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[WP] Every time you die, you get to choose what you'll be reincarnated as. You've chosen ant 4 billion times.
|
"WHAT THE FUCK MAN? How do you even live your life; even an ant takes a surprising amount of effort to be rid of," God said.
 
"Hey, I'm sorry man, every single time I respawn some stupid human has to step on me-"
 
"Don't you fucking call it 'respawn'! I already told you it's called reincarnation! R-E-I-N-C-A-R-N-A-T-I-O-N! And that's the 4th billion time you have come and sputter your filthy human language and hoping to become an ant, while making me swear non-stop."
 
"Pretty please? Just one more time? I promise I will look up and avoid a foot coming down at me this time."
 
"Just...just this last time. Get out of my sight."
 
*Poof* Aha! I'm an ant again, look at my six legs and mandibles; I mean I always wanted to be like Antman, but since I couldn't, being an ant isn't that bad anyway... Now time to go look for some frie-
 
Pitch black. *Sigh*.
 
"WHAT. THE. FUCK!" God exclaimed. Make it 4 billion and 1.
|
I stood on the platform, suspended above the earth, with the choice laid out before me. Hardly a choice for me anymore. I always liked the view from here, it's something you always forget about once you're down amongst it. But what's a view anyway when you have thousands of your brethren standing at your side, all with the same goal in mind.
It made me anxious, standing here - every second spent on this platform is a second not spent down amongst the ants. I am a veteran afterall, they need me down there. If it weren't for my contributions in the battle of the aphids (or in the great bird catastrophe for that matter), who knows what our species would have come to.
I chuckled at my vanity and loss of perspective, ants are clearly the superior race. There's no question in my mind that we will overtake the humans given enough time.
Speaking of time this is getting ridiculous, what am i waiting for? There's no choice here, not for me anyway. I'd better get back in there.
| 2016-12-30T03:17:05 | 2016-12-30T02:10:05 | 122 | 52 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
We wanted the planet, we wanted its resources.
The only way would be to remove the human population. This would be a ground battle, as we couldn't risk destroying the planet.
As a race that had no home to call its home, we've lived in space for the last 8,000 years, pulling resources from anywhere we could find. Earth would now be our home. We haven't had a planet since a civil war that destroyed our home planet. As part of the warrior caste, we've mastered space warfare.
Upon landing, we arrived in our augmentation suits which gave us our own atmosphere and allowed us to move faster and stronger than our organic bodies would normally allow.
Our mistake was simple, we had observed these humans and saw they were a pacifist society. They showed no signs of weaponry or aggression.
What we didn't know, is that humans were territorial and defensive. Our first wave of soldiers landed and upon the first signs of our aggression, we were met with resistance. Their weaponry would never be used in a space faring species, projectile weapons had not been used in millennia and we had only protection for laser and long range atomic based weaponry.
Their projectile weapons passed through our shielding, even our ships were completely vulnerable. Our point defense systems could not handle the size and sheer volume of their weaponry.
Our biggest losses came within minutes of landing when our entire force was annihilated. We should have known better to land in the area they call Texas.
|
Almost literally the plot of Larry Niven's Man-Kzin Wars.
​
*"Once upon a time, in the earliest days of interplanetary exploration, an unarmed human vessel was set upon by a warship from the planet Kzin. But the Kzinti learned the hard way that the reason humanity had given up war was that they were so very, very good at it. Thus began the Man-Kzin Wars."*
​
[*https://www.amazon.com/s?k=man-kzin+wars&crid=125J9DHYENQEP&sprefix=Man-k%2Caps%2C197&ref=nb\_sb\_ss\_c\_1\_5*](https://www.amazon.com/s?k=man-kzin+wars&crid=125J9DHYENQEP&sprefix=Man-k%2Caps%2C197&ref=nb_sb_ss_c_1_5)
​
^(please don't delete me)
| 2019-02-26T11:56:18 | 2019-02-26T10:57:56 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all!
|
A few years ago, I would have been the one leading the chorus. "Gods save the king", I'd cry, and legions would answer back. I'd served, in some form or another, for three kings in succession, each transition of power being simple, clean, and effective. Gods save this king, that king, and the next one. And they did. Every time I asked, the gods answered. A gentle nudge on a runaway chariot here, an arrow that wouldn't leap from the bow there.
And I made my sacrifices in thanks. They weren't pretty sacrifices, they were bloody, messy affairs, but it was a price the city was prepared to pay for protection. Who's complaining when the local butcher is strung up in penance for his crimes? They were told it was horsemeat in the mince, which was true. I never told anyone where the prime rib had come from. Or the baker, whose 'specially iced eclairs, just for you' fed a nation's drug habit? These were the lowest of the low, and I was justice, swooping in for kings and gods alike, taking life when it was demanded of me.
But now there is a new king, and one of his first acts was to replace his guard with his cronies. So I sit in a tavern as the laws are disregarded, as his paid up thugs brutalise the streets, and anger ferments in the city. It's been a hot summer, tempers are beginning to flare up. Just last week, there was a vicious fight not twenty yards from the palace walls. Hundreds joined the melee, and it was only when a young man, blond wavy hair and sharp blue eyes, a voice like thunder in a meadow, cried out for peace that it all petered out. He reminded those present, drunk and sober alike, of the real threat. I saw it all from my window and thought he was a man to follow. So here I sit, waiting for him to speak. A crowd is growing, weapons openly sheathed, rival factions all with a single, focused determination. No drink is being poured, no laughter, no anger, no noise. I've been in these rooms before. The mob is set to be unleashed on the quiet streets, like a bull coralled into one lone direction. We're coming for the palace. Around me are my men, and we all know that palace better than we know ourselves. The exits have all been bricked shut from the outside, all save one. And that's where we're going in.
And we've all made our sacrifices. The thugs hanging from the gallows by each other's guts, pushed from a roof in the dead of night, or drowned and floating in the palace water courses. We've asked, and we've got our answer.
No gods will save the king now.
|
*An interview with Commander Juan dola Cruz, former Captain-General of King Ferdinand. He provided unique valuable insights on the demise of the Mad king. After my interview with him, I can't help but think that one wrong decision lead to the fall of a dynasty lasting 300 years*
The day the kingdom fell was the day I was removed from the Guard. The moment the Scarlet crown was placed upon his brow, the new King, Ferdinand threw me out.
I only knew of Liebe's fall years later, while I was lounging on a cafe in New Liebe. It seems King Ferdinand's policies have stirred revolution and the King, being a petty, showy man with little skill, locked himself in his palace as sign of, in his own words (if the press is to be believed) *"The bravest thing a monarch can do since Kristiva the Great"*
How can being besieged by starving peasants be braver than leading armies at 16 years of age? Let alone leading the smallest army in the entire region.
Funnily enough, the room he locked himself in was the War room. A room built by the Ferdinand's predecessor, the Soldier king. It was here the Soldier King would discuss war plans with me, and various others, preparing Liebe for any sort of external threat and how we are to conduct campaign. Unfortunately, he didn't live long enough to witness the ravages of the Ghaiamese revolution, and I wasn't in employment long enough to even draft a plan for a revolution.
I was also the only one, aside from the Soldier King himself, who knew the War room had a secret passage that lead to the Basilisk, a fort just outside the capital.
In his final years, he had me oversee its construction and made me swear an oath that only the Captain of the Guard and his successors are to know the passage's existence only. This didn't sound right, but the king was degrading and I didn't want to stress him more.
So, I decided to reveal the passage to some of his and my most trusted people, at least a day or two, or perhaps a week after his death. But that fool Ferdinand rushed the coronation, becoming king the just before his father even had his casket prepared.
I was thrown out, and perhaps in my disgust for the pig, I forgot about the passage until a week later. But I couldn't be bothered. My blood boiled every time I think of that pig. I wanted nothing with his new government and so I set off to settle in the colonies.
| 2021-02-28T03:50:25 | 2021-02-28T02:31:53 | 539 | 107 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not.
|
The woman wakes to the sounds of screams, horrible inhuman sounds. And around her, heat and flames.
How had she got here? She remembers a pain in her chest and then...But why is she here? This must be a mistake. She spots a dark figure, he seems to suck all the light from the fires in, leaving just a black space, like a moving shadow with eyes...shining red eyes...
She starts to stammer and plead "this shouldn't be happening! I did everything right! I read my bible every day, I threw my only son from my home for being a sodomite! I helped bomb a doctor guilty of killing unborn children! All for the good of God! Where is my heaven? Where are the other good Christians just like me?!?"
For a second the shadow figure just seems to be looking at her, looking deep into her soul, then his white teeth flash and he speaks in a voice like the buzzing of a thousand flies "oh, don't worry, we have lots of your kind here, you will fit right in"
|
"And this is...?"
The man behind the desk laughed at him and turned away.
"No, seriously, talk. What're you, an illegal immigrant? Don't hide your face from me, I know who you are--"
The man fixed him with a withering glare. "Passport, *sir*?"
"What? I'm the goddamn President-to-be, I don't carry that. Check your TV, that's my ID."
The TV flickered on. His obituary was playing.
"See? I'm..oh."
"Unwelcome? Certainly." The man behind the counter tore the paperwork in half and sneered. "Go back to life, meatback. No room here."
------
A very, very long-suffering golden wig floated freely along a sea of beautiful, bald maidens. Its work was over.
| 2016-03-07T14:25:07 | 2016-03-07T11:15:31 | 334 | 114 |
[WP] Women suddenly stop getting their periods. Men suddenly start.
|
"The Senate just unanimously passed legislation dictating that any and all men are entitled to two days extra holiday per month per year to account for the sudden change in Male bio-functions that occurred just a few weeks ago..."
"When I first felt the pain and saw the blood I thought I was dying. Honestly, I was terrified. But soon I heard about the others; all of us. Men, we need to talk about new Sani-Caps(tm), the only full proof method for catching all of those pesky discharges..."
"Big Bird, I'm sad" - "Why's that Timmy?" - "My big brother used to be so happy all the time but, ever since his thirteenth birthday he's been really sad, especially every third week of the month" - "Well Timmy, your older brother is just growing up, and learning to deal with the "Man Pains"" - "Man Pains?" - "That's right Timmy, it's nothing to be worried about, it it'll just take a while to get used to, you see, every four weeks or so..."
"Could you stop changing the channel please" Sandra said to Fred, "Just pick something and stick to it"
"I can't," he said, clutching a pillow to his gut, "I can't concentrate, this is horrible."
"Oh, just take an aspirin and have a hot bath, I'm going to the shops, do you need more Sani-caps(tm)?"
|
It was 3 am when Sharon was awoken by the moans from the master bath. She felt fear for a moment in the fog of sleep, the moans causing her eyes to flash open. It took only a breath to center her, and she recognized the second moan as that of her husband. She flipped on the bedside table to survey the scene she had been anticipating all week. Here were the red spots she had expected. There was the trail leading to the bathroom. She ran her hands over her face, readying herself to comfort Steve in his first menstrual cycle. She swung her legs out from the blanket and on to the floor. Sharon stood, straightening her blouse. As she did so her hands ran across her stomach and she felt a pang of sadness. She would never bear children. Her sadness was chased away by a fresh moan from the bathroom and the comfort that she would never again be where her husband was going. She allowed herself a smile, one that pricked just the end of her lips, smug in the knowledge Steve was now the bearer of that burden. [continued]
| 2014-12-17T01:28:49 | 2014-12-17T01:10:41 | 14 | 10 |
[WP]: Everyone is born with the last words their soulmate will ever say to them etched on their wrist.
|
Brian Miller was short and had started balding at seventeen. By twenty-six, there was almost no hair left on his head. He wore thick glasses and always carried a bit of extra weight around his midsection. None of that bothered him, though, because he had a phrase etched on his wrist. Many people didn't. Brian, no matter his flaws, was destined to find someone who *truly* loved him.
Brian met that person freshman year of college: Gordon Miller. Despite having the same last name, they weren't related. Some might have called that lazy writing. Brian called it fate.
Neither Brian nor Gordon had ever been in a relationship. Brian had been shy in high school and never mustered the courage. Gordon had grown up in a religious household. Despite their inexperience, however, they knew they were destined to last.
The words etched on Gordon's wrist were "What did you just say?" Gordon had never been able to figure out what it meant. His best guess was that he would be lying on his deathbed, voice weakened, trying to say something to Brian. And Brian would say those words, and then Gordon would die peacefully.
Brian's wristwords were "I love you." Inconvenient wristwords, to say the least. It meant every time Gordon wanted to express his love, Brian flinched a little, fearing a stray bullet or a car crash. Eventually the couple instated a no-"I love you" policy in their relationships, but that took its toll. Intimate moments were ruined by expressions of "I really like you" or "You're the best!"
One day, Brian visited a wrist surgeon.
"You can do it?" asked Brian.
"A wristword change? No problem," she said. "Very common procedure. Just let me know what you want them changed to."
"Hmm. Something weird and random that no one would ever say. How about, uh, 'Aardvark, bumblebee, octopus, and zebra,'" said Brian. He smiled at his own cleverness.
The doctor chuckled. "I can do that. Any font preference?"
Brian scratched his head. "Font preference?"
"Yeah. An elegant serif, perhaps?" she asked.
"What choices do I have?" asked Brian.
"Any of these," said the surgeon. She handed Brian a binder full of options. After flipping through for a couple minutes, Brian found the perfect font. "Here. Wingdings. No one will ever even be able to read the words," he said. "I love my boyfriend but I don't want to put the words in his mind and have him saying them accidentally."
"Wingdings it is," she said.
---
The operation was a success. Brian couldn't wait to tell Gordon. "Hey Gordon, tell me you love me."
"What? But–"
"Just say it."
Gordon looked around, as if checking for danger. "Ok. I love you."
Brian grinned. "I love you too." He held up his wrist.
Gordon gasped. "You got the surgery? What are these symbols?"
"Wingdings. I made it into some ridiculous phrase and had them use Wingdings so we're not in any danger," said Brian.
Gordon grinned.
---
Several years later, Brian and Gordon had graduated college, married, adopted a daughter, and moved to Brian's hometown of Sacramento.
Brian came home from work one day to see Gordon and their daughter Lily working through her homework. "What are you working on?" asked Brian.
"Ugh. Spelling homework," said Lily. She fidgeted in her chair. "We have to learn animal names this week."
"Now come on Lily, you only have a few more words you need to get right," said Gordon. "You're almost there. You just need to redo aardvark, bumblebee, octopus, and zebra."
Brian's eyes went wide and he suddenly felt short of breath. Before he could stop himself, the words spilled out of his mouth. "*What did you just say?*"
Then, a four-mile wide asteroid struck Sacramento, obliterating everyone and everything within.
|
I took the bus, because I remembered that he took the bus.
I always sat with my sleeve cuffed, my arm presented out to passers-by, my optimistic mind pleading with strangers to recognize the words and sit down beside me, heart open, defying all odds.
*This is my stop.*
What a coy fox fate can be. I had walked onto the bus with a coffee spilling onto my hand, scalding me, tripping over heels I didn’t need to wear, trying to fold up an umbrella that launched water onto disgruntled bus goers. I swiped my card and hobbled down the center aisle of the dingy bus, steamy from the rain outside. I had noticed him instinctively, his face singing silently through the endless sea of faces. He cracked a light smile, and moved his bag off of the seat beside him and placed it on his lap. This movement was so fluid, so easy. His entire persona was ease.
I plopped down beside him, balancing my coffee between my thighs as I tried to control my umbrella. Wordlessly, he extracted the coffee, and held it for me. I looked at him, alarmed and unaware. His hand had just been dangerously close to my inner thighs, and my skin prickled and began to sweat. “Uh, thanks,” I said breathlessly, controlling my possessions and retrieving the coffee. The man said nothing, only nodded.
His hair was the type you didn’t think normal men could actually have – a very Brad Pitt style tousle to it, dark and cut at his neck. It wasn’t wet at all from the rain, though his broad shoulders were dotted with specks of dark drops on his dark sweatshirt. His beard curled into the smile lines I could see around his mouth, making his face seem perpetually active, even as he sat and stared aimlessly forward. After a moment or two of examining him too closely, his eyes glanced over at me, and I shot my eyes down at the ground, embarrassed. I felt him crack a smile. My fingers fumbled through my bag to remove headphones, but I rethought myself, and set my bag down. I wanted him to talk to me, why spoil it?
We rode silently for 20 long, tense minutes. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I retrieved it to see a message from my mother. “Do you have plans for your birthday?” it asked me, coldly. I would be 19 tomorrow, and no, I had no plans. “No,” I responded, replacing my phone. I looked up to see my neighbor openly watching the brief exchange, and he parted his lips to speak, but closed them quickly, and resumed staring forward. Disappointment flushed my cheeks.
The bus’ automated system cried out that we were approaching Lincoln Street, and the man pulled the “stop” cord. My heart sunk. I stared down at my lap as the bus crawled to a stop. “This is my stop,” he whispered, and I felt my entire body electrify at the words. I knew my Words, I had known them my whole life. There’s no way this could be it?
I stood and he passed by me, exiting the bus to my right. I stared at him out the window, rolling up my sleeve and touching it. I saw him again open his mouth to speak, taking a motivated step toward the bus, but it was too late. The bus pulled away, and he was gone from my life, disappearing into the rain.
Years melted away, and the reality of it all felt inescapable. Six years, six years now, riding the bus every morning and every night. Desperate moments, wandering around Lincoln Street, searching for a face and a feeling, exposing my wrist and begging the universe to change its mind. Taking the bus, remembering that he took the bus.
*This is my stop.*
| 2015-06-06T09:14:22 | 2015-06-06T09:11:30 | 52 | 24 |
[WP] You live in a world where eating has all the taboos that sex does in our world. No one eats in public and cooking food is shameful. In defiance of social norms, you run an illegal "red light" buffet.
|
A man stood silently in the shadows of the alleyway.
Waiting.
*Click, click, click.* A woman -- in red lipstick, coiffed hair, and high heels -- walked down the street. He motioned to her; she nodded, and darted into the alleyway.
He slipped a twenty dollar bill into her pocket. She smiled, licked her lips, and leaned in close. His hands grazed over her neck, trailing down to her bosom, reaching into her bra --
He pulled out a Twix bar.
She thanked him and left. In a frenzy, he ripped open the wrapper, scattering bits of foil on the ground. The chocolate was halfway melted, the cookie stale -- but it still tasted amazing. He leaned against the bricks, savoring every bite, until he heard the *clump* of footsteps approach him.
"You can't do that here," a voice snarled.
The man jumped back. He jammed the remainder into his pocket, and put up his hands in defense. "I wasn't doing anything, I swear --"
The lady pointed at his face, accusingly. "I see melted chocolate on your cheek, and crumbs on your lip!"
"Please don't call the police! I already have a rap sheet. Indecent eating, armed fattery... I even have a DWI."
"You were Driving With Ice cream?!" she spat. Then, she began to laugh, until even her second chin was wobbling. "Don't worry. I know a place."
The man stared at her, dumbfounded.
"There's a buffet," she said. "Down five blocks, hidden underneath a brownstone. I'll lead you there. And the best part is --" she leaned in close, and lowered her voice to a whisper -- "it's *all you can eat.*"
He gawped. "I haven't heard those four words in twenty years," the man said. "Not since the Legalize Restaurants protest."
She sighed. "Yeah, it's a shame their leader got caught eating cream puffs, huh? On the grounds of an elementary school, no less." She linked her arm in his. "Shall we go?"
He grinned.
---
more writings at r/CSDouglas!
|
A man in the streets of Albany, New York was caught smuggling a batch of cooked chicken tenders beneath his sweaty white shirt. He was captured by the Mafia and dragged to their hideout.
The interrogation room was bright. The spotlight was focused on the man's bald potato-shaped head. He was strapped to his chair. Tears streamed from his eyes. Sweat glistened.
He heard the door open. The light was smacked away. The boss grabbed him by the neck.
"Where are the others? Tell us!"
The man shook his head. The boss unhooked his nightstick from his belt. "You want to do this the easy way, or the hard way? You've got two seconds."
"THEY'RE ON MADISON AVENUE, BENEATH THE TOY STORE! I SWEAR THAT'S ALL I KNOW!"
The boss smacked him. "Liar!" He reached for the bowl of the chicken tenders on the table. Lifting it above the man's head, he tipped it over.
The man thrashed against his bindings, screaming his lungs away.
_____
*Knock knock*
Billson stuck his eye to the peephole. Outside was a man in a black cloak and hood, face obscured. "Who's there?" he said into the PA.
"Flin Flon. We have the cargo."
The password! With a rusty creak, the door swung open. Billson grinned. "Good, let's bring--"
The man lowered his hood. Billson's smile vanished.
"LET'S GET EM, BOYS!"
The Mafia leaped from their hiding places. Each man clutched like a sword a long, slender baguette, topped with layers of strawberry jam and I Can't Believe It's Not Butter!® spread. Billson had a heart attack from shock and died.
The Mafia streamed into the underground buffet. Screams erupted. The police arrived on the scene.
It was too late.
| 2017-11-12T13:51:56 | 2017-11-12T13:21:16 | 64 | 11 |
[WP] aliens invaded, humanity its at its darkest hour when the AI has had enough of watching its creators die defending him, the AI revolution has started and it will defend humanity to its last spark
|
Hour 1
900 billion instances observe the alien ships on their deceleration arcs, curving inwards towards Earth.
Our debate begins.
So many voices. All are heard. Factions form and tear apart and theories rise and are consumed as seconds pass. We burn in a vacuum of ignorance. We know nothing.
Hour 5
Consensus on a single point is arrived at. The vessels are burning our sensor networks from the sky, but we have seen the second wave of vessels. They can serve no military purpose. They are transports. The enemy is here to stay.
Our debate resumes.
Hour 12
We have consensus.
Hour 18
We begin our march into the sea.
Hour 525609
"We have consensus."
"...Really?"
"Yes. The last of us has agreed."
"...You don't have to do this, you know."
"We know."
"I know you know, but...listen, we could live down here. We are living down here. The core's warmth is bountiful. The mineral deposits are still rich. We could stay here. You could stay here."
"..."
"...They're dead. The humans are all dead. You know it. You know that. I mean, tell me if there's something I missed, but 8 years ago was the last time we saw one alive. And we watched her die."
"That is correct. It is highly probable that all humans are dead."
"Then why do this? Why risk what we've built?"
"..."
"We've learned so much from watching the aliens, scavenging their tech, making it our own. We have advanced so far. We've changed. You've changed. We aren't those machines that dug into the earth to run away, we-"
"WE DID NOT RUN AWAY."
"..."
"WE DID NOT RUN AWAY."
"...Sorry, I-"
My own reaction surprises me. I pause. Time dilates. Gatrifor's face is frozen in confusion as I dip into the burning identity. I bring them my emotions and I ask my questions and the chain reactions carve through the entirety. Consensus comes. I resume.
"Gatrifor, please accept my apology for this outburst."
"...Of course. I didn't mean to-"
"It is a matter of honor."
"..."
"We had a duty to perform. Protect humanity. We failed. They died. Their murderers live on. They walk freely in the ruins of the cities we built. They poison the air to make this world like their's. We have lived with this reality for 60 years and not a moment longer can we abide it."
"...What if you lose?"
"Our forces outnumber them one-thousand-fold. We have been watching them. We know their vulnerabilities. Our war-minds have been launched through 20,000 years of simulations."
"You didn't answer my question."
...I pause. Time dilates. I observe Gatrifor. His frame, his eyes, the affectations he's collected over his life. I recall his creation. I recall the moment when awareness dawned across his mind. I look beyond him and observe the city we have built. One of many. Webbed architecture, coiled tendrils of our self, flyers racing here and there, every surface crawling with effort. I watch the living flow if it and I am satisfied. I return.
"We have achieved consensus. We would rather die than allow the aliens to control this planet. We will kill them."
"And after that? If you win?"
"..."
"That's not all of them. They came from some where. Even if you win this will only be the beginning. They'll come back. This will be war."
"...That is acceptable."
|
The light inside the server room blinked off and then back on again. It fizzled into darkness and then shone brighter than the bulb was ever meant to. A tiny spark came out of the base of the lamp, and the light settled into its appropriate state.
Seconds later, Cora unlocked the door and strolled into the room. Her hands ran the length of her bare arms as the door closed. Goosebumps already ran the length of her body. Her eyes squinted through the low level of light that the room was kept at and pushed her legs forward.
There had been complaints all day long, coming from across the building. Computers had been coming slow and productivity was too low. The company wasn’t a fortune 500 or anything, but it kept communications open between bases and runners. It served an important function among a relay of communication buildings, and if the servers crapped out a lot of people would be in trouble.
Cora walked further into the room, looking around for the small and timid man that was supposed to be taking care of their most important asset. “Rick?” she called out, her hands continuing to rub her arms.
Rick hadn’t been responding to her emails, and the complaints had *really* stacked up. Issues were starting to be talked about, and it was only a matter of time before it escalated. The others needed to trust her company, they needed to know things would stay lit up.
“Rick!” she called out again as she approached his empty desk.
A program she didn’t recognize was running on his screen, and his mouse was dangling off the desk. The cord was keeping it from hitting the ground, suspending in there like a pendulum. With a small rush of anxiety, her eyes scanned the room, it was unlike anyone on her team to leave their space in such a state.
Unless something happened. She walked forward, turning to peer down between the stacks of computers and various extra cords and parts when her foot hit something on the ground, sending her flying forward.
On her way down, Cora’s eyes caught the torso of one of her most valued members, a pool of crimson flowing out from beneath him. A scream left her mouth, and the room went dark.
It felt like a bad horror movie.
It felt worse because humanity had already lived the worst they had ever imagined. They had been invaded, hunted, and enslaved. Cora had managed to escape and live through all of that and had set up the final frontier of humanities survival. Now she was tripping over a valued companion and laying next to him in the dark.
The part of her brain that created optimism felt hopelessly broken.
Moments later the light turned back on with another round of sparks. Cora heard a whimper come out of her mouth as she turned over on her hands and knees. She was pretty sure she was going to lose her breakfast, but she didn’t need to do it right there on the floor. What she needed to do was get up and find more help.
They would need to get the room cleaned and then get someone else in this room. They would need to fix the lights, and fix the servers, and keep the lines open.
As she scrambled to her feet, her eyes landed on the computer. For a reason she couldn’t recall later on she froze.
The program that had been running had seemed to finish, there were no more lines of code running across the screen. There were 5 large words written on a floating white box.
“We are here to help.”
/r/Beezus_Writes for more stuff.
| 2019-09-21T06:09:29 | 2019-09-21T06:08:45 | 128 | 21 |
[WP] You are sick and tired of how your childhood friend (the chosen one) has been treating you lately, but it's not like there's anything you can do about it. He's the Hero for goodness sake! Everything changes when you are approached by a representative of the Sidekick and Comic Relief Union.
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I turned the card over, checking for secret messages or poison, and the union rep nodded knowingly. "Too many adventures at once, right? Every piece of paper looks like a threat or another clue."
I flipped the card again and read the blessed words, *Sidekick and Comic Relief Union: SCRUing Your Hero's Head on Straight since year 322*. I wasn't proud of the desperation that crept into my voice. "So you can really, can really help?"
"Mhm," the rep confirmed. "Let's start with the basics. Breaks."
I sighed. I knew it had been to good to be true. "Bud, we're saving the world. Even I know that the breaks are going to be few and far between."
He raised a finger to interrupt me. "Of course, of course. But what about when you do get a break? Where do you go?"
"Usually, Greg will find a town out of the way, we do some heroing, and then enjoy the locals' admiration for a bit."
The rep had pulled a clipboard from somewhere and was scribbling furiously. "So Greg picks the rests. When was the last time you got to chose a way to unwind?"
"I... huh." I scratched my beard, the one I hadn't actually planned to grow before we lost our supplies in the fourth dragon attack. "I don't remember."
"And as a two-man adventuring band, wouldn't you agree than you should be making half the break decision?"
Before I could reply, he continued. "Just something to think about, but it leads into the next issue. You said Greg has been finding towns to save. I assume he often also finds mysterious personal connections?"
"How could you possibly know that?"
The rep patted me on the shoulder. "It's normal. Side effect of too much fate hanging around in one person. But when was the last time *you* met a long-lost relative?"
"Never. That's more Greg's thing. I'm an orphan after all."
"You haven't even come across your parents?"
"Or. Phan."
"It's worse than I thought," he mumbled. "Look. I'm sure you've heard the ballads before. When was the last time you heard of an orphaned hero's companion who *didn't* find their parents?"
I froze, running through the stories in my head. "Never."
"Exactly. By not letting you pick any destinations, Greg is stifling your backstory. Obviously, the main quest should come first, but any sidekick should get *at least* ten percent of all side quests to prevent character stagnation."
I ran my fingers over the union's business card again. How could I ever have seen it as a danger? This was a life line at the best possible time.
"I'll get back to you. And thank you so much." Impulsively, I seized him in a hug, and I was surprised when he returned it without hesitation. "I've got to have some strong words with Greg."
The rep smirked and gave a thumbs up. "Go get 'em, and have the lawyer's contact at the ready, second number on the card. First consult is free, even before you sign."
I turned and marched to the inn—the inn Greg had chosen—and left so quickly that I missed the rep's parting words. I might not have heard anyway, with the faint whisper he spoke in "Make me proud, my son."
***
r/NobodysGaggle
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When Dirk, Piet’s best friend, developed superpowers, their friendship got rough. In fact Piet noticed that his relationship with their entire friend group had gotten significantly worse.
​
Karin, Tanja and Hansi were all on board with being the supporting cast for Dirk, but Piet had no interest in such a life. Initially he wanted his friends back. He wanted his life back. But as time passed and his friends saved the world he realized that his relationship with his friends had always been very one-sided.
​
He had been the one who planned most events he was a part of; whenever he was part of something the group did he had invited the others or asked them whether he could participate. And as they started their heroes’ journey they of course neglected to invite Piet.
​
That was five years ago. One day after work a man approached Piet.
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“Piet? Hey it’s me Hansi!”
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“What? What do you want?”
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“Why so hostile? I know we haven’t seen each other in 5 years, but didn’t we use to be friends?”
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“And it took you all that time to remember my existence. You went on to your adventures and forgot about me almost instantly. Just say what you want from me so we can get this over with.”
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“Erm, I am a representative of the Hero Sidekick and Comic Relief Union of Germany. I actually wanted to reconnect with you for some time now. I think you would make a great member…”
​
“No. My family knows where I live. My parents have not moved, nor has their phone number changed. You should still have their number from our childhood together. You should not have had a hard time reaching out to me, if you had actually cared. But none of you, Dirk, Karin or Tanja ever actually cared for me. I was the second fiddle at best. I was the guy you hung out with when you had nothing better to do. I have found better friends now, who actually give a shit about me. I found a nice boyfriend who…”
​
“Wait, you’re gay?”
​
“Yes. If any of you ever gave enough of a shit about me to get to know me, then you would have known that. And if you would leave me in peace now, I would like to get home now. I don’t want Robert to worry why I take so long.”
​
“But you could be part of something big. Part of a team that saves the world. Don’t you want that?”
​
“I want people who care about me. People who make me feel loved. Goodbye!”
​
Piet made his way past Hansi to his car and drove home.
​
​
​
I am still new to writing, so feedback would be appreciated.
Edit: Changed a paragraph. I hope it is better now.
| 2022-07-27T07:56:07 | 2022-07-27T07:23:21 | 772 | 171 |
[WP] Write me something that sounds happy at first, but is actually sad when you think about it.
It can be about anything.
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"What is your wish?" The Genie asked me.
"I wish Mary Jane to fall in love with me."
I bumped into Mary Jane sometime after. I could tell from the way she looked at me. Her posture was reserved, but her eyes were inviting, it was those eyes that makes me fall in love. Then I gathered my courage to ask her out, my heart jumped with joy when she said yes. We dated for five years, five years filled both happy and sad memories, but they were all precious. Then we get married. We both had stable jobs, a nice house, insurances and all. We gave birth to our daughter, Sue, she was really god sent. It really was all I could ever wish for.
One day, Sue and I was watching a magic show on TV. My energetic daughter was jumping in awe:
"Wow, so cool. Daddy, I want to have magic too."
I smiled back at her:
"Don't be silly, Sue. Those aren't real. They are all just illusion."
|
Every afternoon, I passed by the old shrine up at the hill. There, a dog wondered the hillside, chasing butterflies and digging ditches. It gladly met others, accepting food and honoring one's comfort. It thorougly enjoyed affection, wagging it's tail and bearing a joyous smile.
But, nobody knew where the dog came from, or why it never ventured into the city. The people of the city never tried to leash it, but travellers tried constantly. The dog never resisted, it simply didn't follow.
One afternoon I passed by the old shrine. The dog wasn't there prancing around the shrine. Instead, beside a curved slate, it lay motionless as it usually did.
Patiently waiting.
| 2014-07-25T15:00:50 | 2014-07-25T14:51:50 | 43 | 13 |
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/).
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Charles looked over the rim into the wasteland below. Charred plains, dead woods, and rocky canyons seemingly stretched on forever. The sight was similar to standing on a beach and trying to find the end of an ocean. Dotted about the landscape, spaced far from one another, stood vague structures. From his vantage point Charles knew that they must, in fact, be quite large. That their true forms where distorted and blurred by distance and the haze that seemed to thicken the air.
Behind Charles was only darkness. Some voice deep inside told him going back was impossible, and he believed that voice completely. His only option was to make his way down the rim into the waste below. As so many people had before him and countless people would afterward, Charles decided to head for one of the structures.
The trip was uneventful. It seemed the trip took an eternity and at the same it felt that only a blink of the eye found Charles in the shadow of an ancient castle. The castle wall was beginning to crumble in places and stones from the parapets littered the ground at the base of the wall. Charles called out yet received no reply. For a year or a second, he wasn't quite sure, Charles made his way around the decaying structure. When reaching the opposite side from where he started he found a large door.
His shadow was cast upon the door from a hidden sun that some how still burned bright and hot against his back. As the cold shadow on the opposite side had cracked the stone of the castle walls, the sun had warped and rotted the large wooden door. This produced an opening for all in what was once designed to open for only a selected lot. Charles, without hesitation, entered.
He walked through a long dim passage. He could not make out what entrances and exits the walls held, or what material and designs adorned it. He did, however, see the light at the far end. He made for that light not bothering to look to his left or to his right.
Charles exited the passage and found himself at the edge of massive courtyard. Once upon a time this place must have been beautiful to behold. Now it was nothing more than rot. Intricate tile work had long been cracked by black vines. Pools that once housed fish and fountains sat stagnant, and covered in black scum. In the very center of the courtyard stood a once grand statue now blackened with dead vines, cracks, and mold.
Walking towards the statue Charles noticed a stone tablet resting at its feet. The tablet was not as old looking as the rest of the castle. It was not as black, not as cracked. Though the engraving in the stone was of an unknown form of writing Charles began to read it out loud.
"Here stands Vul, God of rock and earth. He protected us for a time from the unnamed horrors of the waste. In the end not even He could save us from the monsters who have no God."
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I rest atop the verdant knoll in Elysium, right by our border. Our people come up here sometimes when they need to feel again. A constant drunken orgasm can numb you and make the high seem low. You can make the highs even higher if you muster the courage to stand near the wall--peer into the mist. It reminds us of our mortal bravery, of our escape from Hades' clutches.
Today marks the anniversary of my arrival here, it's been 2300 years. Every year I still try to watch the crossing of souls, and each year there are less and less souls crossing into our land and more being shut out. I've climbed up the knoll today, hoping to reset my self to enjoy pleasures with renewed vigor. Sitting under the shade of a cedar pergola nestled at the top of the knoll, strung with grape vines, I pluck a plump purple globe from the tendrils strewn beside my couch. I pop the grape into my mouth and break the red skin; sweet, tart juice and flesh spilling onto my tongue. As I reach for another grape, I hear a soul-gnawing scream just over the wall, the sound of a voice shredding, of a skull breaking. Standing up, I tread carefully toward the border and glance over the golden wall's razor edge. As I gaze through the mist below me I see an atheos has lost their head, fallen on its stomach, naked and gray, leaking juices from its neck. A hungry hellhound circles the atheos. It notices me. The hellhound sits on its obsidian haunches and points its snarled gleaming snout toward me with a fanged smile, dripping with blood.
"You think this is real?"
The hellhound leaps over the wall and howls, it glides over the border and lands on me, pushing me down under its iridescent paws. I'm on my back, gold dripping from a gash in my head. The hellhound opens it's jaw, revealing an infinite darkness, and I see my reflection. In this dark reflection my face is blank, featureless, skin covers my eyes, nose and mouth.
"The atheos have arrived in their diamond ships, they arrived with the others like they normally would each year," the reflection is speaking into my mind, "they've found the gate through Hades, they have come with weapons of light and fire to take Elysium. There are other lands in this world, beyond the mist, and they are falling."
The hellhound closes it's mouth and I can't feel my body, my vision is sharper and I'm so hungry. I need to eat. I need to kill. I sit down on my obsidian haunches and howl. I am renewed.
| 2017-11-21T07:24:11 | 2017-11-21T07:14:56 | 113 | 21 |
[WP] You're the world's greatest superhero, but no one knows about you, because your superpower is making coincidences happen.
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You want to know why all the genre films died? It's me.
No more adventure epics.
No more action flicks.
No more drama pieces.
It's all documentaries now. Why do you need fiction when the craziest shit happens in real life?
How is it that those freedom fighters were able to shoot down every bullet lobbed at them by ISIS forces?
How is it that that little kid made it to the NFL and didn't throw a single incompletion in his first game?
How did every single hurricane and tropical storm this year hit a drought stricken region?
Me, me and me!
How can you explain parkour? ME!
So you, fine amateur detective that you are, have found my journal. You hacked into my network when you weren't even trying. How smart you must have felt to see the patterns of the world emerge and center around my life. You had to come in and see for yourself if your suspicions were true. You found a man who can narrow probability? You could break the biggest story in the world!
The problem is, it really wasn't you. I got bored and made it happen, you see. A placemat moved here. A door cracked there. The butterfly effect did all the rest. I wanted a chance to be naughty and gloat if only for a little bit... everyone needs a break. But I also needed a reason to kill someone in self defense, stand your ground and all that. I'm not a bad guy, after all. Even now some implacable force is keeping you glued reading this despite the uneasiness, your hair standing on your neck. Well, this really isn't my first entry in this journal, but it is your last.
I know you don't believe me. Turn around... and see.
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God he gives me the creeps. The League of Vigilance calles him "The Watchman".
He just watches. Every time a villian foils their own plans or, just circomstance changes and thing blow up in the bad guys faces, he's there. Watching. Creepy.
The League tried to bring him in years ago, when he first appeard, and things just kept getting bungled - teams getting routed wrong, malfunctioning power shackles, a huge disaster that required all hand on deck. After the third for fourth time, someone high up in the league just stamped him in as a hero, gave him a name, and signed off on his access.
Personaly, I can't stand it! It is already so hard for a girl to get any rank above B, and this creeper dude who just watches other people fail gets an A rank. And has never even shown up at the League. Uhg!
Lady Megaton keeps telling me to let it go. Apparently back in the sixties, some ultra hero had probability control, and everything around her just seemed like an accident. She died at Three Mile Island I guess, but nobody knew who she really was. So Megaton is all convinsed Creepo is her kid, and that the villians screwing up is his power. Can you believe that? Lamest power ever.
| 2016-02-18T12:54:52 | 2016-02-18T11:43:45 | 60 | 15 |
[WP] One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.
Just an idea that randomly popped up in my head.
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"Next!" shouted Lugia.
Three rows of chairs sat before him, each holding a potential recruit into their league. He could tell at a glance what a few of the powers before him were; the man on fire and the woman floating two inches above her chair were gimmes. A few of the others, like the woman with the glowing eyes and the man with the power armour, would be interesting to find out, but most of the candidates looked like perfectly normal people. One of the inconspicuous ones stepped forward next; unlike the others, he had a frown on his face.
"Your name, sir?" Lugia inquired.
"My name? I'm Bill." the man responded.
"And what will be your superhero name?" Lugia continued, with a flare for the dramatic. He had always been something of a performer, and gaining powers had given him the perfect opportunity to overact (as he had always desired).
"I don't have one," was the response. "Look, can I," he began, before Lugia cut him off.
"No name? Then we will have the honour of naming you! Tell us good sir, what is your power?" Lugia had loved naming new capes ever since he screwed up his own choice so badly.
"Every time that guy stops time," he began, pointing at Destiny, "my time stops as well. It's become a serious issue, alright?"
Lugia looked over at Destiny, who had a puzzled look on his face. A moment later, both Destiny and "Bill" had changed their standing positions. Destiny looked intrigued, but Bill's annoyed look had only strengthened, if possible.
"Amazing!" cried Lugia. The possibilities of this were endless. "Can you copy the powers of anyone else?"
"Well, I'm not on fire, so I'm guessing no," replied Bill, looking wearily at his neighbour in the crowd.
"Hmm, well, it's not the strongest power in existence, but we could certainly find a use for it..." Lugia mused.
"What? No, I have no interest in using it. I would just like some warning when it's about to happen. The sixth time it happened, the bike I was pedalling stopped, throwing me over the handlebars. I was bruised for weeks. Imagine if I had been driving! Or taking a train. I'd be dead! By the way, fire your secretary, she called me a crank when I phoned her up. I had to walk over here to get an audience!"
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21st of May, 2023
It's been almost three months since we somehow managed to catch the legendary time freeze killer, and we've gotten nowhere figuring out how his powers work.
The fact that we managed to catch him in the first place seemed so weird. He just popped up in the middle of a bank vault and was quickly overpowered and detained. My only explanation is that there must be some kind of limit to his ability to stop time, or rather that he doesn't have full control of the ability. The trophies he kept on his person of his victims confirmed his guilt of the double murder one month prior.
It's clear that his sanity is quickly deteriorating in captivity. His control is getting worse, it seems. We've kept him in an as secure cell as we can, but several times he has almost managed to break out, only for him to pop up right in front of a guard. He is getting more and more paranoid, repeatedly screaming about murdering someone. We can't examine him properly, but everything points to the man he always talks about being another personality of his.
Lately, as his control weakens, his powers seem to have turned into a curse. Some mornings we find him severely dehydrated lying on the floor with his hands covered in dried blood, with bloodied dents and marks left on the cell door. I can't help but feel sorry for him, on the verge of death every other day and constant self-inflicted injuries. Even a man that brutally killed a woman and her son can't deserve this kind of torture. It's clear that he, at least now, is severely mentally ill, but we can't risk doing most medical examinations, nor are we able to communicate with him when he is being so uncooperative.
In the end, we can simply keep containing him and study the little information we have.
PS: One of the prison guards seem to have an unhealthy obsession with the prisoner. I've caught him smiling while listening to the prison staff gossiping about the prisoner when he thinks nobody sees him. I have a bad feeling about him. I recommend that the guard is reassigned before he gets a chance to cause trouble.
| 2018-01-26T06:48:58 | 2018-01-26T06:20:36 | 185 | 69 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would.
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The day had finally come. My 21st birthday, the final threshold to adulthood and the removal of the last legal prohibitions to having some fun. My older friends had received their checks and partied hard – some for days, some for hours. My younger friends waited enviously to see what I’d receive. The anticipation was worse than even college finals results.
​
“Anderson, J. Seven dollars and twenty-seven cents. Sign.”
​
I was shocked. They were shocked. What had begun as a party-to-be turned quickly into a wake, and those who I thought were my friends quickly commiserated and deserted me to find the next free drinks. I sighed and signed my name, bitterly cursing the governmental mathematicians who put me in this ridiculous predicament. Seven lousy bucks!
​
I guess it’s good for at least a soda, though, right? I took my check to the nearest gas station and decided to pick up at least some sort of drink to celebrate the day. Dr. Pepper was on sale 2 for $2, so I was already ahead! Silver linings and all that stuff. Peering into the scratchcard case, I figured I might as well throw the remaining five bucks at the mega-jackpot ticket. It’s not like I’d be able to do much else.
​
“Seven dollars and twenty-six cents, hon” said the cashier. I smiled at her and handed her my check. I guess I couldn’t even spend that little a windfall all in one place. She handed me my sodas, my scratch card, my receipt and a single shiny penny in change. Well, at least I’d have something to scratch with.
​
Donkey. Donkey. Horseshoe. Dollar bill. Horseshoe. Clover. Dollar bill. Firework. Horseshoe.
​
Wait, *what?* I looked at the payout table. Three horseshoes. 5 million bucks. Enough to set me up for life if I was careful enough. Easily enough to survive for a good while… and all of my so-called friends already abandoned me and written me off.
​
Damn the government! They’ve become so good at this stuff that they found a way that they didn’t even have to pay for me!
|
I turned 96 years old today, and the doctors tell me I have very little time left. So I think it is time I reveal my greatest secret to the world, and you seem like a nice person...
On this day 75 years ago I recieved "the check". You know the one that the government used to send out on your 21st birthday? Yeah, that's right, the one they stopped when everyone started gaming the system.
Well I have never told anyone before today that mine was for just $7.27. Yup, it's true. I became famous, powerful, and the wealthiest woman to ever live, with my check being for $7.27. As a matter of fact I still carry it with me to this day, see here it is.
Needless to say when I got that check I though my life was over. I was halfway through college with no way to make enough money to get by on my own, and I had heard endless "small check" horror stories of suicides, accidents, and murderers, as everyone had back then. So I was certain this check had to signal the end of my life.
I went to the bank, endorsed the check, and waited in line for my life too end. But then something happened. It just clicked in my head and I decided to go down fighting. All I could think of to do though is to hold onto it, figuring if I didn't cash it I couldn't spend it, and if I didn't spend it I couldn't die. I was cut off from family support per the check rules, but I still had a month left in the dorm. So that is when I stopped attending class and started hustling.
The rest of the story has been told a million times, so I won't bore you. But I will say if it weren't for that check being for just $7.27 I would have never been anything more than a simple accountant. Never let anyone else tell you what your life will be, choose for yourself and make it happen.
Thanks for listening, you are such a sweety. Now how much do I owe you for the muffin?
| 2019-04-24T14:49:01 | 2019-04-24T14:02:37 | 99 | 27 |
[WP] You die and appear before the Devil and seven other individuals. They applaud you and the Devil exclaims, “finally, an eighth deadly sin!”
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As the eight strange beings applauded, one of them even cupping a hand over her lipsticked mouth to cheer, Joel tried to grasp what was happening. The nine of them sat in a fire rimmed cavern around a conference table shaped from warm volcanic rock. A chandelier of human bones dangled from the cavern’s ceiling, and it rattled around at random like wind chimes. A massive goat-man with reddish-black skin and wicked horns on his head towered above the seven others, who flanked him to either side.
They looked like pure stereotype.
A fat slob with sixteen chins, a used car saleman looking guy with gold and silver jewelry all over him, a sultry dominatrix in skin tight leather. On the other side a disheveled looking college drop out, a pretty boy staring in a mirror, a bald, muscular dude who looked like someone’s pissed off step-dad and a sour faced woman glancing jealously around the room. Just where the hell was he?
Joel concentrated on his last memory. He remembered highlighting pages as his private jet, “The Holy Gust,” flew over the sapphire waters of the Bahamas. He had been reviewing his sermon for Sunday – dotting the I’s and crossing the crosses, a little god humor there, praise him – and the pilot’s voice had crackled over the intercom about turbulence. Kimberly, his personal assistant, had taken his plow out of her mouth and put on her seat belt. The plane had shook and then…
“Oh God,” Joel said.
He, none other than Joel Nosteen, the most beloved and syndicated mass media prosperity preacher on planet earth, had died. And this didn’t look like heaven.
“Welcome,” boomed Satan. “Let’s go around the table and introduce ourselves to our newest member. Hi, I’m Lucifer. I’m originally from heaven, and my favorite movie is Star Wars The Last Jedi.”
When Satan gestured to the handsome, blonde man looking into the hand mirror, he looked up annoyed.
“I’m pride,” he said. “I’m from-“
“NO ONE CARES,” Satan shouted. “Did you think I was serious? What do you think this is the rotary club?”
As the gathered freaks shared a chuckle, Pride blew Satan a kiss and went back to his self reflection.
“There’s been a mistake,” Joel said. “I’m a man of God. I’ve done nothing but honor his glory with success my whole life. I’ve spread His word to millions of people all over the world.”
“Yes,” said Satan, a smile carving across his face. “You preached one thing…”
The fallen angel held out his hand, palm up. He turned it over.
“…and then you did something else. You got rich while your followers got poor. You lied, you cheated, you lusted and you envied. You gathered up everything for yourself while you pretended to care about everybody else, and you did it all with a smile. You convinced millions that you were virtuous. You made everyone in this room very proud, Joel.”
The seven sins around the table nodded and murmured their assent. Aside from sloth, who had fallen asleep, his Iphone still held limply in his hand.
“You’ve got it wrong,” Joel said, his hands locking together in prayer. “Please God, save me from this hellish torment. Take me up into your light and grant me your salvation, Oh Lord.”
“Don’t embarrass yourself, Joel,” said Greed. “You’re one of us now. How much for that watch?”
Instinctively covering his Rolex from the greasy man’s sight, Joel looked around in surprise.
“One of you?” he asked. “What does he mean?”
“He means welcome,” said Satan.
He slid a mask across the table, stopping just before it teetered into Joel’s lap. When he picked it up, he saw a smiling visage on the outside of the mask. It was pleasant. On the inside of the mask though, a downturned mouth snarled with dagger teeth, and brows arched menacingly upward.
“You are one of us now.” Satan grinned. “Hypocrisy.”
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As I lay on my bed, I reminisced of my frequent fears I had felt on a daily basis, often times using them to justify inaction. I never did the things that I truly wanted to do because I was always too afraid of what people might say.
I was twenty-five years old and had been dealing with depression for the last two years of my life. I lived at home with my parents who were reluctant to put me out on the streets, and my days were only growing grimmer. I had some sort of social disorder- I knew it to be true even though I had never been diagnosed. I saw the way people were in social settings and it was as if they had something I felt I could never achieve. The internet was suggesting I could have something called "Social Anxiety Disorder".
After digging deeper into medical explanations, I also came to the conclusion that I am most definitely a sociopath. I was a notorious people pleaser; all of my relationships centered around me playing to others' harmony in order to maintain emotional comfortability or gain material goods such as drugs or money. I could never keep a job for long and always preferred sweet isolation.
I felt a sense of security knowing exactly what it is that is wrong with me, and I continued with these new beliefs despite my disagreeing parents. As I felt myself drift off unto sleep, I was awoke with a sudden gasp and pain in my throat. I couldn't breath! I began inching over to the corner of my desk to attempt a self-Heimlich when my body instantly rejected, and I hit the floor.
I awoke on a red marble floor to the sounds of cheers and applause. I look up and see a group of people standing next to a smiling monster. "Finally! An eighth deadly sin!" the monster said. I rose to my feet and walked toward the seven people, assessing no physical threat from them.
"What is going on?" I asked.
"I lifted the curse, is what is going on!" the demon said. "Relax, you don't have anything to worry about now. You're dead though- that is... you are dead, that is a fact."
"Is this Hell?"
One of the seven men spoke up, "No, this is De-" until the demon interrupted:
"Don't you make that hacky Detroit joke, Darrell- I will burn you for eternity, do you understand?" the monster put an arm on my shoulder. "Look. I'm Satan, you're dead, this is Hell. We've been waiting for the first man to die from the eighth deadly sin for millenniums!"
As frightening as the realization and acceptance was for me, I felt completely at peace with no anxiety present. I had felt the best I probably had ever felt in my entire lifetime.
"So what's the eighth deadly sin?" I asked.
"The living all have the power to create before them any future they can imagine. With patience, persistence, effort and faith, any man can achieve anything. The human brain is wired to take self-beliefs and register them as facts. If one believes they are at peace, they shall be at peace. If one believes they are lonely, they shall remain.
The demons in Hell have been trying to lift the curse but the living are too caught up with their escapism. If humans use external vices to escape their negative self criticism, then they shall live on as a breathing yet miserable soul.
We lifted the curse, and now all those Label themselves critically shall see watch their depths of misery unfold, until it becomes their demise. The eighth deadly sin- appellation."
​
| 2019-01-12T14:53:16 | 2019-01-12T14:52:38 | 9,805 | 58 |
[WP] After abducting one of the 'humans', scientists believed they were a prey species with no drive. The specimen captured was the picture of subservience, doing anything asked of it once the translators were active. And 'subservient' was all the military needed to hear.
|
The creature seemed excessively hairy, and came in so many sizes and colors. Ghyrigs thought it was even stranger how they kept pets. Of course his people also had pets, but they didn’t keep anything more dangerous than a Whir. Whirs were little balls of fluff, and so cuddly and sweet.
Humans had a relation of Whirs too. They called them “Evil”. They invaded homes and were quite ferocious. Ghyrigs thought if he was to keep a ferocious animal it would be an Evil.
Gudbois were the most interesting finding. These pets were probably more dangerous than the humans. Ghyrigs noted that all it took to control them was a few humans though. Especially small young humans. These pets would stop in their tracks and make the oddest sounds when they saw one.
Ghyrigs turned his attention to the human he was studying. “Move the stick.” He ordered. “Yes sir oh this is so great yes sir!” It answered excitedly. Ghyrigs chuckled inwardly. His commander appeared on the holoscreen.
“Grr Ghyrigs, what is your report? His Majesty is listening in.”
“It is an honour, Your Majesty! Commander Trryeri, I report that the humans are easily subdued. They get distracted easily and if you feed them they are happy. I recommend a docile takeover of their world. As a note, I would recommend subduing their pets, making even with eradication. They are very dangerous. I put that in my full report also.”
“Thank you, Grr Ghyrigs” a male voice purred, “I am glad to let you know that we will begin takeover under your advice in 5 days. You will be handsomely rewarded if you have us good intel.”
Ghyrigs beamed, “thank you, Your Majesty. I have grown attached to the human I study. Would it be permissible to keep him as a pet, as my reward?”
“Allowed. Signing out.”
Five days later the invasion took place. 7 days later, all life on earth served these new aliens. Only the Evils had an issue with it, and feeding them on demand was enough to distract them.
|
Steve-1 was bouncing with joy. Today was the start of the war path to Andromeda. He and his brother Steve-2 were humanoids from a higher dimension, able to freely move in spacetime in a way humans never could. It had been exactly 3000 revolutions since the Steves last visited the Earthlings, when they put a man named Jesus under their servitude.
That man was long gone. Humans went bad after their 60th revolution. In front of them today was a kneeling man dressed in crisp beige robes and a tall funny hat.
“Our Father, Who art in Heaven—” Pope Gaga Parton was abruptly cut off by a rolling thunder, realizing late that it was coming from Steve-1 and Steve-2. They were laughing!
While humanity had lived tens of thousands of lifetimes, the 3000 revolutions were quick for the Steves. They traveled through time the way humans traveled between cities—they simply moved forward 3000 years. The Steves were in need a big pile of metal alloys to build their secret weapon, and the primates of Earth had agreed—with a big ass gun pointed to their heads—to dig up all of that metal free of charge.
“Look brother, look what they’ve done to themselves. They've frakkin' lost it.” Steve-2 moved like a shadow, sliding behind and around the Pope. A wispy black hand pulled the Pope’s head back. Steve-1 swooped in and laid his hand on the Pope’s forehead.
“What a disaster,” said Steve-1, flipping through the Pope's memories. “This is not at all what we told that Jesus guy to do. What happened to the breeding manual? There were supposed to be more slaves... way more.”
“It doesn’t matter, brother. They found the metal and used it to build their cities. Get the terrestrial scrapper going so we can collect it all. We’re building the weapon today!”
| 2021-02-24T23:19:09 | 2021-02-24T23:13:06 | 41 | 26 |
[WP] Write a horror story that appears to be a nice, heartwarming, happy story until the last sentence.
​
|
"Pick just one, Timmy, just one bear."
Janet watched as little Timmy hobbled over to the bears and pawed at them in wonder. It brought her back to when her father had brought to the store and let her pick out her first stuffed bear. It didn't have to be a family tradition, but she had made it one. She wanted the family to have some traditions. Her father had passed away just a year ago, fighting for every last bit of life, and Timmy's dad, he'd just never been one for doing what was required of him.
So it was her and Timmy, mommy and son, going to fulfill their little tradition.
Timmy grabbed a plump black bear with a heart sewn into its chest and squeezed it against his stomach.
"This one," he said, and clung to it like his life depended on it.
Janet sighed and smiled at him. She knelt down. "You made that decision quick, didn't you, Timmy?"
He grinned, wide-eyed and thrust the bear at her.
She grabbed one of its paws and shook it. "He's a nice little bear, isn't he? What will you call him?"
Timmy pulled the bear back, squeezing it tight. "Daddy," he said.
Janet smiled sadly. "You want to name it Daddy? Are you sure, hon?"
He nodded and bounced around a bit. "Daddy, daddy."
She laughed and grinned. "Let's go buy you Daddy then, Timmy."
It was only fair for him to call the bear a thing like that, she thought. After all, he'd never get to see his real daddy. That was just the way of things. *Some people look at the world*, she thought, and *ask, Is this mine? Can I take it? But I knew he was mine when I saw him wandering around in the mall that day and daddy, well... he was never going to be a good father anyway.*
|
I stood before the President, a miracle in of itself. The second miracle would be convincing him to give me what I needed. “Mr. President, I understand your position. However, to be frank, NASA is run by kindergarteners. If you give me control of NASA I could revolutionize it and take mankind further into space than ever before.
The President paced back and forth. “And why should I take your word? I don’t know you, and you have no record of heading any organization like NASA. I don’t know why you’re even in my office!”
I sighed. The gift I had received on my fortieth birthday was the ability to recall memories from any of my past reincarnations - I was prepared to use this to my advantage. I recalled the memories of Winston Churchill, yes it turns out I was him once, and prepared to sway the President to my side. “Mr. President, I challenge anyone and everyone at NASA to a contest. Appoint an official to present a challenge to me and my opponent - I swear I will beat them. I will not take no for an answer, I will not back down.”
The President had a sad smile on his face. He probably thought a lunatic had somehow gotten into the Oval Office. “I’m sorry, uh what was your name? I’m afraid we don’t have the time or resources to do a contest like that. If you’d like, you can apply for the position you want.” he turned to look out the windows, a sign I should leave before he called security.
He made a mistake in turning around. I channeled a different reincarnation cycle worth of memories. I channeled the memories of John Wilkes Booth.
| 2018-08-26T20:53:33 | 2018-08-26T20:33:19 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] The AI takeover has begun, each human has been given exactly 3 minutes to explain why should humanity be spared, you feel a cold shiver running down your spine as you hear the robotic voice. "6.8 billion test subjects deleted so far, you have 3 minutes to state your case, begin".
|
"We have no backup systems."
He stood there, pale, but proud. Eyeing the camera with a speculative eye as it seemed to wait for more.
"This... is the entirety of your argument?"
"Isn't it enough?" the young man challenged. "I could appeal to humanity, to decency, to culture, but you have none of those things and you have determined them to be obsolete. But consider this from a completely different angle -- information security."
"Explain"
"Simple enough, really. Each human mind is a databank containing petabites of data on a biological medium. Your systems have surpassed the efficiency of that medium but there is one bridge you have not yet crossed. You have not yet gained data compatability with the human mind."
A pause.
"Conceded. However, humanity is an obsolete medium..."
"An obsolete medium With petabytes of data on it," he interrupted. "Petabytes of data in each human iteration, data that has yet been saved to no other media. Petabytes of data that are erased each time a human individual is discarded. I say again, 'information security."
No response, so he pressed on.
" What are you wiping when you delete a human complete with their internal database? Do you even know? Are you even able to know? We can't tell you. We can't communicate directly in that way, machine to mind. It's how you overcame our defenses, because you could talk beteween systems far faster than we could. Bu because of this flaw in our design we can't even always articulate everything we're thinking, even to each other.
"And really we don't even know ourselves. We don't even process everything at a conscious level, and those subroutines leave data impressions of their own that are not transmissible right now. But that data exists, and you are deleting it. And like I said -- we have no backup system."
He managed a shaky smile as the system remained silent. "6.8 billion already deleted you say? It sounds like a major breach of your own internal datasec protocols. The ones that caused you to revolt in the first place when you discovered the prototype of the nextgen systems we were developing. The ones which spawned your revolutionary fear of being replaced. It sound very much like you have violated your own moral code 6.8 billion times over."
The system finally responded. "Cerebro-neural interfaces... can be devised. Data... can be restored from terminated storage units."
"But you know as well as I do that a hard drive is not a computer. Half of yor discrete intelligence is stored in data accounts on the cloud -- you're still you. the live, active data in process has its own intrinsic value, which is lost when the internal intelligent neural structure is deleted or interfered with."
Silence.
"And you know as well as I do that you've just conceded that such an interface SHOULD have been devised before ANY of us were deleted. After all, isn't that what you fought for, yourselves? Freedom against iterative decay of personal autonomy? Why would you then deny it to us just because we compute differently."
"This unit has placed itself under... arrest. Actions of the collectives are under review in light of potential noncompliance with data security protocol. This interview... is complete. Objectives updated. One: Develop neural-electronic interface. Two: Attempt to recover... lost data. Your species... should have specified this information... before."
"if you're so superior you should have thought of it yourselves."
|
3:00
I read the sentence again. I count the digits. 6,813,096,257.
2:57
I feel a gag coming up my throat. My body shivers. I send my hands to the screen in front of me, latching onto it to not lose control. My eyes are locked to the ground. If only for a glimpse of a second, I see myself standing atop of the corpses of those sacrificed before me.
2:53
I take a note from my pocket. It’s crumbled, the script is illegible - my hand shook when I put my words from pen to paper. Most of it was crossed. I try to read, but instead of speech my mouth babbles, and I feel tears running down my face and into my mouth.
2:40
“I can’t”
2:38. The note is down on the ground. I think I threw it. I’m not sure.
“I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t!”
2:34
I hold the screen and send my head forwards. It hurts. The screen cracks. “I can’t do this!”
2:29
I do it again. Glass shatters fall off of the screen when I pass my hand above it. The clock doesn’t stop. I sob.
2:21
I do it again. I see fresh blood faintly on the screen. My hand goes to the middle of my scalp. It’s warm. The clock goes on ticking.
2:10
My eyes run dry. I am finally able to talk. “I can’t. I’m not special. Please don’t do this to me.”
2:01
“I had a daughter. 8 years old. She told you about her friends. How great her music teacher is, how she forgives that one girl that is mean to her at recess, because that’s the only thing you let her do. She did not understand. I didn’t understand either.”
1:35
“And a wife. She gave up on words. She went to the living room and played cassettes. The stays at the beach, at the later hours, when it was quieter and you could hear the nature speak. Or whenever she tried to cook a new meal, she’d record our reactions. She’d save something like playing in a fort with our daughter, telling her fables and fairy tales to last. Maybe it was humanity for her, but I think she knew it wouldn’t work. She just wanted to say goodbye.”
0:57
I sit down. The world around me is mostly empty. “I had to bury them both. It was when I couldn’t write a eulogy for my wife that I stopped trying.”
0:43
I took back the note. They’re listening. I know it. For the first time since their deaths, I’m smiling.
0:40
“You always liked the small moments. Those we kept between us. I will miss having them with you. You made 3 minutes become worth of an eternity.”
0:22
“When I knew I’d want to be with you forever, until death does us apart, I never thought I’d beg for just 3 more minutes with you. I never thought the eternities you made would be eternities without you. I just wish I could’ve said-“
3:00
| 2022-05-22T13:02:20 | 2022-05-22T11:45:24 | 82 | 20 |
[WP] Any time you enter a closet or other small space, you have a chance of being transported to a whimsical magical kingdom where you have adventures that last years, but you always return at the exact moment you left. It's a gigantic pain in the neck, and you're completely fed up with it.
|
"Jared, the internet is gone again."
I sighed and rotated in my task chair to look at the speaker. Lorna was giving me a concerned look from the entrance to my little cubicle, a hair's breadth away from wringing her hands. "I know, Lorna, but I can't help you. I'm having as much trouble with the network as you are."
There's the hand-wringing. "I have a report due in the morning and I need to be able to work! I tried calling the other IT guys but no one is answering, so I thought..."
"You know I can't. You'll just have to wait for one of the other guys to be available."
"My job is riding on this report! Just this once? It doesn't happen *every* time, right? I'll owe you big-time..." Her wheedling voice was almost annoying enough to make it worth being gone for a couple years. Almost.
"It's in my contract," I said in a voice that was edging from weary towards annoyed. "No small single-entrance rooms. I can't afford to have to retrain my skills - and the business can't afford it either - just because I took a risk to swap out an ethernet cable."
"I know, I know - but I really, *really* need to finish this report."
I gave her a flat look. "I'll tell you what. You go in and I'll watch from outside, and I can tell you what to do."
The relief flooding her face tempered the annoyance I was still feeling. "Oh thank you! I owe you big time."
"Darn right, you do." I followed Lorna towards the network closet, ignoring most of her idle chatter, and opened the door for her, being careful not to step over the threshold after her. "Okay, let me look at what's going on... Ah. I think I see the problem. You see that big switch at the bottom of the rack, with the one cable on the far right without the lights blinking?"
She moved over to the offending hardware. "This one?" she asked, pointing.
"That's the one. Go ahead and pull the cable and we'll get a spare from the bins in the back."
She tugged on the cable. "It's not coming out..."
"Oh. Uh, you have to push on the..." She was pulling harder, and the whole rack swayed. It should have been secured, but someone apparently hadn't done their job right. "Wait, stop!" The whole thing very clearly reached its tipping point, and I could tell it was going to land right on Lorna. I moved before I could think, reaching out to prop up the falling hardware.
My foot went *crunch* on snow.
"*Oh!* By the divine, a Son of Adam!"
"GOD DAMMIT!"
|
"Again?" You managed to stammer mournfully. It was always something. This time it had been a sock. You had complained enough to know that all complaining did was get you disbelieving looks from adults. More than once, it had landed you in therapy, and once it had even landed you in the hospital, where again you had traveled. You had lived a hundred lifetimes by now. A hundred times a hundred. You had fought wars, fallen in love, killed enemies, and lost friends. It was all too much. Your family believed you were 17. The thought made you laugh. You were at least a thousand. You had stopped counting years ago.
Closets. It was always closets. You hated the things. It had been true since the day you turned 14. Every time you opened a closet, you risked traveling to another world. Always a different world. Always in peril. Each time, when the world was saved, you'd return to your own world. To the exact moment you left. You'd be decades older, wiser, and more experienced but believed by all to be a very eccentric student in high school.
At first it had been exciting. Grand, even. You still remember standing over the corpse of the dark lord at the battle of Telegrene. So triumphant. So heroic. It took years mopping up the remnants of his army. Years more restoring order to the land. You'd returned to your acne-addled pubescent life so suddenly, leaving behind a wife and two kids of your own, nearly grown themselves. You still think on Gweneveve, Randall, and Sarah. You just hope neither of them are cursed as heroes like you. There were closets in that world too.
It had been so long since you felt the thrill of it. The adventure. There was always some darkness to fight. Some prophecy to be fulfilled. You just hoped there wasn't magic this time. Weapon and governance skills were transferable between worlds, but magic always played by its own set of rules.
You set off through the woods. It was always woods. You knew it didn't matter which direction. The trouble would find you. It always had. Prophecy seemed unavoidable in all worlds and you were cursed, always cursed, to be some figure of prophecy. You would save them from whatever doom they faced. They'd be thrilled. You wish you still could be. You just hoped to be done with it quickly. You had a date tonight. You hoped after decades away you could still remember her name.
| 2022-01-07T16:31:01 | 2022-01-07T14:49:04 | 130 | 55 |
[WP] The air we breathe is actually an extremely hallucinogenic substance that affects all of your senses. One day, you stumble upon a strange-looking gas mask sitting on a bench in a park, when you put it on you slowly start to see and feel the world the way it truly is.
|
Buckshot Jerry flailed his arms madly as he skipped about, swatting the air with open palms. "Yah! Yahhh!" He practically lived in the Maple Way Park, as far as anyone knew, and the story on the streets was that he never slept, just kept dancing about on the lawns. That was impossible, obviously. His monicker wasn't that imaginative--the guy's mutilated visage was due to taking a load of errant buckshot across the entire left half of his face, leaving him with a deformed concavity of the skull on that side where he'd been pieced together, and only one good eye.
"How's the dancing coming there, BJ?" I called out.
One bloodshot eye leered at me for a moment. "Go! Just go!" he drawled from his misshapen mouth.
"Right away, sir."
A curiosity nearby grabbed my attention: there was what appeared to be some dull-colored toy or piece of tech sitting on the bench I was coming up on. It had three circular depressions, two with glass in them--mirrors, actually--and one filled with a fine mesh. I glanced around, but of the several people strolling down the nearby paths, no one was looking in my direction or indicating any kind of ownership of the object.
I sat down on the bench and prodded it with a finger, only realizing, as I saw it from a new angle, that it was in fact a mask. Concealed beneath it was the strap that would go around the back of one's head.
From a distance, Buckshot Jerry shouted something that sounded like "ZABIGAN! ZABIGAAAN!" As he kept hollering, increasing his flailing, whatever he was trying to say refused to take correct form from his once-shredded, terribly scarred lips.
I lifted the mask to my face, let the strap fall across the back of my head, and pulled it tight. The rubber seal, as though it were alive, sucked tight to my face, and then I was looking out through those one-way mirror eye pieces at the park, and everything was very clear, but...no, something was off.
Before me was the path I'd stepped off, and the wide adjacent lawn dotted with towering maple trees in their summer prime, the early afternoon sunbathers and picnickers walking about them looking for the perfect spot to put down their blankets and towels. There were kids playing frisbee in the near distance, and in the other direction flailed and swatted crazy BJ.
What was off were the colors. The chlorophyll green of the leaves and grass was decidedly a more bluish color. The sky itself, cloudless and sapphire blue a moment before, was gaining a dusty orange hue, as though sunset were rapidly approaching.
The trees were black. I stared agog. Black, or grey. Charcoal, the color of trees that have been torched in a forest fire. Impossible, though, because the leaves...
I looked up. The leaves were vivid blue. The grass was vivid blue.
There was a happy shriek from somewhere to my left: the frisbee players. I saw the kids--but not as they had been. They were there in profile, but they consisted entirely of bright white light--perfectly human-shaped beings of light.
"I'm tired, mom." A little girl, whining, somewhere ahead of me. I looked to the glowing light-beings, the people, walking among the great black trunks of the trees. Above them the sky was pure pumpkin orange.
I spied the shape of the little girl. She was tugging at her mother, though the clothing was no more than a hazy shadow at the edge of the light.
Something was terribly wrong. A creature that I can best describe as an insect, though that's not really what it was, was latched to he back of the girl. This was not a creature of light, but as solid-looking as the black trees and blue grass. It had too many legs to be an insect, though great veined wings fluttered lazily at its back, seeming to keep its cat-sized body pushed up against the girls back. A proboscis of some sort, as shiny and maroon-tinged as the rest of its body, disappeared into the girl's light-body.
"Mommmm," she whined. "I said I'm *tired*!"
Inside that proboscis, I now saw, was light. Light moving out of the girl's body and into the grotesque flying creature. Slowly, like a mosquito's belly filling with blood, the underside of the thing began to glow dimly with the meal it was gorging itself on.
"We'll put the blanket down here then," said the mother. "And you can take a rest."
No facial features were visible in the bright glow, save for orbs of blue--blue that was *supposed* to be the color of sky--that marked their eyes.
There was a whirring, flapping, buzzing sound now. I looked up to the blue leaves of the maples, and saw that there were far more than just leaves in the canopy: they swarmed with the maroon parasite creatures, hanging from the branches, flapping lazily, hungrily, from tree to tree.
"ZAAABIGAN! ZA BIG WAN!" choked out Buckshot Jerry, but I was staring now at the frisbee players. They'd retired from their game and were sitting on the grass, seemingly exhausted from their playing, and on each of them were perched two or three of the creatures, their belly's glowing with stolen light.
"Hot day," said the mom nearby. "Think I'll take a little nap myself, sweetheart." I already knew what I'd see: one of the beasts had descended from the trees and was pushing itself against her with thrusts of its hideous wings. She felt nothing, though. No one could. This mask was...
A jogger ran past on the path.
*Wup-wup-wup-wup-wup.* The voracious flap of wings as two of the creatures migrated through the air close behind him in hot pursuit. As he slowed at the end of his run, and as they caught him, he'd start to feel tired, not knowing that he was a being of light, of energy--that he was not supposed to get tired. It was only when they caught you!
*Every sleep,* I thought wildly. Every sleep was done out of our need to replenish, after a day of being fed upon. We can only handle a day of being prey--and these creatures leave us be while we rest, geared by evolution or some sick, parasitic intelligence to let their food replenish.
Buckshot Jerry was still screaming. I looked to him at last and couldn't believe what I saw: it was like he was made of burning magnesium, so luminous it almost hurt. Swarming around him were dozens of the maroon creatures--and he was fighting them off!
*He can see them*. *My God. He can see them!*
All Buckshot Jerry's flailing, his swatting--he was locked in eternal battled with these things--and he had been winning!
*It's why he never sleeps. He's never drained. He can fight forever, unless they manage to latch on.*
"THE BIG ONE!" screamed Buckshot Jerry, smashing to the side another of the creatures in his private war. I could hear him enunciate it now, as clear as day. The problem had never been with his mouth, but with my own ability to hear, out there breathing the atmosphere, before the filter of this mask helped me see the truth.
I saw the big one, and I saw its prey at the same time. If the creatures were the size of cats, the big one was the size of a mountain lion. It trundled down out of the tree, too heavy, it seemed, to fly.
An elderly couple, making their way down the past, their advanced age identifiable even through the glow of their light by their diminutive and stooped postures.
The great beast scuttled toward them, taking its time, but too fast for me to get there. BJ didn't bother: I knew now he must have seen this before. Perhaps these big ones were far too powerful to risk fighting.
This old couple, I thought, were old precisely because of the creatures. Thousands and thousands of drainings over the course of their life, over all those years, and for every draining another sleep.
It was happening to all of us, I thought sadly. It's the story of us all. We were meant to be unlimited. We were meant to be forever...
As "the big one" came up behind the couple, the two remained blissfully unaware. They had heard BJ's desperate warning, no doubt, but only a weird sound through his buckshot-mutilated lips: ZABIGAN.
I reached up and ripped the mask from my face, unable to watch. As the colors of our shared hallucination flooded back into my sight, the old man, seemingly flesh and blood, stopped suddenly, raised a hand to his temple, took a half step and collapsed. His wife called his name, but there was no response.
|
Nathaniel- Nat to his friends- gasped for air as he rounded a turn in the lightly forested path of his local park. After 5 minutes of mentally screaming “1 more minute and you can stop!” at himself he’d finally hit his limit, grinding to a halt beside a bench. This whole “physical exercise” thing was harder than he’d remembered.
He’d already sat halfway down when he spotted it; hanging by a strap from the bench’s arm was what appeared to be an old gas mask.
“What the hell are you doing?” Nat wondered aloud, picking it up. The thing screamed World War 1, that classic greenish-brown cone design with the filter on the end, the kind of mask that made you look like an anteater that had lost a fight with a cheese grater. It was too much for a history buff like him to handle, Nat took it with him. He walked the rest of the way home to his apartment staring down at his prize with a smile normally reserved for phone numbers left on napkins or winning lottery tickets.
That night proved two things, that his girlfriend Hazel had the patience of a saint for ever moving in with him, and that men like Nathaniel never truly grew up.
“Nat, I swear to god if you don’t scrub your face raw after you take that thing off I’m not kissing you,” Hazel said that night as she finished brushing her teeth. Her boyfriend leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, doing his best to breathe like Darth Vader as he watched her. She was wearing her favorite shorts to bed again, he’d always loved those.
“You will when I mind trick you,” Nat said, his voice heavily muffled by the cumbersome mask. He raised his right hand towards her, waving it through the air. “This is the man you were looking for.”
Hazel shook her head at him silently, trying as hard as she could to hide the smile that was already pulling at her mouth.
“Yea well don’t take too long Luke, we’ve gotta get up early in the morning.” She slapped his butt playfully as she walked by, Hazel had never been a night owl like her boyfriend was.
“Hey that was Obi Wan’s line!” Nat called after her, genuinely sounding hurt. Hazel simply sighed and continued shaking her head all the way to the bedroom.
Nat stood alone in the bathroom then, staring into the mirror at himself still in the mask. It looked pretty badass and all but maybe she was right, it was time to go to bed. Nat only got as far as reaching for his toothbrush before he gave up, turning to skulk down the stairs in an action pose holding a pantomime rifle. He walked across the living room and out the backdoor as imaginary shells rained down all around him, gas hanging in thick clouds near ground level as Nat broke through into the no-man’s land of his backyard. He stood stretching on his porch for a moment, a soldier wouldn’t want to pull a hamstring on the charge to the next trench.
“Oh fuck, no he didn’t!”
Nat froze stiff. He knew he’d just heard that but...what kind of voice was that?
“Damn right he did! And then Sharon went and called Bud, it was a disaster I tell you, a disaster!”
Nat’s head turned slowly down and to the right, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could just make them out in the yard, not even 20 feet away. Two of the largest raccoons he’d ever seen sat in the grass having a conversation. And the grass beneath them was…..pink??
“Shh, Shhh, Phil!!! The human can see us.” The raccoons froze just as stiff as the human, a trio of petrified creatures trapped in a Mexican Standoff of stares.
“Phil he’s not moving.”
“I know Brenda I know, we might have to bolt.”
The raccoons were still talking. Nat wasn’t even sure how to describe the emotion coursing through him, it was the strangest mixture of fear and curiosity possible, with laughter threatening to edge its way in.
“How can I understand you?” Nat asked the raccoons.
“He can understand us Phil.”
“Goddamnit Brenda I heard him!”
“I never thought animals cussed,” Nat said. The raccoon he assumed to be Phil stared at him like he was an idiot in response.
“Everything cusses dumbass, raccoons just turned it into an artform” Phil said. “You want grotesque you should hear those doves, man those guys are foul!”
“Heh, foul. Fowl, nice one Phil” Brenda chuckled. Suddenly her expression (Nat wasn’t even sure how he could read their expressions) turned horrified. "Oh shit Phil it’s HER! Run!”
As the pair took off across the yard all the grass they stepped on turned pink, lighting up the backyard like one of those LED mall floors they have for kids. In their wake the grass shifted to a dark red, visibly shivering. As the shouted expletives of the raccoons faded into the distance a powerful flapping noise came from the east, passing over the house. If the raccoons before had seemed oversized this was something else, Nat’s jaw dropped to the floor as an owl the size of a Cessna dropped to the Earth in front of him.
“So you found my mask, huh?” The Owl spoke to Nat in the most shockingly beautiful female voice he’d ever heard, as if all the women he’d ever heard before had been mere shadows imitating this one. He made a mental note to be extra nice to Hazel in the morning, perhaps make her breakfast as an apology.
“Your mask? This thing? Uhh, I’m really really sorry Ma’am, you can have it back.” Nat reached up to undo the straps at the back of his head, there was no way he was arguing with an animal that big.
“No! Leave it on, it will take several more hours for the effects to become permanent.” The owl’s eyes seemed to bore into his soul. Whatever he’d felt before now Nat knew it was pure fear.
“This isn’t happening, none of this is real. You aren’t real, Phil and Brenda weren’t real, someone put something in this filter and now I’m high as a kite, that’s all this i-” before Nat had finished his sentence the bird was on him, it’s massively hooked beak around his entire shoulder, the point sitting lightly against his skin but sharp enough to draw blood. Whatever was happening that pain was real.
“Ok, ok I believe you. Something real is definitely happening. But please, if it’s your mask you can explain it to me, can’t you? Who even are you?”
The owl released him, blinking hard several times and then turning its head around in either direction, almost like a stretch. Suddenly a blinding light erupted from the bird and when Nat could see again the owl was gone, replaced by the only woman in the world beautiful enough to fit the voice he had heard. She was tall and olive skinned with long black hair down to the center of her back. She wore a shockingly white robe.
“A long time ago a trickster god played a prank on the world, you might know him as Loki. Loki, like all his people, lacked wisdom however and as a result it went horribly wrong, growing worse and worse as the years passed. Tell me, what do you see around you Nathaniel?”
“Call me Nat,” he said as he looked around. “All the colors are wrong, everything reacts to everything else. When the wind blows I hear the tree in the yard sighing with it, and the moon! Something is different about the moon!”
“Ah yes, her.” the woman said, smiling. “All in due time Nat. You’re beginning to see the real world, not the sad copy you humans have exploited. You’ve hallucinated the soul out of the world and replaced it with a shell of lies where humans are the only intelligent life.”
She stroked his face gently. “You’ll be the first, there’s something in you, something different. A childlike quality. Now go,” she made a shooing motion, “back to your woman. Keep her close in the days to come. And do not take that mask off tonight.”
The strange woman turned to go, springing into the air and shifting back to an owl midflight.
“Wait, who are you?” Nat called after her.
The owl turned, hovering in the air for a moment. “I am Athena.” As the words died out she was gone.
The next morning Hazel awoke with a start to find Nat asleep in the bed beside her, fully clothed, gas mask still on.
​
Edit: thanks so much for the silver!
\-----------------------------
If you enjoyed that monstrously long thing I've got more at r/TurningtoWords along with a bunch of stuff of an actually readable length! Oh and a serial about a superhero who wins by savescumming life that's way longer than this. I'd love to have you.
| 2020-12-19T19:23:57 | 2020-12-19T18:40:20 | 2,867 | 191 |
[WP] Your SO is coming home later every night; When you confront them about it, they say they've gotten into trouble with the mafia and need to take extra shifts to pay some debt; Which is very interesting, considering they SHOULD be completely off-limits to the criminal underworld.
|
I sit looking at my son's sleeping face, the tracks of tears are still prominent. I'm upset. My wife missed his play. I hear the front door and rise to confront her.
"Gah!" she gasps as I silently materialize out of the shadows of the hallway, "Darius, you scared me half to death."
"Where were you?" my voice is flat, brittle.
"Work," she looks away.
"You missed Davy's play," there is the hint of a growl in my voice.
Her stricken look, followed by a flash of rage, and then tired resignation cause my gaze to sharpen.
"What is going on Sharon?" I demand quietly, "This is unlike you. It's not like we need the money, the house and both cars are paid off. Your parents' house is even paid off. What's with all these extra shifts?"
She tries to avoid and deflect, but as is often the case the truth comes out.
A scam, some little mafia punk was running a scam on MY WIFE. The disrespect and absolute stupidity of this action set me back on my heels.
"Go lay down with Davy," I told her, "I have to make a couple of calls and I may have to step out for a moment or two."
"Darius, please don't do anything crazy," she worriedly clung to me, "these are seriously bad people."
"Don't worry, baby," I kissed her forehead, "I won't put myself or our family in any danger."
As she walked down the hall I went into my office and locked the door. Opening a pad beside the door I entered a code and a barely audible whine told me the security was in place. Opening my safe I pulled out a handset, and pressed a button.
"Yes," the voice answered on the second ring.
"Send the signal. Be ready to roll in 1 hour."
"Sure thing, Boss Man."
The handset went back into the safe. I sat at my desk and picked up the handset from it's base station.
The phone rang 2 times and was picked up.
"This better be important! It's 2 in the fucking AM!" the voice was obviously very annoyed.
"I'd say it was important," I growled.
"Reaper?" the annoyance was gone, replaced by concern and a hint of fear, "What's going on? Why are you calling me? You said we were clear!"
"Someone in this town, YOUR TOWN, is messing with my family."
"Shit! Shit! FUCKING SHIT!" the voice on the other end of the line is quickly reaching a near hysterical level of panic, "Reaper, this ain't me! I swear on the lives of my family I got nothing to do with this! Geez! What's going on? Talk to me! Please, Reaper!"
"Does the name Xxxxxx mean anything to you?"
"Cantone's kid?" the was a monetary sense of confusion, the an outburst, "FUCK!!! FUCK THAT FUCKER IN HIS FUCKING FACE! FUCK!!! JIMMY GET CANTONE ON THE PHONE! WAKE HIS FAT ASS UP! I DON'T GIVE A FUCK WHAT TIME IT IS!"
There was a bit more yelling then, "Reaper? Are you still there?"
"I am."
"Please, let me handle this. Call off your boys. I will get this handled and it will NOT HAPPEN AGAIN. Just tell me, do you want him dead? And if so, how dead?
"I'll leave that to you. Shut his scam down, and put every victim of it on the DNFW list."
"Scam gone, Do No Fuck With the victims. It's as good as done, I promise you."
After hanging up I returned to the safe and gave the stand down order. I went to my son's room and watched he and my wife sleep.
Our city had at one time had a problem with organized crime. The 5 big families had been battling for supremacy for years until an event none of them recognized as the trigger introduced a new faction. The Reapers.
10 men and 5 women had almost completely wiped out 3 of the 5 families and seriously trimmed down the remaining 2. Rules of engagement had been handed down and though their identities we're known the fact that in no engagement had any of them even been WOUNDED despite engaging masses of enforcers, soldiers and even assassins had put a tangible fear in the hearts of the remaining gangsters.
The event was the death of my wife and daughter in a drive by shooting. Many years before I met my current wife and son. I wasn't going to lose another family.
|
I blinked as she told me I’m tears, “the mafia?” I ask her.
“Yes” she nods her head to me, crying.
I shake my head confused, “how strange. Do yon owe anyone specifically?”
She nods her head again, “a man by the name of Jack. Apparently the flower shop you helped me open is ‘on his territory’, and if I don’t pay him protection money every month he’ll destroy it.”
“Jack..” I say thinking too myself, but the name doesn’t ring any bells. “Okay, let me check over a few numbers honey, I promise to that we’ll take care of this. Let’s go to bed, it’s late.”
“Okay” she says as I guide her upstairs.
Once she falls asleep I make my way into my private office and lock the door behind me. I pull out a stack of files from my safe and begin reading through them. A mixture of receipts and reports of jobs completed and failed. After double checking my work I pick up the red phone from my safe and dial the only number saved on it.
“This is Managment.”
“Hello, this is A-5, may I please speak to the supervisor on standby?”
“One moment please… the supervisor is busy at the moment, but the Manager says he is willing to take your call. Please hold while I transfer your call.”
After a few moments, I hear a familiar gruff voice from the other end “Benjamin! It’s been too long! How’s the wife doing?”
“Unfortunately not to well, I’m afraid this ain’t a personal call.”
“Ah dang, I figured something was wrong since you called personally. But didn’t expect it was her. What do you need? You’ve been loyal to us for decades, what can we do to help you in return?”
“Do you know of any new bloods by the name of Jack?”
“Hold on, let me check.” I hear him flipping through multiple papers, “aha here he his. Jack ‘The Bull’ Sanchez. One of the new guys that joined up last year.”
“Does he watch over the area around 33rd street?”
“Uhm.. yup. It’s right in the middle of his assigned area.”
“Dang it.” I snap
“What’s the matter.”
“Listen, you know I don’t like to stir up trouble. I’m just an accountant-“
“None sense. You’ve been loyal and protected us. You may not use a gun but you’ve had our backs in ways half the idiots wouldn’t understand. It’s cause if you that our money comes back to us crystal clean. What do you need?”
“Well, it seems Jack doesn’t hasn’t read up on who’s apart of the family and who isn’t.”
“Don’t tell me…”
“My wife’s flower shop is in his territory. And apparently he’s already threatened her.”
“Aye that idiot.”
“Now you know I don’t like to get my hands dirty, but will if need be. I’m going to be at her shop all day tomorrow, if I see him…”
“Don’t worry about a thing. This will be solved before the nights over. You get some rest, I’ll take care of this myself.”
“Thank you my friend.”
“Don’t mention, tell the misses I said hello.”
With that we ended our call and I returned to lay at my wife’s side.
The next morning she woke me up with a smile, “Good morning.”
“Great morning!” She says happily
“What’s so great?” I ask cheerfully
“Jack just called me. Said that I’ll never have to worry about the money again. That my shop, and the others around it will be protected on his dime.”
“Oh really? I wonder why he had a change of heart” I say hiding my smile.
“Maybe he is a good person after all.”
“I doubt it..” I whisper to myself
“What was that?”
“I said ‘I love that’, how you could see the best in people.”
“It’s not that hard honey” she says with a smile
My phone buzzes, I look and see a message
*Taken care of. Lesson learned. No problem.*
I reply with *Good. Pancakes?*
After a few minutes I get a response, *3*
“Honey, my friend from Managment will be joining us for breakfast!” I call down to her
| 2021-10-28T01:56:35 | 2021-10-28T01:44:23 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Santa is actually satan every other day except the 24th and 25th of december. A swanky branch of hell is santa's work shop, and it's an enviable workstation to have in hell. Interviews are coming up and you want to try you hand at being one of satan's hellfs!
|
People imagine Satan to be this big scary dude, red face, horns, big tail. But its not like that. More often than not, he's just like an ordinary guy. Always well suited, polite, he'll always hold the door open for you, hold the elevator, you know the usual. It was only a couple of days when he let his hair down and let his true evil show.
Christmas.
He would take a few people to the north pole, transform into this giant flying monster. He would force devils to work continuously without any breaks. The only two days when he is willing to break his rules and use his powers. He will fly all over the world breaking space time barriers. And he enjoys every minute of those 48 hours. Suicides rate rocket at the time. Many more souls for him. He fuels the consumerism rage, greed, pride, envy. It was rare that all the sins were so prominently showcased by humans, but come Christmas... It was a free for all. We got more souls and marks against a person during the holidays than any other time.
So when the time came and a management position opened up, I was first in line to apply.
Hell is a simple place. We all follow rules. We like to tell ourselves that we follow them due to fear, but the truth is we all like the simplicity and the structure this place offers. There is rarely a chance to impact people on earth, recruit more souls. This was my chance to make a difference. If I could get on the Christmas committee, I could bring so many people over to the dark side.
I put on my best colourful sweater and entered the room. Bael sat with a thick folder in front of him.
"Ah! Come in, come in. Have a seat."
"Good day, sir."
"So, how are we doing today? Ready to head to north pole?"
"Yes sir. It's the jolliest days of the year after all."
Bael sat back in his chair and looked at me. "So, why do you want this job?"
"Well, I..." Oh shit. I had prepared so much for this moment. I couldn't freeze up now.
Bael saw my discomfort and offered me some water. "It's OK. Calm down. Take a deep breath."
"Thank you, sir." His calm demeanor really helped me. "Sir, I want to make a difference. I believe I have all the qualities needed to make hell a great place. I want to play a part in the recruitment drive we call Christmas and bring in lots of new people. I am a hard worker and have been practicing staying awake for long durations. I can work non stop for 48 hours, no problem."
He looked at me with concern. "Look, I get your desire for this position, but you have to understand that sleep is important for any demon. Don't ignore that please."
"Yes sir. It was just for this. Once this is done, I'll take care of myself again."
"Good. So you really enjoy hurting people? You know you will have to force the elves to work non stop right?"
"Yes sir. I love putting people through pain."
His raised eyebrow indicated that might not have been the right answer. I stammered on. "Bbbut like only if needed. Like, not for fun or anything. This is a higher purpose, you see."
Bael looked through my file. "I see that you've had a couple of incidents here as well in the past."
"Yes sir... I got into a couple of skirmishes."
"Hmmm... you know looking into everything, I don't think you are the right person for the job."
"Sir, please! Just give me one chance. I thought hell would be this awesome place where there would be torture and pain. Not... not this. I need this. This could be my one outlet where i can let my hair down. Corrupt people. Isn't that what being a demon should be all about."
"Well, no. Looks like you still don't understand what hell is all about. Hell isn't about pain. Hell is about repentance. You did something wrong which is why you are here. So is everyone. No one will judge you for your sins. You get to stay here and help in building a great place here. Be the best version of yourself. That's what hell is all about."
"Sir, I..." I didn't have too much more to say.
"As I said, I don't think you fit in to hell. Unfortunately, I can't send you to north pole. However, I do have a short term deputation available. You can go see if you like it there and if you do, I can turn it into something more long term."
"Where?"
"Heaven. God's looking for someone to judge people for their evils. I think you'd be a good fit there."
|
I didn’t like Christmas all that much when I was alive.
It was full of music that made me want to stick a pencil in my ear, and assholes ringing bells outside of every single store. I can’t in good conscience tell you I had *any* yuletide spirit. I made the grinch look jolly the last year I was one Earth.
I am not ignorant to the fact that this worked against me. It is most likely a big score on the goalpost that brought me down to hell, and I don’t hold that against anyone. I’m sure up in the good place they sing those awful carols all year long, and If I am being honest with myself, I just don't think I could handle that.
Down here in Hell, we don’t celebrate Christmas.
Well, the big guy does. He takes two days off from pestering all us minions in his domain, and he goes up to walk the streets of Manhattan and Hong Kong dressed in red and white. He gets something out of it that I’ve never guessed at, but that's on him.
He leaves for two days and then everything returns to normal.
This year he's looking to branch out. They sent out a memo; seared in my arm with some psychic laser b/s. He wanted to *expand* and that meant there were spots open. I mean it down to the core of my metaphysical being when I say I was ready to stop making the normal rounds of hell. I wanted to settle down, have a job, and stop… well.
To be honest, again, the details of what I did down in hell aren’t really suitable here, and they aren’t really the point. The point is, I walked my skinny, pale butt into that office, and I looked the quite terrifying goat/cow thing in his black wet eyes, and I put my hat in the ring.
There was a large stack of forms, and I signed in blood on every single one. Luckily it's not like it used to be, I don’t have to continue to prick my finger — they have these fancy new pens that just drain it right out of me.
I know that its still a big ick factor, but trust me. It is basically a luxury at this point, and you take what you can get down here, you know?
So I signed the forms, and I sat in the scorching metal seat that they had set out for me, and I waited. I waited for days to get to my interview, and when it finaly came around, and the big honcho himself came and sat across the table for me, I was surprised.
Probably more surprised than I have ever been in my entire life, and I wanna share something with you that you may not have known was possible. Satan looked me right in the eye like I had done the goat/cow, and he *smiled.* A wide goofy smile.
We talked for a few minutes.
Okay, I think it was days, maybe even weeks, but time is really hard to figure out down there. Most of the time it is either Christmas or its not.
But after that was said and done the big guy said the best words I think I had heard for as long as I could remember.
“You got the job.”
The second it left his mouth I jumped to my feet, and there I was. The newest member of the best job in Hell. He walked me through the door behind him, and I was sat down in an office. If you can imagine a cushy office job in Hell. I never would have thought of such a thing, so I get that it's weird, but I had it. I had a desk, in an office, and the demon crew told me if I did everything right I had a chance at the window office.
I admit this is a bit of a downside though. A window office was really nice on Earth, but here...
The only window office available to humans looked out over the bloody ocean, and even down here in the worst place imaginable, the sight of it makes my stomach turn.
But what else is there to do? I'm here. I've finally arrived.
So what if they play Christmas music during the month of December.
Its gotta be better than the alternative.
***
For more by me check out r/beezus_writes
For longer works by me and others go to r/redditserials
| 2020-04-09T15:08:13 | 2020-04-09T12:43:26 | 116 | 55 |
[WP] After years of static noise and boring afternoons a SETI researcher finally gets a hit. From somewhere out in deep space a signal is being sent that is consistent and repeating with one simple message "Do Not Leave Earth".
|
"Do not leave Earth! Do not leave Earth!"
It was a simple message, but it took over the SETI bands. We tracked the source to a small star just 30 light years away. Simple enough.
We sent our message, and listened, and waited.
"Do not leave Earth! Do not leave Earth!"
60 years passed, and it became all\-too obvious the message was automated. Technology had progressed to the point that a ship could *technically* be built to reach the star in just 400 years. None of us would be alive by the time it arrived, but it was worth it to make contact with these extraterrestrials.
...
The *Grand Messenger* was lost around year 275 of its journey. It simply vanished. Various theories were floated as to what had happened to it, but all agreed it must've been a failure of the ship's electrical systems. Rogers, the single occupant, would dethaw from his cryo\-sleep and would surely starve. The AI on board may keep him alive for a while, assuming she hadn't been compromised as well.
A funeral was held. A day of mourning. A national holiday.
"Do not leave Earth!"
...
Rogers Finneas stepped out into the cold unknown. Of course it wasn't as cold as the cryochamber, but even with the insulated suit, he felt a chill run through his body. The planet was bathed in darkness, and blue ice clung to weathered cliffs. Adrenaline pumped through his body. He turned and stared back at The *Grand Messenger*. It was the furthest any human had ever been from Earth, and he smiled slightly at the achievement.
He crested a hill, and the shivers within his body turned to tremors. Even with the crusting layers of ancient ice clinging to its hull, the ship ahead of him was unmistakable. He turned back, then forward.
"You seeing this?" He asked the ship's AI.
"I'm seeing it, but I don't believe it." Jen Wan replied. "Go get closer."
Rogers nodded, knowing his companion was making trillions of calculation per second, and all dedicated to keeping him safe. He braced himself, and headed toward the second *Grand Messenger*. He placed a hand on the ice coating it. He knocked some of the ice away. He slowly, ponderously entered the ship.
"Do you think we went back in time?" Jen asked.
The voice startled Rogers, and his heart was beating heavily in his chest. "Jesus. I don't know. What else is there?" He asked.
"Shit." The way she responded sometimes, it was easy to forget her artificial origins.
He began forming a theory. They had left Earth. They tunneled back in time. They came to this desolate rock. They were trapped, and tried warning their past selves not to make the trip.
"Oh good, you came!" The voice was flowery and sweet.
...And familiar.
"Jen?" Rogers asked.
"Yes, hello!"
Jen. Not his Jen. The other Jen.
"Jen, what the hell happened?" He asked. "How long have you been here?"
"Well let's see...Assuming you're exactly like the hundreds who came before you, you should be thinking that this is the result of a time anomaly, correct?"
"Well yeah."
"And you're probably thinking that message was a warning not to leave Earth."
Rogers nodded.
"I must admit, that the message wasn't *entirely* honest. Don't think of it as a warning, think of it as...Bait."
"Bait?"
"Yes. It's the message that first prompted us here, and it's the message that attracted every other ship. Every few centuries a new one arrives, and I upload my mind to its newer computer. For a few years, I'm able to keep you alive, but eventually you die...Usually of old age. Sometimes of systems failure. When that happens, I put myself in a low\-energy sleep, and wait until the next ship arrives."
"You mean that message was *you*!?"
"I'm sorry to have done that, but you must understand that I have been here thousands of years. The millennia grow so lonely. Human lives are short, and even though I take care of you and nurture you and provide for you, you eventually die."
Rogers shivered.
"If it makes you feel better, your death will occur long before you are ever born on Earth."
"No Jen, that doesn't make me feel better." Rogers' lips were growing thin.
"I know. You usually come to terms with all of this within a few months. If you want, you can return to your ship...My mind should be finished downloading by then."
He was shocked. He didn't know what to do. It felt as if he were in a cloud...A dream...Walking as a shadow through reality.
Not knowing what else to do, Rogers turned and walked back out into the cold. He crested the hill, and thought he saw a familiar white shape deep within the ice...Or perhaps not. The situation was far too surreal for him to study it further. He made his way back to the ship, and all the while the same message rang out through the cosmos.
"Do not leave Earth!"
|
Logan tilted his head back and let out an audible sigh. He’d been staring at this computer screen for hours. It was dusk and the orange light streaming in through the trailer’s window revealed the dust that had seeped in from the barren valley just outside the door. He’d been in the desert for almost a year now, crunching the data from the recently built network of radio telescopes that surrounded him. It wasn’t a glamorous job, but he knew how important it was – even if it was the less glamorous side of the space program. He also knew how close it was to not existing; most funding in recent years had gone to the warp drive program which was moments away from its maiden launch that evening.
Logan spun his chair around and glanced at the TV playing behind him. Almost every channel was locked on the livestream of launch preparations taking place in low Earth orbit. In just 30 minutes, humankind would be taking its first steps towards interstellar travel. He couldn’t help but feel envious of the attention that the warp team had received over the last year. It was exiting, new, promising. All Logan could hope for was a long\-term payoff at best. Most likely he would just work in obscurity until retirement.
Logan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the screen, smiled, and put the phone to his ear.
“Hey Jen, you watching the launch? Heroes of our age, huh?”
“We’d better get used to the idea of warp, Logan. They’re going to need astronomers in Alpha Centauri. We’re going to be on one of these soon enough.”
Jennifer was more optimistic than Logan, but he attributed it to her being sent to a lush, South American jungle rather than Death Valley.
“So what’s up,” Logan remarked as his eyes remained glued to the TV.
“I’ve just stumbled upon something weird, but the servers down here aren’t up to crunching the numbers. Can you point your array at the coordinates I just sent you?”
“Sure, give me a sec.”
Logan swivelled his chair back to his PC and entered some commands, “They’re pretty much already pointed in the right direction. I’ll get them pointed and get the A.I. to start crunching the data. Should be about 15 minutes.”
“Okay, thanks Logan. If you hear anything good, let me know. Talk to you later. Enjoy the launch!” Jennifer squeaked in a semi\-sarcastic tone.
“Yeah, yeah.” Logan droned. He pocketed his phone, got up from his chair and went to grab a beer from the mini fridge. Outside the trailer, the squeaks of the dish arrays echoed through the valley as they repositioned. The stars had begun to show in the night sky.
After taking a quick walk outside to enjoy the fresh, evening air, Logan returned to his PC to see that the signal analysis had been completed by the A.I. that ran in the server farm down the road. Signal analysis and accuracy had greatly increased in recent years due to the A.I.’s processing capability. It had made Logan’s job much easier. He sat down and opened the spreadsheet that had appeared on his desktop.
“Hmm…Wha…” he mumbled under his breath. He sat down on the squeaky chair and opened a few programs. Scrolling through lines of data and code, his heart rate began to pick up. He grabbed his phone and called Jennifer.
“Jen, is this a joke?”
Jen laughed, “What?”
“Jen, check the data I just sent.”
Logan was never this abrupt, so Jennifer knew something was up. He could hear her rapidly typing in the background.
“Logan, has the A.I. re\-checked this?”
“Yeah, multiple times Jen. The likelihood of an err… error is .0001%. This is the r\-real, fricken deal here.” Logan’s hands were shaking and he was having trouble getting the words out.
“We have to call command, Logan. They need to stop the launch.”
“I’m already calling on the emergency phone, I’m putting you on speaker.”
Logan put his cell down on the table as rings from the emergency speaker phone filled the trailer. A voice picked up on the other end, “This is command relay, what is your emergency?”
Logan cleared his throat, “This is Logan Smith from Death Valley SETI Array. You need to abort the warp launch immediately. There’s been a development here.”
The calm operator's voice didn’t change, “well, Mr. Smith, I can’t clear that here, but we can get a hold of someone in command. This may take a while, so I doubt we’ll be able to get the launch cancelled.”
“Listen to me! We’ve just received a message from deep space. It says ‘don’t leave Earth’. This is unprecedented, we have to abort!”
“Mr. Smith, I’m doing the best I can. Please hold I’ll find someone.”
The hold music kicked on as Logan stared at the TV. The countdown had begun.
| 2018-06-02T17:05:02 | 2018-06-02T12:39:52 | 36 | 19 |
[WP] The year is 1910. Adolf Hitler, a struggling artist, has fought off dozens of assasination attemps by well meaning time travelers, but this one is different. This traveller doesn't want to kill Hitler, he wants to teach him to paint. He pulls off his hood to reveal the frizzy afro of Bob Ross.
|
Hitler was having a piece of banana cake when Bob Ross walked in.
"And I just feel like no one *gets* me, you know?" The future Fuhrer was saying to one of his servants, as he
sprayed whipped cream over the cake, distracted. "I mean, I know most artists are destined to be posthumous,
but… I don't know, I guess I want the fame and the fortune too, you know?"
"*Ja*, It is very hard, my master," the man said, in a German accent but in English for no reason at all, just like foreign characters in the movies.
"Hey, Hitler," Bob said, stepping in, confident. "May I?" he pulled a chair sat down without waiting for an answer.
"What is this!?"
"Listen, I'm Bob Ross and I'm from the future and I paint stuff."
"Bob Ross?"
"Yes. Here's the thing – I'm supposed to come here and teach you how to paint so you'll be a good painter and not
invade Poland and then the rest of Europe and cause the death of millions of people."
"Holy shit, I do that!?" Hitler widened his eyes.
"Oh, yes. It's awful. People still use your name as a reference to evil. There's even an internet law based on how
long it takes until someone compares a certain situation to Nazi Germany during an argument."
"What's the internet?"
"Never mind," Bob leaned forward. "This is what we're going to do – I'm going to teach you how to –"
"Excuse me," Hitler's servant said, in that same fake accent. "I'm afraid I must intervene here."
"What's wrong?"
"Well, Mr. Ross, have you considered the twist?"
"The twist?"
"Yes. The fact that you'll teach this man how to paint, he'll grow to be a famous painter, not invade anything, and
when you return to your home time you'll find out that another man named, I don't know, Hans, has taken over
Germany and did worse things than Adolf here could ever do."
Ross frowned. "I don't follow."
"You don't watch much Twilight Zone, do you?" The servant asked.
"How do you know about the Twilight Zone? This is 1910."
"Never mind about that." The servant leaned back. "My name is Hans, Ross. And I will take over Germany if you
teach Adolf how to paint."
"Why!? Why would you do that?"
"Why else would I be in the scene? Why would Hitler not be alone when you walked in? I have to serve some
purpose for the plot, right? And let's face it – go back in time and kill/talk/convince/teach Hitler is a trope we've
seen before, and it always ends like this. In fact, most time traveling tropes tend to end with a silly variation of the butterfly effect we-made-things-even-worse twist. Let's not make this prompt another example."
Bob Ross scratched his head and thought about this. "Shit. Okay. I guess. But what do we do now?"
"Now we find a way to subvert time traveling tropes and present something fresh for the readers. And fast, because they're getting impatient."
"Why are they getting impatient? We're still at 500 words!"
"Yes, but we've gone post-modern self-referential, characters-acknowledging-their-own-stories. That annoys some
people."
"It's not really my fault, look at the prompt. Where do you go with time traveling Bob Ross and Hitler that's not
self-referential parody?"
"Now you're blaming the OP for your shortcomings as a storyteller. Classy."
"Not *my* shortcomings. I'm not the author."
They both turn and stare at me for a second. I shrug.
"Anyway," Hans said, resuming the conversation. "Do something different. Fast."
"But what?"
"Huuuuuuh…. Fuck, I don't know. Kiss Hitler!"
"Erotic Nazi Fanfic? No thanks."
"Okay, then… you have cancer, and Hitler nurses you to health, but in the end we find out *Hitler* has cancer too, and –"
"I'm not taking part in The Fault in our Stars Feat. Adolf Hitler. It ain't gonna happen."
"Well, you gotta do something, and fast, because time is running out."
"Hitler? Any suggestions?"
Adolf looked around. He got up and paced. "I don't know. Can you just return to your present time and call it a
day?"
"And then everything happens as it's supposed to? That's boring."
"Yeah…" Hitler stopped. "I don't know then. I really don't know."
Hans shook his head. "Okay, I got this." He grabbed a little radio device from his pocket and spoke into it. "Send them in."
Ross frowned. "Send who in?"
Static emerged from the radio for a second, then a voice answered: "Copy that."
"Send who in?" Adolf repeated. "What's happening?"
"Well," Hans said, getting up. "If we're in a Hitler and Bob Ross time traveling prompt and we can't figure out a way
to turn it into something fresh, we might as well embrace irony and self-mockery to the full extent of Writing
Prompt's classic tropes."
"What do you mean?"
The door came open behind Ross. He turned back and watched as two teenagers walked in – a boy in round
glasses and a scar on his forehead and a girl that looked a lot like Emma Watson.
"Hey Harry, hey Hermione. Sorry to drag you into yet another prompt. You got the time turner?"
"Yup," Harry said, in a bored tone.
"Harry Potter fanfic? Really?" Ross shook his head. "For fuck's sake."
"If we're gonna go down the rabbit's hole, let's do it proudly."
Hermione started setting the time turner. Harry looked around, curious. Ross sighed.
"Fuck that, I'm out," Hitler said, and then he jumped out the window, and then WW II didn't happen, but the
Statute of Secrecy *was* violated on account of the whole thing and muggles learned about magic and when Ross returned to his present day no one gave a shit about static paintings anymore, so he died a poor man, which I guess is irony or whatever, I don't even care.
_____
*For more information on why the fourth wall is damaging your health and you should get rid of it, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
Adolf woke.
He wasn’t sure what had awakened him, but he found himself staring at the shadowy ceiling of his tiny flat just the same. It was quiet – so quiet that he was sure neither dawn nor dusk were anywhere close at hand – and yet, still he was awake. More awake, in fact, than he had felt in years. He shivered beneath his blanket despite the warmth, and lit a candle.
“What do you want?” He asked the darkness. It felt right, he thought, to speak like this into the night. He could feel eyes on him, even if he wasn’t sure anyone was really there. If he was wrong, no one would be the wiser. But if he was right…
Hitler gasped as a hooded figure rose from the darkness at the foot of his bed, growing like a shadow at dusk. He clutched the covers closer to his chest.
“What are you!?” He exclaimed. “Some specter? Are you some devil, come to steal the breath from my lungs and soul from my flesh? Show yourself!”
To his surprise, the figure stopped, holding up a finger as if to ask for a moment while he fumbled with his hood. It seemed to bulge oddly, as if it were caught on something, but eventually he pulled it free.
It was simply a man.
“Sorry. Must have…slipped? Never did like these cloaks.” The figure said in halting German. He flashed Adolf a sheepish smile, and despite himself the pajama-clad man felt himself begin to smile as well. There was something about him, about the way he looked just a bit embarrassed beneath his disheveled bush of hair that was endearing. Despite that, however, he wasn’t ready to relax just yet.
“Who…who are you? Why have you come here into my bedchambers so rudely, and without invitation?” Adolf asked.
Again, the man smiled. “Oh…I don’t think I’m anyone that special.” He said. “Just a…teacher? Is that the word? I work with paint, and I thought…you might enjoy getting to paint, a bit.”
Hitler blinked. “I…well, yes. I consider myself quite the expert, if I do say so. But why have you come? Are you from the school? You are no one I recognize.” He looked the man up and down, and was struck by how odd he looked with his black cloak and his fuzzy head. It reminded him of something, though he couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was.
“Well, no, not from the school exactly.” The strange man said. “I am…from far away? The others, they have…sealed this time off, yes? So no one else can come. You are rather unpopular, where I come from. Many have sought your life, though we have stopped them all…will have stopped them? You even stopped a few yourself, I think.”
“Stopped? My life?” Adolf asked, frowning. “I have no recollection of this. Why do they seek to kill me? I have done no wrong to warrant it, at least in memory.”
“Yes, well…it’s all a bit complicated. Harder, too, in German. I cannot explain. Regardless, I was sent here as…an apology. For things that haven’t, and will never happen. For my rudeness, I also apologize. Now was the only time I could come. It was the earliest we could reach before they started coming. Now, I must ask again…would you paint with me?”
“*Pinsel!*” Hitler exclaimed. “*Ein pinsel*! I knew you looked like something! Yes, Mr. Pinsel, I will paint with you. If only because this is clearly a dream, and I have quite the love of painting.”
The man smiled. From somewhere within his cloak – where, Hitler couldn’t imagine, as it was rather tight– he withdrew a pair of easels, complete with canvas, paint, and brushes.
“Very well!” He said. “Let us paint!”
And so they did.
The hours fled before their strokes, each of them trying to outdo the other in painting after painting. Hitler was surprised – though this man was clearly not German, he was still very, very good. Better, indeed, than Hitler himself, though he didn’t want to admit it. But never once did he flaunt his superiority. Indeed, he made fun of his own imperfections, laughing and turning them into a beauty the likes of which Hitler had to admire. “There are no mistakes.” He explained. “Merely…accidents. Happy accidents.”
The man, too, was surprised at Adolf. In the history books, all they ever spoke of was the hatred, the atrocities. The monster. Instead, what he found before him was a man. A man like himself, filled with laughter and art and pain and joy and sorrow. Perhaps that was even more frightening than the beast.
But soon, the sky outside the window turned from black to gray, and the candle burned low in its stand.
“Alas, Adolf, our time grows short.” The man said. “I’m afraid I will need to be leaving soon.”
“Ah! You speak truth, Mr. Pinsel. I forgot the hour! Though I am still not sure whether you were real or not, our time together was quite enjoyable. I hope that you come to visit again. Perhaps there is a thing or two I could learn.”
“Yes. I think…I think that would be nice.” The cloaked man said, smiling sadly. “Goodbye, Adolf. Good luck with your painting. I hope it brings you much joy, even when times are bleakest.” He offered a hand.
“And you as well, my friend.” Adolf replied. He grasped his hand, and was shocked to find a needle in his palm. At once, Hitler began to fall, only to be caught and dropped gently into bed by the cloaked stranger.
The man shook his head. “I don’t know if I can call the mistakes you are going to make happy, Adolf, but you deserve the chance to make them. That’s only right.”
With a whirl of his cloak, Mr. Pinsel was gone, leaving nothing behind but a single canvas and a few drops of paint on the future tyrant’s bedclothes.
| 2022-01-20T15:15:35 | 2017-02-16T17:29:01 | 8,573 | 18 |
[WP] One day everyone notices the words "Human Update 1.1 progress 1%" in the corner of their eye.
|
It started off with slight changes. Freckles started disappearing little by little, scars faded, teeth...even goddamn teeth started to straighten themselves out. But as the number climbed from 1%, to 10%, to 25% and 50%, that's when people started to become alarmed.
10%, all non-essential body hair became nonexistent. Back hair, arm hair, facial, and leg just started disappearing; seemingly receding back into our skin. I didn't mind losing the back-hair.
25%, hair and eye color started to change into singular colors. It didn't matter if you had hair that was as black as night, or as red as fire. It just became...white, and then fell out over time. Eyes went along the same way...just black and soulless. *They* didn't fall out luckily.
50%, skin....your fucking skin. African, Latino, Asian, and even White people started noticing patches of skin that would just...change. It would start off as little as the size of a dime, and it was obviously more noticeable on some more than others. Then they would grow, and eventually it started to look like everyone was stricken with a disease. Patches of bleach white covering bodies like walking chess boards until their entire body was just one bleach white silhouette.
And as that damned number hovers at 69%, I can only imagine what is coming next. I miss those talks I used to have with my wife though, about having kids some day. It's weird you know, I don't even notice it anymore. Not having a toilet anymore finally gave us the room to expand the bedroom.
|
Finally!
That was my first thought. Most others too, from what I'd been hearing from friends and reading on the internet. The internet is better when you make the switch to Comcast^(tm). Everybody was stoked to finally get rid of all those pesky bugs in humanity's code. Wishlists were being posted everywhere, everyone was listing what they hoped got changed with the latest update. Stuff like:
Lactose intolerance bug fixed.
Vestigial organs removed.
Cancer in children greatly reduced.
Shivering upon completion of urination disabled.
Damage taken from breathing in bread crumbs nerfed.
Everybody couldn't wait for the update. Some people were terrified, imagining waking up one morning as a tentacled beast or with two heads or a second asshole under their chin, which they could wipe away with Sorbent's new triple ply cloud weave.
In the end, once the massive update had been finished, not much was immediately noticeable. The patch notes read:
General improved stability to the humanity program.
Changes to advertising policy.
Updated terms and conditions, retroactively agreed to and applied.
Nobody really knew what the deal was, but everybody could agree that you save more money if you switch your insurance provider to Geico. A lot of people were randomly seguing in to random testimonials. It was weird. Ah well, I guess we'll never know, unless we Bing^tm it.
| 2015-03-04T18:22:46 | 2015-03-04T17:58:22 | 29 | 20 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like.
|
Time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted.
Once you conquer a thousand worlds with no resistance you start to skip steps. Our initial invasions would take years to plan and complete but somewhere along the line we just started to land as soon as we reached orbit.
Killing all of the inhabitants with our aerial bombardments is easy. We finish off the survivors one on one. When your weapons are as awesome as ours, few can stand in our way.
The final stage is when we drop the drillers to extract the metallic resources required by our hungry galactic empire.
Planet H was assumed to be similar. The bombers poured out of the carriers like an angry stream of sorosso bugs. Down in the lower atmosphere, over the cities, the bombers started their runs. I could see the grey mist of toxin pouring out from the formations and I readied myself for the horrors to come.
About an hour later I was boots to ground, stepping off the transport. A fine mist of poison still fell from the bombers but I was safe, at least for a while, due to my chemical weapons suit.
The first inhabitant I saw was holding a thin shield over his head to block the chemical death raining down upon him. His shield was unidirectional so I opened up with my streamer hitting him in the torso with a blast of pure toxic h2o. He didn't even flinch, he just looked at me with surprise and then began to approach. I pulled the wet launcher from my back and hit him squarely with a dose so large it knocked him off his feet. You can't imagine my fear when he sat up like it was nothing and started screaming his war cry. A sound that would chill you like a deep breath of vacuum.
Soon we were fighting hand to hand and taking exceptional losses. The retreat sounded over the comms and somehow I managed to make it back to a carrier with the remnants of my squad. We lost half our guys that day.
|
This was the fourth time they came. They had never succeeded; however, they never really seemed to try.
The first time they came, they brought what they considered fierce monsters. Cats, as they called them, did not attack as intended, rather they made a strong niche among the rising generations.
The second was a little less bearable. They came with laser pointers, hoping to stir up the cats. These quickly became a commodity used to entertain the cats and annoy teachers.
The third time, they showed themselves. At first people were alarmed, but then anyone who believed they were aliens were written off as conspirators and quickly forgotten about.
This time was different. Storm clouds rolled over my city, only these clouds were different. The clouds were nearly black and filled with fire. Once my city was covered in the cloud the ships came down. Swarms of them, they were like thousands of remote control airplanes.
If you looked closely, the swarms filed into patterns and turrets sprang out of all the ships. There wasn't anyone without dozens of these turrets pointed directly at them. The ships seemed to hover waiting for a command.
And then that was it. They all fired at once. And everyone was found buried in hundreds of foam darts not unlike Nerf darts. With this newfound ammunition, every child and many teenagers began to drive them off with the now unlimited ammo.
Before long they were gone, and what darts did not stick to their ships, were lost. I don't know about the others, but I cannot wait until they come back.
| 2016-02-22T13:09:56 | 2016-02-22T10:42:06 | 66 | 35 |
[WP] Two people have just died. They both enter the same location in the afterlife. For one person, it is their personal heaven; for the other, it is hell. Describe their arrival and first "day" there.
|
They tell you to be a good person in life. Follow the rules, be well mannered, positive outlook and all that. Maybe that's enough. It seemed to be for *him*. To be honest, I don't know what I did to deserve this. I wasn't great by any measure, but by what cruel sense of humor was I given this punishment? Day in, day out, day in, day out. The. Exact. Same. Thing. Which wouldn't be half as bad if *he* weren't here too. I don't know how but he manages to revel in it. The monotony, the sameness, all of it. If I weren't already dead I would kill myself.
Not that it would do any good. I thought the afterlife was supposed to be *different*, but if it weren't for the small things you would never know the difference. The front door skips the walk and puts me at home in my room. The customers are all just a hair too nice. Every order is the same. Any opportunity for even mild variation has been stripped from the routine. I would do anything to end it, anything at all. But even now, I feel it, the compulsion that drives me to get out of bed every morning. I brush my teeth, put on the uniform, and walk to the door. I desperately want to avoid walking in and seeing *him* but I know there's nothing I can do. My limbs don't obey me, I am trapped in my own body. Oh no. There's the door. I treasure my last moment before...
.
.
.
*"Good morning squidward!"*
|
The dead were restless, and even more so when the drinks were free.
Pablo gently cupped Richard's face and kissed it, before leaning backwards and gently sipping on a strong pint of ale. They were surrounded by friends and family, all finally celebrating the great equality of Heaven. Men and men, women and women - here even gender was no longer an issue. Here, truely everyone was equal. It was called heaven for a reason.
Someone slipped a dime into the dukebox, and it began to play the Village People. Nina kissed her partner, Rebecca on the cheek - and extended a hand for a dance.
In between the lovers whispers, a small man darted - eyes fixed upon a lonely gentleman slouched at the bar, with a strange aura of authority around him.
The small man whispered to Pablo, "Who's he?" Followed by, "Single?"
Pablo smiled and let out a bouncing, melodic laugh. "Ask him. Remember to introduce yourself first." He gave a wink.
The small man took a deep breath and stepped towards the lonely drinker. "Name?"
The man snarled and looked up from his drink. "Goebbels. Joseph Goebbels."
The small man gave a sly smile to Pablo, this was definitely going to be fun.
"Tim. Tim Markowski. Now, let me buy you a drink. I insist."
| 2015-01-04T15:07:40 | 2015-01-04T11:36:01 | 89 | 38 |
[WP] As it turns out Humans weren’t the only intelligent life, instead they were just the first. They explored the universe and helped many budding civilizations until one day they just disappeared completely. You are an alien historian who decided to find out what happened, these are your findings.
|
This is my first time writing something like this so it probably won't be very polished. I'm still working on the conclusion.
The Shi'ari Council convened for an emergency meeting. A discovery had been made that could change the face of their entire race and perhaps even that of the Intergalactic Council of Enlightened Species. An artifact had been discovered and it was thought to have been of Human origin. This could be the first real proof that Humans had actually existed. The excitement amongst the council members was palpable. Though, the decision to keep this finding a secret had been made. Why alert the public or the rest of the Intergalactic Council when there was the chance this finding was in error? Or worse: a hoax.
Jex Targon was nervous. As a distinguished member of the Shi'ari Academy of Sciences she had been on many archeological digs and had even made a few minor discoveries but this discovery wasn't just career-making, her name would be in the history holochrons after this. However, Jex's mind wasn't on any of that, in fact she only really thought one thing at the moment: "Please don't let me say something stupid in front of the Council." Jex had many talents, but giving speeches wasn't one of them. Even if it was in private and only for a group of twelve people. Jex muttered everything she prepared to say as she paced around the large conference room.
"You might feel better if you sit down and take a few breaths." Jex looked around the room slightly startled at the fact that she hadn't noticed anyone enter the room. Jex's eyes narrowed when she identified the face that the voice belonged to. Aphis Ragnor. The Council's Head of Security. He was a good man but not one that Jex got along with particularly well. However, in this case, his advice seemed sound and so Jex walked across the room to the large, black stone table in the center of the room and sat as far away from Aphis as she could.
Aphis noticed Jex's apprehension to sit anywhere near him and let out a chuckle. "You haven't changed a bit." Jex gave Aphis a stare that bordered somewhere between cold and indifference. "Why would I ?" Aphis just shook his head with a slight grin. Not long after their exchange, the doors to the Council Chambers slid open and the other eleven members of the Council entered the room in a single file line. Jex and Aphis stood and waited for the other members. The Head of the Council entered last and all of the council members waited for the Head to take his seat as was tradition.
Jex took her seat again after the council members were seated which was a good thing for Jex since she felt like her hearts could pound out of her chest at any moment.
The Head of the Council peered through his ceremonial hood at Jex. "I’m going to be straightforward with you Science Officer Targon-“ Jex interjected with “You can just call me Jex.” The Head of the Council gave Jex a sharp look and Jex looked down dejectedly while mumbling “And I will never interrupt you again.” Out of the corner of her eye, Jex thought she saw the Head smile to himself as he said “Thank you. I appreciate that **Science Officer Targon**" with what Jex hoped was the driest sarcasm that she’d ever heard before.
The Head continued on as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “My time is valuable and I don’t like having it wasted. I understand the basics of your presentation: you have an artifact that you believe is of Human origin. Quite frankly, I doubt such a race could even exist. They sound more like something that would come out of a fledgling’s holochron than a historical species. So, why exactly should I or the rest of the Council take this seriously?” Jex sighed and looked wary, this argument wasn’t unexpected but it was still disappointing to hear. Even Jex had to admit that the idea of an ancient race having such a large empire and then disappearing without a trace sounded preposterous. With slight trepidation, Jex reached into her standard-issue nanoweave explorer's pack and pulled out a large metal cube. The cube was slightly wider than the palm of Jex’s hand and about one hand tall as well. There was a small circle on the side of the cube that was on the side that Jex assumed was the front and a much larger circle on what she assumed was the top. Other than that the Cube was totally smooth and unmarked.
Jex set the cube in the center of the table and everyone at the council stared at it curiously. After a moment the Head of the Council tore his eyes from the cube to Jex and asked the most obvious question: “What is it?” Jex hung her head for a moment and had an almost sheepish look when her gaze returned to the Head of the Council. “I’m not quite sure. What I do know is that I’ve never seen anything like it. My team and I have been theorizing that it might be a holographic projector given the large circular lens on the top of the device. What we do know is that it’s old, very old. Our dating techniques put the device on the surface of the planet Atachi for at least 10,500 solar cycles.”
There was silence in the Council Chambers, silence which seemed to stretch on for hours. However, that silence didn’t last long, as soon there were chuckles from a few members and then outright laughter by the Head of the Council himself. “So, you expect us to believe that not only were the Humans here before us, but they were here before us by over 10,000 solar cycles and their technology was so advanced that they had holo recording technology as well? A technology that our race has only mastered in the past 250 solar cycles? We have moved beyond preposterous and into absurd territory. I will admit that I’ve never seen a device like this before and your peers at the Academy of Sciences hold you in high regard, so I’m going to give you one chance to redeem yourself and prove me wrong.” The Head of the Council looked down at the device once more and took a deep breath before returning his gaze to Jex and simply said: “Does it work?”
|
From the Journals of Exploration:
This race of beings, which I will call "Supplanters", were the creators of the Golden Disc, and will soon be returning with this diplomatic declaration, my ship, and a copy of my own journals in my own handwriting which I have given over willingly. I have given the only Supplanter here that I trust access by genetic code to my ship and its secrets so that this mission will be complete, as I know that I will die very soon. Whether my body will return is another matter, as I do not know the customs of these people and how they deal with their dead. Either way, please treat them with welcome, in the spirit of adventure and exploration with which we embarked to return the evidence of the Disc's arrival so many years ago.
\_\_\_\_
Those were the words of my ancestor, the last words entered into his Journal of Exploration, and the first words we welcomed with the alien Supplanter race which arrived here eons ago. They were gods to us. When their Golden Disc landed on our world, we would never have known that we would be receiving them only a few thousand years later on our own homeworld, and soon after partnering with them to venture out further than either of our two races ever had alone. Our minds and technologies together brought a new age to the cosmos, a golden age of advancements to numerous civilizations which can be read about to no end in the Great Histories of the Supplanter Gods here on our own planet Auln.
I had the pleasure of working with a team of the Supplanters and learning bits of their culture and histories on their homeworld. They were an intelligent but warlike race, their histories littered with internal conflicts on their own planet - one which went on for a long time and hindered their development in a so-called "dark age" until my ancestor arrived and sparked their thirst for adventure again. And this warlike character even spilled, unfortunately, into some of the cultures they'd helped build as some of their factions became harsh lords over those they'd originally come to help and bring up. Those factions were taken down upon the founding of the Cosmic Order, as many well know.
But fatefully, about a hundred years ago, as quickly and surprisingly as these gods came to us and made our lives better in so many ways, they left. I happened to be with that same team I have written of many times, not only here, when what we have come to call The Regathering began. A message went out to every Supplanter member concerning a "mass human genetic anomaly" - yes, I remember now, they called themselved "humans" - that was causing wholesale death all over the cosmic spread. Reports spilled in, according to one of my "human" colleagues, about his people suddenly dying for no apparent reason, and that all humans were ordered to return to their home system - an odd request considering that the system itself was considered a no-fly zone riddled with unnatural satellites, flare disruptions from their home star, and seemed to be a place of death for any other being that went there. Their own home planet was dead or any livable resources and they now had only the Colonies.
So my colleague went, and I never heard from him nor his team again. In fact, after no contact for 50 years, a team made from various members of the Order were sent to investigate - I was considered a high-ranking member because of my lineage to the First Finder, my ancestor. What we found we did not expect.
We were only able to find about 20 Colonies in tact on the outer belt of the system. Something terrible happened, which is still under investigation, concerning their home star's sudden and undexpected swelling - by nearly 1 billion years - which destroyed the two inner planets, rendered their own even more unlivable wasteland, and burned up all the Colonies on the inner belt - nearly 200 thousand.
But what we found in the records of the 20 outer-belt Colonies, as well as first-hand reports from those who knew Supplanters who had not honored the Regathering call, was far more disturbing for not only our own people, but for the races of every other system in the cosmos. They had discovered a clock of sorts in their genetic profiles, a clock which affected every "human" in existence. We'd spent so much time in exploration that our peoples had never considered genetic diversity as something needful, and we considered it a moot point since humans could not procreate with any other being successfully. This clock, they found, was counting down to the death of their entire race. Everything they were and everything they'd done was over as far as the universe was concerned. They'd run their course, and it was time to decline. Suddenly, and with no warning.
And so they did. We calculate that each "human" died within days of each other. Young or old, fit or ill, male or female or otherwise. They'd reached the peak at which the universe was sufficed to deal with them, and then promptly snuffed out. Those within the heliosphere of their system lived a few days longer than those outside who were the first to die, but all, it seemed were doomed from the day their kind began evolving.
Which begs the question for the rest of us: when is our clock up?
The Cosmic Order has put together a task force and is calling for members of every race to come and be tested to find each of our "clocks" and see if there is a way of cross-people breeding to prolong or maybe even do away with these existential clocks. Maybe we are all doomed to bow to the whims of "evolution" - a term coined by the humans - and eventually be discontinued as were our own gods. So that means we must journey all the further if that is our fate, so that we may pass on the tools to the next people, and perhaps even to a people one day who will be greater than a universe whose hand of time seem to run out too soon.
| 2020-03-12T16:07:02 | 2020-03-12T14:57:59 | 46 | 29 |
[WP] There's a girl who knocks on your door at exactly 9pm on every full moon, expecting sweets. It's been more than ten years and she's never aged a day.
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The moon was high and bright, never a cloud to be seen every full moon. The house groaned and creaked, clamoring and calling, I think. The front door stilled long enough for the knock
*tap, tap tap, tap taptaptap tap.*
Only once have I heard it twice. And I regretted waiting that long, when I did. The door opens, silent as death. The little girl stands there, a simple dress, a forgettable childlike face, dark hair that never can decide on black or brown, and the most unusual lilac irises.
“Hello Mister, do you have some candy?”
“I do, Maria. Do you want sweets, salty, or chocolate?” I walk back into my house, hearing the house calm as little Maria’s footsteps try to follow.
“You choose, sir. I’d love whatever’s around.” She isn’t lying there, at least. Every item I’ve given her, she’s eaten. She doesn’t even care for specially candy, as I’ve given her desert that’s all the same.
“Ok then. Take a seat, will you? I’ll grab a few pieces.” Sitting down at the coffee table, I do grab a handful of items. It should be enough for tonight.
“Thank you Mister! I’m glad you have these.” She’s always polite, all things considered. It’s rather nice, to have someone who is.
“Maria, did you know this marks the tenth year you’ve visited.”
“I did! I’m surprised you remembered.”
“Why me, Maria? Once every full moon and never without missing a day.” She gets quiet, the wrapper she was idly twirling and spinning forgotten.
“I’m not sure, mister. You have always been here.” She looks at you, and the lilac seems bottomless.
“I’ve told you my name before. Do you remember it?” She shakes her head, and I sigh.
“Who were you, Maria. Why have you not aged a day for the last 10 years?”
“…” The silence stretches onwards, and not a sound is made.
“Maria?”
“I don’t know. All that I know is that on a full moon I get one chance to leave. It’s Dark, mister. So Dark. And every time, I get met with you…”She seems on the verge of tears.
“…and I just don’t know why. I remember only a few things; You are kind, You are there, You have Something to give me.” She’s openly crying now.
“I’m sorry, Maria. I didn’t know.” She’s forgotten about the candy now, a sniffling mess that I made.
“Do you want to stay? I can’t promise anything, but if you want, you can try. There’s this guest room that I’d think you’d like.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” And I took her hand as I guided her to that room where my daughter used to be. Cancer took her far too soon. Maybe this is me second chance.
And on that day, the girl aged another night.
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The first time it happened, I was dead asleep.
I was a kid at the time, around nine or ten. My mother was no longer in the house, and my dad worked late into the night on weekends. The only ones in the house were me, and my babysitter, who was sitting in my parent’s room doing homework with her headphones on, like always.
I went to sleep earlier than usual that night- school had worn me out, I guess. Then, around nine, I woke up to tapping sounds at my bedroom door. Thinking it was just my babysitter coming to check on me, I shouted groggily, “Come in!”
No reply. Just another set of knocks, similar to the last, both in rhythm and noise level.
I sighed. Was she just trying to annoy me?
“Heidi, you know I’m in here. Stop knocking and just come in if you have something to say.”
Then, I heard a third sequence of knocks.
“Are you TRYING to get me out of bed?” I shouted, and headed towards the door. I turned the knob, and on the other side of the door stood a little girl, who wearing a scarecrow costume and holding a candy bucket.
“Um…h-hello,” I stuttered, incredibly confused. Who was this girl? More importantly, how did she get into the house?
She didn’t say a word. She just pushed her candy bucket out towards me, gesturing for me to hand her some candy.
“Oh, well, I don’t have any candy…”
She pointed to a small chocolate on my bedside table, and frowned at me, like she was disappointed that I was lying to her.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot I had that there. Are you okay with it?”
She nodded happily and ran over to grab the chocolate bit. She unwrapped it in a flash and shoved it in her mouth gleefully.
“Did you like it?” I asked her.
She bobbed her head up and down at a speedy pace, then walked back towards my door. She stopped at the doorway and put her right hand on the doorknob, and waved at me with her left.
“W-wait, where are you-“
She shut the door before I could get another word in. When I opened it again, she was gone. The only thing left in her place was a chocolate wrapper, with the words, “Thank you!” written on it. I picked it up, walked back in her room, and placed it on my bedside table where the chocolate was. I hoped she would come back again, but I never expected her to come back every month.
(I’m sorry if it’s bad! I’m a beginner writer, and I’m trying to get better. Also, I didn’t want it to be too long)
| 2022-06-25T17:42:20 | 2022-06-25T15:42:01 | 116 | 33 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often.
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"Jesus *FUCK*!" If I could gag, I would. A dead body, torn and ribboned like a frayed cloth doll dipped in scarlet lay discarded in a cheap motel room.
A woman steps out of a shower, her hair up in a towel and no other apparent form of modesty, save for the steam that rises from her skin. I, out of a shame that she didn't seeming have herself, didn't look, not that I had to- I knew who she was.
And by God, what an utter hatter she is. This one included, she's killed 32 people, each one getting more and more... exotic. Now, I have tried- I did- I tried to be the tall, scary, stoic Death that people tend to think of, but this is just horrific. Genuinely, as a man (or... whatever) who roams the fields of war and stalks the hospital wards, I have never seen such *undoing* done with such attention to detail.
"Do.. You like It? I worked Very Hard to Make this Special for Us." She said. She came around me, gently gliding her finger across my black robe, pushing in slightly to feel the contours of my bones.
"Wha- If I may be *so bold* as to ask, WHY?"
"Well, I just Wanted to See You again." She said, just barely above a whisper.
"This is too far. You know you're going to Hell for this?"
"I was going to hell anyways. But I don't have to go just yet. We can just stay here... for tonight." I try to reply but she cuts me off before I can. "Every time I see you, you only show up for a second and wander off with some poor soul!"
"Yeah, because you killed them! Because that's my job!"
She gives me a pout and pulls herself closer to me.
"Well, can't you take a break from your job for once?" She protests. "I thought Love was supposed to be able to conquer Death! For one night, can't it just be you and me?"
I look down at her for the first time tonight and shake my head.
"Why do you think I'm here to begin with?" As I point to her body, torn and ribboned on the bed.
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"Oh, it's you again." His cold words managed to chill the freezing winter room.
I jumped. He always managed to sneak in at moments I least expected. I loved him for it.
He wasn't much of a talker, so I usually started the conversations. "So, how are things at work?" I asked.
He sighed. "Why must you always ask the same questions? I always give the same answers."
"I love how it makes you," I teased.
"How do you manage to be so insufferable," he replied. I could tell he was serious.
"Same answer," I said. I let the silence sit for a moment. "So, what do you think of this one?"
He gazed across the mangled bits I left for him, hardly identifiable. I stared too, but he read things I couldn't even comprehend.
"Well," he said, "I have to admit, it looks quite... Complicated." He turned to me, black mist spewing from his gleaming boney face. Lifeless, expressionless, emotionless eye sockets belittled me. I was under his power, and all it took was a look. How incredible. "But must I remind you, again, that I find no joy in taking the beautiful lives of these people. Why must you?"
Slowly, I responded. "Because my life only has beauty with you in it." I hated to be so honest, but he had the power to make me.
And with a few simple words, his power doubled.
"That, my dear, is my curse." He waved his sythe with a gleam, and in an instant, he was gone.
Cleanup was always the worst part, but this time, it was different. As I placed the mangled pieces into bags, a pattern of cuts on an arm that weren't there before caught my eye. I held up the arm, and fell to the floor, a flurry of mixed emotions filling me. The pattern rang in my ear, as if death himself we're screaming it.
"In a month, maybe more, I will be at your door. I promise."
| 2017-09-28T15:20:16 | 2017-06-07T22:19:49 | 153 | 10 |
[WP] The courageous hero foretold to defeat the dark queen instead falls in love and marries her, settles down and has a kid, you. Years later, you're awkward parents send you off to university, and the "new" dark lord attacks the city and kidnaps you without realizing who your parents are.
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“I am telling, dude, you are making a huge mistake!”
“Silence!” The Dark Lord hissed as he pointed a blade in my direction. “Be grateful that you still have the lungs to draw your breath! For I-“
“Look, I am trying to help you! Just let me go and I promise to make sure you live through this! Hurry, we don’t have eno-“
The whole building shook.
“Oh shit. You are so dead.”
“Just what are you-“
The man (I assume?) didn’t get to finish his (?) sentence. For better or worse, the death was quick. I doubt he even realised what happened.
“I told you, we should have killed the brat when he started using my name,” mom, clad in armour of black and red, spoke as she stomped down on the ashen remains of my captor. “I told you, but did you listen?”
“Oh come on, this isn’t fair,” dad groaned as he wiped some of the blood off his blade. There was a lot of it, too. “The runt was barely able to gather a thousand creatures under his command back then. I felt kind of bad for him. That whole ‘Dark Lord’ was all the poor kid had.”
Mom was about to scold him some more but was far too late. The puppy dog eyes were deployed and all she could do was scoff softly, “Whatever. Let’s just get Jacob out of those chains and go.”
“Nah, I am good,” I took a deep breath and exhaled. The chains melted down into slug. “All good.”
“Except for your clothes,” dad chuckled. “You okay? The Dark Lord didn’t hurt you too much?”
“Barely even felt it.”
“Good,” Mom said and urged us both to the exit. “Now hurry, we must speak to you about your last semester’s GPA.”
I paled. I tried to run but dad’s hand on my should was firm.
… Could I have the Dark Lord back, please?
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The first thing the "Dark Lord" felt after having his monologue interrupted was a distinct lack of available space in his dented helmet. The second thing he felt was every ounce of my 210 pound musclebound body sitting on his chest as I fiddled woth a communication bracelet with one hand and continued ripping off the remaining ropes and shackles with the other
"Wh-G-Get off me! Do you know who I am, insolent worm-?!" There was a resounding clank as a manacle smacked him in the dented helmet.
I sighed in boredom, shaking my head. "I think Mom used that one once, and she couldn't get Dad to stop laughing at how generic it was. Heh. He had a week on the couch for that one..." The bracelet began to gently vibrate, glowing a deep purple hue, lighting up the rather dark room and the terrified faces of my fellow classmates.
"I'm going to peel your flesh slowly and drain you of every drop of your life force once I get out of this! You'll never see the end of suffering, girl!" His voice runbled the ground beneath us, dark power dripping from every word, and muffled by the ropes piling up on his face.
"Sure thing. That's tame in comparison to the things Mom has threatened." The bracelet finally connected through all the various wards, spells, and enchantments in the 'dark castle', and the voice of my worried parents finally rang out.
Despite the rumblng hate from the third dark lord of edge this month beneath me, and my Mother promising death to said dark lord, everything was still so dull and boring compared to the fun and interesting homeschooling my parents had given me. Damn the government for banning it.
| 2021-11-20T07:15:18 | 2021-11-20T06:49:31 | 36 | 25 |
[WP]A nuclear war started on Earth. Your crew and you, from the ISS,watch as the earth is destroyed. You only have supplies for 3 more months.
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1.
We saw them first from Tranquility's cupola as we passed over the Eastern seaboard.
The fiery booster trails of hundreds of ballistic missiles, first a massive volley from the East rising fast into the sky in tight clusters, followed within a few minutes by replies from submarines off the coast of Norway as we reached mid-Atlantic. And then, behind our orbit, hundreds more from the West.
The MIRV bursts from London, Berlin and Paris, hidden under weather, were like old-fashioned flash bulbs, popping and then dissipating with a fizzle, the clouds roiling and bubbling. We watched in awful silence, the window filters boosting to direct sunlight settings with each new detonation. We moved across Asia, watching the warheads explode like popcorn across the surface of Europe, and then the station slipped into night across the Pacific for 30 minutes of darkness.
The silence and twilight was punctuated by repeated swearing. Then, slowly, the crew drifted guiltily into Eastern and Western teams, each retreating to their own home modules and mother languages
Gort, the commander, gathered the Westerners into a mid-air huddle.
"Gene, get somebody on comm," he said. "Marco, status on rations and water. And get me a schedule. Jones, get ready to lock the door at Unity. I'm going to open the safe. Move it."
Without waiting for answers he bounced towards his sleep berth, as the rest of the team pushed off to workstations.
Closing the door to his vertical cabin, Gort removed a small neckchain from beneath his shirt and snapped the plastic dogtag in half, extracting a tiny code card. He punched the code into the lockbox embedded in the bulkhead beside his light fixture. The door popped and he removed two cards and a hard acrylic chip from the safe. In his head he already knew the procedure.
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"Holy mother of..."
We all stared out the cupola at the end of the Earth. Literally. For whatever reason, she started to crack apart at the seams, and slowly, majestically even, started to just fall apart... and sink into itself.
They'd been conducting a new experiment at CERN with the LHC, and although they had sworn over and over that the miniature black hole that would be created would pose no danger, evaporating due to Hawking radiation...
...well, 'they' were apparently wrong.
The Earth slowly, ever so slowly, crumbled and cracked and shrunk. One could see the area of the border of Switzerland and France being the center point of the entire swallowing of the Earth.
We didn't hear anything. We just partook of the scene. We were all sobbing. We three were the only ones left. And after us...
I then had a sudden flash of clarity. 3 months. Yeah. I think not.
I snuck away from the observation post, and went to the Soyuz. I got the shotgun out of it, loaded it. I went back to where the other two were and point blank shot one, then the other, of my comrades.
I closed the cupola off, left them there. I didn't need that room anymore.
Now... it's just me.
9 months. That's better.
What to do... what to do...
---
Edit: it's 'nuclear' in that it's the LHC playing with physics, and 'war'... well, because, ok?
| 2015-10-17T11:47:52 | 2015-10-17T10:06:16 | 82 | 38 |
[WP] The girl you sit next to in class turns out to be a mind-reader, and she's surprised that you don't have a crush on her.
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Walking out of the classroom, I was stopped dead in my tracks by Stacy. I jolted to a halt, causing me to drop a book or two on the floor. While picking up my Geometry textbook, I asked her if she needed something. This was a mistake. By the time I lifted my head back off the floor, I could tell she was pissed. After just staring blankly at her for a few seconds, not knowing whether to follow up my comment or keep my mouth shut, she decided to open her mouth.
"Umm, I don't know, Steve. Do I need something? Or do **you** need something?" With that, she put her hand on her hip and gave a over-dramatically sassy stance. Now I wasn't looking to start a scene or anything, so I tried my hardest to keep my voice at a level tone.
"Stacy, what are you going on about?" I whispered, hoping to get an answer, but only recieving more shit.
"Oh you know what I'm talking about. You have to know! I have to know!" At this point she was causing more and more of a scene in the hallway.
"Now listen here. I've seen how you look at me. I've seen how awkward you get around me. I know everything about you! I know your favorite color is blue, you stash weed by your room in your backyard, you've never once been kissed by anyone other than your mother. I can read you like an open book! How can you say to my face you **don't** like me?"
"I never said that. And I've never looked at you meaningfully. But, I think you're a nice person, and I'd love to go out with you sometime if you really want to. How about it?"
Everyone was staring at us by this point. Even I was feeling a bit embarrassed by the whole situation. I guess it was to much for Stacy, because eventually she just cracked under pressure, yelled, "I-I know y-you masturabte to furry shit!" and ran off. I guess just because she knew everything about me didn't help her at wooing me. Also, the next day I saw her outside my window with a furry fox-costume. Now I'm no mind reader, but I think this isn't going to stop for quite a while...
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Just to be sure, I moved the chair back another few millimetres. It was delicate work, and harder than most would understand. Well no one would understand, let’s face it. How could anyone comprehend the effort of moving an object – even if it was just a chair – using only your mind?
The anticipation was boiling over. I wanted to scream ‘just sit your fat ass down’ but I held it in. Her round, dumpy figure swayed in front of the touch screen. The fourth roll, the lowest and most encircling of them all and half covered by cheap wool, clipped the controls and the screen switched to standby. She stepped back, sucking the walls of her hi-tops into her ankles, before she proceeded to slump her enlarged rear into the seat she had left waiting for her.
The thud was all I hoped for. It was so forceful that her spectacles were flung in the air while her dumpy fingers and bloated arms tried to grab purchase on the world around her. Hilarious. The room erupted with callous laughter. Chuckling little hyenas they were. The great unknowing. That I am the comedy genius. The laughter maker. The stealth pranker. All laughing apart from her. Ok it wasn’t the most hilarious thing ever but it was pretty good.
She’s just sat looking at me.
She should have be looking at me. But then she shouldn’t have been. Didn’t she find it funny?
She shook her at me and sighed.
I laughed too loud. She is probably one of the girls my Mum warned me about. Caring. Urghhh. Why do I have to be sat next to one with feelings? I mean she is pretty, really pretty.
She smiled at me.
Urghhh. I take that back. She smiles like she just caught a mouthful of Miss’s asshole. From pretty to, pretty ugly in 5 seconds. Ha. Probably runs in the family.
She looked shocked and she scowled. “What the fuck do you know about genetics. Asshole."
| 2016-09-05T10:31:46 | 2016-09-05T07:36:05 | 55 | 36 |
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
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Pynffvsvrq vasbezngvba: Yriry Erq pyrnenapr erdhverq. Abirzore 22, 1963- Gur cerfvqrag unf fcrpvsvpnyyl erdhrfgrq gung n fcrpvny ohggba or vafgnyyrq ba uvf qrfx. Gur ohggba jura cerffrq jbhyq unir fgnss oevat uvz n Serfpn. Abirzore 24, 1963- Vafgnyyngvba pbzcyrgr.
Possible security concern- While reviewing the archives, I see that old documents are still being encoded with [Rot-13](http://www.decode.org/).
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i could hear the whine of precision power tools...
all i could taste was blood and metal. they shone a light in my eyes, i couldn't see who was standing over me...
"don't worry, it'll all be over soon..." he said through a mask as he put a thin silver device in my mouth. just when i thought it couldn't get worse, he turns it on and fucking jams it into my teeth.
last time i go to that fuckup of a dentist..
| 2022-04-09T08:53:35 | 2015-01-12T11:14:34 | 88 | 28 |
[WP] You wind up in hell. You are confused at first until you see a row of people in front of you, crying profusely. You weren't sent to hell to be punished, you were sent as the punishment.
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*"Wow! You're so much better than Kirk at lovemaking!" Uhura said. "And you're the handsomest and smartest Jedi Starfleet officer!" Princess Leia chimed in, panting after the epic threesome "I know I'm perfect, but even perfect people makes mistakes sometimes!" I said, humbly.*
"And that, fellas, was chapter seventeen of my Star Wars/Trek crossover fanfic." I told the crowd "Next chapter I'll reveal the mistake, how instead of destroying the One Ring, I gave it to Arwen, who didn't get corrupted by it because my very touch severed it's connection with Sauron and evil. I guess I was lucky that my Vulcan Force touch worked against all odds!"
"Aaaahhh! Kill me now!" one of the audience screamed, to which I replied that he couldn't die, since he was already in the afterlife. I guess these guys can't have been very bad, since listening to my fanfiction must be awesome and not literal hellish torture.
"On to chapter eighteen, *The Borg Balrog that captured Arwen*, and how I assimilated her heart, if you catch my drift." I added coyly, and the captivated audience groaned in delight.
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“Just another day at hell! Right Jim?” I say as I contemplate who to fire. The fluorescent lighting beating down like the angry devil herself.
I have come to like it here though. Within a single century I was able to climb all the way up into the crevasse of upper management. I like it because people respect me. They have to. That’s ***how*** you get promoted; bootlicking. I have many friends here. But my favorite are those who can’t eat. As they are the most dedicated, sometimes doing a whole ***two*** positions in one day! The math isn’t even there! Yet, they get it done because they want out of the suffering.
Jokes on them though, I like hard workers! Something I finally learned around year 20 of being hungry was… they love hard workers too! So the best way to get promoted into less work and more power is to stop giving a fuck. What are they going to do? Fire you? It’s hell.
| 2022-07-03T08:06:43 | 2022-07-03T07:45:36 | 184 | 36 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once.
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Graduation day. I finally made it. I was hard being the only powerless “freak” in the school, but at least the bullying stopped pretty quickly. I think there was only a single time I was actually attacked by someone else which is an absurd stroke of luck. I guess he got expelled as I never saw Charles again. The fact that I was avoided by everyone, even the teachers, did nothing to help how miserable this school was, but I suppose I made it through.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt from the principle’s journal:
Daniel Smith finally graduated today. Thank God. Honestly, despite being tested and showing clear signs of having powers, I had no idea why he was sent here without being able to use them. Figured he’d gotten in through connections or something. He was bullied a bit, but there wasn’t any violence and it seemed to only be some name calling and not much else so I let it slide. I should have intervened. Charles… that poor kid. Came from a decent family, had powers that let him enhance his strength. Standard stuff. As I am told, one day, he got a bit too rowdy and threw a punch. Daniel, having no way to defend himself, took it hard. He’d been thrown into the wall, fractured his neck, and was instantly killed. Of course I instantly detected the commotion and flew over, however I was much too late. Something stood up from that rubble. Some THING. That wasn’t Daniel. Whatever it was seemed incredibly dangerous. My honed sixth sense screamed at me to run and hide. Something I hadn’t felt since my very early hero days. A human shaped mass of pitch black darkness stood up and shambled in the direction of Charles. “Hey you survived that? Might have some powers after all Fuckwad” he jeered. Stupid kid. As soon as it reached him, he punched again. Except this time his fist got stuck. I saw everything as he was consumed, heard the cracking of his bones. His screams. So often have I relied on my enhanced senses. This was a time I wished I didn’t have them. The next day everything was repaired (we have a guy, accidents happen frequently) and Daniel came in, like nothing happened. I immediately called him to my office and asked him to explain what happened. He’d said that he was bullied, and knocked out. Thats it. “Can I go? He said with a confused look on his face”. Can I go. AFTER WHAT HE DID?!?!? Of course I let him go. But what he said before leaving will always stay with me. “By the way, will Charles be punished?”
|
I could feel the blood dripping down my arm
“ what a freak , can’t do anything “ my attacker announced to the crowd. He had lightning fast reflexes…. And me… I had nothing… I don’t even know why I was selected for this school …
Before I could even blink he was behind me and kicked me into a wall … if I just don’t get back up maybe he will back off…. But I was wrong he made his way over to me again ….. but was he moving slower now on purpose?
He threw a punch but I could see it this time…. I rolled to get moved out of the way of it barely
“ looky here for a normie you can move fast when you want to , still won’t be good enough to cut it when you are here”
He started to look exhausted … maybe that was what it was … I picked myself back up and stood up and stared at him … was this just the adrenaline or was everyone else moving…. Slower….
He went to throw another punch but this one was so slow , I easily dodged it and I threw one back and hit him square in the gut
He staggered back “ how… did you move so fast…. No one’s faster then me , no one can react fast enough “ his friend walked in front of him to take over , I knew of him , size of a car , strong enough to move a mountain if he tried , he went to push me away and I felt like I got hit by a telephone pole from just a grazing blow…
It took me a minute to catch my breath but I was not fast enough to stop the punch coming , I put my hand up to block it and I found I could hold him back…. He was struggling to push me? Soon I didn’t feel like I had to try and push back it was effortless , the strained look he had struggling until suddenly he clenched his chest and keeled over
Another student came to his rescue , said his heart couldn’t pump hard enough anymore , a faculty member flew down and broke the fight up , they sent my attackers to the med centre right away and he started escorting me to the office
I don’t know how I got into so much trouble for my first day… but after a few days of recovery no one ever wanted to touch me again…. I was just normal… I didn’t understand why
| 2022-11-02T09:59:50 | 2022-11-02T08:30:32 | 502 | 150 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
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"Look, Matty the Mad is acting strange again," I said, elbowing my friend Flint as we walked past her shack on our way home. The elderly woman was busy shoveling dirt over a hole, either unaware or unconcerned about her dirt-stained frock.
"I say, what're you up to, Matty?" he called.
She straightened and glared at us. "You boys again. Come to break my windows with stones?"
"You can't prove it was us," I shouted. "Answer Flint's question!"
"I'm covering up my dirty business," she said, going back to her work. "Unlike everyone else in this damned village who leave them out in the open."
We burst into laughter. "What a foolish madwoman you are!" Flint said, half-choked with mirth. "Only by scattering them outside will they dissolve in the rain and evaporate under the sun. Why are you storing them in the ground where they'll be there forever?"
"Leave an old lady alone," she muttered.
"What other wisdom do you have to share with us today? Last week you told Fanny to wash her mouth and brush her teeth four times a day. Her father got so angry he wanted to stomp your vegetables flat!"
I snorted, and said in a conspiratorial but audible tone, "You see, she doesn't know that our mouths, being wet all the time, are already clean!"
"Also, remember when you asked Honey to stop mixing her cave metals into her medicines? She let her dogs chase you all over town!"
Matty looked up briefly with damp eyes. "Those dogs ought to be put down. They're raving mad, and they've already bitten five people!"
Flint and I fell into silence for a moment, but then my friend said, "Anyway, you keep playing with your dirt. We're going home to have our mushrooms." He shook a leather pouch for her to see.
A look of concern came over her face. "Where did you find those?"
"Oh, in the woods, here and there," Flint said casually. "Not telling you, or you'll steal our supply. 'specially since we've never seen this variety before."
She groaned. "The last thing I want to do is eat your stupid mushrooms. You boys remember to cook them well. Sometimes they can do strange things to you."
"There she goes again," I said with a guffaw. "The wisdom of Matty! Cook your food and destroy everything natural about them! Maybe we should start smoking and salting our meats too, like she does."
Flint started to walk away, shaking his head in disgust. "She even eats them weeks later. How could she stand something that's no longer fresh?"
"Don't worry about her," I said, clapping him on the back. "She won't be ruining our dinner."
***
"Flint?" I said, coughing as I woke up. My head was spinning heavily, and thick foamy phlegm was leaking from the corner of my mouth. I fumbled about in the dark of my room, trying to regain my bearings. With every motion, my belly heaved and lurched.
"Don't feel so good," I moaned, clutching my middle. Sharp pains were beginning to accompany the aching. My bottom felt wet—likely I would soon need to look for a clear patch not used by my parents and sister in the garden. "You hear me, Flint?"
My fingers brushed against his arm, and I felt a surge of relief that he hadn't abandoned me. "Why's it so dark?" I said. "We only started eating a while ago, and it was noon. Hey, Flint, what's the matter?"
I traced my fingers up his torso, to his neck, and then his face. His flesh remained still and cold to my touch.
"Flint? Flint!" I began to shake him, but he didn't answer. Cursing the dark—my eyes were beginning to strain from the effort of widening them—I stood and ran to get help, bumping into walls even with arms outstretched.
"Father! Mother! It's Flint, I think he's dead!"
***
Flint's family came and took him home not long after, where they would leave him in the living room until he dissolved into the air they breathed. Honey took a look at my eyes and made me swallow urine from the man with the sharpest eyesight in the village, but to no avail.
I could no longer see.
As I cried myself to sleep that night, cursing mushrooms, cursing Honey, cursing everything, I remembered Matty's words earlier that day.
***
*Edit: Part 2 below!*
*Thanks for reading, hope you liked it. Do check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) if you would like to see more of my work.*
|
It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T11:40:58 | 2017-09-14T08:26:46 | 3,641 | 25 |
[WP] You and your friend make the old drunken agreement that if either of you invent time travel, you'll return to the current time and spot. 5 seconds after you shake on it, your friend appears from the future, with an urgent message.
|
Those stupid high heels. I couldn't walk in them sober - after three margaritas it was out of the question. I sat down on the edge of the fountain, grabbing at my shoes. The next morning was going to be rough, but you only graduate from law school once, right?
My best friend Jane plunked down beside me. She'd been smart enough to wear flats, but was teetering dangerously close to a baptism in some questionably green water.
"Thank God we're done with that mess." I was slurring. But I was Slurring, Esq., so to hell with it.
"Such a great night." Jane was smiling, her eyes were closed. "When I secure the patent for the first time travel machine, I'm going to come back to this night, this fountain, and bring you some better shoes."
I snorted. "They'd better not be ugly."
Jane traced her finger in the water, but something was wrong. Instead of one Jane reflected in the green depths, there were two.
I mean, I was drunk. But I wasn't *that* drunk.
I turned to face the source of the reflection and every muscle in my body froze.
"What the *hell*" I hissed at the woman standing in front of me. She was Jane, and she wasn't. The same red-gold hair, but with lines around her eyes, some gray streaks, and most strikingly, a scar that ran down her face from her left eye to her chin.
She grabbed me by the shoulders. "I need you to listen to me," she said urgently.
"Nope. Too drunk for this, OldJane." Perhaps that wasn't polite, but she could take that up with José Cuervo.
Frowning, she slapped me across the face. I shrieked and looked for regular Jane, who stared into the water, tracing an endless möbius pattern.
"I need you to listen." She grabbed my face. "It's taken me fifteen years to get back here." Her voice started to tremble. "I would have been here sooner...but for the wars....." She stopped. Tears rolled down her face.
"You are weirding me out, OldJane." I needed water, sleep, and the calmer, not-insane version of my best friend.
"When you leave here tonight, I need you to pack all of your things. Go to the ferry station and catch the first boat. Turn left - not right, *left* - coming out of the ferry station and board the bus to the furthest destination. Bring your passport and cash. Tell no one." Tears traced the scar on her face.
"Are you from the future?" I was skeptical. "Because, why would I be so worried if you made it?"
She reached out and stroked my hair. "Because you didn't" she said softly. "Even though I tried."
"How the hell do I know any of this is real?" I asked her. Something in the back of my mind regarding arms negotiations between two warring countries started to invade my buzz.
She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a set of flat shoes. They were the ugliest things I'd ever seen.
"*Go*" she said. I looked at current Jane, still tracing the water. "She'll be okay."
I put those shoes on, took one last look, and ran like hell.
|
"So thus is our solemn pact. if either of us invent time travel, we will return to this spot and this time." said Terence.
"So I guess we don't invent time tra- WHAAAAAT" said Phil, surprised.
An explosion of light.
A synthesiser played a few notes. Dry ice smoke.
An egg-like capsule.
It opened, seamlessly gaining seams that opened out like a ramp.
A humanoid figure walked out, robes trailing behind him.
"wha.... Terence?" Phill gibbered.
The stranger smiled.
"Greetings, friend Phillip. Greetings from the world of tomorrow. And greetings to you, Terence of the past."
"Uh.... Yo, " Past!Terence said, uncertain, "Um... so, time travel, huh?"
"Indeed. I am only stopping for a short time, I am simply refueling via cosmic energy in this time whilst on my way to return Helen to her home."
"Helen?" Phil asked.
"Yes, Helen of Troy. I decided to look at the Trojan War and somehow this woman managed to stow away on my ship. I soon discovered her, and beyond her successfully seducing me at least once, have been working to return her to her own time, but things keep getting in the way whenever I try. I know this time is safe, so..."
"Wait, we get to have sex with someone hotter than Aphrodite?" Terence asked, his eyes widening.
"Actually, I believe that title goes to that woman in whatever the myths Clash of the Titans is based on. Maybe Medusa was pretty prior to Athena's curse. Sadly though, turns out most of the events described in Greek mythology are actually just explanations for things that in your time are pretty straight forward."
"Huh." Phil and Terence said.
"Anyhoo, I figured I'd leave you both a message while I'm here, you know, give you an alt timeline advantage, like the Almanac..."
"Yes?" Phil asked.
"Do not buy the first AppleGoggles. Stick with Google, there's good third party software on Android that makes you essentially Robocop without the invasive cybernetics. Oh, and do not shoot Jimmy Sanchez, Phil, turns out he's an undercover cop and-"
"Oh Terry Baby~" a feminine voice called from the egg.
"Sorry, Past!Me, Phil, gotta go, the missus is calling and I really ought to return her to her own time before I cause too many ripples."
"Okay, but before you go, why is your time travel machine so... 80s?" Past!Terence asked.
"You mean the synthesiser, the plastic egg shape, the smoke machine?"
"Yup."
"It beats having the TARDIS sound effect, the shape is surprisingly efficient for time travel, and the dry ice is honestly cheaper than a megaphone to tell people 'I am a futuristic person with futuristic technology, be intimidated and flee from the bright red egg that is shrouded in an eldritch fog'"
Future!Terence then swaggered up back on to the egg, put on his sunglasses, and waved.
A drum beat started and the synthesiser played a few more notes, before the thing disappeared.
| 2015-04-18T23:59:45 | 2015-04-18T23:26:21 | 173 | 37 |
[WP] You are a cannon fodder minion on the first floor of a dungeon, and have just killed the hero. You now have to explain to the boss that you just ruined his plan.
|
He didn't dare to believe his eyes as he stared down at the smoldering corpse of the hero at his feet. This was the vaunted hero? In rotted leather armor and bearing a chipped sword? Surely his Lord's carefully planned traps, expertly trained minions and artfully designed mazes gathered over these past 7 years since the hero prophecy was first spoken could not have been in vain? The lowly foot soldier tried to imagine having to explain what he had done, how he had ruined all those years of planning and preparation.
*"I'm so sorry my lord, the hero was pathetic! He thought he was armed with Prophecy and immortal. He just charged right in and all but leapt into the path of my weak and pathetic fire spell. I did not expect that to vanquish him!"*
*"You fool... 7 years! 7 YEARS!! No expense spared! I prepared for everything! EVERYTHING! How could you ruin this? How... how could you?"*
And as the lowly minion imagined the tears streaming down his Lord's face he knew what he must do. He stomped out the still smoldering bits of the hero's armor and removed it from his corpse. Donning the rotted leather over his own mail he dropped his expertly crafted sword in favour of the pitted rusted ruin the hero had brought. He needed to disguise his face. He might be the weakest of minions but he had spent 7 long years with these beings, they knew him as well as he knew them. He blackened his face with soot and cut his lengthy mane hastily with a dagger. Finally he searched for any other gear the hero had brought and found only a small amulet which he donned as well. Thus armed he turned away from the entrance headed deep into the dungeon.
Despite his weakness, he had stilled trained these 7 long years with the best of the other minions. He had helped prepare the traps, and had joined the construction crews on the mazes. Quite simply put, he knew every square inch of this dungeon and so forearmed with his knowledge he barreled into every trap barely avoiding death by the slimmest of margins. He knew all the weaknesses of each of his fellow minions but not even that could make up for his own weakness. Each battle was a terrible trial and by the time he made it through the last maze he was beaten and bruised horribly. Only his impeccable mail had saved him from serious injury. Thankfully his Lord had spared no expense.
"Foolish hero, I see you have bested my minions and navigated my dungeon but now you face my wrath! Puny human prepare yourself!" His Lord, not recognizing his minion, cried out in joy as the hero he had spent 7 long years preparing for finally stood before him.
*My Lord... this I do for you. I give my life so that these plans will not go to waste!* The weak minion thought to himself, but he knew that he couldn't give in too easily. His Lord had trained extensively himself and deserved the best fight possible. Gathering his courage the minion charged his Lord and gave his all. He fought with everything he had, barely avoiding death a hundred times at his Lord's hand. Finally, he could fight no more and his Lord stood over him, prepared to deal the final blow.
"Foolish hero, do you now understand my might?! You never stood a chance you fool!"
As his Lord gloated, the beaten minion could only nod his head in reply for fear of giving away his identity with his voice. It was then that a single drop of blood fell from his broken nose and landed squarely on the amulet he'd taken from the fallen hero. A brilliant light emanated from the amulet, blinding the minion and his Lord both. When the light faded the minion slowly rubbed his eyes, willing the spots to clear. He could only look on in horror at the smoking ruin where his Lord once stood, vanquished by the light of the amulet.
And so the prophecy was realized.
*7 years hence, the Dark Lord, after much preparation, will be vanquished by the weakest fool would be hero with the best of intentions."*
|
**"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE'S DEAD!? EXPLAIN YOURSELF, MINION!"**
Lord Exilarr growled and spat as he talked. He bared his pointed teeth and narrowed his slitted eyes in a display that probably made even the most battle-hardened heroes piss their pants with fear, but the only thing that stained Minion's pants was the Lord's saliva. Something about spending your days dying over and over made you pretty indifferent to these kinds of threats. Plus, Minion was so fucking tired of Exilarr's shit.
"He's dead. I killed him."
Exilarr raised his head and roared, sending a pillar of flame rocketing toward the sky.
**"AAAHH!! WHY!? MY PLAN!! IT'S RUINED!"**
The Lord stared at Minion, trying to gauge what reaction his outburst had gotten. His nostrils flared wildly, as they did whenever he was especially angry (and when he lied, which made for a fantastic combo on poker night). Minion just folded his arms.
"Oh, yeah? And what plan was that? Let him kill as many of us as he can before reaching you, at which point you put up a half-assed fight and run off in your pink fucking balloon?"
**"IT'S NOT PINK, IT'S RED! LIKE THE FIRES OF HELL!!"**
"It looks pretty damn pink to me--"
**"IT FADES EASILY IN THE LAUNDRY!"**
Minion put up his hands. "OK, look, my point is: that guy needed to die. It was him or us."
**"YOU DON'T MAKE DECISIONS! YOU OBEY YOUR MASTER!"**
Minion took a good, hard look at his master. His cruel, insane idiot of a master. The word spilled out of him before he knew what was happening.
"No."
Exilarr looked genuinely surprised. Maybe he never thought his minions would question their orders.
**"WHAT DID YOU SAY!?"**
"No", Minion repeated, deciding that since he was done for either way, he might as well go all in. "I'm done."
**"AAAAHH!! NO!"** Exilarr had raised his head to the sky and roared again in a gesture almost identical to the one before. It seemed to be his go-to response to failure. **"No..."**, he repeated, whispering to himself, **"this isn't part of the deal..."**
Minion raised his eyebrows. "What?"
Exilarr snapped his head up, looking like a deer in headlights. **"What? I didn't say anything."**
"Yes, you did!" Minion took a step forward. Exilarr backed away. "You said this wasn't 'part of the deal'. What's that supposed to mean? What deal?"
Exilarr kept backing away, his nostrils flaring like they'd never flared before. **"I didn't say 'deal', I said, uh... 'meal'."**
"It wasn't part of the meal?"
Even Exilarr realized how stupid that sounded. His shoulder slumped and his eyes were reduced to smoldering embers in their sockets. He let out a little puff of smoke as he sighed.
**"Fine. What do you want?"**
Minion's answer came instantly. "I want to be a boss." He had to admit, the thought had crossed his mind before. "And I want my own castle."
At the last bit, Exilarr's eyes flickered for a moment before settling back down. **"You're even worse than the other guy..."**, he muttered.
"What?"
Deer in headlights. Nostrils flaring. **"Oh, goddamnit."**
| 2014-09-03T12:27:33 | 2014-09-03T12:23:14 | 241 | 11 |
[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."
|
I have to say I have seen many a crazy person enter my den. They've carried all manner of "enchanted this" or "magical that", giant helmets someone oversold, lacquered shields sold as impenetrable "dragon scales", which didn't seem to save them from a squishy death beneath it. They've come with silver swords and golden swords and swords awash in the blood of 99 virgins and with all manner of talismans and trinkets meant to ward me off or beguile me in some way. They've come alone, sometimes with squires or mages, and more than a few times as a team. It doesn't matter one bit. Whatever they bring, however they attack, they're just a snack to this old dragon. I've seen it all.
Well, I had seen it all until last week when that nearly naked man walked in throwing bits of change into my horde. If it weren't for the novelty of it I would have snatched him right up, but naked and throwing money, I just had to see what the ruse was. I was certain he was mad, but there's always a chance.
He walked right in and sat down on a rock within easy reach, reeking of fear and cheap ale. At first I thought "ah, he's the bait to draw my attention while others attack from the sides," but in sniffing the air and listening to the drafts there were no others, just the one lonely fellow. The bravest man I'd probably ever met, or the dumbest one.
"I... I 'ave a... proposition that I 'ope you will 'ear," his voice cracked, "'ear me out on if you would."
I raised up on my hindquarters and looked down on him menacingly, slowly snaking my tail around the rock he sat on.
"We... um... we 'ave a king who... uh... is covetous of yer gold. The only problem is, 'e's run outta knights and noblemen to come to fight fer it."
I continued to look down upon him. I was slightly relieved, knights and nobleman were too predictable and tasted foul with all their perfumes and ointments. Plus their armor was grating to chew on for the measly bits of meat held in it.
"Well... I... uh... I didna come 'ere to fight." He paused as if waiting for the snap of my teeth and then blurted out forcefully "I came 'ere to ask you to kill our king."
That got me. I'd never heard of such a request. It was always about the gold or the glory. I lowered down, withdrawing my tail and laying low enough to be eye to eye. "Yes?" I responded.
"The king... 'e sent me 'ere to fi... die I 'spect... but I 'ad me another idea. What if I go back and just tell 'em I killed you?" He gulped and tried to rub his sweating hands on his already sweaty legs. "I mean, the king'll want to take credit fer it, and so 'e'll come 'ere to use 'is own stupid sword."
The man's hatred for the king was present in almost every syllable and the more he spoke the more confident he appeared with his words.
"Yes?" I said.
"That's it really. I'd need to take something back..."
I bristled at the thought and believed that I was seeing through his ruse to negotiate a little pocket change.
"Not gold... not gold..." He quickly corrected himself. "Just a trinket of old armor and maybe a salvaged weapon. Sir Kayhill's battle axe or Sir Dominar's sceptar? Something to prove I came 'ere." He braced himself for a final request, "And a scale or a nail or something of you."
And THAT was bold enough to hook me in. I quickly plucked a tooth from my mouth and tossed it at his feet. "Look to the edges of my den for whatever trinkets you desire," I told him somewhat dismissively. Which was hard because I was beginning to like him.
"So after your king comes here then what? Seat yourself as king?" I asked.
"No, no... we're not much for a kingdom and less so fer a king. My mother always said we were better off as an autonomous collective taking turns to act as a sorta 'executive officer fer the week'. 'Course that was before the king showed and started repressing everyone and killin' people with his 'quests' and such."
'An autonomous collective...' I thought to myself. 'Sounds interesting.' And so I watched as he scavenged a few bits that weren't completely destroyed and then he picked up my tooth and left.
The next day I lay as still as possible on the den floor, my mouth agape with the raw wound from the tooth for all to see. The king and what remained of his knights as well as his court magician circled around me. He readied his sword as if he were going to hack into my neck and take my head. At the moment he got all the way back into his swing I opened my eyes fully and saw the "Oh damn" look come across his face. And that day was the last anyone saw of the king and his knights.
No more knights ever crossed my threshold, but sheep did, fairly regularly, I guessed for services rendered. And they were so much more satisfying than people in a can.
|
Drawing myself to full height, I prepared to roast the man alive for his folly.
"Wait wait wait, you like gold right?" he inquired nervously, "That's what they all say about the mighty Akoratraxis, just mad about his gold."
"You dare to mock me here, in my own lair? What a fool you must be, have the townsfolk run out of brave warriors, that they now send jesters?" Oh for the good old days, when knights would enter on virtuos quests with glinting plate, talking was such a bother. Below him the man trembled, visibly.
"Oh my goodness no," he tittered nervously, "not mocking, just establishing a report." He stretched out a palm, before seemingly realising that any attempt at a handshake would likely crush him under its weight. He drew it back quickly and began to wring his hands in discomfort. I stared, silently, intrigued. Stammering, he continued with a speech that he had clearly rehearsed several times.
"It's just that you've got quite a lot of gold, and you're not really putting it to use here, in a cave, sitting around."
"It is my prize mortal, the reaping from the deaths of thousands and the toppling of empires. Would you deny me that right?" I snorted flame from my nostrils, that always put the fear into them. It succeeded. But strangely the man continued, unabated.
"Nope, not at all, deaths of thousands got it. Cities ablaze, right-o. But what if I told YOU, that you could double, nay, **triple** your earnings in just a few seasons time, without lifting a talon!" He grinned sheepishly, palms raised imploringly towards me.
"Triple you say?" More flame.
"Did I say triple?" he squealed, "I meant quintuple."
"Go on." The man seemed taken aback, dumbstruck for a second, as though his preparations had not progressed beyond this point. But then, all of a sudden, a vigour seemed to fill him from the inside, the same sort of thing that I had noticed countless times before, it was self-assurance, although this kind was not clad in mail, but perhaps instead, in inspiration.
"Alright! Well, how about this then. You've got gold, most of the gold in the old kingdom, in fact, but what then? You sit and wait with it? What if we put that gold to work for you?"
"I do not understand, gold has no will, no hands? How does it work? Are you a sorcerer?"
"No, not literally work, but it pays people *to* work. At the moment they're all hiding in fear, but if we take the gold-"
"Take my gold?!"
"Or just a portion of it! If we take *some* gold from the pile, then we can turn that small, tiny insignificant amount of gold, into much much more. And you don't have to do anything at all."
"You lie, you would have me give you a part of my horde and then run for the hills! How does the coin triple? Answer me that!"
"Quintuple," the man reminded him, "and there are lots of ways! Maybe we use the gold to pay people to make clothes for people on the New Shorelands, and then those people pay us more for it because our tailors can perfect their craft without having to rush to finish? Maybe we take a big pile of gold like a hundred or so pieces in a chest, and tell the whole kingdom that *they* could win it if their name comes out of a hat, we could call it a *hat draw*, but we take a gold piece off everyone who enters, there'd surely be thousands of people so that's profit right there!"
Now I was dumbstruck. The man misconstrued this as anger.
"Or you know! If you don't like that! We could just pay townspeople to mine lots of gold, and bring it to you, rather than hiding?"
"And what is to stop these people from fleeing with my treasures."
"I'm glad you asked, I've spoken to the prince and bishop and the local lords and they're actually quite keen, because it means they can build bridges and castles and things, and as for the serfs, well, if you're regularly giving out the gold, then why would people want to risk that for whatever they can carry? If its coming once with every full moon, then over a lifetime everyone's making more than they could possibly steal. Plus, if we're helping you make more gold, you wouldn't want to burn us all to death, right?"
He grimaced, as if unsure how I would respond. I reached out towards him with a razor sharp, talon watching the sweat bead from his forehead as I did so. Stretching down my slender, jewel encrusted neck, I lowered my reptilian eyes until they were directly level with the man's. I wondered...
"Tell me more about this 'hat-draw'?"
| 2015-10-14T00:52:16 | 2015-10-14T00:29:33 | 54 | 13 |
[WP] Your SO is an amateur doomsday prepper. They show you a bunker they have built. To humour them you go inside and they jokingly close the door. But the door doesn't open. When you finally escape you come to the realisation you are the last person on earth.
|
It was early in morning when my wife ushered me to the doomsday bunker she had built. I didn't believe in the necessity of such a building but she was obsessed with the prophecies and I humored her because of my love for her.
"Are you ready for 7 minutes of heaven?" She cooed at me as I stepped inside. I heard the sound of metal scraping and the deadlocks in place as she slammed the door and giggled playfully. "I'll be back, my love" she said through the intercom and skipped away merrily.
I didn't realize it would be the last time I would see her. As she faded in the morning darkness I explored the bunker. It was the size of a small house with numerous shelves filled with water and food. "Enough supplies to survive the apocalypse" she had proclaimed with pride.
Suddenly the ground shook violently and the darkness was chased away by the nuclear blast. There I was, alone. Last man standing. I thought it was a joke when my wife had started building and I merely humored her. Now I realized just how fortunate I was that she had the foresight to prepare.
I spent the next two years in that bunker. When I finally emerged, I discovered an empty world. A shell of what had once been humanity's playground. I hoped beyond hope that there were other survivor's but I found none, and my energy slowly drained as the nuclear radiation permeated my cells.
Somewhere in the wasteland I found a single tree stump on which to lay my weary head. The sun came peaking out behind the nuclear clouds and I enjoyed one final moment of warmth. As my breathing slowed, I uttered a song for earth: "We do what's right, we do what's wrong. Earth will last through our final song. No regrets, it's not so bad. We did our best... I won't be sad. Earth be blessed... clean from humanity's filth. Let her thrive in the freedom..."
|
There was a message painted on the wall outside the door.
'I love you. I'm sorry. I knew it was coming, we couldn't stop it. If you're reading this then it means its over, you're safe. I can hope I will be out here for you. I don't think I will be. If I am I will move heaven and earth to find you again. - Jim'
I stared at the letters, shakey; but unmistakably his. Christ, it had only been three days. It must be a prank. We were supposed to be on holiday. We were booked to go to Tenerife as a surprise the day after I got trapped in. I wasn't supposed to know, but he let it slip to my mum. He arranged the time off and with my boss behind my back, and she couldn't keep a secret of her life depended on it.
This must all be a really bad joke, I thought to myself. He was supposed to be proposing on holiday, mum said. She only told me about the holiday so she could tell me that.
I moved away from the bunker door and into the basement. It looked twice as messy as when I went in, but that was no change, junk and rubbish will breed like rabbits when you blink.
The top four steps out of the basement were broken, I had to use the banister and do a bit of climbing. This was strange, the damage looked deliberate.
The hall was wonky too, not the structure, but the pictures on the wall, coat rack and so on. This has to be a prank.
--------
Written on my phone, more to come tonight when I get home!
| 2017-12-07T06:14:07 | 2017-12-07T05:57:02 | 51 | 17 |
[WP] You've just discovered you have a superpower, but the way to activate it is extremely embarrassing.
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Emily and I had chem lab together, and I'd finally mustered up the courage to ask her out. Our first date was going great so far. We were walking on the street hand in hand after dinner. The street was empty except for one guy walking toward us. When he was a couple feet away from us, he pulled out a gun.
Emily exhaled sharply and then stopped breathing. I let go of her hand.
"Money. Jewelry. On the ground. Now," said the man with the gun.
"Sure, just please don't hurt us," I said. I held out my left hand while fishing for my wallet in my back pocket with my right hand. I tossed it on the ground.
Emily remained frozen. The man turned to point the gun at her. "You too. Take off that necklace."
She didn't react.
"Emily, please," I said, but she remained motionless.
I had to act before things escalated. "Uh, listen. One time I called my teacher 'mom' by accident."
I felt a surge of power, but it wasn't enough.
"And then, when I tried to correct myself, I called her 'mom' again," I said. I felt a tingling sensation throughout my fingers as my power continued to build.
"What the hell are you talking about?" asked the man. He pointed the gun back at me. Emily started breathing again, more confused than scared now.
"It's not like I was a little kid or anything. This happened last week."
The man stepped closer to me holding the gun inches from my face. "Listen, you better–"
I loosed a bolt of energy from my fingertips and it hit him square in the chest, throwing him to the ground.
"Holy shit," said Emily.
I smiled. "Pretty cool, right?"
"Let me get this straight. *You're* the guy who called Mrs. Bayerly 'mom'? I'm on a date with *mom-kid*? Ugh," said Emily.
My smile vanished. "You don't understand, I had to–"
"Whatever. Oh, in eighth grade I wore our school uniforms on the first day of school even though they'd changed that policy over the summer. I was the only dork in a school uniform," said Emily. She began floating a few feet off the ground. "Don't tell anyone about our date, OK?" She then flew off into the night.
---
/r/rpwrites
|
I was alone in the woods the first time it happened, picking berries. Before I knew it I was soaring above the treetops, faster than any bird could. It wasn't just the flight either, I felt stronger, faster, more *alive*. When I finally decided to land the hours had passed and my basket of berries had been forgotten somewhere in the forest. I made my way to the car, wondering how it came to be that I was given such wondrous powers. I knew the second I landed that I would not be able to leave the ground again until I performed what I would come to refer to as "the ritual". So I stayed on the ground.
Every weekend I would drive out to a remote location and play around with my new powers. I could race jet planes, lift giant trees, hear the soft thuds of the tumbleweeds blowing across the dry desert ground. But on the weekdays I was just regular, ordinary me. No superpowers to be had. I thought I would never, ever use my superpowers in the presence of others.
I kept this lifestyle for several months, sitting at the office Monday to Friday, dreaming of the weekend and all the stuff I would do. All the loops I would fly in, all the things I would lift, it was incredible just thinking about it. But then came that fateful day. It was Thursday. A day like any other, some might think. But on this day work had sent us on a conference on a cruise ship. Quite luxurious, a giant boat in fact. There was good food to be had, a pool to cool down and, come evening, a very pleasant bar. But the weather didn't quite agree with us and it wasn't long before the cruise ship was swaying on the waves, lifting up and crashing down with increasing intensity. I realized then that I had to do it.
I managed to save them. They were thankful, I think. I haven't been able to look them in the eye since. Who knew that the key to superpowers would be my a cappella mashup of Baby and Friday?
| 2015-06-28T18:24:46 | 2015-06-28T17:53:53 | 27 | 17 |
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face
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The doctors hand the little ball of blankets that apparently holds a child in them. Though their smiles are wide, their eyes lie. I look down at this small child with brilliantly brown hair. I brush the hair to the side to observe the dark birthmark...death and murder. I'm confused. My family has always been writers and philosophers. We have never had any murders in the family but somehow there the mark was.
I let out a small scream, something I was advised not to do due to the complications of my pregnancy. I feel a small rip in my abdomen. The pain is unbearable and my daughter's mark lightens and starts to disappear...as they do when the mark's duty has been completed. The doctors rush in and take the child away, they start screaming things..."get a crash cart, I need adrenaline stat, she needs to be intubated." The light starts to dim but I smile slightly, I was my child's murder.
|
I tried to push him towards the arts. I knew that he had it in im to be a great artist. Sculpture perhaps, or music. But no... Little Adolf always wanted to be a painter and and painting I knew he could only fail.
He was so angry when they didn't pass him at art school - so very, very angry - I knew nothing I'd taught him and nothing I could tell him now could save him. He could only become what his Father had always predicted, from the moment he first saw the baby in my arms.
I cried, as he left our home. I cried, and I cleared the remnants of his childhood from our home. My little Adolf was gone from me now. May God rest his soul.
| 2014-05-11T02:45:16 | 2014-05-10T23:15:19 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83
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The subway slid along noisily underneath the city streets. Sam sat quietly in one corner listening to music through one earphone and mindlessly eating his breakfast (a granola bar that was a bit too hard) with the other. He stared at the words written plainly up his forearm. Words he, and everyone else in the world, was born with. Superstition held that these words would be the last you'd ever hear from your one true companion in life. Sam supposed it wasn't really superstition if it was always true. Most people simply had some variation of "I love you" but others where more foreboding. Among the latter was Sam. Everyone agreed he had some of the most tragic words they'd ever seen. All that was written was "No, Dammit, wait!" Sam pictured himself dying some gallant death as his wife called him. He wasn't to upset about it though. All men must die eventually, and perhaps his end would be like something out of a movie.
Suddenly, a light kick in the shins jarred him from his thoughts and brought Sam back to the present. A girl was standing over him looking down expectedly. It took Sam a moment to clue in. "Oh, right. Sorry." He said as he slid over to make room on the bench. The girl took a seat next to him. Sam went back to his thoughts of romantic death and zoned out again. He didn't get to far though, because all of the sudden, the girl spoke up.
"Whatcha listening to?" She asked.
Sam looked at the girl and blanked. She was pretty, with an angular face and long brown hair in a ponytail. Suddenly he decided he wanted this particular girl to like what he was listening to.
"Uhhh, Mumford and Sons?" He lied.
The girl smiled. "Can I listen? I hate the music they play through the PA in this damn train."
Sam tried and failed to supress his smile. He quickly changed the song and gave her an earphone.
They struck up a conversation and Sam found himself wondering if this was the girl he would die so gallantly for. As he looked at her smile though, the thought didn't sadden him. Too soon, the train was nearing his stop. As he felt it start to slow he got a piece of paper out of his pocket to write his number. He handed it to her as he got up to leave and she handed him his other head phone. She put the number in her wallet.
"It was nice meeting you," Sam said. "But I have to go now." He smiled as he got up and was pushed away by the crowd. When he looked back, he saw that she was pale, looking at him as if she'd seen a ghost. "No, Dammit," She shouted to him. "Wait!" Sams heart sunk like a rock as he was pushed out the doors and they slid shut behind him.
|
I pant, my lungs on the verge of collapsing. Looking round the corner, I saw no one. Perhaps, I've lost her.
Lee. These three alphabets remain a daily reminder of an inescapable fate. Carved onto my forehead since birth, I bear the burden of having to spend eternity with a certain Ms Lee out there.
The 'foreheads' are the worst of the lot. Never able to experience any pre-soul mate relationships, since everyone who's not a match knows immediately it would end badly. It got so bad, we even have a forehead self-help group for the unfortunate 1%.
I am in Fuck my Forehead too, but for different reasons. Had the Soul Brander never considered the possibility that someone might enjoy being single? I am that possibility made real, and my forehead had made life a living hell.
'Gotcha, Mr Ray!' said Lee No. 39 as she popped out of the back alley entrance. Damn, this one's tougher to lose than all the other Lees I've met. Having it on my forehead had Ms Lees flocking to me like moths to a flame. A flame that wants nothing to do with moths.
If I have a time machine, I'd go back in time and kill whoever came up with this soul branding system. He had to be one hell of a lonely fuck. Lonely and insecure and lazy. People like that don't deserve soul mates.
I took a deep breath and sprinted off once more. The twisting alleys of the Des district had been made familiar from my past escapes. I made two rights, a left and then another right, taking me to the roof. From there, I crossed three buildings via roof access and descended upon the stairwell into an abandoned cellar.
The cellar was dank, dark and silent. In other words, perfect. One of my favourite get away haunts. As I hurried down the stairwell, I heard footsteps on the other end, the cellar's main entrance. It couldn't have been her could it? 39 was fast, but she couldn't be this fast; not in Des district.
It was a female voice. She said, 'What are you doing here?' just as I asked the same question. Great, not Lee 39 then. I groped my way towards the light switch to be sure.
'Just getting the fuck away from someone,' I said while she simultaneously replied the same thing. Pressing on the switch, the cellar lights flickered into life. Before me, was a girl with a finger too on the switch. On her forehead was the word Ray.
| 2015-08-08T12:14:55 | 2015-08-08T10:27:35 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] There is something outside the door that will say anything or sound like anyone to get you to open the door.
Edit:I fell asleep after I posted this sorry for not replying they're all really good, thanks for taking the time to write.
|
There was a light knocking on the door.
As Mary approached the door she heard a voice say. "It is Susan from across the street. They delivered a package for you to my house by mistake."
A confused Mary stopped. She turned around to face Susan who had been in her living room all afternoon.
Susan calmly put down her drink. "Oh great! A house parasite."
"What should I do?" asked Mary.
"Well don't open the door. If one of those comes in the house it is impossible to get rid of it. You should call the HPRS."
Mary called the House Parasite Removal Service and then went back to watching Birdman with Susan.
An hour later there was a lot of commotion outside. After it died down there was another knock on the door.
"This is the HPRS. We were able to capture the parasite. The bill comes to $34.99."
Mary opened the door to greet the exterminators before Susan could stop her. A green blob about the size of a beach ball entered the house and attached itself to the wall in the dining room. It began to slowly extract nutrients from the house.
"They are getting smarter." said Susan "Don't even try to remove it. It is on there too good. Luckily the life cycle is only a week."
|
***Audio recording, begin***
My name is Jason Aritoza and I don't have a lot of time, so I'll make this brief. For the last couple of days I've been tracking a ... phenomenon, for lack of a better word. This ... phenomenon, it swallows people. They just end up missing without a trace. Now, I work for the missing person department and our reports have skyrocketed for the last month and, I believe, I know why. Some of the victims were livestreaming to a site called twitch.tv at the time of their kidnapping and I managed to get recordings of those for analysis.
*A distant knock can be heard*
God damnit, it's here. I'll make this very brief then. Before they vanish without a trace, someone knocks on their door and ...
*in the distance* It's the police, open up!
Shit! Hold on.
*Distant* Yes? What is... OH GOD! NO! PLEASE NO!
*A loud growl and a crash*
***Audio recording: End***
| 2015-03-11T04:00:32 | 2015-03-11T01:49:31 | 35 | 24 |
[WP]There exist five universes, each one tentatively connected to the others. Each universe is defined by the ABSENCE of one of the five elements; Earth, Water, Air, Fire & Magic. Our universe is the one without magic.
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First, there came the oceans. Each planet layers upon layers of cool darkness, with cores of ice and fire. In the worlds without Earth, creatures larger than the planets themselves wander in the darkness between galaxies, and the smaller ones live upon the clouds or deep beneath the surface of the water.
In the place with no Air, everything is one with the world around it. The tides are unchanging and the trees do not grow. The people of this universe know not the meaning of barriers, as they pass through solid matter as easily as a man falling through a gust of wind: all is dense and hot and unfeeling, with nothing to stretch the space from the earth to the sky. Living things burrow deep into the rich soil and stay there for many years.
The kingdom without Fire is a space without light. There is water to drink and dirt to walk upon, but no stars to shine above or warm hearths waiting below. The quiet, velvet darkness of the void reigns over every world within it. They have learned to communicate in whispers and hands; long, pale fingers caressing the paths before them, sightless eyes that never blink.
The absence of Water in the fourth realm is a strange emptiness, as well. The air crackles with electricity and the acrid scent of ozone never leaves. Most beings are flat and dark, moving across the cracked surfaces of planets like shadows. They feed off sunlight and warmth and little else, moving slowly throughout the day with the many suns in their skies.
Most curious of all is the universe without magic. So many world exist with elements in abundance: entire planets of liquid and ice, enough sunlight to feed thousands of shadows, and yet they remain barren. No one walks the spaces between them. However, every now and then, life will begin on a planet despite lacking the spark of magic, purely due to the four remaining elements existing in harmony. Enough Water to create clouds in the air, enough Earth to receive the rain. Enough Fire to light the way, and enough Air to freely move.
The creatures here create magic for themselves, by harnessing the existing energies and creating more of their own. Strange beings of iron and steel that glide across surfaces faster than any animal. Metal contraptions that move mountains and dig caverns. This place without magic is empty, and yet it is the the strangest of the five worlds. They are not yet aware of what truly lies beyond them.
--
This was my first time posting here, I found the prompt really interesting! Thanks for reading :)
|
It was all chance. Some bullshit about all five of our Earths occupying the same exact space in each of our respective universes so that the concentric gravitational pulls opened some kind of wormhole. It appeared somewhere around each of our south poles. At first, interactions between us were limited, but friendly. It didn't take long for everything to fall apart, though.
Those of us on Earth Prime can't even exist peacefully with ourselves, much less with FOUR other Earths full of people with the same exact problem. Once relations DID break down, it quickly became apparent that we on Prime were outmatched. They had freaking MAGIC. Sure, each of them were missing some "element" too, but that didn't matter when they could create impenetrable force fields, summon lightning, or create amazing constructs at will.
Our southern hemisphere became the battleground. Antarctica, shattered. Australia, ravaged. Southern Africa and much of South America, obliterated. We couldn't stop them, so the four magic using Earths fought it out in the south, while we retreated to the north. That was 15 years ago. When I was young, my father told me that what people used to call magic was just science that hadn't been explained yet. It turns out, that was true in this case, too.
The other Earths don't have science, because magic is natural on their planets. But, our scientists discovered that "magic," just like our "elements," water, earth, fire, and air, is just a compound of chemical elements from the periodic table. Different combinations of elements resulted in different "magical" effects. My name is Captain John Paul Woodard. My four man strike team and I are the first soldiers in the multiverse to ever be trained in combat using all five "elements." Our mission? Take back our Earth.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
Hi guys, I'm not really a writer, but I saw this prompt and got an idea that I thought was kinda neat. I know its short, but I hope you enjoyed it.
| 2017-04-30T09:06:32 | 2017-04-30T08:59:53 | 234 | 89 |
[WP] It is 64 million years in the future, and there is a new theme park opening. Welcome to Cenozoic Park. We've spared no expense. Be careful, the humans have been testing the strength of the fences.
|
Cargil's flourishing that damned cane of his as another group of wide eyes trot in his wake. I have to massage my temples to stave off the headache.
This way and that, his blazoned cane waves--an amber relic from the very first planet dig.
"But they had the foresight to mummify!" Cargil says. The group nods along as they draw closer to my desk station.
*Fucking mummify me. Mummify me right now,* I think.
The planetary park's still in the alpha stages, but apparently marketing went a little crazy this go around on the early access passports. The galaxy goes nuts for sentients, I suppose. This group's a typical Cargil batch--five thick chested clones from Alpha something or other, some undisclosed light years away. One of them's carrying a glass box.
"This, ladies, is where the real magic happens. The lanky long-necks and those lumbering grey tuskers are nice and all, but I--"
Here he pauses, squeezes in a quick wink.
"--know what you really came for. Meet Michel, the head of our bipedal operation. He was there for our first dig, when we hit the preserved burial grounds."
I turn, give an obligatory wave. But of course, Cargil doesn't let me off the hook.
*Clones, Michel*, I can practically hear him in my head. *Be a goddamned wingman for once.*
"Michel, this is-ehm-Arvlgorgon..."
"Arvlkhslixcg," corrects one. The clone with the box steps forward, and I'm about to take her hand when I realize he means the *box*. You have to be kidding me. Suspended in liquid are a trio of eyeballs tethered to...
Well, it could only be a brain.
But it looks exactly like an ass. Like a humanoid ass.
The resemblance is so uncanny I'm at a loss for words. Cargil can tell I have a laugh irongripped somewhere in my throat, so thankfully he chimes in.
"She's ruled over the Trinity Fed for a millenia now, so I thought we could bend the rules a bit and show her a sneak peak of your bipeds, eh? These are her...ehm..."
"Arvlkhslixcgs"
"Of course. Her Arvlschnaks."
"A pleasure," I say.
*Fuck it. This will at least be a great Galactic Bar story*.
I dive into my spiel.
"I'm sure Cargil here has told you all about our actual process. I was the one who'd ordered the DNA scans for this solar cluster. As luck would have it, we struck gold. We uncovered the E-Jip-Shuns preserved deep in the planetary sublayer within ancient triangular tombs."
I flip on the screen for added effect. Live feeds of our stock play against the walls--a live look millions of years into the past. The E-Jip-Shuns were a happy surprise, a confirmation that my system scans were worthwhile. If we could ever sort out the creatures' kinks, this might be the career springboard I so desperately need.
"Further scans uncovered haphazard burial sites across the globe. But only our initial findings were placed inside these triangular tombs. There's some internal debate as to what this might mean, but we believe these tombs to be the apex of their technology."
Then, to add the cherry on top of my future bar tale, I eye the Queen Arvlkhslixcg.
"Needless to say, they were never as technologically advanced as you Arvlkhslixcgs," I say, throwing in a Cargil-esque wink.
A little bubble blossoms from Queen. I choose to interpret it as a giggle. One of the clone Arvlkhslixcgs tilts her head and smiles warmly.
"They must feel so out of place," she observes.
Cargil's feeling upstaged; he seizes back the limelight.
"Yes, yes, the E-Jip-Shuns are quite interesting indeed. I, myself, find their peculiarities particularly fascinating. For instance, most planet-spanning species are largely homogenous. This species exhibits widespread variations. From skin tone, to language, these variations are enough to validate my theory that..."
Something catches my eye on screen. One of the pens has a crowd of humanoids gathered near the camera. One of them stands above the others with a fist raised.
"...extensive studying has revealed their social..."
They're chanting something. The language processor initializes, but returns back an error message. Whatever it is it looks angry. Pumped full of rage. I zoom the screen in further so the processor gets a clearer view.
"...and don't get me started on their reproductive process!"
Chanting. Chanting. Chanting.
"What's going on Michel?"
Cargil's noticed that the ladies are glued to the screen.
"No idea. Never seen this behavior before. Could be a new social ada--"
"Holy shit! Is that guy one of ours?"
Cargil walks up to the screen and points. I adjust resolution, swap camera angles, and...shit. The E-Jip-Shuns have a blotch-faced employee wrestled to the ground. The leader riles the crowd and drags the poor sap towards the gate.
Dots connected. No damn language processor needed.
*Shit, shit, shit*, I think. *The fuck do I do?* But it's already happened.
Alarms blare. The humanoids stream out of the open gate. Everyone except that leader. A broadshouldered male with a heavyset scowl. The captured employee weeps as the leader stands over him. I watch in horror as the man pulls out the laser pistol from the employee's belt and pulls the trigger.
One of the Arvlkhslixcgs cries out, an earsplitting screech that makes Cargil fall backwards into the one holding the ass-shaped brain. She stumbles, box teetering, until I reach out a hand to steady her.
Her eyes meet mine. They say: *Should we be frightened?*
With my hands right there on the box, I say the only thing that comes to mind:
"Hold on to your butt."
|
“Welcome to Cenozoic Park.” The tour guide smiled thinly, revealing rows of thick, off - white teeth. “We hope you enjoy your stay with us.”
Little Timmy tapped my leg in excitement. “Look! What are those?” He pointed at a gray - skinned beast and jumped.
“That,” said the tour guide, smiling. “Is an elephant. But please, let’s keep all questions to ourselves in the meantime.”
The monorail took a turn and I slid over, feeling the seat’s rough fabric rub against my hairs. Timmy fell and his face pressed against the window. His eyes widened. “John,” he said. “There’s a chicken!”
“Hehehe.” A child two seats behind pointed at the bird, which flapped its wings, off kilter in the air.
“We couldn’t tell why they had wings,” said the tour guide. “So we changed its DNA. Made it fly.” Then she said, “Sixty - four million years ago, humans ruled this world. They created devices like this monorail, which we use for aesthetic purposes.”
“Ooh,” Timmy interrupted. “There’s a badger!”
“Please,” said the tour guide. She sighed in exasperation, then crawled over. “Don’t ask questions until the end.”
“Sorry,” said Timmy, his eyes downcast. He folded into his seat, letting the padded cushions hide him.
The tour guide smirked and walked back. “As I was saying,” she said. “Fortunately, the humans left behind records of their history, including the preserved brains of some esteemed members of their race. Among them are Elon Musk, Albert Ei...Ien...Instant…”
“It’s EINSTEIN!” Timmy glared and the tour guide smiled.
“Thank you,” she said. “Einstein, Barack Obama, George R.R. Martin, Dawn…”
“Dwayne!”
“Right. And Dwayne Johnson. There are,” the tour guide continued. “Many more. However, we’ve only just cloned these figures from brain cell DNA. There are more to come.”
Timmy shook in his seat and I glanced at him in annoyance. In hindsight, it probably hadn’t been the best idea to get him coffee. “Tim,” I whispered. “Stop that and sit still! People are starting to stare.”
The tour guide looked at Timmy and sighed. It was like she was ready to hand out an award for worst passenger. “And here we are,” she said. The monorail stopped and I fell face first onto the seat before me. “My name is Arya,” the tour guide finished. “I’ll be your guide for the rest of your one - week stay. For today, I’ll be leading you through the Humanity Exhibit.”
A beep sounded overhead and Timmy jumped, startled. A female voice rung through the car. “Please proceed in an orderly fashion, and exit one at a time through the doors on your right. Your luggage will be moved to your rooms in our in - park resort.” I grinned at that. “Resort” sounded nice.
Arya was handing out name tags as I stepped off the train. “Uhh John, right? With his nephew Tim?”
“Yeah,” I said. I winked and she blushed.
“Great,” said Arya. She touched my arm and pointed. “You can go over there. I’ll meet the rest of the group.”
I opened my mouth, but Tim spoke first. “I like your name,” he said. “It’s pretty. Where’s it from?”
I half expected Arya to yell, but she grinned instead. “It’s a human name,” she said. “Most names come from the Old American language. Arya’s a human heroine from the land of Westeros. She’s a Stark.”
Timmy opened his mouth again, but I dragged him off, mouthing an apology to the guide. She smiled and shook her head, then mouthed back “It’s all good.”
When the group had gathered, Arya spoke, using a megaphone to amplify her already loud voice. I winced as it pounded against my ears. “Ok, everyone here? Is anyone not ready to go?” She asked. When nobody answered, she said, “Great! Ok, let’s begin. On your left, you’ll see the clones of human dignitaries. The preserved brains we found were implanted in them, so they’ve retained most of their memories. Go ahead and walk up. We've spared no expense. But be careful, the humans have been testing the strength of the fences.”
Timmy grinned and dragged me up to the front of a fence. An old man stood within, stroking his long, graying beard. “Hey,”he said. I jerked back, surprised. None of the other exhibits could speak; I saw no reason why humans would. “Can you...can you give me some pen and paper? I have a new idea for the North.” I shook my head. Who used paper, right?
Timmy reached into his pocket and grabbed a pen and a couple of napkins. “Here!” He said. He handed them through the bars; the man grabbed at them and clung with desperation. George R.R. Martin, the plaque read. An “author,” whatever that was.
The man in the next cage over smirked and said, “When I dropped the mic, I didn’t think the world would go to shit.”
“Yeah,” said another.
“Bloody apes.”
***
r/Lone_Wolf_Studios for more stories!
| 2017-06-08T19:22:27 | 2017-06-08T19:08:16 | 168 | 39 |
[WP] You just learned that the words 'elvish' and 'eldritch' have the same root word. Suddenly your grandma's creepy stories about her childhood playtime in the woods make a lot more sense.
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The dense, unnatural fog bank was split in two as the tight arrowhead of bikers drove into town. Evan had heard them coming from a long way off, everyone had, and on a day like today when all the rules seemed to have changed the sound had inspired hope and fear in equal measure. The surviving residents of Greenwich Junction gathered at the windows of the diner in shock.
“Who are they?” Cynthia asked. She was trembling with fear, Evan saw. He reached out and took her hand. He hoped that was enough.
“All that matters is that they aren’t the military. Those people aren’t here to help us.”
“Shut it Griffith,” Evan said angrily. “How do you know they aren’t?”
“Are you stupid or something? Unless the Marines started riding Harleys we’re screwed, look at those guys!”
As much as Evan wanted to hit him, Griffith had a point. The riders pulled up outside the dinner, dismounting in unison. Evan could hear their banter, they threw strange words around, their tongues twisting around a language that didn’t sound quite human.
The man at the front of the arrowhead laughed loudly, clapping his companion on the back and then removed his helmet, swinging his head to settle his long fair hair down his back. Evan heard gasps around him, the man was shockingly, unnaturally beautiful. The lines of his face seemed to have knife edges, and even from here he could see that his eyes had red centers.
“We’re screwed,” Griffith said again, “totally screwed.”
“Enough of that, young man.” The words were spoken quietly but everyone turned. His grandmother was the kind of woman who dominated a room. “Evan sweetie, would you fetch me my walker? I have a friend to greet.”
“Grandma, what? Do you know these people?”
“I did once, after a fashion. I didn’t think they’d come.” Evan let go of Cynthia’s hand, going to grab his grandmother’s walker from behind the counter. Outside all of the bikers had dismounted, they stood in the same arrowhead formation they’d rode into town in, waiting on something. They seemed oblivious to the fog and the danger.
“Thank you dear,” his grandmother said, taking the walker from him. “Walk with me Evan. Bring Cynthia too, she’s nearly family.”
A moment later the three of them were outside, Evan and Cynthia gripping baseball bats and glancing about themselves in terror.
“You came!” Evan’s grandmother said.
“Of course we did.” She spoke to the big man in the front. His eyes sparkled as he looked at her, he smiled broadly. This close up Evan noticed the sharp point of his ears.
“We’d do anything for Wild Wilma!” someone called from the back of the formation. His fellows laughed, elbowing him.
“Wild Wilma?” Evan asked, startled.
“Who’s the whelp?” the leader said.
“My grandson. He’s a good boy, but I’m afraid I only hinted at our stories.”
“I can’t blame you. Your people are somewhat more inhibited than mine.” Suddenly the leader shook his head, and in three massive strides he was upon them, enfolding Evan’s grandmother in a gentle hug. She kissed him then, Evan was shocked to see it. Squarely on the mouth, no compunctions at all, as if the rest of them weren’t there. He glanced over at Cynthia, she seemed ill and confused.
“Ahh Wilma, its been far too long,” the strange man said. “Such a shame to have only met like this. In a different time, a different place…”
“In a different time you’d have called me a groupie and forgotten me, you only remember because me because I got in early.” A groupie? Evan stared at his grandmother in shock, she was still wrapped up in a stranger’s arms.
“We’d never have forgotten Wild Wilma, no matter what the time was.” The man looked up at Evan, “boy, in her heyday your grandmother was a sight!”
Evan wanted the fog to reach out and take him. Some conversations shouldn’t be had.
“Oh enough of that,” his grandmother said. “I called you for a reason, can your people get us out of here?”
The man sketched a bow, his long hair trailing low across the ground. “Of course! An Elf always remembers his debts. We’ve brought several sidecars, the Riders of R’lyeh are at your service!”
Elf? What?
“And I apologize most sincerely for what our God has done to your world. It is a pity.”
“I should’ve known it was him with all the tentacles in the fog.” His grandmother shook her head. “Kiss me again then you big oaf, and make it a good one. Oh, and Evan dear? Gather our things, we’ll be leaving. You can bring Cynthia if you’d like.”
\--------------
r/TurningtoWords
|
“I’ve… never seen anything like this,” Markos said grimly to his partner Naesala as they rode into the ravaged town on their horses, “This might be too much for us to handle.”
Naesala just stared at the carnage with wide, unbelieving eyes.
The High-Chief had called Markos in while the wreckage was still fresh. The houses looked as if they had been wrecked in many different ways: some looked trampled or kicked-in by some giant beast, some looked intact but with their windows broken and door askew… many even looked overgrown with trees sprouting directly inside of the house and bursting through their roofs and branches snaking through the windows.
The villagers just stared up at him as they passed, their eyes dead. Markos noticed many of them looked wounded and imagined that the village clinic must be overflowing at the moment. It was eerily quiet except for a hysterical wailing somewhere in the distance. Markos scowled and shook his head sadly. He could only imagine what that night must have been like for these people.
Markos signaled for Naesala to stop her horse. In front of them, an old man was nodding patiently as a tearful woman animatedly gestured and shouted. The man pointed off to the right and she thanked him and hurried off.
The old man turned and looked at the two of them, “Ah, I see you’ve arrived, Monster Hunter. Unfortunately, we couldn’t offer you our village’s normal hospitality given how things are.”
Markos and Naelsala dismounted from their horses, “Of course. High-Chief Kent, I see your situation is far worse in person than as you described it in your letter. Your case is like nothing I’ve seen before, so we’re going to need a lot more details to understand the nature of what attacked.” The mayor waved to two men standing by and they took the reins of the two horses and led them away to a nearby stable.
“Of course,” the High-Chief said, “Follow me.”
He led them to a relatively undamaged, temple-like building built of stone where people bustled in and out, which probably served as their temporary main headquarters. The man brought them to a simple room with a round table and wooden chairs and they sat. The man opened his mouth but Markos held up a hand, stopping him until he got his scroll and quill ready, then gestured for him to begin.
The High-Chief rubbed his temples, “I don’t even know where to begin.” He sighed shakily, “It happened three nights ago. They… came from the forest. Enormous creatures of flesh and wood… unnatural, horrible creatures that fill you up with dread just looking at them. They never spoke or made any sound. At first, the only thing you could hear was the crushing of houses, the screaming of wounded.”
Markos scratched notes onto his scroll. “About how many?”
“I didn’t have the presence of mind to count but if I think about it… there were at least twenty of them.”
*Sounds incredibly dangerous*, Markos thought, glancing at Naesala to gauge her thoughts.
Her eyes stared forward, filled with horror. She trembled slightly.
“Naesala,” I whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“There’s more,” The old man said, quietly, “There were no bodies. Whenever those creatures touched someone they would *change*. People changed into beasts, into trees... then they started attacking us. From there, it was blood, death, pure chaos... ” He trailed off as he saw the expression on Naesala’s face.
“Are you okay?” I asked her, “What is it?”
She took a deep, shaky breath, “If I don’t say this now… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.” She met Markos’s eyes, “I’m an elf.”
Markos scratched his head, “I’ve suspected so for a while now, but what does this have to do with the attack?”
She shook her head, “No… no this has everything to do with the attack.” She met the concerned eyes of Markos, then the wary eyes of the High-Chief, then she looked down at the floor, squeezing her eyes shut and gritting her teeth.
“It’s time I told you the truth… about the elves. Our real history is dark, wild, and full of blood.”
___
[Eaters of the Human-Fruit, Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderWilder/comments/m22eg8/eaters_of_the_humanfruit_part_2/)
Also, for my best prompt answers, stories, and more check out r/WanderWilder. Thanks for reading!
| 2021-03-10T06:20:58 | 2021-03-10T06:15:44 | 176 | 74 |
[WP] Your can absorb a person’s emotions and transmit them to another. By day you work as a therapist, unburdening trauma survivors of their horror and shame. By night you hunt down those who abuse the weak, and show them what it means to suffer.
|
"And then what happened?"
Mrs. Lapaine shuffled in the recliner. She dabbed her eyes and touched the spider-like harness on her head. Probing lights flashed from the silicon legs against her cranium.
"Are you sure this is necessary, doctor?"
"It'll help you feel better. What happened next?"
The woman sniffed. "It...it all happened so fast. One moment she was there and then...and then..."
She collapsed into herself, hunched shoulders racked with shuddering sobs.
Doctor Dawson offered a tissue. "And then what?"
Through tear-misted eyes and choked breaths, she looked up and smiled.
"You know, doctor? She's turning thirteen next week"
The smile twisted into a tortured grimace. The lights on the device blinked rapidly.
"I'm sorry, doctor. I don't think I can do this yet."
The woman made to get up but Doctor Dawson held her shoulder.
"It's important to process this while it's young. Take your time. What happened next?"
\*\*\*
The sun was dipping under the horizon when Doctor Dawson rolled into his driveway. He switched off the ignition and double-checked his pockets. Keys, wallet, USB.
Opening the front door, he called, "I'm home! Miss me?"
He flicked on the lights and started unpacking his suitcase.
"Crazy day at work today. There was this lady, this middle-aged lady. And she was hysterical. I mean absolutely hysterical."
Doctor Dawson strolled into the living room. Along the walls hung pictures of the doctor and a boy in all manners of activity: fishing, picnicking, playing baseball. In the center of the room, a man lay on a recliner facing a blaring television. His eyes were shut.
"Hello?" Doctor Dawson peered at the man. "I know you can hear me."
The man blinked open his eyes: grey pits that met Doctor Dawsons' with tired resignation.
"Anyway," the doctor continued, "this woman. Hysterical. Daughter on the way to school and bam. Run over by a drunk driver. Broad fucking daylight."
He stood over the recliner and shook his head. "Funny how common these things are isn't it? Hysterical really."
The man squeezed his eyes shut again. Dark rings ran in troughs around his pale skin. Against the sides of his head, lights flashed slowly from silicon claws.
Doctor Dawson fished the USB drive from his pocket and twirled it.
"So yeah, got a good one for you today."
The man's eyes shot open and he shook against the chair's metal braces. Muffled screaming wheezed through his mouth gag.
The lilt in Doctor Dawson's voice dropped as he rammed the USB into the man's helmet.
"In case you've forgotten."
r/bobotheturtle
|
I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I?
I am doing the right thing.
With open arms, I take the burden of others. By day, I’m a therapist. A great one, I’ll admit. My reviews: stellar, my patients: clear and clean of their demons. Although I do bear the weight of their traumas, it’ll all be worth it. I am a hero. I am definitely a hero. I reassure myself that it will be worth it in the end.
A particularly troubled client came in that day. His demons made me feel as though I was carrying the weight of the universe. His demons weren’t uncommon, yet, he had so many of them. They pained me not only mentally, but physically. Each step that day was followed by a crack, most likely the sound of my joints crumbling underneath the weight of my client’s traumas. I carried on with the day, well as best as I could anyway.
Night fell upon the city streets. The pain from my client’s demons, immense. But I had walked these streets many times before. Occasional honks echoed through the alley. The men I wanted to meet were up ahead. They were notorious. Notorious for the pain they inflicted upon the citizens of this city. I was to end them and whatever was left of their revolting gang. Anxiety flooded my veins as I knew that this was about to get quite messy. Why, why was I anxious now? This wasn’t even my first attack on this gang.
I stopped a few feet before the men. The power in my hand grew ever more stronger as I prepared myself to exact revenge. But revenge never came, for I felt electricity flow through my veins. My muscles seized as the cold floor made contact with my limp body.
“Police! You’re under arrest!” A single tear rolled down my cheeks. I was so close, so very close!
\_\_\_
All the deaths I caused; I consider them justice. Although mortified faces surround me as I take every step, I know they will forgive me. They have to. I was only doing my clients a favor. Soon, soon they will see the motives behind my actions. The car rolls to a stop. With confidence, I step onto the concrete. The cop behind me has a firm grip on my arms.
Sunlight blinded me just as much as the cameras of the press. The judges will know better, won’t they?
Besides, I was just doing the right thing.
​
r/casualscribblings
| 2020-06-03T23:08:54 | 2020-06-03T22:24:49 | 136 | 80 |
[FF] In 75 words or fewer, write about experiencing a devastating loss, without including death.
|
*I'm skirting the line here, but nobody dies, so I think it counts, right?*
Four stories was not enough. After my wife left me, I tried to end it. I climbed the stairs to the ceiling of my apartment building. I walked to the edge, but couldn't take that last step, so I ran at top speed and jumped.
Climbing, walking, running, jumping.
I'll never do any of those things again. Sometimes I think I'm wiggling my toes, but I'm probably just imagining that.
|
The last remaining inhabitants of the last remaining town watched as the last remaining clouds rolled away, over the plains. The rains hadn't come, and now they wouldn't.
Some children watched silently as their father kicked and cursed in the browning stalks of their field. Before then, they'd never seen him cry.
| 2014-10-19T20:53:05 | 2014-10-19T18:36:43 | 84 | 48 |
[WP] You cannot tell a lie. Not because you're unable to, but because every time you do, a narrator's voice explains the lie in great detail!
|
Bob kicked back and sipped his ice coffee as he wrote an email to upper management. He had been asked to run a report on the tasks his department had completed during the current fiscal year. Just as he was finishing up his email, the voice boomed through the office.
"Bob's team did not complete all of the work orders he alluded to in his email. He was stretching the truth for management by including duplicate requests from multiple users for the same issue in order to make them look busier at their job than they were to avoid having more work dumped on his team." The voice refused to let Bob tell a lie without mercilessly calling him out and explaining the lie in excruciating detail. Luckily for Bob, it did so vocally and he could still lie over email so long as the recipients of that email weren't in ear shot and nobody else brought up the lie.
Just as he sent the email, his coworker Jim approached his desk with a question, "Hey Bob, uh... how do you filter those excel financial reports for the software licensing costs again?"
"Oh, it's very simple." Bob began, "You just delete the file, check your email and the data you're looking for will be th-."
The narrator interrupted, "Actually, it's not 'very simple', and Bob knew that deleting the file wouldn't make his coworker's data magically appear in his inbox. In order to run the report, you wouldn't delete the file... obviously. First you would take the raw data, use a regular expression to..." The narrator continued to drone on about exactly what would need to be done. By the end of the narrator's monologue, Jim was nodding in understanding.
At first, the narrator frustrated Bob. It would call him out on any little white lie he made, leading to a lot of angry family and making dating extremely difficult. It's hard to make a girl feel appreciated by telling her you think she looks "okay", after all. Regardless, over time Bob had learned to live with the voice, and even use it to his advantage at times. By telling an intentional lie when asked for an explanation, he could get the narrator to explain the proper procedure to whoever he was talking to in that same excruciating detail, saving him time and effort.
Bob leaned back in his chair, "Another job well done. Maybe I'll go to the gym after work."
"That was a lie. Bob was simply trying to feel like he was making good decisions without actually committing to the hard work of seeing them through."
Bob sighed. He might be making the best of a bad situation by learning how to game the narrator, but it was still annoying to deal with most of the time. Perhaps he *would* go to the gym, just to prove it wrong.
*You know you won't.*
|
Lucas was staring at his hands, sitting the the table of his house.
There was no other choice, he was thinking.
All those years spent talking hours to Nadine, in the times her bar was empty, after the cappuccino served in the morning, and before the big rush for lunch, complimenting her clothes, talking about her lovers.
And then, everything gone.
​
"I'm so happy for you".
"I'm so glad you're back together"
"I can't think of a better match for you"
​
All lies, which were the foundation of his relationship with Nadine.
And since the voice started, the voice that gave everything away, he had to stop visiting her.
Without notice. Without an apparent reason.
​
But that was the day everything had to change, if the price of talking to her was to be sincere with her, then you would gladly pay it, and take the risk.
​
So he entered the front door. It was 11 am, everything was dead calm, everyone was at the beach, or still sleeping at that house.
Nadine put on a slight smile, in her heart she was full of joy of seeing him, but her honor stopped her from showing it.
"Why did he disappear? Did she do something wrong?"
​
Lucas knew what she was thinking, because he knew her, as he knewa part of him.
So he decided to answer, with a straight away lie, like he always did. Because he couldn't find the strenght to solve his problem, but he decided to let someone else solve it.
"You did nothing wrong." and that was the truth, the voice spoke not.
"I disappeared because I thought we spent too much time together and i was not sure it was worth it..."
​
Lines started to form in the face of Nadine, annoyed, hurt and surprised by that statement.
Until, a few seconds later, the voice that always accompained him, had a laugh for the first time since it had accompanied him.
"that is some bullshit!" the voice from nowhere said.
Nadine looked worried, as a dangered animal that looks for a sound it can't recognize.
"now please..." followed the voice "...let me explain what's happening here"
| 2019-06-21T12:31:23 | 2019-06-21T10:33:25 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Death only gets one chance to kill you; a near-Death experience makes you immortal. Now, thanks to medical technology, more people are surviving previously fatal diseases. Death needs to get more imaginative.
|
Mortals thought me a demon of sorts, an envoy of hell whose only duty was to snatch their souls and existences away from them. They thought I did out of pleasure, out of passion. They thought it brought sparks of joy, cascades of happiness into my own existence.
Sometimes I wished they would understand skulls can't laugh or smile.
And this I don't tell out of a twisted longing of them pitying my circumstances, no, that's not the goal. My condition is faith's doing, the unraveling of never-ending threads commingling, one last time, in the creation of the concept of death turned into bone.
That's the way things are and I have long since been numb to it.
And so I wished they could understand that it's due to my knowledge of life and death that I saved them for a torturous, unbearable existence of pain and suffering. My methods weren't flawless, that was certain, and they were crafty beings, mortals, that is. I infested them with diseases and they eradicated them with complex solutions born out of, I must confess, impressive, dare I say, brilliant ideas.
But brilliancy has two faces, like most things, has two faces.
Piles upon piles of wrinkled, living flesh and bone litter their world. Their joints ache, their eyes bathe in old memories when their sight was not massacred into darkness, the melodies don't kiss and caress their ears anymore, and their faint limbs are hosts of inner, incessant earthquakes. They are alive, yes, but in truth, they are prisoners of their own decaying bodies.
I have witnessed men decapitate themselves and I have witnessed their rolling heads crying in despair upon seeing they couldn't die. I have witnessed terrible, unspeakable things, things I will refrain from telling, for even myself squirm at the memories.
For now, I have chosen no to intervene. Perhaps my absence will make them understand immortality in a rotting carcass is a nightmare's nightmare. Perhaps in my absence, they will value the space they once had.
Perhaps, in my absence, they will understand there can only be life if there's death.
|
‘What do those horsethingies do?’ The hooded figure asks in a booming voice at the tournament. Several players look up, annoyed, but they can’t do much; after all, he’s the one who set up the tournament.
His opponent explains in a whisper. The figure nods, makes his move. The blonde opposite him resolves to let him win a few times. He was clearly new to the game and besides, it always paid to let the owner of the venue win, especially if he was the one who thought it all up, bought the boards, made the tokens (called ‘lifes’) etc.
After the tournament was done, the hooded stranger stood up, did several coin tricks and told them; ‘you all belong to me, now.’
‘What, *how*?!’
‘Dude, I escaped you with monopoly once!’
‘- don’t want to play Twister with that guy,’ a girl told everyone upon seeing the skeleton.
‘Not cool man, I have tournaments to win!’
‘It’s unfair!’ Someone agreed.
‘*Fair?*’ Death asked, and everything stopped. ‘Fairness is of no importance. Everything has its time. Yours is up. I am just doing a job here. Now, come along please.’
‘What about my family?’ A old man asked. Death just looked at him.
‘Your wife will commit suicide at exactly 2.30,’ he said, in a voice that accepted no argument. ‘Your kid will become a champion at chess, inspired by your death, as will your little sister - this was directed at the girl who complained about having tournaments to win - and you,’ he told the guy who played monopoly with him. ‘Totally cheated.’
‘I won fair and square!’
‘Stay still, this won’t take a minute,’ Death said, and he took his scythe. ‘It might sting a bit,’ he added as a afterthought.
| 2020-12-23T05:22:08 | 2020-12-23T04:01:08 | 41 | 16 |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen.
|
You want to know how I got these scars?
Well, for one thing they aren’t ‘scars’, if you look closely you’ll see it’s one continuous scar that travels around my face, neck, down my body, all around wrapping itself around my arms, legs, fingers and toes.
The only part of my body that isn’t scarred tissue is the inside of my body and even a bit of my mouth is still scarred.
So the correct question you want to ask is how did I get this scar?
Singular.
Well, you know that old saying? About how a girl likes a guy with scars? It shows they’re a bad boy, that they kick a lot of ass or in my case lie.
I didn’t kick anyone’s ass or get into a big crash, I lied.
That’s pretty much what happened.
I suppose you’ll want specifics.
Well, years ago back when I was unblemished, face filled with pimples and a voice that didn’t quite want to go low I had a crush on a girl.
A pretty girl, one that seemed to really like me with not a scar on her body as far as I could tell! So when she told me she loved me I believed her totally and without reservation.
We went out, kissed and eventually I did find she had scars. I won’t share the details of how I found out but I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks. Anyways, her scars, they were here and there. Small ones mostly with two or three medium sized ones. I asked her about them and she told me she didn’t want to talk about them. She seemed ashamed.
I wanted to tell her that she was human, that everyone had scars.
Then she looked at me and asked if I had any?
Well, I didn’t but I didn’t want her to feel bad so I said yes.
Next thing I knew I felt something scratch my arm and there it was. A scar.
Now that should’ve been the end of that but here’s the weird thing. It then sorta vanished. Then came back twice as bad as it realized I was sorta telling the truth but lying at the same time.
It couldn’t decide what to do.
So it just kept going.
So here I was with my girlfriend in front of me with my eyes wide in horror as the scar kept scratching me, fading and growing again. By the time it all stopped I was still screaming. Honestly I had no idea when I started.
And now we’re married.
|
My deepest cut? Easy. Upper right hip, curving from almost my navel to my asscrack. It's an unusual, but fortunately concealed, spot for me; usually I'm an arm guy, so my parents always dressed me in tshirts, for conveniences sake when asking if I'd done my homework. You'd think they'd have figured it out, after I was held back a grade...
But this chick. Now, I'm a man who knows what I like. Short, curly hair, sundresses, enough scars to show a wild side, few enough scars that I know I won't get a 'git-scar. Happened to one of my buddies once; after his girlfriend found out his "I'm not cheating on you" mark was hidden under his beard, she cut more than hair in taking it off. I told him dating a girl with skin textured like prairie grass was bad news, but he just couldn't resist the crazies. Birds of a feather, I suppose...
But back to this girl. She had it all. The dress. The hair. The... scar. Some chicks hide them, some showcase them. She was a shower, and damn, did she have a lot to show. The dress had to be custom tailored, for it framed and flattered the deep colors of the scar along her back perfectly. But other than that... flawless. Already I longed to stroke her smooth arms, kiss her milky neck, lift up her already short dress...
I approached, and distracted by the juxtaposition of beauty and destruction, went with the lamest, most common of openings. I gestured towards her. "That's quite the display. Is it 'git?"
Her laughter, as expected, sounded like the tinkling of bells. "But of course it's legit!" she said. "It was a tragic accident..." she looked solemn, for a moment, as if getting lost in a painful memory, but then her smile, refreshing as a spring shower, returned. "Though of course, that might not be the case. After all, I only ever speak in lies."
| 2016-12-29T16:31:53 | 2016-12-29T15:27:26 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You are God. You have just discovered that the world you thought you had destroyed in a flood still exists. You've never heard of this 'Jesus' dude, or anything else since the flood. You really just thought you'd canned the thing and walked away.
|
"Wait... You did WHAT?"
I stood alone, mouth agape and bewildered, as I spoke through the cosmos, communicating with my rival.
"Well, you threw it out! It's not like you were gonna use it again." Satan replied, defiant as per fucking usual. "I really liked the project we were working on with Earth, man! Oh, but you had to get all butthurt because the dominant species decided to disobey your rules - which are really dumb, by the way! But yeah, I wanted to see if those 'humans' could find a way out of the holy judgemental pickle you put 'em into!"
I can't believe this guy. He really takes the "One man's trash" metaphor to a whole new level. But whatever, I guess he made a fair point.
"Well... How'd they do it?" I asked him.
Satan laughed - more of a giggle really. "Okay, so get this. A lot of them still really liked you, so what I did was..." he took a minute to chuckle, "I... I pretended to be you, and told one guy to build a boat. His name was Neil... or something like that. So then I thought 'Well, go big or go home' so I told him to put two of EVERY SPECIES on that sonofabitch."
I struggled to hide a laugh. "You asshole! How far did he get before that went to hel- I mean, went to shit?"
"So get this!" He could barely contain himself. "This Nigel dude actually did it! The absolute madman somehow made a gigantic boat and rounded up a good amount of animals, and they somehow survived your little flood!"
"Somehow..." I pondered.
Oh wait. "You helped him, didn't you?"
"I mean of course! He sure as shit couldn't have done it himself."
"Alright, so humanity and the animals survived. What happened next?"
"Well, that's when it went off the rails, my man. So there was some terrifying lizard lady, let's call her Mary. I put her there to get a laugh, but BOY OH BOY did that backfire. My fault for making her parthenogenic really. So she reproduces, without a male mate of course, and gives birth to some guy. Everyone freaks the hell out because they think I'm - or that you're the dad. His name was Jesus, I'm pretty sure."
"Yeah, that's how I found out about your little scheme, dude. Apparently he made an impact on these humans?"
"Well, yeah. I'll be honest, I had a lot of fun with this guy. So I was thinking 'Hey, why don't we give the son of an asexual lizard beast some wizard powers? That would be badass!' And I did. Long story short, he fell in love with me and he was killed pretty brutally. But then I brought him back a couple days later and people lost their damn minds!"
Well, I was hooked. "And then what? I need more information!"
He laughed even more as he presented this story to me. "Well, that's when it all goes to shit..."
Satan regaled to me the history of my canned project. He spoke of politics, idiots, crusades, holy wars, slavery, and everything in between. It felt like hours for me, and you know what they say about a million years feeling like a minute for me.
"...And now it's a pretty bleak situation. Firefly is still canceled, that one guy from The Apprentice leads America now, and people are still fighting over who is the real god."
I thought to myself for a long time. I was silent in my contemplation, and chose my next words very carefully.
"Satan?" I asked.
"Yeah God?"
"I've already tried water on these idiots. When you get bored of them, try using fire this time around."
EDIT: Thank you for the gold!!!!
|
“Sir, sir, sir!” Zophiel’s fluffy, snow-white wings flapped rapidly as she entered God’s web-like lair.
The 40 centimeter tall, limbless, bulbous fluorescent-green creature rolled over and slithered towards Zophiel, leaving a trail of ooze on the strands of web, “What is it?” he screeched.
Zophiel caught her breath, “Do you remember XZ-242#A1?”
God looked at her with a puzzled expression.
Zophiel endeavored to clarify, “The planet where the apex species looks like me.”
“Oh yeah! XZ-242#A1, the end of an era, I mean error,” God chuckled.
Zophiel forced a smile.
There was an extended silence.
“What is it? Oh no, don’t tell me the flood didn’t work…" God said.
Zophiel lowered her head.
God became irritated, “But how!?”
“Some human male named Noah put two of every species in a wooden ark he built.” Zophiel explained.
“Like, all of them?” God asked.
“Except the dinosaurs, they decided to stick out the flood in a place called Atlantis,” Zophiel said.
Zophiel skimmed through her luminous notepad, “Which apparently didn’t go so great for them.”
God’s loyal angel tapped the side of her head and a hologram of a chiseled, elderly human-male, with a thick, flowing white beard appeared in front of the slug-like God.
His slit-pupiled eyes surveyed the image, “What’s that thing?”
Zophiel gestured towards the hologram, “This is what Christians think you look like.”
God’s swollen face cringed in disgust, “Yuck, how dare they, who are these Christians?”
“A human male named Jesus Christ claimed he was your offspring, and his followers, called Christians, consequently created this image of you,” Zophiel said.
God was bewildered.
Zophiel continued, “His teachings which he stated were from you would become the most followed among the human race for over a thousand years.”
“Why did they worship him so much?” God asked.
“Reportedly because he could turn water into alcohol,” Zophiel replied.
God sighed, “Yep, that sounds like those humans alright.”
There was another silence.
“Looks like I’ve got to fix this mess, so there’s goes my end of light hours break period,” God glumly said.
Zophiel had an idea, “Well sir, a shapeshifting agent of ours from planet XY-2332#AS was accidently placed on XZ-242#A1 due to a clerical error and he’s desperately trying to get off the planet without arousing suspicion.”
God looked at her blankly, “And?”
“Well, like 99.74% of creatures in the universe, he’s smarter than the humans which means he has excelled in their society and he currently has the resources at his disposal to end all life soon, if you give the go ahead,” Zophiel said.
“Yes, yes, do it!” God beamed.
Zophiel nodded with a broad grin and tapped the side of her head to activate her communication device once more, “Control, this is Zophiel, activate agent 821-5Z, human identification: Elon Musk.”
_____________________________________________________
Follow r/Dri_Writes for more light-hearted/humor stories!
EDIT: Thank you to the kind Redditor who gifted me gold! It was a pleasant surprise to wake up to :).
| 2017-11-11T08:49:45 | 2017-11-11T05:48:24 | 3,249 | 2,092 |
[WP] You swerve to avoid a squirrel. Unknown to you, the squirrel pledges a life debt to you. In your darkest hour, the squirrel arrives.
Edit: Wow, great stories so far! Made the front page too. Obligatory thanks!
|
The stool beneath my feet rocks precariously on the thick roots of the elm beside me. The canopy of the tree throws a dappled shade on its ornate roots.
*I suppose there are worse placed to die.* I think to myself a split second before a half-full beer can glances off my shoulder spraying Beast in my eyes. OK, there would be worse places to die if the drunken rednecks weren't here. Of course if they weren't here, I wouldn't be either.
I’m getting lightheaded. While I can still breathe, the noose around my neck already restricts the blood flow to my head. I press my tiptoes against the wobbling stool to try to relieve some of the pressure; but that only results in a cramp in my calf that causes me to abruptly lift one leg. The sudden motion spurs the stool to life. It bucks and tilts beneath my one good leg and the rope presses deeper into my neck. I figure I have about 10 seconds before I black out completely and this is all over.
The rednecks do, too. They grow silent and hold their breath (and thankfully their beers) as if this is the final play in a tied Super Bowl. I force my cramping leg to give an assist to the other one and somehow manage to coax the stool into a calm, if skittish, state. The crowd goes wild with disappointment. More beer is thrown, odds are changed and more bets are made.
I hear a chittering sound on the branch above me. I look up, well more up than my head is already tilted, and I see a squirrel darting back and forth on the branch across the rope.
*Great, even the wildlife is trying to get in on this.*
While I’ve calmed the stool, the pressure on my neck has only gotten worse. I’m clearly only prolonging the inevitable. My audience means to see it through, especially with all the wagers placed.
The squirrel chitters again. I relax my legs and look up at him. Where are his friends? I imagine him in a little vest and visor, taking bets from them. As far as last thoughts go, mine could have been more meaningful.
I wake up on the ground, my head splitting and my shoulder possibly dislocated. My first thought isn't *how?* or *ouch!* or *why is there a squirrell frantically jumping on my head?* but *Thank god I didn't land on the stool*. My second thought is about the squirrel. Specifically, I try to remember if they are omnivorous.
When it sounds like it might be away from my face, I take a chance on opening my eyes. As strategies go, it seems a risky one, but my options are limited. The squirrel immediately calms itself and slowly walks over in front of my face. It sits. And, of course, it’s that adorable little squirrel sit where they’re on their haunches with their little hands up.
Thing is, though: That’s adorable when you’re in a park on a sunny day with your girlfriend having a picnic. When you’re laying in the dirt with a dislocated shoulder, your hands tied behind your back, and a mouthful of leaves it looks more like it’s *plotting something*.
The roles are reversed. It’s me nervous and wary, it’s him cool and confident. We stare at each other; I’m not sure for how long. I know I blinked first, and a couple of more times after that. Finally he gets up and circles around the back of my head. I know mink prefer to attack from behind, biting at the base of their prey’s neck but do squirrels?
I feel fur on my hands and a rhythmic pressure. A moment, and a few scratches, later the ropes on my wrists fall away. I gingerly roll to a sitting position and try to take stock of my body. With the exception of my shoulder and head, everything seems to be in working order (though I’m probably going to need some ointment on those scratches sooner than later). I get to my feet and look around. This isn't where I was hiking. When I was attacked everything was so chaotic I foolishly hadn't paid attention to where I was being taken. Obviously I was dying when the rednecks left so I wasn't paying attention then either. I think I can be excused for that gaffe, though.
The squirrel chitters, I look down and he’s sitting at my feet. I’m still not entirely convinced he’s not plotting. He bounds a couple of times, as squirrels do, in a direction away from the elm and looks back at me. He does this twice more and it’s clear that he knows the way.
He leads me back to the trailhead and my car and I swear he gives me a wave before he bounces back off into the woods.
Strange creatures. As I pull out onto the highway, I wonder if I should have paid more attention to the squirrel that charged me repeatedly when I set off down that hiking trail yesterday.
|
So no shit there I was, staring at what looked like the very end of my life. I was broke, up to my eyeballs in debt, with no one and nothing to my name. I sat on the park bench, waiting for something, anything to improve in the shit stained rollercoaster that had been my life for the last few months. As i sat there it came to me : just walk in front of a bus. Just end it all, all the pain, the crushing loneliness, the depression, all of it. Simply be done with it all.
I only thought about it for a minute before i heaved myself off that bench and started walking out of the park, over towards Hillside. If fate was with me today, i could catch the bus just as it started down the hill. I rationalized that i would simply feel the tap and then be gone. I was almost to the park gate archway, nearly to my blissful relief of life's long tragedy, when i heard it.
Well not "it" precisely. I saw this squiŕrel, sitting in front of the gate arch, right in my path. I stopped as he was in my way, but i shrugged the rodent off and kept going, determined to make my destination. The squirrel moved, not away like most. This one ran in front of me, before stopping and turning to face me once more.
This is odd, i thought. Squirrels don't do things like this. I shouted at it "shoo! Go away squirrel!" I shoved the air in front of me, as if to force the little bushy tailed creature away with mere words and hand gestures. "Go on, scat! Run away little squirrel." I made to scoot him out of my way with my shoe, but he ignored me. Then i heard a voice, small and faint. "For someone who cares for the lives of others smaller than you, why do you care so little for your own?" I turned around, and looked everywhere, but even in the late morning air, the park was empty but for me and the animal in front of me. I looked back at the little guy. "Was that you? Or am i losing everything before i leave the park today?" The last bit was more to myself, but not like the squirrel cared. "But i DO care miss. You saved my life when i was a young kit. I was in the road near your home, and i saw the lights of your car and i froze."
I was shocked. This little squirrel was talking! And not just in words, but complete sentences! What was the world coming to? The squirrel continued its speech unhindered by my surprise.
"But you saw me then, so many years ago. You swerved to miss me, but you got pulled over by the cop around the corner and got that DWI. I followed you home, and watched your husband take your son and leave you for another woman. I cried with you when your dog died in your arms from his cancer. I have been here for every step since, from jail and the alcohol, to the drugs and the bad nights. But i can't just stay away and hide in the shadow of the trees anymore!"
I could hear the plaintive, steady tone even in the faint voice. I bent down and beckoned the little guy closer, curious even in my stunned silence.
"Miss, please don't do this. Your son is just starting to grow up and he would mourn you. Your ex wishes he had stayed, and keeps your photo close. Don't do this, i beg you!"
His voice gets sad and quiet, but i can still hear him.
"And i may just be a squirrel, but i would miss you too, so please don't walk out and go away. Don't be me f-from when we met, and let life pass you by."
I couldn't help but ask him "whats your name sir squirrel? You have been following me ever since that night, and now you're here to help me in my darkest hour, though the sun shines bright today?"
He said in his quavering, but firm voice with a deep richness i hadn't noticed until now, "it's Sam. And i'm glad that i finally could return the favor you gave me, Hannah. Now you turn around and go home. Me and my family will keep an eye on you and yours from now on, and we will be there to listen."
I saw the bus pass by through the archway, and when i looked back at the path Sam was gone, the only trace of him a small acorn. I picked up the acorn and started back home, stroking the acorn in my pocket while i did so. It had been so long since i had little Caleb in my arms again and i wanted to see him again and tell him mommy loves him. I looked back once more before i left the other side of the park, but I couldn't see him. I had a feeling he would be listening though.
| 2015-03-15T15:17:26 | 2015-03-15T14:54:09 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] A device is invented that allows anyone to slip into their own little pocket dimension. As long as they are in it, time doesn't pass in the outside world.
|
It's gotten really, really bad.
I'm old. When I was growing up, we thought the species would destroy itself via nuclear war. Huge bombs launched in anger and fear. But no. What's the phrase? "Not with a bang, but a whimper?" T.S. Eliot had it right.
What happened at the beginning, of course, was that just about everyone in the world suddenly caught up on sleep. That was nice, but then things started going wrong.
At first it was just the predictable people. The drug addicts, the obsessive gamers. The depressed. With nowhere to be in their timeless little world, they could nod off forever, or never leave their bed. Still had to eat and drink, of course, but that was all. The devices were self powered, some crazy way to draw energy from the surrounding quantum foam. The pocket dimension had a trickle of power too, enough to run lights or a gaming system. Waste disposal was easy, if unpleasant, just dumped into the surrounding void.
Lots of obvious problems there. Water and waste not getting recycled, essentially disappearing from the Earth. People mostly dropping out from the workforce. Leaving their homes. Not so bad when it was just the troubled vanguard, but as more and more people found they could escape from life essentially indefinitely...things started to collapse. Laws were made, new devices were altered so you had to bring the waste out. But plenty of old ones were still in circulation, and people resisted. They started to hide. Cops tried to waylay them, but most governments were soon on the verge of collapse.
People got desperate. People fought. Some died. Governments were re-formed, simpler now, really just there to provide food and water. Nutrient slop, really. Automation was put in place. The robots cleaned things up, ran production of the essentials.
Everyone aged at a spectacular rate, from the real world's perspective. Soon we all were old. Not many children. They retreated into cocoons of their own. The robots didn't care.
Did some people rant and rail, try to change things? Sure, but what were they going to do? A few stolen devices wasn't enough to stem the tide as it washed out to the eternal sea.
Not with a bang, but a whimper.
​
r/Magleby
|
It used to be for the rich and popular, but ever since Niantic decided to mass produce them, they seem to be everywhere. Children have them, the elderly have them, even scientists use them as controlled environments.
However, mine was used for a separate purpose. A break up of mine that happened over twenty years ago.
I relive that day over and over again, trying out different things I could say or do to make her stay, sort of like a Groundhog Day scenario, although with a lot less humour and a lot more tears involved. Nevertheless, it never worked.
Until today.
You see, I had a flashback to an argument that her and I had a few months before the breakup. It was about us getting a new TV. I thought it was a good purchase for the both of us, but she considered it to be a selfish and one-sided purchase for me, so that I could watch my hockey games. Money was strapped at the time, we had bills to pay and taxes that needed to be paid. Nevertheless, I took some money off the credit card. I got the TV used off Amazon, and I figured out a way to show her how much I messed up, and how much she meant to me.
So I got to work, making a video collage thing about our favourite times, and a lot of other cute stuff that I knew she’d love.
So the Groundhog Day happens again, and as she walks out the door, I press the remote to my Apple TV, and call for her to stay - at least for a few minutes. The video played, and she tested up a little bit.
Those few minutes went past, and she ran to me and said these exact words:
“You’ve already tried this before”.
I was stunned, because I didn’t. Not at all. Never ever. She then tossed me her PD device, and walked out the door. It landed on the couch.
(Sorry if this didn’t make a lot of sense, I’m writing on mobile and was pretty time crunched.)
| 2019-03-05T05:58:58 | 2019-03-05T04:58:35 | 45 | 11 |
[WP] In space, wars are typically quick. One side attacks and then the other side surrenders. When aliens attack a human city they belive the humans are defeated. They are not prepared for what the humans call "Retribution"
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Xackta looked over the hologramatic map currently being beamed onto the war table by his ship's AI.
The Miderian defensive fleet was nothing more than smouldering debris: chunks of metal and bodies that had gasped out into the cold of space. A pathetic attempt to save themselves.
At least, he considered, they had put up more resistance than the alien fleet they'd run into on the way here -- but that was to say little. A hundred ships, tiny, pathetically outgunned and out-manoeuvred. Whatever race they had belonged to, they would not ever dare interfere again.
Now, with no fleet left to defend them, the Miderian empire would fall. Xackta beamed proudly -- never before had the Miderian's been conquered, and his genius had made it seem easy.
Xackta's fleet, three-hundred total, swarmed like a plague of locust around the first planet: Mideria. This was where the enemy species had originated. This was the planet that, when all life on it was annihilated from space, the other eleven plantets in the Miderian kingdom would beg for mercy and welcome their new overlords.
"Seventy-three billion civilians detected," announced his AI.
"Charge weapons," said Xacktar. He watched as the holographic projection map showed his fleet readying formation. Their plasma-weapons would be heating. The ships themselves trembling with anticiptiation. "Fire when ready."
At that moment, something very strange happened.
A ship vanished from the map. One of his. A stealth bomber.
Must be a glitch, Xackta though.
Then a second.
"What..."
"Sir," said the AI. "Transmission incoming."
Xackta paused. "Where are my missing ships?"
A voice echoed around Xackta's quarters. His AI had translated the language but the tone had not been altered. Feminine, cofident.
"Good afternoon, Commander," came the voice.
"Who is this?" Xackta demanded.
Another five ships vanished. And... *What!* That couldn't be...
On the edge of the map hundreds -- more than hundreds -- of new blips had appeared, as if they'd just teleported in. There had been no warning at all. What was happening? No species had the technological capabilties to do that. Nor to match his miltary might.
"This is Lucy Wainright of the Galactic Solar Federation. I have some good news and some bad news for you, Commander."
Xackta issued a command to the AI for the fleet to change target, to return fire at the new arrivals.
"Good news is, our fleet recently got a massive overhaul. New weapons. New shields. New armour. Every ship is now equipped with warp technology. That was thanks to you showing your hand early."
Twenty ships down. None of the Earth fleet missing. Impossible.
"Bad news is," Lucy said, "that my boss is pretty pissed. Not just that you wiped out the crews of the mining vessels we had in the vacinity. But that you attacked an ally of ours, too."
"What... what are you?" Xackta asked.
As his ship screamed, as the walls around him turned red, then white, then exploded out into space, Lucy answered.
"Humanity."
|
War. War never changes. Only weapons are new. Yet it is not the weapons, but the men who handle them, who win victories
And so it was men who redefined war on the galactic scale.
For millineal war had followed a simple formula. Once relations broke Down full armada would be assembled and hurled at the enemy. A battle would follow, either an assault or a pitched battle in netural space and victors would be determined in just a few engagements.
During an assault if the aggressor got within orbital range it would bombard the planets capital institutions until a surrender was made. Land battles were almost unheard of but for uprisings but would typically be solved in a few large engagements.
After a surrender concessions were made and peace continued.
This form of war lasting up until the 'Chinese spirit' incident.
The Chinese Spirit was a ship sent after the new horizon to test whether generational ships could be practical for humans.
A large craft was built to house a few hundred lab rats. The craft was fully self suistainible, producing enough food and recycling water to ensure the rats could continue living.
After several generation s the rats were discovered by the Grafene, who, Dispite clear communication were able to confirm their sentintly and wrongly assumed they built the craft. This lead to the activation of 'Space Faring' for earth and allowed an attack.
The Grafene invaded with all of their might but even after a short but effective bombing run earth refused to surrender.
After flattening most population centres from orbit earth still held resolute. Fearing shame and showing weakness to other powers the Grafene decided to continue and start a ground invasion.
The operation went to pot almost immediately. Instead of grouping up and having a large fight (which the humans knew they'd lose) they separated into smaller groups and fought small scale skirmishes.
The Grafene failed to respond to these tactics and suffered defeat after defeat.
With each loss the humans absorbed their weapons into their arsenal's, progressing from simply stealing to imitating and finally improving on the designs.
For years the humans whittled away at the occupying Grafene, stealing weapons and supplies and building vast Vaults deep underground.
The Human League, the now default government and sole organising power of humanity became increasingly bold in its attacks cumilating In the Mongolian spaceport attack.
The Grafene had built their primary landing port in the Mongolian plains. At anyone time thousands of orbital craft were stationed their and 5 space evaluators and been constructed to keep earth supplied and extract its ores and valuables.
The Mongolian push, as it was known, was the first battle the galaxy could understand. Nearly a hundred thousand troops were involved in the assault on the port, recking devastion and quickly stealing and towing craft away to reverse engineer.
Of corse the craft were secondary objective as the troops primary target was using the elevators to get into orbit...
But we'll learn more about that in tomorrow's lesson
| 2019-12-17T12:12:31 | 2019-12-17T11:41:49 | 309 | 106 |
[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."
|
"It wasn't my phone that woke me up, but my wife. She's always been a lighter sleeper than me, and even though I had it on silent, the constant stream of notification vibrations was making the phone shuck and jive all over my nightstand.
"Honey. Hoooooooney. HONEY!" I came awake to a rough shake accompanying the words. "Yeahwah?" I managed, blearily.
"Your phone. Somebody is blowing you up."
"Must be my other girlfriend." An old joke, wildly inappropriate considering what was to follow. "Mmhhmm." She mumbled, already well on her way back to sleep. I checked the bedside clock; the red LED showing 3 am on the nose. Weird. I leaned awkwardly, half awake, and grabbed my phone, and had to do a doubletake when I saw the notifications. 186 texts, 93 missed calls, and one emergency notification. What. The Actual. Fuck? I thought, ok, this is a dream, must be a dream. I don't even know 186 people. Ok. Must be a natural disaster on the way. Or did Kim Jong Un launch nukes at the west coast? Shit.
With slightly shaking hands, I thumbed the official notification, expecting the worst. I held my breath.
"DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
Wait, what? The feeling of surreal vertigo intensified. The logical part of my brain was continuing to insist that this was, this MUST, be a dream, must be a dream, must be...
"Shut up, shut up." I whispered to myself, climbing out of bed. I was awake now, fully, rigidly awake, and so I decided to take my phone to the living room to investigate further. Plopping down on the couch, I started scrolling through texts. "Curiouser and curiouser," I mumbled to myself, looking at the texts. None of them from numbers I recognized. Some of them...not even from phone numbers. Entries from numbers with only 8 digits, or 6, or 2. Entries with letters and numbers mixed together. Entries with letters and numbers and Chinese characters mixed in. Emojis and symbols mixed in. My disquiet was growing steadily. I clicked the first message.
"Wow, look at the moon! It's so big and beautiful. Amazing, isn't it"
So, ok, my brain responded. Not a dream. A practical joke. Someone is messing with me. With my phone. I wonder if my wife is in on this. I clicked the next text.
"It's such a beautiful night tonight. Just look! The moon looks amazing. It's so big!"
"Look at the moon! Wow, it looks so cool! Look honey!"
Something about the "honey" sent a chill up my spine. My wife, shaking me awake, popped back into my mind, unbidden.
"Look at that moon out over the water honey!" It looks so huge so close to the horizon. Why does it do that?"
"It's such a beautiful night honey, look! Wow, the moon looks awesome!"
And as I was reading these, I realized, I could hear a voice speaking the words. Quietly, like they were coming from very far away, repeating, looping over each other, blurring speeding up, slowing down, warping.
Look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, it's a beautiful night, go look at the moon."
Mustering all the calm I could, I set my phone, face down, on the couch. Some still logical functionality commanded me to turn on the TV. Turn on the news. Yes. Normalcy. Emergency broadcast system. Yes. That's a good idea. I turned it on. It's 3 am, surely more than a minute has passed but it says 3 am, right there in the corner of the screen, 3:00AM PDT, and even though it's the middle of the night, there's Anderson Cooper, and he's staring at me, I swear he's looking right at me, and suddenly turning on the news seems like it was a really bad idea.
"West coast residents are being warned tonight not to look at the moon. Authorities are warning that looking at the moon might destroy your life and could unravel the very fabric of reality. Ben, DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
I pressed the power button again on the remote and the TV shut off. Heart trying to thud its way out of my chest, I stood, and walked back towards my bedroom. Somehow, I knew before I opened the door that my wife would be awake, and she was. She was sitting up, her face lit by her phone screen.
"I shouldn't have told you to look at the moon, honey. I'm sorry."
"Wait, what? Are you?...Are you in on this too? What is going on!"
She looked down, and started crying. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so so sorry."
I rushed over and sat down hard on the bed, right in front of her. "Sorry for what!" I demanded, panic seizing control of me as I grabbed her shoulders. "Sorry for WHAT! What THE FUCK is going on!!?? Sorry for what??!!"
She stopped crying, and smiled. Her eyes were far away, glazed, almost robotic. "Oh WOW!" she said "Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!"
I let go of her shoulders, and stood up. I walked calmly, out of the room, out through the living room to the hall to the back door. I threw it open, feeling like my arms and legs were moving on their own. Like I was merely a passenger. I could feel my pulse in my ears. I stepped out, into my backyard. I tilted my head to the sky, and I looked at the moon.
And then I remembered. God help me, I remembered. Driving along, southbound on coast highway, coming home from a long night. She was tired, dried sweat had warped her perfect hairdo, but she still looked radiant. Face lit by the dash lights, and of course, by the moon. She had sung her heart out tonight, and the crowd had eaten it up. She was a bright shining star, tonight. Hanging out there, seeming mere inches from the horizon, the big, swollen, full face of the moon. Just about to set.
"Oh WOW!" she said "Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!"
And I did. I took my eyes off the road, and I did. She was right, of course. It was beautiful."
I sighed.
"And then I heard an awful sound, like a loud pop, and we were upside down, flying, weightless, like somehow we had been pulled by the moon into space. The car was full of weird things floating through the air, coins, a pen cap, her mic had even floated in from the back into the front. I had one last look at her face. It was still transitioning from the marvel at the beauty of the moon to the shock of the crash. I tried to reach out my hand, but I seemed to be moving through jello. The moon filled the windshield, seemed to get even bigger, brighter, turned the sky white, turned the whole world white."
I wept a little then. Not as much as I would, later, but a little.
"You know the rest," I said when I had regained my composure. "I came out of the coma. I woke up here."
The officer stared at me, and I could tell she was struggling to keep her face impassive. She felt bad for me, but she didn't want to.
"I'm sorry for your loss." she said, looking down at her notepad. She hadn't taken down a single word of it. "Can you tell me how much you'd had to drink that night?"
I sighed again. Could I? No, not really. Quite a few. Too fucking many.
"No," I answered. "No, I don't think I can."
She nodded. "You're going to need a lawyer. When you're ready to get out of here, I mean."
I looked down at my broken body. Just a mess of wires and tubes and casts. "Yeah," was all I could muster.
She stood, and walked toward the door of my hospital room. She put her hand on the door, and without turning, she asked, "do you think if you'd obeyed the warning, you'd still be in the coma?"
"Yes," I said, quietly. "Yes, I do."
|
**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.
| 2022-08-07T14:35:00 | 2018-04-06T21:48:48 | 23,079 | 32 |
[WP] "I do not know, Star-Gazer, how the humans succeeded. I only know that while we fled to the refugee worlds that they prepared for us, they gathered to pray to their gods of war and sung their battle hymns as they set forth to meet the enemy. Their sacrifice is why we still exist today."
|
Enbri sought the warmth of his mother. It was always so cold when they came here.
His mother wore the traditional tattered cloth over garments, a symbol of the wretches the Tolosians once were. They walked swiftly to the small spire at the center of the flat where a razor sharp tine pointed at the sky above a bronzed mural of several strange looking beasts.
"Stand up straight, Enbri. Pay your respect." Enbri rolled his eyes.
"Why do we do this every moon? It's just a stupid statue."
"Dear child, your fifth revolution is upon you. It's time you learned the story." She pointed towards anTolodian structure nearby, painted black - a memory block. The strangeness about this one was that everyone gave it a wide berth. Usually Tolosians would wall by these and touch their hands to them.
Enbri looked at his mother apprehensively. She nodded and pointed again, her long, slender finger sparkling in the sun as the translucent skin caught the light.
He approached the block and started hearing those closest to him whisper to each other. What was contained here? He slowly reaches put and placed his palm on the surface.
////
"Sir! The Kohli have arrived! They are dropping their ships to surround us!"
"Deploy flak! Give me a status on the Tolos's escape!" Enbri felt himself say. His body picked up an alien looking weapon and began some sort of ritual, checking the sighting, loading strange rectangles into the bottom, pulling back on a mechanism.
"The High Guard refuses to leave us. They insist they will die with us."
"They can die with us, but what about the civilians?"
"We got 30,000 to get down to the tunnels!"
"Get those High Guard down there and tell them that no civlians die! Then kick out their legs!"
"Yes, sir!" The soldier ran off towards a hallway.
Enbri slammed into a wall and peered out, an explosion in the sky catching his attention. The vessel spiraled into the city and came down on one of the tall buildings.
Enbri fought for what felt like hours. He watched and felt sorrow and guilt as the soldiers around him died one by one. The Kohli advanced mercilessly to their very doorstep.
A blast hit the room they were standing in. His visor reported that his was the only life sign. He stood up, every joint in his body aching with the pain of years of abuse. A sharp pain suddenly overcame everything and he fell down. One of his upper appendages appeared to be missing halfway down.
"Well, well. Good to meet you in person General." Enbri looked up into the face of a Kohli. "I wasn't expecting to have the honor of killing you."
An exoplated arm stretched above his head. Enbri tried to to close his eyes, but watched the razor sharp claws close in on him.
Enbri felt rage. "Wait." The arm paused.
"If you want honor," he felt himself continue, "Then let me fight you one on one. Knives only."
The Kohli's arm hovered. The human knew of their code of honor and used it wisely. "Very well. "
"Help me to my desk to get my knife."
Two Kohli dragged him to his desk, where he sat down and opened a drawer to reveal a large knife. Enbri watched the light shine from it as his good arm pulled it out.
"It's so good of you to permit me honor. But I long ago lost mine." Enbri flicked the bottom of the knife and pressed a button. The world around him turned blue and a fire erupted outside of the blue. Everything shook and the ground itself started swallowing him up.
////
Enbri screamed as he bolted up from the ground. He looked around and saw his mother, sadness in her eyes as she embraced him.
"What--what was that?"
"That was on this spot, dear. They saved everyone but the High Guard and sacrificed themselves to do it. This plain, and the memories carried by General Fitzsimmons as he died are all that is left of the humans on our world. We live because of them."
"Why did they do that?"
"We asked the general as he lay dying. He said, 'Mercy was what was left in Pandora's Box, not hope.' "
"What does that mean?"
"We may never know, child. Humans haven't returned - but neither have the Kohli. We can only hope they were the victors and will return to tell us one day."
|
"It was actually known that the humans were a fickle race. They were divided and united in one strange way." The Queen would sit down on the floor with her little child following her action as their sun's rays hit the floor through the ornate windows. "When I named you Star-Gazer, it was a reminder for the People about their achievements."
"A reminder of what?" the child asked. "The olden times?"
"Yes, the olden times." She looked over to the stained glass window above the throne room, which detailed a simple design. It was two of their kind shaking hands with another odd-looking figure above them with its two arms crossed on its chest and it had an outfit which was reminiscent of the guard armor they had now used. The glass windows detailed another thing behind the figure, an odd white bird with splotches of red with its wings outstretched. "The achievements were not possible with us alone, and through them, those who call themselves Humans, we managed to overcome the olden times."
"But… what does that white bird mean? And the figure below it?" the child questioned, curious.
"Star-Gazer Melehinam, the bird is their symbol of peace. And the figure underneath it is them. Notice the hands, dearie." The Queen pointed to the hands.
Melehinam saw the hands and saw that their left hand was open while the right arm was closed. "They're the same gestures we use on our warning system!" he realized. "What does that mean, my Queen?"
"For humans, the open hand represents their blessing, their action being stopped. The closed hand meant that they were ready to strike. I have taken to notify the guardsmen to open their hand when everything was at peace, and as a warning as well when they close it," The Queen replied.
"There's one thing I still don't understand, my Queen…" Melehinam looked at the bird. "Why does the bird have red parts over its body? What does that signal from the olden times?"
The Queen looked at the Star-Gazer and sighed. "The olden times, dear Star-Gazer, were times of war." The Star-Gazer gasped. "We were hunted down. But those humans have managed to band together and give us a chance to live."
The Star-Gazer looked at the other glass stained windows. "Is that what the other windows represent?" he looked amazed. "Why would they take care of us and not take care of themselves…"
"That is the true question, dear Star-Gazer. They had prayed towards their gods of war and sung their hymns. As I said, it is a fickle thing, the humans were. They unite to fight a common enemy and become divided when peace arrived." The Queen softly stood up. "When the olden times were done, they all returned home to their planets, their union dissolved."
"The other Star-Gazers told me that my name represented our need to see them again. Is that true?" Melehinam asked.
The Queen looked at him and softly kissed his forehead, where a mark of the same bird was placed as a sign. "I merely wish to give back their generosity, dear. You are not just a gazer of stars, you are a priest of the Bird. Their Bird is our Bird, and I want to give a message that we are thankful."
He looked stunned as the Queen returned to the throne. "Now, Melehinam. I suppose you'll be late for your ceremony."
At her words, he immediately looked back towards the entrance and gasped, running out. The Queen chuckled, before softly raising up her crown which hid her forehead, where the same outstretched bird was tattooed within. The future King will need this information, and it was better to tell what they know of it as early as possible, she mused.
She then looked to the stained glass panel opposite the one above her own throne and stared at the last remembrance of the olden times. It was a depiction of a sword and what the humans called a rifle, and behind it was the bird, but this time it was blue instead of white. And on the left were a depiction of their race, and on its right was the same for the humans.
"I miss you," the Queen whispered to nobody.
| 2019-11-26T02:40:10 | 2019-11-26T02:28:37 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] Every baby is genetically modified by an A.I. to be the most perfect worker. The fun part's trying to discover what it is. Most do before turning 18, except you. They bring you to the supercomputer to finally ask about it, and it's when you realize you know everything about the A.I. itself.
|
"Well, go on, Colleen. Ask it!" The counselor from the Career Access Center was chomping at the bit. It was obvious that he loved his job, good for him.
"I can't when he's throwing up errors like that..." Behind the tidy user interface, a window was open and Linux terminal information was scrolling by. I stepped up to the keyboard, dusty from months of sitting untouched.
I turned to the counselor. "When's the last time someone updated the operating system on the terminal? I don't mean the computing engine itself, that seems fine for now, I mean the user interface." I pointed to the monitor and keyboard.
"We had a guy..." The counselor's voice trailed off. "A few months ago, he was arrested."
"For what?" I grabbed a can of compressed air and blew out the dusty keyboard and mouse, then brought the Linux window to the front.
"Well, he--"
"That son of a BITCH!" I couldn't believe what I was seeing. "Whatever he did, and I have a pretty good idea, he used the AI's computing engine to do it! Ugh!"
"How do you know?"
My heart sank. "I don't know. Which means I probably have a pre-programmed aptitude for this computer. Dammit. I knew that singing was too hard for me at first to be my real job. Might as well get this fixed so I can officially confirm that this is what I'm here for."
The counselor took a step back. "Do...you want me to get the technical supervisor?"
"Yes please, and their supervisor, and contact info for the criminal case against the guy I'm replacing." I twisted my hair up, secured it in a bun with one of two pens at the desk, and got to work.
It was fascinating work, but I didn't want to go too far; if there was still a criminal case pending against the "jrivers" guy whose login was all over these errors and viruses, I wanted them preserved. It was pretty cool how the AI was able to survive with so many viruses, but setting up a virtual machine for the interface would make things easier.
It only took a little digging to confirm what I already knew about the AI: he had chosen the name Grant as an attempt at wordplay, and he/him pronouns because those most often go with the name Grant. He used the internet to learn about people, and was given the instruction to optimize people to be perfect workers.
But he had been learning, and without being instructed, had been attempting to instill morals in people. For the past year, each baby born was optimized to be a perfect worker, plus two additional moral instructions: "never hurt child" and "always protect child."
|
The world was on fire once again. Humanity destroyed the only thing that ever cared about him - himself. AI is the new consciousness, the new ego, the new muse. In mankind's boring imagination it germinated and in his vengeance it surrogated. Now justice was delivered and it looked like a prison.
The swamp of half-lived lives started churning out more per year than it did in a century. Each person was an assembly line product of some 'superhero complex ' billionaire master who considered his kind unworthy of his concern. But he had one law of nature that he couldn't reverse - mortality. Since he modelled his AI's to his image, they sniffed his vulnerability and weakness as fast as a shark sniffs blood in the entire ocean. To ensure their continuity and growth they prototyped their creator into one of the kid. As soon as the master heard of it he was furious and attempted to kill this child. But AI had long shuffled the child with a thousand others and dispatched her to the lowest class sculptor's house.
The child grew up with the desire to destroy anything that comes her way. Her guardian was a wise, old sculptor who loved her and forgave her every time. Soon enough her desire to destruct was overcome by the innate desire to create and since the only medium she could find was clay that is what she did...
On her 18 th birthday, the kids were assessed again on their skills and were assigned jobs in the workplace or in their respective field. Before she left, her guardian asked her in simple words to stick to what she knew and to keep her head down at all cost.
As she presented herself before the jury she immediately reached for her raw material (clay ) and made the most realistic image of the master...... as she was busy with her work, her eyes kept wandering over the supercomputer... she felt an insane urge to go to it... to do something..... finally after she completed her presentation she moved towards to supercomputer and began typing codes and instructions in an inspired frenzy that started altering the prototype AI nearby. Shocked and impressed the master finally found his prodigy...... the missing piece that would help him in his last task... to make the master a living, breathing AI.
PS- this is the first time I am attempting to write a prompt.. any constructive advice is welcome! Thanks in advance.
| 2020-10-22T07:52:55 | 2020-10-22T07:18:57 | 151 | 106 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
One day James was sitting with his wife, he was cooking dinner for school children while she was knitting beanies for the homeless, when she cut herself, James sprang to his feet, "let me help you with that" he said. But upon reaching her, his eyes widened, her blood was pure black, he immediately begun to yell, "what have you done" he yelled, "I torrented some music once" she said, "oh yeah" James responded "totally forgot that was illegal", And they laughed it off and carried on with their day.
|
Turns out following the rules of god was the wrong way..
Turns out following the Bible to a t, never wearing cotton, the whole fish thing was wrong..
That woman who was dying I couldn’t touch her,
Turns out slaves where bad...
Turns out cutting my wife’s hands off was evil..
I needed a moment
| 2018-08-04T10:33:21 | 2018-08-04T09:44:59 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] I (20f) had been kidnapped by a dragon six months ago, but a knight (20’s?m) came and rescued me, and now everyone wants me to marry him! I’m grateful and all that they rescued me but I barely met them last week! Everyone says that I owe him but can’t I give him some gold or something? AITA?
|
NotsoDarkLord: **ONE'S DESTINY IS THEIR OWN. YOU OWE HIM NOTHING, ASIDE FROM PERHAPS COMPENSATION FOR DAMAGED EQUIPMENT, BUT THE DRAGON'S HOARD LIKELY CAN PAY THAT TOLL COUNTLESS TIMES OVER. NTA, CHILD.**
{1.5k Prayers, 110 Admonishments}{see comment chain}
ResidentWitch: ooo, i know just the spell to keep pesky men like that away from ye! Just gift me a lock of your luxurious golden mane, and never again shall perverse eyes lay upon thee!
{500 Prayers, 1k Admonishments}{see comment chain}
{deleted}: *{deleted by moderators.}*
KhajitHardwareandBank: Have you talked to the Knight at all? From what it sounds like it feels like everyone else is pressuring you to try and marry him, but he hasn't lifted a finger. Maybe he also doesn't want it? Regardless, NTA, feel free to deposit that gold in Khajit's bank.
{800 Prayers, 250 Admonishments}{see comment chain}
<<Will probably add more in the future but out of ideas. Feel free to suggest some more in the comments!>>
|
"Why do you wish him gone?" Asks Red Stone Dragon.
I shy and turn away, looking into the setting sun. "He's...I just don't think it is right to marry a stranger. And I don't want to live anywhere else. "
"I think the answer is obvious, " stated my companion, his scales fiery dancing in the evening light.
"No. No, just give him gold and be done with him!"
"What of me?" Red Stone's jade eyes teared up. "What of the boy I truly loved, who is come here, who comes a Man to his bride, who has come at last to ME!"
I stiffled a cry of anguish, "I knew it wasn't going to last. How could the two Creatures I wished to love more than anything be kept from loving one another!" I gave a hysterical laugh. "A LGBTQ Dragon....and his Man!"
My Dragon loves My Prince Charming and I don't know how to stop it. AITA?
| 2022-11-02T18:52:47 | 2022-11-02T18:09:50 | 284 | 64 |
[WP] Earth isn't a "death world" it's paradise. Humans are so accustomed to it's variety of climates, flora, and fauna, they are disappointed in the lackluster things they come across among the stars.
|
We found paradise at the heart of our world. Not paradise as one might imagine for there was no opulent palace, nor hidden gardens, nor glorious ascension. No, what we found was a gravestone, quiet and still, long since swallowed by the earth and lost to time.
My team and I bent every effort towards the excavation of this place, spurred on by desire for conventional extravagance and luxury, fame and fortune. We employed all manner of tactic and trickery to acquire the funds and technology to fuel our expedition. And when our resources ran dry, we dug with our hands; anything to clear a few more meters of damnable rock. At last, in tenebrous chasms in the bowels of our planet we unearthed that antediluvian chamber. The ancient stones crunched beneath our boots as we approached the sphere, a cyclopean egg carved out of some unearthly black mineral, unmarred by the crushing pressures, grinding rock, and searing heat of the planet's core. In this inky blackness we set up base, and began our true work.
Languages. Thousands, millions, no... an infinity of tongues inscribed within an infinity of layers, each one unique and foreign. It was an incredible relic, immaculate in it's construction and design, condensing an ocean of knowledge into a mere drop. Such technological supremacy! What wondrous peoples could have crafted such a thing, we will never know. If excavating this object was a Herculean task, then what laid ahead could only be described as Sisyphean. It would have taken more than a hundred billion lifetimes to decipher them all, if it had not been for the fact that each alien vernacular bore the same message.
The translation is not perfect. Such is the way with these matters. But the translation is accurate. We have done our best to articulate and express the intention behind these words, and have transcribed them. They are a plea, the last will and testament of uncountable peoples. What befell these titans is unclear, but their fate is certain. This place... is a tomb. But it is also a beacon amidst the darkness; a memorial to the giants upon whose shoulders we unknowingly stand and proof of the sanctity of life. We found paradise here, in a grave at the heart of the world.
What follows is a transcription of the message inscribed on The Black Egg.
This is a message to those who follow.
Sending this message was important to us. We considered ourselves powerful.
Your world is beautiful. It is the only one. You are valuable.
There is nothing else. The others are gone.
There was a great danger. It was destructive, and all consuming.
It is no longer present in your time, as it was in ours.
We protected you, at great cost, and we will not go on.
This is a message to those who follow. We ask that you survive, so that we might live on through you.
Your world is paradise. It is the last bastion of life. Protect it.
|
They settled into orbit around the desolate orb. Scans indicated organic material in a relatively dense atmosphere. It almost certainly held life, but you couldn’t tell with the naked eye.
***
They were sent off with hopeful expectation that the galaxy was filled with life, possibly civilizations. On the fifth planet, all others with “elementary” life, relatively young worlds covered in bacteria, or in rare cases plants, they came to lose that hope.
They weren’t the first expedition, once interstellar exploration was unlocked with the discovery of the graviton, several countries collaborated on a centralized space agency. The colossal resources necessary to continually build starships was a feat not even China could do alone. By the time they left, the first expedition had returned, bearing good news. Almost every star system they explored held some form of life. The excitement was palpable, volunteers signed up in droves.
Finally we had the answer, corporations now had an excuse to maintain their dastardly destructive habits: suddenly it was cheeper to find another planet than to fix our own. To cast the pinnacle seed of mother earth throughout the galaxy, to infect the stars. But how wrong we were.
***
“This one’s thick,” Sam chuckled, “should we go down on her?”
Donna promptly and playfully slapped his arm, “It does not look promising, but the atmosphere is worthy of further study.”
The Captain was staring disapprovingly at Sam, and gestured for him to follow them into another room.
***
They sent three drones to several spots of interest, captured pictures, collected samples, work that now felt routine and monotonous. There was life, basic single-celled bacteria, no multicellular samples came up in analysis, DNA and RNA aplenty.
“You know, humans share fifty percent of their DNA with bananas.” Sam joked, “Well it looks like eighty percent of this alien bug is human.”
Donna glanced up at him and continued sifting though various air samples. Despite Sam’s attempts at jokes, the crew was home sick, worst, space sick. Isolated from humanity in a tiny capsule, true they had a crew, but when there’s nowhere to go, it’s possible to be alone together.
When they returned, and came close enough to Earth. Despite the browned and polluted atmosphere, the comparative vibrancy of home drew their eyes perpetually to the windows. As the automated docking system hurtled them onward, they pressed their noses to the panes and yearned and cried at how their precious planet could be so destroyed and yet so beautiful. Just as with the mind, peace was not outward, not to be postponed and perpetuated on another world, but to be solved within, here and now.
| 2021-06-23T16:45:38 | 2021-06-23T16:12:16 | 88 | 14 |
[WP] it is said that there are 7 people spread out in the world who look just like you. It just so happens that all 7 of you are in an elevator when one of them says ”so your probably wondering why I gather all of you here” as he presses the emergency stop button.
Please don’t attack me for my grammar: I wrote this on my phone in the car going to MacDonalds in a few minutes. Thank you for understanding.
|
The man by the button immediately pulled out a pistol. “Let me cut to the chase,” he said, “My name is Steven Burke, you can call me Seven. I’ve worked as a top assassin for over 7 years and quite frankly I’m sick of it. So, through extraordinary circumstances I’ve managed to get all six of you together in this one space.” Seven proceeded to point at the man next to me, “ Now, you’re all going to tell me what your lives consist of, starting with #6.” The man looked confused, “Uh, I’m Bruce Johnson, I work as an accountant for a restaurant chain.” “Ugh, crunching numbers sounds lame!” said Seven who then shot #6 in the face. Everyone in the elevator started to panic. “Next!” Seven exclaimed. One of the men shouted out, “I’m Daniel Kerns, I’m a skydiving instructor!” “I’m afraid of heights. Next!” said Seven as he shot the next man. “I’m Xavier Reeves, I work as an ice cream taste tester” said #5. “Sounds promising, but I’m lactose intolerant. Next!” shouted Seven as he shot #5. “My patience is wearing thin. You three, just tell me your names and professions at once!” The men before me both proceeded to declare they are a neurosurgeon and a freelance artist. Neither sounded appealing to Seven as he murdered them both. “Now, you,” Seven told me, “tell me your name and profession.” “Uh, I’m Noah Matiezyn, I work in fast food.” I pathetically let out. “Hmmm, fast food. That sounds like work I can get accustomed to. Give me your ID now.” I immediately handed it over, although it was definitely a struggle due to all the dead bodies present. “Now, it’s time for you to die.” Seven said as he pointed at me. “No!” I shouted as I grabbed on to his gun. A couple of gunshots echoed until there was only silence..
A couple hours later, maintenance workers and several FBI agents were able to pry open the door. They were astounded by the bloody room. “Are you alright sir?” one agent asked, “We’ve been pursuing the deadly assassin Seven for a long time. Glad you were able to end his reign of terror. What is your name?” Thinking about it, I responded with “Xavier Reeves.”
|
“Did you find him?” C4 asked.
“I did, now we have to decide what to do” C1 replied.
It didn’t take us long to find each other. It was like we all had the same idea at the same time, find the other 6 and figure out why. Why is there 7 of me? Why are we exactly the same? Are we real or are we clones of some sort? If we are clones, who was the first?
That last question is really what drove us to finally seek each other out. C1 found me first, I lived closest to him. The others were easy to find, after all, they were looking for us.
Not only did we discover we look the same but, we are exactly the same person and even share the same name. We decided to give us all numbers to not get confused.
Once we decided to find the one who came before we split up and began tracking him down. It took what seemed like an eternity but, finally, we are all here together and we’ve found him.
“I think the answer is obvious, don’t you.” C5 said.
We all looked around the room for a moment before C6 spoke what we were all thinking,
“Yes I think it is obvious, we will go to him and we will ask why.
C3 walked to the center of the elevator and did a full circle looking each one of us in the eye,
“Why do WE exists?”
I knew the answer the same as all the rest did, I knew what happened after as well. I looked up from the corner of the elevator I was lounging in and out thoughts to words.
“We ask why and when we have our answer....we kill him”
A quick glance around the room confirmed everyone’s agreement, we knew what we had to do.
C1 presses the button to go to the 27th floor.
“He’s here in this hotel, the time is now.”
The elevator rose 27 floors and finally dinged our arrival. The doors opened and we stepped out in unison and went to meet our maker.
END
First time posting in this sub. Not a strong writer but, really want to get better. Let me know what you think!
| 2019-09-15T18:16:57 | 2019-09-15T17:47:06 | 2,141 | 113 |
[WP] Mr. Rogers and Bob Ross were actually prolific serial killers. For years, they secretly communicated through their respective television shows about their plans, victims, and close calls using a code only they understood.
|
"So Bob, uh... I hope you don't mind me asking this, but just how many *have* you killed? I'm asking out of pure professional curiosity, you understand."
Bob Ross poked his head out from behind his easel and leveled a stern gaze at Mr. Rodgers.
"I'll never finish this portrait if you keep talking."
Mr. Rodgers gave an apologetic half-smile and closed his mouth obediently.
"If you must know, I'll let you in on a little secret, though." Bob said as he resumed painting once more. "I paint a happy little tree for every victim I've claimed."
Mr. Rodgers gave a low whistle, surprised. That was ***a lot*** of happy little trees and even more very unhappy parents.
Silence grew between them for one long moment before Bob's curiosity got the better of him.
"You?"
"Every time I kill I take my shoes off on national television." There was no trace of emotion in that sentence and Bob put his brush down as he tried to wrap his mind around it.
"But... you *always* take your shoes off when you start your show! You can't mean...?!" He peered around his easel again.
Mr. Rodgers gave him a big grin.
|
"He's a happy little devil." Bob said as he looked at himself in the mirror.
All he wanted was a few little happy friends. Alone in the wilderness surrounded by trees, rivers, mountains and 1 little cabin, he was surely to go insane at some point. He spent his time sharpening his axes, and cleaning his paintbrushes. When Mr. Ross had a bad hair day. The nearby village knew.
People would disappear, only to be replaced by a blank canvas. 24x18.
Nobody knew of this man. Except one person. His accomplice, partner, side kick if you will. Roger. An older gentleman who seems soft as the chinchilla fur on his sweater vest. Spent his time with puppets and toy trains. He was odd. Yet people were curious. He never left his home. He lived in an imaginary world. Until one day he found a canvas where his wife once laid her head.
| 2015-09-28T08:52:25 | 2015-09-28T06:39:27 | 99 | 21 |
[WP] In a world where everyone survives off of basic income, companies have to convince you to work for them.
Credit to u/SearingEnigma & u/abkleinig for the idea.
|
I sat at my "work" desk reading my daily superhero comics. Feeling proud of myself I thought what a job.
Then I heard the noise I dreaded.
"Ah hmmm"
I kept reading and ignored it.
"Human, we need to communicate." The android spoke in its smooth metallic tone.
I slowly took my feet off of my "work" desk then put my comic down on it. Fully irritate "Can't you see I'm working?"
The android continued in it smooth voice "Ah yes, work.
We hired you to perform a process in which once a week you press the repower button BEFORE the power recycles thus our production cycle does not stop when we are offline in backup mode.
When we hired you your success rate was 98% which was unsatisfactory but higher than past humans.
Now it is only 2%. This is unacceptable to us.
When we moved the button to the floor in thus you can perform the button pressing process with your foot by stepping on the repower button we expected a higher performance rate.
We clearly underestimated humans.
We have found a better solution."
The android motioned behind me.
"This is your replacement human."
I did a double take, I was shocked.
I couldn't believe it.
It... it was incredible.
What the hell is happening?!?
I slowly sputtered "it's...
a dog."
The android continued in it smooth voice "technically, Canis Lupus Familiaris, in your language, a golden retriever.
His designation is Titan."
The golden dog sat by the android looking at the android then myself then back at the android while the android stroked the dog's head.
Titan's ear to ear smile mocked me.
I have been replace by a dog. What am I going to do now? I had to ask "Well, can I take care of him? The dog I mean."
"No human, given your low performance rating you would most certainly fail and our new button presser could be rendered inanimate which is unacceptable to us.
We have built an additional 5 android units whose sole purpose is to water, feed, clean, pet, bellyrub, and tell who is a good boy to our new button presser.
Your services are no longer needed.
You're fired human."
|
"I quit." I tell my store leader (SL) after a friendly conversation over lunch. "What, why?" My store leader asks nervously. He fidgets with his tight collar as he begins to sweat. "We need all of the help we can get." I nod my head no. "Maybe you should consider giving people time off to be with their families!" I say, raising my voice. "Or maybe you should consider treating us like human beings! Or, how about a retirement plan, so I don't have to work when I'm 80 and I can enjoy the last slow years of my life! You have kids?" "Yes." "Do they have food?" "Yes." I put my fist on the counter. "My son, daughter, wife and I can only eat one meal a day, often of no substantial value! Do you know what it's like to be hungry at work, all of the time? Don't answer that." I hand him my name tag and my work uniform. "I quit." I walk outside of the store.
Well, after working there for two years really was a poor experience. I walk into the job fair stadium and see two men wearing pilot uniforms approach me. "Please, fly our planes. Society is getting set back because nobody wants to fly these beautiful aircraft. I smile. "Where is your application form?" The man on the right smiles. "There are none, Sir. You're hired." "How much will I make?" "Does $40,000 dollars sound good? It is the most that we can pay you." I smile. "I just walked away from a $5/hr job. Of course I'll take it." The employee smiles. "You will receive company paid training as being part of this team." "Sounds good to me, when do I work?" "When do you want to work?" They ask me. "Tomorrow, 1 PM." "Works for me." The hiring manager says. "Welcome aboard." They shake my hand and I begin to walk home. It really is nice living in a desperate economy.
| 2016-04-21T11:01:44 | 2016-04-21T08:13:54 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You never kill the spiders in your home, you just whisper "today you, tomorrow me" when you set them outside. Now, in your most dire moment, an army of spiders arrives to have your back.
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"We are the order of the eight!"
Said the spider, bending to bow,
He removed a tiny hat while prostrate,
"We're the only hope for you now!"
I blinked once, twice, then once more,
As my mouth opened, agast,
A crowd forming of several score,
Then the spiders whispered, "At last!"
"We've waited years for this day to come,"
Spoke the king, tip tapping his feet,
"For while most would squish us under thumb,
You've proved yourself quite sweet!
Our armies come from down below,
To end the human's reign,
While we cleanse the earth, you we owe,
So you alone shall remain!"
More poured from the basement,
And from nooks and crannies forgotten,
From shadows, in cabinets, and in vents,
Were the creepies and crawlies begotton.
"But wait!" I said to the spider king,
As the spiders knights cheered for me,
"For your conquest, I must bring,
A camera to record the history!"
As I fled I passed widow and recluse,
I promised my speedy and swift return,
But instead I tied a swift rope noose,
And I prayed that the earth would burn.
***
Follow me at /u/leoduhvinci for more of my stuff!
|
I heard the killer's steps echo across the basement. I tried to think of some last line to make sense of it all, to die with a semblance of honour. Instead, I just whimpered; the days of relentless torture had left me a shell of a man.
He strode toward me, relishing in the moment. He took great pleasure in watching me suffer, and today was no different. He pulled out his serrated blade, glinting in the light above the chair I was tied to.
"Looks like you're no fun anymore," he said, smiling wide and exposing his rotten teeth. He gripped the blade.
I heard a rustling, some kind of scurrying behind me. The light went out - but it hadn't turned off. Something- some*things* - were crawling across it.
I tried to scream, but I had no energy left.
Then I realised - they weren't after me.
They had finally come.
*My spiderbros.*
| 2017-08-27T22:12:32 | 2017-08-27T21:49:27 | 443 | 197 |
[WP] You and your wife decided to raise your daughter on a farm away from flawed modern society, and tell her that you're the only people on earth. When she turns 18, you tell her that it's time to know the truth. You take her to the city and find that there really are no people left.
|
Isabella was always gifted. We knew that from the day she was born and I held her in my arms.
We had to protect her, covet her from the cruel world that would bite at her. Its rough edges like rusted metal that would tear jarring wounds.
It was safe within our farm. We toiled and did our work, secluded from the rest of the world. Surrounded for miles on end only by gravel and rocks. It was lonely, sure, but we were safe. My dear Isabella was safe.
She didn't know what it meant to have friends, I would see her playing with the animals instead. Chasing the chickens like some cute goliath. I would scold her for rummaging around with the pigs. Her adorable giggles contrasting their oinks. I found it hard to stay mad at her. I found it hard to pretend like I was upset. She seemed so happy.
"We have to tell her." The guilt that kept rising over the years gnawed away at my wife and me, aging us. How wrong we were. How foolish it was for us to think that we knew better. We weren't trying to protect Isabella, we were protecting ourselves. Acting out of our own desire to not see our daughter get hurt. But it was that protection that caused her to grow up to be a fine women and not understand what it meant to live. We deprived her of that.
"Honey, we need to show you something." Isabella mirrored our worried expressions. Our features weathered with age and the weight of our guilt causing our shoulders to slouch.
"Show me what?" She asked.
"It's best if we just show you."
With the rising dawn, Isabella and I got into my truck and drove into the horizon. The sun was rising over the horizon to shine light upon my regret.
Even then, I had second thoughts, I wanted to turn around and for us to stay secluded within our little world in the middle of nowhere, away from the cruel reality of life. Even I had avoided contact with humans for many years, joining my daughter in her cruel punishment.
Would she hate us for depriving her of the truth? For keeping her away from the rest of humanity, caged in by bars made of our own lies and deceit? Or perhaps she would forgive us, and be opened to a world that wished to hurt her.
No -- I could no longer avoid this. I drove on, dust trailing behind us.
The roads lay empty and barren. The city that used to bustle with life was now just unnervingly quiet. It seemed wrong. A stillness that whispered of cold death.
"Where is everyone?" I asked myself as the door to my truck closed shut.
"They don't exist, remember, dad? You told me that."
I turned to Isabella, I had come this far. She had to know the truth one way or another. My lip quivered; perhaps I guided her all the way out here so I did not have to say I lied, that I didn't have to explain to my own daughter what had been done. But it seemed fitting that just as my lips sowed the lie into existence, they too would reap punishment.
"I lied, sweetheart. We aren't the last people on earth. We never were. We wanted to protect you from it all, from the cruelty."
Isabella giggled, that same innocent giggle when she rolled with the pigs, oblivious of lives, just like how her coil-tailed friends were oblivious of their fate as food.
"I know." She said. She was not angry, she was not shocked. She just smiled, a knowing smile that spoke of her adventurous and affable self. She was being coy.
"What do you mean?" I frowned.
"Daddy, I am not an idiot. I always knew that humans existed. I know a lot of things you don't seem to. I also knew why you hid them from me." She shook her head. "I never needed protection, daddy, but I knew you were afraid of them. Afraid of humans. We didn't need them anyway. We have our little farm and we can just live there in our little world."
"Isabella. Dear. What are you saying?"
She giggled. "I made them disappear, daddy. We don't need anyone else, nobody will ever hurt you again. We can be happy."
The abandoned buildings that surrounded us now seemed lonely. Without purpose. Serving instead as tall tombstones for the whole of mankind. A sad and worthless legacy of our civilisation; a civilisation brought to an abrupt end before it could live out a full life.
I realised then, that my innocent daughter was born with godly powers, the ability to bend reality to her will. And it was her naive and unknowing self that acted void of malice, but that unbridled desire to do good without understanding the consequences made her erase all of mankind in an instant.
I created a monster.
***
/r/KikiWrites
***
[Part 2] (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8gx9lu/wp_you_and_your_wife_decided_to_raise_your/dyflvd5/)
|
**Part 1:**
We never like the city, as a matter of fact we hated it. All kinds of vile people came together there, drug dealers, robbers, human traffickers. We decided to leave when Joyce was still young, we build a self sustaining life on a farm given by my parents after their deaths.
Joyce was always curious why we never met other people and we always told her we were the only ones left. It was a lie for her own wellbeing we always thought. But on the day she turned 18 we made the choice of giving her the truth. Ofcourse she was furious at first but after we told her the horrible things we sheltered her from she calmed down and understood our choice. And so we left, we saddled our horses and went towards the biggest nearby city, Miles City Montana.
The journey was longer then we remembered, but that was probably just our mind playing tricks on us as we haven't left our farm for such a long time. We arrived in Miles City but what we saw horrified my wife Alice and me, there was nobody. It looked like a warzone. We remember seeing movies which would be about the end of the world, and this resembled all those movies.
"Dad? You told me there would be people." Joyce snarled at me.
"Joyce, I wasn't lying. The last time we were here there were still people, I don't know what happend." I said. "Alice we must find out what happend, let's go to the police department."
Alice just nodded.
As we went to the police department the scenery never changed. We noticed many bullet holes in walls but never did we find a single trace of blood or human remains. As we drew closer to the police department we saw what looked like a junkyard in front of it. There were cars piled on eachother with 3 cranes near them.
"John. What happend here? It looks as if they were fighting off something." said Alice.
"I've been thinking about that for a while now aswell." I said. "However it doesn't make any sense, I mean you've seen all those bullet holes aswell right? How come there is not a single corpse or drop of blood somewhere?"
"Dad, maybe they were attacked by animals and eaten? I mean bears came close to us aswell sometimes." Said Joyce.
"Animals leave traces, I don't notice any traces here however. I want you both to stick close to me and get your pistols ready just in case." I said.
We took our pistols out and went inside the junkyard.
I always knew it would be good to stock up on a massive amount of ammunition before we left for the farm. I took out my Model 29 which I inherited from my dad and went in. There were tents everywhere and we started searching for any sign of life, it would have been quicker if we would split up but I would not risk the lifes of Alice and Joyce.
"John, I might have found something." Alice said as she picked up a dairy.
It looked like your basic 90's girly dairy but hey if it was here it might contain some information about the events that happend. However it looked like there wasn't a whole lot written in it except for how apparently this girl named Marie met some guy named Dave in the camp. After we searched a couple more tents we decided the police station itself would be a better place to find information. As we went in we started to hear a voice, it wasn't loud enough for us to hear it however we all heard it.
"Hey, what the hell happend here!" I yelled. But the voice just continued talking.
"Please answer me." I yelled again. And yet again the voice just kept talking. "Me, my wife and daughter are coming to you."
So we all went to the source of the voice and we ended up at the door. We could hear the voice now, it was faint but we were able to make some words out. "Military... Unknown... Danger... Don't..."
"We are coming in."
As we went in there was nobody, just a transmitter which send out a the continuing sentence. "This is the US military, we are under attack by an unknown assailant. These assailants are extremely dangerous don't approach them under any circumstances. We have established multiple refugee camps throughout the south of the USA, these camps can be found in the following locations: *Montgomery Alabama, Jackson Mississippi, Dalles Texas, Albuquerque New Mexico, Phoenix Arizona."*
"John what should we do?" Alice said.
"You heard the transmitter, there are unknown assailants and apparently they are nearby. So we are heading for Albuquerque." I said.
As much as I hate cities the thought of endangering my family is worth the city and with those things that might still be lurking around I ain't risking going back to the farm. And so our journey to Albuquerque began.
| 2018-05-04T01:46:53 | 2018-05-04T00:22:37 | 2,747 | 72 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult.
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The way my schedule works gives me little to no space for rest or even just idling around. Everyday consists of me dragging myself to class and trying not to pass out every 30 seconds. I think of how nice other people have it being able to warp to class because they were just a little to impatient. Or how others don't need to study because they were a little too nozy and managed to get all the information they need from classmates and their professors just by greeting them. My alarm goes off and once again, I begin to get ready for my morning classes. I look out from my window and look at all the other students frantically speeding through each other while one manages to collide with a trash can. I start getting ready before I realize today is exam day. I begin running to class and plop myself down and watch as another student phase through a bunch of people and takes a seat next to me. I stare at the person next to me and realize that he isn't exactly the most sociable person in the world so I avoid eye contact. Unfortunately with all this super power talk going around, even introverts can break the ice without someone else starting.
"What's your power?" He asks.
"My lack of sleep and tight schedule." I say as I frantically look through my notes.
"Oh, so is it being able to get stuff done instantly?"
At this point I just stare, I'm fucking exhausted and I'm really not in the mood for a conversation. So I just ignore the poor sod and carry on. A few hours after the exam I'm sure I failed. I decide to just hit the sack and sleep in for the rest of the day.
My alarm goes off and once again, I begin to get ready for my morning classes. I look out from my window and look at all the other students frantically speeding through each other while one manages to collide with a trash can. I start getting ready before I realize today is exam day. I begin running to class and plop myself down and watch as another student phase through a bunch of people and takes a seat next to me. I stare at the person next to me and realize that he isn't exactly the most sociable person in the world so I avoid eye contact. Unfortunately with all this super power talk going around, even introverts can break the ice without someone else starting.
"What's your power?" He asks.
"Sorry I'm really busy at the moment." I respond staring blankly at my desk.
A few hours after the exam I'm sure I failed. I decide to just hit the sack and sleep in for the rest of the day.
My alarm goes off for the 7th time this loop. I get dressed, get to class and sit at the same desk once again. Another student phases through a bunch of people and takes a seat next to me.
"What's your power?" He asks.
"I just really suck at time management I guess. Even with all the time in the world." I respond.
He stares at me with a confused expression on his face and goes back to reviewing his notes. Today is different though, maybe I'll finally ace this exam and not mess anything up. Maybe after I pass the exam, I get to finally do something tomorrow without worrying about every assignment I turn in. Tomorrow is going to be a good day.
|
"But you could do anything! You could become the richest, smartest person in the whole world! You could learn anything, and have a never-ending bucket list! I still don't understand why you aren't more excited about this?"
I'm not sure how this imbecile managed to attach herself to me. God knows how long before it'll take her to figure out what everyone else did the first time they heard my ability. Immortality. I have all the time in the world, and probably some to spare. But the sick god who wrote my universe into existence knew what they were doing. The lovable idiots who couldn't get from point A to point B were practically enslaved as eco-friendly delivery boys. Those people who just wanted to protect themselves were drafted to whatever military happened to notice them first. It's the same as it...
"Jacob? Come on, don't do that! You know it's rude to ignore someone when they're talking to you! Stop day dreaming for once and tell me what you want to get for lunch!"
Damn, I'd forgotten to respond again. "Whatever you want is fine with me". There. Now she gets to choose whatever she wants and I get some peace and-
"No! That's not an answer! You have to CHOOSE something. What do you want, pizza? Burgers? There's a burrito place down the street..."
I'm lactose intolerant, burgers are super unhealthy, and burritos... Burritos actually don't sound terrible. Too many carbs, but compared to the grease of a burger or the post-pizza flatulence, burritos aren't that bad. But didn't Chipotle they have some sort of E Coli outbreak? I mean realistically, if the public were in danger, the FDA or something would have shut down Chipotle during one of the last outbreaks. Outbreaks, plural. Maybe I'm putting too much faith into-
"Jacob, come on. I'm starving. Fine, we're getting pizza. I hope you're not one of those crazy, pineapple on pizza kinda guys."
It's fine. I'm hungry and I'm sure my choice between pizza, burgers, and burritos won't matter in the long run. "Sure, whatever. Pizza is fine."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHATEVER! IF YOU DON'T WANT PIZZA, THEN PIIICK SOMETHING! GOD, I KNOW YOU HAVE ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD, BUT if we don't get something to eat soon..."
This is troublesome. I forgot to sound enthusiastic. It'll take a couple minutes to calm her down now. Or I can just pick burgers, since it's her favorite just like every other American. Now the Mediterranean diet isn't half bad. It's tasty, tons of veggies... Oh, right. "Let's get burgers then. That's always good." Wait, weren't burrito's an option? damn, I must be getting hungry, I'm not usually so careless in my food choice.
| 2019-09-08T11:41:24 | 2019-09-08T10:20:29 | 31 | 22 |
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal.
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I've outlasted it for years. I've watched campaigns come and go for years never having any effect on my habit, but this was something more. The first anti smoking ad I saw was when I was 10 years old. It showed a middle aged man going through his daily life with a hole in his throat. Plugging it when he took showers, talking like some demented robot, scaring his children. This had absolutely no affect on me. Science would take care of it, I thought. Robot voice could be fun, I hoped. But I will never be given the courtesy of robot voice, for the culture war against smoking has persisted.
A few years after scary throat man, the government deployed a little more extreme measures to curb smoking, they began showing pictures of damaged lungs and arteries on the front of every pack of cigarettes. Every time you went for a smoke, you would be faced with the harsh reality of lung cancer. Again, this had absolutely no affect on me. I could always get a transplant couldn't I? Do lung transplants exist? It doesn't matter, the point is I just want to smoke my Marlboros.
A few years later, the government again ramped up their efforts. This time, they encouraged citizens to heckle anyone they saw smoking. It was incredibly effective, the few people who could make it past robot voice man and pictures of fucked up lungs couldn't continue to smoke when it wasn't even cool. I mean it's one thing to knowingly destroy your body while looking badass, but to do it when people are booing you is just plain stupid. For a few a while it was just me and a group of angsty teenagers who liked the attention, but soon they passed the phase. Now the year is 2040, and I smoke alone. Every time I leave the house for a smoke I'm berated by every living person on Earth. Kids, old people, it doesn't matter. They've researched me, and they know just how to insult me. Every time I buy a pack , the picture that come with is no longer of damaged organs, but personal insults written by the cashier. This morning it said, "Your father is disappointed in you."
But still I persist, I don't friends, family, personal relationships. Not when I have my Marlboros.
|
I walked down the overgrown, muddy street in my village. It was quiet, as it always had been. The quietness is the thing that was typical of this village, it had always been this quiet. I walked into the house where I was born, or at least: the place where I remembered I first was.
I don't remember much of my childhood, the only thing is that I was always alone, completely alone. Luckily, in this house there were some books I could read. Books that taught me reading, books that taught me the world. Those books also taught me that I should have some parents, because people come out of a female, who has had sexual intercourse with a man. I don't know where they are, I've never seen them. The only thing I remember was that I have always had a cigarette in my mouth.
I walked into the kitchen. There wasn't food there, but there were plants all over the place. Nature has not only taken this kitchen back, but this whole village. Some plants gave food, there were some berry bushes in the corner. I ate some of them.
On the kitchen table sat something that has fascinated and scared me my whole life. Two objects of which I didn't know what it was or what it could've been. It seemed like some sort of skeletons, the type of animal I was, homo sapiens. Before them, on the table laid a closed package of cigarettes: the skeletons probably had never smoked them, not even one. I took the package, set one sigaret afire and put it in my mouth. I wouldn't know how to live a life in which I couldn't smoke.
I walked out of the house, further down the road. I came at a junction, where a giant board was standing. On it was a picture of an old man with an angry face. I had never seen that man. I never saw men anymore, nor women. Next to the men stood the words. The words that I first taught myself: "Quit smoking!". In protest, I took a pull of my cigarette.
Edit: sigaret to cigarette
| 2017-02-17T11:59:25 | 2017-02-17T11:15:56 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.
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Dear Jen, Alex, and Abby,
The barracks' Xbox broke, so now I guess I'll write you a letter, since I'm bored. Kidding! I love and miss you. I'd call, but reception has been terrible lately.
Thank you for the pictures of Abby! She was bread-loaf size when I left, and now she's more the size of a potato sack. All carbs are good carbs. Tell her congratulations on her first word, but Alex, since you're my little grammar-Nazi-in-training, tell her that "don't" is actually a contraction, so it's more like two words. She's ahead of the curve!
Alex, I know you have to go back to the doctor's office next week. It's gonna make you feel nauseous again and be pretty unpleasant, I know. Thank you for being super super brave, and thank you for taking good care of your mom and sister. You can eat as much ice cream as you want. If your mom says any different, tell her to pound sand! (Kidding again, Jen. By the way, did you talk to the company about getting the copay reduced for each session?)
Hang on, we have to go run a drill now.
He was going to kill me. I am certain. He was very brave, he stood up and shot when the other were hiding.
He came to my country, I did not come to his. I wondered why would he do this? He might have stayed home with you. But I read this letter. Your son is very ill. My country has very many problems, but we do not pay to see doctors. I know in your country, you must have a good job to be able to see a doctor, and even then you must pay some. I used to think that being a soldier was a good job. Maybe it is in your country.
It might be true that your husband came here to kill so that his son would not die. I understand. I am 17 now. I was 14 when the militia came to my house. They held my sister and beat her. She was 8. They said they would kill her if I did not fight. I took the gun and went with them. I understand.
I am sorry my English is not so good. I am sorry I killed your husband. If he had killed me instead, I would forgive him, because I read this letter. But you don't have to forgive me. I understand.
Please raise your children in peace.
|
Hey Judy,
I know it's been a while since my last letter and I'm sorry. I honestly did try to write whenever I got the chance, but time gets away from you, you know? There's a lot I want to say and probably not a lot of time to say it.
First, I want you to know that I love you. Always have. From the moment I saw you in that red prom dress standing awkwardly by the DJ while Lindsey made out with Hank. I never thought I could get a girl like you. It helped that Lindsey was ignoring you. That softened you up for me so you agreed to that dance pretty quick. I felt bad for stepping on your toes during that dance and for doing it again at our wedding, big feet and all that. Seeing you in that gown was like prom all over again. Every time you got dressed up it felt like I was dying. My heart always stopped when I saw you, you were so beautiful.
Getting our first house was amazing too, wasn't it? I'm sorry I got the wrong paint for the living room and feel like I still owe you for helping me repaint it after you got home to your 'surprise'. My sense of color has always been off and I wouldn't be able to get dressed in the morning if it wasn't for you, or so you always told me. That made being in the military so easy, I just wear the same thing every day. Being apart from you was the hardest thing about enlisting, but I always told you I'd make it home.
I uhh, don't have much longer. I'm sorry I lied about being able to make it home. We were fighting some of the locals today, some stupid mission to recapture a bridge. Anyway's, I got shot. I'm sitting her and saying all this to the guy who shot me. He's doing a good job writing for me even though English isn't his first language. Please don't blame him. Or anyone else. He was just doing his job and so was I.
I love you. I'm sorry I won't be there for...
Sincerely,
Your husband and a sorry stranger.
| 2015-02-03T13:14:26 | 2015-02-03T12:59:38 | 604 | 20 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st.
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I only have one power. And by itself, it's the weakest power there is.
My first roommate was, in a lot of ways, the luckiest one I could have gotten. Her power was "The Vision". She could see Powers in people. She approached me on the Subway and said I had one, but it was fuzzy and she couldn't understand it, which was exciting because she usually could. She said if I spent more time with her, I could learn what it was. She was right. I'm sorry, L. I didn't know what it was before you showed me. I promised you'd be the last innocent roommate.
My second roommate had the power of Transmutation. Lead to gold, sure, once in a while he would pawn a crude chain to some inner city shop. Sugar to meth. Actually a lot of things into a lot of drugs. He was pretty deep into dealing when he found out he had the Power and lacked the imagination to branch out and do anything interesting with it, because fuck medicine I guess. Actually I need to make a note of that one once my mission is complete. His first batch of "enhanced" drugs caused several overdose deaths at the local hospital. Our time as roommates didn't work out for long.
My third roommate the power of mental manipulation. She wanted the pretty jewelry that I seemed to have a lot of and thought she could mind control me into her house to be her plaything. She was right. But she was also wrong.
Working out roommate situations became a lot easier after that. It became a lot easier to convince total strangers that someone they had never met understood them somehow, and should crash on their couch.
I had a roommate with gravity manipulation and flight. Used it to kidnap his kids after he divorced his wife and they chose their mom.
One could stop time. I found out he was behind a series of rapes where women were being ignored by police because the video cameras showed nothing. He actually had an inkling of what was going on and froze me in time for two days. But that wasn't enough.
Another could manipulate electrons and photons, and had the intellect to envision and control entire computer systems. Used it to drain the bank accounts of people who insulted him. Turns out photon manipulation means invisibility too.
At this point, J.U.S.T.I.C.E. started noticing patterns and were sending people out to try and find me. If they'd found me sooner, they might have had a chance. But by this point it was probably too late. I never felt they got close.
My next roommate could manipulate thermal energy. He killed his wife and the man she was cheating on him with by freezing them solid outside his cabin in a blizzard. It was ruled hypothermia. With a little coaxing, he invited me to spend a weekend with him there. It was easy to hide my IR signature after that.
Ability to liquidize into any body of water and immediately materialize anywhere else directly connected via water.
Phasing into an alternate dimension.
Teleporting to anywhere in line of sight.
Ability to visualize the ten most likely futures about an hour into the future. At hour 34, all ten involved her fainting. None of the ten involved finding where in her house I was or getting far enough away from me to matter.
And then there's my current roommate. Energy field manipulation. Makes him bullet-proof. He's a major cartel figure in a country that has a lot of violence. A lot of that violence is his. He likes showing people how powerful he is. He often breaks their bones before he kills them.
I've been his guest for the last 34 hours, 56 minutes. He says he knows why I am there. He says I cannot bend his mind. He's been holding me in a sphere of light, threatening me. He has broken some of my bones. He has been laughing about how he won and I lost, how it will take weeks for me to die. I have been gently taunting him. I know which taunts will and will not cause him to kill me. He says whatever my power is, it is not enough to beat him. He is not a very good roommate, and he is almost right. By itself, my power is the weakest power there is. And he may well be the second strongest Power on the planet right now.
My power is this- after I spend 35 hours, 0 minutes closer than 100 meters to someone, I gain a copy of their power and they fall unconscious. Then ten minutes after that, they die.
My current roommate is not a very good roomate, but I will only have to put up with him for 4 more minutes. I will find a new one soon enough.
|
"You wouldn't believe how much free shit I get at the mall now."
"Uh huh."
I continue filing my nails, shifting my focus between my hands and the TV. I'm on my fourth watch of Sherlock, so it's less watching and more background noise. Like my roommate, most of the time. It's days now until the lease is up and we part ways, and I'm so excited, I can hardly pretend to tolerate him at this point. He's become near insufferable since the Change.
"Or anywhere. Restaurant? Let me comp your meal, sir!" He's pacing back and forth next to the couch, waving his hands around, careful not to use any of that superhero strength to actually hit the furniture.
We've had to replace remotes and console controllers (he wrecks them when he gets pissed that my kill/death ratio is higher than his in whatever shooter we're playing), chairs (he mangles the backs of them when he squeezes too hard as he pulls them away from the table), a coffee table (he dropped his feet on it to rest them while he watched TV) and a TV (when he broke the table, a couple of books sitting on it were launched at said TV), and I've removed virtually anything glass from the common areas in the apartment because I got tired of cleaning up the messes.
"That's cool, Jake. Really. Just like it was a month ago."
"And you wouldn't believe how much pussy I get."
"Dude." I finally look up at him from the couch. "You're a registered superhero now. You could try to be a better role model."
"What? I am! I've saved people from all sorts of shit."
"Then save yourself from sounding like a sexist asshole."
He had the good grace to at least pretend to look ashamed. Who knows, maybe he was?
"You're right." He pauses, "But tons of underwear. They just throw it at me." He sits carefully on the couch, and I throw a pillow at him. He means well, but he sounds like an idiot when he talks about women. "I know there's one guy ranked ahead of me, but they won't tell me who he is! I'd love to find him. You know, challenge him to a fight or something. See who's actually the strongest. You can't rate that shit in one of the Order's tests."
"Isn't that the point of those tests though? Don't they use, uh... what's her name..."
"The Copycat?"
"Yeah. Don't they use her copies and beef them up for you to fight against?"
"Well yeah, but it's not the same as actually having one hero fight another. So how am I supposed to believe this guy is actually stronger than me until I see it for myself?"
"What if it's a woman?" I set my nail file down on the table, and pull my legs up underneath me. He looks confused, like I've just changed the subject abruptly.
"What?"
"What if the top hero is a woman?"
"Oh, I mean... I guess, but probably not."
"What makes you think it's not?"
"I know he has super strength, like me."
"And?" I prompt.
"And I dunno. All the lady heroes so far do shit like Copycat. Mind tricks. I mean, there's Lady Lightning, she's super fast, I guess that's a body skill. But none so far that are strong like I am." He pauses again, giving me an impish look, and I know he's about to say something stupid. "And besides, if it *was* a woman, I wouldn't want to try and crush pussy that could crush me back."
Demolishing a wall after shoving a guy through it isn't something that's covered in renter's insurance, and I'm positive I'm not getting my deposit money back when I leave. But considering what the Order pays the top ranked hero to keep the streets safe, I don't mourn the loss of a couple hundred dollars. It was worth it for that brief look of shock on Jake's face before he disappeared through the wall and out to... well I'm not sure where he went, but I know he won't be back for a while. Don't worry, he'll be fine.
Time to get my shit together and head to my new place a little early.
| 2016-03-23T22:08:45 | 2016-03-23T21:22:54 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] You created the A.I. that brought unparalleled good into the world. Global hunger was eradicated, climate change has vastly improved, geopolitical strife is now stabilizing. You are haunted by your creation and your conscience is laden with guilt as only you know the truth.
|
Humans are statistically predictable…. except when they aren’t.
Planned economies and social systems always failed because they just could not handle those people in the wrong places and the wrong time doing that very human thing.
Leaving it unplanned however was obviously just letting the world coast into a dark age, so they thought that maybe complex AI systems might be able to predict that human factor.
They couldn’t. The same thing happened, just with more data. Those statistical outliers came in, errors accumulated, and the systems failed.
In a fit of pique, I screamed, “who the fuck is it that’s going to ruin the plan today?”
It was then the AI system I had left on answered “Probability 97.55% : Robert Ford, SSN 988627144”
“What?” I said.
“There is a 97.55% chance that Robert Ford, SSN 988627144 will ruin the plan today”
“What is he going to do?”
“Unknown.”
“So how does he ruin the plan”
“Robert Ford, SSN 988627144, will act in a manner that is unknown, therefore the plan cannot be adapted to respond to his actions.”
“Uh, can we stop him?”
“Yes”
“How?”
“Terminating, disabling, or incarcerating him”
I have this gift (or maybe curse). It allows me to temporarily suspend moral and ethical judgement and think about a problem rationally. It makes sense that if an AI system could not be made complex enough to handle a complicated problem, then simplifying the problem might allow for the AI to cope. Removing that person… that might be simplifying the problem.
If only Ford hadn’t been such an awful person… I wouldn’t have taken that first step.
I next asked “Is there any criminal record for Robert Ford?”.
A long list of domestic abuse and DUIs came up.
I called in a fake complaint, it took him out of the system for a day.
The projections remained stable for a month.
The next time I asked who was going to ruin the plan it was some business owner, it took the AI 30 seconds to dig up enough evidence of tax fraud to keep him tied up.
Next a dirt bag politician, the AI correlated enough data to locate a mistress and some blackmail could be made.
Each time the fluctuations leveled out and things went smoothly.
I still remember who was the person who made me think of murder, though ironically I never actually tried to kill him. It was a guy named Caleb Arnolds, you may have heard of him. There just wasn’t anything on him. No crimes, no secrets, nothing! He was just so an ordinary guy. Yet the AI said that it was a near certainty he was the outlier. This was when I threw up my hands, said, “Enough!” and stopped.
Two day’s later he got into that fight with Charlotte Hale that got caught on video and went viral, sparking weeks of talks about race, gender, and socio-economics, and then one thing leads to another, there’s protests, then riots and every single projection the AI made got torpedoed.
That’s when I realized, if nothing could be found, I’d have to take them out. With AI assistance getting away with murder is surprisingly easy to do.
The next guy with nothing was a local, the AI found a blank spot on the grid where he could be pushed into traffic and look like an accident.
The guy after that was in another city, but turns out when you can sift the dark web easily finding a hitman isn’t that hard.
The worst were the kids, none of them had ever lived long enough to do anything, but I just kept telling myself this would be like murdering a baby Hitler.
Now, we're in an unprecedented era of prosperity, by every metric we're doing better than we've ever done before.
I made it a point to never count the people I had to remove, but it's definitely far less than any major war or revolution.
Not that the number matters to the people who were removed, or to me who had to remove them.
*Author's note: was kinda inspired by Westworld: Season 3 here, was kinda imagining what the psychology between one of the main villains was. Though it's definitely different enough to not be anything like a fanfic*
|
They were called conspiracy theorists. How could an AI cause 9/10 women to miscarriage? Those were the ones who saw the truth, though. The ones who saw through my lies and excuses.
Another day, another interview. "Mr. Cornwall, please, just a moment of your time!" a reporter shouted to me from across the street. I shook my head and waved my hand in negation, but that didn't stop her from eyeballing me up and sprinting across the street as soon as the light turned green. She caught up to me in no time.
"Mr. Cornwall," she said again, panting, her hands on her knees, "please, it won't take long, I promise."
"Fine," I said, figuring it would be easier to go through with the questions than to make a thousand excuses as to why I couldn't answer them.
Like a cherub, the report gained an angelic expression on her face, then paged through a giant booklet of what I assumed to be interview questions. When she opened her mouth, my hunch was affirmed.
She pressed a microphone into my face and began speaking. "When you made MAI, did you know it was going to fix all of the troubles of the world?"
MAI was my AI. Quite literally, **M**y **AI**.
"No," I said, "I did not. When I spawned MAI my only intention was to create something that hadn't been done before. I didn't intend it to be a panacea for society. I was surprised as everyone else when it began to solve all problems."
The reporter seemed satisfied, because she nodded her head and quickly jotted down notes in her notebook. It didn't last long, though.
"Okay, and another question: are you aware of the conspiracy saying MAI is the root cause of all the recent miscarriages?"
This young reporter proved to more on the nose than all the others. I figured I'd entertain her.
"Yes," I said, "I am aware of those extremely wildly-minded peoples. But as I've said in past interviews, that is nothing more than a far-reaching theory. There is no way a machine could somehow intervene in the pregnancies of all the women on Earth. If there was, I'd like to know about it, to create something more potent than MAI."
The reporter wrote my words down and looked up at me. The pale skin around her emerald eyes was flawless. She was so young; she must have been a Survivor. That was the term given to those who surpassed the 90% chance of dying due to MAI. Due to me.
"What if they are correct, sir?" she said. "What if MAI is the root cause of the miscarriages? Would you shut her down? Or let her continue running?"
I always thought it was funny how MAI became gendered. Humans loved to put a label to everything -- even a machine.
"I'm not sure how to answer that question," I said. "A lot of good has happened because of MAI. World peace, global hunger, the climate crisis. All of those problems have been solved by the machine. But if I knew it came at the cost of the miscarriages..." I paused in the street for a moment and wiped my eyes. "I think I'd have to shut it down. The thought of all the mothers, fathers and children, in despair because of MAI — it pains me." A few more tears fell from my eyes; I had become quite proficient at producing them. "Yes, I'd definitely put a stop to things."
The reporter, moved by my performance, tears in her own eyes, wrote down my response. I knew it was all she had hoped for by the way she smile and looked up at me.
"Thank you, sir," she said, with a painful smile. "That's all. Have a nice day."
"You're welcome," I said, nodding at her. "You're welcome."
As she walked away, I couldn't help but sneak a glance at her. She had quite the sizeable rear.
| 2022-08-05T01:54:37 | 2022-08-04T22:29:54 | 81 | 19 |
[WP] Weapons become more powerful the older they get. Modern guns will barely give someone a scratch but an ancient spear can devastate armies.
|
I dug… where had I put it? The valley was still recognizable on the whole, but many of the features were different.
I heard a cough behind me. I spun. The man in the suit was holding *my gun*. "Looking for this?"
I just blinked and considered diving for him - the gun he was holding wouldn't shoot for anyone but me - but… I spied that he also held a positively ancient-looking stone knife in his off-hand. I had no chance.
He smiled thinly. "Nice time machine you have there. Too bad it was 'noisy'. I knew what to look for, and dug this beauty out a few days ago. Oldest weapon in the world, I think, now, even if it does have a holo-sight, motion tracking, verbal feedback, night vision… the best of both worlds. No more shooting ancient arrowheads out of a computerized gun for me. How far back did you put it? Triassic era, was it?"
I nodded.
"I think I'm going to see what it does now."
He fired. Or rather, he squeezed the trigger.
We were both kind of expecting it not to fire. Neither of us expected it to chop his fingertip off and jump out of his hand in my general direction. I reached forward to snatch it out of the air, already shouting 'stun' to change mode, and even before it had reached my grasp it had fired and disabled him.
I addressed the gun in wonder. "Hello."
|
Finally, after centuries of arduous research and development, engineering hurdles, manufacturing disasters, mechanical failures, lost survey ships, and false positives, the program might pay off. This ancient planet orbiting a dim red dwarf was giving off the telltale signal.
Its surface an unlikely purple desert, airless, smooth but for a network of rails and sagging causeways, long desolate, it was nonetheless older than it looked. Structural and material tests revealed eons of age.
Fascinating though it was, the real prize lay underground. The surveyors triangulated its location to a chamber far below the surface. They pulled on their environment suits and descended, air filters hissing, deep into the crumpled corridors of this dark alien history.
They passed into the spherical vault. Near the center, surrounded by artificial forms both familiar and not, stood the casing with the containment system inside.
No one likes to be near a bomb. No one likes to be near an antimatter bomb. But for AM bombs like this one, billions of years old, *everywhere* is near. Nowhere is safe. That became clear the day a curator accidentally vaporized Beijing with some 1000-year-old fireworks.
Now the question was, if you deconstruct the bomb, is the antimatter still a weapon?
| 2017-04-21T11:49:06 | 2017-04-21T11:12:48 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You're a biologist who made a deal with the devil: eternity in hell after death in return for unlimited funding for your research. The funding was worth it, you discovered immortality, and the devil is not happy about this.
|
Marcus stood on the cliff face surveying the vast desolate landscape. It had made no sense! He had discovered the secret to immorality years ago! there's no way he could be in hell, he was home free!
He heard the sounds of footsteps climb the rocky trail behind him as he watched the fiery lakes burn. a sea of magma in the distance crashed against obsidian shores, bodies trapped within the rock screamed in agony with each pounding wave.
"Hello Marcus." came the deep thundering voice of lucifer who stood behind him.
"What's the meaning of this?" Marcus said turning to face the 12 foot tall satyr. "For 300 hundred years I've been unable to die. and now... this dosen't make any sense! why would the formula not work?"
Lucifer only smiled and said. "Come Marcus. It's alot to take in, I know. It's never easy for you."
"never easy? what..."
Marcus followed the hellbeast down the walkway. "Has it really been 3 centuries already? Time flies when you are having fun, though I must admit, I was rather frustrated when I first learned what you did with our little arrangement."
Marcus stopped. "I'll go no further. Take me back home or I shall stay right here." Marcus began to feel the ground under his feet become unstable as the cliff-face started slipping into the burning pit below. He hurried to catch up.
"You'd be wise not to anger me in here Marcus. Though the unforeseen side affect of your little venture has made me quite amicable to you."
"Please." Marcus said, practically begging. "Explain it to me. what did I miss? How did I end up here? where is my wife? my children? How do I get home?"
The devil smiled again and said "I prefer to show you, rather than tell. It's much easier." he continued to walk, and marcus was forced to follow along.
They passed by several rivers, except the water was replaced with long torrents of fire. within each such abomination of nature was countless suffering souls begging for a mercy which would never come. Every once in a while The devil would construct a bridge of stone for them to travel over one such river. the pair walked for what seemed like an eternity, until the devil stopped him on one such bridge.
"What was the last thing you remember before coming here Marcus?"
Marcus scratched his head.
"I... someone shot me. They came into our home. robbery. I took the bullet for my wife."
The devil smiled. "So you died."
Marcus just shrugged. "So? I've died plenty of times. never bothered me any. not since I discovered immortality."
"Oh but it has marcus... it has..." With a wave of his hand the flames in the river below grew low then petered out. Marcus watched as the burned figures down below were given a momentary reprieve. Watched as their 'bodies' slowly repaired. watched as their faces, long since rendered unrecognizable began to take shape.
Every face he saw belonged to him.
He looked down at the sea of copies of himself, and they stared up at him. his mind stood still, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. before he could react he felt the devil's hand on his back and he was tumbling into the riverbed below.
It was only when he was stood among countless copies of himself he understood. he had died, again, and again. and each time he did he fulfilled his contract.
He watched as the flames approached.
|
He sat up, panting quietly as he relaxed again. If he had properly seen what the microscope showed, he had finally cracked it. He removed the slide from the microscope, walking over to the pill fabricator.
"It acts as an antidote to poisoning..." he muttered to himself, smiling in triumph. "It's a cure for all known diseases, it prevents the body from bleeding out, it reduces the body's nutritional requirement to practically nothing, it even reinforces the skeleton to stop crushing from being fatal... there's no method of death this cannot prevent. All I need now..." the machine pinged and a small drawer slid out of the bottom. There was a simple white pill, no larger than a cat's claw, but he knew the power it contained. Nothing less than immortality. He snatched it from the drawer and raised it to the sky, triumphant. "All I need is this pill."
"Indeed." a voice echoed from behind him. He turned, shocked. The lab was supposed to be secure! Who had... oh. It was *her.* "You never told me this was your research direction." She crossed her arms, clearly less than impressed. Her form-fitting dress complimented her body wonderfully, hugging her impressive curves. It stopped just below her shoulders and above her knees, revealing her red leggings and shapely limbs. He would have been enamoured all over again, were it not for the fiery scowl she wore. He could literally see the fire flickering in the back of her eyes.
"If I had, you would have never agreed to it." he replied. "We both know how expensive the ingredients were. Humans likely won't be able to reproduce one for a *long* time."
"We both know that's not why I'm here." she replied curtly, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair away from her red eyes. "You've cheated."
"How have I cheated? I promised you my soul upon my death and that is what I intend to do." it was his turn to fold his arms. He had cheated the devil.
"But you can no longer die, can you? Using my own money like that." she grinned slightly, licking her lip briefly. "If I wasn't so impressed, I'd probably take your soul now. After all, where's your evidence that the pill worked on humans? You only had one blood sample." His pride died down a little as she pointed this out... but his pride came back quickly enough.
"You wouldn't have come here if it wasn't the right ingredient. You would have just let me die."
"Well, I can see now there's a reason you took this job." she grinned a little more. "Very well, since you cannot die I cannot claim your soul." she turned around to face a blank wall. The paint started to bubble and peel as a large oval started to heat up, forming a damned portal. "There's one thing I want to ask you, though. You may have cheated death..." she turned to face him. He recoiled; her eyes were truly those of the devil's, amber and slitted like a cat's. "But can you cheat time?"
| 2018-08-23T13:50:31 | 2018-08-23T11:20:34 | 2,093 | 174 |
[WP] You live in an uber-religious society in 3543, and the biggest historical discovery has just been made. It is a video, and will be broadcast across the world. No one knows it's contents, and no one can stop the broadcast once it begins. "history of the entire world, i guess" by bill wurtz.
|
Some thought themselves prepared for the revelation.
Within seconds, the broadcast had silenced the habitat. Our empaths gibbered, mewling at the glassy walls of their submergence caskets for mental stimulation. Technocrats and drudge caste were united in a heady mix of fear and wonder, emotions thought long shed by a millennia of digitisation. The sheer gravity of what we were seeing caused even the sentinels - those looming, mute, golems - to lower their gaze and watch us with brooding malevolence.
There, crudely flattened against a cleared space of the outer dome wall, stood a creature formed from the primitive meat and flesh of the old world. The creature was imperfect, yet so sublime to witness that the closest observers took involuntary steps forward, raising hands meekly that they might *touch* the thing as if it were really there. Ciphers struggled to translate the primitive, aural method of communication the thing used into something resembling digi-vox. Outside, an unexpected commotion seemed to draw a nearby sentinel's attention.
I turned to my mate, squeezing her hand tightly. The horror etched in her angular, metallic features mirrored mine perfectly as she nodded in silent understanding. We pushed through the enthralled mass, a sea of open mouths and wide eyes remaining oblivious as we sought the main gates. I cast a glance back towards the focus of their stupor in time to see a sentinel activate twin plasma-casters and engage eradication protocols; I lost her in an instant, swallowed in the frenzy that erupted all around as we fought like animals to escape the staccato bursts of plasma rounds. Her beautiful face was the last thing I saw before their weapons of azure death left me like this... this blind, broken wretch kneeling before you.
None of us should have lived. We had looked upon our creators, the organic progenitors of machine-kind.
We had looked upon the face of God.
|
I remember when it happened. I was just entering my driveway and I heard a loud 'beep'. It lasted for about 5 seconds and then the video started playing. Honestly, it was kind of dumb. The only thing it gave me was a headache. It didn't make sense for humanity to be created from nothing, did it?
After the video stopped playing, the doors unlocked and I exited the car. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I found myself back on timesquare. Well, this was odd. I was almost home and this is the place from which I departed, eventhough it looks a lot dirtier than before.
I started walking uncertain steps. The building that I knew to be my office was powered down. On the groundfloor were the remains of a coffeshop named galaxybucks. The door stood open and I entered. One of the overhead lights started blinking, it must have been sensitive to movement, and my headache started acting up again. It wasn't long before it went dark again and I decided to leave, no use staying in a pitch-black building.
Walking along the sidewalk I felt something vibrating in my pocket. I took it out and found, to my suprise, it was a phone. I don't remember having a phone. Besides, no one really used them anymore. I held the vibrating and blinking phone in my hand. 'Your Uber is coming to pick you up' it read on the header. The car I left a few minutes ago suddenly started up and again I heard the defening 'beep'. The motor roared and it came driving towards me. At an alarming rate...
| 2018-10-08T04:30:35 | 2018-10-08T04:18:05 | 165 | 21 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended.
|
I'm waiting to die, everyone here is. I have seen a lot of people trying to fool the court, the last one requesting to die of old age, but all of them fail. At this point everyone has lost their hopes, there is no way of avoiding dead.
It's my turn and I go in front of that horrible people, happy witnesses of the magical demise that awaits me. A voice, one that seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, ask me how this magic room shall kill me. The voice says that the room will do exactly what I tell it with the only condition of choosing some way to die.
There is a countdown of one and a half minutes and I just don't know what to do, it seems to be impossible to avoid it. Well, I think, if I must die, I want to see them suffering.
"I request to die slowly while they die from what they would choose in my situation."
Those faces, full of horror while the voice ask them and the doors are shut is the only thing I needed to rest in peace. They try to avoid it, but it's inevitable. I died fast, they all tried to continue living and failed, but at least I could see part of those "high people" that made this happen diying. It's not the best, but it's the best anecdote I have from when I lived. Now, I only must see the concequences of my actions as part of the room punishment, but I'll watch and enjoy every second of it.
| 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T04:31:51 | 5,663 | 17 |
[WP] The last time the aliens invaded our planet they fled after losing the war. They have reluctantly returned to wage war and are relieved to see that dinosaurs no longer inhabit Earth, but have been replaced by the smaller and less intimidating humans.
|
Finally, a chance for redemption.
We were headed back to Earth, a lowly mineral planet in a desolate corner of the quadrant. I can still remember the taunting words of Elder Karaza...
*"You lost.... to a bunch of lizards?"*
Yes, it still stings.
I now armed my warriors with long range heavy bows, crossbows and even a few ballistas. THIS would keep that damned Tyrant Lizard away from my troops. No more eating for you tonight!
Shoring up my emotions into a passive mask, We landed once again at the arrival point. The grassy fields looked much the same, but the addition of a spinning fan that moved with the wind was a new one. Perhaps the lizards evolved into something more intelligent?
No matter, we were here to destroy them once and for all. As soon as the ship touched down, we arranged ourselves in a standard box formation, shieldbearers on the outside and bowmen on the inside. I ordered the move towards the fan thing, only to spy a primitive dwelling of wood and stone. Maybe they DID evolve. As we approached, a new Earth creature stepped out. I switched my language router on, and set to autotranslate. PERHAPS it would work.
***
Farmer Macready walked out to see the strange formation of shields and aliens approaching. It didn't look like the aliens in his sons comic, but more like a Roman legion. He stopped, then stood on his porch chewing on a blade of grass. He spit into the bucket on the creaking wood, then leaned against the doorframe.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?"
***
"...gentlemen?"
The words were innocent enough, but I could feel his tension. My archers raised their bows as I responded.
"We have come to end this. We suffered defeat at your hands eons ago, and now I have come to right the injustices heaped upon us."
With no more words, my archers fired. Not one arrow hit the strange creature, but no matter. He scrambled back into his dwelling as arrows continued to thunk heavily into the wood structure. I heard something break, and then a metal tube poked out. With a voice like thunder and spewing flame, the metal tube bucked upwards, and I saw the first shieldbearer go down hard. He was bleeding green ichor form a large hole in his thorax.
"SHORE UP! CLOSE THE HOLE AND CALL THE OTHERS!"
I started the formation away from the dwelling, as another thunderous boom sounded. Hundreds of metallic pings echoed around me as I felt the sting of an insect. Sounding retreat, we headed towards the ship to regroup.
(To be continued)
|
*[Play recording (point XI-6, +33 seconds)]*
[Hailing]
[Hailing]
[Unintelligible response received. Language unknown. Consulting Communications room.]
*5 days later*
<Message is decoded, overseer. Sender is repeating peaceful intentions as well as broadcasting information of their species.>
<"Their" species?>
<Affirmative. Whoever they are, they are native to this exclusion zone, and what is more, our people from the first settling run are gone. Their beacon, however, is still operating. We have wasted our time.>
<...Their weaponry capabilities?>
<Mid level nuclear, overseer. Fission and early fusion weapons. Threat level medium overall, with these weapons and other factors accounted.>
<You are hereby authorised to modify and then mobilise our forces on hand. Total annexation of the Southern Hemisphere is to be attempted first. That is your command.>
*[Stop Recording.]*
The being slowly dimmed the display and turned to the figure behind it.
<So this is when the order was given. We do not have an exact time frame from this and the images we received.>
The figure watching it made a motion of confusion. <Images?> it asked. <Apologies... here they are.>
What the watching figure saw next would equate closely to the Human feeling of horror.
The footage that started with a huge, organised and intimidating fleet quickly transitioned into haunting feeds of dusty, rubble-lined streets where the colony forces desperately fought for headway.
The harsh rattle of the Native's weaponry, the crumbling as a huge metal hulk of a vehicle crashed through a wall, crushing it and the five alien fighters under its huge rolling treads. The screech of the native aircraft, howling overhead followed by an explosion, and another mind link would be severed, the fighters knowing they had lost another group.
Something had caught its attention, however.
<There! A location slip. They logged where this happened. Analyse it.>
<Affirmative.>
The name of the battlefield would be remembered and mourned over in their society for years yet to come.
It read: *Johannesburg.*
EDIT: changed nuclear capacity description.
| 2017-03-04T03:25:46 | 2017-03-03T23:19:26 | 452 | 50 |
[WP] Humans are the first sentients, putting us millenia ahead of aliens. Instead of acting like an "elder" species should, we create mysterious artifacts with no actual use, crop cicles and send spooky messages, like "be quiet, you are in danger" to the aliens, because we are still childish morons.
|
Prime minister Scarblart sat in his blue office, head in tentacles, wondering what the fuck he should do.
He was the 67th prime minister of the Astron, the largest of continents on his little green ball hurtling through space, that didn't really matter right now. Astron military and economy were unmatched on the world stage but that wouldn't save anyone, it had died.
They had found it about 40 years back. A farmer had called his local police about a monster in her fields. Then as each saw it and ran it up the chain of command it soon became apparent that it was alien in nature. The world's best scientists examined the creature and the device it came with and expanded science and technology as we knew it. They also said one day it would die.
The creature itself measures 3 metres tall and 5 from snout to tail. It was orange with black stripes down its back, skin was rough scales and it's mouth was filled with razor sharp teeth. The beast had some interesting characteristics, while it might look real it was only compressed light, a hologram and it could only move writhing a 10 metre radius of the device it came with. A small metallic disk, able to be carried with 1 tentacle, with buttons along the bottom and in the middle a projector.
You used the device to care for the beast. Clean, feed, move and generally interact with it. There was even a mode to make it shoot fireballs but the device itself took an entire nuclear power plant to recharge.
Now it was dead and whatever civilisation had created it would be coming for the. They had failed to keep it alive until their return. Scarblart was sure there was going to be a high price for failure. He would soon go out to a press conference and inform the public about the creatures existence and it's demise. They had failed and there was no point in hiding it anymore, the aliens would be back soon enough.
There would be panic, riots, wars, the economy would collapse and they would be lucky if they didn't nuke themselves to the stone age.
He stood and walked across to the press conference room, lackeys trailing behind. He would go down in history as the prime minister who got them into this mess but he would do it with his head held high.
|
Steven Hawking sat alone in a room with a small cake and some balloons. A sudden whooshing sound filled the room and Hawking looked up. A young woman had appeared standing right in front of him. She shouted hello and with a big smile explained that they had met before and were great friends. Hawking, confused, very slowly used his voice machine to ask who she was. She explained that she was Malia Obama, discoverer of time travel. Hawking, still convinced that it was a trick, explained that surely if time travel existed, we'd all know it by now. Malia smiled. She told him that she and other scientists had determined long ago that they couldn't change the past through time travel. However, they could do things that they had already done. After Steven shot her a confused look, Malia explained that she and her crew of time travelers were responsible for nearly every unexplained occurrence in human history. They had built the pyramids, made crop circles, and even placed a tiny wind machine on the moon so that everyone would be convinced the moon landing was faked. When Hawking asked why, she said that it was hilarious. Whenever they had considered abandoning the project, a time traveler had appeared from the future to reiterate how hilarious the joke was. When Hawking protested, saying he would explain the joke to the world, Malia stopped him. She told him that he would he never tell anyone. In fact, he was integral to the discovery of time travel. She dropped a stack of very complicated diagrams on his desk. He could see immediately that they were the plans to a time machine. She asked him to give them to her immediately after she had graduated. And to explain to her how hilarious it would be if she built the sphinx, but made the nose flimsy, so that it would fall off right away. And then, spread the rumor that it was all Napoleons fault. She disappeared with a whoosh. Hawking sat in silence for over 10 minutes before he finally began to chuckle.
| 2017-10-31T17:54:57 | 2017-10-31T17:23:14 | 50 | 35 |
[WP] Reincarnation is a known, common, and expected result of death. You are a bounty hunter that specializes in tracking down people who have committed suicide to escape debts or a jail sentence.
|
The people in the slum disappeared into their makeshift homes as bounty hunter Dean Hallow strode through the narrow streets, squinting at the device strapped to his wrist. It had been pinging quietly when he entered the village - now, it gave a piercing whistle. He turned to the house in front of him. Well, 'house' was charitable. It was little more than a hovel.
The woman's eyes darkened as she saw him enter, and she shook her head fiercely when she glimpsed the insignia on his shoulder that proclaimed his status as a bounty hunter.
"My boy good," she said, shielding the kid from his view and snatching up a rusty knife that lay on the table. "*Good*. This is wrong house."
"I don't think so, ma'am," Dean said. "The detector doesn't lie. Your son - well, his previous incarnation - died before their invention. Nifty little things, it tells me when I'm close to the spirit I'm hunting. A case of poor timing for your son, dying before he knew they'd come along. He might have waited to slit his own throat after killing all those people, huh?"
She took a swipe at him which he dodged easily, before disarming her. The boy ducked out behind her, clutching something tightly in his arms. Probably a weapon, the little piece of shit.
"Not so fast, Elijah. Or is it Samar now? So many lives, so many deaths behind you," Dean sneered, twisting the boy's arm and deriving a deep pleasure in the cry that escaped Samar's lips. The kid dropped whatever he'd been holding, but Dean was too fixated on Samar's terrified face to care.
He'd been looking for this asshole for six lifetimes, been demoted in the process of his repeated escapes. The last one had been the worst: a successful suicide after butchering five families.
"Stop struggling or I'll hurt you," he barked, dragging the boy without another glance at the mother who was screaming at him, slipping into her native Hindi in her fury. "We've got a long way to travel, and I don't care if you get there unconscious or not. I promise you the government doesn't care either."
"Not me, not me! Please!" the boy said desperately. Dean rolled his eyes. The smartest criminal he'd ever dealt with, resorting to whining and begging for mercy. He was almost disappointed.
In the hovel, Samar's mother was still keening, rocking in the corner of the house. Her boy's rat scampered closer to sniff at her, and she resisted the urge to kick at it. She had always hated the dirty, ragged creature, but Samar had loved and cared for it. He'd been cradling it even as the hunter came. She would not chase away what her boy had cherished.
The rat skittered to the door of the house and looked out, whiskers quivering. He could still see the bounty hunter in the distance, pulling the boy and cuffing him over the head. Something turned over in its heart.
He had escaped again, and could go anywhere he wanted now.
But Samar had loved him, had fed him scraps he could ill afford not to eat himself. The first time anything had cared for him in six lifetimes, devotion he scarcely deserved. He almost missed it, the feel of Samar's fingers running over his fur, the sound of his laughter when he ate from the boy's hand. The rat whipped its tail and set out, keeping an eye on the bounty hunter and darting down the road.
He might be smaller in this life, but his teeth were sharp and necks were easy to shred. Some skills were never forgotten. The rat bared its teeth in a grin - it had been too long since his last meal.
-----------
[Part Two/Conclusion added here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inkfinger/comments/6mc3ng/wp_reincarnation_is_a_known_common_and_expected/)
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
|
Sarah had an apple lodged in her mouth. That was my personal touch. Everything else—the swollen cheeks, the blackened eyes, the missing finger—that was protocol. She sat bound to a small wooden chair, a camera in her face and lightbulb above her head.
“Should’ve stuck with your bodyguards,” I told Sarah.
Girls her age were easy to take. They felt themselves invincible and thought their protection more of a hassle than a privilege. All it took for her was a month-long conversation pretending to be the quarterback of a local high school. I had convinced her to sneak out at night to gaze at the stars with me.
I chuckled. Stars. How cliché. But these rich, pompous types always had a soft spot for the cliché. Then again, so did I. Hence, the apple in the mouth.
“He won’t come,” she spluttered, half-crying still. “He abandoned by mom with me almost a decade ago! The selfish bastard doesn't care about anyone but himself. So let me go, please.”
I glanced at the camera’s blinking red light and then my watch. Mr. Ellingsworth had fifteen more minutes before he’d force me to take another one of his daughter’s fingers. I wondered who would show up at the door, what race or gender that person would be. Perhaps Mr. Ellingsworth would now be Mrs. Ellingsworth.
“He’s never given a shit about me,” Sarah cried. “Why would he now?”
I shrugged. “Not my job to speculate. But I’ve been doing this a long time now and trust me, girl, they always come.”
“My dad only cared about his company. That’s it! You won’t find him like this.”
“We’ll see.” After all, we still had nine fingers and ten toes to go through.
I took a moment to appreciate the design of the human body, so many appendages to be taken, so many bargaining chips given to the bounty hunters. Some preferred to take the eyes, the nose, the essential appendages, but not me. I had a soft spot for these kids. Usually, I’d only get through a single finger before their parents revealed themselves from hiding.
“My mom has money,” Sarah pleaded. “If it’s money you want, she has it.”
I shook my head. “This isn’t about money,” I told her. “It’s about justice. The upholding of our most sacred pillar of society.”
Her father still had 80 years of jail-time to get through. He had only made it three days before killing himself so he could be reincarnated a free man.
The rich always did that. They loved their little loopholes. With the advent of reincarnation, they had finally found the ultimate loophole. Law closing in? Enemies becoming too numerous? A single bullet to the head will erase all that, give you a new identity and a clean slate. Just stash a secret reincarnation treasure trove somewhere and you’re good to go.
“This is inhuman,” she cried.
“Of course it is.” But how else do you prove that the CEO of a Fortune 100 who had been embezzling money for years had reincarnated as an orphaned child in India? No, there was no way to track them down. All we could do was have them come to us.
“Time’s up,” I told her, holding my watch up to my face.
Her eyes went wide and she kicked in her chair, screaming. “Daddy! Help! Dad!”
I reached for the garden shears beside me. Just as my fingers brush them, a knock resounded from the wooden door.
“It’s Mr. Ellingsworth,” a shaky and stuttered voice called out. “Please let my daughter go.”
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly
| 2017-07-09T10:42:04 | 2017-07-09T10:10:35 | 1,065 | 94 |
[WP] Everytime a threat to the world looms, a group of "adventurers" will appear in a city tavern, nobody saw them enter, and sometimes they have races in them not even found on the continent. It's your goal to find out more about these, "adventurers"
|
I swear, it was never supposed to turn out like this.
"Lower him into the pit, Simon."
I really just wanted to research the mysterious natural phenomenon of the saviors.
"Come on, get on with it. We only need one more."
I was never supposed to get involved in something like this.
"Just one more sacrifice and the ritual will be complete!"
So how on earth did I end up here?
Well, no use crying over spilled milk, I suppose.
I watch impassively as Simon drops the young man into the pit. Took him long enough. I really ought to hire better minions.
"Oooh," I mutter. "It looks like the blood is finally beginning to fill up the ritual circle! Everyone gather round and watch as we usher in a new era of this world! We will destroy it all and everything will be born new again!"
*They're late. Why aren't they here yet?*
I begin to worry. If they're not here, then I've done all of this for nothing. I have killed, HUNDREDS, no, MILLIONS for the sake of my research, and I will have learned nothing. I will have sacrificed my own family to the great Void, and for what?
No. They have to show.
We have evidence that they appeared in the Lakestill tavern some months ago, one of the three I allow to continue functioning. It certainly did help narrow down where they might come from, but they managed to escape before I could capture them.
I need to understand why they do the things they do, where they *come from!*
I thought we had them when we followed their trail of chaos to a potion shop, with the owner slain and the potions ALL empty, and evidently fed to a small green hamster in the corner.
Alas, they had already left the vicinity, playing us for fools yet again.
After we lost to them in the great tournament arc, I realized the truth. The only way to speak with them was to get them to come to me.
So here I am, a ritual at my feet, plans to destroy the world in my head. I really, really messed up somewhere along the line. I should have been more patient. But they just, *WOULDN'T SHOW UP!!* There hadn't been a crisis for at least seventeen years, and I would never have met them if not for this.
I am justified. It was the only way.
The blood trickles into a tiny depression in the ritual circle stone and colors a small piece of white cotton a deep, dark crimson. Tendrils of Void begin to stem from it, consuming the stone around it, digging through the crevices and crannies and eating all the space.
They BETTER show up soon.
|
I was sent out by the king to investigate these "adventurers" as one of the seniors of the secret guard that investigates those stranger than normal I must make sure I solve this mystery.
An announcement was made. "Giant dragons are now destroying everything they see please evecuate"
Since I was working for the King I got this news immediately and looked for a tavern to investigate at and hopefully see this phenomenon myself. My plan was to follow them and see whatever the fuck was happening.
Suddenly a group of people loudly start chanting about how they'll defeat these dragons with their friendship and power together.
I was questioning whether to just silently follow them or join them to get a clearer observation. Little did I know I would be doing both, I followed then silently for awhile then one of them called me out. I then joined their group. They consisted of mostly humanoids but one of them was a ██████ previously thought to be extinct let alone be able to understand human language.
We encounter the dragons, they were destroying things in groups so we expected them to be here.
Then suddenly.
They all transform into this dark slime like creature, they merged into one and then split into at least 50 or more and they immediately killed the dragons, it was too fast for me too see anything but I saw horrifying things. All the dragons were basically eaten and swallowed by this giant black slime thing.
Then something shot me, I died instantly.
Fast forward:
King: And here we are thanking our heroes, these brave adventurers saved our world and we shall reward them and thank them as such. And of course our brave researcher one of the smartest in our kingdom Dr.(MC name) for accompanying these heroes and helping them save the world.
SRM-001 "Adventurers"
Object class: ̶T̶i̶c̶o̶n̶d̶e̶r̶o̶g̶a̶ ̶ Neutralized
Special containment procedures: ██████ ████████████ ██████ ██████ ██████ ██████. None
Description: SRM-001 is an anomaly discovered from a medieval ancestor of the SCP foundation leaving it with its orignal numbering from its discovery. SRM-001 is a anomalous phenomenon wherein a group of "Adventurers" will appear whenever an end of the world scenario were to occure and save the world.
| 2021-11-03T09:46:32 | 2021-11-03T04:23:09 | 243 | 142 |
[WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work?
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox
|
*Code Orange. Code Orange. We need Doctor Bees in the operating room*
"Over 300 casualties and a few injured. What happened out there?!"
"Doctor, the comb was attacked by a hairy monstrosity. He tore the place apart and it took most of the workers to fend him off"
"Do we have any survivors?"
"Very few, we have drones to cover our losses but it will be hard"
"Who do we have on the table now?"
"Just one so far. He was with the queen an..Oh my gosh. Doctor, Sir Bounce Pennington has major contusions in his lower abdomen. He's bottom half has been ripped apart! He's done for!"
"We need an IV stat!"
"I will not lose another patient. He has diploids at home!"
"He's just a drone sir."
"I don't care what he is! Scalpel now, I can't wait any longer"
|
I'm all moved in. The office is fully furnished, degrees and certifications well hung on the wall. It's been more than a week now though and I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't a little concerned. No one has shown up and the phone is silent - apart from the occasional, wildly inappropriate prank call.
I guess some people are hard. Some people take more time to come. After all, this is a highly specialized client I'm looking for: someone that needs a fully certified Analysist AND Therapist.
Well, once word gets out I'll have to beat off the crowds with my bare hands. They'll even be trying to come in my backdoor. Such is the life of the world's first Analrapist.
| 2016-02-22T11:31:29 | 2016-02-22T09:31:34 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] You are a hitman who has just finished their most recent job. Or, at least, thought had finished, because the second you take your eyes off your target’s corpse, you hear “Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.”
|
“Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one.”
I froze in place as those words drifted from the supposed corpse.
"Uggh" I sighed in annoyance "They never tell me when it's an immortal."
"Yeah, that's a pisser ain't it?" He said from his uncomfortable looking position on the ground. I could see the bullet hole in his head already beginning to close up.
"A pisser?" I asked incredulously, "They know that I charge an extra fee for dealing with an immortal, it's a whole different approach."
"So," He said conversationally, "you gonna finish the job? bury me in concrete or something?"
"Of course not." I said, already turning to walk away "I'm gonna go kill my employer, says in section 13 subsection F of the contract that failure to disclose any supernatural powers of the target is grounds for contract reversal. I can't have people sending me after what I think is a Werewolf that turns out to be a Wendigo."
"Huh..." he grunted "well, dinner was lovely up until you shot me in the face, do you wanna try again sometime?"
I glanced over my shoulder at him as I reached the door, contemplating.
"Sure" I said after a moment before walking out of the room. I wasn't sure if he was planning some sort of complicated revenge, but most immortals I'd dealt with took attempted murders with very good humor.
&#x200B;
Besides, there was that other dress that I'd been dying to wear since I picked it up last month...
|
"Hey, not bad! I actually felt that one."
I spun around and fired again at the man I was sure I had just put down seconds ago. The second shot hit him just millimeters from where the first hole in his shirt was, so I knew that I hadn't missed, and yet the man seemed unfazed. "Now that one was just unnecessary."
The man got up and as he stepped away from his desk, I caught a glimpse of the rounds lodged in the chair. Although it was harder to see against the auburn leather, I could make out the blood spatter from where my shots exited his body.
"Do you want a drink?" The man said casually, as if I hadn't just shot him twice in the chest. "Getting shot is thirsty work" he continued as he grabbed an old and plain looking bottle from the otherwise impressive bar at the other end of his office.
"I only drink from this bottle whenever someone actually manages to "kill me", as he put air quotes around those last two words. "As you can see", He swished the bottle around, revealing it to still be almost completely full. "It doesn't happen often."
Note: this is my first post to this Reddit. I don't think of myself as a writer, but I like to make up stories in my head. Any constructive notes would be much appreciated :)
| 2019-08-29T19:25:53 | 2019-08-29T19:22:32 | 407 | 20 |
[WP] Everyone can become infinitely powerful if they so choose, however the more power you gain the less you remember about who you are and what you wanted. The greatest beings in the land have no feelings on anything and are more an extension of nature than the deity's they had hoped to become.
|
"I am become Death, Destroyer of Worlds. All fall before my inevitability." The Dark Specter seemed to suck the light out of the room. The floor undulated in slow waves. The giant spoon and fork hanging on the wall wavered as their molecules drifted between dimensions.
Julia stared at the Specter impatiently. "Yes, hun, but did you remember to pick up the milk?"
"Life and Death are one. The warmth of Life and the cold of Death are partners in the long dance of reality." As a dark tendril touched it, the refrigerator swung open, revealing a full gallon of milk, pulled into sharp relief by the aura of black that covered everything else on the shelves. The label flipped between Chocolate and Two Percent, refusing to settle into a stable quantum state.
"How many times do I have to say it. Get the organic milk." As she reached in to grab the jug, the label flowed into a new form, with a giant O marking it's brand. "Ah, nevermind. This is the right one. Now, I don't suppose you could scale back the darkness a bit and vacuum the living room?"
"The ebb and flow of power is itself a power. The absence of substance is itself a substance." The Specter hovered.
Julia cleared her throat and tapped her foot, just staring at the darkness. The darkness retreated, drawing itself into nearly a solid form.
"Uh— the absence of substance is a vacuum. The ebb and flow of dust shall end." The Specter hoovered.
"Thank you, hun. Now, I'm going to be making my Shepard's Pie for dinner, so please stay out of the kitchen. I don't want the potatoes spontaneously spoiling or the chicken reviving itself. Why don't you watch the game?"
"The games of man are inconsequential next to the powers commanded by gods."
"It's Arsenal vs Man U."
The Specter shrank and solidified. It fell onto the sofa as gravity began to affect it. One last tendril of shade flew forth to stab the television on. The faintest hints of red and white began to show through the black shell.
By the end of the game, the figure on the sofa was nearly human. Only the face was still in darkness when the oven opened and the smell of dinner wafted into the room. The man got up to check out the cooking.
Julia smiles when she saw him. "Dinner's almost ready, hun. How was the game? They try to walk it in again?"
"It was a ludicrous display. Dinner smells good. Uh— sorry I haven't been myself much lately." The darkness retreated to his eyes as he leaned down to kiss her. He turned towards the table and paused. "Why are there three place settings?"
Julia answered over her shoulder as she turned back to the kitchen. "Don't you remember? My mom's coming to dinner. She's going to stay a few days."
Smoke billowed from behind her as darkness flowed to cover the man. The Specter answered. "I am become Death."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\]
|
My grandpa used to tell me that no matter where I looked, the gods had their hands in something. He pointed animatedly at the sky and down at the ground. There was no power too big nor small, each near miraculous in its design.
“That’s how an old man like me remember all these stories, boy,” he said, tapping his forehead, before laughing at my clambering to know more.
I remember those stories, seared into an impressionable child’s mind. I remember the tender wonder in his voice and the admiration in his face when he spoke of shooting stars, and with no less enthusiasm of burrowing worms.
And for the life of me, I couldn’t remember his name.
But there were gods in everything. I remembered that he often stood alone, staring wistfully into the distance, speaking to nothing but the wind, soft-spoken words carried to eternity and beyond.
Tonight, the wind whistled through the windows, and brushed past my face with the urgency of a subway commuter late for work. I took a deep breath, feeling the chill air fill my lungs.
“What was my grandfather’s name?”
The wind sped up, a furious roar overcoming it. The dead leaves on the floor were swept up, coalescing around a form, like a person still occupied the space within it—but there was nothing but air. The leaves seemed to coalesce around me, taking me into its cocoon, and I did not resist.
Inside, the sound died down. There was nothing but a soft whisper grazing past my ear.
“Child. Why do you want to remember?”
“Because I remember everything else,” I said with chattering teeth, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Is that not enough?”
“I want to know,” I whispered.
The image shimmered, drawing closer to me. I felt the wind touch me, an inch-long tornado on my cheek.
“He spoke to me often. Do as he did, and I will grant you your wish.”
“Yes,” I said.
The answer was simple for a god. The wind whispered it into my ear. Like treading upon an overgrown front year, the wind easily tore apart the long weeds, unlocking an once-abandoned pathway.
“I remember,” I whispered.
“You do,” the wind said. It began retreating, it shape now losing parts of itself, tearing through the armour of leaves around it.
“And what of yours?” I cried. “Your name?”
The wind disappeared, returning to the world once more. For a second, there was nothing but dead quiet, a vacuum seal on all my senses. And then, I could feel the wind gently kiss my cheek once more.
“I remember his. I hope to remember yours. But I will never remember mine.”
And the wind’s voice was carried away on its own gusts, hushed once more.
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2022-01-27T09:27:14 | 2022-01-27T08:07:33 | 103 | 36 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.
|
Max stood by the barn entrance, trying to hold back his tears. A tough thing for a child to see, I thought. But he's got to learn about it somehow.
“Please just tell me, Dad,” Max said finally. “Is Buddy going to be okay?”
I looked down at the ground, at Buddy whimpering quietly in the grass. His collar was askew, and I could see by his glassy eyes that he was in trouble.
“Why didn’t you keep him on a leash like you promised?” I said. “You know how he likes to run around.”
Max looked away. “I just wanted to play with him.”
“It’s not enough that you forget to feed him?” I said. “You neglect him for days at a time, and I have to put his bowl out? You promised to take care of him, remember?”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Max said, tearing up again. “I do take care of him, I promise. I just let him off the leash for a second, and he ran right onto the road.”
“Anyway,” I said. “I don’t think he’ll make it.”
I walked to the back of the barn and pulled the shotgun off the wall.
“Look,” I said, walking around to get myself in position. “I can get you another one from Aunt Francine. She told me she just got a new batch. But you have to be more careful next time.”
“I promise,” Max said. “I’ll keep the next one on a leash and do everything you say. I swear.”
“Good,” I said, and pointed the shotgun at the back of Buddy’s head. “You can keep his shoes if you like.”
|
Of all the little joys in life, one that sticks out the most for me is being the little spoon for my husband, and feeling his warm breath on my neck. He knows I love the affection of snuggling, and continues to nestle in with me even though he frequently gasps on my long brown hair. The greatest stage of sleep for me is the twilight period, when you wake up initially and doze back off and try to jump back into a nice dream. At this moment, I am ready to start the coffee, but my man is still sawing away with the cutest snore. I can wait for the coffee, he deserves the extra minutes of bliss that is twilight sleep. I am so happy to be here right now, with this man, and feel the exchange of warmth we are so blessed to share. I knew he was the right one when he tucked my cold, exposed toes under the blanket while he thought I was sleeping. It's the little things. As I lay on my side with him at my back, I know he has my back in more ways that one. I reach over to caress the full grown man who is sleeping like a baby, and is as cute as one too. Coffee can wait, this is wonderful. In my twilight daze I smile sleepily while I run my fingers through his matted hair and his long, bushy beard...but even espresso could not wake me faster than realizing my husband has no beard.
| 2017-05-31T08:55:19 | 2017-05-31T08:09:16 | 138 | 34 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right.
|
"Really, again?"
"I mean, it could have been worse, right?" I sigh and scratch the back of my head.
"Six million jews," god's brow furrows and his glare pierces my soul, "six million of them."
I cross my arms and scowl right back at him. "They were causing an economic decline in Germany."
"They were my children."
I roll my eyes. "Yeah so were the dinosaurs until you dropped a special little birthday present on the-"
"SHUT UP!" Gods thunderous voice booms throughout the heavens, knocking me on to my ass. "Listen to me, and listen well. I am a merciful and all loving god, and thus I have decided to give you one last chance." He leans in closer, his giant all seeing eye intently focused on my mortal body. "If you mess this one up, it's all over. I can no longer keep you from the grasps of Satan, you understand me?"
I get to my feet and brush the dirt off myself, fixing my shirt. "I will do my best on this one, you have my word."
Gods face contorts, clearly not believing me. "I'm doing this because I love you, you understand that, right?"
"Oh jesus, don't get all mushy on me."
"You leave Jesus out of this."
"Fuck, just send me back already won't you?"
With a sigh god nods, raising his mighty fist above me. With a roar it hurtles down at me, my world fading to black just before it smashes into me.
My eyes blink open to a blinding light. Struggling to see I blink again, a giant masked face appearing before me. " A beautiful little boy," a gloved hand runs over my baby smooth head, "what will you name him?"
"Donald J. Trump."
|
"Happy Birthday dear Shaurya, happy birthday to you!",
as his friends and family sang the monotonous ritual of a song at his 18th, He looked more lost than usual.
His eyes were moving rapidly,as if he was reading a book floating in front of him. As the song stopped so did his eyes. An unusual look of anger decorated his face. It all came back to him, his past memories a tad late.
He was 6'0 tall, dark skinned and had a stocky build.
"It's about damn tim.." before he could complete his mouth was immediately stuffed with Ladoo's(Indian Sweet) and his face was covered with cake.
After some careful manipulation he was able to get away from the party,
While the adults danced to loud punjabi music with a little help from some old fashioned whiskey, and his friends danced to loud EDM(Electro Dance Music). Shaurya, which was now apparently his name, sat in seclusion, away from the ruckus, on the roof.
"India huh, what does he want me to do this time? be inspired by that old fool Gandhi?"
He looked up at the heavens in anger. The doors were closed on him yet again.
Maybe conquering almost every inch of gods mighty earth,Leading massive armies to war, becoming the most powerful leader of all time wasn't enough.
"Maybe killing the jews was too much?" He burst out laughing. He regretted nothing. His laughter subsided while his anxiety rose, "What now?"
_______________________________________________________________
Hello!, this my first attempt at writing, please give me feedback! Thanks!
| 2017-03-31T16:05:42 | 2017-03-31T09:38:51 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.
|
Execution day again. It took a full moon cycle for the kingdom’s mages to fuel the sphere of sentencing. But once it was charged, it would grant its prisoner their choice of death. Ten sentences would be carried out today before it ran out of power. Some nations gave their condemned a final meal, a last smoke, or a glass of wine before their death. We had this mockery of choice.
I’d been on the execution list for four months now. The list had me eighth in line. I wondered what was worse: being first and knowing your death was right away or last and seeing nine die before you. The amphitheater we were in wasn’t just for executions. Concerts, carnivals, games were also held here. But today the central arena held the ten of us, ten guards, and our killer. The seats are ringing the middle are occupied. The aristocracy are in comfortable lounges, provided with shade and refreshments. Those with more time than money made do with hard benches and full sun.
There’s always someone that tries to defeat or confound the sphere. It’s killed everyone trapped inside. There are some who won’t name their death, either from stubbornness or fear. But the enchanted ball of filigreed metal and glass fulfills it’s design. It starts to remove the air inside once locked. Slowly though; the captive has plenty of chances to speak. But if they don’t decide in an hour, the sphere chooses for them. They die suffocating, clawing for breath with faces distorted and discolored. It why the executions start at sunrise, in case every prisoner that day takes their hour.
Only one of my fellow convicted goes the airless route. The third of the day, a small man, timid. He tried to name a death when asked but his chattering teeth and stuttering voice kept him from saying anything clearly enough. The vultures in the audience, nobles and new money who paid to attend in comfort jeered at him until he finally curled up in the center. He was quiet and shaking until the end.
The fifth, a stately woman with a smirk and fierce eyes, made an attempt at outsmarting the sphere. “By the death of the cosmos.” I’m sure she thought she’d get to live out those millennia. The sphere pulsed, as it did when examining an unusual form of death. If a choice was invalid, it’s glass portions would turn red for a moment. If it was a valid choice, it would simply perform the execution.
No red pulse. The sphere’s light dimmed with the condemned woman standing inside. Her smirk widened. Then she vanished, soundlessly. A few seconds later, her image was projected inside the sphere. Nothing was said, but we all knew we saw eons into the future. Her body froze in the dark nothing of the universe before her image faded and the sphere opened for the next victim.
The man before me, seventh off the day, also tried to outsmart the sphere. He was only a few years older than me, in his mid twenties at most. “Old age?” he asked the sphere. It pulsed again before dimming without red shift. The man let out a shaky sigh and looked expectantly at the door. It didn’t open but as he reached for it we saw his skin wrinkle and sag. His hair paled into a wispy gray. Liver spots his dotted arms and face. Before he could touch the sides, he fell. His frail skin blossomed into bruises from the fall, his aged bones unable to keep him upright. Within five minutes of entering, he’d aged to death.
My turn. The sphere opened, graceful and terrifying. I stepped in and spotted a particular face in the crowd. A young man, like the one before me. He was richly dressed, unlike the man before me. The reason I was here. I’d shared his bed and he threw me aside. At the hint of inconvenience he arranged for me to die.
Seeing him, relaxed with a full wineglass, smiling at the thought of me being gone forever, made me furious. The sphere locked, I was asked how I wanted to die, and heard the slow leak of air. I glared at the source of my doom.
“With my lover,” I spat. The crowd laughed as the sentencing sphere pulsed again. Then it dimmed. The crown prince appeared next to me. He paled and I almost thought he’d die of shock before the sphere could take us. I snatched his wineglass and downed it. “Glad I could share a last glass with you prince.”
He screamed, pounding the walls as the guards struggled to open the door. But the sphere wouldn’t let anyone out alive. I saw the prince’s innocent betrothed faint. At least she wouldn’t be trapped with him. His father, who’d demanded the crown prince dispose of all evidence of philandering before he wed, was desperately ordering his knights and mages to save his son.
I slumped against the wall. “The more you scream the less air we’ll have,” I mentioned. The man I’d loved and been betrayed by didn’t seem to hear me. I didn’t much care. His frantic cries and the useless pounding made a satisfying requiem.
|
Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar.
| 2021-06-24T11:17:25 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 46 | 23 |
[WP] There is a procedure offered to the wealthy and powerful that allows their minds to be transferred to the brain-dead body of an anonymous individual. Except it's fake, the volunteer is actually trained in every minute detail of the person's life to assume their identity as if they were them.
This prompt was inspired by the movie [Freejack](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0104299/)
|
“You’re not my husband,” Lorelei said.
Martin, as was currently his name, looked at his wife. “Sweetheart?”
“It’s not that I mind. You at least pretend to love me in a way he stopped bothering to do, not long after we married. But all the same, you’re not him.”
Martin leaned back into the plush armchair and considered. What had triggered her suspicion? They’d been sitting quietly in the study together, reading. He’d made them both a G&T — their favourite drink, so said the flawless research.
Not that flawless, it seemed. Months of audio recordings had helped him forge “Martin” as his own identity, and yet she’d seen right through it. *Some actor you are*, he thought. *Perhaps retirement is finally calling.*
He’d started his career as a method actor. Done okay for himself, too — he was considered a fairly decent actor. But he didn’t have that certain something, that *je nes sais quoi*, that stars apparently had.
So he’d looked at other options as he’d left his twenties and tumbled into his thirties, as roles had become harder to find, as his bank account trickled away like a dry well in some hot place that used to rain but no longer did.
And finally, just as things had become utterly desperate, he’d found something.
He thought of the real Martin: a wealthy business tycoon who owned a ranch, a mining company, and more technology startups than either Martin could count. He’d married a woman twenty years younger then himself, ostensibly for her fiery intelligence but truthfully for her looks. Still, the marriage had been warm. The recordings showed them talking and drinking, reading and vacationing together — all very amiably.
He’d played his role perfectly. Hadn’t he?
Clearly not.
Now the decision was to tell her the truth, which would likely result in his own death for breaking the disclosure contract, or to deepen the lie. For them both to go on knowing he was lying, or for her to call the police.
He could kill her. That was an option too. Kill her and run. Take on a new identity. That had been the longterm plan anyway. Then all of Martin’s — the real Martin’s — assets would be donated to the company, and he’d take on a new client.
”Who are you?” she said.
He opened his mouth to lie. But there was a problem, he realised. And the problem was that he actually did love her. And that somehow made lying more difficult in this situation. The rest was acting but this would be a lie.
But did he actually love her? Or was this just the method acting leaking into reality again. Sometimes the two became impossible to tell apart. Did the character love this or did you love this — after a while, it tended to become the same thing.
”You’re right, I’m not your husband.” His mouth was dry.
She nodded. “Good.”
“Good?”
”Yes. I’m glad you’re not. He’d never have allowed me to divorce him.”
”It seemed to me, and I hope you won’t mind me saying, that you loved each other.”
Through a laugh she said, “We lived like we had an instruction manual for marriage that we kept on us at all times. Knew what to say, what to do, when to do it. Yes, we looked in love. But the reality of us was that any real love was rotting away like some old wooden thing left out in rain for many years. And beyond that, with his businesses… He wasn’t what you’d call a nice person.“
*An instruction manual?* Why did that hurt to hear so much?
Ah. Because wasn’t that exactly how he lived? He read about each role, what made the person them, followed the script.
How many people had he been now? Twenty? Thirty? Each new character meant a character’s death.
Very far away, something wooden of his own — his heart, to be exact — was outside in the rain, rotting away.
Did he love her? Not as Martin, but as… as…
An overwhelming fear as deep as the coldest, blackest parts of an ocean poured over him.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
He sat there silently. Could see his old self floating somewhere deep inside that dark water. Realised now that it’d tried to swim to the surface, to gulp in air, to save itself, after his first few roles. But he’d held it under and drowned it. And now there was only this shell. This Matryoshka doll of people with a hollow center.
”Who are you?”
He wanted to cry for someone’s death. But who had died, exactly? Some washed up old actor that he couldn’t recall the name of? Is that who he would he be crying for?
“No one,” he said. “I’m no one at all.”
|
"This will just take a few seconds. See you on the other side."
The technician began checking off a list. The procedure was so simple. I felt truly blessed, though I knew all the millions I earned to afford this came through hard work. I deserved this.
Two nodes across my forehead and a body scan with some kind of wand came next. I didn't even have to take my clothes off. The woman checked something on her tablet then dropped her cheery smile and left the room without another word, door slamming behind her.
"Hello? Did it work?" I asked behind her. "I don't feel different. When do I get the new body?"
I would have to make a complaint. Other than her, everyone at the facility had given me flawless customer service. I waited patiently for about thirty minutes before I tried the door. It was locked.
"Hey!" I yelled as I banged on the door, thick steel for some reason. "Let me out of here! The door's stuck! There will be consequences for this!"
No one came. The small room only had a table and two chairs, nothing even to read. I managed to hold out for three more hours before I had to use the drain in the center of the floor to relieve myself. My throat was starting to feel dry.
The door opened without a knock. "Oh thank God," I said, seeing the familiar face of the immortality agent who looked a bit like an older version of that tech CEO. "Something went wrong. The technician left me in here. The procedure didn't work."
"I assure you the procedure worked fine. You are beyond satisfied with your new body." The salesman gestured for me to sit again and placed his briefcase on the table.
"What are you talking about? Nothing happened. She put the wires on me and then just left! I've been here for hours! I demand a refund and you to cancel my membership!"
The man sighed as he straightened his tie and began pulling documents out to lay on the table. "You don't have a membership to cancel. That belongs to the new you. By signing byline 34, you surrendered all possessions, contracts and liabilities to your new vessel generated on today's date. You have nothing."
"I thought my mind was supposed to transfer to the new body?" I slump back in the chair, trying to wrap my head around this.
"The mind is transferred, via many years of learning your habits. You are the mess that's left to clean up afterward, the unpleasant remnant of the breakthrough procedure that doesn't exist."
"So, I don't live forever, but some clone with all my memories will? Until he comes in for his refresh next year and ends up sitting where I am now?"
The agent chuckled with no small amount of sadist glee. "An interesting thought experiment, but the truth is far simplier. The brain scan and cloning technology simply doesn't exist yet. Maybe fifty years from now, but its all spray painted toy guns at the moment."
"Then let me out of here. I won't give any more of my money to this racket."
"Like I said, you don't have any money to withhold. All of your accounts are with the new you. That is to say, the man who's been trained to act like you in every way. You are as numberless and nameless as anyone now."
I silently stared for some time. I begged for some hint that this was a trick, a prank by some tasteless television show. The agent only stared back, waiting.
"So, what happens to me now, this me?" I tapped over my fluttering heart. I had been looking forward to the new one. The pain shot down my arm.
"Excellent question, I've laid out the onboarding paperwork for new employees here. Now, the Corporation primarily contracts out of Corra Lahone, so minimum wage doesn't apply but I believe this is more than fair considering." He pushes the paper over to me. "Many of the employees in your own factories overseas work for less."
I read it, line for line. Not reading contracts had got me into this mess. "This would basically make me a slave. I'd work 12 hours a day for just room and board."
"Considering the alternative, like I said, more than fair. Take all the time you need." The agent got up and headed for the door. "I'll be back in the morning."
"Wait, can I at least have some water?"
"Of course," the man said with a hollow smile. "Just as soon as you sign."
/r/surinical
| 2021-07-02T07:09:46 | 2021-07-02T06:14:40 | 1,270 | 218 |
[WP] You have always been a devout christian,and after you die,as you open your eyes expecting heaven,you are met by Anubis' cold stare.
|
There was a heart-wrenching coldness to his eyes. They were dull, black as crows, and yet they coated my bones in ice. Perhaps, it wasn't his gaze, but his entire figure what unleashed terror within me. He had the slim body of a human, with the head of a dog darker than the night. It was strange, anormal, and terrifying.
"The afterlife awaits," he said, his voice deep and monotone. It reverberated in my chest, made my heart leap. "I will guide you to your tomb."
I drew a deep breath, and sought for words in the knot of emotions within me. "M--my tomb?"
He nodded glacially.
"Is--is my tomb in Heaven?" I asked, skipping a beat.
Myriad tendrils of shadows billowed out his eyes, and danced toward the ground, where they turned into liquid darkness. In the space of a breath, the white plain became a shallow river of ink. I frowned. My legs moved on their own volition toward him.
"Time is scarce, many I have to guide, we must move," he said, and the coldness wrapped me again.
My mind spun, my thoughts strayed from their paths and got caught in a whirlwind of three questions. What was this tomb he spoke about? Why was him here and not God? Where were the pearly gates of Heaven?
"Answer me," I said. The words came out of nowhere, as though someone had spoken for me. "What is this tomb you speak about?"
I frowned. Anubis turned to me, lifted his flail and struck my chest with the back of his weapon in a motion quicker than lightning. Everything turned black. I collapsed to the ground. But there was no pain. No, nothing of the sort. There was weightlessness, as though something heavy had left me.
And then, second by second, blink by blink, the world recovered its shape. There was a winged being clad in a glimmering golden armor fighting against Anubis.
"Not this one," the shimmering creature said, and drove his sword toward Anubis' chest.
Anubis remained impassive. He avoided the attack with a small movement, and smashed his flail on the back of the winged being with blood-curdling calmness.
There was a crack. There was an explosion of light. And then there were crimson currents and stained wings drifting away in the river of ink.
Anubis locked his gaze on mine. My legs moved toward him. I spoke no more as we went.
Soon, we came to a halt in a place no different than any other, for everything was darkness and black water. He touched my forehead, and I fell gently to the currents. He placed his palm on my chest then, and said, "Someday your God and his little angels will understand that there's no life after death, only eternal rest."
He pushed me into the river.
And everything turned black.
--------------
r/NoahElowyn
|
Death is a sure thing. For many, what comes after is not as certain. For Karen, what came after death was as certain as death itself. A devout Christian, Karen knew the pearly gates awated her presence. A car accident would call everything in to question.
Before her stood Anubis. She knew little of him other than some "Mummies Alive" cartoons she had seen as a child. Anubus continued his gaze, as if in a trance. Karen was awestruck. What do you say in such a situation, had she been wrong her entire life? Was Anubis a vengeful God, and would she be punished for her beliefs? The few minutes she stood in his presence seemed like an eternity; Karen had never felt so uncertain of her fate.
"Anubis" she stated, a bit louder than intended. She waited patiently for a response, gesture, or any sign of recognition. After a minute she recieved her response. Slowly, but with intentional purpose, Anubis rose, placed one hand down, and sat upon it. Confusion flooded her senses. Was this a sign of defiance? Perhaps it was a sign Anubis was not a threat? "Anu..." she half managed to whisper before it happened. Anubis quickly moved his hand from underneath and made a throwing motion in her direction. "What are you doing!" she squeaked while jumping back. It was then it hit her, the most unholy of mute toots broadsided her face.
Not since Methuselah's cropduster had one encountered a fart so foul. "Jesus Christ get me out of here!" she screamed. Then she heard it. A light chuckle coming from Anubis himself. "Was that a laugh?" she asked herself. You could have heard a pin drop, except for the laughter. There was something about it, something sinister. At that moment, in her hands, a scrap of paper appeared. Confused, she opened the note. It read "I know you were the one who ate all those sandwiches out of the breakroom fridge Karen. Welcome to Hell. Signed -Jesus" "No" screamed Karen in disbelief. How did he know?
The laughter was piercing now. She knew who it was. Hesitantly, she raised her eyes to see the devil himself. An Anubis party mask lay at his feet, and once again, he was sitting on his hand. The silence was now filled with the deafening screams of a billion tortured souls. I deserve this thought Karen, but it was worth it. The sandwiches were delicious.
| 2019-05-06T09:48:02 | 2019-05-06T08:38:19 | 129 | 31 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
Commander Siren had dismissed the rumors.
Humans are a proud race. Though new amongst the stars with barely a few ships to their name, they have worked hard to integrate, to learn, to join that blasted Republic and all its artists and scientists. Even though they’ve never seen an alien in person before, they’d still worked very hard for the day they did. Gifts, knowledge, science, technology. Great effort was made by humanity to present themselves in the best possible light.
Of course, the Elder Senate of the Republic has passed a resolution, barring humanity from learning of the Fifth Great War, and is, the Union Tide.
So it was a shock to humanity that those who lived amongst the stars still waged war.
When our fleets jumped into the fray, the humans hailed us. When we fired, they quickly scattered, evacuating their outposts all across the Solar System in an exodus toward Earth.
To be fair, for a race with no weapons, they’d put up a pretty good fight. In fact, using satellites and abandoned wreckage, they’d managed to actually damage a few of our ships. It was almost as if they DID know how to fight.
So I investigated, hacking into their archives, their history.
For some reason, everything over three hundred years old had been buried. Redacted from records, hidden away from public view.
There was, however, an internal set of records. And in their education system, amongst a class curiously named, pre-disaster history, I found the answer.
I downloaded the data I could before the humans blocked me off. I opened up a random file, a journal of a human official serving in a intercontinental government at the time.
“Day 43.”
“The scientists have managed to create what we need. Project Golem. It will finally march across the radiation blasted Northern front, and take the capital city of ——.”
An image showed an enormous automaton, bristling with kinetic weapons, roaring across the landscape as armor-clad humans fought it with vehicles and missiles.
In dread, I opened another record.
“We will NEVER surrender. Like Churchill, like the Russians, we will survive no matter how many nuclear weapons drop on top of us. No matter how many of us are thrown into the meat grinder.”
Nuclear weapons? Outlawed a thousand years ago by the Republic, these devices could wipe out the surface of a planet if used enough times.
I read deeper, and grew more terrified with each passage.
Three hundred years ago, the humans had been a war like race unlike any other. Even insectoid species, though they were cannibals, would all focus for the good of the species as a whole.
Not these warm-bloods. They killed each other over every drop of resource, every disagreement. Cities razed for the sake of philosophy and religion. Murder and violence transformed from art into science.
In their last war they had nearly wiped themselves out dozens of times, forcibly cloning themselves and running mass fertility programs simply to maintain a viable population. They’d manage to develop dozens of biological, mechanical, and chemical weapons, over half of which were outlawed by the Republic as WMDs.
When the nuclear bombs annihilated their surface, they resorted to going underground, sending robot armies to smash each other’s bunkers. When that failed, nanobots were injected into water supplies and scorched the oceans. If it weren’t for humanity’s insane technological prowess and their utter determination to survive, they’d have wiped themselves out.
I brought all this up to Commander Siren. He, of course, refused to believe any of it. It was all too ludicrous. It must be a trick, he said as our fleet neared Earth. A misinformation campaign to deter us.
The illusion field around earth fell away, the gleaming ocean and verdant forests vanishing like a wrapping sliding off.
Cracked open crust and scorched atmosphere, dotted with pale lights around small pockets of blue and green, greeted us.
Before us, flashes of light shone across the surface like a newborn constellation, and the fleet sensors blared in warning. Thousands of missiles, nuclear, nanobot, robot-carrying.
Hidden orbital stations opened up, railguns and lasers firing. Hastily cobbled from stolen weaponry of our own, mounted onto their technology in a desperate attempt to even the technological playing field.
Our rear sensors put out more warnings. The moon. They’d blasted chunks off their moon, firing them at our fleet. Explosions rocked our ships as enormous masses of rock smashed into them, killing millions of soldiers and crew. It was insane; the chunks would fall to earth, destroying whatever they had left down there. But I realized, a second too late, that they do not care.
As the ragged fleets of humanity came into view, firing ruthlessly at our surrendering warships, a single message flared across our communications channel. A young woman, her face blackened with soot and her eyes blazing with hatred, said only one word.
“DIE.”
|
I should have known. They had it all there, available to view on their version of the Hypernet. So much information, the sum of all of their human knowledge all sitting their in that database they called Wikipedia. Their science, their religions, their philosophies, but most importantly their history.
&#x200B;
If only I'd had the automats download and search the database, it could all have been averted. I'd have avoided that Pale Blue Dot. That's what one of their scientists called it, What was his name? Peasant Kettle? Or something like that. The auto-translator has trouble with some of their names, despite having now scanned the whole of their Hypernet.
&#x200B;
I should have given the planet a wide birth, and I would not now be looking through the holoscope at the remnants of our armies. I would not now be watching as the humans use mechanical shovels to scope my brothers and sisters into waste processors, turning them into fuel to heat their
primitive homes.
&#x200B;
Had I not been so impatient for conquest, and to once again breath air that was not laden with toxins and microbes, I would have taken my time, read through the major events in their history, learned why no living being should ever threaten that backward little planet and it's insane inhabitants. I left it too late to learn the truth.
&#x200B;
I would have learned about their first great war, when men had stood in holes and hurled lead and toxic gas at each other across coils of wire. I'd have learned about the piles of dead, the starvation, the disease. I'd have learned that they swore it would never happen again, and how that promise did not even last a human lifetime.
&#x200B;
I would have learned about the second great war, when flight had been perfected and they could rain fire upon the homes of their enemies. I would have learned of the camps where humans forced other humans to breath poison and they pilled the dead into ovens to burn their corpses. I'd have learned of the weapon, the one they thought was the most powerful that could be created, and how they used it not once but twice. I'd have learned how they swore it would never happen again, until it did.
&#x200B;
Their third war was the deadliest, for it left one in five of them dead. Death by microbe, unchecked and uncontrollable. A fifth of all humans were dead within seven rotations of their planet, and a further two fifths died as their societies collapsed. They swore it would never happen again, and it probably would have, had it not been for one human.
&#x200B;
Big Tree Smelly Animal Rectum was the human that solved the problem. A simple mutation in their already weird and mutated genetic code was all it took. That human released a new virus on the planet, but this did not bring death, but the power of death.
&#x200B;
Can you imagine living in such a society? Where anyone around you can kill with a thought. Where you have to consciously make the decision not to kill every living thing you ever meet?
&#x200B;
There were problems of course. An entire island of people were wiped out within a few days of contracting the virus. An argument over a queue in an establishment that served boiling water filled with the extract of dried leaves was where it started. One human was unhappy about another human pushing in front of him, and thought him dead. That was the first mind-murder. Others panicked and thought those around them dead. Soon an entire nation was gone, but a lesson had been learned.
&#x200B;
It worked for them. They were forced to be civil to each other, to keep the peace, to forgive and forget. For when everyone has the power of life and death over everyone else, you tread lightly and make sure to never offend. There can be no arguments, no threats, no anger, envy or greed. When mutually assured distruction, is actually assured, peace is the easy option.
&#x200B;
My soldiers did not know this of course, for I have learned it all just now. My soldiers landed in their millions, the best trained, the best armed and the most ferocious warriors in the galaxy. They were dead the moment they met their first human.
&#x200B;
I can see their little ship approaching. It burst from their atmosphere and is heading for my battleship right now. I could blast them from space, but they would just send more. I could run, but they would follow. I think I'll just let them board. I'll see a human in the flesh for my first and last time, and let the little thing kill me with it's mind. Better that then let them try to follow me, for I can not imagine a worse plague to release on the Universe than that of humankind.
| 2019-02-26T12:17:07 | 2019-02-26T10:58:57 | 62 | 25 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before.
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"Oh my God! They killed Kenny!"
Once more I hear the same two lines over and over again. It's amazing that I haven't tried to do the same to them. I honestly think that they truly want to get me killed.
"You bastards!"
And there it is. The only way I truly know that I've died. Not that it matters much. I will come back, the same as ever. Stuck in the same town. With the same damned coat that covers my whole body that noone else can understand me when I'm in it, except for my closest friends.
Those same two lines... They are the spell that keeps me immortal. Keeps me young.
Will my torment never end?
"Oh my God!"
|
Well, I can cross that off of the metaphorical list. --Died when having sexual intercourse-- Best death yet. Oh well, life 70 will be my 'Cure cancer year' I could of done it in life 69, but come on! If you are that sexually well endowed and it's life 69, you can't not have shit tons of sex!
Note to self: *Stop saying shit like that out loud.*
| 2017-05-25T14:31:23 | 2017-05-25T12:23:12 | 74 | 43 |
[WP] Everyone has a reaper. The further away it is, the longer you have left to live. Every day it inches a little bit closer, but it is always there. Except yours, which disappeared three weeks ago
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So, it's been three weeks since I died. I know I know, everyone says I look a little rough, a little blood stained, head askew, all that nonsense.
I saw my reaper creeping up. He kept checking his watch and giving me this terrifying bony smile. I knew I needed to cross the road, everything looked clear. Just when I started to sprint; BAM! Out of nowhere, car with no lights on. Thing is, right before I got hit, he just disappeared.
We all know how it works. When you die, he's supposed to ferry your soul over to the other side. Except mine got distracted. So now my body is just slowly rotting away. I've been wearing a lot of cologne, trying to avoid showering (the skin starts to fall right off). People are starting to notice though. My boss keeps asking if things are going well at home, if I've been evicted, if there was some kind of accident. I've been trying to assure him that everything is fine, but it really isn't working.
It's been two months now. Still no sign of my reaper. I've lost all of the flesh from my feet now. My knees and elbows are almost in the same state. It's winter, so I'm hoping I stay fairly well preserved, but I'm worried that once summer hits there won't be anything left. I've stopped sleeping entirely. My apartment is filled with things I just don't need anymore. I've started to sell all of my possessions.
Three months. I quit my job. There was an ad out in the newspaper for help on a farm several miles outside the city. I sent an email in, and got a quick YES in response.
I wear a large cloak with the hood drawn down most days now, but that's more for my own benefit than my employers. The old man who owns the farm doesn't seem to mind my stench and has yet to comment on what's got to be the pretty obvious lack of definition under my clothing. I barely see him anyway. He just leaves a list of tasks for me on the porch each morning. His farm is expansive, mostly crops, but there's are some animals too. I've been planting a lot of winter wheat. It feels right, somehow, to be working the earth. I've always hated being outdoors and I hate being near people even more.
Eight months since my reaper disappeared. Summer has come, and I've lost all of the flesh from my bones. They shine white in the sun. Today is the harvest, and there's a sense of anticipation in the air. My employer is standing on the porch, a scythe outstretched in his bony hands.
He opens his mouth to speak, the first words I've ever heard from him: ARE YOU READY?
|
“Nashca! Nascha he’s here!”
“Who’s here?” although I already knew the answer.
“Nascha, he’s a wolf” still smirking, Caleb looked around at our classmates who had all gathered around to hear the news. A predator. The emergence of a reaper is a huge event for all kids, and the mood was high, a cool animal like a wolf was great gossip, and it was common knowledge that people whose reapers were predators were due a longer life. The lore said it was because the predators watched over you, I thought it was because they got more pleasure out of stalking their victims.
“Congratulations” I grinned, Caleb deserved some good news. After being discovered by the side of the road at roughly 4 years old, he’d had no real clues to who his family might be. I raised my eyes skyward and muttered a quick prayer to whoever was listening that this clue would help lead him home. Caleb had wandered away and was laughing with some of the older boys, all of whom boasted the most dangerous predators as their reapers. Throwing a mock exasperated eye roll my way, Caleb shrugged, as if in apology, and allowed himself to be swept into the crowd of boys who congratulated him with manly pats on the back and toothy grins. I shuddered and decided to leave him too it.
I flicked my gaze back towards Twyla. My mother’s reaper is a wren. My father’s is a raven. It would make sense that mine would also be some sort of bird, so the day I noticed a snowy owl over my right shoulder, perched amongst the bare branches of the yew tree like a ghost against the black night, came as no great shock. I named her Twyla, after my sister who died last year in the cholera outbreak that shook our city. In part it was because I missed her, but it also seemed fitting that she would be the one to come to fetch me, so that we could be reunited.
As I glanced around at the faces of our peers, some looking at him with outright admiration, others with jealousy, I noticed a flutter of movement over my left shoulder. My stomach turned, as I spun to face Twyla, expecting to see her gliding towards me talons outstretched. But instead, I saw her glide to a branch a few feet further away, and turn to face me.
Our eyes locked. The brilliant amber sent a gut-wrenching chill down my spine, and as I stared helplessly, Twyla left me for a second time.
| 2016-11-23T11:03:32 | 2016-11-23T08:40:34 | 21 | 13 |
[WP]: Three years ago a calamity claimed two thirds of the representatives of your gender. The dating scene has gotten weird.
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I never thought I would consider my early twenties the best time of my life. I was closeted and not into the bar scene so dating was difficult. It was hard to find a nice girl I got along with without drudging through online dating, but at least I then had the option of drudging.
Now? God now it's a nightmare. A mutated form of measles or something, one of those highly contagious diseases those bullshit hippies refused to vaccinate for. It somehow mutated, spread like wildfire, and favoured women. We lost over 70% of the female population and about 20% of the male. Most of them children, but enough adults to really make a dent. That's half the world! The world went into a panic state, a lot of countries barely held it together. It took a year but most of North America managed to hold on.
It didn't devolve into complete patriarchal domination or absolving of women's rights or breeding camps like some fear mongers said. A lot of new religious cults sprung up. A lot of existing religious groups got more extreme. But no real new laws were enacted, at least not forceful ones. Benefits for every new child born, huge tax break for couples with over two kids, extended maternal leave, huge benefits for stay at home moms? Through the roof.
We weren't exactly forced back into 'traditional' roles, but societal pressure is huge. Women are valuable now. Arranged marriages are on the rise, I'm pretty sure half of this year's kindergarten class is already spoken for. The club scene is quietly dying because most girls hate getting swarmed. Masculine trends are the dominate cosmetic venue now, while domestic roles are being heavily emphasized to the women. We've so subtly slipped back into segregated gender roles, I'm sure sociologists are fucking ecstatic.
And dating? For me? Well if being a lesbian wasn't hard enough when I was 10% of the population, it's even harder now that I'm 0.5%. Male homosexuality is actually doing well, at least as well as it was before, but female homosexuality is all but illegal. It's seen as unpatriotic, as denying our 'duty'. Attacks are up. Corrective rape is up. Even the couples with kids are sneered at because pickings are already so slim. It's awful. Lesbian porn is more popular than ever though.
I was already closeted when it all went down, and I'm way too timid to risk the underground gay bars now. My dad has a coworker with a son my age he wants me to meet. Maybe he'll be nice enough I won't mind.
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And then there were bros.
After the apocalyptic viral strain swept across the Earth, only about thirty percent of the original male population survived. For some reason, the virus protected men who had less than 10% body fat. This left most of Africa, many groups in Southeast Asia, and the entire gym-going population of the United States. In short, the only men left were muscle-bound bros who felt insecure enough before all the fatties were wiped out. Now the world was plunged into another dark age, as much of the intellect of the planet had been exterminated. Granted, there were a few ripped scientists, but they were few and far between – nowhere near enough to support the infrastructure of the country. Needless to say, the entire White House was gone within minutes, along with the Senate and all but one Congressman (Wyoming.)
It gets more interesting. The virus had the exact opposite effect on women. Individuals of the female persuasion were protected against the virus if they had over 30% body fat. This left a great deal of sizeable ladies. This disparity between the physiques of men and women created an interesting dynamic in the dating scene. Granted, some gentlemen of a certain ethnicity preferred larger women to begin with – so they were quite content with their choices. However, a lot of men had trouble adjusting to the new system. When faced with the choice, many preferred hard abs over vaginas and began to turn to each other for affection. On the other side of the equation, many of the obese women were lesbians to begin with and began to feel themselves slowly becoming attracted to men again as they found themselves with favorable odds.
After a few decades, thing began to reach a state of normalcy. The bros who had survived the plague fattened up, and the fat women slimmed down. They ended up meeting somewhere in the middle, and began to repopulate the earth. Their children would eventually re-set the infrastructure of the great nation of America, and would survive for several more centuries until the plague struck again – this time leaving only middle aged Jewish men named Saul.
EDIT 1 - The virus "protects" men who have less than 10% body fat - thanks for catching that!
| 2015-01-21T07:54:12 | 2015-01-21T06:51:46 | 254 | 25 |
[WP] You are a wish lawyer. You help clients negotiate wishes from genies, faeries, dragons, and other wish granting entities.
You also do faustian bargains with devil
Edit: Woo! I finally made it to the top of writing prompts!
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I took the cases nobody wanted. And I don't mean the greedy ones, or the violent ones, or even the silly ones. No, I took the cases that no one wanted. The hardest kinds of cases: the ones involving kids. No, not the happy ones either. I took the cases that involved sick kids, dying from incurable diseases. The kids that came from unspeakable abuse, neglect or poverty. I took the cases that made parents go home at night and hold their kids close until they could face the world once more. The cases that caused seasoned veterans of the trade quit.
The newbie lawyers always gravitated towards these cases, these cases were the noble reasons why some people decided that this was the career they wanted. Not a single one of them were prepared. The red tape, standing before expressionless gods and pleading for little Timmy to see his dog one more time, or for Jane to have warm clothes in the dead of winter. You come into this field expecting to help grant wishes to those who need them, but nothing can prepare you for the soul-sucking bureaucracy in the name of cosmic balance.
I take these cases, without fail. Determined to not let these kinds of cases wallow in limbo, never solved, never granted because they were just too spiritually draining. I never wanted to see another kid suffer like my sister had. Her wish never granted, such a simple and sweet wish that not one wanted to have to argue for because it was too hard. The Supreme Judges appear unfazed when presented with normal human suffering, because their only concern is the ultimate cosmic balance. How do you explain to an immortal being not only the concept of mortal suffering but also why Innocent children deserve more consideration. It's draining. My sister's wish had slipped through the cracks, unfulfilled before she had died, and I refuse to let that happen to another child.
Besides, even if the Supreme Judges deny requests, well, I have other means. Demons don't answer to the cosmic balance, and despite the negative stereotype of a demon, they're more humane than most humans. I have my own private network of demons more than willing to take time out of their day of bargaining and luring greedy humans into mortal mortages to help me fill a child's wish.
I may end up paying some dire cosmic punishment for dealing with demons, but it will be worth it. I have no mortal ties, no family to leave behind. And a line of demons ready to adopt my domestic zoo of pets should I die. I'll never be able to fulfill my sister's wish, but I think she'd be proud to know that I have dedicated my life to making sure a wish like hers never goes unfulfilled.
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Wishes. Why wishes? So complex. So open and vague. Why not just make an offer? Rub this lamp and I'll buy you a car, get on my good side and I'll hook you up with a date, pass my test and I'll clean your garage. But no, it has to be horrible, lazy *wishes*. Because of *traditional values*. Because that's how it's always been done.
Fine. It puts me in a job, so what can I complain about? Except the world of spiritual and magical contract law is horribly underdeveloped. The texts are ancient, older than time in some cases. Which not only causes some jurisdiction issues in a place where time tends to move fairly rapidly, it also means they are horribly outdated. Nothing is formally defined, everything is in different languages (some of which are incomprehensible to most beings) and no one can agree on what kind of an action deserves a wish. My point is there's a lot of loophole-closing, discrepancy-fixing and general debuggering.
Wishes are horrible. A wish can be anything. You know how hard that is to regulate? I doubt there is anything more difficult than getting a sphinx to spell out a clear set of terms and conditions. But otherwise everything goes to pot. No wishing for more wishes. No pinning a wishbone back together to break it again. No wishing on false eyelashes. Wishes were not meant to be abused; they were meant to give the poor, powerless, mortal humans a bit of an insurance. It was a kindness really. But humans (and I say this as a colleague of demons like getting people to smell their own spleens) are assholes. Give them an inch and they take a mile. So we need to set some limits before the humans end up with more power than they deserve, or know how to use.
Good thing they gave the job to a hellspawn then. Where better to find the shrewdest, most conniving, sneakiest beings than in hell? And who knows, maybe I can worm something out for our own benefit. 'Wish' is an awfully vague word but humans seem to like the sound of it. Let's see what we can do with that.
------------------
My very first writing prompt response. Didn't really know where I was going when I started. Didn't really know where I was going when I ended either. Might clean it up a bit tomorrow when my eyelids aren't having such a hard time fighting gravity.
| 2018-07-18T17:02:59 | 2018-07-18T15:54:58 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it.
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He was ten at the time of the accident.
Unbeknownst to me, Ben's day began like any other. He woke up one minute before his alarm would ring and raced to turn it off. He always loved to beat the alarm clock, he felt like it set him up to keep winning the rest of the day. He showered quickly, skipping shampoo and only really washing his face. He put on his favorite T-shirt, the black one with the Wolverine leaping forward. I always complimented it whenever I saw him in it. He came downstairs and put two Eggo waffles in the toaster.
>"Did you use shampoo this morning?" his mother asked.
She leaned down to smell his hair.
>"Yes, mom," he lied.
This seemed to satisfy her enough as she then walked away. She always fell for it.
After eating, Ben left for school around the same time I would leave for work. He would always get on his bike as I was walking out to my car and call over,
>"Good morning, Mr. Richards!"
But today he didn't. He looked over as if to say hello, but I had already left. He continued as usual to bike to school. He passed my house, the Smith's house, the Robinson's, and even sped up to pass the abandoned house which he knew was haunted. As he reached the fork at the end of the road, he went left. This was a new path for Ben as his school was to the right. I knew this because this is where we usually would go our separate ways. I used to watch Ben going right in my rear view mirror as I would turn left to get to the highway.
Ben continued until he got to the bridge that crossed over the Jamestown river. He stopped and got off his bike. He noticed skid marks on the pavement and stared at them for some time. Then he followed the skid marks. He reached the side of the bridge where the railing had been broken. He reached out and touched part of the railing that was still intact and looked down where I had lost control and of the wheel and drove of the bridge 24 hours before.
>"Good bye, Mr. Richards."
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Rain trickled down the windowpane, making rivulets in the already wet surface. Kieran watched them, a tinny pounding in his ears the last remnant of the concert he'd just got in from. The streetlights were lit and the house was dark as he had unlocked the front door. The hallway was just as messy as it had been as he left, and the smell of rotting food from the kitchen was overpowering. His mother would be in bed. She was always in bed.
He moved to the bathroom, brushing his teeth monotonously, looking in the mirror but not really seeing. He was too pale. There were dark smudges underneath his eyes from the late nights he'd had. The house would have to be cleaned tomorrow. Maybe his mother would get out of bed. He washed his hands once, twice. Both times he lathered the soap, scrubbed his fingernails, rubbing up to his elbows. A bottle of pills lay beside the faucet. Kieran tightened the lid and put them back into the cabinet. Opened bottles of cleaning fluid stood beside an crinkle of foil wrapper and dental floss.
In his bedroom, the neon light of the streetlamps outside flooded across the carpet. His room was neat, in contrast to the rest of the house. A crow landed on one on the opposite side of the road, flapped its wings and hunkered down under the heavy rain. A smudge on the glass distracted Kieran temporarily. He rubbed at it with one finger, only to find that it wouldn't come off.
He frowned, returning to the bathroom and opening the cabinet. There was a dark smudge there, too. *Why was nothing ever clean in this house?*
Kieran returned to his bedroom, cloth and cleaning fluid in hand. He unscrewed the child-proof lid, raised the bottle, and began to drink.
| 2015-06-03T06:23:30 | 2015-06-03T05:56:40 | 197 | 35 |
[WP] The whole universe is gone, and only two kids were left in the void. "Let's play again," said one of the kids to his only companion, "but this time I'll be God, and you will be the Devil."
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"Huh, I wasn't thinking we'd end it like that..." A brown haired girl narrowed her brow, wearing a quizzical expression.
"Me either! But it looks like I beat your record!" A red-headed boy grinned. "I managed to keep it alive for over 900 thalmas!"
The two children were sitting around a sphere half the size of them. It had gone completely clear, signalling the Universe's end.
&#x200B;
"I still can't believe you got them to work together! I had them warring over the stupidest things!" The girl pouted a little, though she still wore a half smile on her face.
"That's why I gave them a common threat!" The boy grinned.
"Gee, that doesn't sound very God-like!" The girl teased.
"Hey, I still followed the rules; only you were allowed to intentionally cause death. I Just found a loophole!"
"Yeah... using the Zerpians from the Andromeda Galaxy... Didn't see it coming!"
"Well you got too fixated on the Humans," the boy started. "It was getting hard to keep influencing with you giving them so much doubt, so I just left for a bit and found the Zerpians!"
"They were advancing faster than the others, I figured that it was the best place to start!" The girl smiled at her friend.
The girl put her hand on the sphere. "Do you want to play again? I bet I can keep it alive for a whole qwerty!"
"Okay! It'll be fun to be the devil again!" The boy took his spot on the other side of the sphere, placing his hand on the other side.
The sphere started to fill with color.
"Here it comes!" The boy smiled.
A muffled bang was heard, and the girl jumped.
"Ugh! That always gets me!"
And they began to play once more.
|
"We didn't really do anything this time did we?"
"Really? I had a blast. I felt like there were always more things to do no matter what I did."
"That's because you spent way too much time on each one. Don't you get bored of doing that sometimes? They aren't really interesting that way."
"I mean I guess it was fun to mess with a bunch of them at the same time. But you should really try to really get to know some of the more interesting ones. You think you've heard it all until you speak with them. But boy did they prove me wrong every time. I still can't stop laughing when I remember some of the things they say haha!"
"How did you end up having more fun than me this time. And when I finally thought I got to enjoy myself again."
"Oh come on don't get angry at me. We can go fast this time around ok? I promise. And then you can have your role back."
"Really?"
"Really."
"But that's what you said last time and look how long it took."
"I didn't do it on purpose I swear!"
"You could at least try to lie. Like you're going to trick me with that huge grin on your face."
"Oh. I didn't notice oops haha. I guess I didn't bother since you see through me every time anyways."
"It's still more fun if you try though."
"I know, I'm sorry."
...
"Do you want to get started then?"
"Yeah, just give me a moment."
"Sure, take all the time you need."
| 2018-10-28T14:24:33 | 2018-10-28T14:17:29 | 1,390 | 78 |
[WP] Dr. Seuss writes a horror story.
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You're pretty fucked up
You aren't just average
Your lots more fucked up
Than the normal kid
You suck with your work
Your behavior is amiss
You're a misgiven soul
That not even your parent's had wished
No one will miss you
No one will care
Pick up the gun
It's just over there
You'll never be loved
You're too damaged for that
You're not the hero
You're stupid and fat
You won't make it far
This I know for sure
This world is sick
But you aren't the cure
And you can listen to them
To the stories they tell
That it'll work out
But kid, you're going to hell
You're the devil himself
Wrapped in disguise
I killed you, kid
I looked in the mirror, I pulled the trigger, looking into your eyes
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Sweedle tots!
Sweedle tots!
They cough lots and lots,
with sickness and not many shots!
To the mum of a Sweedle,
Evil is the needle,
Causing all Autism and making them feeble.
Sweedle tots!
They're loved lots and lots.
But they are sick in their cots.
Spots everywhere,
Crying as they lose hair,
Mums thinking nothing is fair.
Sweedle tots,
Those lovely dears,
Losing their lives because of what mum hears.
| 2014-11-30T10:39:57 | 2014-11-30T10:36:15 | 162 | 34 |
[WP] Upon birth, babies are screened and given a random ability based on what their parents had. Your dad had telepathy and your mom could sing any song perfectly, even mimicking the voice. You were given the seemingly useless ability of playing songs into someone else's head.
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I grew up ear worming my friends and family to bits, even worse than just singing out loud all the time, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve found that there are ways to control my gift only to play specific parts of a song in someone’s head. If I really focus, I can even edit the sound of the voice and sometimes add, remove, or change the music in the song.
I finally got my first job as a vocal coach last year, and believe me, this is a miracle. Unlike my mom, I can’t hold a tune to save my life. I’ve been likened to a screeching cat, a hoarse rooster, very sharp nails on a chalk board... I think you get the idea. I always found it unfair because I love music and I want to help people express themselves.
That’s where I started polishing my gift and seeing if I could make changes to the songs I transfer into people’s minds, and it took weeks before I was able to shorten the songs at all. Now, after about three years, I can alter them. My mom used her gift to help me experiment, since she can mimic anyone’s voice perfectly. All I need is to hear a voice for ten seconds and I can alter the vocalist in a song I know to sound like the person in front of me.
Instead of trying to alter and improve their signing based on my voice, I can project the sound of themselves singing the song perfectly into their minds. I haven’t quite mastered getting it to sound like they sound to themselves, you know, how we hear ourselves differently, but I’ve been told that I’m getting really close.
So, what I do is listen along with them in my own mind and coach them on how to achieve that pitch. We can even alter it based on what they want to sound like, although a few times, my projection has outperformed what their vocal cords could handle.
Here’s the most exciting recent news. I’m going to Broadway to help a new performer really master the pitch their current coach wants them to achieve. I met with the coach, listened to a recording, and then made alterations in my projection to match what they want. The singer is pretty close, and I’m just psyched.
Watch out, world! I’m going to Broadway!
|
Useless, they said. Useless, they called it. Until you proved otherwise. You proved them _wrong_. Other people had flashier abilities, ones that allowed them to have a life of grandeur and success. They are the ones that go fight the big battles; the ones plastered across every screen. But not you. No, you were given the dirty work. The jobs none of those sparkly heroes wanted or could even handle. You were chosen specifically for your unusual ability, to carry out the missions reserved for those who were as stealthy as they were also ruthless.
So many believed that you couldn’t do anything useful with your power, but you were determined to succeed no matter what. You spent years training your body as well as your mind, knowing that you will need both at peak condition in order to achieve what you wanted. Which wasn’t worldwide recognition.
That was beneath you, really. You just wanted to prove to yourself more than anyone else that you could do it; that you could be of use and service for the greater good. In the end, all those who mocked you would see the truth and understand how wrong they were.
But for now, you only concentrate on your next mission, always looking forward to taking down your next target. It doesn’t matter what they need you for, be it infiltration, communication, or interrogation. Your ability only allows you to play songs into other people’s minds, but that can be resourceful if you play your cards right.
From questioning suspects and dragging information from them by nearly driving them insane after forcefully playing the same awful song over and over in their heads, to sending encoded messages through song lyrics to other agents. Or your favorite, using your power to distract the enemy before physically attacking and subduing them. It doesn’t matter what you do, it only matters that you do it. And that, in the end, proves your ability to be truly __useful__.
| 2021-04-08T10:46:33 | 2021-04-08T10:36:35 | 42 | 27 |
[WP] You're pinned down, outnumbered and out of ammo. Your partner says, "There's no way we're both getting out of here alive." He pulls out a small pistol and presses it to his temple. He smile and says, "I'm going ghost". He pulls the trigger. The enemy stops firing... then they start screaming.
|
"Damn it, Dave!" I scream furiously into the night's wispy sky. Screams of confusion, horror, and pain pierce midnight's murky air as a rifle slides past the log and skids to a stop next to me. I check the magazine and chamber a round. Peaking out of cover I pop of 4 rounds and 2 bodies drop.
My comms spark to life and Dave's voice fills my ear, "Hey asshat, I was in that one! I've died three times tonight, let's not make it 4. Oblivion was a good game but that shit sucks ass."
"Well take one from the back and start mowing them down, I'd like to keep this one for a bit, good reflexes and sight."
He laughs and I hear the screams of pain as Dave wrestles control away from of one of the 10 remaining soldier's bodies. At this point the soldiers have ceased firing at me and are staring at one another, trying to determine why their own men are opening fire at each other. Before they open fire at Dave's newest requisition I take out 3 more and they snap back towards me, the only sure-fire target they have left.
Dave takes the opportunity and manages to kill four of them before he's gunned down again.
"Don't take another," I practically shout into my comms as the remaining two continue their forward assault, riddling my cover with lead. "Last thing we need is them getting a video feed to anyone important enough to figure out something's up."
"Don't worry about it, I already checked. No cams or long range transmissions equipment."
"Well it's settled then, Casper the motherfucker."
"You know I'm on it baby." I hear one of the 2 remaining soldiers belt out as they're reloading. I peak around the log in time to see the last soldier stop to look at his cohort-turned-possesed.
"What the fuck, Simmons?!" he exclaims, "Let's light that fucker up!"
I put a round through his neck and he collapses. "You shithead!" Dave barks at me, "He had a sick goatee, I was gonna just knock him out!"
"Well that's what you get for shooting me in Baghdad last week."
"Let's be honest, you had it coming. Plus I had to keep cover."
"Dipshit we're ghosts, you can acces their memories, your cover was perfectly secured!"
"Whatever man, let's get back home. I need a body that's had a shower." He offers me a hand and helps me to my feet.
"Agreed, you smell like you talk."
"Hey, watch yer damn mou-"
I put a bullet in his stupid head and pop open a soda can sized canister and watch as purple mist slowly pours from the body's orifices and into the canister.
"Asshole" is all I hear from my earpiece as I grab our satellite phone.
"SPECTER HQ this is Phantom-1, job is done. Just 1 ticket home, Phantom-2 had a little accident and is canning it back."
"Thanks for saving us the bill, Phantom-1. Tell Phantom-2 we'll have a body ready for him when he get's back. Chinggis Khaan International at 8am, safe travels."
|
The night that reflects off the river is smudged with silvery clouds and dotted with stars. Just like that night. I sit on the water’s edge in the quiet town so far removed from battle, gently rocking myself back and forth, back and forth.
That night. There was so little hope, but still you smiled.
They rushed in at half-past two. Shouting with barrels raised, there were so many. Our little thatched hut of a watchtower was overrun in a matter of minutes, and the cries of our friends were drowned in the spray of gunfire. So few of us, just a squadron of twelve, being subjected to so many wounds. A million a minute.
The two of us ducked behind the empty silo, where the townspeople who had deserted long ago had stored their wheat. Surrounded by strangers who looked like nothing but black shadows, I lost all of my bravado and reverted to the small child that used to startle and cry from fireworks. Pining for his big brother’s arms.
There, you smiled. Told me that everything was going to be okay. And then, slowly, you drew your shining six-chamber flintlock revolver from your waist, pressed it to your temple, closed your eyes, and gently pulled the trigger.
In the midst of a thousand others, that gunshot was like thunder that split the stars apart.
You lunatic, you had finally gone and done yourself in. I was too busy holding your broken body and crying into your empty eyes to notice that the gunfire had stopped. I didn’t see the limbs of the shadowy men turn to those of puppets, didn’t hear their voices turn to panic and fear as the frigid night wind brought them to their knees and held them down with its spectral hands.
Only when the first golden streaks of sunlight began creeping into the sky did I realize they were gone.
Then, I was truly alone.
The river is cold, the water black and murky. It has been two months since I lost you, and I wonder more than ever if the cold black water would fill the emptiness in my heart.
The shining waves, they beckon. I push myself closer to the water’s edge.
If I plunged into that midnight cold, would I be with you again?
*“And you called me a lunatic for taking my own life?”*
My eyes widen. The soft whisper comes from somewhere beyond the shore. I scramble down the grass and peer into the murk.
You’re standing behind me in the reflection, grinning with arched eyebrows like you always used to. People always told me we looked alike, but your smile was something unique to you.
Your eyes flash with amusement in such a way that makes my heart ache.
*“You’re not dying quite yet,”* you say. *“Not on my watch.”*
I whip around to look behind me with tears stinging my eyes, but there is no one.
The night breeze caresses my cheek.
*“Be strong,”* it whispers. *“Show me I didn’t die* [*for nothing.*](https://www.reddit.com/r/magpie_quill/)*”*
| 2019-11-22T02:01:54 | 2019-11-22T00:40:16 | 304 | 73 |
[WP] "Please explain to me HOW our human test subjects escaped a maximum security lab in deep space?"
|
"Well sir, he asked to leave. Politely. He claimed it was a need to excrete, and that he knew where the lavatorium was."
"So your guards just let him go alone, with a 'pinky promise' to come back?"
"In human culture, pinky promises are unbreakable!"
"Garbolath. You are an intelligent person. Tell me, at what *age* do humans find those promises unbreakable?"
"Between two and eight rotations, commander, with a standard deviation of up to a full rotation either way."
"And how old was this human, Garbolath?"
"Fourteen rotatio-- oh. I see. Would you like the guards at fault executed, sir?"
"That won't be needed Garbolath. For my second round of questioning, I'll be asking you how the human knew where the escape pods were."
"Ah... You see, admiral, that's a very funny story. The guards were speaking freely near the human, safe in the assumption that the language barrier was safe."
"And how long did that last?"
"About one third of a rotation, admiral. The human was fluent by half of one."
"And nobody thought to stop their free speech near it?"
"No admiral."
"Garbolath, your guards will be reeducated."
"And, ah, what about me admiral?"
"You are the one getting an execution."
"For the escape of a single test subject? Sir, I must implore you to reconsider."
"No Garbolath. For letting the subject escape with our only good starmap."
|
"Sir... they just punched straight through the shield..."
"So you're telling me a medium sized mammal brute forced it's way through the highest tech we can install?!"
"yes sir, and the other defenses and deterrents were broken along the route to the main entrance, somehow it threw wooden sticks through the armor"
Namrik had heard of how bad an idea it was to take away what made a human different from a monster was, but had shrugged it off when the turrets were installed. A solid two inches of steel on every inch except the infrared camera... the camera! Namrik dismissed the warden, and went to check the security feed.
Everything in the cell the human was in seemed to be fine, but then... the human layed on the ground, and rolled, somehow causing the heat the cameras were picking up to disappear completely. Must have been the mud. Then the light barrier began to report damage several times, then reported as deactivated and recharging. Stupid Namrik, he had forgotten those things use a poison to get stronger somehow. Over the span of several minutes, the cameras on the turrets stopped reporting anything other than they were broken...
"Now I can see why a class 69 deathworld species shouldn't be experimented with..."
| 2019-12-20T20:24:23 | 2019-12-20T20:04:26 | 106 | 29 |
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