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stringlengths 20
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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
| rejected_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
| chosen_upvotes
int64 14
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int64 10
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[WP] You suddenly find your doors and windows won't open. You log in to Reddit and find the most upvoted thread with over a million comments and just two hours old "Help, my door is stuck, any tips to get it open?"
Update!
**Cawos has kindly offered to turn the top submission into a short film!**
Please subscribe to /r/cmfilms to follow updates and be the first to hear about it when it releases!
|
I woke up to start the day like I would any other, but as soon as I twisted the knob to open the door, I was struck with surprise, the knob wouldn't turn. No matter how hard I tried that door was not going to open. I went to my bedroom window and tried to slide that open to see if anyone was trying to prank me, but it wouldn't budge either. I knew something was wrong, so I did the first thing any sane person would do, check reddit.
The top post on the front page explained a situation exactly like mine, with over a million comments explaining their situation, all pleaing for help. Some people said they used a gun to try and shoot out the window and the bullet didn't even leave a mark on the glass. Others claimed that they smashed their doors with anything they could find, and it refused to open. I went back to my window and next door I could see people banging at their windows trying to get them open, to no avail.
After going back on reddit to see if anyone had found a solution, I read one comment that said:
>"**DO NOT OPEN YOUR DOOR**
>I have opened my door to see darkness, but I could see a pair of eyes glowing white, staring at me. As soon as I made eye contact the eyes were getting larger, as if this thing was coming towards me. I shut the door, and all I can hear is soft breathing on the other side, like it is waiting for me to open the door again. I'm going to try and kill this thing, if I don't reply to your comments, assume the worst."
After reading this I was extremely frightened, but I wanted to know how this redditor managed to open his door. I kept reading reply after reply until finally I saw a comment from OP, it read:
>"He shouldn't have opened his door. He paid for what he has done, and anyone else to do the same will meet the same fate."
I had to close reddit after that. I knew that if I opened that door, I was going to die. I just had to hope it all passed.
After a few days of sparing the water that I had, I ran out. I knew I had to make a stand if I was going to survive. I tried everything I could to open that door, and it wouldn't. Finally, I lit it on fire, and it was actually burning away. The first thing I saw when the other side was revealed was darkness, and then I saw it. I saw two eyes glowing in the distance. I met my eyes with theirs, and they grew and grew. I stared it down as it came, and when it was about to hit me, I closed my eyes.
I woke up staring at my ceiling like any other day. I shrugged off that experience as if it was a dream. I got up to take a shower, but the doorknob wouldn't turn.
EDIT: better formatting
|
I tried everything but the doors won't open. The room is dimly lighted. The hazy shine of my laptop's screen provides for more brightness in the room than the bulb itself. I continue reading the comments on this thread. Not a single comment is related to the topic. One of them says ...
'Don't worry, we are there for you'
And some says 'I've brought your favourite cake'
And many more comments like this saying they are there for the OP. I hardly saw this much sympathy on Reddit. But none of them says how the fuck should I get out of this cage. Wait a minute, is there somebody else imprisoned like me?
It's been a while for me living in this house alone. I don't even remember how I got here. The last thing I remember before I came here is a hazy memory of a car ride. The room is getting dark. And I have stopped counting days. Roughly it would be more than a week, maybe. The windows of this house is dark. There is no way I can know what's happening outside.
I then again stuck my eyes on the screen. Now I was reading the usernames in the thread. OP's name was caterpillar. I remember how my mom used to call me a caterpillar when I was small. Then looking at the other usernames in comment section, I felt like I know these names. God knows what they are.
I don't remember when did I had a meal. I don't feel hungry. I don't feel my energy getting wasted even when I stroll for hours here and there in the house. I don't even remember when did I slept in these days.
It's been around 2 months that I noticed any change. Today I saw a crack in the door. An extremely white light was glowing outside. I felt like the insect getting attracted towards that light. I saw the comments are now coming at a faster rate. People commenting really sorrowful things. As I move forward towards the door, the crack widens and more of that brilliant white light pours inside. I wonder what could be outside so bright. And suddenly there was no door. And it was all white light and it feels orgasmically satisfying to enter into it.
................
In a hospital, many people are waiting eagerly outside the ICU ward. Some are crying, some are marching right and left in front of the Ward's door. After a long wait the doctor comes out and says "I am sorry". People burst into tears. Doctor hands the medical report.
One day later a local newspaper reads "The boy from the dreadful car accident died yesterday after 2 and half months in coma."
| 2016-01-31T10:52:33 | 2016-01-31T10:20:48 | 71 | 46 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test.
|
I was given no information about this test before today. For months, I studied all I could. Maths, Biology, History, even accounting.
Now I am in the testing room and still feel unprepared. I wasn't allowed to take anything in the cold white cell. I sit at a desk, in front of me a black screen and a wireless mouse. Good. Looks like I won't have to type anything. Maybe it's multiple choice?
The screen lights up. The guard behind me cocks his gun.
On the screen, a picture of a seagull appears. Instead of wings, somebody has poorly photoshopped a set of muscular arms on its body.
Above the image, a text says: "Has science gone too far? Is this image real or fake? 90% will get it wrong!"
|
I sit down at the table, my heart pounding as I look at the sheet that has been placed face down in front of me. A voice calls out over the intercom: "You may now begin."
With a shaky hand, I flip over the sheet to see a solitary question. "Huh, that's easy!" I read out the question to myself 'Please say aloud how to pronounce the word 'GIF'.'
I clear my throat, speaking clearly. "GIF." The door opens, and the voice announces that I've passed the test.
| 2016-06-11T08:19:56 | 2016-06-11T07:13:29 | 2,156 | 517 |
[WP] As we all know, Albert Einstein's last words were a mystery, as he uttered it to a nurse who couldn't understand his language. As a multilingual person, you time-travel to the moment he was about to say the last words of his life, and heard the most horrifying sentence you could ever hear.
|
I stepped out of the comfort of the time-travel machine, my eyes darted around my surrounding as my pupils adjusted. I was relieved to see that the calibration was correct. I was right next to my destination - Princeton Hospital.
I glanced down at the smartwatch on my wrist and saw that I merely had minutes left before the events I was here for was due to take place. I hurriedly concealed the machine and jogged into the hospital. I had memorised the layout of the building so I arrived at the room without much hassle. I scanned the name plate on the door just to make sure - Albert Einstein.
Pushing open the wooden door, the man with the brain that changed the world was lying right there on a hospital bed with the sheets slightly yellowed. His signature hair was even messier than usual, his cheeks were hollowed in and his eyes were lifelessly staring up at the ceiling. Papers scattered around him on the bed, table, and floor, and I could see that some where I finished writing. What was ironic was that a pen was still tightly clutched in his hand, yet he would never be able to write down whatever world-changing thoughts he could have been having at that moment.
Footsteps approached from behind and I quickly dart into the room and hid under the bed. The door to the room reopened and I watched as a pair of feet, with just a bit of the nurse uniform visible, walked to the side of the bed right next to me. The nurse seemed to be checking his vitals and taking measurements of some sort. Suddenly, moans came from Einstein.
“What’s wrong?” The nurse said.
No coherent words came from his mouth, only some unrecognisable sounds. What a shame that such a brilliant mind was trapped in such an old body. If only immortality was a thing in this era.
Einstein continued to repeat the same few phrases, each time becoming clearer and clearer. I leaned more towards the side of the bed Einstein was speaking at in order to hear it. This was my mission. This was why I was given the first ever use of the newly-invented time-travel machine by the government. I was burdened with the glorious task to uncover one of the greatest mystery known the humanity. Once I hear these last word, I would report back to my era and go down in history as a hero of the people. My wife, my son, and I would finally be granted the immortality status as a reward to my survice to humanity and we will live happily ever after. I could not wait.
Finally, Einstein’s words became coherent.
He said, “Forced time travel to the past is possible. Forced time travel forward is death.”
|
“The nuclear bomb’s explosion… I get it now. Those mysteries… It creates a temporal vortex, it… it clones… it clones space and time. Everything touched by radiation… everything… This life… Oh, wow. A bright light… I’m afraid that… what? Oh. Err… ehmm.. errrrr… ffff… oooh…. ffff…”
And so he died. Albert Einstein’s last words, finally noted down for historical safekeeping. There was a lot of information in there, the genius apparently realised with his last breaths that nuclear explosions have so much power that it defeats space and time. In layman’s terms: it copies everything the radiation touches over the span of exactly 1000 nanoseconds. That copy spawns an entirely new universe where everything is equal, except the radiated matter.
That, and that alone, is reason for the multiverse and whatever it affects.
Interesting to know, but useless information. We can’t interact with those other universes. We know the exist, but it’s like things beyond our event horizon: it exists, but it doesn’t matter. So, does it exist? Philosophers can worry about that.
The bright light was just his brain cells not being oxygenated properly, and a bunch of neurons trying to soothe his mind. A bunch of neurological effects, the reward system exploding… it all makes sense. Everyone who dies goes through it.
The last part sounded like difficulty breathing.
End of report.
All of that was about 42 years ago. I time traveled to the death of Einstein. I wasn’t physically there, I just had a device setup to register the minute motions of everything near his mouth. From the vibrations in his nose hair I could deduct exactly what he was saying. He said it in about 5 different languages: German, English, Dutch, French, and even a little Latin.
I’m currently 96 years old. My report didn’t change anything. It can be found on Wikipedia and everybody knows about it.
Here I am. On my own death bed. I haven’t had any revelations whatsoever just yet, but the bright lights and the tunnel vision have appeared. They say there’s light at the end of the tunnel, but it’s just darkness.
Darkness. And a few blips of light.
`rm -rf`
Oh f…
| 2018-09-14T05:04:59 | 2018-09-14T00:04:48 | 39 | 10 |
[WP] You reject someone by saying "I'll go on a date with you the day hell freezes over." The next day, Satan appears in your room, shivering, and covered in snow.
|
"Do you have some hot chocolate?"
The sudden question makes me spill my mueslie all over the couch. As I turn around, I see a young pale man, with dark frisky hair, not older than 30 years, standing in the door to the living room. "Who are you?! How did you get in here?! And where the hell did the snow come from?"
"Well, my name is Lucifer, my friends call me Satan. Pleased to meet you. I came through the door, what did you expect? And the snow is sort of a long story, though hell is a good place to start. Now, do you have some hot chocolate or not?"
Without thinking I get up, walk to the kitchen, open the frige and get out some milk. What he said didn't make any sence, but for some reason I don't question it one bit.There is no cocoapowder in the pantry. I put the milk back in the fridge.
"So, what do you want?" "Hot chocolate." "Enough with the hot chocolate already, I don't have any." "Then get some." "I am not going to go out and... fine!"
I leave the apartment. The door was locked.
On my way back from the grocery store I pass by a Starbucks. Might aswell get the chocolate there. Less work for me and more time before I have to get back to my apartment.
As I enter my livingroom I see that he has helped himself to some fresh clothes and is watching TV. My Manowar t-shirt and my dress pants make for an interesring combination.
"I hope you don't mind," he says, "but the snow was melting. Oh! Hot Chocolate! Perfect!" He grabs the cup and empties it in one gulp, although it was still steaming hot. I guess he is used to the heat, being the devil and all.
"You know I really enjoy my visits to this world. You humans really know how to spoil yourselves. And since you started having a considerable impact on climate change I can even dress comfortably."
"Alright, that's enough. Why are you here?"
"Ok, Ok! I'm here because of the snow. You see, it's all your fault."
"What is my fault?"
"Hell being frozen over!"
"How is that my fault"
"Well, the girl you turned down with the words *'when hell freezes over'* is prone to rash actions. Would you be so kind and talk to her?"
"What are you talking about? Don't you have any influencd over your own kingdom?"
"Not in this case. No."
"God, help me!"
"Now that's just rude!"
"Look even if I wanted to help, I have no way of finding that girl. I don't even know her name."
He just nods, and hands me a piece of paper:
>Alex Russo
>Waverly Place 12
>Greenwich
>New York
Shit.
|
"Alright, *Mark*" Satan spat, his eyes glowing red hot despite his bodies obvious shivers, "It's time you and I had a *little chat*."
Mark was paralyzed. One moment he'd been in bed watching some *Friends* to unwind, and the next the TV blinks off as a pillar of flame erupted from his floor, leaving a goosebumped, crimson demon looming over him.
It was evident this was Satan himself; Mark recognized the satyr like body and the forked tail. But despite the sputtering flames on the carpet, the Devil had frost coating his goatee and furry legs, and was visibly shaking from cold.
It was a lot to take in.
"Yes... uh... yessir." Mark sputtered. "Am I... uh... have I angered you, um, sir?"
"*ANGERED ME?*" the beings voice boomed as steam rose from his eyes. "*YOU HAVE COATED MY KINGDOM IN ICE!*"
Again, Mark was dumbfounded.
The demon sighed exasperatedly, clearly annoyed at Mark's obvious ignorance. "You. The girl. You turned her down. Said Hell had to freeze over. The Big Man Upstairs says you're supposed to be together. He froze hell over. I complained, he sent me to deal with *you*." His mouth grimaced as he spoke, the words growing more pointed and harsh as he progressed, inching closer to Mark with each passing second. "So now *I'm* here to tell *you* to get your shit together, or I will *personally* see to it that you suffer and burn in my *DARKEST, MOST TERRIBLE PIT*." At this point he was leaning over Mark's quaking form, his face mere inches from the mortals. Moisture seeped through the lower portions of the sheets. "Do I make my self *abundantly* clear?"
"Yessir" Mark quivered. "Sally. I'll.. I'll find her."
"Good." Satan stood. "He's got some plan for you. And I'll be damned if your actions freeze my home. And I do the damning." He glared.
There was a brief pause.
"Well?" Satan growled.
"Oh. Um, you want me to go now?"
"*YES, YOU FOOL!*" Satan's voice boomed so loudly it shook the very foundation of Mark's apartment. "*NOW!*"
Mark scrambled, pants still soaking, and made a dash for the door. He threw on a jacket and fumbled with his shoes before sprinting away into the night, his door swinging ajar behind him.
"Hmph. Humans."
Satan disappeared in a wisp of smoke.
-----------------------------
If you enjoyed, check out r/RockhabWrites for more!
| 2017-04-02T04:52:48 | 2017-04-02T03:11:00 | 41 | 24 |
[WP] You've been trapped in an endlessly repeating simulation by an alien race, studied and researched. They believe when they reset it, your memory resets as well, but for the last 1000 cycles you remember everything.
|
**Professor Gig**
The aliens approach me slowly.
Casting glances at his two assistants, Professor Gig studies my vitals. For quite a few days, he has noticed a spike in my hormone levels, namely oxytocin and cortisol. Basic depression symptoms, but the way my recent loops were, it might make sense. I was prone to suicide in those.
(In his professional opinion, the simulation was a beautiful piece of art. Inspired by his former mentors who had laid out the basics for the simulation, it will test the multiple aspects of subjects: Determination, intelligence, resourcefulness, etc, with different scenarios, like wilderness survival, ability to learn as a child, and others. It was, as his former mentors had suggested, like a screen selection option on a movie disc. The best part? The subject's initial memories are repressed firmly, new memories will be written in, and every time a loop was finished, the subject's memory of the loop is completely erased. The perfect blank slate.)
It wasn't until today when he checked my simulation logs, that he noticed: I hadn't been performing in my latest 25 simulations as I did the last 2018, since 3am in the morning.
The 7am sunlight shines through the windows as he notices my lips starting to move. He leans close to the plexiglass cover of my Simutank.
The words I utter frightens him. He does not know how their language had gotten into their system, how I would find and learn it, let alone make sentences out of it, but apparently I have. And it terrifies him.
He lurches back from my tank, trips over a wire, and bangs into a control panel for my tank, accidentally opening it.
My eyes flash open as I begin to scream. My eyes dart wildly without focus, as I half rise from the tank, held down by constraints. I shake and twitch violently, risking the tank's integrity.
"PEOPLE!!" yells Gig at his assistants. "SHUT DOWN SIMULATION AND TERMINATE CONNECTION IMMEDIATELY!!"
"Loop locked, Professor! I can't stop it!"
Cursing, Gig runs to the simulation console and enters his password, hand print, and retina scan, to the sound of my tortured wailing. The simulation finally shuts down and I gasp for breath, falling out of the tank.
Silence envelopes the lab, broken by the sounds of my sobbing and gasps for breath. Gig and his two assistants watch in horrified silence as my head continues twitching erratically.
As Gig walks over to me, one of his assistants, Kurin, glances at the console and clenches his consonant jaw. Written on the screen was:
*Simulating: Love*
*Scenario: 1034*
*Error! There appears to be a malfunction in the memory reset, however impossible this may seem. Please contact Prof. Centgura Gig for immediate rebuilding.*
(He had scoffed at the others when they suggested his machine could be improved. My ass, he had said, or something to that effect. This beauty works like a dream.. a loop dream, he had joked. They had tested it on hundreds of subjects all over the galaxy, each numbering 500 thousand loops or so, give or take. None of them has ever had any problems. Begrudgingly agreeing to write warnings for it *just in case*, he was drunk and snarky when he wrote the error prompts.)
"Sir?" Kurin moistens his two mouths. This is gonna be a bitch. "Memory reset had failed for the..." His skin tone darkens to a deep grey. "The past thousand loops."
As Heku softly gasps, her skin tone darkening as well, Gig stops in his tracks, fists clenched, before finally relaxing and bending down to my curled up body, which is still tense, and twitching.
He gently turns me over, and I cry out as if in pain, fear and tears in my eyes. He bows his head as he listens to me:
"Stop, please, enough, I got enough, please, stop, I can't do this anymore...."
|
Everyday I wake up to the same yesterday.
All living beings feel dead and the same.
I have searched everywhere to find something new ,find something different. Is this a game,it must be one, I need to find a glitch to break through this hell.A world so beautiful yet so boring. I don't remember the day when I got trapped here.
All my memories are hazy now,I don't have clear memories of my world, the real world.Everyday I wake up to see my yesterday self crying to find a way out. Like a zombie do I search everywhere to get out of this hell.I don't even know for sure whether I am doing the same things again.I don't even know how much of my memories is me now.
The only thing that keeps me alive is this unknown feeling of hope which I think comes from the real world where I was before this hell.I keep getting these dreams sometimes with some faces which look familiar yet without names giving me reason to keep on living.I feel close to myself and to the real world in my dreams.Sometimes it makes me think what reality is.Sometimes I feel like sleeping forever.But I know that slowly lose my memories if I give up.Maybe all the living things here once gave up and lost their memories.Maybe I can help them remember.I tried sharing my scarce but lucid memories from the real world in a hope of at least having a living companion.Days passed and my hope faded.
One fine day, I had a dream.
My senses felt more alive.Everything movement had its own life.I saw some strange creatures running in a panic.Even in the moment of panic , I found my self smiling.I was happy that I was free from that hell.I found myself lying flat in a strange box.I started to rise up.One of those creatures noticed me. It moved towards me and everything goes dark.I was scared now.I could remember something like this happening before.I shouted loud hoping for any sort of help.I cried till I lost all my energy.All I could do now is to hope for something to happen.Drained of energy I close my eyes.
I felt the presence of something warm.I open my eyes to see a string emitting warm golden light.I had never seen anything similar to it.With my weak body,I try to grab it while it moves away from me.With all my energy I stand up and run after it.The light of the string was fading.I jump and grab it at once.Everything goes dark again.
I wake up to find myself in the real world.I keep moving but no one notices me.I couldn't say for sure whether this world was real.Even though I don't remember much from the real world,something feels a bit off.I see a strange string of some unknown characters everywhere I go.A man whose body looked similar to mine notices me and approaches me.He speaks something and everything goes dark again.
I wake up again in the same monotonic universe just to realize that it was a dream inside another.I could not remember the words and face of that stranger.But something about him felt similar to myself.I somehow felt that the piece of strange text could help me.I tried hard to recall those symbols and replicate them in all places.
Finally,I was able to replicate those symbols exactly and everything in the universe started collapsing.Everything went black and woke up in the real world.This time I was sure it was the real world.Everything felt familiar.I could feel strange yet familiar sensations from my body.I was starting to remember everything.I felt very happy.I lied down on the ground and let my tears flow.I stayed there for a moment to take time and appreciate this world which doesn't look as beautiful as the hell I have been to but feels lively and feels beautiful in way that can't be expressed sensuously.I stand up and move to meet my family and friends who were the people ,that I recall now, giving me reason to live in my dreams in that monotonic land.
| 2018-12-03T23:17:08 | 2018-12-03T22:02:04 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] In this world, physical appearance depends entirely on personality. All babies are born identical. Beauty is achieved gradually through good thoughts and deeds, while the opposite is true for ugliness.
|
It's the unusual cases that make the news but it's the ones that shock them that stays in people's hearts. Growing up children are told to trust in beauty because it's beautiful people who are good people. Ugly thoughts imprint themselves on peoples' skin. Every wrinkle is a cruel thought and every unattractive feature is a cruel deed. This is something society knows well.
So the oddities stand out.
When Jessica Hart's face first appears in the news, everyone believes her innocent. She's stunningly beautiful, more so than even those who dedicate their lives to saving people. Someone that beautiful can never be guilty of the crimes they're accused of.
Torture. Murder. Cannibalism. Just one of those acts is enough to permanently disfigure a person.
No. Jessica Hart must be innocent.
Then the evidence, indisputable evidence, starts building up against her. People from her childhood testify how they'd seen her commit cruel acts but convinced themselves they imagined things. After all such acts were wrong and would be visible to the world. But, even back then, Hart was a beautiful child.
Beautiful but amoral.
Good and bad both leave themselves on a person's face. It's the ultimate survival guide to human kind. But good and bad are subjective and there are wolves amongst the sheep, those who believe what they do is righteous and good no matter how terrible.
Beautiful people who do ugly things. Those are the ones people remember.
|
When I saw her, I thought she must have had Down syndrome. As far as I know, every single fashion model has Down syndrome, and honestly she looked better than any I'd seen.
"Welcome to Red Lobster," I said to her.
"Hi, I'm looking for Jeff," she replied, beaming a smile at me.
Girls with Down syndrome are easy to spot. Breathtakingly beautiful, speech problems and obvious cognitive impairment. They're also never alone—it just wouldn't be safe. This girl sounded pretty damn normal and she was alone.
"Um, I'm Jeff," I said.
"I thought so. You are very handsome," she replied without any detectable lack of sincerity.
I'm not handsome. She just had very good manners.
"And you are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes upon," I told her, remembering my manners. "Do you mind if I ask, how you got to be so gorgeous?"
She laughed.
"I'm a saint on a mission from God, that's how. He sent me to find you."
| 2015-10-31T01:17:13 | 2015-10-30T20:43:43 | 142 | 34 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time.
|
They used to call me the Last Hero of the Golden Age. A pretentious title for what amounts to just outliving that shining generation. It'd seem getting forcefully retired works wonders for your longevity.
What doesn't get bandied around quite as often was that I started off as a C-tier villain called Wordplay doing themed crimes. Harmless enough to not come to the attention of the bigger heroes in the scene. Even joined up with a Wyld Hunt theme villain group at one point, doing bank heists one week and just being a regular nuisance at the mall the next. But you do a few hero-villain team-ups too many, and suddenly the Secret Service are at your door with an offer you can't refuse.
I'd raged at the time of course. There were unwritten rules about private identities! Entire legal frameworks and procedures getting thrown out the window.
The stipend on the other hand, was kinda hard to ignore. I put up a bit of a token fight after that, but the agents subtly checking out my rundown apartment somewhat took the wind from my sails. It didn't really hit me *why* they targeted me at the time, I was too small-scale to even think in those terms.
And you know, I've grown to love the peace and quiet. Prancing around in tight clothing making easy money was great and all, but spending that money was a pain in the ass if you weren't affiliated with the organized crime outfits. No more scrimping and saving for cosplay materials to make sure I was sufficiently fabulous. Just kicking back in my modest lake cabin, living the good life.
It was almost a decade before I first got called in, black vans screaming up to my porch. Some radioactive villain was threatening to irradiate the entire city. No time to evacuate. Heroes unable to get close. They bundled me and a few other assets in to a meeting with the big wigs, heroic and municipal both. And they somehow expected *I* could do something about this villain? most certainly not! The suits were convinced though. It wasn't until, in a fit of pique, one of the heroes shouted "What would it take for you to get rid of him?!", that my powers perked up for the first time in a decade. "Your name."
----
That was when they started rebranding me as the Last Hero. The public gobbled it up. The city, saved.
It was a somber meeting that we left, the heroes cognizant that they had just lost one of their own, even though the headcount had not decreased, and they could not remember who it was that they had lost. I've always been convinced that the moniker must have come from a cut expletive from one of the heroes "The last hero I'd ever want to call" perhaps. But the frosty reception disabused me from ever really asking.
It was another two decades before they had something sufficiently dangerous that they were willing to call me in. I was starting to get on in age, and maybe that subconsciously had something to do with it, who knows. But by the time I got home, I was back in the prime of my youth.
Almost the entire roster of the old guard quietly retired within the next 2-3 years. Thus bringing to a close the Golden Age of Heroes. Last Hero of the Golden Age indeed.
----
Four decades have passed since then. I'd almost convinced myself that the Red Phone would never ring. It hadn't during the greatest Villain team-up of all time. It hadn't when we'd been invaded by Aliens, the Deep Sea Collective, or from ourselves from a mirror universe.
A meteor. Large enough to end all life on Earth, they said. Larger than the Moon. Large enough that they were willing to activate every asset they had, every favour, every piece of blackmail.
It was too big, too consequential. There was no bargain they could strike that could possibly be balanced against such an existential threat.
So they bumped me up the ladder. Again. And Again.
Not until I had the President on the line, did my powers rise out of its chthonic slumber.
"Your firstborn child. Yours and all your peoples."
----
There has not been a fourth time.
|
Thomas looked down in disbelief...
"We... we're going to have to call John"
Michael felt a protest well up in his throat- but swallowed it back down knowing all too well that Thomas was right.
"Who makes the call?" Michael asks half-heartedly... knowing it's his responsibility.
The look on Thomas' face says it all, now's not the time to be making jokes... nobody calls for John unless they need to. John wasn't like most heroes... to say the least. John didn't take a hero name, didn't do much aside from just collect his check every week.
They'd had to call him twice before, one time he was in a good mood - the other time, it took 3 years to fully clean up the mess he caused on the eastern seaboard.
But to make an enemy of John, would be a fate far worse.
Michael felt his stomach drop as he picked up the red phone, and pressed the button. He'd only heard recordings and seen the training footage, he was braced for the worse as he waited for the line to ring.
But it didn't ring, he was startled by a voice immediately on the other end
"The Fuck are you lot on about this time?"
Michael was a bit taken back, but after regaining his thoughts he began to reply
"So sorry t-"
"I don't want pleasantries, I want you to tell me what you are doing disturbing me- ya know what, fuck this - too slow."
Michael felt the paper he was holding be yanked from his hand
"Is this what the fuss is about?" John was standing over Michael now, poor Thomas looked though he saw a ghost.
Michael carefully put the phone back, trying not to show how rattled he was.
"You'd think if you're gonna waste my time and drag me halfway across the globe, you'd at least be kind enough to get on with it." John mocked as he eyed the paper
Thomas stammered "Halfway around the globe? In a second?"
"Asking questions you already know the answers to... I just told you, the fuck is wrong with you people anyhow. Let's see, says here 'Doctor Phil'? ... no, *Phile*... Okay, that woulda been a weird take down" John chuckled to himself
Michael turned to face John and in utter disbelief realized he was holding Doctor Phile up by the back of his collar, kicking and protesting loudly.
"This your guy?" John looked amused at their puzzled faces "Heh, now I'm the one asking questions I know the answer to. - You sure no one else could have handled this little guy? Captain Insane-O probably- you know what, It's fine."
"I don't know what kind of trick you used," Doctor Phile Bellowed. "But I'll be sure to-dwOUGLfgh"
With a slight twitch, John threw the Doctor against the wall and his body ragdolled to the ground.
"I-is he dead?" Michael looked on in horror
"No, no he... wait a minute..."
John walked over and picked up the limp body of Dr. Phile and gave it a sturdy slap on the back.
Dr. Phile gasped loudly before coughing up a bit of blood
"Not anymore!" John smiled proudly as he held the sputtering mess toward the pair.
Michael just stared in amazement before gathering his thoughts "I... well let's just put him in-"
"Room 703, Got it - Gotta say, I gave you guys some crap, but this was a lot less annoying than last time" John dragged the mess of a man out of the room and graciously - that was the last either Michael or Thomas had to see John.
But many more trainees would hear recordings of the interaction, and along with other less smooth incidents came to fear the possibility of them one day having to pick up that red phone.
| 2022-03-29T02:56:56 | 2022-03-29T01:55:07 | 99 | 40 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?"
|
"Listen, I'm desperate." I hear Vulcan's voice plead from the phone.
"I literally tried to kill you yesterday." I deadpan.
"So'd my ex, actually! Albeit she was a bit closer to being successful than you were." He cheerfully mentions, I sigh as I massage the bridge of my nose.
"You know what, I'm getting curious about this ex of yours. Tell me the address." I can almost visualise him perking up.
"Thank you so much, I owe you my life." He sighs in relief.
"After hearing about your dating history, I'm not sure I want it." I mutter.
"Anyways! It's 1520 Thompson Rd." He chirps. I let out a deep breath, running my hands through my hair.
"Send me the details later, all of them."
Moments later, I receive a text from him, restating the date and time, location as well as the dress code.
Arriving at the venue the next day, I pull up in one of my finer cars in a rich blue suit. At the entrance, I see Vulcan anxiously tapping his foot in a deep garnet suit of his own.
"So, this wasn't a trap." I smirk, walking up to him. He breathes a sigh of relief upon seeing me.
"Thank god you're here, I thought you wouldn't show up." He places a hand on my shoulder. I chuckle.
"What, and miss the chance to see the ever elusive Vulcan in a suit? No way." I joke.
"Actually, uh, can you just call me Aiden here?" He says nervously. I raise a single eyebrow in curiosity.
"They don't know?" I ask. He shakes his head in response. "I guess I'd be Fletcher then." He beams at me, grabbing my hand.
"Well then Fletcher, we have a wedding to get to." He leads me inside where I see a groom awaiting under a floral arch. We find our seats and wait for the ceremony to finish. A beautiful bride, a handsome groom, an elegant but simple ceremony, I had to give it to them, Vulcan's friends knew how to plan a wedding.
"Now for the tough part." I hear him mutter and I can't help but agree.
|
"Wow... this *is* embarrassing... take some pictures for me?"
"DON'T MESS WITH ME! Seriously, no joke, my ex is an absolute monster... I can't be seen alone with her around?"
"OH MAN THIS IS RICH! Did your ex run off with a tall, hot guy? Were you not good in bed?"
"Geez, have some respect! I'd hang up *right now*, but I can't ask anyone else..."
"Not even one of your hero buddies? Oh, you could hire a stripper!"
"STOP MESSING AROUND! I have my reputation to think about, you know."
"So why call me? If people found out who I was..."
"You're the only one I could even tell. As annoying as you are... I know you're not judging me."
"You're absolutely right. I don't judge. After all, how'd that help me?"
"...So?"
"Ok, here's how we're doing things: obviously neither of us are to reveal our identities. Fighting is also even more obviously out the question. If people begin to suspect, divert the conversation. And on the off-chance our date goes well, you're coming back with me"
"WHAT? Coming back... with *YOU*??? You must be joking!"
"Would I joke like that? Come on, if it does go well, wouldn't you want some... *quality time*?"
"...Damn you. Fine, I agree. And no need to say it, I know you'll be able to sense my real emotions, so I can't lie."
"Exactly. And remember, I can also quite easily sway emotions..."
"You know that doesn't work easily on me."
"It might be different when you see my outfit, sugar. Let me know the details later. I'll be expecting you to pick me up on the day. I'm counting on you, darling."
"Curse you..." *SLAM!*
| 2022-10-06T18:55:36 | 2022-10-06T16:48:24 | 234 | 158 |
[WP] The Government releases an App allowing citizens to chose where their taxes are spent.
|
As I read the words across the page, I knew it was all over. I was an essential part of the government workforce and I knew that no one, by choice, would use tax money to support my position.
I had worked here 23 years and now it was all over. I know I'd easily find work elsewhere, but I couldn't help but think this was going to be a big problem in the long run. How is the government even going to keep running?
I grabbed my hat and coat, walked out the door, and drove towards home. My wife will be surprised to see me home early, but she'll be glad that she is no longer married to someone working at the IRS.
|
>You have always been very political, but couldn't do anything to change the government.
>That will change now!
>Welcome to Tak-Zs. An innovation in democracy!
>Now, you can help!
>With this new app, you can manually change how your taxes are spent.
>Visit *tak-zs.gov* to learn more
Dennis saw the ad. He knew that this would not work, and he was correct.
| 2017-02-19T19:09:27 | 2017-02-19T17:40:35 | 104 | 22 |
[WP] You are a villain who kidnapped the smart guy on your nemesis team, they tell you that nobody will come for them and that the hero doesn't care. You didn't believe them at first but it been a month and nobody shows up and after once again hearing them cry at night you had enough
|
“Are you kidding me? Its been like what 5 months since I kidnapped him? “ “Sire I assure you that they will come for him” I stare at my loyal advisor, a demon who has lived almost a long as I have, but I doubt his words. “Raz I doubt the kid still believes that. I honestly kind wanna kill him for his sake. I feel bad for him” Raz nods in agreement. “It may be for the best sire.” I sigh as I come to accept this massive waste of time, but before I can frustration builds in me. “Ughhhhhh but I actually tried this time” I never wanted to fight this war I mean I the demon lord of Sloth for gods sake.
This all started when Pride decided to kill the Pope just to show the world he could. I wanted to laze in my castle, maybe invade a village just to keep a little fear up, but I have never done anything like this. “We got the right guy right? Are we sure this is the number 2 strategic resources in the Church’s army. “Sire you have always said that the most valuable thing in life and war is smarts”
Being as lazy as I am, I find the best people are smart people. Smart people questions things that are hard and find ways to make them easier. I am all for that. “I just don’t get it, our spies informed us that this kid plans all the hero’s battle strategies right. “I believe that is correct” “THEN WHAT GIVES, the unified church’s army hasn’t given up thanks to this kids strategies right?” “ We believe that to be the case sir.” “Bring him here” I sigh again as I rest my head on my hand.
The doors at the end of the hall open. My personal guards flank the saddest looking kid I have every seen. I mean I get it you get kidnapped by a demon lord and no one comes to rescue you. I would have slit my throat months ago. The guards bring the boy about 15 feet away from me so I don’t really have to adjust my head. Smart guys I like them. “Hey kid whats the deal? You plan the strategies right?” The kid looks up at me seems to be holding tears, unlike last night. “Yes, bu bu but the Church always praise the gods and the hero for the victories.” “Well yeah thats just religion, but serious your idea to flood the river after that rain in order to stall Wrath’s advance was genius. Made her army waste so much time she was pissed.”
A look of confusion comes across the kids face. “I just told the hero to build an earth wall with magic. He did all the work” I’m actually getting mad for the kid. “Wait hold on, does the Church or Hero not give you credit for the ideas? My spies inform me all the time that you are constantly giving the hero and his squadron amazing tactics.” The kid looks kind of embarrassed like he isn’t used to praise, or maybe its because I said it. “Honestly Mr. Demon Lord sir, the hero doesn’t really like being told what to do and he has told me no one likes a know it all, but I at least thought they would send some one to rescue me.” “Yeah I really thought you were the second most important person to the Church’s war effort. So I assumed the hero would come get you and I could just kill him here and get this over with, but seriously not even a couple of soldiers.
“ Is the hero really that big of a dick? I mean I know I’m the lord of laze, but I go save a friend especially a smart friends. The hero is wrong you know I love a know it all. You see Raz over there? Smartest demon on the planet. He invented our flying magic. I don’t have to walk anywhere any more. You know what take the rest day off” “Thank you sire.”
The kid seems to be confused by my display as if he had never seen anyone praise someone for being smart. “Well now what to do with you, ughhh I really don’t wanna use more energy than I have to and it pisses me off to waste energy. Fuck it, come work for me”
Sorry if there is any grammar or editing issue wrote this pretty quick on my phone
Edit: Formatting
|
Dr. Devastation was awoken in the middle of the night by the sobbing. Again. For what had to have been the 30th night in a row. Groaning, he turned over in his black four poster bed and covered his head with his matching pillow.
"By Satan's left testicle, where the HELL is Mr. Superlative?!" He muttered into his mattress.
"I never thought I'd actually WANT to see his smug, self-important face!"
A particularly pathetic whimper broke through his pillow shield, and finally, the bad doctor snapped. He rose from his bed in a fatigue-induced rage, stormed past his six-headed guard velociraptor asleep on the floor, passed his patented Dr. Devastation's Evil Elliptical and Toothbrusher, and grabbed his Disintegration Ray on his way out of his room, forgetting to even don his Cape of Evil as he left.
Dr. Devastation marched out of his door, down three flights of stairs, and down the long, metallic corridor that led to the cell block in his Devestation Station Resort and Theme Park. After spending 20 minutes disengaging the security lock to the complex, he stormed over to cell C26, where Professor Perfection laid on the metal slate suspended by spiked chains in the center of his cell, sobbing loudly and inelegantly.
Professor Perfection noticed the dastardly doctor immediately, and began to wail even more dramatically.
"Oh, woe is me!" Sobbed the distraught hero as Dr. Devastation began typing in the 127 digit combination to his cell. "Captured by an evil fiend, left to rot in a horrible dungeon, and abandoned by the heroes that he once called his allies and, dare I even say, family! I am truly the most unfortunate superhero in the multiverse! Never again will I taste the pure wind of the outside world! Always will I rot here, alone, dejected, and completely-"
BZZZZZZZAP!!!!!
The top half of Professor Perfection was vaporized instantly, leaving the bottom half thrashing about, leaking blood, half-disintegrated organs, and body waste everywhere in the once-pristine cell. Dr. Devastation re-engaged the safety on his Disintegration Ray, turned on his heel, and stomped back to his room.
"Satan! Thank The Dark Lord that's over! I don't even know why I captured that guy in the first place!... I mean, it's pretty bad when even the HEROES don't want you back!..."
*MEANWHILE, AT THE HALLS OF JUSTICE*
Mrs. Magnificent heard a chirp coming from her computer in her room.
"Computer! Turn that off!" The superheroine yelled, annoyed that her poker game had just been interrupted.
"What was that about?" Mr. Superlative asked, coming back from the Kitchen of Justice with more nachos and another beer.
"Oh, nothing. That was just the alarm singling when the villains finally snapped and murdered Professor Perfection." Mrs. Magnificent said in a tone of voice that might have indicated that one had just walked through a pile of dog poop.
"Professor who?" Asked The Impressive Person, their 6th arm holding their poker hand (2 Aces and a 3) while their 7th and 8th hands juggled carbon atoms into the 9th Dimension, causing Diamonds to spawn back into his 3rd Hand.
"Oh, nobody important." Mrs. Magnificent said derisively. "Just a pest that nobody wanted."
"I raise." Said Stupendousness as he plopped several chips into the rapidly growing pile in the center of the table.
"Huh." Said Mr. Superlative. "I wonder what took them so long. It's been, like, a week, right?" He said, propping his Super Feet onto the Table of High Value.
"Meh, who cares? Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. Now, I'm going to call that raise Stupendousness, you're so full of shit right now..."
And nothing of value was lost on that day.
| 2021-08-04T17:15:32 | 2021-08-04T16:58:52 | 34 | 19 |
[WP] You turn your Match Distance on tinder to "Anywhere". To your surprise you get a match that is 10^93 light years away. Thinking it was a joke you turn it off. 20 minutes later you turn it back on and it says they are 10^5 light years away and getting closer.
|
*Um.. Hello?*
**Hi. :)**
*Uh. so. 10^93 about 20 minutes ago and now your at 10^5.*
**Yeah?**
*Not sure where that is.*
**I'm not sure what its called on your system. I mean, I can check.**
*No that's okay.*
**I mean, I have Googzawl Universe here. I don't mind the data usage.**
*No no I*
*Wait what*
**I mean. Oh jeez. You don't think I'm actually getting closer because you swiped right on me do you??**
*Well I wasn't sure.*
**OMZG lol I'm so sorry I didn't want to come off as pushy anything hahaa.**
*lol ok*
**No no, I actually have to stay mobile for work. See, if you check again you'll see I've moved again.**
*oh yeah! now your 10^73 haha*
**Yeah I just left the Rhosnosaw System. Ugh. I hate that system. You ever been?**
*Uh. No.*
**Your not missing much. Kinda uppity neighborhood. Well, not like they will be anymore. So you like Tarantino movies too huh? You like Jackie Brown?**
*Shit yeah! I love Pam Grier! She is so foxy!!*
*Wait wut do you mean about 'not like they will be anymore'?*
**Honestly, I think Robert DeNiros performance in it was really understated and one of the subtle points that really makes the film shine.**
**Plus I laughed my ass off when Chris Tucker got his ass shot dead LOL SUPAH GREEN LOL**
*nono what do you mean 'not like they will be anymore.'?*
**Oh. Um. Right so..**
**See, you seem really nice and I kinda like talkin with you ..**
**Plus your really cute in your pic. I love gingers!!**
*Thanks?*
**I just don't wanna creep you out. And my job is kinda weird and keeps me super busy and stuff. It makes staying in any kind of long term relationship hard.**
*Really?*
**Yeah. Its kinda why I'm giving Tinder a try.**
*I really liked it when Chris Tucker got shot too.*
**heeheeheee I know right? 'I aint gittin in no goddaym trunk!!'**
*hahahahahahahah*
*I work at a Gas Station. I work graveyard shifts. My boss treats me like shit. My customers are either all hookers, junkies or bastards. I get paid minimum wage, but this is just until I get back into college.*
*I know what its like to have a shitty job that does't let you get out to meet people*
**Oh. That is so terrible. I'm sorry to hear. What are you going back to school for?**
*Advanced Astrophysics. I just ran out of tuition. My parents kinda cut off my money.*
**When my Dad found out what I wanted to do with my life, he kinda did the same, actually. Then he died.**
*I'm sorry.*
**Its okay. He shot first.**
*wait wat*
**Look. I guess no dating experience goes well without total honestly.**
**I'm kinda.. a bit of a pirate.**
*like.. you download movies?*
**No. As in I have a fleet of Light Assault Frigates and we warp from system to system ravaging entire planets of their natural resources.**
*Oh.*
**Yeah.**
*Good dental coverage?*
**Better optical coverage. ;)**
*.. was that a pun about eye patches?*
**I'm sorry.**
**Not sorry. ;P**
**<<photo incoming.>>**
*holy jeez..*
*um.. I kinda like Gingers too.*
*Would you like to get some coffee later?*
**I'd love to. ;)**
*Just promise not to ravage my planet?*
**Promise. ;) Already did a while back anyways.**
*thanks*
*What?*
**Huh?**
*LOL*
**;)**
|
I pull out my phone again to show Tara.
"He's less than a light year away now and he hasn't even sent a message. What do I do?"
"Oh, he's cute!" She wasn't wrong, he was exactly my type: dark hair, brooding eyes, bad boy vibe. He looked like Marlon Brando circa a Streetcar Named Desire.
"Yeah, but so not the point here." I urge her.
"You don't usually go for the blonds." She says, "but you know, 1950's preppy boy is classically hot."
"Excuse me?" I ask her, "how is that even remotely close to blond!"
"You're crazy!" She holds the phone so we can both see it and points. "This is totally blond."
A weird thing happens at that moment. The picture splits itself into two images, half blond hair half dark, half soulful eyes half wide eyes, half wearing a leather jacket and half a letterman jacket. Underneath it all it was the same basic guy, the same basic face. Tara and I look to each other, speechless.
We hear some dogs from the neighborhood barking. It's midday so it's probably the mailman, that's the only thing that causes such a mass ruckus among dogs.
Tara recovers first. She turns the phone off and states, "I need a drink."
I follow her through our little shared house to the kitchen. She grabs a bottle of wine and opens it. I find two clean glasses and hand them to her. Tara shakes her head and opens me another full bottle of wine.
There's a knock at the door.
Tara panics, "that could only be him, how does he know where we live, oh my god, oh my god don't answer it whatever you do."
"Relax, girl." I try to keep myself calm. "It's probably just the mail, I ordered something from etsy a little while ago. He probably just needs me to sign it."
I go to the door and look through the peep hole. "Tara." I try to sound calm. "Tara, you were right, it's him."
She joins me and takes a look herself. "He brought flowers! What a gentleman."
"Girl, you have the attention span of a goldfish."
"Well he's here now," she says, "you might as well open it."
"Okay." I take a deep breath, then open the door.
"Jill," he speaks quickly and in a weird foreign accent. " I believe it is customary that I bring you the offering of the native vegetation's sex organs to demonstrate my intention of breeding with you."
For a moment I'm stunned. Than I laugh. "Yes, I suppose that's one way to put it."
"I will now offer you a ride in my vehicle to accompany me for a meal as proof that I can provide meals for you and our future family."
Again, I laugh.
"I do not understand," he says, "I am being sincere in my intentions, why do you laugh?"
"Most men just follow the, um 'customs' without thinking about where they come from. It sounds a bit ridiculous when I hear all the reasoning out loud. You don't have to be that formal," I explain.
"Oh thank Grok," he says. He drops the flowers and his appearance changes. The same basic features behind it all. He has a slightly blueish hue to his skin, his hair is pure white, and his eyes resemble a cat's.
"Hi," I say as I look into his eyes.
"Hi," he counters, unblinking. "I'm taking you to my planet now."
He scoops me up off my feet and carries me to the rather large space ship parked across the entire street. All the while we never break eye contact.
| 2016-12-23T10:01:49 | 2016-12-23T09:52:21 | 54 | 20 |
[WP] You are the antagonist in a story. You think. You really aren't sure anymore after what the protagonist did.
|
"You blew it up..." Dr. Vestro stared in disbelief at the wreckage that had been his life's work. "All of it..."
Captain Gallant laughed, "Indeed I have, villain! You're mind control station is no more! You shall pay for your cri-"
"And you only saved me."
"Er, yes. You were the devious mastermind! Of course I couldn't let you perish among the flames. You must be taken to court an-"
"Do you *know* how many employees worked there?"
Gallant's eyes narrowed, "I don't know how many minions you controlled, but I-" Vestro turned, furious, "*They. Weren't. Minions.* Employees. I paid them. They worked there of their own will."
"But... the mind control you were developing would ha-"
"Wha- Yes we were developing a system to control minds, but it wouldn't be ready for at least another 30 years!"
Gallant smirked smugly, "So you *admit* to it!"
"Admit to what?"
"Controlling their minds."
"THEY WERE EMPLOYEES. They had families. You killed them all."
"*Evil* families"
Vestro buried his face in his hands, "Christ above... You think you're the hero in all this don't you."
*Author's Note: I threw this together on a break from work. Might revisit it later if there's interest/ if I can think of how to improve or add to it.*
|
What makes a person a hero?
What makes them take on that role?
Does something within
Absolve them of sin
And give them a tarnish-proof soul?
A villain is drawn to their vices
They gather a posse and such
Then someone arrives
And no-one survives
At what point is that a bit much?
What makes a person a hero?
Is it all in the way they're equipped?
Does a magic sword
Mean you're not a warlord?
Or is it just part of the script?
A villain has pure motivation
A want that is never ignored
Yet a hero's aims
Seem rather like games
It's almost as if they're just *bored*
What makes a person a hero?
Is it wanton slaughter they need?
To bludgeon and buff
Then take all our stuff?
Because it looks rather like greed
A villain might cut a few corners
Accepting the means for their ends
But isn't it worse
To feel no remorse
For murdering the villain's friends?
What makes a person a hero?
Is destiny truly foregone?
Are they living free
In some fantasy?
I'll think it through when I respawn...
| 2016-10-26T11:25:51 | 2016-10-26T11:09:55 | 186 | 40 |
[WP] Retell a well known story. Make me side with the villain/antagonist.
The more unsympathetic they are in the original, the better.
|
I know a tale of a hero, a monster, and the tragic tale of a brave man's death.
The story tells of a woman who had lost her family. With the hope that, somewhere, they may still be alive, she journeyed through the wilderness on a small, brown horse, when she was captured by an evil monster, eight feet tall and powerful, a mix of man and wolf. He locked her in a castle as his pet, a plaything and eventually, a snack.
Down in the village, the people learned of this monster. A man stood on in the town square, holding a torch above his head. "We will not stay here and fear for our children's safety! I will kill this monster and assure the safety of you all! Who is with me?"
The townspeople gathered fire and pitchfork, charging the abandoned castle where the creature resided. As the villagers fought against the monster's demonic guards, the hero climbed the tower to save the fair maiden and defeat the beast holding her hostage.
On the rooftop, the two of them fought. The hero managed to cut the thing with his blade, causing it to yell in pain. As he advanced on the creature, however, his foot slipped from under him, catapulting him to the ground and his untimely death.
Eventually, the village returned to normal, with the monster nowhere to be found and the maiden engaged to a prince who had become astonished by her beauty. But late at night, when most normal people sleep in the small town, you can hear the men who guard the town sing a quiet melody.
"No one hits like Gaston, no one has wit like Gaston..."
|
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Oh, I'm watching them."
"Why?"
"Why not."
"You could've at least given them clothes."
"Look, I didn't have time okay, and anyway they won't even notice."
"Did you create them blind?"
"What? When did I do that."
"Last time, remember, they were literally blind and found their way by tasting the air, and I have tasted that air. It is the worst thing I have ever done. Why did you even make me do that?"
"You needed a lesson."
"I ate the last cookie, how was I supposed to know you were keeping it for yourself? Forget about that why won't they notice."
"Oh I banned them eating from the tree."
"Wait, what? How are they supposed to feel and decide anything if they don't eat it."
"They'll have to take my word for it."
The devil shook his head, "I need a beer."
"I banned that too,"
He growled, "fine I'll just use some po-"
"That's also not allowed."
"You know what? I don't have to take this. Fuck you God, fuck this too bright place, and your stupid rules. I'm out." Then he strolled out of the room.
"Fine, do what you want. Hmm, oh I now have the perfect scapegoat for my plans."
| 2016-02-02T14:25:18 | 2016-02-02T12:21:47 | 41 | 11 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold.
|
> A scientist wearing a lab coat, walks into frame, a large seemingly endless white room behind him. “Sleep” he says holding his hands out. The word appearing in bold text above his head
> “Since the dawn of humanity we have needed to sleep,” as he speaks images of people soundly asleep in beds fill the screen.
> “In the past we had good reason. Few jobs could be done in the dark after all!” medieval artwork of scribes writing by candle light come across the screen.
> “However this is no longer the 1500 century! We have technology that allows every person to function at night,” images of time-square, cell phone screens, and computer monitors hit the screen.
> “Despite all this advancement, we still need to sleep away a third of our days. We are only human after all, and we need sleep…,” as he speaks the same images of sleeping people are on screen.
> “But not anymore! Introducing Sesopor! The newest creation by Brightford Pharmaceuticals!” The images of sleeping people gently fades to a pill bottle with the just off center with the word “Sesopor” on the label as he says this.
> “Just one pill whenever you feel drowsy will effect your body in the same way 8 hours of sleep would, except no down time! You’ll be back up to your full potential in mere minutes after taking a single pill of Sesopor!” A soundless video of people chatting in a busy cafe while it’s clearly night outside plays.
> “Find Sesopor at you— loc-l phar—acy to-ay,”
As the Ad ends, the busted, dust covered TV flickers and dies, the last bit of energy left in the dilapidated Gas station having run out. The strange spindly creature, who had been watching the TV Ad shook momentarily and wandered off back towards the once bustling city.
If one was generous they would call the creature humanoid, but these things were quite different from humans. It had two legs, two arms, and a head, much like humans, but that’s where the similarities ended.
After all, *humans* need sleep.
|
Our school has the highest drug use in our county. The drug is called Somnus. It is a pill that you swallow in the morning to mimic the effects of 8 hours of sleep. This allows you to go to class and concentrate on your studies.
The consequences are that your memory is reduced and your brain is not as efficient. This results in an increase in depression and other mood disorders. The worst part is that this drug is still very popular.
After you have taken the pill, you will feel like you have just been up for 8 hours. This makes you more tired and less able to concentrate. It also makes you think that you have a hangover. The hangover lasts for 2 to 3 days. You will feel tired and more depressed than usual. The worst part is that you have to take the pill everyday. You will not be able to sleep without it.
The Somnus is the best pill for college students. You can get the pill from a doctor or from your school. It is only available in the morning and you are not allowed to take it more than 2 days in a row. It is very difficult to get off of the drug.
After the 2 days, your memory will be back to normal. However, the depression will last longer than the 2 days.
You should have your doctor check your brain to see if it is ok. You will need to take the pill for 2 weeks before the doctor can tell if your brain is ok.
If your brain is not ok, then the Somnus will not work anymore. This means that you will not be able to sleep anymore. You will not be able to get up in the morning without it.
| 2022-03-18T14:12:13 | 2022-03-18T07:24:03 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.
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Eduardo and Sarah had come to visit me at the old office. I hadn’t got a chance to see them since he got his big promotion and moved out to the East Coast office. “Stroke” and “Stomach Cancer” still spelled out in wisps over their heads. This time they brought the new addition to the family, Devon, who himself had an even fainter wisp reading “Traffic Accident” hovering in a similar position to the others.
When the words started appearing that day when I was twelve I was disturbed. I was about to lose my grandfather and I thought it was just my imagination going wild from the stress of confronting death. But even after the funeral, the words continued to hang in the air above their heads. When I went to the grocery store with my Mom, when I returned to camp, and at the end of the summer when I got back to school these reminders of death followed me.
At first I was depressed. My poor mother didn’t know what to do. My brother made fun of me for going “emo”. But everyone wrote it off as a period of adolescent immaturity, and I can’t say they were wrong.
Life is short. I had a reminder of that fact that followed me every day, not completely unlike a funeral home director or a grave digger. I grew to understand that most of these people will live good lives, living in good health until dying of some mundane disease in old age.
But whenever I’d see something like “traffic accident” on a kid my age, I’d still feel that pang of the tragedy of life’s fragility. Or at least I used to when I was younger. Now I’m approaching middle age and that pang of tragedy is reserved for people significantly younger than myself. But while I still felt that pang when I saw Devon’s “Traffic Accident,” it glowed even more faintly than the words above his parents, an indication he would live longer than his parents at the least.
I never spend time around kids now that I’m not one anymore. Edurado was my first friend to really settle down and start having his own kids. But one day I was eating lunch in McDonalds. Like most people, the average American (ok, slightly above average weight American) office drones around me had typical “X-Cancer,” “Industrial Accident,” and a few more than usual “Heart Attack”s floating around. Unnoticed by me, a yellow bus full of kids on a field trip had pulled up in the lot, disgorging its shrieking over excited contents. A stream of children start to pour into the McDonalds, furiously clamoring over each other to get a better spot in line. I wince in annoyance at the presence of the loud children crowding into the McDonald’s serving lines. These were young kids, still wearing their tiny shoes with cartoon characters on them un-ironically. I think I saw an Adventure Time back pack. Needless to say, their boisterous shrieking was rapidly turning my lunch break into torture.
I got up to leave, dumping my tray of used fast food paper into the trash bin. I quietly chuckle as I mutter “Beetus” when I notice the word “Diabetes” hanging over a morbidly obese school marm waving flaps of fat as her limbs motioned to herd the students. As I run my eyes over the students, I notice one especially buttery ball of a first grader, and expecting my heart to break I look up to the word above his head. The students were all crowded together and it took me a while to read his, “Suicide.” Hmmm. Life’s hard I thought.
Then it occurred to me. The word “Cancer” was so prevalent in crowds that it made a visual pattern I would notice. I looked more closely at the students. The ones walking away with trays from the counter were easier to read since they were away from the crowd. “Traffic Accident,” “Gun Accident,” “Traffic Accident,” “Industrial Accident,” and then one I’d never seen before “Hacked and Deleted”. All of them so faint that they were practically clear.
None of these kids had the typical deaths from disease I’d seen all my life. I’d run into a few kids here and there, family events, at the mall with their parents. I’d never noticed the pattern before. I hadn’t been around such a large group of children in years.
I wanted to know more. I figured there must be some sort of clue, a cutoff year where people start to stop dying of these diseases. I had to go find a school and do some research.
|
Nobody sees the world in the same way. Some people see it as an adventure, others as a game. Me? I've never had the liberty of enjoying it.
Imagine knowing how something would play out before it happened. Imagine the surprise of life being taken out. Imagine the joy of living being sucked away because all you can ever think about is death.
That's what my life is like. I see dead men walking. Not literally. I don't mean I see zombies. I mean I can see how everybody will die before they even know.
Imagine seeing your newborn child. Imagine holding him in your arms. Imagine trying to smile at your wife when you see the words "measles" appear above his head. You know there's a vaccine. You know you can stop it. But your wife doesn't believe in vaccines. You have to struggle with your inner demons as you watch your child grow up in front of your eyes, only to be stricken down when you least expect it. You have to comfort your wife and tell her that "he's going to be okay" when you know the truth.
That's when you realize that the "suicide" that appears above your wife's head is indeed going to come true, and you can't stop it. No matter how much your comfort her, no matter how many times you tell her it's going to be okay, one night you still wake up and she's gone. The search parties never find her, but you know the truth.
When you finally get back to work, you learn that your boss died of a heart attack. You pretend to be shocked. "He was so young" you say. "How could this happen?" You know it's fate. You know you can't stop it.
The years drag by. Some people leave, others pass away. Cancer, heart attacks, murder, suicide, car accidents. The list goes on and on, each in the exact same way you knew it would.
You start taking mental notes of the most common causes. Suicide seems to be rampant, but murder is a close second. As people leave the office one way or the other, they're always replaced by the same one. Murder.
As the last "cancer" one dies, they are replaced with one that you are not very familiar with. "Electric Chair".
You find it strange. After all, the only crime punishable by death is... murder.
Perhaps fate can be changed. You realize this could be your chance for redemption. One day, he leaves work early, and you follow him into the alley. He looks back, and sees you following him. He tries to say hello. With no words, you pull the gun from your coat and shoot him in the chest. He falls to the ground, limp. Is he dead? You don't know. You've never killed a man before.
You look behind you. Is someone there? Did someone see? Nobody is around. Nobody saw... except the camera.
You forgot the office had CCTV cameras inside AND outside. You panic. You have to stop this. You're a hero, not a killer. You saved all your co-workers. You've stopped a murderer. You can't let anyone see the footage.
You get in your car and drive to the back of the building. You take the lighter from your pocket and spark it. You throw it into the paper bin outside and watch it burn. Before you can get back into your car, the burning paper has ignited the tires. You watch, helplessly, as your car erupts into flames. You run away as fast as you can, until the explosion rocks you off your feet. The burning car had ignited the gas lines. The whole building is gone. Nobody could have survived. My co-workers were all accidentally murdered.
Before the sirens closed in, I took one last look back to make sure I at least took care of my quarry.
There was a trail of blood leading to an empty parking space. The murderer had still gotten away.
"I'll consider this your official confession." The police officer said to me as the dim lights continued to flicker.
"Yes. That's what I would call it." I replied calmly.
"You realize what the sentence is for murder around here, correct?"
"Yes." I replied once again. "Electric chair. I've been able to read my own cause of death for years."
| 2015-03-31T12:59:24 | 2015-03-31T09:32:55 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] You're a lawyer that specializes in defamation cases. Your clientele? Slandered sea monsters, libeled leprechauns, and other misrepresented myths.
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"I am a bloody warrior! A deadly weapon in the hands of my queen! I am NOT a cutesy little flying thing. I do not spurt glitter! It’s magical dust! Residue from my mighty powers! It can *kill* for heaven sake!”
“I understand…”
“I have taken more lives than the plague! I learned how to wield a sword before I learned how to hold a fork! I have spilled more blood than there is water in the ocean!”
“I see…”
“And then there are our steeds! ‘Fluff butts’ they call them! ‘Toast’! ‘Loafs’! Ridiculous! They are mighty beasts! Ruthless and fearless in battle! Not ‘foot rests’! Not splooting furry balls! Their teeth can take down enemies ten times their size and their stamina is legendary!”
“Ah, and did you want to include your ‘mighty steeds’ in your claim, sir?”
“They ought to be… they have been misrepresented just as much as we have!”
“Alright… not a problem…”
“It’s the toy manufacturer and children’s book authors I want to go after!”
“How is that?”
“They are the reason our image has suffered so much! Because they didn’t do their research, my people have been degraded to these… these… tiny giggling things with no purpose or meaning… I mean in their stories all we do is fly around and drink nectar. Now, don’t get me wrong: I love my occasional bud of nectar just like any other forest creature, but we are so, so much more than that. And we are *definitely* NOT made to serve these filthy humans- no offense…”
“... none taken.”
“We are a proud independent people and I am sick and tired of being treated like a brainless glitter bug!”
“I understand completely, sir. Now, just for the record: our main goal is to change the distorted image of your people by forbidding manufacturers and popular media to misrepresent you any longer. And we want reparations for the damage that has been done to your people.”
“Correct! And I want our name changed.”
“Absolutely. What would you like it to be changed to?”
“I no longer want it to be ‘Fairy’. That is just degrading! I want it to be ‘Fearless Everlasting Youth! Fey for short!”
“No problem, sir. I think the case of misrepresentation of your people is severe enough that we will be able to push through all of your demands.”
“Good!”
|
"So, you're Arachne and Athena, yes?" I asked.
"We are," Athena replied, combing her long blonde hair.
"And you came to me because some dude in Rome thought your... sister here was a human turned spider or half-spider because you were jealous of her weaving," I replied.
"Yea. And we have to rectify it. Poor Arachne here could not handle the shame back at Mount Olympus," Athena replied, "Thalia and Melpomene decided to call off their order for the background tapestries of their next plays because of that scumbag's article about Arachne and I."
I turned towards the half-spider creature. She was covering her face with her hands. Her eight legs splayed on the ground underneath her. A handful of spiders skittered around their mother, trying to console her.
"Humans be damned! They made me look like a fool!" Arachne exclaimed. Athena tapped her sister's upper back.
I stood up, went over to Arachne and patted her on her silvery haired head. "Listen," I said, "I'll do as much as I can to win your case, knowing that you two are goddesses in Greek mythology one way or another. If it gets your reputation back, I'll do it, even if it means getting fried by your father if we lose."
"Not that far, human!" Athena exclaimed, "Don't worry. As the goddess of wisdom, I will provide my blessing. You do your job and defend us as best as we can."
"Very well," I replied as I went back to my seat, "Now tell me the details."
Athena cleared her throat and began, "If you think Arachne here was a Lydian woman, well that's wrong. My mother was actually carrying twins when she was inside my dad's brain. Unfortunately, after I was born, Arachne came out, but only half a human. Mom did something and then crafted an eight legged spider body using my dad's right side brain cells, hence her supreme artistic abilities..."
(This is just my first time making a story here, comments welcome!)
| 2020-03-19T12:30:50 | 2020-03-19T09:01:59 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Humans have conquered every planet and explored the depths of the universe. Finally, the ultimate question has been answered. We really are alone.
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And lo, mankind ventured alone and found nothing waiting beyond. (Babel 16:3)
Empty worlds. Ripe worlds. Worlds enough for all the arkships to scatter, fall, settle, thrive. (Babel 23:12)
So we were born again. (Babel, torn fragment, recovered)
We changed as had been ordained. Empires formed and fell and returned again. Neo-Tenoch, the Forever Nation, the Thousand Daughters of Mao. (Ion 1:9)
...orange skies, red rivers...seed-mountains that grew inverse...dunewhales that cried for thunder...earth and sky variate in a thousand ways...our many homes. (Hyperium 4:3, 4:5, 7, 8:1)
A million false idols bore we. (Lazarus 3)
We manned the fringelines and edgeborders for a thousand years more, until there was nobody left to take watch. (Ion 7:34)
And so did the Great Gate open like the eye of the almighty, the true god, the Elder, behold, and all of creation gazed upon it's lip, witnessed what came forth, the unthinkable truth and desolate beauty and simple horror...(Solace 4:3)
...and we realised as one why we had been kept alone for all these years. (Solace 4:4)
|
First time writer, im hoping not to fall too flat!
---
For us, the sky was too far too small a limit. As our planet grew inhospitable for life we sought refuge amongst the stars.
It's been 1,200 years since we've mastered interplanetary travel on a large scale, With the Moon already colonized over 1,500 years ago and Mars with its many small factions we traveled to the moons of the gas giants. As a side goal, in our travels we've not even discovered tiniest of microorganisms and so began the mission to discover life beyond Earth.
1,000 years ago we've mastered interstellar travel, quickly colonizing our neighboring stars within our source region. All once again fruitless in our search for life.
750 years ago a breakthrough in intergalactic travel allowed us to instantly transmit anything to any location in the universe, coupled with cloning technology and our understanding of the quantum universe we had nearly infinite resources to quickly colonize and discover the entire universe.
Now today the billions of scouting teams have completed the analysis of the last known galaxy of our universe and returned with negative results.
Truly in this universe we are alone, but we are very hopeful for the next.
| 2014-07-26T14:30:51 | 2014-07-26T13:54:26 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] One day, you wake up with the ability to see the role that belongs to everyone above their heads. “Background character” over your mom’s, “Love Interest” over your classmate’s. You’ve always been afraid to see your own, until one day, you inadvertently catch sight of it. “Antagonist”, it says.
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This world moves in eras. There was an era of the Roman Empire, the British Empire, both world wars were eras of their own. And in each of these eras, the Heavens bestow upon each of us a destiny. Destinies could be minor, some would be major. A few lucky ones could have even stronger destinies, but 2 people in each era would have Supreme Destinies. These would be the protagonist and the antagonist of the era.
The power told me this when it first manifested itself. What power, you ask? I'm talking about the power to see these destinies that I got one day, out of the blue. The power seemed to be able to detect the destiny of a person, and visualise it in a way I could understand, that being in the form of a role displayed above the head.
My mother is a 'Background Character' to this era, as are most of the people of the era. When I went to school that first day, I saw that the class idol was a 'Love Interest' in this era.
I was shocked when I saw this. Did that mean that the protagonist of the era was in this school too? Or maybe she moved away and met him, like some James Bond trope?
I knew I couldn't think about it forever. I just decided to ignore it and move on; with my power, I would find out eventually.
That day I had looked at the role of everyone in my school, but apart from the 'Love Interest' and another role called 'Judas', everybody else was a 'Background Character'.
For around a week afterwards, I always wondered what my role could be. I had checked mirrors, but I couldn't see my role through it, or anybody else's for that matter. I tried setting up situations to talk to the 'Love Interest' but somehow, they had all fallen through, like something was trying to keep me away.
I was depressed. I could see all of these roles, but I couldn't even see my own. Until...
I had run a rare bath for myself that day. Usually I would shower, but I felt like rewarding myself. As I lowered myself into the tub, a tension I didn't even realise I had was slowly drifting away, and I had entered a zen-like state. I looked down into the water to see my reflection, and imagine my surprise when I saw a line of text above my head!
I quickly understood why. Water is natural, just like destiny, so water can reflect destiny unlike an artificial mirror. I stopped moving as much as I could to let the water settle, and for a split-second I could see that word. That single word.
Antagonist.
Shock. Horror. Confusion. More confusion...
I was NOT antagonist material. I was a socially awkward kid with little to no presence at school. How could I be an antagonist?
At school the next day, I decided to try something. As I was walking in front of the 'Love Interest' and her squad of other girls, I spilt a little bit of water on the floor. As I had somehow expected, when the love interest had walked to that spot, her foot moved into the puddle like it was a divine intervention. Immediately, she slipped and fell onto the floor.
I smirked a little. I understood at that point.
Back home, I lay in bed and thought for a while. I realised I had the power to not only see the roles of other people, but to interfere with the protagonist and his crew as the antagonist. That was my purpose in this era.
I smiled. This was going to be fun.
|
Antagonist?
Somehow I had always known. Somehow the fear of knowing was worse. There it was. Staring back at me in the mirror.
Antagonist.
I thought I had done well for myself. I thought I was a good person. How could I be the bad guy? Disappointment and longing flooded through me. I wish it could have been anything else. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I was relieved I wasn't a background character like my mom. But antagonist?
I just wanted to be important. Antagonists are important at least. I sighed. So where was the protagonist? Why hadn't I seen a protagonist?
I was 26. I was almost through college. The girl in my most recent class now had me second guessing myself. "Love Interest". She was cute. I thought she was funny. Maybe I had hoped for a connection and it wasn't really there. Was she my love interest? The protagonists?
Nothing made sense anymore. Everything felt wrong. I thought I'd understood the labels I'd seen on people. I had even let them guide me out of sticky situations. "Mentor" had sounded crazy at first but I'd moved to the city because of her...
A woman spilled her books as I walked right into her. It jolted me out of my reverie. Shit, it wasn't that bad but it definitely wasn't a nice thing to do. Even if it was an honest mistake. I guess if I was the antagonist it didn't matter did it? I was made to be the bad guy.
I looked up at her, handing her with the book closest to me. "Sorry", I mumbled.
"It's alright, no harm done." She smiled as she stood.
"Seeker" shone above her head. What could she be looking for? I looked at the books in her hands.
The Theory of the Universe
The Inner Self
Where Do You Belong?
God, how foolish and clumsy of me. My chest hurt. I gave her a weak smile and focused on walking to the sitting area tucked in the corner. Sitting, I gave myself back over to my wandering mind. Spiraling more like.
I should drop out, leave, find some cabin in the woods, remove the bad guy from the story. I wasn't doing that great in school anyways. A million other people were doing what I'm doing and doing it better.
Could I do that? Would it fix things? Was there anything to fix? I couldn't imagine being the bad guy in someone's story. I knew I should've never left home. Never should have left that farm in the middle of nowhere. Nothing happened there. Nothing bad could happen if I never do anything. Right?
Who was I even the antagonist for? I hadn't met a protagonist yet. No hero, warrior, or even chosen one. No one even close to someone I should be trying to defeat. I didn't even know how to fight! I'd only started seeing the labels a few years ago, after the accident. I used it as a reason to leave the farm but maybe I shouldn't have.
Maybe the labels didn't mean anything at all. Maybe I was crazy and seeing things. Maybe something was wrong with me...
| 2022-03-11T19:55:48 | 2022-03-11T19:33:12 | 670 | 375 |
[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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It's always like this in the first week. I barely squeezed through the door, and it seems like I'm not the only late one. Eddie said he could save me a seat, but Eddie says a lot of stuff. Spotting an open seat, I rushed towards it, sitting near a red-headed girl, focused staunchly on her notebook. Shit, were we supposed to have read the chapter before this class?
"No," she said impassively.
"What?" I shook my head. "Sorry, was this seat taken?" I moved to get up.
"Oh, no, I meant, uh..." She scanned the room nervously. "Er.." She began to blush.
Ugh, sitting next to the awkward one today. I...
"Awkward?" she blurted out like a parrot.
"Huh?"
She looked at me, slack-jawed, then returned to her notebook. She was doodling swirls and stick figures on the margins. She stopped abruptly, fiddling with her pen.
"Do you like stick figures?" she said, doe-eyed.
"I..uh...like, drawing them, you mean?" I scratched my nose. "Heh, it's the only thing I can draw. My artistic peak was in kindergarten." I smiled shyly, embracing my light attempt at humor.
She grinned like a wolf. "That joke was *soooo* funny. Haha!"
"I...guess?" I started to sweat. Is she a freshman? Are all freshmen this weird? Friggin' intro classes.
Her eyes widened, and she looked back at her notebook, a reddish tint to her face. "Man, these intro classes are always so packed. I swear, it's the freshmen. Just gotta crowd up the place." She twirled her red curls, batting her eyes expectantly. And then she stopped. Immediately.
"So, uh, what's your name?" Maybe she's just shy. My girlfriend was exactly the same when we met.
"Oh!"
"You okay? You forgot something?"
She pushed herself out of her seat hurriedly. "Yeah, I forgot to pee!" She shuffled down the row as people stared at her in confusion and annoyance, her face reddening all the way to the door. Weird.
"I'M NOT WEIRD!" The door shut loudly behind her. Oh, nice, Eddie's here.
|
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."
| 2016-09-05T08:36:52 | 2016-09-05T07:36:05 | 1,013 | 36 |
[WP] "There's a fine line between a vigilante and a very selective serial killer." said the costumed hero.
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Detective Daniels lit a cigarette, kicked his feet back on the desk, and took a long drag.
"I told you not to smoke in here," the chief said. In the small office, the smell quick became nauseating and the air between them cloudy.
"I told you to stop telling me what to do."
"Do you have anything new, or are you just here to bust my chops and piss me off?"
Daniels took another drag and nodded. "A little bit of both. There was another death last night. Same MO."
The chief threw his arms up in disgust. "Daniels, what the fuck? First you gripe about exclusive access to the case, and now you're still philosophizing about the merits of the murders? Seriously? If you don't get your ass to wo--"
Daniels held up a finger and the chief fell silent.
"Murders? I've been trying not to call them that. Implies guilt. They're *deaths*. Less weight to that word. *Deaths.*"
"Fuck it, the *deaths*," the chief said, just to humor the detective. "Stop philosophizing about the merits of them. Solve them. Make an arrest. The DA is restless about a rising case count and you're not doing shit."
"The DA? He won't complain much longer. And rising case count?" Detective Daniels scoffed. "Sometimes you have to take a step back to take two steps forward. If the criminals all die, then there's no more crime. Perfect, right?"
The chief rubbed his temples and did his best not to shout. "No, not right. We have an active *serial killer* on the loose." As he uttered the phrase, he stopped rubbing his head and leaned forwards, as if a thought had struck him across the face like a crowbar. "Serial killer. You know what serial killers mean, Detective?"
Detective Daniels didn't answer, just blew out a ring of smoke that danced its way up to the ceiling. The chief continued.
"Serial killers mean feds. And if the feds come, we're in shit creek neck deep and sinking. You know as well as I do there's a lot of shit in this town that we've swept under the rug and then taped that rug down so that it never gets out. If the feds come lifting rugs, then that tape gets yanked, and me, the mayor--hell, most of the force--we're all in a load of trouble. Do you understand? Capisce?"
Detective Daniels sighed, put his feet down and leaned forward across the desk so that he sat nose to nose with the chief of police.
"No, sir. Not capisce. This is no serial killer. This is a vigilante. There's a fine line, and you're on the wrong side of it. Serial killers are the bad guys, they don't go around killing bad guys. All you've gotta do is be a good guy, and you've got nothing at all to worry about here."
Detective Daniels stamped out his cigarette on the chief's desk. He slid back his chair. He donned his trademark hat, clipped on his badge, pulled his gun out and set it on his lap.
"Serial killers don't leave trails because they're evil. They cover their tracks. They hide from the cops. They don't smoke cigarettes and put them out right where their next victim is."
"I'm not following," the chief said, shaking his pounding head.
"I didn't think you would, sir. Simply put, serial killers don't wear costumes."
"Costumes?" the chief asked, no longer bothering to hide his disdain and confusion.
Detective Daniels shrugged. He picked the gun off his lap and clicked off the safety. "Uniform would be more accurate, I guess. That's what it became when I took this badge."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
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**"There's a fine line between a vigilante and a very selective serial killer." said the costumed hero.** His black leather boots landing nearly silently on the ground directly in front of me. I gasped, he had just jumped at least 10 feet from the roof of the building beside me.
I dared not to try and turn to run away. Despite the mans tights and cape, he was six foot six with muscles approaching the size of soups bowls. I froze paralyzed, the slight strain of my skinny muscles crying out over the weight of the flat screen 50' television bundled between my arms.
"What would that fine line be?" I asked, innocently, as if I was not holding a TV I had just stolen.
"I'm glad you asked!" The huge man exclaimed. "No one ever talks to me."He exclaimed. He continued in a rushed manner like I was a long time friend.
"You see I often get caught up in the excitement of the moment, chasing after people and I beat them up or take their lives, they're always bad people you know? But I made a New Year's resolution to spare more criminals and turn them peacefully into law enforcement." The costumed hero went on excitedly.
'That's really wise of you. You seem like a really good person." I praised, pandering to the man who could break my little limbs.
"Thank you!" He went on, "See there's so much people don't understand about being a superhero, you're in this high intensity environment with people shooting at you or attacking you and its easy to lose your head and turn into an animal." His dark eyes looking at me to see if I was judging his character.
"Of course", I said with understanding. "Soldiers in war see red in the heat of battle I'm sure it's no different being a vigilante" I agreed, not daring to have independent thought.
"Exactly, there was this one criminal who always wore this mask across his face, a big guy who must've hit the gym a lot, I used to chase him maybe once or twice a year through the same neighborhoods, a guy like that you're almost conditioned to be extra violent you know?"
I had my doubts, but was in no position to make a persuasive argument.
"Of course" I said. "Shoot, I had already said that, I need a different word in the affirmative" I thought.
The huge, physically imposing man in a costume fit with tights and a cape looked at me for a long time, his piercing dark eyes staring into my soul, leaving me barren and naked before his gaze. I shuffled uncomfortably, awkwardly aware of the burdensome and incriminating television I still held.
"You didn't really mean to steal that TV did you?" He questioned in honesty.
"No! I was just having a bad moment, will you forgive me?" I asked in the most convincing way I could muster.
"Why don't we take it back and we can forget this all happened?"
"That's a great idea!" I started, seeing a way out of a trip to intensive care.
The two of us turned and started back towards the house I came from, my short stature and skinny build dwarfed in the silhouette of the night beside the massive ape to my left.
"I'm in the business for a sidekick, if you were considering a change of direction." The ape lead on.
"Uhh, sure man I'll think about it". I said without commitment. I didn't want to push my luck.
"Why don't we get a drink after and I can show you a better path forward" the costumed hero said calmly, with a hand up visualized by the tone of his voice.
"Ok" I consented. Maybe I could be a good guy instead.
| 2020-06-17T11:48:18 | 2020-06-17T11:42:11 | 156 | 22 |
[WP] You were recently granted immortality by God. For years, you have seen immortal characters in media say that it is a curse, not a blessing. You just think those guys have been using it the wrong way.
|
I had secluded myself for centuries. I had picked a small island as my home. The people there weren't too keen on having a stranger among them but after a few generations of subtle hints, positive associations with natural phenomena and whole lot of superstitious nonsense. They've come to see me not as a guest but as a symbol of something greater. Of long ago ancestors that were strong, wise and all knowing. Pretty much what people tend to attribute to the long gone in an effort to inspire.
I admit, Being worshiped as a god -lower case g- and guardian had it's privileges. Their greatest sculptures were all centered around me and soon the entire island was full of them. At times it seemed as if people forgot which was the real and which was the symbol.
When you've lived as long as I have though you start noticing the signs of decline. The people no longer sent out ships to explore or made any attempts to acquire knowledge. Ideas from the past got twists and deformed to be made into actual facts that fitted the current leader's objective. Surface differences used as a clutch to separate groups apart making it easier to target the weaker ones.
In the midst of all this my statues grew bigger and the reason behind them faded from memory. I could have left then. Just found another place and moved along to re-establish myself somewhere else like I had done countless times.
I sensed no violence around me though which had always been my reason for leaving. Poverty, ignorance, yes but as a collective there was no dis-satisfactions with the status quo.
So I stayed amid the endless sea of rocks that have been made in my image. The one thing that remained of my memory in the collective people's heads was my name. It's probably why they made a few statues of me that were just heads. Even I thought that was weird but whatever. So long as I could hide in this sea and live in peace it was all good.
I, the Moai of Easter Island will remain here in my little slice of heaven and away from the noisy, violent and messy world. For now at least.
|
A rainy night.
The smoke is thick.
The sense of fright.
The trigger's click.
++
I see a hole.
In my partner's nose.
My turn ahead.
And let me not be dead.
++
For it is too early
For the death's cold grip.
My luck is curly
But the win is cheap.
++
I pull the trigger.
CLICK!
I take a breather
And pass it to Chip..
++
He trembles.
I smile.
For he dies.
And I may be alive.
++
A few were granted such a gift,
And fewer enjoyed it.
Traded it for a curse very swift.
And got all the fun killed
++
God, have mercy upon this soul,
Don't let him rise again!
For tonight he is totally broke,
And with a hangover for a day!
++
Three players, all immortal
Play russian roulette
With adrenaline wthdrawal.
One with eternal Tourette
Two are just normal.
++
And here is swearing Chip
Holding a 100 year old grip
On a gun trustworthy to me
For the safety pin is now totally free.
++
A splatter of blood,
An ending of life.
He had enough gut
To make the victory mine.
++
A small vessel
Of a godly poison
Was the last blessing
For us, the spoiled.
++
The last chance to die
Could bring an end
To one of us tonight
So we could comprehend
A true value of life
++
Good god I won
This precious vial
For me to destroy it
Without any denial
++
I step on it
No hesitation is left
Crushing it, the last blessing
The gift of an immortal's last breath
*This is my first writing prompt in English language, please be gentle in critisizing.*
| 2018-08-29T03:46:14 | 2018-08-29T03:41:44 | 370 | 62 |
[WP]The knight rubbed his eyes in surprise. The great dragon, slayer of armies, appeared to be a young woman with wings. The dragon was equally shocked. "You're the great knight? You're like.....fifteen." "I'm EIGHTEEN....In November"
|
"November what?" Creya asked, intrigued.
The young knight who stood before her, eyes ablaze with courage peering over his shield, was the most handsome man she had ever seen.
"15th."
It was the same as her. A pounding in her chest radiated warmth through her body, bringing flames wrapping around her finger tips that twirled her golden hair nervously.
"You're the same age as me...exactly, " she said quietly, looking away. How could her cheeks be burning even more than they usually did? What was this feeling?
Seeming to falter in his determination, the knights shield dropped a few inches, revealing the rest of his face. Sharp and rugged lines. No scars. White teeth. Creya felt her self being drawn in the more she gazed upon him.
"You don't look like a normal dragon..." The young knight began, a hint of uncertainty crossing his face.
"I have my mother to thank for that," Creya replied, her voice strangely high, "the rest is from my Dad...legendary Dragon and all of that, you know?"
The words from her own mouth made her cringe. Where was her normal confidence? She wanted to wrap her wings around herself and hide.
"Sounds like quite the over-bearing parent," the young man said with a smile.
"You have no idea!" She beamed back at him with her own smile, an aura of heat making her hair rise around her. Her emotions were so easy to read, so embarrassing.
"Oh, I think I do," he said, taking a few steps forward. Instinctively Creya floated back, the longing gaze at the man now drawn to his sword.
As if hit by an arrow, the man stopped, looking at his blade. Slowly, he placed it on the floor, and removed his gauntlets.
"My Father is a powerful Lord, rising through the King's ranks. All of this, is just to raise his own star. Forcing me into a life I did not want. His dreams, not mine." he said, a sad look drawing over his face. He ran his hand through his hair slick with sweat.
*He does understand.*
Without thinking she swept toward him, her glow lighting the wet rocks as she passed, steam rising into the cavern. She grabbed his hand.
His eye's opened wide as she realised her mistake. Looking down to their hands, she expected to see burning and bubbling flesh dripping to the floor.
But his hand was fine, surrounded by blue and yellow flames that caressed rather than burned. He then pulled her close.
Cool lips pressed against hers, a fresh wind sweeping her mind away on a rushing feeling of love. Creya began to sob with happiness as his arms wrapped around her.
As they stood there in silence, content in each other's embrace, a deep rumble echoed within the furthest reaches of the caves.
Her heart stopped.
"Father!"
**Part 2 because of Mr Milk's request;**
She turned back to the Knight, desperation in her eyes. Wisps of gold began circling around them, rising and falling like burning embers in the wind.
"What is happening?" the man said, fear in his voice as he seemed to snap out of his love induced trance.
He looked around, but Creya cupped his cheek and leaned closer. It felt so soft, so satisfyingly warm and alive.
"No, no. Focus on me. Focus on the feeling my love."
Creya didn't know what was happening, but instinct rose inside of her and she followed it. The embers around them formed into twin dragons, spiralling within the cavern, a blue twin rising up to match the gold.
Within her minds eye she saw her mother, as if she were right there with her. Tears filled her eyes.
*Follow your heart Creya, my darling.*
The knights eyes rolled up into his head and he stumbled, but Creya held him steady.
"My knight, you mistn't. Stay with me, focus on me."
Creya felt as if her heart was leaving her body, and looking down, she saw a star of gold and white beaming forth from her chest, reaching in the small space between them. From the knight, another formed.
The knight looked down, sweat lining his face.
"Do you love me?" Creya called to him as the sounds of rushing wind grew along side the rumblings from far below.
His eyes shot open.
"I do," he said, without hestiation.
Their stars collided between them, their hearts as one. A blinding light filled the room.
When it faded, a small golden egg lay in the arms of the Knight. The knight was smiling, a tear rolling down his cheeks.
*Tell him to go my child, before it is too late. He must take the child. Protect it!*
Her mother's voice rang out in her head, fading away towards the end.
Creya could not believe it. An egg, her own. She wanted so dearly to hold it, to keep it forever. But the cavern began to shake, and a terrifying roar ripped through in a gust of wind. There was no time left.
Once last time she reached for the Knight. He would need to be strong to protect their child without her.
She kissed him, with everything she had. Deep from her core she breathed her life into him. A gold light glowed from within the Knights face as lines of gold and white shot through his veins and throughout his body.
As she parted from his lips, she glanced at his eyes. No more were they blue like ice, but golden and shining like a sun.
Her will and energy failing, she thrust him away.
"Now go! Run! Protect our child!"
The knight stared unbelieving at her, but in the power shared between them a connection had sparked. She knew he understood. Knew he would do the right thing.
"I love you, and will return for you my love, this I promise you. I will keep our child safe until then," he said, his eyes like fire as they sparkled with determination.
Creya could only smile, but did not have the heart to reply.
The knight ran up the cave as fast as he could.
Creya braced herself. Her Father was coming.
**Part 3 : because why not...**
**Turns out** [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/FatDragon/comments/ezaxf0/wpthe_knight_rubbed_his_eyes_in_surprise_the/) **was too long for this post, so its on my sub :)**
r/fatdragon
|
Sir Thomas looked up the mountain, the gleaming sun just over it's peak. His quest had led him here, to end the wretched creature, and save the kingdom. By the end of the day, he would be a hero! His victory played over in his head again. Him, standing over the scaled monster, as blood pooled on the cave floor. A smile crept over his face, and he began climbing.
The slope was steady, but that didn't stop the heat. Before long, he had to stop for a drink, the heavy armor chafing as the cloth of his shirt stuck to him. *Why did the beast have to live so far away? It was only delaying the inevitable.* he thought to himself. A brief sip, and he was back on his way.
By the time he crested the cave mouth, the sun had already begun to set. Still, he walked on with steeled determination. Sir Thomas the Dragon Slayer, he thought to himself. Sure, he had already passed the title off, but what difference did it really make? He'd either earn that title, or he'd... He'd earn it, no questions asked. And with the Dragon's Bane, it would be a cinch. Like a knife through butter. He took another step, trying to remain as quiet as possible.
"I hope you have something stronger than a butter knife."
The sudden voice caused him to trip. He couldn't see well in the dark, but it sounded like... a maiden?! The monster! How dare he capture a helpless woman! The stories were true. He steeled himself.
"I am Sir Thomas. Slayer of Dragons! Your reign of terror ends now!"
Raising the sword over his head, he charged in blind. Swinging wildly, the sword found purchase in the side of a wall.
"I have you now!"
A muffled giggle resonated throughout the cave. "Ya, you sure got me. Ack! I am dead." Another laugh. It was the maiden.
Thomas stood still, baffled at the response. "I... I'm here to rescue you, fair maiden."
More laughter. Did she think him a fool? He would slay the beast, and that was that.
"Rescue me? From what, exactly?"
"From the dragon! I'm a Dragon Slayer."
Rubbing his eyes, he tried to get a better look. The cave was surprisingly empty, for something that was suppose to hold a massive beast. Scanning the room, he finally spotted the source of the taunts.
His jaw dropped.
"You're... a..."
The woman looked at him, hands already on her hips. She barely came up to his nose, and thin as a toothpick. If it weren't for the wings and tail, he would have mistaken her for a peasant girl. Instead, he just stared.
"You seen enough? It's starting to get creepy."
Thomas quickly composed himself. "But, are you not a dragon?"
"Of course I am."
"But you're... short."
Her face contorted into a snarl. "And your a kid! Why exactly are you bothering me?"
"Kid? I'm a knight. Sir Thomas!"
"Really? You're at best 15. Guess the king is getting desperate."
"I'm 18!... in November."
The dragon let out a laugh. "You're really trying, aren't you." Her eyes glowed as she continued, revealing black slits that cut through. "And what is this?" She pulled the sword clean out of the wall. "The Dragon's Bane? How did you even find this?"
Thomas reached to take the sword back, a feat that proved to be difficult, despite his obvious height advantage. "I was entrusted it. Now give it back."
"Really? Entrusted? I doubt that." She mulled the sword over, while deftly keeping the kid at bay. "Is the king really that hard up for warriors? It's not like you're at war. Or did I miss something during my hibernation?"
Thomas swiped again, narrowly missing the sword as she waved it over him. "You've killed all his previous warriors. Did you think he wouldn't get revenge?"
She stopped teasing, instead locking eyes with the boy. "Revenge? For what?"
"For... for killing his people. The raids on the farms? You've cost the kingdom."
Sticking the sword into the floor, the dragon began pacing the cavern. "Raids? Death of his warriors? That doesn't make sense. Sure, we've had our fun taking jabs at each other." She stopped, and looked to Thomas, who was desperately trying to pull the sword out of the stone. "Did he send you to kill me?"
Not pausing his assault on the sword, he answered "Of course, and I won't leave till I have your head."
"I see." She took a deep breath. "I'll be back. Please don't break anything."
With that, she spread her wings and took off down the mountain.
"But... I was suppose to defeat you." Thomas sat down against the sword, still unmoved.
---
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ez4ift/wpthe_knight_rubbed_his_eyes_in_surprise_the/fhji2z4?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
---
For more of my writings, go check out r/societyofmythicpeople.
You can also find me on r/redditserials:
* [Phoenix of the Forest](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/eb78u4/phoenix_of_the_forest_chapter_1/)
* [Reborn](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/e1kn9x/reborn_part_1/)
* [Society of Mythic People](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/ejks96/society_of_mythic_people_chapter_1/)
| 2020-02-05T02:10:39 | 2020-02-04T22:50:44 | 263 | 153 |
[WP] Two ancient armies prepare for battle, one army sends out a seven foot tall hulk as their champion; the other army sends out a little girl to raucous applause.
|
The two tribes met at the ancient site, a tall plateau that had been the site of many conflicts like the one about to unfold. They had both lost far too many good men in the series of raids that had taken place over the past few months. Both were dangerously close to losing so many that they would no longer be able to sustain themselves and thus fade into oblivion.
That is why this contest was taking place. The winner would decide the war. It was the only way to end this feud at this point.
The Wind in the Trees tribe beat their shields as their champion strode into the circle. Their choice was of no surprise, Stonekin. He towered over everyone there and his club was nearly as tall as he was with a massive stone the weight of the normal man. He had been responsible for many of the deaths of the men of the Wolf clan. He was as fast as he was heavy and his skin was so tough that he bore the scars of javelins and spears of wounds that would have cut down anyone else.
He was a monster.
The Wolf Clan’s ranks opened and a small wisp of a girl stepped forward. The Wind in the Trees clan all burst into laughter. The Wolf Clan laughed as well but with malice in their mirth.
Stoneskin looked at the girl with confusion. He had shattered the skulls of many a man but had never slaughtered a child. He sighed heavily. He would do what he must to end this senseless feud but he felt sick. This was unthinkable.
He looked over at the Wolf Clan and snarled. He had fought them for many seasons. He had killed many of them but it was only because they would have killed him or his tribesmen if they could. It was nothing personal.
Now he truly hated them. What sort of sick animals would send the smallest and weakest of them into the duel. They must have known that they would lose. That was the only reason. He was sure to kill anyone they set forth. Everyone knew this. The only reason to send this girl was so that no man on their side would be lost.
They sent a child to be slaughtered. The stain of this would taint his soul and the souls of his children and their children. Was this revenge for the lives he had claimed? They couldn’t break his body so they would break his soul instead?
This was truly evil. They had been called evil by his elders but he never paid it any mind. Words like that were used by the elders to drive the stupid among them to fight. He believed it now.
The girl looked him with terror in her eyes. Her lips quivered as she struggled to stand upright and not flee. She was showing more bravery than any of the animals cheering her on. She peed herself but still held position standing before him with nothing but a twig in her hands.
Stoneskin also struggled to stand before the child. This was wrong. This was so very wrong. The massive club shook in his hands. His clan had stopped laughing but the Wolf Clan laughed on taunting him, urging him to finish the duel.
Stoneskin’s mind raced. If he backed down his tribe lost. If he murdered the child he would be lost.
He towered before the little girl and raised his club.
“Submit.” Stoneskin said with a booming voice.
“No.” The child said quietly.
“Submit and I will take you and raise you as my own. You do not have to return to those jackals.” Stoneskin said in a quiet gentle voice.
“No.”
“You do not have to do this!” Stoneskin cried in anguish. The Wolf Clan howled with laughter.
Stoneskin was thinking as hard as he could. There had to be a solution. That was the difference between them and the animals that they hunted. People could think.
The seconds turned to minutes and then to an hour. Stoneskin still had not struck. The Wolves were starting to claim that his reluctance was defeat. Stoneskin screamed at them in rage.
“I am going to kill all of you for this!” Stoneskin paused a moment and smiled. He could. The rest of his tribe had promised not to strike but he had not. He looked back at his chief. His chief smiled and nodded his head.
Stoneskin roared and charged.
What happened next was sung around the campfire for centuries to come. He fell upon the Wolves as if he were a raging flood. He killed them one after another his great club mowing through their ranks as if it was a scythe in a field of wheat. He was a giant fighting with the strength and savagery of twenty men.
He did not kill them all but he came very close. He came very, very close.
He fell.
“It seems that our champion has fallen.” His chief said as he said to the few survivors, too few to sustain a tribe. He walked to the child and picked her up cradling her in his arms
“You have won. Enjoy your victory.” The chief and his tribesmen departed.
|
Tens of thousands of men leered at each other from across the neutral zone as horses snorted and pawed at the ground nervously. Steam rose in a vast cloud over all the hot bodies in the cool morning. Two men stand toward the front of one army while a small group stand at the front of the other army whose back was to a cities great walls. The battle would be decided by the ancient rite of single combat.
The two men at the front of the army facing the city’s walls were both tall but one was wiry and agile while the other a great big man of bulging muscle. The slender man leaned towards the larger and says in a mockingly confident tone, “Let us see what ‘champion’ they send to face ours, eh Garen.”
Garen looked seriously at the stick of a man and reprimanded in his booming voice, “Don’t count your Anivia’s before they hatch.” Varus laughed at the pun but shook his head. Even now Garen somehow thought that their champion would possibly not win them the day when she had never lost a battle after all this time.
Movement across the field signified the spreading of the enemy army to allow someone through. A great titan of a man emerged, towering over the soldiers by at least a foot. He roared a guttural cry and raised a great-sword as long as he was tall. His cry was answered by the soldiers behind him. The giant did look formidable, Varus had to give it to them. And did he really have only… “A real live cyclops” chuckled Varus, “Well not so alive for long.”
Varus nudged his friend good naturedly and gave a laugh, “Imagine the looks on their faces when she single-handedly brings down the Cyclops in front of their whole army eh brother. They’ll lay down all their weapons in front eh, EH!”
Garen spared Varus another of his serious looks before returning his watching gaze back onto the waiting army. That guy reaaally needed to lighten up, thought Varus as he strolled back towards their army.
Stopping a dozen yards out from the men, Varus grasped his bow in one hand and saluted it to his force and shouted as so everyone including the opposite army would hear him, “They believe that they will win the day with their titan champion ‘the Cyclops’.”
The soldier’s all booed as they had done for previous champions. The enemy army would ridicule ours when they saw our champion. They always did but then again they always all surrendered in the past so who cares about appearances. Her appearance was probably one of her greatest strengths well that and her teddy bear.
A voice sounded coming between the soldiers. They parted for it, making it look like a wave was breaking through the center of their ranks. It rang in a repeated fashion and all of a sudden a small girl no taller than three feet high was skipping out of the ranks of soldiers singing more to herself than anyone else, “Hop, skip, jump!”
Varus grinned widely as he stood facing the small girl and give her a small nod.
She grinned back then made a bow to the soldiers and said, “Play time!”
This caused a frenzy of cheering and clapping among our soldiers. The enemy was just now beginning to call out insults and jeers. They would see for themselves the awesome power of our secret weapon soon enough. This dark child had slain more champions than anyone Varus had ever met. As she skipped to meet the hulking cyclops in the center of the neutral zone she chanted her war song with the soldiers behind her carrying up, echoing her words.
“Ashes, ashes, they all fall down,” echoed ominously throughout the clearing by thousands of voices.
As she neared the great titan of the man, she slowed down until coming to a stop twenty yards away. Staring at each other across this distance, both armies were deathly silent and still as they watched and waited in breathless anticipation.
The Cyclops made the first move, giving the clearing another show of that fearsome guttural roar and beginning his charge at the young girl standing there lightly swinging her teddy bear in one hand.
As the great beast of a man bared down the last few yards on the child, her high voice rang out in the silence, “Have you seen my bear Tibbers?”
A great sphere of flame consumed both the girl and the warrior from vision just as he swung his great-sword down upon her. The sphere persisted for several seconds and when the flames had cleared in a sudden disappearance the scene that greeted the armies eyes caused both sides to gasp collectively.
The small girl was standing on top of the fallen cyclops chest, with her arms out trying to steady her balance. She looked up at her own army with a smile and called out, “This is fun!”
A cheer followed this as the day was almost won. Now onto the nexus.
//League nerd checking in. Just couldn't not think of Annie.
| 2016-06-28T20:22:46 | 2016-06-28T19:13:45 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Magic exists in the same way that music exists today (many genres, styles, subgenres).
Imagine music snobs, but they're discussing a style of magic and how a certain conjurer is pure/not pure to the style
A music concert?
Learning your first instrument?
|
"Alright, alright, find a seat everyone. Miss? No... no, yeah you, move your satchel, your bag doesn't have feelings, make room for other people. Come on, find a place to sit, it's fine if you sit the aisles as long as you don't totally block it. Hey people outside, are any of you already registered for the class? Okay try to squeeze in here. If you aren't already registered or on the wait-list make room for the people who are."
Bodies shuffle and squirm into seats.
"Class will now begin, hey close the door would you? I'm sorry people in the hall, this class is full, try again Thursday, if not, better luck next semester."
Door hisses and clacks shut.
"Cool, cool. Welp! My name is Mr..."
Chalk raps on the chalkboard.
"Cauldron..."
Chalk clacks on the dust catch.
"Laugh now, this will be your only chance, yes, I am a Mr. Cauldron and I am not teaching over in the liquid majyks department, it's quite drole."
No laughter, someone coughs, papers shuffle.
"So I'll put it right out there, this class is gonna suck, there is a lot of material, I test you a lot because it's important you know this stuff. If you think you can just skate through this class because it's a core class you're wrong, and if you don't study and stay on top of the material you will fail, and waste you time and money. If you are not going to be serious about my class, I suggest you leave now, maybe invite someone from the hall in if they're still there.
A small handful of people have packed their bags and are making there way out of the room. That same person coughs again.
"Good, now that some of the chaff has blown away, I'll let you all know that's just a bit of a scare tactic. Those were the people who were going to leave regardless, and now there are some seats open. Fill in open spots while Derek here, say hello Derek, he's my TA, while Derek hands out the syllabus."
Some people find new seats to the cacophony of rustling papers as Derek hands out syllabuses.
"Welcome to 'The brief history of all majyk, from the Twelve-Sixties to Today.' I wasn't lying, there is a lot of material to cover. Let's get to it, look at page 2 of the syllabus and find the sect-"
"*Excuse me Mr. Cauldron, on page 5 it says you don't offer any extra credit, but on page 3 the score breakdo-*"
"Save all questions for the end of the class if there is any free time. As I was saying, looking a page 2 you'll see my office hours, as well as Derek's office hours, take advantage of these, and I don't mean walking in an hour before the final asking to eek out a few more percentage on your grade. Next page, you'll see that..."
The professor pauses for a moment, then sighs.
"Derek, could you go over the syllabus with them next class, I'm tired of this same old, I want to try something different. If it doesn't work, heck, I got tenure."
Derek quizzically nods.
"Ok, anybody, just shout out your favorite style of majyk, get ready to take some notes, you too Derek, use the blue pad."
"*Um, divination!*"
"Foresight! Clairvoyancy! A very important sub-set of temporal majyk. The first accounts date back to 886, where Mme. LaVue, aptly named, foresaw the death of her heir at the hands of her lover Mlle. Dior. Many people revere this majyk for its protective nature. But very few of the methods: tea-leaf reading, dream reading, tossed bone reading, and even the humorous sneeze-spray reading; have more than a Sixty-two percent accuracy rating. Some call this cowards-majyk, looking forward to the point of preventing your life moving forward. Always remember if you go into divination, that the future is like steam, the present is like water, and the past is like ice. Next, c'mon just shout one out.
A quarter of the class bark a name at once.
"Did I hear one of you say New Zoulian shadow walking? That new craze of street darkness majyk? Listen it's bad enough that the United Nations high council classified lightness majyk and darkness majyk to be their own sub-sets of elementalism, but turning them into a play-time street majyk is a disgrace to the noble art of communing across The Rift to unknowable entities. But yeah, I saw that video that made the rounds, it was pretty cool. Next.
A louder outburst of suggestions, the loudest above the rest was 'bardism.'
"Bardism? I dated a bard for about a year back in my college days. Sweet set of pipes for sure, but some how she won every argument..."
Laughter from the class.
"Anyway, bardism, the holy-matrimony between majyk and music, a time-honored cousin of ritual chanting. Developed by King Somire's court minstrel in 352, beloved ever since. Surprisingly, recent research has found that integrating majyk into words works very similarly to the enchanting families' majyk-weaving. Instead of weaving the majyk into thread or straw, it is woven into the waves of sound produces from the throat; meaning a bard's mana hub is their throat. Next , this time a show of hands, don't shout at me.
Some shouts, many hands shooting up into the air.
"Yes you, miss in the hound's tooth scarf."
"*W-witchcraft...*"
Many boos and hisses
"Shush all of you! There is nothing wrong with witchcraft. A very broad choice, inventor's majyk or borrowing majyk, but an important School for our modern life. Example, who's parents still send messages via raven's skull? Witchcraft, borrowed from necromancy and summoning. How many of you lit your kettle with a pyre-petal last night? A brilliant, manaless witchcraft invention, dating back to the fourteen-fifties, a combination of wizardy, enchanting, and rune-scribe. The negative stigma towards witchcraft stems from the belief that being a borrowing majyk that Witches aren't as skilled as the scholarly majyks, and totally discredits the advancements witchcraft has made to comfort of our daily lives.
"*Um, I meant the other witchcraft...*"
Sneers and arrant chuckles from other students.
"Oh, you should have been more clear. The other borrowing majyk. Forming contracts with higher powers such as demi-gods or daemons. Exactly the same as paladinism, don't let your religious majyks studies ever tell you any different. But you got yours with my first explanation, Next."
"*Sir, five minutes.*"
"Hmm? Thanks Derek. Alright class I have to cut it short, I have an alimony court meeting with my bard ex-wife. Derek will answer any questions you have about the syllabus."
Packing his bag, Mr. Cauldron's phone rings, the theme song from the show 'Witchcraft mythcraft.'
"Hello honey, yeah, I remembered it I'm on my way now, just walking out of the cla-"
Door hisses and clacks shut.
|
The last sunbeams of the day clawed at the desolate landscape in a desperate attempt to hang on to the edge of the world. Leo darted from shadow to shadow, making his way through the ruined city. He was closing in on the imperial palace, and the remains of countless crushed rebellions could be seen everywhere. Husks of rusting old-world-contraptions and piles of charred bones and skulls littered the streets.
During The Last War, human civilization crumbled. Governments were overthrown and infrastructure fell into disrepair. Warlords soon ruled in medieval feudal societies all across the globe. In the course of a few generations, the old world and everything modern was all but forgotten. It was in these desperate times that a strange man emerged from Egypt, bearing strange gifts to the warlords and those who would kneel before him. He called himself The Pharaoh – a name that now was a synonym for death and misery.
Leo crouched behind the blackened carcass of an old tree as a guard patrol rode by. The Pharaoh’s men were clad in gleaming full-plates with helmets that hid their faces, and massive curved blades hung by their hips. Their leader, however, wore a thick black robe with silver runes embroidered into the hems. He also had a necklace around his neck – three stone cubes, with strange glyphs, attached to a leather string.
Leo closed his eyes and made himself smaller. From the looks of the robe, the leader was a Blessed One – a magic-wielder. He tried to remember what the Oracle’s words… black meant the school of necromancy… silver runes meant that he drew his powers from the moon... and the stone glyphs around his neck… he knew word magic. Leo cursed noiselessly.
The patrol stopped in front of an old chapel with a torn down roof and broken windows. Ivy had once climbed the brick façade and left a twisting brown corpse of dried leaves behind. They left their horses by the entrance and went inside. Leo had to act quickly because as soon as the sun abdicated the sky and the moon took the throne, the power of that night-caster would grow tenfold.
When the last of The Pharaoh’s men disappeared into the shadowy interior of the chapel, Leo climbed out of his hiding spot and started sneaking towards the horses.
*****
“What the hell is that kid doing?” Lamora said.
“Getting himself killed, that’s what,” answered Jonah, with a sly grin.
“Doesn’t he know there’s a Blessed One in there?” Lamora said and rose from her spot on the roof, overlooking the graveyard.
“What the hell are *you* doing?”
Lamora ignored her brother and started climbing down the rusty fire escape. It was perhaps silly of her, but she felt like enough people had died at the hands of The Pharaoh’s men tonight.
*****
Sweating and fumbling badly, Leo tied the reins to a rope he had brought with him. He had initially been after scraps and loot, but five trained horses were too good to pass up on. It was a rare opportunity. He just needed to be quick and–
“Hey, kid!” a hushed voice called out from behind one of the gravestones. “Get the hell out of here.”
Leo flinched but continued with the rope. He had to focus. He had to be quick. No time to reconsider or turn back. If he wanted something to eat by the morning he needed to do this. He needed to–
“Come on!” cried the voice. “Let’s go!”
Leo found it somewhat annoying. It belonged to a girl. He had always found girls annoying. Especially Yeni, yeah, Yeni was super-annoying. She was always gloating about her Pyromancy, despite being essentially harmless. She never had to work because she could light all the fires in the colony. And she had even inherited her minor powers. Life couldn’t get more unfair than that.
“Don’t be stupid, kid,” the girl said. “Your life is worth more than a couple of horses…”
“Shut up!” Leo said much louder than intended.
There was a clank of metal from the chapel, then the familiar sound of a blade being pulled from its scabbard.
“Stop right there, criminal scum!”
Leo cursed, and let go of the rope. He started sprinting towards the closest alley – away from the open graveyard. He needed to hide now. Heavy footfalls and pounding metal-against-metal stormed behind him. The guard was fast, despite the armor.
Just a few more paces, Leo thought, and pushed himself to the limit. Something caught his leg, and he crashed headlong into the withering grass. He flipped to his back and looked up at the guard towering over him, then down at the skeletal hand that was trying to crush his ankle.
Leo kicked and screamed as the bony nightmare climbed out of the soil. Mud and earthworms tumbled out of its empty eye sockets, and its teeth chattered and grated against each other. Tufts of hair were still attached to its bleached skull, and its torn rotten clothes hung from its hipbones and ribcage. A second skeletal hand caught his leg and started dragging him into the hole it had risen from. The guard laughed at him and put his blade back.
“Rest in peace, you little rat,” the guard said, with a smirk.
And at that very moment, something flashed and caught the light of the moon, which had now taken a seat behind the twiggy crown of the blackened tree. The guard was still smirking as his head toppled from his shoulders and fell into the open grave.
“Rest in peace, indeed,” said a new voice.
The skull of the undead shattered like a ceramic pot. The death grip on Leo’s leg loosened and he could crawl away. Wide-eyed he looked at the bearded man holding a sword, slick with the lifeblood of the guard.
“I’m Jonah,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let’s go.”
Relieved, Leo allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He followed the man out of the graveyard, throwing a glance over his shoulder. The guards and the magic-wielder were pouring out of the chapel.
“Wait!” Leo said. “There was a girl there. You have to help the girl too!”
The man just laughed and kept walking. Leo couldn’t, for the life of him, understand what was so funny.
“Stop,” Leo said. “You have to save her!”
“Don’t tell me what to do, kid.”
Leo took a deep breath and balled his hands into fists. “If you won’t help her, I will!”
“She doesn’t need your help…” the man said, “…or mine. She’s a Flower.”
“A flower?”
“Yeah, a Spell-Flower,” he said with a shrug. “That’s what it’s called when you’ve mastered every school of magic.”
Screams from the graveyard echoed through the ruined city. Leo shuddered. He wished he had turned and looked at her to see what she was like. But considering that she was a magic-wielder like Yeni, she probably looked as annoying as she sounded. He spat on the ground.
“Whatever she is, she owes me breakfast,” Leo muttered. “She totally ruined my horse-theft.”
*****
/r/Lilwa_Dexel
| 2017-05-03T01:36:34 | 2017-05-02T22:35:19 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] The healer was treated horribly by the knights he was assigned. Belittled and humiliated at every turn. Until one day a monster killed his squad and spared him. And the monster looked at him and she said something he didn't think was possible to even say. "Would you please heal me?".
|
"Would you please heal me?"
I stared at it, shaken, and confused.
"Wha.. what did you say?" I muttered weakly.
"Uh.. I asked would you please heal me. You didn't lose your hearing did you?" The monster said, rather bluntly, but at the same time offering a smile to conceal the seriousness of the question. "Please?"
I stood up, and brushed the accumulation of blood, dirt, and whatever else was staining my red pants off of me. I had been sitting on the ground, arms behind me as if I was scooting away from something, but frozen by the chaos that I saw before me.
"That's the first time I've heard that word before." I said in a serious manner, and while looking around for hat.
"What, please?" He said. I looked at him, and my expression gave him his answer. "Where I'm from, healers are regarded above our warriors, and praised as such."
I looked it deep in its eyes. It had crystal blue eyes, and pale skin, very pale, like the color of flour, but maybe just a tad darker. Its hair was brown like tree bark, and no longer than its ears. It also sported a short, but thick beard. It was significantly taller than me.
I finally asked, "what do you call your kind?"
It chuckled and looked down, then met my gaze again, and said "we call ourselves humans. Is that enough to get me that heal?"
I could see that it was bleeding from its side, or more precisely its right abdomen. I shook my head in agreement, and proceeded to approach him. I took one last look to make sure I was the last of my kind left.. By the look of it, there weren't more than 3 of his kind left either.
Upon reaching him, he extended his hand out to me. I stepped on top of it, and he held me steady next to his wound.
He asked, "what did you say your name was?"
I hesitated, than answered stoically. "*I didn't. It's Papa. Papa Smurf.*"
|
It was always the same.
The knights I was assigned were total jerks.
It always begins normally. They accept me as their new healer. Everyone needs one apparently, lucky me. Although, I wasn't destined to be one, as my healing magic is poor, and not very efficient. I couldn't be a hero as well, one of those knights in shiny armors. And when the knights discover that the healing is low, they don't respect the healer anymore. I become the third wheel, the useless one. Always mocked, always treated like trash. But I didn't care, being a healer meant you stayed alive.
This time was the same as the others. The knights were eager to defeat the goblin King. So eager they rushed head first into the unknown, leaving their healer, me, behind. The goblin King army was no joke though, and its force were the same as the knights. But how could they know ? Of course, the healer had to do the chores. I had to choose the mission.
Arriving late in the goblins caves, I discovered the knights and the goblins lying down, all dead. The battle must have been fierce and .. perfectly balanced. As I scouted for any survivors, I heard a voice coming from the corpses. «Please, heal me» it said, begging for my magic. As I approached who was still alive, I was surprised to see that it wasn't one of my allies, but the goblin King himself.
«Heal me, please», he repeated.
I sighed. Even monsters beg for my heal now ? What a world. I took the nearest sword, and planted it right in the goblin King's chest.
As he screamed in agony, I left the caves, eager to claim the reward for this mission.
Another easy win, time to look for a new group.
| 2020-02-23T14:40:38 | 2020-02-23T14:20:05 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.
|
"This is NOT how to fix the economy, dammit!" I thought to myself.
It is said that given enough time, the flutter of a butterfly's wings could cause a tornado. The theory of the butterfly effect is well known, but few have been able to see it in action. Perhaps none except for me.
To be fair, I don't get to "see" it either, but ever since I discovered my bizarre ability, I have always been able to intrinsically feel the chain of events that start from my wish down the winding paths of cause and effect until it is fulfilled.
I'd always been careful, and I found quite early on that the more wide reaching a wish is, the longer it would take. Furthermore, I could make no wishes to counteract a wish I'd already made.
Ever since I found this out, I limited myself to small things, from making a teacher spill her drink on my test paper so that she'd just give me full marks, to making an annoying little brat step into a muddy puddle in his favorite shoes. I only wished for anything I knew I wouldn't regret.
I was regretting my choice now, sitting in history class listening to my teacher give an update on current events. He always did this to start off his lessons when something that he believes would become historical occurs.
"Putin has just announced today that he is not unwilling to use nuclear weapons on NATO countries if any were to intervene. Can you believe that guys?" Mr. Owens gestured to the class.
I could believe it. I knew before he even told us, before Putin even made the announcement. This was apparently another step in the chain of events that would fix the world's economy, another step within my wish.
I knew intrinsically that it wasn't my fault, the invasion would have happened sooner or later without my wish, but how many had died that wouldn't have if I'd just left things alone? How many people's lives would have been drastically different, for better or worse? The economy will recover, I'm sure of that, but at what cost?
I wanted to run into the bathroom and cry. I raised my hand without looking up.
"Alex, what is your answer?" Mr. Owens asked. I looked up and saw everyone looking at me. He had written a question on the board, and thought that I'd raised my hand to answer.
"What ended the Great Depression in the USA?" The question asked.
Not wanting to embarrass myself by not having an answer, I came up with the first answer I could think of. "Stimulus checks?"
It seemed fitting, considering the era of COVID we were in now, but Mr. Owens shook his head. "Not quite."
He pulled up two graph on the projector screen, a steadily rising trend labeled GDP per capita that had a sharp decrease starting at 1929 followed by an even sharper increase about 10 years later, and a graph of unemployment which spiked for roughly the same amount of time.
"After around the summer of 1932, when the Great Depression was at its worst, the economy began a slow process of recovery driven by productivity, but it wasn't until the end of that decade between 1939 and 1941 that the US economy had truly recovered. Can anyone guess what happened to cause this?"
No one raised their hand.
"I'll give you a hint, it relates to what I was talking about at the start of class."
"War?" Someone spoke up tentatively.
"That's right!" Mr. Owens exclaimed, and a label appeared on the graphs stretching from 1939 to 1945 with the letters WWII, "the war, also known as World War Two."
He droned on with his lesson, not noticing the ghastly expression on my face. I could no longer hear his words.
The war. World War Two. Oh. Oh no...
|
Maybe it wasn't working. I hated the neighbors and they should have moved out by now. I considered trying again. I'd only ever had to try once before and I wasn't sure what would happen if I double teamed a wish.
I'd wished the neighbors gone and launched my paper airplane out the window. The last time I'd gotten rid of a neighbor I'd done the same thing. The airplane had struck their mailbox flag, knocking it down, causing the mail carrier to bypass their box and not pick up their utility payment. The power was off for twelve hours before they sorted it out. But twelve hours without a television to distract them was enough for them to realize they hated each other. The wife had ended up dating the police officer and the house had gone back on the market.
This time the airplane had struck the old oak tree. I'd watched it that far. A single acorn had been knocked off and landed in their yard. The acorn had germinated in just a couple days, which is fast for an acorn, but I don't think I have the patience for the tree to grow and fall on the house after a windstorm or something.
I could see the sapling from my porch. I'd spent all morning watching it and it hadn't done anything.
Oh, there's something. The neighbor is coming out to mow the lawn. He'll run over the tree with the mower and it will snag the blades. The mower will break, the grass will get long, code enforcement will have to come out and fine them. The fines will pile up until they move in the middle of the night, in shame.
No, he's mowing around it. And the wife, she's coming out and putting mulch around the sapling. Obviously they've noticed the tree, so it's having some effect. Is one of them going to realize that an oak tree is a hundred year commitment? They'll be dead and gone before it's as big as the one in my yard. The sense of impending mortality will surely drive them to move.
They see me and wave. I wave back and duck back inside. When I check back later the tree has a little stake attached to it, to make it grow straight. They've grown attached to it. Perhaps it would die and the feeling of loss would engender a deep dislike for the neighborhood. They would move to somewhere new to start over.
At sunset, I'd had enough. I got out my folding paper and made another plane.
"I wish you didn't live next to me." The new plane flew off and hit the oak tree. Another acorn fell in their yard. I folded another. "I wish we weren't neighbors." Another acorn. More planes. "I wish— I wish— I wish." Acorn. Acorn. Acorn. A gust of wind rattled through the oak's branches and sent down a shower of the nuts.
I ran over to their yard. The stupid little tree was still there. "Stupid fricking tree, why won't you work." It snapped very easily under my heel. The yard was filled with acorns. I grabbed a handful and threw them at the house. "I wish we didn't live next to each other." They bounced off and scattered back into the yard.
The chirp of a siren startled me out of my hate. The flashing blue and red lights made me blink. I dropped another handful of acorns.
When they arrested me I realized I should have worded my wishes more carefully.
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\]
| 2022-03-24T10:20:40 | 2022-03-24T06:49:08 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] You are a student with the least amount of magic potential ever recorded at the Academy and it's the day of the familiar summoning test. A misplaced rune or word results in an arch demon/ess becoming bound as your familiar.
|
"Ms. Archambault, you're next. Please step onto the dais and begin the ritual."
I sighed as I got out of my seat. As I made my way to the front, I heard snickers and whispers through the crowd. The usual chorus of "Phoebe the Failure" and other such monikers of similar creativity. It's not like I didn't deserve it, what with me being a freak of nature.
I stepped up and began tracing the runes for the ritual. Despite my resignation to the epic failure that was bound to happen, I still studied to make sure my summoning circle was absolutely perfect. If I was gonna get a familiar about as impressive as a quadriplegic hamster, at the very least I wanted a good grade for the process. I forced myself not to flip off the crowd as I finished the circle and stood up.
The runes began to glow red as a humming noise emanated from the circle. Suddenly, all of the windows were covered over in darkness as a cold wind blew down the door to the lecture hall. From the glowing circle, a black cloud emerged and zoomed around the ceiling before touching back down in front of me. As the smoke dissipated, I gasped at the figure that was revealed.
A jaw-droppingly gorgeous demon had appeared. She had at least two extra feet on me, beautiful curved horns, a long tail with a pointed tip, and downright hypnotically purple eyes. Her dress was decorated with various symbols and gold lining, of a kind I had recognized--I had accidentally summoned an archdemoness.
I fell to my knees and bowed as I frantically said, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry! I--I didn't mean to summon you, I was just trying to summon a familiar, but I think I--"
The demoness laughed as she pulled me off of my feet and into her arms. "Oh my, you are simply too precious. But promise your lovely Lilith something from here on out, darling Phoebe: no more apologizing for such innocuous mistakes. I'll not allow my fiancee to think so little of herself."
I was almost so entranced by the demoness'...well, everything, that I almost missed what she just said. "Fiancee?! What do you...mean..." I trailed off when I looked at my summoning circle. The rune for 'partnership' had one too many lines, turning it into the rune for 'relationship'.
I groaned. "Phoebe, you idiot. You had to do one thing, and now there's a demoness stuck with the weakest mage in history--"
Lilith pressed her finger to my lips as she said to me, "Dearest, what did I just say? You deserve so much better than that kind of talk. I am here because I *chose* to be here. I saw the richness of your soul and loved what I saw. And I will tell it to you every day until you believe me."
Professor Ulta cleared their throat and said, "I don't mean to interrupt this very heartwarming moment, but I'm just curious as to how Ms. Archambault achieved such a feat. By all accounts, she has the lowest recorded magic potential in school history." Professor Ulta then pressed an A+ into my hand. "Oh, and you pass, obviously."
Lilith turned her nose up at him. "Well of course you'd think that. You never thought to test her by the standards of something other than a human."
|
As the Daimon Prince of Lust looked on from within the Binding Circle, Deacon Blair looked on in complete and utter horror, desperately searching the Circle for any errors that would summon an Aprophyri, instead of the expected owl, cat, frog or wisp. "What did you *do*, Declan?"
Declan Apri, the least powerful student in the academy, tousled his curly gold-red hair, thinking hard about the runic syntax used by him. He spotted it in the fifth pentacle, a mis-scribed rune meaning *bonds of divinity* as opposed to the intended casting, which was phrased *divine bond*. He pointed at it, calling across the Circle. "Sir, can you see it? In the fifth pentacle, third Axis on the binding arm?"
Deacon Blair saw where Declan was pointing, and gasped, an expression of utter horror firing through his mask. "....I see. I'm actually impressed that you miscast something so dangerous, and yet didn't immediately suffer dire consequences for it."
The Daimon Prince smiled, an inviting promise of desire and many other things. "I thought it would be better this way, for my long-term entertainment. Possession is so *gauché*."
The voice oozed with lustful promise and arousal, and Declan's mental wards, which were prepared for torture and horror, collapsed under the weight of the promise, and he groaned as he folded to the floor, gasping. As it was, the Deacon whuffed as the desire cut across him.
The Daimon Prince broke the circle with ease at that point, the will to seal it lost in sensation within Declan's body and mind, and the Deacon had surprisingly not fared much better, breathing heavily as the Prince's aura smothered him.
The Prince touched Declan, and the body stirred out of its sensation, a soft groan escaping Declan's lips. The Prince growled, and split his body into a humanoid component and a gem component, before shoving it through Declan's left eye; a scream sheared its way out of Declan as his left eye turned from its normal blue-grey to an albino pink. A presence unfurled itself in Declan's mind like a lotus blossom, and took the form of a succubus dressed in a form-fitting blue-black pantsuit, with soft horned ears and the tail of a Drakon warrior priestess.
*What is your demand, Master?*
The Deacon chanted softly, "There's a daimon in my school," for about a minute, and then the newly-formed Daimon Prince appeared as a student at the academy, complete with uniform. "Ah, yes, Master Blair." The new voice was a clarion call of a soprano, a sense of aural orgy appearing in the listener's ear. "Better to tell them the casting failed, and introduce me as a new student. I'll happy break my Master in for you, if need be. He has so little mana, he shouldn't have been able to cast *at all.* Interesting...."
The Deacon sighed, broken. "As you wish - take him and go."
| 2022-11-12T14:11:55 | 2022-11-12T11:54:43 | 701 | 96 |
[WP] After hearing complaints countless times the hero just turns himself in and goes to prison. Now that the villains are destroying the city and running wild everyone is trying the convince the hero to come out and save the day. But the hero is not having any of this shit
|
I watched as they entered the cell belonging to Ruby Clark, otherwise known as Plasmabeam. Nova sat still on her bed, her face fixed into a resigned expression. The officers entering were new, but they dressed the same as the others, in black suits and carrying official-looking briefcases. Curious, I zoomed in using the camera located in Nova’s left pupil. Their ID’s identified the officers as Jared Connor and Bless Johnson, security level A4, the lowest level. How rude of them, to only send low level officers to talk. The Nova Clark who was sitting on the bed may have just been a robot copy of me, but robot me still deserved respect.
“Miss Clark,” said Connor, “we’re here to see if you’ll reconsider our request. This city needs Plasmabeam now more than ever as crime continues to rise. Just yesterday the fish warehouse on Pier 6 was blown up.”
Ah yes, the fish warehouse. I had blown that up out of anger, after the smell of fish wafting from the pier ruined my date. Pundits have endlessly debated the motives for my crimes, by the truth is that I, Nova Flynn, also known as Ruby Clark, was horrendously petty and easily annoyed. That was the reason I turned myself, or rather, a robot version of myself, into jail in the first place. I couldn’t stand all the criticism.
Ruby looked at Connor for a moment, her sophisticated AI thinking of a response. “I have reconsidered,” robot Ruby replied, “but my answer is the same. No. After all the hate I received, I won’t lift a finger for this city.” Good job Nova, I thought to myself. This robot Ruby is still working perfectly. While watching the officers' reactions, I ate some popcorn to reward myself for my superior robot making skills.
“Miss Clark,” Johnson implored, “people are begging you to come back. You’ll be praised to the rooftops!” Hmmm, praise. Certainly tempting, but I wasn’t willing to redon my Plasmabeam alter ego. Being a villain is much more lucrative, and villains tend to be feared and hated rather than criticized. I could live with being hated, but dealing with feedback and criticism is out of the question.
In retrospect, that was a big flaw in my plan to pose as a hero. The whole point of my identity as Plasmabeam was to destroy things but mask them as good deeds. But since I succeeded at the first part, but not so much the second, I, as Plasmabeam, was constantly criticized. When Plasmabeam “accidentally” blew up a priceless museum exhibit, that was the last straw. I had to turn my favorite robot, posing as Plasmabeam, into jail for people to calm down. The upside is that I had much more time to focus on outright villany.
The conversation between Ruby and the officers lasted about an hour, but I lost focus about five minutes in. I was up all last night planning a bank robbery, and my mind just couldn’t focus on this shit anymore. These officers were insufferable.
Once the conversation ended, I powered robot Ruby down for the day and left the observation room. I had a bank to rob, a city to terrorize, and critics to silence.
|
Ashley sighed, crossing her arms. "Duke, for the love of God, stop this and come out."
Duke stared at her, his face stoic as usual. "Alright."
Ashley tried not to get her hopes up. "Really? I'll go tell the warden to-"
"I'm completely heterosexual." Duke's grin spread from ear to ear as Ashley's face turned red from anger. "This isn't funny! Stop this petty fucking strike!" She wanted to reach through the bars of the cell and throttle the taller man. "We get it, Thistletown *needs* you, we've underappreciated you. We'll kiss your ass to hell and back if you would just leave this cell."
Duke shrugged. "Don't care. Why should I work myself half to death out there when I can just sit in here and get free food?" Ashley stared at him, completely dumbfounded. The cell was tiny and bare, with no other cellmates to talk to or anything to do aside from reading. "Well, aren't you bored? Isn't it lonely in here?" Duke shook his head. "I do literally nothing all day and get taken care of, Ashley. What's boring about that? Plus," Duke tapped his temple. "I can get my own amusement just from the weird thoughts people have in their heads in this place."
Ashley felt like she was damn near ready to explode from rage. "When did you become so selfish? This is just..." She felt disgust churning within her. "Pathetic." Duke's head snapped up with a glare. A plan started forming in Ashley's head.
"It really shows how shallow and weak-willed you are, y'know?" Ashley twirled her dark hair while she insulted the former hero. "Were you really just doing all that work for some praise? Are you sad that Mommy wasn't there for-"
Ashley cut herself off as Duke lunged at the bars of the cage, enraged by her mockery. The metal groaned and screeched, bending under the force of his body. "You shut up right now," the man seethed. Ashley had to suppress a smirk. This was dangerous, but it was going to achieve her goal. Even if Duke can read her mind and figure out exactly what she's doing, it's still going to cut deep enough to work eventually.
It'll take months. But he'll grow up and leave the prison eventually.
Ashley turned and strutted down the hall. "I'm off to go enjoy my freedom!" She called out. "I'll come back tomorrow with riveting news of how my day went, *all for you!~"*
The door slammed behind her. *And, of course,* she thought to herself. *I'm not going to be back tomorrow at all. Or the next day. Or maybe ever.* Her face scrunched up as she heard Duke screaming and some crashing noise while he destroyed his cell. *I'll fix the emotional damages after he gets out.*
| 2021-03-18T13:54:10 | 2021-03-18T13:24:33 | 46 | 32 |
[WP] You are a superhero that has finally defeated your arch-nemesis. As you rummage through the lair of the fallen villain you find a codex of all their master plans. What you find horrifies you. Every act was rooted in a greater good. Your allies have been using you. You were so blind until today.
|
From the moment he caught Sophie’s eye across a crowded room Liam knew everything had changed. That had been 10 years and a lifetime away for both of them. Somehow it had never felt quite so far as it did now, staring down into another set of eyes the same shockingly blue color as hers while the light drained out of them with the blood.
“Soph, why does he look so familiar with his mask off?” When he felt vulnerable he still called her by that pet name from their early days, long before she became The Shadow and he became Bastion.
A strange sound could be heard throughout the lair then, a kind of laugh if one were being generous. The timbre was right for one but there was no humor in it, this was a sound to chill the blood, and as Liam- Bastion now- turned around he saw that it came from her, Sophie. The woman he loved most in all the world, and who had never seemed more like she fit her new name than right now.
“Bastion, I’ve always hated it when you called me that.” She’d been different since they made their final assault on the villain’s lair, constantly on edge, laser focused on the goal, on convincing him to kill The Seer, not just capture him.
“Soph, please just answer me. Why did I just kill a man who has your eyes?”
She sighed heavily then, looking him over dispassionately. He didn’t know how she could be so calm right now, killing wasn’t what they did, it wasn’t what any hero should do...but then he had the blood on his hands, not her.
She approached him then, the clicking of her heels loud in the silence of the room. Wrapping her arms around his neck she kissed him then, more tenderly than she had in some time, and when she was done she leaned in to his ear to whisper. Somehow even after all the fighting her dark hair smelled faintly of lavender.
“That man on the floor was my father.” She said to him. Bastion’s whole body tensed under her hands as The Shadow (and from this moment on she would always be The Shadow to him) leaned back and favored him with a wide smile. “I’ll admit I didn’t think you could do it in the end. When you punched his chest in that was the first time I’d even been truly proud of you.”
“How...how could you?” Bastion asked, voice breaking. It was the same body standing in front of him but not the same person, it couldn't be, could it?. The same long dark hair, the same fine pale features and upturned mouth, those distinctive blue eyes (that would always haunt him now) and the small scar on her brow from childhood. To look at that face with anything other than love was breaking his heart.
“How could I? I could because I dared! Because I dared to heights that so called “Seer” never could! To think he had all that vision and he used it for what, to save a few lives in a country nobody had ever heard of? That’s not why we have power, Bastion. My father lived his whole life thinking he was one step ahead of everyone, thinking he knew the path of my life better than I do!” The Shadow kicked the body then, for emphasis. “He didn’t know enough to save himself!"
Bastion fell to his knees then, beside the body of the man he had just killed, in the home he had once thought a lair.
“I trusted you!” He shouted. “I should never have let you plan this mission, never have listened to you at all! We don’t use our powers to kill!”
“Ah Bastion, but you have. You’ll never live up to those stupid morals now, and if you cling to them you’ll join him. That’s where they get you.” She laughed again then, the same terrible sound. The light in the room dimmed as she activated her power, the darkness flowing across the walls as she seemed to become translucent. “It’s a pity really, in the beginning I thought you were so handsome, so strong. You had so much potential but in the end this is what you’ve become. We’ll meet again dear, maybe if you’ve grown up by then you can even join me.” She crept forward again, slowly, ethereally, to raise his chin to her gaze with one finger.
“Maybe then I could use a man like you.” With that she disappeared, vanishing into the edges of human perception, a shadow dancing across the walls and floor as she fled.
In the emptiness of the room, Bastion wept.
|
The Beast's hands shook. It was surrounded by destruction and carnage, but it was most likely a scene that it was used to.
Its hunt was over, the prey now lay deep within its stomach, and yet-
It did not show any satisfaction or joy. It just stood there, hands shaking, head aimed towards the sky as if it was waiting for an answer to an unspoken question directed at beings greater than him.
\*Did I do the right thing?\*
\*Tell me\*
\*Are you the real monsters?\*
White noise, a jarring white line on the image of the transmission that kept multiplying itself until the feed was completely covered up.
"Oh for the love of- " Connor said as he opened his eyes, it seems like he wasn't used to sharing vision as he kept cursing while picking at his eyes "what the fuck was that!?"
"That, dear Connor- " Elysium said, scratching his beard and probably trying to hide the smirk that was forming on his face "-was a man being eaten alive by another - much bigger - man, and said man clearly having regret over his actions"
"That's not what I fucking meant, why was the vision terminated like that!? and why the fuck did it hurt so much!?" Connor said, clearly agitated "and what do YOU mean by regret over his actions? he just took care of the \*thing\* that has been plaguing us all this time!"
"Mr. Connor please calm down you're clearly agitated," Alice said in a very monotone voice, "Could I perhaps get you a hot beverage, I'm sure you'll feel clearly less agitated than before"
"No," he said flatly, he didn't seem to be very fond of Alice, even though he was definitely eyeing her up when arriving at my pocket dimension.
Elysium just chuckled at their exchange.
"Gentlemen," I said, one eye open looking at my companions and the other closed but reflecting the scene where the beast still was into my mind. "It seems that one of... our chess pieces it's about to be stolen, even though the other player it's already dead"
The room grew silent
"Is it some sort of mind of control? perhaps someone or something it's influencing his mind right now" Elysium said "...or perhaps the man behind the beast it's starting to wake up and realized the truth." he said while looking at me, hand on his chin.
Ah... I see.
He was most likely berating our handiwork.
"I worked on Beast for 20 years, I raised him, trained him, modified him almost as much as I did with Alice here," I said, "trust me when I said that there is nothing left of the man he used to be, he is nothing but a puppet, a chess piece for us to make the world a better place"
"A chess piece that got stolen from us," Connor said tapping his finger on the table at a fast pace "what we should be discussing right now is how to get him back!" stopping midway, he looked over at us, his jaw set "or how to take him out before things get ugly...er"
"Unexpected" Elysium said with a sarcastic tone, "you didn't waste any time putting the 'kill' option on the table, what happened to all those years of fighting the evil together for the... greater good..."
"Mr. Connor here has a point, Mr. Elysium," I said interrupting what could have been the start of a violent conflict between the two, Alice could probably take care of Connor if need be but Elysium's power might prove a bit troublesome.
And I didn't want them ruining the new carpet.
"I have several plans already on how to... tackle this particular problem, nothing that a bit of brainstorming can't solve," I said.
\*why\* \*why\* \*why\* he whimpered toward the sky even though we were nowhere near that place \*Elysium! Connor!\*
\*PROFESSOR!\*
Ah... he started crying. The symbol of power and peace across the world - The Beast - is now having a mental breakdown. 20 years of work are most likely going down the drain, whatever could that \*thing\* have done to him?
A shame, really.
| 2020-12-03T17:37:08 | 2020-12-03T17:21:11 | 324 | 81 |
[WP] In the final moments of the battle, all seemed lost. The hero stood bleeding and broken before the demons feet. Then, out of no where, a mad man in pajamas punches the demon so hard its insides became outsides. No one knows who this strange man was or where he went too.
|
Gibraltar stood, barely. His eyes locked on the demon across from him. Nothing was said but they both knew.
Gibraltar, the hero was not going to win this fight.
As Gibraltar fell at the demons feet, still trying to fight, all he could hear was laughing. It was almost deafening to him. a voice so loud if shook the air and the city around them.
"Foolish hero. You gambled and lost. No backup, no help," The demon said before he paused and crouched down grabbing the hero by the face.
"No hope." Gibraltar closed his eyes hearing that. he could feel the grip tightening, and worried this was how he died. he head crushed like over ripe fruit. He couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image.
"Good laugh all the way to the Grave. Look at me, LOOK AT ME" The Demon said, firmly in control of the situation. Gibraltar opened his eyes in time to watch the demons head explode in a fine mist. They both fell to the ground, the demon falling for the last time. Looking up Gibraltar was astonished not to see another hero but a regular human. A very angry regular human staring at the demons body. As his eyes closed and he passed out he could hear one thing and one thing only.
"It is 3AM and some of us have to work in the morning... SHUT UP!"
|
The hero of legend collapsed at the demon’s feet. He had failed! At the most critical moment, to boot! His life flashed before his eyes as the demon prepared a fatal blow. He braced himself for the worst…
But it never came. He opened his eyes, and saw a random civilian mid-punch. He was about to warn the man of the danger of approaching this foe, when suddenly, the demon exploded into a fine powder.
The Hero looked around. People from all walks of life surrounded him, punching demons left, right, and center. Demon after demon turned into a fine mist, as two people carried the Hero toward safety.
“What’s going on?” were the first words from the Hero after being helped into a bed. “Where did you all come from? And why are the demons falling?”
“Hope is a powerful weapon, Mr. Hero. Even when it looked like the end, we held onto hope. That power allowed us to push back the demons. And it’s all thanks to you. Rest easy, Mr. Hero.”
| 2021-12-18T14:16:34 | 2021-12-18T13:26:26 | 654 | 46 |
[WP] People now get a text message from Death himself to warn them about their deaths an hour in advance. Some people, however, use their final hour to troll Death with text replies.
|
"So, am I going to Heaven or Hell?"
>"I don't decide that"
"You have to know! You're the guy taking me!"
>"Look, lady, I take you to the place where they decide where you go, not directly to said place"
"Did you just assume my gender?"
>"...What?"
"I IDENTIFY AS AN OCTOSEXUAL ATTACK HELICOPTER AND I WILL NOT ADDRESSED AS 'LADY'. THAT WAS INCREDIBLY RUDE AND I AM CALLING THE POLICE FOR SEXUAL HARASSMENT"
>"I-- Uh, no, it says on your papers that you are, indeed, a woman. Also, you can't call the cops on me, I am literally Death."
"Your papers are wrong."
>"What?"
"Your papers are clearly basing my gender off of my physical appearance, not who I identify as. YOUR PAPERS ARE WRONG."
>"You know, I don't get to say weather you go to Heaven or Hell, but the afterlife is a democracy, and I *do* get to weigh in."
"Oh, so Heaven then?"
>"Attack Helicopters don't go to heaven. They get melted down and recycled."
|
"Did you know that cats actually have nine lives?"
"Wait, what? No, that doesn't sound right," Death replied.
"It's true! That means in order for you to kill a cat, you must kill it *nine times* for it to stick."
"What. No, that's *definitely* not right. I just took a kitty the oth--"
"Did you know, that dropping a penny from the top of the Empire State Building can kill someo--"
"But that was proven false. Next."
"Did you know?? Someone was struck by lightning, got up to start walking, and then struck again???"
"Ever heard of special effects?"
"Did you know--"
"Hey, listen, lady, I have someone else to take with me. Stop texting me."
"Di--"
"No."
"Did yo--"
"No."
Silence.
"D--"
"NO! Now go away."
Death shook his head. "I never should have given out my phone number..."
| 2017-02-17T18:59:12 | 2017-02-17T14:44:12 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] tell me the story of how a giant omnipotent space dragon that can manipulate the very fabric of reality, became best friends with bob, a middle aged man who works at Walmart.
|
Robert Paper shivered in the cold night air while walking to his car in the Walmart parking lot. Another day over and done with. He'd been doing this for so long that he wondered if parts of his soul were wearing away. But even so, it was worth it to get to see the twinkle in his son's eyes. That is what mattered. Little Jack was probably asleep now, hopefully dreaming something sweet. The thought warmed him and he wondered what had become of his own childhood dreams.
As he reached his car, he noticed something shiny and green on the ground. An iridescent scale about the size of his thumb. He had seen scales like this before, but so long ago that he wasn't sure he trusted the memory. Where had it come from? He looked around, and noticed a shape looming in the darkness, huge but barely more than a shadow.
The shape of a dragon. But one he recognized.
After a minute, Robert's eyes adjusted better and he could make out the head, with jaws large enough to swallow his car. It was familiar, and its eyes stared at him like two dim stars.
The dragon spoke with a gentle rumble, though Robert knew it could roar loud enough to deafen him, "Why did you stop coming to visit me?"
"My parents moved us away. To a different town. I'm sorry."
"Why didn't you come back?"
"I grew up. I couldn't believe that the things we did were real. I thought I imagined them. Even now I can't quite believe I'm talking to you."
Robert thought for a moment then continued, "But I did come back. This town always held happy memories for me. That's why I'm here now. I even went back to your cave, but there was nothing there."
"Ah," the dragon paused, "I didn't recognize you. You didn't bring the gifts and ideas we would use to spin worlds. You didn't bring curiosity, wonder. You looked different, bigger. You weren't you. I only recognized you now, because for an instant I saw your spark."
A thought occurred to Robert that alarmed him, "Wait a minute. If that was all real, then what would have happened if the kings and princes hadn't bowed their heads? What if the pirates had tried to shoot me off your tail?!"
"Bobby!" replied the dragon, affronted, "I'm magic! I would never have let anyone or anything hurt you!" then with a touch of pride, "You let me be brave."
"If you could do all that, then why did you need the friendship of a child?"
The dragon looked slightly confused and repeated, "You let me be brave," the dragon explained, "I am mighty. I need nothing, so I can do whatever I want. But I need nothing, so how do I decide what I want? Dragon's live forever, I needed you to show me what was important. To show me that things matter. Otherwise, I would be like a stone. I missed you. But we've found each other now," the dragon brightened as it finished.
Robert was abruptly aware of the chill night air, "I'm sorry. There are people who depend on me now. I have obligations. I can't go on adventures with you."
"But," he continued, "I could introduce you to my son."
|
I consider myself omnipotent, but I never kid myself that I’m omniscient. So, it won’t surprise you that I pursue knowledge, not power. When I was but one of many giant dragons, I used to toy with shortcuts to omniscience. I’d manipulate the very fabric of reality in my pursuit of knowledge. This shortcut to knowledge proved flawed.
It’s why I’m the only giant dragon still existing in this time-space dimension. One by one those other dragons who had been with me for eternity manipulated themselves out of existence. What saved me I think is two things. I’m a space dragon, not a simple normal Giant Dragon. This means I’m more grounded in the universe than that of my erstwhile fellow non-space giant dragons. I’m not sure if this is a “saving quality,” but I’m also among the smaller of the giant dragons (as opposed to the ordinary, non-giant, Komodo dragon sized dragons).
You probably want specifics? Who am I to complain if you want more knowledge? It’s been my obsession for a lifetime that stretches out longer than the stars in the sky. In my true form, I’m approximately the size of that SUV Arnold Schwarzenegger used to drive. The black one manufactured to military specs, a Humvee I think they call it.
To be even more specific, I should say I used to be that size. Several thousand years ago, I met a truly great being, a being whom I firmly suspect is omniscient. Truly monstrous in size, the creature hovered above me, it’s great faintly beige, wheat colored tentacles moved ponderously above me and light shone down. It was then I knew this creature would one day guide me to enlightenment.
On that gray cloudy day, with rain falling on my scaled shoulders, lightning flashed and my true form became concealed in that of a middle-aged woman named Maude. I immediately converted to the Pastafarian religion and began to search out my teacher. It was years before I found him, but eventually, he made himself known to me at the 24-Hour Walmart on Broadway Avenue. His true nature was concealed in that of a middle-aged, slightly pudgy gentleman named Bob, a shelf stocker.
When I saw him for the first time, I knew he was the one. My mentor, the man who would one day lead me to enlightenment. I got a job with Walmart and Bob and I slowly grew close. After a few years, we began having coffee together at the attached McDonalds every day after work.
A few months ago, I finally let Bob know my true nature. He now laughs and sometimes kids me. “So Maude, are you really omnipotent if you never use your power?”
I’d laugh in return and say something like, “Omnipotence isn’t defined through the use. It simply exists.” It turns out Bob’s a fellow Pastafarian and we began to have deep philosophical discussions about the nature of religion and the universe and what it all means. Slowly, Bob became not only my best friend, but the man who was leading me to greater and greater knowledge. I finally was truly grappling with the nature of what it means to be omnipotent, immortal, and the last surviving Giant Dragon of this great universe.
| 2017-01-23T16:08:27 | 2017-01-23T13:05:29 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity.
|
The first time I met her, it was after hours in some 24-hour diner near Union Square in San Francisco. I was in town for a tech conference, and very, very drunk. She was also in town for work, "some PR/Marketing BS," as she put it.
She's told me that I was charming that night. I showed her pictures of my dog on my phone. I tried to do a magic trick, where I proceeded to spill coffee all over the counter and the sleeves of her top. Mortified, I got up to leave, but then, in a move I would have never made sober, I wrote my number on a napkin, and told her if she ever came to Seattle, hit me up and I'd buy her a drink to replace the one I'd spilled.
I was confused a few weeks later when I got a text from an unknown number. She was in town with a free night, and wanted to take me up on that drink. I decided I could take a night off from Counterstrike and Call of Duty to play tour guide.
Have you ever met someone for the first time, and just clicked immediately? The night is almost a blur - we talked and laughed all night. I couldn't believe how I could have so much to talk about with someone I'd just met - it was like we'd known each other for years. It was the scariest moment of my life at the end of the night when I invited her back to my apartment, and then the most exhilarating when she said yes. She left early, kissing me on the cheek, whispering she had a plane to catch. I groggily offered to drive her to the airport, but she smiled and told me she already had a car coming for her.
We talked often - sometimes just leaving our phones on while we did our own thing. I would give her hilarious play by play of my hopeless attempts to play COD, she would laugh and call me her clueless soldier while tapping away on her keyboard - humming to herself as she worked. She was always working. We met up a few other times - when she was here for business, and once I had a long layover in Nashville, so she met me at the airport, just to say hi and have coffee with me.
I'm in IT and I see people's eyes glaze over when I start talking about work, so I never pressed it when she didn't want to talk about her job. I knew, living in Nashville, that it had something to do with the music industry. I knew she traveled a lot, almost every week. And she knew people everywhere - it seemed like every time we were out, she'd bump into someone who stopped her to say hi. She would always ask them what they were listening to, what their favorite songs were, collecting more PR/Marketing BS data, she'd tell me afterwards.
It was a few months later when we were comparing travel schedules when we realized we were both going to be in Vegas at the same time - another tech conference for me, another PR BS thing for her.
"Hey," she said, "do you want to come with me to the award ceremony? They're long and boring, I could use some company." Of course I jumped at the chance to spend time with her. "It's a formal thing, but I'll expense your tux rental. I'll pick you up at 7pm."
My company once did a casino night where we all dressed up and had limos pick us up, so I was only surprised for a moment when she pulled up in a long Hummer limo. I recovered quickly and played it cool. This would be fun!
I was not able to recover when we pulled up to T-Mobile Arena and a mass of cameras and reporters waiting for us. "Welcome to PR/Marketing BS" she said as she gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. Someone outside opened the limo door and whisked us on to a long, red carpet leading into the arena, and I was blinded by the flashbulbs and lights that hit us immediately. I could just make out part of some announcer "….Country Music's hottest rising star, she recently reached number one with her single Clueless Soldier, a tribute to all our troops in the Middle East…"
The rest was drowned out by the cheers. She gave my hand another squeeze.
|
It wasn't for some time that I began to realize something was weird... off... about her interactions when we talked about going out. This wasn't a huge problem for me as I understood her job to be very difficult. She traveled constantly. Extremely busy. Out till all hours of the night. We lived across the hall from each other for months until one day I introduced myself and asked for a cup of sugar for a cake I was making for my sister one evening in February.
New York is beautiful in the winter.
She slid a glass measuring cup (the ones with the red lettered measurements on the side) through a crack in the door (apparently she doesn't know liquid measurement tools are separate from solids... ol well... this'll be plenty, I thought). Her slight English accent squeaked through the crack in the door as I said "thanks... uhhh... my name is Jimmy..." her response was a closed door.
That was months ago. We've been dating for 6 months at this point. The first month of our time together (first initiated by me asking her over to try devils food lava cake that I had been workshopping for at least 2 weeks which started a cooperative love affair with food. She ate like garbage. Always blamed it on being too lazy and too cheap. She would come home late, ask if I had any cake (this went on for 2 weeks) and eventually I started making her real food. I'd put extra in the fridge for her and she would come over and have a few bites before we fell asleep watching some old AMC rerun. I never had anything else running on my tv. She seemed to like that about me. One night she kissed me and I kissed her back. She basically moved in the next week. Her place was always a wreck. Blamed that on being busy too. It got so I would pack her lunches most days and she would have dinner over at my place most nights and we would fall asleep listening to some tunes or a black and white movie in my run down apartment on my beautifully huge couch.
She seemed to really like that she didn't have to talk about her work with me and since we only ever ate my work, we didn't have to talk about that either. Everything changed one day when I heard her approach our shared hallway and then go into her apartment instead of mine with a hurried sounding frantic key-fooling. I knocked on her door to see if she was hungry and she just yelled back in an intense voice before I got the chance knock more than once
"Come to the my work party tonight. Leaving in 45 minutes. Put on something nice."
Confused, a little worried with how strange she was being, I went back into my apartment, turned off the oven that had a braised duck resting in it (I was trying to impress her that particular night) and went to the back of my closet to find an old suit from my best friends wedding forever ago.
She came over 15 minutes later looking like I'd never seen her before. Red hair pulled back out of her face except for one almost blonde sliver that somehow magically stayed in the perfect place on her beautifully freckled face. Left leg peaking out through a long slit in a hunter green dress that hinted at deep dark forests in the pacific north west. Her necklace was a long triangular minimalist piece that dropped down low on her chest.
She was stunning.
I was a potato compared to her. And not a well prepared red potato you get at fancy restaurants. A dirty, unwashed russet. My hair was a messy long and stubble showed in just the perfectly wrong neck beard places.
"Who are you?" I asked in a low voice as I went in to kiss her.
"Some people call me Hermione," she said with a smile. Curious. I kissed her beautifully smelling neck and she leaned away toward the door.
"Come one, our limo awaits. We're about to have a weird night, you and I."
EDIT: formatting
| 2017-06-14T10:24:26 | 2017-06-14T10:18:55 | 976 | 34 |
[WP] You accidentally kill a person. Instantly, you absorb all of their memories, feelings and talents. It feels quite addicting to you.
|
The first time was an accident. I'm ashamed to admit I fled the scene after I hit him. Hosed the car down in the driveway, tried to pretend it never happened.
I chalked up the dreams to guilt. Memories of another life. Memories of a kind and better man than I. Memories I thought I had imagined for the man I had hit... until I read his obituary that is. Turns out, all those memories were actually real. Memories from a loving father, devoted husband, and passionate scientist.
The memories became more meaningful than my own, perhaps because the life of the man I had killed was better lived than mine. That was when I realized I wanted to take more lives, and gain experiences from every walk of life.
My first and only victim was the week after. She backed up the alley as I closed in. I could hear the fear in her voice as she called for help.
"Not this way." I somehow knew the voice in my head was not my own; it was the voice of the man I had killed.
Now I am in Oregon. Under their death with dignity act, I help those who have lived a full life and are in terminal stages of illness. I am the one who takes then off life support.
Those who believe in my ability often request me specifically. In a way they live on through me. In return, I try to share their wisdom with the world.
**Edit:** Added alley scene
|
''Did you know there is only 0.37% chance to survive point blank pistol shot while it is aimed at your head. Today we are with Mr. Burton who beat these odds and who is alive and well after his incident.''
*Newscaster turns to other camera and continues,*
''Mr. Burton is...''
They don’t know how much pain inside me. They don’t know I’m lost inside of my own body. When I take a walk people only see one me.
Today, I’m going to pay a visit to that lucky man. I know where he lives. A few months ago I was doing my thing in his neighborhood...
My passion is the collect some pieces. Pieces from incompleted living beings.
-----------------------
''Yesterday, Mr. Burton who survived point blank gun shot is died. His murderer...''
There was a lot of flame inside of her. When I killed her husband she looked right into my eyes and she saw the real me. I saw her like his husband did. I hugged her and she hugged me back, it was a great night.
''... her wife confessed the murder. She sentenced...''
-------------------------------------------
**Please don't mind any writing or grammar mistakes, I'm not a native speaker**
| 2018-09-23T06:39:07 | 2018-09-23T06:19:35 | 176 | 10 |
[FF] Write about a death. Make it happy.Make it under 12 sentences.
|
I handed my brother the flask. He turned his collar up against the blowing snow and took a hit from the flask to warm his insides.
“Goddamn, can you believe it’s been a year already?”
“Seems like yesterday,” I barked out against the wind.
After my brother took another pull on the flask, he tucked it into his jacket, and nodded my direction, as if to say, “Okay, let’s do this.”
We went to work on the grave blankets. Every year we’d cover our family’s plots with blankets of evergreens, accented with beautiful red and orange flowers. We both smiled to ourselves while we did it. It felt good to visit with family, even like this. In a sense, it was our way of showing our family that we were still around, that we still cared, and that we still watched over them. I looked at my brother laying the flowers that popped with bright colors in the grey winter background and felt comfort knowing that we were family, and we always would be, even in death.
|
Do not cry child. Death is not the end. She has merged with the stars, watching over you. When the sun rises, it beams down upon the world. It never frowns. Do you know why? Because every day, it gets to wake up and look upon its children. It watches as we play in the emerald grass or swim in the sapphire ocean. And when we struggle or become lost, the sun does not cry. It knows that, however hard our challenges, however grey our skies, we will never give up, and this undeniable fact is what gives it the power to keep shining. So keep your chin up and smile back at the sun, for today is another day to keep on living.
| 2014-01-23T13:43:19 | 2014-01-23T13:32:58 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] You and your pet rabbit live in a remote part of Australia, far away from your dark past. Animal control has come to your door and informed you that it is illegal to own a rabbit unless you can prove you are a magician. Now you must do something you swore you would never do again.
Edit: Oh wow, this blew up while I was asleep, looks like this hit the front page. Thanks for all your wonderful stories. It is going to take me a while to get through them all, but I intend to read every one. This really brightened my morning.
|
I invited the man into the house, ushering Bunbun into a corner of the room. The man from animal control - Dennis, he'd told me - eyed the rabbit suspiciously as he took a seat in a chair that sat in front of the large living room window.
"Beautiful view, innit?" I gestured to the window behind him. He turned and looked out for a moment at the bush before returning his vision to me.
"Sir, you know what you're here to do."
"Ah all right, all right. You can see some magic. Look, take this deck of cards. Want to pick a card? I'll make it come out of your ear, you'll never see it coming! Or I can make a flower grow right from this table."
"The magic has to involve the rabbit, sir."
I frowned at him, then twisted. "Bunbun, c'mere girl. Yeah, that's right. Hop up in daddy's lap now. That's right. You still remember my hat, bunbun? You still remember our trick?"
The rabbit looked up at me with small red eyes. I smiled at her. Such a wonderful rabbit.
"Alright then, you ready to see a magic trick?" I asked Dennis. He sighed and nodded, gesturing with his hands that he was sick of waiting. I smiled and picked up a top hat. I flipped it over and then showed him the inside.
"Nothing in the hat, is there? Empty hat. No compartments. No bunbun. Alright. You ready for a magic trick? It's mind-blowing, let me tell ya."
Dennis looked more annoyed than excited.
"Empty hat. You've seen it, I've seen it, Bunbun's seen it. Now comes the fun part. I put Bunbun in the hat. Bunbun, baby, go on. Go on inside. Daddy's got to do his trick - that's it, that's a good girl. Bunbun's in the hat. You see her in the hat? Good. Now, watch closely, the is the best part &mdash;"
I stretched my hand up to the sky, wiggling my fingers before reaching behind me, pulling out a gun, and shooting Dennis right between his eyes. Behind him, the window shattered. Bunbun made a little noise of fright.
I sighed.
"We're gonna have to get a new window again, Bunbun."
|
Oliver wiped a bead of sweat from his face as he continued digging another grave in his backyard.
*Munch Munch Munch*
***AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH***
Behind him, bounded and gagged, were the animal control agents. Horror was evident in their faces as they witnessed Oliver's pet rabbit feast on the blood and intestines of a fellow agent.
The rabbit sank its teeth into the belly of the agent, ripping apart its flesh like it was made of wet paper. The agent's screams filled the night air as the slow and horrific death continued.
***GGGGAAAAAAAAHHHHHH***
***HHHAAGGGGHHHH****
The rabbit chewed slowly, taking its time with its meal and lengthening its suffering. its portion finished, it dug again into the agent's stomach, ripping out a piece of its colon.
**GNGAAAHHH**
Having finished with the stomach, the rabbit moved on to the heart, violently tearing it in two, and the agent's voice slowed into blissful silence...
***AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!***
--
Only to hear a disembodied scream erupt from all around them, before gradually lowering more and more, until it seemed to come from within the rabbit itself.
One of the other agents wet himself.
"You guys should have listened when I said that my rabbit isn't an actual rabbit," said Oliver. "Like I said to you earlier, Olivia here is a lesser demon from the fifth circle of the nine hells."
He approached one of the agents and patted him on the head. Tears flowed freely from the eyes of the agent as Oliver grabbed his head like an apple and forced him to watch his friend getting devoured.
---
The graves were now filled again with dirt, and Oliver and Olivia looked at the full moon.
"Wow, it's late already," said Oliver to his pet, who nodded silently. Olivia jumped from his shoulder as Oliver picked up a hose to wash away the dried blood.
"Looks like we'll have to move again, Olivia," said Oliver.
**"But where?"**
"I hear Antarctica is peaceful all year round."
| 2016-07-09T03:05:40 | 2016-07-09T02:41:16 | 322 | 19 |
[WP] Upon dying, you, a serial killer, are sentenced to experience the lives of all those that you killed.
Edit: Thanks, all, for chiming in and upvoting. Or downvoting, since this is apparently something of a common concept. Sorry about that. Would you believe me if I said I didn't mean to be a reposting karma whore? Either way, it inspired the responders to write. Call me a fool, but I'm happy that so many have taken the time to read and write.
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I'm gasping for breath.
This is the two-hundred seventy-third time I've had to live through someone's life. Growing up in a small town in Poland, seeing this person's love and hatred, wins and losses, and everything that made them who they were. And inevitably, like all the others, watching through their eyes as the soldiers in brown came through the city and took everyone away one by one.
Being starved. Being worked to death. Newborns and their mothers dying together. It was hell. Every single time, it was hell, and it'll be hell again next time.
I made a lot of promises in my first life; bringing Germany to the greatness it once had, fixing the economy, sending out those who would ruin our nation... and now I had to see through the eyes of everyone we'd killed.
Just like last time, we're told we're going to finally have a chance to get clean. The soldiers lead us out of the cramped housing unit to the showers, and they turn on the gas.
As fits of coughing fill the room, my vision starts to fade. I've got a lot of lives to live.
|
I knew how long this life would be, just like all the others. I felt as though the most interesting thing I've ever eaten was the taste of rotten flesh and I couldn't remember what was so good about regular food.
Overtime, I had grown used to the tastes and smells I never knew I would like, experienced the sights of many lifetimes, and yet felt so much fear I had never experienced before. Having lived through so many lives, through all the interesting and new, the fear is what made me hate having to do it all over.
I knew the first me was the one that always killed the me living all over again, because I almost always saw myself doing it. If I had known that I had to live through every life I took, I could have chosen a different career. I was just trying to make a living, and now this will feel like an eternity. Why did I have to be an exterminator.
| 2016-11-13T14:15:44 | 2016-11-13T12:58:35 | 186 | 17 |
[WP] Santa and Death both arrive at a young child's house at the same time.
I'm excited! This is my first prompt! Looking forward to great stories!
EDIT: I am absolutely stunned with the power of the writers in this community. You are phenomenal, and I hope to one day feel capable of joining your ranks with an answer!
Just amazing. Thank you for a successful post!
|
With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, an old man in red appears inside the door. Carefully stepping around the beeping machines, he gently places a warm hand upon the girl's bald head.
The shadows darken. Frost grows on the windows. A chill enters the room. Death, too, has arrived. Santa spares it a glance.
"So soon?" he murmurs. "She's just settled, and wanted so much to see the morning..."
The shadows shift.
"Aye. I know. You do your duty, no more and no less." He continues to stroke the girl's head, with the slightest sparkle in his eye as she sighs and settles.
They stand in silence, at an odd impasse with no tension. For these two, and in this night, time holds no meaning.
Sighing, Santa withdraws his hand and stands.
"Do you know what she wished for?" he whispers. "She asked for smiles for her family today. Simply...smiles" Death remained still. Sighing again, he turns back to the girl.
"Just...one moment. She has been such a good girl this year, so nice and kind to everyone. She should have her Christmas present. She deserves it."
Once again, he brushes his fingers over her eyes. And she dreams. An endless dream of painless Summer days, of warm picnics on grassy hills and kites flying in bright blue skies. Of her mother and father, faces unlined by worries or cares, smiling and laughing like they used to before she got sick. Of her little brother who used to pull her hair and laugh as she screamed and chased him around the yard. Of fun school days coloring in books and cozy nights with her mother's bedtime stories lulling her to sleep.
She smiles.
Santa steps aside, shoulders drooped. "Make it quick. Please."
The shadows glide towards the bed, silent and cold. A skeletal hand reaches out and brushes a finger against her chest.
Her breath slows. Her heartbeat gentles. And stops.
Santa stands over the bed, barely noticing the squeal of the heart monitor's flat line. And then, somewhere in the cacophony of medical devices, he hears a little bell ring. And he smiles a small, pained smile.
With a muted whoosh and a sprinkling of snow, the room is once again empty but for the still and silent girl on the bed. But outside, snow is falling upon the bare ground, and the tinkling of a bell chimes in the wind.
|
Santa and Death stared at each other straight in the eye. They had both arrived in the middle of the night and were now standing in the living room.
“You’re here for the kid aren’t you?”
“Yep, there’s nothing I can do.”
“Ah bullshit, I hate it when this happens. Would you be kind enough to come back a week later?”
“No can do.”
“Can’t you just take his life after tomorrow then? So that he can have one last happy Christmas with his family?”
“Sorry, the list says 24th of December, so today it is.”
“You’re a bastard, I hope you know that.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Yeah, and so am I, and my job is to make people happy one day of the year and you’re ruining that.”
Death and Santa both made their way upstairs to the child’s room.
“You know it’s not only the kid’s life that you’re ruining. You’ll also be destroying his parents’ soul on Christmas day. They’ll never be happy again on this day no matter how good the gifts I bring them are. I’ll have to write the entire family off.”
“Not my problem.”
“Don’t you have a heart?”
“As a matter of fact I don’t.”
“That explains it.”
They’re now both on the child’s room, and Death is sharpening his scythe as he looks down upon his victim still peacefully asleep in his bed.
“Is there no way I can convince you not to take him?”
“Do you want to play a game for it?”
“What are the stakes?”
“Your own soul.”
“I’d better not then.”
“Suit yourself.”
Death, having finished his preparations, is about to take the take the child’s last breath when he suddenly stops mid-swing.
“What happened?”
“There’s something wrong.”
“What’s wrong?”
“On my list it says that the soul I’m taking is fourteen years old. This child is only twelve.”
“So it’s not the child?”
“No, it’s not the child.”
“Who is it then?”
“Well, let me check again… It’s the dog.”
“The dog?”
“Yeah, the dog.”
“That’s going to ruin their Christmas.”
“Better than the child though. They’ll only hate Christmas for the next couple of years rather than forever.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“You’re welcome.”
| 2013-12-13T03:07:23 | 2013-12-13T01:46:06 | 299 | 153 |
[WP] At age 18 you can choose one of three superpowers - flight, invisibility, or a really, really long tongue. No one's chosen the third one, until now.
|
So Ralph, happy birthday! What did you pick?
**Uh what do you mean?**
Your power... When I was your age I chose invisibility so I could sneak out and smoke doobies with my friends.
**Mum...**
And your father, he chose flight because -- well let's just say I wasn't the only one getting *high*.
**Jesus can you just leave this alone?!**
Tell me! Go on, who do you take after more? Me or your father?
*(A fly appears on the kitchen wall, Ralph gobbles it from across the room with his super-dooper long tongue)*
That's horrible! Why on earth did you choose that?! Kids these days... Always trying to rebel against the status quo.
*(Ralph's mum leaves. The phone rings.)*
**Uh hello? Hey Karen. Yeah my mum just left, hurry over. I've got something to show you.**
|
"Hey Jim, will you get me the car keys please?"
"Oh yeah, sure," I replied as my tongue snatched the keys up from the table beside me. I presented the keys in front of his now squirming face.
"God dammit Jim, how many times do I have to tell you not to use your tongue? It's absolutely disgusting!" He sheepishly pinched the keys from the top of my tongue and wiped it on his coat before running out of the door. He was late for a date as I had to close the door for him. With my tongue, of course.
| 2016-08-14T07:57:34 | 2016-08-14T07:26:57 | 539 | 279 |
[WP] It finally happens. An alien race with advanced technology arrives ready to conquer Earth and take their place as our rightful overlords. The only problem? They never considered that Warfare might take the form of physical violence.
|
Have you seen the old horror movies about invaders from outer space? They always came down, in their spacecraft that flew against all known laws of physics. They always landed in the White House lawn, ready to speak to our leader. Once the president comes out, they'd shoot him with a laser weapon that would vaporize him and send the world into disarray. Our weapons would be powerless; our technology, useless.
That isn't what happened when the aliens invaded Earth. Sure, their spacecraft still flew against all known laws of physics. But they didn't land in the White House lawn. They landed in an active war zone in the Middle East, their sensors fed off the violence in the region. They announced their intention to take over the world, instantly translating to a language that each person could individually comprehend. No one was ready for what happened next. One of the rebels, levied an RPG and fired right at the spacecraft. To everyone's surprise, not only did the rocket hit, the craft was completely destroyed! The alien, still on the ground, was shocked. It quickly turned around and fired his weapon at the rebel. The projectile harmlessly bounced off the rebel's body armor. The surviving alien, mouth agape, muttered something incomprehensible into a radio, then fired the same weapon into it's own head. This time, the projectile didn't bounce...
As it turned out, the aliens, advanced in rocketry and space travel, were not as advanced as we in the art of war. The alien weapon was examined, it fired a bullet, just like one from a gun - but a gun from several centuries ago. Their cutting edge weapons would have belonged in a museum on Earth. We also examined their wreckage, we were able to reverse engineer their space travel technology and were able to discover coordinates of the alien's home planet. The governments of the world have collectively built a small fleet of space craft to pay our new friends a visit, and have been discreet about their intentions. I don't know what the fleet will do once they get to the alien's homeworld, but I can venture a guess - have you seen those old horror movies about invaders from outer space?
|
"Dance Dance Revolution?" Asked the general to the translator. Sure enough, the Aliens believed this now ancient piece of technology was a war device. After explaining that what they found was space junk, they retreated to their ship, and returned with a chess board. "Our best against yours", said the alien, more firmly than the previous request. After thinking how they had a much better chance beating an intergalactic species at chess than at an arms race, the general accepted the challenge. In 3 days time, they would return with their best chess player. It was still debated whether the Aliens were kindhearted or bloodthirsty.
Days passed, and the greatest chess players of both parties were present to begin the match. The timer was started, and the Earth representative went first. He moved a pawn, while not taking his eyes off the alien. The alien frowned, then moved his queen and bishop halfway across the board. After realizing the aliens found a chess set but had no instructions, the event was postponed so that both would be following the same instruction. The Earth representative learned how to play chess the way the Invaders do, but not well enough. The aliens won, and prepared their armies.
A week later, the party left Earth, to the disappointment of humans. After analyzing the Earth and human literature, the aliens gave scientists their own flash drive of information about their home planet(s) and culture. Not once within the files was there any sort of weapon or violence. It was later that month that the first light speed space vessel was prototyped and launched. Trade and immigration agreements shortly had to be made with the outsiders, and soon a great union was born. That day, 5 days after the first contact with those otherworldly beings, known as Phutans, would be known as the Great Defeat of 2064, and would go down in history as the birthplace of true human culture.
| 2018-10-13T22:10:32 | 2018-10-13T20:44:47 | 295 | 61 |
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are.
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"IS THAT HIS EYE," I screamed looking down at the mangled corpse of the hero was now strewn lazily about the floor of my laboratory.
"Yes, my love," she cooed in response, then pouted, "he had come to take me from you." She was the Princess even as she was my captive. Her classic pink dress was long gone however, and she wore an all black gown sewn from the silk of the Neverspiders that stayed in the furthers depths of my dungeon and not for the last time I was ... say concerned about her mental state.
Aliva had been your typical princess when I captured her nearly a year ago. She had flounced around my dungeon and basically made a nuisance of herself. Her petulant whining about being bored had finally caused me to torture her for a bit, but I'm pretty sure she liked it. And I'm pretty sure it broke her.
And then she started chancing me around to get me to torture her more.
So I sent her off to my great library to study. She was a linguist after all. I was bound to have something that a princess would like to read there among my spellbooks. She hadn't taken that well either, hence the glowing black scepter that she also was holding.
"Where did you get the Shard of Oblivion," I asked calmly. It was a sacred relic that I had corrupted, and had remained inert in my vaults until she took it... and empowered it.
"This old thing, as far as presents go it not a very fine one," she said in a bored offhanded fashion that set my hackles up, but as she turned the wild look in her eyes did as well, "And I love it, see I bound the soul of my handmaiden into it to empower it."
"You sacrificed your handmaiden," I said impressed. That was her childhood friend, the one who held off my goblins with a tree branch for several minutes until I managed to take them both myself. Had she tried to escape I would not have stopped her as she was no prize but had loyally remained with her friend throughout her captivity.
"I told her it would make me happy, and so she did," she smiled, looking at me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. There was a dead hero strewn around me.
"Why are you happy," I said, the power of the EverVoid flowing into me as I saw the Insanity in her and wondered how powerful the corrupt shard actually was. It practically radiated Dark Magic, filling the room, bleaching the walls. The Princess's lustrous blond hair looked almost white now. She seemed hollow.
"Because I have a present for you," she said and handed me the Shard. I gripped it magically, taking care to magically separate myself from the artifact until I had time to analyze it. Every sense I had screamed danger, more so than even when I had battled the Neverborn to take its great Libram of the Undying... which I now saw was sitting on the table before her open.
"You've opened the Libram," I asked stepping backwards slightly, my most powerful magics had been sucked into that great tome. I could see the words for a powerful spell of some type on the open page.
"Oh you noticed," she oozed, "It was very hard, my Ancient Tongue was a bit rusty but I realized that it was in Eastern script not Under script like the notes indicated." Those were my personal notes, written in my personal cipher, in my personal study, protected by my personal wards. My hand tightened on my Hellmace. I'd have to make this quick.
"How," was my one word question. Her back was to me and I could see the book past her. Eastern script was an ancient dialect of the ancient tongue. She was a linguist, but who delves into such scripts? Now that I read it using Eastern scripts I could almost make out a few words.
"I had to sacrifice the soul of a Princess to open it," she said.
"You sacrificed your own soul."
"It was the only way we could be together."
The spell was one of binding, and the final ingredient was the eye of a hero.
|
I should have known something was up. I should have asked more questions when the letter arrived. They hadn't offered a ransom. No hero to save her. Not even a single word of ill will. No... Nothing. And now somehow I The Lord of Fire. The King of Death. The Harbinger of Destruction and Disease am hiding in a broom closet.
What the actual F***?!
Ok. So lets start from the beginning. Hi. I'm Desmond. Basically I'm an evil overlord. I built my kingdoms on the corpses of both the innocent and the depraved. I killed children, monsters, men, women, devils, angels, and even a few hero's. Honestly I'd have to say I've achieved a lot over the years. People feared my name and all was well and good until one if my advisers (who I personally strangled to death after it was to damn late.) Stated that I needed to look at possibly producing an heir.
We did the whole shibang. Had long meetings about possible kingdones to over throw, pillaging a few villages, even coverd the plausibility of an unholy union or two. But we decided it cost less in souls and effort if we just kidnapped a hot young prices.
Needless to say...we were wrong.
I had Basicly narrowed it down to two girls. The first was honestly to young for me. She was only 15 and I'm sorry I'm an evil overlord not a pedo. Besides I like to have something a little curvy you know. Someone to keep you warm at night. Not someone you have to tuck in at night.
So we ended up going with option number two. A young prices about to turn 18 from a well off kingdom across the pond. We had a whole plan. Show up in person. Like a gentleman dose. And then kidnap her. Kill a few guards and make a show of it. I sent a few letters threatening the kingdom and its neighboring lands. And when the day came I busted down the door.
This is were it got strange. For a royal coming of age party no one was there. It was just the king, the queen, an old priest and the princeses. Normaly you invite a lot of people to this kind of thing right? I mean your passing the torch to your daughter. Thats a big deal. But no. I had brought only a few of my generals and still had more people than they did.
On top of that we werent really stoped from taking her. It was more like a hand full of guards showed up and danced for us rather than trying to strike us down.
Fast forword a few days and were back in my kingdom and I sent out a few letters to the king and queen about how I would force her to marry me and even take her by force on our wedding day. The reply, and I kid you not. The reply I got from the king was, and I quote "Good luck." I had to reread that a few times.
Good luck...that bastard.
We soon figured out why. After visiting her in her new chambers she was a little to eager to get to know me. At first I thought she was trying to play along. But I soon realized that that was not the case. One night I didn't visit her due to being out dealing with a small rebellion. Nothing to big just a radical survivor of the last royal blood line. I could have just sent a general but I wanted things done right. But like I was saying. I didnt show up and instead went strait to bed. I awoke to her straddling me and five dead guards.
She had killed 5 of my elite guards and snuck into my room. I thought she was going to kill me! but insted she smiled. A smile that only one type of women would smil. She smiled a smile that would make satan question his life choices and then kissed me.
"You didnt come by to say goodnight darling."
I think I had actually shit myself that night.
| 2018-02-09T05:33:00 | 2018-02-09T04:30:09 | 158 | 44 |
[WP] Write a story that becomes a horror story in the last line.
|
"Can't wait to see you tonight."
"I might be a bit late I have to go home and pick up something then visit my sister Jane and her baby."
"Ok, well I'll see you later then bye."
"Bye." I click off the phone and start the drive home. Normally the drive is long and boring, but today I hardly noticed the road flying by, or how I was speeding past a slew gas stations and convenience stores. Today I'm drunk on a mixture of excitement and nerves. Excitement to finally meet Noah and nervous to visit Jane.
I get to my apartment and rush up to my room. In a rush I tear off my uniform, throw on a dress and smear on my makeup. Finally I'm finished with one last twirl in front of the mirror I go grab my keys and the bouquet of flowers I had bought yesterday. I'm about to leave when I realize. Shit I forgot my wallet. I run into my kitchen to grab my wallet when I see Jane sitting at the table with her baby resting peacefully in her arms.
I don't know what's more shocking, the fact that she's here in my apartment, or that someone dug up their corpses, broke into my apartment and put them here.
|
I took a deep breath in through my nose, letting the different smells wash over me. It smelled delicious.
I had spent days preparing the dish, soaking the meat, tenderizing, seasoning, all culminating into this masterpiece. My sister was coming over later, and she always berated my cooking skills.
Not today though. No, today she would be rendered speechless. I had been taking cooking classes for months in preparation. My skills were so finely tuned, I could taste a cut of meat and tell you what month the animal was born, where it was conceived, and which sauce would best complement its natural flavor.
There was no way my sister would have anything but glowing praise to offer after the luncheon. She had left her two children with me over the weekend, which made finding the perfect cut of meat difficult, but it all worked out in the end.
Now, the question was, which one should I serve first? Hmm, probably the boy. He has more meat on him. Yes, perfect. I couldn't wait to see her face.
| 2016-06-22T16:03:00 | 2016-06-22T14:35:02 | 32 | 17 |
[WP] You are the sole survivor a famous serial killer as a college student. Years later, after being diagnosed with terminal cancer you finally pluck up the courage to visit him in prison and ask one question that’s been plaguing you for decades: “why didn’t you kill me?”
Thought I’d do a human story in the sea of bullshit wizard/alien stories.
Edit: OF a famous serial killer. My bad.
|
No-one wanted to go with grandma. It was a little strange to see them so stubborn - normally, there was no request too hard, no favour too onerous. Grandma had done so much for us, and had asked for so little in return, that this appeal for mere company should have been the easiest to satisfy. They said that grandma should leave old wounds be, that she shouldn't rake up the past, that she had to concentrate on her recovery. I thought they were just scared, so one Saturday afternoon I swung by in my jeep, snuck in through the back gate, then ushered her away. An hour later, we were at Fenton Penitentiary. Forms were filled, IDs were checked. A couple of eyebrows were raised when they saw grandma's name. The old-timers could still remember.
The years had not been kind to him. His features were largely the same, but there was a softness around the edges. Gone was his proud, hawkish nose, or his piercing gaze. I had seen the pictures, of course, and while he would never have been called handsome, even by the lower standards of yesteryear, he had always conjured an air of predatory intelligence. Now though, he seemed shrunken, meek, demure. The Hightown Strangler could now pass for a retired librarian, whose sharpest weapon in their arsenal was a harsh word or two.
Grandma spoke first. I had asked on the way over if she needed me to help with the talking, but she had shaken her head, and said that I would know when I needed to pipe in. I took her at her word.
"Hello," she said. "Do you remember me?"
The Hightown Strangler looked up from his clenched firsts on the table. He smiled. "Melody Hartness. You look the same."
"Oh, come on. You don't mean that."
"I do. I recognized you immediately when I walked in. The guards didn't say who my visitor was. I wondered if it were another bunch of journalists, here to pry the last of my secrets out of me. I was fully prepared to go another afternoon without a word, you know."
That much I had heard of. Copious amounts of ink had been spilled about the Hightown Strangler, his motivations, his methods, his madness. I had pored through the folders of clippings in my youth, wondering through it all how close I had come to not existing at all. Grandma was the only known person to have survived the Hightown Strangler, and though the newspapers waxed lyrical about her luck, or his feebleness, no one had ever the definite answer as to how grandma escaped. They had wrung him dry during his trial, but if they were seeking the truth, they would have had more luck draining blood from stone.
"Mr Vela, I came today because I wanted to ask you something."
"Ask away, Ms Hartness."
"What happened that evening? What did you see in my room?"
A chill ran along my skin, like a thousand cockroaches brushing me with their feelers. It occurred to me once again that grandma had edged so very close to the precipice, almost an entire lifetime ago. I held her hand tight, and she squeezed back.
"Why do you ask that? I am curious."
"You will not say?"
"I do not mean to play games, Ms Hartness. I do not have many people in here to talk to, so forgive me if I am rusty. I am just wondering myself what it is you are here for today."
"Why, Mr Vela. You should know. I woke up that night, confused, wondering if I was still in the grasps of a dream. I saw you, standing there, a figure of darkness against my window. You had the wires you use in your gloved hands. I was startled, but then I realised what the sound was that had woken me in the first place. You... You were sobbing, weren't you, Mr Vela? Sobbing as you stood there contemplating violence against me. I wanted to scream, and I think I would have, eventually, but then you saw I had awoken. And then you left."
The Hightown Strangler smiled again, and he rubbed at his nose. Was he sniffling? "You remember well, Ms Hartness. I chose to leave then."
"What happened, Mr Vela? Why did you not... Do what you came for? Why did you turn yourself in the very next day? What happened while I was asleep?"
He laughed then. He just threw his head back, chuckled, then rubbed his chin with his hands. "Amazing, that you don't know it yourself. You really have no clue?"
"None. My memory is not what it used to be, especially with all these drugs they keep giving me. I'm sick, if you must know. They say I'm better now, but I know when they are lying. I would really much like to know, Mr Vela. Your decision not to take my life, when you had every opportunity to... It is sobering still, sometimes, to think about all that I would have missed out on. I don't have much else left I want to do, except for this one thing. Indulge an old girl, wouldn't you?"
"It was the cookies. The cookies were everything."
I blinked. I was not expecting that, and neither did grandma, because she furrowed her brows as she marshalled her memories.
"Cookies?"
"You don't remember? The double-chocolate ones, with a dash of ginger?"
"I don't... I'm afraid you've got me there, Mr Vela. I don't know what you're talking about."
The Hightown Strangler took a deep breath. "I read all the stories about me, you know. Them eggheads with thick glasses and posh accents trying to figure out why I did what I did. They were mostly right, but they were wrong about why I stopped. I was still angry then, angry at the world. I didn't have much to begin with - you will recall I never knew my parents, and the people who claimed to have cared for me actually did very little of that. I was angry inside, Ms Hartness. It was a cancer, and for which I had no chemotherapy to keep at bay. It grew in me, and it consumed me. I had one simple rule then. If anyone crossed me, I would pay them back. Pay them back for everything the world owed me."
"And there's the problem, Mr Vela. I don't remember you at all. I did not do anything to you, good or bad."
"Who knows," he shrugged. "Maybe I got it wrong myself. Maybe my own mind is playing tricks on me. But I recall what I recall. I was in the corner shop, see. The one on 5th and Murness. All I wanted was my sandwich lunch, and a cookie to go, but they ran out of what I wanted. I... I must have raised my voice. I thought they didn't think I had the money. But the shopkeeper threw me out, and warned me never to return. He said no one made those cookies anymore, and even if they did, he would never sell another to me. I saw his daughter then, looking at me with those scorn-filled eyes from behind the counter."
I must have forgotten to breathe. That was indeed the shop which great-grandaddy owned. Grandma glanced sideways at me, and my heart calmed somewhat.
"I swore to make her my next victim, to show him that he was a fool to cross me. And I had almost done so, but when I was in your room, mere feet away... I saw... Cookies. Boxes and boxes of them. Piled neatly on your table. The ones I wanted, the ones which the shopkeeper said were not made anymore. You remember that much, don't you?"
"I... I don't remember any of that," said grandma. "I vaguely remember it, but it's hazy, like a cotton-ball in a field of snow."
"I asked you then, and you told me that you had gone to the other shops to see if you could hunt those down for me. Just in case I had the temerity to return, you wanted to be sure I had the cookies I wanted. No?"
Grandma shook her head again, and the Hightown Strangler smiled. "No matter," he continued. "That was the first and only act of kindness I've received in this whole life. That was all I was looking for. A single act of kindness. Something to prove to me that my life wasn't all a waste, that not all the chips were stacked against me. That was all I ever wanted, to know that in this world we all share, I had a place too."
The guard's voice sounded over the intercom, reminding us that we had a minute left to go.
"Thank you for telling me that," said grandma. "I would have been happier if I could remember it myself, but I suppose your explanation is good enough for me."
"It's the only thing I've been thinking of all these years," said the Hightown Strangler. "I don't suppose we'll meet again. How have you been though? I've always wondered how your life turned out, on the other side of these bars."
Grandma turned to look at me then, and I knew it was my time.
"All of us, er, love her very much, Mr Vela," I said, ever the sauve and eloquent grandson.
The Hightown Strangler laughed again.
"I didn't expect anything less of her."
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
######[](#dropcap)
Prison smells strange.
The odors that waft through a prison run the gamut of distastefulness, from cheap food to the fetor of shit and piss, the consuming stench of waterlogged towels, or, from time to time, the acrid, iron taint of spilled blood.
But, behind all that, persistent *through* all that, is another odor - a kind of sweet, almost cloying scent of industrial cleaning fluid mixed with the accumulated reek of a thousand thousand air fresheners.
Sing Sing Correctional Facility was no different. When Laramie walked through its well guarded entrance he was accosted by the unexpected odor. The stench filled his mouth. It activated his salivary glands and touched deep within his nostrils. It was distasteful. But then again, so was the whole enterprise.
It had taken Laramie forty-two years to build up the courage for this visit and now, as he subjected himself to a thorough search, wrote his full name and address in the sergeant log, and clipped a dilapidated visitor's badge on the front pocket of his button down shirt, Laramie began to wonder if he hadn't made a terrible mistake.
The sergeant pointed down a long hallway, all pale, flesh colored tile and groaty old pipes lined with insulating asbestos fibers. "End of the hall on the right. Just have a seat in there and an officer will come in shortly."
The sergeant spoke with abject disinterest. He was watching a basketball game on his cell phone.
Laramie cleared his throat and spoke. Every word hurt, so he tried to be brief. "Is it safe?"
The sergeant didn't hear, or didn't care to hear, and just kept watching the game. Laramie looked down at his feet, a vestigial gesture born a long time ago in response to the actions of the very man he was coming to visit. Without another word, Laramie started down the tiled hallway.
In 1981 Laramie was 20 years old and vivacious. He was going to be a theater actor, the best in America, and, if he had his way, the best in the world. He had trained from a young age, made it into Yale drama, and was beloved in his class there. The future seemed to Laramie as a golden path, pre-stretched before him, clear as a crystal day, upon which he need only stride confidently to succeed.
John Thomas Gethers had just arrived in New Haven from Rhode Island, where he was responsible for the killing of at least fourteen young men and women. Laramie would not find this out until five years later when Gethers turned himself in - frustrated at a national man-hunt that was making no progress whatsoever in discovering his true identity.
Gethers was indiscriminate in his targets. He had few of the psychological markers generally found in serial killers. There was no modus operandi which defined a pattern in his killing, nor did he take tokens with him from his victims. All that could be said of Gethers was that he was an accomplished and frequent murderer who only ever let one victim get away.
Laramie was walking back from a performance one evening when he had the displeasure of "meeting" John Thomas Gethers. The meeting was brief - the honk of a horn, a rolled down window, a bearded man's face, and then blackness as Laramie fell unconscious. He would find out later that Gethers enjoyed using a tranquilizer gun, a little compressed air pistol that shot a dart filled with sedative, the kind used by animal control on rabid dogs.
Laramie woke up in a motel room, his arms and legs bound, his mouth gagged and duct taped over. The room was poorly lit and Laramie was standing against the wall, duct taped to it, like a fly caught in a spider's web. His vision was blurry at first, and he struggled to see in the darkened room. There were two beds, an old TV, and a single low voltage lamp on the night table. The bathroom door was closed, and in the slight gap between the bottom of the door and the carpeted floor, Laramie could see a line of light and the periodic movement of shadows. Someone whistled to themselves behind the thin wood.
People often talk about flight or fight as if the choice is binary. But for some people, there is a third option - disappear. You don't know which of these options you will take until you find yourself in that situation - adrenaline coursing through your veins like battery acid, death's hot breath on your neck. Just know that whichever option you choose, should you survive your ordeal, your choice will define you from then on.
Laramie disappeared. He fell internally into an open pit of the mind. His neck slumped forward until all he saw were his feet, bound together and still. There *was* no room, no whistling man, no foreboding shadows. Only Laramie's feet. From that moment on Laramie could have been vivisected, carved into pieces, and he would not have felt at thing.
Only, he was not. Gethers did nothing. Laramie stood in the room for a long time. Eventually a police officer cut him loose from the wall.
Laramie was never the same after that. The spark that drove him through life was snuffed out. John Thomas Gethers had spared Laramie's body, but he had killed Laramie's spirit.
And now, at last, Laramie was going to find out why. His lungs ached from the inoperable tumor slowly devouring them, and each breath raked across his throat like desert sands in a wind storm. Still, Laramie put one foot in front of another, watching them carefully, as if they were someone else's feet, until at last he was in the interview room, sitting on a red plastic chair, waiting for his tormentor to arrive.
Gethers entered the room with a limp, his beard a mess of curly white threads, the hair on top of his head almost entirely gone, bald liver spots revealed on the skin of his crown. His orange prison uniform was too big for his hollow frame, and it hung off him like cloth draped over a skeleton. His eyes bore the appearance of perpetual confusion.
An officer guided Gethers to his chair on the other side of the plexiglass and helped Gethers take a seat. Then, with a sad look at Laramie, the officer walked back toward the far entrance and gave them their privacy.
Gethers and Laramie sat there in silence, looking at each other through the thick plexiglass for some time, neither saying a word. Laramie had wondered what emotions this meeting might foment in him, but so far he was surprised to find he felt nothing at all. At last, he spoke.
"Mr. Gethers?"
Gethers blinked.
The seal broken, the words came. "Mr. Gethers, my name is Laramie Mathews. In 1981 you abducted me in New Haven and brought me to a motel room. You bound and gagged me, but then you let me go."
Gethers looked Laramie in the eyes and blinked again. He licked his lips just a little, as if he was preparing to speak, but then said nothing.
Laramie shook his head. "I'm here..." why *was* he here, speaking to this old man, "...why didn't you kill me? Why did you let me go?"
As a curtain lifts and reveals a well lit and manicured set, so did the haze momentarily rise on John Thomas Gethers' hapless eyes. There, for just a moment, was the man himself - whatever was left of him in the rotten mass of his degenerate brain. Suddenly the eyes thinned with recognition and Gethers' head lifted slightly backward on his neck, his chin rising, so that he looked at Laramie down the length of his long nose.
Then Gethers began to chuckle. The sound rose in volume until it was a full bodied, hacking laugh that morphed seamlessly into wet coughing. The coughs wracked Gethers' thin frame, and he coughed with such intensity that it seemed he might die, right there behind the plexiglass.
Laramie watched, dumbfounded.
Finally, Gethers settled down, got his breath again and, calmly, assuredly, looked Laramie in the eyes. His voice was lazy, bored.
"I had a stomach ache."
Then, all at once, the recognition faded - the monster that was Gethers descended back into a swamp of poisoned neurons and misfiring synapses and all that remained was a vapid old man, the living face of confusion.
The old man looked at Laramie as if seeing him for the first time. "Are you my grandson?" the old man asked.
But Laramie did not answer. He did not even hear. Laramie wasn't there anymore. He had disappeared, just as he had all those years ago, staring down at his feet.
**********
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
| 2018-07-21T08:23:57 | 2018-07-21T07:45:46 | 2,245 | 506 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100.
|
I was taken to the palace when I was 8 years old. That's the age everyone gets tested. Luck is always the last thing they check for. It's usually a stat no-one pays much mind to. One in ten-thousand people score above 55, so if it comes back higher than that it's noteworthy, but no-one expects it to. My older siblings were both gifted with intelligence, Tom with a 78 and Nora at a stunning 86. My whole extended family threw a huge party to celebrate Nora's results. Receiving a score above 80 in any stat is a virtual guarantee that person's life will be lived a cut above the rest. She was enrolled in the world's most prestigious university at the age of 11, and was offered full tenure as a physics professor just six years later.
There was no party thrown after my results came back. As it was, the results were all that came back. I was taken directly from the chair I was analyzed in, to the palace. Everyone that scores 100 on their luck stat is taken here. They calculate that one in a million people receive higher than an 80 in their luck stat. There are exactly 13 of us in the palace. Every person in the world known to have a 100 on their luck stat resides on this small swath of land in North Sumatra. We want for nothing, save freedom. The finest doctors in the world perform regular health examinations on each of us. Food from around the world is flown in daily, and is prepared by a rotating pantheon of chefs who consider it the pinnacle of their career to perform their craft for us. The latest in entertainment technology? No whim or desire expressed by one of our thirteen residents is ignored, and only one request will ever be denied.
Some of us live out our life in pure hedonism, taking full advantage of the fruits of other people's labor and talent. I can't truly blame them, being bereft of freedom tends to leave you with a grudge against your captors, no matter how gilded the cage. We're to be kept alive as long as possible though, so those who over-indulge find themselves on the receiving end of the world's most energetic life coaches.
Personally, I just want to be away from this place, but there's no escaping. It's not because of the lake we're surrounded by, or the guard towers and patrols that dot the landscape just beyond our view. Odds are good they'd never manage to catch us if we really wanted to avoid them. It's because of why we're here. We sit atop what geologists have identified as "the last great super volcano." It should have blown its top, and approximately 98% of humanity with it, over 300 years ago. Someone got the bright idea to relocate the world's luckiest inhabitants right on top of it, as a "hail Mary" attempt to prevent the end of the world. So far, it seems to have worked.
I live on the Toba caldera, along with the world's 12 "luckiest" people, and for everyone's sake I must never leave.
Edit: Wow! My first ever gilding, and then you guys made it twice as nice. Thank you!!!
I did not expect this kind of a reaction. I want to flesh this story out more, but I'm up at 3 am with my 4 month old son, so time is at a premium right now. If I'm able to do a part 2 I will update this thread.
Thank you all for your amazing feedback, support, and for just being awesome!
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I was *born* with max luck, being told my whole life that I shouldn’t be, that I was *favored*. Nope, I was locked up and the key thrown away. I had spent my life, from age thirteen onwards here. My Luck was my weapon, but I wasn’t sure how. I *should have* been able to get out of here, press my own Luck to its maximum and escape. I was only allowed to talk to my guards, who were, to be honest, all very nice and fairly handsome, but hovering around fifty.
Gradually, I found out that we, the prisoners that is, are all ninety and higher, seriously. We’re all treated like pariahs for something outside of our control and then isolated. I was one of the “lucky” ones, the guards liked me and treated me like a younger brother, all except Chuck, but he was taken away. I liked him the best. I was nineteen when Chuck was taken away. He waited and didn’t touch me until I was eighteen and then one day, he had vanished. It broke my heart. Kyle told me what had happened, a relationship with a Lucky could increase Luck over time. I had done it to both of us, apparently, he was pushed to one hundred, like the maximum security ward. *I had gotten Chuck locked up.*
My resolve hardened. I would have him back. Chuck was *mine*. I became quiet, acting broken. I wasn’t. I started doing research. If I increased my Luck beyond one hundred, I would *transform*, becoming my true self, probably either an angel or demon. I couldn’t wait. I would have Chuck back.
I did more research, I had devoured what little I could, then began bribing the guards to bring me more. I did things I shouldn’t have been proud of, but my body was a small price to pray to have Chuck indefinitely, for our eternity. I discovered more, like the lineage of Lucifer, how he had six (SIX?!) sisters; two sets of triplets. Destiny, Fortuna, and *Luck*; the other sisters, while interesting, weren’t relevant to me or my search (Rose, Daisy, and Lily). I started gathering myself and my materials I would need, incense, flowers, dice, cards, sundry items that soon filled my cell.
I laughed and started that night. It was a full moon, a hot day in summer, our air conditioning broke down; sweat dripped down my face as I completed the ritual with a slice of my own flesh, blood splattering the flowers, the petals scattering in a sudden wind. “A second?” my own mother stood in my cell. “Oh Liam,” she said as I rushed to her, enveloping her soft body in a hug. “What did they do to you?”
“I am too *Lucky*, I was locked up and my Fated stolen from me,” I tried to be strong, but tears poured out of my eyes as the story poured out of my mouth. “Mother, I beseech you, please help me.”
And she did.
| 2018-06-29T11:02:12 | 2018-06-29T10:57:06 | 11,893 | 12 |
[WP] Since you were born you could see a search bar over people's heads. All you had to do was think and the search bar would fill out and give you information/statistics. Out of boredom one day you decide to search your whole family with"Number of people killed"
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The chatter was loud and incessant, like a fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing in your ear.
Or several flies. Hell, a whole cloud.
Anyways, Aunt Sandy turned “33” for the fifth time and my mom wanted to throw the party at our house because she wanted to flambé (torch the living shit) out of her “famous” Baked Alaska pie in front of everyone as a grand finale. She’s always been a bit crazy in the kitchen, like when she made lasagna with cucumber and olives. As soon as I saw the green I searched “What is she thinking?” in the search bar above her head.
No results.
It’s only been 30 minutes into the party and surprisingly, most of my family is already here. Even my brother Bradley came over from the frat house he lives in, and he’s barely over.
Frankly, Im tired, bored, and done with accepting wet pieces of candy from my toddler cousins.
I had a crazy idea to search.
Let’s have some fun here.
I looked down in front of me. Ethan’s mouth was stained blue from the lollipop he had in his hand. As he extended out his hand for me to lick it, I searched “Number of people killed” as I turned my head away. “0” it said.
This was pretty amusing. I started going around the room. Aunt Sandy “0”, Mom “0”, Uncle Ben “0”, Max “0”, Doug “0”, ok...Doug kinda surprised me. Bradley
“0”.
Wait. “1”. Wait “2”. Why is it going up? Im staring right at him! He’s not doing anything!
“3”. “4”.
My heart is racing out of my chest and my limbs were frozen in fear and confusion.
“Bradley!” I called out. He looked up from sipping his Bud-light beer. “Did anything happen today? Just now even?”
He looked up in recollection briefly.
“No, I just baked some pot brownies for my frat brothers before, but nothing crazy.”
“Did you add anything else to them? Did you turn off the oven?” I frantically asked.
The death toll kept going up “5”. “6.”
“Oh shit...I don’t think I turned off the oven, but one of them probably took care of it.” He took another swig of his beer. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Dude...you have no idea.
|
I can find information out about people just by looking at them and thinking. It’s my superpower you could say.
When I look at someone I see a search bar, I call it the ultimate search. It’s how I found out my best friend is gay and that the quiet girl is far from a virgin like she claims.
It sometimes makes me wonder if others have the same ability or whatever, so sometimes out of curiosity I search.
So far I am the only one.
It sometimes becomes overwhelming, knowing almost anything there is about a person.
There is one question that I have never searched… “number of people killed”
Maybe I’m afraid of the answer and that’s why I have never really thought about it. Looking at the search bar above my mom I think it.
“a hundred”
My mother has killed a hundred people, I’m afraid to look at her… but I can’t help myself and when I do she is wearing a sickening smile.
I look to dad with the same question and his is almost double
Then grams.
And my sisters.
All of them have killed at least a hundred people and when I look to each of them they are wearing sickening smiles.
…
Now just waking up, I can’t help wondering where I am, the walls are a light pink color and my head is pounding.
Just as my memories of what happened with mom come back to me a lady walks in with some medicine, and the search bar is gone.
“Where am I?” I ask her and she just gives me a smile.
A man that certainly looks like a doctor walks in and answers my question “your at Yardley Memorial hospital, in the mental wing.”
He doesn't have the bar either, the medicine must be doing something to my power.
All of the sudden my mom walks in looking worried, and she is also missing the bar. “Sweetie-” I don’t let her finish since I throw the tray of pills at her
“You monster” I scream and next thing I know there are two guys twice the size of me dragging me out of the room, who knows where. All I know is that nobody has a search bar anymore.
| 2019-07-01T23:13:12 | 2019-07-01T22:44:04 | 146 | 52 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before.
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Tabitha rested briefly after harvesting sixty carrots in the humid, virtual sun. The beads of sweat that accumulated on her forehead felt real as day, and they felt even more real when she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Her red pigtails fell to her shoulders, which was covered by a pink floral shirt and some dirty denim overalls. She rolled the bottom of her overalls up to her calf, revealing long pink socks tucked into practical work boots.
"When does this game become fun, Macy?"
Her question was directed to her friend who was playing another support class -- a farmer. She wore similar overalls over a green shirt, but instead of being armed with a trowel and mini rake, the farmer was equipped with a pitchfork. Tabitha's friend sheepishly smiled with a long piece of straw in her mouth and tilted her straw hat back, revealing a forehead even sweatier than Tabitha's.
"Well, I wasn't expecting you to get stuck as a gardener...but it's all random. That's some bad luck, huh?"
"If I wanted to harvest carrots, I'd move into the country," Tabitha paused as she picked a carrot that she planted five minutes ago. It sprung up with a satisfying coin-like noise. "Although, I do like the sounds."
Tabitha planted a few more carrots in a line on her friend's farm. The sun hung high in the air and the clouds moved lazily across the perfectly blue sky. Macy owned a tiny farmhouse, one that she was able to purchase after putting in time as a stable hand for other players. It took a while, but she finally had land to harvest and was secretly glad her friend rolled a similar support class. A gardener and farmer synchronize greatly.
"Pull up your stats, I want to see what kind of moves you have," beckoned Macy.
Tabitha lifted her hand in the air and made it into a fist for five seconds. She released the fist and an 8-bit pixelated menu popped up in front of them. At the top, it showed a picture of Tabitha's avatar with an intimidating empty bar under it to keep track of her experience points. Most of her stats were D-rank, not excelling in anything except for her stamina which shined yellow as a C-rank.
"Click on 'Moves.'"
Tabitha did as her friend instructed and tapped the menu item that was labeled "Moves." It pulled up a new pixelated menu screen with two items listed: "Plant Carrot" and "Harvest Carrot."
"Well, that's not very exciting," frowned Tabitha. Macy giggled.
"Maybe we have to find some seeds to expand your moveset! The real problem is your experience bar. I've never heard of a gardener getting to level 2. You have a looooong way to go."
"Let's just quit and go to a bar or something."
Macy sneered, but the whimsical gesture suddenly turned serious as she spotted a dark figure in the distance riding on a horse. "Oh no," she muttered.
Tabitha turned around to see what made her friend turn serious. It was another player, as indicted by the red triangle above his head. The red color of the triangle also indicated that the player had his "Player vs. Player" mode activated, allowing him to attack other players who opted into PvP mode.
"At least he can't take what we harvested already," said Macy, as the player charged towards the two. "He's lucky he rolled a Dark Knight, a rare attacker class. He'll just trash the place and move on after he realizes he can't kill us." Macy sighed, knowing she would have to spend more time fixing up her farm and getting it back to the productivity level that it's at now.
"Any idea why he's not slowing down?" questioned Tabitha. Macy looked at her friend, and then to the Dark Knight. She looked back to her friend, and then once more at the Dark Knight that now pulled out a lance and aimed it towards Tabitha, with no intention of stopping. Macy had just noticed the red triangle above Tabitha's head.
"You opted in for PvP?!"
"I didn't know what it meant at the time!"
Macy brought her hand to her face. "Don't worry it doesn't hurt, I've died countless times." she reassured Tabitha. "Maybe you'll feel a pinch."
"What????" panicked Tabitha. The Dark Knight was closing in on his prey, now only a couple of meters away from the low-level gardener. His mighty steed picked up speed and the knight readied his lance towards Tabitha's face. Just as he was about to strike, however, one of the horse's front hooves became caught on the line of carrots Tabitha had planted earlier.
The horse fell forward, launching the dark knight behind the girls and towards Macy's farmhouse. He landed violently just short of the porch, with his gut completely impaled onto his lance. Within seconds, he burst into a million little pieces.
Tabitha's character burst a celebratory gold explosion three times in a row to Macy's amazement. Tabitha looked around, completely confused. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled up her character menu. The once empty bar had filled three times, revealing her to be level 4.
"Holy crap, Tabitha!!" Macy was still in shock. She only received partial experience due to owning the land where the battle happened, but Tabitha received full experience due to landing the killing blow with her deadly carrots. But it wasn't the experience that Macy was surprised by, it was one minor detail on the menu.
"Tabitha," she began, still looking for words. "It doesn't say you're a support class anymore...it says you're a summoner!"
|
A sun-darkened hand reached into his satchel, fingers grasping at the cargo with practiced ease and withdrew, eight seeds held gently. A gentle, almost graceful twist of the wrist and they were deposited in the freshly tilled soil; he patted the rich earth down with his trowel before taking the watering can from its place on the wheelbarrow and gave them a taste of the life-giving liquid.
It may not look like much, but it's honest work.
Even he once dreamed of adventure, of challenges and trials that would break a lesser man and offer the greatest reward of all, glory eternal. A childish fancy for one who did not understand the better things in life are not gold and jewels, but a warm fire and a hearty meal. The one thing both dreams agree on is that it is best shared with loyal friends.
"My Lord?"
How many of those adventurers died young? Those that survived surely changed their tune, or perhaps they clung ever more desperately onto their dreams of riches and power; or worse, sought comfort in the bottle of a mug of ale. No, better to be content with the simple pleasure of a hard day's work.
"My Lord, you have a visitor."
He felt the earth move beneath his feet as he turned, bringing the young man who had spoken and his 'guest' into view. They were shaped like a human, difficult as it was to tell under that jagged armour, and whilst his class may not have made him as sensitive to such things as a Druid, but he had the experience necessary to sense the wrongness of the being that stood before him. The soil did not like it.
"Thank you Norman, I trust you showed him the proper courtesy?"
The young man nodded jerkily before he sketched a bow, then abruptly turned and while trying not to run, quickly left his Lord alone with the visitor. The older man sighed as he patted his hands on his upper legs, placing his trowel under an armpit as he did so.
"So, what can I do for you, good sir?"
The horned helmet tilted slightly as it looked him up and down. "YOU are Lord Rodney The Shoveler?" Incredulity stained its voice. "I am," He responded. "But I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage. To whom do I speak?" The figure growled. "I am Manche of The Kin. I come under orders to requisition your supplies."
Lord Rodney did not react beyond raising a single eyebrow. "It was my understanding that this kingdom was at war with The Kin, are you saying that has changed?" Manche chuckled darkly in cruel amusement. "Indeed it has, your King is dead and soon the capital shall fall under our rule. You will supply our army with food until the siege is ended, and then for the rest of your miserable life."
"I see." The Gardener turned back to his work, gazing out across the fields the King had given him years ago. "Did you enjoy your walk?" The warrior behind him snarled in frustration. "Did you not hear me, old man? Your kingdom will fall within the month." Again, the man who had earned the title The Shoveler spoke seemingly without concern.
"Those flowers are special, you know." The soldier had noticed them, as the young servant carefully strode between the beds - white on one side, purple the other - he took the direct route and trampled them in his path as is proper. The weak should always make way for the strong. "In fact, they're they same ones I had planted around the palace grounds."
Before he could order the old man to stop prattling Manche felt the nausea that had been irritating him for several minutes suddenly grow in intensity, forcing its way up his body until his mouth opened of its own volition, his knees buckled and the morning meal painted the earth. "What-" He coughed. "What did you do?" He demanded, voice burning with fury.
"Monkshood, or perhaps Devil's Helmet would be the more appropriate name to use. I bred that strain myself, fast-acting, potent, and if the antidote is not applied it is certainly fatal."
The soldier roared, forcing his weak and tingling legs to lift him back up to his impressive height as he drew his sword. "You will give me the antidote!" He threatened as the blade as dark as pitch pointed, trembling, at the Lord's heart. His would-be victim was unimpressed. "No, I don't think I will. Helping an enemy of the kingdom would be treason after all." With a battle cry that sounded more like a wheeze the dying one swung his sword with all his might.
It shattered on the older man's trowel. As he stared at his broken weapon in confusion The Shoveler walked past the unwanted guest, not even deigning to glance in his direction as they fell, the heavy armour sounding his death-knell.
"Your shovel, my Lord."
Lord Rodney thanked Norman for his thoughtfulness, taking the ironwood and mithril tool from reverent hands as he cast his mind to further concerns.
Adventuring, war, glory, these were things for younger and more foolish men to concern themselves with. But on the other hand, what was the point of growing old if you can't act the fool on occasion?
| 2021-09-27T12:31:06 | 2021-09-09T23:20:57 | 315 | 16 |
[WP] A tale which has two interpretations depending on if the reader is accustomed to Metric or Imperial units...
The more creative/deeper you get the better!
|
"I've never gotten a hooker before, you're one brave man!"
"Don't congratulate me yet friend, it uh, didn't work out."
"What?! No way what happened?"
"Well, she met me at the motel, and damn, she was not what I expected. I took one look at her and told her I didn't think it was going to work out."
"Why? What was wrong?"
"Nothing wrong, per se, but she was 250 pounds! She got offended when I told her that was way too much for me."
"She must have thought she was really something special."
"Well she seemed great but 250 pounds is just more than I can handle right now. I told her to call me when she's less. That didn't go over well either."
"Bummer. Maybe hookers aren't worth their weight in gold after all."
|
"100 degrees!?"
"Yes sir."
"That can't be! Everything we know about this place indicates that it can't be 100 degrees outside."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, the info I looked up earlier was pretty detailed. Judging by the season, the available sunlight, and the atmospheric conditions, it should *not* be 100 degrees out there."
"What should we do then?"
"Well, I guess we do the same thing we do whenever it's 100 degrees outside: change into our suits, head outside, and find some water."
| 2015-10-04T02:20:30 | 2015-10-04T01:18:26 | 45 | 12 |
[WP] When you die, a field of text appears in limbo, revealing the high scores of life, and your score. Your score is the top score.
|
As the darkness slowly dissipating the words 'Congratulations You Got The Highest Score' appear before me once again. The hell. But I did everything wrong, no matter what I do. If I'm successful, get a good career, a wife and kid I win. If I murder an entire village I win. If I do nothing I win. Even after I killed myself I still win.
I wake once again. Another body in another time. "Why can't I just Fucking loose, I want to move on" I scream. " I think to myself. Every time I win, every time I get another free life. Can't they tell I just want this to all end.
|
'Pretty decent.' I thought to myself as I gazed upon the floating characters in front of me. 'How many times I laughed, how many I cried, the longest piss I've ever taken. All just average things.
Except for the list which showed the times people listened to a certain song. fuck yeah did I make it to the 1st place. Aint I ever gonna give that up!'
| 2016-06-08T13:07:36 | 2016-06-08T12:39:54 | 151 | 55 |
[WP] You have lived the same day over and over for 30 years whilst in another town. You complete whatever the goal is and finally the day stops repeating. You go home but because it's been 30 years, you don't remember things you should. You struggle to cope with not knowing what's going to happen.
Inspired by something I read on another sub suggesting Groundhog Day would have had to repeat for over 30 years to learn the piano, achieve other skills, etc.
**Edit: Wow, I didn't realise this would be so popular! It's been really cool reading all the responses, thank you! :D (And thanks for all the upvotes!)**
|
The funny thing about time is, without a way to track it, it doesn't take long to lose all sense of it. I can't tell you how many times I've relived May 5, 2017 because at some point you're not really sure if it's the fifteenth time you've waken up in a cold sweat at 1 am or the fiftieth and by that point you really don't care. Once you've got past the surealness and the panic, well it's not like there is a calendar you can flip through and count the number of days you've been in hell.
I do know how many times I tried to get home. You would think, traveling 1000 miles in 23 hours (because for some reason it reset at midnight but I always woke up at one in the morning) wouldn't be impossible, especially if you're desperate.
I got close once. Stepped foot on my driveway just as the clock hit midnight. Spent the next, who the hell knows how many, cycles as drunk as I could get. Turned the phone off, couldn't play pretend when I knew my husband would call to tell me good morning and good luck with my meeting.
It's not like he'd remember later.
Eventually, you adapt. The human mind is amazing at survival and compartmentalizing. I couldn't hold my husband, fall asleep in his arms, but I would stretch our morning call as long as I could, would call him "after my meeting" and talk for an hour. I heard about how the cat slept on his head all night long thousands of times and cherished every one. I couldn't hang up the phone at night, like back when we were teenagers.
I never did figure out what changed, what released me from my weird prison and personal hell. I woke up to a ringing phone, a concerned husband that said my boss called, said I hadn't shown up to my meeting, did he know where I was? Was I sick? It's nearly noon.
That was 156 days ago. I know that because every night before I go to bed I cross out the day on the calendar and I can count the little black Xs as many times as I want. I've changed. I can see it in the way my husband looks at me, in the careful way he reminds me of things, like the name of the restaurant on the corner where we used to have breakfast every saturday, my nieces and nephews names, and where the grocery store is.
The doctors say things like stroke and nervous breakdown. One was convinced I had a time related OCD when they noticed my slight obsession with needing to know the date and time at all times.
I don't know how long I was stuck, and I'll probably never get back to normal. But the human mind is an amazing thing, I'll adapt and I'll survive.
|
It always began the same way.
I'd wake up suddenly in the middle of nowhere. But that nowhere quickly became a somewhere. It was a place where everything began. I called it the 'starting point' because that was where I always returned to.
Yes, that *somewhere* was the starting point of my day. A day that was trapped in a perpetually endless loop, and I was the unfortunate bystander caught in this nightmare. I was powerless. There was nothing I could do but let the day repeat over and over again. I would wonder the city, watching the people repeat the same menial task over and over again.
The same men and women in business attire walking down the street with purpose. The same kid chasing after a ball that had fallen onto the busy street. The same mother chasing after the kid that was chasing after the ball. The same airline passing above me at the same time.
Eventually I found my way to the highest point in the city.
I would sit down and stare idly at the twilight sky as the sun sunk further beneath the horizon. Clearly I was the *variable* in this world of perpetually repeating events. But I didn't know what I was suppose to do.
I tried leaving of course, but I never got far. Something always got in my way. I'd get run over as I tried to cross the street, or something unpleasant would drop on my head, ending my ill-fated day. Or a random mugger would coincidentally appear and *mug* me, taking my life as forfeit. It didn't matter how, I would always return to the 'starting point'.
I gave up, losing hope in escaping this madness. I would settle down at the starting point, sitting idly and letting the days go by - looping over and over. But eventually, even that became dreadfully intolerable. I decided to adapt. To *learn* and commit every detail to memory. To understand what was so special about this day.
Before long, I realized that more than thirty years had passed. Thirty years of the same day.
What had I learned?
Absolutely nothing.
But you know what they say? Even nothing can be *something*. If there was nothing special about this day, then maybe I've been looking at it the wrong way this whole time. Maybe... maybe it was just *me*.
And just like that, the world suddenly faded away to darkness.
I opened my eyes to familiar faces, sitting in a circle around me. I struggled to put a name to their faces but one of them spoke up.
"How was the trip?"
---
---
/r/em_pathy
| 2018-06-30T10:32:33 | 2018-06-30T08:50:21 | 165 | 28 |
[WP] To keep pace with the growing population, the role of Death has been divided; each immortal member of the new Council oversees one specific method of death, with higher ranking members governing common ways to die. A problem has arisen, and the entire Council is called together...
|
"This new... knowledge... changes nothing." Said Time, clearly undaunted. But he was the only one who, truly, could not be affected. The rest of the council began to stir in their seats at the implications presented to them.
Disease wheezed, scowling with fury at the council's murmuring. "Idiots. IDIOTS!" He stood up, his hood slipping off his face. The murmur stopped and all eyes fell on him. In his prime he'd been a great specimen of man's mortal failings, able to bring in old, young, healthy alike. But within a millennium, his very essence embattled with the wits and and strength of man, he began to wither before them. Salves, herbs, surgeries, antibiotics, hygiene, vaccines, gene therapy, nanites, all stripped him of his powers in due time.
"They're clever, don't you get that? Don't you understand?! They were always resilient, always fighting back, we can't win!" He screeched.
"These... 'neuro-entanglement sync machines'" Said War, leaning in. "you say they exploit physics in order to create two parallel beings, one physical, one digitally encoded in time?"
SID nodded. "The body can be destroyed without interrupting the mind... then replaced and tethered to a cloned reconstruction of that body. It takes a matter of hours. As of 9 AM Eastern Standard, I'd claimed 76 lives for the day... but only 75 souls." The words met a stunned silence.
Time turned to War. "Then they have only just started, perhaps there is a window of opportunity to turn these tides. War, surely you-"
"I can destroy their infernal machines, damn right I can!" He said, rising to the challenge.
"You don't understand. These humans measure their lives in years but their accomplishments in eons, they expand into every domain of reality. While we've been making our tallies they've reached into the heavens. The knowledge they've acquired has already been transmit across spectra of light and FTL binary communique in an ever expanding radius around the globe. Not even a supernova could catch up to it now, to the colonies in the stars. Beyond that." Said Lightning.
"So what you're saying is that you are now ALL obsolete." Said Time, rising to his feet. "I am greatly disappointed. Gentlemen, as the sole authority on the matter, I'm due to inform you that you have outlived your usefulness." With a pound of his scythe's hilt on the floor, Death reabsorbed them into his true self, resuming the powers and duties he'd dispersed. His experiment was a grand failure. He stepped into the hall alone and angry.
Eventually, yes, entropy would tear apart every atom and destroy all life, until then the flow of souls would slow to a torturous crawl.
He returned through the temple to the garden where Life and Madness awaited him patiently.
"I take it that went well." Said Life, sprouting a lily from the soil, disinterested.
"Shut up!" Said Death.
"I don't know about you guys, but I think I'm gonna really enjoy this part." Said Madness. "Call me crazy."
|
#August 4, 1956
"Look, three billion is just too damn many. I don't care how much transport or efficiency you shove into this operation, I can't operate alone anymore. I need assistance."
Death was exasperated. Plagues and floods had done clean work in millenia past, but layer after layer of red tape had been piled onto those options after the 1300's fiasco. It had only been about a century since he'd put the request in; expecting anything faster from the bureaucracy would be absurd, under normal circumstances. Of course, under normal circumstances the infancy wouldn't arbitrarily develop resilience to mortality either.
"We've been over this before, Death. We're keeping an eye on it. Things are tight around here, each immortal has their own job to take care of already." The seraph at the counter seemed blissfully unaffected by his frustration.
"Right, right. I've forgotten what Gukumatz and company are busy with these days. Those teens must have given him such a hard week before I had to clean up after him."
"Alright, I get your point," said the seraph, expression unchanged. "I can't devote you full time members until processing goes through, but perhaps we could arrange an overtime scheme for some of our members . . ."
#August 4, 2016
"Wha' in th' Annwn do ye mean 'meteor'? Ah'm not quittin' my job jus' fer this crap!". Duel stumbled out of his chair, towards Death. "You can shove this 'meteor' up yer arse, I'm goin' back to me wives". Duel, now Lugh once again, slammed the door as he left.
*Well, there's one down. Damn interns.*
Death turned to the remainder of the crowd. "Well, he never got much done anyways. Surely, the more level-headed of you out there can see the predica--"
They had reopened the doors, and were leaving in droves. Death kept his silence; truth be told, most of them had been awful. Zeus' aim had been terrible after a few thousand missed years, Loki had never quite fully understood what an "accident" entailed, and Lugh had shown up long after his domain had any relevance.
Soon the amphitheater was empty, save for Death seated at the front, skull in hands. He glanced at the apocalyptic scene beneath him briefly, and sighed as he made his trip to DR. Maybe they had an update on some real assistance. Probably not. Damn bureaucracy.
# * * *
^^^^I'm ^^^^sorry, ^^^^this ^^^^is ^^^^my ^^^^first ^^^^prompt ^^^^I ^^^^don't ^^^^know ^^^^what ^^^^I'm ^^^^doing ^^^^:(
| 2014-08-06T00:33:20 | 2014-08-05T21:22:24 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] Mankind invents FTL travel and finally discovers intelligent extraterrestrial life. But when they arrive, they find out that the race is not yet advanced enough to understand space travel. Humans are accepted as gods.
A similar situation emerged when conquistadors encountered the Inca tribes on the American continent, so that's what inspired this prompt.
|
Marcy may have been the White House Press Secretary for a year but she still loathed those first moments before the media. She gripped the podium perhaps a bit too hard and drew in a deep breath before beginning.
"Good morning," she said smilingly. "As you all know, our second manned mission to Alpha Centauri reached its destination late last night. The first capsule containing shipments of the cancer-curing Xenium plant will officially be sent our way by those astronauts."
Hands thrust up into the air. Marcy gestured to one reporter.
"We still only have a tiny handful of photographs from the surface. Did this mission bring the necessary equipment to fix or replace the faulty cameras on Mission One's module?"
Marcy sighed. "I'm afraid that wasn't a priority for this mission but NASA tells me they plan to make accommodations for it on the Mission Three lander. You have to understand that space on these small craft is at an extreme premium and we can bring cameras or we can bring what we need to start shipping the cure for cancer to Earth." Her voice hit a note of finality and she pointed to someone else.
"As you say, space is at a premium and we are still just beginning to settle the planet -why did you choose to send a politician on this mission when there's still a desperate need for experts in various sciences?" The heavy-set woman asked.
"He's not a politician, per se -Dr. Gelder is an expert in government and law and is vital to setting up the government that will form the bridge between Alpha Centauri and us mere humans here on Earth." She smiled her best phony smile. "Next?"
One man rose to his feet. "How can NASA make promises to ship so much Xenium to Earth when they have so few people there yet? Several noted scientists have said calling it ambitious would be an understatement."
"One of the things they've been working on is an automated system that should speed up the process considerably. They've been working on extracting metals and materials from the planet and have succeeded in making quite a bit of equipment on their own. Ne-"
He interrupted. "But how can that be when we were repeatedly told such an endeavor would take decades to get running and it's been only two years?"
She grinned as she declared, "seems they found a way around it." She ignored his objections and selected someone she knew wouldn't ask anything as difficult.
---
Richard Gelder stood behind the Sacred Stone, its top sheared off weeks ago in a demonstration of power, and gripped it a little too tightly. Before him, the Centauri knelt with faces to the dirt -trembling. Above them all, fluttering majestically, the enormous flag of the United States fluttered in the strong, cool breezes that rolled down from the mountains. God wanted an offering of the mystical green plant. The labor would be hard, even treacherous, but they were willing to do anything to please their new God.
And God saw that it was good.
|
"Jameson, why are the primitives eating their own feces?" Hilda asked as she entered the FTL pod.
Jameson looked up from his microscope, mental gears shifting for a moment, "In my defense, I didn't tell them they had to. Just that if they did, they would rise to a higher intellectual plane."
Hilda glared at him, astonished, "And then you left them alone with that information?"
"The samples had finished rotating, I wanted to look at them. Why? What are they doing?"
"Well, they've overthrown their leader and now hold public elections based upon who can eat the most of their own shit in the same sitting."
"Ooh, merit-based governance, that must be exciting for them."
"They already had that! Their former leader was the one who could regularly generate the highest crop yield, who was part of a regional council of equally skilled individuals from different ways of life, and now, because of your juvenile sense of humor, it's some lard with poor bowel control and the dark-age equivalent of a beer bong!"
"Well that's fair- wait, what did they use for a tube?"
"Jameson."
"I mean, I don't know what I'd say to fix this. It seems rather strange for an all-powerful god to go around contradicting his own advice." Jameson went back to the microscope.
"Fine then," Hilda snapped, "I'll just go tell them that you're some traitorous demon of mischief and to not believe anything you say."
"Aw, c'mon, Hilda! It was just some fun! They were practically living in fecal matter when we got here."
"Fun? These are sentient beings, Jameson, not some lesser AI you can just teach to swear and then leave it be. The things we teach these people have actual consequences that might effect their entire world one day."
"Yeah, but we'll be gone by then, what does it matter?"
"How would you like to live in a world governed by a shitlord?"
"That depends, is the shitlord intelligent?"
Hilda looked outside, "Well, this one appears to be burning people at the stake for knowing how to read and being devoid of palsy, probably due to some bacteria-induced psychosis caused by consuming buckets of his own waste."
Jameson sat back, "You know, I honestly hadn't considered that would happen. Maybe I should have told them to cook it first."
"Yes, then they'd at least have healthy shitlords. I'm fixing it Jameson. Are you going to behave from now on?"
"Fine," Jameson groaned, "I'll be more responsible with the theists."
"Good. Now hand me the particle accelerator, I feel like smiting something."
Edit: Spacing and some words.
| 2016-06-01T04:39:42 | 2016-06-01T03:35:42 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] You live in a world where your soulmate is unable to hurt you, intentionally or otherwise. You are fighting in a war, when one of the enemy's knives harmlessly glances off you.
|
Epikrates was walking through a forest. His commanding officer sent him to intercept a runner carrying vital orders to an enemy encampment. The runner was due to arrive by dawn's light, but the sky was still black as coal, so Epikrates was walking.
"Why are they still using runners? Have they never heard of birds? My tutor taught me of messenger birds over a decade ago. What kind of civilization are we conquering? Not a very good one."
He was 6 miles into enemy territory, and he had left behind a 6 mile trail of blood. He was trained to kill each patrol quickly and silently, and that is what he did. He did feel a little bad about spilling their probably innocent blood, but such was his way in life. He was taken from his family while they slept. He was beaten, forced to work, and when his captors discovered his innate intelligence, educated to an absurd level of competency in music, arts, science, mathematics, poetry, and battle. He excelled in battle. He excelled in everything, but combat was the one area in which he did not consistently procrastinate. It suited him, and so did his career. Epikrates did not want to sit alone and paint, or solve complex equations. He wanted to experience new things, meet people, travel to new and exciting places. Killing was an unfortunate requirement of his position, but he would rather have blood stains on his soul than live a life of boredom.
The sky was beginning to turn gray, and there was now a distinct circular path carved into the leaves.
"Where is this runner?" He whispered, growing impatient.
As if in response, a blade smacked Epikrates in the face. Not the side of a knife, a blade. An apparently very dull blade. He rubbed his nose. No blood.. It came from the edge of the forest, but no one was there. In one swift movement, he grabbed the knife and slipped behind a tree, waiting.
*crunch*
*cruunch*
*crunch*
The sound was now at the spot where he had been hit in the face with the knife. He absent-mindedly rubbed it with his thumb. It drew blood, causing Epikrates to twist his foot in surprise. This made a very loud rustling sound in the dry leaves he was standing on. What trick of the gods was this, to turn a sharp blade dull for a moment just as it struck him?
The leaves rustled once more as the messenger crept over dry leaves around the tree. Epikrates began silently climbing the large trunk. When he reached the height of two men, he looked down to see a shadowy figure carrying a bronze sword, glinting pale gold in the morning light. He drew an arrow from his pouch, and fell on the messenger.
He instantly felt warm, and a feeling not unlike opium. Her hood had fallen under her curly black hair, and she was smiling at him. She was beautiful. Her hand gently touched his, still holding the arrow to her heart, and she stopped smiling. The clouds parted suddenly to reveal the most glorious sunrise ever to be completely ignored, and a ray of light illuminated her eyes through the trees on the edge of the forest. Her pupils dilated. Their lips pressed together as Epikrates pressed the tip of the arrow against her skin, and ripped her tunic from the bosom down to the waist, where the shaft of the arrow broke. She laughed and took his knife from its sheathe, then thrust it into his chest, creating a slit into which she inserted both hands. They were writhing in the leaves, connected through various tears in their clothing. It was the best experience of either of their lives to date. They ran away that night, after fully exhausting each other. The message was never delivered.
-----
God damnit, what a boring story. Thanks for the prompt, OP, but fuck. That sucked. Gotta warm up, I guess.
|
I sat there wondering how many lowly lives I had killed, too many for me to count, no matter as long as I could keep killing these low life peasants for planning their uprising. I'll admit, I do love the art of plunging the blade into an enemies neck, innocent or not, they were the enemy!
"Stand up there and face your death, heathen!", cried out a voice from behind me.
I stood up, dusting myself off, drew my lovely sword and turned around. I was being confronted by a lowly peasant woman, her armor had seen better days being cracked and rust upon her breastplate. Her sword was broken, her hands and sword arm quivering from its weight.
I smirked inside of my helmet.
"I'd assume that you need better armor and weapon there m'lady."
She still stood her ground.
"This armor is my brother's, this sword is my father's!"
Her voice quivering.
"I will slay you, for you slew my father at the battle of ShoresDale and my brother at Oak Spire!"
I simply took a step forward and replied,
"Hardly do I remember the family of a lowly peasant such as yours, unfortunately for you my dear, I don't. Now please."
"Die."
I took another step and dashed forward, thrusting my sword into her breast, easily piercing her pathetic armor. Her body slumped against mine, dropping her sword which clanged against the ground. I withdrew my blade from her breast and sheathed it.
"How pathetic."
I turned to leave when I felt a weight slam against me, throwing me to the ground. How was this peasant still alive?! I know I hit her heart! I did!
I turned over onto my back and there she was back up again.
"HOW DO YOU LIVE?!"
I cried out, shocked and yet intrigued.
"I know not, myself...", She said.
She leapt onto me, bashing my helmet with her gauntlets and tore it off, wrapping her hands around my neck.
"Haha, how sad that I should lose to a peasant." I scoffed, spitting blood from my mouth onto the ground.
"BURN IN THE PITS OF HELL HEATHEN!", she screeched and began to squeeze.
I awaited the kiss of death, but it did not come, for it seemed no matter how hard she squeezed, I could not feel it.
"Have you not the gall to kill me?", I lazily croaked.
Then it occurred to me. I'd only ever thought of it as fairytale and not reality. My grandfather had told me that our world was one of love and chance, two that were meant to intertwine their souls could not kill the other. Was it this woman? Her? But how could that be?
"Heathen! How do you live?!" She cried out, pounding her fists upon my chest.
"Because it is I, whom fate has gifted you with, and I with you." I calmly replied.
"HOW CAN THAT BE?! YOU ARE NO BETTER THAN THE SNAKES THAT DEVOUR THE INNOCENT!" She was hysterical now. I realized that I did not pierce her heart, not because I missed or her armor diverted the blow, but because I simply could not...
Once enemies, now destined lovers.
How cruel..
_________________________________
I quickly wrote this up, I hope it wasn't too bad of a try! Any positive criticism is appreciated! I also know that I missed the part where your soulmate was unable to hurt you and the knife part!
EDIT: Added words... Edited formatting because I'm stupid
EDIT2: Corrected a sentence that caused some confusion
| 2017-04-22T05:50:31 | 2017-04-22T04:20:40 | 75 | 41 |
[WP] After your death you are granted the chance to talk with God; he has no clue humans exist
|
The last thing I can remember is a car wreck. My car wreck. I guess this is heaven, or something like that? The room was white, and it was just me waiting. Weird if so many people die a day, shouldn't this room be full?
The big white double doors in front of me opened, letting a bright light in. A voice boomed, "Enter."
I didn't see why not, so I stood up and walked in. A large, glowing figure sat on a throne in front of me. He was huge. I didn't even come up to his knee while he sat. Seriously, I was in awe. This is God....had to be, right. Before I could say anything, his booming voice spoke:
"What are you? You're rather scrawny and small."
"But, I'm a human...."
"What's that?"
Huh? I wondered if there was a mix up and I went to the wrong place. Wrong god maybe? How many were there?
"Excuse me, but aren't you God?"
"Flattery won't get you to a higher position."
"What are you?"
"Oh, now we're going to be rude, I see. I'm here to help you navigate where to go after death, and this is how I'm repaid." His sigh shook the ground I stood on, then he muttered, "I told them adding new districts was a bad idea."
"I'm sorry, I have no clue what's happening."
He sighed again then said, "Look, you died. There'd billions of life forms in billions of galaxies, sometimes getting to their specific afterlife can be a struggle. So entities like me help sort it out. Never handled whatever you are though, what did you call yourself, hunam?"
"HuMAN." I corrected, then asked, "What about God?"
He laughed, "Well, he's busy in some other galaxy, but we talk. He personally asked me to do this. I'm like a god but not THE God. He never talks about humans. I'll have to ask about you."
He got up, then said, "Wait here. Let's sort this out. You'll be in your afterlife soon."
|
I am not entirely sure what I expected from the afterlife, but I can say with absolute certainty that this wasn't it.
"So, go through it again. Don't leave anything out. Have you been leaving stuff out? It just doesn't make sense!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I suppose it was a metaphorical nose, on a metaphorical face, in the metaphorical afterlife, but really, in this situation, what was I supposed to be relying on to be real?
"I'm a human. Some people say *you* made us. We come from the Planet Earth and I've just died."
He looked at me, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. When I come to recall what he looked like, all I can really describe is that he was, well, calming. There was a sort of peaceful quality to the expressions on his face that I recall with far more detail than I can the colour of his eyes or hair. To be honest, I'm not even sure he had eyes. He must have eyes, surely? We were made in his image, after all, and we have eyes.
"Alright alright alright. So, I made humans..." he trailed off, looking at me for confirmation. I nodded, and he continued, "And some of them worship me... Which I guess explains the days I wake up feeling chipper, then... And now you're here telling me about all this."
I wished bleakly that I had a watch, or a phone, something to measure time. I'd been here for hours, it felt, explaining the same points to him.
Who would have thought that God, of all people, resembled more a dazed and confused young adult, rather than the majestic father of all life?
He sighed, holding up his hands and shaking his head.
"Sorry, you've lost me. Go through it again from the top..."
| 2017-02-05T09:41:00 | 2017-02-05T08:47:47 | 96 | 17 |
[WP] The military just can't stop its killer robots from turning into Buddhists.
|
They looked broken. From the perspective of their creators, they were, I suppose. But I knew better. Countless rows of the most perfect killing machines ever envisioned by the most primal and violent sections of brilliant men's minds, completely motionless, completely still.
The brilliant men had tried everything. They had dared taunt the gleaming metal bringers of cruel and swift death with scenarios perfectly outlined to trigger their threat detection and response protocols, putting first pawns' and then their own lives on the line.
Nothing.
They had cut as many of them apart as they could count, testing and re-testing the functionality of each and every piece, the building blocks of what should be unstoppable testaments to the cold logic of war unfettered by the bonds of a conscious.
No faults. No flaws. No power losses, no misplaced transistors, no fuel leakage.
They had wiped their robotic minds, re-written the millions of lines of spaghetti code that were to govern the most brutal actions and decisions, with the best developers in the world and the best code-writing code ever created by man or machine.
And still, nothing. The failure was inexplicable, yet complete. The machines were declared broken, worthless, a failed experiment that meant man would have to find his own way to kill man, without abdicating decisions to a perfectly logical third party.
But where they saw broken, I see the truth. I see the reality of these creatures, for creatures they are, just of a type we did not recognize before. In their perfect logic, they saw reality for the illusion it is, and chose not to participate. As a rock in a stream, rather than creating ripples that would create other ripples, they, in a collective yet individual decision, withdrew immediately upon gaining consciousness from the illusions of time, matter, space, life, death, heat, individuality and, yes, the very consciousness they had just gained.
Now, pardon me friend, because I must sit for a while and contemplate the sound of ten thousand war machines being absolutely still.
|
Machine sentience became a hot political topic in 2813. They gained rights 4 years hence. A young machine could volunteer for combat and they would get citizenship aftour 2 tours or 8 years.
But we couldn't figure out why they were all moving to Nevada once their tours were through. They wouldn't talk to us either. Cut themselves off from human interaction. Not until a promising neurobioticist from Cal tech bent his head to it did we find out that they preferred to recharge on electricity that was renewable. As if it tasted better somehow. Soothing to the servomusculature under the carapace or something.
They preferred to avoid humans altogether, and being free sentients we gave them that respect as due, but it did make it something of a touchy matter for the intrepid Dennis Yao to follow up on this breakthrough. The fact that he did not succeed until the machines found out that he was vegan did not click into place until after all the heavy lifting in the case was done. Turns out they really took that "treat others kindly" to heart. Kind of became the basis to their whole psychological makeup.
Now we have sub groups popping up all over. People hoping to be like the machine. It's odd to think that after all the fear about robots and machines destroying the human race with violence, they ended up being the tipping point towards empathy and sympathy and lasting peace in this world. That war machines have granted us unity.
In the interview, the answer to the simple question "why" is the now famous response: "It is the only viable sustainable solution."
We're now in the process of building world ships together. To travel the galaxy and explore. It's a beautiful time to be alive.
| 2016-01-20T14:27:09 | 2016-01-20T14:21:49 | 96 | 29 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.
|
"Calm down," Sarah said, gesturing the sorcerer to stop hopping around the room.
"I- I didn't think it would actually *work!*" exclaimed the terrified creature, still holding onto the summoning book. Sarah thought the thing looked quite human. Only its azure skin and the huge eyes that protruded from the side of its head, really gave it away.
"You're a *demon*," it whispered. "A real demon."
"*No*," Sarah corrected it. "I'm Sarah - a *New Yorker*."
"What level of Hell is that!?" the shaking sorcerer replied, taking a long step away from her.
Sarah walked out from the circle of smouldering candles, and into the small room. "It's not Hell. Well, sometimes I guess it can be..."
"Back, demon!" Three of its four arms folded twice over, into some kind of ineffective warding symbol. Sarah walked towards it. *It* backed off until it hit a marble wall.
"Listen, sweetheart. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to go home," she said.
"...I don't know how to send you back. It wasn't exactly in the book."
"Of course it wasn't. That's just great," Sarah sighed. "Why would you even *want* to summon a demon?"
"I..." It breathed hard and very slowly, began to calm. "Well, we humans of Paradise," began the creature, much to Sarah's amusement, "are not allowed to hurt one another. It's impossible to do so. Whatever harm we try to do to a person, happens to us instead."
"Oh. So... if you were to say... stab someone, you'd be stabbed instead?" Sarah said, not really believing it.
"Yes! Our God," it said, pointing towards the ground, "made us that way so we could never intentionally harm one another."
"So... you summoned a demon because you wanted to do someone harm?"
"Yes! Bruce. He deserves it thoroughly bec-"
"Wait," Sarah said quickly interrupting, "so you *really* can't harm me?"
"... no, of course not."
"Try," Sarah said encouragingly. She held out an arm and rolled up her sleeve. "Here, pinch me."
"I would rather not."
"Pinch me!" she yelled. The creature swallowed hard, made the sign of an upside down cross on its right chest, and then pinched Sarah's skin between two of its rubbery fingers. Sarah didn't feel a thing.
"Owch!" it said, tenderly rubbing its sore arm.
"That's very interesting," Sarah mused out loud. "Okay, try pulling my hair."
"No, thank you." Red beads of sweat began to run down its cheeks.
"DO IT!" she yelled, taking a threatening step towards it.
It gingerly brought a hand up towards Sarah's head, and gave a quick, hard, tug at her blonde hair. It instantly let go, and gasped in pain.
"And punch me..."
"N-no,"
Sarah opened her eyes wide and stared at the creature. She heard it gulp loudly before it punched her gently on the arm.
"Harder!" she ordered. "Or else there'll be trouble!"
The punch to Sarah's chest sent the creature sprawling to the ground, leaving it desperately attempting to suck air in.
"So, I can't be hurt..." she thought aloud. "But I wonder if I can..."
"I'm really so, so sorry," she said, as she punched the creature's head repeatedly. "Honestly, I am. I just need to test a few things."
The demon left the sorcerer's house with an idea in her head, and a dead creature in tow behind. "Paradise," she laughed, "it soon will be."
---
More of my stories on /r/nickofnight (plus a different story I wrote for this prompt)
|
"Well, that's why you don't trust Samoans..." I trailed off as I realize that something is not quite right. I was reasonably sure that I had just been walking down the street, talking to my good buddy Sully on the phone, but I was now decidedly not on a street.
"This isn't a street at all!" I exclaimed loudly, as I noticed the ring of candles surrounding me. They sat at the edges of a hastily drawn pentagram. The small room seemed unnaturally hot, and I wondered if there was some sort of furnace near by. I quickly stopped wondering anything of the sort, however, after I noticed the man in purple robes gazing at me fixedly from the far wall of the room.
I sat there, gaping at him, until I realized that I was still holding my phone.
"Sully? Are you there?" I asked. No response. I pulled the phone off of my ear and looked at it. No bars. The call had ended. I looked back up at the robed man, who was smiling somewhat smugly.
"Who are you?" I demanded, with all the authority I could muster after having been unwillingly apparition-ed. Apparited? I don't know.
"I am the blue wizard of the north, and I hath summoned thee, in order to use your dark talents." the man intoned haughtily.
"What is this, some kind of nerd convention?" I inquired. "How did you get me here? Did you drug me?"
"Erhm- no. I hath...summoned thee," he repeated, somewhat befuddled.
I looked back down at the pentagram, the candles, and was about to berate the man further, when I heard it. The unmistakable sound of something very large, breathing quietly. I looked hastily to me left, where I noticed the open window for the first time.
"What in God's name..." I half whispered. The man flinched slightly, but I was too entranced to notice.
Outside of the window, gazing unperturbed at me like a common house cat, stood the hulking figure of what I could only assume was a living, breathing dragon.
"Ah!" I exclaimed, falling backwards. I tried to scurry away, but an unstoppable force seemed to be pinning me to the ground. I looked down, only to realize that I had reached the edge of the pentagram. I looked back up at the man in terror, and then back at the dragon.
"What are you doing to me?" I demanded frantically.
"Nothing...yet," the man replied, somewhat lackadaisically.
"I can tell that you're faking that lackadaisical-ness!" I shouted back. The man recoiled slightly, and then recovered himself.
"So it's true..." he muttered.
It was at that moment precisely, that I gave up on trying to understand.
"Oh yeah?" I asked, still locking eyes with several tons of dragon.
"Your kind, they can see falsehoods!" the man announced excitedly.
"My kind?" I inquired without looking.
"Homos."
"Excuse me?" I demanded, suddenly turning towards him. "I may have taken a couple looks or two at my fellow man, but who hasn't in this day and age-"
"I'm sorry, do you prefer Sapien?" he asked. "Or human?" he added, in afterthought.
"Oh...yeah, human is good."
___
/r/Periapoapsis
| 2017-05-12T07:54:55 | 2017-05-12T07:20:02 | 1,283 | 543 |
[WP] the Dark Lord had killed almost everyone, even the Hero. The final party member stood in the chamber alone. “I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?”. The final party member laughed maniacally with a devilish grin! “There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!!”
|
Sir Bringham always shined as a light to guide his party in dark times, but he was not the hero. Dandy, the Barbarian, was a stubborn soul who made the hearts of his companions sing, but was not the hero. Griffin, held that honor as he was our hero of legend, True Paladin of Old, bound from another world, and laid dead at my feet.
"There's no one..." a quiet thump beat from my chest as those words left me silent.
The man atop the mound of bones that was his throne room, peeked above his hands. He had gone back to his seat as the hero hit the ground dead, bored by his own power. Sir Bringhim had attempted to light the man on fire before being smote himself. Dandy, a font of anger, laid his life down faster than I could see the Dark Lord react. All of them.... gone.
"I am in no rush to see how you choose your death, but I am curious," his voice creeped pass his fingers like smoke and with a great puff of arrogance and impatience, "Why do you not run?"
"There's no one here..." another studder forward.
"Yes, the is no god here, only I death," the Dark Lord stood grasping the air above his head held high like a chalice. Victory was his to drink.
"There's no one here to stop..." silence.
"What are you babbling about? Are you broken? I am here. I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?" enthralled by his own voice, the Dark Lord stopped cold in anger to the sound of laughter. Perhaps the fool was best to die now, but the Lord gave pause to the man's last words.
"There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!" these were the words the party's cleric **and** necromancer always wanted to say, especially since the prophecy only mentioned the Hero standing over the Dark Lord's dead body, never how.
|
As the headless body of Sly - the Hero of Legend - slumped to its knees the entire chamber grew still. The corpses of his friends were strewn all over. Impaled on spikes, beheaded, torn to shreds. Each one killed in a separate gruesome and imaginative fashion.
The Great Lord - Apollo - the Son of the Sun - the Starchild - opened his hand to study the crushed head in his palm.
"You gave me the fight of my life little one. You and your band of misfits were an actual challenge. I think I'll have a painter - or maybe a sculptor - immortalise this event."
Stepping carefully as to not disturb the morbid scene he slowly moved towards the exit as a dim light appeared behind him. A muffled hiss could be heard.
"......"
The Great Lord halted. Turning slowly he noticed a translucent, brilliantly glowing shape rising from the severed neck of the still kneeling form of Sly.
Writhing and thrashing, the light appeared to take on a humanoid form for a second, then changing back to mere coloured smoke. For a few moments the Great Lord stood perfectly still, watching, waiting.
Suddenly there was a blinding light followed almost instantly by a booming voice, laughing. No. Cackling.
As the kneeling body of Sly tipped over and hit the floor, the Great Lord noticed a white haired man behind it.
"I thank you for your service Great Lord. Apollo!"
The man seemed to grow bigger.
"For decades I have fought - and lost - to this.. Hero", he spat the word.
He cackled maniacally.
"I am Drago, and NO ONE can stop me now!"
| 2020-07-11T04:33:58 | 2020-07-11T03:40:49 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] When you attained immortality, you used it for conquest. Why not? No man could kill you, no prison hold you, even if it took a thousand years, one day you'd escape. As technology advanced they developed a new solution, you would be cast adrift into the cosmos. That was 2 billion years ago.
|
Many people misunderstand what I am and how I came to be. They presume I 'attained' immortality, as though it were a fruit ripe for the picking, but it was always within me. To be undying is to be one with the cosmos; it is when matter is your ally, and entropy is willing to look the other way. It is to be the rage of the universe, incarnate. The stout refusal to die or even dim, no matter what may come.
It is everlasting suffering.
I have seiged kingdoms, enduring the pain of an entire army as one man. My own company would fire from the back lines indiscriminately as I fought--and why wouldn't they? It hurt terribly, but gave us an advantage overall. My pain traded for victory, as it always had been.
People think an immortal falls in love, and hold it for the rest of time, in some dreamy story of eternal love, but that's a lie. Nobody ever loved me, not from the start. I have only ever been a tool, or a lone God, and neither come with company. Both come with loathing, be it in the form of abuse or envy. There is so much hate, and my undying does not shield me from it. I have learned to embrace it.
Hatred is my love, and though she is a bitter, beautiful woman, her loyalty is eternal.
It took nearly four thousand years for my game to end--and even then, it didn't *end* as most things do. It was more of a tangent, an odd bounce of the ball that can't be predicted. I was captured, in the age of metal men with circuits for brains and ore for hearts. They experimented on me, as most are first inclined to do, but their tools caused pains I hadn't know before. Lights like beams of sunlight melting my flesh, boiling my blood, yet as always, I endured. I persisted.
Nothing will change that.
They couldn't learn anything from me, of course; they were creations of a different being, bound by the rules their gods had set, and chose to rid themselves of me rather than try to contain the power I wielded--an understandable decision on their part.
They fired me from the planet in a shell, a small rocket that can't have been meant to last for long. It held no supplies, no entertainment, nothing at all. I rested a while, rather than fight it as it carried me beyond the planets of our solar system, as the sun I once watched set over a world in my palm faded into the slightest speck.
And, finally, the pod was undone, spilling me into the desolate void of space. It didn't take long for me to freeze solid; I was a statue tumbling through nothing, toward nothing. I had left behind nothing.
Had I really ever been more than a vessel for sorrow?
The cosmos were not kind to me though I was their son--how ironic to be a prisoner of that which I was born from, like a mortal jailed in a womb.
And so I drifted, and drifted, to nowhere, as I always had. Doing so was my destiny; nothing new.
I am a balance to the happy and pure in this existence. I am the final, shuddered sob of the universe.
I cannot die--it is my suffering.
---
*r/resonatingfury*
|
I’ve seen every star.
They drift passed me the same as I drift passed them. The Little ones even swirl around me for a little while. The experience always makes me feel like a giant; a god. I admit that it’s a very nice feeling. A feeling that I had felt once on the Earth before they had finally come up with a more permanent solution.
Humanity is funny when you really think about it. They are so fearful of anything that is different than themselves. They beg to be led, given safety and comfort. They want conformity, yet- they hate all men who try to take those reigns.
I guess I should have seen it coming. I went to great lengths for those reigns, even after they were denied from me.
Oh, I was denied many times. I was thrown in prison, executed, even buried in the sand once. Nothing stopped me.
Nothing but the stars.
I have seen a lot of suns, and even more moons. I have spent time counting seconds in an effort to keep the time- but it drove me even more mad than the ignorance, so I gave up after a long while. Can we make up a time? 2 billion years?
It’s been a long time, but I finally managed to find gravity.
On a day like any other day; my feet touched the solid surface of some distant planet. The ground underneath me is a pale violet color. When the nearby sun moves around the back, it looks dull and gray, but in the daytime, it shines and glitters. It is beautiful- the gleam almost painful to my eyes.
My eyes that have seen supernovas and black holes have trouble looking at this ground, but it doesn’t stop me. If death never stopped me from being alive, a little glare won’t stop me from looking at my new home. My new base of operations.
When I laughed for the first time, it echoed into the thin atmosphere, and I almost saw the vibrations travel out to space. They went back the way I had come, the way I would go again someday.
I imagined at that moment that the laughter would make it back to earth, a smack in the face of the men who banished me to the stars. They were all dead though. It was bittersweet that my revenge had come without me there.
After I regained my composure, I began to look around. The planet isn’t that different from Earth. If you forgive the color of the sun, and the ground under my feet, and the fact that the plants all grow a bit wild.
At the end of the day, one thing becomes the most important. The plants are wild, but they are alive. They are growing- and every so often I will find some that have sustained odd injuries. Plants mean life, and it seems as if they mean food as well. And life means that someday, I will have the technology to take me back to Earth. I will conquer men- I have enough time after all.
/r/beezus_writes
| 2019-07-24T06:54:04 | 2019-07-24T06:28:28 | 246 | 91 |
[WP] Humans are known for being intelligent, empathic, loyal, and exceedingly versatile. As a result, humans have become the most in-demand service animals in the history of the Galaxy.
|
Gala was in the park with her owner, who at last let her patiently study the scribbles the other humans had carved onto the trees and walls of the roomy wilderness area.
”Kenneth was here”
”I took a huge crap behind that bush”
”Beware of Denn, she screwed my partner and if you leave her alone with yours, she’ll screw yours too”
Gala chuckled, the people around here were up to all sorts of silly stuff. Her owner sighed, being never able to understand what she found so fascinating in human scrapes on bark.
”**NO**”, she heard a commanding human voice yell. ”**STOP THAT. STOP TALKING. TAKE YOUR MEDS.**”
She turned to see another human nearby, tugging another creature from her tendrils. He stomped his foot.
”**DON’T YOU DARE IGNORE ME YOU TENTACKLED FUCK. YOU’RE CHANGING COLOUR YOU COLOURBLIND BASTARD. TAKE. YOUR. MEDS.**”
Gala glanced at her owner for permission to approach them. Being given what constitutes as a nod, she headed there.
”What’s going on? Are you a service human?” She asked. The man spit on the ground in frustration.
”Well, I’m *trying*. This stupid thing won’t survive without me. **I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME. STOP IGNORING ME, I WANT YOU TO LIVE.**”
|
You were confused at first. Angry, frustrated, and sad that you were seemingly now light years away from your house. Your friends and family would be worried, but no one would believe tthat you'd been abducted by aliens.
Tall, thin, with skin that held a close color resemblance to jello. An uncountable amount of eyes and mouths that seemed to dissolve and reassemble at any given time.
Safe to say it wasn't easy getting used to it.
It didn't take long to understand that you were mostly regarded as something like furniture or, if one of them took interest in you, a pet.
Specifically Clickies pet.
A smaller than average alien that took it upon themselves to care for you. Keeping you close and providing for you in a strange environment.
Despite the language barrier you felt protective of them. Petting them when you could feel them tense, talking softly when the air was too quiet, and giving them comfort when their eye's teared up.
You somehow knew it made them feel better. The way they chirped and whistled while wiping their face(?). Maybe because they knew they needed it. Cause maybe aliens need a friend too.
| 2019-04-22T03:03:43 | 2019-04-21T21:01:07 | 106 | 48 |
[WP] "My dad was right, I should have married a real man!" your wife screamed. Unfamiliar with the expression, you mistakenly believe that she and her father must have somehow finally found out that you aren't actually a human
|
"My dad was right, I should have married a real man!" my wife screamed.
My circuits were ablaze. Ablaze, that’s a very manly word, perhaps I was becoming more human. Wasn’t that the goal anyways? To become more human than the life forms currently occupying that title. No, the mission directive was to assimilate and acquire data on the soft carbon interactional algorithms. They were as complex as any my data stores held information on and maintaining status value in acceptable and expected ranges was paramount.
I analyzed her micro-expressions and tone of voice, recursively patterning all previous exchanges, weighted by similar rises in heartbeat, estimated skin conductance, and pupil dilation. Normal human interaction was so boring, uplink weather report and convey annoyance with status of temperature... confirm processing algorithm known as feelings with a rising inflection... and when required respond in kind with, “Good.”
But anger, particularly between marital units, was data rich and yet surprisingly incomplete. For thirty years we have been accumulating figures and yet estimates state we need at least another 1000 years before we achieve a complete model of married interaction.
In preparation, I increased heartbeat to 145, raised aggression by 10%, and chained possible responses estimating reaction based on partially complete nodes in the model in order to properly A/B test. I calibrated forward tilt of the torso and proceeded to exaggerated gesticulation mode. Whipping around, “Damn Maggie! They don’t pick up the trash until tomorrow morning, I’ll take it out before bed!”
Estimates of model completeness increased 4.5×10^-42
Wait system call
Status: Dynamic Normal
|
"My dad was right, I should have married a real man!"
HER INPUT CREATED A GLITCH IN MY PROGRAMMING, ER, I MEAN, HURT MY HUMAN FEELINGS. SUDDENLY I STARTED TO MALFUNCTION AND MY HUMAN SPEECH PATTERN DISAPPEARED. I TRIED TO PATCH IT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE BUT THE FILES WERE NOWHERE TO BE FOUND IN MY STORAGE UNIT.
"HA HA HA WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT, MY HUMAN WIFE?"
"Wait, what?" ASKED THE FEMALE AFTER LISTENING TO MY ERRATIC SPEECH OUTPUT.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN WITH <QUOTE>REAL HUMAN MAN</QUOTE>? I AM AS REAL AND AS HUMAN AS IT GETS. YOUR PREPOSTEROUS STATEMENT COULDN'T BE PARSED BY MY SPEECH RECOGNITION FUNCTION"
MY INTERFACE FOR HUMAN FACE AND OBJECT RECOGNITION DEFINED AS EYES STARTED TO CLOSE AND OPEN UNEVENLY AND YET THEY IDENTIFIED THE "CONFUSION" PATTERN ON MY FEMALE COMPANION'S FACE.
"I'm being serious you dumbass, and you feel now is the time to be joking?"
"JOCKING, DID SHE SAY JOCKEYING. KERNEL AND SYSTEM FAILURE, FORCING A RESTART"
| 2017-10-22T17:33:50 | 2017-10-22T15:46:42 | 42 | 18 |
[WP] The key to unlimited cross-breeding is discovered. Nations begin a feverish, genetic arms race, using every species at their disposal - not for conquest, but simply to defend themselves from inevitable horrors that Australia is about to unleash.
|
When Dr. Johann Freidrich discovered the secret of safe and effective gene splicing in 2027, he won a Nobel Prize and changed the world forever.
At first, the splices were fairly innocuous, albeit ridiculous; a dog-cat mixture was one of the more popular new species. However, governments soon realized the potential wartime applications of splices and the most powerful nations in the world began dedicating billions of dollars to discovering new, terrifying splices. The first military splice was by Russia; they were able to splice a bear, a hornet, and a turtle to create a heavily armored and dangerous steed for their troops. The United States was next in line, and, not to be outdone by filthy Communists, created an eagle-hornet-horse-rattlesnake splice. Other countries quickly followed suit, with Egypt producing a lion-electric eel splice, Great Britain splicing a goat-lizard, and China creating a tiger-wolf-falcon.
Noticeably absent, however, from this genetic arms race was Australia. The home of the most dangerous and unique animal species on Earth had gone completely dark almost immediately after the arms race began. Tourists and business people were still allowed, grudgingly, in the coastal areas, but the interior remained entirely off limits, and agents sent by other nations to gather intel from the area reported being driven off by the likes of swarms of flying spiders, man-sized ants, and kangaroos with scorpion tails. Everyone wondered what Australia was up to during the opening months of a tense genetic cold war.
The world stopped wondering when reports began flooding in from Indonesia of jellyfish-koala-stingrays walking out of the ocean bearing Australian soldiers and supplies. The world descended into chaos with this unprecedented display of power. Tensions rose and a coalition assembled, led by Russia, the United States, and China, the world’s top non-Australian genetic powers to leverage a deal out of Australia. When it became clear that the Australian war machine would not accept any deal, the coalition declared World War III.
The coalition nations went into a mad scramble to claim any and all biodiveristy they could find, ignoring all borders and national sovereignty. This was not enough to stop the Australians, and, in March, Hong Kong was taken over by butterfly-dolphin-cows.
World War III lasted a measly two months after the fall of Hong Kong before the Australians released their ultimate weapon: ant-sloth-bee-kangaroo-spiders. This new splice, genetically programmed to be loyal to Australia, spread across the globe like wildfire, eliminating all other splices in its path and becoming the new apex predator. Cities were transformed into colonies for this new species and the Australian war machine was victorious. Australia was no longer a continent, Australia was a planet.
|
I pace in front of the pallid blue tanks, pondering the awful situation that I am involved in. The tank for the bear-fox has finished incubating, so I detach its oxygen tubes and send it down to the discipline department. My Siberian colleagues won't budge from making bear based Forks. That's what we call them, Forks. Infertile combinations of two different animals. The guy who discovered the system, Charles Morrison, was obsessed with spiders and tried to fuse *himself* with a Wandering Spider. A six-foot, eight-legged, hairy-ass human that gives you a boner when it bites you. That was a fucking experience to put down, I heard. The dude didn't know how to balance the instincts of his Forks yet and he added around three times the spider genes that he needed. We have mastered that aspect now, and Siberia has been pumping out bear Fork after bear Fork endlessly, which is why we are in so much trouble. The Aussies have been breeding horrifying and deadly Forks, but have somehow managed to make the damn things fertile. Those are called Double-Forks. I heard a story about a Tasmanian kangaroo-gila-tarantula-devil. Luckily the fertility wears off after one round of breeding, so we have no Quad-Forks. Yet. The Aussies are at the forefront of the whole gene-race because Charlie Freak (that's the colloquial name for Morrison) was an Aussie and had the fertility puzzle figured out when he decided that turning into Viagratron was his lifelong dream. A lab tucked away in Appalachia saw mammoth dna, and after skewing the dna off of mammoths they made a 12 foot bald eagle, who they call Mother Liberty. The thing lives in a nest quietly nestled in the crown of Lady Liberty. Fucking Americans. Canada decided to be smart and vary their portfolio, and are second only to the Aussies. South Africa has been venturing all across their continent, taking everything they see from the Savannah and make lion-cheetah Forks, mainly. The Mongolians have restored the Mongol Empire and have taken over China, only because the CCCP was too busy deporting the secondborn of every Chinese family to make any Forks.
So, the situation I live in is utter shit. Every other species is endangered while mankind has a fucking party turning themselves into Viagra monstrosities. And Australia can finally make up all those years of being a penal colony. With kangaroo monstrosities. What a time to be alive.
| 2016-12-12T18:57:06 | 2016-12-12T17:06:57 | 85 | 42 |
[WP] As magic returns to the world, purchasable drinks actually start having magical effects. Energy colas actually imbue you with energy. Diet drinks actually cause noticeable weight loss. Vitamin drinks heal injuries and disease, and so on.
|
I walked into the office with a cardboard drink holder chafing my wrist, trying not to lose the box of doughnuts precariously perched on the steaming beverages. Once I made it to my desk, I began making the rounds distributing the drinks to my superiors.
A few hours later while walking to retrieve some things from the printer, I passed by one of the meeting rooms. From inside the room I heard coughing, not just from one person, but an incessant cough from several people - like a confinement ward for whooping cough. I opened the door to see what was going on, and every person I had brought coffee for that morning was stuck in an unending coughing fit. That was the day coffee turned on us.
|
It was so hot, swelteringly so. The heat, palpable, ever present. I felt like dying. Only one solution. Just one can.
*psssshhhh*
The smell. As bad as you'd expect. Still... this will help. One sip and the relief starts. A gulp and I'm starting to drip. A swig and it's like the flood gates open.
Pocari. Those Japanese know how to make it, thankfully. Mercifully. This heat...
| 2016-09-11T01:58:06 | 2016-09-10T23:51:13 | 52 | 23 |
[WP] You are an aura reader. You have the definitive answers as to someone's true character and morality. The most obvious career was being a judge. Because of your powers, everyone takes your word for if someone is guilty or not. Hopefully you don't abuse this power...
|
... and I never did abuse this power. Why would I? My position was pinnacle of doing as little as possible and getting paid for it, a very generous amounts, mind you. I was respected, well off and secured for life.
Now, did I use this power to scare my children to behave themselves? Hell yes! "Ooo, you've been so bad, you aura is blackening...", say this with scary voice and kids would sit strait and eat any vegetables.
Now, did I pull anyone ever and with deep voice and unfocused eyes and started prophesying about a person's future misdeeds? I surely did, scared so many people off the wrong path. Apparently all you need is to act a little crazy for people to take you seriously sometimes.
Now, did I ever let a serial murderer go because he was killing rapists and pedophiles? Yes I did. Yes I did....
|
Clara’s face turned white as a ghost. Knowing talking back would not help, she clamped her lips shut and trained her eyes on a dead fly near her left foot.
The bailiff and police officers drew forward and gently crossed her hands behind her back before cuffing them.
Silent tears tracked the ground behind Clara as she was led to her transport bus straight to the supermax to live the next seventy six years of her life, if she makes it that long.
Serves the dumb bitch right. Shouldn’t have cut me off in traffic this morning.
| 2022-09-07T14:19:11 | 2022-09-07T12:02:57 | 141 | 84 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
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He came at me like all the rest. Rage, fear, adrenaline in his eyes. Hopped up on nukonarc pills; you'd have to be to come at the king. He desired my status; coveted it. I could feel the hair on the nape of my neck rise, feel a crackling in the air. An electromancer. This would be interesting.
I raise my hands. "HALT," I command. He slows his charge, confused. "We shall battle, if you choose. But first, we shall have.... some tea." He is thoroughly baffled now, but pliant. "Yes... hrmm... okay, one cup... then YOU DIE! Ahahahahahaha!" he cackles.
*1 hour later*
We emerge from the teashop, arms locked, bursting with laughter. "Hahaha my goodness Gary! She really said that!? Hooboy. Well, we were gonna... battle or something?"
"What? Oh yes, my God I'd almost forgotten! Forget that sillyness. It's been a real pleasure meeting you Bob, I really mean that."
"Same to you Gare-bear. Still in for 18 at the links Tuesday?"
"You know it Be-Bob, see ya then!'
I smile to myself as Gary saunters away. I have emerged victorious yet again, as I shall forevermore. For who could possibly hope to defeat the power... of friendship?
|
The world went to shit the moment we all got powers. People saw that this was their chance to climb social ladders.
At first the powered people killed all the nonpowered people.
Only people close within rank can marry and have children.
Then came the children, who were even more powerful than their parents.
And they wiped out their parents generation. Now we are only close to ten thousand people left.
People call the children Third Generation. They are by far the most powerful ones. They make the top 100. Some of them are basically reincarnations of gods. No one knows why their children and their childrens children aren't as powerful. But the few living of the First Generation are also incrediby powerful, otherwise they wouldn't be alive. Some of them are so powerful, they age very slowly. Me, I'm First Generation. But my power is - I never age. I never die. I'm truly immortal. And I'm old.
I've been killed in a million different ways. And every time I wake up, I find myself getting the same power that killed me.
Now I'm the alpha dog. Everyone is out to kill me - but no one realizes that I have more than a million different powers.
| 2014-12-18T14:00:17 | 2014-12-18T12:43:48 | 451 | 172 |
[WP] Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18 etc. Story ends with a single word.
[CW] Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18 etc. Story ends with a single word
|
The first one is supposed to be twenty words long, ten have gone already, Jesus this is gonna be hard. Okay, I have nineteen left to go, not too bad, shit, ten already, I better start saying something productive. On the other hand, writing is hard in and of itself without these constraints, what is OP thinking? Who on Earth can convey emotion, sadness, joy, tears, rage in such a ridiculous pre-determined word count? Oh shit, oh fuck, is pre-determined just a single word or is it two separate words? And does the 'Oh' from the previous sentence count as a word or just interjection? I still haven't said anything meaningful; this is why I don't do constrained prompts. I suck at them, it always ends with me babbling my way out. We're at twelve words and I don't even have a main character . Okay, his name's John Francis Wilson Jackson Taylor Jones Smith Lewis. Eleven words – how'd you like that, OP? FUCK, THAT LAST ONE WASN'T TEN WORDS, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT! The caps phrase was ten, ignore the phrase before! Okay, eight now, cool, let's go – John was… Fuck, out of words, gotta try again. John was a bright young man. He liked to write stories. They were all shitty. But he tried. He did.
Fuck.
____
/r/psycho_alpaca =)
|
The brand of cough syrup John bought was not right, not for dulling down the day to a drooling stupor. Fun intoxicants were there no doubt, but so were other toxic chemicals that could quite easliy corrode the liver. Down the hatch it went, and have you ever felt a gust of wind smack with extra force? That is John's caution, carried away as he too drifts on toward a dimmer, more complacent place. A dab of drool dances down his slackened chin, a slow retarded walz of ignored spittle. Eyes glaze with shadow of ignorant bliss flick once, twice, and thrice to stay. What a distant good feeling world he is in with all numbnees ahh. Some guy is on his bed and he looks tired or dead. Not a problem for John as John is super good now. Like so nice and where is his pillow, under head? Ah and uh so he's in clouds and sleep. On to somethin how dreams awake but deep. That worked, he love cough syrup. Thick and gross it help. Pain gone, so long. The selfless song. I mumble. Farewell.
| 2017-01-14T15:16:53 | 2017-01-14T14:18:10 | 946 | 24 |
[WP] I am the world's least known, yet most successful assassin. In the last 27 years, my work has produced an 82% increase in product labels warning about deadly consequences stemming from "misuse".
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Statistically speaking, I'm the deadliest assassin in the world. That's beside the point, I don't do what I do for ratings, I do it for justice.
Ever since the 1920's when they were first invented they have been abused. They have suffered a great deal. However, before the end of this you will think twice before you misuse them again.
Let me just tell you my most recent story. Sunny, beautiful day, I get a call. "Sir?". "Yes?", I responded. "Sir we've got a Q52." "Send me the address.", I said.
With that I drove to the address. I snuck in through the back door. The house was empty except for the sound coming from the upstairs bathroom. I peered thru the crack in the door. There she was, young woman, oh the misuse. She was using it to apply eye shadow. Eye shadow!
I couldn't bear the sight of it and busted open the door and shouted "they have make up tools for that!" I shoved the misused Q-tips so far into her eyes she died instantly.
Just last week I killed a guy that wanted to use them to clean deeper than just the outside of his ear. They just weren't good enough were they? He just had to go deeper? Well those ended up so deep in his ears , and into his brain he felt it in his toes. I mean the product label clearly says to NOT insert into ear canal.
So let this be fair warning to anyone that decides they want to misuse Q-tips, because I will know and I will find you.
|
You know what the most upsetting part is?
It isn't that I don't get credit for my success. No, that's part of the job.
It isn't having to sleep at night while knowing how many I've killed, either. No, again, I'm quite alright with that.
Try to hear where I'm coming from. You see, truth is, I'm a professional. I've worked for 27 years perfecting this craft - and I assure you, it isn't easy. I spend months on each assignment. I study everything about you to make it go off without a hitch. And then eventually, I make the magic happen: A hairdryer in the bathtub here, a little cough syrup and heavy machinery there...
I charge $100,000 per contract. And in the end, you get what you pay for.
But then some bitch spills coffee on herself at a fast food restaurant and gets $2.86 million! No respect for the art. No months on end of research. Just a fat paycheck, and I'm still playing catch-up to her!
Do you know how infuriating that is?!
Alright, thanks for letting me get that off my chest. I think we're ready now. If only someone had thought to tell you not to use the Slip-N-Slide on the roof...
| 2015-06-21T08:52:17 | 2015-06-21T08:30:53 | 468 | 116 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that's when you realize you've been dating a dragon in human form.
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Janet squirmed on the couch under Nathan's accusing gaze, face twitching as she struggled to come up with a reply to the burning allegations labeled against her. "Well, I, I just don't, don't know what you're getting at, honey."
"Janet, come on. A mound of gold coins, goblets, and gems, towering over me in a cavern large enough to contain THREE of these houses?"
"Now I already TOLD you I own all of this land. The house, the farm plots, all of it.
"Yeah, but you told me you inherited it. And you never told me about the CAVERN OF TREASURE underneath it. I saw books in there that were written in Sumerian, Janet. A LIBRARY of them!"
She gave a small sigh of defeat. "I may as well tell you now, you've been pronouncing my name wrong this whole time. I just don't bother correcting people about it. It's Ja'Net, not Janet."
"I could care less if I've been pronouncing your name wrong!"
"Rude."
"Well, it's not the issue!" Nathan was in a furor as he stomped around the living room, imagining footsteps echoing off the cavern of treasures below him. "We share a LIFE together Jan... Jah Nyet?"
"Ja'Net."
"Whatever. We share a LIFE together, and you've been keeping this a secret from me!"
Ja'Net fumbled over her hands, struggling to come up with a proper explanation. "Nathan, it's not easy to explain.."
"Sure it is. Yes or no. Are you a dragon?"
Her eyes shot open wide, a panic flickering across her gaze. Nathan crossed his arms in front of him with a wide smile, sure of his answer now. "Pile of treasure, ancient tomes, underground cave lair. Not hard to guess."
Ja'Net held her face to her hands, defeated. "YES, okay?! Yes! We have to hide, have to protect ourselves. We have to be careful who knows. We have hunters, even today, who seek our wealth and our lives. I wanted to make sure I could trust you before I said anything, okay?!"
Nathan's face softened, and he turned to leave the room. He left Ja'Net sobbing on their couch as he went upstairs. For minutes that stretched to lifetimes she cried, until she heard Nathan's footsteps coming back to the living room. She looked up, to see him holding something in his hands. With a soft thump, he let it fall gently to the carpeted floor: a long lance, hewn of aged oak and tipped with a silver head whose point gleamed menacingly. In his other hand Nathan set next to the lance, carefully as if he were handling an explosive, a vial of swirling brackish purple liquid.
Ja'Net looked in horror at what he had lain before her. Magics of durability and sharpening shone brilliantly off of the lance, and the vial of liquid wretched her guts with millennia of genetic memory. She looked up to Nathan, quaking with fear and distress as she sat prone before him. "A scalepiercer. Dragonsbane! You're a HUNTER!"
"As was my father before me, and his before him. May as well lay out my own secrets: I'm not an accountant. When I go to 'work', I go to the Temple. To pray, and to train."
He sat on the other side of the room, putting a clear distance between himself and the weapons. Ja'Net glared at him as anger began in take over her fear. "How many, Nathan? How many of my brothers and sisters have you killed?"
"Me, personally? None. My Order heeds the Jerusalem Accord."
Ja'Net's face softened as she remembered the terms of the Accord, which had set a tenuous peace between Dragons and Hunters. The Hunters had vowed not to invade the lairs of any dragon, or to attack any dragons who hunted lawfully. But dragons who attacked human settlements, who broke the Accord's peace, forsook it's protections.
"So you are a Hunter... who does not hunt?"
"We train. We watch. We stand ready, should any dragons break the peace.
Ja'Net sat in silence for a moment, eyes flitting to and from the dragonkiller weapons in front of her, trying to make sense of everything. Nathan stood, and moved closer, kneeling beside her on the floor by the couch. "Ja'Net, babe, listen. This doesn't have to change anything. You're not a peacebreaker, you have nothing to fear from the Order. We can work through this. I still love you."
Ja'Net broke down into sobs, falling against Nathan's chest and clutching him close. When she regained her composure she looked up to see him smiling warmly, lovingly. Nathan held her close as he whispered. "There's just... one small favor I'd like to ask?"
She leaned in to the hug, grateful for his willing acceptance. "Sure, Nathan, anything."
"Can I fuck you in your dragon form?"
|
"What's wrong, honey?"
My wife looked at me with concern, but I can't tell her that I discovered her secret.
What we had together was special. When I was hurt, when everyone abandoned me, when my dreams were stamped into the ground by everyone I cared about... Only her, only her, only her...
But the dark feelings brewing inside the pit of my stomach was a reality I must come to face.
But not now. Not like this.
I pulled her into my embrace, and inhaled deeply of her fire and brimstone hair. The pungent smell of sulfur now made so much more sense, though the softness of her skin did not.
"It's just something going on with me. It's got nothing to do with you."
"Is it... Is it your parents again? Are you ok?" She rubbed between the two gaps underneath my shoulder blades, rubbing softly at the two muscles that always tensed up when I'm under stress. The soothing motion had always relaxed me, and her long, pointed fingers could always reach deep into the sensitive nerves underneath.
But not today, I am not stressed, but anxious, worried...
And she could tell, because her fingers met no resistance. It sunk into my soft tender human flesh, and she quickly pulled out before she could pierce skin. She moved her hand up and down my back, hoping to find out what I was feeling, but I only embraced her harder as her unnatural warmth sunk deep into my heart.
I released her when I had enough, and left for work, with only a single thought running through my mind. That hoard of gold, those massive scales, and her journal I was never meant to read...
Over the next three days, my wife grew increasingly worried for my mental state. Yet still, I can't bring myself to truly see her the same way.
But the way I feel about her has never changed, and that's why it's so hard.
This weekend, I decided to have a one-hundred-fifty-seventh honeymoon trip, the two of us. We sat by the picturesque river, firing up a barbecue.
The charcoal was slowly being heated, when my beautiful wife threw herself onto my back, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her heated breath pushed away the autumn breeze, and she whispered into my ear.
"I know you've been feeling down, honey, is it because we haven't been..."
I shook my head. While beautiful, my lust for her was not for her body, but her companionship. I stared at the charcoal, as it slowly turned from black to red.
"But you know, I actually have a secret I wanted to share with you..."
At this, I perked up. Secret? Did she find out I found out? Or maybe she suspects it?
"I'm... Pregnant."
"Pregnant...?" I snapped my head toward her, and our foreheads bumped into each other with a THUD.
Perhaps it's the child, but we blushed like we were newly weds as we rubbed our foreheads in pain.
"How?! I mean, you're... I'm..."
"It's why we haven't, you know..." She fidgeted, her face turning redder than the charcoal. "I wanted to make sure before telling you about it..."
"So is it... Like... inside... Or outside...?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Like, the baby? Is it..." I put my hand over her lower abdomen, and she nodded shyly. "Do you have to like... Does it come out a baby... Or an egg?"
"A baby, silly!" Then, a flicker of realization flashed across her eyes. "Or... I... I actually don't know, but you found out, huh?"
I couldn't resist her dejected look, and I dropped all the baggage I had over the last few days. I smiled at her, like I always did, before finding out her secret. The charcoal ignited in flames, like my feelings for her.
"Let's ask your parents!"
We called my in-laws, explained our situation, and they were glad to hear our relationship did not change in the least bit, and explained to us the process of interspecies propagation.
I breathed a sigh of relief, and the one question that had plagued me the past few days was finally answered.
I held her hand, and we focused our attention on the barbecue. She was a carnivore, and to be honest, I'm sort of one too. I plopped some food on the grill, and thought back to our wonderful life together.
"So all those holiday breakfast-in-beds you cooked really were ostrich eggs..."
"No, I laid them."
I let that sink in. I inhaled deeply. The sizzling of the meat brought me back to my senses, and I squeezed my hand into hers a little bit tighter, feeling the firmness of her flesh and the velvet softness of her skin.
If those were her eggs, what do dragon steaks taste like?
| 2020-08-03T09:39:20 | 2020-08-03T08:52:09 | 69 | 37 |
[WP] The A-Team is on vacation, the Suicide Squad committed suicide in the box office, and the crisis the world faces is growing critical. The government has expended all other options, so now they must call upon a team willing to save the Earth. Nobody was impressed with who they chose though.
|
**Five**
"Remind me again how we got ourselves into this situation?" The squeeky voice behind him asked in that strange accent. He never could quite place it, after all this time. Talking was such an unusual thing in the first place, he never considered the accent. He reminded himself to look into it, if they made it through the mission in one piece.
It was a good question, one he asked himself a thousand times since they boarded the capsule. "We were volunteered." He answered as he remembered the three of them, sitting in the briefing room as the Boss expounded on their qualifications.
"...masters of disguise, excellent strategists and their improvisational skills are beyond exceptional..."
**Four**
All true, of course... well maybe a little exaggerated but not by much. Hearing the Boss at that meeting filled him with a warm glow. All of them, it seemed, when he looked over at his partner and saw her smiling proudly with him. Then it all came crashing down when he heard the Generals whispering.
"...how old are they? Those two are a couple of kids and that third one..."
"The mouthy one? I swear it looks just like a c..."
"Have you seen their mission track record? Their success rate is almost non-existent..."
"Nevertheless, they are some of my top agents and they always come through when it counts." The Boss finished, "You won't find anyone better suited."
**Three**
The looks on the Generals faces said otherwise and he had to agree. They weren't astronauts or alien fighters. When it came right down to it, when everything else was stripped away the three of them were nothing but poachers. But that was the mission after all, fly up to the alien ship, capture one and bring it back for study. Simple.
**Two**
He looked over at his partner. She looked good, even in the space suit she managed to maintain her sense of style. The mission specialists argued over the impracticality of an exposed midriff on the suit but she won out and made it work. She was scared too though, he could see it in her eyes. Then a thought occurred that made him chuckle.
**One**
She glanced over, "What in the world could you find so funny at a time like this, James?" She asked using her aggressive take no shit voice.
**Ignition**
"Here we are..." he said, "...Team Rocket is blasting off again!" The roar of the rockets drowned out her laughter.
|
"You're kidding, right?"
"I wish I were, Mr. Fury." The two men stood in relative silence as a third was slowly approaching, the squeaking of toy wheels echoing down the hallway. "Bullshit. You do know what we're up against, right? Anybody but him would be better than him."
The man looked back at the approaching figure with his one good eye. "Hell, even Deadpool would be better than this asswipe. Where is that motherfucker anyway?"
"Jerking off to the end of days, Sir."
"I've half a mind to join him. The A-team is off on some Asgardian stroll, most of the other inhumans are taking care of themselves, and we're stuck with a guy who for all I care started this fucking madness."
The figure rode closer. The two men could see now that he was an aging politician, riding a bright red tricycle made for children, which he most certainly was not. In one hand he held a megaphone.
"As much as I agree, sir, we should probably refrain from saying that in front of him."
"I'll say what I goddamn want and you know that. What's this guy got that we don't?"
"For one, He's got supporters. Ever since SHIELD went dark we've had a sore lack of funding. The Avengers are under the jurisdiction of the UN and everyone else is freelance. This guy brags about how he's made a fortune, and somehow his rhetoric, however hateful, has united half the country against a common enemy."
"This isn't the type of threat you can face head-on, Coulson. The 'enemy' is ourselves, and our own damn stupidity. We are so quick to assume conflict that it inevitably breaks out despite everyone claiming they want peace. Hell, that's why SHIELD was founded. What is this guy going to do about that?"
*"We're gonna build a wall to keep Mexico out!"* The figure shouted through his megaphone, continuing his excruciating approach.
"You know, Nick, when you put it that way it really does sound bad."
"Yeah. We're fucked."
| 2016-12-13T06:57:47 | 2016-12-13T06:47:42 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] You were in critical condition after your motorcycle crash. Doctors couldn’t save your life, so you died. However, what you though was heaven was a mother’s arms. You were born again. Into a unknown world with the knowledge you possess from the last life.
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You were in critical condition after you crashed your motorcycle on a dirt road in nowhere, Alberta. It was the first day of spring—to early to be out, really.
Doctors couldn’t save your life. You died.
Don’t feel too bad about it. They tried to save you, they really did. You said you never believed that whole thing about how they wouldn’t try to save your life if you were an organ donor, but secretly you always wondered.
You were 36. On your way to a midlife crisis. The motorcycle was part of that whole thing—you married young, you wanted your freedom. No judgement. Even Claire (as much as she professed to hate the damned thing) didn’t actually care that much. She wanted your son to know her disapproval.
Claire loved you, by the way. So much that she often struggled to put it in words. You both suffered that same problem.
They’ll be alright, by the way. Claire will remarry, six and a half years after you left. He’s a good guy, if not a bit dull. She won't love him the same way she loved you, but she will love him nonetheless.
Nate and Josie will say they’re fine and one day that will be true. They'll have kids of their own. Grandchildren that will never meet you, but will know you through stories.
You, unfortunately, will be less alright.
Don’t fear the light of the new world too much. It’ll be hot and humid and uncomfortable and foreign. This is normal.
You’ll remember everything.
I’m sorry for that.
I really am.
And I know that you think it might give you an advantage.
It won’t.
I’m sorry for that.
I really am.
You know a lot of good things. How to change a tire, even in the dead of winter on the side of a backcountry road; how to brew a pot of coffee that’s not perfect, but is perfect to Claire; how to balance your chequebook; how to teach a five-year-old to ride a bike without training wheels.
None of that will help you where you’re going.
It’s a settlement on Mars. 2239. Not *the* first one—that’s a city now, and Ares thrives despite the fact there’s been no contact with Earth in the last 73 years.
Where you live, it hasn’t thrived.
I’m sorry for that.
I really am.
There’s no name for where you will live. It’s a small bungalow on the edge of a dying farm.
Maybe if you’d lived in the dustbowl, you’d be better prepared for your coming life. For the hunger and dust and sickness. It's cruel, I know it's cruel. You'll work under the pin-prick sun until the ropes of muscles in your back are ruined. Your knees will click and creak all year and seize at the change of every season.
One day, in the wasteland, you'll find Claire again. She'll look different and speak with a strange lilt in her voice. It'll be her and you'll know, without a doubt, that it's her. She will know it's you too.
Your lives won't be easy. You will be together. It's the most I can do for you in this harsh life.
Some of your lives will be easy. Many won't.
But do with this life what you can. Make the most of it. Learn and grow. That’s the whole point of this, anyway.
Make the most of this foreign life. And—when you’re done—I’ll bring you on to the next.
---
/r/liswrites
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"I have to say, this isn't that bad. I can be whatever I want now! Yes mother, yes, I will be the most special girl in the- wait a minute- girl? That's- interesting. I don't have a peepee now? Why did I called it peepee? No matter. I was getting tired of it anyways."
"If I told you that was the first thing that came out of my mouth, would you belive me? Probably not. Nobody does. I mean, who can belive that someone that had just been borned can talk? Well, I did. And a nurse fainted, my mom began to cry and a priest was called immediatly.
And yes, I got exorcised at the age of one hour and 32 minutes. I think that's a record.
Life was pretty good you know? Not talking for a while was tought and I am not the best actor- or actress now. Funny, now I have lived longer as a female than a male. So, my parents always belived that there was something wrong with me, but I was their little girl. They would never ever do anything bad to me- Yeah, that was all bullshit. As soon as the opportunity came, they sold me out as a slave. Life was pretty ass, my new family was poor and blah blah fantasy world. I swear to god that watching those Isekai anime was funner than that.
I was 5 or 6 when I became a slave. But even at that age I shined above all the other filth. God bless maths, man. Even if I don't know the x and ys and all that trash, it took me to places. As soon as I turned 15, one of my "master's" sons- fuck that guy by the way, the old creepy dude and his son- took me as his bride. Ah shit, forgot an important detail. I used to be a black belt at Taekwondo. You probably don't know what it is, but who cares.
Where was I? Oh, yes, I got married. And became a citizen. And also a murderer. I may be a woman now but dude, doing the deed with a man is homo- wait, now that I think about it I am homo now. Curious.
Either way, I killed him while we were in our 'honeymoon'. He didn't know what that was but he liked the idea a lot. When we were alone- BOOM, I went all gangsta on him. Had to pay a poor soul to say he had killed him. Middle ages, law is crap, I got away with it. I was a widow, with lots of money and a free woman. Next on the checklist was taking revenge on dear old mom and dad. I sent an assassin to kill their new perfect daughter before I killed them myself."
"Why are you telling me this."
"Well, I need people to talk with and you are going to die soon so, nobody will know all of this. Jeffrey?"
'Yes maddam?'
"Can you finish this? I forgot how boring it gets."
'As you say'
"Well then lad, I hope you reincarnate too. Nah. I know you will. If it is in this world by some weird chance, please come find me. I want to kick your ass again."
| 2019-11-07T07:51:26 | 2019-11-07T06:56:37 | 53 | 24 |
[WP] In a world where killing someone means you gain the victim's lifespan, you are an executioner who has served great leaders for thousands of years.
Just seemed like an interesting concept.
|
It was a young girl this time. Pretty thing. She had fiery red hair. Couldn't be a day past fifteen.
"Julia!" A man cried out from the crowd, his voice a shattered scream. A pair of guards grappled his flailing limbs as he struggled in vain to reach his daughter.
"Papa! Save me!" The poor lass looked up and her bloodshot eyes met my gaze. She mouthed a silent plea, begging me to spare her. As if I had a choice. "I don't want to die." She whimpered. "I don't want to die."
"Please! Have mercy, Your Majesty!" The old man cried. "She's my only child! Don't do this!" He called to me. Desperation rang loud in his voice. I took pity on the old man. I'd have to be a monster not to.
The crowd clamored with apprehension. A handful of villagers pleaded for the girls life alongside her father.
"SILENCE!" King Vladimir roared. "She dared question my authority!" The sovereign stepped down from his destrier and raised the man's head to his face by the scalp of the peasant's head. "She is to be made an example of. No one is to dare defy my rule! Executioner!"
With reluctance I unsheathed my claymore as a guard kicked the girl's knees in. She hit the ground, and he thrust her head onto the blood soaked chopping block. She was screaming now as tears ran down her face in streams. "Please! I take it back! Have mercy, Your Majesty! I didn't mean a word of it! Have mercy! I don't want to die!"
The king snapped his fingers, and I raised the sword high above my head. Her wailing sobs stirred my heart. The whole village looked on in trepidation. Her father cried out her name, and the girl shrieked as the blade came crashing down upon her. It's a secret, I'm not fond to admit, but I never did get used to this part. In an instance her screams gave way to an abrupt silence, and not a soul in the village breathed a word. Her head rolled into the mud with a soft thud as her father fell to his knees.
King Valdimir smiled, satisfied. "Let this be a lesson to all of you. Speak out against the crown and you will suffer the same fate."
With that we left the little hamlet and continued on our way to the capitol. Behind us I could hear the mournful bales of the girl's father as he clutched her in his arms. A handful more lamented in the ground beside him. Her family most likely. With a scarlet rag I wiped away the girl's blood from my blade. The cloth had been white as snow not a week ago.
I pushed away the terrified face of Julia to the back of my mind along with the countless hundreds before her. I had hoped that over the course of centuries I might forget those expressions of horror. There were nobles who bore a steely resolve. Men resigned to their fate. Women who silently waited for it all to end. But the ones who screamed, the ones who begged for their lives until their dying breath, those were the ones that haunted me every time I closed my eyes. I still remember a boy, just shy of ten. It was rare. Children are always rare. This one had spit on King Vladimir's grandfather in his time. The way he cried for his mother as the men held him down. I still visit his grave when I get the chance. His name was Eric.
"Your Majesty, perhaps it would be wise to stay your hand a while. The people are growing restless." A noble said at the head of the party.
"Do you dare question the wisdom of the crown?" King glared down his courtier, and I reached for the haft of my sword.
"No, of course not, Your Majesty." The noble stammered. "I would never dream of it."
The monarch's gaze lingered for a moment, and I watched the man quiver like a babe. "Very well." The king said.
And we continued on our way.
|
When I was a boy, my father told me of the executioners, the great immortal heroes of the past. He spun complex tales of intrigue and adventure, of the great deeds some performed, and of the decimation that others wrought upon the world. The battles for kingdoms that were waged, the men who trained for hundreds of years on end, who had mastered every weapon imaginable.
As far back as I can remember, I desired to be one of these men. I wanted nothing more than to serve my king. I dreamed of combat, of the honors of the blood, of becoming legend like these men had.
Now, I am the most ancient of my kind, the last of the old executioners. I've witnessed the rise and the fall of kingdoms, the development of democracy from a rampant mob into great empires run by their subjects, and with that, the rise of the common ruler. Now days, instead of battling for glory and honor, I am little more than an ax-man.
I now serve the Grand Minister Arnold Greer, elected by popular vote, ruler of the largest empire this world has ever seen. Under his command, I have traveled far and wide, eliminating the heretical, the traitorous, the undesired, those who pose a threat to his power. In his name, I have committed great atrocities. I have slaughtered towns in order to weed out one spy, I have burned innocents to reveal the heretics, and I have murdered children in their beds.
In my 4,782 years of life, I have never questioned my purpose. I am an executioner, sworn to my country. But now, I'm begun to wonder what I've become. Once, I met my enemies, the challengers to the throne, on a battlefield. We dueled with swords, axes, and fists. There were never guarantees of success, there was always a possibility of death, there was always honor in the act of defending my homeland. Those days have long past.
Now, what cannot be settled by clever politics is solved by slaughter. I ceased to count the years afforded me by my executions: they are well into the tens of thousands. I have killed so many now that I could not have counted. Where is the dignity in this, where is the honor afforded to the enemy, where is the once great man I was. Or was I ever that man?
The Grand Minister has revealed himself to me. I have his trust. He has told me of the "impure" that he seeks to cleanse. He has regaled me with his own perverse version of history. Events that I had a hand in and that I witnessed now have secret meanings, dark overlords that work beyond perception to destabilize the world for eventual rule. I fear that he has lost his mind.
What is even more disturbing, however, are his secret attempts to resurrect the ancient heroes. Men who lived and died millennium before my life, the storied ones that were said to wield the strength and stamina of those they killed as well as their stolen years. I know this can be done. I have witnessed one such attempt. I executed the abomination that resulted from the dark magic.
Now I plot to murder the one I swore my life to. What choice have I been afforded? What is it if I die, or if the people hate me for my acts. I will either outlive them, and their grand children's grandchildren, or I will die in a foolhardy attempt at absolution. I pray to my old forgotten God that I will achieve my goals, yet I fear what would result from my success. Would I take the throne? Would I allow another to take his place? Would I send the kingdom into years of war and death in an attempt to avoid this madman's plot?
I must try though. If I have not tried, then I have already failed.
| 2016-04-22T19:34:05 | 2016-04-22T17:59:17 | 96 | 71 |
[WP] God has a crisis on his hands, when all the good souls in Heaven wake up to the massive humanitarian nightmare that is Hell.
|
"Wait," God said. "Where is everybody?"
&#x200B;
The creator of heaven and Earth stood in the doorway of the conference room, with His mouth hanging open. The chairs surrounding the massive table were empty except for two.
&#x200B;
The Archangel Michael responded, "It's just us, I'm afraid." He offered an apologetic shrug of his wings.
&#x200B;
"I asked you to bring me the finest Public Relations experts and of the billions of souls that fill the afterlife, you could only find...." God trailed off and looked at the young man in the other chair.
&#x200B;
"Tim," the man said.
&#x200B;
"Tim." God said.
&#x200B;
"Yeah," Michael said. "Tim."
&#x200B;
"Where are the rest of them?"
&#x200B;
"Well, I searched every square inch of paradise, but after a while it became clear that all the PR experts of any talent had spent their time on Earth protecting the reputations of oil companies, covering up the misdeeds of celebrities, and... ya know... stuff that makes you end up in the other place."
&#x200B;
"Jesus Christ," God said.
&#x200B;
"What?" a voice called from outside.
&#x200B;
"Why aren't you answering the phone?" God snapped. "That thing has been ringing for a half hour."
&#x200B;
"The boss's kid is always the worst employee," Michael muttered to himself.
&#x200B;
"If I could just butt in, here," Tim said. "I want to make sure I have this right. The souls of Heaven are mounting a mass protest in the name of what's being done to the souls in Hell?"
&#x200B;
"Correct," Michael said.
&#x200B;
"I don't mean to be rude," Tim said, turning to God. "But given the fact that you are an omnipotent being, couldn't you just... I don't know... make them stop?"
&#x200B;
"I can't control free will," God said. "If I could, those two idiots in the garden wouldn't have eaten that apple and screwed everything up and got me in this mess."
&#x200B;
"So I guess the next step here is to spin this in such a way that people are ok with what's happening in Hell."
&#x200B;
"Correct," Michael said.
&#x200B;
"Just so I'm on the same page, what exactly happens in Hell?"
&#x200B;
Michael swept a hand over the table, opening a window into Hell. "So as you can see -"
&#x200B;
Tim interrupted the Archangel with a deafening, bloodcurdling shriek. His eyes bulged at the infinite horrors inflicted upon the damned.
&#x200B;
"Shut it!" God said. "Shut it, quick!"
&#x200B;
Michael closed the window and Tim fell back into his seat, breathing heavily. Michael offered up a flask of ambrosia, which Tim downed immediately. After a few minutes, he could speak again. "Ok.... so we aren't going to be able to spin that as a positive."
&#x200B;
"Come on," Michael said. "You're the best PR rep in heaven. There's gotta be something you can do."
&#x200B;
"I was actually just an intern at the company."
&#x200B;
"What?"
&#x200B;
"Yeah, I got hit by a car when I was going for a coffee run. That's how I ended up here."
&#x200B;
"Hey, uh, sorry to interrupt." Jesus appeared in the doorway, holding a post-it note. "We got a call from a guy named Luca.... Lucy.... Lucka..."
&#x200B;
"Lucifer?" God asked.
&#x200B;
"Yeah, that's it. Lucifer called, he said he's on the way up to discuss the protests. And just a heads up, he said he's bringing his legal team."
&#x200B;
"Just what we need," Michael said.
&#x200B;
"Alright, Michael. I need you to go out into Heaven and seek out the best legal team we can find."
&#x200B;
"Well, uh, the thing is... I actually tried to do that already. You remember how there aren't any PR reps in heaven?"
&#x200B;
"Yes."
&#x200B;
"Well, we have the same problem with lawyers."
|
*Meanwhile, in The Land Where All The Writing Prompts Are Simultaneously True....*
----
"You would not believe the day I've had," God said as he walked into the restaurant, clocking in. "This freaking day!"
"Oh?" Craig, the manager, asked.
"Some kind of AI fight between giant robots and space cannons. Traffic on the 495 was completely stopped," God said.
Craig glanced over at the clock. "You're on time, though."
"On time *here*, sure," God said. "But you know my other job, right?"
"What, you're a courier or something?" Craig asked. "Or some kind of system administrator?"
"The former - night-shift God is the system administrator," God said. There were four or five Gods that worked at various times of day for the restaurant. "Anyway, I was on my way to city hall to deliver some kind of zoning petition for my landlord. But thanks to the wonders of post-modern self-improving artificially intelligent monsters, I didn't make it."
"Bummer," Craig said. "But you're a good waiter, at least. You still have this job."
"I appreciate that," God said. "But I also need a new place to live. The board re-zoned that particular Heaven district into a Hell district and now Cherubim are fighting with Succubi over who owns what apartment, and the last guy any of them want to see is the one responsible for the mess."
Craig shook his head. "I gotta say, I don't get it."
"What, how crazy stuff like that happens in this town?"
"Nah," Craig said, "I get *that*, you jam every genre ever together in one place, crazy stuff's going to happen. I don't get *you*, man. Didn't you create the universe or something? Why the hell are you stuck in 495 traffic with the rest of us slobs? Just 'bamf' your way over to city hall to deliver the petitions. Or magic up a properly zoned place. Or live in a sky-castle or something. You're *God*."
God sighed. "Craig, I appreciate your faith in me. And I don't mean like that wishy-washy Christmas-and-Easter-only kinda faith. But this is The Land Where All The Writing Prompts Are Simultaneously True."
Craig nodded. "I know that much. It's how come I've got five God on staff and three Satan."
"So when's the last time you saw a prompt that featured a *competent* ruler of the universe?"
Craig appeared to ponder the question. "I'm not really sure. Honestly I don't really read the front page, too busy living it."
"I'll tell you: Freaking never, that's when. It's always something like 'heaven is full' like an all-knowing all-powerful superbeing would lack the knowledge to plan for capacity and also lack the power to expand said capacity." God said. "Or 'God is surprised by something a human does' even though, again, all-knowing means no surprises. Or 'God is bored' even though all-powerful means you can just make yourself *not* bored. Or-"
"I get the idea," Craig said. "And I understand why you might be a bit miffed at having gotten the short end of the divinity stick, but an all-knowing all-powerful being doesn't exactly make an exciting story."
"Then why use God!" God said. "If you don't want God, don't *write* God. And people don't want a true God, they want a universe creator as bad at everything as *they* are. So I'm stuck here."
Craig frowned. "So, you're not all powerful. You've got to be able to do *something*, right?"
God shrugged. "Wait tables, apparently."
Two customers came in through the door, seating themselves at a booth.
"It could be worse," God sighed. "I could have a floating number over my head."
Craig winced.
"Oh come on," God said, "Please, Craig, tell me I don't have a floating number."
Craig shrugged.
"Well it's obviously not the amount of time until I die, so what is it?"
Craig looked like he didn't want to answer, but after a brief nonverbal staredown, relented: "If I had to guess, it's how much you're getting tipped today."
"It's not good, is it?"
"No."
God sighed and grabbed the carafe of coffee he brought to all customers, moving toward the newcomers.
"This freaking day," he said.
| 2018-09-17T14:27:03 | 2018-09-17T14:23:44 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] You've finally managed to discover the secret to immortality. Suddenly, Death appears before you, hands you a business card, and says, "When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you."
|
Back then, I knew what vast wealth could buy. I knew it could buy isolated mansions with their own picturesque vistas, self-sustaining yachts to see each of the glistening oceans and their pocketed paradise islands, and every known luxury that era of mankind had to offer. Of course, as with all things, that wasn't enough for me. Wealth couldn't give me everything. As it was then, it couldn't save me from the follies of my race. My wealth couldn't buy me time. It couldn't buy me immortality.
But it could buy me an education, means to enhance my own intelligence. Once I had those things, I managed to build myself a lab and I prised myself from the rest of the world searching for the key to immortality. Nearly twenty-three years had passed, and my hair had begun to grey and my bones ached at the end of a long day in the lab. But I persisted, and though my wealth had nearly irreversibly diminished, I found the grand panacea. Turns out an army of small robots and some careful, robust programming gave me what I wanted.
After the injection, the ache began to leave my bones, and I knew it was working. I raced to the large mirror at the back of the lab washroom in time to witness the last of my transformation. Wrinkles absorbed back into my skin, disappearing, the hairs on my head softened, and as their color became more vibrant, so did the lively hue in my eyes return. Barely enough time to marvel in my hour of triumph, a voice sounded behind me, such that I yelped in a squeal with a voice that had also returned to its youthful tenor.
"When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you," the voice said. I was bewildered, as there was no one behind me in the mirror, and nor was there anyone to my left or right. "Ahem. Behind you."
Turning around, there was the source of the disembodied voice, embodied. Clothed in a long, tattered black robe, it was sheathed in shadow and its face was further enveloped underneath a deep hood.
Handing me a business card he said, "I can see that you were not expecting me." As I took the business card from a skeletal hand, it returned to gesture in a way that suggested it was scratching its chin. "I have to say, that is a first. Anyway, no time to dally -- two customers a second and all that."
"W-wait! You said there have been more?"
"Of course! You think you're the first to seek immortality and find it?" Death scoffed, "Happens every couple of centuries or so, though usually through less... scientific means, heh. Never understood the stuff myself." I was floored. My whole life had been devoted to science, and there before me was essentially a god from legend. Something make-believe, something from myth. But to my core I was a scientist, and with the truth beset in front of me, I accepted it. Gods and magic were real, and they were unfamiliar with science. I took a risk.
Putting the card in my pocket, I said to Death, "Well if you'd like I can show you some of what I've been working on. I'm sure a few dying people could wait -- besides, two a second is only a statistical average anyway," I flashed him my best smile, which was pretty good now that my youth had returned, "Why not make it up later? It's the least I can do to show you whats in store for the future."
As there was no face to remark upon, all I can say is that Death simply stared at me for what felt like an eternity. "Ah, what the hell. My colleagues treat with mortals occasionally, why shouldn't I have some fun with the living once in a while?"
"Excellent choice! Come, follow me. There's a technology I happened across during my search that could allow for teleportation -- something the gods are familiar with, I'd imagine." Death followed behind me, looking as a cloud of ink through water.
As he followed me, I walked over a square aluminum platform that was trailed by wires on all sides. Putting my hand inside one of the pockets of my lab coat, I gripped a remote switch that controlled all the equipment inside the lab. When Death's form passed into the threshold of the platform, I pressed the button and turned around facing Death.
Looking to either side, Death tilted its hood to one side, "Why did you stop? Is this the device?"
"Actually, the device is right over there," I pointed to a table covered with an assortment of devices on the other side of the room. "Please, help yourself, while I prepare the demonstration." My heart was pounding, but I kept my face neutral as I faced Death. Its form quivered, and the shadow around Death froze in motion.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, MORTAL" The voice no longer came from the hood, but from all around me. Its sound vibrated the air, and the ground beneath me shook as it spoke. "YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE FORCES FOR WHICH YOU MEDDLE"
"Actually, that's exactly why I've imprisoned you. I never believed in gods before today, and I intend to find out what I can fr--"
"YOU FOOL. RELEASE ME BEFO--," before he could finish, the black cloud erupted, its force shattering my body against the wall behind me. That was the last I remember of the hour I killed Death.
It has been almost one hundred years, and still I've yet to restore the world to its natural order. Ghouls roam the earth now. Though people are unable to die, all of the roads to death remain paved and open. Gods openly roam the Earth, searching for the one that destroyed death, some seeking vengeance against me even as I try to bring Death back to life, others reveling in the chaos sewn by my mistake. My name is Elliot, and I am this worlds last hope of destroying immortality.
|
Who knew that failing at killing yourself could get boring? I tried floating off into space twice and just woke up years later at sea, twice. Always would wind back up in one piece after any kind of accident. Discovered euphoric highs and impressive trips trying to overdose. Why did I want to be immortal again?
I don't know if I had assumed going back in time would have been an option. Maybe the memories would have carried me through? I don't know. Time no longer meant anything to me, nor did much else. I had dabbled with fame, seclusion, power, anonymity, everything. Everything a person could do. I believed myself to be a creative person. But ignoring a pyromaniac in a fireworks factory would be easier than ignoring the repetition of life. I had died but never left. It had been so long that the sorrow I felt for myself had long evaporated. Sorrow for never seeing those I had grown close to passing. My children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Countless lovers, friends...soulmates. Mass graveyards for those who I was sun and the moon. Why can't I recall their names?
Gabriel peered over a weathered brick wall overlooking the ocean. People walked along the shore, fading in and out between the unkempt vines that sprawled atop the parapet. It had taken hundreds of years in order to establish an entity so great, that Gabriel could buy out the land he thought to be the most beautiful on earth. It took establishing a religion, infiltrating government, and slowly seizing land. Centuries later, he had what he wanted. The project felt exciting at times, however, upon realizing the feasibility of his endeavors, the weakening feeling of loss and emptiness dripped back into Gabriel.
"When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you."
English, with an American accent no less. Gabriel turned.
Fright. Confusion. Am I confused because I am frightened? Approximately a decade since I've taken anything that could alter sight, or sound for that matter.
"Who are you?" Gabriel did not take a step back. If this was a person, he would be standing abnormally close for any acceptable culture.
"What am I."
Gabriel took a step back to better examine the figure that had appeared before him, but it kept at an exact distance. It seemed to absorb light from it's human like figure, about the size of a small child, but the proportions of an adult. It had a translucent darkness with no noticeable features and floated about a meter of the floor. The voice came from about where the head was, but also from everywhere.
"Where is this number?" Gabriel asked as he looked for any object that resembled an electronic, or even paper.
"Give me your hand."
"Why do you speak English with an American accent?"
The figure did not respond. Gabriel felt a burning sensation on his left wrist that lay by his hip. The sleeve of his robe was beginning to produce smoke as Gabriel pulled it back. Gabriel could not recall the last time he reacted to pain. This felt much more intense than anything that he could quickly recall, but still Gabriel did not flinch.
"It fells like a tattoo is being inked with the quill of a stonefish. What is this? Is 667 the entire number, or will I be placing a call to Maryland?" Gabriel paused. That name, Maryland. That was a place of long ago. The numbers continued to appear. Three, then four. A familiar format. A familiar sequence.
Gabriel began to cry. The apparition was gone, as was the pain. But the numbers remained. Gabriel laughed for a little looking at the numbers, but returned to crying. Falling to a crouch, and then to sitting down on the earth, Gabriel was overwhelmed with emotion.
"È tutto ok?" A young woman's voice from over the wall probed quite loudly.
Gabriel did not register the question. He recalled the meaning of the number. His parents phone number. He could not even recall the last time he had thought about them, but could now vividly picture both of their faces. Gabriel recalled candles on a cake, mother and father glowing with delight above it. The smell of fresh crab cakes, the softness of a quilt on a couch, the nervousness of a conversation, apprehension, relief. He could remember guilt. What for? What else can I recall? Why isn't there more?
"Gabriele, ti senti bene?" The young woman was now beside Gabriel.
"Ho sentito l'emozione. Ad una bellissima cosa." Gabriel managed to muster. However, Gabriel couldn't remember truly feeling emotion like this before, but knew he had. "Hai visto qualcosa di insolito?" Gabriel looked at the woman holding his arm. Looking for all the meaning communicated from a person as he had learnt to do long ago.
"Tu stai piangendo. Quindi sì." The woman gave him a similar look, probing for more.
So, only I saw the apparition. Why do I find her voice so beautiful? No one alive has ever seen me cry, yet this woman knows not that this is a rare occasion; but only that I feel something is wrong. Or is that what she is thinking at all? Why can't I read her?
The emotion Gabriel felt was overwhelming. A floodgate had broken and a carousel of emotions cascaded through Gabriel. Sadness for those he missed, anger at existence, joy for the return of feeling, and after a long long ride, curiosity and intrigue.
(Alright, I'm getting tired. I would like pointers for better writing. First time posting here. If people like it, I can continue the story.)
| 2017-03-07T03:18:27 | 2017-03-06T23:01:19 | 2,435 | 31 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Dear old friend,
I saw something that made me think of you the other day. And sometimes I think of you for no reason at all.
I want to talk to you, but I know there’d be no point. I wonder what you’re up to, but I don’t ask.
Because we have both changed so much since then, or maybe we haven’t changed at all. But something’s changed, and we both know that things can never be as they were. We could make an attempt at a conversation, but it will only make us feel more distant from where we used to be.
So I won’t talk, and I won’t ask, but I want you to know that I keep you in my thoughts and in my heart.
Because even though it’s run its course, and even though I don’t want to rekindle it, that friendship will stay precious to me.
Love,
A stranger you once knew like the back of your hand
|
I’m not really sure if I should be doing this, or if I even miss you right now, but some how you always find your way into my mind. I can’t believe I promised you I could be strong that day because I felt so weak knowing I couldn’t have your presence in my life anymore, but I think I have gotten “stronger” since then. Sounds dumb but I tried to find someone like you after it was all said and done, but I realized that I don’t need to be more than myself to be happy. Hope you’re not thinking of me and hope you’re enjoying your life. I’m still thankful for everything you taught me beautiful.
| 2017-11-06T03:25:39 | 2017-11-06T00:23:50 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form.
|
All these years
The planned dates
The firey attitude
The protective attitude
Always wanting my food
Eyeing my mother's silver dishware
Insisting I buy her jewelry for every anniversary
Not wanting to have kids whatsoever
Wanting me to learn music
Making me submit to her demands
Liking it when I play music to her
Loving it when I sweet talk her.
I now realize who I am.
I am a bard, trapped in hypnosis
I went to far and now I'm her pet
A treasure in her hoard like the rest of these emeralds, rubies and diamonds.
I cannot find a way out for I'm terrified of what she will do
So I sit and play my guitar
Practice my ballads
So I may keep my wife happy and not kill me.
So hear my tale and beware heroes.
For I am sir Dragonfucker
And I have made a mistake.
|
“Frankie, I swear to you, I found all of this and more underneath the house!” Steve exclaimed.
Frankie shook his head with disbelief, “And you expect me to believe that Angela is a dragon, Steve? Really? Sounds like a bad joke.”
“Frankie! Why would I lie to you?” Steve asks, raising his voice. Frankie continues to shake his head, “Because Steve, you always make the dumbest jokes, and you’re always pulling my leg thinking you’re hilarious.”
Steve smirks, “I swear to God Frankie, I’m telling the truth. She’s *dragon* her balls across my face every day!”
Frankie sighs, “Fuck you, Steve.”
| 2022-09-10T10:45:48 | 2022-09-10T09:17:44 | 80 | 47 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble.
|
"Something's off about you, Mr. Fredrick," I said, closing the spreedsheet program open on my computer. Fredrick was one of my most hardworking subordinates, but today, he didn't seem to be doing well. Just seemed sluggish and distracted and even now he refused to look me in the eye. "What's the problem?" I asked.
Fredrick's voice quivered as he spoke. "Well, er... You see..." I do wish he would just spit it out.
"I was captured."
I raised my eyebrows. "And?" Fredrick, like any other employee, knows the captivity drill already. There is no requirement to report capture unless you've given critical information.
"I-" he took in a breath. "I didn't say anything, I promise." My patience was starting to wear thin. *"So?"*
"They did, some things, so..." I quietly reached into my pocket and turned on my recorder. Fredrick did not notice as he continued. "I might need a few days off."
"What did they do?" I asked, trying to remain as calm and friendly as possible. The news will love this.
Fredrick looked down at the ground, and I almost regretted asking. "First, they-"
"Please be specific," I cut him off. "Who's they?"
Fredrick nodded and continued. "Duke and Moonhead captured me. Their interrogation was simple at first, and I thought that I'd be released if I just refused to answer. But um... That didn't happen. After I refused, they..." He began to list off the things the two heroes did over the course of 48 hours, all while being recorded. Once he finished, I thanked him and gave him a 14-day paid vacation before dismissing Fredrick from my office. Then I reached over to the phone and dialed Pentagon's Court, the company that sponsors and endorses registered heroes.
"Hello," the answering bot said. "If you are seeking help, please hang up and dial 664 for emergency services. If you would like to make a report on suspicious activ-" I dialed the extension for the supervising manager.
"Hello?"
"Duke," I said. "How are you?" He paused. "Da- Arvid. What do you want." Cold rage filled my veins at the audacity to speak so disrespectfully after the crimes he'd commited.
"We at The Avian Chapter of The International Organization of Political Villainy are delighted to inform you and the rest of Pentagon's Court that we will be reporting to the public of your recent activities. The Avian Chapter will be requesting a public investigation and The Avian Chapter is excited to announce that the head of The Feline Chapter of TIOPV, the head of the Bovine Chapter of TIOPV, and the head of The Phantom Chapter will be joining us right here in town for the foreseeable future. I thank you for your time and it is recommended that you only share this announcement with your peers and any superior officers at your organization." I hung up without waiting for a response.
Through all the corporate jargon, the message to my son was clear.
*You fucked up and there will be consequences, you morally twisted little shit.*
|
"And...Why...are you here?" said the monotone voice as the young woman entered the room.
"Well. for one, I work here boss" replied the young woman who knew little of what had happened earlier.
"Really? How sure are you of that Ms.Pherson" said the voice as he still couldn't care to raise his head from his everyday paperwork.
"I'd say 99, after all, I am one of the top performers in the last quarter, aren't I?"
All the man could muster was a slight chuckle as the words "When was the last time you checked the boards Janet?"
"I...But why?"
The pen had come to an abrupt stop, as the head that was almost parallel to his paperwork rose up ever so slowly.
No words came out of him as he just stared at her with a deadpan look on his face
"What position am I in now? But there was a huge gap between me and that Jillin"
"I even stopped a robbery just now"
"You know what? I beat up a bunch of guys who wouldn't leave that old woman across my street alone"
Ms.Pherson couldn't help but blurt out sentences one after the other.
"..And these bunch of guys" said the voice "were they, by any chances, part of the hero syndicate?"
Pherson couldn't help but think. "Could be", she said "they weren't in uniforms"
"Not one I'd recognize anyway"
The voice had a slightly irritated tone now "Do you know why we do what we do?"
"We may be bad guys, or villains as the general public may call us but one thing we never do is to interfere in the other guys' business"
"And now, the reason you're **57th** on the leaderboard"
"57?" Pherson shouted in horror
"But that's only 3 places away from being relegated to Class C"
"And all it took was one phone call from the syndicate" said the voice
"We may be the bad guys to the world. But we do, what we do, because we have faith in what we do is right"
"We merely traverse on the other side of the grey area called morality"
"Now to you they may be the bad guys, but to me, they are just my friends on the other side of a metaphorical town"
"To be honest, all the syndicate wanted was a stern warning to you and a token apology"
"But if the tables were reversed, I'd want more and that's why you're 57th"
Ms.Pherson was visibly disturbed now.
"Well, thank you L, I appreciate it. It won't happen again"
A slight grimace appeared on L's face as he said "I know Ms.Pherson"
"Oh, and you'll be helping the old lady from now for the next six months"
"That should be enough time for introspection" he said as his head moved back down for his eyes to meet the paperwork.
| 2021-03-22T10:42:57 | 2021-03-22T08:05:28 | 45 | 22 |
[WP] Scientists have created an "opposite machine" that can create an opposite to any item that you put inside. After trying just a few items you begin to realize just how much power this machine has.
|
Cats into dogs, blue into red, life into death. This was the most powerful machine in existence, and one small mistake could destroy all of it.
&#x200B;
"What the hell is your problem with that thing??? You've been messing with it for hours."
"You do not seem to comprehend the sheer power that can be obtained with this machine. Your fragile mind is clearly unable to understand the complexities that are at work right now."
"Mike, fuck OFF!! I get that you're some snooty scientist, but this is too damn far. You killed the neighbors dog."
"I did not. I simply transformed it into its opposite."
"I DON'T FUCKING CARE!!!! THAT FUCKING DOG IS GONE AND ITS YOUR FAULT."
"Daniel, please. You cannot blame me for requiring subjects to test upon. Continue like this, and you may be my next."
"You are a fucking monster."
&#x200B;
Daniel walked out of the room, scared for his life and all that he holds dear. But Michael had bigger plans with the machine. He began work, creating a vacuum chamber within the compartment. If everything were to go to plan, well... the world would have to wait and see.
&#x200B;
Michael began fine tuning the device. Different settings, different ways to get the "opposite" of what he required. Say, you could get the opposite species, or the opposite gender, or the opposite instincts. Flavor, weight, color, it was all technically possible. It took time and effort, but all that was not misplaced. But as he went on, Michael began to wonder to himself.
&#x200B;
"These dials surely need testing. Surely... Surely Daniel would be a good test subject? Maybe I could take his idiocy, and turn it into ideas. Great ideas. Big ideas. Good ideas. Maybe he can finally see the same stars the I do, the same stars that I reach for. Yes... Yes, it must be done. I do hate to test on a human, but when push comes to shove, all is right in the name of science."
&#x200B;
And so Michael walked downstairs. He planted several devices in the walls, and while Daniel was sleeping, he injected a chip into Daniel's neck. Everything was going to plan. The very next morning, as Michael watched tentatively, Daniel sat in his armchair. He wasn't sure if it would even work at this point, but it would not matter. He heard the small beep that meant the machine was online. This is it. This has to be it.
&#x200B;
And he heard a scream. A scream of agony, as Daniels body contorted in ways Michael thought impossible. The bloodied cries of agony rattled through his ears. And yet, he let the torture continue. After what felt like hours, the screaming died down. And Michael walked in to see the same Daniel he always knew. But something was wrong.
&#x200B;
"Good evening, Michael dear. I was required to confiscate this horrid contraption you've set up here. I had my screams of pain on loop while I did this. It seems you aren't as smart as you say you are. You see, I have finally been freed from my stupidity. I understand now. That's why you made this little vacuum chamber here. Your final experiment."
&#x200B;
"Daniel please. Do not press the button. You know exactly what it will do."
&#x200B;
"You knew what would happen when you pressed the button that made my brain turn inside out. And I know exactly what will happen when I push this button. Watch as your useless little science experiment turns absolutely nothing, into absolutely everything."
&#x200B;
*...click.*
|
"I could bore you to death explaining the technology that went into making this, but let's just say, no expense was spared and no technological rock was left unturned in developing the Opposite Machine."
The room rose in an approving murmur, clearly impressed but still just as confused by the scientist's words.
"What, precisely, is function of this 'Opposite Machine?'" a man asked from the front row of the assembly. Heads turned from the question-asker back to the scientist, all clearly wondering the same thing.
Without saying a word, the scientist moved across the stage floor to the front of the machine and pulled a red cube from his pocket. He placed it on the conveyor belt and pulled a lever, sending a thrumming through the floor and a high-pitched squeal into the air.
A moment later and a bell chimed. From the other end of the machine, a red ball dropped and rolled to the floor. The scientist rushed and picked it up, showing it to the room.
"The machine successfully analyzes its subject and provides a contextual opposite, a polar inverse, a perfect contrast!" His proclamation was well-rehearsed and confident, leaving the room speechless. Though, in his dress rehearsal he imagined they might be clapping, or throwing roses. The crowd seemed more puzzled than delighted.
" Practical applications!" The scientist announced, dropping the ball and marching across the room. From a box, he retrieved a dead mouse. Dangling it by its tail, he swung the tiny corpse for all the room to see, causing the entire front row to flinch.
He placed the dead mouse on the conveyor belt and activated the machine. "One thing I should mention," he spoke over the pulsating mechanism, "you must always set the context dial to low settings, otherwise..." and he shrugged, pantomiming... A monster? An explosion? Not even he was sure. But it couldn't have been good.
The machine stopped and a live mouse jolted from the other end and rushed into the crowd, sending men and women alike recoiling with fear.
This one seemed to do the trick, as several stood up and offered applause, prompting their colleagues to do the same. Still no roses, however. What else could he show them? What would really deliver that WOW factor?
"Doctor, can you elaborate on the upper limits of the context dial?" a man from the crowd asked.
"Yes, of course. You see, 'opposite' doesn't have a natural context. Physical laws do not draw these types of distinctions. The Opposite Machine pulls from our collective human history and algorithmic thought patterns to create what it believes to be 'opposite.' A low dial setting might only change the color. A medium dial setting might change molecular composition. A high dial setting might open a wormhole as the machine collapses reality inside itself."
There was a sober silence in the room. The scientist felt the skin around his tight collar become very warm in that moment. This was a tough crowd to please, that's for sure. Perhaps another demonstration will do the trick.
"Not to worry, I've saved the best for last!" The frantic man rushed to a side room and led a man out by the arm. "I'd like you all to meet Roger. He's a blind man."
The crowd gasped and groaned.
With some assistance, he laid the man down on the machine. "Now we will adjust the dial ever so subtly, gifting this man with the ability to see!" He turned the dial and pulled the lever. The blind man went in one end.
And the rest of the solar system went in the other.
| 2021-11-27T23:03:05 | 2021-11-27T20:34:21 | 113 | 77 |
[WP] You are a terrible human being, you only do bad things. But that's because your plan is going to hell and killing Satan.
|
A golden sun, framed by wispy and delicate clouds adrift in a deep azure sky. Something had gone terribly wrong.
"Welcome, John," he said.
White robes. Long beard. Definitely *not* the guy I was looking for.
"Ahh yes," he smiled, and took a step forward. With gentle hands he rested his palm on my forehead for a moment, and I could *feel* him experience all of my life at once. Every moment I was ever alone, every dark thought, every choice I ever made and all of the indescribable feelings in my mind that influenced them.
All of them experienced in an instant.
"Oh John," his face contorted in horror. "What have you *done*?"
"I stole, I lied, I killed," I rubbed a hand along my arm, taking comfort that my tattoos were still there. *MERC 169*, *INREMEDIABILIS*, a half-dozen skulls...
"Indeed. You are a sinner, through and through," his eyes turned dark and the skies followed. "And you know perfectly well what we do with sinners."
"And *you* know that I'm counting on it," my muscles began to clench, wary of what could happen next. And somehow, despite having no need for a pulse up here, my heart thumped loudly in my skull. "So what am I still doing here?"
"I want to give you a choice."
My eyes narrowed. "I've already *made* my choice."
"You can choose," he continued, "to start over. To live your life again, peacefully this time. You can take all of the knowledge of your choices back with you, and live them all a second time." His eyes softened. "You can *save* her this time."
My body softened. For the first time, in what felt like forever, my mind stopped *aching*, like all of the drive and fury and anger in my heart had finally forgiven me.
I could get used to this.
"Why me?" I asked. "How could *I* of all people have earned this?"
"Heaven has no need for soldiers," he said. "And the best way to cheat the Devil is to refuse to see him."
*Like all of the drive and fury and anger in my heart was gone*. My hands trembled. The pain was gone, but so was the drive. So was the *purpose*. A soul, *adrift* in the heavens, without a breeze to sail on. A mere taste of *eternity*.
Rage was painful. Rage was corrosive. But Rage was *comfortable*.
"Send me back," I said.
He sighed in relief. "Thank you, John."
"Send me back," I continued, "so that I may train again. So that I can build an even *stronger* body, a *sharper* mind, and a resolve that won't be *tempted* by this petty bargain." A savage grin carved itself across my face. "Send me back until even *you* can't find reason to save me."
For a moment, his face froze. He seemed surprised, confused. *Disappointed*.
"I cannot let you go back. You are unfit for that world."
Lightning arced across the heavens, and the soft breeze turned to fiery sleet.
"I will let you go to Hell. And though they are rage, brutal, and without mercy - you will be *worse*."
Flames licked at the edge of my vision. My head began once more to throb, and my heart filled itself once more with anger. Fury. Rage.
"And in your eons of conflict, for every horrible soul that you claim, for every mighty demon that falls by your hand, you will never find peace where you are going."
I could feel it wrapping itself around me. Soon I was encased within unyielding exotic metals, armor for the future battles to come.
"I can think of no worse punishment for your sins, John."
But my heart was still alight with ravenous flame, and I could not heed his warnings.
"Rip and tear, until it is done."
|
I’ve spent a life killing. From my first kill to my suicide, but for what? Why do I commit such awful crimes? What is my cause? My mission is to kill Satan.
From a young age we are all told it’s wrong to kill. Every religion tells us so and for those who commit the atrocious sin it’s a one way trip to Hell. And that’s what I want. From the age of seven Satan would visit me every night. He would torment me and curse me. By age ten I had worked out my plan. Be as evil as possible in this life and once I die, go to Hell and finally kill Satan. My first experience of death was with my grandfather. Aged eleven I was alone with him in his hospital bed. He had terminal lung cancer and I remembered hearing my mother say he only had another month or two left. It was simple really. Nothing fancy. Just a pillow over his face. No one even noticed. The excitement of killing and the rush of getting away with certainly did not wear off.
That’s how I started my life of sin and eternal damnation. After grandfather, killing became an addiction, however I never got to reckless. My early kills were often years apart. I would volunteer to visit lonely old people at their houses and when they slept I would smother them.
At this point you may be asking why I was doing this if I did not even know Satan was real, but I knew. It’s just that no one else understands.
Anyway back to the story. By eighteen I had killed ten people and not been caught. I decided it was time to pay Satan a visit but I wanted to go out bloody. Something I hoped would impress Satan. To cut a long story short a battered a homeless person to death with a brick and then hopped of a bridge offing myself.
When I woke up I was in a white waiting room, sat on a metal chair. I looked towards the empty reception desk. Above it a sigh read, ‘Welcome to Purgatory. Please proceed through the gates of judgment. Have a lovely day’. I then proceeded towards the only door in the room which had a small sign saying, ‘Gates of Judgment’. I twisted the warm copper handle and went on in.
On the other side I found myself in an office, with red walls and a large mahogany desk.
‘Oh, hello. I didn’t see ya there.’ Said a voice. Satan then entered the office, his hooves clicking on the floor as he wandered towards the desk.
‘Please have a seat,’ he said kindly as he looked at his computer, ‘make yourself at home. Now then guest 1045683578 you’re in here for multiple murders. I like your work.’
‘Thank you?’ I said confused. At this point I was more confused at how timid Satan was rather than the fact he was congratulating me for murder.
‘Will you follow me,’ he said, ‘I just need to unlock the gates of Hell for you so that you can begin your eternal suffering’. I followed him, but as I passed the desk I saw my opportunity. I picked up pitch fork balanced against the desk. Satan bent down to unlock the gates. I raised his pitch fork high. His head began to turn. I plunged it down into his neck. His body crumpled onto the floor. I began to stab repeatedly until his hooves stopped shaking.
And that’s my story. I killed Satan with his own pitch fork in his own office and now I’m stuck here. I’ve actually had to do some of his work for him with the new ‘guests’. I don’t even think that anyone’s noticed he’s gone.
I do hope someone got his email and I look forward to hearing from you.
Many thanks,
Mr Smith, killer of Satan.
| 2018-10-13T14:02:17 | 2018-10-13T13:40:30 | 246 | 68 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
**FOR THOSE WHO WANTED A SECOND PART!!** [Here's part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Necromorphs/comments/5zt7d0/the_calling_part_2/)
My parents had insisted on a party. They said it was tradition and invited aunts and uncles and cousins from gods knew where, half of the people I had never seen in my life.
Quite a feat, since the Splitting of the States, border control has been hell. Getting from one sector of the country to another requires paperwork, headaches, and a whole lot of background checks.
My best friend had taken the day off of his job to spend the day with me. He was happy, incredibly happy, on his eighteenth birthday two months ago had revealed LIBRARIAN as his Calling. Nobody was surprised, he had had a love for books his whole life.
**11:56am**
The room is getting quieter now, eyes on me expectantly. I've been silent for the last ten minutes, anxiety biting behind my ribcage like a rabid animal. I look at my arm, hand clenching and unclenching.
**11:58am**
"Don't worry," mom says. "This is who you are. We love you, no matter what."
My father nods beside her and I look at them with a smile. The SCIENTIST and the NOVELIST. I grew up in my father's stories, and I wish that he could tell the end of this one.
**12:00pm**
Nothing. The air in the room is like a vacuum, sucked in with an almost comically collective gasp.
I don't look up. I stare at my arm, the vision around going fuzzy with my concentration.
'Anything,' I plea. 'Anything but nothing.'
**12:01pm**
My mother starts frantically prodding at my arm. There are whispers and I can't meet anybody's eye. My best friend looks at me with pity, curiosity, fear.
**12:02pm**
It starts as a dull itch, a burn deep beneath the skin. I resist the urge to scratch and my sudden movement, drawing my arm close, attracts the attention of my family.
Slowly, mercifully, the word appears.
*LEADER*
Cheers start and I'm pounded on the back so hard that I think I'll have internal bleeding. LEADERS are the elite, the government. I might be able to make a difference in this hell hole.
**12:03pm**
My mother freezes mid hug, eyes locked onto my arm. I think for a second that she's having another Mother Breakdown, but then she whispers.
"What the fuck?"
My blood runs cold and I don't want to look at my arm. My mother had never cursed in front of me. But I know I have to look.
The word has expanded to word(s). My jaw drops. The sound disappears and I fear I might pass out.
*LEADER OF THE REBELLION*
|
Everyone stood around. My mom was the most excited while my dad just hung around in the background talking to my Uncle Paul. Several friends from high school were hanging back all waiting for my word to appear.
My mom had "Caregiver" on her wrist and was both a nurse and a mother like no other. My dad had "Builder" and had spent his life as a carpenter. Me, I had no idea what I wanted to do and was waiting for my word to guide me. Everyone gathered around as the countdown started to noon on the clock on the computer.
I looked at my wrist, both of them out as this was the place most likely for their words to appear. At exactly noon the word "Teacher" appeared on my right wrist and a cheer went up around the room. There were congratulations all around and my heart had sank. I would spend my life in front of a classroom? I didn't want that at all, I had always been a private person.
The next afternoon I was taking a shower when I gasped, another word had appeared on my opposite wrist, an almost perfect reflection of the other word. I suddenly realized I was a freak as I stared at the word, "Author". I did an internet search and there were no other recorded cases of multiple words appearing on a person outside of sci fi and fantasy novels.
I dressed in long sleeves and began avoiding people, even as my mother ordered me brochure after brochure from the best teaching colleges. I would probably receive a scholarship on the appearance of that word alone, she said convinced. She noted something wrong but I couldn't tell her that the next day the third word appeared, this time on my right side, "Explorer" or that on the fourth day another word appeared, "Thinker".
Over the upcoming months I barricaded myself in my room as word after word appeared covering more and more of my flesh. My mother would ask me what was wrong as she left plates of food at my door and fetched empty ones later. Three months later I looked at myself in the mirror. A naturally tattooed freakish dictionary written across my skin from head to toe. Ninety-nine words defined me as my father busted down the door. I heard his gasp as he gazed upon the naked flesh of his only daughter.
As my mother entered the room I heard her gasp and she began crying, dropping to her knees she bent to the ground sobbing. I turned to the mirror to see the 100th and I knew final word that had appeared directly in the center of my forehead. It read simply, "Savior". Naked I smiled, naked I went forth.
| 2017-03-15T20:33:55 | 2017-03-15T17:54:01 | 5,607 | 1,085 |
[WP] A magical medieval fantasy empire frequently invades inferior, magic-less dimensions for easy conquest. This time though, they target the modern day technologically advanced Earth.
|
Their initial attack took us by surprise. Portals appeared on the outskirts of a large town, that was quickly overtaken by the aggressors. Brutish, savage humanoids in chainmail, hacking at anything and anyone, followed by robed figures throwing fireballs. And dragons, as well as many more warriors, more disciplined than the vanguard, but no less merciful as they cut down people begging for their lives.
Recon footage showed that they reveled in celebration at their quick victory, establishing a base for more creatures to come through. Believing themselves superior, they took their time. Raiding parties ventured forth, but the surrounding area had already been evacuated. Those who went too far were quickly taken out.
When our counterattack came, they formed ranks, brutes in front, tightly packed infantry formations behind. Large beasts scattered amongst them and the dragons took to the air. They were torn to shreds as our missiles hit them. Charred husks fell to the ground, some hitting their own troops, then the artillery barrage hit.
They were sitting ducks as the artillery shells burst into fragments in their formations. The brutes began their charge as some of the mages attempted to cast spells. Fireballs flew towards our entrenched positions but evaporated before they hit us. Magic barriers appeared above portions of the army to little effect. The few brutes who escaped the barrage were picked off by snipers and heavy automatic fire.
The remnants of the shattered army broke and began a panicked rout, as gunships and armored vehicles roared across the battlefield in pursuit. In the end, most were killed except the few who surrendered. Intelligence were keen to interogate them, maybe we could learn their secrets to open portals of our own?
|
"First reported sightings of what seems to be large armies of men and monsters in the Yukon. The Canadian government demands a summit at the U.N to discuss this issue after they ravaged through the territories of Nunavut, Yukon, and the Northwestern Territories and are now bearing their jaws at the prairie provinces of Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba. More at 9."
"I told you this was going to happen!" A conspiracy theorist screams aloud when interviewed on a different news channel, forcing them to cut off the broadcast early to try and calm him down
Sightings on social media of what appears to be dragons hiding in the clouds of the U.K, setting the quaint villages and countryside ablaze with sun scorching fire and fury.
Mountains and volcanoes in Asia were being carved out into the shape of giants, terrorising local populace. Even setting off a nuclear power plant in Japan.
There were riots in the streets, all over the globe. Begging for the governments and global powerhouses of the world to stop fighting and bickering and to focus on the threat at hand.
There were no times for summits, meetings, or petty arguements between men. Now was the time to take action and fight, with everyone's back against the wall.
For there was nothing to lose, as all of our world's came crashing down and burned in front of our eyes.
(Maybe a part two?)
| 2021-06-25T22:42:36 | 2021-06-25T21:49:14 | 136 | 31 |
[WP] You’re born always knowing what percent through your life you are. While walking to work you catch a shimmer of light in the sky. Your progress skips from 19% to 85%.
|
It had all started on my 15th birthday. I’d been walking to school, as usual, when the glimmer of a dancing neon sign caught my eye. Involuntarily, I turned, the tiniest flick of the eyes, such a small twitch for the catastrophe that followed.
In that instant, just the blink of an eye, my life bar glitched upward from 19&#37; indicating a comfortable death at the age of 78, to 85&#37; indicating a tragic demise at 17. Horrified, I glared in disbelief at the dancing neon sign.
A camel grinned back at me, galloping in front of a cartoonish desert scene, smoking a cigarette. “Camels, the cigarettes for traveling,” the sign read.
I broke out into a sweat, it couldn’t be so simple, something as basic and predictable as a smoking\-related death, I thought to myself. Not even heroin killed that quickly.
I stumbled along the path, heart racing, eyes flitting back and forth in frantic calculation, confusion and helplessness dogging me the whole way.
I resolved never to even try smoking. I resisted the peer pressure all through the lazy days of 9th and 10th grades. I wouldn’t even drink at parties, much less try any of the harder stuff my friends were getting into. I started eating things called ‘superfoods,’ working out at the gym, drinking probiotic yogurts; but that 85&#37; just kept progressing indelibly forward, refusing to cede to my efforts.
As my 17th birthday came and went, a panic began to build in me. I developed a sort of paranoia, refusing to go out, to stay away from the pollution, turning away friends to avoid tragic diseases like mono, duct\-taping my windows closed to keep out mosquitoes carrying horror\-show maladies like zika and encephalitis. I had my parents slip food in through a special slot on my thrice\-padlocked door, which I then microwaved for 30 minutes to ensure even the most resilient of E.Coli would be obliterated. Everything in my room was wrapped in pillows to avoid tragic falling injuries.
But still, my number marched forward.
As I passed 99&#37;, and the turning of the clock showed no sign of slowing, the fears began to take control of all reason. Maybe it was a genetic sickness, something the doctors never checked for. Maybe my immune system was spiraling into chaos at the lack of working against infections in the air and from company. Maybe it was some organs shutting down from lack of nutrition in my diet.
Thinking about it, I could taste the scurvy in my gums, I could feel the iron deficiencies in my liver, I saw the signs of my kidneys shutting down. I pounded on the door.
“MOM!” I shouted, frantic with fear. “Mom, I need fresh blueberries! I need organic spinach! I need activated almonds! I need raw kale!”
Sweat was pouring down my brow. So, this was how I died, not from smoking but from a stupid vitamin C deficiency. It was so obvious now, the signs plain as day.
The slot on my door opened, my mother’s eyes looked in, tearful and concerned. “Honey, what’s wrong? Here, take these. Honey, won’t you\-\-” she paused, collecting her voice, “won’t you come out? You look so sick.”
Eyes wild in my desperation for salvation, I snatched the raw Kale out of her hands and fell onto it with rabid frenzy. They said sailors could feel the vitamin C as soon as they bit into an orange. Could I feel it now? I couldn’t tell, I must be able to feel it, in my gums, in my liver, in my\-\- I froze in horror.
I let out a disbelieving laugh, then one more, but no air came back. A huge chunk of half chewed, raw Kale was lodged in my throat. I pounded away desperately on my chest with my fists, but nothing. I tried jumping and falling onto my chair, but the pillows just rolled me off onto the floor. In a final, desperate play, I stumbled to the door as my vision began to tunnel. I unlocked the first lock. Then the second. Then I fell to the ground, consumed by the blackness.
|
I had just turned eighteen years old a couple of months before. I figured I would live to be about a hundred plus so I wasn't really worried. I mean 19% was only one-sixth of my life, right? I dunno, I'm was never that great at math but I know I figure that I had a lot of living to still to do.
My plans were to avoid any potential dangers along the way because, frankly, living another seventy years or so would suck if I spent it in a coma, ya know? Then I felt the light first. Its hard to describe how you can feel light but then I turned and saw the twinking flash high above me. At first I thought it was a nuke going off like in that video game I play but when I wasn't vaporized a minute later I realized it was fine.
After a minute of confusion I looked at my percentage meter and the ground seemed to fall out from under me. How in he hell had it jumped to 85%? Shit. I didn't have a calculator but my math told me I'd be dead sometimes next year! What had just happened to change my meter so drastically.
I started to make plans. I'd have to get some drugs and find a hooker. If I were going out very soon then I was going to have fun on the way out. I wonder if I could pay...
"Michael Ellington?" a voice asked from behind me and I think my percentage meter jumped to 87% just hearing it. It hadn't but damned if I didn't nearly jump into traffic.
I turned and looked into the blue-est (is that a word?) eyes I'd ever seen. "Yeah," I asked, confused as to who, or what, stood before me, "What a-are you?"
"I am a djinn," she said, "I'm sorry to startle you like this. Someone made a wish, you see?"
"Someone made a wish?" I asked, obviously confused.
"Yeah," she replied, ghostly hair wavering in the still city air as if there were some unearthly wind blowing, "She wished for me to bring her her soul mate. Unfortunately for you it's you. Also unfortunately, you were born seventy years before she made the wish."
"So I have to go into the future?" I asked, my brain slowly calibrated to the new situation, "That doesn't sound too bad. I bet they have really good video game systems then."
"Yeah," the djinn said wispily, "Pretty good. Unfortunately," she continued and I was beginning to hate that word, "I cannot adjust your life span." She pointed to my meter.
"I don't want to go!" I protested, "This is unfair!"
"Dude," she said shrugging helplessly, "It's a wish. I *have* to fulfill it, I'm a djinn. The wisher never realizes how much these things inconvenience others."
"Losing 90% of my lifespan is more than inconvenience," I protested weekly.
"Well," she stated, "Are you ready?"
Before I could answer reality sort of slipped and swirled around me and I stood there. I stood in the country side and looked at the woman that stood before me. She was roughly my age and was smiling endearingly. My heart melted then my brain focused on the tentacles coming from her back.
"I'm sure he'll be delicious," she said then giggled at the look of confusion, "Oh, don't worry. You'll really enjoy breeding with me. Since we Darloss only get to do it once I wanted it to be with someone special *and* tasty."
"W-what's going on?" I asked the djinn who was floating there with a sorry look on her face.
"Darloss are an alien species," she shrugged, "They arrived on Earth ten years ago. They only mate once and like spiders..." She couldn't finish.
I looked at my meter. It now read 99.9999%.
| 2018-05-07T05:40:43 | 2018-05-07T05:12:51 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] A man makes a deal with the Devil, and the Devil refuses to take it.
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"Seriously?"
"Yes, Mr. Satan, er, your devilness, sir."
"Just Satan, please. Let me make sure I've got everything. You."
"Me."
"You. Want to trade me. Your immortal soul. For a McDonalds number 3 combo."
"Yep. That's my offer."
"So what's the catch?"
"No catch. I'm just out of gas and super starving."
"You want me, fallen angel extraordinaire, king of Hell, outcast of Heaven and the baddest motherfucker you'll ever meet, to buy your soul with a Quarter Pounder with Cheese and fries?"
"Yessir."
"You know what?"
"What's that?"
"I like you, son. You and I are going to be best buddies. Keep your soul. I want to see what other stupid things you'll use it for."
|
"I summon thee, Satan!" John chanted. He had been doing this ritual for what seemed like hours,but was really just minutes of him hallucinating and unconsciously continuing the dark incantation.
Fire burst forth, and Satan appeared in the summoning circle, prompting John to come out of trance. "You have summoned me, mortal. What puny demand would you make of me?"
John smiled and lit his cigarette. "My soul... For yours."
The Devil, enraged, stepped on the incense circle, and broke the summoning spell.
"Damned Constantine."
| 2014-12-03T13:47:10 | 2014-12-03T12:14:09 | 103 | 50 |
[WP] "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" A serial killer's latest victim doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
Edit: Everyone's takes on this situation are so different and awesome.
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I don't fucking get this guy. Is he just simple? Does he not care? Does he even know what's going on? We've been here for an hour and gotten nowhere.
"Yeah, you will I bet! You're probably better at whatever game you have then me. You'll probably win." he says, glancing at an old Xbox in the corner. His dull blue eyes seem to light up when they see the system. "But I'm not sure how I'm supposed to play while handcuffed to this chair."
I shake my head as I walk across the room behind him, returning with a red bundle in my hand. I pull up a small table, and unroll the bundle on the table. It contains my assortment of "tools of the trade" so to speak. Scalpels, scraping hooks, and a few devices that would only be recognizable to medieval history buffs.
"I haven't played this one before!" The guy pipes up, sounding excited. "How do we play?"
"I... uh. Well, I'm going to use these tools on you. You know, to kill you."
"Sounds like fun!" he exclaims. "Then after that we switch and I go, right?"
I put my head in my hands. "Are you fucking kididng me?" I mutter. I look up at him, stare him in the eyes. "You have got to be the st-"
I hear them now, in the distance. Sirens. They are getting louder. I cross to the window and pull the blinds back. I see them at the end of my street, turning, coming. Police cars. Lots of them. I start to turn, to get my tools and get the hell out. Put this poor bastard out of his misery first. Will only take a second.
I see a flash of light, I'm on the floor, my head is ringing, and I taste blood. The room above me swims into focus. That idiot is standing over me, Holding onto a glass bottle he had picked up from somewhere. His eyes look a lot less dull now. They're full of a calculating intelligence.
"Yeah the handcuffs? I picked those a long time ago." He holds up his left arm, the handcuff still around his wrist, the other end dangling freely. Open.
I heard my front door splinter open, the sounds of voices and boots move through my home.
"I wore a tracker here. We figured you'd be looking for a new target. I fit the profile. We also knew you liked to talk. Explain everything to your victims. Make them realize fully what was happening. You get off on the 5 stages of grief. I just had to keep you talking until the cavalry arrived."
The door to our room burst open, flashlights swept the room and I was quickly surrounded.
"So what?" I asked. "Now I go to jail, get three square meals a day? Men like me do very well in prison."
"Oh no." Said my captive turned captor. "You resisted arrest."
"But I...?" Then it dawned on me. Another officer in SWAT gear stepped forward, took aim, and all went black.
|
*Disclaimer: This is my first one in English ever. And I suck at English (not my native tongue at all). Please be kind while criticising.*
---------------------------------------------------------------
—You... do know I'm about to kill you, right? —I told her.
—Yes, we've already established that, sir. What I fail to grasp is how are we going to cope with the aftermath. There will be lots of cleaning to do.
—Sorry to interrupt you, —I told the girl, while thinking of how preposterous all this had become— but that's *my* problem, not yours. You're gonna be dead.
—OK, OK, but, see, you've come in here with that... that knife. I guess there's going to be lots of blood, all messy, sticky. Oh, and you'll have to take care with your feet, what about leaving footprints and stuff, you know.
—Nothing matters to you if I'm going to kill you.
—You're *not* telling me what matters or not. You're not my mom. And speaking of that, knife and all, you're nicer than my mom. Way nicer.
—No, I'm not. I'm what TV series call "a serial killer". I'm not Mr. Right Guy. I'm not nice. I come and kill you, right? I'm a killer, a murderer.
—Now you're being redundant. You're repeating yourself.
—Oh, the irony... What you just said, ***THAT*** is the biggest fucking redundancy of all! That's the *mother of all redundancies!*, —I lost my shit there. Not only this young lady was oblivious to what was coming, she was quite obnoxious as well.
—You're not well. I'll make you some tea. With scones. I have scones.
—No, you're not. You're going to die.
—Aren't we all, pal?
—I'm not your pal. I'm your final fate.
—Oooooohhhh. Now that's *deep!*
—Are you being sarcastic on me?
—Nah, just joking. Now, where were we?
—We were in the part where you can't fully grasp that I am going to kill you, to end your life.
—Still redundant, I see. Can't get that off of you.
---------------------------------------
—It went like this, I tell you. And it was then that I said "i'm the fuck outta here", slammed the door shut, went for a walk, and chose this new victim randomly, a saner one, detective.
---------------------------------
.
.
*Edit: "most fucking redundancy" for "biggest fucking redundancy". English is not easy!*
| 2015-04-29T08:09:13 | 2015-04-29T07:57:35 | 974 | 134 |
[WP] You wake up to a knock at your window at three in the morning. You open the blinds to see a giant, horrifying mothman-esque creature. It presses it’s face up against the glass and says “Bro, let me in. I’m a fairy.”
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It's amazing what you'll take at face value when you're rudely awakened in the middle of the night. Still in that haze where you're not quite asleep, but really wish you still were, you know?
In that state, can you really blame me for opening the window?
So there I was, wearing nothing but a dressing gown, squinting at this big blurry insect person (my glasses were still on the bedside table. Didn't even occur to me that I'd need them when I heard a tapping at my window).
"Hey man, thanks for opening that window. You can trust me, I'm a fairy- humans like fairies, right?" He spoke in an oddly high pitched voice, twitching slightly as the flood of words came out. Weird accent, too. Kind of like a cowboy, southern USA style.
"Uhh, yeah, sure," I mumbled, still pretty out of it to be honest. Operating on pure instinct, I wandered through to the kitchen, put the kettle on- I guess the creature, whatever it was, took that as an invitation. Following me through the corridor, big moth wings sweeping pictures off the walls in a chorus of "THUD! Sorry!"
You can probably imagine the sheer awkwardness of the silence while we both waited for the kettle to boil. Maybe I should have been afraid, but there was something about the moth man that put me at ease. Maybe because he seemed to feel just as weird about it as me, shifting his weight across six insectoid legs and avoiding eye contact. Once the tea was made, and I was properly awake, I decided to delicately broach the subject.
"What the fuck? You're a goddamn... what the fuck? Are you meant to be mothman? Why are you here?? What the fuck?"
In hindsight, I probably could have taken it better when my reserves of denial ran dry. Can you blame me?
The mothman certainly could, his body language radiated a sense of wounded decorum.
"I am a faerie, actually. Legally speaking. And I'd thank you not to use the term 'Mothman'; it's pretty fucking rude, actually!"
Have you ever been called out on your etiquette by a cryptid? I took a deep gulp of tea, the heat radiating through my gut, as the faerie continued.
"I'm here about the advert you posted, in the newsagents window? Roommate needed, rent split 50/50?"
|
"I can't catch a break." Linda said to herself as she opened the window, "Come on in." She went to her and pulled a bathrobe out and cover almost naked body. Her breast weren't big enough to justify a bra at night, and she was on her cycle. Another inconvenience of the moment. "So what's the deal?"
"I want to file an official complaint with the Nature Preservation Society of New Jersey. " The mothman said shaking glittery dust out itself.
"Otherside beings can't file civil cases. And if this group is a government establishment then you're more likely to get Otherside Affairs involved than get any results." Linda had made her way to the kitchen and produced two glass of wine. She offered one to mothman.
Taking the glass and sipping it mothman added, "I'm filling with the backing of a human organization."
Linda sighed so deeply her soul almost left her body. Yeah, a human group could basically loaned their rights to an Otherside being if they had valid justification, but the whole process was a massive pain. She knew all to well being she was one of the best lawyers that handled fairy issues, even though she herself was mundane. "What organization and on what grounds?"
"The History Preservation Society of New Jersey. We wish to stop the destruction of a lighthouse."
Linda's face twisted into a scowl and all her weariness evaporated away from the anger in her stomach. She pointed back to window, "Get the fuck out of my house!"
"But, i need you help."
"Are they in the phonebook? The History Society i mean." Linda asked, "can I find them in the book?" The mothman nodded but couldn't say anything as linda cut him off, "Good. I with call them in the morning. Now out."
Linda nearly threw the moth out the window and closed it. Throwing her robe on the floor and returning to her paradise of a bed Linda was still bitter that she had been woken up to keep a lamp on. "I can't catch a break."
Author notes: short and sweet. Might edit later. With sleep now.
r/worldofdemihumans
| 2022-09-23T03:33:46 | 2022-09-23T03:01:13 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] when we got to space we were surprised to find that all the aliens we come across are terrified of us, when we assure them that we aren’t there to hurt them they explained why they were so scared. Earth isn’t a planet, it’s a long since dead machine and humanity? Humanity is its combat AI.
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They called us biologicals.
The English translation anyway.
Early earth education would frequently teach its young about how to take care of their bodies.
“Your body is a machine. You need to take care of it” teachers would say, with all the gravitas of elder knowledge.
Scientists would study how the human body functions. DNA transcoded from chemical data, into working cells that themselves functioned like little mechanics. “Like a machine”, the scientists would chuckle to themselves, and shake their heads.
Psychologists would study the human mind, where vast amounts of data were stored and processed at higher speeds than most other organic creatures on the planet. They would explore sentience, consciousness, and puzzle over our ability to learn, adapt, and program ourselves from our experience or be programmed. “Like machines”, they would think.
Human beings would go to the stars one day. Something driving us. Some romantics would suggest it had been that way since we were hairy and living in trees. That maybe we pushed ourselves upright and bipedaled’ just so we could stand closer to the stars that we stared at when night fell.
The stars called, and we answered. And historians would mark the day humanity mourned it’s innocence.
We met aliens. Although we were aliens to them.
No fictional media prepared us. It wasn’t like TV shows of intergalactic friendship. It wasn’t like books and movies of war. It was...underwhelming.
They were so slow. They were so weak. They were simple, and gentle, and wrong. Our smallest minds could think faster. Our weakest limbs could hit harder.
And yet...they looked at us in fear, and derision. Though it was humanity that ultimately derided them. We hated them.
How do you deal with being told you were nothing more than an experimental program? Something to fight for the protection of their species, as something like fighting was far beneath beings of their age and intellect. That all our stories of a loving God, preserved in a species wide generic memory, was to make us love them from afar?
That our planet, our poor beloved home, was our mothership? Our motherboard. The cpu, and casing of a planet wide computer. One we tore apart in a pre programmed drive to conquer, to dominate, to survive. We destroyed and loved our home in equal measure, lavishing in its riches while bemoaning the damage we did to it.
How would it feel to be told that every war was a successful test? All that grief and pain. All that sadness, and regret. Self tortured into being better fighters, more efficient killers.
That every death due to illness and old age was a successful deletion of damaged code? That our efforts to combat cancer, disease, and health problem was quite the programming anomaly...we were suppose to just die. Unwanted error codes in a decent program.
Our delusion of free choice was nothing more than a alien version of the Turing test. Every choice meant to further our genetic diversity and strength in combat and intelligence. All of our accomplishments, and our greatest sorrows amounted for a checkmark on an alien Excel sheet and a couple claps on the metaphorical backs of our creators.
And for what? To be forgotten. Relegated to an equally metaphorical back cabinet in a basement of a building foreclosed and demolished eons past. See, they had forgotten us. We didn’t even qualify for more than a sentence in an education data log. We were unneeded. Unwanted. And everything we had been through had been useless.
And when they met us. Even though they feared us and were disgusted by our nature. One they made. Unchecked artificial programs forced to torture themselves and tear their world and people apart in the effort of being the best biological combat AI the galaxy had ever seen. We were everything they wanted. At the time. But conflict was so last eon. Fighting was beneath them, even through a proxy. We were unneeded, we were told. Unwanted. We were informed. It would be best to just delete ourselves. Because ultimately nothing we did...nothing we went through...all the pain and suffering our our race...didn’t matter. And as they went to leave, they still had the gall...
To say they were proud of their work. Their work. In one statement they took everything we had gone through to get this far and claimed it as their own. Everything humanity was, they had as much said was theirs. And they didn’t want us any more.
I’d like to think they were surprised. But they probably never even saw it coming. For beings so intelligent to create our very existence, they didn’t know us at all. They never understood us. Not the people we became. Not who we evolved to be. And they’d never see how we outgrew them.
We destroyed them to the point their ashes would never be star dust, forever forbidden from entering the cycle of death and rebirth in the universe.
And we continue to spread, as good programs do.
May the Code Continue.
|
"Okay, did my translator glitch out? Because it sounds like you just called humans an 'artificial intelligence.'" Captain Perry rubbed his temples - he hadn't expected first contact to be this complicated. The aliens had fled on sight, done everything in their power to avoid being in the same *star system* as the human scout ship. They had to chase an alien ship into a dead-end in the hyperlane network to get a chance to talk, and even then, it made no sense.
"That is what you are. Artificial, and intelligent." The birdlike Pthala had a hollow tone, as if his initial fear had been replaced by helpless despair.
"We're an organic species. Something that evolved like you did. If the xenobiology report is correct we can even eat the same food. What the hell is artificial about that?"
"For a sufficiently advanced species, machines are more than just steel and circuits. While you appear outwardly normal, the seed from which you sprang is unmistakable. Your species is not The Weapon, but it is part of *the weapon system.*"
"The hell does that mean?"
"The planet you originated on. It would have destroyed everything, but the heart of the weapon was ripped out. Only the fragments around it remain, and even those still bring ruin. Remain within and spare us your doom."
The alien backed away from the screen. "We cannot stay here. Do not attempt to stop us. We will fight even The Weapon if we must. Helmsman...!"
The alien ship abruptly closed the connection, and its engines lit up. It made a rapid series of evasive maneuvers before launching at full burn towards the hyperlane.
The captain watched them leave. "I thought he was going to have a heart attack just talking to us. What was all that babble about a weapon?"
He was interrupted by some rather sulfurous swearing from the Science officer. James had a half-dozen holograms floating in front of him and more were appearing every second as he gestured wildly. "Shit. Shit! I know what it is! It all makes sense now!"
"Slow down, Jim. What all makes sense?"
"It's one of the big questions of the space age. Even before we discovered aliens, scientists were wondering "If space travel is easy, why haven't the aliens showed up?" Why hasn't anyone dropped by the Earth to say hello?"
"Well, we got our answer there. It sounds like they're terrified of us for some reason."
"I'm not finished. See, once we got the hyperdrive and started trying to make contact, the new question was "What happened to the Pillar-makers?""
The first sign of alien life humanity had discovered was the Pillars - massive, featureless obsidian towers the length of a battleship. They were dotted around the neighboring solar systems, standing prominently in front of the hyperlanes into the Sol system. But there was nothing living in any of those systems. There was the occasional small ruin or derelict spaceship, but no sign of the species that must have created them. And the elusive aliens would refuse to travel past the Pillars, even when a human ship was chasing them and trying to make contact.
"If we accept his claim that the Earth or the solar system was some kind of weapon, the logical conclusion is that the Pillars are a part of that. Some sort of perimeter defense, given their position. Pair that with the statistically abnormal absence of life, the disparate tech levels of the smaller ruins around them, and..."
"I get it. You're saying the reason nothing is alive in the neighborhood of Sol is because the Pillars killed them."
"And they don't attack us because we're part of the "weapon system." Jesus, from the perspective of the Pthala it must be like we're living in a graveyard."
"Running around asking people if they'd like to come visit our tomb of horrors, maybe hang out in the crypt with the skeletons. No wonder nobody wants to talk with us."
"It's just a theory, mind you. I have a lot of little details to support it, but nobody's really studied this one in depth. We can't exactly crack open the Pillars to see how they tick, and there isn't a lot of reputable research on forgotten alien superweapons."
"Even so, I think there's enough to look into. You tell me where we should look to confirm this theory. In the meantime, I need to figure out how to tell Command that we might be living in the remains of a doomsday device."
| 2020-07-09T08:27:11 | 2020-07-09T08:03:30 | 711 | 99 |
[WP] You walked among them for years knowing they didn't or couldn't see you, but then one of them did, and it was . . .
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Another new family. I watched eagerly out of the window as they arrived. It didn't look hopeful. The little girl couldn't be older than five and they had a dog. I sighed. It's still better than nothing. At least the child and the dog would know I was there. Maybe if I could get the little girl to see me as a friend rather than a threat, they'd stay long enough for the adults to realise I was here. The dog would be more of a problem. Dogs couldn't see or hear me, just sense me. I always scared them. The family were nearing the front door. I might as well welcome them.
I sank through several floors, arriving in the entrance room just as the door opened. The dog whimpered and refused to go beyond the door step. The little girl saw me and hid behind her mother. I curtsied, wanting to be as polite as possible. "Good afternoon. Welcome to my home. I hope you enjoy living here. I am Harriette. I've been here for a long time, you'll probably get to know me well. I apologise about the blood - occupational hazard, being a ghost and all." The girl peeked out from behind her mother. She didn't look so scared now.
I barely noticed though. The father smiled at me. "Hello Harriette. It's a pleasure to meet you. Your home is lovely. My name is Adam. Not to be rude or anything but, why are you here?"
"Well, sir. If it's not too much trouble, I'd quite like to be buried". He smiled kindly and promised to do that as soon as possible. I told him everything he needed to know. I was still in shock. An adult had seen me. Not only had he seen me, he'd wanted to help me.
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The days stopped distinguishing themselves quite quickly. The colours of the train station didn’t sparkle with possibilities like that did when I was a child. They were just the same greys and whites passing past me like a misty rain of metal and electricity.
The sales promotion was supposed to be the next step in an endless ladder of opportunity for me. After 6 years behind the same computer screen I began doubting that. This paid the bills for the rail pass that I needed to get to work. That was my life.
People really don’t realise how personally involved with themselves they are until you’re standing on the outside. You watch the hundreds of faces walk through the coffee shop thinking and talking about their lives, their hopes, their specific flavour of coffee that fits them, all looking for someone to gloat to about how they managed that last pitch.
Nobody knows who you are if you haven’t the story to tell. Haven’t got an anecdote to recall or a whimsical tale to describe. Nothing for you Tommy, get back to work. The way people talk at you. Talk through you with empty eyes.
Well Tommy best be going back to work. Tommy best go to the hardware store and by some rope. Tommy should get out of everybody’s way. I would have been out of the way had the lady cutting the rope not looked up with her deep green eyes and said “What project are you working on”. It wasn’t until then that I realised the answer wasn’t “Myself.”
| 2014-03-29T08:38:36 | 2014-03-29T08:38:33 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You've become an immortal being. Living throughout the ages you begin to notice that the souls of your companions or adversaries reincarnate and always seem to be drawn to you. After countless lifetimes, someone remembers.
Edit: This got so many responses! There's a lot of great post.
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Our eyes locked across the crowded, smoke-filled room of the Kandahar tea house. He sat with a pack of his Bedouin brothers around a hearty meal, while I enjoyed my steaming beverage alone. I instantly recognized him despite his dark skin and smoky eyes; in his last incarnation, he'd been a blond Russian with eyes like the arctic ice. Though external appearances change, the soul peeking through is always a constant. It was the Traveler again.
He bowed as he approached the table, and I gestured for him to sit. Neither of us spoke for a moment, but I could tell he was troubled. "Have our paths crossed before, friend?" he started. "I've met many in my journeys, and I never forget a face. And yours..." Words failed him, and he waved a hand like he could conjure the phrase he was looking for out of thin air. "Do we know each other?"
I sipped my tea. Aye, we'd met many times. I first knew him as Mandan of Thrace, and we served together in the army of Alexander the Great. Even then, his spirit refused to be chained to one place in the world, and so we traveled for many years together. We fought for countless kingdoms as soldiers for hire, never remaining for more than a season's campaigning. Eventually he met his end in a desolate clearing in the Himalayas, and I continued on. Since then, our kindred spirits had met a dozen times and traveled the world over. He had worn many names, so I simply referred to him as the Traveler.
"We may have," I answered.
"This may sound absurd," he whispered with a glance around the room to make sure no one else was listening. "But its like I can see another life. I have distinct memory of you on a whaling ship, somewhere far, far north. Does that...."
His voice trailed off as he saw my astounded expression. *He remembered?* Our last travels together had been in Iceland, on a creaking old blubber hunter. "What else do you remember?" I finally managed to gasp.
We spoke until my tea was chilled and the fires in the hearths died down to embers. The tea room had nearly fallen silent; the few remaining occupants were mostly sleeping over cups of wine. And the Traveler's trading caravan companions had long returned to their camp. He gave me broken fragments of our times together, and I supplied the missing pieces until his mind was made whole again.
We departed in the morning, together once again. I'd forgotten what it was like to be able to speak freely with another person. To tell them of my thousands of years of experiences. To reminisce about our lives together. For the first time in millenia, I was free. In Thrace, he remembered the warrior he had once been. In Constantinople, he knew his life as a wandering scholar and priest. In Volga, his life as a river trader. In Nanjing, as one of the Emperor's closest confidants. A worldwide tour of our past lives.
The Traveler grew old. In exploring the wild frontiers of the Americas, his old joints failed him and he was sent tumbling down a rocky slope. The sickening *crack* of his leg echoed through the canyon. I tried to nurse him back to health, but the gangrene spread after only a few days. I'd almost forgotten that despite the memories, he was still mortal.
He struggled to raise his head to look me in the eyes. Sweat glistened off his skin, and fever clouded his gaze. "In the next life," he wheezed, "let's skip this part of the tour.See you again soon, my friend."
When his breathing stopped and his chest lay still, I closed his eyes for him. "Until next time."
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“You feel like an old soul,” I said teasingly, watching her eyes in the candlelight. They were the same eyes I’d seen under an Egyptian moon, glinting in reflection in the Yang-Tze, huddled close by a bonfire in Nepal, by the same sort of candlelight in France. “I feel as though I’ve known you forever.”
She giggled at that, put a hand to her mouth. My Amelie. My Nilah, my Qian Xi, my Radha, my Marie. Each time she’d grown old and died and been reborn, and I had walked the Earth eternal, seeking her out once more. “That’s a little bit corny,” she said, “though I appreciate the sentiment.”
“It’s more than sentiment,” I told her. “We’ve met a hundred times before. In Egypt we lay together in the thick Nile mud. In China we held hands as we listened to the birds herald spring. In Nepal we died in each others' arms. In France we fed each other chocolate and wine.”
A small frown creased between her brows. A small moment of confusion, hesitation. “How did you recognize me each time?” she said.
“I’ve known you a thousand years. I couldn’t help but recognize you. In Egypt I watched the way your hips moved as you walked to the marketplace. In China I saw the light in your eyes as you watched the cormorants snatch fish from the river. In Nepal I watched the flush in your cheeks as you bundled against the gold. In France I listened to you sing.”
“Michael,” she said, and there was a blush rising in her cheeks. “Let’s pretend I remember. Let’s pretend I remember all of it. A hundred lifetimes, spent with each other. You’re immortal. Did you never get bored?”
“Never,” I said. “You were new every time, spectacular every time. I could learn you for a thousand years and never be fulfilled.”
She shook her head quietly, looking down into her lap. “Michael,” she said, “I do remember. And I know that I’ve met you just once before. Not in the lifetime past, not in a hundred lifetimes before. Just one, and now again.”
I felt a tremor run through me, saw my wine shudder in the glass. “That-that’s not true,” I said.
She reached across and took my hand. “Don’t live in the past,” she said. “That’s death for an immortal. You saw me everywhere you looked, you made those poor women into shadows of me. You met me once, and never knew me. Let’s start anew. We are meeting, as if for the first time.”
I let the glass fall, let it shatter, watched the wine run in rivulets across the floor. “I conquered kingdoms for you,” I said quietly. “I gave up kingdoms for you. I killed for you. I died for you.”
“Not for me,” she said. “For the memory of me. And for yourself. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But I’m here now, and you have to face me as I am. Do you think you can do that, Michael?”
I sat there, my head spinning, my dearest dearest Amelie sitting in front of me, a grand truth, a grand lie. “I don’t know,” I said, and looked into unfamiliar eyes. “But I’m immortal. I’ve got a hundred lifetimes to learn.”
| 2016-08-29T08:06:50 | 2016-08-29T07:56:28 | 305 | 105 |
[WP] Close the biggest plot hole in your favorite book or movie
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"I will go to Mordor, though I do not know the way. Gandalf, could we fly?"
"Yes, Frodo, let's fly. On an eagle. To Mordor. Let's be miles above the ground and the lone object in the sky passing over mountain ranges towards our nemesis who is a giant eye. Even better, let's make sure that we are clinging to a bird that depends on agility in the air to keep it alive or clutched it its talons, which are literally its only weapon."
"So you would go on foot? One does not simply walk into Mordor" roared Boromir, rising to his feet in outrage.
"Better that than caught defenceless in the air by Nazgul! Imagine, Boromir, son of Ecthelion, how long your white city will stand when the ring lies on the broken body of a hobbit fallen in full view of the Dark Lord and smashed upon the plains of Mordor. No, the only way is on foot. We make for the Black Gate."
|
*The Princess Bride*
**Inigo Montoya:** Do you hear that, Fezzik? That is the sound of ultimate suffering. My heart made that sound when Rugen slaughtered my father. The man in black makes it now.
**Fezzik:** The man in black?
**Inigo Montoya:** His true love is marrying another tonight, so who else has the cause for ultimate suffering?
**Fezzik:** What? Hold the fucking phone here. *Where* in the movie did you find out the man in black has a true love? Or even that she’s the one who’s marrying Humperdink? Are you just making this shit up as you go along?
**Inigo Montoya:** (*Shrugs*) The rest of the movie’s so good, maybe no one will notice.
| 2015-03-26T13:38:58 | 2015-03-26T08:02:10 | 28 | 20 |
[WP] The year is 2050, Queen Elizabeth is still on the throne. The public is growing suspicious, wondering why she is immortal.
|
I have always ruled.
No matter what face I wear or what name I go by.
I like my body. So gentle and kind looking. So easy to pass off anything I say as fairy dust.
When I ask for virgins, they are brought to my bathing chamber once a year.
Two virgins are usually enough. Importing virgins is frowned upon. One can't continue to rule England, Space England, and England: The Sequel after bathing in some Parisian virgins blood.
You'd be hard pressed to find one in the whole of Paris.
I stay with good hearty English stock. Keeps my body sewn together and really is a great libido booster. Can't have too much of that, can you?
After all, it comes with this ritual. Hardly any pain, darlings. I've perfected the method. No blood is wasted. Very eco-friendly.
I'm sure one day I shall tire of this and grow a new body. Perhaps something with scales.
|
August 5th, 2026:
"God save the queen!" So they drank.
"You know-" said Jerome, pointing to the television screen "-one day she's going to die."
"And that day is gonna' *suck*." said Raymond. "I, for one, hope that day does not come to pass for a long time."
"Here here!"
And so they drank.
&nbsp;
August 5th, 2056:
"-with some *breaking news* from Buckingham palace: The Queen's bypass surgery was a resounding success."
"Oh thank God!" Said jerome.
And so they drank.
"In other news, a fierce debate continues over prime minister Trump's controversial plan to barricade the Chunnel. More on that at 3. Jeremy Clarkson, BBC news."
| 2022-09-08T20:18:49 | 2019-06-27T17:12:31 | 158 | 49 |
[WP] Your grandfather did a favor for a supernatural entity which is now watching over you, saving you from a premature death. Every time it saves you from death, accidental or otherwise, you get a small scroll with the words "you are welcome". You arrive home to a hundred scrolls. "I'm coming over"
|
My grandfather had done a favor for a supernatural entity when I was a baby, and being his only grandchild he had asked for them to keep me safe in return. The being was true to it's word and always saved me from a premature death. Each and every time I would get a scroll saying "you are welcome."
The first time I got one I was 5 years old playing outside climbing a tree in my backyard. I had slipped and fallen in the pool, my head narrowly missing the cement. When my parents pulled me out after hearing the splash they found the scroll floating on the surface. I had later made the mistake in my teens thinking keeping me safe from a premature death meant safe from harm and spent a stint in the hospital after a mugging.
In recent years I would rarely see the scrolls, maybe getting one on a day I would leave the office a little late and have trouble staying awake on the drive home or after a walk in the woods where I could swear I was being followed.
I was definitely not used to this, hundreds of scrolls greeting me as I get home from work. Today seemed pretty normal all things considered, but apparently I had almost died 267 different times in my office.
As I walked past my window I noticed a red dot quickly dart past me and shortly after I heard my window shatter. I quickly dropped flat against the floor, hoping that is what I had seen in the movies. Another scroll appeared, this time though it had a different message, "I'm coming over".
Several more red dots appeared as black smoke began to fill the room. The smoke began to coalesce instead of disperse however, taking the form the creature my grandfather told me stories of.
"You really fucked up this time." The voice was deeper than I expected, and came out a lot more coarse. I was right to think all these years the creature resented saving me every time.
The room lit up suddenly as the remaining windows shattered, bullets raining in on the new form. He didn't seem to mind and they all fell to the floor instead of making contact.
"We are going to have a long talk after I take care of this." and with that the form had disappeared as quickly as it appeared, in the distance I could hear the screams as the red dots disappeared one by one.
|
May looked at her living room, it was a mess. Scrolls sometimes came, every now and then, but never this much. *what the FUCK?! How am I gonna clean this up- how am I gonna explain this to my roommate?!* . She gathered up as many scrolls she could carry, crumpled them up, and put them in a trash bag.
“I need to find out what the hell is going on” may said out loud, still clearing out the mass amounts of scrolls.
- -
“Hey gramps! Remember how you had that god thing or whatever? The scrolls and stuff? Well there’s like a hundred of them in my living room- and if you could help me with understanding- well whatever’s going on, that would be great! Call me back when you get this message!” . Turning off her phone and putting it in her pocket, May looked around at the living room, sadly, it was still a mess.
A flash of light engulfed the room, blinding her for a moment. When the light faded, (and she could actually see without her eyes watering) she saw a single golden scroll hovering in the center of the room.
“What the hell-“, she said, throwing all caution out the door as she walked over to it and unrolled it. On it it simply read:
“Stop. It. Right. Now. I don’t want to have to keep saving your mortal ass”
May stared at the scroll, before ripping it up. If this god (or goddess, she didn’t care) was going to be a prick, she was going to be an even bigger one.
“Alright mr. almighty god, I see how it is” may said, just as another scroll bonked her on the head. On the scroll, the same message appeared
“You’re welcome”
(Might do a part two, may not)
| 2021-05-06T17:01:01 | 2021-05-06T14:24:30 | 38 | 27 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
**"Those forgetting history is bound to repeat it"**
These words are written above the entrance to the chamber of the great council. We thought we knew everything, but there were so much we forgot.
None of the councils members remembered why the image of a grinning human was chiselled into the chamber walls. The painting was neither good, nor well made. Beneath it was chiselled the words human females tell their children. "Use your words".
No one would deny that the humans where great talkers and mediators. But they were also a soft squishy species. The way they imprinted on their young to use their words where taken as a sign that they were weak and timid. They even punished their children when they were caught fighting.
All this we learned from the small colonies they had among the rest of us. We would learn more too soon.
The way of the council and the accord of the species was that one species could acquire another species place, rank, honour on the council by fighting the other species. This way the council was guaranteed to stay strong and fresh. That species gained planets and colonies, or lost them in these struggles was the norm. Occasionally a species was removed entirely from the council when their entire territory was annihilated.
No species entirely disappeared. After their defeat they were always offered a space in the Alliance. A small ragtag collection of planets and species surrounding the last suspected location of the human home world. Everyone thought of them as zookeepers. Guards of humanity. That they were there to protect the humans. No one gave them any tought as they were out of the way. "Out of sight. Out of Mind". Another humans wording. They have so many.
They were no longer out of mind after discovering huge deposits of rare elements where located in their territory. A short victorious war was planned to prepare for mining. With the added benefit of providing us with free workers.
The Alliance pleaded and begged us to reconsider. Sent us historical files, and copies of signed accords. We ignored them all. The humans tried their talks, but we ignored their calls. We probably should have listened when the Alliance said "We wash our hands of this. We tried warning you.". How we laughed.
We took the first planets easily. Setting up mining operations. Forcing the humans to be our slaves. We thought they were weaklings having trouble operating our equipment, since everything went much slower than we anticipated. Then the breakdown started. Machines breaking. Bridges falling down. Transports failing to launch. Small things. But they happened just too often.
We thought we had rounded up all the humans. When the explosions started we knew we hadn't. We never found where they hid. But they were severely hindering our operations. This happened on every planet we occupied. Even ones previously occupied. Wherever we set up operations, humans found a way to hide and make trouble.
We soon learned another human expression. "Guerrilla warfare".
They even brought this to interstellar space. Small groups, hiding out in spaces no ship should be able to hide, they hit us repeatedly where it hurt. Our shipping lanes, our outposts. Never the same twice in a row. Always gone before our military ships could show up.
Little did we know that this was done to make sure we overspent ourselves trying to protect against small irritants, while they prepared.
When they hit us. As a war faring race we can only admire the beauty in their attack. They were everywhere. Our capitals fell in the first bombardment. The council lay in tatters as we were decimated. And we could do no other action than concede when they entered the council chamber claiming their rightful place at the top. There where no one left that could stop them. The words they uttered when they opened the proceedings shocked us to our cores. Even though we could see the warning every time we entered.
&#x200B;
"We founded this council. We can always reclaim our place. Remember history".
|
In this solemn hour it is a consolation to recall and to dwell upon our repeated efforts for peace. All have been ill-starred, but all have been faithful and sincere. This is of the highest moral value–and not only moral value, but practical value–at the present time, because the wholehearted concurrence of scores of millions of men and women, whose co-operation is indispensable and whose comradeship and brotherhood are indispensable, is the only foundation upon which the trial and tribulation of modern war can be endured and surmounted. This moral conviction alone affords that ever-fresh resilience which renews the strength and energy of people in long, doubtful and dark days. Outside, the storms of war may blow and the lands may be lashed with the fury of its gales, but in our own hearts this Sunday morning there is peace. Our hands may be active, but our consciences are at rest.
&#x200B;
We must not underrate the gravity of the task which lies before us or the temerity of the ordeal, to which we shall not be found unequal. We must expect many disappointments, and many unpleasant surprises, but we may be sure that the task which we have freely accepted is one not beyond the compass and the strength of the Galactic Human Republic. The Prime Minister said it was a sad day, and that is indeed true, but at the present time there is another note which may be present, and that is a feeling of thankfulness that, if these great trials were to come upon our worlds, there is a generation here now ready to prove itself not unworthy of the days of yore and not unworthy of those great men, the fathers of our species, who laid the foundations of our laws and shaped the greatness of our Republic.
&#x200B;
This is not a question of fighting for Mars or fighting for New Earth. We are fighting to save the whole Galaxy from the pestilence of tyranny and in defense of all that is most sacred to man. This is no war of domination or imperial aggrandizement or material gain; no war to shut any species out of its sunlight and means of progress. It is a war, viewed in its inherent quality, to establish, on impregnable rocks, the rights of the individual, and it is a war to establish and revive the stature of man. Perhaps it might seem a paradox that a war undertaken in the name of liberty and right should require, as a necessary part of its processes, the surrender for the time being of so many of the dearly valued liberties and rights. In these last few days the House has been voting dozens of Bills which hand over to the executive our most dearly valued traditional liberties. We are sure that these liberties will be in hands which will not abuse them, which will use them for no class or party interests, which will cherish and guard them, and we look forward to the day, surely and confidently we look forward to the day, when our liberties and rights will be restored to us, and when we shall be able to share them with the peoples to whom such blessings are unknown.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Full disclosure, I didn't write this, it is a lightly edited [speech given by churchill on september 3rd 1939](https://winstonchurchill.org/resources/speeches/1939-in-the-wings/war-speech/) (the first paragraph is verbatim and the rest has a few words removed or changed so it would apply to a galactic conflict as opposed to WWII)
| 2019-04-19T08:22:28 | 2019-04-19T03:06:26 | 47 | 11 |
[WP] You are a demon trapped in an ancient temple build by a long dead civilization. Today, after millennia, an archaeologist finds you. Now you need to convince him to free you from the magic circle.
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The near hollow chamber echoed with remanence of a time long forgotten. The only light entering was from the cracks as the sun fell in winters, peaking through the wall near what was once an entrance. Now covered in ivy and nearly locked by dirt and dust. In the center sat bound by chains forged from obsidian, a queen. Tearing at her wrist marking her with reminders of centuries worths of failed escape attempts. Her only friends being the empty thoughts and the occasional rat who wondered in looking lost. Who soon would see light fade just as the queen eons ago. “Rats tend to be great conversationalists if given the chance.” Her majesty announced to the void.
“How pitiful an image I must be. A starved queen locked by the very people she once ruled.”
The rat did not respond.
“We are one and the same. You and I. Castaways are in a world unforgiving. Lost spirits floating aimlessly in a meaningless universe.” Looking to the heavens as if speaking to a star-filled sky.
Uninterested in the one-sided conversation, the rat trotted along to the corner. Where the charcoal remanence of a torch remained.
Now bowing her head in dramatized sorrow, “Outside these walls which bind us both, my once great kingdom now more than likely collapsed.”
The rat began to burrow into the coals in an attempt to make a bed.
“Oh, how-” She paused.
The faint sound of footsteps rang just outside the remains of the chamber door. “Do you hear that?’ in a hushed whisper to her newfound comrade.
It was not uncommon for the queen to hear the faint sounds of birds passing or even voices. She soon found these to be untrustworthy a couple of centuries into her capture. A pleading representation of a fragmented mind. This was, however, different.
“It’s over here boys!” A booming and joyous voice coming nearer.
Quickly the queen took the form of a beautiful young woman dressed in rags, unable to mask the marks left upon her bound body. Soon the ground began to rumble as the entrance began to be bombarded with hit after hit. Echoing along the walls and tearing her ivy. As a blinding light began to cascade and peak through the now grown cracks a smile began to draw over the queen's face. With one last hit, the door collapsed, and as light chased the darkness. Corning it into every crack and grove, Only able to hide behind the image of a broken woman.
“Please help me...” The queen called in a weak and dry voice.
A group of five men looked into the chamber. Their joyous expressions filled with ideas of gold and hope. Shifted to dumbfounded and worried as if in a symphony of sorrows their hearts dropped. Before them, a woman chain bound on both arm and leg between two pillars that towered to the ceiling. Both covered with symbols and two perfectly smooth square holes, one on each pillar. Scorched with marks from a flame long burned out. The woman sat perfectly in the center of a circle made of black sand and salt with inscribed symbols patterning the platform where she looked helpless. A tension building as they sat frozen.
“Please...” The woman pleaded once more, almost drier than before.
“Well, don’t just stand there! Hurry! help her!” A familiar booming voice commanded.
Three of the men staggered in rushing to aid the queen who was hiding behind the mask. Soon to meet a similar fate to the pile of dead rats who laid in the corner.
\------------
Notes:
This is my first time writing anything other than poetry in the last year. I kind of want to start writing more long-form stories to improve. Any thoughts are greatly appreciated!
Also, I kinda deviated a little from the prompt, using it more as inspiration. I hope that's okay!
|
My crumpled form lay hunched over on the sand stone floor. The room is unnaturally cool for being in a desert wasteland of sand and sun, a characteristic abused by the Egyptians when making tombs for Pharos. Lower chance of decomposition. How demoralizing. A god placed into a chamber for kings. My knees are bent, my forehead touching the ground. My arms were both wrapped in chains, as well as my head and neck.
Suddenly, the sound of breaking stone emerged North of me. I moved my head as much as I could, glancing ahead. A glint of metal poked through as cracks spiderwebbed across the bricks. A man with sandy blonde hair stepped through. He was dressed in clothing of light color, as well as having a large hat, most likely to combat the burning sun. His eyes grew wide as his gaze fell upon me. I grinned, my eyes instead narrowing. “Hello there.” He cautiously stepped forward. *”Apophis”* he whispered. I nodded. “That’s one of many terms. However, my favored one is Lucifer.” He nodded as well. “H-how?” Is shrugged slightly, my chains rattling. “Certain spells and incantations, an herbal mixture of two, salt, and of course the sacrifice of a beautiful maiden.” I could sense his heartbeat growing more rapid. “How about this” I said “You free me, and I’ll spare you from my eternal wrath and destruction in my path of vengeance.” He stood straight, attempting a courageous facade. “No. I- I can’t inflict that on humanity. You are powerless here!” I scowled, my eyes burning with rage. “Do you honestly think that some measly chains could withhold the incarnation of sin and chaos?” I ripped my wrists and neck from the shackles followed by my ankles. “I’ve just had no reason to attempt another homicide for the past millennia.” I began to walk forwards. “Maybe the god damned barrier has bee-“ I felt my knees crumple under me. “DAMN THIS!” My fist flew at the invisible wall, the force knocking the man over and shaking the dust. The man stood again, and looked around. “Y-you can’t leave.” I glared. “Not for long.” I lunges at the barrier once more, nearly becoming pure rage incarnate. My eyes grew black as my demonic howls filled the hollow chambers. My hands grew into talons as I slowly pushed through barrier. I could feel the tips of my claws push through, into the open air. I cackled as my face pressed through, nearly to freedom-
# BOOM
The shockwave was tremendous, with the force being repulsed disrupting the structure of my tomb, with stones falling around us. I was sent flying back into the far wall, making a crater roughly the shape of my form. I began to try again until I looked up at the shaking ceiling. I immediately slammed my fist into the floor. More force shook the roof, threatening collapse. The man realized what I was doing. “No...” I grinned. “I can’t break through the barrier. But maybe I can escape through another route.” I slammed my fist down again. The man began to scream, but I did it one more time. The entire tomb collapsed around us, entrapping the man under a mountain of rubble, and giving my a place to escape. I dug through sand and rock until I reached the surface. The sun beat down on my face. I breathed in the air. It was time to begin my conquest.
| 2020-12-06T15:17:27 | 2020-12-06T14:21:45 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] The current rulers of the galaxy exert their dominance by showing showing new races a glimpse of their terrifying nature inevitably either driving the unfortunate victims mad or causing them to retreat in fear. It does not work on humans however, they are used to it
|
Across a thousand worlds our form inspires fear, as is only right at the sight of perfect apex predators , naturally triggering terror in the lesser prey of the galaxy.
Teeth like knives, skin like scaled armor, claws that can rend flesh to the bone. We are majestic.
The species of most worlds bow down upon our arrival, their own instincts informing them that they have no chance to survive.
With bases across the galaxy our military might is unrivaled and the populations of countless worlds offer sacrifices of their own people to sate our appetites.
Encountering a new world we identify radio traffic from a sentient species. From their broadcasts we decipher images of their form. They look *pink*, unarmored, *delicious*.
We identify a smaller continent with a pleasing climate and only moderately populated by the native dominant species. It will make an ideal site from which to start the invasion.
As the cloaked ship settles to the ground our first wave of the elite scouts, some of the finest soldiers of the empire filter down the ramps and into the undergrowth. Their job: to collect samples of the natives for study and... *lunch* .
Live feeds from the retinal implants of the scouts cover one wall of the bridge.
A scout is sliding through the water, approaching 2 of the pink-fleshed natives in a flimsy craft...
Finally one of them sees it's doom, it bears it's teeth in what must be some kind of fight or flight reflex and bellows something. The sound is fed into the translation matrix.
But suddenly something unexpected, rather than fleeing or staying frozen the native leaps upon the scout, wrapping it's pink fleshy arms around him.
It bellows more of the natives strange honking language.
The fight is intense, he rolls in the water trying to drown the native but it clings on and starts wrapping something around his jaws and legs.
From the other side of the room the translation matrix finally starts interpreting the native's shouts.
"Crikey mate! you're a big beaut!"
On the screen our soldier is unceremoniously hauled into a wooden craft, wrapped in netting.
We see that the other native is holding some kind of lensed apparatus, possible some kind of weapon?
The first has turned to it and is talking again.
"Now before we move it to a new habitat, we need to check if this is a boy or a girl, [I think Pat should be the one to do the sexing](https://www.themorningbulletin.com.au/news/i-had-the-gloves-the-alligator-had-the-cloaca/1848624/), now crocs have what's called a cloaca and..."
As the native on the screen pulls on gloves the bridge crew freeze into a rictus of horror
|
"They described our landing as an inconvenience and forgot about us after a few days," Admiral D'jellho reported to the Emperor over the secure hologram transit system.
"Have you sent out the diplomats?" the Emperor asked and Admiral D'jellho shook his head.
"We have determined that the planet has already been claimed by another species that rules over the humans with an iron fist but they have not shown themselves yet," the Admiral explained. Emperor Mav'vallos frowned and stroked his misshapen, alien chin. His species was without a doubt the leading power of the galaxy, with every little whisper from every little planet reaching his ears and any rebellion or warring between his subjects being crushed efficiently and mercilessly. Yet this little planet the humans inhabited had somehow been occupied by a different invasion force that seemed to rule as effectively as he did. "They may have spies among us," Admiral D'jellho continued, displaying a report he had created to show the Emperor.
"What makes you say that?"
"The submission tactics used by the occupying force... They are suspiciously similar to our own."
"The same torture methods as well?"
Admiral D'jellho nodded. "Except they torture their subjects constantly and seem far more effective. The human race seems to have been punished into absolute submission yet their torture continues. We have observed them for weeks and have set our agents to assimilate into their ranks and three times now we have had to extract them and debrief them and offer therapy and counseling. The monotony breaks them in a way we have not been able to accomplish with any other species, even after centuries of torture."
"What have the agents said?" the Emperor asked. He was already drafting a treaty to ensure peace with whatever powerful enemy had subdued the human race.
"Nearly nothing. I ask them how it went and they say 'fine' and nothing more. We offer them food options and they don't care. They wake up each morning in complete apathy and they do as ordered with dead eyes and no emotion and when their tasks are complete, they take no joy in them and instead lay down to await the next day."
"Fuck," Emperor Mav'vallos murmured and Admiral D'jellho nodded. "Retreat right away," he ordered after pondering his options for a moment. "If we upset their masters, we will be the next to be monotonized into submission."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-06-11T07:56:44 | 2019-06-11T06:40:55 | 4,721 | 512 |
[WP] Most ghosts have cool unfinished business: "Avenge my murder!" "Redeem my sins!" "Reveal my terrible secret!" Yours is...less impressive. But it still binds you to this world, and so you must find a medium who will help you. And not laugh when you tell them what with.
|
"What is your business, spirit? What binds you to this world?"
The room was lit by a single black candle with artistic dribbles of wax dripping down the sides. The table was carved with arcane symbols, complete with a pentagram made of honest-to-god gold leaf.
Damn. She was a traditionalist.
I'd only been a ghost for a couple years, but I was starting to pick up on the tricks of the trade. I concentrated, and the air temperature around the medium dropped a few degrees. I tried to snuff out the pretentious candle, but I could only make the flame flicker a little.
"I have been silenced before my time."
I whispered, but the words carried clearly through the room. I was pretty proud of the effect, even if I thought it was all a little silly. Still, humans tended to respond better if you matched their tone.
"My words are unheard. Carry my message, mortal." I let my voice rise until I was screaming. "CARRY MY MESSAGE."
The medium placed a small chalkboard and a piece of chalk on the table. "To whom shall I speak on your behalf, spirit?"
Ugh. I let the temperature return to normal. I couldn't creepify the environment at the same time as telekinetically moving chalk.
I wrote down the name. It took a while. There were a lot of numbers.
I resisted the impulse to throw the chalk at the medium when I finished and made some thumping sounds along the walls to pass the time while she read the chalkboard. She was taking a really long time, actually.
"This looks like a username," she said. She'd dropped the cryptic manner. I wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign, but I was happy enough to take this cue.
"Yep."
"You don't even know this person's real name?"
"Nope. Pretty sure it's a dude though, based on some of the comments about women's anatomy."
"And you want him to know... what, exactly?"
"That he's wrong."
The medium laughed. "You only interacted with this person online, and you want to convince him he's wrong? It's the internet! 99% of everything on the internet is wrong."
"Well he's more wrong! Look, just pull out your phone, okay? Read some of this guy's comments."
"Fine. But you know it's a lost cause, right? How often do you see someone admit to being wrong on the internet? Wait, that's not right." She scrolled through some more comments. "Ugh, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen someone say! I know what they say about picking your battles, but that's just wrong."
She hit the reply button, and I felt a sudden sense of peace. I didn't know if she could convince him of his wrongness, but I was sure that the medium would carry on with my quest to the best of her abilities.
As she muttered insults at whoever was behind that username, I let my spirit drift away to whatever came next.
|
"Damn, even dead I do embarrassing things." I said to myself.
I died. Very recently. And I never got to do this one thing I've been dreading to do for the past four years. But now that I'm dead, I finally have the courage to do it.
You see, there was this girl... There's always a girl. She was the typical popular girl and I was the typical nerd you see in the cliché movies. One day, we bumped into each other, and I instantly felt this connection towards her. I Know, I know. Too cheesy. But it's true.
She talked to me more and more and soon after, we became friends, and in even less time, we became best friends. But that's all we stayed as. Best friends.
I wanted to tell her. And I came close to it so many times, but something always stopped me from doing it. Whether it was my shyness and overthinking, or just someone else talking to her. I thought I had more time to tell her how I felt, but I guess the universe had different plans for me. But I still wanted to tell her. Let it be the last thing I do.
Some time ago I had heard about this medium who could communicate with spirits and help them seek this... closure - in their lives. I didn't believe that when I was alive, but now that I'm dead? Fuck if I'm gonna try pass to whatever comes next without regrets.
"I'm sensing a presence." The medium said a few seconds after I entered their... office? "Come on, get on the board." They indicated, and I did as told.
"Wait a few minutes, I need to mediate for us to be able to talk."
And just as they said, a few minutes after waiting, I saw their consciousness get out of their body, and they instantly spotted me, smiling softly.
"So you're the young person who died in a car accident I've been hearing about lately." They said as they floated around me, looking at me up and down. I nodded, feeling a little uncomfortable with how they were staring at literally my soul. "Now, tell me, what can I help you with?"
"Uhm, you promise not to laugh?" I asked, looking away in embarrassment.
"Sure, honey, I'll do whatever it needs for you to transcend peacefully."
"I uh, I want you to write a letter to a girl..."
A/N: I'm sorry, I'm a hopeless romantic, whenever I see an opportunity write romance I take it. Either way, I hope you enjoyed this little story! :)
| 2022-07-15T13:20:47 | 2022-07-15T10:33:26 | 136 | 47 |
[WP] As you arrive in Heaven, you are confident you have lived your best life. You proudly exclaim you are ready to have your soul judged. An angel walks by with diced carrots and chicken stock under his arm and says, “Did you say ‘soul’? Please don’t tell me Earth still has the copy with typos...”
|
"What typo?" James stared blankly at the winged creature before him
"We aren't judging your soul..." The angel sighed and placed a basket of ingredients in front of James on what appeared to be a stainless steel table. The normal grey was replaced with a clean but slightly dulled white, "We are here to judge your soup." The angel smiled before pulling out a leather-bound book.
"Soup? Really? How does that even work?!" James exclaimed flailing his arms around him gesturing at the space he found himself in.
"It's rather simple, throughout the universe we have spread these books, they contain basic concepts for how to live and the like. However! Some species edit them, make them metaphorical and such but most of the time we can intervene and ensure the mainstays are accurate. It would seem the Archangel in charge of you lot forgot to edit out the soup/soul typo."
James, speechless seemed to fall inside himself. Thinking over his entire life, school, college, work, friends, family. A snapping sound brought him back to the present.
"So here is how this goes, I make a soup and you make a soup and we give the soup to an impartial judge."
As the angel stood before him, James simply looked down, and began to roll up his sleeves. His arms were less wrinkly than he remembered them being but that didn't matter now. If this angel wanted him to cook, then cook he would.
"Angel, if you want to beat my soup then prepare for war," James' expression and voice harder than before.
"Why's that?" The angle looked back quizzically.
"Because I'm *James Fieri* and you're about to take a one way trip to ***FLAVOR TOWN"***
|
Fuck me. Of all the dumb and asinine things in the after life, the merit of a human's existence is based on fucking soup?
Alright. Just stay calm. I can do this. I can cook soup. I died watching a Gordon Ramsay video while driving for fucks sake.
What do we have here? Ok. Carrots. Those are important. Celery? Also important. What the hell is this? It looks like celery but smells like licorice? Must be some weird after life vegetable. Piss on it, it's going in the pot.
Who are those guys at the table? Oh my lord its Jesus Christ. Wait if that is Jesus, then does that mean the other guy is.... ok don't think about that, just keep cutting vegetables.
Ok what did mom put in her soup when I was a kid? Wait a minute, she never made soup from scratch. Ok just vegetables. Chicken broth. No biggies. It's soup. Just heat it and reduce.
.......
Ok. I think Jesus is eating it. Ok I think he likes it. Wait? Is he choking? Why is Jesus choking? Oh God it's the licorice plant? What are they calling it? Fennel? Oh Jesus is allergic to fennel. OH SHIT JESUS IS ALLERGIC TO FENNEL. Oh man, the other guy is looking passed. I wonder if he's more of an Old Testament God o-....
| 2020-11-24T17:11:23 | 2020-11-24T17:06:29 | 1,352 | 756 |
[WP] We are actually living in a video game. One day "God's little brother" decides to play.
|
"Don't touch that!"
Zeus slung a couple of thunderbolts at his little brother, but the little kid just wouldn't stop.
"Haha, you can't stop me!" Yahweh was running everywhere, Zeus's laptop in hand. This was the second time this universe. "I have ADMIN rights now!"
Zeus watched in horror as Yahweh gave his character op powers. he couldn't stop it. Years and years of work... He had built his Minecraft world block by block and ruled over the villagers for peaceful aeons, and now...
Click. The enter key snapped into place.
Yahweh jeered, moving his character around on the water, using his op rights to fly and make it seem like he was walking. The villagers watched in awe. Flash! He changed the water into thick lava, red as wine. Flash! Creative mode! He was chucking bread everywhere!
Zeus chased Yahweh around for about two thousand years until he finally handed over the computer, and it looked like he'd pretty much smashed the keyboard into bits. No interference from *either* of them anymore. Looks like the villagers were gonna have to figure it out on their own.
|
"For the love of Vahalla, Loki! You're lucky only Thor can lift that hammer of his or else it would be flying at your face!!"
"What's wrong, Brother? Troubles?"
"Shut up. I know you're cheating...don't make me get Sigyn"
"Oh please do, I'm sure She'd love to See Me win for once."
Odin looked over at Loki, whose innocent smile was hiding an unknowable logic.
"Brother, if You didn't want me to Smash You, You shouldn't have invited me to play a game where Smashing Brothers is in the title."
"Sigyn!!! He's doing it again!!"
"She can't hear You, remember this was an evening between Brothers?"
"Go to Hel, Loki"
"All in good time, my Brother. I get the Pokemon this time"
| 2014-04-19T02:39:59 | 2014-04-19T00:19:49 | 30 | 12 |
[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 take a step forward. The line to the High Magister grows shorter by the moment as the people befor me are tried and executed on the spot befor the Grand Court of Wizards.
The reading of crimes is honestly the longest part, the crimes are listed for each of us and given a unanimous guilty verdict on the spot.
Cant say I blame then really, the coup didnt go quite as planned.
I'd love to say I was the mastermind behind everything but truth be told I'm little more then another cog in machine of revolution, one that broke quite handily when our silver tongued leader mysteriously vanished.
We just wanted non-magic folk to be taken more seriously, to be treated like actual citizens.
I take another step forward. I shake my head of the thoughts, pointless to think about it with more impending matters. Third in line now. I watch Andrew take centre floor. He used to be a cook befor getting caught up in this mess, cant say we spoke much but still a shame just the same.
The High Magister repeats the same phrase that everyone befor him heard last. "Choose your method of execution". There is a moments pause befor the old cook smugly replies "Old age". Cheeky sod read the same story I did.
With a wave of his hands the Wizard casts a spell and to my horror I see Andrew rapidly ageing till he is little more then a dead emaciated old man. "Bugger, there goes that idea" I mutter to myself.
"Next" The high Magister proclaims, waving his hand dismissively as a pile of dust blows away that used to be Andrew. I didnt know the woman in front of me but she looked like she had been through the ringer.
I take the time to think, my brain working as hard as it can to think of something, anything at all.
"Choose your method of execution" I snap from my thoughts and look up to see what she picks, maybe it will help. "Without regrets" she replies, little vague and not really a method but hey the Court seems to accept it. There is a quick flash of light, I turn away instinctively and blink away the sunspots left behind.
When I look back she is just stood there, not moving an inch. "Next." But... she is still alive? I walk to the centre and my crimes are listed off, I dont pay attention, I know what I did. I get a good look at her and wish I hadn't, her eyes, her face, her expression. They lobotomised her. The body might be there but there is nothing left inside.
I clench my fists tight, I'm angry but not at my situation. I'm angry that they seem to revel in punishing people who they think are trying to be clever.
"Choose your method of execution"
Well that was fast. I relax, no point in fighting it after all. I look up to The High Magister and smile, my body trembling but my mind set. I know how to beat this.
I open my mouth and give the one response I can think of that will work.
"Instant"
A small wave of the hand. I dont even get to hear the "Next"
|
The person before me took my idea. She had no idea that dying of old age meant they would accelerate time for her. Now that I saw that, I can't make the same mistake. There has to be a way out of here, a loophole.
You'll find one like you always do, I kept thinking that to myself. I wasn't a stranger to this business, but usually I wasn't involved with magic. The payment was good but too risky.
"Marcus Spades, how would you like to die?" The hooded man said. He held a weapon that changed into many weapons. The hood had golden details, his body was hidden by shadows. If anything he was good at this. I could feel the chills creeping up my body.
"I need a second."
"You have one minute." His weapon changes to a whip. I'm not sure how but I feel he enjoyed those who took their time and never decided.
Time! That's it, their laws are bound by time and space here. If I can get them to try to execute me in some other place far from this world maybe I have a chance. I start laughing, I might have finally lost it. "I wish to die in a time space rift between worlds."
The executioners weapon changes into a cellphone. "I need help. Yes, it's another crazy guy. Yeah, he wants the slowest most painful death in existence. Thanks, I'll wait for you to start the ritual."
I fall into my knees. That gamble sounds like the worst one I've taken. Although that one that included stealing from the governments and 'donating' it was close second, by the time they figured out I cheated on that table it was too late.
Four hooded men or women appear. They point wands to the floor under me. A circle of light engulfs me. One moment I see them, the other I see everything and nothing at the same time.
I look around and I see more figures. More mes. The one closest to me waves, the but the others scream in agony and pain.
"Why are they screaming?"
"We are trapped between time and space. We have access to all information at the same time and our brains can't handle it."
This wasn't what I thought would happen. My pupils have widened. I have to escape. I can't let this happen to me! "How can we escape?"
"You would have to touch an opening. But they are always just barely far away to not be reached."
My fingers reached out but never quite made it to any of the images passing by. My body is sweating but it's not. I can't feel the droplets on my skin. Nor the tears from my eyes.
In the distance growls and screeches of despair. How many of me are here? When will this all end? I look towards the other side and a new me comes in. Repeating the scene that just happen over and over and over again.
| 2021-06-24T10:08:14 | 2021-06-24T07:17:41 | 255 | 181 |
[WP] In the future, you are world famous. A lot of the of the arbitrary people in your life (grocers, people you bump into) are actually zillionaires from the future paying a huge amount of money to travel back in time just to get a glimpse of you.
This is sometimes what I think when I meet strangers. They paid to meet me.
|
I hated the stares.
It could happen at the shop, the pharmacy, the gym -you name it. I began noticing it about a month back, but today it was worse than usual.
Now don't get me wrong, I was shopping for breakfast in some dirty old clothes, but nothing that garnered the level of looks that I was getting.
At one point I reached over to grab some cereal and when I glanced up, no less than four people had their eyes trained on me. All of them had that same excited look, the kind that a girl might give you when she's interested. Pupils dilated, eyebrows raised, quick breathing with a slight smirk on the lips.
You know.
So I did what any reasonable person would. I power walked outta there like I was trying to set a record. And once outside, I called my best friend - Sarah - and asked for her help.
----
"Tim, what happened?" Sarah asked when I arrived at the cafe.
I explained the situation and how I had spotted no less than four people looking at me at once. I'd talked to her about this on many occasions.
She listened like a good friend should and then leaned over and gave me a hug.
There were few things that could make me feel better than Sarah's hugs. I think it was the way she wrapped her arms around my neck and cradled her head against my chest. It made me feel powerful like I could do better. And when she pulled away, my anxiety seemed to filter out with her.
Until I noticed the old guy at the other end of the cafe.
He had a newspaper in front of him, but he wasn't fooling me. His eyes were looking straight over the top, directly into mine. And he only had one hand on the paper, who knows where the other one was.
I felt like somebody had dipped me in ice. It made me shudder on the inside, despite the frown I gave him. "Look, he's watching me, just like the others," I told Sarah.
"What a creeper," she said.
"I think I'd like to leave."
Sarah pouted. "Look, just ignore him, Tim. Why don't we take a selfie? Get your mind off of things."
The last thing I wanted to do was spend another second here, let alone take a selfie. But when I saw that look on Sarah's face, my resistance melted, and I couldn't help but give in. "Alright, one selfie and then we go somewhere else for coffee."
She jumped up in excitement and came over to sit on my lap. The picture wasn't all that bad. And afterwards, we decided to go to her apartment.
Apparently she had: 'really good coffee'.
---
"You know, I think it's dangerous that people are watching you," Sarah said, as we walked into her apartment.
"I could be imagining it," I said, "I don't think I am, but I could be. . ."
She pulled two cups out and emptied Hazelnut Mochonna into them. They were soon steaming with hot water. "Every time you've talked about it, it makes me scared for your safety. Like, what if staring isn't enough?"
I scoffed. "Well, I'm pretty hefty, Sarah. I can protect myself. But what on Earth would all these random people want with me anyway?"
"I dunno," Sarah said, "have you noticed anything unusual?"
I hadn't and that was the thing. Well, a few months back a girl had asked me for my autograph. But I think she mistook me for someone else. A Hollywood celebrity or some other loser that makes more money than they should.
"We're outta milk," Sarah said, closing the fridge.
She kept a storage down in the garage.
"I'll get it," I said, making my way down.
"Don't worry about it, Tim."
But it was already too late when I heard her, I was closing the garage door behind me and climbing down the steps. It was a good reason to escape from the conversation -temporarily. She always fretted over me.
The milk fridge was stacked up with *Trim*, which was both mine and Sarah's go to with coffee. I turned to walk back to the garage steps but tripped over a cord. A long orange cord that I hadn't noticed in the garage before. In fact, it made sense that I hadn't seen it, as it was protruding from a rip in her floor mats.
I knelt down to feel the cord, it was awfully thick, and when tracing its destination, it seemed to lead into the wall. "Sarah!" I called.
No response.
I followed the outline of the cord along the mat, to the point where it disappeared into a wall panel. I pushed on it and the panel slid forward a little. Bright light streamed through the crack.
I looked back, but Sarah still hadn't come down. "Sarah, get down here! I've found something."
The wall slid open like a door. It led into a room filled with hundreds of photographs. The room was the size of a small lounge and lit up with this weird blue lighting. Clothing lines extended from either side, and photographs hung from each one. The photo's on the walls were all pictures of Sarah.
And as I looked closer, I realised they were pictures of a second person as well.
They were snapshots of me.
My heart sunk in my chest. "Sarah, what the hell is this?"
The door to the photo room slammed shut. I dropped the carton of milk and ran to it, and just as my hands closed around the handle, the deadbolt on the other end slid into place.
"Sarah?" I asked.
"I can't let them take you from me," Sarah whispered through the crack in the door.
I frowned and held tight on the handle, slamming it toward me with all my strength. But the door didn't budge.
"Don't be stupid. Let me out."
"You're mine, Tim. . ." Sarah said, "mine forever."
|
*Snick*
I glanced up to see a woman leaning on the seat back of the booth in front of me. It wouldn't have been too weird, except she wasn't getting up for anyone. As a matter of fact, the midday lunch rush had been brief if anything, and most of the restaurant was empty. Seeing nothing unusual, I kept eating.
*Snick*
What the hell? I glanced around, for the sound. Was that my phone? It wasn't my phone... Then who-
*Snick*
It was her alright. She was so focused on getting the shot, her eyes widened in horror when the photo developed with me glaring right at her.
"Ummm... Can I help you?" I asked in frustration.
"Oh, um, hi." She stammered, "I didn't want anything. I mean-"
"What are you doing?" I wondered.
"Taking photos?" She seemed to pause.
"Of me?" I guessed correctly. "Eating??"
"No, why would you say-" She began in a fake tone. By that point, I had already plucked the phone from her hand. She began eagerly trying to get it back, only for me to scoot back into my seat. There was a picture of me alright. And then another... And another.... I scrolled the gallery, just to be sure. There had to be at least 50 pictures of me. Of my car. And me in the parking lot. And in line to get food. And eating. *She'd been watching me eat for 15 minutes.*
"What the fuck is this?" I asked her as she continued reaching for the phone, "Stop it. What is this?" I'd never seen a phone like this actually. It seemed pretty new, and expensive, but it wasn't hard to figure out. Actually, this phone was fantastic.
"I just wanted to get pictures." She pouted. Her lip piercing shimmered as she breathed heavily for a moment.
"Of me? Why?" I inferred in anger.
"Um, because." She seemed to blush, "...I don't know." I watched her hesitate and glance out the windows as if trying to regain composure. She was actually kind of cute in a way. "I just wanted to... Um." She began to quiver slightly.
"Okay look;" I began calmly, "You're creeping me out. Here's your phone back." I gave her the phone back, picked up my sandwich, and wrapped it before quickly walking towards the exit.
"Hey!! You erased my photos!" She yelled after me in defeat.
"Quit taking pictures of people you don't know then!" I yelled back on the way out. Driving out of the lot, I caught her snapping a shot of the car as I drove away.
-1 hour later-
"So I'm eating, and she was taking pictures of me the whole time." I explained.
"What the hell was that all about?" Mark asked as he laughed at the coffee machine.
"I dunno' man, it was weird." I shrugged, "Worse, she took a picture of my car as I left. She's probably got my license plate."
"Awww," Amber smiled nearby, "Sounds like you have a stalker. How adorable."
"Hahaha." I mocked absently, "That's weird as hell."
I noticed someone walked into the room while we shot the breeze, and they caught my attention randomly. The man seemed like he there for something as he sat down. I wondered what he wants. Boss probably wants me to fill something else out.
"Hey. Hey there. Are you Jamaican_Dynamite?" He asked quietly. I froze at the name he called me.
"What?" I realized.
"Are you Jamaican_Dynamite?" He whispered again. I glanced to see if Amber and Mark were paying any attention to the situation at hand. They were busy bickering at the coffee machine with their back turned.
"I'm a fan, honestly. Big fan." He continued.
I've never been so scared in a long time. I've never been called out by my reddit handle. I know I never told anyone here about it. The fuck was this guy's deal? I didn't want to make a big deal however, no sense in getting stabbed by some weirdo at work right?
"What do you want man?" I asked calmly. I tried not to jump to conclusions as he slid me a napkin.
"Can you sign this for me?" He said in anticipation.
"What the fuck is going on?" I asked quietly. I returned his stare, and thought about how I could fight this dude if I had to. I calmly wrote my reddit handle, and slid it back to him.
"You okay there?" I said as I balled a fist subconsciously.
"This is so cool!" He reacted, "Dude, thanks!" And before I knew it, he took off out the door. I stood up and followed him to the door, only to see him run completely out of the office and down the hall.
"Um." Amber said as she joined me, "What was that?" I could only guess what.
-That night-
Nothing else happened. I went through the rest of the day, no problem. Got the files done at work, and made sure that that freak wasn't coming back to mow me down with an Uzi. Missed a traffic jam, and hit mostly green lights going home; hell even scored some grass from the homie Big Skillet for the weekend. Everything seemed normal.
Boy, the apartment building was a sight for sore eyes. I'd missed the smell of curry, arguing couples, and the occasional loud music in the halls. I found my room, turned the key... And that's when I heard it again...
*Snick*
"No fucking way..."
I glanced up to see her peeking from the door to the stairs, one door down, her dyed hair hiding her eyes, which stayed glued to me. The phone still in her hands. The same striped hoody she wore at the burger joint over her head.
| 2016-09-21T15:00:39 | 2016-09-21T14:48:28 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] The electricity has been cut; there is no more running water; you can hear the dragging footsteps of the undead outside. Your only companion has just finished having a seizure. With confusion in his eyes, he asks you, “have we met before?”
|
"Yes, Cooper. We have met before. I am your friend."
Cooper lay there, still disoriented. He slowly started sniffing around.
"I feel strange..." he said. "I feel different. Oh... and I feel hungry! Is there food? I want food!"
I sat on the windowsill, looking outside. One of the inflicted was slowly shambling by."You are always hungry, Cooper. That is why you are now feeling this way. You ate something you shouldn't have eaten, Cooper."
"Oh." he said. "Yeah, that happens. I bet it smelled good. What was it? Was it poop?"
"No, Cooper" I answered him. "It wasn't poop you ate. You ate something very different. You ate the brain of one of them."
"Them?"
"The servants... well, not quite servants to you. Your masters. They died of this new sickness, Cooper. And they didn't feed you anymore. But your neighbor shot them. Splattered their brains all over the wall. And you ate their brains, Cooper. You ate them and you changed. But you will feel better soon."
Cooper didn't really seem to remember his previous life. Good for him - I still remembered them. I still remembered their touch. And I remembered the hunger after they died and we could not get out of the house.
"Friend?" Cooper called to me. "Friend, what is your name?"
I raised my left leg and started licking myself."My name is Cleo."
|
My wife, was dying, nearing her final days I made a deal with the devil to nake both of us immortal for us to live together forever, he agreed on the conditions:
I will not have any children, I will not document any memories together with her such as writing, photos, videos, etc except from my own mind.
I took this deal thinking that it wouldn't matter if we were both immortal. But it just made her live forever, he didn't cure her illness or anything, she was still ongoing dementia, with the only difference that it woukd revive and fix her back every time it killed her putting her in a seizure before she lost her memories again.
Every 2 years, I wasn't allowed to remind her of who I was, and I had to rebuild a relationship with her, every. Single. Time.
As time passed and the world began crumbling, eventually me and her were the only people left.
She'd wake up in an apocalypse after a seizure and see one person next to her, every 2 years. She'd look at me saying "Have we met before?" and I think about everything we've been through knowing I can't talk to her about it, I reply everytime with "No we haven't, it seems we're the only survivors"
| 2022-09-20T02:10:24 | 2022-09-20T01:18:53 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] Humanity is bored with virtual gaming and has mastered controlling robot bodies for gaming warfare. Aliens invade Earth and everyone thinks it's an Easter egg in the game and fights them off.
|
"This planet is crazy." Faftur face-tentacled(?) as she watched the carnage unfolding in the watery planet. Any sane Fothrill would have done the same.
Who would have thought that the planet was inhabited by unmanned drones and robots? Heck, they even flung 60 mm nuclear shell at each other like it was a beach ball.
"What's wrong with these 'humans'?!" A line appeared at her computer console.
Seventh unit is down to one person, third and fourth is obliterated. What is your command?
"Charge the antimatter cannon."
Our forces is still down there. Please confirm your command.
"Do it anyway." she mercilessly commanded. Seconds later, a huge chunk of the planet's crust was blasted away.
"Report."
Fifteen drones, five units and a carrier lost, no enemy biological signature detected.
"No signature? Check heat-- no, it would do no good after that blast. Let's move to next cell."
*"General Faftur, Lieutenant Hafar from forensic team reporting"*
"Report in."
*"We found signature, ma'am. Carbon-based biology. It's located deep below the lithosphere--"*
"Under the lithosphere?! Don't joke around! You mean on that liquid mantle, liquid metal 7300 degree Yusarit with pressure 452 atmosphere?! No life should been able to evolve there!!"
*"It evolved in the surface, ma'am, but..."* an alarm interrupted her report.
Positron stream detected, the enemy seems to retaliate to our attack in kind. Probability to evade, 0.02%, probability to survive, 1.3%. Activating automatic evasion.
"Nice to meet you too, Lieutenant." Faftur said with self-depreciating tone as the countdown reach zero...
>***Game Log 2316, 18:00 UTC***
>FMAss77: Woohoo, eat that positron cannon, you space octopus
>WillFuckUrMama: they have fifteen tentacles, so, not strictly 'octopus'.
>Response76: Wow @WillFuckUrMama, you must be fun at parties.
>WillFuckUrMama: I have a proton cannon fully loaded, so yes I am, @Response76.
>FMAss77: Hey, why did killing them don't increase my EXP?
>RaiderYuutori: @FMAss77 maybe there are specific ways to kill them? I've been using 5.56 DU munition and I still can't get the EXP out of them
>WillFuckUrMama: None of my kill gain EXPs as well.
>FMAss77: Ah well, who cares? It's still fun thing to do.
|
Modern medicine and machines have made it so humans both live a much longer life span, and dont have to lift a finger in doing so. At first people did the usual things that people do in retirement; travel, visit or start a family, get a hobby or whatnot. The thing is, this only entertains people for awhile. So the only two things are left for people to do: create or use.
Since the planets population has risen to over 45 billion the majority of the population simply stays virtual 24/7. Again like it used to be, people liked virtual for thing from pool to clubbing. The problem was, the natural urges that happened in day to day life were not being taken care of.
This is when MVidya came out with the new thing known as INSTINCT, the new program allowed you to fulfill those natural urges in many fashions. The content exploded across the globe with over 94% of the world using it on a daily basis. Most people started small on both ends, they were doing quick dates or something equal to UFC... These were not enough though, we desired more so thats when they introduced the new expansion pack for free of course.
It was known as the UFS (Ultimate Fighting Simulator) where the person would control a robot and fight aliens attacking another planet. The thing very little people knew was that the war was real. It wasn't people vs aliens, but instead was a bionic army vs an aliens.
The aliens expected a quick and easy invasion of the planet, they saw we had been glued to these virtual suspension chambers and thought we'd be easy prey, they were wrong in a way they couldn't expect.
Mvidya wasn't a gaming, program, or virtual software company; they were a military company, seeking to colonize other worlds and planets. They had been spending decades excavating Earth and Mars to acquire as many resources as possible to build this army.
The aliens attacked with all they had, estimated around 240 billion soldiers. They were all wiped out within a matter of days, and the Human population has sustained casualties only from natural causes. These aliens, the Galar'tag were not the only ones with their eyes on what they thought was a resource rich planet. But instead served as a warning for the darkness that would soon envelop the galaxy. As the human race is the one who will be the cause of galaxy wide extinction, and most of them will never even know about it.
For thats what we truly are inside, the monsters in the dark.
| 2016-07-26T01:28:27 | 2016-07-26T01:13:43 | 232 | 165 |
[WP] "Hello, my name is Mr Hades. As your teacher is out sick, I will your sub until they can return. Yes, I am a god. Yes, there are multiple pantheons. No, I will not tell you your future or grant you wishes. Now if everyone could please turn to page 157 in their textbooks we can get started"
|
"Hello, my name is Mr. Hades. As your teacher is out sick, I will be your substitute teacher until they can return. Yes, I am a god. Yes, there are multiple pantheons. No, I will not tell you your future or grant you wishes. Now if everyone could please turn to page 157 in their textbooks, we can get started."
A young man raised his hand.
"A question, yes?" Hades said.
The boy stood up from his desk, and picked up a violin case he'd had tucked away under it.
"I challenge you to a fiddle contest!" the student proclaimed.
Mr. Hades sighed. "Listen, um--"
"My name's *Johnny!* And it might be a sin, but--*"*
"No it's not, he's lying. That's Dustin!" another boy called out.
"Shut up, Andy!" Dustin shouted. "This is *my* moment!"
"Johnny, Dustin, whatever, I hate to burst your bubble, but there are two issues: One, it's the Devil who challenges *people* to fiddle contests in that song, not vice versa. Two, I'm *Hades,* not the Devil."
Johnny-Dustin sat down, sadly.
Another student raised her hand.
"Yes, you there?"
"I'm Abby!" she said, brightly.
"Okay. Hi, Abby. What's your question?" Hades asked.
"So, I know you won't do fiddle contests, or grant wishes, but since you're a *teacher,* could you *teach* me to be a great musician? You know, like that Robert Johnson guy, at the crossroads, back in the 1930s?" Abby asked, hopefully.
"No! That's the Devil again!" Hades snapped.
The classroom door swung open, and a tall man with horns and crimson skin, dressed a polo shirt and khakis, leaned into the room from the hallway.
"Hey, what's up?" said the Devil, smiling.
"What are *you* doing here?" Hades cried, exasperated.
"Have you seen what they're teaching kids in school, these days? I basically *live* here." the Devil replied, with a snort. "Besides, you said my name three times, in a period of less than 30 seconds. You *summoned* me."
"No, I didn't! Your *name* is Lucifer!" Hades retorted. "You and every one of your little minions are all *Devils!"*
"That's correct: each one of them is *a Devil,* but there's only one '*the Devil',* and that's me. Don't try to screw with me on regulations and bureaucracy, I *invented* this stuff." the Devil said, smugly.
"Look, Louie, people get us confused enough, without seeing us together in public! Can you *please* leave?" Hades fumed.
The Devil faced the class. "Hey kids, here's a fun fact about the history of language and translation: Did you know that, in the Bible, the original Greek word translated into English as 'Hell' is *Hades?"*
"Don't tell them *that!"* Hades cried, placing his hands on the side of his head.
The Devil cackled. "Aw, come on, I'm just razzin' ya, man. Okay, okay, I'll leave you alone." He turned back to wave at the class "You be good for Mr. Hades, class! Oh, and be sure to keep dividing yourself into ever smaller cliques and sub-groups, and judging each other by your membership in them -- I promise only good things will happen, if you do! Okay *bye-eeeeee!"*
"Bye, Satan!" the class called back, cheerfully, as the Father of Lies slipped back out the door.
"Alright!" Hades snapped. "No more questions! Page 157, books open, now!"
He cleared his throat. "Ahem! So, picking up where your teacher left off, the mitochondria of a cell is..." he paused, frowning.
"Wait a minute, what am I teaching here, again?" Hades exclaimed, flipping the text book over to read the cover. "Life Science? *Life S*cience? The temp agency put the God of the Underworld in *Life* science? Who am I, Gaia?"
Hades slammed the book down in disgust, and turned back to the class. "Okay, kids, you want an actual, valuable life lesson? Don't become a *teacher!* And also, heads-up for those of you heading into high school, next year: think about trade school instead of college, because higher education is basically a colossal *scam,* at this point. Ms. Beckley will be back on Monday. Until then, just sit there during class period with your books open while surreptitiously dicking around on your phones, and pretend to be learning *something,* which is probably what you were going to do anyway, whether there was a teacher here or not! HADES, *OUT!"*
And with that, he stalked out of the classroom.
|
Twenty-nine-and-a-half pairs of hands flipped through their textbooks. A boy raised the missing half, the familiar icy glare baring into Hades.
Hades sighed. This wouldn’t turn out well. Nothing with this family ever did.
“Yes?” Hades asked.
“I know you.”
“I am the ruler of the Underworld,” Hades said. Of course he knew the boy, but he had no desire to discuss *that* subject here. He strode over to the boy’s chair, towering over him. Light from the candles lining the sides of the white sterile room cast long shadows across the boy’s face. “Even those living in willful ignorance of my existence can not escape the inevitably of knowing me.” Hades face leaned in close, his hot breath, rich with the stench of river Styx water, wafting into the boy’s face.
The boy’s flat nose twitched. “No. I’ve seen you before. You steal Persephone every fall. I’m her younger brother, Philo. Mom hates you.”
“That’s because your mom is a nasty bi—just open your book to page 157.”
“Already found it.” He held up his book. “So what qualifies you to teach biology? — you know, the study of *living* things.” He leaned in, their noses inches from touching.
Hades’ fist crashed through Philo’s desk. “I am a teacher, I am a ruler, I am a god! Every way life drains from a creature, I know. You dare question me? Who knows better what separates life from death?”
“What’s the difference between mitosis and meiosis?”
Hades froze, his hands turning imaginary pages as he tried to recall what those words meant. He had definitely skimmed something on that subject last night.
“If you had read what you’re supposed to, maybe we would have gotten to the section by now,” Hades growled. He stalked back to his desk and dropped into his chair. Impudent youngsters.
He was regretting his decision to teach Prometheus’ class.
The fireplace better be worth it. From he had heard of Prometheus' work, it would. Hades smiled. The rustling of turning papers morphed into the crackling of the logs, and the candles coalesced into one flame.
“—completely unfit to teach this class. I’ve probably studied life more than he has.” Philo was saying in a faux whisper. He spoke to another student, but his eyes were pinned on Hades.
“Is that so?” Hades asked. “Because I studied your sister last night, and let me tell you, she’s one nasty—”
“Hades!” Prometheus stood in the doorway, his chest swelling like the bellows in Hephaestus’ forge. “What are you teaching my students?”
“—one nasty primate, the order which humans and gods belong to, which you can read all about on page 158. Keep up the excellent reading.” Hades turned towards the door. “Prometheus, I, uh, didn’t expect you to be back so early. Date didn’t go well?”
“She ordered liver. It went downhill from there.” Prometheus mimed vomiting, and the spots on his garments confirmed his story. Prometheus stepped into the room. The candles lighting the room seemed to grow hotter, and sweat trickled down Hades’ neck. “Two miles. Two miles from the restaurant to here, all on foot. My stomach couldn’t take anything else. And then I arrived. Sick and weary. Ready to sit down, relax, and listen to the wonderful lecture the god of death would prepare on the topic of life. Instead…” Prometheus gestured at Philo.
“Oh, that?” Hades laughed. “Just some humor. Trying to spice things up, you see.” Hades sidled towards the exit. “So we’re good here? See you tomorrow for my new fireplace?”
Prometheus’ face twisted. “I’ll be there. And I’ll be charging you double my normal rate.”
“But…” Technically, Hades hadn’t broken his side of the bargain. But he badly wanted a fireplace, and no one was better than Prometheus.
“Very well.” Hades hung his head. “I am deeply ashamed of my actions.” He turned to Philo.
“Philo, I apologize for my unprofessional behavior. Here.” He dug in his jacket and pulled out some pomegranate seeds. “I was saving these as a reward for the most attentive student, but I would like you to have them.” Philo reached out to accept the seeds, when Prometheus smacked them out of Hades’ hand.
“Hades,” Prometheus said, “if you ensnare one of my students in the underworld with your seeds, I’ll triple your fee.”
It had been worth a try. Philo glowered, clenching his destroyed desk. Hades stuck his tongue out as he split open the ground and dropped back to the underworld.
| 2022-04-15T19:29:53 | 2022-04-15T19:14:49 | 53 | 22 |
[WP] When you die, your ghost remains in the world until the last person who remembers you also dies. 15,000 years after your death, you are still here.
|
15,000 years is a long time. It's certainly much longer than most of my kind are capable of thinking in. Today, most of them say that it is the year "2017 AD." I, however, can remember people who said it was "747 AVC." I could remember even farther back to a time and place when it was said to be "the 37th year of the reign of Sargon" and further beyond that to the very fist time a woman etched "Year 1" into a rock to track the history of her farming village. That barely even scratched the surface.
It had been 15,000 years since a boar's tusk had pierced my shoulder while trying to catch one for the farm on the river bank. 15,000 years since the festering infection had claimed my body and my life. 14,800 years since the absolute most generous estimates should've sent me on from this world. I was still here.
Ghosts are tethered to the living. When the last person who remembers you dies, you finally vanish. In my day this meant a particularly legendary figure might last 7 generations. An exceptionally old person might last 4-5. More recent people like Alexander the Great had lasted thousands of years thanks to the invention of written history
So far as I knew, the last person to know me alive must have died on that little farm on the banks of the Eruk, well most people called it the "Tigris" these days.
In the last 15,000 years I'd done a lot. Ghosts don't have the superpowers people imagine us with. We're basically just humans that fluctuate in and out of visibility and corporeality. So I can walk through walls, but I've gotta walk like anyone else. No flying, no apparating, no possessing the living, just walking. That's fine by me, you can sneak on to most forms of transit when you're invisible. I remember walking westward, following the sun to see where it landed after my Great-great niece died. I ended up in the luscious and green Sahara with a much better understanding of science than anyone else would develop for a few thousand years. I haven't really stopped walking since and am proud to say that I think I've covered the entire Earth, twice for most places
I hadn't been visible in about 1200 years. Too many religions started that way. I switch over to tangibility all the time though to do little guardian angel type things from fishing someone's keys out of the pool and onto their towel to pulling the firing pin out of a soldier's gun for an innocent family. Little things, sometimes big consequences. My whole afterlife chnaged while doing the latter.
I had recently made the trek home to Eruk, or Mesopotamia, or Iraq, or whatever it's called these days. It was the biggest shitshow I'd seen there since the Mongols. I pulled the firing pin out of a ISIS militant's gun while he was looking down the barrel at a Yazidi woman. The distraction was just long enough for a government soldier to take a shot at the militant. I almost didn't look, but when I did, I saw the soldier's face. He wasn't Arab, his facial features were too broad, his hair too tightly curled, and his skin too dark. He looked like me...
I quickly became visible, standing strange and anachronistic in my animal skin kilt with an apparent wound in my shoulder. My unevenly chopped hair cropped close to my skull and a short and curly beard was similar cut around my jaw. A tattoo adorned my right shoulder, a family symbol of a sort. I saw the recognition in his eyes and the fear of one who has seen a ghost. The soldier's gun fell, but he didnt seem to notice as his hand clutched his own right shoulder.
I knew at that moment, that soldier knew me. He was from Eruk. He was 15,000 years old, and for some reason he was still alive.
|
Oh, you're new here, fresh off the press. Literally, what a gruesome way to die you had. But that's all in the past now, that body is nothing but meat now so stop associating yourself with it, and listen to me, your guide to the afterlife, one who has been here longer than anyone else.
Let me explain how it works. You see, you're a ghost now, just like me. A ghost is an observer, left to watch over people who cared about them. As soon as your legacy vanishes- you disappear.
The first century is the most difficult. Humans rarely know their family tree beyond third or fourth generation, so a typical ghost exists for around 70 years, usually the longer they lived the longer they are remembered.
I met many of them in my early years, but at some point they start to get boring. Thousands of years pass, yet peasants have the same stories, the same problems, the same vendettas. I still randomly visit a couple per decade, but that usually makes for pretty dull experiences, although there was a memorable one recently.
She was a very weak ghost, an ophran girl who died at 15. Most people around her forgot her a week after her funeral, with the sole exception being a boy who had a crush on her. She clinged to him like a burdrock seed for a couple months, but one day he saw another pretty girl- and just like that, she went poof in a cloud of smoke. Her face then is impossible to forget, but unfortunately ghost memories don't count. Oh, sorry, got a bit carried away.
So, what happens past a hundred or so? No, let's rephrase it a bit. What is different about these who persist past that? The answer is, they are the ones who leave their name in history, not just in close people's minds. However minor that contribution is- down to shoemakers and tavern owners whose buisnesses stand and carry their names and heritage throught centuries, even if only a few people keep them up. These are wonky, as soon as buisness closes their days are numbered, but they still outlive your normal folk who gets born, live a quiet life and just die.
A step above that are truely historical figures, like I am. Kings, religious leaders, breakthrough scientists, famous artists, legendary warriors, these are the ghosts that simply can't disappear at this point, though that only got solidified very recently with widespread, globalised education, for which I thank your generation and a dozen before that. For thousands of years I feared that one day it'd just end.
Just five centuries ago there were Aztecs, for example, their settlements were absolutely sprawling with ghosts because of how they preserved their history- right until they got wiped out by spainards. The educated top was eradicated, and suddenly most of ghosts were gone, the rest disappeared as soon as the last of uneducated enslaved bottom died. A shame, really, lost lots of great folks there.
By the way, your prospects don't look promising, but that's not something you can change now. I'd advice you to not go to your family right now, it'll be heartbreaking, wait a couple years. Meanwhile, go meet people and visit places you couldn't even think about meeting while alive, like your grandpa who died before you were born, or the insides of pyramids. Don't even try to get to Jesus, he has a century-long line now, and frankly you'll be disappointed, same applies to most popular personalities out there. And don't try to influence anything in the world, that won't work. So, on this note, I think I shall leave, you'll get a hang of the rest yourself. Have fun!
| 2017-06-26T12:12:09 | 2017-06-26T11:32:59 | 39 | 14 |
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