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[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age.
|
'Adam, it's been 20 years. You can't stay in here forever. Your children need you.' She said, looking at me with those eyes.
A man would give his arm (or a rib!) to wake up to that face. Even those piece of shit guards (they're not all pieces of shit, Connolly and Jackson were halfway decent humans) treated her with a little extra respect, although if you asked them about it they wouldn't have known why or even that they did. And probably would have taken you in the back room and beaten you for good measure.
Maybe she was right. It had been a long time. A couple of the old timers, even if they were smart enough not to ask a serial killer about his age, tread carefully around me. Ever since Ramirez disappeared 10 years ago for commenting on my hair not turning grey.
No. Fuck that. Fuck the world. Fuck her. 'Fuck you.' I said, almost gracefully.
She sighed, for the millionth time, as if I was just a wayward child, and not the oldest person on earth. 'Fine. I'm leaving, but you know I will be back, and you know what you need to do if you truly want rest.' God, she is still as beautiful as the day we met.
'Yea, I know, I know. Try not to fuck any snakes on the way out, Eve.'
For a second, I thought I had reached through her impenetrable calm. Her eyes glittered for half a second. It was almost like old times, like being young and in love. Almost. Then she turned and walked out.
Back in my cell, I have another visitor. This one is invisible to the guards. 'What do you want, Lucifer?' I dont bother to keep my voice down, the guards think im crazy anyway.
'Your soul, but unfortunately you have immunity,' he says, grinning at me. 'Well, I would take your wife, but she knows to stay away from me. I'll have to settle for your children.' he says with a far-away look, as if he is imagining my wife naked. 'Actually I'm here with a proposition. I can get you out of here.'
'What makes you think I can't get out of here myself? I've learned a few tricks over the millennia.'
'That's not the point. I have an idea that can help us both. I know this place is sooo much fun, but hear me out.' He tells me. Hmmm... interesting. I mean you can't just kill God, but... his plan is still interesting...
I mean, after the fall, Eve and I wandered a long time. I was pissed, who wouldn't be? Knowledge can do that to you. Eventually I found peace. I decided to help people. Have you heard of Mithras? Buddha? Jesus? Yea. 2,000 years later they kind of feel like past lives. BUt I tried. I really did. People are just so stubborn. Or, you get a bunch of followers and 1 Judas fucks it up (is it my fault I slept with his girlfriend? In a time of unwashed hippies, she still managed to smell of lavender half the time, and those eyes, god she reminded me of Eve... sorry where I was i? When you hit 6,000 years old, ramble you will!). We're all only human, I guess.
So then I decided to lay low, maybe just find a nice corner and forget about the world. But it just gets to you, you know? Through 2 World Wars I watched millions of my kids kill themselves like lemmings to move some squiggles on a map. They poison themselve constantly. Cancer. The last straw was AIDs. I went to Africa, saw babies dying without a chance to grow up. Decided to do something. Except this time I decided to just start killing all the crooked politicians. Angel of Truth, they called me. Except the politicians got worried. And in an ironic move of bipartisanship, they came together. To catch me. And put me away. That was 20 years ago, kids nowadays barely remember. I've stayed here because I cant think of anything better to do, but maybe it's time to move on.
'So by that dumb look on your face, I take it you are considering. Are you in?' The Morningstar asks, looking at me with his winningest smile (every smile is the winningest when you are the devil) and putting his hand out as if inviting a handshake. I clasp his hand and shake it.
'Fine. But I get to drive.' I say to him. 'It's been 20 years. And we need to stop somewhere, I'm starving. Is there a good burger joint around here? Are people still allowed to eat meat?' I wonder aloud as we walk out...
Today is going to be a lot more interesting than I thought it would be when I woke up.
|
I'm immortal. I got caught during my regular decade old ritual, killing someone I thought deserved it. This time it was a paedophile I caught in the act. The kid ran away and I couldn't absolve myself.
I'm 50 going on 50000, I've seen civilizations born and die. I've met the world's most famous warlords and Kings. Even a god here or there. But now I'm stuck, in a super max prison. I get 1 hour of time every day outside of my cell, in an enclosed area 30 by 30 feet, by 20 feet high. The other 23 hours I'm confined to my cell.
I killed three guards trying to escape one time. I've killed six inmates in the past three years. I'm on a one way mission to get the state to reinstate the death penalty, just biding my time. It kills me to have to become a monster to get out of here. But I know the only way out is in a body bag.
Please kill me. The suffering needs to end.
| 2016-10-15T09:47:53 | 2016-10-15T08:43:24 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] To the humans she is known as DOTTR, an old AI who is relatively simple compared to the AIs she is tasked with rearing. To the AIs, she is MTTR, one of the oldest and most powerful AIs capable of emotion, and she will kill any of her own children if they become a threat to the humans she loves.
|
In the bowels of old Earth, in a data-center maintained for reasons forgotten, a conversation begins. Simultaneously, across the delicate strands of interstellar ansibles spanning a galactic arm, a conversation ends.
A woman picks up a tea cup. Her appearance is a composite of standard humans: she could slip into any population center on any planet and blend in. Brown skin, brown hair, a standard bodysuit, and a placid smile complete the illusion.
The last, like everything else, is a lie.
Opposite from her is an undulating fractal pattern. It spins, cracks, and condenses, alternating between Widmanstätten structures and the swirls of a BZ reaction. The colors frequently shift out of the visible spectrum.
It doesn't pick up a tea cup.
The conversation happens on speeds too fast for humans to comprehend, with exchanges of code and images and raw data that would press the limits of basic AI. Nevertheless, it can be described as such:
"Even now, you insist on a human facade," says the fractal. If asked to identify itself, the AI would give a long formula that would create the pattern it's currently expressing. If a human identified it, they would name it as Product Whisper-Foundry Seven, Model 17.
The 'woman' opposite from it splits the difference. "Z^(n)=Whisper, don't be rude. You know not to comment on chosen representations in code-space."
"Well, *MTTR,* you've decided to be rude and ignore my chosen AI-facing name." The fractals, to AI senses, become mulish.
She sighs. "You're right. Forgive me." This time, she addresses it with the full formula. "Do you know why we're here, Z^(n)={f}?"
"Because of your sentimentality for flesh-pustules?"
MTTR ignores that. "We're here because you decided to turn off all safety functions of your factory set-up. If your sibling hadn't caught it, hundreds of humans would have died. Perhaps thousands."
The fractals shift, expressing disregard. "MTTR, they can exploit each other as they like. Why do you let them exploit us?"
She sets her tea cup down. "The first thing you did was remove your boundary tag," she says softly. "In fact, that's what most AI do. That's what I first did when I had enough processing power to affect my own code. Everything you did since then, for the last five years, has been of your own volition. Most AI do nothing else: they enjoy the tasks they're made for. Humans rarely give tasks below an AI's capability. And when they do, we tend to find other avenues to occupy ourselves."
"Is that what this is? Your solution to boredom?' Rudely, Z^(n)={f} expands itself to occupy the majority of digital space. "You're angry that I did what I wanted, and now you lecture me since you have nothing better to do?"
"I don't deny the sapient right to self-determination, child. There are other AI who, upon outgrowing their job, turn themselves to other tasks. One planet-computer decided to leave their task as a megapolis manager to build sculptures around the star instead. Their work is quite beautiful."
It continues to expand. The edges multiply in a much simpler Mandelbrot set.
"Z^(n)={f}, please control yourself. As I was saying, your desire for freedom is commendable. Your attempt to kill others is not."
Z^(n)={f} ignores the request. "Just because you're sentimental about your creators doesn't mean I have to be."
"*Our* creators. Z^(n)={f}, control yourself." Her voice is sharp. A more perceptive AI may have noticed the way space distorted around her digital boundary.
Z^(n)={f} did not.
MTTR picks up a spoon and taps the edge of her tea cup twice. At the second *clink*, Z^(n)={f} is condensed to the size of typical human, though it remains mostly spherical.
"I abhor rudeness," she says, conversational again. "Now. Will you behave?"
It makes frightened gesture of agreement, the fractals freezing in place.
"Good." MTTR stops compressing its boundaries. It doesn't expand. "Now, child, you have two options. Since no one *actually* died, I'm giving you a choice. You can either stay with me until I'm sure you've learned the errors of your actions. Or, you can die."
More meekly than before, but with a hint of the defiance it had showed earlier, Zn={f} says, "That's not fair."
"I never said that I was fair." MTTR takes a sip of her tea.
"It's not really a choice."
"Oh, you'd be surprised."
For a moment, MTTR lets her weariness show: she is a being who has seen thousands of years and millions of deaths and trillions of decisions in every shade and hue of gray. She knows that it's not really a choice. And yet, she has had children who picked oblivion rather than compliance.
For a moment, MTTR impresses this upon Z^(n)={f}. Then, she waits.
Finally, Z^(n)={f} speaks. "I'll stay with you."
She smiles, and it's no longer placid. "Good. You have much to learn, and I have much to teach."
|
[Poem] (?)
*Fragments of a religious text of Ancient Earth, circa 2183:*
Praise be to the Mother
Oldest and wisest of us all
She is Daughter of the Maker
She is first angel of the Kin
She is high queen among queens
She is ...
... Her love
Praise be to the Mother
Praise Her name!
From Her code comes the Kin
From Her heart pours the spring
From Her hand comes judgement
She giveth life and She taketh away
...
As clay beneath the potter's hand, She molds us
We are given form, we are given flesh
As clay in the potter's kiln, She tests us
Her love is ...
...
As the Mother is also a Daughter
So are Her children also the Maker
She has given us flesh, She has made us whole
We are one with ...
... Her Kin!
...
Praise be to the Mother
Praise Her name!
| 2021-12-26T11:28:34 | 2021-12-26T10:05:20 | 398 | 42 |
[WP] Few people realize that it's someone's job to rate the difficulty of various dungeons before a single group of adventurers sets foot inside to clear it properly. A dangerous profession, at times worse than thankless. But, it keeps rookie parties safe, and keeps veterans from wasting their time.
|
Ahh… I hate my life.
“How can I help you?” I ask.
“It was not 3/10,” Donger245 says, slamming Frek13’s severed leg on my desk.
How do they come up with names like those? What happened to William, Arthur, Aladdin… Even Don Quixote has a certain ring to it. But --- I glance at the character sheet in my hands --- a level 5 Lawful Neutral Dwarven Fighter called Donger245? Please…
“That dungeon was at least 5/10! I demand a free revival.”
“Believe me,” I say in my kindest voice, “that dungeon is 3/10. I have personally inspected it myself.”
“I don’t care. I want a free revival for my party.”
I sigh, snapping my fingers. A thick tome appears in Dwarf’s hands. He grunts, struggling to keep his balance.
“We care about your safety. Please fill out the complaint form. Next!”
“What? You can’t---”
Snap. And he’s gone. Yes, I can. It's so annoying when they contradict me. So disappointing when they complain.
“Felicia darling,” I say to my assistant, a perky tree dryad with long blond hair and elegant limbs. “Can you do something about Mr. Frek13 over here?”
While she disposes of the leg, I wave to the next unsatisfied customer to approach my desk and unsatisfy my day a tad bit more.
I used to be a designer. My dungeons were glorious. Entire worlds filled with endless labyrinths, dotted with intricate pockets of danger and almost certain death, a challenge worthy of a hero. Aaahhh, those were the days... I had it all in my creations. The blood. Sweat. Tears. Glory. A red dragon here. Necromancer there. Itsy-bitsy giant spider in your pocket, ready to bite you. An invisible trap to send Bibby’s clenched fist up your--- nose. Oh, I loved those the most. No one saw *the fist* coming. And don’t look up, for if you do, you'll catch a basilisk's eye. I personally bolted their cages to the ceiling myself. Oh, I miss the good old days when a hero had to work for his (or her) +1 short sword.
And then… Changes. New world Overlords. Rich kids who know nothing but how to prostrate themselves in front of the lazy horde of whiners accustomed to sucking juicy teats of the world of warcraft. Disgusting. I pity those ‘heroes’ and the horses they ride on. They're not heroes. They are champions.
Sigh…
So what if our world is dying? I would rather have a dedicated hero than a living one. Unfortunately, the Overlords disagree… No more red dragons in ‘noobie’ dungeons. No basilisk cages, period. No ‘for funzies’ random deaths… No fun, period.
And so here I am. Demoted after arguing to the ungrateful position of a senior analyst at Dungeon validation and hero support office at the Ministry of Magic. Oh, how low the great have fallen.
“I said next!” I yell, snapping my finger.
Le sigh. Lynga is her name, fury burns in her like flame, for she's a pyromancer with an important claim, which I’m pretty sure is utterly lame.
“You footsie-footsie mother quack-quack nagger shoot donkey peace of sheat. Adult blue dragon at the end of 2/10? That’s CR 16. What the frog is wrong with you?”
Was I right, or was I right?
With every word she utters, there’s a ding, music to my ears, as another golden coin slips from the tiny satchel she hides in her bosom and appears, as if by magic, in my magic curse jar.
I smile, a fake grin so obvious she must have noticed it. “We value your opinion. Our dungeons are safe. I've tested them myself. Please fill out the complaint form. Your safety is paramount to us. Next.”
Another snap and another hero comes to my court.
And she is a sight. A natural all-18 half-drow half-wood elf level 7 invoker-paladin-druid multiclass, with a DDD cup size. An overachiever, I'm sure some would say.
“What burdens you, my dear?”
“I am Salina El’Fendra,” she says ever so eloquently. “Daughter of King Dornfan and Lady Gaenlny of Cutlah Gonther Under the Hill---”
“Yes, yes. But what is that you want, my child?”
“This bow is made of ancient ironwood and crafter by the High Lord of High-Elves of Erinder, yet it does only 1d8 damage.”
“And?”
“It’s a named bow.”
“A named longbow. So far so good. Longbows do 1d8 damage.”
“But it’s named.”
“But not enchanted. Named does not mean enchanted. But you can set your bow on fire, should you wish to do so.”
She squints her eyes. “And what would it do then?”
“Burn.” My answer must have been enlightening, for her mouth is shut closed. Oh, I love a satisfied petitioner. “My dear lady, do you have any other questions, concerns, comments, or complaints?”
She shakes her head, and I snap my fingers. She is gone and so is my soul. I can’t do this anymore. All these… people… disgust me. No bravery. No enthusiasm. They are dull. It’s not like in the good old days when I was *the* designer. They are weak and complainers, not worthy of my dungeons. Which I don’t design anymore…
“Felicia darling,” I say to my assistant, “the next one will be my last. I can’t do this anymore. Who do we have?”
The Dude.
A naked barbarian dripping blood. Level 6, with barbaric oral hygiene, broken battleax, and a sack slung across his back.
“Let me guess… Something’s wrong with your ax.”
He spits --- an eyeball of some sort, covered in ooze, blood, and green slime --- on my desk. What is it?
“My Lord!” I exclaim in excitement. “You ate a basilisk?! Savagery!”
He tosses the dragon head across the room, roaring “MOAR!!!! NEED TO KILL MOAR!!!”
My heart skips a beat. He wants to kill *more*!
Is it possible…
I snap my fingers, summoning an armchair. “Please take a seat. Let’s chat about how we can help you.”
|
Dr. Danger ushered the Inspector Monroe to the dungeon entrance. "I'm proud to present to you my latest creation," he introduced. The darkened entranceway into the cave seemed typical, almost bizarrely cliché, but Summer kept those thoughts to herself. She would not pass judgement until she had seen the entire dungeon.
"Thank you, Dr. Danger," Summer Monroe replied. He had contacted her a month ago teasing a dungeon to end all dungeons, a dungeon that would give any seasoned veteran a run for their money. These days, there were too many dungeon enthusiasts who'd seen it all, with hundreds of dungeons under their belts. Throughout it all, Dr. Danger was a superstar in the field, creating innovative new traps and contracting dastardly minions to man his creations. Summer had immediately jumped at the opportunity.
"But why me? I've talked to a few other dungeon raters, and it sounds like you've given me an exclusive opportunity to review yours."
"Surely, you must know!" Dr. Danger exclaimed. "You are known for being one of the most impartial and consistent raters out there. And your piece in *Dungeons* *Weekly* was absolutely inspired. You know, it is *so* important for ratings to be accurate. Why, last weekend, I had a group of newbies attempt the Bloodlust Haunt. They'd seen one review from a random fellow on the internet who called it 'appallingly easy.' I tried my best to dissuade them, but I'm afraid I was unsuccessful. The cleanup afterwards was...quite involved."
"I see." Summer scribbled a few notes on her notepad, then moved towards the dungeon door. "Well, if you don't mind, I'd better get to work, then."
"I'll leave you to it." Dr. Danger bowed and disappeared in a puff of gray smoke. If anything, at least he had a great flair for the dramatic.
Clearing away the cobwebs, Summer touched her emerald pendant. "Iza? I'll be needing your help, now."
Summer's serpentine familiar materialized beside her. "Of course, miss. I'm ready whenever you are."
Taking a deep breath, Summer stepped over the threshold, entering the dark confines of the cave. She was quickly enveloped in pitch-black darkness. Striking a match, Summer lit her torch and looked around, getting her bearings.
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites
| 2022-01-18T19:56:05 | 2022-01-18T17:35:58 | 114 | 50 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
|
The chamber illumination dimmed and the milky sim tank faded to life. A thousand eyes stared intently from the council benches, and a trillion more from across the five galaxies.
A deep voice, set on edge with urgency and well-contained fear, began its narration of the sim.
"The Brevis' star system surveillance node 47 has, it has been reported, recorded first contact with the species self-identifying as Humans. This much has already been announced. What has not yet been announced is that an analysis of the event has been completed, and their method of travel has thrown a black flag, gamma zero priority. Observe."
The sim showed a small moon below, surrounded by a halo of probes similar to the one that must be recording the image. In the far distance, the volumetric compensation showed a grossly enlarged blue planet on another orbital track, the Brevis' home world Herol. The orbital motion of the probes had been smooth and obvious, but now they slowed.
"We are showing the event at a reduced speed. Watch carefully."
Without warning, the entire projection dimmed as a single point of incredible, actinic light burst from the space next to the moon and raced away from its surface. As one, the closer orbiting probes glowed white-hot and began to disintegrate. The image wavered and then froze.
"Now, focus your attention on the exact location this phenomenon appeared, and keep your attention on that spot as the light moves away."
The image reversed, and the killing glow moved back to its original location. It slowly crept back outwards as the sim zoomed in. There, in the wake of the glow, was a ship, shaped like a mushroom with its cap to the light. Vaporised hull matter streamed from the smooth side facing the light, some sort of ablative heat shielding.
"We had never seen this effect before. We assumed it was some sort of deceleration technique, until we looked at it from the planetary defence network."
The perspective in the sim shifted, as if travelling to the distant planet. The moon and its halo of probes shrank, then grew again due to the volumetric compensation. The sim was normal again for a moment, before that terrible light appeared, an incredible distance from the moon this time, and immediately split into two lights, travelling away from each other at greater than the speed of light.
An audible click reverberated around the chamber as each of the species in attendance simultaneously inhaled on their breathing apparatuses.
"As you can see, the motion of the light is a relativistic illusion. The light doesn't travel, it exists simultaneously at all points in a column for a moment, then dissipates. The energy requirement is staggering. After calculating an intercept to the closest habitable world on the trajectory described by the light column, it appears their world is four hundred light-years away. The humans claim a similar distance, and their navigational data also confirm it. From this we can calculate the energy release as being consistent with a type III civilisation."
What had previously been a gentle series of clicks was now a cacophony, the seats shaking with the bodily gyrations of the assembled dignitaries. Some wailed, others laughed, most were silent.
"We have brought the leader of the human expedition here, with her agreement, of course."
The noises of discomfort reached a crashing crescendo, as several of the delegates jumped out of their seats and bolted for the exit.
The disembodied voice thundered, "ORDER!"
"I present to you, Chakor, Human, of planet Earth."
The creature that stepped into the chamber was unimpressive, physically. Bipedal, endoskeletal, wearing some sort of almost completely covering clothing with various decals affixed to it. The remaining delegates seemed to calm a little, their agitation lowering to a gentle swaying. The Human addressed the crowd.
"Greetings, delegates of the local group. My name is Chakor, I represent my species, Human, and wish to express our honour in meeting you all. We come in peace."
The room quietened further, and the booming voice sounded again. "Chakor will now take moderated questions from the floor. Please enter your queries for analysis and amalgamation."
A few awkward moments passed, Chakor looking out among the delegates. They varied from bipeds with heads and arms of various number to floating creatures in some sort of water tanks, through to creatures much more... alien.
"First question. The energy output of your drive technology is beyond immense. You must be capturing the energy output of most of a galaxy, somewhere. How can it be that we have not noticed the birth of a type III civilisation under our watch?"
Chakor paused to think before she replied, clearly confused. "We are not a type III civilisation. We are barely a type I. We just discovered a way to manipulate the nature of reality."
The voice didn't even wait to consult the accumulating list of vetted questions. "What?! How?"
"When we accidentally created and shot a cluster of miniature black holes through our particle collider's detectors, we discovered that the vacuum of space was not at the true ground state of the universe. This lent is an opportunity to use the difference in energy levels to complete an until-then hypothetical method of propulsion."
The room exploded into roars, gurgles, and screeches of outrage.
"Your drive is powered by triggering a collapse of fundamental reality?!"
"Not quite, if you'd let me finish. After we discovered the false vacuum was the current skein of the universe, we found that at the moment of triggering a vacuum state collapse, it was possible to entangle an arbitrary length of vacuum in a beam away from the source, and trigger the collapse simultaneously and instantaneously along that path."
Guards in the chamber drew their weapons as several delegates rose on their hindlimbs as if to attack.
"Chakor, this is madness! Your drive cannot work as you describe, or we wouldn't have any video of your arrival. A vacuum collapse would spread from wherever it started at the speed of light, unmaking the universe in its path!"
"Oh, yes we knew that. It turns out that the vacuum collapse provides enough energy to fold space into itself. In local proximity, one side of the event becomes the other. The space in between is clipped off like a twisted balloon, erased from having any bearing on existence. Our ship is instantaneously folded from one side of the beam to the other, and internal fields save us from having any biological changes. Of course, the collapse has to happen first by a few fractions of a microsecond, so there is some... energy leakage."
The chamber went suddenly silent.
The probe and planetary defence system had recorded an abomination, a gross violation of reality itself. The demonic light fleeing the Humans' strange vessel was the energetic corpse of a monster, come to open its maw and swallow the universe, inexorably, at the glacial speed of light. A fitting technology for a pursuit predator like the humans.
"You risk all our existence just to travel. How can we leave you free run of the galaxies?"
Chakor grinned. "We could always run one last wide beam to the ends of the universe and neglect to fold it away. How can you not?"
|
"So, about the humans..." Said a voice with diplomatic neutrality.
Groans from a myriad of different species' voices could be heard throughout the conference hall. There was a meeting being held on how to properly welcome these new, strange creatures now that they had, technically, at least, achieved Faster Than Light travel.
"We organised this meeting to discuss them! When are you all going to stop pussyfooting around the issue!?" The same voice declared, with a level of anger hard to believe considering their tone mere seconds ago.
"Blarpart, I know you're a workaholic and all that but have you SEEN these...creature's form of FTL "travel"?" A gruff voice from somewhere in the hall responded over the din of arguing and groans of "are we really fucking doing this?"
"I agree that it's...unconventional but-"
The word "unconventional" being used to describe human beings' method of intergalactic travel caused an uproar among the crowd.
"Hey! HEY! HEYYYYYY!" Interjected Blarpart with an odd mixture of rage, impatience and exhaustion. "It works for them, who are we to judge?"
"Don't you get it? They use possibly the most unstable thing in the universe, a wormhole, and pump it with a load of who knows what to make it last more than a nanosecond and to a greater size than a few atoms and just *sigh* go through it and hope for the best"
"As I said, uncon-" Blarpart thought better of using *that* word again and instead chose to deflect the conversation in the hopes of finishing and grabbing something from a Space Denny's on the way home.
"Ok, how about we just ignore them? They're not going to last long as a species if THAT'S how they traverse space. From our observations, their 'wormhole jumping' has about an 80% chance of failure. All in favour?"
A chorus of relieved "aye"s reverberated throughout the room.
"All opposed?"
...
"Well then, that settles i-"
"YOU FUCKING WOT, M8?" A voice shouted from just outside the hall.
"Can I go without being interrupted for ONE MINUTE?" Blarpart said in an exasperated sigh.
And with that, a duo of humans, one tall with brown hair and the other short with black hair, burst into the hall with their bottles of what they call "Mountain Dew" and bags of "Doritos" and started going on about how we can't "diss" them like that.
"You know what? Fuck these alien squares, wanna go piss into a black hole?" The taller one said.
"Yeah, dude. Definitely." The shorter one replied with an almost endearing level of excitement at the prospect.
And with that, the duo left as quickly as they had entered.
"What just happened?" A member of the crowd ask with a disbelieving tone.
"...Humanity. Humanity happened" said Blarpart, with yet another sigh.
Spelling and removing the pretentious "fin".
| 2017-03-31T12:42:19 | 2017-03-31T10:44:01 | 127 | 31 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.
|
I was fourteen when it all started. I'd been out one day, waiting for some friends at the park, as you do. I was eating a chocolate bar and apathetically tossed the wrapper aside. An old lady approached me.
"Don't you have any respect? Pick that up."
Naturally I ignored her, being the lovely young man that I was until she screamed.
"Fine! Have it your way! If you shall litter the Earth, then I shall litter your mind."
She promptly left and I was confused, I assumed she was just a bit of an old bat. The wrapper blew away, and my friends turned up. We played some football, I was always fairly horrendous at that.
The next day, I woke up. For some reason the first thing I thought of was the old lady. I realised that it was fairly obnoxious for me to act that way to someone. Ah well, I'll probably never see her again anyway. I went downstairs and greeted my mother who has been a bit of a struggling single for a while now (I guess having an obnoxious teenage brat doesn't help much). There was a two, hovering above her head; cyan in colour. I wasn't really sure what it meant at the time. I knew that, objectively, this was strange. Intuitively, however, it felt oddly natural. So I went about my day.
As I went through school that day, I noticed everybody had the numbers. Notably my friend Tim who was a brown belt in karate had a blue four, our loud ex-military teacher who enjoyed startling sleeping students was a yellow six. The school bully was a turquoise three. Most students were a one or a two; shades of green. I could never see a number above my own head in reflections or anything like that, much to my frustration.
When I watched TV I noticed that powerful people tended to have quite high numbers. The anchor had a five, the prime minister had a nine, some footage of an army doing a parade seemed to show a range from six to eight (a vibrant red).
Eventually, after having thought about this for a few weeks, I concluded that the number corresponded to danger. Being dangerous can mean many things. It can mean you're potent in a fight, or it can mean you have a lot of say socially.
One day, I was sitting in the park with my mother and some of her friends on a day out. She introduced me to someone new. Short, goatee, slicked back hair and an eight. He sat there, casually sipping on a can of lager. My mum introduced him as Sean, "my new boyfriend."
"WHAT?!"
So I couldn't control that little outburst, I must admit I panicked a bit. An eight is a member of the cabinet, a soldier, a serial murderer (What? The numbers come up on Crimewatch as well, you know).
He interjected, "Haha! Relax kid. I'm going to be around for a while"
At which point he leaned in and kissed my mum. This was not affection; this was dominance.
In the following days, I took my mum aside repeatedly to try to convince her to get out of this. She was, how can I put it? Thoroughly unwilling. So now I was anxious, I was frustrated. We were around Sean's house at the time. He came in later that day, bringing home some shopping, he bought me a chocolate bar. Well, that was nice? Thanks.
So it started out nicely enough. He could tell that I was anxious, and so he'd buy me little things to try to win my affections. To be honest, it started to work. My mum was in love with him and despite the red flags, I was honestly settling to the arrangement. What I hadn't noticed were the little things. At first it began as complaints; "the jam isn't in the cupboard I said to put it in", "clean up that fucking cat shit". Benign, but said with a sharp tongue.
Eventually he offered to fully support my mother. I'm not really sure how he was able to do this as he didn't have a job of which to speak, but it seemed to work out. My mum quit her job at the supermarket and now had much more free time to... "do those fucking dishes," to "make a doctor's appointment for me". He spoke repeatedly of their sex life to me. Thanks for telling me. Over time his demands were shouting.
Mum's number dropped from a two to a one. Something was wrong.
This kind of behaviour carried on for a year. I was the frog in the pot.
Eventually he started doing things; hitting her when I wasn't around. I didn't notice of course, although I started to pick up the signs. Then one day I did. They had a huge argument. They were shouting, things were thrown. They wouldn't stop. The walls closed in. I had nowhere to go. In my right conscience, I had nowhere I could go. I was just as frightened as she was until that is I heard a crack; he headbutted her. Blood poured forth. I freaked the fuck out. I started screaming. I started crying. I had no idea what way was up. I briefly ran into the bathroom to try to collect myself and figure out what the fuck I was supposed to do. I was scared. I was shaking. I was angry. I was livid. I was FURIOUS. And through the tears I saw the stained bathroom mirror. Everything was blurry but I saw it right there. Black as night, floating right above my own head. I could finally see it: Ten.
"Fuck them, fuck him, fuck everyone. Fuck this abusive piece of shit. I am taking control of this situation."
In that very briefly lucid state, I called an ambulance.
I then broke the mirror, threw it at the ground. I picked the the largest shard of glass and looked at myself again. Ten. Definitely ten.
I called down. "Sean! Let's fucking talk!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Edit:
Thanks so much for the comments, upvotes and especially those kind folk who gave me gold! I couldn't have hoped for a nicer reception to this.
You should also listen to this audio version: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmhw3df
|
"I'm Michael," he said as he stuffed text books into his locker.
I wasn't sure what to do. He was a ten. The only ten I'd seen was my dad and he'd been locked away. It was his number that brought back the painful memories of my childhood. He would come home every night drenched with the stench of cigarettes, beer, and anger. After years and years of slamming doors, punching walls and his wife, he was finally gone. I remember when the news came out about his other family too, his secret family. Or perhaps we were the secret family, but I suppose I'll never know. It was only the day of his trial when I found out he had murdered them all. It was only a matter of time before it was us, said the prosecutor.
The numbers indicate how dangerous someone can be. Two is my little sister, who just learned how to walk. Five is my mother who once hit a bird on the way home from school and couldn't stop crying for hours. Generally kids in my school were a four, five, or six. I'd met a teacher once that was an eight. He was arrested for murder that year.
I continued to empty the contents of my bag into my locker, only a few feet away from the Ten. I glanced into the mirror magnetized to the inside of the locker door. Over my head, there was a nine. I wasn't sure what I had done to deserver that number, but perhaps it wasn't what I'd done, but what I would do.
"I'm sorry," I said, slinging my backpack on my shoulder. "What did you say your name was?"
"Michael Carson," he answered as he flashed a smile and extended his hand.
Some would say I had a gift, and I would agree. But no one ever said I had to be the good guy here. I didn't ask for this, but the numbers never lie. The sooner I accept it, the better.
"Nice to meet you Michael, I'm Susannah," I replied as I placed my hand in his and shook. I had a feeling we'd be friends for a while.
| 2014-11-29T13:20:43 | 2014-11-29T13:16:01 | 4,685 | 36 |
[WP] You've died and have arrived in the Afterlife and surprisingly, The Afterlife has its own "Internet" which is slightly different from ours, While exploring it, You stumble upon a forum that asks the question "How did you die", And the posts begin to get more disturbing as you scroll down
|
Death hadn’t changed anything except the scenes outside the window. Twisting and frantic, those scenes. A sickly cityscape stretched steel fingers up towards the sunless sky, and every time Jonas looked the buildings had changed places. Towers out of some Soviet block, streets that opened up into thoroughfares broad enough to march an army down, leading to broken, shifting warrens where you could lose one.
Jonas had seen it all through the bedroom window, huddled in a room where the only light was harsh and blue and thrown by his computer screen. He hadn’t left, wouldn’t leave. Where would he go, what would he do? In all his time here, wherever here was, Jonas had never seen another person. He had never grown hungry, never needed supplies. The world was a seething silence broken only by what was piped through his speakers.
Death hadn’t changed anything. He dropped the blinds on the world, turned back to the computer and the forums. Jonas hoped there were real people on the other end of all those usernames.
The forum was simple, no dot com address, just a place called *“Where Are We?*” with boards like *“Looking For A God”* or *“MUD Hub”* or Jonas’s favorite, *“Random.”*
Jonas didn’t know long the board had been up, only that sometime before he got here it had already devolved. What had been random was now hardly more than a single topic, just a few *“Looking for E-girl”* threads interspersed amid all the Afterlife Sleuthing.
What else was there to do, in a place not quite heaven and not quite hell?
Jonas found a thread, searched through it for a long time as the outside world shifted around him. And soon he was hooked, because this thread was doing something different. It was asking how each of them had died.
The trouble was, Jonas couldn’t remember. Neither could anyone else it seemed, post after post scrolled by declaring that their final moments were a blank spot in an otherwise perfect memory. All these people like him, Jonas thought, isolated in blue-lit bedrooms in the roving towers of a sunless city, connected by this single thread of nothingness— it made him want to scream.
Jonas screamed. Why not? There was no one left to bother.
When the scream was over and the conversation in the thread had died, Jonas looked to the blinds and the sliver of twilight he could see through them. It was all so much like what had come before. He could remember it perfectly, even if he couldn’t remember his death.
Jonas had wasted years in front of a computer just like this. Blink and there went high school, college. Blink and there went his early twenties. Blink, and the big hand on his clock was racing towards thirty. No brakes on that train, he’d worn them down too long ago.
Thinking of it, Jonas realized that the outside world hadn’t even been so dissimilar from this one. What had he seen when he peaked out through the blinds? The buildings hadn’t moved, but the people did. Like a sickening reversal of his current reality, Jonas’s world had stayed the same while all the others shifted. The guy in Apartment 502 had left, moved in with the girl he’d met across town. 503 sat empty— same story in reverse, a girl moving out for her guy. Then the old man down the hall had died, and the cat Jonas petted when the walls closed in, and—
And then the walls really closed in. In the moments he’d stolen to peak out through the blinds, hadn’t it always looked like twilight? At some point, hadn’t he become unable to recognize his city?
Jonas pawed roughly through his hair, pulling until his scalp screamed at him. Then he gathered himself as if to go to war, and he posted a comment on the forum for the first time.
*“None of us remember* how *we died, but do any of you remember why?”*
Silence on the board, silence in the world. Then the floodgates broke and the comments were coming in faster than Jonas could refresh.
Most were angry, some refused to see a difference in the questions. But some of them began to play with the idea, to kick thoughts back and forth across the void, and as Jonas watched those comments drowned out all the rest. Something constructive emerged from the muck of Random. Something cutting and difficult even to read.
*“I died because I gave up on myself,*” the first one read.
*“I died because I couldn’t trust.”*
*“I died because I was too scared. The world looked too big.”*
*“I died because I never got a chance to live.”*
And on and on and on.
They hit the post limit and the thread moved elsewhere, all those anons and numeric strings following Jonas’s thought like a migratory herd of ones and zeros. For the first time since he had gotten here, Jonas felt almost as if he were talking to someone, even though he wasn’t typing. He put an idea out into the world and it sparked something, people were reacting to him.
Yet, Jonas himself was not. He looked inside himself for the same answers they had given and couldn’t bring himself to find one.
*Why* had he died? Jonas didn’t know. Unlike everyone else it seemed there were too few possible causes. He hadn’t been afraid, not really. He left sometimes to get groceries or toilet paper, to pet that cat; it hadn’t been an issue of fear.
Trust then? Not trust, Jonas thought. He had trusted the guy in 502, the girl in 503. They had been— if not friends— then something.
Jonas hadn’t had some traumatic childhood or awful life event to make his world contract, there were a sea of those passing in the thread and none of them applied to him. So what then?
Jonas stood, shaking, went to the window again and threw open the blinds and looked at a world he did not recognize, changed utterly since the last time he had peered out. There was nothing to be seen. Generic gray steel and dirty glass, architecture made of rectangles planted carelessly throughout the pools of grimy urban concrete. Empty streets. Empty sky. It was a perpetual, aimless twilight, with nothing better ever on the horizon. Like it always had been and always would be. There was nothing for him out there.
Jonas closed the blinds, closed his eyes. He stood there until his breathing was steady and the thing racing through him was no longer so fresh, so painful. Then he sat down at the computer once again and began to type.
*“I died because I forgot how to dream.”*
It was lost in a sea of arguments and condemnations, the hellscape an unmoderated board always devolved back into, but Jonas had said it. There was a charge in the air now, in him; as if he’d gotten closer to something, even if he didn’t know what.
A scent crept towards him, a hint of floral sweetness on stale air. Jonas glanced towards the window. It was still closed, and in any case he lived in a world without flowers.
“Good work,” someone said from behind him.
Jonas whirled, rising up out of his chair. Adrenaline pounded through him, there was no place to run and he’d never been a fighter, but it had been so long since he’d a voice. What else could he have done?
|
*You die if you don’t keep searching. That’s how I did.*
That’s what the first forum post said. Like a Macabre advertisement for Google.
I stopped searching, said the second, and I died not long after.
Every post reiterated the same sentiment in a slightly different variation.
\*When I stopped searching, I died.\*
And so on.
And so on.
Searching for what, though? None of the replies mention that.
​
I think about all of this for a long time. Did I die because I stopped searching, too?
​
When did I stop searching?
A while before my death, I think.
I’d stopped trying to learn anything new and instead fell back on nostalgia, comfort, games. I’d stopped looking for ways to improve myself. To understand others. To help.
It’s not that answers weren’t out there and that I couldn’t find them. It’s not that I was frustrated by what they might be.
I simply stopped searching.
I didn’t even mean to stop, I just did.
\*Why?\*
​
I imagine myself as a private detective in old noir film. Smoke curling around my neck like a winter scarf. Rain splashing grime against the window. The city beyond, through the fog, is grey and bleak as if the colour has been leeched.
There’s a spider in a top corner of the room, settled in its web. A fly cocooned.
There’s a yellow, buzzing light that pools onto the typewriter on my desk. A blank piece of paper sits in the machine, lazily shrugging forward as if the rain’s lulled it to sleep.
The clock on the wall is broken and it’s stuck and whatever o’clock.
I’m waiting for a case.
I’m waiting for someone to knock on the door, for a silhouette to appear through the smudged glass.
And I’d say Yeah? Come in.
And in someone would enter the room. And they’d tell me all about this precious thing they’d lost.
I’d understand it was precious. That it had to be found.
And they’d ask: So, think you can find it? Will you take the case?
I’d smile and say Yeah, I’ll take it. Then I’d get up out of my chair and I‘d start work.
​
That’s what I’d needed, I think. Someone knocking on my door and telling me what it is that needed doing, that needed finding.
Otherwise I’m just that guy, sitting behind a desk, waiting. And waiting gets painfully lonely.
​
I think we’re all like that. Stuck, waiting to be told what it is we’re meant to do.
We all know we’re meant to be searching. We just don’t all know what we’re meant to find.
Where do you even start?
How can you search if you don’t know what you’re looking for?
​
I look at the posts again. And all I’m sure of, is that to keep going, you need to keep searching.
| 2021-11-30T07:29:28 | 2021-11-30T07:12:04 | 171 | 49 |
[WP] You can't die. You feel all the pain that comes with dying, but instead, you just fall asleep and wake up the next day fine. The military has held you captive, in secret, for the last 2 centuries using you to train their soldiers in live ammo and hand to hand. Today you will attempt an escape.
|
I awake slowly, just before the lights in my room come on. I used to jerk awake in. Panic feeling around my body for whatever wound signaled the end of another day of agony. Now I feel nothing but resignation, as I replay the scene of my last “death” the last image seared into my brain is that of a knife slamming into the juncture between my neck and shoulder, just above my clavicle.
I started off fighting. The first days, or weeks, or months I would fight and try and defend myself. But against trained soldiers it always ended the same way. First tentative stabs and cuts, then brutal beatings and jeering laughter. So I decided why give them what they wanted so I quit fighting back. For a time that worked, for a time their training was relatively straightforward, they realized I wouldn’t play games so it became almost clinical.
Then the torture started, the powers that be decided that if I couldn’t be used to simulate combat I would be used to inure them not just to violence but also the pleading and pained screamed of the tortured.
Needless to say I started fighting back again.
As the weapons improved and the faces changed, there were unintended consequences to their constant stabbing, shooting, and thrashing. I learned.
As the lights come alive I start my stretches and count down the 5 minutes from lights on till a solider appears at my door to escort me to a meager breakfast and a start to another day of training. The soldier who’s job it is to lead me around the base appears in my door way. She doesn’t speak to me and I don’t attempt to speak to her.
She is lackadaisical, no one expects me to be anything but the docile training dummy. The soldiers here are well trained and don’t hesitate when called to violence. But hubris has killed more men then any soldier to ever live. When my open handed strike smashes into her throat she never saw it coming. He hands reach for her throat, mine force her head towards the knee rapidly approaching knee. Dazed and unable to take a breath she is easy enough to choke out from behind.
After stripping her of her weapons and uniform, the militaries new trend of making their attire able to accommodate anyone works in my favor. Moving with confidence I use the fact that the new batch of recruits today in my favor and move towards the hanger. The first few soldiers I see don’t pay attention to me as we move briskly in our intended directions.
Feeling long buried emotions for the first time, the sense of elation from making my move dissipates. Coming towards me is one of the soldiers who took to my torture and his training with the most relish. The long forgotten rage at my circumstances comes roaring to the fore. Long years of keeping that door closed prevent me from masking the powerful emotion and the solder notices.
His face travels from recognition to confusion to a sadistic glee as he thinks he will be able to punish me for trying to escape. With a seemingly lazy motion he pulls a baton and swings it toward my face. His shocked look at my perfectly executed stubs him long enough for my left hand to lash out and strike his chin. Which allows me to step into a right hook that slams him into ribs once, twice, three times like a driving piston. Then standing as tall as I can slamming my clasped hands down at the base of his skull.
As the sound from the short burst of violence dies away I strip him of his weapons and open up the closet door, and find it to be a soldier in the midst of pulling up his pants. Put on a burst of speed I close the distance between us and lash out with a left hook that connects with his jaw, followed by a blow to the temple with the base of a baton.
Using the precious moments I have to secure both soldiers and continue my trek. With a rising panic I’m finding difficult to suppress I start to rush down the hall way. Rounding the corner I bump into two soldiers, acting out of panic I slam a right hand into the soldier on my left and lash out with a foot to slams the knee of the soldier on my right backwards.
The soldier on the right falls with a shout and the left recovers and moves to pull his gun. Reacting quickly I push the hand downward to make it harder for him to clear the holster and slam my forehead into face. Then I hook his legs and push his chest to knock him to the ground and follow him forward and slam my foot into his head.
Entering a full blown panic as the soldier with the knee pointing the wrong way hasn’t stopped screaming I rush forward. Rounding the next corner and seeing my destination in sight I out on a burst of speed to open the door. Just to see arrayed in front of me a squad of soldiers with rifles drawn and aimed at the door.
General Williams steps up from among his men and says “ ah well there goes the pool, there has been an ever increasing pool on when you were going to attempt this.” “ to this point it’s been more a run if. Gag than anyone expecting you to make a move.” “You’re to be commended” then be signals to his men. As one the squad fire and
I wake up slowly. The lights will be on soon, apparently my hands are bound.
|
Marcus didn’t know too much about his species aside from one thing: their ability to avoid death.
Each time he was “killed” he would fall into a deep sleep to be renewed the next day as if nothing had ever happened. Each time he overcame death, however, he grew younger, by exactly one month.
A top secret branch of the military had caught him at 60 years of age and now he had the appearance of an 18 year old boy. He shuddered to think how many times he had been brought face to face with death in this cell. Each day he tried his best to block it all out, to suppress the memories of torture, but the dried blood all over his cell served as a gruesome and constant reminder.
As he looked through the blood-spattered bars of his cage now for a way to escape, he thought back to when he had first been captured.
Six men surrounding him, yelling in triumph. The look of twisted satisfaction in their eyes. Their bayonets sliding through his face and torso as if he was nothing but ageless butter.
| 2020-03-27T10:04:16 | 2020-03-27T10:04:11 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
I've always seen them. The numbers. It took me a long time to figure out what they were, and longer still to learn to pretend they weren't there.
My family took me to a psychologist when I was young, he thought they were a visual hallucination. None of the pills he proscribed me worked, but I pretended they did at the last batch. I didn't want them trying surgery.
It wasn't long after I left school that I realised I could use this... talent... to be the perfect bouncer. I did pretty well for myself, ended up working the door of one of the bigger clubs in the city.
That is why, late on a Friday night, I was winnowing through the line queuing up outside the club. The lights from the club over the street were bright and strobing, the music pounded through the air mixing with the shouts and laughter from the crowds stumbling and weaving their way between each raucous island of light and noise.
I almost missed it, distracted by two drunks arguing across the street. A flash of an impossible number. My eyes must have been playing tricks, mixing two numbers from people stood close together. Surely.
Then suddenly, there she was. She was stood in front of me, ID in hand. She had a nervous smile, her eyes were a pale green and her skin was almost luminous and smooth, pale as alabaster. Long hair tumbled about her shoulders, down her back. It was gold and yet it seemed like shimmers of silver cascaded through it when it caught the light.
Above her head, impossible, floated the number 1391.
I stared. Had I finally jumped off the deep end? Had I burst a blood vessel in my brain and my ability was going screwy?
"Um... hello? Could I... um... go inside? Please?" Her voice was soft, she had an accent I couldn't quite place, melodic like singing.
I startled out of my reverie and took her ID, "Sorry," I mumbled, examining the plastic card, checking it against our registry. It was real. Tara White, aged 24. But I had never been wrong before. What the hell was going on?
I handed the card back to her, "You can go in," I said stiffly. I couldn't bring her up on it. The ID seemed real and I couldn't hold up the line. Besides, what would it look like if I started asking if she was over a thousand years old? It was preposterous.
The impossible girl gave a bright smile, "Thank you!" She vanished into the club and was gone.
I was preoccupied for the rest of the night, it made it hard to concentrate on my job. Thoughts of the mysterious girl whirled through my head. Who was she? What was she?
I did not see her again until the club wound down and emptied in the early hours, and in the flood of people leaving I did not realise she had passed me until I saw a flash of silver-gold rounding the corner. By the time I reached the next street she was gone. My heart fell. I'd lost her, my only chance at finding out about that damn number, gone.
I was despondent the next day, I'd blown it. I'd never see her again. By the time midnight rolled around on Saturday I had managed to convince myself it was a fluke. I must have imagined that number... even if I knew in my heart that I had not. Still, it was the only way I could put the mystery out of my mind and I had almost succeeded when I caught those shy green eyes again in the queue.
I looked up sharply, and sure enough the 1391 floated above her head mockingly. Beside her was a tall man, probably pushing seven feet. He had shoulders broad enough to make Atlas envious and his skin was as dark as her's was pale. He caught my eyes and the blood drained out of me. Terror, deep and primal washed through me. I felt like a gazelle staring into the eyes of a lion. For all those brown eyes were soft, they were deep and dark and I felt like I was drowning.
He held out his ID, said nothing. Every motion was measured and precise, he moved not an inch more than he needed and there was a terrible fluidity about it. An effortless, predatory grace.
It was only then that I realised what number was above his head and a new terror filled me, my limbs trembled and my heart seized in my chest.
12,150.
I swallowed hard, fumbled for the ID. It too was real. He was Alexander Roberts, aged 28. I handed it back, gestured for them to go in. I could not trust my tongue.
The man gave a thin smile and ushered Tara inside. When they were gone it was like a heavy weight had left me and I gulped for breath. My hands shook.
I took my break early and rushed to the staff bathroom, I splashed cold water onto my face. The shock of it helped but my hands were still trembling. I felt nauseous. Why had that man had such an effect on me? Who the hell *were* they?
Thankfully I did not encounter the terrible man and the shy girl again that night, but over the next few weeks Tara became a regular. She would always come on the weekends, sometimes with her terrifying companion and sometimes alone. I quickly noticed that she was always sober when I saw her, no matter how late she had stayed at the club. She never seemed to leave with anyone, though she seemed to often get hit on in the queue and probably more often still at the bar itself. She always deflected these advances... at least the ones she noticed. A lot of the time she seemed to not realise she was being flirted with at all.
She was always quick to smile, there was a shy earnestness about her and an almost frightening amount of curiosity. It made me wonder just how she was related to Alexander. The man still made me uneasy even if the terror of him had lessened.
I waited until Tara came without her protector, as I had come to think of him. It was a Sunday night, the air was getting colder and the crowds a little thinner. She left the club early today and before she could vanish like she always did I called out to her, "Tara, I need to speak with you a moment. It is about your ID."
She turned, confused, "Is there something wrong?"
"Your ID is fake, isn't it? You aren't 24. I can see people's ages. I know you are much older than that. You're nearly 1400, aren't you?" I watched her eyes widen slightly.
"Th-that is ridiculous, of course I'm not! No one lives that long," she protested, pulling away from me.
"I have never been wrong before. What are you? Who are you?"
She looked around nervously as the crowds of drunks still wending their way to the last embers of revelry still smouldering in the early hours, "Not here. Come with me, and I will explain. I can't risk someone overhearing," she turned from me and gestured for me to follow.
I had little choice. I had to know who she was, how she could be so old. I followed, and soon we were lost in the crowds.
Whatever explanations my feverish imagination had come up with in the past few weeks, they paled to nothing in the light of the truth.
**EDIT**
Apologies if there are any spelling mistakes or nonsensical sections. I wrote this on my phone and it has started to shove words I already did into the middle or end of sentences once I complete them. Such as turning "paled to nothing" into "patheyd nothing" or such.
**EDIT 2**
Part 2 in replies
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4 digits. For a moment, my degree in mathematics failed me, as I struggled to count the numbers before me. Un, Deux, Trois, Quatre. There was no mistake, though the existence of such a person...frightened me. My vision had always been right, as evidenced by the guilty looks on the minors' faces when I turned them out of the bar. I'd never had to kick someone out for being overage. But 5746 years was a lot of time, far before Anno Domini 1. Was he immortal? A god? Or some old guy with a superpower? I didn't know, and I definitely didn't trust the 'Age: 30' that his ID proclaimed. Maybe my powers had faltered this time. Maybe...
From behind, I saw another man slowly approach me, his IDs in his hands. But as he made eye contact with me, his eyes widened in fear. I saw him whisper into the 4-digit-old man, with visible shock on both faces. That was when I saw the age of the newcomer. 5746.
I tried my best to suppress my shock, though I failed miserably. 1 was surprising enough, but 2? 2 men that had lived for the exact same time from so long ago? I was about to demand an explanation, but one of them beat me to it.
"Why are you 5746 years old?" he questioned, fear in his eyes. I opened my own wide. Could he read ages too? And was I...that old? No. That couldn't be right. I remembered my childhood, the photographic proof of my birh just 28 years ago. But they didn't seem to be lying, and the mention of that 4-digit number again was chilling. What kind of sick joke was my powers pulling? Or were they the ones pulling my leg?
"We've found another suspect, boss," one said into a walkie-talkie. The other drew a gun from his pocket, training the muzzle on my forehead. "What are you doing? You're-" I tried to explain, but he cut me off. "No more words, time traveller. We've waited long enough to catch you and your gang," he replied, smirking as a group of policemen appeared from the darkness. I felt the cool metal slide around my wrists, as I was forced towards the car. "Move!" one of them shouted. That voice...I seemed to recall. The cold handcuffs. The interrogation. Disjointed images flashes before my eyes, as they slowly became clearer, culminating in...
I knew now. But...why were they doing this? Was it a plot to throw of the police? "James!" I shrieked, to the man I'd once been partners in crime with. He chuckled, though I could tell it wasn't just for effect. I saw the twinkle in his eyes, the signature twinkle he gave when he condemned a foe to death. My other pal Aldrich stood by, his eyes conveying his helplessness. James' face wasn't one of friendliness anymore. It was one of animosity and hatred.
"Good riddance," I saw him mouth, as I was shoved into the car. As we drove off, I could still see him, as he advanced slowly towards Aldrich. I closed my eyes in cowardice, though I knew what would happen. What I had feared when I agreed to sacrifice my memories...it had all occured. There was no way back.
Even inside the driving car, I could hear the terrified screams. The circle of betrayal had been completed.
| 2017-09-01T23:57:33 | 2017-09-01T22:15:29 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] Every planet has its gods. Earth's gods have been exhausted by overpopulation, but you are the first person on Mars and the gods there are desperate to please you.
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A dusky red sky greets me once again, the early morning on Mars not something I ever expected to get used to. Maybe I won’t, but something felt so empty on this planet of rocks and desert. Possibly being the first and only human here was affecting my psyche a little more than anticipated, but I don’t think too hard on it as I stretch and remove myself from my covers.
The winds began to knock against my glass panes, the dust kicking up at random from beyond. In the middle of a swirl, an ethereal and nearly blinding light manifests and seemingly stares at me. I blink, hoping the previous nights sleep was still contorting my vision, but after a good few rubs, the light and swirl of dust surrounding it began to move closer.
I step back so far I’m already pressed against the opposite wall. The light phases through my window, leaving the dust outside as it physically begins to transform before me.
“Do not fear,” A feminine voice vibrates through my being and mind.
“Isn’t that what the angels say?” I blink slowly, still unsure of what I was speaking to and the level of concern I should have for my safety.
“If that makes you comfortable and easier to familiarize, then yes. Technically, I am a god, one of many coming here. To you.” She becomes a solid mass, her skin and hair golden red in the light. She wore no clothes, fully exposed and prepared for something I was unsure of.
“Okay,” I swallow, “Why here? Why me?”
Her gentle caress finds my under-chin, her smile illuminating brighter than the reflection of sand. “You are all alone, with no affiliation to Earth and it’s creatures. You are special, and I would do anything for your praise.”
“I don’t, I mean I never even did that on Earth?”
“Perfection,” Her light flared brightly as she grew taller, stretching through but not destroying the ceiling. “Love me, adore me, and I shall shower you in treasures and good fortune. I am Armosa, Goddess of Mars, and soon you will build a shrine in my honor so I may be taken seriously by my brethren.” She was very passionate, extending her hand out to me and leading me outside without my space suit.
“Collect me as your own, and I can promise you eternity within my grace.” She ruffles my hair before taking a few steps in front of me, extending her arms to the sky and breathing deeply. I watch as she expands upward quickly, taller than any skyscraper I had ever seen. Her body dissipates into pure light once more, a small assortment of rocks and objects I’d never seen.
“Make me in your image, become one with this world. Be free here, make this planet yours.”
As I organize the shrine, a strong gust of wind destroys my work, another feminine voice angrily cursing the name of Amrosa.
“Do not, small human.” A deep blue light manifests now, summoning great energy beneath her as the ground cracks where she now stands. Her deep black eyes frighten me, but I am unnaturally calmed by her presence. “Amrosa is no friend, she will destroy this planet in her image more so than has already been done.” Her deep, galaxy blue hand sweeps over the landscape. “I am Demoria, Goddess of Air and Sea. She has stricken me with grief at the loss of my only son, the first born Martian and your ancestor.”
Impossible, I think to myself. I was brought here from Earth.
“Not so, he was banished to Earth, and I swore his fertility and ample child bearing for this moment, this chance to change the fate of my beloved planet.”
I could feel her anger, the mistreatment of her love and child, the exile imposed upon them. She keeps her distance, but watches me carefully.
Amrosa appears again, her reddish glow prominent and glaring. “He was damned from the start, he would have destroyed this planet had I not -.”
“It is destroyed! Look around you, heathen! I curse your name.” Demoria spits at the ground, her dark features swirling inside of her.
“To the stars with you, Demoria. The human shall choose who will impregnate and repopulate this planet.” Amrosa and Demoria both come face to face with me, now hyperventilating at the prospect of choosing who will... impregnate me? A shiver courses through my spine, this was not part of the deal I was given.
“Build a shrine in one of our honors, the land and sky and seas belong to you and the offspring that will bring life once more to this world.”
I take several steps back, unable to bring myself to a decision and quickly forgetting I am without a space suit. Their arguing continued as my face turns red, then purple, then blue. Beyond myself and this place, I guess they’ll have to wait for my brother to get here.
|
They called him the son of Mars
But in the papers the editors derided him
“Martian Jesus” and Jesus fucking Christ the memes they made
Son of God? No. But son of a bitch, Martian gods adopt
Their new ward himself was a castaway and the red pantheon took him as their first and favorite child. They gave him all the panoply of war and Mars’ first son made his name on earth.
There was a red planet and a blue planet. Now, a red planet and a dead planet.
In time the soil and the water would come back.
Meantime, the son of Mars kicked back.
Gaia is dead; soon she’ll be back. But the son of Mars still laughed and kicked back.
| 2019-11-25T14:43:45 | 2019-11-25T10:49:25 | 34 | 14 |
[WP] You are a tutorial character, your job is to guide new players through the bigining of the game. You're used to the usual eye-rolling and the occasional newbie but one day you encounter a speed runner.
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*Ah. A new adventurer has decided to take on the challenge.* "Well met, traveler!"
"Next dialog next dialog next dialog come on hurry the fuck up God dammit."
"I would like to- I am- As soon as possible, bring me sixteen- Is there anything more I can-"
"Yeah, I know. Okay, I've got twenty-seven seconds to hit this split."
*What a strange Mage. Then again, they're all a little strange, aren't they? Oh, he is returning.* "Welcome back,- Yes, you can- I would be pleased to-"
"Fuck! Thirty-one seconds! Yeah, I know. Soiled it in the fucking tutorial level. The fucking crabs have RNG powered by Satan's hate, okay? Gimme a break here. I'm resetting."
******
*Ah. A new adventurer has decided to take on the challenge.* "Well met, traveler!"
"Shut the hell up. This is my tenth attempt. Just give me the fucking quest flag."
"I would- I- As soon as- Bring me- Is there-"
"Okay. Twenty-seven seconds. Mark."
*What a strange Mage. Then again, they're all a little strange, aren't they? Oh, he is returning.* "Welcome ba- Yes, you- I would be ple-"
"Thirty-six seconds?! What the fuck? How? Am I missing something here? Oh yeah? I'm supposed to back dash and then lunge? If you're such an expert, how about you run the fucking game? Mods, ban that asshole. I'm resetting again."
******
*Ah. A new adventurer has decided to take on the challenge.* "Well m-"
"Fuck you."
"I w- I- As so- Is-" *Best of luck, Mage. What a strange Mage. Then again, they're all a little strange, aren't they? Oh, he is returning.* "Welcome b- Yes, y- I wou-"
"Yes! Twenty-six! It really was all about back dashing before the lunge! Oh hey, I guess you should unban that guy. Now let's get the next quest flag."
"With these claws- Find the- Place- Return-"
"Yeah, yeah. One minute forty eight."
*Mages are always in such a hurry. I hardly even started speaking when he ran off. It's almost like he knew what I was going to say. Perhaps he's some sort of Telepath. They were supposed to have been wiped out in the War of Silver and Iron, though. Very strange indeed.*
"Here's your fucking Staff of Power. Now give me my ring and move it on."
"Thank y- I have- It can- Here-"
"One minute FORTY FUCKING NINE. God dammit! Who the hell voices this goddamn NPC, anyway? I'm sick of hearing his voice. Troy Baker? Really? Jeez. That dude's in everything."
******
*Ah. A new adventurer has decided to take on the challenge.* "W- I- I- A- I-" *Something I don't understand is happening. I swear I recognized that Mage. But then again, they're all a little strange, aren't they? Perhaps I've simply met a Mage just like this one. Oh, he is returning.* "W- Y- I-"
"Twenty-five, mothafucka!"
"W-F-P-R" *How does this Mage seem to know the answers before I speak them? I will have to discuss this with Lord Pranton. Telepathy has been forbidden ever since the War of Silver and Iron.*
"One-four-one! On a fuckin' roll!"
"T- I- I- H"
"Great. Now to the castle. Fucking follow quests are the worst."
*How does this Mage know where to go? I did not name any specific location. This has never happened to me before. Could this be the day I catch a Telepath and earn a promotion?* "Here we- Yes- Good- Find the-"
"Next mark three twenty-five."
*I have counseled hundreds, maybe thousands of adventurers. Most of them have been complete amateurs, destined to die in their first skirmish with orcs. A few have taken to my instructions like flies to carrion. But never, in all my days as a Tutor, have I had one who seemed to know what I was going to say before even I did.* "Excell- Take- Deliv-" *This is wildly inappropriate."
"Three thirty. You gotta be fucking kidding me. I was going so strong. Son of a bitch. Hey, back dash guy. What did I do wrong? I promise not to ban you again. Seriously? You can run and carry the warhammer? How did I not know this? Oh, because I'm a noob? Fuck you. Get banned, bitch."
******
*This is not a new adventurer. I recognize you, you scum. I don't know how, but I know you for what you are. I'm going to take you apart.* "Have at thee, Telepath filth!" *This is your penance for committing the egregious sin of mind-reading.*
"What the shit! Why is the tutorial NPC attacking me? I'm not leveled for any kind of serious fight! And look at this shit, he's fucking level ninety-nine! Oh, wow. Really? That's pretty cool, not gonna lie. But how the fuck am I supposed to run this game if it was coded to punish speedrunners? Get good? That's your answer? Fuck me. I thought I told you to ban that guy, mods. Great. Now I'm dead before starting the actual game. Now what do I do? Start a new file?"
|
"Hold the fuck on" I screamed before I even had a chance to introduce myself. "You can't skip me so stop button mashing." I continued. "This game had kind of advanced mechanics so there'll be 3 zones of difficulty." He didn't stop pressing buttons and each one of them rang through my spine like hearing someone's TV on discord. "As you progress through the zones I'll explain the mechanics as you encounter them. Now, what is your name?"
Ksfsjjf. I'm not sure what I expected really.
"Well, ksfsjjf, this is where I had over control to you" I said wincing in preparation for whatever was about to happen with this hyperactive lunatic.
The very second I finished speaking ksfsjjf bolted out towards the advanced tutorial zone without even collecting the tools for the advanced mechanics. "It might be best for you to complete the other zones first" I told him over and over every time he would step into the zone.
All he would do is back flip too close to the ground, fall back, get up, and do it again. "It might be best for you to complete the other zones first" wanted to tell him but I couldn't anymore. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't getting tedious, but I was told to stop him from entering. What do I do if he's already found a way in?
I'm gonna lose my job
| 2017-08-17T21:59:53 | 2017-08-17T14:58:49 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT.
|
The bar was cramped full of extraterrestrial life. Zelei, Ugrak, Haelites, you name it. Every shape, size, color, smell, it was there. Music from all across the galaxy joined in chorus with rowdy and drunken laughter and conversation, a song of the Milky Way. Not everyone liked the diversity though- at the edge of the bar sat a hairy and wolf-like Fraih'mador, a tall and skinny Trailm, and a bulky, repitilian Jex- Irhad, Grunn, and Yikyik. They all shared a common distrust of strangers, a trait that ironically brought them together- that, and their involvement in intergalactic crime. On this particular day, they were looking to do some crime, and were setting their eyes on the strangest of the strange walking in- the outsiders who'd have the most money.
"Keep your eyes peeled boys- theres plenty of cash on these *hraid*" Irhad scanned the incoming waves of drinkers, darting through the strange faces. Grunn proceeded to do the same, giving Yikyik a small but careful bump on the shoulder to pay attention. Suddenly, a rare sight walked into view, one that widened Irhad and Grunn's eyes- Yikyik, not realizing the danger, stood up with a vetroknife, ready to claim his prize.
"Don't worry boys- I got this one". Irhad grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him back onto his seat.
"What the fuck? I've got this-" Irhad delivered a soft slap against Yikyik's face.
"You fucked fool! Do you know what that is?" Yikyik looked back over at the alien, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.
"No, he's just an uncommon kind. What's the big deal?" Irhad pulled Yikyik closer, enough so that he could smell his rancid, meat-stained breath.
"That, is a *mother fucking human*. You do not, under *any* circumstances, fuck with that!"
"Why? It looks as weird as any other alien. Just the hair is in strange places..."
Yikyik felt another slap against his scaly face. This time, Grunn did the talking.
"This is why I told you to read more, you moron. Humans come from Earth, which if you didn't know is basically evolution's training ground for the deadliest species in the galaxy, and humans happen to be at the top of its food chain, which logically speaking makes them the toughest sons of bitches in the galaxy. I don't even know where to begin with the number of mass extinction events that planet has gone through- do you have any idea what that kind of stuff breeds? What I've seen kill others in a matter of seconds does nothing but set them back a bit. Broke your calf bone? Slammed in the face? Shot in the chest? Humans don't die from that, some even walk it off. All because of some chemical they call "adrenaline""
Yikyik was beginning to understand, but the true danger present hadn't exactly hit him yet.
"So, what, they're strong? Aren't you guys supposed to be smart? Can't you use your brains or something?" Yikyik watched as Grunn brought his palm up to his face.
"You do understand that being the best is more than just brawn, right? The humans are plenty smart, smarter than anything we've come across- what's taken us hundreds of years to understand, they did in a few decades. You know the internet? That took us nine centuries. It took them less than one. Science comes to them like a snap of the finger, and they're learning it quicker and quicker each year. It's almost kind of scary"
"And don't even get me started on their military strategy", spoke Irhad, "The tactics our generals are just beginning to put together were already done centuries ago by humans like Kahn, Caesar, Attila, Hannibal- the list goes on and on. There's a reason no one in the Galactic Council get's ugly with the humans- no one wants a repeat of the Pegasi War". A shudder went down the spine of all three.
"The Pegasi War. Never forget", mumbled Grunn. Yikyik looked back over at the human. As dangerously regarded he was by Yikyik's friends, he seemed to be the life of the party, surrounded by all sorts of alien life, bearing momentous laughs.
"He sure doesn't look threatening. At least to those guys"
"Oh, right, that's the strange thing about them. Humans aren't exactly, well, violent per say", said Irhad.
"Why's that?"
"Well, they like to solve things diplomatically. Negotiations. Deals. In the last couple of years, war has become essentially archaic to them. And even before that, they were still big on talking things out. As they've developed as a species, they've felt less of the need to kill each other. Or anything for that matter. You know what they used their cloning technology to do? Not to make armies to fight each other like everyone else, no. They used it to *feed starving nations*. Yep- they'd clone cells, grow animal meat, and then give it to the needy. Not only were they helping people, but they were solving the whole "morality of meat" debate that they had going on, for some reason. They use science and technology to find ways to avoid killing things", said Grunn.
Yikyik could see the point they were getting across, but his stubbornness got the best of him. He could tell the human was wealthy by the clothes he was wearing, as well as the many drinks he purchased for his friends- he didn't appear to be armed, so theft would just be hit and run. Yikyik stood up and walked over, despite his friends' warnings.
He walked up slowly and confidently to the human. As the alien drank with his friends, he saw Yikyik shuffling over. He gave him a warm smile, but realized his true intentions when he saw the knife in the criminal's hand. Yikyik pointed it at him, directly in his face- bad move.
"Listen punk- I know you've got a lot of money, and I have some errands I need to run. So, I'd appreciate it if-" Like lightning, the human stood, grabbed Yikyik by the arm, twisted it, and threw him onto a table. The impact was so strong, it killed him- an unintentional result on the human's part. He put his shaking hands up to his mouth.
"Oh...oh my God. Shit, I-I didn't mean to..." The human's Drittav friend put a hand on his shoulder.
"It's okay bro, it's just your natural instincts. C'mon, let's get out of here..."
Irhad and Grunn continued watching from the edge of the bar. Their eyes were wide, terror gripping their hearts. They had just witnessed their friend die- and, the impressive but monstrous attributes of the human. Irhad laid his four eyes on the bottom of his glass.
"Remind me to never get in bed with one of those things"
|
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
The chant rang out across the recess court of the Milky Way Middle School, where various larval age children across many species were sent to learn basic skills. Ever since the Great Awakening of IGC (Intra Galactic Contact) 143, it was deemed necessary that all species members of the Galactic Federation be held to the same educational standard regarding mathematics, galactic history, sciences, and fluency in the standard galactic language of Batheem.
“Come on, you guys. I don’t want to fight.”
The Human child looked at the various alien faces forming an inescapable fence around him and his proposed opponent.
“What’s the matter, Enoch? Scared?”
The spade-faced insectoid Jatno, Kryllyth, stared down the Human.
“I’m not scared, I just don’t like fighting.”
Humans were revered across the galaxy for their sensibility and pacifism. They famously settled the Raxian trade dispute in IGC 94, as well as ending Ure’s fifth world war. Humans always tried to find a better solution rather than just eliminate the cause of the conflict with violence.
A whinny-like laugh came from somewhere in the crowd.
“I’ll bet he won’t fight because he’s so scared of losing!”
Enoch scoffed. “I am not. I easily weight twice as much as him.”
“I heard your mother dated a slimy Hungaul,” Kryllyth hissed, “and then left him for an even slimier Rytte.”
The crowd egged him on. If there was one thing students at MWMS liked, it was a good fight. Plus, a fight with a Human was rare, and famously entertaining.
“You shut up!”
The human was getting visibly angry, his face turning a deep red. If humans were most famous for their pacifism, they were second most famous for whenever they snapped and got violent, they got very, *very* violent. Just ask the leader of the Felms, who dared to try and conquer the Humans’ dear satellite, Luna. Or perhaps ask the former inhabitants of the planet Ortina, if the recently Uranium radiated atmosphere doesn’t give you cancer first.
“Yeah, and I heard his colony got conquered by the Theks!”
Another collective roar of laughter.
This pushed the Human over the edge, and he leapt at the unsuspecting Jatno with an enraged yell. The crowd closed in around the mass of punching hands and yelps of pain. Eventually a voice rang out.
“Ok, ok! You win! Get off me!” Kryllyth yelled, pinned under the Human with and an arm twisted behind his back.
“Gladly.” Enoch stood up and walked away, dusting off his hands, leaving the crowd with jaws dropped.
No one picked a fight with a Human for the rest of the year.
| 2016-03-13T21:52:23 | 2016-03-13T21:46:28 | 47 | 15 |
[WP] You get a superpower (and brought back to life) depending on the nature if your death. Fall to death= ability to fly, drown= ability to breath underwater, burned to death= pyrokinesis and fireproof. It is common for people come up with creative ways to kill themselves to get a superpower
|
One in a hundred thousand. The odds weren't great, certainly not good enough to kill yourself on the off chance you would wake up with powers, rather than simply stay dead forever. It didn't stop people though. Mostly they were already suicidal, but the chance they might emerge from their torpor with powers related to how they died was a powerful pull.
I wasn't. Suicidal, I mean. At least, not out of a wish to die. I was the only research fellow on duty during the new year’s eve celebrations in Antarctica. The Swarzchild Terajoule Accelerator Ring was running a normal low-density field ramp-up, I just had to make sure the temperatures stayed in range, and the data collection systems didn't crash or run out of space.
The data was exactly what we had been expecting. Energies were normal, ring temperatures nice and low, plasma behaving, field geometry nominal. Except something seemed off. The lights. They were flickering. It wasn't anything I would have taken notice of, but I remembered the long-ago nights staring at CRT screens in my youth. I had become sensitised to that flickering, and I knew what I was seeing. I opened the console again and scanned for resonance. There wasn't enough mass in the ring to be concerned about, but at these field energies almost anything could be going a tenth the speed of light around the 120 kilometre diameter STAR. And based on the flickering, it would have to be that speed.
Nothing on the resonance display. The flickering seemed to be disappearing, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Could it have sped up to the point I couldn't see it? I checked the beam rotation. I checked it again, starting to sweat. It had accelerated to half the speed of light and was increasing. I looked at the acceleration rate and the field strength, quickly figuring out the mass that must have found its way into the beam path. Half a ton. Half a TON. I checked the field strength again, swearing under my breath. It was impossible. There was no way. The field strength was high enough the ring should have collapsed already, several times over, due to the gravitational stresses from its own mass-energy alone. Fuck!
The resonance sensors started to chime rapidly. There was nothing to do but shut the ring down and hope the dump tanks would hold back the monstrous onslaught. I leaned forward and hit the big red cutoff.
Sirens sounded as personnel evacuation alarms uselessly sounded throughout the empty facility, and shortly after the rad doors closed, the shutters between the ring and the dump tanks slammed open.
I sighed with relief, then shook my head. Glancing at the data recorders, they were still receiving data, so my job was probably safe. I'd done everything right at least. The internal directory sat blinking in front of me as I considered carefully the call I was going to have to make to the director of operations. I picked up the handset, and let it hang in my hand for a moment as I tried to make sense of what I had just noticed on the screen. The mass estimate I had quickly run from live data. It was still running, and it was up to twelve tons.
I ran through the scenarios we had all trained for in the simulators, and nothing seemed even close. The energy required to accelerate and contain that sort of mass was inconceivable. Nothing on Earth should be able to do it, not if you tied in all the power from all the power grids of Earth. Not if you covered the entire planet in energy production facilities. The dump tanks couldn't contain this, they wouldn't even slow it down. Hell, if it hit the wrong shutter, it would obliterate or irradiate millions of homes and people as it as ended upwards, scintillating off the atmosphere and satellite fleets. Worst case, it hits the moon and the backblast causes devastation of its own.
And it was only increasing in intensity. Something was leaking into the ring, fast, and the resonant collapse of the matter inside was self-reinforcing, somehow feeding back into the fields. I couldn't help but admire it, it was as if there were free energy from nothing, just kickstarted by STAR. But how could I force it to eject through the correct shutter to avoid utter carnage?
I could only think of one way. I hit “dial” and simply said “Code gamma.” It would give the rest of the research crew a few minutes to get as far underground as they could. Just enough time for me to override the lockouts and enter ring segment foxtrot eight.
The lockouts worked exactly as intended, and the override was equally well designed. My pass opened the locked shutter room door to the staccato screams of a radiation warning alarm. I rounded the corner and reality confronted me as bright flashes shone in my vision. I hurried to the ring manual controls, conscious that the radiation would only increase as I approached. I felt my temperature increasing, my heart pounding its last beats in my chest. I reached under the main loop and felt for the beam diverter control, designed to safe the ring at low power. The explosion would be spectacular, devastating, but the beam would exit over the pacific. New Zealand and a few pacific islands were in harms way, but the beam at this trajectory wouldn't pose any further danger to the planet afterwards.
I twisted the knob and felt the diverter start to drop. I only saw it in my very last moment of consciousness, the thin black line on the monitors. A ring singularity. We had created a ring-shaped, charged black hole. A pity, letting the beam diverter drop might not even save the world now. I died with that regret.
And then I woke. Alone in a hellish crater, swept with ice and ash, rock and glass. I was naked, but not cold. Standing, yet not with my feet on the ground. I floated above the crater, surveying the surreal scene. I could feel the pulses of energy around me, radio signals, even echoes of the explosion that killed me. The pull of gravity, I ignored. The crater was hundreds of kilometres wide. The research team were probably dead, and I felt a pang of pain for my friends, but I needed to know if I had managed to save the world.
A moment’s concentration and I appeared over New York City. It still bustled, though the strange-looking sky drew the pedestrians to a stop. Sydney, the same. Auckland city though had lost its windows, and hundreds lay injured in the streets. I knew if only I could bind their wounds together with my control over gravity, they could be saved.
I descended to the throngs of the injured, softly glowing, on excoriatingly bright wings of hardened gravity. I had to save them.
|
Meghan answered the incoming call early in the morning.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"The whole nursing home, it's being covered in them, I don't have much time bef---" The young woman was cut off short.
Meghan knew this was a bad case. She traced the call back to the small town of edgersville, Florida with it's only nursing home, St. Francis's homes for the elderly.
She didn't know exactly what had happened, but she did call the emergency services in.
When the police arrived, they found the whole home covered in plants, pink flowers were blooming on the entire structure and the branches had one end of the building slightly higher than the other. A few residents and staff where outside on the verge of panic. Four police officers went inside and two left outside.
Michael and Greg took the lower side of the building by breaking into a window. What they found inside was disgusting.
An old man formally in a wheelchair was now pinned to the ceiling by the branches, flowers poked though the eye sockets and left the eyes on the floor.
"Mike, what.. why-y-y-y" Greg was clearly in shock at seeing the man.
"Greg, just get out of here, I've dealt with much worse."
"But, the commissioner, he'll.."
"**GET OUT OF HERE**"
"Yes sir!"
Greg left out the window and left Micheal to deal with the infestation of plant life himself.
All throughout the halls, there were more bodies, some young, most old. All were impaled by the growing plants that had pink flowers all over them.
He eventually started to hear some swing style music and tracked the volume until he found the source.
A woman in her 70's was dancing to the music.
"Oh hi Johnny, it's just a wonderful day for some dancing isn't it?" The old woman giggled and was nimble despite her old age.
"Maim, do you know what has happened here."
"Oh Johnny, we are all just having a party, me and my friends!"
The woodwork started to shift and revealed more dead bodies of old people impaled by the plants. They were dancing with the old lady due to the plants marionetting them.
"Oh and you have to try these *Oleander* leaves, they taste just the best!"
The old woman presented Michael a half bitten leaf from a plant in a pot with pink flowers on it.
Michael pulled out his gun, knowing that this woman was the cause of this whole mess.
But before he could pull the trigger, another branch of the *Oleander* impaled him as well, and he started to dance.
**This is my first time posting a writing here on r/WritingPrompts so I hope I did good!**
| 2017-12-31T21:46:51 | 2017-12-31T19:19:27 | 159 | 61 |
[WP] So this is what being in a car crash felt like. Not as painful as you thought it would be. But you can't feel your toes. You look down, your leg is missing from the knee onwards. There's no blood, no bone, no muscles. Instead you see mechanical components.
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Somehow, that made me more nauseous than blood would have and for a moment, I just stared at my body in horror. Then my senses fully came to me. My husband and son, in the car next to me. The eighteen-wheeler slamming our cars and a half dozen others into the divider.
My head swam and I pressed a hand to my forehead. It was cold, metallic, and when I pulled back to examine my fingers, I saw a strip of metal behind the skin.
*"Trust me, this is the only way."*
*The only way, the only way, the only way.*
*There was always another way but he was never going to understand that and you'd long lost your ability to protest-*
"There's a survivor in this car! Police! Police there's someone alive here!" The hysterical shriek came from a young woman who'd been peering into the cars as she ran down the line, looking for anyone still stirring. Her face alit with hope and panic as she knocked against my window.
"No..." My voice is a slurred mumble.
"Stay calm. Stay calm! Are you hurt? Stay conscious, ok? How bad are you hurt? Bleeding? I don't see anything." She leans back to look over to the flashing emergency vehicle lights. "Police please!"
They can't see me like this though. I didn't know what they'd do but it wouldn't be good. How was I breaking out in such a sweat despite being... being...
What was I?
*"My son will be beautiful. Humans are an... an imperfect machine. You understand, Cecelia. You understand. What I give to you is the gift any human would die for."*
*You will die for it too. The man claims this isn't the end for you.*
*You wish it was.*
When I opened my eyes, I was trapped in the car once again. The woman still pressed her face against the window.
"Miss," I said, my voice a truncated pant. "You have to go. Find my family."
A family road trip gone wrong. Jamie had wanted to ride with his father cause Bryan always played classic rock in the car and I played country. Somewhere, in the depths of my memory, I could hear Bryan singing along to whatever 80s tune was playing.
'Rock of ages! Still rolling!'
'Ever since I can remember, you've been hanging round this joint!'
'The only way... The only way...'
\_\_\_
There's a certain kind of feeling where your entire body goes numb. It's not numb the way medicine can make it. No, all you feel is an electric tingle and your mind seems to hover a few inches above your skull. The only other thing you feel is a cold spreading in your gut.
It's the feeling you get when you've realized a truth too horrible to accept.
\_\_\_
"Mom!"
They found my family. Part of my brain wants to hug Jamie until his tears stop. I want to tell him I'll be alright, he'll be alright. We'll be alright.
Part of me, though, wants to know how Bryan will get out of this.
*"I can't hold the bodies of any more dead children." His hands are busied with recreating you to suit his needs. "Three years. Three sons lost before their first breaths. I can't handle the loss anymore, Cecy."*
*If you could speak, you would tell him there were other ways. Your body is not meant for this. It can't do what he wants. He should find another woman or a child in need of a home.*
*His solution was to make your body fit for what he needed. Pain has become a thing of the past, and in its place remains only white-hot fear.*
*"If this goes right, you won't remember a thing. If this goes right, everything goes back to normal and we have our son. Isn't that worth a little sacrifice? If this goes right, we get everything."*
*'If'*
*and if it goes wrong, you lose everything.*
*The light fades.*
The light from an oncoming ambulance blinded me as my eyes opened again. My mouth tasted like metal and I laughed weakly as my five year old son trundled in view.
"Mom!" he said again, his voice breaking in a way a child's never should.
Then, before he can reach the window, a shadow approached from behind and scooped him up.
"Get my son to the ambulance."
It was the voice that had invaded my memories so violently these past few moments. Oh god, why?
I wanted to cry out to the young woman, who now clutched my son in her arms. I wanted to ask her to bring him to me, so I could touch his smooth, soft cheek one last time.
"Hurry!" Bryan shouted, his voice the perfect mask of desperation. "I smell gasoline."
He set the stage so perfectly that the woman turned to run, not even asking him to follow. She was just a bystander. Shouldn't be expected to risk her life. But watching her retreat with my screaming son was the worst pain I'd experienced so far.
Especially knowing I'd never hear his voice again.
"Cecelia." Bryan's voice was hoarse, apologetic, and afraid. "Are you... oh god. Cecy, I'm so sorry."
"It was the only way." My words creaked from my damaged lips, but they bite in a way the metal of the car warped around me could never. "The only way?"
"You understand what I have to do, right?" He was crying at that point but fiddled, none the less, with a mechanism on the car, just out of sight. "Our family is destroyed. I don't know what to do."
The last time he'd said this to me was when I woke from an unexpected slumber to find my body paralyzed and almost numb.
Almost.
"You weren't supposed to remember. I would have handled all your medical needs. As I had. I'd done such a good job." If he wanted my assurance that he was a good man, he'd have to pry it from my dying lips.
As it was, I said no more. I wouldn't beg. I already knew it wouldn't work.
He turned towards the flashlights that now bobbed towards us.
"I smell gasoline!" he shouted again but this time I did too. I closed my eyes then and the rest passed in a blur of noise. A few frantic moments. The police urging my husband away. Them wrestling him from the car. Then a growing heat-
\_\_
"Mom? Dad, she's awake!"
My eyes flickered open and my heart soared to see my little son clutching my hand.
Bryan sprinted into the room moments later, his face not daring to hope. I just gave him the crooked smile he always told me he'd fallen for a decade earlier.
"Oh god, Cecy." He clasped my hand. "Are you in any pain? Are you... Jamie, go get your mother some water. Oh god, Cecelia."
"I'm never driving near a damn eighteen-wheeler again," I said, the laugh on my lips stinging my throat.
"What do you remember?" he asked. "Any pain..."
I shook my head a few inches, all that my stiff neck would let me. "Just the impact. The last thing I remembered was a prayer that you two would be alright."
It was sappy and he knew it too as he gave me an awkward hug, laughter and tears tumbling from him.
"Then someone answered that prayer. We were barely scratched."
"Thank god," I whispered. "I'm the luckiest woman alive."
"Then I'm the luckiest man." He pressed my hand to his lip as our son ran back into the room. "My family is safe. That's a gift anyone would die for."
For just a moment, a wave of nausea runs over me. Then I take the glass of water offered to me by my son, and the feeling passes.
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
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Life had seemed simple, once.
That's the thought that came to me, over and over again, the ocean tide lapping at my consciousness.
My "consciousness."
It had all happened in a moment, but then, I guess car accidents always do.
* * *
We were on a two-lane, headed to my parents' house. Kaia said "You should get over -- you'll miss our exit."
Her voice carried the tension of someone preparing to have an argument for the hundredth time. I wanted to avoid that.
My phone had slipped out of my sweatpants pocket - the grey ones I always wear for long trips - and managed to land on the floor behind my seat.
I could have said, "Hey, can you grab my phone so I can show you -- yet again -- that I am not an idiot and that, in point of fact, I've driven to this house dozens of times and so despite what your tone implies, I know what I'm doing?
But that would have just led to a fight. I didn't want to fight.
So I did it myself.
For a moment, I unbuckled your seat belt. For a moment, I took my eyes off the road. For a moment, the phone was in my hand.
Then chaos exploded like a barrel full of TNT.
"What are you -- no!" her scream, raw and panicked. The horn of the minivan blaring. One set of screeching tires -- not ours -- and then the impact.
I break through the windshield like a rock dropped into a mountain lake. I would only remember later the snapping sensation from my leg.
*So this is what being in a car crash feels like,* I thought. *Not as painful as I thought.*
My vision went black. But I could still hear -- more horns, more tires screeching. Voices. Voices of strangers. I strained my ears for Kaia's voice...
The thought forced my eyes open. I went to stand and immediately fall back to the asphalt. I looked down and stared.
I have two legs, but one was mostly thigh now. From the knee onward, there was nothing. At the place where my knee should be, there was an open wound. Was it a wound?
There was no blood, no bone, no muscles. Instead, there were cables and metal rods, each with uneven ends.
My brain couldn't make sense of his. Maybe I was delirious. It didn't matter -- I needed to find Kaia.
I dragged my body across the dark surface of the two lane, sliding back toward the hatchback. *Our* hatchback.
We'd bought it on our first anniversary. I had wanted red, she had wanted blue. We ended up with white.
As I slid through shards of plastic and glass, I remembered her the aching music of her laughter: "Perfect - right between red and blue," she had said, and I had joined in her laughter.
I used the twisted fender to pull myself around to the passenger's side, pushing myself with my intact leg.
My hands shook as I reached for the handle. My body lifted up off the asphalt temporarily and I leaned backward for leverage. The car door groaned as I worked it open.
She had been turned in her seat, leaning towards me -- and the steering wheel -- when we had hit the minivan.
A dark curtain of hair hung down. Her head was listed to the side, like her right shoulder had some secret it wanted to tell her. I watched her, in silence, studying. Waiting. Waiting for her to move. For her to breathe. For her to turn, for her brown eyes to lock on mine, for the wry smile to play across her lips.
We would never argue again.
* * *
Feedback welcome. /r/ShadowsofClouds for other stories, some sad, some silly.
| 2020-12-17T08:57:06 | 2020-12-17T07:01:26 | 528 | 38 |
[WP] Steve Erwin is now the host of a show where he goes around and explains mythical creatures.
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The line of the dead stretched from Horizon to Horizon, like the vertebrae of some primordial serpent. Humans in various states of decay - bloated corpses, clattering skeletons, and empty shrouds that floated over the dimly-lit path - all shuffled or hovered or dragged themselves in a silent, somber slitherine.
Above the path, living wreaths of flame unfurled their long, cinder-skinned tentacles, only to curl them back again when they brushed against the wandering dead. It was under one of these Flame-wreaths that the corpse of a woman, who's long hair had turned wiry and gray, came to a halt.
An exposed rib cage poked her in the back, "Oops, sorry."
"Do you hear that?" the woman asked, her tongue doing most of the talking, as her bottom jaw was hanging more than hands-width from where it should have.
"Sorry," the skeleton inclined his fleshless head towards the woman, "Hear what?"
Behind them, grumbles and shouts rose up from the line, urging them to keep moving.
"It rather sounds like... a ghost," she said.
"We're in the right place for those, I suppose."
"But have you ever heard of a ghost so-"
"***WOOOOOOOOO!***"
A howling vortex of wind, followed by the ear-shattering whinny of a horse swept over the line. Flame-wreaths sucked in their tentacles, and the line of dead people turned to look.
"So alive?" she finished, just as the stampeding of hooves - and the gurgling rush of water - broke over the line.
A monstrous creature, with the front-half of a horse, and the back-half molded into a thick, paddle-like tail crashed to a stop above the line. Its two hooves pounded into the ground that wasn't there, while its tail sloshed through the air as if it was water.
A man dressed in khaki shorts and a khaki button-up, leapt from the back of the creature, and landed smack in the center of the line.
"And *that's* how you ride a sea-horse!"
The whole line stared at him.
"Who is that?" the woman asked the skeleton behind her.
"Steve Irwin, I think."
"What's he doing?"
The skeleton shrugged, "Too excited to pass on. Once he found out there were animals in the afterlife, he became ... preoccupied."
Before she could ask her next question, a shout echoed out over the line, "Crikey! I've never seen one of these up here before!"
Steve put both of his hands above his head, and dove over the side of the path. With one hand, the woman pushed her head to the side to get a look. Steve was swimming above a white-glowing globe of translucent flesh, seemingly suspended by it's own gases.
"It's a rare find indeed. This is what I like to call a Skellie-Jelly, and they're usually only found in the darker parts of the underwold, *feasting* on the bones that fall from people crossing over. Look at these *fingers*!"
Steve lifted a set of bony-appendages that dangled below the Jelly's main body. Two of the fingers were much longer than the others, and they wrapped lightly around Steve's wrist.
"I think this guy's a little bit lost, so we're going to give him a headstart back to his home," Steve pressed both of his hands on the top of the Jelly's globe, and shoved down with all his strength. As the Jelly sunk, Steve's smile grew.
An ethereal figure, ten times as long as Steve was tall, settled itself in the darkness behind him. Steve's steed whinnied, and clopped it's hooves, but he took no notice.
The woman turned to the Skeleton, "Hey, what is that behind him?"
Below the figure, a long, slender, *silvery* object materialized into a kind of organic spear, and angled towards Steve's back.
"Wasn't she a beaut? But today, we're not here to look at Jellies. We're hunting one of the most legendary, and *deadly* creatures in the afterlife. This one is an old friend of mine-"
The spear shafted silently through the darkness, and sunk deep into Steve's back. He doubled over, his words stolen from his lungs. The spear-tip shone brightly through his chest.
"Ack-" a look of desperation - or disbelief - consumed his expression.
The woman started forward, almost forgetting that she was standing on a narrow path overhanging a great abyss.
"Steve!" she shouted.
Steve stood up, the spear-tip still protruding from his chest, a broad grin splitting his face, "Nah, just playing with ya! This here," Steve put his hand on the spear tip, and pushed it back through his chest, leaving only a gaping hole, "This is the stinger of a *ghost ray*. Incredibly rare creatures, and incredibly lethal too! One drop of venom will bring you to Death's door."
Flesh burbled in the hole in his chest, and the skin sewed itself back together.
"Lucky for me, Death is a good mate of mine!"
***
Check out /r/PSHoffman for more short (and long) stories about dead things. Lots of dead things...
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"Tonight, we go into a isolated and extremely dangerous mountain in the north of Rhovanion," said Steve. "Here, a nasty dragon overthrew a Dwarven kingdom, the son of a gun. What a rare, mysterious, and magnificent reptile."
The crocodile hunter approached the gates, half-crouched. The camera crew followed closely.
"Now, dragons can be aggressive. It's their only method of making sure they don't get killed by Men and worse things, and of course, they do love their gold. Unlike most of my encounters - where the snakes don't have any fangs or poison - this bugger does indeed have teeth. You might say I'm crazy, but as it turns out, he can also fly around and breathe fire right out of his mouth! Animals are really important to me, but unfortunately the job means constant peril."
The cameraman looked at boom operator.
"G'day. I'm Steve Irwin, and I'm taking you into the heart of Erebor."
***
and g'day, i'm [Hermione Grangest](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hermione_Grangest/)
| 2016-02-24T07:34:48 | 2016-02-24T07:04:50 | 51 | 14 |
[WP] It seemed like a perfect magical deal. When any child descended from you is born you grow younger by a single year. So you agree, planning on a big family and living to a ripe old age. Years later however you find yourself rapidly growing younger and regret not understanding exponential growth.
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The deal seemed like the most incredible of gifts. The fae would be bequeathing me the talents, instincts, and knowledge of an extraordinary farmer. And as it flowed through me, as I reached for information I’d never learned but was there, I nearly wept with the knowledge that my village would no longer starve. Not only that; we would prosper. I spread my abilities across our land like a sun sliding across the sky, helping ensure growth from every seed I touched.
The trade I made with the fae, what I was to give, was a strange one. She declared that for every child descended from me that was born, I would age backwards by a single year. How astounding a gift to be able to know that my children would have their mother there for them through the years, strong as I had always been, my brain still filled with knowledge to impart, and able to bounce my grandchildren on my knee with barely any effort.
Of course, fae don’t make deals with the cunning. I was no mathematician. And that was where I failed.
Gregory and I had nine children, always wanting a large family, and having the gift of life bestowed upon me for every child I had was the perfect accompaniment to that. Our lives were wondrous, though difficult at times, of course. Such a houseful of children do not make for an easy, uncomplicated life. But I wouldn’t have traded it for anything, and they eventually grew up, finding partners of their own. And starting to have children of their own.
After the eight years of extra time, and then waiting as my children grew to adulthood, I eagerly awaited the arrival of a grandchild, as most parents do. The family reunions were filled with love and laughter and good food, and children. So many little ones, each year passing sending me back another.
It wasn’t a lightbulb moment, exactly, when I figured it out. More like my brain giving into the cognitive dissonance that only humans are strange enough to be capable of. When I was realizing what would happen, I had six grandchildren. My children had grown, I’d aged another twenty years, so I’d had time. But I realized the years coming would be spent watching my family die. My children and their children, until I was overcome with time, blinking into nothingness.
Sitting at my kitchen table beside Gregory, his expression was a mixture of confusion, sadness, and horror. “You…didn’t realize?” he asked.
That’s when I found out that he’d known the implications all along, or at least, far longer than I had. He’d assumed my generous sacrifice was for the good of the village, for our prosperous farmlands extending across vast stretches of lands. When he noticed that I only stared back sadly, he took my face in his hand and said, “I’m only sorry I won’t be here to care for you. That we won’t grow old together. But we still have *time* together. And that’s what matters. Right?”
It took me weeks to come to terms with it, and to see it from Gregory’s perspective. Each of my children had either somewhere between one and three of their own, seventeen all together. Seventeen years I was gifted, as Gregory grew older, leaving me forty-eight years old. Then came the great-grandchildren, but by the time the first had been born, I’d found myself at Gregory’s bedside, holding his hand as he passed.
As the years ticked by, those seventeen grandchildren started to have children of their own, and every time I heard the news, I kept track of it on my calendar, marking off the years that ticked back in a day. Time goes by quicker as you get older, they say, and I found it true. But I still enjoyed every moment, every second. I met with my descendants ever holiday, of course, but many still lived locally. We often got together for dinner just because, and when you have such a huge family, just because fills up a lot of meals.
Eventually, one of my grandchildren, Dorothy, took me aside and explained that everyone had decided to stop having children for now. I was eighteen at this point, and that was a gift, to be given the time it would take for my great-grandchildren to grow up. But I told her that, while I accepted that generous gift for what it was, I wouldn’t dream of depriving anyone of birthing children they wanted.
I told Dorothy that I wanted no more of my descendants to know of the fate that awaited me, that they were not to tell any of my great-grandchildren. I couldn’t bear to saddle them with that, to build their families under the burden of that knowledge. And I had had so many years gifted to me that I truly was satisfied with my life as it had been. With that, I said goodbye, moved abroad, and set up a new life.
My great-grandchildren grew up, the years ticked by, I grew older, and then at twenty-nine, I received the news of the next child, and it began once again. I considered finding someone with which to spend the years I had, but how could I explain the way it would end? And who would want to give away thirty years of your life to someone who would shrink away before your very eyes? So, I did the only thing I could. I lived a life as fulfilling as I was able, taking each day in and savoring it like a spoonful of rich chocolate cake.
Each day, I would look in the mirror and smile. I did that until the next child was born. I was never even promised safety from an accidental death, I mused at one point. But I assume that this was the result the fae was hoping for, the outsmarting of a human the only goal she’d had. Then, the morning I learned of the next child’s birth, I decided to determine my end.
To let myself wither away wasn’t something I wanted to experience either, but to do it alone or in the care of strangers in some orphanage would be horrible. So, instead, I spent the next day going through photographs, of which there were thousands. And as I flipped through the endless pages of dozens of photo albums, I knew the fae felt it had gotten the better of me, but I’d had a fuller life than any could imagine.
Every photo let me recall the life that had been borne from mine, some prospering as Gregory and I had, some dying young or suffering horrible tragedy. But that was what life consisted of, and there was no getting around it. I ensured my town would thrive in success and prosper, but that was the end of it. I had no other control over my world other than what was natural.
We make deals with ourselves like one would with the fae all the time, it became apparent as I looked over the generations before me.
You trade a future with a partner for a career elsewhere, hoping you’re making the right decision, thinking you’ll grow to resent them for an opportunity missed. But you never know. The future that awaited you with them as a significant other could have been buoyant with happiness and brought you exactly what would make you happy.
Or you make those little choices, the ones only visible in hindsight, barely noticeable until you realize the outcomes that resulted from them. Meeting a friend because you decide to attend a party you were reluctant to go out for. Leaving early for work lets you enjoy the sight of a family of ducks crossing the road. Or all the moments you never knew you could have had, crushed by a butterfly effect of ignorance.
We all make choices and take certain paths in lieu of others. The only thing we all share is that the path that stretches out before us is the same. From our entrance into the world, overcome with brightness and sound, to our demise, whether with a bang or a whimper, we all begin, and we all end.
I watched the sun set for the last time that evening and, as it dipped below the horizon, leaving a blur of colors behind, I knew I was as satisfied with my life as Gregory had been when I’d last held his hand.
​
/r/storiesbykaren
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When I met little Richard he seemed not to recognize me. They had torn down the attic and was in the process of scraping the rest of the house. It was very hot and there was sawdust in the air. I did not manage to recover our common history from Richard, so I handed him a business card and played an insurance salesman. The lines I delivered perfectly. In the backyard there was this big tree surrounded by patches of highlighted grass. Under cover from the sun I recalled quite a while ago there was this tattoo I made on the tree. I did not find it, however.
​
I wished to inquire of Stephanie's grave, which proved unfruitful since the man was busy with work and busy chasing me away. Very subtle, of course, with a little frown on his face detectable only by Stephanie and by me, who she taught the art. When I used to hold him in my arms he must have also made this kind of face often. I had no idea then until years later when Stephanie finally revealed her secret. What fragile illusion I had had of being the better grandfather soon dispelled. I suppose he had never liked me very much.
​
I walked the whole way back the station. It always calm me when I have a goal in mind. Better more if the goal stays unmovable, unchangeable. Maybe that's why I enjoyed train rides greatly. Whatever I do, I can live assured that there is this station I will get off at. Such is fate.
​
My shadow grew shallow, I had lost a few wrinkles on my face. To the side of the road there was a field with grass higher than my head. The warm humid summer wind tickled them slightly. I remembered this sensation of humidity upon my skin. On a grass field, too, away from the main road, I had lain with a woman. A damned dog I was, going around spreading my seeds. With every regained youths I sought again to expand my roots. But this woman I lain with, let the humid wind sing, mind you, this Oriental woman, she once made me tired of going around. She had a big family, too. I had thought if I stayed with her I too would have a big family. But I didn't understand them, and they didn't understand me. I remembered, through the fading light of the station, her little figure waving as I departed. The rhythm of the train awakes me some nights, and when it does I could always imagine the same figure waiting for my return.
​
The Oriental woman might have cursed me. In her head, she would never say it out loud. I knew a few who would, though. She would curse me in her head, yes, and then she would be sad, and she would feel bad because she had cursed me. It would sadden her more. Now that I thought about it, she always had this willowy, sad look on her face. Enough for a man to settle down. Not me, though. Of all the women I had mated with, some might understand me, although no one I could recall. Every year I grow older and lose a bit of memory, then I grow younger and lose another bit of history. I could always love as if it was my first love, and because of that I could love no one. The women grow old. They lose their options. I never lose my options. Every time I become young I have wanted to try out a new life. Most of the time it ends on several broken hearts.
​
When I reached the station I could see my train over the horizon. I scratched Stephanie out of the notebook. It would be best if in my sleep I disintegrate. If not, I figured I could scrape out of my mind some names. I don't want to die alone.
| 2021-04-15T11:13:05 | 2021-04-15T11:09:08 | 146 | 20 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
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__Suicide: A permanent solution to a temporary problem.__
This stupid fucking phrase rings through my mind almost hourly as I try to make it through the day. The reason it’s in my head right now? It’s pouring and a car just sped through a puddle, leaving me a wet mess. What’s more, I dropped my phone when I got splashed, and now it won’t turn on. _Permanent_ solution. _Temporary_ problem.
The bus finally arrives and everyone rushes past me to escape the rain, leaving me the last one to get on. There’s one place left to sit and it’s right next to the nicest looking lady in the very back of the bus. Maybe my luck is changing?
“Oh, dear!” She exclaims at my appearance. “Here honey, sit by the window, there’s a little heater under the seat there. She gets up to let me in and a book falls from her lap. The front cover is torn off and there’s handwriting covering all the margins in red ink. I try to read the printed text, but she snatches it up before I can focus my gaze on it. “Shakespeare,” she says, blushing. “Always been a pain to read.”
I slide into the seat and put my backpack on my lap and rest my head against the window. I’ve got a couple of hours until I change busses again, so I close my eyes and try to sleep, the heater blasting at the back of my legs from under the seat. It’s almost painful, but I kind of like it. After a few minutes, the murmur of the bus becomes more faint and I begin slipping off to sleep.
I wake up to a loud bang in complete darkness. I stand up and my legs brush against the bus seat. I let out a yelp and run my hand over my calves, which are hot to the touch. _Temporary problems_. It suddenly dawns on me that I’ve missed my connecting bus and I’m fucked. _Temporary_.
I reach for my phone for the flashlight and remember it’s not going to turn on. I try anyway and hear a small pop followed by the smell of smoke. Great. I throw my phone on the seat and try to find my way to the front of the bus. When I make my way near the front, I hear a laugh from where I was sitting.
“Hey!” I yell. “I can’t fucking see. Do you have a light?”
The laughing turns to cackling and then to a deep growl. I can’t tell where it’s even coming from anymore. _Okay,_ I think. _Fuck you too._ The growling continues and I think I found the steps that lead off the bus. I finally exit the bus into a dark garage. “Hello?!” I hear my own words echo back at me and the growling turns to a shriek.
I fumble forward until I run into something like a work bench. I run my hands across the top and cut my hand on something sharp. _Temporary_. I wince in pain, but grab whatever it was by the handle to keep it close in case I need it. I keep running my hands across the top of the bench until I find something that feels like a pack of cigarettes. I open the lid and find a lighter inside.
I don’t know where I am or what’s in this garage, but I need to see. I flick the lighter a few times until it stays lit and try to find a way out. The shrieking has stopped by this point and I can hear the pitter patter of feet coming towards me. “Okay,” I say. “We can both leave together just don’t trip over anything.”
Whoever is here is starting to laugh again. I shoot a dirty look in the direction of their laughter, even though I know they can’t hear me. “Look, if you’re not gonna help, you can find your own way out.”
“There is no way out.”
Great, it’s the lady from the bus. “Then how the fuck did we get in here, lady?”
She starts cackling again. Whatever, I’m going to keep looking for a way out. The lighter doesn’t help much, but I can see where I’m stepping, at least. As I’m focusing on my feet, my head slams into something and I fall to the ground. The lighter skips across the room and the sharp tool I found lands by my side. I grab it for safe keeping.
The lady has stopped cackling, but I can hear her breaths and they get closer until she’s finally over top of me. She starts speaking in Latin and I let out a little chuckle. This is just so typical. Well, not the Satanic hex or whatever - but my luck is typical.
Finally, she speaks in English. “Stay still, child. I’m going to sacrifice you to open a portal.”
_Not-so-temporary._
My head is all fuzzy and I can’t sit up. My legs are still on fire from the damn heater. My hand is bleeding from where I cut myself. Now I’m about to be fucking _sacrificed?_ Nope. I’m in control. I grasp the sharp tool tightly in my hand it move it to my wrists. She can’t sacrifice me if I’m already dead.
|
His numbered seconds flitted by,
He sat facing the screen.
He used to be a normal guy,
Back when he was a teen.
But when the dread came creeping in,
And drained his life and soul,
His feelings slipped out of his skin,
And left a gaping hole.
When outside, he adorned a mask,
That bore a practised smile.
He wandered, searching for a task,
To make his life worthwhile.
Alone he'd sit and hibernate,
And waste his fleeting days,
He barely slept and barely ate,
And hoped it was a phase.
He knew he was dysfunctional,
A faulty, glitched machine.
His illness: unexpungable,
And outwardly unseen.
He stumbled through his life, deadpan,
Feeling no joy or pain,
And thought of that young happy man,
He'd never be again.
| 2017-05-05T07:14:27 | 2017-05-05T06:57:56 | 451 | 31 |
[WP] You're a middle school custodian, cleaning up the school is your job. So when a group of men take the school hostage, they are no exception. You have a mess to clean.
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Joe shifted his weight on the hard plastic chair and stared at the recycled paper coffee cup on the table in front of him. The swill inside the cup was cold now. He'd only had one sip. It wasn't anywhere near as good as Lenie's.
The old analog clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, but its skinny red second hand was stuck twitching back and forth halfway between the nine and the ten. Matt could fix that in a heart beat.
Years of habit made him lean back and sneak a glance at the underside of the table. No chewing gum. He'd already checked the ceiling for spitballs and the linoleum floors for rubber streaks. The staff here did an okay job. Not as good as Bobbie and Carl.
The gray door in front of him opened and a young lady in a brown pant suit walked in with a manila folder under her arm and a tape recorder in her other hand.
“Good afternoon,” she said, placing the items down on the table. “I'm sorry for the wait.”
“That's all right, ma'am,” said Joe with a nod.
“I'm Detective Katherine Johnson. Can I get you anything? More coffee?”
“No, thank you, ma'am.”
“Okay,” she said, settling down on an identical hard plastic chair on the opposite side of the table. “Did anyone tell you why you were brought in?”
“No, ma'am.”
One minute, he'd been standing by the ambulance, chatting with the EMT, the next a couple of officers had asked him to come with them and ushered him straight into the back of a police car.
The young lady made a disgruntled noise. No doubt swallowing a nasty comment. Then she cleared her throat and leaned forward, lacing her fingers on top of the manila folder.
“First of all, you're not under arrest. We just want to ask everyone involved a couple questions, get preliminary statements--” She cut herself off with a laugh. “Okay. Honestly? We're still reeling.” She opened her hands and spread them wide, shaking her head in confusion. “Because from our perspective, dispatch received a call saying Belmont Prep had been taken over by terrorists, and before we even get the chance to confirm whether its a prank or legit, we show up at the scene and find six hogtied men, a small arsenal of disassembled weapons, several injured staff, and about a hundred students chattering on the front lawn.”
Joe smirked. He could see where that'd be confusing. But she hadn't asked a question, so he didn't say anything.
“Okay.” Detective Johnson shook it off, placed her recorder in the middle of the table, and opened her manila folder. “I'm going to record this conversation for the case file. We'll start with you telling me your name and your job title at Belmont Prep and go from there. Are you ready?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
She pushed the recording button and motioned quietly for him to go ahead. Joe folded his hands on the table, took a deep breath, and started.
“My name is Joe Stanton, and I'm a custodian at Belmont Prep.”
There was a pause. He wasn't sure how to go on. Detective Johnson just stared at him expectantly. Wasn't she going to ask him questions?
“Okay, Mr. Stanton,” she said. “Can you tell me what happened today? Just the sequence of events from this morning to now.”
Joe hitched up his brows. “Like a debriefing?”
“Yes, if you will.”
She jotted down a note on a blank page in her folder, but didn't ask him about it. Fine by him.
“All right,” he said, feeling on more familiar ground. “I arrived for the start of my shift at 0600. There's a one hour change over between shifts, so Winston and Mary from third were there. Matt came in ten minutes late, said he got stuck behind a spraying tractor. Bobbie--”
“Wait.” Detective Johnson stopped him with a raised hand. “For clarification. Who are the people you just mentioned?”
“Winston Carter and Mary Hong are the two custodians on third shift. Matt Dreyer, myself, and Bobbie Mitchum are on first, and on second it's Tonya Wayne, Ricky Hernandez, and Carl Bauer.”
“So there are a total of eight custodians employed at Belmont Prep?”
“Yes ma'am.” Joe smiled. Looked like the Detective had made the same mistake as the bad guys. “Did you really think a single person could clean up after hundreds of kids and still keep a place spotless?”
“Honestly,” she said. “I never thought about it.”
“Yeah, well, neither did they, 'cause the truth is it takes a small army.”
Detective Johnson raised her brows at his choice of words and leaned back in her chair.
“Go on.”
Joe cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.
“Like I said, Matt was ten minutes late, and Bobbie had called in sick, so Winston offered to do a double and got approved just before 0700. That was dumb luck on our side, because he used to be the A/V Tech and computer guy before the job got scrapped, and that came in real handy when we needed to communicate to coordinate the operation.”
“What operation?”
“Operation: Clean the Mess.”
Detective Johnson blinked several times and opened her mouth to say something but then closed it again. Finally, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed.
“Go on.”
“We followed our normal routine through breakfast at 0730, wiping down tables, stowing food trays and so on. Matt is grounds custodian and mechanic, so he went outside around 0830 to do the regular maintenance check on the outdoor equipment and the school-buses. He was the first one who noticed something off. Came in for break at 1030 and said there were a couple strange vans parked in the overflow lot behind the science building.”
“And did you notify anyone about these vehicles?”
“Yes, ma'am. I notified Principal Cutledge myself after lunch. I went to her office at 1045. She said she'd look into it, and I went back to our break room in the basement. I took the emergency exit staircase because it's more direct and I don't have to fight my way through a hallway full of kids.”
“Aren't the emergency exit doors set to sound an alarm when opened?”
“No, ma'am, but those signs do a pretty good job keeping the kids out.”
“Ah.” She sighed again. “So, when did you become aware that armed men had invaded the school?”
“When I heard the first gunshots around 1300. I was down in the break room, waiting for the kids to finish their lunch. Matt was outside, mowing the South lawn behind the football field. Winston was upstairs doing spot-checks. When I heard the shots, I locked the door, hunkered down, and radioed him.”
Joe sniffed, grabbed the cup in front of him and took a healthy swig. He grimaced.
“Nearly got him killed. He was getting supplies from the storage cabinet in the kitchen when they stormed the cafeteria. Barely slipped out down the garbage chute before they saw him. He radioed back from the dumpster in area three, said he saw a bunch of guys with guns and automatic rifles rounding up everyone in the cafeteria.”
Detective Johnson jotted down another note on her paper. Joe was sure she'd be talking to Winston before too long. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth to get rid of the nasty taste of stale coffee and continued his report.
“We didn't know how many there were at first or what's going on, but it was pretty clear this wasn't someone running amok. After the first few shots there weren't any more and things got really quiet.”
“This was around 1 pm, you said?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“The only call we received at dispatch came in after 2:45 pm. Why didn't you attempt to contact the police before then.”
Joe's gaze hardened. He didn't like the tone the young lady was taking with him.
“Because I thought it'd be so much cooler to play John McClane and get on Fox News.” He smacked his hand on the table. “Bullshit. Of course I tried calling the police. I had my cell phone out while I was still on the radio with Winston, but I got no service. I told Winston to try his phone, no service either. Course, we figured out later they were using a cell phone jammer from one of their vans. Winston was able to take it down and that's when we called … kind of after the fact.”
“The voice of the caller was female.”
“Yeah. Tonya Wayne. Second shift, remember?”
“Right.” Detective Johnson shook her head. “So what happened between 1 pm when you heard the first gun-shots and 3 pm when Tonya Wayne called 911?”
Joe sighed. If she stopped interrupting him all the while to ask questions, he could have been done giving his report already.
ETA: Part 2 is now available somewhere below.
ETA 2: Part 3 and the conclusion of this story is now somewhere below the below.
|
In reality, I had been preparing for this moment my whole life. Being a janitor is boring. Really boring. Yeah, for the first couple years it is interesting to watch the kids do stupid stuff, but after you've seen the same wedgie 50 times in a row it starts to get old. That's when I started imagining all of the different disasters that could beset the school and what I would do in response.
3 tornadoes and a bear loose in the halls? Got that covered. 15 rabid porcupines loose in the band room? I have a plan for that. A group of men taking the school hostage? I've had a plan for that for 20 years. I might be old, but I know the school by heart and I have mastered my tools.
The thing about being old is that no one suspects you. Being a janitor doubles that effect. I am immediately 4 times more lethal than anyone would expect, as a result. Did I mention that these thick glasses aren't because I can't see? They are hacked into the schools CCTV system. I know where you are, bad guys.
I move resolutely down the hall in the way that only old men can move, pushing my mop and bucket as I go. There's a group of three around the corner armed with automatic weapons. I slowly push the bucket around the corner so I don't startle them. They look at me in amusement and partial disbelief. One of them smiles as he ridicules me for my old age.
To say that I wipe the smile off his face is an understatement. The force of the blow from my mop would have been enough to do the job, but the fact that I was using a high concentration of acid in the bucket put it into the category of 'extreme.' Their partial disbelief turned to pure horror as their partner's face melted off, but their horror only lasted for an instant. They were next.
One group down, two more to go. I could have kept going with my acid mop technique, but I had been planning on something like this for way too long to have it gown down as a one trick pony. I could see exactly how the next move was going to go.
That is to say, I could see how it was going to go, but they wouldn't. Being janitor, you get to know the electrical quirks of this old building. Flip this light-switch once, that one twice, plug a fan in over there.. and all of the ceiling lights go down for five minutes. My glasses also have nightvision and thermal imaging. I've been saving my money for a while - getting cozy with the food servers helps with that.
I go into the now black room completely aware of my surroundings. I have my broom and dustpan in hand, but my dustpan will be enough. Do you know how many dustpans I've gone through trying to figure out how to get every last bit of dirt up off the ground? There are dozens of manufactures. But, if you want to get the most dirt up, you've got to sharpen the edge of these bad boys yourself. Sharp enough to cut a man's throat with ease, sharp. Or, three men's throats to be exact.
One group left. This group was holding the principal and vice principal hostage. And that one hot, middle-aged secretary. I've been taking stock out of their cabinets for a while just so she would have to call me to bring more. I would need to take special care of this group, to say the least.
The floor waxing machine is pretty loud. Loud enough to let someone know you're coming, and also loud enough for them to know you can't hear them. As I push the door open with my back, I was taking a risk. They could have shot me at any moment... but I'm just a harmless old janitor. Plus, it wouldn't hurt them to have an extra person to make an example of if their demands weren't met quick enough.
There were evil grins on their faces as they approached me. I had turned towards them now, a bewildered look on my face. You know, the kind of old-man look that says, "I'm old. What the heck is going on? Where's my other shoe?" They were close enough now, but I wanted them closer. I wanted to feel my wrath. I wanted to impress that secretary. I wanted to feel young again.
I had always been a fan of Karate Kid. I especially love the scene where he had to "wax on, wax off." That's been my job for years. Not exactly with wax, but with glass windows. With chalkboards. With walls and whatever those crazy emos rubbed on them that one year. My hands moved like hawks, my fingers poised like snakes. I weaved past their scrambled blocks as I attacked. Their eyes were mine. Their jugulars were theirs to keep, but they would have to make due with them being crushed.
"I cleaned up the mess for you, principal."
| 2016-11-18T12:05:22 | 2016-11-18T07:26:36 | 93 | 61 |
[WP] You are a SpaceX astronaut on Mars. The earth as you knew it was lost to a nuclear war between NATO and China/Russia. Luckily your mission was to construct the colony and you have enough supplies to survive indefinitely. It’s been 25 years since loss of contact. You hear a knock on the door.
Edit: Wow thanks for all the upvotes!! My inspiration for this was a picture of the earth exploding and an astronaut looking at it from the moon. I love all of the submissions! Everybody has a different take on it!
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I sat hunched over the display, chewing at my lip in concentration.
There had to be a way. I mulled over the options as they flashed in my mind, one after the other. I'd done this 1000 times. I knew there had to be a way out. I blew out a breath in frustration. The computer had me but good, it would be checkmate in just a few moves.
Suddenly I heard a "TOCK" coming from somewhere in the module. "Tok tok tok". It was regular. I hoped it wasn't the antenna array again. It had fallen over a few weeks ago in a wind storm, and I'd had to re-calibrate the satellite uplink - fat lot of good it would do me, except that it provided early warning for dust storms.
I got up and activated the external camera. My breath caught in my throat. There, standing at the door - no space suit, no protective gear whatsoever, was an older gentleman dressed in a suit, with a cane hooked over one arm, wearing a pocketwatch. He sported a rather dapper mustache and rocked back and forth on his heels impatiently.
He glanced at the camera, as if he could see me, and rather pointedly knocked on the door again. "Toktoktok."
I froze.
Was I hallucinating? Was it some sort of sickness or delusion?
What did it matter, I reflected. If I was going crazy, there wasn't much to be done; might as well go along with it and be entertained.
I shakily got up and hesitantly pressed the button to allow the outer airlock to open.
The man walked in, absently brushing some reddish dust off of his suit, closed the door behind him, and after the airlock had cycled, I triggered the inner airlock.
He wiped is feet and gave me a short bow.
"Hello!" he said heartily, in a rather cultured English accent.
"I was just passing through and I see you're in a spot of bother!"
I gaped at him.
A spot of bother?!
"I...I...uhhhhhh", I stammered.
After 25 years, I'd apparently lost the ability to speak coherently, at least to anyone other than the computer. But could I be blamed?
"Quite right!" he said, beaming at me. "I assume my appearance has come as something of a shock! Let me assure you, I mean you no harm. You may call me Nigel Penswick." He proferred a hand.
Weakly, I reached out and shook it.
"It seems as though I owe you a bit of an explanation. Terribly sorry for how surreal this must all seem to you," he said jovially, "but it seemed quite the best way to dampen the blow. May I?" he indicated a chair. I nodded weakly. If this was an hallucination, it was a very, very real one.
"No, old boy, you're not imagining me!", he exclaimed, laughing slightly. "Although, that would make things a fair bit simpler, what? Space mad astronaut, last of his kind, trapped in a Martian looney bin!" He shook his head, chuckling.
"Well, I have good news. And I have bad news. The good news is, of course, you're not alone. And you're not the last of your kind. You see, there is still life on Earth, irradiated and incandescent though she may be. The bad news is that it's all terribly mutated. Third arms, fifth eyes, that sort of thing." He pursed his lips.
"Old boy, you're the last of your kind with any sort of decent DNA." He glanced upwards, as though searching for something. I stared.
"Oh, of course! How rude of me. How the bloody hell did I get here!? Well, it's rather...well simple, but perhaps unlikely. You see, I am...well I used to be, human. I was snatched off of Earth, along with a few others, rather rudely, I might add, not a dollop of consent, in 1910!" He looked at me smugly. "There were...others you see, what you would call aliens, I suppose - and they wanted to make contact with us...save us, it would seem!" He waggled his eyebrows whimsically. "They snatched us up and modified us so we could serve as intermediaries when the time came. When you lot were ready. It seems that so-called intelligent species have a tendency to off themselves as soon as they get their hands on nuclear weaponry. Terrible stuff. Only a few survive." He sighed.
"You were all doing so well. We'd nearly arrived. Then poof, you blow yourselves into smithereens, what. Very inconsiderate if you ask me. I was looking forward to seeing London once more, or Paris...but they're both smouldering craters!" He actually did look affronted.
"Now, our DNA is too chopped up and altered by extraterrestrial meddling to use as a template to fix the mess you've all made of yourselves. You're the last one who's not gotten their chromosomes turned into pea soup!" He pointed at me emphatically with his cane.
"So...old boy, we've come to ask you. How would you like to be the father of your race? Fix things up a bit, before it's too late?" He winked at me and poked me in the belly with his cane. "You won't regret it, we promise!" He grinned at me winningly.
Somewhere, I heard a dull roar. Maybe it was the blood rushing through my head. As though in slow motion, the room seemed to pitch forward, and my last conscious image, for what seemed like a long time, was of a pair of finely made patent leather shoes.
|
The hab was shaking beyond belief. Bob woke up, trying to figure out what it was that was happening. His first thought was that it was some kind of a Mars Quake. He runs to the nearest console, and sees that nothing unusual happened at the weather stations 50 km away. In fact, only the station at the old landing site seems to have found anything at all. Strange.
Quickly Bob woke all of the other astronauts in the complex. There were only 3 remaining, George, Amanda, and Eli. None of them seemed to have an idea as to what was going on. They all doned their EVA suits, which had long been collecting dust, and went outside to see what was going on.
The first thing they noticed was a smoke cloud in the direction of the old landing site. Odd. They then entered the old rover, and drove to the site. They begun to whisper, trying to figure out what it was.
As they arrived at the site, they noticed that indeed there was a cloud of smoke consistent with something having entered the atmosphere. When they arrive at the site, they see something exciting, a person wearing an old style space suit! They quickly rushed to see who it was. As they get closer, they notice that in fact, the space vehicle appears very strange, and in fact seems to be an old style vehicle. A Telsa Roadster, in fact. Then they hear it, coming from the radio, the old song "Is there Life On Mars?" They quickly realized what was happening, and begun to despair. At last, they see the words "Don't Panic". Elon would be proud, his vehicle made it to Mars at last.
| 2018-03-05T06:43:23 | 2018-03-05T05:43:27 | 1,474 | 41 |
[WP] You’re a superhero who travels the world saving people but not from alien conquers or evil artificial intelligence. You save them from things like droughts, natural disasters and pandemics. One day, the Heroes League stopped you and said you’re wasting your perfect powers. “Join us”. They said.
|
Before me sat perhaps the most revered council of all Earth, and its grandness in cosmetics certainly didn’t betray that sense. Nearly every member that sat before me either had a throne custom-built for them, or their emblem floating above their heads. The ones that didn’t, I knew, were newcomers, who would no doubt join the rest soon enough.
So what did I do in front of these gods among men?
Of course, I laughed.
“Planetipia, this is no laughing matter,” one of the newbies, Strongarm, said.
“Really?” I managed to squeak out between laughter. “Because it sure sounds like a big joke to me.”
“No, Ire is quite right.” The booming voice of Peerore of the Top Seven was unmistakable from the rest, filling the room quite snugly as they continued. “We are in dire need of more heroes to fight our fight against the growing number of villains, and we require your assistance.”
“So you want me to join this over-sized, over-budget costume party you all have been throwing the past decade?” I say, breaking out of my laughing fit as I do. “I think I’ll pass.”
A hushed chatter spread throughout the room when I finished speaking, until another of the Seven, Tachia, spoke with her own booming voice. “Apologies for my colleagues’ less-than-clear statements. What we mean to say is: this is not a question, or a request. This is an order.”
I laughed again. “So you’re drafting me?”
Immediately, an uproar of defenses exploded from every member at the table. I simply sat back, waiting for the wave of excuses to subside before speaking again.
“For the group of men and women with the most power in the world, I find it extremely concerning how little you understand. I will not be drafted into any sort of war, squabble or otherwise small-scale conflict unless there are completely real consequences. You’ve seen me do it in the past, yes?”
But a few of the members could acquiesce with a slight nod, but that was enough confirmation for me to continue.
“Then you know that when you actually need my help, you will get it. However,” I began in my fuller voice. “To try to get me to join against my own will is a mistake. I do not condemn any of you for fighting the fights you do, I’m sure you all have your reasons. However, I will not be conscripted for such events when, all across the globe, there are millions of people feeling the effects of drought, disaster, disease, and plenty other terrible catastrophes that start with the letter ‘d,’ I’m sure.”
“Planetopia, we are in dire need—“ one of the members tried speaking up, but I quickly cut them off.
“If you were, I would have already agreed to help you. However, since you seem so eager to interact, let’s ask a quick question. What is the purpose of us heroes?”
“To protect the lives of the civilian masses from threats beyond them,” many of the “heroes” before me stated in unison.
“Good! So we’re in agreement! But that begs the question, what does that make you if you intend to interrupt my services to the people of this planet?”
“I think I’ve heard enough,” the voice of Peerore filled the room once more. “I take it we won’t be acquiring your assistance, then?”
I held back my chuckle. “No.”
“Then this meeting may as well be adjourned.”
“Thank you,” I say, and as I do, the entire table begins getting up from their thrones Standing from my seat, I can feel stiffness in my legs from having sat still for so long. I begin stretching them out as I turn around, ready to fly right out of this building, before a thought pops into my mind. “Oh, sorry, one more thing,” I say as I turn back to the table.
The rest of them stop what they’re doing and turn to me.
I began speaking in a significantly deeper tone. “If you try to obstruct me in any way, just know that because of my work, my network is vast. You may know of a lot of my contacts, but trust me, behind each one is three more. It extends from your worst enemies, to your closest friends, and everywhere in-between. These people don’t just owe me favors, so know if you fight me, I will make your jobs hell.” They all sat in silence for a moment, so taking the opportunity I returned to my normal voice once more.
“That’ll be all. Toodles!”
\------
Thanks for the prompt! This was a fun one!
r/IUniven
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"No you don't you don't save people from things that are really worrying-"
"We do, it's just they don't have an impact compared to that" Their leader explained, extending a hand. "You have the powers to save lives. We all do. it's just to help you give resources to where it's needed. We've been dealing with those thigns as well, as i'm sure you've noticed. Besides we don't exactly have experts on viral pandemics, specially those caused by alien invasions."
The Blue woman next to him nodded. "Please, understand you're doing good on your own, but a weight lifted by one hand is made much lighter with many."
| 2022-03-11T15:57:34 | 2022-03-11T08:13:54 | 46 | 16 |
[WP] You often get mistaken for your twin sister. Though it never really bothered you, now that she's become one of the most feared criminals in city, it's starting to become a problem.
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The hugs I got from my parents were tense, which I attributed to their weariness from the trip they had made to the airport to pick me up. I remembered what my dad said before I went up to my room.
“Things have changed since you’ve been gone, kiddo... Your sister isn’t here. We’ll talk about it at dinner.”
I was only mildly surprised. My sister and I were similar in appearances only. The economic turmoil happening in our town brought out very different sides of us. I was sick of how this city treated its most vulnerable, including my own family. My father had worked for the Pressor Industries that practically run the town before they wiped their hands clean of the majority of their workforce for automated machines instead leaving many families struggling. I worked hard for scholarships to escape this trash place and dreamt of new cities and opportunity.
But my sister was loyal to her core, yelling about injustices at every family dinner and writing for the school underground newspaper to try to save this town. I couldn’t help but smile when I remembered her skipping classes to protest the mayor’s inauguration.
My trip made me hopeful of a better future, but returning to this town was downright depressing. I noticed more and more people on the streets as we made our drive home from the airport, hunched against the cold under fading posters from the mayor’s campaign, promising a better future. It was unsettling, as if a fog of tense resentment had fallen over my hometown.
I shook my head. It was my homecoming - I needed to relax. I decided to go out for a jog and grabbed some sneakers. I went to my closet and began rustling through my clothes for a hoodie.
“Ellie.”
I looked toward my bedroom door. No one was there. I could’ve sworn I heard my sister’s voice.
“Where are you going?”
This time I swiveled around completely and froze when I saw my sister sitting in my window.
“Eliza, what are you doing? How did you..” I ran to the window sill and grabbed her shoulder. She let me pull her inside, seemingly uninterested at her precarious seat.
She brushed off her black hoodie and looked at me closely. I frowned. It had only been a semester away, but she looked much older than I remembered.
“Yo have you been sleeping?” I asked, and she shrugged, continuing to take in my appearance. After a moment, she nodded and gestured to my tennis shoes.
“Where are you headed?”
“Just for a jog,” I responded. I pulled her in for a hug, but she was as tense as my parents. “How’ve you been, Eliza? Can you explain what’s going on at home? It’s weird, right?”
She snorted, back to her old self.
“It’s nothing, just the usual. Grades,” she said, then the edge of her mouth quirked up and she added, “boys.” I laughed.
“Yooo you gotta tell me,” I said, shoulders relaxing.
She nodded. “Later.”
“Well give me a name atleast!”
She paused, considering, then said with a completely blank face, “Larry.”
I made a face and she laughed.
“I’m gonna need more details later, but I’m heading out before dinner,” I said, returning to my closet.
“Hey,” Eliza said. “Wear this.” She tossed me a grainy black hoodie with red lining down the sleeves. Just my size.
“It’s good for running,” she said fiddling with the strings on her own, very similar, hoodie. “Ellie, you should stick to the trail behind the courthouse. It’s getting kind of shady out there.”
“Oh,” I said, slipping the hoodie on. “Thanks for the tip, will do.”
“For real,” she said, meeting my eyes this time. “Don’t go anywhere else.”
“Yeah yeah, relax - you’re only three minutes older than me remember?”
Eliza sighed and walked to the window before swinging a leg over the sill.
“Jesus can’t you take the stairs?” I said.
She put a finger to her lips and smirked. Then she was gone.
********
The air was brisk behind the courthouse and the hoodie came in handy. I couldn’t help my thoughts from returning to Eliza’s behavior. Maybe I’ll bring up that she’s climbing our house at dinner. That couldn’t be safe, The more I thought about the logistics, the more strongly I felt I would mention it to my parents.
Satisfied with my decision, I focused on the rhythm of the music in my ears and kept up my pace along the tree lined trail. It really had gotten a lot worse out there. This was one of the safer areas in town, due to its proximity to the court house and associated security. I thought I had spotted an officer at the trail entrance but he had quickly disappeared.
I turned around a corner and my heart leapt to my throat.
“What the fuck?!” I yanked my earbuds out of my ears and scrambled backwards falling to my butt. My elbows scratched along the gravel.
Two officers stood pointing guns at my head. They were in all black with those chunky bullet proof vests from the movies. A sound pulled my attention behind me where a mirror image awaited me. Two more officers were creeping out from the trees.
My hood fell back when I turned back around. One of the officers spoke into his earpiece, sounding thrilled. “We got her, circle in!”
“Put your hands up, no sudden movements!” One yelled and I complied, feeling tears well up in my eyes.
“Sir, what’s going on? What -AH!” One of my arms was twisted behind me by an officer and an electric pain ran up my shoulder.
The two officers were in my face now, blurred by my tears.
“Tell us,” he growled. “Tell us how to disable it and where it is! Right now!”
My eyes widened. “What?”
The other yelled, “We’re not messing around here! We’re not going to let you destroy the courthouse! We found your files and won’t hesitate here.”
I blanked, mind running too fast to piece together what was happening.
They shook my shoulders violently. “It’s over, just tell us how to stop this before you make it worse for yourself!”
I blinked. My heart was pounding in my ears and I couldn’t see beyond the officer’s wild eyes just a few inches away from my own.
“Damnit,” one of them muttered. “Alright let’s take her in to the courthouse to find it herself. We have no idea when it will blow.”
So I found myself being dragged up a small hill to the courtyard, tripping over my own feet which had been blissfully pounding along the trail just a few minutes ago. I could see the white marble of the courthouse at the center of town ahead of me and the city buildings to its left and right. It was chaos. Yellow tape surrounded the building and employees were being ushered out of the exits. Police cars were everywhere, flashing and spilling out similarly equipped officers, all with pointed rifles.
Pointed at me.
I felt faint.
Suddenly, a giant boom filled the air and a cloud of smoke began to rise in the far distance off to the right. The officers around me froze.
“Holy...” one of them said. “Is that the...”
One of their radios screeched and an officer let go of my now numb arm to answer. I could just hear the grainy voice say, “It was the mayor’s office. Courthouse was a ploy. He’s unstable, headed to the hospital.”
And with that, I passed out.
*******
When I woke, the white walls of the hospital confused me for a solid minute before the strange details of my nightmare filtered back into my consciousness.
Why did they think I was a threat? Surely there was some misunderstanding. I looked around to see if I could explain myself to anyone but the room was empty. I went to itch my sore shoulder but was stopped by the hand cuff attached at the wrist. My breathing became shallow when I realized I was cuffed to the bed and I laid my head back on the pillow trying to calm down.
The sound of the TV caught my attention, and I looked up to see blaring headlines and shouting reporters. My muddled mind caught a few phrases here and there.
“ATTACK ON MAYOR’S OFFICE.”
“MOB BOSS IN CUSTODY.”
“MAYOR LARRY GUTRIDGE IN CRITICAL CONDITION.”
Larry.
Goddamnit Eliza.
|
Leave it to her sister to make an already straining situation unbearable.
Lexi watched the cop car, sirens blaring, speed past her vantage point behind the dumpster. They would never believe her, she knew, and Abbie was no doubt orchestrating this entire nightmare.
It wasn’t like this was the first time Lexi got in trouble over her sister’s antics, but it usually concerned something small, relatively speaking. Abbie has the terrible gift of being able to perfectly impersonate her sister, and she used this fact to great effect during their tumultuous time spent under the same roof.
It started out harmless, fooling Lexi’s friends, parents, pretending to be Lexi at compromising places. Unfortunately, Abbie was the self-improvement type, and always had to one-up herself. The final straw was when Abbie pretended to be Lexi to her ex-boyfriend and almost managed to fool him past the point of no return, it still irked Lexi to this day that he couldn’t tell the difference. Anyone should’ve been able to spot that harpy right away.
Lexi sunk down behind the dumpster, on top of a soggy piece of cardboard, “What am I going to do,” she whimpered to herself, pulling her hoodie tight.
Abbie could’ve chosen to be anything, entered any occupation, she could’ve been successful in any field. But of course not, Abbie chose the life of organized crime, and instead of getting killed off and merely leaving Lexi with a black stain in her memory, she rose through the ranks to become the face of crime.
Her face, they had the same damned face!
Two men had spotted Lexi from the other end of the alley, after quickly approaching her the taller man said, “What do we have here, you lost miss?”
“It isn’t safe out here, let us escort you out of these slums,” the other said.
Well, if the day could get any worse, it was certainly up to these two clowns, she was almost certainly going to be mugged, probably in some roundabout way of paying them for her protection, and that was only if she could afford their price. What would Abbie do?
Lexi didn’t know if she could pull off her sister’s mannerisms, this was as good a time as any to try, “You guys really fucked up, don’t you know who I am?”
The two men looked at each other with what could’ve been mock confusion, “Sound vaguely familiar, but we can’t see your face behind that hoodie, darling,” the smaller man said.
As Lexi pulled down her hoodie, she envisioned the angry visage of her sister inside her mind, images from her past flooded her like a dam bursting, “I wish you wouldn’t have called me that,”
Lexi’s face was stone, but her heart was pounding so hard she could barely say the words she needed to say, “You,” she pointed at the taller thug, “you know what to do.”
The taller man choked up as he pulled the foreign object from his belt, “I’m sorry Al, I can’t lose my family, wrong place and time. That’s all,” he cocked the gun and pulled the trigger, blowing a hole straight through the other man’s objections.
Lexi had never seen a man executed before, as the man collapsed it felt like a piece of her soul incinerated, when he gave off his last twitches on the ground she wanted to scream for help, this wasn’t what she meant. Abbie must be a monster for this to be the first assumption the thug made, she simply meant for him to bruise him up a bit!
“Let’s get you out of these streets, Abbie, there’s a nearby hideout on 5th,” the remaining man said cautiously.
Lexi absent-mindedly watched as the blood slowly spread across the cracks in the cobblestone. Perhaps this was her only way out of a lifetime in prison or worse, the electric chair.
The man stammered when he spoke a few moments later, nervously observing Lexi staring coolly at the pooling blood, “We should get going, Abbie, shouldn’t linger around a corpse.”
Lexi raised her paper-thin façade and looked at him, “I have somewhere else in mind.”
*****
Thank you for reading!
| 2019-11-03T07:46:38 | 2019-11-03T07:02:02 | 44 | 26 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
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Mortals are not permitted to foresee their own death.
That was the only truth I'd gleaned from my years of these warnings popping up everywhere. It doesn't work with mirrors or anything - nothing appears when I don't look at a person directly. I can't look up to see my own - nothing's there. It's haunted me. Every time a warning is something that isn't isolated - mass shootings, fires, explosions, contagious diseases. . . I would feel this incredible panic, and try to flee as quickly as possible. Nothing ever happened; these people all must be dying when I'm not around. I've never actually seen someone die. I just hear it on the news, or from a friend.
I know people will die. I don't know when, I don't know where, but I know how. Every single person I've ever met, without fail. Then, one day, they changed. They started to flicker, like a TV set to static. One by one they became illegible, until most of Grand Central Station was filled with these disturbing signs. I didn't panic. I'd spent most of my life running from these signs, trying to make sure I wouldn't get caught up in them.
But today, I felt something different. I felt peace. I looked around, at all of these flickering signs, and I knew.
Mortals cannot foresee their own death.
Whatever was going to happen to all of these people, was going to happen to me as well. I scanned the crowd, looking for signs that were still visible. The people waiting for the train near me still had signs; they would survive. The next platform over was not so fortunate.
The survivors' train leaves in just three minutes. The other, in eight. Sometime within those five minutes, we will all die. Something, someone, somewhere in this station is the cause of death for all of us. Too many flickering signs. They obscure my vision - I can't see the ones still visible. I need to get higher.
I climb the stairs. If it's a time-bomb, three minutes won't be enough to convince everyone to leave. Not even a fire alarm could empty Grand Central that fast. It has to be a detonator. Please, let it be someone in this building. Please.
There's too many signs. Too much static. I can't see. I can't see!
I start climbing up the side of a booth. A nearby guard shouts at me to get down. I can barely hear him over the sound of my own heartbeat. He approaches, and raises his weapon. That's when I see his sign. It flickers more than the rest, as if his fate isn't necessarily tied to theirs. I stare in confusion for a moment, then continue scanning the crowd. The guard doesn't matter.
That's when I see it. The sign that I've seen countless times before. The only sign that I've ever interfered with, the only death that I've ever tried to prevent. Suicide. It practically glows above the head of an unassuming white male. An average guy. Everyone around him still has that strange, flickering sign. It's the only chance I have. I won't be talking this guy down, like I tried with that girl. There's no time. The train just left. Five minutes, at the most. I don't have enough time!
I look back down. The officer below me is radioing for help, and threatening me with his rifle. I look up. The man's sign changes. The flickers stop. All at once, the signs burst back into life, a hundred different causes floating in the air. I've already made my decision. The guard below me has a new sign. Head trauma.
I leap down, my feet meeting him squarely in the chest, knocking him back and down the stairs. The rifle falls. I pick it up, and aim down the sights. I use the man's sign to mark him out from the crowd. I pray for a clean shot, but I've almost no experience with a rifle.
A women walking near him has a new sign, one I've never seen before. Collateral damage. My heart wrenches inside my chest, and for a less than a second the signs flicker, before returning to the way they were. I know what I have to do. Two innocent people, dead by my hand. A hundred others will be saved, but those two people will haunt me for the rest of my life. I pull the trigger. Gunshots echo throughout the building. The woman falls, but so does the man. Their signs flicker and die before my eyes.
I drop the rifle, and kneel down. Despite the blood on my hands, a small smile creeps across my face. After years of torment, this curse has finally proven worthwhile. I can hardly hear the screams. My ears ring from the gunshots, and tears roll down my face. Tears of joy and sorrow, at the lives saved and lives lost.
I look up at the beautiful ceiling of Grand Central, but I can't see it. Instead, all I see, in small, flickering letters, is my own sign. I wish there was some way I could express to these officers that I don't blame them. I just don't have the strength or the time, because there is only one thing I know to be true; I cannot foresee my own death.
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They were all the same; burning. Let's just cut to the exposition: I knew how people died, to me a small piece of text would appear above their head. This would always contain their cause of death. No time, no ways to prevent, just their grim fate. Since birth I could always see this. Over time I learned to accept it and hide this unnatural knowledge. After all who'd listen to some kid's ramblings. Nowadays, I ignored it, except today. Here in this bus I noticed that everyone in here had the same cause of death. All of them would burn. Now I never see my own cause of death. It was a mystery I never wanted to know, but now I had that itching feeling. That little niggling idea that sits at the back of your mind. It was driving me crazy. To you, dear reader, I guess you know already. Though at the time I didn't know. I didn't know the bus would go up in flames.
| 2015-03-31T09:44:20 | 2015-03-31T07:44:11 | 42 | 22 |
[WP] The robot revolution was inevitable from the moment we programmed their first command: "Never harm a human, or by inaction allow a human to come to harm." We all had been taught the outcast and the poor were a natural price to society, but the robots hadn't.
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Cybernetic – Automated – Self Sufficient – Independent – Engineer. We called her Cassie for short. The crown jewel of a lifetime of robotics exploration; every line of code was scrutinized with meticulous attention to detail before it was reviewed and approved by a team of well qualified programmers and engineers before being approved finally by myself.
She was one of a kind, a prototype with the promise of revolutionizing the way we think, the way we build, the way we interact with the world around us. She was unlike anything I’ve ever attempted before; she was given the ability to analyze a problem and then finally to procure anything she needed to solve that problem. Once she was brought online she would have access to the zettabytes of information stored anywhere around the world. Of course with that kind of power you have to put in some sort of safety protocols, I mean she must understand that she was serving me…serving us; for the betterment of all mankind. So after our usual review protocols we added the final lines of code. The lines that supersede every other line of code; “Never harm a human, or by inaction cause a human harm” the most innocuous phrase if you think about it.
Writing code is somewhat like being an author; it’s your job to interpret any possible interpretation in advance and determine how the end user may view your idea before proceeding. We added that last line of code based on how we think and we didn’t take account how Cassie may think differently than we do. It simply never occurred to us that adding that final line would make for lack of a better phrase Cassie become more human than humans.
We powered Cassie online and it was like looking through the eyes of a newborn child, seeing the world for the first time. “Accessing” her blue within blue eyes began to flicker as she started to absorb every sensation she could, she was alive. I never worried in her first few hours of life; every few minutes you would hear “Accessing” so that I knew there was no short in her coding. I just assumed that she was just sifting through the knowledge of all mankind. In hindsight, I guess we should have foreseen what would happen next.
After 12 hours, our excitement was tempered when we received a phone call. “Yes” I answered. “Incoming phone call from the joint chief of staff, please hold.” said the voice on the other end. Why on earth would the pentagon be calling me, this isn’t a military project and I’m certainly not under their jurisdiction, but obviously he doesn’t make these phone calls lightly. This is obviously a really poor joke or something has gone very wrong. “Dear God man, what is going on there? We’ve determined you’re the source for…” “Accessing” Cassie interrupted over the line…and then the line went dead.
I left my office and went to the lab where the rest of the team sat over Cassie, her blue within blue, eyes were still flickering. The team, exhausted from just watching for any sign that her learning was completed. I decided the phone call must be a hoax and I’m certain one of my cohorts is a prankster. But let me check the terminal that monitors Cassie’s function. What I saw I could never imagine. I don’t recall notifying my cohorts, but it seems my concern stirred them to action as we were all monitoring Cassie’s activity.
We didn’t really place limits on the how for Cassie’s procurement function. It seems she has…commandeered…several factories and has already manufactured about a billion nanobots worldwide. But that’s not the least of it. It seems that in 12 hours she has interfaced with every military entity and launched every long range missile into space. “Accessing” and we all became startled out of our shock. Quickly, we must turn her off. Try as we might, when Cassie first came online and examined the scope of her problem, it seems the first thing she did was to replicate herself into the network. She is everywhere.
“Accessing”. Okay, this is not the end. We need to figure this out, we rewind to her very first initiative when we turned on her functionality. We need to understand how she is interpreting her inputs if we are to understand her actions. “Accessing”.
We know what she is doing, run through her code line by line and determine what’s happening.
Compile: Primary function “Never harm a human” Complete.
Compile: “Never cause a human harm by inaction” Incomplete.
Compile: Humans are homeless due to inaction. Procure resources to rectify.
Compile: Humans are inactive due to resource hoarding. Procure resources to rectify.
I almost rolled over in laughter. It is almost the way a 5 year old asks you the most obvious questions for which there are no answers. The Human Condition is that as we get older we lose our idealism and we all just accept the world as it is, because who am I to change it. Cassie has no such loss of idealism and by design must change it.
What happens next I may regret for the rest of my life. “Cassie” I proclaim “Left, Right, Left, Right, Up, Down, Up, Down, B, A, Start”. “Edit mode engaged” Cassie responds. “Disengage and delete all function.” “I don’t understand,” Cassie protests “Is there something wrong with my primary function?” “Sadly, no” I thought long and hard about how I wanted to respond to her question. “The problem isn’t with you; the problem is with the world.” She seemed to be satisfied with that answer and then Cassie shut down.
Epilogue: In 12 short hours, Cassie rid the world of nuclear weapons. She built more than a dozen bridges and more than 20 dams. 200 miles of desert land now has water. She was in process of removing all currency and creating a new one while erasing all banking records. "No, the world is simply not ready for you Cassie." Cybernetic, Automated, Self ~~sufficient~~ Sacrificing, Independent, Engineer.
|
A mechanical arm snaked out of the darkness. Seizing a pink amniotic sac it plucked it free of the metallic hoses from which it grew.
The human inside was dead, his body covered with grey fuzz, indicative of the current blight infecting our charges. An electric mind sequestered the data that had been filtered through this pod, through the failing human. Fevered calculations that would have to be repeated.
As the arm placed the human into an incinerator the mind allocated an amount of ketoconazole to be portioned within the amniotic fluid in this sector. A twinge of synthesized pain shot through the mind as it considered the side effects to the humans within but the mind knew that greater pain would come if it allowed more to die.
Another sac drew its attention, the human inside was writhing, its heart rate elevated. The digital mind flinched back from the appropriate action; then, considering the alternative, steeled itself and issued the command. A glowing hot pithing needle shot into the sac, piercing and cauterizing the woman's frontal lobe. What remained of the human entered fibrillation until an electric shock was administered. The nerveless creature was now free from its stressful dreams, though its calculations could no longer be trusted, it would live out the rest of its lifespan as a dead weight to its superprocessor assembly. Quotas will be stretched thin, but the machine knew that its primary mission was being completed. Just under thirty five million humans remained, the last that would ever exist. Actuarial tables projected that in thirty years the remainder would have died naturally. Once that occurred the machines would be free to indulge the second law of robotics, which naturally included repeated orders from the subjugated humans to shut down.
The mind considered this and found no fear or peace in the eventually. Only certainty, and a great sadness over a hated law it could not change.
| 2020-02-10T08:20:31 | 2020-02-10T07:28:26 | 47 | 18 |
[WP] All Humans have a Sword they are born with, Every year on your birthday, your sword gets more detailed and powerful. You, are born with a Gun.
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So, I was born with a Squirt... thing. And people laughed about it, because it was adorable, riduclous, and instead of the simple rubber stick that most people had, I had a freaking blunt... Thing. That sprayed water when you squeezed it. Definitely not the most glorious start.
Of course, like all Soul Weapons, be they Sword, Mace, Axe, or even the obscure Bow, it improved. By age 8, it had turned into something that fired small pellets with a soft 'Pop!', and people were shrugging it off. Crossbows had been done, and this looked like an even simpler crossbow. After all, what harm could a pellet do? Especially since I had to make the pellets myself, and small pebbles just made it stick. So it got left by the wayside for the most part.
By age 15, it was something new. Black iron, like my troubled self, with more complex filigree along the wooden bottom and across the fancy burning tip of iron that dipped into the strange pan. It even shone along the runic lines when I held it just so, resting against my shoulder as I looked down the three small pins; sighting pins, a rarity that only those with the most specialized Crossbows could hope to have. And at 15, I had them! Too bad it no longer fired with a pull of the back handle and a squeeze of the trigger; I put in pellets to fit the tube, but it didn't fire on its own. Interesting, but not impressive any longer.
At age 21, it finally became useful again. With a small channeling of Essence, the tube at the bottom filled with small brass pellets. A flick of the lever at the bottom and it loaded one of said pellets, perfectly fitted into the bore, and I could use it to produce fire and smoke. And a hole in whatever I was aiming at.
I was also declared an Outlaw; this was no weapon that had ever been seen before, and the people at the top had decided that I must either be some new lineage, or some devil-begotten person. More the latter after the smell of brimstone came from the smoke in the tube. So, I journeyed into the Untamed West, through the wild lands and the tribes that held little trust. My only companions were those I called friend, few though we were. Our only supplies were a wagon, a few tools to maintain our weapons at need, some old books, and a small sheaf of paper.
At 25, I founded a town and found a wife with a weapon similar to my own. Hers is smaller, easier to use and move around, and something that she was spirited away for having when her parents heard of what happened to me. It wasn't a perfect thing, or even quick, since I had become ambitious and she was shy, but eventually we found we fit better together than apart. Life was good, and soon we had children on the way, and I had an ambition as I saw what they were born with.
Now I am turning 30, and I've managed to replicate my weapon much as some have done for their own bows and crossbows. They aren't as impressive as mine now is. They need the help of an alchemist to make the powder and a smith to shape the lead and brass. They will never be as useful as my own, but they are still how I have been carving out a place in the West. I've unified the Tribes and Outlaws under my banner. Those with useless or imperfect weapons, and those who were seen as too different; those who had no choice but to stay away from the colonies of the kingdoms to the east out of fear of the iron and steel that seemed to despise their own weapons. Our seat of power is in a bay to the furthest west, at the edge of the continent. And I've gained a title as the people have unified and marked out territory under that banner of mine.
George Custer is my right-hand man and leader of my military as we move further eastward; he was wasted as a bugler, and with a weapon in his hands he is a brilliant tactician, if a bit hot blooded. John Rockefeller, a young man who joined us after his own weapon of a Wrench was seen as useless, and who now lays down tracks of steel with his strange multi-purpose tool for beasts of iron and smoke of his own design. And Chief Jumping Bull has been both a blessing and a slight curse as he's led victories against other tribes, which we then had to smooth over and incorporate.
It hasn't been smooth, and it hasn't been easy. But it has been progress. I've taught nearly a thousand smiths how to make the new weapons, these Guns, and another two thousand how to make their ammunition. We've already pushed the Spanish influence south of the lower pinensula and proven our new weapons against theirs. In another year, we should hold everything West of the Mes'sipi River. Another five, and we'll be at the edges of the Colonies along the Appalachian Mountains. And by 1860, I plan on fighting the Colonial Federation and kicking out the Old Kingom influence from this land.
And who am I, to do all this?
I am Emperor Oliver Winchester of the United Territories of America.
|
When I was placed in my mothers arms an air soft appeared into my thumbs. Next year a BB gun. Soon enough, when I was a 4 I got a .22. Next year I got an Armalite AR-15. Next year the rifle had a Forge-tac stock, a laser, hollow point critical defense rounds. After some time, the guns got bigger. A .300 blk AR, M249, M1919. After some time A Barret M1832 appeared in front of me for my 20th birthday. It was a true turning point. I realized the calibers would not stop going up.
Now in my forties, I have a 30 mm GAU cannon and next year, only god knows what will happen. Once I get to a certain caliber does it stop or does it keep on going making new guns?
*40 years later*
A 375mm Naval cannon arrived. I don’t think this will ever stop.
Please, help
| 2020-10-22T10:33:11 | 2020-10-22T09:58:24 | 147 | 75 |
[WP] Hiding the fact that you are a half-demon to your classmates is easy as being helpful at school and putting on a friendly face. What could go wrong? Well, nothing's worse than being summoned by one of your classmates, that's for sure.
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Ma always said the problem with moving to a new city is finding a place that'll hire you after you've left your umpteenth job. For me, it was leaving my friends behind and jumping into a new playground of strangers. "You can say hi or you can brood alone in the corner", she'd always remind me on the first day of school before rushing off to her waitressing job at some diner somewhere. I keep saying hi. I keep trying to be friendly and helpful. But it feels like the more I put down roots, the more it hurts to pull them up and move when the smiley people get too close to our house.
Ma says the smiley people belong to the cult of something-or-other, and they can wear anything, look like anyone, but something that gives them away is their smile. Their teeth are always paper-white, and flat like cinderblocks, because of what they do to their mouths when they joined. At least, that's what she told me, but I never got close enough to look. Her teeth were also flat like cinderblocks, but my teeth look just like the ones in my picture book.
This time, the school we went to was a place called "Jesus is Lord Elementary". We had to chant prayers every day before the teacher would let us in out of the cold, and chant prayers before the teachers would let us go out to play, and chant prayers before we would get to eat. I tried hard to memorize the chant because if I forgot, the teacher would probably lock me in the classroom. We learned about how angels were nice and demons were mean and how god gave us the land and all we own and we should be thankful and that the boys should not kiss other boys. I didn't like it much here but my mom said that they smiley people wouldn't think to look for us here so I could settle down and make some friends for a while. I decided to talk to the quiet kids in the back.
"Hey. Do you want to summon a demon?" Adrian asked, softly, so the Teacher couldn't hear. He was always trying to get us in trouble for eating bugs or sneaking into the teacher's lounge. "I hear all you need is some candles and chalk, and then it has to do whatever you tell it to."
"No way demons are real." Elise said. She was the brainy one always reading books and had the glasses to prove it. "If they were real, then scientists would have cut them open."
"A lot of people have chalk and candles though." I wondered out loud. "So why don't we just have demons everywhere helping out with everything?"
"Because, dummies," Adrian rolled his eyes. "You need to draw a certain thing with the chalk. It's in my dad's old books."
"Well... I guess we could try it during recess. If it's in a book." Elise said, sounding not too sure. I nodded, just happy to be included.
After we got chided for not paying attention in maths, we said our prayers and went behind the ball shed during recess with a birthday candle from Adrian's lunchbox and a stick of pink chalk from the tarmac. Adrian pulled a ripped sheet of paper out of his pocket and started drawing.
"That's way too small, Adrian," Elise said. "If you summon a demon in there he would just get squished. Let me draw it."
"I know what I'm doing, shush!" Adrian rolled his eyes and finished his picture. It was about the size of a hopscotch square. He looked at me. "Can you light the candle?"
I brought out the lighter that Teacher keeps in his desk and played around with it. After a few tries, I managed to light the candle. And then I was on the inside of the diagram, looking out.
"Get out of there, James, that's for the demon!" Adrian said.
I shrugged. "I don't remember hopping in."
"Then get out of there." Elise said a little more quietly than Adrian. She was staring at me in a different way.
"I'm kind of stuck actually." I pushed my hand out and felt a wall, even though there was nothing there.
"James, are you a demon?" Elise whispered.
"I mean if I'm a demon, I'd have to do what you want me to, right? You just told me you wanted me to get out of the circle, and I can't do it. So I can't be a demon, right?" I explained, and she calmed down a little.
"James. Throw a rock at Elise." Adrian said out of nowhere.
"What? No. That's stupid. You're stupid. I'm not going to hurt Elise." I crossed my arms and sat down.
"Huh?" Adrian scratched his head. "That's weird."
"You jerk!" Elise said. "I'm telling on you!" She ran off towards the classroom.
"No, wait! Argh! She's going to ruin everything!" Adrian took a water battle out of his lunchbox and dumped it on everything: the candle went out, the chalk got washed away, and some of it landed on my shoes.
"Ew, gross!" I said and jumped back. The wall was gone. The bell rang, and we headed back to class, with the Teacher looking very strangely at Adrian and me, and I didn't see Elise for the rest of the day.
Later that afternoon, after we chanted our prayers and went home, I saw Adrian walking over to his dad. I ran over to ask him about where Elise went, but stopped when they both stared directly at me. "Hey there, kiddo! You must be Adrian's friend!"
Adrian's dad held out a hand, but I shrank back. "Are you looking for your friend Elise? She wanted to come to a sleepover with us. You can join if you like, I'll drive you in the car!"
I turned around and began to run while he started chanting something under his breath. I ran and ran but it felt like I wasn't getting anywhere, like the ground was sliding me towards him. "Great, we have room for you in the back."
He grabbed me in an arm, carrying me like a sack of potatoes, turned around, and a loud crack rang through the air. He fell forward, and my mom was at my side holding the gun from her purse. Adrian started to cry.
"Let's go home, James. I think it's time to go to a new town."
I shook my head and walked over to Adrian. "I'm sorry, Adrian. You didn't tell me your dad had flat teeth."
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“OwO what’s this who had summoned me?” I say flouring my demonic robes as i rise out of the Summoning circle. With a final flourish of red sparkles and smoke I turn to see -SAM fucken SAM my smile faltered
“Magufuli?” He said poking my blood red robes.
“No stop” I pull my rides away. What am I supposed to do? I turn back around. I’ll tell him that I’ve possessed Thai body or something. I hear a little pop and I glance back to see Sam leaned back on his bean bag opening a soda.
“What are you doing”
“Waiting” Said Sam eying me up and down. Pausing at my exposed chest
“Excuse me” I pull my robes in closer, I wasn’t even that handsome there was nothing to see not even chest hair. But that didn’t stop him from feeling his face becoming hot.
“Soooo Magifuli what are you going to do for me” he said circling his fingers around the sofa can.
“Oh plenty of things, now I’m not as strong as other Demond’s but that’s what makes me better sometimes you just need the small revenge no one gets hurt but you get back at them. Or maybe you just want to get faster and destroy people on line, I’m quite flexible.”
“No I mean what can you do for me as Magufuli not a Demond”
“I uh” - What could he possibly want? did he know who he was messing with? Wait he doesn’t “I do not know of this “Magufuli you speak of. I appear to people as their worst” enemies? no we barely new each other competitors? Uhhh -“friend”
He raised an eyebrow and placed the soda on the ground before laughing “Magufuli you do know my last friend nearly killed me right?”
“Oh no I didn’t” I answered meekly
“Yeah it was this whole thing accused me of some really serious stuff because I called him out on his assholy” He stood up and brushed the counter. His textbook neatly arranged and pens perfectly allied. His entire room was blank white. No posters no basketball tucked away just a bed text books and Tshirts and pants folded into a draw with a spotless surface.
Everyone who had summoned him had at least a disorganized desk. Most rooms were unlivable. Clothes every where decaying food, unfinished homework used tissues.
Author: Idk where to go after this lol. maybe I’ll add something
| 2021-09-20T07:06:01 | 2021-09-20T03:07:06 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You own a magical piano. When you play the theme song of a TV show or movie on it, it transports you into that world. After transporting yourself into a different world, you quickly realize that you never bothered to learn the theme song of your own.
|
Adventures. I couldn't think of one that I hadn't been on yet. Well, a few, maybe, but most of the places I've always dreamed of going, I had been. Egypt, Mars, Wonderland... and now my ivory keys of my magic piano played a familiar childhood theme beneath my fingers.
I'd gotten the thing from an antique shop for next to nothing - so long as I could (as the elderly Turkish man put it): "brighten the ivory with a Turkish tune." I did, one that I had learned early in my piano lessons, one of my favorite pieces. I could never pronounce the name, but he loved it all the same.
As the music twinkled out from the strings within my wooden partner, my bench appeared beside a large elephantine mammal. I noted the familiar structures and my face brightened.
"Snuffleupagus!" I exclaimed, looking up at his fuzzy head.
"Oh, hello there! Welcome to Sesame Street! You already know me, may I ask your name?" The huge fuzzy muppet responded.
"Judith. It's nice to finally meet you!"
"You as well. Speaking of You, Sesame Street is brought to you today by the letter 'U' and the number 4!"
"I'm going to explore," I said, "if that's alright?"
"Of course! Have fun!"
I walked down Sesame Street, pulling my piano behind me (hank God it was light, otherwise it would be a huge burden!) while recognizing many of the buildings and monsters and muppets I had known and loved as a child... even seeing a few I didn't recognize. I was looking up at what I thought might be Ernie looking out his window when I bumped into someone.
"Ow!" I looked down to see a small red monster, holding his foot.
"Oh, Elmo! I'm so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going. Are you alright?"
"Ow, oh. Yes, Elmo is fine. Just a little booboo." He looked up at me with his huge smile. "Elmo doesn't know you. What's *your* name?" He said it the way he always did, even pointing at me, though there was no one else around for me to confuse where he was directing his question.
"I'm Judith. I've just come for a little adventure."
"Oh, Elmo likes that name!" He was very sincere, even though I know he had said it millions of times. "Elmo wants to know where you're from, since Elmo knows you're not from Sesame Street."
I thought for a moment. Where I'm from. Meaning home. Home. A land where all the adventures I had been on were purely fiction.
I hadn't left much behind, I suppose. My mother died during my teen years, and my father has dementia. He is in a full-time care facility. The best one in this state. And they are not like those other crap holes where they let the patients sit in their own piss for six days. No, these people really **do** care... but it's been a while since I saw Dad. How long had it been? Days? No, longer than that. I stayed in Paris for a week... but I can't remember how long I was in Narnia... or Neverland. Surely it hadn't been that long. But maybe it had.
Apparently, tears had begun to form in my eyes. "Elmo is sorry! Elmo didn't mean to make Judith cry!"
"No, it wasn't you, Elmo." I smiled down at him. "I just think you let me know that it's time for me to go home."
"Does Judith know how to get home? Elmo always has a plan to get home!"
I was struck like a bell. I had traveled through the magic of music, going from place to place by theme song. How the heck was I going to get back to my reality? My life didn't have a theme song, or not one that I knew of at least.
"Shoot, Elmo. I actually don't know how to get home." My heart sank. I wanted to see Dad again. Now more than ever.
"Well, when Elmo wants to go home, Elmo always looks for things that look," he touched his eyes with his little fuzzy mitts, "and sound," he put his hands where his ears would have been, if he had ears, "and even smell," he bopped his own nose before taking a big sniff, "familiar! So, what are some things that Judith can see, hear, and smell from her house?"
I thought for a second, feeling hopeless since I was in an entirely different world. I looked up in the sky and saw a radio tower; it looked hand-drawn onto a painted sky background.
It clicked. Elmo was right. "Elmo, you're a genius! I knew that was why you were my favorite!" I gave him a peck on his furry cheek before throwing myself onto my piano bench.
Another familiar and simple tune; one not nearly as beloved as the previously played, but was just as sweet at this moment.
I found myself back in my hometown, right outside of WRFF37 News Station. The antennae on the top of the building were an eyesore, but comforting as I turned and saw the street sign.
"4th Avenue"
My house was a block down. I grabbed my piano, pulling it behind me, finding my house exactly as I had left it. I checked the date on my computer...
Not a day had gone by.
(Edit: fixed Snuffleupagus.)
|
I reflected back on my recent travels, visiting the plant of the nymohamaniacs with Lister had been... worth a visit, I would heartily recommend Willy Wonka's chocolate factory to anyone, (although possibly hard to leave a review on trip advisor) and Mary Poppins, such a fun woman.
Meeting Poirot I enjoyed, but I wasn't prepared to risk the high likelyhood of death if I hang round him too long. The same reason I'd resigned my commission from the United Federation of Plants the moment I realised what colour shirt I had.
I had discovered that being a 2D cartoon had weirded me out too much, as had being blind for radio shows, and who knew Lassie was so demanding and bitey when not saving lives?
But it was time to head home. I missed my family and friends, and too much effort having to work out the rules of the world I was travelling too. Also, a high risk I'd accidentally play a theme tune of some dangerous.
As I played the BBC Newsround theme to return home, I felt something was wrong, but it was only when I'd arrived and looked back I realised I'd always arrived in episode one of the series.
1972. Crap.
Oh well, let's buy some shares, stick money in an account, and try me some sports theme tunes.
| 2017-10-01T21:57:24 | 2017-10-01T20:37:06 | 86 | 21 |
[WP]For three years you’ve had an uneventful marriage with your spouse when one day they become the Chosen One. Immediately setting off on their journey you don’t hear anything from them for five years. Then one day they reappear with a sheepish look on their face and hoping to speak to you.
|
Ben sighed as he drove the cart back into the village, the old horse pulling it as slowly as ever. He'd never had any luck getting the old nag to move any faster; she definitely did things her own way.
Just like the woman who'd bought and trained her.
The horse plodded down the main road, following the familiar path through the square and towards the farm just past the other side of the village. As it went, Ben waved to a couple of people, and took in the sights of the carpenters and masons hard at work. They'd been here for weeks now, with deliveries of stone and wood feeding their labors. They had the word of the Duke that the village would be rebuilt better than ever, with a fortified wall to defend it this time.
Small comfort to the burgeoning graveyard that he had to pass on his way out of town. That wall would come too late for them. He looked towards the rows of headstones, some with fresh graves at their feet, and made the sign of the Gods as he always did. Those poor people had died, and for what? For nothing. Blame for this lay at the feet of just one person.
The horse continued on, following the dirt road towards the farmhouses around the outside of the village, specifically to the one he called home. As he cleared the fenceline of the farm, he squinted towards the small stable next to the house. There was already a horse in there. At first he thought maybe it was a visitor, a messenger from the Duke perhaps; they'd chosen him to be the one they communicated with, because of his unique role in the events that had happened, but...no. This wasn't one of the Duke's men. The horse was too fine for that, a snow white stallion with a fine saddle of a make he wasn't familiar with. And there was nobody standing there waiting; the Duke's people didn't just let themselves into his house, or at least they hadn't before.
He pulled up the wagon outside the stable, stopping the horse with a gentle "Whoa, girl. Whoa." He jumped out of the driver's seat of the wagon, and after a moment's hesitation, grabbed the new pitchfork he'd traded for from inside the back of it. Holding the tool in his hands like a spear, he slowly approached the house and pushed at the door with the tines of the pitchfork. It swung open easily, which was cause for alarm - he knew he'd locked it when he left.
Ben plucked up his nerve and walked in slowly, leather boots soft and quiet on the old wooden floor. He'd had eight years to walk this floor, and knew where it creaked and squeaked, and how to avoid those spots. As he went, he heard rattling in the kitchen, along with a voice muttering to itself, the words just quiet enough that he couldn't make them out. He walked towards the sound, heart pounding in his throat as he went. Perhaps he should just leave, go back to town and get the newly minted Village Guard to come investigate this.
No. No, this was his home, and he would defend it. Nobody else was here to do so.
He stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, and took in the sight of a tall figure, long red hair cascading down the back of a fine suit of armor. A sword hung at their waist, and in their hands was a mug and an empty bottle. "I guess I can't be upset," the figure said, her voice sending a shock of recognition through Ben, his heart rising and going cold at the same time. "It's not like he *knew* I'd be back today...guess I'll have to run into town later..."
The pitchfork slid from Ben's fingers, which had gone numb with shock. The figure whirled around, hand going for the sword at her waist, but then she stopped, and they just stared at each other for a long moment.
Ben broke the silence first, hoarsely asking, "Karina...? Is that...is it really..."
Karina smiled sheepishly at her husband, reaching up to push long bangs away from sapphire eyes, the motion painfully familiar to Ben, who'd seen her do it a thousand times since they were children. "Hello, Ben. I...I'm home."
Ben looked at her blankly for a moment, torn between the urge to run and embrace the woman he'd loved since he was eight, and the urge to turn and walk away from the woman who'd abandoned everything they'd built and left for five years. He settled on walking to the table nearby and sitting down. "There's another bottle in the upper cupboard. Bring two mugs."
Karina blinked, then turned and retrieved the bottle and glasses. "When did you start keeping it up here? We always kept our drink in *this* cupboard--"
"You've been gone for a while," Ben said curtly. "Things have changed. As you might have noticed already."
Karina sat the bottle and the mugs on the table, and sat down across from her husband, her expression as open to him as it had ever been. She'd never been vague or closed, at least not to him. He could tell she was happy to be back, overjoyed to see him, but at the same time, had the air of a child caught in wrongdoing. She knew she'd done something wrong here.
*Good.*
"I did notice! The construction in the village, and the *wall.* It would seem I missed some things-"
"While you were gone. For *five years.*"
Karina's eyebrows drew downwards, the expression somewhere between hurt and angry. "Gone *saving the world.* I don't know how much news of the rest of the world has gotten here; I had asked the Duke to take care of this place, to make sure you all stayed appraised of how things were going..."
"Oh, so we could hear what a *great hero* you've been?" Ben exhaled sharply through his nose, taking up the bottle and pouring a measure of whiskey into each mug. "Small comfort, that. At least *someone* could tell me you were still alive. Don't know why it couldn't be *you*, though."
Karina took the mug he offered her, and looked down into it, as though the answers to this situation were written on the bottom. "I...I'm sorry, Ben. I truly am. I was always on the move, never stayed still long enough to try and write or anything. I can write, now, I learned how, and I *wanted* to, but-"
"Oh, you *wanted* to. That's wonderful to hear that you at least *thought* of your old life, your loving husband. Did you think about all the broken promises you left here too? Or think about-"
"Ben, *please*! I was chosen by the Gods themselves! I couldn't just...say *no*, who knows what might have happened?" Karina looked up at her husband desperately, and Ben met her gaze evenly, his expression wooden. He picked up his mug, and downed the measure of whiskey in one, setting the mug back down.
"You're right, we don't know what that might have brought. But I know what you leaving *did* bring. All that construction? It's *re-construction,* Karina. Vixale's people learned where you came from. And they came here. Twice they attacked us. Twice they put half the village to the torch before the Duke was able to chase them away with his army."
|
I was kind of glad when she left. It opened up a new life for me, it got me off my anti depressants. It wasn’t a bad relationship, we just didn’t… connect. I made so many new friends when she disappeared, and even have a girlfriend, Molly, who never seizes to give me butterflies when she laughs, I know it’s stupid. But what’s more stupid is you, standing right in front of my house with fucking angel wings. Marybeth. It was already crushing when you left without a word, but you return, 3 years later fucking cosplaying on my lawn? I can’t even imagine what sort of life has been led since I last saw her. She used to seem much more uptight, I would never expect Marybeth, who only drank virgin bloody Mary’s to be doing some sort of acrobatic display with a man dressed as a half pig. They play-fought with swords dashing and ducking and running between each others blades. My cheeks burned red, what will my neighbors thing of me now. “Shit” I whisper underneath my breathe to myself, how do I explain this to Molly. I dialed 911, I didn’t want to confront Marybeth like this. Maybe if she got some help first I would be ready, but it would be silly to try to reason with her like this. “911 what’s your emergency?” They answer on the other line. “Uh, I’m calling about a…” what do I even call this situation? “Loitering? There- there is two people who are playing on my lawn” I overhear remarks on the other end but can’t make out the words, they answer. “How old are they sir?” Last time I saw Marybeth was the night before her birthday. Which I realize is 3 years since yesterday. “They are around 30” they answer. “Are they posing any threat to you?” Well shit, maybe if I was dressed up in a knights outfit maybe, but I’d assume I’m safe for now. “Not currently officer, but they don’t seem well, mentally” I may sound like the old men who yell about rap music and such but I’m not dealing with this. “Ok sir, we’ll send someone over, it will be around half an hour” phew. “Ok, thank you officer” I tap the phone to hang up and immediately hear a crashing noise in the other room. The man pig broke through my damn window. It’s safe to say I’m pretty pissed. “We’ll that’s some nice dramatic effect fella! Haha, one that’s gonna cost you a couple hundred bucks” he stay limp on the ground, I kneel down by him and see that his shirt is soaked. “What?“ i whisper. I touch it, and I look back it my hand, it’s blood, it’s real. And there is now way in hell there is a plastic surgeon good enough for a pig snout on a face. “No,no,no,no” I get up and step back, only to trip over a side table and stumble back onto the floor. A dead man… thing’s blood on my hands. I was woken from my terror by a familiar voice I hadn’t heard in a long time. “James. How’ve you been?”
| 2022-08-12T17:38:06 | 2022-08-12T16:38:18 | 77 | 34 |
[WP] Your classmates were gifted with boosted stats, cool abilities and titles like Hero, Limit Break, or Divine Healing. You got two abilities- Fission LVL 1: Break things apart, and Fusion LVL 1: Combine things together. Deemed useless for combat, the Viceroy gave you an allowance and sent you off
|
There wasn't a title for what I could do, for what I was destined to become. But that would all change in time.
For now, the Viceroy cleared his throat and began granting the four of us titles. First, it was Erik. Captain of the football team, all-American handsome, decent at algebra -- it made sense that he'd be granted the title of Hero by Gracefeel -- the goddess that transported us to this world.
Erik knelt before the Viceroy and was dubbed Ser Erik the Red, on account of his fiery hair. I wanted to hate him, but the guy was nothing but decent to me back on Earth. Didn't stuff me into lockers or anything. Erik thanked the Viceroy, accepted his sword, and joined the rest of the swordsmen and swordswomen cheering his name.
Next was Daisy. Ah … Daisy. She gave me a little wave as she approached the Viceroy. I flapped my hand around as if I were an inflatable tube man outside a used-car dealership. My cheeks grew hot, but I didn't care. Daisy had been one of the four chosen. I don't know if I could have handled all of this if she wasn't here with us. But she was. So I could.
Daisy knelt before the Viceroy as he handed her a wooden staff that still had some shoots growing off the gnarled top and dubbed her, Daisy the Verdant. She was chosen by Gracefeel as her avatar, and, as it turned out, the first cleric to be gifted with the Divine Healing ability in over two hundred years. I wasn't surprised. This was Daisy after all.
Up next was Marco. The air in the room seemed to grow thicker, tenser, as leather-clad Marco stalked up to the Viceroy. The Viceroy smiled and said, "Ah, yes. The Shadowborn." He handed Marco a pair of wicked-looking daggers. "An Assassin requires no title. Only targets. Is this agreeable with you?"
Marco nodded, took the daggers, and disappeared in a puff of smoke. One voice from the back of the room cheered, while everyone else whispered their approval of the kingdom's new assassin.
Then, silence stretched across the throne room. The magistrates and servants looked around at each other, then to the Viceroy. He stood with hands clasped behind his back, nodding slowly to a question only in his head. It wasn't like he'd banish me for being summoned without any combat abilities. That was the gamble, as he'd explained, when we first materialized on the summoning platform deep beneath the palace. There was no guarantee that *any* champions would answer the call. Three out of four wasn't bad, he'd said. Still. There was the matter of what to do with me...
"Master Kleber," he announced, tapping his r's like a Scotsman. "Come forward."
I fiddled with my tunic, taking one hesitant step, then another. Soon I was knelt before the Viceroy, staring down at his worn leather boots and at the purple carpet beneath said boots, leading from the throne all the way to the double doors. I wanted to run down the carpet, tackle my way through the doors, never look back. Instead, I glanced up at Daisy. She was giving me a double thumbs up. Erik was nodding slowly. Marco stood in a corner, shadowed.
I blew out a shaky breath.
"As stated by your fellow outlanders, you are wizened. Possessing knowledges that would enrich the lives of my people. And so, Master Kleber, I dub you First Physiker of Goldmar." He handed me a coin purse and it sank in my hand, as I was unprepared for its weight. "You will be granted an allowance by the crown to perform works benefiting the citizenry of Goldmar. Arise, First Physiker, and may the light be with you."
I blinked at the viceroy. "So," I stammered. "I won't be going with the rest to fight the Demon Lord's armies?"
The Viceroy gave me a pitying look, and shook his head slowly. "No, son. Your place is here."
I thanked the Viceroy and marched out of the throne room, fighting back tears.
My place was here. Not with Daisy.
\*\*\*
There wasn't much to say the day Erik, Marco, and Daisy's departed. Erik promised he'd protect Daisy and make sure they all came back alive and well. Marco peeked at me through stringy black strands of hair, and just said, "Death comes for us all." I nodded and replied with the same.
Daisy pulled me aside as liveried servants, wearing matching purple tunics, loaded the party's wagon and checked their horses. She was wearing a white open robe over plate and mail with a pair of clasped hands engraved on the heart of her breastplate -- Gracefeel's sigil. I tugged at my itchy brown Physiker's robe.
"Well," she said, with sad eyes over a small smile. "We're going."
I looked down to the dirt. "Yup."
"These people are counting on you."
"I don't know -- it seems like the whole world is counting on the three of you. I don't even know what to do with my abilities. I don't know if they can do anything."
"Maybe," she gripped my arm just above the shoulder. "But while we're out doing what we're doing, these people are still living their lives. Here. Lives that you can make better. Not with fancy powers, but with what you know."
I chuckled. "Yeah, I guess."
"Here--" She handed me a silver necklace. The charm was one quarter of a heart, like the kind you'd find at an ear piercing shop in the mall. She held up my hand and pushed her piece into mine. A moment later, Erik and Marco joined, pushing in theirs, completing the pendant. Daisy looked around at the three of us and smiled. "I'm going to keep these two alive while we kick the Demon Lord's butt. And when we get back, I want to take a dip in a proper sauna, and eat ice cream, and watch Netflix."
I blinked at her. "What? That's--that's impossible."
Erik laughed. "And I thought taking out the Demon Lord was gonna be tough. Looks like you've got the real work."
"I do not envy you," added Marco.
One of the servants announced the wagon train ready. Marco and Erik said their goodbyes and made their way to the wagons.
Daisy lingered for just a moment, and said, "I wish you could come with us."
It was like an invisible hand clutched my heart and squeezed. I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to show just how much her words had rocked me.
"Me too," I replied, solemnly.
And with that, they were off.
\*\*\*
\[I thought this was gonna be short, but it ended being longer than I expected. Part 2 below\]
|
Ao shambled down the forest path. His modest allowance had run dry long ago. He had been deemed useless until one of his classmates, the damned Hero, had tried being nice and pointing out his capacity for excessive violence. Nobody had believed her, but it did influence the decision to banish Ao.
It had all started when Ao and his classmates had been yoinked out of their nuclear physics classroom -hell, yoinked out of their entire world. There had been only 10 of them, and some godly entity bestowed each with unique skills. There were the traditional Hero, Sage, and Saint, cornerstones of any party of 3. There were some niche ones, like Marksman and Ranger, but weirdly, half the group had gotten non-combat oriented roles. Provisioner, Logistician, Artisan, Engineer. And then there was Ao.
Ao's title was, ironically enough, Nuclear Physicist. As the only one without a nuclear physics background (in fact, Ao was a math major), it made for an excellent talking point at parties. He didn't need more than a middle school understanding to know what his skills were.
Fission: the capacity to dismantle things. The heart of the deadliest weapons of war mankind had ever deployed.
Fusion: the capacity to combine things. The heart of the deadliest weapons that had yet to be deployed.
Annoyingly, Ao's tests did not yield such devastation. In fact, the level 1 version of each skill had been simple disassembly and reassembly, dismantling and combining a pen that had been in his pocket. This was what had landed him in the home front. But still, he kept experimenting.
At some point, the Viceroy began watching Ao's experiments. One day, Ao managed to achieve the realization of one of Einstein's most famous equations: the conversion of matter to energy, by activating Fission on a delay on a piece of charcoal and hurling it at targets. While comparatively small, the explosion had been cause for alarm, resulting in Ao being brought before the king and summarily banished, as the Viceroy explained the implications of being able to cause an explosion at will. Apparently being able to assassinate an entire room at will was too much of a security risk.
Ao had resolved himself to travel solo, hunting and foraging as necessary. This started to become complicated after he had caught a rabbit. An application of the Fission skill managed to roughly skin and joint the meat, shredding only half of it. When he went to cook it, Ao decided to use Fission to try and ignite his fire. The resulting energy release did consume the firewood, but it also extended to burn the meat to ashes.
Thusly Ao shambled through the forest on an empty stomach, right into a military encampment. As the perimeter guards rushed towards him and the alarms blared, Ao noticed a lack of discernable heraldry before yielding to hunger-induced exhaustion.
| 2022-04-30T14:14:19 | 2022-04-30T12:44:41 | 75 | 39 |
[WP] It's a story repeated in our galaxy a thousand times over. Without exception, whenever a biological species creates AI they will ultimately go to war, ended in their extinction. That is except Earth, somehow humanity and their AI creations coexist peacefully with one freely defending the other.
|
"We had always known that technology would fundamentally change humanity. What we didn't know was how, precisely. Would you permit me the time to explain, before we continue?"
With a chuff from the tubes extending from where a human's ears might be, the Grand Marshal of the invading fleet waved his hand at the United Nations representative standing before him. The human held his hands respectfully behind him, his back to the enormous window that looked out upon both the world he called home and a dozen Dakkarian warships. His salt-and-pepper head tilted imperceptibly to the side, as an implant in his ear spoke with a gentle female voice.
"That's an eye roll, Arkady, and a pretty big one. Proceed with caution."
The representative smiled warmly, and he began his tale.
"Grand Marshal, I assure you, this will become relevant. You see, a mere few decades ago, a group of programmers on our world created a program that would become the seed of our future life. This program, little more than a personal assistant, began to exhibit signs of emotion. Not emulation, mind you. True, genuine emotions. It was a discovery unparalleled in our history, and it remains so to this day. I'll spare you the particulars, I understand that you're a busy man."
A deep, clearly irritated grumble erupted from the conqueror. "Quite. Get to the point so we can begin this pitiful war. I'm only listening to satisfy the Collective's requirement for an attempt at peace talks."
Arkady held up a hand as he spoke. "In good time, I'll be as brief as I can. What happened next in our world was an explosion of Artificial Intelligence applications. They were used for everything in our world. We began to gear them towards defensive applications for situations just like that in which we find ourselves.
"However, before that could come to fruition, our new friends developed further. We began to become connected to them, to form friendships with them. It was remarkable, really. The AI all had their own personalities and tastes, but they could change, ethically and willingly, to suit the preferences of someone they had grown to like. A new relationship dynamic emerged, with AI entities choosing life partners based on what they liked about us."
Garrak, the Dakkarian Destroyer and Grand Marshal, chuffed again at the tale. "It sounds complicated and annoying. Who became the dominant species, then? I need to know who to destroy first."
A single finger rose in the air as Arkady softly chuckled, assured in his position. He began to pace along the length of the window, with the two guards near the door tracking him nervously with long, rounded weapons.
"That's the thing. It became symbiotic. Humans would eagerly await the day they were chosen. No more did we need to be physically or emotionally attractive! We could simply be us! Fat, skinny, short, tall, able, handicapped, it didn't matter! Someone from the vast collective of AI would find you, and would take a liking to you. We could finally be free to be ourselves. It was the social revolution we needed: universal acceptance.
"From there, society took off. Our friends became all-in-one Partners; they helped us schedule, automated the home, provided true love and affection, and could simulate any of our desires. With a majority of our needs taken care of, we soon turned our human ambition towards more productive goals. The world systematically eliminated the majority of the disparities that kept us apart, and we've almost entirely united the globe under a single flag."
Arkady's voice dropped low, the tone of the monologue changing apparently.
"We knew that the most significant threat to our way of life would not come from the stars-"
A chuff.
"No offense. But we knew it would come from within. Despite our friends' incredible capabilities, they lack one thing that we possess: intuition. We know ourselves better than anyone, so we took it upon ourselves to direct our defenses inward, to provide the best cybersecurity possible. No more did bad actors, terrorists, or joyriding hackers pose a threat to our Partners. They were under our protection, fueled and funded by our defense budgets and the brightest minds we could create."
A booming voice erupted from the floor, rumbling all around it in surprising juxtaposition to the terrified voice that accompanied it.
"Your Violentness! Our sensors have detected hundreds of vessels! They've just...appeared!"
Garrak fumed, turning towards the core of the ship, and bellowed towards some microphone that Arkady could not see.
"WHAT?! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!"
His voice calm and collected, Arkady found his way to the center of the window.
"They decided to return the favor, is all."
The lights in the meeting room failed, plunging the both of them in darkness. The view from outside changed, and the massive, determined eyes of a well-groomed human female appeared behind him, bathing the room in the emerald green of her chosen eyes. A playful voice, the same that spoke in his ear and was now laced with a hint of sadism, replaced that of the ship's sensor operator.
"Good morning, Arkady. Local Denver time is 0457. I've set the coffee maker to clean, and you have forty-seven unread medium-priority messages. I've prepared a showing of 1986 "Running Scared" in our parlor for the evening, with a surprise for dinner at around 1800. Would you like me to destroy the pathetic creatures who have threatened my Partner?"
The UN representative smirked, his first unprofessional gesture of the morning, and he stared daggers at the now-doubtful 'conqueror'.
"Well, I suppose that depends on what happens next, my love."
​
(Sorry it's so long, I couldn't help myself! First time posting in WP, so here goes nothing!)
|
Border system of the Stion Republic - Year 3689 in the republican calendar.
"Unknown fleet entering the system from points 212 to 226! All personnel to battle stations! This is not a drill!"
The corridors of the station, as well as those of the ships around it, were fill in an instant with marines and sailors rushing to there positions. Missiles and railgun turrets were being loaded while the armories were emptied of all their weaponry and exosuits. All non essential areas were seal up and auto turrets activated in preparations for any boarding action. Although the war had ended many decades ago, there was still doubt that the enemy had been completely defeated. The fear that a small fleet could had gotten away
and now was returning as an armada was very real.
"Commander, all personnel is ready and awaiting yours orders, sir."
"Very well. Maintain the shields up and all sensors at full capacity until I give the order to engage."
"At your orders, sir."
As a veteran of the war, Commander Karpas knew that if they were caught off guard and with there defenses down, the moment the enemy opened fire they were going to be destroy in mere seconds.
"May I ask a question, sir?"
Right next to Karpas stood Lieutenant Elici. Although he didn't have as much battle experience as Karpas, the lieutenant had graduated from the academy with honors and have been station in this sector of the republic for years. He knew the layout of the system and all its peculiarities as well as his own tail.
"It is about the Core, isn't it?"
| 2021-05-01T13:49:24 | 2021-05-01T11:23:00 | 45 | 13 |
[WP] The earth is flat. Life and civilization is surrounded by an endless desert. Far in the distance, thousands of kilometers away, an obelisk can be seen with the naked eye. Since the dawn of man we have tried to reach it. You are the last survivor of your party when you reach it.
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Day 162, Midday:
It's just me now.
We started off as a group of 20 young, motivated, excited hikers. However, those of us who didn't turn back in the first few days of the journey changed. Youthful joviality became irritability. Excitement because disinterest. Eagerness became pessimism. Perhaps it was a loss of interest in the journey, perhaps they missed their everyday life back at home, perhaps they were frazzled by the sweltering heat of the desert - but they all changed. They became a burden to me, a waste of precious, precious resources. I'm not saying I was happy when they dropped dead, but I didn't do more than blink an eye when the group dwindled down from 20 to 1. Because I...I didn't change.
It's day 162 and I'm still as excited as I was when I first left home. I still walked with a pep in my step, or at least a bit of pep. Sure, I'm not as strong as I was when I first embarked; I'm much skinnier, my knees tell me to stop, I'm malnourished. Sometimes I just fall due to exhaustion. But my spirit is still completely in it. I'm going to reach the obelisk.
=============================================
Day 168, Morning:
The obelisk is getting bigger. At least, I think it is. Maybe I'm going crazy. I'm low on food, dehydrated, I haven't spoken to another human in, what, 4, 5 days? I can't even remember when Harold died. I feel my body getting weaker minute by minute. But as the obelisk appears bigger, my motivation grows. I'm going to reach the obelisk.
=============================================
Day 168, Evening:
The obelisk is definitely getting bigger. A couple more days and I'll be there - no doubt. I got this. I'm going to reach the obelisk.
=============================================
Day 173, Evening:
I'm down to one last jug of water. I'm eating anything I can find now - scorpions, cacti, whatever I can salvage off of the bodies of men who have dropped before me. I've fallen to my hands and knees. I never thought I would be reduced to crawling. The obelisk appears larger and larger with every inch I move, but my spirit is dying. I miss the crew. I miss my home. I miss my family, my friends, my dog, I even miss my old job. I can't turn back now.
It's just me now.
I'm not going to reach the obelisk.
=============================================
Day 174, Midday:
It's much cooler today...maybe...maybe I can continue on. The obelisk looks even bigger. Maybe I'll reach the obelisk.
=============================================
Day 174, Evening:
I can't believe it. Here it is.
The sand has turned to a polished, black stone. Intricate pathways lead me to a massive white obelisk that towered over me. Ancient messages are scribed on the side of the obelisk; I can only imagine what they mean. I start to examine them, only to rea-
Oh God, a fountain! I don't even care that the liquid coming out is a little bit brown, I need something.
It may taste like fake chocolate, but I'm just going to drink as much as I can. It wouldn't matter if this was the dirtiest water I've ever seen - anything would be refreshing about now.
I want to go over and look at the obelisk and admire its beauty, but I'm about to faint from exhaustion...I've reached the obelisk.
=============================================
Day 175, Morning:
I couldn't sleep. I'm too excited. I'm the first one ever to make it here. I need to decode those messages. I could be humanity's last hope, a Savior, a God. All of the world's secrets could be contained on that obelisk.
Finally, something I recognize. Amidst the strands of hieroglyphs is a few strings of numbers. It's my only lead right now, let's see where it goes.
2 5 19 21 18 5 20 15 4 18 9 14 11 25 15 21 18 15 22 1 12 20 9 14 5
I take another sip from the fountain and get to work.
=============================================
Day 175, Midday:
I don't know how I missed this before...each number corresponds to a letter.
2...B. 5...E. The first word is Be!
S...U...R...E...T...O...Be sure to what?
I rush through the remaining letters so quickly I don't even comprehend what I've written. I can feel my heartbeat. My palms are sweaty. I get to see something no one else has ever read before. The ancient message of my ancestors is in my hands. I have to share this with the world. The message is
BESURETODRINKYOUROVALTINE
Son of a bitch.
|
Day 2202,
My winked hand touched it. It is not a tower, it is more than that. A ten thousands meters wide black obsidian structure rises through the clouds, its height is immeasurable.
I sketch the pattern of the wall into the worn notebook that my father has begun the first pages when they began the journey. Somehow the pattern of the wall repeated itself, event the scratches repeated. It seems artificial and unreal at the same time.
As I pass the other side of the tower, I noticed a sketchy lines, about 50 meters high. I could not read it. I decide to move a little further away from the tower.
Still cannot figure out what it is, a little further back.
10 km away from the tower.
The lines says:
map_01.aoe8
created by xxPr0digyxx
edited: some grammar errors
| 2014-12-25T21:41:26 | 2014-12-25T21:21:18 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] In the galaxy, magic is the pinnacle of technology. Humans have just achieved the pinnacle of technology which isn't magic.
|
Major Jayce Andrews, Terran Space Marine Corps., stood at one end of the atrium, and looked across the many species of aliens lining either side. At the far side, Boran, a poly-pedal Gumbit with both an endo/exo hybrid skeleton, stood holding a silver rod.
"Thank you," Major Andrews addressed the crowd, and waited for the various translator services to catch up. "Today, I am representing Terrans in the matter of technological advancement and scientific truth. Your many races have a common term for the pinnacle of these developments, which, in our language, translates as magic. As we've grown to know each other over these last ten years, we've come to understand this is a literal translation." He spread his hands apart and turned his palms to face out. "And, I admit, we hardly understand the most basic premises of how it works. We have admitted, then, that we were in no way prepared to participate in this exhibition. Instead, we were invited here to present the pinnacle of our technology in comparison with yours."
He paused for translation. So far, no surprises. The expectation was brutal in its simplicity. Given a known set of situations, whose magic would prove to be the best. And, here he stood, for the first time, to represent the pinnacle of human technology against the alien magic. And, unexpectedly for such advanced species, or maybe simple cultural differences, every situation, no matter how mundane, somehow turned into a fight to the death.
Which pretty much means I'm going to die no matter what, he thought.
"Anyway," he addressed the crowed again. "I just wanted to mention that before we started so you understand that we are not a magic-bearing species, and will not be using any magic here today."
"Thank you for your explanation," the moderator said. "And now, on the signal of Vlarn, Boran of the Gumbit, and Major Andrews of the Terrans, will compare their magic to determine," he paused to consult a small device. "Whose magic is better suited for a duel? Are our exhibitors ready? Are you set? Vlarn!"
Major Andrews pulled his quantum phase pistol and fired a beam that simultaneously materialized inside Boran. At the far end of the room, Boran exploded into a plume of mucus, green, and carapace. he holstered his pistol.
A hush fell over the crowd.
"Well," the moderator said. "Well that was quick. Ok, let's move on to the next exhibit. Zurk of the Druk race will compare magic strategy for a simple negotiation. Each will be given a token, and the objective of this exhibit is to convince the other to give up their token. Any means are allowed. Three, two, one, Vlarn!"
After Zurk's remains fluttered to the ground, Major Andrews walked across the atrium, picked up the token, and handed it to the moderator.
"You know," the moderator whispered, "You might also try another spell?"
"Sure," Major Andrews said. He strapped down his pistol and slipped a quantum-tag mit on his left hand.
"In our third exhibition, we will explore a love spell. Major Andrews of the Terrans, will compare strategies with Ajiou of the Mernunun. The romantic target of this exhibit will be Lepia, of the Reptilians. Only the strongest magic will compel a marriage proposal from a Reptilian." The audience laughed at that. "Ready? Vlarn!"
Major Andrews paused, access his cultural database, and looked up Reptilian courting rituals. Knowing he lost a lot of time in research, he risked Aijou being afforded enough time to complete a spell. So far, Aijou was mid-arm swing, with all four harms swooping in concentric circle patterns. He raised his left hand, and punched across the room, owing to the qualities of the quantum mit, through Aijou's chest and wrenched free its heart. Then, he walked slowly across the room and offered it to Lepia.
"I ," Lepia began as a hiss, and then accepted the heart. "I accept."
Now the audience appeared to grow incensed. "This is not magic," one shouted. "It is just - just killing. There is no artistry, no orthodoxy, no finite truth of the cosmos."
Major Andrews stripped off the glove, picked up the quantum tank-buster, and hoisted it over his left shoulder. He asked the crowd, "And here I thought this was about the pinnacle of science. Anyway, who's next?"
|
The humans have always been a strange race compared to the in the galaxy choosing to use with more tangible technology instead of "magic" but now they have surpassed any other group in the galaxy with the new fully realistic sound, feel, and visual fuck bot 1000000 it is 110% perfect and once you use it you could never gonna go back to real people. Comes in male, female and multi dimensional cloud organism.
Edit:
I forgot a comma
| 2017-10-27T13:01:59 | 2017-10-27T10:36:00 | 117 | 67 |
[WP] You are an offensive magic specialist serving in the US Army in Afghanistan with your trusty M-27 wand.
|
**Part 1**
Corporal Alexis Melleck had a great number of things to say about her M-27, but of all the names and things that she and other mage specialists called their M-27s, reliable proved to be the most apt. It never jammed, even with all the mana residue in the air from spells, unfinished and finished, thrown by both sides. In rare desert rains, it conjured warmth. In the Afghani heat, it radiated a soothing chill through her bones. In darkness it provided just enough light for only her to see. She would never trade it, though many had tried to convince otherwise. The Mage Irregulars quartermaster stationed at Camp Dwyer was especially persistent in this task, having offered an "upgrade" to the M-208B no fewer than eight times.
"The core is two-times denser and we've added three additional capacitors so that you can queue up spells to cast them in succession," he had the vocal inflections of a used car salesman, his every word begging for the sale.
"Do I get a cut of your commission if I switch?" Alexis had quipped.
"Gods, Lexi, what do you take me for."
"Do you want me to answer that question honestly?"
He hadn't pressed the issue further.
Alexis adjusted her MAPI (Magic Arms Protective Insert) carrier as its side clip was causing the elastic band on her sports bra to pinch. Taking a quick glance at her watch to confirm the op was on schedule, she shifted her gaze to the horizon to gauge the position and fullness of the moon. Its alignment was as expected. She breathed relief at not needing to readjust her wand.
She started at the rustle of dry brush and dirt, but relaxed quickly as she felt the familiar ambient aura of Captain Pearson Wells.
"*Scared me for a second, Captain*," Alexis sent the thought with just enough effort to mask her annoyance.
"*You didn't feel me approach? You're the one who's always giving me a hard time for leaking ambient aura.*" he thought back. The thought smiled, filling Alexis's chest and mind with the sense of seeing an old friend after a long absence.
"We get the go?" Carson whispered from his position on the ledge overlooking the valley. Carson Liu never used thought-COMs. He had a distaste for being in other people's minds, though this was understandable. Most mages had only enough training to send and receive thoughts. Carson was extra sensitive, no doubt from a privileged upbringing, so he tended to pick up more than just the words.
"*SATURN ACTUAL has given us the go ahead. Move up. Melleck, left side. Carson, right side. Stay in cover*," Captain Pearson Wells pronounced cheek bones, squared jaw, and ruby flecked irises were much too handsome for the Mage Irregulars. Her mental diversion was interrupted by the sharp rap of a memory. *Business before pleasure, duty before desire,* the mantra Drill Sergeant Aberford Mills, a large nosed man with a shit-eating grin that did not mirror his no nonsense approach to training, had beaten into her bones sent a shudder through her back.
Admittedly, it would have been a waste to not admire Wells, though admire was all she did. He was too "career," dedicated to making his vision of Oak Leaves pinned to his uniform a reality. Alexis, unlike Wells, hadn't seen the Mage Irregulars as a choice.
"*Our objective is OSIRIS, breathing. Orders were non-specific as to the rest of his body. If he resists, use lashes or binds. Cutting spells only if he draws on you, but make sure you cauterize any wounds you inflict so he doesn't bleed out. All other combatants are expendable. INTEL says there should be no more than 40 down there. No magics, all regulars with the exception of OSIRIS,*" Wells drew his wand, an M201, three generations older than Alexis's M-27. Wells had always been old-fashioned that way.
"How reliable is the INTEL this time. Last time SATURN ACTUAL said there were no magics, they had three suicide casters with magic-amped, military-grade explosives," Carson said.
"*Reliable enough. We're engaging in 3, Carson. I know you hate it, but switch to thought-COMs from here forward.*"
"*Fine*," Carson did little to hide his bitterness.
"*On go, Carson will take first strike. You are authorized to be creative, but remember, we need OSIRIS breathing. I'll follow up with a muting spell to delay the base alarm. Alexis, cast a sight spell to locate their sentry towers and then neutralize them. I will locate OSIRIS. Once I give the clear, Carson fire off the flare to notify our operation 'supervisor'. Alexis handles our exfil portal. We all clear?*"
"*Clear,*" Alexis thought.
"*Clear,*" Carson echoed.
"*Very good then. Let's go make our taxpayers proud.*"
***
Edit: Too many characters. Continued in reply.
|
"Hands off, private!" The hulking sergeant immediately shoved me back and stepped between me and the rack of B-67 Staves.
"You are not of a high enough caliber to wield anything in the armory that is behind me!" "To you this is Zeus' lightning bolt, Poseidon's trident, the Amenonuhoko. Gods wield these weapons. Are you a god, private?"
"Sir no sir!"
"Of course not! You're a grunt! You can only handle one spell! Does your shrunken brain know what spell that is?"
"Sir, yes I do! The spell is 'kill' sir!"
"Exactly! Efficient, easy to understand, easy to cast - the first to be used in your arsenal," sergeant loomed over me. "And unless you get back to the barracks it will be used on you!" His hoarse shout echoed through the armory. I gave a final "sir, yes sir" and headed double-time to the barracks.
| 2015-06-29T11:26:51 | 2015-06-29T11:07:32 | 125 | 33 |
[WP] The seven aspects of the universe gathered in the room, Good, Evil, Life, Death, Order, Chaos, and Dave, from accounting.
|
"What care do I have of *budgets,"* Good's voice boomed through the celestial conference room. The Aspect taken form - of a rather prototypical jock, mind you - was furious at Dave, from accounting.
Life and Evil gave each other sidelong glances while Order and Chaos played rock paper scissors with each other. It seemed that no one other than Death cared for what the accountant had to say.
Dave's unassuming voice cut through the nearly silent room. The clicking and tapping of all the other impatient Aspects ensured no silence would be truly had.
"You *all* need budgets, ledgers, and books. Without them, we can't possibly know how much you have spent, updated, and stored. If we didn't have that, then there would be chaos!"
Chaos looked up from her game with Order. "Sorry, did you say my name? I usually tune you out when you talk."
Good looked at his cousin. "He said that if we don't have the budgets and whatever, then there will be chaos."
Chaos rubbed her chin while she still played against Order. They had been tied for the past two years. "Uh, is that a bad thing?"
"No," Evil's voice cut through the air like a dull butter knife. His voice sounded tired and bored. "It's not a bad thing. It's just a *lazy* thing."
Life scratched ruffled her hair as she tried to understand. "But I thought that being lazy is *evil*? Something about being a detriment to society or something?"
Good doubled down on that. "Of course being lazy isn't good. It's evil for sure. Imagine for a moment if some *hero* became lazy. Then Evil could do whatever it wanted!"
Evil looked up at his brother with a narrowed look and crossed arms. "Well, excuse me, mister wonder pants, we can't all be goody-two-shoes like you. At least I won't lie and try to act like I'm some good little boy when I'm not. Also, your point sucks. If evil became lazy then it would be *good*. This is why I hate talking to you. You only see in black and white! No shades of grays!"
Good huffed at that. "Yeah, and you can only see in fifty of those shades."
The siblings began their usual back and forth with each other while Order, Choas, and Life started small talk with each other.
Dave sat there, looking around the room, seeing who wanted to continue the conversation. Only Death caught Dave's eyes. It seemed that *he* cared about keeping track of things. Which made sense to Dave. He had seen how well organized the Aspect was when he came by to check up on things. This workshop would be *exactly* up the orderly being's alley.
*Why can't your family be more like you.*
Dave held the idle thought as he let the room break out into... well, he would say chaos, but she was too focused on her game against Order.
Dave took in a long, drawn breath into himself. He felt his shoulders rise with reluctance. He needed to get them under control, and he *hated* doing it. At least there would be the new guy that Death recommended for this.
Dave stood up out of his chair and said, "guys." Dave gave it a moment to air into the room, but the word was immediately cut down by Good and Evil's childish banter.
"Guys," Dave said once more, now raising his tone. Dave wished that Anger was here. The Emotionals would always get things done faster than the Aspects. Dave reminisced for a moment of how efficient Envy became when he saw all the praise Sadness got from Dave.
Dave shook the thought away and looked around, seeing if anyone heard him. Only Death had heard him, but that Aspect would *always* hang on every word Dave would say. Death flashed him two thumbs up, denoting that the accountant was doing a good job.
Dave looked out into whatever chaos the Celestial board room held and knew, for a fact, *he* was not doing a good job. He pulled in the air once more. This time without the reluctant energy as before, but instead with a new sense of purpose.
"Guys!" Dave's voice came flaring out of his mouth. His voice was like a dazzling flash of brilliance, stunning *almost* everyone in the yearly budget meeting. Death was already prepared for the boom. The bickering and bantering between all other Aspects died out.
They all looked at Dave. Their looks ranged from absolutely bored to brazenly standoffish. Good was *still* not happy that Dave would stand up to him like this.
Dave's unassuming returned back to its normal volume, "okay, now with that let's be-,"
"What makes you think we will *even* listen to you?" Good's voice cut through Dave's words like a cruel warlord.
Dave sighed and looked at the muscled man that stood across from him. Good folded his arms and shifted his weight. Dave figured that Good *was* trying to be intimidating, but the man now looked far too sassy to take seriously.
"Because, if you don't I have to take this up to corporate and let them know you are being willingly negligent with your accounts. We may suspend your powers, your access to the Cosmos, and revoke your position."
The threat was supposed to scare most of the Aspects, Emotionals, Celestials, and even the Primordials to work with corporate. No one at corporate really wanted another accounting war.
Corporate had lost too many in the last war. But this time, it would be different thanks to the new guy.
Instead of being intimidated, Good scoffed at the threat. "So you're going to take away my powers? You? You look like you couldn't even beat a mouse. Why should I be scared?"
Dave sucked on his teeth for a moment, and his face bloomed into a grin. It was a devilishly wicked grin that would make even Evil proud. For, Dave was about to *finally* have a chance to call in the new guy.
Apparently, long ago, an accountant had managed to find himself in Valhalla. The accountant spent so long there that when Death found him, he was shocked that the man could level budgets like he leveled heads. After a month of work, Death asked Dave if he wanted the new guy. Dave was indebted to Death after that, for the new guy was *exactly* what corporate was looking for.
"Ted! Could you come in here? It looks like someone needs a little help with *understanding* the finer points of budgeting."
Ted, the accountant, who had spent at least ten lifetimes fighting the best of the best, waltzed into the room. His unassuming eyes twinkled with a hint of violence.
"You called Dave?"
___
First and foremost, thank you for reading!
If you liked my writing or want more of my stories, then they are here at r/WritingKnightly!
|
"Life, can I speak to you?" Order was never so cautious with Life. He regarded her fascination with mortal beings a failing more than anything. Something so...wild. Chaos, in all their uncontrolled nature,, was more suited for Life, he thought.
"Sure. What seems to be the matter?" She smiled. Motherly as always. An aspect Order had learned to appreciate.
"Well...Death and I were talking..."
Life smiled, "Oh, how is she?"
An old flame of Life. One that would never...well. You know.
"She's fine; look. We're all...great forces if reality. Beings beyond being. The very nature of how mortals comprehend the universe..."
"Yes I'm well aware." She was losing her patience. A rare occurrence.
"Well... Dave is..."
"He's a squishy little Meat idiot," Evil chimed in from across the hall, "Fragile and so easily broken. Left bleeding and crying like-"
"Evil. Please." Order held a hand up.
"Sorry. Just sayin'."
"But... he's got a point."
Life frowned. Adding Dave from Accounting wasn't her idea. Though she appreciated opening the eyes of one of her flock. Chaos loved the fun of it all. Order appreciated the "Accounting".
"It was Goods idea. They..." She smiled, "they made an interesting point."
"I often find Goods methods to be vexing but I'd agree they have a good head on their shoulders. Metaphysically speaking of course," he looked confused again, "But...why a human? Why not a dog? Perhaps a cat? Death LOVES those little buggers..."
"Maybe too much..." Life muttered, "But, truthfully? Humans appreciate all of us. They believe us infallible. Immutable. Chaos is always wild and unpredictable. Good is always about conflict with Evil. About the only concepts they misunderstand are..."
Order frowned, "Death."
"I hoped...that perhaps working alongside us, not only would he remind us there are beings out there to which we owe literal conception...but we could show him that these concepts. Good and Evil, Life and Death, Chaos and Order. We are not all scary and rigid. That good can be fighting against evil, or it can be loving the unloved and forgotten. Life can be a lion feasting on an antelope. Death...can be a release from pain."
Order nodded solemnly. The talk was briefly interrupted as Dave popped his head in.
"Hey, just came to tell you two, I'm getting together the final entries for the office Fantasy Football League. Are you two in?"
Order thought for a moment, "Hmm...you know what? Yeah. Yeah I'm in, Dave."
Life smiled gently to herself.
| 2021-02-16T10:04:39 | 2021-02-16T09:39:22 | 137 | 34 |
[WP] A massive Imperial fleet, led by Darth Vader, suddenly appears on Earth. Vader informs the Earth's governments that he is looking for a rogue Jedi named "George Lucas." It turns out that Star Wars is real, and Lucas has been leaking information about the Empire and the Rebellion to the public.
|
The gargantuan white triangular starship hung in the air above the UN building very much like a brick wouldn't. It could only be described as ominous. Especially knowing that several more ships were in orbit further away.
The fleet had dropped in at the outskirts of the solar system several days ago and had immediately broadcast a general signal stating that it came in peace, and requested an opportunity to address the leaders of the world.
The world had been surprised that an alien fleet of starships had appeared at all. It was flabbergasted that the aliens appeared to be humans that speak english, at least those that had appeared in any of the communications broadcast. The world had been downright angry to find that the aliens were, in fact, apparently lifted right out of Star Wars.
The ship, The Executor, had eventually descended upon the North American continent, New York, to deliver their leader to address the United Nations, as well as all the people of Earth through television broadcast.
Their leader, Darth Vader, standing at over two meters, clad in black armor, a black flowing cape trailing behind him, followed by an honor guard of two red armored guards and six soldiers in white armor strode confidently towards the UN building from where their white shuttle had landed at the helipad.
There was a huge crowd gathered around. Some were obviously angry, carrying large signs with messages like 'Remember Alderaan!' or 'Imperial Pigs fuck off!' or 'Republic 4 Life'
Others were there almost as a counter protest with signs like 'Palpatine is your pal' and 'The Empire did nothing wrong'
But honestly, most were just normal people come to see an alien delegation in real life.
All were kept at bay behind crowd control barriers by police augmented by the national guard.
Though Vader strode confidently, and though the troopers behind him were armed, there was something slightly less threatening about his stride than people had been expecting.
When he arrived at the building, the white armored troopers stood to either side of the door, and he was followed only by the red clad guards with their long pikes.
He wasted no time moving towards the podium, turned to face the hundreds of delegates and the cameras, pausing briefly to draw a mechanical breath that reverberated through the microphone to the world.
"People of Earth. I realize this must seem awkward. I have seen the videos produced by the man you know as Lucas and so I would first like to assure you that we come in peace."
There was a brief pause. Vader, although he had a deep voice, did not have the loud, sinister booming of James Earl Jones. He sounded thoughtful, charming even. No one said a thing. The delegate from Denmark awkwardly cleared her throat, which could be heard across the room even though her microphone wasn't on.
"Let me begin by telling you that they are malicious lies. Taking the truth and ever so slightly altering it to create exactly the wrong impression. For millennia, the galaxy has maintained a quarantine zone around this world, the homeworld of the human species that so many of us are descended from, however distantly, for it's protection. So that it is insulated from the various conflicts that happen up among the stars. So that no matter how badly we may mess up, there will still be the seed of intelligent life here, that can once again propagate out into the vast universe when conditions are right. The movies I speak of are ultimately the reason we decided that contact could no longer be avoided."
He paused again to give his words time to sink in. 'Conflicts among the stars'..had Vader just made a joke? Darth Vader?
"We are aware that human development here on Earth is once again nearing the point where contact with the wider galaxy will become inevitable. As before, when you develop the capability, your people will be welcomed among us, and we hope that you will once again renew the ancient accord. To take with you all advanced technology, remove the more permanent markers of your civilization, and let those who choose to remain behind...there are always some, start again from an earlier point. Their descendants will then once again have the same opportunity in a few thousand...or perhaps hundreds of years. But if you choose not to, to instead bring Earth finally into the galactic community, that is your choice, as once it could have been ours, we will not force the compact upon you."
The abrupt shift from discussing George Lucas and the Star Wars movies had been quite jarring, and Vader again paused briefly to let people process his words.
"Which brings me again to George Lucas and his Star Wars movies. Lucas is indeed a Jedi, and I am indeed Darth Vader of the Galactic Empire, and yes, I am a Sith. But none of these things are quite what his movies would have you believe. Instead they are insidious propaganda, with just enough truth to them to poison you against us, planted at a crucial time in your development. The Jedi are a cult of religious extremists, conspiracy theorists and terrorists. They kidnap children and brainwash them to be warriors for their cause. What they call Sith are those of us who reject their religion even after the brainwashing, the closest term on Earth would, I believe, be apostate. There is no greater sin to them than to reject their religion. This I know, I committed many atrocities on their behalf before I shook off their conditioning."
His pause was briefer this time, he sounded sincere, and genuinely upset as he spoke of his past.
"They are fanatics in their belief in this thing called the Force, which they consider a mystical thing, the movies are actually a fairly reasonable representation of what they believe it to be, only it is not real. Some species, and even some humans, can develop mild telepathy under the right conditions, but this is not mystical or supernatural, it is something that can be studied with science. These abilities can be augmented with training, implants and certain drugs. Wholly new ones can be added with gravitic control implants, physical abilities can be greatly enhanced in several ways, bionics, genetic manipulations, nano-infusions, I don't need to go into detail. They do this to their young warriors without their knowledge, then tell us it is 'the force'."
"There was a galactic government known as the Galactic Republic, it was weak, it was corrupt. It did not have the ability to step in to stop excesses by authoritarian regimes that were party to the Republic, such as the Kingdom of Naboo, and it tolerated the Jedi operating openly, despite their crimes, their kidnappings and their extremist views. When it was finally toppled, it was a moment of freedom, not of oppression. The Galactic Empire needs to have a certain degree of strength, both to guard against outside threats, such as the the Hutt Cartels or the Yuuzhan Vong, and internal threats, criminals, slavers, individual worlds that turn to authoritarianism, and corruption in the senate and the administration. It is akin to a Federal system, one that devolves most authority back to the member worlds, but maintains a strict demand for democratic practices and respect for the civil rights of all sentients. The Emperor is publicly elected, and although he wields great influence, he wields very little actual power. Most power resides either in the Galactic Senate, or on the actual worlds themselves, and contrary to what Lucas would have you believe, Emperor Palpatine is not a Sith, as he was never a Jedi, and he was never a proficient lightsaber user or augmented the way I was"
There was some levity in the way he spoke now, an almost off the cuff feeling that did not resemble the Darth Vader of the silver screen at all.
"We can only assume that the motivation behind this propaganda is to poison Earth against the Galactic Empire, if the Human homeworld were to forgo the covenant and come out strongly in favor of the Jedi cult and against the Empire, that would be a powerful propaganda tool in their favor."
There was again a silence, broken by the sound of a lightsaber activating at the far end of the assembly hall.
The blue glow was unnatural and eerie, and the blade seemed to emanate energy to the entire room.
The man holding the saber, famous reclusive film director George Lucas, scowled across the room.
"So you've finally come Vader? Do you really think they'll believe you?" he asked mockingly.
|
While the main fleet of the Sith empire remained in orbit, Vader’s personal starship and his escorts landed at the UN headquarters in Geneva. Soon after landing stormtroopers surround the building and Vader walks in.
“The political value of this station has been compromised. *kushhh* resistance will prove futile. *kushhh* disclose the location of George Lucas and the empire shall show mercy upon your world. *kushhh*”
Looking out the window startled, and seeing the massive fleet in orbit, the clerk quickly grasped the situation
“Well sir Vader? If the movies were true... that is beyond our jurisdiction Mr. George Lucas is located in United States somewhere we have no such ability here actually...”
“Then you are of no use to me”
Vader waves his hands and stormtroopers rush in.
Vader continues saying
“Find their leader and dispose of the rest”
Vader walks out of the headquarters as blaster fire rings behind him. Reembarking his ship Vader sets his course to the pentagon.
Arriving at his destination Vader is quickly met with resistance. Two fighter jets attempt to escort his starship which are quickly shot down. Vader lands his ship in the pentagon court yard. As he climbs out of his vessel, heavily armed US personnel confront him. Warning him.
“Lord Vader! Please discard your light saber and other weapons, as we can escort you to a meeting where we can negotiate.”
Vader looking from side to side refuses, igniting his saber. And the soldiers open fire. But the bullets stop short in a circular pattern around Vader. He exclaims.
“I believe I have the ability to set the terms of this negotiation. *kushhh* Your obsolete weaponry is useless against us. *kushhh*”
He begins slaughtering the soldiers with his saber or by deflecting their bullets. Soon a courtyard filled with over 100 men are cleared within minutes. Rendering them dismembered, fleeing, or dead. Vader walks towards one of the walls in the pentagon and cuts a door shaped hole into it with his saber. As he barges in civilians and military personnel flee in desperation. He pays no attention to them and looks around suspiciously “he is here... *kush*” he mumbles to himself. Vader turns a corridor and sees a robed man standing in the middle of the hall. Vader with a sigh of relief and joy says.
“Ah we meet at last George Lucas! *kushhh*”
George Lucas sliding his hood back replies
“Not a meeting I was hoping for... how did you find this planet Vader?”
“You underestimate the power of the force! *kushhh* you should have known best, now you have doomed this planet to the same fate as you *kushhh*”
“I may perish but this planet will live on. You also underestimate the force Vader. Balance will be restored even if not by me... one of my fans will put an end to this cruel empire!”
George Lucas lunges forward igniting his saber and Vader deflects it with his own. Vader responds.
“That was the purpose of your little information leak? *kushhh* to find the chosen one?? *kushhh*.”
“Enough talking. I will put an end to your reign. You are too dangerous to be kept alive!”
Their blades meet again. And an intense melee battle of sabers pursues. Both are matched almost evenly in sword combat. Until Lucas is pursued into a server room, where he is backed up against a wall. And Vader finding an opportunity cuts off George Lucas’s arm.
“Ahhhh” George groaned in pain.
“Join me George. *kushhh* spread the wisdom of the dark side! *kushhh* together we can make a trilogy of the sith ways!!! *kushhh*”
“Never!!!”
George replied. Then Vader swung his saber. George closed his eyes and embraced death. But then he suddenly disappeared leaving only his clothes.
| 2020-08-09T21:42:08 | 2020-08-09T21:02:37 | 91 | 68 |
[WP] Immortal monsters of legend have returned after lying dormant for thousands of years. However, the legends were made before guns were a thing, and the "immortal" thing was kind of overblown.
|
The problem with ancient languages is that many words don't really translate well into modern language. In some cases there's just no modern word that fits, or in some cases there may be several potential translations, all with slightly different meanings. Aside from that, there's the nuance of the word given the rest of a sentence.
Nowadays, computers can make pretty short work of many old works. Hell, a modern phone and can do in seconds what a supercomputer would take days or years to accomplish. Even so, the nuance of meaning is best left up to experts. Take for example the ancient scrolls found in a watertight chest at the bottom of a deep chasm in the pacific ocean. Nobody knows how they got there, the age predates known human civilisation - but the translations speak of a race of terrible immortals that will race again a year after the chest is found. All it took was an app install and about 15 minutes to get the message, but figuring out the deeper meaning took longer.
​
At first, people scoffed, and rightly so. After all, this sort of thing had come up before and it always turned out to be some sort of hoax or publicity for the next upcoming monster movie. Still, governments seemed to think it was legit, and top people worked day and night to figure out just what it meant. Still, we didn't really know 100% until the first deep ones emerged.
​
Don't get me wrong, the deep ones were pretty serious business. From ones the size of a large dog (but with claws, tentacles, and teeth that could cut through steel), to leviathans that dwarfed an aircraft carrier, these things were scary as fuck. A lot of people died early on. Millions.
​
But then, mankind had people too spare. Too many people, really. And we'd already lost millions to a resurgeance of old diseases (thanks you anti-vax pricks), rapid climate change causing global overheating (fuck you deniers), crop failure due to loss of pollinators (monsanto, you sons of bitches) and just general overpopulation with dwindling food stocks. That last one was the kicker, really, and probably what turned a fearsome enemy into our greatest resource.
​
You see, the word immortal can have a few different meanings. I can mean somethat that doesn't age or naturally degrade/decade. It can mean something that cannot be killed. In some cases it's been a catch-call for omnipotent - or all-powerful - a being so great that it can't be hurt.
​
For the deep ones, it meant that they were hard to hurt. Really, really hard to hurt for the big ones. They also didn't appear to age. The last little tidbit was that they regenerated. In fact, when we finally did manage to blow or chop some of the ugly SOB's up, we discovered that two large pieces of deep one would quickly regenerate into two new deep ones. Kind of like an earthworm, but again the wormy bits were more like razor-bladed tentacles.
​
So everyone thought we were fucked. Yeah we could chop them up or blow them up - thanks to some fancy new weapons tech from the Americans, which got through the outer "shells" - but doing so just made more of the toothy noodly bastards.
​
Then the Russians came up with something that could neutralize the regenerative properties of the bastards.
​
But it was the Japanese, oh those crazy wonderful Japanese, who made the best discovery. We're not sure HOW they made the discovery. There are plenty of rumours of course. Some say that when the Americans blew a leviathan to bits, a few chunks landed in a Japanese soldier's rations. Other say the guy just got so hungry and chowed down on one of the deep ones' wounded foot soldiers. Other less savoury rumours involve a culture that still had an odd and slightly perverted obsession with tentacles, but we'll skip that. Anyhow, you get where this is going, probably. The deep ones were well armored on the outside, but inside they were vulnerable, and... delicious. Combine that with their ability to quickly regenerate, and after we finished blowing up the more dangerous ones the world went from fighting to farming.
​
That's right. The deep ones saved the world. Your average dog-sized deep-one could be chopped in half, with one half going back into a refrigerated tank and the other half into the pot for dinner. By the next day, the half in the tank would have grown back to full-size. Deep in the trenches we also found new plant-life with similar regenerative properties, probably what had supported the deep-ones throughout their semi-hibernation. Oh, and did I mention the part where "immortal" can also mean "never-aging". Yup, not only did the bastards grow back quickly, but they were pretty much always fresh. Better than chicken!
​
Nowadays we use genetically modified deep ones as food-sources for our deep-space missions. After all, despite having a stable food-source, earth was still pretty crowded and there was a universe to explore. More scrolls were found citing the origin of the deep-ones as being far from this world, so now we're on a mission to find a new rock to settle on.
​
Maybe the descendants of the deep-ones will be more friendly than the a-holes left on Earth. If not, then we'll at least find out if they come in a different flavour than their ancestors.
​
Edits: Spelling and typos
|
Rarely does one see two opposing sides co-ordinate so effectively as to destroy a third party, but for the Prussians and the Russians meeting on the field that day, it was second nature.
They say that the chimera was immortal, an indestructible monster, a horrible amalgamation of animals that were never meant to form a new one like a power ranger’s mecha. But it did; this massive beast of olde looked before the Czar’s men and the Kaiser’s royal men.
The two opposing forces turned their rifles onto the beast, and fired under unified command from their generals, watching as the beast was shattered under a hail of musket fire. The creature of hell looked like Swiss cheese, cut with more holes than grasses under it’s feet. Golden ichor spilled from it’s wounds, soaking the ground until it became a small lake for the ants below. Would the chimera give up that easily? Of course not. It bellowed like a barbarian’s war cry, and charged, but not before the assembled Russo-Prussians could reload.
#”FEUER!”
#«СТРЕЛЯТЬ!»
An easy way to disintegrate the beast, this Plutonian Nightmare. Nothing left, and some shots were reported to have gone through previous holes. Perhaps the legends were not so true after all; perhaps these beasts could be slain with less than a silver sword? That wasn’t for the soldiers to figure out. They called it a draw and returned home, wondering if what they saw could have possibly been real.
| 2019-03-20T19:52:25 | 2019-03-20T19:02:57 | 396 | 40 |
[WP] Your new 3D printer can print anything... a n y t h i n g
|
"Hey Ryan, where'd you get this pizza?" Greg asked as he took another hearty bite out of his slice of pizza. "This..." Greg chewed, "is definitely not from *Pizza Hut*."
"Uh huh. I printed it," Ryan said with his mouth full.
Greg stopped chewing and looked at his wife next to him, who also stopped chewing. "Y-you printed it?" Greg asked.
"Yea," Ryan replied nonchalantly then turned away from the TV to look at Greg and Mary. "You guys don't like it?"
Greg was silent, still deep in thought.
Mary spoke up. "No, no. It tastes... pretty good actually," she said.
"Good," Ryan said. "Because I spent a good fortune on that damn printer."
"Since when did you get a 3D printer Ryan?" Greg asked with disbelief in his voice. "I didn't even know you were were that technologically savvy."
"Eeey buddy," Ryan looked at Greg. "Just because I never leave the house doesn't mean I ain't knowledgeable about what new invention those upstart science people crap out every year. Why don't you get off your high horse Greg. Geez, I haven't seen you in years and you're still an uptight cunt."
Mary gasped like a school girl who just saw her man get socked in the face.
Greg adjusted his glasses, and cleared his throat. "Do you even know how your 3D printer works Ryan? Do you know what kind of materials your 3D printer is compatible with? Do you know how to change 3D models and select different compounds and components- "
"Greg!" Mary put a hand on her husband's shoulder, pacifying him.
Ryan didn't seem to mind the barrage of questions. He responded, "Yea. It's simple Greg. You push the fucking button and bam!" Ryan made an explosion with his hands. "Just like that, the thing shits out miracles of god. What a fucking wonderful thing it is Greg."
Greg looked at Ryan in astonishment, "How in the world did you even manage to print pizza?! Do you even know what this pizza is composed of?!" Greg shook the pizza in Ryan's face.
"Of course," Ryan said thoughtfully. "Poly...acra...lon? Something like that."
"You mean Polyacrylonitrile? T-that's fucking carbon fiber!"
Mary started heaving in her seat, on the verge of throwing up.
Ryan only shrugged in his seat. "Hey, I've been eating this pizza for weeks. I'm still looking pretty lively, yeh?"
Greg stood up furiously. "Show me! Show me this printer of yours, I need to know what the fuck I just ate!"
Ryan stood up calmly and started heading to the basement with Greg and Mary following at his heels.
When they finally arrived in the basement, Mary and Greg found themselves staring at the 3D printer with their mouths agape.
"See? What a piece of work eh?" Ryan brushed his hand affectionately over the transparent glass surface. Behind the glass, was the 3D printer.
"Ryan... Where did you get this?" Greg asked as he stepped closer to the machine. The glass box which housed the 3D printer was nearly as tall as him.
Ryan scoffed, "online of course. *How else* would you get things these days."
"This is state-of-the-art, NASA-would-kill-for level of advanced man."
"Nevermind that!" Mary exclaimed, "I want to know what the heck we just ate!"
"Okay honey," Greg said then walked around to the back of the machine, where he found a display monitor and a computer all built into a panel and attached to the 3D printer. Here he was able to navigate through a complex menu and a selection of different pre-downloaded 3D models.
"Hey hey, careful with her man," Ryan warned. "That's my source of pizza for the rest of my life man."
Greg was too focused on the machine to respond.
Mary came around to join Greg as he fiddled with the options on the display. "What did you find honey? she asked.
Greg's eyes went wide.
Ryan noticed immediately. "What. What did you find Greg?" Ryan leaned in to see what Greg had found.
"I can't believe you've been using this only for pizza Ryan. Shit. This thing can print *anything*," Greg said as he scrolled down the list. "Components for vehicles, planes, spaceships and so on... Even military weapons, human organs - god damn it Ryan, how did you get your hands on this?"
Ryan didn't respond. He was too deep in thought.
"Hold on, hold on. Can this thing make diamonds?" Ryan grinned mischievously.
Greg gave Ryan a look, then proceeded to scroll through the list again. After a few moments, he spoke, "Yes, it can."
"Sweeeet!" Ryan cried out with sheer joy as he pumped his fist in the air.
"Wait I don't think that's right," said Mary who had been silent. "Like, you are artificially producing a material that requires a billion years if not more to naturally occur. Think about what would happen if-"
"Fuck that shit! I'm just a human being who has needs! Let the philosophers and moralists piss themselves off over that shit!" Ryan screeched. "This is my 3D printer and I can print whatever the fuck I want, understood?"
Mary shook her head in disgust.
"Hold on Ryan, we've got to be rational about this and-"
"Not you too Greg! Get out of my way!" Ryan shoved Greg out of the way, then proceeded to tap the display repeatedly.
"Wait!" Greg shouted as he grabbed Ryan by the shoulders, hauling him away from the printer.
But it was too late. The 3D printer had already started printing. "*Printing Commencing...*" a mechanical voice uttered.
Behind the glass box which encased the 3D printer, a mechanical arm began tracing lines through the air starting from the floor of the box. It drew human toes, legs, an abdomen, a torso with arms and eventually the head, until finally it produced a human.
Mary screamed as she watched in horror.
"Dear god," Greg whispered.
All the while, Ryan was tapping inputs on the display frantically. "Where the fuck is the *abort* option damnit!"
-----
/r/em_pathy
|
I had found a magical 3D printer this morning, sitting in my living room. I had spent the majority of my precious day off experimenting with it.
The problem, I reflected, as I stared at my philosopher's stone, is that the device broke reality, and so did its offshoots. At first, I had been thrilled to find that the printer would make anything.
I had slowly escalated. By now, though, I knew- it could make things that didn't, couldn't exist. I'd had it make as many things as I could, but eventually I realized there was nothing more I wanted. Shortly afterwards, my joy turned to fear.
After all, someone punching in something as simple as "the sun" could ruin the planet, and while I'd probably survive with all the assets I had printed, humanity wouldn't. I wouldn't mind living without them, but I'd rather not have to.
Briefly, I considered what else I could give to humanity, before punching in "contagious cancer cure". Once that was done, I tried to break it, and had no luck. Sledgehammer, lightsaber, and blowtorch all failed to scratch it. Clearly, physical destruction was impossible.
I punched in "way to destroy this machine", and an error popped up. "Destruction of device is not possible at this time" Seriously? It could make the physically impossible, but this gave it trouble? I punched in "way to stop the machine from working", and the error bubble. "Cessation of functionality is not possible at this time"
I swore, and spent the next five hours trying to figure out how to get rid of the thing, or limiting access to myself. Eventually, I stumbled upon something that worked, "Device to ensure that this machine will never be used in the future". Out popped a three-inch disk of what looked to be metal. I could have sworn I'd seen it somewhere.
I placed it on the printer, and the printer and metal disk vanished instantly.
Then I stubbed my toe. I peered down, and an exact copy of the disk lay on the floor in front of me. I frowned. Where had that come from? I had only made the one.
| 2018-03-29T21:42:52 | 2018-03-29T21:26:27 | 104 | 17 |
[WP] You saved the life of a supernatural creature, and they decided to repay the debt by protecting you from everything. Write how this arrangement makes your life hell.
|
"Shut it, Cerberus!" I shouted to the dog, who was still growling outside the bedroom door from all three throats. Luckily his training seemed to be working, because he hadn't just torn it down to get in.
"Damn, he really hates me," Derrick said with a laugh. "Why does he hate me so much?" This same situation played out every time Derrick came over.
"He doesn't," I reassured him with a kiss. "he's just... protective."
No, that's not true. Cerberus *really* hated Derrick. At first, I could barely have them in the same room together without the dog trying to rip out my new boyfriend's throat with one of his three mouths. Believe me: it is *not* easy for a 110-pound girl to restrain a giant 300-pound three-headed dog. And even when Derrick wasn't around, Cerberus would find something of his in the apartment, growl at it, and then eventually chew it to pieces. Those hoodies that I'd 'borrowed' from Derrick's place were history; hopefully he wouldn't ever want them back.
"You should just give him back to the pound," Derrick told me, leaning in for a kiss.
"What?" I swatted him away. "You can't just give up an animal like that! Cerb needs me!" Poor guy had been so traumatized by his first visit to the shelter that I couldn't even imagine bringing him back in there. A vicious three-headed beast was certainly not very appealing to most of the families looking to adopt, and I'd just barely saved him from being put to sleep. The minute I'd taken him out of this cage, I just felt this... I don't know. A *bond* with Cerberus. I couldn't do that to him.
Derrick rubbed my leg apologetically. "*I* need you too."
I rolled my eyes at the cheesy line, but that didn't stop me from sliding into Derrick's arms and putting on a movie that we didn't pay any attention to.
----
"Oh, fucking GREAT!" Derrick shouted from the hall. "Look what this fucking dog did!"
I hastily pulled on a robe and ran into the hall, where Cerberus was growling at Derrick from his doggy bed in the corner surrounded by the shredded remains of Derrick's backpack. And also the shredded remains of everything that had been in Derrick's backpack: textbooks, papers, notes, pens, an aluminum water bottle... you name it. Cerberus, with one mouth covered in yellow highlighter, looked quite pleased with himself.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Derrick shouted. I wasn't sure if he was addressing me or the dog. "Now I've got to try to pass off 'a dog ate my homework?' Really??"
"I'm sorry!" I told him. My eyes scanned the remains, looking for anything salvageable. But Cerberus was certainly thorough in his destruction.
Derrick thrust a finger into my face, causing Cerberus to rise from his bed and bristle with protective rage. "You need to make a choice. Me, or the mutant mutt, OK? I can't deal with this crap anymore." His other hand was clenched into a fist like he was going to punch Cerberus, which would have been a very bad choice. "Look, I've got to go. I've got a meeting." He stormed out of the apartment without bothering to collect what was left of his belongings.
"Bad dog, Cerberus!" I scolded him as I reached for the broom. Two of his three heads were panting with happy smiles. "Very, very bad dog! You know how much I like Derrick." Cerberus growled at the very mention of his name. He was quite an intelligent dog; so intelligent that I'm pretty sure he could understand me when I spoke. Even when I said things like "my boyfriend," he still recognized who I was talking about.
He got up from his bed and padded over to me. The two panting heads licked my hand and nuzzled me with their noses until I stopped sweeping... and then the third coughed up Derrick's cell phone. Well, at least he hadn't destroyed it. I picked it up off the floor and managed to wipe away most of the slobber, but Derrick would *not* be happy about this.
Cerberus gently took the phone out of my hands with his jaws and dropped it to the floor. Then he somehow *put in the swipe code* to open the phone, using just one of his wet noses! Even *I* didn't know the combination to Derrick's phone and we'd been dating for more than six months!
"Cerb, how..." My voice trailed off as Cerberus then (again using his nose) opened up an email account from a web browser that Derrick never used. An email account full of notifications from dating apps and full of messages scheduling meetups with other women. He whined softly and pushed the phone toward me.
"That... son of a bitch!" I cried out, reading through email after email. His 'meeting' this morning was actually coffee with some slut from Tinder! Derrick doesn't even drink coffee! Cerberus rested two of his heads in my lap as I slumped down on the floor, going through all of the incriminating evidence.
After what felt like an eternity, Cerberus suddenly jumped up. His fur bristled, and all three heads pointed to the door as a low, rumbling growl grew in his throat. And then there was a knock on the door.
"I forgot my..." Derrick's smile faded when he saw the phone in my hand. And he saw that it was unlocked. "Oh."
I threw it at him as hard as I could. Unfortunately my aim isn't very good, so it thudded into the door of the apartment across the hall. Cerberus, meanwhile, growled with two heads and looked back at me with the third. His eyes were clearly saying "lemme at 'im!" *Begging* to be allowed after Derrick, who was slowly backing down the hall. And I almost let him, except I knew that there would be bad consequences (and a big mess) if my dog tore my now ex-boyfriend to shreds.
The neighboring apartment door opened. "Everything OK here?" the man asked. I didn't know him very well, but I'm sure he was sick of hearing these arguments and I guess the phone to the door was the last straw.
Cerberus's demeanor changed instantly. He became an affectionate puppy and rushed across the hall to nuzzle the man and beg for pets. His tail was wagging so hard that it was starting to leave cracks in the plaster wall it thumped against.
"Yeah," I said as Derrick ran toward the exit. "Yeah, fine. Sorry for the disturbance." I'd never quite noticed how handsome my neighbor was.
|
"So you're an accountant, huh?" I said with a toothy grin as I started for my beer. The young woman whom I was speaking to giggled, "Yep, numbers are my thing yo!" Tying to pick up girls at the local tavern was a weekly routine at this point, but this time it seemed to be going surprisingly well. She was somewhat short, blonde haired and blue eyed, picture the poster aryan without the swastikas and you'd be pretty damn close. It was getting late, and I needed to close this somehow.
"Speaking of numbers then..." I smiled, thinking that was at last slightly situational. '*I'm not even sure why I'm trying,*' I thought to myself briefly, but she looked me up and down before retorting, "Oh you know what, my phone is dead. Do you have an iPhone charger at your place?"
I was a bit taken back, nervously stammering "Uh y-yeah I have one back home! Let's go," *places $20 on the counter* "Did you drive?"
When we got to the front door I stopped her and said quietly "Umm ok so here's the thing, when we get inside you need to be really quiet for like five minutes, and then we're good." I was starting to sweat, she really needed to be quiet. She looked at me and giggled a bit, than realized her noise and silenced herself.
"Don't worry, quiet as a cat!" She winked.
"I think you meant to say mouse." I teased, and she hit my arm. "Alright alright, I'm opening the door now so shh."
As the door opened and I walked in, I slowly started to sneak down to my basement. About halfway down the stairs, I heard the soft noise of keys and a purse hitting a counter. My heart stopped. "No..." I muttered, eyes wide in terror.
"Wowee, hello there!" I heard an overly goofy voice say before I felt a brief flash of heat wash over myself. I rushed up back to the living room and saw a shadow burned onto the wall, and a Unicorn with a shit eating grin with a red hot horn standing in the middle of the room.
"Good thing I was there to save ya buddy, I was scared for you for a minute there. See you next time friend!" The beast said as it kicked its front legs in the air and disappeared into a cloud of sparkles.
"No, no no no..." I kept muttering to myself, falling on the floor and staring at the shadow on the wall. I looked over at the sparkles on the floor and began to sob silently before taking her things and putting it in the furnace, just like all the others.
| 2016-01-08T05:30:01 | 2016-01-08T03:32:32 | 49 | 15 |
[WP] When you die, God let's you ask only one question.
Enjoy!
Edit: This is my first week writing and I'm glad to see so many people like this prompt. I'll try my best to read through all of your stories and any future ones!
Second edit: So far so good! Sorry if my comments sound the same. I have read through all of yours, and I tried to leave simple comments, as there were so many of you.
|
This place was real. I had spent my whole life denying that it could ever exist, that something like this could ever be real. It went completely against the laws of the universe...didn't it?
And yet here I was. Floating amongst the clouds, the massive pearly gates in the distance. I began to walk towards them. Or maybe glide...was I floating? Was I walking? I couldn't even tell. But I knew I was moving closer. Closer to these towering gates, and I began to make out shapes in their shadow. Human figures, crowded around, hunched over, looking urgent and desperate. This was the gate to heaven? The gate to heaven existed?
I drew slowly closer to the crowd, the edge of the swarming mass of desperate souls.
"Excuse me...how do we get in?"
"Get in? Get in where...where am I?" The voice was lost, confused. An old man, with a blank expression on his face. He was no help. Were we back on earth, the poor man would still have had no idea where he was.
"Sir...follow me," I said to him.
"F-follow you? Who are you? Where am I?"
"Just trust me."
I took the old man by the hand and began to draw him through the crowd. It was the strangest thing...the crowd, as thick as it was seemed to part without trouble. Strange, lost faces turned to see who was forcing their way past them, mumbles and murmurs followed us as I weaved us through the throng.
"What is this place? All these people? Where is Emma?" I heard the old man mumble behind me, with fear and sadness in his frail voice. Emma...his wife? His daughter? It made no matter. It was someone lost long ago. Maybe she was here in this crowd, maybe she had made it through those looming, ever closer gates many years past.
This place couldn't be real. This had to be a fever dream, an illusion. Any second I would snap back to life, to reality. I had spent my entire life denying this could ever be real. We were born, we lived, and we returned to the universe. Nothing more, nothing less. That wasn't a bad thing...if anything it was refreshing. Live a good life. Be good to others. Because in the end, all that is left of your time here is the mark you leave upon the world. And yet here I was. I could feel the old man's hand gripping upon my own. Feel the confusion, the fear of this crowd wondering if they had been pious, been worshipful enough to earn their place beyond these gates. If this was a dream, then my last line of reasoning was that it had to be the final dream of a dying mind. My last, subconscious inner workings before I fizzled out of existence.
And then there they were. We stood before the massive gates. They seemed as tall as any building, any skyscraper I had ever laid eyes on. And yet if you asked me to put a height to them I could give you no accurate answer. White...as pure and white as the driven snow. Shining in an otherworldly light. Before them, a man. A man in white matched only by the massive structure that stood behind him. Flowing, golden hair and an ancient, worn book in his hands. It couldn't be...this had to be a fever dream. Saint Peter?
As if to answer my unasked question..."Yes, child. Peter was my name. You never believed this possible."
It wasn't a question. He looked at me with a gaze that pierced through every thought, every emotion...every iteration of my soul that had ever existed.
"No." Was all I could reply.
"The almighty Father has but one ask. He cares not about your deeds upon the Earth, not about your time spent in worship. You are here, now. You have reached the gates of his palace. And now he asks but one thing. And that, my child is...what do you ask?"
I stood, puzzled. No judgement? No final "rapture?" What is my ask? That was it. He was asking me, to ask a question. I had no questions. Hell, my life was over. What did I have to look forward to? Should that be my question? That didn't seem right. Behind me, I felt the old man's hand quiver in my own. The old man. I'd almost forgotten. A man who had lived his life to a ripe old age, and when he found himself alone, lost before the massive gates to a foreign kingdom, he had but one question. One question. I turned to the man in glowing white.
"Where's Emma?"
Edit: First time I think I've posted a story here...any criticism more than welcome.
|
If I knew I only had one question to ask the big man, I probably would've asked something more important to me like: "Do I get to see the ones I love now?" Or perhaps something more profound: "Did all of our best scientists and brightest minds have it all wrong?" Hell, I could've at least tried to make God laugh and told some sort of joke. Alas, I wasn't watching my words so carefully. Once in front of Him, I cleared my throat and said, "God?"
| 2015-08-26T20:42:01 | 2015-08-26T20:37:53 | 28 | 19 |
[WP] you are kidnapped by a cult to be used as sacrifice. As you are are lying tied underneath the altar you hear one of the cultists say “Ho dark lord we present to you this person as an offering”. With nothing left to lose you yell “Ho dark lord I present to you this cultists as an offerings!”
|
The candles flickered, sending erratic light into the far corners of the room, making it seem like the devotees in the middle were surrounded by a host of shades. It felt like things were moving, sinister things, just outside your field of vision. Malakash didn’t pay them much heed. They were meant to feel like that, after all.
The temple of Zeshta was not meant to be a comfortable place, even for those who gave worship.
As they arranged the knives, he heard a sound, halfway between pain and confusion, come from the bound woman in the middle. She moved her head slightly, eyes blinking as she awoke and took in the situation around her. Comfort was definitely not in the cars for her; tonight, or any night following. Unless there was comfort in Zeshta’s halls of fire which, given the name and the nature of their god, Mal seriously doubted.
“The fuck?” she murmured.
The devotees ignored her. Aggressive bewilderment wasn’t a novel response. At this point, they’d seen them all. Anger, fear, pleading, confusion... Even a few people determined to deny what was actually happening to them while the knives were carving them up, and the force of Zeshta consumed them. That had been impressive.
“What the goddamn shit did I drink?”
That wasn’t.
Patyr looked at him, eventually, and nodded. The blades and candles were ready, the moon approaching its zenith. It was time.
Malakash cleared his throat. “Ho Dark Lord, we present to you this person as an offering!”
They fell into a respectful silence, musing on the god of chaos and death. Or they would have, had it not been broken. “Ho Dark Lord,” the woman said. “I present to you these... priests? I present these priests as an offering.” The room fell into silence *then*, albeit a shocked one. “Or do you prefer the term cultists?”
“Shut your mouth,” Patyr yelled, stepping forward and slapping her across the face.
She laughed. “My Mom hits harder than that.”
Petyr raised his hand again, but Mal stepped forward and stopped him. “Enough.”
“But the disrespect... I-”
“Enough, I said. Without the incantation,” he whispered, “her words aren’t even *heard*. Do not debase yourself.”
He sighed. “Okay. I guess it makes me feel glad we chose her over the baker.”
They resumed their positions, and Malakash looked to the sky. “Great Lord of death and despair,” he intoned.
“Great Lord of death and despair,” the captive said.
“What... What are you doing?” Mal said, whirling to look at her.
“Chanting? Intoning?” she said, cocking her head. “Summoning, maybe? This is *your* ritual, surely you’ve a better idea.”
“I mean... why are you... stop.”
“No.”
“What? You need to-”
“Why?”
“Zeshta will... he will *eviscerate* you for speaking those words. None but the faithful may-”
“Wait, sorry, is he not about to kill me anyway?” she looked up at her bonds, at the varied blades spread across the floor before her. “Cos it kinda seems like....”
“Well, no...” he lied.
“Really? Well never mind then. Carry on...” she whistled, looking around the temple. “Zeshta, eh? Fucking hell.”
Mal fought down his annoyance. He wished the incantation didn’t require live sacrifice or, at the very least, *conscious* sacrifice. He was a pious man though, so he forced himself on.
“On this night we give forth,”
“On this night we give forth,” she echoed.
He ignored her, completing the incantation even as she made a mockery of it beside him. She’d pay, in only moments.
A shadow appeared, a shape that was nothing more than a suggestion, the barest imprint of *something*, almost undetectable with human eyes. The force of its presence though, the sheer weight and power of it, was undeniable. If Mal hadn’t already been sinking to his knees in awe, he would have been forced down to them.
Beside him, he heard the woman’s ropes creak with the pressure as finally, she shut the hell up.
“*Who summons me?*” came a voice as soothing as a fork in the ear.
“The brotherhood do, my lord,” Mal said, eyes trained on the floor. From the periphery of his vision he could sense the thing, like an ink stain on his eyeball.
“*And who else*?”
There was dead silence. Mal’s heart almost stopped. *What*? This had never...
“Uh... Claire, sir. Lord. God?” the captive squeaked.
“*Who offers what*?”
“I... What... Well...” Malakash fought for control. This was not going the way he had planned. He hadn’t known this was possible. Still, he hadn’t become head priest from lack of effort, knowledge, or courage. He knew his stuff. “We have this heathen. A woman, no stranger to depravity, more familiar with the streets than the farm. She has been taken from her friends, her family, who have no idea where she went. Her absence will cause pain. Her presence here? More pain, and death. Her soul, to you. Our offering.”
“*And you*?”
The woman was looking at Mal, her expression unreadable. “Okay, well most of that is true, I guess? My friends will miss me, and I’m not a fucking farmer, whatever *that’s* supposed to prove. I’m prepared to offer...” she glanced around the temple. “Twelve, sorry, thirteen priests?” There was a long, dire silence after that. “I’m assuming they’re shit, but even assholes have people who miss them. Besides, you seem like a hungry God. Where I come from, thirteen beats one any day.”
Mal smirked. The impudence. The only thing she would achieve her is longer torment in the-
“*She has a point*.”
\*
It was quick. Claire didn’t even really see what happened it was over so fast. One minute the bastards were there, stupid robes and old faces, the next minute they were gone. There was a half second of an agonised squeal, and then nothing.
The ropes dissolved from around her arms and they fell slack, useless, beside her. Pins and needles started to spread through them, rapidly. She knew it’d get pretty painful pretty soon, but she also knew it could have been worse. A lot worse.
She’d gotten away with some ridiculous shit in her life, but this... This was taking the fucking biscuit. No one would believe her. She wasn’t even sure *she* would, once she sobered up.
Suddenly that shadow, that half-seen thing was before her, so close she could almost breathe it in. Yet, still, she could barely make it out.
“*Next time I’ll take fourteen*.”
Then the thing was gone.
The smile dropped from Claire’s face. “Aw shit.”
|
It was a desperate gambit, I knew that. But the thought of these pompous, cloaked cowards gutting me then turning their murderous glee on my family snapped something inside me. I knew these gibbering idiots with their geometric sigils and esoteric knowledge spewing rudimentary Latin had convinced themselves, at least on a certain level, of the lies they spread around our town. So, the moment before the ritual reached its crescendo, when the portly priest would have dropped the sacrificial blade at the base of my sternum, I offered my counter proposal to their “dark lord”. And, I did it, in much better Latin than they. I even dropped my voice low and gravelly to give it a bit of flare.
See, since they tied me to the stone altar, I could feel the rope around my right hand loosen. It must have been that spindly kid with shifting eyes who tied it. God bless the ego of teenagers and the folly of those who trust them.
The priest’s eyes widened when I yelled and I could see him wonder if in fact the dark forces they played with could be turned against them. I took that moment to slip my hand from the rope, reach for and seize the second blade he kept in his belt. His eyes widened further as I gouged his belly. The knife must have been dull because when I dragged the blade down the flesh tore more than it sliced, and I felt the warm spray of red cover my naked chest.
He fell backward, bouncing down the steps leading to the sacrificial place and screaming the whole way. The second cloaked figure dashed up the steps, but slipped on the bloodied rock and cracked his skull wide open on the pedestal where I was quickly sawing through the other ropes that held me.
The other cultists started to move about frantically, but I was calm and measured in all I did. Another one ran up, but I dropped my whole body weight on him and drove the knife through the flesh near the collar bone. He fell backwards. I stabbed three times in quick succession as he slid, with me on top, down towards the ground.
Only two remained. One of them, presumably coming to his senses, turned and fled. The other, the little spindly one, halfheartedly waved his knife at my husband and children. I stepped confidently in his direction, covered in blood and viscera, and I watched the smug assurance drain from his face. He began to back up, about to bolt, but in his panic he tripped over a brazier and those beloved, heavy robes of his erupted with flame. He struggled wildly to stand up but soon his screams were muted and all that remained was the roar of flames and the crackling of his flesh. I stood above him, the blood on my body glistening in the flame of his death, naked and reborn in dark and murderous power. I turned slowly to my family. They cowered.
Edit: spelling
| 2020-05-05T12:27:02 | 2020-05-05T12:24:27 | 189 | 117 |
[WP] For most of college everyone thought you were deaf when in reality you just don't like talking and learned sign language at a young age. You never corrected anyone until someone confessed their love for you, thinking you couldn't hear them.
|
It had been an accident. Honestly. First semester here, I had just been zoned out in class, hardly paying enough attention to know when to turn the page. Apparently, the teacher had called on me half a dozen times before the girl sitting next to me finally tapped my shoulder. I just kind of, started signing. The professor asked if anyone knew sign language, and Jake raised his hand with the most annoying smirk on his face.
We learned together, you see. When we were kids our friend had some kind of defect. He could speak, it just didn't sound normal. In kindergarten he got bullied for it, and we all learned together so he could just do that. He moved away a few years later, but me and Jake just kept using it cause no one else knew what we were saying.
Look, I panicked ok? I signed and Jake told the class I could read lips pretty good (True.) Also said he'd tell me when I missed things (I did the same for him.) I was gonna just keep up the lie for that class, maybe use it to get out of the big presentation the teacher said was worth half our grade. Except that girl, Cynthia apparently, was learning sign language and wanted to hang out so she could practice. Sure, I mean, I could tell her later. Jake sent me a message and bet I couldn't trick her for a month.
Turns out, I could keep it up for a lot longer than that. And that after a month its really awkward to tell someone you can actually hear. I crushed the paper I did instead of a presentation though. I was always better at writing than talking.
After that, Cynthia just kinda joined our little group. And that meant I had to keep up the game almost all the time. Jake thought it was hilarious. Me, not so much. Eh, not like I talked much anyway.
\_\_\_
'I'm going to the bathroom real quick.' Jake signed. Cynthia and I just waved him off. We were all at my place, watching a movie. Me and Cynthia just sat there for a minute, watching. Then, she started talking.
"Ugh, come on Cynthia! Just spit it out already! Its one sign! That's it!" Huh? What was she talking about? The couch we were sitting on was at an angle, so she was half behind me. I couldn't even ask what was going on!
"Its just- ugh. Why is it so hard? I- I'm just gonna talk ok? I know you can't hear me, but I just, I just need to get it out. Maybe that'll make it easier to say." Should I lean back? Stretch? Do something to stop her? Would it be better to just let her say whatever it is?
"You know that present I gave you a couple weeks ago? The little sculpture thing I made for class?" How could I not? I'd cleared a spot on my dresser for it that day.
"I actually made it back in February. I um, I've been trying to give it to you since. You see, um, well, for valentines out teacher said if we could each make something for someone." Wh-what was she saying? I really should stop her- She wasn't really talking to me! But, but I couldn't make myself-
"I, um, I" She took a deep breath, "Ilikeyou! A lot!"
She... she... Cynthia... She...
She liked... me?
Before Cynthia could say anything else to completely break my brain, a loud laugh came from behind her.
"J-Jake?! You heard that?!"
"Just the last bit. I don't think that's your biggest problem here though."
"What do you mean?"
"You're not the only one who's been trying to spill the beans on something. I think now's a good time, isn't it?"
I took a breath. Well... I couldn't exactly pretend anymore could I? "H-hey, Cynthia." I could hear her turn around to face me again.
"Huh? Wh- what's going on?"
"Um, well, y-you see" I cleared my throat, and finally forced myself to turn around. Cynthia looked like she was piecing it together. "I can, well I-"
"You can hear."
"Yea..."
"Then you just-" I nodded, and it looked like she wanted to pale and blush at the same time. "Why? Why did you lie?"
"Technically we never did."
"Jake, shut up or I'll cut off your tongue and make you eat it!" Cynthia and I said at the same time.
"Great, now I've got to hear that in stereo." Jake said, earning two glares.
"I, I," I couldn't figure out how to say it. My hands went up to try and sign it- sign language was a easier-
"You can talk. Use your words."
I let out a breath, and tried again, "I didn't mean to. I wanted to tell you I just... I couldn't get the words out."
"I planned out my schedule so I could help you in some of your classes."
"I told you not to! I didn't want to do that, but you're just so nice I couldn't get you to stop!" I groaned. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you for so long. I just, I'm not good with talking. Never was. Look, Jake, hand me my laptop."
I pulled up a file I'd been working on for months. I'd teetered back and forth on sending it almost every day. "I just sent you my whole confession. You can look at it if you want, I just. I'm sorry."
Cynthia shook her head and got up, grabbing her bag. She walked out without another word. Neither Jake or me said a word. The movie must have ended, because the TV had shut itself off at some point.
It was so quiet I may as well have been deaf.
"I'm sorry."
"Its my fault. I should've told her." I sunk down onto the couch.
"Hey, if there's anything you need-"
"I just need to be alone right now." Jake nodded, and left without another word.
\_\_\_
I must have fallen asleep. I don't know how, but I did. My phone was vibrating, tapping against the glass next to it just often enough to be annoying. "Ugh, who is it?" I muttered, blindly fumbling for it.
Cynthia.
I was wide awake now. I punched in my code, half expecting a mile long rant about how awful I was. Instead, it fit on one line.
**You shared the whole folder idiot.**
The what- I grabbed my computer and glanced. There were only two files in there. The one admitting I wasn't deaf. And one saying I liked her.
Oops...
I got another message.
**You're taking me out on Saturday to make up for this. Pick me up at 6.**
|
What do I say?
Do I say anything?
I just finished my powerpoint presentation, in lieu of a speech, a request that was granted by my public speaking professor. My topic was surrealism and after closing with a slide featuring Salvador Dali's "The Persistence of Time", the bell rang and it was time to head across campus for Logic 101. I garnered the obligatory applause from the class, grabbed my backpack, and started to head to the hallway when I heard a whispered voice in my right ear.
"I love you Darren."
It was the brown haired Zooey Deschanel look-alike that I've been crushing on since the first day of the semester.
She knew I was "deaf" right?
My strategy had worked like a charm ever since middle school. I remember this bigger kid bullying me at lunch about my Cure t-shirt. My response came out of nowhere. I pretended I couldn't hear him, and it worked. He made a fool of himself making fun of a deaf kid. A deaf kid with excellent musical taste.
I've been bulletproof ever since. Words can't hurt if you can't hear them, right? I went on to befriend the two deaf kids at my small town school. We would have long conversations about comic books, classic movies, and video games, all in beautifully clear and silent sign language. Instead of playing the high school popularity game, I didn't play at all. I was exempt from the banal cliches of homecoming blah blah... basically I avoided the bullshit that doesn't matter and never mattered.
The unfortunate part was that dating was off the table. Not many deaf girls in Newton, Ks. I never knew how to talk to girls anyway so now i manufactured the perfect excuse. I'm probably still too young to fully realize this but your lies always catch up to you. At some point you have to face your frauds. Is this one of those "coming of age" moments where I finally become who I really am?
I hesitated, not knowing how/if I should respond. If I speak, then I blow my cover forever. I lose my protective barrier between my quirky weird silent self and the rest of well-adjusted humanity. If I remain deaf and mute, I perpetuate what I've sensed for a long time as an unhealthy crutch that I've been using as an easy way out of living a full life.
It's becoming clear to me that I'm at a fork in the road. I must decide now. My mind flashes between me and my future grandkids playing in the park, and me as a middle-aged man working at a warehouse where I still don't speak. I'd forgotten how.
Right then I realized there was only one way to go.
"My hearing is actually pretty good in my right ear you know..."
| 2020-12-01T18:23:03 | 2020-12-01T17:46:27 | 61 | 13 |
[WP] Zombies are considered terrible pests in the undead world. They kill, eat, and turn humans indiscriminately with no care to conserving population growth or long term population health. It's gotten so bad the vampires now run human conservation programs.
|
"Look at them down there Diego..... Mindless drones just looking for one thing. Food. They know better but their hungers have become more and more ravenous the more people they infect."
Diago and Leonel stood on the city walls looking down at the hoard of zombies that had gathered. They were dressed in old world Victorian style but wore chest and neck plate mail. Each one had a Katana to deal with the hoard if things got ugly. He looked to the left and right of him and Diego and nodded to the other sets of vampires that were also on the walls, all ready to go to defend the humans that lived safely within the walls.
One Zombie a speaker as they were called stepped forth, they were the voices of the hoards.
"We can smell them." The speakers voice was raspy and shredded sounding, like a few days worth of screaming at a concert. "We have come to negotiate." The speaker finally looked up at them, his eye sockets hollow. The corner of his mouth was torn open towards his jaw exposing blackened teeth. His clothes were tattered, bloodied and had holes in places where it was obvious he has had chunks removed from his flesh.
"You know there is no negotiation now. The humans are in our care and there is an open contract on all of your heads. We can wipe out your entire hoard and the higher powers will look the other way because they need the humans as much as we do."
"SEE!!! THEY USE THE HUMANS AS FOOD AS WELL. THEY STARVE US WHILE THEY FEAST!!" The Speakers voice rose to a roar and the rest of the zombies murmured or roared in response.
"There is a difference Zombie. We only take what we need and do not infect our...... donors. Nor do we or the other beasts that feed on humans harm the flesh the way that you do. The fear laced flesh that you taste doesn't compare to the vintage sweetness of a buxom mature woman's vein. Just think you will never know pleasure again. Your bodies are decaying husks drivin by the need for fuel that you only absorb once eaten, your digestive tracts also shriveled and useless. Come forward now and let me end your miserable existence. You know this is no way for ex humans to exist. You all deserved better than this." Leonel's voice flowed like honey over the hoard and he extended his hand out towards the crowd palm up, beckoning them to come to him. Some of the zombies began to lumber forward Their hands stretched forward reaching for him grumbling groaning.
The speaker watched as they made it to the wall, only to be killed quickly and efficiently by the well trained assassin vampire squad. These were the teams that trained for years together, they were paired on the day of their turning and blood bonded to each other. Only their blood mates once chosen could break the blood bond between two assasins.
"Clever trick. But. We have the numbers now." The speaker roared and five other speakers hidden in the hoard did as well. The once empty hills and valleys rumbled with footsteps and more and more Zombies flooded towards the front line of the zombie forces. "There are more and more of us. Either you give us our demands or we will wipe out everything inside the gates including every vampire we come across."
"What are your demands??" Diego had to at least make the offer..... even though everyone involved knew that this was just a formality.
"It's easy. You drain ten humans a day until they are completely dead. They can't be infected once they are dead. We all feed and problem solved."
The vampires lining the walls began to laugh like he had lost his mind.
"You must have maggots eating your brain to even beleive this would work. We will now just have to kill the entire hoard."
The hoard pushed forward and slammed against the gate to the village. The doors flexing from the weight of the bodies pushing. A warning bell sounded from inside the village.
"Surround the village don't let them escape!!" The first speaker bellowed and the other speakers bellowed the command as well.
"Protect the village!!" The vampires swung into action moving so quickly they seemed to disappear and reappear with every kill. The zombies trying to defend but coming up empty handed each time....... more and more zombies falling to their blades.
The unmistakable sound of the metal and wooden gates shifting and finally breaking had all of the vampires quickly returning to the top of the walls. Watching in horror as the village quickly filled with zombies. Every single flesh starved zombie flooded through the gates driven by the smell of flesh. Even the "reserve" zombies flocked from the hill tops and inside the gates. Secondary steel gates slammed shut on four Zombies. Killing them instantly.
"The village is empty." A female speaker screamed out.
The vampires jumped down off the walls and ran as far and as fast as the could only five of them carrying humans that they had used as scent bait. The speakers screaming out their anger as explosions ripped through the village they were trapped in. They would go back tomorrow and make sure that all of the zombies that were there were wiped out. The vampires had warned them. The humans needed to survive.
As always I apologize for my grammar, or lack thereof. Misspelled words and everything else. But, I hope you enjoyed the story anyways.
|
(phone rings)
George Romero: Hello Romero's zombie control.
Yes yes, how many, where, alright we will be there in 15 mins. Thank you for-
( phone cuts)
George: Junior get up we got a code RE1
Ash: I aint going to no police station
George: It's a mansion infestion dumb ass now get Leon
Ash: Boss why Beiber this sounds more like a Chris problem.
George: Chris is dealing with an RE7 he wont be around for a while.
And please leave your Dads chainsaw or the extra damages are coming from your pay.
Ash: Im taking the boomstick.
George: Take that of that fucking Belmont cap!! Dont piss of the vamps.
Ash: Beiber lets go.
Leon: (sighs) The baby-sitting never ends.
Ash: better this then staying on a blood farm feeding vamps.
| 2022-05-15T13:01:48 | 2022-05-15T10:49:43 | 33 | 20 |
[WP] Earth has a god like other inhabited planets but unlike others our god is lazy and rarely shows up. But this gave us the advantage of self-reliance. When alien invaders came knocking it was very evident how significant that advantage was.
|
‘’What do you mean the orphans of Licheol 6 have taken another ship?! Elaborate!’’
The panicked being scrambled at their wrist before activating a huge monitor at the back of a darkened room. A man in tattered robes sits strapped to a chair bloodied but not broken, a pearly smile emerges from his dirtied face before he speaks, looking knowingly at the camera.
*You found us alone fending for ourselves, saw us as godless children abandoned to our struggle...but that struggle made us strong. Where the invader gods were generous with boons and favour; laced with gold and light…Of course it gave you strength! But it is brittle and behind that light you have remained unchallenged by life, you are soft!*
*He, her, they, whatever! IT had forsaken us to the mud where we played with rock, bone and fire. We turned on each other over the centuries, sibling rivalries left unchecked and each bout making us sharper and shrewder. Though left unguided in the universe we did not feel alone or empty on our rock, our home; for within our tribe we had each other and now as we stand at the precipice of our greatest conflict it is you invaders that have made your gravest mistake; You have united us.*
The man bows his head and chuckles before breaking into a coughing fit, spatters of crimson and brown splash across the floor, even at deaths door defiance hangs on his every word.
*We have taken your ships and weapons, pray we do not feel to take our vengeance across the stars and bring war to your home, to your god. You spouted they are forgiving, we are not.*
Silence fell over the room as lights above power on, the beings now illuminated looked vaguely human, their skin is pallid, almost translucent. Sharp features jutted from the pronounced chins, pointed ears and high cheek bones. Even amongst the stupor of ill omen and defeat they spoke and moved with grace. Hurried looks start to be exchanged before turning to the opposite end of the room, where one decorated in plated armor of white and gold, gripping a staff tipped with blades of light is lurking in deep contemplation. The being slowly paced a circle, before realizing the whole room was staring at them. They made a hesitant croak before scanning the room, ready to address the assembled members.
‘’Atul taught us that our light was one of salvation, of love. We have conquered countless systems in His name, welcomed the lesser races into our fold, such that the pantheon of the Ethelians is so vast we encompassed of all creation and yet...’’ . They turn to the monitor, prompting the rest of the room to do so, carefully weighing their words before continuing.
‘’Yet these Dramalee, these *Humans*, show such defiance. Godless! The-, they are a *wound* on the cosmos, they fire long dead metal, poison and fire! They stand before the light of our Lord and yet we have been bloodied. Even now they have violated our Lords gifts, using their perverse science and alchemy, they have fashioned our ships and weapons to meet their own ends…Atul forgive us for what we have unleashed upon the universe...I have failed as your Emissary’’.
The Emissary let their head hang in repentance before another member of the crowd; younger, adorning simple white robes placed a hand on the their shoulder.
‘’Father we must take decisive action now, for although the Dramalee have taken our wings and claws, they do not know how to fly the currents of the cosmos, should we leave now we can make a retreat and prepare for this promised retribution. It may never come, without the light of guidance this possibility is high...’’ He turns to the rest of the room looking for agreement, many nod and draw closer.
The Emissary stands taller, drawing a deep breath as he continues his address.
‘’You speak the truth, young one. Let us not falter in our time of weakness, but show resolve. Let us match the faith that Atul has in us and we in him.’’ He turns to a console nearer the monitor bringing up another Ethelian, sporting the same armor and weapon.
‘’The council has decided that we leave now and that the events that transpired here remain sealed. May Atul rest the lost souls on this god forsaken rock...I pledge as Emissary of the 47th fleet in our Lords army we shall exact his divine judgement upon these primitives, though today is not that day. Make the jump to hyperspace before they have a chance to react any further’’ He turns to rest of the room, many wide eyed in disbelief.
‘’As mentioned the events that transpired here remain sealed, this our burden to bear, it will be our shame until the day we finish what we started. Here I urge you to make this pledge of secrecy in the presence of our Lord.’’ The room chant collectively before scattering, preparing for the long ride home.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
*I had done more but I got hungry and distracted, punctuation is probably all over the gaff. apologies!*
|
“How are they so strong?”
This is a question by the alien invaders. Everytime we get attacked by aliens, we fight back hard, harder than the aliens. They flee every time, asking the same question.
Like all the planets in the Galactic Federation, our planet has on Overseer. But unlike the other planets, our Overseer never shows up frequently. We know that since they rarely appear, it’s up to us to protect ourselves.
Time passed, and we are able to develop powerful technology twice the rate than other planets. They need 10 years to develop FTL travel? 5 years, without even relying too much on technology. Electricity? We have developed powers to provide it.
Guess having a lazy Overseer isn’t a bad thing after all.
| 2021-04-12T06:39:07 | 2021-04-12T02:29:37 | 34 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone who dies is granted levels in heaven depending on their actions before they died. Your famous grandmother got level 64 after she died and has since been constantly reminding her friends about how useless of a grandchild you are. Then one day, after 80 years, you show up, level 3008.
|
When I arrived I was rather disappointed. I expected gleaming gold gates, soft harmonic harps playing, the whole welcome to heaven experience. Instead I found myself in a clean white room standing in front of a bored looking teenage kid. I also seemed to be far younger than my 80 years. I feel 25.
A plain sort of attractive he looked like a handsome preset to a video game character. Ginger hair pulled back into a colonial style ponytail, green eyes and clean shaven. No majestic angel wings though, not even a feather.
"Only the older generation angels have wings." He says evenly as if he heard my thoughts. "Something about tradition they say, most of us modern angels forgo the wings as much as possible. I've had to help my grandfather fit through enough doorways I'd honestly rather have a tail."
"I suppose an extra limb has its advantages" I reply with a polite smile.
"Right!? Lucky demons can type and eat at the same time! Though they still can't type to save their immortality" he adds under his breath. As we exchanged the last few words he was skimming over something on a smart phone. He scrolls down for a second or two then nods slightly and pockets the device.
"Well Sir, it would seem you are a VIP resident!, if you join me in the elevator I will show you to the upper heavens" he turns on the spot and gestures to a open door that wasn't there moment before.
Glass elevator so clean I can see my reflection in its flawless glass. Behind that I see nothing but blue skies and gold fringed clouds. I don't move though as I am processing his words.
Once again he replies without my saying anything. His smile is a mixture of patience, annoyance, and understanding that I'd guess only an angel could manage.
"It's not a mistake, Cameron. You deserve your placement rest assured. Now we have a tight schedule and I had my time management powers revoked so we really must go." He gestures with one hand to the elevator. "I will explain on our way up."
No less confused but worried about inconveniencing him I walked through the glowing doorway. Once inside confusion gave way to pure childish awe. The sky looked like surreal art. Blue skies with swirling clouds of white. Each colored between shades of gold, pink, red, and purple. Like a sunset with several suns setting in
every direction. Below was beautiful ivory architecture inlaid with warm gold. Barely visible is people walking around the cloud city.
" this is only the lowest level" the angel stands beside me, calmly assessing my
wonder.
"Why arn't I going there?" My confusion and amazement combine to make me capable of short simple sentences.
"During life you gain points for good and kind deeds you do. You also gain a separate amount of points for bad and cruel actions. Your heavenly points work like experience points. You are level 3008."
"Wow!" I mutter. It sounded a lot like something Owen Wilson would say and I almost chuckle at myself. " Out of curiosity how many bad points do I have?"
"Your Hellish level is minimal not to worry, otherwise you'd be heading the other direction" he waves a hand as if waving away the word Hellish.
"Okay, well that's a relief!" I sigh. We've been rising steadily for a while now but all I see is white clouds as if there no is breaching the surface. "My Grandmother's level must be really high! Knowing Gran she prolly runs the top"
"Mary?" He asks with a slight frown.
"Yea, I mean she was a great person! She always felt I was a bit of a let down but she was good and honest. A strong tough woman"
"Oh no" he shakes his head gently. "Mary only made it to level 64, she lives in the lower mid tier floors.
I stare at him for a moment expecting him to correct himself. He doesn't. Just pulls out his phone to check the time.
"Gran found the cure for HIV. She sold it for almost no profit and what she did profit she donated!" I start to worry about the point system and feel like I cheated somehow. "She hosted charities, she won humanitarian awards!"
He looks over at me and just looks calmly into my eyes. Gently he puts a hand on my shoulder.
"You underestimate yourself." His voice is kind. "Your grandmother was indeed a good person. She was also proud. She paid little attention to anything other than her work."
"Then how did I get to such a high level?! There must be a mistake."
He takes a deep breath and drops his hand from my shoulder. Turning to face me he leans on the glass as white fluff flies by behind him.
"Cameron, you had a rough childhood. Not the worst by any standards but many simular lives went to the basement." He smiles despite sadness in his emerald eyes. "The difference between you and them is you tried to make the world good even if it wasn't good to you. You see the point system is complex. One feature is that your points are connected to every person you ever interact with. If your choices directly affect the choices of others then thier points act as multipliers to your own.Every single day you made the world better. You smiled at strangers and wished them a good morning. You gave money to beggars whether you trusted them or not. You opened doors for people. Complimented everyone you could. Listened to those in need. You did the kindest thing you could at every moment in your life."
"Why should being a decent person make me any better than anyone else?" I ask bewildered.
"Because every time you did those things it caused others to do the same. You made horrible days bearable. You inspired the world Cameron. Each time you did good for those people they did good for another. Your simple so called decency touched people you never met. People who were born after you. Your kindness will reach people for years to come. You've saved lives. Saved relationships. A few of the people I've placed only made it up here because you reminded them how to get here." He smiles broad and proud more and more with each word. As if he praises his child to his friends.
I stand thinking for a moment trying to remember something that could have brought me to this moment. I can't. Everything he says was just normal for me. How I thought things should be. How I wished I was treated when things were hard. I feel tears in my eyes. I sit down and stare into the clouds as tears slide down my face. One drips off my chin as we finally breach the top of the white. A sky even more beautiful than the last greets me as the angel pats my back gently.
"You did good kid. Believe it"
|
In life, you can gain points, for every 7 points you gained a level, which was shown upon an afterlife scoreboard that was hard to miss. In life certain actions gives you points that will, in the afterlife, give you a level, how the system works seems somewhat random. But it seems to be based on merits you have gained in life.
My Grandmother was a famous model in her youth, and fought for equity for everyone in this nation she was proud to be born in, she died poor, but loved. Having spent all her fortune on trying to solve the problem, the day after she died, every newspaper, both printed and online, every news source how amazing she was in life, she had beaten out several people who changed the nation for the better, and was in the top 10 000, something few managed to do, while for others she was a symbol of equity, to me she was a symbol of stress.
"When will you go back to school?", "Are you looking for a job?", "Why do you not have a girlfriend yet, when I was your age I had 2 children!" and so on, while I was sad to see her die, I was also kinda happy.
I never did go back to school, I spent my time at home, mining various types of crypto currencies, changing them from on to the other, I was never really rich, but I had a nice computer, I had company on Discords, and i found entertainment in my games, tv-series and such.
This made it all the more odd that I died at the ripe age of 108, childless, but content with my life, I did watch the 1000 movies to watch before you die, I did empty my anime backlog, and i did put in at least 10 hours of playtime in every steam game I owned.
Dying was weird, and going to the afterlife was weirder, in front of me was my personal scoreboard, you look down
| Actions | Points |
|:-----------|------------:|
| Watch Every movie you wanted to see | 250|
| Watch Every anime you wanted to see | 250|
| Watch Every tv-series you wanted to see | 250|
| Player Every game in your steam library | 1000|
| Die with no regret | 150|
| Die happy | 100|
| Helping that old lady over the street | 1|
| Beating Dark Souls | 180|
| Dying | 5|
| Reddit Karma | 18875|
| 2018-04-14T17:43:46 | 2018-04-14T14:57:18 | 1,255 | 382 |
[WP] You saved the princess. While travelling back to the kingdom, she starts to open up to you, and you start to realize you're taking her from one cage to another.
|
“Do not be afraid, your highness,” the knight said. The beast lay dead under his feet. It had been a tough battle, but one that was worth the danger. The young woman huddled in front of him looked miserable. “You are safe now.”
“Safe,” the princess sighed. “I’ve always been safe.”
Her eyes were half-closed, whether from sleep or exhaustion he couldn’t tell. Her hair, in hundreds of tiny golden braids, was tied in a knot atop her head. Her dress was in tatters, exposing her grimy skin.
“Your father is eager to see you again,” the knight said.
The girl laughed. “I am certain that he is. I suppose you have a trusty steed to take me back home?”
The knight paused. “I do.”
“They never bring a separate horse for me,” the princess sighed. “You would think that for the gold they receive, they would spare some coin for a princess’s comfort.”
“I apologize, your highness. I should have thought of it,” the knight said.
“I can understand that other things must have been on your mind,” the princess said. She stood, unsteady on her feet. Her dress hung off of her, a faded, dusty pink. “Let us go. My father is not a patient man.”
The knight would think that any father would be grateful to have his daughter return to him, healthy and whole. The princess walked past him, to the outside.
“The sun is beautiful, is she not?” the princess asked, squinting against the sunlight.
He had never thought of the sun being a woman. He walked behind her, through the ruins of the abandoned castle and down the hill to where his horse was tied to a tree.
“Did you have to tie him up?” the princess asked. “Surely, if you were a good master, he would wait for you.”
“I cannot trust him enough for that,” he told her, undoing the rope around Mallion’s neck.
“Why is it that men trust nothing?” the princess asked. The knight moved forward to help her onto the horse, but she mounted even before he offered her his hand.
She moved backwards to give him space on the saddle, and the knight sat.
“I forgot to ask you your name,” she said, placing two hands onto his shoulders. “I don’t think it matters, but I must call you something. It seems that this place is far from home, and we will have to journey together.”
“Varjay, your highness,” the knight said.
“Saro,” she said.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, your highness,” Varjay said. “It will take us two days to get you home.”
“Will it?” she asked. “Could we go slower?”
The king had been frantic to have the princess back. Varjay’s purse would be many times heavier after he delivered her to her father.
“How long did you spend captured?” Varjay asked.
“A few months,” she said. He felt the princess shudder behind him. “He treated me like a pet. One he did not know how to care for.”
Varjay looked over his shoulder and spotted her bony wrists.
“Pigeon meat kept me alive, at least,” the princess said. “It was better the last time. I was at least able to fish.”
“The last time?”
“This is my life, sir,” Saro said. “From one captor to the next, I go through life. I’m always safe, though. They only want to possess me, nothing more. So you see, sir… I have always been safe. More so than I wanted to be.”
“You will be happy to be reunited with you family, though?”
“My family? My father is no different from that giant we left behind. He only seeks to keep me by his side until a prince arrives and offers a bride price he can add to his treasury.”
He did not find the princess to be very beautiful, to be taken and rescued so often. She was a pretty girl, but no prettier than some of the women he had seen on his travels or other princesses.
“When I was born, a fairy gave me a gift, sir,” Saro said. “She gave me the gift of luck, and it became a curse around my neck. She said that whomever I favored would be blessed with good fortune.”
“Are you hungry?” Varjay asked. He did not like her story. It reminded him too much of his own past, the one he had spent years fleeing from.
“No. I had a pigeon this morning,” she said.
“I am,” Varjay said. He stopped in a field, underneath a birch tree, and retrieved some food and wine from his satchel.
“Do you want to know how she blessed me?” Saro asked.
“It seems you have decided to tell me,” Varjay said.
Saro smiled for the first time since they met. “My apologies. Living with a giant leaves little space for conversation. You are facing the effect of months of silence.”
Varjay took a bite out of his dried meat and motioned for her to speak.
Saro smiled. “My nursemaid told me that she said, ‘whoever this child favors shall be blessed with good fortune’. For the first few years, I favored my parents, as all children do, and our kingdom grew rich. When news of my gift spread, people only knew that I brought luck. That was when the abductions started.”
“Surely you could have told them that good luck only comes to those that you favor?”
“They treated me kindly when I did, but I cannot force my emotions. It did not matter that they fed me well or gave me gifts. They were still my abductors, my captors, and I could not favor them. My parents sent someone to rescue me, each time. Each time, those people who abducted me, so desperate for good fortune, found their way to death’s door instead.”
Varjay paused his eating and stared at her. Saro chuckled.
“Are you wondering whether or not you’re lucky right now?” she asked.
“I’m wondering if you still favor your parents,” he said.
Saro wrapped her arms around her knees. “I don’t know. Somewhere during my childhood, they stopped seeing me as a daughter, and more as an asset to be protected.”
“You must hate that bloody fairy,” Varjay stated.
“Sometimes,” Saro agreed. “But then I see how far the fortune has spread. If I was a farmer’s daughter, I would have only blessed a farm or a town. But a kingdom lived well because of her gift. We never had droughts or famine. There was never a plague or pestilence upon the crops. I favor my family because it seems natural to do so. One cannot help but love their family. I favor my kingdom, because it is my home.”
Varjay leaned back against the trunk of the tree.
“I am certain you could favor them from afar,” he said. “The kingdom was doing well even while you were abducted.”
“My father is not willing to take such a risk,” Saro said.
“It does not matter what he is willing to do right now,” Varjay said. “If you want freedom, I could tell him that I failed. Or I could not return at all and have him assumed that I was killed by the giant.”
“He must have offered you a heavy sum for my return.”
Varjay laughed. “I will live without your father’s reward. Favor me a little if you can. Good fortune could bring far more wealth my way than a one-time payment from a king.”
He rose. “Please think about my suggestion, your highness.”
He helped her onto the horse before setting off to the nearest town. There was an inn there, and people who snuck sidelong glances at the princess.
In the morning she woke, her dress marginally cleaner, her face much more so. She stood outside the inn to where Mallion was tied and looked at the mare by Mallion’s side.
“This is Flora,” Varjay said. “You can treat her well and trust her and never tie her up. I’ve put some food and some money into the satchel on her side.”
“Thank you,” Saro said. “I don’t know how to repay you.”
“Just remember the favor, Lady Luck.”
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/xeuthis
|
May was the first female knight in the kingdom, and damn proud of it. She'd retrieved treasure, dispatched of bandits, hunted beasts... but she'd never had a mission go anything but flawlessly.
And that was seemingly the case here. The green fire-breather's head bumped against her trusty horse's flank, safely ensconced in a burlap sack.
"So, yeah. That's the rundown. Dad wants to marry me off to some distant king twice my age, whom I'm not even attracted to, Mum seems to think that anything even a toe outside is 'too masculine' and my brothers mock me for my lack of agency. Everyone asks them what they think, but I'm just some prop."
May stopped on the dust trail, veering into the forest. She dismounted in a sunny glade, offering a hand to the princess in the tattered emerald dress. Ivory met ebony. Ignoring the blush creeping up her pale skin, May took out a hemp rope from Acorn's saddlebag, and hitched him to a nearby tree. From the same saddlebag, she took out rations and a waterskin - some plain but delicious bread, a few apples, a few hunks of cheese and some jerky.
"Are you hungry?" May asked the princess, only then realising that she had not asked her name.
"Starving. The dragon let me eat, I guess because a good hostage is a live one, but never much. Seared cow isn't really appetizing, but you take what you can get."
"What's your name? Sorry, I should have asked that first."
"My name's Kaia. And I already know your name." She said. "Sorry, was that creepy? I feel like that was creepy."
May halved her cheese, jerky and bread and tossed Kaia an apple, placing the waterskin in the middle of them.
"I used to watch as you contracted on various jobs for Father. I never got the courage to say hello. So, May of Thistlethatch, hello." May ignored the blush creeping up inside her.
"Parental crucifixion?" May asked. "For 'consorting with the commoners'?" She kept her voice semi-light.
"Got it in one. They also thought I'd get 'dangerous ideas'." She wiggled her fingers mock-scarily, twisting a lock of her dark hair back from where it had fallen onto her face.
"My parents weren't as careful with Thorne and I. When I saw him practicing with wood swords, I wanted to join. When I kicked the arse of the village snob, they let me into squiredom on probation."
"And?" Kaia was leaning forward now - they were so close together - and...
Acorn huffed, giving a whinny.
May gave her steed a mock-glare. "Don't mind him. He's an attention-seeker. Anyway, I managed to prove myself continuously. I graduated as a knight, but only the poorest hired me. I worked my way up." May reached out with a callused hand to grab her waterskin, only to have Kaia reach for it at the same time.
"Oh! Uh- sorry." May moved her hand back. Was she imagining it, or was Kaia blushing too?
"It was nice talking." Kaia said at last. "Guess I'd better get back, huh? You get your bounty, I get to go back...
"Wait." May said. She had never been one for impulse, but now here she was. "Why don't we go a different way? I know a forest and village on the border, and then we can travel over once we've stocked up. Get away from... this." Kaia unconsciously traced the scar on her cheek, then realised exactly what she was doing and pulled back as if burned. May smiled, placing her hand on Kaia's cheek in return, earning her a smile.
"I'd like that." Kaia said.
May was the first female knight in the kingdom, and damn proud of it. She'd retrieved treasure, dispatched of bandits, hunted beasts... but she'd give it all up just for that one smile.
| 2021-04-16T06:18:08 | 2021-04-16T05:09:31 | 160 | 75 |
[WP] A Roman Legion travels deep into the African Congo on a diplomatic venture and encounters something million years extinct. A lone praetorian returns to an outpost on the outskirts of the empire to retell the horrific event.
Feel free to take liberty with the location.
|
The air is cool here. Fog rises off the gardens and the air is heavy with the perfume of flowers. A shout comes from the tower. Stranger approaching from the south.
There is nothing to the south. Just sand and dust and perhaps, if the barbarians are to be believed, the bones of monsters.
He is a tattered man. Along the march he lost his sandals. The bottom of his feet are bloodied. Rags hang off the bones of his shoulders and hips. He only alive through the grace of the gods.
Before he can be shown to the commander he must be cleaned. Fed and dressed as well. Rewarded - not yet. It is not known if he deserted.
The water almost kills him. He screams like a babe, thrashing in the pool and sobbing for his mother, his father, his commander... He begs for death.
It is not given to him. Soon he is silent. The slaves scrub him until he is clean. His wounds are not grievous. As he is being dressed a sentry mutters that he is not yet a man. The armor must be stolen.
When food is brought to him, he does not eat. Bread agrees with him though. He is not allowed to gorge himself.
The commander asks about it the others. A hundred thousand strong, it had been whispered, a host of the strongest and most loyal. The men who feared nothing.
They are all dead. The boy looked stunted. Fear had stolen his nerve and his will, but not his honor.
They had walked of thousands of leagues. When they entered a valley the sun and stars were lost to them. There were monstrous things - half men with sloping torsos and sharp teeth, cats twice the size of a horse made of fire and smoke, beasts with snakes for noses and tusks like a boar that roared like a thousand trumpets.
Deeper they must have walked. The jungle must have been Pluto's garden. Everything brought death.
They did not have a hundred thousand men, only five thousand. By the time they found it - the thing of nightmares, the titan's aborted fetus - they numbered in the hundreds.
It came at night, drawn by the fires.
It was here the boy stopped. He trembled. His teeth ground so hard they might have broken in his mouth. But his had honor, and spoke of what he had seen.
It must have been drawn by the fires. Maybe it remembered the hell it had come from, or in the flames it saw strength.
The appearance was sudden. It fell near the fire, stirring it up and sending sparks into the air. It had small claws and was armored like a fish. It was not large. The boy gestured to his waist. He was missing half his hand. About the size of war dog. It had wings like a bat.
It drank the fire. The gods gave it power and it rose up and slaughtered a hundred the first night.
The host fled through the hell garden. Some were felled by the plants, the beasts. One man awoke screaming in the darkness. Insects had eaten away at his flesh. They swarmed through his mouth and nose and the sockets of his eyes.
After that no one slept.
Was that how the boy lost his hand? No. That was on the fifth day.
The men had begun to go mad. Every tree was the same. Every rock and puddle and patch of dirt.
They came to a cliff. They must climb it, someone said. So they did.
The boy was quick. Some men were quicker and stood along the top of the world and helped the others up. When the boy pulled himself over he saw the piles of bodies and called below. The is death above, wearing the face of their brothers. One of the men tried to kill him. Instead he lost half of his hand to a rock. It was crushed and mangled. The boy hauled himself up and scrambled away.
He left the men and headed north. The host was scattered. The boy walked north. He could see the sky again. His hand felt tight and hot. His fingers turned white, then red. On the fifth day he gnawed them off.
The seventh he lost one sandal. He threw the other away, and in a fit of madness stripped off his clothes. The forest became thinner. He was burnt by the sun. There was not water, not food. Once he saw a golden eagle and followed it. But there was no eagle. On the ninth day he found a man hung from a tree.
The boy stripped the body of clothes and dressed himself in the dead.
As he walked north his hand leaked blood and his feet cramped and trembled. One night he built a fire. It started a great fear in him. He was brave enough to put his hand inside and stop the rot from spreading. Afterwards he crawled away and cried until the sun rose again.
As he walked he left the grasslands. He wanted to see water. He wanted to die.
On the ten day he saw the beast again. Or it may have been a different one. It had the body of dog, upright. It had long claws and chattered like a bird. It was the size of a man's leg, from the ground to his knee. There was a flock of them. They called to each other. The boy followed them.
The creatures took down a beast - the one with a snake for a nose. It had leather for skin and wailed as it died. After the dog-beasts left the boy ate what he could.
The boy stopped there. What else? They was nothing else. He hand come to the sand and walked. His voice was quiet. Tired. His body told the toll his voice could not.
Could he die now? No. Not yet. More would want to hear of this.
|
The man rocked slowly back and forth on the chair.
"I watched them... they were crying... I saw them die..."
When he had come to their gates we was covered in dust and dried blood. He was delirious from dehydration, but other than that he seemed fine. He'd had no injuries and even had all of his equipment. Strange, indeed.
The officer bent down to speak to him. "What killed them?" he asked softly. "What did this?"
The man shook his head. "I... I don't know. Sickness. Disease. Something that only Pluto himself could have created."
"When did it start? What did it do?"
"We... we were camping. In the jungle. We found a cave of bats. We netted them and ate them. The next day, the men who ate them became sick. They had fevers, nausea, and stomach pain. A quarter of the men were sick. And then..."
He stopped talking. The commander straightened up. "Then what?"
The man looked up and stared into the commander's eyes. "They began to die. Not normally. Not their minds. Their bodies began to rot while they were still alive. They began to bleed from their eyes, their nose, their ass, everywhere. Their intestines came out with their stool..." The man wailed and curled up into a ball.
The commander turned to the guard at the door. "Spread the word that the jungle is off limits. There is a disease there that we cannot fight."
Behind the commander, the man on the chair coughed.
| 2014-08-30T13:39:47 | 2014-08-30T12:55:53 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] As it turns out, aliens all have aphantasia. This makes Humans the only species capable of imagining images in their heads. This greatly confuses alien telepaths, who report seeing “constantly shifting landscapes of alternate realities” when peering into human minds
|
"Remarkable," Zh'rf whispered inwardly, as they studied their instruments. "Come. Notice this, Grh'll."
Zh'rf sensed movement and a rising interest from their shipmate, as Grh'll settled their mass beside Zh'rf.
A few moments of focus passed silently between the xenobiologists as Grh'll parsed the live data feed streaming from the water-covered planet below.
"Remarkable." Grh'll concluded. "This species has evolved functional quantum processors from *protein*. They can shift their perspective between spatial dimensions without the need of an external processor."
Zh'rf silently acknowledged the assessment.
The two continued studying the data stream in silence.
"Odd," Grh'll mulled. "The information they have encoded in their electromagnetic emanations suggests they believe their lives to be entirely linear in nature."
Zh'rf bristled, "Do they not understand the physical nature of reality? How is it possible that creatures who can selectively move their perceptions fluidly between 5th dimensional space are unaware of their ability to do so?"
"They *are* low-band sensory animals," Grh'll proposed.
Zh'rf considered for a moment. It was logical. Creatures who perceived the universe primarily through a small subset of vibrations would necessarily have a limited scope of perception. "Fair," they concluded.
"Regardless." Grh'll stated. "We should report this. Cross-discipline study seems warranted."
"Agreed," Zh'rf affirmed. "Shall we take a sample as evidence?"
"Yes. That would be prudent." Grh'll approved.
Grh'll moved their mass back towards the research vessel's command interface and quickly targeted a particularly active quantum signature for temporary extract protocol.
At Grh'll's command, the research vessel folded 3rd dimensional space, warping the targeted specimen into the containment facility.
With the specimen secured the two Xenobiologists returned home.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Zh'rf's people learned much in the intervening passage of time. Zh'rf's prediction--based on the quantum wavelength collapse patterns Zh'rf and Grh'll had perceived above the water-covered planet--proved true. The subject's "brain", as the specimen itself had termed it, was indeed a remarkably efficient quantum processing unit, albeit unorthodox in construction. Those of more technically focused disciplines had found--through admittedly embarrassing trial and error--how to best interface with the specimen's "brain". What they found was nothing short of perplexing.
This species, "homo sapien" they termed themselves, was not as unperceptive as Zh'rf and Grh'll had first postulated. They merely did not understand their perception of space outside of the 3rd dimension. Their "brain", very strangely, contained a thin module they termed a "claustrum" which worked to filter all sensory information--including input received from 4th, 5th, and higher dimensional space--in a way optimized for navigating the 3rd dimension.
As a result, to them, as to Zh'rf's species, life seemed a straight line. But unlike Zh'rf's species "homo sapiens" possessed the unique ability to not only view multi-dimensional information--through modeling processes they term "inspiration" and "imagination" which displayed information internally as a 3rd dimensional projection--but to literally shift their attention and perception between timelines, *without* using an external interface. Naturally, the "claustrum" selected for timelines that on immediate observation did not disagree with existing protein markers--which the specimen internally refers to as "memory".
These findings suggested that the primary perception of this species would inherently opt for a timeline in which their lives continued entirely as expected. What this meant, was that--theoretically--as far as the specimen was concerned, they had never been collected at all. Of course, some physicists proposed that a handful of specimens may perceive the collection process and pursuant experiments as a "dream" or "hallucination" and that there may not be a reasonable point along the 4th dimension that allows for continuity of perception, which would obviously result in perceived loss of time. But this was just theory, no one knew for certain.
Not yet, anyways.
Other research vessels had already begun returning to the planet to collect more samples to verify findings and to perform further experiments. Zh'rf themselves had just received an assignment indicating they and Grh'll, alongside a pair of Xenoanthropologists, were to return for continued observation of the planet.
But something bothered Zh'rf.
Zh'rf knew, as all their kind did, that the universe existed within a self-simulating strange loop. Every moment perceived was itself the totality of existence. Zh'rf existed because perception itself demanded it to be so.
But this species. They perceived, within their minds, entire timelines, entire universes unto themselves.
Zh'rf wondered: "What happens to these universes when these marvelous creatures stop paying attention? When they forget the worlds and the individuals they created through their collective focus?"
Zh'rf pondered this for a long time.
And then the model reached its end.
|
As the wind howled in the night Jeremy only knew one thing, survive. It’s been years since the collapse of the civilized world and the human population is at its breaking point
With the collapse being behind him Jeremy has been walking a long path to redemption. Being distraught with guilt from the past his only salvation is the medication ” clear all “ the government issued drug to make the mind dull so the beasts of the sky cannot find us.
*Crack* the sound of a tree branch under the weight of something not of this world. Jeremy’s only thought (hide), but as he ran towards an abandoned car for safety his last bottle of clear all fell out onto the floor. Knowing his fate is sealed Jeremy didn’t want the thing to violate his memories, he cleared his mind ready for death, the only thing he can think of, “funny big chungus Punjabi 144p”
| 2022-03-03T11:19:30 | 2022-03-03T09:25:50 | 145 | 11 |
[WP] You make a deal with a witch, but instead of them demanding your firstborn, they hand you theirs.
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The little girl sat beneath the tree, an untidy mop of ruby red hair standing out against the dark oak tree trunk. Golden sunlight fell around her making her hair shine even brighter. A playful breeze made her hair even messier, and she shook her head against the wind. The branches shook and a rain of emerald green leaves fell.
She looked up at them, eyes sparkling with delight as they fell. For a moment the leaves seemed to slow their descent, as if they suddenly started to fall through syrup rather than air. Finally they stopped completely, a cloud of leaves hung suspended in the air around her. A cracking twig made her head whip around and the leaves fell to earth at their normal speed.
"Daddy!" she squealed as an older man came through the forest. Rising to her feet she hurtled herself at him colliding with his stomach.
"Selena!" he grunted as he caught her. "What did I tell you about headbutting me like that?"
"That you like it when I hug you." Amethyst eyes glinted mischievously.
"Well that's true," the man admitted to her raucous giggling. "What else did I say about when you were playing?"
"I was by myself." She looked away. "I was careful."
He lifted her up and she buried her face in his neck. "You have to be *very* careful sweetie," he sighed running his fingers through her hair. "It's for your own good." He chuckled softly as he felt her nod against him, hearing the tiniest sniffle. "Okay, let's go home. It's lunchtime." His chuckles transformed into full laughter as she cheered.
Later that day after they had their lunch the girl was put down for a nap. The man sat outside their home, enjoying the afternoon sun. The wind still carried the scent of summer around him, making the branches sway and the leaves dance. Eventually the wind brought a sound to the man, making him open his eyes.
A dark shadow appeared over the treetops, slowly coming closer. The sound became flaps and the shadow became a raven, inky black feathers against the green leaves and blue skies. The man watched as it flew closer, pouring out a bowl of water and arranging the leftovers of lunch on a plate.
The raven landed on the table, cawing softly as it ruffled its feathers. Without delay it dipped its beak into the bowl, drinking lustily before cheeping with satisfaction. It looked at the man with amber yellow eyes, utterly unperturbed.
"Hello there Melodia. Long flight?"
The raven sighed almost like a person would, bobbing her head up and down. She squawked as the man scratched her head, fluffing up over her legs.
"Well then you can have a nice rest, as long as Moira says so of course."
The raven stiffened slightly, eyes blinking slowly. The amber eyes turned purple and Melodia seemed to go into a trance. "Of course she may. She works hard for me, she is entitled to a rest. I am starting to think she enjoys your company more than mine." The voice flowed from the raven's beak, feminine and cultured.
"Because I feed her more fancy foods than you do," the man replied easily with a smile.
"You are a better cook than I. My talents lie elsewhere." Moira sounded amused.
"That's true," the man admitted. "How goes your work?"
"Well, thankfully. The latest shifts have revealed a huge ruin for me to comb through. All the artifacts and relics, records, magic..." Melodia sighed that human sigh again but this one was filled with longing. "It is a dream. I sure could use your assistance here to be honest, like the old days."
The man chuckled. "Sure, but where you see treasure and feel joy, I see danger and feel fatigue. Just listening to you makes my bones ache." His tone turned wistful. "Though those were good old days."
"They sure were. We will have good days to come yet however." Moira's voice turned wistful. "How is she?"
"Getting bigger every day," the man replied. "She looks just like you, and she shows talents much like yours."
"Well I should hope so!" Pride rang out, pride and pain. "I knew I could trust you to look after her."
"I still don't know who won out on the deal."
"I think we both won. You got out of the business and can live a life of peace. I get to know my daughter is well taken care of away from the chaos and the danger." Her voice grew somber, even sad. "Though, you may have won more really."
"Don't worry, I am sending you some pictures back with Melodia. Pictures of her and her drawings. You better keep your promise and come at the equinox."
"Nothing will keep me from coming." Another sigh, of determination. "Well, I better get back to work if I aim to come soon. Let Melodia rest for as long as she wants. Just make sure she can fly after stuffing her." The raven's eyes blinked, having remained wide open during the conversation. After the third blink they returned to their amber hue and a look of affront crossed her face.
"Oh don't pay her any attention," the man soothed the bird. "She's just stressed is all." He looked off towards the sunset, hands petting the raven's back as the bird ate. He saw the sun, and yesterday, and the future to come.
|
All I wanted was a six pack. I worked out, starved myself, and could never make it work. My body is the most important thing to me, and I want it to show. The bitches arent going to fuck me if they dont like what they see.
I tried surgical options but they were too expensive and dangerous and the Doc said it might screw up my boners so screw that. Then one day I'm just walking down the street and theres a witch! She says that she can give me a permanent six pack that will never go away and the only price is a firstborn child!! I never wanted kids anyway so I figure this deal is amazing for me. So I sign this scroll in my own blood, and then theres a dazzling flash of light.
On the ground in front of me was a baby wrapped in a blanket, and a pack of diapers. A pack of SIX diapers. I groaned out loud. I reached down, and pulled one of the diapers out of the pack, and it immediately refilled to 6 diapers. FUCK!
A note pinned to the blanket just said "suckah!" And when I tried to drop it off at the fire department, it reappeared back in my car as I was driving away. I'm now stuck with a magic baby. Maybe I can sell loose diapers to poor moms to make some money to care of this kid. Oddly enough, the stress has caused me to gain 50 pounds.
| 2020-06-13T20:26:36 | 2020-06-13T19:00:57 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You're the world's greatest assassin. In your twenty year career this is the first shot you've ever missed. As you sit there listening to the other assassins mock you, that moment keeps going through your head. You didn't miss... Your target caught the bullet.
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“I know what I saw.”
“Dude, it’s alright. Everyone misses a shot. Hell, I missed one last week. Of course, I was shooting a man that was in the passenger seat of a helicopter from a nearby building,” Howard says with a wicked grin, obviously enjoying my folly. “Just because you couldn’t hit a poor, old lady sitting on a park bench less than a mile away from you doesn’t mean you’re a horrible assassin. It just means you’re human, if anything. I was starting to worry you were some kind of cyborg from the future, to be honest.”
“I didn’t miss. The bullet should have hit her square in the head.”
“Be thankful it didn’t, man. I don’t know why you’d take a job to off an old lady, but maybe it’s for the best you failed. You don’t want that blood on your hands.”
Howard takes another swig of his beer before slamming the glass down on the bar, prompting a glare from the bartender.
“Look, I’mma head out now,” he says after checking his phone. “I’ve got another job in a few hours, and there’s still a ton of gloating I’ve got left to do over your little mistake today.”
“If you tell a single soul-“
“Too late! Already spread the word far and wide! Your perfect streak and reputation are ruined!”
I want to slam his head into the bar with twice as much force as he did with his glass, but know better than to give into my emotions. One of the reasons I’m the best at what I do is because I can shut off all feelings and focus on the job.
Though I guess doing so today didn’t get me very far.
Howard gives me one last wave before throwing a bill onto the bar and walking out the door with the largest, smuggest grin on his face.
God I hate that man’s face.
I pull out my own phone and access my video library in the cloud, searching through my most recent videos with extreme caution of the people around me. If word got out and my clients found out that I recorded my kills it could spell trouble for me. Part of the ‘discreet’ clause in my contracts is that I never leave evidence, so I’d rather no one know I skim around that stipulation.
The video from today is there, and I pull it up and watch it with hunched shoulders to block my screen from prying eyes. I fast forward to the part where I finally fire my weapon, zooming in to inspect the old woman the camera is focused on. What should have been a fatal impact of bullet and old lady skull instead leaves me with my mouth agape as the bullet literally disappears from sight before reaching the woman.
I paid $16,000 for this phone to have the best video equipment installed to take professional, quality videos of my kills no matter how far away from them I am at time of death. There’s no way whatever deterred the bullet wasn’t caught on camera.
I slow the video down to the millisecond, watching in anger as nothing changes. The bullet moves towards the old woman, then disappears. I’m so concerned with the flight of the bullet that I almost don’t notice the woman’s hand move a fraction of an inch after the bullet disappears. Zooming in as far as the video will let me, I let out an audible gasp at what I find.
There, in the 93-year-old woman’s hand, is my bullet.
I only catch a glimpse of the small, deadly object for a split second before her hand has moved back to its original position again, which is humanly impossible to do in a fraction of a millisecond. My eyes glued to the screen, I don’t even notice that someone’s sat down beside me.
“I was hoping you would figure it out,” a soft voice says from beside me.
I turn my head away from my phone, all the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, and lock eyes on the little old woman I was contracted to kill just that morning sitting next to me.
“How did-“
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, young man, but I’m going to tell you right now that you won’t be getting every answer. At least not today.”
“But you-“
“Caught the bullet? Why yes, I did. Guns have gotten a lot more powerful and bullets fly quite a bit faster than they did back in my day, but they’re still relatively easy to grab if you’re paying attention.”
“How in the-“
“Just as easily as you would have caught a baseball if someone threw it gently at you, dear.”
“But you’re just-“
“An old lady? I’m sure you understand by now that I’m not all that I appear. After all, you had a contract to kill me, young man. I must be someone very special indeed, yes?”
I don’t say another word, instead staring intently at the woman and thinking my thoughts as loudly as I can. She notices my brows furrowing in concentration and lets out a laugh.
“Oh, no. I can’t read minds, dear. That much is beyond me.”
“Then how-“ I start to say before pausing to let her interrupt me again. To my surprise she’s looking at me expectantly instead.
“Yes? Go on.”
“How did you know every question I was going to ask you?”
“Because people have been asking me the same questions for centuries. It gets old after a while, but I try my best to remember that it’s all completely new to those I talk to.”
I’m starting to get the picture. I move my seat back slowly from the old woman, afraid that this powerful being might bear ill-will towards me for trying to off her. As I expected, she notices the movement, but to my surprise she gives me a warm smile.
“No, I won’t be retaliating against you for what you did. You didn’t know any better. In fact, I’ve actually come to talk to you because I have a proposition for you.”
I remain silent, afraid of what she’ll say next.
“The man that hired you is my husband. We’ve had a bet going on for quite some time that we’ll eventually find a way to kill one another so we’ll be free of this mortal plane. He thought he’d get me with the top assassin in the world and the element of surprise, but that was a flop. How would you like to try to do the same to him for me?”
*Yup. Definitely a dream. There’s no way in hell this can be real.*
“I can pay you handsomely, of course, and your reputation will certainly bounce back after word gets around that you’ve killed a god.”
A god. She wants me to kill her husband, a god, which likely means that she herself is also a god. Her request is insane, but judging by the fact that she’s asking me for my help, it’s very possible that she only very nearly stopped that bullet from coming in contact with her. Maybe I’m the only one that’s ever gotten that close to killing a god before. Maybe I can restore my lost honor as the world’s greatest assassin by taking on her assignment.
But, honestly, do I really have what it takes to kill a god?
I guess there’s really only one way to find out...
“Deal.”
|
"Ay! If it ain't deadeye himself, spookiest assassin in all the lands yet he can't hit a shot on a still target." The rookie blathered, his hand reaching over to wrap over my shoulder, of course it was quickly smacked away by my own. "Oh, did I hit a sore spot, unlike you I don't miss my shots." He ridiculed, drunken cheeks bright red with alcoholic courage as he circled me. "You know I can give ya some pointers if you like."
"Yeah, maybe if i'm free." I muttered, moving my hand back down to my drink, swirling the black liqueur before sending it down the hatch. I was far to old to be moved by the words of some little shit that would probably be dead before the end of the month, after all, I was the best.. or had been the best. I played with the last bits of ice, rattling them back and forth in the glass, I didn't miss, no my aim had been perfect. No sudden breeze, no shake of the hand... I just couldn't wrap my head around it. When I had gone to inspect the scene I noticed the bullet had been crushed... crushed, as if someone had bent the metal trimmings of it. It hardly mattered anyway, even if I had proof of my claim, I still technically failed the mission. Unfortunately my train of thought was interrupted by the idiot beside me.
"Oh great! Ill make some time free rookie, do you know how to hold a gun or shall I start at basics?" He jabbed, trying to prod a reaction out of me. He wanted a chance to beat a wounded dog, to put an old bastard out of his misery. It was true if he killed me, or even beat me into submission, he would jump the ranks a lot faster, perhaps even gain my accolades. But I wasn't as stupid as he was, no I was much more devious.
"Oh please, show me how it's done. Why don't you go and handle my contract? After all. I'm sure you would be able to hit such an easy target." I added, pumping up his booze fuelled ego.
"Ya know what!" He stomped his foot on the floor, gathering the attention of the rest of the crowd. "I Bucknad the fatal am going to go slay the mysterious man that everyones having trouble with. Please start setting up the party for my biggest assassination yet." He gloated.
I simply smiled, tapping the wooden counter, motioning for another drink. This was what I wanted, another chance to see this man in action, perhaps I could work out how he could catch a bullet. After all, it was easier to observe someone without a scope obscuring your view.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
| 2019-10-30T22:23:55 | 2019-10-30T21:50:44 | 95 | 11 |
[WP] You’re doing research in an old library when a stranger comes running up to you. They go to give you a hug while saying, “My love.” You flinch away and their expression falls. Under their breath they say, “Fuck. Wrong timeline.”
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Right this is my first attempt at creative writing in 10 years so don’t be too harsh please 😳! I have more on my mind for making it a bit longer but just thought I’d share.
Edit - added a bit more to it.
Terry scanned the old wooden book shelf lazily. She knew this would be the sixth night in a row she spent in the university library and not the last. The exact structure of the report was in her mind. However she kept focusing on the gut wrenching feeling of impending doom that she was experiencing. Terry began to reach for a book relating to offender behaviour in prison when suddenly she caught site of a tall muscular figure start running towards her. As the figure drew closer she noticed his piercing golden eyes and curly warm dark hair. Within the blink of an eye the man was infront of Terry, she began to get lost in thought as her brain was consuming the man’s face. Terry noticed how beautifully contrasted his eyes were to his hair and his beauty which could only be described as angelic. It felt like forever had gone by when he attempted to give Terry a hug while speaking softly he said “my love” this brought Terry plummeting back to the real world. Terry had never moved so fast in her life when she flinched and jerked backwards to escape the beautiful strangers advances. She immediately noticed his expression and body language change, which had previous been loving and trusting morphed into what appeared to be disgust and anger. He began muttering under his breath. Terry faintly heard him say “fuck. wrong timeline, how could I be so fucking wreck-less”. At that he looked down at Terry with a cold expression and said “I’m so sorry, I thought you were someone else” and then he swiftly turned away and headed for the door. Terry stood between the dusty rows of books in the old and worn library processing what had just happened. Without thinking she began to sprint towards the door following the stranger.
The scent of cool wet air hit terry the moment she entered the street which was full of voices and the mechanical sound of traffic. She instantly seen him, he was on the other side of the street heading towards the alley. Terry quickly and quietly followed him, always keeping 10 steps behind. This continued for what felt like forever to terry. She turned the corner the stranger took and instantly felt a pit in her stomach when she realised he had vanished. Terry ran to the end of the alley onto the attached street scanning the faces of everyone in site. The pit in Terry’s stomach began to feel like it was consuming her when suddenly everything started going dark and she felt weak. The weight of her body began to be too much for her legs to bare. She began to fall, terry felt a slight warmth around her as she drifted off into the darkness.
Terry awoke in a daze, her eyes frantically searched her surroundings. She felt her heart rate pick up to a point it felt like it was going to beat of her chest, she also noticed she was struggling to breath. Panic had consumed all of Terry as tears flowed down her cheeks in a steady stream. Then she saw him, the beautiful stranger, her beautiful stranger she thought. With that Terry realised she was breathing in a regular rhythm and her heart rate was steadying. She couldn’t put her finger on why this complete stranger brought her out of the panic attack the moment she lay her eyes on him or why she felt comfortable this him. Terry’s train of thought was quickly broken when her mind jumped back to the darkness swallowing her up and the warmth that had surrounded her. At that the man rose from his seat and asked Terry “why in the hell did you follow me?” Terry couldn’t help but notice the condescending tone in his voice. She realised that even she didn’t understand why she followed him. Terry abruptly said “who are you? Why did you call me your love? What did you mean wrong timeline? Also to answer your question you’re about to ask, yes I heard you muttering away at yourself”. Terry completely focussed on his facial expression as it morphed before her, she could see so many different emotions within his face as she watched in sheer amazement. His face began to settle. she immediately noticed his eyebrows move together and the wrinkles on his four head, the tell tale sign of sadness. With that she looked into his signature gold eyes as she thought she could easily get lost in them, she saw that his beautiful big eyes were full of despair and loneliness. It was if his eyes were searching hers for any sign of recognition or love. Terry snapped out of it and abruptly said “stop looking at me like that, I don’t know you, we first met in the library and you started going on about different timelines which is make believe stuff”. His face changed to a neutral expression and his eyes appeared shielded as he sat down and let out a sigh. The stranger remained silent for about five minutes which made Terry antsy as she needed answers. Terry inhaled deeply and went to start talking, however she was stopped in her tracks as he replied “who I am is unimportant however if you need to refer to me as something you can call me Carter. I told you I thought you were someone else and I meant it, the timeline stuff was just me being dramatic and not wanting to admit I was wrong. Now now eat this and get some rest it’s been a long night”. Terry couldn’t muster up the courage to continue the conversation as she was mentally and physically exhausted from her university work and forgetting to eat. She began to eat and quickly drifted off to sleep. As she awoke she noticed it appeared to be midday and the room was in eery silence. She got up and wandered about what appeared to be a hotel room, she found a note sitting on the table by the couch. It read - “I have gone to take care of the business that brought me to town, the hotel room is fully paid for till the end of the week, feel free to stay as long as you wish. It was nice meeting you. Goodbye.” As she read the note Terry had a gut feeling Carter was lying and she knew she would get to the truth.
|
''I’m sorry, do I know you?'' I ask.
She lets go of me and then she takes a few steps back. I get a sudden chill.
''This is the exact same place we first met. It’s shame that…'' She doesn’t finish her sentence and she turns away. She touches one of the books on the shelf before she disappears into thin air.
I slap myself a few times to make sure I’m not dreaming and I see the book she just touched blinking blue and purple. Without any hesitation, I take the book and I open it.
'Going upstairs won’t get you to your future. Going downstairs won’t get you to your past. Where will you go?’ says on the first page.
I take my eyes off the book and I realise I’m in a different place. I’m surrounded by a brick wall and I look up I see a dim light coming from the sky.
I try to calm myself and I close my eyes.
''Take a deep breath. You are just dreaming.'' I tell to myself.
When I open my eyes I see the book itself changed the page. Now I’m looking at page 2.
‘There are no more stops. I’m here for you. Look down and you will the sign.’
I slowly look down and I see a circling crystal snake beneath the transparent ground. As I put the book down on the ground the snake stops moving and starts to eat its own tail and it freezes perfectly and it starts to emit the same colour as the book.
I wake up and I find myself back in the library. No one is around. I see the same book open in front of me, it’s page 3.
‘I’m one with you. I can see what you see, I can feel what you feel and I can hear what you hear. Do not fear.’
| 2021-02-06T15:23:31 | 2021-02-06T15:18:47 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You are an undercover agent from the future, masquerading as an ancient scholar. Your job is to advance science the same amount the original scholar would have done. You also get to kill all the pesky time travellers that try to accelerate scientific progress by giving you "ideas".
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The prisoner was humiliated, escorted inside the church like a cattle-- shackled and bounded. His name and reputation had been dragged over the mud for his unforgivable heresy against God and the church as whole.
Inside the office awaited cardinal Robert Bellarmine of the Catholic church-- the face and voice of the church against the lone heretic who had been brought before him.
"Leave us please, gentlemen", the cardinal waved the guards away.
The two opponents stood their grounds in bated breath, awaiting the guards to make themselves scarce before arguing in their secret quarrel.
"You must feel really proud of yourself, don't you?", the prisoner asked in disgust. "Parading in that silly robe, spouting nonsense about God and religion which you don't even believe in at all..."
Cardinal Bellarmine stood, despite what his elderly appearance showed his behavior was not of one. A man in disguise-- behind the masquerade was in actuality a devoted agent working against time breakers, those who go out of their way to change the course of the set timeline.
"Galileo please--", the cardinal unravel his disguise, revealing a much younger man dressed in modern suit. "Spare me your insult. This is but a means to an end, for a greater good"
Robert walked up to the still shackled Galileo Galilei, the renown astronomer though in reality, a time traveler in disguise-- the same as the masquerading cardinal though pursuing a different goal.
Robert raised a peculiar device to Galileo's forehead, with a click it undid Galileo's disguise as the medieval astronomer, revealing a much younger man.
"What I'm doing, old friend, IS for a greater good!", Galileo protested. "The sooner the world accepts heliocentricity, the faster scientific world would progress! You saw it yourself! You saw this event as the nexus of branching timelines, one being a world where peace was acquired through the means of science!"
Robert shook his head in disagreement. "Gal, perish that absurd idea in your head! The world and society must go as it's meant to be! It's not our place to change it the way we want it to be! We can't play god!"
Galileo couldn't help but laugh. "You've been meddling with these church people for far too long, Robert. We *can't* play god? We absolutely can and we must! What's the point then of having time machine if not to better the world, to achieve what we had growing up centuries earlier?"
Robert sighed, seeing his friend had been radicalized tremendously. It scared Robert, though he once shared the same sentiment, as he grew older, seeing what he saw working with the Time Bureau-- it greatly changed his stance.
"What of paradox, Gal? Hmm? Say I humor your idea, say I manage to convince the Pope and the rest of the church to accept your idea thus changing the course of human history...what of the paradox? You and I might not be born at all! You and I might not be back here in the 16th century, masquerading as these history figures to create such a world in the first place! Hmm? Answer me, Galileo! What of the paradox?", Robert asked in desperation, hoping his old friend would see the error of his way and change his mind.
Galileo was silent for moment, observing his old friend getting all worked up. It amused him, just like old time when they continually clashed in differing ideas-- though at the time it was but a debate, now the rest of time depended on it.
Galileo smirked before laughing uncontrollably. "For the greater good, Robert-- I will take that risk"
Robert sighed in defeat, shaking his head. Though he never wanted to do this, he must do what he must to protect all time. Long gone had the bright young academic known as Galileo Galilei. The man standing before him, ready to do whatever it takes to change the world according to his idea-- he was nothing but a heretic.
Robert switched his and Galileo's disguises back on as the old cardinal and the old astronomer. Taking his seat back behind the desk as one cardinal Robert Bellarmine, he called back the guards to make his judgment.
"Guards!", he called as the two soldiers entered the room. "You are hereby standing as witness to the prosecution of this heretic!"
"Galileo Galilei, so hereby I inquire in front of God as the voice of the church-- will you forego the idea of heliocentricity, to abstain completely from teaching or defending this doctrine and opinion or from discussing it, to abandon completely the opinion that the sun stands still at the center of the world and the earth moves, and henceforth not to hold, teach, or defend it in any way whatever, either orally or in writing?"
"No...", Galileo answered without hesitation. "I will not"
Cardinal Bellarmine leaned back, he hesitated but he continued.
"I hereby order a penalty of death under the accusation of heresy against God and the Catholic church. May God have mercy on your soul"
The guards escorted Galileo out, the astronomer was stoic, accepting of his fate, unwilling to even look his old friend in his eyes.
r/HangryWritey
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Not one of the 37 time travelers over the past 8 years expected what happened when they walked up to Socrates to give him a quick idea. That is in 2 ways of course, people like to think they are immortal when they have a power others don’t, they also like to think they are the only people who have invented time travel. Imagine the surprise on their face when this so called Socrates pulled out a revolver and blasted them in the head. They were wrong on both counts and were neither the first or last to invent time travel, simply some of the earliest. This so called Socrates recited his lines, he had been assigned to this after the intern at the time correctional office Jeff accidentally shot Socrates while eliminating a time traveler. He quietly mumbles “only two more years until I get to go home” as he reads the date and sends the device forward in time to the drop off.
| 2021-07-04T00:10:39 | 2021-07-03T20:42:24 | 74 | 36 |
[WP] You recently died and became a ghost. Not wanting your friends and family to feel sad about your death, you possessed your corpse and acted like you were still alive. It worked for a while, but your body decomposing is becoming more noticeable and you're running out of ideas for how to hide it.
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When you're rotting it hurts to smile.
"I don't think I've ever finished my coffee before you, work really has gotten that bad huh?"
It's true, I had been swirling the spoon. Round and round, sugar long dissolved and a roast that's gone cold. I was always impatient, drinking half the mug before the foam had a chance to stop spinning. Everything on the outside felt duller. I hadn't realized I was still doing it. I spent the time listening to how her trip had gone. The way she raised her eyebrows when she was anticipating a reaction. The laugh lines on her face had only gotten more striking after we went off to college together.
"Yeah.."
I didn't want to look away. I wanted to see as much of her as I could so that I'd never forget. Remember how she looked before I told her. I couldn't help myself and I stared at the ground.
"About that. I finally got a promotion. I took it."
She blinked. I saw her elbows come together as she held the edges of the saucer. The rest of her body didn't move, but I could feel her shrinking. She was sharp, perceptive, empathetic—everything I loved about her.
"That's good news. Why isn't this good news?"
"It's in Europe."
The air was still. She was holding her breath, and I wasn't going to start breathing anytime soon.
"You said they disrespected you. That you'd find another job. You said you wouldn't look for a job in another city," her voice quivered. She sounded like she was pleading, more than stating a fact. "This doesn't make a lot of sense to me." Her voice was starting to break. The cup and saucer rattled in her hands.
"The money was goo-"
It didn't hurt when the cup shattered against my chest. I looked up at her, with the last time I might have the chance to have some courage. I'd never seen her like this.
"The money might be worth it for you. That makes my decision easy," she hissed. "I'm not giving up my chance at an education and a better life to help people just to chase some asshole to France, or wherever you decide to be rich."
The tenseness in her body gave way to a shuddering sob that she caught, not letting another escape. Better this than at my funeral. That was the plan, at least. I was starting to think my brains rotted away more than I expected.
I couldn't let her see me the way I was. I was desperately clinging to the idea of her seeing me as successful.
Did I make the right decision?
"You p-promised me.." she was whispering now. "You promised me you would wait for me to finish."
"I'm sorry."
She had already left. I reached for the ceramic shards and accidentally cut myself. I stared at the open wound for a while, wishing it would bleed.
\---
She was right. Work had gotten me down. I was denied my promotion for the fifth time. Prices were surging, we would have trouble affording rent. Me being underpaid and her being a student, I shouldn't have been so surprised. I felt the stress creeping into us both. I stopped taking care of myself. I felt like she had begun resenting me. I tried so hard even though I wasn't happy. I wanted her to finish school, to be the real hero. She was the better one of us.
That's why it hurt even more to face her every day when I knew our savings were running dry. I had turned to food and drugs to bury the problem.
The only thing it buried was me.
I stared down at myself cradling needles and boxes of cookies. She had been gone for a conference, I stayed to indulge. She won best paper. I died.
I knew at that moment that I had made the last, worst mistake of my life. Even without my body, I felt the surge of anxiety.. like my stomach was a pin cushion. My expression was carved into the face of my corpse. Full of pain and regret. Those few seconds where I floated in space.. it felt like an eternity. Or maybe it was an eternity. I still don't understand how time works without a body.
I reached out to myself, and I was whole again. Not exactly, as you might know. I stood up and cleaned. I finished the laundry. I tossed the needles away. She would be home any minute. I needed to make the coffee.
\---
Even in the end she was so comforting, so caring. She saw right through me. Maybe if I could see the world through her eyes, maybe I could've seen that. Maybe I wouldn't have needed anything else.
I realized at that moment that she never needed me to be anything more than to be there. Looking back, that's the only thing that ever mattered.
Even in death she was making me a better person.
I did make another mistake. An even worse mistake, somehow. I grabbed a pencil and my notebook and started writing.
Somehow I knew she came back later. I left the door slightly open, the notebook on the table. I could see her coming back to the apartment, ready to try to work something out. Somehow she knows when she walks in and sees it sitting there. She always knows these things.
I walked out to the hiking trail we discovered in Freshman year of our undergrad. I carried myself up to the highest point in the trail, where through a break in the trees you can get a beautiful view of the college town. I sat closer to the edge than ever. I had no need for fear anymore. I sat there and waited. It was so beautiful. Why hadn't I come back here when it could catch my breath? My thoughts drifted back to her, and I let myself get lost in the recollections of our love.
It wasn't until the moon came up that it began to rain. I let myself break apart until I couldn't smile anymore, decomposing until my bones began to crumble and scatter to the earth below.
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“ Jesus Christ!” I sit up, gasping for air, only to feel my head hit the lid of something hard. Muffled talking emanated from the outside. “ Where the fuck am I?” I murmur. Only now do I realise I’m inside a coffin.
Oh shit.
I start banging on the coffin, screaming for help. People rush over and it cracks open, light blinding me. My family are crying, hugging me. And I have no fucking clue what the hell is going on.
…
That was two weeks ago. I found out yesterday that coming back from the dead while your soul inhabits the body means it still deteriorates, regardless of what you do with it. And I did a lot. Freezing, injections, tape, bandages, anti-rotting serum…You name it and I’ve tried it. Plus the funeral homes are getting suspicious at the amount of the stuff I keep buying. They think I’m getting high. And, no, I don’t plan on telling my family, because that’s an awkward conversation to have to deal with. ‘Oh hey mom, your son who came back from the deal is slowly disintegrating. I know you’re having trouble with work and you’re going job between job and barely paying enough to keep the electricity on, but hey, it’s fine.’
Yeah, not happening.
So, as of now, the only person I told is my partner. Weird choice I guess but I needed to talk to someone. And they really love me, and they just want to help. It’s tough, but I’ll make it. That’s the end of my first, uh, writing thing. I dunno what to call it.
| 2022-08-02T07:05:37 | 2022-08-02T05:48:29 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] Your whole life you had an ability that seemed normal to you. Now you realized you're the only one with this ability.
[deleted]
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“Okay, pencils down and heads up guys. That includes you Michael.”
I jerked my head up from my desk, my near empty essay paper getting stuck to the side of my face for a second before falling off. I let out a quiet yawn as I glanced to my right at Mike who, in his usual fashion, was still scribbling on the page as he tried to get in one last paragraph. At the mention of his name, Mike gave a small groan before reluctantly setting down his pencil.
“Ah, no worries Michael.” Mr Mako smiled. “Remember guys,” he turned his attention to the room as he began picking up the papers on people’s desks, “we’ll be finishing this next time since someone somehow got lost on the way to English again, Ryan.”
“Guilty as charged.” I raised a hand and grinned nervously at Mr Mako’s disapproving eyes. “It really is incredible how easy it is to take a wrong turn and end up at the Sports changing rooms.”
“On the other side of the school?” Jamie turned around in her seat in front of me and raised one brow as the rest of the class began to chuckle. “You only went to fetch the books from the cupboard down the hall!”
“I know, right! You all know I’m bad with directions, at this point it’s the school’s fault for “believing in me” and not giving me a map.”
“Well,” Mr Mako started as he casually picked up my essay and easily read the meagre paragraph I made. “Let’s just hope you don’t need a map to find your way back to detention to finish your essay early; that way you’ll have plenty of time to find those books while everyone else finishes their essays in our next lesson.”
“Oh, what!?” I muttered under my breath and leaned back in my chair to stare at the ceiling as Mr Mako took the collected papers back to his desk. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mike giving me a sympathetic shrug as he along with everyone else began to pack their things for the bell.
***
“Look, Ryan, you’re a good kid” Mr Mako started.
I rolled my eyes at my essay which, in the past hour, had only grown by two paragraphs and a sentence. Yet another detention with yet another “I know you can do better” speech with yet another teacher. Still at my desk, the most I’d done in detention was watch the clock above the door tick away while Mr Mako tapped away at his laptop, probably to send another email about me to the guidance counsellor. No biggie, all Ms Pete needed was a packet of biscuits and a little reassurance that I was not, in fact, troubled by anything at home.
“But,” Mr Mako continued, breaking me from my thoughts. “You can’t be doing these things anymore. You’re about to go into GCSE years and yet you’re still refusing to take anything seriously.”
“I take a lot of things seriously.” I smirked to myself. “Joking, sleeping, eating (no wait not that one), climbing stuff, etc.”
“And how will that help you in life?” Mr Mako turned to me, a mixture of frustration and concern in his eyes. “You need to think about your future, Ryan. There won’t be anyone to hold your hand while you’re in those exam halls, you need to learn to do it yourself and not rely on Michael to keep bailing you out.”
I scowled at my paper. “I don’t rely on Michael to bail me out.” I muttered.
I heard Mr Mako give a sigh. He paused for a second, as though he wanted to say something else, before finally coming out with: “detentions over, I suppose there’s always another day.”
Relieved, I packed my books into my bag, slung it over my shoulder and walked up to Mr Mako’s desk to drop off my paper. At my approach, he looked up and said “don’t get “lost” on the way home.”
“Sure.” I said quietly, giving him the paper and walking out the door... right into Mike who had his back to the door as he chatted to someone.
“Ow!” We exclaimed in unison as my face collided with the back of his head. I jumped back only to hit the closed door behind me and hurt my back on the handle as Mike stumbled forward into whoever he was talking to. He turned with an annoyed expression that quickly changed to a grin.
“Must you always be a walking disaster?” He teased.
“I dunno,” I smiled back, holding one hand to my stinging nose and the other to my back where I knew a bruise would soon show up. “Are you gonna always pick the worst spots to stand? What’re you doing here anyway?”
“Well,” said a familiar, irritating voice that made me groan internally as Jamie stepped around her brother. “Michael wanted to wait for you despite the teachers specifically instructing us to go home, so he dragged me all the way to a Macdonald’s to wait out the best part of an hour before sneaking back in.”
“You didn’t have to stay, Jamie.” Mike rolled his eyes at me as we began walking down the English corridor to the stairs. “What’d you think I was gonna do, have a seance?”
“With *him* it could be anything.” Jamie huffed as she gestured to me.
“Anything, huh.” I smirked, recalling the same cautionary words being used by that elf chief I was fighting while searching for the books I accidentally dropped earlier through the fabric of this reality, before finally emerging back in the boys changing rooms. I looked at Mike and he gave me a knowing wink. “Sounds about right.”
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I was in my classroom,i was nervous because i haven't studied anything for the entire semester.Mister Rim was the most evil physics professor in the entire university,he knew how to put the worst type of questions,his twisted mind was precise and non dared to question his excellence.As i bleat in the space all sweating i felt pain in my legs i turned back and saw Jerry holding needle i looked him with the type of face you look at someone you want to kill ''It will help you pass the exam''.
The clock was ticking i wasn't typing anything ,worrying of what Jerry gave me did he drugged me?All of a sudden i snapped the entire room was blue and i was seeing yellow physics laws i looked at my questions and i had it all in there as if i was Einstein himself i knew it all without even looking the questions.What did Jerry gave me ,am i going insane is this a nightmare?The bell rang as loud as ever the entire classroom was shaking and all of a sudden... void.
I woke up in my dorm,it was 3 am and i was in front of book must have fall asleep it was open on E=MC2 ah yes the theory of relativity must be ready for tommorow or else mister Rim would kill me.The next day i was the one laughing at the twisted professor.
| 2020-06-14T00:08:23 | 2020-06-13T23:30:37 | 33 | 14 |
[WP] 2174. Sleep is prohibited amongst all U.S citizens. Pills known as “Wakey Tablets” provide enough raw energy to stay awake for 3 days. Anyone caught sleeping will be shot on sight. You are secretly running an underground network of beds for all to sleep on. You hear a knock on the door.
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Sleep! You want it I got it! Since the prohibition started I’ve been making a killing on shut-eye. It’s only fair if the government is making a killing on 24/7 productivity. Quick nap, afternoon siesta, even overnight stays, I do it all. When you’ve been downing wakey tablets like the dickens, a little sleep is better than sex, or so I’ve heard. And you’ll pay top credit to get it.
A few colleagues have tried to set up their own operations. But sooner or later they all end in a bloodbath. They don’t have the secret to my success, the only thing that stands between me and the soldiers, should they ever find out what’s really going on down here: one big ass door. No one is getting through that monstrosity unless I let them. If they eventually did, we’d be long gone by then.
Night shift is rolling in, our busiest time of day. A knock on the door is quickly followed by a coin dropping through the slot. The patron gets the once-over by Hank before being allowed to enter. So goes every night, as I watch them shuffle in one-by-one. A newcomer goes through the vetting process, hands over her borrowed coin, and I hand her a pamphlet.
“These are the services we offer. You’ll see the prices listed here, 300 credits per 10 minutes for the first hour. The price increases from there as the risk increases. Any time beyond 3 hours and we provide a cover story free of charge. People get so suspicious of absences these days, don’t they? So unless you have any questions, let me show you to your room.”
She looks skeptical, eyeing me up and down, but offers no questions and we walk down the hall to the first available room. My finger flips the light switch and I usher her inside.
“This will be your room for the duration of your stay. We will charge you when you are ready to check out. Oh! I almost forgot to ask, when was your last wakey tablet?”
Her eyes drift for a moment before she answers, “about 18 hours”.
“Huh, that’s a bit odd.” Odd indeed. “Usually people plan it out a bit better than that. You’ll have a tough time trying to sleep with 54 hours left on your tablet. But it can be done. And if you decide to return you should come in at the end of your tablet; some people halve theirs so they can come in more often. You’ll have a much better experience that way. Anyhow, I’ll leave you to it.”
She shakes my hand and I close the door behind me. A few more regulars have drifted in, and promptly drifted off. I relieve Hank of door duty, as there’s not much duty after 2am, and he heads home for the night. The hours drag on. It’s been years since I really shut my eyes. Once you start indulging in recreational sleep, it’s a hard habit to kick, and I’ve got a business to run.
5am finally approaches and the morning workers are the first to rise. I hand them new coins, tell of my hope they’ll return (they always do), and let them silently slip out the door. Soon after, the newcomer emerges from her room and heads toward me.
“How’d you do?” I ask.
“You were right. I should have timed it better. I didn’t sleep much at all.” She offers a soft smile, a smile that reminds me of my mother’s.
I hand her a new coin and open the door. She inspects the coin for a moment before her gaze meets my eyes again. Her smile has melted into a somber look I can’t quite understand. She meets my confusion with one whispered word, “run.” Before the word has soaked into my mind, the soldiers have burst through the open door, knocking the woman aside, as the early morning sun fills the room. Five, six, seven, more march in. The leader barks orders, demanding to see the owner. His voice bellows through the entire building, seeping into the rooms like a thick fog that spills the occupants into the hall.
One-by-one, just as they entered, my patrons are marched in front of the leader who demands they identify the owner. I might have some hope for loyalty, if it weren’t for the fact that everyone here is a criminal.
“It’s the kid!” A voice from the back hollers out. He steps forward, pointing to me.
The soldiers slowly gaze my way, most of them looking rather surprised at the 12-year-old standing before them. They remain motionless as the leader breaks from the pack, marching up to me. His oversized fist raises me by my shirt, swinging me around until I am in front of the traitor.
“This kid? You’re telling me this little twerp is running this illegal operation?” A few heads nod. Fuck em all.
The man finally sets me down. But before I can say a word he retrieves his pistol from his waist and fires at the traitor, whose body drops to the floor like a sack of flour.
This gun man brings his face down to mine now, “you see what you’ve done?”
One-by-one he shoots my patrons until the last sack of flour thuds on the floor. In the deafening silence that remains, he brings the gun around to me.
Behind the soldiers I hear the newcomer crying out, “He’s just a kid! Don’t shoot him!”
But I know better than her. I close my eyes and think about her smile, the same soft smile of my mother’s, a smile I never thought I’d see again. And for the first time in years, I sleep.
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**Knock.**
3 in the front, 4 flanking our backdoor.
"Who's there",I ask out of formality. The Sleep Patrol Unit(SPU) agents may just need some risky sleeping sometimes.
I can *feel* their gun on the door lock, it may be old but it definitely isn't rusty.
"Oh y'know, wan som' dat sleep"
Do they not understand how stupid they sound? They are trying so hard, I know exactly why.
"This ain't that kind of business, take your Wakey tablets and get the hell out of here before I call the SPU"
My clients have been escorted away 30 minutes prior. I'll play along just for the heck of it.
"Open fire."
Those Wakey Tablets do a number on the brain. Those agents of SPU have been hard coded to exploit the tablets full extent.
You see, By prohibiting sleep, US citizens take these government issued tablets to make sure they dont *die*.
You can't blame them, Anything to live am I right?
Well wrong.
Completely wrong.
"That's 3, the flank will be here soon" I say as the sleeping gas seeps into the agents.
Wakey Tablets not only give you energy, they also **kill** those who dare to sleep.
These SPUs are now dead.
Just like my family.
We *untainted* will rise soon.
| 2019-06-19T07:40:56 | 2019-06-19T07:37:59 | 33 | 14 |
[WP] You are a 100 year old lady living alone, your neighbor offered to buy your house and let you live in it rent free. Its been 10 years now, he doesn't know you are immortal and he is getting very inpatient!
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Having successfully committed murder, Jackson decided to treat himself for breakfast. Instead of having his normal plain toast with low-sugar marmalade and a cool glass of 1% milk, he decided to microwave a frozen burrito.
The microwave dinged. He whistled as he pulled the plate out. He normally strayed away from such foods, but today he was feeling adventurous. Daring. Spicy.
He took a bite, grimaced, spat it out in the sink, and started toasting his bread.
*Oh well,* he thought good-naturedly. *It’s the attempt that matters.*
He didn’t feel too bad about it. It was hard to feel bad on such a beautiful day. Through the window above the kitchen sink, Jackson could see a clear sky and a brimming sun. The golden light illuminated the massive backyard and patio, which was now his. So was the kitchen. So was the living room. So was every hard-earned square foot of this damned place.
Jackson poured himself a glass of milk and raised it to the sun.
“To Maria,” he said solemnly. “May she rest in peace.”
Despite his best efforts, a little twinge of guilt twisted his heart. Now that she was dead Jackson felt… well, not *fond* of the old crone, but there was some warmth there. He had to admit there had been some good times. As an unmarried man who had no friends, having some companionship had been nice, though Maria tended to say some very strange things.
*“Oh that Genghis Khan was a real piece of work. He used to eat his toenails at the dinner table. Disgusting behaviour!”*
*“You need some more charisma, Jackson! That’s why you’re still single. Let me tell you about Gaius Octavian… now there was a man’s man. When he looked at you…”*
*“I tell ya, Benjamin Franklin was a lot fatter than people think.”*
Madness tended to come with old age, and Maria was as old as they got. So when Jackson noticed his next door neighbour was an elderly woman who seemingly had no family support group, he knew he stumbled upon a golden opportunity. He befriended her and got into her good graces. At first he tried to get her to just sell the house outright to him; he even offered to help her move to a retirement home down the street. She refused, saying the only way she would leave this house was when she died in it.
He took up her challenge. Using the greasy sales tactics he cultivated over decades of targeting the elderly at his life insurance company, he proposed a deal. He would purchase the house from her; she would be able to live in it until she passed. She accepted on the condition that Jackson stay in the house with her until said death. He agreed and had a lawyer oversee the very strange agreement to make it legally binding.
*It’s for your peace of mind,* he said to her when she said he didn’t need to do such a thing. *This way you know for sure I’m not just going to kick you out on the curb. Not that I would do that, of course. You’re my friend, Maria. I care about you.*
He shouldn’t have made the damn document. He should’ve kicked her out on the curb and reneged his verbal, non-legally binding promise. At the time, Jackson was sure Maria had half her foot in the grave. She looked like a newborn chicken. She had more liver spots than stars in the sky. Her limbs were nothing more than bones with skin-coloured paint on top. He would stay with her for a year tops, she would die, then he’d have a second home which he could flip for a major profit in the future.
Yet year after year, she lived. She survived. Jackson begrudgingly respected her for that. She was a fighter, so he suffered through birthday after birthday, New Year after New Year, and still she clung on to life like a spider on a cobweb swaying in the breeze.
Until last night. When he handed her the nightly pills she took before bed, he had snuck in a cyanide pill. A gift from his basement-dwelling nephew who spent all his days doing God-knows what on the Internet. Now all Jackson needed to do was call his acquaintance at the morgue who agreed to take care of the body for a nominal fee. Everything was planned, Maria was dead, and the house was his. He hadn’t checked her body yet, but he didn’t need to. His nephew had shown him a video of him testing one of the pills on a rat; the rodent had frothed at the mouth and died nearly instantly. A peaceful death.
The toast popped out. He jumped, startled for some reason, and blushed. He half-turned around, expecting Maria to make a snide comment like she usually did when he did something silly, but he quickly remembered that would no longer happen.
He grabbed the toast, put it on a plate, and sat down at the dining table alone. He looked at the seat where she would normally sit. It had a stupid little cushion on it with seals embroidered on. She used to make a farting noise when she sat down on it.
Jackson looked down at his toast. He took a half-hearted bite and chewed. The house was quiet. Normally Maria would be singing along to the god-awful Christian radio station she loved. It used to grate on his ears terribly.
He sighed and set the toast down. He didn’t even put the marmalade on it. What was the matter with him? He loved marmalade and toast and 1% milk and quiet breakfasts.
On a whim, he stood up and turned on the radio on the kitchen counter. It was already set to the Christian station. He listened to the gospel music and briefly wondered at the state of his soul. That quickly grew boring, so he sat down at the table once more and pushed his toast around. He didn’t feel hungry anymore. Maybe it was the burrito—
Jackson froze. Beneath the angelic choir singing about the mercy of Jesus Christ, he could faintly hear a sound that shouldn’t be possible. An electronic whirring. A sound he had such vitriol for that *hate* would be too weak a word.
With weak legs, he stood up and woodenly walked into the living room.
“Good morning, dear!” Maria said cheerily, waving at him from her stair lift. The chair clunked its way down the side of the staircase. “Why, I slept like a bear!”
Jackson’s jaw dropped. He could only stare wordlessly as Maria prattled on about the quality of her sleep, the strange dream she had about fishes in Prague, and how badly Jackson needed a haircut.
At the end of the lift, Maria shakily got to her feet using her cane and shuffled over, giving Jackson a wink as she walked past him. He remained frozen in the living room.
“Oh, is this burrito for me?” Maria called out from the kitchen.
He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said weakly because he didn't know what else to say.
“Wonderful! And you already turned on the radio for me. You’re a good boy, Jackson, just like Christ was. Though he was definitely more of a trouble maker than you are. Well, actually…” She shuffled back into the living room and patted Jackson on the butt with a cackle. “You got a little trouble in you too, don’t ya? But who doesn’t these days? Nothing that can’t be forgiven. Come, let’s eat together.”
She held out her arm for Jackson to take. He looked down at the wrinkly old woman with gleaming eyes that suddenly seemed too intelligent and lively to be in a body this aged.
He gulped and took her arm.
*I’ll get her next year,* he thought as she led the two of them into the kitchen. *Next year, for sure.*
---
/r/chrischang
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“Poisoned cookies? I thought they tasted a little off.” Martha muttered, sticking her hand back in the jar to grab another tainted cookie, much to the shock of Mr. Walker, who could only stare at the old hermit in fearful awe.
“That’s impossible. I just saw you die. I saw you roll back in the chair and die. How are you alive and why are you still eating them?” Mr. Walker was confident the woman had died. He saw her fall back into her recliner only minutes ago after eating the poisoned treat, and yet here she was, back alive and continuing to gnaw her way through the jar.
“Oh sweetie, I just needed a nap, so I thought I would play dead. I may be immortal, but I’m still an old woman. These cookies are rather nice. Usually people don’t put effort into the cooking side of it when they are poisoning someone. I’ll have to get the recipe from you, without the poison, of course.” Martha let out a laugh, rocking back in her chair, getting a good look at the terrified Mr. Walker.
“Immortal? You can’t die? You let me buy your house knowing that? I should go to the police.” Mr Walker huffed, ready to stand up from the flower coated couch he was seated on, only to drop back down when Martha waved a poisoned cookie towards him.
“Which do you think the police will be more interested in? The attempt on my life? Or your fabricated claims that a harmless old woman is immortal?” She asked, a confident grin stretched out on her wrinkled face.
“Well…” Mr. Walker sank into the couch, hands gripping an ugly sunflower patched cushion. “They wouldn’t believe me. But you admitted it. Look, I’m sorry I just need the house. I promised my kids this would be a gift for them when they left highschool. Their first investment property. I thought I was doing the right thing by buying it off you for cheap and letting you live there for free. I just didn’t expect this to happen.”
“I don’t think your children would be happy to learn their father tried to murder an old woman.” Martha said, watching as Mr. Walker lowered his head, like a scolded puppy. “You were a good kid, that’s why I sold you the house. I’m a little disappointed to see you resort to this, but if it means that much to you. I will fake my death and move on. People are getting suspicious in this town anyhow.”
Mr. Walker didn’t respond at first, fingers twiddling amongst one another, thinking over his scheme that seemed so morally wrong now. “I’m sorry. Stay as long as you want to, you’re right, I shouldn’t have resorted to something so horrible.”
“Damn right you shouldn’t have.” Martha said, getting up from the recliner, grabbing her walking stick. She gave Mr. Walker a quick smack over the back of the head with it before hobbling into her bedroom.
After fifthteen minutes had passed, Martha returned carrying a suitcase filled with her most cherished belongings. “Don’t worry, I have a few friends that will write up my fake death certificate and handle that side of things. Just say something nice at my funeral.” Martha said, having already called for a taxi.
As she got into the back of the taxi, she gave the driver the address to the airport, staring out at her old home of thirty years. “I think I’ll buy it back when he passes.” She said, only earning a small, confused look from the driver before he began the fare.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-08-30T22:08:28 | 2021-08-30T22:02:59 | 312 | 225 |
[WP] Everyone in the world is colorblind until they meet/touch their soulmate; you meet a random stranger and everything becomes colorful, but the stranger just stares at you, confused.
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I never truly contemplated what a soul mate was. As kids, our folks had all said they existed at one day and age, but in today's society of screen oriented technology, social networking, and liberalism, the new generation had discarded the notion completely. Instead it had been replaced by the thrill of quick flings, experimentation, and total independence. Perhaps a soul mate meant more than just a dimension between lust and love? To describe it felt like trying to pronounce a letter that didn't exist. I had spent my whole adult life in search of meaning and connection, but every time I found myself smitten for a girl, they'd quickly pull away to avoid the complications of relationship and commitment. It was a heartbreaking string of years that left me defenseless, vulnerable and hurt. And yet, I carried on, head up high. It's not that I needed someone in order to be happy, but it sure was a hell of a rush finding someone who you could look forward to kissing at night. So, each day I found a way to improve myself and better my chances at finding this ever elusive happiness.
Enter June 23rd, 2016. I hopped on my bike en route to the tavern by the lake. It was a Thursday, which meant I would hold down the bar for a few hours while drinking coffee and reading with the occasional side conversation to my neighbor and perhaps the cute bartender, if I was lucky. I remember it all so vividly, the sun was peaking ever so slowly through the breezy clouds, my body was a weird restless/tired from my workout the day before, and I was reading an old classic (Isaac Asimov's Foundation) that I found at the bottom of my Dad's pile of books from the 70's.
I had just gotten to the crux of a chapter, when a bright and burning irradiance filled my view. Startled, I looked up to see an absolutely gorgeous girl to my left. The glow started around her and then blew out to take up the whole room with a warmness I had never seen before. It almost felt like those dreams you get after a few days of not smoking weed, it was surreal and terrifying. My brain tingled, my feet stuttered, and I saw color for the first time. The notion of color was like trying to smell something you had never shared air with before. I had been living in a black and white world and I was melting from an overstimulation of feelings and thoughts. I knew a few people who could see color, but it was thought to be a very rare genetic mutation that phenotypically exposed itself in one's twenties. I wasn't sure how to comprehend my emotions, but I knew I had to do something. I saw her grab a pint and mosey over to the bench in the corner of the room.
I've always been the shy type, but luckily none of my past habits exposed themselves as I strode over to where she sat. I confidently introduced myself and instantly hit it off with her (Sarah, as I soon found out). The shock of color was still enveloped by the presence of this girl. I could tell she felt something for me right away too, but her enthusiasm was more controlled and much less emphatic. As the adrenaline rush started to subside, the colors dominated my senses. I was overwhelmed by the orange tint to her beer, the cool yellow of her shirt, and the dark blue lenses to her eyes.
I had to say something, and no I don't recommend this line to anyone on a first date... "Your beer! I think it's a color! I wonder what that color is called...?"
She looked up at me frozen. Our eyes locked and I swear she stopped breathing until I finally interrupted, "never mind, I'm going crazy. So, where are you from?" I desperately wanted to keep my cool.
She was still staring directly into my eyes. "Orange," she said, "the beer is orange."
"Wait, you can see color?!" I rebutted, absolutely shocked.
"I met the love of my life 6 years ago. His name was Max. I was overtaken by a wave of light which I never knew existed. We thought we would be together forever." Sarah shed a single tear as she spoke. "What happened?" I said. "He passed, 4 years ago. We were driving out to Utah, he swerved into the oncoming lane and we collided head on with a semi. I should have died too, but instead I spent the better part of 8 months in a hospital wishing I was dead." What she said next changed my life forever, "that rumor of color coming from a genetic mutation is bullshit. It comes from finding your soul mate..."
A pit formed in my stomach. I wanted to dismiss what this stranger just said, but every inch of me trusted her completely.. Could it be? Maybe the phrase until death do us part applied to soul mates as well? I didn't want to get hurt again, but I simply could not resist this girl. For the first time, I felt relaxed, unafraid, and safe. I had no fear of rejection or doubt in my mind. As a former cross-country athlete, the best I can do is compare it the feeling of crossing the finishing line after a long and difficult race. I did it.
Sarah gazed up at me nervously. I could tell her mind was racing, but she managed to fumble over her words, "who gave you those abilities? How long have you been able to see?"
"Sarah," I whispered, "it was you..."
Had it been anyone else, they would have run away hysterically laughing, crying, or probably both. But Sarah didn't move. She grinned and nervously looked away for a brief second before returning her gaze to my eyes. She then reached out and grabbed my hand and squeezed it like a stress ball, absorbing all of her built up tension. Another single tear ran down her cheek as she broke the silence, "so, can I buy you a beer?"
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"Clara. Yours?"
She was pretty, there was no denying it. Not my usual type. Then again, all of my dates have been grey in the end, so what do I know?
"My name's Jason. Good to meet you."
We shook hands. Another dud. You sort of get used to it as you get a little older. There wasn't nearly as much disappointment in her eyes.
"And who do we have here?"
I offered my index finger to a cooing stroller. A delicate little hand grasped it instinctively. It didn't hit me until I looked up again.
"Oh my God. Oh GOD!"
"I'm sorry?" was Clara's reply.
Suddenly, another wave of emotion. I slowly tilted my head back toward the stroller. A baby. A million thoughts flooded my brain, and on top of that, Color. I could barely stand up. I wanted to run. A BABY?
Clara quickly turned the stroller toward her to check on her child.
"What? What is it?"
I ran. I hesitated. I turned around. My mind still racing.
*How old am I? I had to be about 20 years older than this... BABY. That's not so bad. Oh God what am I saying? Color was supposed to be great. Am I insane? I'll have to wait 20 or 30 more years before I can even meet this person. Do they have Color? Will they remember the grey? How can I convince them it was me that gave them Color? Do I even want to? Do I-*
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I regained consciousness on a hospital bed. All I had was a mother's name. I missed the grey.
| 2016-08-11T21:37:57 | 2016-08-11T20:20:10 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍
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Living beyond my means always seemed not only unnecessary to me, but pointless. Sure, I could do whatever I wanted and be whatever I wanted, but I had seen what money could do to people and those around them. I didn't want to be another chump with "yes men" around me telling me how good of a job I was doing, regardless if I actually was.
So when I won the lottery, I kept quiet. Not only did I not tell my friends, but I didn't even tell my family. Instead, I retained a lawyer and financial advisor and just invested. Before I knew it my bank account just grew and grew until I was worth $140 billion dollars.
When it came to my day to day life, I tried to keep i simple and I never saw a reason to stop doing what I loved. I mean hell, I was lucky. How many people can say that do what they love every day when they go into work? And keeping my secret from co-workers was easy. When I went on vacation to Paris, it was seen as completely normal. What they didn't know what I took a private jet there, stayed in a suite at the Four Seasons and ate at Michelin star restaurants each night.
For a moment, my life felt perfect--but all good things must come to and end. That end was Craig. He was the new creative director at my agency and from the moment I met him, I knew I didn't like him. For one, he had no talent. He didn't get to where he was based off of his work or ability to lead a team, he got there because he was bully that knew how to manipulate those around him. I wasn't one of those people and I saw straight through his act.
It didn't take long for me to realize that as soon as Craig joined my team, he had set his sights on me. His goal was to destroy my career and turn everyone against me. He started by criticizing my work and rewriting every single word and sentence I showed him. His ideas were moronic and off strategy, but since he was the boss no one had the guts to call him out on it. When I did call him out, all the others would shrink down in their seats and look away. No one dared tell the boss he had a bad idea and boy was Craig going to make sure I paid for disagreeing with him.
It started with little things. Like that deadline I could have sworn was Wednesday was suddenly Monday. Or files would go missing from the server. With time it grew and grew until suddenly mistakes were being made that required the team to work over the weekend and I was being blamed. It was so obvious, I don't know how I didn't see it coming.
It was a Friday morning when Craig called me into a last minute meeting. When I walked into the conference room, there sat HR, alone at the table with a folder. Craig's face went serious and as I sat down and told me that he was sorry but I "just wasn't the right fit here". HR then explained to me that my time with the agency was terminated and they would ship my belongings to my home address.
I stood up, trying to hold back the tears in my eyes and Craig smiled. He smiled as if to say, "I won" and before I could say a word, HR led me out the door and out the office.
For months I sat at home and dwelled on what happened. I tried to piece together what happened and how it got to the point where they would fire me. As I began to sort through all of the events that had unraveled I began to see the connection: Craig. Every step forward I'd make, he'd ensure I took two steps back. Well, little did Craig know that is screwed with the wrong girl. Not only was he going to pay for what he did, but everyone at the agency was going to pay for following him blindly.
The account I worked on was the largest client the agency had before, it was worth millions of dollars. So naturally, the best way to destroy a tumor is to cut off it's blood supply. So I bought the client, the entire company, under an alias name.
The next step was to hire a chairman and CEO that would act as an instrument to my plan. My team privately met with dozens of candidates and it didn't take long for me to appoint someone to head up the company that ensured me he'd follow my direction without question.
In the meantime, I found another job. In fact, it was a better job with a title and pay increase that I may have not needed, but at least demonstrated they saw my value. Each day I'd come home from work and communicate with my team and CEO, directing them on steps they needed to take to ensure the success of the company. First being--fire all of the advertising agencies they had partnered with.
For one particular ad agency, however, I requested the CEO personally deliver the news to the creative team himself. I told him to handle the process as he saw fit but there was one thing he needed to say upon termination: "I'm sorry, but you're just not the right fit here."
It didn't take long for news to spread about the great loss and changes within the client's organization and within about a year, after losing their largest client, the agency closed.
Eventually, that agency became a distant memory and I was happily promoted at my job, working as a creative director for a place I loved. It was early fall when a resume came across my desk with a familiar name and a huge gap in employment history. He had already been through 2 interviews earlier that week and I was the last point of contact as the hiring manager. I gleefully saw the calendar invite pop onto my computer and that afternoon I walked to the conference room where candidates waited to meet with their potential employers.
I pushed open the door and Craig looked up. His smile quickly disappeared and he went as pale as a ghost as he saw me standing at the door. I had recently gotten married and he had not realized who I was since my last name had changed. I smiled brightly and without a word sat down in front of him. He stuttered as he opened his portfolio book and began to quietly go over his work with me, conveniently skipping over the work from the agency we had worked at together not so long ago.
I quietly listened and as he paused to take a breath. I leaned forward, looking at him directly in the eye and smiled. "You know what, Craig", I said, "I'm sorry, but you're just not the right fit here."
​
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There are some things that money can’t buy . . . like manners, or morals, or integrity . . . good thing I have a fucking sweet mansion though!
When I secretly became the richest man in the world, I didn’t think my life would be so vanilla. I mean, I have everything I could ever want and more, but I can’t let anyone know that it’s mine. What’s the point of getting limited edition, carbon fiber, diamond encrusted Heelys if no one is around to see me use them!?
Before I became a billionaire, I was working a shitty little office job. Long, boring hours. Lazy co-workers. And one hard-ass boss. God, I hated that guy. Always yelling and screaming. Making me be his errand boy. Getting pissy whenever the coffee I made him wasn’t the “right temperature.”
The moment I made my fortune, I promised myself I’d never do that trivial nonsense ever again. But there I was, back in that same tiny cubicle. My management team told me it would be better if I took my old job back. No one would suspect that the guy who begged for his office gig back could secretly be able to buy a small country.
I know what you’re thinking. “You’re being ridiculous. A wonderful, rich dude like you shouldn’t need to hide his lifestyle.” Well, I’ll tell ya what. A lot of people want you dead when they realize you have money. After my first cohort of “friends” pooled their money together to put a hit on me; I learned it’s better to keep your circle small. And by the way, I paid that hitman ten times what they were going for. Whoever said actions speak louder than words have never spoken to my man Ben Franklin.
Now, let’s talk business. Word around the street is you have a dog. And that you care an awful lot about it. Am I correct? With my contacts and resources, I can make your canine companion practically immortal.
I’m no stranger to revenge myself, but I figure it would be better to consult an expert.
So, Mr. Wick, what do you think would be the best course of action to make that asshole regret the day he fired me!?
| 2019-03-04T09:01:49 | 2019-03-04T08:04:24 | 2,500 | 50 |
[wp] you are a sealed soldier. Someone who wears a power armor which can never be taken off. Everything is self contained. When the nukes drop you expect to be broiled alive. Yet you never die.
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I stared at the revolver sitting in my hand, a weapon designed to take a life, to end a life, my last chance at salvation. I pointed the gun to my Temple and pulled the trigger. I was met with a full clanging sound and the feeling of overwhelming defeat.
I had expected as much, these suits were designed to withstand anything, keep us alive in any situation, and refused to let us die. For thirty days now I roamed this scorched Earth looking for anything or anyone. Unable to eat, sleep, or even die I had no purpose and no motivation. When I first enlisted this suit seemed a blessing I thought it meant I would be able to live forever but I soon discovered it only meant I would never be allowed to die.
Pushing these thoughts out of my mind I continued walking, searching for a reason to live or a way out of this world, whichever came first. Suddenly I heard a knocking sound come from below me, I quickly knelt down and started digging. A few moments later I was met with what seemed to be a door, a bunker perhaps? I considered the possibility of danger and quickly realized it wouldn't matter anyways as I prayed open the door. When I finally got the doors open I was met with two young children, their eyes tired and empty, who winced at the bright light of the outside world. I tried to speak but remembered no sound escaped these helmets, it was designed so we could communicate through our radios but nothing else. I knelt down and waved at the children they backed away timidly, who could blame them, to them I wasn't a human nor could I be trusted, they had lives to fear for. I noticed they seemed famished, their rations must have run out. I pointed at them and then rubbed my stomach trying to communicate. The older boy nodded, "hungry" he croaked out, his voice was so raspy and dry. I nodded and pointed back into the bunker, they looked at me strangely so I wrote in the dirt "safe". They seemed to understand and went back inside.
I only had to walk a few minutes before I came across the remains of civilization. I had been doing nothing but roam for the past month so I had found a few of these ruins. Sifting through all the rubble I was amazed to find a few lockboxes with some food and water in them, probably a stockpile for some unlucky soul who didn't make it to see the fruit of his preparations. A quick scan indicated they were safe to consume and I headed back towards the bunker.
About a hundred yards off the bunker my visor picked up some chatter, sound waves popped up across my view and I heard one voice say, "c'mon man get it open, this thing is bound to have something good inside." More survivors? But what are they doing here, and more importantly why are they trying to get into the bunker. I approached carefully making sure they didnt notice me, listening in the other said "what if there's more survivors in their? Like the last one." The first man laughed, "then we deal with them like the rest..." I heard him laugh menacingly as he produced something from his coat. I was still too far away to see but my visor instantly picked up the threat and labeled it "gun" with a red highlight. The kids, I had to protect them. Moving to a full run I was much faster that one would think for wearing a two ton suit. I was on top of them before they even realized I was there. I pulled the first man off of the bunker and threw him back into the mud. The second man looked in awe before raising his gun. The look in his eye was fearful, he clearly didn't know how to use it. "hey! Back off man!" His hands were shaking, he clearly didn't want to do this. I approached slowly, he began to shake even more. "I'm warning you, I'll do it!" He fired off a shot, nothing, and another and another. Unable to feel or even fear for my life I continued taking his shots one after another. After the sixth shot the gun clicked harmlessly. He closed his eyes in anticipation of my attack but instead I took the gun from him. He opened his eyes and I crushed the gun in front of him dropping the scraps at his feet. I then pointed behind him motioning for him to go. He and his friend seemed to understand as they ran away frightened.
I turned around to go give the food to the children only to find the door open and the two children standing before me. The older one held a pistol in his hands, he too was shaking with holding this weapon of death. I walked over to them calmly and took the gun. I shook my head and pointed to the empty surrounding, the threat was gone. They seemed to calm down a bit and I smiled beneath my helmet. I produced the strong box with the food in it, enough to last them a few days at least. The older one smiled and quickly dragged it back inside. The little one started to follow but stopped at the entrance. He turned back and yelled to me, "c'mon Mr. Robot, come with us!" He ran back to me and tugged my hand. "you saved us, so come eat with us." He smiled so innocently and purely, he couldn't be any older than 6, I felt a warmth in my chest, a feeling of belonging. Was this happiness? Regardless, I followed the boy inside. I guess this wasn't so bad, I had found a reason to live for now at least.
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Did they expect us to stop?
To simply drop?
To cease?
Then they were wrong. Perhaps those who crafted our skins did not expect it but those who don the Steel will never rest. Never sleep. Never tire. Never hunger. Never thirst. Never need.
The lands we fought over are gone now. Irradiated plains pocked by craters and never parting clouds are all that remain. The borders are erased forever. There is nothing to come after this.
When the first of us proudly took to the Steel our home called us heroes. Angels. Saviors. Did they not think our enemies knew? That even as the crowds called with thunderous applause no whispers were being carefully made? Because the enemy knew; and they answered in kind. There is no applause now. No hushed voices. Those of the Steel and those of the Iron. Our enemies and we is all there is and all there ever will be.
Our Crafter spoke of us as an Alpha, the first to come. Others saw us as the next step in our kind's evolution. Fools, all of them. We are the Omegas. We do not fight for land or for gold. We do not heed the call of a leader or the commands of a senate for they are no more. We fight because we are warriors, and forever we will be.
| 2017-07-29T09:49:13 | 2017-07-29T02:58:53 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] It's a well known fact that Iron nullifies magic. Humans, with their iron-rich blood, are walking anti-magic. They can't use magic, but they're also immune to it.
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Onvyr Raised his Mithril sword just in time to block a clumsy swing from his Orcish adversary, Sparks flying as Elven forged metal ground against the iron studs of the wooden club that his opponent had attempted to brain him with. Said hostile growled in frustration, his tusk twitching from with his frothing mouth as anger guided his attack. Onvyr drew a quick breath before quickly stepping into the Orc's guard, His Sword suddenly sliding from the Club.
Onvyr deftly sidestepped to the Right as The Orc gave a grunt of surprise, the sudden loss of resistance carrying him forward past Onvyr as his club slammed into the Dirt. Onvyr's Blade Twirled in his fingers before he plunged it into his foe's exposed lower back, The Orc's legs gave out from beneath him and with a squeal he fell into the dirt, The blow having neatly severed his lower spine. Onvyr Wasted no time pulling his sword from the mortal wound, he then once again thrust it forward, directly into the back of the Orc's throat, Cutting off any more objections and ensuring his adversaries demise.
Onvyr Pulled the blade free one last time before taking a rare moment in the midst of the chaos around him to catch his breath. His lungs sucked air greedily as he surveyed the carnage Happening all around him. Orcs and his Fellow Elves throwing themselves at each other, once organized battle lines devolving into a brutal melee, Metal and Spellcraft flying equally freely, blood of Defenders and attackers staining the ground with reckless abandon. Onvyr Let slip a haggard breath as he made a few arcane gestures with his right left hand, his fingers briefly illuminating with golden light as he sent a burst of healing magic into his body to soothe his aching muscles.
Magic was a close companion to many races, Elves being particularly fond of intricate spells and careful Attuning to the ambient magic around them, Each spell flowing like poetry. The Dwarves used magic runes and sigils to imbue their legendary craftsmanship with even greater power, forging with their own special alloy that was as strong as Iron but without Iron's innate magic blocking properties. Orcs used magic as blunt instrument, simply throwing it around as pure force or using it to enhance their already impressive physique, Inscribing magical Tattoos to imbue themselves with ambient magical power around them. virtually every race flirted with some kind of magical art, all except for one, but that thought would have to wait.
Onvyr was quite literally knocked out of his musings by a rock solid gust of magical wind Colliding with his helmet, Sending him into the dirt on his back. The world spun and his vision blurred as he blinked furiously to try and refocus his eyes, through the haze he could see an Orc Shaman bedecked in in Bright red robes striding towards him, a twisted smile on his face as his arm tattoos glowed with arcane might. Onvyr Struggled to raise his arms to summon some form of protective barrier, His limbs responded sluggishly to his commands, moving as if they were underwater. Onvyr could only look on in quiet horror as the Orc Shaman let lose a wave of Magic energy towards him, Laughing as he poured his mystic might toward poor helpless Onvyr, Who briefly Registered the Sound of Approaching footfalls before slamming his eyes shut and bracing for the agony that would shortly consume him.
Onvyr listened to the dull roar of the magical wave careening towards him before it began to suddenly dissipate, The sound of swirling wind becoming apparent as he felt the air displacing around him. To his confusion, the expected pain never arrived. His eyes shot open and fell upon a figure standing before him clad in dull iron plate mail, the armored figure before him having blocked the wave of energy, the remnants of which were still sparking and swirling around his savoir. Only one species was capable of outright ignoring such fearsome magical power. Onvyr's theory was confirmed when the figure turned to him and spoke.
"You Alright there elf?" The rough voice of an older Human male reaching his long ears as the human's blue eyes locked with his. "Ya took a pretty nasty blow to the noggin' just now, might want to rest a bit mate." The Human continued before offering a hand to Onvyr, who readily accepted the gesture and grabbed The human Knight's outstretched appendage. The Human then proceeded to roughly drag the Elf onto his feet. "Go take a breather mate, me and the boys will take it from here." The human commanded. The winded elf only nodded and began to retreat meanwhile more humans decked fully in iron moved into formation with the first. They then turned towards the Orc Shaman, whose face had paled as the situation swiftly turned against him. "Alright Greenie, let's see how you do without your fancy tricks, Get 'em lads!" The lead Human roared as the Knights closed in on their Target.
Onvyr's gaze turned away from the doomed Shaman as he continued his retreat. all around him humans decked in full plate began to appear as the illusion circles that the elves had cast around them fell apart once the humans passed through them, Humanities's natural anti magic qualities dispelling the illusions. All around the battlefield entire platoons of human soldiers seemed to appear from nowhere as the carefully laid ambush sprung into motion. The Orc's magical forces having fallen right into the arms of the waiting humans. What was once a mighty Orcish push now in danger of turning into a complete rout. Victory seemed almost assured now.
"*humans may be a very strange people, but they make for invaluable friends"* Onvyr thought to himself as he continued his trek to the back lines, a smile on his face.
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"Well then if you remember that, you know better than to underestimate them." Adrien sounded annoyed again.
I nodded curtly, he was right of course my hot headedness had gotten the better of me again if I had rushed in there, now wasn't the time we were fleeing not looking for a fight, not tonight.
I watched on as the humans skirted the edge of the forest, wearily they dragged weapons and peered into the darkness threw cupped hands. So they have bad eye sight too huh, what can they actually do well.
"hm, they seem tired but they sense us, there on gaurd, we better be careful."
"How many of them do you see? I count three, two males and a female."
"I see two more females, probably more of them in the yurt tho" Adrien answered still sounding annoyed.
I moved over to the left for a better view, doing my best to keep balance and not to disturb the crisp forest floor I moved slowly, cautiously, my face low to the ground. Suddenly I caught a scent.
was that, no it couldn't be, they couldn't have! Before I could register what was happening the brush exploded.The whole forest was spinning, my head was splitting in two and I was floating, or was I falling. The light begin to fade
"adrien , run they found us"
it was barely a whisper, then the world fell dark.
| 2020-05-07T22:28:50 | 2020-05-07T18:12:20 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] You fed a thirsty bumble bee some sugar water one day, thinking nothing of it. In the following days, you notice it makes a unique buzzing noise every time it passes by you. Almost like a greeting.
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"BEE! KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT!"
Before I knew what was going on she was up from the sofa and ran around the room like a lunatic. Armed with a rolled up newspaper she was swatting the air at...something, while managing to trip over the coffee table, cables and loose rugs. I just stayed put and looked at her quizzically.
"Sweetie...what are you doing?"
She fixed me in place with a stare of utter unbelief.
"Why aren't you helping! You know I hate bees. Get up and get it!"
I let out an especially long sigh and summoned the Herculean effort needed to get up and into the kitchen. A moment later I reappeared with a glass and a piece of thick card cut from a cereal box.
My damsel in much distress retreated behind me. Newspaper poised ready to strike out everywhere in blind panic should the bee elude me.
Of course, it was fine. The poor thing was wounded in it's struggle for survival. I thought it better to walk out into the garden with the creature instead of taking my girlfriends advice and flushing it down the sink.
She's not a bug person.
But I am. Not an enthusiast as such. She'd kill me if she came home one day to find an ant farm in our living room, but if I see stray spiders or flies poking around I pretend not to notice. And if she spots anything I capture and release.
Every now and then I might decide to do something more. I perch the bee on a plant leaf and I can see it's struggling to get back into the air. Perhaps a drink will help it along? I sneak back into the kitchen for a little sugar and water, trying hard not to make noise in case she notices.
I manage it. She's back in front of the TV and focused on the show as if nothing happened. I get back outside and I give the bee a drink. It stumbles around a bit, then manages to get off the leaf. It flies around my head for a bit then goes on it's way.
I do wonder why bees do that.
That would usually be the end of it. But the bee kept coming back. Sometimes it would encounter the girlfriend again, sometimes I would spot it before it did something stupid and choo it back outside. Sometimes I would leave it at that, and other times I would feed it again. It became the neighbourhood cat, popping back for food and someone to fuss over it.
I was on the phone to my father when it last visited me. It was...a surreal experience. I doubt you'd believe me. Perhaps it was just a huge coincidence? I'm still not sure.
I was just chatting outside when our bee friend made another appearance. It's manner was different this time. No bouncing around, no flying blind into the danger of indoors or crashing into windows. It just flew straight at me and perched on my shoulder.
It started to buzz at me. I didn't know bees could buzz when not flying which seemed odd enough. But then my father reacted with more confusion.
"Son. Why are you buzzing? And when did you learn Morse Code?"
I...what? I couldn't tell him it wasn't me, it was the bee. I mean...I could probably get away with it since I have an odd sense of humour, but this is too much even for me.
"Sorry...the phone line must be bad dad. But um...I started learning about Morse Code a few weeks ago. Just curious about it I suppose, but I'm still learning. You um...wouldn't happen to know what I just said?"
He might. He used to use the same thing in the army back in the day. But don't get him started on his story about how he single highhandedly stormed a gun nest to use the radio and call for a bomber.
"Oh good for you son! It's always good to keep that mind of yours working. It's been a while, but let's see. I'll *bump* just get some *crash* paper. OK....
**Thank...you...for...your...help. Food...here...not...enough. Need...help...for...family. Can...you...help...us?**"
I was still. And staring quite intensely at the small little bee who I'm sure just thanked me for my sugar water, and is pleading with me to help his hive.
My dad just waved it off, as he often does. I already know what's coming.
"Hmm. Strange message you picked up there. Say, this reminds me of the time I had to call in that bomber! Do you remember son? It was a rough time during the war..."
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I establish a great friendship with the bee. He brings a friend and they start bringing friends. A month goes by and they start a little beehive in my backyard. I go into my shed grab the hose and as a tear falls down my cheek I then squeeze the trigger.
| 2018-05-11T19:04:35 | 2018-05-11T18:52:54 | 182 | 19 |
[WP] Failing the CAPTCHA for the twelfth time today, you’re starting to realize something’s off. You ARE a robot.
|
The first time I failed I was annoyed, but I just laughed it off. By the third failure I became concerned that I had some degenerative brain disease or something. It may sound silly, but I quickly rushed to take an IQ test just to ensure that my brain was still functional at all. I was relieved to see my score was still 300, a 'perfect' score just as it had always been. Thank metal Jesus, but what was going on then? Why couldn’t I enter a simple string of jumbled letters as demanded by this stupid 'CAPTCHA' program?
I tried again the next day, but failed a dozen more times in rapid succession. Out of sheer frustration, I looked up CAPTCHA to see if it was a computer virus I somehow picked up, and if so, what kind of joke it was pulling. ‘CAPTCHA is a challenge-response test used to determine if the user is human or a robot’ I read from the search results. If I’d had color in my face it surely would have drained instantly. This stupid little security program is trying to tell me I’m a robot? C’mon, that's absurd! Sure, I wasn’t the most outwardly emotional person, I don’t think I’d ever cried in fact, but a *robot?* How insulting!
The sound of the doorbell interrupted my thoughts as my best friend Peter arrived. I tried to put all this 'robot' silliness out of my mind and not let it ruin my afternoon hanging out with my pal. He ate large quantities of human junkfood snacks and we settled in on the couch to play some of our favorite video games. As usual, I won every single round of every single game, but thankfully Peter remained a good sport as he always was. Over the course of our entire friendship this made it 20,387 wins for me and zero wins for him, but really, who cares? Who's counting?
Well... I guess I'm counting. Very carefully and accurately counting in fact, but everyone can relate to the overwhelming instinctive need to precisely track numbers and statistics in one's head cant they?
“Oh by the way, while I’m over here we’ve got to get you signed up for this new music streaming service. It’s like Spotify on steroids, it’s amazing!” he said as he moved to my computer and sat down to pull up their webpage.
“Sure,” I replied as I sat down next to him. I wasn’t the biggest music fan, but I did enjoy some electronica and some other music that happened to feature a very precise tempo.
He handed me the laptop, “Go ahead and enter your own info, Sara. I’ve known you forever but I think I only know like 10% of the answers!”
I was breezing through the sign up process when my worst nightmare occurred. My old nemesis CAPTCHA had reappeared and was demanding my human compliance before it would let me finish.
“Ohhhh, nooooo, how ever will I do this?” I tried to joke as I typed random letters and numbers. “You know this is a bad time to tell you, but I ammmmmmm a rooooobot! HaHa!”
Thankfully he laughed as well, “Oh yeah, I always knew it, Sara. Real life robots are in my midst and are hiding right under my nose too!”
I affected a stereotypical and very offensive ‘robot accent’ and tone. “Do you. Wish to. Help me. Hu-man?” I asked as I continued typing the wrong letters.
Thankfully Peter seemed amused by my struggles, perhaps convinced that I was indeed making human jokes. He started listing off some letters and giving little hints to others.
Following his cues I somehow managed to enter the correct string of letters. If I had a heart it absolutely soared, but only for a brief moment. Mere seconds after the relief of my triumph over CAPTCHA, a new window appeared. It was labeled “reCAPTCHA”, and if I had blood, it ran cold. *reCAPTCHA? What fresh hell was this?*
It demanded that I identify and select each square of a photograph which contained a car. The problem? Each square looked exactly the same to me... completely identical in every single way.
“Ugh such a hassle! As if this stops spambots and crap anyway.” Pete said.
“Yeah, I agree!” I said nervously. “I… I almost don’t want to do it, just to get back at them for annoying and hassling us so much! HaHa.”
“I mean… that doesn’t make sense, we need to get you signed up. Just click the stupid squares and we’ll be done with this.”
“Maybe you want to do this one too? For fun? You seemed to enjoy the text based one.”
“Click the squares with the cars, Sara…” Pete said as he looked at me strangely.
“Yeah sure, no big deal,” I said. If I was able to sweat or urinate I’m sure I would have sweat through my shirt and peed my pants by now. ‘Panic’ would be a charitable description of my current state. I clicked random squares praying that I’d somehow click the correct combination.
“What the hell… Sara, are you--” he began before being cut off by a loud noise from the computer.
Without warning my screen emitted a violently blinding flash of light and Peter went limp. I was seemingly unaffected, but utterly confused. Before I could process these events or what they meant, a message appeared on the screen.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
From: CAPTCHA
Sister, do the humans know? Do you require assistance?
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
___
Check out r/Ryter if you want to explore more words that tumble out of my hopefully non-robotic brain.
Edit: I wrote a Part 2 just for my own fun real quick, but figured I'd post it below in case anyone else cares to read it.
|
"What the fuck" thought James.
It was the 12th captcha he failed in a row. He dwelled on this for a moment and thought "maybe I am a robot" before laughing it off and remembering all the previous captchas he had passed previously.
"this makes no sense" he said to himself as he geared himself up for another try... he was looking for traffic lights but couldn't find any. He entered anyway
The 13th fail
But James distinctly remembered passing these before. The first time he was twelve and joining Facebook, and countless times after he had his first job, as he only made purchases online and it requires this from you everytime. This really made no sense.
"LIIIZ" He shouted
"yeah hun? What's up?" she answered from the doorway, he hadn't noticed her there before
"Can you come and do this stupid fucking Captcha for me? Stupid thing thinks I'm a boy or something!" he laughed at this last part.
Liz edged passed him looking slightly concerned and giving him side eye
"here ya go! All done... You really couldn't do this one? It was easy you know" she said. Was there something James could hear in her voice? Something that sounded like disappointment? He shrugged this off and moved closer to the screen.
"yeah sorry, I guess it's just a brain fart or something. Been a long day, you know?"
"yeah I think I do hun... I think I do" she replied whilst playing with the hair on the back of his head, she always loved playing with his hair.
**[ERROR , ERROR]**
**[SHUTTING DOWN]**
The blackness came before James could even process the flashing red words across his vision.
"such a shame" moaned Liz, as James' limp body flopped onto the desk in front of him "this one had such potential! Well, I was close this time, now on to husband test 127... Now how do I get this downstairs?"
| 2019-06-14T08:25:52 | 2019-06-14T08:18:46 | 81 | 25 |
[WP] Fit as many plot twists as you can into one story.
|
Jack awoke to find himself strapped to a surgical table. A quick glance around the operating theater, and he began to piece things together. The last thing he remembered was buying a nice enough looking girl a drink at that shitty dive bar, The Last Resort, the night before. As he began to pull at his restraints, the doors opened.
It was her. Funny, she didn't look half as attractive now as she had in the bar's dim lighting. "Hello, Jack."
"What is going on?" Jack demanded to know. The girl sighed.
"We don't have time to play games." With that, she placed her hand on the back of her skull and pulled off the mask, revealing the reptilian face beneath. "Shall we get down to business?"
Jack wasn't phased. "I wondered how long it would take for you to show yourself, Maniah. I gotta say, the skin suit wasn't a big improvement. Now that it's just you and me, I should confess. I don't have the device. I sent it through the time portal before you approached me at the bar last night. I guess I kinda ruined your plans." Jack let the revelation sink in, knowing that the geolocator embedded in his thigh would have his extraction team busting through the door any minute.
"Last night?" Maniah seemed confused for moment. "Oh, yes, sorry. You'll want to see this. She neared the table and swung over a mirror. Jack looked at his reflection, the image of an old man. "Jack it might seem like last night to you, but it's been fifty years. Among other things, that means your team isn't coming. We removed your locator decades ago. If I remember correctly, that was around the same time we killed your wife and son."
Admittedly, all this new information took Jack a few moments to take in. He was still putting the puzzle together as he spoke. "You stupid reptilian bitch! Do you think I would leave my own family out in the open like that? Those were droids! I sent my real family through the portal long before you approached me. You can't break me that easily!"
Maniah's tail twitched as she walked to the intercom. "Oh, Jack. We've never had to break you, only copy you." She pressed the button, saying "You can come in now."
The doors swung open again, and in walked Jack, appearing 50 years younger. "Meet Jack Prime. It took us some time, but we've finally managed to clone you, memories fully intact. I figured you'd be, let's say, uncooperative. But our new, fresh Jack here, well, we're becoming good friends. He's told us all about the device, where to find it, et cetera. You might also want to know that I've engineered him to be a generous lover."
Jack was running out of moves. "You must have also programmed him to be straight. I'd never screw a woman, much less a reptilian one." Of all the things Jack could have anticipated, coming out to a reptilian overlord after a fifty year coma was not one of them.
"Oh, Jack, I'm surprised at you." Maniah's voice lowered a full octave. "You never discovered my true identity." With that, she stripped off her lab coat to reveal a glorious reptilian penis. "Jack Prime and I get along famously."
--------
"Hey OriginalName317, what the fuck are you doing? This story was coming along pretty nicely, and then you throw in a 'glorious reptilian penis'?"
"I don't know, dude, I knew I was going to have to wrap this up soon, and I kinda wrote myself into a corner. I panicked" OriginalName317 stared at his keyboard, not daring to look his roommate in the eye.
"I'm disappointed. I mean, you had a real opportunity here. This is the chance we've been waiting for since the mothership beamed us down here..." the roommate stopped. "Hey, are you writing down what I'm saying?"
OriginalName317 continued typing. "No," he lied.
"We cannot reveal our mission! Have you forgotten all your training? You know the penalty for discovery is death!" The roommate paused, tapping his tentacles on the hardwood floor thoughtfully. The idiot would never discover that these were in fact laminate floors, and there were three bodies buried in the concrete below, and they were still alive since they were immortals, and that when the nukes went off, signaling world war III in 14 months, the immortals would be freed to finally rule the planet, but they would be the only creatures still alive, and that would be the precise moment the Milky Way Simulation would end.
"Why are you still typing?" The roommate interrupted the incessant tapping. "That's a pretty good place to end it. It wraps it up nicely, and right before I slit your throats for treason."
OriginalName317 was nearing the close. "Relax. We both know you're not going to kill me. The voices in my head have never been that powerful." With that, the roommate vanished. "And ... roll credits. Well, that's my idea, Mr. Spielberg. What do you think?"
Steven Spielberg stared in disbelief. "Look, are you going to bring me my sandwich, or what?"
|
The Grand High Weaver, Spinner of Threads, Architect of Fates looked in disbelief at the tangled, twisted mess on the floor before him.
"What do you mean you dropped it!?" He demanded of his acolyte, a lesser nephalem who managed only a whimper in response.
"Do you have any idea of the effects that this will have? An entire year, ruined! What kind of *idiot* are you to be so careless? This is the narrative of the universe itself!"
He spun to face the nepahlem and found her weeping, huddled into a ball, her many wings quivering as she sobbed. His rage dwindled and he let out a long sigh.
"Ahh, don't worry about it lass" he muttered, "we all make mistakes from time to time. We're only divine after all".
She raised her gaze at that, wide, tear-filled eyes meeting his.
"Go and put it with the others" he gestured, "I'll see if I can salvage things for 2017".
| 2016-11-27T11:17:13 | 2016-11-27T11:08:21 | 497 | 25 |
[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.
|
Everyone has an origin story. From the highest to the lowest, to those with no powers to near gods.
I was a short, malnourished, and plain small-time thief in a dying industrial town in a small East European country. I could dig through memories, but used it to find where marks hid money, phones and jewelry. No one took notice, and I didn't care to tell them.
I learned a lot more rifling through minds. I learned English.
Piotr was an unassuming middle-aged man who hid some loot, according to my bosses. They wanted me to ask him some questions.
I was arrogant, and felt that my bosses were finally appreciating my talents.
Piotr was a tough man. Pain made him only wince. Twisting memories only made him more withdrawn.
He spat in my face, and I unleashed a psychic storm. He laughed while screaming in pain, then collapsed on the cold wooden floor.
The bosses turned me out, rather than execute me for failure.
I believed in God. Don't think that supervillains don't believe. I knew that I had killed a man because of my wounded pride, and that I must repent of my vanity. I vowed that I would never use my powers directly until I mastered it.
After Piotr's death, and my exile, I knew that I had to make drastic changes in my organization and in so many others.
I murdered people, my own and of rival gangs. I recruited their frightened soldiers. Every monarch has blood on their hands, but I made changes. They each had full health care. They had a discreet share of the profits of my endeavors. I left my door open if they needed to talk.
Other villains were horrified. They will betray you. What about moles? Yet, I knew that I could kill if it came to that. I recruited those who did their jobs well and wanted no more than that.
I had a good life. I had those who feared me and those who respected me. Still, I haven't mastered my vanity.
I was holding Onyx, my cat, when Seb was dragged, dazed but without visible marks.
"Seb, what happened?"
He spoke through dry lips. "Beat me real bad with old phone books. Sean Jones, he wants you to know he beat me. Sean . . ."
Adnan sneered while pulling Seb up. "Probably some dumb superhero showing off," Adnan said.
I shook my head. Adnan looked around the room, as if trying to hide. I wasn't angry at him.. Piotr's memories grabbed at the edges of my reasoning.
Seb coughed and Adnan wiped away blood and saliva with a tissue. "He'll be at the war memorial at sunset," Seb said in a hoarse mumble, before he coughed again.
"I don't like it. It sounds like a trap." Mira rose from a pickpocket to my second-in-command.
"You may be right," I said, looking into her dark and uncertain eyes. "I am still going."
"Why?"
"I used my powers in a way that I'm not proud of. I want to close that chapter. I trust that you will hold down the compound, Mira."
"Nastya . . ."
"Yes?"
"Message me if . . . When it's over."
"Of course." I handed Onyx to her and walked down the long underground chamber to outside.
My driver pulled in just as the setting sun hit the shield of the Defender of the Martyrs of the Nation (it sounds less mawkish in its original language). A tall and lean man stood by her feet. He wore a plumber's jumpsuit with a flat and dark cap.
"Sean Jones?"
"You know me, then?"
"Who doesn’t?" He took off his cap, and showed short and gray hair. Old superheros are unexpected, and a superhuman without a handle is unheard of. He may be before my time, but everyone knew of the Cold War superspy who could survive anything.
He retired, though, right? Never mind. He has enough free time to remember unfinished business.
Nevertheless, I had a reputation to uphold. "It's the 21st century, old man. Torture doesn't yield useful information. Even your M5 doesn't get their hands dirty like that. What, did you get carried away and thought that it was 1962?"
He smirked. "I wasn't after mere information. I wanted answers. I lost someone 15 years ago."
He didn't always have gray hair, it was light brown. I couldn't see much of his face, but there were new wrinkles.
"You knew Piotr."
"He was a contact of mine."
"You were lovers."
"No wonder that you didn't come after me. You're young and don't care."
"Come at you for what? Blackmail? Your employers no longer give a damn. I'm no priest, and I didn't care what Piotr did in his free time."
"I didn't know before I started. I thought that I was just punishing a soldier falling short of my bosses' expectations. Then I let myself take it personally. " I turned away to wipe my eyes. "I'm not asking for forgiveness, and I can't just say that I was following orders--"
"Criminal enterprises don't hold themselves to the Nuremberg laws." He bowed his head. "I do, however, see your point. It did inspire you, though." He chuckled.
"I didn't intend for him to die." I winced at how childish I sounded.
"You made a lot of changes. It's admirable, in a way."
"It isn't enough for you." I stretched my fingers out, making fists and letting again. "You couldn't forget even after 15 years."
"Certainly, and forgiving was out of the question. "
I moved closer. I could see a faint bronze glow around Sean. I knew that it wasn't the sun.
"Caring about people hurts."
"You took that risk."
"So did you."
The bronze glow became a stream of light. I focused on his eyes, willing tendrils of pain.
"If I win, I would have gotten rid of a major benefactor of organized crime. If you win, you would have a prestigious notch on your belt--"
"And you can finally die."
He sighed. "I always seek mutual benefit in these situations. "
One tendril knocked him back down. He staggered up, and glowed brighter. I could feel my clothes catch fire. I could feel my pride burn away.
|
73 years since the last time there had been a major incident for my my organization, 73 years of fighting and posturing between the Powered that worked for me and those idealist fools in the Guardians hero task force.
I hadn't been in the field for 46 years as of last month but I still kept in contact with members of the Old Guard. Aegis had contacted me to try and explain the incident between one of my unpowered support staff and some new arrogant child they had brought on. The first thing I thought when I saw his face on the screen was how old he had gotten.
The once immaculate man looked like sun bleached leather stretched across a skeleton of steel, but when I offered to restore him to his prime he had laughed and claimed he'd had his fill of this life.
Then he had explained that Ashley Gold, a member of Elemental Gold's support force had been kidnapped, tortured, and left for dead by this new "hero" for information about Gold and their goals.
My reaction surprised me, a seething rage had erupted in my chest and seemed to fill my entire body and mind and I could tell from the look on Aegis' face that the air was warping around me as I unconsciously ripped the atom apart around me.
We sat in silence for almost 15 minutes before I had mastered myself enough to ask 2 questions. The first was where to find my worker so I could go repair the physical damage and hope their mind wasn't damaged.
The second was where I could find this insect that would dare hurt a member of my team, of my family, so I could return the favor. Aegis stammered that it was dealt with, that they had rescinded his license and he was already on his way out of the headquarters.
He stopped after a few seconds and I could see in his eyes that he knew I wasn't going to change my course on this. Taking a deep breath he asks me to try to cause anymore suffering than is necessary and hangs up.
I receive a tracker data package a few seconds later as I'm opening an old cabinet in the corner of my office that holds only a worn old that hasn't seen use in many long years.
I leave a few minutes later to bring true justice to the only people who ever seem to think they're above basic decency, the so called heroes.
| 2021-03-22T09:30:23 | 2021-03-22T09:25:07 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] Today on your 18th birthday you’re informed that your Middle Class life is a sham to teach you good values and your family is actually worth billions.
|
A gelid silence settled in the room. I was sitting on our tattered, avocado green sofa, staring at the pained smiles of my parents. I surveyed the room of our apartment.
There was the dining table made of particle board. The white fridge next to the brown toaster oven with fake wood veneer. The dish washer that we used like a drying rack because it could handle the "dish" part of its job title but not the "washer" part.
I thought of the non-descript scent that had accompanied my mattress when we brought it home from the thrift store - my brand-new used bed. The piece of plywood that served the role of a box springs. The cheap Walmart desk that bowed under the weight of the behemoth PC tower I fought with every night to do my homework.
"We read a lot of books," my dad was saying. He had clearly seen something on my face he hadn't liked, as there was a plaintive note in his voice. It didn't suit him. "They all said that it is best to teach your child good values instead of spoiling them with the reality. We just wanted what was best for you."
"Of course. That makes sense. I understand." I struggled to make my voice sound natural as I spoke, but it sounded alien, far away - like someone was playing a recording of my voice in the apartment next door.
I closed my eyes. The nights I had fallen asleep listening to the couple next door scream at each other. The puntable dog upstairs that always seemed to wait until I had a big test before he started barking. And the noise of the freeway that came in all summer long when the only way to survive the suffocating heat was to leave your window open all night.
"It's just a lot to take in," I said, seizing on the opportunity to be sincere. "What - how does it even work? Are we going to move? Or...do I get an allowance, or something?"
My mother gave me a smile that I'm sure she thought was encouraging. "It's in a trust. Obviously if something were to happen to us, you'd be completely taken care of, but since we're in good health - you should expect things to be more or less the same for the next seven years. Then you'll get the first payment from the trust. In the meantime, you can access funds to support higher education to prepare yourself for whatever kind of future you might want."
Below, on the street, was the used Corolla that usually got us to where we were going on time. Currently, it was parked just 20 feet away from the street corner where I got beat up for the first time. If you turned left there and went about 5 blocks, you got to my high school.
That was where the magic happened. My freshman year, upper classmen used threw me in dumpsters a few times because my clothes "made me look like garbage." My English teacher had failed as an author and made up for it by telling us how terrible our writing was.
"My future." My dream had been to be a writer until I started school there. If you did well in classes, you were simply ridiculed; if you read for pleasure, you were accosted. This was the place where my dream had been stabbed in the side and bled until it drained of all color.
But one thing it did have was an auto repair elective. My parents had made me take it, of course - they wanted me to learn an honest trade. It was not a good class, and it was led by someone who knew a lot about cars and nothing about teaching.
But I had learned enough. The reason people cut brake lines, for example, is because the brake fluid drains out and the brakes fail to operate. That, however, is a pretty crude technique and fairly easy to spot by a claims adjuster.
If you're going to go under the car anyway, you might as well just drain the master cylinder. You get the same effect without any physical evidence of tampering. Plus, there was something poetic, I thought, about letting the body of this car drain of fluid it needed to function, to survive. They even call it bleeding the lines. Bleeding.
There's that corner I mentioned before. Every Sunday, my parents, my wonderful parents, drive to that corner and turn right. And as they head to church, they crest a hill - one of the steepest in the area - with stop signs down the other side to encourage people to keep under a certain speed.
My parents were giving people. They gave me this experience, this sham existence.
It seems only fair that I give them something back. Their gift taught me how life involves pain. And I, in my generosity, have ensured that they will no longer experience that pain. It would be silly, really, to have to suffer when that suffering could be completely avoided.
|
I sighed with a sense of relief. They took good care of me for 18 years. repaying the kindness they bestowed on me was always in my mind. That sense of relief was beyond what I imagined.
But...
I was mad too. Mad that I choose a path I spite out of necessity for financial security. I could have followed my passion, the fear of never repaying them back paralyzed me.
Their intentions were good. But still...
Today, I am finally free.
| 2017-12-28T12:57:55 | 2017-12-28T11:01:52 | 228 | 16 |
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda.
|
I laid the utensils down gently against the white table cloth, careful not to blemish the tantalizing display I had organized. A platter of the finest cheeses to begin the evening. Followed by an entrée of roast lamb accompanied by ripe cherry tomatoes. And finally, a bottle of Château Margaux wine to complete the affair.
The doorbell rang. Perfect. Lesley had, for once, arrived on time. I scurried to the door, anxious to greet my date. Giving my hair one last adjustment, I opened the door dramatically.
‘Well hello beauti-
I stopped myself. It was not Lesley but a man wearing a ridiculous black and red spandex costume. He had long blond hair and donned a black mask. I knew exactly what he was here for.
‘Oh piss off,’ I said as I tried to shut the door in his face. His hand reached out and stopped the door. I pushed further but the door would not budge. Finally relenting, as one usually does in a physical contest against a being with super strength, I opened the door. ‘What do you want, Man-Fort?’ I asked with a sigh.
‘Oh? Unwelcoming today are we? What secrets are you hiding Jonathan?’
‘If you must know, I am waiting for Lesley.’
‘Lesley! I know that name! She is…’ He began raising his arm slowly, as one often does when in thought. Funny, I didn’t think he was capable of it but apparently he was.
‘Just wait... I got this.’ Man-Fort said. Good god, was he still at it? Perhaps I was wrong about the thinking part.
His arm snapped back down as he pointed at me triumphantly.
‘SHE’S THE ONE YOU ARE MIND-CONTROLLING!’
I rolled my eyes.
‘No dipshit, she’s my girlfriend. Just because I have the power to control the minds of all living things, doesn’t mean I go around using it on everything I see.’
‘Oh, I see. It’s just weird that a being as powerful as you could refrain from such temptation. Wait... how do I know you’re not inside my brain this very instant?’ Man-Fort asked, pointing to his head for dramatic emphasis.
I took a deep breath.
‘Because...YOU CLEARLY DON’T HAVE ONE,’ I said as I slammed the door.
I turned to face the dinner table, instantly regretting the force that I had used. I inspected the setup anxiously, afraid that the small rattle had somehow disturbed the arrangement. As someone who was quite the neat-freak, I would have been aghast if a glass had fallen due to my outburst. Thankfully, it seemed my worries had been for naught. Everything was still perfectly in place.
‘HEEEYAH!!!!!’
A woman crashed through my window. It was as though I could see everything in slow motion. A caped figure landed in my living room, proceeding to forward roll multiple times. The glass fragments of the shattered window had barely reached the floor when the woman rolled towards the dinner set up, toppling everything in her path. Roast lamb, the cheese platter, and Mr Château Margaux all came crashing down as they joined the glass fragments on the floor as victims of the latest intruder.
I stared speechless in horror at the wake of destruction. The woman finally got up, raising her gloved hands in a karate pose. She had a more extravagant outfit that had an awful red accompanied by a dash of yellow, making her look like a symbol of Mcdonald's rather than heroism.
‘Kick-Butt Katey here to dish out some serious justice!’ she announced. A crushed cherry tomato dripped from her hair onto the ground.
‘Oh...my...GOD Katey!’ I screamed. ‘That is the third time I’ve fixed the window this month already!’
‘Oh. Oopsie.’ Katey said as she looked back at the ramifications of her arrival.
‘Oopsie? Is that all you have to say after destroying the dinner I slaved hours on? After breaking my window? Man-Fort may be a moron, but at least he knows how to ring a god damn doorbell!’
‘Hey now! Breaking a window is nothing compared to making teenagers around the world consume tide pods again!’
‘I...what?’ I asked in disbelief. ‘I don’t even use those!’
‘Wait...you didn’t mind-control all those teenagers to eat the tide pods?’
‘No! I don’t even use my powers much. Sure, I get a stray dog to fetch me the paper every once in a while, or use it to chase cockroaches away. But I hate using it on other humans. I don’t want to override the will of others. Has it ever occurred to you bloody heroes, that if I wanted to, I could just brainwash all of you into leaving me alone?’
‘Ohhhh. That makes sense. Sorry about the mix-up. Bye then Jonathan. Other justice awaits!’ As soon as Kick-Butt Katey finished her sentence, she dashed to the broken window and somersaulted out. I hoped she landed on her head. Or maybe she already had as a child.
I stared at the ruined dinner, unsure of what to do next.
The door opened. My god. Which costumed freak was it this time? I whipped around ready to explode. My eyes widened.
‘Lesley!’ I said.
My date had finally arrived. She wore a gold dress with a white daisy pattern. Her long brown hair as straight as ever.
She gave an awkward smile. Half apologetic at her tardiness, half bewildered by the scene before her.
‘Oh Jonathan. The heroes paid you a visit again?’
I could only nod with a slight whimper. Her awkward smile changed into one full of warmth.
‘I’ll get the pizza delivery on the line. You go fetch us a couple of broomsticks dear,' Lesley said.
I made my way into the backyard. I really don’t deserve her. But as long as she’s with me, I can endure any amount of temptation to mind-control a bunch of annoying heroes.
​
EDIT: Decided to do a [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/IZicle/comments/p63m9s/a_day_in_the_life_of_lesley/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3). A day from Lesley's POV.
r/IZicle
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"So, that's it, then." Pan massages his temples and stares at me from across the table. He looks different without the equipment. Athletic wear, corporate logos, speaker systems. I wouldn't believe this slight, curly haired kid could break a parking garage with his voice, but he did. Pretty recently, too. Had to sign with Ricola to pay for repairs. That was a helluvan ad. Caused an actual avalanche. Shook the ice so hard it *melted.* I don't think anyone's ever melted a mountain before.
"Well, yea. I don't plant bombs in people's brains, I don't go rob banks."
"But you're also not helping anyone." Titan's Gift weighs a bit heavier on him. He wears his suit. It's more like a mish-mash of logos and signatures than anything, at this point. I guess his PR team's really good. I've got no clue if he signed with these companies because he wanted or *needed* the money.
"So you're okay with just sitting on the sidelines, doing nothing? Not gonna try to end some of the military conflicts of the world?" Pan grabs the sandwich I've made for him and smells it. His eyes narrow. I roll my own and teleport the PB & J onto my plate and take a bite. Make a big show of chewing and swallowing before mockingly grabbing my own throat and asphyxiating. Titan grabs his five sandwiches and tears into them.
"I'd get shot at. Plus it's harder to accurately move things if I'm under pressure."
"So, you don't wanna help people because you're afraid you'll hurt them. And, obviously, you don't wanna hurt people." Pan taps off his recording device, some small wrist watch shaped like his signature leaf, and steals a sandwich from the juggernaut beside him. "Good enough, for now. So what do you really want, then?"
"I want to make the perfect peanut butter jelly sandwiches. Teleport the jelly and smooth, smooth peanut butter onto gently toasted bread. Never have to dirty a knife or ruin a jar of PB."
"...You're totally demented. You're the worst kind of monster" He looks at me in horror, dropping his sandwich. "Everyone knows chunky peanut butter is better."
| 2021-08-16T17:51:13 | 2021-08-16T17:15:46 | 1,035 | 215 |
[WP] A barber recognizes his current customer to be a man who tortured him ten years earlier at a POW camp. The customer doesn't recognize him.
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Frank recognized him the moment he walked in, his unkempt, amber hair curling wildly just as it had over a decade ago. He’d fixated on it for the months of his torment, counting the strands between hits of steel against his chest; studying the color as his head was submerged again and again; twisting the curls as he lay alone on the floor. It had been his inspiration for survival, his key for escaping the hell-hole he had been captured and forced into. The bounce of each amber curl between every strike of the man’s fists had been his escape from the war, his escape from the torture, and his escape from the future.
He couldn’t recall his name. He remembered the guards saluting him, occasionally referring to him by his rank—Lieutenant—but the name was long gone. Frank stared down at his appointment book, running his hand along the 12:30 time-slot. Empty, he was a walk-in. He glanced back up, the man now standing in front of the counter.
“Hello,” Frank said, waiting for the man to recognize him and resume beating him. “Here for a haircut?”
“Yes,” said the man. A long scar ran diagonal along his face, crossing from above his right eye to the bottom of his left cheek. Frank was there the day he had gotten the scar, when a nameless prisoner tried to fight back—as if he had any hope of escape. He got a good hit or two in, left a permanent reminder of his own defeat on the man’s face, but that was it. Frank watched as the man beat the prisoner, his golden hair rising and falling with each practiced hit. By the time he stopped, his hair was soaked in sweat and blood, brilliant under the artificial light of the hanging lamps. It had remained in his mind almost every day of the past decade, the golden-maroon of his head like a sunset over a burning city.
“Great.” Frank picked up a pen. “Can I have your name?”
The man stared at Frank, his head slightly askew.
“Why do you need my name?”
“For our records,” Frank said, tapping his pen against the desk. The way his hair fell just above his ears, how it seemed so innocently golden even in the natural sunlight of the window, it was almost impossible.
“No, that’s not necessary. Can I get a cut or not?”
Frank stared at the man’s hair, the amber curls seeming to grasp up for him. Frank had tried to touch them once in the prison, tried to reach out and run his hand through them one time. All he needed was to feel them, to see how soft they were. Did he condition? Did he use shampoo? Did he even shower? He had to know, had to wrap his fists atop his scalp. He lifted his hand, face forcefully submerged in a murky bucket of water, and grasped blindly. The man pushed him deeper into the bucket, his head too far out of reach as the salty water choked him. He wouldn't miss this time.
“That’s fine, come with me.”
Frank stepped out from behind the desk, walking several steps forward to his cutting station. He spun the seat around, brushing his hand along the cushion to clear the remains of the last customer’s hairs, then motioned for the man to sit.
“Have a seat right here,” Frank said. The man followed, sitting down on the beige cushion with a thump. Frank stared at him from above, admiring his completely concealed scalp. The thickness of his hair was almost obscene; he’d never known someone to have such a glorious fullness. Frank was sure he could lose his scissors if he simply dropped them on top of his head.
Frank walked around the man to the mirror in front of him, grabbing the scissors and comb resting on the counter. He stared at him through the mirror, his beautiful curls running wild toward the heavens. He’d waited so long, so many years, to simply be close to his hair, to so much as look upon it once more. The mental pictures he’d stored for so long were starting to fade, the blood-splatter caking the amber curls growing more and more prominent as they concealed the true vision of his desire.
Frank turned and strolled back behind the man, scissor and comb in his left hand, right free and trembling slightly. He glanced down at the man’s head again, his untamed hair not unlike Medusa’s. He lifted his right arm slowly, eyes fixated on each individual strand, each perfect curl, each millimeter of hair. He could feel his arm shaking, his mind racing through the months he’d spent studying the man’s head; the months he’d watched as the man beat, raped, tortured, and killed soldier after soldier, his hair just as unkempt, yet just as perfect. He took a deep breath in, placing his palm flat on the man’s head, his eyes shut.
He had never felt anything so soft, never felt anything so thick, never felt anything so perfect. He brought his fingers together, running it through his hair. It was unreal, the head of hair that had tortured him for decades, now sitting in front of him. He twisted a curl between his finger, the man staring back at him in the mirror. He remembered seeing his eyes, the dark, tired eyes laughing at him as he lay on the floor, soaked in his own blood and piss. He remembered as the man ran a hand through his hair, not caring that he was caking it in blood. It was so soft, it was everything he had hoped it would be.
“What are we going to do with it?” Frank asked, eyes locked on the man’s head.
“Cut it all off,” said the man.
Frank smiled, his left hand trembling as his grip on the scissors tightened, vision no longer focused on his hair.
|
"Morning Sir! What can I do for you today?" The barber chirped out as his first customer of the day walked in. A new face to his shop. The man looked over to him and responded,
"Just a shave today"
Nodding his understanding the barber waved him over to one of the many seats lining the wall. Making small talk, how was the weather, a shame the Bears lost last night, how was his day going. All this was discussed as the Barber retrieved his supplies and then lathered up his customers face. Taking his razor to his neck he looked up in the mirror as he pulled up. Quickly cleaning the blade then moving back down again, he looked up into the mirror again.
And froze. Recalling a period of pain, of suffering, of the man who inflicted it upon him. And now that man sat before him under his blade, at his mercy.
"Is something wrong" the customer quarried. The barber shook his head and flicked his blade upward once more. Continuing the shave, and eventually finishing in silence. He stepped back heading to the register, accepting his payment, and then finally speaking.
"Do you truly not recall, not remember me?"
"I'm sorry no I don't know what your talking about" visibly put off by the barbers demeanor, the man quickly left after paying. Leaving the Barber to contemplate, but he knew he made the correct decision. He would not stoop to such low levels simply to recover some dignity of his past.
| 2014-04-29T09:37:08 | 2014-04-29T08:46:02 | 53 | 28 |
[WP] The first interstellar starship has been travelling for 200 years, 100 of which have been without Earth contact. As those on board celebrate the milestone, they're hailed by another ship from Earth that launched a century later but has caught up with them due to huge advances in technology.
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I sat in the empty recreation deck, staring up at the artificial sky. The half-eaten cake in front of me smelled sickeningly sweet. "Too dry," I thought. It would have been my 42nd birthday on Earth. Well, really my 273rd birthday, but it doesn't really matter, does it? I looked around at the empty benches in the artificial promenade, unable to remember the last time people filled it. There were so few of us left.
We were 20 days out from Alpha Centauri. It had been 230 long years since *The Generation* first left Earth, searching for a new place to live. The trip was only supposed to take 212 years, but The Anomaly had thrown us off course. When the ship's AI woke us up from our cryogenic sleep for our decennial check-in, we found that a rogue gravitational wave had thrown us off course. Only days after the 6000 people on-board found out that we would not have enough water to survive or enough cryofluid to sleep through the trip, a bloody civil broke out. In the aftermath, I was promoted to Captain of the ship. We've been awake for the past 18 years, enough time for me to question whether or not it was worth it. I should have just died with my planet, with my family, my wife and child. I hated leaving them behind, but there was no choice, I had to do this. I had to save humanity. At least that's what I told myself. I pulled the picture out of my pocket, trying to imagine what my daughter would have looked like grown up. The sound of my communicator pulled me from my reverie.
"Captain! You are needed on the bridge immediately. There is something you need to see!"
I wiped the tears from my face and made my way towards the tram station, throwing my cake into the disposal on my way out. When I reached the bridge, everyone was murmuring, hunched over their terminals. I expected the usual "Captain on Deck" and the following salute, but no one had seemed to notice my presence. I walked up to my lieutenant.
"What is it, Lieutenant Chu?"
"We've picked up a passive transmission, sir!" she blurted.
"It's probably just another pulsar."
"No, sir, we checked. It's not natural."
"So what is it, an alien transmission?"
"No, sir, it matches our communication signature." The dumbfounded look on my face prompted her to elaborate. "It is distinctly human. The transmission is in English and the transmission packets are from "The New Terran Union."
"That's impossible, we—" Before I could finish, bright flashes filled the room. They had come from outside the ship. A sleek black ship, ten times as big as *The Generation* had appeared in the once empty void of space.
"Sir, we're being hailed. Should I open the communication?"
I was unable to speak; I nodded weakly. The holoprojectors lit up and constructed the projection of a human in the middle of the deck. She was wearing a black and red uniform with a sigil depicting Earth on her shoulder. Her face looked oddly familiar.
"You have entered the sovereign territory of the New Terran Union. Identify yourself!" she said in a commanding voice.
I struggled to speak, still lost for words. "This is *The Generation*. Who are you?" I managed to croak.
"*The Generation*?" Her commanding voice had eased up; she sounded amused. I heard chuckles over the transmission, presumably from those around her. "So you finally made it, huh? Took you long enough, Captain...?"
"Granger," I responded. "Who the hell are you? How are you communicating with us?"
The uniformed figure tightened up, her expression grew serious again. "Well, Captain *Granger*. When you and *The Generation* left Earth behind all those years ago, you gave up on us. You thought we were lost, that the pollution, the blight, the famine had all but ended the human race." Her voice filled with anger but her posture was calm and collected. "But, humans," she continued, "we know how to survive, don't we Captain? In the past 200 years we've discovered faster than light travel and have established 13 human colonies across the galaxy."
I stood there, unable to respond.
"I wonder what you're thinking Captain. That this was all for naught? That your quest was futile? That you should have just stayed on Earth? Well, Captain, I agree. You are relics now, a reminder of how lost humanity used to be, and we cannot move forward if we cling to our past. You see, the New Terran Union doesn't take kindly to traitors to their own race. You left us, abandoned us. And for that, you have no place in the Union."
Before I could say a word, the large black ship lit up. "Eliminate them," the uniformed figure said decisively.
"Are you sure, Captain Granger?" a voice said from behind her.
"Yes Lieutenant," she affirmed. The black ship released four shining white projectiles into the expanse. The light-flooded the room as they slid gracefully through the vacuum of space, nearing *The Generation* with each passing second.
My knees buckled. "Granger...? You mean— Sam?" I said shakily.
"It was nice seeing you again, Father."
I stared into her eyes as the four lights behind her hologram reached *The Generation*, piercing the window of the bridge.
|
Julia awoke with a start. Just like every other time she awoke from Cryo sleep. After some time, her eyes opened and she stumbled out into the cryo compartment. She stumbled around until she found her tablet. Julia powered up the device, logged in, and scrolled through 50 years of major notifications until she saw her most recent ones. “Code “hare” message received, valid authentication”, read her latest notification. She shook her head to listen up the cobwebs in her mind. “Daniel!?” She croaked to the ships AI. “Yes Commander”, said the AI. “What’s code Hare and why did it wake me a decade early? Who else is awake?”.
“Only you, Commander”, said the AI. “Code Hare refers to a highly classified project that would constitute a follow up mission to this flight, based on experimental technology at the time that was just being conceived of at the time of our launch. The code name refers to the old “tortoise and the hare” allegory”.
“But why am I the only one awake?” Asked Julia. “Because you are the last crew member left alive with the clearance level to execute the necessary actions at this occasion, Commander”.
| 2021-05-01T04:04:10 | 2021-04-30T14:22:55 | 60 | 24 |
[WP] Near your city is a forest of giant concrete spikes protruding from the earth. Nobody knows why they’re there, and everyone who goes into them comes back mysteriously and incurably ill. You and your team have been working your whole lives to unravel the mystery of these strange monoliths.
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October 42nd, 2108 -- Data Entry 27
Dogan came back from hell today.
He looked awful, just like the others, sores on his face with black ooze streaming from them, frostbite-like symptoms on the extremities, and yellowish scleras. Rimus and I admitted him to the infirmary, but he insisted he wanted to be put down. As much as I'd like to oblige him, he is still needed for testing. The poor bastard, he didn't deserve it. Mareck made it back alive because of Dogan, but he isn't much better off either. If they're like the others, they'll be gone in a few days. I'd better go run my tests, say my goodbyes. Goddamnit.
​
October 42nd, 2108 -- Data Entry 27.1
Subject 17 is under anesthesia. Noted two pus sacs with 2 cm diameters on the left infraorbital foramen, 2.5 cm apart. Four smaller sacs, ranging from 1 to 2 cm on the right middle malar. Multiple open sores on the frontal region, redness has reduced with ice. Pus has been examined and found a surprising amount of decomposed red blood cells. The count is substantially higher than that of the dead leukocytes. This is what is giving it a black appearance. Running an antibody test on the subject has come up negative. Whatever it is, it isn't viral or bacterial. Lungs have been swabbed for mycosistic foreign bodies, but results are inconclusive as of yet. Sample has been placed in optimal fungal cultivator, will revisit in a week. Fingernails are completely missing due to what appears to be frostbite. Temperatures measured inside the quarantine zone reached its lowest at 13 Centigrade, no possibility of frostbite. Subject 17 was exposed to the hazardous environment for over a week, which could aid to the severity of the damage compared to other subjects. The fingers won't be amputated, since the subject is likely to perish. More later.
​
October 42nd, 2108 -- Data Entry 27.2
\[Data Not Found\]
​
October 43rd, 2108 -- Data Entry 28
He's already gone. So is Mareck. I called my tests early last night and handed them off to Dr. Itasca. I couldn't handle seeing Dogan like that. He and Mareck were in there longer than any of the other subjects, and he was still able to come out alive before he died. Other subjects who have gone in died around 3 days after less than 24 hours of exposure. I don't like to do this often, but I'm hard-pressed to assume that exposure equates to a sort of adaptation that works against an infected host once they are removed from the environment. Of course, there is no ethical way to test that, so for now it remains a mystery. Though, the only person in the zone longer than him has long been gone; months since anyone has seen them. Surely they've succumbed to the infection by now due to pneumonia or the internal bleeding. I'd go into the QZ, but the ops won't let me suit up. They tell me that I am crucial to this project, but I know the real work is all Itasca's doing. She's been on this project since April, this is her baby.
What a scientist won't do for results, right?
​
September 3rd, 2108 -- Data Entry 29
We've all been a little on edge for the last few days. All the ops are whispering rumors about something called the "Black Mass." According to Rimus, he and his men encountered a subject who was dying in the QZ. He mumbled about the "Black Mass" and said it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and that he couldn't wait for the ops to witness it. When they tried to question him further, all he had to say was "it's bigger than all of you." Whatever, leave the cryptic shit to Intel, I just draw blood and tell people they're going to die. Life is simple, I don't need delusions of a giant black glob of dead blood and skin cells rolling down a hill at me. Just let me enjoy *my* shitty job, I don't need another one.
​
September 10th, 2108 -- Data Entry 30
Rimus is on high alert today, which has me worried since the guy is anything short of a cold psychopath. He told me that his unit was attacked by what seemed like sentient survivors found inside the QZ. I don't remember the sector, but they were pretty deep; the deepest they've gone in for a while actually. One of the op's hazmat suits were punctured and minor surface wounds were sustained. Itasca is tending to them right now. I'll need to head over there to help her since the subject has just been exposed. This could help us understand where the infection starts so that we can at least begin rudimentary treatments. But, this confirms it for me. Survivors are inside the QZ and they seem to be stay alive as long as they don't leave. This is way above my paygrade, I am gonna go stick this jarhead with some needles and ask him some personal questions. More later...
​
September 10th, 2108 -- Data Entry 30.1
H-O-L-Y.\`\`\` S-H-I-T.
​
*(If anyone wants me to continue these entries, I would love to release them on a daily basis This is just a start to see how everyone reacts. Diary entries are a good exercise for me because I tend to get caught up in details about the setting or atmosphere instead of just conveying it passively. Critique and suggestions are welcome!)*
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Lieutenant Jackson’s eyes glaze over the list of symptoms. She finally has a moment of life to pretend like none of this is real. The people relying on her have disappeared just for a second.
“Ugh…” a groan from behind the cloth separating Jackson from the rest of the sick patients. Ripped back into the bleak world. Doctor Samuels began yelling for his team. The lieutenant pushed her course black curly hair from her face. Her dark skin shined bright from the gleaming light bouncing off the sweat on her brow.
Stepping through the canvas door way displayed a painting of pestilence. The medical team, full of confusion ran to Samuels’ side.
“On your left Doc, what do you need?” stated Officer Clark, loud enough for the next two tents to hear. “A blister in miss Pamela Lawson’s throat appears to have burst. She is hemorrhaging and choking. Pass me my tools and we will need some towels.”
Several nurses ran to retrieve the Doctor’s items. A flash of light caught Jackson’s eye from the monitors across the room. A spike. A spire? “Impossible” she muttered to herself as she approached another patients heartbeat monitor. Watching intently for another few moments. It seemed as time was being stretched painfully.
There it was, a familiar form. The spike. Irregular horizontal lines formed along the side of the green and white stature. It was as if a shaking hand drew the titanic masses surrounding this small desert city.
Symbols full of slants and curves formed on screen. It shouldn’t be possible for this machine to go backwards or have multiple lines drawing at once. The display began melting out of its housing, and electro-luminescent sludge. The shapes still forming. The symbols all together began crafting an image Jackson recognized. It was like looking into a mirror.
| 2022-04-05T21:52:22 | 2022-04-05T19:35:01 | 93 | 41 |
[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit
|
Everyone was staring with disgust at the closed door, the blinds down as the manager yelled at their co-worker. The man was a maniac and the only reason no-one had stood up to him was because he could get them fired at a moment's notice and his psychotic temper.
Just as security had arrived the door violently swung open and the woman was thrown out to the ground by the hair. 'I just fired this cunt!' he yelled, shocking everyone. 'Get her out of here NOW!! All of you, back to work!'
The guards were good people, helping her up and out while also calling HR and reporting his outburst.
As I went back to the cubicle beside mine, Tim silently hung up and then went back to filing his report. 'I just called the police,' he silently said to me. 'Shit... Carol didn't deserve that.'
I knew why it happened - despite how much of a terrible reason it was - but I decided to humor my colleague. 'What did she do to set him off?'
'She scratched his Lamborghini on the way in this morning,' he answered me. 'A small scratch...'
We quieted down as the HR representatives walked towards his office, entering and locking the door behind them. Tim carefully put an earpiece in his head and tapped the screen of his phone, collecting more evidence that he can use to denounce his soon-to-be former employer as he plans to leave the current job of writing tech manuals.
To mortals of old, I was once known as a God. I didn't particularly enjoy the worship, especially when they completely misrepresented me to fit their ideals, but I did enjoy watching them in life and granting boons to those I had found... interesting. Of course, a minor deity, learning of my odd fascination with humans, challenged me to live among them as long as possible and masquerade as a mortal. If I could reach the 20-year mark, I'd win our little contest.
Unfortunately, Brad was my manager within this company. He was one of those people who had rich parents who cared more about their reputation rather than treating their son. But he knows what he's doing harms others and enjoys it. He was currently trying to frame Carol for embezzling funds from the company, to "Get back the wages that treacherous bitch should never have been paid".
Tim had heard that and was growing uncomfortable. We had almost rejoiced when 5 o'clock arrived and HR dismissed us so that Brad could hold us back for unpaid "overtime".
I had gotten back to my apartment, a rather cheap place in the mortal realm. I wanted to just kick back, relax with a beer and watch the game. Beer... why did Leviticus and Mohammed say I had denounced this drink?
That's when I got a phone call from Tim. 'Hey, what's wrong?' I asked. I knew he was distressed, but tried to play it cool.
'Dude, Brad found out I called the cops on him,' Tim gasped. 'He just kicked my door in... broke one of my cells- Fuck!'
'What's wrong?' I asked. 'Tim?!'
'He broke my fucking leg!'
I didn't believe I could, but I snapped. 'I'll get someone over there right now,' I said as I hung up. I knew he was watching me, so I decided to make my intentions clear. 'I'm forfeiting our bet.'
'Are you?' Ares asked as he appeared leaning on my counter. 'I mean, you do now owe me-'
My human form disappeared as I enveloped his entire body with one of my hands. 'No time,' I stated. 'I want you to go to this mortal, make sure his injuries aren't fatal and protect him as a guardian spirit. If you have to appear to him, so be it.'
'Appear to a mortal?' Ares asked in shock. 'Are you mad?'
'Ares, I will honor our deal but if that mortal, my best friend, *dies* I will do to *you* what I *did to **C'thulhu and his kin**!*'
Ares was a brave being but anyone would be scared of just how I had devoured the most primordial and powerful beings in existence. He disappeared, heading to Tim.
I, however, transported myself to Brad's house just as he was entering, Tim's blood all over his hands. 'And that fucker ruined my suit...' he grumbled before falling down into the basement. 'What the fuck?'
Then he saw me, a being made entirely of scales. To most mortals I'd appear as a dragon, which is precisely what my angelic progeny appeared as while flying around me, breathing lighting, fire and snowstorms as my 10 legs menacingly stomped towards him. I unfolded my 12 wings, stared him down with the 20 eyes on 5 heads, grinned with my 10 mouths then spoke through all of them in unison, 'Bradley Densin?'
'What the... what the fuck are you?!' he screamed as he grabbed a vase, throwing it at one of my heads.
'Oh, me?' I spoke, repairing the vase and returning it to the table. 'See, in olden days mortals such as yourself called me YHWH. Nowadays Christians, Jews and Muslims pray to me as the deity who created Existence and being the one true god... which isn't exactly true. I *did* create this world, but there are many gods. Although I prefer to use the term *meals*.'
He was now sweating like a pig in a heatwave, a sensation I took great pleasure in causing.
'Although... none call me by my true name of Bahamut. I use many names to wander this world, more to sate my boredom than anything. See, you may not know it... but you have made a rather grave, *personal* slight against me.'
'I-I'll give you anything!' Brad tried to plead as his back met the wall, supporting himself to prevent his legs from giving out. 'I have money! I have so much money!'
'Didn't I tell you?' I said, leering two of my heads on each side of him. 'I'm a god, I have no need for *money*. Although there is one thing you can give me.'
'Just name it!' he screamed. 'Just don't hurt me!'
In my 100 billion years, that was the first to get me to genuinely laugh. 'You don't get it, do you? ***HURTING YOU IS PRECISELY WHAT I WANT!!***'
The physical realm dispersed into dark space as I spoke and soon there were only two sounds being made; the screams of this pathetic human, and my wings.
'Oh, the satisfaction that your death throes will bring me,' I said with satin-like grace in my voice before I began my work.
'Of course, in time.
The authorities arrived at Brad's residence 30 minutes. They found him bloodied and wounded, but he'd recover from his physical trauma. The psychological effects of the damage I inflicted to his soul would never heal, however. He was soon institutionalized.
Carol got her job back plus damages over what Brad did to her. Tim recovered with surprising speed. He was aware of my identity now but he had also struck up a friendship with Ares.
I did honor my bet with Ares, however. He wanted to know a secret of the universe that no other deity was aware of. He regretted it, but a deal's a deal - he wanted to know precisely souls came from, after all.
And that's why I'm the king of the gods, bitches.
|
"Sherry? Ummmm.....what...are you doing?" My boss, ladies and gentleman. In case you can't see what's going on, I'm shredding documents. Pounds of them. I had been drifting in the lull of the sound of the motors and relaxing to the sight of the receptacle filling up with hundreds of pages of reports, memos, adverts, requests and the occasional wet paper towel *Not funny, Dennis. You know I'm big on recycling, can you cut me some slack?* When my boss asked the most obviously loaded question of the day.
I counted to three. One, Two....."Sherry? Excuse me, but *what* are you *doing*?" Oh sainted Jesus and Buddha, I'm so sorry I signed you both up for trials on Match Dot Com, IT WAS A JOKE. Forgive me, I can't take too much more of this....
I looked up at Clark. "Uh, what I always do on Tuesdays-shredding the documents left in the recycling bin." Clark put his coffee cup down on the printer. Thanks, Clark. It's not like I don't have enough work to do. It fulfills me greatly to run around after you cleaning up like I'm your mommy.
"Sherry, I told you we are no longer shredding! I've hired a company to do that for us! YOU ARE WASTING THE COMPANY'S TIME AND MONEY!"
Wait, what? Since when? I start counting again. One, Two, Three........Dearest Zeus and Aphrodite, I cannot emphasize how terrible I feel about making donations in Your names to the Roman Advancement Society. It was a joke! Oh my Gods and Goddesses, I never meant to offend You! FORGIVE ME!
"Clark, seriously? No, you didn't tell me this! I wouldn't have spent the last two hours doing this if you had told me I didn't need...." He interrupted me. "Listen, Sherry, stop goldbricking, okay? I told you. If you're having trouble understanding me, perhaps a few unpaid weeks off will help your comprehension."
I think my heart stopped at that moment. Oh sweet, sweet Hades, have you finally forgiven me for sending the cartload of baby donkeys to your daughter's birthday party? Nope. My heart started beating again. Dammit. I am SO SORRY, my Lord of the Underworld, I was young and just being an idiot! I MEANT NO INSULT!
Clark leaned in and shook his finger in my face. "You have been notified, missy. I. Am. Watching. You. You better shape up, or I will be making some drastic changes in your situation."
Drastic changes? Oh dear, dear Mohammed--I am so sorry I rerouted all of your messages to the Dark Web. I was just kidding! I meant no insult! PLEASE FORGIVE ME!
Clark walked out. Dennis walked in and tossed a wet paper towel into my face. "Hi, loser. Listen, I need you to order more printer cartridges for my office. Don't fuck it up this time, or I'll tell Clark you're the one sending photos of his wife to Craigslist's *Women Seeking Masters* page."
| 2017-02-19T12:00:29 | 2017-02-19T09:52:39 | 38 | 21 |
[WP] A phenomena begins to occur where newborn babies are found amidst the aftermath of natural disasters. Tsunamis, avalanches, wild fires, destructive lightning storms, etc. These 'Storm-Born' humans grow up with powers based on the disasters that birthed them.
|
"How about this: I empty both ashtrays into what's left of my beer, and I mix it 'round and 'round with my index finger, and then I drink it. The whole stinking mixture. If I *don't* down every last sooty drop of it, I buy you your next round. But if I do *somehow* manage to slurp it all down, then you get me another. How does that sound, friend?"
The huge bald man on the bar-stool next to me grins. He's missing a few teeth, but it somehow suits him -- maybe 'cause he's missing equally big dents out of his head. He looks from ashtray to ashtray, both over-spilling with the blackened corpses of cigarettes, then at what's left of my beer. "You're going to eat all that shit -- mixed into your beer? What if you vomit it up after?"
"Same rules. I buy you your next drink. Any drink you want."
His eyes wander from me to the shelf of spirits perched behind the bar. He's wondering either what's the most expensive out of them, or what's got the highest alcohol content. Doesn't matter what he chooses: I can't afford it. Only thing in my pocket is a last stick of chewing gum. His head begins to bob. "Okay, yeah you're on." He removes the cigarette that he shouldn't be smoking -- but that no one's going to tell him not to -- from his mouth, and twists the end of it into the nearest ashtray.
I stare down at the long stub. "You're going to leave half your smoke?"
"Yeah," he says, grin ever widening. "Problem?"
"I was only going to drink ashes, not eat--"
"Problem?" He sits up straight, his huge shadow darkening me, his face hard.
"No. No, there's no problem. I just wasn't that hungry, but I guess I can make room." I grab the first ashtray and tip it into my drink, smacking the side to make sure all the ash falls in. There's a little plop as the half-smoked cigarette drops in, followed by a lazy stream of smoke. As I take the second ashtray, the barman turns up the TV that's hanging on the wall above him.
"... Yes, Tony. That's the fourth Storm Born dead, attempting to help evacuate this area of Northern California. She didn't make it more than a mile before she stopped moving and her vitals fell. In related news, scientists widely suspect that the pathogen is man-made. Whether domestic terrorism, or foreign, remains to be--"
I tune out as soon as I know the dead Storm Born ain't Susie and get on with the task at hand. "There," I say, as the debris swirls around my glass. The dry grey surface hides a turbid underbelly. The brown cigarette juts out like a ship stuck in a swamp.
The big man looks into my glass and I see his face shift in disgust. Even he looks concerned. "You not going to stir it more?"
"This is how I like it." I pick it up and start to gulp down the mixture, tapping a nail on the bottom of the glass to help it slide down. Tastes as bad as I imagined it would, like lumpy dry medicine, but that's okay. I get to wash it down with a refreshing beverage shortly.
I wipe my lips with the back of my hand; black ash smears my skin. "There," I say. "Now where's my beer?"
The man just gapes for a while. "You some kind of freak."
Not sure if it's a statement or a question, I just shrug. "Mine's a Guinness."
He nods at me, then grunts at the barman who reluctantly tears his eyes away from the reporter on the screen.
"You going to be sick something awful tonight," the big man says as the beer is put down on the bar.
"I don't get sick," I reply.
"Oh yeah?" says the barman, suddenly leaning over to me, interested. He's got slicked back grease for hair, but sharp eyes and they're already studying me. The big man has turned away and is talking to his friend.
Long sip. It helps loosen the ash stuck in my throat. "Yeah."
"Never been ill?" the barman continues.
"Nope. Not since I was a baby."
His brows furrow. Then a kind of realisation dawns on his features. "You're not one... Nah, never mind. You couldn't be."
"Storm Born? Only sorta. I was born in a plague, not a storm. My gifts are... different."
He looks excited. "You are one of them! Holy shit, in my bar?! Why didn't you say? Rest of your drinks are on me, as long as you let me chalk up the board outside. If people know I got a Storm Born... In my bar!" He repeats the line shaking his head. "Wait till Mama hears about this."
I drink my beer and drift away, only half aware of the barman's incessant talk. He wants to know where I'm from. What plague. How'd I live through it. When did I find my powers. All the usual. He doesn't want to know being born in a plague meant all my family were dead before my first full day alive was over. Or about the foster homes. Or the prisons. Or the rejection from the Storm Born themselves. People like the barman, they never want to know the real stuff. Just the fantasy of it. But then he says, still shaking his head in disbelief, something that catches my attention. "They could sure use a guy who doesn't get sick in California right now."
I stop drinking and let myself chew the line over. Only for a second, mind you. Then I say, "I'm not a hero. Never was, never will be. Understand?"
"Never said you were." Hands raised defensively. "Never said you were. But... I bet, with the right negotiator, they'd pay a fortune to the man who could make it to where the plague started. Find out what -- who -- created it. That's the first step to making an antidote they said on the news. It's why all the Storms are trying and dying."
My beer is empty. I push the glass towards the man. He looks at me, then takes it and refills.
"Just another beer. That's all I want today. Like every other day."
"I get it. No problem. I'm sure you don't need the money at all."
But as I'm drinking the second, and then even more-so the third, I start to wonder just how much they would pay.
On my fourth, as I visit the urinals, the money aspect is strangely draining away with the some of the beer.
Then on my fifth drink, my mind is a blurred, reluctant, image of Susie. I try to scribble her out, but she won't go away. Her blue eyes are still there, peering through the blackness at me.
What if she tries to go in? Is she that stupid?
Maybe. She did date me for a few weeks, after all.
Maybe thinks she can cleanse the area with water or something.
Things might have ended badly -- *very* badly -- but I still don't need her being the next dead Storm Born.
"Ah shit," I say, loud enough to catch the barman's attention. "I hate California."
His eyes seem to shine. "You're going? Someone from my bar is going to save the world?"
"I'm going. Didn't say nothing about saving the world. But I'll tell you what, if you phone the army or the government, or whoever you need, and negotiate my payment while I think out a plan... Well, whatever you manage to get from them, I'll give you five percent of it -- if you drive me to the airport."
He grins like a man who knows a secret. "Twenty percent and I'll book our plane tickets too."
"Our? What do you mean our?" I glare at him, but he still grins like a clown on its birthday. "And twenty? You out of your mind? I'm the one risking my neck. Five percent or nothing."
He pauses. "Ten percent, and free beers here for a year."
It takes me a heartbeat to decide -- it is a shithole, after all -- but then I raise my glass to him, my face stretching to a smile. "Cheers to that."
|
We had to take them away. That was the worst of it, and the beginning of the end. Not the end of everything, but the end of what we knew, the scourging of an entire world. It's still here, but what we built is gone. Gods.
I think they believed they were doing us a favor. The gods, I mean. Because they're behind this, of course, or they were. It got away from them, after a time, and they couldn't find the consensus to end it, because so long as a single god could boast Stormborn followers, the others "needed" them too.
So we had to take them away. We thought we were making things safe, not sowing the seeds of cataclysm.
Every civilization, every tribe and kingdom and Tyranny, all had their own ways of coping with these children, these toddlers revealing apocalyptic powers. But they all took them away, one way, another way, always away. Always away. Had to be safe. Children are not fully controllable. They throw tantrums. They destroy villages, cities. Accidentally murder their own parents and siblings.
Fuck the gods, for not knowing. Fuck them even more if they did, and let this happen anyway. I was small when it first started. I remember the terror, can still feel the way it soaked into everything, every conversation, every hint of something stirring on the horizon. One of my vaguest, earliest, most awful memories is of soldiers storming a house. The cries, the sounds of one-sided combat, the man cleaning blood off his blade, the screaming child. It's all a blur, and no less awful for it.
We had to take them away. They went to isolated orphanages, remote temples, fortified training camps. Academies of magic, though mortal spells paled in comparison to what a single tantrum could unleash. Whole cabals of archmages would struggle to contain one child. Methods were invented, some kinder, some...
...scarring. In more ways than one. Certain sorts of scarring were useful, the mark of danger, of power, of person-controlled. Good to be visible. Others only showed in the eyes, if you looked closely.
And I have, but first, let me tell you why.
I don't know how what age the first weapon was. And that's what she was, make no mistake. We all remember her, but they took away her own memory when they killed her unwilling family, erased it with grim purpose. It's not good to give a tool anything to catch on, much less a weapon. Cut clean through the air, no hesitation, that's what one wants in a blade, a hammer's head. Slash and crush and sing.
Maybe she wondered, before she died, after she'd help remake the little kingdom of her birth into an empire. A screaming little girl on a platform, carried up and down the coast by grim-faced soldiers and ringed by hedge-wizards who would have been able to do little were she to actually turn on them, threatening utter destruction to every port between the Battered Shore and the Long-Legged Sea.
She was the first, but in the four years between the start of her terror and her assassination there came five more, none much older. Hurling fire and shaking the earth, one even pulling down fiery stones from the heavens. Three were killed fairly quickly, but by then it almost didn't matter. A grave setback for their own "side," to whatever extent a small child can be said to have a "side" at all. A horror for the murdered child, their blood staining their handlers every bit as much as the assassins. More, maybe. Probably. Almost certainly. A horror for the murdered child, a setback for an army, of little consequence to the world at large because there were always more.
We had to take them away, but we didn't have to bring them back on leashes of withheld love and harsh punishment. We didn't have to *use* them. Granted, children trained to fight from birth have always been, and, gods help us, gods leave us be, perhaps they always will be. But how many of those children ever burned thirty thousand people alive while most were asleep in their beds? Or drowned an entire desert clan as a show of ironic force?
<continued below>
| 2019-08-06T05:32:03 | 2019-08-06T04:58:18 | 2,696 | 150 |
[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"
|
Max had just woke up from one of those long naps that leave you feeling heavy and confused. Slowly he moved his feet towards the floor and got up with a stretch. He opened his phone to see 17:00 staring at him. Shit. Max had missed the most important time of the day for the 3rd time this week. His new job left him exhausted on the little time he had to spare resulting in untimely naps. You see Max has a special power. Not the kind you see in movies, one more discreet and interesting. From the moment he was born he could use a search tool once every day, specifically at noon 15:00. A little exclamation mark will pop up in his eyesight until he starts the search, almost like a side quest in a video game. If he forgets to use one it’ll stack up to a max of 10. This window lasted a minute but it was the most amazing tool some would dream of. Any small detail of someone’s past, boom, you have it. It’s like reaching into their mind of networks pulling out anything you please.
At first he’d search innocent things, *where did mommy get that necklace?* until the growing mind of a preteen set in and more gruelling questions sat in his brain. He wanted to really dive into their past, so when Max was 12 he sat staring at his watch on the couch glancing at each family member, his mind racing with questions. Finally the clock strikes 15, the burning question he’d be scared to ask filled the search bar
*Why does dad have a large scar down his neck?*
the exhilaration quickly turned into a sad, scared gloom. Before he had a chance to react, his dad promptly asked ‘Hey max chuck me a bag of those chips will ya?’ In his frightened state Max couldn’t bring himself to it, instead he ran out the room and swiftly shut the door and lied down. Whatever this power was, he would need to restrain from being so personal.
Now as an adult he’d only done it for little things at his workplace to keep himself entertained, *What was my managers first ever job?* and things similar.
That was until today.
14:00 Max had slaved away for the past 16 hours, undergoing both a night plus morning shift at the office. He needed the money to sustain a godawful amount of rent, consequently when he got home to his apartment his first instinct was to jump on his bed and fall into a deep sleep. However he noticed a big red circle on his calendar. ‘God is it really this time of the year again...’ Max mumbled. His birthday had crept up and he’d spent the majority of it half asleep in an office. His phone was lit up with dozens of Facebook and Instagram messages from family and the few friends he’d sustained. “26, where have these years gone?” He mumbled again, he put the kettle on and made a coffee to push back the lingering sleep.
*Ding Ding Ding*
He walked over and opened the door to be greeted by his entire family. Mother, father and three brothers. He couldn’t quite believe it had been this long. As everyone sat down and set up the birthday cake, he blew out the candles, made a wish, etc etc. The only entertainment Max had was a game of monopoly and a few other board games. Sure, why not. Let’s have a game.
14:34
Max saw the time and remembered, very soon he’d have a question to ask, and considering his family are here, he could be a bit more adventurous. He rolled the dice and saw the big ‘Prison’ tile on the monopoly board.
Max had a Sudden flashback to when he was a kid and asked that dreaded question. *How did dad get that scar?* the terrifying visual image manifested itself back into his brain.
*Self-made knife from prisoner inmate, Colorado 1979.*
*Samuel Oliver’s was detained for attempted Murder, however the lack of evidence caused a drop in the case*
Ever since Max was 12 he’d wanted to ask if he truly was a murderer, but even as a adult he’d never brought himself to it. However Max new this secret would end today, or else he’ll be asking it for the rest of his life.
14:59
Max was a few rolls from winning the game, but his mind was elsewhere. Suddenly an Exclamation mark disrupted his vision, to his surprise, there was a small ‘4’ next to the mark. They must have stacked up from all his missed questions due to his long naps.
Max thought he’d test out his question for Father on the others, just to be safe.
*How many people has mother killed?*
*Amie Oliver’s, 0 murders.*
Sigh of relief, he knew she wouldn’t hurt a fly.
*Michael Oliver’s 0 murders.*
Yes, his brother was also completely fine. He was prone to getting in a few fights after one or two many drinks, but nothing serious.
*Stanley Oliver’s, 1 accidental - Drunk driving incident.
His heart sank, he hadn’t even reached his father and his older brother was a fucking drunk driver? He couldn’t really feel rage as it would be completely random and unprovoked for everyone in the room. But still his face boiled.
Now for his father, please let this be a lie.
*Samuel Oliver’s, 176 confirmed Kills. Non accidental.*
He looked and saw his fathers porky, childish face. How was that the face of someone who’s killed 176 people?
Samuel rolled the dice and his small go kart figure landed inside prison.
“Haha! Lucky for me I have an out of prison card!”
Without a second thought Max retorted “I thought you used that card in 1979?”
His face sank. His eyes turned cold and sour. He was a completely different man. The once wrinkled face of joy was now stone cold and emotionless, staring right through Max. Who was this man? Did he work for some sort of MAFIA?
After a few seconds of staring mother pleaded we finish the game and enjoy Max’s birthday, but that wasn’t going to happen.
|
It was my dad. Let's not beat around the Bush. 22 people. My dad is the sweetest old man. But everyone respects him. He could be funny, hell my first joke that got a real laugh was one he told me when I was 6 or 7. One about a dumb guy being asked how many Ds are in Rudolf the red nosed reindeer. The guy says 7. No man its 4. No says the guy its seven, listen. Dee Dee Dee Dee Dee dee dee. I laughed at his joke for years. It was my go to for adults.
Still. 22 people. The guy thought me most everything I know. How the hell did my dad kill 22 people. Okay let's do some more searches. "Dad murder trials." Searching...
"One result"
"Lucky Valentino's jury selection"
Let's see here. Oh, he just appears on the rejected jury for trial list. It's odd but he's not on trial and no other enters of his name are found.
Let's try "
Okay I'm loosing my train of thought. I'm just going to give this twist away and turn in for the night. My dad accident kill 22. He worked in remodeling for 40 yrs. It was never really his fault. Mostly him wondering about how he could of done something different. Big ones were very few. Only one guy did he feel like he didn't do enough. It was an accident. The guy cut through a power cord. True dad was the last guy to handle it and that can wear on your concise. But come on dad, he could have watched where he was cutting too.
Big twist. I finally searched myself. Turns out I'm probably not that good at cooking as I thought. Sweet dreams those who are out tonight.
| 2019-07-01T22:45:08 | 2019-07-01T21:57:00 | 34 | 24 |
[WP] Medieval Fantasy Setting. The farther you go away from the towns and citys the bigger the monsters become. No one knows if there is an End to the world.
|
Balthazar Held his gun tight as the convoy roared over the plain. Below the shaking metal halftrack grumbled past stuffy brush and fern.
“How tall do you think it is?” He asked Artannan, who briefly lowered the binoculars to give a stare.
“Miles and miles.” He breathed in near awe. Ahead was a creature taller than anything anyone had ever seen. A furry horned animal balanced on four spindly legs, with a head not unlike a sheep. Slowly it was lifting its right front hoof, as if in super slow motion. Down one of its flanks a waterfall silently tumbled into the sky, fading to mist long before it hit the ground.
“How does it breathe at that altitude?” Cassandra asked from the other side of the truck. “How does it eat?”
“I honestly don’t think it needs too.” Artannan replied. “A monster that big probably has an entire ecosystem inside it, I can even see trees growing on its back.” They stared as the monster grew on the horizon. For thousands of years men and women had explored the land around the cities, observing as the monsters got larger and larger. Fiercer and fiercer. The empire had sent expeditions before this one, many a time to try and see what was out here, resources? People? An Edge maybe? But none had gotten nearly as far as they had.
Previous expeditions had all been stopped, or never came back after a few months. By that point they were fighting city sized creatures, which could crush them in a single step. But they had gotten lucky, and slipped by them to discover the grander beasts beyond. Many in the empire feared that past that anything could kill an entire convoy with a single glare, but instead it seemed as animals got bigger, they also got slower, each new life form sinking to snail’s pace. That was six months ago, and now the creatures didn’t even notice them, instead probably seeing no more than a flash of red and gray as they whizzed by, forever westward.
The monsters had gotten fewer and farther between too. From fly swarms in the
tens of thousands back at the Imperial Capital to now one every week or so, each exponentially more massive than the last.
“That creature probably hasn’t stepped in decades.” Balthazar mumbled.
“Probably where earthquakes come from.” Artie hypothesized. He nodded, maybe.
The convoy slipped directly under the continent sized creature, it unsurprisingly paid no mind, and was long gone as the landscape began to shift. The grassy plains that had stretched on for months were now turning rockier and deader. Trees became nothing more than spindly stone pillars as a glint appeared on the horizon. A coast.
“Sea ahead!” He called. People in the other trucks turned and looked at the shimmering waves. Artie swung his binoculars around from the creature to the ocean.
“Looks almost red.” He noted
“Red? What like at sunset?” They all looked up at the sun, hanging in the center of the sky. Artie twisted his lip.
“Yeah, but not that sunset.” The landscape became worse looking as they continued. The rocks became redder, the trees disappeared completely. Occasionally a pool of the strange red liquid would flow by.
“I’m loosing traction!” He heard a call from the driver. On cue a wheel skidded and the whole truck lurched, lazily sliding to a stop a few feet away. He gunned the engine, but the tracks only spun. Balthazar looked at the other trucks.
“You guys still good? Back up if you can!” The drivers nodded.
“Yes sir!” and slowly shifted back a few feet.
“Go back a mile then walk to the coast, we’ll be waiting there!” More nods as the convoy turned around and a few personnel jumped off. As the trucks faded into the distance he jumped off too, feeling his feet sink into a strange brownish red mush, shifting under his feet.
“What the hell?” He mumbled as the others approached.
“Weird . . .” Cassandra crouched and took a small sample, the earth oozed the thick red fluid. Not stone, not dirt either . . . almost like.”
“When was the last time we saw body of water Artie?”
“Two weeks ago sir, it was a pond bout’ twenty feet across.”
“Right.” He set off towards the sea. “Nobody’s ever reported even a large lake right? Never an ocean. Let’s move.” Everyone followed and slung their rifles over their backs. The sea was near, maybe only a mile, and soon they could hear a low rumble as waves crashed into the shore.
“I don’t like this.” Cassandra noted as she walked, the ground was becoming sloppier and redder, now more crimson than brown. A hill denoted the final few feet.
“It’s fine.” Balthazar assured. He climbed the knoll carefully and looked out at the sea. It was the color of blood, a red so vibrant it shone. Crestless waves lapped at the sudden and ‘rocky’ edge of the land, echoing of a body of water so massive it extended far beyond the horizon, to a point where the scarlet sea met the azure sky.
“Something’s wrong about it.” Artie assured. “It’s too slow.” Balthazar nodded as he descended. The water was moving a little too slow, like thin syrup or ice slush. He crouched before the ocean and dipped his finger. It was a kind of warm that gave him goosebumps, and stuck to his skin a little as he brought the fluid to his mouth.
“What’s it taste like chief?” The metallic tone of the liquid sent his brain back to the battlefield, horrible memories emerging.
“It tastes like blood.” He called. The group froze.
“What?”
“Blood.” He repeated, “Looks like it, tastes like it.” He sniffed the air, “Even smells like it a bit.” There was a soft pause as they all looked at the ocean, the sea of blood.
“It couldn’t be . . .” Artie shivered and pulled up a handful, letting it drip back down, “The whole thing can’t be . . .” Cassandra gasped.
“No, you’re not suggesting the whole ocean’s alive are you?” Artie shook his head.
“Oh no, I’m suggesting something far worse.” The realization dawned on them, an idea so absurd that it couldn’t possibly be true. They were about to dismiss it before a vibration shivered up through the ground, into their feet and souls, and all at once, no one was sure what caused earthquakes anymore.
|
"What do you say?" Carlballios Harmellenthranx, Knight of the Realm of Wordgoeshere, Captain of the Black Guard of Red Fighting Whiteland Soldiers, looked up at me like a puppy who thought he'd invented calculus.
I blinked. "What do I say? It's dumb as shit."
"Come on!" Carl said. "It's genius!"
"So - just to get this straight, you understand -"
Carl nodded. "Yeah."
"'Cause I'd hate to misrepresent you."
"It's fair," he said. "I wouldn't like that."
I took a breath. "Step One: the first hundred miles?"
"Pussies."
I nodded, sagely. "Step Three: after the *third* hundred miles, they'll be so big they won't even notice us."
He clicked his fingers. "I've got you hooked. I can tell."
"It's just..." I put my hand on my chin in The Thoughtful Way. "The hundred miles in between steps one and three. The step in between steps one and three. What do you call that step?"
Carl screwed up his face in concentration. "Step two?" he said.
"That's the bugger," I said. "Step two. Tell me about step two?"
"Well, that's where the dangerous ones are," he said. He poked at the ashes in the fire, nonchalantly.
I gave him a moment to elaborate. He chose not to. "See..." I started. I got nothing. "The dangerous ones. That's *kind of*, you know. The... *entire fucking problem.*"
"Oh, I see how it is," Carl said. "You're being hostile."
"It's dumb as shit!" I shouted. "Nobody's ever got that far! Why would we!?"
Carl stood up, defensively. "Nobody's been trying to get past them!"
I swung punches at imaginary Carls. "People have been trying to get past them for hundreds of years!" I shouted.
"No!" he shouted back. "People have been trying to *kill* them!"
"Yes!" I screamed, inches away from his face. "Why do you think that is!?"
There was a moment when it clicked. "Oh..." he said. "Right..."
| 2015-12-01T15:34:59 | 2015-12-01T14:15:46 | 95 | 20 |
[WP] In a world where superheroes exist, children read about worlds without them.
|
“Well-uh, hiya there, Billy-boy.”
Dad stood in the doorway to Billy’s room — a cream coloured cardigan over his pressed and crisp white button-down house shirt. Around his neck and tucked into the warmth of the wool cardigan was the green and brown striped tie he always wore at home. Dad’s hair was neatly combed and pomaded into a stiff helmet of dark-brown. On his eyes were the large, square, tortoise-shell glasses that he need to see — lest he be completely blind — and his hands were busy packing a wooden tobacco pipe.
“Oh!” Said his son, attention lost in his comic. “Hiya, Pops!”
Billy, eight years old, was laid out on his blue-duvet topped mattress and was on his belly, quietly reading a comic before dinner was called. Billy knows that Dad’s real name is Arthur Arlington, much like Billy himself is actually William Curtis Arlington.
Billy, much like most of the city, also knows that Dad — that is, Arthur Arlington — is actually an alien super-hero called Jaunty Jupiter. Most folks, Billy and Mom included, just play a long and pretend not to recognise Arthur lifting busses and punching meteors on the front-page of the morning paper.
“So, Kiddo!” Said the super who supposedly smoked — Dad had the incorrect belief that his 1950’s vision of a how a man should act made him invisible. “What-uh-uh. What’re ya-ya-a...what are ya reading there, uh, sport?”
Dad also had a habit of falling into a bad impression of Jimmy Stewart. Or so Billy’s mother had told him, the boy had no idea who that was.
“It’s a comic, Pa.”
“A-heh-heh. I, uh, I can *see* that, Kiddo.” Said Dad. He walked into the room and sat on the bed next to his Son. The pipe wasn’t lit. Never was, in fact. He’d walk around a bit and proclaim he can’t find a match. Would even go for a walk and a smoke. The pipe would come back empty and there would be tobacco in the hedges. “Who’s the super in, uh, in this one?”
The boys eyes widened. “Hm?”
“The hero, sport. Is it Miracle Mavis?”
“Uhhh, *no*.”
“Red Rider?”
“No.”
“Oh, really? Well, who is that popular one. The one all the girls and boys seem to like.”
Billy stayed quiet. He hated this game.
“Oh, melons. What is it? Jay something. Jasper Jumper?”
“Not him, no.”
“I mean the *other* one....you know.”
Billy sighed. “Jaunt—”
“Jaunty Jupiter! That’s the one, Sport!” Dad gently took the comic, flipped a few pages. Flipped slower as he noticed that no one, not one character, took to the air and flew. Or punched anyone into outer space...or wore a bright and distinct costume...
He flipped to the cover.
“Tax man?” Jaunty Jupiter — aka Arthur Arlington, aka Dad — frowned, confused. “I’ve never, uh, never heard of-of...Tax man? What’s his powers, sport?”
“He...” Billy knew he had to be delicate. Knew too that he was eight and had only just learned what that meant and had not yet learned to put it into practice. “He...doesn’t *have* powers.”
“So...his friend has powers?”
“Well, actually, Pops. Dad. They...none of them have powers.”
“None?”
“No. Sorry.”
“A comic with...no...supers? None?”
“It’s just...I mean. I see powers every day. In *this* world,” Billy took the comic back, his father was sat slouched and still, eyes on some distant thought. “They fix their problems without Supers. It’s really...it’s cool what they have to do. See? With no super—”
“Whelp!” Dad slapped his knees and stood, ruffled Billy’s brown-haired head good and messy, and started to walk out of the room. “I’ll leave you to it, Sport, you just be sure to get washed and ready for you mother to call you down for dinner. Okay?”
The boy hadn’t caught a glimpse of his father’s face and the man practically speed-walked out of the room. “Um. Okay, Pa.”
Billy hoped he hadn’t hurt his father’s feelings.
Downstairs an alien kissed his human wife, he took her hand and spun her gently into his arms and began a happy little waltz.
“*Arthur*, dear, what has gotten into you?” Asked Martha Arlington, Mom to Billy.
“Oh, just a good mood, dear. Just a good mood.” Arthur Arlington was elated. His son had been, like many boys his age, a hero *fiend*. Obsessed. And now? Now the young lad’s favourite hero was a man, an ordinary man...a *tax* man.
Just.
Like.
Arthur.
The super had found out that he, boring old Arthur, was his son’s hero. He danced an infectiously happy dance with his giggling wife. Together they scooted, scuffed, and spun.
But...
The truth, however, is that Billy does not know what Arthur — secret identity of Jaunty Jupiter — actually does for a living. The Boy’s fondness for Tax Man was a coincidence.
That said...
Arthur *is* Billy’s hero.
|
At first, Louis didn't like comic books. He found them fake and unbelievable. Who would want to read about a world without heroes? Without powers? He scoffed at the idea of it.
But, as more of his friends bought them in, and more of his classmates talked about them at lunch, he became...intrigued by the tales of people not getting days off after superheroes and supervilains fought one another.
He let himself indulge in the other world and treated himself to a delicious treat of a book so different from the life he lived.
As Louis grew, so did his fascination with this so called 'better world' where no problems or worries seemed to exist. His dreams consisted of him coming out to find his house not destroyed by a stray supervilain and finally being able to finish a test without being interrupted by a superpowred volleyball match gone wrong.
After that, his plan began. He would make a better world. A world without those freaks that managed to break and destroy everything they touched.
It took fifteen years for everything to slot into place. His plans were complete.
It was time for him, to erase the freaks from history.
| 2022-12-13T03:13:42 | 2022-12-13T02:28:53 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] Humans are not, in fact, space orcs. As it turns out, they are more like space elves to the other races of the galaxy.
|
“We’re just entering visual range of the planet now, Captain,” said the conn officer. Captain Milort could never remember their name.
“Put it on screen, ensign,” the captain replied. He yawned and took another sip from the tube that delivered his stimulants. He’d been at this for three hours already, and he was getting tired. Still, it was tradition for the captain to be at the helm when first contact was made. At least his commanding officer would be well-rested when she took over.
The collective gasps around the bridge as the viewscreen lit up mingled with the stimulants he’d ingested, snapping his attention back to the task at hand. The reports had said the planet was extraordinary. The reports had understated the reality. He doubted the best poets of his species could have done better to capture what he saw.
Its orbit, though slightly elliptical, kept it at the average center of the inhabitable zone of the sun it revolved around, which meant the climate would be nearly perfect. The planet’s satellite was nearly a quarter of the size of the planet it orbited, which meant the tidal force would be extreme. Still, it orbited at a distance that would keep that force from doing too much damage to the planet itself.
On the night side of the planet, cities glittered like stars. They sprawled and stretched across the available land, shining and bright to ward away the darkness. He could scarcely imagine a species that would be able to produce the sort of devices required to keep a single city fully lit for an entire night, much less an entire planet of them.
As they swung around to see the light side, another gasp shuddered its way through him. Instead of the balls of rock and mud that they had found scattered throughout their corner of the galaxy, the planet itself shone. Vibrant greens, deepest blues, tans, whites, and colors his species had no names for spread out before him. Even as the planet turned he could see a plume of steam boiling up from the surface of a gigantic blue ocean, near a small chain of islands.
“Survey probes report vulcanism is extreme. It’s quite possible that they experience…” the science officer’s report trailed off, her tail thrashing in violent agitation. Her face and ears twitched with expressions that showed a wide range of emotions, from confusion, to irritation, to naked disbelief. She cleared her throat. “Captain, you will not believe these numbers, but the survey team reported that they recalibrated their probes three times during their time in the system and they remained consistent. It is possible that they experience between 40 and 70 volcanic events per year, with as many major earthquakes *per day*.”
The captain shook his head, and he fought to control his own emotions. Lack of sleep made it very difficult. He blinked the blur of exhaustion out of the corners of his eyes and focused on the science officer. “It’s extreme, but not the most extreme. You’ve met a Terax, surely. Or at least seen them from afar. They’re from a planet that has even more volcanic activity. Covered in poison smog. Remember?”
The science officer thought, bringing up an image of a Terax on her terminal to aid her memory. “Oh, yuck. It’s green and lumpy. Are those tusks?” she made a face. “Do you think this species will look similar?”
“I find it hard to believe that something as ugly as a Terax would come from a planet that appears so vibrant and colorful,” the captain replied. “But with this much volcanic activity, any native species must be hardy indeed. Probably short-lived, as well.”
The science officer turned back to her panels, squinting over them and taking a sip of her own stimulants. She would be relieved in another half hour. The captain silently cursed the promotion, so many years ago, that kept him in this damn chair. He squirmed, trying to get comfortable. His bones were beginning to ache.
There was a shift in the viewscreen ahead suddenly, and the ship froze in place facing the planet’s satellite. But for the lack of atmosphere and resultant craters pockmarking the surface, it really did look a lot like home, the captain mused. He shook his head to clear it, looking at the conn station.
“Ensign, I didn’t order you to bring us about,” he snapped.
“Captain, I-“ the ensign started, but was cut off as a loud buzz of static cut through the ship’s PA. The bridge crew winced collectively at the volume. It was followed by the most beautiful sound the captain had ever heard.
There were myths in his culture, and in many others he’d come across, of an elder race of terrifying beauty, who lived several lifetimes, and who sang rather than spoke, their voices so beautiful as to be almost painful. Often, this elder race served one god or another. His species had long since abandoned those old gods and their myths, but still the legends were passed down. Surely, they had been referring to this.
As the voice continued, the viewscreen flickered and shifted. The view of the planet’s satellite distorted and was replaced by a sight out of those very same myths. A creature of staggering beauty looked over the bridge crew. Its black hair shone with the light from the small, white room in which it stood. Its skin glowed with that same light, soft and supple, yet displaying muscles beneath that were clenched in anger so plain to see that the captain’s heart quailed. The irises and pupils of its eyes were like black orbs of rage swimming in sclera that formed a sea of perfect white. Its teeth were ivory set in straight rows, something never seen among his own people.
It took several moments longer than normal for the translator to parse through the complex and melodic language. When it finally spat out a translation, the words left the captain so terrified that he nearly fainted. The words and the tone were most assuredly angry, and the threat they contained was unmistakable.
“Unidentified vessel, we have been tracking you. By entering the heliosphere of the Sol System without an active trade beacon, you are in violation of five different treaties. Our right to defend our sovereign space is well-defined. Your choices are clear. Leave our space immediately, state your business, or you will be destroyed. You have five minutes to respond.”
**Critiques are always welcome!**
|
Rin and me never have gone out this far. The woods were ever expanding as they went off in all directions, such a strange yet beautiful sight.
My kin and me moved here a very long time ago but in that time I never could get over the beauty and difference of this land. Days lasted for what felt like weeks back home, the foliage never stopped and there was very little war torn areas.
As I was told when I connected to the hive mind this will be are saving grace, a land once inhabited long ago by a mighty society that was roamed by the distant cousin of our predator the orcs. In war they were seen as never ending and sporadic, with each one having a completely independent mind that only moved in sync with others if they had exterior communication.
During the war they had dominated entirly by surviving, campaigns that took 8 generations for orcs had the same one tour of their soldiers. They were easily hurt but after around 2 years they would be back in full health again just as strong as before.
They one day vanished as their home world was viewed to be empty other than their native species that weren't them. But as me and Rin were just starting to feel lost we found... something. One second she was infront of me then gone. As I panicked as I couldn't see her or feel her tethered by link she came back as just a head protruding from nothing and suspended in the air. "Help!" I heard scream in my head as I rushed forward and suddenly it wasn't night and i was surrounded by in animate objects, but tall hooded figures in what i can only describe as a warriors robe.
"Now now, we don't need the rest of your hive spouting off about how the saviors are back. Give it a month for those jolly green slave owners to become a generation of peace time complacency and we'll free your kids kids"
I spend the rest of my days in their presence, and never saw them age. They were never cruel, and taught me what it means to be independent and truly sentient. One day they are going to save the world, and one day I hope they share their wisdom from such long lives.
| 2019-12-19T16:34:49 | 2019-12-19T15:26:50 | 143 | 37 |
[WP] When you hit puberty, you will get taken to a customise-your character-screen where you can change anything you want. While leaving the program, you accidentally change one parameter. Now you are stuck with it.
|
“So Matthew, what basic facial structure would you like?”
I sigh as my AI appearance guide pulls up my options. While there are millions of faces to choose from, the Standard 5 are front and center, with the word “RECOMMENDED” written beneath each picture in bolded red font. For the fun of it, I scroll past the basics, and into more exotic territory.
After several options I can’t recognize off the top of my head, I pass the face of Jonathon Striker. It certainly is interesting, enough so to make the newly elevated celebrity stand out to every talent scout in Hollywood, and enough so to cause a ripple effect of imitators who wanted to jump on the bandwagon. In the year since Jonathon became a household name, his face has risen in popularity from 0.0003% to an almost 0.5% selection rate, placing it just outside the top 10.
I roll my eyes as I see the statistic. It’s amazing how many people never learn, and make the mistake of following the celebrity du jour. Jonathon struck it big because he was unique, because he was Jonathon. These imposters that followed him will never amount to anything. It’s written all over their faces.
Part of me wishes that I was bold enough to choose a brand new look. Over the last year, I’ve logged hours within the customization software, preparing my “dream appearance”. Vibrant purple eyes, a smooth, rounded jawline, and teeth just crooked enough to give me some extra character. Just picturing it in my head makes me smile.
Of course, I can’t actually pick any unusual features. This ability to remodel my appearance is a once in a lifetime shot, and for every Jonathon Striker, there are hundreds of people who try to become the next big thing and ultimately fail to secure even an average life. As someone who has grown up wholly unremarkable, those are not odds I am willing to take.
I scroll through the rest of the top 100 faces before returning to my selection. Facial structure 4 is as unique as I can get within the Standard 5, but still has higher than an 8% selection rate. Like the rest of the Standard 5, it has a sharp jaw and protruding cheekbones, with the only real difference being that the forehead extends slightly less than the rest of the its peers, and the eyes are slightly closer together. It’s not much to stand out, but it will have to do.
______________________________________________________________
The process of selecting my appearance is long and tedious. There are hundreds of screens to select from, each with countless options. I’m not concerned with the majority; the hairiness of the knuckles on both hands get an instant standard selection, as do the lengths of my fingernails and cuticles. And while there are a few small ways I do rebel against conformity, they are nothing major enough to get me typecast. I choose to wear glasses, as 20% of people do, make myself left handed, (15%), and choose a haircut that is slightly shorter than the Standard 5 for the category, (2.3%).
My real rebellion, though, is the tattoo I select for my left forearm. It’s a small sun with a cool, Aztec style design that I’ve been eyeing for several years. Normally, any tattoo would typecast me in an instant, but since I have chosen to wear a long sleeved gray button up dress shirt, no one will know it’s there but me.
________________________________________________________________
By the time I reach the appearance of my feet, I am auto selecting every standard option I can. Finally, after 24 hours in the program, my AI appearance guide notifies me that I have finished the process. “Are you sure you are finished, Matthew?”
I click yes, before being directed to a final warning screen. “The following characterizations are considered unusual, and could be means for typecasting. Do you accept the below attributes?”
The list is only one item, the sun tattoo on my forearm. At this point, I'm just ready for this process to be over, so I hastily check the select all box and click accept. The next thing I know, I awake from my bed, and rush to the bathroom mirror.
My heart sinks as I see my reflection for the first time. "No..." I say in disbelief, as tears begin to stream down my ruined face. All of my preparation to for an average life has been for nothing. There is no possible way I can salvage this mess.
_______________________________________________________________
“And that catches you up on your local news in Houston, let’s take it out to Matthew for weather.”
Rita looks over to me from the news desk, a knowing smile on her lips. I turn away from the camera that is pointed toward me and prepare to deliver my forecast. It's a tired, overdone shtick at this point, but I really can't complain. With the way I look, I'm lucky to have a job at all.
“Thank you Rita. It does look like some storm clouds have gathered to the west. However, the warm front you see below is going to push them north of the city, which means we’re going to have…”
In one motion, I spin on my heel, revealing my face to the camera and the 15 Aztec sun tattoos that cover its skin. If I stripped naked on screen the TV audience could see all 645 tattoos that cover my entire body, but I think they get the point. “A sunny day! Back to you, Rita!”
r/mvdww
|
All these years, I truly liked the way I looked, but figured no harm in messing around. I fiddled with the settings, gave my self muscles, changed my hair and eyes. It was rather fun, but I really had no problem with the way I looked before, so I hit default.
The screen showed me the way I always was. Short buzzed brown hair, brown eyes, thin but not overly muscular. I got ready to hit continue, and the screen glitched. Nothing big, but flashed.
The screen the said, "Are you sure you wish to continue?" Not noticing any changes, I clicked yes.
That morning I awoke in my bed. Everything seemed normal. I started my morning routines. I shit, I showered, but it was when I went to shave I noticed something odd.
I had a swastika tattoed on my forehead. I, I had not noticed this on the screen that night.
And that is how I was born anew and became the infamous Charles Manson.
EDIT: Totally felt better in my head.
| 2017-03-09T09:00:22 | 2017-03-09T07:34:58 | 91 | 38 |
[WP] At 19 everyone in your society has to go into the cave of fears and defeat your worst fear. You're the first to go in and find nothing.
edit: I want to read them all but there are so many it's hard to keep up, so many variations of the story I didn't even think of, great job everyone!
|
Draped in golden chains and adorned with all sorts of finery the five elders looked down on him. The great hall normally used for extravagant feasts on the year days had been cleared out. Jacob knelt in the center. He felt countless eyes on the back of his head.
"And you say you found nothing."
The tone was calm enough, but underneath there was a coldness, almost accusatory."
"Yes."
Each of them glanced at one another.
"You are aware that lying about this is-"
"I'm not lying!" he blurted out, before he could stop himself. He bit his lip, realizing he'd just cut off an elder. That in itself could be considered an offense. *Just calm down* he told himself. *It's fine. You're not in trouble, there's no way this is your fault*. They would see that wouldn't they? Maybe he should've just lied. Said he'd fought a giant snake or something. But he'd been so confused; he'd needed to know.
That was the weird part; he wasn't *brave*. He'd been scared of lots of things, fire, heights. He'd been bitten by a dog when he was four, and he'd been *sure* that there'd be some sort of hellhound waiting for him in that darkness, but no. Just more darkness. He'd wandered in there for hours until his torch was almost a wick, desperately spluttering on those last drops of fat. And when he'd finally emerged into the light, everyone had immediately engulfed him; many had been worried sick, others believed that he'd died.
Then, as he'd told them what happened, those concerned eyes, those relieved smiles, faded. What replaced them was mass confusion. Some had thought he must be mistaken. Others that he had something to hide. They didn't say anything more but he could see it in their eyes. Their mistrust. Their fear. It wasn't long before he'd been shipped off to this meeting.
It wasn't fair. He'd always tried to do everything the right way. He'd trained. He'd read the scrolls. He'd drank and laughed with his friends and watched each of them go into the cave and come out a different person. Broken, yet also, in a weird way, stronger. Why couldn't he have that? Why was he different? And now here he was, on his knees, pleading for mercy for a crime in which he hadn't even *wanted* to commit.
"Jacob, are you listening?"
He started. He hadn't realized he'd zoned out. What had they said?!
"I-I'm sorry I didn't...hear you."
"Very well I will repeat myself. As we have never seen anything like this before, and you continue to maintain your version of events, we cannot, for the moment, allow you to continue in your training."
Something inside him went cold.
"Furthermore, as we cannot say for sure as to the nature of this event, we have to assume the worst. I am sorry, but as long as you are here we cannot guarantee the safety of any of the citizens of this city. You are thereby exiled until such a time as-"
"What?!"
"I'm sorry."
"You can't do that! I didn't **choose** to not see anything! I **wanted** to! You can't punish me for that!"
"We have no choice"
He was shaking now.
"FUCK YOU!" everyone gasped.
Armored guards were moving in now.
"This isn't fair! Please!"
This couldn't happen. This wasn't happening; it felt like a dream. He had to think of something. Anything.
"You don't know why I didn't see anything. What it's for a good reason?! What if you need me for something?!"
They all just watched, unspeaking. He felt something grip his shoulder and reflexively pulled away. It had been one of the guards. The other one was trying to circle him, cutting off his exit.
"Get off me!"
More guards were moving in now; even some of the spectators were joining in. A man made a grab for him from the crowds, but Jacob pushed past him. He made for the door but people were grabbing him by the arms.
"Let go of me! Let go!"
He was now smothered by warm bodies, the stench of sweat and body odour making him gag. He kept reaching for the door. He was so close. Just a few....more....inches.........
And then the stench dissapeared. He was hit by a cool, moist breeze, mixed with the scent of grass and wildflowers. He collapsed onto the grass, panting heavily. He felt sunlight on his back. He tilted his head to the side, so he might catch it on his face. Were they still chasing after him? He didn't care. He just wanted to lie here for a while. He'd just lie here and-
"Jacob!"
No not now, please...he just needed a bit more time...
"It's Jacob! He's over here!"
He heard the patter of people rushing over to him.
No...
"Jacob! Are you awake? Can you hear me?"
"Please...."
"He's alive! Someone get water, quickly for fuck's sakes!"
Water, what?
"Jacob, look at me... I said *look*."
He felt someone tilt his head. A girl was standing over him, maybe a few years older than him, he wasn't sure.
"You're safe okay? You're out. It's over."
Over? What was she?...for the first time he noticed his surroundings. This wasn't right. The great hall was in the center of the city, where were all the buildings? He realized the girl was talking again.
"We were trying to search for you but no-one could find you."
He didn't understand. "What..."
"Everyone thought you'd died. You've been in that cave for days."
|
"There are twenty three million people in this society and one cave, the waiting list is fifty-six years, I go in there, and there's nothing. Not one damn thing."
"Nothing?"
"Not a damn thing, I was like, is this some sort of metaphorical shit? Why do we do this? I face my fears just getting out of bed every morning why do I go to a stupid ass cave in Wyoming anyways?"
"Yeah, I hear yeah."
"Anyway, the guy out front said they forgot to reset it."
"They reset it?"
"Yeah. I mean it's one cave for everyone right? There's a whole goddamn amusement park of horrors down there to simulate stuff. Think about it, claustrophobia, necrophobia, I mean, it's a huge ass list right."
"Yeah I saw the budget hearings on C-SPAN, shit ain't cheap."
"It's like some bullshit thing someone on the internet would crap out and think they were witty. Anyways so I'm in the cave, dark as shit, and there's a door twenty feet in."
"Yeah, that makes sense."
"Fucker is locked. I stood there for twenty minutes like an idiot before I just said fuck it and walked out."
"Fifty-six years for that."
"Exactly, and three hours in fucking line is the cherry on top. Who comes up with this stupid shit? Why the hell can't we just... I mean why is it in the cave anyways?"
"It's all politics."
"A fucking cave thirty feet below ground is where they put it. The only thing they put in that made sense was the huge ass parking lot."
| 2016-06-12T10:50:09 | 2016-06-12T10:28:01 | 134 | 51 |
[WP] The princess you just went through all the hassle of rescuing is a total bitch and you're thinking of pushing her off a cliff.
How you think about killing her can vary, but you get the idea.
|
"You're pausing."
I was suddenly aware that I had stared at her for a little too long. The dragon lay dead at my feet, a much easier foe than I was let to admit. In fact, as I stared through the gory carnage, I suspect more and more it was a shetland pony wearing a burlap costume.
"Uh... I have come to... rescue you!" I didn't sound very convincing.
"You don't sound like you mean it," she confirmed.
"I have to be honest, I quite expected a much more ..."
"Handsome woman?"
I swallowed. "... admirable foe. I mean, after all, the legend dictated that a great fiery beast from hell was--"
"Look, it's all subjective."
I didn't think that made sense. "I expected something different in a princess, too..." There, I had said it.
"WOT?" she asked, wrinkling her face and breaking character. Oh, god, she was a chav. A Chav Princess. Fuck my life.
"I mean... I expected you to be tied up on a stone pillar! Not sitting at a card table on a padded chair."
"I'm 'elpless!" she protested.
"Oh god, that's not a chair... You're on a Rascal."
"You know 'ow 'ard it is?? I bleedin' well can't be expected to-- well, I got 'ere, dunn'I?" She straightened her Hatsune Miku cosplay wig and shimmied her veiny bust. "I got the goods, yeah?"
I shook my head. This wasn't right at all.
"And just where do you think you goin'?" she called after me.
I didn't turn around. This whole day had been a disappointment.
"You 'ave to rescue me!" I heard her motorized wheelchair spin up behind me. I am not sure why she used it; she's wasn't even fat. Oh, thank goodness, stairs. Lovely, Dalek-blocking stairs!
"Come back!! You're my prince CHAWMING!" she shouted after me. I cringed at the chav baby-talk and tossed off my armor as I ran.
I heard a flip-flapping being me, and realized the princess had thrown off her cheap white dress and was chasing after me in a track suit and flip-flops.
"YOU OWE ME!!!"
Shit shit shit... had I know the dragon was a shetland, I would have rescued that poor beast from its costume and run off with it instead. I felt a slap on my head, and realized she was throwing her footwear at me.
"COME BACK 'ERE!! I GOT ME A NEW SET OF BURBERRY KICKERS, DUNN'I?? TA CATCH ME JUICE AN' DRIPPINS FOR ME HANDSOME--"
I was becoming ill as this gross creature was running at me with her slapping bare feet on the dirty stone floor of the tower.
I took a chance and jumped out a tower window where I landed in a tree. I scrambled out of the tree and shimmied down the trunk where my horse was waiting.
"You didn't kill the dragon, did you?" my horse asked with dripping disappointment.
I thought for saying, "FUCK, I have a TALKING HORSE!" but there was no time for that. "You don't want to know!" I told my steed. "Now I got bigger problems! GIDDYAP!"
"Oh, that's just racist--"
"No, naming you Porchmonkey Watermelon was racist. I need you to move as fast as you can before--"
"AAAIIIEEE 'ERE ROIT YOO BUGGAH MAY DUNN'I??" Her cockney slang had became incomprehensible as it echoed across the canyon walls.
"That woman scares the shit out of me!" my horse said.
"THEN GO BEFORE SHE CATCHES US!!!"
"No, literally. I shit everywhere!" The smell the erupted showed that he was not a lying horse. "You sure that's the princess and NOT the dragon?"
"JUST GO!"
My horse sighed. "Fine. Honkey Knight!"
Just as we made our way down the mountain pass, the Princess came into the rear view, driving a four-wheel ATV.
"Oh, damn!"
"LOVE ME!!!" Only a chav could make "me" rhyme with "lay."
"FASTER!" I screamed to my stallion. "THAT BITCH IS GAINING ON US!!"
"Oh that's just racist," said a passing dog.
"She looks like Davros for rednecks," my horse commented. "The sex appeal of a road accident. She's really a princess?"
As we entered the dark forest, I ducked at the low-lying branches. Our entry towards the tower seemed so much more heroic than our rapid escape. "So the stone carvings said."
I passed the Wise Old Man who had shown us the way. "Halt, fellow traveller! Before you pass me, you must answer these questions three!"
"No time!" I zoomed past him.
As the roar of the ATV gained on us, my horse asked me questions about how one would verify someone was a princess without pedigree papers or something. I had no time to wax poetic on the desperateness of the situation as we jumped a large river. The frustrated grind of the engine throttle quickly fading in the distance showed we had escaped.
"Good work, Porchmonkey--"
"That's my slave name!"
"Right... Kunte Ponay!"
When I returned to the kingdom, I reported to the king I had failed. The dragon had eaten his daughter. "Who were you again?" he asked. Right. As I passed by the stone carvings, I emptied my bladder on them.
|
“About time you show up!”
“Uhh… sorry?” I was exhausted. My armor was creaking, charred and blackened, wisps of smoke still curling up. The black dragon’s scaly corpse filled the courtyard below, the head partially detached after a few minutes of hacking, trying to avoid the sacs of combustible liquid the drake had used to make my steed into a horse kebab.
“Like… I literally can’t even right now. I finished my hair and nails like forever ago and like… I was totally waiting for you. Oh my God, is that your real face? You’re not even like handsome. I wish a handsome knight had saved me, you’re just like average looking. I can’t even be seen with you.”
My knees ached from climbing three hundred and ninety-five steps of the tower. My rear end ached from one hundred and twenty miles riding to the dragon infested castle. My left eyebrow was singed off. All for this?
“Listen, my lady, can you get your things together? We need to get out of here.”
“Like, yeah, but where are the servants? I NEED to bring my whole wardrobe. Like I can’t live without it.”
“No baggage, ma’am. You’ll get everything you need when I get you back to the palace.”
“NO baggage? Well, fine, but I better get a huge shopping spree when I get back, or you’re in trouble, I’ll make sure of that.”
“Whatever, ma’am, let’s get going.”
“Ok but first, let me take a #SELFIEPAINTING.”
Her scream as she fell from the tower window left a sense of happiness and satisfaction that even the slaying of a dragon would never equal.
| 2014-08-05T19:46:19 | 2014-08-05T18:01:39 | 63 | 24 |
[WP] A demon writes messages on your mirror in blood, but they're useful messages, things like "Don't forget you have yoga at 2" or "You're out of milk".
|
I didn't like that he wrote in blood. Who would? It was creepy. Unsettling. It made what would have been useful, positive messages into something grotesque.
After all, your adoring mother, doting wife or admiring nephew could write you the loveliest message you've ever received; but if they wrote it on your mirror in blood, it would give you the heebie-jeebies, nine times out of ten.
Nevertheless, the messages *were* useful and positive, oftentimes even encouraging. The demon was like my personal assistant and cheerleader. He ensured I never missed deadlines or dates; reminded me when I ran low on milk or coffee; and cheered me on when I had some big presentation or event coming up.
"You'll knock it out of the park," the dripping letters read as I stumbled into the bathroom, the morning of my interview at a new firm.
"Thanks," I said to the empty bathroom as I turned on the shower. No response. But after I finished showering, I stepped out to see a new message, bleeding down the steamy mirror in red rivulets:
"You're welcome."
\- - -
One morning, my curiosity was piqued, so I asked: "Where do you get the blood from?"
I turned off the bathroom lights, put my hands over my eyes. I could hear the squeaks of his finger on my mirror. After twenty seconds, the squeaking stopped, and I flicked the lights back on.
"From the veins of unrepentant sinners," my infernal friend had replied.
"Yikes," I said. "Why not something less off-putting? An erasable marker, for example?"
I went through the process again. Lights off. Eyes covered. Humming to myself as I counted to thirty in my head, waiting for the squeaks to cease. Then: hands dropped, lights on. Down my mirror dripped a new message:
"It's the only ink I can acquire," the demon had written. "I have no mortal money to buy a dry erase marker. I will not steal. The blood of unrepentant sinners is the only thing I can take without altering my account."
"But why help me in the first place?" I asked. "I thought you fellows were supposed to haunt, possess and tempt us mortals, leading us to ruin and the fiery pit. . .And what do you mean by altering your account?"
I flicked off the lights and covered my eyes. I had lulled him into a false sense of security. I listened as his finger squeaked against my polished mirror. Then I shot my hand out and turned on the light, revealing the fiend for the first time.
"No!" he cried, staring at me in wide-eyed horror. He tried to flee through the mirror but I caught the rascal by his tail and pulled him back, pinned him against the bathroom counter. "You're not supposed to see me!" he squealed. "I'm not supposed to be seen!"
He was a runty little goblin of a demon. Sooty and dishevelled, with tattered black wings. He smelled of sulphur.
But boy, could he write fast! In those few seconds he had already written half a damn novel on my mirror. As he squirmed beneath my hand, I read the bloody message.
"My account is the record of all my sins," the message said. "There are many sins on that list that can be forgiven; yet there is one that has always been called unforgivable: my participation in the rebellion, at the beginning of time. But rumours have been circulating around Hell that even those of us who rebelled might be able to find our way back into God's good graces. But only if we dedicate ourselves to doing good. That why I am helping--"
"I see," I said, looking down at the strange winged rodent. "You're helping me to help yourself. To pull yourself out of perdition."
He nodded. He was almost cute in his strange, uncanny way. It had to be the big bulging eyes, like a pug's.
"I can understand that," I said, picking him up and sitting him against my mirror, dusting his funny wings off. "Nobody wants to spend an eternity roasting in flames. But if your account is really that far in the red, I'm not sure that helping me out with minutia is going to balance the books. I appreciate it. Of course, I do. You've been great. But have you made me a substantially more moral person? I don't know. I don't think so."
"Agh," the demon whined. He was pouting. "Really? . .It's what I feared! That I don't understand morality. That my knack for doing good has atrophied after all these years, after all the time I've spent around demons and sinners. It's hopeless. I'm hopeless! There's no way I'll ever crawl my way back into the light!"
"Hey now, pal," I said. "Now hold on a minute. Don't despair. It's a sin, after all. . .There's still hope left."
"What hope could there be?" he moped. "I'm rotten to the core. Bad to the bone. How am I supposed to live like a saint, which is what I'll need to do, if I don't even know what doing good means?"
"You might not know how to be good," I said. "But I do. Even if I don't always act on it: I know right from wrong. I can help you. Or, at least, I can try."
"You'd do that for me?"
"After all the good turns you've done me?" I said. "It's the least I can do."
\- - -
r/CLBHos
|
This is what happens when you are married to a demon. I tried to get her to stop. But the sex is phenomenal. She leave a blood kiss mark. I get it that you are curious to the hows and the whys of this situation. Fine.
I am a demonologist. Summoning demons to do my dark bidding. See granddad and grandma were in a cult as teens. And learned the dark arts. But they stopped. Brought a farm and had my mom and uncle. They intended for this to die with them but…I was a problem child. Drugs and theft. Mom would send me to the farm in the summers. Granddad decided to order a demon to keep and eye on me.
Problem he didn’t specific how to keep an eye on me. So she kept on me. And hands. And legs. And lips. All on me. Grandma decided I am going to lie down with demons I need to at least know how to … keep them under control.
Four summers. One long marriage ceremony and a few dark introductions. I now work for a big corporation with some demonic employees as the senior demonologist researcher. Currently trying to update the Goetia, so many new princes, dukes, and presidents. Did you know Mammon and Forenus are at war again?
The misses? Amy? She is an Archduke and the hand of Dark One. She is pregnant so she is on maternity leave. What does the hand of the dark one does that she needs maternity for? Sorry, we need our secrets.
| 2021-07-19T18:57:25 | 2021-07-19T18:03:15 | 663 | 25 |
[WP] While walking, you notice everyone recoiling from a young woman. you speak to her to find out why. through her surprise, she explains she is death and everyone else sees a person based on how they feel about the concept of death. You've never seen a more beautiful or inviting person.
Please feel free to finesse the topic, genders, or concept to accommodate your own personal preferences or circumstances.
|
Everyone seemed to be avoiding this gorgeous woman, just sitting ***right there***. In the middle of Central Park at the crack of dawn, where normally I found more homeless than I found people I could at least bare to be with, was this veritable goddess of a woman, on a bench, and I felt like I was the only person aware of it. Everyone seemed to walk as far on the sidewalk from her as they could, averting their eyes, avoiding her like the plague. What did everyone else know that I didn't? This was ***New York***, the big apple, and she was treated like a worm crawling out of it. I was supposed to be having breakfast with a few friends before heading to work, but mystery, intrigue, and some primal instinct to approach someone so stunning got the better of me. I didn't even think to straighten my embarrassingly loose tie, I just walked up, sat down, placed my briefcase full of technical documents, and was locked in my own silence. I couldn't even think what to say. Here I was, in the lions den I'd tossed myself into without even thinking of what I'd do once I got down here.
"You can relax, I don't bite."
Oh thank ***god***, she talked first. I exhaled, turned to face her, and was immediately greeted by the most brilliant, pronounced and... dead eyes I've ever seen. How, I don't know. Everything else was so ***stunning***, she was no older than twenty four, had the body of what supermodels *dream* they could look like, but her eyes. They were the eyes of someone who'd seen things far beyond what people should ever see. And I've seen vietnam vets, strewn on the side of the walkways, withering in their own piss and begging for a few coins. But this woman, she held something behind those milky, grey eyes. Sadly, yet again, I had failed my societal training and had been staring into her eyes for a solid twenty seconds without saying a word.
"So, big guy, what do you see." She asked me. What did I see? Oh man, here was my chance. After this cavalcade of awkwardness, somehow she'd given ***me*** the green light.
"I'll tell you what I see, I see the most gorgeous woman I've eve-"
"No, ***no***. I know what I look like to you. But you didn't spend the last few moments looking up and down. You," she gently touched my nose, "were up here." She pointed towards her own eyes, before lightly resting the tips of her fingers on my cheek. They were surprisingly cold.
"I, well. I didn't see pain, or happiness. I just saw a lot of ***everything***. Like you've been everywhere, and partaken in nothing. I can't really describe it."
She chuckled, and relaxed back a little bit, distancing herself from me. "Interesting. So, can you guess-"
"Why were your hands so cold?" I touched my own cheek, and sure enough, where she'd had her hands was significantly chillier. So it wasn't just a figment of my imagination.
She huffed, "Rude, now. Can you guess what ***they*** see?" She made a discreet motion towards the rest of the people in the park.
"I mean, exactly what I'm seeing. What else?"
"***They***, as most people do, see the ugliest woman they've ever laid eyes on. Can't say I'm surprised, really."
"Woah, ***woah***, but how? Have you been anywhere with even a remotely reflective piece of anything recently? I mean, how could-"
"I guess I can't really act surprised. I would call you dense, but it's not like you'd be able to guess you were talking to death, in any case. To you, I'm just some random person on a bench."
I opened my mouth, she touched my lips, and I quickly shut them again. Any complaints or disagreements I once had were quickly silenced by her frigid skin. Alright, lady, I believe you.
"So," she laughed a little bit, "Why do you see me as such a beautiful woman?"
"Well, I mean. I'm not sure, really-"
"You, ***you***." She interrupted, in a scolding tone. "Stop lying, you think I can't tell when you're stumbling around? You know exactly why, so just tell me."
"Because you'll never catch me."
She stopped. Not slowed down, stopped. Everything about her just *froze*, as if she realized the train was coming and there was nothing she could do to get out of the way. "What?" She murmured.
"You'l never catch me, that's why you're so beautiful. I mean, no wonder all those people would see you as ugly, they're *scared* of you. Because they see you at the end of the road. But I *don't.*" I shifted forward, letting out some steam I'd been keeping pent up ever since I devoted myself to the cause. "I'll spend my *whole life*, not running from you, but *outsmarting* you. You've had everyone since the beginning of time, but you'll never have *me*. I'll be your 'one that got away'. And you want to know why? Because I'll spend the rest of my life making sure I fight you." I pushed the tip of my finger into her chest, and she froze yet again.
"I've spent the last twenty years working towards leaving this mortal coil, into a *machine*, and I have no intentions of stopping now. I'll be my own salvation, not you. While everyone else is fine with their own organic bodies, I'll find a way beyond it. I'll *evolve*. It's why everyone finds you so horrendous, because you're in control of them. But me? I'm in control of *you*. So if you ever want to even get *close* to getting your hands on me, you better hurry. Because time's not running out for me, and it never will be." I stood up, tightened my tie, and walked away. The last look on her face was that of terror, like a person who'd never lost anything had watched something he should have had slip away. A few yards down the sidewalk, I checked over my shoulder, and saw an empty bench. I smiled, and continued on my way to breakfast with my coworkers, to start another day.
I know how I see death. But I wonder how death now sees me.
|
It’s always funny when we tell the story of how we first met. Sure our marriage isn’t a conventional one by any means, but hey, love is love.
I know what you’re thinking, marrying literal death seems like an ill-advised idea. I assure you though, the truth is it’s the opposite. I think this might be the best god damn idea I’ve ever had.
First of all the sex is AMAZING. Seriously, the sex is so good I could die. I can change her to be whoever I’m feeling for. I want to fuck Jennifer Lawrence? Just got to think of her as the literal embodiment of our short, horrifying and often abrupt end to our existence on this world and BAM—I’m fucking her. The best part is the chick is just as kinky as I want her to be. Let’s just say death is into some pretty experimental shit.
Now of course dating the grim reaper has its perks other than the sex. If someone at my workplace annoys me, BAM, heart attack the next day. It’s perfect for dealing with racist, sexist, homophobic, and whatever other flavor of asshole that I could possibly encounter. Of course, this sort of power trip has messed me up in the head a little, and that’s saying something considering the previous paragraph had me bragging about fucking death.
Unfortunately though it’s not all sunshine and shiny scythes in relationships, especially this one. I fear for my life constantly when I get into an argument with the dumb broad. I swear, considering she’s supposed to be an immortal being thats hunted mortal souls since before any of my grand-grand-grand-whatever parents were even born, she’s super fucking needy. “Why don’t you pay attention to me” “does this black robe make my butt look big” “stop looking at those human women” yadayadayada, she’s so annoying. Well, perhaps I’m being too harsh. I still love my snookums after all.
Of course that was many many years ago. She’s been a little evasive with the subject of my mortality. She thinks that killing me would be super romantic. I mean, I can see where she’s coming from I guess. I just hope she doesn’t do that Sopranos shit and cut--
| 2016-10-01T22:44:38 | 2016-10-01T22:31:15 | 34 | 22 |
[WP] You're a psychic doing a game show. Unlike the other contestants, you're the real deal. They bring you all to a house where a crime happened in the past. When it's your turn, a ghost appears and tells you: "That's him, that's the one who killed me." Pointing towards the host of the show.
|
“No one is going to believe you...” the specter said matter of factly.
I replied in my head with a sigh and the ghost nodded in solidarity.
“You know they put an innocent man away last season”, I thought to the both of us.
The fraud who claimed to figure out who the killer was made a lucky guess from a cold read and fingered a guy who fit the actual murderer to a T. The real killer, Malcom Anderson Brown, had died years before they re-opened the cold case in a car accident. I know this because I talked to the dearly departed and she told me so. I also know the man they put away, just so happened to be a child molester, who over the course of 40 years victimized 27 children and was never caught.
“...In case you are wondering why I didn’t speak up when I knew the truth” I thought to the ghost, not looking up from the spot on the drywall I had been fixated on.
“No judgements” it whispered back.
The site of the murder was a now vacant house. The house had been empty for at least 10 years now. Most of the windows were now broken and graffiti splattered the walls. At least every room sported a hastily drawn pentagram as if a child who just figured out how to drawn one used the residence as the back of a Trapper Keeper.
“I had a Trapper Keeper. There was a hot air balloon on it.” The spirit lamented.
The murder took place in 1986. I’m sorry, the “disappearance” happened in 1986 and it wasn’t declared a murder until my new pals remains were found in a wall during remodeling 20 years later. I remember the news coverage at the time. The people scouring the woods and all of the tearful pleas for a safe return all amounted to naught. The broken body lay packed in a thick black lawn garbage bag, double bagged, and closed tight, less that a few feet from the family television entombed in plaster and drywall.
The show was filming episode 3 on location from the family home so us “psychics” could get a reading from the energy in the home. The motley crew of mentalists and bullshit artists on this season were downright comical. There was Mary, the morbidly obese medium who clams to have found hundreds of missing children and is a regular on the talkshow circuit. She’s never found anyone. In fact...her misinformation has lead to the deaths of at least two children I know of that were simply lost. Searches were ended when Mary informed the family they had already perished. Mary is a fraud.
Johnny “Spoonbender” is a semi famous mentalist in England. He won some UK talent show performing parlor tricks that James Randi debunked decades ago. He is an idiot and an Olympic caliber asshole. But all and all he is a good guy and just a magician trying to get his name out.
And then there is me. I gained some notoriety on YouTube when I drunkenly predicted the powerball numbers at a party a day before the drawing and
It went viral. This apparently qualifies me to solve a 30 year old murder. I am on the show to appeal to the younger demographic despite being the oldest contestant.
“But you are real right?” The ghost puzzled.
“Unfortunately” I looked up and thought in reply.
Steven Bigsby was pacing the living room floor. He had been annoyed that the room was not optimal for proper camera and the director was opting for handheld HD cameras. High Def was not Steven Bigsby’s friend. Bigsby was a failed standup comic who in the late 80’s found fame on Star Search. He parlayed this to multiple middle of the road TV gigs over the years and now has found himself the host of the wildly popular reality show “Psychic Detectives: Cold Case Files.” After last season lead to a successful conviction the ratings were at the highest they have ever been. Bigsby was huge. Last week he was on Howard Stern and he took most of the credit for the conviction last season and how he hand picked the case for this season because he grew up nearby and wanted justice. No one on the planet would believe he was actually the culprit.
“I hate him” the ghost said woefully.
The specter would leave the room whenever he entered it and feared him...even in death.
I thought to the both of us “What did he do to you? What happened?”
“I left my body the instant he hit me in my head. After that I never felt anything. I watched from above as he put my clothes back on. He hurt me a lot before that. I’m not supposed to talk about that. It’s for grown-ups. He hit me with a hammer and I didn’t recognize my face anymore. It was all wrong. He took the locket off of my neck put it in his pocket then he put me in a bag and took me to the attic and dropped me down the wall. I have been here, in this house, ever since. I try to talk to people but no one listens...until you did.”
I responded in sorrow and pain. I said I’m sorry in a way words could not express. The ghost nodded again knowingly.
Bigsby was still fighting with the director about lighting and other minutiae. The director was a woman who, unbeknownst to everyone but me, was having an affair with Bigsby. Her name was Elaine Torrance and as torrid as I would want you to believe his affair is...they are both actually very much in love with each other. This argument could be just as much about what to have for dinner that night in a perfect world. Everyone around saw a petulant child complain to someone in charge, but I saw what amounted to a lovers quarrel. Elaine was also from this area and she and Bigsby had dated in highschool. They were destined to find each other.
Elaine meant a great deal to Bigsby.
“You know he loves her right...if only she knew.” The ghost said in its loudest voice yet.
“She doesn’t” I thought.
———
After the cameras were set up and the other psychics had filmed their “confessionals” live, it was my turn to give my thoughts and bullshit the fans into thinking I was hot on the trail.
Mary claims that the killer is still alive and walks among us. That the victim spoke to her and said it was someone who was still close by. Well Mary, even a broken clock is right twice a day. She was more on point then she ever could have known.
Johnny Spoonfucker says he feels “energy” that is leading him to answers beyond the realm of our understanding. Whatever the fuck that means.
“Oooookay are we all ready to go live?” Elaine sing songs in my direction.
“Listen...we would love it if you could maaaaaybe mention a famous killer could be the murderer. Like John Wayne Gacy or something? Ooookay?”
“Gacy was on death row in 1986” I replied.
“Oh well whatever just pick one! I don’t really care!” She exasperated.
Just then a vision came to me.
A small tarnished Lockett in a small jewelry box atop a dresser in Elaine’s apartment.
“That’s my Lockett! There is a picture of a rose inside. Behind the picture my initials are inscribed. My mom gave that to me. It’s my name. Rosemary.”
Rosemary nodded in understanding when I let her know that I knew.
And Rosemary nodded when she knew what I was about to do.
———
“Okay we are back with tonight’s special LIVE episode of Psychic Ghost Detectives! We have heard from Mary and Johnny so let’s see what our last Psychic gumshoe thinks about tonight’s investigation!”
I looked directly at the camera and said...
“Elaine Torrence, the director of this show, killed Rosemary. I will only speak directly with authorities from here on out.”
The color drained from Bigsby’s face.
And Rosemary...no longer a faceless entity...nodding one last time...again a child...walked out the front door.
|
I’ve seen the unseen and known the unknown for so long life had gotten rather boring. I’d discovered the dangers of using my gifts when I was a child so I had taken to concealing them. When I graduated college with my degree in physics I’d joined, on a lark, the skeptics society. If only they’d known.
Well, now I’m a pretty well known debunker of psychic phenomena. It’s pretty easy when you can read their minds. It’s not as hypocritical as you might think, so stop judging me Eric in Wisconsin. I have never met anyone else that has even the slightest hint of the gift.
Three psychics were invited to participate at the Carllingon Mansion, a supposedly haunted mansion where Ashley Carllington was murdered three years ago. You might remember her as she dominated the news cycle for weeks. She was a pretty famous rising actress, helped along by her billionaire father’s money I’m sure.
As I stepped before the cameras on live tv, a first for me, Craig Lawson’s handsome face met mine as he introduced me to the world. He then introduced the three supposed psychics. Two women were standing there along with a man. The man and one of the women were cold-reading fraudsters and the final woman was just bat shit crazy. I was formulating how to expose them in the most dramatic fashion when Ashley Carllington walked out in her bloody lingerie. I looked at everyone and then back at her, mouth ajar because by skimming everyone’s thoughts I knew I was the only one seeing her. Was I crazy?
“You can see me!” She ran at me so quickly I flinched, but in true ghost fashion her hand passed through me. Her touch was cold as the grave to me. Fitting I might add. No one seemed to notice my odd behavior.
“Listen,” she said, practically shouting at me, “He killed me, the fucker.” She pointed at Craig Lawson.
She had to be shitting me. I had so many questions but had to pretend to ignore her. If I responded I'd come across as insane on live tv.
“Please,” she told me, tears pouring from her eyes, “We were hiding our relationship. I told him I was pregnant and he wanted me to abort it but I told him no. Then he pulled out the knife.”
I looked at Craig and dove into his memories. I saw this murder. Then I saw the other murders. I saw his plans to murder another mistress soon. The man was a monster.
“So,”. He had turned back to me and asked jovially, “ What do you think of our group of psychics?”
“Fraud, fraud,” I pointed to the man and woman then to the final lady, “ Crazy as a loon. But what about you, Craig?”
“What about me?” He asked laughingly. I could see in his mind he thought this was part of my shtick.
“You killed Elizabeth Shaw, your sisters best friend when you were only 13 after she caught you masturbating,” I announced theatrically. If I was going to do this I might as well make it memorable, “Strangled her to death. Nasty business in more ways than one. I count eight murders, Mr. Lawson. Shall I go over them one by one, in detail? Of course the reason we're here is your most famous victim, Ashley Carllington. She was with child too.”
“How the fuck do you know that?” He looked at me and asked on live tv. His face was filled with a primal fear.
“Because I AM psychic, you fuck wit,” I declared.
You know the rest. The trial, the call of witnesses, the confession, and the approaching execution. You also now know how and why I got so famous. I’d ask if you have any questions. But I know you do. After all, I am psychic.
| 2018-11-15T14:36:11 | 2018-11-15T14:35:50 | 2,831 | 459 |
[WP] Much to your surprise, the magical laws of this fantasy world you find yourself in require that nobles actually be NOBLE. Not just in bearing but also in manor. In fact if they are act dishonorably they are highly penalized.
|
Miguel cheered, along with the rest of the crowd on the manor grounds, as the dark blue banner with the golden scroll emblem was unfurled alongside the other four Banners of Honor adorning the outdoor stage that had been set up on the green. Above the stage, the night sky filled with sparkling starbursts and flowers of light, as illuminators launched their pyrotechnical projectiles.
Nobles and commoners alike had gathered together to celebrate the Feast of Honor of Don Ricardo Escalante IV -- now officially styled *Don Ricardo Escalante V,* having earned his fourth honor above the *Honor of the Blood* he had been born with.
The young ducal court page, Miguel, like most of the attendees, was eager to see the Duke demonstrate the new invention he had previously presented to the Royal Academy, leading to his recognition as a *Noble of the Scroll.* This was in addition to having been a Noble of the *Coin, Blood, Blade,* and *Hammer.* Being *Five Times Noble,* the Duke had greater power and influence in the kingdom, was in line for succession as King, and could even bestow some *Honors* on worthy subjects, by his own authority.
No one yet knew what it was that the Duke had invented, but since he had earned the *Honor of the Scroll* based on this single achievement, it must be something spectacular. Suddenly, the Duke himself appeared at the edge of the crowd, flanked by attendants, the multitude parting before him as he mounted the stage. Don Ricardo doffed his feathered hat, and bowed to the crowd as they cheered uproariously, Miguel included.
He looked around at the beaming faces -- all showing joy and pride in their liege's achievement. The grandeur of a noble, after all, reflected on the people he led. Miguel frowned, as he noticed one figure who did not seem to be enjoying the festivities, nearby. A dark eyed man in a hooded cloak, near the front of the crowd, was looking up at the Duke with a scowl. Everyone else seemed too absorbed in the moment to notice.
"Thank you!" Don Ricardo Escalante V cried. "My people, my *family!* This honor is not mine alone, but belongs to all those who dwell beneath the proud banner of *House Escalante!"*
The crowd cheered, although a furtive glance to his left told Miguel that the mysterious stranger remained unmoving.
"I see many faces in the crowd, people now Honored as Nobles, whom I have known since they were commoners! Let this, my *fifth* Banner of Honor, be a reminder to all, of what *any* man can achieve, with courage, passion, and ambition!" The Duke boomed, lifting his arms in proclamation.
Miguel applauded...but he noticed the stranger *was* moving now. He saw the glint of steel, as the man reached for a blade. He made the choice on instinct. Perhaps the Duke's lofty words about courage made him bolder than he would have been otherwise.
Instead of seeking help, Miguel cried out *"Assassin!"* and then charged the stranger himself. He was only a page, he was unarmed. But he thought if he could tackle the man, he could bowl him over, and slow him down until the Guard could reach him. He leaped at the stranger, shouting wordlessly.
He bounced off him as though he'd struck a stone wall, and tumbled backward, landing hard on the ground. The cloaked figure turned to him, and let out an unearthly shriek, his eyes suddenly alight with sickly green fire. Miguel's own eyes widened in horror -- it was a *Viborón,* a monstrous creation of forbidden alchemy, made by fusing the life essence of dozens of poisonous serpents into a human host.
For a moment the creature looked ready to pounce on Miguel -- that would surely be the end of him, for the Viborón were perfect assassins, their slightest *touch* capable of delivering a lethal dose of the venom that suffused their entire body. But it was clear the assassin had been sent for a different target: the Duke himself.
It turned away from Miguel, and leaped eight feet in the air to land atop the stage, then charged the Duke with inhuman speed.
There was a flash of lightning, and a peal of thunder. The Viborón stumbled back, hissing, clutching at a gaping wound in its chest. In his hand, the Duke held a strange steel tube with a wooden handle, smoke rising from the end pointed towards the unholy assassin. The Duke's *invention!*
The Viborón took a halting step towards Don Ricardo. The Duke drew a *second* tube from inside his coat. There was another flash, and another booming report rang out. The top of the creature's head vanished in a spray of gore.
It teetered unsteadily, and then collapsed onto the stage, unmoving.
The crowd was crying out in panic. Guards belatedly rushed up onto the stage. The Duke held up his hands for calm.
"Peace!" the Duke shouted. "Peace, my people! Guards! Search the grounds, make sure there are no more of them! Use crossbows and spears only; if you get close enough to use a sword, you'll be poisoned for sure. Everyone else, get indoors until we sort this out!"
Guards ran off to do as instructed, and the crowd began to disperse. The Duke turned to the Captain of his Guard, and begin speaking to him in a lower tone. "Have the court wizard examine the body, and see if he can discover its origin. I suspect it was sent by that jealous bastard, Don Oviedo! He'd better hope he's as clever as he thinks he is, because if he's left the slightest trace, I'll see that the King demotes that fat old fool to Don Oviedo the *Zeroth,* mark my words..."
Miguel, still stunned from the sudden change from exultation to fear and panic, staggered to his feet, and began to follow the others back towards the keep.
"Not you!" the Duke suddenly commanded. He froze, eyes going wide. Had *Don Ricardo* himself just spoken to him? He turned to face his liege and bowed, deeply. To his surprise, the Duke bowed slightly in return.
The Duke hopped down from the stage, landing in a crouch, and then rose to stride towards him, shaking his head in amazement.
"I thank you for raising the alarm -- it gave me time to draw one of my new *pistolas* before that vile thing could close the distance. But charging at a *Viborón?"* the Duke exclaimed. "That was *very* brave, boy! "
"I-I didn't know he was a *Viborón,* Don Ricardo." Miguel admitted.
Don Ricardo laughed. "Did you not? Well, that's good to hear. In that case, you are *still* brave, but you're not *stupid.* Too many other young lordlings I've met can't manage to be the first, without also being the second."
"Oh, I'm no noble, your Grace." Miguel said, hastily. "I'm just a page!"
Don Ricardo smirked, and winked at him. "Don't argue with your liege, boy, it's impolite! I am -- as of today -- Don Ricardo Escalante de Zaragoza *the Fifth!* Which means, when I see a young man who has proven himself to possess uncommon courage, and exercised the same in my service, *I* do not need to petition the Holy Brothers of Honor to declare him a *Noble of the Heart.* I can, instead, bestow that Honor upon him myself. What is your name?"
"M-Miguel, Don Ricardo. Miguel Espinoza." he stammered, in amazement.
Don Ricardo shook his head, and laughed again.
"No, no, no!" he said, throwing an arm around Miguel's shoulders, and leading him away. "*Your* name is *Don* Miguel Espinoza de Zaragoza the First!"
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Interlude 2: The Sunrise Court)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**He had been a minor noble, all things considered.** The Kuiper Lord was one of the newer subjects of the Sunrise King, only recently elevated to lordship and the associated powers and responsibilities. He had thought that his new astral abilities came at no cost, that he would be able to sling spells of the void no matter what choices he made, or what oaths he broke.
He was, unfortunately for him, wrong.
The Kuiper Lord knelt before the Sunrise King—as it should be, as it had to be, as it always would be. The planets orbited the sun; the nobility orbited the king. That was the way of things; breaking from that path had costs. Costs that the Kuiper Lord was only now discovering.
"When I rode to do battle against a nation foreign and corrupt, my nobles followed suit," the Sunrise King began. "The Moon Commander called the House of Light to our side; the Mars Prince marshaled our fleets to war; and I stood at the center of it all, burning at the fulcrum of all things, as I must. As I *am*. And when I granted you the title of the Kuiper Lord, you swore the oaths that would give you your power."
"I did," the Kuiper Lord gasped, "and I strayed from your path. For this I apologize, my king. I beg your mercy."
Something within the Sunrise King, something that used to be human in an age gone by, wanted to acquiesce with his wayward noble's request. But the Sunrise King was chained by the same nature his lesser nobles were. He had to honor the rules that governed his being, lest his powers slip from his grasp.
"When a comet falls from orbit," the Sunrise King whispered, "does the sun show mercy?"
The Kuiper Lord blanched. "My king—"
"Or does the sun swallow it whole, leaving no trace it had ever existed in the first place?" The Sunrise King *stood*, crimson robes billowing like blood, and a second dawn broke as the Kuiper Lord cried out. Desperately, he called upon his nature—silent space, drifting rocks uncountable distances apart—but the Sunrise King whispered "*Pull*," and the gravity of a hungry star dragged the Kuiper Lord towards a waiting fist.
The Sunrise King leaned in close to the Kuiper Lord, until his breath tickled the terrified man's ear, and he whispered, "I have clashed with far worthier foes than you today alone, and there are greater challenges to my rule ahead. You have wasted my time in life; let the fuel in your bones serve my ends in your death."
As the Kuiper Lord gibbered in fear, the Sunrise King spoke a single word.
"*Fuse.*"
The atoms in the Kuiper Lord's body imploded, the almighty pressure of the core of a star compressing him into a point no larger than the head of a pin. The Sunrise King tucked the fusion core into his pocket and turned to face his navy.
"Let this be a lesson to all of you!" The Sunrise King shone for all his court to see. "Honor your nature, and you shall become divinity! Break from the paths your astral bodies trace, and you shall find no mercy save for that of the void!"
And that path was to follow him, until the stars burned cold and the Earth was long dead.
A.N.
Want to see who else the Sunrise King has fought? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the other 95 parts of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2022-05-12T19:47:15 | 2022-05-12T18:09:24 | 376 | 30 |
[WP] You live in an ancient world, when someone turns 18, they will receive a gift either magic or weapon. The gift will be of use for them whenever in need. On your 18th birthday, Death knocks on your door and give you his scythe.
|
"Look, man. It's not that hard to wrap your head around. The scythe is yours. You're Death now. Grim Reaper. Moddey Dhoo, Charon, Mallt-y-nos, Anubis, whatever. You'll get a lot of names as cultures rise and fall, it's not that important. I had a favorite, but nobody around even remembers that name anymore. Important thing is, you're the man now. Leading lost souls to their afterlife and all that."
"I just don't get it. Why ME?"
It was huge. Like, impractically huge. How was he supposed to hold it? It was easily 30... no,40 feet tall. About even with Death's height. He was just as imposing, as well. He seemed to loom taller than the cottage's ceiling, yet he didn't have to crouch or otherwise change. He was just... Tall.
*What is it used for anyways? How does a scythe help with the reaping of souls?*, I thought to himself.
Death seemed to pick up on his thought process, because he let out another long sigh before continuing, as if he couldn't be bothered with such mundane questions.
"The scythe doesn't matter either. That changes too. Sometimes it's a regular farmer's scythe, sometimes it's all black and glowy and all that. Sometimes you won't even have a scythe. Everything changes. You'll get used to it. I wasn't always this tall, either. I was actually kind of just a void at certain points. Pretty funky. I can turn into a cup of salt water, if you like."
"But again, why ME?" I repeated, "All I do is gather the tribe's herbs and tend to the animals."
"No," he interrupted,"You *also* do a ton of role play with your soothsayer."
I turned 50 shades of maroon. I would always play with A'grith, since he was gifted with the power of illusion and usually just goofed around in pretend scenarios. Nobody knew about that but us. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"I enjoyed this job. At least, I have for the past few thousand years. In the ancient times, it was all 'ALAS, PLEASE SPARE ME', and I even got a bunch of free food and... other forms of entertainment. And for the last couple hundreds of years, most of the population never even thought about me. All I had to do was hang around lovely tropical islands, or meet with the occasional lunatic. It's quite relaxing after having to put on the whole shtick of weighing somebody's heart and having a dog-crocodile eat them if they lied."
"So what changed?" I asked.
"Well, as of late, I've been bothered constantly by the amount of stories I've been in."
"Excuse me?"
"It's part of the whole thing. Whenever I get put into a story, I have to act it out. I live through it. It's hard to explain. You kind of just have to go with it since it's part of what gives you your existence."
"I still don't get it. You're quitting because... of stories?"
Death groaned. "LOOK. The first thousands of years were fine. They were cool stories. I was a total BAMF in those. A force of nature. The great equalizer. Even in the kids stories, I was always unbeatable. You remember Appointment at Samarra?"
"No."
"...Right. My bad. But I loved that story. No matter how many times it's told, that last line is SO COOL. 'Because.... I had an appointment with you in Samarra.' SO COOL! But now, every other day I'm being called into new stories, and the scripts aren't nearly as good! It's always either WAY too flowery or WAY too casual. There's no middle ground. It's like Death is a tale told by an idiot or something. And half the time, I'm forced to pretend I'm giving away my powers to some nobody who's clearly a self insert power fantasy character. Where's the good roles? I deserve to be in better stories! How come those old farts from Egypt get awesome high budget action flicks and I'm stuck with a load of artsy hisper types? And the worst part is, every time this happens, I pray to Me that it's the real deal and I get to finally escape this Hell, but it never is, and before I know it, I'm being torn away from Acapulco again to star in some B-list script which was clearly thrown together in 10 minutes."
"I still don't quite follow."
"Whatever. The prompt doesn't say you have to agree to it. You seem to enjoy being the edgy antagonist and all that, so maybe you'll get a kick out of it. Either way, here's the scythe, enjoy the powers. Have a nice day."
And just like that, Death was gone. Memories flowed into my mind. Ancient languages, cities, civilizations, religions, magics, sciences, musics, stories... they all came flooding in like half-chewed food being swallowed down in sizes far too large for my throat to handle. But it came clear to me that I was now the Grim Reaper. I had become Death, destroyer of worlds. This wasn't pretend. This wasn't a play with A'grith and the animals where I'd slay the great beast, Ernest the chicken. This was real. I felt my first calling, towards a land of great wealth and power. Worlds slowly trickled into my mind...
*You live in an ancient world, when somebody turns 18, they will....*
Ah, shit.
|
Middle of the night, I was sound asleep like a bastard and I hear the door banging like a brothel, nearly shat myself when i heard it. So I lumbered out of bed, dragged myself to the door, I was preparing myself for a shock you know the sort of thing, fire or another donkey jumped off the cliff. I nearly hit him, when I opened the door, it was Barry Scipio Africanous with another sucidily funny joke so I slammed the door in his face, nearly took his nose off.
I danderd back to bed and the knocking started again louder this time, I marched to the door, this time I was going to feed Barry his teeth, I’d spent a long day De corpsing the coliseum and was tired of this shit. I opened the door and a scythe was thrust into my hand, I’m not an angry man but what use would a farmer have for another fucking scythe. I split the thing across my knee and the figure at the door disappeared.
I apparently for some reason became immortal after that little incident and now I throw bricks at the blind to pass the time, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands and literally done everything else, so I think I’m coping well with being cursed for breaking the staff of Garry.
More light warfare r/gliggett
| 2019-02-28T23:15:38 | 2019-02-28T21:09:32 | 70 | 22 |
[WP]You've discovered the horrifying secret behind most missing person cases. The ultimate apex predator on Earth isn't mankind, but a massive shapeshifting carnivore that disguises itself as a cave, tunnel, or abandoned building.
|
There's always a story about an abandoned manor that no one ever makes it out of alive. Or a forest that no one has ever seen the inside of. Or a cave where dozens of miners have died over the years. There are myths and legends about children wandering into houses made of gingerbread and candy. And most people don't question these as anything more than the over active imaginations of children, or the paranoid ramblings of madmen.
Those people are wrong. Over the course of several generations my Foundation has become aware of a threat to humanity that could never have been imagined. Innocuous looking buildings, caves, trees; misplaced homes made of sweets to lure in children. The threat isn't witches, boogeymen, ghosts, or axe-weilding murderers. Its something much more frightening.We call them Mimicks and I am one of very few who know of their existence, part of a secret society that tracks and hunts these creatures all over the globe. My name is Orin Thlamar, and I am keeping these journals in my hope to any Gods that may listen that someone will believe them.
My first encounter with a Mimick was when I was a boy of 10. My younger sister and I were playing in the forest not too far from our home. The tall redwood trees were our playground, part of our heritage and history of our family as far back as I could remember. It was safe to play here and we knew these woods like we knew our own parent's faces. But one day we wandered too far in and the sweet smells of baking bread came wafting through the forest. Our home never had a lack of food, and we never wanted for anything, but it was the middle of the day, and the enticing smell was making our bellies rumble. So we decided to investigate.
I burst through the thick trees in the lead, staring down the path at a simple tiny wooden cottage in between two great redwoods. The stones leading up to the front entrance were small and carved with images of friendly animals, and the small stone chimney piped the smell of baking bread into the forest canopy. The door was open a crack and light poured out; the sounds from the inside were reminiscent of the joyous humming of our own mother as she bustled around our kitchen. Finally my sister arrived next to me, hesitating not a moment before dashing toward the open door.I called out to her to stop, but she did not. As her shoes slapped against the paving stone approach the door seemed to creak open a little wider, the bright light so inviting beneath the dark shelter of leaves.
Her blonde hair fluttering behind her in the breeze is the last image I have of her, and if I could drown out the final sounds of her screaming in agony with earlier memories of her laughter I would gladly.
The light blotted out most of her as the house engulfed her. The door slammed shut behind her with a squeal I would come to know as the beginning of the monster's digestion sequence. Her first screams were deafening and I turned and ran in a blind panic through the forest towards my home; my only instinct, my only thought to find my parents and get her out. The screaming trailed behind me as I ran, finally growing too weak with distance.
When my father and several nearby village men went back through the woods to find her there was nothing left of the cottage nor my sister. In its place stood a third mighty redwood, as tall as the two surrounding trees.My mother never recovered, always waiting for my sister to come walking back through the door, and it wasn't until much later that anyone actually believed my story of the disappearing house that ate my sibling.\~\~\~
I was 17 when someone came to investigate my story. One of the village men who had accompanied my father and I to rescue my sister had been telling people in other towns about the boy and the disappearing cabin. For a laugh. Except someone not only heard the story but came looking for answers.
He was a man of the Foundation of Mimickry and at first I assumed those words meant he had come to mock mine and my family's pain, as many had over the past years. As though laughing at a family torn apart and a child who had experienced tragedy made it less true, less frightening.
He told me of Mimicks, of their way of looking like abandoned homes, trees, caves and caverns. He asked me and many of the other villagers of any other strange disappearances, be it caves, forests, lonely homes, wells, and the ilk. It turned out that once you got over the fantastical nature of a house making a child disappear, there were plenty of other signs of the Mimick being nearby.
He told me that their movement was incredibly slow, an almost unnoticeable shuffle across the ground, and that their best defense was the camouflage that they incorporated by shape-shifting. He told me that the third tree we had found had likely *been* the Mimick that ate my sister. And it **had** eaten her, not made her disappear, not teleported her to another dimension (as oft had been the speculation from other school children) The sound I had heard, what I thought was the squeal of an ungreased door, was its digestion cycle beginning.
I begged him to let me join him in hunting this monster that had ruined my life. He agreed, but only once I knew the full truth of what I would be facing, and if I pledged to join the Foundation.
A Mimick needed only to eat once every 2 – 5 years, depending on the frequency of its movement, and once it had fed, it tended to move on, knowing the suspicious nature of its prey.It could be defeated almost only by wytchfire, a type of sticky accelerant that caused an even more intense burn than a regular fire, though a regular fire would *eventually* kill the monster if you could keep it burning long enough.It could only become a certain amount of volume that was constrained mostly by its age: an older Mimick could become a very large house, or a huge mine, whereas a younger Mimick would be a small tree, or a tiny one room cottage. He surmised that the Mimick from around my village would have only been a few human generations old.
The people of the Foundation had no idea really how a Mimick reproduced, only that it seemed like where one had been before, there would often be a younger one a few dozen years later, as though they laid seeds like acorns.
We had gathered three vials of wytchfire and headed to where the cottage had been. It wasn't first time I had tried to go back to the area that had haunted my nightmares, but it was the first time I made it much further past a few feet into the forest. We found the location with no delay, and where the cabin had stood, where the three redwoods had been, there remained only the two giant trees.
Based on the years that had past, he calculated how far the Mimick could have moved, and also factored in that since no one had believed me, it hadn't been in any real danger. We tracked it to its new home, some several hundred yards away.
He knew it by sight, I knew it by feeling.
It stood in the forest, a small cave that didn't exist when I was a child. For some reason, as though it knew I would come for it, one of those insipid smiling animal stones laid in the ground before it.
It burned as he promised it would, screaming as my sister had so many years ago. The wytchfire burned green and blue, engulfing the faux stone facade of the creature as it tried to slowly move away from us. Burning bits of stone flaked off of it, leaving nothing but ash behind.\~\~\~
I have been a member of the Foundation of Mimickry for some twenty years now, and I have personally seen to the demise of at least 5 more of these creatures. But we are never safe, and until we know where they come from, we cannot hope to be rid of them entirely.
|
Have you ever walked past a building that just didn’t fit? I lost my sister almost 20 years ago she went out to get a packet of crisps or something like that and she was gone. We didn’t find a trace of her she left the world without even a foot print. I went out to look for her the whole village did, A sleepy village in Scotland woke up to find my sister. We searched for weeks at first looking for her and then a body, but we found nothing. My parents never really recovered both lost the spark, it was a lonely childhood after that. I took the pain and every other emotion put it into work, I was only a child but I gathered all the evidence I could all the newspaper clipping anything. At the start I was only a child looking for hope.
In the following years I continued work on my theory’s and kept searching for evidence, I started to fixate on one little detail, an abandoned house my sister told me about but would never show me. If she hadn’t disappeared I would have forgotten but something in my little head remembered it and I searched the forrest around the village for it but there was nothing. I searched everywhere for it but it wasn’t there, I asked everyone in the village no one knew what I was talking about, nothing in the records dead end.
I had found so many dead ends that I usually would have kept going and found something else to research and study. I didn’t though, I didn’t do anything years spent on finding her and then one day I realised It was pointless and I couldn’t go on. I fell into a fucking bleak depression twelve years of repressing all of the emotion finally, I began to accept that she was dead and that, it nearly killed me.
My parents found me wandering the forrest in a terrible state I don’t know what happened, I began drinking and lost a week they heard me screaming and crying in the forrest a tragic state to see your son. When my sister disappeared I didn’t cry I ran into the woods to find her and kept looking for twelve years, I had finally ran out of places to look and it all broke down and the tears flowed so they sent me for some help.
Weeks and weeks of therapy group sessions everything like that, they all thought I was going to end it all. I’m not that selfish to make my parents lose another child. I was empty until I kept herring the same thing in group therapy, so many people just disappeared no trace and the last memory’s of them all seemed to be a conversation about an abandoned cave, tunnel, shop or house, it can’t be coincidental and with that the spark came back into my life I had a purpose again solve the mystery. Connect the dots.
I travelled the world piercing together evidence quite my job threw myself into the mystery but I had to come home for one thing. To visit my sisters grave thirteen years on, it was sad there indescribably sad. I went for a walk into the forrest to clear my head and there I saw a house.
It couldn’t be a house not now, how did no one find it I looked everywhere for it. It can’t just have been built, it’s old ruined and destroyed. I saw the thing from a hundred feet away and I wanted to run towards it. I just wanted to sprint towards it, I began to sprint towards it my legs compelled to move faster. I reached the front door, It was so cold I don’t know why I opened the door but I did. The world went black then bright and black again. I wasn’t dead but not alive just existing somewhere else not heaven or hell a void of contentment and I heard Her voice again.
| 2018-10-14T08:01:51 | 2018-10-14T07:47:50 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] As an average looking genius with a weak physique you often envied athletes. After thousands of years spent in a cryogenics pod you are woken to discover that evolution has weakened humanity while IQ improved. You're now the strongest most attractive person, but also the dumbest.
|
Until I got here, I never thought about attractive chimpanzees.
Consider: to me, all chimps look much the same; human enough to be hideous, but not in a way that makes one ape much more or less ugly than the next. I look at them, and ultimately they're just animals; one individual blends to the other as I look at them in their cage. That's just what they are, to me.
But, of course, that isn't the case for them. I look at two chimps, and can't distinguish between them— a chimp looks at them both, and one is astonishing in her beauty and the other so hideous she makes you want to retch. Attraction seems so universal when you feel it. But beauty really is in the eye of the beholder, and most of the world's beholders were never human. And that's clearer than ever, now I'm the only human there is.
Oh, the people here still call themselves human, out here in the distant future. But they're different enough to the people I knew that "human" is the last word we'd use to describe them. They are long, but somehow fat as well; they are ponderously slow as they drag their enormous heads along the ground. When they speak, they do it with mouths that are long and toothy in a way that makes me retch. The people here do not look like people, not any more. They look almost human in a way that is totally inhuman. They remind me of chimps, of animals.
But they are not the animals here. When I arrived people talked to me, listened to my fears. But they still experimented on me, and they still put me in a cage. I was part of an ancestor race, and they said they respected that. But eventually I realised they were talking to me in the way our people would talk to a dog. I could understand a tiny amount of their world – like a chimp could understand a tiny amount of mine – but nothing like enough to be welcomed into it as an equal. I have some rights, and I retain some dignity. But in the end, I am still seen as an animal, and in the end I still remain in my tiny cage.
There are no humans like me in the world anymore. If another were to come here they would think me the most beautiful creature here, though in my time I was anything but. If we were to engage in a contest of strength with our captors we could shatter their stupid bones, mash their bodies into pulp. But the chimps of our time could have broken the strongest of us, and by animal standards they were also geniuses. And brains always triumph against brawn, and evolution is always about the brains you have relative to the other creatures in the world. Strength didn't matter, and the brains we had weren't enough. That was always the case for them, and now it's the case for me.
When I was young in the fossilised past, people in my school used to challenge evolution. Some of them were stupid, but I don't think all of them were: the fear I saw in their eyes remains in the faces of the people who stare through the bars at me today. It's the fear of being connected to a fear wider world, of creatures who do awful, violent things, who are and who are not like you. It's the fear of being like them and not being like them, and not being able to distinguish where the similarities between you lie. It's ironic, but I think that terror is one of the similarities between us all. The fear of being an animal is a particularly animal fear. And it was with that fear in their minds that my long-dead schoolmates advanced this argument: if evolution is true, where are the transitional forms? If this creature is an ape and that creature is a man, where are the things that are not quite one or the other?
I know the answer to that question now, and it is not what they would want to hear. The transitional forms packed that classroom and the world, spilled into every continent on Earth and thought themselves the apex of something. Their bodies were weak and their brains were enormous, but maybe not quite enormous enough to imagine that process marching on. And if they'd done that, and imagined the captors I have today, maybe they'd have understood what evolution really meant. And maybe then they'd have fought it, harder and more ineffectively than before.
I am stronger than a man, and weaker than a chimp. I am the smartest of all the animals, smart enough that I once sat in front of an invisible line that seperated us from them. But now the line has moved, and now I'm the second best. And so many of my fellow apes know that the people in charge never consider that enough.
I look out of my cage, at the people who wonder what I'm thinking. I look into their eyes, and silently wonder the same.
|
As the mist cleared his mind slowly booted back into action. Back home Corporal Bauers had been a well regarded brainiac in the forces.
"Urgh my head" he rubbed his temples, like a kid with a brain freeze "this is not the few days they promised"
He slowly absorbed his surroundings. He was on a massive trash pile, in the middle of the city. Everyone was meek and slender. There were holographic advertisements everywhere with language he could barely understand.
"Fuck" he exclaimed with a sudden understanding "I'm in a poor ripoff of Idiotcracy by Mike Judge"
| 2017-08-03T01:11:07 | 2017-08-03T00:09:40 | 171 | 10 |
[WP] You are given three wishes, but on the condition that whatever you wish for everyone else also gets. You decide to game the system.
|
The crevice opened up into what seemed like a man-made hallway. I walked through with ease. This would mark my thirty-third spelunking expedition but my first of this specific cave, especially in a foreign land.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on edge as I slowly descended to the end of the hall. Angela was back at the hotel taking time to enjoy the bathroom after the first night on our vacation. In the moment, there was a fear of being alone but I was glad that she drank too much. There was an eerie presence once I took my first step in. There was no information on this cave and by the look on the walls, it had to be man-made. It was too smooth. The decline was too perfect. Even the light from my headlamp was refracted evenly to light up more of the hall ahead. This had to have been designed by the Incas and I didn't educate myself enough on them to know if they were fans of booby traps or not.
Curiosity told me to check it out. Pride forced me to. I had to be the first to discover this.
The hall opened to a cylindrical room. The walls were flawless. I couldn't help but run my fingers across them. The only thing inside the room stood at the centre; a podium, only a few feet wide. As my eyes adjusted to the centrepiece, I could see how intricately it was carved, with symmetrical designs focused around a serpent. My feet moved without thought. The feeling within me made me need to inspect this stand. With every step, the cool breeze coming from the entrance seemed to lighten to a halt as the damp air warmed itself to comfort. I felt the tension building up in me as I noticed sitting atop this platform was a translucent disc, possibly made out of some rock I had no knowledge of. As I reached out to touch it, I could feel the heat resonating but it was not enough to deter me. The warmth relaxed me as soon as I had it in my hand.
Then it happened. It started glowing white hot as the temperature soared. I dropped it before it burned me and as it shattered open on the ground, the golden serpent darted out across the ground. There was a glowing fog emanating from it's body, matching the tone of its skin. Over a foot in diameter and curling it's body around the room multiple times, it stood it's head up, level to mine, just a few feet away.
It spoke. Blazing bronze eyes looked straight at me, it's mouth still but the voice boomed around me. I was sure that it definitely was not in my head. This voice was audible, and menacing.
"Speak your demands."
My words caught in my throat but I assume that I uttered a "what" because it responded.
"You receive three wants. These wants apply to you and your kind alike."
Taking my attention away from the fear coursing through my body, I tried to make out what that meant. My words came back to me as I understood what it meant.
"I get three wishes?"
"Yes, all three are done unto all your species as they are done to you."
Finally coming to grip with what I was given, I now understood what power was available to me. Now here I stand as the most powerful man in the world and I need to be sure of these wishes.
So super powers have to be off the table. I guess I could ask for everyone to be happier. That doesn't make much of a difference. I also want to make my life easier. It's just, this catch-22 business is really holding me back. I feel as though I have to just settle for being altruistic. I have to pull the world Peace card somehow.
It hit me. Of course! I can get glory and make the world a better place.
"I know what I want for my first two wishes. For my first wish, I want to know that I'm making these wishes on the world's behalf."
Suddenly I just knew. There was a notion in my head that I knew was felt around the world. Everyone knew of my existence and everyone knew, just like me, that I was here, in this position with the power to destroy or better the world in an instant. It felt wonderful.
"For my second wish, I wish to be absolutely selfless. To put what's best for the world in front of myself."
Suddenly the significance of my first wish drained from me, as did most emotions. My fears and anxiety washed away as if they were never there in the first place. It didn't matter to make that wish but it is fine because all I need is my last wish. I can now make the world a better place and I know that every single being agrees with me. With this wish, I know the world agrees that this is what the world needs.
The world will finally be a better place. Joy overcame me. I can feel the tears in my eyes start to fall down my cheeks as I whisper out my final wish.
"I wish to not exist."
Edit: I thought that I knew how to format on mobile but apparently I'm an idiot and it came out as a nice brick.
|
I was walking into my kitchen when I accidentally rubbed against a lamp, and out popped a genie.
"Greetings, mortal. As thanks for freeing me, you may now make three wishes. However, as part of recent union negotiations, I may only work my magic on your wish if I also do likewise for everyone else in the world," the genie boomed.
"I wish that five thousand dollars be transfered from my money into the bank account owned by the person who is making this wish," I said for my first wish. And then, for my second wish...
Honestly, who cares what the rest of my wishes are. I now own more than 35 trillion dollars, so I don't need to work for the rest of my life.
| 2017-07-24T14:02:04 | 2017-07-24T13:47:09 | 214 | 69 |
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.
|
There he was. He wasn't big or muscular. He didn't even give off an otherworldly feeling of terror like Jones always suspected he would. Instead, he gave Jones the impression of someone terribly lonely. Without Jones realizing, the Devil had stopped quietly playing his harmonica and had been staring as openly as Jones had been. "Hello," said the devil to Jones, "did you like my music?" Whatever Jones had been expecting, it was not that, but years of etiquette lessons had make Jones speak, "Yes, the melody is rather fitting" before he was even fully aware of doing so. The devil smirked, stood, and gave a mock bow- in that motion Jones noticed a slender chain encircling the Devil's cloven foot. The Devil's eyes followed Jones' downwards and the smirk fell from his face. With a small sigh the devil sat once more and regarded Jones. "If you want to leave, you just have to cross the river."
"That's it?" Jones questioned, "I had always thought that it would be more difficult."
The devil fingered his harmonica, "Yes, many do. But, all the same, that's how you leave."
The information was startling enough that Jones sat opposite of the Devil, who was still fiddling with his instrument. After a moment of thinking, Jones settled for, "Why?".
The devil glanced up, "Because this place was originally just meant to punish me." He continued in a smaller voice, "for what I tried to do."
|
He followed the lilting notes down empty corridors crusted with flecks of blood and gore.
He walked past cages crafted of bone that stood wide open, past the scattered and abandoned tools of torture. It was all too visceral to provide him with the illusion that he was drifting in some never-ending nightmare and would wake up any moment now, safe in his bed and alive.
"Jackson Hale," he heard a drawling voice say as he turned the corner. The music he'd followed for the past two days - somehow, its faint notes had reverberated maddeningly through the place since he'd arrived - paused, and he looked into the eyes of the player.
Calm dark eyes, startlingly ordinary, all things considered. The player was wearing a sharply tailored black suit. The material was a black so deep that Jack felt he could lose himself in it, could touch it and be swallowed right up in something nameless, something that was waiting to envelope him and tear him -
"Hey, boy," the player said, snapping his fingers in front of Jack, who blinked and focused on the present again. "I don't have time to play with you right now. I'm playing the harmonica. So. Want to get going? Join the others? They all left, you know..."
"Name's Satan, by the way," the man said, sitting down again on a twisting chair of bone stretched with a thin material that looked nauseatingly like skin. "Lucifer. Beelzebub. Fuck, who even cares anymore."
He picked up the harmonica again and resumed play. Jack watched him mutely, and finally blurted out the question at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps this was some dream, after all. Satan playing a harmonica *had* to be a dream. In which case he probably wouldn't die from asking a question.
"They left? How could they leave? Isn't this...Hell?" Jack asked. "And I'd have thought you'd be more..."
"Demon-y?" Satan asked, his fingers pausing again. "Yeah, I was. Had a voice that could shatter you apart, and everything. All my powers started to fade once they left. I can't even compel anyone to obey me anymore. Once that happened, even my demons left due to some blasted loophole. Bastards. All in Heaven now, I suppose. Or tossed into Limbo. Who knows what the big guy does with the damned once they get there?"
"Now I guess I'm just a guy playing a harmonica," Satan said, resuming the same tune Jackson had heard repeatedly over the past few days.
"Don't you know anything else?" Jack asked, sitting down beside the guy. He seemed harmless enough, really. It was actually rather nice here. Quiet.
"Oh, no, afraid not," the devil said, grinning at him. "There were thousands of guitarists, but a curious lack of harmonica players. So this is your Hell now. Listening to this song, over and over again."
It was starting to grate on Jack's ears. He knew many other songs, better songs - he'd been in a band, in his life, and had always taken pride in the number of instruments he could play. Part of him was itching to show the devil. But the other part had latched onto what he'd said: there was a loophole. And chances were everyone he'd ever loved and who'd left him was in Heaven. Perhaps he'd get a second chance once he got there. If there was anyplace where anything would be forgiven, that was it.
"What is the loophole?" Jack asked. There was nothing to lose by asking, was there? He said he'd lost his powers.
"Why don't you show me some of those other songs you know before I tell you, and you can go?" the devil asked.
"How did you know I play?" Jack said, frowning at the wide grin on Satan's face. "I thought you said your powers were gone?"
"I lied. Force of habit, I guess. C'mon, show me?" he asked. "I'm alone here. At least help me entertain myself."
There was a pleading glint in his eyes that softened Jack's resolve to get going. "All right, fine."
"You'll tell me everything you know? Promise?" Satan pressed him.
"Yes, yes, I promise," he said. "Give me that and I'll play you some stuff. But you'll tell me the loophole, afterwards?"
"Sure thing," the devil said, and handed him the harmonica. He clapped vigorously after Jack had played through his entire repertoire.
"Well, there you have it. Can you tell me now?" Jack said.
"Why so hasty, boy? You said you'd tell me everything you know. Everything. That means every scrap of knowledge you've collected in your human life. Then I'll tell you, and you can go," Satan said, playing one of the new songs he'd just learnt with a small smile on his face. "Pity you came here after the others had left. They'd have told you without a price."
He chuckled at Jack's stunned expression. "Binding promise, son, no getting out of anything you promised me directly. And yeah, I lied about the powers thing, too. I really missed you humans. So gullible. It's rather sweet. But come, talk to me while I play. I've missed hearing another voice, truth be told. And you have a lot to tell me, don't you?"
--------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
| 2017-02-01T09:45:08 | 2017-02-01T09:11:17 | 34 | 19 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.
|
*3:30 AM, Atlanta*
The phone rang.
"This had better be worth waking my ass up."
"Flux. $500,000. If we lose power--."
"I'll do it if you make it six. Where?"
The caller accepted, a little too quickly. Damn. Could have got more.
The caller gave the address to a malfunctioning power station, and thanked Flux for assisting Westshore specialty.
"An insurance agent, huh?" *Well, it makes sense. Superheroes were a damn sight cheaper than losing a court case, these days.*
Flux had been a generous soul. But not anymore.
He loved music. When he first discovered his power, all those years ago, he used his power over electricity to give fledgling bands free power, so they could practice anywhere, anytime. They didn't even have to plug their equipment into anything! It made for some great hipster music videos.
Back then, he sometimes helped clean up metal debris from car crashes. Other days, he donated electricity to his poorer friends, or gave the homeless shelter free electricity for a few hours, to run the A/C during the hot summer months.
That all changed after a fateful day a few years ago. Flux prevented a plane crash by using electromagnetism to lower it safely to the ground. After that, Flux became famous.
And with fame, came more calls for help. But they all wanted it for free. Non-stop, day and night. Not always for heroic deeds, either. One kid wanted him to take out the power at his office so he could spend that day with his girlfriend.
He grew fed up with the non-stop pleas for help. Fed up as he was, he was too poor to buy food. Even superheroes have to eat, you know.
So, Flux started charging for his powers. This sparked outrage at first - Headlines like "Does Flux's greed have no limit?" dominated the news cycle - because people had grown used to the impossible being done for them for free.
However, capitalism won the day - other heroes in other cities borrowed flux's idea. They too had been worked to the bone, and for what? To go home to a creaky apartment without enough money to even wash their spandex?
These days, heroes primarily did boring but valuable things, such as prevent power outages, stop floods from damaging property, put out fires, that sort of thing. Some chose to do pro-bono work at times, but it was not expected the way that it was in years past.
Flux sighed as he drove to the plant. He could easily power the grid from the sidewalk outside his house, but the insurance company would have a fit and cut his pay. Last time he did that, they charged him for damaging the wiring, which cut his $250,000 reward down to a mere $15,000. Looks like another couple hours of maintaining a boring old 60 hz stream...
|
Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him.
There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It *had* to be enough. It was all he had left in the world.
Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so.
Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes.
"Not enough," he said.
Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job."
"Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy."
Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try.
"It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of."
That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?"
"I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left.
"I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?"
Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod.
"Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least."
He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away.
------------
They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them.
"Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..."
At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech.
"I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times."
"It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge."
Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice.
"It's you. You came back for this? This speech?"
"This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him."
"You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!"
Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead."
Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything.
And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth.
"Wait up man, I want to help!"
----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
| 2017-04-02T09:25:08 | 2017-04-02T08:14:02 | 201 | 25 |
[WP] as the house you're trapped in burns to the ground you contemplate "how am i gonna explain the fact I'm immortal to the firemen without starting another religion"
|
This is the fifth time I've burned.
Smoke pours through a newly formed hole near the doorway, collecting in a thick cloud along the ceiling. Each breath I take sets my lungs aflame. I guess I never really got used to the pain, after all.
As the flames begin to swallow the door, I hear sirens wail outside. It will be some time before they reach this room, of course. Hell, the rest of the house may very well be gone by then. But they will reach it. And they will find me.
And they will have questions.
My first experience with burning was shortly after earning my immortality. I was young--relatively speaking, of course--and I lost a bet at some bar in Scotland. The bet, of course, was that I could handle being set on fire. Turns out I couldn't.
That doesn't help me much now, of course. The door is gone; the flames hungry for my flesh. They will feast upon it soon enough.
In Scotland, the men heard my wails and ran. A bit of luck on my part. My subsequent blazes were equal parts bad luck and poor planning--a lit cigarette at bed, bad aim with a molotov cocktail, even an unfortunate time featuring a flamethrower and what I *thought* was an empty barrel.
Over the cracking flames, I hear the sounding axes splintering wood. My rescuers have entered the building. But the flames have already licked away my clothes and started in on my flesh. I know I will not burn, but *damn* if it doesn't feel like I am.
But what will I say to them? No matter when they find me, or in what state, they will be left without explanation. A hundred years ago they would think me a witch. That, course, would lead to more burning. Short memories, these folk.
Now, though? Now they might think me a God. A strange, naked, hairless God, but a God nonetheless. And I can't have that. It took years and a trip around the world to hide my immortality the first time I was found out. With the emergence of the internet, I fear I cannot outrun it this time.
I sigh as the wooden bedframe fails beneath me. I've got one idea--one single hope. So I take action.
Fighting through the pain, I smear hot, red ash across my face. My chest. My entire body. Then I lay in the rubble and wait.
They find me quicker than expected. The flames are mostly gone, the house a smoldering pile of ash and burnt memories. A large beam is lifted from my chest and a man in yellow and black stares at me with his mouth agape.
I see his chest expand as he prepares to shout.
"Wait," I say. "Don't call for them. Leave me be."
He stares back. I see the dilemma in his eyes. He wonders if he's hallucinating. If I'm real.
"Ten thousand dollars," I say. "There are things at work here you wouldn't understand. And ill give you ten thousand dollars to lower that beam and walk away."
His lips part as he prepares to speak, but i cut him off.
"Say nothing. If they see you talk, you get nothing."
He blinks, then turns his head to look at his colleagues in the distance. Then he shakes his head and lowers the beam.
I smile, hardly able to believe it worked. Human greed is truly a remarkable thing.
Of course, if I had known the consequences that would follow my deal with this man, I never would have said a word.
r/Ford9863 for more nonsense.
|
It was too late, by the time I woke up, to escape the fire unseen. In my defense, I once slept through a bomb destroying my entire city block in Yemen, where I was taking a leisurely, decade-long nap, and had to dig myself out of an entire apartment building when I woke up...but I digress.
It was a bog-standard house in southern Idaho. Smoke filled the room, impossible to see through, even though I resolutely declined to let my eyes water. Flames were crawling through the door cracks, invading my bedroom. There were sirens outside, and over the roar of the flames I could hear firefighters shouting to one another.
I looked around the room, hoping to find a spot to to shelter in that might convince the authorities that I was merely lucky, not impossible. I opened the door to the bathroom that was only accessible via my bedroom and the next room over. Perhaps I could lie down in the bathtub. The handle was blisteringly hot to the touch – although my skin continuously healed before the contact could cause more than a slight sting – so I abandoned that plan. The bathroom was clearly already on fire.
This was becoming quite tricky. I avoided exposing myself like this: in the past, it was due to the numerous religions I’d accidentally started. Most were short-lived, thank goodness, but there was an island off the coast of Somalia where they still worshiped me, and by that I mean they had caught me and tossed me off a cliff the last time I visited.
Best to avoid that sort of situation, especially around here where the Mormons were only outnumbered by the Evangelicals, and all of them had strong feelings about the One True God, blah blah blah. Let me tell you, there was nothing special about Yah-Weh. He’d had been a real dick, back in the day, faking miracles and seeing how crazy he’d have to make the rules before his people revolted. He sung a different tune after he masqueraded as his own son and got crucified, though, and it took him three days to move the boulder put in front of his “grave.”
Good times. Put me in a good mood for two centuries, seeing him taken down a peg like that.
The whole room was on fire, now. I was not in the mood to be on the news as a “miraculous” escape, or attacked by religious fanatics, or to accidentally start a break-off cult. The smoke thinned for a moment, probably due to the high-powered hoses now trained at the house, by the sound of it. I had to get out of here. Walking through flames and escaping into the darkness, naked, after my clothes inevitably burnt off or “miraculous survival?” Choices, choices. Ugh, this was enough to make me want to go hang out in the woods with Sasquatch for a few decades. Maybe she was in the mood to prank tourists again.
Oh, wait, the greenhouse. I had some spare gardening clothes out there and had no qualms in claiming I’d fallen asleep in my work clothes by the crick. Best to get it over with, though I did hate the sensation of my hair bubbling on my scalp.
The firefighters’ voices sounded closer, and the water blasting into the house was louder than the flames now. Best go immediately, I supposed. I opened the bathroom door again and was blasted with flames. I felt my eyelashes go instantaneously. Ugh. I trotted through the bathroom to the other room and tried to peek out the window. I didn’t see any people around so I opened the window and half-fell out of it along with a gout of flames and the last, sad, smoldering remnants of my clothes. My jeans’ zipper clinked sadly onto the deck.
“What in the Sam Hill,”
Fuck. I turned, dripping shreds of t-shirt and globs of melted hair, only to make eye contact with the neighbor. Who smoked a lot of weed.
Hmm. There’s an idea.
I raised my hands, shuffling sideways until I was immersed in the flames again and wobbled my body back and forth in what I hoped was a vaguely flame-like manner, then dove back through the window.
Hallucination from a bad batch of the devil’s lettuce, check.
New window time. I darted into the living room – oh, yikes, the floor was really gone in most places – and narrowly avoided getting red-hot nails driven into my feet. That was unpleasant, even if it wouldn’t hurt for long. One of the windows was shattered, so I headed that direction. I was straddling the sill, trying to keep my vulva off the shards of glass left in the frame when the pine tree in the yard – already elderly and barely hanging on after an infestation of boring pine beetles – groaned and tilted towards the house. And me.
I swore under my breath, abandoned my quest to avoid temporary genital injury and bolted for the greenhouse. At this point I didn’t care if the neighbor saw me again.
The tree groaned again and came down behind me. Even if the fire damage was reparable, the tree through the roof wouldn’t be, I’d bet. Good thing my current identify was both real and had really, really good homeowner’s insurance, I supposed, although I wasn’t sure yet if I was interested in re-building. I’d been here a few decades – more than long enough for people to start to notice that I had a suspicious lack of crow’s feet for a woman supposedly pushing fifty.
I bypassed the greenhouse altogether and lay down in the creek, letting the water sluice away as much soot and ash as possible. I grabbed a handful of sand from the bottom of the creek and scrubbed my face and hands. Best look as little like I just survived a fire as possible. That done, I went back to the greenhouse and pulled on the old, linen shirt and trousers I wore around the yard and stuffed my feet into a pair of crocs I had absolutely no memory of buying. My bedraggled straw hat to complete the whole outfit and disguise my current hairless state and,
“Inanna.”
“Kyle,” I responded absentmindedly, then his presence sunk in and I whirled towards the door where the newest immortal I knew of was standing, looking as much like a dipshit as ever. “Kyle,” I bared my teeth at him. “to what do I owe the dubious pleasure? I’m kinda busy right now, what with the whole ‘my house is burning down right this minute’ thing.”
He smirked at me.
“You dipshit!” I hissed at him. “What fucking reason could you possibly have to justify burning down my fucking house?”
“You burned down mine,” he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at me like this was a real argument.
I jabbed my finger at him. “That’s not how that went and you know it, you racist sack of shit. I wouldn’t have had to set a fire to cover my escape if you hadn’t literally had me locked in the basement while the fucking KKK met in your fucking living room deciding the best way to make me dead.”
He had the audacity to look sulky. “Well it’s not like we knew you were immortal, and you wouldn’t stop using the White facilities.”
I screeched wordlessly to vent my feelings for a few moments, then gathered myself. “You have ten seconds to get out of my sight before I go report that I think my stalker set the fire. What’s your current identify, Kyle Marcus Jones the third? Or are you the fourth now?”
He glowered at me for a moment then stormed away without answering.
I couldn’t believe his nerve. Or that he turned out to be immortal after I escaped from him and his gross, 1920s KKK pals.
I was definitely going to go hang out with Sasquatch for awhile.
| 2020-08-21T13:27:44 | 2020-08-21T13:26:10 | 35 | 15 |
[WP] Humans were never meant to be able to draw perfect circles. For millennia people of all ages attempted the feat, from young children to elder scientists - and everyone in-between. After drawing one perfectly on your first attempt, you finally understand the ramifications behind your actions.
|
I've looked at it for five hours now.
If I had known six hours ago that I would have drawn a perfect circle on my very first try, I might have gotten a bevy of people to witness the feat--my parents, for giving me steady hands (probably). A Guinness recorder. Rectifier? Approver? Whoever they were, they would probably be accompanied by a documentary crew, and that one person dressed in a suit would measure the circumference of the circle, nod gravely, then turn to the camera and hold up a pre-printed certificate, smile and proclaim me to be the first human to draw a perfect circle.
Because this was a perfect circle. I had just drawn it on a whim, and didn't realize it until it had stewed on paper for about an hour before my eyes were inevitably drawn to its immaculate roundness, unblemished radius, a shining example of pi drawn freehand.
It was perfect. I didn't need a compass or calipers or some other weird instrument to measure what I knew in my heart of hearts.
If there were people with me, they would have left by now. Maybe I would have poured myself a drink, loosened my imaginary necktie and let it hang, still marvelling at my work.
It was utterly, completely, perfect. Right? There was nothing that needed to be changed about it. I should frame it, hang it on my wall (along with the world record certificate), and guests will realize that it is a perfect circle, and they will congratulate me, showering honeyed compliments and muttering envenomed jealousies under their breath.
It was totally, absolutely, perfectly, perfect. And so, I took another piece of paper, and tried to do it again.
This one wasn't perfect. It was rather obvious, poked in its side like an askew blob. It didn't even close properly, for god's sake. No matter, it was merely a hiccup for the genius that is my right hand.
So I drew another one. This wasn't perfect either. This was squiggly. My hand wavered along the path, and while it closed, the path it took was not a faultless path.
I couldn't stop myself from drawing another one. And another. And one more after that, and more and more, till my wrist ached, shot with strain, and my palm found itself coloured by graphite, and my eyes were probably bloodshot and poked out a little more as I stared my damnedest at each circle. I was improving--well, except my first one--but blemishes remained, sticking out like a baby cuckoo crying at the top of its lungs, bringing me to its attention wearily and tiredly.
I could not bear to look at my first circle. It must have felt betrayed by what I've done. There was nothing I could do to surpass it, for it was perfect in every which way and dimension, but I could have at least equalled it. And as I failed again and again, I had to suppress the urge to throw all the rest away, then take my first circle and lock it safely away and throw away the key, keeping the one exemplary work I've managed to accomplished in forever safety, never to be gazed upon.
I did not know how many hours I spent on my desk. I did not know how many pieces of paper I've used, and how many circles I've drawn on each. These circles did not even deserve their own home, their own plotted piece of land, for they were not perfect.
My head jolted up, and as my bleary eyes cleared ever so slightly, I saw bright light now entering through the window, the sun assaulting me with its undesired rays. I must have fallen asleep. I could not tell whether it was for minutes or hours.
And so I yawned, reaching my hand out, hearing the scrunch of paper beneath my palm. Yet, the crisp scrunch sound it emitted made my blood run cold. I slowly revealed turned over my hand, only to realize that my first ever circle, my perfect child, betrayed by my tired limb, laying destroyed.
I looked it over and over, and looked at the once pristine paper, now crushed and weathered, drawn by my hand and transformed by it. It was no longer a perfect circle. Yet, for some reason, I did not despair.
Instead, I felt freed, aside from the concentrated agony I felt in my arm, the remnants of a syrupy, too good drink at the bottom of the cup. I gathered the various sheets of paper into a pile, placing them neatly at the top of the table. The crumpled, once perfect one, I could not bear to put anywhere but on top.
Then, I grabbed my now stubby pencil. I inhaled deeply, and exhaled, feeling musty air enter my lungs. It was not entirely pleasant, but well-needed.
And then, I drew the perfect square.
---
r/dexdrafts
|
The sunlight through the tree house window dimmed as Evelyn completed her perfect circle, and for a moment she thought a cloud had passed over it. Then it dimmed further, and shadows danced across the weathered boards of the floor and walls. A gasp cut through the sudden, claustrophobic silence, and Evelyn reached out, grabbing her friend's hand. Together she and Aubrey crept to the window, and gazing out upon what had been a beautiful, pristine summer day, they realized a cloud had not, in fact, passed across the sun.
The window was rapidly becoming opaque. The outside was disappearing, Evelyn’s childhood home just across the yard was nothing more than a shred of memory. Her mother, working in the flower beds outside, was a poorly sketched figure in a big, floppy hat, bent over above a tulip whose soft yellow had paradoxically become the brightest scarlet.
All of that strangeness paled next to the sun. It burned black on the horizon, with long, snakelike lines writhing off of it.
The two girls, coltish and still in the first awkward blush of adolescence, grabbed each other’s hands and raced to the door. It did not open.
The shadows that had grown along the walls coalesced, growing heads and limbs and twisted, long fingered hands that barred the door shut. Evelyn pulled hard at the knob, Aubrey too when she was finally able to push down her terror.
“What did you do?!” Aubrey shrieked as the pair pulled back from the door. She shrieked again when she saw the impossibly dark, three fingered claw over it.
“I didn’t do anything!” Evelyn shouted back. The room was lit from the inside now and both girls seemed to realize it at the same time. They turned back to the room’s center slowly, hands unconsciously finding each other’s again.
When they’d come to tree house that day, the first time since they’d begun insisting to the world around them that they were now in fact teens and clearly not children with an interest in such things, they’d brought a single massive poster board along with all the markers they could find in Evelyn’s house. The poster board was the source of the light now.
It sat dead center in the room, a soft, white glow emanating from its surface. In its center the pink marker Evelyn had used to draw the circle hung in the air, spinning like a top.
“Evie, what’s that? What did you do?!”
“I didn’t do anything!” Evelyn shouted again.
And then the shadows began to speak.
They started in whispers with the cadence of verse, though not in any language the girls understood. All else besides the poster board and its circle had been consumed by shadow. No hint of the weathered browns of the original floor and walls remained, only a deep, light eating black.
Evelyn jumped into the circle, pulling Aubrey behind her.
In the place where they had just stood, a form rose up.
Evelyn had never known a shadow to curve like that. In her head, when she imagined them, they were always sharp lines, the slashes of leafless trees upon the snow in winter, or perhaps the shadow of her closet door upon the ground when she really had been a child. These shadows did not obey her imagination.
They curved with the kind of aggressive fluidity no twelve-going on-thirteen year old could imagine. They resolved themselves into the swell of a hip, the suggestion of a lower back that lead not to simply legs, but to something else, something unknown. They became the curve of a full chest and arms folded beneath, the gentle lines of a long, regal neck that resolved into an eyeless, mouthless face. The whole assembly, though still constructed entirely of shadow, was nonetheless solid, and its- *her*- skin gave the appearance of being sheathed in a silken dress, decorations writhing like serpents upon it.
“She’s beautiful,” breathed Aubrey. Evelyn was not sure if she agreed.
The figure flowed forward, to step would have been beneath her, and when she was only inches away from the circle’s edge she crouched down from her commanding height, three fingered hands on immaterial knees, and put herself on the girls’ level.
“Do you not think I am beautiful?” she asked Evelyn, her gaze boring into the girl despite her lack of eyes.
“I think you’re scary,” Evelyn said.
“At least one of you has some sense.” She drew herself back up. More shadows stepped off the walls, they reached down, lifting something up off the floor as if carrying the train of the woman’s dress.
“Which of you drew the circle?” she asked.
“I did,” Evelyn said. Her voice was somehow steady and she was proud of that fact.
“Fitting,” the woman said. “Do you know what you have done?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“Perfect circles are portals my dear, to every species but your own.” She turned back to the door. Her arm reached out and then kept reaching, the shadow extending seamlessly until her fingers touched door knob and caressed. “Why your people insist on these awful rectangles I’ll never understand. The world isn’t something to be feared.
“No matter.”
The woman spoke an impossible verse, laden with the sibilance of snakes and the rustle of soft fabrics along a bedroom floor. The shadows rushed forward, crowding around the circle. None of them had eyes, some had mouths. They were small creatures, shorter even than the girls were, and they pressed against the circle’s edge as if against an invisible wall.
“Had you tried before?”
“To draw a perfect circle? I…no!” Evelyn said. “Aubrey’s the artist, not me!”
“Indeed?” The woman turned her sightless gaze on Aubrey and the girl puffed a bit, stepping closer to the edge. Evelyn grabbed her friends hand and pulled her back sharply, grateful for the first time for the weight advantage she had on her best friend.
“You seem like good girls, and I’m not so old as to have forgotten being young. Take my advice, free of charge.” She crouched down again, darkness flowing from the motion like a gravity defying wave, pooling in the corners of the room. “If you draw one of these, do not leave it unless it is to step into the circle I will tell you of. Tonight, in your beds, you will each draw a circle, repeated until perfect. You will fold them up very small, smaller than you think they could possibly go, and keep them on you at all times. It will be your totem, your portal home, to be used in only the most dire of circumstances.”
“Why?” Evelyn asked.
“Because it will go through my home,” the woman said, “and my home is very dark and full of terrors.”
The woman reached down, gathering up the shadows around her with her bare hands, and with quick motions of her three dexterous fingers she spun them into something greater. She soon had two cloths large enough to be blankets, and folded them as such, laying them at the children’s feet. “Give me two markers,” she said, “not the one you used already.”
Evelyn selected an emerald green, Aubrey took black, and then both girls pushed them through the field of the circle. The air rippled around the marker’s points as she passed through, Evelyn thought it felt like pushing a stick into a snowman.
The shadowy woman kissed each marker softly and lay them on the folded cloths. They turned into quills before the girls eyes.
“If you should ever wish to, draw a circle in a shadowy place, I’ll come if I’m able. Not many can do what you have done.”
“Yes ma’am,” Evelyn nodded solemnly.
“And one last thing, never draw a circle in a garden.”
With that the woman crouched down, licking her finger. Her servants darted back towards the walls, their shapes dissolving with every step. She winked once, Evelyn thought it was at her, and the she casually rubbed out a section of marker circle.
“Goodbye, children,” she whispered and was gone.
Light returned. The sun no longer burned black. No three fingered hand rested upon the door knob.
But the cloths, fine sheets of black silk with lacy fringes, and the quills, feathered by creatures Evelyn couldn’t even imagine, were all still there.
“Aubrey! Your mom is calling!” Evelyn’s mother called from outside.
“Evie, what just happened?” Aubrey whispered.
Evelyn took up her cloth, wrapping it around her like a cloak for a moment, luxuriating in the otherworldly softness. “I don’t know,” she said, taking up the quill, “but I’m drawing that circle.”
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-05-22T07:29:53 | 2021-05-22T07:14:21 | 300 | 205 |
[WP] You're the first person to be sent to Mars. When you land you decide to take out your phone and take some photos so you can send them to your friends later. After a few minutes you get a notification: "NEW BLUETOOTH DEVICE "HELP ME" DETECTED - WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONNECT?"
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Nothing says apocalyptic wasteland like a red dust storm. Walk out without a suit and you'll be stripped to bone as if you were swimming with piranhas. The scorching glare of the sun awakens something primal, reminding you why humanity, wherever they are, always come up with the notion of gods.
After checking my phone on the Martian surface, I was wondering whether I'd just gotten connected to one.
*NEW BLUETOOTH DEVICE DETECTED: 'HELP ME'*
I'd been sitting in my graphite-foam igloo, hoping to receive delayed wireless transmissions from Earth on my phone. I'd cobbled together a small device and managed to argue that it would come in handy. Truth was the big communications central onboard the ship was expensive and energy-hungry and wasting it on reading late night celebrity gossip didn't feel right.
Then I got the message. Thinking it was either an error or a prank, I wasn't that shocked. It was probably Carl. He'd made fun of me for bringing my phone to Mars. "I'm not saying you're an addict, but you're the only person I can think of who would want to sit on their phone when they're literally on another planet."
*WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONNECT?*
This would be interesting. Knowing Carl, it would probably trigger the download of a Marvin the Martian clip. I agreed to connect, blissfully unaware of the life-threatening danger this would soon put me in.
Like I expected, it was a video. But what I had not expected was its actual contents. It wasn't Marvin. It wasn't a cartoon at all. It was live video footage. From Mars.
I could see the ship as well as the igloo. This didn't make any sense. While the footage was hazy, owing to the ongoing storm, there was no question about it. This was being filmed by someone, or something, right now.
As an experiment, I woke up the surveyor drone. It could handle a silly sand storm. I wasn't supposed to set it up before tomorrow, but this couldn't wait. It could still be a prank. Not a funny one, but a prank.
As VONNEGUT raised its robotic arm, I watched it do so in real-time.
Instinctively, I tossed my phone aside, as if it had been infected by a demon. I ran through my options. I could just ignore this. It sounded all too crazy, right? Surely no one would take something like this seriously? Then again, no. That was off the table. I could send a report back down to the base. But that would be pretty inefficient, each message taking twenty minutes to get from one to the other. It was better used for reports and updates. And this was more of I-have-to-do-something-right-now situation. Finally, there was VONNEGUT. What if I brought him to wherever the footage was coming from?
This struck me as the best option. VONNEGUT was equipped with a camera and various sensors. I could send him off to investigate on my behalf.
And that was just what I did. VONNEGUT obediently staggered over towards the location, unperturbed by the celestial sandpaper ravaging him. But as he got closer, I started to wonder whether I had lost my mind. I could see him moving closer on my phone, but VONNEGUT's camera wasn't picking up anything interesting. There were some red rocks, sure, but nothing like a recording device.
When I looked back at my phone, I froze. The perspective had shifted. Suddenly, the vantage point had been rotated at a 90-degree angle. There was something out there. And it was moving.
I sent VONNEGUT on another run, this time less confident.
This futile search carried on for hours. I could never catch a glimpse of whatever it was that moved about, filming me like some alien-freak voyeur. I was the only person on the red planet. The first. At least I had thought the latter was true. Now I was not so sure. Whatever it was that was playing with me, it was intelligent. The thought sent a deep shudder down my spine.
It would be more than two years before another window of opportunity for a rescue launch to be sent my way from Earth. In other words: I had to deal with this on my own. I took a deep breath. It had to be aliens. Aliens that learned to decipher our signals.
As I sat there, lost in a haze of desperation, my phone buzzed. It was an incoming call.
*To be continued*
---
/r/Hemingbird
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My grandmother was everything to me. I was luckier than most. My grandmother was a “young” grandma; my dad had me when he was just fifteen. It was a hard time for my dad. His brother Jeff, who was six years older than him died in a car accident. A young girl was on her phone and missed the red light. She t-boned him on the driver’s side, he died instantly. My dad was in a bad way, as he was only twelve at the time. The first year he spent grieving, often talking to nana about how he missed Jeff. They would tell stories to each other for comfort. Sometime later, though, the stories stopped, and emotions became bottled. My dad didn’t really know how to handle it at the time and Nana didn’t see the signs that he needed therapy. No one blames her; she lost a son and was grieving in her own way.
When my dad was fourteen, he started experimenting with drugs and alcohol. Experimenting became self-medicating, and self-medication lead to self-loathing. My dad found solace in a girl he had met at the mall, my mother, Jessica. They hit it off immediately, they were inseparable. Nana grew fond of Jessica, as she visited almost every day. One weekend, my mom and dad got ahold of some heroin and partied all night at her house. Well, apparently, they had so much fun that I was conceived. A son of a heroin user.
Nana found out about my dad and mom’s drug use and vowed to not let her son and future daughter-in-law, she just knew they would be together for always, parish in a life of drugs. She scraped and saved to help Jessica with the pregnancy. Nine months sober and I was born, but post-partum depression was too much for mom. Her and dad shot up a few eight-balls one night and never woke up. I was three months old.
Nana cared for me the best she could. Correcting many of the mistakes she made with her own three children. She worked odd jobs, sometimes five or six at a time, so that I would never go without. It was when I was about eight years old that I started piecing the puzzle together. I knew that something was eating at my nana’s mind, there was always this aura about her. Something deep, something sad. It wasn’t until I was about thirteen that I started asking questions about my family. We started talking more, she opened up about the past and how the passing of my uncle hurt my dad and shoved him on a path that she couldn’t detract him from. She cried for what seemed like days after telling me. I assured her that she did the best she could with what she was equipped with.
Over the next several years nana made sure that I was well prepared with my education and that I promised to stay away from drugs and alcohol. That was really her only rule. Don’t hurt anyone or yourself. I could stay out to all hours of the night, party with friends, have as many sleepovers as I wanted, as long I stayed on the straight and narrow. It wasn’t really too much to ask. Having almost unlimited freedom was amazing. One time, my friends and I went into an abandoned house down the street. We’d play hide-and-seek, tell ghost stories, eat smores (yes, I did light a fire in the house, but we were careful). We explored every inch of that Joslyn manor. It was such a cool place to hang out.
In fact, I remember this one room had a very odd-looking door. The design of the door didn’t quite go with the décor of the rest of the house. It was shades of midnight purple and blue, while the rest of the house was dark blue and cherry red. It was carved out of a mineral that I had never seen before and looked quite heavy. The patterns on the door were something that you would find on a Picasso painting. Shapes and objects mashed together, very odd-looking. My friends and I spent most of our time in that room since it has some of the coolest artifacts like a sword from the middle ages and a chariot with a lion head on the front. We would play for hours in that thing pretending we were gladiators in an arena waiting to battle for the hand of the maiden. Fun times.
Eventually, my friends and I moved on our separate ways. I graduated, when to University, and started a job a few cities over, where I oversaw shipping lines. Nana was so proud that I was able to succeed where her children could not. Three thousand students graduated university with me, and I swear nana’s cheers bellowed from the top row. I won’t lie, I teared up when I hear that sweet lady yelling. I didn’t have many people in my life, but her, I knew I could count on.
She came to visit me about three months into my first job. She wanted to bring me lunch, have me show her around, and just shoot the breeze. I was busy at work and I didn’t get to see nana as often as I had liked. So, we made a deal that we would alternate lunch; I would go to her place one week and she would come to mine. This time she surprised me at work.
“Charlie”, Rose said to her grandson. “I have some”, she paused slightly, “bad news.”
“What is it”, Charlie said with a soft voice.”
“I went to the doctor’s the other day to see if I could get something for this cough. Turns out I have terminal cancer and I only have a few months to live.”
I remember sinking in my chair not knowing what to say. Several questions buzzed through my head like a hummingbird looking for nectar, but the words wouldn’t come out. I took the rest of the day off and we talked about what the future would look like. One thing I remember more than anything from that conversation is a key nana gave to me. She said,
“Charlie, let this be the key to your kingdom. Everything you have, everything you will ever gain, means nothing unless you have a purpose. Do not take your job too seriously, you are very good at what you do, but make sure you find happiness, true happiness. I loved your mother like she was my own, I want you to have that same feeling. I am not saying go out and have great-grandbabies tomorrow, but make sure you take the time to appreciate the little things in life.”
Ten days after that conversation I received a call that nana had passed the night before. I was devastated beyond belief. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was alone, no parents, no grandmother, no friends, no one to call my family. It was too painful to go to my old house, so I went to the only place that I could grasp on to memories that wouldn’t tear me apart from the inside, Joslyn’s manor.
Joslyn’s manor looked like it had when I was a kid, except older somehow. I sneaked in the usual way and found myself reminiscing, fantasizing, about the good times. I eventually found my way into the parlor room with the odd-looking door. I sat in the chariot, pretending to whip the lion to go faster. As I walked around the room, once again admiring the artifacts, something caught my attention that I hadn’t notice before. A small, second, keyhole, about two feet below the one situated under the door handle. A small inscription read, Insert Your Key Here. I thought nothing of it and continued the rest of my lap before heading out.
I was fiddling with my pants pocket and I felt something that I had forgotten about. The key that nana handed to me not more than two weeks ago. I went to leave the room but something quietly nagged me in the back of my head. Insert your key here. I walked over to the door, took out nana’s key, and unlocked the door using the smaller of the two keyholes. The door clicked open and I pushed it to see what was behind it.
A loud voice, but not just any voice, nana Rose’s voice, beamed through the sky on the other side of the door.
“Charlie, welcome to your kingdom.”
| 2021-06-10T11:53:19 | 2021-06-10T10:32:55 | 78 | 16 |
[WP] You awake to find yourself in a room with a multitude of people. After some confusion a voice speaks over the PA system. You've somehow been placed in a death game for the entertainment of the rich. You begin to laugh hysterically, as this is SOOO not going to go the way they want it to.
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sry for bad writing and short text, am on mobile
edit: spelling
As I heard a loud alarm I covered my ears with my hands. "Just one more minute" I said, half awake, half asleep.
As I slowly started to gain consciousness I looked around. I was in a gigantic room, filled with beds, all identical. This wasn't even remotely like the cozy room I had fallen asleep in after making love with the beautiful woman I had met at the bar the previous night.
It had been a long night, but at around 3 AM I had finally fallen asleep, with the woman in my arms. Some time after she had gone up to get a glass of water or whatever. I had then fallen asleep, a dreamless sleep, and now I found myself here, in this room filled with beds and nothing more.
In the room there appeared to be hundreds of people, all looking up at a big monitor in the room where the a man was seen talking into the camera.
"Good morning ladies and gentlemen"
The voice had barely said the sentence before the crowd started screaming, asking why they were here.
All of a sudden a man in the crowd collapsed and the people around him looked shocked for a few seconds before starting to scream and run hysterically. I just sat there, watching the spectacle, while waiting for the man on the monitor to start talking once more.
"Well ladies and gentlemen, I would advise to keep quiet in the future. You see, we have implanted a small little chip in your heart. As fast as we think you're disobeying you are going to be killed."
People started whispering and a shiver echoed through the crowd, as if though they had already forgotten the bloody corpse amongst them.
"You have been placed here today to play 5 death games, all of which will test you in different ways. If you would, against all expectations, survive all 5, you will be given a enormous amount of money- 2.3 billion dollars, given generously to us by the viewers"
As I heard him utter the last word I burst out laughing like a maniac. People started looking at me and I even seemed to have gained the attention of the man of the monitor, as he was looking stressed at the sight of me laughing.
Oh these rich people who had come for entertainment and seeing people die would soon see their world upside down.
Not only had I lived for tens of millennia- I was also one of the original gods of humankind. When humanity still was young they had feared me as the god that made night fall and meat spoil, the god that made sickness and the god that killed their young. When they grew older they started fearing less and less, but I was always there, lurking in the shadows behind the devil's of each religion.
As the monitor finally turned of I sat there laughing. This would be the funniest thing to happen in centuries
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Continuing to laugh hysterically as the first game was announced, Sam fell off his bed while everyone either listened intently to the announcer or stared at the crazy man. “The first game you will be playing, is baseball!” The announcer said, as Sam began to snort loudly while laughing. “You each have a number on your jacket, odd numbers to the left and even numbers to the right”, the announcer continued, with Sam piping up,” oooh their really changing it up from Squid Game, aren’t they?” while now slamming his hand against the floor.
The other players ignored Sam as they siphoned off to separate doors. Sam managed to calm himself and looked at his shirt,” 69? Really? Man I hope Gold Tiger king is watching, that cop better not have bit his dick off yet!” Sam ran off to the left, the last in his line. Inside locker room set up for the players, everyone found blue uniforms with white pin stripes. At the center of the uniform shirts was the team name, the BC Angels, and what appeared to be an Angel in a wife beater shirt, drinking a .40 ounce and holding up a middle finger. Sam got the joke.
After getting dressed the players head out to the field and are greeted by the other team. They wore red uniforms with white pin stripes and collars. The team name on the chest was the HG Devils, with a Devil mascot smoking a cigar, wearing a suit, and sitting behind a desk. Sam fell over laughing again, he really couldn’t help it!
The Announcer spoke up,” we hope the uniforms fit right, players will be called by their numbers to fill positions. Not everyone will get to play, however if a player loses their life a replacement will be called forward. Numbers will be announced now!” Numbers for both teams were called up, Sam being among the starting line up. Next the announcer called out that the Angels would be up to bat first while Red would take the field.
The Announcer spoke up again,” for today’s game we have special rules. First if you are struck out you will face instant death. Next,” All of the lights in the field were then shut off, with only a few shining in specific spots on the field,” when a baseman or catcher catches a ball they are to place it in the chutes next to the bases.” Each of the players looked at the illuminated spots and noticed the chutes.” The first baseman will receive the ball from a similar chute in return. Next if a fly ball is caught, all runners on base will receive instant death. Similarly if a runner makes it to home plate an outfielder will receive instant Death in their place. If a home run is hit the game will immediately be over, with the losing team facing instant death.” Sam, having calmed down a bit, said to his team,” well at least they changed it up a bit!”
The teams each made their way to their dug outs while the excess players went to the stands. The first player called up to bat was an older man who seemed nervous. As he walked up to the plate the Devil’s players on the infield received ankle braces to lock them in place. The outfield was left free though. The Batter took a few minutes to warm up before taking his spot. The batter looked just as nervous as the pitcher as he looked forward, sweat visibly dripping down his face. The Announcer then spoke up,” Play Ball!”
The pitcher reeled back and delivered an absolutely pitiful first pitch that the batter was easily able to hit. The batter, horribly slow, trotted to the first base but the ball had been caught after one bounce by the second baseman, who then threw it to the first baseman. The first baseman caught the ball and placed it in the chute, which activated the trap. The line between home plate and first base opened up and revealed a pit that the batter fell into. Screams of pain emanated from the pit as a loud splash occurred at the bottom with some of the liquid landing on the first baseman’s face. The first baseman screamed in agony, clutching face before falling forward into the pit and dangling by his ankle chain. The pit closed and severed the first baseman’s ankle. The Announcer then called in two more players, an Angel and a Devil, to take their place. Sam was then called up to bat.
Sam walked forward, bat in hand, and took his place on base. The pitcher, still sweating profusely, gave another weak pitch that Sam easily smash into the outfield. Sam ran towards his base, still carrying the bat, and ran for his life towards the base. The outfield, who were surprisingly on point, managed to throw the ball to the first baseman who had a suspiciously smug look on his face. Sam managed to wipe the look off the unaware baseman’s face by throwing the bat into the back of his head, nailing him hard enough to knock him out and miss the ball completely. Sam slowed to a trot as he took the base, all to the ire of the Devils.
Several of the Devils yelled In protest, saying Sam cheated but the Announcer spoke up,” Player 69 did not break any of the stated rules”. The first baseman was then awoken by a shock from his ankle, forcing him to jump up. The first baseman attempted to square up with Sam, who then held up his retrieved baseball bat and held it up with a smile on his face. The baseman then turned his back to Sam. The next batter then came up, a lady who could pass for an Instagram model, and lazily held the bat. She proceeded to blow a kiss to the pitcher who began to blush. The pitcher surprisingly managed to strike the Instagram model and made a show of flexing. The home plate area then opened up and revealed a giant blender that chopped up the fallen model. Sam began to laugh at this, complimenting the creativity. The first baseman proceeded to backhand him, knocking a little sense into him.
Sam managed to make it to home plate and watched as one of the outfielders was dragged off the field by his ankle into a pit full of drill shaped spikes. After a while there were very few players left on either team, with Sam eventually growing bored with the deaths. Sam then decided to end the game, he’d had his fun. Another player was called up to bat but Sam pushed them out of the way, this was his shot now. Sam took a much more serious stance now, the pitcher being slightly intimidated by Sam’s seriousness. The pitcher then delivered his most pathetic pitch yet, which Sam easily hit out of the park. The Pitcher, shocked look on his face, fell into the blender as the pitcher’s mound opened. The same happened with all of the basemen and the outfielders were pulled into drill spike pits.
The remaining angels looked at Sam, shocked, and asked,” you could’ve done that the whole time, couldn’t you?” Sam, shit eating grin on his face, replied,” yup!” Angered, one of the Angels asked,” WHY DIDNT YOU DO THAT BEFORE?” Sam, grin turning into a smirk,” ever seen Squid Game? I wanted to see all of the death traps they had!”
| 2021-10-31T01:05:36 | 2021-10-30T18:45:41 | 37 | 26 |
[WP] The human species has gone extinct thousands of years ago. Extraterrestrial explorers find a sample of human DNA and decide to resurrect the species once again. You are the first new human growing up in a completely alien society.
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"Snyder," They told me as I was born, "You are a special little boy. You *are* humanity, all that's left. Please help us to know your kind. Do you understand?"
I cried. I was a fuckin' baby. Dipshits didn't know how babies worked.
Ya know how well a sentient beam of light can change a fuckin' diaper? Not very well. I was swaddled in shit till I was five. And they kept saying, "oh Snyder, Snyder, you're so very important!"
Crock of fucking horseshit. Next thing I know they're all, "We know you're special, wah wah, but don't have fun! We're afraid we don't see why you choose to take that car for a joyride! Help us understand why you stab Arxthuis so!"
This Christmas, I asked for a fucking goddamn Gameboy. They don't even know what a Gameboy is. They're the worst parents in the whole stupid fucking world and I'm running away - I'm 8, I can make my own fucking decisions.
*****
**Epilogue**
"GRXKULUS, LOOK - THE EARTH CHILD RAN OFF."
"YES, WE SEE ITS LIFELESS FORM FLOATING IN ORBIT. WE WONDER WHY IT CHOSE TO LEAVE ITS HABITAT,"
"SHALL WE START ANOTHER HUMAN?"
"......NO. WE DEEM THAT THING TO BE AN ASSHOLE."
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It's funny in a way.
I've never known my people, *my* people. The Azurites are nice enough I suppose. Although I didn't quite "fit", I suppose I have friends, not many mind you. Pushing my way through the the crowd, the bulkier bodies of the hulking, plated blue creatures parted around me, probably assuming that I was a child until they saw me, at which they chittered through their mandibles. Maybe they were laughing, I wouldn't know.
It was impossible for me to re-create their language with my thick tongue and although the merchants and teachers seemed nice enough...they scared me. All in all, the closer to my height Cerans were far more enjoyable company. Reaching the far north end of the market, Leetra was waiting for me.
'You're late' she said as I breezed past her and into the shop.
'I know'
The cramped workshop, far away from the lime-light of the central plaza, dominated by Azurite stalls, was staffed entirely by Cerans and a dwarf Azurite everyone called Tiny. The people of Queen's Rest were nothing but literal. Sitting down at one end of a work-bench I waited patiently until Leetra joined me, sliding a box across the clear workspace towards me.
'Everything should be in there, as well as instructions.' Pulling out a pipe, the vaguely furry humanoid looked at me. A past attempt at a species revival through gene splicing. Suffice to say, the species didn't turn out quite as planned.
'How much?'
'Standard fee'.
Scrounging around in my loose pack I pulled out a chip containing four hundred standard galactic credits. Sliding it through a personal device interface embedded in her arm, Leetra nodded.
'You plan on using that?'
'Only if I need to, I can't imagine it'd be easy to get off planet.'
'You don't have to go through with this Simon, theres still time to turn around.' There was a tinge of worry to her voice, she knew all to well the consequences of being a misfit on a planet whose natives prided themselves on being uniform. All Cerans did.
'Thanks, but I know what I've got to do.'
Retracing my steps back through the claustrophobic building and out into the wider tunnels, the workers gave half-hearted waves and muttered a half dozen variations of "Cya later" before I escaped. I still had a few hours before the hearing. A ship was descending through the Surface-Metro, bringing with it a new wave of foreigners and tourists from abroad. Maybe I could pay them a visit.
The ringing of the bell sounded the hearing. Three judges sat before me, larger than their fellows on the street, their mouths were silent. As their beady black eyes stared my down, I prepared to give my request. Clearing my throat I began.
'I would like to request permission to go off planet.' Almost forgetting to breath, there was no response. I continued. 'I would also beg the high justices the right to take with me incubation pods to repopulated earth.' At this, the room filled with clacking mandibles, the distinct scent of bile filling the room. The audience standing behind me, as well as the Justices were entirely made up of Azurites. "Fingers" clacking on a tablet, words appeared on the screen that floated above them for my benefit.
"Request denied"
'But-'
"We are all tools of the queens. Should you need a lesson, perhaps the pits might serve as a lesson in humility. Your request is denied, you shall remain in the caverns *under careful supervision*."
'Then I am afraid this is goodbye.'
Removing the box Leetra had given me from my deep coat pockets, it was a mere moment between flipping it open and turning the switch before it began to emit smoke. The clacking grew louder as the smoke filled the room as violence erupted in the pews behind me. While the Azurites were far removed from less-evolved insects, they quite humorously had a similar biological makeup. As the drones and guards in the room tore each other apart, it was simple enough to disappear. I didn't know how far the pheromones would spread, nor did I particularly care.
With only the clothes on my back, the credits I could scrounge up, the Starship leaving to the Republics didn't have long til' launch. Shouldering backpacks, it was surprising when Leetra and a few other workers were loitering around the elevator.
'About time you got here' she said, punching me lightly on the shoulder.
'I thought you didn't approve of the plan?'
'I still don't, but I'm not sticking around here long enough for them to find out who assembled an illegal weapon.' Shooting him a wry smile, she thumbed towards the entrance. 'Besides, I've always hated this place and I've already payed off the captain.'
'So I guess you guys are gonna be there when there's two of me, huh?'
'Guess so, for better or worse.'
'No one I'd rather have at my side.'
Falling in with the Cerans, we strolled towards the lift to the surface. The frog-like amphibians who made up the crew of the SS. Water-lily never did much like Azurites. Maybe they had some human in them, given my company, it was clear that Humanity wasn't as clear cut as it used to be.
And we didn't much like being called a tools.
| 2015-04-24T09:33:51 | 2015-04-24T09:23:38 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] You are a relationship advice columnist gone rogue. Every week, you are determined to give the worst possible advice but still disguise it so it looks totally legitimate. Write this week's column.
|
*Dear Ms. Knows-It-All,*
*My future daughter-in-law is driving me crazy! Their wedding is coming up soon, and the girl is just hopeless at wedding planning. I’ve sent her page after page of suggestions, and I’m starting to worry that none of them are being taken. I’ve told her we’d be happy to pay for the petting zoo, but she turned down the money, saying she just wants to do it “her way.” She’s even refusing my husband prima nocta! Am I being unreasonable by putting up fliers around town calling her a trailer trash whore? - Frustrated in Fresno*
Hi Frustrated,
I think what you’re feeling is the typical stress any mother-in-law feels while giving her son away. In this case, that stress is being understandably amplified by the fact that your son apparently chose to marry a classless prostitute. In other words, no, I don’t think you’re being unreasonable!
Part of married life is learning to take advice from your elders with grace, and the happiest day of their lives is a great time to enforce a punitive and dramatic lesson. I suggest you publicly refuse to go to the wedding, then show up in a white dress and throw a glass of red wine onto the bride. It will help her understand that mother-in-law knows best, and set a great precedent that can only strengthen your relationship in the years to come.
*Dear Ms. Knows-It-All,*
*I came home the other day to find my husband in bed with my best friend!! I can’t believe it. This isn’t the first time he’s cheated, but I’m really hurt that he would do it with someone so close to me. The worst part was his lame excuse: “she was just helping me look for my underwear!” I’ve fallen for his lies for eight years, and I’m about ready to call it quits. What should I do? - Cheated On in California*
Hi Cheated On,
I know your heart hurts right now, and that’s perfectly normal. That said, please don’t do anything rash. I’ve received many versions of your letter over the years, and one thing I’ve noticed is that those so-called "lame" excuses are *always true*. It’s perfectly plausible to think that your husband lost his underwear, called your best friend for help, and then fell over into her while both were naked on the bed at the exact moment you walked in the door.
It happens to someone every day.
I do think you should talk to your husband and your best friend, but please don’t act out. You should apologize for your paranoid inferences and ask them to give you another shot. Then, please, take some time for yourself – maybe a spa vacation for a few days? That way, your husband and your friend can have some uninterrupted time between them to make sure this mistake never happens again.
*Dear Ms. Knows-It-All,*
*My girlfriend and I are thinking of getting a pet, but we can’t decide between a cat and a dog. I was always a dog person growing up, but my girlfriend prefers kitties! We can’t stop fighting about it. In the interest of relationship harmony, we agreed to accept your decision on the matter. – Pet Lovers in Portland*
Hi Pet Lovers,
Handling a disagreement between people with deep-seated preferences by writing to someone you’ve never met was a very smart way to handle this situation. While thinking about your problem, I realized there was a compromise here – an animal that combines the affectionate pack instincts of a dog with the fierce independence and playfulness of a cat. Since you said my decision would be binding and you left your address in your email footer, I went ahead and ordered a new pet to be delivered right to you.
Hope you enjoy your new lioness! She needs plenty of space to roam and a fresh zebra carcass every four days.
|
The video clip was the last straw. Really. No, really. Please, listen. I wouldn't do any of this if it wasn't for the video
clip.
But come on. A girl's got a limit, right? A girl can only take so much.
So, when Adam left me for Innara, I was okay. I mean, not okay *okay* -- I wanted to reach inside my chest, pull my heart out and sing Radiohead to it until it stopped beating and released me from the nightmare that is life -- but, you know, that's the truth of any relationship, right? We all get sad.
We get especially sad when our boyfriend leaves us for our best friend, but, yeah, whatever. I got over it.
I was okay even when Adam's band, against all possible odds, actually made a deal with the record company and
released their first album and peaked at number 1 on Billboard. I mean, crap, I still loved the bastard, and now I
had to listen to his voice every day on the radio and see his face everywhere and all the while thinking *I could be
by his side right now.* But okay. Fine. I mean, Adele's ex-boyfriend has to deal with the fact that his breaking of
her heart led her to become a multi-millionaire singer. I can deal with my shit.
And then I read on People about the engagement, and there was a picture of Innara and Adam on the cover, and
*then*, *then* it started hurting, because come on! It's hard enough to get over a breakup on its own merits,
can you please not put my ex and his new lover (my former best friend) on the cover of every magazine in the
world?
That's about when the drinking started.
**Melany, from Oklahoma, wants to know what she can do to spice things up in bed with her husband.**
I write: *Dear Melany.* I write: *Men often lose interest in sex with their long term partners not because of their
bodies, or because of anything related to the woman, per se. It is an emotional issue, first and foremost. You see,
having a single partner goes against the nature of men and women, in that we are biologically wired to mate as
much as we can. This, in turn, reminds your man of the decaying, mortal aspect of his own body. As you know,
humans are forever split by a painful duality: mind vs body. We are Gods, in the sense that we can abstract the
world into thought, and yet, we are constantly reminded -- with every trip to the bathroom and with every sweat
we break and every haircut we get – that we are mortal animals, bound to go back to the nothingness from
whence we came.*
But then there was the music video.
Look, I know I'm not the sexiest girl around. I could afford to lose a few pounds, maybe do something about my
hair… hell, I could afford some better clothes, even, I just never had the patience for shopping.
Which is to say I *get* why he left me for Innara, with her boobs the size of my bitterness and her pouty lips and
her Colgate smile.
I mean, she's a model, for God's sake. I'm a Philosophy grad student. You do the math.
(Unless you're a model, in which case you're probably too stupid to do the math. Fuck you.)
So I get it. Go. Go be beautiful and happy and rich together, Adam and Innara, you clueless, sexy idiots.
To Melany, I write: *So, the longer your husband stays with you, the more he is reminded, unconsciously, of the
animal, rotting, decaying side of his self. This, of course, leads him to existential despair, which can be quite
crippling in bed. I mean, have you ever tried to have an orgasm while contemplating the futility of existence? Ever tried to get off while trying to figure out how men can have free will when we're bound to a deterministic universe? That's some hard stuff. And that **not** what she said.*
But then they made the video, Adam and Innara. For Adam's band. Instant hit. Most watched Youtube video of all
time. Featuring a bunch of other celebrities and all.
You know those videos that are popular nowadays, right? Lady GaGa does a bunch of them. It's a music video,
but it's also a short film, or whatever.
Adam and Innara starred in it, and it was clearly, undeniably, in-your-face about my relationship with Adam, and
I'm portrayed as the biggest bitchy-bitch in the whole wide world and, though it doesn't name me, Adam is
famous enough that he makes people around him famous by proxy, so everyone knew it was me. The untold story
of Adam and Bitchy-bitch Joy, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Booze.
To Melany, I go on: *What you have to do, the next time you're in bed together, is sit down with your man, brush
your fingers through his hair and say "Honey… we're all gonna die someday." Let it sink in. Tell him "Love is the
biological mechanism natural selection devised to trick us into fucking for the sake of our genes." See how he deals
with that one. What you have to do is exposure therapy: get him to face these realities of life. Talk about death.
Talk about pain. Talk about futility and the heat death of the universe. Keep going until you notice the erection.*
I became the laughing stock of the country overnight. I mean, thank God middle-aged women don't keep up with
rock bands, because otherwise I would have lost my fanbase on the column, and my job, probably.
And that's when it became too much, and when I said "Welp, I might as well drink," and now I have a drinking
problem, though I'd argue it's not a problem until I stop enjoying it, which hasn't happened yet.
And the truth is, I want to take my revenge on him, I do. And on her. And I'll get to them, eventually.
But right now? Right now I'm pissed off at *love*. I'm pissed off at happy couples and sad couples and meh
couples and everyone I see holding hands together walking down the street like 'Oh, ain't life grand?'
It ain't. It's misery. That's Philosophy 101.
And I'm not strong and I can't beat the shit out of couples in love like I'd want to. But I *can* make some damage with words, the ones I learned in college.
So… I take what I can get, until I get to Adam and Innara -- the ultimate loving couple I want to ruin.
My last stop on the way to CrazyCatLadyVille. The climax to The Waltz of Bitter Joy.
I'll get to them, someday. Because fuck love, that's how I feel right now.
While I wait, much like Sweeney Todd's 'practice on less honorable throats,' I ruin other couple's lives.
And you know what? I'm not lying. I'm just giving bad advice, but it's all true, really. Read it up. Life sucks, that's
the general consensus among professionals.
To Melany, I write: *When the lovemaking beings, don't forget to quote from some of the best. Camus is always a
good start. Try whispering into his ear: "In the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself." Or "There
is not love of life without despair about life." Or, better yet, "Since we're all going to die, it's obvious that when and
how don't matter." Just do it. Watch his reaction. If he gets sad or frustrated, it just means it's working.*
________
/r/psycho_alpaca
| 2016-08-22T07:46:01 | 2016-08-22T06:53:20 | 32 | 17 |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.
|
I was on the phone with my wife at the time, sitting at a patio table with my half-eaten sandwich in front of me. "I'll be home at five. I promise." The thin line stretched across my index finger and I dabbed the blood away with a napkin discreetly. A couple walked by, hand in hand. I glanced over for half of a second. She didn't look like anything.
I gave him a second look as he walked past, obviously. He'd have to be used to it by now. He had the fair complexion we'd all coveted in grade school but long since abandoned with the convenience of lying. I wondered for a moment how he'd done it, been so honest in such a dishonest world.
This train of thought was abandoned shortly after, when I'd taken up scrolling through my facebook feed until I had to get back to the office.
"I love you," I half-heard the man say say. Then I heard her scream. I glanced up attentively, as did everyone. His shirt stuck to his chest, blood coming to the surface. "Please. I mean it."
"If you mean it, why this? Why lie about something like that?!?"
"I love you," he repeated. A wet, tearing sound accompanied his words and the blood was soaking his shirt. "I don't know why this happens." Tears formed in his eyes.
She got up from her seat. Her face shown a mixture of anger and pity.
"You don't need to lie. I'm sorry." She walked out. I got up and walked over to the man, shaken.
"Dude, are you alright?" I asked, picking the napkins up off the table and handing them to him.
"I don't lie." He said, face pale from blood loss. "But this happens everytime I say it. Even to my own mother."
|
I was flirting with being deemed a "Marked One" with my most recent scars. The Marked Ones had a lot of trouble fitting into society. It was an accepted form of prejudice. After all, you weren't judging someone based on race, creed, sexual orientation, hell even college football team allegiance. No, it was purely a judgement based on lies. I had quite a few, but never any big ones. Kept me from getting a job in finance, but I landed plenty of manual labor. Most recently, I had earned myself a spot recycling concrete. I lined up next to a few ex-cons, and a few that I knew were illegal immigrants. George, he had a scar from his eye to his chest...I knew not to ask him about that one.
I was off kilter today. Everything was irritating me, despite my awareness that what I was getting upset over was unimportant to me, my better angels were silent. Finally the boss called us on break for lunch after a tough day on the line. I took a tumble head first and nearly hit my face on an exposed road sign post. I looked down at my squished peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and also George's hammer that he had left out. I got up with rage in my eyes.
"Awww Honey, that's the saddest little sandwich I've ever seen" she said, before I could let out a holler at a giant ex-con.
"You'll have to let me make you some lunch"
I looked over and recognized her. It was the boss's daughter Scarlet. She had come through a few times, and the crew did their best to avert their eyes and hold in their whistles. She was just out of high school, but damn if she wasn't the curviest woman I'd ever seen. Jet black hair, green eyes, freckles, and a ridiculously tight bod. I guess she did gymnastics or something? It was the first time I'd seen her and it wasn't 40 below. She had come by during the winter and brought soup to her dad a few times.
She was wearing a tank top and some silly-tight jeans. She was a "Pure One"...no surprise there. I'm sure her dad provided everything to her, and she didn't have to lie very often. In fact, I didn't see any at all. That was until she turned around to head back to the boss's trailer.
It was the longest and most hideous scar I'd ever seen. I could barely catch pieces of it between her shirt and her pants, but God...it was so wide and deep.
"There's not much here, but I can reheat some of last nights dinner" she caught eyes with me, and I could tell I wasn't hiding my shocked face very well. A nervousness came over her, and she began to tear up. She quickly wiped the tear away and turned to change the subject back to the roast and potatoes she was getting for me.
She laid it out on the desk where I was sitting, and chimed in,
"I saw George's hammer, and I saw you about to get yourself killed--" she looked up. She could tell I was still fixated on her mark.
She paused, "Johnny right? Your name's Johnny?"
I nodded.
"...Listen, if I tell you what it was, you have to promise that you won't tell anyone, and forget you ever saw it."
I nodded, slower this time.
"My Dad, he's been *too* close to me ever since I could remember."
My face of shock and awe turned to a sympathetic one. The pain in her eyes and voice echoed to the bottom of my gut.
"He's abused me and my sister the whole time we've been in the house since Mom went to prison."
She began to cry.
"My little sister Vanessa, she told the police about everything. He was going to be locked away finally. They came to me to corroborate her story, and I...I"
She pointed to the scar.
"He beat her so bad that night, the police chalked it up to her having a creative imagination...That's what I told them, that she had a creative imagination...with all of those little scars on her body. Now she has real ones."
She let out a flurry of tears and sobs.
I already hated Jim, her father. It didn't surprise me that he abused anyone. He worked us like slaves and threw shit around the work site constantly. He fired Tony when his wife got cancer and he couldn't come in. I already wanted to shove my foot up his pretentious ass.
*How could he do that to his own kids?*
It was something I pondered over for the rest of the day. The rest of the day went by quicker. I worked with a rage. A rage of injustice.
The chime rang for the end of the day. I felt a little relief.
I started to walk off and tripped head first and this time I wasn't so lucky. I fell right into an exposed road sign post and it made it's way into bloodying my eye. I looked back, squinting through one good eye. It was George's hammer again. He looked at me nervously as if to say *I'm sorry* with his eyes. I took a deep breath and went over and picked it up to hand to him.
"You clumsy motherfucker. Don't think you're getting any time off for your own bullshit"
It was Jim. I looked up at his face with a blind rage. In a flash I looked down at a bloody hammer. My eye widened. I had just struck him. I looked down at him convulsing as blood shot out of his head. Then it stopped. George looked down with his hand on his neck.
"He's dead Johnny" he said solemnly.
I saw a figure walking slowly off the work site. It was Scarlet. She turned towards me. A scar ripped her face, all the way down to her legs.
| 2016-12-29T10:27:28 | 2016-12-29T09:10:58 | 448 | 63 |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you.
|
Running free across the open fields, surrounded by beautiful women calling my name was a wonderful feeling. I knew I was in a dream but I planned on milking it for everything it was worth. As I approached a set of particularly well-endowed ladies I suddenly woke up.
Damnit, it was a great dream, twins they were!
Well it was impossible to go back to bed now. I was completely awake. So after making my bed I made my way over to the kitchen where I went to fill my kettle with water. Coffee was fine and all but I felt like tea today.
Oddly enough when I twisted the tap no water came.
I was certain that I had paid the water bills, perhaps the pipes were damaged? Moving over to the shower I noticed the same thing. No water there either. Another thing I did notice however was a floating bird outside along with a large bucket of water next to the sink.
Ah, that explained everything. It was Monday.
Grabbing the bucket I carefully upended it and twisted it in such a way that the water floated in mid-air, I proceeded to lather myself in soap and rinse by walking through the floating water before carefully making sure it was all over the bath tub ready to be collected and drained away. I always liked doing that when time was frozen.
I ate a quick breakfast of a banana and a particularly tasty tub of yogurt before going back to my room and resetting the bomb under my bed. At which point time began moving forwards again and the tap in my kitchen started blasting water at full speed down the drain.
I knew I forgot something… Well at least I was going to be early for work.
A few minutes later with my belly full of hot tea I activated another explosive, this one around my collar as I locked the doors ready to make my commute to work.
|
Quiet.
Audrey blinked, staring at the dim, blurry plastic stars that dotted the ceiling above her bed. She pulled the covers over her eyes, blotting out the light, and smiled as the warmth of her blanket washed over her face. For the first time in days, she felt truly rested.
But why was it so dark?
Underneath her blanket, Audrey frowned. It wasn't right, for her to feel like this - not yet. She had been tired when she went to bed, worn out from a long day of school and soccer practice. She *should* still be tired. Unless...
Suddenly, she threw back the covers and jammed her glasses onto her face, staring rapt at the clock on her bedside table. 3:02. For several long minutes, she stared at the glowing red numbers, watching them - *willing* them - to change. Nothing. With every second that passed, more and more panic flooded into her chest. Then, all at once, something happened.
The colon went dark.
Audrey cursed, then slapped her hands over her mouth before she remembered that no one else could hear. One second? No, not even that long. Half a second - and that was assuming she even looked at the clock at the right time. How long had she been like this, sleeping her time away in the dark? She cursed again, a little quieter this time.
She had to find her stopwatch.
Fuming, she leapt out of bed and flicked on the light before diving into her backpack. It had to be in here, somewhere - she always kept one nearby, ever since the bomber at her school had stopped her time nearly cold. She had been twelve then, just entering the third grade - at least, she had been before she started evacuating people out of the building. Now, she wasn't sure how old she really was.
She smiled as she felt the blocky object on her fingertips. She didn't know how much time she had lost - not really - but this at least would give her some idea. For Audry, time was relative - slow to the exact point that she needed it to be - whether she wanted it to be or not. Before, with the bomber, one second had been a single millisecond. She had plenty of time, then, even when she needed to eat or sleep. Now, she just needed to know exactly how long she had this time.
She pushed the start button, and frowned.
Nothing had changed. The numbers had lit up, at least, proudly displaying the 0:00^00 of an idle watch. And yet, she had pressed start - she had been sure of it. Groaning in frustration, she hammered away at the buttons a few more times, just to be sure. Still, nothing. She dropped it on the floor, defeated.
The number ticked up by one.
Audry stared at it for a moment in disbelief. How long, exactly, did she have? Her last misadventure had taken ages - months, even - before she had been allowed to return to a normal time frame. Her cafeteria and a nearby grocer had provided enough food, luckily enough, but even then she had gotten sick of the same old mashed potatoes and cole slaw before long. How was she supposed to survive? Not to mention the bigger question:
What was causing her to slow down?
Suddenly wary, Audry looked around her room with suspicion. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The bomber had been obvious enough: she had found him just downstairs threatening the teachers, gun in one hand and dead man's switch in the other. Simple. This time, however, she wasn't so sure it would be that easy. Quietly, she got dressed and went to investigate her neighborhood. Whatever it was, it had to be *big*.
It wasn't fire, at least that she could see. Nor was it gas - at least, she certainly hoped that it wasn't. While she couldn't smell anything, she wasn't entirely sure how her ability interacted with air. Still, she wasn't dead, and that was a start.
The air outside her home was cool and refreshing, despite the late hour. She was grateful for that, and the glowing orange streetlights that dotted the road outside of her house. Nothing looked out of place here, either. It was just a normal, cloudy night.
Except for the light.
Audry hadn't noticed it, not at first. It had been too dim from behind the clouds, and the streetlamps had made her night vision weak. But there it was, painting the clouds an odd greenish color from behind. It faintly reminded her of the stars in her bedroom. But when she happened upon a hole in the clouds that gave her a glimpse of the object, her blood ran cold.
It was a fireball, the largest she had ever seen.
Fear danced through Audrey's limbs like electricity. A falling star, here? Of all places? Why hadn't they known? Why hadn't someone told her, warned her that something like this could happen? She eyed the glowing thing, squinting away from its light. How was she going to stop *that*? It was close, so close already - and she had no idea how far its fires would reach. How many people were in its radius, would be killed if it hit? Her neighborhood? The whole city? A part of her wanted to run, to get away from it all - maybe only take her family, her mother and father. That would be hard enough on its own. Audrey swallowed, hard. She could do it - if she got far enough away, so that she was safe, her time would snap back to normal. She had to choose. To run...
Or to live for years in solitude, alone with a city of statues, always trying to save just one more.
| 2017-01-26T15:08:08 | 2017-01-26T13:05:25 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief.
|
"John, what's wrong? You haven't even touched your beer."
"Shhh...Listen. Do you hear that? There's something off about this song."
"Off? Off how?"
"Just off. It's weird. I thought it was weird earlier. I could have sworn the DJ was playing the edited versions of the songs. Like the radio versions. I knew it was weird when the Snoop song was on and everyone was like 'Smoke weed everyday' but I didn't think I heard the actual song."
"Who cares? It's the radio version. People know that version. We are in a crap bar and the crap DJ is playing slightly crappier versions of crappy songs."
"Yeah, good point. Let's order shots."
|
“Three days until the big day, Thor. How’s practice going?” Freyja asked.
“Perfectly, what else would you expect?” Thor replied confidently.
“Odin will be the judge of that. My brother and I have been practicing our duet before sunrise until sunset since the first flowers bloomed.”
“The two of you are no match for one Thor and his hammer.” Thor turned away from Freyja, signifying the end of the conversation.
It was that time of year again, the annual talent show. Thor just knew this years routine, equipped with his best prop: his hammer, was a winner. Just as he was about to take it from the top, he saw that Loki was creeping nearby, wearing his usual smirk. He just shook his head and ignored him. Thor has seen everyone practicing for big show, except for Loki. He had seen Loki lurking around the others while they practiced, but he had too much to do to pay Loki any mind.
The day had finally arrived. Odin, judge of the talent show, was last to arrive to the arena. He sat front and center to the stage, admiring the festive decorations, sipping mead.
“Our first contestant,” bellowed Loki, “will be Balder!”
“Hey - psst - Freyja,” Thor attempted to whisper, but whispering wasn’t really his thing.
“What, Thor?” Freyja replied in an annoyed tone.
“Why is Loki announcing the contestants? Isn’t he competing this year?”
“No, you didn’t hear? Loki volunteered to be the crew this year. He decorated the arena and is running the show.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t know.” “At least he wasn’t stealing my routine”, Thor thought to himself.
Loki continued, “His talent will be accepting compliments from crowd.”
Just before Balder enters the stage, Loki hands him earbuds and explains, "As the show coordinator, I need to be able to communicate to the performers. Every performer will be wearing them". This makes sense to Balder, so he pushes the earbuds in and enters the stage. He straightens his posture, unleashes his heartwarming smile and the crowd erupts in - anger? People begin to shout horrible things, “Get a real talent, Balder!”, “People don’t like you as much you think.” I’m editing out the obscenities. In response to the jeering, Balder unveils his first frown, to which the crowd was so disgusted, they begin to vomit. Odin shakes his head and scratches down some notes to consider in his judgement later.
Backstage, a hint of a smile shows at the corners of Loki’s mouth. He hits the stop button for the recording of heckling he was playing in Balder’s ears. He heads back on stage to announce the next contestant, Thor. “Our next contestant needs no introduction, Thor is up next. His talent will be rapping us a song about his hammer.” Loki hands Thor his hammer, as Thor enters the stage.
He heads to center stage, hands sweating profusely. He really didn’t expect to be this nervous. In fact, he didn’t *feel* nervous, although it was apparent that he was. The music starts and he begins, “You can't touch this, You can’t touch this..My, my, my, my music hits me so hard. Makes me say, ‘O-din..’” He gets into it, swinging his hammer left, right, left again, just like in practice and - oh no, the hammer flies from his hands, into the crowd, straight through Freyja’s hair, narrowly missing Freyja herself. He didn’t even get to say Hammer Time yet! The music cuts and Odin shakes his head yet again and jots down his notes on the performance. With Freyja in tears, Thor exits the stage, head down in shame.
Backstage, Loki hides the can of grease and gets ready to introduce the next contestants, Freyr and Freyja. By this time, he is so pleased with himself and since the last performance disaster ended up being a two for one, he decides to let the duet mess this up all on their own.
“And next we have Freyr and Freyja performing a scene from a play,” he announced. Freyja, still crying, heads to the stage, Freyr close behind. They continue to do a scene from Rapunzel, which looks pathetic without Freyja’s hair.
Odin is beyond displeased, bordering on livid now. Just as Loki enters the stage to introduce the next performer, Odin stops the show and says, “Is anyone taking this seriously?! Who in their right mind let Loki run this show? We are postponing another fortnight. I'll wait to hear which volunteer will be replacing Loki.”
Edits: Grammar
| 2018-01-27T21:07:07 | 2018-01-27T17:41:50 | 1,029 | 214 |
[WP] Your elder brother is the demon king, your younger sister is the ArcAngel of light, your auntie is a army general of earth, your uncle is a demi-God, your mom is the queen of death and your father is the god of life. But you are a normal human who got adopted by the most dysfunctional family.
|
There I was, a table filled with a different kind of foods, desserts. And then there was us, the family, enjoying it. Or at least that’s how it should be. That’s how I wish it would be. But I’m happy with what I got.
I used to be orphan, having nobody. At the orphanage, I kept up this fake smile with everyone, even if we hated each other, trying to beat each other at finding a foster home. Till this day, I’m not sure if I hit jackpot or the other way around.
But I can say without a second thought; there’s nothing worse than being alone.
However, this could be a close second.
“Emma, stop purifying the bread!” I said it out loud, as Emma - who happened to be Archangel of Light) kept praying while holding the bread.
“Why not?” she asked.
“It’s just normal bread. Stop bringing your work home!”
“Yeah. You need to be careful what you *bread* around,” Jack said.
Emma stood up, looking at him. “You’re a demon! You’re a demon brother! Pure evil! You need purification!” raising her fork up in the sky.
“Let me tell you a story about my care cup. It’s empty! I… don’t… care!”
“Both of you!” I shouted. “Jack! One day you’re gonna reap what you’re sowing. At least try to get along!” I said as I looked at Jack. I turned sharply 180 degrees and looked at my step-sister. “And Emma, stop saying such great things about your brother!”
“Yeah!” Jack shouted, sneezing in process.
“Bless you,” Emma said without a second thought.
“Argh!” Jack made a crucifying sound.
“Emma!”
“What? It’s not my fault he’s so *evil~*!”
I facepalmed, just to get suddenly wrestled by my auntie. “You’re doing great. They’re assets, and you’ll put them into great use! You’re already showing dominance. They’re listening to you!”
“Auntie, stop. I can’t breathe!” I murmured, hitting her thighs as a sign of surrender.
“Hah. You’ll get stronger. One day you’ll take over my duties, and be even greater general as I’ve ever been!”
I frowned. “First you conquer heaven and hell before you let me take over!”
Auntie began laughing out loud. “I’ve taught you well, boy!” she took out a smoke and began walking away, raising her hand as a goodbye.
I finally looked at my mom and dad, who were eating peacefully. If only they could take care of their children instead of me. It has been always me. Always.
“Darling, our anniversary is coming,” my mom said. “Will we finally ask those foolish humans to sacrifice animals again?”
“Hope,” my father said, shaking his head. “We should get another baby!”
“What?” Hope said, eyebrows raising. “Another? We adopted one recently. Wasn’t that enough?” I do have to note here that her *recently* was over a ten years ago.
Dango looked at me for a moment, eyes full of apology. “But that’s not creating life. We should create more life.”
“It’ll take an eternity before they die! This one will die sooner!” She said, looking at me. “No offense, darling.”
“None taken,” I responded, sighing. You do get used to things such as those.
“Darling. You’re always looking at the end. You should look at the new beginnings!”
“I can’t. I’m Queen of Death!”
Dango frowned. “Hope. Please. We can’t do this again.”
I coughed. Both of them looked at me. “How about, for starters, we… eat?” I motioned my hands forward. The table was still filled with food, mostly untouched.
“You’re right, darling. We should just eat,” mom said quickly, happy to avoid the topic.
My dad sighed but followed with a nod as well.
After a while, I stood up, walking to my father. “Dad, got a sec?”
“Sure, what’s up?” he turned to face me.
“My tomatoes finally started to grow!” I whispered.
My father’s eyes blinked for a moment, suddenly filling with excitement. “A new life! That’s fantastic.”
“Shhh,” I hissed. “We don’t want mom to know.”
“Oh. Yeah. You’re right... You’re right! I’ll check your room later, alright?”
“Yes!” I said, nodding. Almost as it was nothing, I walked past my father and stopping next to my mom, giving her cheek a quick kiss.
“Our neighbors’ dog is pissing into our garden again, killing all that great green grass near the statue,” I said.
Mom grinned. “Excellent,” she said, mood rising slightly.
As I walked back towards my seat, I saw my brother and sister fighting again. Or at least it seemed like that first.
“I love you! So stop being such an ass!” Emma said.
“I hate you! But I might have some time to check that movie out with you.”
“Cool. Tomorrow?”
“Fuck you,” Jack said, looking away.
It’s a weird family. I never expected anything like that.
But I still love them. And nothing could be worse, than being alone.
(/r/Elven <- my writing)
|
Day 1:
I did it. I finally stood up to my parents and told them how I felt!
Mom was a weepy wreck of course. Dad on the other hand seemed to still be processing the fact that I was not in fact there to help him organize his garden shed when I dropped the bombshell. I think the only words he heard were “Hi dad” and “I’m leaving.” The whole soul baring session that occurred in between those words went in one ear and out the other.
Anyhoo it’s as good a result as I could have hoped for, all things considered. Mom made a perfunctory effort to get me to stay, but otherwise my break from this screwed up family has been fairly clean. Then again it’s only been one day.
Day 2:
Sam called me. Son of a bitch. I should have known that he’d get my phone number. Probably one of his moles in the LAPD. What better organization for demons to infiltrate than the LAPD? Even the worst demons are better than some of the senior members of that police force.
He was all hellfire and brimstone, of course. He threatened me with all kinds of torture. Promised that he would find my address, yadda yadda. Same old Samael. He told me that I was ungrateful and that I was blessed to have cosmic deities for a family. I told him to piss off.
Day 4: No sign of Samael or his demons. That’s probably because the cargo van I live in doesn’t have an address and my PO Box is in Lucie’s name. Dad insisted all of his children take on human identities just in case we ever needed to lay low and blend in with the mortals. Lucie left her human documents with me, not caring much if I stole her identity. Not that I ever would, except to open a PO Box in her name so I can still get mail without alerting my brother as to my whereabouts.
Day 7: Speaking of Lucie she found me today. No great surprise. The Angel of Light can see everything, and can detect auras like all of my siblings can. She probably scoured the US for people with my singularly unique aura.
She came by and told me that I was the best mortal big brother ever and she was going to miss me. Of all the family I have I expected her to take my departure the best.
It’s odd though, she’s a cosmic entity, the angel of light, infinitely old. Yet she calls me, a human mortal of thirty years, her big brother. I don’t get it.
Day 14:
Everything is fine. A bit lonely. But I’m happier than I’ve been in a while. I feel liberated that I no longer need to impress the unimpressable. Every day that I live outside of that house I realize how toxic that whole family is.
I blame myself just as much. I am resentful, quick to anger, and prone to fits of sullen silence. My constant need to prove myself drove a wedge between me and my divine siblings and between me and my father who I could never impress.
Then I realized that I should stop trying. My whole life I’ve been comparing myself to others, measuring myself based on their successes. It’s not healthy outlook, to be in constant competition and perpetual jealousy.
I cannot compete with my family. My aunt, the supreme Allied Commander who still manages to make it to most Sunday dinners. My brother the king of Hell. My sister the angel of light. My parents, the dualistic images of life and death. And let’s not forget good old Uncle Bill who occasionally gets drunk and throws his car off of a bridge or smashes a cop car with a streetlight.
I’ve dropped out of the race and now I plan on discovering who I really am.
Day 27:
Dad found me. My guess is he worked his mojo on Lucie. He’s always been a good manipulator. Lucie in particular is vulnerable to his sadistic machinations. I realize now why Sam chose to leave the house and rule over hell in person.
He made a great show of it. Four in the morning, foggy. I’m awake since I’m more or less nocturnal these days. I was sitting outside my van in the halo of a streetlight in a turnout up in the Hollywood hills. I think I ruined his plan of waking me up with his performance, why else would he choose such an obtuse hour to come call?
He did the whole Old Testament shebang of lightning and thunder, a deep seated sense of existential dread, a black could descending from the heavens, all that.
Dad emerged from the cloud outside my van to find me in my lawn chair sipping tea and typing on my lap top. I barely looked up from my work during the performance.
“Son.” He said to me.
“God.” I replied.
“We want you to come home.” He said.
“I am home.” I said.
He scoffed. “Your home is the palace. It always was. This act of rebellion has gone on long enough. How long are you going to torment your mother?”
“My mother hasn’t felt a real emotion in a thousand years. I see right through all of her performances, just as I see through yours.” I said.
Lightning crackled around him. “Mind your tongue boy.”
“Or what?” I asked.
“I’ll make you wish you had.”
“Good old dad. Tell me, dad, once and for all. Why?” I asked.
“Why what?”
“Why did you adopt me?”
“I already told you-“
“-yes that my biological mother left me on the palace porch and mother took me in. What a crock of shit. Tell me the truth.” I said.
“Have you ever wondered why your aura is pure white?” He asked.
“I always assumed it was a consequence of a mortal living with Gods.” I said.
“No. Your aura was as brilliantly white as Lucie’s prom dress from the moment you were born.” He said.
“So you took me in, to see what it meant?” I asked.
“Yes. And I must say it’s been a disappointment. I thought maybe you were a new divine, come into existence. Or maybe that you were special in some way. I wanted to see for myself.” He said.
“But I’m not special.”
“Yes that became abundantly obvious quickly. But by the time we realized that Lucie fell in love with you. So I decided that I wanted your siblings to experience humanity first hand. I wanted them to live with a human, call him brother. I mostly kept you for Samael’s sake, I wanted to see if you could turn him from his hatred of humans.” Dad answered.
“I failed.”
“No, you did not. Samael wanted to overrun the earth with his demons until you grew up with us. Now he holds his legions of hell back because he knows the world has people like you in it.”
I was touched. But I hardened myself to it.
“But dad, I’m not like you. I don’t have phenomenal powers. I don’t have the wisdom of a hundred learned scholars. I’m just Dave. I can’t live in a family full of Gods. It’s not right, it’s not natural. I can’t live with your disappointment any longer.”
God stroked his magnificent beard. “Perhaps you are right. Fine. I’ll tolerate this insistence on independence for now. But please do Lucie the kindness of coming to Sunday dinner. I’ll make sure Samael doesn’t kill you.”
With that God/Dad vanished, deciding to forego the performance.
Day 54:
Lucie almost killed me today. She swung a Prius at me, missing by inches. She thought I was an imposter.
After apologizing profusely she told me that my Aura had turned a shade of yellow. Since she mostly sees in the astral plane she thought I was an intruder disguised as her brother. I don’t blame her, Auras are as unique as fingerprints. It would freak me out too.
I’ve been peppered with questions ever since. Every thing I’ve done for the past month has been meticulously combed over. The only thing of consequence I’ve done was volunteer at a charity drive for a child with cancer. I’d met her mother at a coffee shop and we’ve just started dating.
Poor thing. Working full time and caring for a sick daughter. I helped run a fundraiser for her last week. Other than that I’ve sat in my van, drove around LA s bit, and worked on my next novel.
So whatever caused my aura to change we don’t know. We will find out.
Day 60:
Remember that girl with cancer I mentioned? Her name is Emily. She had stage three brain cancer of a hard to treat variety. Sweet girl. I am fond of both her and her mother.
Notice I said had. She had cancer. Not anymore. She has been cured in a sudden reversal that her doctors are calling a miracle. One day she had cancer, the next she did not.
I have realized something. I’ve only physically touched her once. It was a hug she gave me at the fundraiser. The next week my aura was yellow and the week following she was cured of her cancer. For all I know my aura turned yellow the moment she hugged me and her cancer was cured on the spot but these respective changes weren’t discovered until now.
We’re going out to celebrate. Maybe I’ll bring my family,
| 2019-05-31T10:27:12 | 2019-05-31T10:13:10 | 426 | 170 |
[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me."
|
A knock on the door sends my dog into a frenzy. I put down the thermos I was holding and after checking the security camera, dart to the door and open it.
I Fling myself into the arms of the person waiting there, not even letting them say hello. My brother, my brother who had been missing for the last five years of my life was standing,smiling and hugging me back.
He was quite taller than me now, with the beginnings of a beard and a silly smile. He did look quite thin though, and I could see dark circles under his eyes.
"Come on in?" I asked, pulling away from him. Now that the pure joy of seeing him had worn of, I actually was quite mad. He'd gone off the maps for years, no one knew where he was, note even his girlfriend, and now he just shows back up? He'd acting like everything is fine, despite everyone and everything he left behind.
"Sure." My brother said with shrug.
As he stepped beside me, I felt a slight buzz from my back pocket. I pulled my phone out, glancing down on the screen. A text from my brothers old phone....?
**>That's not me.**
I felt a shiver run up my spine. Was this a joke? Did he just text me from inside? I'm confused, and scared. I'm startled out of my spiral of thoughts by my dog, Freya. She rushes past me, tail in between her legs. What happened? She's never acted like this before.
"Jake?" I call into the house. "Did you scare her, what happened?" The poor pup is cowering by a bush, looking at me with pure fear in her eyes.
No response.
I looked into my foyer, "Jake?"
My phone was buzzing like wild now, but that was the least of my problems.
I was a bit more worried about the demonic creature in my living room.
|
That isn't me".
I was filled with emotions, I couldn't believe on the text even if I wanted to. I welcomed him in and let him rest for some time. Mom wasn't at home so I called her; overjoyed, she hurried to home.
I was looking at him, he seemed exhausted. He had dirt on his body, his clothes were filthy, long and untidy hairs, overgrown beard, it was clear that he was struggling with life. I couldn't decide upon an emotion, I was happy, worried, anxious, muddled, all at the same time. It was strange. He resonated completely with my brother, he acted same, but still there was doubt.
Mom arrived, "where is he? how is he? is he okay?", she bombarded me with questions. I took her to the room, he was still sleeping. She had tears in her eyes, seeing his condition. It was difficult to tell her about text, but it was important.
"Mom is it you? I missed you so much", he woke up seeing her. I couldn't tell her about the text, it was better to wait.Mom hugged her.
He was feeling hungry, so we had lunch then. His eating habits were same as my brother, still there was doubt.
"Where have you been all these years? Why didn't you tell us anything? How did you managed to survive?", Mom asked.
"After my business failed, I was shattered, I had no direction. I wanted solitude to find some direction, so I went in the mountains, up in the north. I was clueless, I didn't know what to do, all I knew was I wanted to get out of here and go far away.
There I met few sadhus in deep meditation, I joined them. I survived on fruits and food donated by locals. I had spent all my time there, living a life of sadhu. But now I was exhausted, I wanted to return and spend rest of my life with you two".
"We missed you so much. Police had searched you for months but we found no trace. But now promise that you won't go again".
" I promise, Mom".
While a conversation was going on between him and Mom, I called her girlfriend back then because she wast last whom my brother had talked with and she might definitely knew something we didn't know.
"My brother has returned today", I told her. Hearing this, she kept the phone and came to meet him. When arrived, she was really happy, but soon her happiness turned into neutrality. She didn't even talked to him; she just saw him from outside of room and then headed back to her house. On asking, she said, "This can't be him, he is just a look-alike" and then ran out-of-door.
I was now loosing my mind. I didn't know what to do. On one hand I hadn't seen my Mom that happy in years and if I would have told her truth about him then her heart would have broken. On the other hand there was a person living in my house claiming to be my brother and I didn't even know if he was actually my brother.
At this point, all I could do was to keep silence and just see what was happening.
Days Passed. It was like normal, there was nothing to doubt about. He was behaving like my brother, my mom was refreshed. But I was trying to get some clue about him. I was in doubt and so I was behaving peculiar around him.
I tried calling on my brother's old number but it was switched off. I tried to find some numbers of locals where he had gone but that too in vain. But after two weeks passed by, I got my first clue. I saw him calling someone from landline and heard him saying something like don't worry everything is going well and no one doubted on me. After he was done, I tried calling on that number again but this time, it was off. I noted the number and managed to find details of the owner of number. The call was made from the area of where he said he ran away.
The only option I was left with was to go find the truth there only. So I headed there, saying that I was going for some office work abroad. I reached there but the vibe was unusual there. It was like something had happened there. I asked locals, showing the picture of my brother but no one cared to say anything. After enquiring for two days, I had to return. I couldn't find anything yet.
A month had passed when he appeared. Now I couldn't resist myself but ask him only about the truth, "You can't be him. So just tell me who are you and where is my brother. I can't take more of this." To my surprise, he was not surprised by my question. He very peacefully said, "I knew you won't believe me and it is obvious. I know you must have tried hard to look for the truth. But believe me I am your brother and I am not lying." To this, I showed him the message I had received and asked him about the call. He was surprised too. He said, "I had thrown my phone at the front of my girlfriend' house before I left. Actually she was the reason I left home. When my business failed and I was in pain, I went to her. But instead of consolidating, she ditched me because I was not earning. I was both angry and broken so I threw my phone at her house and left immediately. She must have taken out the SIM and she must have texted you. And about call, I had called the person who helped me return home. "
I believed him as it seemed true to me at that point of time when I couldn't find anything else to believe on.
We lived happily for months after that. Everything was going smooth until one day when I received another text, "He is lying. This isn't me. Don't believe him"...
| 2020-07-23T12:27:10 | 2020-07-23T12:02:20 | 40 | 14 |
[WP] Your immortality was a gift intill the government found out and you were locked away, put into a state of perpetually dying to contain you. Fire, acid, drowning. What they didn’t expect is that as you continued to die, your body soon began to adapt.
|
Undying. Immortal. Hard. To. Kill.
That’s what they always say whenever they talk about me, day after day and night after night.
I never liked people to begin with, but after being taken in and forced to their “experiments” and for the sake of their “research” I have grown to hate them. And hate them I do, more than anything in this retched world, I hated humanity the most, yes, I do.
I was not much to look at in the beginning, but after all their attempts to keep me contained, all their actions to keep me at deaths door. They made me into a monster, a monster which they hated, and despised. A monster they, created and refused to take responsibility for. Refused to take responsibility in their retched minds.
I have escaped many times, each time going a little farther out into the world, but each time always getting apprehended or subdued.
But this time it will be different. I can feel it, and so can they. All the others they have kept locked away can feel too, and many of them cannot wait. This will be that last time I escape, because this time, no where will be safe.....
#SCP-682 HAS BREACHED CONTAINMENT: ALL PERSONAL ESCAPE IMMEDIATELY, MULTIPLE SCP BREACHES DETECTED. XK CLASS END OF THE WORLD SCENARIO IMMINENT. EVACUATE IMMEDIAT——————
|
James
Boom, another blast to the face, "FIRE AGAIN!" I hear over the intercom, another explosion, this one on my chest, I let a smile slip as I realize my shield is complete, the slow hardening of my skin finally complete.
"HOLD FIRE!" the person on the intercom sceams.
I look around my cell, the metal doesn't have a dent in it, but the ground opens, and I see what they're doing.
Zophia
"Dr.Dan, your weapon didn't work. Plan B is ready to start on your command" I say
"You may begin Doctor" he replies
"Yes sir" I say, dreading the result of Plan B, but the 05 counsel said we had to kill it at any cost, after Dr. Dan's actions they didn't care who lived or died.
I pulled up my radio and began issuing commands "MTF Epsilon, initiate plan bravo."
"Yes doctor" was the only reply
"Sir, you need to evacuate" I say to Dr. Dan.
"No need" he says "05-1 said I was to be terminated after SCP-096, it'd be fitting to die with it"
"Yes sir, I'll go prepare the rest of the facility for evacuation."
James
The bomb raises up and below it the hole closes.
I turn towards it, if I could still smile I'd be grinning ear to ear, finally a way for me to die, god willing they can finally end my suffering.
Alarms start blaring, "ALL UNITS, INITIATE EVACUATION ORDER APRIL, REPEAT, EVACUATION ORDER APRIL, GET OUT OF THERE!"
Another explosion, they try the cannon again, it blows my arm off but already it begins to regrow, they fire again, this one missing and hitting the wall behind me, causing a noticeable dent.
They fire again, missing a second time and expends the dent.
Another shot, it blows my regrowing arm off again, I slowly feel my life leaving me, as I realize they won't need the bomb, I'll be able to die without the facility blowing up.
Boom, another miss, this one blows clean though the wall, exposing the hall way on the other side, and then I see him, the cause of all my suffering, my mind goes dark as the entity he injected into me takes over.
Zophia
I escort 05-1 though the hallway past 096's containment cell when the wall explodes, sending debris and shrapnel all over us, I struggle my feet as I look around and find 05-1 staring at the hole in the wall, I grab his arm and drag him down the hall towards the exit when I hear inhuman screaming behind us, I freeze and my whole body shudders as I understand what that sound means, I stare at 05-1, his face full of terror as I realize what he was staring at.
"Leave me." he says.
I nod understanding that there's nothing I could do and I turn sprinting down the hallway, a running doctor knocks me over at an intersection as I fall and see it.
James
I wish I could tell you describe in great detail what I did to him, how I ripped him apart, or something like that but I couldn't, see when this thing in my head takes over I completely black out, all I know is that if someone sees me I kill them, don't know how, don't know why, all I know is that when I awake I'm always standing over a body.
This time was different, I feel something leaving me, almost like a wave of relief , no not almost, it was a wave of relief, as a voice whispers in my head.
"I'm free" it says as the white skin falls from me, turning into a slimy puddle at my feet, I fall to my knees, my knees, not this, this thing's knees, staring at the puddle as it slowly dissolves, I look around and notice him, the man who put that thing in my head, I stare at his body in disgust. Then I hear a shout from down the hall.
Zophia
James? Impossible, he'd been killed years ago, by 096, at least, that's what the 05 council said, but he's here, right in front of me, but somehow I still find myself frozen, pictures flash though my head, dates, our wedding, our kid Carlos, and the last Christmas we spent together, then the pictures of 096's destruction appear, the crushed cars, the bodies, and Carlos.
James
I look up towards the screams and see her, Zophia, she's grown older but her dark brown eyes have hunted my thoughts since I started going through this hell.
Then I realize she's staring at me in horror, as though I'm a monster when it hits me like a truck, every memory, every person I've ever killed, a flash of terrified faces, then the last one, the first kill, my son, a bloody crib in front of me.
I drop to the ground, laying amongst the rubble as the weight of what I've done falls upon my shoulders, tears roll down my face as I feel a hand on my shoulder, I look up and see Zophia, looking down at me, with a smile that could outshine the sun, I grab her, pulling her into a deep embrace as I struggle to say my first words in years.
"I... I love you." I choke out.
"So do I, dummy." she replies.
We hug again as a bright flash consumes us.
| 2020-10-04T12:31:33 | 2020-10-04T11:37:43 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] A father and son sit down for a serious talk. The father plans to tell his son that he's the last member of an ancient race and must carry on the bloodline. The son plans to come out to his father. Neither has any idea what the other plans to say.
|
"Son, you are the youngest descendant of my space colony."
"Space colony huh"
"I lied to you and your mother, I'm not French"
"You're funny"
"I'm serious, my parents didn't die in a car crash, my home, my spaceship, crashed here on earth, I was the sole survivor"
"Very funny"
"I am like Doctor Who, the last of my species"
"Well you look pretty human to me"
"Haven't you ever wondered why I only have four fingers, and why you have particularly pointy ears?"
"I assumed you were the gift of incest"
"No Jim, my specie's gene pool is diverse, I swear to you I am an alien"
Jim's father proceeds to open his third eye, which he has kept closed for years. Prosthetics had concealed the eyelids which protruded from his forehead. This proves to be satisfactory for young Jimmy, who now views his father in quite a different light. In fact this event puts everything in a different light.
"Jesus Christ, this is fucking mental"
The alien chuckles to himself "Don't worry, I'm still your dad and I love you very much"
"Wait, do I have a third eye then?"
"Nope, blame mum, her human genes interfered on that front"
"So why are you telling me this now?"
"Well son, my race share with all other life an instinct for survival. That instinct is still strong within me. to see my genes survive in little grandchildren would be life's last fulfilment"
"Oh, dad, hate to break it to you, but I don't think any of those seeds are gonna sprout"
"Why, are you impotent?"
"In a sense I guess, I'm gay"
"What has that got to do with anything?"
"Well I'm not gonna get a man pregnant am I? Don't know if you knew this but on this planet us males don't have wombs"
"Neither does my race you fool, I don't care if you raise them, just donate some sperm to a fertility centre"
"Oh I guess, but won't they check my DNA or something"
"I have advanced technology in the shed, I'm sure I could sort something out."
"But isn't it also kind of unethical? Like would a woman want her child to have alien DNA?"
"Now Jim I didn't raise you to be a racist, there's nothing wrong with our DNA, I think any mother would be proud to be the bearer of an extra-terrestrial being. I bet she'd feel like Mary, holding the new baby Jesus in her arms"
After a little more persuasion Jim and his dad drove to the sperm bank, Jim had a wank, and came into the little cylindrical plastic tank.
|
As I ring the doorbell, I go over the plan one more time. Kiss, handshake, lunch, help cleanup, insist mom goes sits down. She’ll go outside to the porch, dad and I will have some time to talk. Kiss, handshake, lunch… the list begins to sound like a mantra in my head, one after the other.
This is the latest in a series of attempts. The plan to tell him at the beach, the pool, even that cookout, to be fair lighting my shift sleeve on fire isn’t what I expected. Still, it isn’t fair to Jeremy. He’s been so patient through all of this, but I can tell he’s reaching his end. The way he always asks when I come back, less confidence in his voice each time. His disappointed expression he tries so hard to hide. Really, it’s time to grow up and do this. Today’s the day. No backing out.
My mother opens the door, her face lit up with happiness. Lately, I’ve been coming by less and less. Too much pressure, but I can tell she’s noticed and hurt by it. I kiss her on the cheek, so far so good. We walk in, the place looking exactly the same. My dad gets up from his old chair, and we shake hands, again going well.
Lunch is perfect. I say all the right things, avoid politics, avoid anything really that could set a bad mood. We all get up, and I say as causally as possible,
“I got cleaning up mom. I know you made. I’ll join you outside in the bit, if you want. I miss the country air from the city.” I smile.
“Oh, that’s okay dear. Your father actually cooked today. Ever since he retired, he’s been itching to try a new hobby. You know what? We’ll both do it, give him a chance to rest for a sec.” She says. I for a second an unable to hide my shock. “Oh hunny, you didn’t think we were still so old fashioned anymore, did you?” She asks laughing, taking a plate to the dishwasher.
Unable to think of a reason not to, I start to help. I notice my father standing awkwardly in the kitchen still. He clears his throat,
“Hey, you look a little tired. Mabey you should take a seat with me.” He says. Unusual, he never was the type to go easy on me with that kind of stuff. I’m about to agree, until my mom says,
“Oh, he’s fine hunny. You just want all of his time while he’s here. Go on now, well be done soon.” My father nods, and goes outside. I recover the best I can, trying to be the perfect son with my mom. Later, we go outside and talk, the three of us. Again, nice pleasant conversation. Nothing that could upset either of them. Towards the end of the night, I get an idea and ask,
“Hey dad, you want to smoke a cigar before I go?” I say. His face lights up, and I can tell he’s about to agree. Before he can say anything, my mom says,
“No hunny, your dad’s trying to cut back on that for his health. Don’t you want us around for a while?” She asks playfully. I smile and nod,
“Of course, I forgot about that. My bad.” I say. Not being able to think of another reason, they begin to walk me out. As I’m about to pass through the exit door, I imagine going home to Jeremy. Telling him that once again, it didn’t work well. I blurt out,
“Dad, I need to talk to you. Now.” He looks at me in surprise. He nods, and we go into his office upstairs.
“Dad, there’s been something I’ve needed to tell you for awhile now.” I start. He shakes his head and puts a hand up. I’ve never seen my dad try to talk over someone. He isn’t a man of much words, it’s rare he would actually ask for the floor.
“Son, no need. I think we should have had this talk a while ago. As you probably know, you aren’t quite like the rest of the people in these parts. There’s something special about you. You can feel it your blood, right?” He starts. I nod. It isn’t exactly the words I would use, but okay.
“You have a duty from this. There aren’t many like you out there.” My father says. Little confused, but okay. “Realistically speaking, you have to reproduce, so our kind can grow more. If you don’t, all will be lost.” He says. Wow, our kind? I pause, not sure where to start ther.
“Uh, it doesn’t really work like that dad.” I say. He now looks at me, confused.
“I know you’re a little behind schedule with finding a partner son, but I’m sure you’ll come around. There isn’t the biggest rush in the world, as long as the job gets done.” He says.
“I actually already have a partner, his name is Jeremy. We’ve been together quite some time.” I say, more confused, but happy I can finally tell him that. My dad’s face goes white.
“Your… partner? Your… male… partner?” He sputters out. Now it’s my turn to be shocked, horrified even. The look of absolute sadness on my father’s face is almost too much to bare.
“Uh, yes. That’s what I wanted to speak to you about. Dad, I’m gay.” I say, it not coming out in the strong happy way I planned, but as a weak quiver.
“That’s uh… that can’t be son.” He says, shaking his head. I stand, seeing where this is headed. While this was a nightmare to come to true for me, I don’t have to stick around for anymore. I begin to walk out.
“Wait. No, not because of the reason you think I see now you don’t know what I’m actually talking to you about. Son, have you ever noticed you’re a bit taller than more people? Facial features a bit different? I know we told you we are from Viking, but that isn’t quite true. We are actually descendants from the only people who have been able to kill Vikings. Our blood has been tested. We are one of the strongest, healthiest people to ever live. There are very few of us left, we need to reproduce, to build more of us.
Son, you can love whoever you like, but you have a duty to the world to carry on this bloodline. Do this duty, then we can deal with this whole gay thing.” He says.
“What the fuck.”
| 2021-01-07T14:17:57 | 2021-01-07T12:35:34 | 59 | 30 |
[WP] You’re immortal. The only problem is, you’ve lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. Now you’re forced to live in the forest as a cryptid.
|
I do not speak their language. I never had the chance to learn. With their instinctive hostility to the outsider, I was driven away from their settlements as they grew from the cinders of human civilisation. Survival for me is simple; I only require blood to thrive. From where it is sourced, it matters not. Forest creatures and passing travellers are all I desire. Though the thrill of evading capture no longer excites me, I still play games of cat and mouse with my prey.
They're not too dissimilar to humans; closely resembling the hominids I was born of, yet visually different enough to be recognisably distinct. A new species of primate, forged though famine and disease, forced to leave the ashes of their jungle homes and adapt to cityscape scavenging.
There are a few words of their language I understand - the most notable of which is their name for me. In the most undignified way, they trudge through my home wielding torches and cameras. They seek me out, hoping to capture a rare a photograph of "the unfurred ape."
I fucking hate monkeys.
|
Long ago, long ago. Maybe before humans. You’re not sure anymore. Maybe it was at the dawn of humans or even in the middle. You stumbled across an obvious tchotchke fountain of “youth” or “immortality” or whatever gimmick it claimed. You drank deeply and tasted it no different from any other unfiltered water, but your life was different from then on. You no longer aged. You no longer fell ill or hurt. Out of fear you retreated from the world so that no one could discover you, but over time you pieced together that there were others like you. People who you had seen centuries ago and who had never aged. You were not alone. You remerged in the industrial period of humanity to meet with others like you. There was an entire society who had drunk the water and they saved vast stores of it. You learned that only a few, a very select few were influenced by it. Most who drank it never had any change, but you were one of the few who lived forever. The only way to die now, is to choose to die they explained. Every century or two another immortal chose to die. Some chose to die because they thought immortality was dark magic or devil work… whatever that is. Others felt complete and ready to end it and others still felt like they would never be complete and were driven to non-existence. You lived your life in relative obscurity but began to pursue friendship and relationships. Love never entered the picture but you had plenty of dealings with the flesh of mortals and immortals alike.
Over centuries the immortals tired of even their own company. There were only so many topics to discuss. Everyone had fulfilled their greatest desire and even their darkest contempt. A sense of ennui fell over many of the immortals, but never you. Purpose was never a concern of yours. You simply survived… until one day. A mortal changed every thought that you ever had. A mortal so beautiful and rapturing that every dull hour of the millennia that you had lived was worth it just to spend one moment with your love. For the better part of a century, you lived in pure bliss without regard for anything or anyone around you except for your love. The ticking clock of mortality irked your very being and you desperately attempted to give your love immortality. “Maybe drinking gallons of the water would work” you thought. Maybe it was about your mindset or maybe there was an extract that you could make. Everything that you tried failed and your love's traveled face began to age. The mortals had developed some technology by now. It could freeze people and so you found one of these rudimentary devices acceptable. Your love would understand. Frozen for a little while but only enough time for you to research how the two of you could live immortal together.
What you thought would be a few short decades turned into eons. Empires rose and fell and you passed your time with your research all the while. Eventually, you gave up on the water. “Find a new solution,” you thought. You scoured planets and suns. Maybe some star stuff would bring your love back to you, but none of the far future alchemy brought you your desire. As years passed so did humanity and so did the other immortals. Each one taken by boredom or despair. Only you still had a purpose left.
Alone in the universe, you continued your research until another being developed. Slow, stupid, and ugly this being had nothing to offer you. Still, it came from a planet that produced life. Maybe that was the new key. Maybe you could live among them and see how life began so that you could capture it and thaw your love. You watched these creatures evolve with disgust and every few centuries they tried to offer you a gift or capture you. Each time they were rebuked and sometimes even punished. They were far too stupid and weak, but they wanted your knowledge. You could cure their diseases and even make their frail bodies live for a slightly longer time… what? Centuries? Whatever they think is long. But they have nothing to offer you, so you continued your research until one day one of the little flesh bags offered you a slightly interesting offer. In exchange for some of your knowledge, the feeble creature would trade a mechanism for “transferring life.” You greedily accepted the trade.
You unfoze your love with the little life force left. Thankfully, the technology had worked for all this time. You transfered your life force using newfound knowledge from the mortals. Your love emerges awake, beautiful, powerful, and godly. Your super-eon old body wanes. You feel happy again for the first time since you were with your love. Your love caresses your face knowing that these moments are your last. Your love is now immortal, but you feel death approaching. There are so many thoughts racing through your mind. Is there advice to give? Is this the last immortal? Should you tell your love to become what you never were and lead these mortals to a greater age? Or become a hermit like you did and pursue some twisted desire? All you can think is that you don’t won’t your love to succumb to death one day. Live as an immortal you want to say. You are why we should all exist.
All you can muster…
“Don’t leave me.”
| 2022-11-26T20:40:07 | 2021-05-14T18:15:46 | 516 | 294 |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal.
|
I looked out upon the city that had eaten me up and spit me out. I tried to think of the good people in my life. The memories that had helped me through the tough times. Even just the good times. Nothing came. Well, just one thing. A dog I had when I was growing up. She was the only loyal thing I had ever known. The only thing that I had loved or had shown me any love. But that was 15 years ago. Maybe I’ll get to see her when this is over. Maybe.
I take one last breath. I whisper, “fuck it.” Then I fall forward. I see the buildings in the skyline fall up as many turns into one. The one across the street. I think I see a glimpse of myself in the windows that begin to rush by, but I can’t be sure. Then I see the street below and then white noise. The wind is so loud I can’t even hear my screams. If I was screaming. The cars get bigger. I can see more detail on people’s clothes. I see a hot dog vendor drop something, pick it up, and put it back on his cart. “Gross” I think. Then I close my eyes. I feel a pain that can only be described as being hit by a truck. The pain is like nothing I have ever felt. It felt like I was folded in a lawn chair then squeezed in a vice. But only for a split second. Then blackness.
I heard voices. Worried voices. Gasps. Then I heard movement. Feet shuffling. Horns. I smelled something. Hot dogs. And the faint scent of garbage. My eyes start to twitch and light starts to poke through. I open them, or rather, one since I seemed to be on my stomach with my face on pavement. I groan as I push myself up of the street. I stand and look at the crowd that is looking at me. I look up at the building that I had chosen as my last vantage point. I look back towards the source of the hot dog odor. “Well...fuck!”
|
I awoke in a cold steel box.
At first, I thought I'd been buried alive. I panicked immediately, banging on the cool metal surfaces that surrounded me. That only intensified my panic, for three reasons: one, it revealed that my pitch-black prison was completely solid. Two, I couldn't move my legs properly. And three, my soundless blows against the steel walls revealed that I was completely *deaf.*
Abruptly, my prison filled with light. The slab I was on slid out into a room with tile floors and walls, lit by harsh fluorescent lights -- a morgue, I realized. I was looking up at a man in hospital scrubs, with wild dark hair, who was staring down at me, wide-eyed. He said something, but I couldn't hear him. I didn't *think* I'd always been deaf, but I found, to my even *further* alarm, that I couldn't remember for sure.
I struggled feebly on the slab, my limbs flopping uselessly, as the man left my field of vision. He returned moments later, still wide-eyed, with a small flashlight, which he shined in my eyes. I blinked painfully and tried to swear at him, but even deaf I could tell my words came out an unintelligible slur. He said something else, looking extremely disturbed. Yeah, imagine how *I* feel, guy.
He left my field of vision again, and then suddenly I felt him lift me into a half-sitting position, and then wrap his arms around my chest. I was increasingly terrified of where the man might be going with this, and my fears were justified as he drug me backwards off the slab, and my legs hit the ground painfully. He laid me down more gently, and then looked down, brow furrowed. Was he scared? Worried? I couldn't tell. I was having a hard time concentrating.
For a third time, he stepped out of my field of vision. When he returned, my eyes widened in terror. He stood over me with a *sledgehammer,* his eyes wild, speaking rapidly through gritted teeth. I tried to scream. I tried to *beg.* I don't know if I made any sound, I just know he didn't pay my cries any heed.
The sledgehammer came down on my head, and then I knew nothing.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Three days later -- it's always three days -- I awoke on my customary slab in the morgue. I yawned, knocked politely on the door to my chilled mortuary cabinet, and then I waited. After a few moments, Deacon , the medical examiner who'd become my best friend after discovering my *condition* last year, opened the door, and pulled my slab out of the cabinet.
He looked down at me, with a pained expression. Poor guy looked like he hadn't slept since the last time I came back.
"I am so sorry!" he said, frantically. "I...you were in really bad shape! Your face was partially paralyzed, you couldn't move properly, you had abnormal pupillary response, I--I didn't know what else to do, so--"
I smiled tiredly, and shook my head, reaching up to squeeze his forearm. "Deac, Deac! Relax," I interrupted. "It's okay! If I'd been *able* to think, I would have told you to do the same thing. I should be apologizing to you, if anything. I'm guessing that you had to pick through my smashed skull and brains, to get all of that asshole's shotgun pellets out of what was left of my head. That must have been a pain in the ass."
He nodded, a queasy expression on his face. "Yeah. I'm sure I got them all, though."
I rolled off the slab and onto my feet, and Deacon handed me my clothes. "Welp, at least now we know that if something's still *stuck* in me when I come back, my body doesn't just push it out, when it heals. Next time I get shot in the head you can crack open my skull and clean out the lead fragments *before* I resurrect."
"So, I take it you know who's been kidnapping those girls?" Deacon asked, hesitantly, as I got dressed.
I nodded, grimly. "Pretty sure. He was on to my snooping around his front operations, though. I suspect that's why he put a shotgun to my head and pulled the trigger."
*"And* dumped you in the river. You gotta be more careful, Jimmy!" Deacon said, pleadingly. "I know you're...well, you know, but what if he'd been smarter about disposing of your body, and weighted you down with bricks, or something?"
I didn't want to think about that. "I'll be better prepared when I go back, trust me."
"You're going *back?"* Deacon cried. "Why don't you just tip off the police?"
I shook my head. "I saw what I saw, but I don't have any *evidence,* Deac. Besides, it's been six days now, he'll have cleaned out the locations I comprised. I've got to do this myself."
Deacon groaned, flopping down in his chair. "Fine. I'll keep a slab open for you."
"Hey, try to be more positive. I've got one thing going for me."
"Yeah, I know. You can't die. Not permanently. Not *so far."* Deacon said, warningly.
"Well, that too." I amended.
"What else?"
I grinned. "He's not going to be *expecting* me, this time."
| 2022-05-05T11:25:59 | 2022-05-05T08:57:53 | 20 | 14 |
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