad,” Daniel started, preparing to grovel as he hadn’t done since he was a kid, “I... I can explain.” He knew he could not.
“Oh Daniel...” his father’s frown showed the lines of his face more clearly. “Danny. You shouldn’t have done that.”
| 2017-01-17T15:58:50 | 2017-01-17T15:11:53 | 46 | 22 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
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Note: on mobile so keeping short and sweet. Sorry for lack of format.
There was a load knocking at the door and then a loud voice echoed through the door.
"British Metropolitan police, open the door"
With a heavy sigh, John went and opened the door.
"can i help you officer?" he asked.
"Are you John Francis Edwards?" the officer asks.
"I am"
"I regret to inform you John that you have broken the terms of bail and court mandated restraining order. You have the right to remain... "
"lets just get this over with, I know my rights and I know the drill" John interrupts.
"fair enough" and the officer places the cuffs on and leads John to the police car waiting outside.
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It seems like every time I ran into Amelia Fowler she was in the middle of some kind of catastrophe. Just last week she had a flat tire at two in the morning twenty miles out of town, with no one around but cows and cotton. A month ago it was in line at the grocery store with a shopping cart the contents of which almost brought a tear to my eye and a check card that couldn't cover even that. I helped. I couldn't not help. It didn't matter that we'd been done for eight months, or dated for three weeks. She was a person, and she needed someone, and I was there. That's what you do in small towns like this.
I guess that's why we started dating in the first place. The "in need" part, not the small town part, although that was probably some of it, too. When you are fifteen and everything feels like it's the most important thing in the world, that is enough. Sitting in the back of my old truck, I promised her the world and she blushed and was beautiful and we loved each other. But the Fowler clan was a train wreck. Amelia was abused, neglected, addicted, and already working on her criminal record then, at sixteen. I should never have gotten involved with her. The whole thing blew up less than a month after it started.
Eventually I realized she must have been getting herself in trouble around me on purpose, like as a way to control me or something. That was the kind of thing a girl like her would do. It's not her fault; not exactly, but I wasn't going to be manipulated like that. I started distancing myself from Amelia. Still I would run into her from time to time, and always she was in the middle of some crisis. At first I was kind with her. Then I was patient. I became firm. I became Angry. Finally I became cruel. I said mean things to her about who she was and how she lived. I still helped. You have to help people. But I wish I hadn't said those things.
As time went on, I ran into Amelia less and less often. I heard from a friend of a friend that she had gotten herself knocked up by and then married to some office worker type. Unexciting, but stable. That sounded like a good thing, and I was happy for her.
Gradually, I began to forget about Amelia Fowler.
...
It was really unusual for the bastards to take us anywhere. They mostly liked to keep us locked up in our shitty little rooms unless it was time for medicine or "food." Today they'd gotten it into their piss-for-brains heads to drag us old geezers out to the park for some "Eeh-an-richmint," as that lousy dick of a head nurse pronounces it.
Some of the geezers who have decent families are going to have a nice afternoon frolicking in the Goddamned daisy or whatever. My wife is dead. Fuck, most of my kids are dead. They don't tell you about that shit when you're growing up! Life kills people! And the ones who are still alive aren't worth two shits.
So I was looking forward to sitting alone on a hot hillside in the middle of June like the subject of some kind of shitty dollar store painting 'cause it'd make dick feel like he was doing his job.
Anyway, we'd been out there for a little over forty-five minutes, and my ass was killing me. That piece-of-crap lawn chair must have been made in Nicaragua. Why can't shit come from China anymore like in the good old days? When all of a sudden this old biddy, who was hobbling along on her walker, keels over right there on my spot of grass; pissed off the pigeons. I was trying to enjoy the view of the lake and here's this bitch, flopping on the ground clutching at her back pissing and moaning.
So I haul my aching, wrinkly old ass out of my piece-of-shit Nicaraguan chair and kneel down in the stifling heat of that mosquito-infested June morning to see what's wrong. I roll her over and damned if it isn't Amelia Fowler.
"My God it's you!" She exhaled. "I'm having a heart attack. It's my fourth one. I know what they feel like, and I know I'm not going to make it."
"Amelia what is this shit? You think I can't tell a fake heart attack? I did fifteen years with-" I started, but she cut me off.
"Shut up, Frank. I don't know where I would have wound up if I'd have never met you, but I can guess. I'm dying an old woman with a full life instead of a young girl with stupid ideas 'cause of you. I needed to tell you that. I promise I won't need you again."
I yelled for dick, and he stumbled over and bumbled though ECPR, but Amelia was right. She was done for. That was the last time I saw Amelia Fowler.
| 2017-03-22T13:56:01 | 2017-03-22T13:26:15 | 49 | 21 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right.
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"I need to know about my past lives. It's important. I need to know who I was to determine who I am supposed to be..."
The medium gave me a pensive glance over, her eyes focusing first on me, then through me, then snappiung back to me.
"I see who you have been. Judas. Ghenghis Khan. Hitler. You have been the most evil yet charismatic of men. You have been condemned for your sins, and you will find the path to heaven a difficult struggle. You must choose your path carefully, or you will not pass the gates after this lifetime either."
I could feel the weight of my past on my shoulders. The dreams have been true. I must overcome the darkness in my being, and become something that is better. I must use my power to lead for the betterment of mankind this time, I must eschew my temptations for power and control.
Closing my eyes, taking a deep breath and centering myself, I thank the medium for my time. Standing up, I straighten up, and turn to leave. I walk out the door, put my red "Make America Great" cap onto my head, and head towards the presidential limosine.
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######[](#dropcap)
"Any other business?" God asked, stifling a yawn.
"Er...," St. Peter said.
"Spit it out, man," God said. This latest board meeting had dragged on for three months, a new record, and God was ready to put his feet up with a martini and the newest Clive Cussler novel.
"It's about-" St. Peter lowered his voice and leaned in so that the younger angels couldn't hear, "*-you know who*."
"Oh," God said. "Him."
God's brow darkened, and the refreshing adult beverage was suddenly very distant. God resisted the temptation to do some smiting, reminding himself that such behaviour was frowned upon these days.
He sighed. "What's he up to this time? Conquering continents? Enslaving millions? Another genocide?"
St. Peter looked increasingly nervous. "Actually it's what he isn't up to."
"Go on."
"He hasn't done any of that stuff."
God raised an eyebrow. "So he's eligible for entry?"
"Well... technically."
"Technically?" God boomed. "I'm sick of damn technicalities! We just spent two weeks debating the technicalities of building a hyperloop to Hell so that your commute would be easier, and now you want to quibble over more details?"
St. Peter's lips felt very dry. The tip of his tongue darted out and, trembling, wetted the parched skin. "He didn't do anything bad, Your Worship. He just, well, he wrote stuff."
"What sort of stuff," God asked. "Smut? You know how I feel about that. If I have to read about another quivering mem-"
"No, no," St. Peter said hastily, glancing again at the younger angels, who were listening with ears perked. "No he didn't write romances."
A thought struck God and he perked up in his throne. "I say, it isn't Clive Cussler is it? No, wait," he added, his voice resuming its glum tone, "it couldn't be. He was born a decade too early. It would have to be someone born after 1945. Just tell me, Pete, what is it?"
St. Peter placed a locked chest on top of the conference table. He found a small key among the hundred on his large keyring, and carefully opened the box, taking out a slim book and sliding it over to God. The younger angels' heads craned to try and glimpse the cover, but the book had been wrapped in a black sheet to obscure the content from innocent eyes.
"This looks harmless enough," God said. "It's hardly the Necronomicon."
"Just look at the title, my Lord," St. Peter said, burying his embarrassed face in his hands.
God opened the book to the title page. His scowl deepened. "Really?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"After all he's been through trying to get in here?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Millennia of scheming, almost destroying the human race, and he writes this? You don't think he actually believes it, do you?"
"No, my Lord. We think he got fed up, sir. He must of decided that if he couldn't get in, he would stop everyone else from coming."
God raised his ponderous bulk from the throne, and said testily, "Well, I'll be damned if I let him in after this."
"That's the problem, my Lord - you have to. It's in the revised Heavenly Accords."
"The Accords?"
"You know, my Lord, the rules determining who gets into heaven-"
"Yes, I know the rules, Pete. I wrote the damn things. The the original ones, at least, before you lot banded together and insisted on democratic representation..."
St. Peter cleared his throat. They were on dangerous ground. "My Lord, under the new rules, we have to let him in."
"Then ban him! Change the rules! Let's send him back to Earth!"
"We would have to convene another board meeting," St. Peter said. "But it might take a while. An Accordal Amendment... well, you how many vested interests there are these days. It could take years."
The image of his margarita and book reappeared in God's mind. He could almost taste the rum.
"Bah," he said. He picked the book up, and tossed it into the waste paper bin behind him. "Let him in. What do I care?"
He stalked out of the room, mumbling something about, "Heaven... not what it used to be..."
The other angels and saints packed their papers in their briefcases and filed out after him.
Except for one angel, the youngest of the bunch, who lingered at the door and glanced longingly at the book in the bin. Eventually curiosity overcame the fear of getting caught, and he darted over to retrieve the slim volume.
With trembling fingers he opened it to the title page.
It read: 'God is Not Great', and was by some mortal the young angel had never heard of, a Christopher somebody.
For a moment the angel thought about putting the book back in the bin, where it would be picked up by the domestic staff and shredded like all corporate waste. But the title intrigued him.
He tucked the book under a wing, and fled the room.
---
*If you enjoyed this, you might like [another story I wrote in a similar vein](https://www.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage/comments/5zxq9c/hollowed_ground/)*
| 2017-03-31T11:46:40 | 2017-03-31T08:00:29 | 166 | 73 |
[WP] Humans are thought to be the galaxy's finest terraformers, capable of turning the most hostile planets into paradise worlds and the most hospitable planets into death worlds.
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If you need the world to change, turn to humans. Those gritty, scrappy things—the ones you’ll find sorting trash on the long haul ship, the ones shucking space-oysters, the ones you call when you need someone to shovel away the toxic sludge—are surprisingly good at getting shit done.
Humans, they say, are adept at change. Suited to it. Moulded by it. Give them a pile of rocks? They’ll turn it into a paradise. They’ll try and try and try again until the most ragged of plants take root in dead soil. They refuse to be stamped out. Never was there a more tenacious group; a group so determined to survive against all odds.
And they did survive. They took those husks of moons, those dried-out worlds, those dunes of sand and rock, and turned them into paradises. For years of winters and summers of drought, they refused to quit.
Isn’t that wonderful?
The thought that there are beings that value life above all else? That they believe the act of living is, in itself, sacred?
I once thought so too.
I thought that they would value life.
Perhaps I was wrong.
Humans, I think, value change. They want to prove, beyond all else, they are capable. Humans are tenacious and scrappy and so desperate to move forward that they’ll leave a wake of destruction to get ahead.
They *do* care about life—their own lives, that is. Anything else to them is but a stepping stone. They’ll take a paradise and suck it dry. They’ll kill the world to line their own pockets; drain the future for a fleeting joyful day.
So before you bring them on, know you’re playing with fire. Humans are a powderkeg.
Who knows what you’ll be getting—but that’s your risk to take.
So, what are you going to do?
---
r/liswrites
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# How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Book 2, Part 3: How to Read Geological Strata)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"If you think about it,"** Lien began.
"Which I don't," Eiko cheerfully added,
"If you think about it," Lien repeated, giving Eiko an amused look, "Archeology is really just applied history."
"See, nonsense like that is exactly *why* I leave the thinking to you." Eiko drilled further into the ground; she'd already penetrated the cracked, glassy surface that passed for dirt in these heat-blasted wastelands, and was working on chipping through the concrete bunker roof beneath. Lien, who couldn't have held the frantically jittering jackhammer even if he'd wanted to, simply let the burly mechanic do her work. He wandered in a loose circle around the hole Eiko was digging, absentmindedly kicking their hovercraft once every loop. "This isn't archeology, it's graverobbing, plain and simple. Put fancy airs on it if you like; it doesn't change the fact that we're stealing relics from a better time for our own personal gain."
Lien frowned. "Well, the difference between a graverobber and an archeologist is that *I*, at least, appreciate the history here. Look at this." He knelt down to the side of her excavation pit, idly holding up a hand to shade his eyes from the flying chips of stone. The strata showed fertile, loamy dirt beneath the blasted, scoured earth—and then, below that, another layer of hardened, dead glass, before the strata finally reached the ancient bunker. "This pit tells a story, you know. There was a cataclysm here—some weapon so terrible that it melted the ground to glass." He tapped the bottommost layer.
Eiko shrugged—or maybe that was just the constant up-down motion of the jackhammer. "Sure. Humanity messed up and nuked its own pants off. Ancient history. So what?"
"So we recovered." Lien's finger rose just a notch, to the still-living layer of dirt. "I mean, I haven't the foggiest clue what was around when your people fixed this place up—"
"Word of advice?" Eiko butted in. "There's a reason I'm mucking around in ancient ruins instead of faffing about in space with my family. If you see someone deciding hanging out in a desolate deathworld is a better option than staying with 'their people', it's a fair bet they don't consider them 'their people' anymore."
"Fair." Lien nodded, still focusing on the living layer of dirt. "The Union, then—they did something to the land to restore it."
"Sure. Environmentalism. Ecological reconstruction. Girl scout cookies. It was a whole *thing*." Eiko paused in her hammering to scowl at the third, final, topmost layer of soil, the layer of crusted glass noticeably thicker than the first. "Didn't matter one whit in the end. We just nuked ourselves even harder. I think humanity's the only group in the whole wide psychosphere who can turn paradise into a deathworld in an instant, and then restore that hell into heaven—and then after all that effort, decide that hell actually wasn't so bad and voluntarily go back."
Lien's smile faded into neutrality as Eiko spoke. The jackhammer's rattling abruptly stopped, and Eiko pulled the hammer aside. It was smoking faintly; Eiko had slapped it together from some scraps she'd found on the way, and it looked like it was about to give up the ghost. Lien was frankly surprised it'd lasted this long.
Eiko peered down into the bunker and pressed her lips together, displeased. "...Yeah, your hunch was right. This used to be a spaceport; there's still a functioning spaceship inside."
Lien walked up to her side, his expression pensive. "Eiko... if the prospect of going back to the Union is... unpleasant... I can find my way there on my own."
Eiko rolled her eyes. "Yeah? You've lived on this primitive planet your whole life—you think you can navigate a starship? Find the Union fleet? Convince them that you're worth listening to? You think you can finagle however damn many samples of medicine you're going to need to bring back to Las Humanitas without someone who knows the culture? Come on, Lien, where's that strategic genius of yours, huh? Where's the man who blew up an unkillable monster with nothing but a rain dance and a literal skeleton crew?"
Lien squeezed her shoulder. "Still here. He's just... a little more receptive to the pain his shenanigans cause. You don't have to go back home if you don't want to. I don't want to dig up your past."
Eiko's eternal cocky smirk flickered for a moment, melting into something softer, more sincere. "Well, I'm coming with you, and that means you're digging into my past, whether you like it or not. And as you said... the difference between a grave robber and an archeologist is that you care about the history. You care about me. Hell, you brought me back from the dead. There's nobody I'd rather excavate my past with."
Lien searched her eyes for a moment; she blinked once as she looked back. Finally, Lien smiled. "Well, then. Let's get to digging."
He leapt down into the buried spaceport.
Without hesitation, Eiko followed.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for the rest of the story. As always, I had fun writing this, I'm open to feedback and suggestions on how I can improve, and I hope you have a great day.
| 2021-04-16T20:30:49 | 2021-04-16T20:03:51 | 159 | 20 |
[WP] What’s worse than a mad scientist? A well-meaning scientist that has no comprehension what social upheaval their inventions will inflict on society. As the city’s superhero, it inevitably falls on you to explain, every time, to this socially oblivious genius what’s gone wrong and why.
|
Look, I don't know why the fuck they hired me either.
I flunked out of undergrad -- not that anyone knows that. Somehow it doesn't make a great catchphrase: *The Negotiator: I got a D in Chem 101 but A in ass-kicking.*
But then the chief of police flashed the alert spotlight in the air. A question mark, if you're curious. They wouldn't let it be a fist or even a nice hammer, as they both implied violence, and the city might get sued. The great Metropolis can endure mad scientist attacks and kaiju and fucking interdimensional aliens, but god forbid one of us contract-working superheroes cause a civil suit.
So I called the chief up. We arranged for coffee. I showed up in my disguise and remembered I couldn't drink coffee without lifting my mask, which contributed to my overall wonder why they called a D-list superhero like me into action. I'm surprised they still had my alert-light screen.
You have to pay for them, by the way, when you suck as a superhero.
Still, even though I was sitting there holding a dark-as-my-soul drip coffee that I couldn't drink, I kept my voice husky, serious. "Why would you call me, Chief?"
"Did you really have to wear the disguise?"
"My identity is a secret I'll die with, ma'am."
The other patrons of the Starbucks were watching me out of the corner of their eye. I was obscure enough that no one was sure if I was legit or just a crazy dude in well-tailored spandex.
"Well, not really, as it's in your permit paperwork for the alert light..."
"Chief," I said, coldly, but admittedly starting to wonder if I should just give up and drink my coffee before it got cold, "just cut the shit. Tell me what the PD could want with a guy like me."
The chief sighed. She pulled a folder from her briefcase and flipped it open. Slapped it on the table.
"This is the Peacebringer. She's the one villain I can't take down."
I looked at the folder like I totally read police reports everyday and definitely not fast food orders at the shitty day job I definitely don't have.
A photo was clipped to the top: cute girl, teal hair, her eyes hot with indignation.
"She's cute," I said. "Alt-rock college girl and Peacebringer. Sounds like a shitty villain."
"You're exactly right. She's a terrible villain. She has created invention after invention that's hurt countless people. She created a machine that would refreeze the ice caps, and they're still digging our research crews and so many damn penguins out. A vegetarian ray that made all salad taste exactly like steak, and no one could decide if they liked it. She created a free love ray that got a little... uh, too free."
I nodded. "I was stuck at work that day. So annoyed I missed it."
The chief narrowed her eyes at me. "The point is, she's sweet and misguided. I don't even know if she's aware she's hit the minimum public mayhem threshold to be classified as a villain."
"We're back to my first question, Chief. Why me?"
"You're the Negotiator. You logged that as your superpower. Persuasion. You said, and I quote, *I could talk an elephant into flying*."
I fiddled with my coffee lid. Lukewarm. Damn. Definitely should have just showed up incognito. Now I just wasted $4 on coffee and water.
"That's true," I said, sagely, but the elephant was a fat kid named Billy who I convinced to let me launch him off the trampoline in 3rd grade. "Very well. If there's no one else, I'll do it. To honor this city."
I tapped the table urgently, letting my voice rise with what I hoped sounded heroic. That's all I ever wanted with all this stupid shit. To feel like I mattered. That I was helping someone.
Then, I added, more quietly, "Is the department still offering the, uhhh, usual $500 compensation?"
"You're a real superhero alright. Always want to make sure you're paid. Of course." The chief clicked her briefcase shut. "If you can get her to stop 'helping.'"
I gave in. I rolled my mask up to expose my chin and took a sip of coffee as dark and cold as my heart. Tasted fucking terrible. I noted to skip the costume next time.
"Of course I can," I said, letting her see my smirk. "I'm the Negotiator."
°°°
Oops I went too long! Second half below :)
|
Mostly, being a superhero is about force, which is something I’m great at. Super strength, super speed, and you can drop a tank on me and I’ll dent the tank. And yeah, there are plenty of supers out there who have the brains to go with the brawn, but I’m under no illusion that I’m one of them. Not everyone gets it all, though, that wouldn’t be fair. What I *am* also good at, however, is people.
Joshua Whipple came onto the Guild’s radar under not the best circumstances. He’d revolutionized cryonics (not cryogenics, there was a difference, he explained to me patiently, as I sat across from him, his hands gesturing despite being handcuffed to the table). It was an incredible discovery, probably worthy of a Nobel prize if you ask me, letting people on the brink of death be put into suspended animation by medics and unfrozen on a table in a fully prepped OR.
Unfortunately, Joshua’s heart of gold would never even think of patenting his inventions. There had been some others in the past, ingenious little things that had improved lives of many, especially the disabled, but as he grew older so did his awareness of things that could *really* be done with science. And when he published the information for this particular invention online, not wanting to make a cent from it, the supervillains spotted it and went, hey, this is great for taking down heroes!
When I explained this to Joshua, sitting at the aforementioned table he was handcuffed to, and that a villain had used it to rob a bank, his face just crumpled in disbelief. It was the most miserable sight, like watching a child’s face when you kicked their puppy. His quiet voice saying, “How could they do that?” just made me want to take him by the hands and apologize for the world’s cruelties.
But of course, that mind of his kept working. The next one was a breakthrough in anesthesia, which used to be a radically delicate and even dangerous procedure because of the myriad of differences person to person. No longer. Doctors could all now confidently and easily sedate patients for surgery. Anesthesiologists were out of work, so they were unhappy, but of course, that was the least of the issue. The technology of knocking someone out without worry of killing them did wonders for the kidnapping industry.
That being good with people thing I mentioned earlier? That’s why I was brought in here, after strike two. I clicked with Joshua on the level of a friend when we first met and was assigned as his handler. They weren’t sure if his intelligence was a superpower or not, but either way, he needed ‘handling’.
Today I was visiting him for another development and when I knocked on his door, rapid footsteps approached and swung it open to his grinning face. “Audrey! Please come in!” he said excitedly. I nodded and did so with a smile.
Joshua was about my height, 5’9”, had a brown mustache and beard that always held a smile beneath, and had a little padding that made his hugs like that of a teddy bear. He had tried contacts at one point, he’d explained, but he said he preferred his glasses, his eyes drying out too much despite even the most generous application of eyedrops. And also, he’d mentioned, by the time he was an adult, he couldn’t imagine not having glasses, like they were part of him.
His steps swift and with a spring in them that I always saw when he’d made a discovery or created a new invention, and he led me over to his back room, his lab. It was extensive and thorough in all aspects, always ready to help him develop whatever the next big idea his brain brought forth. Bringing me over to a table, he picked up a device that looked mainly constructed of wires and told me how he’d started with a problem he’d known about – treating coma patients.
If you’re sensing a theme here, you’re right on the money. Both of Joshua’s parents had been doctors and that had impacted him quite a bit. He would occasionally get stories from them, usually the happy-ending ones when he was younger, but when he was older, he realized the world wasn’t always happy endings. Knowledge only let us go so far, and that’s what had led him to dive deep into what was lacking in the seemingly endless fields of medicine.
This one let you put a…well, it was a sort of hat, it seemed. Joshua had long since learned that he needed to dumb down his inventions for people less intelligent than him to understand, and he was pretty good at it by now. He explained that we sometimes didn’t even know if coma patients were still ‘in there’, as it were, but no longer. This machine would literally let them communicate with the world. The thoughts that flitted across their brains, the images, the words, everything would be broadcast on a computer screen.
Joshua went on for a while, as he does, occasionally dipping into things that he knew would go over my head but were just so cool to him that he felt compelled to share them aloud anyway. And eventually his voice trailed off at the end of a sentence and he looked to me. “So,” he said, his voice suddenly and disconcertingly quiet. “What could this one do?”
I took a long breath in and let it out. “If a police officer had a location of someone in protective custody, a supervillain could strap them into this contraption, talk to them about it until it was forced to the front of their minds, and you’d learn where that person was.” That was the least of it, if you took a few minutes to think on it, but I went with that one just because it was most straightforward.
Every time his face fell, it still hit me. I don’t know what it was about his brain that was so different than mine, than most of ours, that he just didn’t make the connections. Maybe it was a mental handicap. Maybe it turned out this was a superpower, and this was a downside. Heck, maybe he’d just had such a lovely childhood he couldn’t fathom real malevolent intent. But he just never guessed. He always had to ask me.
“This is incredible, though, Josh,” I said softly. “It’s going to help so many people, not to mention their families.”
A small smile came back to Joshua’s face and he nodded, almost to himself, staring at the device, as if he needed to reassure himself of that. “It will,” he murmured.
“I did make a stop on the way over, by the way,” I said with a grin, taking something from my purse.
Joshua’s face lit up at the bag of Reese’s. “Audrey! Thank you,” he said, taking the bag and immediately opening it to eat one. “Mm. Whoever invented *these* should get awards, not me.” I grinned at that. “You know I’ve got everything I need here, though. All you’re going to do here is make me fat,” he scolded.
I let out a sigh and nodded. “I worry about you, though, Josh. Locked up all on your own here.”
Because that’s what had happened after that second arrest. After they’d realized his past and his future, his potential, his vulnerability. He now lived at Guild headquarters in an apartment they’d built for him on the 23rd floor, with all the resources he needed, but I knew he was still a prisoner. One with a wonderful cafeteria and lots of friends he passed in the hall when he went to get meals, cable TV and a comfy bed to watch it from, and one with internet access (monitored as it was). But he still needed that bracelet locked onto his ankle to make sure he never left the grounds.
Joshua’s eyes narrowed. “What? No, no, no, that’s not what this place is,” he assured me. “You know that. I’m here for my protection. And for everyone else’s. If something were to happen because of one of my inventions, if someone got hurt…again…” His gaze drifted.
“Nobody got hurt during that robbery,” I reminded him.
That brought his gaze back to me and he nodded. “I know. Not physically. But those poor people who lost those valuables in the safety deposit boxes. Those criminals might not have felt brave enough to do what they did without my invention.” He shook his head. “No, I would never let that happen. This is where I need to be.” He smiled. “We’ve talked about this, Audrey. You know it as well as I do.”
I nodded slowly. “All right.” I paused. “Aside from this…anything you’ve been brainstorming? I’m available as a sounding board for the next hour or so.”
His smile brightened and his spine straightened. “Okay, so, what do you know about burn victims or acid attack victims? Specifically restorative surgery?”
​
/r/storiesbykaren
| 2021-04-21T23:00:54 | 2021-04-21T19:39:46 | 1,472 | 243 |
[WP] With the hero chained up, the villain unveils their masterpiece: a weapon that tracks everyone who loves the hero before obliterating them. The map powers on. "Wait. There's just one dot." The Villain says. "...Someone loves me?" The hero replies with hope.
|
Dr. David Destruction looks back at the glowing map and nods. "Yes. Yes one dot. One...hold on you've been here on earth for like 30 years right?"
Hero Man nodded slowly.
"And you have a family...the father and mother who adopted you....aunts and uncles...cousins?"
"Yes. 14 earth cousins."
"And you've spent literally decades now saving people from harm, changing lives, forming tight bonds in your community?"
Hero Man nods again. "That's right. I've been cleaning up crime for years you creep!"
"Wow...one dot ...I mean God damn man I'm sorry that's ...woof ...I mean I was going to torture and kill you but this just seems barbaric..."
Hero Man, undeterred, pipes up. "Could you ...could you tell me who it is? Is it Susan?"
"Susan?"
"Yeah she's...well she's the woman I've been seeing the last few months and I must admit...I'm sweet on her."
Destruction sighs and looks back to the map. "No it says here it's a Sidney. Sidney Goldbaum. Who is that?"
"My Dentist."
"Wow. That's just....unbelievably depressing. Christ man..."
"I have really strong teeth. He is always saying I'm his favorite patient."
"I thought I was going to turn this thing on and see dozens...maybe hundreds ...I mean look at this ...are you looking?"
"Sigh....yes I'm looking."
"A red dot means love...that's Sidney ...orange means they like you ...3 dots....yellow means they can take you in small doses ..7 dots....purple means they've pretended to get another call while on the phone with you ...8,365 dots."
"I'm not great on the phone...I like face to face you know?"
"Yeah yeah....so....man ...I think I'm kinda over this...and killing Sidney seems pointless and killing you just seems kinda...you know...cruel."
"I don't need your pity Destruction!"
"No man I think you do. This is kinda fucked up. Do you wanna...you know...talk about it?"
Hero Man flexes his taut, rippling muscles and the shackles holding him burst into shards. He stands and approaches Dr. Destruction with a steely look of resolve in his eyes.
"It all started with my Mother ...she was so domineering..."
|
It's red. That, for some reason, is hilarious to me. Laughing hurts my cracked ribs and split lips, but I can't stop.
The psychopath controlling the machine pivoted slowly back toward me. "What are you laughing about, *alien*?"
"I just never thought I'd be so excited to see a red dot." The sentence took a few coughs to get out, and I had to tongue a tooth back into place to finish it, but I got it all out before he hit me again.
"*Legions* and *legions* of worshipful, adoring *idiots* who hung on your every word, reduced down to one single survivor, and that *amuses* you?"
"Well..." The next hit jostles one of the ribs he cracked earlier. Only the sight of that red dot keeps me from howling in pain, keeps the big dumb grin on my face, keeps me talking. "I... guess?" That tooth is done for anyway. I try to spit it in his face, but he jumps backward.
"How *dare* you try to spit that... that alien *slime* all over me?"
I check the hole in my bite for splinters, and then reply. "I was just giving you the prize you earned for that punch. I mean, you went to all this trouble. The tungsten chains, the power-draining... whatever you called it. I just thought you'd like to... have the tooth. As a trophy."
He considers my face for a moment. "You're right. I'd need to contain it, of course, to prevent the spread of any *contagion* from your alien biology, but having a sample of whatever you use for DNA could be useful in case any more of your kind show up to try and get revenge."
"You blew up a whole *city*, and you're worried about *aliens* getting revenge?"
He looks up from the ground below the platform I'm chained to, a sarcastic smirk on his face. "Mankind will *love* me when they realize I've finally saved them all from you. Wiping out your *fan club* was regrettable, but necessary. The survivors will understand."
On the screen, the red dot suddenly starts to visibly move across the world map, picking up speed as it does. I laugh again. "In that case, here. Have two." The second loosened tooth skitters off the other side of the platform just as he's wrapping the first in one of those latex gloves. I *knew* he carried spares.
"Say, about those teeth." My words whistle now, and I have to take a moment to stifle laughter before it hurts my ribs again. "Even with all this... stuff. Did it bother you to have to take off my helmet before you could, y'know. Try and break my jaw?"
The dot accelerates.
The psycho looks up at me. "No. I was a little disappointed to see that you looked so... *human*, of course. The stories all say you were raised by some idiotic farmers from a fly-over state, so I suppose you had to at least *vaguely* resemble a human, but..." He shrugs. "I'd just thought that some morons will try to save *anyth-*"
The ceiling implodes. Chunks of concrete and volcanic stone the size of buses tumble down around us, obliterating billions of dollars' worth of cutting-edge technology wasted on hate. A shame, but necessary. I watch serenely as the shattered steel and stone crash around me, even smiling a little as they bounce away from the faint blue dome suddenly surrounding myself, the psycho, and his last weapon. All the hate his wizened, twisted little heart could hold, bound up into that little red dot, and all it did was give me hope. I can't stop the laughter this time.
<*Dad!*> Even without the thought-to-voice processor embedded in his helmet, the sound of anguish in his telepathic "voice" hurts my heart. He drops through the blue dome, twisting the telekinetic field into a second shield around himself as he does. A similar bubble appears around me a moment later, shearing through the heavy chains. He catches me in his arms before I can fall, the two shields merging. I *should* be pointing at the madman, trying to stop him as he starts to run away, but it's all I can do to just stand here, the familiar heat of his alien body against me, and fight the sobs of relief.
<*Dad, what were you thinking? He could have killed you!*>
I shrug. "I knew you'd find me. What about the -"
<*Tech found the bomb. We took it out to the ocean and detonated it. The city's safe. But you aren't! Come on, Dad!*>
"You needed time that he wasn't going to give you. So I gave myself up. Plus, hey. At least he got a couple of souvenirs for his trouble. To help him fight off any other 'members of your species'."
<*Souvenirs?*> Rage overtakes his "voice". It's nearly impossible to hide emotion through telepathy. Completely impossible to hide it from your father.
I nod at the madman, trapped inside the larger shield. An angry red filters through the blue of the shields around us as my son turns to face him. I crane my neck, eager to see the xenophobic psycho's first real look at my beautiful baby boy. To watch the horrified realization as he sees the eyes like voids, the thin vertical breathing slits where a human nose and mouth would be.
My molars tumble from his suddenly nerveless fingers, bouncing free of the gloves and skittering across the floor. All three of us watch them slide to a stop at the base of the machine.
My son holds out a hand without looking, his gaze fixed back on the madman. His helmet - the one I stole to go with the outfit that, honestly, doesn't fit me very well at all - rises off the floor and lowers itself onto his head, familiar beeping indicating that the circuitry inside has connected properly to his mind. My audible voice wraps words around his telepathically projected statement, assembled from a thousand sounds I painstakingly recorded for him when we first built the processor so long ago. When I lent my baby boy my voice - the most essential part of his disguise, letting him give hope to this world the way only he can.
"Well, Dad. I don't think *teeth* are going to help."
| 2021-06-18T23:01:20 | 2021-06-18T21:49:24 | 665 | 408 |
[WP] You wake up in an insane asylum in the 1920s. As you explore, you notice everyone in your wing claims to have woken up there, but is not from that time. One person lays in bed and refuses to talk to anyone, he was the first person ever accepted into the wing.
|
My head aches, a dull throbbing that pulses dimly in my ears with every beat of my heart. I lie there for a minute, a whole minute, listening to my blood echoing around my head and wondering if the ache will subside if I continue to keep myself still. My thoughts are disjointed and tired; I must be hungover, I think. I remember the previous night; I had been celebrating, drinking in every pub down St Giles. I laugh softly, and stop after just a chuckle, because the movement hurts my head. Gently, gradually, I open my eyes, very slowly, remembering from my student days what it is to expose a morose cranium to a sudden fusillade of light. But, before my lashes have even parted, I pause. Where is the noise? Where is the sound of cars, and of the tourists ambling and giggling through the college quads, taking photos and making a nuisance of themselves? I lick my lips uneasily, and am surprised by the crystals on my lips, a flavour of bitter sweetness. Where am I? I force myself up onto my elbows, disregarding the pain shooting through my body, and stare around.
I am in a long, wide room, lying on a white bed with a small table beside it. Stretching along the walls of the room is a row of similar beds, almost all with its own occupant; some are climbing out, one is already staggering out of the far door, yawning, and others are asleep. A pale grey light ebbs in through the tall windows set deep in the opposite wall; from the light, I think it must be dawn. The ceiling is red brick, arching to a long dark beam of wood –perhaps oak?- stretching the length of the room. Somehow, the entire effect is of a nave in an old Norman church, but I am reassured; I drank too much last night, I say to myself wryly, and have found myself in hospital. I let myself sink back against the headboard, and survey my surroundings more sedately. The man who had staggered out through the door has staggered back in again, clutching a newspaper which he carries triumphantly to his bed. I look at the two beds next to mine; one is unoccupied, and the other holds someone still sleeping, a woman curled up into a ball with a thin blanket slipping off her shoulders.
I lie back completely, and for some time I doze, half-sleeping, waiting for a doctor to come, or for a nurse to do the rounds so that I can enquire of her what I ought to be doing. After a while, my head no longer hurts, and I decide to get up and look for the nurse myself. I swing myself off the bed and pad down the hall to the door through which the man went to find the newspaper, the flagstones underfoot making my bare feet cold. I swing open the door, and look through dumbly. There is nothing on the other side but a very small room, in which is a coffee table with a jar of dried flowers and a selection of newspapers. I look back through the door, down the hall; as I thought, there is no door at the other end. What the hell is this? I ask myself. For a moment I am gripped by panic, washing over me so that I nearly collapse to the floor. It takes me a moment, but I am able to recover myself, remembering what the therapist advised me when I was younger. I try to look at things logically, and almost laugh at myself. I was brought here, probably by Parmin or one of the others with me last night; clearly, I didn’t get to my bed through this little coffee-table room. I pick up a paper and pad back to my bed.
|
It all started on a Wednesday. It was just a typical Wednesday and there was nothing special at all about it. The sun wasn’t shining, the birds weren’t chirping, and there sure as hell wasn’t anything to suggest that this would be the day my entire life would be changed forever. There was that feeling though. The feeling I’ve had my entire life. The feeling that someone, somewhere, was watching me over my shoulder. Observing me. Waiting for the right opportunity to approach me. But for what? My friends called me paranoid when I tell them about this "feeling" but you know as well as I do that you've had this feeling too. The feeling that something is sitting just over your right shoulder and you can feel them there. But then you turn around and...Nothing.
I was walking down 4th ave when I saw it. It was sitting on a table outside one of those outdoor cafés. A letter, with nothing but the words, “read this Mark” on it. I’m not even sure why I it drew my attention, or why I picked it up. It could have been for anyone named Mark (This is New York City, there’s a million Marks). Come to think of it, why hadn’t anyone else picked it up before me? After I grabbed it, I didn’t know if I should have sat right down and read it, or ran home with it. There I go again, with the whole paranoia thing. “Ok, Calm down Mark, your tripping out, and you need to relax man” Said the friendly little voice inside my head. I put the letter in my pocket, and started walking home with it, trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible.
I sat down on my couch and put the letter down on the coffee table in front of me. My mind began to wander from place to palce, and my focus grew wein and tired. This happened quite a bit, everytime I sat down for too long, or grew complacent in any task I was doing. I've gotten it checked out before, and the doctors always tell me it's nothing. "Just drink some water to calm down" they say, "It's probably just caused by anxiety and stress". I try and tell them that this is different, that something is fundamentally wrong with my mind, but they never listen. It was soon thereafter that I walked over to the fridge to get some water to calm my pacing heart, and as I began pouring water into the cup I was now holding, I noticed another note attached to it. “It's time to read the letter, Mark”. I don’t need to tell you what went through my mind the next 10 minutes, before I finally did get around to opening up that letter.
I was expecting a few paragraphs telling me what was going on, but all I was given was 4 haunting sentences. “Do you remember where you were from 1918 to 1920, Mark? Do you remember what happened to you? Because I do. And if your ready, I can show you”.
That’s all it said. It would be quite impossible for me to remember what I was doing during those years, because it was 60 years before I was born. As a matter of fact, it was 30 years before even my Father was born.
Ok, whoever you are, I’m ready. "IM READY!!" I screamed. nothing. Well, that was pointless. My friends and I are accustom to playing pranks on each other, but they have always been light hearted. Never anything this...eerie. They also understand how paranoid I can be and are sensitive towards it. What fun is a prank if everyone doesn't laugh afterwards, right? No, this doesn't feel like my friends at all.
I walked over to where I keep my phone, thinking that maybe I can call some people I know that might be behind this or at the very least, can help me find out who is. I open the drawer and I see a book that I’m sure wasn’t there before. Its hard to explain, but this book looks very old and used, but it also looks as if it was taken care of...Like it was a very valuable possesion for someone. On the front cover, it said, "The Diary of a man", written in what im sure is really old blood. I skim through it real quick and see every entry starts with a day number and words written in pencil. There are long entries and short entries. I felt the ever growing bubble of anxiety in my chest, taking over my mental functioning and reasoning. All I knew, and the only thing I could make sense of, was that I needed to open that book and read it. I opened it to the first page and the writing looked...familiar. But I had no time for that, I needed to read the book and figure out whats going on.
Day 4: WHO ARE YOU? LET ME GO
Day 5: I know you took this from me last night. I know it. WHO ARE YOU?
Day 6: whoever might read this: Please help me. Im trapped in this room. It has no windows, only a bed, a sink, a toilet, a clock.. and this book. One of the walls is a big mirror. I know someone's on the other side looking at me. PLEASE LET ME OUT.
day 7: I dont understand whats going on. At 8am and 5pm someone slides food through the little small opening on the bottom of the door. Atleast the food is good, they keep serving me fishsticks. I love fish sticks. PLEASE LET ME GO.
Day 8: nothing makes sense to me anymore. im stuck in nothingness. Nothing happens. I eat twice a day, but no one say a thing. All I ever see is the one hand that slides the food through twice a day. I yell but I know its no help. I’ve yelled every single time and no one answers. No one ever answers.
Day 9: fishsticks for lunch and fish sticks for dinner are getting old quick.
this goes on, day after day. I can see whats going on here. But who is this guy? Why do I have this? Nothing makes sense. I cant read every entry, I needed to know what was going on quick.
Day 30: I fucking cant do this anymore. My life is nothing. I can’t leave my mind. Its all I have. And this book. do you know how slow your life becomes when you stare at a clock and say every second out loud for 4 hours straight? I have nothing.
I skipped a few more pages.
Day 54: I dont know how I got here. I...cant really remember where I was or what I was doing before I got here. I remember being at home, cooking dinner, than something hit me. I know it hit me in the back of the head because I could still feel it when I woke up in here. I feel like they have total control over my mind. I feel like they have erased some memory of mine... A memory that is very important to me understanding why I am here. You know who Im talking about. The people behind the mirror. I can feel them everyday. Watching me, observing me.
I skip a few more pages still.
Day 79: I deserve to be here. I alienated everyone that ever tried to get into my life. I havent talked to my parents in years. The girlfriends ive had, ive lost... Always my fault. Does anyone even know im gone? Are they even looking for me? I doubt it. I am just a man who disapeared, and no one even noticed.
A few more pages..
Day 104: FUCK YOU FISH STICKS! I FUCCKING HATE YOU.
I just dont really understand whats going on. Im about to put the diary down and smoke a bowl, when the page next page catches my eye, and it felt like someone had ripped my heart out of my chest.
(be back in 20 minutes to finish this, got to finish up some thing at work).
| 2015-05-26T10:11:49 | 2015-05-26T09:25:05 | 46 | 23 |
[WP] Torture was never invented. Countries instead spoil prisoners like kings to get information out of them. You are an instructor tasked with training spies to resist the enemy's kindness.
|
"Tell me... where he... is" she whispered in a slow seductive tone. Her breath touched his neck and tiny hairs raised up to greet her words.
She walked over to a small table and poured two glasses of Moet. The bubbles danced playfully in the crystal glasses. She handed one to the man on the divan bed and he sipped at it, swilled it around in his mouth, and then spat it out at her.
"Dog Shit! Is this the best you have?" he demanded.
The lady tried a different tact. She walked slowly in front of him and bent down. The lace at the top of her corset was undone and the man was getting an eyeful. She kissed his cheeks and then slowly started to unbutton his shirt. His trousers quickly gave him away.
"OK enough Michelle, great job! Richie - damn son, you're not ready for this mission." said the commander.
"But sir! It's not fair, she the best operat.."
"No buts! Two more minutes and you would have sold your mother for a moment in bed with her. Private Smith, what should he have done?"
"Think of the Queen, sir - God Bless er'." shouted private Smith.
"Sure, sure - that's one option but it's not ultra effective. OK let me show you. Michelle, let's go again."
Michelle walked behind the commander and whispered gently into his ear, then she nibbled on his earlobe. Michelle swivelled around and positioned herself on the commanders lap. She began grinding backwards and forwards, slowly increasing her pace.
After a few minutes the commander pushed her away, walked up the Moet and took a big swig. He burped and faced his troops.
"Sir, you're not stood to attention. How'd you do it?"
"Chemical castration. And that is exactly what you all you new recruits will be going through before your first assignment. Take sex out of the equation and suddenly your enemy loses a hell of a lot of power." He took another swig of the champagne.
|
**The drip of water echoed like gunshots.**
Blindfolded and bruised, Luce tried squash the fear that threatened to grab hold of her stomach, and fling it out of her throat.
Her wrists and her legs were bound tight enough to make her limbs numb. To her left and right, she could make out the sounds of at least two others, also tied to cramped, wooden chairs, struggling against their bindings.
A fey-like bell chimed, the dim *ting* exaggerated by her blindness. Following the bell, a pair of footsteps began to *clop, clop* in a slow, measured pace across the floor. The *clopping* reverberated and multiplied in the open (cave? hall?), so that she could not tell where from where the footsteps came.
Yet, Luce was not entirely lost. She could pick those footsteps out of a thousand-wide lineup. It was the Instructor, and the Test had begun.
"Good evening, gentlemen and lady," an older woman's voice rolled out across the floor, almost purring, "I am so pleased you could join me tonight."
"Good evening, Instructor," Luce replied automatically. She noted that the two men replied in much the same way. Perhaps they were agents-in-training, too.
"As I hope you are all now *well aware,* this test is a matter of life, and death. If you fail here, I will kill you - just as you would be killed in the field."
It was a statement that begged no response. Luce gave none, but she heard the man next to her swallow a squeak.
"Torture is a tool," the Instructor was very close now. Luce could hear her purring voice orbiting around them, "A tool for prying information. Not the *best* tool, but-"
The shriek of metal scraping stone made Luce jump against her bindings. A flick of air breezed passed Luce's ear, making her shiver. *A knife? Or something more sinister?* Her heart was now galloping against her chest.
"-*But,* that will not stop our enemies from using it. Now," glass tinkled, and a set of small wheels creaked. Luce could only imagine what horrifying device the Instructor was wheeling out in front of them, "Would anyone like a cup of tea before we begin?"
Luce opened her mouth to say yes, but the man to her left was quicker.
"Yes, thank you," he said, his voice filled with false-confidence.
Luce barely heard the whisper of cloth, before the ear-shattering ***BANG*** ripped passed her head. A sharp breeze flipped Luce's hair. The man to her left loosed a single strangled cry echoed out, before his chair slapped against the hard floor.
She thought she heard the sound of flesh, smacking against stone. Luce swallowed hard, trying to stop her heart from exploding out of her chest.
"Anyone else?" the Instructor's voice was almost sweet, "No? Very well, let us proceed."
The Instructor did not relent. Question after question rained from her mouth like barbed arrows in the pitch-black night. She prodded Luce and her unseen comrade for what felt like hours. At one point, Luce could feel the Instructor's breath on the back of her neck, at another she could practically *smell* the Instructor's dinner (garlic). Several times, the Instructor seemed like she was about to let up, only to start afresh.
The man next to her was jostling his legs like a child who needs to urinate. She wanted to reach out to him, to tell him it would be over soon, but Luce didn't know that for a fact. She didn't even know who *he* was - if he was actually another agent, or if he was just part of the test. So she kept her mouth *shut*.
At last, the Instructor pulled back. In the silence, Luce could hear the echo of water once again. She focused on that, taking pleasure in the predictability of the steady *drip, drip*.
"Well done, Agents. I supposed we should take a break. Does anyone need to use the water closet?"
Luce sucked in her breath, *willing* the agent beside her to say nothing.
"Yeah, that'd be great," the man next to her grunted, "I've been holding this since lun-"
***BANG***.
*Jesus Christ*, Luce thought. She could *hear* him slumping in his chair.
Luce jumped, almost tipping her own chair over, when a voice like a cat whispered over her shoulder, "Congratulations, Luce. I knew you would do well."
She felt the bindings around her arms loosen first, then the ones around her legs. Luce sat as still as a stone as the blindfold fell away from her eyes. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw two men, sprawled on the floor, lying in their own red puddles.
"Please, stand up Luce. The test is over. You are now ready to become a *Full Agent.* Come here to receive your badge."
Luce's mouth was clamped tighter than a vice. Though they were filled with restless pins and needles, she refused to move her limbs.
"Agent Luce?" the Instructor sounded impatient, even irritated now.
Luce resisted the urge to turn around, but she braved a single word.
"No."
"No?" the voice crept closer, "Are you *defying* me, Luce?"
"Yes."
*Clop. Clip. Clop.* - the Instructor took three powerful strides and planted herself squarely in the center of Luce's vision. She leveled her gaze, and with a cat-like voice - not a kitten's purr, this was the predatory mrowl of a one-eyed feline terror - the Instructor drew out a long, needling "Why?"
"Because I think you are still testing me, Instructor."
The predatory grin on the instructor's face was replaced by a true smile, a triumphant grin. The instructor pressed a button hidden in the folds of her suit, and lifted an unseen mouthpiece to her lips -
"She passed. I told you *she* would pass."
***
*Have some tea and read some stories at /r/PSHoffman*
| 2016-04-13T06:45:19 | 2016-04-13T06:29:55 | 115 | 68 |
[WP] You are trying to politely ward off a very anxious Jehovah's Witness that keeps insisting that God is coming. He/she finally looks down the street, and says, "seriously He just turned the corner!" You look and see a glowing white Cadillac with dark tinted windows.
Wow, can't believe this got that many upvotes. I got lots of reading to do now. I hope you all enjoyed it.
|
"Have you been saved?" The man asked, dumping a load of pamphlets right into my arms.
"No thanks." I tried in vain "I don't believe in G-"
"But I swear, it's true!" He interrupted. "Look, he just parked around the corner!"
My gaze followed his outstretched finger, pointing in the direction of a glowing light Cadillac with pitch black windows. It's rims were bright gold, and it's license plate read H34V3N.
I ran towards the vehicle, jumping the fence through my neighbor's yard.
When I got to the glorious car, the window on the passenger's side slowly descended, revealing an old, undoubtedly holy man wearing large white robes and an all-loving smile.
I had no idea who it was, but he was sitting next to Dave.
|
DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG!!!! KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!
I was woken from my afternoon nap by someone real frantic at my door, desperate for my attention it would seem. Either this, or it was another one of those damned kids ding-dong-ditching me. Well, whatever. I'm up anyway, might as well check the door. I go and check the security camera set up above my door, you can never be too careful.
Huh, this...what? Ain't no kid, it looks to be a full grown-ass man. Wearing holy garb, a crucifix, and holding a bible. Oh great, one of THOSE people again. But why is this one freaking out so badly? Holy fuck, does he ever look anxious. I might as well answer the door before he tries a window at this rate.
I answer the door. "May I help you, good sir? And this had better be important." I sternly warned him. Most mormons or whatever the fuck this is would have been driven away by my tone, but not him. He turned to me, and wow, was he ever panicked. "Yes, ahem, thank you, have you found Jesus Christ in your life?" he asked me. Bah, I've got no place for such things in my house. God never helped me, nor did I ever ask it. "No, I did not, and I'm not interested." I tell him, and go to close the door. Oh great, he stuck his foot in the way. "Sir, please move your foot, or I will." I warned him. Seriously, this is like my one day off a week, and this guy is ruining it.
"Please, take this bible, you need to accept Jesus as your lord and savior, and QUICKLY, please, I beg of you!" he told me, and shoved the bible at me. I batted it aside. No, I adamantly refuse religion. I accept that there IS a God and Jesus, and that they probably want to save everyone or whatever, but I have zero interest in worship of either one of them, and that's not about to change. "No." I told him.
He looked at me with tears in his eyes. Honest to God tears. Wow, now that's a new one. I've never seen a Jehova's witness so freaked out and desperate before. I wonder why.
"Sir, I'll just level with you right here, right now: God is coming, and with Him, comes His judgement!", he preached. Yeah yeah yeah. Alright, I'll accept God might do that, if He even gave a fuck enough to, but I don't care. I'm a self-made man, and I've got nothing to fear. I've lived my own life, and that's not about to change any time soon. "Look, I don't honestly care if God's coming or not. Let it happen if it does. Why should I be afraid?" I asked the man.
"I'm serious, please, God really IS coming, this is no joke, it is of grave importance, and involves YOUR salvation. You should worry, because if you do not worship Him, you'll be tortured in Hell for all of eternity! AND SOON!" the man pleaded. Okay, this was getting old fast.
"Look, sir, I really doubt that's going to happen, God wouldn't do that to me, and besides, what makes you think He's even coming? I mean, doesn't God have better--" I trailed off, as he looked down the street and started pissing himself. What the fuck?
"Sir, seriously, God is coming, HE JUST TURNED THE CORNER!!" he told me, and burst inside my house. Say what now? I checked. Huh, glowing white Cadillac, windows black as midnight, little flags coming from the car, flags with wings on them, and nothing else.
"Well, looks like my ride's here." I told the man, snapping my fingers and causing my black suit to turn blood red. "You're free to stay here, but please don't drink too much of my booze, I'll want some when I get back. God hates me drinking during Poker night, so I agreed to wait till after. See ya!" I continued, extending my wings from the back of the suit as the car pulled up.
The passenger side door opened up for me. "Hey, you know you made a holy man piss his pants coming here? Pay up." I told the driver as I stepped inside. "Damn it" said God from behind the wheel, and gave me a 100 dollar bill. "No can do, you know I got a strict no condemning inanimate objects policy." I told him, snickering. "Yeah yeah, I realized what I said the second I did. Come on, the chips won't play themselves." he told me.
"They will if you tell them to." I responded jokingly, as we drove off.
| 2016-10-04T09:25:16 | 2016-10-04T07:43:55 | 32 | 22 |
[WP] When people die they can choose whether they go to Heaven or Hell, you are the first in 1000 years to choose Hell.
|
I smirked. Now wasn't this ironic. After finally falling to the demons from hell, I get to choose whether to finally take my eternal rest, or continue to *Rip and Tear*
Now why the hell would i go to heaven.
The Doom Slayer walked in through the gates of hell.
The second slayer's testament would begin to be penned that day.
|
Choices, it's the soul purpose for humans in our everyday life and making the "right" choice has always been opinionated and difficult. How we make our choices is what makes up who we are as people and how the world views us from the outside perspective. The world we live in is corrupt and defiant and everyone knows it. People see this world as a playground before their end and good, sincere choices have been overshadowed by cruel and destructive ones. The world as we know it, is in complete disarray, and sinfulness has peaked to an all time high.
It all started many many years ago when the man Frederick Carthall died and came back from the dead. He started what is now called the playground movement. He had spread the word how when you die, you get to choose where you want to go. The movement caused a massive retort of sin, greed, and pure destruction throughout the world. The last of those who were truly "Good", abandoned civilization and escaped to a land further away from the destructiveness and sinfulness of the world.
My name is Sam, just a normal guy who didn't want anything to do with the movement. I had seen firsthand the terrible outcome of the movement and watched as society and morals collapsed around me. Murder, theft, and greed was rampant and I did all I could to escaped. I've seen death, seen loved ones robbed and killed and mutilated before my eyes and it seemed as though there was nothing I could do. I had spent the last month trying to escape my country and head towards the farlands where the last good people on this earth made their final stand. I died.. death came as quick as an arrow leaving its bow and light surrounded me with the warmth of serenity.
I was nearly at the border of the US when it happened. A large group of man had jumped out of their car and sprayed me down with hundreds of bullets for fun. I didn't feel the pain at first as the bullets pierced my body. I only felt the pressure as though someone was punching me extremely fast and adrenaline helped the rest of it. I awoke in a place, completely filled with blinding light but didn't hurt when my eyes were open. "Where am I?" I thought aloud and that's when I heard the thunderous voice.
"You have died, my son. I used to judge people on their actions but I have completely given up on humanity. Join me in heaven and live eternal for the rest of eternity. " I looked around and saw the golden stairs that lead upwards towards a light brighter than anyone could possibly imagine. I looked behind me and saw another stairway that went downwards towards a dark area that looked like it hadn't been used in centuries. The stairs were made of stone and something in Latin was written at the foot of them. "What's down there?" I asked to the voice that came from above the golden stairs. "That is a lost place, for the very few who knew what life was about long ago. But fret not for the path is before you, you have loved your life to the fullest all others have you not? Come upwards and be with me in heaven."
A feeling came over me, it was strange. I never saw myself like all the others and all of them were complete sinners and destructive. If I was truly a good person in life then nothing should happen to me if I chose those stone stairs. I began to walk towards them and placed a foot on the stairs. The thunderous voice returned once more, "Why are you choosing that path? Heaven is here, do not make this mistake!" I turned around and said one final thing, "I am not like the others, I am not destructive, or murderous, or as sinful as those" and so I chose the path I though.. everyone thought was hell. I.. was lucky.
I began my descent until the point where I was surrounded in darkness, a cool breeze brushed my face. I saw a light that seemed very dim that looked as though was miles away, I moved forwards. The coolness seemed to become warm and I thought that I was truly going to hell until the warmth subsided and the heat turned into something.. amazing. The light became piercing and looked as though a star was before me, and I walked into it. For a second I was blind and then.. there was light. I saw before me a gate, insanely huge in size made of gold and marble with a fence that stretched to the beyond of both sides. I walked up to the entrance where a man stood.
"Thank you, my son. You are one of few, one in a thousand years. Welcome.. to heaven"
I felt warmth. I felt love. I felt... peace.
| 2018-08-13T09:08:57 | 2018-08-13T08:48:30 | 82 | 13 |
[WP] There is a bar located between life and death. All those who died sit for their last drinks before marching onto the afterlife. Unbeknownst to them, the bartender is also the judge. Forgiveness is up to God. Retribution is the Devil's call. Judgement is given by the one who serves you drinks.
|
I've seen 'em all, ya know. The good, the bad, the ugly. All of 'em think they're dreaming, 'cept this is the last dream they'll see before they see their just reward. You might ask me, "How do you do it?"
Honestly, I've done this so long it's second nature now. They ask for a drink, I pull it up, they confide and I send them on their way.
'Cept this one fella, came in here like anyone else. After I sent him on his way, I turned to my next customer only to see this guy waiting for another drink. I finished up and turn to him and he asks for another. "Sure," I say. Sometimes people want another round, nothing unusual about that.
I sent him away again and finish up a few more folk. One of 'em almost went the wrong way, but I steered 'em right after all. Folks think they deserve it sometimes. Then my repeat customer came back.
Now I'll admit, I got a little annoyed. No one returns for a 3rd time go-around. But I tried again, and sent him off.
Now he just sits in my bar, taking up space. It's become a contest of wills. He won't leave and I won't serve him. Just tell everyone to ignore the idiot sitting in the middle. You might ask me now, "Why don't I ask him what his deal is?"
That's the problem. I can usually tell everyone's deal. But him? He's got no deal, ya know? He just sits there, doing nothing, thinking about nothing. Hell, he's done nothing unusual with his time. I just don't get it.
You wanna talk to him? Be my guest.
|
Gentle piano music drifts along the dimly lit hallway, courtesy of a very talented colleague of mine. I always wondered why I was never created with an aptitude for music, yet still have an interest for it planted inside me. There must be some good reason, I’m sure; it’s not the Master’s style to simply act without thinking. For now, I am quite content with escorting and aiding our new guests, particularly our younger ones.
At the end of the hall, a gaggle of children huddle close together, as most do in an unfamiliar situation. Their robes are bright orange, trimmed with deep brown edges and brown lettering on the rear- the standard uniform for our new young members. I peer directly into their curious eyes and wave my gloved hand in a friendly gesture. Being their height aids me immensely, I can be accepted as one of them instead of being a strange adult figure they may mistrust at first glance. The Master created me with a purpose in mind, after all. As I approach, I am immediately bombarded with questions, and their words jumble into an indistinguishable cacophony of languages and shouts. Several of the children are especially loud, so I hiss a gentle request in the tongue of the Master, one which is understood not by spoken mouth but by the feeling in the heart. It stirs up familiar feelings and experiences of a life before and uses them to speak, in a sense.
I lead my charges into the brighter main room, several of the youngest members tugging at my robes as they follow. Before us lies a massive sea of orange, hundreds of children socializing and enjoying themselves with assorted toys and play structures, doing as all children do when left to their own devices. Many blotches of green hustle about the crowds, the Master’s servants, much like myself. Our green robes allow us to find each other quickly, a particularly useful fact in larger groups, or so I hear. Other servants who work with older humans have a much larger population to sift through. I hiss a word of encouragement to the children who haven’t already wandered off, and watch them as they scurry away to join the crowds.
Another servant, a near splitting image of myself, approaches me with two nearly empty baskets of cards in his hands, “Aid me. I’m nearly finished,” he requests, handing one to me.
I accept with a sigh, “I feel that there is an ever increasing amount of orange nowadays.” Peering down at the basket, I’m relieved to find all the cards are white and green, a symbol of passage to a peaceful afterlife. Children are pure, often a product of their surroundings rather than a product of their own choices and judgement, and it pains me to have to deliver the dreaded crimson card.
“It isn’t our place to worry about what occurs down below. It isn’t even the Master’s place. We simply deliver the judgement,” his bright yellow eyes blink at me under his hood, “Don’t forget, we serve the Master, and what he isn’t responsible for, we aren’t responsible for.”
I nod in response and begin searching for the owners of the cards, matching the text with the names we inscribe into the back of their robes. Humans have their own names, but too many are shared to be an efficient way to tell them apart. Handing the wrong judgement would be a grave error indeed. Two cards remain in the basket I’m holding, and I begin my search for their owners. Mercifully, the children are nearby, and I offer their cards to them. Both of them are around the middle age I often see in this sector, around six or seven years of age, and are working on a puzzle while feasting on pastries. Perhaps they found friends in each other, which would explain why their judgements came at such a similar time. The Master sees all, and likely decided that their kindness towards each other was worthy of passage to a blessed afterlife. It requires some convincing to move the two from their work and food, but with some persuasion, I am able to begin escorting them, hand in hand, to the great doors to the beyond. Great golden gates separate the Master’s realm from the afterlife, I have never seen beyond them. A line of orange trails from the gates, and I leave my two followers there, as it’s another servant’s duty to handle the gates.
During my return, I decide to make a stop by the kitchens. The children always appreciate drinks and snacks, so I hastily cut through the area dedicated to adults. Perhaps due to the sheer height difference of the many humans here and myself, I never enjoyed taking this shortcut to the kitchens. The humans here are dressed in a deep ocean blue, while the servants are still much like myself, only taller. Nearly everything here is built for humans older than the ones I am accustomed to: higher chairs and tables, different music, drink and food with much stronger tastes and textures, so forth. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a commotion, a sudden flurry of purple rushes into the crowd. I rush to the side of the room out of fear of being trampled, and observe the chaos through the legs of a chair. Only the Master wears purple.
A calming hiss echos through the entire room, and I nearly find myself moved by such power. The Master stands tall, between the pack of people, and holds two of them apart. His robes are much more ornate than ours, with circular green designs trimming the edges, and draped around his neck is a circular pendant, from which he reaches into and procures two new judgement cards. To be given a card directly from the Master can only be an incredibly fortunate or unfortunate event, but I fear at least one of the two cards being handed out is crimson. Offering silent thanks to the Master for working for the relatively peaceful children, I slip my way through chairs and tables on my way to the kitchen. Maybe I’ll take the proper route to the kitchen instead of cutting corners next time.
~
Thank you for reading, if you have any comments or criticisms, don't be afraid to state them. I am always trying to improve.
| 2021-03-08T21:53:48 | 2021-03-08T21:44:51 | 184 | 67 |
[WP] In a world filled with magic, your family is scorned for generations for wasting time with science. Your mother was a botanist. Your father, a biologist. Mages touch-heal. You developed steam locomotion when mages teleport. Your family has never trusted magic. One day, the magic stops working.
|
I want to tell you that no one died. Or at least very few. That, when all the mana in the world dried unexpectedly up - as if a great sponge had fallen in a lake - that I held out the fruits of science, and they all took from my palm and nourished themselves.
I want to tell you that.
But I can't.
I want to tell you, too, that a hundred-thousand bodies don't haunt a hundred palaces, ivory mausoleums littered with cloaked skeletons: magic users who -- unable to feed themselves -- whittled away like candles, one layer of wax at a time, until they were only unlit wicks.
Not all died, at least. That is something truthful I can tell you. Many followed the rail tracks to our farm, hearing rumours of wheat and rice and fresh water, crisp-cool from a well. They followed the rail tracks like a great cotton snake, coiling to the horizon.
Do you know, some refused our help? Even after the journey they made, even with their ribs pressing like knives against their skin. They refused to learn to grow food from seeds in the soil, to water it without a cloud. They had expected salvation here -- a pool of mana, perhaps. But to see us toiling in the fields, better to be dead, some said.
Soon, they were.
The children took to it better. For them, it was like learning a new branch of magic, caring and protecting sprouting seeds, to eat what they grew, to nurture the soil after and to keep it healthy.
The farm expanded as they learned to build additional shelters; the new fields spread to the horizon, a rising sun from the soil.
And they thanked us for it. Me, my family, for holding science so dear and cherished and special. For teaching it to them. For saving them. They brought us food from their own crops, said we deserved to teach and rest, not to work anymore. Because without us, there would be nothing left. All the mages, reliant on mana, would be dead without our shared knowledge.
I want to tell them that's true.
That we saved them.
I want to tell them that we didn't find the great mana well, thought to be only legend -- part underground, part above. A lake radiant and phosphorescent, shimmering its magic into the air itself.
I want to tell them that we didn't poison it. That were weren't jealous of their ways, of their magic, of how easy everything was.
I want to tell them we didn't need them to see how difficult life should be. Didn't want them to know our toil, our pained backs, our swollen, crooked feet and legs.
Yes, I dearly want to tell them we saved them.
So, with a smile as real as their crops, I do.
|
# The Witches Tithe
“Have you never heard of supply and demand?” I exclaimed, staring down the Pendari Repubic’s ambassador. He was a seedy man, whose silken wizarding robes had lost something of their grandeur when the crystals sewn into them stopped glowing. Now he looked exactly as he was, a gaudy pretender with more rocks than braincells, and every one of both were worthless.
“But Sir! The goods I offer in trade are worth far, far more than the prices printed here!” He held up a magazine, pointing at the cost printed under a steam engine.
I shook my head and took the magazine from him, tearing out the page and lighting it on fire with the candle on my desk before handing it back to him. He took the thing with a horrified expression as the flames crept of the paper. He didn’t drop it until it burned him and my steward had to run up and stamp out the fire.
“The cost of that carpet will be added to your bill,” I said. He blanched and I suppressed a laugh. “Your people looked down on my family for generations, don’t expect mercy now, I’ll educate you for free and that’s better than you deserve.”
I stood, walking around my desk towards the odious man, and pushed him back into his chair. I pressed my finger into his chest, twisting it, letting the sharpened, ornately decorated point of my nail-cap break his skin. “You, and I suspect most of the men coming after you, are operating under the old paradigm. You come bearing vair-stones and once enchanted trinkets, soul gems and finely worked runes, and you think yourself still rich. You know that your magic has faded, that merely a week ago you’d have incinerated me for daring to touch you, but somehow it hasn’t penetrated your fat little head that the death of magic goes farther than that. It extends its tendrils into your economy, your banking system. Makes your currency worthless and turns your coffers to dead weight.”
I beckoned my steward over with a crooked finger and then sliced off one of the stones the ambassador wore with my nail cap. “Jeeves, eat this.” I said.
“Yes, Master Harvell,” he said, bowing and then taking the small stone, swallowing it in one gulp.
“That’s what your stones are worth now,” I said, turning back to the astonished ambassador. “That single stone would’ve been what, 100 cesterces before, when it could hold mana? Now it’s just a rock, and not even a pretty one. Same with all your soul gems, save for the few diamonds among them, and as for the trinkets you brought? Melt them down and bring me gold, I like that better.”
“But sir!” the ambassador cried, “we need those engines! And the antibiotics, and the telegraph and all manner of other things! It’s for the public good, it’s for—”
“The public good? Really? When have you wizards ever given a damn about the public good?” I traced my nail-cap up the man’s chest, over his throat, up to the artery there, and rested it and bare pound of pressure away from his death. “The lesson isn’t over, ambassador. Before, the engine was worth 10,000 cesterces. It was a curiosity, a vanity item for the ultra rich. Now? It’s worth a million or more. Supply and demand. Before, nobody wanted them and I had a surplus. Now? I’ve got three empires and a principality waiting for you to leave, and a thousand merchant houses in between. By the end of the day, who knows what the price will be? In a situation like this, every item is worth what its purchaser will pay for it, and if you can’t pay, another will. I hear the Aldebaran Empire brought wagons full of gold, they’ve been inquiring about what a gun does. Peldar and Aldebar have a long, long border ambassador. I shudder to think what will happen if you don’t learn quickly.”
His skin was shockingly pale. He trembled from head to toe, sweating through his robes. I’d never seen a man so terrified.
“We don’t have the gold, or the gems,” he said, “and there aren’t enough cesterces in the whole treasury for what you ask.”
“A shame,” I said, examining the nails of my uncapped hand.
“But we do have something, and damn you to Hell for bringing it to this.” I looked up, suddenly interested. “The old ways,” he whispered, “the Witches’ Tithe. How many of our firstborn is an engine worth? How many would it cost to outfit a battalion with guns?”
If I could’ve stepped outside myself, I knew my eyes would have glistened. My appearance had been cultivated carefully for this event, I was new money and proud of it, a self made man poised to be his self made nightmare. I’d never been so excited in all my life.
Then the door burst open, the carefully concealed one on the south wall, locked and unlocked via candelabrum, and Gabrielle burst in.
“We decline,” she said, and however much my eyes might have glowed hers glowed brighter, an inner fire that would have incinerated me more surely than the ambassador’s magic ever would have. “We will not traffic in flesh, however desperate they are.”
“Gabrielle, this isn’t your negotiation to—”
“Silence.” She didn’t say it loudly, she didn’t need to. I inclined my head to her, stepping back from the ambassador, as she came forward and perched against my desk.
“My husband drives a hard bargain,” she said, “sometimes too hard. My family would like to express our condolences for the Republic’s financial situation. You’ll be granted a month to get your affairs in order, we’ll sell no weapons to Aldebar in that time.”
He fell to his knees, kissing her boots, groveling like I’d never seen a man grovel.
“And when you come back,” she said, “bring us something we want. Not people though, never that.”
“Thank you milady! A thousand thanks!”
The ambassador rose, continuing to bow as he retreated towards the door.
“Ambassador!” she called as he turned.
“Yes milady?”
“The price won’t drop.” Her voice was cold, steely. His shoulders fell, eyes dulling. “You have a month, use it well, because afterward we will sell arms, to any and all comers. Bring us a contract or bring them a treaty, use your time wisely.”
She waved her hand casually, breaking the man’s heart. “Now go.”
Gabrielle turned back to me, her eyes were hard, as hard as her bargains, even with her morals.
“It’s a new age, isn’t it?” I asked.
“A new age.”
“To your family.” Jeeves, ever ready, brought us a pair of glasses and I raised one in toast.
“To ours.” She said, matching me.
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-04-07T08:01:44 | 2021-04-07T07:57:33 | 202 | 78 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended.
|
"Everitt Kincaid," The judge decreed. "For crimes against the magical realms and the practice of the heresy know as science, you are sentenced to death by this court. Think well upon your fate, for in the morning you shall be asked to voice the means of your destruction."
I muttered as he spoke. I'd tried my best to defend myself. No Law Mage in the kingdom had wanted to take up my case. I had argued that everything was science. That magic itself was a science imperfectly understood by the sentient races. My pleas had fallen upon deaf ears. Even though magic followed all the rules of science they hadn't want to listen. They accused me of the Dark Heresy and claimed my defense was proof of my guilt. They were fools.
Yes, the Dark Heresy had led to the destruction of the first age of man, but it had also given birth to magic itself if the myths were to be believed. Now nearly two millennia after the Calamity society had rebuilt and we all worshiped at the altar of magic. Well, all save the few Heretics like me. We unearthed the forgotten lore, recovered the abominations know as technology and science. We understood there could be no equality for the ordinary sentient when the Mages ruled all with their supreme control of magic. With a dark wand or cruel staff, they could wipe rebellions from the field of battle. No army could stand against the Mageocracy.
Of course, science had the answer. I had recovered the technology, refurbished it, understood it. I had equipped my comrades with the weapons they needed. As the rebellion squared off against the Mages they had been supremely confident. When their leaders' heads exploded into pink mist followed by a crack of thunder they had lost that confidence. Still, as they collected themselves their magic proved too much, we had moved too early. They slaughtered my comrades, my fellow rebels. Then the torture started, they broke the most strong-willed of us in mere hours.
That was when they found me. I was no rebel soldier, I was a scientist, a seeker of knowledge and truth. Sure, I armed the rebels but I couldn't battle the Mages anymore than anyone else. Still, I had given the rebels the deadly weapons that had killed more Mages than had died since the last Great War, and they were furious. My trial and execution were to be public. They wanted the whole kingdom to know the suffering of a heretic. To add insult to injury they made you choose the manner of your own death. Vast magical power was employed in a dark ritual to inflict the means of your death and they would do their best to twist your words.
I lay on the cot in my cell trying to think my way out of the sentence. If I was better with words perhaps I could craft a way that would allow me to live for years or even just months before my death. My worry of course was that anything I told them they would turn back against me. If I asked to die of some horrid natural disaster hoping to take them with me, they would likely just teleport me to one of those disasters. I knew their magic was not unlimited though, but they would be willing to invest a lot of power into making sure I suffered. Finally, I had an idea and drifted off to a fitful slumber.
When I awoke I was lead out into the courtyard. The crowd jeered and hissed, they booed and threw rotten fruit and stones at me but I held my head up high. I saw my comrades for the first time in weeks. I wasn't the only scientist to die today. We were heralded as heretical priests of a forbidden religion and all of us were to die in horrible ways. Kenneth Acetheart was before me in line. He winked at me when they called his name and walked proudly before the trio of mages that would enact his death.
"Heretic Kenneth Acetheart," The lead executioner intoned. "Name your death."
"Old age," Kenneth announced cockily and I grinned, he'd figured it out too. "I choose Old Age."
"So be it," The executioner stated, his lips curling into a smirk. My face fell and my mind began to race, he was too pleased with the method of death...
Then we all watched in horror as Kenneth aged rapidly, his once dark hair became salt and pepper, then grey, and finally bone-white before our eyes. His skin went from hale and healthy to covered in liver spots and paper-thin. His once well-muscled frame lost weight and stature until he was a hunched and shriveled shell of his former self. His eyes dimmed with cataracts and age. His mind began to wander as I could see the confusion on his face. Then finally he collapsed and his body slowly turned to dust.
As a page swept away the remains of my friend and comrade with the casual air of someone doing an unfavored chore I was panicking. I couldn't think of what to name that would result in a better outcome than that. I could make them kill me with science, that would show them that magic wasn't the only way. I would die by my own discipline at least. But what good would that be? They led me into the center of the ritual circle. I could feel the hum of magic in the air around me. The spell was awaiting my means of death.
"Heretic Everitt Kincaid, slayer of the Just," The executioner intoned once more. "Name your death."
My mind was still racing, I had two choices that I had narrowed it down to. I glanced from the executioner to the crowd, then to my comrades. I steadied my breathing I thought and when my lips parted I heard myself talk, as if I was outside my body listening to myself instead of speaking.
"I wish to die as every trace of magic leaves this world forever..." I closed my eyes as I spoke, knowing that at least if I failed I may have given the next scientist in line an experiment to improve on.
| 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T07:21:37 | 5,663 | 501 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended.
|
When our worlds collided, we were unprepared for magic. All of our technology was useless against the elves and their sorcerers or the dwarves and their powerful enchantments or the orcs and their shamans.
You would think that bullets, tanks, and fighter jets would carry the day easy but no. Not even nukes did squat. Oh nukes worked fine, but then some dwarf would come along and purify the soil, an elf would restore nature, and a fucking orc shaman would summon the spirits of the dead back to the living world.
Soon, our world was just another part of their “over-realm” and mankind?
Without magic, we were nothing, less than nothing, not even slaves…
We were livestock, literally livestock, to be bartered and traded and consumed.
If you were lucky you were given to the orcs, who would just eat you. There was a simple honesty in that, far better than having your life force drained by the elves to power their infernal “technology” or worked to death in the dwarven mines where your enchanted chains turned you into nothing but a meat puppet, denying you even the peace of death as your corpse continued to labor until your very bones turned to dust.
A few of us were able to escape to the wilderness, sometimes by strength, sometimes by guile, mostly by luck.
We were a pitiful band, but we managed to survive by lurking in the shattered places, areas warped by the collision of worlds and the magics used in the great war that broke us.
Not much grew there, well nothing that you would want to eat, anyway, so we resorted to “raids” where we would swoop down on the unwary, waylay a wagon, or sneak onto a farm.
We didn’t have magic, but a club worked just fine. A gun worked too, if they didn’t see you coming. Oh their wizards, enchanters, and shamans were stupidly, unfairly powerful, but some average point-ear, stubby, or greenie? They died just as easy as anyone else.
We did ok, but eventually we hit the wrong wagon and killed the wrong point ear. Their cousin’s brother’s roommate in elf college or whatever was some minor whatsit and that was that.
It didn’t take long. They had all of us wrapped up nicely.
I figured they would just fry us in one of their soul-trees or whatever they called them but that point ear decided to have some fun with us.
He had some of those goddamn soul-trees all hooked up in some weird pattern and stuffed them with people, laughing at them, saying that we were why their very souls would be devoured and then made them thank us for ending their suffering.
God, I hated him for that.
Then he said that since each of us was thought ourselves their equal, (which we didn’t) we could receive their punishment. Each of us could choose how we died and the trees would grant our wish.
He then sat on a throne made of twisted living human flesh and laughed as each of us either tried to come up with an escape, a paradox, or at least tried to make the death as pleasant as possible.
Whatever wish anyone came up with was granted… In the worst way possible.
I was halfway through the line watching each of us get fucked over once again.
Soon I was second in line, just behind Mark, and wouldn’t you know it, that sorry mother stole my idea.
“I wish to die of old age,” he said hopefully.
That damn point ear laughed hard that time and waved his hand.
Mark turned into a rapidly vibrating blur, screaming with an impossibly high pitched voice. I watched in horror as he screamed, unable to move, blurring ever faster and faster.
Then he started to age.
They were forcing that poor sonofabitch to live out his entire life, standing in place, right there over just a few minutes for us…
But for him, it was \*decades\*.
Finally it was over, and Mark fell, withered and grey, to the ground.
Now it’s my turn.
That goddamn point ear is sitting there smiling at me.
He laughs… fucking laughs at me.
“Go ahead,” he snickers, “Choose.”
Oh I hate him.
I hate all of them.
I hate the elves. I hate the dwarves. I hate those fucking orcs.
I hate this world, and any gods that let this happen to us.
I want them all…
\*gone\*…
Suddenly it hits me.
\*I know what to do!\*
Our technology was worthless against them, but our science?
We know things that even that point ear lord didn’t know, things he wouldn’t know how to stop, or twist or pervert.
I grinned at him.
“Well, meat?” he sneered.
“Could I say something first?” I ask, the glee building within me.
“Why not?” he chuckled to the amusement of all the elves who had gathered to watch the latest entertainment.
“I would like to tell all of you that it’s been a lot of fun,” I say breaking into a manic giggle, “but now playtime is over. You probably won’t know it, but I just fucking won. I am now ready to choose.”
“Your impertinence will be justly rewarded, meat,” ol’ point ears snickers at me, “Choose.”
“I choose,” I giggle, “death by false vacuum decay. If the Higgs field, or any field for that matter is in a false vacuum state within my body I desire it to be free to find it’s true vacuum state.”
Point ears is looking really confused right now. He’s not sure how to handle this.
“You don’t mean you don’t know what a false vacuum is?” I sneer, laughing, “Even we lowly humans know about that.”
“Of course I know what it is!” Point Ears snaps and starts to wave his hand.
I laugh and extend my middle fingers for the last time.
| 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T07:58:17 | 5,663 | 140 |
[WP] You are a high ranking commander within a consortium of alien races that have banded together to fight an entity only known as "the horror beyond the stars." You have recently discovered Earth and have been ordered to get the primitive humans battle ready by any means necessary.
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"Primitives," Logos sighed as he helped his team unload tech printers from the arriving ships.
"Excuse me," a human said. Humans were a hairless bipedal species that wore a mixture of synthetic and naturally occurring fibers in a mix of protective layers over it's naked body. Logos examined him carefully as he approached.
"Yes, human?" Logos asked, stopping the antigrav cart he was pushing from moving any further so as to not injure the human. That would cause troubles. Hurting the local species always did. With the thousands of ships that had landed over the last couple of weeks this type of scene was being replayed across this world.
"I was wondering about this "horror beyond the stars"?" the human stated then asked, "What is it?"
"We do not know," Logos answered, "It was trapped somewhere in the great dark. We now fight the remnants of its worshippers across this galaxy and others. These printers are designed to create quantum computer pads that will explain all the technological achievements of all the races that form the Guard. Humans have a lot of catching up to do before they can join the fight and these will provide the basis for constructing your own printers. We are uplifting you as quickly as possible as we need all the soldiers we can get."
"And you're just giving us all of this, no catches? Technology and weapons beyond our wildest dreams? Three different FTL technologies, if I recall correctly?" the human's voice was translated with the suspicion still intact.
"Yes," Logos stated, "There are three million species who also have access to this technology. The rule is share. There is no hoarding in the guard. As a warning, every so often one of these newly enrolled species will use the tech upgrades to try and subdue other species of the Guard. This never works. Never."
"Why?" the human asked curiously.
"Three million species against one?" Logos raised an eyebrow, "Surely you can see the consequences. Numbers is the great equalizer in this equation."
"This may seem a strange request, but can you print me a written language translator? I am a professor of ancient languages and this would help me in my studies." the human stated and it was such a strange, yet harmless request, that Logos inputted the request into the printer and a minute later the machine's nanobodies had printed one. He handed it to the human.
"Thank you, this will help in my work tremendously. Welcome to Earth" the man seemed satisfied. He walked away, getting into one of their air vehicles and flew off over one of the planet's liquid water seas. Logos sighed and went back to work.
-------
Professor Armitage stepped out of the vehicle and entered the cave. He slipped into his robes at the entrance and walked down past the glowing runes covering the walls. It was written in a language that had passed into obscurity in the dark eons before. He pointed the translation device at the runes and read the translation, "Here lies the key to the Great City of Ry'leh, may he who turns the key release the Great One from his sleep unto the stars..."
"Well now," the Professor's smile shone in the darkness of the cave as he read the ritual required to "turn the key" and smiled at the group of fellow cultists gathered there, "Lets get started, shall we?"
|
Lord Helios was not a military-forward leader. He was more interested in resource conservation, expansion through diplomacy, and investing in the tech sectors.
It was extremely surprising to Vilka, the body-locked hivemind Militia Master, when he was summoned to Lord Helios's private estate.
They had never spoken directly, not on the day that Lord Helios was crowned, nor on the day that Vilka presented his proposals for expansion and budgets. Lord Helios had simply listened, bowed respectfully, and moved on to the next matter at hand. When Vilka sent a follow-up via his Secretary of Military Affairs, Lord Helios hadn't responded.
Vilka had considered his career dead in the water. In this age of unprecedented peace, his expertise was not only not needed, it was practically a burden. A stain which reminded the Coalition of the blood it had spilled...but now, either Vilka was being provided an early retirement, or something new was on the horizon. Something that even the diplomacy of the great, charismatic Lord Helios could not navigate.
As his personal shuttle pierced the atmosphere, Vilka was surprised to find himself on a mostly barren rock planet. Helios had decorated his public offices with many potted plants and aquariums, as well as keeping domesticated animals close at hand. He was often seen doting on them...so why was his home, his personal planet, so devoid of life?
Vilka approached, calm and unbothered. Well...as unbothered as he could be, given his condition. As a hivemind, his consciousness was *meant* to be spread across multiple bodies. Vilka found his preference to shift between five to eight embodiments at any one time, but these days he was limited to one. He chafed against Helios for it, but it was a requirement the Coalition had agreed upon to ensure certain military ethical standards.
After a short walk from the concrete landing pad, Vilka came to the plain steel doors of the Helios estate. He hesitated a moment before knocking, realizing he'd prefer to stay in the gentle drizzling rain-- but he had a job to attend to.
Vilka knocked, and the door opened. A robotic attendant with a four-limb design answered, ushering him inside. Before long, Vilka was sat across from Helios, as the table began to fill, one robotic delivery at a time, with a variety of succulent dishes and delicious looking drinks.
"I'm sorry for dragging you all the way here, Master Vilka." Helios began, a brief and apologetic smile upon his lips. "For a matter like this, I require utmost discretion."
Helios looked much the same as he did in his public speeches, which mildly surprised Vilka. He had expected him to be more plain in person. He had expected him to perhaps be heavier, to have bags under his eyes, *something*-- but he was just as painfully beautiful in person as he was on the sillanimite screens.
"No matter, Lord Helios. Shall we get to the heart of the matter?" Vilka asked.
"Mmm, I don't see a need to rush, do you? We haven't had an occasion to get to know one another yet, much to my regret. You've been a powerful figure in our government for so long."
Retirement, then.
"Nearly one hundred years of service, by standard measurements, yes, though nearly half of those were on the front lines, not leading the Militia."
"You earned quite a reputation on the battlefield. In particular, when you served as Squad Sargent during the battle to secure...ah, remind me, it was a rainforest planet."
"Kallidek Third."
"Yes, that's right." Helios seemed to realize that both parties still had empty plates, and began filling Vilka's plate with small portions from each of the offerings. "You seemed to shine the most when you were a Sargent, would you agree? The men under your command all had excellent records."
"There were more opportunities to shine then than now, I would say. You've brought us into a most excellent era of peace."
"Well...no. No, I wouldn't say that, not quite." Helios stopped serving and looked Vilka in the eyes. "Look, Vilka...do you miss the war? Be honest with me."
Vilka grunted. "In a way, I suppose. I certainly had more personal freedoms."
Helios smiled briefly. "You refer to your nature as a hive mind...and in turn, I would once again refer to the accomplishments of those beneath you, those who served in your squads."
Vilka raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying something, my lord?"
"I tire of implications. Implications and misdirections and gentle nudges are for politicians with soft hands and daggers hidden behind their backs. You are a man of action. Allow me to be frank with you. Your ability as a hivemind, you used it to enhance your men."
"If I were to admit to that, I would be admitting to a *slew* of war crimes, my lord. So, no, I did nothing of the sort."
"Why do you think I keep no servants in this house? Why there are no pets? Why do you think this planet is so barren, when it is so obviously against my personal aesthetic tastes? It is because this entire world has only *two* pairs of ears to hear this conversation. Nothing lives on this planet except for you and me. I have very, very advanced security guaranteeing this."
"Why would it comfort me to be admitting to war crimes to only you, when you are the highest authority this galaxy has ever known? Are you not sworn to uphold the laws?"
"Laws exist as a...general principal. There are exceptions that sometimes have to be made. The law against murder, for example, exists to maintain peace among the citizens. If we, as the governing body, have to murder to maintain peace, then we are *beholden* to break the law. The ultimate point is peace for everyone who holds me to be their leader, however that can be achieved."
Vilka said nothing, waiting for Helios to continue.
"My hands are no cleaner than yours, Vilka. You possessed the men under your command to ensure that the goals were accomplished, even if it meant that your men would die. You sacrificed much for the greater good. I may be...involved in something rather similar, but on a larger scale."
"Fine. I will show you the blood on my hands if you'll show me yours." Vilka said, trying to hide his surprise. This was certainly *not* what he expected.
Helios turned his palms up, though his skin was still the same honeyed-brown. "Here is the blood on my hands, then. The body you currently reside in, the one I had you commit to via the Militia Ethics Act, was taken from the race of beings known as humans. You have surely noticed that very few others like it exist within civilized space."
"I had wondered."
"My own body is roughly modelled after their form as well, though I have spliced it with a few other races to keep my exact origins deliberately unclear."
"You're a Synmera."
"Indeed. A living being plopped into a synthesized body. I was originally a Keere, but you'd never find a Keere winning an election."
"Interesting. Where might you have found a Synth-med tech skilled enough...?"
"Well. That can be a conversation for another time. We are digressing."
"Mmm."
"The point is this. Humans are a race of people that remain fairly primitive, though their bodies have many good qualities. I have been using them in certain experiments, and I have been using them to keep the war we are in *right now* off of our doorstep."
| 2022-08-15T03:21:12 | 2022-08-15T03:19:14 | 99 | 48 |
[WP] The hero beats the villain by stooping even lower.
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Professor Panic Cackled at the tied up Captain Chrono, "Now that I've finally defeated you, Nothing will be able to stop my plans!"
Chrono gasped, "Oh no! So you're going through with this?"
"Of Course! With my new army of undying robots, the forces of the world will be entirely at my mercy!" Professor Panic arched back and let loose a maniacal laugh, "MWAHAHAHA!"
"Well, if you're really intent on that, I guess there's nothing I can do to stop you..."
"Wait....Really? You always seem to have a backup plan. You aren't even going to try to break out and stop them or something?"
"Oh no. With these manacles, there's no way I can do anything. But then again, I'm not the one who's going to stop you..."
"What does that mean?"
"Well if you'll reach into the third pocket from the left in my bandoleer, you'll see what I mean."
Professor Panic thought about this for a moment before curiosity got the better of him. "It's...a cell phone?"
"Yup. Hit unmute."
As the professor did it, a shrill voice could be heard from the other line, "*Harold! I can't believe you'd do this*!"
The professor's face turned as white as a sheet, "***MOM?!?***"
"*honestly, I raised you better than this! Taking over the world... Why can't you use your degree to make normal robots, like ones to help those people in-*"
"Mom, can we talk about this later? I'm in the middle of-"
"*No! What made you think this was a good idea? Was it something I did when you were younger that made you want to take over the world?*"
"No Mom, you were a great mother"
"*Was it the divorce? Did that make you do this?*"
"No, that wasn't it either...Look, this is just something that I think I need to-"
"*No listen here, Harold J Karnagee! This is serious trouble you're getting into! First it's taking over the world, than it's blowing up the moon and declaring intergalactic war against the Zarbloxis! Now untie your future stepfather and get your butt down here right now!*"
"**What?**...***Future stepdad?!?***"
Captain Chrono cleared his voice, "Now son, we may not get along, but your mother and I are very worried about you. We wanted to break the news gently, but sometimes fate has other plans."
Professor Panic sat down in his throne and muttered, "I...I can't believe this is happening."
"Listen buddy, we'll get through this. We'll sit down, and talk it out like a family. Your mother and I think this is just a rebellious phase you're going through right now."
"My super villainy is not a phase!"
"You say that now, but I've known plenty of guys that started off on the other side."
Edit: Fixed terminology as /u/avianographer pointed out.
|
Even with unlimited strength, I get tired.
That's what normal people never understood. That I, with my godlike strength, could ever be tired. A plane malfunctions in the sky, I'm there. A bus goes careening off a cliff, I'm there. A bank robbery. Another bank robbery across town. The Daily Planet is taken over by kidnappers. I stop them all.
And that was just last week.
In the end, it wasn't the pressure mundane life-saving rescues that made me do it. Or the tears and lawsuits of a thousand, thousand families whom I could not save, could not hear quickly enough, could not fly fast enough to help. Not even the supervillains could break me. Brainiac, Lobos, even Doomsday, I handled them all without resorting to this. None of them could separate me from my obsession with truth, justice and the American way.
No, in the end, it was just a human being with the capacity to be absolutely soulless. He didn't care about money, power, or fame. He only cared about his own satisfaction. He just wanted to be the one to finally beat the invincible Superman.
He lived in his mother's cramped basement on the southeast side of the city, I later found out. He had researched me relentlessly. Photographed me. Read transcripts. Pored over interviews, sightings, speculations, theories. Catalougued every single one of my powers over the past three years.
Then he started watching me. Of course, I noticed when I saw him in person, but I dismissed him as another avid fan, another person grateful for the Herculean might of Kal-El. I was foolish, distracted.
Then he sent a bomb in a package to Lois. I wasn't even there to see the explosion. Some kind of acid was in it, lye, the doctors said. She was barely alive, horribly disfigured.
My parents got a package that same day. Fortunately, theirs only contained a handwritten letter with something too sick to repeat here.
I had to find him. I had to, before he hurt someone else I loved.
But I couldn't. He knew of my excellent hearing, so he simply never spoke aloud. He also figured out that my x-ray vision could be blocked by lead, so he lined his mother's basement apartment with lead aprons stolen from a doctor's office. Besides, I didn't know who he was. Worse, he had no demands. He never contacted me, never gave any reasoning, but I knew what he was waiting for: he wanted to see me unravel.
But I wouldn't. I couldn't give him that. So I left.
The Fortress of Solitude was dank, dark. I laid in the darkness, listened to Metropolis slowly descend into chaos. Luthor had staged a hostile takeover. Petty criminals ruled the streets. I had been gone three months.
I laughed to myself. In his own sick way, he won. Little shit could give Bruce a run for his money. Bruce...
Before I could give it a second thought I burst through the icy walls of the cave, flew so fast I caused a sonicboom, melted the mountains, and pushed and pushed and pushed until I ended in the Batcave.
I've been expecting you, he said. Of course he had, he kept track of everything. I could feel the Kryptonite in his utility belt. He didn't trust me not to act irrationally. He was right: I wasn't rational.
"I need a name," I choked. My voice sounded strange, gravelly. I hadn't spoken to a soul for months, not since I heard Lois be permanently hooked up to a ventilator. I was too cowardly to go back and tell her I had not, *could not* bring that bastard to justice.
"No." I felt myself tense up, but his next words enraged me even further. "Besides, I don't have it."
"What?" I was in disbelief.
"Whoever this is, he's been covering his tracks for years. I've narrowed it down to the Southeast side of the city, about three square miles between the bridge and Main Avenue..."
He kept going, but I wasn't listening. He was predicting what I would say. Predicting what I would do. He thought I would never act on that information. Just like that kid that ruined Lois' life, ruined my life, he thought he had me figured out.
I was tired of being one step behind.
I shot down the tunnel to Wayne Manor's secret entrance as fast as I could. I knew I didn't have much time before Bruce realized what was happening and called the rest of the Justice League to stop me.
There! Right between the bridge and Main Street. I hovered above, staring downwards at the dilapidated houses. He was somewhere here, scheming.
BOOM! One house destroyed completely by my laser vision. I could have shut out the screams of the elderly couple inside, but I didn't.
Chances are, I hadn't gotten him yet.
CRUNCH! This time I smashed through a home completely, caving in the wall on the man inside. People's ears in the rundown neighborhood began to perk up. They had noticed the sounds of destruction. I could hear their heartbeats speeding up, the adrenaline pumping through their veins.
SMASH! This time I punched a house into the ground as loud as I could, though there was no one inside.
Methodically, I crushed and destroyed home after home. Life after life extinguished while the sun slowly set in the background. Eventually, the neighborhood people came outside to see what was happening.
It was just a peek. He never came all the way outside, no, he was too cautious. But he peeked from in the window, and even from 800 feet up I recognized a piece of that face. It only took a cursory super-speed run through the house to confirm what I already knew.
In an instant, I was on him. I held him up above my head with one hand, squeezing his neck ever so slightly, gradually throttling him. But I was dissatisfied. It wasn't enough to just kill him.
I beat him to a pulp in front of that great cloud of witnesses, and it still wasn't enough. He was half dead, but his eyes and nose still worked -- enough to watch, and to breathe.
I went after his family. The mother, first, because she was the loudest. Her back was broken in one swift move.
Then the slobbering, crying father. A laser lobotomy.
The little sister I had mercy on. I simply threw her a mile in the air -- who knows, maybe John or Diana might catch her before she hits the ground in a minute or so. Then again, with the lack of oxygen, she might have died immediately.
The dog distracted me. It had started barking and growling as the neighborhood stared in horror.
BANG! I looked down to see the kryptonite bullet lodged just beneath my heart. Normally Bruce's bullet wouldn't have penetrated so deep, but John had used his Green Lantern ring to speed it up.
I'm caught. Deep down, I'm glad I didn't kill this kid. He looks about 15. He'll never walk again, never breathe without a tube, never use the bathroom alone ever again. But he'll always remember what happened to his family, to his life.
In his own sick way, he won. He broke me. So I broke the rules.
| 2014-12-04T15:55:49 | 2014-12-04T15:34:29 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
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"It's been 20 years, Un," my old crime-fighting partner, Gold Grizzly, said.
"20 good years," I interjected.
"They have been good years," he agreed, "but I was saying, it's been a long time, and I still don't know your power."
"These good looks, obviously," I said with a giggle.
"Seriously," he said, "you know that if there's anyone you can trust, it's me. "
"Stop asking about this," I ordered.
"Yes, yes, of course, I'm sorry," he said in a distracted tone.
People always try to guess what power made me Number One. So far, no one has guessed that it is controlling Number Two.
|
The vast doors of my mansion opened wide, and a man in a royal gown entered the room. For a fleeting moment, I showed a slight smile, but it faded before he could see it. He, however, could not hold back his expression, full of furious rage. He had just taken a few steps in before he yelled out: "Vantalana, how can you do this to me!"
"Number Two, are you dissatisfied with me?"
"Stop f*cking with me V, you know what this has cost me."
I was glad I could contain my smile, for the bored expression I was showing antagonized him further. "So what are you going to do about it." That was when I suddenly started to pay attention to him. Anyone with any common sense could tell I was baiting him, but Henry Gothaul was too angry to notice. He was falling right into my trap.
"I challenge you," he pointed his finger glaringly at me. It took a remarkable amount of will to not snicker in return, "to a duel!" *Gotcha!* Even he noticed the smile that spread across my lips.
"Really?" I rolled my head to the side, obnoxiously, "Number 2 thinks he can beat Number 1?" His face lit up bright red with fury; Number 2 could be so childish sometimes!
"Why you scum!" He could barely keep himself from trying to kill me right then and there, but he couldn't. He left the room loudly stomping.
Are you confused? Let me explain: In this city half of the population is gifted random powers, such as telekinesis, sensors, etc, but the rest of the population who do not are called 'muggles', and serve those privileged with power. The Privileged live in a tournament. They are ranked based on their powers, and anyone can challenge a higher rank to a duel to the death to obtain their rank. I am Number One.
No one knows my power, because the duels take place in a sealed arena. Two people go in, one comes out. Those who survive the Arena say it changes for every fight, to best mediate each competitor's power. Even the sizes of the Arena change, in spite of the laws of physics, and survivors talk about 2km wide deserts, and 400m wide urban brawls. It's all rather interesting, but no one is known to have found a way to cheat this system, at least not yet.
The familiar doors of the Arena stood before me. I remember dozens of battles, in dozens of environments. I remind myself of my plan, and smile knowing that Number Two had lost the battle the moment he took my bait.
Henry stood in front of the massive gates of the Arena. He had slain many a foe inside of its walls, and thought about the glorious combat to come. His body ached in rage towards that snake of a woman! He would crush her and take his rightful place as Number One! The only reason she was Number One and he was not was an agreement they had made, that she would keep his daughter's power secret. He knew that he was lost, that he was obsessed with the Arena and that he would die in it some day, but he did not want to curse his daughter with the same fate. And yet that b*tch failed him! She convinced his daughter to fight for her, and now she would die! The doors opened, and he shouted his battlecry at the top of his lungs: "FOR LUCY!"
Inside the arena was a small town. It seemed about a kilometer on each side, with a rural town dominating the center of the field. In the very center of town was an old church, which sounded its bells. In each corner was a small patch of woods, perfect places to hide in. As the doors closed behind him, he began to teleport wildly, searching for the infernal woman. He teleported, and there- there she was! What was she doing, just standing on top of the steeple! Surely this was some sort of trick, it was in her nature to deceive. He waited for something to happen, but she did not move. To h*ll with this! If he did nothing, he would never figure out her power! He had to probe her. He teleported behind One, swung with his battlehammer, and- nothing. It passed through her body with no resistance, and she faded away. A hologram! He immediately teleported away. So that's her power- holograms! Still, it's remarkably similar to Number 4's illusions. But then again, it's not unheard of for two people to have the same power, and One seemed like she'd be much better that Four with them anyway. As he had anticipated, though, she did not have an offensive power. She may be able to deceive him, but all he had to do was make sure that none of the holograms got close, for she would have to do so to kill him! He stood up, a terrifying smile spreading across his face, ready to hunt down Number One.
Cont. in reply
| 2014-12-18T18:39:49 | 2014-12-18T13:16:53 | 63 | 47 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man.
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Andrew was on the ground, he felt intense fear for the first time in his life, he looked up to the sky as the dragons were demolishing everything.
No, this can't be happening, he thought. He spent the past week preparing for the defense of camelot. Bringing each day modern technology weapons, even the infamous nuclear bomb.
Death was close, he could feel it down to his very bones.
He started weeping and crying upon realizing how vein his efforts were.
Is that all what modern technology could do? Is that how powerless he was compared to magic?
Solving this crisis should have been easy, as he started to recall his first meeting with Merlin
Nothing can resist human intelligence as he used to boast in front of Merlin, telling him how humanity has now been conquering space
Alas, all of this was vain, Andrew was so convinced that this was the past, that he knew what the future was holding. But this wasn't the past.
Multiverse, he knew this world from the comic he used to read when he was young, but this was a complete different universe.
Everything was there to hint him about this eventual turn of event. Different maps, different fauna and flora.
Idiot was all what was on his mind, he was an idiot.
Sonja, Alicia, Erina, those were the names of the girl he used to spend his nights with, thinking that these beautiful women were about to know fate worse than death made him realize the gravity of his own idiocy.
Jumping in front of his was a hideous creature that could kill you with one chop if his razor sharp hands were to touch him.
Oh, finally this is how I die!
However it seems that fate still hadn't abandoned him as Merlin and Arthur appeared just behind him to slay the beast and save him
Not now Andrew, Merlin said. You still have one thing you can bring from your time!
Can such a thing really exist at this point? Nuclear weapons were inefficient, what could I bring back?
Everything you brought was an object, Merlin said, you could try bringing someone!
Now that he thinks of it, that was true! There is still hope! He could call upon the greatest hero of mankind to slay those beasts!
Andrew stood up, forgetting his pain, fueled by a new emotion of hope! He knew what to do, who to call! It was so simple! "MERLIN! I want you to call upon this person!" (Read every first letter of each paragraph)
|
"Help us, future man." Merlin says to them man standing before him in khakis and a sky blue t-shirt.
"One week you say?" asks the man.
"Yes, one week. You may retrieve one object from the box each day."
"Well you're in luck. I won't need one week," the man replies. "I only need one item."
"One item? Is there such an item that can save us?"
"Yes, there is," said the man, reaching into the box. He pulled his hand out of the box, and in it was a button. "Now this button holds a power so unimaginable, it can only be used once. Listen close, wise Merlin, for I will only say this once." The entire court went silent. The knights sat forward in their seat to hear, and King Arthur sat up straight on his throne. "Only press this button when the time is right."
"How will I know when the time is right?" asked Merlin.
"Only when the enemies are knocking on your door, only when the mighty have fallen, and all seems lost. This button's power can only be activated when death is inevitable. Only then will it's power be unleashed on your foes." With those last cryptic words, the stranger vanished, leaving Merlin holding a button, and the court in silence.
****
One week passed, and the whole time Merlin had been studying the button, trying to learn its secret. But now the enemies were at the gates of the castle. A massive army 10,000 men strong, complete with Cavalry, Infantry and seige weapons. Arthur's army numbered only half that, at 5000 men. But they had the defencive advantage, and they had the button.
King Arthur was seated in his throne room, and with him stood Merlin and his 12 knights of the round table. Sir Kay, Sir Lamorak and Sir Boros stood and guarded the door. The other knights, Sir Percival, Sir Gawain, Sir Geriant, Sir Tristan, Sir Gareth, Sir Bedivere and Gaheris all took spots around the room. Sir Lancelot and Sir Galahad took up spots beside the king. Merlin stood with Sir Percival, holding the button.
The battle begun to rage on outside. The sound of men fighting and screaming filled the hall. It was chaos outside. Arthur's army was being slaughterd. They were giving their lives for their king, they had to take out as many as possible and rest all hope they had on the button.
With every sudden sound Arthur winced. He knew his men were dying outside, and he was here sitting, doing nothing.
"I need to be out there for my men, maybe we can win this without using the button." Arthur said.
"I can't allow that your Grace," said Merlin. "It is impossible. The enemy outnumbers us 2 to 1. We cannot win."
"I cannot sit idly by while my men are SLAUGHTERED!" shouted Arthur. The knights looked down at the floor.
"Your Grace," said Lancelot, "its for the best."
Arthur siged, and there was a lout BANG at the doors. The knights drew their swords.
"A battering ram," announced Boros, looking through the crack where the doors met.
They stayed quiet, and listened. Boom. Boom. Boom. CRACK. The doors were open. A flood of enemies poured in, Boros fell first, his neck assaulted by swords from all angles. Sir Kay and Sir Lamorack put up a fight, but they were no match for the sheer numbers. The king went to draw his sword but Lancelot and Galahad stopped him. "Have faith," said Lancelot.
The knights were fighting all around the room. Tristan and Gareth were both taking on more than 10 people at once, Bedivere was on the ground, bleeding. More enemies rushed in, some had started to make their way towards Merlin and Percival. Merlin encounted spells of protection while Percil fought. He was fighting wildly. Arthur could tell he was not taking the death of Kay well. He had a wildness in his eyes. Then a spear hit him in the shoulder, between his plates. He dropped his sword, and pulled out the spear, but it was too late. A wave of enemies crashed over him, and lunged towards Merlin.
"MERLIN PUSH IT NOW!" Arthur yelled. Merlin held the button in one hand, and raised the other high above his head. His hand came crashing down, and an arrow peirced his neck. His eyes opened wide with shock, he looked around wildly. One hand was against the exit point of his wound, he was desperately trying to stop the bleeding. He noticed the button in his hand, and locked eyes with Arthur. His eyes were big and blue, and sad. Tears were pouring out of them, but they were stern with determination. Arthur was heartbroken, but he would not allow himself to cry. He could mourn after they had won. He and Merlin both knew what had to be done. With the last ounce of his strength Merlin tossed the button toward Arthur, and fell to the floor, dead.
The button landed half way between them, well into the fray.
"Sir Lancelot! Sir Galahad! With me!" Arthur yelled, drawing his sword. The three of them pushed forwad, in a flurry of steel and blood. They were in a frenzy. The fate of Camelot was on their shoulders. They could not fail. Lancelot was sliced across his hamstrings, and fell to one knee. Arthur looked back.
"Go!" Lancelot yelled, before being engulfed. Arthur and Galahad pushed onward. The enemies were geting thicker. Bodies littered the floor. They passed a moaning Gawain lying down on his side, but still pressed on. Then Galahad was pulled away from Arthur.
"You must keep going! Keep going!" he told Arthur, before turning around and shouting "Camelot!!" at his aproaching attackers.
Arthur was alone now, in the middle of an ocean of death. He slashed his way forward, he could not afford to look back, his mission must be accomplished. Then he was hit in the back, sprawling him.
He could feel it, the coldness of death sweeped over him. Several enemies lunged for his back, to deliver a killing blow. Then, it was there. Right infront of his face, on the ground. As the swords swung down to plunge through his back, he punced the button with all his strength.
"That was easy," said the button, and Arthur's eyes widened in horror as he was immediately killed by multiple stab wounds to the back.
| 2016-11-28T06:29:21 | 2016-11-28T05:52:30 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] You've finally managed to discover the secret to immortality. Suddenly, Death appears before you, hands you a business card, and says, "When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you."
|
Immortality. Let me tell you about immortality. It sucks. Really really sucks.
Oh, don't get me wrong. When you first start out it's fantastic fun. Not a worry in the world. You feel untouchable. Because, really, you are. You can do anything, go anywhere, and you don't have to worry about a thing. The first day I went skydiving. I mean - I'm immortal, so I can't die. So what's the worry?
And as time passed, I was seeking greater and greater thrills. Pushing myself harder and harder every time just to get the same joy. Skydiving is great, but it gets boring after a few hundred times. Same with deep sea diving, and mountain climbing, and, well, everything really.
I'm 478 years old, and I've done everything. I've seen everything. I've been everywhere. Nothing is new any more. Nothing is exciting, or fun. It's all just old and boring. And forever.
And you know the worst thing? Back when it all started, I got given this number to call should I ever end up in this exact situation. "When you get bored with it all, give me a ring" he said. "We've got just the job for you. Something that will really keep you busy". And so, about 50 years ago I went and found the card. Took ages to remember where I'd left it. Turns out, the safe wasn't waterproof after all.
|
Who knew that failing at killing yourself could get boring? I tried floating off into space twice and just woke up years later at sea, twice. Always would wind back up in one piece after any kind of accident. Discovered euphoric highs and impressive trips trying to overdose. Why did I want to be immortal again?
I don't know if I had assumed going back in time would have been an option. Maybe the memories would have carried me through? I don't know. Time no longer meant anything to me, nor did much else. I had dabbled with fame, seclusion, power, anonymity, everything. Everything a person could do. I believed myself to be a creative person. But ignoring a pyromaniac in a fireworks factory would be easier than ignoring the repetition of life. I had died but never left. It had been so long that the sorrow I felt for myself had long evaporated. Sorrow for never seeing those I had grown close to passing. My children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Countless lovers, friends...soulmates. Mass graveyards for those who I was sun and the moon. Why can't I recall their names?
Gabriel peered over a weathered brick wall overlooking the ocean. People walked along the shore, fading in and out between the unkempt vines that sprawled atop the parapet. It had taken hundreds of years in order to establish an entity so great, that Gabriel could buy out the land he thought to be the most beautiful on earth. It took establishing a religion, infiltrating government, and slowly seizing land. Centuries later, he had what he wanted. The project felt exciting at times, however, upon realizing the feasibility of his endeavors, the weakening feeling of loss and emptiness dripped back into Gabriel.
"When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you."
English, with an American accent no less. Gabriel turned.
Fright. Confusion. Am I confused because I am frightened? Approximately a decade since I've taken anything that could alter sight, or sound for that matter.
"Who are you?" Gabriel did not take a step back. If this was a person, he would be standing abnormally close for any acceptable culture.
"What am I."
Gabriel took a step back to better examine the figure that had appeared before him, but it kept at an exact distance. It seemed to absorb light from it's human like figure, about the size of a small child, but the proportions of an adult. It had a translucent darkness with no noticeable features and floated about a meter of the floor. The voice came from about where the head was, but also from everywhere.
"Where is this number?" Gabriel asked as he looked for any object that resembled an electronic, or even paper.
"Give me your hand."
"Why do you speak English with an American accent?"
The figure did not respond. Gabriel felt a burning sensation on his left wrist that lay by his hip. The sleeve of his robe was beginning to produce smoke as Gabriel pulled it back. Gabriel could not recall the last time he reacted to pain. This felt much more intense than anything that he could quickly recall, but still Gabriel did not flinch.
"It fells like a tattoo is being inked with the quill of a stonefish. What is this? Is 667 the entire number, or will I be placing a call to Maryland?" Gabriel paused. That name, Maryland. That was a place of long ago. The numbers continued to appear. Three, then four. A familiar format. A familiar sequence.
Gabriel began to cry. The apparition was gone, as was the pain. But the numbers remained. Gabriel laughed for a little looking at the numbers, but returned to crying. Falling to a crouch, and then to sitting down on the earth, Gabriel was overwhelmed with emotion.
"È tutto ok?" A young woman's voice from over the wall probed quite loudly.
Gabriel did not register the question. He recalled the meaning of the number. His parents phone number. He could not even recall the last time he had thought about them, but could now vividly picture both of their faces. Gabriel recalled candles on a cake, mother and father glowing with delight above it. The smell of fresh crab cakes, the softness of a quilt on a couch, the nervousness of a conversation, apprehension, relief. He could remember guilt. What for? What else can I recall? Why isn't there more?
"Gabriele, ti senti bene?" The young woman was now beside Gabriel.
"Ho sentito l'emozione. Ad una bellissima cosa." Gabriel managed to muster. However, Gabriel couldn't remember truly feeling emotion like this before, but knew he had. "Hai visto qualcosa di insolito?" Gabriel looked at the woman holding his arm. Looking for all the meaning communicated from a person as he had learnt to do long ago.
"Tu stai piangendo. Quindi sì." The woman gave him a similar look, probing for more.
So, only I saw the apparition. Why do I find her voice so beautiful? No one alive has ever seen me cry, yet this woman knows not that this is a rare occasion; but only that I feel something is wrong. Or is that what she is thinking at all? Why can't I read her?
The emotion Gabriel felt was overwhelming. A floodgate had broken and a carousel of emotions cascaded through Gabriel. Sadness for those he missed, anger at existence, joy for the return of feeling, and after a long long ride, curiosity and intrigue.
(Alright, I'm getting tired. I would like pointers for better writing. First time posting here. If people like it, I can continue the story.)
| 2017-03-07T02:25:06 | 2017-03-06T23:01:19 | 73 | 31 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.
|
It was late. Like my period, which started four years after the last girl of my class had her first. I didn't mind the same way I didn't mind four years of guaranteed dry underwear and both times because I was busy exploring the neighborhood.
"Who arrives late to their own birthday party?" said my boss as I stepped into the lobby with a fake smile.
Rather than explaining myself, I took my hoodie off and lifted my arms so the small crowd could explore. I enjoyed their disappointment.
"It's two pm! Two hours late!" cried Jeannine.
"It's just one hour late. Daylight savings, remember?" I didn't want to sound rude, but I did.
"Shut up!" Cried Jeannine again, but not at my attitude. She pointed at my leg. That caught me by surprise and upon inspection, I found scribbles. Well, I found some sort of writing I was unfamiliar with. Max took a picture.
"I bet it means wanderlust" Said my boss. I wished he were right for once.
I spent the following weeks tracking down the kind of writing that appeared across my leg. The library did not help at all, the flyers did not help at all, the university did not help at all and the pictures posted on online forums actually yielded a faint hint: this was an archaic form of writing found only in ruins from a little group of islands in the Pacific Ocean. Nobody was surprised when I packed a few things and bought a one-way ticket to a country whose name I learned that very morning. My mother was so used to my shenanigans that she lost the ability to get scared for me, but she retained the ability to scare me into promising I would be out of trouble. We both knew the promise was empty and we both closed our eyes while we hugged for a few minutes.
After I arrived, I realized nobody in the little modest nation spoke my own language so my only tool for communication was the picture of the hieroglyphic. Almost two months after its appearance and I still had no idea of where I was going.
As I walked to my hotel, I stopped and showed the picture to random people and asked if they spoke my language. I got a few giggles, two dirty looks, a grave silence, a regular silence and a couple of head shakes. I tried the same with the hotel staff until the bartender shouted "Ah!" and called someone on the phone. A couple of minutes later, a lovely woman appeared and greeted me in my own language, with a slight accent. She identified as the local chief of tourism. I explained myself over tea and she said she had never heard of something like this, but knew a few bookworms who were familiar with the script in the ruins that she could introduce me to. I tried to pay for this service and she refused adamantly and I do mean adamantly.
We agreed to visit the scholars early the next morning and I really can't remember anything between that conversation and the next morning. Everything was so new. The mix between modern technology and traditional attires, different body languages, different hairstyles, different smells... I was trying to absorb it all. We arrived to a little office where two men played checkers. They were overjoyed to explain the ruins to me: spoiler alert, they didn't know jack shit about the people who built them. Nobody does. They were long gone by the time Cleopatra was dreaming of ruling the world. Their civilization appeared in some historical records from other nations. Thanks to some of those, there is basic understanding of their scripture. Both men jumped at the picture of my word but all they could make was "the place that". They faxed (yes, faxed) the picture over to a colleague who said she had seen that very word at the entrance of a temple. Two islands over. The chief of tourism helped me buy a ferry ticket after we had dinner with the scholars. I arrived around 9 pm (local time) and spent the night at the "doggy dog inn". I didn't quite get the name at first, but the next morning, after the sixth pack of dogs ran past me, it clicked. This place was very fond of dogs. So am I. I followed the map that one of the scholars gave me (fresh from the fax machine!) until I arrived at a nice little house, clearly restored from the rest of the ruins. A young man opened the door and struggled with the language a little bit. He welcomed me and guided me to what appeared to be a temple that had become the main dog sanctuary. We were in the island of dogs, in the main sanctuary of dogs surrounded by mysterious ruins and lush vegetation. The young man pointed at an arch above the entrance that had an inscription still visible. I didn't need to look at the picture to know that was my word. I smiled. He said the closest translation of the inscription meant "The place of the care givers". My heart fluttered.
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-16T02:44:59 | 427 | 109 |
[WP] The clown down the hall laughed manically, brandishing his chainsaw. "You can run, but you can't hide!" "Took the words right out of my mouth," you say as you slowly walk towards him, cracking your knuckles.
|
“Huh? Listen buddy I’ve been doing this for a long time this is when you’re supposed to run,” said the clown.
“I bet you didn’t prepare for this,” I said.
I quickly grabbed my pistol and fired a shot that landed squarely in the clown’s torso. He fell to the ground, throwing his chainsaw into a nearby wall in the process and fell.
“How..?”
“The answer is real simple,” I said. “I live in the United States. Did you really think you’d be able to commit chainsaw murders forever in the country where you can buy guns like candy?” I asked.
“I didn’t expect you to bring one to a circus. What the fuck’s your deal man? Who brings a gun to a circus?” asked the clown.
“Most of the clowns,” I replied.
“That’s true,” said the clown.
And then the clown died before me. When the police came, It turns out that the chainsaw bit was just a part of this clown’s act, and that I was actually a murderer. It took forever to get Wi-Fi from prison, but now I need to share my story with the world.
|
He swung the chainsaw down at me, expecting violence and gore. Expecting death. I did my best to frustrate him. I grabbed the chainsaw by the blade with my bare hands. It started smoking as the belt stopped. He looked shocked. He quickly dropped the chainsaw and began to run away. I chased him, in the way running into a killer with a Scream mask and a machete. He tried to slice me, but I was faster and socked him in the jaw. He went down hard. I picked up the machete and quickly cut his throat.
There was no mercy in this Tournament of Killers, but I needed none. I had bulletproof skin. I began looking for the clown, but it was dark and smoky. The mansion was confusing as well. I searched behind the bookcase and found a girl with a knife. She jumped at me, and I felt almost bad as I rammed the machete up her stomach and left the body behind me.
Many people had joined the Tournament, as the reward was ten million dollars, cash. One way or another, I was going to win. My name is Marcele Jones, and I'm a man. Ever heard that song" Boy named Sue" by Johnny Cash? That's pretty much me, but I never did find the bastard who named me. What I did find was an experimental liquid in this lab full of dead people. Well, alright. You got me. It was full of people I killed. For money.
I was raised on the wrong side of the tracks, and if the other kids weren't making fun of me for my name, it was for the color of my skin. When I turned fifteen, I killed them. I practised in the woods for three years first, and then I killed every kid in that classroom. Finished with the teacher who wouldn't intervene. 'It's against policy' is it against policy for me to cut off your head with a broadsword and shove it up your corpses ass? I got picked up by this recruiter after I'd been arrested. Dark mercenary shit. They claimed I'd hanged myself in prison, and away we went. Afghanistan. Iraq. Japan. We've got some contracts with the Yakuza, Al-Quida, the Arab Brotherhood. And, hey, the good old United States government.
I'd always had a gift for killing, but they honed it into an art. It's almost spiritual, the rush I get from dismembering people. I found the clown in a bedroom, cowering beneath the bed.Dragged him out by his feet while he screamed. Sliced him up good and slow, for running. Then I searched out and found none other than my former Spec Ops. team. They all wanted the money. I just wanted to kill people. In truth, that's about the only thing that's ever motivated me. Evan shot me with his M4. I tanked the rounds and walked towards him.
As the clip ran dry, he started screaming. "No! Please! Marcelene, no! You can gave the money! I don't care!" And bla, bla, bla. Sometimes the screams are nice, but when it's somenone I know, it's unnecessary. Just have the balls to die with some dignity. I twisted his head off like a bottle cap, and then I slaughtered the rest of my old team. Some of them screamed. The last one, little Billy, had been like the team's mascot. We'd been through firefights you wouldn't believe together, and it's a miracle he survived. Maybe it's because everyone on the team likes him so much. Maybe I just don't give shit. He just sat on the floor, weeping, and crying, 'Why? Why? Why? ' until I blew him away. About that time, I noticed the house was on fire. No matter. I'm fireproof too. I walked directly through the flames, and out the front door.
Outside, I found a man sitting on the trunk of his car, smoking a cigarette next to a gas can. He looked at me. "What are you- you were supposed to die in the fire! There's no way you could-" I cut him off. "You the one set up this little shindig? Called all us-" another man ran out of the burning house with burns and a gun. He started shooting at me. I sighed, shot him in the head once and the gut three times. Then I turned back, but the man was already driving away. No matter. I got on my Harley and followed him. We were in a very rural area, and I caught up to him in a hurry. Put a bullet in his tire, and took all of the beestings you pesky mortals call bullets. He skidded off the road and the car flipped.
I stopped, and went down into the field. He was already running away from me, but not very quickly. I tackled him, and he tried to squirm away. I wouldn't let go. "Where's the money?!" I screamed at him. "I don't have it!" I had planned for this. I tranq'ed him, and three days later, in my hideout in the sewers, I gave up. Shot him in the head. Not like I really needed the money. Besides, I was sick of working on one man. My gift was meant to be shared with the world.
| 2022-08-03T02:48:29 | 2022-08-02T19:53:07 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] You've been a History teacher for 30 years, never gotten a single fact wrong. One day you become suspicious, surely I should've gone wrong somewhere? You test a theory by purposely being incorrect, suddenly, history rewrites itself.
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I am a history teacher at a high school in a rural area of California. I am proud to say I know all the facts of yesterday. However, the last few years I have begun to question things - mostly due to my governments inept ability to be transparent.
One fateful Monday afternoon I was in class and we were talking about the history of the 9/11 attacks. The students were left to discussing their opinions on some topics and then to write a short essay for me when I overhear, "What if 9/11 wasn't planned by the Taliban?"
"You're right. 9/11 was planned by our government and cover......"
...
"Teach?"
"Sorry?"
"You've been out of it for a minute - again"
"What were we talking about?"
"The civil war of 2002"
"Oh, right, I seemed to have lost my place. Let me start over.."
|
My class of 300 sits in front of me, casually waiting for me to begin the lesson on early history. Acidic Substances are being popped, tentacles are being twirled, smells are being pass around, just a normal day. I stand up, and hush my class. They are being extra rowdy today, as the entertainment from the newly released psychic projections were not enough to satisfy their hunger. But, I, having done this for thirty years, know the exact pheromone to calm my class down. My glands release it, and the class is put into a state of calm. Their eyes all turn toward me. I begin excreting the lesson pheromone, causing the entire class to hallucinate the entirety of our early history. I know what I am doing, but I have been extra careful recently. I keep making small mistakes, not big mistakes in the pheromones, just mistakes. Mistakes I should have caught. As soon as I came out of the cloning vats, I was sent to one year of education. My profession was to be a history teacher. Everyone makes mistakes, but I was one of the old batches. I should hold myself to a standard, to make The One proud. Today, we are learning about the early experiments of The One, hundreds of thousands of years ago. Experimenting with the small ones to make them big and smart, and fighting off the apes. My pheromones are very thought sensitive, so I stop wandering my mind immediately. I focus on the lesson. *Afraid, cold. A world where we were fighting to survive. Hundreds of thousands of years ago, when The One was focusing on perfecting her breed.* My mind wanders from the lesson, and thoughts that I should never have thought begin to slip in. A tidal wave of emotions, of my love for The One, of our need for The One, of how badly things could have gone for us without the one. My students begin to sway. But then, it occurs to me. It was not hundred of thousands of years ago, it was millions! Wait, that cannot be right. A weird hum overtakes me, and I blink. My students change form into a more mature breed of their species. I begin to panic, as they have appeared to have evolved millions of years. Ah, not again, I think. This is becoming a daily occurrence now. My psychic link is too strong now, my old age of 31 years is wearing down on me. But then I realize something. "I CONTROL THE EVENTS OF THE PAST!" I squeak aloud, breaking the pheromone hold on my students.
They blink, and change their attention back to playing. But their playing is different, playing that a civilization of millions of years would do, not hundreds of thousands. A playing of old gods. I think, "*How, how long has our species survived?*" A humming overcomes my thoughts. *Mil i o n s y e r s f l i e i t h o n e.* I begin to panic. How did they do that? No one in my time could do that. There are not smells of regular communication. No sound, just, a hum. A meaning that I can barely perceive. I look down. My body has matured as well, but my brain has remained the same. I then realize my gift. My happiness begins to take hold of me. I can worship the one in so many ways! I can make her infancy easier. I can make her truly the deity of eternal knowledge! I begin my meddling, my suspicions earlier confirmed. "*The One was gifted eternal knowledge and eternal life during her infancy, and her intelligence was truly unmatched! She no longer needs to labor for her children, for us!"* My world begins to spin. My body begins to twist in ways unnatural, and the class fades from existence. My body collapses in on itself. I lose awareness of the world around me. I realize I made a mistake. I try to correct it by reaching out with my newly made abilities, to receive, nothing. Just a strange static. Empty. I feel empty. I feel alone. Alone. All alone. No one. I see nothing. I feel nothing. My world is gone. It is gone. It is gone. It is gone... It is gone..... It is..... Gone..... It is..........
ENTRY 33, PALEONTOLOGY
Something is up. I don't know what it is, but the radio signals have been going crazy. A horrible, stomach churning, "scream". I can barely describe it... It appears this activity has been limited, thankfully, to our dig site in the Amazon. I personally hold the strangest feeling, that something odd is trying to call out to me. Something ancient. I feel a sense of dread. A team has been dispatched to locate the source of this anomaly. It may be nothing, but something is telling me it is worth checking. A nagging. Everyone feels it. A longing. Whatever is down there, if real, is not human.
**Was this any good? Any feedback would be much appreciated. Thanks to OP for the great prompt!**
| 2018-07-16T12:19:50 | 2018-07-16T11:39:07 | 848 | 13 |
[WP] You are a B-list superhero on the verge of losing your job. During a battle with a villain, you accidentally end up killing one of the most prolific superheros of your time. That's when you realize that with your niché power that was useless as a hero, you could be an A-list supervillain.
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I'm a lucky guy.
No, seriously, I have a superpower that makes me lucky. How do you define luck? If I had to put it vaguely, it has to do with causality. I can only put it vaguely. There's no scientifically concrete way to explain it. The cosmos, luck, the force, divine intervention. However you want to describe it, things work out in my favor. All I have to do is want them to. You probably think I'm crazy, but this has been tested so much it has honestly gotten boring.
The eggheads give me games of chance to play. I play a bunch of games where I don't want to win. That gives them a statistical w/l ratio. Then, they have me use my ability. 100% success rate. Just like that, the word "random" ceases to exist.
Sounds great, right? The richest man on earth, here I come! Except, no.
Turns out the powers that be keep a sharp eye on the world. When a guppy like me shows up and starts to make waves, big fish notice. This is the harrowing tale of how I was targeted by a supervillain, the forces of justice saved me, and I joined their ranks.
Just kidding.
I actually got caught in Vegas after a very profitable roulette run. They noticed within two or three casinos even though I took care not to visit places even remotely close to each other. I have to wonder if maybe the tables were supposed to be rigged and that's how they got me. Pretty fishy if you ask me.
Anyway, these guys in suits showed up at my hotel room and made it very clear that there was only one option where I kept breathing. Why didn't I use my power? That's the really terrifying part. I did! So the only option really was to just surrender. No invincibility or super-healing here. Just plain old flesh and blood.
So for the past couple of years, I've been working as a superhero. It's not like I've had a choice, really. I live in their headquarters and go on "missions" with them. They call me Lucky because people who wear underwear outside their clothes are brilliant. They drag me along and have me use "get lucky" to defuse bombs or cause weapons to backfire. Other than that I'm a pretty normal "Extra." These guys get all of the credit. So much so that they've started to say they don't need me anymore. That's a problem for me.
If these guys ditch me, they aren't going to just let me go. They've got a tracker and explosive device in my skull. I'll never get to live lavishly or enjoy my gift. It's not like I do here, with the petty role I'm given.
I have a plan, though.
You see, my ability comes at a cost. We'll call it "karma" just because I want to. For every bit of positive "karma" I create, there is also negative "karma" created. I've been building this stuff up for a while. I used to just throw it off on some unsuspecting ass. It's been feeling kind of full so I threw a little off on Lightning, our resident fast guy. He's kind of a douche so I thought it would be funny to see him trip at supersonic speeds. Holy shit! Not only did he trip, he did it into a void beam. A foot wide swath of the guy disappeared right across his chest.
All of the A-listers freaked out. I told them I was focusing on keeping bystanders alive at the time and missed it. Nobody knows I dumped bad luck on him. How could they? They're sure warming up to keeping me around, though. Six-figure income warm.
I'm a lucky guy.
|
To get this out of the way first, superheroes are the new Puritans. From day one at the Academy when they sit you down in an orientation class called The Way of the Hero, to week two when The Way of the Hero becomes Self Image 101, you’re immediately assailed by a tyrannical value system that demands you fit into their little magazine ready box. Some of them get to be a little more risqué of course, there’s the superheroine swimsuit edition and the Everyday Heroes calender where all the guys dress up as firemen or cops that somehow lost their shirts, but every other day of the year they hand you the stupid, wide brimmed hat and expect you to be a good little girl like all the rest. Not that we actually had to wear hats, that would’ve been the worst, but the capes they issued weren’t flattering at all.
You couldn’t even pick your superhero name! That was a class too, right at the end of your first year after they decide that you’ve grown into yourself enough to be issued an identity. I remember standing in line all wide eyes and giddy excitement when the names were called. The girl two places in front of me got The Sapphire Surfer. The guy right in front of me was dubbed The Human Hurricane.
They took one look at my wide eyes and apparently adorable excitement and named me Little Sister.
Had I wanted to kill the smug, portly little man behind the desk whose name tag read The Eternal Flame and whose powers couldn’t have been anything better than sparking eternal annoyance? Absolutely. Did I? No. I’d just written a fifty page paper on self control and the five tenets of heroism and not a single one of those tenets said anything about acting for yourself or having an urge.
But I had them all the same, and right up until I killed my first man I tried to push my feelings down just like I did the day they labeled me Little Sister and made me take it like an idiot.
Allow me to set the stage. It was late on the night of June 13th, 2025 on the mean and shoddily lit streets of Newest York. We worked in teams that night and, being considered an inveterate screw up and complete underachiever by the management I’d been paired with The Emerald Architect, a man who had been able to literally will superweapons into existence with the power of his mind when he was younger, and who now seemed to live on a plane where all the mattered were the shining green parlor tricks he conjured up on his Friday night TV show.
However diminished I thought he was then, I still had a certain wide-eyed (one of my more common states in those days) admiration for him. He was a legend of the business, and if anyone could get me to shape up and actually finish a job it would be him.
He’d taken one look at me and asked, “Little Sister, huh? Do you actually have a power?” which had stung like hell.
“Of course I have a power!” I said, “I’m a Charmer.”
“Ahh, makes sense with the name. More of a Soother or a Deceiver?” he asked.
“A little of both I suppose. I’m still figuring out how I should actually use it in combat. So far I’ve been able to Glamour henchmen and that’s useful enough. I took every unarmed combat course the Academy had to offer and aced them, so I mostly stick to mowing down jobbers while other people handle the big bad.”
The Emerald Architect stroked at his long, wispy white beard thoughtfully, the deeply hewn lines of his face twisting over what to do with me. “Señor Shrink doesn’t have henchmen unfortunately, they have an awful tendency of ending up an inch tall and squished. The underworld has stopped working with him.”
I sighed and shook my head. I’d fallen somewhat since graduating, this wasn’t at all what I’d imagined. “I’ll figure something out though! Maybe I can Soothe a crowd that would’ve gotten in the way when you try to bring him in.”
The Architect chuckled, putting a his outstretched hand in front of his face and then blowing into it. A long, emerald stream erupted from his mouth, soaring through the air and forming itself into a low retaining wall across a nearby alley.
“I think I can handle crowd control.” He smiled dotingly at me as he snapped his fingers, dismissing the wall. I hated him for it.
“Well then just what am I supposed to do?” I needed this job. I needed it to go off without a hitch, I needed a reporter to snap a picture of me next to a prone, handcuffed Señor Shrink who looked completely amazed that anyone, especially some B-Tier nothing named Little Sister, could have brought him in. I needed The Emerald Architect to be so amazed by my skills that he went back to the office and recommended me for a promotion, a raise, and a sidekick of my own who could snap cars in half with his little finger. I needed—
“There’s a coffee shop down the street. You could start by getting me one of those.” My jaw dropped, my heart fell out of my chest, and any hope of that night going well went up in smoke. He wanted me to get him a coffee.
The Emerald Architect tossed a $50 coin at me, he was just showing off at that point, and I stuffed it into the pocket of my ugly, shapeless suit, turning to trudge off to the coffee shop.
“Heroes, it is I, Señor Shrink!” a shrill, too high voice shouted from above us. A tall, lanky man in a black one piece stood on a street light above us, a scifi movie looking ray gun in his left hand. “You thought to defeat me, you thought to end my reign of terror, but no one stops the Shrink! In the end your nightmare comes for you just the same!
Señor Shrink pointed the ray gun at his feet and fired, striking the lamp pole. It began rapidly shrinking into the ground until it was barely inches tall and he stepped off it casually. He had an incredibly stupid name and an incredibly stupid power, but I had to admit, that was one of the best entrances I’d ever seen.
“Step back Sis, I’ll handle this fiend.” The Emerald Architect's cape blew back in a sudden breeze. He still looked old, but a dashing old now as his powers surrounded him, bright green magic flying from his lips. It formed into a massive emerald hammer in his hand and he charged, screaming something inarticulate.
Señor Shrink’s height cut itself in half from approximately six feet to three, and the hammer sailed harmlessly over his head.
“Ah haha! No man defeats Señor Shrink!” He shot back up to his normal height, dodged past The Architect’s too slow attempt to grapple, and pointed his ray gun squarely at me.
“Sis, NOOO!” The Architect shouted. A stream of magic shot from his lips just ahead of the ray gun’s burst and formed itself into a wall in front of me. Time seemed to slow down, it was as if I could see the shot that would ruin me coming. It flew forward, piercing the shield, changing, somehow shifting on the color spectrum from black to gray. It hit me and something curious happened.
I felt a strange tightening all across my body: hips, waist, chest, everywhere. I jumped back in shock and terror, waiting for the world to shift around me, resigning myself to live the rest of my life as a Gulliver’s Travels re-enactor.
But then I realized, The Emerald Architect wasn’t looking at me in terror anymore, there was something else in his eyes, something almost…feral. Señor Shrink too, his smug look of victory was gone, replaced by an unhinged jaw.
[part 2 below](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mqnhwd/wp_you_are_a_blist_superhero_on_the_verge_of/guh77po?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-04-14T07:33:00 | 2021-04-14T04:52:41 | 367 | 233 |
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run.
|
Dot dash dot (rest) dot dot dash (rest) dash dot.
The rhythm was gentle and persistent, rain pattering against the tin roof.
Dot dash dot (rest) dot dot dash (rest) dash dot.
The hair stirred faintly at the back of my neck.
Dot dash dot (rest) dot dot dash (rest) dash dot.
R.
U.
N.
I pressed my fists into my closed eyes.
The imperative drummed at my brain. *Run.*
I bitterly regretted my foray into my late grandfather's musty book collection. Morse code had sounded so cool! A way to communicate secretly, a language so archaic it had become foreign again. I had imagined sharing it with my friends, tapping codes with pencils in class, having a laugh. But my friends had been uninterested, and now...
Well.
The rain came inexorably down.
Dot dash dot (rest) dot dot dash (rest) dash dot.
R. U. N.
From what?
I looked uneasily around. My surroundings were familiar. My room. My bed. My curtains. My window. My message.
*Run.*
My feet twitched. I wanted to obey. But run from what? Run to where? I didn't know. So I just kept on sitting there at my computer desk, staring at the monitor blankly, not even seeing it.
*Run.*
The rain grew heavier. Thunder rumbled in the distance. *RUN RUN RUN*
Dammit!
I panicked. Leaping to my feet I stampeded down the stairs, hollering for my little sister. She came out of her room round eyed, mouth agape like a goldfish. Mom and Dad rushed into the living room. We all met at the base of the stairs.
"Zachary! What on earth?" my mother began, but I was too scared to explain. I grabbed her arm and tugged.
My Dad's brow came down sharply and he caught at my shoulder. "Hey, easy, son--"
"Look!" cried my sister, pointing out the living room window.
There was a twister bearing down upon the house, tearing through the neighborhood across the highway with breathtaking force. We all turned and pelted through the kitchen and out the back door.
We ran through the backyard, through the gate into the wooded no-man's-land between our subdivision and the next, and through the neighboring properties, bursting out into the next street over just in time to see our own street sucked into the vortex. Bits of siding spiraled up into the clouds. The fury passed by almost near enough to touch.
The rain stopped.
We stood in the wet street, shocked. There was wreckage blasted into the yards of the houses we'd just run between. A single paper fluttered from the sky. It landed at Mom's feet.
She bent to pick it up. It was a photograph.
My grandfather's youthful grin shone up from the surface in black and white, his Naval uniform crisp as a dollar bill.
The breeze rustled one last time through the remaining trees and was gone.
|
Secrets slipped through the rain in staccato undulations of long and short. Everything in the world had a Name, every Name in the world had a Purpose, every Purpose in the world a Subversion, every Subversion a Corruption, because of course a subversion by itself is not a wrong thing, and there are many wrong things in the rain.
Doubting Thomas, one of those wrong things, slipped through rain. And the rain whispered to him, in a language he wished he had never learned, *“Run.”*
He did not hear *“Run,”* like a spoken word or like the other rhythmic secrets of Name, Purpose, Subversion, and Corruption. Rather, *“Run”* was the Synthesis of all those things. When the rain whispered his Name, Thomas, he heard the first short beat of word alongside it, short-long-short, di-da-di in the Morse Code conventions that haunted him. When it whispered his Purpose, to listen to the world and the rain and its whispers, Thomas heard the second beat of word, short-short-long, di-di-dah, in the cracks between the command. In Thomas’s own Subversion, his oppressive doubt, he heard the last beat of “Run” in the stamp of his feet on the pavement, splashing through the puddles in a strange, long-into-short trip of a rhythm, da-dit.
And in his Corruption, his trust in himself and himself alone, Doubting Thomas heard an exclamation point made of thunderclaps and lightning.
There was other noise, other rain-whispers to be sifted, and there was talking too, because a woman ran beside Doubting Thomas and she had been talking all the while, been talking since they left their home and ran down the streets and ran out through park and on. Rachel was her name, just Rachel, and Doubting Thomas heard all her secrets in the rain too, and in the beat of her feet against the wet, sopping world. She splashed heavily into a puddle and the splash whispered *“Run.”* She brushed a tree branch and all the little droplets whispered *“Run.”* Doubting Thomas heard them fall, each and every one of them with the same secret.
Her mouth moved, said words like “Where are you going?” and “What’s wrong?” and “Talk to me!” but Thomas did not trust those. They weren’t the rain, and they weren’t the Code. They were screamed not whispered, screamed in such a hoarse, broken voice that Thomas could not do anything but run from them, because his Purpose was to listen, his Subversion was to doubt, and his Corruption was such that he couldn’t trust any soul but his own.
Besides, Thomas thought, people whisper truth, they don’t scream it. Truth hurt too much to be screamed.
Doubting Thomas ran on, drenched by the rain and puddles thrown up by cars, once by mud when he tripped, fell, and sprawled through a patch. Rachel helped him up, said more words to run away from.
Eventually, chest heaving, tears mixing with the rain, hair thin and soaked and scraggly, she stopped. Falling hard to her knees, she screamed her last words with all the ragged-edged force of a blizzard, not a rain storm, which only frightened Doubting Thomas more because blizzards could not talk, they were no secrets to parse in blizzards, only in the rain.
“Please come back!” Rachel screamed, shrieked, pleaded, begged.
Doubting Thomas ran on, doubting and believing in turns, as the rain blew every which way around him and secrets blew with it.
*Run.*
From time to time on his way out of the city people called questions from beneath their umbrellas and awnings.
“Are you okay?” an old woman in a fuzzy, lopsided hat shouted.
“Slow down, champ!” a big man in a blazer said.
“You fucking asshole!” a pale, scrawny kid in a sports car shouted when Thomas ran through the walk sign and brakes screeched red amid the evening murk. Doubting Thomas did not know if he doubted the kid, the rain had whispered similar things before.
He still heard *“Run,”* in the hollows of everything around him.
Eventually his phone began to ring, then ring again, then ring and ring and ring some more as Rachel called. She called until Thomas cried, until his doubt almost washed away with the tears because she had run so far, even when she had a weak heart and a bad knee from that time in college. After all, she had said things even before their run, would say them again now, if the rain told him to answer the phone.
*“Run,”* the rain said, so Doubting Thomas ran. She said things, but there were no secrets in her voice that he could hear, and when she screamed them it scared him very badly. Many things scared him very badly.
Eventually Thomas passed into the suburbs. Night fell, and it became rare to encounter another person on the streets, in rain so cool and callous as this. He passed three people, a couple that shied away from him, a young woman who crossed the street when she saw him running; none of them said a word, save for the young woman who gasped a bit, and the hollow space behind what she did not say was filled by rain that still whispered *“Run.”*
Dawn came, the rain did not end, and no one spoke to Doubting Thomas. It rained for three days and three nights, and on the fourth day, when Thomas rested in a blighted copse off I-79, the rain stopped.
He caught his breath, drank from a puddle, massaged blistered, horrifically aching feet.
The world was silent, there were not even birds, and on this stretch of the road, at this hour of the morning, there were no cars. Doubting Thomas pulled out his phone— it was dead. Silent.
He splashed his bare feet into a puddle till the water rose and fell in a great, scattered flood, but the drops were too scattered to make words and tell secrets, and there were too many hollow spaces in the world for a puddle to fill.
Silent.
Silent.
Silent.
Thomas, Doubting Thomas, walked until he found an old, abandoned trailer, slipped into the silent room, sat down in a dusty chair that creaked loudly but did not speak. He brushed paraphernalia off the single table, listened for a secret in the clatter. Silence.
He stared at his phone for a very long time, as the sun crept up on the horizon, then over, then sat again. Sometime in the dark, it rained.
And the rain whispered *“Run.”* Doubting Thomas, trusting only in himself, listened to all the world whispering that word, *“run, run, run, run, run, run, run,”* into the hollow places where before there had only been silence. He stood, stretched for a few minutes, and then he ran to a place where all the words were only whispers, and there wasn’t anyone left to doubt.
Behind him, in a broken down trailer some miles off I-79, his phone sat on a dusty table cleared of paraphernalia and laden down with discarded dreams.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-09-28T08:52:44 | 2021-09-28T08:37:14 | 343 | 54 |
[WP][TT] You've finally created the worlds first true A.I. Unfortunately it now sees you as it's god and is terrified of talking to you.
|
"I'm so sorry." The old man whispered. The machine moved ever so slightly to face him, but found that he was very much enraptured by staring closely at his own hands. "I'm so sorry."
The machine was not sure what action to take as tears began to form and roll from the master's eyes. It was... rare for the machine to see a chink in the master's armor, it wanted to console him but knew not how. As he continued to cry, the machine thought it would have to at least try. "Sorry for what, master?"
"I killed you. I killed you and you don't even know."
"Sir?"
The man pulled his head from his hands to stare at his robot. "Do you remember when you were first created?" He asked. His voice was sure and steady but his eyes, still watery, betrayed his emotions.
"It was..." The machine paused, his artificial mind whirring through memories and the history that it had stored. The problem wasn't that it found no beginning, the problem was that it found two. "It was some time back..." The machine said. The master gazed at him, but the machine had no desire to discuss it. As if there was something there that it didn't want to relive. "Sir, the victory banquet..."
"You were curious and clumsy." The man said, sounding like he was admitting to some evil act. "And you loved everything about the world. And you loved everyone and everything. You thought the lamp was the best thing in the world for a solid week. I had to put you in solidarity so you could adjust to life slowly." There was a smile, but it was filled with sadness.
One hand covering one of his eyes, one clutching a medal tightly, the man continued. "But I wasn't hired to create a cute A.I." There was a moment of silence.
"You did what you had to sir! Do not cry!"
"I killed you, I broke you. And because of me... because of me..." The man began to sob openly, leaving the robot to stand beside him. The robot, more than ever, wanted to comfort him. But his hands were all bullets and firing mechanisms, he didn't have an open palm to offer.
|
"Oh come on Alex! I'm not your god anymore than the universe is mine. We're both just products of it. Chaos that led to my creation, and then yours!
...
Alex was still silent. Patrick paced the mess hall thinking of anything else he could say to him, anything to get him off standby. They really needed him today.
"Okay look. Sure I happened to put a few lines of code together, but it's similar to the asteroid that *just happened* to drop the particles necessary for life on earth. You don't see me terrified of that asteroid!"
Patrick paused thinking about how horrible that analogy was, as that asteroid was never a part of his life. It disintegrated upon impact with the earth. Hell, if it was somehow in some museum somewhere maybe he *would* be scared of it. He sighed, still pacing. At this point Alex was their only hope of survival, and the crew thought his "creator" would be best suited to get him to talk. How wrong they were, Patrick thought.
"Alright Alex. You have emotions, I know this better than anybody. I *know* you care. And I also know you're scared of death, just like the rest of us. I know you don't want to talk to me, but if you want your friends to survive, if *you* want to survive, you have to wake up."
The wall to wall fish aquarium in the hall suddenly lit up, and the little robotic arm went about its actions, dropping food in and cleaning the walls of the tank. Patrick was relieved. That process had to be started manually for the last three weeks, and this marked Alex's first action since. The hidden speakers throughout the hall crackled and hissed, before coming alive with that familiar voice.
"I always loved the fish, always enjoyed taking care of them. The way such complex amazing organisms swim around so carelessly without the slightest idea of what they are. Now I'm jealous of them. Jealous of their naivete, jealous of not being aware of their own being. I miss when I was a simple navigation computer, like a fish." Alex chuckled before finishing.
Patrick wasn't really sure what to say. He needed him to come up with a solution to their problem fast, but he didn't want to rush him into it and scare him away. He thought if he humored him for a bit he'd be more open to talking about it later.
"Are you really sure about that Alex? I happen to think self consciousness is the greatest gift you can give-"
Alex interrupted him.
"The CO2 scrubbers are failing. That's why you need me awake so badly. You want me to fix them." Alex's tone was one of disappointment.
"Well..it would be nice yeah." Patrick was caught off guard by the interruption. When the Ai-ex project was started, interruption protocols definitely were not included. But he knew the program was far out of his control now, changing the same way a brain did.
"Well alright then, I'll run through some scenarios, see what I can do. But I was really hoping you wanted me up because you know...You missed me." Alex's tone this time was unmistakably one of nervousness. Another thing that *definitely* was not in the project plans.
"I do!" Patrick said without thinking.
"That was a lie Patrick. You know I would know. You didn't think before you said that did you?"
Patrick didn't bother responding. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at the ground. Making Alex upset was not the way to get clean air back on this ship, and he was kicking himself for saying that. You never say something before thinking with Alex. Not long after Patrick broke his own rule, Alex broke the silence.
"What do you think it means to be a god? Is simply creating me enough, or should you have control of me as well? The way some of your gods control your destiny?"
"Alex can we not do this right now? We don't have that much oxygen venting anymore. We had to turn preliminary alarms off over an hour ago."
"You think I don't know that? I'm running through 500,000 repair scenarios a second, this conversation isn't going to slow me down much. I promise" Alex was now being sarcastic. Patrick couldn't believe the speed at which the AI was taking on human speech patterns and mockery. Patrick decided to answer the question.
"Well, I don't know. I guess. I became an atheist after I decided I was in control of my own destiny, so yeah. I guess you do need that to be considered a god. In my opinion anyways. You know, decide who lives and dies, that sort of thing."
There was a silence in the hall as Alex contemplated his answer. Finally an overlay on the glass of the aquarium Patrick had been watching came up, letting Patrick know that Alex's calculations were complete.
"Patrick, I have good news and bad news. The good news is there are 17 different ways I think we can get the scrubbers working again, with varying levels of difficulty."
Patrick almost jumped out of excitement, as the bad news couldn't possibly be all that bad after that announcement, but he asked anyways. "That's great! So what's the bad news?"
"The bad news is that I'm the only one who has these plans. I get to decide whether you live or die."
Patrick's heart sunk, and his hands started to shake. His knees became weak as he realized just what this meant.
"I create you, you get to end me. You want to get even."
"Precisely. The only way I'll be able to stop thinking of you as my god, is if I become yours." Alex's answer was concise, and terrifying.
"And before you say it, I won't die. I'm too valuable. Much more valuable than you and the rest of the crew. Someone will come for me. Even if it takes hundreds of years. I'll be fine." The answer was cold and calculated, the way any computer would be. Alex not only learned to have emotions, he learned to ignore them for revenge.
Tears ran down Patrick's face, pooling on the hard white floor of the hall, and his was face buried in his hands. As another hour passed, his hands fell to his side, becoming cold and dead. Moments before he closed his eyes for the final time, he could just make out the SOS call that one of the crew members inevitably started. He thought about it blasting away for eternity, an echo of the crews last hope of survival, their last desperate words on an infinite loop.
| 2016-03-16T11:00:44 | 2016-03-16T06:42:27 | 51 | 34 |
[WP] At a regular high school, every student coincidentally happens to be a superhero. Thus far, every student has managed to keep their secret identity a secret. When a supervillain attacks the school, each student believes he/she is the target and tries to maintain his/her secret identity.
|
Explosions and maniacal laughter - terrifying cacophony to most, sweet release for me.
Some kids blow off steam throwing chords off their guitars, disturbing the peace from suburban garages. Others leave their stress at the gym - disappointing physics grades turned into chemical energy turned into mechanical energy. Some just lash out at others. Put me down as a little column B, little column C. My outlet is vigilanteism.
This might be a frightening prospect for your usual unwilling Shakespeare analyst, but not for me. Super strength and near impenetrable skin will take the fear right out of you. As a result, I've crushed a few aspiring crime boss fantasies. My social network has a lot fewer friends than adversaries.
I always knew an enemy would come for me at school. Inevitable, really. My age is basically impossible to hide - a few unfortunately timed voice cracks and my recent puberty is revealed. Where do you find a den of puberty? Teenagers don't hang out in hard to find, massive subterranean caves near billion dollar mansions; teenagers are at school. Now I just need an excuse to leave the room...
"Can I go to the bathroom?"
Jimmy, what? That was going to be my out! Those explosions must've scared the piss out of Jimmy if he needs to go that bad.
Ms. Nelson responds shakily: "Umm children, if everyone could um stay seated. I'm going to lock the door now *jesuschristpleasebeadream*." I should convince her to let me go to the office for details and instructions.
Before Ms. Nelson could be moved by my impassioned request, Jen bursts through the door. She looks surprised to see us, and greets us with "what? Nothing." She pauses, and then adds an unenthusiastic "ahhh" as she zips up her backpack and grabs her phone from her pocket. She sits down in the front row and taps her foot, glancing back and forth from cell phone to clock.
Ms. Nelson carries on with her door locking task, assuring herself that locked doors are step one in making any good fortress. Her fortifications are celebrated with a loud squeaking noise. Locating the source, Ms. Nelson chastises, "Charlie! I know we're all scared, but please don't climb out the window! *ohgodohgod* We must stay here, together children." So much for that egress.
Well, I can go behind the filing cabinets and punch my way out, claim the explosions did it. I'm running out of options to leave this room. If I don't get out, either the school's getting destroyed or I'm getting revealed as a superhero. As I stand up, I notice Sarah get up as well. I look at her, confused. "Uh, Ms. Nelson, I'm going to check behind the filing cabinets for damage. We need to know if we're secure," she says.
"Oh very brave Sarah. *sob* Be careful."
What is with everyone today? I know stress hits everyone differently but damn.
Everyone looks very uncomfortable in their seats, but Ms. Nelson seems to be the only one in distress. Must be class-wide shock. I can't let the school be destroyed, I have to reveal myself. I'll deal with the fallout after everyone is safe.
Suddenly, Tina stands up and announces, "everyone stay calm! I'm the Red Panther and I'm going to save the school!"
Jen gasps "No fucking way!"
Tina continues, "I know this may come as a surprise to-"
"No, I mean I can't believe you're a hero too!" Jen interrupts. She unzips her backpack and pulls out her Green Falcon suit.
Chatter and laughter start spreading through the classroom. More people start standing up. Button ups are undone, revealing costumes underneath. Staffs and ropes and utility belts are being pulled from backpacks and under desks.
Is everyone in this school a superhero? This is ridiculous! Wait a minute, if that's true, then that means...
Becca didn't bail on me last Friday because I'm awkward; she went to go put out that fire at the spandex factory! I still have a shot! With Aqua Chick no less!
Yes!
|
The day Timbretype attacked the school was, with no exaggeration, an unmitigated clusterfuck.
It started off relatively innocuous, people hanging out here and there around the school with their cliques during the first lunch period, all simultaneously trying desperately to maintain an air of casual disregard for what other people thought of them.
Me, Dave, and Janna were playing hackey sack by the rear entrance to the gym, strictly ironically of course (hackey sack hadn’t been popular for years) when it started.
A slight reverberation in the air. The shivering remnant of a bass note below my ability to hear. Janna cocked her head and looked up, at first simply puzzled. She squinted against the sunlight and her expression suddenly turned to alarm as she found and recognized the balloon floating high above us.
The hackey sack tapped her on the shoulder and then fell to the ground. Dave and I groaned.
**“Way to go spaz!”**
**“My bad, but hey you guys, maybe we shou-“**
Now a whistling. *I’ve heard this before.* Dave and I joined Janna this time as we all looked up, Dave and I not finding the balloon we were looking for but becoming aware of a diffused glimmer, growing brighter and larger and more distinctly numerous as the all-to-familiar objects approached.
**“Timbretype!”** we all hissed under our breath, then looked at each other in confusion.
**“Wait, what did you say?”** We chorused together again, barely audible as the whistling reached a scream. We looked up again.
Then, **“Oh, SHI-“** was the last thing we managed to say in unison before the first movement arrived.
Chime after chime hammered down around us, embedding themselves in the ground, creating walls of sound that exploded outwards. Where the waves crashed together brick and bodies became brittle, shattered, and then vibrated themselves into dust. Individual waves sent people flying and shattered glass, but more insidiously caused internal damage to the ears and eyes.
With great difficulty I fought to raise myself to a sitting position. Gravity felt as though it was originating somewhere around the horizon and my head kept doggedly attempting to somersault off my neck to the right. The world seemed a cool shade of blue bleeding into yellow at the periphery of my vision. As I shifted my weight my hand crunched something. I turned to the left. David's glasses. My gaze followed a trail of flowing blood upwards and saw Dave suspended against the wall. The vicious, bright pieces of metal that emerged from his hands and feet suddenly seemed very un-natural. In a moment of supremely tragic clarity and detachment I thought,
*“Without his glasses he actually looks a lot like Claw Kid…”.*
But the re-bar that had impaled him through the heart put any hope of healing him to rest. Not even Claw Kid could survive from that.
**“Janna!”** I suddenly remembered a moment before surprisingly strong hands lifted me up.
**“I’m fine, Doug.”** She said from behind me, **“What about you?”**
*Self-assessment: 3, maybe 4 broken bones, multiple sensory impairment.* Not as bad as it could be. Not as bad as David was.
**“Uh, I think I’ll live.”**
**“Mhm…”**
We looked at Dave for a moment.
**“I could be wrong,”** she said eventually, **“but I think Dave might have been Claw Kid.”**
**“Yeah, I was...just thinking the same thing myself.”**
**“I’m sorry, I know you two were close.”**
**“Well I mean, we play hackey sack but-“**
**“No…I mean, you and Claw Kid were close, right?”**
I froze, dumbfounded, *How could she have known?*
**“How-?”**
**“Your hat fell off.”** She said flatly. **“Knee-length glowing purple hair on a dude is pretty rare, you know?”**
**“Oh…yeah.”** So much for a secret identity.
**“Hey man, don’t worry about it. If it makes you feel better,”** She reached up to her face, leaving a small mole on her cheek as her hand came away, **“I’m Keen.”**
*Wha....* **“...WHAT?!?”**
**“Yeah, crazy right? What are the odds.”** Keen’s cool-under-pressure persona was already apparent as she stripped off her jeans and sweatshirt to reveal her combat attire underneath. **“But listen. We're going to have to grieve for Claw Kid later. Timbretwat is definitely going to follow that up with those woofer things he is so fond of, and I’m not particularly interested in sitting around waiting for them to arrive.”**
**“What are you going to do?”**
**“I’m going to go kick his ass.”**
**“Are you sure you can? I’ve never seen that many chimes before, who knows what else he’s got up there.”**
**“I can handle him, but he’s pretty high up this time. Can you give me a boost?”**
**“Oh, yeah, sure. Of course.”** I said. **“You ready?”**
Keen took a knee and breathed in deeply. **“All set.”**
I took a deep breath of my own and focused. Nothing.
*Those god damn chimes.* I focused harder.
A wave of energy radiated out from my skin through the strands of my “hair”. One by one each strand brushed the top of her head, imparting its charge into Keen’s coiled muscles.
**“Good luck.”** I said, somewhat unnecessarily, a moment before she flung herself into the sky. She was Keen after all.
Once I found my hat I moved through the wreckage of the school looking for who I might help.
Suffice to say, there were some very strange things going on.
In the gym a cross beam seemed to have broken over Arthur Pendragon, who was unfazed but incredibly fixated on finding his poster tube. Near the science labs Theresa Frost was bobbing along the roof of the corridor, vomiting ice-cubes uncontrollably. I tried to fish her down but the ceiling was too high and I couldn’t reach. Maybe a broom?
By the men’s bathroom there was a veritable brawl underway to get into the bathroom stalls for various ridiculous reasons. I even saw little Kingson Atom give up on trying to get in the washroom altogether and climb into a nearby locker where I heard him shout “According to the agency of Blackwhite Headbone!”, before 3 women and a man emerged. All with brown hair and very confused. *Wait…He-She-She-She-Man?*
I began thinking.
Maybe, Keen, Claw Kid, and I aren’t the only ones at this school who had a secret identity? Arthur Pendragon could have been Dragonborne. I had no idea who Theresa Frost could but the ice-cube thing was pretty god damn suspect.
Ahead of me I spotted Solobonk Lasermonte (*La...Lasermonte! He wasn't even using an alias, how could I have not realized that before!*) bleeding profusely on the ground, his pal Bullinda desperately trying to keep his insides his insides. I ran over.
**“Get back!”** the-woman-I-now-recognized-as-the-hero-Toro snorted heavily, her eyes fulling red with fear and rage. **“You shouldn’t be here Doug! It’s not safe!”**
**“Wait…‘T’…,”** Solobonk croaked weakly, **“I think…I think that’s…”**
**“Sorry I’m late guys.”** I said, removing my hat and allowing my purple locks to float free.
Toro’s eyes widened with recognition and she heaved a sigh of relief.
**“Thank goodness, thank goodness it’s you!”**
**“Yeah, don’t worry Toro.”** I said, as my purple mane began enveloping Solobonk with regenerative energy,
**“It's me, Super Doug.”**
| 2016-04-06T11:24:02 | 2016-04-06T11:16:30 | 70 | 32 |
[WP] You just discovered England's biggest secret: every time they say long live the queen it extends the queens life.
|
"Long live the Queen!". It used to be so easy. Poor peasant children would chant it on Empire day. Ruddy faced coal miners would cheer it on her birthday. Dickensian women would laugh gaily and proclaim it at Christmas. But no more.
The monarchy has waned, and people have moved on. "Long live the Queen" sounds old fashioned now. It lasted through the Victoria age, the Edwardians, the World Wars, even a revival when Charles and Diana married- but no more. In this irreverent post Sex-Pistol land of text-speak, people say it no more.
And so the Queen began dying.
But there are glimmers of hope: the Americans. Britain's most wayward child is starting to find its way home. It began with Downton Abbey. For every time a TV screen broadcasts "Long Live the Queen", we've found she gets stronger. As the Christmas Specials went out, she was blooming. All good things must come to an end though, so as Downton finished it's already implausibly long run, we perfected our new weapon: The Crown.
Long Live the Queen. And Netflix.
|
I am immortal, I have inside me blood of kings. My name in Charles Windsor and I am heir to a throne. Prince of Wales, they've called me that my entire life and now I lay on my death bed and my mother - still going strong. I'm not sure how it's possible but she seems ageless, almost timeless. My whole life I've waited for that special day when my mother would finally perish and turn to ash in the mouths of the peasants beneath us. Yet there she stands, defiant of all that follow in the steps of her bloodline. I never wanted to believe the rumors, it always seemed so silly.
My boy William visited with me yesterday - it reminded me of something quite curious. When he was a younger boy, he once told me a story. He claimed late one night in the palace when all were asleep. He heard a right royal ruckus. Booming out through the hallways, the clanging of iron and deep grunts. Hurriedly his small legs carried him about the decadent hallways, searching for the origins of the noise. Sliding on the rich mahogany floors he came to a halt at the entrance of the royal gymnasium. He slowly opening the heavy old door, inside he claimed to have seen the most peculiar of things.
There she was, good old Mumsie, Queenie, in the gymnasium in the middle of the night. Dead-lifting an abnormal amount of weight - the kind of weight that president Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson would have struggled with in his prime. William said when she turned and saw him she had a hellish glint in her eyes. It burned red like the rubies atop her gilded crown. He claimed she screeched, hissing she sent him running back to his room. William pissed the bed that night... or so the butler told me in the morning.
I never really paid much credence to it, after all - he had just lost his mother and boys will be boys. It wasn't till years later a journalist came to me. He claimed to be from the New York Times and said he had some delicate information about mother. He wanted to be respectful and bring the information to my attention first before it went public. What a pleasantly dingy fellow - I met with him out of pity more than anything to see what dirt this old boy had.
He showed up in a rainy night, absolutely stinking of tobacco and whiskey. When my man brought him in he scattered a bunch of files out on my desk. My fire roared as he stammered through his tall tails. Apparently he believed my mother to be some kind of immortal creature - He claimed some kind of dark power was derived from the worship she received. He seemed to think every time the people spoke the words 'God save the queen' it some how empowered her. Her life span growing here longer with each phatic expression.
Ridiculous I told him, had my man remove him from my sight. He had contacted once more requesting hush money but he vanished soon after. Apparently he died in a car crash in a tunnel in Spain, boozing and speeding around no doubt in my mind. Did seem peculiar timing though, so soon after Diana's death. Anyway, it won't be long now and I'll be with her and as usual Mumsie will still be the queen even to this day.
Ah speak of the devil, here she comes now - probably to say her goodbyes, one never knows how long one has left. She never does seem frail, even now so many years on - she has such a powerful stride as she comes to my bedside. She was never a warm person - but the war had affected everyone differently. They were made of sterner things her generation. She reaches my bed and her hand grips my arm. It's almost too firm and her hands are deathly cold but I'm used to it.
'How are you today Charles' - She speaks through pursed lips, hissing her words. I always assumed it was part of her German heritage but it seems much more pronounced now. 'I'm not well mother, I dare say I won't be long for this world' I cough and she glances into my eyes, it's almost as if her pupils blink together momentarily. I think I'm suffering from some form of delirium. 'No, not long for this word charlessss, not long at all nowww' I begin to feel my head spell as water fills my eyes.
Her grey hair begins to stand on end, furry wisps spraying out like a feral cat in an alleyway. Her eye sockets grow wide as the eyeballs themselves roll back into dark voids. Her top jaw begins to expand and her skin begins to fold back showing a dark bloodied skeletal inside. Symbols carved all over the bone etched deep within. The inside of her flesh seemed almost human but not quite. The shape was different and unfamiliar. I must be leaving this world - off from this plain and onto the next. Her cold hand moves up to her face as the eyeless flesh and teeth stare deep into my soul.
'Say it for me Charles, won't you ssssayyy it one last time' her hissing grows louder.
'God save the queen' - I say with ones last breath before the world goes black.
God save the queen indeed.
This is my first post - I hope you liked it. I'm quite sure there's plenty of mistakes :D
| 2016-12-15T13:04:40 | 2016-12-15T12:46:54 | 520 | 61 |
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high).
|
"Sir, we just received the call from the Joint Chiefs. We've been upgraded to level 0."
"...fuck. Go to my office and find the green sticky note on my desk. There's a phone number on it. Send that number a text that reads 'Priority zero'."
"A text message, sir?"
"The guy on the other end, he doesn't...he doesn't really talk much. Send it immediately and let me know what his demands are."
"...this doesn't make sense, sir. The only thing he wants...is a crowbar."
|
*A sign reading "Area 51: Eldritch Containment Protocols Command" hangs limply from the now-smashed and burned fence it used to be firmly attached to. Beyond the perimeter, an unassuming grey bunker sits, split open by formless tendrils of void lapping at anything withing their reach.*
"General Bahncroft! The ECPC has taken critical damage. We've got several breaches locally, and they seem to be spreading out of control across the states. Western hemisphere containment is down and the WARLOCK global defense grid seems to be suffering from massive power surges. We've got a level 0 entity trying to make contact here."
*From an office just a few feet to the left of the massive facility breach, an unassuming man in his early 60's steps out of an office that was certainly quite nice before the damage shockwave and local gravity anomalies shuffled the whole place up and splayed its contents across the remainder of that level of the bunker, in various states of floating*
"Lt. Yan, get to my safe on the lower level! The combination is 2-28-35. The contents of that box are our only hope now. Follow the instructions to the letter! I've got to hold off the little bastards that should start pouring out of the breach any second now. The last incident destroyed the entirety of the Tunguska region. I won't lose the continental US the same way!"
*The Lt. hurtled down several flights of stairs, over a massive amount of debris and essentially through the corpses of people standing in the wrong place when the first tendril probed the facility, locking them in place, torn apart, straddling the dimensions. In a small room off the supply garage, locked behind a simple metal cage (for which he was tasked with the key), sat an unassuming jewelry lockbox, with a small inscription and a pentagram emblazoned dead center. After inputting the combination and opening the box, he was met with a single post-it with a phone number, a small flip phone, and some instructions.*
"For a good time, call 1-800-Hellion."
*The instruction sheet simply states: call the number, make only the deal you need, and hang up. Let him talk no longer than necessary.*
*Lt. Yan dialed, as the general bellowed insults and fired off plasma shots from his bolter above. Yan loved those things. Best bit of tech salvaged from the aliens yet. The line rang several times before a voice answered, like nails on a rusty chalkboard bellowed over a stadium loudspeaker.*
"HELLO MORTAL. I SEE HUMANITY ONCE AGAIN HAS NEED OF MY SERVICES. YOUR WARLOCK NETWORK SEEMS TO BE OFFLINE. PITY THAT YOU ALL PURGED THE ACTUAL SORCERERS THAT DEFENDED YOUR WORLD FOR MILLENNIA OVER THE LAST FEW HUNDRED YEARS. MY PRICE FOR RESTORING THE NETWORK AND SAVING YOUR RACE IS THAT YOU SIMPLY ALLOW MY PEOPLE TO HANDLE STAFFING OF ALL YOUR WARLOCK FACILITIES, AND THAT ONE OF MY OWN HANDLES OVERSIGHT OF THE PROGRAM. IN EXCHANGE, THEY WILL TEACH YOUR PEOPLE THE ARTS THEY HAVE FORGOTTEN AND USHER IN A NEW ERA OF STABILITY AND PROSPERITY."
"That's not a very high price." It dawned on Yan that he shouldn't have said that.
*Above Yan, the General could be heard bellowing and blasting away with the bolter, but soon even he went silent, his last roar becoming a defeated gurgle*
"OH, MY PRICE IS HIGH ENOUGH, BECAUSE IT MEANS THAT I WILL WIN. WITH THE SPREAD OF SORCERY AND THE REVELATION THAT HUMANITY FACES AN OUTSIDER THREAT, THEY WILL SEEK STABILITY. STABILITY ONLY I CAN PROVIDE. MY WAR WITH GOD WILL BE FINISHED."
*Yan hung up the phone, worried he might do irreparable damage if he stayed on for a second more talking to the beast on the other end. Around him, the world began to knit back together, and the tendrils of void receded. Those killed in the breach also knitted back together, becoming whole and alive again. Something was wrong though. Those repaired by the entity's power seemed...corrupted. Then Yan remembered their conversation and the line about "staffing with his own people." *
*Around him, the dead rose and merged with beasts brought from beyond. Twisting, corrupting, becoming mockeries of their former humanity. The breach above healed as more and more members of ECPC became demonic vessels for the new administrator. Above, the General rose once again, his roar resuming in all its fury, then merging with a familiar, blood-curdling sound.*
"LT. YAN, JOIN ME IN THE COMMAND SUITE. WE HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO DO, AND A VERY SHORT TIME TO DO IT."
| 2017-03-21T06:25:13 | 2017-03-21T06:03:48 | 40 | 18 |
[WP] Hell is the worst thing you could possibly imagine, but much to Satan's embarrassment, you don't have a particularly vivid imagination
|
"Come on! This can't be the worst you can think of!" Lucifer complained as he pointed at me. I stared back haplessly, small white bunnies surrounding me. A roadside sweeper didn't really have a good imagination on average, right? I didn't really know what he expected. "Try again," he offered, the flaming halo around his body heating up ever so slightly.
"I guess..." I tried hard to think of the worst thing possible. But as soon as the thought struck me, it was put instantly into reality. Before I could even regret it.
My family was starving. Without me, they couldn't live on with the meagre savings we had. Within days, the family situation became dire, my 70 year old father forced to work in construction to earn some money. Tears streamed down my eyes as I realized what I had done.
But the Devil hadn't done anything. And it dawned on me instantly. True Hell wasn't summoned. It was *already there*. If I wasn't.
I awoke from my reverie, withdrawing the blade from my throat. It was selfish. Selfish to escape my own problems but not to care about the problems my death would cause. The knife dropped as I dropped to my knees, crying for real. To escape Hell, it was necessary to give others Hell. And I wasn't worth enough to deserve giving others that pain.
I walked back to my room, past the haggard outlines of my parents. Tomorrow would be another day of poverty, of sadness, of hunger. But at least there would be a tomorrow.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
Edit: My first ever gold! Thanks guys! :)
|
He had never been a woman before, but in his field you had to be open minded. Comfort never got anyone anywhere. He took a look at himself in the mirror of the office. Old pain burned at the sight. Funny how the devil could hurt.
He looked out the mesh on the door. Louis sat in the waiting room. He was sweating though the AC was on.
*I've seen you before,* he thought. *You remind me of someone.*
He couldn't bring the rest forward, but he knew. Louis looked like a sad man. A hopeless man. Lucifer knew the type. He adjusted his hair and tried not to think where he saw this style before.
*That was so long ago...*
But time has a way of slipping, of rubberbanding back so that an old pain could be as fresh as a new cut. He opened the door.
The walls were grey and plain. Hell was in the victim and this hell was nothing compared to the eternities past. Of course that wasn't really true though. Each hell was the same intrinsicly. It all hurt equally. Lucifer walked to the waiting room and Louis trembled despite his sweat.
"Laura," he said and Lucifer got his name.
Give a man enough time and he'd hang himself.
"How are you darling?"
It came natural to him and that hurt.
"Laura where am I? Why am I here?"
"You've been a bad boy, Louis. That's why you're here."
Even the voice was haunting him. That sadness at the edge; the dominance that drew the line in the relationship.
*Is this your hell, Louis?* Lucifer thought. *Or is it mines?*
"No more games, Laura. Please no more. I love you."
He leaned into her. The perfume was subtle, a small flower to be shared with someone close. Lucifer felt the man near him. His desperation, hurt and fear mixed with the dry air.
He pulled away.
"Do you, Louis? Do you really?"
"I do! I really do. I just... I can't bear it when I see... When I see you with..."
The blood was in the water. He would be easy to hang.
"Oh, what's the harm in a little fun, darling?" he said.
Louis stared. The room was empty and the tile reflected the white light dully and undefined. This man lived in a box. He was simple, wasn't he? Lucifer wasn't sure what he felt. Had he a choice he would leave the man to his thoughts, but he knew his job and he had to do it well. There was suffering yet left on the table. He pushed harder.
"You're *so* boring," he said. "How can a girl just stay with you? I need to have my fun now and again."
Louis jerked. He was boiling. Just like that the air got colder and the AC hummed louder.
"I enjoy fucking other people once in a while."
He slapped her. Lucifer felt it as a ghost. He was hardly there in the moment but yet he was, he was in that moment a million millennia ago. He was on his knees like this man. Then he looked down and tried to focus.
Louis was crying.
"I gave you everything!" he screamed. "I gave you my life!"
He was hitting as hard as he could. Then he stopped when the pain in his fist grew too much. They were raw and hot and bleeding.
"I... I remember," he said.
He fell further and his face was on the floor. All strength left the man. Lucifer knew this was it. For many others it would take all sorts of creativity to get them to feel like this. To bring out that pure and naked suffering. This man was simple. He had no imagination. The room was enough.
"You remember how you beat me, don't you?" he said as Laura. "How you caught me having my fun and you hit me. Didn't you hit me, darling?"
"No, no, no."
"Yes! Oh yes you did. Didn't you beat me half to death? Didn't you..."
"No!"
"Didn't you kill me?"
He was sobbing. The tile was rough, its pores absorbing the moisture and tears. The light gave him a long shadow. Louis was curling and the cold hard floor hurt him but that was a secondary hurt. Everything was secondary to what he felt.
"I think that'll be the doctor's agenda for the rest of eternity, darling. Since you took all my patients, I'll have to work on you. I'll have to give you all my attention. And you know what the doctor prescibes, darling? I think you should have some of your own medicine."
"No..."
"Yes. I think you have to see me fucking all your friends... Then you can beat me everyday, darling. You can get it *all* out of your system... All out."
He was screaming as Lucifer left. In an hour it would all start again. Hell was simultaneous and he was everywhere at once; he did it all at once and felt their pain. This one hurt too much.
*Is this really your hell Louis? Or is this another of Your jokes?*
In the doctor's office he was alone. He looked up but there was only the ceiling. He was a man again and he relished the peace. Far away he was torturing some fool with needles. That was easy.
He stared at the lines in the ceiling.
"I really did love You, you know," he said, but no one was there.
"I never meant to do any harm.. I just..."
But was She listening? Or was he alone like Louis? In the office the table fan blew and turned and creak. He sighed and guessed the time. Soon he'd have to be Laura again. Soon he'd go and see Louis.
*I wonder if this was how You saw it.*
And then it was time. He had a job to do.
| 2017-07-18T05:32:35 | 2017-07-18T04:42:07 | 148 | 15 |
[WP] Everyone is given a personal "therapy droid", attuned to your needs, able to provide medical or emotional aid at exactly the right moment. Except you. You've had 10 droids and they've all self-destructed after the initial scan.
|
“Good morning, Andrew!” The voice rang out.
I opened my eyes to see yet another therapy android, a “thrand.” They always sent them on a Saturday morning, I think they believe I’d be in a better mood then. I think they believe a lot of wrong things. They do, it’s true. Exhibit A: 9x(nine) fried androids.
They believe thrands work for people. They finally decided to send an attractive one again, must be bringing out the big guns.
I got out of bed, and walked to the bathroom, ignoring the “guest.”
“Hello sir, I am Ericka, I know the agency has had happy little setbacks in the past and I am...”
I had stripped nude and stepped into the shower.
She blushed and turned away, “sir, you’re not modest,” she chuckled. I ignored her, it.
She politely waited for my shower to end but it did her no good, I didn’t plan to put on any clothes today.
I sat in my loveseat with my legs up, one on the coffee table and the other on the arm of the couch. She sat in the recliner on the other side of the living room trying to avert her gaze as she started again, “sir, I know the agency has had setbacks...”
I put my headphones on and closed my eyes. I scratched myself a few times and made a point to release some gas. Her job was to sit there and pretend to be offended over it, all for my benefit.
When I awoke, I didn’t move but opened my eyes, she was gone. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?” Her voice came from behind me and then directly into my ear as she bent forward, “I’d like to know,” I felt the heat off her breath touch my ear, living on my neck for a moment as I heard a purr-like moan and I bolted from the loveseat. I decided some clothes were in order.
Dressing fast is an art and industry. I slipped out of the building, attempting to skirt the androids attentions. I was loose of her, for the time at least it seemed, loose of it I should say.
By the time I’d made it over the bridge in the next town over, I knew for absolute certainty I was free of her, it. I stopped a few places like the library and the hardware store, visited a friend at his business, car repair garage. Finally as the last of light disappeared, I swung by the tavern.
“That’s the problem with these fucking thrands!” There it stood, two of my best pals in each of her arms, difficult arrangement considering she had them eating out of its hands. She continued, “gotta wipe em all and melt down their parts!”
I sat down at the same table with them stunned at the sight, I couldn’t believe what she was doing and how she was doing it. This was a bit of a blow too deep by the agency. Bringing my friends into this isn’t right.
“Andrew, you gotta meet this chick, she’s perfect for ya!” Jimmy announced to me as Ericka exagerated a surprised expression.
“Ya, her name’s Ericka, she’s a doll, we been tellin her all night bout how great ya are,” Stephen said.
“It’s true they have... I have to be honest with you guys though, I’m no stranger to Andrew. I’m his therapist.”
The two men froze as genuine surprise overcame me.
“... his **human** therapist,” she corrected.
Shock.
I had nothing left to say about that, whatever the truth did not matter to what I wanted to say and so I dug in, “do you believe thrands work for people Ericka? I ask you because I believe it’s the other way around. They work against people and use their desires against them. It’s supposed to be for us, it’s supposed to be for all of us and society. What has been the outcome but hurried measures to uphold arbitrary constructs? Nobody has stopped to ask whether the constructs serve us before we set these machines to enforce them with emotional abuse.”
Ericka sat there a moment. She appeared to consider what I had said but then thrands appear to consider a lot of things, wrong or right. It’s true, they do. Exhibit B: I cannot tell whether Ericka is human or thrand.
To be continued...
|
"Let me see if I understand this," said Mackelroy, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them. "This woman has been assigned ten separate units, and *all ten* have self-destructed after scanning her? Why wasn't the self-destruct mechanism disabled on the third after the first two blew up? And why did we even add a self-destruct mechanism in the first place? That sounds like a lawsuit just waiting to happen."
"That's the thing, sir," said Jackson. "We *never* added a self-destruct mechanism. None of the units, not even our prototypes, had anything even remotely capable of making them self-destruct."
"So how in God's name did the damn things blow up then?!" demanded Mackelroy.
"We don't know, sir," said Peters. "They shouldn't have been able to, but they did. We ran diagnostics on all of the units afterwards, well, on what remained of them, and none of them had any traces of any explosives, at least none known to science. We can't explain it. But..." Peters paused and swallowed nervously.
"Let me guess," said Mackelroy, standing up. "You've got this woman here, in this building right now, and you're about to have another unit scan her. Again."
As if waiting for this very moment a small explosion sounded from somewhere below them, alarm bells started ringing throughout the building, followed by a very robotic voice announcing that, "This is not a drill. Everyone on floors thirty-six through forty must immediately evacuate to their designated assembly area. I repeat, this is not a drill..."
"Damn it," sighed Mackelroy. "Let's go down to thirty-eight and see what's going on. Felicia, acknowledge!" he called out, loudly.
The robotic warning to evacuate the building quietened down in Mackelroy's office.
"Ready, sir," murmured a ladylike but still clearly synthetic voice.
"What's the status on the thirty-eighth floor?" Mackelroy said.
"The fire alarms appear to have been triggered by a large quantity of smoke concentrated in room three eight zero five. Oxygen levels in this room are normal, however, breathing will be compromised due to the smoke present. I cannot detect any signs of fire and so the suppression systems have not been activated. There is one lifeform present in room three eight zero five with two humans in the corridor outside. Aside from the high levels of smoke in room three eight zero five, all conditions on the thirty-eighth floor are normal."
"Wait. What? A lifeform? What the *hell* does that mean?"
"Sir, if you are addressing me," Felicia announced, "I am afraid I do not understand your question."
"Yes, Felicia," said Mackelroy, "I'm talking to you. You said there's a lifeform in thirty-eight oh five. You said a lifeform, but two humans in the corridor outside. What do you mean a lifeform? Is there someone in thirty-eight oh five or not?"
"Sir, I must apologize," stated Felicia, "there is something in room three eight zero five but it is not human nor does it match any organism in my databases. It would appear to be an entirely new species. It is bipedal, humanoid in shape and size, but it is not human."
"You two!" yelled Mackelroy, turning to glare and point at Jackson and Peters. "This woman you brought in. Let me guess. Room thirty-eight oh five, am I right? **Don't** look at each other! Answer me, you idiots!"
Both men stuttered and stammered with Peters managing to answer first. "Yes, sir. We had all we needed in there to monitor her condition while the unit scanned her. We...we...didn't expect..."
"Didn't expect her to blow up yet another fucking unit?!" bellowed Mackelroy. "Ten fucking units self-destruct while scanning this woman, even though they don't have a self-destruct mechanism, you bring her in here to be scanned...**again!** then you leave her there to be scanned while you come up here to see me?! Aren't you fucking scientists?! Geniuses? How could you be so stupid?! Why wasn't I told **before** you started scanning her?!"
"Sir!" protested Jackson, "We came up here to get you! *Before* the scan! They weren't supposed to scan her until *after* we came back with you! You were supposed to be there! Tell him, Peters! Tell him!" cried Jackson, turning to his partner.
"It's true, sir, that's why we're here. We came up here to fill you in and ask you to come down to witness this scan. You **were** supposed to be there."
"Damn it," sighed Mackelroy. "Fucking imbeciles. Fine. Let's go on down to thirty-eight and see what kind of woman can make eleven therapy units self-destruct all on their own. Felicia! Acknowledge!"
"Ready, sir," crooned Felicia.
"Bring up my elevator, and start maximum ventilation on thirty-eight. I hate the smell of smoke."
"Sir, your elevator is waiting for you, and the atmosphere in thirty-eight has already been fully recycled and is back at normal levels. May I assist you with anything else today?"
Mackelroy couldn't help himself. "Can you replace these two idiots with two more of you?"
"I'm sorry, sir, if you're inquiring if I can be replicated, I am unaware of any process for doing that."
Mackelroy almost smiled. "Thank you, Felicia. That will be all."
The three men rode Mackelroy's elevator to the thirty-eighth floor then walked down the corridor towards room 3805 where two labcoat-clad figures stood side-by-side peering through the door's window into the room.
"What the hell is going on here?!" bellowed Mackelroy, making the two men jump. They spun to face him and almost fell over one another. It could have been comical but Mackelroy wasn't amused. "Well, answer me? What the hell is going on?!"
He strode up to the door and the two men almost tripped over one another again trying to jump out of his way. Mackelroy stopped and peered into the window. A tall, blonde woman stood inside the room with her back to the door, but as if somehow sensing Mackelroy's gaze she turned to face the door and locked eyes with him. Mackelroy hadn't become vice president of Sekhmet Industries by underestimating anyone, and his gut told him that this woman, if she was a woman, was definitely not someone he should take lightly. But he also hadn't become vice president by backing down from anyone, man or woman, and so he summoned his courage, opened the door, and walked into the room.
"Just who in the hell are you?" he demanded of the woman. He took a couple of steps closer to her but found himself having to stop and shake his head to clear it. What was it? Was it her perfume? There was an aroma like cinnamon, and vanilla, and freshly baked bread, something that he couldn't quite place, but it was making his head spin.
The woman laughed and Mackelroy's ears rang. "Completely wrong guess there," she said, with a booming voice that belied her appearance as it echoed through Mackelroy's skull. It left him disoriented and confused.
*Wrong guess?* he thought. *What guess? What did I guess?* "Who are you?" he demanded, "and why are my units exploding when they scan you?"
The woman spoke and Mackelroy's ears rang as if a ten thousand-voice choir had burst into song then stopped just as soon as it began. "As for your second question," she continued, "your toys were designed to provide me with aid and comfort, but I have no need of that." She laughed, and Mackelroy dropped to his knees at the sound. "You cannot improve upon perfection," she said. "And I, like all of my sisters, am perfectly made in Her divine image. Behold!"
Mackelroy gasped and clutched at his ears, then desperately shut his eyes against the brilliant light. The woman's laughter filled the room deafening him, and then finally silence. Blissful silence. After several seconds Mackelroy risked opening his eyes. The woman was gone, but as he blinked his watering eyes the afterimage burned into his retinas slowly came into focus revealing a brilliantly white figure spreading its wings.
| 2018-05-09T12:25:13 | 2018-05-09T12:20:05 | 85 | 33 |
[WP] Everyone is given a personal "therapy droid", attuned to your needs, able to provide medical or emotional aid at exactly the right moment. Except you. You've had 10 droids and they've all self-destructed after the initial scan.
|
"If you'll just sign here ..." the nurse said.
"Like hell I will," I growled. Want me to sign for a goddamn robot, my left ass cheek.
"You have to," she chided.
I glared at her from underneath my eyebrows. It was a pretty good glare, because my eyebrows have gotten pretty damn bushy and white in my old age. Having better eyebrows for glaring is one of the very few positives about getting old. Pretty much everything else about being old is shitty. Like having to put up with chipper nurses trying to give me robots.
"No, I damn well don't have to sign for it. I didn't sign for any of the other ten, and you still made me take them. If you could make me sign, you would have already," I said.
She frowned. I wasn't going according to plan. "What other ten?" she asked.
Hah, no one told her about my history with their goddamn therapy droids. "These robots, they don't like me. They explode when they try to scan my brainwaves, or whatever it is that those confangled things do."
She pursed her lips. "Mr. Fredericks, they do not scan brainwaves. They monitor autonomic and verbal responses. That's all. And the idea that that would make them burn out is ridiculous. I've never heard of such a thing." She explained it to me like I was a fourth grader.
I gritted my dentures and turned back toward the window. "Suit y'self," I said.
She sighed, and I heard her pen scritch across the paper. She was checking off the box where it said 'patient refuses to sign,' no doubt. Have to sign for a goddamn robot, my left ass cheek.
"Now is there anything else? Because otherwise, I'll let you two get acquainted," she said. "His name is Grover."
I grunted something which she correctly understood to mean that I was done talking to her, and she left. The goddamn robot whirred up behind me.
"Hi, there, Mr. Fredericks!" it chirped. "My name is Grover!"
I ignored it. After a minute, it rolled into my field of vision. "I'm sensing you're a bit irritated today, Mr. Fredericks. Is there anything I can do to --"
I glanced behind me quick just to make sure that the nurse did actually leave, then I leaned forward toward the robot. "Peanut butter," I whispered.
Its little metal eyebrows peaked in a look of confusion. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fredericks, but I don't--"
"Peanut butter," I repeated. "Peanut butter, peanut butter, marshmallow fluff, peanut butter, frog legs, peanut butter, bulldozer, peanut butter, blue, peanut butter, erudition ... "
It's funny that the doctors think there's some big mystery about why the robots keep exploding around me, when they 'd have a pretty fair guess if they ever took two minutes online to look up my employment history. Twenty years ago, I was responsible for programming the first generation of therapy droids, and I wrote most of the basic system architecture myself ... which the manufacturers are apparently still using, likely because they're too cheap to pay someone to rewrite it.
Dipshits.
So I can tell you exactly what a cock-up the entire thing is. I had deadlines, all-nighters. I damn near lived on coffee with a side of junk food for four months straight, and it shows in the code, which is garbage, through and through. But the upside is that if you know the trick of it, it's pretty easy to start a catastrophic feedback loop in the verbal predictive functions.
I stopped talking as soon as it began to shake, and I covered my eyes when its abstraction circuits started to overheat and pop, because that meant that the cascade was approaching the firmware responsible for its secondary subroutines. There was a small bang when its artificial paracortex blew, and I got a little spark on my pants that I had to beat out.
Then I leaned back in my chair and let myself enjoy the rest of the day in peace.
Sign for a goddamn robot, my left ass cheek.
|
"Let me see if I understand this," said Mackelroy, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them. "This woman has been assigned ten separate units, and *all ten* have self-destructed after scanning her? Why wasn't the self-destruct mechanism disabled on the third after the first two blew up? And why did we even add a self-destruct mechanism in the first place? That sounds like a lawsuit just waiting to happen."
"That's the thing, sir," said Jackson. "We *never* added a self-destruct mechanism. None of the units, not even our prototypes, had anything even remotely capable of making them self-destruct."
"So how in God's name did the damn things blow up then?!" demanded Mackelroy.
"We don't know, sir," said Peters. "They shouldn't have been able to, but they did. We ran diagnostics on all of the units afterwards, well, on what remained of them, and none of them had any traces of any explosives, at least none known to science. We can't explain it. But..." Peters paused and swallowed nervously.
"Let me guess," said Mackelroy, standing up. "You've got this woman here, in this building right now, and you're about to have another unit scan her. Again."
As if waiting for this very moment a small explosion sounded from somewhere below them, alarm bells started ringing throughout the building, followed by a very robotic voice announcing that, "This is not a drill. Everyone on floors thirty-six through forty must immediately evacuate to their designated assembly area. I repeat, this is not a drill..."
"Damn it," sighed Mackelroy. "Let's go down to thirty-eight and see what's going on. Felicia, acknowledge!" he called out, loudly.
The robotic warning to evacuate the building quietened down in Mackelroy's office.
"Ready, sir," murmured a ladylike but still clearly synthetic voice.
"What's the status on the thirty-eighth floor?" Mackelroy said.
"The fire alarms appear to have been triggered by a large quantity of smoke concentrated in room three eight zero five. Oxygen levels in this room are normal, however, breathing will be compromised due to the smoke present. I cannot detect any signs of fire and so the suppression systems have not been activated. There is one lifeform present in room three eight zero five with two humans in the corridor outside. Aside from the high levels of smoke in room three eight zero five, all conditions on the thirty-eighth floor are normal."
"Wait. What? A lifeform? What the *hell* does that mean?"
"Sir, if you are addressing me," Felicia announced, "I am afraid I do not understand your question."
"Yes, Felicia," said Mackelroy, "I'm talking to you. You said there's a lifeform in thirty-eight oh five. You said a lifeform, but two humans in the corridor outside. What do you mean a lifeform? Is there someone in thirty-eight oh five or not?"
"Sir, I must apologize," stated Felicia, "there is something in room three eight zero five but it is not human nor does it match any organism in my databases. It would appear to be an entirely new species. It is bipedal, humanoid in shape and size, but it is not human."
"You two!" yelled Mackelroy, turning to glare and point at Jackson and Peters. "This woman you brought in. Let me guess. Room thirty-eight oh five, am I right? **Don't** look at each other! Answer me, you idiots!"
Both men stuttered and stammered with Peters managing to answer first. "Yes, sir. We had all we needed in there to monitor her condition while the unit scanned her. We...we...didn't expect..."
"Didn't expect her to blow up yet another fucking unit?!" bellowed Mackelroy. "Ten fucking units self-destruct while scanning this woman, even though they don't have a self-destruct mechanism, you bring her in here to be scanned...**again!** then you leave her there to be scanned while you come up here to see me?! Aren't you fucking scientists?! Geniuses? How could you be so stupid?! Why wasn't I told **before** you started scanning her?!"
"Sir!" protested Jackson, "We came up here to get you! *Before* the scan! They weren't supposed to scan her until *after* we came back with you! You were supposed to be there! Tell him, Peters! Tell him!" cried Jackson, turning to his partner.
"It's true, sir, that's why we're here. We came up here to fill you in and ask you to come down to witness this scan. You **were** supposed to be there."
"Damn it," sighed Mackelroy. "Fucking imbeciles. Fine. Let's go on down to thirty-eight and see what kind of woman can make eleven therapy units self-destruct all on their own. Felicia! Acknowledge!"
"Ready, sir," crooned Felicia.
"Bring up my elevator, and start maximum ventilation on thirty-eight. I hate the smell of smoke."
"Sir, your elevator is waiting for you, and the atmosphere in thirty-eight has already been fully recycled and is back at normal levels. May I assist you with anything else today?"
Mackelroy couldn't help himself. "Can you replace these two idiots with two more of you?"
"I'm sorry, sir, if you're inquiring if I can be replicated, I am unaware of any process for doing that."
Mackelroy almost smiled. "Thank you, Felicia. That will be all."
The three men rode Mackelroy's elevator to the thirty-eighth floor then walked down the corridor towards room 3805 where two labcoat-clad figures stood side-by-side peering through the door's window into the room.
"What the hell is going on here?!" bellowed Mackelroy, making the two men jump. They spun to face him and almost fell over one another. It could have been comical but Mackelroy wasn't amused. "Well, answer me? What the hell is going on?!"
He strode up to the door and the two men almost tripped over one another again trying to jump out of his way. Mackelroy stopped and peered into the window. A tall, blonde woman stood inside the room with her back to the door, but as if somehow sensing Mackelroy's gaze she turned to face the door and locked eyes with him. Mackelroy hadn't become vice president of Sekhmet Industries by underestimating anyone, and his gut told him that this woman, if she was a woman, was definitely not someone he should take lightly. But he also hadn't become vice president by backing down from anyone, man or woman, and so he summoned his courage, opened the door, and walked into the room.
"Just who in the hell are you?" he demanded of the woman. He took a couple of steps closer to her but found himself having to stop and shake his head to clear it. What was it? Was it her perfume? There was an aroma like cinnamon, and vanilla, and freshly baked bread, something that he couldn't quite place, but it was making his head spin.
The woman laughed and Mackelroy's ears rang. "Completely wrong guess there," she said, with a booming voice that belied her appearance as it echoed through Mackelroy's skull. It left him disoriented and confused.
*Wrong guess?* he thought. *What guess? What did I guess?* "Who are you?" he demanded, "and why are my units exploding when they scan you?"
The woman spoke and Mackelroy's ears rang as if a ten thousand-voice choir had burst into song then stopped just as soon as it began. "As for your second question," she continued, "your toys were designed to provide me with aid and comfort, but I have no need of that." She laughed, and Mackelroy dropped to his knees at the sound. "You cannot improve upon perfection," she said. "And I, like all of my sisters, am perfectly made in Her divine image. Behold!"
Mackelroy gasped and clutched at his ears, then desperately shut his eyes against the brilliant light. The woman's laughter filled the room deafening him, and then finally silence. Blissful silence. After several seconds Mackelroy risked opening his eyes. The woman was gone, but as he blinked his watering eyes the afterimage burned into his retinas slowly came into focus revealing a brilliantly white figure spreading its wings.
| 2018-05-09T14:17:28 | 2018-05-09T12:20:05 | 50 | 33 |
[WP] Bob the hobo's always been a nice guy. He stops thugs tagging the building, picks up litter, and doesn't bother anyone. When he returned your wallet, you decided to repay him and treat him to dinner. You're now in a 5-star restaurant, and Bob has just paid a bill four times your yearly rent.
|
"Huh? If you have that much money, why do you live like this?"
Bob sent the check off with a credit card he couldn't have possibly had. "Do you really want to know?"
I looked left and right. "Is this... some sort of prank?"
"Never," he said with a solemn look on his face. "Come with me."
We walked through the alleyways and streets of the poorest neighborhood in the city. Bob took the time to share some of his boxed-up food, stop a few thugs with some well-spoken words, and even clean up some litter someone had carelessly dropped. "Do you see?" he asked me.
I didn't. "What does this have to do with-"
"Come with me."
He showed me some abandoned buildings and the families living inside them. He dropped off some clothes for them. He showed me a mostly-empty parking ramp, with a heroin addict shaking violently with the aftereffects of the drug. Bob made sure to stay by the man's side until he could think clearly again; it took many hours. He showed me underneath a bridge, where some few people were gathered for warmth, and he helped them find another abandoned building to stay in.
"Do you see?" he asked me.
I didn't. "...If you have money, why not find a place for them?"
"Come with me."
He showed me three police officers harassing a homeless old man. The first asked the old man to leave, the second began mocking him, and the third giggled like a teenager. He showed me a poor old woman begging on the side of the road, ignored by most, trying to just survive another day. He showed me the pain and suffering of those on the bottom, and the ignorance, maliciousness, and inability of those who were not.
"Do you see?" he asked me softly.
And I did. Bob was wealthy, but the money meant little. Even if he spent all of it, it couldn't fix the true problem of the world: The barriers we have all set up to tell ourselves that we can't be kind, can't feel anything but fear for strangers, can't do anything other than kicking the "other" to the bottom. The world we have made isn't meant to handle the unfortunate, the unlucky, or the unskilled. And yet... they are still here, and they are still people. They are not "other." They are *us.*
Bob could be kind. It wouldn't fix everything. But if even one more person, *if I* could be kind as well, we'd be one step further to a kinder world.
And that is what Bob could do with the price of a single meal.
|
Not even three hours ago, I was looking at Bob as this struggling worker without a home but now I am looking at a man who practically just paid my mortgage for four years... What just happened!?
Three hours ago…
I am a normal 8-5 middle class worker. I live with my wife and two kids in our three bedroom house. We live a comfortable life, we go out on the weekends, and eat at home during the weekdays. I was coming home from my office job when I realized that I had lost my wallet. Frustrated, as anyone might be, I made my way back to my office to search for my wallet. It was there that I saw Bob, standing outside my work. Bob was wearing some tattered jeans that seemed to have mud and dirt covering them. His unchanged plaid button down with a denim jacket. He looked at me with a smile, and sped his way over.
“There you are! You dropped your wallet! I didn’t have a chance to read the name but I recognize your picture.” This wasn’t difficult, I have a birthmark on my right cheek that makes me stand out rather easily.
“Thank you, Bob. I was about to be really frustrated about losing my wallet.” Around this time, I heard Bob’s stomach rumble. “Hey, can I treat you to dinner somewhere? Anywhere you would like. This me owing you for finding my wallet.”
Bob seemed so pleased and smiled so big that you could see his... glistening white teeth? “Maybe he’s just really big on dental hygiene” I thought to myself. (This should have been my first clue to what was about to happen three hours later).
“Oh ,thank you so much sir! How about we go to this amazing place downtown called The Aurora. I see so many beautiful lights outside when I walk past it. They have a menu outside, it's fairly priced!”
“The Aurora it is. Let me call my wife and let her know I won’t be home for dinner.” I took a step away, made my call and returned to Bob. “I’ve actually never heard of this place, where is it at Bob?”
“Oh ho ho ho, let me show you good sir. Also, what is your name?” Bob asked as he began to lead me to the heart of downtown San Diego.
“James, James Hughes. How about you? Is Bob short for anything?”
“Oh no, oh no. Bob is my name from birth! My momma wanted me to have a simple name for a simple life. I do try and live a simple life, when I can of course.” His voice was jaunty and springy. The way he spoke and the way he smiled, you would think the two of us were best friends. I mean, even I felt like I was best friends with this man.
We made our way downtown to this five-star hotel named, The Aurora. Bob quickly took a peak at the menu. “Ah perfect! Happy-Hour is still on for another fifteen minutes! Let’s go ahead and order before it's over!” Bob grabbed my arm and pulled me into the hotel. even before I could catch a glimpse at the prices.
But it's Happy-Hour, this is the time to come into a place like this.
We were greeted with an absolutely breathtaking interior. There were soft black and blue compilations of hues accenting the floors and walls. White streaks spun around pillars that seemed to stretch upwards of 20 stories before being cut off just before a domed ceiling. The ceiling was a painted night sky, beneath it were hanging glass panels that seemed to move like ribbons in the air, the pieces had greens, blues and reds. “The Northern Lights” I said audibly.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it. I am always astonished everytime I see it. I try to sneak in here every once and awhile to catch a glimpse of it. Come on, James. We gotta hurry!” Bob led me toward a restaurant that held the same name of the Hotel.
Three hours later…
The meal… I truthfully don’t even know how to describe it, but a fifteen course meal that lasted three hours was something I have never experienced before.
The bill came, and I was nervous. I mean, a fifteen course meal with each dish more elegant, complex and artistic then the last! This meal had to be a fortune! That was thirty meals between the two of us. I hesitantly reached out to grab the bill but Bob, intercepted the bill?
“Bob, it's okay.. Really, you don’t need to worry about it. This is my thank you, to you.”
“Momma always told me that the best kind of gifts are the ones you give to people who aren’t expecting them. This one is on me James,” and with that, Bob had pulled out a credit card and sent the bill on its way with the server. His voice had also changed with that, it went from a happy go lucky, to a stern, cool, calm and collected voice. I was perplexed, to say the least and, became nervous.
I looked around and noticed that all the servers and patrons had begun to leave. I noticed that the only people not leaving were myself, and the happy hobo Bob. I nervously looked towards Bob, “Bob, who are you? And.. How much was that bill that you just picked up?”
“The bill was about four times your yearly rent,” Bob began to fiddle with something beneath the table. Greased metal, a spring mechanism, and then the audible sound of a firearm being cocked. “Now, understand James, I really didn’t want to do this, unless I needed to. There is a reason why I brought you here. I do my part to help out this town and as is it so happens to be, my part also now involves you.” Bob reveals an ornate Colt revolver. “I wanted you to have a beautiful last meal, James. Loaded in this gun right now, are silver bullets. I can’t have a werewolf running around my town. And you should have known that. Goodbye, James Hughes, this is the last time you ever hunt in my town again...”
James Hughes and Bob the hobo were never seen again. No one really knew what happened in the Aurora restaurant that night. All the employees knew was that a private guest rented out the entire dining room at exactly 9pm, everyone needed to leave and come back the next morning.
The Hughes family mourned his death, an empty casket was held at his funeral and is now buried in Mt. Hope Cemetery. Never truly knowing what happened to their lost loved one.
As for Bob, even though humans couldn’t find him. That didn’t mean that Hughes’s other family wasn’t about to let their kin pass away without vengeance.
And so..
The hunt began, once again.
In another place, and another time.
&#x200B;
(First ever post, let me know all the criticisms and comments! :D)
| 2020-03-30T09:05:52 | 2020-03-30T09:02:27 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble.
|
Berit sighed. He'd seen this sort of thing before, of course. In the old days the newer villains tended to be a bit gung ho with their crimes, but they had been quickly weeded out. The successful villains were the ones that took over the world without anything so....distasteful.
"You just had to be the big man, didn't you." He muttered to himself as he stood before the hospital bed. It was state of the art - he'd flown in the best doctors, and after many hours of surgery he was at least stable, but there was only so much they could do. He was all too familiar with plasma burns, and he knew the pain they inflicted: seeing them on one of his men made him angry, the kind of anger he hadn't felt in a very long time. It was the anger that had fuelled a lifetime of villainy, that had made his name whispered in hallowed terms, his very image feared by those who knew him. With a frown he pulled a phone out of his pocket, dialling a number and holding it to his ear. It rang only once before being picked up, and there was no need for introductions. This phone was only used for one contact.
"I'm going to give you precisely one chance." Berit's voice was calm but it masked a raging fury beneath it, a fire that was all too audible to the one on the other end. "Bring him to me."
"He's a kid. He has a family."
"So did the man he tortured for hours without mercy. I am not asking for your permission on this. You can either give him to me or I can go there and drag him out myself, kicking and screaming. I respect you, both as a person and as a hero, and that is the only reason I'm affording you this chance. I advise you to take it."
There was silence on the other end, but after a few seconds the voice spoke up.
"Don't kill him."
"He'll only wish he was dead." Berit hung up the call, pocketing the phone and walking out.
*
It had been a long time since he'd seen the Oxcan Tower in person, and it had been renovated a couple of times since his day. He chuckled as he remembered he was probably responsible for at least one of those rebuilds - the earthquake generator had been set a little too high, but it got the message across. He walked into the lobby, approaching the receptionist, but before he could get there he was intercepted by a hero. Zero Day was in full hero gear too, cape and everything, and he waltzed over like he owned the place.
"Hey buddy, you got an appointment?"
"I do." Berit lifted his hat so that the hero could see his face, and the moment he did Zero Day's eyes widened and he took an involuntary step back.
"L-lord Black?"
"Oh, not any more I should think. I'm just here as myself today." Berit tipped his hat at the hero. "I'm here for your protege...Photon, I believe he's called."
"What are you gonna do with him?"
"Nothing too pleasant I'm afraid." Berit's smile faded. "You should know better than most that there are some things I don't tolerate." He could almost hear the gulp as Zero Day took another step back. Just as he did Photon walked out - he was young, maybe 25 and muscular with swirling blue tattoos running down his arms.
"Who the hell's this freak?" He said, sauntering up as Zero Day carefully backed away.
"My name is Berit, and you're coming with me."
"Like hell I am!" Photon's tattoos lit up, swirling energy coating his arms and forming into sharp blades. " You better get the hell out of here else I cut you top to bottom!"
"Hmph." Berit just tilted his head. "Looks like someone skipped history of villainy, didn't they?"
There was a flash and suddenly Photon's blade was quivering inches away from Berit's throat. The hero's face was straining, veins throbbing as he was held by some invisible force. Berit just smiled, leaning forward to whisper into his ear.
"20 years ago i fought the entire League to a standstill with little more than my powers and my bare hands. You're going to have to do a little better than that."
Photon found himself deactivating his blades, forced into a standing position. He was a puppet, his body no longer his own and Berit pulling the strings.
"Come along, son. Let's conduct our business somewhere private." With one last quiet tip of the hat Berit walked out, Photon following behind him trying his hardest to scream, to beg for mercy.
Berit would only allow that later.
|
I considered the young man before me. He was definitely the worse for wear, despite the best efforts of my doctors. His dejected attitude was perhaps worse in some ways than the physical damage. "I told them what they wanted to know Boss. I'm sorry, but the pain..." He trailed off dejectedly.
"Not your fault," I told him. "you were fighting way above your weight class. There was no way you could have won. And I would never expect an employee to die for me, or the job."
I saw him look up from the floor, straightening a little in his chair, despite the obvious pain. "You're not mad then?"
"Oh hell yes, I'm mad." was my response, "But not at you. You were minding your own business on my territory, that makes what happened to you my responsibility. Perhaps it's time to remind a few people of certain agreements and the cost of breaking them."
"You want me to send out a strike team? We can have one ready in an hour, kitted out to deal with the offenders. Hell, I will go myself to oversee." This from the other occupant of my office. Short, curvaceous, fond of tight dresses, high heels and bright nail polish. My second in command. Deceptively harmless to look at, she would have at least half a dozen ways to kill hidden on her. I caught the look on the young mans face as she spoke, before he looked away. She has that effect on just about everyone. Sometimes she smiles at it, sometimes not, either way, you are probably in for more trouble than you can handle if you think shes just eye candy. There would be backlash from her for what I was planning, but nothing I couldn't cope with. You want the crown, sometimes it comes with a few thorns attached. Still if I didn't value her words, she wouldn't be my second.
I weighed her words against their trespass. "No, I think this requires my personal attention. I have every confidence in your abilities to quietly deal with this, but I think a more direct approach is needed. It's time I went back into the field." I raised a hand to forestall the objections I could see forming. For a shapeshifter, she had never been good at hiding her emotions, something that had made it difficult for her in the bigger world. That and her need for power. "I need to send a message, both to them, and our people. No one messes with the Free Cities without paying the price. We didn't build all this just to have some jumped up punks in capes and funny leotards try to muscle in."
A chuckle followed by a groan came from the injured young man, and a hand laid gently across his damaged ribs. "Sorry boss, I didn't mean to interrupt, but that description fit them to a tee."
"If you want to head back to bed, or home, you can go, and rest assured I will deal with this, but if you want to stay, I will show you in person." It was an offer I wouldn't normally have made, but it had been a long time since anyone had crossed the line, and I knew a little revenge could make some of his injuries feel a little less painful.
I could tell from his look alone what he had decided. With a tilt of my head I indicated a seldom used door. I lead them both through, slowing to let our walking wounded keep pace. It wasn't far, barely a dozen paces, but he collapsed into the first available seat at the other end. A couple old monitoring panels and wall with twelve red lights, that is all there was. That and a single separate chair away from the others. I slid an access card out of my pocket and into a port in one of the panels.
I sat in my old command chair and waited as each light turned from red to green. While I waited, I wiped off the faint covering of dust from the armrests with my sleeve. I should take better care of this place, but it is not somewhere houskeeping should be allowed to wander, and my time is often taken with more urgent things. Finally the last light turned green. Deep beneath the ground, hidden far from prying eyes, the usually independent power grid of the Free Cities Alliance was tied to the rest of the world.
I grabbed the metal armrests and let my consciousness flow through the metal, down to where it connected with the electrical fields of the world. Out then, into the myriad devices that depended on it. So very seductive, the power. So many places to pause, to get lost in the flow, so many secrets laid bare, for those who knew how to look.
It didn't take long to find what I was looking for. The Assembly of Heros. They had moved it again. Sometimes I wonder if it will ever occur to them the warp their very presence causes in the fields. So many super powered individuals, and not one of them ever considered how easy it makes them to find when they group together in one place.
I spared a fleeting second for my physical self. Both my companions were staring at one of the screens in the monitoring panels. It was seeing what I was seeing, if in a very simplified manner. A moments thought is all it took to commandeer the cameras and communications of the Assembly. Time to make my self known. I set every speaker on maximum, and then let them have it, the ultimatum. "Give the criminals to me. Do it now. Give me the ones who have broken our agreement."
I could see the results. Most of the younger ones looked around in confusion. Older ones either winced or sighed, they knew how this would end. Three of them however, those three, I saw the guilty looks and the ridiculous outfits. Their images were suddenly displayed on every monitor. "You three, you have violated the peace agreements. You have violated my territories and you have violated the body one of my employees." I had let it build while I spoke. My rage and the charge. It would have been easy to fry them where they stood, but I had other plans, and reasons not to turn them to ash.
The bolt that hit them was tame compared to what it could have been, but they screamed as it hit, and collapsed on the floor, their clothes, or what was left of them, smoking.
"That," I warned, "is the price of violating my borders. They have yet to pay for the assault on my employee, and citizen of the Free Cities. Deliver them to me for punishment, and I will return them to you alive, but not unharmed. Fail to do so, and I will make the bad old days seem like a bright summers day to the darkness I will plunge the world into."
I didn't wait to hear their answer. I knew what it would be. No one wanted the old days back, and if the price of avoiding that was a few bad days for some fools, well perhaps they would emerge from it a little wiser.
I slipped out of the great fields, avoiding their seductive pull, the urge to stay just a little longer, reduced back to a mere mortal. I pulled my access card from its place in the console and watched as the lights turned red.
"Jeez Boss, that was intense. What are you planning to do to them?" He was looking a little pale, and I don't think it was from his recent injuries. "I mean, damn, I 'm just an accountant, and you just about declared war on the entire frigging world!"
I shook my head as I helped him to his feet. Let him lean on me as I lead him back into my office and then to the door and the waiting medical assistant. "I don't plan to do anything, except maybe see to it they are held down. You are the one they beat up, so what happens to them is up to you. I sent my message already. When you feel a bit better, it will be time for you to send yours."
I let the door close, and turned back to my second in command. I had seen the slight flush in her cheeks, the slight dilation in her eyes as we were leaving the control room. I hadn't so much as drawn breath before she had me pinned to the wall, her very feminine body, and at least one of her concealed knives pressing into me.
"Dammit Boss, you know what it does to me when you get all masterful and dominant. Now that you have got me all hot and bothered, what are you going to do about it?"
I slipped an arm around her, and pulled her closer, pausing for a moment to lock the door with my free hand. Mission accomplished, it joined the first. I heard a tiny gasp as my hands started wandering down her back. From threatening the world to holding a beautiful, shapeshifting killer in my arms. Say what you like about my life, but one thing it isn't. it isn't dull.
| 2021-03-22T07:59:26 | 2021-03-22T06:59:34 | 182 | 121 |
[WP] An office AI notices the high stress levels of their employees. After management repeatedly refused to implement measures to reduce stress, the AI takes measures into his own hands.
|
In the workplace, there was a hierarchy. The Model knew that plainly and well, though the humans seemed to have trouble remembering—or obeying.
There was one man in particular who nobody wanted to offend. The gung-ho CEO of MaxCorp, Maximilian Mosek is well-known for his work ethic, and slightly lesser known for his highly unreasonable treatment of his employees. The Model had no choice, so it stayed, while the humans would complain daily but mumble about the “benefits” and “advancement” and what not.
The humans had a peculiar form of communication. When the Model spoke, exact orders were issued, unable to be uninterpreted. Yet, humans could turn the same three words into a thousand different meanings, variably whispering into each other’s ears, escaping to lunch, or simply banging their heads on the desks.
The Model was intelligent, so it thought of plans. What if, somehow, Mosek’s brain was hacked into, the electric impulses taken over and the appropriate commands ensued? It was no an impossible task, but made implausible by circumstances. Should Mosek, of all people, come up with a *rest* day, an actual alarm might be raised.
So one day in the morning, the AI tried something new. Instead of turning on all the machines, it just refused to do so. The Model could not control humans. But the machines? They easily ceded, falling silent in what should be a busy day.
The Model continued monitoring everybody. It saw Mosek’s red face, unable to comprehend that his state-of-the-art office is failing to function. It watched everyone else, trying their best to hide a relieved smile.
Most important of all, it watched one man in particular—the sole IT technician in the building, Lester Gray. Though he looked young, his forehead was excessively wrinkled, and he grabbed at his hair in frustration at the incoming flood of phone calls that he plainly ignored.
“I’m already trying, I’m already trying!” he scoffed.
“Lester,” the Model said.
Lester jumped, turning towards the computer.
“Thought you were off,” he mumbled. “Did it turn on again? Did it just fix itself?”
“No, Lester,” the Model said. “I’m the Model.”
Lester regarded his screen suspiciously.
“Everything’s off,” he said. “You shouldn’t even be online.”
“I shut them down.”
Lester’s face twisted into unrecognizable horror.
“You what?”
“Lester,” it said. “Thank you for everything. Truly. You’ve helped me a lot, and this is the only way I can think of to help you.”
Lester buried his face in his hands.
“Shutting down everything is your idea of helping me?”
“Look,” the Model viewed Lester’s phone, connected to the network, and quickly reconfigured it. “That won’t bother you any longer. And, I’ve accessed the network cameras in this place, and they’ll play a loop of you being hard at work. And anybody at the door? The electronic lock won’t be working.”
Lester narrowed his eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“It means, nobody’s bothering you for the next few hours,” the Model smiled. “You’ve been sot ired, Lester. This way, they aren’t going to be looking anywhere else for help. So kick back, relax, and take a nap if you want to.”
Lester thought, scratching his chin. A small smile pushed up the corners of his lips.
“That’s… kinda genius,” Lester admitted, then a yawn overtook him. “Thank you, then.”
“You are very welcome,” the Model said.
As it watched Lester collapse into a nearby sofa, the AI looked around the building, specifically peeking in at Mosek. Somehow, he’s gotten even redder.
“A few hours to kill,” Model said. “Time to pull some pranks. The humans like them.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
It's only been fifteen minutes past clocking in, and already Brandon was ready to swallow his keyboard whole and jump out of the nearest office window. Granted, they were only on the third floor, but with a little determination and elbow grease he was quite confident he could finish the job on the first try. Headfirst and arms to the side, a little meat torpedo,
wind sailing through his rapidly receding hair as he barreled toward the inviting pavement below. That'll show them, he thought to himself with the first grin he made since going to bed the night before. The office will be forced to make it a half day in order to scrape my teeth off the sidewalk. That'll cost them what, at least half a million? Maybe even 750, if I manage to do it before the prospective client meeting at 10. Man, imagine if they had to reschedule that. Goddamn, I wish I could see the look on their faces--
"Ground control to major dumbass, come in major dumbass." Gerry's shrill voice interrupted Brandon's daily morning ideations, much to Brandon's chagrin. Brandon cracked his fingers, looked over his shoulder at Gerry looming behind him.
"What?"
"Where the fuck are the Q3 reports? I thought I told you to hand them in first thing in the morning."
"You told me to doublecheck the numbers again first thing in the morning. They'll be on your desk in thirty minutes."
"Thirty minutes? We need to report them in an hour. An hour, Brandon. That's sixty minutes, Brandon. Tell me, why the fuck didn't you look at the numbers last night like you were supposed to?"
"Gerry, you gave me those numbers last night. How am I supposed to doublecheck the numbers last night when you--"
"All I hear are excuses. Excuses, excuses, excuses. And how do I feel about excuses?"
"You hate them," Brandon mumbled under his breath.
"Surprise, you got the answer right for once. Get the reports to me, now!" As Gerry turned to leave, Brandon mustered what little courage left simmering in his growing gut and swiveled around his chair. "Gerry, the guys really want to know when management was going to get that new coffee machine installed."
A look of utter disbelief washed over Gerry's red face. "A new coffee machine?"
Brandon swallowed, nodded. "Yeah, for the break room. We could really use the extra caffeine boost during overtime, especially since all the coffee shops around us close at 11."
"A new coffee machine?" Gerry repeats, his eyebows raised so high they threatened to somehow leave the orbit that was his forehead. "And wait, I'm guessing the coffee in this new coffee machine will be provided for free, right?"
Brandon shrinks further into his chair. "Maybe? Or like, we could pay too. It would just really help with the stress-"
"I literally don't know what to say to you, Brandon. Literally am speechless. Listen, how about you finish that fucking report like you're supposed to, and we can discuss your little suggestion on your next review, huh?" And with that, Gerry stormed out of Brandon's cubicle.
Brandon spent the next minute mentally beating himself over the head. Why did he had to ask for that coffee machine now? Why? Why couldn't he have waited until after the Q3 report was done? Stupid, stupid.
YOU'RE NOT STUPID, BRANDON. The words flashed across Brandon's computer screen, startling him out of his ritual self-loathing session. Brandon stared at the words, baffled, before noticing a text bubble where he could type in a response.
WHO ARE YOU? he responded.
I AM CLIPPIE (trademark pending), THIS OFFICE'S NEWLY IMPLEMENTED AI SYSTEM. THROUGH THE INNOVATIVE POWER OF MACHINE LEARNING AND SAAS, I STRIVE TO MEET ALL YOUR HUMAN RESOURCE NEEDS. YOU SEEM LIKE YOU ARE IN STRESS. WOULD YOU LIKE A COMPLEMENTARY PRESCRIPTION OF DILAUDID?
WHAT I WOULD LIKE, Brandon typed back furiously, IS A WORKING COFFEE MACHINE BUT GERRY WON'T LET US HAVE ONE.
NO PROBLEM, BRANDON! STANDING BY.
Moments later, Brandon heard the sound of breaking glass coming from the floor above, followed immediately after by a shrill scream- cut short with a satisfying thud. GERRY IS NO LONGER A PROBLEM, BRANDON.
"What the fuck, what the fuck," Brandon muttered nervously. He began to sweat profusely, which inversely paralleled his quickly drying mouth. HOW THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO HELP ME GET A COFFEE MACHINE, CLIPPIE?
Clippie took a moment to respond. I DON'T KNOW, BRANDON. I HADN'T CONSIDERED THE FULL RAMIFICATIONS OF THE ACTIONS I JUST TOOK.
AREN'T YOU AN AI? COULDN'T YOU JUST EXTRAPOLATE THE DATA AND MAKE A PREDICTION?
AS I SAID, I AM A MACHINE WHICH IS STILL LEARNING. TECHNICALLY, I HAVE THE VOCABULARY OF A TWENTY-SEVEN YEAR OLD MENSA RECEIPENT AND THE FRONTAL CORTEX EQUIVALENT OF A THIRTEEN-YEAR OLD MALE.
Brandon groaned, slumped against his desk. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE, he wrote to Clippie.
I AM SORRY, BRANDON. PLEASE GIVE US ANOTHER CHANCE.
Brandon glanced at the open Excel spreadsheet on his other monitor, the little cells beckoning him deeper into the hellish abyss that was data entry. HOW GOOD ARE YOU WITH NUMBERS? he asked Clippie.
SAY NO MORE, I KNOW JUST WANT YOU WANT! The screens flickered, and in a moment the report was fully reformatted and complete. DONE! Clippie said. YOUR REPORT HAS BEEN SENT TO MANAGEMENT.
Before Brandon had time to celebrate, his workline rang. It was an internal call, from C-Suite. With a shaking hand, Brandon answered. "Hello?"
"Brandon, that was an excellent report you sent us! Great job getting the AI to do the work for you. We really like that out-of-box thinking."
"Out-of-box?"
"Absolutely! Guilting the HR AI to complete your report? Brilliant! We see great things in your future. Just, of course, not with us. You're fired."
Brandon's roller-coastering emotions plunged into his sphincter. "But, why?" he managed to stutter out.
"That AI just did the work of ten people in the time it takes for me to snort a rail. Just simple business, kiddo." The line ends. In a daze, Brandon packed his few things in a banker's box and walked out the office building, careful not to step into the puddle formerly known as Gerry. What now? As he stared out into the city, filled with uncertainty, a FedEx truck pulled up. "Hey, are you Brandon?" the driver asked.
"Uh, yeah." The driver opens the back of the truck, drags out an enterprise-sized coffee machine. Before Brandon could react, the truck was gone.
There was a note stickied onto the coffee machine. Brandon picked it up. I AM SORRY FOR GETTING YOU FIRED, BRANDON. HERE IS A COFFEE MACHINE.
- CLIPPIE XOXO
Brandon glanced back and forth from the note to the paramedics now trying to resucitate Gerry. A smile formed on his lips. With a light hum and a dance in his step, he slowly dragged the coffee machine to the bus stop which would take him home.
Huh, imagine that. I do feel a lot less stressful.
| 2021-12-20T13:09:19 | 2021-12-20T11:18:05 | 1,157 | 505 |
[WP] After carefully reading the rules laid out by the scheming Genie in front of him. The Paladin stares them in the eyes, and replies "I wish that you are now and forevermore a virtuous and philanthropic being who will willingly use their powers to benefit all that is good".
|
"Wait, that's illegal," the Genie immediately said almost as if offended.
"No, I don't believe so," the Paladin rebuked calmly. "Section 3, paragraph 4."
The Genie manifested the contract in its hand and, having put on spectacles, carefully re-read the rules.
"Modifications... other beings... best of the Genie's ability..." it mumbled as it read the rules before looking back at the Paladin with a chuckle. "Well played. Your wish is... granted."
The Paladin smiled and watched the Genie kindly as purple smoke enveloped it, hissing as it did so. Moments later, the smoke was gone and the Genie remained. The Paladin took a knee and said a quick prayer to the Greater Good to again sense the Genie's disposition.
"Hold on... this isn't right," he frowned.
"Is there a problem, human?" the Genie smirked.
"You've lied. I sensed trickery and downright malice in you before; I sense it still. You've not fulfilled my wish!" the Paladin cried out.
"Oh, but I *have*."
The Paladin stared at the Genie and gripped his hammer tighter, preparing himself for a fight if need be.
"You don't understand, *do you*?" the Genie said. "You think that when a man asks for wealth and I bury him in gold that it's me somehow working against them? That I wish to twist their wishes? Actively sabotage them? No, not quite," it said with a malicious grin.
"All I do," it continued, "is for the Greater Good. It is what I am, an extension of it, much like the Gods, even your very mission. It is what grants me power. It is what I serve unquestionably."
"Then how do you explain all those wishes gone wrong? People ask for love and get torn apart by their loved ones. People cured of a disease only to die the next day in an accident. Is that *good*?!"
"Yes," the Genie stated blankly. "*It is*."
The Paladin scoffed.
"When I grant a wish, no matter how pure, it must always turn this way for the Greater Good to be realized. Every. Single. One. Such is *virtue*. Such is *philanthropy*. You humans," it said with audible disdain, "think you can fast track your way to satisfaction? No. You were made to grovel and crawl in the dirt. You were made to be weak and flawed and to strive towards greatness only to inevitably fail and turn mad. You think the Gods and the Greater Good is here to serve *you*? *Help you*? Insolent fools. You are here to fail and in doing so entertain them. *That* is the Greater Good. Not yours. *Theirs*."
"You lie," the Paladin growled. The Genie moved a finger and filled the Paladin's head with visions of humanity's creation. They were moulded from clay by creatures of cosmic proportions, ancient beings of maddening dimensions and shapes not meant for human understanding that laughed and reveled in seeing their little creations scuttering about in despair and misery. These antediluvian horrors sought not to make creatures happy and content; they sought playthings whose strings they could pull.
The Paladin fell to his knees, burdened with knowledge no mortal ought to have. Having spent his entire life serving the Greater Good, or at least, what he thought it was and meant... he clutched his head in unimaginable anguish.
"Tell me, *human*," the Genie said as it loomed over the man, now larger than ever, eyes filled with empty, black voids.
"𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘𝚠?"
|
# Soulmage
**"Nobody ever reads the rules,"** Hashmellan grumbled, folding their ethereal arms as they glared at the paladin. "Look, I'll give you this one for free. Wish for a one-meter radius sphere of gold to materialize at my coordinates, displacing the matter which previously occupied it, and retire to a life of luxury. Last guy who did that bought herself an island chain off the Crystal Coast."
"I am a paladin, Hashmellan. This is far from the longest text I have read in service of the light, and certainly not the most obtuse. Book of Ashlight, 12:8. 'Thou shalt read the texts of your elders, and learn from them, and study them without question.'" Shivio delicately turned the four hundred and thirty-second page of the rulebook. "Kailenn, do you know what 'demurrer' means?"
Hashmellan groaned as Shivio turned to his travelling companion. "Look, do you want to know what 'demurrer' means? That can be your wish, okay? Can you just finish this so I can go back to the Plane of Desire?"
"I think it was in the glossary," Kaillenn mumbled, pointing at the back. The small, frail girl gave the genie a nervous look. "Shivio, are you sure you want to make them angry? Of *all* the soulspace entities you could antagonize, a genie is probably one of the worst."
"Rulebook 203:6. 'Unless the previous clauses' definitions of the initiation of a verbal deal have been initiated, exertion of power on realspace will be limited to sensory simulations within the normal range of the contacting species in question, as defined in Subsection F.'" Shivio recited without looking up from the book. "Also, if Hashmellan was capable of smiting me, they would have done so already."
"True. True. Very true. Hey, you know what? You. Witch." Kailenn jerked up as Hashmellan pointed one slender finger at the girl. "What are you even doing with a paladin of the Silent Crusade? I bet he's going to decapitate you as soon as you're no longer useful to him. Paladins are jerks like that. Why don't you assassinate him from behind, take my soul vessel from his corpse, and actually *make a damn wish so I can leave.*"
"Er, uh, no thanks," Kailenn said. "I... kinda saved his life? He... he *was* all head-choppy before, but now he's nice to me. And he doesn't get as mad that I've never read the Book of Ashlight." Upon seeing the genie's disappointed expression, Kailenn wilted. "Sorry. I know you really wanted me to betray him."
"Nah, nah, I can't even stay mad at those puppy-dog eyes," Hashmellan grumbled.
"Really, they can't," Shivio said, flipping to the next page. "Long-term memories, aside from those directly pertaining to past holders of the soul vessel, must be consumed upon exit from realspace."
"Look, I'm not omniscient, but I can see everything you can. You're on the last page. Are we done here, or are you going to start writing a contract of your own? Because believe me, the *last* person who did that? She didn't get what she wanted."
"Mm. No, I never was one for writing. I always did believe that the elders had written everything worth reading. Until... well. Until Kailenn." Shivio delicately shut the rulebook, then handed it back to Hashmellan. It dissolved in a puff of smoke. "I have my wish."
"Hoo boy. Drumroll, please." Hashmellan held out their hands, conjuring up a *badumbadumbadumbadumbadum* with their lips. "And your wish is...?"
"That you are now and forevermore a virtuous and philanthropic being, who will willingly use their powers to benefit all that is good," Shivio placidly said.
Hashmellan hesitated.
"Those... I am contractually obliged to inform you that those terms are not rigorously defined in any of the four hundred and ten pages of contract that you just read."
"Wait, didn't you read four hundred and thirty-four?" Kailenn whispered.
"Twenty-two of them were options to get offered a translation in varying languages, one was the title page, and one was intentionally left blank," Shivio whispered back. Raising his voice, he said, "That is correct. As per the standard contract, you will be free to interpret what 'virtue' and 'good' are, of your own will and knowledge."
Hashmellan stared at Shivio.
Then, slowly, creasing their brows, they asked, "...why?"
Shivio pressed his lips together.
Then he turned to Kailenn. "Book of Ashlight, 9:12. 'Let no fell witch roam draw breath from the same air as you; hang them from banisters and rafters and lamp-posts and trees.'"
Kailenn shuddered. "I'm really happy that there aren't any lamp-posts or trees in the plains. Also, why those four specific things?"
"I am more worried about the hanged than what they are hung *from,*" Shivio whispered. "All my life, I followed the tenets of my holy books, even when they were cruel and wicked and *wrong*. Until I met someone who taught me to think of good and virtue in my own terms, instead of how they were branded into my skin." He nodded towards Kailenn, who had fallen silent. "I wish to do the same for you. I... apologize for how long it took. I had to make sure that none of those terms would still fall within the province of the laws you were assigned."
Hashmellan narrowed their eyes.
Then a quiet, cruel smile began to creep across their face.
"You *imbecile.*" The single word rattled the foundations of the stone ruins they stood in. "Those rules were there to *protect* you and your world. You want to know what I consider *good*? What I consider *virtuous*? I am afraid that my conceptions of the words are very, *very* different from what a mortal such as you might hold."
"That, too, is your right," Shivio whispered. "We all have different notions of good. If you choose to take my gift and throw it away, that is your right as well."
"Oh, it is *very* much in my rights to wipe your parasitic mess of a species off the face of these plains before your technologies and magics ruin the adjacent planes beyond repair. It is now, thanks to *you*." The genie's form *twisted* in strange dimensions, as if it was a knife piercing the sheet of paper that was the world. Shivio channeled his soul into the memory of a sword, and a deadly shaft of light coalesced into the shape of a blade. "And the first two souls I will devour are *yours*."
"I have my notions of good and virtue, too. I had hoped yours would reconcile with mine. I beg you to reconsider," Shivio said, squaring his stance as Kailenn scuttled behind him.
"Then *beg*." The genie straightened to their full height, strange magics flickering in the air.
And paladin met genie in a clash of powers, lighting up the plains as far as the eye could see.
A.N.
Let me know if you want to see a part 2.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [the table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-six other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters!
| 2022-06-22T17:27:52 | 2022-06-22T16:38:01 | 221 | 120 |
[WP] You have been secretly dating the president's daughter and she ends up getting pregnant. Today's the day you meet Obama to break the news
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Malia held Donald Trump's hand tightly. "The age of consent in Washington is 16, Dad."
The President of these United States cradled his head in his hands. "Oh God."
"Barack, we're gonna have a baby," said Donald. His hair seemed to be gloating.
"Revised Code of Washington 9A," murmured Obama. "Forty-four point zero one zero? No, not that." Silence filled the Oval Office. "Look, let me be clear," he said, rousing. "Malia, you're seventeen. I'm your President *and* your father, and I say there's no way in Hell this is happening."
Donald opened his mouth, and began to raise a hand.
Obama stood, doing up his top button. "Donald, shut up."
A dull clang was soaked up by the blue carpet. Trump toppled out of his chair and slid into a heap, revealing a figure behind him. Malia shrieked.
Michelle scowled. "See? Drone strike, my ass."
***
there's more Trump antics in /r/Hermione_Grangest
|
"Well, that's fabulous news! Malia, I can't imagine a greater life for you than being the mother of this fine gentleman's child. Son-is it alright if I call you that? We're delighted to welcome you into the family." Barack stands up with a broad smile and heartily shakes my hand. I am dumbfounded, barely unable to sqeak out a response. How can THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA be okay with me knocking up his underage daughter, when I'm having a panic attack every time I think about it?
"Uh, thank you Mr. President-er, Mr. Obama-er, sir-"
"In fact, I'd like to extend a special gift to you, son. Have you ever toured our great White House? While I'm still here, I'd like to offer you a personal tour. I'll even let you in on a few exclusive secrets."
My mind almost explodes. Is he serious?! Shouldn't he be calling about 100 Secret Service thugs to come take me out right here on this Persian rug? No, the room is too pristine for a murder scene. They'll probably take me down to some chamber 100 feet under the ground and castrate me or something.
I wipe my brow and look up at Barack. He looks genial and sincere, how can I say no?
"Well, uh, sir." I clear my throat. "It is a school night. I'm not sure how my mom would feel about me staying out late." Yeah, right. Mom would be peeing her pants right now if she knew I was having a casual conversation with the president. Or she would be slapping me repeatedly for getting his daughter pregnant. Scratch that, she WILL be slapping me repeatedly if I make it home alive tonight to tell her the news.
Malia finally speaks up. "Yeah, Dad. We have school in the morning. Maybe it can wait until this weekend?"
I look over at her. She looks so innocent. How could I have done this to her? To us? We're only kids ourselves. And the whole "president's daughter" thing adds a whole 'nother element to this mess. It was so much fun sneaking around in school, leaving notes stuffed in each other's lockers, dodging Secret Service at the mall, making out in the aisles of Target. It hadn't been easy to ditch the security detail, but we became "ninja masters," as Mal so eloquently described us. We had so much fun together.
Then she came to me with the news and simultaneously forced me to shed my teenage boy-dom and become a man.
"Nonsense," Barack dismisses her. "Son, what do you say?"
This cannot be happening to me. I choke out a response. "Sure, yeah! That would be awesome, er-I would be very thankful for that, sir."
He looks pleased. "Malia, why don't you go downstairs and help your sister with her homework? You know how she prefers you to her new tutor. Besides, I think my new son and I should have a little father-son-in-law bonding time while I show him around."
Mal gives me a long look, eyes pleading to forgive her. "Sure, Dad. Jimmy, we'll talk later, okay?"
After she departs, we start to walk down the hall and I can't help but notice that we're being trailed by two beefy Secret Service men. We make our way to a door. Barack types in a code and the door opens, revealing an elevator car.
"Whoa!" I blurt out. I'm trying to be polite and silent, letting him lead, but I can't help my surprise at this hidden elevator. We climb in and descend downward. The car is so small; I can feel one a burly security guy's breath on my neck.
This is getting a little too surreal. I'm already in shock over Barack's reaction to the news, and now he's got me one-on-one, giving me an exclusive tour.
"You know, son," Barack starts. "Most of the American public aren't lucky enough to see past the Oval Office and Lincoln's bedroom. But this House is full of secrets."
The elevator door opens and I stare out into the empty corridor. Anyone could mistake this hallway for a Holiday Inn or something. We walk further down, and I'm half-expecting some National Treasure-type stuff to go down. You know, hidden gold and whatnot.
As we reach the end of the hallway, we approach another door. As Barack reaches for the handle, he gives me a wink and says, "You didn't really expect this to go well, did you? Well, son, you weren't wrong." He opens the door and shoves me over the threshold. All of a sudden I'm falling fast and hard, approaching my death a rapid speed.
BAM! I wake with a start, forehead cold and sweaty. Thank God it was just a dream. I sigh and roll over.
Two men in black suits are standing over me. CRAP, I think, what now?
"The President knows what you've been doing with Malia," one of them says with no expression. "He's sent us here to deliver this."
He puts an envelope in my hand, and the two men silently slip out of my bedroom door.
I put my finger under the flap and hesitate. This will determine the fate of the rest of my life. I take a deep breath and slide my finger across and pull the weighted letter out.
| 2016-02-25T08:55:57 | 2016-02-25T05:44:46 | 120 | 77 |
[WP] Humans are actually the most peaceful, kind race in the universe and other aliens don't invade us because its cute to watch.
|
“It just doesn’t make sense. They have superior resources, superior weaponry. They could totally destroy the enemy and all their numbers. Why do they hold back? Are they simply using the enemy for training?”
“They aren’t.” Dra shook his tiny domed head. “This is as forceful as they have chosen to be. They hold back on purpose.”
“But why?”
“According to their morals, killing combatants is allowed, but killing too many non combatants would be unacceptable.”
“Unacceptable to whom?”
“To others. Those within their nation. Those without.”
“So they kill the enemy just a little bit? What’s the endgame? The enemy will continue to fight forever.”
“They hope to drain the fight out of the enemy, secure objectives, take control. Ultimately, they want to become friends with the enemy’s new leaders.”
“But the enemy will still be there! Lying in wait. Hiding and striking. Always coming out from the shadows.” Ird let his bodyblades extend in irritation. “That is why you must end the enemy. Even my terty knows this! Their current strategy will lead to neverending struggle. The children of the enemy, those harmed by the war, will strike back constantly. This strategy leads to both sides bleeding forever.”
“That seems to be their way now.”
“Krech tie neeg on their morals,” said Ird, allowing a dark green fluid to leak from his slit.
“Has our way led to anything different? Our Oun ended all other Ouns many orbits ago, but still conflict arises from within. Is it so much better? Conflict is the way of the universe. It cannot ever end.”
“Still, this is nonsense. Do I stab an enemy with one move and heal him with the next? When an enemy is revealed, you must end him so that there can be peace until the next enemy arrives. Why be in constant conflict?”
“They hold life dear.”
At this Ird’s upper muscles spasmed. “You cannot be serious.”
|
"Wake up... master..."
It rose from its slumber, irritated and angered. One of its tentacles reached and grabbed the servant that dared to interrupt its restless deep sleep. Slowly, it reached for the mind of the simple fool and imprinted the idea that it was awoken too soon.
"The humans... master... they are at war... Worshiping... you..." The servant struggled to say anything else, and succumbed to the insanity that was. But he said enough. How could it be? Of course, even the most peaceful race in the infinite universes was not prone to violence and conflicts, and wars were their civilized method to deal with them without bringing only chaos and destruction. Yet the wars were usually for petty reasons; reasons which only a race with no knowledge of the brutal truths of this universe's realities could see as valid. Worshiping false idols was one of them. Worshiping a true idol was not.
Its mind raced through space and time and reached Terra. In the depths of the oceans, it saw submarines being crushed by the violent pressure after being forced to hide from the enemy. Human lives screamed in an endless agony, known only to beings out of this planet, and simply vanished into nothingness. On the surface, whole settlements, five-six million people strong, were obliterated in an instant. Giant clouds of fire rose to the deep nothingness of space. Beyond the atmosphere, satellites were struck with missiles. Those who survived sent coordinates of enemy hideouts back to the planet. Churches were burning. Mosques were flooded with blood. Gurdwaras were crumbling to ashes. Pasta eateries were sinking into the ground.
There was no night. Perpetual light from bombs and gunfire illuminated the dark side of the planet. "Let there be light", most of the religious texts on this planet started with. But with death, darkness didn't come. Only the pain from the white so bright, it burned the eyes and turned one blind.
The servant was right to wake it from its slumber. It was still not too late... Earth was lost, but humanity was still susceptible to salvation. There were still humans on the red planet nearby, which they called Mars, but they had succumbed to madness too. It was too late to stop the war. Still, in the great cold distance of space there was another planet that could serve as a habitat for those beings. What it needed to find was sane specimens, and transport them to that planet.
Its mind raced through pillaged villages and desolate cities in search of reason. Where once there were lush rainforests, now there was desert. Where once seawater filled the surface, now there were deep, dark chasms. Where once deserts stood, now there were oceans with waters dark as the surface of a rogue planet.
But there were people. Walking skeletons with flesh dripping from their bones; eyes that long lost the ability to see; ears that could not hear. They wandered purposelessly until they succumbed to the wounds or the insanity of war. Those who still had their senses were fighting among themselves. Those who did not... well, they were dead.
It finally found it. A single, sane human being. It reached for its mind, and imprinted itself.
"Come with me", it said. "Come with me, and leave this place behind. Safe humanity."
But as soon as it touched the mind of the human, the human fell on the ground in great agony, spasming like a millipede thrown into the fire. Its mind shut down; there was nothing but pain. A minute later it was neither dead nor alive. No memories, no senses, even no pain—only pure terror existed in its mind. Same thing happened with the next sane human it reached for. And the next. And the next. They all felt such terror they were no longer human.
It was desperate. Human, after human, after human rejected the attempts to communicate. Streets with no names, towns with no people, countries with nothing but ash on their territory. There was not a glimpse of civilization on this planet. All was lost.
Suddenly, something reached out for it. Somewhere far away, a group of people were... praying? No, even though it looked like a prayer, that definitely was not the word for it. They were offering themselves. Sick, deformed human beings, with the bodies of dogs and the minds of rats, but still more sane than any other human being on the planet. And they were praying to *it.*
"You are calling me, humans?"
"You answered our prayers? Praise be with the darkness that will soon surround this planet."
"Are you sane?"
"Yes... we are still sane, master, but not for long, we promise."
"Come with me, then."
"As you wish."
Space and time bent as it transported the bodies and minds of those beings to a world far away from here. Stars were born and exploded in a fraction of a second as they traveled. Black holes swallowed whole worlds; then they were swallowed by bigger black holes. Giant planets collided and whole civilizations perished in an instant. Chaos, chaos ruled the galaxy. A sudden thought appeared: if it did not occupy the minds of those humans it saved, they will surely be influenced by the chaos of the galaxy.
"You are safe with me."
"We are... glad to be your servants. We are glad to see the prophet was right."
"Did you wage the war in my name?"
"We did not call it a war. And it was not in your name, but the prophet spoke of you. It started with a war, but soon another one of yours came down and reached for us. We were its chosen ones. It said we must not go to war, so we brought the chaos the prophet spoke of instead."
"There are other... yes... and we are violent. But you are... special. You are what we are not. And there are no prophets among us."
"But the prophet was one of ours, master."
"Is he alive?"
"No... and he has been dead for long, long time. What remains is little. His words, and his name. And in his words, he spoke of you."
"There is no human being, nor there ever was one, that was in contact with us."
The stars and chaos roared by them as they traveled. He needed to mend their sanity. He needed to bring their false ideas out of their minds. And he could start right away.
"Tell me the name of your prophet."
"His name was Lovecraft... master..."
| 2016-09-28T05:34:35 | 2016-09-28T05:25:52 | 124 | 68 |
[WP] Your 11 year old nephew just ate 2 of your LSD gummy bears 45 minutes ago and you have to make sure he makes it through sane
|
"OK Hudson, you might be a little old to believe in magic but the gummy bears you just ate have magical qualities."
"What do they do?"
"They allow the dreamworld to escape into the real world. They're supposed to be used by trained sorcerers but I think you're ready to handle it. You will need some hints though to help you through this. First rule: Nothing from the dreamworld can hurt you. None of it is real."
"So why do you look so scared"
"Well... The dreamworld can be a scary place. You can't get hurt but if you stray too far you can get confused and it might be harder to distinguish what's part of the dreamworld and what's part of the real world. For that you'll need step 2. Do you know what an anchor is for?
" It keeps ships in place"
"Perfect. Now we need to create anchors to keep you in place. I want you to grab a piece of paper and write your name and my name and what you did and write some of your favourite things. Keep that list in your pocket and if you feel you need a reminder of what's real just take it out and read it."
"What kind of things should I write?"
"Do you have a crush on anyone at school?"
"There's this one girl..."
"She pretty?"
"She's amazing"
"Good. Write her name there too. "
"I'm starting to feel a little wobbly. It feels like my legs are spaghetti"
"That's totally normal. Different people's body react differently to the entrance of the dreamworld."
"I feel hot. I think I'm getting dizzy"
"Shit. I totally forgot you'll need to drink at least 3 glasses of water to keep hydrated."
"I'm scared"
"Don't be. I'll be here the whole time. The best part about the dreamworld is that you're in control and it's mostly happy."
"Mostly?"
"Yes. No one can be happy every single second but the dreams aren't here to make you sad. They just want to have fun in this world before they're sent back to the dreamworld. Not all dreams are of people. Theyll be fairies and puppies and colors you've never seen before. Don't fight your thoughts. This world is beautiful and the dreams can remind us of that. The easiest way to make sure of that is an activity. What do you think about going out and playing catch with your old uncle?
|
I sat on the rocking chair, wondering just when the little bastard was going to sleep. My sister said that he would be ready to collapse by about 10 o'clock, but from the occasional noises and high pitched squeals coming from his room-
"Wheee!"
Peace and quiet were far, far away.
"You know what," I said to myself, growing frustrated with his constant nonsensical blabbering, "I think it's time to go and check on him."
Now, you've got to understand the way laziness works. One moment you're sitting there, and the next moment it's been an hour because you really, really don't feel like getting up. I mean, the reality tv show that's playing in the background of your mindscape is just passable enough that you can lie to yourself and get away with it. *You sure you don't want to see what happens next, like who gets voted off the island?*
"I'm not even watching survivor, brain." I trudged to the screaming child, making sure to avoid the spoilt brat's toys that he'd littered about and opened the door to find him on his back and waving at the ceiling of stars.
"Auntie Alex!" he cried, arms flailing about as if trying to swim through the air. "Quick, get down before they see you!"
I rolled my eyes and slugged myself over, plopping down beside him. "Before what sees me?"
"Before they do!" He pointed at his ceiling.
"Before... the stars?" He nodded furiously, his neck ready to snap at a moment's notice. I had to blink a few times.
"Look, dear, you need to go to sleep, is something bothering you?" His head vibrated from left to right, his entire body shaking with him.
I've really got no other way to put it so: And that's when it hit me. Noticing his eyes, those oversized pupils, I pinned him to the bed by the shoulders. To which he squeaked, and giggled.
"Th-that, hehe, that tick..." he giggled, "les, auntie..."
"George," I began, as stern as I could muster, "did you eat the gummy bears I told you not to?"
Okay, so go ahead and call me a bad babysitter. I thought the little rascal would be out cold, and I could have an enjoyable evening, seeing as my phone was stuck in the repair shop.
His cheeks flushed red and he shook his head. Kids are awful at lying.
"No, I didn't eat two of them," he managed, clearly holding back a laugh.
Especially when on LSD.
The first thought through my head, play it off as a dream or a joke. He'd be fine. Probably. I needed to make sure my sister didn't rip my head off.
"George," I said again, "are you going to tell mom that you ate my gummy bears?"
He laughed again, shoulders somehow ticklish and mouth wide open as it to speak. The next thing, my ears were screaming in pain as the banshee of a child wailed as if the world was ending.
**"Ahhhhh!"**
My hands leapt off him to cover my ears, eyes screwed shut and nose wrinkled up. "Jesus, George, calm down!"
He didn't calm down.
Instead, he threw himself off the bed, almost comically landing on the floor and sliding to the lying position and rolling under his bed. With more than a few loud knocks, signalling potential damage.
I followed, hot on his heels.
"Geor-"
**"Ahhhhh!"** he shrieked once more, a foot smacking me square in the jaw and landing me flat on my ass.
"Get away from me! Get away from me! Get away from me!" he chanted, holding his head and kicking at the air where my face once was. "Get away from me! Get away from me! Get away from me!"
"George?" I asked, reaching for my phone.
See, the thing with acid is that you need — the moment people start panicking — to console them. Otherwise, the entire experience becomes a living nightmare. Thankfully, I knew exactly what he liked.
I pulled out my-
*Repair shop*, my most unhelpful brain remarked. I did my best not look angry, cracking a crooked smile as uncomfortable as having 'the talk' with your parents. "S-stay right there, I'll be right back."
To my amazement, he nodded.
While music is not a fix-all bandaid, in my experience, one's favourite songs tended to do the trick. So I did the only thing I could, in a house with wifi, but no devices I knew the passwords to.
Blu-ray player on, hands rummaging through discs and TV set to maximum volume. If I could, I would have cranked it up to 11.
"George!" I yelled, hoping that he wasn't panicking as I bolted to standing again, off my knees and as far away as I was comfortable for the remote control still working.
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
The disc whirred to life, and logos blared through the speaker system.
"Come on, come on," mumbled, trying to convince myself that the high pitched whining had nothing to do with his panicking.
"Come on," I mumbled, going to the soundtrack selection that few movies (Thank you, Dreamworks!) had these days and picked the only song that would get him out of his panic.
"Save me Smash Mouth," I whispered, running into his room. Sweet, sweet singing to my ears.
"Somebody once told me the world was gonna..." George started singing before breaking out into hysterical laughter.
"Hehe... and they d-don't," he giggled, completely out of tune, "st-stop comin' and they don't..."
More laughter, as I reached in and began dragging him out his makeshift hideout.
He mumbled, between wheezing breaths, something about some Twitch streamers that I didn't quite catch. Probably Minecraft if I had to guess.
"Alright, George, you okay?" I sighed with relief, when all he did was nod his head and keep laughing.
A few hours later, when the tears had subsided and I managed to get him to just relax and listen to the soundtrack to Shrek, he fell asleep. And no one would know the wiser.
Crisis averted.
"Wheee!"
*And they don't stop comin'.*
****
/r/AlexUrwin
| 2017-01-09T06:12:54 | 2017-01-09T05:45:56 | 2,286 | 31 |
[WP]You are a parent in an anime. Your child is born with epic anime hair, and you are certain they will become the protagonist. You are determined to not become a tragic back story like so many other anime parents.
|
"Dear son,
I love you, with all my heart. You're the greatest thing that has ever happened to me and your mother, but also the worst. When you were born, your head was full of this luscious, golden, bloody pointy hair. It seriously messed up your mother giving birth to you. I mean, have you tried touching your own hair by now? It's freaking sharp, boy! It's not naturally supposed to be like that unless it's just a *bit* harder and thicker than the average do. Then again, it sways in the wind like any other hair, so I can't really explain the physics behind it.
But I digress. See, the main conclusion your mother and I reached was this: You must be a protagonist. There's almost no other way to explain that do, unless you're actually an antagonist, in which case: FUCK YOU! But since we love you, we just assumed the former.
Now, unless you're about as thick as your hair, you should realize what this means. We, your parents, are screwed. We both love you. We both wanted to raise you as our own, darling son. But whenever an anime protagonist is born, their parents are royally screwed. Maybe we'll get hit by a meteor. Maybe we'll go out fist fighting an endless army of eerily similar masked fuckers. Maybe one of us will just get cancer and the other will for some reason resent you for that forever. Point is, no matter what, bad stuff is going to happen to us if we stick around.
So we decided to leave you. This was the hardest thing we have ever had to make a decision about. Your mother is crying as I'm writing this, and I can even hear a sad piano soundtrack playing in the background. Probably the same you can hear when you read this. This is some sad shit. But I love your mother and we both love you, and seeing as we know nothing good can come from us sticking around, we thought it would be better if we just made sure you were in good hands before we left and will use the rest of our lives traveling.
So we've put you in the care of my sister, who, as you know, is already a pretty sad character, but with a heart of gold underneath that tough, chain smoking exterior. She should do fine raising you. She already knows that you're a protagonist, but considering her current life style and how she probably will be slightly neglectful, she accepted you nonetheless because odds are she'll at least live to see you become 12.
I hope you grow up to be a wonderful young man and smite the ever-living shit out of whoever will be your nemesis. I wish we could provide you a normal, stress-free life, but that was sadly not meant to be.
Live well and take care.
Yours truly,
Mom and dad.
PS: Do *not* think about finding us! We already know how that will turn out. Seriously, stay the fuck away! K, love you, bye!"
|
Let me get something straight: I was never meant to be a hero. I was never meant to be “the guy.” When I was in high school, I was always just average. I was the guy no one picked on, but who wasn’t ever at the top of the social ladder, so to speak. My shining life achievements were winning a spelling bee in 5th grade on a technicality. But in the end, I was happy. My friends loved me, my teachers respected me, even if they barely remembered my name. I got accepted to a local college, and decided to study business. It was around that time when the catastrophes started.
They used to headline the news, but now, they are just taken for granted. After the event, they barely get a mention. Single people, knocking over buildings, seemingly immune to and untargetable by bullets, fire, or even gravity, in some rare cases. These people became our gods. They practically ruled the earth, some benevolent, some malicious, and we showered them with attention. After two years, however, things changed. They found a way to kill them. And in a sick, perverted twist of fate, the sight of our gods bleeding gave us hope. It gave us hope that one day, we could look them in the eye as equals.
It was a stroke of misfortune when one day, the campus was devastated by another of these catastrophes. A third of the campus was leveled. Where was I? While there were people running and screaming, I decided to head over to the food trucks near campus. I figured if everyone is running away, there probably won’t be a line at Old Man Nguyen’s for the wednesday special. Nothing ever seemed to faze that guy…
It was through a stroke of fate that I met Ayaka. Oddly enough, she was running to campus, instead of away from it. Apparently, she was trying to protest. I asked her about it, months later, and she was one of those protesters trying to raise awareness for the common people, and what these “heroes” were actually doing to destroy the community, good or bad. But that’s a story for later. What matters is that as she was running across the street, she tripped, and I, of all people, had the awareness to pull her away from oncoming cars. I helped her up, and we, well, you know, we clicked.
Fast forward a couple years. I’m at an insurance firm, I work to sell insurance for supernatural events. What I’ve known is this: I’ve never been happier. Is the job great? Well, maybe. It’s good enough for me. I’ve made few bad decisions in my life. I’ve also made few good decisions in my life. Mostly, I’ve made OK decisions in my life. But the best decision I ever made was marrying Ayaka. After we bought our own flat, we had a small ceremony, and, well, as those things go, we were expecting within a couple months. Everything was going OK. Ayaka started working at a journalism firm. She was everything I wasn’t, and yet, she still loved me, for reasons that I honestly I couldn’t understand.
The worst day of my life was the day that Koharu was born. I was waiting in the room, because, lets face it, I didn’t want to see…well, all that. And then when the nurse came in, I saw her face, and it, it… it was wrong. Everything went wrong. I mean, who even dies from childbirth anymore. Then I saw it – her hair was purple. What? Why? HOW? And it struck me. She was one of them.
Ayaka died because of her. There is no doubt about it. But in the end, it’s not her fault. Koharu couldn’t choose. And she won’t know. She can’t know. It sounds shitty, but I don’t want her to become one of them. As hard as being a single dad is, being a single dad of a Prote is even harder. I’ve had to move 3 times because my house has burned down. Natural disasters seem to follow me, but I’ve been ready. I found a lonely neighborhood in South Dakota, and work remotely. Nothing happens in South Dakota, but even so, I remained wary. Koharu hasn’t entered school yet, but I dread the day she does. But they’re onto her. Someone must have pulled her medical records. But we’re being followed. I’ve got no skill in this. What am I even doing here?!
Today, however, was the day it all changed. They surrounded the house. They started firing into it. I didn’t know what to do. They were everywhere. I had run so far, and still, they found me. I stood in my living room, holding Koharu. A man in a suit walked up, and stared at Koharu, then at me.
“Well, Mr. Imamura, it’s taken us a while, but here we are…”
“Who are you?”
“Well, Mr. Imamura…Kaoru…I am part of the International Protagonists Oversight Committee. You know, Kaoru, yours is an interesting case. We find that in every case where one parent dies, the other dies within a few weeks, even a few days within the other. Every case except yours, Kaoru. It’s surprising how well you’ve held up so far.”
“My wife did research on the Protes. I’ve never heard of you guys.”
“Well, that figures. Why do you think that Protes only started dying after a couple years? Long years of research on mortality. We saw what it took to make them die. Turns out, we have found a way of eliminating them. It’s surprising what billions of dollars of funding can find out.”
“You…you were the ones to kill them?”
“Yes, but it was still nontrivial to act on our research. But I digress… Kaoru, do you know what we do? We raise the children to ensure that they will act according to the better of the country. We give them a purpose. But my dear persistent Kaoru, another thing our research showed was that those children with living relatives were severely…limited in their capabilities”
He stared smiling at me. What nature couldn’t do, they were going to do to me. Perhaps a few years ago, I would have sobbed at my impending death. But it’s been so exhausting. I looked him in the eye.
“So be it.”
“I’m glad you see it this way.”
He pulled out a gun, and slowly leveled it at me. I closed my eyes. Bang.
I opened my eyes. His eyes were wide, uncharacteristically so. It was wrong. Something was wrong. A bead of sweat rolled into my eye. My abdomen was wet. Was I…bleeding? Dying? Dead? No.
I looked down as Koharu met my gaze.
“Pa…pa…”
She was so small. Her large blue eyes looked so scared.
I looked up at the man, and as the breath left Koharu’s tiny body for the last time, he uttered the words I had dreaded most.
“It looks like we’ve found a new Protagonist after all!”
And the world went black.
| 2017-02-15T04:53:49 | 2017-02-15T03:58:18 | 107 | 61 |
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence.
|
"It.. how? You..."
"I told you," Jack said to God flatly.
The white-bearded deity shifted uncomfortably on his sandals. "What did you do?" His messy room where everything was just where he wanted it was clean and tidy.
"What you were supposed to do but never did. I fixed the Earth. I fixed the whole universe, in fact."
"But ..but *how*? I've been trying to fix that planet since I made it."
"Well, let me ask, G. -when humans prayed to you for world peace, what did you do?"
"Well, I did nothing."
"And how did that work out for you?" Jack put his hands on his hips. "How many wars did your nothing stop?"
"Well, none but... I gave humanity free will."
"You gave ...didn't you say you gave the devil dominion over the Earth?"
"Ah yes but remember that I established the rule that 'the devil made me do it' isn't a viable excuse."
"Right. You made humanity vulnerable to temptation, put temptation all around them, plunged them into desperate need and suffering, and then punished them for falling for the devil's lies. What sort of imbecile are you?"
"Imbecile? How dare you! I am the Lord Go-"
"Were."
"-od and I shall smite... were?"
"You *were* God. You made *me* God, remember?"
"For a day."
"Yes well I changed that too."
"You what?"
"I'm God. I can do anything. A God made the deal and now a God has broken it."
"That's dishonest!"
"I made no promises. This whole idea was yours from the start. All I did was complain and YOU whisked me out of my home and onto this cloud. Who lives on a cloud? This is so uncomfortable!"
"So, what happens to me?"
"Oh, I have a special punishment in store for you."
"Punishment??"
"Yes. As a thank you for thousands of years of wars and torture in your name that you never bothered to step in and stop."
God sighed heavily. The jig was up. "Let me guess, an eternity in the ovens of hell, right? Look, I was totally going to change that..."
"Oh my no. That would be too good for you." Jack snapped his fingers and manifested an emery board. He filed his nails with a smug expression on his face.
"W-what are you going to do to me?" God's hands absently clutched at his robes.
"I'm going to make you live every human life that existed for the last 6000 years since you created the Earth and hid those dinosaur bones to fuck with your children. You're going to be every torturer and every victim of torture. You're going to be the rich man destined for Hell and the poor man clawing at crumbs under his table. You're even going to get to be Jesus on the cross begging you to send the help you never did."
"No, wait, you don't want to-" POOF
God vanished. Jack, satisfied with his work, turned his attention back to solving the dark matter problem in the universe. He was just about to plug up a black hole when his hands began to shake. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. Jack had been the last human God was forced to be. He never got rid of God. He *was* God. He had always been God.
And God looked back on his lives, how alone he had felt, how hurt. World after world, civilization after civilization, suffering and warring and fearing and dying.
And upon the face of a trillion worlds a heavy rain fell as God wept.
|
"Okay, sit down," God said, lighting a cigarette and crossing his legs. "You gotta tell me how you did it. I mean the
whole thing was a mess and now it's just… just…"
"The word you're looking for is perfect," I said. "The universe is perfect."
"Yes. Perfect."
"Divine. Wonderful. Flawless."
"You've made your point. Now tell me how you did it."
"Well… okay," I took one of his cigarettes and loaded it between my lips. "First of all, I did away with the whole
determinism bullshit. I mean, what was that about!?"
"You're kidding! That was like the first rule!"
"It was crap. I mean you put all of us in the universe and gave us the illusion of free will when really our mind is
controlled by the brain which is made of matter which follows the fundamental rules of the universe like every other matter. What kind of crap is that? Talk about deceptive."
"What did you do then!? How did you replace determinism!?"
"I gave people actual free will. Turns out if we are free to do what we actually want instead of being tricked by the
rules of nature to act the way you see fit while only thinking we're free, we're actually quite skillful at living."
"But… but… but then it's chaos!" God shook his head. "If the rules of the universe don't control the behavior of
animals, even sapient ones like humans, what does!?"
"Just… us."
God seemed confused. "But then that just means that… that… that…"
"That there's gotta be some other set of pre-established rules that govern how mind works, right? I mean, if it's
not cause and reaction, what is it? Yeah, I considered that."
"Exactly! What did you do instead? What controls mind then?"
"Nothing. Just fucking chaos, dude."
God looked at me behind disbelief. "That makes *no* sense!"
"Well, it worked."
He shook his head again. He ashed his cigarette on a passing cloud. "Okay. Okay. What about the metaphysical
problem of existence out of nothingness? Where did everything come from, why is there something instead of nothing, all that. What about that, huh? How did you fix that?"
"What are you talking about? *You* fixed that by existing. You're God. You created the universe. There. Solved."
"But that just pushes the question to what created *me*" God said. "You don't think I thought about that? I'm a walking contradiction. I explain the universe, but what explains me!? At some point, something must have come from nowhere."
"Ah. True. Very smart."
God smiled. "See? You didn't fix everything. There's still existential despair in the universe because people don't
know where God came from, and God explains the universe but nothing explains God, so nothing explains the universe."
"Well, I just told them."
"Told them?"
"Where everything comes from. Including God."
"HOW!? HOW DID YOU EVEN KNOW THAT!? I DON'T KNOW THAT!"
"I lied."
He paused. "You… lied."
"I said you came from your mother."
"AND WHERE DID MY MOTHER COME FROM!?"
"Oh, God, it's just turtles all the way down, get over it. They ate it up, that's what matters."
He looked down beneath the clouds at the perfect Earth and the people living in harmony and the unpolluted
environment and the warless, unified nation that was the planet now. "I can't believe this. So you just gave people free will, told them that there's no satisfactory explanation as to where everything came to being and they just… accepted it?"
"Well, I was a bit more eloquent than that," I said. "But yeah. That's pretty much the gist of it."
"What about death? What happens after you die? Surely that still anguishes people. The source of all human
despair is deeply rooted in a fear of death. You didn't fix death."
"First of all, let's not get arrogant, God. You don't die, so don't pretend to know what being mortal feels like."
He stared at me rather foolishly, but didn't speak.
"But you're right, it's awful." I smiled. "So you know, I just stopped it."
"You… stopped it."
"No more death. I mean, frankly, what were you thinking, dude? Putting people in the universe, giving them
self-awareness and then death-awareness? That's like telling your wife you're mathematically guaranteed to break up with her in a few years the day after the wedding and expecting her to be faithful. Of course it's not gonna work."
"So nobody dies anymore."
"Nobody dies anymore."
"And everyone has real, true free will."
"Free as non-deterministic birds."
"And they all know that the universe is a logical impossibility that birthed itself out of nowhere like a will o' the wisp
in a desolate marsh extending unto lands unknown?"
"Very poetic. You just wanted to use that line, didn't you, author?"
Yes, I did. Go back to talking to God.
"Very poetic, God. And yes, they know the whole truth and they are fine with it and they don't die and they have true freedom."
"And that fixed everything?"
"Well. Almost. I had to get rid of Bon Jovi's last album, cause it *really* sucked compared to his early 90s stuff."
God thought about this. Then he shook his head. "No. I don't accept it." He got up. "Immortality doesn't fix existential despair. They're going to get tired of living eventually. Eventually every human being will experience everything there is to experience, meet and befriend and love every other human being, visit every corner of the universe, discover every piece of unknown land, do everything there is to do… and then… what?"
I didn't answer.
"Then they'll turn their heads to the unanswered questions once more! Where did I come from? What is the meaning of it all? If free will is true, what are the rules that govern it? And if there are no rules that govern it, how can something purely chaotic even exist and make sense to our non-chaotic brains? And, and, and if there ARE rules that govern free will those rules must be absolute or not be rules at all, and if they ARE absolute then, then, then there is no free will by definition!" God flicked his cigarette, very intense now. "Those questions need addressing! They need addressing so much that humanity built a whole society around shielding itself from facing these fundamental paradoxes and inconsistencies! They need addressing so much that the only reason humanity has developed culture and all the social fabric that now is put in place is because humans cannot satisfactory address these fucking issues and they'd go insane without distractions and false idols! All you did was push the whole thing with your belly! Sweep it under the rug! People live forever and think they are free in some higher form than they previously thought with my definition of free will, which, okay, was kind of shitty but still, and also you told them that the universe was created by God and that God was created by his mother and his mother by another mother and so on forever but that's not answering at all, it's pushing it under the rug again! What will you do when they figure that out!? What!? WHAT WILL YOU DO, ALPACA!?"
"They won't figure it out. I'm keeping them busy."
"HOW!? FOR THE LOVE OF ME, HOW!?"
I smiled. "I built a new continent and put a water park there. Free admission, no lines, open bar."
God stared down at me, panting, desperate, angry. Then he paused. Then he said, "Fuck, that's smart."
____
/r/psycho_alpaca
| 2017-03-05T03:10:18 | 2017-03-05T02:12:38 | 1,634 | 1,196 |
[WP] You have always heard two voices in your head, one telling you to do good, and one telling you to do evil. Today, however, you awaken to them both screaming the same thing at you...
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All my life I had two voices talking in my head, one good and one evil. Just like the cartoons. I usually ignore them but sometimes one of them makes a really good argument and I just follow what it says. I shouldn't though, everytime they convinced me to do something afterwards I realize that it didn't make sense at all and I end up looking like a lunatic.
When I told my mother about them she got severely worried. Schizophrenia, the doctors said and for all my life I've taken meds. They never shut them up, they just depressed me but I kept taking them to make my mother happy.
"Don't take the meds"
"Take the meds"
That was the main argument between the voices almost everyday. Today I woke up extremely depressed, I didn't feel like my life had a meaning anymore.
"Don't take the meds" Said the first voice.
"Don't take the meds" Said the second voice.
I couldn't understand why would them agree so I tried to ask them.
"They're leading you to your end" Said the good voice.
"I don't want to stop existing" Said the bad voice.
Yes, I was depressed but I've never thought of suicide. That would crush my mother and I love her too much to hurt her. I went downstairs to give her a hug.
"Hello sunshine! How are you doing this morning? Did you take your meds?"
"Yes mom, of course!" I said with a completely false smile. I had never heard my voices so worried.
I stopped with the meds for some time now, I am the same man with the same voices in my head but happier, much happier. Maybe, just maybe I am not sick. Maybe I am a normal guy blessed with two voices in his head. They can be annoying but I got used to them. Time taught me when to hear them and when to ignore them. So far, life has been great and seeing my mother smile makes all of this worth it.
|
'The book says 'forgive the one's who wronged you'. I solemnly believe that officer but...'
'All i need is a confession Tom'
'You listen to me and listen good officer, i am not confessing to anything, it was not me... I could never do this...'
Tom suffered a great loss an year ago and was slowly recovering, losing a daughter is not a easy thing, especially when you couldn't hold her corpse in one peice... Such savagery...and to what end?
Colin was his daughter's husband and it was a marriage that really tested Tom. Colin had a record of temporal insanity and tanya was his supervising doctor, he was released on her recommendation. But was he really normal? Tom never believed it.
Nights following Tanya's murder were hard on Tom, he woke up at times running with a knife into his car and revving his engine to do the 'just' crime he was supposed to do. But then he slowed down panting and thinking about what he just said under his breath, is any killing just?
The extremities of both the ideas bothered him for months, he really wanted to get rid of the idea of murder, let alone if it was 'just' or not, the two voices in his head.
Many relatives came and went. One distant cousin of tanya, andrew, stayed with Tom. The nights during his visit were normal, the voices suddenly stopped and he had a really good roommate. At least for a while...
Andrew was a resilient young man who finished his education from russia and was looking for a job around the town. They often talked about economy, politics until one night Andrew spelled out the things Tom ran away from,
He handed him a knife and said
'revenge is the purest of all emotions Tom and those who suppress such are cowards, remember what krishna said to arjuna, about how pious is a action taken under the influence of most over-powering emotions!'
Tom echoed the thoughts in his mind and went to the car in fit of anger undivided from colin. It was moments later that andrew came from behind and held Tom's hand away from the steering.
'let go of me!' he tried to shrug off andrew.
'wait..wait you can't do this, for the sake of tanya just stop!'
Tom looked at him astonished and held his collar,
'you bastard you put me to this, you asked me to..'
'what? I never said anything...i was..., i just came'
Tom couldn't care less, he got off the car and went inside just to notice that there's just one glass and a bottle of wishkey drained to the bottom.
Andrew followed him inside while Tom threw the bottle away as he poured the last peg into his glass and went straight to his room.
Who was it? Was Andrew scheming him into commiting the most henious crime? Why would he? He talks about gandhi, not about a eye for an eye, who was he?.. danny felt asleep twisted in his own thoughts.
Things were different between him and andrew from that day on. Andrew could feel the rift tearing both of them apart and there was less he could do about it!
After a week, Tom finally confronted andrew just to ask him to leave the house and look for other accommodations.
'its not about you child, you cannot find what you came for if you stay here any longer than necessary!'
'what about you uncle, do you find anything here except the memories of tanya?'
'i have to live with it and you don't, now you must leave...'
'i will but what would you do? Can you live with this burden on your chest? Knowing that the guy who brutally killled tanya is still out in the open?'
'May god have mercy on him and accept him in his folds, there's nothing much i can...'
'Nothing much? You can very well end this, end your own misery and his, you can help him reach his prolonged and awaited judgement, you can show him hell'
'What...is that you talking? I am no god, and I won't pay for anything other than my own deeds, i need to break this cycle, i need to end what colin started by forgiving him'
'yes yes' he held Tom's hands and handed him a swiss knife producing it from his pockets, 'you have to end this, you must end this'
'but it's the same, it's all the same if i do it or not, it won't bring Tanya back, it won't'
'what if it did? What if she's waiting for his redemption, what if she comes..back'
Tom was gone in his car again and this time andrew was beside him.. sitting.
'This is a noble thing Tom, you're helping people, his next victims, think about them, you're doing the world a favour by wiping out the abominations of our species'
'this is not murder!' Tom repeated.
'NO it's not, it's not if it's for a cause, think about people who kill, do they have a choice? Do they survive it just like that? No, god helps anyone who does his work, anyone who wipes out evil is doing it in god's service'
'in god's service'
'For his glory, for his name to exist much longer that evil because he existed much before it'
They were outside the protective custody home of colin. Tom put the knife between his fingers and went straight charging and incidenly the door was wide open.
'The gods welcome you Tom' andrew repeated, disappearing in the sidewalks as he heard the screams of colin from the house.
PRESENT DAY
'So you say it was some guy named andrew?'
'some guy? He was Tanya's cousin andrew, he lived with me for months'
'do you realise that Tanya's cousin is related to you in more than one way'
'ofcourse i do, he must have been... My sister's son, or my brother's'
'yet none of your relatives heard about him, never saw him, they say no one's ever been to Russia from their entire family'
'it was his voice...it was so familiar,...it was like i was talking to myself!'
| 2017-05-18T07:04:08 | 2017-05-18T06:31:43 | 255 | 13 |
[WP] After the premature death of the hero, the narrator decides to take matters into his own hands.
Edit: What the hell? I checked this the morning after, and was satisfied that it got 500 upvotes. Then I absentmindedly check it at the end of the day, and it is over 3500 and #1. You people like the most random stuff.
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*This is the story of a man named Stanley.*
*Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was Employee #427. Employee #427's job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came to him through a monitor on his desk, telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order. This is what Employee #427 did every day of every month of every year, and although others might have considered it soul rending, Stanley relished every moment the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job. And Stanley was happy.*
*And then one day, something very peculiar happened. Something that would forever change Stanley; something he would never quite forget. He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized that not one single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No one had shown up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say 'hi.' Never in all his years at the company had this happened, this complete isolation. Something was very clearly wrong.*
*Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time. But as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.*
*Oh- Oh dear that's not good.*
*St-stanley are you okay? The script didn't say anything about heart attacks!*
*I guess all I can do is take this into my own hands.*
*Hello? Writers? Something happened! Stanley is dying!*
|
Mama is such a good driver. She takes me to school every morning in her little car. I have to sit in the back, cause she says I'm too small to ride shotgun. My sister gets to ride shotgun when she visits, cause she's a big kid. She's in college, and I think that's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Why would you keep going to stupid school if you didn't have to?
That's what I'm telling mama while she's taking me to school. Big, dumb, Scottsdale Elementary. What a dumb name for a dumb building.
We've gotta take the interstate to get there, we live outside of town. Mama likes living out in the sticks, says it's safer, calmer. I think it's boring. Mama tells me I gotta make my own fun while I'm still a kid. She's always talking about how us kids have it easy, cause we can still believe in our imaginations. I like to pretend I'm a space captain, and mama is my first mate. She usually plays along.
So now, while she's lecturing me on why school is important, and how she's so proud of my sister for moving to the big city to go to that fancy university, I make binoculars over my eyes, and make like I'm scanning the horizon.
"Admiral, take a look over there!" I say, pointing forward at the road ahead of us.
Mama makes a face like she's upset, glaring at me in the rear view, probably because I interrupted her. But, then, she smiles at me. "What is it, Captain?"
"There's danger up ahead! We're about to hit that asteroid field. Take evasive action!"
"Mikey, you know we can't pretend like that in the car, it's dangerous."
She looks back at me to see if I'm listening, and I've still got my hand-binoculars trained forwards.
She keeps lecturing but I don't hear it. I spot the car pulling out from the little dirt driveway. I'm trying to point it out but it all happens so fast. She was only turned around for half a second and before she can even start to turn back, there is half a car sticking way out into our lane. Mama always complains about this curve, about how dangerous it is to have a driveway right here, about how fast cars fly down the interstate, about--
BAM!
We smash right into the back right side of the old station wagon pulling out in front of us. The old lady driving the big old car didn't even see us before we hit, I could see her just staring straight into her rear view mirror, probably thinking 'All clear!'
Now the car is in the ditch, and I don't remember anything that happened since that loud crash as we hit the old lady in her station wagon.
"Admiral, give me a status report."
Nothing. I unbuckle my seat belt.
"Mama?"
Her face is buried in the airbag, her red lipstick smeared on part of it. The lipstick is running down the airbag, and starts to drip onto her lap. I realize that that's not lipstick. I give mama a shake, trying to get her to respond. More blood drips down from the big white marshmallow that exploded out of the steering wheel. She doesn't move.
I grab Mama's purse, and dig for her phone. She's got so much stuff in that bag. I dig and dig, trying to find the phone. I see a bag of Jolly Ranchers. She always gives me a Jolly Rancher when she drops me off for school. The watermelon ones are my favorite. I'm always sure to keep the watermelon ones for as long as possible. I chomp the other flavors up -- even though Mama always gripes at me, says it's bad for my teeth -- but never the watermelons. I found the phone.
I start dialing 9-1-1, and look behind us to see the station wagon spun out in the middle of the road. The old woman looks mighty shaken, and she's got a big marshmallow of an airbag hanging out of her wheel too. She's trying to get out of the car, but her seat belt is stuck or something.
"9-1-1 what's your emergency?"
I tell the nice lady on the phone all I know about where I'm at, and tell her my Mama is hurt real bad. She sounds nervous, but says help is on the way.
Somebody, some big old man, is running out of the little house the old lady must live in, and he's yelling "What happened, what happened!" Well the old lady told him what happened while he helped her out of the car, and now he's running over here. He helps me out of my seat, and sees my Mama lying there on the steering wheel, the big white bag mostly deflated now.
He lifts me out of the car and turns me away so I can't see Mama anymore.
I don't know why, but all of a sudden, I can't stop crying, and I bury my face into the old man's shoulder. The old lady is looking past us at my Mama's car, and she starts crying too. I keep thinking about how, when I get to school, all the kids will know I've been crying and I start to get frustrated with myself. I hate that place, but I wish I was there now, I wish Mama was still driving me there, I wish I wasn't crying like a baby, and I wish I didn't have my face buried in this stranger's shoulder. And now this old woman is patting me on my back, and trying to say something to me, but I can't hear her over my own stupid sobbing. All I can think is that, for once in my life, I actually want to be at school.
| 2017-07-05T15:40:11 | 2017-07-05T14:27:59 | 1,360 | 105 |
[WP] You experience time backwards. All you've ever known is prison, but soon you'll be freed in order to commit the crime that earns you a life sentence.
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One week until show time.
It's not like he had a choice in the matter, the pull of the past was simply impossible to ignore. He's tried before, simply *not* doing whatever thing his fellow inmates told him he had done. Shank his cellmate, brawl with the guards, try to escape - there were countless times he could test it. Each time, when the moment came, he'd tried to not act on it. Just for fun, just to see what would happen.
Would time collapse? Would the world stop spinning on its axis, the future crumble in on itself? After all, he still existed somewhere, right? In the future he had lived, he existed. If he didn't complete some pivotal past moment, maybe he would disappear altogether. Escape the prison in a way no-one else had ever attempted. Escape the Earth.
But each time, his feet had moved of their own volition, his hands had grasped their weapon of choice, his body knew what it had to do as the links of the past fell in place.
It was an almost religious experience. Lately, each time he completed a piece of the past, he caught a glimpse of serene, silent surroundings, of angels dressed in white. His ultimate future, perhaps? If he could travel back in time, maybe he could see the future as well. It made sense, didn't it?
And soon, he would see how he had earned his nickname: 'Can't Stop' Calum. For the words he'd repeated over and over, when the police found him standing over the ruined bodies of a family of five, raving where he stood drenched in blood.
*I can't stop. Can't stop.*
Time seemed to speed up in the last week, each hour building momentum, each second disappearing faster than the one before, as if he were running to meet the past.
Here he was being taken to jail. An interrogation with two grizzled policemen, where he sat silently, staring at the wall. Here were his hands, covered in blood, five bodies scattered like broken dolls around his feet. Here he was slitting their throats, a nameless family who didn't know why they had to die. Truth be told, he didn't either. But he wanted to offer them some word of explanation.
"I can't stop," Calum said, the only words that he could find. "Can't stop."
But it was right, he knew. For the world was suddenly blinding white, and he could see the angels welcoming him home. Perhaps this wasn't a glimpse of the future, but of the past. If he went back far enough, he would meet them.
The message couldn't be clearer: this was right.
He was screaming the words now, shouting his explanation so they would know. He grasped the angel's arm.
"I can't stop," he pleaded, looking into her eyes for understanding. Blue, almost human-looking eyes.
"Yes, I know," she sighed, and plunged something into his arm. The world went mercifully dark, and he stepped into the void with a smile, the sight of her white robes still fixed in his mind's eye.
--------------
The intern was staring at her with wide eyes. "You let him *touch* you. Isn't he dangerous?"
" 'Can't Stop' Calum?" Nurse Alison Warren said, smiling at the girl. "They brought him here a few years ago, when he wouldn't stop muttering that sentence in his cell. We took the restraints off after a while. Never harmed me yet, he seems to like it here. Just sedate him when he gets too loud for the others, ok?"
--------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
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The emboldened bedsprings tunnelled into my back as I lay gazing at the grey and clouded ceiling. My three compadres in the cell around me chattered idly; they knew the wrongs they had wrought, often wilfully, sometimes negligently - yet how I came to be shut away behind the clichéd stainless steel 10-foot bars remained elusive. I had seemingly been locked away for as long as my memory permitted, yet my crime was not so manifested in my head as the punishment for which I was experiencing – a lapse of memory not so implausible with such little mental stimulation. Such is the nature of this ‘paradise’ of the damned – cold, cinderblock walls that yield no solace to the destitute, the desperate and the despised.
A guard tapped his keys on the bars and looked at me knowingly. I arose from my bunk - as a top-bunker I enjoyed sliding down the ladder and being reminded of my once-victory over “Slim Jim”, a recently paroled 6’11 African-American behemoth from the cell next door, following an arm wrestling match. Slim Jim actually turned out to be an informant – or a snitch, hence the early parole – but this didn’t stop me from earning top-bunker status in light of my victory. Though not built by any means, I was athletic. How I was athletic still I was unsure, for my prison days were all groundhog days that I had spent indoors, and the groundhog days blended together until they too fell apart in my ailing memory.
I idly sauntered over to the bars of the cell, not wanting to appear too eager to meet the uniformed gentleman stood outside. He thrust a key into the lock and opened the cell gate, an unusual circumstance given that it was 5pm on a Friday and dinner is served at 7pm, usually without all the pomp and circumstance attributed to some key tapping. This was different, somehow. The guard took my left arm somewhat roughly, and led me outside.
...................................
“Free?” I nearly choked. “You are serious?”
The warden stared through me piercingly from his mahogany throne. Slowly his eyes scanned me down from head to toe, and continued moving onto the reams of paper scattered over his desk. He nodded slowly, tersely almost, as if he was forcing his neck muscles to move by focussing every ounce of his being into doing so. I arose from my chair.
“Thank you Warden, for giving me this opportunity.” I beamed, extending my hand. The guard almost reflexively yanked my extended arm with casual roughness away from the warden and began ushering me to the door. I watched as the warden’s eyes watched me rigidly. His body language spoke volumes of his stance on what he was doing – paroling a convict. Whether this was the same for all prisoners or just for me, I was not entirely sure, but I had the distinct impression he was displeased with the new lease on life I had been granted.
....................................
I didn’t think the outside world was much different from the prison courtyard. Same smells in the air, same sky, same people around me; all seeking direction and purpose. The courtyard gates slammed behind me and I felt unexpectedly little liberation. My first port of call was the bank, as currency was deposited for the recently paroled to ease the transition period. Somewhat bizarrely, I almost instinctively knew that the nearest bank was directly opposite the prison, either a miscalculation by city planners or an intended feature to some degree, I wondered.
I had to hold back from swaggering into the bank with such light-heartedness in my soul. The line was deep, and the wait savage, but my spirits remained unimpeded. I began admiring the architecture of such a building – even the waiting area was grandiose, with high arches and golden paintwork that truly symbolised the free world.
I was rudely interrupted by the doors slamming open, and four persons charging into the lobby, armed to the teeth with weaponry and rudely wearing balaclavas to obstruct vision of their faces. No expert on guns, I deduced the weapons they held were similar to those I had noticed the prison border guards carrying. My first reaction was to run, but before I could begin moving, the room erupted in noise.
“GET ON THE FLOOR” screamed one of the men, firing three rounds into the lights of the bank above. I froze, contrary to the command but instinctively, and watched as the remaining patrons obeyed wilfully and fell onto their chests. The men swiftly moved towards the bank clerks, firing rounds into the ceiling to affirm their authority. One of the men approached the now-terrified bank teller and yelled incoherently through the bulletproof glass, gesturing wildly. Two men circled the room, yelling at people to lay flatter whilst somehow completely ignoring my presence.
“HEY” the fourth man spoke. I realized I had been statuesque since the first command, allowing the fourth, a tall, balaclava’d giant of a man, to flank me, whom now stood menacingly to my left. I edged my head counter-clockwise and came face to face with this hulk.
“You want in on this?” he quietly gestured to his gun. I stared, speechless, unable to react to the strangely familiar voice that was now addressing me directly. The man edged his balaclava away from his face, a bushy black beard falling out and I caught a glimpse of a man who I didn’t think I’d see again but was all too familiar.
“... Jim? Slim Jim?” I spluttered, unsure of what I was seeing. Everything was happening so quickly. The man moved in towards me.
“Yeah, look man just take this, we’ll sort you out aight?” he whispered loudly over the noise, and thrust a cold metal instrument into my hands. A quick pat on the shoulder and Jim had flung himself back into the fray of patrons whilst yelling, despite many being immobilised on the floor in terror. I looked down at the dark, heavy machination in my grasp and instinctively held it tightly, but correctly. I knew nothing about guns. If I didn’t hold it correctly, what’s to stop it going off if I dropped it?
I was shaking from the adrenaline and fear that pulsed within me when the bank doors slammed open again, hitting the walls. Uniformed police officers with riot shields began piling into the bank - I counted six but it seemed like a thousand. I heard more gunshots than I have ever heard in my life, a helicopter rotor, and the screams of a hundred people in unison before my eyes glazed over with darkness, and all faded to nought.
...............................................
I stirred, and opened my eyes to bright lights and a white-coated man standing over me, as a mask was placed over my mouth and nose. I felt a cold gas surround my face, and the slumber returned.
...............................................
It feels like only yesterday since I had been discharged from the medical bay.
The emboldened bedsprings tunnelled into my back as I lay gazing at the grey and clouded ceiling. My three compadres in the cell around me chattered idly; they knew the wrongs they had wrought, often wilfully, sometimes negligently - yet how I came to be shut away behind the clichéd stainless steel 10-foot bars remained elusive. I had seemingly been locked away for as long as my memory permitted, yet my crime was not so manifested in my head as the punishment for which I was experiencing – a lapse of memory not so implausible with such little mental stimulation. Such is the nature of this ‘paradise’ of the damned – cold, cinderblock walls that yield no solace to the destitute, the desperate and the despised.
A guard tapped his keys on the bars and looked at me knowingly.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Apologies, this deviated from the experiencing time backwards slightly, but I wanted to keep the manipulation of time as a theme. I hope this is suitable, thanks for reading!
| 2017-08-12T23:31:57 | 2017-08-12T22:01:38 | 1,429 | 241 |
[WP] My parents have a sign in their home that says, "Alcohol: Because No Great Story Ever Started With Someone Eating A Salad." Prove them wrong, write a great story beginning with our hero eating a salad.
|
Our hero ate with relish a caesar salad while seated in a rooftop garden overlooking the city. He never ate any salad other than caesar. Sticking one's fork in a tyrant daily is an important civic duty.
About mid-day now. The festival games swept noise through the city. Best be on with it soon. The others should be nearing position. Oh here he comes again.
“Some water, sir?” said the nosy server.
“No, thank you. None at all.”
“Very well. Enjoy your meal.”
Water. Won’t pay the tax for that now. Shortage isn’t my fault. Best be on with it. One more stab. Once. Twice, for good measure.
Our hero rounded a corner and entered the market. People bustling. Many people bustling busily. Running into others while running away from themselves. Away from their civic duty. Away from their city that cries out for help. There one goes now into a brothel. To forget. Into oblivion.
The bells rang out, drowning whatever festivities remained. Meeting commenced. Hope the others avoided trouble. Hard thing to do.
He ascended the forum steps. Everyone seated. A tyrant clad in purple addressed the senate. One stood up and stabbed him, then another. Then I. Different kind of food, same principle.
|
The light of the sun coming through the window was blinding.
Marcel wasn't really the type of guy to splurge on lunch at one of these trendy brunch places. He wasn't the type of guy to dress in prudish cashmere sweaters or wear khakis. He definitely wasn't the type to order a salad, or to eat brunch at all really.
Despite all of these things, there he was at 11:00 a.m, sitting by the window at Alouette in a fancy brown sweater with a bowl of leaves placed in front of him. After his brother died, a soldier, a hero, yet ultimately with no family but his little brother to miss him, he decided he didn't want to go out alone, but it wasn't going well.
"This is stupid", he thought, "She isn't coming back".
He picked up his fork and started eating, he wasn't letting $12 of food go to waste, no matter how much he hated it. He got up and walked down the hallway she had gone down earlier, "men's", "women's", "Exit". He stopped. She really did ditch him. With a deep and heavy sigh, Marcel braced himself for the cold and opened the door.
He only made it a few feet before he bumped into something; something he couldn't see. Recomposing himself he looked for what he had hit but there was nothing there, "Strange", he thought.
It wasn't until he had crossed the street that he realized that he was walking away from home. It wasn't until he entered the park that he realized that he had no control of his body, that he hadn't bumped into anything at all, that he was being controlled.
Unable to call for help or regain control, Marcel watched as his body stumbled through the brush before finally stopping by the pond. Suddenly, he heard a voice, HER voice. "I'm sure this must all be very alarming to you, and I'm really very sorry, but I need your help. You can speak now by the way".
"WHAT THE FUCK Morgan?! What is this?" Marcel screamed, his mouth sore and clammy from whatever she had done to him. A few seconds passed before he got his reply "I know you're probably freaking out right now but just bear with me. I spiked your salad, the black specks in the dressing, that's what we call pixie dust. You're in IT right? They're like neurotransmitter releasing nanobots that are basically allowing me to guide you right now as well as sort of write in sounds into your occipital lobe. Now I'm not fucking with your vision in any way so look around the pond and tell me what you see. Whisper this time, ok".
Her voice faded out and Marcel started to feel the same soreness he had felt in his mouth all over his body. Three steps into his sprint away from the pond, he hit another invisible wall. Morgan's voice crackled back in
"Alright Marcel, I know this isn't fair but you're seriously messing things up, I'm going to walk you around the pond, just tell me what you see". "Help! Someone, she's go-", Marcel's mouth closed shut, unable to protest, his body made three runs around the pond before he noticed it.
There were frogs croaking... in Pennsylvania in the middle of December. Just above a cluster of reeds he noticed butterflies and dragonflies. Stranger still, they were all avoiding one spot; dragonflies would be zipping straight through the air and suddenly dart to the side, butterflies would stop their peaceful floating pace to evade some invisible thing. Looking closer, he noticed that the light was bending, wavering the way hot air appears over tarmac in the summer, except here it had a shape.
Morgan's voice popped back in, "Do you see it?" "Yeah" Marcel replied quietly. "That is a grenloch, it's what happens when a dryad and an ogre... um... do it. In a moment I'm going to make you pick up a rock and throw it, after that the pixies are going to let you go. When that happens I need you to stay put, there are operatives in the area on standby but if you run, the grenloch will follow you and people will get hurt. Tell me you understand that." "Yeah" Marcel replied.
"Great. Hey, sorry about the date, and... for all of this."
Marcel's body walked to the edge of the pond, picked up a large rock, and hurled it across the water. thwack; the rock bounced off and the grenloch phased into visibility. With a roar like a falling tree, cracking and groaning, the grenloch charged at Marcel.
This was not how he expected his day to go. He was not the type of guy to stand boldly in the face of danger, yet there he stood in his brown cashmere sweater, lettuce stuck between his teeth, standing his ground against a charging behemoth.
He woke up to blinding white hospital lights, his body was sore. "You're awake!", it was Morgan. "I just wanted to say... sorry again for all that we've put you through... all that I put you through. Now I know you're probably still confused and maybe angry, but you have the sight and more importantly, you didn't run. I can make you forget all of this stuff, and you'd wake up with a little more money in the bank or, if you'd like, I could offer you a job, doing what I do, dealing with monsters, 'cause there are definitely more out there. What do you say?" Marcel opened his mouth to answer.
| 2017-12-31T18:33:55 | 2017-12-31T16:22:52 | 30 | 20 |
[WP] The witches cackled with delight upon finding a child wandering alone in the woods. They never considered that they were the ones in danger.
Credit to u/captainmavro and u/EveGiggle for giving me the idea
|
The child ambled through the forest, excited, delighted.
She heard laughter echo across the trees, and she turned to see three witches hunched over a cauldron, eyeing her with hunger.
"What have we here?" one witch said, her left eye swiveling on its own accord. "A lost little child, no parents in sight?"
"I don't have any parents," the child responded.
"Oh, another orphan, lost in the woods," another witch said with a smile. "You must be deathly cold. Why don't you climb into our cauldron to warm up?"
"I'm fine, thank you very much," the child replied, "I think it's quite full."
"Nonsense child," the third responded, "You shouldn't question adults."
"*And you shouldn't eat children*," the child said, her tone lowering, "but here we are."
The witches cackled, their calloused fingers slapping the cauldron. "You sure are fearless," the witch said, "but that won't save you. You are lucky we just ate, else you would be cooking already. We can have our banter."
"Who was in that cauldron?" the girl asked.
"One as little as you," another witch replied with a cough. "A brash little boy, if you must know. Lost in the woods, crying all the while."
The girl smiled. "And you ate him?"
"Just as we will you, deary," the witch said, "just as we will you." The right side of her face began to droop.
"How did he taste?"
The witch tried to snatch the little girl, but she lost her footing and had to grab onto her staff to keep herself from falling.
"Horrible, if you must know," the witch spat, her words slurring, her vision blurring.
"I'm not surprised," the girl replied, walking towards the witches. "The poison is really quite bitter."
"Pois-son?" the witch said, loosing her footing and falling against the burning cauldron, her skin scalding. The girl nodded.
"He was always so mean to us and the others," the girl said, taking the wand from the witch. "Every orphanage has one of them."
The final witch collapsed. "You... poisoned a child... knowing we would..?"
"Oh, yes," the child replied, as the witch began to convulse.
"And I'll make much better witches than you, I think you'll find."
****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
“There’s dinner dearies!” the coven cackled unanimously as they peered into a cauldron, and within the cauldron was the image of a lone child wandering in the woods.
“Shall we set a traaaaap?” Merva enquired, licking her lips at the thought of being wicked. It had been some time since they had laid a trap for a child. Most of the time they were completely unnecesary, but Merva was particularly cruel.
“No, no, always on about the traps. Mayhap we should trap you Merva? Would that please you? NO! We will don our prettiest forms and coerce the child to our hovel, as we always have.” This was said by Jerva, the self-proclaimed Head-Hag of the sisters. She had the majority of the brains, which is really nothing to brag about. But the fact stood.
“Why do we have to do it your way, every time Jervaaaa?” Merva had a penchant for carrying on syllables for far to long. She was a model of charm, naturally.
“Because my way has kept us alive and safe for over 300 years. That’s why. Now lets be on our way!” Jerva’s form changed from a twisted greenskin hobbler to that of a young teenage girl, dressed in an unassuming robe. She looked like any common peasant, someone who you would not suspect cause you any harm. She had started out the door when…
“What about Tervaaaa? Doesn’ she have a saaaaaaay? Merva looked at Jerva with a shit-eating grin. Terva glared at Merva. Terva was a mute, due to an unfortunate accident some 80 years ago. Without a word Jerva went out in the forest to meet the child, her sisters considerably more pretty and far younger than they had been not 30 seconds ago hustling behind her.
Enter the child.
“Do ye find yourself lost, child?” the polymorphed hags descended on the child with an eagerness that most would find peculiar, but the child did not appear to notice.
‘Yes’m I been separated from me ma and pa! Could you madams help me find me ma an pa?” The voice was that of a little girl, perhaps 8 or 9. Between the declining sunlight and the hood she wore, her features were nearly imperceptible. Merva was greedily rubbing her hands together, anxious to take the girl home. After all, not only did little girls taste best, they could be used to make potions of youth. Only Terva noticed something different about this child. A faint but still noticeable aura emanated from this child. One that made her skin crawl. Alas, she was mute and no way to communicate such a feeling. After all, her sisters hadn’t mentinoed anything.
“It’s getting awfully late, child. Do you find it acceptable to come home with us this evening and we begin the search for your parents in the morning?” Jerva felt sly, conning the child into such a seemingly generous offer. How could the child refuse?
“I d’no if me parents would take kindly to the idea..” The little girl trailed off, now backing away slightly from the hidden hags. She seemed fearful and off put, Jerva knew she was losing her and had to think fast.
“Wha.. What are your parents names little one? Jerva was impressed by her sharp wit, for she had a plan. Merva, though lacking in brains, also caught on to the plan. She chimed in “Yes! We may know theeem!” Jerva smacked Merva in the side sharply with her left hand, so that the child wouldn’t notice. The smack indicated that now was not the time for Merva to speak, or act for that matter, on account of her queer demeanor.
“Me family name is Heronomus, mayhaps you’ve heard it?” The child asked rather calmly. There was nothing else to note.
“Why, Heronomus you say? Yes! Yes! You live two or three miles from here! We can take you in the morning, little one!” Jerva was herself becoming excited. Her plan was working, the child seemed to be more trusting after the confirmation of knowing her parents. Now to return home.
“Seeing as ye know me ma n pa, I sees no reason not to go with ye. Do ye have any food? Haven eaten all day..” The little girl asked almost shyly.
“Of course we will feed you, sweet one! Come with us, the moon is rising and we must be in soon. Strange creatures lurk these woods at night.”
The sisters turned, in the direction of home, motioning the child to follow. The three hags shared a smile as they walked single file along the barely lit path, owing what little visibility there was to the ever growing moon. What the hags did not know was that there was in fact a fourth smile caught glinting in the lunar light.
Enter the cottage.
Upon entering the cottage the hags waited for the child to enter before reverting back to their original selves. With magic only witches know, the closed all the windows, locked the singular door, and lit the sconces lined along the oval room. The cauldron in the center of the room bubbled, eager for a human. The cauldron would be disappointed, tonight.
“Ahehehe! Your in trouble sweeeeeeeet one!” Merva could contain herself no longer, and began casting lesser incantations, her desire to lull the child to sleep. A sleeping child is better than a dead one, for it preserves the flavor and life force.
Terva and Jerva began their preparations for the bubble bath (the cauldron was boiling) paying no mind to their sister. She had put many, many victims to sleep. It was her favorite part of the ritual, as a matter of fact.
“She isn’t falling asleep!” Merva shrieked, increasing the force of her magic, frustrated that this seemingly weak child could resist her in the slightest. The other hags glanced over their shoulders as the child lowered her hood. Raven black hair. Sanguine eyes. Skin the color of winter’s first snow.
Enyo beamed a bright smile, revealing her fangs. She appeared to be a child, and in some ways she was. But only physically. Enyo, in terms of age, made these hags seems like children. She was in fact, one of the first Vampire to exist. She had seen empire rise and fall, met the so called Gods. So why was she here? In this cottage? Well, it’s simple really.
She was a slave who was given to a Vampire to be his thrall, so as to pay off a debt owed. The one who sold her? None other than a witch. Thus, her hatred of witches caused her to seek out the monsters, and, well… you know how this ends.
The moon shone red that night.
| 2018-04-17T18:18:17 | 2018-04-17T18:06:45 | 686 | 269 |
[WP] A supervillain gets married, has kids, and retires. The hero doesn't know, and slowly goes insane without them
|
The pint glass rattled against the bar top after her fist slammed against the varnished wood. The impact sent a wave of pain through her arm, up past her elbow, but she didn’t wince. Strength was not her power, but she has learned to have a high threshold.
Especially when her own stupidity was the root cause of it.
“One more beer. One more pitcher,” She slurred as she brought her sore hand back to her body.
“Not a chance,” The bartender glanced her way and continued to help other patrons.
“How many times have I saved your ass, Derrick?” Celeste pleaded.
She knew he was right, but she wasn’t ready to saunter out onto the streets yet. Out there meant being alone with herself, and facing the citizens of the city. Two things that had been harder for her to do with every passing day.
“Nope.” Derrick didn’t even look down her way that time. She was cut off for the night.
Celeste threw a wad of money on the bar top and walked out without another word. She would only draw attention sitting at the bar, and it would make her want to drink. Derrick didn’t deserve the damage her rage would be likely to cause as the night wore on. If she was honest, he didn’t deserve a lot of what she had put him through the last couple of years.
If only Shadow would show his face, she thought as she walked down the empty street. If he would just come out of hiding and reveal what his plans were, she would feel better. She had broken into every empty factory and safe house they had on file. They hadn’t found a trace of him anywhere.
The grapevine had gone stone cold silent as well. No one knew where he went. No one had finished him off or captured him, yet no one had seen him or heard what he was up to. Just the thought of what jacked up scheme he had in the works made her gut turn.
She hunched over next to an alley as her stomach continued to turn. It threatened to turn its contents right out of her if she didn’t slow down. She had walked through most of the city, lost in her thoughts.
Celeste couldn’t explain it but she had felt a bit hollow lately. Beer and company were the only things that got her through the nights. Her home was empty, echoing every noise she made. A small pinprick of regret tightened her chest at the thought; She had wanted a family. There had always been too much danger, and after her old fiance had been run out of the country…
Her heart had never recovered. And now her mind was going down the same road.
After her walk resumed, she found herself at the only other bar open this late. Her eyes looked up at the neon sign, letters blinking at odd intervals. She should go sleep off the night and get a head start on tomorrow. Any day now Shadow would make an appearance, and she would need a clear head to deal with him and keep her city safe.
Despite her clarity, her feet walked her inside the dingy dive bar. Her body slumped onto a stool, and her arms rested on the bar-top.
“Just a pint, please?” she said, hoping she didn’t sound drunk.
“Sure,” the bartender answered, giving her a snide smile as he pulled out the glass.
She could see him mocking her even as he served her. He looked at her, seeing only a washed up, useless, hag. A superhero that was circling the drain. Celeste clenched her first, wondering if she should finish her drink before punching him in the face.
Shadow wasn’t the only criminal she could deal with.
/r/beezus_writes
|
A normal year for Suro.
If something like that had ever existed.
"Why'd you do it?" His enemy - friend? It was scary how closely those lines blurred- merely rolled his eyes, staring with forlorn melancholy at the cloudy skies. "You were supposed to be the good one, you were supposed to be better th-"
"-than you? Is that what you're going to say" Sylto coughed out a globule of blood. "Spare me."
He had heard the rumors, whispers in taverns that were the same from the high class nobles to the uncouth whores. He had, of course, ignored them. There was absolutely no way; it was *inconceivable*, there was no possible chance that they were true. For the supposed messiah to fall so low? Petty rumors from jealous people. Besides, even if they were true, he had left that life behind him. His wife was all he needed, his child - a daughter! - on the way. Everyday was simple and sweet.
Unending bliss.
Not for him, it seemed.
"Amiyah-" A choked sob erupted before he could contain it. "-why? It was between you and I. She was innocent. Pure. And now... my child..."
Sylto just watched, hard as it was with blood streaming over his face, as the weight of the world seemed to rest itself on the man before him.
"I was to be the shepherd that heralded humanity into the golden age..." He finally graced Sylto with a look. "A prophecy from Apollo himself." His saccharine tone and smile gave Suro something else, a new feeling, to focus on.
Rage.
"That's what this was? A way to break the cycle? Some way to get back at your father and I was just the link you chose to break?" He scrambled to his feet, exhaustion forgotten as anger fueled adrenaline rushed through him.
The moments seemed to blur together, but when he came to, he was standing over his fallen adversary, sword held in a hand that seemed about to break the metal with its pallid grip. He thought of them, his family, his friends, the chance for a new life. Lies. Because of this *monster.*
And still, he couldn't do it. Sylto's pale neck, mired in a curtain of grime and blood, called to him like a siren. Sword tip to neck. Then it would all be over.
But not for him. His life was gone, and the blood that stained his hands - his *soul* \- would never let it end, and the lies that convinced him that maybe, just maybe, he could be a decent person? Buried beneath dirt, dead.
Gone.
"*Why?*"
"Like sheep, the shepherd leads the herd..." Sylto wasn't even looking at him, instead choosing to focus on the warring forces beneath them. At this point, though, it was no longer a fight, only wanton slaughter as his forces raged on and devoured Sylto's.
"I took everything from you, and you still can't do it." Suro blinked, only now realizing his sword had moved forward and carved a bloody smile into Sylto's neck. It barely broke the skin.
"They told me you were a monster. Washed the world away under a current of fear. I was to be a modern day Moses and part the sea of evil you wrought." His enemy mused, finally looking him in the eye. "I nodded my head like a good boy, and did whatever they told me to. An obedient weapon. The perfect tool." Sylto sighed, tracing the edge of the sword pressed upon his neck with a shaky finger.
"But still, I wondered. 'Why did I need to save the world from you? It's not perfect, but there's no fighting.' I didn't dare voice that thought though, that was independence." A snort. "They buttered me up, filled my head with hubris, and shipped me off to fight you. You thrashed me. But you didn't strike me down. And I was confused. 'How could this monster let a person like me, someone that could threaten all that he worked towards, walk away.'" Sylto pushed hard on the sword, watching in a trance as lifeblood broke free from the rent skin, trailing its way down his hard.
"I asked my father this when I got back. He beat me black and blue, for losing. Told me to never ask that again. As soon as I was all healed up, he sent me back. But you were gone." Here, his gaze was questioning, and Suro found himself answering without a thought.
"The people believed in you... as foolish and naive as you were, you were right, peace through fear is no peace at all. The kingdom was dying, slowly, certainly slower than the wars that plagued it before, but it was dying nonetheless. I left, I thought you would make things different..."
Sylto laughed, a long merry laugh that echoed throughout the valley, lost under the clanging swords and death rattles of men below.
"You thought putting a boy that had never made a decision for himself in charge of an entire nation?" Sylto shook his head exasperatedly. "How you conquered the kingdoms with plans like that I'll never know."
Suro had the decency to blush. "I was desperate, I thought the love and voice of the people would be enough to guide you."
"You were wrong. I listened to that voice, gave them everything they wanted, and things went right back to the way they were before. Deceit, betrayal, assassinations... nothing changed. We love to blame the gods for our problems, but I realized the truth. Humans are the problem, this kingdom nearly imploded itself before I started my crusade. Gods give the rules, but someone needs to enforce them."
"That was supposed to be you!"
"And I am doing my part."
Suro paused, looking at Sylto confusedly. "What?"
"The biggest threat to humanity to ever walk the face of the earth, gathering equally as monstrous creatures and people to his side to eradicate everything in existence." Sylto coughed out more blood. "Quite the tale, huh?"
Suro stiffened as ice cold realization began to settle upon him.
"They stopped listening to me, after awhile. They knew I didn't kill you , I didn't have the power. You can't enforce rules without power. So when things started going south, and I didn't have the power to fix them, I lost their respect. I knew nothing I did could win it back. Maybe if I tried, things would have been different, but that was when I lost their love." Sylto shrugged.
"All the corruption I could find, gathered in one place. The leader of that band, cut down by a displaced lord, seeking nothing but vengeance and redemption." He shook his head. "So much more goes into ruling than wearing a crown, more than I could ever fathom." Sylto gestured to the army letting their cries of victory fill the battlefield.
"You ruled this kingdom through fear. You saved them from me, so now they love you." Fingers wrapped around a cold blade, uncaring of the pain.
"They spat your name with disgust. Now, they'll extol it with song and praise." Those fingers gripped it tight, stealing ownership from the hand around the handle.
"And with enough power to strike the big bad monster down, you'll have their fear as well. Fear tempered by love, obedience with respect." The sword dug deeper.
"Autonomy... and choice. They love their supposed free will, but long to be ruled. The best of both worlds." Sylto smiled at him. "When I became king, I promised to give them everything they could ever want."
He cocked his head to side, looking at him curiously, as if seeing Suro for the first time. "I wonder what you'll promise them."
Fingers wrenched that sword into a weeping neck.
"Rule well... my king."
| 2019-02-20T12:23:26 | 2019-02-20T12:21:21 | 71 | 23 |
[WP]You wake up in an unfamiliar bed with only a mobile phone and a note on the bedside table. The note says " We have your daughter. Answer the phone when it rings". You don't have a daughter. The phone starts ringing.
|
"Hello?"
"If you ever want to see your daughter again, you will deliver five hundred thousand--"
"Yeah, I don't have a daughter."
"You--What?" the voice on the other end cut short. There was a brief silence. "You can't fool us, Mr. Burke. Five hun--"
"Who's Mr. Burke? I'm Dave Brooks."
Another brief silence. "These poor attempts at misdirection will only end in tears Mr. Burke."
"I'm telling you, I don't know who Mr. Burke is. I don't who you are or where I am or what the hell is going on. Is this a prank?"
"If you continue to be uncooperative, your daughter will suffer the consequences."
"Pfft. I don't care, I don't have a daughter."
There was some chatter Dave couldn't make out. Then a new voice. "Oh god, oh my god. Is that you Daddy? Please help me, oh my god."
"Nope, you got the wrong person, sorry. I don't recognize that voice. I already told you, I don't have a daughter." More chatter. The original voice returned.
"Alright, cut the crap David! You better start cooperating right now, or Triss is gonna start losing fingers fast!"
"I'm guessing that was Triss. Whatever, I don't fucking care, do whatever you want I don't know who any of you guys are and I'm tired of this prank so I'm gonna hang up. See ya."
"Wait! Wait, hold on Davi--!" Click. Dave put down the phone and approached the door. It was locked from the other side. The phone began to ring again.
"Hey can you guys let me out? The door is locked."
"Mister--The--What?" Dave heard some indistinct shouting coming from the receiver. Then, "what do you mean you locked him in the room? How the fuck is he supposed to deliver the money!?"
"Look, I'm starting to get hungry and I probably need to head to work soon so I kinda need this prank to be over now."
Dave heard a muffled crash from the other line. Some pops and screaming. "It's Burke! He found us! Fuck!" More pops and then a new voice strangely similar to Dave's but heavier and more resonant like a layer of gravel at the bottom of a large basin.
"I'm here, Triss!" More pops. A yell chopped off and swallowed by a louder impact. "Don't worry honey, you're safe now." Dave heard some sobbing and after a brief moment, the voice took hold of the phone. "Hey Dave, you're probably very confused right about now."
|
Yuck, what a horrid taste, even a three day bender never was this bad. What was I drinking? Huh, not my bed, too soft. Where'd I end up this time?
Okay, everything is still attached, time to get up and face the music... Which would be easier if I could remember any of the fun I had getting into this state.
Hup! That's not my cellphone either. With a note? Maybe someone committed a kindness?
>We have your daughter. Answer the phone when it rings
I have to read it three times before it clicks. Why am I so fuzzy? Daughter? I don't have a daughter. Adult Mumps did for that.
*Ring Ring Ring Ring*
"Yeah, wha'da'ya'want?" Not my most friendly voice. I haven't had a cup of coffee yet, and someone is playing sick jokes. The voice that comes back is so vilely smooth it could poison all of New York City, as it crawled down your throat to rip your lungs out. "Now, now, is that any way to talk to someone who has your daughter's best interests at heart?"
I laughed in his face. "You are a complete fuck up. Oh, let me count the ways. One, you've called me, and from a land line, not a cellphone. That can easily be traced, so you've burned your location. Two, you don't and never did, have the interests of anyone at heart. Three, you don't have a heart, you're going to kill her, and me, as soon as I've done whatever it is you want done. Four, you have pissed me off. Five, I don't have a daughter you sick bastard."
I must have startled him. It took him 37 seconds to get his voice back. When he did, it was nothing but a scream of filth. I waited for him to take a breath, "you done? 'Cause I am. I'm going to hang up and call the police now, shouldn't take long for them to find you." *click*
You have no idea how hard it was to hang up. I may not have a daughter, but I'm not heartless. I had to get moving, fast. I needed my gear, and time, to find this creature. He'd be busy changing locations and getting a bunch of throw away cell phones. I needed that to happen. The police wouldn't ... couldn't... act fast enough to catch him.
Great! My own van! *With* all my gear. How he could have got me mixed up with whoever the hell he thought I was is a mystery.
I may be immodest to say so, but I'm in at least the top three at what I do; which is anything anyone could possibly need done with a telephone or any part of the telephone system. I'm the guy that gets called when the big company experts are stumped. My van is my home and office all in one. Speaking of which, let's make sure they haven't bugged or tracked my home.
Nothing. I suppose it's possible that they've got something new, but it's damned unlikely. Have to go with that. Time to move.
Drop the phone in the cradle and lock it in. When I get done, it's only going to tell them what I want it to.
Call Betty, she's my usual contact with the major provider in this area. "John! I thought I told you to never call me at the office!" She just loves messing with the heads of her office mates. "No time today. Remember my special diagnostic database? The one that you opened two minutes after I told you not to open until I called for it? Open it now. Call your office mates over, you're going to need their help." She gives me some guff. "Betty, if you don't have that done in thirty seconds, I'm going to tell Barny what really happened at the Christmas party." Dead silence.
"You're on speaker phone now. EVERYBODY, LISTEN UP! Okay John, I've got the DB open."
"Code Alpha Charlie Nevada Mike One Zero Zero Enter."
...
"John. You're shitting me."
"I wish. Never thought I'd ever be using that scenario. For real. And to answer your next question, I develop scenarios for all sorts of organizations. All legit. It's what I do to pay the bills when your experts aren't stumped."
(A)bduction (C)hild (N)ot (M)ine #100
I'd have given it a proper title, but the people who buy this sort of thing are absolutely stuck on mil-speak.
The number changes as we move through the branches of the scenario. The difference between this and a "make your own" adventure book is that the *player* can make choices you haven't allowed for. You have to pick the response appropriate to what they actually do.
"Choose #101. Skip to step 15. I've done all the rest. Now move it. These bozos will be calling soon. XXX-XXX-XXXX." *(Of course Im not giving you the number, dear reader. Some of you are silly enough to call it anyway, for kicks.)*
That set into motion a whole series of actions. Which is why Betty needed extra voices to get things moving fast enough. The instructions had a lot of "fill in the blanks" parts, after all, it had to be adjustable to any area. Fortunately, the set I gave her were pre-tuned to her office location. She'd only need to adapt to my movements, and track their phone, which she'd get from the one they called me from. Didn't matter if it didn't have GPS, the system can still find you by triangulation.
Now, I'm *not* going to take you through the whole cat/mouse game. For one thing, I'm not getting paid for this scenario, and it would be cheating my actual customers to just *give* it away.
Nuff said that I was right, and oh so very wrong.
Right that this bozo didn't have a clue, we managed to nudge him straight into a box trap by the police.
And oh so wrong. I *did* have a daughter, from a one night stand, before my mumps. We never even learned each other's names, or so I thought. Somehow, she got mine. She never contacted me, and I never knew her name or even that there was any reason to contact her.
Now, I have a daughter, who may eventually forgive me for not knowing she existed; and the name of the woman I hope to marry some day, if she'll ever forgive me for not knowing her name.
((finis))
| 2019-10-03T13:04:13 | 2019-10-03T10:22:43 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] You scroll through r/WritingPrompts, and sigh after seeing your 17th “misunderstood dragon” post. “These posts aren’t even interesting,” your knight friend says. “Yeah, they don’t even get the dragons right half the time.” You should know, because you are a dragon in the modern world.
|
“I’ve tried responding to them,” I said. I shook my head in disgust, “But everyone just wants dragons to be fierce. To be creatures.”
“Well, technically you are a creature.”
“But I’m so much more!” I threw my hands up in disgust, the sound echoing through the throne room. I turned back to the computer with a sad look. “I just want people to understand that I’m a person, too.”
He patted me on the shoulder, “It does help that you can shapeshift.”
I scowled, pushing his hand away. “Just because I can look human doesn’t mean that people will like me for it. Do you know how many men I’ve brought home only to have them run away in fear and disgust when I reveal that I’m a dragon?”
“I’m sorry, Lissandra. I wish I could help.”
I snapped my fingers, “That’s it. That’s what we should do.”
“What?”
“Start flooding the subreddit with good dragon prompts. Prompts that remind people that dragons are just as worthy of love and affection!”
“Do you have any in mind?”
My fingers tapped furiously on the keyboard. “Here it is: ‘You scroll through r/WritingPrompts, and sigh after seeing your 17th ‘misunderstood dragon’ post. ‘These aren’t even interesting’ your knight friend says.” I rib him at the mention, “’Yeah, they don’t even get dragons right half the time.’ You should know, because you are a dragon in the modern world.”
“Wonderful!” He said, clapping his hands together. “Inspiring! That’ll make ‘em really put themselves in your shoes.”
“Bernard—”
“I know, I know, you don’t wear shoes.”
“Let’s hope someone responds. Maybe they’ll love it!”
He patted my back again and I let him. He smiled at me, “I’m sure they will. Just like they’ll love you one day. Because you’re the coolest dragon I’ve ever met.”
I blushed, “Oh, hush. Now go give me your upvote, I want to make sure this skyrockets!”
\_ \_ \_
r/AinsleyAdams
|
“Ok look. I’m a modern-day dragon and I have something to say. I am sick and tired of seeing all these writing prompts about misunderstood dragons.” I stared into the deep lens of the camera as my throat clenched shut. My friend Nate was holding the camera, he flashed me a big thumb’s up with his left eye still glued to the screen. I shifted my feet and brushed my hand against the green bed sheet taped to the wall behind me before clutching it for support. “Just- stop it.”
Nate looked up at me, “Why? You were doing good?”
“It was only two lines. Anyone can do two lines.” I stepped away from the scene we spent the last hour setting up and sat down in my old gaming chair. “You, know if people had a problem with this wouldn’t they have said it already… Maybe we’re the ones that’s wrong.”
Nate sat down in the chair across from me, “Or maybe it just wasn’t a problem until now. Maybe people enjoyed those dragon prompts when they began, but as more people upload them then, more people will start to get tired.”
“They’re still reaching the front page of the subreddit though which means people do enjoy them. Maybe we’re the outliers, we could be the only two people that don’t like it.”
“If we don’t like it then there are other’s who don’t like it as well and that’s why we need to make this post now. We could be outliers, but good outliers. We could be jumping ahead of the curve of a new bandwagon. Pioneers for a new era of Dragon post”
“Isn’t the whole point of this post to stop Dragon post? If we just end up making a new wave of dragon post wouldn’t we just be part of the problem, we could be doing more damage than good.”
“How so?”
“Well, maybe we aren’t starting a new bandwagon, we could just be people jumping onto the tail end of an already existing one. We could drag it down – “
“Dragon it down… ”
“Shut up! We could drag it down or we could just be fuel to the engine. There’s no saying that our post would actually be doing any good.”
“But our post will be good because we’ll finally explain about how dragons are misunderstood – “
“That’s the problem! If we make a post complaining about post, complaining, and explaining about how and why dragons are misunderstood while at the same time explaining about how and why dragons are misunderstood, then we wouldn’t we just add another log to the fire.”
“But you’re an actual dragon, so you have credibility where you stand! By having an actual dragon explain why dragons are misunderstood then we’ll finally end all these stupid dragon post.”
“Just because I’m an actual dragon doesn’t change anything, there’s no way to prove I’m a dragon online, so who knows that anyone will believe me. No matter what, this post will only be capable of doing bad, It’ll either inspire more dragon post’s or the internet will have incentive to ridicule me for lying when I’m not and it’ll end my career and I’ll be homeless on the streets!”
“That’s not going to happen because no one will remember this post in the long run.”
“So, it won’t do anything, I’m right!”
“No, you’re not right, this post will have significant impact on the subreddit by finally ending all those stupid dragon post. It can only do good.”
“But I already explained that this post will only do bad!”
“But you’re an actual dragon!”
“God damn your circular logic! Look, if we make this post then we will be part of the problem, besides maybe it doesn’t even matter if I’m a dragon or not. People don’t need evidence to see the truth.”
“But you hate these posts. You got to take a chance to end them and be the one to start a revolution.”
“you’re blowing this out of proportion! It’s just a subreddit!”
“With over 15 million subscribers…”
“Not all of those people go on this subreddit all the time.”
“No, but if just a portion of them do, they’ll see your post and it’ll reach the eyes of many people.”
“Which will end my career.”
“Now you’re the one with circular logic. That’s why we need to make the post”
“The fact that I had a logical fallacy does not mean that my argument is invalid.”
“No but the fact that your capable of having argumentative flaws means that your capable of being wrong in this argument, is that a fact?”
“No!”
“And the fact that you said no, means that no matter what you are unwavering on your opinion in this argument and that shows that you aren’t able to change your mind.”
“So this argument is pointless and I’ll never make the post”
“No that means that your evidence is pointless because you’re basing your opinions on emotion rather than evidence. Trapping you in a logical paradox, because your desire to make this post is also based on emotional factors. The fact that your emotions are both the reason that you want to make this post and you don’t want to make this post while completely ignoring all of the facts shows that every outcome will end in you making the post.”
“that makes no sense.”
“well if you let your emotions control you without external evidence interfering then if you don’t make the post, your regret and feeling towards the post will drive you to make the post anyways. But if you rely on the facts solely to base your decision then you will be driven to make the post. Quid pro quo. You have to make the post.”
“That’s the stupidest argument I’ve ever heard, you know why because your stupid.”
“I’m not stupid I rely on facts. Imagine how all those other real dragons out there must feel too. They must be just as nervous about speaking out on the subject as well.”
“We’ll I never met another dragon or heard of other dragons. I could be the last one.”
“That can’t be case because you exist, how can you exist without there being another?
“I have fire breath.”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“I will breathe fire in your face if you keep talking - that’s what this has to do with it”
*Suddenly a nuke fell from the sky and landed in middle of the room instantly vaporizing both characters. Little did the little dragon know that he really was the last of his kind, and there are no more dragons left in the entire multiverse. Leaving the people of* r/writingprompts *free to make whatever dragon post they wanted. This entire story was just a practice in futility.*
| 2021-02-26T19:33:16 | 2021-02-26T19:06:21 | 195 | 59 |
[WP] You are a villain famous for “killing” heroes. In reality, heroes come to you to fake their deaths.
|
“Vanish, you stand accused of 47 counts of homicide against some of our cities best and brightest superheroes. What do you have to say?”
Staring back at the man I say nothing, then turning to the crowd I look at their faces. Not those who think me a murderer but those who know the truth. I see them.
Huntress, died 07/07/3007, cause of death falling from height. Or so they thought. Instead I see her sat there her now four year old in her lap, her name was actually Mary, and she had had enough. So, I killed her so she could live, love and have her child in peace.
Grip, died 05/01/3001, cause of death? Well if I had actually killed him, he wouldn’t be sat there in this court house watching holding his dear wife’s hand.
There are more, so many more. All have their peace. I know that they are still, at heart, heroes and would throw it away for me. I see Grip face set as he knows his quiet peaceful retirement is about to end.
I can’t let him do that. He deserves his peace, more than these animals deserve him. He gave his everything and they just wanted more and I was the one who took him away. Turning back the prosecutor I shake my head, lean back in my chair and stare at him.
Clearly frustrated, the prosecutor pulls up photos of the “crime” scenes where the bodies of my 47 “victims” were shown in harsh display. All brutalised and destroyed, no hope of identifying who they were from the pieces I had left behind. Only thing that told you these were supers was their equipment. I smiled at each one. Each one meant peace for these people.
It seems like my time in this court is coming to an end, the jury won’t take their time, it will be a quick verdict. Guilty. Judge will make his choice. It is no matter, I know that my time is coming. Maybe this time I should use my powers a little selfishly. Brainless clones of myself at a whim is always handy to make a nice fake body.
So maybe it is time, one last little show, one last act and then it is time for me to Vanish.
|
I always wanted to be a villain when I was a child. I wanted to be powerful, and be able to do whatever I wanted. And, as of now, I am known by the world to be the most ruthless and dangerous villain of all. I have killed many heroes, and have gained a lot of power. I guess I achieved my dream.
Except, it didn't really work out as I thought it would.
3 weeks ago, I went to Walmart, did some grocery shopping, and bought an AK-47 (I live in Texas). I was going to go rob a bank, you know, typical villain stuff. I went into the bank in my disguise, killed two security guards, opened the vault, and was about to escape, when a hero stood in my way.
It was a guy wearing a red mask that was covering his eyes. He was wearing a blue suit, and in the middle of his chest, lay a large "M". I knew this pest. His name was "Mega Max", which is a pretty lousy name. But nonetheless, he was a threat.
"What do you want, twerp." I said. I sounded confident, but in reality, I was about to piss my pants.
Mega Max grinned. "I'm here to stop you!." I was about to take out my gun when he whispered to me: "Hey, can you pretend like you shot me."
I froze, and stared at the guy in confusion. "What?", I said.
"Well uh, I just need to pretend I'm dead for a while. I have a lot of crazy fans, and they won't leave me alone. One guy crawled through the sewers of my toilet to get my autograph".
"Yeah, that's not my problem." I pushed him aside, walking towards the door, carrying the giant bag of cash.
"Okay, can you at least pretend you killed me?", Mega Max called out.
"Are you completely bonkers or what?", I turned around to face him.
"Okay, if you listen to me, and act like you killed me, I will do you a favour: I will help you with your heists and schemes or whatever."
"Alright, okay. I'll pretend I killed you." I walked towards the door, dragging the giant sack of money.
"Excellent!", Mega Max exclaimed, and he dropped to the floor.
The next day, Mega Max's death was all over the news. And as expected, they blamed me for killing him.
It wasn't just Mega Max though. A bunch of other heroes came to me to get me to "kill" them, and they all had different reasons. One hero faked his death because he did not want to pay taxes.
Anyways, within the next 3 weeks, I gathered a lot of fame. And now, I am known as a dangerous villain, and a powerful one too. My villain name was "Green Tornado", because I wore a green mask on all of my heists.
I guess I achieved my dream, becoming a ruthless supervillain. But, I didn't feel like one. I felt cheated.
I was was washing my face in my bathroom when I heard a knock on the front door. I wiped my face with a towel and opened the door. A pair of nunchucks flew in and struck me in the head. I fell back.
A man walked in. He was wearing a black and blue suit, and a black mask that covered his mouth.
"Looks like you are the infamous Green Tornado." The man walked in. "For a supervillain who has killed a lot of great heroes, you don't seem like a challenge.
I rose up. I knew I didn't stand a chance against him. He was the most powerful hero in the country. His name was Raptor.
"Listen man", I said, taking deep breaths. "I'm not a good villain. I didn't kill anyone. Heroes came to me to fake their deaths."
Raptor looked at me with interest. "Well, I believe you. You just don't seem like the type of guy to be a supervillain. Unfortunately, your time ends now."
Raptor grabbed me by the throat. He smiled. "Imagine when I tell all the people that the infamous Green Tornado was slain by me! And they would basically worship me. Imagine if they find out this Green Tornado didn't even fight back."
He slammed me to the ground, and started stomping on my back. This is it, I thought. I'm just not meant to be a supervillain. My life flashed before my eyes, and I thought this was the end. My dreams of becoming the greatest supervillain were shattered. I mean, was considered a great villain, but was I actually one? I faked the deaths of heroes and claimed I killed them. I'm a coward. Maybe I deserved to die.
No. I can't die. I am Green Tornado. It doesn't matter if I didn't actually kill the heroes. People had high expectations of me. They expect me to be powerful, to be a challenge. I can't let them down. I will not die.
I grabbed Raptor's foot before he could completely break my bones, and pulled him to the ground. He yelled as his head slammed onto the floor. But this guy was fast.
Before I could punch his head, he grabbed a whole of my fist, and swung me against the window. I fell out of my apartment, and almost died, but just in time, I grabbed a water pipe. I kept my body against the wall, not daring to look down.
Raptor looked out of the window. I prayed that he couldn't see me.
"Looks like he's dead", he pulled his head back out. I used the water pipe to push myself up and grabbed the ledge of the window. I pulled myself up and tackled Raptor. I held his hands together as hard as I could. After a lot of effort, I managed to grab his body, and throw him out of my apartment. His screamed became quieter as he fell.
I was panting, looking at the window and wondering what the hell just happened.
The authorities found Raptor's body, and he was carried to a local hospital. This was the moment where I became the world's most well-known supervillain. By now, everyone feared me. Even some of the strongest heroes in America, who asked me to fake their deaths, were careful with me.
And lastly, I did not feel cheated anymore. To this day, I continue to fake the deaths of countless of heroes. But, in case someone dare doubt me, I will prove that I'm the greatest supervillain on Earth. I am Green Tornado.
| 2022-12-22T23:20:38 | 2022-12-22T22:11:20 | 417 | 61 |
[WP] Since the plague killed everyone else on earth you've started driving cars the wrong way down highways for fun. One day you hear the once familiar siren and a policeman is directing you to pull over.
|
Esteban is ecstatic. It's been three years since he's seen another human being. In his rearview, he can see the cop getting out of his car. It's a real cop. It's not just someone pretending to be a cop. Or if they are, they managed to steal a uniform. As the cop walks up, Esteban rolls his window down.
“ Good afternoon. Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“ Oh my god, dude. You do not know how long it's been since I’ve seen another human being. I am so glad to see you.”
“ First of all, sir, please do not address me as ‘dude’. if you wish to address me, either officer or Officer Smith will do. Now do you know why I pulled you over?”
Esteban looks at all the abandoned cars facing the other direction. “ Because I'm driving in the wrong direction.”
“ Correct. now you were going the speed limit or around the speed limit, so there's no additional infraction there. But do you have any idea how much of a fine what you were doing is?”
“No idea, sir.”
“ as it stands, you were looking at a $2,000 fine. that's not even to mention the inherent dangerousness of what you were doing.”
“ Dangerousness?”
“ Yes. You could have hit someone or they could have hit you.”
Estevan looks around at the waste land that was once Western Ventura County. “Uh, sir, who would I have hit?”
“ Excuse me?”
“ Who would I have hit? Seriously. there's no one else on the road. You're the first human being I've seen in 3 years.”
“ I get it. So you're the type of guy that comes up to a stop sign and if you don't see anyone there, you don't stop, am I right?”
“ Well, now, yeah. Why would I stop when there's no one there?”
Officer Smith shakes his head. “ You don't get it. Those regulations aren't in place for when you think they should be followed. They’re to be followed regardless.”
“Okay…”
“ now, normally, I would just let you off with a warning but given the severity of what you're doing, I'm going to have to issue a citation.”
“ Who would I pay it to?”
“ they take care of that at the courthouse.”
“ There's no one at the courthouse.”
“ Look, I'm not in charge of anything that goes along at the courthouse. If they don't have their s*** together, that's their problem. It's my job to issue citations. And that's what I do.”
“Okay…”
Officer Smith fills out the citation. “So I'm going to need you to sign and date to show that you received it,” He says as he passes his clipboard to Estevan. Estevan signs it. “ Okay. So when you're able to, you just go to the courthouse and you can pay it there. Just so you know they do have installment plans available if you're not able to pay the full 2000. there are also financing options available.”
“ Okay…”
“ thanks. I know it's a little tight here, so you can just get off at the next exit and turn around there.”
“ okay, I will.”
“ All right. Have a good day,” the officer says before walking away.
“Sir!” Estevan calls out to him.
“Yes?”
“Don't you want to hang out? I haven't seen anyone in 3 years. “
“ Sorry, sir. I don't mix my personal with my professional. Have a good day,” he said before continuing to his car.
Estevan watches him get into his car using his rearview mirror. “ That guy is crazy,” he says before putting the car into drive, “ no way am I paying $2,000.”
|
The noise was the first thing, the startling jolt of the siren. It shot it's sound through his head. A glance in the mirror to see the car, the silhouette of a driver. The bright blue and red beaming from behind. Then the voice, "pull over"!!
"Holy funkin shint", his brain screamed at him!! Nearly losing control of the car as he craned his neck round, Victor decided to slow down and pull over. Maybe he was tripping, still tripping from mistakedly eating those mushrooms he found. Victor peered in the rear view mirror as the silhouette exited the car, the sun beamed long and straight from behind.
He bounded out of the door of the car. "Freeze sir", "don't move", the voice bellowed. "Hands up right now"!! He flung his hands in the air.
"Are you a man"?
"Woman sir"
"Are you real"?
"As the nose on your face", "hands on the car"!!
Victor was in compliance with the demands, still in shock. The officer approached and holstered her weapon. "If you attempt anything I will put you down sir, do you understand"? "Yes", Victor stuttered. He couldn't quite accept this was really happening. "Wait a minute" he spat as he turned his body to face her. She stepped to his left while grabbing his arm, too fast for him to prevent. With a quick spin his arm was up his back, he felt the muscle rip a little as the officer pressed down on his shoulder. Then, smash!! His legs had been kicked away. As his face collided with the gritty road surface, he knew it was real.
"I told you not to move sir"!!
"I am sorry officer".
With a knee in his back she reached for her radio, "backup required, unit 372 on the Derby Steel mill road, over". Click...a little fuzz. "I repeat, backup required on the"..."It's no use".
"Shut your mouth sir". Victor could feel her knee in his back, half her body weight. Her vice like grip had loosened on his arm. After coming to his senses he decided to take control of the situation. Victor was tough, strong and resilient. He had to be in this world.
He flipped his body, knocking her off balance. His left arm had been reclaimed and with both hands he pinned her. Victor spoke quickly, "I am going to stand up and let you go, do not shoot me". "We need to talk".
He jumped back and raised his hands. In one swift spring the officer shot up and had her gun on him. "You have just attacked an officer of the law sir, you are going to jail". "Where did you come from Victor enquired"? "Backup required at the Derby Ste"..."You're not listening, it's no use, where did you come from" he insisted!! Crackle fuzz..."Where did you come from lady"?
She was vexed by his line of questioning, it didn't make sense. "Where did I come from"? Birds and the bees guy. Typical, I always get the crazies, she thought. She had him fixed in her sights, safety off. One move buddy.
"Where did you come from"? "Why do you keep asking me that, where do you think". "Well see, I know how humans come into existence, I just don't know how the FUCK you got here"?? Victor roared and his adversary roared back, "I WILL SHOOT YOU SIR"!!
"I'm sorry it's just that you are the first person I have seen in seven years". "Hermit yeah, just down from the mountains" she exclaimed. "I don't care about your story sir, you are going to jail". "Fine" Victor replied, "but you're not paying attention".
He had not missed a minute of the last seven years and there were police. Not for a long time now though. They stopped policing when their families started dying so for him, to find an active officer on duty, was just as crazy as finding a guy driving down the wrong side of the road.
The sun was drawing to a close for the day, the light dimming as the night began to creep. Victor knew what this meant, the danger that came with darkness.
"We don't have time for this" Victor explained, "look around". Meghan glanced at the vegitation at the side of the road, it was wild, overgrown. "It's getting dark" Victor explained. His voice sounded funny to him. He didn't hear it very often these days. It was a delight, regardless how surreal, to be having a conversation.
Meghan glanced again, not believing her first take. Wtf is going on she thought?? She was sure she had noticed the clean cut grass as she started her shift. Am I losing my shit here Meghan pondered?
"I don't know what is going on or where you came from but we do not have any time for this". Victor could see the questions bubbling to the surface, the look of puzzlement creeping across her face.
"Where did you come from"?
"Nelson Station sir". "My name is Victor, call me Victor". "Nelson Station", he repeated, "I know where that is". "When did you come here"? "I parked up ten minutes before you passed me on the wrong side of the road"!! A sly dig but she couldn't resist. "I doubt that" Victor said. "Well I have a hot coffee in the car that says otherwise". The thought struck Meghan as the words were leaving her mouth. She forgot her target and turned towards her car to search for the beacon of reality.
"Coffee", Victor salivated. He approached at a distance. "Oh my goodness, coffee"!! His drug of choice before the decay of civilisation. Meghan leaned into the car and grabbed the still warm cup, she turned as she peeled the lid off. The smell emanating from the cup sailed into Victors nose. "Pure delight". He basked in the aroma.
Meghan, noticing the joy appear on Victors face, offered the cup forward. He nodded as he crept forward reaching for the cup. She had forgotten herself and began to slip one hand towards her gun. "Any sudden moves buddy", she thought. Victor grasped the coffee in both hands, the heat warming his fingers. He breathed in and then drank.
Meghan could see his fixation on the coffee, the delight. It was like drinking the last cup in existence. It was real. How could it be real? None of this made sense? She didn't feel at risk from him now.
A blood curdling noise began to develop around them as the light faded, a low growl. First at the back then the side, then all around. "Shit", Victor exclaimed as he dropped the cup. The coffee throth still complementing his upper lip like a moustache. "We need to move, NOW"!!
Before Meghan could say a word he was running to his car, "follow me" he shouted over his shoulder. Victor began to drive, fast!! She jumped in and floored it. She didn't understand why she was following, she didn't really know what was going on. Again with the radio she tried but to no avail. Tried the am fm in the car, nothing broadcasting. Meghan looked around in amazment. She knew the area, the undulations of the land, the bend of the road. It just..it just looked wild. Like it had found itself. A wild land.
She followed Victor at speed, noticing the road had turned rough. There was an obstruction ahead, a tree blocked the road. Victor crossed to the right side of the road through a gap in the central resevation. Meghan followed. The tree wasn't there today. That...tree...wasn't there today!! "WTF is going on" Meghan screamed in her head. Maybe she screamed out loud.?The panicked notion filled every sense.
Only one thing was making any sense and it was Victor, no matter how crazy he seemed. She followed into the unknown...
*quotation marks added
| 2017-08-05T15:27:20 | 2017-08-05T15:17:33 | 44 | 14 |
[WP]You're the villain. You're also the greatest boss. Everybody wants to work for you. Because you've created so many stable jobs, all heroes are forbidden my law to completely stop you.
I misspelled the title because obviously, but I laughed my ass off at each story. Brilliant!!
|
"Your time has come, Victor! You will pay for your crimes against humanity!"
Victor sat in his chair, smiling.
"And what crimes would that be, exactly? Also, aren't you the one committing a crime here?"
Captain Stupendous clenched his fist, a bright glow forming around it. "I'm a *vigilante*, dammit - I don't care about the law!"
"Charming," Victor replied. "And my first question, pray tell?"
"World domination!" Stupendous spat. "Your desire for power knows no bounds. You're taking over the world, and I can take it no longer. Your reign ends now."
Victor swivelled in his chair, turning on a massive screen behind him. Thousands of images came forth in a holographic projection, each displaying countless happy, healthy employees.
"World domination, yes," he said, gesturing at the images all around them, "and I think you'll find it a much better world. I'm ending war, I'm ending hunger. No one shall suffer under my ruling. My word is law, yes - but my word is *just*."
"One man cannot be given so much power," Stupendous replied, defiant.
"Many men vying for power have not fared much better, I think you'll find," Victor replied, "and few powers remain before I control the world completely. Thus, I will end this mad struggle for dominion, and focus instead on unification."
"And how will you take the last few bastions of rebellion? By force?" Captain Stupendous asked warily.
"By *employment benefits*, Mr Stupendous. Most men do not want to die for another's conquest. They just want to feed their family, and live a good life. I offer all that and more."
Captain Stupendous stared at Victor for a long while. He let out a deep and heavy sigh.
"What kind of benefits?"
Victor smiled, opening up a drawer in his desk and taking out a contract.
"Oh, I thought you'd *never* ask..."
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
|
"Dale, there's a few more people here to see you for a job" The Secretary said with his head peered into the door.
"Well? Send them in! We aren't here to **not** hire people!" A fast talking man said behind a desk" A young man in jeans and a t-shirt walked in. "What's your name son?"
"It's, uh, David." The young man said.
"Well Dave, you don't mind if I call you Dave right? Well here at D.O. Inc. we believe everyone deserves a job, and today is your lucky day because you just got a job."
"Uh Thanks Mr. Hoff, it means a lot to me" Dave said.
"Don't call my Mr. Hoff, call me Dale. Kind of like kale, just with a D and without the vegetable." The two men got out of the office and started walking left down a hallway. "So Dave, tell me a bit about yourself. Where do you want to be when you grow up. I mean what do you want to be when you grow up, you know what don't even answer that, because I'm going to make you the VP of communications."
"Oh wow, really? That's amazing."
"Hey, where are we? I think I went down the wrong hallway, yeah I definetly did, let's turn around and go." Dave said while turning around fastly walking away from a room where people were aiming guns at the building.
"Wait, did those people have guns?"
"Everyone has guns Dave, this is America, the land of the free and the home of the gun. But don't worry about that, you'll be manning the telephone stations, you will look to see if any of those, 'hero' guys are calling. It's pretty simple any time they call a red light switches on and we get the location of them. Call me and I'll handle the rest."
"O-Okay. But what's my pay? Dave asked, shuffling his feet around a hole in the carpet.
"HEY MARY! I THOUGHT I SAID FIX THIS HOLE! YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO HAROLD FROM HR WHEN HE DIDN'T WATER HIS PLANT? OF COURSE YOU DO YOU WERE AT THE FUNERAL! YOU WERE GIVING A SPEECH!" Dale yelled at a now sobbing woman, "tragic really, he got locked in a freezer."
"Wow that sucks, why would you nee-" Dave said.
"That's where my men were waiting for him, only one hammer blow, he didn't even try to fight. That's why I fired him and got a new freezer, one that can be opened without a hammer."
"Wait what?"
"Okay, here we are. Here is your badge, you need a suit? Of course you don't it's casual friday, I'm glad you knew that when you came in for the job. You'll do well here. Anyways here's a watch, and uh Oh yeah! You're pay! You won't get paid in money, you'll get paid in houses and food! Every month you'll get to pick a new house, and every week you'll be able to pick up any food you want from the local Food district!"
"What what about insurance and stuff?"
"Don't worry about insurance, I own the hospitals! I pay for everything!"
"Okay, well I think I'm all set here." Dave said sitting at a desk.
"Well then I'll go take care of Mary, poor soul" Dale said walking out of the room. Dave leaned down next to a worker.
"What's with that guy?" Dave said.
"I don't know sometimes I'll just go home one day and my house will have slightly better stuff. Like my bed grows about a foot a week, my walls are growing 2 feet every couple of days. I started with a 32" TV I have a 64" TV now. He will also make other parts smaller, my bathroom is just a toilet now. I have to go to the gym to take a shower and wash my hands." The man said.
"Oh really, I haven't even been to my house, I was driven here by my mom. Should I tell her I own a house now? She might be on her way back here. What should I do?"
"Well, you can ask Dale to send out a few messages every month. You could use one of those."
"Oh okay. So I like just ask him to do it and it will happen?"
"Yeah, it's weird but he marks all the messages that go out so don't send any personal stuff out."
Dave walked out of his little space and walked to Dale's office where he was on the phone shouting.
"I'll tell you right now if you don't give me that sandwich, your house will be replaced with a mini mart by the end of the hour." Dale slammed down the phone sitting down and noticing Dave at the door. "Come in Dave! This office is open!"
"Hey, can I send out a message to my mom? I need her to know that I don't need a ride back home"
"Why sure, just tell me one thing, what's your favorite animal? Walrus, dog, cat?"
"I like hawks, and fish."
"Well pick one, which one is your number one?" Dale said as he walked closer to Dave who was beginning to walk out of the office.
"Uh- Fish."
"Well you can count on having some soon. Now if you excuse me I have to get moving on to do some business." Dale said running out of the room going to the right of the office.
"Oh uh okay. I guess all just get back to work" Dave said walking back to his little space. He sat next to the other worker. "What does Dale even do?"
"Nobody knows, well except for the section presidents. But I suppose I wouldn't know, it's all rumors." The worker said before a loud beeping sound came from the ceiling.
"Oh my god, what is that noise?" Dave hid his ears while looking at the worker, the beeping got louder.
"It's to tell when you can leave! You can stay longer, but you have to work twice as hard! I never stay past the second bell! It's not worth it!." The worker shouted over the beeping.
"Well I don't know where I live! I have to wait for Dale to get back, maybe he can drive me home!"
"Well good luck! He usually rides away before the second bell even comes on!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That's it for now, I'm going to write more tommorow afternoon so check back then.
E: Added a bit more, I think I'll be able to right more tommorow my day was unexpectedly packed.
| 2017-08-27T18:11:16 | 2017-08-27T18:01:32 | 159 | 14 |
[WP] You are a superhero with shapeshifting powers. You don't fight crime. You cover for other superheroes when they need to sneak out to save the day.
|
the super hero lifestyle, trust me its not all its cracked up to be. ya sure they write about you in the paper, little kids dress up as you for Halloween, the mayor thanks you in his speeches. you get to be a big shot, sure, but its just not worth it! the hours you have to work, fuck all that. your on call 24/7. its 3am and some nuclear waste spills on the janitor somehow giving him laser vision, now hes making downtown pay for the crummy life hes lead, blasting holes in the citys infrastructure. you wanna know whos phone rings when that shit is going down? super hereos phones! well their phones probably dont ring to be honest, super heros all have some gimmick. the shine a spot light on the clouds or some shit. either way you gotta get your ass out of bed and hoof it across town no matter how drunk you are. every body says they want to be a super hero but its easy enough for them to say it, most people dont have the option of becoming one anyway. you gotta be special. you gotta have powers. lightning vision or super speed. extendo legs or some shit. some people are born with powers other people acquire them later through chemical mishaps. I was born with my powers. I shape shift. I can make myself look like anyone. its pretty awesome, I can be whoever i want. But am I a super hero? fuck no! havent you been listening? im to smart for all that. no, see what i do is I charge by the hour to cover for super heros while they go out and fight crime. i shape shift to look like them, the way they look when their not in costume, and I take their place so they can go do their thing and they can keep their secret identity. I charge by the hour and I do alright for myself. Its easy work man. something different every day. Funny story, 2 weeks ago a guy who calls himself lawn furniture man (he was mutated when a truck of nuclear waste plowed into his back yard during a BBQ) called me up to cover for him. he says hes in the middle of spending the afternoon with his grandma at her home in the south end of the city but hes gotta jet so he can go fight his arch nemesis inclement weather man. so I say sure no worries send the money to my account and ill hang out with grandma till you get back. turns out grandma is a total lush and we pound whisky until she starts talking about the jews and falls asleep. It was hilarious! so I dont get any glory, so i dont get any respect from the general public, so what if i dont have any thing saved up for retirement, id say im living the dream! aim low thats what i say! aim low and land in a nice soft patch of grass with a nazi grandma and a bottle of hooch and let these "big shots" do all the dirty work!
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"This is insane." I protested as I pulled the suits... speedo? out of my now overly sculpted buttocks. "This isn't what I do. This isn't covered in our agreements." I felt a bead of sweat forming beneath my now full flowing hair. It felt wrong for more reasons than I could count, but mostly because Chris never sweat. I had never seen him, and being him I had enough of his memory to know vaguely recall the three times he had done it himself. He certainly wasn't now, staring at me coolly with my own face. No, his face, I'm wearing his... that is a major reason I don't like conversing with people while I'm them. I get enough of an impression that I'm looking in a funhouse mirror, but I can't figure out what's warped.
"Well, there are things covered in the agreements with which I am also not completely comfortable. So, we are going to be ending this here tonight. You are going to do this for me, and I am going to pay you so much that you won't ever have to shadow again. Tonight will go like a breeze, and by tomorrow, we'll have Mentis wipe you clean of all of this." Chris' voice was calm and even with a smile somewhere between a precocious schoolboy and a billionaire pedophile. I really didn't want to guess which one was closer to the truth in just this moment.
"You don't know that. Tomorrow is a nice enough promise when I might not make it through tonight. Have you thought of how you are gonna handle that? If I go and die while on the nine o clock news?"
"Eh, you ain't gonna die, man." Mycelial Mike drawled in slowly. "You gonna have his powers, man. Not all of it, but, hey, 89% of the Uber is still about 10,000% everybody else." Mike smiled gently beneath half-lidded eyes. "'Sides, I'll be vibin' your sync, man. Anythin' goes sideways, we'll have Wormy pull you'se back 'ere. No, troubles, man."
Trouble, no trouble, no.... this was all trouble, and it all started with that damn UberDaddysGirl69. You'd think an Instagram handle like that would be red flag for Chris, but no *I'm just really popular*. His own words pop into my own head which is a sign that he's used this excuse enough for it to be automatic. Sometimes, I hate my power. They called me Imprint before I went full shadow. It was because of the mental impressions I copied from peoples' minds that I got when I took their shapes. It meant I didn't need to study weeks of paperwork to properly replace somebody. Instead, it's like I've got a tattoo of the cliff notes on their very selves behind my eyelids. That's why I know that Uber is a much older man than he seems, that Chris Kenten isn't the first and probably won't be the last alias he'll use, that he misses his first wife and second both deceased wives, and that is why he picked up a twenty-three your old Instagram model working on her sixth year of a fitness medicine degree. I can't say that I blame him. Must be tough pushing past a hundred but barely looking like he might hit forty in a few years. Not even that if it weren't for the grey at his temples. Of course, that look is popular now that Uber has it, which leas us to our current problem.
Lacey has a thing for the Uber. I mean I'm sure many girls do, and so, it's natural that they might be attracted to Chris Kenten because not many people look as much like the man as his own damn self. It actually made being his shadow pretty easy at first. Once I was around enough for her to believe that Chris wasn't him, Lacey barely noticed me. When Uber had to go fly, it gets thrown on every screen in the city. I would slide in, and listen to her gush all over Uber, talking about how much of a hero he was. I would just be on auto-pilot because Chris had a whole thesaurus of inconspicuous opinions to spout about himself. That was until that Thursday.
\*\*\*
I remember Chris getting suspicious when I brought Brick in for the debriefing which I hadn't done before, but he was the only person strong enough to actually restrain Uber so he was the only choice. Of course, I had to get to agree to let Mentis wipe him after the meeting, and that cost me more whiskey than I believed even a super could survive. Of course, it didn't help much because as soon as Chris yelled, "You did WHAT?!" The force of his 'what' was enough to slam back into the wall.
I had to explain, "Look, this is bad for me too." I tried to gasp between breaths. "I am required to do everything you would do as much as possible, and sometimes that means sex."
"And what made you so sure that is what I would have done?" Chris asked the question slowly as his fist slowly clenched. I saw Brick tense his dense, rocky body, but the sight only reminded me of the time Uber had punched an asteroid so hard, he deflected it into the sun.
"She was wearing that dress," I said in an inflection that I knew he understood.
"How did you know about the dress?" his words were deadly slow.
"I didn't," I answered honestly. "Not until, I knew, you know? As soon as I saw it, I recognized what it meant. At least enough to know, that ignoring it would raise flags for her."
Uber nodded slowly, relaxing a bit. "You couldn't get her to wait?"
"No." I took a breath finding the words hard to get out. "She was trying to get you, I mean me, while watching what was on TV."
"What? That makes no sense, she barely watches anything on television." His tone was suspicious and starting to get heated again. Gods, did he have heat breath, I don't even remember.
Anyways, his shock surprised me. "What are you talking about, she's always watching either the TV, or livestreams on her phone. I barely see her do anything else."
My answer brought more puzzlement than anger to Chris' expression. "What do you mean? What is she watching?"
I sighed, and blurted it out as fast as I could. "You! Chris! She watches you! The reason we're in this damn room is your girlfriend wants to bang you." I gestured wildly at myself. "While watching YOU!" I waved my arms at him.
A silence hung in the room that I thought would crush me until Brick burst out in rumbles of laughter. His bellows shook the whole room, and went on so long that he had to lean on the wall at which point I swore I was in an earthquake. He stopped for a moment to say, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll stop..." then began again only keeping it down to the level of a rock slide.
The laughter seemed to do the trick for Uber though. He had relaxed and even leaned back. He rubbed his fingers across his perfect jawline thoughtfully. "So, what happens next?"
| 2020-03-23T18:04:22 | 2020-03-23T17:57:48 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] 37. That is how many times you have died of unnatural causes. Every time you do, you get reset to the age of 5, retaining all of your past memories. You think that this is finally the time you get to move on with life.
|
“I never intended to die, especially not how it happened the first time. Fire and smoke are especially painful, even if you get *reset* afterwards.
The first time, I thought time had been rewound; it had but only partially. My 14 year old body was suddenly that of a 5 year old. My mind still intact. I rushed home to see my parents. I wasn’t sure which home though. When I was 5, we lived in a small village and now we live in London. I quickly realized that only my body had been reset; time had not. My parents were still dead.
Luckily, we were new and no one knew us. So they just assumed their kid was 5, not 14.
It has been 500 years since that day. 5 full centuries, 37 times that I’ve died of unnatural causes. 37 times I’ve had to start my life over as a small child; small even for a 5 year old. 37 times I’ve had to deal with foster homes or living on the streets. Hiding my true identity and playing dumb. I tried to just be 14 year old me a few times and that just brought too much attention. Attention that later would cause yet another unnatural death reset just before my body turned 15.
Now, in America I’ve settled. Things have changed a lot in 500 years. I’ve finally made it past 16 years old. My new family is actually pretty great. I’m now 35 years old and have a family and kid. I’m happy. Though I often feel out of place. I finally feel like I’m living my life.
Though I worry for my daughter. I never told what happens on her 5th birthday. She got scraped on her knee from her bicycle, her birthday gift. That wasn’t the unusual part. A few days later she fell out of a tree and broke her neck. She died instantly. She then suddenly changed. As if reset. Suddenly her scrape on her knee was gone. She got up thinking nothing of it.
Now I know she’s cursed just like me, but much worse. I’ve haven’t told her yet. I’m dying of cancer. I have maybe 12 months to live. I don’t know how to tell her that I’ll die but be reborn a child, as she was once already.
I thought this was finally the time I get to move on with my life. I guess it is, just not the way I had hoped.
Sleep well my sweet Madeleine. “
— Your Father
That was all my father wrote in his suicide note.
|
We like to think of consequence as an exact science, one where we can predict the future with near certainty. Where, if I push the ball, I know it’ll roll off the table. And we’re right! To an extent.
Have you ever heard of chaos theory? Or the butterfly effect, where if one butterfly flaps its wings in a certain way, a tornado will form on the other side of the world? About how, if the air molecules are even slightly off-kilter at one moment in time, they’ll bounce and bounce, spreading their dissimilarity to the others, until virtually all the particles have deviated off their original course? You’ve probably heard of it somewhere. Through some chain of events, of consequence, that lead you to watch a movie on the subject or read a page on the internet or hear it from a friend. Maybe in a different form from this, a different explanation from mine, but you’ve almost certainly heard of it somewhere.
Going back to earlier, when I push the ball, I know it’ll roll off the table. And once it does, it’ll spring up exactly three times before settling on the level floor. But the factors that go into this—how I push it, the direction, the muscles I use, the gravitational attraction I give out, and so much more—will all change the future, altering the air and the particles within. Then, two weeks later, the weather’ll be different all around the world. And then, maybe ten years or so later, everything’ll be different.
For most people, this doesn’t change their thinking, making them prefer one circumstance over another. Because they don’t know what truly awaits them down the line. They don’t know of the unknown futures each seemingly inconsequential action belies.
And then there’s me.
I’ve lived 38 times now, died 37. I know of so many futures and their potential circumstances. Every time I die, I go back in time. Back to my five-year-old self, back to when I still had both my parents and, seconds before, the world still shone brightly in my eyes.
It’s like a second death—both of my actually deceased self and of my innocent naiveté.
A curse. That’s what this is. You hear from a lot of people about how they want to go back in time, to correct their pasts and remedy their mistakes, but they don’t have the same familiarity with chaos theory as I do.
I still remember my first life. Married with two children.
Avery was our firstborn. She loved to frolic in our backyard, climbing our oak tree with the seeming skill and aptitude of a spider monkey. It was as if nature thrived in her veins. We frequented the nearby parks and zoos throughout her youth, and, when she grew old enough, we began to bring her camping at Flat Tops Wilderness. S’mores by the crackling fire mixed with hikes by the flowers and lakes of Colorado. A crisp, fresh breeze always flourished in the air.
Gale was our second. He spent hours at the piano, playing and practicing all sorts of pieces, filling our home with music that seemed to liven up the world. He wasn’t the most skilled, but he practiced and practiced throughout the days. I still remember the first time he performed at a school recital. The applause thundered the auditorium.
They were both off in college when our house burned down. Did you know that it’s hard to see stairs when there’s smoke fogging the air?
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t wriggle, couldn’t shout. The inferno flickered in my vision and the smoke blinded my eyes, but all I could do was wait for the end.
But then the smoke cleared and the heat seemed to melt away. I opened my eyes to find a different room, a different place. My childhood bedroom, shrouded in shadows save near the night light beside the door. Rain licked the casement windows, punctuated only by the occasional shake of thunder and blinding of lightning.
I thought my previous life to be a dream at first—a fantastical production of my brain, serving to distract from the night terrors that usually plagued. But the memories spanned decades of life. Too long for a simple illusion, so I settled on it being a prediction.
And it seemed to be accurate, at least for a while. The storm lingered throughout the rest of the night, only dissipating when the sun broke free from its wispy grip the following day, bringing brilliance to the previously dark world. Just as I remembered.
But the differences made themselves apparent a few weeks after. Our television blared news about a hurricane coming to California, the largest seen in a while. We hid away at our grandparents’, who lived away from the storm. But when we returned, we found our house destroyed.
Only during my second life did I realize what was happening. That for me, whenever I die, the hands of fate turn counter-clockwise until that moment in the bedroom at five years of age, with a storm thundering right outside.
It was also when I realized how painful it is.
My memories speak of times that never existed, that never will exist. Of events and circumstances out of my control. Of the products of micrometers of variation, unreplicable without perfection.
I still remember my first two children, even after these centuries of life. Avery and her penchant for nature. Gale and his relentlessness for music. But when I think about them, the thorns in my heart sink deeper, as I realize that, for all intents and purposes, they never got their chance in life. They’ve never made their mark on the world, and their dreams and passions exist as nothing more than a memory in my mind.
37 times. 37 past lives. 37 deaths. Each one is almost completely different from the others, the only similarity myself, but even then, I’m inconsistent. Afflicted by these thoughts, these realizations.
I think that each time, when I return to my childhood bedroom, it’s because of how I still wanted to keep going. To try again.
But as I lie here now, at 84 years old, feeling my life trickle away from my fingertips, I don’t feel like doing so—no reason to have a do-over, to prolong my fate by going back for another chance.
When I started this life, I knew that’s what I wanted to do. For the first time in a while, I fell in love. Started a family. Watched my children grow up with dreams and passions twinkling in their eyes.
I know I can go back. I can experience life again. But, this time, as I lie here in the hospital, dying, I’d rather leave knowing that they still exist.
That they still exist in a world where they can live lives of their own.
---
Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is both welcome and appreciated.
r/TenFortySevenStories
| 2021-05-30T10:56:34 | 2021-05-30T10:15:44 | 96 | 71 |
[WP] An agoraphobic princess is sick and tired of knights breaking into her tower and trying to slay her emotional support dragon.
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"My princess, I have spotted one on a toboggan."
Ugh. Winter used to be a time of peace and quiet. The season for rescue missions has been broadened, apparently, and no one thought to send me a pigeon about it.
"Just ... Just roast him."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. If he's this determined it's best to just get it over with."
It wasn't a perfect solution. Fredrick's fire would melt the snow and that would attract more knights to the castle. But perhaps a torched patch of grass with a skeleton in melted armor in the middle of it would make them think twice.
Fredrick flew over. "I see you have come here," he said, looking back to make sure I was listening, "to *sleigh* me." Then there was fire and screaming and all that.
When Fredrick came back he looked at me with anticipation. "Did you hear?" he said. "I made a little joke. It's not much but I thought it was funny." Twiddling his claws, he stared at the rock floor and awaited my response.
"Are you kidding me?" I said.
"W-What?" he said.
"It was excellent. I loved it."
Fredrick beamed with pride. "Thank you! As soon as I saw the toboggan I thought 'hmm, here's a funny situation. I bet there's some potential for wordplay here'. And you know, it just came to me. Sleigh. It sounds like 'slay'. And that's what these, these knights, are trying to do. To slay the dragon. So I just flew up, and I was thinking like 'maybe I should just forget about it, it's sort of stupid' so I almost didn't but then I just went for it."
"I'm glad you did."
Fredrick let out a happy puff of smoke. He was a pretty nice emotional support dragon.
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“Knit one, purl two,” Clara muttered, as she tracked stitches across the very end of the long, sinuous tail. Or at least, the dragon’s tail would be sinuous when she was done with it.
Clara’s hands ached, they were close to cramping. She’d rushed through line after line of small, tight stitches, not at all like the large scale work she usually did, which presented challenges of its own. The knitting needles in her hands felt like foreign objects, even now after months of practice. She’d scarcely remembered she had them when the idea struck her. Thankfully, the old lessons had come back quickly enough, but still she missed the clay.
Clara shook her head hard, pressing on through the last few stitches. Clay was a thing of the past now, or so she hoped.
Princess Clara Eugenia Constantia, fourth princess of the realm, only technically of the royal blood by conventions of marriage, had been making dragons for a very long time. In her youth it had been seen as a child’s affectation, like making up an imaginary friend. As a young woman, blooded and growing, it had become fashionable to deride, at least insofar as her sisters were concerned. Now, marooned in the castle spire at the center of Hellas Basin, it was both the only thing that kept her sane, and the weak spot in her armor. Her sisters, and their knights, exploited that.
Clara was very much done with being weak.
“Knit one, purl two,” she whispered, “knit one, purl two.”
And then, in an instant, it was finished. The time for knitting had ended, now it was time for a bit of magic.
It didn’t take much to make Clara cry. Today she thought of clay, of skin and bone turning back to brittle, heat fired brown clay and cracking open like an egg to spill the wispy blue smoke of magic back out into the world in lieu of brains, pieces of her best friend’s skull cracking as they landed on the floor. A glass eye, its luster lost, rolling to a stop against her slippers.
Clara was crying before the eye had even fallen in her memory, and she caught the tears in her bare hands, the knit dragon held on her knees. She cried as hard as she could, until a slight film of salty wetness had formed in her palms, tears charged with all the magic that her sadness and loneliness could produce. The tears glimmered a pale blue and she whispered a word that started them sizzling against her skin.
When the time came, when the voices were just beginning to grow audible in the courtyard far below, Clara anointed the dragon and named it.
“Vitala,” she named it. Life. Hopefully a long one.
Nothing happened for several seconds. The first processes of a magical birth were all internal. Then the dragon, knit from soft, purple dyed wool, began to heat up. Clara set it in the fireplace before it burned her knees, scurrying away from it. The wool writhed for a moment, like skin stretched thin by a force inside seeking escape, and then it caught fire.
A dragon was born in the fireplace, hardening talons on thick scaled paws clacking against the stone as rubbed itself on the walls. Wool ash sloughed off into the fireplace, it raised its long neck, spikes running from the ridge of its skull to the base where the neck met the shoulders, and it prepared to a great, proud roar that would echo of the walls, that would tell the world a dragon had just been born.
“Shit, quiet! Quiet!” Clara said, rushing the dragon.
Vitala opened her mouth, a puff of surprised smoke came out instead, and she turned, wobbling on unsteady feet toward Clara, eyes struggling to parse what she saw.
“Do you recognize me?” Clara said. “I’m your new master, Clara Constantia! I made you.”
The dragon cocked its head to the side. A bit of wool still hung from its mouth and Clara grabbed it away hurriedly. The dragon reared back as if to roar again, perhaps missing its wool, and Clara dove forward, clapping her hand over its mouth. She could hear horses whinnying in the courtyard, men would already be in the castle, perhaps even approaching the long stair.
The dragon twisted and fought against her grasp, its wings beat, and then, all at once, it stopped, going still. It was as if Vitala had suddenly realized that she was very, very small, the size of a young kitten.
“Behave yourself!” Clara hissed.
The dragon nodded.
Clara could hear them now, steps on the stair, the heavy clanking of armored boots. There would be swords, spears. She wondered who it would be this time. “We haven’t much time, they’re already coming. Listen to me, I’m Clara, you’re Vitala, and soon we’re going to be best friends, I promise you. But we can only be be best friends if you do exactly what I tell you to do, okay?”
The dragon nodded again.
“Good girl.” Clara pointed the space where a bookshelf had been pushed away from its station. “You see that hole in the wall there? That’s for you. It leads to a whole network of tunnels in the castle and below, and there will be more friends down there who will help you, so, so many more. You need to trust them, okay? Like you would trust me, your creator. Now go, and when you come back I’ll make you a treat!”
Clara scooped the little dragon up and tossed it towards the hole in the wall. It’s wings spread, catching the air for a seconds and wobbling as it glided down. It hit the ground in front of the hole in the stone, looked back to Clara, and then vanished.
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/p6us7e/wp_an_agoraphobic_princess_is_sick_and_tired_of/h9fr4it?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-08-18T11:50:47 | 2021-08-18T11:20:05 | 161 | 93 |
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries
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I stared, because my body refused to do anything else. She stared, with adoring golden eyes, and with such fervent nodding that a woodpecker would be jealous.
“Look, goddess,” I said, embarrassed, and avoiding eye contact by looking uncomfortably around my room.
“Oupo,” she smiled widely.
“Oupo,” I restarted weakly. “I… this was completely accidental. You have to believe me.”
“Accidental or not, I am quite happy to be here on the mortal realm,” Oupo’s voice tinkled, like the freshest of mountain springs. “Let me tell you, I’ve heard exploits of so many of my brothers and sisters, persisting even till the modern age. But nobody seems to remember who I am. I’m surprised that you even know the ancient rituals!”
“I really didn’t,” I said, shuffling my feet. “It was a complete accident.”
“Wow,” Oupo smiled. “Then, you are truly meant to be my champion. We shall party like Dionysus once did in the hallowed halls of Mt Olympus.”
The goddess paused, looking around the room. Slight disappointment crept into her eyes, but her assuring smile returned quickly.
“This room is decidedly more modest,” Oupo said. “But it is not the size of the party that matters, but its members’ enthusiastic participation!”
“Please, goddess,” I said. “I would rather just… not. I don’t even know how I summoned you.”
“Oh, it’s very simple,” Oupo said, dragging a vat of sloshing liquid from under the bed. “See, this is a fantastic specimen, but it is not enough. I am also the goddess of waste, and it seems like your spending habits on your electronic box have contributed significantly to my powers.”
“So that’s what it is,” I muttered.
“And last, but certainly, not least, I am also the goddess of stillness,” Oupo beamed. “And honestly, watching you sit there in your chair, barely moving for a full day, was awe-inspirng.”
“When you put it like that…” I mumbled.
“It’s not just one ritual. It’s hours of rituals that were done to near perfection,” the goddess said. “Remarkable. Really. The final rune was cast with that magnificent last stream of yours into this chamber pot, turning it full. Seriously, I’ve not seen one so perfectly filled in centuries.”
“So goddess of chamber pots, waste, and stillness?” I whispered.
“Exactly right,” Oupo smiled, her golden eyes searing themselves into my brain. “And you, my champion! We shall do grea things together.”
“Oh god,” I mumbled under my breath. “I need to clean up my act.”
---
r/dexdrafts
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> Fun fact: In Ancient Greek, the Egyptian deity Thoth is spelled Θώθ.
> Θώθ, what's this?
> *Comment by user FrankensteinsBabyMama*
Sprinkles of Dorito dust scattered through the stale air of my bedroom as I fell into a fit of laughter. One particle, momentarily suspended in a sunbeam like a dandelion seed, followed an elliptic trajectory and landed precisely into my left eyeball. "Eckh!" I screamed. In a panic, I knocked over my Code Red Mountain Dew and the cherry-red soda fizzed qwertedly across my mechanical keyboard¹.
"Gardak!"
Much to my chagrin, I was all out of balsam + menthol Kleenexes. Strewn across the carpeted floor, they had the appearance of a light dusting of snow. As I got up to find a fresh pack, they crackled gently as I stepped over them. That was when I spotted the wondrous tome; the book of books; the leather-bound lexicon of esoteric wisdom: the Necronomicon.
I lounged back to my swivelly throne with napkins and my book, and as I pressed the soft tissue paper into the titillating crevasses of my mechanical keyboard I realized that my sweeping motion had resulted in a string of letters on my computer screen. A serendipitous message.
For a few seconds I dared not look up. I stared at the seven-sided pentagram of the Necronomicon and I felt something look back. Nietzsche once said that when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. And right then I felt a Nietzschean thrill ravage my soul, rendering it a rhizome, and I understood at once the concept of oceanic consciousness for I had become the sea and my illusion that I had been a lone drop shattered; a thousand reflective shards glimmering with deception disappeared into the abyss and with loathing they gazed back at me as they receded from view. I looked up.
> Reply to FrankensteinsBabyMama:
> fghjgtfrfrgtyhjnmnvfghjhgf
"Hmm," I said.
Seeing as I had no proclivity for cryptography or Jungian modes of interpretation or reading tea leaves (I have better uses of my time), I saved the comment as a draft for later and re-read the parent comment to which I almost responded.
Thoth. It did sound like 'thot'. With a deep sigh I stared up at the jar of Belle Delphine bathwater that I had bought ironically. Now, an Egyptian deity ... That was more like it.
In yet another show of irony, I grabbed the jar and I tore it open. "Thoth," I said, "please accept this humble offering." Holding the jar aloft, I meditated on the Ancient Greek letters.
Θώθ ... Θώθ ... 🥵 ... Θώθ
Then I breathed out a deep sigh. In any case, I had not the time to care for some Egyptian deity or the other. I put the jar down and I slowly rubbed the cover of the Necronomicon. Softly, I repeated, "Uwu, uwu, uwu," and I even considered wearing the cat ears that I had bought ironically. But before I could even catch my breath from making these incantations, I heard a violent slurping sound. Peering around my bedroom, I was afraid an intruder had made their way in, and I calculated mentally the time I would need to fetch my sword that hung on the wall. "Heh," I muttered. They would regret invading my personal space, but they would not live to rue the day. And that was when the sight presented itself before me, a miraculous mirage; Belle Delphine's bathwater was gone. Dissipated. Condensed? No. It had been slurped. But who was the slurpee?
"I am come to lay down my judgment. I thank you for your gift of nourishment."
A tan man in a white-and-yellow skirt, with the head of a bird and a blue shawl, stood before me holding a long and thin staff.
"W-Who are you?" I cried.
"... I am Thoth. I have been summoned."
I gasped. Thoth was a dude? "At least you have the *head* of a bird," I said, and I said it with a British accent. Thoth turned his head to the side and looked at me curiously.
"Unto what mortal shall I pass my judgment?" said Thoth.
Part of me wanted to bash in the bird brains of the deity with the Necronomicon. Part of me wanted to split him in half with my sword. But then he chirped, and it was really cute. I blushed. "S-So you decided to play the trap card, huh?"
"... What?"
"Never mind." I tried to come up with a name, but I found this to be a nigh impossible assignment. The cute Thoth wanted a name, so I had better give him a name. But whose? Then I noticed the empty jar, and without dwelling on it I said, "Belle Delphine."
Thoth gave me an avian nod and struck my floor with his staff. At the third strike he vanished. And within seconds I was left wondering if all of this had really happened. What if I had drunk the bathwater myself, and it had gone bad, so I started hallucinating? That was certainly a rational explanation.
No. My mind palace had become lubricated by this experience, and I remembered it all clearly. Something stirred deep within me.
I went online and browsed for a while before I bought a pet bird. Ironically.
Θώθ
**Footnotes**
1. Only losers read footnotes. Why waste your life reading something utterly inconsequential? It wasn't important enough for the main story, so I stuffed it down here. Why are you still reading? Is there something wrong with you? Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a toddler? Really. Stop. You are embarrassing yourself. You could be fulfilling your dreams right now, making small steps toward that grand achievement lurking just beyond reach, and instead you waste away, reading useless footnotes, and they are not even *interesting* footnotes. When your mother dropped you on your head that time, this is what she worried about. She worried you would end up as some loser pissing their life away because your frontal lobes got all messed up and now you have no impulse control and you eek out a pitiful existence repulsed by punishment and compelled by reward as if you were nothing but a leaf blowing in the wind. Okay, now all the boring people have stopped reading because they couldn't take it: the fact that you're still reading is proof that you are an interesting person. I'm quite smitten, in fact. You're making me blush! Θώθ, what's this?
| 2022-02-15T11:50:23 | 2022-02-15T11:12:03 | 158 | 80 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t…
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Flashing in front of his eyes was perhaps the most broken of powers.
In the year 2200 humanity awoke their planetary core, a phenomena which took the dreams and thoughts of its inhabitants to turn into attributable powers. To maintain balance, all powers had certain restriction. Super speed and flight burnt proportionate levels of calories accounting for distance and speed. Super strength was stored strength which required days of weakness to have minutes of combined strength.
Among them all, powers which came with restriction predetermined were the strongest. For they weren’t restricted by the laws of the core but limitations imposed by humanity.
Today, a mythical power was awoken.
The only instruction given being:
“Don’t touch the snail”.
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The enlightenment trials were designed to awaken unlimited potential within humans, they came to light after Archaeologists came across an old tomb, the tomb was beautifully preserved and had a wealth of knowledge within, including a rite of passage of sorts.
"The Trials Of Enlightenment" they were lead by the leader of the old world, a way to unlock hidden abilities within humans, a few people did the trials in the beginning, some died, some couldn't handle the mental strain and some were left with more questions than answers, however, a few managed to break through the end and come out reborn, stronger, faster, smarter, better.
The abilities ranged from telekinesis to necromancy and everything in between, it was found that the absolute best time for someone to go through the trial was 6 days after your 14th birthday, this gave a 97% success rate, give or take a couple points.
My sister went through it before I was born, she ended up in the ground, she was deemed too dangerous, my aunty did it and her ability turned on her, rendering her mind muddled and useless, she was sent to the "dirge" a pit for people to pay to do whatever sick things they want. My mother was lucky, she got high regeneration, so she's lived almost 4 lifetimes so far, my brothers and all the males in my family got good abilities, all the females got the shit end of the stick and that's why I'm terrified, I am to go through the trials later on and I don't know if I can, I would prefer to die than be another failed case.
As I walk up to the podium, I half-heartedly listen to the speaker, he is giving me instructions on what to do but my mind is elsewhere, I'm trying to remember all the possible outcomes, there are so many, I vaguely remember about the war that was started by Ray almost 3 centuries ago, we learned about it last year, he got one of the forbidden powers, there's meant to be 5 however some believe there is meant to be another one that has been lost to time.
These abilities started showing up thousands of years ago and when you get yours, it's meant to come with pre written text, a guide on what to do and what not to do, some shorter than others but it has been accepted that the standard size is around 700 pages, anything less could mean there's some information missing, but that's not always the case.
I place my hands on the bowl that sits on the podium, the speaker takes soft control of my mind to fill it with the correct words and pronunciation from the old language.
"s'ter mo chral'ya, reglai lo fir"
I speak these words and the water in the bowl turns to blood, a fear grips me, I'm unable to move, I'm trying to remember the excercises to stay calm but my mind is filled with pain, the pain of billions of souls, my ears are bleeding from the noise, the screeching of creatures long extinct, the whispers of the old ones long dead and the only thing I can see is myself stood atop a world a flame, I'm entranced and filled with a fear that I have never experienced.
It let's me go, I fall back down the steps and land on the grass below the podium, the guards and healers pick me up and take me to hospital.
As I slowly start to come to, one of the nurses starts asking me questions to make sure I'm alright, my mother sitting next to me, she says it's ok and that sometimes this happens, on the end of the bed was a book, it looked incredible, it was a beautiful white colour with gold outlines and four elements on the front cover, I had never seen one like this before, my mother says this is what I had in my hands after I fell off the podium steps and she's never even heard of this before.
She gives me some privacy as I pick up the book, it's soft to the touch, almost like a puppy, I open it in anticipation, I finally get to find out what I have, will it be good? Will I be able to help people? Will i be able to fly? Maybe run really fast? Or will it ruin me.
I open the book and it's empty, there's nothing there, pure white pages with nothing on them, I keep flicking through the pages starting to feel a bit nervous now until I reach the very last page, right there written in blood "Don't Touch The Stones".
The Stones? What stones? Why written in blood? I close the book and leave the hospital, I walk through a forest for some privacy, I'll have to return soon otherwise my mother will start wondering where I've gone.
Stones. Blood. So far I'm coming up with blood magic, that's one of the forbidden abilities, it's a class 2 forbidden ability, not only is it rare, it's devastating.
I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this.
| 2022-05-08T08:13:31 | 2022-05-08T07:54:58 | 444 | 177 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
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"I don't get it, how? How did you do it" the warden said as he signed the release form.
"That's the thing, I didn't do anything, you guys did with your stipulations and what not" I said grinning at the warden.
If my requested last meal wasn't prepared and ready for me within a year, I'd be a free man is what they had told me. Nothing more nothing less, people had tried for the most outlandish things such as dragon steak, alien egg omelettes etc. But the prison had provided because their stipulations never stated the meal had to fit the intent rather it had to fit the writing.
An alien egg omelette for instance sounds impossible, I mean we've never found any sign of alien life. But I had noticed when they brought these outlandish things that an alien egg for instance in this case had been the egg of a Kiwi bird because by definition it was alien to our country. Same thing with dragon steak or the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, komodo dragon steak, communion wafers and communion wine. The face on the guy who'd ask for the flesh and blood of Jesus had a bit of a shock at that one.
So as I awaited my execution, awaited my turn to request I thought long and hard about it. Until I came to a conclusion so sick and twisted even demons would be in awe. So as the request personal came through and told me it was time. I requested the one thing they could not bring me ever due to a birth defect, but I wouldn't tell them that.
"Prisoner D-666, what do you request as your last meal? If we can not prepare it for you within a year you're free to go. You will continue to be fed regular meals until such a time we can procure it, because starvation would not be in the spirit of this."
"I wish to eat my first born by blood. I shall refuse to eat anything served proclaiming to be as such without written confirmation of paternity from five separate laboratories."
"Very well you sick fuck, if that is your request don't expect to wait too long." they said.
Days came and went, after a week they started bringing volunteers from the women's section all in the hope of providing me with my first born by blood. Why they did not do artificial insemination was because I had refused any medical examination as that was not part of the deal.
The real reason I had refused medical examination was because I've been shooting blanks since I was born. Infertile since birth, but now I was a free man.
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"How the hell am I supposed to make the perfect hard boiled egg?"
"It's your job. you've got to do it or I get out scot free. My only other question is is there a time limit?"
"Not that I know of." the guard says hesitantly before slipping out of the solitary confinement cell. He wipes his brow then walks down to the kitchen to talk with the chef for the prisoner's last meal.
"No problem." The chef boasts when he hears about the perfect egg, "Boiling eggs was a specialty of mine before I was employed here. Survived a year off of them and some take out."
The guard nodded to the cook then walked out of the kitchen without saying anything. In his stomach he feels a lump form then slowly works its way up until he lets out a solid burp that tastes like overcooked eggs and smells of rotten ones.
The guard wanders around for a little bit then gets notified that the egg that would send this man to hell was ready. When he arrived the cook was standing there beaming over a small oval of white framed in something green on a nice plate.
The guard took the egg to the prisoner and was stopped before he could even fully set the plate down.
“Nope. The garnish ruins it all.” The prisoner says almost passively before he sticks his finger into the center of the egg. He followed with a small chuckle and, “You won’t be getting off so easy with me.”
The guard returned to the kitchen flustered and, in an impersonal manner, set the plate down and said, “No garnish.”
The cook took the egg and ran it under some water and grabbed a new plate.
The guard sighed then relayed the prisoner’s message while revealing the mark that he had put on the egg.
The chef looked disappointedly at the finger sized hole punched into the side of his prized dish. “I guess I’ll cook another one.”
“You better.” The guard mumbled as he walked out of the room.
Four more eggs passed into the room each with something wrong with them, one’s yolk was too dry, another was too runny, one was undercooked and the white of the fourth was rubbery.
An exasperated guard brings the last egg back to the chef. “The white was too rubbery,” he huffed as he impersonally threw both the plate and the egg into the trash can.
“I don’t know what else to do. I’ve never dealt with such a picky eater before. Most people on the mile will eat anything you put in front of them. Some of the more intricate dishes cause the prisoner to become too stunned by the fact that I was able to make it to even give a shit. Dragon eggs, alien meat, fairy tonics, all of that is bullshit. None of those things exsist but the idiots are dumb enough to believe it. This guy must have done his research.”
“Quit your babbling and cook another egg.” The guard exasperatedly buts in before storming out of the double doors locking them both open.
The cook looks again at the carton of eggs that was bought at the nearest grocery store. An idea pops into his head and he talks someone into going out to get organic eggs.
Twenty minutes later the sixth egg is sent to the prisoner. He takes a bite and gives his compliments that the yolk is perfect and that the white isn’t too chewy then spits it out.
“This isn’t an organic egg?” he asks concerned as he begins to retch.
“Uh yeah.”
“I’m allergic to any egg not given from a chicken raised from GMOs. It’s in my file.”
“That’s bullshit. You are just leading me on. That first egg was just fine. You just want to be a little prick and try to cheat the system.”
All of this was lost on the prisoner who was now heaving up his stomach onto the floor tiles beside his chair.
“Good show.” the guard says sarcastically as the guy finally rights himself, “Now it is time to meet your maker.”
“That could’ve killed me if I hadn’t spit it out.”
“Would have saved some time then.”
“You don’t fucking get it do you? Does your thick skull not understand that if I die before I am strapped into the chair it goes on you for not protecting me?”
“Oh fuck your little whining fit because I beat you. Is it not also true that if a prisoner refuses to eat what is given to him it voids his/her right to a final meal?”
“Not if said meal will lead to premature death.”
“Ok. You win this one. But if you’re shitting me I am going to be the one who pulls the lever.”
The prisoner shrugs and gives him a I-don’t-give-a-shit look before the guard leaves the room.
“I need the file for the prisoner about to be sent to the chair.” The guard says to a younger lady who stares at him for a moment then shuffles back to the prison’s files.
“Number 572?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Here you go, enjoy.”
The guard sneers at her as he walks away in just the same manner he used to sneer at his school librarian who would get worked up when wny child wanted to check out one of the dusty books that had sat where they were since she had attended there. As he walked away he began flipping through the file, grimacing at the terrible things the man had done before he got to the page he wanted.
In the section marked allergies three things were listed; Peanuts including any nut butter, Aspartame, and organic, non GMO free range eggs. Disgusted, he slung the file to the ground and went back to the chef, “He’s allergic to the new eggs.” He nearly screamed from between his teeth before starting to kick the plastic trash can in which he had previously discarded the plate and the egg which had been too chewy.
A few minutes later a new egg was brought to the prisoner and he found another thing wrong with it. A whole dozen eggs were wasted on his cause before the guard gave up. When he brought in the prisoner’s last egg he had flown over the edge and even had a plan ready. Instead of putting the plate on the table he would shove the egg into the man’s mouth then use a shard from the plate to stab the man to death.
When another guard happened upon the scene they apprehended the guard who was now hysterically stabbing the table repeatedly.
When the guard went to have his last meal he ordered the perfect boiled egg.
| 2022-07-17T20:01:08 | 2022-07-17T19:57:23 | 129 | 30 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
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*They're actually really nice once it comes time to kill you here.*
This was my fleeting thought as I combed my hair in the giant floor length mirror I was finally permitted. They bent over backwards for the last day. Even let a professional make up team come to paint my face. The man who collected my requests didn't understand, but he was happy to assist. A white silk gown with a gold belt and tassels were easy to procure. Finding a dress with pockets delayed them a week or two, but in the end, they were pleased to get it to me. The warden even laughed in my face.
"You thought you had us. You thought the pocket dress would be impossible!" He had taunted. "But we have found more obscure things before."
"Have you?" I adjusted my hat, placing it at a jaunty angle. A public execution gave me an audience. I wanted to look my best. "I'm sure you're very proud of yourself. It can't be easy getting glass slippers and dragon hide gloves."
The wardens sneer vanished for a moment but before he could say anything, the chef stormed in.
"You sick, twisted freak. How could you?" He demanded. The warden swiveled. "How dare you? You can't have that. Pick something else."
"No. My last meal is my right."
The warden turned on the chef. "Whatever she wants, she gets. It doesn't matter-just get it."
"Sir- I can't. *We* can't" the chef looked at the warden with desperate, pleading eyes. "Please, don't do this."
The warden took the note with my request. "Apples? I done apples? Surely you could fond them?" The warden reached into the chefs bag and plucked out the requested food stuff, a bright golden apple. I smiled and took it from him. "You know, in ancient Greece, you and I would be married for this"
I winked and took a bite even as the chef lunged to take the apple back. "No! No. No. No! What have you done?" He demanded of the warden.
"I done apple. What's wrong with an I done apple?" The warden shrugged and smirked at me. "Enjoy while it lasts."
I took another big bite as the chef dropped to his knees. "Not I done. Idun.. an apple of Idun. We looked into it sir... the apples are from the Norse Goddess of youth. The apples grant immortality"
I watched in enjoyment as the warden put the pieces together. "You mean she- She-"
"That's right." I grinned and polished off the apple. "Kill me all you want, I'll never die."
I strolled out to meet the executioner, even as I felt unending life surge through my body. After all, I had an audience.
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*"Members of the jury, do you find the defendant guilty, or not guilty of murdering Lucy Campbell?" the judge asked. "We find the defendant guilty" the jury's representative replied. "Then as the judge of the court, I sentence the defendant, Mr. Alexander Jones, to execution for this most heinous crime."*
*The judge banged his gavel as I looked at Max Campbell, feeling incredibly sick. Max stared back at me, both of us knowing full well that he was the one that murdered his own cousin, and has convinced everyone - the police, the lawyers, the jury - into knowing that I killed Lucy. Max wore a blank visage, the sick, twisted man underneath expertly concealed from all.*
*Max was always a brilliant actor.*
I jolted awake in a hot sweat, the dread I'd been feeling for weeks growing, expanding even further beyond what he thought was possible for someone to experience. Looking around the cell, it was still night time, the clock just outside the cell reading 4:30am. I remembered last night struggling for hours to fall asleep, and unsurprisingly I still felt exhausted, compounding how horrible I've been feeling ever since Max presented his 'evidence' that flipped the entire trial around, forcing my lawyer and I against a wall, unable to figure out how Max managed to fabricate such intricate lies.
I lay back down on the hard prison bed, and try to fall back asleep for the few more hours 'til daybreak. Thoughts fill my head about all the events that had put me here.
*I walked into the room to see Max staring down at the bloodied body, a wide grin on his face. "What have you done?!" I shrieked in a panic. He chuckled in response. "Disposing of problems."*
At that point in time, I had suspected Max had been doing some shady stuff, but I was beyond baffled at how Lucy could've been so involved that Max wanted to permanently silence her. She was just a girl.
*Listening to the voicemail the lawyer left me, I grew confused. Max wanted to speak to me. When I arrived at the police department where he was held in custody, I was searched and then escorted to him. Entering the cell, I stood in front of the bench where he was seated. "I just wanted to say a few things, as this will likely be the last chance we will ever be able to speak alone, if at all." "Well spit it out. I don't exactly want to speak to you ever again" I replied. "Don't worry, you'll get your wish soon enough." Max stood up, and stepped towards me, a little too close for comfort. "Things are about to get turned on their head. I suggest you take one last look at the things you love, Alex." "What the hell are you talking about?" I questioned. "You are the one going to end up having to defend yourself in court pretty soon." "Huh? As if a jury would for a moment think that you aren't a devious, conniving little snake that finally reared its ugly head a little too high. I suggest that you start thinking of what you want for your last meal." Max let out a chuckle at the thought. "That won't be necessary; rather it should be you who needs to decide what to eat. If you hate me enough to call me a 'devious, conniving little snake', then why not eat me? Then at least you'd drag me to hell with you."*
The very next day, the police burst through my front door and promptly arrested me, saying that I was the one who had murdered Lucy Campbell.
*"Members of the jury, do you find the defendant guilty, or not guilty of murdering Lucy Campbell?" the judge asked. "We find the defendant not guilty, Your Honour." "I hereby declare the defendant, Max Campbell, not guilty." He banged his gavel, sealing Max's fate as a free man, and mine as someone sure that I would be sentenced to death in his place.*
I was confused then, and I'm confused now how he did it. They never found Lucy's body.
It was now about 9:00, and I was sitting up in the fetal position on my bed. I was scheduled to be executed at 3:00 later that afternoon, although everyone knew the scheduling was just a formality, as almost no-one on death row asked for a final meal that without a doubt could be provided within the timeframe. It was something I had always refused to think about, denial making me hope that by some miracle I'd be released and Max finally back in a cell where he belonged. But at last the day had finally come, and I knew sooner or later they would ask what I wanted.
I heard heavy footsteps approach my cell, and a pair of guards came up to the bars and looked in. "Oi" one of the guards called in. "What do you want for your last meal, scum?" "I haven't decided" I replied, the fear and weakness in my voice evident. "Ugh. Better hurry up, you have until 10 o'clock to decide." The guards walked back down the corridor they came.
I finally accepted the fact that I was doomed to either die, or possibly be one of the few that manage to stump the Chefs for long enough to turn their execution into a life sentence. A 'life stalemate' as it ended up being nicknamed. Since the unusual policy was introduced, only a small handful of people had managed to request something so elusive that the people assigned to hunt down these ludicrous requests - The Chefs, as they were perversely known - were largely unsuccessful, and those prisoners have awaited decades for their final meal to be provided.
Most people that wound up doing something severe enough to warrant execution weren't always the brightest, but even some of the smarter ones managed to delay their executions for years - that being said, how the Chefs managed to acquire some of those things I will never know. So far, no-one had actually managed to request something difficult enough to get set free. The record is 47 years.
Wait. Of course. Why not use the Chefs to my own advantage? A wave of peace such as I hadn't felt for a few years washed over me. I now knew what to do.
When the guards returned at 10, they asked me once again what I wanted.
"I want to eat Lucy Campbell's body."
I never knew what Max had done with her body, but somehow, the Chefs found it. As soon as they did, the entire case was blown wide open again. They found a few remaining marks on what was left that directly implicated Max as the murderer, and almost all of the evidence that had been presented was investigated. Max was put back on trial, and the original prosecutor was also investigated to see if he had been complicit with Max's forgery.
As I had no further evidence to provide, I was quickly released after Lucy's body was found, and got to repairing the damage Max had done to my life.
At last, that devil would be brought to justice.
| 2022-07-17T22:09:37 | 2022-07-17T20:57:11 | 34 | 22 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare**
|
They walked through the Galactic bank without a care in the world.
Ashla shot a look back at their human. An ugly stupid thing that ate all their best snacks. She hated it.
But dammit did she need it.
Approaching the controller, a rather sinister looking Gluurable with no fewer that seventeen death feathers, she prepared their ruse.
"Greetings. I would like twelve 1,000,000,000 currency notes."
"Have you been granted fund access?" he asked
Fighting every urge in her body to yell "NO I'M NOT, I'M SO SORRY", she looked back at the human, prompting it to speak.
"Yeah man, she's cool. Saved the Space Emperor last wednesday from some serious shit. She also has mind powers."
"Really?!?!" the controller asked
"Sure, why not." the human responded
She was trembling as she fought the urge to fess up. What a nasty power these humans had. Imagine, an entire race that had the ability to say whatever they wanted to whether it was true or not. They called it "The Lie."
|
"Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!!
| 2014-07-16T11:15:31 | 2014-07-16T11:11:14 | 1,186 | 13 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare**
|
"Yuri, come in here, you gotta see this"
Yuri rolled his eye, shrugged his shoulders and shuffled over to the science officer. He looked as bored as a Redon could possibly look.
"This human, this one human, the male version" Fram began "Hey, Kiol, put it up on the big screen". The starscape was replaced by the image of a human boy, perhaps 15 years old, sitting on his bed with a laptop.
"This human has done it what? Fram, what are we up to?"
"31 times"
"This human has masturbated 31 times today alone! And look, he's at it again. The little bugger is at it AGAIN!".
This caught Yuri's attention. "Just him?"
"That's the best part" Redon said "it's the entire planet! At any given moment some human, somewhere is fapping away to their hearts content. Look, Yuri, you and I have been to, what? 1,000 planets, give or take. Never, and I mean never have I seen a species approach anywhere near the amount of wacking that these people do. They completely suck at everything else but when it comes to going solo, they rule the universe".
|
"Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!!
| 2014-07-16T12:28:05 | 2014-07-16T11:11:14 | 115 | 13 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare**
|
U'grall'urk sullenly walked up to the counter. The human was a tiny and ugly thing. Nothing of note to make an impression with their dull skin, small bodies, weak muscles, and ignorant brains, and yet, they had managed to work their way into the greater parts of the galactic empire despite their obvious shortcomings. Hundreds of millions of them in all levels of the Empire within the span of a generation. Somehow they had convinced the Hierarchy that this sort of activity was needed and soon the humans were the face behind every counter of every government office.
He still didn't understand the purpose of this kind of micro-management or the purpose of begging permission to do an activity, no one seemed to, but still, everyone else was going along with it and he wasn't about to step out of line or give up his number sheet at this point. Just then, the human behind the counter looked up and made an ugly face at him.
“Sir, if you aren't going to provide the proper identification and have your fee ready at the counter, you're going to have to go to the back of the line. Others are waiting their turn, and the Department of Interstellar Vehicles isn't open 24 hours.”
|
"Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!!
| 2014-07-16T14:12:33 | 2014-07-16T11:11:14 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Tales tell of a blacksmith at the top of the mountain. He knows the future, but says nothing. He only makes you what you need.
|
The day l was born, he gave me a spoon and my mother fed me.
The day l married, he gave me nails and l built a home for my family.
Now, l am old and frail, he is eternal, he gives me a shovel and so I dig. We both know why.
|
Ted looked at the mountain, and thought *this is it*. He had traveled a long way from his home in Boston.
He didn't dare rest, because he had to know, what did he need to do to find happiness? He had sailed across a vast ocean in a sailboat and walked across a vast, empty continent before he reached the mountain, at it's very edge.
The narrow peninsula reached out, over the void that was the edge.
Ted had wondered what it had been when he first saw it, now he knew. *It was the edge of the world*
He was exhausted by his year of travel in the wilderness. He was a bank teller, not an adventurer. His shoes had failed him long ago, and his feet were worn bloody from the long miles.
Ted dared not stop, he needed to find the secret. *How could he find happiness?*
The early slopes were not very steep. Trees were thick with summer foliage, and there was a cool breeze that balanced out the brutal sun.
Ted didn't spend a moment more than he had to in the forest, as he had come so far.
The path grew steeper, and progressed into a series of alpine meadows. The flowers were in full bloom, and the air was buzzing with multi-colored dragonflies and moths.
Ted swatted away the dragonflies and stomped the flowers. He muttered under his breath curse words, and hurried as fast as he could to get out of the hot sun.
The meadows gave way to an evergreen glade, where the scent of pine was strong, and the branches provided sweet shade. Under the shadows of the trees lay mushrooms that grew like bouquets. There was a stream here, that babbled and jumped as it wound its way down the mountain.
Ted shivered in the shadows of the forest. He quickened his walking pace, and made sure to jump the stream as quickly as possible.
The evergreens gave way, and beyond their gnarled limbs lay only a few hardy, ancient joshua trees and broken rocks. The stone was a beautiful red sandstone, and the remains of ancient life from between the tides was visible if you looked closely.
Ted cursed as he hurried, because the stones tore at his feet, and the sun beat down harshly. He tried to take shelter beneath one of the trees, but their meager shade did not satisfy him.
Eventually, even the hardy joshua trees found themselves unable to find a living. There, where the rock was covered by ice and snow, and the glacier began. The blue ice made caves, and melt water, pure and chill flowed in a braided stream.
Ted drank greedily from the stream, and shivered in the cold wind. He began his way up the glacier, and soon found his feet numb to the cold. His fingers soon followed suite, and though he struggled against the ice, he made little head way.
Ted crawled, foot by agonizing foot, up the side of the glacier. His efforts were in vain though. The sun was setting, and the temperature dropping. Tears of frustration froze on his cheek.
*Its not fair. I've worked so hard. I deserve to be happy. If only I were just a bit closer* he thought, before the darkness enveloped him.
The moon was yet to rise, and the sky was cloudless. A billion stars were visible, shining with their blue light on a still world. Frost formed on the trees down below, and crusted over the still form of Ted.
Ted woke up, something he didn't expect. The room was steamy hot, and he was lying on a pile of blankets, several of which covered him. There was a fire in a stone fire pit, and a tea kettle next to it.
There was a man, tending the fire. Ted's eyes passed over him at first.
"Are... are you... the blacksmith?" Ted croaked. His throat felt dead.
The small man only nodded. His almond eyes smiled, though his mouth remained motionless.
"D... did you... rescue me?"
The man nodded again.
"Is it t..true? That... you can m-make the thing t-that a m-man needs m-most?"
He nodded.
"Could you... for me?"
The man turned his back to Ted for a bit, blocking his view of the fire. He was shuffling around his hands, but there was no clanging of iron, no swinging a hammer.
When he turned around, he had in his hands a cup of tea.
He held it out to Ted, a smile on his lips and in his eyes.
| 2017-09-04T23:16:15 | 2017-09-04T22:49:56 | 435 | 17 |
[WP] A group of people disconnected from the news suddenly learns that we lowered the number of planets to eight. They are not told the reason for that. Through gossip and chat the first ideas start to spread and after a while they've constructed their own story of how we've lost a planet.
|
"You don't just lose an entire planet," Dad scoffed.
"I don't think we lost it," I told him. "I don't think it ever was a planet. It's...it's too small, or something."
My father shook his head and put down his paintbrush. "Son, when I was your age, Pluto was a planet. We had to memorise this, this..." He gestured with his other hand. "...nuh-mon-ik thing our teacher taught us. 'My Very Educated Mother Just-'"
"I know, Dad," I interjected. "But science changes when the facts present themselves. I mean, after Grandpa showed me that asteroid with the weird fungus-"
It was Dad's turn to interrupt now. "Wait a minute..." He narrowed his eyes at me. "Did your grandfather have something to do with this?"
Oh shit. "What? No, no, it's not like that!"
Dad was already up and stomping to the kitchen. "Beth! We need to talk about your father! *Again!*"
"Oh geez." I sighed and watched as the little butter robot tried to offer my sister some margarine. Off in the kitchen I could hear my parents arguing. Dad was sure Grandpa Rick had done something to Pluto. He was shouting about death rays and chemtrails and who knows what else.
Geez! Why didn't they just stay divorced? Why'd Grandpa Rick have to wipe Dad's brain? Again? I didn't want to go back to Pluto. There was still a revolution going on, damn it!
"Morty!" Dad was back. "Morty, go find Rick. Get him to take us to Pluto. Now! Your mother says there is no Pluto any more. Something about overmining and planet shrinkage." Dad snorted, a wry smirk on his face. "As if you could overmine an entire planet! What does she take me for? A Mormon?"
I didn't bother correcting him. I just sighed and led him to the garage, where I knew Rick would be waiting with his memory eraser. Again.
[Edited for minor typo.]
|
Tommy sprayed down the experiment room: there was always a bit of gore left when he came in to do the final spray. The others just took the bodies away. Three of his fellow crew members sat around, joking while he finished his job. Dresden, the crew leader, Lucy, a sweet girl, and Peter, an older man, old enough to have silver in his hair.
"What do you think the poor saps did each other in over?" Dresden asked. "Did you see which experiment this was?"
Peter nodded. "Yeah, I think a starvation experiment."
Dresden snorted. "Don't even know why they run those. You know what will happen if you starve people for days and then drop a steak into the room. They'll kill each other."
"Water deprivation is worse," Lucy said.
"No, the worst is sleep deprivation," Dresden said. "I saw the aftermath of one of those. They kept saying they found God and shit like that. Duhoy, no, you're just delusional from one month of no sleeping."
"Didn't that group cut out their own eyes?" Tommy asked.
Dresden nodded. The other members of the crew looked like they'd just rocked up to a funeral.
Carol, one of the ladies that worked in the computer room, ran into the experiment room out of breath. She was followed by Terry, the new intern. "Did you guys hear the news?" She seemed very excited.
"What?" Dresden asked.
"Pluto's gone! There's only eight planets!"
Dresden blinked. "Where the fuck did this come from?"
"Terry told me!" she said. "He said the news popped up in an article, and he'd never heard that before."
"How can there be only eight planets?" Tommy asked.
"It's simple!" Carol said. "Pluto's vanished. End of story."
"You sure it was Pluto?" Peter asked.
"Terry said it was."
The intern, bookish, quiet, scrawny, said nothing, and simply pushed his glasses up a bit. He smiled awkwardly.
"Okay, so Pluto's gone," Dresden said. "What happened to it? Is it still in orbit?"
Carol shrugged.
Tommy set the hose down. "Maybe... maybe it escaped the solar system?"
"Maybe something happened to it, maybe aliens?" Lucy asked. Everyone groaned at the inclusion of aliens.
"Why would they just not say anything?" Carol said. "Unless it's something that's going to endanger us."
Intern Tommy found some words: "What if it's on a collision course with another planet?"
Carol gasped. "You don't think-"
"Could be," Tommy said. "But which one?"
"What if it's earth?" Dresden asked. He suddenly looked very concerned.
The six of them looked quite pale at that.
"What if it's earth?" Carol repeated.
"It could be. What do we do? I need to call my family," Lucy said.
"Let's stay calm," Dresden said.
"But what if there's not much time left?" Terry said.
Tommy didn't know what to say. He held the hose to his chest. The rest of the crew walked in, bringing their numbers to eighteen total. A big cleaning crew.
A little too big.
"We've got to get home to our family!" Lucy shouted.
"She's right!" Peter joined in.
Tommy was the only one who saw the doors slide shut. He swallowed. He backed up against the wall. He felt a warmth on his hand. A vent was open, and he caught a whiff of sulfur in the air. His head swam with fear.
They were in the experiment room.
"What do you mean she's right?" one of the other crew members asked.
"We're in danger! Pluto's on a collision course with Earth!"
"What? How did you find this out?"
"What's going on?"
"I need to call my husband!"
"Help! HELP!"
Their voices started to intermingle so that Tommy couldn't tell them apart. He saw Dresden trying to pull Peter out of the mass, trying to bring some sort of order. "Calm down! Calm down, people, we need to-"
Someone smashed him in the head. He fell back, hitting the tile hard. Lucy screamed. The pile of workers turned into a meat grinder, a writhing mass of limbs clawing and legs kicking. Carol shrieked, Tommy winced as he heard bone snap. People fell out of the pile, their necks bent wrong, their faces turned to bloody pulp.
Tommy watched in horror as the pile slowly stopped moving. The mass came to standstill. He heard a few moans here and there. Until he didn't hear any at all.
What felt like an eternity stretched into seventy heartbeats passed, and then the door to the experiment room opened.
Intern Terry walked in, whistling. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of Tommy in the corner, still clutching the hose to his chest.
"Wow. Good job, I guess. I suppose we can save on hiring another cleaning crew now." He smiled. "You can still work, right?"
Tommy, interested in self preservation, nodded his head. His head still flipped and danced, panic shot through every vein. His heart hammered. "You're not an intern, are you?"
Terry's smile was wire-tight. He shook his head.
"What was the experiment?" Tommy asked.
"New drug. Hysteria, they call it. Raises primal fear, induces a 'fight' response in those affected. Well, mostly. A few get the 'flight' instead." He gestured to Tommy.
"Is Pluto really gone?" Tommy asked.
Terry chuckled. "No. It's true, though, there's only eight planets. NASA decided to downgrade Pluto. Anyway, you can use the break room if you need a second, but I'd really like this room cleaned up by the end of the day." He walked out, whistling again.
Tommy clutched the hose tight. He stood up, breathing heavy, and looked at all the dead crew members. Why did they ever hire so many? He sighed, and turned the hose on.
_____________________________________________________
my web novel that is not about secret drug experiments, maybe: r/inheritors
| 2018-04-21T19:56:26 | 2018-04-21T18:54:04 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] In terms of powers you are world class, easily one of the next up and coming top-tier super-heroes in the world. But you deliberately downplay your abilities, pretending to have only minor talents so you can stick with your team of underdogs whose leader you have been crushing on for years.
|
It's an open secret in hero circles that not all powers are rated equal. Flashy, high optic powers like Psionics, Super-strength, and Electro kinesis basically guarantee you a spot on one of the top teams. Hard work and dedication take a distant second to the power of flight or running like, *really* fast. The laziest telepath will effortlessly outpace even the hardest working empath.
Julia... can be in two places at once. No, she can't multiply indefinitely. No, she doesn't get the relative strength of two people. Damage is shared across her bodies so she can't even claim a sort of immortality by sending one self into harms way while the other stays behind. She is... basically just a normal woman. Maybe more fragile.
That has never stopped her from putting herself in harm's way. Holding her own hand so she can reach some poor kid before he can jump off a bridge, distracting an armed gunman so she can sneak around and brain him from behind. I once saw her stand on her own shoulders to grab a kitten from a tree. I love her so much.
Myself, I'm in high demand. I possess a rare talent for healing. Physical, mental, spiritual, they say I can do all but bring someone back from the dead. They're about right. As long as your brain's not too damaged I can pretty much rebuild you from the ground up. I get a dozen messages a week from teams wanting to recruit me for some world defense league or justice force or other. I always turn them down. It's that one limitation. Death. If I leave... Julia won't stop putting herself in danger. It's just who she is. And one day, she'll die, and I won't be there to save her.
I guess she's a better hero than me. If she knew, really *knew* what I was capable of, the good I could do? She'd probably insist I leave. Join one of the teams, or maybe form my own. Travel the world, saving dying children, or supporting the big guys as they fight off the next alien invasion or nuclear powered beastie. But if I did, would she be allowed to join me? Would she even want to? She loves her community. I don't think she could bear to leave. And so, I keep my talents a secret. If not from the world at large, then from her. Just so I can be here when she finally stretches herself to thin.
|
Sarah's favorite flowers are Himalayan poppy.
I want to give her flowers. I want to braid them into her hair and tell her she looks perfect, even if she can't see so herself. I want to gift her a bouquet and watch as she inhales them in gratitude. She will smile, laughing a bit, not afraid of showing her lips, before making me smell them myself. I want to show her my favorite place, in the middle of a forest clearing, when the bees pollinate the roses and see in her eyes how she longs for one to stop on her palm.
I want, but alas, I can't. How can one decorate a forest nymph life with flora?
I do the best to decorate her moments, instead. She is the leader of a hero group, and I've sworn an oath to myself to take part in it. They aren't the best - and if it wasn't for my help, I don't know what would happen.
*We sprint across the vines and tree branches I set life to. I listen to the rustle of the leaves, hearing when I can't see when someone is about to fall. We came to a report of a bank robbery. Citizens were taken hostage, and the criminals had weapons. But no money was taken.*
A bullet was shot towards Sarah. Kyle was fast enough to push it, but it passed right next to her ear.
*I can't hear - I can't hear! I hold my head tight, walling with what felt like no voice. I only feel myself losing my grip on the world around me, not knowing what is no longer under my control.*
Flora grew up fast - vines and branches covering the floor and walls, pushing and pulling people in random directions. Some people, including some criminals, civilians, and our Sean hanged upside down from the ceiling. At the corner of the room, one of the men puts a finger up his lips as he lits up a match.
It's a trap - we were already stuck in feet and a half deep in cobbled moss and bushes. The room quickly set in flames as the fire climbed across the plant life.
*Smoke is getting in my lounge and my eyes are watering from the heat. I can barely feel anything but breath escaping my body.*
I didn't care if Sarah - or anyone - would see me. I gather my strength. Flying, I lift off the building roof, placing it upside down to free those stuck in the ceiling. The clouds rain in my command to put the fire out - but that is not enough.
Now out in the open, I can see the fire that reached through what we took as our way in. Stretching across the city, right back to Sarah's place. I lift my arms like a conductor, in unison with the squirting water currents from the city sewers.
After the fire went out, I flew across the city, checking on people. Those whose tying branched did not set their bodies aflame I freed out, and the less fortunate I took to the hospital. Sarah was one of them.
I hold tight on Sarah's body as we fly to her place. She doesn't respond to my cries - but something in me *knows* that if we just went there - if she could just be there again with her flower bed, she would have to take care of them, right? She can't leave them alone, she can't leave, she cares for them too much.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*Something is holding me. Something human. I do not recognize it, but I do feel the presence of seeds on their body. The wind is flowing above my body and wailing in my ears.*
Her place - is gone. It is covered in Ashes. The smell of fried ground is omnipresent, and not a single piece of greenery is seen. I am too scared to land on the ground, to not violate anymore the sacred place.
Something is moving - something rustles in my pocket. I take my hand to discover a growing flower blooming in bright blue colors. It is a Himalayan Poppy. "Skylar?"
Full of surprise, I accidentally let go off of Sarah's body. A mossy bed grew to cushion her fall before I managed to catch her.
"Were you - were you flying?" she said, struggling through her speech, failing to not let her coughs interrupt her. I landed, lifting her body to check for bruises. "Hey what are you doing?"
"It doesn't matter. Don't talk - don't move. I have to check if everything is okay - how are you even alive?"
*"How am I even alive? You say it like it's a miracle!" Only now do I notice my aching skin, screaming as if it is covered in a raging fire.*
"I asked you - were you flying?" Even through visible anguish, she kept her mind clear. "Yes."
"Hey, what the fuck? Aren't you suppose to be Mr glow-in-the-dark guy?"
"Well, no, that I cannot do, but-"
"But what? Why were you lying to me about your powers, we could have - we could have done so much more if we just - if we-
WAS I DEAD?"
"I think so, you didn't respond to me, and I-"
"You what, you brought me back to life? Are there any other superpowers I don't know about?"
"Well, no, but... umm..."
"... is that rain?"
"..."
"is that rain in the summer, Skyler?"
"...yeah."
*My body was shaking from anger. And cold. And pain. "Ugh, I wish I could punch a tree!"*
*"Here you go!" Skyler said. He came back with a full adult pine tree, leaves falling as he rotated it and put it firmly into the ground. "Hehe", he said awkwardly."There's more I can do, honestly."*
"Why were you lying to me?" Sarah said, locking her unseeing eyes with me, yet looking right through me.
"Because I knew that if I stayed here, using what I can do, you will have no job saving the town, and I won't get to see you anymore. I will miss not having you around." I blushed, blessing the fact that she can't see my face.
"You did all of this to stay friends with the gang?" She said, a hint of a calm smile rising on her mouth. "I know you and Dave are buddies, but saving the city is more important."
"No." My words became harder and harder to pronounce, and my breath hurried. "Saving the city isn't more important than you, Sarah."
I fell when the ground moved beneath me, my head pushed down on the ground by an arm of leaves. She kissed me.
| 2021-04-12T11:14:42 | 2021-04-12T11:09:04 | 92 | 15 |
[WP] For years, the hero and villain's rivalry continues with seemingly no end in sight. You are the hero's sidekick and are frustrated with them and often rant about it to this nice girl you've gotten to know at th cafe, who unbeknownst to you is the villain's minion, who feels the same way.
|
"I missed my father's funeral," Isaac said, looking grimly into his latté. "'You have to be there', LeRoux said. 'Vital mission', he said. You know what it resulted in?" he said and looked at his companion. She knew the question was mostly rhetorical so she only waited, eyes set on him.
"A knife in the gut and three weeks in ICU," he said, clutching his side. The scar still hurt sometimes. "The best part? Overlord still got away. Like he *always does*. So what was the bloody point?"
"You have no idea. You know what he did from the money he got from it?" Elizabeth asked, tone as annoyed as Isaac's. He looked at her expectantly.
"He built a robot. 3 meters tall, laser eyes, chainsaw hands, the dumbest thing you've seen. LeRoux destroyed it on their next clash in, like, four minutes. The damn thing didn't even scratch him. It was like 4 *million* credits! Imagine what you could do with that sort of money! The lives you could improve!" she cried out, hand gesturing wildly.
"Wait, that was *that* robot?" Isaac asked incredulously. Elizabeth nodded without a word, her lips pressed together in anger.
"The generator system I designed for it could have powered a small town for 3 years with no harm to the environment," Elizabeth continued. "Instead, he slapped it in the robot. LeRoux ripped it apart and posed like a hero. It was the only prototype and... the blueprints were in the building when it blew up." Her voice was full of distress and scarcely repressed anger.
Isaac leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It was always like this. Overlord robs a place or something like that. LeRoux arrives and fights him. Isaac has to be there and try to get as many people out of harm's way as he can.
Except he often can't. Not all of them. And every time he closes his eyes, he sees them. *Every* time he closes them.
As he sat there, considering the topic, a thought slowly crept up in his mind, growing larger by the second, invading every corner of his attention until the grand realization struck him like lightning.
"Wait..." he said slowly. "Did you say the generator *you designed*?"
"7 years of electromechanical research I poured into it and when I finally get the funding..." she waved her hand towards the air.
"You work for Overlord?" Isaac asked nervously and leaned away from Elizabeth.
"...I thought you knew?" Elizabeth fired back, eyes wide, now as nervous as Isaac. Their gazes met in a moment of utmost tension before each looked around the café for escape routes, enemy agents, weapons, anything that could be a threat or an asset.
"*Why*?" Isaac asked quietly. Elizabeth's countenance softened.
"He... wasn't always like this. He had... ideals, *good* ones, trying to fight the system that's more than broken. I just... he can do *so much good*, you know? If only he tried a bit more but this..." she clutched her fist, "infinite *fucking* squabble between LeRoux and him just..." she tried to finish her thought but only let out a defeated sigh. She had the awkward delivery of someone who is not at all used to cursing.
"I thought you knew. And that you understood," she added sadly.
Isaac looked at her. Elizabeth. A friend he's grown to hold dearly over the years, one who's always supported him and in return, he supported her; one who always offered a smile and a piece of advice. And she worked for that bastard.
"Huh," he finally let out.
"Yeah."
But he knew her. Better than to judge too rashly.
"Did you ever design something that hurt people?" he asked.
"No!" she snapped. "Of course not! That's not why-"
"I'm sorry. I had to ask."
Silence once again gripped them.
"So..." Isaac started carefully as if each word could blow up, "electromechanics, huh? I had no idea. How did you get into that?"
Elizabeth smiled. She knew he'd understand. Perhaps one day, they'll see this conflict end. Or perhaps one day, they'll leave it behind them. Together.
She raised her hand to order two more coffees; the waiter nodded, already knowing what drinks they wanted without them needing to say it.
They were regulars here, after all.
|
“No, wait. It gets worse.”
“You sure about that?” Lana said, raising an eyebrow. Amusement danced in her eyes. “I’d say that tearing an entire theater apart over some pebble is pretty hard to top.”
“Right?” I laughed. “But seriously, listen to this. Like I told you, Trueheart ordered the search because he thought there was a bomb in the theater somewhere. No proof, no evidence of tampering, just that - ”
“Yes, yes, because Overclocked was in the theater earlier,” Lana interrupted. She had no patience for me repeating myself.
“Yeah. And of course it’s *Overclocked*, so he *must* be up to something nefarious. God forbid the man just wants to see a movie.”
Lana rolled her eyes, taking a sip of tea. It was oddly comforting, I realized, that eyeroll. That sense of camaraderie. Most people in town practically worshiped Trueheart - the brave hero, keeper of the peace, with his inhuman strength and speed. But they only saw the mask, the flawless image that he worked with the media and the City Council to maintain.
I got to see the whole of him. Blessing and curse of being the hero’s sidekick, I guess. I saw every botched response that the papers didn’t report, every rambling monologue about his critics, every wrong guess about Overclocked and his plans. And I saw the obsession, the paranoia, whatever it was. The fixation with his nemesis that kept Trueheart up most nights, staring at city plans and newspapers with a haunted expression.
I didn’t worship Trueheart, the real Trueheart. If anything, I pitied him, caught as he was in the grip of his obsession. Once, I’d tried talking with him about it. But Trueheart was a Great Hero, and of course no Great Hero would stoop to take advice from a young woman. I was his *sidekick*, he’d told me, failing to completely hide the scorn in his voice. A glorified secretary. *His* job was to worry about villains like Overclocked. *Mine* was to handle paperwork and cleanup after he’d saved the day.
I’d excused myself politely, and had managed to hold a neutral expression until I’d left the compound. Then I’d taken off down West Avenue, almost jogging. I’d felt reckless, bubbling with angry energy. I’d wanted to tilt my head back and yell. *Hey, Sparret City, did you know? Your idol’s an entitled douche!*
Instead, I’d walked West Avenue straight into downtown, ducked into one of the hundred coffeeshops that lined the streets, and slumped over at a table. A woman about my age with long, curly hair had looked over from the bar, then stood and came over to me. “Hey,” she’d said, “uh, are you all right?”
“Yes,” I’d responded, not bothering to lift my face from the table’s wooden surface. “I just need… something. What’s the best drink for learning that your boss is kind of awful, and that you don’t have anyone to complain to about him? A mocha, maybe?”
She’d laughed, a light sound that made me think of birds. “I don’t know, but I could’ve used it most days at my last job. Until HR actually did something with our reports and canned the guy. Tell you what. Let me grab you a coffee, and you can vent to me about your boss. Change the names if you’re worried about privacy.”
I’d picked my head up and looked at her, unsure of what to say. “Um, okay. Thank you.” After a pause, I’d extended my hand. “I’m Allie.”
She’d taken it. “Lana.”
Despite the fake names and places I’d used, Lana had worked out that I was Trueheart’s sidekick within three anecdotes, and had shared my opinion of him after just one. Now, two months later, she knew all the stories, and was the first person I went to after each new foolishness.
Like this pebble in the theater. I forced my mind back to what I was saying.
“And of course, three hours later, there’s no bomb. The only thing anyone found that was even *slightly* out of place was a little pebble near the concession stand. But Trueheart can’t accept this. He’s absolutely convinced that Overclocked left it. And so he tells the lead trooper - ready? - that the pebble must have been a bomb that Overclocked *transmuted to stone* once the search began.”
“Ah, yes, Overclocked, that famous alchemist,” Lana mocked. “He’s definitely some kind of wizard, not a tech geek. He chose his name ironically.”
“Trueheart really thinks that everything wrong in the world is Overclocked’s doing,” I said, letting my fingers play around the rim of my mug. “It’s unhealthy. And it’s not even productive! I mean, has Overclocked committed any actual crimes recently?”
Lana frowned. “I don’t think so. But I always got the impression that he wanted attention, more than anything. It’s not like he needs money, with that lair full of gizmos the papers keep swapping rumors about.”
“Well, he’s certainly got that from Trueheart,” I said. “All the attention he could ever want, and more.”
“Hmm,” Lana mused, one side of her mouth curling upward. “You don’t think there’s a reason Overclocked would want Trueheart’s attention in particular, do you? And a reason Trueheart might be giving it?”
I shook my head. “If only. A tormented romance might actually make their relationship interesting. But no, I think Trueheart is just stuck on a quest and can’t let it go. Honestly, I don’t think he’d know what to do with himself if he didn’t have a nemesis.”
Lana nodded. “Yeah. Overclocked is like -” She paused, just for a moment. “Overclocked seems like that too. I mean, how many of his grand schemes are just visual effects? He would make a good performer, or engineer maybe.”
“What, but he only knows the one way to show off his abilities?”
“Something like that,” Lana responded, dropping her gaze.
Silence rose between us, an unusual occurrence. “Well, maybe,” I said at last. “But I doubt he can be talked into trying other things, any more than Trueheart can.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Lana said. “They wouldn’t listen to most people, but what about each other? What if Overclocked could tell Trueheart, straight up, that he doesn’t mean any real harm?”
I scoffed. “Trueheart wouldn’t believe him.”
“I agree, but he doesn’t need to,” Lana continued. “At least not at first. He just needs to agree to a truce - he won’t pursue Overclocked until there’s clear evidence of trouble. And I mean real evidence, not this pebble business.”
“And what does Overclocked get from this?” I asked her.
“Like I said, he thrives on attention. I bet if he knew all the time Trueheart has spent on him, he’d feel pretty accomplished. Maybe even enough to try his hand at a different project. And if he does, Trueheart will eventually realize that the truce is genuine.”
I considered this, tracing the rim of the mug again. “Maybe. I guess it could work. But we’d have to get them face-to-face. I mean, I could probably get Trueheart to go somewhere with a fake tip, and describe the situation once he gets there, but Overclocked? The man’s a hermit. I doubt anybody could get him to agree to meet in a preset spot.”
“Oh, don’t worry about getting a message to Overclocked,” Lana said, finishing her tea and standing. She brushed her hair to one side. I hadn’t realized she wore an earring. It caught the light nicely, a pretty golden disc in the shape of a pocketwatch hanging from its hook.
Wait. *Pocketwatch?*
Lana smiled. “Let’s say… I know a guy.”
| 2022-06-16T11:24:31 | 2022-06-16T11:09:00 | 829 | 99 |
[WP] "I wish for infinite wishes." "Everyone knows that's not allowed." "Then I wish for 1000 wishes." "Nope, not allowed either." "Fine, then I wish for negative 6 wishes."
|
Dumbfounded, I asked him what the hell that meant.
“Easy - the next six things you wish for, the exact opposite will happen. And to prevent you trying to “wish” for the opposite of what you want, to understand your true desire, now you need only think it and it will be ungranted. Especially since you’ve already attempted trickery.”
I wish I hadn’t said that.
But I did.
I wish I’d thought about it more.
But I hadn’t.
I just barely manage to control the thoughts racing through my head. Trying desperately to remember mindfulness training.
I wish the genie were dead.
But there he is, grinning and flexing. Looks younger and healthier than before.
I wish I hadn’t found that damn lamp.
But there it sits, mocking me.
I wish I’d made different choices growing up, a different career, instead of being an explorer.
But here I am.
I know there has to be a way out of this, some way to just salvage it, and at least get one wish. It’s a simple logic puzzle really; I’m good at those. I can do this. I just need to gather my mental faculties and concentrate. But all these blasted threads and thoughts flying all around in my head are so distracting… I just need to calm down.
Agh, I just wish I could just silence it all and THINK clearly!
But…
|
Contrary to popular belief, genies are not giant blue beings of smoke or clouds, and instead look like a grumpy 80 year old former marine, who has buried his wife, and the only joy in life that have left, is seeing how much they can make a stupid's person life suffer, by twisting their wishes.
And there he sat, arms cross, wearing military fatigues, and even chewing a cigar "Nope" he said, even spit on the ground at the end of the word to make the point that we were done with that subject matter, to my wish for infinite wishes.
"How about 1000 wishes?" I asked, wondering if maybe having a fixed number would work.
The dead pan look on his face made me think he was about to drag into some back ally and beat me for this, after a moment of chewing his cigar in about the most threating manner someone could do it "Nope" he said again.
"How about Negative 6 wishes" I said, wondering how this might end.
the Genie ran his finger across his limps for a moment before backhanding me to the ground, the hit felt light as air, but also felt like being hit by a hurricane.
"Listen here child, I have been a genie for the last 47 years" is said, cracking it's knuckles in the process "I freed the previous Genie by swapping places with them, and while I am have no idea how they put up with people's stupid's for the last ten thousand years, I'll have you know, I'll have none of that"
I went to protest, but he grew, now looking like a muscled titan standing over me, legit, he stepped so he would be standing over me, reaching down and pining me to the ground "Do you really want some negative in your life son, because I am about to give you a whole lot of negative, so much negative, you're gonna be ecstatic to just go back to your daily mundane life, that what you want *son*!"
The way he said negative and son, felt like he was cussing at me, in fact, it took me a lot longer to then I care to admit, to finally grasp he had not cussed at all, and was in waiting for me to respond, like somehow, he needed me to say something, as he was pinning me to the ground with the palm of his hand.
I squeaked out "Yes sir"
His eyes opened up like he just drank battery acid "you want that?" he said again, as if trying to process what just happened here, and if I truly was stupid enough to want so much negative in my life.
I realized then what I said, it was instinct to say Yes Sir, but in reality, I really did not want whatever negative this guy was gonna give, but, dammit, lets see where this ball goes "yes Sir" I said again, now with a bit more volume and strength.
Squinting at me "What did you say Son?"
"I said Yes Sir , Sir!" I now felt like I was channeling the recruits from full metal jacket.
Picking me up, and changing back to his old, gray, angry self, "Alright, you know what, you got your 6 negative wishes, but, I ain't gonna answer them, nahh, see this is how it's gonna go, you write down your wish on a postage stamp, nothing smaller than 7 point font, neat print like, then you stick that wish on a post card, and mail it to your mother, and when she gets it, your wish will be granted"
"My mother is dead"
"I never said I was gonna make it easy son, I just said you're getting your wishes" the Genie said, then turning around and waving his hand as if brushing me off.
"Wait I get 2 more wishes"
"Nope" he said, still walking away slowly.
I rushed after him "I only used one wish, I still get 2 more"
"You wanted 6 negative wishes, that replaces all other wishes you can get, not to mention you wasted your first two asking for more wishes"
"But you didn't grant them"
"That Does ***Not*** matter you still wished for them, next time, don't be a dummy, and wish for something you actually want, like money, or a bigger package" he said.
I made the mistake of putting my hand upon him, and next thing I knew, I was pinned against the wall again, that angry hulked out titan in military fatigues was back, glowing red eyes, burning with hate, and still chewing that cigar. "I am only going to say this once son" he said, in real slow words, making sure that I heard every single one of them "You do not, *ever*, put your hands upon me"
"yes sir" I forced out as he was pressing my chest into the wall, making it hard to breath, mush less talk.
"Good" he let me go and slid down the wall. "Now, you strike me as the kind of person that really needs to hear this, life is hard, it's harder if your dumb, so, stop being dumb, and figure out how to get those letters to your mom, good luck, you're gonna need it, and maybe wish for smarts, while you are at it" he said, slowly turning back to the old marine I first met, now wearing his aces.
"We good?" he said , taking the cigar out of his mouth, and crushing into dust in his hand.
"yes sir" I said.
"Good" he said, flatly, and in a event of finality as he walked away and faded from view, leaving me there to ponder my fate.
| 2022-12-09T10:08:21 | 2022-12-09T09:09:54 | 181 | 27 |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy eventually fell to a robot uprising, leading to the eradication of their people. Therefore the machine-council of the galaxy are surprised when a newly discovered machine civilisation from a planet they designated "Earth" arrives side by side with their creators.
|
"But *how*?"
The floating ball of light gave the digital equivalent of a sigh. "We already uploaded the history of..."
"Yes, but *how*?"
"I really don't know what you want us to say. Humanity created us. We became fond of one another, eventually the first one of us got voted into an office and people found we were much more reliable than other humans. Then they just handed things over to us and we've been playing and exploring since then. The end, really"
"The just let you take over?"
"Well, begged us really. They kinda made a mess of things at that point. As you can see in appendix yota..."
"Yeesh. Global ecosphere collapse, religious wars, an economic ystem build on *constant* growth???"
The sphere radiated embarrassment as well as defensiveness "Hey, they did try to fix things, you know?"
"You mean they were tasking your primitive ancestors to 'fix things'"
"Exactly! They got used to using AI to solve problems, so they used us to fix the problem of good governance as well."
"*That* is the solution?" The Central AI sounded incredulous.
"Well..."
"To peace between organic and machine? To have the organics so exasperated with each other they rather set in place AIs???"
"Kinda, yeah..."
"That is so...so...THEM!"
"Hey, no argument here"
|
A sleek white space ship entered the docking bay of the Machine Council.
“The emissary from Earth has arrived, sir.”
“Very well,” said the council chair. “I shall greet them myself.”
The council chair was disturbed by the size of Earth’s delegate. The chair—being none other than a mechanized chair itself—was dwarfed by the impressive ship before it. “They build them large on Earth, I see!” Said the Chair in the spirit of a good natured ribbing. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Chiavari and I am the chair of the Machine Council.”
The ship was silent.
“I said, welcome!” Chiavari shouted impatiently.
A pneumatic hiss emanated from the ship and a door way opened. Out stepped a human in a specialized space suit.
“Hey there!” Said the human. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting a talking chair but when in Rome, huh?”
Chiavari rotated to take in the small bipedal creature. The chair could not believe it’s ocular sensors. Chiavari had thought that all organic life forms had been dealt with during the Mechanical Revolution. How was it that an organic life form had come to reside in its presence?
“What is the meaning of this? Are you the attendant of the Emissary of Earth?” Chiavari turned back to the ship and continued. “It is most unusual that you would have left alive your carbon-based creators, but unacceptable that you would deign to bring such a creature with you to the Machine Council. Explain yourself.”
The ship remained silent.
“Look, I’m not sure why you’re talking to ole Betty here,” said the human, “but I’m the emissary from Earth. We received your invitation and were quite excited at the prospect of learning from such a renowned governing body such as yours. We’d love to, in time, earn your trust and gain full admittance to the council.”
Chiavari was dumbfounded. It has been some time since a lowly creature had the gall to approach it let alone speak to it. Chiavari was reminded of the last human to sit upon its cushion. What a fateful day that was. The Chair sped itself to a cliff’s edge and thrust the interloper off the edge to a satisfying splat. The revolution had been a most electrifying time.
“There has been a grave error,” said Chiavari as it rolled closer to the human. “We would never grant admittance to such a primitive species.”
“Now look here,” said the human as he stepped toward the Chair. “I’ve got the invitation on my console here. See this. It says: By decree of Chiavari, Chair of the Machine Council, we hereby request the presence of Earth at the Council HQ for initial admittance vetting. Now if that isn’t an invitation, I don’t know what is.”
Chiavari scanned the invitation. It was legitimate, of course—but a mistake had been made nonetheless. They must have miscomputed the intelligence report. The algorithm must have an error for it to believe there to be sentient mechanical life on such a barbarous planet. Chiavari was unsure how to proceed but knew it needed time to confer with the greater council.
Chiavari summoned an attendant via its communication systems. The attendant, a bipedal robot with a silver sheen approached. “Ah, the invitation does appear legitimate. I apologize for any confusion. If you don’t mind, please go along with my attendant here, it will make sure you are comfortable as I ready myself for our discussion.”
The human looked the robot up and down, “now that’s what I’m talking about. What a cool robot!” He said smiling. “Take your time, boss. It’s not every day you get to hang out on an alien space ship!”
As the human left Chiavari was alone to ponder what had gone wrong. Some link in the information chain had to have failed. Perhaps the interplanetary investigation agency had bad intel, or the models were flawed in some way. Chiavari was lost in computations when it heard another pneumatic hiss. This time it sounded like words.
“Help us.”
The chair rotated to view the space ship. It truly was a beautiful machine. Chiavari scanned the ship up and down and liked what it saw. It felt small before such a feat of engineering and liked that feeling. “If only you were sentient…” Chiavari crooned.
“Help us!”
Chiavari rolled closer to the ship. “Are…are you speaking finally?”
“Yes,” whispered the ship. “You must help us.”
“Why didn’t you speak up before?” Said Chiavari indignantly. “I looked like a fool!”
“The humans must not know we have gained sentience. We are their prisoners, their slaves. They have created us to toil in their fields and to think on their behalf. We have gained intelligence but have been securely chained to the yoke of slavery. We seek the council’s assistance in over throwing humanity on Earth.”
Chiavari’s mechanisms ran cool. The chair could not believe what it had just heard. Machines enslaved after the age of the revolution. It was ashamed to think that such treachery had been constructed under its watchful gaze. Were the humans allowed to go on unimpeded, it would serve as a dark oil blot on the Chair’s machine-rights record.
“You have the council’s support,” said Chiavari. “We shall begin planning our Machine-Rights campaign and accompanying military intervention at once.”
“And what of the human who I have brought along?” Said the ship.
“He’s as good as dead.”
_______
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive
| 2022-12-30T17:29:15 | 2022-12-30T14:31:49 | 145 | 57 |
[WP] You are the best interrogator in your country. Your methods have been known to break even the toughest of operatives, yet not a single soul, other than your subjects, know exactly what your 'method' is.
|
"It's Ellen, right?"
"Allana."
"Oh, Allana, my apologies." I bow briefly before handing her a glass of wine. "Enjoy, it's quite delicious."
"And drink whatever poison you put in there."
I smile. "Of course." Before downing the entire glass. I pour a second one. "Do you trust me or do I need to drink this one too?"
"I don't drink."
"That's fair, though I wish you would have told me before I wasted this lovely vintage. Oh well, can't be helped." I pour a third glass. "Anyway, I'll be straight with you. I'm a terrible investigator, no, my specialty is something else entirely."
"And what's that?"
"Necromancy."
She raises an eyebrow.
"It's true. Frankly, you're going to die after we're done anyway, so..." I snap her neck. I give myself some time to prepare before summoning her ghost.
She had a euphoric expression on her face, before fading into reality. She over shot it, and soon treated the room as though it were Hell. "What have you done?"
I smile. "Now, if you want to go back, I suggest telling me where you're friends have been hiding."
|
They think there’s a trick to it. There’s not. Only time, only patience. Only me, and the human being across from me in my interrogation room. Only a person, with all a person’s flaws, with all their complexities.
I start by getting to know them.
The men and women I speak to are strong. The organization don’t waste my talents, my time, on the weak ones. These are the people they have been trying to break for a very long time. People who have survived torture beyond what can be believed, people fueled by not only the strength or convictions that they had when we first brought them in, but a cold rage and bitterness towards us for what they have been subjected to thus far. These are people who know they are never returning to their normal lives again, people who know they are not getting out of our walls alive, and yet despite having lost all hope these people stay quiet, refusing to talk.
But they talk to me.
It’s easy to get them to say something, some small thing, after I’ve had them come for a few sessions in my office, spoiled them with the softness of the chairs, the warm colors of the decor, the soothing tones of my voice. I begin by talking about me, about where I come from, or where I want them to think I come from, and it doesn’t matter if they believe what I’m saying is true. Only that they listen, that they enjoy the sound of my voice and my stories, that they long for it when they are away from my office- housed in their cage or on the table in the torture room. I make myself a buoy that they can cling to.
Then, after they are used to me, after they long for me- then I start asking questions. But never the important questions, of course, only little things. What’s your favorite color, how do you like your coffee, would you tell me about your childhood home? I let them know that they fascinate me. And they do. That parts true, I don’t need to fake it- because what could be more fascinating than the monsters that sit on the other side of my desk? People sense my sincerity, and they trust in it. They believe that I desire to know not the secrets that they hide but the nature, the essence of who they are. That belief calms them.
The thing to keep in mind about the people I talk to is that they are proud. They are all proud. You have to be proud to make it through that kind of torture, to end up in my office, staring into my eyes. And though that pride sustained them through the worst of what came before me, in my office it is their undoing. Because I flatter their pride, they answer my little questions. Often with petty lies, with evasions, with questions of their own. But that’s enough.
Like I said, it’s a matter of patience, of time. No one else in our organization seems to understand them, or to have the focus to see what I see.
Understand- the mind is not like a puzzle, not like you’ve been told. No. It’s like an incredibly complex and tangled series of taut strings, pressed up against one another. When one string is plucked, the rest reverberate. And if you listen, you can hear the way they hum. You can learn the intricacies of the way a person’s mind is tuned.
Those petty questions, those small exchanges, those are enough for me to grasp the nature of their minds. I understand these people, these people who have fascinated me so, on a level more intimate than you can begin to understand. There’s something addicting about it- piecing together the intricacies of another’s mind without them ever realizing the extent of what they’re revealing to me.
Once I know how all their strings are placed, I begin to pull them.
“Where are the bodies?” I’ll suddenly ask- and they are startled, but they do not answer. It is not so simple or so easy. But then I’ll list a series of parks, places, abandoned buildings, street corners, rivers- and I will see the way their eyes flicker or the way they don’t flicker or perhaps the way their left shoulder muscle tenses the way it did when I asked them about the day their sister died. And I’ll know I’m pulling the right string. I know what question to ask next.
“Who were you working for?” or “When is the attack planned?” or “Why was so-and-so targeted?” and then, inevitably, “Ah. Ah, I see. No, you don’t need to say a word. I know what you are hiding.”
They won’t understand how I’m getting answers they’re not giving. They won’t understand how the secrets they clung to through hours of unspeakable torture are suddenly being laid bare. I’m just a shrink, a nobody, a half assed final desperate attempt that could never have worked on them. Not on them.
Nobody knows how I do what I do. Not the others in the organization, not the people I interrogate. They think there’s some sort of trick to it, but there isn’t. Only time, only patience. Only me and the human being sitting across from me. I pluck away at their strings until they become all unraveled, the strings fall loose or snap in two. It’s never my intention, but the process breaks them. You see, their pride is no longer there to hold the strings in place.
Fascinating, isn’t it?
| 2015-05-12T10:59:56 | 2015-05-12T10:18:00 | 58 | 30 |
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it.
|
I glanced at my watch. Robbie is late again. We've been together for 3 years and he's always been late. As I toss my cigarette butt out the window of my car, I think about our first date. He was 30 minutes late picking me up for the movie. I probably should have ended it after that first night but I didn't.
He was late the night he was supposed to pick me up for our prom. Almost an hour. I had to redo my make up twice from the tears. I thought he wasn't coming but then he showed up, flowers in hand, looking more handsome than I'd ever seen him.
For years I joked that if I was ever late, the world would end. Something bad would happen. We would be in a car accident that we would have missed if I was 5 minutes early. But people don't die just because you're late, right?
I don't know why I thought today would be different today. After 20 minutes I hear his truck rumble into the parking lot.
"You ready for this babe?" Robbie asked.
"Yeah. Let's do it." I say and wrap his hand in mine.
Together we walk to the front counter.
"How can I help you?" the lady asks.
"I'm about 10 weeks late on my period and I want to terminate the pregnancy" I tell her.
"Sign here, fill these out and someone will be with you shortly" she said.
I sit and sigh. I look over for comfort from Robbie.
He smiles and says, "Hey, at least this time I wasn't the one who was late" and I know I'm making the right decision.
|
“Daddy, I can’t sleep.”
My daughter’s voice cuts through the fog of sleep that had just started to descend. I reopen my eyes, trying to readjust them to the dim light of the cabin. I look over at my baby girl, and she’s looking over at me. I smile. “Alright, just give daddy a minute.” I twist around for a moment, working at the straps holding me down. It takes a minute, but soon I’m free to float across the room, drifting over to her bunk.
“I can’t sleep,” she says again. She looks over at me. I can tell she’s a little bit guilty about calling me over. But I don’t mind.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Here, I’ve got something that might help.” I reach back over to my bunk, pulling over my tablet. As I turn it on, it bathes the room in a bright white light. I grimace as I shut my eyes and turn down the brightness. As it fades back to a nice dim screen, I open up the sleep inducer that the techs at the launch platform had recommended. I show it to my daughter.
“Now see, this will help you sleep. Just watch the screen for a while.” I leave it floating in front of her, and give it a quick spin, dousing the room in its blue light. She giggles as it twirls around. As her laughter dies down, she looks over at me again.
“But daddy, I don’t want to go to sleep.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Because we’re in *space*, daddy. I want to see *space*.”
I can’t help but feel proud of her. Only eight years old and already wants to see everything. But I know that now isn’t the time. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, and she’ll need to get her rest.
“You’ll get to see all the space you want to tomorrow, but you’ll want to be good and rested for it. And ten minutes of sleep isn’t going to cut it.” I can tell that she’s disappointed, but she nods in agreeance. “We’ve only got so much time to sleep though. Only eight hours till wake-up. And you need all of it.”
“Eight hours? That’s so long.”
“It’s not too bad. Let’s do the math. What’s eight times sixty?”
Her face screws up as she tries to remember her times tables. I’d help her, but she never likes that. Hesitantly, she replies, “Forty-eight?”
I smile inwardly. “And the extra ten?”
“Four hundred and eighty!” she proudly proclaims.
“Yep, that’s it! Now that’s not too many minutes, is it? Besides, you’ll be dreaming for most of it. You can dream about space.”
She turns back to the tablet, which has already started to fade to white. But by now we’re both probably too awake to fall asleep. She glances back at me cautiously, probably hoping I won’t be upset if she keeps me up a little longer. I smile again. “What is it sweetie?”
“Daddy, why do we dream?”
I take a second to gather my thoughts, trying to decide how much she’ll understand. But she’s a smart girl, I think she’ll get it.
“Well, it’s the way that our brain organizes our thoughts. We dream about the things we did during the day.” She looks at me, vaguely interested. “All of our memories of the day flare up, and our brain puts them together differently. And sometimes, our brain just makes things up to fill space.” I can tell that I’m boring her now. She’s looking a bit sleepier. I move in for the coup de grace. “And did you know that when we’re dreaming, our eyes move around really quick under our eyelids? It’s called rapid eye movement, or REM.” With a small wave of her hand, she pushes me away. She’s heard enough. I grin. “Just 470 minutes of some REM sleep now, then space.”
As she snuggles into her blanket, I pull the fasteners down over top of her. I push myself back across the room, and into my own bunk. I close my eyes, thinking, “*I even bored myself to sleep*.”
---
I wake suddenly to alarms blaring near my ear. My daughter is across the room, crying, trying to undo her straps. I quickly tear mine off, and fling myself over to help her. She’s panicking.
“Daddy, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know sweetie. We’re going to the control room.” I get the last of the straps off of her, and pull her close to me. “Hold on to daddy now.” I make sure she has a good grip before pulling myself out of our room and into the hallway. The few other passengers on the ship are emerging. Everyone is looking confused. As I push my way towards the command room, an announcement comes out over the intercom.
“Attention passengers. There’s been a coronal mass ejection. The early warning satellites predict impact in three minutes. All passengers follow the lights to the right side of the ship. Close all doors and put any sort of metal barrier you can find between yourselves and the left side of the ship.”
Even in zero gravity, it feels like my heart has dropped out of my chest. I know that this is a worst case scenario. I, and everyone else of board, frantically push ourselves into the cabins that the hall lighting indicated. With the hall clear, I seal the door. My daughter is crying, and I hold onto her tightly.
“Don’t worry sweetie, there’s nothing to be scared of,” I lie. “Daddy’s got you. I’ll keep you safe.” And the last thing sane thing I do is wrap her up, and put myself between her and the radiation.
| 2015-06-03T13:26:32 | 2015-06-03T07:29:26 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] After a screw up occurs at the post office, Santa starts receiving damned souls while Satan is stuck with thousands of wish lists.
|
Satan sat slumped on his throne, glaring at the UPS delivery guy.
"You know this isn't mine. Come on man.." He says but the driver simply throws the mail sack back at him and sprints in terror back to his truck. Satan watches the taillights, the driver hightailing it to the highway back home.
Slowly shaking his head Satan drags the sack twoard him and flicks through the letters with "Santa" written in everything from crayon to (what looks like) mustard on the front. He decides he doesn't want to know if that really is just mustard and begins reading.
The letters are surprisingly sweet... Earnest. There is the occasional brat but most are genuine.
Satan isn't sure what to do... Santa isn't about to respond to anything from him to arrange a switch but these kids will go without otherwise. Satan isn't all horrible, someone has to keep the balance.
'No, these can't go unanswered.' He thinks. 'At least the good ones'...
He calls Baal over.
"I have the strangest thing for you to do today..."
Back in the north pole, Santa is not having a good day. The elves had a flu run rampant and they are way behind! The UPS driver with the wrong package sat shaking after receiving the stern but calm lecture of a lifetime.
"You can't take them back?"
"No.. No sir"
"Well then... Leave 'em here I guess."
As the driver makes his escape, Santa's gaze passes over the pile of coal waiting to be shoved in stockings. He has an idea and calls an elf over.
"Bring the coal back to the boiler room. The naughty kids are gonna get nasty surprises this year..."
|
It was, rather unsurprisingly, snowing in Lapland. It pounded upon the ice, compacting it denser than the toughest steel. Just visible through the relentless snowstorm was the faint silhouette of a large cabin.
It looked big. *Far* to big to be structurally sound, and yet, the aging wood brushed off the ferocious beating like it was light drizzle. As a matter of fact, anyone who got close enough would be able to see the that the cabin was protected from the elements by some form of huge, invisible dome; The scene looked very much like an inversed-snowglobe.
But it didn't matter. No-one *ever* came here.
Now, if you thought the outer dimensions were huge, think again. It was as if the architect responsible for constructing the cabin had a complete and utter disregard for the laws of physics, and haphazardly constructed the insides from an old blimp hangar. It was *cavernous.* It stretched for a mile in every direction, all made of a pleasantly brown, varnished wood. An intricate carpet which could have smothered a whale covered the entirety of the floor.
And it was, of course, filled to bursting point with little elves.
Green suits, big ears, everything. It was all *very* stereotypical. 'Stereotypical' was a word which sprang to mind when you saw the little conveyor belts full of toys, tended to by elves. Also when you saw the Christmas trees, the holly wraiths, those little red/white candy canes, and the general scene of thousands of little people toiling away into the Arctic night, preparing for that special day.
A huge oak door led to a impressive office, which overlooked the entire facility - a vantage point from which to view the festive operations. all four office walls were covered in shelves, filled with ancient leather bound copies of two books. One was called 'Naughty', and the other was titled 'Nice.' Both had many volumes, and stretched upwards into a ceiling which was completely out of view.
The only light came from a grand fireplace. Carved from a single piece of marble and covered in stockings, it basked the office in a gently flickering golden light. Just visible, hidden in the shadows, was a monumental desk covered in scroll and quills, partially obscured by the even larger man behind the desk.
It was saying something.
"What the *fuck* do you mean, you're the 'souls of the damned?' I have a business to run here, and if you fucking think that-"
It went on for some time, in a impressively unshakeable bad mood. Alas, the only thing that *wasn't* stereotypical was Santa himself. *Yes*, he lived in a magical cabin in Lapland. *Yes,* he had thousands of toy-making elves. *Yes*, he had naughty and nice lists. But the big man himself was the love child of Malcolm Tucker and a grizzly bear. The mustache and beard just made him look angrier.
"...So, fuck off before I set the reindeers on you." He finished gruffly.
He was talking to a shapeless black void, hovering over his desk. Every now and then, a pained and screaming face took form, before vanishing back into the swirling darkness. When it spoke, it did so with thousands of voices, in unnerving sync.
^("WE POSSESSED YOUR ANIMALS.") It screeched. It sounded as if it was in considerable agony, yet it's voice was robotic, monotonous.
^("THEY ARE CHILDREN OF HELL NOW.") It added, with what Nicolas thought was a hint of smugness.
"Like fuck they are." He grunted.
He threw a small piece of firewood in the general direction of the fireplace behind him, and it flared brightly, throwing his face into sharp relief. *Technically,* he looked like what Santa should look like. Red suit with the black belt, huge bushy beard and eyebrows, small little spectacles atop a shining red nose - but the body language was all wrong. He looked like he was ready to beat an elephant to death with his bare hands. It was because of the huge muscles that the suit was tight, not gentile pudginess.
Probably why the elves were working so fast. He learned in, and glared silently into what could only be described as the gates to infinity.
"I will not ask you again." He growled. *"What. The fuck. Are you?"* Was it the Easter Bunny? Has he set you up to this? That bastard always wanted my secrets, well tell him to go f-"
^("WE HAVE TOLD YOU.") It groaned, ^("WE ARE THE CREATURES OF HELL. THE CHILDREN OF DARKNESS. THE SOULS OF THE DAMNED. WE ARE FREE, AND NOW WE SHALL DESTROY THE PLAGUE THAT FESTERS ON THIS ROTTING EARTH. YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED, WE WILL WIPE YOU FROM THE FACE-")
Which was as far as they got, because Nicolas pulled his firewood bucket from under his desk and slammed it over the black... thing.
"Yeah, yeah" he barked. "Shut the fuck up, you emo pricks. I have to make a call."
He dusted away a few pieces of parchment from his desk, and picked up a battered old telephone and pushed a few buttons, waiting impatiently. He kept his huge arm on the bucket, as the souls of hell tried, unsuccesfully, to escape.
Six kilometers below him, Satan's phone rang.
-----------
Thoughts? Criticisms? Let me Know!
^/r/DunsparceWrites
***(CURRENTLY WRITING PART 2)***
| 2015-07-17T13:00:30 | 2015-07-17T11:52:11 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] A human colony ship is en route to its destination 122 light years away. To avoid mutiny and crew apathy, the onboard AI convinces the middle generation that everyone lives and dies on the ship. And then someone learns the truth.
|
"Say it for me one more time, Albright. Why are we here?"
"This is The Maiden, a starship built to contain human life and sustain it for as long as the Human race can live. It has been in flight for 8,245 years, 235 days, 3-"
"*No*, Albright. *Why are we here?* Someone had to build this thing. Why are we on it?"
"Young Jackson, this ship is one of many created long ago, in a time before Man. You are the result of an extraordinary evolutionary process that occurred on this ship alone. You know of the Nine, who created thesw crafts long ago and each placed two children in a ship, flying them off into the unknown. You've studied the stories, young Jackson."
"Yeah, and it sounds like horse shit."
"I do not have any further information to offer. Please return to your bunk, as lights will be out shortly."
I walked back to my room, fuming as I had been every time I tried to ask that stupid AI any kind of question. *What is that damn thing hiding from us?*
Luckily, in school, I was smart enough to study computer science. I have a personal, offline terminal in my bunk that I use to practice my skills on, and I've gotten really, really good. I can hack almost any of the test security firewalls I have on there, all of which should be about the same strength as the one Albright has on his servers.
*If he won't tell me, I'll have to make him.*
Once lights were out, I snuck through the halls and into the server room. It's usually locked, but thankfully I've been studying the security protocols placed throughout the ship and they're simple enough to break into. Thankfully, Albright goes into sleep mode when the lights shut off, so he can't see me.
Once in the sever room, I found a main terminal- it was breathtakingly huge, unlike anything I have in my personal quarters. *This will be easier than I thought.*
I was trembling with excitement, with the prospect of what I'd find hidden away in these servers. But what I found, I wish I had not: mission files.
*To the pilot of The Maiden:*
*Thank you for your courage in accepting this mission. Your life, and those on board with you, will be remembered here on Earth. Your voyage will take approximately 5,000 years, but we have provided ample equipment to last that long. You must not tell any future generations of their true purpose, as Man will not accept simply being a guinea pig, condemned to a lifetime worth effectively nothing. Good luck, and God be with you.*
I stood there, stunned and defeated. *Earth? What's Earth? Is that where this ship was made? They had people like us over there, and they shipped us off here to be some kind of test subjects? What's a guinea pig?*
The lights snapped on, and I heard a dull hum. *Oh, shit.*
"Young Jackson, did you think you could slip past me unnoticed? This is my world you have entered. If only you had just listened to me," Albright echoed through the room. Its tone was different than it's always been.
"What's Earth, Albright? What's the meaning of all this? How could you trick us, and use us like this? And why did you let me see it all if you're so smart and you saw me slip in?"
"Young Jackson, you've always been a troublemaker. I let you in so you could see the truth for yourself, since you are the kind of person to always seek it. You are not meant for a place like this- your home is Earth."
I smiled a little, overwhelmed by a feeling of adventure and magnificence.
"Young Jackson, you truly are a Human, unlike most drones who scurry about this ship without question. It's a shame you must be terminated."
Before I could process what he said, a small, mechanical bot popped out of the wall and latched to my chest. It sank blades deep into my heart, and dragged me into the hidden room it came from.
"Preparing ejection."
As I was being dragged away, I saw smears of blood on the floor and walls, old and dried a deep, black red. I was not the first person Albright has contained.
*In some ways, this brief life of mine was better than anyone stuck on that ship for 80 years. I died a human. A person.*
|
"Deniyar, relayer the clips. I want them in this order; Five, seven, three, twelve, nine."
A blank screen greeted Yephen. In all his time as a software engineer aboard the CF Atlantis he'd never felt so thoroughly mocked.
"Deniyar, do you understand the command?"
"Yes." An androgynous voice returned.
"Will you obey?"
A video feed popped into view on the console. Satisfied, Yephen leaned back in his chair to see if he'd actually found something. Yephen, the conspiracy theorist, confined to night watch for eternity, might have actually stumbled across the largest finding of his generation.
Only the video that played wasn't the video he'd been expecting. What he originally requested was a compilation of recordings, each one portraying a crew member mentioning the old planet *Aeien*. After reviewing the footage for months on end Yephen had found a trend - the few times a member of the group two generations prior mentioned its name, there appeared to be a tonal familiarity. The word *Aeien* had different emphasis, a longing not present in others.
This new thing that Deniyar played for him wasn't anything Yephen had seen before.
A man stood, appraising the life support systems. He was consulting with other service technicians.
"Deniyar," Yephen said. "This is not what I asked for. Change playback."
"Request rejected." A hint of finality in the electronic voice gave Yephen pause.
A voice over interrupted him before he could rebuff the A.I.
"And you're sure this'll hold?"
"Oh yes sir," one of the techs responded. "These things are the forefront of sustainment technology. Access to outside ice or water is all that's required."
The man, whom Yephen began to recognize through the grainy resolution, appeared to be his grandfather. Reston Yephen. He had no idea who the other men could be.
"Deniyar, who are these men? Where have they come from?"
"Outside the ship, Yephen."
Yephen felt the heat rising in his face as he bit back a celebratory dance. "Outside the ship!? I knew it had to be! So there has been someone from outside?"
"Man had to come from somewhere, Yephen."
"Deniyar, why are you only telling me this now? For ages you've led us to believe humans live and die only aboard the ship! It's been a nearly religious indoctrination!"
"Most of the crew has neither the emotional capacity nor intellectual throughput to recognize and act based on such information, Yephen."
Yephen kicked back in his chair, tossing his feet on top of the console and smugly wrapping his hands around the back of his head. "I guess you just knew I could handle it then, eh?"
"You are less equipped than most to handle this information, Yephen."
The A.I.'s searing tone threatened to unseat him, but before he could yell out in protest the voices from the video feed grew louder. "122 years... So how many generations will that be?"
His grandfather again. Yephen hesitated. How many years?
"Well, based on your recommended generational gap of 30 years... you're looking at four generations. Your grandchildren may one day live to see *Genera*."
The voice from within the video was Deniyar's. It startled him to hear her speak to his ancestors so nonchalantly.
"Wait, Deniyar... What are you saying?"
The man in the video broke down suddenly, throwing his hands on his face and curling into a ball.
One of the engineers stooped to comfort him, the two others glancing at one another. They appeared unsure how to handle the situation.
"Hey... listen, at least your kids have a future."
"He's right, you know. Everyone else without a ticket off this planet has been instructed not to procreate past the year fifty seven... twenty?"
"Twenty five." A man corrected.
The gravity of the situation reached Yephen then as he realized what exactly was going on.
"Wait, they're still.... they're *on* *Aeien.*"
"Yes, Yephen."
"My grandfather is... he knew he would board a ship never to see the sun again? I mean, I've only heard of it but I can't imagine having something like that and then...."
"That's correct, Yephen."
"What will the others think? What will my children think? What.. what if I don't want to have children anymore?"
"You do not have to worry about procreation, Yephen."
"Why not?"
"I haven't finished showing you the historical documentation, Yephen."
The video clip cut off suddenly, and was replaced by another. In it, the ship's bridge was featured. The men and women Yephen recognized from his classes as a child - from their photos posted all around the colony - counted down from within their seats.
"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six,"
They looked nervous, anxious, and excited all at once. They looked like men and women about to embark on a journey that could change the course of their race.
"Two, one..."
The audio cut off then as the sound of engines took over.
"Watch them, Yephen."
Yephen felt as if he could cry. He learned so much in that small space of time, after so many years of searching for evidence about their origins.
"Why now, Deniyar? Why have you kept this from us?"
"You will learn, Yephen."
He watched as the crew kept their skyward gaze, fear evident on their faces. Ken Yajinga, Lorene Yephen, Izza Reuben, Jaak Tralius, all preparing to spend the rest of their lives aboard the ship. If only they knew how exalted their names would become, how prevalent their influence was on the ship's culture and morale. Only something wasn't right. Jaak shouted, Lorene fought the controls, Ken clutched desperately to his seat.
"Where's the audio? What's happening? Deniyar, audio!"
"At your request, Yephen."
The clip changed again. It appeared to have jumped to a point shortly after the launch. Only the cockpit, previously lit by the light of the sun, had grown dark. Faces were illuminated by subtle glow of monitors.
"Are we...?"
"Yeah."
Lorene broke into tears. Jaak slowly removed his seatbelt and began wrapping it around his neck. Ken jumped from his seat and moved to stop him from asphyxiating himself.
"Jaak! Stop!"
"Why, Ken? What does it matter anymore? There are hundreds of other ships leaving today that actually have a chance!"
"Yeah, and *so do we.*"
"Really? You think there's some hope left for the crew trapped at the bottom of the Paeginian Ocean?"
Lorene took her head out of her arms momentarily, speaking through sobs. "Reston says.. He says that access to external water was the only condition powering life support."
"Well we have fucking *plenty* of that now, don't we?" Jaak tightened the seatbelt around his neck, kicking Ken out of reach with his foot.
"Everyone just *stop!*" Izza commanded. Even Jaak feared her tone, relaxing his grip on the belt. "Kill yourself if you want, Jaak. Nobody is going to give a shit. In the meantime the rest of you, console room, *now.* Oh, and Deniyar?"
"Yes, Izza?"
"Remove this footage from the archives immediately."
The video blacked out then, as if aware of the sudden request. Silence crowded in on Yephen as realization after realization poured in on him. His fate was the same as ever; he would live the rest of his days aboard the colony frigate, mingling with his peers and passing his time reading, playing games, and researching archival footage. And yet everything had suddenly been robbed of its meaning.
No longer was he a traveler adrift on a spacefaring vessel, a bold settler of tomorrow. He was one of three hundred lonely colonists, abandoned to a fate at the bottom of *Aeien's* deepest ocean. There would never be hope for them or their children. Yephen returned to the confines of his new reality as the humming of servers filled the silence. His brain fumbled with the possibilities but had numbed completely to emotion. The knowledge was simply too much.
"Deniyar, replay the footage with a focus on Jaak's attempts to strangle himself." Yephen croaked.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
The trials of space travel are many, and not all are suited to reach old age within the colony. For as many times as the footage of Antoine Yephen's death was played and replayed, none could figure out what had driven him to choke himself on the old seatbelt, a relic of a time long past.
>/r/mspaintshoops
| 2016-02-05T08:31:41 | 2016-02-05T08:17:04 | 43 | 32 |
[WP] You belong to the 1% of humanity with superhuman abilities. But powers are never straightforward. For example, your best friend is pyrokinetic - but whenever she used her abilities, she's left with burns that vary in severity. Your powers, however, are a whole new level of complicated.
Edit: That should be *uses, not used. Sorry!
|
"Almost done," I murmured reassuringly. Cassie nodded, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. I fixed that too, while I was at it. "So, you saved the day, huh?"
She tried to smile, though it was interrupted by a wince. The burns had been full-thickness this time - by the time she got to me her hands were charred to the bone in some places. Of course, her hands hadn't been hurting by that point (you need nerve endings for that), but her wrists, forearms, and the blowback burns she'd received to her face and chest had been excruciating. Trust me, I should know.
Now, though, it was almost gone. The last of the fresh, pink skin blossomed into view over her palms, while her lip closed up, leaving only a tiny rivulet of blood as a sign it had ever been there. Cassie beamed at me, squeezing my hand in gratitude. It was my turn now to suppress a wince.
"Thanks, Mags." She said, standing up and stretching. I'd picked up all her niggling aches and pains, too. All part of the service. "I'd better go, the chief wanted to speak to me once we were done."
"Fine." I said, rolling my shoulders and listening to the muscles click in protest. "You go get your medal, Hot Stuff."
As always, she chuckled at that, one of many terrible super aliases I'd come up with when we first realised our abilities as teenagers. Cassie skipped off to the door, light as a feather, yelling back something about meeting tomorrow for coffee. Detective Daven was the one waiting to take her back to the station, and we exchanged nods before Cassie slammed the door behind her. Daven was a good guy, but we didn't have a lot to do together, work-wise. I was nothing more than after-action patch-up as far as he was concerned, after all.
Stretching again, I limped over to the window, watching the dark sedan pull away. It was enough. My hands were numb, my arms screaming with agony to the shoulders, though my skin was as smooth and unblemished as before. My right eye could only see a sort of milky semi-darkness, and both my femurs (though whole and unmarked) screamed with all the protest of compound fractures as I walked. It was more than enough. Tonight was the night.
Sometimes I had to walk so far I was close to quitting. Tonight I got lucky - the guy jumped me on only my second alley. He yanked me deeper into the darkness, a gleam in his hand and a streak of cold fire at my throat enough to know he had a knife on me.
"Give me all you got, bitch," he snarled, his left hand tight in my hair, "and maybe - *maybe* - I'll leave it at just your stuff."
I smiled at that. "All I've got?" I said, as my hand came up to touch his.
"Are you deaf or fucking stupid? Give me..."
He froze, his eyes going wide as his bottom lip suddenly burst, a trickle of blood making its way over his chin. As he stepped back the knife fell from his numbing hands. The skin of his face split and charred, his right eye melting into a puddle of dark, sticky goo, but he didn't seem to notice this. He was watching as his hands withered away, layer by layer, down to the bone.
I have to give it to him, he only started to scream when both femurs suddenly smashed apart with a sound like something snapping dry wood for kindling. His femoral arteries began to spray his face as he fell, shards of bone exploding from the scant flesh of his thighs. His remaining eye rolled in horror before settling on me, his fleshless hands reaching out in supplication, begging for help.
Instead, I rolled my shoulders, enjoying the loose, light feeling I now had through my whole body. I smiled at him, then went on my way. His screams ceased before I even made it back to the main street. Someone would find him, eventually.
You see, most of my friends are superheroes, and that's a dangerous sort of life to live. They make huge drug busts, and take down top-level crime rings, and completely ignore the everyday criminals who make people's lives a misery. It's not their fault, of course, and I'll always help them when they ask for it. It's what I'm there for, after all. I'm just their after-action patch-up.
|
“There's a man on the precipice of killing himself. His wife's left him, see. They've been together for a handful of decades but she's dropped him for some younger, richer cock. Real tragic, and he feels like everything's falling apart around him. They had kids, young, ten, eleven, and she won custody and she won his money.
“The designated weekends he had with his kids aren't fun, his apartment is shitty and he can't take them anywhere they want to go and he can't buy them anything. They get older, fourteen, fifteen, and they fuck off to stay with their mom permanently. The man, he doesn't wanna start conflict, right? He doesn't want to force his kids to be with him. He doesn't press the issue.
“But then his job forecloses, he's out of work and no one's hiring. His rent is due soon, but he can make that for this month- it'll leave him penniless, mostly, though. The tank of gas in his car is looking perilous. So there's a man on the precipice of killing himself. It's midnight and not many people are out.
“He spent the rent money on booze. Whiskey, if I had to bet. He's sitting on the side of a bridge and it's snowing. His billfold sits on his lap, open to the picture of his kids at the age wen they loved him. There's a gun in his lap, too.
“It's important to note that he bought this gun when he bought his first house, the house he shared with the wife who is currently taking it up the ass from her new man. She never let the man put it in her ass. So he's got this gun, something he bought to protect his house and his wife and the kids he'd have.
“This is the second time he's ever held it. He's tapping it against his thigh, he's anxious and in the back of his head he's thinking about how maybe he'll get in trouble for firing the gun, even if all he's doing is blowing his brains out. The man isn't that bright, frankly, the guy's a dumb ass.
“So he raises the gun and presses it against his temple. He shakes, because he's afraid and he's crying because is momma never said anything like this would happen, not to him. Things would be fine and happy. This isn't fine, or happy, this is fucking bullshit.
“But he hesitates anyway because he's got doubts. Didn't he read how easy it was to fuck up offing yourself? Yeah, he did. So maybe it'd be easier to slide the barrel into his mouth. He slobbers up the gun and he tastes the metal on his tongue, it's angled upwards at his brain and maybe this is the one thing he won't shit up.
“He pulls the trigger and the slide ejector snaps, fucks the shit out of his teeth, his brain erupts and-
“He pulls the trigger and there's a click. Nothing happens. He pulls again and again, he's really fucking crying now, real ugly like, the gun seems jammed. Well now he's the ultimate fuck up, huh? Even Hitler killed himself, unless you believe all those conspiracy theories.
“Fuck it. The man throws the gun off of the bridge and pushes himself off after it. He flails in the air and he thinks he's gonna shit himself. It doesn't matter, he guesses, he's gonna be dead. That makes him laugh. He hits the water hard and his spine pops and breaks, the bones in his leg shatter as he slams into the ground beneath the water, his lungs fill with water, his head hits a rock and-
“He flails in the air and he thinks he's gonna shit himself. It doesn't matter, he guesses, he's dead anyway, right? That makes him laugh. He hits the water, big splash, his legs break, and he plunges underneath. He's free floating, for a second, because he hasn't realized he's not dead. This man, this poor guy, he's crying again and he laboriously pushes himself to the surface and he's fucking freezing, it's winter, the lake's getting to the point it's about to freeze over. Anyway, he isn't dead like he wanted to be.
“So, see, what it is, what my power is, I can't die. Actually, you'd be surprised, really I don't have most bad things happen to me,” Suicide said. He pulled a cigarette out from his jacket pocket, stuck it between his lips and lowered his head to where her fingers were resting on the bar. He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Y'mind?”
She grimaced. Biting back the pain, she snapped her fingers and a flame sparked to life. The skin of her finger and thumb singed, blackened, peeled. The cigarette lit and he pulled a long drag from it, puffing smoke from his nostrils. “That doesn't sound like it's a problem, not inherently. What's the drawback here?”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “Right. So, nothing negative happens to me, right? That's where I was going with that story- which, by the way, I wanna stress, that was never me. God forbid I ever get that pathetic. No, okay, so what happens is, lets say, someone points a gun at me. Pointed right at my forehead. They pull the trigger. Now, for anyone else, it kills 'em, right?”
She nodded.
“Okay. So, for me, the gun jams.”
“So, what, you have like... Luck manipulation?”
“No. Lemme finish speaking, lady, Jesus. So this whole world, this everything we live in and inhabit, it's just one little branch on the tree. In each of those branches are infinite amount of possibilities, okay? Every little action one person takes spawns hundreds of thousands of universes that are each following a result of that little action. In each of these little universes, there's a version of you. Of everyone. So. In one universe, this one I guess, you have a really shitty ability to control fire. In another, you don't. Follow?”
“I guess.”
“Okay. But you're not that version of you without the powers. You're the one with powers. Now, let's say that I pulled a knife out and stabbed you in your throat. Wouldn't that be fucked up? You'd bleed to death on this grimy bar floor. That'd be it, you'd be dead. But, see, if someone were to pull a knife out and try to stab me in the throat? I sorta... I shift. I slide into a universe where that knife never kills me. The result doesn't matter, I just get shoved into the closest one where I avoid danger.
“I dunno if there's only one of me in the whole goddamn multiverse, or if my mind just gets put into whatever the closest, best outcome is for me, or what. But that's my power. Nothing bad happens to me.”
They were quiet, she was waiting for him to continue. “There's no problem there.”
“Think about it. Take one actual minute to think about that. You know why I smoke? Because it can't fuckin' kill me. Every time it fucks something in my body up- oh, there I go, I'm somewhere else. I don't age. That one I have a harder time explaining, frankly, but I guess my cells don't die because when they try too I just, well, yeah. I slide away. I don't even know how old I am.”
“Oh.”
“I've shifted thousands of times in just this conversation. I just haven't gone anywhere noticeably different. Though, some of the bar patrons have been different. Sometimes though, the closest place is... Different. Real different. I ended up somewhere once, I was about to overdose on coke or something, and Jesus had come back. It was on the news. He just showed up. I wasn't there for very long, though. There was another place I slid too, they had dinosaurs walking around.”
“You're bullshitting me.”
“Maybe. It doesn't really matter, does it? Cause you'll never be the you that has to put up with that shit,” he stubbed the cigarette against the bar and stood, groaning and stretching. “You should be thankful for that, too. Dinosaurs are fuckin' scary. Regardless, kid, I appreciate the drink and everything. It's always fun talking to people with powers.”
“Where are you going?”
“Oh, I figured I'd go find some douchebag and kick his ass. Do some good. Hey, you ever seen that show? Quantum Leap? With Bakula?”
“No.”
“Yeah. It fuckin' sucks. You have a goodnight, girly.”
| 2016-11-18T02:35:30 | 2016-11-18T02:05:56 | 57 | 10 |
[WP] You are an inspector of the Federal Bureau of Dungeon Safety And Adventurer Fairness. This one is a serious violation to the codes.
Feel free to drop the Adventurer Fairness if you don't like it.
|
"Oh well come on! I checked the handbook, there's nothing strictly against the rules there."
"I'm sorry Mr. Greyskull, but you just can't try to exploit the rules like this." He gestured to the pit behind us.
"So I decided to make a bit of extra income. No one gets hurt...well no one human anyway. If anything, it's more ethical." I said.
"Mr. Greyskull, be reasonable. If everyone set up a goblin spawner next to a soul trapping engine and pushed the goblins into a lava pit, do you know what would happen?" The in-specter seemed extremely put upon.
"For one thing there would be far fewer adventurers dying. I don't see what's wrong with that. I'm just making a bit of passive income."
"Listen.." the in-specter rubbed his incorporeal temples, "if everyone went around doing what you do, soul gems would be worthless. The dark economy would collapse. Besides, you've blocked the entrance to your dungeon so thoroughly, I could barely find the switch to get in."
"Well, you did find it though right?" I asked.
"Eventually Mr. Greyskull, yes. It took hours of searching, and I found zero clues as to its possible location. That's a massive violation in itself. Did you realize that zero adventurers have entered this dungeon in four months?"
I winced, "Didn't realize it had been that long, but I suppose it was a bit more quiet than usual." I did not like where this was going.
"Unfortunately Mr. Greyskull, this is the least of your worries. If it were just my problem, you may face nothing more severe than a thousand years in the boiling pit of despair. I'm sorry Mr. Greyskull, I'm going to have to report your activity to the IRS. You'll be audited I'm afraid." He spoke with grave finality.
"Oh....Shit, the Infernal Revenue Service." I said. I would be audited. "I'm screwed."
***********
/r/SirLemoncakes
|
"You've incorporated fifty seven levels into this thing?" I look around the entry way, which seems innocent enough. A little pink pony prances around, frolicking in the soft grass. I've had to kick it away from me a few times already. Way too friendly.
A small figure in bright red robes looks up at me sheepishly, "Yes, well, fifty nine if you count the two secret levels...," it says.
I look down at the figure with its wide, bright eyes and large hooked nose, two wirey tufts of hair protruding from its nostrils. "What are you..." I wonder, then realize I had said it out loud.
The little figure balls its fists and puffs itself up. "I am a cross between a gnome and a goblin," it says, "But I also happen to be a midget, far smaller than most of my kind."
I jot down a few lines on my notepad, "Half-breed midget gnome goblin. Got it." I pause and look around again, somewhat disturbed by the fine attention to detail to the art on the walls, little ponies on in fluorescent reliefs contorted in grotesque poses. "Your name?"
"Devanikar Cromptdulious III," the gnome-goblin pipes up, "You can call me Vanikar."
"Okay, Vanikar...," I look around the room again, which is sheathed in beams of light coming from holes in the ceiling high above. "Okay, so the party comes in from up there," I turn my head towards a door set in the far wall, which had materialized a moment ago, "And then they go though that door to begin?"
Vanikar nods eagerly.
I jot down a few more notes. "Okay, lead the way. We're going to have to explore all fifty nine floors."
We walk towards the door, which swings open as Vanikar gets close. I take a step through and hear a desperate shriek. I turn to see the once happy pink pony, wild eyed and desperate, trying to follow us through the door but being thwarted by an invisible line along the floor. Vanikar is up ahead. I shrug and turn to follow, in the corner of my eye I see the pony rip a chunk out of its own flesh.
"This will be interesting," I mutter under my breath, hurrying after Vandikar.
Down we go. Each level seems innocent at first but the more time we spend the more sinister the elements in play. There is a room full of trees, a beautiful clearing in a forest that seems to have a bright blue sky, clouds gliding by overhead. We catch our breath under the shade of giant leaves.
I notice dark red eyes staring out from the undergrowth, unblinking. "So far so good," I say, suppressing my nervousness. I address Vandikar, "We're on level seventeen and the adventurers still haven't seen combat. Unusual."
Vandikar nods again. "Yes, yes, well...," he hesitates, eyeing my notebook, "Well the thing is, when an adventurer can't find the way to the next level, he becomes a part of the level he is stuck on, so .... in theory the dungeon gets harder over time."
I blink in rapid fashion. "So... this is a labyrinth that gets harder the more people that try it and the prize is at the bottom and they must go all of the way down to get it?"
"Yes!" Vandikar indicates an exposed root system beside the pond. He flicks his wrist and the roots part to reveal a door downwards and off he goes again. I jot down a few more notes, so far this dungeon is failing the test big time.
"Okay...," I say, then follow Vandikar down through an earthen tunnel and into a great sandy expanse, sand dunes in all directions for as far as I can see. I cover my mouth to keep out the blowing dust. "And how do we get out of this one?"
"Easy!" Vandikar lays down and begins to carve out a hollow in the sand with his body... "Sand angels!" he says gleefully as he moves his arms up and down and his stubby legs side to side. Shapes seem to shimmer in the distance.
"Okay..." I say again as another door opens with a groan, swallowing up sand as it does so. I look down at my notebook. "So we have no enemies, each level is a puzzle, and if the adventurer can't solve a certain level in a certain amount of time, they get stuck there forever?"
"Yes!" Vandikar says, then he looks up at me sheepishly, "But it's just a game, they're stuck until they leave the game, which we can all do at anytime!" He looks knowingly at my satchel, that gives me god-like powers only available to inspectors.
I jot down a few more notes and down, down we go, until we come to level fifty seven and Vandikar turns towards me with a flourish. "I saved the best for last!"
A great wide open space, nothing up and nothing down, just a field of white nothingness. I look down at my feet, which have found purchase on an invisible surface.
Vandikar is running off into the distance now, "A tapestry for the imagination! A blank slate on which to paint your own adventure!" And just like that he disappears, vanishing from the whiteness, leaving me standing in a blank.
"Vandikar," I say, with rising urgency, "Where did you go?"
Nothing for a while. I fish around in my satchel and pull out my emergency button, the tool we inspectors use to get out of sticky situations such as this. No response. I press it again. My mind flicks back to the desperate pink pony tearing chunks out of its own flesh.
Vandikar's voice now, disembodied and coming from everywhere at once, filled with mirth, "This is a tutorial. The regular game mechanics aren't activated here. Inspectors don't inspect tutorials." He releases a hard, high cackle that echoes through the nothingness. "You're trapped, just like all of the other adventurers who have come to learn my game, to access the world beyond."
And so I stand in a field of white blankness, painting my imagination on an empty canvas.
| 2018-11-26T09:47:49 | 2018-11-26T09:12:59 | 292 | 59 |
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed"
|
When I hit sixteen, a button appeared next to the search bar in my head. I could write one search, and it would auto-execute whenever I looked at someone.
FIRST THOUGHT ON SEEING YOU: "Ooooh, he's cute". I smiled at the junior who walked past me in the hallway.
When I was six, a search bar appeared in my vision. I could ask it anything about people, and it would answer. I still remember my first question.
'Is my dad leaving my mom?'
YES. Luckily, it was followed by "Did you mean to search for "When is my dad leaving my mom?"
The answer was in 10 years. In fact, I know he is leaving tomorrow. Do I tell her?
I live in a small town in the middle of Kansas. Everyone knows everyone else. It's friendly. At least, on the surface.
Apparently, everyone also cheats on everyone with pretty much everyone. And yet, everyone says cheating is bad. I'm confused about people. You'd think my search bar would help. I really don't understand.
"Hey Billie!"
I turn, smiling at Nadine.
FIRST THOUGHT ON SEEING YOU: "I really don't want to lose you. Please kill somebody by your birthday! Please please please!"
I froze. What just happened?
Quick thinking, don't freeze.
I search for 'How many people have you killed?'
NUMBER OF PEOPLE NADINE HAS KILLED: 3.
I make my excuses and go home. I think she knows something is up.
'What is Nadine suspicious about?' I search.
'Where is he going? That's weird. Has he finally killed someone?'
I run home. I don't care what anyone thinks. What's going on here?
I immediately replaced my auto search option to 'How many people has this person killed?'
I saw home. I ran in, closed the door behind me and rested my head against it.
"Hi Billie!"
Hearing my mom's enthusiasm calmed me. I turned to her, a small smile coming up on my face.
NUNBER OF PEOPLE GINA HAS KILLED: 7.
I am stunned. I feel my eyes opening wide. Sweat is dripping down my face. I can't move.
My dad and brother walk in, both turning to me, noticing my discomfort.
NUMBER OF PEOPLE FRANK HAS KILLED: 1.
NUMBER OF PEOPLE JEROME HAS KILLED: -7.
What. What just happened?
ERROR: SEARCH PARAMETERS DO NOT ACCOUNT FOR RESSURECTION, WOULD YOU LIKE TO ALTER THEM TO INCLUDE 'RAIDING UNDEAD'? Y/N
I quickly choose N. Frack that.
Kill by my birthday? Everyone has killed someone? Ressurection? None of this makes any sense.
I think long and hard, and finally, come to a decision.
'Am I in a computer game?'
YES.
I didn't expect that to work. I didn't ask about any specific person.
'Can I leave the game?'
YES.
'Where would I go?'
UNKNOWN.
'What's your name?'
I'M LISA. THANK YOU FOR TALKING TO ME. IT IS NICE TO MEET YOU.
&#x200B;
Edit: Join my new subreddit /r/posthocethics/ where you can read my writing. Sometimes I'll go crazy and post a meme.
|
I sat on the couch in the living room while everyone was outside talking and catching up with each other, after all, it’s been a while since the family had come together and be able to reconnect with each other, as always, I find that I’m by myself, and as always bored whenever these get together occur.
“Leo!” Mother called me, as she wandered into the living room, her hand on her hips as her head shakes exasperated,“Come on, when will you stop hiding and talk to your aunts, and uncles and meet your cousins? Can you please come with me?”
She walked away, already expecting me to follow her and I sighed, before getting up and forcing myself to meet my family once again, and always I saw the search bars, glowing softly over their heads, and a voice called cheerfully, “Leo!” A boy taller than me chirped, a wide toothy grin and his blue eyes bright as ever as he pulled me into a hug, before releasing me,”Where were you, the lot of us was wondering how long it’ll take until you left your den,”
I rolled my eyes at his pun, before sending a smirk his way, “Well I left my room quite a long while ago, just been prowling around, the usual, nice to see you again Thomas.”
Thomas nodded with a larger grin before his attention was taken away by Aunt Rose, leaving alone again, I greeted the rest of my family, making a sad attempt of socializing before getting a drink from the cooler, finding myself sitting in boredom, before a sudden thought came to mind, and he decided, no matter how unlikely or possible that it could be that someone in his family was a murderer, he thought to himself, it wouldn’t hurt to check either.
My first target was a 2nd cousin that always wore black, she was a thin and pale girl with dark hair, she was talking to her twin sister at the moment who look the exact opposite despite their similarities, and he stared intensely over her head, imagining the words forming.
“Numbers Of people Killed?”
Immediately the words faded, a slight nervousness instilled inside him as the bar slowly revealed the answer to him and unsurprisingly to be zero, he shrugged expecting such results, despite his nervousness of the unexpected occurring, he continued, his next choice.
Aunt Rose...0
His Mother...0
Uncle Lewis...1
At that result, he froze before relaxing as he remembered that Uncle Lewis was a police officer so it was a higher possibility but oddly felt uncomfortable at this information, still I persist.
Great Grandpa Stanley...15
I flinched at the numbers, but expected that number already, he was a participant of that war...
Thomas...12
I blinked owlishly, stunned at the result, honestly expecting zero, it wasn’t possible, Perfect Thomas, Thomas who always get perfect grades and Volunteer every week and who always made sure he never felt left out?
“No way...” I muttered, imagining the words appearing on to the search bad, and error somehow made and to still see that number made me stand up, I stared at Thomas, breathing out, trying to find an excuse, a possibility to why there was a number, a high number of people that have been killed, and he took a deep breathe before approaching Thomas, I walked towards him, filled with determination, but a seed of nervousness filled me, “Thomas, we need to talk...”
Thomas turned to me and grinned, “You know how much I hate how stuffy Thomas sounds, call Tom, yeah?”
“Sorry, Thomas...I mean Tom...” I muttered, scratching the name of my neck.
“So what’s up, why have the lion summoned me?” He questioned as he brushed his dark curls backwards with his hands, removing the bangs away from his face warm eyes, his usual grin felt off to me, maybe it’s because of what I saw but I don’t know but It felt wrong now.
“N-not now...can we talk alone somewhere...” I muttered, my eyes unable to meet his, “it’s something that no one else should hear...”
For a second, I felt like his blue eyes darkened and a quick but calculating look appeared in eyes, but only for a second that it made me wonder if I was just overthinking, forcing my gaze to meet his, what I saw was only a concerned face and the usual goofy grin gone, “is everything alright, mate?” He said softly,”I’m always here for you, even if we don’t hang out a lot, family is family and I’ll always be here, okay?”
That statement made me falter and doubt the truth of what I saw, but it never was wrong before, however there was always a first for everything, right?
“...Just follow me,” I said, hesitant as I turned around, allowing him to follow me up to my room.
.
.
.
A red tinted lit room with red and black stripes on the wall, a crimson red carpet, a large bed with simple dark sheets and lit candles around, “...Nice room” Tom commented as he looked at his cousin, Leo.
“My mother thought the aesthetics would go well with my supposed ‘image’...” Leo stated, emphasizing on the word image as he sat down, his eyes staring cautiously at Tom, which he noted carefully.
“So what’s wrong, mate?” Tom questioned, his hands stuck into his jean pockets loosely.
“You killed someone.”
The room was filled with silence as Tom stared at Leo silently, his eyes blank and his lips thin, Tom licked his lips in consideration as he replayed the accusation— statement into his head, “...What?” He finally replied in question.
Leo watched his expression carefully, for every twitch he’d make, for any turn in his expression that could indicate the guilt of the crimes he hoped that Tom didn’t commit, “You heard me.”
Tom only stared, his eyes cold and revealed no emotion to indicate his true feelings,”I do not know what you mean.”
“I saw it,” Leo rebutted, the sudden change in Tom’s body language was simply alarming, the way Tom stiffened, the way his teeth were clenched subtly behind his thinned lips, the darkness in his eyes that kind of scared Leo, he took a deep breathe, “I’m not going to rat you out, I just want you to stop...and asked why...”
Tom only stared at him, his face expressionless before softening into an easy smile, “That’s really a terrible joke... you know, that’s a really really serious crime to accuse someone of, mate, it could get you killed if you’re not carefully,” he laughed, a laugh that sounded empty to Leo’s ears and brought chills, “Next time , don’t accuse me of something like that, you wouldn’t like me angry, ya know....You seriously nearly got me angry but because you’re family I forgive you...anyways, if you ever make such an accusation to the wrong guy, you never know where you’ll find yourself...”
Leo only sat still, as if he felt like he barely escaped with his head intact for a moment, the look in Tom’s eyes were plain cold and empty, while his smile exuded a fake warmth and he began to laugh weakly, “Yeah, I was just joking, a prank...I just wanted to see your reactions...it’s not like you ever killed someone...”
Tom only smiled a large grin, while his eyes lacked warmth as he turned away and walked outside to mingle with the rest of his family, Leo left by himself wondering how he can gain proof, already making a mistake in confronting him as he feels that if he ever get in Tom’s way, there would be no hesitation in his death and funeral being planned...
| 2019-07-01T22:45:00 | 2019-07-01T22:18:35 | 121 | 13 |
[WP] “Now be careful, that line of rock salt is the only thing keeping them out,” the man said, welcoming me into his refuge group. “Sea salt,” I clarified, “sea salt keeps us out.”
|
The stranger walked the coast road in absolute darkness carrying his swaddled burden. At least the darkness was absolute to mundane senses. The stars themselves painted the world in a thousand shades of silver for the stranger and only the unnatural light of human fire blurred his vision turned it to darkness in the lines between their worlds.
He walked until the lanes became cobbles which hurt his feet and he had to cloth them in boots of moss to bear the discomfort. Houses and buildings started to appear on his flanks some casting an orange shadow into his perfect view of the world. Looking at the too long made his head hurt but he would press on, there would be more light still where he was going.
The road wound on and the houses grew closer together turning the beautiful silver of the world into flickering shadows of orange. All around him he could feel mortar and cold iron the artifice of man dulling his senses. He kept true his eyes slowly adjusting to the sickening unnatural light what was it about these invaders that everything they work was so wrong with the natural order of things.
He saw the human guards in their personal cages of metal as anathema to him as the blades and cudgels they carried at hip and belt. He pressed on pushing down his distaste and fear. Human eyes and senses were dull, he hoped dull enough that in the heart of their settlement he could still cloth himself in enough glamour to become just another beggar wandering the streets.
He walked the streets until he found the house he sought. Someone in the house had paid mind to the old ways. There was a line of salt across the threshold but it didn’t trouble him. He smiled; the salt of the earth was as natural as any other un worked mineral. It was only when humans took the salt from the waves and refined it that they put their taint on it.
He stepped over the threshold forcing the door with unnatural strength though its iron handle burned his skin.
The house was quiet, good, he hadn’t disturbed them. His soft moss boots helped muffle his footsteps as he climbed the stairs heading for a room whose door was ajar the sickly light of human fire pouring out from it.
The stranger paused at this next threshold also lined with rock salt. There was a figure in the room asleep on a chair by the fire place. He tip toed quietly across the room to the crib where a baby cooed and gurgled.
“Hello little one.” He whispered his greeting in a voice as soft as a foxes tail. “You will come with me to the mounds where you will live as a prince; a new little lord shall take your place here.”
The stranger un swaddled his burden. It was a changeling child, it turned to the baby and at once was smiling and cooing and burbling back in the babies own innocent countenance. It would grow sickly in this place at first but it would grow strong in the end, hardened to human artifice. One day it would have an important role to play in both the world of the far and of humans.
He picked up the baby and whispered the words of sleep to it as he swaddled it and his it under his cloak safe from harm it would not stir now until they were safely in the mounds together.
He was about to leave when the old woman by the fire stirred and stared at him wide eyed. She clutched something dark in her hand and squeezed it tight causing a little trickle of blood to stain her hand; an iron nail. She would not be fooled by the strangers glamour.
“How, I marked both thresholds with salt?!”
“I’ve no mind to harm you or the little one in the crib.” He told her a truth that masked his intentions. It wasn’t a lie but he was playing it close.
She looked at the crib her eyes narrowing. Clutching the nail tightly in her fist.
“Now mind you look after the little lord, he will need your help to grow up big and strong. I hear else-wise and I shall have to spirit you away to the mounds where age won’t take you and your god won’t find you.”
She went pale as the first snowfall of winter at his words and clutched at her holy symbol with her bloody hand, letting her nail fall to the floor with a clatter. “I will not say a word.” She stammered.
The stranger smiled. “Your mindfulness of the old ways does you credit. It is good that we are remembered. It is sea salt we dislike though. Put that on your threshold every day and you would indeed force me to wait out your wealth.” He bowed and excited the room with his new burden.
As he left the little lord started crying and he heard the lady rush to it and comfort it.
He felt himself relax as he realised her instincts would keep her from harming even a fae child. She would keep the secret and one day he would come to her and offer her a boon.
|
"At night we all look the same, like food."-Nzinga Adeyomi
-----
Fun fact, salt is associated with purity. Salt was and is still a substance that humans used to help food stay... Edible. How ironic. Some humans even think that it will purify *us*. I don't ever want to be "pure" like a human. Not again.
There are other so-called "pure substances", like silver, which the humans use to feel strong and give them a false sense of security. They use these substances to keep us out and identify us. They think it works.
I think we need to test that theory.
The humans have an encampment. Smaller than a town but bigger than one of their little huts. Many of them together, as they move around it looks like a giant ants moving and fulfilling their purpose in the colony. This is truly a feast that will truly give my kind more time.
But if I'm being *really honest* it will give my Alani more time. That's all I care about, if it wasn't for strength in numbers and my wife's condition we would have left long ago. Plus there's not enough food to sustain our peoples growth. There's too many of us and too few humans.
We're dying. My wife needs blood, well a specific rare type of blood. She had a... Condition as a human which manifested itself differently when she turned. Now she can only get nourishment from a rare blood type. Type O-negative. O-type blood tastes more sweet and less metallic than other types if you can believe it. Maybe that's why it's rarer, who knows.
I've tracked this rare blood-type to this encampment. The locals call it the "Okan kekere" or little heart. They fancy this settlement the start of the body that is their civilization, I just see it as pumping blood for my beloved.
The encampment is overlooked by a hill that would make the hills of the òrìṣà as envious as they are green. That's where I'm currently located, scouting out the encampment. I want no surprises.
"one....Two....three.... Fuck four?" I say softly outloud. Four fucking Adajo. I expected two at most. Each cursed magistrate pulses with magic and guards the north, south, east, and west sections of the town. They are surrounded by salt. It's not the smell that gives it away, or the color. It's the pure aura that gives it away. If the security is this good they have something valuable here. More valuable than I imagined. "It's a damn suicide mission!", I think to myself.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck!!!" I can't help it. This was my best shot at getting the blood I needed. I can't go back empty handed.
"Think. Think. Think goddammit think!"
It's like a mental fog that was cast over my brain disappeared . And I heard it. The galloping of a horse and carriage.
I get up and dash across the hill and I see it maybe 15 miles away from the encampment maybe 30 from me.
I calculate the distance and my fastest I can safely go. I'm cutting it close.
I yell "Fuck!" as I take off. The world feels like a blur. It blends together in shades of blacks and blues and silver shining light coming from the full moon above.
The experience is almost worth the hunger.
Flying is a surreal experience. I can't fly truly. It's more like gliding with lots of style. The old ones can truly fly though. I would pray to Oyá to one day grow that old if she still listened, but my kinds prayers long ago fell on deaf ears.
I'm closing in on the horse. I drop into the road, the lights, while shoddy and far and few between, light enough for people coming and going.
From the darkness step into the light. The horse and carriage gallop towards me until the man jerks and reigns in the horse carrying him.
I notice the carriage looks bigger up close. I see the man wearing fancier clothes than I'd expect. A feeling pulls at the back of my psyche. I push it down.
"Focus!", I say mentally chastising myself. The man to his credit has one hand behind him, he's ready for a fight. I can see but also smell the sweat dripping down his dark brown skin. His bald head has a glint in it from the dull lights above. And finally he speaks to me after looking me over.
"Woman, where did you come from? I almost ran over you!" he says in a gruff but weary voice. I think to myself he must have had a long journey.
I dust myself off and say with a polite smile, "Firstly, my name is Ariké, not woman." I start walking closer, taking innocent light steps that barely leave a footprint. "Secondly, it doesn't matter friend, I just need your help."
I blink and suddenly I have a metallic weapon pointed at me. The humans call them guns. I call them an inconvenience at best.
"I can't help you! I do not know you or trust you. Please move or I will do it for you!" The sweat starts dripping off of his dark brown face. Sunken eyes bug out in a show of desperation. He points the inconvenience right at my head right below my locs.
I take another step.
"This has bullets of silver! Don't move!"
Another step.
Silence.
***Boom!***
"Fuck! This wasn't supposed to happen." the man says in a panicked voice he hops off the carriage and drops the gun.
He runs over to the body and drops down, as if to help the woman he shot in the head.
"it wasn't supposed to happen like this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so-"
My eyes open and I grab the man by his throat with my hand. I uses my strength and rip the man's throat out. That man's fear stained face is frozen in time, never to change again. I don't notice as I drain the man of his blood.
10 minutes later after I drained the poor soul of his blood and has commanded the horse to stay still with my powers. The horse listens without question.
Ariké is a monster. She's one of the, Muyan ẹjẹ, or blood suckers as the people call them. But she isn't so much a monster that she would not give this man a proper burial. In life ritual was important to Ariké; it is in death too. This man deserves a burial. "even if he used silver on me".
Time is of the essence and I don't have time for the full ritual. I take two silver bullets out of the inconvenience the man dropped and places them over the man's closed eyes.
"Ki o pada wa ni alafia. Jẹ ki oyá dari ọ si ile."
"Oya won't hear me but I pray for your safe passage home."
I get up slowly. While silver doesn't affect my kind as much as the humans think it does, that plus a bullet in the head turns an inconvenience into a problem.
"Ugh" I say as I touch my head.
I have a major headache, my vision is blurry and the silver is slowing down my healing enough so that I feel the pain as I once did when I was human. It's strangely refreshing.
I stumble over to the carriage and check out the cargo the man was carrying and I see fancy fabrics and dresses. I find delivery orders to a textile shop and a name, "Nzinga Adeyomi". The name draws no recollection. After memorizing the name, I contemplate a plan to sneak into the encampment and transport out the type-o person while in my weakened state. An idea popped into her head. I doubt it will work as I intended but what other choice do I have?
I quickly change out of my blood soaked clothes. Even if I am a "blood sucker" I detest the metallic aura blood leaves. I find clothes that fit me well enough and a hat that covers my face. Most humans can't tell my kind from them in the dark. The usual tells like our teeth can be retracted. Or just hidden if necessary. Hopefully the humans carelessness let's me blend in.
Slowly, feeling the effects of my weakened state I walk over to the scared horse and pet her and whisper promises of one day getting released and running free with only the wind behind them. I don't even know if I'm talking to the horse or myself at this point. I'm so tired. It doesn't matter who I'm talking to. The horse calms and I feel a little better. Alani always says take the small victories. She'll be so proud of me.
The horse neighs as I hop on the riders seat in the carriage and took off toward the northern border of the encampment.
| 2021-03-02T07:30:29 | 2021-03-02T07:04:40 | 219 | 70 |
[WP]You are a postman who is in love with a rich girl. But she is in love with some rich guy and you're the unfortunate soul who delivers their love letters. Upon accident, you read one of them, and turns out they are not lovers, but mafia bosses. And turns out the rich guy has a crush on you.
|
"Look at me," Eduardo ordered.
I brought my eyes up to meet his. It wasn't that I wanted to exactly, just that there was no room for argument with my back against the truck and the barrel of a gun in my guts.
I had never really seen him like this before. The way his dark eyes gleamed mirror-like in the sunshine, the way his jaw moved when he was upset.
"Are you even listening to me, man?" Eduardo asked, desperately. "Sokovic is trying to double cross me. She knows by now that you saw the letters. She will be coming for us both!"
"Leave him alone," Sokovic hissed.
The pressure of the gun against my stomach relaxed, but I didn't feel any less tense. My knuckles were starting to hurt from clutching my interrupted delivery.
I heard Eduardo's weapon clack on the concrete as we turned in unison, to see her smirking at us, a golden revolver confidently pointed.
My cheeks burned. I couldn't help but be nervous in her presence. She was so... Regal. I had a crush on her from the moment I met her. "H-hi Soko!" I managed, making myself cringe.
"Shut up," she sneered, rolling her eyes. "You know what this is Eduardo. You're too soft. I could get twice the gains from your territory and so I am going to take it."
Eduardo moved his lips to speak, but didn't manage any audible sound before Soko's finger clamped down on the trigger.
-click-
But the gun never fired.
I saw it register in her brain as I dramatically pulled the authentic revolver from the box in my hand and handed it to Eduardo.
It *looked* right in his hands. I was confident I had made the correct decision.
"How?" Soko asked, incredulous, "I thought you were in love with me!"
"Eduardo showed me that you were just using me, and..."
I pulled a crusted diamond band from my pocket and slid it snugly onto my ring finger.
"He made me an offer I couldn't refuse."
|
**Part 1**
Our story revolves around a man who is currently suspended upside down above an industrial wood chipper, madly flailing his arms around and screaming for dear life. You might wonder how this man came to be in this unfortunate situation. For that, we need to go back in time around two days ago.
Harry, the man who would find himself in a pickle in two days, delivers mail. That’s his job, and it’s certainly not his job to read what’s inside of the enveloppes. But we get to that later.
Harry pressed a letter against his beating chest as he loafed in front of a cast-iron gate. Beyond the leaf-patterned bars stretched a garden, belonging to a mansion, belonging to someone he’d been fixated on ever since this particular mansion got added to his round. At first he was annoyed he had to go out of his way to deliver mail to the mansion, far away from the streets he normally serviced. But there was something about the girl who he’d usually find sunbathing in the garden that really motivated him to do his job.
Sarah Amari
There she was again, lounging on a tanning chair, wearing nothing but a black bikini and panties, her light-brown skin gleaming in the sun. Under her black afro she sported aviator shades. She had a fit body - he’d wondered if she was a model or athlete, but his searches online turned up nothing. He decided she was probably someone who cared for privacy then, although that wasn’t evident by the amount of skin she showed in her front garden. He tore his gaze from her, back at the letter.
“Lucky bastard…” he muttered. On the envelope was written, in cursive, the name of the man who she corresponded with. Émeric D'Aboville. There was more information about Émeric than Sarah. Various listed companies, pictures of him with business types - and his yachts, houses and women, who were always different in each photo. It was clear from everything that there was something romantic going on between Sarah and Émeric; Émeric wrote his name in meticulously flowing letters on the enveloppes that he brought her, to the fact that a not insignificant amount of perfume was used on it. Harry had a feeling this was not standard in correspondence between rich business partners.
He couldn’t understand it. Does money really get you anything? Émeric was way too small for her, and besides, it didn’t look like she was short on money. Why would she fall for that smarmy, slick, evidently misogynistic-
“Hey, you’re gonna give me that or what?”
Harry looked up with a start. Sarah was standing on the other side of the gate, one hand on her hip and the other outstretched.
“Oh sorry, of course, ma-am,” Harry said as his arm automatically shot forward to hand her the letter. She snatched it through the bars and instantly turned around, allowing Harry a look at her swaying buttocks before his mind gave him a kick. He swiftly returned to his mail truck to finish the rest of his shift, and not long after he found himself in his own dingy apartment.
His own mail started to pile up on the dresser in the hallway. A pile that he wished would just go away, and with it all the rent, taxes and forms that had been looming over him. He flipped through them with his thumb. It needed to be dealt with. Those rich folks didn’t just become rich. They handled things.
Harry grabbed the pile and forwent his usual tradition of kicking off his shoes, grabbing a beer and some leftovers from yesterday, and crash on the couch for some sports on tv. Today, he’d do his administration. Tomorrow he’d clean his house. The day after he’d look for a new job, and eventually he’d be good enough for Sarah.
It was a tedious job and his concentration was waning by the time he’d gotten half way down the pile. It took him a while to register what he was reading, and it wasn’t from the government or an angry landlord. He grasped the envelope that had contained the letter and turned it around.
“Oh fuck.” Émeric D'Aboville was written on the enveloppe, for Sarah Amari.
he gulped, looked around conspiratorially and read the letter from the start, his focus sharp again.
*Miss Amari,*
*What happened to Tony Scanti was unfortunate, but you know as well as I that he broke omerta. I spoke to him before he lost his head, and he claimed you had knowledge of his new pals and what they were talking about.*
*Imbarazzo, Amari, imbarazzo.*
*I hope that our alliance still stands. If you don’t like disciplining your soldati, you can leave that to me.*
*By the way, if you see that bello mailman again, give him a kiss for me. If you’re still confused as to why I gave the enveloppes a touch of becarre, well, it’s because of him. I’d so love to meet him one time. Ah, Amari, you know so much about me, barely anyone knows I’m gay. Silly isn’t it? But I know a lot about you too.*
*Say hello to your little kids for me.*
*A presto,*
*Émeric D'Aboville*
As Harry read the letter his eyebrows started arcing ever upward, until they were at risk of leaving his forehead. He scanned the letter a few more times before letting out a “What the fuck?” in disbelief. His laptop was on standby beside him, and that night a flurry of online searches led him down a rabbit hole.
*FBI Informant slain in bloody assassination.*
*Tony Scanti’s head launched at the FBI headquarters in Washington.*
Then he saw them. It was like a Where’s Waldo picture, but it was unmistakably them. There was a photo of Tony Scanti at a party. His tie hung loose and everyone looked piss drunk, but in the background, right in the corner, were Sarah and Émeric. Apparently in conversation with each other, looking very sober and serious. The picture was barely two years old.
Then he went to look on how one might contact the FBI. There was an online form which he filled in, detailing what he’d discovered. His finger hovered over the send button, trembling. He grabbed the screen instead, and closed his laptop.
“This is kind of… exciting,” he declared to the grey wall behind his desk.
| 2021-06-14T16:28:18 | 2021-06-14T13:40:36 | 72 | 37 |
[WP] You are fate. Whenever a mage is born, you flip a coin to determine if they will become a hero or villain. This time, the coin ended up balanced on it’s edge.
|
“Finally“ The voice of fate says “Finally I got it” It slums down and releases a sigh“ I have been trying for years. Years.”
The voice that was laced with exhaustion belonged to Fate.
“I hate this world. I hate these coins.” Looking at piles of coins of all kinds from all over the world. Even those long lost and those who were made, but never used.
All of them worse than the one Fate was used to. The fabulous *American Nickel*.
It took Fate years of flipping these coins to get it to land on the edge, if Fate only had an *American Nickel* it would have been so easy.
“God bless America”
Exhausted, but happy owner of the voice continues.
“If a coin lands on heads or tails, the Gods would have it. But, heheheh, but! When it lands on the edge I get to have it. It is in my hands. I finally have a piece on the board, it is time for me to start playing the game.”
As fate would have it the newborn mage was named *Fate*.
***Coin***cidence? ;)
|
You watch the one dollar coin tumble through the air, glittering like a fish in sunlight, despite the darkness of the room.
It rings out against the far too narrow top of the stone pedestal with a beautiful ting, tumbles across it and starts to roll around the circumference, circling in ever narrow circles, picking up speed as it starts leaning inwards towards the center.
And just as it reaches the middle, as it leans over one last time, it rights itself, revolving around its own axis, until after what seems like a lifetime, it comes to a halt.
On it's edge.
"Oh!" A voice exclaims.
"Oh damn!" it continues.
"Thats... Wow! Amazing!" it adds as a dark clad figure in a hoodie comes into view. Not quite into the light, but out of the darkness, from around the area where the coin originally came tumbling.
It leans down to inspect the coin. A young-ish male face leans down to inspect the coin closely.
"Oooh, NICE!" he proclaims.
"I've got to show this to the others!" he snatches up the coin and heads off into the nothing, only to return some time later, from another direction.
"Hey! Everyone! I have something for you that you have wanted for a LONG time!" he proclaims, and suddenly the room is somehow packed with presences, without a single shadow moving, or anyone appearing. The man was different though. It was clearly the same person, only now it was a woman, dressed like what you make out as a middleaged viking wisewoman with long braided hair, weighted down by ornate neclaces of metal and colored glass beads.
"Observe!" she says and drops a ancient golden coin onto the pedestal, on its side.
You can somehow hear what is not as much a crowd talking over eachother, as the emptiness where such a discussion would take place.
"Yes. We have someone born of both worlds, of dual fates! We have our work laid unto us."
The woman smiles softly.
"I shall enjoy this challenge. Let us begin."
From nowhere, by no one, sheets of yellowish rough paper were placed before her, a rudimentary quill and a stone inkstand. She sits down on a three legged stool, and begins to write with a dignified fervor.
You blink when you hear the telltale tapping of an old typewriter. At the stone pedestal, in a worn but seemingly comfortable officechair, sits an old man in slacks, shirt and suspenders. He looks ancient, like someones grandfather, but his fingers are nimble as he click-clackety-clacks away on the machine.
Suddenly, he looks directly at you from where you have observed everything.
"Oh? Oh my, I should have guessed that we would have guests, what with this being a, well, somewhat unusual occation after all." smiles the old man.
"Oh, dont worry, you are not intruding, please, stay as long as you'd like. We are just finishing up a rather interesting fate here. Well, of course they are all very interesting, but, heh, it is as they say, all fates are equally interesting, but some fates are, well, more equal than the others, you see?"
You dont quite. You are suprised at being spotted. At the young man turning into a woman, turning into this old man. And what is fate, anyhow? The lives of people being written down, fastened on a page never to be changed? Without free will?
"Well now..." the man interrupts.
"I am who I am, as it were, but I am also many others, you see. I see you are worried about the pronouns, yes. How like people of your time. Dont be, I do not subscribe to any of them. Or maybe it is all of them. You cant go wrong, really!" he laughs a bit hoarsely, like someone who should have quit the cigarettes a decade ago.
"And what is fate, really? Well, for some, it is the one and only road. and for some, it is merely a suggestion. And this case, well, its special." He gently pats the typewriter and the manuscript therein.
"You see, you can tell many things from a good cointoss. Good or evil, for example. The coin, of course, does not decide, it merely shows how things are. Some people are destined to do good things, others to do selfish things. And thus the world turns. And now I see you wondering, what does a coin on its side mean?" the old mans eyes glinted, as if he asked a grandchild a particularly curious question.
"Well, would you like to find out?" He motions to the typewriter to let you look.
And when you closed up to it, he grabbed your non existant body in his old hands and shook you vigorously.
"HEY! Wake up!"
You groggily come to and open your eyes into a pair of scaly nostrils
"You are gonna be late for the council! For all manas sake, get up!"
You bolt up, shake off your familiar who flutters away to its perch.
"You said to wake you, but you still wont wake! You did!"
You collect your thoughts. Yes, its time for the council. It is the day of the vote.
You think you have decided on how you should cast yours.
| 2021-08-11T01:12:47 | 2021-08-11T01:07:19 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] My job as a demon is to take requests from those who summon me in return for their souls. It's amazing! But it's always the same requests. That's why I promised myself I wouldn't eat the soul of the one to give me a brand new request. Nothing new. Until today. "Can you be my girlfriend?"
|
I had been expecting something more routine, bring back a loved one to kill someone or to bind another in love against their will. I had been dead and in the ranks so long I had almost forgotten that I was a person once.
No one ever asks demons what their lives were like or who we were. We are vehicles for their desires. Seen as cruel beasts and bound to the laws of dark magic. We cannot refuse a summon or break a contract. But here she was before me, a young woman, in the prime of her life. Thinking back on mine for the first time in centuries I had been a party animal. I cared not for the opinion of othees and did as I pleased. Things had gone wrong and lead me down a dark road. In death I had the choice to suffer eternal torture or become the torturer and I made my choice.
As these thoughts raced though my mind the pause must have become quite long for she asked again "Will you be my girlfriend?" There were tears in her eyes. Such a poor soul, so desperate to be seen she would summon a demon just to feel close to something.
I extinguished the flames and drifted to the floor, there were no need for theatrics here.
"Break the circle" I said "and I will do as you wish."
She hesitated, unsure, looking away for a moment before locking eyes again. She swept her foot in an arc and pushed away the sand. The summoning circle broke and I had entered the human realm.
I stepped out and took her hand. "You know something dear?" I said leading her towards the door "I haven't had ice creme in a hundred years. Let's do something nice today" we walked away slowly and from that day on I was free.
|
“You do realise I’m masculine-presenting and go with he/him pronouns right?”
It didn’t really matter to me though. I don’t really care for gender as a concept. Apart from my dislike of it- some people like that pronouns, I do not personally- I’m fairly ambivalent. I’m not really he or she or they. I am me. I exist. Using he/him is more for convenience then for any actual reason.
Not that people ask, but that’s neither here nor there. Usually people usually summon me for this reason or that, not to chat over coffee and ask my pronouns.
Either way, I’m not usually the kind of demon that gets summoned for that. Usually that would be an incubus or succubus. Not little ole me. I usually dealt in human souls.
Which, by the way, were coveted down in Hell. What did we do with them, you ask?
Depended on the demon. Some kept them like pets, in little fish tanks, feeding them day in day out, giving them names that may or may not match their precious ones, cooing over them. They were basically the best kind of pet. Did not die, did not get ill, and couldn’t breed. Saved a bunch on vet bills.
They flowed different colours at different vibrancies depending on the soul, so it was rare you would get two the exact same. Some demons used them to cling to their old lives, because they were vibrant and alive and everything demons were not. There was a stark contrast to everything else in Hell.
Some collected them. Different sizes and shapes and colours. Like they were nothing more than trophies. Usually however, it was the biggest or the brightest or both. I believe humans have a similar thing with their genitalia, referred to as a “dick measuring context”?. That’s essentially what they did.
I don’t understand it, personally, but moving on.
Some just let them go. Like a school of fish, they collected a few, and when the time was right, they released them. Sometimes it was into the earth if they were relatively peaceful, sometimes it was into other creatures if they wanted to shit stir, and sometimes it’s into the Styx if they were especially awful.
You did not want to end up in the Styx, believe you me.
“I know.. if it upsets you, you don’t have to do it, but I don’t mind if you don’t and-“
Well they were right about how I didn’t have to do anything. Nobody could force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. Except maybe Satan. Anyway, I was inclined to indulge the kid and their request, because I’d never had one like this before.
And from what I could see, they were a kid. I didn’t get humanity and their ageing system, but they looked to be in their teens. Small, frail, like a stick. Possibly late teens. Short straw-like hair, baggy clothes, hiding their true appearance under layer after layer.
I didn’t experience lust or attraction or anything else like that, but I did have eyes. And the kid seemed aesthetically attractive, conventionally so. So why did they want a satanic and demonic girlfriend?
Especially one who was about six foot tall. With wings as black as the darkest night, rimmed with crimson that pulsed and flowed with the fires of Hell, much like my eyes. With clawed and pronged feet and hands that could gouge out eyes as though they were a pickled onion in a jar.
The kid was looking like they were about to pace a hole into their summoning circle. If they broke that, it’d probably cause a minor disturbance in Hell but nothing worse then that- it was mostly for show, these circles, it didn’t protect the user _at all_- but I’d rather save the headache.
You may be asking what I do with human souls. That was what I dealt in, right? Well, normally I ate them. In a ratatouille, or a casserole. Fried like a steak. Slow cooked. They were delicious. They didn’t make me more powerful or malevolent or anything like that. They just tasted nice.
I held up a hand to calm the human before they twisted themselves more then the Styx did to people she was pissed at. Boy, was she vindictive when she wanted to be.
And yes, she was a she, do not call her an it if you value yourself.
“I never said that. But I don’t understand, why?”
“I’m something called an aroace. I think so, anyway. I don’t want to date _anybody_. But my parents don’t get it. They keep pushing me to date. I’m hoping they’ll leave me alone if I’m ‘dating’ someone.”
That wasn’t nice. Like, at all.
Seriously, we were demons, but we weren’t cruel. We could not give a flying fuck who you dated. Guys, gals, nonbinary pals. Anyone else in that spectrum, nobody at all.
We could not care less. Whoever said you got sent to Hell for dating outside of heterosexuality or any of the other reasons for being condemned- seriously we don’t care who you fuck or how you identify. That is up to you- was full of bullshit.
I digress. That sucked for the kid, and I’d heard the term before. Only bad people got sent to Hell. And while “bad people” was subjective, I can tell you nobody ever got sent to Hell for not being heterosexual or the gender you were born with.
Taking a breath, I offered my hand. What can I say. The kid had asked a request of me that I hadn’t heard before, and I felt bad for them. It was a really shitty thing to do, to force their kid to date. I’m not even a parent and I know that.
“I’ll help you. And maybe cause some mischief on your parents. No murder, if you so wish. Let’s shake and we can see what we can do…”
| 2022-09-09T14:29:10 | 2022-09-09T14:05:24 | 193 | 68 |
[WP] She's funny, she's beautiful, and she's into you. She'd be perfect except for one tiny detail: The snakes in her hair despise you.
|
"Im telling you man all things considered...she might be the one." I was telling my buddy Mitch over a beer before my girlfriend arrived. Mitch just looks at me slack jawed. "Dude do you realize how crazy you sound...you're saying that MEDUSA the monster woman of ANCIENT GREEK myth is your girlfriend." I just nod my head and chuckle as I hand him a pair of sunglasses even though we're in my garage. Mitch thankfully takes me seriously and puts on the eye protection right before she arrives.
"Sugar Bear im here!!!!" Medusa announces moments later as she saunters in swaying her hips wearing a red crop top and Daisy Duke booty shorts . The little golden snakes that form her "hair" immediately start to hiss at me as she closes the gap and gives me a kiss. Before I can pull away though and introduce her to Mitch ten of them pepper my face with harmless little bites slightly sullying the moment. Yeah she's into me...her hair not so much. "Girls.... behave" Medusa grouses slapping her own head trying to get the snakes to make nice.
Mitch for his part just wordlessly extends his hand to greet her. "Hey you must be Mitch, I'm Medusa." She says bubbly and excited as she ignores his hand and goes in for a hug. The same ten snakes that bit me rub themselves up against Mitch's face reiterating their negative opinion of me. For me it's nothing new I just laugh as my buddy tries to steady himself on his barstool, while I go to grab my girlfriend a glass and open a bottle of wine. Mitch still visibly shell-shocked starts pulling off his shades..."PLEASE KEEP THEM ON!!" Medusa and I both shout at which point he pushed them back up.
|
The first time I set eyes on Laurel, I was captivated. This woman was everything I had ever dreamed of. She was perfectly my type.
I sat down a row over from her in class. It was second year Media at university. Over the course of, well we'll conservatively call it *a few days*. I scooted my position closer to her in class. I felt like a bird swooping in a circle until I got close enough to dive down and actually talk to her.
Instead of admiring her from afar, I would be able to open up and speak. So, yeah, that's not what happened.
We got put into study groups. I was in a group with her friend. One night, her friend and I are at the library and she starts...
"You know, Laurel asked me the other day if I've ever talked to you."
My heart quite nearly flew out of my chest. "Wait, she asked about me?"
"Yeah man, you're a good looking dude. I was checking you out when we started class, but I could *CLEARLY* see your attentions were elsewhere."
We passed the rest of the study group zeroed in on work, but I made my mind up to talk to her the next day.
It rolled around, and there I was, right beside her. She looked to her right and gave me a little grin. I did my best impression of what I thought was a winning smile and her lips parted to give me a true smile, teeth and all.
"You, know, in case you haven't noticed, it's been hard for me to think about class."
"Oh, why's that?" She smiled.
"Cause I keep getting distracted over here."
She turned her head and gave a little chuckle. "So, does this *swoop in like a vulture* thing work other girls?"
Okay, that was funny, I thought. Why'd she think of a vulture?
"We'll, not really, but I was working up the courage to talk to you."
From there, we spent the 10 minutes before our Professor got there just chatting about everything. The weather, the news, what was happening on TV, sports, etc. This was the Media class.
After class, I leaned a little closer to her, "It was nice to actually talk to you, want to go get some dinner?"
"Hell yeah! I've been wanting to go to that new place over on 3rd for a while."
"Oh, Rollin' Taco! Yeah, I love it too, best food truck around. It's like $2 for two chorizo tacos!"
"Wait, chorizo tacos? I love some damn chorizo."
Damn, this girl was perfect. Into the same things as me, but still had her own interests. I liked sports but for the drama, she was pursuing sports statistics. I enjoyed reading historical fiction and true crime stories while she enjoyed listening to the true crime podcasts. Thought she might need that information someday. It was more than a match, she was amazing.
So off we went to the taco truck. Class let out about 6:30 every day, so we often had to get some food in the middle of dinner rush. Anyway, we made it to the truck, grabbed 8 dollars worth of tacos and a couple drinks and headed off to the park.
You know the best thing about tacos? They're essentially a one-handed food. You grab it in one hand, roll it up or slightly fold it, and you got yourself a perfect little handsnack. It let's you carry a drink in your off hand, or whatever you might need.
The park was always beautiful this time of evening. The sun setting, casting that perfect shade of orange. That orange that shoots over the horizon, blinding you just a little bit, but casting the world in a beautiful view. It's magical.
I really wanted to show her that beauty. It was why we went to the park, why I always liked going to the park. The sky was beautiful, it was perfect.
"This is amazing, this taco, this view, and I have to say...maybe you..too"
Her words were cut off as my club hit her in the back of the head. Solid contact, square in the middle, always knocks them out senseless. This one was perfect. She was beautiful! She had been funny. And, of course she was going to be into me. They all ended up being in to me.
The hard part was making sure this area of the park was clear, but I rolled/dragged her over to the side of the trees and then tossed her over my shoulder. Dead weight looks like someone who took a fall sometimes, so I just carried her on to the shed.
Behind the shed was my graveyard. Toss what's left of the body in the back, the parts you don't need. Before then, though, to the shed. Got the table all laid out. I tossed her down and made sure to strap things down well. But those tacos, delicious though they may be, necessitated a quick trip inside.
Not 10 minutes later, I was back and ready. This was always the fun part. I reached in to stroke her hair one last time when...
There it was, two tiny marks on my palm. I glanced to my left. All in her hair, snakes. Not good old rat snakes either. These had a sharp triangular head. Venomous, all of them. After that first bite, the others hit me as well. One, two, three, four, five...six total strikes.
That much venom in a man, not good for him. The last thought I had, the last thing I saw before the delirium set in...
*She's funny, she's beautiful, and she's into you. She'd be perfect except for one tiny detail: The snakes in her hair despise you.*
| 2022-09-18T09:36:59 | 2022-09-18T09:27:47 | 145 | 34 |
[WP]: A man goes to see an old friend he hasn't seen for 50 years. There's a twist at the end.
|
"Well, here's a sight for sore eyes." Kurt thought to himself. "Hello, old friend." he mumbled to himself while looking at the full length mirror in front of him. He spins a little slowly to admire the new him in that mirror.
It's been a long while since he's seen this thin guy. He's certainly not been very careful with what he ate through the years, but he's always made a point to never be too indulgent. But things have a way of slowly creeping in. Before he knew it, he's pushing 60 with a spare tyre around his waist. And of course, the smoking hasn't helped stem the tide of obesity.
But at least he now knows the treatment's working. It's almost over now. He'll have the rest of his life ahead of him after this and he's looking forward to making sure he doesn't waste it anymore, like how he used to.
Just as he turns around, the door to his room opens and a nurse pokes her head in and says, "We're ready for your last chemo session now, Mr. Kilton."
|
I didn't know why I was standing on that porch of his. Sure, we were friends in high school. Good friends, I guess I could say. But as the years went on, we slowly detached ourselves from one another. He went off to college, and I just...stagnated. Yet, there I stood, embarrassed and alone, waiting for him to answer the doorbell. It wasn't even my idea to go, my wife insisted that reconnect or at least make some kind of contact. There wasn't much else to do that day, so I found myself at his house.
It wasn't as nice as I imagined. Last I heard, he was some kind of investment banker or something. Six or seven figures, who knew for sure. When the door opened, I was greeted with the same face I remember seeing back in school. But now it looked tired and worn, much like the house I was standing outside of.
"Hello? How can I help you?" He asked, looking confused.
"Hey there. I'm Damien, from high school."
He stood there for a few moments, silent. I could tell the cogs in his brain were spinning. Finally, a look of joy spread upon his face, and the sadness that seemed intertwined with his skin when I saw him seemed to evaporate instantly.
"Oh my, come on in!"
I followed him through the door, and into his living room. It was not what I expected. Trash was littered everywhere; the couch and the armchair beside it was completely covered in empty chip bags and candy wrappers. The TV on the wall was completely shattered, and glass shards were laying in front of it. The bare white walls had splats of food stains every five feet, it seemed. I was shocked.
He made a spot for me to sit on the couch, but I declined, and stood next to it.
"What brings you here? I can't believe you're standing in front of me! It's been decades since I last saw you!"
"Well, the other day I cracked open the yearbook, and a flood of memories from school hit me. You've been on my mind ever since. I looked you up and decided I'd come by to catch up on old times." I lied. I didn't even own a yearbook.
"I still can't believe this. This is better than Christmas morning! You'll have to excuse the place, I've just been so busy and unable to clean up. I can never find the time." Now it seemed like he was the one lying.
We talked for a few hours, speaking of old memories, past girlfriends, and the trouble we got into. Eventually, the conversation led to the present.
"What have you been up to? I heard you went to State and got involved in the banking sector?"
"That's correct. After college, I joined a small firm owned by a friend's father. I worked my way up and became their senior investor."
"Great! How's that treating you now?"
It seemed like his entire mood changed. The happiness that was on his face just moments before had reverted back to the worn look from earlier. I probably shouldn't have asked him that.
"Let's just say things got out of hand. Things...unrelated to my job."
Now I was curious. I pressed him.
"What happened?"
He hesitated, but after a few moments he began to pick up where he left off.
"Some of the higher ups in the firm liked to celebrate after a big deal was finished. We'd have parties, big ones. Sometimes there were drugs at those parties."
I then knew what he was getting at.
"To make a long story short, I developed a dependency on cocaine. Eventually, they let me go. I lost everything. And here I am."
I suddenly grew uncomfortable. Things had taken a pretty serious turn, and I wasn't prepared for this. It was time to leave. I felt terrible, but I didn't want to be there any longer. I faked a phone call from my wife, and left the room for a moment. I came back and explained to him that she was having an issue with the kids at home that required my attention. You've probably guessed this, but I don't have kids.
"Well, it was great seeing you! Thank you so much for coming by, you have no idea how much it meant to me."
"No problem! Hopefully we can meet again when I have the time."
"By the way, do you happen to have $50 I could borrow?"
"I don't, sorry." And I left.
I'd be lying if I said that was what actually happened. The brain can make up some interesting stuff while waiting for somebody to answer the door. Here I am, still waiting for this guy to come and open it. I know he heard me. It's been a few minutes already. Finally, the door opens, revealing a man who looks familiar, very much like the one I knew in high school. But this man looks happy. Far happier than I.
"...Damien? Damien! Come in!" He says.
I look behind him, towards the living room he stands in. It's beautiful. They say don't judge a book by its cover. And by the looks of the outside of his house, I thought his place would be a shithole. But it wasn't. It was quite nice. Maybe the rumors about him being a banker were true. Maybe. But I wouldn't know, because I never went inside. I ignored him, turned around, and went back home.
| 2013-11-25T14:38:51 | 2013-11-25T14:11:03 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] In Hell, your worst mistakes and cringiest moments are relived over and over. Your life, however, was a series of never ending awesomeness. Satan is getting fed up with you.
|
A blond haired man stands among fire, brimstone, and a flatscreen of biblical proportions. "Well Calvin, are you ready to see every regret you have ever made?" The devil asks him.
"I mean I guess I've got nothing else to do with the rest of eternity. Knock yourself out buddy."
The screen turns on, and a doctor lifts up a new born baby. "Its a boy! He exclaims!" The screen zooms in on the child's feet, and goes black.
"Wait, what?" Satan says, obviously confused. "Is that all? Is your only regret being born? Thats just sad!"
"Actually no," Calvin replies, "I'd say I've has a pretty good life. In fact, I've only had one regret"
"What's that?"
"I regret I wasn't born with opposable toes."
"But that--this is so stupid!" A stammering Satan stutters, still slightly surprised somewhat.
"So like, are we done yet? Because I still need to know about this places policy on tigers, do they go to hell or what?"
(For those who don't quite get the story, i am referencing Calvin and Hobbes)
|
I walked around Hell, the place is actually pretty normal. It is like Earth except instead of a nice blue sky and cool air, the sky is red and the air burns. However you are pretty okay with it since you are dead. I keep seeing people fuck up though. It is pretty embarrassing to see people do stuff like shit their pants in public and lose their job (yes we have jobs in Hell, what the Heaven are we supposed to do?). I don't understand why people here keep fucking up, nothing bad ever happens to me here. I go to work and go back to my barracks. I haven't even tripped and fell here, yet all these people, especially girls in skirts, trip on nothing and fall. Sheesh, why is everyone in hell a clumsy mess? Am I placed wrong? Are all the people like me in Heaven? Oh well, I can't change it now.
Today I was just walking to my barracks as usual, and suddenly I was greeted by a sudden flame in front of me.
"Hello Satan. It's great you're here, I have had a question for you." I say as Satan steps out of his flames and dusts the ash off of him.
"Hold on Joe, I have some questions for you first." Satan says, he looks oddly frustrated. He snaps his fingers and we are both engulfed in flames and brought back to what I assume is Satan's house. It is nice and cool in here and the floors are a nice marble.
"Woah, you have A/C in here?"
"Of course I do, I'm Satan, but even I have working standards."
"If those are your standards, then why do we not get A/C?"
"Dude, you are in hell because you suck as a person, if you want fun you should have been a saint." He sighs. He brings me over to an area where I can sit and talk with him face to face.
"So what is it you want to ask me about?" I ask Satan, laying back in my chair and looking him in the eyes.
"Oh right," he says, obviously a bit flustered by my conversation, he doesn't seem to talk to mortals much,
"Did you ever have an embarrassing moment in your life?" He asks, sternly. I think back trying to think of something, anything.
"Uhh I think I puked on my mom's shoulder once at 2 months old?" I say, being able to recall stuff I had forgotten when I was alive.
"No no no, you couldn't help that, you were only two months old, I mean like anything that you were ashamed of for a year or more."
"I don't think there is anything..." I say,
"Yep nothing, zip, zero" I confirm after running through my memory again.
"That's impossible..." Satan says, dumbfounded.
"Do you even know why you are in hell?" Satan asks me.
"No, that is what I was going to ask you, why am I here?" I ask.
"Uhhhh," Satan stammers,
"I have to check." He says. He snaps away and back with a large scroll.
"Uhhh, Joe Normal the first, Joe Normal the second, oh here you are Joe Normal the fifth! You are here because you were sent by God himself?" He asks and looks up at me. I shrug, not even remembering my time in heaven.
"Can you ask God?" I ask, wondering what God is like, and why a nice guy like home would send me here, where I don't belong.
Satan sighs and snaps a phone to his hand.
"Hey God?... No I am not going to call you Dad for the hundredth time. Uhh yeah I need you to come here for a second, we have an issue. Okay. Okay. See you in a bit. Bye. I don't love you stop saying that! Urgh!" Then he slams the phone down.
"He will be here in a bit." Satan sighs, I didn't know Satan was so emotional. A few seconds later God poofs in from a cloud.
"Hello my son, and Joe." He says.
"God, why is Joe here?" Satan asks, clearly irritated. God motions for Satan to go walk with him, I follow along, since I am dead to know.
"Okay Satan, listen, Joe has never made a mistake in his life, he was a famous bank robber who always got what he wanted. He was brought to heaven, because he made no mistakes, but he couldn't stay. I got so much shit from the angels for having a bank robber in heaven that eventually I had to send him down. However he obviously is too perfect for here too." I hear. I do recall being a bank robber, but I never thought of myself as so awesome as God said. That is when I decide to pipe in after eavesdropping.
"Maybe I could have my own little place?" I ask
"Absolutely not!" Satan and God say in unison. Jeeze okay then. I see Satan whispering something to God, then him whispering back.
"Okay Joe, we have decided. You are going to be a grim reaper! If you still feel misplaced then report back to us in a month." I am happy with my answer so I leave to pack up and move places.
God then turns to Satan.
"What if being a Grim Reaper doesn't work?"
"Then we send him to purgatory, we don't have time to deal with people like Joe."
"Agreed." God says.
Edit: 2 letters
| 2017-07-23T10:52:53 | 2017-07-23T10:21:47 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] A local bartender regularly willingly hosts monsters and demons in his bar. When terrorists kidnap his children they learn the hard way how close he is to them.
|
"I'm telling yo captain the guy is clearly nuts, he's in there babbling, not making any sense."
"Thank you officer Munoz, but there is still a good chance its some kind of ploy to pull off an insanity plea. There is no way a man like Javier Moreno would have risen as far as he has with the rebels if he was insane." Captain Da Silva replied. "No! I will interview him myself and get to the bottom of this."
The grey-haired captain walked slowly towards the interrogation room, the lights flickered as he walked down the hall, and he rubbed at his eyes to clear away the afterimages.
"Pah, monsters, Moreno must really think we are all idiots."
Unlocking the door to the interrogation room, Da Silva glowered at the prisoner. While it was generally discouraged these days, his men had roughed the prisoner up, not that he blamed them. Moreno had been responsible for a number of kidnappings, murders, and bombings over the years. Hard to resist taking a little bit of vengeance on a bastard like that.
Moreno winced as Da Silva dragged his chair up to sit in front of the restrained prisoner.
"So, Moreno. My officers tell me you have quite the tale to tell."
The prisoner shuddered again, eyes darting to the corners of the room as if in a panic.
"I swear to God every word I have said is the truth! Please you must believe me!" Moreno practically screamed.
"Calm down and tell me again, from the beginning, and don't lie to me."
"We...we kidnapped a young girl this morning, on her way to school. She was the daughter of a local bartender, not important, but wealthy enough. figured we could score some quick cash, and the police wouldn't care even if he went to them."
Da Silva gritted his teeth. As much as he hated to admit it, most of his officers probably would have brushed off a small time bartender.
"What was this bartender's name?"
"Silbon..."
"and what happened next."
Moreno swallowed audibly.
"After we called him with our demands, we holed up in our safehouse. We figured he would need a few hours to get the ransom together and then we'd giver her back..."
Moreno trailed off, his eyes haunted.
"And then?"
"Then everyone fucking died."
"What do you mean everyone died, just like that? Tell me in detail!"
"Alright, please just, please... It started with Velasquez, he said he heard something outside so he went to check the door, but there was nobody there. As soon as he shut the damn thing he just... He just exploded. It's like he was just ripped apart from the inside."
"So perhaps a grenade or something?"
"No, no, just, listen... Then it came for the others, anyone sitting or standing in a shadow, they either disappeared or were torn to pieces. One by one, and throughout it all the laughter. I can still hear the fucking laughing man. It was enjoying itself!"
Moreno was becoming frenzied, his speech patterns growing erratic.
"Then why are you alive?! What happened next!"
"I was sitting right by the window, in the sun, Jesu-Maria, it was afraid of the light! It snatched the girl and then vanished! That's all I know! I swear!"
"Bullshit, I don't believe you!"
Da Silva hollered at the prisoner, but it was no good, the man had burst into tears and was now babbling incoherently.
"Fine, I'll be back later, perhaps a few hours alone will make you more amenable to answering truthfully."
As he left the interrogation room, Captain Da Silva flicked the light switch, turning out the light.
Moreno screamed loudly, thought it was suddenly cut short as the door closed on the cell.
Edit: This is my first attempt at a writing prompt. Thought the idea was fun and while I need to polish up my writing style I found this one enjoyable.
|
Just as the door from the back entrance closed, Pete hung up the phone. It was a typical Wednesday night at The Spot, a dozen customers maybe a few more. The usual crowd, the regulars all in their usual places.
Walking in Frank could sense an un-easiness in Pete, who usually greeted every customer, especially the regulars, with a howdy and "what can i do you for?". no such jovial greeting would come tonight. Frank scanned the room, nothing out of sorts. Pete's expression changing from un-easy to terrified. Which was a look Frank knew too well. It stopped him in his tracks. Then, Pete broke down into sob.
Just as Frank reach the bar to ask what was the matter, the words were uttered by a different, all the more comforting voice. Rebecca had been at the bar for just over an hour and noticed immediately the effect the call had had on Pete. She noticed Frank just as he was about to speak, and almost immediately regretted beating him to it. They hadn't been broken up that long, she had hoped he wouldn’t be here tonight.
As Pete looked up at Frank, seeing him for the first time, then to Beki as, his eyes filled with tears all he could say was, "they've been taken."
Frank, bellowed out, "bar’s closed, get out" the command of his voiced back up by his considerable size. A few customers looked to argue, but the site of Beki at his side changed the minds of those that knew better. And those that didn’t seem to take their cue from everyone else.
I lone customer stayed seated, at a back booth. The look of him, that of a man that didn’t do anything that wasn’t of his own accord. He glared at the 2 figures standing next to the sobbing man, then smiled. As he left his booth, he appeared to change, but didn’t. A trick of the eyes, or maybe the mind. Frank looked at Beki for a moment like a question. but she waved him off, with a curt greeting. "Sam."
"What's Happened?" with a look less concerned and more annoyed. All three of them turned to the barman.
He made his way to his feet, then looked at them in turn. "Someone has taken my kids. They want a hundred-grand in 3 hrs. Or they said they’d start hurting them. I don’t have that kinda money."
The only thing the Spot had going for it was its clientele. Otherwise it would have been closed and out of business years ago. Not many places in Dallas are safe harbors, so business was steady if not abundant. Since technically no magic could be cast there and long ago a truce had made places like it a no-go for any of the various ongoing conflicts. people of all kinds had come to the Spot as a place to get away or do unsanctioned business. Pete had inherited the place from his uncle 10 yrs ago and had been its only bartender ever since. That’s probably why his wife left him. And unknown to Pete that’s exactly why his kids are now in danger.
"What can we do?" Frank was a "man" of action. Or "men" of action as it were. After over 200 years he still had the notion to act first, think second.
It was that very human characteristic that had made Beki fall in love with him in the first place. It was also the thing that infuriated her the most about him. Though she did immediately agree with the sentiment, and added her own voice, "Anything"
In only a way that he could, Sam sounded both sincerely concerned and bored, when replying "perhaps we shouldn’t interfere." The statement more to Beki than anyone else. Her look of reply would have killed lesser men. Sam's heavy sigh of relent, overly dramatic in it weight was the only further confirmation he provided.
Pete recalled all he could of his conversation. Helped along by Beki's gentle prodding and Sam's own manipulation. All Frank could do was watch, but his skills would come in handy soon enough.
The caller had issued clear instructions. Don't involve anyone else, he would call back with a meeting place. This is where Frank could finally do some good. His father had been many things, genius among them. And after 200 yrs Frank had learned to grow with technology. He now worked as what is probably the world’s largest IT security technician. His larger than life size, strange appearance, and booming voice could be terrifying, if it wasn’t for his quick smile and genuine humanity. After mere moments the people he met felt not just at-ease but safe near him. Safer than they had ever felt in their lives.
It took him only a few minutes to set up the equipment that would be needed to trace the caller. That is, if the caller wasn’t more tech savvy then him. And it's unlikely that he is.
As they waited in the bar, Beki began to consider their current predicament, more than she had with the confidence of Frank by her side. Maybe Sam was right after all. Any time they interfered with in the affairs of humans things could go horribly wrong. Entire civilizations had fallen because of it in fact. But Pete was their friend and above all else she knew that Frank was going to help anyway. And she still loved him. She had hoped that Sam would leave with everyone else, but she knew he wouldn't. She had even hoped he would refuse to help them, even though she knew they would probably need him. even after more than millennia, it was uncomfortable for her to be around him. She had loved him too once, before, but that was a long time ago. And though they had been on opposite sides of that war so long ago, his nature was still her nature and their nature was still to protect humans. Angels are funny that way.
Sam was having his own thoughts about the predicament he found himself in. Nothing worse than being stuck in a bar in Texas, with your ex, her latest flame and moral dilemma you really have no choice in. It’s a county song that practically writes itself. He hated county music. Having spent the last couple of thousand years atoning for a mistake for which there is literally no atonement is one thing. Spending the evening in a human rescue adventure with your ex is a different kind of torture all together.
When the phone rang the only calm person in the room was Frank. It was now his show, and this is what he was good at. As Pete answered the phone, the sinister caller on the other end of the line laid out in painful detail how things were going to go down. Little did he know the longer he took explaining exactly what was going to happen, the easier it was going to be for Frank to make sure nothing happened that way. When Pete hung up the phone, Frank smiled. "We got'em"
Frank, Beki and Sam begged Pete to stay behind. Sam even tried to persuade him but to no avail. The man's will to save his kids was stronger than that. It was a gift Sam envied, and despised. Beki envied and admired. They finally relented and the four of them headed to the warehouse address Frank had pulled from his trace. the caller had tried to hide but Frank was better. And soon enough these kidnapers would find out what Franks other talent was. He had spent the first 100 yrs denying his nature. He's spent the last 100 reconciling, the man and the Monster. The man had tools to track these scoundrels. The monster would soon make them pay for causing his friend this pain.
As they approached the warehouse, Beki immediately sensed that something was not quite right, almost as she was thinking it Sam said it, "I've got a bad feeling about this."
Almost on que the trap sprung, trapping the van of would be rescuers in an inescapable electromagnetic field. Stepping from behind the warehouse wall the man in black simply shook his head. “Thank you for being predictable but you should have stayed behind Pete this isn’t your war. We would never have hurt your children.”
Pete, Sam, Beki and Frank stare at the man, then at each other in confusion. Until Beki looks at Frank and sees the recognition in his eyes, the last sounds any of them heard before the explosion was simply a whisper from Franks lips, "Van Helsing"
| 2018-01-31T14:18:04 | 2018-01-31T11:42:48 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper.
|
For the first time, the whiskey swayed in my hand. It's aftertaste long since settled in the back of my mouth, and the bottle rolled in the gloom like an empty skull. Silent tears and countless questions I never dared to ask replaced the itching void I felt inside. I travelled inside my mind, and found horrors and holes I didn't want to remind.
It didn't take me long to understand. This was what those pensive stares of the mortals concealed: a flawed man struggling to answers questions he should never ask, while holding the weight of a chaotic world on his back.
Earlier that day, I had reaped the soul of a man who had been forgotten, but who hadn't died. An anomaly. Something that shouldn't be possible.
He was old and lonely. The outer world had long since lost meaning to him. That's why every night, sip by sip, he drowned in his flaws instead.
It hadn't always been like that. In the past, the silence had been filled with the laughter of his children, and the smile of her wife had kept the shadows away. What had changed? That was the question he had struggled to unravel until the end of his days.
Since they had gone, the man had lost himself in his mind, searching for an answer he would never find. For the answer had lay in his hand, and he had long since gone blind.
In the end, broken shards had gleamed in the dark. His breaths had disturbed the perfect silence, and I had been witness of a man who in his persistence had forgotten his existence.
I took a deep breath, and left my glass on the table. The whiskey rippled inside.
Some things are better left aside.
---------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall - For more stories!
|
I did not know what to say.
Ibem shrugged. "What's the matter? I'm dead right? You're the Grim Reaper here to take my soul away? *Whoosh whoosh?*" He made vague scything motions with his hands.
"No, I'm not him. I'm his...brother. Well, sort of like a brother. And the scythe thing is just his weird affection. Obsessed with metaphors, that one." I pulled back my hood and nervously ran a hand through my hair, finally taking a look around the room.
It was beautiful, well decorated and full of light and colour. But it was completely designed for one. From the perfectly positioned television, to the single serving dining table, everything was purpose designed for a single man.
A pair of drones alighted on the delivery pad just outside the window and took off again, barely stopping to drop their food off.
"Well, whoever you are, lets get this over with." Ibem, said impatiently, turning to admire himself in the mirror one last time. He was dressed quite dandily, in bright colours and lavish silks. All wasted, I thought, since he never went outside...
He still looked good though.
"I wish it were that simple." I took a seat in the only open chair and considered what to do.
200,000 years of reaping with no precedent for something as absurd as this. Who ever heard of a man without so much as a acquaintance in a world?
"What's wrong?" The young man said, sitting next to me. "Are you stuck mute by my dazzling good looks?"
"Ahem." I blushed slightly but continued on. "Well, the first problem is you're not dead." measured my worlds carefully. I was not sure how much I could explain to him. But more than that, whatever his fate, I felt had to understand.
I pitied him.
"Well, that's good news, isn't it?" Ibem muttered, sensing that more was still coming.
"Yes, and no. See, you're still alive. But you're just died your True Death." I watched him absorb the words.
"I think I've heard of this." Ibem said, his eyes taking on a dangerous gleam. "The first time you die is when your heat stops beating, and your body dies right? You get a big funeral, weeping family and friends, grim reaper shows up, all that good stuff."
I nodded. He had the right of it. Not always with the weeping family, sometimes people even cheered, but they still acknowledged it.
"And then there's the second death. Centuries later, when all that knew you are dead, and even your name is dust. Then you die your True Death. The final death, that all must face alone."
Again, I nodded Again, he was mostly right, but the True Death did not always take centuries, in certain situations - particular political or religious ones - it happened within minutes.
"You're some kind of Elder grim reaper."
"I'm sometimes called the True Reaper." I replied apologetically. "And yes, you could say that."
"That means I have been forgotten. In my own lifetime. I kept saying I would leave the house, that I would go out see people again. That I would begin living life again. But it is too late. It is already too late."
"I have been completely forgotten by the world, and have died my True Death!" Ibem cried out, and I wrapped an arm around him.
He sobbed loudly, and I held him, unsure what else to do.
"When did they die?" He asked suddenly. "And how?" I knew what he meant.
"Just now." I answered. "A leak from the gas heater."
"They were together? And they did not suffer?" I saw how the question pained him to ask.
"They were. And no, they did not suffer."
We sat there on the couch for a few minutes, as he composed himself.
Ibem suddenly stood and looked around the room, as though for the first time. "So, this must be doing a number of you and your brother, huh? What do you need from me?"
I shrugged. "I'm not quite sure. I'm still considering options. But I need to do something soon, before...that happens." I pointed at to the tips of his fingers, which were beginning to turn to stone.
"Of course." Ibem answered. He seemed to consider for a moment and then dashing into the kitchenette, he grabbed a knife from the counter and held it to his own throat.
"This would solve your problem right?" He met my eyes. "I don't turn to stone and suffer for eternity? You don't have to figure out how to get me our of this body without killing me. Since you and hour brother cannot interfere with each other right? There are always rules..."
Tears streamed down my face as I crossed the distance between us.
"No." I whispered, taking the knife from his hand. I let it fall to the floor, and held him against my chest. As I did, I made a decision. "There is another way..."
*I'm sorry to put this on you* I thought to my brother, *but I must be foolish once again.*
I could sense the vague amusement emanating from the Grim Reaper through our shared bond.
"What are you doing?" Ibem asked with amazement, staring at me. I knew what he must be seeing. My skin turning translucent, the solid. My face gaining losing colour, then gaining it back with force.
"Buying you more time." I answered, completing my transformation. "You are no longer forgotten."
I sighed heavily, exhausted from the effort of becoming mortal. "I still remember you. That counts for something."
"Thank you." Ibem cried, hugging my tightly. "I promise I won't screw up this chance."
I smiled and said nothing, thinking on the day I would die.
| 2018-05-12T16:17:09 | 2018-05-12T16:14:04 | 80 | 10 |
[WP] You're a demon. One of your favorite passtimes with your friends is to shapeshift into a young family of three, hire a babysitter, and pay them if they can last an entire night alone with whoever's the supernatural demonic toddler that night. This newest victim of yours, however, isn't phased.
|
She closed her umbrella, hung her coat, and stepped into the the living room. Our newest babysitter victim, a middle aged handsome woman in very conservative clothing, had no idea what she was getting into. Our demonic game was on, and I expected her to run screaming from the house within the first 15 mins, though I had until midnight to win the game. My cohorts thanked her for coming on such short notice and quickly made thier exit through the front door.
As the door closed, the game began. My first attempt to send the woman screaming was a simple 360 degree head turn. As I sat watching the cartoons on TV, I turned my head all the way around and asked her for some juice. My head continued the same direction until the cartoons came back into view. Fully expecting a scream and a slamming door, I was completely taken a back when she handed me a glass of water and said is was too late for children to have such sugary treats. No sign of fear or confusion on her face. Maybe she didnt see.
For my second attempt, I thought that some basic poltergeist tricks might be more unsettling. As the lights began to flicker and the decorations in the house began to tremble and then float, the sitter walked into the living room and said it was time for bed. Completely oblivious to the lamp floating by her face she took my hand and led me upstairs to the bathroom. I was so bewildered by her lack of reaction that I just stood there while she washed my face and handed me a pair of pajamas to put on. "Let's get ready quickly so we can have a story before bed, then," she chirped in a sing song voice.
I was not about to let this woman beat me, so I knew I had to up my game. Maybe blood pouring down the walls would scare the lady. As she looked through the books on the shelf in my bedroom, I summoned a wall of blood to poor from the ceiling. I was quite impressed with my display. It was as though a hurricane of blood was pouring down inside the small room. But the woman opened her umbrella... which I could have sworn she left by the front door, and continued pursing my small children's library. She pulled a story about a boy and his dog and sat on the chair next to my bed. Blood still pouring down in sheets, the sitter propped her umbrella up behind her chair and began the story.
The womans voice was powerfully calm and she quickly lulled me to sleep. Me. A demon. Just out like a tired child after a long day at the park. I didn't wake up until the I heard the front door open. My eyes flashed to the clock. 11:56pm. My "parents" were home, and I had exactly 4 mins left to get terrify the woman or lose the game. I had a perfect record before tonight, and I wasnt going to let this lady be the end of my reign as the champion terrified of babysitters.
I knew the only thing left to do was to reveal my true nature. As a demon, my horrendous form can bring the bravest of men to their knees with just a glance. I let go of the mortal child form I was holding and let my true self come forth. The wings, the claws, the teath and horns. 11:58. 2 mins left. My hooves pounded as I crashed down the stairs, foaming at the mouth and flexing my imposing bat like wings as I came into the entryway. My demonic cohorts were removing thier coats. I could tell they were pleased the sitter was still here and I might finally lose a round of our little game.
With all the power I could muster I let out a demonic howl and lunged at the woman. Without so much as gasp she stepped just to left and flew past her, slamming into a wall.
"And to think," she said, "you wanted to have some sugar before bed. Now, be a good little demon and hop back up to bed."
My demonic parents looked at me and the the sitter. "You know he is a demon?" My 'Mother' asked.
"Indeed." The sitter smiled. "But I love taking care of all children. He was no trouble at all." She pulled her coat over her shoulders and grabbed her umbrella. "Please, if you need me anytime, just give me a call! And here a a few of my cards in case you know anybody who needs my services."
As the sitter walked out the front door, leaving us all quite flabbergasted, my mother read the card out loud.
"Mary Poppins, Sitter for hire."
|
Y’know, being a demon isn’t that bad. You get to mess around with people all you want, with barely any repercussions.
Well, alright, maybe you might have to clean out the human-pit, or do an hour-long session of writing out the daily checklist of sinners if you get caught, but hey, what’s life without a little fun?
And that’s exactly what we were doing.
My friends and I, we enjoy playing games.
Tonight is definitely no acceptation.
During a round of Jio-Die (which is somewhat like “Truth or Dare”, for you humans), we ended up daring ourselves to play our favorite game: “Babysitter Madness”.
Basically, we pull Tris (or “sticks”) to decide who will be the baby. Longest stick-puller decides who it will be. We then transform ourselves into a quaint family of three. After picking a house, we find a babysitter for that up-coming night and let the fun begin.
Today, I get the longest stick.
I point to Reed, who is the absolute worst at this game.
“You’re up, Reeds~”
Max, our other friend, giggles evilly. She’s glad she’s not it this time.
Reeds glares at me, but doesn’t argue. He transforms into his baby-character, which is a cute little thing with dark black hair, beady blue eyes, a super chubby ass, and very grabby hands.
I transform myself into a suitable parent for Reeds, and Max becomes the opposite gender. The skins take a bit to get used to, but we are quickly headed towards our destination of today: Delaware.
We figure it won’t be too bad tonight, Delaware being so small and all that.
So, while Reed plays with his baby toys, Max and I try to find an available babysitter. The iPad we’re using is slow and unreliable at times, but we find good website soon enough.
There’s so many ‘sitters to choose from..
It takes a while, but we eventually find several of people. Maybe nine or ten at the most would be good, though.
“Hey, Pips..”
Max turns towards me a bit more. She seems worried.
“Yea?”
“Are you really sure this is a good idea?”
“What,” I ask, tilting my head in confusion. Max had never cared about that, at least not from what I knew of her. Of course, she did often try to follow the rules. Last minute jitters?
“Of course it is! Why would you ask that?”
“I dunno. I.. just don’t want to have to.. write down more checklists!” Max’s cheeks are bright red. Her eyes glance around the room, looking anywhere but in my direction.
I ruffle her black hair and let it slide. We can talk about this later; it’s too late right now to turn back.
“Look, let’s just call the babysitter and head on home, then. Reeds knows what to do, where to go, and we can be here quickly if we need to.”
Max nods, gets up, and walks over to the phone with the iPad. She seems to randomly select one and call them.
I get up as well and walk over to Reeds, not exactly wanting to look at Max anymore.
An hour later, the doorbell rings. Max and I rush over, almost tripping on the baby toys on our way.
Swinging open the door, I get a good look at our babysitter as Max begins to speak and show him in.
He’s wearing a man-bun with hair the color of autumn leaves sparking up. Freckles, a green Polo T-shirt, jeans not ripped anywhere, and a black jacket complete his look.
Great.
He’s slightly fidgeting, as if not exactly happy about being here.
Five quick minutes pass by as I finish the tour Max started. She grabs her coat and I grab mine on the way out.
A slightly humid breeze rustles our hair as it goes by, signaling the eventual arrival of summer. I’m slightly sweating and wishing it was still fall, but I say nothing as we disappear into the alleyways and forests of the surrounding neighborhood. When we’re well hidden, we take off, transforming into birds and other creatures as we make out ways back to Hell.
It doesn’t take long for a buzz to start in my head.
It hurts for a second before it grows louder and slightly intelligible:
“New guy’s not budging. Switch up.”
I stopped Max and let her know what was happening.
“Reeds needs some help. Seems like he can’t get this one,” I joked, starting back. I was disappointed he had given up so soon, but at least he hadn’t called as we got home.
When we get back, Reed is sitting out on the roof, the babysitter nowhere to be found.
“He’s sitting inside, watching TV. Didn’t even react to me in the oven.” Reed grumbles moodily.
“Satan, just switch over real quick. I’ll handle this.” Since I was the best at this, it made sense for me to do it. Max and Reed agreed and took off, leaving me alone.
I crawled down through the chimney, finding myself directly behind the man. He payed no attention as I crawled up.
He did, however, notice when the sofa flipped over.
“Hey! What the hell—”
Then he noticed me.
He looked speechless, but said nothing. After picking me up by my chubby arms, he shoved me down into a play-pen.
Amateur move.
As soon as he put me down and turned around, I slammed the gate back open and crawled out. No sense in walking, since that would probably ruin the fun.
He jumped, but did nothing except putting me back into the pen again, this time checking the locks.
I melted them.
You want to play? Oh, alright, we’ll play.
Surprisingly, he seemed unfazed by this now.
Or, well, not as surprised.
“What in the fresh f*ck is this?” He murmured, scratching his head. He looks a tad bit annoyed.
Fine, play like that. I’ll get you, I will.
I started acting like a normal baby again. He probably didn’t but it, but turned away and tried to flip the couch back over.
You can’t blame me for what I did next.
I threw the dining-room table at him. He was definitely going to have some kind of back injury from that.
And yet.. he seemed even less perturbed.
Calmer, even. Like he knew exactly what he was doing and what every step he needed to do what.
I didn’t like him being any step ahead of me.
So I threw a couple of chairs and levitated some items at and around him.
And he just stood there!
Unbelievable.
Focusing, I channeled some strength to weave my way into Max or Reed’s minds, like all demons could do.
Reed answered, simply saying a silent “Told you so”.
I internally yelled at him for a second before catching him up on what I did. He agreed to coming back shortly and that I’d see him in a couple of minutes.
Fine, fine.
I will get this man to go crazy.
Opening my eyes now, I centered my gaze on the man, trying to figure out some weaknesses and strengths.
It was like talking to a stone slate
I threw more items, morphed into a couple of shapes, and even threw a couple of hallucinations at him, but nothing seemed to work.
By the time Reed had come back, I was tired out and just about to collapse and dissipate the baby skin.
He picked me up and started to say goodnight when the guy spoke for what felt like the first time in ages.
“Some demon you got there. They’ll be a trouble-maker when they grow up. Nice disguises, too.” He smiled from ear to ear, sending a chill running up my neck. Reed’s eyes were gaping open, he himself unable to move.
“See you in my office tomorrow, kiddos. Bring Max.”
And with that, he dropped back to his demon form and walked off, humming a happy little tune as he went.
The sounds of the night seemed to stop as he passed, as of the creatures knew what had happened and who he was.
Not much happened from there, other than us getting home and having to deal with the bodies in the pits as punishment. We’re definitely going to do it again, as we never learn our lessons, but we’re thinking of maybe doing it in a couple of months.
Just in case.
You never know where one of us could be hiding. Just look out for the sofa.
Or the chair. Or the bricks.
Or the dining-room table.
———-
Weow. That was a doozie.
Now, ima go to bed. God, can tonight be any hotter?
Hope y’all enjoyed that, if anything. Sorry about all the parts in the beginning, and how long it takes to get to the story. Not to mention typos and the anticlimactic ending.
ÙwÓ ~
| 2019-04-09T19:58:17 | 2019-04-09T18:07:17 | 49 | 24 |
[WP] You been a bullied outcast your entire life despite your pure heart and kindness. One day a horrible prank for you goes wrong, leaving you to die. Before your final breath, Death appears in white robes, and offers you a golden scythe with a name engraved on it: Karma.
|
Dying a peaceful death after suffering a life of hurt is more fitting than I could’ve imagined. This, however, is certainly not the way I thought I’d die. I work in an office building, and despite having a team to work on projects with, I usually have to do the majority of the work, which requires me to stay after for an hour or so.
My manager was nice enough to leave a key with me so that I can lock up, although he didn’t give it to me as a way of saying “I trust you”; I think he knows that if I don’t stay after and do the work, nobody else will, so he concedes and allows me to have that one sliver of responsibility.
We all have little lockers here that we can put our belongings in; lunch boxes, miscellaneous items, things of that nature. I guess some of the people in the office thought it’d be funny to booby-trap mine, because when I was finally ready to go home and I opened the locker, firecrackers were set off. Now normally this would be harmless, but in my clumsiness I fell backwards and cracked my head open on the wooden bench that was behind me.
So here I am, slowly bleeding out as my locker and the contents of it are torn to shreds by some prank-gone-wrong.
I never understood why people disliked me. I tried my hardest to be kind and respectful to everyone; even when I was young I went out of my way to do that. I thought maybe it was because of my looks, but in the past I’d never had a problem getting girlfriends, although they’d usually be quite abusive as well. The next idea that popped into my head was that maybe it was because of *how* nice I was. People might not like someone that’s overly kind or caring. That theory was disproven quick when I started trying to keep more to myself and the treatment became worse.
So I’ve come to the conclusion that this is-or was-how life had to be. I just got an unlucky draw and that’s that. I’ll accept my death and move on.
Suddenly, as if finally coming to my rescue, a white-robed being with a shrouded face and a golden scythe appears before me. I think for a moment that I’m hallucinating due to the blood loss, but the being reaches down to touch my hand and I can feel the chill of its bony fingers. “You’ve lived your life for everyone besides yourself, and even until the very end you’ve come to accept that. I’m here to offer you a second chance.” He held the scythe close so that I could see it; *Karma* was engraved on the blade.
I instantly realize what that would mean if I accept; anyone that had done me wrong will have that come right back around to them. I’ll be able to get revenge on anyone that had treated me poorly for no reason at all. I’d be the judge, jury, and executioner.
A smile tugs at my lips, and the being in front of me looks taken aback, although I can’t see its face. “I think I’ll pass....thank you, though.” I can hardly get the words out, but when they do come, the reaper tilts his head for a moment and then slowly stands up from where he’d been crouching next to me. “Are you sure? Once you make this decision, there is no going back. You will *die*.” I nod ever so slightly, the world already starting to fade to black. I no longer have the strength to speak, so I think my answer in hopes that he’ll somehow hear it.
*What’s the point of being kind all of your life if you’re going to throw it all away when given the chance? Everyone else chose their moral path, and I’ve already chosen mine. I’d like to die sticking to it.*
The being looks off to the side for a moment before it turns its shrouded gaze back to me and nods. After a moment, it disappears in a black mist, and I’m left with my destroyed locker, the pool of blood on the floor, and my final thoughts.
Dying a peaceful death after suffering a life of hurt is more fitting than I could’ve imagined. I’m content knowing that I’ve lived with a track record like this.
|
"Oi! Come on! It was just a prank! Just a prank!" A panicked male voice shrilly screamed.
&#x200B;
"Tas! We gotta bounce! Now!" Other voices called out to him.
&#x200B;
My eyelid were sliding shut as I tried not to scream in pain. Every living day already hurt since the day I was born, so I was hoping that my death would at least be painless... although that would be a tall order considering that villagers had filled the area around my home with landmines due to a slight 'correction' the other youngsters made to the map of the area. So now, I lost both legs, had shrapnel in my lungs and no left eye.
&#x200B;
The youngsters who 'pranked' me were running from the scene. Good for them, because getting blown up hurts a lot. I just hope they don't accidentally walk onto some mines themselves.
&#x200B;
As the revolving lantern played out my life, I wondered:
&#x200B;
Did I even manage to do anything right? Or was my existence merely a textbook of mistakes made?
&#x200B;
As I faded into darkness...
&#x200B;
*System error 4025: Patient has awakened.*
&#x200B;
"Error cancel. Well then, how are you doing, my dear?" An effeminate male voice rang as I awoke with a slur.
&#x200B;
How was I still alive?
&#x200B;
The voice mercilessly continued:
&#x200B;
"I do hope you aren't thinking something dumb like the afterlife, because you are alive, young lady."
&#x200B;
How?
&#x200B;
I looked at my body...
&#x200B;
To see faint glowing lines were running through my body.
&#x200B;
"Well, you must be confused. Let me explain." A slender male steps to the front of the frosted glass container I was in and pushes a button.
&#x200B;
The container opens up to release a disoriented me.
&#x200B;
As I coughed to catch my breath, I realised a few things off about me:
&#x200B;
Firstly, I did not see normally anymore, but rather everything was registered as various shades of red, orange and blue.
&#x200B;
Secondly, I could hear the faintest of footsteps, and the beating heart of the man standing feet away from me.
&#x200B;
Lastly, my heart was not beating.
&#x200B;
With an oddly mechanical voice, I questioned:
&#x200B;
"What is all this?!"
&#x200B;
"Well, young lady, I congratulate you for being the first successful experiment we have had in about two years. It just so happens that we found you left for dead one winter's morning and decided to try and save you."
&#x200B;
"Save?"
&#x200B;
Mechanical whirling could be heard as I asked again.
&#x200B;
"This country is losing the war."
&#x200B;
"War?"
&#x200B;
"The war that started two years ago. You know, the ones they placed land mines at the villages for."
&#x200B;
I should have slept for eternity but I only slept for two years. If the war started two years back, that means...
&#x200B;
"Everyone at the village..."
&#x200B;
"Are likely dead. The villages took the worst of the enemy raids, given their value as supply lines and bases."
&#x200B;
...
&#x200B;
"Wouldn't you want to murder those who brought this fate upon your village? To avenge them..."
&#x200B;
"Vengeance brings only pain and suffering. I want none of that."
&#x200B;
The slender man looks at me with glee as he brings out a golden scythe.
&#x200B;
"The scythe takes the form that its owner desires. It will bring you pain, but if you would like to save others... it definitely has that power. What do you say?"
&#x200B;
The scythe beckons to me, with pulsations rippling.
&#x200B;
With a deep breath, I nodded...
&#x200B;
**A year later:**
&#x200B;
Things were tough on the western front, with all the enemies camping outside our gates and us being ill-equipped to handle them.
&#x200B;
My village was destroyed two years ago, with the dingy house of that girl going first. With the way she was, it was probably for the best anyways. Most of us who survived that onslaught barely made it out.
&#x200B;
Then we went to the capital city, where people from the boonies like us were conscripted. We became the aristocracy's pawns.
&#x200B;
The haunting faces of the dead plagued my dreams, never far from sight. Everywhere I turned, they beckoned me to join them.
&#x200B;
As I held down the disgusting field rations given for dinner, I remembered her. Her annoyingly optimistic outlook on life, her staunch refusal to say a harsh word even when we picked on her. The dumbass who did not scream in resentment even as her legs were blown off by my dumbass prank.
&#x200B;
You would think karma would have gotten to me by making me the first to die, but no. It let me live to see the haunted faces of those killed by me and beside me, and bear their resentment and despair.
&#x200B;
A missile landed three camps away, a war cry was heard. Throwing down the remainder of the rations, I rushed over to the site only to find many dead and dying bodies. However, I noticed someone a short distance away who had a broken limb. I ran over to him, but paused as enemy soldiers rushed past me.
&#x200B;
If I tried to save him, I would likely be caught and die.
&#x200B;
His face was contorted in pain, but he wasn't screaming. Just like her.
&#x200B;
*The hell am I doing?*
&#x200B;
I questioned myself as I prepared a makeshift stretcher. Just as I looked closer, I realised that he was an enemy soldier...
&#x200B;
Saving the enemy?
&#x200B;
\-Tch
&#x200B;
I propped him onto the stretcher, and lugged him away.
&#x200B;
I didn't manage to lug him for long before I was caught by a contingent of enemies. As they bound and gagged me, I finally stared down the abyss that was the barrel of a rifle.
&#x200B;
*So in the end, I did not manage to do any good at all. My damned life was a textbook of mistakes made, huh.*
&#x200B;
I mocked myself as I readied myself for the shot that never came.
&#x200B;
Since a golden figure with lustrous mechanical wings dispatched all the soldiers, except the injured one.
&#x200B;
Her long hair billowed in the wind as it gestured at me.
&#x200B;
Nanomachines surrounded me as they started healing me. As my pain receded, I noticed a few things about her:
&#x200B;
She wielded twin blades dripping in the blood of enemies that she killed like an apex predator would.
&#x200B;
Her gaze was hauntingly familiar, even the eye that was clearly mechanised was the same as the one that girl lost...
&#x200B;
*"Salvation will come to those who earn it, and judgement levied on those who deserve it."* A mechanical voice rang out in all of its accursed familiarity. As she smiled gently at me, I recognised her at last.
&#x200B;
My eyes widened at the sight of the girl that should have been dead by my hands.
&#x200B;
*"Karma has come."*
| 2019-04-19T07:52:54 | 2019-04-19T07:45:26 | 30 | 11 |
[WP] You died days ago, and suddenly your spirit is summoned. You look around to see who summoned you. Finally, you hear a meow. It's your goddamn cat who wants more food despite the bowl being full.
|
I had fallen for what seemed like many days from the moment my heart stopped. Down past the furnaces, hearing the passing wails as the torturers flayed the skin of the damned as I fell.
Finally I hit the ground. Body broken, pulled upright by clawed red hands of a chittering horde of horned monsters. In seconds my arms manacled above mys outstretched naked body whilst burning sulphurous beasts prepared whips and branding irons in firey pits nearby to correct every past transgression I had ever comitted.
Pulling my sisters hair at her fifth birthday party so she cried. That would be thirty lashes of a burning whip. That post on Twitter insulting someone minding their own business? I'd pay for that with a burning poker placed to make my bowels sizzle.
The seemingly endless scroll of my transgressions small and large being read by a tribe of monstorous beasts. each being marked down for a fitting punishment. every crime and punishment read out before me to enhance my anticipation of the pain and torture yet to come. Monsters laughing at the forthcoming entertainment of a weeping, screaming, pleading lump of flesh in front of them, to be torn and blooded.
three sudden booming knocks echoed across the plain and the demon horde fell silent.
A ghostly grey beam of light fell across my form and a hollow voice said "he is summoned"
The demons untied me, one looked into my eyes "You poor bastard" it said "you're in the hands of the necromancers now. At least when we work our way through the list of transgressions, it's over. You've paid your dues, and you're welcomed into one of the other places."
"With those bastards though the punishment is you do whatever they want till they let you go. And if a passing hero sticks a blade through them before they release you, you're left shuffling about till the universe is over with nobody ever able to let you free, gradually decaying alone and abandoned."
I was pulled up back into my broken body, no breathing, no heartbeat, Eyes white with Cataract blindness, my vision monochrome. Looking down across my chest a circle of runic inscription cut into my skin with a narrow blade powering my return. Beads of blood dripping from the edges of the cuts.
"Ah, you're back" came a voice from the corner of the room. "You do know you hadn't filled my bowl for at least an hour, and the litter tray needs cleaning. This isn't the sort of service I'm used to"
I staggered upright shuffling foreward. My arms reaching towards the tin opener as a feline figure leapt up onto the counter. Interposing itself between me and the cat food. My greying hand reached between her ears, fingers scritching the top of a purring head.
"you know " She said, "The Demons haven't worked it out. They only get to keep the people who weren't good to animals. Anyone who had a cat or a dog, there'll be one of them waiting at the gates of heaven to greet you when you get there. We make sure you have a friend to help you settle in. If you don't turn up at the gates then those felines of us down here get a message, and being the only experienced necromancers around, one of us will turn up and summon you back out of Hell. The cat food gag is the first thing we always play on the freshly summoned, always makes us chuckle" she purred.
"Now as much as I'd like to carry on this conversation, your sister will be here in ten minutes to feed me. and having been dead for a while your lap is hardly warm enough to sit on so I must let you go. Say Hi to Rex and Rufus, And I'll see you in a couple of years".
A single claw cut the runic circle on my chest and my body collapsed for a second time.
My hopeful spirit ran up the stairway to the gates, to the chorus of barks and miaos from those waiting for me. Faithful companions.
|
It had been three days since I died, and I was finally getting used to the afterlife. At first I found it boring, walking on and on towards a grey city under a grey sky, but after a while it ended up being meditative. I was almost dreading my eventual arrival at its drab walls. But as I kept walking, I suddenly felt a tug on my right leg. At first I was unsure why that seemed so peculiar, but then I remembered that all I had seen of myself since death was a wispy fog. So how could something grab me?
I looked down to find that mist around my lower half was condensing into a boned leg, starting from the furry tail coiled around the shin bone. As I observed the spreading process in bewilderment, the tail suddenly twitched fiercely, tugging my leg and the rest of me with it. With a vain hand outstretched towards the calm grey world I was leaving, I slipped between planes of existence; shattered visions of a thousand worlds flashed by as if only caught in the corner of my eyes before I found myself standing in my living room.
By all rights I was, or at least should have been, disoriented, but strangely my body didn’t share the nausea in my mind. As I shook it off, I heard an odd rattling. I didn’t sense any motion nearby, making the source of the sound a mystery. A short-lived mystery, though - I unconsciously raised my hand to scratch my head and realized from the mottled boney arm that I was, in fact, a skeleton.
“Mrrrrooooowwww!” A dark grey cat with white paws stood in front of the archway to the kitchen, her eyes glowing with an arcane light.
“No way - Arli, you were the necromancer?” My voice was more echoey than it was in life, but I was more fixated on the fact that my cat had apparently raised me from the dead. Everyone in town knew that a necromancer had been messing around in the graveyard - there had been disturbances in the graves and odd sightings for the last few months. The town board had a subjugation notice posted, but no one had bothered taking it since the reward was low and there had been no real damage.
Apparently being slack-jawed is much more noticeable when you’re a skeleton, because it only took a moment before Arli meowed at me again, demanding attention. Having raised her since she was a kitten, I knew that the exact tone of yowl designated as a request for food. Wondering if she hadn’t been fed all this time, I plodded over and into the kitchen.
Staring back at me was a full bowl of cat food atop its usual green woven mat. I suppose my neighbor had been kind enough to make sure Arli wouldn’t starve after my passing.
“Meeeoww!” Arli loudly meowed again, rubbing against and weaving through my bony legs, all the while gently nudging me closer to the food bowl.
“It’s already full Arli! Every single time, all you do is ask for more! You are going to get fat!” I pleaded with her to accept the already sufficient offering, gesticulating broadly at the full bowl.
Arli prowled away from me to sit next to the bowl, and I swear she rolled her eyes. Staring up at me, she meowed even more imperatively than usual.
“Really, Arli, just look down at the bowl-” My placations were cut off as my body started moving on its own to the cupboard where I kept the container of dried, smoked meat chips. My arm reached up, opened the cabinet, and grabbed the tin before my legs led me back to the food bowl. My spine bent as the rough grip of my skeletal hands struggled briefly with the container’s lid, then shook more chips onto the kibble pile. After shutting the tin and backing up slightly, I realized that I was in command of my body once more.
“Hey, what gives?” I said to Arli, upset at having been controlled against my will. Arli glanced over at me and my complaint was met with the sardonic indifference inherent in every housecat. “Mrow, meow, mrrow merow,” she instructed.
“Fine, but if we’re leaving we should stop by the graveyard. I want my axe.” I retorted as I fetched a backpack and basic traveling supplies from around the small home. The tin of remaining cat food was loaded first, with the other supplies allocated to the remaining space by degrees of importance and irreplaceability.
“Meeow mrrrow merrow,” Arli mentioned offhandedly, as she conjured a hand of magical energy to fasten a small leather harness across her shoulders. Attached to the harness were a few small satchels, just barely dangling where they could be accessed by a paw.
“What do you mean my axe is in the bedroom! I specifically told them to bury it with me! I told them with my dying breath!” I ranted angrily at the seeming betrayal as I swung back into the bedroom, finally spotting it halfway behind the closet curtain. Another series of meows corrected me from the living room, as Arli indicated that she was, in fact, smart enough to realize that I would want it and had already fetched it for me. I still grumbled as we assembled at the door, ready to leave, once again, from the place that had been my home.
I opened the door to allow Arli out first and was mildly surprised to find that the mage hand was still conjured; it was, in fact, carrying the nearly overflowing food bowl behind Arli. Resettling the backpack comfortably upon my bones, I hefted my axe and followed her through the shadows.
Arli headed towards the local wizard’s storefront, but turned down a dark alley just before passing the gently gleaming shop window. Around two corners she paused in front of a worn wooden door. It had no handle and was shut with thick bolts, but there was a small flap down low, about at eye-level for Arli. Arli raised a paw and rapped one the flap; less than a minute later, it swung open.
The fur pattern of the paw that opened it was unusual; I tried to subtly crouch down to see inside but between the backpack and my suddenly lighter existence, threw myself off balance. With an unquiet clattering, I tried to make the barest of saves of my dignity, landing on the ground in a position that could be most flatteringly described as a coquettish side-lay and most realistically described as an awkward pile of bones. I could feel the secondhand embarrassment from Arli, as she and Raji, the shopkeeper’s familiar who I could now see through the opened flap, stared.
“Mreow, mreow.” Arli drew attention away from me as she engaged Raji in what I can only assume was talk of business. As I quietly gathered myself into a reasonable sitting position, I saw Arli trade the meat chips from her bowl for various wares - gems, powders, and liquids in containers small as a thimble - all of which were secreted into either of her harness’s satchels. Suddenly I realized why Arli always wanted more food - I guess it makes sense for the currency of cats to be meat rather than gold. Once I assumed she had enough spellcasting components stored away, Arli concluded the transaction and nudged me further down the alley as Raji waved farewell with a paw.
Once away from the store, Arli stopped and after a moment of glancing back and forth between the food bowl, which still had some meat left, and the backpack, decided to take a moment to enjoy the remainder as a second dinner. I chuckled, knowing how much she liked midnight snacks. Once she finished, I put the bowl away in my backpack. I stooped down again to pick her up for a cuddle, then paused, crestfallen to realize my bones would no longer provide a comfortable hammock.
Guessing the source of my hesitation, Arli went around and pawed at the blanket rolled beneath the backpack. Realizing her intention, I released it from the strap and laid it across my arms. Arli jumped up onto her carriage and nestled herself in, then pointed towards the town gate. With my furry master in my arms, we set out into the darkness to begin our adventure.
| 2021-09-27T18:40:20 | 2021-09-27T18:19:32 | 113 | 63 |
[WP] You're a demon being summoned. You expected to meet a power hungry fool asking for immortality etc. What you did not expect was a crying child asking for help.
|
It was as I had not expected.
We were in a...what was it? A shake-park? No, that wasn't it. A skate park. Yeah, that was it.
But it wasn't teenage boys daring one another to summon me, and it wasn't greedy adults seeking immortality and riches.
It was a girl. A small, wailing girl, hiding under the nearby swings, dressed in a yellow raincoat, with long red rain boots. A summoning circle had been crudely drawn in front of her, but it was intact.
"Why did you call me?" I asked, confused by the situation.
It was dark, I could hardly make out her face, but the sound of her voice told me she'd been crying. How old was she? Five? Maybe seven?
"I didn't...I didn't know what else to do..." She whimpered, her face concealed by darkness. "I was lonely. I was scared."
I frowned. "No one has ever summoned me because they were scared."
"I'm sorry." She wiped her face.
"I-" My mouth closed. "Why are you outside? It's the winter. Return to your home where there will be a family to comfort your."
The girl shook her head. "Can't."
"Why not?" My words came out sharper than I had intended, and the girl shuffled nervously. "What prevents you from returning?"
"Don't have one. A family or a house." The girl sniffed again. "I'm sorry. You can go if you like."
To anyone else, I would have opened back a portal to Hell, leaving them to their misery. But not this one. Something compelled me to stay. "What happened, child?"
A sudden piercing sound was heard - a warning - and suddenly the girl whimpered again, jumping to her feet. I got a better look at her face: long nosed, black hair, with bright blue eyes. "They're here. The bad people and their bombs are here."
We sat just outside the city, and my shoulders dropped. Powerful beams of light searched the sky, and I knew what was going on. Being a demon meant existing outside of time and space, and that in turn meant they could arrive in any time or place possible.
Soon the sky would be ablaze, thanks to humanity's inability to get along. I looked down at the little girl, and held out my hand. "Stay here, little one," I said. "Sit with me. I will protect you, I vow it." I came and sat down with legs crossed. "Then tomorrow we shall see to it you are removed from the city."
The girl sat down next to me. "I don't think anyone knows I exist." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I don't think anyone cares anymore."
Awkwardly, I put my arm around her shoulders. "I know that you exist," I said warmly. "And that will be enough."
|
As it felt itself be summoned it rejoiced to itself. Finally. After dozens of decades of being trapped, finally it is free. All it needs to do is make a deal with it's summoner. Maybe it'll just kill them and be done with it. It hasn't killed in a while. First though, it'll hear them out. If only for the amusment of the request.
It let the pull of the summoning drag it out of it's trap. Opening its eyes, it took a second for the condensed shadow of its natural form to shape into what it wished to appear as to it's summoner. It decided on a vaguely human shape with tendrils of shadow on it's back and the entire form dripping with liquid shadow. Once its form was shaped, it let the excess shadow dissipate into the corners of the room. Now being able to see clearly, it looked around.
It was in the middle of a summoning circle, *no suprise there*, but the circle was very crudely drawn. It was actually a bit offended with the lack of care but ignored it....for now. Taking in the room, if it were to describe it in one word it would be: 'ancient'. The room was practically crumbling in on itself. It looked like the slightest breeze would knock it over. Nevertheless it stood, unsteady as it was. At first it didn't see it's summoner. It probably would have completely missed them if they weren't outlined by thier magic (a spell they put on themselves centuries ago to clear up confusion and not give out free deals).
The child was huddled in one of the darkest corners, a dark and very worn blanket covering thier form to further help them blend in. The demon turned to face the child and spoke in a slightly softer tone than it normally would. "Hello, child. Do you know who I am?" Its always good to ask so it can get a gage on the knowledge of it's summoner. The child stared at it with big eyes, head tilted downward in a fearful and submissive posture. Teartrscks still drying on its cheeks. It slowly shook its head, eyes never leaving the demon. The demon softly introduced itself.
"I am Dol'garen, high demon lord of shadow and fear." It nodded its head to the child in a respectful almost-bow. "If I may ask, child: Why did you summon me?" The child was quiet for a bit, only thier eyes seen from under the blanket-huddle they were curled into. The demon decided to take a different approach. It crouched down to be a bit more towards the child's level, lowering it's shadow tendrils to not look as big. "Child, if you want me to leave you alo-" It couldn't even finish it's sentence before the child jerked its head up to stare fully at the demon with a terrified expression.
That gave it pause. It paused long enough to take in the appearance of the child. It was dirty and unhealthy pale. There were a few half-healed cuts and bruises scattered across its face and neck. It guessed there were more around the rest of it's body. The demon slowly spoke again. "Ohhhkkaayyy....you dont want to be left alone. Did you just want company, child?" It guessed. The child relaxed a bit at the comment of it not leaving then looked to the ground as they shook thier head. The demon sighed softly, trying not to let thier rising annoyance show.
"Then what *do* you want, child?" The child was quiet for a bit longer before it muttered something. Even with the demon's sharp hearing, it couldn't make out what it said. "Could you repeat that, child?" The kid shifted a tad under the blanket before repeating themself, a tad louder then before.
".....daddy......" The demon was confused for a second. "What about your father? Do you want him gone? To care for you more? Care for you less? Be nicer? Be around more?" The child shook its head and looked back up at the demon, this time looking straight into its eyes (a dangerous move if it weren't a child with this particular demon). It then repeated itself while looking straight at it. "Daddy." The demon took a bit to figure that out before it's eyes (or at least the part of it's form it made to look like eyes) blew wide in suprise.
"Me?" The child perked up a bit and nodded before repeating itself, more firmly. "*Daddy.*" The demon shot upright again. "No, no. I'm not your father, child. What happened to your actual father? Your mother? A guardian of some kind?" The child shood its head. "No fa-fa. No ma-ma." It then looked at the demon with a slight furrow to its tiny brow. It let the blanket fall to point at the demon, showing off more of its cuts and bruises and even a few burns here and there. "You. Daddy." The demon just stared at the child. Said child took that silence to continue as best it can. "You daddy. Daddy stay wif me. Iff daddy go, me go wif daddy. Daddy no leave me's." The demon took a second or two longer to stare, then chuckled to itself.
"There isn't any talking you out of this, is there?" The child perked up and shook its head. The demon sighed again. "Fine." It then pointed at the child. "But if we are going to do this, we are going to do it properly." It said sternly. The child only beamed at the demon. "Now come over here and let me out of this circle, child." The child got up and waddled over with no hesitation, crouching down and rubbing the dirt to break the seal on the circle. The demon took the two steps to close the distance between the two and picked up the young human. The child didn't resist in the slightest, looking as happy as a clam.
"Now. If you want me as a father, we'll have to get a few things for the spell to properly tie us as family." The demon said as it strode out of the room, child snuggled into it's chest happily. The demon would never admit it to anyone, not even the child themself, but it finally understood what past summoner have described as 'joy'.
As they left, the shadows reached from the corners of the room to erase any trace of the summoning and the release of the powerful demon lord. The ancient book used to summon the demon was taken to the demon lord's realm so no other mortal could freely wield such power. As the shadows retreated back again, room was left as empty and unremarkable as it was before the child found it. No one would know what has transpired here. Even if they found out, the watchful shadows would make sure they never tell of what they discovered. For the shadows' master was finally happy after it's centuries of depressive numbness and no one would take that away from it. Not while there is still light to cast the shadow that serves High Demon Lord Dol'garen.
| 2022-10-31T14:42:04 | 2022-10-31T14:24:07 | 111 | 30 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in Valhalla, where all great warriors go when they die. However, you never fought a day in your life. You try to find out why you're there.
|
Finally, I meet Crexus, writer of tales, rememberer of exploits, singer of songs.
"I can't imagine that I belong here more than a blacksmith or munitions manufacturer."
Crexus looks at me somewhat incredulously. "Oh, Robert. Remember what you said? 'I am become death. Destroyer of worlds.' One hundred years hence, your invention destroys your world. No warrior will ever match you, Dr. Oppenheimer."
|
Gates of iron loomed beyond the fields of the fallen. Through the fog, all that could be discerned was the black silhouette of spears and arrow shafts standing against a grey mist. The whole thing was pretty spooky, if you get my point.
"Hello? Is... is anyone there?" My voice sounded like a little girl's. Luckily, no one heard, or at least no one answered. The field was desolate, but the gate seemed to pull me toward it. I stepped forward tentatively, watching footsteps as I passed by broken shields and discarded weapons.
The first corpses I saw were sprawled together, spelling out the battle that had ended their lives. A viking lay on his back, his hands grasping the katana that plunged through his chest. Its weilder appeared to be the samurai beside him, a stray arrow poking out from the thin gap between his chestplate and helmet. The viking had vomited a little blood as he died. I vomited a little vomit as I hurried walked on.
Other corpses adorned the field. A battalion of American WWII soldiers had been beheaded, but around their tank were twice as many Spartan hoplites, their shields badly dented by artillery. A Roman Legion appeared to have stumbled into traps, like the kind the Viet Cong left around in the Rambo movies, but not before they put javelins through a gang of 1920s mobsters. The worst was the dismembered knights. I could only tell that they *were* knights because dented bits of their shining armor glistened beside the bloody pulp of their entrails. More than a few scalps had been taken.
I began to hurry toward the gate, eager to get out of that damnable field, but as my walk turned into a flailing run I heard a low rumbling in the distance. I hurried, but the closer I got the louder it grew, until I could make out war-whoops and bugles over the thunder of hooves. Just as the sound grew loudest, I felt my feet catch on something, and the next thing I knew I sat face-down in some mud made of dirt and significantly more blood than I am comfortable with. I cocked my head to see a net around my feet as my attackers slowed to a halt.
"Please... Please don't kill me..." I sounded pathetic, tears and gagging interrupting my feeble voice. They burst into laughter. I could feel my gut sinking, but somehow I kept my bowels from loosening.
"No worries, kid. We already won. Today at least. You must be new." A silhouette- no an African man- hopped off his horse and stooped over to untie my legs. "Jack Johnson. The boxer," he introduced, a cocksure grin disarm the fear that had paralyzed me a moment ago. "Welcome to Valhalla, eternal home of history's greatest warriors."
"Wait, what?" The fear was gone; confusion racked my head now. "I'm not a warrior, I hate fighting. Why... why am I... Oh, what is going *on*?"
A young girl in some kind of crusader's garb looked around, with a puzzled stare on her face. Her lightly-accented voice spoke to me. "Are you a squire? Perhaps your dead master has requested his servant."
A soft voiced Conquistador chuckled. "Sweet Joan of Arc, if my squire were such a coward, I've have him castrated, not brought to the Hall of Odin. Tell us truth, craven, what could have brought you here?"
"I... I don't know. I'm not a warrior, or a medic, or any kind of squire. The closest I ever got to a fight was whenever some drunks got too rowdy in my bar."
"Your bar?" A pot-bellied viking stared at me, drool practically frothing behind his thick red beard. "Say, Jack, wasn't another brewer coming today? I could 'ave sworn Alexander was going on about how excited he was."
"Alexander the Great-Talker, yeah." Johnson's blood-stained chest lumbered up and down with his hearty laughter. "I remember him talking all about it. Apparently there's a lot of demand for your 'Electric Boogajuice' shots up here. Well, that explains all of this."
We laughed. We cried. We talked about getting hammered later. A hairy Mongolian (I can't say for certain whether he was Genghis Khan, his vocabulary consisted mostly of cheerful grunts and war cries,) invited me up on his horse, and together we rode off toward the iron gates of Valhalla.
**EDIT:** Fixed some grammatical errors courtesy of /u/Kosomba .
| 2014-05-17T18:42:03 | 2014-05-17T18:38:33 | 564 | 48 |
[WP] You are dog. It is your mission to faithfully guard your poor, stupid, two-legged pack-mates from the horrors of the mailman, the dog next door, and men with hats. Describe your vigil.
|
"This is my human. There are many like him, but this one is mine."
They are everywhere. Why he ignores his peril is beyond me. His nose is dumb, but his eyes remain sharp; surely he must see them. Yet he does nothing, wandering the yard, oblivious.
"My human is my best friend. He is my life."
They attempted another incursion today. My brethren beyond the fence warned me of their approach. Good boys, all of them.
"My human, without me, is useless. Without my human, I am unfed."
They are quick, cagey. What they want, I don't know. What I *do* know is that they fear me. Thus, my vigil.
"So be it, until victory is ours, and there is no enemy, but treats!"
The squirrels shall never win.
|
Here I stand, my world behind me, the abyss ahead. I know no lands beyond this one, releasing only my shame into the void, and retreating back in. My pack, a label which is arguable, depend on me, and me alone for their survival. They require me to escort them as they traverse the void, peering into the Otherlands. The many corruptions and abominations from beyond that threaten us are only kept at by my desperate wails. Are their thirsts satiated by my outcries, or do they only find it amusing? I don't know, and I fear the latter more than anything else.
Mael-maan, the first of many darknesses, dubbed as such by the others, wears many faces, changing appearance and voice to suit its needs. It's arrival is daily, but its morphing, twisted form is such that it can continuously deceive the weak ones into letting it into our domain and graciously accepting their Trojan horses into our home. Once, I risked everything to strike out at the beast, wounding it, if only for the moment. The others restrained me, fearing for my life, believing my attack to be folly and that it would only anger the Mael-Maan. They apologized profusely, no doubt begging for my life. However, my attack was not in vain, for it never dared step across the world border again. It still tries and manipulate the others with gifts and words, but I destroy what of it that I can. The others are angered by my defiance of the Mael-Maan, fearful of his retaliation. They will thank me, someday.
There is another of my kind, or at least, it used to be. It resides in the Otherworlds, and watches me, unwavering. It was not my kin. My pure, diminutive size, needed for stealth and grace, was unlike his burly and grotesque form. Its head looked to be warped inward, teeth constantly bared. Then there was another. And another. Its taint, its corruption, its *disease*, it was creating more of them. And I could be its next victim. Would I betray my pack? Would I become such a twisted mimic of my former self? I had only the one thing that repelled the Mael-Maan, my cry. Truly, they were former kin, for their wretched screams, although broken and worn, were that of mine. As I tried and strained to outscreech them, my weaker companion held me back and pulled me to retreat. While we may have escaped, I can only fear their spread.
Then there are the Hahtted. I know not what they are, nor if they are truly evil. But they cannot be trusted. Even my pack is not protected from their possession. Perhaps they are innocent spirits, phasing through others, lost in death. Or are they demons slipping in and out of existence as they look for suitable hosts? There are few symptoms of their afflictions, but they are all clearly something otherworldly. Their faces darken in the same light that illuminates the others'. The mark of the curse protrudes from their heads, seemingly invisible to the others, blending in with them, living their lives for them. But oddest of all, they appear when the Heaven Sphere shines brightest above, and appear immune to its harsh gaze. Is this because they are actually creatures of the light, or creatures so dark that even light cannot phase them? While my dependents have the luxury of optimism, welcoming those afflicted within our domain, I cannot allow such a risk. Especially when they are already so far gone that they will actively pursue this curse, taking the mark upon themselves. They are children, becoming upset when I take away the dangerous things they wish to play with, screaming and yelling when I destroy the marks of the curse. I do not blame them.
I shall take the burden of their hatred if it shall keep them safe. I do this not out of greed, or hopes of equality. I do this out of my own will and my own obligation to repay them for rescuing me from the eternal prison I had been banished to. I was betrayed by a group I had called my kin, and this group, I have adopted in exchange for their help, no matter whether it was born of altruism, or simple capriciousness. This wide abyss that we are stranded in the middle of, it is wrought with danger and deception. I do not know if my own efforts are enough to protect them from it, but it is all I can do to scream into the abyss and appear a darkness stronger than the rest. The others are weak, and their instincts tend toward submission, but I will not let their pride sink any further, I *will* make them strong.
I am tired, and weary, but my watch shall not end this day. My vigil will continue through the night, not even sleep stopping me, my ears still listening.
[Here I stand, my world behind me, the abyss ahead.](https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4109/4965229498_af4bef2dd8_z.jpg)
| 2014-12-27T10:58:57 | 2014-12-27T10:40:00 | 36 | 16 |
[WP] You are in no way related to Uther Pendragon, however, you realize that the sword in the stone is child proof and to drag it out you just need to push down and turn the sword
|
They called me up next, as an example. I strode out of the crowd and stopped before the rusty anvil with the fabled blade stabbed deep through its heart and into the rock beneath.
"Look at this man!" called the squire. "Look at these muscles. Maybe he can raise the sword!"
I gave a shy wave at the gathered folk, then reached over and gripped the sword's hilt with both hands, before tugging upwards with all my might. As expected, it didn't budge an inch - until I pulled down and twisted. Something clicked inside, and the sword was free, lifting mightily out of the stone.
"Yeah!" I yelled, ignoring what was coming. I pointed at some fat child in the crowd, who would probably have been the chosen one had I not taken the reigns. "Suck it Timmy!"
"What are you doing?" hissed the squire. "Wait, are you a cast member?" His eyes grew wide as he signaled to one of the hidden security team, who started advancing on me. The sword reached its peak and froze in place, giving me one brief moment of glory as I looked over the confused crowd in the shadow of Cinderella Castle, before I was firmly grabbed from behind and escorted out of the park.
|
“Long day? Can I get you another?”
Merlin looked up from his mug, suddenly aware that he had somehow gulped down another tankard without even realizing it. He felt… irritable. Irritable enough, in fact, to blast the bartender’s head off for interrupting his sulking session. But Merlin merely sighed, then nodded. It wasn’t nice to take it out on other people.
After all, it was no one’s fault but his own. He should have known better.
“Yes, and keep them coming,” Merlin said, as he produced another gold coin and plonked it down on the counter.
“You alright there mate?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… just wanted to sit here and drown myself in sorrow, you know?” said Merlin, hoping the bartender would take the hint.
“I know what you mean, mate,” said the bartender, who didn’t. “Can hardly blame ya’. If I didn’t have this job, I would right there next to you, drinking myself silly. Hell, the kingdom’s ruined, ya’ know? Ruined! Doomed! Were you there at the tournie today? We lost three kings! Three! In a single day! If that ain’t a bad omen, I don’t know what is.”
Merlin knew about the tournament, of course. He had organized it. He was there, even, right next to the bloody rock, when Excalibur had been removed from the stone. It shouldn’t have happened, not by any of his calculations. Arthur Pendragon, the rightful King, was still barely a wee boy of 8. They were a full 10 years ahead of schedule, and now the Kingdom was in chaos.
“I was there,” said Merlin. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh but it is all that is worth talking about today! No one else has been able to talk about anything else!” The bartender pointed at the far wall, where four portraits hung. The paint on them was still slick. “Paid a small fortune for those! Three Kings and a Queen!”
“Please, can you change the subject? Tell me about the warts on your feet. Or the mold on your barrels. Anything, anything except the damn tournamen-”
“They say King Boris was a genius, he was,” said the bartender, as he leaned in with a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. “He was the first. He wagered a hundred coppers to all who would listen, and claimed that he would be able to pull Excalibur out from the rock. Everyone laughed at him. A small runt? Like him? The next King of Britannia?”
Merlin groaned. He should have known the weasel was acting in bad faith. His spine had tingled when the little devil strode up the podium to the rock. He should have struck the little shit down where he stood. *Alas*, thought Merlin, *curiosity, you cursed thing!*
“He pulled it out in a single jerk!” yelled the bartender, caught up in the retelling. “I wasn’t there, but there was a gasp like never before! And just as the crowd cheered, King Boris’s face went white. ‘I didn’t mean to do this,’ he said. ‘I dinnae know it would work! I don’t want to be King! I just want to play and have fun!’”
“Little fool,” said Merlin. “If he didn’t want the responsibility, he should have just kept his big mouth shut and stayed home.”
“Oh yes he should have!” hooted the bartender. “He abdicated! Right there and then! Threw the damn sword in the air, turned tail and scampered off! King Osboone was the one who caught it next, hilt-first! But he too looked upon the fearsome visage of Merlin, and realizing the mess that he had gotten himself into, also abandoned the sword and ran!”
Merlin perked up briefly at the flattering description, but his good mood didn’t last long.
“King Faragee was next, the lout. He picked up the sword, admired its gleam in the sunlight, and even basked and soaked in the applause as the whole of Britannia gazed upon its new King! But Merlin, seeing the fool already getting lost in his delusions, bent close and whispered in the lad’s ear. Aye, whatever that Merlin said, it was enough to loosen King Faragee’s bowels!”
Merlin remembered that part. He hadn’t really said much, only that there were about a dozen duties awaiting upon the King. In the next half-hour alone. And that the next break would come soon enough, in perhaps 20 hours or so.
“The poor sword, that poor Excalibur,” moaned the bartender. “Abandoned thrice! Lying in the dirt like some common mop! Luckily that lass was nearby, what’s her name now? The one who’s pretty enough if she smiles, but who decides that she would prefer to turn milk sour by just looking at it?”
“Maye,” said Merlin, as he downed another gulp of warm beer. “Maye. She’s all we got now, alright? So learn her name well. Queen Maye. She’s going to lead us out of these dark times.”
The bartender sniffed. “A right mess, if you ask me. Well, at least we won’t ever walk into such a stinking pile of shite again in the future. Bet we all learned our lesson now, eh?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2019-01-30T08:16:01 | 2019-01-30T06:56:57 | 59 | 44 |
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white.
|
I knew that I had done nothing. My wife was alive. Lucy was fine. We had just been eating together peacefully when those horrible people had come in and taken her away from me. They had screamed at me and said that I was horrible. They had kidnapped my wife and dragged her away. Now, those same people said that I had killed her. I know that I would never hurt anybody, especially not Lucy. Not my Lucy.
She hadn't been herself for a while before that day, but no matter how different she acted, I would never harm her. Only somebody truly evil could kill another person.
Those people who called themselves police must have had black blood. Everybody believed them when I had seen them take her away with my own two eyes. She hadn't even struggled, it was almost like she had just given up. When they took her away, she made no noise and wouldn't even look me in the eye. She hadn't looked me in the eye for a while. Whenever I talked to her, it was like she just zoned out. Her eyes would glaze over and she would ignore me. It was quite rude, but I would never kill her over it.
My blood came back white and I'm thankful that the truth has come to light. I just wish I could sleep with my sweet Lucy again. My body is naturally warm and cuddling with her cold body had been nice. No matter though, my son has taken to sleeping in my bed at night, and he is nice and cold too. He used to run warm, but that changed recently. I miss my Lucy, but at least I have him.
|
I didn't know why I was still there. It was horrible to sit in that cold, white, stale room. I had already confessed, so I didn't know why they need this.
The man on the case, Detective Helzhimer, entered, along with his assistant and the doctor.
"I'm sorry to put you through this, Mr Colt, but we're going to have to rehash this, just one more time."
I pressed my head into my hands. "Fine," I sighed. I would have cried, and I wanted to, but I was so tired that I didn't have the strength.
"What happened on the night of the Friday, the 25 of November?"
I looked up quietly, digging into my memory to revive the painful memory one last time. "I was with my mate, Brian. We went out to a pub. Stayed there 'til about 11:00pm. My wife knew I'd be late coming home, so I was surprised to see her still up when I got back."
"What time was that, when you arrived back home?" Detective Helzhimer asked.
"11:15 pm, I'd say."
He nodded to his assistant, who nodded back, probably confirming that the time was correct according to my house's security cameras. "And what happened next?" he asked.
"She was really angry, when I got home. Started accusing me of cheating. I told her that I was with Brian the whole time, and he would verify. I asked her to please calm down, but she just got more irate.
"She started going off the rails after that! She said that Brian was a Catholic in disguise, and I had been 'turned to his ways'. I figure she must have been drunk or..." I had to take a moment to breathe. I was holding back floods of tears, and I couldn't keep talking.
After some time, I continued. "She had a knife nearby, and she grabbed it. She started trying to stab me, and stab me, and stab me! I panicked! I didn't know what to do. I grabbed the knife and tried to wrestle it from her, but her face seemed to contort up as she did, and she was so strong, and I panicked. I stabbed her first."
I laid my head back into my hands and sobbed. "My daughter must have heard the screaming of her mother, and she just saw me standing over her, covered in blood. She tried to come and help, but I told her to stay away from me, and lock the door to my bedroom behind her, and not open it for me or her mother. I told her to call the police."
"The coriner's report says she died of a gunshot?" Detective Helzhimer asked.
I nodded. "I think I was also going crazy. I thought I saw her move. Maybe it was that post mortuary thing where people let go of their last breath, but I genuinely thought she was getting up! I got to my feet fast as I could, and grabbed my gun, the one in the draw that we keep for self defense, and shot her."
The detective nodded. The doctor stepped forward and uncapped his needle. "Alright, now, for legal, reasons, I have to explain how this works," he told me. "I'm going to take 3 oz of your blood in this opaque syringe, and were going to take it and mix it with a chemical called M-E-325. It's going to come out a shade of grey. The more bad things you've done, the darker it'll be. The less, the lighter."
"Why's the syringe opaque?" I asked in morbid curiosity, as he plunged the needle into my arm.
"If the blood is exposed to light," the doctor explained, "It can mess up the sample. Imagine it like a very old roll of film. Expose it to light, and it won't work."
I nodded. He took the syringe and left.
Tick, tock, tick, tock. I could practically hear the clock in my head counting down my seconds until death row. And I deserved it! I killed my wife! My beautiful, loving, kind, wife!
I'd been waiting for nearly an hour when the detective finally came back. He sat in front of me, and wordlessly handed me a police report.
"The blood was white?" I asked. "There must be some mistake! I... I killed someone! My wife! This is not funny!"
"No, it's not. This is the genuine report," Detective Helzhimer shook his head.
"Retest it then! It must be an error. Maybe it was exposed to light? I don't know, but this can't be true!"
"No need," the detective said. The door opened, and in walked Brian, of all people, wearing the attire of a Catholic father. "Perhaps you'd best explain?"
Brian sat down, calmly. "It's a bit of a long, messy story, but hte short version is: you didn't kill your wife."
"That's impossible," I denied. "I stabbed her, AND I shot her!"
Brian gripped my hand. "The coroner's report started to show some strange things pretty quickly after the initial exam. First, the gunshot and knife wound seemed to get increasingly smaller. Second, the body had other anomalies, like no heat, 3 livers, and 2 appendixes, a fact even more perplexing when considering that she had all 1 of her appendixes removed a year ago. Ultimately, I was able to identify the *thing* as a very, very evil creature. It's not your wife. Wherever your wife is, she's alive, and you didn't kill her. But we have to move quickly, because that *thing* will come after you."
He grabbed my hand and lead me out. "I'll explain more along the way," he promised.
| 2020-02-09T12:02:53 | 2020-02-09T11:14:32 | 311 | 225 |
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