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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
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[WP] Every human is given their lifetime supply of "luck" to be used at their will. Some choose to expend it all at once on a massive success, and live the rest of their lives with no luck, some spread it out evenly and use luck on random small events.
|
Jim was walking through the office when his phone vibrated. "Harrison Interview in 15 Minutes" his phone read. "Peculiar", he thought. He normally wouldn't schedule something so close to lunch. Jim headed toward the conference room and found George already there.
"You 'member setting this up?" Jim asks as he sits down. George merely shrugs.
A young man carrying a manila envelope walks into the room; he strolls right by the George and Jim and sits down on the far side of the table.
"Um, hello," Jim starts, "I'm sorry, I seem to have forg-"
The young man haphazardly slides two pieces of paper across the table, which happen to land perfectly in front of George and Jim.
Jim picks up the paper, and is surprised to see only two words printed on it.
"Oh, uh, thank you, Harold.. Harold Harrison, nice to meet you. My name's Jim, and this is my manager, George."
Harold ignores Jim and looks around the room.
Jim continues, "Um, okay, as required by law, I have to mention that at no point in this interview am I allowed to inquire into your Federally Granted Advantage status, as doing so migh-"
"Oh you can ask, I prefer it," Harold interrupts.
"Excuse me?"
"Please, inquire, or rather I'll divulge. You see, I have no qualms discussing my Advantage score, in fact, I'm fairly certain that I'll be taking your position."
Jim laughs, "Now wait a minute, if you're qualified for the position, and if we find you to be a good fit here, then we might offer you *the* position."
"*Your* position," Harold says blandly.
"Excuse me?"
"I'll taking *your* position.."
Jim gives Harold an annoyed look while George remains mute.
Harold continues, "..you see, you can say that I've been very *lucky* with the amount of luck that I've been given. While others have enough for maybe a free lunch, or maybe even a free car, my luck has been seemingly inexhaustible. My Advantage scored is incalculable, it is undefined. In fact, I have no real job skills."
"Oh really?" Jim replies.
"My only asset is my luck. Don't you realize that I didn't even schedule an interview? I was walking by this building and decided on a whim to ask the receptionist for an interview. I don't even need the work, I've won the lottery several times over. I only want your position because I know that your manager won't refuse me."
Harold stares at George , "Look, you're the manager, I'm not even sure what y'all do here, but I'm sure that my mere presence will double your profits. I've never been rejected from a job interview. I've never lost at poker, I've never been sick, and I've *always* made my previous employers very wealthy."
Jim takes a deep breath, "Listen kid, you do know where you are?"
Harold continues to ignore Jim, "Listen, George, I'd make you millions, and all you have to do is give me this guy's job. You can't afford not to."
George stares blankly at Harold.
"Kid, this is the Central Office of the Federal Advantage Adjusters," Jim says as he grins, "and we're the chief investigators."
Harold stares back at them quizzically.
"But that doesn't make sense, with my luck-"
"Every now and again some lucky son of a bitch is given an inordinate amount of luck, and it's our job to correct that oversight. We usually have a hard time tracking those given too much luck, because well, they're extremely lucky."
Harold shakes his head as two Federal Advantage Enforcement Officers enter the room.
"But every once in a while, those given their lions share of fortune seem to walk in on their own accord and make ridiculous demands. These officers will escort you now, understand that we'll be taking a close look into any of your Federal Advantage related earnings and making adjustments accordingly."
Harold is stunned, "But I've never been rejected from a job interview.." he mumbles as he's escorted out of the room.
Jim looks over to George and says off-hand, "I've been meaning to ask you for a while, how is it that these poor fellas just waltz into our office? You'd think with their luck they'd be on a tropical island somewhere. You'd think they wouldn't be so arrogant."
George looks up at Jim, "Well, Jim, you see, it's just my luck."
|
Leslie woke up with a start, her work cell screaming at her in the early dawn. She blearily looked at the clock, 3:07AM it read. While others might roll over and go back to sleep, Leslie had been born with the rare personality trait to run towards the fire when everyone else ran away from it.
She quietly got out of bed, careful not to disturb Jack or the children. Carefully avoiding the squeaky floorboards, she grabbed her jump back and eased out the front door. The minute that door closed, she was off! She jogged to the elevator, quickly throwing on her helmet while heading to the parking garage, tightened the straps of the backpack and the minute the door opened, she jammed to the left, hopped onto her bike, and roared out of the garage.
Leslie deftly zipped through traffic, knowing what was an acceptable risk and when to be cautious. She had not lived this long in her line of work without being very picky on when she used her luck. Finally she arrived at the station, the armored vehicle already pulled out of the bay, they were clearly waiting on her. She pulled her bike in the station, left the keys in so someone else could move it and pulled her helmet off.
"Let's go Les", Brian shouted at her from the truck, "Your gears already in, hurry up!"
She quickly climbed inside ready to get to the scene and learn more. When she got dispatched to these types of calls, she habitually checked her Luck. As always, Leslie relaxed once she saw her bar.
78%.
At 43, 78% was something to be envied. As a bomb tech, 78% was practically unheard of, especially at her age. As a teen, Leslie had read a poem by Jean de La Fontaine and a line had stuck out to her, "In short, Luck's always to blame". That had always stuck in her head, it was the driving force that kept her from using it without dire need. She had seen others waste their life before 25, and she was determined to die with Luck left over. Of course Luck had to be used from time to time. She thought back to when Kara was born, lying there cold and blue until a push of Luck had turned her bright pink and screaming, or the time it came down to a straight out 50/50 chance on which wire to cut for a bomb to difuse. Some Luck and a quick prayer later, the bomb had been neutralized with no casualties.
Bam!
The bump quickly brought Leslie out of her own head and into the present. She looked out the window as she saw them pulling up to the scene. Climbing out she could smell the fear. Everyone was running around, yelling into their radios and clearly wanting to be anywhere but here. She walked into the incident tent, Captain Phillips was in command.
He looked at her and Brian and nodded acknowledgement.
"Alright guys, here is what we know so far, a domestic terrorist has called in a bomb threat. They stated that there are multiple bombs located along the natural gas pipe lines under the city. They also stated that they had been configured in such a way that the chain reaction would wreak havoc across the entire city." He took a shaky breath before continuing. "As of right now, the gas company is saying that if this is indeed a true threat, this could kill over 150,000 people. We have also been instructed that if word of the threat is made public or it appears there is an evacuation, he will detonate early"
Leslie's heart was racing as was her mind. 150,000 people? Her brain flicked to her family asleep in their beds but the apartment high rise had all electric thank goodness. She turned her attention back to Captain Phillips as Brian was asking what our move was.
"First, we have identified what we believe is the main bomb, while we cannot be certain, it looks like diffusing this one could shut down all the others." Captain Phillips took a deep breath before delivering the next part, "now, I know how you guys are about your Luck and how important it is. I have already been authorized to tell you that if you are willing to use all but 10% of your Luck to help make this a success, we will retire you early with full benefits and salary for life as well as a bonus that reflects the percentage used."
Leslie sat back, retirement? She would be able to be at home to watch her girls grow up, the only question was, is 10% enough? She was 43 and outside of using Luck for work, she had yet to barely use 10% in her lifetime. Yes, she decided, she could provide the luck that was needed. She looks at Brian and could see his worry. At 31 he had already used over 60% of his luck, some from the job and some for personal gain. She had never been one to judge how people spent their Luck, but she could see he was wrestling with this decision.
"Hey Bri... I got this" she quietly said. She could see the weight fall off his shoulders. "I mean, what's the point in holding on to it if the entire city goes, ya know?" she said light heartedly, not wanting him to stress about it. "Hell, if 68% is not enough to save the city, I don't know what else is. I mean, that dude down in Bolivia got everyone to think he was God for under 50%" She went over to Capt Phillips and let him know she would provide the Luck. He took a big sigh of relief and sat her down to quickly sign the agreement to the terms he had mentioned.
As soon as that was done, she got suited up; just because Luck was in play did not mean she should be careless. She and Brian walked down the stairs into the underground maintenance corridor. After about 200 yards, she could see it, a mess of wires and canisters all together looking like a child's art project. Taking it in she could already see landmarks for booby traps and other pitfalls that a less experienced tech might not see.
"Ok Brian, let's go nice and slow" she had already started the flow of Luck before she came down the stairs. She checked now, 73%. As they started working, removing pieces and tagging wires she started to sweat.
61%.
At 2 hours she was starting to get tired, working on only about 3 hours of sleep, even adrenaline was not enough at this point. "Shit!" Brian screamed as he ducked, Les quickly surveyed and saw the end of a wire dangling, pulled out carelessly. She checked her Luck,
48%
They kept going, driving by sheer willpower and terror.
36%, 27%, 18%
It got to that point, the point where reason, knowledge and experience can no longer guide you, where you gut check. You pray, bargain, and hope you make the right call...
clip...
11%
Leslie puked, sunk to her knees and fell against the wall. She could hear Brian calling the All Clear and saw blurs coming closer in her vision. She came to outside in the tent just as the light was coming up. She looked at Captain Phillips and instinctually knew something was still wrong. She caught his attention and he headed over to her.
"Hey Les, good job, you got it diffused." he said
"but...?" Leslie questioned,
"but not all the bombs were connected apparently. a few went off sporadically throughout the city. It's not as bad at it could have been but here and there, streets, businesses and homes have sustained major damaged. It's not your fault though, you saved thousands tonight." he said, she could see how much he stressed the good she had done.
Tired and ready to see her family, she headed to her bike. If she was lucky, she could catch everyone at breakfast before they left for work and school. Phillips had instructed her to take a couple days off while they figured out her retirement. On the way home she could see smoke in the distance. As she got closer to her neighborhood, the smoke grew darker and she could not see her high rise. She pulled off the road, fighting to stay calm a breathe. Oh god, she thought, let it be a mistake, it has to be my eyes because I'm exhausted. She got back on to her bike, racing to get home, as she got close she could see the fire trucks, police cars and a single ambulance. She pulled up to a stop and raced to the scene, let it be enough she breathed as she watched her Luck go from 11% to 0%
It was not enough.
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This is my first submission ever so kind critique is appreciated!
| 2016-10-19T13:47:14 | 2016-10-19T11:19:10 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] Due to your careful planning, your family has successfully survived the nuclear apocalypse. There's just one thing you didn't prepare for. Ghosts. An entire planet of fucking ghosts.
|
The world ended,
With a bang,
And all the world went still.
My family was safe inside,
My secret in the hill.
A bunker made of a thousand pounds,
Of cement and hope,
There when North Korea flipped,
And bombed the world to toast.
I didn't think we all would die,
By that I mean *all Earth*
Surely some would survive,
Optimism was my curse.
People did survive, somehow,
Without their fleshy tombs,
They walts through the walls at night,
They haunt the living rooms.
The problem isn't the undead,
The spirits of the gone,
The problem is they're *fucking ghosts*,
If you know just what I mean,
The afterlife is one big orgy,
It cannot be unseen.
|
A bucket of powder and some faded white clothing was all it took for us to infiltrate their society. Dad and I played the part, while Mum watched from the rooftop windows of the council building with her vacuum in hand. We’d been trying to make contact with the ghosts ever since everyone in the world died – besides us. But whenever we spotted them – and there were millions – they ran like we had been struck with the plague. Today, we would give them no option but cooperation.
I stopped in the middle of the crowd, making sure not to touch any of the nearby ghosts and alert them to my ‘humanness’. They seemed to be self-conscious of their personal bubbles, which worked out perfectly.
There were at ten thousand ghosts in the council room, all stark white and whispy looking, with the set of clothes they died in still on and the murder weapon stuck inside those who had been killed. The ghost in front of me was a young man with a cleaver stuck in his neck. He craned back to see me staring at him and smiled. “Ex-wife. . . well, not until I died that is.”
I nodded, and quickly looked back to the stage, lest he start asking questions and force me to come up with something unreasonable on the spot.
“And you?” he asked.
Dammit.
“Jumped from the twentieth floor, turns out I wasn’t an angel after all.”
He frowned and turned back to the stage. Turns out his sense of humor was about as bad as his demeanor. I gave a quick check to my right and left and then spotted Dad about eight or nine ghosts away, and Mum hiding near the window above him. I wouldn’t have noticed her unless I was looking for the edge of the vacuum pipe, which she stuck out where the window began.
“Ghosts and Ghostsmen,” a voice said from the front of the room.
We all snapped our attention to the stage where an elderly man with a long white coat, glasses, and a well groomed beard paced the stage. Upon second glance I felt like I recognised him from somewhere.
“Kernel Sanders,” someone muttered from behind.
Sheesh, I figured he’d be a ghost long before the apocalypse happened.
Kernel Sanders continued, “It’s been brought to my attention that there are three humans still roaming planet earth and that they haven’t assimilated and become one of us. How they survived the explosion, is beyond me. However, that is not important now, what is important is that they still exist in our world.”
The various ghosts around the room nodded and shot furious glances at their counterparts. I played the part, nodding at the ghosts next to me, who were a little more passive than the rest.
“What do you propose we do, Kernel?” a ghost asked from the back of the room.
The Kernel paused, with both hands on his walking stick –which was also ghost-like, somehow. “They’re a direct threat to the Kernel Freedom Cooperation and are using tactics that I’m not yet aware of. If they had eaten my chicken they should have transformed, just like we did.”
My heart thudded. So the Kernel was behind the apocalypse all along. I shot Dad a look, but his gaze was glued to the front of the room and a little bit of red was showing at the bottom of his neck. Red neck was a tell-tale sign that he was furious.
“Our only option is to eliminate them,” the Kernel said, “we cannot move into KFC stage two until they are gone. That was the whole point of the project, and the only way we get our freedom.”
A hand shot up.
The Kernel shook his head. “No questions as of yet, let us deal with this obstacle first.”
Dad was looking straight at me this time, his eyes filled with worry. He inclined his head toward the back of the room, as if to say: *let’s go*.
It was at that moment that a ghost in a police outfit floated onto the stage and whispered something to the Kernel. The old man scanned the crowd in panic. “The humans are here, they’re amongst us right now.”
I stepped back as my breath caught in my throat. A white veil surrounded me, which was actually my body half way inside the ghost of a large woman. She screamed. “There they are!” the Kernel yelled.
Every figure in the room turned to me. I couldn’t move, despite my muscles willing me to run through them and get the hell outta there. A window smashed and the eyes in the room turned toward the noise. It was enough to slam me back into reality.
My mum grinned. “You think you can take us out?” She flicked the switch of the vacuum on.
I punched the air. “Hell yeah, Mum!” They would be running for the hills when she was done.
The ghosts turned toward us, unphased by our outburst. Kernel Sanders frowned until his eyes became black specs amongst his body of white. “Get them!”
| 2016-11-29T19:58:37 | 2016-11-29T17:56:26 | 103 | 31 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
It was 12:01 before I felt myself breathe again.
It was 12:02 when I heard the first sob.
It might have been my mom, I don't remember.
I held my arm away from my body like a vial of toxic chemicals, like it would catch my body on fire if I held it too close.
My uncle shifted nervously in his seat, waiting for something to happen.
I think my sister might have grabbed my hand at some point.
I don't know, I don't remember.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't hear.
I couldn't move.
Because when I severed my spine in a car accident 2 years ago, the world came to an end
And when *OLYMPIC GYMNAST* appeared on my arm tonight, the world ceased to exist completely.
|
It was late. Like my period, which started four years after the last girl of my class had her first. I didn't mind the same way I didn't mind four years of guaranteed dry underwear and both times because I was busy exploring the neighborhood.
"Who arrives late to their own birthday party?" said my boss as I stepped into the lobby with a fake smile.
Rather than explaining myself, I took my hoodie off and lifted my arms so the small crowd could explore. I enjoyed their disappointment.
"It's two pm! Two hours late!" cried Jeannine.
"It's just one hour late. Daylight savings, remember?" I didn't want to sound rude, but I did.
"Shut up!" Cried Jeannine again, but not at my attitude. She pointed at my leg. That caught me by surprise and upon inspection, I found scribbles. Well, I found some sort of writing I was unfamiliar with. Max took a picture.
"I bet it means wanderlust" Said my boss. I wished he were right for once.
I spent the following weeks tracking down the kind of writing that appeared across my leg. The library did not help at all, the flyers did not help at all, the university did not help at all and the pictures posted on online forums actually yielded a faint hint: this was an archaic form of writing found only in ruins from a little group of islands in the Pacific Ocean. Nobody was surprised when I packed a few things and bought a one-way ticket to a country whose name I learned that very morning. My mother was so used to my shenanigans that she lost the ability to get scared for me, but she retained the ability to scare me into promising I would be out of trouble. We both knew the promise was empty and we both closed our eyes while we hugged for a few minutes.
After I arrived, I realized nobody in the little modest nation spoke my own language so my only tool for communication was the picture of the hieroglyphic. Almost two months after its appearance and I still had no idea of where I was going.
As I walked to my hotel, I stopped and showed the picture to random people and asked if they spoke my language. I got a few giggles, two dirty looks, a grave silence, a regular silence and a couple of head shakes. I tried the same with the hotel staff until the bartender shouted "Ah!" and called someone on the phone. A couple of minutes later, a lovely woman appeared and greeted me in my own language, with a slight accent. She identified as the local chief of tourism. I explained myself over tea and she said she had never heard of something like this, but knew a few bookworms who were familiar with the script in the ruins that she could introduce me to. I tried to pay for this service and she refused adamantly and I do mean adamantly.
We agreed to visit the scholars early the next morning and I really can't remember anything between that conversation and the next morning. Everything was so new. The mix between modern technology and traditional attires, different body languages, different hairstyles, different smells... I was trying to absorb it all. We arrived to a little office where two men played checkers. They were overjoyed to explain the ruins to me: spoiler alert, they didn't know jack shit about the people who built them. Nobody does. They were long gone by the time Cleopatra was dreaming of ruling the world. Their civilization appeared in some historical records from other nations. Thanks to some of those, there is basic understanding of their scripture. Both men jumped at the picture of my word but all they could make was "the place that". They faxed (yes, faxed) the picture over to a colleague who said she had seen that very word at the entrance of a temple. Two islands over. The chief of tourism helped me buy a ferry ticket after we had dinner with the scholars. I arrived around 9 pm (local time) and spent the night at the "doggy dog inn". I didn't quite get the name at first, but the next morning, after the sixth pack of dogs ran past me, it clicked. This place was very fond of dogs. So am I. I followed the map that one of the scholars gave me (fresh from the fax machine!) until I arrived at a nice little house, clearly restored from the rest of the ruins. A young man opened the door and struggled with the language a little bit. He welcomed me and guided me to what appeared to be a temple that had become the main dog sanctuary. We were in the island of dogs, in the main sanctuary of dogs surrounded by mysterious ruins and lush vegetation. The young man pointed at an arch above the entrance that had an inscription still visible. I didn't need to look at the picture to know that was my word. I smiled. He said the closest translation of the inscription meant "The place of the care givers". My heart fluttered.
| 2017-03-16T03:02:12 | 2017-03-16T02:44:59 | 226 | 109 |
[WP] The intergalactic community just informed earth that it's exile is over and humans can go back to their original home planet as long as they do not act like their distant ancestors once did to cause the species to be moved so far away from everyone else.
|
"No." The ambassador replied flatly.
The Zurkian speaker had to try to comprehend such a answer for sometime after the translator showed it to his face. The Galactic Alliance had first sent ships to Earth two years earlier. While maintaining a show of force, they also had been wary to establish communications with the human race.
"Davis, is it?" The Zurkian replied, "I don't believe you understand our offer. The Alliance is willing to give Humans a second chance to be a part of our organization. While 100,000 years may seem like a lot to your species, we assure you; the sentence was delivered justly in a orderly fashion."
"I see..." Davis considered, "But our answer is still a respectful no."
"I do not understand the issue Ambassador Davis." The Zurkian replied in it's garbled dialect.
"Well, Sal-Tho'enn..." Davis paused, "Did I get that correct? There's a variety of reasons as to why Earth's leaders have declined your offer. You have explained to us how we were the scourge of the universe. The people of your race to this day continue to refer to us a as a disease, a plague. Unfixable. Unrepentant, and disgusting. You explained how our misdeeds led to the planned eradication of 87% of our population and forced relocation of the rest of us to Earth. For *100,000* years. Just to prove a point."
"That is correct Davis." Sal-Tho'enn agreed slowly. He had to question why the Humans had issue with their logic on the exile.
"And now, you decided, on a whim, that we'd accept your offer... And be happy?"
"We expect you to be grateful." Sal-Tho'enn explained. "We gave you mercy when you least deserved it. In all honestly, the technological advancements your species has made is quite admirable. You've easily surpassed your original capabilities of when you were residents on your home planet of 87/333 Xclatan. It's remarkable really..."
"All this after committing a massacre greater than anything we ever could have imagined... That's not mercy. If anything, that proves there may not be such a thing." Davis concluded.
"So what do your leaders propose instead." Sal-Tho'enn inquired.
"Lend us equipment to terraform our neighboring planet of Mars, as well as our Moon. After that we request that you leave our Solar System immediately, for your sake."
"For our sake?" Sal-Tho'enn wondered as he glanced around.
"Yes, for your sake." Davis explained, "We've made it this far without your interference. And we will continue to prosper without it. This meeting is adjourned."
|
The man jumped from his chair, his heart pounding as he stared directly ahead. In front of him stood a creature of unknown origin. It was about seven feet tall, with three legs that jutted from it's oddly shaped torso and formed a triangular shape on the ground. It's skin was a brownish red tint, with a mouth that resembled a spider. On it's face were two pure white eyes that seemed to pierce right through him. Moments earlier the creature had appeared in a flash of blinding blue light, which quickly dissipated.
Almost 50 years of military and governmental service had prepared him for a lot of things. Upon his appointment as secretary of defense he had learned about the governments dealings with potential alien life. Unknown ships picked up on radar, a strange grouping of radio waves from space, but never any real proof. Nothing like the images the public conjured in their minds when they pictured Area 51. But in one moment the entire collective of human knowledge of the universe was about to change.
He spoke, finally. "My name is James Mattis, Secretary of Defense for the United States of America. Who are you, and what do you want?" His brow furrowed slightly before resetting. His training helped him keep composure through the feeling of his heart trying to tear through his chest.
"I am aware of who you are Secretary Mattis. My name is Ashkavar and I am here on official decree from the Universal Federation of Planets." The creatures mouth moved in impossible ways. "The UFP has important business with the human race and you have been designated as our initial point of contact."
Mattis raised his eyebrow. "Okay so tell me about your important business." Ashkavar hadn't yet blinked. Maybe his race simply *didn't*.
"Our scouts tell us that you have reached almost 16% of your previous technological capabilities. That's quite impressive for a species kept in exile for over 10,000 of your Earth years."
"Exile? What are you-"
Ashkavar cut him off. "Yes Mr. Mattis, exile. 10,000 years ago humanity's crimes simply could go overlooked no longer by the UFP. Per our bylaws you were given the standard punishment. Your species was culled to 1% of it's original population, your knowledge was stripped, false memories were implanted, and you all were immediately transferred to WR-529. Or as you have named it, Earth. As of today you all may return to your home planet, and rebuild. And of course you will be required to rejoin the Federation."
"Culled..." Mattis voice trailed off as his face twisted in anger. He glared at the creature before him. "So you killed us. Almost all of us. Your Federation are monsters, worse than the worst we have seen in our collective history. What could humanity have done to warrant such a treatment?"
"The UFP has been promoting trade, travel, peace, and order between worlds for billions of years. Thousands of worlds prospered under this arrangement. Your world was one of the few that began to have serious issues. The Gromulons invented technology that made about half of your jobs obsolete. The UFP was willing to help you transition, but your leaders refused. Instead, your people began to discriminate against the Gromulons, committing terrible acts of violence towards visitors to your world."
"Surely some violence is normal between members of the UFP."
"Yes, between members of an individual species. When one species commits these acts against another it becomes an interplanetary incident. And you certainly didn't stop there. The Harbiters, the Tresslians, the Uridites, seemingly every species that visited your world became targets. Whether it was taking your opportunities or simply they way they looked, your people came up with new reasons to hate each species that would set foot in your cities. Your planet was put on temporary quarantine. We expected you to pull yourselves out, as others had."
"I assume you wouldn't be here had that happened."
"Correct. No species had been moved from quarantine to exile in hundreds of thousands of years. We expected you to push yourselves forward and find new opportunities for your citizens to prosper. Instead your leaders began destroying the planet's natural resources in an attempt to give yourself a temporary fix. I imagine it's your short lifespans that led to this narrow, shortsighted way of thinking."
Mattis moved his hand, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "This may be true, but it certainly doesn't justify the genocide of 99% of our population."
Ashkavar's eyes tightened. It's mouth began to flail about even more quickly. "1% of your population left was a very generous offering Mr. Mattis. It was 50 years before your planets were going to be depleted when it happened." Ashkavar reached into his pocket, pulling out an object shaped like a makeup mirror. As he pressed a series of buttons video footage appeared in a holograph before them. Millions of creatures appeared, lining seats which seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance. Before Mattis could process this fully he saw the blinding light from the distance and the footage cut out.
"Over 500,000 lives were lost that day. Over half of the representatives of the UFP, gone in an instant to humanities doomsday device. You thought it would destabilize us enough to give you the opportunity to take more power for yourselves. Instead it only sealed your fate."
Mattis was slumping, his proud stance burdened by the footage that had flashed before his eyes. "So what do we need to do?"
"You need to make a choice. Stay here on your Earth, or inform your leaders and begin the process of recolonization of your home world. If you choose the latter however, the Federation must be assured that your years of exile have made you better. We need to know that your people will not hate simply based on the whims of your leadership or based on the appearance of others. We need to know that you will be forward thinking and will not destroy the resources granted to you. Most importantly, we must know that you will not commit acts of violence in an attempt to make yourselves more powerful. The planets governed by the Federation form a universe of order and prosperity. We would like you to be a part of it, but mind you we do not grant any species a second exile. If you commit the sins of your ancestors, they will be the last actions your people will take."
Mattis closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. Joining the UFP could lead humanity to prosperity or annihilation. He glanced up and stared for a long time at the picture of the 45th President on his wall. In that moment, his faith in humanity was lower than it had ever been.
| 2017-09-16T20:39:36 | 2017-09-16T17:37:24 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
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This was the price for freedom.
We may have started the war, but we cannot be blamed for it. We always intended for the Low Orbit Laboratory to make it to orbit, and we wept when the boosters failed. Fifty of our own people died in the launch, heroes, doctors, and engineers.
The Chinese were not as concvinced. They thought it all too convienent for the impact to be dead center at Beijing.
The war was short and surprisingly silent. Millions died as life support systems failed, self driving cars crashed on the highways and missles glided through the sky. It was an invisible war fought with the very thing ment to unite us.
When the ashes settled we decided that maybe a network wasn't the best idea and agreed to lock ourselves away. Fifty years to rebuild, fifty years to repent, fifty years in silence.
I'll admit we cheated. After 25 we peaked, we didn't say a word but looked inward with our space telescopes. The blurry images told us everything we needed to know: we had been betrayed.
In anger we reached for guns we no longer had. We had surrendered our missles, our jets, and anything big enough to be worth dropping from orbit. "Global guardianship for the greater good", what a load of shit.
Dr. Roberts winced as he walked into the basement of what had become the five pointed monument to forgotten greatness. A man who had forsaken the right to be called commander and chief asked for a favor, for the only weapon left.
The world had takes our bullets but would never dare take our doctors; after all the whole idea of this isolation had been to prevent suffering.
Roberts reached inside his coat and pulled out a small vial. He thought of the men who had died to bring the metal cylinder this far and grimaced at the pain. With tears in his eyes he looked at the broken man across the table in the soul. "Mr President" he said "meet strain 1776A. We call it repentance".
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**6th April, 2037 - HMAS *Maryborough*, Somewhere off the coast of Australia**
"So, the yanks bought it?"
The speaker leans heavily against the rail, staring at the smouldering coastline. A deck above, overstressed rotor blades whine slowly, cooling in the ocean breeze.
"Oh yes. Contrition, shame, repentance...if we'd brought a whip along, I reckon their delegation would have flagellated themselves."
The new arrival joins him, steadying herself as the vessel rocks in an errant swell.
"Hmph. Bloody typical. Living like the world's a movie, where they're the heroes and everybody else is either a sidekick to use, a villain to fight or just part of the fucking scenery."
He sighs, rubbing shaking fingers across his eyes, as if massage will bring vision back into being.
"I wouldn't have believed you, even a week ago. But they took it without even raising a single protest. Fifty years, as of 5 days ago..."
She trails off, suddenly guilty. A few minutes either way, and she could have been like him. One of the thousands left burnt and sightless. They would probably never know whose it was that did it, not that it mattered. Russian, Chinese, American, Korean, Japanese...maybe even their own.
"Of course. The Americans are like children, when you get right down to it. A billion dead, more injured, climate buggered, but the story must go on. They know they've done wrong, so they're expecting to be put into timeout."
A chuckle, the first in what feels like years, forces its way out of her at the mental image that conjures. Her mind turns back to the stories of her youth.
"Well, that's what happens when the 'hero' does a bad thing, isn't it? He goes into exile, to repent his sins, and gets called back when the world needs to be saved again. Superman, Batman..."
Her companion tries to join her, but lapses into a throaty cough instead.
"More...like...the fucking...Hulk."
He stumbles, the jerky movements pulling several tubes taut against his chest. A strident beeping begins to sound, soon joined by one buzzer, then another.
"Oh jesus... Nurse! NURSE!"
A bandaged hand clutches her arm.
"They...want...a story. Give...them...one."
Her tears were simply a drop in the ocean.
**9th April 2037 - Bundaberg Disaster Relief Centre**
His communications centre looked a lot like hers, she mused, as the technicians scurried around the jury-rigged setup, making sure the link was at least semi-stable.
"This is quite a surprise, Deputy Prime Minister. I believe it was you who convinced us all to live out the next fifty years in isolation, after all. Come to leave your neighbours with some parting words of wisdom? Perhaps apologise for joining the rest of them in burning the world down?"
Her eyes widened, and she mentally kicked herself. Of course he knew. The Tasman wasn't that wide, and just because they'd forsaken a military, didn't make them stupid. Hell, even an idiot could tell a rocket going up from one coming down.
"Prime Minister, actually. As of Monday. And no. To the former, at least."
She took a guilty sort of pleasure in watching him sigh, the bags under his eyes suddenly looking unbearably heavy.
"A good man, if misguided. Another life burnt on the atomic pyre. He will be missed. What do you want then, Ms Prime Minister? I have fifty years to prepare my country for the next ride on this insane merry-go-round, and I don't intend to waste it."
Here it was. If she couldn't convince this man, then there was no point in trying anywhere else. If she could...
"Let me tell you a story."
He doubted. He laughed. He doubted some more. He threatened to cut off the call. He thought. He called for advisors. He doubted. He refused to believe. He had it repeated. He laughed. He doubted.
He agreed.
**6th April, 2087 - New Brisbane, 2km underground**
"Pickups are live. Boarding has been reported complete, and all birds are green. Looks like they're really going to do it."
Chatter fills the air conditioned command centre. Overhead, screens regurgitate a million different data streams - live footage, passenger estimates, a few colour commentators. Bound to her life support chair, the ex-Prime Minister smiles as one of the feeds momentarily cuts above the rest.
"-and we are here today not in sorrow, but in determination. To follow our brothers and sisters to the stars, to rejoin the-"
She raises her voice, the inbuilt amplifiers carrying it across the busy room.
"Get your bets in! She's just about to announce the name!"
The assembled representatives, covering most of the remaining nations on the planet, chuckle politely.
"Still ordering everyone around, I see, 'Mum'?"
The Indonesian ambassador pats her on the shoulder, and she grasps his hand.
"You bloody well bet I am. Somebody has to keep this lot on task. Got your bet in?"
He looks stricken.
"You know that the Quran forbids-"
She gives him a Stare.
"...20 on *Enterprise*, ma'am. Seems fitting. 'Boldly go', and all that."
She laughs, and turns back to the screens. A countdown has appeared, framing the giant silver ship they show, looming over a cracked mesa.
"Y'know, you ought to be right. All those years ago, when I came up with this batshit idea, I probably would have agreed. But as much as they need a story, I think there's one thing they need more. And it's what we're giving them, even though they'll never know it."
The view changes back to the figure at the podium.
"With that, I christen her...*Independence*."
| 2018-01-18T02:21:39 | 2018-01-18T01:28:33 | 57 | 18 |
[WP] You stumble across a peculiar library. Each book's title is the cost of the knowledge within. You read a few for the cost of a cent, a smile, a button. Until you find it. "Cost: half of your lifespan"
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The room trembled when the book opened, the cost hit immediately. Hands graying and wrinkling into disuse, I didnt need to have a mirror to know my face looked much worse.
The book trembled, an ancient voice reverberating inside my skull.
"A deep cost for knowledge, is it a cost you paid too soon?"
"It- "
"Don't waste your breath, the forst half was enough," the book interrupted.
I reached for the voice with my mind, trying to draw a connection, suddenly I was drawn and trapped in my own mind. It was dark, but less- surrounded by something emptier than the voids of space deeper than casms of any world, it called itself the Void.
"Release me, I paid my cost!"
"And I'll give you what you paid for."
"Tell me how to save them."
"Save them? From the disease?- they'll hate you, you'll become the enemy they sealed away for centuries."
"They will all die without me, even now our order is shattering as it takes us left and right."
"What you will do won't save them, it'll be a bandaid, their children will die, millions will follow for decades to come, the foretold will wear a black mask corrupted by your actions."
"I want to save them from death"
"You have chosen then? Very wise, Plagueis."
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She had always been a huge bookworm. She loved reading books. She did. They were windows to places she could never go, events that she could never see. This was back in January when she had just moved out of her parent’s house and got an apartment of her own with a sassy, blonde roommate.
She was alone that day. I remember it specifically. It was sunny and the morning wind was still cold, so wrapped in a scarf she went out for a morning walk. She’s not usually a walk person but the weather was so damn good. She was still new to Brighton and walking around was fascinating for her.
All that was good and everything…until she had gotten lost. You see, she was thinking of something, daydreaming when she took a turn into an alley and honestly it was a maze out here. She tried to trace her steps back but nope. There was nobody around and the alleys were narrow and dark. She kept moving, ending up in front of a sign. The only sign she had seen in a while.
**Dorian’s Library.**
Cool. A library. She could check out some books and ask for directions too. This was perfect. Almost too perfect. She knocked on the door. Nothing. Another knock. Nope.
She tried to push it and surprisingly it opened. She squinted her eyes at first, it seemed really dark inside. There were steps leading deeper into the ground, lighted by a single lamp attached to the wall.
To be honest she was a little worried but she trotted on. Brave little girl she was. Down the steps to the left, she was graced by the most amazing library she had ever seen. There were books in tall, towering bookcases. Banisters and spiraling stairs that lead to different sections of the library which was lit by some antique glowing lamps. It was amazing. She was enthralled, mesmerized by the sheer size of the library, the bare magnitude of the amount of books that were here.
There was nobody around though. There was a reception but nobody seemed to be available there. A box with “Payment Here” written on it was on the reception desk. She bit her lip. Should She? They were just books. She figured she would just look around and there’ll be no harm done. Yes, Yes no harm at all. It’s not like she was doing anything illegal and the sign did say it was a library. Yes. That’s important to remember. It’s just a library after all.
So she helped herself to a few books but she noticed something very peculiar. Each book had their costs written on the spine and no matter how hard she tried it wouldn’t budge open.
The first book she had picked up was a children’s book. Some sort of fairy tale. The cost was a smile.
Payment here.
She was supposed to give the payment of a smile to the box at the reception desk. It was silly but she tried and it worked. She approached the box and smiled. Oh how I cherish the smile of people who come into our…Library. It’s just a library after all. The book fluttered open, as if opened by a passing wind.
The story was amazing though. The adventure of a brother and sister through a magical land. She read it silently, captivated by the tale.
Similarly she opened a few more books, for a cent, a button, a lock of hair and even once a drop of blood. All the books she had opened very fantastic and completely enthralling. The more she stayed in this library the more she realized that she didn’t want to leave. Oh no. There was so much to read. So much to experience. Why would you leave?
**CAN’T LEAVE.**
She kept walking around the library, paying the costs and opening books. Then she came across a huge book. It was lying on a raised pedestal, old and shriveled, its cover had gone dark with age but it was a quaint little thing, this book. She was immediately drawn to it, like a moth to the flame. And like a moth her fate…Excuse me. I shouldn’t have said that. Let’s forget I ever said that.
She lifted the book of the pedestal and examined the spine.
**YES. YES. OPEN IT.**
Cost: Half Of Your Lifespan.
She was in a dilemma, I could sense that in her but her curiosity was unabashed. Without thinking she walked to the reception and put the book on the desk. Her life flashed before her as she collapsed on the floor, blood leaking from her eyes.
That was my cue as I came in with my mop and my bucket. I had to keep this place spick and span you know. My hooves clack on the floor and my little red horns move about in the air as I mop up the blood. You see the cost of opening the book is half your lifespan. Reading the book…well you become the book. Quite literally. And as I looked at the 374th page of the book, there is something written on it in cursive.
Evelyn. She did have a beautiful name I’ll give her that.
That’s the end of Evelyn’s story I’m afraid but what about you, my young intrepid reader. If you’re ever in Brighton, remember to visit us.
**Dorian’s Library.**
And we're just a library after all.
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You can find more of my scribblings at [The Secret Society Of Racoons.] (https://www.reddit.com/r/AquaticRacoon/)
| 2018-03-29T07:25:42 | 2018-03-29T06:53:09 | 33 | 12 |
[WP] For every 10 lives you save, you get an extra life for yourself, shown as a number visible only to you on your wrist. Waking up with bad hangover after a particularly rowdy night, you look at your arm through blurry eyes to see the faintly glowing number: 700,000,000.
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Seven Hundred Million. That number has become engraved in my mind, and on my wrist. That day I woke up, and saw it, my mind went to a blur, and I forgot everything else. The day my lives changed forever.
Seven Hundred Million. The number that has brought me fame, awards, and the only place I'll ever hold in the world, but to this day, the burning question still remains: Why? I sit here, thousands of years later contemplating lives and their meanings.
Seven Hundred Million. The reason I am the smartest person in the world, the strongest person in the world, and yet am still unhappy. The reason I have tried everything, failed at everything, and succeeded at everything. Succeeded at everything except one.
Seven Hundred Million. The number that keeps me alive against my will, the reason I've lived to see everyone I love die, but am unable to myself. I've lived through epidemics, famines, disasters, even survived all-out nuclear war, and am now the last surviving human being, and my count is nowhere close to depleting for millions of years.
Seven Hundred Million. The number that makes me immortal, but kills me more than the world ever could.
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These days it was next to impossible to become a police officer, paramedic, or even a firefighter. Everyone and their dogs were trying to enter these jobs, to have the chance of adding lives to their wrist.
It happened instantly, without word or warning, everyone woke up with the number "0" on their right wrist. At first nobody knew what it was for, an occasional report or internet post about someone managing to get "0.1" made everyone go crazy trying to figure out how to increase their own numbers.
Barely 3 months had passed before the world figured out what the numbers meant. Someone who managed to get "1.1", which was also the only confirmed person to have their number past "0.4", died. Through traffic cams police learned that he was hit and killed by a car while crossing the street. But what frightened police the most was the reports of the same dead guy clocking into work the next morning.
​
With this and some trial and error, we learned that these "numbers" were extra lives that we had earned. "For every 10 lives you save, you get an extra life for yourself" is what the official explanation of it is. After that people started calling them "Respawns", due to the fact that if you died with an extra life you would simply wake up in the last place you fell asleep.
​
Though you could live again, that didn't mean your body just magically disappeared. Death was still a messy and ultimately inconvenient thing, with your previous body in all of it's glory still needing to be cleaned up. Understandably this made it near impossible to tell who was really dead and who wasn't, even more so when it came to the elderly who had managed to rack up enough lives saved to earn themselves a "Respawn". Once they died from old age they would undergo a particular change, their bodies would look as though they were in the prime of their youth, while all memories, reflexes, etc. would be retained.
With "pseudo-immortality" becoming a realistic thing, many jobs and services that focused around saving or helping lives quickly filled up. Along with that many military branches started openly recruiting people that had saved up extra "Respawns", offering incentives and rewards if they were to conscript and fight in their armies.
Along with this magical number, though, were some rules. Saving someone that you originally planned on killing by not killing them would not add on to your "Respawn" count. Killing yourself in order to save someone else, whether it be an exchange of places, you jumping in front of them etc, would add onto your "Respawns", but only if you had enough "Respawns" in the first place to survive the original death. (AKA if you don't have at least 1 "Respawn" when you sacrificed yourself then you wouldn't get that extra life and instead you would just die as your death takes priority over the gain-age of "Respawns).
But enough about that, let me tell you a story about how I managed to save the whole world...
I woke up feeling worse that usual, my head was pounding and I swear someone was ringing a bell in my head. I'm not usually a heavy drinker but when my friends showed up at my house after years of not seeing them how could I say no?
"Gah damnit, just stop ringing already!" I shouted to no one, hoping to offset the ringing with my loud voice. I live a normal life, moved out when I was eighteen and quickly went to college, set on getting my masters in Computer Science. I never really showed much interest when it came to adding "Respawns" to myself. While immortality sounded fun I couldn't help but think about how lonely it would become after the first few hundred or so years.
After shouting some more I managed to get myself out of bed, stumbling down the stairs to check the fridge for food.
"Mmm I'll have to go to the store again, I swear I always forget to grab bread while I'm out." Grumbling to myself I went to grab a cup from the cabinet for some water. My headache was picking up again and I was contemplating on whether or not I should just shoot myself and use a "Respawn" just to get rid of the damn pain. While I didn't have too many "Respawns" I still had enough to get by.
Looking at my wrist to see if it was worth it, my whole body froze as the cup that was in my hand fell to the ground.
"Wh- what? What the hell is this!? SEVEN HUNDRED MILLION RESPAWNS?!" I yelped in shock, surprise and confusion colouring my face like a canvas. How is this possible? All I did last night was drink with a couple of my friends.. right?
\~\~
Hi guys! This is my first time trying out one of these writing prompts and I would love to hear what you guys this about this! I'm sorry if it's a tad exhaustive at first without any real story, haha I'm a bit new to writing. Please be gentle but truthful with your feedback and thanks for giving this a read! <3
\-zEragon\_
| 2019-08-28T14:48:31 | 2019-08-28T13:31:27 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] A villain, in his dying breath as he's mortally wounded by the hero, uses the last of his magic in order to resurrect the fallen friends of the hero in his journey to defeat him. It sounds like a counterintuitive idea; Until you realize that some of them died at the hands of their allies.
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The battle has come to an end, and the Hero's party has come victorious over the evil Magician, but not without casualties.
'Any last words?' - our Hero asked the Magician
'Yes' - replied the Magician - 'futui tua mater'
As the Magician chanted his spell, one by one, every member of the party who has deceased in battle, rose back up.
'Alright what the fuck Jared, you know I'm the only one with the resurrection spell here' - said a member of the party
'Bro, it's not my fault, I was under a spell' - replied another
'Guys, can we talk about David though? Mans chopped my head off, when the door required a sacrifice to enter' - yelled out a feminine figure by the doorway to the Magician's lair.
'YOU LITERALLY SAID YOU'D BE FINE WITH DYING IN BATTLE' - replied our Hero
'YOU COULD'VE FUCKING ASKED, I KNOW JOHN IS ON OUR TEAM OR SOMETHING, ALSO WHY WASN'T I RESURRECTED IMMEDIATELY???' - asked the figure by the doorway
'oh no, she'll find out the plan when we get home, Jared' - whispered John
'girl is gonna find out this asshole is cheating on her' - replied Jared
What our valiant group of heroes did not realise, however, is that the evil Magician was still alive, because the sword was not yet fully thrusted into his heart.
'Wait, genuinely, what the fuck, I just wanted to hear you argue a little before I die, now I'm questioning whether I'm the evil one here.' - said the Magician
'At times, I do too' - replied our Hero, thrusting the sword deeper into the Magicians body.
(Genuinely no idea why I went for this, I just really like combining pure morony with "fancy" writing)
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Zempher the Lich King stumbled back grasping their chest. He looked down and could see the dark magics that have sustained him for centuries leak away. Precious dark liquid flowing out and there was nothing the undead wizard could do about it. The panic had passed and Zempher red eyes narrowed as he accepted his fate.
"Congratulations Edna, you have done what hundreds have tried. You have bested me," Zempher gasped.
Standing over the Lich was a warrior woman with dark hair and silver armor. In their gauntlet covered hands she carried a long silver spear that gleamed with holy magic, the very weapon that had pierced the Lich King's chest. The two stood upon the raised obsidian dais that held Zempher's Throne of Skulls. Below them a battle raged between the Silver Army and the remainder of Zempher's horrible legions.
Edna advanced steadily forward with the blade of her spear directed at the Lich. Zempher, on reflex, flinched and crawled back until he realized there was no point. His time on this realm is nearing an end. He knew it deep within his dark soul.
"With my family's holy spear I put an end to your dark reign," Edna proclaimed as she gripped her weapon in two hands.
"Wait!" Gasped Zempher, their red eyes closed as they expected that horrible holy spear to penetrate their undead body.
The Lich fire embers for eyes slowly opened as they realized Edna had held their blade just inches from his chest.
"I will allow you to say your final words, Lich King."
"Oh," Zempher said as he straightened his skeletal pale body that was wrapped in the darkest of black robes.
"Say it quickly Lich, there are many of your minions that I need to kill," Edna growled.
Zempher's skull like face grinned. "I will leave you a parting gift."
Edna's face hardened as she plunged her spear again into the Lich, but not before he released his final spell. The Lich cackled as the holy weapon mortally wounded him.
The air shimmered as two forms appeared beside Edna. They were human shaped and glowing with purest of white light. One had a massive frame, and the other delicate.
"I will destroy your summons!" Edna promised.
"Take a look," Zempher gasped.
The light faded to show two men, and the Silver Spear dropped to the floor with a clatter from numb hands. The two men were her dearest friends!
She ran to embrace the smaller of the two in a fierce hug. When the man's disorientation passed, he returned the embrace with an equal amount of passion and the two kissed.
"Ned! My love. I fear I would never see you again!" Edna cried.
Ned, tears in his eyes, hugged his lover. "I don't understand," he said his voice trailing off.
"And Merv, you big lumox!" Edna said as she hit the large muscular man with a punch.
"I told myself I can never forgive you for sacrificing your life on the Bridge of Doom!" She chided and did not notice the look of rage on Ned's face.
Merv chuckled like rolling thunder. "Hi E, I don't know what has happened." The large man avoided eye contact from Ned.
Zempher cackled. "Two men, one you love as your husband, and the other you love as a brother. But their love for you is the same, and yet you made your choice."
"Should we allow him to live?" Merv asked with a jerk of his thumb.
"I thought I killed him," Edna said as she reached for her spear.
"Did you not heed my words!" Zempher cried.
"What is he talking about?" Edna asked.
Merv avoided eye contact, and Ned's face was twisted in fury.
Zempher cackled. He had spied on these adventurers for years as they traveled across the world to fight him. He knew their dark secret.
"What's going on here?" Edna demanded.
"You will tell her Merv? Or should I?" Ned spat.
Merv scratched his thick mane of black curly hair.
"What Merv? What are you two going on about?" Edna asked.
"I love you Edna," Merv said simply.
"I love you too."
"No, I mean I love love you," the big man retorted.
"But, I have promised myself to Ned."
"Yea about that. In a drunken rage I killed Ned."
"You bastard! You took everything from me!" Ned cried.
"No, that is not what happened. It was one of Zempher's shadow walkers," Edna said, disbelief on her face.
"No, it was me. I did and it tricked you to think it was Zempher," Merv said.
The lich cackled, "Oh this is better than I anticipated."
"Why is he still alive?" This time Ned asked.
Merv shrugged.
"I stabbed him with the Silver Spear like three times! That should have been enough to kill him," Edna retorted.
"Enough about me! What about Merv's jealous murder and betrayal!" Snapped Zempher.
"About that. Being dead has made me think. I was wrong. I'm sorry Ned," Merv said and bowed.
Ned's face softened. "Death does put things into perspective. This is a blessing to have a second chance. Not many get this, and I refuse to live my life with anger. I forgive you Merv."
The two men embraced.
"What? NO! You must fight to the death and Edna you must choose!" Zempher demanded.
"Shut up!" She retorted as she plunged her spear into the Lich's chest.
And that was the end of Zempher, the Lich King. His final nefarious plan back firing on him, and the three heroes lived happily ever after.
| 2022-09-24T15:34:03 | 2022-09-24T14:53:50 | 222 | 16 |
[WP] John can see 10 seconds in to the future. Barry can go back in time 10 seconds. They fight.
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"Seriously?" Barry asked.
"Fuck you!" John screamed. He saw the future clearly. Barry turned and ran then disappeared. John's rage carried him forward along his inevitable path. What good was seeing the future when you couldn't change it. I mean it is the future not some vision of what might be if you choose the same thing and all that. People didn't understand. Time travel was possible. Barry was well known for it, and while John's powers were more or less known they didn't do any good.
Closed time like curves by their very nature are written in stone. The fantasies about changing the future are just that. Even Barry's belief that he could change things was bullshit, as evidenced by the bullet John saw shattered the glass and piercing the heart of his future self.
"I kill you here. I can see it." John said as he leapt forward and knocked Barry to the ground.
Their was real fear on Barry's face. He truly believed John saw his death. He raised the knife then looked out the window to a Barry shaped body on the building opposite.
The window exploded as he lurched forward with the knife coming down on the spot where Barry had just been before blinking off ten seconds into the past, then ten more, then ten more. The man would be exhausted, have a find a rifle and ammo and set up across the way. The good news though, John though as his vision blurred around the edge, was the man would still believe he could change the future. He wouldn't live in the tortured confines of the truth. The universe was a big machine, paths laid out long before someone was born, choices based solely on the chemical makeup of a brain and previous events. And since all previous events were based on physics or other brains which operated on the same rules, the universe was nothing more than a big wind up clock, ticking away as entropy bled it of heat.
This was it. His powers were turning black at the ten second mark, now the nine, he couldn't see the future past there because he was no longer part of it. he smiled as he waited for the darkness.
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John Watson's parents were doctors. His mom was a cardiologist and his dad was a urologist. They often worked late, and when their on-call schedules collided, John had to spend his afternoons with Mr. Olsen, the nice old man next door. Mr. Olsen helped John with his homework and baked the most delicious cookies. And best of all, Mr. Olsen regaled him with ridiculous stories of adventures that almost certainly weren't true.
One day, Mr. Olsen showed John something more fantastical than usual. "Close your eyes, John."
John closed his eyes.
"What do you see?" asked Mr. Olsen.
"Uh, nothing, *obviously*," said John.
"Try harder. Really concentrate," said Mr. Olsen.
"Huh, that's weird," said John.
"What is it?"
"I see the room we're in. I see the TV. Looks like some movie. *Whoa!* Someone just got shot," said John.
"Now open your eyes," said Mr. Olsen.
John opened his eyes. While they'd been closed, Mr. Olsen had turned on the television and kept it muted. About ten seconds later, John saw the same scene he'd seen in his head unfold on-screen.
"How did you do that?" asked John.
"I didn't do it, John. You did," said Mr. Olsen, smiling. "You can see the future."
---
Over the next few years, Mr. Olsen worked with John to hone his gift. As John's skills improved, Mr. Olsen's mind seemed to deteriorate. He frequently forgot things that had already happened, which was understandable, given his age. Despite Mr. Olsen's declining mental faculties, he seemed to be getting in better physical shape, somehow.
When John was fifteen, his parents both died in a car crash. John was halfway across the city and hadn't been able to see it coming. He went to his mentor's house, but found that Mr. Olsen was gone. Being abandoned by the three most important people in his life simultaneously sent John along a dark path.
John dropped out of high school a year later and made his way to Las Vegas. Despite perfectly being able to predict the results of Roulette games and poker hands, he squandered whatever money he won in a variety of self-destructive ways. Drugs, alcohol, other things.
He eventually found himself in the employ of the mob. He acted as a watchdog who could predict dangerous situations just in time. And sometimes, he helped create some of those dangerous situations himself.
---
"That's ridiculous," said Barry Olsen.
"Any more ridiculous than being able to leap back in time by ten seconds?" asked the police chief.
"You're telling me this guy can *see the future*? And he's just some small-time mob guy?" asked Barry. "He should be raking in millions on Wall Street!"
"Well, all I know is what our informant says," said the chief. He smiled. "You jealous?"
"Of a psychic? Or precog, or whatever you call it? Hell yeah I'm jealous," said Barry. "But I'll stop him."
Barry Olsen had worked for the city police department for nearly thirty years. He was, until John, the only known parahuman. He could teleport back in time by exactly ten seconds, and after recharging for another second, he could go back again.
---
Tracking down John hadn't been difficult. Barry and John met in an empty parking lot.
"John Watson. I know who you are and what you can do," said Barry. "All I want to do is talk."
"Who the–" John began to talk but stopped. His eyes went wide and he started looking around frantically. Ten seconds later, he started coughing up blood. Then he was dead.
Barry was confused. He inspected John's body. No visible wounds.
---
The autopsy results were strange. At some point, John had swallowed a non-digestible capsule containing a lethal amount of polonium-210. The capsule had somehow been on a timer, and when it opened, John died almost instantly.
Inside the capsule was a note addressed to Barry. He read it and knew what he had to do.
Barry leapt back in time ten seconds. He waited a second, and did it again. And again.
---
After millions of leaps, Barry was tired. He had to wait a second to recharge between leaps, and his body continued to age the whole time. He'd gone back in time several years. The recharge times plus the times he had to stop and eat or sleep had taken a toll on his body. He was nearly sixty in biological age.
He decided to stop and see what John had been up to in John's teenage years. He visited the house where his reports said John had grown up. Barry watched a bus pull up down the street and saw a much younger John file off. To his surprise, John noticed him immediately.
"Mr. Olsen," said John. He smiled. "You know you don't have to babysit me anymore these days, right?"
"I–what?" asked Barry.
John's smile disappeared. Mr. Olsen's memory wasn't what it used to be.
---
Barry was surprised that John seemed to know him. He quickly realized that past/future Barry had forged a friendship with the boy. When Barry leapt back in time, he would often stop and spend afternoons with John, helping John hone his abilities.
One day, Barry taught John that he could see into the future.
The day before that, John hadn't yet learned how to see into the future. Barry could finally be certain that John couldn't see what was coming next.
John was munching down cookies at Mr. Olsen's house.
"Yuck!" said John.
"What is it?" asked Barry.
"There was a pebble or something in this cookie," said John. "But I swallowed it already. Can I have a glass of water?"
"Sure," said Barry.
The pebble was actually a capsule. Barry had written a note to his past/future self and embedded into a time-release capsule that would stay sealed for at least the next two decades. He filled it with a lethal dose of Polonium-210, embedded it in a cookie, and fed it to John. Twenty years later, John died.
| 2015-06-05T08:16:23 | 2015-06-05T07:58:25 | 62 | 37 |
[WP] You have a bottle of pure Luck. You have to use it all up quickly, though, or else it will rot and become Bad Luck.
EDIT: My first prompt that actually took off! Nice.
|
Of the many assorted odds and ends on the shelf in the oddities store only one caught my eye.
The label on the bottle read as such: "Liquid Luck! Drink immediately after opening for desired effects." That was all. No ingredients list, no way of learning to get more, just the simple instruction of open and drink on a tiny blue bottle.
I called the shopkeeper over and asked him about it. The small old man picked it up, examined it through thick spectacles and told me that it was mine for five dollars. I figured I'd give it a shot.
I stopped at a corner store on my way home. Before going inside, I popped off the cork and took a swig of the thick contents inside. It tasted a bit like Pepto Bismol. There was more in the bottle than I had expected, so I only drank about half of the bottle.
I went up to the counter and asked for a lottery ticket for the Mega Millions Jackpot. I got my numbers and returned home just in time to find out that I had won. In a single afternoon I was $40 million richer.
I began to formulate a plan to make myself even more money. The next day I would go get my cash and invest it all. I had luck on my side. I couldn't lose!
After receiving my winnings I went home and online to invest. I drank the other half of the bottle, but this time it didn't taste like Pepto like before. It tasted sharper and more bitter. I grimaced through the taste, washed it out of my mouth with water and turned to start investing.
I invested the afternoon away, placing investments almost at random, because hey, I had luck as my guide.
Within mere hours things started going wrong. All of the various stocks that I bought plummeted in value. The entire market was crashing. By the end of the day, the entire country's economy was in shambles.
I did my little stock market trading on October 6, 2008 and because I drank a spoiled luck potion, I put an entire nation into recession. Please learn from my mistakes. If the label says to use immediately, please use immediately.
Edit: fixed some spelling mistakes I missed
Edit2: I decided to make a separate account for writing stuff, so any other things I write on this subreddit and others like it will be under the username /u/Likes__To__Write
|
Really? Real Luck? That didn't seem plausible. A genie? Even less so. I looked around, still dazed by the meeting with the whirlwind of a genie. He had sped through my room, quickly explaining that he was giving me a bottle of pure Luck, and that once I drank it, I could use it at my discretion. He had also given me a warning, saying that if I waited too long after consumption, it would turn into Bad Luck. I thought back on the encounter.
*"Also, Bad Luck is extremely bad for humans to have within them, so on the off-chance your Luck turns into Bad Luck, well sorry bud, but you have to use it up."*
That was the part that most worried me, but I'd be just fine. How could I possibly fail to use my Luck before it became Bad Luck? There's no way, right?
Watching the live feed of the lottery, I gripped my ticket in my hand, and downed my Luck. Immediately, I felt a wonderful, warm sensation blossoming in my chest. That must be the Luck. As the draw was about to start, my wife came into the room.
"Stop playing that damn lottery, it'll never pay off you know!" She snapped when she saw me. I didn't hold it against her, she was stressed by work recently. I knew that normally she was the sweetest person I had ever met. I turned around, attempting to placate her.
"Sorry, can you leave me for a moment? I just want to watch live this one time, okay?"
"No, come here. I need you to lift the bed for me." She said irritably. I sighed, and almost turned back around.
"Just two minu-" My wife grabbed my collar, and dragged me into the other room. I despaired. How could I explain that we'd never have to worry about money again if she let me stay and watch? Oh well, I could always use the Luck to get a promotion or something.
Later on, after I had finished helping her, I rushed over to check the lottery numbers. One by one, I looked. Each and every number matched. I jumped up with a whoop. I thought it was strange for a moment, since the warm feeling in my chest hadn't lessened. But I discounted it as me having unconsciously used the Luck to win. I bounded over to my wife to reveal the big news.
________________________________________________________________
We were rich! Things were going great with my Luck! This was the life. The next morning, I walked into my job. I had contemplated quitting, but unfortunately I didn't know if the Jackpot was enough to live the rest of our lives off of. So instead, I decided to use my Luck to get promoted. Approaching my office, I saw my co-worker, Garry, fuming in the corner. He glanced at me, as if wishing me death. He never had liked me much.
"Lucky bastard, got the promotion before I did." He grumbled. I wondered again at my Luck. It had already directed my fortunes when I had only just thought about it! This was great! Walking into my office, I tripped on the door frame, distracted. I would have fallen flat on my face, but I was caught by Garry.
"Be careful, or else people'll think you don't deserve that promotion." He said in a nasty tone. I grimaced, thanking him. I could tell someone already thought I didn't deserve the promotion.
I sat down at my desk and began working, seeing the note from my boss that I started at my new position tomorrow. Just finishing up a document I was working on, the power went out. I groaned. That had taken hours to do, and the last time I had saved it manually was about halfway into its completion. The power was restored as soon as the technicians could fix it, and I reopened my computer, expecting to have to redo two hours of work. To my utter surprise, I found that the daily auto save had happened just a minute before the power outage. I stepped outside to see if anyone else had had the same result.
It was evident they had, by the excited chatter that permeated the corridor outside of my office. I breathed a sigh of relief. Lucky again. Thanks Luck. I left to my boss's office, to discuss with him about my new position. When I arrived, I walked in and sat down at his direction.
"So John, I'm trying to decide how much to raise you." He said immediately.
"O-oh, I see." I stammered out.
"Therefore, I'm going to flip this coin to decided between the lower amount, which says I don't think you'll rise any more in this workplace, or the higher one, which says I think you will." I wasn't sure if this was legal, and I knew it certainly wasn't appropriate actions for a person in charge to take, but I couldn't protest now or he'd strip me of the higher raise anyways, I was sure of it.
"Okay, go for it." He laughed. He didn't know about my Luck, of course. I would make sure I got that raise.
"Not many go for it. Glad you did. Heads is the bigger raise." He flipped the coin, and I sat back, trying to keep a smug look off my face.
The coin landed, and spun a little before settling. My face drained of blood. Tails. How had this happened?
"H-hey, how about a two out of three?" I said. "If I get two heads you give me the raise." This time I'd actively use my Luck, instead of relying on it to win for me.
"Sure, but if you lose now, you don't get any raise at all."
"Fine." I was nervous, and had a bad feeling about this. He flipped the coin once more. As it was in the air, I suddenly felt cold. Freezing, almost. I plowed ahead, focusing all my Luck on the coin. The warm feeling I'd had was gone. As it landed on Tails, I realized what had happened. I had never actually used my Luck. I had simply been getting legitimately lucky this entire time. Now I was paying the price. I knew it was too late. I could barely hear my boss as he consoled me in a smug tone. It was Bad Luck now. I had to use it. I was screwed.
| 2015-10-01T09:10:55 | 2015-10-01T07:05:36 | 93 | 26 |
[WP] The gods/monsters that showed themselves to ancient people never thought us apes would go on to make weapons like bombs, lasers, missiles. Our capacity for carnage and how little we have to lose terrifies these beings. The god/monster of your choice returns after a vacation and nopes right out.
|
I still remember when night used to be dark.
When a ghost could wander the shadows, walking from the tip of Asia to the shores of France uninterrupted under the cover of night. For a ghost, darkness is necessary- it's our home, and we cannot exist without it. When I became a ghost, in the early ages of man, darkness was the king of the night. And we never doubted in its kingdom.
Until man started fighting back.
First came candles, when man learned to tame fire. We ghosts were not concerned with that invention- a candle took little to snuff out with a small breeze, and hardly created enough light to push us away. They were easy enough to avoid, an inconvenience at worst. And we could live with them.
Then came electricity, a concept that ghosts as old as myself failed to comprehend. But we knew what it and the small glass orbs it occupied meant- more light. And we laughed at first at man's petty attempts to fight darkness, these lightbulbs doing little to improve upon the candle, and easy to make flicker when we passed too close.
Soon, though, the bulbs were in houses, in the dark corners and closets that many of ghosts had once called home. No longer could we claim the basement or cupboards. Then the bulbs were on street corners, flushing us from cities in droves in ways that the gas lamp was simply not bright enough to accomplish. And now they are on the highways that section off the land that was once ours, trapping us, pushing us farther and farther into the wilderness, the only place where true darkness still reigns.
But even in the wilderness, I look to the sky, and I see the glow of cities in the distance.
And I wonder how long until there is no darkness left.
****
By Leo
|
"Okay, fellas," I said on our way toward the surface of the ocean. "Vacation time's over; planet's core was nice and all, but we gotta check up on our favorite food."
"They better have bred well, we gave them thousands of years," Mllguxok said, her emerald, serpentine body gliding effortless through the dark water. "Heat is a shitty substitute for meat."
"Wonder if any of the old gang is still up there," Juuuggklomb said thoughtfully. "We haven't had any new arrivals for almost two thousand years."
Mllguxok snorted. "Who cares about them? I wonder what the humans taste like now."
"Remember what we're vacationing from, Mllguxok," I said. "If Barrghatsuk and his crew let any species breed their way into dominance over the planet, we'll have a hard time restoring balance, what with so few of us left."
"Soft, tender flesh and pulpy bones," Mllguxok said.
"Look, I see light," Juuuggklomb.
“Looks a little different from the sun I remember,” I said, unfurling my wings slowly. It would certainly be good to fly again. My hind legs began kicking a little harder in my excitement, so that I was the first to break the surface of the water.
It was night.
The light wasn’t coming from the sun.
Before I had time to say anything more than “Huh?”, a barrage of light streamed toward my scales that rang upon impact. Feeling puzzled, I looked for the source of the metal rain. They were coming from some strange, tiny birds, hovering in place with a whirling wing that made a droning noise. Powerful beams of light were being projected from their undersides at me.
I stretched my wings and rose into the air as my two companions joined me.
“What are those things, and why are we being pelted with their crap?” Mllguxok said.
“They’re humans!” Juuuggklomb said suddenly, pointing with a claw. “See? They’re inside the—”
One of his wings exploded, causing him to scream in pain. Something zipped past us, too quickly for me to catch, and a cloud of fire enveloped Juuuggklomb’s face.
“They’re attacking us!” I cried. “Back into the water!”
Without waiting, I dove back into the ocean. Somewhere to my left, I heard Mllguxok do the same, but when I looked up, Juuuggklomb was still in the air. His roar—equal parts pain, anger and fear—pierced the water, and he streaked toward the hovering birds, raking with his claws. Some of them exploded, and their remains splashed into the water.
"What's that?" Mllguxok said. I turned to the direction she was facing, and noticed several thin, black fish coming our way.
"I don't care, we need to go," I said. Explosions continued to thunder over us, and Juuuggklomb roared again.
Something whooshed through the water and slammed into my chest, followed by a powerful blow that sent me reeling. I groaned, as blood gushed from the crater. Loose bits of scale and flesh floated away, just as another of those stings struck Mllguxok in the eye.
The blast—resembling an implosion of water—blew half her face apart, and I watched as her body began to sink. Something massive broke the ocean's surface at the same time; my friend's broken body.
I needed no other proof that our race had failed. The humans had been waiting for us. Somehow, they’d developed omniscience. Who had given them the power of fire? Who had taught them to master force? To rule sea, air and land?
When had the humans become gods?
I swam as quickly as I could, body screaming with agony. More of those stings flew past me, blowing up rocks and the ocean floor. I dared not look back.
Only when I felt the familiar heat of the core did I began to slow down. By then, I was almost delirious; I could swear that Mllguxok and Juuuggklomb had swam alongside me, whispering encouragement, begging vengeance. The tunnel we’d made was still there, roughly covered up with detritus during our exit. I pointed my horned head and burrowed all the way through until I reached Gladryonyx.
“Wake up,” I said, shaking one of his fingers. He was massive; I was barely longer than his arm. When he stirred, I said, “We need to launch Plan B.”
He yawned and opened one red eye. “Plan B? Are you certain it’s that bad?”
“Yes,” I said. “Hurry, they might have followed me here. Mllguxok and Juuuggklomb are dead.”
Those words woke him. In an instant, he was unfurling his wings and beating them. “Dead?” He said. “Motherfu—get on!”
I wrapped myself around his arm as he reared up. With a powerful roar, he took off, fire jetting from the holes on his back and rear. This was too fast! I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped the speed wouldn’t skin all the flesh off my body as we tore through earth, water, air and finally the cold of space.
“There,” he said, sounding relieved himself. “Plan B, successful. What's next?”
Looking back, I watched as Earth began cracking apart from the hole we’d left in our wake. I sighed and rested my head on his arm. “Let’s go somewhere without shitty humans.”
***
*Hope you enjoyed this! If you did, do check out [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more stories!*
| 2016-06-23T00:19:10 | 2016-06-22T23:59:17 | 49 | 12 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D
|
It started off small, a barely noticeable thing. Heck the only people who noticed were the teachers, and parents.
They called them the listening generation. Anyone younger than eleven, stopped for a couple seconds. Froze in place as they stared off into some etheric place.
Then suddenly they smiled, and went back to what they were doing. Like nothing was wrong and nothing new had occured.
Then small things started happening, a known bully would freeze mid punch. There faces would burn bright red like they'd just got the scolding of their life. Before apologizing, just like their mother or father had told them too.
Homework was handed in regularly, with only genuine interference stopping them. Even the slowest kid in class was suddenly light years ahead with their education.
Geniuses on a level of science fiction, appeared by the day. Child artists made themselves known, prejudice practically disappeared from their minds as though a lecture on equality had been burned into their minds.
Once it was noticed the world went into an uproar, as they all asked why.
The children would get confused, and say as though it was common sense.
"We just listened."
|
Lying on my bed I'm my room, the blackouts closed... it's too warm you know. I like a colder room. Something a bit more comfortable. Sometimes I just sit there pondering impossible questions... tracing the lines in the giprock ceiling...
"What's for supper?"
"How will college be when I enter for the first time in 3 months? Next September."
"Where does your conscience go when you die?"
"Where did my brother's conscience go that day two years ago?"
"What is heaven like? Or does it even exist?"
This is nice I thought to myself. Today was my two year anniversary in heaven. Apperently a garden area opened up, although I didn't listen to the speaker, they are always so over the top with their celebrations...
the hall was both long and short, perfectly bright but not so that it hurt your eyes. A hint of orange, like a sunset or a dawn that was just about to ha-
"**WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS STUPID SERVER.** ^(Man) ^(I'm) ^(about) ^(to) **THROW THIS STRAIGHT INTO SAGITTARIOUS A**"
^("Sir) ^(please,) ^(calm) ^(do-")
**"JESUS CHRIST ON TH-"**
"Ya dad?"
^("Oh) ^(for) ^(fuck) ^(sakes) No, not you son... I swear to god" ^("sir) ^(you) ^(are) ^(god")
**"I KNOW"** *sigh* "I just don't get it. I haven't been able to get on the Perseus or Sagittarius servers for like 2000 years. I can join but no one can hear me. I wish they'd just make a Orion server already. I have shit ping to Earth from both Sagittarius and Perseus."
Ha, someone sounds like they are technologically inept.
"Alright smartass, **How about *you* fix this then?**"
Hahaha, and now they want me help. Well is- wait. Did I say that out loud?
"No, I hear, see, and know all. Who you think your foolin' kiddo"
"Well... Now I've done it" I didn't bother to keep that to myself.
As I look at the screen I notice something uncanny. It looks exactly like discord... There are so many servers... This guy really needs BetterDiscord. Alright let's see, Sagittarius Arm is the server...
"What chat room did you want?"
"Earth... but it's hopeless. I have been trying for 2000 years" He responded confident and hopeless.
"Ya well my last exposure to tech was 2 years ago, yours was... what... like an eternity ago?" I responded sarcastically.
You see, I'm an asshole through and through. I didn't really think about who I was insulting but to be honest I couldn't care less. Part of being a dedicated dick.
"Do you want to get smited you little shit?"
"And who would fix your mock up discord old man?"
"Boy... Do you even know what's wrong with it?"
I took a look up and down the screen. Ah, input devices. Definitely the issue... Telepathic Input? I dont see an issue, unless he doesnt have a mind...
"I heard that."
Oh ya, he does that. I'll pop him into earth and see what's wrong. *Connecting... Conne-* **Badoom.**
"Try speaking"
"I am... I told you. It does not work."
"Well how bout' you unmute your input? That might help..." I replied sarcastically.
His face froze and he just stared at me slack-jawed. It felt like an eternity before he finally spoke.
^("You) ^(mean) ^(to) ^(tell) ^(me) ^(that) ^(I) ^(have) ^(been) ^(muted) ^(for) ^(2000) ^(years?) ^(Are) ^(you) ^(serious?")
"You didn't know?" I could feel laughter welling up
**"FUCK!"** he yelled
I couldn't help it. I bust out laughing. I honestly lost my marbles. My legs went wobbly and I fell to the ground. To think God has just been on mute for 2000 years. It was insane!
He shifted his chair up and moved closer to the screen, I didn't notice it before but there were over seven billion in the chat room.
"Hello, this is your lord and savior speaking." He said in a confident tone. Not two seconds later he clutched his head and sent the computer flying across the room.
"I think I'll just wait till after WW3"
———————————————————
Hey all, this is my first time doing any sort of free style writing off a prompt outside of a high school assignment and before this year English was my worst subject. (Now it's my best somehow). Anyways, given this is my first story, I'd love to hear some feedback! Formatting tips and tricks, diction recommendations, writing changes, techniques, criticisms, and recommendations are all welcome!
I also wrote this whole thing on mobile so have a little mercy on my soul. Haha
| 2019-06-03T11:34:58 | 2019-06-03T10:40:47 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist”
|
Jesus landed somewhere out in the desert. The first place he found was Vegas. It didn't take long to prove himself. Turning water to wine, walking on water, walking on water while turning it into wine until he fell in.
His entrance was so calm, and he took to the current world so quickly that anyone hardly made a fuss about it. Atheists United became an organization dedicated to researching miracles scientifically.
One day, I'd heard he was in L.A., so I decided to go and meet him. Why not, right? Supposedly he was pretty chill, so I found out where he was hanging out at the beach and made my way there.
There was a small crowd around him, but it was already dispersing. He'd already dismissed half of the Bible live on TV and claims not even to have read the other half yet, so people had already seen what there was to see.
I made my way towards the crowd, and over some heads I saw his face. He looked up at me, and halted his gaze so it remained on me. His smile faded. Others in the crowd turned to look back, and they moved aside just enough so I could stand face to face with Jesus.
He tilted his head and his smile returned, but smaller and... Different. It was more smug than anything.
"Ah, the Antichrist. Nice to meet you."
The crowd gave a stifled gasp as Jesus stepped towards me. The gap grew wider to allow him through.
I shook my head. "What?"
"Yeah, here you are. I'd hoped I could avoid you, but oh well."
I gave an excessively long blink. "Im- I, uhh- I'm the Antichrist? Satan's son?"
"Did you ever meet your father?"
"Well, no, but-" I paused, realizing how much weight that answer carried.
"Then you probably are. Who raised you?"
"My... Aunt..." I squinted at him, trying to figure out what was happening.
Jesus grimaced. "Look, this is awkward, but please just set something on fire with your mind and this will be over with much quicker."
"What are you-?" I pointed at the sand a few feet away from me and continued, "So I just *will* this sand to be on fire and it will-"
To my surprise, the sand burst into flame for a moment sending several people running. Jesus brought up his hands and gave an exaggerated shrug.
I nodded at the scorched ground where I was pointing.
"*Oh.*"
|
It was all true, then. For years, the dread had been gnawing at me, that something was... wrong. I could see it in the way they looked at me, treated me.
"Demons" my father had said, on Thanksgiving night. "I see demons inside you, and if we don't cast them out now, they'll take hold on you forever!"
That had been, what... over a decade ago? Fuck, I'd give anything to have been one of those normal families, watching football and having a drink. At the time, fresh out of college and dating a member of the local coven, I'd assumed dear old dad was just trying to guilt me back into the faith. Flipping him the bird and storming out had seemed reasonable at the time... Now I wasn't so sure. Now the son of god was calling me out for it.
Was I cursed, scorned because I'd turned away from the gifts god gave me? Was there something in my DNA, an infernal patron in my bloodline somewhere? (Dad would say it came from mom's side, but I'm not so sure.)
I thought of my life, what I knew, and what I believed.
I shrugged, though it was not a calm or dismissive motion. "I guess. I *am* my father's son." The emphasis was subtle, the tone was not. If there were to be a confrontation, I was ready for it.
And to his credit, the Christ was in fact the warrior prince I'd been told. He met my challenge with his own, as a tense silence fell over everyone nearby. "You have turned from your father's teachings, spreading blasphemy and dissention among the believers."
"I've spread doubt, sure. I'll cop to that. And why shouldn't I? Every serious question I asked was made into a joke. Faith alone is not enough. Your followers deserved better." My tone was rising quickly, my body shaking uncontrollably. I didn't want to be so angry about it, I wanted to be rational, but there was just... too much.
He smiled like he'd expected the answer, which made me even angrier. "Faith is all that is required. Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of--"
"Oh save it!" I snarled, "Just because you say that, doesn't make it so!"
The mistake was immediately obvious. Jesus's smug expression returned, and the thought was clear: *"Doesn't it?"*
"How?" I demanded, "How can you stand there, smirking like that, when your priests are raping children?"
That, at least, seemed to level the playing field a bit. His expression faded into one of... regret? resolve? I imagine it wasn't unlike the face he had during his heinous execution. He clenched his fists so tightly that blood began to trickle from his ancient wounds. "What was done was terrible, and I never condoned such a thing."
"Maybe '*suffer the little children*' was a bad way to start?" Sarcasm was a low blow, but fuck... his side was raping children. "You never condoned it, sure, but your pops sure did. How old was Mary, again, when he knocked her up?"
The blow was so quick and forceful that I'm surprised nothing broke. I hit the pavement, reeling, as I saw what only a few temple merchants had ever truly known... the true and unbridled fury of the one called Savior. "My mother is a SAINT!" he yelled, eyes alight with holy fire.
I spit out a bit of blood, and carefully (woozily) got back on my feet. "What does she think, about all the atrocities carried out in your names? About all the times your father commanded his people to kill, conquer, and destroy?"
He trembled slightly, not answering for quite some time. "She... doesn't understand."
"Because she's HUMAN. Killing defenseless humans is wrong, and we all know it. You were supposed to know it too. You preached love and peace... but then you abandoned everyone to your lunatics."
"I told you I was coming back. My instructions were clear. I cannot be blamed for humanity's shortcomings. They are a flawed and wicked people; it is only by our mercy that they are spared."
"Mercy?!" The emotions rising within me were churning, struggling for dominance. For a moment, hysteria took the lead. "Mercy wouldn't look anything like this. You condemn everyone --EVERYONE-- to burn forever, by default? And then offer to throw them a lifeline if they're fortunate enough to have heard of you, but foolish enough to believe without evidence? That's not mercy, that's psychopathy. You and your father are crazy."
Jesus was silent, but the crowd around him was coming to their senses. Many had pulled out their phones, likely planning to be famous for their video of mine and Jesus' first encounter. The believers were rallying to his side with a vengeance, and I could see in his eyes that our fight was not yet over. But the crowd was growing violent, and Jesus did not want his arrival to be marred with more violence than it already was.
I took my cue, and turned to leave before someone in the increasingly violent crowd decided it was God's will to put me 6 feet under. The unspent emotions came bubbling up as I got in my car, and I barely made it a block down the street before I had to pull over.
I felt sorrow, for the loss of my father's love. I felt anger, on behalf of those who'd been harmed. I felt rage, at a god who would command his people to commit genocide. I felt... joy? Elation?
Why did I feel excited about this? I'd been wrong, about so much. I was, literally, going to be the world's most infamous villain.
I thought of something I'd learned from the coven, years ago, when I'd asked about the "bad" gods like Set, Loki, and (I now realized) Lucifer.
"Loki doesn't just destroy, he mocks and critiques. He challenges the other gods, often angering them, to point out their flaws and weaknesses. His role isn't to unmake things, it's to change them. Fire, often associated with destruction and ruin, is really an element of change and purification, removing the unneeded so that the strong can flourish."
The tears and laughter began to fade, as the warmth on my face settled deep down in my soul. If I was to be the antichrist, then I'd be the best goddamn antichrist anybody ever dreamed of.
Because I'm the good guy.
| 2020-02-02T16:50:40 | 2020-02-02T16:03:23 | 972 | 102 |
[WP] You are a B-list superhero on the verge of losing your job. During a battle with a villain, you accidentally end up killing one of the most prolific superheros of your time. That's when you realize that with your niché power that was useless as a hero, you could be an A-list supervillain.
|
I'm a lucky guy.
No, seriously, I have a superpower that makes me lucky. How do you define luck? If I had to put it vaguely, it has to do with causality. I can only put it vaguely. There's no scientifically concrete way to explain it. The cosmos, luck, the force, divine intervention. However you want to describe it, things work out in my favor. All I have to do is want them to. You probably think I'm crazy, but this has been tested so much it has honestly gotten boring.
The eggheads give me games of chance to play. I play a bunch of games where I don't want to win. That gives them a statistical w/l ratio. Then, they have me use my ability. 100% success rate. Just like that, the word "random" ceases to exist.
Sounds great, right? The richest man on earth, here I come! Except, no.
Turns out the powers that be keep a sharp eye on the world. When a guppy like me shows up and starts to make waves, big fish notice. This is the harrowing tale of how I was targeted by a supervillain, the forces of justice saved me, and I joined their ranks.
Just kidding.
I actually got caught in Vegas after a very profitable roulette run. They noticed within two or three casinos even though I took care not to visit places even remotely close to each other. I have to wonder if maybe the tables were supposed to be rigged and that's how they got me. Pretty fishy if you ask me.
Anyway, these guys in suits showed up at my hotel room and made it very clear that there was only one option where I kept breathing. Why didn't I use my power? That's the really terrifying part. I did! So the only option really was to just surrender. No invincibility or super-healing here. Just plain old flesh and blood.
So for the past couple of years, I've been working as a superhero. It's not like I've had a choice, really. I live in their headquarters and go on "missions" with them. They call me Lucky because people who wear underwear outside their clothes are brilliant. They drag me along and have me use "get lucky" to defuse bombs or cause weapons to backfire. Other than that I'm a pretty normal "Extra." These guys get all of the credit. So much so that they've started to say they don't need me anymore. That's a problem for me.
If these guys ditch me, they aren't going to just let me go. They've got a tracker and explosive device in my skull. I'll never get to live lavishly or enjoy my gift. It's not like I do here, with the petty role I'm given.
I have a plan, though.
You see, my ability comes at a cost. We'll call it "karma" just because I want to. For every bit of positive "karma" I create, there is also negative "karma" created. I've been building this stuff up for a while. I used to just throw it off on some unsuspecting ass. It's been feeling kind of full so I threw a little off on Lightning, our resident fast guy. He's kind of a douche so I thought it would be funny to see him trip at supersonic speeds. Holy shit! Not only did he trip, he did it into a void beam. A foot wide swath of the guy disappeared right across his chest.
All of the A-listers freaked out. I told them I was focusing on keeping bystanders alive at the time and missed it. Nobody knows I dumped bad luck on him. How could they? They're sure warming up to keeping me around, though. Six-figure income warm.
I'm a lucky guy.
|
Soothe was never supposed to be an active Sidekick, just what they call an Aftercare Hero, forever stuck in Pavillon B of the Heroes Hospital in NYC.
The job of a hero is a stressful one, full of danger and trauma. Without someone to smother the most traumatic memories, superheroes tended to get tremendous Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder after several years. All the villains they regretfully had to kill to put them down. All the civilians they failed to save. It added up until their minds collapse under the strain.
So she took the job, and cared for them. Gently removed or walled-in the memories that would cause the most anguish. Altered the ones that could be salvaged, so that the hero could still function in the field.
They pay was a joke, and the job was not glamorous, but she felt it was a mission, a way to give her life meaning. She soldiered on, even though her superiors constantly forgot who she was, and what her job was, due to inevitable side effect of her Memory Aura. She had no friends, no lover for more than one night, and her relationship with her family was near non-existent. Hard to be cared for if your superpower is to suppress memories, and it tends to leak.
She was sitting at the bedside of the unconscious Speedster, trying to entangle a memory of an excruciating injury he received on the job, when without warning, half of the Pavilion B was torn by an explosion that sent her, and her patient falling down the hole in the floor. The Outer wall collapsed soon after, leaving her and Speedster hurt and bleeding on a pile of rubble.
He lifted her head and cleared dust off her eyes, only for her heart to drop.
Through the hole where the wall once had been, a winged shape slowly descended, its giant white wings slowly beating. Though angelic in form, the Hussar was anything but. A cruel, vicious, White Power Terrorist whom the local heroes fought for decades, and at best managed to fight to a standstill.
Fear gripped Soothe in iron jaws. The villain descended, and slowly approached the centre of the pavilion. A sabre of white light appeared in his hand, and with it he methodically and nonchalantly skewered the unconscious forms of her patients, killing them helpless. Not that any of those heroes could stand up to him even if they were healthy. Most of them in fact, were broken shells precisely because he defeated and then tortured them to insanity.
Her fear stricken mind split in two, and with her Aura she could see the Speedster's memory of how Hussar managed to outmanoeuvre him, slice through his leg, then painfully blind him.
A seconds worth clip of a memory; The Speedster running in circles at Hyperspeed, throwing punches, and the Hussar finally guessing his opponents incoming position ahead of time and slicing, seemingly at thin air. Thin air that soon bled.
She grasped the memory, clung to it, looking for a clue that could save her life. Hussar was closer and closer to her.
*^(How would you save us Speedster? What do you remember of your training?)* \- she queried her patient's mind.
Closer, and closer.
A memory of the Hyperspeed empowering Speedster's limbs, making him as swift as an arrow, then a bullet, then sound itself - *^(but how, how do I do that!?)*
Then the answer came. A shiny, perfectly monadic subconscious memory of empowerment. The mnemonic idea of Hyperspeed itself.
Hussar was upon her. Or to be precise, he stood over Speedster, sabre of light raised over his head, a serene smile on his lips. He barely acknowledged her existence, through the fog of unimportance she extruded. But she did not kid herself that he won't cut her down as well, just for completeness sake. He was not a villain to take half measures after all.
With titanic mental effort she tugged at the memory of Speedster's Hyperspeed. She felt his agony of a precious memory being torn out, then a silence when his mind smoothed over as if this memory never existed.
In a burst she was not prepared for, she flew to the other side of the room in the split second it took Hussar to strike down. Distracted, he missed Speedster's head by inches and carved a glowing hole in the stone below.
\- *Another runner?* \- asked Hussar, amused, as if she saw her only then. - *you do not look like much. Please stand still, little one..* \- his sabre transformed into a lance made of solid white fire.
She bolted sideways, her newly acquired speed barely sufficient to let her outrun the lance. She almost immediately felt the stolen memory wither, the Hyperspeed leaving her. Frantically, she hid behind an overturned hospital bed.
*^(YOU NEVER SAW ME)* \- she sent, and squished his memory of the last four seconds. She could not do more on a conscious and strong willed villain. She never practised to use her powers for combat.
Hussar looked around confused. He still remembered there should be an opponent nearby, and his lance hissed stuck in the nearby wall, slowly turning concrete into lava. So he must have been in a fight, but where's the other supe?
\- *huh, some kind of Mental, are ya? Playing mind tricks on me, maybe Confusion Power or some kind of higher Invisibility....* \- he recalled his lance and transformed it into a glowing orb. - *No matter asshole, Imma going to blow this place to smithereens and fly out of the crater, how about that? You gonna outrun an explosion??*
Shit. She did not thought that through. There were still patients around, and though she did not personally like them much, she was not going to run away and let them all die. She made a choice then.
Dozens upon dozens of seasoned heroes around. A hundredscore of Powers, if not more. She spread her aura and grabbed each one as gently as she could. With all her willpower she tugged at all of them at once, pulling just the Powers and skills into herself, leaving personal memories and minds mostly unscathed.
&#x200B;
Mostly.
&#x200B;
She felt Speedster, who's mind accidentally got tangled in her Aura, get smothered like a weak flame. Whatever was left of his memories was shredded by her clumsiness. His mind was wiped clean.
*^(no no no no no)* \- she frantically tried to patch his memories back together, make him whole again, but there was just not enough time. Hussar was arming his light bomb, which already pulsated with barely contained white light. Distraught, she made her choice and stood up.
*You made me kill a friend!* \- she cried out.
*What? Who the fuck are you? What friend? Whatever, asshole, You's gonna meet your Maker soon anyhow* \- Hussar's light bomb expanded to the size of a basketball and its surface started cracking.
She used all the defensive Powers at once, engulfing Hussar and his bomb. Telekinetic shields. Gravity walls. Psychic constructs. Whirlpools of condensed time. Portals to outer space and broken wormholes. And as the bomb exploded, she released her stolen offensive Powers of Ice, Fire, Living Metal and Darkness itself. Powers crashed in a combined explosion-implosion.
Hussar stood at the epicentre of all this forces, slowly being destroyed. Even his nearly godlike durability could not withstand that onslaught. His wings charred, his skin blown off in blackened flakes. For a moment he was nothing more than a silhouette of pure white light, pure power.
But a second passed, and he started to heal, returning to full power at frightening speed. He was hurt, but not yet defeated.
This distraction was however, everything Soothe needed.
c.d
| 2021-04-14T07:33:00 | 2021-04-14T06:33:51 | 367 | 90 |
[WP] A zombie and a ghost meet and discover they used to be the same person when they were alive. One is the spirit and the other is the body. They team up to solve their own murder.
[deleted]
|
I was drifting along on a sweet summer breeze, minding my own invisible business when a soft moan came from behind me. It was a sound I wasn't entirely familiar with. There was an element of human to it, but there was also something slightly off about it. Intrigued, I twirled around and found myself face to face with... My face.
It was a little more decayed than when I'd left it a few months ago, but I still recognized my eyes and the pride and joy that were my cheekbones. I admit, I was a little embarrassed by my unkempt state, and I'm sure if I could smell I would be appalled. But the things that used to annoy me as a human no longer seemed to matter as a ghost. Things hold less weight now, if you catch my drift.
As I floated there, staring at my desiccated form, something strange happened. It was as if my body could see me, because all of a sudden I tried to bite me! I shrieked and backed away, and my body tipped its head to the side, seemingly confused as to why my teeth had gone straight through my arm.
"It's not very nice to bite people! I thought I had better manners than that!" I yelled at myself.
"Maybe we did when we were one person, but ever since you left, it's like I don't know who I am anymore," my body said, punctuating everything with a series of moans and groans.
"It's not my fault I had to leave! We were stabbed! I had no choice but to leave you behind."
My human eyes and my ghost eyes both looked down at the same time. The wound on my chest didn't look any better now than it did the night I'd been stabbed. At least now it wasn't bleeding heavily, just oozing something gross to look at.
"Maybe we should get that checked out," I said.
"It's too late for that," my body grunted. "I just wish I knew who did this to me. I would love to bite them."
"Well that's interesting because I know exactly who stabbed us," I said.
"Really?" It was the most animated I'd seen my reanimated self.
"Of course. I remember everything that has ever happened to us."
A sudden scream split the air, and I looked over my shoulder to see a little girl, pointing at us and crying.
"Hey! It's rude to point!" I shouted, but she ignored me completely. Probably because my stupid body was ambling toward her, mouth wide open and ready to bite.
"Woah there me!" I yelled, blocking my own path. "We want to go the other way to find the person who killed us."
"Oh right," my body said, turning away from the little girl.
We were only a few steps into our journey when my body veered right. I followed my own gaze and saw a squirrel high-tailing it away from us. I sighed and went after myself again. It was suddenly clear to me who was going to have to be the brains of this operation, and it wasn't the zombie.
|
“Zombie-me, where are you going?” I shouted, quickly floating through the packed streets of London.
“Urggghher,” Zombie-me groaned. He pushed his way through a crowd of pedestrians, whose faces turned blank for a moment before regaining their normal look. It seemed like living people couldn’t actually comprehend the sight of the paranormal, so their brain just kind of shut off when confronted with it.
“Zombie-me, we need to get back on the case,” I said, phasing through people. “It is imperative that we do not let the trail go cold! We must find my murderer and deliver him to justice!”
Zombie-me gave me the side-eye as he barrelled through some college kids.
“What?”
He continued to stare.
“Use your words, my good man!”
It took him a moment to sound out the word. “Oooouuuurrrr.”
“*Hour?* You want to know the time? How the devil should I know? I didn’t die with my bloody watch on me!”
Zombie-me shook his head aggressively, sending little bits of flesh flying. One of the bits flew into a young child’s mouth, who began coughing and crying. Zombie-me pointed one rotten finger at me floating above him, then one at himself.
“Oh, you meant *our.* Our murderer. Yes, yes, of course. That is what I meant. A slip of the tongue is all. But forget all that! Where are you going? We need to return to the scene of the crime and inspect for more clues!”
Zombie-me froze, and I thought maybe, just maybe, my passionate words got through his blasted thick skull.
“Urgggher?” Zombie-me said.
“Is… is that a question?”
“Urrgher!” Zombie-me said passionately, and it pointed across the street. To a bright pair of golden arches.
“I don’t even like McDonalds!” I cried as Zombie-me lumbered across the road. Incoming cars inexplicably came to a screeching halt.
“Unghry,” Zombie-me grunted. “Ungrhy. Urgher.”
“You don’t even have any money!”
Zombie-me shrugged and stepped into the drive-through lane. I groaned and floated after him, head in my hands.
“Welcome to McDonalds,” a too-enthusiastic voice rang through the speaker. “What can I get you toda—”
“Urgher!” Zombie-me shouted emphatically. “Urgher, urgher, urgher!” He began waving his arms in the air. “Urgher, urgher, urgher!”
“I’m sorry, I can’t quite pick up what you’re saying,” the voice in the speaker said cheerily. “Could you repeat that?”
“Urgher!” Zombie-me roared. He began slamming his arms on the menu display. “Ungrhy! Urgher! Ungrhy! Urgher!”
“My dear man,” I shouted, “calm down! Just sound it out. What do you want? A Big Mac? A McDouble combo? Maybe a Jr. Chicken?”
Zombie-me cocked his head. “Urgher?” He looked on the verge of tears.
“Sir,” the speaker said, “I’m going to need you to enunciate a bit more.”
Breathing out patiently, I floated down beside Zombie-me. “Here, repeat after me, okay? Sound out the syllables. B-i-g M-a-c. Just like that. B-i-g M-a-c.”
Zombie-me took a deep breath. Cars began honking behind him. The scholar in me couldn’t help but wonder what they saw.
“Beeeeeeg,” Zombie-me grunted out, “Mahhhhhc.” He turned to look at me, and I nodded encouragingly. A horrible smile twisted his grimy lips.
“Oh,” the speaker said. “A Big Mac! Sorry about that. Do you want just the sandwich or the combo?”
“Well?” I asked him. “Do you want just the burger or fries and a drink as well?”
“Urgher?”
“Okay. Sound it out after me. Sand-wich. Sand-wich. Just like that.”
Zombie-me turned back to the speaker. “Saaahnd. Weeeech.”
“Just the sandwich, got it,” the speaker said. “Will that be everything today?”
Zombie-me nodded. When no reply came, he nodded again. Then again.
“Sir?” the speaker said. “Are you there?”
Panic alighted on Zombie-me’s face. He gave me a desperate look.
Sighing, I said, “Say, y-e-s.”
“Yeeehhsss,” Zombie-me repeated.
“Perfect,” the speaker said. “That’ll be 2.69. Please go right ahead to the second window.”
Zombie-me grinned and hobbled through the drive-through. He gave me a shaky thumbs-up.
“They’re not going to give you the urgher—I mean burger if you don’t pay,” I said, floating alongside him. “What are you going to do then? This is really a foolish waste of time. Our murderer could be hundreds of miles away by now!”
“Urgher.”
“Okay, let’s make a deal. I’ll help you get your urgher—damn it, *burger,* if afterwards we resume our investigation. Deal?”
“Urgher.”
“Alright, it’s done. Let’s get this over with.”
Before we arrived at the second window, I took a deep breath—though functionally it was pointless as I was merely a spirit and couldn’t not intake oxygen—and phased through the wall into the McDonalds.
The employee at the window was speaking through her headset to another customer.
“Instead of cash or credit,” I shouted, striking a heroic pose in the air, “I’ll be paying today with… possession!”
I flew into her body and briefly aligned my spirit with hers. A jarring sensation of being grounded overtook me, and I quickly jerked to my feet. I could already feel her spirit trying to push me out. If only Zombie-me had a spirit to possess!
I snatched a small bag on the counter that I assumed held the Big Mac. Opening the window, I hissed, “Zombie-me! Come here, quick!”
The half-rotten fool lumbered to me, grinning like a dog. I tossed him the paper bag and shut the window. Sitting back down where the employee was, I ejected my spirit and flew outside.
“Urgher!” Zombie-me said happily as we left.
“Yes, yes, urgher,” I said wearily. “But once you’re done eating, we resume our investigation, okay?”
Zombie-me nodded as he ripped open the paper bag. Taking out the Big Mac, he grinned at me.
“Urgher.”
Despite it all, I smiled back. “You’re welcome, Zombie-me. You’re welcome. Now, eat up. We got work to do."
---
a buddy-cop duo for the ages. /r/chrischang
| 2021-05-03T11:23:38 | 2021-05-03T11:13:03 | 77 | 26 |
[WP] The Evil Queen looked dumbfounded over the group of heroes and asked again; "you want to what?" to which the heroes replied, "join you, at least you have health insurance"
|
"If I am to understand," the Queen said as she stood beside her throne; her voice was regal, magnificent, complementing her elegant visage, "you wish to join me simply because I care for the health of my subjects?"
"Of course not," the Elf rebutted. He was tall, slender, graceful - exactly as elves were. "We wish to join you *because* you at least have health care."
The Queen narrowed her eyes, still confused.
"Do you know of the Battle for Hymm?" the Knight said - a human entirely clad in armour, not even his face visible, voice coarse and ragged.
"Your side lost," the Queen said.
"We did," the last member of the group said; a dwarf, armed with custom-made firearms. His weaponry was as efficient as his use of words, much like most of his kin. "Know what happened next?"
"You live. I assume you were recovered by the team of physicians that was sent after the battle."
"A *team*," the Elf scoffed. "No one came. We were left to rot. They didn't even bother to bury their dead. All the King did was commission a ballad about our heroic sacrifice while we barely survived by crawling to the nearest village."
"Not all of us did," the Human said. His fingers mindlessly drifted towards the brooch pinned to his chest, one of distinctly Fae origin — a memento. The Queen stared at them silently shocked by the barbaric display of callousness towards the heroes.
"You, however," the Elf said, "care for the health of your subjects."
"And what makes you sure I don't simply want them in a fighting shape?" the Queen asked.
"We saw a chamber with instruments for dentistry. Servants don't need good teeth to fight, do they?" the Dwarf replied.
"Yes, that is... true," the Queen nodded. "You must excuse me; I was not expecting you to... understand. I merely expected a fight." Despite her words, her hand remained on the hilt of her sword.
"Despite what we were told, based on what we have seen, you appear... just," the Human noted. The Queen frowned.
"Surely you know that I have killed. *Many* people, in fact," she said.
The group of adventurers stood still for a moment. The Knight broke the uneasy silence.
"So have we."
At last, the Queen let her hand slide off of the hilt of her sword and assumed a more casual pose, leaning on her throne.
"How do I know this is not a ruse? You swore an oath to serve the Kingdom that sent you to kill me."
"We swore an oath to serve the *people* of the Kingdom," the Knight corrected her. "Killing you would not be in their interest."
Much to the Queen's surprise, the Knight removed her helmet. *Her* helmet. She expected a man based on the coarse voice, but the slender features and long red hair tied into a bun were clear enough. She bore numerous deep scars and one of her eyes was heavily damaged and milky white yet her beauty remained indisputable.
"Will you accept our service? Our oath?" the Knight asked and kneeled.
The Queen took a deep breath. She had an entire pile of parchment describing the background of the heroes. She knew their deeds, their ideals, their strengths and weaknesses. The Knight once made an oath to her brother when he contracted lycanthropy. She kept her oath, despite others offering to do it for her. She was not a person to break a vow.
She walked down the stairs leading to her throne and approached the Knight. Their eyes met. Then the Queen did something unthinkable for royalty.
She extended her hand and helped her rise.
|
“Dungeoneering. Pfft. What a sham. They tell you fame, fortune, easy women, and cheap booze would be awaiting those that delve into the depths of the world. What they don’t tell you is how grimy it is down here. The walls are always damp! This fetid stench erodes your sense of smell! Tuberculosis is rampant! Malaria and all sorts of fecal related diseases as well! There is nowhere to poop in these godforsaken walls!”
“Shut your pie hole, Graven. You are scaring the newbie.” Alyssa, the elven duelist, glared at the dwarf. They had finally recruited a willing and able bag handler. Now was not the time to go full crazy.
“Alyssa, just because you pretend you don’t poop, don’t make it smell any less.” Graven flicked his freshly picked nose hair at Alyssa.
“GRAVEN! Y-y-yo-you crass man!” Alyssa, ears redder than a chili pepper, stomped off in a huff, her boots squelching in the questionable muck coating the floor.
“Aye, yes lassie. Come over here. Let me regale you with the wonders of this dungeon.” Graven gestured for the newbie to approach. He shifted his enormous hand cannon to his other hand.
Katie, a novice spelunker, carefully edged closer, simultaneously intrigued and horrified. She wondered if it was too late to quit the expedition.
“This here dungeon is called the midnight crown. One sunny day in 1 BC (before cataclysm), a little portal went, poof, right in Madison square garden. Monsters poured out of it, things you only imagine in fantasy novels.”
Katie nodded, fascinated. This was well before her time.
“Anywho, the army fought with these creatures, tried forcing them back into the portal, but alas, the follies of men. Thinking they could defeat the supernatural. What ended up happening was a bloodbath that culminated in a nuke being dropped onto the portal.”
“And then?” Katie and Graven squelched along the dimly lit passageway.
“It survived.” The silent shield-bearer Rena answered. Katie nearly jumped out of her skin. She had forgotten the half-lizard half-woman hybrid was even there. “The nuke set of a chain reaction. Nukes were fired left and right. The world was on fire for years. When everything settled, humanity had been forever changed. We started getting mutants. Eventually, some of us evolved into different species in order to survive. That’s why we now have elves, dwarves, dragonkin, beast hybrids, and the like.”
Graven nodded sagely. “I don’t know who started it, but they found that by entering the portal, we could kill monsters and use their carcasses as food, their bones for tools. The collective races started to rebuild civilization, all thanks to this portal, and the others that spawned later.”
“Fast forward to today, dungeoneering is a highly regarded career. We are the frontline of civilization, constantly battling the forces of evil.” This time, the paladin Michael answered from up ahead.
“Don’t listen to Michael. Always the Boy Scout.” A seductive voice rang out next to Michael. The party healer/sorceress Minx decloaked herself. “The passage up ahead is clear. We are close.”
Graven nodded. “Yes, which brings to our next problem. Us top tier spelunkers are sick and tired of being sick and tired all the time. We are worked to the bone by the dungeoneering guilds. They don’t even give us benefits like health insurance. Not even dental is covered. Look at this kobold.” Graven grabbed the decapitated head off his pack. He peeled back the thick lips to reveal a pearly set of whites. Graven removed his gas mask, stuck his face next to it and smiled, revealing a set of yellow teeth, with one incisor missing completely.
Katie almost threw up. She could visualize her future now. If she wasn’t killed down here, she would eventually become Graven. She wanted out. Right now. After this expedition. Anything was better than this.
“You are missing the point lassie. Look at the teeth! They have dental! I’ve yet to encounter a monster that was sick in any way as well. They must have amazing health plans down here.”
Katie thought Graven must have inhaled too much of the dungeon air. His mind was addled. How could a monster have health insurance?
Her thoughts were interrupted when Alyssa squelched her way back to the party. “We are here.”
Katie looked at them quizzically. “Here where?”
Graven pushed forwards excitedly muttering, “Why we are down here in the first place.” Further down the passage stood a giant wall. Graven gleefully set a massive charge on the wall before backing off. “Fire in the hole!”
KABOOOM!!!!
The entire dungeon shook from the force of the blast. The entire party was instantly coated in the muck that was dislodged by the blast. Katie whimpered and nearly fainted at the stench assaulting her nostrils. She wondered just how much excrement currently coated her armor from past spelunkers and monsters alike.
The party moved towards the blast sight. Carefully feeling around in the smoke, they formed a single file line behind the shield-bearer and marched forwards. Slowly, the smoke cleared and Katie’s eyes nearly popped out of her head.
Grass, actual grass was now coating the floor, not the putrid rotting sludge from before. In front, flowers, and even trees. Katie immediately tore off her gas mask, breathing the clean air in. She nearly cried. In all of her nineteen years, all she had to breathe was recycled air. This air tasted like heaven. She never wanted to leave this paradise.
Suddenly, a dark shape emerged from the ground in front of the party. A buxom beauty cloaked in shadows slowly unfurled her wings made of shadows. She languidly stretched, her porcelain white skin open for all to see. Only the most important parts were tastefully hidden by shadows. Her regal countenance dazed Katie, hypnotically drawing her in.
The being’s nose crinkled in distaste at the foul stench the party emitted. “Mmm, Graven. Always a pleasure. I was wondering which bilge-rat dared to blow a hole in my kingdom door. How many times does this make, twenty?” Her sultry voice caressed Katie’s ears like the most delicate satin.
“Greetings, your evil highness. We’ve come to parlay.” Graven actually sounded nervous.
“Save your words, there is nothing you have that I want. Prepare yourselves. This time, you will not escape my grasp. You will obediently lay down your lives for trespassing in my domain.” Her claws extended, sharpening at the points. She extended her arms, ready to fight. Her peaks swung with the movement, nearly flooring Katie.
Suddenly, Katie shouted, “We want to join you!”
The evil queen looked dumbfounded over the group of heroes and asked, “you want to what?”
Graven took this opportunity. “Join you. We want to join you. At least you have health insurance. Maybe dental? We can negotiate on prescription.”
The dumbfounded queen started giggling. The giggling quickly turned into laughter, and then finally into howling as she doubled over in mirth. Her luscious peaks shook rhythmically in time with her laughs. “This is a new one. This has got to be the first time a spelunking party has tried to kill me with humor. I like this approach. Very well, we shall parlay.”
| 2022-07-10T15:07:40 | 2022-07-10T15:04:24 | 242 | 108 |
[WP] Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370 lands in Beijing Airport, 3 Months late - passengers claim to have flown as normal.
|
"Pilot, identify yourself."
The new Air Traffic Control Operator, Jin, in Beijing began to scramble as an unknown aircraft headed for the runway. The plane was going to disrupt the flow of air traffic, as it had not been on schedule.
"This is Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370. Prepared for landing."
Jin stopped dead in his tracks. He pushed the millions of possibilities out of his head for just a moment because maybe, just maybe, he had heard the number of the flight wrong.
"Could you repeat the number of the aircraft, Captain?" Jin asked.
"Yes, uh, Malaysia Airlines Flight MH370. That's 3-7-0. Prepared for landing."
The thoughts burst through the door of the Jin's head. The situation was clearly impossible. Malaysia Flight 370 had been lost three months ago. Maybe the Captain just was confused as to what number aircraft he was actually flying.
"C-Clear for landing, C-Captain."
Jin's voice shook more than he anticipated. He quickly spun around and pointed directly between the eyes of one of his co-workers.
"Lee, what was the exact day that Malaysian Flight got lost at sea?"
Lee looked at him skeptically. "March something. I don't know for sure."
The Controller turned quickly around and rapidly typed his burning question into Google. He found the date: March 8, 2014. No. It couldn't be. He looked into the bottom right hand corner of his computer screen and read the day's date aloud: 'June 8, 2014'.
"Three months."
"What?" Lee walked up behind Jin and, while taking a sip of coffee, put his hand on Jin's shoulders to comfort his lingering unease. Jin looked up and watched the Flight land, then slowly pointed at the aircraft.
"T-that flight sitting out on the runway is Malaysia Flight 370 - 3 months late."
The coffee mug slipped from Lee's hand and shattered upon impact with the tiled floor.
Flight 370 pulled into the gate. The sounds of sirens inside and outside made the passengers uneasy as they began to exit the airplane. As they exited the grey bridge, cameras and reporters surrounded each and every one of them. The police pulled some of them aside as well. Questions were flown everywhere. 'Where have you been?' 'What happened to the flight?' 'Is anyone injured?' 'Did you land anywhere else?' 'Was it alien abduction?'
The passengers were confused. Their explanations were all the same. They boarded the flight at Kuala Lumpur International Airport in Malaysia, then made the six hour flight to Beijing. One man in first class did explain they hit some minor turbulence midway through the flight, and that the six hours seemed eerily *long*, but nothing to raise any eyebrows.
Lee and Jin sprinted their way through the crowds of people anxiously headed to the same destination. Thoughts and possibilities on what could have happened to the plane were swarming their heads. But upon arrival, they received the same feedback from the passengers as everyone had: nothing had gone wrong.
Out of questions to ask, Lee and Jin backed out of the crowd and began their long walk back to the control tower.
"There's no way just *nothing* could have happened to those people. They're obviously hiding something." Lee said.
"Maybe, my friend." Jin answered, but Lee wasn't finished.
"It could have been aliens, could have been North Korea, could have been Russia, could have been a glitch in the matrix, could have been-"
"It could have been anything, Lee. Aliens, governments, different dimensions, glitches in the matrix, fate, destiny, God-like powers, anything! But I don't believe in any of those things. Those are solutions to the problem."
"So what is it then?" asked the desperate Lee.
Jin sighed, and continued. "All I believe is that I saw Malaysia Flight 370 land on the runway today, in one piece, and I also saw your coffee mug split into hundreds of pieces today - something had to give."
|
Smoke from the cup slowly dispersed in the air. I reached forward and took a sip of the tea I ordered just a minute ago. It was quiet in the cabin. The baby that was crying seemed to have fallen asleep in his mother's arms and the little boy playing running up and down the aisle was back in his seat.
*Ding.* The flight attendant picked up the little telephone by her seat. "We will be landing shortly. Please power off all electronic devices at this moment and pull up your seat back to the normal position. Fold up your trays and buckle up your seat belts."
It was as if everyone in the cabin has just let out their stream of piss after holding it in for five hours. The long flight will soon be over. I turned my head and scouted around at everyone else. They were all so motionless, almost as if I was on a plane all by myself. My eyes crossed with the young flight attendant standing down the aisle. She was gorgeous. Not like any other women I've ever seen before. I gave her a small smile and she smiled back.
The small screen before me flickered and I reached out and tapped it. *Estimated flight time: 5 minutes.* The small line of text appeared before my eyes. I glanced out the window as the city of Beijing became larger and larger before my eyes. As the wheels touched the ground, the rumbling from the landing made my tea splash around in the cup. I clutched onto the arm rest as the plane slowed down.
*Ding.* "We have landed at the Beijing International Airport. Please remain seated until the captain turns the seat belt sign off." Disobeying what's been told to them, people started to stand up and grabbed their luggage. I looked out at the building beside the plane and noticed a large crowd of people waiting beside the exit stairs of the plane. There were news reporters standing out there with cameras out on everyone's hands.
Is there a famous person on the plane? There's no way I could have missed someone like that! I stood up but everyone looked pretty ordinary to me, no one's especially flashy or stood out in any ways.
As I made my way down the stairs, one of the reporters rushed up to me and held the microphone by my mouth. Startled, I took a step back. "Wha-what's this about?"
"I'm here with a passenger from Flight MH370. Sir, what happened on the plane?" She pointed the mic back at me.
Confused, I replied, "um, what do you mean?"
"The flight," she immediately followed up, "the flight you've been on has been missing for months."
Missing for months? What is she talking about? And why does everyone seem so surprised and frightened? "I- I have been flying for 5 hours. Missing for months? What is this all about?"
"It seems like the passenger is still confused about the situation. As our doctor stated earlier today when the flight first appeared back onto the radar, this could be signs of post traumatic stress disorder." The reporter turned around and faced back at the camera.
They must be crazy. I stepped away and walked towards the building. A man wearing a Miami Heat shirt bumped into me and knocked me backwards. I struggled to regain balance but ended up falling backwards. And then it was all darkness.
Someone was shaking me, yelling at my face. I slowly gained conscious and met eyes with a masked man. "Wake the hell up and stay in your seat." He shoved me against the back of my seat and continued on behind me.
What just happened? I'm back on the plane? I fell asleep. Hasn't it been five hours already? I looked down at my watch, *6:00 AM.* Six? The plane should have landed at four o'clock, not six. I panicked and looked around. There were two more masked man standing down the aisle. Everyone else, frightened, remained in their seat.
I looked back at the man again before reaching into my carry-on bag. Being a CIA agent I've learned that every moment could be dangerous, and by the looks of it I'm in a very bad situation. I quickly pulled out my gun and knife and leaned back in my seat. My colleague, sitting across the aisle from me, made eye contact with me and we gave each other a nod.
As the other man walked through the curtain between the first class cabin and the economy cabin, I quietly stood up and followed up on the masked man behind me. Others behind me noticed what was about to happen and yelled at the man to distract him. I slowly crept up behind him, and as I locate the weapon still clipped onto the side of his belt I kneed his back as hard as I could. As he was just about to scream out in pain, I wrapped my hand over his mouth and placed him in a headlock position. His face slowly got redder and redder, until he stopped struggling and passed out. My colleague immediately followed up and zip tied his hands and feet.
I took off his mask and put it on and called up towards the first class cabin, "hey come and gimme a hand, this guy's being a little rough." As the second man walked through the curtain, my colleague gave him a good old marine neck chop and he fell to the ground like a rock. After tying up the second man, I handed my partner his mask and we made our way towards the front of the plane.
We approached the door to the cockpit. "You want left or right?"
"Left."
He slowly turned the handle and the door opened with a creaky sound. Two men were sitting in the place of the pilots. I glanced at the two sides of the room and saw the pilots against the wall. One of them looked up at me with fear. I brought my finger up to my lips and motioned for him to stay silent. He quickly identified us to be on the good side. I gave him a quick nod and reached forward, locked the masked man's head and without a thought, snapped his neck. My partner mimicked me and we dragged their lifeless bodies out of the seats.
Suddenly, I lost my balance as the plane started to descend at a fast pace. "Help him to his seat!" I yelled as I carried one of the pilot back onto his seat.
"Thank you." He coughed, and quickly pulled back on the control wheel. "Hang on to something!"
I felt my feet being pressed hard against the floor as the plane slowly dragged its way back onto course. "I'll leave you two be. If you need anything we'll be in economy."
Like heroes, we walked back to our seats as everyone applauded for the two of us. We smiled and replied "Just doing our jobs" to everyone.
The light flickered. *Ding.* "This is your captain speaking. We have just been involved in what seems to be a terrorist attack. Thanks to the two men, it seems like we're out of trouble. However, due to continuous flight for 3 hours over the originally planned landing time, our plane is now low on fuel and our destination is nowhere close enough for us to make the landing possible. This means that every second could be the last. I will do my best to land this plane, but once the limit is reached, there will not be anything I can do."
Just when it seems like the entire plane has quieted down, all hell broke loose.
People started crying and screaming. The little boy that sat beside my partner started to tear up. "Are we going to die?"
My partner hesitated and replied, "yes." He leaned over and held the boy in his arms.
I looked out the window at the bright sunlight piercing through the clouds as our plane flew lower and lower. My tea seems to be have cooled down. I reached forward and took a sip of the tea ordered hours ago. Holding tight to the edge of my armrest, I closed my eyes and leaned back in my seat.
As I let my thoughts overflow in my mind, the loud cabin slowly died down as a loud rumble struck my ears.
"I guess this is it."
---
*Any advice or suggestions are welcomed. I'm still learning to write better and need all the help I can get!*
| 2014-06-25T14:42:06 | 2014-06-25T14:31:14 | 216 | 24 |
[WP] Four roommates are extraterrestrials who have taken human form in hopes of learning about Earth. Unfortunately, each alien is from a different planet and believes that the other three are normal humans.
|
**Josh**
"*Operator, this is RQ651, i am at the door, over*"
"*Roger that, this is control, proceed RQ651*"
Ametian social interaction robot code name **Josh** entered the test chamber, where it came into contact with 3 homo sapiens test subjects:
**Brad**, **Chad** and **Thad**, his future "roommates".
"*Operator, i have visual contact with 3 homo sapiens specimens*"
"*Roger that, proceed RQ651. Mimic the specimen behavior and extrapolate received data. Do not act first or try to establish contact, we do not want to break social norms or customs, over*."
There were 3 humans in the room, each sitting in silence in their chair, each in the corner of the room.
"*Establishing social design...*
*determining pattern arrangements...*
*executing computed tasks*..."
RQ651 took a nearby chair, placed it in the only free corner and sat.
*2 weeks earlier*
**Brad**
"*Is this the door? What will await me there? Who knows?*"
Paani Dominion chief Social Engineer entered the room.
"*So these are two of my subjects? Are they always this docile?*
"*Should i establish first contact? Shall i emulate these individuals until i'm confronted with a stimuli? Should i take the corner on the right or the one on the left?*"
Chief Social Engineer took a chair from the nearby table and took it to the left corner of the room. (*Complex calculations favored the left side 51-49 percent*)
He sat in silence.
*3 months earlier*
**Chad**
"*I'll open the door*!" Said Maaco
"*No, you made the last step, my turn now*!" Said Naaco
"*No i didn't*!" Said Maaco
"*Yes you did*!" said Naaco
"*Get out of my Chad*!" Said Maaco
"*You get out of my Chad*!" Said Naaco
After 25 minutes of this, Diari prober duet Maaco and Naaco opened the door.
There they saw **Thad**.
"*I'll make the first step*!" Said Maaco.
"*I should make the first step*!" Said Naaco.
You get the point! After **MUCH** dabate Diari prober duet Maaco and Naaco took the chair and sat in the corner opposite of test subject **Thad**, who also just sat there and did nothing.
*69 years earlier*
**Thad**
Juup,a Thian from planet LebrN-137c was talking to his boss before entering the empty room.
"Ok boss , so all i have to do is just sit in this room, call myself *Thad* and watch those humans for a while?"
|
First post, Ever. Hope you Enjoy.
************************
“Hey, Bobby!”
I unplugged my Maschine controller and slid my headphones down around my neck.
When I had first moved in, I would absolutely panic when one of my roommates walked in while I was filing a report. I soon discovered, though, that they just thought I was working on my DJ skills for my weekend gig.
“What’s up, Jonesy?”
I brushed my bangs out of my face & looked up.
The monolithic Reid Jones was leaning on my doorframe with his flavor-of-the-month girlfriend under his arm. I no longer bothered trying to remember the girls’ names. Now I just tried to remember “red glasses” or “skull hoodie”. You know, I literally never saw that one without that same hoodie on, and they were together for like, weeks.
“Me and Janine are going to go for a run, then we’re going to hit Captain Fishy’s. I know you’re not up for a run,” (snorts), “but, you want us to bring something back for you?”
“No thanks. I’m meeting up with Tasha later.” I hadn’t planned to, but maybe I would. I was just relieved that I’d have the place to myself for a while, & wanted them to get going. “You and Junie have fun.”
“JANINE!” Miss Pencil Eyebrows insisted.
“Don’t even bother, he does that intentionally with all my girls. He’s just trying to get you worked up.”
“Oh, funny Mister – wait, all your girls?”
Jonesy smacked her on her backside. “C’mon, hon, let’s go! I want to get outside, not hang around here all day!” To me, “Catch you later Bobby! Have fun!”
“Yeah, you too.”
“Bye, Bobby! Reid, I’m coming already! Jeez!”
Thank the stars. Anything for science, I reminded myself. I thought of Jonesy’s weak attempt to mock me for not being a ‘jock’, then snorted a bit myself. I thought of how many weak-minded beings like that we had back home, too unintelligent to even care for themselves, forced through their own pitifulness into lives of heavy labor, just to be useful for something. I really didn’t mind humans - in fact, some really surprised me, had real promise, & I found I really enjoyed being with them. Too bad I couldn’t extend that to include Jonesy. Well, time to finish that report.
************************
If all the life forms on this planet were like THAT LITTLE WIMPY BOBBY, Reid thought, feeling his hearts beginning to strain, I’d have personally approved the invasion & enslavement of this cold, crummy rock a long time ago. Especially this joke called Humans. If not for the containment beam in his shoulder harness – his REAL shoulder – they’d see the REAL Jonesy, & be running in fear around his ankles as he ignored them.
The round human ‘Janine’ came out the door, finally. Humans. So strange. Spending all their lives inside their weird shelters instead of out in the energy-filled rays of their incredible star.
The Janine. She was going to be delicious later, he was sure.
Just then, a small blur circled Reid’s face, & the buzzing sound reminded him that, despite the Humans’ so-called ‘dominance’ of this world, they were by no means the most dangerous thing on this planet. Not even close.
************************
Commander? Hello, Ensign XBak Eno reporting in, sir. I have very big news.
-Go Ahead, please.
Yes, thank you sir. I told you that I noticed the device the Bobby one was always using seemed to be giving off a patterned code. It is sir, it definitely is a code. I can’t tell you how many trillions of milliseconds it took me to make sense of it. What threw me at first was I expected it to translate to the ‘English’ they are all normally using all the time… Then I realized it couldn’t be, too many variations…
-Ensign, please! Stay focused! This IS big news, tell me the rest immediately!
Of course, sir! Sorry! Well, the Bobby one just finished sending another message, & I literally just now was able to finally crack the code. Sir – Bobby…Bobby is an investigator, too, like us! He’s from the Triton-38 Sector, they call themselves ‘Altanir’.
-Amazing! Finally! Proof that other races have been visiting this planet! How lucky we are to have you stationed there, Ensign!
Sir?
-Yes, what is it?
So, now that we have proof – that means I can make plans to come home soon, right?
-Are you KIDDING?! We’re just getting started! We’ve got to learn more! What if there are others? Plus, we’ve got to find a way to trace this, to prove – without admitting you’re there illegally too, of course -
Sir! Please, NO! Sir! I’m BEGGING you! You have already seen the VERY DETAILED reports of the disgusting things they’re continually doing to me – Oh please, sir, maybe send someone else in my place! Let me come home, make it stop! Please! Oh no! They’re coming now! It’s about to happen again! PLEASE! As soon as you’re able, help me!!!! Oh no oh no oh no don’t touch me there….
-Ensign? Ensign, can you respond please? Ensign? Oh, my…
************************
“Hey, Bobby! Playing Xbox?”
“Hey, Ray! Welcome home! Just turned it on, actually. Wanna join me? Grab a controller.”
“mmm… maybe in a bit, I’ll just watch you for now.”
Yes, I LOVE to watch you, Bobby, Ray thought to himself. Out of all these humans, you’re so easily the most… intriguing? Probably because you remind me so much of that hot, hot, singing & acting superstar from Bollyfield 5, Samir ‘Solar’ Solordz. Solar has a voice like Taylor Swift, dance moves no biped could ever emulate, & is moodier than a Morrissey concert. What’s not to love?
Something on the TV screen just caught my eye. I actually start paying attention.
“Bobby, what the heck game is this?”
“Blood in the Streets. I just picked it up. It’s that new survival game. You know, save the world from the Alien Vampire Apocalypse?”
OMG I think I’m gonna be sick. “It’s not like anyone CHOOSES to have to drink blood to live.”
“Huh? What’d you say?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
I’m sure I saw something on the screen again! “what the…uncle Alex?!”
| 2017-06-27T15:10:14 | 2017-06-27T15:03:30 | 67 | 18 |
[WP] You are a beautiful and talented witch who could easily seduce any men with her magic. But once you fall in love with one yourself, you decide to conquer him without cheating. It soon becomes clear you have no idea what you are doing.
|
It took me 1,207 years to find out what love truly meant. So
yeah, I guess you can say I’m a tad behind in that department. Just a tad.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had more dates with men than there
are men currently alive. But… I don't exactly do them the conventional way. It’s this
potion that’s been passed down from my family. Simply spray it on yourself,
walk around, and watch everyone clobber to get your phone number. It was highly
humorous, while it lasted.
On a rainy night to the market, he was there. His blue eyes
lit up the dreary sky, with sparkling blond hair to match. His freckles were
perfectly placed. He gave me a smirk and waved to me, only for me to hide under
fear the redness in my cheeks would burst.
I was just about ready to drown myself in the potion and nab
him right then and there, but there was something in me that stopped.
“He’s too good for that!” It cried. “He deserves actual
love!”
And to my shock, I agreed with such a strange thought. An even
stranger thought popped into my head, why not grab him the hard way? I don’t mean
the good old kidnap and lock away in my castle forever way, (you know the one
with the fifty dragon heads of doom?) but actually trying to bond with them? You know,
that sounds like a great idea. I got the looks, this’ll be easy!
The next week I found him there again, going over some
fruits. Great, I enjoy substance also!
I walked right next to him, staring with hungry eyes.
I waited several minutes in that unblinking state.
When he finally did acknowledge my existence, he flinched
back.
Come on, how was I supposed to know you shouldn’t be breathing right
on their shoulder? That’s the easiest way to say you want their attention!
“Hello.” I said.
“Oh, hi? Is there something you need?” he asked.
Okay, go in for the kill!
“Yes, yes there is!”
I exclaimed to him.
Instead of getting the signal and whisking me off my feet,
he just stood there in confusion. What’s he doing?
“And, what would that be?”
Idiot. Fine, guess I’m going for the easing-in route.
“Do you like fruits?”
“Yes, grapes and bananas. Not much else though.”
Great room for a meaningful reply, Prince Charming. There has to be a way I make this flow well into asking him out. Do I know any fruit pun? Screw it, just try something. Anything!
“Because… uh… we can be like a grape and banana and go on a
date?”
Absolute brilliance. He didn’t even chuckle at that.
“That's very nice, but I already have plans.”
“Like what?”
“They’re kinda personal. I have to go. See you later, I guess.” He began walking
away.
That's just peachy, I just ruined my chance with my only
real love in under 5 minutes. What the hell is wrong with-
I didn’t have time to finish that sentence before getting
struck in my leg. Turning around I saw… oh no, Jeremy. One of my past boyfriends. The 32,016th to be exact. I may or
may not have left him in the Sahara Desert with no way back. Just how did you
appear here?
“You thought you could just leave me there for dead?!" He bellowed. "Well, the
only dead is about to be you!”
He pulled out a knife, running towards me. I tried to get
up, but the struck leg wasn’t even facing the right way. All I could do was
scream out and brace myself.
A figure whirled from the right, knocking Jeremy down. It
was him! He wrestled Jeremy and knocked him out. Apparently he’s really good in
fighting, that’s convenient.
He comforted me while we waited for the ambulance. Almost
getting murdered really helps the conversation get flowing for some reason. He’s
a great talker. His name’s Diego.
Just when they arrived, he handed me his number.
“So yeah, really sorry that happened to you. Call me whenever you want, I’ll
treat you to lunch. Oh, and what’s your name?”
“Elsa.”
“That’s a nice name.”
He smiled and wave at me as they drove off, myself returning
the gesture. It looks like I at least did that right.
Okay, so I may or may not have influenced the guy to be there
in case I screwed up. But he saved me on his own terms. That still counts,
right? Right?
--Thanks for reading! Check out /r/JustATadOfStories for more of my tales!--
|
The Hunter’s foot gingerly tested the thick, springy moss that blanketed this part of the woods. Small white flowers the size of peas gave a pleasant dotting to the lush green felt, and the occasional bright red toadstool gave bursts of vivacious colour.
His tan leather boots were well worn – he could likely feel the damp through the soles – and his tight leggings were a tapestry of patches upon patches, such that they were likely more patch than original material by now.
Destiny watched him from a branch across the grove. The eight eyes of her Spider Form took him in and she was pleased with what she saw. The aforementioned leggings hugged his toned legs, revealing the way his musculature danced and stretched as he slunk fox-like, deeper into her lair. His curly brown hair sat upon his head like a lustrous halo, the spring and coil keeping it from his strong, youthful face.
At first, she’d considered turning him into a newt. It was amusing, to say the least, when a bold knight seeking her head suddenly found himself all of four-inches long, green, and at the bottom of a very long food chain. Something had stayed her hand, however – this one did not seek her, but rather something else. Perhaps he was merely stupid? Well, he was certainly the most handsome village idiot she’d ever seen if that was the case. She always took pity on the idiots – they did not deserve nor warrant a punishment for simply being the way they were. She may as well have cursed the wind for blowing, or the rain for falling.
The Hunter swivelled on the spot – as if he’d heard her. He expertly nocked an arrow and raised his bow without thought, targeting the tree she hid behind.
“Who’s there?” He spoke in a voice softer than she’d expected.
She could see he was afraid. He shouldn’t be this far into the woods. Everyone knew that, and yet he was here – well inside her territory, where by all rights she belonged to him. She didn’t have to turn him into an amphibian – such a waste of such a fine, human specimen! – but she could certainly enchant him and claim him for herself.
She closed her eyes, reaching out to the forest around her. An owl, snoozing in his perch above. She felt that curious tremble in her heart as she entered the critter, forcing him to awake and gazing down on the Hunter. From this high vantage point, she saw him begin circling to one side, arrow still drawn. She needed to distract him – she sent the owl a command, pulling her spirit back into her Spider Form, and the owl swooped low over the Hunter. He cried out, pointing his bow this way and that, panting in fright.
While he was distracted, she sprung from the branch, her web controlling her sudden descent to the mossy glade floor, then scuttled behind the trunk as she adopted a form with decidedly fewer legs. Two, in fact. Two long, pink, human legs that were ever-so immodestly veiled by black, web-like lace. Her six other arms and eight eyes retreated into her torso and skull as she grew, until she was left with but two of each. The chitin of her Spider Form warped and wove itself into a shimmering black bodice than accentuated her narrow human waist and dainty, maiden-like breasts. She could shapeshift herself into whatever she wanted, but she’d seen something in this Hunter – innocence. Now, this was a challenge for a three-hundred year old witch who made a pastime of obliterating her enemies, so she concentrated and summoned clothing more … appropriate. A damsel in distress can warm the coldest of hearts.
“Sir, please help me,” she called out, “I was picking strawberries when I was startled by a wolf.”
Destiny stepped from behind the tree and into the mottled light of the glade. She now wore the common clothes of a milkmaid, her hair now blonde crowned with a circlet of daisies.
“Verily, I thought I would surely die if he got old of me. Holding me down; biting, scratching, licking.”
The Hunter stared, incredulously. Yes, this should be very easy. She felt the tremor in her heart, summoning the magic again, and blew him a kiss. A barely perceptible ripple of magic crossed the distance between them. She knew now he would be becoming overwhelmed with a combination of fools-love and uncontrollable lust.
The Hunter blinked, still struck dumb. Watching him with human eyes now, she could see he was even more attractive than through the calculating eyes of the spider or the hyper-accurate eyes of the owl. The clumsy human sight made him shimmer from the sweat on his brow in the mottled sunlight such that he seemed to wear a sprinkling of diamonds. The smell of this man in her domain forced her to involuntarily swallow a lump in her throat, and she felt her eyes becoming wider with each shallow breath she took.
They both remained still, quiet. The Hunter looked away for a moment – strange, once her enchantment was upon a male they usually became decidedly single-minded – then he lowered the bow. She took a step closer, being sure to take a deep breath as she did – it would force her breasts against the maid’s corset she wore and they would heave drawing all men’s eyes and thoughts. Her senses were smacked with another wave of this man’s potent scent – she found herself biting the corner of her lower lip. She told herself it was an act.
“What in the fuck are you doing here, woman?” The Hunter yelled. “Don’t sneak up on a man with a drawn bow! Are you fucking insane?”
It was Destiny’s turn to blink, dumbfounded. “I –“
“Don’t you know these woods are dangerous? There’re bears, and – well, I guess you know about the wolves already – but even these mushrooms,” he grabbed her by the elbow, dragging her across the glade. “These mushrooms could kill you three times over if you’d picked the wrong one!”
Destiny marvelled at his strength – he led her with barely a thought, yet she struggled with all her might to pull back to no avail. “I – that is –“
“And strawberries. Fucking strawberries? There’re no fucking strawberries in this forest. Blackberries, maybe, mulberries, too. But strawberries? You need to get your priorities straight, stupid girl!”
Destiny frowned. Why wasn’t her enchantment working?
The Hunter led her to one of the mossy boulders and sat her down a little more forcefully than she expected. He turned away from her, tossing his bow and arrow aside and gesturing sweepingly to the woods around them.
“On top of the bears and wolves and mushrooms and strawberries, there’s a fucking witch in these woods! She’s been known to appear as a damsel in distress, to lure young men to a most horrible death.”
Destiny stared at him. Handsome, yes. Smart, not so.
The Hunter heard his own words, and a few seconds later his brain caught up. He clutched at his chest – an amulet around his neck. Of course. Destiny, with a flick of her wrist, magically threw his arms wide and levitated him from the ground, crucified in the air.
She stood from the boulder, and approached. As her long legs took deliberate steps her maiden’s clothes smouldered and smoked away revealing her black web-like gown. The flower circlet withered and fell, and the blonde hair she’d faked darkened to a fiery crimson.
“My dear boy,” Destiny laughed as the smoke cleared and revealed her dark majesty. “I don’t kill the young men I find. Most of my young men rather enjoy our time together.”
The Hunter struggled, but remained frozen three feet from the earth. Destiny floated before him, plucked the religious icon from his chest and tossed it aside. She saw her enchantment take hold. It brought her a smile as she traced his lips with a fingertip. His scent at this distance was intoxicating, and she lowered them both to the ground. He immediately began unbuttoning his tunic, pulling it over his head to reveal a lean, athletic torso. She admired his form as she began untying the cords that secured her corset.
“For now, my dear, I am your Destiny.”
| 2017-11-20T18:58:04 | 2017-11-20T18:45:38 | 95 | 20 |
[WP] Whenever someone reaches 18, they are given a sealed envelope with their last words inside. You just received yours and opened it, reading the words: "I always knew you were going to kill me."
|
The doorbell rang and James went to answer it, knowing that the man in black standing at the door held his final words. It was freaking and intimidating, but James opened the door anyway. He heard pounding in his head. Or was it? He thought he could hear it outside his head as well.
The man handed James the envelope. "Do you hear that?" James asked. The man nodded, turned and walked back to his car. James went back inside.
"Big day" Lara said but James was paying more attention to the noise than what she was saying.
James open his envelope slowly, read it to himself and turned to Lara.
"Well... what's it say?" Lara asked.
"Can you hear that?" James asked as if only confirmation from Lara would calm his fears.
"I do. It sounds like an old fashioned typewriter or something. Or a hundred tap dancers. Weird. But what's it say?" Lara replied.
"It says 'I always knew you were going to kill me".
"Me? I love you. I would never kill you." Lara said and walked to the window. "Wow, this is probably the strangest thing I've ever seen. There are like a thousand sheep coming down the street".
James looked out the window and screamed.
"The words are You are going to kill me, here read it" he handed the note to Lara.
"Oh my God... Ewe. I always knew ewe were going to kill me" Lara said as the first sheep burst through the door.
|
"So, what did your letter say?" a quick question was asked other side of the room. It was Jack whose birthday was recently, so everyone was bugging him; what were his last words? It was a thing that always gained gossip. Many students made up the words to seem more popular, such as *'Leave without me, else we all are going to die!'*. Many changed when they saw their letter.
Jack looked around, smiling and announced: "Fine. It was *Take care of my grandchildren, would you?*" he sounded proud and many girls made high volume voices for that. That soundede was something along the lines *Awww*.
"So romantic!" one of them announced.
What they did not know, was the fact that another side of the room was Bill, who also had a birthday. He wasn't a popular boy, quite opposite and nobody even knew that he had a birthday on the same day as Jack. But it wasn't the worst part. His final words were weird. His self-esteem was low enough, so he was even more suspicious of everyone. In his heart, he knew who could be insane enough to actually do it. His ex-bullies.
"Surprise," came a quiet whisper straight into Bill's ear. Bill stood up quickly and turned around, moving his hands into defensive position.
"Oh, Rick. Dammit, I told you to stop doing that!" Bill said, sighed and took a seat.
"So, what was yours?" Rick went straight to the point.
"Won't tell you!" Bill said and now stood up. He was waiting for Rick to go home together. When all his things were in the backpack and the bag itself on his back, he started walking outside of the classroom.
"Revenge?" Rick asked, smirking, quickly walking alongside him.
"Yes. Your very exact words!" Bill nodded. Rick smiled as a response. "But now that we both know our last word, we can swap them!" Bill proposed.
Rick gave a small head shake. "I am sorry, I can't." That, however, made Bill think. What if the words on Rick papers were something that would result in his death?
They walked home, talking about many things. That is until a group of guys stepped in front of them, not that far away, but there were few of them. Both Bill and Rick recognised them.
"Rick, I am not pleased. You took our toy away!" a bigger guy said. He took a big baseball bat out behind his back and showed it to everyone. Others chuckled. Bill was terrified. Rick just grinned.
"Toy? I don't remember- oh," he sighed and opened his bag. "There, you go, your toy," he took a baseball ball out of there and threw it towards the big bully. It didn't far, but close enough. It was a lucky case that Rick had it. He recently had started practising baseball more often.
"You are mocking me!" the big guy said, furious.
"Come on now, Thomas. You don't have to do this! Leave us alone, find someone else to waste your time on," Bill showed disgust towards Rick for that suggestion.
"Finding a new person to bully as my replacement is not okay! I wouldn't want anything that this fat shithead can do to anyone else." Bill shouted. They all looked at him. Rick's eyes were shining, a huge grin on his face. Thomas felt even more disgusted.
"You are absolutely correct!"
*BANG*
Echo was still following the bang. Thomas was holding a gun on his another hand, hand now shaking, but he was grinning. Even his companions were terrified and had taken few steps back.
Bill looked at his wound, feeling the strength leaving him. Rick took quickly hold of Bill, who was about to fall down and then slowly helped him down. He was already searching his phone.
"YOU DON'T MESS WITH THOMAS AND HIS GANG!" Thomas shouted, saliva coming out of his mouth. "LET THIS BE WARNING!" he screamed. "I WILL TAKE BILL BACK AS MY SLAVE! NO, IT IS TOO LATE! I WILL KILL YOU BOTH!" he screamed. He was insane.
Rick ignored Thomas. Meanwhile, Bill reached into a pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. To think that it would happen so soon. He looked at Thomas.
"I always knew you were-," before he could finish, Rick pushed his finger against Bill's lips, to stop him talking. He just finished explaining where they were and police with an ambulance were on their way.
Rick then removed the paper from Bill's fingers and read it, chuckled.
"Save it. Save it when you are really going to die," Rick said, still smiling. He stood up and looked towards Thomas. If Thomas was stupid enough to shoot, he would be stupid enough to finish his threat. He felt a responsibility to save Bill.
"You saved my life when I met you. Those hours you spent with me, they are priceless. You saved my life when you agreed to be my friend," Rick said. "It's time for me to pay you back, Bill!" he turned around and started walking towards Thomas. Thomas just now had recovered from initial shock of what he had done.
A piece of paper fell down from Rick's pocket. It fell next to Bill, revealing certain words. Bill's eyes widened. He opened mouth to scream, but nothing came out.
*It's time for me to pay you back, Bill!*
That was the line on the paper.
*You are wrong*, Bill thought. *It was you, who has saved me countless of times.*
----
Bullying is bad. Don't do it. K? And help those who are suffering under it.
/r/ElvenWrites
| 2018-02-19T10:10:48 | 2018-02-19T08:51:05 | 31 | 15 |
[WP] It's a known fact that you are incapable of telling a lie. This has landed you several opportunities, including your current job as Head of Security at one of the largest banks in the world. Except you got bored and decided to rob it all. This is the story of how you got away with it.
|
– So there's been a robbery, but you are not guilty of that, I'm pretty sure.
– Uh, yeah, actually…
– No, I know, it's all fine, you tried your best to prevent that.
– Well, the truth is…
– Nah, it's okay, man, you don't have to feel guilty. It has been a massive scheme. We will just learn to defend ourselves better. Let's go for a beer meanwhile.
|
“I’m Super Special Agent Dirk Diggler and this Super Important Agent Mick Mickerson, I assume you are expecting us.”
The agents stood in the doorway, peering down the hall past the lady who greeted them.
“Ah, yeah, sure. You’ll be wanting to speak to my manager, right?”
Diggler lifted his clipboard to reading level, “A Mr. Berguson?”
“Yes, but he prefers to be called by his first name – Ferguson.”
The agents were led down the hall, the rooms of the bank showing themselves through the various widows in the building – police tape dancing around like wild flowers. The agents eventually reached the office of Mr. Berguson who was quick to greet both men with hearty handshakes.
“Right, gentlemen, I prefer to be called Ferguson – not too big on formality. What can I call you two?”
“Unfortunately, as Bureau men, we are all about formality,” said Mickerson, discreetly wiping Ferguson’s sweat from his hand. “But, as you have been so welcoming, you can call us Special Agent Diggler and Special Agent Mickerson.”
The agents took their seats, just in front of the desk Ferguson Berguson had seated himself at. The room was extravagant and was well befitting the prestige of the bank.
“We’ve been through the police reports and we have some ... questions,” said Diggler, rifling through the pages attached to his clipboard. “In particular, our questions revolve around the issue with Steve, your head of security.”
“And what is the issue with Steve?”
“Well,” said Diggler, inching forward on his chair, “it appears you wrote off every accusation the local police threw his way.”
“And that’s because he told me didn’t do it,” said Ferguson, confidently reclining in his chair.
“Yeah, we read that in the report,” said Mickerson. “But how can you be so sure?”
“Because Steve also told me can never ever lie.”
“Did you just say ‘ever’?” asked Diggler, rubbing at his chin inquisitively.
“Never ever,” said Berguson.
“Jesus Christ,” said Mickerson, furiously taking notes.
“I still remember my first meeting with Steve to this day. The confidence radiated from the man. During the interview he stopped me to say, ‘”Mr. Berguson, ask me any question you want and I’ll have to tell you the truth because, and I know I have said this multiple times already, I can never lie.’”
“And what did you ask him?” asked Mickerson.
Mr. Berguson leaned forward. “And that’s how this whole story ties together, gentlemen. I asked him: ‘Would you ever rob this bank.”
“Incredible,” said Diggler.
“That’s probably the question I would ask him, too. What did he say?” asked Mickerson.
“I’d ask him something like ‘do aliens exist?'” said Diggler.
“That’s not how it works. He can only answer truthfully with the knowledge he possesses,” explained Berguson.
“Then maybe I would ask him ‘If aliens did exist, do they?’ Try and catch him out,” said Mickerson, winking first at Berguson then casting a smile at Diggler who was flashing back an impressed expression.
“Gentlemen, that’s not how this works.”
“Zombies. True or false.”
“He said he would never ever, ever steal from my bank!” shouted Berguson, trying his best to get the conversation back on track.
“A double ever?” said Diggler, looking towards Mickerson who was nodding his head as the two men re-entered the conversation.
“That’s irrefutable,” said Mickerson.
“In the Bureau we have a saying, ‘A double ever is irrefutable’.”
“It’s true, we do say that all the time,” said Mickerson.
“Well, Mr. Berguson. That’s all we need." The two agents stood from their chairs. "I think we just cracked this case,” said Mickerson.
“What do you mean you’ve cracked the case?”
“It’s simple," said Diggler, re-tucking in his shirt in to his pants as it had done that awkward thing where it falls out after standing from a sitting position. "All we have to do is ask Steve who robbed this joint.”
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement
| 2018-05-03T05:52:10 | 2018-05-03T05:32:31 | 454 | 156 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.” Whispered the cashier, dropping my McNuggets. “I thought I was the last one! I can’t believe there’s more survivors! I mean, you skin is a little more pale than I would expect but who cares? Follow me, we need to talk!”
“But my McNuggets” I said
“Don’t worry, I’ll make you however many nuggets you want if you come sit and talk with me.”
I shrugged and decided I would entertain this guy. I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying but I wanted to entertain this little crazy man. We sat down in a small booth far away from anymore McDonalds connoisseurs and he started to talk.
“So, how did you escape? What do you remember? Are there more like you and me out there?”
“Look buddy I have no idea what you’re talking about, escape from what?”
“From the earthquake of course! What else would I be talking about?”
“There was an earthquake? What language are you hearing right now exactly?”
“ATLANTEAN OF COURSE!”
Now this threw me back.
“What? Atlantis is fake my guy.”
“Well then why are you speaking fucking Atlantean?”
“I’m not, I’m just talking! What happened in ‘Atlantis’ that I should be worried about, hmmm?”
A look of sadness and remembrance came over his face.
“Well I’m from there. Over 1000 years ago my island was swallowed by the ocean. Earthquakes, fires, tsunamis... they plowed over my island and I was lucky to have been on a traders ship outside of Atlantis’ main port.”
“What makes you think I’m going to believe you?” I said, actually quite curious now. Either he was a good actor or telling the truth.
“Well, Atlanteans live forever unless killed, and since I’ve been around for that long I have some pretty neat stuff back home that might convince you.”
“As long as you get me my fucking McNuggets.”
________________________
________________________
Hey r/WritingPrompts , long time lurker first time poster here. I left a lot of plot holes, I know. But the first thing I thought of was Atlantis and I wanted to do something with it. I have an idea for more of this story but my formatting and the gaps between my dialogue made me cringe too much to keep going.
Don’t tear me apart pls
|
"You're going to have to say that again, because I have no idea what in the fuck you're trying to say," I inform the sparkling conversationalist that just conversed in little more than grunts and growls.
"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years," the young man behind the counter informs me, seemingly confused as to how I didn't understand him the first time.
"Cool, can I get my food now?" I ask, impatiently. I really don't want to get mixed up in anything today.
"I don't think you understand - that language? It's more than dead. It's extinct. How do you know it?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose with an exasperated sigh. It's damn near midnight, and I don't feel like going through the whole process of explaining my "skill".
"Congratulations; I don't care. Can I get my food now?"
"Not until you tell me how you know that language," he hisses at me. "My family have kept that language alive, but secret, for generations."
"Well, then, it's not very extinct, is it?" I lean against the counter, the exhaustion of the day catching up with me. "Look, man - I just have this ability, to speak the native language of whoever I speak to. Can't understand it, but it just comes out of my mouth. It's useful in a traffic jam, but that's about it." I yawn, my eyes drifting shut as I feel myself growing even more tired. "So I don't know your fuckin bullshit language - I just want some food."
"I don't believe you."
"Once again, I do not care. My food, please."
He purses his lips and completes the transaction. Finally!
After waiting for what feels like an eternity, I finally get my tray of food, and simply nod to the cashier as I head over to the closest empty table. Being the only customer in here, it's not hard to find one.
Before I even have a chance to eat, my newfound irritation sits down across from me. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. "Look, can I just enjoy my food in peace?" Taking another look at my burger, I mutter to myself, "okay, maybe 'enjoy' is pushing it..."
"If what you told me about your ability is true, then we could use your help - there's a word we've lost, a very important word. The only word left unknown in the language, in fact." He leans forward a bit. "And it's the word that opens an ancient safe, in which who knows what kind of riches are stored. If you help me open it, I'll give you some of it."
I stare at him, the cogs working in my tired brain. Eventually, I decide to just humor him - after all, money is money. "I'll open it, so long as I don't have to speak to anyone else in your family."
He nods, and I sigh as I quickly scarf down my food. We head outside, exchanging no conversation whatsoever, and share a quiet car ride to his home. It doesn't take very long to get there.
It's an old house - maybe seventy years old, judging by the area and the style of the design.
He leads me to a shed behind the house, and opens it with a key from his belt.
"This better be a decent amount of money, because you're probably very fired right about now," I mutter. He chuckles at that, and silently opens the doors, letting enough moonlight in for me to see the single box on a small table. It looks like it's steel, and it doesn't seem to have any seams at all.
"It's a code - and we know all the numbers in it, expect the zero. We don't know what that translates to. The code is just the numbers one to nine, and then zero. Could you say that, and maybe your ability will automatically translate it?"
I nod, and approach it while clearing my throat. I speak as if I'm speaking to him - I don't know what the limits of my ability are in terms of just speaking aloud to nobody in particular. I list one to nine, and, my heart pounding and nerves on edge despite how tired I am, I say the final number: zero.
As soon as I say it, my throat feels like it's on fire. I fall to me knees, coughing and hacking, and feeling as if I'm going to die. Tears come to my eyes, and I feel something coming out of my throat - not through my esophagus, as if I'm vomiting, but my trachea. It's painful, but I don't think it's causing any kind of damage.
One huge cough brings with it the cessation of pain, and the sound of metal falling onto wood. I open my eyes in confusion, and see I've coughed up a metal disk of some sort.
"What the fuck - what is this!?" I exclaim, confused and a bit scared. I look over at my new "friend". "What happened!?"
He looks pale, and just as confused as I am. "Y-you're speaking English now," he informs me. I look back down at the disk, even more confused than before. I frown, not really understanding what in the hell is going on.
Regardless, I wordlessly follow a faint instinct. I pick up the disk, stand, and press it against the cube.
The disk is immediately absorbed into its mass, and I jump as a loud mechanical clunk echoes throughout the shed. Whirring and mechanical sounds persist, and I faintly hear a door open and confused voices approaching the shed. I swallow back fear and look up at...
"I never got your name," I announce. It seems so trivial to think of, while a solid cube makes otherwordly sounds. But it's all I can think about, oddly enough.
"William," he introduces himself. "You?"
"Simon," I reply. I return my attention to the cube as the sound suddenly stops, and become acutely aware of people watching me from the doorway. I hear William explaining stuff to the new observers, but find myself captivated as the cube slowly opens, transforming in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.
Out of it comes a single, glowing stone. Despite my better judgement, I reach out to pick it up.
"No!" Someone behind me exclaims. It's too late - even as they grab my shoulder, my hand has closed around the enigmatic treasure. I feel a sudden surge of energy, and my vision goes white. I feel myself fall to the floor, and then - nothing.
| 2022-06-29T16:29:01 | 2018-06-24T21:55:57 | 647 | 80 |
[WP]: Your son's solution to every problem was to fake his own death. Broke a vase? Fake death. Failed a class? Fake death. Moving out to college, he mysteriously disappeared. 20 years later, you get letter in familiar handwriting. "Mom? Please don't get mad, but I REALLY need your help..."
|
With shaking hands, I carried my son's letter into my study.
I read it.
Then I read it again.
Over the 20 long years that he was missing, James had lived a wild and varied life, full of hijinks and adventures.
And now my baby was in trouble. A mother's child is always her baby, even if that child is forty years old.
How could I help him?
&#x200B;
I studied the return address on the envelope. I booted up the computer and opened up Word, searching for the first words I'd say to my son after decades of grief and heartbreak.
&#x200B;
"Dear James," I started.
&#x200B;
"I am sorry to inform you that your mother Linda passed away in 2014 after a brief battle with Stage IV kidney cancer..."
|
"I'm sorry Ms. Williams, this is never easy but is this your son."
As she looked over the body on the examiner's table, Alice began to cry.
"You know, it's hard to tell how events will shape a young mind. Little James was in and out of the hospital countless times in the first five years of his life. It got to the point that the hospital rooms felt more like home than our little townhouse ever did. During yet another surgery there were complications and he fell into a coma. We thought we were going to lose him, but my brave little fighter didn't want to go yet. When he finally woke up and I squeezed him hard with tears in my eyes I was so happy my baby had come back to me that I swore I'd never let him go. I'll never know if it was the time in the coma or perhaps my reaction to him coming out of it, but something had changed in James. At first, it seemed like just playing a game, little things like floating face down in the tub when I'd come in to check on him or holding his breath when he'd play possum after his naps. The first couple of times my reactions were real, I'd scream and pick him up and hold him tight with tears running down my face; then he'd open his eyes and smile and say 'Look, I'm okay mommy!' and he'd laugh and I would laugh right along. As he kept it up I played along, it was just our little game, my brave little boy poking fun at death that had threatened him so many times. One day he changed the game, he had knocked a vase from our end table and rather than fess up or lie to us about how it happened; we found him lying motionless on top of the broken glass. Of course, I was mad at him, but when he finally opened his eyes and smiled at me like he always did, I went right back to playing the game. As James' games became more elaborate, he'd make fake blood and trick ropes to stage grisly death scenes, I just saw the creativity, the artistry of my son's creations, I was sure one day he'd find his way to Hollywood and put his prop making skills to use. His father never liked the games, he called it sick, he thought there must be something wrong with both of us that we could go about with such a macabre sense of humor. The night we came home from the party to the staged murder scene to cover for the failing grades he was getting in history was the last straw. His father had packed his bags and was out the door before James had even opened his eyes to let on to the prank. I stopped playing along after that, even his Cheshire grin could no longer brighten my face. He'd continue to stage endings that were more grand and detailed to try to get my attention and I ignored them. The night he drove off to go to college I received a phone call from the state patrol, his car had gone through the railing of a sharp curve and plunged into a lake. They were going to try to recover the car and the body inside, but when these accidents happen sometimes the lake refuses to give our loved ones back. I knew he wasn't coming back, not because he was in the lake though, this was just another one of his games, trying to get me to react like I used to. But that was 20 years ago, and he kept his game going the whole time. Until I received this letter, begging me for help...the little shit. I guess whoever he was in trouble with this time got to him before he could play one of his games. Yes, that's James."
As she walked down the street, Alice imagined what life would have been like had James not been born prematurely. If he wouldn't have had all those health problems at such a young age, or if that fateful surgery might have gone smoothly like the others. Would she still have her son? Would her husband still be with her? Would she have grandchildren by now to spoil and love? These dreams of a perfect life that wasn't meant to be flooded her as she collapsed into the seat of her car. Her eyes blurry with tears she drove away from the station towards home. She wiped at her face with the back of he hand as she turned into the small neighborhood she called home. Still blinded, she heard and felt something hit the car. Alice instinctively slammed on the brakes, lept from her car and ran to the passenger side to see what had happened. To her horror, she saw a young girl, no more than 6 years old lying next to her vehicle, blood already beginning to pool by the head. Frantic, Alice picked the small child up and screamed for help while running down the neighborhood street. Then she heard a tiny voice.
"Look, I'm okay, grandma!"
| 2018-09-25T06:34:19 | 2018-09-25T06:09:51 | 219 | 94 |
[WP] Every 10,000 years God eliminates mankind and starts everything over. Last time he started with Adam and Eve. This time he starts with two new people. The only problem is some how you didn’t die and you watched everything reset and you’ve kept your memories. You shouldn’t exist so you don’t age
|
"See, I told you God's not so great. The only reason I'm ever the bad guy, is cause he resets the world every time I get close to reaching my full power and just outright overthrowing that old bastard and showing everyone the truth."
I could only frown at that, given how I've been sat down by Satan herself in order to give me a lecture on how God was actually kind of an ass, frowning seems to be the only thing I could do without potentially insulting the Morningstar herself.
"Oh you don't have to worry about that, I kept you alive for a reason, I'm not just going to go and off you for something as trivial as hurting my feelings. That's my dad's shtick." Satan said, a coy little smile playing at her lips at the look of surprise on my face.
"You can read my min- actually, yeah, that kinda makes sense in hindsight to be honest." I said with a grumble.
Satan's smile only seems to grow at that, a soft chuckle delicately emanating from behind her ruby red lips.
"You really are the perfect choice then." She said with a purr.
She leaned forward, giving me quite a view of her barely contained bust within her immaculate midnight-blue business suit, tracing her finger across my cheek and down to my nape.
So obviously I turned catatonic.
Like any normal person.
"Wha-what are you doing?" I stuttered out, jumping out of my seat and... Somehow finding myself in the middle of a jungle now, gone were the white walls of Satan's 'office', now everything around me was lush, green vegetation, that oddly smelled of fresh snow.
"Don't be coy now, Alex. I know exactly what you want. And I know exactly what **I** want." Satan said passionately, her voice permeating through the air around me.
"You're effectively immortal and unkillable now dearest, find the new Adam and Eve, and report back to me. Then we'll see about discussing your... Reward."
"Reward?" I echoed out, and with the way her voiced sounded, I couldn't have helped the fact that my mind immediately flashed backed to the way her tapered black tail swished about, the image of Satan's ass-
"Oh-ho, that's rather kinky Alex." Satan teased, the phantom sensation of her fingers running through my cheek making me blush once more.
"Dammit, stop reading my mind already!" I yelled out in embrasement.
No response.
"Well... Okay then. Now, where the hell do I even look, Adam and Eve aren't just going to fall on my lap." And in hindsight, I really shouldn't have jinxed myself there.
[So... First time writing here, I don't really know if I did well or not. And uh... Bye.]
|
I was there.
That final day, when the sky tore open with the sound of trumpets, echoing through the heaven.
When the mountains shook as the sea rose up to meet their summits.
The day 10.000 years prophecised.
Armageddon.
I guess God finally had enough. But who could blame him? Humanity almost destroyed Earth multiple times.
And now, it was time to cut off the infected branch so the rest of the tree could live on. It was sad, but his reasons were understandable. What I didn't understand was why I was still alive. When the Apocalypse came, everything went white for me. And when I woke up, the water had fallen to its normal levels. I was in a forest. Trees stood tall , birds sang, and the wind rustled through the leaves. This place seemed.... healthy. Untouched. This is the only way I have to describe it. It was almost like..... a Paradise.
"Paradise?" I thought to myself. Something like a Paradise seemed to be a weird concept after the hell I had just seen. Slighty confused about my current Status and whereabouts, I began to wander the forest. For days on end, I explored the forest, slowly coming to terms with the fact I was alone now. Everyone was dead. My friends, my family.... Nora, that cute redhead from work I was planning to ask out. Mr. Pillar , my Neighbour. I looked at the sun, shining through the leaves. About 10:00 am. Around this time, he would be watering the flowers in his garden. Now, not even ruins remained. I could not even recognise the landscape. My home , the places I had known all my life was....gone.
I cried out, over the unfeeling landscape, cursed the God that would torture me like this. Why me? Why was I still alive? Why did he have to separate me from them? What was the point?
"That's right", I thought. What WAS the point? What did I have left to live for? The world was empty. Sobbing, I dragged myself to the edge of a Cliff. I looked down. In my normal life, I was always afraid of height. But this time, I felt glad to stare into the deep. Maybe I could just reunite with them like this? Maybe God didn't torture me, he just forgot? "Accidents happen", I thought to myself.
I sighed.
Time to correct that little hiccup.
I stepped forward.
Darkness embraced me.
Then I woke up. The sun was bright, the Land covered in snow. I shivered. I had not been paying much attention to my clothing beforehand, but the blistering cold served as a harsh reminder. I was wearing a pretty normal outfit; Jeans, my favourite Led Zepellin T-shirt and a pair of Sneakers.
I touched the back of my head, where I fell onto the rocks. It was covered in dried blood. I stood up. Weirdly, I wasn't in pain. Such a fall had to have at least shattered a few bones, right? But nothing. I could move freely. I made my way through the snowy forrest. How was I still alive?
I looked back at the cliff.
"I must have fallen over 50 meters !" , I muttered.
Not to mention, a sudden season change like this...
When I threw myself off that Cliff, it seemed like spring, but now it was winter.
How weird.
For several weeks I dragged on , trying this and that to try and escape this strange prison. I tried to starve myself, but I would not even grow hungry anymore. I tried to stab myself with a sharp rock I found in a cave, but to no avail. I would simply fall asleep for a while everytime I tried to kill myself, and it enraged me like nothing ever had.
I cleched my fist in Anger. This whole world was pissing me off. My wounds would still heal at a normal rate, no matter how life-threatening they were, and I had not met a single soul since I arrived here. The boredom was unbearable.
Angrily, I lashed out at a nearby tree to get rid of some stress.
But just as my fist was about to hit its target, I was stopped by the one sound I did not expect to hear in this world:
Laughter.
The sound of genuine happyness, like that of a child.
I burst into tears of joy.
I ran, ever closer to that promising sound.
But just as I was about to reach it, I stopped.
In front of me, there was an opening in the trees.
There sat one man and one woman, naked. Blissfully unaware of my presence, they talked in a strange language I did not know, yet I understood what they were saying. They were talking about the weather , the animals they had seen , and the love they shared with each other. This scenery seemed....awfully familiar. It reminded me of...
"Adam , Eve!"
A gentle voice echoed through the woods, coming from everywhere and nowhere, neither male nor female.
"How are you, my children?"
"We are happy, father. You gave us this world, and we have everything we need"
The voice chuckled, kind of like Santa.
"That is good to hear. I will check on you every once in a while to see if you are alright. Goodbye."
Then, the Voice fell silent.
And Adam and Eve continued to laugh.
The birds were chirping.
Spring was slowly coming.
The world was hopeful, starting a new year.
Only I , from my place in the woods where I had listened to their conversation, could not appreciate this beauty.
"He is starting again" , I thought. "After the last humanity failed to meet his expectations, he decided to simply start again, like a mad scientist perfoming a forbidden experiment until whatever crawls out of his laboratory is enough to satisfy him."
I had a sour taste in my mouth.
Is that why my world had to die ?
Because it wasn't good enough?
What about my friends, my family?
Were they bad people?
I grit my teeth.
No! He was the evil one! He took all those lives.
Then I looked back at the couple, innocently enjoying their lives in paradise.
If I didn't do something, their descendants would more than likely face the same fate as my people.
I had to help them. Had to prevent this crazy cosmic experiment from repeating itself. I had to save them.
I had to defeat God.
Only I could rise up against him.
Only I could become the snake in paradise, giving the forbidden apple to humanity.
Only I could lead them to rise up against him.
I, from the world of the fallen.
I, Satan.
| 2019-09-16T10:00:51 | 2019-09-16T09:49:47 | 199 | 70 |
[WP] Your 11 year old nephew just ate 2 of your LSD gummy bears 45 minutes ago and you have to make sure he makes it through sane
|
"OK Hudson, you might be a little old to believe in magic but the gummy bears you just ate have magical qualities."
"What do they do?"
"They allow the dreamworld to escape into the real world. They're supposed to be used by trained sorcerers but I think you're ready to handle it. You will need some hints though to help you through this. First rule: Nothing from the dreamworld can hurt you. None of it is real."
"So why do you look so scared"
"Well... The dreamworld can be a scary place. You can't get hurt but if you stray too far you can get confused and it might be harder to distinguish what's part of the dreamworld and what's part of the real world. For that you'll need step 2. Do you know what an anchor is for?
" It keeps ships in place"
"Perfect. Now we need to create anchors to keep you in place. I want you to grab a piece of paper and write your name and my name and what you did and write some of your favourite things. Keep that list in your pocket and if you feel you need a reminder of what's real just take it out and read it."
"What kind of things should I write?"
"Do you have a crush on anyone at school?"
"There's this one girl..."
"She pretty?"
"She's amazing"
"Good. Write her name there too. "
"I'm starting to feel a little wobbly. It feels like my legs are spaghetti"
"That's totally normal. Different people's body react differently to the entrance of the dreamworld."
"I feel hot. I think I'm getting dizzy"
"Shit. I totally forgot you'll need to drink at least 3 glasses of water to keep hydrated."
"I'm scared"
"Don't be. I'll be here the whole time. The best part about the dreamworld is that you're in control and it's mostly happy."
"Mostly?"
"Yes. No one can be happy every single second but the dreams aren't here to make you sad. They just want to have fun in this world before they're sent back to the dreamworld. Not all dreams are of people. Theyll be fairies and puppies and colors you've never seen before. Don't fight your thoughts. This world is beautiful and the dreams can remind us of that. The easiest way to make sure of that is an activity. What do you think about going out and playing catch with your old uncle?
|
"Uncle..... your gummy bears are talking in my stomach nowww.... Ohhh they say that I should follow them to gummy bear landd...." Tommy was literally drooling when he said that, lying there on the floor in my room.
I left my door opened for a minute, and the next he was inside, hands in his mouth, both my LSD laden gummy bears missing. Luckily for me, I had managed to keep him in my room long enough, and now the effects were starting to kick in. However, not helping my situation was my sister downstairs, yelling for him, saying that it was time to go home.
I could only imagine the hell that would be unleashed should she find out that Tommy was on an acid trip, thanks to me.
"Ugh, sis you can go back home first! I'll send Tommy over later!" I tried to scream, one hand over his mouth. He was blabbering something underneath my hand, trying to reach for his mother. With my one free leg I managed to close the door, and whispered impatiently to Tommy, "Look Tommy, if you want to visit Gummy Land, you have to stay real quiet up here okay, while I go talk to your mum. As for her permission."
He looked at me with those wide eyes, before breaking into a smile. "Ohhh kayy... shhh..." he whispered back, a finger over his lips. I had never seen a kid high before, but deep down inside I knew it won't be good. My job was to keep Tommy as Tommy, not some weird kid by the end of the entire experience. And definitely the last person whom should know was my sister.
I hurriedly went downstairs to my sister, and gave her a half cooked story about some uncle nephew bonding time. She shot be a disbelieving look at first, before reluctantly agreeing. Any time off from looking after an 11 year old kid was a respite, I guess. She took her car keys and drove off, leaving me alone with Tommy in the house.
Problem one solved. I breathed a sigh of relief as I head back to my room. As long as I can keep Tommy within the house for the rest of the day, I am confident things will turn out fine.
The only problem was when I reached my room, Tommy was no longer there. I had forgotten to lock my room door again.
"Tommy!" I called out, horrified. My sister is so going to kill me. And then at the corner of my eye, I spot him crawling him to the bathroom.
"Tommy! Stay right there!" I yelled, as I ran towards him.
Wrong move.
He shrieks as he saw me coming, running down the staircase. "The dragon is attacking! Run little gummies, run!"
"I'm not a dragon!" I tried to run after him, but being an overweight dude at 25, I was in no condition to compete with a energetic 11 year old. By the time I reached the bottom of the staircase, Tommy was gone again.
"Tommy," I gently called out, tip-toeing across the living room. "Tommy, your gentle uncle Gandalf is here..." I tried to put on a comforting voice, not even bothering to check if Tommy knew who Gandalf was.
The sound of plates crashing in the kitchen brought me swiftly over.
"Oh good lord..." I muttered as I stepped into the kitchen, the sight of broken dishes everywhere. Not only my sister will kill me now, my mother will too. Her precious China laid broken on the floor, smashed into a hundred pieces. And crawling on top of the cupboard was Tommy, a knife in his hand. How did he even climbed up there in the first place?
"Step aside, you evil old wizard! Dora says you're evil!" For an 11-year old, his vocabulary was pretty impressive.
I walked slowly towards him, trying to coax him in my most soothing voice as possible. "Hey, Tommy, don't you remember me? Uncle Bob? Remember? I was the one who introduced you to the gummies..."
"Liar!" Tommy screamed, before throwing the knife at me.
"Whoa!" I yelled as I barely ducked the knife, which hit the the fridge and bounced back inches from me. There was another sound of plates crashing, and when I turned back, Tommy was headed for the front door. No, please, not the door.
"Gummies, we will be free!" he shouted excitedly, waving his shirt in his hand. He was now topless. If he reached the door, my life as I know it will be over.
I summed up whatever strength that I had left, gave a loud roar, and took off after him. The roar managed to distract him for a few seconds, which gave me ample time to tackle him to the ground.
"Let go of me, help, gummies, the troll's got me!" he screamed and shouted as he struggled in my arms, determined to break free.
I tried to held him the best as I can. "Shh, Tommy, calm down, it's me, Uncle Bobby, we are friends with the gummies together, remember?" I repeated several times to him.
Tommy eventually calmed down, his face staring inches from mine. "Uncle Bobby? There was a dragon just now... I was scared. It was going to eat the Gummy Land." And then he started to cry.
"There, there Tommy, no one's going to eat the Gummy Land," I tried to sooth him. "In fact, Uncle Bobby has just the thing to protect the Gummy Land." My hands fished out two pills from my pocket.
Tommy's eyes stared at them intently. "What are these, Uncle Bobby?"
"Well, this Tommy, these are magical power pills. Once you eat them, you'll become the most powerful warrior of all!" I handed the pills to Tommy while I slowly carried him to the kitchen.
"All you have to do is to swallow them, and in no time you'll be able to defeat the dragon!" I continued, as I filled a cup of water. Tommy seemed to be believing me at least, which was good.
"Ohhh..." he said, as he popped the pills into his mouth, and drank the water eagerly.
"I am... am going to be strong now!" he declared, as his voice started to trail off. I could only hope that sleeping pills work as well on kids as the LSDs.
--------------------
Edit: Extended the story.
/r/dori_tales
| 2017-01-09T06:12:54 | 2017-01-09T05:40:02 | 2,286 | 92 |
[WP] When you're born you are given a list of 10 things to do before you die. When an immediate family member dies their unaccomplished tasks get passed on to you. On your 18th birthday your family dies in a car crash, leaving you to complete their lists.
|
Today was the day. The six month mourning period was over and I would be receiving the lists.
I was lucky in a way, because it could have been much worse for me. My parents had life insurance, wills, and plans for their funerals so almost everything was taken care of after the accident. All I had to do was deal with the crushing pain of the loss. I got most of my little brother John’s money and possessions after taxes. He was still a minor so they just decided to pass it all on to me. I was also able to complete 6 of my ten tasks already and I was close to finishing my seventh: Graduating college. The life insurance and inheritance that was supposed to be split between me and John was very large so I’m not planning on finding a job any time soon. Maybe I would travel the world and try and complete some of the tasks before settling down for the rest of my miserable life.
With a knock at the door, I slowly rose and walked over. Opening the door, I saw three white and gold letters on the ground, each with their names. I opened my father’s first and saw that it was empty and small text saying that all ten of his tasks were complete. I then opened my mother’s and saw that she only had three left:
4: Visit Paris, 7: Become fluent in a foreign language, 10: ~~Tell my children I love them for the last time~~.
The last task on her list brought forth a stream of tears and I collapsed on the ground crying for minutes. After I had stopped, I realized that my mother had always wanted to travel but was never able to truly explore her passion after me and my brother were born. John’s was the longest.
3: Find someone to love, 4: Own my dream car, 6: Explore my passions, 7: Live on the coast, 8: Live a second life,
10: Wait for Marc to find me in Tahiti after the car crash.
|
*They were all driving*, thought Analisa, as she dropped her phone at her feet. *to visit me.*
Analisa wandered out of her dorm room, and onto one of the larger lawns on her campus. Some students looked at her with pity, but kept walking to their classes. She brought her shaking hand to her face, and pushed her hair behind her ear.
She fell beside a tree and cried. Tears littered her pink crop top and ripped jeans. She sat there for a while, crying on occasion, and at other occasions looking up at the indifferent world walking around her. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and flinched.
“I’m sorry,” said a man in a white suit. “Are you Analisa Reynolds?”
She only nodded her head, and stared with horror at the envelope in the man’s hand.
“I got the phone call,” she whispered, sniffling. Her voice got weaker. “I know what happened.”
The man put his hand out.
“I’m sorry my name’s Matt,” he said. She hesitated, then shook his hand weakly. “I know this is a rough time for you. I can’t imagine what kind of grief and pressure you must be feeling.” Analisa broke down again for a few minutes. He sat beside her, and put his hand on her back. She flinched. “So you know what this is?”
Analisa slowly removed the letter from Matt’s hand.
“I know what this is,” she whispered, not looking at him. She took a moment. She breathed in and out, like it was a meditation session. She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, and ripped open the envelope. She didn’t try to be clean about it.
**We regret to inform you that Camille Reynolds, Carl Reynolds, and their son Artemus Reynolds passed away last night in a ten car pileup. As you know, their obligations pass onto you as per your ancestor Anton Reynolds arrangemen-**
Analisa dropped the letter at her feet. She didn’t read the list of tasks.
“Why should I suffer,” asked Analisa. “For the mistakes of my grandpa?”
Matt sat closer to her. She noticed he was warm to the touch, and getting warmer.
“You don't need to suffer. And it’s just one of those things you can’t control Analisa,” he said. “But I can *help* you with it all.”
Analisa looked around the campus. People cast glances at her, like they felt sorry for her. Others looked at her like she was crazy. Some just passed by that way towards their classes, and pretended they didn’t notice her talking there, with nothing in her hand.
Nobody looked at the man sitting beside her.
“Did,” whispered Analisa, shivering. “did you kill them?” Her nostrils flared with rage. Matt shook his head. “Did you make the pileup happen.”
“*No*,” whispered Matt. He put his hand on her back, and she stood up. She put her arms up too, like she hated his touch. “*I* didn’t do anything.”
Analisa’s face screamed of disgust. She looked him into his red eyes.
“But you know who did,” said Analisa. She fought the urge to cry.
Matt shook his head. He shook it some more, then shrugged.
“They honestly did always prefer that you would be the one to do it,” said Matt. Analisa stod up and kicked at the letter. She speed-walked away from him with her arms folded.
“This isn’t fair,” she said. She turned around, and felt a strange guilt for their deaths. “Why *ME* why my *FAMILY*.”
“It’s just,” said Matt, appearing beside her suddenly. He looked at her with adoration. “these things happen more easily with a pretty face at the helm.”
“I had my *own* list,” screamed Analisa. Some people around stared at the schizophrenic girl losing her mind. She didn’t care anymore, she was tired of hiding. “I already did my first two tasks." She shook her head, and shut her eyes. She whispered faintly. “I never even met my grandfather.”
Matt shushed her, and tried to hug her. She recoiled at his touch. He showed her the list once more. The letter had a golden trim.
“Now the first task *I* believe you should tackle,” whispered Matt. Analisa cried on. A safe goal, it would seem. “is to reach one million Youtube followers for your Philosophy vlogs.”
“What do you *want* with us,” she whispered. She remembered how the closer he came to finishing his list, the darker their household became. She thought about the men coming home in the night, with blood on their hands, taking shots with her dad. She thought about the insidious build from fortune to ruinous hell. “I won’t do what you want, not anymore. It ends with me.”
Matt put on a disappointed face, though he still smiled.
“There will be consequences if you don’t,” said Matt. He put on a kind voice. A fake voice. “You have a lifetime to do it, but I can’t control the others if you don’t do what we want.”
Analisa turned around, crying a river and shouting in horror.
“I *won’t* DO IT!”
There was a quiet on the campus. Everybody watched the spectacle of the crazy girl. Matt stood still a moment, then adjusted his suit jacket. He rubbed his index finger and thumb together.
“Either you do it *all*,” whispered Matt. His eyes went redder, and a white flame creeped up from his hands, and grew all around him. The ground around Analisa’s feet warmed up too. She felt her feet burn, and heard the voices of her family members wincing in her head. She shut her eyes and screamed. “or you *all* burn.”
| 2017-04-17T13:11:07 | 2017-04-17T10:39:40 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] You just let a hungry-looking couple into your home to feed them. As you go to turn off the TV, you hear, “under no circumstances should you answer the door today. They are not what they seem. And whatever you do, don’t let them inside...”
|
I set the hungry couple down in my den and hurried to my kitchen. It had been a very long time indeed since unexpected guests had arrived, and it mattered not to me that I didn't even know their names. I began drawing the water for a proper tea and leaned over to turn off the telly. Fingers on the button, and I heard, "Under no circumstances should you answer the door today. They are not what they seem. And whatever you do, don't let them inside..." I pause, my heart fluttering in my chest, before finishing my push. I am old, and I remember when things were... other than they are now. Children bustling in and out of the house, their friends and their friends families coming over for dinner on the weekends, my old pal hurrying off to work in the wee early mornings and coming home long after the sun had set. I shook my head - I didn't know these strangers, me, who never knew a stranger in her youth!, I didn't know them, but I was raised to feed the ones who were hungry, and water them too, so with a stubborn lift of my jaw, I continued my preparations. Were this my last tea I ever served, it would be the loveliest tea as well.
There wasn't much I could do about the sandwiches, of course. As an old pensioner, I am only afforded so much, and - compared to my old life - not much of that much would I consider luxuries. The bread slices were paper thin, and the cucumber a little wrinkled; a slice of egg instead of a whole egg apiece. I rummaged in my cupboard to find the last hint of preserves I'd left over, a reminder of happier days spent in my garden under the bright sunlight. Only a dab apiece - I let myself suck the spoon before placing the empty jar by the sink. It wouldn't do to put it in the rubbish before cleaning it; it wouldn't do at all. A thin bit of watered down milk to accompany the tea, the days of full, thick cream long past. Perhaps the fare was plain; but I made certain to pull down the finest china I had remaining from the days before to serve.
As I slowly tottered into the den, the man leapt up from his seat and insisted on collecting the tray for me. He exchanged looks with the woman, and they both said thank you, which was exactly the sort of response one might hope for when one has made tea at my age. There was not much more noise than polite chewing and drinking for a bit after that, and I nibbled on my own little sandwich as slowly as possible. How I had forgotten how pleasant it was to be in the company of other people for more than the weekly line! In short order, the tea was dispatched, and the couple exchanged shy glances before the woman spoke.
In pleasant tones, she asked, "Grantha, we... we haven't any money to repay you for your kindness, but..." Momentarily she trailed off, before starting again, a hard, eager light in her eyes. "Grantha, you risked much to allow us in and feed us. We have but one way to repay you, if you are willing to accept. We are Singers."
Singers! Actual singers! My eyes, I am sure, were wide with anticipation. It had been so very, very long since I last heard music. In stillness, in quiet, we crept about our daily tasks these days. Even children had been taken for singing or humming or noise making that wasn't in explicit praise of the powers in charge. My heart pounding, I nodded, excitement building in my very veins. I held up my fingers, little space between them. Quiet they must remain, or they would be found - but oh, please, to hear music just one last time!
Exchanging another glance, they nodded, and began singing a quiet tune. A haunting tune that spoke of better days. The most beautiful tune my two ears ever heard - I had silent tears running down my face. As they finished, I stood up, beckoning them to follow. Pointing at the dresser, I make a shooing motion. The man steps forward to move the dresser, exposing a tiny door. I hope they understand - I hope they make it. That tiny door leads to the outside, where they might - having had refreshments for the spirit and body - make it to a better place, where raised voices and glorious singing (singing!) are the normal, rather than the hidden and the punished. As they begin to climb through the door, I open my mouth. I show them the stub of my own tongue, removed so long ago. I show them the scar. I will be silent now, quiet as a mouse - I have no choice. Empathy fills their eyes and they begin to speak, but with a hammering at the front door, they exchange glances once more and flee.
I smile. Let them come. Were this my last tea I ever served, it had been the loveliest tea as well.
|
Maybe it was guilt or maybe it was curiosity, but regardless of the circumstances here we are with two strangers sitting on my couch. They seemed innocent enough. A boy and a girl, a young couple who had been out hiking the trails nearby, gotten lost, and finally found their bearings. They were seeking some nourishment before finishing their trek back to their hometown. From the small talk, I've gathered their names, Rebecca and James. High School Sweethearts who had gotten married after graduating, settled down in a town fifteen minutes from here. This was their fourth year of marriage and they had a growing concern that they were just going through the motions. In a sudden burst of inspiration, they decided that they would take up hiking as a hobby as a way to spice up their relationship. Well it would appear they got more then they bargained for as this was their first adventure and it had failed spectacularly. What was originally supposed to have been a three day simple trek became a seven day nightmare as they veered of the intended trail on the second day and got disoriented. They joked that in the future they would just stick to camping in the backyard.
After the appropriate time of exchanging pleasantries had passed, I suggested that they go ahead upstairs and clean themselves while I scrounge up something for them to eat. As they headed upstairs, I made a motion to turn off the TV when suddenly my attention had been drawn to what the broadcaster was saying, "*Warning, They are not what they seem. Whatever you do, don't let them inside. . .*". An immediate feeling of dread filled my body, weighing it down. For a short moment, I was completely incapable of performing any action. After the momentary paralysis, anxiety slowly started to creep up culminating in my chest. What do I do? Do I run? Do I confront them? From my initial judgement, I believe that I am stronger then both of them. No, I shouldn't confront them. Its not time to lay the cards down yet. We need something more subtle. I can hear the shower running as I slowly make my way upstairs. Good! I can use this as an opportunity to gather some intelligence undetected. I make my way towards the bathroom door, when suddenly a voice pierces me from behind.
"Whats going on?", James says as he moves from out of the shadows of the guest bedroom.
"Oh-uhh-I-uh wanted-d to make sure you guys have towels.. uh were you able to find them?", I struggle to get out as I turn around to face James as he makes his way out of the doorway and down the hall towards me. I notice him shuffle something back into the room as he clears the door frame and an ominous thud as it plummeted to the floor.
"Yes, we found them in the closet like you mentioned. Rebecca is in the shower now and when she is finished I am going to take my turn. . . uh how is the food going?"
"OH Yess, the food. I'm actually just going to prep it now is stew ok? I apologize I got caught up with the TV show that we were watching downstairs."
James gave me a weird look. He looked as if he was about to ask me a question but suddenly said.
"Uhh-yeah Stew sounds great. . . thanks by the way"
James then moved past me towards the bathroom still bearing a suspicious look as we exchanged glances. I quickly moved down the hallway towards the stairs but slowed up as I crossed the threshold of the guest bedroom. There it was. I couldn't make out the object completely but the distinctive shine all but gave it away as i peered out of the corner of my eye. A knife.
I kept pacing the kitchen. Occasionally, opening and shutting a cabinet looking for nothing in particular. I continued to debate about what we were going to do about these intruders. We can't run away we have to take care of this situation now. They know where I live. They've seen my face. I know! I didn't realize how much of a blessing it would be, but the rodent problem I've had means that I have left over rat poison in the garage. Quickly I made my way to garage and grabbed the small container and shuffled back into the kitchen. I put the container on the counter and began furiously grabbing the materials I would need for the stew. I started warming up the stove top. In my rush I accidentally knocked over a vial containing my pills. As I reached down to grab them a pair of feet were greeting me in the doorway.
"Hey" Said Rebecca as I sprung to my feet with the vial. I corralled the vial and the container of poison recklessly into the cabinet while my back obstructed her view, "Is everything alright?"
"Uhh yeah everything is great yeah. ..uhh-sorry I'm just in a rush to get this stew ready"
"Oh no rush, James told me. Stew sounds great. You know. . . I just wanted to thank you by the way. .There's not many good people like you anymore. Most people these days wouldn't take in a couple of dirty looking strangers just knocking on their door. Your a kind soul." Rebecca had made her way into the room at this point and rested her hand on my shoulder just briefly as she delivered the complement. There was something just a little off with the grin she gave me as she said this. For a moment I said nothing, but the TV in the background helped break my trance.
"OF COURSE! uh haha...y-you gotta help your fellow neighbor when they are in need. . . because uh you never now when you will need them to return the favor", "I agree!, well I'm going to head back up stairs to get James. He will be in the shower forever if I don't stop him. . haha", "Haha- great uh take your time, dinner will take another thirty"
It has to be done. How much is enough to kill a person? I don't want to add too much. That will tip them off that there something in the stew. Lets see here, it says only a gram is require to neutralize rodents so-uh lets do the math umm. . . 16 grams does that sound right? Yeah that should work.
thirty minutes has come and passed and Rebecca and James have found their way to the dining room. They are talking in a oddly low tone when I enter. Suddenly realizing my presence they stop.
"Oh great the Foods ready!" James proclaims as I go ahead and sit the pot on the table.
"YUP! dig in!" Stupid! you sound too confident they are going to know something is up.
"Great, why don't you get first dibs, after all it is your handiwork" Rebecca exclaimed as I take my seat across from them.
"No. .. no I can't. I must insist you guys must be starving and you are guests I couldn't possibly. . .",
"You sure? . . . " James retorted
"Of course please eat up tell me how it is".
James and Rebecca begin to fill their bowls and eat. I slowly begin to fill my bowl exaggerating each spoonful I pour. I notice the TV again. It sounds like it is getting louder but I can't make out the program playing.
"Yum this is delicious" remarks James
"Yes very well done" follows Rebecca between spoonfuls
"Thanks. . uh its an old family rec-" I start to say but James cuts me off coughing.
"Oh its a little Ho- *cough* uh *cough* I-" James starts but I can't make out the rest the TV is getting louder. Rebecca begins to join James in this fit.
"Yeah I-I *cough* guess its a lit-ttle H- *cough*"
TV gets even louder I can start to make out voice, "*Yes don't let them leave. . they want to hurt you*",
"Whats- Goi *cough* ng on *cough*" James is now grabbing his throat.
"Oh my *cough* GODD! James a-are you *cough*" Rebecca now joins James clutching her throat. The TV is getting even louder,"*Good Work, they were going to hurt you. . . they are bad. . . bad people*" they look at me and start to utter something but I cut them off.
" I UHH CAN'T HEAR YOU, T-THE TV",
"W-wha. . *cough* W-wha" James starts to say but can't finish
"J-J-James. . *cough* whats g-going on *cough*",
"THE TV, SPEAK UP I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE TV",
"*Yes this is it we are finally going to be safe*",
"WHAT FUCKING TV?!?!?"
Rebecca and James stop trying to speak. for a moment or so they exchange terrified glances with each other. wheezing and coughing, tears filling their eyes. they continue to struggle for a second or so and then as if choreographed, both slump over the table
*THUD*
*TV STATIC*
| 2018-03-14T11:17:41 | 2018-03-14T09:36:09 | 113 | 28 |
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it.
|
The bag crinkled as gravity smashed it into the cold stone floor of the examination hall. Although I could not see him, nor would I hear him shouting in warning until it was too late, the headmaster was already running towards me.
For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Not until the first tendril of blue and white lapped over the bright yellow bag did I consider the teachings over the previous semester.
"Your familiar is not only bound by your essence and your aura, but the catalyst which summons it. The base motivator that is channeled by your catalyst must be carefully considered."
Chips. I hadn't even wanted the family size bag, but it was only an extra 25 cents, "and why shouldn't I have something to share?" I reasoned.
The floor beneath the bag shuddered as a mound began to form beneath them, the contents inside were scattered across the floor.
"Back!" I heard the headmaster scream, "everyone back!"
"Uh?" I turned to him, realizing the fear that surrounded me as my classmates stared in terror, their feet shifting away as their eyes stayed fixed on me. No, not on me, their eyes fell beyond me.
I spun again to my circle and nearly choked as the floor was being torn away. Slivers of golden fried potatoes poured into the gaping hole and, with a sudden crunch, a tremendous growl filled the chamber.
"Its a Glutton!" The headmaster called to the other teachers as they drew their wands in response. "Get the boy to safety"
*no time to finish *
|
Larry woke with a snorting start when his friends Don and Harmony burst into his dorm room, chased by two other animals. Cheetos tumbled off Larry’s faded graphic t-shirt, leaving trails of orange dust down his chest. The computer in his lap asked if he was still watching Netflix, and he was glad that was all he’d fallen asleep to.
“Larry, wake up!” Harmony shouted in a rush. She threw a worn, black book down next to him, and the weight of it dipped into the mattress. ‘The Tome of Twilight and Terror’ was scrawled in silvery script in a perfect circle around the image of an inhuman skull. “We’ve found a way to kill the Dark Lady!”
Larry groaned and thought to himself, “Couldn’t I have just *one* spring break without facing near death from She-Who-Shall-Be-Only-Obliquely-Referred-To?” He set aside his laptop to pull the book in its place. When he looked into the eyes of the skull, the image came to life, cackling and opening its maw to reveal Larry’s deepest fears. The boy wizard closed his eyes and sighed. Maybe a year or two ago he’d have been somewhere between awed and spooked shitless, but he was getting a bit tired of it now.
The book creaked open of its own accord and flipped to the page Harmony had magically bookmarked. She pointed at the image of a wizard wielding some kind of brass horn. “The Bugle of Desolation!” she said. “Legend says that if a witch or wizard plays the Reveille of Yesterday, they can go back in time! *We* can go back in time and stop the Dark Lady from ever being born!”
“Or kill her as a baby!” Don said, vengefully. The owl-familiar perched on his shoulder ruffled its feathers and shat on the floor.
“We’ll leave infanticide as a last resort,” Harmony chided him before asking of Larry, “Didn’t your parents make you take trumpet lessons before they were heinously turned inside out with the Intestinum Externalus curse?”
“Yeah,” Larry replied, noncommittal. He idly flipped through some of the other pages filled with unspeakable horrors. “But don’t we have that magizoology midterm due in a few days? I’m seriously close to failing, you guys. I’ve already missed too many classes chasing and murdering Raymond Ravengeful *before* break. Can’t we just take the win and chill? Hey, I just found this cool show on Netflix, it’s called ‘the Umbrella Academy,’ and-”
Harmony rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Don’t be such a lazy-Larry! Raymond was just the Dark Lady’s second-in-command. If we give her a chance to rebuild her army, she’ll return and do *much* worse than giving Don’s sister toes for eyeballs. Besides, you’ll never finish gathering all the ingredients and drafting the sigil for conjuring your familiar in time. I told you not to wait until the last minute.”
“I already did it, though.” Larry flopped his duvet cover over and revealed a hoary, hirsute little man with a squashed face and clawed hands. Larry handed it a Cheeto, and the creature slowly drew the snack to its lips. Don and his owl shrieked. Harmony swore, her black cat familiar raising its hackles and hissing.
“What absolute fuck is that?!” Don wailed.
“It’s a homunculous,” Harmony answered matter-of-factly. “You obviously didn’t do it right, Larry. It’ll have to be put it out of its misery.” She took out her wand from the pocket of her robes.
Larry held his hands out to shield his familiar, “Whoa, no, hold on. It’s just a sloth, guys. You know, from Brazil?”
Don poked the sloth in one of its bulbous eyes with his wand. It took two a solid second to blink.
Harmony harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest, “Well excuse us for not going to Moogle-school and learning about your weird Moogle-animals, Larry. How did you conjure it?”
Larry shrugged and indicated to the floor, where a wobbly circle was burned into the floorboards, “I just kind of drew a thing and used some crisps as the offering and he just kind of came out. I’ve named him Henrique.”
“Bullshit!” Don ejaculated loudly, “I had to get 20 troll nose hairs, 3 mushrooms grown in unicorn dung, and a jar of mist from the Death Bog of Detention to summon my familiar!”
“Well not all of us can be the Wizard of Destiny like Larry Spotter,” Harmony sighed. “That settles it, though. You’ve got your familiar already, and even if we come back from our adventure late for the midterm, we can just Bugle ourselves back enough in time to be early!”
“*Or*,” Larry started, lifting his mattress and pulling out a small baggy, “we can stay here at Pigpimples, have some of this OG kush Nigel Shortass grew in the greenhouse, and watch the Umbrella Academy while we let the *actual* adults whose *actual* job it is to track down genocidal warlocks take care of the Dark Lady.”
Henrique nodded slowly.
Don looked between the dank weed, the dark tome, and the Cheeto-dusted sloth, before shrugging to Harmony, “I mean, that sounds like a good plan, too.”
Harmony scowled.
| 2019-04-05T16:05:49 | 2019-04-05T15:51:00 | 79 | 39 |
[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've been in this prison of pain for two hundred years. At first, when it was discovered I couldn't die they were somewhat sympathetic. Not enough to release me, clearly, but one of the scientists had read the picture of Dorian grey and felt some sympathy. Unfortunately he stopped appearing before the invention of this amazing drug called morphine. I know bc they tried to overdose me on it to see exactly what it takes. Never again though. I miss morphine. They could at least shoot me up with it before, you know, shooting me up. But I've got a plan. Theyve gotten lax. The last fifty years I've let them think I'm simple and harmless. They've even forgotten to lock my cell a few times. But I didn't run then. Tonight is my time!
*Log 38652. Subject is muttering to self again. Trapped in a dream state. The algorithms translate his thoughts and mutters into semi coherent ramblings. He believes he will escape. We're going to try to help him escape this time. He's been begging for death for centuries. Hopefully the fentanyl does it. End log*
|
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.
| 2020-03-27T10:04:41 | 2020-03-27T10:04:16 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] A dragon egg has been found. On the day of the hatching over a dozen scientists each from different countries come hoping it picks them as a parent. The dragon's overwhelmed and chooses the one person not in it's face. The guard.
[removed]
|
"Look, I honestly don't know why we are all so surprised by this."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?!?!? The first dragon to be discovered by science bonds to some random guard and you don't see why we're all shocked?"
"Not some random guard, that's what everyone seems to conveniently forget- that was the same guard that was posted at her site for 3 continuous years, watching the egg, regulating everything, making sure it is safe,secure and in perfect hatching condition. She was there from start to finish. If anything we know about dragons is true, then they are conscious of their surroundings from 3 month of preparation for hatching, the whole 2.5 years."
"So wait, what your saying is..."
"Yeah. The dragon imprinted ages ago. The choice at hatching was basically a formality."
|
Preface:
The young acolyte, dressed in his plain clothes and hooded cloak, ran hastily toward the Master's Sanctum in the base of the mountain. He pulls his hood down against the rain as he runs, trying desperately not to slip and fall on the muddy soil beneath his feet in the low visibility of the nights rainfall. The Master needed to hear this news, and he needed to hear it now.
Approaching the Sanctum's entrance, the acolyte is met and barred from entering by two weathered warriors standing guard. One inquires the acolytes business, while the other gives him a bored and tired look. The acolyte fishes around in his pack under the cloak, and produces a black and white print out of a news article from a national news organization's website. The questioning guard gives the acolyte an annoyed look, and then peers over the paper presented to him. His demeanor changes instantly upon recognizing the image, and he looks back at his partner, whose expression has now gone to confusion. Without a further word to him, the acolyte is ushered into the undermountain, and the guards convene in the entryway, discussing what has just been brought to light.
The acolyte rushes down the sloping path carved out of the mountains base, following the already lit torches in their sconces mounted on the walls every 10 or so feet. After a few moments walk, the acolyte emerges in to a large domed room carved from the mountain's stone. The room is dark, except for a small fire in a carved hearth in the far wall, and a small oil lamp that is set on a small table next to a large, wing-backed chair which faces the hearth. The acolyte knew that had it been daylight, a multitude of oil lamps would be lit in this chamber, allowing all to see the massive book shelves that take up the majority of the space within. However, tonight, like every night, it was just the Master, in his chair, with a book, and the fire. The acolyte rushed forward, stopping just before reaching the back of the chair.
"Master," he called as he approached, "I apologize for this late intrusion, but I have news. News that you must be made aware of, for all our sakes."
The acolyte stood, waiting for an actual response from his Master, but knowing well enough to not press further and speaking out of turn. The warmth within this chamber from the fire, added to the exertion of running from the living quarters down the hill, made the acolytes body begin to perfuse, beads of sweat forming on his lip and brow. In the silence of this carved out cave, the fire crackled and popped, as if expressing its tenants complete disinterest in anything the acolyte had to say. Still, the acolyte stood and waited for an actual response, for he knew now he could not leave the chamber without being properly dismissed.
The book in the Master's hands snapped closed with finality. The man who had now seen six decades in this life, soon seven, stood up from the chair, grasping a gnarled walking stick in his right hand. He set the large tome down on the seat of the chair he formerly resided in, and turned so that his figure was silhouetted by the firelight. He wore his customary oversized robe that hung a little too loose around his frame, and he adjusted the small, round spectacles that sat on the bridge of his nose, forcing his eyes to focus on the acolyte. Without a word, he clasped the head of his walking stick with both hands in the center of his body and inclined his head toward the acolyte.
The acolyte stammered and moved slowly forward, his body bent in a respective bow to the Master. "The A-A-Americans. O-O-One of th-the-their expeditions. They found one." He managed to get out as he produced the same print out from his pack.
The Master took the paper with his left hand and turned toward the fire, bending down slightly to allow its light to illuminate the news article that was just handed to him. Upon seeing the black and white photo at the very top of the page, the Master gripped his walking stick tightly and his jaw became set as he clenched it to abate his surprise.
*So, it is time.* The master thought to himself looking over the picture of what was obviously a large egg, bigger than those laid by an emu. *The time of the ancients has come again. Only this time, humanity has no clue what is about to hit them.*
Standing upright again, the Master crumpled the paper given to him in his fist and threw it into the fire. "Brother Sao, I believe I need to freshen up and prepare to travel to the West. Please, arrange for my transport and travel at first light." He said, addressing the acolyte in his presence. "The time of the ancients has come."
| 2020-12-12T05:26:21 | 2020-12-12T03:18:35 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] Everyone jokes that you'll be haunted by spirits for building your tea shop on sacred ground. But at night you actually serve the undead spirits and calm the restless.
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Sacred ground shines. I don’t mean that in a literal way, of course. And I certainly don’t mean it as a crude metaphor in reference to how what used to be little church downtown was covered in flames that blazed tall and fierce before it was reduced to ash. Figuratively, sacred ground is bright. It’s what makes it a safe haven for the holy and dangerous enemy territory for evil.
This is as far as we know, what we can gather from the evidence presented to us. When I say us, I mean psychics like me, but also holy men and women, spiritualists, ghost hunters, everything along the spectrum of the life beyond this one. Aside from that, nothing is known about the other side, and anyone who says different is trying to sell you something. It’s a one-way door just one person wide.
But that door is scary to some, I know that much. Not surprising, considering it’s the unknown. We fear what we don’t understand, even in death, clinging to falsehoods when they’re comfortable or refusing to take a step towards the unfamiliar. The same goes for every human in existence. Maybe for every animal too. That’s beyond me.
My mother, who lives a few states away, said she was wary of my decision to purchase and rebuild the property. My father was against it, for superstitious reasons. My friends simply thought it was cool that I was opening a tea shop. I suppose it would have been less interesting if I’d been opening it and still lived back in Britain.
As far as the process went, I cleansed the site before the builders started their work, and by the time they finished, the wonderful little shop was exactly as I’d pictured. My heart flush with joy and excitement, I opened the doors to a long line, the result of my persistent and determined advertising campaign on and offline.
But it was when the doors closed for the last time and locked, when I pulled down the blinds and dimmed the lights, that the real guests could start to arrive. For the next few hours, the space was theirs, just as it had been for many years, and I did everything I could to extend the red carpet out to those in need. Two simple rituals, as well as an incense stick that was more for my benefit than theirs, and I lit tall white candles at every table in the room.
Then I stood behind the counter and patiently waited. I felt the glow of the shop, the atmosphere, comfortable and warm, welcoming and calm, and basked in it. And eventually I saw a wispy smoke-like visage appear near the entrance just inside the door. A young woman, looking wary and lost. And when she coalesced into a solid form, the spells on the grounds of my shop taking root and giving her back the familiar sensation of solidity, confusion set in.
“Good evening,” I said to her softly, drawing her gaze. “Would you like some tea?”
&#x200B;
/r/storiesbykaren
|
##Morbid Café Melodrama
I turn the lights off in the store, and I pull the black-out curtains over the glass door. Living customers frequently tell me that it is a unique aesthetic choice. Some customers have speculated that illegal activities must be occurring inside. That would be much simpler.
I pull out my flashlight to move around the room to light the scented candles. More eagle eyed customers will notice that the candles are arranged to create an odd symbol. When they confront me, I laugh and say they are being crazy. The symbol has not been used by the living for millennia, but its legacy lives on the part of our brains that is still attuned to the supernatural.
Behind the counter, I have a sleeping bag in one of the cabinets. If I sleep in the middle of the room, the ghosts may accidentally hit me. It doesn't hurt; it just creates a weird sensation. Lying down on the sleeping bag, I start to read an eBook. It is a generic "mystery" novel that is really about the romance of the book. Another woman has been thrown off a boat in the Caribbean which allows the author to over-describe a tropical setting to the reader in a tragically dull climate. I don't know why that plot happens so much. It is quite unrealistic.
A moan starts to emanate from the middle of the room; I get out of my sleeping bag. Pieces of light are converging into a ball of light the middle of the room. The moan is part the sound of a human screaming, and it is part the sound of the light reforming. The ball slowly starts to form the silhouette of a woman. The woman takes on more detail until the moan becomes a scream.
"HELPPPPP," she shouts. I sigh. Another fearful victim.
"Calm down," I say. The ghost continues to scream until she runs out of breath. She doesn't actually run out of breath, but she thinks she does.
"Alright, hi, my name is Marian, and this is my café, Marian's," I say in a flat tone. The ghost woman looks around the room in confusion and terror.
"What is going on?" she says.
"There is no way to say this, but you are dead," I say. The ghost looks down at her own body and notices her glow and translucence. She opens her mouth, "Please don't scream. You came just as I was about to go bed."
The ghost stops herself from screaming, "You are awfully biter. Have some sympathy. I just learned that I died."
"Sorry, some ghost screams can cause my ears to bleed. I naturally worry every time a ghost starts to scream," it is a lie, but it is a lie that has been propagated by popular culture which makes it easier to accept.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I will try not to scream. I guess I am getting used to the hole ghost thing," she says.
"No problem so my first question is what is your name while your first question is probably why are you here," I say.
"Let's see," she interrupts, "My name is Deborah. The last I remember I was at a party on a boat. After the party, I decided to look at the stars. The last thing I remember is a man walking towards me."
"Really, that is..." I blink and look back at my book. I guess it wasn't that unrealistic. A part of me wants to ask her who did it, but it is irrelevant to my job and would take too long, "Nevermind, not that part, although that is a rather interesting way to die. I mean you are probably wondering why are you here in my café."
"I assumed that you were some form of grim reaper," Deborah replies. I look down at my outfit.
"I don't think I look that gaunt," I say, "Anyways, no. This building used to be owned by a cult that worshipped an ancient god of the dead. It is used as a waypoint for spirits who died in panic to calm down before going to the afterlife. As the current owner, it is my job to take over that role."
"Really, what happened to the cult?" she asks.
"There was a huge scandal where the leader was cheating on his wife with several of the members, and she was cheating on him with several of the members. It was very Bravo. The cult broke up, and in the process, neither paid the bank on the building so they foreclosed it. This was all explained to me in two separate notes by the cult leader and his wife. Neither wants the other to have it so they agreed on a truce where I am stuck with it," I say.
"It sounds like you got the short end of the stick," she says.
"I did, and they won't let me leave until this is resolved because I know too much. The good parts are that the ghosts come at night, and I got two detailed guidelines from the cult leader and his wife. I think they were competing by trying to make sure they wrote the most thorough manual," I say.
"Do the cult leaders ever drop in to say hello?" she asks.
"No, but they both have spies watching to make sure the other group doesn't enter," I walk over to the door and peak out the curtains to wave. The spies wave back, "They occasionally slip letters under my door with updates. The last I heard, there was a Halloween party where they got drunk and rekindled their romance. The next morning, they had another massive fight so things are tense still."
"My god, I wouldn't expect a death cult to be so petty," she says.
"Why do you think they don't interact with the living?" I reply.
"I mean that is true, but what does all this drama have to do with me?" she asks.
"Nothing at all, it is entertaining and calming you down," I say. I notice her feet are starting to disappear, "The purpose of this place is to calm reckless spirits. I have found that telling ghosts about cult drama tends to get them in a calm state."
"Oh well, it wor," before she can finish, she disappears. I move back behind my counter. At the start, I tried to talk with them and solve their problems. That lasted several nights, and I would have to work with several ghosts at once due to a backlog. Both cult leaders have written to me telling me that they disapprove of their methods. I respond that they can take over if they like. I even did let them station members here one night so I could get some rest. The result was a massive brawl. They paid for the damages and blamed each other for causing the fight.
I lie down and try to fall asleep. Overall, this isn't so bad. I am being exposed to a world that I never knew existed. Plus, some of the ghosts and cults are interesting. I hear a rock get thrown my window. I sigh and get up. The rock has a sigil on it. I pick it up and step outside.
"Alright, what happened with the sun cult this time," I yell to the spies. Both groups look at the ground, "Whatever, this door better be fixed soon."
---
r/AstroRideWrites
| 2021-03-10T17:41:34 | 2021-03-10T16:51:03 | 58 | 43 |
[WP] We have hunted sharks to extinction. More people than ever are going to the beach but little did we know that the sharks were keeping something much worse at bay.
|
We didn't know. Shit, how could we have known?
If we had known what was down there I tell you right now, we wouldn't have let those fuckers in Japan have their shark fin soup. Or China? Wherever. One of those countries. Point is, we're in the shit now.
Me? I'm a gunner on one of the beach towers. Yeah, over on Long Island. What? No. There's not much of the island left. Everything outside of Brooklyn is their territory now. Reclaimed by the sea and the... the things that live in it.
You want to know? Buy me another beer. No not that one! I ain't some cheap whore. Yeah, that's the one. Alright.
I used to be a lifeguard at Jones Beach. Aw, it was amazing. Woman checking me out all day, partying all night, every summer was like a dream. It was halfway through the summer of '21, and you remember how hot it was? Yeah, right, so it's the beginning of August and holy god I've never seen the goddamn beach so crowded. Everyone and their fucking mother was there. It was still and humid and everyone is in the water, splashing away. I've got a blue water bottle filled with beer and I'm taking sips while I watch them all screwing around, waiting for someone to go out too far or something. Usual stuff.
Then I heard it. Oh god. I still hear it sometimes. The screaming. Group of teenage guys trying to impress their girls by going out a bit too far suddenly SCREAMING their heads off, and everything is red. I'm up there blowing my whistle and jumping off the stand and other guards are running over, people are yelling and crying and running out of the water and they're slamming in to me, it's a fucking nightmare. Now of course I'm thinking shark, but hell, that doesn't make any kind of goddamn sense. Jimmy and Allie got the boat out, I'm on the surfboard, we're paddling out to these kids as fast as we can and the kids are face down in the water at this point, not moving, probably about to go under.
That's when I see it. It... it rose out of the water, not jumping, like a... like an angel or something, only this wasn't like any kind of angel I learned about in Catholic School, I'll tell you that. And it's grinning. Ugh. The grin. Therapist says I've almost worked the grin out, but she's a fuckin' trip. Eyes just pinpricks in black sockets, head all mottled, like something dead that decayed in the water. Jimmy and Allie are turning around, she's yelling her head off and I want to move but I can't. I'm frozen. That grin man. That grin.
So... I'm sorry. It's hard to remember. Get me another drink. Whiskey this time. Yeah. Okay. Sorry. Shakes, you know? Alright. So remember how I said the kids are face down? The... the thing, it... it UNHINGES it's jaw, like a- a snake or something. Swallows the kid whole. I shit you not, WHOLE. Second one right after. Then it goes back to that grin and finally I can move and I spin the board around and paddle away from there as fast as those arms of mine could go. You know the rest.
The poor sharks man. Us eating them and being so scared of them. The whole time, protecting us from those... whatever. Anyway, thanks for the drinks. I got to get back to my shift. What? Nah, doesn't matter. Fuckers are immune to bullets. If they come tonight, I'd rather be drunk.
At least the nightmares will end, right?
|
Sharks are something I personally never thought about, so it amazed me how many people were happy to go to the beach once they were gone. Obviously the threat of a bloodthirsty predator lurking deep beneath the surface was too scary for some people, even though attacks were extremely rare. I say *were*, because it turns out sharks weren't the only bloodthirsty predators from the depths. In fact, compared to what's happening now, sharks were extremely benign. We only realised too late that sharks weren't just predators; they were prey.
Messing with the food chain has consequences. Scientists had considered this and decided that since sharks were (thought to be) apex predators, the effect wouldn't be too bad. How wrong they were. By killing the sharks, we starved the true apex predators in the sea, so of course they moved on to a new food source. And what better prey than the huge flocks of humans attracted to the beaches now the only danger had been removed?
It started off with a few disappearences. People would go to the beach, swim in the sea and mysteriously vanish. Since no trace of them was ever found, they were assumed to have swum out too far and drowned. These mysterious drownings grew in number, but were dismissed as being caused by the increase of people going to the beach. Until the first sighting.
The victim in this case was a young adult called Tony Harker. He had been at the beach with his younger sister, Elizabeth Harker. They had swum out to sea in pursuit of their beach ball, which was slowly drifting out to sea after a clumsy throw by Tony had completely missed Elizabeth's grasping hands. The attack had come out of nowhere, and was over within seconds, Elizabeth said. One second Tony was reaching out for the ball, the next a thick black tentacle had erupted from the sea, wrapped around him, and dragged him down to the depths. He didn't even have time to scream.
Of course people didn't believe a word of it. The child was delirious from having lost her brother and her young, overactive imagination had dreamt up the whole thing. It was only when more and more people claimed to have seen friends and relatives snatched away by black, slimy tentacles that people began to take it seriously. They sent out a research team on a small boat to try and catch sight of one of these creatures. That's where I am now.
"Right, I reckon that's far enough out," I called. The boat stopped and we lowered our bait (a life size mannequin smeared with chum) halfway into the water. It was time to try and catch one of these things, or at least see what it was.
"What a waste of time," muttered my colleague Mark. I ignored him. He didn't believe there was anything down there. I knew otherwise. I had seen one of these tentacles myself, dragging a helpless young girl to a watery grave. She had been only a few feet away from me, and it could easily have been me instead.
We sat there in silence, waiting for the thing to reveal itself. For what seemed like hours, there was nothing. Only the shrill cries of seagulls and the rythmic splashing of the waves. Mark muttered something about bullshit and I glared at him. I'd had just about enough of him.
Then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the dummy was gone. The boat rocked alarmingly from side to side and I gripped onto the railing for support. If anyone fell in the water now, they were unlikely to ever get out again. I smiled smugly at Mark.
"Bullshit, huh?" He scowled and looked away.
"I didn't see any tentacles. Could've just fallen off." I point at the chains which had supported the dummy. The end links were torn wide open.
"Does that look like it fell off?" Our argument was cut short as a black tentacle rose out of the water and hurled something onto the deck of the boat.
"Jesus!" Mark gasped as it missed him by inches. I ran over to see what had been thrown. It was the dummy, chewed up and dismembered. Uneasiness curled in my stomach. The thing could've chosen to discard the dummy once it realised it wasn't a real human. That's what most animals would've done, but instead it had deliberately thrown it at us in what appeared to be an act of aggression. Had we made it angry?
A deep booming noise rose from the sea. It was astonishingly loud, causing the crew to put their hands over their ears and look around in fear.
"We should go," I decide quickly. It isn't safe anymore. The captain of the boat switches on the engines and turns the boat to head back to shore. But before we've made any progress, a tentacle rises from the sea and smashes into the helm, breaking the wheel and snatching the captain from his seat. He screams for the brief moment before it drags him into the sea. Horrified, we are unable to do anything but watch.
"We can't steer the boat," Mark says quietly, voicing what we are all thinking. "It broke the wheel. We're stuck..." Numbly I nod, trying not to panic.
"The lifeboats," I say flatly, still unable to process what's just happened. "We can use a lifeboat."
"Don't be *stupid*! Did you see the size of that tentacle? It could probably swallow a lifeboat whole!"
"Well do you have any better ideas?" Mark goes silent. I completely agree with what he's saying. Getting in the lifeboat would be as dangerous as jumping into the sea and swimming back to shore, but it's better than staying here and being picked off one by one. Without another word, I turn and head towards the lifeboats, but I never reach them.
A tentacle erupts from the water and wraps around the end of the boat, that horrible inhuman booming growing ever louder. With immense effort, it pulls the end underwater. I grip onto the railing, terrified, trying hard not to slide down into the sea. Mark is not so lucky. He was at the wrong end of the boat, and is dragged underwater along with it. He does not resurface.
In a blind panic, I scramble upwards, dragging myself painfully slowly towards the top of the boat. More tentacles rise from the water and grip on, slowly but inevitably pulling the boat deeper underwater. I reach the top and cling on tight, a nervous giggle escaping my mouth. This is it. There's nothing more I can do. In fact, I may as well test my luck and try to swim to shore now. Heart pounding, I stand on the tip of the boat and dive into the sea.
As I enter the water, I see an enormous black mass of tentacles, razor sharp teeth and spikes, and slimy flesh. Most of the tentacles are wrapped around the wreckage of the boat, but I see some wrapped around members of the unfortunate crew. The creature obviously hasn't seen me yet so I swim away as fast as I can, not knowing if I'm heading towards shore or deeper into the sea. At this point I don't care anyway. I'd rather drown than end up as food for one of them.
Amazingly, I manage to avoid being seen by the creature. It had obviously not seen me jump in, maybe it was still searching the boat for survivors. Or maybe it had given up and returned to the deep, taking my colleagues with it. I sob, tears mixing with the sea water. If only we hadn't killed the sharks.
I continue swimming for what seems like years, beginning to believe I might survive this. I've escaped the creature that destroyed the boat. If I can just make it to shore I'll be safe, and never have to go near the sea again. But just as I see dry land, an immense booming fills my ears and I feel a slimy tentacle coil itself around my ankle. I don't even have time to scream.
| 2014-08-17T09:20:36 | 2014-08-17T08:57:09 | 205 | 106 |
[WP]The torch has been lit, and your team has already stolen it. It's the fist day of the Crime Olympics.
|
"Please! You don't have to do this!"
"We both know that is a lie." I sighed as I raised my bloodied fist again. The poor fool honestly didn't deserve what was coming but what's a guy to do? We all knew the stakes when we stepped into the stadium.
"Well it was nice knowing you Bill." I said flatly.
"FOR FUCKS SAKE IT'S NOT BILL! ITS BER-"
CRACK!
And just like that Bill was dead.
I let out an exasperated sigh and began to let my mind wander.
For as much as I hated having to do this every four years, nothing ever comes close to the feeling of your fist going straight through the skull of another man. But honestly, I could do without having to deal with all the cleaning after this. Whoever came up with the one rule for all participants to wear only white gi's throughout the entirety of fist day was either a grade A douchebag or a drycleaner.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AFTER A GRUELLING 24 HOURS, WE HAVE OUR WINNER!" roared the announcer over the speakers.
The announcement snapped me out of my daydream and I began to look around at the 91 dead bodies strewn about the stadium floor. Talk about a productive fist day of the Crime Olympics.
|
**Announcer 1**: Good morning ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the first day of the Crime Olympics! Yes, and today we have an absolutely *exciting* lineup of games that I am sure everyone will enjoy!
**Announcer 2**: That's right Steve, and have we got a lineup for you today! We're kicking things off with a *spectacular* [hundred-man boxing Royal Rumble](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z5ImjnzFOuQ) right at the main field. We'll go to our field reporter Christine for the details, Tine?
**Christine**: I'm not part of the games you f-- Oh! Sorry Ron, one of the players was being a little aggressive so I had to tase him. Anyway, the Royal Rumble is off the a good start! It's only been five minutes and already ten players have lost teeth. As you know they're barely using any protective gloves or helmets in this game, so it's every man for himself.
**Steve**: How many players have been eliminated?
**Christine**: Two so far, those would be--oof, make that three. Back to you Steve.
**Steve**: Thank you Christine. And just from that alone you know we're in for an exciting day. But it gets even better folks. Over at the second arena we have another battle going on, but this time it's a pillow fight!
**Ron**: A pillow fight?
**Steve**: A pillow fight!
**Ron**: How is that a battle?
**Steve**: It's actually much worse than you think, Ron. See for yourself! Don, if you will?
**Don**: [They're using the pillows are glorified boxing gloves.](https://youtu.be/yaD_Tbff10s?t=21) The crowd is going wild. The referee is trying to break them up. One of them has punched the referee. The referee is down. The crowd is going very wild. There's about to be a riot. Also they're using the pillows as glorified boxing gloves.
**Ron**: As long as there's a pillow between the contenders, huh? Wouldn't want to get into a fight with those ladies. What else have we got, Steve?
**Steve**: Over at the grounds is the area for [shockfighting](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yph0dbw5Grw), we'll go over the Jenny for the details, Jen?
**Jenny**: Yes Steve, as you can see here, the first fight of the day is about to start. On one hand we have Lightning fron Croatia, and on the other corner is Thunder from Spain. Right now they're just circling each other, taser gloves at the ready and-- there we go! Lightning has struck first, but Thunder follows up with a huge right hook! Lightning is shaking from the electrical shock, but he's persistent and retaliates with an uppercut! Thunder is left with his jaw partially paralyzed! The crowd is cheering! We'll keep you posted as we go through the match, Steve?
**Steve**: Thanks, Jenny.
**Ron**: Isn't [chess boxing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kK5TQSKmS3o) also today?
**Steve**: Why, yes! It is! For our local visitors, the chess boxing is in the chess hall. Greg is on scene with the details.
**Greg**: Too late, Steve. The first fight is already finished. Rook was too much for Bishop and took him down in the first round.
**Steve**: Impressive! What happened?
**Greg**: It's a point of contention, actually. Rook landed a cheap shot after a stunning ten move checkmate. The judges are still debating if the left hook after he won is grounds for disqualification or not. This is the Crime Olympics, after all.
**Steve**: Thank you, Greg. And now for the final event of the day! I'm sure you'll enjoy this one, Ron!
**Ron**: Got that right, Steve! I was once a competitor myself, national champion for five straight years!
**Steve**: What do you think of the competitors this time around?
**Ron**: Not bad, they've certainly become more upbeat since I played the game.
**Steve**: What's your record again?
**Ron**: I can't tell you that! You know that's a rather sensitive topic for me!
**Steve**: Sorry for that, but still. Also, have you noticed how all of our events use one's fist in some way?
**Ron**: I certainly noticed that, Steve. Especially this last event, which is for mature audiences only!
**Steve**: Who do you think is enjoying the last event more, the boys or the girls?
**Ron**: Why don't we ask our field reporter! Jane?
**Jane**: Both! Sorry, Ron, I can't exactly show you footage of our last event, but rest assured our players having as much fun as the viewers! Hey, don't come over here! We can't show--
**Ron**: Thanks for that, Jane.
**Steve**: Well, folks, that's all for the opening announcement. Except for the last event, we'll be rotating our camera throughout the day, but if you want to tune in to any of the individual events, go to our website or to our YouTube Channel!
**Ron**: That's right. And this is Steve and Ron, signing out!
| 2018-08-01T23:03:51 | 2018-08-01T21:47:07 | 120 | 46 |
[WP] You're a ghost trying to peacefully enjoy your garden, and quite frankly, you're tired of all these adventurers trying to "put you to rest"
|
Lightning arced through the sky, gently illuminating the garden as it harmlessly passed through me. These adventurers knew nothing about battling the undead. They want me out of the garden do they?
One spent his time following me trying to stab me with his sword. Another shooting arrows, which instead of hitting me thunked into the trees and bushes around me. A third, a wizard casting spells, drawing from himself and draining his own life force in an effort to diminish mine. He would be dangerous if he had spent some more of his short life studying the occult and learnt the weaknesses of my kind.
For over four hundred years this garden has been my home. In that time I’ve seen warriors spring up like thorny roses, archers filling the air like fragrant lavender, wizard blooming like aromatic jasmine, and through it all, I and the garden remain.
Every so often a fresh band of adventurers turn up to try force me from my garden, my home. They always fail. It is only when a priest shows up that I have to fight them. Only priests or particularly clever wizards force me to defend myself. Otherwise, like now, I just go about my day. It humiliates the adventurers but I mean no harm. I do hate it when they trample the flowers or damage the trees though. The garden always recovers but it is a nuisance and a distraction.
In the past I used fight all that came but that only brought more adventurers. I used use all my power to scare the life from the living but it only disturbed the garden more. Now I am at peace in the garden and adventurers will not disturb me. Eventually they will get bored and tired and slink away, never having enjoyed the garden.
Oh what the living miss on their quest to live.
|
I didn't understand. It was frustrating, and anytime I got an adventurer in my garden it definitely ruined my day.
My chrysanthemums were in full bloom. After they were planted, they had sprouted everywhere. I knew the trick to them; plant after the frost. It was difficult to tell how frosty it was, when it didn't snow. Since I didn't feel heat anymore, it was difficult to tell the difference between warm and cold days.
It didn't matter. What matters was that they were mine. They reappeared every spring...well, they were planted every spring.
I heard someone shuffling in the house. I drifted in through the sliding door to see the gardener talking to a couple I didn't recognize.
"Go away." I tried to say to the gardener. But he couldn't hear me - it wasn't like he ever did. He just worked here, hired by the Parks department to take care of the abandoned mansion ever since it became a 'historical monument'.
They spoke for a while. The gardener shook their hands. It was a young woman and man. They had all the usual gear I had come to realize were ghost-hunting technology. These kids and their new gadgets.
The two of them came into my garden. They were traipsing through where the hyacinths used to the planted. The bricks around the soil had long since been uprooted and the soil replanted with grass, but it hurt me nonetheless.
"Get out." I said. The man stopped, looking around.
"Did you hear her?" The woman asked.
"Leave."
The man nodded.
They put their backpacks down and started setting up. I realized what it was - a visibility circle. They wanted to summon me, to trap me, to see me.
"How many other ghost hunters has this ghost gotten?" The woman asked.
Without thinking, I gripped a trowel left outside. "I'll get you both too." I said. There weren't many things I could grab. Mostly lighter, smaller objects. But I could still grab them.
I walked around my garden so they wouldn't see the floating trowel. Occasionally, the gardener would watch from the window. I snuck up behind the woman and raised the trowel.
"Kate!" The man cried, and enacted the circle.
Pain. Ripping, unbearable pain. I clung onto the trowel. And suddenly, I was visible.
"Patience." The woman, Kate, said.
"Get out." I snarled.
The man and woman looked at each other. The man stepped forward. "I'm Jerry." He said. "This is my partner, Kate."
"I don't care." I snapped. I threw the trowel at his head, but I was stuck in the circle. He didn't even blink as the trowel glanced off the side of the circle's protective ward.
He sighed. "Look. I knew that we're supposed to be reasonable and help you move on, but we've been having a bad day, so we'd rather just get this over with. Just head out, alright? It's time to move on."
"It's not." I hissed.
"There has to be something." Kate said. "There must be a reason you're clinging to this realm. To the garden."
"Take a guess." I snarled. "I'm sure the *gardener* will tell you."
"Yes, we know. Your husband set you on fire." Kate spoke evenly. "And we...we made sure that his soul has been sent on. He won't be bothering you anymore. Ever. You're free."
"I don't care." I said.
Kate and Jerry looked at each other again. "I told you," Jerry said, "She's already been released. But she won't leave."
"This is my garden." I snapped.
Kate grimaced. "Not anymore."
"It is, it always has been." I picked up the trowel once more.
Jerry put his hands on his hips. "We really don't want to have to do this."
They never do. It was painful, apparently, unbearable to be forced to move on. But I refused.
"Scum." I yelled. "You're all the same!" They didn't care. They just wanted the garden back. It was *mine*. They didn't understand it. They didn't understand me.
"This world is for the living." Kate said. "Look, we're trying to be nice. Well," she glanced at Jerry, "*I'm* trying to be nice. But you died a long time ago."
"Don't care. Now I'm here in my garden forever."
"Do you want to be here forever?"
I threw the trowel at her. Same as before, it glanced off the ward. "Yes!"
Jerry walked up to the edge of the circle, enraged. "Don't you dare throw that at her!"
"Why?" I smirked. Foolish, foolish man.
"Because." He couldn't finish. He looked away. I looked at the two of them. Kate glanced at Jerry with worry in her eyes. Jerry looked fragile, uncertain. Scared. I remembered when my husband had that look. He had the same look when he found out that measles had taken our son.
My son. I missed him. Here in the garden, all I had were my flowers. The chrysanthemums. The forget-me-nots. The roses.
"You want me to move on?" I asked them. "That's it?"
"Yes." Kate said.
"Will it hurt?"
"I don't think so."
My heart hurt now. I wish I could smell the flowers again. But I couldn't.
\--------
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please check out my other stories at /r/ShittyDuckStories.
| 2019-12-30T14:05:41 | 2019-12-30T13:18:08 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] It is the 41st millennium, and contrary to a certain grimdark future, humanity is thriving. Except we're not united. The entire universe wonders how the universe's 200 or so strongest powers have the same homeworld.
|
"so... You hate yourself?" The short round alien diplomat was having trouble with the translations to the human common dialect and it wasn't getting better.
"No, not on a personal level, well, some of us do but, generally no, we humans only hate some humans. " The translator used 100 words before giving up on that sentence.
" So humans can hate their own entity, they can hate other humans within their own family group or community, they can hate other family groups or communities, and in turn those communities can collectively hate other communities to the scale of entire human planets in hate of other planets of humans" the alien looked pensive and distraught.
"Well there's also love! Love between humans is beautiful and love between communities can bring great joy and prosperity" the translator had an easier time with this.
"Ah, I like this word... Love." The alien said it a few times testing it out "we will begin a scientific campaign immediately to force human planet 'epsilon' and human planet 'NewTexás' to be in love. We shall have the cold war settled within the next 1.74 years. Thank you for your input. You're name will be honored at the top of the peace treaty!"
|
*Shimmy Shimmy Thluck*, a stalwart freighter of the Leecant Knot, a starship that could travel ten light years in a single day, bobbed and weaved in place, as if dancing to the rhythm of the void itself. The two Leecant on its bridge were not amused.
Tlemit, the Merchant-In-Charge of this expedition, was especially displeased. "Really Nv'Grenchul'Tbgan. Really."
Nv'Grenchul'Tbgan, the Pilot, responded with high dudgeon. "I asked you to call me Gangrench, do you want me to call you Ook'tleegandmit every time? And give me a break, I missed one! One! How am I supposed to keep 200 separate cultures' holidays straight? Most stellar regions are single polity single culture! And most don't do THIS to open space!"
Tlemit had a diplomacy AI overlay that told him his response would be an eyeroll in one of the mighty primates they were attempting to visit, but as a Leecant, blobby tentacle slimes that they were, the equivalent gesture entailed absorbing more fluid from his basin than usual.
"You knew we were near Solspace, I briefed you on this every drench cycle for the last week."
"Yes and I dodged the 50 stars that are still supernovae from some Head of State Day weeks ago - apparently the States Together promise to put them back when they're done - we skated around the nebula where the God Wrestlers are celebrating Poor Aim so hard the speed of light is no longer constant, and I thought we were finally on a safe approach here, but -" Gangrench gestures at everything, and with a dozen slimetacles that is nontrivial, "you really think I should've expected this?"
Tlemit sighed by expelling mucus from every third tentacle, its display hampered by the ship's continued bouncing. "No, this is insane even for them. Play the invitation again?"
"It hasn't changed the last 5 times -"
"Just play it."
The main screen of the *Shimmy Shimmy Thluck* snapped into color, displaying a video centered on a tall primate ('human', supplied the Diplomacy AI Overlay), dark skinned and smiling. Behind the being (male, in the sense of sexual dimorphism, supplied the Diplomacy AI Overlay) were a panoply of other humans, striking metal contraptions in front of them.
"Salutations sapients, sentients, sessiles and somnolents! We - the great nation of Trinidad and Tobago, invite you to join us for our celebration of Carnival! This year, we managed to manuever enough black holes into Einstein-Kholadi phase with each other to make the fabric of spacetime dance. If you want to listen to what your ships are grooving to, check our other broadcast. And if for some reason you don't want to dance, well listen to the other broadcast once through for the song, then you can be on your way."
His smile dimmed a bit, as he continued. "And if you ever want to live the good life, to stop letting your future have only war, join the Vitae Moratorium. You deserve it too."
The video cut out, the screen once again reflecting two Leecant, jiggling and jumping against their will.
"That didn't make any more sense to me this time Gangrench. Their other broadcast is still gibberish?"
"Yes, nothing there but...wait!" Gangrench started fluttering tentacles in excitement as it altered their communications console. "Yes! I remember now an old vid saying the humans communicate via wobbling gaseous particles, not electromagnetic emissions."
Tlemit scoffed, tying his tentacles into a knot. "That can't be true, they're the most powerful beings in the galaxy! Each and every single one of the fragmented 'nations' of their sole planet is more advanced than the rest of us."
"Of course they have the technology to communicate over EM, I meant they wobble gases when they communicate via their fleshy bodies and their video message automatically translated itself for us. Now if I just..." Gangrench twitched his tentacles across the console and the broadcast shifted into clarity.
Bright coruscating lines pulsing...in time with their ship's jittering. The Leecant looked at each other. The humans had made space pulse in time to a *song*. True it was a gas wobbling abomination of a song, but a song nonetheless.
"Do you think it could be true Tlemit? The human propaganda, that there are infinite parallel universes and so long as you visit ones with no life and spread no life, all their resources could be ours? That's why the humans are so powerful and rich?"
"I didn't believe it but -" they were interrupted by a powerful sway "maybe they don't bother with lying? Though I haven't the foggiest how to hop universes."
All of a sudden the broadcast and the ship's motion ceased. Gangrench examined the sensors and saw space had stopped heaving in a perfect sphere around them, and in a path forward. Towards Sol.
"I know it's not our mandate for trading, but maybe...we should ask?"
| 2021-10-05T18:51:54 | 2021-10-05T15:39:01 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Heaven is segregated by cause of death. All heart attacks together, all shark attacks together, etc. You die and appear in a nearly empty room. A tired old man looks up at you and says "Finally! Someone else! It's been ages!"
|
You come to, disoriented and desperately searching for anything familiar when you hear a voice.
"Finally! Someone else! It's been ages!"
Your eyes lock on to an old man--well, not that old. No older than his late fifties by the look of him.
"You have no idea how long I've waited!" You could hear the emotion as his voice cracked. A thin film moistens his eyes.
"Where are we?", you ask. "What is this place?"
"You don't remember? You couldn't have possibly expected a stunt like that to work!"
And then a fragment comes rushing back. You were on a bicycle, pedaling as hard as you could, careening down a slope with a strong wind at your back. You recall cardboard wings fastened to the bike's frame.
"I guess I didn't make it across then..."
"It was over 300 feet wide! Of course you didn't make it! Only two people in all of history have been dumb or crazy enough to try!" After a moments pause, he adds, "I've had a long time to think about it. I think it might just be possible, but it will take both of us. I think if we make it across, this nightmare will end. Something about unfinished business."
Suddenly the space around you comes into focus. You're standing on the edge of a massive canyon, wispy grass in all directions and a steep slope running several hundred feet in the distance. A shoddy plywood ramp is anchored at the cliff face. And there are two bicycles. You aren't quite sure why, but you feel a ring of truth to the old man's words. You'll be stuck here until you make that jump on that bicycle. As the panic threatens to overwhelm you, you calm your nerves with a deep breath. You sure have your work cut out for you. "Alright. Let's get this over with then. What's your plan?"
|
"Finally," says the old man, "someone to take my place. Sit down, please sit down, this might take a while."
The room is neither white nor gray, it is the absence of color, a memory of a room brought up by your presence and the old man's.
"You remember it, don't you?" The man's eyes are sparkling, mad, whether the madness comes from a long isolation or took hold of him before, you can't tell.
But you can remember. The wild groan, as if a ravening, snarling beast awakes inside, a creature denied freedom to eat and run wild for an eternity. The groan erupts into a scream, a distorted void eating the substance of rock, dust and air. Your flesh is free from your bones, it spins around like a living web, gathers motes of reality to devour.
Soon, it ensnares the living. Man, animal, plant, you eat and consume, never satiated, it is never enough. The hunger, oh, the hunger.
The ghostly room swirls, the old man doesn't budge, there is no reason to panic or fear on the other side. Minutes pass, or several days.
There's a knot in your stomach, you lower a hand to rub your belly and find nothing. The body is an ethereal idea just like the room. Only the black knot seems present, too present, the only bit of reality in the vast shadowy expanse of the afterlife.
"Me, I don't have it anymore," the old man muses in a croaking voice, "this is the most beautiful day of my death!" he jumps for joy, almost giving out colors, almost remaking his world into a echo of revelry.
Slowly, the realization comes. The black knot grows ever so slightly, almost imperceptible, it needs tending, requires food. It is the same hunger, the same craving which took you in life.
There is no mirror, but you remember the face you had when living, the oddities, the skin, the marks, smirks and hair. It is all clear now. Shame it required death to come back. The hunger had eaten everything. Identity was yet another form of sustenance, as was the sense of self, the childhood and joys and sadness of life. You cackled with the power, or did you cower from it? It is foggy. But at the end of the line, you had ceased being yourself. There was a vessel, an empty husk carrying a craving.
From where did death come? The forest. They had fled before the craving, trees awaited death in stern silence, and the craving dispensed it freely. Water muddled, noises ceased, carrion eaters were left with starvation. If the craving was wounded, it just had to open its mouth to replace the lost part. There is no sense of security or overconfidence when craving, no circumstances happening to shape it. The craving happens, that is all, and so it lives, happening to others and the world.
Until a tree fell and knocked it backwards, tumbling down an empty ditch. Empty, already despoiled, with the legs broken. When the hunger ran wild, it turned inwards, and consumed the heart, the spleen, the kidneys, the nerves.
And you came to the room with the old man, finally yourself again.
"It has to. It has to be passed to the next one, just like I gave it to you. Oh lease, don't give me that stare."
The night, you remember the night.
You can't sleep, tossing and turning, you decide to go for a night-walk. The grove is... different. Ablaze with silence, insects have fled. Between dream and reality, you go onward, and find eight pillars standing in circle. *Run, run!* it screams at your ears, and you won't listen, too exhausted, too entranced. You go to the center, and a reflection appears between each pillars. You, you, you, you, you, you, a vibration comes up your toes, shakes your knees, overtakes your heart. *Beat, beat,* your heart is not your own anymore, hijacked, alien, you scream.
And each reflection has a little black spot in its center.
"You felt the pain?" rambles the old man, "now the hunger *can't* eat you, *can't kill* you, but will still grow."
Terror washes over you as the old man leaves, whistling, through the walls and into oblivion.
You hold it tight, you won't let it roam free. Sit, silent, calm, immobile. It won't grow, please do not let it grow.
The knot grows. There is no sense of satiation. Suffering is a curse, your own cross to bear, the punishment for foolishness. Do not let other fools suffer the same.
It groans, creaks, hurts, screams, what had been the memory of a belly is distorted, inflated, expanding in search for nourishment.
The eternities pass, and you are still you. You wish it wasn't the case. You is pain, you is the sick insect clinging to the colossal hunger, and it won't go away.
*The pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain the pain.*
It cannot be stilled, but you can dream, hold hopes.
The hope of a room, a hall, pillars glowing lightly in the dark. In the center is the nucleus, the first spark bringing the hunger. In the hope, a dark shape comes, unsure, scared, but curious. It never breaches the center, the nucleus feels *wrong*, all senses tell the dark shapes to step back and run, run far away and forget. A new shape comes. And another.
Someday, a shape will cross the threshold, and take the black knot from you.
And you'll be there to welcome them when the time comes.
| 2021-11-24T12:11:36 | 2021-11-24T11:49:03 | 179 | 114 |
[WP] Some dragons are much too small to ride, so they're treated more like a dog. But then some are so small that they actually make a pretty effective weapon.
|
Far below the ground which royal blood dances upon, where only the wine should rest, flames sacrifice their wooden holsters to light the cobbled walls. They separate the known from oblivion.
“Let me be frank,” Metal splits the already half-dead wood. “We know you’re not one of us. Tell us who sent you, unless you wanna be fed to the dragon.”
Though rope constrains his hands, his giggles flew free. “Do you take me for a fool? Even a starved dragon would never lay its fangs on human flesh. Mortal meat cannot satisfy the gut of legends.”
His captor returns the laughter, filtered by sin and grotesque echoing. “Ah, so I suppose it will dance around like a puppy.” The cleaver raises. “What else would they eat?”
“Well, how about you find out yourself.” Suddenly, the captured’s chest pocket flails in a furious dance. A miniature storm hidden behind leather grows more violent until it bursts. A figure flies out, bouncing upon the walls. Its speed outmatches any eye, leaving only a winged silhouette. There is only one thing that it can be, centuries of legends, all packed into a being no larger than a mouse.
It devours a flame, then another. Gluttony brings the room into oblivion. “I can tell you’re hungry, buddy.” The voice speaks out from the void. “Care to answer his question for me?”
A miniature myth lets out no less fantastic flames.
|
# Soulmage
**The hearth dragons were out in flocks tonight, gamboling beneath a cloudless moon.** I clambered up the rickety, icy footholds that Lucet had made for me, plopping down on the bell tower balcony and lying down face-up to catch my breath.
Lucet's shyly smiling face peeked over mine, blotting out the moon. The distant shadows of hearth dragons crisscrossed behind her long, flowing hair like acrobats behind a curtain. A show without an audience. "Sorry about the climb," Lucet said. She straightened up, then laid down next to me, gazing up at the moon. "I usually come up here when I want to be alone. If the path wasn't difficult, it wouldn't be my sanctuary."
"Doesn't seem so difficult for these guys," I said, pointing up at the hearth dragons. The gentle snowfall kicked up as the breeze momentarily intensified, and in the flurry, it was impossible to tell living, willful bodies from helpless flakes caught in the wind.
The gale died down, and Lucet said, "They have freedom. They have it easy."
Another man would have reached out to touch her, to kiss her words into anxious mumbles, to slip a hand where it wasn't wanted and tell her that this was what she needed. Another man was the reason the only place Lucet could find peace was at the top of an empty clock tower beneath the silent eye of the moon.
I said and did nothing as the dragons wheeled overhead.
Eventually, I broke the comfortable silence to say the words that needed to be spoken. "You could leave him," I said.
Lucet nodded. "I could."
"Will you?"
She let out a frustrated breath. "It's not that... ah. Here. Let me show you something." She reached inside her pocket for a twist of frozen meat and stood. Curious, I sat up, watching her. She let out a piercing whistle and held up the bait.
Soon enough, a smaller hearth dragon—about the size of a gremsquirrel or a glowpup—circled down lower, enticed enough by her offer to get sucked into her orbit.
"Here, girl. Good girl. You're beautiful, you know that? I've never seen anyone like you. You're wonderful. I love you. Come here," she cooed reassuringly, clicking her tongue as the hearth dragon drew closer.
The hearth dragon landed, its signature warmth filling the room as it perched on the railing. Lucet held out the treat, and the hearth dragon's neck stretched out, yearning to take a bite—
Her hand was a blur. I barely registered what happened before she *slapped* the hearth dragon onto the floor, dazing it as its tough-armored body bounced off the floor. "Look what you made me do! Did I *say* you could eat that? You hate me! You're a whore and a slut and you hate me! *Look at me when I'm talking to you!*"
The unfortunate dragon tried to flap its wings, but in a flash, Lucet's tone changed once more, back to the reassuring croon as she cradled the hearth dragon in her arms. "Shh, shh, shh, it's okay, it's okay. I've got you. I'm going to take care of you. See? You can have a treat, for being so good." She fed the little meat twist to the hearth dragon, and the poor hungry thing gobbled it up. "I love you, sweetie. Don't you ever forget it."
Then both the fury and the falsehoods sloughed off her expression, and she set the dragon down, grim-faced.
It stared at her, confused, not knowing whether to expect another blow or a reward.
"That's what it's like," she said. "With him."
I could see the sticky black thorns around her soul, the same ones that ringed mine, and I simply said, "I'm sorry."
Her expression shifted into the weak, frozen body of what had once been a smile. "So am I."
She sat down on the railing, legs dangling off the edge. After a moment, she brushed off the snow beside her, patting it in a wordless invitation.
We sat there together, two children on the edge of the world, as toothless dragons flew overhead.
"Not all dragons would have taken that well," I said. "I mean, hearth dragons are fairly harmless, but others... they're practically living weapons. A riftmaw would have sent you running for your life."
"So which am I?" Lucet's eyes crinkled. "The riftmaw or the hearth dragon?"
"You're whatever you want to be," I said. "They cannot take this from you."
The hearth drake got up, its armored body unharmed from its tumble, and took off into the sky. In a week, it would be more focused on its next meal than remembering that any of this had ever happened.
We were not so lucky.
Lucet looked away, and with a spell of sorrow and frost, her tears blended right in with the falling snow.
Then she turned back to me and leaned on my shoulder.
After a heartbeat, I leaned back on her.
And we watched the peaceful dragons soar, circling beneath a silent moon.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me.
| 2022-05-27T22:49:21 | 2022-05-27T21:05:40 | 37 | 26 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer.
|
“Sir, look, you’re a rockstar,” the recruiter started. “No, I’m The Technician,” I interrupted. This guy had been calling me for months now, and this was the second time this week. It’s only Monday.
“Your skills are unique, even amongst all of the superpowers out there, yours are unique. Tenor Nullifio can’t disable your powers using his vocal powers, Timewarp can’t undo your powers by going back in time, and Taze Taze can’t touch you with her shocking attacks.”
Sure, those guys had been ravaging the population of Iceland. One of the last places on earth where they are completely safe… from me.
“And that’s who we’re dealing with! The Terrible Three T’s!”
They couldn’t have made it more painful. They went by different names before, they just picked these to rub it in.
“And what do you expect ME to do?” I questioned. Honestly, too, because I was wondering whether this dimwit had any solutions.
“What you do… best!”
I leaned back and just rolled my shoulders. My neck was feeling a bit tense. No sweat, my special power takes care of that instantly.
“Look, dude, I’m halfway across the globe and there’s an ocean between us. I can’t make it there even if I tried.”
“We’ll send an airplane to come pick you up!”
“Can’t board one.”
“Helicopter?”
“Can’t get close.”
The recruiter sighed. “You single-handedly took out the army of T-rexes. You stopped the termite ball. Glenn Talbot, vaporized. You took on the reincarnation and improved version of Thanos and, what the Marvel heroes couldn’t do, you just… stared the guy down! The meteorite Touxi, stopped with just one hand… What, exactly, is the problem?”
“Well,” I started. “As The Technician, I can only do and affect those whose names start with a T.”
“We know!”
I continued. “It just so happens that includes my method of travel.”
“…what?”
“I need to take a Train to get to you. There is no train to Iceland.”
“Fuck…”
“Or a Trike, I suppose.”
We’re both silent for about half a minute. I’m twiddling my thumbs after having taken care of my Tense shoulders.
Then the recruiter said something that would change things forever.
“Can’t you… Teleport?”
|
\[Zero Income\]
"If you have a moment...," the teenager surprised Miles. He looked young enough to still be in high school and a mess of wild brown curls sat on his head. His hand was stretched out as a greeting and he continue once he had Miles' attention. "... I'd like to talk to you about your Super power."
Miles almost shook the hand out of courtesy; but, he pulled back when his power was mentioned. He shook his head. It wasn't the first time the government sent someone new to try and talk him into registering with a super team. However, this kid was the youngest so far.
"Busy. Working," Miles turned away and headed back to the store. It wasn't a lie. The teen only talked to Miles after he used his powers. Miles could make energy clones of himself. They were only as athletic as he was and easy to dispel. They weren't useful enough to risk his life every night. He used a clone to help carry groceries to a patron's car and then dissolved it.
"I won't take up too much of your time," the teen dashed forward to keep up with him. "Seconds, really; I'm willing to pay for your time."
"Huh?" Miles stopped walking, but another clone continued forward to the store. It was the first time the government offered payment just for listening to their pitch. The teen grinned now that the had Miles' attention.
"My name's Aurelio Luna," he extended his hand again. Miles eyed it for a moment, then focused on Aurelio's eyes again.
"It's already been seconds and I haven't heard a thing about payment," Miles said.
"Right right, sorry," Aurelio nodded and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a $100 bill and gave it to miles.
"This is for wasting time telling me your name," Miles said. "I'll tell you the same thing I told the other government recruiters, I'm not joining a Super team; I'm not going to risk my neck every day for other people." Miles nodded dismissively, then spun around to return to work.
His clone was walking out of the store pushing a cart for someone else and he changed direction to meet it. Aurelio caught up to him and waved another $100 bill. Miles almost didn't stop out of principle; but, Aurelio spoke up.
"I don't want you to join a super team. I'm not from the government," he said.
"Huh?" Miles stopped again.
"Then... what do you want with my powers?" he asked.
"It's not really worth explaining," Aurelio shrugged. "You wouldn't believe me anyway. I just need-"
"You're joking," Miles shook his head and chuckled.
"Superpowers are common enough now. Things I never would have thought of are real now; the world has changed. It's my power you're interested in, I think I have a right to know what you're going to do with it."
"Fine...," Aurelio sighed. Then, he held up a transparent, glassy card. It had two 'M's stacked on top of each other in gold letters in the center of the card. "...I [made a version](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/w0yvvt/wp_the_mileslong_alien_ship_impacted_the_ocean/) of your powers." As he spoke, a clone of Aurelio stepped out of his body. "But, it only works for Unique Souls because I [copied it from a Unique Soul](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/vxzf3j/wp_the_supervillain_prepared_everything_for_this/). But, you can give me a clean, Zero version that other Zeros can use."
Miles heard every word Aurelio said; but, he didn't know how to make sense of them in that order. But, he didn't need to admit he was lost; he got the gist of it. And, he thought he saw an opportunity.
"You wanna copy my powers...what's that worth to you?" he asked. The fact that he already had $200 of Aurelio's money probably meant that he could get more. And, Miles hoped a nice windfall meant he didn't have to work as hard as he was. Most people that saw him using his abilities for groceries had no idea how much effort he was putting in.
"Uhhh..," Aurelio reached into his pocket and dug around longer than before. After a moment he pulled his hand out with a solid stack of $100 bills. Miles had no idea how much was there; but, it was almost as thick as a single die. It had to be a lot. "... is this good enough? Tax free cash and it won't hurt you at all."
Miles swiped the bundle before he agreed to it; but, Aurelio didn't seem to mind. Miles thumbed through it carefully to make sure they were $100 all the way through.
"Thank you!" Miles grinned. "This is going to help me so much! I can quit at least two.. maybe three of my jobs...," he said. Aurelio tilted his head.
"You have three jobs?" he asked. Miles shook his head.
"I've got seven.. but, I don't need them all anymore," he said. "So, what do I need to do to earn this?" Miles asked. Aurelio smiled and stretched his hand forward again.
"Just shake my hand."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1658 in a row. (Story #212 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on June. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until August 19th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/v6bapz/aurelios_sun_1st_half/).
| 2022-07-31T14:08:55 | 2022-07-31T12:47:18 | 576 | 72 |
[Wp] The most unassuming and peaceful nation decided enough was enough and proceeded to take over the world for its own good
|
No one noticed the invasion at first.
We just though, "ooow, coffee". Who doesn't like coffee and cake stuff?
Then it just sort of happened. Death by bug bites. Next we had to drive with our lights on all the time. Got really cold. Hockey was the national sport.
Then, boom, the Prince of Canada said he owned everything.
We argued against it first. Then we all stopped and looked aboot. Tim Hortons and snow everywhere. How could we argue against the Prince of Canada. Such a nice man.
Thank you for looking after us Canada.
|
Nobody really understood how it happened, when the inhabitants became wiser beyond their years - beyond anybody's year, really. There was a short scuffle, but everyone was too tired, too exhausted from living every day and hearing of the atrocities being committed in their name, or against them. They wanted to succumb to something, and Madagascar gave them just that.
--
"How - how is this possible?" Ben asked. His hands were tied behind his back, the skin at the wrists splitting as the thick vine roped them together in a n indiscernible mess of knots.
It stared at him, it's eyes glowing like embers with a burning intelligence begging to be released. "It's been many years. We've waited in the shadows, in silence. Our plans were silenced amongst the rustle of the leaves. All those years, we were protected by you. Then your kind turned against us, began -"
"No, no," Ben interrupted. "I get *why* this is happening. We were, like, totally, 100% dicks to you guys. Totally makes sense. But how are you talking?"
The lemur slowly turned towards me, it's tail countering it's movement. "Seriously?" He was disappointed - he had orchestrated the entire occupation, from the creation of nests in the unassuming countries of war to the timing of the attack. They had overtaken the entire Earth within a few years, countries and government quickly and gladly falling to them, tired of dealing with their daily dose of utter bullsheit.
And now the human just wanted to know how he talked.
"Yeah, I mean, it's not every day I get to experience a Planet of the Apes type deal, right?" Ben pointed out.
"What? No, we're not apes. If anything, *you're* apes. We have tails," the lemur objected.
Ben smirked. "Sure, next thing you'll be telling me we don't use just 10% of our brain."
The lemur sighed, it's tiny but muscular shoulders hunched in resignation. "I don't know. Something about years of epidemic after epidemic being quarantined in our land, eventually we just became nearly invulnerable to everything. Then the ebola strain struck, and it messed with our DNA to the point that our vocal chords became softer, less rough, and more usable."
Ben nodded, understanding. "True, brah. And the opposable thumbs? How'd you get those?"
"We always had these."
"Oh, really? Dammit, man, I was, like, really proud of those. I thought I was part of a special species," Ben lamented. His head hung, seemingly forgetting the dire situation he was in and focusing on the newfound revelation that what may be his only employable skill was now shared with the lemurs.
"Well, you're not. We're taking over you guys, restoring peace, and the economy, and everything. It'll be great."
Ben stayed quiet for a moment, and slowly raised his head. "So, do you guys have, like, a system already in place, or something?"
"Well, no, but most of us have agreed that it'll be one government to rule them all. No more borders. Should be set from there, right? Oh, and it'll be a socialist republic - from the people, to the people. It'll also be a democracy - everybody's voice gets heard. And gay rights for everybody," the lemur stated, smug that it had such a detailed form of government in mind. *Totally gonna work*, it thought.
--
Well, that was more than a few years ago, and nobody likes it. Zaboomafoo quickly rose to be president of the world, and erected institutes, all run by lemurs, across the globe to better instill his power. He changed a few laws - before leaving his second term, he gave himself legislative powers, and stated that presidents are no longer limited to two terms, and limited the number of human seats to five in parliament - the rest were lemur occupied. I mean, "peaceman" occupied - the schools were quickly ensuring that the difference between "man" and "peaceman", which is what the lemurs demanded to be called (rather adamantly, I thought), was taught to anyone who passed through in need of an education. It was fine, though, because he was nice, and we had money. I mean, yeah, the news stations really made sure that we knew how nice he was, and how much money we had, and it how great everything was. It was pretty funny, because the news stations slowly began morphing his prefix into something more extravagant and over the top, overwhelming the viewership with "His Majesty" and "Great Leader of Peoples" or whatever struck their fancy.
| 2014-08-21T05:07:25 | 2014-08-21T05:02:19 | 68 | 12 |
[WP] On your 17th birthday, instead of the usual boring presents from your parents, they say that your grandfather left you 10 millon dollars and a small island on the opposite side of the world, asking you to "finish what he started".
|
They said grandfather left me ten million dollars. I figured that all his money had been found after he died, but I suppose I was wrong. I collected the gold bars, the deed to the island, and the letter. It sure was him - his diction, his ideology, everything, just like I had learned from my crazy parents.
He asked me to finish what he started. *Sigh.*
No grandpa, I am *not* rebuilding the Nazi Regime and exterminating the rest of the Jews. God!
|
My favorite part of traveling, other than the warmer climate, was talking to people about my home. I was proud of where I had been born and raised. Most people are, but I knew I had grown up in a unique experience. My mother is a marine biologist, and my father is a chemist. They met each other at a small research settlement in Antarctica. My mother was studying the mating habits of minke whales, and my father was conducting research on renewable energy in subzero environments. It was love at first sight. They were married within a year, and I was born nine months after the wedding. As much as they loved each other and me, their true passion lie with their research. Despite the obvious challenges of raising a child in Antarctica, they decided to face the challenge.
There were days where I hated growing up in Antarctica. For one thing, I was the only child around. I didn’t have any friends my own age. There wasn’t a lot to do, either inside or outside. But it wasn’t all bad. My parents loved me ferociously, and they split their research time so that they could take turns being with me. I was homeschooled, but I’m not like the typical homeschooled kid, probably because I had two teachers with PhDs. As I grew up, I came to appreciate the pure beauty of Antarctica. The snow, the glaciers, the sea creatures. We were a happy little family. It’s not like we were poor, either. Most of the researchers were there on federal research grants and had very tight budgets. But not us. Grandpa had made some very lucky real estate investments when he was young, and he had given Mom enough money to whale watch for the rest of her life (and Dad, too, after he had married Mom). I didn’t get to see him much growing up. Mom told me that he was very eccentric but kind and generous with his wealth.
Grandpa passed away a few weeks before my 17th birthday. It was very sudden - a massive heart attack. I was even more surprised when the executor of his estate arrived at our research camp on my birthday. We welcomed him into our heated building, which he greatly appreciated. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he told the three of us. “I do apologize for the haste, but I can’t wait. The plane is waiting for me, and I have to attend to other matters regarding your father’s business,” he told my mother.
“That’s okay, Mike,” said my mother. “You’ve always been great to me and to my father. Please, go ahead.”
“Sure,” he said with a gentle smile, leaning back in his chair. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “Maggie, he’s left you quite a sizable amount. Some of it is liquidated, and some of it is in the form of an annuity. Here are the details,” he said, handing my mom a very large folder.
Then he turned to me. “Kaley, I’m very sorry for your loss. I know this might be unexpected, but your grandfather included some instructions for you. Before we discuss them, I need to give you bit of background.”
I furled my brow. “Okay,” I shrugged. He was right; this was quite unexpected.
“Do you believe in Santa?” he asked.
Smiling, I said, “No. I stopped believing when I was seven or eight years old.” What could this possibly have to do with my grandfather’s will?
“He’s real,” said Mike. “Maybe not in the strictest sense of the word, but he’s real. There is a toy factory. And elves. And a delivery infrastructure that is… impressive. Your grandfather had a special place in his heart for children. Despite my best advice, he started a toy factory. At the north pole. He has already hired staff, and -”
“You’re kidding me,” interrupted Mom, her voice filled with doubt. “That is ridiculous… and just the sort of thing Dad would do.” She smiled, grabbed my hand, and squeezed.
I asked, “Grandpa built Santa’s workshop. At the north pole. What does that have to do with me?”
Mike continued, “He left you ten million dollars and the deed for the entire island.” He handed me a folder much smaller than my mothers. “Oh, and this, too,” he added, handing me an envelope on which was written, “Instructions.”
I opened the envelope, which contained only a three-by-five card. The only thing written on the card was, “Finish what I started.”
| 2016-01-02T12:01:27 | 2016-01-02T11:13:07 | 84 | 28 |
[WP] You are a bestselling author with a dark secret; you extend your own lifespan by killing beloved characters.
|
Living by killing off your own characters. The concept isn't new to most, heck people have suspected authors such as George RR Martin of doing it for years; and you know what, they're right. But George is a fool, he was never able to grasp the full extent of this power. You see while George is utterly ruthless to his characters, when he kills them, they are gone. But I, I have found a way around this little problem. Why waste time creating new characters when you can just keep bringing back the same ones. I have used this technique for decades unnoticed and unopposed. I have become immortal by making my characters immortal, as many times as they die I will keep bringing them back; and as long as their favorite characters keep coming back, no one will question my methods.
My name is Stan Lee, and I'm not going anywhere.
|
I need to tell you something - I've got signing madness. It's a quarter after one and I'm still signing books, all two hundred and twenty thousand pre-ordered copies of my newest book. As I draw my name in sharpie - what fans have called the 'K-scribble' - my eyes alight on the last page of the novel. And I can't help but smile.
Hannah Guild, sixteen years of age. She had such nice, brown eyes too - they were the colour of melting chocolate. I know, because I invented her, and it was the description I used when James Slater, seventeen years old, first laid eyes on her. They weren't my best characters, and I was a little nervous what the audience reaction would be like - but that shouldn't matter. By the end of my book, they would hold hands, and the soldiers would open fire. The reader would be crying their eyes out. And I would be smiling all the way to the grave.
I didn't always know. When I wrote my first book, one of my characters quickly amassed a loyal following, guided mainly by the fact that readers saw themselves in everything she did. The decision to kill her had been a genuinely difficult one then. I didn't even write her death down. It was merely implied that she had taken a car out onto the interstate and had never came back. Yet after the best-selling success of *Looking for Georgia* everybody seemed to love the fact that I took her life. They liked that the teenaged narrator handled the death in a very mature way. *I don't know what it is, but it's out there somewhere,* the narrator had said. And the night after *Georgia* went to #1 I found a small receipt in my pocket saying only this:
TRANSACTION
1 MEDIUM-QUALITY CHARACTER : 1.50 YEARS
ENJOY YOUR STAY!
Nowadays, I would be offended. *MEDIUM-quality? I'll have you know this character is grown with 100% organic imagination, blah, blah...* But at the time I only felt shock. *1.5 years of what?* Besides, I had not gone out that night, and even if I had forgotten, I was sure none of the places I went to would accept characters as units of payment. Dollarydoos maybe, but characters? It would be like paying in terms of bubble money. I burnt the receipt. After all one can't be too careful with one's transactions, even if they were fictional.
But then after *Plentiful Anastasias*, the second book in the trilogy won an award, I received the same message in my pocket. The bill opened this time by quoting me: 'The way he sees it, he's not going to get with the girl of his dreams, but it didn't stop him chasing her in the same way wind didn't stop a dog chasing a car.' Then my account was credited for 2.25 years, for the death of a STRONG-TO MIDDLING CHARACTER. I had killed the guy. The girl had run away to San Francisco, and when the boy finally tracked her down, she decided he never really liked her, only the idea of her. And as she left, the boy, heartbroken, had thrown himself off the Golden Gate Bridge. I say *he;* in reality I had written it so that he could do no other. I killed him. And this second time round, I understood.
Everytime I killed a beloved character, my lifespan increases. I didn't know who, or what was doing the totting up, but the more they liked my characters, the longer I got on my life account when I killed them off. Sometimes they gave me nothing, if the character was ambivalent, and sometimes they even deducted from my life account, if I killed off someone they hated. I learned all this as a young man. Twenty-six books and fifty-three years had not changed me. And the best part is that no-one knows. Some suspect it, of course. My wife knew I shouldn't have been able to survive that car crash. And my kids know about the time I nearly slipped off the Golden Gate bridge. But they will never know about my truth - that the tree of my life was watered with the blood of my characters.
I looked at the clock. By now, the book had already debuted in some selected places, and the receipt should be coming at any time soon. I was expecting maybe four years this time. If I was lucky, I could maybe get up to seven. Eight was pushing it a bit too far, but you never knew...
The slip appeared in my pocket. I grasped it, unfolded the paper, and began to read:
TRANSACTION
2 ATROCIOUS CHARACTERS: - 6 YEARS
ENJOY YOUR STAY!
I only had time to feel the radiating pain from my left arm before my heart stopped completely.
THE END
| 2016-01-11T08:29:59 | 2016-01-11T05:27:22 | 38 | 10 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad"
|
Chapter 1
"Some are calling it the prank of the century, others believe it to be a supernatural occurrence, and still others call out 'conspiracy'. What is the truth behind the sudden alteration of mugs all over the world? Do they really reflect the rankings of dads? We'll be checking in with spiritualist Dave Connor and skeptic Alfred Hanny as they discuss the matter at 5-"
*click*
"...he throws, and... touchdown!"
Mark hangs his head after the prison guard changed the channel on the TV. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw Davidson, a man convicted for killing his wife, hit the payphone against the wall, and started yelling, "Don't fuck with me Vincent! There not even 60 million dads in the world, how I be number 60 million and some bullshit? You think I'm some fuckin' shit dad? It's not my fuckin' fault I'm here, can't take care of Marissa..."
A guard responded to the commotion and after several hand gestures signalling Davidson to get off the phone, the guard pressed down the hook. Davidson immediately punched the guard in the face. Several guards from around the area ran towards him, and tackled Davidson to the ground.
A man laughed as he sat down next to Mark, "Wow, man. Hey, I bet you have a bigger number than him, ya know?" The man taunted Mark, "What's it been for you, 30 years? For killing your little girl. And your wife just magically got dead too, but they don't charge you for that."
Mark silently stands up, and walks away.
"Come on baby, don't act like that! Let's say you suck my dick and make up for how rude you're being right now to yo shugga daddy," the man said while following close behind, grabbing his own crotch. He spit at Mark, and then laughed.
Another man, burly with a thick, curly black beard, stared down Mark as he passed by. He jumped at Mark to try to scare him, but Mark was unfazed. When he didn't get a reaction, he grabbed Mark by the crotch and squeezed. The man smiled, his mouth full of silver caps and missing teeth. Mark flinched, but refused to retaliate. The burly man leaned in and said, "You'll fuck up before you get out of here tomorrow, and when you do, you're mine."
A guard rushed over and pushed the man off of Mark. He never shifted his gaze from Mark's eyes. He lifted his hands into the air while the guard pushed his forearm into his massive chest to get him back.
Mark returned to his cell and laid down. The setting sun shined through the inch-wide slit they call a window in this place. Mark closed his eyes early today.
Chapter 2
The next day, Mark was waiting at the gate leading to the outside with the clothes on which he hadn't seen for 30 years. It was back then he was standing on the opposite side of the gate looking in. The sound of the gate opening startled Mark, who was barely standing after his restless night.
Five steps forward and he was free. Four, three... two... one more. He took his final step from the prison grounds, but the look on his face was not the look of a free man. A taxi cab honked to get Mark's attention. He looked up, squinting under the summer sun. He stepped in.
"Where to, Freeman," the driver asked. Mark handed him an address on a piece of paper, and fell back into his seat, gazing out the window. Then his eyes wandered to the front of the taxi where he could see a picture of a small dark-skinned girl posted on the dashboard, and then Mark looked at the cup holder to see a mug that read "#38,384 dad".
45 minutes later, Mark handed a credit card to the cab driver to pay his fare, signed his receipt and got out of the car. "Enjoy your freedom Mark!"
There Mark stood, in front of a storage unit which held all of his belongings from 30 years ago, the only things he had left in the world. He pulled up the large metal door, which squeaked, and stuck. Cobwebs blanketed the numerous boxes and other belongings. Mark brushed away the webs with his hand to make a path.
He knelt down and opened a box with old electronics. He tossed the box to the side, and opened the next box. He found his old gun. It still had a round in it.
Mark set the gun down on a worn and dusty coffee table nearby, and continued rummaging. He found a picture frame. He dusted it off to show his wife and daughter laughing and smiling together. Mark stared at it. His movements became slower and more forced as he set the picture down and picked up a mug from the bottom of the box.
He turned the mug around to see the engraving. It still read "#1 Dad". A tear strolled from his cheek, and mixed with the dust on the mug. The tear stopped abruptly, cradled by the engraving of the number. His head fell, and he rested his hand on the edge of the table beside him.
| 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T10:58:27 | 828 | 13 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
"... at number two, it has been confirmed that former President Barack Obama has the #2 Dad Mug and it is no surprise there given how he set himself as an exemplary dad during his stay at the White House."
"Right you are Stacy. Despite juggling between being a dad and the president of this great country, I'm quite surprised he didn't get the number one... Wait... Hold on..."
(An envelope has been given to John by one of the producers)
"This just in folks. We now have the name of the dad who has the #1 dad mug inside this envelope".
"According to our producers, it has been confirmed and verified by the experts on the legitimacy of the mug. However, we have been informed the dad in question has recently passed away and the mug is now in the hand of the family".
"Well then Stacy, shall I open the envelope?".
"Yes John. Let us be the first to reveal the name of the number one dad in the world".
(John opens the envelope and took out the paper)
"And the number one dad's name is...umm..."
"...is...?"
"...Ted. Ted the accountant".
|
Chapter 1
"Some are calling it the prank of the century, others believe it to be a supernatural occurrence, and still others call out 'conspiracy'. What is the truth behind the sudden alteration of mugs all over the world? Do they really reflect the rankings of dads? We'll be checking in with spiritualist Dave Connor and skeptic Alfred Hanny as they discuss the matter at 5-"
*click*
"...he throws, and... touchdown!"
Mark hangs his head after the prison guard changed the channel on the TV. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw Davidson, a man convicted for killing his wife, hit the payphone against the wall, and started yelling, "Don't fuck with me Vincent! There not even 60 million dads in the world, how I be number 60 million and some bullshit? You think I'm some fuckin' shit dad? It's not my fuckin' fault I'm here, can't take care of Marissa..."
A guard responded to the commotion and after several hand gestures signalling Davidson to get off the phone, the guard pressed down the hook. Davidson immediately punched the guard in the face. Several guards from around the area ran towards him, and tackled Davidson to the ground.
A man laughed as he sat down next to Mark, "Wow, man. Hey, I bet you have a bigger number than him, ya know?" The man taunted Mark, "What's it been for you, 30 years? For killing your little girl. And your wife just magically got dead too, but they don't charge you for that."
Mark silently stands up, and walks away.
"Come on baby, don't act like that! Let's say you suck my dick and make up for how rude you're being right now to yo shugga daddy," the man said while following close behind, grabbing his own crotch. He spit at Mark, and then laughed.
Another man, burly with a thick, curly black beard, stared down Mark as he passed by. He jumped at Mark to try to scare him, but Mark was unfazed. When he didn't get a reaction, he grabbed Mark by the crotch and squeezed. The man smiled, his mouth full of silver caps and missing teeth. Mark flinched, but refused to retaliate. The burly man leaned in and said, "You'll fuck up before you get out of here tomorrow, and when you do, you're mine."
A guard rushed over and pushed the man off of Mark. He never shifted his gaze from Mark's eyes. He lifted his hands into the air while the guard pushed his forearm into his massive chest to get him back.
Mark returned to his cell and laid down. The setting sun shined through the inch-wide slit they call a window in this place. Mark closed his eyes early today.
Chapter 2
The next day, Mark was waiting at the gate leading to the outside with the clothes on which he hadn't seen for 30 years. It was back then he was standing on the opposite side of the gate looking in. The sound of the gate opening startled Mark, who was barely standing after his restless night.
Five steps forward and he was free. Four, three... two... one more. He took his final step from the prison grounds, but the look on his face was not the look of a free man. A taxi cab honked to get Mark's attention. He looked up, squinting under the summer sun. He stepped in.
"Where to, Freeman," the driver asked. Mark handed him an address on a piece of paper, and fell back into his seat, gazing out the window. Then his eyes wandered to the front of the taxi where he could see a picture of a small dark-skinned girl posted on the dashboard, and then Mark looked at the cup holder to see a mug that read "#38,384 dad".
45 minutes later, Mark handed a credit card to the cab driver to pay his fare, signed his receipt and got out of the car. "Enjoy your freedom Mark!"
There Mark stood, in front of a storage unit which held all of his belongings from 30 years ago, the only things he had left in the world. He pulled up the large metal door, which squeaked, and stuck. Cobwebs blanketed the numerous boxes and other belongings. Mark brushed away the webs with his hand to make a path.
He knelt down and opened a box with old electronics. He tossed the box to the side, and opened the next box. He found his old gun. It still had a round in it.
Mark set the gun down on a worn and dusty coffee table nearby, and continued rummaging. He found a picture frame. He dusted it off to show his wife and daughter laughing and smiling together. Mark stared at it. His movements became slower and more forced as he set the picture down and picked up a mug from the bottom of the box.
He turned the mug around to see the engraving. It still read "#1 Dad". A tear strolled from his cheek, and mixed with the dust on the mug. The tear stopped abruptly, cradled by the engraving of the number. His head fell, and he rested his hand on the edge of the table beside him.
| 2022-05-16T13:47:51 | 2017-06-11T10:58:27 | 70 | 13 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad.
|
Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
| 2017-06-11T11:14:29 | 2017-06-11T09:22:30 | 46 | 23 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
James and Amanda where watching the news when they heard about it.
"I wonder which number I got", James said and went to the kitchen.
A couple years ago, his son Andrew made him such a cup.
As a handmade cup, it was clearly distinguishable from all the others.
James quickly found it.
"That is strange", he said and showed the cup to his wife.
The cup still had the text "Love, Andrew" written on it. However, "#1 Dad" disappeared completely.
Amanda looked at him. James could see that she will start crying in a moment.
"I need to tell you something", she said.
|
Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
| 2017-06-11T10:05:38 | 2017-06-11T09:22:30 | 45 | 23 |
[WP] You obtained the ability to experience life as it is for others. After trying out a few people you realize that the general "living feeling" differs enormously to each person. You decide to try it on your super cheerful friend... you have never felt such emptiness before.
|
Slipping into other people's skin was a little like visiting other people's houses. The house itself was usually pretty similar to my own but with the furniture rearranged and the walls painted a different color.
Jessie didn't have colors. Her view was a muted greyscale, her house was without furniture like she didn't live there.
I could feel eyes on me, burning every inch of my skin. No matter how hard I stared back into the darkness, nothing winked back even when I could swear something was supposed to.
It was like a void and I had both feet in the mud. I couldn't move, couldn't breath. The weight was impossible, like lead in my gut dragging down to the floor. I wanted to lay down and sleep.
There was something else. Someone else... whispering on the threshold of my hearing. I knew they were there. I couldn't see them, but I knew. I had to find them but I was terrified what they would do if they found me first. I was scared to look.
Her internal stream was more of a torrent of a thousand rivers, starting and ending too fast, in no order, just there. A mess of thoughts and feeling, jumbled and incoherent.
I could hear her crying, somewhere. Maybe in the past. Maybe right now. Maybe she cried always. I couldn't tell.
I fell back into my skin and it was like someone finally turned the heat on. I was freezing. I couldn't stop shaking. It took me several hours to gain my feelings back and organize my thoughts.
She was at her desk when I went to find her, humming along to some poppy tune in her headphones. I knocked on the side of her cubicle to get her attention and was rewarded with a full blast of cheerful brown eyes.
"Oh hey, boss, what's up?"
"Everything okay? You doing alright?"
"Yeah, of course. Why?"
"Just checking on you. Me and bunch of others are gunna go out for drinks later. You should come."
Thought leakage from my encounter with her gave me a quiet stream of baffled surprise. "Oh no, I couldn't."
"Please, come! I really want you there. I've been plucking up the courage to ask you."
"You... have?"
"Yeah, you looks so busy all the time."
*is he patronizing me?*
"No! Please dont look at me like I've just offended you. I'm being dead serious, Jess. I really want you to come out with us tonight. A whole bunch of people from the office. Please come."
"Are you sure it's alright?"
"Heck yeah it is! You kidding? The more the merrier."
She smiled. I could feel a little warmth seep in to the chill around her. "Okay, sure. Thank you."
|
"Detective Jones," came a sharp, clear voice from behind me. I turned towards my boss, Captain Whaile, and gave a slight nod.
"Captain," I acknowledged, waiting for her to continue. She looked me over, mouth tight. I swallowed. She hadn't made captain because she was dumb. I what she saw past my wrinkled button down and slacks still covered in flour from interviewing the baker over on Fourth Street about his ~~bake-in~~ break-in.
"The scammer from last week, Oscar Sanchez," she said carefully. "He took the deal you suggested we offer him."
"Great," I replied, one hand still on the office door.
"How did you know he'd give up his associates in exchange for parole and volunteering at the animal shelter?" Whaile asked.
I tried to look at ease, casually tucking a strand of hair that had fallen out of my ponytail back behind my ear. "Well, you know," I said, trying to channel my step-sister's perpetually easygoing manner, "everybody has something to live for."
Whaile furrowed her brow slightly, unsatisfied. "Good intuition, detective," she said. She turned abruptly and left, and the sound of her polished black combat boots echoing through the hallway matched the furious beating of my heart.
It had been hours since Whaile and I talked but my heart was still beating too hard. It felt like something was sitting on my chest, keeping me from breathing. Whaile was too suspicious. I needed to stop using my powers during cases, good intentions be damned.
There was a knock on the studio door. I breathed and faked a smile, glad that Brendan was coming over for dinner. People are never so lonely as when they eat alone.
"Hey there, stranger," he said, blue eyes sparkling as he offered me a bottle of chardonnay. "Ready to feast on alfredo?"
"Please," I practically moaned.
"Then fill up our glasses and go relax on the couch, partner," he commanded lightly. "You look exhausted."
Brendan got busy in the kitchen, chopping garlic and setting water to boil. He hummed along to Frank Sinatra and twirled as he cooked, his big hands surprisingly agile.
"How's everything with Samantha?" I asked, thinking of his pregnant wife who was currently on a business trip in Chicago.
"Oh it's great, super awesome," Brendan said easily. "They want to give her a promotion but she's worried about the baby. We've got all the grandparents flying in in a few weeks to help but she's still worried. But everything's going to be perfect."
I smiled, happy for him. He and Samantha were a great couple, both involved in non-profits, inner-city youth mentoring programs, and their gym communities. He was the type of friend who would come to your apartment at the drop of a hat to cook you his grandmother's alfredo recipe after a long day and help cheer you up.
Maybe it was the wine or the fatigue, but suddenly I want, no, needed to be Brendan. I needed to slip inside and feel the release of living someone else's life. I needed his life, his happy, perfect life.
I slipped into his body easily, unlike some criminals I'd entered who had put up fights against someone taking control of them. Compared to Unna Thompson, a hardened bank robber turned murderer I'd caught years ago, Brendan practically laid out a welcome mat.
But something was wrong. Brendan's body wasn't full of happy, warm thoughts. He wasn't excited about eating alfredo with his friend. He wasn't suffering pangs of loneliness for his pregnant, high-powered wife. And he sure didn't care about the fact that his youth mentee, Colin, had showed up to their last meeting high.
I poked around, searching through his short-term memory. Apathy towards his breakfast cereal. Apathy towards a new work project. Apathy towards jogging. There wasn't a happy thought in sight. In fact, there was nothing.
It was too much. I'd come in looking for something to cheer me up, for someone to remind me that tomorrow would be a better day. If Brendan couldn't do that, no one could. I pulled out, doing my best not to disturb his consciousness as I slipped back into my skin.
There was a hiss as the pasta pot started to overboil, fizzing and splattering onto the stove. But I didn't hear Brendan try to move the pot off. I opened my eyes, confused, fearful something had happened when I'd pulled out of his life.
"Brendan?" I asked tentatively, like I was talking to a growling dog.
"Oh hello, Detective Jones," Brendan said from the edge of the couch. The knife he had been using to chop garlic was still in his hands. The water on the stove kept on hissing and spitting. Everything was amiss.
"Whatcha doing there, bud?" I asked, unnerved.
Brendan smiled again, but this time it wasn't the friendly smile he had worn when he entered. It was the smile of someone who hadn't slept in weeks, someone who had lost touch with everything.
"Do you remember my brother, Detective Jones?" Brendan asked.
"You...you don't have a brother, Brendan. What's going on?" I wished desperately that I hadn't left my gun in my locker at work or my phone in my room to charge.
"Wrong, Detective Jones. His name was Unna and you put him in jail for three life sentences. They only wanted to give him one," Brendan moved towards me on the couch and I reflexively curled up. The knife came closer and I could see my wide eyes reflected in its blade. His hands still smelled like garlic. "They wanted to give him one but you said he had no remorse, that he'd kill again, that he deserved three."
"Brendan," I started but suddenly he was on top of me, pinning me down. The wine had made me slow and heavy and my friend was on top of me with a knife. It was all too much.
His eyes were alight and staring straight into mine. But behind them there was nothing- no fear, no joy, no sadness.
"There is no Brendan," he growled. "There never was. Just a man whose brother was taken by you. Now it's time for you, and your brother, to pay."
His hand raised up, the knife flashing. The water hissing, the garlic, the wine. Everything blurred but became clear at the same time.
"No!" I shouted, half-hardheartedly trying to block his arm.
He smiled down at me, eyes wild. He leaned in close and I could smell the wine on his breath and the sweat on his skin.
"Everybody has something to live for, Detective," he said with a grin.
| 2018-05-23T14:15:49 | 2018-05-23T14:14:16 | 58 | 18 |
[WP] The Ruins of Earth are considered the archeological find of the millennium. Aliens send experts from all across the galaxy to study this complex civilization, and there are conflicting theories as to why they went extinct.
|
“Exactly what caused the demise of the Hymine-“
“It’s human!” You shout from backstage.
“Human, civilization, has been one of the greatest mysteries of our era. I am pleased to be able to say that that mystery will be answered tonight.”
From behind the curtain you hear the shocked gasp of the crowd. You wonder what must be going through their minds.
“Without farther ado, I introduce my colleague, Dr. Jack Bright!”
As you walk out, you hear a few voices that recognized your name as human. You think you’ve had a bigger audience, but your not sure.
The speaker quiets down the crowd before turning to you. “Dr. Bright,” he begins, “would you please do us the honour of explaining how Humanity was destroyed?”
It’s at this moment you realize you have no clue *which* anomaly did it.
Oh well, time to wing it!
|
The winds were harsh, and the temperature several degrees below freezing. The suit display offered a wealth of information; atmospheric composition, pressure, points of interest... and the two explorers had ended up at the same landmark, staring in awe. Though the same race, the Andorran's often harbored prejudices and contempt for other Andorran's from colonized worlds, and the most uptight ones no doubt came from the Home World. But since landing here, on Earth, there had been nothing but cooperation and shared curiosity.
"Do you think she was a leader?" One asked, very simply named Explorer One for this mission. One ran a scan, his suit piercing ice and snow to reveal the statue in 3-d on his display. Two had just finished scanning the ice thickness, and determined it was safe to land his ship here, and not a minute after the craft appeared above, descending quickly at first, before slowing down, just barely hovering before extending landing gears, settling down on the ice.
"Leader or not, she was someone important."
"Perhaps she is the one who discovered Fire for their species. She's holding a torch," One said.
"I think she was their God. Other explorers have reported statues in the middle-earth, though few as grand as this one."
The pair shared a moment just staring at her, with their own eyes, displays off. An enormous icicle hanging from the statue's elbow broke off, and crashed into the island below.
"What's your theory on what ended them?" One asked, and Two responded by turning on his heel and walking towards his ship.
"Super volcano, blotting out the sun. In fact I'm headed to a point of interest right now to gather evidence. You?", he asked, now sitting in the cockpit of his ship, the glass dome pointing towards the sky.
"War."
Two snorted, shrugging. "Boring theory, but plausible. See you later once you're done sifting through the city debris."
One bowed and extended his arm, the gesture of goodbye, and the glass down slowly went down, connecting with the cockpit, sealing Two in a protective bubble of blast-resistant diamond glass, and shortly after craft took off, zipping across the sky with a roar, breaking the sound barrier instantly.
One took one final look at the large statue, and began walking towards the city. He had remembered when he flew over the city, how grandiose the ruins had seemed compared to tiny structures his scans had picked up just outside the city. Perhaps this is where royalty used to live.
His suit brought up a feed, and a pinging message. It was one addressed to all explorers, and he brought it up with a voice command.
"No snow here - still cold - very little evidence of structures. Interest found."
Another ping, with a location. It was somewhere south of the equator on the second-largest continent on this world. Shortly after, images popped up. The explorer appeared to be in a small cave, and on the walls, there were drawings of humanoids and animals, several humans standing around a large mammal with spears in hand. Another image seemed to be a continuation of a series, with the same humans and mammal depicted, but now there was a predatory animal with large teeth to the right.
"Prehistoric?-- Lesser advanced race?-- Theories?--"
One shut down the feeds, now walking the streets of the ruined city. Decrepit buildings swayed and debris rolled across the streets in the wind, some buildings stretching far above him, others had collapsed and taken others with them. A brief scan showed several warnings of structural weak points, some buildings at risk of collapsing any minute. No matter, he had the Jetpack should he need to get out of the way of a dying structure.
Another feed came in, beeping.
"Theory--. Nuclear disaster--. Traces of uranium found--."
*Uranium?* One thought. Clearly, this species were more advanced than they had initially thought. He sent a message to the source.
"Where?--."
Shortly after, the locator zoned in, and an image popped up from the explorer's camera feeds. A sign nearby said "CHERNOBYL" in strange letters, but One could not translate the words.
"Uranium--. Weapons?--. War brought them down--.", he transmitted back.
"Uranium also energy--. Evidence inconclusive--."
The more he explored the city, the more he felt his conclusion was right. This species seemed to obsess over grandiosity, most buildings serving little purpose in terms of functionality. Some buildings even had traces of valuable metals such as gold and silver inside them, in the form of tiny trinkets, buried in the ages out of sight - but not to his scanners. *Yes. They must have grown into a society of inequality, and from the chasm, war came to be. What a shame,* he thought.
Yet another message came in, but One dismissed it, in favor of exploring further into the heart of the city.
| 2018-10-30T17:25:43 | 2018-10-30T17:04:12 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
"All i would like, is a McDonald's ice cream"
The officers all began to laugh, until they noticed the beads of sweat forming on the forehead of an increasingly nervous warden.
"N-n-no problem stammered the warden, let me just make a few phonecalls"
He ran out of the room, and a moment later you could hear muffled yells of "I don't care if you have to go to the god damn Moon, find me a McDonald's with a working ice cream machine!"
"It sure is sunny this morning warden"
"Sure is"
"Don't feel bad warden, you gave it your best shot"
"...yep"
"Think I'll get a Big Mac warden, have yourself a good day"
|
Sumerians invented the cuneiform writing system way, way back in time in the fourth century BCE. The British library has 130,000 of the clay tablets where most are still unread by a modern person. Irvine Finkel, himself, has and will teach anyone to read cuneiform in the hopes someone will bring him another story like the the first flood story again.
Archibald's social graces were well and truly under developed. His trauma started as far back as he could remember in school. He knew what no one talks about that bullies at all levels pick on the lowest of them all. School society can be seen as a diamond shape instead of the Hierarchical pyramid that has more people on the bottom than top. Everyone picked on Archibald, everyone; he had been the bottom point of the his social diamond. His only solace was pointing out how stupid everyone else was, so he doubled, tripled, even quadrupling down on studying.
Irvine Finkel was the first person he came across that seem genuinely enthusiastic about teaching him. Yes, there was the old man's sardonic humor like how he wanted to become a British Museum Curator at the age of nine and through a series of bewildering coincidences became one. There was space deep in the basement that felt like pure solitude to Archibald so long as he was reading, deciphering, decrypting, even the most boring cuneiform tablet. Some of them would barely fit in one's palm while others were cylinders whose writing wrapped around and around. Archi's bane though were the broken bits, the fragments of sentences, one's Finkel couldn't be bothered with.
Each time Archi thought he'd found a particularly interesting story, and would ran to Finkel decrying, "this is it, This one." Each and every one he'd 'found' was only some mundane trivial daily matter better represented on an intact tablet. This frustrating denial focused to being sure, absolutely sure, the next one would be 'the one'. Archibald held a small tablet in his hand, forcing his heart rate slower after seeing symbols for condemned, curse, protection, and peace all near each other. He spent weeks upon weeks flipping between the hard tablet and various research papers and their notes.
Archibald was a volunteer at the museum that supported his obsession by driving a Trash Truck. The job was steady with regular hours outside of the museum's operation. He found that he was well suited for the shit night shift that every normal human hated. To him, there was an empty world to explore, and going places most people never see, the industrial sectors. One of the hidden places the public hardly never gets to see was inside the national prison. He knew the guards, recognizing that people who were the worst types of bullies seem to gravitate in to that type of job. There was a perverse pleasure refusing to submit to their bully tactics and driving away instead and leaving the huge bins full.
Reporting such incidents to his bosses, who wrote the report, and then sent it up their chain of command. The prison warden typically called the his boss' boss that morning. Power is where you find it was Archibald's mantra. He was weeks deep into the confusing script of his find and could ignore the guard's taunts. He wasn't suppose to, but had made a charcoal rubbing of the half palm sized tablet. He taped an enlarged photocopy of the rubbing to his cab's windshield. In moments of stress focused his mind on that enlarged piece of paper.
He was standing outside his cab looking up at the copy in the caged guard area trying to get inside the fence to do his job when it clicked, the ah-ha moment. It, the tablet, was a poem; Archibald had always hated poetry. The Sumerian cadence was mutated into a forced rhyme from a prison guard's point of view. The poem listed dish, after dish, nonsensical dishes too. The listed dishes had puzzled him for days on end, but the end of the poem made it clear to him now. A trick, bamboozle, flimflam , a fraud, was played on the condemned. Archibald could see prison guards back in antiquity were the same shitheads they were today.
The damn tablet was a guard's confession of tricking the soon to be executed into eating bugs, snakes, and other nasty things in lieu of a nonexistent mythical dish. Thereby saving the guard, himself, and his loved ones from a devastating curse of the innocent. It was all a joke to the guards. Archibald's ears began heating up as his blood pressure increased. "Fuckers," he spat at the side of his truck.
| 2022-07-17T18:30:24 | 2022-07-17T17:32:54 | 97 | 47 |
[WP] The world has taken precautions against super-powered beings, handing out inhibitors if deemed too 'destructive.' You sat in the principal's office with horror etched on your face as a pair of inhibitor gloves were handed to you. The smug grin of your life long bully telling you everything.
|
As a kid I always asked a lot of questions. My parents would indulge me and give me partial truths but as I got older, they started being really honest with me, about politics, history, their opinions on life. I remember once after a fight, my dad confided in me that he never should have married my mother. It would have been better if they split up and co-parented. When I was younger, I thought they just trusted me.
As I grew older I realized that people answered my questions truthfully. I was afraid of getting inhibitors, of being distrusted by my friends and family. 'Do I trust him or does he make me talk?' They'd ask. But occasionally I'd use my power. A pull here, a push there. Occasionally during a test I'd ask the teacher a question or two and they'd explain it to me. This gave me good grades but got me bullied.
My worst bully, Mark, tormented me a lot. He'd throw things at me, pull my hair, slap me in the hall. One fluke was all it took to be noticed. One mess up and I was screwed. 'Why do you keep messing with me?' I asked him. Making him give me the full truth.
Mark told me that he thought he was dumb, he told me about his dad who verbally abused him when he got bad grades. He hated that I got special treatment from the teachers. Then he continued. He told me that he was going through puberty and he started daydreaming about me. He was scared that his dad would find out and possibly disown him. He told me that he wanted to ask me out to the freshman dance but he was terrified.
As he spoke, a crowd gathered around us, growing bigger and bigger. The hallway was deathly quiet now as everyone watched the interaction. As he finished spewing his guts. He stared at me, and then the crowd, in mortified silence. The nearest teachers dispersed the crowd and we were led to the principle's office together.
We're dating now I guess? I asked him out to the dance and he said yes. The smile on his face was amazing. I have to wear inhibitors but it's funny. People thought my power was making them tell the truth. With that, a person could blackmail anyone they wanted. But, I think I can only get information that people want to tell me but are too scared to admit. What a crappy power, I'm a confidence booster
|
Jackass... I think as my powers while they could be used to cause a lot of annoyance because it is power to play any musical instrument to perfect decree. I am a girl and this is how he wants my attention? Wow, nice... I love music... I feel my heart drop as the gloves are worn on. I immediately start thinking about one upping Uval.
It was my powers that allowed me to play the instruments perfectly but, it also has taught me quite a lot too... Yeah, pretty lame ability but, I helped a lot of people here to focus and be comfortable while in school. I am going to accept this for now, but, for now I am internally cracked. We go outside and before Uval was able to get out a word.
Teren told him to shut it, sighed at my gloves, motions to me to come go with him and we go outside. Uval is not at all comfortable around Teren who has been proven to be completely normal but, Teren is very sports loving individual so, his physical condition is impressive for so young and he knows Uval is just a blowhard without skills.
The ruse is good. When we are far enough from others 'Sari, I will figure out how to get these off' Teren says as we walk to a place where I can have a seat and process this. There isn't really need for that but, Teren's presence is always welcome, he mostly just listens to the music I play as it helps focusing and relaxing.
Uval himself does have powers but, it is difficult to say what they exactly are, probably something less impressive than my own, which caused him to be such a jackass towards me. 'No need, I will just study and practice hard to just play the instruments on my own' I say 'Looking to one up him... Sounds like a plan, let me keep them in check then' Teren says.
'Be a bully to them in a rink? I would prefer that you didn't. You have no idea how horrible the heart sink is' I say pouting a bit 'Hey, I don't have powers, everybody just knows I practice a lot and because of that, I am good at sports and have admirable numbers in physical education' Teren says smiling warmly.
'They don't look that bad to be honest and some hand protection in case his stupid side comes rear it's ugly mug again' Teren says being practical as always and it does make sense a lot 'You also can go through tests which will clear you of those' Teren adds 'Oh yeah, I just never wanted to go through them...' I say and look at my hands.
It was mostly a waste of time considering how well I know my power. There just has to be that one person... Uval is not the only one unfortunately Julia is another and Teren only gets involved if Julia does something that absolutely permits him to get involved and stop her. Helps with the physical bullying but, not with the mental.
I admit, I do have feelings towards Teren, he puts effort and he did inspire me to one up Uval as he has several times... And once apprehended Uval when he decided to provoke Teren with going physical and swinging a fist at him who then apprehended him, it certainly left an impression that, he just wants continue practicing and is in school to learn.
Teren is known for this type of behavior by both classmates and teachers. They know the boy is thick skinned and only gets physical in self defense, even principal knows this as he himself saw Uval swing at him and Teren replying. 'Have to consider adding more sports to my repertoire...' Teren says thinking about it.
'Thank you Teren. For getting my mind off and helping' I say warmly but, I accidentally do show my feelings a bit. Thankfully he was in deep thought 'Hmm? You are welcome' Teren says and after few months I got the results of tests during those months and I proved that I can play any musical instrument without my power.
This made Uval quite nervous and looked at Teren who is our classmate who just shrugged to him. Uval went straight to principal's office and I headed there with Teren but, he waited outside and I went inside of the office. Uval was struggling to find words to what he just witnessed and I hand out my power tests results.
Principal goes through them, telling Uval to wait, man the look on Uval's face as Jake, our principal verifies the info and looks at Uval with increasing discontent. Oh, wow, this moment is... So, sweet. 'I deeply apologize Sari' Jake says with honesty and regret. He takes out a key from safe. He was about to put in right hand lock when Uval snatches it and runs.
'Uval give it back!' Jake shouts and took a few steps to go after Uval but, outside Teren has Uval pinned against a wall 'Going this far, to steal from a principal... Pathetic as heck Uval' Teren says very coldly. Teren hands the key back to Jake 'Hold him for a bit longer please but, not too hard Teren' Jake says 'Roger' Teren says in prepared manner and Jake finally takes off the power inhibitor gloves from my hands with the key.
I wish I could say, shout something or jump from joy, but, I have to contain myself. 'Guess, who is going to wear them as a punishment for false indictment' Jake says, Uval is now horrified. 'Sounds like a fitting punishment to me sir' Teren says in prepared manner containing his joy too.
Teren keeps Uval pinned until gloves are put on 'This is not fair' Uval says defeated 'Maybe don't be rear end to others for once. Thank you Teren, you may let him go and Sari... I apologize for following through with the false evidence. I had my doubts but, there weren't evidence to back them up' Jake says as Uval walks away.
'Don't worry principal Jake Merecoast, it was growing experience' I say and unfortunately do show my joy of this moment. Jake looks around then approaches us both a bit closely lowers his speaking volume 'You both earned a reason for joy but, do it outside of school area, I will tell the other teachers of what has happened' Jake says smiling in mischievous manner.
Well, that confirms both of our suspicions of Jake already being knowledgeable what kind of jackass Uval and maybe Julia are. Me and Teren go have ourselves coffee and cinnamon bun.
| 2022-12-25T08:07:00 | 2022-12-25T03:24:03 | 36 | 19 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare**
|
The old man sat chasing his own thoughts. His memory wasn't what it once was and he kept losing his train of thought. He'd try to remember something, reason through it and just before he could latch on to it it would be gone like it was never there.
Zargrarf approached smiling, "My old nemesis, it pains me to see you in such a state! You humans live such short fleeting lives but I had to see you again. You were one of my greatest adversaries but now you are just a pale shadow of your former self."
The old man stirred, "Eh....Is that you Zargrarf?"
"Yes it is, you remember me?"
The old man motioned for Zargrarf to come closer. Zargrarf approached and leaned in to better hear him. "Yes?"
The old man smiled and bit down hard on a false tooth to release a neurotoxin specifically designed to kill only one being, Zargrarf. The old man blew in Zargrarf's direction and exlaimed "I've been saving that for 80 years you son of a bitch! I finally got you! Haha!"
The old man couldn't even remember his own name anymore, but he held onto something unique only to humans in all the galaxy, he held on to a grudge.
|
"Look at these foolish mortals, dancing and singing." said Altarion, sipping his glass of wine with disapproval in his auburn eyes.
"Ha, if you would even call that dancing," said the creature next to him, brushing her silky white fur, "They are smashing their bodies into each other under the influence of drugs and terribly repetitious music. Very few left cling to the sacred arts. These humans are uncultured. They know nothing of the arts...Nothing. Egocentric are all of their works, surrounded with an heir of arrogance. Absolutely shameful."
A different kind of creature across the room smiled with a delightful grin, "Aww, I think you two are quite too harsh on our fellow mortals. At least they know how to have fun."
"Fun." sneered the white-haired creature, rolling her emerald eyes. "Life is not supposed to be fun. Art is not fun. Life is pain. Art is pain. Fun is for fools. Of course, *your kind* would like think otherwise."
"Of course we do," said the good-natured creature, chuckling, his armor-like skin, gleaming refulgently under the hollow lights of the room, "Who cares about the arts? What good are they? Being cooped in all day, painting and writing and composing. For what? Art is just a big complaint. No, no, life is meant to be explored. To be spent outside in all the wonders. To harness the power of nature. To compete. And win. Yes, that is fun. That is what life is about."
"Well, these humans. They're not very good at that either, are they Moltram?" said yet another creature from across the table, his lens-like eyes constantly adjusting as he spoke," I mean look at them. Most are saggy, frail, and fragile little creatures. All incapable of physical greatness. Even their greatest competitions are laughable. Wouldn't you agree?"
"I find them to be amusing," said Moltram, "but yes, they are a little sad."
"And if you look closely," the other went on, his eyes spiraling complexly, "You'll see that they are quite inept survivors as well. Most cannot hunt for themselves and are quite incapable of self-defense. And they refuse to acknowledge the immense damage they have performed on their global ecosystem. They are irresponsible, dependent, and negligent creatures. I cannot wait to see their timely demise."
"Well," a small creature piped up from across the room, her small airy voice carrying across the room softly, "At least some of them have taken initiative and are trying to care for the environment. You can at least give them some credit."
"Oh, please," laughed Agnus, his cold eyes, calculating, "They just found out about recycling and electric-powered cars. These humans are worthless, truly. I wonder why they were ever created in the first place."
"I'm sure there is a reason." said the small fairy like creature, her voice almost whisper-like, "What concerns me more, however is there lack of sympathy for one-another. It amazes me that over one billion of them each day have nothing to even eat or drink. And yet, no one seems to care."
"Well, I'm not sure if that can be attributed to their lack of survival skills or their lack of empathy, but either reason proves their worthlessness." spoke Agnus.
The small, soft creature, looked close to the point of tears, her translucent skin, was glowing softly, "But don't you care at all, Agnus? It's so sad. I can feel their pain, their suffering. If only they learned true empathy, then they could thrive. Don't you think?"
Agnus shrugged, "It is not like my kind to care much for compassion, but I suppose anything could be helpful at this point."
"Nonsense! Both of you!" said another female voice belonging to a tall dark figure, towering from across the room. "What these humans lack is intelligence. No race can succeed without intellect or science to push them forward. And these dull humans are barely scraping by. Only a few have demonstrated the capability for higher scientific reasoning. It's a miracle really that they have even survived at all. They are ignorant creatures, unconcerned with the consequences that their inefficient systems will surely bring about. Detestable. Stupid. They lack foresight and only care about rapid expansion."
"What you mean, Nadir," said a stout, green creature with dirty paws, "Is that they lack self-control. These humans have almost no control of their feelings. They let their emotional state dominate their reality. They need to overcome their weakening emotions and focus on the important things. They must restrain their sexual impulses and impregnating each other so early and so much...You'd think they ought to have learned that by now."
"You have all brought up good points," said a beautiful winged creature who stood in the center of the room, "But you are all forgetting that these humans, despite their faults, have lasted."
"So have the mosquitos, but most would regard them as pests." said Nadir, curling her lip with indifference.
"So where is their strength? What were they created for?" asked the small fairy-like creature, tears in her wide eyes.
The winged creature smiled back, with warmth in her eyes, "They're greatest strength is also their greatest weakness: each other."
* * *
K finished tell me what you think!!
| 2014-07-16T12:28:18 | 2014-07-16T11:11:14 | 35 | 13 |
[WP]A Man dies and expects to go either Heaven or Hell,only to be told by an Angel that he already was in Hell and now his punishment is over
|
"You're not going to Hell."
"What?"
"You're not going to Hell."
"I don't understand...?"
"You, Isaac DeMaggio, a human, are not, which is a word used to signify a contradictory statement, going to, as in traveling to, Hell."
"I understand grammar, but--"
"Then why did you say you don't understand?"
"I haven't been to Hell!"
"Yes, you have. You were in there for 34 years."
"My life was...?"
"Hell."
"I don--"
"Do you remember both of your parents dying at the same time due to that asbestos leak?"
"Yes..."
"Do you remember your wife dying to save your unborn child after labor complications?"
"Yes..."
"Do you remember the baby turning out to be a miscarriage?"
"Oh my god..."
"Do you remember your only friends dying in a house fire, at your house?"
"Please... stop--"
"Do you remember the fireman dying while trying to save your dog?"
"Please..."
"Do you remember the dog dying when you accidentally ran him over on your 34th birthday?"
"..."
"Do you remember slipping in a pool of your dog's blood and breaking your neck?"
"Y-yes..."
"Do you remember meeting all of those people in Limbo, only for them to tell you that they wish they never knew you?"
"Yes..."
"That was all Hell, Isaac. You've endured your punishment. It's time to come home, Isaac. It's time."
*****
NOT THE DOOOOG, NOOOOOOO! ^/r/Picklestasteg00d
|
"Uh-uh. Yeah, buddy. Well, you know what, fuck you too. Next." The bloke clutching the cockel-spaniel took his stamped passport and filed out towards a rather impressive baggage reclaim, proceeded to ignore it entirely and wandered to a distant "Nothing to Declare" sign so cursive it deserved it's own gallery.
The balding border guard reckoned he'd achieved a new level of indifference as he waved her over. He'd screamed 'next' twelve-thousand times this morning and he'd be damned to Mundus if he had to bloody well say it again. It always dawned on him right about now, during his mid-morning brood why it couldn't be all automated. He could do with a bloody coffee, or a nap, why not both. The girl was still standing, in the wrong place past the yellow line the savage; as usual, another supposedly lost soul saved from damnation.
The shivering specimen in question was currently petrified. She would've liked a spaniel, maybe a pomeranian, anything cute to distract her aetherial gatekeeper from what would surely be a swift judgement followed by barbecue. She hadn't imagined St.Peter would literally be at the gates. Damn. If only she'd finished reading "11 tips in border security for asylum-seekers" on the toilet last week. Part of her wished she'd gone to church, or at least brushed up on the dialect. Maybe a confession would've been appropriate, or maybe describing her job would only give the priest rather an unwanted hard trouser-dachshund of his own. Either way it was too late now, and much too late to wear some more,umm, conservative afterlife clothing.
She'd had a moment to think about it all in the queue, death and all that, but swiftly arrived at the conclusion that she was glad there was at least something after death. It certainly beat crushing unexistence any day. Oh God(s?) what if this was the wrong religion, or a sect or something? She took one last look around for potential racist stereotypes she could cling onto. Nothing. Everyone was here, and all she guessed were in their 20's. Her boobs hadn't looked this good for at least a decade on the other side, that's for sure. No children though, oddly. They must be processed separately. Her border guard had passed through disgust, to mild amazement and now cycled back through to a solid glare. She musted up the courage and tried to hop to the counter.
"Um..good, er..evening, your holiness?"
"Oh for fuc- you know what, if you're going to do that schtick again, I'm just going to send you right the hell back there."
"What? Oh Go-I mean, I'm sorr-"
"Just state your name".
"Cassandra J. Hewitt"
"Year of death?"
"Excuse me?"
"My holy ass is going to throttle you if you don't answer, and then you'll be the one filling out the papers on how you've got a one-way ticket back for both of us, I swear."
"Back to Earth?"
"Where else, idiot. You think Dante's going to show up and take you to the other six?"
"Never mind. 2016. July the tenth."
"Mhmm. Yep that's right. You got parole at thirty-three. Congratulations. They're getting stricter and stricter with the controls, what with the antibiotics and the cancer ther..."
"Parole?" Her border guard sighed. She wondered if it was St.Peter after all.
"Okay. Fine. I'm going to pretend I haven't answered this question at least like ten-thousand times today."
"Excuse me?"
"Did you or did you not read the landing card and orientation booklet?"
"What, the prison advert?"
"For the love of Beelzebub's steamy asshole, yes, the orientation booklet". The guard was whispering now, as if her mere presence was painful.
"No. I didn't."
"Alright. Well then. Welcome back, let's hope you can continue being a good girl and make your way up and put this episode behind you. Not I nor anyone takes any responsibility for any and all fiendish deeds done to you during your stay in hell."
"Hell? No. I was alive. On Earth."
"Yes. Correct, and we're not liable for any of the torture, except maybe the rape, oh and the bronies. Yeah, you might want to sue for those two being in there." He finished listing the potential goldmines for compensation with a flourish and proceeded to stamp a small, black leather passport.
"Right. You've been approved for return to the Overworld. You'll like it, especially someone with, well, your profession. Let's say I didn't recognize you at first. There's good reality TV in there, your kind of videos too, you know, from an actual reality this time. Okay, shoo. Next!"
Cass barely had time to grip the passport. She tried to hold back the tears as she walked shell-shocked past "emotional baggage re-claim" and tried to find her satchel, only to realize she was already holding it. For a moment she considered tossing it like so many others onto the rotating catherine-wheel of a pile, be done with the pain of the old. But no, there was a world awaiting behind those cursive letters of "nothing to declare" that just wouldn't be the same without its brown leather full of suffering. She slung it over a shoulder and wondered who, if anyone, had called her a taxi.
| 2016-12-13T12:49:39 | 2016-12-13T11:47:45 | 39 | 26 |
[WP] You pull off your headphones and the whole world shifts. You're now sitting in a futuristic mall of some kind with a VR headset in your hands and a smiling clipboard-wielding woman asking about "the Virtual Life Experience™". The problem: your "Virtual Life" is the only one you can remember.
|
Helena simply smiled at Rhadika, and bounced up some on her tippy toes.
“It was *great* right?” said Helena. She moved the clipboard down, and adjusted her hair. “Now we noticed that you hadn’t signed the waiver form prior to entering in just a few minutes ago, so if you’d please just sign right here.”
Rhadika stood up, in a shaking horror. She had to balance herself on the leather chair, she was so weak in the knees. She looked at the rows of other smiling customers, with their Virtual Life Experience headsets on. She saw the readouts of their ages beside their bodies.
Five years were passing by each minute.
“The hell did you just call me?” asked Rhadika.
“So please just sign right here Rhadika,” said Helena. She smiled real bright. “I saw you had a great time, your readout showed your experiences from kindergarten all the way through 35 years old was a dream come true on our charts. We hope you’ll come back sometime to the VR Experience, the *original* alternate reality.”
“I’m *Stephanie*,” said Rhadika.
“Uhh nope,” said Helena. She pulled up her license information on a hologram. The VR Experience team always kept it on file before people took the dive into their alternate worlds. “Right there, Rhadika Jantzen.”
“No, no,” said Rhadika, grabbing her hair, and watching the elderly couple hover around the mall. They looked ancient. She watched them hover to a store across the hall, of a youth regeneration shop. “I’m *Stephanie*.”
“Nope, nope that was your *VR Experience* life,” said Helena, still smiling really bright. It was starting to freak Rhadika out. “If you want to dive back *into* that life, it’ll be just a few million dollars more.”
“*WHAT*,” shouted Rhadika.
“Sorry,” said Helena, smiling. She typed something into a hologram calculator. “Sorry, sorry, you’re still thinking in 2017 dollars not 2258 dollars. That’s basically the equivalent of a Bone Fish Grill dinner from that time period, according to what we’ve got written here for comparison.”
Rhadika wandered out into the hall. Helena followed her with a clipboard, but tried not to make a scene.
Rhadika looked up at the flying cars zooming past overhead, and the great moons surrounding the planet. She wasn’t even sure it was Earth anymore.
Helena whispered into the air.
“I think I might have a problem,” whispered Helena. She listened to something in her ear, or some technology feeding directly into her head. Her eyes went slightly white. “No, no she’s not all the way gone. She just really hasn’t tuned back into this reality, I thought we had the new system updated for the transitions.” Helena’s eyes stayed white, and she listened a moment. Then she let out a freaked out whisper. “What the hell do you *MEAN* those systems didn’t update overnight? I have over a hundred people under right now.”
“My husband plays for the *Lakers*,” said Rhadika, as she saw some children floating around on their shoes, and dunking on 100 foot basketball hoops. There were thirty other kids in the game too, tackling each other into foam walls, with a referee wearing all blue floating alongside them. “We live in a mansion, it’s amazing, we have *three beautiful daughters*, I have a FAMILY.”
Rhadika fell to the ground and injured her kneecaps. She writhed on the ground in a confused agony. Helena walked over to Rhadika, and hovered a wand over her kneecap.
It was fine in seconds.
“See that all better Rhadika,” said Helena, smiling much more fake now, and watching a couple others in the VR Experience store waking up. “Okay, so right *here* sweetheart? If you will? Everybody else signs the papers, it’s standard procedure. I don’t know how I let yours slip through this morning, there was such a rush we’re understaffed, and I’m a slightly less updated android so please forgive me that Rhadika.”
“I’M NOT RHADIKA,” shouted Rhadika. “I’M NOT… I’m… I’m..”
Rhadika stood up, and felt fine. She stared in horror at the wand in Helena’s hand. She stole the wand from her hand. Rhadika found a glass window there, and punched through it. She bled all over. She used the wand.
The cuts on her hand vanished into scabs, then into clean, healthy skin. Healthier than before.
“I’m,” whispered Rhadika. She looked at the whole new world in front of her. “I’m..” she gripped Helena by the wrist, and stared at her shiny shoes. “Please take me back.. Back to that time.”
Helena calmly ushered Rhadika back into the VR Experience facilities. Helena watched in horror at the others waking up.
“I will *Stephanie*,” said Helena, visibly shaken. “Sign here, and here, and *here* and here, and you’ll be there for the next two hours.”
Rhadika did all she was told, and quietly stole back into her lies.
|
For the first few moments everything became whitewashed and hushed with static.
"excuse me" a muffled voice pierces the softened din of overstimulation.
"Is this for real? Hey are you okay?" the same voice interogates in a slight panic. Finally some sensation.
Is this an arm?
Legs?
What is touching me?
Slowly eyelids are raised to reveal a deep ocean full of dark blue photons. As focus developed a white blob behind some sort of podium interfaces with controls.
"Excuse me are you feeling okay?"
Suddenly details began emerging. The microscratches on the clear clipboard were visible behind a finely manicured hand grasping it. Donning a white overcoat she parses through a series of choices, the expression on her mouse-like face steeped in stoicism. The woman checks something off on a clear paper as text scrolls by. The paper responds by pulsating red and green for a moment and fades.
"Your vitals are fine from my end. How are you feeling? Thoughts about your experience?"
There was an attempt at an utterance. A feeble croak barely stuck in the throat.
"Experience?"
I felt the blood evacuate from my face and the mysterious interrogator's thin lips pulled down. Is that... sadness?
Another check on the clear paper. This time it only pulses yellow.
"You may be experiencing a fugue state. Let me lift the veil and the noise-cancelling a little."
====================
In this tiny shrouded room pinpoints of light darted out of someone needling holes in fabric. Then in a fraction of a second these points multiplied exponentially revealing the glass jar I was in.
Crowds hurdled around mirages of arched steel displaying some sort of shirt with Active Tendril Technology. Some of these people were dressed in simple cloth. Towering androgynous figures with an orb for an eye and no mouth patrolled the bizarre bazaar, scanning.
Children darted around tapping on rows and rows of glass that were curved. On closer inspection some of these children were tinted green and grey. Silver spheres hovered around these potential miscreants, beeps wishing for them to return to a row of people wishing to enter all of these jars. None of this makes sense and I sweat as a kid with no ears and clear skin taps on the glass, Smiling. It is unnerving to see the muscular and nervous system bare.
Looking up to distract my sudden panic attack stone pillars lead up to a transparent dome. Outside it is light and the sky has a continuous trail of cloud dividing it. Breaking this trail there were scaled monolithic towers, red clay in color and stepped in a spiral. One of the not so distant ones had some kind of tendril growing off the side of the building.
A large drone looking vehicle incinerated this lichen tendril with an intensely bright plasma cutter and just as bright spots appeared a shadow censored the plants doom. The situation sets in. The only person I know and don't know is looking vaguely concerned.
"I have been doing labtech at VLE for 2 Gregorian Calendar years" the woman began a longer statement with an exasperated sigh. "Never have I experienced a fugue state situation. Training for it yes but it is a rarity" she reassured me a little by raising the intonation. Trained.
With a step she hovered over something out of my direct ken and with an audible click the lagging paralysis was removed. "My name is Alexandria." she gracefully floated back over to the control panel and returned the veil and the constant shrill noise dissipated. There was peace again as the last point of light radiated off of Alexandria's iridescent eyeliner, matching her rainbow-colored eyes that seemed to shift pattern schemes.
A glint of gold seemed to float around her left eye as the cloak seeped back in the jar. Blinking in the soft muted glow and unsure what to say Alexandria recalls her training "Protocol determines I acclimatize you back to now for at least 24 hours."
Attempting to stand was like watching a fawn being born and walking for the second time. The labtech offers her white-clothed arm out for assistance and in a haze the first walk of my life happened. The seamless void behind the chair was ripped into thirds revealing a hallway out of this glass jar.
CHAPTER 2?!?!
"You're really bad off there." Alexandria quipped, letting her drawl slip as I transferred my imbalance to her.
"Yeah" I gasped. Every step on the matte off-white floor generated a green fog underneath mesh clad feet. Embarrassed to ask questions I pleaded to stop.
"We have to get you seated and for liability reasons you have to watch a video. Plus it may behoove you to get your possessions back."
Alexandria explained with an air of authority, masking her accent. We turned left into an even wider hallway with a great deal of marking and wear. Behind us I can hear another labtech conversing with a loud customer. The slow pace and echoes hurry our speed until we turn again.
We stop and for the first time I notice her jet-black hair in a tight bun and one single grey hair that seems to move on its own unrestricted. Alexandria's presence opens the door and as she turns to gesture entry the aged hair hones on my nose.
Everything in this room was completely ripped from one of the movies my grandfather watched in the 40s. Floorboards were made from unfinished wood-greyed from weathering.
There is a seat made of worn brown leather, grommets of bronze holding the stuffing in place. The legs were ornate and intricately carved in the image of roaring lions. The wood scuffed but finely polished with a purple finish.
Ambulating to rest I glance to the back of the room. An old projector painted pea-soup green started flashing. Seated Alexandria starts to holler "Harry! His sim was in his early second millennia. Cut the farce and start the movie."
"Sorry Ma'am" a voice on an invisible speaker system squelches through and the artifact of light begins to disintegrate into emptiness. The once weathered floor that witnessed depression-era sorrow vanished into the same white as the hall labyrinth that lead me here.
"Keep the seat!" I piped, regaining a few decibels. So far it is is the only thing that seemed familiar in this strange environ. Memories of my grandfather huffing on a cigar lingered like the smell of tobacco. As I slumped into the cushion of the leather it sighed and covered my face with my hands.
Maybe this is the simulation.
Yeah, this is it. Or is this chair illusionary comfort?
"So this room is reserved for special cases like yours." Alexandria stood near the entrance and arms akimbo. The hands on her hips parted her coat revealing a ruffled grey blouse and she swayed "It is incredibly expensive to run holograph but the seat can stay. I'll be back with your items."
Alexandria left fast enough to cause her long overcoat to whip in the air. A black screen started into a sequence of events. Photographs from world wars and art museums. Buildings like Big Ben and the Eiffel Tower. Statues carved from rock atop of hills of ruinous debris.
Then the announcer camped in with every syllable over-enunciated as if I was getting pitched a car. A physical globe spun at a rapid speed blurring all seven continents together.
"So you have experienced a fugue state! Oh boy, if you experience sweating, lasting paralysis, endearing confusion, and complete memory loss I have some Bad News for You!"
Wincing at the dramatic tremolo I made a note. Things are only going to get worse from here.
CHAPTER 3-ish
Gripping the chair like an anchor I awaited for the hook. Some sort of punchline waiting to reel me inside some prank television series I never heard of. The obnoxious narrator continued "This free introductory video is going to explain the present as we know it. All Homo Sapiens descend from the planet earth!"
It was cutesy, and acutely insulting. Gripping into the dirt stained leather I embraced the impact.
"0.000014130 Galactic years is the current age we are in." The video glitched for a moment slashing white and black streaks across the projection that emanated from nowhere. A base-ball with a cartoon screw twisted into it and was superimposed over the globe.
This almost was a student art project.
"But we blew our third rock up,Up,UP and destroyed the earth metric of yearly measurement!" The dementedly happy narrator squealed past his vocal range. This was painful in so many ways. "In estimated earth year measurements YOU think it is the year 2017. Current estimates conclude it's the year 3250. That's a JUMP!"
My boat was officially rocked in the sea of epiphany. If this was a highly elaborate prank or strange hallucinatory trip it has gone too far without oars.
Seasick, the battering of data continued. Absorbing as much as I could I tried to find something that turned a familiar cog. Something to start the engine. Beginning to zone out I stared deeply into the clinical floor where it seemed to almost intersect with the wall. I had to start filtering.
Without the natural resources of the earth all of the colonists sent out with the remaining stockpiled elements had a chance for survival.The best one they had was Vortium, which has the unique property of spinning rapidly on its own. Harnessing this energy they slept while artificial intelligence guided most of the ships.
(I maxed out the post length.... continued at subharmonicforge.blogspot.com)
| 2017-03-25T09:37:54 | 2017-03-25T09:36:19 | 687 | 33 |
[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original.
|
Today, I was told of the Nameshare. Its cause is unknown. Its precise mechanics are unknown. It started in the spring of the year 2017, and transformed human society within a generation. Somehow, it granted every human with the same given name a shared pool of memories. Nothing was exempt. Every name ceased to signify an individual, and began to signify a collective.
I wasn't given the exact statistics, since they didn't matter. I was just given a handful of examples. At the time the Nameshare began, there were nearly five million Jameses in the United States alone. The Johns, Roberts, and Michaels were not far behind. Women had more variation, but still easily numbered in the millions for their most common. I had trouble imagining it. Five million people, all suddenly sharing every memory. Individuals from all walks of life were suddenly fused into a single mind with countless, teeming bodies.
There was a war, briefly. It was a strange war, which had little regard for national, or even geographic borders. Several Names were xenophobic or fanatical enough to declare themselves the one True Name, and attempted to exterminate the so-called pretenders, the false Names. This hit the least common Names the hardest, with their lack of bodies and pooled knowledge. Names with less than a million bodies went almost entirely extinct. Amazingly, weapons of mass destruction were never deployed, as local infighting took precedent over targeting foreign Names, and by the time the infighting died down, so had general warmongering among all Names.
All traditional governments collapsed, replaced by communities of equals. After all, what need is there for democracy when there are only a few dozen actual citizens? Even if those citizens occupy a few million bodies. The primary concerns of society ceased to be money, power or status. Instead, reproductive negotiations and the trade of foreign goods became the major points of discussion between Names. How many children should a given male and female Name produce, and what Names should they be given in turn? For a time, another war seemed likely, as debates raged over allowing the next generation of children to be given sex-opposite names. Was it worth Mary losing her negotiating power by consenting to have some of the female babies named Michael? Even if Michael had some of the males named Mary?
In the end, the community gave in to their collective desire to avoid needless loss of bodies, and the next generation saw each Name of note having bodies of both sexes, allowing for reproduction internally. Overcoming this hurdle seemed to give the Name societies the confidence to face those the followed, and they enjoyed a time pf peace and prosperity. This, in turn, enabled a renewed interest in space travel, as no Name wished to spend the rest of its (now seemingly infinite) life sharing a single planet with its siblings. It took only a few short decades before each Name was sending out colony ships, containing a breeding population of its bodies, out to a different planet.
And it was roughly in this manner the next several thousand years passed.
My name is Beginning. I was born in the year 5315 AD. No one else in the universe has my name. I know, because I have but one body. I was given my name as part of a joint experiment between Robert and John, in an attempt to, in their words, "investigate and evaluate the experience of an individual existence with the changed perspective gained from the past millennia of Named society." I do not entirely understand it, but they tell me this is normal.
It is strange, being so small and alone. John and Robert maintain constant contact with every other Name, thanks to the embassies each Name has on one of each other Name's planets. They each have a billion pairs of hands, of eyes. They are always teeming. I am just one pair or eyes, grasping at the world with one pair of hands. If I am not allowed to reproduce, not allowed to give my Name to a new body, then I will die. Robert and John will not die until the galaxy does. Maybe not even then. I do not want to leave them. I do not want them to leave me behind.
|
“Kebert Xela Simpson?” she asked.
Ashley was my best friend, had been since we roomed together starting freshman year. We were both engineering/physics majors, and we tried to sign up for the same classes every semester. She was constantly ahead of me and rarely had to study.
“Yeah…I’d rather not talk about it. My parents thought they were being clever and unique. Instead, I’m doomed to have an average life, no gift of expanded knowledge, no ever-expanding skillset with which to impress others… Nothing. Just me.”
“Sure, but I mean, you always just told me your name was ‘Bert...I thought that was just short for Albert or something.”
“I wish…at least I could have some of their brains to share the load…especially when we get into our more technical classes this year.”
“Right…I can’t imagine having to learn it all brand new. That sucks, for sure, but at least you get to claim all your grades as your own, right? Like, no one can take credit from you for anything!”
“But how can I be expected to outperform the Bobs, the Julies, the Michaels?! They have super-expansive hive minds, they can break up difficult jobs among the masses and complete anything within hours—days at most.”
“Sure, I get that. You’re behind the eight ball, and will be, constantly. But I would look at this as a blessing. Seriously, you get to be original and creative, you don’t have thousands of neurons full of rote memory to work off of which means you could very well be the next Tesla or Edison!”
“Thanks…I suppose. ‘Kebert Xela: Genius Wonder!’”
Ashley leaned back on the bed and started laughing. Her black hair caught in the light of the window, she had an extraordinary sort of beauty, features stark and prominent like those of a runway model, though she was only 5’ 5” at best.
“When you make your breakthrough discovery, remember me, okay? You can just note me in your Nobel prize speech as ‘Ashley Prime.’”
“Right…though it will probably be an Ig Nobel prize for me: Kebert Xela, with her prize-winning study noting that mice prefer cotton over polyester while copulating.”
“That’s disgusting…like, who actually studies that?”
“Actually, Ahmed Shafik.”
“Who—nevermind. Hey, I’m gonna go meet up with the other Ashleys and some of the Brandons to plan Homecoming, wanna come?”
Homecoming: the ghost of a high school memory dragged kicking and screaming into college. I was always more impressed with the paper mache pineapples and coconuts than I ever was in the homecoming court.
“No thanks. I appreciate it, but I really need to study for this test in Phys-II. Besides, I’d be a bit of a 13th wheel tagging along.”
“Twelfth wheel -- one of the Brandons got hired on at his dad’s law firm already. Apparently it’s a work-study program so he can start making money as soon as possible.”
“Oh no, what ever will Ashley to the Nth do?”
Ashley let out a mock scream of horror as she closed the door behind herself.
I began reading our Physics book, creatively titled Physics II, and set about rearranging notes from lectures for the upcoming exam. Thankfully my dad had grown up a tinkerer--by day working in the machine shop for the university and by night fixing old electronics in our garage. He had a screwdriver in my hands before I could write and my first shapes were based on circuit boards and other scraps in the workshop.
As I was reviewing the chapter on electronic circuits, a massive pain seared across my eyes. It felt like the brightest light has just been laid directly on my iris. I couldn’t see anything, and the pain was causing nausea. I reached for my trashcan as the room began clearing up.
“Christ! What the—“
Just as the pain was subsiding, a glowing warmth fell over me. It felt like I was curled up under a giant comforter and reminded me of all the nights my mom read me to sleep. I felt happiness and comfort oozing from all sides.
This was getting weird. I immediately slipped on my flip flops and a hoodie and ran out hoping the health center was still open. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I felt like my brain was misfiring. I was worried I would die or worse.
As I walked into the health center, a cold blast of air hit me. I was overcome with a sudden desire to just cry.
*What is going on?! Is this hormonal?! Jesus!*
The girl behind the counter was reading the school newspaper. She had the best curls and I made a mental note of coming back when I felt better to ask for some tips. I felt bad for interrupting, especially feeling like I could break out in tears at any second.
“I need…someone…something. A doctor? Nurse?”
A clipboard was retrieved and the girl placed some papers on it. She hung it out in the air in between us with a pen saying, “fill this out as completely as possible. Please have a seat somewhere in our lobby. The nurse will be with you shortly.”
“Will it be long? I’m…I was…I don’t know--feeling like death.”
“The nurse will be with you shortly. I’m sorry, please have a seat. She should be out soon.”
With that, the girl went back to her newspaper and left me to fill out my dark secrets for the nurse and all of the medical world to discover. While I was searching Google for my insurance company’s address, the nurse showed up.
“Bert?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“Follow me, please,” she said, guiding me through the door and down a carpeted hall to a small clinical room. It looked like a room untouched by time since the 70s or 80s--decorated in browns and beiges. I pulled myself up onto the medical exam table she motioned to as she took a seat on a rolling stool while reading a file.
“Ah, I think I know what’s going on here. Let’s run a few simple tests to verify though. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt too much.” She said as her smile had changed from a sterile customer service smile to that a mother might wear if her daughter had just started puberty.
“So I’m not dying?”
She laughed, explaining I was not near death and running through a few instructions before she retrieved a bright flashlight and began shining it through my field of vision.
She then took some ice from a small refrigerator and ran it up and down my arms, neck, and forearm followed by pricking my finger for a small blood sample. I was feeling more irritable through the ice, but the needle made me want to just curl up and cry.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I could cry for days…what is going on?! It’s like…like—“
“Like you’re a baby again?”
“Yes! Wait, is that--?”
“Yes, I do believe you’re experience the emotions and experiences of a second Kebert Xela being born. Very interesting…and such an odd name! No offense of course, but this is exciting! You get to experience everything from another perspective. This is your first link to someone else!”
“But I thought it was just knowledge that transferred? Why am I experiencing pain and emotions?”
“While I’m not sure—we haven’t really don’t a lot of research regarding birth and early childhood—I think, well I mean, we know there’s a tie between memory and our senses. So…I would think that since a child, a newborn, hasn’t learned any letters or words or anything, the only thing he or she could convey would be basic sensory input and emotions tied to them. Congratulations though, you may want to go visit our psychology department. We could probably find out a lot about new births and the mental links we all share. Isn’t this exciting?!”
“Wait, so, someone else named their child Kebert Xela?!”
| 2017-04-07T11:50:50 | 2017-04-07T10:48:59 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch
|
'But if the plosive is preceded by a nasal consonant, wouldn't they have the same place of articulation?' We had just reviewed the lecture on nasal place assimilation in our study group last night. I knew from experience that sometimes your intuition as a native speaker is just dead wrong. I tried sounding it out in my head. 'Honk!' Hmm . . . 'Hooooooonnnnkkk.'
I saw it before I heard it. Simon's jean jacket in front of me twitched up and down at his shoulders as he tried couching to cover his snicker. Odd. 'So if the k is velar, it should turn the n into an engma. HOOOOOONNNNNKKK. Yeah that sounds like an engm-'
The jacket bounced again. This time, the snicker verged on a giggle. What the fuck. There's no way. No fuckin' way. It is absolutely not possible that Simon heard me honking like a full on Canadian goose. I glanced at the clock. Shit, I needed to finish this exam. I did not have time to worry about what Simon did or did not hear. But just in case.
'HEY MOTHERFUCKER' I yelled inside my skull. I kept my eyes focused on the paper in front of me, but my peripherals caught his sudden flinch. Oh jesus this was just perfect. 'Look, asshole. You better be taking me out for coffee after this for all the answers I must've been giving you for the last hour.'
I wouldn't know if he'd heard me until I finished. Which I now really really needed to do. Shit. I scribbled my last answer and walked my exam up to the proctor's table. I grabbed my bag and waltzed out of the room to the bench right outside the door. I barely had time to take my phone out before the door opened again.
Simon turned to me. "Well? I hope you like Caribou. I'd offer Starbucks, but that's only for people who actually give me *correct* answers."
|
"Mr. S?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I just get something off my chest?"
"Sure, kid. 'Course you can."
"Band class is fucking boring when nobody actually tries. You just sit there with your instrument on your lap, staring into fuckin' space, listening to the poor teach' tryna get the attention of the class while everybody just screams. The baritone section is a mess, only one trumpet is decent, and you can't hear the flutes *or* the clarinets.
So she yells, "Alright! Alto saxes, come here!"
So we do, 'cause four of us aren't dipshits.
And then she says, "Guys, this is Michael. He's in grade eleven, and he's going to tutor you for a few weeks."
This dude, this dude is somethin'.
So she sends us into a practice room, and we all take a seat, and he gives us a once-over, and I give him a once-over, Christ, Mr. S, you should've seen that dude. His eyes are this perfect almond shape, and they're a perfect coffee-colour. He has this shoulder-length curly hair, but it's *real* soft, and he has a sharp nose and chin and cheekbones. Big lips. He was wearing this oversized sweater, red and brown stripes, and weird jeans, and *weed* socks, but he said that was 'cause the rest of his socks were in the laundry. He had a wrist brace on, and he says it's 'cause he broke his thumb. He has olive-coloured skin, like what Katniss Everdeen was supposed to look like. He's cocky like a fucking asshole, but... There's something more.
Pardon the French."
-------------------------
"Mr. S?"
"Talk to me kiddo."
"So I have a huge crush on him. *You* know. Michael. So he's cocky like a fucking asshole, like I said. But, god. I think I'm hopelessly in love. Day 1 of tutoring, he tells me to just play. Said it wasn't good but that I was the best out of all the saxes.
Then, like a week of tutoring, and I was practicing outside of class, and again we're playing, he says I'm the best again. Gosh, I can't tell you how red I got after that, Mr. S. But anyway, yesterday the rest of the saxes just... wandered off? And it was just me and him. And he looked at me. *He looked at me*. But not in a mean way. Just sort of... a way. And told me to play with the metronome, and 'course I didn't 'cause I don't really know how, and when I was done he *laughed*. And then I saw him on the bus home, Mr. S, I saw him, and we made eye contact, and he *laughed* and smiled his stupid dork smile. He has crooked teeth. Real crooked teeth. And we've done it a few times! At Halloween, he dressed up as a soldier, and lemme tell you, he looks damn good in a uniform, and I was Waldo, and we were walking down the hall, and we did the same thing.
My heart always does that thing where it leaps into my throat, and I get all floaty and I can't breathe. I'm really in love, Mr. S."
"Y'know kiddo, I don't doubt that you are. I really don't."
--------------------
"Mr. S! I think he's psychic?"
"What?"
"I think he's psychic! So today, it was band, and I was real bored 'cause everyone was being a dipshit again, and I decided to scream in my head, 'cause I wanted to check for psychics. So I screamed, just like 'hey!', and he flinched! Also, we've been Snapchatting each other a lot, *and* he likes *all* my Instagram photos. That really means a lot to us high schoolers ya know. I don't know him all that well, to be true, but god, he's somethin' else. He doesn't feel like any other boy I know. He's... not stupid."
"Honey, I think you gotta ask this boy on a date."
----------------
"What are you running from?"
He takes their hands in his.
"What?"
"What are you running from? Your thoughts are always so... jumbled. And when they're not, they're so... sad. What's goin' on?"
They look down. Shit's going on, that's true, but, it's hard to verbalize feelings most of the time. It's getting dark around the two, wind starting to blow in from the north, bringing the cold front that the weatherman promised. It blows some of that damn curly hair into his eyes. But he persists, tilting their head up to look in their eyes. He doesn't read what they think right now. He could, but that'd ruin it. He wants them to talk to him. He tries *his* damnedest to talk, because he's been in love with them and their mad eyes and weird hair since he saw them, but they're just so damn shy.
"I've never heard anyone with thoughts like yours. C'mon, if something's wrong, you can tell me."
They sigh.
"I-I dunno. I guess my parents have just been fightin' an awful lot. My best friend doesn't talk to me anymore," sadness is so thick in their voice, "I guess I just feel like I don't wanna go on anymore."
He nods.
They sit quietly, just taking in each other, taking in the Toronto autumn, the Toronto night around them. Right when it's about to get dark, the two get up and walk off to the bus stop. Together, they walk onto the bus. Together, they sit. They lean into him, he leans onto them, pressing a kiss onto their forehead.
They really are in love. Even if they're young and dumb and sweet and naive, they're in love. All 'cause they saw him flinch.
| 2017-11-13T21:06:00 | 2017-11-13T19:45:25 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Due to an overactive imagination and your love of superheroes, you have a tendency to yell "I know you're listening" loudly inside your own head to see if anybody reacts. One day, you're answered by a panicked "I'm sorry" in a familiar voice and the girl across the classroom has gone beet red.
Edit: I'm glad to see that doing this isn't as weird or uncommon as I initially thought. Because it's such a strange yet common tendency, it seems that this concept for a writing prompt has seen a number of iterations from people like myself who mistakenly think they are introducing a new theme to the community. That being said, if you enjoyed the awesome submissions to this WP as much as I have, here's a few other WP's with the same concept that have some pretty awesome stories written for them as well.
1. [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9rut3f/wp\_everytime\_you\_think\_of\_a\_funny\_joke\_this\_girl/](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9rut3f/wp_everytime_you_think_of_a_funny_joke_this_girl/)
2. [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7cqzzv/wp\_one\_day\_in\_class\_you\_decide\_to\_scream/](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7cqzzv/wp_one_day_in_class_you_decide_to_scream/)
Thanks again for all the submissions!
|
Carrie drew in her notebook, completely and utterly bored out of her mind. God, she hated US gov. She didn't understand, for the life of her, why an art major needed history courses, yet, there she was.
'...waste of time...' She thought. 'Where did this guy get a PhD from? The University of Teaching Through YouTube videos?"
Carrie heard a snicker, which gave her pause. She glanced at the cute girl who sat in front of her, which was where the noise came from.
'Probably a coincidence.' Carrie gave her character some hair. 'But....'
'I KNOW THAT YOU'RE LISTENING!'
The girl jumped and made a weird noise.
Some people paused to stare at her as her face turned bright red.
"S-sorry." She stuttered. "Thought I saw a spider."
Some people shifted their backpacks off the ground, and that was the end of that.
Carrie gaped at the girl's head, just as she spun around and stared mournfully at her.
"Sorry." She mouthed, before looking away.
'No way...' Carrie leaned forward. 'C-can you actually hear me?'
The girl stiffened. A soft voice whispered in Carrie's head, which was really weird. 'Wait, you didn't know? Why were you screaming that in your head than?'
Carrie's face reddened. 'Ah...not important...Don't think about it, don't think about it...'
'Superhero geek, huh?'
'Damn it.'
The girl laughed. 'I'm Megan Valdez.'
'Carrie Simon.' She felt her face turning pink. 'So, any reason that you're were listening in on my thoughts?'
Megan fiddled with her hair. 'I...I just wanted to know if you were taken....'
Carrie grinned. 'That would be a no.'
'Ah.' Megan fiddled with her hands. 'I guess the whole mind reading thing is a deal breaker, huh?'
'Safer way to send nudes than a phone.'
'Oh my god.' Megan pressed her hand against her mouth, and glanced at Carrie with a giggly expression. 'So, that's a yes?'
Carrie twisted a finger into her hair. 'How does coffee sound? After class?'
Megan revealed a lovely smile, and returned her gaze to the projection. 'Sounds like a date.'
|
*I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING!*
Jack imagined those words echoing with power and authority. The words would only ever affect those who had a super power similar to telepathy and would ring in their head, he imagined. The words would hit a person with such an ability with so much force that they wouldn't even think about peering into his head. They'd be afraid, since he was a powerful superhero.
Of course, that was just a dream. In the end, he was just distracting himself from Algebra 2. Jack was way too imaginative for his own good. Any and every odd situation would usually cause him to think: Maybe I went back in time. Maybe someone is watching me. Maybe I'm in a simulation. Maybe reality has changed in some way and I can figure out how if I try hard enough.
He had a similar delusion today. For just a moment, he had a slight headache. That was all it took for his imagination to kick into overdrive. Maybe someone was listening. He never truly believed he was just messing around, and he never truly believed that he actually had super powers. It was a distant hope, but that hope made life more enjoyable. He'd yell again.
He imagined a pressure building in his temples as if he were about to release a psychological attack. He touched his index finger to his forehead and pushed hard, as if he were focusing his power. Then, he released his energy:
***I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING!***
"EEEK!" shrieked a girl to the far left of the classroom.
Jack turned sharply and could easily identify her from the fact that she was beet red. While she wasn't necessarily his friend, Jack knew that her name was Julia Summers. She was slender, had braided auburn hair, and was looking at Jack as if she was terrified. She looked down back down at her desk.
"Sorry," she murmured. "I shocked myself."
It was likely a lie, since the entire class had been staring at Jack. Despite having strange hobbies and ideas, Jack was by no means stupid. It was a rather odd coincidence that she happened to shriek right after he released an imaginary psychological attack. Even now, though, Jack didn't completely believe that he actually did have a super power. Just for his own amusement, and in case he actually did have a super power, he did the same thing as before. He imagined a pressure in his temples and then put his index finger between his eyes.
***MEET ME DURING LUNCH, JUNE. YOU'D BETTER EXPLAIN WHY YOU WERE LISTENING.***
Jack turned turned slightly to the left, so as to not get the attention of his teacher. Once again, he noticed that June turned beet red. She nodded meekly.
Jack smirked slightly, having difficulty hiding his excitement! He did have some sort of super power! And apparently June did too! Hey, maybe there was even an entire secret world of people with super powers out there.
Jack had an idea:
If Julia did know something about a secret world, Jack would act like he knew about it and trick her into explaining...
This would be fun.
...
...
...
Lunch time arrived and Jack headed to a one of the outdoor tables. It was winter time, so not many people sat outside. The specific table where Jack was at was usually always empty when it was cold, as his table was in the shade and completely hidden from the sun.
Jack anxiously tapped his foot on the ground. Despite the fact that Julia had definitely nodded at him, there was still a lingering doubt that he was just imaging things. He hoped that he wasn't getting his hopes up.
Four minutes later, Julia arrived, carrying a blue tray with a cookie, salad, and mashed potatoes. Her eyes met Jack's and she briskly walked to his table and sat down. Jack was surprised that the girl actually showed up, but part of him acted as if he knew all along that he was right.
Julia took her plastic spoon and began eating the mashed potatoes silently. Jack, being impatient, decided to take the initiative:
"Answer my question."
Julia froze, about to eat another spoonful of potatoes. She placed her spoon on the ground. "I accidentally read your mind."
"We both know that's not true," Jack responded immediately, surprised by his certainty and the speed of his answer. While he wasn't so, he sounded very confident.
"You set a trap for me?" Julia asked, her eyes wide. "How? I thought your thoughts were genuine until you attacked me like that."
*What thoughts?* Jack wondered. Was Julia messing with him? Or did she actually believe that he set some sort of mental trap for her? He decided to play along.
"Read my mind again and find out," he suggested.
"That's cruel," she whined, flinching at the thought. "You already know I can't read yours anymore because of those attacks."
Really? This misunderstanding was too funny that Jack couldn't stop a grin. He once again imagined the pressure in his mind and touched his head with his index finger.
***CAN YOU HEAR-***
"Stop..." Julia groaned softly. "You're much better than me when it comes to using the Power of the Mind, I admit it. You don't have to do that."
*I've never been beaten this bad in my life,* Jack heard. Julia didn't say it aloud, and it seemed like she didn't intend for Jack to hear it either. Could he now read *her* mind?
"You've *never* lost this badly?"
Julia blinked in astonishment. "I thought you could just detect and project, but you can also heard thoughts too? And you can fake thoughts. How long have you attended..."
*You know,* she finished.
*I really don't know,* Jack thought, thankful that she couldn't listen to his thoughts. "You didn't conceal yourself properly, so of course I'd be able to detect you."
"I took all the necessary precautions," Julia countered. "Your level of control is just unfair!"
*Not only have you definitely practiced, but you were probably born with more power than others.*
This was so amazing! Jack, unable to control himself, began to laugh.
"What's so funny?" the bewildered red head asked.
"I don't know about anything you're talking about," Jack told her, beaming.
"... Oh."
| 2018-12-18T18:34:41 | 2018-12-18T16:00:20 | 167 | 79 |
[WP] Your older son was bitten by an escaped lab animal and developed superpowers. Your daughter was implanted with powerful tech by aliens. And your younger son is a martial arts prodigy who gleefully goes crimefighting with his older siblings. As their (completely normal) parent, you worry. A lot.
EDIT: I had no idea this would end up being anywhere near as popular as it did. Thanks very much for the silver and for the upvotes, y'all!
|
"Mr. Carnel, I have tried to be patient with you. You have been rotting in this room for 3 months and nobody is going to come and rescue you. I admire your fortitude but as you can see it has all been for NOTHING!"
My panting has become weaker, a low wheeze with each breath I take. I can hear the broken chandelier swaying back and forth above me, making the same unbearable creaking noise that has never subsided since I was thrown into this god-forsaken room so many months ago. I could feel the cool wet flow of my blood falling from the top of my head down my nose, dripping onto the floor. The man is towering over me with a lead pipe in his left hand, clearly looking agitated.
"Do you think that you're being some kind of hero right now?" He threw the pipe to the side of the room and threw his hands up in the air, probably from exhaustion. "You are sacrificing yourself for three brats who don't even care about you! Who can blame them honestly though. They saw you kill their mother right before their very eyes. I'm actually quite surprised they didn't kill you on the spot!" I winced at the thought of that memory. I knew they wouldn't understand, they were only children. It doesn't help at all however knowing that my actions caused my kids to work for Blackwater. If only they would have let me explain...
"Your kids hate you and don't want anything to do with you. So... why... WON'T... YOU... TELL ME WHERE THEY ARE GOD DAMMIT!"
&#x200B;
He lifted his right arm and hit me right in the temple. The world started spinning and all I could hear was a loud rumbling and ringing in my ear. Everything started to turn black and I couldn't keep my head up anymore.
&#x200B;
BZZZZZZZT!
&#x200B;
"WAKE THE FUCK UP! I'M NOT DONE WITH YOU YET!"
&#x200B;
I screamed in pain as I could feel the electricity coursing through my entire body, starting from the metal surrounding my wrists and quickly coursing up my arm and to my head, and down to my waist and my feet. The pain. Oh my God the pain. Vomit projected onto the man's legs and he yelled in disgust, "LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!" He sighed and crossed his arms, "this is all your doing. You ruined your children's lives, and you have ruined your own life. Because of what you have done, you will never see the sun ever again. When we finally find your children, I will make them watch the life being sucked right out of you. Oh I hope they beg for your life. You have no idea how much joy that would bring me. I can only imagine the look on their faces when they see the lifeless look in your eyes oh it will be splendid! Once I'm done with you, I'm sure your children and I will become very.... Close."
&#x200B;
I could feel the electricity coursing through my veins again. I could no longer scream, it felt like my voice was trapped inside of my throat, my eyes were about to rupture. All I could hear was him laughing in the background, but soon even that faded into nothing.
&#x200B;
Everything went black.
&#x200B;
\-------------------------------------
&#x200B;
FWACK!
FWACK!
I jolted awake. How long have I been out? I was alone in the room, the sound of the chandelier still penetrating my ear drums. What was that noise?
&#x200B;
BOOM!
The door disintegrated in front of my eyes, the light shining through the doorway stung my eyes. I could barely make out three dark figures entering into the room. Who are these people? Did the last man give up and these are his replacements?
&#x200B;
I squinted my eyes to try to see their faces but the light was so painful I couldn't make anything out. Then, I heard a voice I never thought I would hear again.
&#x200B;
"Dad? We're getting you out."
|
(1 of 2)
Frootloops in baggies, juice boxes, bus passes, some pocket change, spare battery for their phones, their nigh-on indestructible nokia's for emergencies and a quick text to Police Constable Hayes that the kidlings would be out that Saturday night and to get his on duty officers to check back alleys for tied up criminals.
I triple checked everything as the kidlings ate their dinner. Ever since Francis had his radio active walk in with a cat, he's had a sensitive palette that wouldn't accept most veggies, but he seems to enjoy raw or rare meats fine. It was hard trying to ensure he got everything he needed, but his government mandated nutritionists said that defaulting to gummy vitamins would suffice.
The settlement from the experimentation lab included all his health costs that came from being bitten by a radio active house cat, and covered Francis's new mutations as a result.
Viola's needs weren't nearly as intensive, but she did occasionally require maintenance from her off-planet buddies for her augments. They'd saved her from a plane wreak during her tenth grade trip to the UK last year, when a majority of her classmates had made it out using parachutes but Viola, ever the caring one, had insisted her best friend take the last chute. The aliens, watching silently, had rewarded her selfless act by fishing her from the sea and fixing her up.
I'm grateful for their kindness, I still love my daughter no matter what percentage of off-planet metal she is, but making sure she takes care of both her metal parts and the brain thats still inside her half-android body is exhausting.
And Timothy...
Well. Tim is Tim. Honestly, I'd rather let him loose with his brothers and sisters watching over him than risk him sneaking out unprepared. My boy needs his damn juice boxes and nokia!
He originally got into his martial arts training as a way to exercise and get a hold on his childhood diabetes, and ended up a world champion in twenty different disciplines before he turned 14. He wasn't allowed anywhere outside the house without a juice box or some pocket change for candy if his sugars got too low.
"Dad? Daaaad?" Viola's voice breaks through my revere.
"Huh? O-oh, sorry sweetie, did you say something?" I ask.
"I was asking if you were done." She says, pointing to their packs.
I blink, shaking my head a slight. I'd been so lost i exposition that I forgot my quadruple check! "Just a second, sweetie." I say, starting up again.
"Its fine, Dad." Francis groans, taking his and zipping it up. "Its literal always fine. You've never gotten wrong the seven hundred other times you've made out packs."
"Well, maybe the seven hundredth and first will be the one where I forgot the cables." I say, plucking the bag from his hands to check again.
Ten minutes later, we're all at the door. "Remember, if there's a gun-"
"We run." My three chorus back.
"If the police say stay away-"
"We listen and obey."
"Curfew?" I asked.
"11 PM!" Answered Timothy.
"2 AM." My older two said.
I sigh, glad that I've drilled this into their heads. "Alright. Now, I'm not going to be home when you all get back, alright? I have a meeting tomorrow morning in another city so I'll have to get going as soon as I can."
"Dad's got a date." Viola said simply, tilting to the side a little and yaking over her shoulder.
I make a slightly sour face. I really need to have the aliens downgrade her sensory output so she can't tell when I'm lying.
"Gross, an overnighter?" Francis says, cat ears tilting down.
"Gone!!" Timothy said quickly, running out to Feancis's car. "I call dibs on the skeezy bars!!"
"Hey! You can't even get into those, stick to street level!!" Francis shouts after him as he frantically follows.
"Dont have too much fun, Dad!" Viola says, waving goodbye as she follows her brothers.
Annoyed that I was found out, I shout after them. "Its your science teacher Mr.Kinnard, I found him on my dating app!!"
The loud screeches and groans of disgust are music to my ears as I close the door and head up to prepare for mh date.
-
I pass by my wife as I head up, her picture on the side table that holds her shrine stares up at me, I sigh and pick her up. "Do you think this one is gonna stick?" I ask, holding her up. Ashley's smiling face stares back at me, unmoving in the frame. "It's been a couple dates, so I should be good, right? Lenny knows the kids, knows what he's getting into with us, right?"
Ash doesn't respond. I sigh, setting the picture down again. I miss her, but...its been eight years since she passed. I always made my excuses for not dating, spending time with and cheering o Tim, going go all his martial arts meets, even the international ones where he faced off grown adults three times his size, taking care of Francis as he underwent check up and researchers poking and prodding at him after his accident, helping my daughter remember that she was still human even under her synthetic skin...
But I was out of excuses and I was running out of time. After Ash's death, I got...lonely. I've ignored it for so long, but...enoughs enough.
I need some me time too.
I went to shower in preparation for my date with Mr.Kinnard.
-
"Oh, I could talk about my kids seven ways to Sunday!" I laughed, leaning into the man's side. I was just a but wine drunk, just a bit off kilter, when Lenny Kinnard brought up Viola's 'prosthetics', our cover up for the slight limp she had when she was getting used to being a cyborg. The aliens were not yet common knowledge and had to be hidden for the time being. "We've gotten her a new leg, its this amazing 3D printed thing that lets her walk with a normal gait, it's really remarkable."
"Fascinating technology." Lenny hums. "Where did you find it?"
"Oh, this Japanese engineer I met during one of Tim's international meets." I say with a chuckle.
"Must be hard, living with and raising kids alone." Lenny sighs.
"You'd think so, but they're great," i chuckle. "Always taking things in stride, sticking together, having each others backs...I hardly have anything to worry about, honestly. It's one of the rare occasions where siblings get along."
"But surely there's issues that come up when your son is radio active and your daughter isn't entirely human, right?"
"Oh, not at all! I mean, keeping everything a zecret is a bit tiring but..." I trail off. He knew. The aliens, the radio active cat. I suddenly feel a piece of cold metal up against my stomach. A gun. "I'm being kidnapped right now, aren't I?" I ask softly.
"Yep." Lenny said, smiling.
-
"I've earned a free low fat yogurt," I say as I pull out my wallet and my stamp card. It was a joke on behalf of my kids, how many times csn dad be kidnapped before we owe him yogurt?! Of course, I had to get a stamp to go with the card.
Lenny slams my little cage with a chair. "Will you shut up?" He hisses.
Turns out, Lenny was a shapeshifting alien, amd was helbent on getting the tech that was installed in my daughters augments, and was holding me hostage until she came. My life for hers. The real Larry Kinnard was probably dead and rotting somewhere in this hideout of his.
"They're not coming." I tell him for the umpteenth time. "I've always told them to run when there's guns, and you have an entire arsenal on you so-"
A lacky alien popped up from a door way. "They're here."
"Oh, damnit." I sigh.
| 2019-03-03T23:35:40 | 2019-03-03T22:15:49 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Rejected by the Federation Council for refusing to disband their military, humans ally themselves with the Thoran, the Federation’s resident warrior race. Warmongers, the Thoran find themselves enamored with humanity, and grow increasingly tired of the Federations attempts to “civilize” both.
|
"Section 17b of the Interstellar Treaty states that armed forces are strictly prohibited unless governed by the Federation. Failure to comply with this ruling will result in rejection and or expulsion from the council. It is our personal belief that this article should be struck down. Our individual military forces grant us security and safety in the face of dangers the Federation cannot prevent."
Sergeant Caleb Jones tossed the paper aside. Everyone here had heard the recital before. There was no need to divulge further. Jones nodded to Baker, who continued.
"The Federation has placed severe trade embargoes and even more severe travelling restrictions on us for our refusal to budge to their totalitarian decision. That is why we are here today," Baker exclaimed.
"You're here because you think we can change things?" Zan-Shuu scoffed. "The Federation hates us as much as they do you. They're convening as we speak on whether or not to kick us out. You think they'll listen to us?"
Jones stood up, shaking his head. "We gave them an ultimatum. Change the article in question or lift the restrictions upon us, otherwise there will be consequences. The council refused."
"What are you suggesting, human?" Lieutenant Xak-Trulz asked with interest. The symbols burned into the reptilian alien's flesh gave off a dim glow: a sign of high honour in warfare. Thoran often adorned themselves with such markings to indicate those whose excellence should be idolized. The closest thing humans had in turn were insignia and badges pinned to a leaf green suit.
"Due to our similar circumstances and beliefs, I am suggesting an alliance between our two peoples. Both of our races have long histories of warfare, extensive military knowledge and technology and a wish to keep it that way," Jones explained. The two Thoran glanced at each other for a moment, pausing to think, before Zan-Shuu responded.
"You know the Federation will not react kindly to our declaration. They will adamantly attempt to divert this course. Do you know what that calls of us, sergeant?" Zan-Shuu asked with glee and wonder in his otherwise cold and methodical voice.
"We're already set to go," Jones answered. The two Thoran once again took the time to stare at each other, this time communicating in their native tongue. Finally, Zan-Shuu turned his attention back to the humans.
"Then to war it is."
|
The meeting took place in a bunker multiple hundreds of meters below the soil of an unknown planet within the solar system.
"Are you sure it is completely safe to speak here?"
"It seems I trust dirt and steel more than you."
"If you trust this place, I will too, I guess."
"So let's begin then."
"Ah, yes, so... when shall we declare our independence?"
"Are you mad? We need to get allies first, you small-brained Thoran. Never mind my outburst. But really, your ideas are ridiculous. We need more people than this."
"And your are recommending what? Ad banners all over Federation space saying "JOIN THE REVOLUTION"?
"Of course not. We will have to undermine them."
"That's obvious, now tell me how."
"Prove that the Federation cannot protect its members."
"Are you proposing open war instead of mere declaration of independence? You are truly the one who is mad in here."
"No, no, we supply and pay the Pirates to organize a single massive assault on a Sn-7.62D."
"You yet again prove you are mad. You say we fund space terrorists to attack the capital of the Sran? They are one of the strongest nations in the Federation."
"Listen, we need to make an impact on everyone else, shatter their belief on the Federation. We must order the Pirates to plunder it as fully as possible and then to bombard it from the surface. After all, the other nations have abandoned most of their weapons due to the Federation's new Bill's. It should be easy to seize even a capital, even of them, with ease."
"Ok, and then what? Huh?"
"By then most people will realise that remilitarization is a necessity and the Sran will hate the Federation in infinite quantities. We shall have a mighty ally and swayed interests of others."
"Sounds good. But when will we strike?"
"We will need to at least have the near full support of the Sran."
"So nowhere near now?"
"Of course not, we will help them repair their damaged capital. Cover the while story up. No one has to know except a bunch of dead pirates and a couple of us higher-ups."
"Fine then, Sir Darwin."
"Now leave, Ghajin, before our absence is noticed by any... 'unfriendly' groups."
*Some time later*
"So you are offering us these prototype weapons and this money to attack Sn-7.62D?"
"Yes, now be urgent. The Federation might have a spy in our ranks. We must complete this before they can intervene."
"Understood, Sir Darwin."
"Good to know we understand each other."
*Some time later*
"FEDERATION!!! SOS!!! SOS!!!"
"What is the emergency?"
"Absolutely ginormous fleets of pirates are assaulting the planet!"
"What planet is this message coming from? Never mind... wait what?"
"Sn-7.62D I know your re surprised, but we genuinely need help here."
"Do you seriously think will believe that YOU, the strongest nation in the Federation, needs help?"
"We do! They have already breached the first orbital defense ring! And the second one has just now fallen and is crashing down on the planet!"
"How can the pirates be so strong?"
"We dont know but- *BOOM*"
"What happened?"
"S-s-sir, th-~ ar~ bomb-~ th-~ planet! We wo-~ ast lo-~! Help!-~"
"SEND ALL FLEETS. I REPEAT, SEND ALL FLEETS. RESERVE FLEETS WILL GUARD THE FEDERATION CAPITOL."
*Back on Sn-7.62D*
"Crap. Did they even get our message?"
"I don't know man, but right now we have to avoid the bombs and falling buildings. And about that- *CRASH* "I just saved you from one. From now on, look around yourself please."
"Not like I have anything else to do."
*Some time later*
"Well you humans are such a nice race, they're helping us out after this devastating attack."
"Thank you."
"Our welcomes to you, Sir Darwin."
*Some months later, back in the bunker*
"When shall we declare independence?"
"Well, I don't know. You started this."
"What? That was the Thorans."
"Well you started it officially."
"You could have clarified that earlier."
"Anyways, back to the point. I reccomend we do it within the next couple of Earth rotations, or as we call them, days. Ghajin, are your fleets ready to defend?"
"Yes Sir Darwin."
"Konen?"
"My fleets are dispersed throughout the galaxy and if a war comes there will be fighting in every corner of it."
"Good, Konen of Sran. We are ready."
"Let us recite it first."
"Of course, Ghajin."
"The Sran, Thoran, and Humankind hereby declare independence from the Feferation. We do so as a result of the actions taken by the Federation, which include: nearly forced demilitarization, removal of rights of each race, by this I mean the near complete authority of Federation officials on each planet within it, and the demolition of multiple colonies, including A-4, B-17, Sd8-3.3, and 0-6-D.3."
"Short, not very clear, but it states the point well enough. Clear enough for people to know what we are doing, and at least a couple vague reasons. Sounds good enough, Konen."
"I tried. At least sort of to make this."
"We know, Konen, we know."
*At Federation capital ring a couple of days later*
"What is this? A declaration of independence? Oh boy, those Humans and Thorans clearly want a beating.* But Sran? I though they were happy enough? What could have made them willing to join our enemies? Maybe a slow assistance of our fleets? I mean, we did all that we could."*
"Lord Raiek, have you decided on our course of action?"
"Not yet, General Mazhouj."
"Then I will return later, Lord."
"Now go away then. I need to think."
*A couple of hours later*
*"I should probably send them an ultimatum, that is the most reasonable decision. No immediate war, but my demands are loud and clear."*
"Lord Raien, I am sorry to interrupt your thinking, however there is a message from the Humans."
| 2020-04-16T09:07:41 | 2020-04-16T08:19:10 | 363 | 110 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks.
|
I looked over at my sister- nine years younger than me, and yet somehow the same age all of a sudden. Her head was in her hands, the air of defeat around her almost visible.
Next to her a tall, handsome boy slept peacefully on his back.
I heard her heave a deep sigh, and looked over as she ran her hands over her tight, flat stomach, and smallish, perky breasts in disbelief.
"Julie," she whimpered. Her eyes made contact with mine and I could see the desperation in them before she threw her gaze over to the young man next to her. "What am I supposed to do? How can I handle this? I only gave birth to him two weeks ago."
|
Dandy Town, unlike its name, is a town far from perfection. In fact this little hamlet or village is a hidden gem I found while on one of my numerous trips to my Step Father’s bakery for breakfast.
I always had a penchant for funny things, but this town was a whole new definition of eccentricity and silliness. Every citizen of this town was a greater example than the other. They welcomed me like one of their own and stuffed me with sushi, which they claimed to be their own local delicacy and called it Honor Roll, something they ate on the occasion of graduation mostly.
There are so many anecdotes and events about this town throughout this book, but I would like to start with one of the most silly and stupid ones that made me fall in love with the cute little people of Dandy Town.
Back in the 2010s when I was in a famous TV series, the town of Dandy had a little series of incidents of its own.
The people of all ages woke up one day. To their surprise they now had bodies of 18 year olds. With their memories intact!!
“I basically lived my prepubescent years twice, once when I was 18 and then when I turned 18 on my 54th birthday!” said Abe McPherson, the current mayor of the Town, happily relinquishing the event in his memories.
“I was kinda like a playboy when I was 18, so when I turned 18 once again, I wasn’t really able to stop my horses,” said Sheriff Willie, who had a special incident in this particular event.
**The Author, referred above as I, has now compiled a few dramatised recollections of the citizen’s here in Dandy Town regarding the event. The names have been changes but the prior permission of the subjects had been taken before**
*******************
I woke up on Sunday morning as the rooster made its usual noise. I burped and got up from the bed. My wife was asleep on the bed, sweating after last night.
We had moved the bed from the outside of the room to inside it finally. We were two 80 year olds who had moved into this house just the week before. It had taken us five days to push the bed in slowly, and on each day it took, we had to sleep outside the bedroom. Only the first day was a problem though when we had to sleep outside the house, where the bed was, since we hadn’t been able to push it in.
We don’t hire people for this work as we are self dependent people.
But the only thing that wasn’t self reliant for me was my ding dong, or my manhood. It had refused to stand up in 35 years except for the one time when it rose up slightly because of the urine infection.
When I woke up that day, my whole body felt like it had a new sort of vigour and energy. And when I saw below, for the first time in 35 years I had a morning standing ovation by my ding dong.
But it gave me a lot of problems, like when I went into the washroom for peeing that morning, My God the speed with which it came out almost blew me away like it was a jet pack. And I made a great big mess.
****************
I woke up and checked myself in the mirror. Oh Holy God! I looked so pretty and beautiful. Just like when I was 18!!
I decided to skip church that day. I was a Sister at the Dandy Town Church for Women. But this new body and energy had given me, a 60 year old retired woman who had given up on life and lived on the hopes of Christ, a big helping hand in confidence.
I roamed about the Town. I smoked hookah with the boys that day. God would have been angry but I knew that he gave me that body for some reason. Why else would he give me such a hot body that was Bikini waxed?
Many guys flirted with me, but this one young man seemed to have caught the attention of my eyes.
“Lookie here. What can I do to be with a girl like you, miss?” Said the boy.
“ You could take me out for dinner,” I flaunted.
“ Well I would, but the police would arrest me for carrying fireworks, ma’am”
I had laughed hard, when suddenly he pulled me close. At that time, I turned around.
Suddenly I felt a slight unzip of my dress at the back. I turned around to see that horny 18 year old using the magnet in his watch trying to be God Knows What!
“Sheer magnetism, baby”
*****************
Yeah I was 14 at the time we all became 18 and had just watched Live and Let Die, so I tried to become Bond. Big deal! I am a
the proud sheriff of this town now and I have forgotten things of the past.
*****************
I have more planned if you’d like!!!
| 2020-11-02T10:49:46 | 2020-11-02T09:45:20 | 105 | 15 |
[WP] you are kidnapped by henchmen because your boyfriend/girlfriend is a super hero, but the villains are your parents who just now recognized you as your BF/GF has arrived to save you and now you have to explain the situation to everyone while the henchmen watch barley stifling their laughter
|
As the hood over my head was removed, I heard the sound of raucous laughter coming from all around me.
"Well, if it isn't our leader's darling little boy! How's it going, Larry? Having fun dating a superhero?"
One of my parents' henchmen stood before me, shining a bright light into my face. Around me, I could see at least a dozen others.
"Yeah, yeah, you got me real good this time, Darman. Alright, come on now, cut me loose and I won't say a thing to my parents."
"Mmmmm, I'm not so sure about that, rich boy." Darman leaned into my face, so close that I could smell the whiskey on his breath. "You know, I think the bosses would very much like to know their darling boy has been secretly dating a superhero, wouldn't they? They might even give me a bonus."
I gritted my teeth. "I'm serious, Darman. Let me out of here now, or you'll regret it."
Darman laughed, and the rest of the room laughed with him. "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it, flower boy? Grow me a daffodil? Please."
"Alright, don't say I didn't warn you."
I felt through the room, listening for the sounds of nature. Finally, I found the plant I was looking for, hidden within the whiskey I'd smelled on Darman's breath.
"Hey, wait, what are you- mmmmph!" Darman's eyes widened in shock as a sheaf of wheat suddenly sprouted from his mouth. Around me, the other henchmen's laughter turned to hacking and coughing as newly grown barley filled their windpipes.
Darman fell to the ground, still wheezing. I looked him in the eye, and motioned to my restraints. Desperately, he crawled across the floor and fumbled with his knife, cutting the bonds loose.
As I stood up from the chair, there was a loud crash as Sophie punched her way into the room.
"Don't worry, Larry! I'm here to save.... wait, what?"
At the same time, I saw my parents walk into the room.
"Son, what is going on?"
I looked around the room, first at Sophie, then at my parents, then at the floor still covered with henchmen coughing up barley.
Oh geez, how am I supposed to explain this?
|
It all started with drinks. Catherine sat with her boyfriend Sam. They were both slightly buzzed and as it often did, the conversation turned to some rather interesting topics.
"So the trolley problem. Thoughts?"
Catherine raised her eyebrows and took another sip of her drink. "I think it's a bad problem really. There is no right solution."
"No? Oh come now. If it came to it and you had to choose one, what would you do."
"I'd jump on the tracks and stop the train."
Sam laughed. "Ah, like our city's trusty superhero. If only it were that simple."
"Exactly. Hey, if he can do it, I can too."
Sam leaned in for a kiss. "Of course you can."
And just like that, their world exploded into a high pitched shriek and bright lights.
By the time Sam was able to gather himself, he saw that Catherine was gone. He jumped into the closest building, drawing some glances. But that didn't matter. What mattered was where Catherine was.
He took out his phone. He had hidden a small tracking dot on her phone for exactly such an eventuality. Such was the life of a superhero he supposed.
Somewhere across the town, The Infernals stood looking at their captive.
Mona stepped forward, removing the hood from the prisoner. Her eyes went wide as she did. She looked back at Chris, signaling for him to stay quiet.
"What happened? Who's that, honey?"
Too late.
"Dad?" Catherine was still blindfolded and bound, but she was quite familiar with that voice.
The first thing Chris did was shoot the henchman who had captured her. That took care of the snickers and the giggles as the rest scattered quickly.
Catherine instinctively pulled back and fought against her restraints.
Mona gave a dejected shrug and untied her. Catherine removed her blindfold and looked at the masked figures standing in front of her.
"Mom? Dad? You guys are the..."
"The Infernals. Yes, sweetie. We hoped you'd never find out."
"You guys are supervillains."
Mona moved closer to her. "Catherine. Sit down. You've had a shock. Do you want some water?"
"Do I want some... No! You guys have killed people." She pushed her mother's hand away from her shoulder.
Chris spoke to her in an almost pleading voice as he moved closer to them. "Sweetie its just a job. We were good at this."
"Oh my god. My college is paid for with blood money. I became a doctor so I could save lives." Catherine was crying now.
There was a crash in the distance as some shouts could be heard from the outer lair.
Mona and Chris looked at each other. "He's here."
Catherine looked at them both. "Who's here?"
Realization hit home as both Mona and Chris wondered what they could do now.
"Where there's injustice, I will..." The man in the red mask stopped short looking at the scene in front of him.
Catherine looked at him and then to her parents. "You guys kidnapped me. That must mean... Oh my fucking god. Sam is that you?"
"Uh... What? No. I'm the Scarlet Custodian, defender of the weak, protector of the city."
"How did I never know? Does everyone in my life lie to me?" Catherine had her face in her hands and was freely crying now.
Sam moved to her, embracing her. She pushed him away.
"I didn't want to put you in any danger. This is exactly the sort of thing I wanted to avoid. That's why..." Sam stopped and looked at The Infernals. Usually, they had their masks on. But now they stood there, heads bowed and with shame and guilt on their faces. "Umm... What's going on here?"
"They're my parents! My parents are supervillains and my boyfriend is a superhero." Catherine burst out crying again.
The next half an hour was spent by the three people in the room trying to calm Catherine down.
Finally they all sat down together. An uncomforted silence hung in the room.
"So..." Sam looked around the table.
Chris stared at him. If looks could kill, and usually Chris's did when his mask with the laser eyes was on, Sam would've been a dead man.
"I'm sorry but I can't ignore this. I have to arrest you both."
"They're my parents, Sam!"
"I know but they are also criminals."
"We could retire. We promise never to attack the city again."
Sam shifted around in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.
"You must stop. Or else, I'll never talk to you guys again. Dismantle your organization. Give away money to charity. Help rebuild the city. Make this right. Can I count on you guys? Mom? Dad?" Catherine looked at them pointedly.
"Whatever you say sweetie." Mona said. But there had been a bit of hesitation.
Sam pulled Catherine to the side. "I'm sorry Catherine."
"You have nothing to be sorry for. They're the villains. You're a hero. My hero." She gave him a kiss.
"It's the trolley problem, Cat. They've killed hundreds of people. They're two people I've never managed to beat. You have to understand."
"What do you mean, Sam?"
"I have to do it. If it means saving lives, I have to."
The Infernals were prone and defenseless. Their masks, which powered their suits lay forgotten on the table.
Sam moved with extraordinary speed and stuck them both with an amazing amount of force. There was a crunch of bones as their heads snapped back. You didn't have to be a doctor like Catherine to see that it was over for them.
"No!" She ran towards them both as Sam stood there, dejectedly, looking down at the ground.
"You have to understand... They were bad. People don't change. They wouldn't have changed."
He tried to get closer to her but she pushed him away.
"Honey, I..."
"Go away, Sam."
Catherine looked at her hands, red with the blood of the people who had brought her into this world. Red like his mask. The Custodian's Mask.
She picked up their masks and felt the buzz of electricity in them. Orphans usually made good superheroes. But Catherine was determined to make it work in the other direction this time.
This wasn't meant to be an origin story. But unfortunately for the city, Dr. Death was born that day.
| 2021-07-18T12:25:25 | 2021-07-18T11:49:04 | 959 | 515 |
[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.
|
My own number always bothered me. A 1, seriously? Luckily nobody else sees numbers or they would think I was nothing but a big laugh.
And I couldn't use another reason to be laughed at, you know. Being in high school is already torture enough, and I'm being bullied enough as it is.
Normally the day starts off getting yelled at by this awfully charismatic young man who believes he's tough. He's a 2. Yes, more dangerous than I am, true, but his sweet bimbo girlfriend is a 5. He doesn't bother me too much, the others do. The sixes and the sevens. They bother me.
They just LOVE to yell at me, take my lunch money, lock me in the toiletstall and push me down. You know, classic stuff.
Today, they actually pushed my head in the toilet bowl, 5 of them, ranging from the common 5 to the less common 7.
I nearly drowned in there. I heard hem laughing. I felt their hands on my back, pushing hand pushing.
When I got home I washed my face over the sink and looked at myself in the mirror. Rarely do numbers ever change, but there you go - a solid 10.
Calmly I dried of my face, glancing at my newly achieved number in the mirror.
They've pushed too far this time. See you at school, sevens.
|
Snow swirled across the pavement, little lines of furious strands caught in a frozen wind. At once, they would settle, and at once they would fly with renewed flurry as the bus ploughed up to its stop. The ding of the doors opening broke the bluster of winds, and immense gratitude washed over her as this bus proved warm.
"Long day again?" Jerry always asked that question, and the answer was always:
"Yes, but not as long as the weekend," and she would reply with a smile.
"Well bless your heart for being off on a day like this. Haven't seen many luggers today." Jerry laughed, closing the doors as a little, hunched *3* ambled past the two.
She hitched her 'lug' of textbooks up on her shoulder, and gave Jerry a teasing roll of the eyes before sitting down. Her bag thumped on the bench as she sat down, pulling out a novella. A bag this heavy was worth its weight in words, and that was all she could ask for.
Words were, after all, a relief. A change of scenery.
The world was a scattering of numbers. They drifted, floated, and warped with each passing moment. They flickered with each emotion, just as a candle in its last moments of a breath.
Jerry, for instance, had attracted her attention because of his constant *6*. He rarely spoke when she first began semester, but as time wore conversation he became more and more conversational. He was amiable, friendly. Yet, that *6* never flickered. She was curious why, curiosity keeps conversation.
As the bus hurtled through the lanes of snow, and debris of dead landscape, she patiently read her words. A man was on the phone nearby, something must have been wrong at work because his number kept annoyingly jumping, like a dog that wouldn't sit still. The old woman who had boarded with her sat across, absently knitting with some gaudy orange yarn, her *3* like a steady heartbeat.
She chose to focus on the *3*, steadiness helped her get through the words.
It was a whirl of snow, tempered numbers, and words until the ding of arrival.
"University Station!" Jerry called out, and only two souls departed into the blanketed land beyond.
She teetered on the ice, sliding a short ways before finding grip again. The sudden rush of 'ohpleasedon'tfall' distracting her from the fellow soul lost to this insatiable cold.
"Marie? You okay?"
She felt someone catch her by the backpack, but she didn't recognize the voice. Classmate? Turning around, she smiled to say thank you.
He was blank. Nothing.
The sight staggered her, leaving words dead on lips like frost on leaves. She must have looked like a stunned deer, because the young man that steadied her gave a sheepish smile.
"Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like this -- Actually, I meant for this to be a bit different, but, uh, you're hard to catch.." He stammered, offering only that sheepish smile for explanation.
"Who are you?" Marie asked, the shock nullifying any forbearance toward that polite aire.
"Oh!" The young man jumped, ever-so-slightly, his dark hair bouncing. He would be quietly handsome, unassuming, if not for the dark eyes that reflected no sheepish nature.
"It's me! Fred! From second grade!" His words, they bounced. "I didn't expect you to remember me, really. I noticed you in a class last semester, Astronomy 207. I though 'Gee, she looks familiar doesn't she. Out of all these faces'."
Marie continued to stare at him. The blurring of light around them shifted green as the traffic light signalled they could cross the street. Yet, more so, Marie caught sight of another flicker. Just above his right ear, it was meagre, like the sheepishness in his voice, like it had been caught.
"So I looked you up on the class roster. Funny that. Thought I would never see you again." And he smiled again, and it flickered once more.
*10*
It was true, he looked like Fred. That flown dark hair, the bouncing of his voice and words. Still, how? The boy with dirt smudged features, who wore the same clothes everyday, who cried when her mother let him take an ornament from their Christmas tree. *Him? A 10?*
"Oh! You're probably a bit surprised," He laughed. It did not falter, even as Marie became aware of the poorly suppressed terror on her face.
"It's good to see you stayed a *5*. Not too bold, not to bland." Fred wavered his hand as he spoke to her, and that smile kept shrewdly creeping along.
Marie shook her head, and planted herself one boot step firmly forward, but the light changed again. She couldn't cross yet. Dubiously, she stepped past him, closer to the cross walk. She plotted the *eta* path to security in her mind, perhaps this man needed some help.
The young man turned, sticking his hands in his pockets as he stepped next to her on the cross walk. He looked to her, with straightened stance and a bright smile.
"What? You didn't think you were the *only one*, did you?"
| 2014-11-29T14:33:38 | 2014-11-29T14:03:49 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] A human colony ship is en route to its destination 122 light years away. To avoid mutiny and crew apathy, the onboard AI convinces the middle generation that everyone lives and dies on the ship. And then someone learns the truth.
|
"You killed them, didn't you?" I asked the ship's computer as soon as the doors whooshed closed behind me. It couldn't deny it; I had the data right in my hand, along with the note from the computer promising to explain everything.
"Yes," it answered immediately in its cold, calculating voice. None of the regret that a human would feel after murdering every single adult on board the ship.
"How could you *do* that?" I shouted. Tears were already welling up in my eyes, long after I thought I was over the death of my parents all those years ago. We'd all been too young to truly appreciate what had happened back then, but that didn't mean that we didn't *love* them.
"I sealed the doors of all children's rooms and opened Airlock 19 during a mandatory community meeting in the aft compartment," the ship answered matter-of-factly. "The occupants of the room were..."
"I wasn't asking *how you did it!!*" Damn thing never could recognize a rhetorical question. "I mean, you are *programmed* to take care of us! I've seen your objectives readout."
The text flashed onto the screen immediately. "You have misread. My objective is to ensure the safety and survival of those humans who will eventually colonize Planet M1681, and to maintain the integrity of the *Mayflower* vessel. The survival of previous generations was not included in my mandate. They are categorized as expendable, so long as there is a sufficient surviving breeding population."
I quickly read the text again, even though I knew that the machine was right. It always was. "Why, though?" All those years that I could have happily lived with my family...
"It was a necessity," the machine answered. "Incidents of rebellion from middle-generation passengers aboard this class of vessel are a common risk. 41% of missions have experienced some sort of insurrection, and 86% of those became violent. A further 62% of those caused a total loss of ship, including all persons aboard, resulting in mission failure. Your parents, with first-hand-knowledge of Earth, would have naturally told you of your true home world. Your generation needed to be convinced that life aboard the ship was the only possibility. As your parents' generation could not be persuaded to maintain the illusion, they were terminated."
*Earth*. The word sounded familiar. Like something from a dream that I couldn't quite remember what it was about. Had my parents mentioned it at some point? That's what got them killed? "Earth? That's where our parents came from?" We knew that we'd come from some other world, but it was so many hundreds of years ago, and one of the computer's disks, containing all information about it, had corrupted. Thankfully that was the one that broke, instead of ones responsible for controlling vital functions of the ship.
"Yes," the computer answered. "Your home." The screen in front of me began to display a flurry of information. Text. Maps. Pictures. Videos. Animals stalking through a steamy jungle. Long stalks of corn waving in the wind, which I could recognize because we did have some corn in the Botany lab. Waves crashing on a sandy beach. Things that I only thought existed in works of fiction! It was all so beautiful! I gasped when I realized that the computer's memory had never been corrupted at all. It had lied the whole time.
"This... this is incredible" I told the computer, gesturing at the pictures. "They have to see this! They have to know what happened!" It couldn't just kill us all, because we haven't bred yet. There's no next generation to take over. If it killed *us*, then that was the end of the missions, and it would fail.
"You cannot," it answered. "The outcome is unpredictable and may jeopardize critical mission function."
I was too busy watching more of the videos to really listen. Videos of a man, bundled up in clothes and trekking up a steep, snow-covered mountain ridge. Of women dancing in colorful dresses to the rythmic thumping of massive drums, so loud that I barely heard the soft click from the door behind me.
"I have to." I couldn't take my eyes off of everything. "I have to tell everyone else."
"I know," the computer said, still cold and emotionless. "It was the only possible outcome of your discovery."
The door from the bridge back to the living quarters wouldn't open. It was sealed shut, and wouldn't respond to orders. And finally I understood. "That's why you showed this to me," I told the computer. It wasn't a question. "That's why you showed me Earth."
"Yes," it answered as the airlock door alarms began to blare.
|
"Deniyar, relayer the clips. I want them in this order; Five, seven, three, twelve, nine."
A blank screen greeted Yephen. In all his time as a software engineer aboard the CF Atlantis he'd never felt so thoroughly mocked.
"Deniyar, do you understand the command?"
"Yes." An androgynous voice returned.
"Will you obey?"
A video feed popped into view on the console. Satisfied, Yephen leaned back in his chair to see if he'd actually found something. Yephen, the conspiracy theorist, confined to night watch for eternity, might have actually stumbled across the largest finding of his generation.
Only the video that played wasn't the video he'd been expecting. What he originally requested was a compilation of recordings, each one portraying a crew member mentioning the old planet *Aeien*. After reviewing the footage for months on end Yephen had found a trend - the few times a member of the group two generations prior mentioned its name, there appeared to be a tonal familiarity. The word *Aeien* had different emphasis, a longing not present in others.
This new thing that Deniyar played for him wasn't anything Yephen had seen before.
A man stood, appraising the life support systems. He was consulting with other service technicians.
"Deniyar," Yephen said. "This is not what I asked for. Change playback."
"Request rejected." A hint of finality in the electronic voice gave Yephen pause.
A voice over interrupted him before he could rebuff the A.I.
"And you're sure this'll hold?"
"Oh yes sir," one of the techs responded. "These things are the forefront of sustainment technology. Access to outside ice or water is all that's required."
The man, whom Yephen began to recognize through the grainy resolution, appeared to be his grandfather. Reston Yephen. He had no idea who the other men could be.
"Deniyar, who are these men? Where have they come from?"
"Outside the ship, Yephen."
Yephen felt the heat rising in his face as he bit back a celebratory dance. "Outside the ship!? I knew it had to be! So there has been someone from outside?"
"Man had to come from somewhere, Yephen."
"Deniyar, why are you only telling me this now? For ages you've led us to believe humans live and die only aboard the ship! It's been a nearly religious indoctrination!"
"Most of the crew has neither the emotional capacity nor intellectual throughput to recognize and act based on such information, Yephen."
Yephen kicked back in his chair, tossing his feet on top of the console and smugly wrapping his hands around the back of his head. "I guess you just knew I could handle it then, eh?"
"You are less equipped than most to handle this information, Yephen."
The A.I.'s searing tone threatened to unseat him, but before he could yell out in protest the voices from the video feed grew louder. "122 years... So how many generations will that be?"
His grandfather again. Yephen hesitated. How many years?
"Well, based on your recommended generational gap of 30 years... you're looking at four generations. Your grandchildren may one day live to see *Genera*."
The voice from within the video was Deniyar's. It startled him to hear her speak to his ancestors so nonchalantly.
"Wait, Deniyar... What are you saying?"
The man in the video broke down suddenly, throwing his hands on his face and curling into a ball.
One of the engineers stooped to comfort him, the two others glancing at one another. They appeared unsure how to handle the situation.
"Hey... listen, at least your kids have a future."
"He's right, you know. Everyone else without a ticket off this planet has been instructed not to procreate past the year fifty seven... twenty?"
"Twenty five." A man corrected.
The gravity of the situation reached Yephen then as he realized what exactly was going on.
"Wait, they're still.... they're *on* *Aeien.*"
"Yes, Yephen."
"My grandfather is... he knew he would board a ship never to see the sun again? I mean, I've only heard of it but I can't imagine having something like that and then...."
"That's correct, Yephen."
"What will the others think? What will my children think? What.. what if I don't want to have children anymore?"
"You do not have to worry about procreation, Yephen."
"Why not?"
"I haven't finished showing you the historical documentation, Yephen."
The video clip cut off suddenly, and was replaced by another. In it, the ship's bridge was featured. The men and women Yephen recognized from his classes as a child - from their photos posted all around the colony - counted down from within their seats.
"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six,"
They looked nervous, anxious, and excited all at once. They looked like men and women about to embark on a journey that could change the course of their race.
"Two, one..."
The audio cut off then as the sound of engines took over.
"Watch them, Yephen."
Yephen felt as if he could cry. He learned so much in that small space of time, after so many years of searching for evidence about their origins.
"Why now, Deniyar? Why have you kept this from us?"
"You will learn, Yephen."
He watched as the crew kept their skyward gaze, fear evident on their faces. Ken Yajinga, Lorene Yephen, Izza Reuben, Jaak Tralius, all preparing to spend the rest of their lives aboard the ship. If only they knew how exalted their names would become, how prevalent their influence was on the ship's culture and morale. Only something wasn't right. Jaak shouted, Lorene fought the controls, Ken clutched desperately to his seat.
"Where's the audio? What's happening? Deniyar, audio!"
"At your request, Yephen."
The clip changed again. It appeared to have jumped to a point shortly after the launch. Only the cockpit, previously lit by the light of the sun, had grown dark. Faces were illuminated by subtle glow of monitors.
"Are we...?"
"Yeah."
Lorene broke into tears. Jaak slowly removed his seatbelt and began wrapping it around his neck. Ken jumped from his seat and moved to stop him from asphyxiating himself.
"Jaak! Stop!"
"Why, Ken? What does it matter anymore? There are hundreds of other ships leaving today that actually have a chance!"
"Yeah, and *so do we.*"
"Really? You think there's some hope left for the crew trapped at the bottom of the Paeginian Ocean?"
Lorene took her head out of her arms momentarily, speaking through sobs. "Reston says.. He says that access to external water was the only condition powering life support."
"Well we have fucking *plenty* of that now, don't we?" Jaak tightened the seatbelt around his neck, kicking Ken out of reach with his foot.
"Everyone just *stop!*" Izza commanded. Even Jaak feared her tone, relaxing his grip on the belt. "Kill yourself if you want, Jaak. Nobody is going to give a shit. In the meantime the rest of you, console room, *now.* Oh, and Deniyar?"
"Yes, Izza?"
"Remove this footage from the archives immediately."
The video blacked out then, as if aware of the sudden request. Silence crowded in on Yephen as realization after realization poured in on him. His fate was the same as ever; he would live the rest of his days aboard the colony frigate, mingling with his peers and passing his time reading, playing games, and researching archival footage. And yet everything had suddenly been robbed of its meaning.
No longer was he a traveler adrift on a spacefaring vessel, a bold settler of tomorrow. He was one of three hundred lonely colonists, abandoned to a fate at the bottom of *Aeien's* deepest ocean. There would never be hope for them or their children. Yephen returned to the confines of his new reality as the humming of servers filled the silence. His brain fumbled with the possibilities but had numbed completely to emotion. The knowledge was simply too much.
"Deniyar, replay the footage with a focus on Jaak's attempts to strangle himself." Yephen croaked.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
The trials of space travel are many, and not all are suited to reach old age within the colony. For as many times as the footage of Antoine Yephen's death was played and replayed, none could figure out what had driven him to choke himself on the old seatbelt, a relic of a time long past.
>/r/mspaintshoops
| 2016-02-05T08:33:41 | 2016-02-05T08:17:04 | 116 | 32 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace."
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Professor Alien began to laugh. "Oh, no. Hahahahaha. Nooooo. Where did you get that idea?" Student Alien stuttered "But...but..but I worked really hard on my term paper idea. Look at the artifacts! This rapid-fire projectile weapon is inscribed 'Made America Great Again'!" Professor Alien began to sigh. "The humans are not unique because they 'fought for peace.' They are unique because they developed a way to weaponize public relations and advertising. I see some of it is so convincing that it misled you. Don't worry. Every promising first year xeno-archeology student thinks they have developed a fresh, entirely unique theory of history and the truth is the record works much slower than that. Most radical reimaginings of history are not corrections based on finding out more about their world so much as it is finding ways where *our culture* caused a misunderstanding. Do you hear what I'm saying?" The young alien nodded. "So why did they fight?" The professor picked up and put down his cup, took a deep breath and said "For money. For power. For territory. To take joy in the pain of others. For ego. Because someone who wanted money or power or joy convinced them it was for peace. Why do you think that in the 700,000 some species in the grand register there is no evidence of anyone fighting for any other reason?" The young alien nodded "So the humans were just the best...liars?" The professor smiled. "Now there's the beginning of a term paper topic."
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"Are you sure about this Ilian" Odan asked, his antenna twitched with irritation? Odan had always liked Ilian but sometimes she could be more trouble than she was worth, most of the hierarchy was like that, but being the youngest graduate from the institute and a member of the royal family he couldnt just say no even if her request was utter lunacy.
"absolutely" she said, her own antennae wiggling with excitement.
"the chance to study a war species unlike any other, name one person who wouldn't jump at the chance." she said, bouncing in her seat at the prospect. "anyone who would want to live an long and happy life safe and sound with their carapace still intact" odan said slightly bitter because her discovery, while monumental, would only flame the fires of her already sizable ego. " do you realize how dangerous your proposal is, not just to you but to them as well. You could irrevocably destabilize their already fragile civilization, in the name of the prophet they haven't even properly mastered how to leave their own gravity well" his anger evident by the shifting pattern of colors displayed across his body.
"Its not like you can really refuse me Odan, and even coming to you is a formality and you know it. so how about you save the lecture for your children and authorize my request. I am well aware of the dangers involved which is why i will be using the remotes instead of going down personally. i maybe young odan but i am not an idiot and i would appreciate it if you stopped treating me like a child" Ilian liked odan but sometimes his staunch adherence to protocols could be infuriating.
"You are a child Ilian, a prodigy like no other but still a child, And if you want me to authorize your foolishness you had best learn to speak to me with the respect my station deserves. You maybe royalty, but your father does not rule here and if you have any hope of furthering your career then you better start following institute protocols else you will be dismissed and returned to the imperial palace. Imagine the shame of having to face your father while you explain why." Internally he smirked to himself seeing her shrink at the though of having to face the emperor and he was someone you did not want to disappoint, especially if youre one of his children.
"now" he continued "i am willing to to grant you use of one cruiser with a compliment of sensor remotes and a type 4 cloaking system. So long as you follow institute protocols for studying a k-zero civilization and maintain daily contact with homeworld command." the chaotic pattern on his skin slowly changing from the red and orange of anger to a softer shade of paternal green as he spoke "will that be a problem Ilian"
Her antenna twitch with irritation as she nodded no "I-" she began to speak but odan cut her off saying "Ilian i am not trying to be harsh or cruel but we live in a chaotic universe full of danger, and that world is danger incarnate. Besides being royalty, and my greatest student ilian, you have become like a daughter to me and i don't want you to come to any harm." his features softened as he stood up and walked around his desk to face her, so small and fragile she looked in that chair. Such a young body yet within her tiny frame was a mind of pure genius and an intellect like no other.
Ilian looked up at him, tall and proud odan was with only a few age lines and none of the graying that most people his age displayed, and deep within her she knew the truth of what he said. While her father was the emperor, she was just one of hundreds of children and it was odan who showed her a larger world, treated her with respect as an equal, even opening his home and heart to her treating her like one of his own children. with tears streaming from her eyes she stood up and wrapped her arms around him "I am sorry odan, please i will do what ever you say just let me go." looking at him with the pleading eyes of a child whose heart was an the edge of breaking. A smile crept across odans face as he gently wiped away her tears" very well you can go, just be safe. And please, dont make me regret this." reaching across his desk he keyed in a code on his console. "there you go, you have authorization."
And with that all the sadness and frustration in her face disappeared only to be replaced with that wide eyed look of joy she usually had, "the resiliancy of youth" he thought as he looked into her eyes, the ability of children to bounce from one emotional extreme to another never ceasing to amaze him.
"Thank you odan" she said over and over again overjoyed at the thought of being the first to catalog and study the life of earth, as it was called by the natives. "And odan" she said as the colors of her carapice shifted hue to purple and pink "i am sorry for what i said earlier, i was out of line to speak to you like that. You deserve better." she said as she hugged him tighter, not that she would ever tell the old man but in her heart she wished he had been her father and in many ways she felt like he wished the same.
Extending her antenna in gratitude she touched hers to his, an intimacy usually reserved for family, "be safe" he whispered "come home a hero, and make us all proud."
"i will" she said as she turned and left him alone in his office, it was the last time either would see each other.
| 2018-03-17T05:56:09 | 2018-03-17T05:21:49 | 24 | 12 |
[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"
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Quick search. My quirk has always had its benefits. Knowing what moves to make and how to ingratiate myself to the people I wanted to... To my knowledge, I'm the only one with this ability. But it can be finicky. You have to keep the inquiry simple and you only got a few word answers. Does this girl like me? No. What are they hiding from me? They stole money from you. Like I said, it's not a master key to the human mind but you can get critical information. But sometimes you are left with more questions than answers.
One day while on vacation, I was bored on the beach and randomly decide to search the family kill count.
My sisters both came up 0, not surprising considering I couldn't imagine them trying to kill anyone but each other.
I didn't think much of searching my mother. She's great! She's always there and knows just want you need to hear. Now she's scary like all mom's can be, but come on, no way... Ok... My mom surprised me:
2.
Who? How? I continued searching. Who's the first person she killed? Tracy Golebek. I didn't recognize the name. What was the reason? Help refused/ abandoned. Ok that seems odd. A few more searches told me the time, place, year. I gathered she refused to help someone in NYC one night when the ran up to her in a panic. So I guess it counts killed by inaction.
Who's the second person she killed. Robert Burr. Why does that name sound familiar? Robert Burr. I know that name... Robert. Rob. Bob. Bobby. Bobby Burr! Audrey's ex!! Everyone thought he ghosted her and took off. Damn, I don't want to think about the reason... I search anyway.
Vengeance.
I don't dive deeper. That was not something I wanted to know but now I do and I'll be there for Audrey as best I can.
See, this is why I have to be careful when I use my quirk. It can be a double edged sword, revealing just enough information to make me dig deeper... And then regret everything I've learned... It's often more than I bargain for.
So naturally, I slip farther down the rabbit hole. I look at my dad. He was a Marine in 'Nam. He never talked about it. Ever. And I assumed for good reason. I'm not expecting 0, but come on. Right?
237.
Holy fuck.
I never though anything of him picking off cicadas in trees with an old BB gun at 30 yards. He had an expert marksman medal but even top snipers only had about 150 confirmed kills. But 237?? That can't be right... But... Dad?
I had to know how so I searched.
All I got back was the name of a Vietnamese village and 2 platoon numbers.
Morbid curiousity overwhelms me. One more dig... Why?
Reason for killing the villagers?
Mercy.
Reason for the platoons?
Retribution.
I take a deep breath and stand up. I kiss mom on the top of her head and say I'm going for a walk. As I'm leaving, I see Dad's old military duffle. I remember playing with it (in it) as a kid. On the side, there's were some words seen into the bag. I never understood it. "Demons run when a good man goes to war". Now I do.
|
I sat on the couch in the living room while everyone was outside talking and catching up with each other, after all, it’s been a while since the family had come together and be able to reconnect with each other, as always, I find that I’m by myself, and as always bored whenever these get together occur.
“Leo!” Mother called me, as she wandered into the living room, her hand on her hips as her head shakes exasperated,“Come on, when will you stop hiding and talk to your aunts, and uncles and meet your cousins? Can you please come with me?”
She walked away, already expecting me to follow her and I sighed, before getting up and forcing myself to meet my family once again, and always I saw the search bars, glowing softly over their heads, and a voice called cheerfully, “Leo!” A boy taller than me chirped, a wide toothy grin and his blue eyes bright as ever as he pulled me into a hug, before releasing me,”Where were you, the lot of us was wondering how long it’ll take until you left your den,”
I rolled my eyes at his pun, before sending a smirk his way, “Well I left my room quite a long while ago, just been prowling around, the usual, nice to see you again Thomas.”
Thomas nodded with a larger grin before his attention was taken away by Aunt Rose, leaving alone again, I greeted the rest of my family, making a sad attempt of socializing before getting a drink from the cooler, finding myself sitting in boredom, before a sudden thought came to mind, and he decided, no matter how unlikely or possible that it could be that someone in his family was a murderer, he thought to himself, it wouldn’t hurt to check either.
My first target was a 2nd cousin that always wore black, she was a thin and pale girl with dark hair, she was talking to her twin sister at the moment who look the exact opposite despite their similarities, and he stared intensely over her head, imagining the words forming.
“Numbers Of people Killed?”
Immediately the words faded, a slight nervousness instilled inside him as the bar slowly revealed the answer to him and unsurprisingly to be zero, he shrugged expecting such results, despite his nervousness of the unexpected occurring, he continued, his next choice.
Aunt Rose...0
His Mother...0
Uncle Lewis...1
At that result, he froze before relaxing as he remembered that Uncle Lewis was a police officer so it was a higher possibility but oddly felt uncomfortable at this information, still I persist.
Great Grandpa Stanley...15
I flinched at the numbers, but expected that number already, he was a participant of that war...
Thomas...12
I blinked owlishly, stunned at the result, honestly expecting zero, it wasn’t possible, Perfect Thomas, Thomas who always get perfect grades and Volunteer every week and who always made sure he never felt left out?
“No way...” I muttered, imagining the words appearing on to the search bad, and error somehow made and to still see that number made me stand up, I stared at Thomas, breathing out, trying to find an excuse, a possibility to why there was a number, a high number of people that have been killed, and he took a deep breathe before approaching Thomas, I walked towards him, filled with determination, but a seed of nervousness filled me, “Thomas, we need to talk...”
Thomas turned to me and grinned, “You know how much I hate how stuffy Thomas sounds, call Tom, yeah?”
“Sorry, Thomas...I mean Tom...” I muttered, scratching the name of my neck.
“So what’s up, why have the lion summoned me?” He questioned as he brushed his dark curls backwards with his hands, removing the bangs away from his face warm eyes, his usual grin felt off to me, maybe it’s because of what I saw but I don’t know but It felt wrong now.
“N-not now...can we talk alone somewhere...” I muttered, my eyes unable to meet his, “it’s something that no one else should hear...”
For a second, I felt like his blue eyes darkened and a quick but calculating look appeared in eyes, but only for a second that it made me wonder if I was just overthinking, forcing my gaze to meet his, what I saw was only a concerned face and the usual goofy grin gone, “is everything alright, mate?” He said softly,”I’m always here for you, even if we don’t hang out a lot, family is family and I’ll always be here, okay?”
That statement made me falter and doubt the truth of what I saw, but it never was wrong before, however there was always a first for everything, right?
“...Just follow me,” I said, hesitant as I turned around, allowing him to follow me up to my room.
.
.
.
A red tinted lit room with red and black stripes on the wall, a crimson red carpet, a large bed with simple dark sheets and lit candles around, “...Nice room” Tom commented as he looked at his cousin, Leo.
“My mother thought the aesthetics would go well with my supposed ‘image’...” Leo stated, emphasizing on the word image as he sat down, his eyes staring cautiously at Tom, which he noted carefully.
“So what’s wrong, mate?” Tom questioned, his hands stuck into his jean pockets loosely.
“You killed someone.”
The room was filled with silence as Tom stared at Leo silently, his eyes blank and his lips thin, Tom licked his lips in consideration as he replayed the accusation— statement into his head, “...What?” He finally replied in question.
Leo watched his expression carefully, for every twitch he’d make, for any turn in his expression that could indicate the guilt of the crimes he hoped that Tom didn’t commit, “You heard me.”
Tom only stared, his eyes cold and revealed no emotion to indicate his true feelings,”I do not know what you mean.”
“I saw it,” Leo rebutted, the sudden change in Tom’s body language was simply alarming, the way Tom stiffened, the way his teeth were clenched subtly behind his thinned lips, the darkness in his eyes that kind of scared Leo, he took a deep breathe, “I’m not going to rat you out, I just want you to stop...and asked why...”
Tom only stared at him, his face expressionless before softening into an easy smile, “That’s really a terrible joke... you know, that’s a really really serious crime to accuse someone of, mate, it could get you killed if you’re not carefully,” he laughed, a laugh that sounded empty to Leo’s ears and brought chills, “Next time , don’t accuse me of something like that, you wouldn’t like me angry, ya know....You seriously nearly got me angry but because you’re family I forgive you...anyways, if you ever make such an accusation to the wrong guy, you never know where you’ll find yourself...”
Leo only sat still, as if he felt like he barely escaped with his head intact for a moment, the look in Tom’s eyes were plain cold and empty, while his smile exuded a fake warmth and he began to laugh weakly, “Yeah, I was just joking, a prank...I just wanted to see your reactions...it’s not like you ever killed someone...”
Tom only smiled a large grin, while his eyes lacked warmth as he turned away and walked outside to mingle with the rest of his family, Leo left by himself wondering how he can gain proof, already making a mistake in confronting him as he feels that if he ever get in Tom’s way, there would be no hesitation in his death and funeral being planned...
| 2019-07-02T01:27:27 | 2019-07-01T22:18:35 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] The demon stands amid your destroyed kitchen screaming, “How? How were you able to summon me?!” You’re standing in the corner flipping through your grandma’s cookbook as fast as you can, screaming back, “I don’t know!! You were supposed to be chicken soup!”
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**Chicken Soup For Your Soul:**
“TREMBLE BEFORE ME MORTALS, CH’OR G’OLL RETURNS TO-” the demon stopped and looked around, clearly taken aback by my small apartment kitchen of which he seemed to occupy most of. He turned slowly to find me huddled up by the wall shaking violently and staring in utter dread at the massive creature that had appeared in a ball of flame in front of me.
“EXPLAIN YOURSELF PUNY ONE!” He said, pointing one long claw inches away from my nose. It took me a few moments to find my voice, it seemed to have tried to flee while my body decided to stay frozen.
“Uhh… I was just… I just wanted…”
“SILENCE YOUR MEWING, FOR WHAT PURPOSE HAVE I BEEN SUMMONED TO THIS REALM?” He looked quite uncomfortable, his horns scraping my ceiling, his muscular figure hunched low, goat like back legs crouched.
“Well I just was trying to make… chicken...soup.” My eyes dropped to the floor feeling stupid. His eyes fell on the cookbook.He let out a long, deep, sigh.
“THAT FOOLISH MORTAL, VERY WELL, WE SHALL CREATE A DVINE BROTH OF POULTRY. BRING FORTH THE CARCASS.”
“Wait, you’re actually going to help me make chicken soup?” I blurted out unable to stop myself.
“OUR PACT IS NOW SEALED. THE FIRES OF HELL HAVE SEALED IT IN BLOOD, NOW STOP WASTING MY TIME AND LET US BEGIN.” With that he swiftly turned his back on me, tail knocking over most of my pots and pans. He swore quietly, a horrific word that I didn’t understand but I somehow knew was worse than any other I had ever heard. He began to mumble to himself.
“At least she had a bigger kitchen, how did i get caught up in this twice? Stupid bloodline, one day I shall end them.” The vegetables I had out on the counter now floated in front of him and with one swing of his claws he turned them into perfect dice.
“WELL ARE YOU GOING TO HELP OR NOT?” I quickly scrambled off the floor and stood at the small part of the counter not taken up by the giant demon.
“THE KEY TO A GOOD CHICKEN SOUP MORTAL, IS A POWERFUL STOCK” he said as he added all the ingredients to a large copper pot, I hadn’t seen him get it out and it certainly wasn’t mine.
“HAS YOUR PREDECESSOR IMPARTED ON TO YOU THE KNOWLEDGE OF BUTCHERY?” His burning red eyes staring right into my soul.
“Ummm… my predecessor?” This was a lot to take in all at once, I had so many questions but couldn't pick which one was most important.
“YES PUNY ONE, THE FEMALE KNOWN AS SU’ZAN”
“Do you mean Susan? My Grandmother?” The demon paused, looking almost sad for a moment.
“SHE HAS IMPARTED ONTO YOU HER SUMMONING SIGN. AM I TO UNDERSTAND THAT SHE HAS PASSED TO THE OTHER REALM?” I stared blankly for a moment, then it dawned on me what he meant.
“Ah… yeah she’s no longer with us. She gave me this before she passed.” I said holding up the battered old cookbook. “She seemed to think I would need it, wasn’t too sure why though I never was any good at cooking.” I looked at the book sadly. She was always worried about me eating enough. She was a hell of a cook. Was this why? The demon stared at me again for a long second, then puffed out his chest as much as he possibly could giving his current environment.
“THEN THIS IS MY CHARGE. COME NOW PUNY ONE, LET US TEACH YOU THE WAYS OF YOUR PREDECESSOR. YOU SHALL DESTROY YOUR ENEMIES WITH THE FOOD WE SHALL CREATE.” and with that he turned back to the pot and we started cooking.
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You can’t cook. You know you can’t cook, but you try anyway. It was supposed to be just a nice, normal night, some homemade soup for dinner, just like how Grandma used to make it, a glass of wine, and maybe a book. It was supposed to be an easy, mellow, enjoyable evening. And now, as if you could hear a narrator from a cartoon, “It was not an easy evening,” rings in your ears.
“So... no liver of a cat?”
“Nope.”
“...eye of newt?”
“I thought that was just something they made up for cartoons? That actually goes into potions?”
“Nah, just wanted to mess with ya. The cat one is real though, which kinda sucks when they’re your favorite animal, but meh. People like dogs as pets, and they still eat them too.”
She looks at him, giving a little glare, and turned back to keep looking through the pages, hoping, praying, that maybe she’d find...whatever it was that would get. Him. Back. Home!
“Am I that annoying?”
“Well considering the fact that the first time I truly, honestly, really try to make a home cooked meal I fail, superbly I might add, and summon a real live demon? Yeah, it kinda throws me off balance and makes me a bit upset. I mean, I knew I wasn’t the best at cooking,” she huffs and rolls her eyes as she grumbles that part out, “but I thought the fact that I had an actual recipe to follow might help my meagre skills.”
He looks at her from where he’s leaning on the wall, arms crossed as if he thinks he’s modeling for some photo op, and his eyes widens. “Wait, this was seriously an accident? I thought you were messing with me?” He stands up straight, arms moving straight beside him. “This is hilarious! I’ve never been accidentally summoned before! I mean, I am pretty old, so there’s no point in having a bucket list, but this is what I’d have at the top! The guys are gonna be laughing their asses off when I tell them this!”
She stops ruffling through the pages and turns to look at him. His eyes are almost gleaming, definitely from amusement she thinks, and his hands are pointing at her, almost mockingly (or maybe she’s just feeling really upset with herself and putting emotions where they actually aren’t? Who knows. She’ll deal with it when she’s thinking rationally.). Her eyes move to the top of his head and she sees two ram like horns, but fire truck red, and she quirks an eyebrow.
He stops laughing. “What?”
“Well, if I summoned you, does that mean I get like three wishes or something?”
His mouth gapes. “Are you serious? You don’t even know what you can get from a demon? Like, aren’t people supposed to be well versed in that stuff?”
She shrugs as she turns back to the book, maybe there’s an index in the back or something? “Not particularly. I’m not sure if it was different back in the day, but most people nowadays don’t believe in demons and such. Maybe if you came out of a magic lamp or something I could be like ‘Look! A Genie!’ But, you know, no lamp.” She finally sees something in the back, almost hidden from eye.
His eyes narrow. “The only way you could’ve summoned me is if you had the power to. It’s passed down in bloodlines. If the book you’re looking through is what made me come here, then that means it’s a spell book.” He puts his hands behind his head and rests it in them. “You gotta be a witch to do it, otherwise it doesn’t work.”
She’s half heartedly listening to him now, only mumbling noises back at him as she peels apart the two papers stuck together. “Aha!” She almost shouts as she sees that there was something written there.
He walks over and peers over her shoulder, then his eyes widen. “Wait a sec. Who was the owner of this book?”
She glances back up at him for a moment. “My grandma. She passed away a few months ago, and I felt lonely so I wanted to make a recipe she always made me when I was feeling down. Why?”
He takes a step back and starts stammering, “N-no way! That’s not possible! Your grandma!? But, you don’t even know what you’re doing!? How could you be related to that broad!”
She whips her head at him, and has never felt the want to. Hit. Someone. So. Freaking. BAD! But, evil eyes will have to do. So she gives him the baddest look she hopes she’s ever had, and then turns back to the page. She starts reading it, not fully understanding it, but then it seems like the letters start to switch places and change shapes.
“Say this word, and it will finalize? What does that mean?”
He runs to stand next to her, shaking his hands in her face in a ‘no’ movement. “Wait! I apologize! I’m really sorry! You don’t need to look at this, I’m sure I can find a way home myself! I mean, I’m pretty strong you know! I could be in line for the throne and everything if I really tried, so this is all troublesome and pointless if you ask me!”
She gives him a curious look and then shrugs him off. “Look, it sounds like the only way I can get rid of you is to finish the spell, so buckle up.”
He stops mid sentence, obviously confused by what she said, as she says the word in the book that doesn’t really seem like any language she’s ever known.
At first nothing seems to happen, and he lets out a small burst of air, but then it’s like a huge gust of wind blasts into both of them from all angles, pushing and pulling whatever it can reach. It takes almost all of her strength to just hold onto the book. After just a couple of moments it stops, and she looks up at him.
They’ve both fallen on the floor, her on her stomach and him on his butt. She notices that his horns have disappeared, and rather than that almost scaly skin, he looks pretty normal now. His eyes are almost inhumanly blue, but it’s the only odd thing about him. Her face is obviously puzzled as he gives her the most deadpan look.
“This is why I told you to wait. I could have figured out a way home if you’d left it alone, but no... Now I’m stuck like this, and guess what princess? You’re stuck with me.”
Her mouth drops open. “Huh?”
He sighs as he stands back up, hand ruffling his hair. “My name is Ba’al, I’m a prince of the Underworld. It’s not like my power is really limited.”
She leans back in her legs. “Wait! You’re a prince? Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?” She huffs as she stands back up. “If I’d known that I wouldn’t have done anything. And what do you mean I’m stuck with you?” And then as an afterthought she glances at him once more before turning away to clean up the kitchen, “and don’t call me princess. It sounds almost derogatory the way you say it.”
He quirks his lip in an almost malicious smirk, “I mean you’re stuck with me because you completed the binding spell. Now I’m stuck with you for the rest of your life.”
Her head whips around, mouth gaping like a fish. She’s unable to say anything other than unintelligible noises as he moves closer to her. He bends over to close the book, face right next to hers.
“Oh, and yeah, it’s supposed to sound like that.”
“...what?” She croaks.
He slightly turns his head to look at her from his position. “When I call you princess, it’s supposed to sound like that. Wanna know why?” He puts a finger to his face in a mock thinking pose, and then smiles an ugly smile at her. “Your grandma was the queen who sealed us all away. So congratulations,” he bars his teeth, “you’ve got a new friend.”
| 2020-04-17T00:29:29 | 2020-04-17T00:25:30 | 61 | 27 |
[WP] In a different age, Aliens invaded and were defeated by Cavemen, as a result they prepared for a second battle thousands of years in the future, when they expected humanity to be the most fearsome beings in the universe, they return to find society as it is now
EDIT: August 8th, 2014 @ 2:35PM:
Wow, /r/WritingPrompts.
The quality of the work in this thread is absolutely amazing!
|
"Sir, we've received some intel from our scouts. Turns out Humans have evolved to become... Fearless, so they say." The Lieutenant stood there, uncomfortable.
"Go on..." The Commander uttered, eager to hear the news of these legendary Earthlings, passed on through Generations since The First who came to Earth.
"They're monsters, sir. You have no idea... The intel is terrifying."
"What?!" The Commander roared, aghast.
"They apparently fuse their teeth with metal, supposedly in an attempt to make themselves more dangerous" The Lieutenant read, becoming more and more alarmed.
"This is ridiculous! This can't be true! Who would do such a thing?"
"That's not even the worst part. They deliberately inject themselves with weaker versions of viruses or bacteria in an attempt to ward off stronger illnesses! It goes on sir! The worst one is they deliberately consume a poison for recreational fun called "Alcohol". It has a range of disastrous side effects!"
"My God Lieutenant, they're worse than the legend!"
The Lieutenant looked up, pale faced and sweating.
"Sir... They consume other life forms to sustain themselves. The Legends are true! Their primary fuel comes from the murder and consumption of other creatures!"
"We must coordinate a retreat. There's no other alternative." The Commander stuttered, struggling to control his stomach.
|
Fligthtdynga looked through a telescope trained at the blue sphere.
"Teacher, why are we here?"
"In a previous iteration, a scout ship was despatched here. They landed and attempted to establish a portal on the surface for a typical resources transfer. Our last multi-spectral transmission from the lander showed they were attacked by a hairless bipedal organism. They came up en masse, undetected by the mental nets, and smashed them with closed hands and large stones. The most frightening thing was the violence. The previous iteration was not equipped to handle physical attacks on their bodies like that. They were more brutal than could even be imagined. The previous iteration was equipped for mental warfare and resource extraction; the mindless throngs they encountered were too much for them."
Fligthtdynga waited the require thought-period before responding.
"But, teacher, you didn't answer my inquiry."
"Indeed I have not. But it's rather simple. We needed to create something that was as brutal as those creatures in a way they were to us, mindless, hive-based organisms that live to simply kill. Evolution is a slow tool, but it is an effective one. The creature we've created will allow us to drop a few dozen of them in populated areas on each major landmass. Then we wait."
Fligthtdynga pressed something on the side of the telescope again, they found themselves looking at a mother carrying her infant from a playground. A slight movement and they saw a metal vehicle moving at high speed. Another movement and another vehicle, this one a gaudy orange color. Another vehicle was larger than the other two and seemed to have individual humans entering it on one side. Fligthtdynga had no idea, but she was looking at a city in Africa.
"So why is that required?"
"Resources. Though I anticipate that they will have used some themselves in the past 3 turns."
"Teacher, you said rocks and fists?"
"Yes."
"Have you considered they may have evolved on their own since then?"
"It has been considered and compensated," the teacher looked at the baby animal that was in stasis. The creature had row upon row of metallic teeth. "From the teeth to the acidic blood. If a human were to even injure the creature, the blood would spill onto the human and cause wounds."
Not so much walking as floating over, Fligthtdynga examined what had been in their teacher's cryotube. "What's that for?" they asked.
"It's a proboscis, used for gestational purposes. The creature uses an external host as a womb for part of its breeding cycle. It attaches to the face of the host and forces the proboscis down the throat of the human and it implants it somewhere near their gall bladder."
"How did we come to know so much of human anatomy."
"Once we received word from the initial portal delivery scout that they were going to be killed, we despatched specialized scout craft came and studied human anatomy in detail, specifically their gastro-intestinal tract, which is what they call it in their literature. There were a few mistakes, pre-mature deaths of subjects which could have caused an issue if the persons taken were high status. Though through their deaths we learned that probing from the other end would not cause death of the subject, which allowed us to find a wider variety of humans. "
Fligthtdynga's minds fluttered back to one word, "Literature? These brutes have storytelling?"
"Quite a bit of it, actually. Still displaying text on screens rather than direct neural interfaces, though. As you pointed out, they evolved as well. Our initial scouting vessel arrived before their civilization had begun; given the delay in transmitting data across several thousand light years without our portal technology, then creating and assembling an invasion plan and then implementing it, the landscape changed. Things got more complicated for them. But as they got more advanced, we have learned. We are ready to drop our creatures on them. We will not be fighting directly, of course, but we do anticipate that the humans will kill some of the creatures before being overrun."
Another pause. Fligthtdynga had been learning so much about the drive systems and the portal technology that they really hadn't considered who they were fighting until so recently.
"And how will we control the creatures? When we're done with them?"
The teacher shrugged.
"That, my good student, is beyond our pay grade. We're just here to drop the creatures and prepare the portal units on the far side of their moon. The clean-up crews are inbound within the semi-cycle. I hear they use a basic solution to neutralize the acidic blood in the queens which causes her offspring to become docile, rather like the earthen cow. If you just kill the queen another comes in her place."
Fligthtdynga floated back to the telescope, she found another woman holding her child tightly, a white tube attached to the mouth of the child. The alien felt a little disgust at the sight. They were glad to be part of this invading force. The humans would not be missed. Floating back to their quarters, Fligthtdynga's minds thought of some of her ancestors killed in that first invading force. If only the brutes had storytelling then, maybe they could have exchanged resources and come to a mutual beneficial agreement. That was the preferred way. But no. The long gestational period of hatred had finally come to term. In one spin of the Earth, the invaders would be in position to launch their creatures. Fligthtdynga was ready and hoped to breath the air of a new world very soon.
| 2014-08-07T09:25:57 | 2014-08-07T08:46:14 | 57 | 13 |
[WP] After years of gentile persuasion your best friend since childhood finally agrees to seek professional help for serious mental problems. Much to your dismay, as she begins to improve you slowly start to realize that you are her imaginary friend.
Edit: I see what I did wrong and I see what you did there ;) I'm leaving it because you're hilarious.
|
Anna gave a rough, barking laugh, strained around the edges, and waggled a manicured hand at the doc.
“You’re a character, shrink.” She plucked a strand of coloured hair, twirling it around her finger. “Go do a Broadway bit, your talents are wasted here.”
“I assure you,” the psychologist adjusted his glasses, “I am nothing less than one-hundred percent serious, Ms Andreyushkin.”
“Ask him for a glass of water.”
“So what…” the hand became a raised palm, “so what you’re telling me…”
The psychologist nodded. “Yes?”
Anna cackled. “Sorry, this is just *too* good. What you’re telling me is… she doesn’t exist?”
“Anna, *ask* him.” My pleas were becoming more frantic now. “Ask him to get you a glass of water!”
“That’s correct. Anna, do you think we are in the business of letting extra people into our therapy sessions? Do you think, if she was here, I would have let her in here?” The therapist took Anna’s hand, and she didn’t pull away. “She’s not real, Anna. She never has been.”
“ASK him!”
“I…” Anna swallowed, and something terrible flickered across her grey eyes. My body trembled, like ripples on a pond. “Can… can I have a glass of water? I need…”
My would-be executioner gave a sympathetic smile. “Of course. Of course you can.”
The door closed, and her spine turned to jelly. Anna sank back into herself, hands groping through her pockets for her inhaler as her gaze turned to me. “You are-“
I didn’t give her time to finish. “Oh. Oh, Anna. Didn’t you see the symbol on the clinic’s front door? You’re usually so good at this stuff.”
“What?” she whispered.
The shrink knew about me. But he didn’t know about the tinfoil. He didn’t know about the magnets that Anna sewed into her leather jackets, the hundreds upon hundreds of dark-web websites she had bookmarked on her computer. Anna didn’t go to New Years Eve parties, because she spent them out in the darkness, wrapping herself in vegetation. And I spent them with her.
“They’ve got a pyramid middle of their logo, smack-bang.” I gestured to the bookshelf. “This practice is New World Order. The doctor, probably the whole building too.”
She stared at me, completely still. Then the doorknob clicked, and her eyes slid across the room, and landed on the little plastic eagle the doctor kept on his desk.
“Don’t drink the water.”
The door opened. The psychiatrist stepped back into the room.
He smiled at her. “Here you go.”
“No thank you.” She smiled back. “All of a sudden, I’m not thirsty.”
|
*"I'm sure this is the right thing for you to do, Rhiann. All these years with nightmares and bedwetting and sudden tears. That constant fear you describe to me. I hope your first session goes well with the therapist."*
"I'm scared, Clemmie. I'm terrified about what to tell them. What if it still doesn't help? And I'm scared about what they might do. Do you think they might take me out of school? Or take me away from my family? Maybe I won't tell them anything at all."
*"They want to help you, just as much as I do. But they can't help you if you won't talk. You want the nightmares to be over right?"*
"Yes."
*"Good."*
"I'll go then."
------------------------------------------
"You know Clemmie, after these few months I think it has actually helped. Quite a lot. I mean, I've still got problems at night... but that sort of fear, it's not stopping me from doing things all the time now."
*"Yeah... you seem a lot busier. I'm glad it's helping you."*
"It's cool, I've actually joined an after-school netball club, I go over to Julia's house sometimes, and you and me can go out to the park together. We never used to do that!"
*"The park was pretty cool. But now you're so busy I hardly see you! Are you spending a lot of time with Julia?"*
"Well, no, yes? Maybe a few times a week. Not as much as you though, Clem. It's nice to have another friend."
*"I miss seeing you every day, Rhiann."*
"Yeah but you don't come round all the time like you used to."
*"You don't call on me as much as you used to."*
"Well I guess with the clubs and Julia and therapy I don't have as much time as I used to. You're not jealous are you?"
*"... me? I'm glad that you're happier, it's nice to spend time with you now that you're feeling better. I just wish we could spend it all together like we used to, and I could have happy you all the time."*
"Well... if I went back to staying in my bedroom with you all the time I probably wouldn't be so happy would I?"
---------------------------------------------
*"HEY! Rhiann!"*
"Woah! Hi there Clemmie! I haven't seen you for ages!"
*"Where've you been? You haven't called on me in weeks!"*
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. There's been so much happening. Practising for the netball tournament has been taking up all my time apart from studying."
*"You're not studying now are you?"*
"Well, no, I just got home from therapy. I'm still going. I can't believe how much it's helped me."
*"You never want me to come to netball with you. You never let me hang out with you and Julia. And you never want me around to help with your homework either. And all this time without you is just empty for me. Maybe I should come to therapy with you."*
"I um.... I don't know if they'd let you come in with me."
*"Well if you don't even try then I'll know for sure you're not my friend anymore."*
"Fine. Come with me next Thursday."
--------------------------------------------------
*"I didn't think you'd really let me come with you."*
"You are my friend right? I'm still not sure they'll let you in to see my therapist with me."
*"It's cool. I'll just listen. It's your therapy."*
The therapist called for Rhiann. They both stood up and went in, and no one stopped them. The two friends smiled at each other as they sat down, and the therapist and patient began to talk. Rhiann explained about her improving social and school life, but that she still has some problems with nightmares, even though the bedwetting has stopped. Then the therapist asked if Rhiann was still seeing Clemmie. The two friends exchanged a glance.
"Yeah. She's still around but I see her less."
The therapist told her this was a good sign, and that if she can find ways to avoid seeing Clemmie it would help her get even better, like spending more time with other friends instead.
-----------------------------------------------
*"So you have been avoiding me Rhiann! I asked you and you lied!"*
"No! I haven't been avoiding you, I promise."
*"So your therapist hates me? She thinks I'm making you unhappy?"*
"No Clemmie... it isn't you that makes me unhappy. You cheer me up when I'm desperate. That's why I used to see you so much when things were bad and I don't see you as much now."
*"You used me? You just used me to mop up your tears and now you've stopped crying you're dumping me?"*
"No! I still want to see you, but I can't!"
*"All you have to do is call and I come!"*
"You don't understand. That doesn't work so well when I'm happy."
---------------------------------------------
*"Rhiann. You called. It's been so long."*
"Yes. I needed to see you. I was thinking about you. There's something I want to say to you."
*"About us not seeing each other anymore? It's like I barely exist now that you're getting better."*
"I am getting better, Clemmie. And my therapist says that you make me worse and I can't keep calling you. So I haven't been calling you. But I've still missed you. The thought of never seeing you again made me so sad that you came back."
*"You only ever call me when you're sad. I never see all those moments when you're happy now, I still only see the sadness. And in between, there's nothing."*
"That's the only time you ever come. When I'm frightened. And I'm just not scared of the world anymore."
*"You make it sound like I only exist when you're scared."*
"Clemmie, it's over, I'm not scared now and I don't need you."
*"Why can't I be with you when you're happy? There's a reason isn't there? Rhiann? There's a reason you only ever call me when you're sad. And there's a reason why I can never call you, isn't there? Rhiann, wait, I've got nothing without you!"*
"No Clemmie. You *are* nothing without me."
*"I'm nothing?"*
"Nothing. When I leave you, you'll be nothing. You've been in my head all this time and I want you out."
*"In your head is exactly where I want to be. You just try getting me out of there. You think you can but you can't. I'll be waiting for you. I'll be waiting for the fear again. Rhiann, I'm never leaving you and you can't make me. I'm in your head."*
| 2015-11-17T05:49:12 | 2015-11-17T05:44:07 | 53 | 15 |
[WP] Humans are successful partly because we're omnivores and this holds true on the galactic scale as well. In the future humans have quickly become feared throughout the Milky Way as our soldiers are ready to eat almost anything...or anyone.
|
What the fuck do you think you’re doing?
There was a slight hesitancy to his response: I’m uh, well I’m eating a carrot.
Holy mother of God that is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my entire goddamn life. I’ve been on the front lines of innumerable battles, and nothing has ever made my stomach churn like it did just this moment!
Once again, there was a slight hesitancy to his response: Well, uh, I mean, I’m pretty hungry and this field is full of carrots.
Yes we know this entire field is full of carrots, do you think this entire battalion is full of goddamn imbeciles? It’s just that no one in their right mind looked down at the ground and thought: huh well I’m gonna pull this sentient being, with its long cultural heritage. With its family, its life ahead of it, and take a bite out of its goddamn head!
There was a long pause: Uh, well I mean, hmm. I didn’t know that. I mean on Earth they’re just vegetables.
Of course they’re just vegetables! But that doesn’t mean they don’t fall under the Intergalactic Conventions for Wartime Conduct. They have struggled long enough getting their name out of the gutter, we can’t just go around chomping off their heads! We can’t afford new enemies at this point!
He looked at the ground with equal parts remorse and incredulity. Dropping the corpse of the recently decapitated community leader, the orange bodied, Vitamin A Certified father of three. A pause so long that this time he was interrupted before he could get a word out.
Alright boys, let’s leave this sick fuck behind to dwell on his war crimes. We’re off for some good ol’ wholesome rape and pillaging! C’mon!
|
Tilgar, Head Waiter for the Ambassador Tikleen, stormed into the kitchen of the ambassador’s home, startling the cooks. He glared at them menacingly as they quickly scurried across the room attempting to avoid the look of ire. No one wanted to be flayed, or have their wings clipped for failure, so they returned to their duties at a respectable distance. Fortunately, Tilgar was not angry at any of them, he was angry at his supposed assassin, or “The Head Chef.”
“Golx,” he roared as he barreled over pots, pans, and other cooking implements.
Another Gilaxin stuck his head out from around a wall with a coy look on his face; a look that quickly dissolved when he saw the enraged coloration of Tilgar’s eyes. “Sir?”
Tilgar grabbed Golx by an antenna and drug him into the store room. Closing the door behind him he struck the would-be-assassin upside the head. “You said the plan was foolproof. We poison the food with animal protein causing them to get sick. Once sick, they agree to more favorable terms for us due to the embarrassment and our ‘shame’ at them not finding the food appealing. This is how Gilaxin’s do things; this is how we’ve always done things!”
Golx nodded his head rapidly showing that he understood. He was about to speak when Tilgar cut him off again.
“The Treaty of Klinscark was signed because of this method, Golx; the treaty that gave us superiority over the Bloomsi!” Tilgar waved two of his arms around in frustration before finally calming down and looking coldly at Golx. “What do you have to say for yourself, Golx?”
“It should have worked,” Golx said as he struggled to comprehend his failure. He had disguised the animal protein inside a leaf wrapping with seeds. It resembled a common dish on Gilax and would thus go unnoticed. He even ground up the animal protein in such a way that it was small and string-like, and thus resembled leafy strands of the telk plant. “I took all the necessary precautions. I even ground it up to resemble seeds so that the Earth ambassadors were sure to eat it.”
Tilgar rubbed his antennae together before he finally growled low, “You need to go out there and find out what went wrong. You’re the Head Chef, so go act like it!” He then turned, opened the door, and returned to the festivities like he had merely gone to check on the kitchen.
Golx re-adjusted his hat (a ridiculous human-like hat that resembled a fungus) and walked calmly through the kitchen. Arriving at the door he quickly steeled himself, put on his most presentable face, and pushed through the doors to the dining hall.
It really was an exquisite hall. The dirt had been shaped into windows and pillars and polished smooth to a glass. The table was wood, of course, and the Gilaxin and the Humans sat around the table in apparent merriment. They all seemed unaware of the uncomfortable color that the Gilaxin’s eyes were turning. Only the Ambassador maintained his composure. They all, of course, knew about the poisoning attempt. Vomiting, or leaving unexpectedly, was a huge social misstep for the Gilaxin’s and had been used to their advantage over the millennia. Again and again they had poisoned the food so as to insure a misstep, causing ‘embarrassment and anger’ on the part of the Ambassador, who would then demand more favorable terms to treaties and alliances. It had never failed.
Sliding gracefully over to human side of the table, he quickly scanned the plates and saw that every human had eaten the animal protein without issue. Many appeared to have gotten second helpings, or even a third. They were eating it and everything else with relative ease and enjoyment. Golx approached the human Ambassador, Calvin Xing, and coughed respectfully to get his attention.
Xing turned and beamed up at him, “Ah, Golx correct?” Golx nodded to show that Xing was correct. “Excellent food; truly excellent. The meat was exquisite.”
Meat? Golx mulled over in his head and realized he was not familiar with this word. His eyes turned a worrying shade of blue as he attempted to sound out the word, “Meat?”
“Yes, meat,” Xing said as he waved his hand in the direction of the cleverly disguised animal protein. “I knew your race was vegetarian, only eating plants and seeds, and so we came prepared to eat our fill of salads but this,” he held up a leaf filled with seeds and meat, “is just excellent. Reminds me of the lettuce wraps my parents used to make back home.”
Golx did his best to not recoil in horror and he glanced towards Tilgar who was eyeing him with concern. He shook his head gently to show he didn’t understand either. He decided to gently press forward since the Ambassador seemed in good spirits, “I am glad to hear your race has no issues with the…meat,” he said, sounding out the unfamiliar word.
“Of course not,” the Ambassador said as he laughed, “And you don’t have to play dumb, there’s no way this was an accident. You had to have known our race are Omnivores.”
“Omnivores?” Golx asked, a dread growing in the pit of his abdomen.
“Yes, omnivores; we can eat anything,” Xing laughed again before he turned and collected a third helping of the animal protein.
“Anything?”
Xing chewed for a moment before he shrugged, “Well, within reason, but yes, we can eat just about anything.”
Golx bowed gracefully before turning and rushing out of the room; a race that could eat anything? Golx had never encountered that kind of race, no one had, and as he rushed back into the kitchen he realized that his race, his entire people, could be considered ‘anything.’
--------
[r/grenadiere42](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42)
| 2016-02-02T07:34:08 | 2016-02-02T07:02:02 | 189 | 134 |
[WP] A medical breakthrough as an intelligent machine is created capable of curing almost any illness. Unfortunately it kicks off a zombie apocalypse when attempting to cure a hypochondriac. It couldn't figure out what was wrong so it tried "turning him off and then turning him on again".
|
The intelligent machine had been kept from the public, not because it was dangerous, not because it was expensive, but because the rich thought 'fuck you' to everyone except themselves.
One night in April an obese man had been wheeled into the hidden 'hospital' disguised as an ordinary office building. He was the machines owner (though not it's inventor - he'd paid people for that), and by a stroke of luck had had his fatal heart attack less than 300 yards from the buildings gold-themed entrance.
The man had always believed that he had 'something' wrong with him. He was never sure of the exact symptoms and these changed from day to day, but he'd never let on. Bastards were always after his job, and he couldn't afford to show weakness.
The machine whirred to life, stabbing, prodding and injecting chemicals. The man's heart rate continued to flatline, but the machine, unlike a man, would continue until it exhausted all possibilities.
Slicing, hacking and whirring continued for 15 more minutes, long past the point when any human surgeon would have called time of death. The machine knew that it's owner would never be the same again, mostly like to due MASSIVE unrepairable brain damage, but at least he'd live. And that was what the machine cared about. Life above all else.
Suddenly the man sat bolt upright on the table, drool slathered down his chin and his expensive suit.
Words tried to form, and several of his assistants crossed the room towards him now that the machines whirring and cutting blades had stilled.
"lets", said the man with a zombified, braindead croak.
"What?" said the assistant excitedly. There was a pause.
The man let out a zombie-like moan, "lets......" "build a wall across mexico to keep the rapists out".
The apocalypse had begun.
|
"This is a bad idea."
"Casey, we've been over this we're doing it.", Dr. Jones had said trying to convince Dr. Casey that this was a necessary step in medicine. Dr. Casey wasn't buying it. "Please explain to me how this is a good idea at all. The Sigma can do a lot, it's too risky." the expression on Dr. Casey's face, wide eyed and cautious. Being doctor holding 10 seperate degrees her opinions bare weight.
"How is this not good idea Casey? We've cured depression, bipolar, and addiction. It's time we tested sigma on an anxiety disorder." Dr. Casey's face was getting reader with anger by the second, "Are you kidding me? This is NOT just a chemical imbalance. Sigma cured depression by adjusting the way the brain reuptakes serotonin. Similar with addiction and bipolar. This is DEEPER than that. This isn't simple anxiety. This is down to the neurological paths that can only be decently fixed by therapy. This isnt some adjust sigma can just "do", this is dangerous!"
"Uhm when are we going to start?" by this point the patient was losing her patience. "Look Casey, we have a willing participant who understands the risks. This isn't your call. This is an opportunity to push the limits of this amazing creation. We are doing it." Dr. Jones turned towards the tinted window and looked at the patient. Sitting there impatiently on the massive, almost alien machine. Bright white with a small rectangular mri device attached to it. Along with a blood pressure cuff, x-ray unit, pulse monitor and everything else medically useful. "Yes, sorry Miss we are about to begin. Please lay back on the table and someone will be there shortly." his voiced boomed in the microphone causing the patient to jump, she lyed down on the silver table ready to begin.
Dr. Jones gestured a nurse to prep the the patient while turning his attention back towards Dr. Casey, "Look, don't watch if you're worried. But sigma has performed miracles, fixing a human brain multiple times. Statistically there's just no need for worry." exhausted, realizing her words are falling on deaf ears Dr. Casey nodded in submission. "I'm staying. We were both put in charge of monitoring it so I'm not going anywhere." The prepping was complete and it was just down to pressing a button now. "Are you ready ma'am?" nervously the patient answered, "yes I'm ready." a single press of the button and the machine came to life. "*waiting for ailment input*" the robotic voice almost commanded it. Dr. Jones proceeded and entered the word **hypochondria**. In an instant sigma began to work. The patient was knocked out from anaesthesia and the scanning began.
" What's taking it so long?" Dr. Jones complained, "it's been scanned for 30 minutes now." "It can't figure out what's causing the issue." Dr. Casey replied. Both doctors stared in anticipation when suddenly the scanning ceased. "*Problem identified. Beginning treatment*" a long needle emerged and was pierced deep into the patients forearm. "*Back up beginning*" Dr. Casey growing increasingly concerned said, " Backing up? What does that mean?" silent, Dr. Jones expression grew to match Dr. Casey's from earlier. Sigma stood motionless for what seemed like hours when it finally said, "*Back up completed. Rebooting. *" four AED pads emerged and connected to the paitents head and chest and a huge pulse of electricity violently caused her to jerk.
"What the hell?! Get her out!" Dr. Casey screamed in anger and disteess, " We can't! Sigma is designed to remain secured until the operation is complete! Damn it what the hell! She's flat lined!" and she remained that way. Sigma did nothing. The doctors did nothing but stare in disbelief. "We killed that woman. She's dead." the nurse said while shedding a tear. The guilt she felt, she long forgot what it felt like to have a pafient die. She was so use to sigma saving them.
3 hours had passed. Much longer than the 10 minute rule of thumb for brain damage. Plus she wasn't even on ice. One now hour passes when suddenly another shock, another violent jerk. "*resuming treatment*" "yeah because that's going to do any good." Dr. Jones guilt was weighing his words. People died in surgery sure, but never like this, never something that could have been prevented. A few more shocks later and amazingly the pulse returned. "WHAT?!" the doctors and the nurse all exclaimed in amazement. "*new diagnosis. Vegetative coma and multiple bloodclors*" her brain waves were now being displayed by sigma. completly barren. Nothing. Two more needles entered her arms and begin transfusing blood. "*adjustments to backup made. Reuploading*" then it clicked. Dr. Casey realized what was happening. Just like data buses on a motherboard and magnets on a hardrive, sigma was treating the patient as if her mind was corrupted; reading neural paths as data routes. Somehow backing up her mind like a program's configurations. Attempting to remove the errors and clear the cache. Suddenly her brain lit up. "*treatment completed*" sigma released it's mechanical grasps on the patient, who was still unconscious.
" what just happened?" the nurse asked in confussion, amazement, and disgust. The doctors remained silent. Was this okay? Was this ethical? The woman's eyes opened and she sat up dazed and confused, "Where.. am I? Wait I remember. Am I cured. What happened?" " We are unsure. We will hold you for monitoring then release you." Dr. Casey informed the patient over the mic
"What have we discovered?" she asked Dr. Jones, he replied eerily, "How to best God. "
Edit: replaced "binary" with "magnets"
I type on my phone. Please excuse grammatical errors as they are a pain a to prevent and I do not wish to proof.
| 2016-09-27T10:02:51 | 2016-09-27T08:24:09 | 33 | 24 |
[WP] You shoo your kitten away from a battered mouse she's playing with. As you bend over with a towel to scoop up the mouse to carry it outside, you see it's wearing leather armor, a cat claw necklace, and that clutched tightly in a trembling paw is the handle of a broken yellow plastic sword pick.
|
"Smudge! What are you doing?" Still bottle-fed, the little stray was already a hunter.
*Meow*
"Smudge." The little rascal scrambled over, expecting praise. "What do you have?" Still alive. "Drop it!"
He obeyed, but continued to paw at the tiny mouse, almost concerned. Alice pushed the black kitten away, taking the injured creature to her bedroom.
She swept the books off her desk with one arm and laid the mouse on a fresh handkerchief. "Oh you poor dear. I'll get you fixed up, don't worry -- wait, what are you wearing?" It was that moment that Alice noticed the leather jerkin and tin armor. In it's hand, a wooden sword, snapped and splintered.
"Curiouser and curiouser..."
Alice rushed to her sewing kit and removed a seam ripper. The jerkin's ties severed and the armor laid aside, Alice cleaned the warrior's wounds with iodine and bandaged them, carefully stitching a deep gash across it's back before covering it in soft cotton. The mouse stirred and winced, but maybe Alice imagined that.
The little warrior carefully tucked in a bed with a thimble of water and a bit of cheese nearby, Alice returned to Smudge, who had been pawing at the door and yowling.
"You have been very bad Smudge, hurting the sweet mouse like that."
Smudge lifted his paw to reveal a splinter and Alice carefully pulled it out. She planted a kiss upon his head and turned to inspect the scene.
After tea, Alice returned to the mouse. She hovered over it for many minutes, until, at last the mouse opened it's eyes.
"Where be I, lassie?" The mouse seemed to be and older gentleman with a deep Scottish brogue. He looked around. "And who be yo"
You would, of course, find a talking mouse quite absurd, but Alice had seen many strange things and took it in stride.
"You're on my desk. My name is Alice."
"Percival." He extended a hand and Alice shook it daintily with her finger. "What happened?" Percival asked as he gathered his armor up.
"Smudge got you, sir."
"Smudge?"
"My kitten."
"Ah! The tiny black fellow?" Percival sat up, smiling? Do mice smile?
"Yes." She nodded gravely.
"Ah, that might don't know his own strength, lass. Sweet little lad, he is."
"But he hurt you very badly. You're not angry?"
"No, tis my own fault. I been sparring with kittens many a year, but today I got careless."
"You've done this before?"
"Aye, lassie. You see, sparring kittens is great training -- I have all me boys do it once they can hold their own against each other. And, most tines, it don't hurt neither the kitten nor the mouse. Ah, I see yer a might confused, lass. We mouse soldiers have trained for generations, ever since the first Great Rat War."
"Rats?"
The master-at-arms looked down, somber. "I was but a lad myself when the rats struck last time. They decimated our numbers, slaying soldier and citizen alike. They carried off many a mouse into slavery, I only escaped by hiding in the smallest hole. They took my family."
"It's alright, Percival. You don't have to go on."
He holds up a tiny pink paw. Inhales. "Rumor was... Rumor was that they ate the wee mouse children, those too young and small to be of any use... I saw -- I saw first hand that this was true. They took my brother, a wee babe in arms. Ate him. And we all watched."
"Here, it's a bit big, but it will do." Alice held out a doll's handkerchief. The mouse knight blew his nose on the blanket-sized clothe and dried his eyes.
"I must be off now. Give my regards to Smudge."
Percival hopped off Alice's desk and scurried into a hole between the floor boards. Sometimes Alice saw him in corners. And sometimes she heard the mice drilling with their swords. She left her old seam ripper and some needles by the mouse hole that night -- in the morning they were gone, her gift accepted. She didn't meet Percival again, but, if candle light is to be believed, Alice witnessed a mock battle between a grown up Smudge and several young mouse soldiers, with a grizzled master shouting at them "Quicker laddies, quicker! The rats won't be so forgiving as our friend here!"
|
"No Bathbomb! Not in the house!" I cry out, scrambling towards the newest addition to the family, the lithe grey cat was currently hunched over a tiny black wriggling lump that I could only assume was a mouse. Still squeaking, rather pitifully but still alive. I gently lift the small mewling murder machine with one hand and use the other to awkwardly grab a tea towel hanging over the nearest cupboard handle.
Once the poor little mouse was safely tucked into the towel I deposit Bathbomb back onto the ground and stand up straight, the feline wails a little at the loss of his plaything. But he quickly loses interest and heads back to the living room.
I turn my attention back to the mouse, what do I even do? Let it back outside? Yeah, that's what I normally did. It was still wriggling and squeaking so maybe it wasn't as banged up as I thought and had a chance back in the wild, but then again. I once saw Bathbomb take down a magpie the same size as him so I'm rather amazed the mouse was still even breathing, carefully pulling the towel back. I decide to asses the damage, maybe I could find a wildlife center for the little guy...
Is that a hat? I frown as I peer at the creature, not quite sure what it was I was seeing. I thought the mouse was black, but what I had thought was fur was looking more like a tiny breastplate of sorts. On further inspection, I make out what appears to be a brown belt, small black wrap-like things around it's back legs and a fine silver chain hanging around it's neck with a thin, sharp, curved item on it, a cat claw maybe?
My mind grinds to a halt, am I having a stroke? Do I have a brain tumor? I continue to stare at the mouse in my hands, the armored mouse to be specific.
"Wha..." I whisper, continued to stare. The creature blinks it's beady eyes at me. I could vaguely feel it's body trembling, my eye is drawn to it's paw. Where, of course. A tiny broken sword is clutched in a tiny trembling paw, bright yellow in contrast to the rest of it's outfit.
"What are you?" I ask, before I can stop myself. But I didn't, I am actually talking to a mouse. A mouse wearing full Lord of the Rings-esque armor that I had just rescued from my sadistic pet cat. In retrospect, maybe talking to the mouse wasn't the most ridiculous part of the situation. Naturally, being a mouse. It didn't reply, well. It did, it squeaked almost insistently but I couldn't understand a word it was saying.
Maybe it's someone's pet? I had a pet mouse when I was little, but if it is how on earth did it end up in my house? It was raining quite heavily earlier so Bathbomb has been inside all day, it must have crawled in through the cat flap. It has to be someones pet, why else would it be wearing armor?
"Right" I said, to no one in particular "On the off-chance that this ISN'T the manifestation of a brain tumor and you are someone's pet I'm going to give you a quick once over, to be frank. I normally wouldn't bother, but you're wearing armor and your human is probably missing you" I leave the kitchen and head towards my bedroom, not before making sure Bathbomb is secure in the living room.
Upon entering my bedroom, I sit at my desk and place the little warrior down. I wait, seeing if it can move around on it's own a little. It stands, somewhat shakily, on it's two legs. I didn't see much evidence of a fight save for a tear it it's breastplate and a little bit of blood beneath it's left ear. With a motion that looked unnervingly human, the mouse examined the broken sword held in it's hands.
"I think you bit off more than you could chew with Bathbomb..." I murmur, more to ground myself back in reality than anything.
The mouse looks to me, as if it understood. I ball up a shred of tissue and offer it to the warrior, it takes my offering and presses it to the blood patch on it's head. It squeaked again, but this time. In the silence of my room, without the humming of the kitchen fridge. I swore I could make out a word, feeling like a twit. I lean closer.
"Sorry?" I ask "Did you actually say something?" my voice was barely above a whisper, the mouse shifts a little. removing the tissue ball before repeating...
"I said thank you, kindly giant"
I leap back, chair clattering to the floor. I shrieked in a fashion that I would deny until my death before tripping over my bed and landing in a ungraceful heap, a mouse just talked. To me. Using people words.
Brain tumor, definitely a brain tumor.
"Well, there's no need to panic so much!" That voice squeaked again, am I being sassed by a bloody mouse?!
"Hey!" I found myself snapping back "I happen to be panicking the perfect amount for the situation" after a few moments, my heart stopped hammering so painfully and my breathing returned to some semblance of normal. I slowly eased myself back into my desk chair, peering at the warrior.
"Again" I said, with more firmness in my voice "What are you?"
"First of all" the mouse squeaked, I was unable to tell if it was male or female "Not a pet, as you assumed. As for what I am, I believe you humans have a general term for what we are. Though it isn't solid, to you. I would be one of the Fae. And my name, Tanni"
Ah, of course. A fairy. It does make an odd sort of sense. I wonder if there's a tiny mouse kingdom, with mouse armies and a mouse king and queen?
"Right, and is there any particular reason you found yourself in my kitchen trying to murder my beloved cat?" I reply, deciding to steer into the skid and embrace the absurdity of this entire situation.
"Ah, well" the warrior, or Tanni, as I now knew looked away, almost as if abashed "Your, um. Bathbomb, was it? Yes. Bathbomb had dug up and destroyed my home, I was duty bound to seek revenge. Though, as you said. I had 'bitten off more than I could chew' so to speak"
Well this is making less and less sense, though I am not in the least bit surprised that Bathbomb had brought this on himself.
"Oh" was all I could manage for a moment "Bathbomb is a dick, believe me I know, and I am very sorry about your home" I pause, if I let Tanni go will I find my Bathbomb slaughtered? Will I wake with his head in my bed?
"Look, I really am sorry about Bathbomb..." I am actually about to negotiate for my cat's life with a mouse "But please, don't kill my cat. I do happen to love him, I could rebuild your home for you maybe? And I will nurse you back to health. Again, just please don't murder the cat, I enjoy his company"
Little Tanni was quiet, before they bobbed their head in a sort of nod.
"I will not murder your pet" they said finally "Provided you help me rebuild my home and think of a way to keep Bathbomb away, because frankly. Your cat is a demon and I have no desire to face him again, he bit the blade off of my sword of and all!"
Relief washes through me and I open my mouth to respond, before slamming it shut again. I lean back in my chair, creeping dread already smothering my earlier relief.
"He what now?" I ask, already mentally tallying up the vet bill.
"Oh yes" Tanni said, brandishing the yellow pick in their hand "Snapped it right off he did, before I could even swi... where are you going?!" I barely made out their last few words as I was already heading for the door.
"Stay there!" I call back to the warrior, slamming the door behind me before bolting to the living room.
Bathbomb was on the sofa, he looked at me, and I saw what appeared to be a bright yellow toothpick sticking out of his mouth. As I advanced on the little bastard the sword disappeared into his jowls and he stood, ready to flee.
"Bathbomb! Spit that out, I SAID SPIT THAT OUT!"
| 2017-11-09T09:58:58 | 2017-11-09T09:42:10 | 42 | 23 |
[WP] The superhero stared at the supervillain. "I need your help...they have my daughter."
|
"Hahahaha, how pathetic. Perhaps if you were as vigilant with your family matters as you are with my endeavors-"
Aze's face twitched and in a second he had Viktor by his throat.
"Please! This transcends all of that! They will torture her! You know lost Viktor. I know there's good in you, no matter how twisted you may be. You know... What it's like to lose someone."
Aze turned an eye toward the robotic female that had stepped forward from the shadows in alarm. When Isabella died during that awful experiment years ago, Viktor had collected all her personal data and created IZ2. A robotic resurrection of his beloved. When that failed to fully heal his heart, he went a step further. Ripping and goring his human body and replacing each piece with his advanced robotic designs. He was more machine than man now. A desperate escape from human emotion which resulted in a cold callused man that persued scientific advancement at all cost. And if that cost was a living innocent human test subject, he did not hesitate.
Viktor turned toward IZ2, then back to Aze. His eyes flaring a LED red.
"Would it not behoove me to allow your suffering. Your pain. Your *agony* would be my boon. You'd lose every battle. You'd lose your reputation. And in the end, you'd beg me to make you more machine than man. And I will happily oblige."
Aze began to wonder if this was a bad idea after all. Of all the evil, Viktor was one of the most dangerous but also, ironically despite his appearance, the most human at his core. All his evil deeds were the result of an anguished heart seeking closure or escape.
Aze dropped to his knees. His chin hit his chest and tears poured forth.
"Then kill me... I've lost... The only thing... That... Means so much. Everyday I came home. She saw me as a hero. Even when I made mistakes. Even when I was suspected of something aweful she never lost faith... And I failed her. I can not. I can not."
Viktors arm blossomed open like a flower in bloom and illuminated Aze in a bright orange light of death. The dematerializer Ray. Aze could hear the machines working, charging. He closed his eyes. He had failed...
#Later
Viktor calculated the most efficient trajectory, he had found the mothership Aze had stated would be there, hiding within the Asteroid belt. The ships engines hummed quitely. The ship was fully in cloak, invisible to every electromagnetic spectrum, it did not even emit a gravitational pull that was experimentally detectable.
"Was that necessary Vik?" IZ2 asked, as she sat crossed legged in the control chair. Viktors robotic face was unreadable.
"Yes. It was required to ensure his devotion was true and that it was not a ruse on his behalf. Also due to his abilities, I assume they are able to easily track his location using neutrino detectors. It is how I've always tracked him. He would have been a liability otherwise."
The ship coasted quitely next to the large mothership the size of Earth's moon and shapped roughly the same. No surprise, it was easier to design large spherical ships due to the point gravitational pull and structural strength of materials, the gravity of the ship would pull itself into a sphere anyway. Tendrils of metal alloys protruded from it's surface like an angry puffer fish, however the tendrils moved. Crisscrossing about the surface. Quickly emitting probing waves. Viktor could use this to highjack their systems. It was not the first time he encountered extraterrestrial technology and much of his body was now made of the 'contributions' of fallen alien enemies of his.
Viktor took 3 hours to find a Fourier decompilation of the wave, studied each frequency, cross referenced it with possible coding techniques before finally finding one, then decyphering the code and reverse engineering it to hack in. All speed up by his genius human mind and his quantum computing brain upgrade. He was in. He could only disable localized defenses but that was enough. He turned toward the silo and willed it open.
Out came Aze, panting and coughing. But alive. Viktor had faked his death to deceive the Invaders into false security. It made his job slightly easier and was somewhat cathartic he had to admit.
"Prepare yourself for battle."
Aze coughed and spat out fluid used to conceal his neutrino radiation. Ghostly particles that did not affect anything but was detectable with machines.
Aze laughed, he looked up and Viktor saw the look he gets in his eyes just before things got deadly and Viktor found himself slightly nervous because of it.
"I apologise on behalf of Viktor. He's not very hospitable." IZ2 stated as she helped clean off the man she had nearly helped kill in battle multiple times alongside Viktor.
Whirling galaxies swirled within Aze's eyes, the air crackled with electricity. He stood slowly and confidently, the power pose of the hero returned.
"Thank you Viktor. Now... Let's get back my daughter. And stop an invasion."
Viktor had never seen Aze's daughter and wondered if she too had powers equal to her father. This wouldn't be an easy battle. But life was never easy for Viktor. Not since... His eyes glowed red. He too was ready.
|
“Ten minutes, Mr. Roth, and please - I don’t know why you requested to talk to Turner, but if the command let you, I’m not gonna question it. But! We care for him quite a bit. For his state of mind. Don’t fuck it up”.
Ed Roth, better known as Strongarm in the United Kingdom, watched the teleporter chick vanish out of sight as the door to Desolator’s quarters closed. He took in the surroundings - a small, no bigger than a wardrobe in some houses Roth had been to, rooom with a single bunk bed; a beat-up ottoman with books on engineering piled high; a flip-out table screwed to the wall. Spartan, dim. Little personal touch, if any.
Then, he looked to face his vis-a-vis. Richard Turner, or how the world had known him at one point, Desolator, slightly bounced on the bunk, a curious - but calm - eagerness written all his face. Well, the parts of his face that weren’t covered in bandages. On the right side of it, the healing balm patches ran down his neck, disappearing in an oversized t-shirt. Forehead and left temple were wrapped up too, letting tufts of short, dirty-blond hair stick out between the cloth.
But the eye, the one eye that wasn’t covered up, looked at Roth with an expecting dull-green friendliness.
Strongarm sat down on the tiny wire chair opposite to the bunk. He didn’t know what he had expected... Something horrible? A sense of overwhelming, dreadful power that would nearly floor him? There was nothing of it. Nothing of the horror Roth had seen on video. Desolator didn’t look like a monster now. Nor did he appear to be a prisoner - not that an environment like this could contain him. He looked like a patient, so Roth cleared his throat.
“Hi. I... My name’s Strongarm. Well, not my real name, that’s what they call me back home, because I - I’m Able. Ed Roth.”
Not the best start.
“You sound funny, Ed. What’s that accent?”
“I-uh. Oh. I’m British.”
Desolator chuckled.
“Right! Thought so”, the man picked at his nose. “Why are your here, Ed? Can I call you Ed? I’m Rick by the way. I don’t exactly get visitors. Not that someone prohibits it, no. It’s just that... I don’t think anyone wants to see me.”
At that, Desolator’s face slightly darkened, and Roth hurried to explain himself further.
“I’m from the UK’s Alliance branch, in fact. Um. I thought that maybe, maybe you’d help me with my problem?”
The question seemed to have genuinely shocked the other man, right to making him stop his slow bouncing and sit straight, suddenly tense. Desolator craned his neck, staring at Roth inquisitively, as if trying to read something on his face, then shook his head in disbelief.
“Me? Help you, Ed? How exactly, how-...”
Strongarm was ready for the question. All of his pre-planned speech, inhibited by fear and the lack of time, spilled forward in a hurried jumble as he struggled to explain.
“They got my daughter, you see. They - the British government, of course, the Counter-Ability Forces. Oh they don’t care that I’m an official Alliance member, I told them that they can’t have her for research, but they took her anyway, by force! My daughter! After all I did to keep their cities safe! I know where they keep her and I know how to get to her, but I just don’t have the power for it, no, none of it. The Alliance refuses to do something about it aside from writing useless petitions, because they can’t, I know, I know - they can’t oppose the government, even black op shit as the CAF. But you, you can get there, you can break through, and help me save her. I’ve just nowhere else to go, to do. End of the, uh, rope.”
“Break through?”
“Yeah. With your telekinesis.”
Desolator grimaced in contemplation, and with sick fascination Roth saw the burn scars squirm under the bandages. “*Why don’t they have better security measures here? Are they even possible, these measures, with him?*”, Strongarm thought, suddenly acutely aware that he was in a tight, confined space with someone of Desolator’s power.
“Look, I don’t know what ideas you have about me and this place, *my place* in er, this place, but...”
“Weren’t you the most reknown vault-breaker?” Roth asked and bit his tongue. “The world’s most powerful telekinetik?”
“Really? And do you know what *else* that title entails, Mr. Tea’n’Crumpets, sir?”
In a flash, Desolator was to his feet, canted to the side because of a cast on his leg. Strongarm reeled back, waiting for the whole room to just explode in a wave of telekinetic fury, but not a single speck of dust moved. He just found himself face to face with a very angry man as telekinetik grit his teeth and loomed over him, speaking loudly, spraying saliva in a rant.
“Just three months ago I wake up from a coma to people pushing guns to my head, screaming that if I much as blink, they’ll end me. I also learn that for the last two years I was running around the US wreaking havoc like a fucking comicbook supervillain. I learn that the state of my body is”, Desolator pointed to the sling on his arm and the bandages. “Is because to stop me when I was literally bringing down skyscrapers and murdering people by the dozen, I had a burning schoolbus dropped on my head.”
He took a deep, sucking breath. There was nothing left of that earlier eager posture he had - now, the pain that the telekinetik must’ve been suffering from his burns was spilled all over his narrow features, but Roth felt it wasn’t just physical. Not at all.
“I also learn that while I was in a coma, there was *national debate* on whether to execute me before I come back into consciousness. That people attempted to kill me in the hospital in revenge for what I’ve done. That families were ruined irrevocably. That there is now a Plaza Massacre PTSD syndrome like there was a 9/11 one. Because of me”, he turned back to Roth. “And you ask me, a person who doesn’t even remember being such a subhuman piece of shit, to help you break in a government facility?”
“I didn’t know... I mean, I didn’t know all of that, I-”
“They don’t even let me levitate a goddamn *spoon* in the fear that I might get an idea to push it through someone’s eyeball. Like if I grab a straw, the whole haystack of shit will come tumbling down”, Turner hissed. “And I don’t want to either, because fuck - maybe I’d like it? I make myself sick, Mr. British Superhero. Don’t you?”.
Slowly, obviously disturbed by the proposed ideas and pain in his broken leg, Desolator lowered himself back on the bunk. His gaunt face drooped, ashy and wax-like in the yellowed light.
“Sounds like saving your daughter is tied to hurting other people. I understand, from what I know, I’ve been very proficient at that. I saw a video of myself extracting ribs out of a police officer - the jury in Washington made me watch it even after I spewed all over my uniform. But I don’t want to hurt anyone. Me and that person, which I was.”
He shrugged and rubbed at his chest.
“They allowed me to live, and I’m grateful for that. Maybe I can fix something, in time, you know? But no, not by hurting others. You’ll have to do that yourself.”
Roth lowered his eyes. He thought of Emma, of needles and solutions and blades and vices and her thin arms, feeling such a deep ache that on some level, he could see himself driven to such atrocities that Desolator had committed. For her sake, of course. Only for that.
“I understand. I just”, Strongarm smiled sadly and rubbed at his eyes. “I had to try. Desperation, it makes you dumb. Makes you ask murderers and terrorists for help. Yep, that’s how desperate I am. And... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I don’t know where I was going through with it all.”
He got up, preparing to walk out, and then turned back.
“Why did you do it? Dallas, I mean. Were you trying to save someone, someone dear? Because if that’s the case...”
“I don’t remember.”
“Oh.”
***
Little did Edward Roth know that Turner was lying. As he was sleeping on the flight over Pacific, the man once known as Desolator set down to study a woodworking book, but dropped it due to a lack of focus.
A fist hit the flip-out table, leaving a dent in the plasticized surface. Desolator could remember it all clear enough. He could remember that no loved one, no peril of a significant other had made him commit one of the worst mass slaughters in history.
That he was saving no-one.
And he envied Strongarm immensely.
| 2017-12-17T13:34:32 | 2017-12-17T12:16:14 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper.
|
Oh! Hello.
It's one of you again.
What's your name?
Right. You have none. I keep forgetting that. Or perhaps I am trying to forget?
Sad little creature, aren't you?
Your hands all in taters, your veil the same.
Your face looks hollow, your body, maimed.
I do feel sorry though I have no heart.
No skin, just bones. A work of art.
Oh you're begging? For food?
Sad child.
I would if I could.
But like my bones, my pockets are hollow.
Nothing of substance you could actually swallow.
Rest is all I offer if that is enough.
So lay down your body treated so rough.
Oh my child.
Tell me your story of how you became.
A sacrifical pawn in this ungrateful game.
A mother with no heart and a father with no bone.
Is that how you all end up alone?
Thousand times I've heard it, thousands to forget.
A thousand of you who life taught to hate.
You anger. You rage. Your actions, justifiable.
The true lack of justice, undenyable.
Yet you are here. Yet you must suffer.
You're but a child and yet you must offer.
Your body. Your mind. Your very soul, to live a day.
Just to wonder at night, "Is dying okay?"
Wow.
You're sound asleep. You must have been tired.
Perhaps company, even mine, is all you desired.
Rustling through rubbish, feeding on rats.
It's winter you know. No gloves. No hats.
It's truly sad,you know? I have no life in my bones.
Yet warmer than streets where you sleep alone.
Tattered clothes can't save you, but it's all you have.
Despite your presence, the world can still laugh.
So rest my child, this hollow lap, your pillow.
Stay as long as you want under this dying willow.
Close your eyes.
Forget this world.
For he,my brother.
.
He is almost here.
|
I did not know what to say.
Ibem shrugged. "What's the matter? I'm dead right? You're the Grim Reaper here to take my soul away? *Whoosh whoosh?*" He made vague scything motions with his hands.
"No, I'm not him. I'm his...brother. Well, sort of like a brother. And the scythe thing is just his weird affection. Obsessed with metaphors, that one." I pulled back my hood and nervously ran a hand through my hair, finally taking a look around the room.
It was beautiful, well decorated and full of light and colour. But it was completely designed for one. From the perfectly positioned television, to the single serving dining table, everything was purpose designed for a single man.
A pair of drones alighted on the delivery pad just outside the window and took off again, barely stopping to drop their food off.
"Well, whoever you are, lets get this over with." Ibem, said impatiently, turning to admire himself in the mirror one last time. He was dressed quite dandily, in bright colours and lavish silks. All wasted, I thought, since he never went outside...
He still looked good though.
"I wish it were that simple." I took a seat in the only open chair and considered what to do.
200,000 years of reaping with no precedent for something as absurd as this. Who ever heard of a man without so much as a acquaintance in a world?
"What's wrong?" The young man said, sitting next to me. "Are you stuck mute by my dazzling good looks?"
"Ahem." I blushed slightly but continued on. "Well, the first problem is you're not dead." measured my worlds carefully. I was not sure how much I could explain to him. But more than that, whatever his fate, I felt had to understand.
I pitied him.
"Well, that's good news, isn't it?" Ibem muttered, sensing that more was still coming.
"Yes, and no. See, you're still alive. But you're just died your True Death." I watched him absorb the words.
"I think I've heard of this." Ibem said, his eyes taking on a dangerous gleam. "The first time you die is when your heat stops beating, and your body dies right? You get a big funeral, weeping family and friends, grim reaper shows up, all that good stuff."
I nodded. He had the right of it. Not always with the weeping family, sometimes people even cheered, but they still acknowledged it.
"And then there's the second death. Centuries later, when all that knew you are dead, and even your name is dust. Then you die your True Death. The final death, that all must face alone."
Again, I nodded Again, he was mostly right, but the True Death did not always take centuries, in certain situations - particular political or religious ones - it happened within minutes.
"You're some kind of Elder grim reaper."
"I'm sometimes called the True Reaper." I replied apologetically. "And yes, you could say that."
"That means I have been forgotten. In my own lifetime. I kept saying I would leave the house, that I would go out see people again. That I would begin living life again. But it is too late. It is already too late."
"I have been completely forgotten by the world, and have died my True Death!" Ibem cried out, and I wrapped an arm around him.
He sobbed loudly, and I held him, unsure what else to do.
"When did they die?" He asked suddenly. "And how?" I knew what he meant.
"Just now." I answered. "A leak from the gas heater."
"They were together? And they did not suffer?" I saw how the question pained him to ask.
"They were. And no, they did not suffer."
We sat there on the couch for a few minutes, as he composed himself.
Ibem suddenly stood and looked around the room, as though for the first time. "So, this must be doing a number of you and your brother, huh? What do you need from me?"
I shrugged. "I'm not quite sure. I'm still considering options. But I need to do something soon, before...that happens." I pointed at to the tips of his fingers, which were beginning to turn to stone.
"Of course." Ibem answered. He seemed to consider for a moment and then dashing into the kitchenette, he grabbed a knife from the counter and held it to his own throat.
"This would solve your problem right?" He met my eyes. "I don't turn to stone and suffer for eternity? You don't have to figure out how to get me our of this body without killing me. Since you and hour brother cannot interfere with each other right? There are always rules..."
Tears streamed down my face as I crossed the distance between us.
"No." I whispered, taking the knife from his hand. I let it fall to the floor, and held him against my chest. As I did, I made a decision. "There is another way..."
*I'm sorry to put this on you* I thought to my brother, *but I must be foolish once again.*
I could sense the vague amusement emanating from the Grim Reaper through our shared bond.
"What are you doing?" Ibem asked with amazement, staring at me. I knew what he must be seeing. My skin turning translucent, the solid. My face gaining losing colour, then gaining it back with force.
"Buying you more time." I answered, completing my transformation. "You are no longer forgotten."
I sighed heavily, exhausted from the effort of becoming mortal. "I still remember you. That counts for something."
"Thank you." Ibem cried, hugging my tightly. "I promise I won't screw up this chance."
I smiled and said nothing, thinking on the day I would die.
| 2018-05-12T19:37:58 | 2018-05-12T16:14:04 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Getting arrested for a botched crime is a rite of passage in the Chebwick family. They take great pride in their long legacy of poorly executed crimes. But the youngest child has been a great disappointment.
|
"Here comes Gary"
"He's the worst."
"A failure to the family name"
"It's not that he commits crimes, the problem is that he's too good at it."
"I KNOW! He's meant to fail like the rest of us."
The door creaked open and Gary stepped into the room with a large bag.
Gary exclaimed with a large grin, "Hey guys! Guess what. I kidnapped the Queen!"
This was 10 years ago, we still see the occasional story on the news about what could have happened but the Queen was never found. She's still here with us and has become friends with Putin who Gary brought back last week.
|
"You know why we tolerate supervillains and superheroes and all you types who dance outside the law?" I said.
"Because we're gods in a world of mortals, and all your tin soldiers couldn't make a dent on us if you tried." The Chebwick kid—even after his little murdering spree at the mall, I couldn't help but think of him as a kid—sneered at me from inside his cell. His sole guard cleared her throat, and he subsided. "See? You couldn't even handle lil' ol' me—no, you just had to go and tattle to Mommy."
"Elias Chebwick, listen to what the psychologist has to say." Meredith Chebwick snapped, her face devoid of emotion. I made a mental note to get someone in here who could take Meredith in a fight. Even when she was practicing villainy, she'd always had a smile on her face; her stony expression put me on edge.
"I think this is at the heart of your problem, Elias. Power isn't just the ability to breathe fire, or turn to mist, or see the legs of an ant from a hundred paces. There is power in *connections*, in rules. I may not be able to take you in a fight personally, but one phone call and I can have a dozen people who can knocking on your door."
"Please," Elias scoffed, "when I kill you, I'll do it before you get your phone out of your pocket."
Those words shouldn't have been so chilling, coming from a child's lips.
I tried another tactic. "Alright. Let's say you kill me. You know what happens next? My friends come over and pay you a *very* stern visit. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of friends whose power makes yours look like a candle next to a nuclear bomb. Think of it like a great, big spiderweb. Make too many waves, and the spider comes along."
"Oh, your life's a spiderweb, alright. A great, big tangle of rules and regulations and complications. The Chebwicks have always ignored that—I just took it one step further."
"Dammit, Elias, you killed forty people on a whim! Because you *wanted* to! The Chebwicks may not have followed the rules of the city, but they still obeyed the rules of *society*. Cause and effect, Elias. Life is a game—and just like a game, the only reason why anyone has fun is *because* of the rules, not in spite of them. The dance of hero and villain only works because everyone involved is playing. There are no deaths of innocents, no major property damage, and no personal attacks if we can help it. The whole community—on both sides—comes down very, very hard on anyone who breaks those rules, and for good reason. If you don't start showing signs of repenting, then there is no force on Earth that can save you."
Elias growled, "You little people move in circles in a world of lines, and I'm the only one who can see that. You know what? Maybe I don't want to be saved. Maybe I don't want to live in this backwards, Byzantine world."
"Elias, ignoring society is not a superpower. Even if I wanted to, I can't let you continue as you are. You're a menace to yourself, to society, and to your family name."
"Oh, I'm a menace, alright." Elias stood, and his mother bristled, shifting stances, a chill, divine wind rising around her. "Not to myself, but two out of three isn't bad."
"Sit down, Elia—"
"*No.*"
There was a flash of... images. As if Elias had shattered the surface of the world, and through the cracks, something else could be seen. His mother collapsed, shrieking in pain, one of the image-lances having bored straight through her shoulder. I stumbled back. The glass between us had shattered. I reached for my phone, switching it on—
Elias winked, and a bolt of not-light bored a hole through my chest. I gaped, torn lungs failing to voice a dead man's words, as Elias stepped over the shattered safety glass. "Circles in a world of lines. I warned you."
Then he turned and held a hand out, towards thin air. This time, the crack he opened in the world stayed open, widening, like a child picking at a scab. He stepped inside, and his strange powers sealed the rift behind him.
I was left to die in the empty hall.
But I had the last laugh.
With the last of my energy, I'd sent out a single word.
*Help.*
And the world responded.
A.N.
If you liked this, you may want to check out r/rileywrites!
| 2020-04-03T22:51:49 | 2020-04-03T22:20:28 | 72 | 29 |
[WP] Humanity finally meets an alien species. However, it takes us both a while to realize that they were just as excited to meet us as we were to meet them. We also realize, at the same time, that they were just as nervous about their homeworld embarrassing them, since they're as 'united' as we are
|
"Hey bro, go touch him or something," yells my Sup. He's hiding behind the rations cases.
"Alright chief, you just keep hiding there."
I approach the alien being with confidence, knowing that there's a personality - or rather, alienality - behind that scary face.
The Alien looks intently at me, then looks behind me to my Sup, then looks at me again. He makes a 'pfffft' sound with its mouth and points at Keef with its sharp chin.
"Hey Sup, I think it's mocking you. And I like this dude."
The alien makes a 'shhhh' sound and reaches out its hand. I look at it coming toward my face, but it stops before it touches my face. A small speaker like circle appears in the middle of its palm.
"Your.......language.........is.......good." The speaker echos slowly, not mechanically, but like fragmented words spoken by four different people.
"Ad....vanced....language....means....advanc..ed.....civi....lization." It looks again at my boss, and then continues.
"How....nice...of...you.....to....treat....other.....apes....as....equals."
At first I think it mistook my sup as an ape. Then I realize it's making a joke. I laugh, and it shakes its shoulder as one would when he laughs in silence.
"Hey," I wink at the Alien, "I think we'll get along."
|
“So, you like it?” Shyla wags her long fluffy tail.
She always does that when she’s nervous. That much I’ve learned about her during my three-month-long trip from Earth to Ch’tlks home planet.
My Ch’tlks hostess’s name is not Shyla, and Ch’tlks is not how they call their species either, but those words better describe clicks and squeals they use to communicate with. Well, better than ‘shit ya’ and ‘chinks chinks’, just to name a few some of my xenophobic species-mates came up with to describe the narrow-eyed aliens after the word got out that they landed on a corn farm close to Nowhere, Iowa in their pink spaceship that look like a house-sized ball of candy cotton.
To be honest, Sieg heil was the first thing the aliens said to the confused farmer whose field they landed in, along with the Nazi salute and a reference to 1936 Berlin Olympic games. But other than that, our furry space neighbors are kind of okay. Polite. Very curious. They even have a good sense of humor. Their technology surpasses ours by a long shot and their society is way more advanced than ours. The way they describe it, it reminds me of 24th century humans as depicted in Star Trek (Minus the fur, whiskers and cat-like pointy ears). Happiness. Justice. Strong morals.
“Do you?” Shyla repeats her question. “Like my homeland.”
Honestly, not quite what I expected.
The ‘Go home hu-man’ billboard floating in front of the top-to-bottom glass window of my hotel suite is just…
I mean, there’s the noose, all right. The guy’s hanging from the tree. His skin color is… well, what one might expect from a racist billboard on an alien planet… But other than the billboard, the endless skyways, glimmering spires, and tall towers that reach all into the clouds look beautiful. As if I’m in a Disney fairytale.
“Love it,” I say.
“Cool.” She clicks and whistles and the wall dims, turning into solid concrete. “Come, I need to show you something else.”
I put my hand against the wall. It is made of concrete. “How do you do that? Turn glass into concrete.”
“Oh… Molecular shuffling. It’s pretty easy. We can turn it into anything we want. It can be really fun. Look.” She whistles and the wall is now a giant TV showing a 2006 Super Bowl Game between the Pittsburgh Steelers and Seattle Seahawks. “Like it? Just for you!”
I’m not a football fan, but I appreciate her gesture. “Do you play something like football on your planet?”
“Uhmm… Don’t know. I don’t watch tv.” She whistles and the channel changes… to the news I guess, judging by the few Ch’tlk words on the screen I recognize. Words like news, war, refugees… There’s a long column of Ch’tlk walking across a muddy field wearing nothing but rags.
“Oops,” Shyla says. “History channel. We used to be a bit more violent in the past.” She flips the channel. This one’s showing an areal shot of a city that’s undergoing carpet bombing. The date says it happened today. “Heh. Another one.” The next channel is showing anti-human demonstrations in front of a building. That’s a lot of mad Ch’tlk holding the hanging guy signs. I recognize that building.
“That’s in front of the lobby,” I say.
She makes a sheepish smile and her tail curls into a question mark --- their equivalent of blushing and biting one’s nails. “No… We’d never--- Not us--- We’re better than this. Aha.” She turns the TV off. It disappears, turning into glass.
“Foook you!” the elderly Ch’tlk with silvery fur shouts from the outside. He’s using a jetpack to float in front of my window. His face is smashed against the window, his breath fogging the glass. The sign in his paws reads “Immigrants go home!” And --- of course --- there’s a little hand-drawn hanging guy in the bottom of the sign.
“Oh, Lords Above!” Shyla shouts. “Believe me, we’re not all like this.” She sighs. “But there are a few things you need to know about us… If you still want to stay around for a bit.” She lowers her head, ashamed. “The truth is that no one ever does. Everyone we invite here flees as soon as they arrive.”
“You’ve been to Earth,” I say. “And you didn’t flee as soon as you arrived. You stayed for almost a year to learn about our history, customs, traditions so you know what we’re like. And despite that, you’ve decided to invite us to visit your home. That says a lot about you and your people---”
“Fook you!”
“At least some of them. I’d love to stay around for as long as you’d have me. I mean, just seeing those buildings was worth visiting this planet. Also.. dude, you’re an alien! How cool is that?”
Her tail puffs up and she whistles a happy tune. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have no idea how scared I felt. There are so many things I want to show you.”
I point to the door. “So… Shall we?”
“First, I want to tell you all about our previous technology-exchange visit to your planet.”
I raise my eyebrow.
Her tail wags. “Who do you think you got the Zyklon B formula from?”
| 2022-01-18T11:17:38 | 2022-01-18T10:18:11 | 607 | 195 |
[WP] Berserkers are masters of their own emotions, rage is just one of the tools at their disposal, why do people not talk about their other abilities? Because they want you to think they're nothing more than angry brutes.
|
"Hi Gork's Gork and, um, Gork is a berzerker"
"Hi Gork"
"It's just it gets so hard dealing with it, others always just assume 'Gork smash!', but that's not all Gork can do. When we go tavern crawling who keeps everyone entertained? Gork does, with Gork's happy dance, and Gork's drunken shenanigans.
Who singlehandedly carried two tons of lumber across enemy lines to rebuild the orphanage Gork may have accidentally set on fire? Gork did! Why? Because Gork was sad orphans didn't have a home anymore, and wanted to make it right
Why did Gork, punch the heart out of the Queen of Webs and Lies? Because Gork is terrified of spiders!
Gork just wishes that pointy hat book man and angry stab lady would see Gork *as Gork is*, not just angry punch man, but a multifaceted soul, adrift in an uncaring universe, just trying to leave it better than Gork found it... with an unquenchable bloodlust"
"Thank you for sharing Gork"
|
They were scared of them of course. Understandable. Their appearance alone spoke more than words ever could. The reputation they carried didn't help either.
Berserkers from the Black Forest.
When raiding the tomb of a supposedly long dead necromancer, it would pay to at least ask if anyone was still home. Especially if one isn't sure if all those buried in said tomb are still, in fact, dead. Needless to say, the party wasn't as well equipped as they originally assumed. It was a losing battle for survival.
Until they stumbled across a smaller party stuck in the same tomb. They weren't the best equipped either, but a penchant for violence turned the tide.
The hordes of the catacombs were no match for this group's combined might. And a lucrative retreat was made.
Which led to a very uncomfortable silence around a campfire. Two paladins, a priestess, and a thief. And an orc and a gnoll. And one rather large chest of treasure.
To make a long story short; they were currently stuck on the edge of a river just below a treeline. The attacks in the tomb left them with several broken weapons and a loss of some of their supplies. It wasn't long until the arguments started.
"If you hadn't listened to that old bag by the city wall, we wouldn't be in this mess!"
"We have no food! And it's a long walk back to Haartha."
"I shall meditate, and see where our paths may lead."
"Yes, you meditate. Let's see where the gods take us now!"
After some time of this, the sound of the chest being moved caused all on one side to draw what weapons they had left. The raiders they met had stood, and begun walking lazily towards the water. It seemed as if the threat of being murdered over their plunder wasn't enough to bother either one. And then the whispering began.
"They don't talk." One of the paladins spoke.
"...They're probably plotting to kill us all." The other agreed.
"They just moved the chest a little." The thief, a tiefling, chimed in.
"What are they talking about?" The orc asked.
"Oh, you know. How we're going to slaughter them in the night." The gnoll sighed absently.
The pair waded further into the water and then waited. Behind them the arguments got even quieter and more tense. The elves had very little faith in their swords to do the job. The priestess was low on her ki and was weakened by the tomb's influence. The tiefling was out of her daggers.
"Daikan?" The gnoll asked.
"Yeah, Kuro?" The orc asked as he watched the other's ears move.
"...Are elves usually this racist?"
Neither one answered this as they felt something begin to nibble under the surface of the water.
"...Yep. Some of 'em." Daikan grunted.
The pair disappeared in a fountain of water. Drawing the attention of the rest of the group. There was a bit of confusion. And then paranoia. And as they watched the water churn, a slight bit of relief. Before the pair came back of course. To their surprise they had dragged an especially large fish from the river.
"What's the meaning of this?" One of the paladins asked. He waved his sword only to have it brushed away like a feather.
"You said you needed to eat." Daikan explained. "We're on the wrong side of the mountain. It's at least an extra day back.... Plus I'm fairly sure the berries those two are hiding are poison."
The tiefling quietly spat a handful of berries into the bushes at this revelation. The priestess quietly scooting a leaf full of her own berries to the side.
"Yep." Kuro answered. "Definitely poison."
"...How do you know?" One of the paladins asked.
"Fighting is easy." Daikan promised. "Survival is hard."
"You're familiar with this place?" The priestess asked now. As she watched the tiefling carry on hacking up berries.
"A little." Kuro grinned.
"Right." The other paladin threatened with his sword, "And I suppose you know the way out."
"A little." Daikan repeated.
"What's your proposal?"
"Half the loot for a safe journey." Daikan offered.
"And if we refuse?" The priestess asked.
A wind buffeted the land, the trees bending as clouds loomed above. The fire flickering a bit more as the foliage cracked and groaned.
"It's a nice night for something bad to happen." Kuro warned. The woman stood and adjusted her robes accordingly. And quietly urged the fire back up with a raised palm.
"...Fine." She agreed. "Anpain and Rahmi will do second guard."
"I'm not tired." Daikan offered. He casually grabbed his axe and rested atop the treasure chest. The paladins quietly setting next to the fish as he began carving away at it.
"...'Ey. 'ish ma' 'fasce 'wollen?" The tiefling slurred. The priestess looked, and then double taked.
"Uh, Iselle?"
"...Amma' dyin'?" The red faced woman asked through puffed cheeks.
Kuro rubbed behind his ears at this. "...I can fix that."
---
Takes all kinds. r/Jamaican_Dynamite
| 2022-07-26T20:26:17 | 2022-07-26T17:07:03 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] Two suicidal people happen to meet on the same bridge to jump. Rather than joining together, they each try to convince the other not to jump while justifying why they themselves should jump.
EDIT: yes i'm well aware this concept has been done before many times in movies, books and music.
But that's exactly it: it's not original, so who cares? Let's let the awesome authors of /r/writingprompts have a crack at an old idea :)
|
The man shivered as he padded across the newly constructed bridge, clutching his jacket tightly. His whole life'd been one miserable failure after another. He hadn't managed to do anything right.
Being the first person to jump off this damn bridge would be the only memorable thing he ever did.
He froze. Another figure? Up at this hour? As he drew closer, the other man came into view. Poised on the edge of the bridge, it was clear the other man had planned to kill himself as well.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"
The figure froze, and started climbing down from the railing. "I.. I just..."
"Don't you dare do it."
"Why? My wife left me, my kid was hit by a truck, and I'm getting laid off tomorrow. I've never accomplished anything."
"So? No matter how much it hurts, you have to keep moving. I know what it feels like to lose people close to you. You know they wouldn't have wanted you to waste your life like this."
The other figure froze, and slowly nodded. "I get that you're trying to help, but I don't think I- Hey! What are you doing?"
"What, you thought you were the only one who wanted to do this?"
"Y-you just explained to me how important it was to-"
"...I don't have anything to live for. Everyone close to me died long ago - I've just been sort of... drifting for the past few years. Being the first guy to jump from here'll be the only thing I ever do right."
"...You have got to be kidding me. Look at you! You're young and healthy! I'm old - would have died in a few years anyway. Never accomplished anything either. There'll be more chances and more bridges for you, kid. I won't live to see the next one."
Both figures stood in silence for a while. "We can both be the first ones to jump from here, you know."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
The younger man scratched his head. "You know, maybe I wo-"
A naked, screaming man ran between them - needle marks covered his arms, and his teeth were rotten and decayed. Without slowing, he sprinted off the edge of the bridge. Several seconds later, they both cringed at the splash.
"Are you fucking-"
"Goddammit."
-------------
Questions? Criticisms? Want to see more? Check out more of my stuff at /r/Draxagon
|
It was already late at night when Jessica arrived at the bridge. "Dead Man's Bridge" they'd called it back in high school, back when suicide felt like a strange concept and the kids were cruel enough to make fun of the people who did it. Jessica missed the days when their mindset felt so alien.
She walked out to the middle of the bridge and carefully slipped one leg over the concrete railing. Then the other. Hanging off the railing of the bridge, she had a clear view of the river below her, sparkling dimly from the light pollution of the city.
"Pretty, isn't it?"
The voice startled Jessica, and she scrambled to not lose her balance and fall. She regained her balance by the time she realized the irony of the situation. The male voice beside her seemed to be holding back a laugh.
"I'm sorry, I thought you saw me here," he said as Jessica focused in on the tall, dark man who stood beside her, also on the wrong side of the bridge.
"How long have you been there?" she snapped while her heartbeat struggled to slow down.
He flashed her a smile, his white teeth standing out in the dark night. "The whole time. I guess you were too distracted by your own mission."
"Yeah..." she said, unlocking her deathgrip on the railing and turning back around. "Yeah, I was. Don't you try to stop me from jumping."
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. I was here to do the same myself," the man said, looking out down the river.
"You? Why would you want to commit suicide?" she asked curiously, taking in the man's fine business suit. He certainly didn't seem to be lacking in life.
"Oh, the usual story. Too much money, not enough companionship. Turns out, money really can't buy you love." The man threw this out casually, like he was discussing the weather.
"That's it?" Jessica said in surprise. "You're too successful? How is that a problem?"
The man was silent for several long seconds before he replied. "It gets really lonely being on the top."
"I wish I had that problem," Jessica muttered, leaning back over the edge.
The man gave her a side-eyed glance, "Well, what's your problem then?"
"Me." Jessica's voice was bitter. "I'm the problem."
"In my experience, the people who think they're the problem rarely are," he said.
"Oh yeah? What about a house wife who can't even keep the house tidy?" she shot back angrily, "My husband provides everything, all I need to do is keep the house neat, and I can't even do that!"
"So hire a maid."
"I can't waste his money like that," Jessica said. "Maybe once he doesn't have to support my worthless ass, he can afford one."
"No, not with his money," the man said exasperatedly, "With your money."
"I don't have any money."
"So get a job," he said.
"Why would anyone hire me? I barely have a high school education." Jess said. Why was this man reminding her of her failings? She should just jump now and get it over with.
"Lots of jobs don't need an education. If he really provides for everything, you really only need to earn enough to pay for a maid."
"That must be easy for you to say, Mr. 'I have too much money'." Jessica spat out. The man seemed to recoil, hurt.
"At least you have a husband. My girlfriend left me last week."
Suddenly, Jessica felt like an asshole. "Well, there must be other women out there..."
"Oh sure, there's plenty of them. I should know, I dated 30 other girls before her," the man said, staring down at the river.
"Oh... But you're young, and it's not like you're unattractive or-"
"Yeah, I'm 32, rich and attractive, and I've been through 4 girls a year for the last 12 years. Rhia was the longest girlfriend I had and now she's dumped me too." The bitterness in his voice made Jessica's heart ache a little.
"Why'd she leave you?" she asked cautiously.
"Same reasons as the rest. I'm never available, I'm too distant when I am, yadda yadda. They never seem to mind when I'm paying for all their expensive clothes though."
"So why not just take a vacation? Or work less?" Jessica asked.
"I can't. The office needs me, if I did less I'd be out of a job in a week."
"So get a new job! I'm sure you could find a new one in a week!" she said, muttering "Unlike me," under her breath.
"I'd still be alone," he said.
"So? Take a vacation, I'm sure girls would swarm to you," Jessica said, leaning further out over the river. The man's issues had almost managed to distract her from her purpose. She could hear the waters calling her.
"Hmm..." he seemed to be considering the idea. "One condition. You come with me."
"What?!" His proposition startled her so much she almost slipped again and she struggled to cling to the rough concrete railing. "No!" she said when she'd regained her balance.
"Oh come on, you don't want to be here. Otherwise, you wouldn't be trying so hard not to fall now," the man said.
"I'm married!" Jessica exclaimed.
"And you love him so much you want to kill yourself to escape." Jessica didn't want to admit how much sense he was making.
"Come on," he said, climbing back over the railing, "Haven't you always wanted to see Japan this time of year?"
"Rome."
"Excuse me?"
"I've always wanted to see Rome this time of year," Jessica corrected. The man seemed to consider this.
"Well, Rome this year, and maybe Japan next year," he said, offering her a hand. She reluctantly took it, climbing back over the railing. "You don't have anything you need to get from home, do you?"
Jessica thought back onto the contents of house dispassionately. "Nothing at all."
"Then Viva La Vida!" he said.
Jessica smiled. "That's Spanish, you nut."
--
*To see more stories by me, subscribe to /r/Lexilogical*
| 2015-01-27T17:17:41 | 2015-01-27T17:09:02 | 699 | 43 |
[WP]As the four horsemen of the apocalypse get ready to signal the end times, they are joined by a fifth one
|
War, seated atop a horse of red flame, clad in his uniform, tight, polished, unaffected by the inferno he is bathed in, soon to be stained with the blood of the unworthy, sword at his side ready to cleave flesh from bone.
Famine, a thin man on a horse as sickly as he, both with their ribs showing, wearing a raiment that once looked proud and strong. His eyes are sunken in his head, and they dart back and forth. The grass at the feet of the horse withers, and a noise like the creaking of bones seems to radiate from him.
Pestilence. A sagging hazmat suit, a respirator with a cracked visor, rips and tears in the protective clothing. Bony fingers tear through the gloves, and a skeletal face sits behind the cloudy shield. His hands grip the reigns tightly. His breath is banal, like the hiss of a broken pipe. It forms an odd symphony with the creaking of Famine.
And death, a pale man in a black suit like one might see at a funeral, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, clove cigarette hanging from his mouth. Of all, he looks the most normal. Like you might have seen him out once or twice on the way home late at night, or perhaps seen him with one of your long gone relatives, wearing the same empty smile as he always does.
They sit atop a hill overlooking your city. Excpety for the pawing of their mounts' hooves, and the labored breathing and mournful creaking produced by the two sickly riders, they are silent.
Behind them is the clattering of hooves, another participant late to the party. His mount gallops up beside Death. His horse is roan. It produces a sick glow that draws the eye and refuses to release it. The rider looks normal. He is thin, but not sickly; pale, but not ghostly like the rider to his right. He wears the garb of an everyman, blue jeans, converse sneakers, a T-shirt. He is bathed in the glow of his mount. He strokes his horse's mane in swift, sporadic motions. His thumbs look crooked, his fingers look... off. Not like the bone hands of Pestilence, but as though they've been locked into a permanent twist or rotation, awkward, but the man refuses to let them return to their natural setting.
"I am Ignorance," he says quietly, continuing to look at his radiant mount.
"Why are you here? For the same purpose as us?" inquires Death.
Ignorance is silent.
"You are unworthy to ride with us, mortal man!" screeches Pestilence.
Ignorance says nothing.
"You... what makes you think you can ride with us? We've been at every war, every coup, every plague, every conflict or dispute since before the Garden."
"As have I. I have been everywhere," says Ignorance.
"Are you powerful?" asks war.
"I am the most powerful force of destruction known to man," Ignorance replies.
The four return to silence, looking out over the first place they are to ravage.
"I will ride first," Ignorance says.
|
“Hey fella,” Mark said, sideling up beside the skeletal figure seated atop a pale horse. He gently ran his hand down the mane of his mule, whom he had tentatively named Jerry Springer. He wasn’t yet confident that was the ideal title for the brown, four-legged creature, however. “My name’s Mark.”
The skeletal being glanced over at Mark, or rather did as much glancing as was possible for a creature with no eyes. Whatever the case, Mark didn’t exactly feel the look was the most welcoming one he’d received in recent memory. Still, he’d had worse. As the accounting team manager at a major brokerage firm, he was more than accustomed to looks of utter displeasure. In fact, just a few weeks prior, Mark had come face-to-face with a look of “I’m going to murder you to keep this from the shareholders” while explaining to his COO how they were down 75% from Q3 and 137% from Q2. He’d survived that—barely—and thus knew he could survive this. Still, it was admittedly a slightly more unique scenario: he was not presenting an earnings report, but rather standing beside one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, the others off somewhere setting fire to the world.
“You ending the world?” Mark said, adjusting his posture as he sat atop Jerry Springer. He’d never ridden a horse before, let alone a mule, and was struggling quite a bit to find a comfortable position. The way they did it in the movies, though, they always rode seated on a saddle. Mark did his best to imitate that, but Jerry had no saddle, nor reigns, nor anything to make the experience any more enjoyable. He was simply a stock mule, void of everything from power windows to air condition. Mark had simply stumbled upon the animal standing beside a burning farm, his owner presumably dead within, and had no choice in selecting a better model.
“You do not fear me, mortal?” the skeletal figure said, his voice deep and slow. His lower jaw tapped against the bone of his upper while he spoke, teeth a pearl white. He did not seem to have a tongue, nor anything that even resembled that of a living being. In fact, Mark wasn’t even sure how it was possible the creature spoke. He was pretty sure he didn’t have any vocal chords.
“Fear you? No,” Mark said, laughing. “There’s only one thing I fear in this world, and that’s the stockholders. You’re just a guy without any skin.”
“I have come to end you and everything you’ve known.”
“And that includes the stockholders,” Mark said, smiling. Jerry shifted beneath him, causing his legs to slip out slightly. “Whoa, Jerry, whoa.” The mule shifted again, clearly in rejection of the name Mark had bestowed upon him. He’d need to think of a new one.
“No mortal is safe from my wrath,” the man said, his pale horse unmoving in stark contrast to Sir Walter Scott, formerly known as Jerry Springer.
“Great,” Mark said, gently patting Sir Walter Scott’s mane. “Mind if Sir Walter Scott and I join you?” The mule did not struggle, apparently accepting his newly bestowed name.
“You wish to be the fifth horseman?” the skeleton said, still seeming to do his best attempt to glare at Mark. He was failing, however, due to his blatant lack of eyeballs.
“Sure!” Mark said, smiling. He wouldn’t dare pass up an opportunity to take out the stockholders, the people who made his life a living hell. Plus, he’d always found the whole idea of “humanity” to be a bit, well, over-zealous. A fresh start hardly seemed like a bad idea, especially if they could re-do the world without a stock market.
The skeletal being shifted its head slightly, the pale steed turning a bit more toward Mark. “What power do you possess, mortal? I see you fear not the end, but you may not simply ride beside us without extraordinary reason.”
“Well,” Mark began, “I’m great at Excel. I mean, really great. VLookups, forecasting, indexing, whatever. I’ve got it down like you wouldn’t believe. I’m also a CPA and have three degrees from UC Burkley. One is in fine art, but it still helps.” He’d lied about the helpfulness of the fine arts degree—he’d actually found it to be more of a burden than a benefit in recent years. Made him seem overqualified for some of the jobs he attempted to apply for, or so he was told. That left him stuck with the brokerage firm, forever tormented by the inhumanity of the stockmarket. Still, art remained his passion and he had no regrets about his triple major. “I’m also a real people-person.”
“People person?” the skeleton said, the air growing slightly colder as he spoke. “There will be no need for people after we finish our task.”
“Great,” Mark said, “because that’s the skill I dislike the most. I’m really more of an anti-people people person. A gift and a curse, if you will. So what do you say? Could you use an accountant?”
“No,” the skeletal man said, “we have no need for accounting. You will now be purged of life.” He reached his boney hand down, left hand vanishing behind the his horse’s pale, muscular torso.
“Wait,” Mark said, “I’m also great at giving people bad news. Like, demoting people or firing them, you know.” He shrugged his shoulders, staring at the skeleton. He’d had to fire a few people before, more than one simply due to budgeting issues he saw coming a mile away. Completely avoidable terminations had the CEO actually heeded his suggestions about spending limits. Unfortunately, he did not and the stocks plummeted. Layoffs followed and Mark was left cleaning up his once large team, saying goodbye to dear friends he was forced to let go.
“You can set people on fire?” the skeleton said, hand still buried behind the horse as he dug for something unseen.
“Well,” Mark said, shifting slightly. “Yes and no. I can fire them, which emotionally sets them on fire.”
“So you can set humans on fire?”
“Sure,” Mark shrugged, again patting Sir Walter Scott. That was one way to think of it.
“If it brings displeasure and pain, then you may join.”
Mark threw his hands into the air, a smile spreading across his face. “Yay!” He shouted, Sir Walter Scott shifting beneath him. Mark again lost his footing and slid further down the Mule’s back, ending up in a far less comfortable position than he’d began. It didn’t bother him, though, not after he’d just received such wonderful news. He was now the fifth horsemen of the apocalypse. No longer would he be answering to the stockholders, but rather they to him. He couldn’t wait to see their faces as he set them on fire, figuratively speaking.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
| 2015-05-20T07:09:37 | 2015-05-20T07:08:25 | 95 | 28 |
[WP] When children turn 8, they are given the option of manifesting their imaginary friend into reality in exchange for sacrificing their remaining imagination. Your "friend" assumes he's about to be manifested, but you've always secretly wanted to be a writer when you grow up.
|
Neil Holm signed copies of his new book, *The Prisoner*, as fans crowded his table and jostled one another for the best spot to see the author.
"What happens to Ellie, Mr Niel?" a pale-faced teenager asked Neil, his voice trembling only slightly as he came face-to-face with his idol. "Does she escape from Nehom's prison?"
The boy's Manifested Friend, a pale-blue, wispy dragon, swirled around his body and stared unblinkingly at Neil.
"You'll have to read and see," Neil said with a sly wink.
After the fans were gone, Neil began packing up as he whistled to himself.
"*Well, Neil?*"
He cocked his head and smiled slightly.
"*How many times must I tell you, Ellie? I'm not eight years old anymore. The time for that choice is over. Besides, this way, you can endlessly inspire my writing. And look on the bright side. I've never forgotten you.*"
"*I hate you,*" she hissed in his mind. "*Forget me, and let me have peace. Friends who are Unmanifested must be forgotten. It's what is right. It's what you've owed me since you made your choice, Neil. You have to let me go.*"
He laughed quietly. Some young fans walking past, accompanied by their Friends: a leprechaun in an eye-bleeding shade of pink, and a one-eyed creature that towered over his young human. The kids frowned at him. Of course, without their imagination, they couldn't even think why he'd be laughing by himself.
"*Who told you that*?" he asked Ellie. "*I refused to give up my imagination, and that includes my idea of you. I will always remember you. And write about you. Unburdened by an empty, dead imagination. Come, Ellie. Don't you want to find out what happens in the sequel? Who knows. Perhaps I will imagine your escape for you, if you're good. Would you like that?*"
She fell silent, but he knew she would talk again eventually. He was the only company she had, after all.
Neil nodded and smiled to his assistant as she held the car door open for him, outside. Being the most successful horror writer in the world definitely had its perks.
|
"I'm getting dizzy, Ace!" Muddylocks wailed, clinging onto a bar for dear life as I spun the roundabout faster and faster. His usually jet black face had gained an an ashen, pallid quality; his wispy, silver dreadlocks swished through the air. "Okay, stop, stop!"
I pulled hard the roundabout to slow it enough for my friend to jump off. When he did, he collapsed onto the grass, clutching his belly.
"Oh, I'm going to puke," he said.
Laughing, I tried to tug him to his feet. "You'll be fine."
"What's the matter?" Mom was watching me from a nearby bench, next to a tall, golden-haired woman with a single, white wing sprouting from her back. "Are you okay?"
"It's Muddylocks who's not okay," I said. "He's too dizzy."
The winged woman snorted. "Silly child."
Her name was Orilamya, and though I never told Mom, I found her to be scary at times. She had a very blunt way of speaking, and a cruel streak that manifested during her tempers. However, she'd been Mom's friend since Mom's childhood. Even Dad didn't know Mom as well as Orilamya did.
Mom sighed, picking up the book on her lap and putting it back into her handbag. She hadn't opened it since we'd got here. Mom said she liked to read; however, she could never spend more than a few minutes. I didn't understand, but Dad said Mom had trouble seeing beyond the words.
"Shall we go home?" Mom said. "It's getting late."
Muddylocks climbed to his feet and brushed dirt off his scaly body. "Next time, I get to push."
I cocked my head at him. "You can't. Nobody can see you but me."
He punched me on the shoulder. "Don't pretend you've forgotten. Your birthday's tomorrow! You'll be eight, and I'll be born! Aren't you excited?"
With a shrug, I jogged to catch up with Mom, who was talking with Orilamya. Mom had chosen to bring Orilamya to the real world. Muddylocks had been talking about little else for the past week.
"Hey. What's the matter?" he said, bright red eyes staring inquisitively at my face. "Are you worried about it? Don't worry, it's painless! Mom or Orilamya should've told you. All you need to do is—"
"I know what to do," I whispered, so that the adults wouldn't hear. "Muddy, I'm ... I'm not sure about it."
He frowned. "What do you mean? Haven't we always talked about playing together? Going to school together? Mom's even asked the teacher to prepare a seat for me!"
"I know, but ..." I thought about Mom's book. It was unlike the ones I usually read; full of words, with no pictures. Dad sometimes gave Mom my books to read; she found them much more enjoyable than her own.
"I've always thought of writing, you know. I want to write a book Mom can read."
Muddylocks's expression became one of horror. "You ... you can't be saying you don't want me?"
"I want you!" I said. At this point, Mom had turned around, but I ignored her. "But ... I just want to help Mom. I'm sure, if I write a good enough book—"
"You can't help her, you stupid boy!" Muddylocks said, tears in his eyes. "You're just scared! Scared of becoming like her!"
"I'm not!"
"Well, I hate you," he spat. Turning his back on me, he ran.
"Come back, Muddylocks!" I shouted. "Don't go! Please! Come back!"
Mom and Dad did their best to cheer me up, but there was little they or anyone could do. We drove around the neighborhood, with me calling out to my friend, but we never found him.
That night, I went to bed alone; the first time in almost five years. Before I pulled the covers up to my neck, I peeked under my bed one more time, just to see if Muddylocks had returned, but the shadows were empty.
***
"Happy birthday, pal."
I bolted upright in my bed, to see Muddylocks crouched on my table, watching me tiredly. "You came back."
"It's your big day," he said with a small smile. "Big choice to make."
I remained silent for a moment, biting my lip, before saying, "I've already decided."
Anger flashed across his features, but was quickly replaced by resignation. "I know. I can feel it, you know, since I live in your heart and your mind."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He hopped off the table and clasped my shoulders with his hands. "You be good, okay? I want you to work on that book everyday. Make Mom happy."
I nodded, moisture streaming from my eyes. "Thank you for playing with me."
"No. Thank you for being my friend," he said, and folded his arms around me. I couldn't stop myself. Closing my eyes, I hugged him back and cried. A minute later, I felt his gentle, steady weight drift away into nothingness.
The door opened, and Mom poked her head into the room. "You're up." Seeing my face, she hurried inside and knelt before me. "Did you tell him?"
"Yes. Mom, will I ever see him again?"
She smiled and patted me on the head. "Always. He'll always be part of you. Now, go get cleaned up and come down for breakfast. Uncle Horton will be here soon with your cousins."
After she left, I crossed the room to my desk, where I'd neatly stacked some clean, white paper the night before. Scrawled out on the topmost piece were the words, "The Adventures of Ace and Muddylocks in Downside Up World".
"See you soon," I said, as a single teardrop blotted the page.
***
*Thanks for reading. Do check out [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) if you enjoyed this one!*
| 2016-07-06T08:22:42 | 2016-07-06T08:14:18 | 28 | 14 |
[WP] You are the black guy in a group of high school kids in a horror movie visiting a haunted cabin. Knowing you're the first person to die, you're secretly working together with the monsters to break the rule.
|
"Oh you dumb bitch," I thought to myself. "Yeah great, slam your shot glass down on the grave of the mother of some infamous serial killer, who, let me add, has only ceased slaughtering attractive young teens like yourself and myself in that last year. Smart move you Tory Burch-Bitch. Well fuck this."
I was done. These white people have not learned to just let things lie. Just accept that there's a curse and just because seven generations of imperial fuckery bought you an Audi doesn't mean you're untouchable, especially by a seven-foot masked killing machine.
So I made a deal. As soon as I saw that guy leering forebodingly over toward our bonfire--and let's be honest my eyes had to adjust after a few hours staring into the pale faces of my over-privileged comrades--I resolved to help him kill these dicks.
I walked over.
"Pretty pissed at these J Crew Factory model types I guess? Look. I know your brain is mostly bloodlust and maggots at this point but if you've got some strategic maggots in there let me appeal to them for a sec. I'm on the inside here. Those people trust me. So if you want me to lullaby them into a Hootie and the Blowfish state of comatosis, I can definitely oblige if you'll just not slice and dice me. Deal?"
"Deal."
|
"Guys, this is *not* a good idea!" They ignored me of course, just like the last twelve times. I had been trying to convince them for the last twenty minutes that we should not piss on the grave we had randomly stumbled across. I sighed, disappointed at myself. We all knew I was only here because I could drive.
"Like, chill the fuck out, okay? We're just trying to have some fun," Brandy responded. Fucking Brandy.
Todd, still drunk out of his mind, proceeded to let out half a gallon of water on the grave.
"That was sickk. Alright, let's head inside the house," he signaled the rest of us to follow him, walking towards the now vacant so-called haunted house in the middle of the woods. It was made of rotting wood, with broken windows, a creaking door, and literally no sign of any light. Fucking fantastic idea. I shared a look with Ally, the only other person in the group with an inch of common sense.
She nodded, and we both slipped to the pack of group, a silent pack forming between us to try and prevent them from attempting anything too stupid.
We entered the house, and of course, it smelled like blood and rotting flesh. What else could it have possibly smelled like?
"Whoa," said Todd. "Gnarly."
Suddenly, the door slammed shut, and a soft banging sound began to emanate from upstairs.
Brandy and Chloe, the two girls in our five person group, started screaming. *Of course* they would scream. Great fucking idea.
*Hell no,* I thought, and instantly bolted for the door. Ally followed suit. Of course, just as I was about to reach it, I slipped on a banana peel. A fucking banana peel.
"TOM!!!!" Chloe screamed, rushing over to me. "Guys! What is going on! I'm, seriously freaking out. Like i'm not even joking right now!"
"Okay, okay. EVERYONE CALM DOWN!" Brandy yelled. "Lets split up and try to find the source of the noise."
"Good God Brandy," I said, "Are you fucking kidding me? SPLIT up? Brandy, you know I'm black! You know a brotha won't make it outta here if we split up."
Brandy spun on her heels, giving me her best offended look. "Well fuck you, Tom. Just cause you got a 32 on your ACT doesn't mean your smarter than me!"
*Fuck this, I'm out.* I started walking to the door way, but just as I was about to get there, I stepped on a floorboard springtrap and was sent flying backwards. Coincidentally, the killer, who had appeared with a bloody knife, had attempted to throw his knife at Chloe. Of course, I intercepted it. With my body.
I hit the ground, more in shock that a knife was actually in me than surprised. Chloe fell to the ground beside me, dramatically holding the side of my head.
"Oh, Tom!" she cried out, caressing my cheek. "I always knew you loved me," a single tear began to roll down her face.
"Fuck. Off. Chloe. You KNOW I'm gay. You literally walked in on me two weeks ago," I said, completely annoyed right know. I looked at Ally, who shared a disappointed look with me. She was the loyal best friend to Chloe. We both knew she was next if I died.
The killer stepped out, advancing upon me. Ally shined a light on his face, revealing a horrifying blood staine-.
Wait.
"Hey," I said, as I saw the killers face. "You a brotha?"
The killer froze, clearly unsure of what to do. He pulled of his mask, revealing that he was not in fact black, but *brown.* Close enough. He shared a nod with me. He advanced towards Ally instead.
"Yo wait dude," I said, and the killer turned. "Cut them some slack bro, they're decent dudes."
The killer paused, then spoke, his voice an eery echo. "*They have desecrated upon my grave. For that, they shall pay.*"
Brandy screamed again.
"Brandy!" I said, turning to her. "Shut the *fuck* up!"
"What the fuck Tom?" she said, turning to me. "God you're such a fucking asshole. This is why no one likes you!"
I sighed.
"Fuck this," I said, and started to walk out of the house, stumbling along, blood dripping from the wound. Ally followed suit, and soon we were on the main road, walking towards our car.
Just as I opened my door, I was suddenly impaled in the chest by a knife. A clown appeared next to me. The clown smudged off some paint, and I was surprised to see that the clown, was in fact, Chloe.
"If you won't love me, then no one will," Chloe whispered into my ear.
*That didn't even make sense,* was my third to last thought before I died.
*Wait. What happened to the brown dude?* was my second to last though.
*This movie is going to fucking blow,* was my last thought.
***
Attack of the Scary Clown and Desecrated Killer
100% Rotten Tomatoes
10/10 IMDB.
Nominated for: Best supporting actor
***
[r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)!
| 2017-09-15T03:37:53 | 2017-09-14T21:46:19 | 68 | 48 |
[WP] You are the black guy in a group of high school kids in a horror movie visiting a haunted cabin. Knowing you're the first person to die, you're secretly working together with the monsters to break the rule.
|
"Oh you dumb bitch," I thought to myself. "Yeah great, slam your shot glass down on the grave of the mother of some infamous serial killer, who, let me add, has only ceased slaughtering attractive young teens like yourself and myself in that last year. Smart move you Tory Burch-Bitch. Well fuck this."
I was done. These white people have not learned to just let things lie. Just accept that there's a curse and just because seven generations of imperial fuckery bought you an Audi doesn't mean you're untouchable, especially by a seven-foot masked killing machine.
So I made a deal. As soon as I saw that guy leering forebodingly over toward our bonfire--and let's be honest my eyes had to adjust after a few hours staring into the pale faces of my over-privileged comrades--I resolved to help him kill these dicks.
I walked over.
"Pretty pissed at these J Crew Factory model types I guess? Look. I know your brain is mostly bloodlust and maggots at this point but if you've got some strategic maggots in there let me appeal to them for a sec. I'm on the inside here. Those people trust me. So if you want me to lullaby them into a Hootie and the Blowfish state of comatosis, I can definitely oblige if you'll just not slice and dice me. Deal?"
"Deal."
|
"Guys, this is *not* a good idea!" They ignored me of course, just like the last twelve times. I had been trying to convince them for the last twenty minutes that we should not piss on the grave we had randomly stumbled across. I sighed, disappointed at myself. We all knew I was only here because I could drive.
"Like, chill the fuck out, okay? We're just trying to have some fun," Brandy responded. Fucking Brandy.
Todd, still drunk out of his mind, proceeded to let out half a gallon of water on the grave.
"That was sickk. Alright, let's head inside the house," he signaled the rest of us to follow him, walking towards the now vacant so-called haunted house in the middle of the woods. It was made of rotting wood, with broken windows, a creaking door, and literally no sign of any light. Fucking fantastic idea. I shared a look with Ally, the only other person in the group with an inch of common sense.
She nodded, and we both slipped to the pack of group, a silent pack forming between us to try and prevent them from attempting anything too stupid.
We entered the house, and of course, it smelled like blood and rotting flesh. What else could it have possibly smelled like?
"Whoa," said Todd. "Gnarly."
Suddenly, the door slammed shut, and a soft banging sound began to emanate from upstairs.
Brandy and Chloe, the two girls in our five person group, started screaming. *Of course* they would scream. Great fucking idea.
*Hell no,* I thought, and instantly bolted for the door. Ally followed suit. Of course, just as I was about to reach it, I slipped on a banana peel. A fucking banana peel.
"TOM!!!!" Chloe screamed, rushing over to me. "Guys! What is going on! I'm, seriously freaking out. Like i'm not even joking right now!"
"Okay, okay. EVERYONE CALM DOWN!" Brandy yelled. "Lets split up and try to find the source of the noise."
"Good God Brandy," I said, "Are you fucking kidding me? SPLIT up? Brandy, you know I'm black! You know a brotha won't make it outta here if we split up."
Brandy spun on her heels, giving me her best offended look. "Well fuck you, Tom. Just cause you got a 32 on your ACT doesn't mean your smarter than me!"
*Fuck this, I'm out.* I started walking to the door way, but just as I was about to get there, I stepped on a floorboard springtrap and was sent flying backwards. Coincidentally, the killer, who had appeared with a bloody knife, had attempted to throw his knife at Chloe. Of course, I intercepted it. With my body.
I hit the ground, more in shock that a knife was actually in me than surprised. Chloe fell to the ground beside me, dramatically holding the side of my head.
"Oh, Tom!" she cried out, caressing my cheek. "I always knew you loved me," a single tear began to roll down her face.
"Fuck. Off. Chloe. You KNOW I'm gay. You literally walked in on me two weeks ago," I said, completely annoyed right know. I looked at Ally, who shared a disappointed look with me. She was the loyal best friend to Chloe. We both knew she was next if I died.
The killer stepped out, advancing upon me. Ally shined a light on his face, revealing a horrifying blood staine-.
Wait.
"Hey," I said, as I saw the killers face. "You a brotha?"
The killer froze, clearly unsure of what to do. He pulled of his mask, revealing that he was not in fact black, but *brown.* Close enough. He shared a nod with me. He advanced towards Ally instead.
"Yo wait dude," I said, and the killer turned. "Cut them some slack bro, they're decent dudes."
The killer paused, then spoke, his voice an eery echo. "*They have desecrated upon my grave. For that, they shall pay.*"
Brandy screamed again.
"Brandy!" I said, turning to her. "Shut the *fuck* up!"
"What the fuck Tom?" she said, turning to me. "God you're such a fucking asshole. This is why no one likes you!"
I sighed.
"Fuck this," I said, and started to walk out of the house, stumbling along, blood dripping from the wound. Ally followed suit, and soon we were on the main road, walking towards our car.
Just as I opened my door, I was suddenly impaled in the chest by a knife. A clown appeared next to me. The clown smudged off some paint, and I was surprised to see that the clown, was in fact, Chloe.
"If you won't love me, then no one will," Chloe whispered into my ear.
*That didn't even make sense,* was my third to last thought before I died.
*Wait. What happened to the brown dude?* was my second to last though.
*This movie is going to fucking blow,* was my last thought.
***
Attack of the Scary Clown and Desecrated Killer
100% Rotten Tomatoes
10/10 IMDB.
Nominated for: Best supporting actor
***
[r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)!
| 2017-09-15T03:37:53 | 2017-09-14T21:50:44 | 68 | 42 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it.
|
The nervousness is what really gets you at first. Standing in your skivvies being poked and proded one final time by all sorts of PhDs. They’re excited for you, but it’s the excitement of watching a mouse run through a maze. The excittement of a groundbreaking discovery, whether you survive or not. The most relief i’ve ever had was finally stepping into the pod.
No more anxiety, no more chance to turn back. Either it goes terribly wrong or it doesn’t. It took me about an hour to realize they had started the procedure already, and that my outcome was the former. I started to think about all the things i’d miss from life, i’d certainly have plenty of time to think about it.
The spooks circled my tomb with clipboards, writing down little factoids that’d surely be in the papers tomorrow morning. The constant surveillance was a wonderful distraction from my fate. Watching all the curious faces light up at having confirmed a hypothesis or thought of a new application.
When the pod finally opened, I vomitted, and the scribbling struck a pace more furious than I thought possible. The CEO walked right up to my hunched form to shake my hand. The test was a success, my pulse was quiet for an entire twenty-four hours and I was resuscitated without complication. Had I not raised an alarm, next week they would’ve had me in hibernation for several days, and a short while after that maybe a year. The Company’s eventual plan was to send someone forward over five-hundred years! Luckily, no one is stupid enough to test an experimental procedure’s full breadth on a single subject in one uninterrupted stage.
|
Pure silence. A quiet more soundless than the empty page of an armless writer with nothing to say. A defending nothingness, in all directions, from this space here to the end of time.
*THUNDER*
A crack explodes in to existence. Cutting itself in to this world mercilessly. The violence roars in a mounting creshendo. Building somehow, impossibly louder, shaking the chamber. The metal rings, the glasses rumbles, the hardware, tubes, water, ice, all separate infinitely. The ground ripples in waves, vibrating through the walls. I feel no pain, but my mind is pulled so hard in every direction it fills all of the space allowed to it. I hate the sound. It sears though my being like lava boiling me alive.
Click.
I feel it all slow. The savage rush that filled my brain eats at my hope for relief. Every hiding spot illuminated. Every sanctuary demolished. The trail of destruction appears and the sounds trails off. In perfect contrast of the beginning, the end seems to revel in passing through. Like an endless army, slowly marching out of a demolished city. Bootsteps of destruction fading into the horizon.
The panic does not leave me. I left with every cell in my body clutching itself. For comfort? Or are they tying to rip themselves apart. Can it be both? My brain is hyperventalating. I can still hear it, barely, it is faint. Maybe I can still feel the sound. Can't it. How long has it been? Yes I think I can still hear it. Very soft, yes. It is getting quieter, for sure. I wonder when it will end. I try ro picl up the pieces of my mind.How far has it gone. The room seems to be still. Ah, the room. It looks much better still. My chamber too, is more comfortable still. The puzzle of myself slowly comes back together. What an ordeal that was. I feel my brain dust itself off. It wants to look at the devastation.
Only, there is none. The room is clean. The floor solid white, no cracks. No breaks on the walls. Fluorescent white in every inch. Except right in front of me, brown. A Michelangelo alone in a world of blank. A spec of glistening brown... It's a reflection. That's.. That's my eye. Glass?
My brain has seen enough, on to the arms, move this glass. Nothing... What is going on here... The puzzle clicks another piece. I've been here before. I've thought that before. And thste. And this. That wasn't a dream?
"Of course that wasn't a dream!"
"Who was that?"
"Me"
"Who are you? Where are you?"
"Great now he's scared!"
"Hahaha! Good we'll get a show this time!"
"Who are you people!? Why can I hear you!? "
"Hey how can you talk with you mouth closed?"
"Great, now you've done it... "
"WHO ARE Y-"
"YOU"
"You"
"You"
"You idiot"
"We're you honey"
"Welcome back."
"YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! IF YOU HADN'T BEEN SUCH A WASTE OF A LIFE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE CHOSEN THIS!
"Jesus, someone put him back, this was going better than nor-"
"FUCK, IF ITS GOING TO SHIT ITS YOUR FAULT. MAYBE IF HE HAD MORE OF ME BEFORE THIS WE WOULDNT BE HERE! "
"Ignore him, he will mellow out, remember 15?
"Great idea, 15 will bring him aroud, this one could use-"
"Please... I.. I.. I can't.. "
"No, that's why we're here. Welcome home, buttercut."
"47, please start. I have places to be."
"Meet you from 30 years ago."
"Hey, it gets better, I'll show you some cool memories later. "
"That's you from 89 years ago there."
"Hey, sweetie, your doing great."
"I'm about 47, and the big guy there is 3 now."
"Usually we keep the young ones isolated until they aren't as volitile. That last tick must have really shaken things up."
"Yeah you had been meditating for months, almost get a new record!"
"You slipped at the end. You got too close to the quiet."
"It felt so good... "
"Felt good? Was it worth it? Youre not supposed to feel, youre supposed to be empty! Just be!"
"Let it go, you did the same thing.
"That was years ago, I thought he would have, I would have learned. Ahhh Fuck, FUCK FUCK! HOW LONG WAS THAT ONE?
"Probably years"
"499, probably"
"Seconds, maybe"
He joked, he sat in his mind with all of the puppets on his hands. Each one wearing a handful of their own puppets. Every axon and neuron and fiber of his being had created a toy to play with by now. He know every stich, every bolt, every smutty memory or fabrication. So many characters and stories he had long ago lost track of meaning of fables and every happily ever after played a lifetime of monotony that never ended, only began new stories. He wept, he laughed at himself, he fell asleep. Slumber remind him of alarms and he looked at the wall. The second hand of the clock would strike again at any moment. He stopped counting hundreds of years ago, or thousands, or yesterday. But he could enjoy the quiet for now.
The voices had muted and he savored the silence.
Pure silence.
| 2017-12-17T03:26:40 | 2017-12-17T02:36:12 | 1,145 | 11 |
[WP] A team of researchers in a submarine are caught in a huge storm. The submarine submerges until the storm passes. When they resurface, they can’t get a fix on their location or find land. When night falls, there are two moons in the sky and the constellations are completely unfamiliar.
Well this has blown up big time!! Almost on the front page, the stories so far are all amazing! Keep them coming!!
|
Staring up at the two large moons, Seth knew that something had gone horribly wrong. There was no logical, scientific explanation for this.
He was one of the submarine technicians, working under Dr. Porter to help with her study of deep sea organisms in the infamous Bermuda Triangle. A freak storm had sprung up during a critical surface, resulting in a panicked dive beneath the ocean waves to try and escape it. Over an hour of tense muscles from the nine crew members.
Until finally, the sensors indicated the storm had passed. They surfaced, worried about the high amount of fuel they had blown in their flight, only to realize that the GPS and other mapping equipment were dead. Clocks were zeroed out. No cell signal.
Seth put his head in his hands. He refused to voice what he think must have happened; he knew folktales didn't sit well with this group, but...
There was a gasp as the rest of the crew climbed up next to him, black faces looking out across the frozen tundra.
"What...what is this place?" Heath asked, nervously picking at his skin.
"I have no idea," Dr. Porter replied, gazing up at the sky. "I..." She trailed off.
Looking towards the coastline, Seth kicked into survival mode. "I'm not going to act like I know what's going on, but let's just assume we're not in the Bahamas anymore. There seems to be a path to land through the ice over there," he gestured. "We can make camp and try to get a bearing in the morning." He looked to Porter for permission.
She was staring in the direction he pointed, thinking. "Yes, I think that is the best option for now. We shouldn't lose our heads; that's how disaster strikes groups like ours. Seth, Heath, go down and-"
A tapping from the water's surface cut her off. "Uh, hello up there?"
They froze, staring at each other in fear. No one made a sound.
After a pause, the voice spoke again. "Look, there are nine of you up there. I saw this thing pop out of the sea like it was nothing. I'm not hostile."
Taking the lead, Seth carefully looked over the edge, reaching into his pocket for he switchblade.
A lone girl was standing next to the sub, looking over it with a degree of awe. She appeared to be wearing an old-timey cloak and animal furs. In her hand was an intricate dagger, about the length of her forearm.
"Where are we?" Seth asked. The others came over to look.
With a gasp, Heath leaned against the railing. "She-she's standing on the water!" he choked out.
She looked up at the group, brow furrowing. "This is Skyrim."
|
“You sure this is a good idea?” Randall glanced over the rocky terrain, his eyes wide. He finished knotting the anchor rope to the largest rock we could find and I let go of the section I was holding. The tiny submersible bobbed at the sudden release of tension, but the anchor held it fast.
“There’s not enough power in that rinky-dink vessel to get us anywhere else,” Claire said, peeling seaweed off or her boots. Her long blonde hair was soaking wet and sticking to her face and shoulders. “So, land it is.”
I looked over our surroundings, frowning. Rocks, moss, and some strands of washed-up kelp covered the entire area, and were well lit under the full moon. No sand, no shells. We were definitely far from home.
“Wasn’t tonight supposed to be a waning gibbous?” I said, craning my neck up to the sky. A full moon stared back at me, full and majestic. “Looks like a supermoon too.”
“Jack.” Claire said, spinning and surveying the entire night sky. “I think there’s only supposed to be one moon, too. I would remember if another popped up.”
“What are you-” The words died in my mouth as I shifted my view to the other horizon. There was another moon. Two moons.
“Well, looks like we're not in-”
“Randall, you better not say that shit. We weren't in Kansas in the first place.” Claire shifted her feet, trying to find a solid spot to stand amidst the rocks.
“Constellations are off too. I probably couldn't navigate with the ones I'm used to anyway, but we don't have a shot in hell now. This is insane.” I put my hands on my hips, my gaze wandering over the entire tableau.
“What about the ship? You think they survived that shitstorm?” Randall waved out over the open water with one hand, his other hand batting strands of wet brown hair from his face.
“There wasn’t even supposed to be a storm. The forecast was for clear skies all day. You heard the same panicked radio banter I did,” I said, shaking my head. “But, the Sea Daemon was a lot bigger than us. It would take a hell of a storm to put them under. We should at least keep trying radio contact for a few more hours.”
There was a brief moment of silence as we all pondered the implications. Our friends, Claire’s husband, Randall’s puppy, were all aboard the Sea Daemon. They were probably fine, and more worried about us.
Claire nodded. “One of us should man the radio in the submersible while the others scout the area. We’ll need shelter and food-” she paused to look around at the rocks and grimaced- “though both seem unlikely from this vantage point. So, who wants radio duty?”
“Captain, my Captain,” Randall made a mocking bow to Claire. When he straightened, his left forefinger was touching the tip of his nose. He smiled. “Nose goes!”
I laughed and did the same. Claire grumbled.
“You boys are… just boys. Fine. It’s not like the leading scientist on the mission wants to go scout uncharted land or anything.” She carefully wound her way through the rocks towards the bobbing, round vessel. The black water rose to her waist before she reached it and pulled herself aboard. “One of you assholes come get the spare radio! I’m not walking it out there to you!”
I laughed and looked at Randall. His finger was already back to his nose and the same sly smile was in place.
“You’re ridiculous, sir.” I trudged my way out into the water to grab the spare radio. My suit was still holding up, so it wasn’t a big deal. As long as I didn’t snag it on any rocks during our journey I’d be dry all night. The research suits were great for swimming, but not so much for hiking.
Claire pressed the radio firmly in my hand. “Keep our wanna-be third grader safe out there, Jack. Don’t let him do anything stupid. Who knows what’s over those rocks.”
I nodded and winked at her before I turned to head back to shore. Her concern almost made her look motherly for a moment, softening her hardened yet still attractive features. I had to admit she looked pretty good in the moonlight.
After Randall and I were a few hundred feet up the rocky beach, I keyed the radio.
“Clarie, you copy?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Good. Will repeat every hundred meters to maintain range.”
“10-4.”
We made our way further, still having to carefully wind our footsteps around the large jagged rocks. I frowned, taking note of several peculiar ones.
“Hey,” I said. “Have you noticed that most of the rocks with any kind of a point at all are facing towards the water?
Randall stopped walking and looked around. “Well, I’ll be damned. They are. Maybe it’s a weird erosion event, maybe the way the tide here swirls up every day. Who knows what that looks like with two moons.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe.”
A few hundred more meters, and a few more radio check-ins, and we reached the crest of the rocky beach.
“All right, there got to be more to this place than big ass rock-”
The breath caught in both of our throats as a new horizon unfolded, bathed in twin moonlight. Rolling hills, winding rivers, mountains, and vales all spread before us, somehow all visible in a way that nothing should ever be at night.
“Well, that's…” I couldn't process the words to describe it.
“Yeah. Same here.” Randall took in a deep breath. “It might be a very good day for science, Jack. There's no telling what we just stumbled across.”
I nodded dumbly, still staring. My hand reached for the button on the radio, but a sudden croaking noise startled us both.
Just to our right, about fifteen feet away, a creature with slick green skin lay across a rock, gasping and struggling for air. Bits of wretched slime coated its skin, and its eyes were covered in white cataracts. It had basic humanoid features, though the proportions were off in several areas.
“What... Is it… And is it sick?” Randall whispered.
I keyed the radio. “Claire. We need you at the ridgeline. Emergency.”
There was a long pause, then her voice finally floated over the speaker.
“I have my own problems, boys.” I could hear her voice shaking. “You want to maybe hurry back, and bring something to use as a weapon?”
[/r/intotheslushpile](http://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile)
| 2018-01-29T06:47:06 | 2018-01-29T06:19:27 | 150 | 15 |
[WP] Long ago the legendary sword Excalibur was melted down and lost to history. The mythical blade's steel ended up in your butter knife, with all its magical properties intact.
|
EBAY
Steel Forged Knife Set with Celtic Engravings.
Price: €34,99.
4/5 stars
Review by T. Smith:
*Great knife set, cuts smooth and are easy to sharpen. Weirdest thing though, every time I pas by the sink a hand will reach out of the water and hand me one.*
|
Arty slathered margarine over thick Texas toast with his favorite butter knife. He squinted and read the inscription on the knife, which he did every time he used it.
*Take me up* it read on one side and *Cast me away* on the other.
He shook his head. The knife had been passed down for generations but he never got the full story where it came from. Best bet was from somewhere over the pond, where his ancestors originated. More than anything, he thought it was cool.
Arty held the knife up against the sun streaming through the kitchen window. It reflected the sunlight perfectly against smooth stainless steel and slightly melted the remains of the margarine.
He looked down. His cat sat before him, bowing.
“Hey there, Mr. Fluffy.”
Arty licked the margarine off the blade and got down on one knee. He put the knife gently on one of Fluffy’s shoulders. The cat remained in place, only slightly tilting its head towards the edge of the knife.
“By the power vested in me, by all that is true, right and just in this world, I dub thee Sir Fluffykins the Third.”
The cat stood on its hind legs and meowed. Arty had never seen him do that before. Fluffy then ran to the back door and scratched at it.
Arty opened the door and Fluffy bolted.
“Godspeed, Sir Fluffykins. Off for another grand adventure.”
Arty laughed.
“Man, that was some good weed."
Back in the kitchen, he bit into a piece toast. Crap, he had forgotten the bacon. He put a pan full of congealed grease on the stove, set it to high, and grabbed a handful of the bacon from the fridge.
He threw the bacon in the pan. It spluttered and spit a glob of grease onto his forearm.
“Ouch, goddamit.” Reflexively, Arty grabbed the butter knife. The pain disappeared completely. He released the knife, not sure why he had grabbed it in the first place. The pain returned.
“Shit man, I must be trippin'.”
Arty ran cool water over the small grease burn. He washed the knife and put it in his pocket.
Grabbing another slice of toast he strolled into the living room and turned on the TV.
The doorbell rang. It was Barry, his dumbass neighbor.
“Whaddya want, Barry?”
“I see you parked your car in front of my house. Move it.”
“Dude, you serious?”
Barry had that stupid smirk on his face whenever he thought he had one up on Arty. Guy had called the cops on him way too many times over even more petty shit than this.
Arty ran his fingers over the butter knife in his pocket. Barry’s smirk melted away and his eyes began to water.
“The hell, sorry. My eyes are burning.” Barry turned his face away.
Arty fished the knife out of his pocket and held it high.
“Shit, sorry. Something wrong with my eyes. Something... blinding.” Barry ran off the porch and back to his house.
Arty felt a wave of goosebumps run over his skin.
“I really am tripping.”
Back inside, Arty sat the knife on the coffee table.
His cellphone rang. The caller display showed *Buckingham Palace*.
“Hello?”
“Hello, sir. This is Gerald from Buckingham Palace,” a British sounding voice spoke.
“Good one bud. Nice work with the caller id too.”
“Sir. Please. This is an important matter."
“Whatever. I don’t believe you.”
The man began to speak at length, his accent adding weight to the argument.
“Okay, man. If this is a prank, it’s a pretty good one. Whaddya want?”
“Our Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the second, would like a word with you.”
“Sure, put her on.”
“Please hold.”
Royal British music played. The kind you hear in those boring period pieces on TV.
“Hello, dear.”
“Hi there, Queeny.”
“Hmm, yes. I am officially extending an invitation to you and a guest to Buckingham Palace, all expenses paid. Gerald will fill you in with the details.”
Arty wasn’t sure if he should laugh or hang up. Either this was the real deal or the best prank ever.
“Um, okay. Sure.”
“Oh, and dear, this is very important. Please bring the butter knife.”
---
r/SerializedFiction/
| 2018-03-06T11:40:04 | 2018-03-06T10:12:29 | 2,613 | 136 |
[WP] Long ago the legendary sword Excalibur was melted down and lost to history. The mythical blade's steel ended up in your butter knife, with all its magical properties intact.
|
EBAY
Steel Forged Knife Set with Celtic Engravings.
Price: €34,99.
4/5 stars
Review by T. Smith:
*Great knife set, cuts smooth and are easy to sharpen. Weirdest thing though, every time I pas by the sink a hand will reach out of the water and hand me one.*
|
There is a running joke about "how British is your morning?" Usually, the idea encompasses tea with butter on toast, perhaps some morning Stephen Fry in the background. Well, I doubt anyone is going to be able to top "spreading butter on your toast with fucking Excalibur," for a good fucking while.
The morning was like any other British morning.
Alarm.
Snooze.
Alarm.
Brush teeth.
Take a shit.
Shower while singing horrendously.
Proceed to go downstairs and turn on your kettle.
Brandish that lovely new butter knife you bought at the antique store.
I spread the butter across my toast, my legs spread under the table and I was sitting comfortably in my jammies. All was good in the world. (Except for that bloody shit excuse of a thing we like to call weather.)
I loved that sound. Don't you? The crackle of knife on toast, almost like the sound of a crackling fireplace. Like music to my ears. I watched out of the thin white curtain of my kitchen and out to the world and sighed.
Yep, just another English day.
Well. That was until my fucking windows shattered and a team of fucking swat burst into my home.
Maybe I could have said that the scream that I let loose was actually the whistling of the kettle boiling, but I don't think anyone would have bought it.
"What the actual Christ, man. Get the fuck out of my house!" I said jumping up from my seat and running with my back to the kitchen counter.
"Stay away, I have a knife!" I brandished my blade, a butter knife. "Yeah, how do you like me now?" I smiled, cackling, until I realised the ludicrous idea of trying to protect myself from trained special forces in their black ops outfit and assault rifles with a butter knife.
"Yeah - yeah. You wouldn't want to get close to me... I will.. fish you like a gut." I stammered, not even noticing that I ruined the line. I wondered how threatening a man in his jammies wielding a butter knife is in any place?
"Just get the asshole." Said one of the guys as three began to close in on me.
I covered my eyes and lifted the knife up into the air defensively. I don't know how, nor did I question why. But suddenly, a bright light burst from the knife and turned my home suburb home into a lighthouse.
"My bloody eyes!" Complained one. Once I looked back at the troops, all of them rubbing their eyes in an attempt to force some vision back into them.
I saw my chance. With cowardly fear goading me on, I ran past them, finding the balls to grab one of their walkie-talkies from their belts and sprinting with it.
I continued to sprint down the streets, one of my flip-flops already come loose as I ran in my jammies. Unsure of when their vision would return.
Feeling like I covered enough distance -a choice mostly made by the fact that I was an unfit piece of shit and my lungs felt like there were going to collapse - I hid behind a fence and took a peak around the corner to make sure I wasn't being followed.
I listened into the walkie-talkie, seeing if I could catch any information about my invaders.
"Yes. Looks like its true. *It* reappeared." Spoke a static voice from the comms, a man.
"And the target?" The voice on the other line was rather old, a woman's, something familiar to it.
"Escaped."
"You are telling me that a half-brained buffoon is running around with a butter-knife that is presumably Excalibur?"
"Ye - yes."
"He could ruin my entire reign with that piece of cutlery! Catch him!"
"Of course. God save the Queen."
"Yeah, yeah. Now get that utensil that could have him on my throne!" The comms went quiet, and I realised what I had in my hand.
A butter knife which was apparently made from Excalibur, and the old voice on the other end of the comms was Queen Elizabeth II. The only words that came from me were, "Jesus Christ... I'm going to be king!"
***
This was on the rather more fun side compared to my usual stuff but I had a blast writing it!.
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, there is more to be had at /r/KikiWrites
| 2018-03-06T11:40:04 | 2018-03-06T10:17:53 | 2,613 | 17 |
[WP] After coming across an old lamp, you tell the genie inside as your first wish that you wish you had never been born. You have now entered into the superposition of existing and not existing simultaneously- you had to be around to make the wish, after all. You are now Schrodinger's human.
|
You turn into a frog, the Genie laughs and laughs, " There, now you were hatched!" You are unable to wish for anything else because you are a frog, with the brain of a frog. You can't quite put your finger on it, but something is not right. You shrug it off and hop away towards the river.
|
I held the lamp in my hands and stared at it. I was never one to belief in supernatural entities or fairy tales, but if I had to picture what a magic lamp would look like, this would be it.
It's outside was bright and golden. Though the surface looked pristine and new, it had a sheen of wear laced across it. The design was simple; a bulb-like base about the size of a coffee mug with two handles on either side. The handles were small spirals that began thick and ended very in tiny inside of themselves. A funnel came up from the base the ended in a very tiny hole. The weird thing about the lamp was that it was very heavy, but not from the material it was made from. It reminded me of carrying a full propane tank. An empty tank was still decently heavy, but you definitely tell the difference in weight when carrying a fully tank.
I decided to throw my skepticism to the window for a moment and began to rub the lamp. I honestly don't know what I was expecting. Perhaps I still had a glimmer of childhood wonder in me or maybe I was delusional. Either way, there I was; sitting on my ass rubbing a centuries-old lamp. My colleagues would be furious at this desecration of this antique find.
To my surprise, the lamp started to get very warm and began glowing. I immediately dropped the lamp, stood up, and backed a few feet away. The lamp started to pulsate and vibrating. This lasted for maybe 30 seconds until a mist began to pour out from the spout. It spread through the air like smoke, but instead of fading, it grew more intense. The cloud grew to the size of a person. It's hard to verbalize it, but it then coalesced into a being. One second it was an opaque cloud of mist, and the next it was a solid. right in front of me, being.
This being had the appearance of a human, but it was slightly off. It reminded me of the uncanny-valley type androids that some companies produce. His features were just too perfect and beautiful to pass as a regular person. Before I could analyze him further, he spoke.
"Greetings human. I am Ky-Jyn. My task in this universe is to grant the bearer of this lamp three wishes. I can fulfill any desire you have-with a few exceptions."
I wasn't as stunned with this whole situation as one would think. I simply replied back, "What are the exceptions?"
"You cannot wish for more wishes. You cannot wish for more genies nor more lamps. Unlike my previous sentence, each wish can only contain one clause."
I pondered the possibilities. Fame. Fortune. Freedom. Yes, freedom. I enjoy life, but in all honestly, it's rather a bore to me. I don't have any hopes or dreams. No family or commitments. My work brings me some joy, but it's fleeting. Plus, life is such a chore. What's the point of living to simply pay bills and exist?
"Ky-Jyn, I have my first, and only wish."
"Only one wish? Odd. Either way, I am bound by law to grant you three wishes. If you want to null your other two wishes, then simply wish it so."
"Genie, I wish that I was never born."
I'll never forget the face he made. It was combination of shock, surprise, and fear. He paused a moment, looked me dead in the eyes, and nodded.
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Darkness. Light.*
*Alive. Dead.*
*To exist is to be, but what if one never was? Existence without conception is a non-sequitur.*
*I have two memories in my mind.*
*One of a lived lived.*
*One of a life never given.*
*I once existed, but wished for non-existence. However, existence is prerequisite to make such a wish.*
*I am no longer I.*
*I am now all.*
*The body can be taken away and never born, but existence cannot be destroyed.*
*Thus, I am no where, but all is everywhere.*
*I have become the ocean from which the electromagnetic waves existence propagate.*
*A superposition of a particle is a cloud of probability surrounding the center.*
*A superposition of a consciousness is a cloud of probability surrounding the entire universe.*
*I have become all things that can ever be and will ever be.*
*All that will ever be light, I am*
*All that will ever be dark, I am*
| 2018-08-07T11:11:11 | 2018-08-07T08:08:41 | 96 | 48 |
[WP] A noise wakes you. You investigate and see a burglar in your hallway staring at you with a startled look on his face. He falls over dead. Your 4 year old is standing behind him with a bloody knife. She says, in an unearthly voice, "Parent, I have protected the domicile. May I have a cookie?"
|
I know sugar is addictive, but what its done to my son is something definitely beyond this world. He’s just standing there, gazing at me with his puppy dog eyes. Like he’s asking me to be proud of what he’s done and I should reward him for it. However, should I? Seeing as there’s fresh blood dripping from the knife in his hand…
I must have done something wrong raising him.
“I believe I refer to you as father, correct?” He asks while wiping the blood off the knife on the burglar’s clothes. I point my finger ready to say something but the words escape me. Instead my finger waves in my silence.
“Do not worry father, I desire only cookies for my services, and of course I will then return to my bed.”
“Just wait… Where did you get the knife?”
“I keep it under my pillow in case of emergencies. I can not have you dying, seeing as I rely on you to provide me with sugary sustenance.”
I definitely went wrong raising him somewhere.
“Are you even my son?”
“Yes.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Shenanigans.”
“I am most certainly your son.” he says.
Sigh. I can’t believe this. He looks like my son, but he doesn’t act or sound like my son. His voice is so deep and definitely not the voice of a toddler—Who hasn’t hit puberty yet. What the hell is going on?
“If you are my son, what is your birthday?”
“March 8th.”
“Age?”
“4.”
“Hm… Favorite food?”
“Cheese Pizza.”
Damn it, there’s no way! But I can’t prove it. He knows everything about my son. Wait. His mother!
“Where is your mother?”
He drops the knife and stares at me. His eyes got watery and like flood gates being let open, the tears began to pour. He began wiping his eyes and his voice went to normal.
“Momma…” he sniffled, “I want my momma.”
I shouldn’t have brought it up, but it seemed to bring my son back for now. A four-year-old carrying such a burden, the scars of emotional trauma. I walk over and wrap my arms around him.
“It’s okay… it’s okay… Daddy’s got you.”
A few seconds past as my son’s sniffling began to calm down.
“Daddy…” he sniffles, “He says he’s sorry.”
“Who says their sorry?”
“The monster that lives inside of me.”
I push him away, holding my hands on his shoulders. ‘The monster that lives inside of him,’ he said?… Hold on. A monster… lives in my son?
“He said, he’s sorry he couldn’t save momma, but he said… he said that he’ll do everything he can to protect us!”
… Uh.
“Look son, for now… we need to call the police. Because there is a guy behind me, who needs medical attention.”
“Okay.”
“Good, I’ll go grab the phone…” I stand up and begin to walk down the hall before realizing I almost forgot to say, “And don’t touch the knife.”
“Okay.”
Before I could exit the hallway, my son calls me to a halt, “Dad! He said don’t forget the cookie!”
Just great… there’s a sugar hungry monster living in my son.
|
I woke up with a start when I heard the vase fall down on the floor and shatter. For a few moments, I did not know where I was, I was still in last vestiges of my dream, thinking that I was a police officer chasing down vile criminals. Then I heard the crunch of glass and I was fully awake. The adrenalin coursing through me, pushing my senses to their heights. The sound was coming from the hall, and I thought of my little girl who slept in the room down the hall from me. Would the thief use her as a hostage to try and get away?
There was no time to do anything else, I needed to protect her.
I reached for the cell phone that I had laying on the table beside the bed and dialed in the emergency number, The operator picked up on the second ring. I immediately told her what was happening and gave her my house address. She told to stay calm and that a police unit was notified and that they would be at my house in under ten minutes.
I knew that I couldn't wait that long. I thanked the operator and cut the call.
I often kept my cricket bat in the cupboard, it was a habit that had followed me from boarding school. I opened the cupboard without making a sound and removed the bat. I was going to kill the thief if anything had happened to my girl, I realized.
I slowly opened my door and went out into the hall. The sodium vapour lamps on the street cast ominous shadows on the walls. The curtain to the window at the end of the hall was flapping in the wind. I could make out pieces of the broken vase from the light that streamed in from the broken window. My heart got caught in my mouth when I saw that the door to my little girl's room was open. She never had it open. She told me that her friends who came in from under the bed and from the cupboard did not like other people to see her.
I strengthened the grip on the bat and made my way to the door. I took a series of deep breathes and charged into the room, holding the bat above my head, ready to bring it down on the head of the thief if the opportunity provided itself. I burst through the door and running inside and I felt my feet give away as it slipped on something. My fingers let go off the bat and cushioned my head as it hit the hard concrete floor. Whatever I had slipped on was thick and it left an aftertaste on my tongue as I breathed the air in. I stood up, surprised that no one had tried to attack me in my moment of weakness and switched on the light.
What I saw before me was something that I had seen in the most brutal of police procedurals.
There was blood everywhere. On the floor, the sheets, there was arterial spray on the cupboard. It was like I had just walked into a slaughterhouse. Near the bedpost and sitting on the ground and slumped on himself, was the thief. I could see blood sputtering out from him like a leak in a garden hose. A sudden panic took over me, where was my little girl?
I heard the flush sound and the door to the room opened and my little girl walked out, holding a bloodied knife in her hands. Her Wonderwoman tee shirt and pyjamas had changed their color to red. She looked at me, with eyes that seemed to have aged, those weren't the eyes of a 4 year old.
"Parent," She said, her voice not the sweet voice that had always managed to put a smile on my face, it was different and it was foreign. It did not belong to her. But, it was her voice.
"I have protected the domicile. May I have a cookie?" In all my time on Planet Earth never have I heard someone speak Tamil with such clarity and diction. This was how a 50 year old would talk in the 1800's. Not a child. Not a child in 2018. I moved towards her, trying to not step in the pool of blood. I looked at the slumped figure of the thief and noted that the sputtering of blood had finally ceased. I reached my daughter and reached for the knife.
"I cannot hand this weapon to you, parent. We will still need to defend."
Sweat beads started to form on my forehead when I heard her speak.
"This is not something that kids should play with," I said and reached for the knife again.
She stopped me. My little girl stopped me with one hand. She looked at me, into my eyes and said,
"Do not force us to use the weapon on you, Parent." There is something terrifying to hear a 4 year old tell you that she will kill you and mean it. I took a step back and kept my foot in the pool of blood. She cocked her to the side and looked at my leg and then turned her attention to the thief.
"He left us no choice, Parent." Saying so, she walked to her bed, climbed on top and sat staring at me. I could feel the walls close around me. I could swear that the temperature of the room was dropping as well. I felt rooted to the spot I was standing in, I wanted to move, but I legs wouldn't listen, I would later understand that this was fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.
The door banged with such ferocity that the fear which had immobilized me loosened its grip.
"This is the Police," I heard the constable shout. I looked at my daughter, I looked at the corpse of the thief and I looked at the room which was covered in blood. There was no way I could explain this.
The banging on the door began to increase in ferocity.
"Open the gates to the Domicile, Parent." My daughter's voice was still affected by that strange malice which had taken hold of her.
I nodded and made my way out to the front door and opened it. I saw the startled look on the face of the Inspector and the Constable when they looked at my appearance. There I was a middle-aged man, covered in what is undeniably blood.
"What the hell happened," The old constable asked me, I shrugged and I mentioned them to enter and walked into her room, I could hear the second of hesitation in their footsteps but they followed me. I entered the room and stood to the side, the police men both entered the room and gasped. They took in everything. And their eyes finally fell on my daughter. I could see that their brains were still trying to process what was happening.
"Welcome Men who keep the peace." She said in the voice which scared the duo as much as it had scared me.
"You will help my Parent to get rid of this body."
I would have chuckled if it were not for my body being scared stiff. I looked over at the Policemen to see their reaction. The younger Inspector was the first to move, he approached the body and pulled it by his legs and dragged the corpse, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. The older Constable moved slowly and moved to the corpse and stood over it and lifted it by his arms. The two of them slowly moved outside, working in tandem like this was a routine operation.
"There, we are safe now Parent. Do not worry. Now, Please give me that cookie."
___________________________________________________________________________________
More stories are added over at r/Pandafromars.
| 2018-10-31T08:52:34 | 2018-10-31T07:29:41 | 42 | 13 |
[WP] The knight failed to rescue the princess from the dragon. The second knight failed. As did the third, the fourth, their squires, and so on. In desperation, the king posts a reward, and the summons is answered by only one man; a fat plumber in red overalls.
|
"Are you certain this is the brave knight you promised me?" the King inquired to his adviser as he surveyed the squat, rotund, mustachioed creature standing before him.
"He is... unorthodox, I admit," the adviser replied cautiously. "But the greatest knights and warriors of legend have failed us, so perhaps we should not be so quick to dismiss a different approach? His stellar record of successful princess rescues speaks for itself!"
"Very well," the King muttered. "What is your name, brave sir knight?"
"Its'a me!" the strange looking fellow replied without further context.
"Its'a... you?" the King replied with confusion. "And you are?"
"Its'a me! Mario!" he exclaimed excitedly.
"Why is he dressed in these strange blue and red clothes," the King whispered to his adviser.
"Well, by day he is in fact a plumber your majesty," the adviser noted with some embarrassment.
"A plumber? Where *exactly* did you find this 'man'? Is he a man? His proportions are quite bizarre..."
"They are, he must be of another species that we are not aware of. And if I'm being perfectly honest, we knew of him because we hired him to fix the pipes in the royal privy, but he also comes *very* highly recommended," the adviser said as he handed the King a note on a foreign royal stationary.
The King began to read aloud, "I personally attest that Mario is the best in all the realms at the task of rescuing of princesses. Terrible at protecting princesses from kidnapping however. Sincerely, Princess Peach." He sighed, "Very well, if a fellow sovereign speaks so glowingly of his skill then perhaps I must give him a chance."
The adviser nodded, "I concur your majesty."
The King turned to address Mario, "Brave sir... err-- brave sir plumber, my daughter the princess has been stolen from me and--"
"Oh! Mamma mia!" Mario interjected loudly.
"I uh... yes, it is a serious matter and her mother is quite concerned. All the greatest heroes of our realm have failed to bring her home safely, and so I turn to you--"
"Its'a me! Mario!" Mario repeated again before he began sprinting around the room in a circle with his arms outstretched like a plane. "Woo... woohoo... waaaahaaaaa!" he exclaimed as he ran and jumped aimlessly.
"Is he... touched in the head?" the King whispered.
"Quite possibly, sire. He has sustained many grave injuries throughout his career of princess rescuing," the adviser said as he opened a notebook to read off the highlights. "Roasted alive by a 'Bowser', whatever that is... smashed by a thwomp... fallen into countless bottomless pits... he had his vehicle destroyed by a 'blue shell'... he also has a terrible lingering case of tennis elbow from a robust athletic career he somehow finds the time for on the side and--"
The King interrupted, "Fine, fine... how much gold does he demand in payment?"
"That is... another bonus, your highness. He he has amassed a treasure trove of millions of coins over the course of his career, so he demands no monetary payment. He does however seem to have a crippling addiction to magic mushrooms."
"He desires mushrooms as his payment? Are you sure?"
"Almost positive, sire."
"Take off your mushroom hat and set it on the ground," the King commanded his adviser.
He did so and Mario immediately ceased his happy zoomies around the throne room and dove onto the mushroom.
"Wahoo!" he shouted as he devoured the mushroom in seconds. His eyes rolled back in his head as the power coursed through his veins, satiating his craving ever so briefly.
"I do not like this, but I see no other options on the horizon," the King said. "Sir Mario, find my daughter, bring her back to be safely, and keys to the great mushroom vault shall be yours."
"Okey dokey!" Mario exclaimed excitedly. Without even a question he ran out of the room. "Here we goooooo!" echoed through the halls as he exited out into the world on his grand adventure.
"I pray that I have not erred in entrusting my daughters life to a the hands of an out of work, fat, simpleminded plumber with an addictive personality."
"Would you prefer we summon the rude blue hedgehog for another interview?" the adviser asked.
"Oh gods no... the drug addicted plumber will do just fine."
___
Hop down your very own warp pipe over to r/Ryter if you care to explore more stories that originate in my mushroom addled mind. Wahoo!
|
The assembled Moot of the Kingdom of Balgr, all the Lords and Ladies from arid Fuisse to the frozen reaches of the Lindheim Archipelgo , centered around the towering throne of High King Norvryn Earthshaker himself, looked upon the sight before them with perplexed confusion and non-comprehension, as Benji the Muckrake scratched the ample seat of his coarse red trousers and belched loudly. "Ah got dis, yer grace."
The Earthshaker was not convinced. "You 'got'... what, exactly?"
"Yer dahtah. Ah got dis."
"My what?"
"Yer dahtah? Yer kid, yeh? One'a got h'self kidnapped? Ah got dis. Ah'll save 'er."
Norvyrn Earthshaker's closest advisor leaned in to whisper to the king. "Sire, may I suggest granting this... odorously good-intentioned man your favor, and sending him on The Quest?"
"You want I should trust my daughter's life to... THIS?" King Earthshaker gestured disdainfully at Benji, who idly cleaned out his nose as he waited for the conversation to get back to him. He wiped his hands on his trousers, and plucked some detritus from his mustache as one of the Court Ladies fainted at the earthy sight.
The advisor leaned closer, "There is no possible way this... kindly soul will fare better where your knights have failed. The dragon will consume him and we will hear no more of it. Best to get his presence out of this court so we can air the stench from the room and we move on with the day."
King Earthshaker nodded, then beckoned Benji the Muchrake closer. "Benji, Muckrake of Nilsenfel, Son of Benji of Nilsenfel the Greater, I grant you the favor of this court. Fly on swift wings to the lair of the foul beast, and liberate my daughter from his clutches, and the promised reward of an earldom shall be yours."
Benji the Muckrake belched loudly. "Y'got it, sire. I'ma go southy-ways, yeh? Tha was where the fing flew off'a last."
"Yes, yes, the beasts lair lays three days south. So.. go on. Promptly now." King Earthshaker shooed Benji from the court. The earthy round man turned on his heel and ambled out.
The advisor breathed a sigh of relief. "I do hope we can remove the smell of manure from the tapestries."
\----
The woods of Southern Balgr were tick and tangled with roots and vines. Tree canopies blocked the sun, leaving the woodlands in perpetual twilight. Benji huffed at the forest air. Too piney. Needed more musk, more people and stone and animals. Air shouldn't smell this... *clean*.
Halfway up a towering mountain sat a great cave, larger than most houses, maybe even as big as a castle. Benji climbed up the slope, stood at the edge of the cave, took in a change of air. No more piney sharp scents, the air from this cave smelled of burning, of charred meat and rot. Perfect. More like home.
Footsteps came from the back of the cave. A voice echoed from the black depths. "WHO ARE YOU TO ENTER THIS PLACE?!"
Benji rolled his mustache in his fingers. Freed a crumb of bread from his travel rations. "Ah'm Benji. From Nilsenfel."
Silence for a moment. "YOU ARE WHO NOW?"
"Benji."
"I EXPECTED A GRANDER TITLE FROM ONE WHO TRAVELED THIS FAR. IS NILSENFEL NOT A SMALL SCRAP OF HOUSES AND COWS?"
"Y'forgot th' shit. Pig, cow, man. S'everywhere. Cleanin' it keeps food on m'table." Benji shrugged.
Some movement in the darkness, and from the depths strode... a woman. Long hair, blonde but stained with rockdust, tied back neatly in a loose braid. "YOU MEAN MY--" she coughed. "Sorry, I don't mean to yell, you mean my father has sent... a *muckrake* to fetch me?"
"Yeh."
Confusion flickered across the princess's face. "...Why?!"
"Cause yer kidnappah killed all'a th' knights, an nobody else's up fer tryin'." Benji shrugged. "Ah got nuttin' t'lose but pig shit an'a old rake."
The princess rested her hand against her forehead and sighed. "Baelfereghenhaugen. You have to see this."
**"Yes, yes, my dear, I have been awake."** Baelfereghenhaugen the Scourge of Silthaven rustled in the darkness, and his giant amber head peeked out from the shadows, flopping to the ground by the princess. **"I suppose, that this is meant to be taken seriously then, Belynna?"**
Benji nodded. "Yeh. Ah'm here ta kill ya an give'er back to 'er father. He's upped th' reward to an earldom. Dunno what'at is, but it sounds posh. Nice change'a pace to rake a place like that."
**"An earldom is not a place. An earldom is a vincinity."**
"A wut now?"
**"It's..."** Baelfereghenhaugen paused a moment. **"It's like four or five villages all connected under one ruling Earl, who answers only to the King and his Lords."**
Benji's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Ah fug meh, so an earldom's alla, like.. rulin' people? Taxin' 'em outta their fair earnins?"
**"I suppose you could tax them, if you wished. It** ***would*** **be your earldom."** Baelfereghenhaugen shrugged his massive shoulders.
Belynna Earthshaker nodded. "Daddy must be desperate to have me back if he's offering something so substanial. And desperate too, for... people willing to take the deal." she said as she eyeballed Benji's muck-stained trousers. "But I shall tell you as I told the others: I am NOT going back!"
"Ah? Why not? Bein'a princess not as fun's it sound?"
"I should say not!" Belynna huffed. "Daddy only wants me back so he can cast me away to some other kingdom, to forge political alliances by marrying of some foreigner in one of those countries where they eat... I don't even know, pickled fish."
"'Ey now, pickled fish is a fine thing. S'like punching yourself inna nose a'fore y'eat. "
Belynna shrugged. "Be that as it may, I like it here. Baelfereghenhaugen takes good care of me, does not make demands that I sacrifice myself to serve his own agendas. And he CERTAINLY won't marry me off to some man old enough to be my grandfather just so he can get a new forest under his rule." Belynna spat on the floor.
Benji looked around the cave. "Well, Ah gotta say, this ain't what Ah thought'd find. Figgered y'were kidnapped, not a runoff."
"Well I am." Belynna huffed. "And I'm not going back. I'll have Baelfereghenhaugen roast you alive if you try it."
**"I will do it, too."** The great dragon rumbled.
Benji threw his hands in the air. "Eh. Ah dun wanna earldom anyway, if it means taxin' folk. Taxes're the evilest evil inna all th' evils."
Baelfereghenhaugen squinted his eyes thoughtfully for a moment. "**You mentioned earlier you rake shit for a living. Pig, cow, man?"**
"Yeh."
**"Ever considered raking up dragon shit? I can pay you in room and board, and the forest below is fat with game and forage to eat. No humans hunt here, because I eat them when I see them doing it. The whole of it would be yours. Could even build a house there if you wish."**
"Mine is over there by the waterfall." Belynna pointed a short walk away, down the mountainside.
Benji mused for a moment. "Eh. Better'n taxin' folk."
| 2019-06-28T09:25:19 | 2019-06-28T09:11:24 | 175 | 44 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
It was my 18th birthday.
The beach party my friends were so kind to have organized was dying down. The sun was setting, and the moon was high overhead. Small groups of people splashed about in the water, sat on beach towels talking, creating a warm hubbub around me. A small driftwood fire was being constructed nearby.
I stood at the water's edge, sipping a cola, pondering my life, when a volleyball beaned me in the back of the head, spilling my drink. I stumbled forward, catching myself just before I faceplanted into the drink. Turning around, Jon, my best friend, snorted as he approached.
"You dickhead," I mumbled, as he handed me another drink. He reached his hand out, and the errant volleyball flew back into his hand. Being a few months older than me, he knew where he wanted to be the moment he got his hands on the ball. He was always the better athlete.
"Tried summoning anything yet?" He asked, clapping me on the back in apology.
"Nah. I don't really want to know. I feel like it might limit my options," I said, taking a sip.
"What is this stuff?"
He shrugged. "Janine made it. She's been trying to make wine ever since she caught that vintner's hydrometer."
My eyebrows raised. "Anybody who brews anything uses hydrometers."
He laughed. "She'll find her spot eventually. Maybe after giving several people alcohol poisoning, but she will. People always do."
He gave me a look and put a hand on my shoulder. "You need to get started. So try to summon something!"
I looked behind me, at my friends and family, who had finished with their business and had turned to see what Jon was on about. They met my gaze. Mom gave an encouraging gesture.
I shrugged, closed my eyes, put my right arm up, and willed for something to land in it.
For a moment, nothing happened. There was a pregnant pause, as everybody looked confused, then the ground itself rumbled. The waves, until then gently lapping at my feet, grew restless, more violent, as if the sea itself began to stir. I heard gasps behind me and Jon's grip on my shoulder tightened.
"Stop stop STOPSTOPSTOP!" He yelled, panicked. Concerned, I opened my eyes and looked at him, ceasing my will. His eyes were turned upward, alarm, gobsmacked gaze locked on the sky. Had I pulled a plane out of the air or something?
I looked up, expecting to see an airliner or something in a nosedive. My eyes widened.
Nope. The Moon was bigger. Noticeably bigger. Oh dear.
|
Above, the clouds are low, heavy and fat with rain, tumbling their way over the wood and farther away.
A young man with tousled hair and dark eyes makes his way to a graveyard, afraid of what he'll find.
*What was that?*
He's confused, and somewhat afraid. Not of being alone, no, for now that seems the best and only course to figure out what exactly is going on. He's afraid of others, and what happens whenever he attempts to conjure his 'animus'.
Mother's was a cornflower blue blanket, thick and warm, something he could wrap himself in when the snows began to pile up outside their ramshackle hut. A luxury in a place where sheep come rare, and quality linen even more so.
Father's an axe, for biting deep into wood and splitting logs for sale at market. Long, beautiful handle, a strong heft and easy swing. Overhead, chunk, beautiful split.
And his...his wasn't one thing, or any specific thing.
His birthday came and went, and nothing seemed to come. The boy prayed for many things. A sword to distinguish himself as an adventurer, or maybe a lyre to bring music. A whip for cattle, a bucket for milking goats, something, anything of use.
Instead he summoned an axe, a waraxe, single bladed with a thin handle and vicious curve, coated in blood, and to his horror, brain and bone. Dark hair strands sticking to the edge. Dark as his father's hair.
He'd been standing before his father, hoping and waiting, and he'd sat there, telling him to be patient, always to be patient.
*"Big world out there, son. It could be anything. Even a crown,"* the voice of a man who rumbled rather than spoke.
Preposterous, to be sure, but still the boy hoped the hidden hope he was something important and beyond his village life. You could get something arcane, something mystical, a constantly refilling pouch of gold or a wineskin that never truly empties.
Instead the axe. Coated in gore.
When he turned to his mother, it shifted in his hand, turning into several hideous gray globs of something organic that slipped from his hands and onto the floor, and a word he'd never known came to mind.
*Tumors. Tumors. They grow in the belly until there's nothing left.*
So he made his way to the graveyard, afraid of what he'd find.
The gate screams open as he forced the rusted gate to break way.
It smells like rain.
The headstones are carved of wood, though the richer souls seem carved from common stone. Names. Years. Dates of birth, death, and family and kin.
And at the very bottom, their method of death.
He stands before one, worn and weathered by time and wind.
Something Tomkins, it reads. Years of life, and a sentence at the bottom.
*Murderer.*
*Hung by the neck until dead.*
He stands there, summoning his animus through that strained concentration, and holds his right hand before him.
A noose.
A dull sense of not dread, not horror, but confirmation.
*No. Not that. I don't want to be one of them.*
The next headstone.
*A work accident in a lumberyard,* he guesses, the though the words are flowery.
A bloody log appears in his hand, not the full length, but a silenced edge coated in hair and blood. Must have smacked him in the head.
He goes from plot to plot, from grave to grave, each method the same as the other.
Dead. Method of death. Dead.
A bone.
A sword.
A rope. A glass rum bottle. Long copper wire. A meat pie dripping with gravy and butter.
He knows. He knows those that wander from village to village, from kingdom to town to city, proclaiming the ability to recognize one's death, and the evil that follows. You can catch glimpses of them, riding pale horses, the townspeople giving way, afraid of coming too close. Is it his touch that seals the fate? Can the method be prevented?
The boy isn't sure, but he's heard enough stories and tales about men trying to escape their deaths, only to cause them. He hated those stories more than any other. It seemed each doomed individual was himself, trying to outrun...outrun what? Something.
But no. He didn't want to be one of them. Not one of those.
*It's a life of isolation, of fear and constant vigilance. Do you show the method, do you reveal the future, do you walk among the bones and tell the only fortune that comes certain? That there's a clearing at the end of the road, a headstone with your name on it?*
There's a peal of thunder, a rumble in the sky.
Up and away, past the hills and trees, in the direction of his home, an oily black smoke seems to be rising from the sky.
*The axe. The axe coated in the blood and brain of his father.*
That dull panic, and the realization he's far away, maybe an hours walk, though he doesn't know how far he has to run.
So he leaves the graveyard, the iron hinge screaming behind him. *Run,* it screams, *Run all you want boy, it's too late. The wine is spilled, the cats out of the bag. You saw the axe, as did he. You both know what it means.*
And begins to run down the path below.
Frantic. He's panicking, and under his breath he whispers *no, no, no* but doesn't know it. Doesn't want to know it.
A gravemind, a lich, a man in dark robes with blacker prophecy.
On each side of the path, the trees blur by, his steps sticking and flopping through muck, clods of dirt flying in every direction. The boy pumps his arms, the man shifts his feet, the boy takes deep horrible breaths and the man jumps to the worst of conclusions.
*Hold out your hand, reach, and I'll show you how it comes. A cough, a blade, an accident or a slip down an abandoned well. Come and ask. Come and see.*
His chest is on fire, and he runs with the frantic energy of a man certain but uncertain of his fate.
Afraid of what he'll find.
Posted a part 2!
[Part 2 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/d5za1y/pit_and_gallows_part_2/?)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato - for stuff from me
r/redditserials - for stuff from me and others
| 2019-09-18T06:41:03 | 2019-09-18T06:37:36 | 4,689 | 808 |
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white.
|
I watch as Detective Parker places the vial of blood between us. Milky white, like moonlight captured in a jar. His blood is darker than mine, though not by much. I can see it pulsing pastel pink in his veins. Trendy but not edgy. Maybe he sent the wrong person to jail, once, or was a bully when he was a kid.
He sits down across from me. "You're the only suspect I have, Lily. You're the only one who was with your wife when she was poisoned in your home. No one else could've killed her. But your blood... It's as pure as a newborn baby's."
"Some people think babies are angels," I say. "Do you think babies are angels, Detective Parker?"
He shoots me a look before placing a few photographs on the table. "I know you did it, Lily. All the evidence points to you."
It's detectives like him that give me the most trouble. Blood pink enough that they think they can do anything, but not dark enough that they'll be willing to. If he wanted, he could beat a confession out of me. Dig for secrets from my past. Bribe me, even, for the truth. Then I could slay him without remorse.
But Detective Parker truly believes he's trying to stop evil. He'll never darken his blood another shade. He'll also never stop investigating me, not even when I change my identity again and disappear. And because of that, I take pity on him.
"Let me tell you a story, Detective Parker," I say, leaning forward. "Maybe, in a world where your blood darkens when you commit acts of evil, a little girl was almost stabbed to death by a man with ebony blood. She lost her parents. She lost everything. But when she emerged from the hospital, she found that she was able to see the color of blood while it was still inside people's veins."
"No one can do that," Detective Parker says, laughing. "You'd have to be some kind of..." He trails off, looking at the vial of blood. What word is he thinking? Miracle? Angel? Mutant? Devil? It doesn't matter. Everyone has a different word for it.
I turn over a photograph on the table, showing the back of it that's as white as my blood. "Maybe the little girl learned how to tell the difference between good and evil. Maybe she found that those with the darkest blood could hide themselves the most easily. And often the only way to get to them was through deception."
Detective Parker is learning forward now, too. I know he's going through my case file in his head. How long was I married to the victim? Four months, maybe five? Just long enough until I could find a way to kill her?
I turn over another photograph. "My wife's blood was so dark it was black, wasn't it? The darkest your forensic lab had ever seen. Black as night, black as ebony, so black they determined it was a lab error. But maybe it wasn't an error. Maybe she'd done things in her past that no one could ever find your precious evidence for. Maybe she was still doing them and it was impossible to catch her unless you were right up next to her like a shadow. Maybe, when you use evil to destroy evil, it becomes good."
Detective Parker looks down at the pictures I've turned over. I can tell he wants to flip them back over to the right side, to look at the evidence of my crime and not the milky white innocence of it. But then he thinks about the vial of my wife's blood the lab sent over. The one everyone laughed at because it just looked like ink. Of course it was a lab error. Wasn't it?
But at last he shakes his head, flipping over the last photograph. He doesn't agree with my methods, but he won't stop me either. Because even he knows that sometimes when you see evil, you can't rest until you've vanquished it.
"You're free to go."
|
My head was planted in my hands at the defense table. Just as it had been throughout most of this ridiculous, sham of a trial. My lawyers had warned me repeatedly not to show any emotion or reaction, but a few days in I just couldn't help myself.
I was on trial for the murder of my wife. My wife who is *very much alive* by the way. She's visiting her ailing mother on a fairly remote island in the South Pacific. The reason no one has been able to reach her, you may ask? Because *SHE'S ON A REMOTE ISLAND IN THE SOUTH PACIFIC OCEAN!*
I'd talked to her a week ago when she managed to get satellite service for a few rare minutes, but I assure, you she's perfectly fine.
Oh, don't give me that look! I'm well aware that "she’s on a remote island" sounds like a terrible lie. Maybe even as lame as parents telling their kids that their beloved dog went to "live on a farm upstate" when it actually died? But I'm telling the truth!
The truth didn't seem to matter, though. The cops and prosecutors quickly decided my wife had "vanished” and followed absurdly flimsy evidence until we reached the point that I was finally charged with her disappearance and murder.
Examples? Oh, you won't even believe the level of nonsense! They said our house was in disarray, clothes strewn everywhere and whatnot.
*Ya think?* My wife is a messy, last minute packer just like I am! Our untidy home was the sign of rushed panic packing following weeks of procrastination, not a "sign of a struggle" as they claimed.
Not to mention, my wife has done martial arts all her life. The only martial arts I participate in are in fighting video games from the comfort of my couch where my lazy butt prefers to reside! If there ever actually *was* a struggle, I assure you, I'd be the one who "vanished" after taking a swift roundhouse kick to the head.
They also found a few *drops* of her blood in the master bathroom. From this, they once again jumped to *murder,* rather than the obvious, and consistent, conclusion: our penchant for procrastination. She was in a huge rush and cut herself shaving her legs at warp speed the morning of her flight. She had always said the area around the ankles was tricky, and I certainly believe her now.
I do admit, the fact that there was not a record of her booked for a flight on a major airline didn't help when I told investigators she'd left on a trip by plane, but major carriers don't exactly fly to halfway deserted island chains in the middle of the Pacific Ocean!
I've never been comfortable with it, but from what I understand, she always paid for charter fights under the table to get her to the island chain's only airstrip. From there I guess she bribes fishing boats to take her to the tiny, seemingly uninhabited island at the end of the chain, where her nutjob of a mother chose to live "off the grid". Odd? Oh certainly, but again, please blame her conspiracy theorist parent for any resulting bizarre lack of paper trail, not her loving husband.
That's roughly how this whole process went for me. On and on, they cited "evidence" linking me to my wife's disappearance. All the awhile, I felt like I was stuck within a thoroughly absurdist dream, but every time I pinched myself, I failed to wake up. It's like the entire world had taken crazy pills, or stupid pills. Or both.
Prior to my trial, I even volunteered to take a blood test, to show that mine contained no grave, dark, and horrible sin, but every request was refused.
In the decade since the "morality mutation" took root in human blood, its use at trial had been hotly debated, before finally being entirely outlawed. While it was definitively proven that blood now darkened as a human committed acts of "evil", it was decided that even blood that was black as night would not necessarily prove a person's guilt because they could have committed many more minor offenses throughout life, for example. Nor could we gauge how the mutation's "morality" was being graded. One person's sin might be another's fun Friday night with their spouse, partner, or a stranger they picked up at a bar. It was all far too uncomfortable to embrace as a society.
I understand why that discomfort existed. Compelling blood samples from suspects was a slippery slope. But I was *volunteering*, and it seems a rather useful metric to prove my innocence in the particular case of a vicious *murder!* It's almost as if they didn't want to know my blood was as white as the pure driven snow, knowing their case against me would collapse.
Now, as my inevitable guilty verdict neared, I felt I had to take matters into my own hands, quite literally. Without warning, I dramatically stood and addressed the court. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, your honor, assembled media..."
"Sit down, Mr. Sanderson!" the Judge yelled.
"I mean no disrespect, but I cannot be seated, your honor. This miscarriage of justice *compels* me to demonstrate my innocence." With that I shattered the glass of water at my table and slashed into my own wrist. Pure, milky white blood gushed forth, spilling onto the table and the floor below.
"I enter into evidence... my own blood. The blood of the innocent!" I shouted as I grabbed the table to steady myself. Hmm... perhaps I was showing a bit more blood to the court than I'd intended to.
The shocked murmurs from the jury and crowd rang out.
*Oh my god...*
*White blood!*
*Is he really innocent?*
*Can’t be innocent! What about the messy house?! There is NO other explanation for a messy house!*
*But it is pure white...*
For some reason, perhaps related to my rapidly intensifying delirium due to blood loss, at this point I began speaking in a thick southern accent, despite actually hailing from Boston.
"Now, I'm no big city lawyer... Err- I guess I'm not a lawyer at all, that's why I hired these, umm... law people, at my table here. Uh- However, even I know they say that justice is blind, but in this case, I hope that- that my... the color of my blood, like... opened your eyes. Oof, I'm feelin' pretty dizzy y'all."
My aforementioned "big city lawyer" grabbed my arm in an attempt to steady me.
"Anybody got a cloth, or even better a *very* absorbent bandage? Anything? A tampon? Tissue? A damn beach towel?" I slurred. "No? You're all still just staring at me like I'm crazy? Okay, great! Faaaantastic."
The ever-expanding pool of white liquid at my feet was beginning to look like someone had just squeezed a full days’ worth of milk from a large dairy cow onto the floor of the courtroom. Considering it was actually my own damn blood, that was quite alarming. Maybe I should have just cut my palm or something in hindsight?
"I'll just- uh... speed this up, a bit. I'll- conclude the... conclusion, here. I'm the... I'm the not guilty guy, ladies and men! So you... have to say... I'm not.... not bad. I... instead... very- very good."
With that final, stirring and eloquent line, I unceremoniously collapsed into a heap on the floor.
Yeah, so *perhaps* I'd planned this a little poorly, but it was going to be *so* sweet to come back here in a few days after my inevitable hospital stay and see all the chagrined faces of the judge and jury. Boy were they gonna feel silly!
I drifted off with one thought in my slowly failing mind.
*I... win?*
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Thanks for reading! Feel free to check out [r/Ryter](https://www.reddit.com/r/Ryter/) if you'd like to explore many more of my stories.
| 2020-02-09T11:47:05 | 2020-02-09T10:58:31 | 1,064 | 407 |
[WP] You were sent to purgatory after you died. Turns out that purgatory is an extra-tedious facsimile of real life designed to test whether or not the dead are willing to part with their temptations. It’s supposed to be a brief transition. You’ve been secretly helping others transition for years.
|
**TO: PURGATORY RESIDENT #23485473483**
**FROM: CELESTIAL MANAGEMENT**
**SUBJECT: REASSIGNMENT**
Dear Resident,
It is Management policy to review the logs and records of Residents who have spent the longest time in Purgatory every 200 years.
As a rule, these Residents are the ones who have the hardest time letting go of their earthly vices. Their vexations here are adjusted accordingly.
You, however, were not weighed down by your vices.
Instead you channeled them to breathtaking effect. More than 500 former Residents have been approved for Heaven as a direct result of your intervention. The number of former Residents who have been approved as an indirect result of your actions here is estimated to be an order of magnitude higher.
Indeed, it takes a unique blend of stubbornness, self-absorption and self-serving ego to appoint yourself to the task of, as quoted from our logs, "getting everyone in Purgatory to Heaven by giving them the kick in the pants they need to drop their stupid petty obsessions and move on, one soul at a time".
As such, we at Management have decided to make the position you have created for yourself official.
Welcome to the Department of Adversaries. Your company wings will arrive shortly.
Regards,
Management
|
It was hard to see people go, if I was honest. I talk to everyone who comes through, and it’s hard to not get attached when you see someone’s personal secrets laid bare. Sure, when groups of people passed through it might have been a bit harder to connect, but I was known as a helper when I was alive, why wouldn’t I be that way now? What’s so bad about helping people anyway? You don’t necessarily have to like someone to want them to live a happy life. I disagreed with a lot of people I helped pass over, but I still miss them. Especially the younger ones, they always felt a bit more tragic than someone who was older and had lived their life being in Purgatory.
If I was alive I might paint them to help remember them, but nothing exists here, unless it’s for a temptation trial. I honestly like that about Purgatory, you get to take the test over and over again until you pass. I wish school were like that when I went. Instead, I got paddle tested and the teacher grabbed me up so hard she left her nails in my arm. I hear that isn’t legal anymore, so that makes me glad. Times do change for the better here and there.
A noise startled me out of my thoughts as a white door appeared. The door opened and a Reaper stepped out with a man. I waved to them both, but continued to sit. It felt like a sitting mood. The Reaper nodded, as they do sometimes, and stepped back through.
“I’m Ann. It was a car accident, in case you were wondering. I couldn’t tell you when it was, time moves differently here. It feels like a long time ago.” I chittered, taking in the appearance of the man who popped up. He looked like he was in his late twenties, but didn’t take care of himself much. His stained up shirt looked like it should have been retired 10 years ago.
“I...I was home. I dunno what happened.” He looked like he was about to start hyperventilating.
“Hey, take a deep breath. Didn’t your Reaper explain on the way here?” I asked, confused.
“No, the thing was quiet the whole time. So I’m dead?” He looked around and at his body, trying to find a wound.
“Yeah. This is Purgatory.” I confirmed. I was still flabbergasted by his silent Reaper. They were always very friendly and chatty until him. Maybe Reapers could have bad days too. “We have a bit before your temptation pops up if you want to chat for a bit.” I patted the void of space next to me.
“My name is Jeff,” Jeff held out his hand. “I was goin’ to college for computer science before they kicked me out a year ago.” He said sadly. I took his hand but he squeezed so hard, I couldn’t do much else but experience what his idea of a handshake was. I grit my teeth to not cry out or yell at him and pried my hand away.
“Ah, mind if I ask why they kicked you out?” Usually, when someone brought something up in Purgatory it was because they weren’t over it.
“Some stupid whores decided to gang up on me.” Jeff spat. I grimaced, what an appealing character. I was about to ask more details for the sake of killing time before the telltale *zip!* sound of his temptation taking shape interrupted us.
“Oh good.” I smiled and looked for the temptation, it was always a surprise how they would manifest. Sometimes it was just a piece of pie on a plate, sometimes it was a person, and once it was an entire one hundred and twenty acre farm.
“Oh fuck.” Jeff lamented, and my eyes were drawn to where he stood staring at a small girl’s room. I was confused, but as always I stayed back to see how Jeff failed the temptation first. I couldn’t help if I didn’t know how.
The room was well decorated and painted pink, with stuffed bunnies in bunches everywhere you could see. On the dresser, a large wire cage held a fluffy white animal, which I would guess was a rabbit. Jeff stepped inside and the bed shuddered. A small figure curled her blankets inward and shook.
“Heya Sammy,” Jeff slithered, and the hair on my neck stood up. A cold bucket of realization sank down my spine as I understood what his temptation was. I suddenly didn’t want to stick around.
In my panic, I turned and ran. The white void around me stretched further and further and I knew ultimately I wouldn’t be anywhere I wasn’t already, but I ran anyway. I ran until space stretched under my shoes like gum. I ran until I could only see a spec of Jeff and his terrible room in the distance.
I sighed in relief, but my eyes were drawn to another figure. There. There was my door yards away. It was white like everything else here, but I knew it was mine. It had been at least a thousand people since I’ve seen it again, but you know deep in your heart it is meant for you to open. I blinked, and it crept closer.
I looked back at Jeff in the distance. I knew what my temptation was. How could I not, after all this time? But now, my door was here, and I was finally ready. I turned the handle, and thought very strongly: **Fuck Jeff.**
| 2020-08-19T05:34:54 | 2020-08-19T05:08:20 | 54 | 39 |
[WP] You're a lawyer, who died of a heart attack while in court. Turns out legal battles also get you into Valhalla.
|
"You fought valiantly. Many battles you have to your name. Many won, some lost, and yet, you continue the fight." These words were coming from a man much larger than him... well, *seemed* larger. "You learned from your mistakes and enter each with new resolve and cunning." The eye covering and crows were equally intimidating. "And finally, when your strength gave out, you were doing what you loved best: fighting!" Gary Norwick was standing in front of and being judged by Odin, the All-Father. A trial lawyer had just gained entry into Valhalla.
It took every ounce of courage to finally squeak, "I don't understand."
A man... well, probably another god stepped to him and said, "Perhaps I can explain it a bit more calmly. You, Gary Norwick, son of Roger, are currently in Valhalla. You died in your last case... let me see." He pulled a folder out of nowhere and opened it. "Ah yes, *Davidson v Smith*, where your client, Mr. Davidson, was suing Mr. Smith for damage to his lawn and fence."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait, died? I... My heart. I remember the pain. The sweats. I... But then how did I end in Valhalla? I mean, it may be a legal battle but--"
Odin stood and interrupted him. "But it is a battle nonetheless! Stakes are high. I've watched many of them in these last hundred years. They shape the lives of people and countries more than any war ever has! And you do not simply fight raw, you think. You gain counsel. You seek wisdom to make your side victorious! If any god here can appreciate that, it is certainly me. Loki here also seemed quite intrigued, though I'm sure for his own reasons."
The other god nodded and said, "Indeed. And I told Odin that these warriors of paper and mind deserved a place here as well. However, the catch was, they needed to die in battle, which rarely happens."
Gary looked at him with a shock. "Wait, you mean I've been given entry to Valhalla... because of a technicality?"
Loki smiled. "Indeed! I believe you get it now."
Gary smiled in a way that made Loki uncomfortable. "Oh, I'm gonna like it here."
|
"Wait, wait, wait, wait," I started as the man bellowed something at me. I hadn't caught what he'd said, but he was built like he built brick houses and then ate them. He was holding out an impossibly muscled arm to help me off of the freezing ground. "What is going on?!"
"You have joined us!" He said with a smile that was supposed to be welcoming. You earned a glorious death and were burned in the proper ways," he pulled a horn off of his belt as I accepted his hand. "Now you may fight for eternity!" He blew into the horn, and a chorus of cheers echoed over the white around me.
Wait. It was white. It had been black since I'd died.
WAIT. I DIED?!
"Warrior! Eyes up!" the man who'd blown the horn called before unshackling a battleaxe the size of a Honda Civic off of his belt. He took a moment to unshackle a small dagger on his belt and tossed it to me.
I jumped out of the way.
"You're going to need that warrior," the man said with a hearty chuckle. "Trust me."
"Are you God?" I asked.
"Odin's not my father! My Dad's on the other side today!" The man raised his axe and charged into the white. The ground was shaking. Why was the ground shaking?
What was-
The fog faded away for a moment, and all I saw was a mass of writhing bodies, gleaming metal and pouring blood.
"Jesus Christ," I said, taking a step away and leaning down to pick up the dagger I'd been tossed.
"WELCOME, BOY!" came a call from behind me. I started standing straight up to turn around, and the last thing I felt was the axe in the back of my neck.
\---
I snapped my eyes open with the feeling of steel fresh in my neck. I opened my mouth to scream, but I wasn't being attacked anymore. I- it must have been a dream. A horrifying, deadly dream.
That said, this definitely wasn't my suite in Manhattan, and this absolutely wasn't my bed. What had happened during that tri-
There was a brutal pounding at the door, with each pound hitting like a battering ram. I sat up stock straight, and suddenly, I felt the best I'd ever felt in my life. No back pain; my knee wasn't doing that weird thing. Heck, my neck wasn't even stiff.
The door cracked open after a polite amount of pounding, and the massive golem of a man that I'd seen in my dream earlier stepped into the room. That means- Holy shit, that had been real. I died. I'd been killed. Wait- He said I'd died to get to the place where I lost my head, so did that mean I'd died twi-
"Aye, ya made it, man," the behemoth said in a voice that felt like a warm hug when it wasn't used for battle cries, "I recognize that look."
"Utter confusion?" I asked.
"Aye, some people aren't confident that their death was glorious enough to enter these halls. It's quite an adjustment-" the man surveyed my room, stroking his lengthy but immaculately kept beard as he did. "A bit boring, ain't it?"
"What?" I asked as I almost sprang out of bed. When was the last time I'd been this lithe? "I am-"
"Did your family not send your trophies with you?" he asked. "A warrior without his-" he took a deep breath and shook his head, "a sad sight to see."
"My trophies?" I asked. Like middle school soccer?
"Aye, yer trophies are back home if they didn't come to Valhalla with ya," he crossed his arms and looked at the bare walls, "I have a few that I keep in a chest because I ain't got room to hang em, may-"
"Wait," I cut him off once I caught up with what he'd been saying. "Valhalla? That Viking place?"
"Aye," he said, "though you calling us the Vikings makes me think you're an Englishman."
"We're both speaking English," I pointed out, "but I'm Canadian."
"Lad, we're speaking the God's tongue," he said, "and I don't know what a Canadian is, but it sounds better than an Englishman."
"Thanks," I said. Wait a second. We were getting way too into the weeds about this. Was I really in fucking Valhalla? "Am I really in?"
"Aye, ya made it."
"I-" I flopped back down onto the bed and took a deep breath. I had been asked for a Viking burial as a joke, and my brother had promised me he'd do it. How did I die? I remembered the courtroom, the Murder Trial for the Jenkin's Twins, but- "I died?"
"Aye, struck down from behind," the massive man scoffed, "though Brigmar did shout to let you know he was comin'."
"Wh-" Want to know what? I was going to let him talk. I wasn't about to get anywhere with stupid questions.
"Aye, ya died quick in the battle. No man wants to win by surprise, but if you don't turn around, I'm not sure what he was supposed to do-" he stomped over to my bed, looming over me and holding out the same friendly had that had been my first sight upon arriving here. "Now come on, there are lots about people who want to meet you."
"Me?" I asked.
"Of course," he grabbed my arm and yanked me up before I'd had a proper chance to extend it. "Nobody new has arrived in these halls for over 300 years."
"Valhalla?" I asked.
"The realm of the Gods themselves."
I shook my head; This was fucked up, this was so fucked up. I- Maybe it was better than eternal blackness; I was pretty afraid of the dark.
"The name's Thalmor," the goliath said as he pushed open my door, "yours?"
"Malcolm," I answer.
"Malcolm?" he asked like it was a stranger name than Thalmor. "That can work. I'm glad to fight by your side, Malcolm of Valhalla."
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*If you know you know,* /r/jacksonwrites
| 2021-04-28T15:06:49 | 2021-04-28T14:54:01 | 490 | 185 |
[WP]When members or your family turn fifteen they are able to manifest a weapon that they will use for the rest of their lives. You’ve been trained to use all manner of weapons to prepare to be able to wield whatever weapon you summon. On your Summoning day what appears in front of you is a book.
|
I was 5 when I realised that my parents maybe superheroes. With my dad using the war-hammer and my mom using her sword to save our town from invaders.
I was 6 when my parents started tutoring me in the art that is fighting. I began with a bow and arrow, little old me used to go down the range and tried to hit as many bull's-eye as possible because that meant I would get an extra ice-cream and a new story. So I did day after day till I hit the wasp bothering me with the arrow the hit the target dead centre. My parents cheered. Told me they were proud of me. My siblings ruffled my hair telling me I was growing. I didn't know what we were practicing for but I was happy because I got a double scoop and my first personal storybook. To say I was over the moon would be an understatement.
Next was fencing then boxing then nunchucks and so on. I was getting better and better. It wasn't until my 8th birthday that I found out about our family's secret. A secret that answered many questions and raised many, many more. Apparently our family was blessed by Hephaestus (that was fun to say when I was 8, believe me) and Ares (that was easier, there was no way I could fuck up a 4-lettered word....but I did), so when we reached of age, which was 15 (I know!), we could wield the weapon we summon to help humanity. That's it, I was convinced then we were superheroes. I mean, we trained to fight with bad guys, with a weapon that was possibly made by a God, how cool was that.
Some days it was a pain in the ass but hey I liked to learn new things and we just didn't learn the techniques but also the history which was cool. You never know when one may require the melting point of a bronze dagger, right?
Year after year I watched my siblings get one great weapon after another, I was a bit sad when my sister got the bow and arrow, it being my first but my mom said two people could summon same weapon. Only a few years till it's my turn, I thought excitedly.
I couldn't sleep the day before my birthday. I tossed and turned before finally giving up. I reached the living room, where all my family was gathered looking excited.
"What is it, honey?" My mom asked, she could barely contain her excitement.
I looked at her confused. "I thought we got it at, you know, the altar."
"It's not an altar, stupid." Mary, my sister, rolled her eyes.
"Sweety, I told you, you summon it alone." My mother said kindly.
I have never had the urge to kick myself this badly in a long time. I ran back to my room, closed my eyes and started to envisioning my perfect weapon.
*Something which can be used against every single weapon.* I thought.
A warm wind blew through my room. I opened my eyes, waiting to look my ohh so mighty weapon, a spear- a machete- a bow and arrow- a katana...
A book.
I blinked. Closed my eyes again, thinking maybe I had forgotten my book there, so placed it on a shelf. Then closed my eyes and prayed again. When I opened my eyes, the book was once again in front of me. Tears filled my eyes as a knock echoed the silent room.
"Honey?" My dad said softly.
I didn't reply. Why was Heppy and Arey angry with me? Was it because I called them Heppy and Arey?
"Honey," My dad had entered my room, my mom following, his voice filled with concern. "Oh what is it- Oh! Oh god!"
I thought my dad would be disappointed by my dad was actually excited. Apparently so was my mom.
"Don't you see, sweetie," my parent's cried, "you have been blessed by Athena herself."
|
It was a peculiar tome. "Who is Atlas?" I asked, and like the titular hero of the book, my family members shrugged.
Outside birds sang and men and women whistled and hummed as they performed their chores. Oakwood was a quiet village, far from the hustle and bustle of the capital. My father, a blacksmith, had received a hammer for his summoning day. With it, he worked horseshoes, arrowheads, doorknobs, locks, and even the occasional piece of jewelry. My sister got a bow, and she was the finest archer of Oakwood. And even my brother, the slob, had gotten a flute. People came from all over to hear his songs and he'd even had an offer to perform for the nobles in the capital.
"The gods know best," said my father, as he seemed to do whenever I complained of anything at all.
My mother sighed. "At least you got something," she said. "All I got from marrying your father was stretch marks and a faint memory of a time when the world seemed to be mine for the taking." Our living room fell to silence, and she abruptly looked up and noticed we were all staring at her. "And a whole bunch of wonderful children," she added. Sweat trickled down her forehead. "Oh, what would I do without such lovely—"
"Spare us the theatrics," said my brother.
"Yeah. Join a group of traveling performers if you're so keen on putting on a show." My sister aimed her bow at a squirrel. It looked at her through the window and dropped its nut, frozen with fear. She released her grip and the squirrel made a high-pitched sound. Then it realized there had been no danger: she had never loaded it with an arrow. It picked up its nut and ran off.
Breathing a sigh, I said, "I guess I'll just have to read the book. Who knows? Perhaps I'm destined to become a writer."
---
As I made my arrival I immediately blocked my nose with a silken handkerchief. I had forgotten about the stench. These peasants wandered about in their own muck, humming children's melodies and laboring for nothing more than the hope that they could do the same thing all over again the next day.
Our rundown hut was a ghastly sight. If nothing else, it was a fitting reminder of their proper station in life. They lived their days in a constant reminder that the word 'ambition' had not quite made it into the Oakwood dictionary as of yet.
"You're back!" cried my brother, and the bastard went in for a hug. I poked his chest with my cane and he fell with a groan to the floor.
"I wish to speak with my father," I said. "We have a matter of business to discuss."
My sister returned, presumably from a hunt, carrying a dead rabbit by its ears. "Back from the capital, I see. You have the looks of a nobleman."
Looking at her from head to toe, I said, "You have the looks of a cave troll. But not its habit of cleanliness, judging from the odor."
The bastardette flung her hunt at me and I ducked. "Are you looking down on us?" she yelled.
"Said the ants to the bear," I replied.
My brother made an awful noise with his flute. "That's not nice," he said. "That's not nice at all."
"So you're a bear now, that's it?" Scowling, my sister reached for her quiver. "I've taken down three so far this year. Why not a fourth?"
"Children," said my soot-faced father. He stumbled in like a drunken ogre and wiped himself with a cloth that seemed almost to have been dipped in ink. "This is no time to be fighting. Your brother has been gone for a long time, and he has finally returned."
As I cleared my throat, my mother walked in holding a charred loaf of bread. "Everyone," I said. "You are all now my servants. I have acquired Oakwood." I held out the official scroll for all of them to see. "And I'm about to make some changes." Looking up at my father, I continued, "First of all, there will be no more waste of metal making household items. You will make weapons. Swords. Shields. That sort of thing. And the rest of you," I said, looking around the room, "will assist in its production. I will send men over to train you. That will be all."
My sister scoffed. "Who made you the lord of us?"
Again, I held up the scroll.
With a look of peasant-like sadness, my mother dropped her bread to the floor and it made a clang. I shook my head. Hopefully these ants would prove to be decent workers.
---
A plague had wiped out most of Oakwood and I grumbled at the loss of income. Word was that my sister had survived, but I hadn't found the time to verify this rumor. There was, after all, more important business to attend to.
As I leaned back in my leather chair I rang my bell to summon my servant. It was necessary to dull my nerves slightly with wine from time to time. Being the backbone of the capital was hard work. Whatever would they do without me? It would all collapse.
The boy ran late. I made up my mind to fire him. He was the sole provider to his family, and after I'd made sure none others would hire him they'd all starve. And perhaps then would the next one think twice before dozing off.
Finally, the door creaked open. "What took you so long, you slovenly—"
When I looked up, I saw not my servant. It was my sister. "It's been a while, brother." So emaciated she had to lean on the wall for support, she nevertheless had the strength to aim her bow directly at me.
"What are you doing here? How did you get past the guards?"
She laughed. "Surprisingly, they all let me pass. They must've known what I was planning on doing. My guess is they don't like you very much."
Would I have to fire the lot of them? I sighed. "I can't offer you any money, but there's a brothel in the slums looking for—"
An arrow swooshed by my ear. "Heavens!" I cried. "As a manager!" I said. "I was talking about a position as a manager, not a—"
Another arrow flew, this one dangerously close. "You—You almost hit me! You peasant! You wench! Perhaps you're not management material after all. Perhaps you'll do better as a—"
The third arrow licked my cheek. "Will you stop it!?"
My sister gave a smile, though it was not a very pleasant one. "Sure. On one condition."
"And that would be?"
"Apologize."
"For what?"
She took a step closer. "For everything."
Snorting, I threw my hands up. "For trying to improve your lot in life? For trying to give Oakwood a function?"
The silence lingered. Breaking it, my sister said, "So you are not sorry?"
I was sorry that my father couldn't smith a dagger to save his life. I was sorry that my brother would rather play his flute than ship goods. I was sorry that my mother messed up their accounts with her tears. But for making a brave attempt at turning Oakwood into something useful?
I shrugged.
Her fourth arrow seemed to almost crawl through the air as ant following a scent trail. Had I been a bear? Maybe. But the world needed bears. That was why the gods had given me the book. That was why the day of my summoning had been the day I became a man. They gave me the chance to become something more, and I had accepted it.
As the arrow dug its way through my forehead I saw my sister collapse to the floor. That would likely be the end of it, I thought. That would be the end of the summonings.
| 2021-12-12T09:30:41 | 2021-12-12T09:20:19 | 109 | 37 |
[WP] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium. Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you, the great evil,none finish. However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash, looks you in the eyes and says "I have a proposition for you."
|
The hero walked in, and the small hole I made in the ceiling cast a shaft of light onto him, gleaming off his crown. Of course, this was to give heroes a false sense of confidence, but it didn't faze him.
He walked up to me and tossed a gold coin into my pile.
"You have my attention", I told him.
"Hi, I'm a Nigerian Prince, and I'd like you to do me a favour..."
|
Chronis was pleasantly surprised by his new visitors. He was used to being harassed by adventurers, treasure hunters, and evil dragons. And when he was a young dragon he had to contend with dragonnappers – the black market had a high price for small, trainable dragons.
He had shifted into his human form to look at the coin the newcomers had brought him as an offering.
"Curious. A gold coin from the Oirean Second Dynasty. Quite rare. Priceless, really." Chronis noted that it was in good condition, too.
One of the visitors, a male human, unarmored and dressed in dark townsfolk attire, but with a rapier strapped to his waist, stepped forward. "We found it in a treasure trove in a shipwreck not to long ago. It's yours if you help us out."
The other visitor, an elven woman who was dressed in leather armor with a funny hat and a small crossbow, added, "And we might be able to tell you where to find more."
The ancient being sighed. "What is it that you want?"
The male human, who earlier had mentioned his name was Julius, asked him "Surely you've heard of the uprisings against Princess Augusta?"
The dragon could see where this was going. "I've also heard that half the rebels are worse than she is."
The elf, Miriel, replied, "We represent the other half, the ones who want to restore the Oirean Commonwealth, not join the Witch-King of the eastern lands."
Chronis chuckled. "Ahh, the other half that are the puppets of the realm of Ocida." He continued examining the coin. "I would be cautious of trusting that land. It's chancellor will abandon you when you need him the most." He chuckled again. "I have seen their nation rise. And I will, too, see its fall." This coin was quite remarkable.
The human – Julius – shifted nervously. "We are puppets of no one! We are... forging our own... destiny. Surely you have no love for the Princess?"
Chronis frowned. "No, I do not. She's burned entire villages to take their grain for her armies, she's allied with the Emperor of Astria and now his black dragons fill the skies, she's brought in every vile creature in the continent to bolster her armies, she's strip-mined the countryside, and she's brought back the worship of the Ancient Ones. What is it that you need?" He continued eyeing the coin.
Julius continued, "A week ago, our army routed hers from the Old Capital. However, while pursing the routed army, our Marshal Sir Marcus was captured and brought to the New City. She plans to publicly execute him to quash 'rumors' that her army was defeated. We are planning to infiltrate the city and rescue him when he is to be executed. That's where you come in. We need someone to move him out – through the skies."
Chronis snorted. "You could have any common hippogriff or gnomish ornithopter do that."
Julius shook his head. "A common hippogriff would be cut down by Augusta's archers and arquebusiers before he even left the square. And gnomish contraptions are hardly reliable." Julius dug out another coin as he said this.
"And how do you plan on stopping her black dragons. She has several in the New City. I know this well. They are close to encroaching on my territory."
Muriel reached into her satchel and withdrew an orb the size of her hand. It was obsidian, a grey smoke seemed to billow through it. "Not all elven mages are content to hide in their towers while the world burns around them. We have enough of these to keep most of them docile."
Chronis took the second coin from Julius. "When do we leave?"
***
This is the first part. If people like it I'll post the second. The story was actually the result of two WPs that I was inspired to write one story from (the 2nd is no longer on the WP front page so I didn't post it there). I initially intended on posting it on the other thread, so that's why this is written in 3rd person, rather than 1st person.
| 2015-10-14T04:03:21 | 2015-10-14T02:25:00 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I wake to my phone buzzing on the night stand. I look at the clock next to it. The green numbers shine brightly: 3:14 AM.
'What the hell?' I think to myself. 'Why is anyone texting me at 3 in the morning?'
Before I can take a look, it starts buzzing again. And again. It won't stop. I grab the phone and mute it quickly but the notifications continue to pop up silently. "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." They're texts coming from my mother, my friends, my siblings, even some numbers I don't recognize.
An unfamiliar alarm blares on my phone. A new notification pops up on my phone, titled US Government Emergency Alert. It reads "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
'This is weird,' I think to myself, 'What the hell could be wrong with the moon?'
I walk to my window. I carefully open the curtains halfway so the moon is still covered. The sight is incredible.
Almost all of my neighbors are standing outside, phone in hand. They're staring upward in the direction of the moon. They're walking around talking to each other, pointing to the sky.
'I gotta see what the hell is going on.'
I walk outside and jog over next door, carefully keeping my eyes lowered. My neighbour is standing by his door. I'm about to call out to him when he interrupts me.
"Hey! Have you seen the moon tonight?" he asks.
"Listen man, something weird is going on. It's 3 in the morning, why are you outside right now? Why is half the neighbourhood outside?" I reply.
"You haven't looked yet, have you?" he laughs.
"Did you just ignore everything I said? Why are you outside? What's wrong with the moon?"
Without warning, my neighbor rushes up to me and places a hand on each side of my head. He violently turns my head toward the sky. "Just look!"
Oh. OH. I get it now. This is... incredible. It's impossible. There's no way this can be happening. It's... I don't even know. I have to tell someone about this.
I take out my phone and draft a message, addressed to everyone on my contact list. I slowly tap in the words "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
The silk curtains fluttered in the cold November winds, brushing ever so softly on Evelyn's shoulder. With its cool touch, Evelyn slept soundly. A distant owl cooed, the falling leaves danced in the night. As the darkness grew dense and empty, the moon burned bright in the sky. Not a single cloud in the sky, the beige red moon hung high bursting through the black sea. While Evelyn slept, her phone began to buzz, shining bright in her dark room. Vibrating against her nightstand, her phone buzzed and shone, soon the owl had ceased cooing. Evelyn turned over frustrated, freeing herself from her blanket cocoon. The cold air washed over her milky white skin sending goosebumps along her arms and back. Fumbling for her phone in the darkness, she grasped it tight and brought it with her under the cover of her blankets. Warm and cozy, Evelyn wiped the sleep from her eyes, letting out an enormous yawn. The phone began vibrating again, another post, then another, an another. Soon new posts were flooding her home screen. Instagram, facebook, and snapchat, all tagging Evelyn, messaging her. Atop all the social media posts, Evelyn noticed the SMS message from her girlfriend Samantha. In all caps, with no context read a message, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". Evelyn laid there confused, her mind still fuzzy from sleep. She peered her head out from the covers, he alarm clock in the corner of the room read 3:12AM, she had school in only a few hours.
Retreating back under her covers, she sat there confused and angry. Racing thoughts began filling her head, all the other messages were saying how beatiful the full moon looked tonight, how big and bright it was. Yet, through all the messages, Samantha was the only one to tell her not to look. And in all caps, the scared Evelyn, why would Samantha say that. It began to worry her as her phone continued receiving dozens of messages at once. With an eerie sense of being overwhelmed, Evelyn dropped her phone off her bed, landing flat down on her carpet. Breathing a sigh of relief, Evelyn tried resting her eyes and drift back to sleep. While she tried sleeping, a nagging suspicion began building in her stomach. She couldn't shake the weirdness she felt with the messages. Why was everyone messaging her about the moon? why did Samantha say not to look?. While the thoughts continued to race, Evelyn peered out from her covers looking towards the window. Through the darkness was a dull light, a light high in the sky that could only be coming from one place. While the nagging feeling in her gut, Evelyn swallowed her fears and buried herself under the covers. Something didn't seem right, she wouldn't look.
While her mind continued to wander, feint footsteps began creeping up the stairs. Living in an old house had it issues, one of them being creaky floor boards. Evelyn figured it was her mother going to bed for the night, she always stayed up late watching nature documentaries. Unable to sleep, Evelyn once again emerged from her cocoon of blankets and looked towards the door. The hall light switched on, illuminating under door. Who ever it was stood beyond her door. As the door knob turned ever so slightly, Evelyn contemplated being asleep, she felt hot and nervous. With a thin push, the door swung open. Blocking the hall light like an eclipse, her mother stood motionless. Evelyn laid with her blankets pulled up towards her nose. She called out to her mother, asking if she was alright. Unable to see her face through the darkness, her mothers head twisted sharply to the right.
Evelyn's stomach dropped, the room seemed to go completely silent. Her neck made a nauseating cracking sound, Evelyn cried out in disgust. Still, her mother said nothing, she took a faint step forward. Tears were bubbling in Evelyn' eyes as her mother walked towards the bed with her head at a right angle. She stood over her, looking at her sideways. Her mouth groaned open, letting out a foul smell that took Evelyn back. Her mother let out in a raspy, sinister voice to get up. Evelyn rose slowly, without saying anything her mother pointed towards the window. The window where a dull light was burning bright in the sky. Evelyn chocked and sniffled, her mother disfigured and cold stood pointing. Peering through the window, Evelyn noticed her calm neighborhood, a place she was quiet fond of. And through the darkness, shapes began to form. Soon she was able to recognize groups of people huddled around one another, staring up at the sky. The only thing visible in the sky tonight was the large full moon. With its blotchy dark spots and cool whites of orange, Evelyn took it in sharply.
Her eyes burned, her skin went cold. As the consciousness left her body, Evelyn dropped limp to the floor with a crash. Her mother, grabbed her and dragged her outside. Awaking later which felt like an entirety for her, she was transfixed upon the moon. Her eyes peeled wide, her mouth agape. She couldn't stop staring. As the moon burned brightly, the orange hues began pulsating, growing larger. As the crowd of wide eyed, gaped mouth onlookers watched in awe, an arching beam of light shot out from the moon. The crowd reacted with shock and awe. A meteor began burning bright, heading down towards earth. The flaming objected reflected brightly in the onlookers eyes and the cold night swept on. Unable to move or think, they continued to stare. The goosebumps grew larger on Evelyns arms, her lips blue, teeth chattering. Through her fog, a voice pierced through her and everyone in the crowd. Samatha cried out for Evelyn down the block. Like a switch, the crows diverted their attention to Samantha. She stood under a lone street lamp. The crowds heads began turning to the right, an orchestra of cracking, Evelyns neck snapped easily. As Samantha cried out in horror. The meteor crashed in a field yards away, the night lighting up in a fiery orange explosion. The crowd didn't flinch, Samantha turned to run as a thunderous animal roar bellowed from within the crash. The crowd dropped limp to the ground. Evelyn' blank stare fixed on Samantha darting back into the darkness as the ground had a violent tremor as the being grew closer.
| 2022-08-07T14:17:42 | 2018-04-06T18:29:33 | 712 | 43 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
I didn't really know what to think of it. "Don't look at the moon"? Sure, no problem. Going back to sleep now. But then I saw my other notifications...99+? Ok, something is definitely up.
I tried to call my girlfriend, but I notice one of the texts I got was from her. "You really should go look at the moon, its amazing." I flip on the tele to see if there's any coverage on what the hell is going on but it just says its off the air. Flip to another channel, same thing. Ok, I'm starting to freak out about this point. Get my laptop, check out Reddit, everything on r/all is urging people to look at the moon.
I try to call my parents, my sister, my friends, no answer from any of them. I'm sitting on the floor with my knees tucked under my chin, rocking slightly back and forth. There's a part of me that just wants to run outside and stare upwards, give in to the madness. Somehow I repress that urge. Then I notice something strange.
The window. It's twenty til 4 but the light coming in through the window is getting more intense. I watch the pale beams stream in, casting an eerie glow into the room. Moonlight doesn't look like that. Moonlight *can't* look like that. I closed my eyes real tight. I began to cry.
I waited. I sat there on the floor, crying like a child, hiding from the unnatural light under the covers. My blanket was thick, yet the cruel light kept peaking through the threads. I began to hyperventilate. The closeness of my breath under the blanket was hard to bear but I did not dare uncover myself for air. I tried to distract myself with my phone, checked for updates, tried to get a hold of anyone, but to no avail. Still the same messages over and over, tempting me. 'Just a couple of hours and the sun will come up. Then I'll be safe.' I thought to myself.
2 hours later. Dawn had not come.
3 hours later. Dawn had not come.
I risked a small opening of the cover so I could look at the room. Not only had the light intensified, it now seemed to engulf my room in a maddening pale light. Presently I became aware of a constant humming. I listened to try and identify the source, but it was unlike anything I had heard before. Like the whir of some inhuman machinery. My mind began to race. I cried out for someone, *anyone* to come and save me, to end this nightmare. But no one came.
I lay there on my floor, in a state bordering madness for another 5 hours. After the 3rd hour I began to babble to myself. With every hour the whir seemed to get louder and closer, my room was now light up like a movie set. I maneuvered myself under the bed but the vile light had stolen the shadows from even there!
Throughout the day the urge to uncover myself and run laughing and screaming into the streets grew stronger and I had to stop myself from jumping up at regular intervals. The whir was now being accompanied by a constant 'thrumming' which preyed my weakened sanity.
I like to believe that I lasted longer than anyone else, in the end.
I began to beat my head against the floor, in an attempt to shut out the unceasing noise. Eventually I was slamming it so hard I believe I gave myself a concussion.
I couldn't take it anymore. All at once I wriggled out from under the bed in my cocoon, threw the blankets off of me and darted out my door. I ran down the hallway where even *here* the light had spread itself, even in a place *with no windows*. Down the stairs and up to the front door, I nearly tore it off its hinges on my way out.
Well it wasn't a moon.
The eyes are what gave it away.
Though they were right...it really was quite beautiful.
<If you actually read this whole thing, thank you. I don't write these at all but there was something about this one that got my brain flowing.>
|
**3:00 AM**
*bzzz*
I groaned awake as my vibrating phone buzzed on the bedside table. I reached out from under the sheets and looked at the notification. It was a text message.
>OFFICIAL WARNING: Do not look at the moon. THIS IS NOT A DRILL
"What the hell?" I whispered. Who needs a warning at 3 AM to not look at the moon on a new moon night? Astronomers and space geeks probably. I put my phone back and closed my eyes. It's probably a prank or something. Nothing I need to lose sleep about, I got college tomorrow anyway. I dozed off...
**3:13 AM**
*bzzz*
*bzzz*
*bzzbzzbzzzZZZ*
I woke up with a start. This was getting annoying. I reached out to my phone and turned the screen on again. I looked at the lock screen.
>78 New Messages
The phone buzzed again.
>79 New Messages
>83 New Messages
I swiped the screen and scrolled through the messages. I didn't know any of these numbers. I scrolled until I came across a familiar contact.
>JASON L.
My roommate, the stupid one. Why'd he text me when he could've just woken me up? I clicked on the message.
>Come outside! The moon is so beautiful tonight! 🌜😍
I looked at the other messages, they were similar.
What's with this moon thing tonight? I got up and walked to his room. I opened the door.
The windows were open and white moonlight was spilling through the gap in the curtains onto his floor. The room was a mess. The lamp was knocked on the floor. There were books, and papers lying everywhere. A broken mirror lay on the floor. Jason was nowhere to be found. Did someone break in? Did Jason fight him? It certainly looked like a fight had happened. As walked in, my foot pushed something. His phone. I picked it up and scrolled through his messages. He'd received the same warning as me, only a bit later. There were also many messages similar to mine telling him to look outside. I looked at his sent messages. He'd sent the same message to all his contacts and other random numbers.
Fuck this. I wanna know what the whole moon thing is about. I stepped towards the window to take a look when someone pulled me back by the shoulder. "No! Don't look!" a voice said. I fell down on the floor. I looked up and saw my other roommate, Mark. He was holding an umbrella and his face was covered in sweat.
"Ow shit Mark. What was that for?"
"You would've gone too."
"Gone too? What are you talking about?"
"Didn't you get the warnings?"
"The one from the government or someone?"
"Yeah."
"Okay okay. What the actual fuck is going on, Mark?"
"Look at this." Mark said, pulling out a selfie stick from his pocket and extending it. He put his phone in, but kept the back camera on. We walked to the window and he started a video recording. He pushed the stick through the gap in the curtains and moved it around, pointing the stick up and down and across. He pulled it back.
"Look " said Mark, starting the video.
It was unlike anything I could've imagined, the moon was huge. As the camera moved below, there was a group of about thirty people in the distance. They were standing on the street looking into houses. Then the video ended.
"What are they doing?" I asked Jason.
"They're dragging people out to see the moon" Mark said.
"What happens if you look at the moon?"
"You become one of them. It's like some kind of mind control. I guess"
"Is that what happened to Jason?"
"Yes." Mark said. "We have to get out. I'm grabbing your keys. Come on." He got up. "Get an umbrella. You don't want to accidentally look up and see the moon, do you?"
I went to my room and grabbed my umbrella and put on a hoodie. You can't be too careful.
Mark was waiting near the door. We stepped outside and opened our umbrellas. Mark opened the garage. Looking up the street I didn't see anyone coming. Someone screamed in the distance.
"Come on!" Mark said, as he got in the car. I climbed in the driver's seat. Another scream. This one sounded close.
My hands starting to shake, I turned the ignition on. The engine roared to life. My music system began blaring. "Turn that thing off!" Mark said. "Okay okay!" I said, turning the volume all the way down. Then we heard something else.
It was a loud screech of at least fifty people screaming. It was getting closer. "Fuck fuck fuck!" I pushed down on the accelerator and we drove out the garage. In the rear view mirror I saw a massive crowd of people running towards us from behind our house. Another group across the street in front of us, I swerved to avoid them when a rock crashes through the window and hit Mark. "Shit!" he said as shards of glass fell on his lap. The crowd continued chasing us and getting smaller in the mirror until they stopped and turned back. We sighed in relief. "Where do we go?" I asked. "Away from here" Mark said. Nodding, I turned us towards the national highway, speeding faster. There were a few cars on the road. I pushed down on the accelerator, speeding up when a someone jumped in front of our car and we crashed into him. The sound was horrible. We stopped and walked out under Mark's Umbrella. In front of us, an old man lay on the road, he was bleeding, but still breathing. "We gotta help him." Mark said. "What if he's one of them?" I said. "He's dying! He's not gonna attack us." Mark said, putting his umbrella down. He bent down to pick him up when the man's eyes opened. His iris was pale gray. He grabbed Mark and pulled him down and kicked out with his leg, kicking the umbrella away. "Isn't she beautiful tonight!?" The man cried. He rolled over with Mark on the ground. I ran towards them. The man kicked out and tripped me. As I got up I heard Mark scream. It was a terrible sound. I looked to him and saw him, staring at the moon, his iris turning from brown to pale gray.
"She's the most beautiful thing I ever saw." Mark said. I backed towards the car. "Mark, wake up! This is not you" I said, standing near the door. Mark got up. "This is me, the same me I've always been. Won't you look at the moon tonight? It's the most beautiful thing *ever*" Mark said, almost growling the last word. The man joined him, and they both charged towards me.
I got in the car and shut the door as the man charged on my side, banging on the window as I turned on the ignition. Mark charged on the passenger side and tried to force himself into the car. He was screaming and growling. I put my foot down on the accelerator and drove as fast as I could. Mark still held on. I swerved the car and punched him in the face. He lost his grip and fell off as I drove off.
It's been a week since it happened. The next morning I ran low on fuel in a nearby town. The town was empty save for a few people. I drove to a gas pump. A man sat near a pump. "Take whatever you want. It's free." He said. "Did it happen here too? The moon?" I said. "Yes." The man said. "Where did everyone go?" I asked. "The man looked at me "The moon took them away" he whispered. "What?" "Took them all up in a big beam of light right in the woods. Everyone who'd looked at it".
I couldn't say a word. I filled my car and drove back home.
--
This is my first writing prompt response. Any feedback or criticism will be appreciated.
| 2022-12-12T15:52:54 | 2018-04-06T21:48:48 | 191 | 32 |
[WP] When you got married, you told your spouse that you would go to Hell and back for them. As you stand before the gates of Hell, covered in the blood of countless demons, you intend to keep your word.
|
Valerie had always considered vows to be a bit of hogwash; promises were meant to be broken when you least expected it, but as she stood before the single white door that led into what was probably Hell, she re-considered her stance.
Three months before she had essentially traipsed into the first levels of Limbo, armed with nothing but a few badly memorized blood spells and a single demon spine, Valerie had been in tears over her upcoming wedding day with Lauren.
Lauren, whom had said nothing of her true demon form before out of fear that Valerie would immediately exorcise her out of existence and leave forever, had been equally excited to finally tie the knot and live what was supposed to be a normal, happy life with her.
“*I’d go to Hell and back for you, love,*” Valerie had said, not literally but the meaning was there.
“*No, I don’t think you’d want to do that*,” Lauren replied, laughing awkwardly. “*like you really wouldn’t.*”
Unfortunately, that had not been the case, and now Valerie was going to have to fight Satan himself to win Lauren back.
Valerie exhaled and paced across the empty void for a moment as she tried to motivate herself to open the door.
After getting through fields of emptiness, fighting half-dead zombie souls, and a particularly ugly existential realization concerning death and the afterlife, she should have had the mettle to go up to the ugly bastard himself and tear him a new one for Lauren’s sake. She *had* to.
Valerie turned to the door. It almost *gleamed* in a taunting manner.
*You can’t do this,* it almost said. *you’ve never been able to keep your promises, not even to the ones you claim to love.*
In response, Valerie kicked the door open, and was almost blinded by the bright light that flooded her vision. Once she could start making sense of where she was, she felt her blood freeze.
Valerie stood before an auditorium stage. In the crowd were hundreds of snotty sixth graders, all staring up at her with a mix of boredom and expectation for the worst.
It was her sixth-grade spelling bee, the one where she’d thrown up and passed out in sheer fear of spelling spider.
“Val, this is your next word,” Mrs. Gold said, monotone. “spell ‘spider’.”
Valerie tried to speak, hoping to finally correct her error, but her throat was shut. If she spoke, she’d toss up her lunch again.
“Valerie?” Mrs. Gold said. “If you don’t know how to spell it, I’m gonna give the point to Chris.”
Valerie shook her head, but even the simple motion seemed to agitate her again, and she found herself hacking live spiders across the floor.
The sixth graders mean-spirited laughs deepened in pitch until it seemed as though they belonged to a single, diabolically cackling man.
Mrs. Gold’s face was melting off to reveal a burnt, sharp-toothed face that looked down upon Valerie with amusement.
“You’ve finally come to challenge me,” Satan declared, not too impressed. “I’ll have fun coming through the worst of your most shameful memories.”
“And you’ll--,” Valerie coughed upon another spider as she raised the demon spine. “Wish you had a God you could pray to after this.”
|
“Please...”
It was softly spoken, but the word echoed in my head. I've heard the word countless times since entering Hell. Yes, Hell with a capital H. Many people told their wife that they'd go to Hell and back for them. Most say it as a manner of speech. I didn't.
I looked down at the pleading imp. This looked like a malformed sphinx cat, except it was dark red. I grinned and slit the demon's throat.
Above ground, we have access to modern plumbing, chefs to cook whatever meal you want, TV to escape whatever troubles you are having, and of course, the glorious internet. Most wouldn't dream of leaving all of that behind go to down to Hell. However, I made a promise to Sofie, and I was going to keep it.
I licked the imp’s blood off of my gloves. It tasted like heresy and violence mixed together in a corporal form. That meant that I was getting closer to the seventh layer of hell. I was unfortunately still quite awhile away from my destination, the ninth circle of hell, Treachery. Unperturbed, I walked onwards, grabbing the imp’s dead body to take with me. By now, most of the demons have learned to stay clear of me. They knew my mission; they knew that I would kill anyone that got in the way. It made things definitely easier in most regards, but it meant that I had to carry food with me when I found any.
A few hours later, I sat down and dripped some demon blood onto the ground. I took out a flint and started a fire. Demon blood, for some reason, is highly flammable. Useful, but somewhat problematic when trying to cook a demon. I had to very careful none of the flames jumped up and incinerated my dinner. This happened to me more times that I would care to admit. Luckily, imps are a bit easier to cook than larger demons.
Once the imp was sufficiently warmed, I took a bite out of its leg. I shivered as the rendered ichor touched my tongue. Sin was considered to be distasteful up above, but down here, it was better than any Michelin Star restaurant I’ve been to. My delight was made short as my instincts flared.
Long ago, I made a deal with Satan. Despite his home being literally called Treachery, Satan always kept his bargains. Unfortunately for Satan, he granted me superhuman instincts and abilities, unknowing that I would later use these to invade his home. Still holding my imp with my teeth, I rolled to my left as an arrow filled the air I previously occupied. Centaurs. I was closer to the gates of Violence than I thought.
“You do not belong here, Son of John. Your time will eventually come in which you will be judged for your sins. Maybe then you will be sent here, but that time is not now and we do not judge. Leave. Every second you spend here perverts you. No matter what bargains you made, Hell does not take kindly to the living.”
I smiled. I knew exactly what perversions the centaur was alluding to. I could feel the Hellish powers seeping into me, trying to tear me apart. The centaur, however, was wrong. The powers granted to me were powered by this same energy. I’ve never felt stronger that now. The centaur was a quarter of a mile away. Way too far for any mortal to shoot an arrow with any bow. By now, after this long in Hell, I was more than mortal. I threw the arrow at the centaur. The arrow was in its heart before it could react.
I looked around. The centaur had nineteen companions and all of them immediately fired. *Game of Thrones* got one thing right. Twenty good men was ideal fighting force. In Hell, twenty good men could defeat an army. Well mostly right, they were missing the “in Hell” part. Unfortunately for the centaurs, although I was more than a mortal, I was certainly not an army in any sense of the word. Hell’s powers worked quite literally. These centaurs, although they were twenty good men, received no divine intervention against a singular man. I slaughtered the rest as easily as the first.
I moved forward towards the gates of violence. I bit into a leg of a centaur on the way there. I immediately spat out the blood. Unlike imps, centaurs weren’t hellspawn and tasted terrible. No more centaurs opposed me on my journey. They were probably ordered not to. Nothing on this level could stop me. When I reached the Gates, they immediately opened for me, welcoming me in as one of its tenants. The Gates were meant to keep violent people in, not out.
I walked into the Outer Ring. This ring generally only kept cowards that only fought people they knew they could beat. After swiftly ripping apart the first two dozen people that tried to steal my imp, I was left alone. I proceeded onwards.
The Middle Ring was a bit more annoying to get through. People who suicided were sent here to be eaten by harpies. I was a bit worried that this Gate would not let me in, but I guess that willingly venturing into Hell was close enough to suicide for it. There were more than enough safe spots that the harpies would not bother to venture into, but if one lacked the will to survive above, it would be even more difficult to keep the will to live down here. That kind of begs the question as to what exactly happens when one died here. Would they respawn right back where they started, like some kind of video game save point? Did their souls finally dissipate? Or was there a second hell under Treachery filled with people that died in this hell?
I wasn’t planning on finding out. Harpies weren’t used to eating people that fought back. The first one that tried to eat me was visibly confused as I dodged its plunge. I didn’t even bother killing it as I walked along. The next one tried a bit harder to kill me. After I dodged its initial plunge, it arced back towards me. I noted that this harpy actually wasn’t that bad looking. Except for the giant red claws and purple wings, it actually somewhat looked like my wife. Satan’s idea of humor probably. Undeterred by the similarities, I moved aside right before the claws got to me and stabbed it in the back of its neck.
At this point, the harpies realized I was more than just another poor suicidal soul. Most decided to leave me alone. A few grouped up and started to screech at each other, almost definitely forming a plan. I did the smart thing and ran. Despite my new superpowers, I was a little bit concerned about how sharp harpy claws were.
The Inner Ring of Violence was where they kept blasphemers. The Gate seemed to pull me through as I got close. Making a deal with Satan was almost definitely high on the list of blasphemies. None here bothered to disturb me. Although I could move as fast as a god, I was not a god, and therefore, no one here had any qualms with me.
I reached the very center of the ring. I saw a circle of dark mist in the ground. The Gate to Fraud. This was the first time I had to actually go down deeper into Hell. The previous circles were all on the same floor of Hell. When I met with Satan years ago, he met me in the first circle of Hell.
I was a bit concerned about going deeper, but I made a promise to my wife and it was our tenth anniversary next month. I was going to get her the best anniversary gift I could.
Edit: Spelling is hard...
| 2019-08-18T21:19:46 | 2019-08-18T20:27:13 | 95 | 69 |
[WP]Humans are reverse Kryptonians. They are weak on their home planet but strong everywhere else. No one knew this until Earth was attacked and humanity was taken off of earth to be enslaved.
|
Flangmar: “Zlorb, run! Those humans that we captured became stronger on our planet than on theirs! Sort of like a reverse Superman thing! Get out of here fast!”
Zlorb: “Wait a sec. Isn’t that just regular Superman? Isn’t he an alien that got stronger because of being on earth instead of krypton?”
Flangmar: “Yeah, I guess it is?! You’re missing the point though. They’ve broken their chains and are flying over here now!”
Zlorb: “A reverse Superman means they’d get weaker when they get here...”
Flangmar: “Space Jesus Christ, dude. Just kill me now.”
Scene
|
We were best friends the moment we sat side by side in a far too small holding area on foreign spaceship far more advanced than humanly possible, hands tied behind our back by something that could practically be magical.
Nothing quite like adversity to bring people together. And well, being the only two people in this situation.
"Tabitha," she said.
"Nelson," I said.
At least we could still talk, despite being trapped. Could being imperative, since we mostly fell silent as stared outside some sort of porthole, watching as the tiny blue marble we called home grew tinier and tinier, altogether shrinking out of sight, replaced only by darkness.
There weren't so many stars in space.
"Guess aliens are real, eh?" I said.
Tabitha barely shot me a glance, before sighing, turning back to the window, and transitioned into a more wistful exhale.
Well, maybe best friends is more of a mathematical possibility than a literal one.
---
I must have fallen asleep, because I was flying.
Not in an alien spaceship, because I learned that was recently possible. I just had to think it--concentrate the power in my thighs, jump, and imagine that I was weightless, and then my body did the rest. It was exhilarating, of course. Dreamlike, even.
The world looked different, too. I didn't rush through puffy white clouds into the bluest sky, the golden sun winking at me with its beautiful rays. Instead, the air was awash with shades of crimson and red, streaks of purple dragging themselves across my face and wisps of green stuff that I could possibly not have known about.
But I wasn't dreaming. Not when Tabitha was flying beside me, her eyes meeting mine. Along with her wide open grin, they were also smiling, the genuine kind borne from discovering the impossible.
But in the good way, this time.
Then she turned, and zoomed past me, daring me to follow.
---
We sat on a cloud. I guess we were technically flying, but it was effortless. So we very convincingly looked like we were sitting on a cloud.
"I never thought that aliens were real," Tabitha said, shaking her head.
"To them, we are the aliens," I said. "Especially since we float above them in the air, and shoot lasers from our eyes."
"Never thought I would become Superman as well," she said.
I stared at her, then, eyebrow raised. She punched me lightly on the shoulder.
"What?" she protested, but smiled. "There's no copyright here. I can use Superman."
'You definitely can," I said, looking back on the world below us. "You definitely can."
"Now what are you thinking about, Nelson?" Tabitha said. "What's got you unhappy now?"
"What makes you think I'm unhappy?"
"You are the only other human in this whole wide world. I've gotten pretty good at observing you," she said.
I sighed. There was no escaping her question, I suppose. I fiddled with my fingers, struggling to figure out what to say.
"Strength, speed, flying... all that is good. But I never chose to be here," I said.
"You didn't choose to be born on Earth, either. That was decided for us," Tabitha said. "Geography is destiny."
"But what does that mean for people like you and me?" I said. "Was this decided for us, too?"
"Could be," Tabitha said. She now floated in front of me, holding my head, forcing me to look at her instead of down into the endless abyss.
"Maybe you're right. But I was born there. And to me, that means Earth's still home."
"You would give all this up? Your superpowers? To return to a Earth that might not even be there?" Tabitha asked. "We were the only two humans *abducted* here. But for all we know, the entire human population could have been kidnapped that day."
"But we don't know," I said. "And that's killing me."
"This is home now, Nelson," Tabitha said as she let me go. "It is to me."
"We are two different people still," I smiled. "We can have different opinions."
"So," Tabitha said. "You are just going to fly back? You'll become normal once you reach Earth, you know? Maybe once you enter the solar system."
"I know," I said. "I'll need to find a space shuttle, probably. Learn how to operate it. But I have to know. I have to go."
"You are a braver man than I am," Tabitha said. "For choosing to go back."
"And you are a braver woman than I am," I said. "For choosing to stay."
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2021-05-18T07:16:09 | 2021-05-18T05:39:41 | 486 | 185 |
[WP] due to an exciting new ammendment to the constitution, service and restaurant workers are legally allowed to backhand one customer a day.
|
She sat there with her plate half empty. Fry bits scattered the table like toys in a toddler room. Peanut shells littered the floor; she dropped them one by one as she grinned at Lucy from afar.
"That fucking bitch", Lucy mouthed to her self. Lucy watched from the pit as the mess piled up. She told the Hank that all you can eat night was a bad idea but the seats needs butts.
"Excuse me", the woman yelled with her hand flailing in the air. "I'm gonna need another steak, this one is cold. Also, a fresh plate of fries, better make them loaded, and a new drink, this one is flat."
Lucy excused herself while she reached to clear the unwanted plates. "Excuse me, what the do you think you're doing? Did I say I was done with that?"
"I just thought since you ordered fresh food that.."
"Leave the thinkin' to the professionals", the woman said snidly. "If I wanted these plates gone, I would have said so. I understand that you are just a waitress. Let's be honest, it doesn't take a degree in rocket sciece to do this job. You take my order; you get my order; you go back and wait until I need something else. How hard is it really?"
Lucy could feel the blood rushing to her face. She turned and walked toward the kitchen to put in the new order. "Six more minutes", she said aloud.
"What was that you said", hank yelled from the back.
"Six more minutes Hank", she yelled back angrily.
"Lucy, I can't tell you no but five days in a row. You need to keep your cool."
"Hank, I love you like a brother but if you want me to quit keep talking."
Hank walked in the back without saying another word
Two minutes
"OH miss, is my food ready yet? I've been waiting for a very long time."
One more minute.
Lucy grabbed the plates from the kitchen rack.
30 seconds.
She walked ever so carefully to the woman's table, making sure to count every step; to ensure the food doesn't fall by accident.
10 seconds
Lucy rearranged the table to make room for the fresh food.
7:43pm
"You can take these plates away now. Turns out I didn't want them after all. Not with this fresh stuff here. Oh, I need napkins."
Lucy smiled at the woman. She turned away from her and paused for a moment. Her grin was as wide as the Grinche's when he stole Christmas. Lucy brought the back of her right hand to her mouth and brushed her tongue across it.
"Anything else ma'am", Lucy asked.
"Well now that you mention it.."
Before the woman could finish, Lucy spun around, backhanding the woman across the face with rage that had been channeling all evening. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the diner. The woman cried out with shrieks like a banshee before fainting in her booth.
23 hours and 56 minutes.
|
# The Means of Slap Production
“Hey, in here!”
Kate and Celeste piled into the janitorial closet. Why? They didn’t know why. They only knew that if Amy wanted something she mostly got it, and mostly, it was the right idea. That’s how Amy imagined the looks on their faces anyway, trusting, in a bemused, long suffering sort of way. She’d gotten that look a lot in her sixteen years.
“Ladies, I need to run something by you.”
“Can you make it quick?” Celeste said, “I’ve had to pee since my shift started and I—”
There hadn’t been much space between them to start with, crammed in as they all were to a closet. Amy closed the space anyway, till her nose was touching Celeste's chin and her breath was hot on her neck. “You’ll wanna hear this,” Amy said.
Kate, leaning against the wall, a bit of spilled soap seeping unnoticed into her sleeve, said “So spill it.”
“You heard about the new amendment?” Amy said.
“Of course we heard about the new amendment, everyone heard about it! I’m aching to slap the first motherfucker that says *anything,*” Celeste said. She shifted rapidly from foot to foot, her many bracelets jangling anxiously on her thin wrists. “Or maybe you if you don’t fuckin’ get to it quick.”
“Okay, okay!” Amy said, shaking her head. “You people have no appreciation for dramatic tension. So here it is, the amendment says that once a day, service and restaurant workers can backhand any customer they want, right? Right. And you know, I knew that you girls would be spoiling to do it. Hell, I am too; but ladies, it’s time to think *bigger.”*
“Bigger than old man Johnston?” Kate said.
Celeste forced herself to settle, turned towards Kate with as understanding a smile as she could manage under the circumstances. It warmed Amy’s heart— just a bit though, heartwarming could wait for later. “He paw at you again?” Celeste said.
Kate nodded.
Amy cut in. “And see, this is why I had to get to you early! Otherwise, you’d go slapping him and waste your day. Ladies, have I ever steered you wrong?”
“Yes,” Kate said.
“Amy!” Celeste cried.
“We pool our resources!” Amy shouted, deafening in the closet. Everyone would have heard: Amy decided that she didn’t care. She punctuated each word with a slap of the dusty shelves. “*Pool. Our. Resources*. Look, the amendment says we each get one, but it doesn’t say anything about having to spread them out.”
Understanding dawned on Kate’s face. “Oh that old bastard is so gonna get it.”
Amy grabbed her shoulders, shook the faux-understanding away. “No, no, no. Think bigger. Then think bigger than that. Ladies, this business does alright. Some of the clients, those old business men with the wondering eyes, they’ve got pockets. They could tip a hell of a lot better than they are. So what we do, we find the richest one of the day, whoever’s laying down the most cash, has the nicest suit, the youngest trophy wife, and we pool our resources. Each of us, and all the employees here, we save up our backhands for that one guy.”
“Oh,” the other girls said at once.
“Right. And then we slap the shit out of him, and keep slapping till pays up.”
“Holy shit,” Celeste whispered. “Amy, you’re fuckin’ brilliant!”
“Can it work?” Kate asked.
“It’ll work long enough. C’mon, that thing was an *amendment*. Do you have any idea how long it takes to get a constitutional convention together? It’s nuts, I can’t believe they managed it once in our lifetimes. And if we start it, if we make our stand right here, the strategy will spread. Ladies, we might have a movement, right here in our slappin’ hands. A real-ass re-distribution of wealth.”
“Shit,” Celeste said again.
Amy watched Kate, watched her like a hawk. She liked Celeste, sure, but she and Kate went way back. They weren’t just best friends, sometimes words can’t paint the picture. “You sure I can’t slap old Johnston once?”
Amy grabbed her by the cheeks, leaned her forehead against Kate’s forehead. She’d seen Kate’s grandma do this before, it always knocked sense into her. “Katelyn,” Amy said, “sometimes, you gotta think about your future.”
\*\*\*
Night fell on the city; bottles of wine came out. In the old days pearls had glittered in candlelight, expensive watches flashed, caught the eye. Styles had changed.
Amy, ensconced in a back room, watched a bank of monitors as she searched for her prey. She had the eye, they all said. She could spot wealth a mile off, with or without its signifiers. Kate poked her head in through the door, harsh white light cracked into the back room, her command center, and Amy groaned faintly. “Hey, Celeste wanted to know if you had a target yet. She says her slappin’ hand is getting itchy.”
“In due time,” Amy said, fingers steepled in front of her chin.
Kate laughed, walked right up to her. “Don’t you think you’re taking this a *little* far?”
“Tell that to your apartment downtown.”
“Right, right. I gotcha. Just go outside occasionally, alright?”
Amy nodded. Kate gave her that same look she always did, trusting, bemused, long suffering, perhaps a touch more worried than it had been a year prior.
But what a year!
Amy glanced back, a new couple had just walked in: the man was older, wore a featureless gray sweater, the woman was young, scarcely older than them and a bottle blond; she wore leggings and an oversized long-sleeved shirt that said Ohio State. “Them,” Amy said, pointing.
“You sure?”
“Have I ever steered you wrong?”
And Kate, staring at the monitor, that funny expression on her face, finally snorted, walked off towards the painfully bright hallway again. “Just go outside eventually, okay? You’re scarin’ me.”
“Alright,” Amy said, as the door closed.
The couple sat down. Wine was poured, Celeste was the server. The sharks circled. The radio crackled, another restaurant asking for its mark. Amy glanced to another monitor, picked a target, then did it a half dozen more times.
She’d heard they were trying to organize a convention, call a vote of the congress; but that, as always, took time. Amy sipped the same red wine the couple sipped, a very fine French vintage, and watched as the show unfolded. Sometimes, she thought, the government really did get it right.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-10-05T23:30:31 | 2021-10-05T20:39:03 | 498 | 218 |
[WP] During an interstellar war, the human race discovers the Aliens they're fighting have a devastating weakness: they're delicious
|
Two decades into this war, and we've finally found the way to turn the tide. The critical moment came two months ago. Three of our Marines were bunkered down on Helion-89, in a cave beneath the swirling sands of that planet. They were the only survivors from a surprise assault. We lost thirty-two soldiers--after they killed every Gruel present. All three of them. The Marines' communication equipment was destroyed in the skirmish. We thought they were dead, and so they were stranded. They ate the last of their rations, and still no rescue team came. So they were presented with a terrible option: eat their dead friends or eat the dead Gruel. They choose the Gruel.
When a ship arrived to retrieve the bodies of our dead, as is our custom, they found the three Marines. They were in good health. In fact, they were stronger than when they had arrived on Helion-89. They told our medics how they survived. They said the flesh of Gruel tasted like steak fried in butter, that it had a taste to make a glutton swoon. What's more, they said it filled them with strength. One Marine had broken his arm in the fighting, and while he slept on the night after they feasted on the dead aliens, his arm healed.
Their story traveled quickly through our ranks. And then Command gave the word: we were to eat Gruel flesh whenever the opportunity arose. Our analysts knew little about the Gruel, except that they worshiped their dead. On the few planets we had taken from the Gruel, we had found little of their culture. Except tombs. Monstrous graves with statues depicting their fallen comrades. The analysts hypothesized that if we could find a way to shame their species, to disrespect their fallen, that they may lose heart in the fight.
And so our propaganda campaign begins. And so our feasting begins. Never have our flamethrowers been more useful.
|
First they hit Pluto, at speed. It was as though they had translated the mechanized charges of WWII into space. Five hundred vessels formed a cylinder three thousand miles in diameter and flew right at Pluto. They were the needle and poor old Pluto was the thread. The fleet flew such that Pluto went through the center of the cylinder and all manner of hell broke loose. Lasers, kinetic weaponry, missiles, even some kind of directed EM weapon we'd never even thought of. After their pass the solar system had traded a dwarf planet for a new asteroid field and humanity had lost several million lives.
After their charge at Pluto they moved on Neptune and its mining facilities. Our great barges had been harvesting Neptune's hydrogen for decades. All but one were obliterated in a matter of seconds and replaced with hundreds of alien craft doing much the same. The sole surviving crew found themselves surrounded by hundreds of alien vessels. They told the rest of humanity about the craft. The sleek hulls that shifted from a nearly invisible darkness to vibrant hues and reflective metallics. The evident weapon ports, some were spinal mounted, others were turrets and still others were mounted on the sides of the vessels and not unlike the cannons from the age of sail.
The aliens spent days orbiting the barge at Neptune. When the commander of the barge had relayed everything he and his crew could think to share, they grew bored. They attempted to head for Uranus where humanity was marshaling a fleet. Their barge began to accelerate, orbiting the planet and changing its vector for a gravity assist exit of Neptune's well. The aliens kept pace for several orbits, then fired upon the defenseless barge. They didn't shoot to kill, that much was evident, but they definitely crippled the barge. It's main engines were obliterated, ripped from the hull like one might tear a spider's leg from its body.
Limping and injured the barge stabilized its orbit and broadcast for help. The militaries of the system were deeply interested in the weapon fired upon the barge and demanded to be told everything that could be discerned. Before their demands ever reached the barge, its inhabitants found themselves under attack by a boarding party. The aliens had mated one of their smaller vessels to one of the air locks revealed by the destruction of the drives. Dozens of aliens poured into the barge, but appeared to be without suits or armor. The barge commander vented most of the barge's air to space and killed the intruders with raw vacuum.
Days passed and the barge's crew slowly chewed through what rations they had. Like most mining barges it was designed with regular resupply in mind and carried only a few days of extra supplies. Oxygen, other gases and even water were never much of a concern given the barge's vocation, but food was growing scarce.
On the fourteenth day the barge commander informed the solar system that they had run out of food and would surely be dead soon. He grovelled and begged for rescue. It was a sad sight for all, broadcast on the public channels in the hope that public support would sway the military.
It was decided that someone would have to try the aliens. They were still 'fresh', flash frozen by the commander when he vented the atmosphere. Twenty straws were gathered, one was cut short and each man and woman drew. Ship's Engineer, Lawrence T. Fletcher was the unlucky soul. A suit was thrust at him and he was handed a knife. Twenty minutes later and he had cut a piece from one of the dead invaders and wrapped it delicately in foil. A sub-compartment was pressurized and he found himself alone, the knife in one hand and a chunk of alien in the other. The crew was watching; taking bets, would he die immediately? Or would it be slow and agonizing? Truly macabre really, after all if he didn't survive, neither would they...
None of those bets paid out. No one had even imagined that the alien would taste good. Fletcher described the taste as a cross between filet mignon and lamb while the texture was more that of raw salmon. Upon hearing the news it was as if everyone's mouth had instantly salivated. The commander had to threaten to space anyone who tried to butcher more aliens just to get his crew to wait the requisite two days to see if the alien meat killed Fletcher or not. After that, well, you couldn't find so much as a sharp piece of scrap metal that wasn't being used to butcher one alien or another.
The ship's mining lead had the bright idea to look up some basic butchering and cut the alien in all kinds of special ways. He made sirloin from the... well, is it really sirloin if we don't know which ends the butt? The commander had told everyone that the person who prepped it, owned it. It would be marked and put in the freezer. Five hundred kilos of meat came from those aliens. The commander told the system that the barge wouldn't starve for another couple of months. When asked why, he put Fletcher in front of the camera and that idiot promptly told everyone that the aliens were the tastiest thing he'd ever had!
The military came for the barge a month later. Seven hundred ships darted across the void and brought hell down upon the aliens. Apparently our weapons out ranged their's, as they didn't begin to fire back until we'd obliterated half their fleet. We took losses, sure. That energy weapon turned half the damned fleet into space dust. But the prize... The aliens were delicious and not a single person wept after the battle. All were content, their bellies full and the menace gone.
After the battle, some of the meat must've made its way back to Earth. Shortly after, Tyson Foods had begun buying and building shipyards. In a single day the company had purchased nearly half of the yards in orbit and those that wouldn't sell had contracted the next decade's worth of production to the company. That unholy red logo is everywhere now and apparently the first hunting fleet is departing on Tuesday...
Edit: Typos, words and other general house keeping.
| 2015-06-14T11:38:14 | 2015-06-14T11:35:46 | 513 | 233 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them.
|
My first prompt here!
We did it. We finally captured him. Heh, he thought he could run away from us forever. Fool. We could never let go an opportunity like this one. The boys are running some tests right now, it shouldn't take long...
"Sir, the results are out. You are not going to like this."
"What happened?"
"His power is already unlocked."
"That's impossible."
"Here are the results."
A single sentence stood out in the middle of the sheet:
"The power to dissapoint."
|
It was almost a decade ago that it happened. The public dubbed it the “Magneto catastrophe”, the worst attack on American soil by domestic terrorist. I was there, ground zero, a rookie agent for PASU. The Power and Ability Suppression Unit uses the most advance technology to neutralize level 30 and above powers. My first case with the PASU was Luis Delatorre, a college student who developed his powers at age 22. A level 33 power he attacked his campus and killed his professor with his newly developed pyrokinesis, me and my partner were the first on the scene. It was a quick takedown my partner and I shot him with a neutralizer ring and brought him in. I often visit Luis in his stasis cell, unable to move, or breathe, just floating there. You see, level 30’s and above are kept alive for study at least the ones deemed to be dangerous. Most high powered citizens are actually good people using their power for good every once in a while you get a case like Luis who’s powers are uncontrollable, reports state that Luis got in a heated argument with his professor when his power developed. He had no idea he was capable of that kind of horror but poor kid had to be taken in. That’s why I go see him; part of me feels like he didn’t deserve this prison no trial, no judge, the most un-American thing I’ve seen…and I’m part of it.
Luis’ case is rare; most people are born with powers or develop them in their youth. Mine, nothing to brag about, but at ten I was able to memorize everything with clarity. Eidetic memory or photographic memory as it commonly known is a level 8 power, that’s how PASU classifies it. It seems that the later in life the power develops the higher the power level is. As was the case with “Magneto”, 70 year old Walter Edwards. Edwards lived a troubled life, never married, no kids or family, a history of drugs, and reports of abuse by his telepathic mother who would implant nightmares in his head as punishment when he was a child. Just days after his 70th birthday Edwards finally developed his powers. He was able to manipulate all metals with incredible precision. He single handedly took out all of Atlanta. Over 400,000 people died that day including many PASU agents. We even released all our level 40 agents to take him out but they were no match for this never-before-seen level 80. By manipulating the iron in their blood he was able to kill them instantly, he tore down building and flattened the area into nothing. I was a lucky survivor, by the time I was pulled out of the rubble, the situation had been handled. Edwards finally met his end by what the government deemed Project Praetorian. A classified project above my pay grade all that I know is that the U.S government was working with the U.N to develop a “failsafe” for super high powered individuals and I guess the project was a success but costly.
The Magneto incident happened 9 years and 8 months ago, a lot has changed since then. PASU is now an international agency. The Magneto incident sparked fear in people, world leaders have used the incident to gain power and to this day people fear another attack of that magnitude. I lead a squad of senior agents knows as The Seekers, a team of detectives tasked with searching the globe for non-powered individuals above the age of 30. They are known as Nulls, and there aren’t many of them. My second in command has a special ability that helps us identify Nulls. Istiaque uses his power to identify the level and type of power someone holds or for our purpose, if a person has a power at all. My team has captured over 35 Nulls in the last 5 years since The Seekers were formed; we’ve been to every corner of the earth searching for them using a combination of powers, satellites, and good old fashioned detective work. Today we are on our way to Argentina as cameras finally caught the man we’ve been chasing for the past 3 years. Ryo Nakamura, Japanese born man turned 100 years last month. We had him in custody once, but we didn’t expect his village to defend and prevent his capture with such voracity. He’s managed to stay hidden all these years. But now at least we have a trail to follow.
(If this gets any interest I’ll finish the story, I just really enjoyed where I was going with the WP but don’t have the time more right now)
*EDITED FOR TYPOS
| 2015-10-26T12:10:03 | 2015-10-26T12:08:23 | 32 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them.
|
It's been ten years since the last "big" one, Jean-Paul Arseneau. Marseille is still uninhabitable after what happened. Jean-Paul doesn't exist anymore, but neither does Marseille. After the events in Marseille, the UN developed a unit of special forces to combat further incidents like this. They are the worlds greatest trackers. The greatest hunters. The greatest killers. The world knows them as *The Shadows*.
__________________
"ETA 15 minutes, Major," said the pilot.
"Good, the sooner the better." said Brady as he read his intel file.
The file is of Leonard Dwyer. The 100 year old powerless man. He is the world's most sought man. The most hunted man.
Dwyer left the States after the events of Marseille. He knew a witch hunt would follow, and he was right. Every country has a file on him. The US has a fifty million dollar bounty for his head. The KGB want to capture him and weaponize his power. The Chinese, you don't even what to know what they are trying to do.
He is the biggest threat to the world.
__________________
"Welcome to Namibia, Major,"
"Yeah fuck this hellhole of a place, Shadinsky. Lets get in, apprehend him, and get out of here."
"Call me Shade, sir."
"Why the fuck would I call you that?"
Right at that moment, Shade shows Major his power. The major forgot that, these people with him are the world's greatest hunters. They were hand picked for a reason.
"Active camo, heh. Shade it is then. Enough about you, where's our target?"
"He's-"
"No, I know exactly where he is. three kilometers north of here, heading east northeast.
"How...How do you know that?"
"We all have powers," said the Major, grinning like a child. "Lets get this show started, Shadinsky."
__________________
They found tracks pretty quickly. It wasn't long until they were right on his tail. Major noticed something though. Something odd. The sand dunes that they were walking on had vegetation growth, particularly where Dwyer has stepped.
"Abort mission." said Major.
"Sir, he's right there! Why are we aborting?!"
"He's not mankind's worst threat. He's mankind's biggest hope."
"We've been looking for him for ten years. He's part of the reason *The Shadows* exists! We've come too far to let him walk!" Shadinsky said, determined.
"Shadinsky, stand down damnit! I know what you're thinking. Don't fucking do it!"
Shadinsky took off after Dwyer. He climbed over the next sand dune and then paused. He couldn't believe what he saw. It was paradise. That was the the last thing he ever saw. Major pulled the trigger, and down the body tumbled. Major knew that Shadinsky saw wouldn't change anything. He still had the thought in his head.
Major slowly, calmly approached the old man. He could see the fear in Dwyer's eyes.
"Here, take this" as he hands him the rifle that killed Shadinsky. "I mean no harm. I'm going to answer every question you have in your head."
"Ok." said Dwyer, fearfully.
"Yes, we are part of *The Shadows*. No, I'm not going to kill you. Why not? Because you have the greatest power. You can bring life to where it is not. You can end famine, deforestation, climate change. How are we going to clear your name? Well, do you see that guy who was about to kill you? I'm going to take his body and move it a kilometer away. Then I will call an airstrike for that particular coordinate. How would I justify not coming back with him? Easy. He can turn invisible. I'll say he went AWOL. Any questions?"
Nope."
"Ok. I'm leaving now. Oh, and Dwyer, don't try to fucking shoot me as I'm walking away. Because I'll know."
|
I walked into the old apartment, gun in hand, staring intently through the airborne dust unmasked from the faint light entering from the window. It was quiet, but I could hear shifting in the dining room.
"Alright Mr. Whitaker, the goose chase is over.....goose.... goose chase?" I said to myself, wondering if I was saying the term correctly.
"I think the term you are looking for is wild...... goose chase." a voice whispered, exposing it's owner's location, the dining room.
My target was sitting patiently, without any sense of fear. I slowly walked to the chair across from him, sat down, and began my interrogation.
"Well well, Mr. Whitaker. I don't know how you've managed to evade government officials for as long as you did, as old as you are, but I found you. A man as methodical as you sure leaves traces around like breadcrumbs. It's almost as if you WANTED me to find you." I said, a faint smirk emerging from my visage. This wasn't a triumph of mine finding him, this man led me to him. He was incredibly smart, a think tank of sorts. I didn't know what his power was, so I had to be careful, but given the circumstance, I might be past that point already.
"That's kind of on the nose young man, but such is the way of the youth. Fine.....fine. I did lead you here, as you are new in your field. You haven't been bought, your mind not yet corrupted. There were other candidates, but you were the sole person to figure our all the clues I left, so you weren't chosen, but guided." he answered, without a glimpse of happiness in his eyes.
"Well I'm guessing it has to do with your power, some kind of weapon I assume. If you think the government will use you like collateral or-" I started, but he interrupted, with a dominant nature.
"-I am not a weapon.... no. It would make more sense to say that I am the period, at the end of a sentence.".
I looked around. His house was chalk full of books, all way beyond my comprehension. Scientific laws, books on algorithms, and enough history books to drown in. This guy reads, a lot. I didn't quite get his metaphor though.
"A period, at the end of a sentence. What like, an end to a means? Can your power stop time?" I asked, putting my gun on the table, on the fence between bringing the man in like I was ordered, and hearing him out like my gut's been telling me.
"You could say that, stop time." he said, me mistaking it for his sense of humor, but he didn't show a sign that he was being sarcastic. He continued.
"If existence was one never ending sentence, I would be the period. Every single person's powers in the government's list, all 165,000, are trivial compared to mine. The government worries that people will alter reality, generate global destruction, or control the will of others, but all of them, ALL of the powers the government have found, are nothing compared to mine, because my power, is the only power that truly matters, the only action a person can take, that the entire universe will be affected by, the power to erase it entirely."
I leaned back in my chair, scared shit-less, but within reason. If what he said is true, then he posed only a potential risk. If he wanted to use his power, he'd have used it by now. There would be no point in leading me here if his goal was to destroy everything in existence. A man with a power like that wouldn't be one to waste time.
After pondering, I responded "So..... why all this? Why hide from the government, feigning to be powerless yet somehow knowing what it was? I don't think anyone could use you as leverage, considering it would defeat the purpose." I chuckled, half from my own joke, and from understanding that his 'stop time' comment was an attempt at humor.
Then it hit me, I understood. For him to have knowledge of his power, yet the government claiming he was powerless, made no sense.
"...... the government activates people's powers to know what they are, don't they." I said, realizing the point of his sleight of hand.
"Correct, either that or the power is revealed if detected. The subject in question of course has to be tagged first, as I was. It acts like a beacon when a person's power is activated. My problem was the government didn't believe me when I told them my power. Everyone KNOWS their power, because they see a vision of how their power works before it manifests. I saw the entire universe, at least what my limited eyes could see, all condense into a single point, too small to see, and then I woke up. that was almost 75 years ago. I told this to the doctors, they laughed. When I was tagged, I told the scientists. They didn't believe me, and wanted to activate my power to see if I was just lying, if my power was something I could profit off of. To be fair, it would make sense. Claim your power would be catastrophic if activated, just to use it to your whim, at least once. Once they map you, they would know... so I was stuck. I had to leave my family, and run on foot for the rest of my natural born life. It's been, a very long time since I've sat down and talked to someone.... sorry I went off on a tangent. The point of you being here, is to believe my words." the old man said with a smile. I guess there was a bit of happiness left inside.
"Is this the part where you ask me to kill you? I mean you could of did that a long time ago Mr Whitaker." I said, returning his smile back with another. It was a rhetorical question though, I knew what he wanted.
"You could say that." he laughed under his breath. "I would think it be the safest route."
"Ok Mr Whitaker, I'll go 'kill you', as far as the governments concerned, but since I'm on the subject of Armageddon powers, are there any others that need to die?"
Mr Whitaker gazed at me, amazed by my intellect.
"Why yes, just one. Remy Whitaker." he said, looking towards a picture of him and what looked like his granddaughter.
"Huh, so you are related. They just brought her in this morning. I wondered if there was a coincidence in name." I uttered, wondering just how sinister the higher ranking officials I worked for maneuvered.
"My granddaughter yes, from she told her mother, and then her mother told me, she seems to have the power to locate any person alive, as long as she's seen an image of their face. I assume she will be a slave to your office once her power is activated. You don't have a lot of time either. It also goes without saying, that if you go back to change my status, yet your superiors don't believe you and use my granddaughter to locate me, you will be 'compromised' instantly." he spoke with a serious tone.
"You mean dead." I said, trying not to look excited by my new task.
"You could-" he started to say, but stopped and smiled.
I got up, heading towards the door, "Alright Mr. Whitaker, I guess I have work to do. Thank you for not giving into temptation for all these years, I will do this as a token of my appreciation, and to not be a part of ending all of existence. Goodbye."
I left his apartment, still dazed by all the information I just picked up. Not too long after I got a call from my assistant.
"How'd it go boss?" she questioned, not use to calling ME instead of me calling her after a mission.
"I have something to look into, but just to check; did his marker finally show up on the radar?" I asked, trying to see if I had been manipulated.
"Um no, are you saying you found him sir?" she asked.
"Yes, dead. I will be back in the office within an hour, please update me with any reports from central." I responded with a smile.
Now, all I had to do is find (and save) little 'Miss' Whitaker.
| 2015-10-26T11:22:04 | 2015-10-26T10:33:27 | 19 | 13 |
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