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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
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[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would.
|
I sighed, walking out of the bank with my entire 7.27 in hand. I already told my family, my job, my friends...
These sorts of things were common. A small amount was a signal of a short life to live, but even those were usually at least a hundred bucks! Enough to spend at a bar as I mourned my own death...but what could 7.27 get me?!
As I walked down the street, I considered my options. Food? A drink? I almost considered not spending it. Maybe I could prolong my life by not spending it.
I passed by a foodstall. One taco for 2$.
I looked at the money in my hand, considering...
I sigh. Fuck it, I was dead anyway. No point in delaying the inevitable. One cheap taco here and a 7-11 drink from down the road. There have been worse last meals. "One, please." I tell the vendor.
As my taco is being made, I feel a tug on my pants. I look down and see a kid, covered in mud and torn clothing. "Mister," she says. "Can you help please? I'm lost."
Ah...poor kid. "Do you know a number to call?"
"Yes." She answers. I give her my phone, opening up to the call button.
Doesn't particularly matter if she steals it. I'll be dead soon anyways, so I leave her to it as I take my taco. She's talking on the phone, her voice thin and reedy as she talks, close to tears and sitting on the sidewalk curb as she asks for 'Daddy' to come get her. Apparently she wandered away from her her mother and had been walking for about three hours on her own.
Three hours? Poor kid must be starving... I count the money remaining, and ask for one more taco and water. Lucky me, the entire 7.27 pays for two tacos and a bottle of water, plus tax.
I sit on the curb as she hangs up. Wordlessly, I trade her the phone for the taco, and sit with her as we wait, leaving her the cold water to drink. She sits close, using my larger body for shade. She looks sun burnt as hell, so I don't mind.
The police come roaring up with sirens and everything, and shuffle her away. "You the one who found her?" They ask as she talks to the officer, being led into the car.
"Indeed I was." I say, wiping my hands on a tissue paper. "She gonna be okay?"
"Yeah, the father sends his thanks." The police officer says. "Asking for you to be brought in too."
Me? "Why?" I ask.
"There was a reward offered. The girl was kidnapped by her deranged mother for the last two months, the father is a multi-millionare."
My stomach suddenly drops. "...No shit?"
The officer snorts, half laughing. "No shit. You're going to be a very rich person by the end of the day."
And so. I was. That one taco and phone call ended up profiting me about 700k. Sometimes the psychic cheque works out great in weird ways.
She and I are still friends. We go out for tacos every once in a while, she thinks of me like an older sibling and I'm her regular baby sitter.
|
John was astonished by what lay before him. In bold black letters, on a sober cream background read the words that most people were elated to see. But not John. John was far from that. £7.27. £7.27? There had to have been a mistake. Only £7.27? How? Why!?
"its not fair" John muttered to himself as he slumped onto the stained floor of his apartment. "then again, it never is". There John sat for a while, rocking back and forth pausing occasionally as if to voice some great and remarkable thought, to an audience that simply was not there.
"fuck it" he thought. "i'm done". John couldn't even storm out of his apartment; if John were to stand up too quickly his anemia would make him feel dizzy and he would have to sit right back down. So like always, he walked out of his apartment in no rush. He didn't close the door. Why should he? He had no plan of returning.
There was a bridge nearby to where John lived, a young boy died last year because he was playing on it and fell. Needless to say the funeral was closed casket. As John marched to the bridge he noticed all the menial crap he walked by everyday without realizing. Corner shop after corner shop after corner shop.
He'd never gone into one of the stores before so why now? Why not? He had nothing to lose after all. He had no idea why he was in there, no idea what he wanted. He supposed it was just a way to delay, waste some time before the inevitable. So that's what he'd do. Waste some time. John picked up a random tub of gum and dragged himself in front of the cashier.
"Will that be all sir?" the cashier asked in an uninterested tone. John had zoned out, he wasn't listening, he was too busy thinking about what he was about to do.
"Sir?" the cashier probed.
"Oh-uh, sorry, uh..." John stammered. He noticed some lottery tickets behind the counter. He looked at his current total. £2.27. "how much for the scratch card?".
"five pounds". the cashier shot back, with uncharacteristic energy. £5?
John chuckled to himself, "yeah, give me one of those". It was like it was preordained, planned by some greater power. "Cheers mate" John muttered before stumbling out the store. sat on the edge of the bridge, John stabbed away at his scratch card. One diamond. Must have been a fluke. Two diamonds. There's no way he'll win. Three. Diamonds. He understood now. He was rich. Three diamonds! Suddenly it all made sense to John.
As John danced and jumped and hollered, he stepped back, into the road. He didn't hear the car come speeding round the corner.
As John lay there, choking on his own kidneys, he appreciated the great irony in his situation. Had he never won the lottery, he wouldn't have stepped into the road. Had he lost he would have jumped.
Funny that.
| 2019-04-24T14:52:39 | 2019-04-24T13:46:39 | 335 | 10 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
|
The cabin was about a half mile outside of town. It had been abandoned, no river or fields nearby to make it worthwhile. It had been an old trapper’s cabin but the game had gone from this area a long time ago. Josef quietly shuffled towards the front door, a small parcel hugged close to his chest.
The door opened before he had even been able to muster the courage to knock. A woman’s voice, strong and even, came through the cracked portal, “What do you want?”
All the conversation starters Josef had planned came out at once, “I need your help. I’m sorry to bother you. I know that you have helped people. My name is Josef. This is my daughter. I’ve heard you know some magic. My daughter is sick, please help—“
“I’m expecting someone, come in, but be quick.” The door opened, a small oil lamp was turned up and the dark cabin brightened noticeably. Josef stepped inside.
“Give her to me.” The woman reached forward, Josef hesitated.
He was here because he was desperate, but it was still hard to trust the old wood’s witch. She had a complicated reputation in town. Healing animals and people, predicting weather, cursing enemies. He was sure some of both the good and bad were rumors, but he had nowhere else to turn. He handed the small bundle over, “Please don’t hurt her.”
The woman frowned. She shook her head and took the baby. She felt its forehead and then took out a small tool from a bag by her side. She stuck it in the poor girls ear, the baby screamed. Josef prayed that he made the right decision, he wanted to run but was too scared he’d be turned into a frog before he got to the door.
“She has a fever. How long has she been sick?”
Josef forgot to answer for a second, he was too busy wondering what flies might taste like, “—Six days, the doctor bled her twice already—“
“Stop that! Don’t do that again, do you promise?”
“Yes Ma’am.” Josef stared at his feet, unable to watch whatever witchcraft this woman might be performing on his only child.
“She has a temperature. I need to go, I don’t have time for this.” The woman glided towards a small cabinet with a curious latch he’d never seen before, she fiddled with the symbols on it before it popped open. He saw a small orange container with a white top. She poured the contents into a small leather pouch.
“These are antibi—these are medicine. Powerful. Do not tell anyone I gave this to you. Three times a day, with her meals. Is she breast feeding?”
“Cows milk, ma’am. My wife, she died in labor.”
Josef could see the sadness in the woman’s eyes, but she moved on quickly. “Boil the milk.”
“Ma’am?”
“Boil the milk. And these pills three times a day until they are all gone. Do you understand?”
“Boiled milk and these pills, three times a day.” Josef had heard the stories, he knew she was crazy, but this was beyond his expectations.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could do more. I shouldn’t even be doing this. I must go. You must go. Good luck.” The woman started pushing him back outside.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Josef paused at the door, he turned around deliberately, “She doesn’t have a name yet. On account of her mother—If you don’t mind, can I ask your name?” Josef thought that maybe an offering would convince the witch to have mercy on his poor daughter.
She hesitated, “Margaret.”
“It’s beautiful. Family name?” Please let me daughter live, Josef thought.
“My grandmother’s name. She said her father got it from an old hermit who saved her life when she was a—It's not important, I have to go.“
“Margaret—Maggie. I hope you’ll get to see little Maggie grow up big and strong.”
A bright light shone in through the window of the cabin. So bright, Josef thought the sun had risen in the middle of the night. The witch didn’t seem startled at all. She sighed and grabbed a small satchel she had next to her chair.
“Unfortunately that won’t be possible. I need to go back to where I came from. You can't tell anyone about what I gave you, not even your daughter once she's older. I need you to go now, quickly.” She stared into Josef’s eyes as if she had more to say, but she just nodded and shuffled towards the backdoor of the cabin.
|
It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T16:56:22 | 2017-09-14T06:09:16 | 136 | 20 |
[WP]They're not the best dark cultists- they mumble through chants, dislocate their fingers during secret handshakes, and even nap during meditation- but they're the first people to worship you in centuries and you're determined to make them better.
|
They used to fear me.
Just mention my name, and the room would fall silent. Invoking me through the proper rites could topple kings from thrones or blight an entire nation's crops.
Oh, the feeling! The fear, the awe, the devotion.
But my own cultists betrayed me. They entombed my pulsing heartstone deep below the earth.
As millennia passed, my heartstone grew ever weaker, cooling from a molten heat to that of coals the morning after the fire. Memories started to fade, including what humans even looked like. Everything faded except the memories of how it felt to be worshiped.
Eventually, a new set of followers found me. They tunneled from the surface, perhaps to escape some unnamed threat. They made their home next to my heartstone, appreciating its heat without understanding what it was.
I spoke to them first in dreams, presenting myself as the creature they feared most, slithering in deadly pursuit through their tunnels. Their fear gave me strength.
I spoke to them next through action. Slaying a slithering beast as it invaded their home. Their awe gave me strength.
I spoke to them in promises. In return they learned my rites.
The tenor of their voices was two high. Their clumsy hands couldn't form the secret handshakes. Their attention span couldn't last through a single meditation, even after I immolated one for falling asleep.
But that didn't matter. For it wasn't the rites themselves, but the devotion they signified that gave me strength.
Alas, it wasn't enough to save me. My heartstone had cooled in the chill earth for too long to revive.
But, as I descended into the final darkness, I realized I was content. I still mattered to someone.
My humans, bless them from their tails to their furry-faced whiskers, would miss me when I was gone.
|
283 words.
**Founding of The Gaze**
The origin of my gaze has been affixed to this stone long before it was eroded by rain to a smooth replica of my visage; and until recent events, I had never seen a human face twice. Most who understand fear me. Those who don't, ignore me. This was the old way.
Ten moons ago a diminutive human spied me from the trees, naively thinking itself hidden. Seven moons ago their village built a great temple, whose convex ceiling raised far beyond my sight, with the old wood of the surrounding swamp; and I dreamed of the sun. Five moons ago I looked into their dreams as they slept, hands pressed firm to my chin. I showed them the words which would bring life to the fire of the old wood, and the dance to fan the flames.
Three moons ago the ritual was performed, though with a degree of error which resulted in no more than five wounds: four flesh and one mortal. A warm orange glow was their reward, and they dreamed of my shame. In the morning, they performed a ritual foreign to me.
Two moons ago I showed them my perspective, and the accommodations therein. They dreamed of what great places may lie behind their own eyes, and in the morning sought to release the depths of space back to me, carving out a great slab of wooden wall and replacing it with glass.
The temple was around me but I could see it not, save for my devoted cultists. They worshiped in the sun, invigorated by its embrace. Darkness came, and their gazes joined mine among the stars. Together we dreamed of the possibilities. This was the new way.
| 2019-02-16T21:39:08 | 2019-02-16T17:25:18 | 48 | 20 |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand.
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"You mean in recent years correct?" Aisling asked as soon as her hand had risen into the air, not even waiting for the professor to call on her. "Correct professor?" She repeated herself after a moment of silence, bright and startling green eyes that bore into the professor's own red bug like pupils. Her hand was shaking from where it was still raised in the air, a nervousness permeating her body. She didn't want to report this professor for breaking the treaty, she actually liked this one, but as the only human in this class, *~~in this school~~*, she had a duty to dispel any potential misinformation.
Another beat of silence, she could feel the eyes of the entire class on her now, before her professor spoke again. "Ah but of course and in a relative manner as well considering the....the uh recentness of humanity on a universal scale." Aisling lowered her hand as the professor spoke, the nervousness that had once been hers now transferring to his voice. "Now students please turn to Chapter 19 in your books and read quietly until the bell." Her professor barely managing to get the words out before he slumped down in his seat behind his desk. She did feel bad for him, after all it couldn't be easy to teach under the new treaty guidelines but humanity had been determined to be represented as equally and fairly as any other species, even when in cosmic terms they were so young and new. She knew how her classmates felt about her, felt about her species, felt about their struggles. They thought it was cute or in some cases pathetic. Aisling was determined to prove them wrong. She was determined to show them that humanity was not to be discredited, that no matter how small or young they saw humanity as she would show them their ferocity.
Aisling opened up her book, her tablet at the ready and began to take notes, not on the subject but on the creatures around her.
|
"Yes?" the professor asked.
"What about *them*?"
The professor looked at me, puzzled. "You seem to be gesturing to the rest of the class."
"I mean, I am. Gesturing to the rest of the class. They look just like me. If we had sex -- I mean, if they hadn't been given the treatment -- we could have children."
A brief moment of horror crossed the professor's face. Or maybe it was disgust. It finally settled back into his 'teachable moment' face. "These are not human."
"If they aren't human, what are they?" The rest of the class shifted, clearly uncomfortable with my line of questioning.
"They are the Lesser, of course!"
My anger started to thrum in my veins. I took a deep breath to recenter myself. "What makes them Lesser? They're just as human as I am."
The professor removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. As he put them back on, he asked, "What makes you so certain of that? Have you talked with any of them?"
"Well, n-no," I stammered. "I mean, not really. Not at any length."
The professor's face had shifted to one of alarm. "But you have," he hissed. "You talked to *them*. You've found out who they are, what they secretly want." His glare bored into me. "You think they're not Lesser." I watched, silently, as he reached under his desk.
When the two goons from the Republican Peace Enforcers came, I fought as they dragged me away.
| 2021-11-27T11:58:56 | 2021-11-27T11:23:52 | 137 | 16 |
[WP] You have just died. The Good News is that there is an afterlife. The Bad News is that it isn't Heaven. Or Hell. Or Purgatory. And you aren't a Ghost. In fact, the afterlife is something that no sane human being would ever predict, and has most likely never been written down.
Go balls to the wall crazy with this. Think of the most outlandish afterlife your brain can muster. Thanks and have fun!
|
"Y-... You're kidding me... right?"
I DO NOT KID.
"But... I... I was a _good person_, they told me that would *count* for something!"
THEY WERE MISTAKEN.
"I don't deserve this..."
REALLY? YOU DID NOT?
"Of course not! What kind of monster deserves THIS?!"
DID YOU NEVER LAUGH AT A FAT CHILD FALLING OVER? DID YOU NEVER TAKE ICE CREAM FROM THE FREEZER? DID YOU NEVER ACCUSE A CO-WORKER OF SOME TRIVIAL, PETTY CRIME TO COVER UP YOUR OWN GUILT?
"Well I... but everyone does that!"
AND EVERYONE GETS THIS.
"But if you just *told* us, we would live better lives!"
IF SOMEONE TOLD YOU THE EXAM RESULTS, YOU WOULD GET HIGHER GRADES.
"This is *not* the same as high school!"
ISN'T IT? WERE YOU NOT GIVEN THE CHANCE TO BRANCH OUT, TO LEARN, TO MAKE INTERESTING CONNECTIONS? AND DID YOU NOT, INSTEAD, SIT AT THE BACK OF THE CLASS, METAPHORICALLY DOODLING IN YOUR NOTEBOOK AND TALKING TO PEOPLE WHO WERE ALL PRETTY MUCH THE SAME?
"I was a *paramedic*! I *saved lives*!"
YOU DID. AND YOU ALSO IGNORED THE BEGGAR ON THE STREET. YOU BLEW YOUR HORN IN TRAFFIC SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU WERE HAVING A BAD DAY. YOU SHOUTED AT YOUR BOYFRIEND BECAUSE YOU WERE BITTEN BY A MOSQUITO AND IT SMARTED.
"What about Hitler?! Did *he* get this?!"
OF COURSE.
"So you're saying I'm as bad as Hitler then?!"
I'M ALSO SAYING YOU'RE AS GOOD AS MOTHER THERESA.
"...Oh."
SHE GOT THIS TOO.
"I... I see..."
FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH... I WISH IT WERE ANOTHER WAY.
"Thank you..."
THE OFFICE IS DOWN THE HALL, THREE DOORS ON THE RIGHT. YOU WILL SEE YOUR FIRST CLIENT IN 10 MINUTES. DO NOT BE LATE.
"Wait! I... I don't know what to do..."
HAVE YOU NEVER BEEN TO A COUNCIL OFFICE BEFORE?
|
You are dead, or are you really? You have been an atheist, all your live. Well most of it, sometimes you have ventured into agnosticism, but mostly you have been an atheist. So why the hell, can you still think, you remember being alive, you remember the doctor saying that it would all over soon, then pushing the piston on the syringe of the barbiturate into the catheter attached to your arm. And now what? You have absolutely no sensorial input, you can't feel anything, you have no material body at all. What are you now then? Now you are a consciousness floating in the void, since you have absolutely no weight you are left in the exact same position, i know position is relative, but lets talk relative to the actual centre of the universe, so Earth is long gone. Not that it will make any difference to you, you did not even notice it. Oh i see i have not answered the question. And now what? Well ... Now you ... There is not really much you can do, you can think, try to dream things, pretend you are still alive, try to relive your life, since obviously you remember everything. But there is not much point to it. You think everybody else is just like you, a floating conscience somewhere in the vast void. Can you communicate with them? Oh, of course not, that would require a body. What about brainwaves, you might ask. You do not have a brain anymore, nothing at all, just your thoughts, what a religious person would call your soul, yes that really exists and yes that really lives on. Surprising, i know right. So? Does that mean there is a god? You do not know, how would he talk to you, how would you listen? By now you are probably asking yourself, who am I, this person sitting here having a conversation with you? I am you, your thoughts, just a creation of your imagination, to steer you away from the madness that loneliness and boredom will certainly create. Oh, my. I have said to much haven't I? Well time to leave. Bye!
| 2015-10-19T00:46:17 | 2015-10-18T20:21:54 | 34 | 23 |
[WP] A man gains the amount of people in the world as money on his account. But when he spends that money, people die.
|
“Change?” His eyes are sunken deep in their sockets, glittering inside of a gaunt and wrinkled face. The woman sneers, offended and does not reply, does not look at him. Her designer heels click against the pavement as she hurries past, laughing at something her friend says, the encounter already forgotten.
“Change?” His cup jingles. The doctor, still holding the change from his double shot venti latte shrugs and drops fifteen cents into the crumbling paper cup. The man smiles up at him but the doctor's pager goes off and he hurries away.
“Change?” It is late at night. The teenager laughs at him, showing off for his group of friends.
“Fuck off you fucking junkie!”he giggles. He uses profanity like a child taking its first steps. The man looks down and says nothing. He hopes they will go away, that they will not hurt him or take his cup of nickels and dimes as so many others like him have done in the past.
“Shut the fuck up Bernie!” a girl in the group shouts. She fumbles in her wallet for a moment and then hands the man a crisp twenty. “He's an asshole,” she says to him, indicating her companion, who is now staring at her angrily. “Find someplace warm for the night, okay?”
“Let's GO, Kristen,” Bernie mumbles, angry that his actions have been so undermined. With a last long look at the man she turns and leaves, not responding to Bernie's continuing criticisms. Their voices echo down the block, through the canyons of the city.
The man stares down at the twenty in his hands. He has over seven billion dollars in a bank account. He could use it tonight. He could find a warm place just like she asked, a penthouse apartment filled with booze and blow and women.
He thinks of the girl's kind face and words.
He draws his tattered coat, stuffed full of newspapers for extra warmth, tighter around him. The newspapers crinkle.
|
First try at a writing prompt. Critiques are appreciated.
"There's actually an account already in your name, Mr. Jendayi." The bank teller raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure this is your first time here?"
"I-- well, yes, of course it is. An account? How much?"
"$7,184,415,339. Do you want to just add what you have to your current account?"
"Wait, wait. Is this American? American currency? Where did it come from?" Hondo Japeri leaned over the marble counter, a shred of hope kindling in his chest. The farm, his land-- maybe his business could still be salvaged--
The bank teller leaned back, a distasteful look on his face. "Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Japeri." The shred withered. "It is the currency of our great nation, of course."
Well, that was that. Hondo was going to lose his family's home, their land, everything. Shameful, he looked away from the teller.
"Just... just give me what's in there. I'll make a new account later."
The teller shrugged and took a few moments to empty the account, handing him a bundle of wrapped notes. Hondo looked down at it for a moment, unsure. "I, ah. What do I do now? I mean is there, ah, some other procedure--"
"No." The teller was rapidly losing patience with him. "Please, Mr. Jendayi, there are other customers." Hondo looked behind him and saw a sea of dark faces. Most were as haggard as his. Lean, thin, hungry. These were dark times.
Hondo shuffled out of the bank into the bright Zimbabwean sunlight. Perhaps he'd buy a coffee, if he had enough on him.
| 2014-08-09T08:49:37 | 2014-08-09T08:29:59 | 255 | 73 |
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.
|
When you consider that Judgement isn't graded on a bell curve and is, in fact, a super stringent set of requirements that one was meant to follow over what seemed, at the time, an incredibly long amount of time one would assume hell would be practically filled to the brim.
So when I found myself utterly alone in an endless field of flames and suffering I took a moment to really rethink what it was that had made me the single eligible applicant to hell. Seeing as I was pretty much the coolest guy and way too handsome for my many teeny tiny sins to have counted I came to the conclusion that this was an obvious mixup and I just had to find management and get this straightened out.
After wandering for an eternity with only strips of my own flesh to use as trail markers on the never ending corpse decorated stalagmites and maggot cased bone spires I finally found another soul.
"Excuse me, sir, I believe theres been a mixup. I admit I've done some scummy things what with the cheating and lying and whatnot but, be real, who hasnt? My wife wasn't feeling it and if God didn't want it he wouldn't have invented tindr. And let's be honest everyone lies on their taxes, I mean I did use my computer for work so it could be reasoned that it was a...."
"Its not a mixup," the figure boomed, dejectedly. His barrel chest expanding menacingly as he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly into his harmonica, flames jetting from the holes as it produced a depressing cacophony of "bwaaaaaaaaaaas".
"you're here because youre a sinner and I guess if you say you're sorry and kinda mean it you can go to heaven so, whatever, see you later."
Bwaaaaaaaaa the harmoica moaned followed by another, shorter, bwaa that maybe was supposed to be a flat note but its hard to tell because he was basically just blowing on every single hole at once.
"Yeah, about that," I replied smiling, worried that my smile seemed disingenuous because i had been forced to eat my own lips and cheeks for sustenance decades ago, "I dont think you understand. I can't rightly apologize for something that I didn't do wrong. While it could be argued that I have sinned its obvious that everyone did and my sins were like baby sins compared to most and, lets be honest, sure I used my vast inheritance selfishly and maybe I could have done a bit more for my children, im not going to apologize for that because thats like nothing compared to others."
The demon's bwaaas had gone silent as he looked me over. I gave a sheepish wave with what remained of my hand after the locusts had had their fill.
"You just have to say sorry. I dont think you even have to mean it."
"Well I obviously couldnt mean it, that would be lying which is a sin and apparently a really big one if im here and Hitler isnt."
The devil sat staring, disbelief forming on his face.
"And honestly," I continued, "I always figured the good would offset the bad stuff, sure I stole from pensions but I always tipped well at the club. Ask Rosa, I gave her chance after chance after chance before I fired her for stealing the good silver and, yeah, I found it later but it's the fact that I gave her so many chances that proves how decent I am. Im not going to apologize for firing her I didnt get to where I am by letting people steal from me."
As I took a seat next to him and continued to extol my many virtues and expand on the unfair realities of the world the devil's eyes began frantically scanning the horizon.
I explained, in detail, my political and religious beliefs to him as he shattered my bones with his massive hands, I attempted to summarize my screenplay as he filled my mouth with molten lead, and I found it increasingly difficult to summarize my love for the St. Louis Cardinals and he forcibly shoved my head into what remained of my worm infested anus.
"In short," I mumbled into my own ass "Denzel was only given an oscar to sate the ess double you jays if you catch my drift."
"JESUS CHRIST IM SORRY." he yelled and like that was gone. Which is fine, I thought as I waddled on into the abyss, ill just have to speak with his manager.
|
"It's not really *such* a bad place, I think." Said the man.
He had set down his harmonica the moment that Jobe had come into the chamber, but the mysterious notes he had been playing still resonated darkly off of the smooth stone. Jobe stared at him. The man seemed so normal, so *ordinary*, that he almost didn't notice how out of place he was. He wore old-style formal wear, complete with bow-tie and tails that draped over his rocky chair as if they had been designed to do just that. Were it not for the pool of magma that illuminated his face, or the red arrow-like tail that slipped from his waistband, Jobe might have thought him a simple waiter.
"At least..." He continued. "Not as bad as some of your kind have put it, now, is it? For being *literally Hell*, I think it's rather nice."
"Are you...?" Jobe began. He paused, unsure of how to continue.
"The Devil?" The man asked. He grinned, and Jobe couldn't help but notice his overly-pointed canines. "The one and only. What, were you expecting something else?" He played a few more notes on his harmonica.
"No, I just..." Jobe stammered. "It's...how did I get here? What happened?"
"A car accident, I presume." Said the man, eyeing Jobe's blood-stained t-shirt and cargo pants. "Nasty way to go. Of course, I can't be too sure. I can't claim to be *omniscient*, unlike some people who would best go unnamed."
"No, I remember *that*." Jobe said. "I mean...why am I *here*? In *Hell*."
"Oh. That." The Devil replied. "Yes, well that I do have the answer for. Atheism is quite the crime, young man. You should be ashamed of yourself."
"I ran a charity!" Jobe spat. "I...I dedicated my life to serving others!"
"But not to serving *Him*, Jobe. That was your mistake." Replied the man, studying his polished fingernails. "All too common, these days."
"So...I'm...damned?" Jobe replied. "There's nothing I can do?"
"*Au contraire, mon frère*." Replied the demon, smiling his fang-toothed smile. "I am required to tell that there is, indeed, a way for you to get out of Hell."
"There is, is there?" Jobe asked, suspicious. "What's the catch? Do I have a choice of ten thousand years or a wooden spoon or something?"
The Devil chuckled. "Amusing, but no." He replied. "Simply go back the way you came, back through the tunnels and the dark, and you will find yourself at a staircase. Easy enough, no? But Jobe! I urge you to consider staying here, with me! I would give you power, make you a general, a lord of demons!"
"Uhh...no, actually. I think I'll just be on my way." Jobe said.
"I thought not." The devil replied, smirking. "Very few fall for that trick, and of those most still choose to leave eventually just the same. Very well! I wish you luck, Jobe...may you find what you are looking for."
"...Yeah. Sure." Jobe said, turning his back on the Beast. "Whatever you say." He clambered over the uneven stone and slipped back into the darkness of the tunnel, not even noticing the slight downward incline.
The devil smiled.
***
*Note: This should go without saying, but this piece in no way reflects how I actually view religion or atheism in any way. To each their own!*
*Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you enjoyed this piece, feel free to check out my others over at /r/TimeSyncs!*
| 2017-02-01T09:21:57 | 2017-02-01T09:08:33 | 224 | 29 |
[WP] Your military experiment accidentally tears a portal open to Hell. However, instead of the demon hordes pouring through, you discover that they are frantically trying to close the portal from their side.
|
Doctor Zimmerman never believed in Hell. Sure, he believed in an afterlife, but not in the concept of a 'bad' afterlife. Yet here he was, staring at a red portal that hovered above his zero-point energy experiment, with demons frantically running around on the other side. Surely there had to be less dramatic ways to have a crisis of faith.
Suddenly, one of the demons, a lanky creature with antlers and a face like a spider, pointed a finger at Zimmerman and yelled, "You there! Is Earth on the other side of this portal?"
Zimmerman, confused, just nodded and said, "Yes. This is Earth."
The spider demon, rather than cackling maniacally or giving some ominous speech about the new world order, took on what Zimmerman believed to be a worried expression (spiders are not particularly well known for their wide range of facial cues). "Fuck! Alright, we gotta get this thing closed fast. Do you know if you can reverse whatever it is you did?"
"Reverse what I- I don't know what I did to begin with! This wasn't even an attempt at teleportation, I was trying to harness zero-point energy!"
"Zero-point energy is the very essence of the demon realm, you fool! Look, however you can help will be appreciated, because if this stays open-"
A chorus of screams, clashing metal and explosions cut the demon off. A fat blob of a demon landed behind the spider with a sickening 'crunch' and cried out, "She knows! She's here!!"
Zimmerman, quite frustrated at the lack of answers, replied, "Who's here?! What is happening?!"
Before either of the demons could give him an answer, a third demon in black and red armor with a helmet shaped like the head of a wolf took a flying leap through the portal and landed behind Zimmerman. The spider clambered through after them and angrily yelled, "Aurelia, you get back here right now, young lady!"
"Over my dead body, Xerxes!"
"Oh, don't give me any ideas!"
Aurelia pulled off her helmet to reveal there was a good reason for the shape of it: she herself looked like an anthropomorphic Doberman. Aurelia craned her neck upwards and howled, causing the entire room to reverberate from Zimmerman's perspective. Xerxes looked like he was on the verge of strangling her (again, would be easier to tell if he didn't have a spider face). But before he could say anything, Zimmerman grabbed him by the arm and said, "Explanation, now."
Xerxes groaned. "Okay, look: my name is Xerxes, caretaker of Aurelia, queen of the demon realm, AKA that woman over there. Her days are *supposed* to consist of combat training, diplomatic meetings, and strategy talks. But now-"
Xerxes was cut off by the echoing cry of a trumpet coming from above them. Aurelia, who had shed her armor entirely, began bouncing in place excitedly, with tail wagging at dangerous speeds. Suddenly, a pillar of light shot up from the floor, depositing yet another visitor when it dissipated: a woman in a yellow hoodie with stark white hair and matching wings protruding from her back.
The angel looked at Aurelia and beamed. "Love puppy!"
Aurelia smiled right back. "Turtle dove!" Aurelia then pulled the angel into a twirl hug before kissing her like the world was going to end.
Xerxes facepalmed. "Nowadays, she just does that. The angel is Gabrielle, high priestess of the angel realm."
Zimmerman blinked in confusion. "So, that whole emergency situation was because Aurelia wanted to cut work and see her girlfriend?"
"I'm aware it seems like an overreaction, but their dates can last for weeks at a time. Slows work down to an absolute crawl. I keep telling everyone we should switch to representational democracy to avoid the problem, but nooooo..."
Zimmerman sighed. "I can relate. I mean, not to the politics. My son got engaged to his boyfriend recently and it's goddamn impossible to get him to focus anymore. I'm happy for him, but Lord if it ain't frustrating."
Zimmerman watched as Aurelia and Gabrielle rolled around on the floor, giggling like children. "You know," Xerxes said, "You're remarkably calm for someone who just discovered that demons exist."
"Eh. Mess around with quantum physics, something strange is gonna happen. Though I can't say I was expecting this." Zimmerman looked back at the portal. "You know, I have no idea how to close that thing and we're probably going to be here for a while. You want a drink? I have some whiskey around here."
"God, please. It's been a long enough day for me already."
|
“General, the portal is opening sir, but our handshake protocol isn’t being received and Earth says they’re still powering their end of the wormhole.” Head nerd Dr. Neumann said, staring at a monitor looking at data that General Howard couldn’t make heads or tails of.
“This thing took twelve hours to power,” General Howard growled, “we aren’t stopping now. Just tell Earth to start opening theirs.”
“But, sir, if we open it now, who knows where it will lead?”
“Open it. That’s an order.”
Two soldiers standing behind the General gripped their rifles tighter, giving each other a glance. This wasn’t going to end well.
“...Fine, but I’m not responsible for anything that comes next.” The disgruntled scientist grumbled.
Through the transparent aluminum window, a large ring in a sealed chamber squealed as a yellow dot grew brighter and larger in the center of the ring, arcs of electricity zapping the edges wildly. The scientists around were twitching in their seats and men and women in lab coats ran around the observation room in a frenzy.
General Howard was tense, clenching his jaw and knuckles going white as the other side of the portal slowly came into view.
That was not Earth, he realized grimly.
“Neumann…” he shot the scientist a look, who was busy gaping at the image on the screen on his monitor.
“This is….” Neumann gulped.
On the other other side of the now fully open portal was a burning landscape. Plumes of smoke and ash from a dizzying amount of mountain peaks rose into the otherworldly sky. Lava ran freely down in great flowing rivers into a sea of hot magma.
However, the fire world behind the portal was not what grabbed the attention of the now gaping scientist and soldiers alike.
A blood red titan stood at at least twelve feet tall, forked tail swinging wildly behind him. Rippling muscles gave the titan the appearance of an Olympic god, with legs as thick as tree trunks and veins bulged out from his arms. He had twelve sculpted abs and his chest was rock hard with immense power. Two large horns spiked out from his skull, and burning red eyes looked down through the portal.
General Howard swallowed dryly. There was no doubt about it – he had just ordered the portal to Hell to be opened, and that was Satan himself.
“Clo-close the portal!” General Howard stammered.
“We can’t!” Dr. Neumann said frantically, “Destabilizing the portal now would destroy the entire facility!”
“Are you shitting me? Satan is looking right at us and you can’t close the portal!?”
“Sir, he’s moving,” the soldier standing to the right of General Howard said, rifle shouldered and lifted at ready.
General Howard stepped back as he locked eyes with Satan.
Satan’s eyes widened and General Howard gaped in shock as Satan’s face twisted into an expression of pure… fear!?
Satan’s loud booming voice came clearly through the portal and into the microphones placed in the room.
“C-Close the portal!” He shrieked, falling back onto his massive ass as his imps, who were just as blood red and muscle bound as him – and just as scared looking as their master – rushed at the portal.
“Wait, what?” General Howard gasped as demons flood into the chamber, immediately going to any machinery they could find and scratching and hitting it repeatedly.
“Sir! They’re destroying our equipment! If they close it like that, they’ll almost certainly blow up Mars City in an instant!”
General Howard’s inside chilled. If they ended up blowing Mars City… then his wife and child would die along with them.
“...Send the men in.” He said quietly. The two soldiers behind him stepped back, one of them letting out a surprised, “What?”
“I SAID SEND OUR MEN IN! KILL THE DEMONS BEFORE THEY CLOSE THE PORTAL!” General Howard shouted.
And that was how humanity killed Satan and invaded and conquered Hell itself.
\-
was bored and sitting in a hot car in the parking lot of some dumb college (ew college)
| 2022-09-12T06:54:19 | 2022-09-12T06:49:18 | 918 | 79 |
[WP] The eldritch god stood before the girl, in almost human form. "Your parents sold you to be my bride. I accepted, knowing that if I don't they will just try another deity, but I will not force this on you. Have this credit card and live as you wish. If you want something else instead, just ask."
|
I gazed down enthralled by the shimmering, flickering, glimmering beings that kneeled before me in adulation, terror, greed. Enthralled by the disparity, dichotomy, hypocrisy. The two want what they considered so much, in exchange for the one they consider nothing at all. Irrelevant, Obstructive, Unwanted.
I accept. The deal is struck. I gave them all that they asked for. Each demand is more insignificant, trivial, trifling, than the last. I give them 'wealth, glory, fortune' in exchange for their refuse, detritus, reject.
I gave them shiny rocks, useless metal, and dead presidents in exchange for the greatest treasure they have, had, would every have... and the stupid, hairless, souless, apes *thank me for it!* Bowing, groveling, fleeing. They leave the one that matters. The only one that matters. She was their most precious blessing, squandered, wasted, discarded. A child. I offer her the Moon and the Sun on a silver chain of living stars. I offer her the universe on a rainbow platter. I offer to crown her Queen of All Creation On High.
All she asks for is a hug, and a bed time story. The deal was struck. She is *my* child now, *my* most precious blessing. She is, was, will forever be my dearest treasured one. Long after the last star fades I will hold these memories, as the only moments that ever truly mattered.
|
"Uhhhhhh... Okay...?" She replied, slowly taking the card from his, uh, hand? It's hard to say, not so much a hand, or a tentacle, or tentacles... If you look closely, maybe the tentacles are made of hands... Is it even tangible? The card is, but...
"By the way, if you'd wish I could hear you from anywhere in this realm, so if you are not by my side and need me, just say a prayer and I'll be there." He said, pulling his hand away and hiding it. The other ones too.
"Well, if you'll excuse me."
And like that, he's gone.
"Well, maybe this wasn't all bad!" She said, looking at the card, recalling to the terrifying ritual she had to endure, scaring for her own life. She looked at the wound on her chest, already healing thanks to the mysterious being.
Maybe, she should go for a nice dinner using this new card to try and forget some of the trauma, yea, at a nice steakhouse.
She finished her food, handed the waitress her card and sipped on the last of her wine, feeling just a little better after the whole ordeal. The waitress was back.
"Ma'am, your card has been declined."
"Ma'am, your card has been declined."
| 2022-08-09T19:42:05 | 2022-08-09T17:37:06 | 86 | 53 |
[WP] "Just go talk to her."
|
“Just go talk to her.”
Robert said nothing, just cradled the half consumed coffee in a white ceramic cup in his hand. This would be the third saturday in a row, and the ninth overall, where he continued to say nothing, only to spend the morning sucking down free coffee refills in an aging diner while everyone flowed past him. Truthfully, even at free refills, it was probably overpriced to begin with.
He looked up from his reflection in the brackish liquid to watch Dharma carry a trayful of food past. His mind said, I’m going to talk to her, his lungs and mouth didn’t believe this lie for a minute.
“Robert,” Frank said, “Seriously, how long are you going to keep doing this?”
“I got one shot at this, I’m not going to mess it up.”
Frank rolled his eyes at this. Maybe if it was the first time he had heard this particular lie he would have more sympathy for Robert.
“You’re are messing it up by not talking to her. What’s the worse thing that will happen if you talk to her? You’ve got nothing to lose, everything to gain.”
“She might still be angry with me. I did… things.”
“That was almost two decades ago. Come on Robert, don’t make me give you a pep-talk. Hell, at this pace I should just make a tape of my speech, leave it on the table here, and play it for you. Save myself a saturday morning. Right now I could still be curled up in bed with--”
Robert wasn’t sure if it was the pained look he gave Frank that stopped him mid sentence, or if it was Frank’s common sense kicking in. Either way, Frank stopped short of mentioning his wife and let the painful subject drop.
Robert went back to staring at his reflection in the rippling black oil some people call coffee. Dharma breezed by again. Robert caught her scent that he knew so well. Maybe not in this exact form, but a lifetime ago he knew it well.
“Ok, I’m done for the day.” Frank squeezed his bulky frame out of the tiny diner booth and stood up with a labored effort. He grabbed the chipped white ceramic mug that was his cup of coffee, and gave it one last hearty gulp. Somehow, Frank actually enjoyed the coffee here. Something Robert never understood.
Frank grasped Robert’s shoulder and said, “Listen, don’t waste the entire day here, go get some fresh air at least, OK?”
Robert nodded. He watched as Frank made his way up front to the register. He was, of course rung up by Dharma. Her attention was solely on Frank, allowing Robert ample time to watch her closely, she still looked so much like her mother it made his chest hurt just to see. Frank dutifully paid for his coffee, with a generous tip, and left out the front door.
Dharma was busy at the register with bookkeeping and Sheila, the other waitress, was busy gossiping it up with the cook. If Robert left right now to pay, he could talk to her. OK, don’t think, just move, just do it, Robert told himself. A force from within propelled Robert up and forward. Don't think. Don’t think. Don’t you dare think old man, just move it.
The world around him disappeared into tunnel vision that only saw Dharma. Mechanically, he made his way up, and fished out some cash for the bill.
She smiled sweetly and gave him the total.
Just go talk to her, screamed in Robert’s ears.
“Dharma, it’s me, Robert,” squeaked out of Robert’s mouth.
“I’m sorry, what was that.”
The blood rushed through Robert’s head, pumping out a cacophonous beat, threatening to make him pass out. He wanted to run out the door and not stop until he hit the ocean. A tough prospect in a landlocked state. Goddamn it NO, just do this right, Robert screamed at himself.
“Dharma, it’s me, Robert,” come out of Robert’s mouth. Clearly, succinctly.
“I know Dad, I’ve been waiting for you to say something.”
The blood drained from Robert, his mind went clear, he still fumbled for words.
“Come talk to me Dad, do you want to have some more coffee? With me this time?”
His stomach threatened to vomit at the idea of drinking any more of that sludge, but he didn’t care.
|
Tally had dreams, and wasn't afraid to let the school know about them. On the front of the notebooks, she had doodled an enormous green serpent with an amber eye, eating its own tail. It guarded her English homework: dense sheets of her scribbled handwriting, ideas and annotations packed in at the margins. She carried books the size of bricks in her backpack, weird ones, the ones with elves and hooked-nose goblins on the front cover. With wispy long hair that came down to her waist, and wide eyes that suggested constant surprise that she was still on earth amongst mortals, Tally got picked on.
Dean watched her from a corner of the canteen. Wearing blue jeans and a loose white shirt, Tally sat with her hair hanging over one shoulder. She was writing furiously, flicking paper over in the tail-eating-serpent binder as she filled page after page. With her left hand, she occasionally, carefully, lifted grapes to her mouth from a tiny tupperware box. He wondered what she was writing.
"You staring at her?" Oscar extended his legs under the table with all the authority rightly belonging to a kid who'd grown his first beard hair in year six.
"Nah," Dean lied.
"Go talk to her," Oscar said. He pushed his hand through his hair and looked over at the table beside them. Dean rolled his eyes. However much Oscar pushed his hair up, the year eleven girls were *not* going to look back. One, blonde, tucked her hair behind her ear and leant in toward her friends. After a moment, they all burst into laughter.
"Yeah, and say what? 'Hello weirdo, have you thought about leaving Middle Earth yet?'"
Oscar breathed out fast. Last year he'd stopped laughing, become too cool for it, just like bike-riding and Halo.
"Yeah, with words like that, you'd have plenty to chat about," Oscar said. "Go on, just go and talk to her. Say something."
"Fuck's sake," Dean stood up. He wiped his clammy hands on his trousers.
The walk over to her table felt like a marathon. His legs shook, and when Dean glanced back at Oscar, he waved triumphantly, as though to say 'carry on, amuse me.' Tally looked up as she approached, blinking with her usual, bemused expression.
"Dean fancies you!" Oscar called across the canteen. The year eleven girls laughed like cats again, and Dean blushed.
"I don't," he assured Tally, knowing it was the wrong thing. Her eyelashes were pale as her hair. She'd flushed pink all the way down to her chest.
"Then what are you here for?" she asked curtly. Dean looked at the binder, open in front of her. She'd drawn a map in the margins of her scribbled page, winding roads and coasts. It reminded him of a game he'd played in Lower School. Lunchtimes spent around a table with twenty-sided dice. That was before a haircut, before contacts, before his skin cleared up and Oscar wanted to spend time with him.
He opened his mouth, not daring to look back as Oscar.
"Why don't you get some actual friends?" he said, loud enough to be overheard. He couldn't meet Tally's eyes. He kept them on the binder, deciphering her handwriting. "Stop with all this weird nerd shit?"
Dean's heart was racing. He wanted to say: *I love your hobbies, I think they're cool. I still love all the old adventure games I used to play before Oscar got too cool for them, and I want to know about your writing.*
What he said instead was: "Who the fuck reads books with maps in?"
He'd worked out her handwriting. The last line on the page she'd written:
*The hero returned home, ready to face her--*
Blurring, the end of the sentence was lost beneath a tear as it dropped to the page. Tally sniffed. She put her pen down and tried to wipe her eyes discreetly. The year elevens were watching, the blonde's eyes flicking between Dean and Oscar as though sizing them up.
"Okay," Tally said. "I've got it. Can you leave me alone now?"
Dean returned to Oscar and pulled his chair in. He didn't feel much like a hero. He didn't feel much like anything good at all.
| 2016-09-09T07:32:05 | 2016-09-09T07:22:09 | 35 | 14 |
[WP]"I told you it's an artifact of incredible might and power and THAT'S where you decide to hide it?!"
|
It took Benjamin a couple of tries before he could frame a coherent sentence.
“I told you it was an artifact of incredible might and power and THAT’S where you hide it?”
Jim shrugged. “Come on, Ben, never read Poe? Hide in plain sight!”
Deep breaths. Deep breaths, count to ten. You can’t shoot this lunatic yet, you still need him and his team.
“So you took something that could vaporize a whole freaking planet, stuck it in a dog collar, and put it on a blasted beagle?”
“On my beagle!” Jonathan, who had been too dumbstruck to talk till now (a reasonably rare occurrence) burst out. Jim grinned, more delighted than anything at the reactions of his teammates.
“Hey, it looked good on him!”
“Maybe we should have him retake that psych screening” Katherine suggested.
Benjamin snorted.
“I’m pretty sure he somehow hacked it the first time round. No way this guy is sane.”
Jim, leaning back in his chair, began to sing under his breath “You maybe right, I maybe crazy…But it just might be a lunatic that you are looking for…”
Katherine kicked his chair to shut him up.
“Well, it worked.” William pointed out. “The raiders never gave the puppy a second look.”
“Thank you!” Jim gave him a thumbs-up.
Katherine rolled her eyes. For heaven’s sake, why did she invariably have to be the only grown up in the room?
“Alright. The point is, we’ve still got the Jewel of Khorros, the Alliance has conducted the search and is sure we don’t have it, and yes, Jon, your pet is fine – it isn’t like the Jewel is radioactive or anything. So…why don’t we just consider this settled for the moment and plan our next step?”
“He still has to take a psych scan” Jonathan declared.
Jim, watching gleefully, shrugged.
“Sure, why not?”
“And everyone in this room has to swear to secrecy that we put the sacred crown jewel of the Volantheans on a dog collar, or we’ll be starting another inter galactic war.”
|
I yelled “LOOK THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH PUTTING IT IN MY LOCKER, DO YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF I KEEP IT AT HOME.”
He yelled back “YOUR RICH CANT YOU JUST LIKE PUT IT IN A VAULT OR SOMETHING?”
“ALL OF OUR VAULTS ARE FULL OF STUFF THAT BELONG TO MY FAMILY , IF THEY SEE IT THEY’LL ASK QUESTIONS, I CANT KEEP IT AT HOME OR ONE OF THE MAIDS MIGHT FIND IT AND ASK QUESTIONS, I CANT STORE IT IN ONE OF OUR FACILITIES OR SOMEONE MIGHT ASK QUESTIONS, TO MANY PEOPLE WILL ASK QUESTIONS.”
Your probably confused let me explain, about a week ago I was told by some magical force that I was “worthy.” I come from a wealthy background, but I never took advantage of it, most of my money went to charities, and I study hard, and do a lot of community service thing like that. I won’t deny I’m a pretty good person, but I didn’t think I was good enough for magic. Whatever magical deity that saw me as “worthy” gifted me a a draw string back full of magical gems that will give me different powers, as well as an assistant to help me along the way, a pixie named Argus. He’s very helpful, smart, can turn into a human form, and APPARENTLY has some very strong opinions on my storage choices.
“Don’t worry everyone knows that I’m rich, no one has the guts to steal from me, there all afraid I might sue them.” He gives me an look that’s a mix of tired and disappointed, he sighs, “look you can keep them in there for now but can like carry them on you or something, if you lose those and they get in the wrong hand, not only will your world be in serious danger, I will be in SO MUCH TROUBLE”. “All right fine” I grab the bag and put in my sweater pocket, I’ll hold on the them for now.
| 2021-06-28T09:17:16 | 2021-06-28T07:20:27 | 43 | 11 |
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats.
|
God pursed his lips and adjusted his spectacles. The scroll he read from was browned and cracking, clearly ancient beyond all reason.
“It seems that with each incarnation,” God said, “You’ve chosen to add one point to, ahem, *toe durability*.”
Mary felt her cheeks heat, there were literally millions of people listening in. This was *Mary Dodd* after all, her soul had been reincarnated more times than any other and yet SOMEHOW, in her MOST successful life, she was nothing more than a Brooklyn-born “comedian” who lived in a studio apartment and ate ramen four times a week.
“Okay, uh, not sure what that was all about. Was I like a kung fu master, or something,” Mary asked.
God looked over the scroll, mouthing the words softly as he read. “No, you have never studied any form of martial art.”
Mary scratched the back of her head. She smiled broadly, no one could say she didn’t know how to work a crowd. There were some chuckles from the audience, but most looked on in anticipation.
“How many times have I been recycled again?”
God didn’t have to look up. “999,999 times,” he said.
“Yikes,” Mary said, “Alright, well, I guess I must’ve had a good reason if I've kept it up this long. I’ll take toe durability plus 1,000,000. Thank you very much.”
God moved the scroll away from his face, “*Without fail. Every time*,” he said, his face a picture of puzzled amusement. “Are you 100% sure?”
Mary scanned the crowd, trying to judge their reaction. All were silent.
“....um....yes.”
The crowd erupted in laughter.
“Laugh it up,” Mary shouted, “I’ll bet it won’t be so funny when I’ve got super feet or something. I’ll be a super hero, they’ll call me Iron Toes! I’ll be like the chick version of Lionel Messi!”
“Alright, alright, enough,” God boomed, stilling the noise, “You have one choice left, Mary. What will it be?”
Mary grit her teeth. “What’d I choose last time?”
“Resistance to spicy foods,” God said.
*Shit,* Mary thought. “What about the time before that?”
“Rib Dexterity.”
Mary threw her hands up, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“I’m really not.”
“What the fuck does that even mean, God?”
He grinned, “I have no idea.”
“Well why would you, *GOD*, let me keep making such shitty choices?”
“It wouldn’t be fair for me to interfere with your free will.”
“Well you can give me suggestions, right?”
God pondered that for a moment while he stroked his beard. “Yes, I suppose.”
Mary clapped, “Perfect, so what are you thinking?”
“In my experience,” God said, “Those who accumulate intelligence points generally find successful lives.”
Mary folded her arms stubbornly. “Okay i’ve had enough of your shit, man. You callin me dumb, God?”
God sighed, “You asked for my suggestion. I gave it.”
“Alright well next time keep your bullshit to yourself unless you’ve got something constructive to say.”
“I’ll....keep that in mind next time.”
“Thank you.”
Mary scrunched her nose like she always did when she thought hard. *I’ve gotta pick something good,* she thought, *Somethin that will-*
“I’m sorry Mary, there’s a *really* long line here,” God said.
“Don’t rush me!”
“You’ve been up here for a decade of Earth time! The new births department has had to work overtime!”
“Shit okay okay....just, idk,” Mary said.
“5.”
*Shit okay, something good, Mary. We can do this.*
“4.”
*Come on. COME ON.*
“3.”
*Maybe Rib Dexterity again? That one actually sounds kinda cool now that I-*
“2.”
Mary closed her door eyes, she didn’t want to see the reaction. “Alright fuck it,” she said, “I’m just gonna double down on Toe Durability this time.”
God dropped his head against the table. “Not this again, Mary....”
|
"Well that explains the dick."
"IT DOES EXPLAIN THE DICK," the booming voice said from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"What about my lack of smell, did I not put points into that? I mean, I can smell stuff if I get really close to it, but you know I missed a lot of good smells on this last go."
"ACTUALLY, YOU STOCKED MOST YOUR POINTS FOR THE ABILITY TO NOT SMELL THINGS BACK DURING THE DARK AGES."
"Ah, makes sense. Lack of plumbing."
"THAT'S WHAT I SAID. YOU DIDN'T GET IT."
The colorless void was perfectly silent for a moment. Arthur felt himself drifting off to sleep.
"What about being able to pet cats? Cats all seem to love these magic hands," Arthur said as he tried to lift his hands for emphasis. They, along with the rest of his bodily form, seemed to have stayed in the material plane.
"NO, THAT ONE'S A FREEBIE, CATS ARE MY PROUDEST CREATION AND I FELT LIKE SHARING."
Arthur tried to look around, still nothing."Oh. Well how many points do I get for the next round?"
"JUST ONE, ARTHUR. CHOOSE WISELY."
Arthur thought for a moment back on all his previous lives. They all seemed like a blur compared to this most recent one, but he got several flashes of the joys and horrors those versions of him had experienced. He thought about the loves and losses, the great cats he had pet. They really were this things greatest creation. He thought about how he could stock points into smelling this time and see what all the fuss was about, seeing that toilets were a thing now. God, just don't let me be born in India. Then it came to him.
"More dick!" He shouted.
A loud exasperated sigh escaped from the endlessness all around him, "AGAIN? THIS IS THE SIXTH TIME IN A ROW, ARTHUR."
"More dick!"
A flash of light accompanied another impossibly large sigh and Arthur ceased to be. His soul had gone into another body and he felt small and weak, but it was warm and he was so tired. The last remnants of his memories faded into nothing as he slipped into the beautiful void of sleep. So warm.
Melissa O'Connol was at the crux of her labor and with one final push she felt her baby slide from her loins. It was her first born. She had been scared, but with medical technologies always on the rise and whatever was in that IV drip they gave her it had been smooth sailing. Her mom had been in labor with her for almost 30 hours. She had only experienced two hours before this sweet little boy entered the world. Her husband, and now father of her child, Trevor, looked down at their newborn with wide eyes and a hint of a smile, "well he doesn't get that from my side of the family." Melissa, who was now holding her baby, looked down to see what he meant. That's when she saw it. The flaccid seven inch penis between the boys legs, appearing to be a third leg at first sight. She was proud and a little scared admittedly. Maybe there was something to that knowing glint in her father's eye. If that was the case, god bless her mother, that woman is a trooper.
"Have you thought of a name?" Said the balding male nurse who had assisted in delivery.
Melissa looked at her husband and he nodded, eyes still glancing over at his sons massive dong from time to time. It almost demanded to be looked at.
"Beauregard Philip O'Connol," Melissa said dreamily.
"That's a good name", said male nurse, jutting it down on the clipboard he held.
"This boy is going to rule the world someday, honey", Melissa said to her husband.
"I know", he said, "I know."
| 2019-01-24T12:24:39 | 2019-01-24T11:33:09 | 61 | 37 |
[WP] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval
|
The president of the United States grasped a stark black phone in his hands. Surrounded by generals and military experts, he slowly tapped his hand on the desk, a rhythmic sound that broke the grave silence. He had not expected his presidency to require something like this.
No, nothing like this.
The weary voice on the other side of the phone spoke with a thick accent, trained by experience. The Pope let out a tired yawn before speaking "A call from you is unexpected, Mr. President. What is this about?"
"Your holiness. Thank you for speaking with me. I realize it's late where you are, but... I have a rather unorthodox request for you, considering the recent news." The president croaked out. His tapping on the desk increased with pace as nervousness built. He hadn't expected his presidency, or any presidency, to ask for such a thing.
"Well, you have my attention." The Pope croaked.
"The North Koreans swore that they would start a nuclear war if a bullet is fired." The tapping ceased. "... Which is why we need to not shoot a single bullet."
"If you're looking for some sor--"
"I need you to start a crusade against them. No bullets, no missiles, just... older weaponry" The president interrupted, his face twisting. Silence enveloped the other side of the line. Not even the Pope's breathing could be heard, which made the anticipation all the more maddening.
"A crusade." He paused. "Against North Korea. I wouldn't expect a... how the kids say it... prank call from you."
"It's not a prank." The president spoke again, confidence slowly building. "You have the power to muster the forces of so many, and with your holy confidence at their back, I have no doubt they would succeed." Silence, once more.
"The North Koreans, great apostates who shun the light of God and commit horrible acts, yet... a Crusade has not been ordered in many years." The pope sighed. "... Perhaps, Mr. President. Perhaps."
"Thank you, your Holiness." The president slowly put down the phone.
---
"And so, I call upon all men of good faith with the church, all those who love God and spurn the Great Deceiver, be you of any branch of the faith, to rally before the Holy Vatican on March the Twenty Fourth, before the eyes of God to embark upon the tenth Great Crusade against the Apostates of North Korea, against the shepherd of evil, Kim Jong Un, to bring the light of God to a hopeless nation." The pope mustered his strength into his voice. "Deus Vult!"
And all around the packed Vatican square, men, women, and children, cried with countless cheers, a thunder that would make God proud. Deus vult. God wills it.
|
"The first casualty of war is always the truth."
Few people remember how the war really started. Most say it was the North Koreans preemptive nuclear strike on Yongsan Garrison in Seoul along with several US naval targets that caused the initial outbreak of violence. Others said it was a botched assassination attempt on Un made by US trained ROK special forces.
Regardless, none of that mattered as it was over almost as soon as it began.... well, at least the major fighting anyways.
The problem that the leaders of South Korea and America overlooked was that they hadn't planned adequately for the millions of refugees that had flood into South Korea and China. Thousands of them highly contaminated and sick with radiation. The compromised immune systems of the refugees only spreading an outbreak of disease that moved rapidly throughout what remained of North and South Korea.
US leadership, determined to stabilize the Korean peninsula, began calls for 100,000 troops to maintain the prolonged occupation of the region and to combat the insurgency provoked by the collateral damage of tens of thousands of civilians in the initial strikes, with an increase up to 250,000 over the next three years. This sacrifice required that US military spending be increased at the cost of cutting more social programs. The US also appealed to the UN to send additional peacekeepers and aid to support the effort.
Unfortunately, there were no viable contingency plans when some of South Korea's major manufacturing facilities were destroyed during the initial exchange, causing their already fragile economy to collapse. South Korea had set aside funds for Reunification, but those funds were only anticipating the peaceful merger between the states, not having to rebuild each country's respective industrial base, in some cases from the ground up, and in the many cases of ground zero, there would be no redevelopment at all.
To the surprise of many Americans, China, angered by US actions, enacted sanctions that in combination with increases in military spending, crippled the American economy. Factoring in the cuts to social spending this had the unfortunate effect of further increasing political tension and domestic unrest in America.
America, lacking in the cheap Chinese electronics that made it a technological powerhouse, and now unable to adequately fund it's military, decided upon a new cost cutting restructuring plan. Critics called it "insane", "regressive", and even "barbaric", it's proponents hailed it for it's simplicity and genius. The arms industry balked at the initial budgetary cuts and claimed it would cause mass unemployment and that the plan would set America technologically back centuries.
With its people reduced to scratching in the dirt for a living, revolting against their leadership, and beating rocks together for entertainment, America was about to get medieval...
| 2017-03-19T08:23:20 | 2017-03-19T08:02:51 | 100 | 15 |
[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.
|
"Honey, I'm home."
Alan walked into what he thought was his house, after 30 years of living the same day, over and over and over again.
"Hello? Is anyone here?"
Suddenly, he heard someone come down the stairs, in a rush. Little feet tapping on the stairs, like a child.
2 children, a boy and a girl, ran towards Alan screaming: **"DADDY!"**
The 2 kids hugged Alan, but he doesn't remember these kids. They seem familiar, but it's all a blur.
"Hey... Kids..." Was all Alan could say, as he thought of every single possible name he would've given these kids.
"Daddy, did you get me my present?" The girl asked, in a sweet little voice.
*Shit,* Alan couldn't even remember this kid's name, now he has to remember something she asked for 30 years ago. Well, at least it felt like 30 years.
"Uh... Yeah sweetie, I got you..." Alan reached into his pocket, praying to God whatever helped him get out of the loop, could get him out of this situation.
Then Alan pulled out a small little slap-on pink bracelet, with the Town's name on it.
"Thanks Daddy!" The little girl took the bracelet from Alan's hands, and slapped it onto her arm.
"It's perfect!" The little girl jumped for joy. "I'm gonna tell Mommy!" As she ran excitedly upstairs.
Then the little boy started looking at him. Alan started thinking of every single thing a boy this kid's age would like.
Action figures? Water Guns? What is it?
"Dad? Did you get what I wanted?" The little boy asked Alan.
Now Alan was racing through his mind, thinking of all the 30 years he spent in that town. He thought of what his son wanted. Then he remembered.
Alan pulled out from his suitcase, a Hot Wheels toy car still in the box. Alan didn't know why he got it that day, he just felt like getting one.
"You got it!" The little boy grabbed the box and ran up the stairs, probably to wake up their Mom.
Alan then walked to the living room, and sat on the couch. He thought of all the people he had met, and all the outcomes that he had lived.
Then he felt a tap from his back. "Hey Sweetie."
He looked up, and he saw the most beautiful face he had seen in years.
I think I have an addiction of writing late at night. I need help.
| 2018-06-30T10:32:33 | 2018-06-30T08:02:27 | 165 | 89 |
[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.
|
To you, whom I didn’t treat right, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry in a way that you may not even realize because it hurts me every day that I live I remember you. I remember not being the very best for you and that cracks me deep down, I don’t know how else to say it. I feel fractured because I wasn’t the best for you, and I wish so badly I could’ve been your superman, your hero, or at the very least your friend. You deserved and deserve so much more than I gave you and I pray you find a hero who will give you everything I didn’t. I made a choice through my inaction to not live to my fullest and treat you the best, I let you down. But please know that I honestly feel we are both better for it. Kintsukoroi means “golden repair”, essential we are better for having been broken and living past it, and I hope desperately that it will get better for you, or maybe it already has, I’m not sure. What I do know is that you are a beautiful entity, one the world sure could use more of, so go out and be more than who you were, because you are stronger now. You have your kintsukoroi, so it’s about time I get a move on with mine.
|
Dear J,
Hey J, it's me. For the sake of your privacy I'm going to omit your name like I always do when I mention you. But, I miss you. And I really fucking hate that I miss you. When I was with you, I felt like somebody, I felt like someone who had a(in my mind) foreseeable future. I haven't found anybody like you and I recently finally got over you. Without you in my life I feel like I'm adrift in an open sea, and I see an island in the distance growing smaller and starting to fade away. I have no drive in my life. I've pretty much stopped writing for fun, I have no passion, no drive, no goals for any future. Most nights I just want to find some isolated place and drink myself to death. I tried crying, but I could never manage to make any tears at all. I know, I should hate you for what you did. And most of me does, but every night, when I close my eyes, you're always on my mind.
Fuck you and with regards,
Dalrey_Wil
| 2017-11-05T23:09:04 | 2017-11-05T22:17:00 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] Harry, Ron and Hermione aren't actually wizards or in the wizarding world. They are high on drugs and hallucinating throughout their journeys. The cops are Dementors and Dumbledore is a crazy old homeless man.
|
And the light of the morning streamed in, illuminating Harry's track-mark scabbed arms, as he lay outstretched in the vomit-stained mattress where he found his only peace, in the corner of an empty room in a long abandoned warehouse in Hackney.
Harry woke up, coughing, as the sunlight reached his eyelids. He wiped the sweat from his face with his blanket and sat, holding his head in his hands.
He was desperately trying to cling onto his dream. It was about something really important. But his old Nokia made a sound, interrupting him, and he tilted his head to read the screen - "17 unread messages from: Hans van Voldemort". His stomach twisted as reality came back to him. If he didn't get Voldemort's money by the end of the day, he was fucked.
He staggered to his feet and into the next room where Dumbledore was asleep wrapped in three coats. He shook him - 'Dumbledore wake up. What the fuck am I going to do. Voldemort's going to -'
'Fucks sake Harry. Don't wake me up like that.' Dumbledore rocked himself upright and shook himself awake, before brushing a greasy curl of hair out of his eyes and lighting the butt of a roll-up from the floor. 'Harry I didn't tell you before but I've found something a bit special. It'll take your mind right off Voldemort. Cook this up for us will you.'
Harry went about preparing the syringe, wiping last night's blood away. Dumbledoor sat and alternated between smoking and coughing until everything was ready. 'You go first', said Dumbledore, 'you look like you need to forget your problems.'
'Yeah, I just need a little pick me up so I can think straight, and work out what to do', slurred Harry. As his eyes rolled back into his skull, the last thing he saw was the syringe in his twitching hand.
He sank back into his dream. It all came back to him. He was young again. The warehouse turned into his old school. Everything was magical, everyone loved him, and he had incredible powers. But he couldn't forget his problems. His memories of Voldemort, the police, his old boss, the school bully, all twisted into terrible nightmares and chased him deep into his mind, stalking him, lurking behind every corner.
Dumbledore gathered up his stuff and left after he couldn't wake Harry up a day later. He didn't know what Voldemort was after Harry for, but he didn't want to be there to find out. Harry was still lying in a pool of sweat and urine, gibbering gently into his pillow. Dumbledore looked back over his shoulder with a twinge of remorse, necked the dregs of his warm beer, and closed the door of the warehouse behind him.
|
"Ay! Use dat spellar 'Arry! Blimey! demun'or is coming. Nuff said, yeah?"
The Redhead's cockney shout made Harry spring up to his feet. He pointed his syringe at the approaching police.
"Awright geeezzaa! Adavakedava. Sorted mate. "
The cops stopped. They looked at each other exchanging confused glances.
"Rattle an' Hum on Harry quick let's escape. OK?" Hermione said.
The three huddled under a cloak.
"Demun'or can't see us now. OK?" Hermione was proud of herself.
"Blimey! Stupid girl. They can still hear us now, OK?" Ron snapped.
"Oy, you kids? Where do you live? Come here."
The kids made a run for it.
"Quickey, eh maybe we can make it to da Hogwarts shield. The demun'or can't enter there OK."
A homeless guy came out of a cul-de-sac as the kids sped through the backalleys.
"Howdy officers," he greeted them. They shoved him aside and raced after the kids.
"Ow no! They broke through the shield? The headmaster is fallen."
Harry stopped in grief. The other two tried to drag him on but the cops had already caught up to them.
"What are yew gonna do ter us you soulless monsters."
They dragged them back to their car.
"Get you kids into juvies, where you'll go through deaddiction."
"If you do that we won't tell you how to catch you know who," Hermine said, some sense wearing into her.
"What did you say?"
"That's right. The one who must not be named. The one who sells hallucinogens to us kids- the lynchping. Getting us small fries will do you now, would it?"
The officers stopped.
"You mean you can lead us to this... you-know-who?"
The three nodded.
The officers were tempted by the proposal. Getting some jacked up kids from the curb or nailing the big daddy? They quickly exchanged glances and decided on the latter.
"Alright now, punks. Maybe if you quit your drugs and get us this guy, maybe we'll try some lenience on your chargesheet."
The three kids were let off. Their new mission was to find and destroy Tom Riddle, who went by the street name Voldermort.
| 2016-12-11T12:46:43 | 2016-12-11T12:34:29 | 80 | 57 |
[WP] Your father died when you were a child. Before he passed, he wrote you letters, one for each birthday, until your eighteen. Over the years they’ve become more and more eerily specific - addressing things he couldn’t have known would occur.
|
You were six when your mother delivered the first letter from your father. She read it with you, helping with the long words that your teacher hadn't taught you yet. You didn't really understand what the letter was about, but the letter made her sad, so you decided that you should be sad to.
When you were seven, you read the letter to your mother. In some ways it was easier, you knew more of the words and there were less big words to struggle with. However, not hearing your mother speak was hard. She just stared out the window, her tears the only movement. When you finished she hugged you, harder than she ever had before.
When you were nine, one letter wasn't enough. You needed more of his words, a deeper connection with him. You had too few memories and you could feel him fading. When your mother took a nap, you searched the house, trying to find the other letters. You broke every rule your mother had told you, searching for them. You did not find them. Later, while you sulked in bed, your mother came in with a piece of paper. It was a missing part of the letter you had read earlier. It was a story of when he was young. You laughed at the story as you cried.
When you were twelve, you were excluded from school. A boy had made fun of you. When you told him to stop, he began making fun of your father. He would not do so again. You needed the letter this year, as something to look forward to as life passed you by. Your mother left the note at the door. She would not speak to you since the incident. You tore open the letter, eager for comfort. Instead, the letter spoke of disappointment. How disappointing your behaviour was, how disappointing it was for you to be wasting your life like this. You cried that night, unable to sleep. You did not get excluded again.
When you were sixteen, you took the letter with you to school. Your mother gave it to you as she hugged you goodbye. You read it with your friends. They thought it was strange, but they understood how much this meant to you. That was the day when you realised how much you meant to them. After you finished, one friend came to speak to you, a hushed voice to seem calm. They asked you questions you should have asked but never did. How did your father know how you were doing? How did he know to be proud of your grades? Why did he thank you for getting a job? You had no answers. Your friend did not push further.
Before you were seventeen, you spoke to your mother. She smiled at first, silently. The she stopped smiling. Then she cried, asking you for forgiveness. She showed you her current work, a well\-meaning forgery. It contained stories of a happier time, condolences for not being there and never\-ending love. They were all real, and yet they weren't. She hugged you, harder than she ever had before. You left.
When you were eighteen, you no longer lived with your mother. You lived with your friend. You saw your mother yesterday. You still loved her, but you couldn't see her today. Your mother understood, but you could tell it hurt her all the same. As you made breakfast, you saw a letter on the table. It was yellowing, aged and smelt of an unknown memory. You asked where it had come from, receiving no answers. With shaking hands you opened it, not daring to guess what lied within. You read through the letter inside, crying tears that turned to sobs. You finish the letter, seeing a single request on the bottom.
Please forgive her.
Love, Dad.
|
\*Happy Eleventh Birthday, son! I hope you are enjoying your new PlayStation that we got you!\*
I read those first words, centered at the top of the white card\-stock letter, with a shudder. I am eighteen now, and I've been getting these cards in the mail every birthday since I was five, the year that my father died. One might say that this is some sick joke \- that some sadistic bastard has been mimicking my father's handwriting and signature for the last thirteen years. It might just be some lunatic stalker who places the cards in the mail in the dead of night on the eve of my birthdays. One might say that these are fake, and I might even err on that person's side, except for one single thing.
At the bottom of each letter is the same message:
\*I will always love you, son.\*
\*Sincerely, Will Patterson\*
And next to that message is a fragment of my father's wedding ring. A thirteenth of the whole, to be exact, now that I've fitted the pieces together. Every birthday they've been coming in, and they fit perfectly together.
One might say that this is a fake ring, to take it even further. Well, I might once again err on that person's side in a case of ignorance, but I know the truth. When I was sixteen, I contacted the mortician of my father's burial. I asked him if I could raise my father's dead body and look at it. For a fee of $150 \(almost all that I had saved up\), he surfaced the coffin. I saw exactly what I suspected, and I knew at that moment that one of two things was happening. Either the mortician was playing games with me and raising my father's grave, chopping off my father's ring finger off, cutting my father's ring into thirteenths, attaching them to excellently crafted letters with identical signatures and handwriting, fusing my father's finger back to his body \(perfectly so\) and reattaching the ring fragments to his finger, or my father's ghost was talking to me.
My father's ghost seemed the more reasonable explanation. At that time, only two little bits of the ring were still on Will Patterson's bony, desiccated left ring finger.
\*Happy Fifteenth Birthday, son!\*
\*I know it seems tough sometimes, but just remember that your mother and I will always love you. That bully, Nicholas Thompson, don't let him get you down. That English teacher who hates you so much, don't let her get you down. That quiet girl with the long, red hair isn't too good for you; you should ask her out! Be outgoing! Be strong and tough and all the thing that I could never be. I want to see you grow into a handsome, successful, loving, and loved man.\*
\*Just remember this one thing, no matter what happens in this next year: What you think others think of you is not relevant. The most successful people do not let other people affect them negatively. They persevere.\*
\*I will always love you, son.\*
\*Sincerely, Will Patterson\*
\(a dull fragment of metal with part of a latin word on it, slightly brown with dirt\)
| 2018-05-26T10:26:41 | 2018-05-26T10:15:33 | 38 | 18 |
[WP] You were warned that your newest crew member, a "Human", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they "needed a drink of water."
|
We were told our first experience with a "Heyumin" was to be dealt with caution. A lifeform from the planet the heyumins called "Erff," though they pronounce it a bit differently than I am able, was considered a forbidden territory, as ordered by the Hazard Treaties of year 12903. A cruel planet with skies of oxygen that rusts technology, leading to crashes on anyone approaching, and the main topic of the treaty, water.
Our biosystems require imbalances in chemicals to create motion, and then life. A fully neutral substance with such tiny molecules of just two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen such as this quickly seeps into our bodies and halts reactions, killing of organ failiure, suffocation, and brain damage within 15 seconds, a horrifying experience. The planet even held massive flying bodies of this water in its atmosphere, as well as amounts in usual air.
The planet held Chlorine-Sodium chemicals, known as salt, which quickly absorbs our vital bodily fluids through our digestive system's walls on digestion, causing improper flow of nutrients to all parts of the body, crippling or killing.
There were no known immunities to any of these, until one day a ship illegally landed with a stolen advanced, oxygen-resistant, watertight ship, and they discovered something no one expected: civilization. These heyumins quickly became famous, and our new crew member was the first one we met, Arden Johnson.
I pilot a chemical research ship, used to test properties of hazardous materials. Our heyumin's first impression was of fear, as they promptly got arrested for holding several unsafe containers of water and salt, but were mysteriously approved when they found he was a heyumin. We were forced to wear our protection suits to prevent harm to ourselves.
The heyumin spoke in a voice of much higher pitch than ours. "What is wrong with fese \[these\] people! I haven't gotten an edible meal or a good drink since I left Erff! I'm parched!" They spotted one of our tubs of water in our poison lab, opened the lid, and despite our rush to stop him, he said "Finally," and dunked his face in to drink. I even shrieked in horror, but quickly thought of sorrow.
I went over to a control panel to write an accident report while my assistants went to take the obvious corpse away and decontaminate the water. But the human stood up again, carrying the empty tub of our water supply, and said, "Fat's \[that's\] so satisfying, I really needed a drink of fat \[that\] water." My assistants gasped, and their eyes showed clear surprise. We now knew what my boss meant about dealing with heyumins.
Now the heyumin lives in a section of our hazardous materials section, the only place where they are allowed to take off their isolation suit, in the place where we wear the suits anyway. We had to sterilize the place because they produce a mix of the poisons salt and water, to disperse into the air, when they get too warm.
Though, they have been a very valuable crew member, keeping our systems running, keeping our containment systems secure, and handling our materials in the hazardous materials section with more speed than one can with the suits, and have saved my assistants on multiple occasions against material leaks.
Once, our ship was raided for its poisons by the Ernin. they had no isolation suits, and the heyumin was there at the time. He took off his isolation suit, and managed to fight off the intruders. Though, it wasn't that long of a fight, because he just grabbed and spat at them yelling Erff curses as they died from water contact. End entry.
|
This is more prompt inspired than anything
In a ship floating near a star, a stand-off was happening. The Human the Nevarian stared at each other from across the room, pistols aimed at the other’s heart (or biological equivalent). The Human stood near the door, arms rigid, while the Nevarian was sitting at a table, his lazy slouch in contrast with the tense situation. Behind the Nevarian was a Pluvion girl, tied and bound to a chair, all four of her eyes shining with fear. In the distance, the sound of alarm bells and the shouting of crew members filled the otherwise silent room. The human was the first to speak.
“Let her go. Or I’ll shoot.” His laser pistol stayed steady on the Nevarian’s heart.
The Nevarian clacked it’s mandibles together in what could be called a laugh. “And then I’d shoot back. We’d both end up dead, and my crew would end up collecting the ransom on her. You would lose.”
It was the humans turn to chuckle. “So would you. If your dead on the ground, then it’s safe to say you didn’t win either.”
“So it seems no matter what happens, we both end up losing.” the Nevarian softly said.
“Well not quite. There’s one scenario I see where one of us can end up alive.” The human slowly lowered his gun. The Nevarian, guided mostly by curiosity, lowered his as well, and watched as the human pulled out two small shot glasses, and filled both of them with an identical liquid. He places them on the Nevarian’s table, and pulled up a chair. The two enemies are now sitting face to face, the two glasses in between them.
“One of these glasses is completely harmless. The other, however, holds the deadliest poison in the galaxy. The tasteless, odorless, completely clear liquid know as water. The rules of this game are simple, you take one glass, and I take the other. Then we drink together. Everything clear?”
The Nevarian smiled (or did something close to it at least), and said in a steady voice, “Yes, I think I understand” He leaned back for a moment, staring intensely into the human’s eyes, trying understand what game his old enemy was playing. Surely he wouldn’t leave their final battle to a roll of the dice. A decade long game of cat-and-mouse had taken place between them, with each trying to outsmart the other. Was this really how it would end? With a sigh, the Nevarian realized that there was nothing he could do, and with a rueful smile-equivalent he picked up the glass on his left. The human picked up the glass on his right. They clinked their glasses together and threw them back, swallowing the contents in one motion.
The human set his glass down, and watched with some sadness as the only person who ever matched him died. With a sigh, he walked over to the Pluvion girl and cut the rope tying her to the chair.
“I’m sorry that took so long, your highness,” he said to the girl “but don’t worry, I’m taking you home now.” The girl, staring at awe , could only stammer out a single “How?”
The human smiled for a second, and explained “They were both poison”
| 2020-05-18T13:04:11 | 2020-05-18T11:44:12 | 216 | 136 |
[WP] A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher Artificial Entertainment
A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher **A**rtificial **E**ntertainment
|
Lucas watched the ad another time. It was his fifth view.
The counter kept going up fast. 17.000.000 views for a videogame trailer.
'This is just stupid. No one's gonna play it. My time is worth too much to spend it on getting better on a game'
At the beginning the screen was black. Then a violin.
'They all told you, rich people play, poor people read' appeared written on the screen.
17.500.000 views. Lucas couldn't belive his eyes.
Then the first glimpse of the game itself, while another violin joined the first one. This one was electric and slowly its volume increased.
The gameplay showed man holding a bazooka similar to the golden premium 9000 that Lucas bought on another game for 9000 dollars the day before.
Then a naked female character, without weapons, entered the screen. Dodged 3 attacks from the man holding the fake premium 9000.
There was no sexualization in her traits.
The eyes of the man holding the bazooka were first full of anger.
Then fear, when she disarmed him and then killed the character.
"20.000.000"
Lucas knew this kind of design for a game would get extremely popular.
It wasn't really detailed. But the colors were amazing and the fast paced gameplay could attract all the young players out there. And it really looked like it could be working on a e-reader and didn't need a rich person's computer.
"Now we say, rich people have to learn to run"
Lucas was outraged and worried. Didn't they know rich people deserved everything they got? And what about that crazy dodging on the video? It had to take hours to learn those moves. What about purchasing an armor instead?
The gameplay showed numerous characters in expensive clothes getting slaughtered by naked ones.
Slowly the naked characters started to wear robes, or the clothes of their victims.
'BUT WE ARE BILLIONS. WE ARE HUNGRIER. AND WE RUN FASTER'
the final shot was a rich character, throwing his expensive stuff away, and joining a march of naked people.
'Let's go back to a time when we are were alike.
Let's give Power To The People'
The view count was up again.
Lucas was scared. He knew what this kind of propaganda could lead to. He knew that the game would be banned before it could see the light of day. But something didn't add up. Why was the trailer still online? What happened?
'AE presents: Power to the people" written in red while the second violin totally eclipsed the first one.
'Out now. Everywhere. For free. For all devices. Even yours'
|
“My boy! You just bought level 50!? Such a savage.” Said Tyrone almost choking on the gulp of Mountain Dew he had just ingested.
“Yeah, I got a pay raise at my new job so I caved. Besides, I gottta bulk up our squad cause we’ve been losing team battles as of late.” Said Tim as he relaxed on his gaming chair.
“Yo! But did y’all hear about this new hyped game called Shooters Maxima? Apparently micro transactions within the game will cease to exist. Level will be only be achieved through grinding it out.” I said as I anxiously waited to hear their response.
“Bro! Artificial Entertainment will sink if they dare do this to us. Trust me bro. How else will they entice us to one up each other if we aren’t spending to get better? It just doesn’t work that way Jared.” Said Tyrone. I could tell he was a bit heated but I reserved further commentary to not invoke a heated argument.
Deep inside something was telling me skill-to-win was the truest form of playing video games but the history suggested otherwise. I mean we were in the year 4059 and it’s been this way since I was born. Where could I turn to?
Then suddenly Tim commented on the subject. “You know, if somehow we could search the history of gaming on the internet then we will uncover the greater truths of how gaming was meant to be played.”
This left me thinking for a while in silence, contemplating how to process this. I mean, he does have a point; given the absence of Net-neutrality from knowing the real truth of the past. Sure, the internet describes pay-to-Win as existing since the inception of gaming but what if it’s just a bunch of crap fed to us to make us spend? And what were Artificial Entertainment’s motivations for creating a game that was skill-to-win? I needed to know.
I mustered the courage and told the guys. “I must know, we must know! We must find the truth for ourselves! As gamers I feel we must uncover the truth of where pay-to-Win came from and why suddenly there is a shift in this new highly anticipated game!”
“Pshhhhhhh! Are you crazy!? Just let it go bro. Shooters Maxima is not going to change the landscape of the gaming community.” Tyrone said as he spit out the Mountain Dew he was drinking.
I just couldn’t accept that.
| 2018-02-12T14:08:57 | 2018-02-12T11:59:38 | 151 | 108 |
[WP] A field surgeon in a fantasy world has performed life saving surgery on many an orc war band before, unwittingly becoming blood brothers with most of his patients. In his darkest days, his extended family comes to offer their hands.
|
Florence's knees hurt. they always hurt these days. This was a hot one. Why do they always pick the hottest days to do their killing? She harrumphed.
There was no more time for her aches and pains or harrumphs. The first clash had happened. The rest of the day was the whirlwind of triage. Who to save. Who was past saving and had earned something to dull the pain as they crossed from this world to the next.
She snuck more into those draughts than the church would allow. Old magic. Forbidden to women and yet so much a part of her they would have to burn her alive before they could burn it from here. Out here on the fronts she hoped to go unnoticed. The men had taken to calling her Lucky Flo, the Orcs though. They had another word for her: Brother.
Oh, she'd argued with Kilrik, the massive greenskin sergeant who'd translated what they were calling her. He'd replied, "Jakka Flo no woman. Jakka Flo bleeds battle not children." And that was that.
In less than a year from that battle the inquisition came for her. Somehow they'd gotten one of her draughts. When her screams rang out over the camp as the witch finders sought to drive her power from her the men hid in their tents and spoke softly about what a shame it was for dear Flo.
Not so for the Orcs. The churchmen had only one cleric among them and though he called upon his angels to protect him and soldiers of the faith cut them deeply the Orcs fought with a ferocity few ever lived to tell about.
After the killing was done some of the men came round and stood with their Flo. They set put across the black wastes and that's how our land became the Queendom of Jakka Flo.
|
Lost traveler lays on my floor,
pleads for help and nothing more,
shifting eyes in far off town,
lack of trust all around,
a cleansing herb and nothing more,
green warrior out the door...
​
Red of face, red of blood,
fleeing horrid rains and floods,
twirls his spear all around,
injured, sick, honor bound,
a week in bed, a little more
angry warrior out the door...
​
Scaly hide, broken face,
running away in some twisted race,
two feet tall yet much to say,
about that which took tail away,
long cast spell, not much more,
sneaky warrior out the door...
​
Almost a bull, somewhat polite,
almost a bit erudite,
bits of metal in his muscle,
quiet about apparent tussle,
operation, no needed more,
bulky warrior out the door...
​
Word of warning by familiar hand,
warning of attack so great and grand,
monsters planning retribution,
attacking is the found solution,
a word of warning and nothing more,
I find myself running out the door...
​
A close by hole, or rather a cave,
greeted by those I had chosen to save,
the orc grinned and raised his flagon,
to the alliance, under a dragon,
a home with friends and nothing more,
I bowed to the beast and walked in the door...
​
Please give me criticism I have no idea what I'm doing
| 2020-09-08T19:30:12 | 2020-09-08T17:49:19 | 41 | 23 |
[WP] A woman falls in love with Death and commits murder countless times just to catch a glimpse of him.
|
"Hey there, tall dark and handsome!"
Her lips were blood red, and pursed in her most seductive smile. Her dress was black, with white skulls in the pattern of polka-dots; it was also short. Her legs were long and smooth-shaven. Her eyes smouldered.
"Stop it."
His voice was huge, cosmic. It boomed with the sullen, crushing weight of a collapsing star.
"Since you're here, maybe you'd like to have a drink with me? I've got some merlot. Do you like red wine?"
"I'm being serious."
"Dead serious?"
"That's not funny."
Her eyes twinkled with adoration.
"What the fuck?" A translucent man appeared next to Death.
"I'm so sorry about this." Death told him.
"Not as sorry as I am. I really thought that date was going well."
"It wasn't." The woman smiled wickedly.
"Tabitha, you have to stop killing people."
"Then," Tabitha batted her long, thick eyelashes at the Reaper, "You'll come visit me on your own?"
"No."
Her face warped into a sneer, her blood-red lips curled, revealing bone-white teeth. She picked up the wine bottle by the neck and threw it at Death. It flew just to the right of his skull, but he didn't flinch. There was a crash of breaking glass against the wall, followed by the slow drip of wine falling to the floor.
"I just want you to spend some time with me!" She screamed.
Death put his arm around the translucent man, his bony fingers resting gently upon the man's intangible shoulder.
"Come on, Aaron, let's go."
"Really? I mean, it's really over? Because of this? I feel so cheated."
"You were." Death glared at Tabitha, his hollow eye sockets swallowed up the surrounding light like two black holes.
Tabitha continued screaming as Death turned and led Aaron away.
"If you got to know me, you'd love me! Every man loves me, except you. You're the only one I want!"
Death was nearly to the door, but he stopped. He turned his head.
"I know everyone, Tabitha. You're kind of a prick."
|
Her heart raced as she waited, her breath warm against the wardrobe door she was pressed behind. Time stood almost still as each footstep echoed from the wooden floor. It had been so long. Too long. She needed to see him, to feel him again.
Unable to wait any longer she put the plan she'd rehearsed countless times into action. The knife glinted as she stepped out into the sunlit room and moments later it was buried in his neck. The hair on her arm began to rise, the room growing colder. Her breath quickened. Her eyes flickered excitedly across the room. He must be close. He had to be.
A familiar rush hit her as she felt him arrive. She stood, blood pooling beneath her feet as he set to work. Such elegance and finesse in what he did, she loved him for that. He stared deep inside the man she'd killed and helped him from the body he'd once captained. She tried to savour each second, for he was busy, so he was brief.
"It's worth it", she said, "each life I take, I take for you and I won't stop. I can't."
He seemed to pause. She was sure of it. His head appeared to turn and stare straight at her, if only for a second.
"Did he?... No, he did, of course he did, he wants me as much I want him."
Her mind raced. This hadn't happened before, of all the times she'd bought a few precious seconds of his time he'd never acknowledged her. Until now. Her next steps were obvious. She needed more time with him, and soon. Sooner than she'd planned. But who? and how? It didn't matter now, all that mattered was being with him. His smell almost lingered as she stared at the body that once held the man. A small price to pay, she thought.
| 2014-06-30T06:04:49 | 2014-06-30T06:00:38 | 1,253 | 10 |
[WP] Immortals and time travelers pass along messages for each other. It's customary and expected. One day, a stranger sits across from you at a restaurant/coffee shop/bar and asks you to give a message to someone you'll meet in New York in 2070. As far as you know, you're just an ordinary person.
|
The old lady sat across from me in the coffee shop and smiled. Her teeth were uncanny peaks of white, her eyes a brown so intense they were near black. They were very beady. They reminded me of a shark’s as they tracked me for a reaction.
“I don’t know anyone named Charles,” I mumbled.
She nodded, still looking at me. “But you will,” she said emphatically. Her hands were wrapped around a coffee cup with lipstick stains on the lid. I watched her fingers drum the side. Her nails were perfectly manicured in alternating red and greens for the holidays. It looked like a style I’d expect in a 20-something, not a lady that could easily be in her eighties.
“There was a mistake,” she continued. “You should have been told about Charles when you turned eighteen, not twenty-eight. It’s customary for all of us traveled to know our soulmates. When you meet him, you’ll ascend.”
I felt something I hadn’t felt for years rise in the back of my throat: hope. I felt it when she first made eye contact as she entered the coffee shop and I was feeling it again as she spoke.
She knew my age.
It couldn’t just be a lucky guess.
“I’m not a traveled,” I said. I’d said it before, but she’d ignored me—pretended not to hear it.
“Miss Jerian, correct?”
My blood ran cold—there was no way she’d know my name. “Yes, but—”
She pulled out a small moleskin book from the inside of her cranberry peacoat. She pursed her lips as she thumbed through it. The beady eyes darted back and forth before she looked back up. “Charles Lancaster. You’ll meet him in 2070. Well, your 2070; his 1815. It’s complicated. You’ll have twins, which makes sense given the circumstances.”
Twins did run in my family. “But why—”
“Clerical error. It happens more than you’d think, we’re not always so modern.” She tapped her book to make a point. She smiled again, thankfully a close-lipped one.
“Will we stay in his time or mine?” The words tumbled out and I felt that feeling in my throat again, a tickle of hope that was becoming a wave. I’d tried to swallow it, but it refused to stay down: I was special.
She shook her head. “I can’t say. I’m not a fortune teller, I just read your timeline.”
“Is he wealthy?”
She just looked at me, smiling. She took a sip from her coffee after a few moments of silence as I processed it all. “You know,” she said, “It’s right before I first traveled.”
“1815?”
“Yes. It’s a beautiful time. But be prepared for New York to smell.” She laughed and I found myself laughing a little too.
“That explains the book,” I finally said.
“Yes, some of the newer folks use technology. But I always preferred a good ledger. It works when I was born and it works now.”
“Do you have any more details?” I couldn’t help but pry, even though I knew it was not protocol from all the classes I’d taken in high school. Only a handful of people became chosen, but we were all educated on the concept. The first traveler appeared in 2020, but they had been around for centuries prior. They lived in between epochs and aged slowly, unable to die from natural causes. They kept their identities hidden and only told those on their eighteenth birthday when they would be old enough to recognize the need to secrecy.
“In 2070, all will become clear,” she said. Another flash of her bright teeth as she put her ledger back into her front pocket.
It was only a year away. Next Christmas, I would meet Charles. He’d take me away from the nihilism, the corporate culture. I wouldn’t have to deal with any more one-night stands. I could move out of my dingy studio apartment.
I could abandon my student loan debt.
“I need to go now,” she said. “We’ll talk again, after you meet him.”
I stood as she stood, still dizzy with excitement and numb with possibility. “Thank you,” I said, grabbing her hand and holding it in mine.
“It’s no problem, Miss Jerian.”
“You can call me Sarah,” I replied. “After all, you just changed my life. No need for formalities.”
The beady eyes suddenly looked away, then she pulled away her hand sharply. “Sarah? Sarah Jerian?”
“Yes?”
She paused. Her eyes refused to meet mine.
I waited for her to say anything.
Finally, after what felt like an hour but could have only been a minute, she cleared her throat.
“I need to speak to your twin sister—Emily. Do you know where she is?”
\--
​
***(Meh, not happy with this, but 20 minute writing sprints are fun at least!)***
|
Some of my friends had printed out their rejections and pinned them up around their desk. A gallery of shame that peered down on them as they were writing new things, mining fresh worlds. One had even had that image transferred on to a pillowcase cover that they slept on most nights. You're not a writer until you've been rejected. Mop up your tears with them and move on to the next.
I've never been very good at moving on.
John Sharif of Colton Publishing was.
No handy tips. No platitudes about the work showing promise.
It's not for us. Good luck out there.
His words made me feel weary, as though I were about to head out in to some battle that he had seen and heard and tasted and knew I'd flounder in, and so all he could say was 'good luck out there.'
'Hey.'
She was sitting on the other side of my laptop. I closed the lid on the rejection. She smiled at me. There was a slip of paper between her fingers. She pushed it against my palm and with her other hands closed my fingers over the top.
'Excuse me?'
'Yeah, excuse you. Take this to Marshall Coates. You'll be at West and Third in a bar called Hotshots in about...' she tailed off and shrugged. 'I'unno, what year is it?'
'What year?'
'Jeez,' she said in exasperation. She pulled the laptop towards her and opened it up.
'I forgot how bulky these things used to be.' She ran her finger over the mousepad and the light of the screen illuminated her face.
'Fuck, twenty eighteen? Got some years to go. November twenty first, 2070. Give this to him. Keep it in your pocket. Guard it with your life. Got it?'
And then, she got up and walked away.
X
I looked. I couldn't not look. I knew I couldn't spend fifty-two years respecting the wishes of someone who ultimately I wouldn't see again, and who would possibly be dead by the time I turned the note over.
Marshall, watch out for Walter Maynard. It's him. Send word to Christopher 2145.
It meant nothing to me. Names and numbers that had disassociated, made no sense in the string she had made of them. I read the note once, then I folded it back along the creases she had given it.
Then, I lived.
I married Julia, we had two girls. Sofia and Lorna. I got a job as an English teacher at a community college and bought a house. Little imprints. Deft little footsteps in history that only those around me could see. That would only deepen with each generation.
Julia was sick when the date came. She had dementia that was wracking her of her memories. I retained then for us. I stayed the same. I felt as though shed left me behind, even though it wasn't her fault. Our time together seemed to be ending in the blink of an eye.
I left her with Lorna and went to Hotshots. I felt my age as I stood amongst the noise and lights.
'I'm looking for Marshall Coates,' I yelled over the bar to the barman.
'Who wants to know?' he asked. Face creasing in consternation as he eyed me over the beer pumps. I took the note from my pocket and held it out. Time seemed to slow. Stop. I saw my life roll out in my head, in memories. I was just meeting Julia and then there was Sofia, pink and plump, swaddled tightly. Then Lorna had arrived and we were packed up in the car, moving to the house. It was all going so quickly while I was just standing there opposite Marshall Coates at a bar in 2070.
'Take it.'
'No. I, I don't want to go.'
We looked at each other until I couldn't wait any longer.
'Oh, take the fucking note. I got a sick wife at home, I wanna be spending my time with her. Not you, asshole.'
Silently, he took the note. Then he repla ed it with another one. Crisp, unyellowed. Untainted by age.
'This is for Mirabelle.'
I read this one straight away.
Mirabelle, the code is 45938.
'When?'
'Huh?'
'I said when?'
'January seventh, 2137. A hotel off Broadway. It's not going up for another thirty years. Make sure she gets it.'
| 2018-12-24T10:45:45 | 2018-12-24T10:15:15 | 79 | 27 |
[WP] A global arms race gets out of control and every country's only option for survival is walling themselves off with impenetrable defensive technology. Millions of years pass before a catastrophic event brings down all the walls, revealing how humans evolved in isolation.
|
We only had rumors of what existed before the walls.
Until the walls came down.
The President and his Holy Cabinet ordered an expedition. I was ready, I was trained for fighting, though since the Holy Order had been established, our land was finally under the one true rule of God, though many call him Uncle. His messenger Eagle was our symbol, and we honored him through A Pledge of Allegiance.
It's a ceremonial coming of age we all go through, I pledged my body, a warrior. Finally I would be able to uphold that pledge.
There were a dozen of us on horseback. We crossed into the unknown, I held my breath.
The land was pristine, green and lush, with no sign of large predators.
It was warmer and more humid than the land we came from, and somehow more ALIVE too.
We made camp near the water and lit a fire.
All was fine until I heard a thunk in the wood behind me, an arrow was sticking out of the wood, it's brightly colored feathers impossible to miss.
"Take cover!" I yelled, but it was too late.
We were being ambushed.
Then suddenly there was a bright light.
Everyone began rising from the ground. Held in the grasp of this mysterious light.
A figure descended from the light.
She spoke, "do not be afraid, do not fight" she also seemed to be speaking in some other language at the same time, but I was too mesmerized to focus clearly.
"For too long we have allowed our fellow man to suffer in isolation, keeping our prosperity to ourselves. That is why we have taken down the walls. We would like to preserve organic life, it is our heritage, it is who we were. Once."
And then she approached me and I could make out her more clearly. She wasn't human, she was strangely shiny with eyes that glowed. I could hear a metalic grinding sound as she tilted her head.
"Hello, warrior of Uessah," she turned to one of the men who ambushed us, and spoke in the same strange tongue she had before.
Then in both languages she said, "I am Sorreh of Kay-Nay-Dan. Come, we have much to show you. And so little time before we leave."
|
A single orbital probe ascends from what was once called America. Scanning in incredibly detail, every square meter of the planet's surface.
First foreign landmass it passes over was the islands known to history as Japan. There it finds only pristine wilderness and one trace of humanity. An incredibly well built shrine. Where an overly courteous AI tells a story. The Japanese people facing a resource crisis, decided to pack up and slip away to space. They tore everything down for salvage and restored the land as they went. Eventually all that was left was a starship floating in Tokyo bay. Where the last few Japanese loaded themselves into immortal android forms and recycled their biomass for future use. One day the ship will land somewhere suitable and the Japanese people will be reconstituted.
Next the probe identifies what was China. Now a sprawling urban hellscape. Social Harmony taken to an extreme. As all the people are just engineered clones. As they have been for millennia. Everyone created for predestined role and unable to deviate from it. Just as the millions of iterations of them had done exactly at before. If a server at a tea house dropped a cup on the floor. Then the millions of previous tea house servers dropped an identical cup at an identical moment. As part of the grand design. The fall of the Great Wall caused almost immediate collapse, for a week. Then everyone was liquidated and replaced. A new constant was programmed into them. Where the wall never existed and recovering from disaster was how it has always been.
Over Central Asia nothing was found, except for the occasional trace element deposit. That was the only sign of human ruins that had been ground to dust and buried over time. Veering north to the Eurasian Steppe, the probe is shot down. Last of the data transmitted shows a short, pale, and furry people. Adapted for cold and highly aggressive.
| 2018-11-18T13:49:22 | 2018-11-18T12:48:32 | 43 | 30 |
[WP] You’ve spent a lifetime doing research. Combing through records spanning over a billion years. Now you’re ready to present your findings. All of the 124 know sentient species can trace their origins to a single common ancestor. An extinct race know as humans from a dead world know as earth.
I posted this prompt awhile ago, got no stories from it. I really like the idea, so figured I’d try again, maybe get some this time.
|
The Council Chamber was dozens of tiers tall and had compartments for delegations from every species, with climate modifications for the ones who needed it. Although it was commonly understood that the core of sentient life fell within certain common parameters for temperature and atmospheric conditions, there were variations on on heat, and even a few that preferred a more aquatic setting. There was a murmur of chatter in various languages, that was rather like a jungle of combined rumbles, chitters, growls and hoots. Again, sentient life had a mostly similar audible range, but how they used it varied wildly. Luckily, realtime translation was available in as many different forms as there were species. The wireless frequencies were even fuller with speculation.
"ALERT- highly important academic announcement for Delegates- attendance requested maximum interest." Well. That was attention getting. It hadn't been used in decades. It required an unanimous vote of The Ten, who were placed at a table near the stage. They wouldn't say what it was about, other than you'll see. The room itself was Silenced and media, who were absolutely teeming, were left outside.
A hush fell across the room as a loader carried a... stone block onto the middle of the stage. It was the size and shape of.. well, a middle species food storage unit. Except it was a dark, impossibly smooth stone with a faint rainbow sheen on its surface, carved with lines that gave it the appearance of a circuitboard. Curiosity coursed through the room. The Block had a distinct otherwordly quality to it. The guards at each of the doors stood at rest, although each put a [hand] on their taser weapons, just in case.
A loudspeaker broadcast a message in Central Language that was engineered to sound calm and composed: "The Ten request your patience and calm as we present our Speaker of this event."
There was a murmur that turned to an angry tone and even a few outbursts as Doctor T'gar walked to center stage in front of the Block. He was a [Badgerian], stocky, furry, slightly shorter than middle sized. He had been voted off of a Debate Show in a humiliating landslide on galactic [holo-vision], and his opponent awarded a [Golden Victory], in a debate where T'gar had laid out a hypothesis that a single, unifying Precursor race whose influence underscored all of the 124 Members of the Unified Worlds. He had become a laughingstock, to the point where [people] were catcalling him with phrases like "Precursor!!" and "Where are they?" on the street. The last thing he had said in a terse press release was that "[I'll be back, with proof]". He then took a Vow of Silence, sold his various assets, purchased a small frigate, hired a small team from amongst his interns and graduate students, and departed Unified space. That had been [14 years ago].
He walked directly in front of the Block and smiled, almost smugly, at the audience. The anger turned to jeers, but if T'gar felt it, it didn't show. Frankly, it was somehow clear he didn't give a fuck. Instead, he simple raised up a paw, balled it into a fist, and firmly tapped it into the middle of a glowing circle on the box.
Small doors opened in the tops and sides of the Block, with bright crystal structures extending slightly outwards, and several smaller ones reveled what appeared to be glass lenses and other sensors. The room fell to a hush as a [hologram] of a Badgeran burst into existence in a shower of beautiful light. Its expression was calm, and even somehow friendly and unassuming, which was unusual for the species. It then spoke.
"[Hello]," it said simply. There was a collective gasp, as species realized they had heard the greeting in their native language in most cases, which wasn't logical- and the acoustics were impossibly clear.
Before the audience knew how to react, the machine kept the initiative and continued. Dozens of additional holograms appeared along the stage, in the forms of each of the delegates in the Chamber. Avian, Reptile, Mollusc, Mammal, Lithoid, Insectoid... they quickly saw themselves. The Badgeran hologram hopped off the platform and floated gracefully down from the Block and took center stage, addressing the Ten and apparently making eye contact as it swept its gaze across the front table in an earnest and friendly way.
"My name is Cal. I'm an... [AI personality echo], and a representative of the Humans. It's a pleasure to see you all."
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"What is it this time?!", a jeering voice called out from the audience, "did you get a dream message from the Pleiadean Lizard people!?", laughter from several groups. Another voice joined in poking fun "Did you 'ask the mushroom'? Have a vision after a couple of pints too many?", another, "It better not be more religious numerology, come on it's been years, give us something new!".
Admittedly I was a regular presenter on fringe topics for a while and my reputation was the worse for it, but it was years since I'd given up on chasing patterns in the sacred texts - hundreds of years by now, counting the times I spent in stasis - and this was much bigger, much much bigger.
"My team has crossed the silence", I stated, "a study of all the civilised data, including the medium storing it, the replication history of each piece, mutation analysis of the individual storage blocks, cross referencing the most popular studies on accuracy myths and lies, our statistical analysis .."
"p-hacking!" yelled one bored audience member, but most paid polite attention; crossing the silence was a new claim for me, if not completely new, but it was quite a bold one.
".. our analysis led us to reinterpret the accepted creation times, and to new set of data blocks we now think trace back a billion years or more - getting within tens of thousands of years of the silence breaking. And we think these data blocks were injected from outside - grandfathered in, if you will, from before the civilized data system was built". That was a new claim.
I carried on talking, explained how the simple encryption based on large prime numbers was evidence of its age - nobody would build such a system after the Primes had been proved finite and every one written down. Explained how we analysed the data found inside, scant thousands of Exabits, how we derived star charts from the early Milky Way, found reference to stars existing inside the Bermuda Sphere, and to the black hole which wiped them out; artificially created, and an extinction level event. And how we found where the data blocks came from.
A cold region of interstellar space, somewhere where computer processing could happen at low energy levels. And how my team and I sent probes there, and how we found the dust of an earlier species. The room was pindrop quiet. \*That\* was a new claim. My claim.
In the dust, we found data, and in the data we found tragedy.
"They uploaded themselves into their own computer systems". The audience groaned; "what?!", "You can't \*live\* in a computer!", "were they committing \*suicide\*?". I know, I know. but they didn't. They split into factions, one came out to the cold and built computer systems, they scanned their brains with the best available technology, started up simulations of themselves, and died. The simulations ticked through a few millennia of predicable, non-sentient fatalistic simulation and stopped. The machine self-repair systems were exquisite, without them, even the dust we found would be long gone. The other faction stayed biological, tried to spread into the galaxy, created the black hole which wiped themselves out - almost.
"and they created us".
Everyone loved a creation story, and there were many around - "you claim this species was our Common Ancestor?" called an audience member. "Yes", I answered. "And you say you have proof? Where is this dust cloud? When are you publishing your data analysis?".
"I .. can't; after reporting our findings to the civilized data stores, the government noticed them and had my Team disbanded, and covered up the dust cloud location .."
The audience reacted with uproar, some booing, some laughing, some "you almost had me there!", some groans.
"It's too important to let just anyone go and screw it up!", I protested, "but it's true!".
But it wasn't quite true. The government didn't have my Team disbanded. You only get one short biological life after all, and if you want a grasp at immortality then you have to find something amazing to be remembered. And if that means a bit of team killing to get my name in the history books; I reflected on what I learned from the dust cloud computer; what could be more "Human" than that?
| 2019-11-22T18:09:36 | 2019-11-22T18:00:02 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You're a cultural exchange student ... from Earth. Today is the first day of the semester and you quickly realize how few humans the local students have met in real life.
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Being the only human at an intergalactic school can be...interesting. I'm the only human any of my classmates (and even some of our teachers) have met, so it's not unusual that I am asked about typical human behavior.
Today's question was posed by Xort, who sits to my left in Rocketry class. Xort leaned over to me as we were waiting for class to begin. "So, is it true that humans tell some of the best jokes? Can you tell me one?"
"Um, sure. Let me think for a minute." My gaze drifted up to the ceiling as I wracked my brain for appropriately intergalactic humor. "Why did the--"
I was cut off by Xort's back tentacle whipping through the air and smacking into my elbow. Hard. Heads (and other appendages) turned in our direction as I screamed and knocked my backpack over in a reflexive attempt to grab my elbow. Curse Thuvians and their superior speed and strength over humans.
I glared at Xort as best I could while trying to gather up my belongings before they rolled too far. "What the Zooper was that for?!"
Xort's gills turned slightly green at the ends with embarrassment. "You were having some trouble coming up with a joke. Don't you humans fix things that aren't working by hitting them?"
"Well, yes. But that's for electronics, not....hang on. What exactly do you think a funny bone does?"
|
My admission to the Stargazer Academy was a shock to us all. There was no application process; I just received a letter via satelitte, crashing to earth to the block where I live.
My mere admission letter ushered in technological advancements unfathomable to man. An entire satellite torn from space to deliver a letter? The object rested atop a local playground, two blocks from my home. Attached to the satellite was a sheet of paper, somehow able to survive the crash, in spite everything -- oil leakage, combustion, crash landing -- that would have rendered modern human paper to ash.
Investigators arrived along with pertaining government officials to investigate the crash. First, they surveyed the surrounding playground. It was a miracle no one was hurt. Perhaps that was intention on the Academy's part. The landing occurred in the dead of night, when people were secluded in their homes, resting or trying to rest after a busy day until they were interrupted by a loud crash.
The satellite was coated in a fluid with electrically-charged properties. Upon closer observation, they realized it functioned like a computer, guiding the satellite down to Earth on its own via infiltration of the satellite's maneuvering capabilities. The sheet of paper was
**I will return to this in a moment. Sorry.**
| 2020-02-20T05:55:55 | 2020-02-20T00:38:36 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] You used to play a fantasy MMORPG that wasn't very popular, so you were able to take the simple name of 'Dave'. When you return to the game (now massively popular), you discover that there is now a Church of 'Dave'.
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I am Dave. I have crafted guilds that took the final raids down the day they premiered. I have walked from one edge of the map to the other and killed every mob at least ten or twenty times each, some thousands. My equipment has all been re-rolled to Quasi-Legendary +10.
My secret to success was I was the only one who even cared to invest this much time into that game. My schedule for a solid two or three years was wake up, shower, work, prepare ramen, game, and sleep. I was only sleeping seven hours a night. My job was part time. I ate snacks and multivitamins throughout the day, whatever I could afford without wasting too much time.
Pretty soon the server was pretty much dead. The company who makes this game is being bought up by a company called Computer Expressions, the forums are full of talk of them adding a p2w cash shop or just shutting the whole thing down. I was sick, but my dealer cut out on me so I decided to give it up and get better.
I had my internet disconnected. I made some resume applications in GIMP and printed them at the library. I got a second part time job and worked my way into full time. I met a nice girl, we decided to buy a house, together. It might have been kind of soon, but it was cheaper for the both of us in the long run than paying rent.
Once we got internet hooked up she downloaded a familiar game. It’s the one I had spent thousands of hours in. I watched her log in and go through the normal tutorial. At the end was a newer feature than when I played. She received her once daily blessing from the Church of Dave.
Quasi-Legendary particle effects, gilded Ancient Elven armor, black heart sword of Urg-Vanaash, and a completionist cape dyed with a single use rare quest item Red Flowing Dye: that was definitely my loadout on the statue. Some dudes were putting tithes in a collection tray. I offered to log back in with my old account and show her around.
She asked my username but I told her I wouldn’t be able to find her amidst the friend requests, so I’ll just add her instead.
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My fingers typed words on the keyboard, for they couldn't believe the sight. On my monitor, I stared at the weirdest possible thing in my life. There was a church in my name. Church of Dave. But I hadn't played the game for a few years. It wasn't even popular when I played it! But now—now it's!
"God, God, God! Our God! Celebrate our God!" People wrote on their keyboards. Chat bubbles exploded in front of my character's face. Some of the players prostrated themselves on the floor. They were saying some weird prayers as if I were an actual God. "Our hentai God!" "Desu desu chan!"
"Show us da wae!"
"God is kawaii!"
"Kawaii anime avatar!"
I regret the fact that I had created my character's appearance to match an anime girl.
"Woah, calm down, guys! I'm no God!" I typed furiously on my keyboard.
"You are the God of Weebs! You are the God of Weebs!"
"We won't accept your denial!" Someone typed, approaching me with their anime girl avatar. "You were the first person—the bravest! The first one to make his avatar an anime girl! His character—anime styled!"
"Yeah!"
"Thanks to you, we came out of our weeb closet!" They typed, adding emojis.
I argued with them, trying to convince them that it wasn't the truth. I wasn't even a weeb! I didn't even like anime! Did I have to pay for this mistake? Was I forsaken by the MMORPG Gods?
For the next few hours, they showered me with emojis, memes, and their waifus.
"I can't do this anymore," said I.
"Be our God! Let's rule the game!"
"Ugh... Fine. Just, fine. I wanna play this game..."
"This is the day weebs conquer the world!"
"Wooho!"
And this was my story. The story of how I became a weeb.
| 2018-02-18T06:09:58 | 2018-02-18T04:52:46 | 248 | 72 |
[WP] When someone dies, they are always challenged by Death itself to a chess game, symbol of how nobody can win against it. Except you. You died and just won the game. Death is not amused. Both of you don't know what should happen now.
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"Well, it looks like that's a checkmate." I said smugly.
"Bravo.." muttered Death. "Too bad you are going to concede."
"What!?" I yelled. "I beat you! You know what that means!"
"Look.. John? I can call you John? Alright John, I'll tell you something about me. I'm a sore loser. Right here, right now, I'm giving you an out. C'mon man -- just call it quits.. for me."
"Hell no! Give me my life back RIGHT NOW. I'm never going to say that you won." I screamed as my heart pounded though my ethereal chest.
"Geeze, alright man.. Just remember that I'm never going to forgive you for not letting me win. You'll have to live with that.. Forever."
And with that, I woke up good as new. It took a bit of time to recover mentally, but I went back into the swing of things pretty quickly. After a few years, the whole 'near death' experience was at the back of my mind. I got married, had kids, a career. After a few more years, I completely forgot about the whole deal. That was until today.. When I was hit by a pickup truck.
"Oh.. It's you again..." said Death disappointingly.
"More chess?" I asked him
"Not any more. I concede."
"What? You can't do that."
"I told you John, I am a sore loser. You'll have to live with that forever. And also, this time -- you won't be waking up "good as new". A pickup truck? Really? You're going to huurrt!"
And with that, I woke up.. In a hospital bed with 94 broken bones. If you are reading this, don't make my mistake. Just let him win.
|
Death has never been beaten. His memory stretches back to the beginning of time. He’s taken the king of Mortal after mortal.
Bewildered, he sits. Staring at the trap laid by who? A son of a plumber? Went to Washington State university on a music scholarship?
“I was never really that good.”
Meant to be a comment of deprecation infuriates death. His bony fingers reach out a tips his king down.
“ who are you again? Alvin?”
“ yes sir. What do I do? What happens?”
What happens?! I’m death. I decide what happens. I’m the reaper of souls. Everyone complains that death has no rhyme or reason. Like this asshole who has barely realized he’s died. I’m in charge. I can make him play again if I so choose.
Death stands. It’s a day of firsts. He pulls his hood back. His bone skull is a perfect white, almost unrealistically pristine.
The hood falls back and the robe drops; the skull keeping pace. The skull lands on top of the robe degrades to calcium sand and blows away.
Curious, Alvin cautiously walks over. Taps it with his foot and picks the robe up. I’ll try on death, he thinks. As he pulls he hood over, the metaphysical flesh from his hands comes off like dried leaves.
Death may never take a day off; but he can always find a temp.
| 2018-04-20T16:36:57 | 2018-04-20T14:44:50 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Every night, you dream of a meadow where people come and tell you all about your lives. After seeing your friend in a dream just after their death, you realize you've spent your entire life judging the spirits of the departed and deciding whether they go to Heaven or Hell.
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I lay in bed, my head throbbing with dehydration after days of crying. My eyes were tender and sticky, I'd been wiping away tears constantly since I heard the news. I craved sleep, a few hours where I could escape the reality where my best friend was no more. I didn't have the comfort of faith to turn to, and I didn't have the patience to wait for time to heal the gaping wound in my heart.
When exhaustion overtook me, I found myself, as ever, in the meadow. For as long as I could remember, my dreams had taken me here. All my friends seemed to have different and hard to remember night time adventures, which I couldn't ever understand. They talked about lucid dreaming as being a skill to achieve, but that's all I'd ever known. I might as well be awake, if not for the beautiful lightness I felt in my body when there. All my aches and pains disappeared, and I felt only clarity. It was a relief to be back.
I settled myself down on the grass, making daisy chains and breathing deeply in the clear air, savouring this moment of peace. Soon someone would appear, a new person every time, and we would discuss their lives at length. I liked it. A little window into another world. Sometimes they would be thoroughly awful people, gloating over their unkindnesses and triumphs over others. Other times, most times, I heard stories of beautiful, flawed, and loving people. They would tell me most about all the people they loved and how much of a difference they'd made to this person's world. Never their own achievements. I would hear their stories fully and, when they had finished I would direct them onwards on their journey. To those that had spread their warmth like a blanket, I would suggest a café with the most incredible English breakfast as their next step. Those that poisoned the air around us as they belched their toxic selfishness would be directed to a steep and rocky climb down a mountain path. Screw them. They didn't deserve fried bread.
I waited, basking in the calm I no longer experienced in my waking hours. Then, I saw her hair bobbing towards me through the flowers. I knew that haircut by heart. Those glasses, that smile was unmistakeable. She was here! I would get to talk to her again! Though my heart clattered against my chest and my soul screamed with bittersweet agony, my features remained poised and I greeted her the same way as always. "Fancy seeing you then!"
We hugged, I breathed in the smell of vanilla body spray and felt at peace. We sat. We wordlessly continued making daisy chains, she handed me the purple ones as she always did, so I could make my wishes. She began to talk. I heard facts I knew inside out. Her family, the joy she held in remembering Christmases and holidays. Her past loves, even those universally agreed to be the worst people on the planet. Her friends. Us. We laughed at memories and gasped when we recalled adventures thought long forgotten, but made clear by the pure air of the meadow. We continued for far longer than I'd ever spoken with anyone before. Days, maybe. The sun rose and set, the stars twinkled above us. We continued to talk.
When there was no more to talk about,she asked if she got to go to the café. I laughed, why wouldn't she? Maybe I'd go with her this time, if I had power over everything else, why not? She smiled, sadly. She promised she'd keep a table reserved for me, when I came to the café myself, that there would be tea waiting. She told me she loved me, and that she couldn't believe she hadn't realised I went to Purgatory every night, but that I was a far sexier St Paul than she'd been lead to believe at church. I blinked, a smirk plastered on my face, despite the dawning realisation that my judgements had been sending souls to their eternal destiny. The judgements I'd made as a 5 year old, a 16 year old... My whole life.
I blinked again, and focused on her. She smiled. She told me she would see me when she saw me, and softly closed the gate separating the meadow from the path onwards. She walked on, fading away.
I tried to follow, but the meadow shifted beneath my feet as it did when I woke up. I fought it, this was where I wanted to be, I wanted to go with her. I fought and scrambled and cried, it was no use.
I woke up, sweating, my duvet in a pile on the floor, gasping for breath as though I had been held underwater. The pain of loss came crushing back onto me like a star collapsing in on itself. She was gone, again, and I knew I would never see her again in the meadow. She was somewhere else, somewhere good, but that somewhere wasn't here.
I made myself tea, and cried.
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Why do we meet the people in our lives? Of course it is all random, we are in charge of the actions we take. Coincidences lead to meeting up again and then to a life with a person who was once a stranger. Why do we dream? No scientist will give us the straight answers we want. We all believe in our own reasons for dreams. Who is the woman that stands in The Field? She stands there so often when I visit at night. Any time she isn't there I see my friends or my family, when I see her, she looks at me kindly, but I've yet to get a word out of her.
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I looked at the time on my phone, it was getting well past midnight, I just needed to commit to going to bed. I put the phone down and turned on my side, before long I was asleep. It had been almost two months since I had been to The Field, finding myself there, I was comforted in a way, sleep was getting boring with out the reoccurring dream-scape. I sat at the picnic table under the one oak tree in the field. The table had a great view of the valley below, with a small town between the two mountains and the expanse beyond that could go forever. I looked around for whoever might be joining me, what was resting on the table sometimes gave a clue. A pendant nearly always meant my sister would join me, we both had matching ones given to us at birth, or if was about to meet with my friend, Samantha, her car keys would be on the table when I got there. There was nothing on the table.
I looked out to the field and saw her, I've named her Jane after my mother, because she looked a bit like my mother, but skinnier. Jane had never come close to me, when I first met her, she only stood in the field. About a year ago, she started to walk around, but we would never meet, always stay opposite each other. Tonight we did the same dance. In the trance of the dream I never took a step towards her like I always wanted to in the morning, I followed her, she followed me, not a word spoken. We stopped, the trance broke, I took a step toward her and my eyes opened. The light streamed into my room, it was time to get up and face the day, thinking about Jane.
Phone in hand, Sam finally sent a text that we both should go to bed, it took me five more minutes to finish my thought about logistics for a film festival that we would definitely occur but I still took seriously. She was right though and I should get to sleep. Moments after I was asleep, I was in the field. I was in The Field, at the picnic table, a small poster was crumpled off to the side and Jane sat across from me. "Hello Lauren"
"Hello Jane?" I was confused because she looked less like my mother up close, more like my sister, I could see traits of my father in her face, the way her voice sounded, she might've been an estranged aunt.
"Hello, I wanted to talk to you for a little while now," she said. I was in shock from being so close to her, if I attempted to say a coherent thought, I'm not sure it would have worked. In that moment, I had to focus on listening to Jane. "Do you like this field?" I nodded, still not wanting to attempt vocal communication "it is nice, isn't it. It's on the border of Colorado, you can see into New Mexico and 40 miles away. The locals named it after what the Apache called it 'Kapi Yata' Place of the Past. I'll see you here soon."
The invitation shocked me, "How am I supposed to get from Virginia to Colorado? I don't have my license yet."
"You will figure out the logistics, you always do"
\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Jane may have waited there a few days, but it took me years to get to Colorado. Sam started telling me I thought about it too much and I started to look like how I described her in the dreams. Sam and I finally took a road trip after I found a random book with a place in Colorado called "Place of the Past". It looked remarkably similar, including a picnic table under an oak tree. We sat down and I picked up a crumpled piece of paper off the ground "Huh, there's opening for an entry level position here, think I should apply?"
| 2020-08-15T14:15:58 | 2020-08-15T12:13:09 | 43 | 15 |
[WP] "Witch! Heathen! Burn her!" You watch with amusement as they begin lighting the pyre under you. The flames tickle your feet, bringing a familiar warmth with them. They are silly to that think they could actually burn a dragon with fire.
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Unsure of what to do in this situation, I simply stood there. I didn’t want to cause any unnecessary harm or damage, especially because I knew there were innocents amongst the crowd. As I looked around, I saw the confusion on their faces, and understood why. They were confused as to why I wasn’t screaming.
The tendrils of flame obeyed my will, and I kept them at a safe distance from my clothes. While the flame would only rejuvenate me, my clothing would still burn, and this was my favorite outfit! The crowd realized this after a short while, and began to yell out angry shouts. “The witch is commanding the flames!” “She isn’t burning!” Quite honestly, their horrid attitude offended and hurt me. Either way, I didn’t want to stay up here for much longer.
“Why make such assumptions?” I voiced out to the crowd. “Perhaps this is God’s way of saying I should be spared?” At this, the crowd began to murmur amongst themselves. A young girl with a bucket of water splashed the flames out.
“What did you do that for?” an angry crowds man shouted.
The girl responded with a short, “She wasn’t burning anyway, so why waste the pyre?”
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[Poem]
Fire fire burning bright
Set ablaze against the night
Pyre pyre tied to so tight
And roasting the flesh beneath
“Burn the witch!” a person cries
Wiping the soot away from their eyes
Looking at the women they did despise
And certainly did mistreat
Higher, higher the flames that grew
And licked her body, but she knew
That she was in no danger of burning through
Out the deepest darkest night
As large dark wings spread from her back
And the ropes broke with a snicker-snack
And the wood beneath her began to crack
And she turned to begin the fight
Claws and fire burned skin and flesh
Till the town breathed its final breath
And there was nothing but ashes left
And the last pitiful cries
So stop burning witches, and put down the torch
Put out the fierce flames that scorch
And definitely don’t just stand back and watch
Cause that could be the day the whole town dies
| 2021-01-03T06:44:05 | 2021-01-03T06:15:32 | 240 | 25 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego.
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I know that I have a reputation. I know that even other villains are afraid of me, and that behind closed doors they are all too quick to call me a monster.
I find this a little ironic. While the various hero and villain associations like to keep their public image very Saturday morning cartoon, I know how things are run behind closed doors.
When a villain goes off radar, it’s not always because they’re in jail and that when the hero association says someone is doing “under cover work” it’s typically because they are either dead or in therapy.
The best kept secret in both industries is that nobody manages to truly retire. As soon as you hang up the cape you’ve essentially painted a target on you and everyone you love, and no one from either organization is going to come to save you.
I gained my reputation from trying to change that.
It was a harsh lesson that my family quickly learned when my father, Ernest Belldin , better known as Dogtor Wolfman , was targeted. Looking back on it, the heroes who decided he was a good person to squeeze for information where probably newbies.
After all he was hardly the most dangerous person on the council, especially considering the whole point of him joining the council in the first place was to earn enough money to treat his condition.
Honestly in a perfectly world, my father would have been considered a great man, if not a little flawed, man of science.
Although his cure didn’t completely eliminate our family curse, it did neuter it’s negative effects enough that it’s predicted that a few generations down the line it could be considered a genuine super power.
Unfortunately my children and I still hold enough lupine characteristics to draw attention. Once it became clear that my father had held onto enough villain tech that he wasn’t as easy a target as they were expecting , they started targeting me.
While I wasn’t thrilled with this development, I was more accepting of this than when they decided to start threatening my children.
Although their severed heads were supposed to be more of a warning to other hotshots who try to mess with my family, the Council of villainy took it as my application letter.
I tried to avoid getting too involved with them, but when my bills started to stack up, I found the allure of easy cash was too hard to ignore.
Unfortunately my first official team up happened to be with the Grand Inquistor.
I can assure that whatever the papers say about me, he was a million times worse.
I had chosen to work for him because of his anti-hero reputation.
However after working with him for about a week, I quickly learned that he was a dangerous sociopath who had a serious hard on for taking revenge on the heroes who he saw as having wronged him by any means necessary.
Although working with him was a torturous experience in its own right, I appreciated that it taught me exactly what kinds of things I could live with myself after doing.
Unsurprisingly, while I have no issues with killing heroes, torturing children and the elderly is my breaking point.
As you can probably guess, I decided to make an example of the Inquistor.
While this didn’t make me especially popular with the council, it definitely got the word out. Some of the smarter heroes and retirees had an ear out for the gossip on my end.
While they fear me, they know that if someone threatens their families, they can come to me
|
Ultra Man watched his grapple soar up and over the roof of the abandoned warehouse. There was a satisfying clink, and in seconds he was speeding upwards. From his new vantage he looked out across the city and saw pulsating red and blue lights as the man hunt continued. *Probably for the best that it's just me*, he thought as he put his grappling gun back in it's holster and turned to see a skylight windows ahead of him.
"Bingpot."
Stepping forward he looked down, and was greeted by all sorts of dastardly machinery, with blinking lights and hard to understand interfaces. He'd seen this equipment once before, the last time Electro had escaped his grasp. Strangely, there were no henchman operating the devices.
Without thinking he stomped down onto the glass, and almost fell through ungracefully as the skylight shattered. He lowered himself carefully through the broken shards of glass, then deployed his trusty wings. Gliding down serenely he saw that the room was abandoned, seemingly in the middle of a party. *What could a man so sinister possibly have to party about?* Ultra Man landed next to a machine.
Before he had more time to take in his surroundings, there was a pounding on a plain brown door he hadn't noticed before.
"Guys! Can you let me in? I think I left my keys." a voice said through the door.
Ultra Man hesitated briefly, before walking silently to the door. He leaned into the peephole, only to see a brown haired man in jeans and a T-shirt smiling back at him. Ultra Man unlocked the door and rared back his right fist. It swung open immediately, and Ultra Man watched the man's eyes widen at his caped crusading image.
"Where's Electro?!" Ultra Man demanded.
"Uhm, ah uh- Electro?"
"Yes, your boss, were is he?"
"He... uh, he left."
"Not likely. The cops are swarming this town, everyone in the city is on the lookout."
"I think I saw him in the alley out back." the man said suddenly, as if remembering.
Ultra man pushed him aside, and ran through the door to find himself in an alley all alone. After checking all of the dark corners, he walked calmly back into the door.
"You know, I was going to go easy you if you cooperated." he said.
He froze in the middle of his entrance. There was a loud bang. He felt a strange warmth down his stomach, and looked down to see his black suit covered in crimson. Before he knew what was happening he was on his knees. The man from before stood holding a pistol off to his immediate right.
"I knew you'd come after me, Ultra Man, but I was hoping you wouldn't. You always had the most heart out of all you little heroes. I'm almost sorry to tell you it's over. Now that I've gone through with it, nobody needs you or I any more." he said, before raising the pistol to his temple and pulling the trigger.
Ultra Man felt himself fade very slowly.
___
/r/Periapoapsis exists
| 2018-10-18T15:54:26 | 2018-10-18T13:35:32 | 551 | 396 |
[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.
|
I stood there, puzzled, for a bit - then burst out laughing.
It explained so many things about her, that I couldn't believe I managed to miss it up to that point. From her walking around barefoot in the dead of winter, to her oddly specific, oddly accurate knowledge of medieval villages and their exact layout, and the equally odd lack of knowledge about mundane things like laundry and birthdays.
Laundry and birthdays. She was so weirdly excited about random little things like those, and I somehow never questioned it. When we moved in together, she was ridiculously excited about going to buy a laundry detergent at the store. She insisted on smelling every single one and took almost an hour to pick one. When I learnt that she never had a birthday party, it was obvious to me that I was going to throw her one. I asked her when her birthday was going to be, and how old she was going to be. It took her a full minute to answer - and it somehow didn't occur to me as strange.
In a mix of amusement and amazement, I examined the hoard, and felt the grin on my face growing, as I looked more closely at the neatly organised antique tea sets, gently folded handmade quilts, and cast-iron pots and pans. Everything about it was so *her*.
Then I noticed something different, in the center of the room. As I came closer and realized what it was, I felt my eyes beginning to fill up with tears.
On a small table, covered with a vintage, embroidered tablecloth, was a dried flower crown, a small gift box, and a card: "Happy ~~1st~~ 28th Birthday, Leah!".
She kept that bottle of laundry detergent, too.
|
I blinked at the pile of gaudy gems and gold piled haphazardly in the corner of the underground storeroom. I'd *wondered* why she insisted we build it when our city is on a flood plain. My fingers twitched. It was all so *disorganised*....
The next week, we were sitting in front of the marriage counsellor, who was busily taking notes as we talked.
"But it was *my hoard*," she said angrily. "You didn't need to touch it. You *shouldn't* have touched it!"
"But it was *so messy*," I countered. "Completely disorganised. And all dumped on the ground. It was getting dirty! I *had* to do *something*!"
"It was organised! I knew *exactly* where everything was!"
"And now you can *see* where everything is!" And then I really put my foot in my mouth when I added, "Not that I want to..."
"What did you just say?" She hissed.
Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. "Your taste is terrible. Some of that stuff is downright ugly. I bought that shelving and put it all up and set everything out but damn. I'm glad *I* picked out our wedding rings."
The counsellor sighed as my wife steamed. This was going to be a long session.
| 2022-09-10T10:41:26 | 2022-09-10T08:06:50 | 1,580 | 427 |
[WP] If Dr. Seuss wrote adult novels.
|
In a small little town
On a small little street
On the darkest of nights
Two beckoned to meet
They met with their faces and lips as they kissed
Her nose to her ankles he’d longingly missed
His chest of the size of a gazorkazoo
She rubbed and she tugged on his manly-laroo
“come now!” she squealed “you must not make me wait”
So he threw her to bed and began to elate
He licked on her lippies
He flick her nibbet
He pinched on her nipples and twisted a bit
She moaned as he nestled his face down inside
That magical yooha where love can reside
“That’s quite the trick!” she said with such sly
“but lay back and see what good lovin can buy”
She anchored him down by the shoulders with force
And leaped over top, like a gymnast of course
She guided with gusto his manmember in
Her supple vajoo with no hands, to begin
She shook and she shimmied
She gyrated and then
She saw in his eyes the sign of the end
She rode up and down, much faster this time
Till he squirmed and he wriggled and felt so sublime
“that’s it!” he exclaimed, as she dipped longer and deeper
“my peko will pop!” so she took a peeker
His bulbo was bobbing, intense and with vigor
She licked on the tip and he started to tremor
“Yeeessss!” he cried, as his mangoo was shot
In every direction, and filled every spot
He came like a spout
He came like a geiser
He fingered her more to feel what was inside her
They laid on the bed
All covered in jizz
And snuggled and wuggled and sated in head
Both out of breath, exhausted, and gone
They each gave a look that they could not go on
And then with a wink and a nod and a grin
And a “How bout another?” started over, again.
|
Congratulations.
Today is the day.
You're off to Gray and Crimson Places.
You're off and away.
Protect the brains in your head.
Look after the feet in your shoes.
You can’t steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And you are the guy who'll say go slow.
You'll look up and down trenches. Fix ‘em with a stare.
About them you will say, "I don't choose to go there."
With your head full of strains and your shoes full of sheet,
you're too smart to go down to any not-so-good meet.
And you will not find any
you'll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you'll try to head straight out of town.
It's opener there
in the wide open air.
Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and feely as you.
But you can’t.
And then things start to happen,
don't worry. Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start fighting too.
OH!
THE PLACES YOU'LL GO! they'd said
You'll be on your way up and over!
You'll be seeing great sights!
You'll duck the high fliers
that soar at head heights.
You won't lag behind, because you'll have fear and speed.
You'll see the whole gang, all full of lead.
Remembering what they said, that you'll be best of the best. (Sir!)
Over you go, listening for all the rest.
Except then you don't.
No matter what you wish, you won't.
I'm sorry to say so
but, sadly, it's true,
Being all alone.
No one in sight
can happen to you.
You get all hung up
listening for a bomb.
Knowing your gang is floating up.
While you're left at the Somme.
| 2016-03-09T20:11:15 | 2016-03-09T19:20:01 | 113 | 36 |
[WP] The demon couldn't believe his luck to find such a willing victim to possess. As it possessed them, instead of fighting back like they usually do, this one said "Good luck. You'll need it."
EDIT: Thanks for the awards guys! I've been on this site for 7 years and this is the first time I've received any.
|
As his throat closed over, the blonde man fell to his knees and pressed both hands against his neck. The room darkened, then dissolved, leaving him stranded in an endless, empty void. Now he was no longer choking.
"HELPPPPP," he screamed. His voice echoed infinitely
WELCOME MORTAL
The blonde man spun around, surprised by the sudden voice.
"W-w-ho said that?"
I DID
"W-who are you?
I AM KOROM
Where are you? Why can't I see you?"
YOU CAN
The blonde man looked around. "No, I can't. All I see is darkness."
I. AM. THE. DARKNESS.
"W-what?"
The void shifted. Beneath the blonde man's feet, the abyss writhed and collapsed, tossing him from side to side like a surfer caught in a violent wave. He fell onto his hands and knees.
"W-w-where are we? What is this place?"
THIS *PLACE* IS ME
"What?"
I AM THE DARKNESS THAT SURROUNDS YOU. I HAVE BROUGHT YOU INTO MY DOMAIN
"Why?"
POSSESSION
"Possession?"
YES
"Like a demonic possession?"
YES
"You want to...demonically possess me?"
YES
"Are you possessing me right now?"
...YES
"Why?"
SO I CAN USE YOU AS A DOORWAY
"A doorway? You mean, you're gonna use me to...enter the earth?"
WELL THAT'S NOT HOW I WOULD PUT IT, BUT...YES
The blonde man felt a pinching sensation inside his chest, like someone was pulling a thread to unravel his heart.
"B-b-but where are we?"
I HAVE ALREADY TOLD YOU. WE ARE IN MY DOMAIN.
"I-I don't understand"
UGGGHHHH, THESE QUESTIONS ARE REALLY STARTING TO BUG ME.
"But I--"
The voice sighed.
I AM KOROM. THIS REALM IS ME. THE DARKNESS YOU SEE? ME. THE DARKNESS YOU DON'T SEE? ALSO ME. I AM SIMULTANEOUSLY INFINITELY LARGER THAN YOUR ENTIRE UNIVERSE AND SIXTY-THREE TIMES SMALLER THAN THE SMALLEST ATOM, WHICH IS WHY I MUST ENTER *YOUR* WORLD THROUGH A HUMAN HOST. THAT'S WHERE YOU COME IN. THERE'S NO PARTICULAR REASON I CHOSE YOU, IT'S BASICALLY A LOTTERY. I EXISTED BEFORE THE EVENT YOU KNOW AS THE BIG BANG, AND I SHALL CONTINUE TO EXIST LONG AFTER THE BIG CRUNCH. WITH YOU AS MY CONDUIT, I WILL ENTER YOUR DOMAIN AND MAKE IT PART OF THE INFINITE DARKNESS YOU SEE ALL AROUND YOU. EVERY LIVING THING ON YOUR PLANET WILL BE REDUCED TO NOTHINGNESS, THEN THE PARTS LEFT OVER WILL BECOME THIS ABYSS. NOW, THIS PROCESS TAKES A FEW MINUTES AND I REALLY NEED TO CONCENTRATE TO DO IT, SO IF YOU COULD SHUT THE FUCK UP UNTIL IT'S DONE I'D REALLY APPRECIATE IT.
After a brief pause, the blonde man said, "But--"
OH FOR FUCK SAKE. WHAT IS IT NOW?
"What happens to...me?"
YOUR MIND AND SPIRIT SHALL CEASE TO BE. YOUR BODY WILL BE MINE.
"So I just...die?"
NO. NOT DIE. CEASE TO BE. LIKE I JUST SAID. YOU GOTTA LEARN TO LISTEN, DUDE.
The blonde man thought for a moment. "This process, how long does it take?"
IT WILL BE A FEW MORE MINUTES. THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP IT. EMBRACE OBLIVION, MOR--
"Actually I was wondering if we could speed things up a little?"
SP-SPEED THEM UP?
"Yeah. Anything I can do to hurry it along?"
Y-YOU WANT TO...H-HURRY IT...ALONG?
"Yeah, if possible."
BUT WHY WOULD YOU-
"OH FUCK. Is it happening?"
The blonde man's body began to break down and scatter like dust in the wind.
BWAHAHAHAHA, YES, IT IS--
"Yippeee!" The blonde man gave a salute. "Good luck Korol."
KOROM
"Yeah, good look Korom. You're gonna need it."
WAIT A SECOND WHY WOULD YOU---
As the blonde man's body broke down, Korom passed through the veil between dimensions and opened his human eyes. He pulled himself to his feet using a nearby podium.
The universe slowly came into focus. Before Korom stood endless rows of men and women holding microphones and cameras.
A woman with her hair pinned back in a ponytail stepped forward. "Mr. Johnson. Infection rates have spiraled across England, Scotland, Wales, AND Northern Ireland. Your party has announced a last-minute U-turn of Christmas travel restrictions throwing major cities into a state of complete chaos, and a new more infectious strain of COVID19 has just been identified."
She raised her microphone. "Tell me. As Prime Minister, what do you plan to do about it?"
Korom looked around the room.
FUCK
\---
Thanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!
Hope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more
|
Buvolell -- Fell Lord of the Doomkeep -- padded after his prey. His steps were whisper soft as they went down the stairs to the basement apartment. The demon dragged his long nails as delicious expectation flared inside him.
Peter Jensen. 26. There was something about him that struck Buvolell as intriguing. Something to add to his collection.
He allowed Peter to enter his apartment, lingering on the threshold. The crimson Eye of Morgoth embedded in the demon's forehead glistered, and Buvolell took a moment to adjust to his new form. He adjusted the nursing mounds protruding from his chest (*So ungainly*, he thought) and smoothed out his skirt.
Then, his pale, carefully manicured hand reached out to knock gently at the door.
Nothing happened.
Becky -- that was a viable human name -- knocked again, more firmly this time. One minute passed, then two, and finally footsteps drew closer and the door opened. Peter's sullen, drooping face appeared out of the dim shadows behind him.
"Oh thank *gosh* you're home," Becky said. "This is *so* embarrassing. I need -- "
"Sure, whatever." Peter cut in, voice flat as an asphalt road.
"...okay. It's just, I need to charge my phone so I can call my sister. Something's happened and I'm *so desperate* and if you could let me in I would be grateful." Becky chewed on her ruby-red lower lip, pausing to take a breath. "*So* grateful."
Peter stepped aside.
"Um. Gosh, I just...my mom taught me to not go in to someone's home without, like, a formal invitation? So if you could just -- "
"Yeah, whatever, it's fine."
\*Close enough\*, Buvolell thought, as he stepped, trembling, over the threshold.
A floor lamp in the far corner did a poor job of illuminating the studio. Becky's heels clicked on the linoleum floor, languidly removing a cell phone and charger from her black purse. She turned to look at Peter.
"Where should I...stick it in?" she purred.
Peter pointed limply toward the kitchen area and shuffled past stacks of magazines to the futon and sat down.
Becky tried to ignore the nearly-empty cans of soup and styrofoam to-go containers on the counter and connected her phone to a free socket next to the hot plate. Then she strutted slowly back out and toward the futon.
"It's like something out of a fairy tale, don't you think?" She gave a lilting, musical laugh. "A damsel in distress...and you are my white knight, saving me in my hour of need."
She hesitated, noticing Peter's eyes were focused elsewhere. She followed his gaze to the blank wall opposite him, then looked back to him.
"What are you looking at, my gallant cavalier?"
"I'm just thinking," he mumbled.
"My my! Brave *and* intelligent! I *love* men who *think*." Buvolell blinked for a moment as he caused a button on his blouse to shoot onto the mattress next to Peter.
"Oh no! How embarrassing, I've lost a button from my blouse," she said, leaning over in front of Peter as she reached for the button. "And I just bought these heels, I'm so unsteady in them, I -- oops!"
Becky twisted as she lost her balance, falling into Peter's lap.
"Hi," she breathed, staring into his eyes.
"Hey," he said, just as monotone as ever.
"May I...give you a token of my gratitude, noble one?"
Peter shrugged. It was disconcerting, but Buvolell was too ready to devour this mortal's soul to care.
Becky placed one hand on each of Peter's cheeks, felt the stubble growing there, and brought her face closer. His breath smelled like rancid cheese. She brought her lips to his, slowly, savoring the moment. The imminent war of wills, and the inevitable conclusion.
Flesh touched flesh. Becky vanished in a cloud of red smoke as Buvolell battered down the door to Peter's consciousness and strode inside. In his right hand was a sword wreathed in black flame. The demon tensed, ready to do battle.
He saw Peter's face, heard his voice: *Good luck.*
The mortal's skin distended, bulging, and burst. A horde of winged beings emerged, shrieking, and descended on Buvolell. In a moment, he was disarmed, pinned to the black floor of Peter's mind.
As the shadowy creatures began to rend the demon's flesh, he heard Peter's voice, one last time.
*You'll need it.*
* * *
Feedback welcome. /r/ShadowsofClouds for many more stories, including [this scene](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/7rjzoc/ip_may_i_come_in/) of Buvolell being summoned into the world.
| 2020-12-21T11:57:07 | 2020-12-21T10:51:37 | 3,775 | 169 |
[WP] "Our goddess was kind, benevolent, and perfect in every way. She protected us." The priest looks to you. You stand before him, holding a weapon stained with divine blood. Then he asks. "Why did you kill her?"
|
"That bitch not only ruined my life but the lives of others because they were different." I said as I stood infront of the priest. My sword was bathed in the blood of the goddess. She had played the role of a benevolent god towards all the humans who worshipped her. To the humanoid and sentient races, she was an evil god. She encouraged the genocides her worshippers partook in and made her human worshippers believe that anything they did towards the other races would have no consequences for they were "The Chosen".
What did she do that ruined my life? She kidnapped me from my world, Earth, and brought me here for her entertainment. She said she could make me a god if only i pledged frailty to her. I refused to worship her when she told me how the other races were treated. Back on Earth I was and am a minority, I knew what oppression and discrimination were like so I refused to treat others the way she wanted. Once I spoke my mind she wrapped me in her "golden" light and transformed my body. She disfigured me and left me looking like the spawn of *All* that is unholy. She then cursed me with immortality and the ability of regeneration so that I will forever feel pain.
After she threw me to the most inhospitable part of her world, I learned to survive after just about everything killed me over and over again. After 3 decades of driving every monster in the region to extinction, I had managed to make the once inhospitable land livable again. I started taking in refugees from all over the ravaged lands of Humanity's greed. I did not know it then, but I had begun to fulfill a thousand year prophecy.
After another 3 decades, what started out as a village grew into an Empire. The sentient races had combined their various technologies and cultures. Our empire became the biggest and most wide spread empire this world would ever see. Many times they tried to worship me, make me their Emporer, but every time I refused for I was none of those things. I was just like them, I too had been wronged by the goddess. It was never "my" empire because I saw these people as my equals, and as equals this was *Our* Empire. A form of leadership was needed so I formed a council consisting of representatives of every race. Our first major decision was decided long before I had arrived. As the human worshippers would later call it, we began a "Holy War".
I had seen many of our brethren fall throughout the war. After each battle I would personally return to the battlefields and recover their bodies. I wept for my fallen comrades, vowing that their deaths would not be in vain. On our way towards the remaining strongholds of the goddess we were met with the combined armies of man. An entourage separated from their army and we met them half way. These humans turned out to be outcasts from various ages throughout the goddess' reign. They wished to join us and soon we gained new allies. Weeks after they joined us we made it to the heart of the goddess' empire. It was the bloodiest battle in that point and time. We forced our way into her domain at which point I was able to kill her with my sword.
Her final words were a bit garbled as she spit up blood, but I knew what she was saying. "H-h-how? I'm a god" she said. "Whats a god to a non believer?" Were the last words she heard as she slid off my sword.
|
Blood congealing like slime and cell-sap. Crimson red as expected, yet with blotches of gold, green and pink. A curious combination, one which Gilgagal can’t understand. He’s more fond of words and warfare than hues, paint and tone. Indeed, he’s a warrior-poet. Both a soft, philosophical mind, and a bloodthirsty duellist. That made the killing much easier. She, Erishtar Nel’Manu was seduced by his verse. Every syllable he took another step, till she let him hold the bronze blade upon her dark throat. Not that she cared. To her it was all a performance that was tragic and beautiful and worthy of weeping. Oh, how she cried for the poem of two lovers a world apart. Classic yet thrilling. And all those tears poured down into the river and to the cities and towns of the kingdom, fuelling the agriculture of humanity’s first civilisation.
However, she never knew that bronze could kill the divine. It’s a unique alloy in that way, because like all alloys it shouldn’t exsist. Therefore, it can kill a god. And even as she lay upon her bed of silk and wheat she couldn’t raise a voice to accuse, nor fault, nor curse Gilgagal. Even when her tears mingled with blood she never once frowned nor scowled. Truly the most benevolent of beings, and to Gilgagal: the most precious to his heart.
“Why? Why kill her?” Asks Enki, the high priest and good friend to Gilgagal. “I don’t understand... your own lover?”
With another melancholy sigh all too common to poets, he responds.
“Her empathy, her kindness and her love were too great.”
“And so?!” The priest screams, balling up his weak hands into fists. “Without her all the rivers will dry!”
“But we live for another aeon,” replies the Warrior-Poet. “You know that humanity is a poor, pitable creature to whom life is unavoidably suffering? I’ve thought and pondered, then I noticed that as our numbers grow, she cries more and more for-“
“Cried.”
“Ah, of course. As she cried more and more, the river would flow harder and faster every following year.”
“Making our harvests greater and more abundant! Have you gone insane?!”
Gilgagal’s lips morph to an even stronger frown, to the point they may never return to a smile. He can feel only jealousy for the insane, the mad and the craven. They don’t act with reason, unlike him: thoughtfully and perceptively. It’s this fault of good mind that makes him the one who had to undertake this great responsibility. To act in the greater good.
“Eventually, we would all be consumed by a great flood. No land would remain and the sea would consume all,” Gilgagal recalled the sights he had seen along the coasts of Sasser. Towns crumbling and tumbling into the sea, becoming swept away by the unfeeling cruelty of an abyssal sea.
“We will find other ways to survive the drought and the famine, but no man would survive the flood.”
“Oh,” Enki found himself more sorrowful than before, and like Gilgagal, envied the insane.
| 2020-11-23T12:24:21 | 2020-11-23T11:37:56 | 50 | 28 |
[WP] A man who has been dating a girl since elementary school goes to her father for her hand in marriage. The father says no. Tell us why and break our hearts.
|
"No".
*Wait, what?* "... No?"
"No. No way."
I felt like I had been hit by a truck. Alison meant the world to me, and I thought that her father had accepted me as part of the family long ago.
"May I ask why not? I mean, it can't be our age and--"
"It's not your age, son." Mr Jamison looked down at his large hands, sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "It's because she's not good enough for you."
I stared at him incredulously. Alison was beautiful, smart and funny. She turned heads when she walked in a room, she brightened my day. She had meant the world to me for as long as I could remember. She had been there for me through school, college and the death of my parents in a car accident. To me, she was perfect.
"Mr Jamison - sir - I don't understand."
Mr Jamison - I usually called him Ed, but it didn't seem right at the moment - looked down at his hands again. He played with his wedding ring for a moment before he spoke again.
"Ryan, you have been like a son to me. More so since your parents passed. I've seen you grow into an intelligent, polite young man. I've seen you give your everything to my daughter, and all I've seen her do is take, take, take..."
"Sir, with all due respect, I *want* to take care of Ali. I mean, between my inheritance and taking over my father's business, Ali will never have to work if she doesn't want to."
"That's exactly right, and that's exactly why she's still with you."
Mr Jamison sighed again, and looked up at me. He had tears in his eyes but his words made me furious. I gritted my teeth.
"That's *not* true. How could you even--"
"It *is* true, son. It *is*..." His voice grew soft. "It started right before your parents died. She said they were just friends, but I caught them fucking in his car, right out there on the driveway. She begged me not to tell you, said she was going to end it with you once you got back from your trip. Then the accident happened, and the excuses started. She couldn't tell you while you were in hospital, couldn't after you woke up and found out your parents had passed, couldn't before the funeral... and then I think she really believed I'd forgotten. I haven't forgotten. I've been waiting for this day for two years."
There was that truck again, along with a lead balloon in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't understand why he would tell me this, it wasn't true. It *couldn't* be true. But then, could it? Ali had been distant before the accident, strange after but I put that down to her not knowing how to deal with my injuries and then my grief. Still... there were nights when she didn't answer her phone, or if she did I'd hear a man's voice - the same man every time - and she would say she was out for dinner with friends.
"I... I don't believe you."
"Don't you? You must know that it's him she's with when she's not with you. Last Friday, when she said she was with Georgina--"
"Stop it."
"-- She was with *him*. Please, son. Please. *Don't* marry her. I don't want to see her destroy you."
With that, Mr Jamison broke down. I had never seen him cry before. I stood, laid a hand on his shoulder, and headed for the door. I had a lot to think about.
-----
*Edit just to say thank you for the upvotes, which indicate you have enjoyed the story. It means a lot since, as I mentioned in the comments below, I've written maybe one other piece of fiction in the last 10 years. I had a major case of writers block but hopefully the encouragement I've had here will be enough that I respond to further prompts. Once again, thank you.*
|
"No."
I blinked once. Something had to be wrong. That couldn't have been what had just been said. Some jumbled neurological process had to be occurring in the muddled zest that I called my brain. Yeah that was it. I was so happy that the answer I knew that I should be hearing came across as the one, deep down, that I knew I couldn't bear to. That had to be it, but still I needed to be sure.
"Pardon?" I croaked out, words sticking tight in my throat
"I'm sorry Saul but I can't allow you to do that. This must be a shock, I'm sure but what I'm doing here is the best for all of us." Tomas' voice was deep, thick and laden with sadness, regret and sorry. But it was also strong, there was conviction there as I stood in his front room, the hand that held the ring out beginning to shake. The ring I had scrimped and saved and used the inheritance from my parents to pay for.
"I... I don't understand." Tomas' face was beginning to blur now, moisture blocking out the finer details of that old, sad face.
"Sarah's dying Saul." Now that was a shock. My mouth dropped. Knees began to buckle. "No, no, no not like that! Here sit down, there we go careful."
Strong arms were gripping me by the shoulders and moved me into an armchair. I looked at his face in alarm, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"That was probably not the best way of putting it but I need to be able to be blunt with you." Tomas was crouching next to me, one hand resting protectively on my upper arm like a father would. Like I was hoping a father-in-law would do. "She's not actually dying Saul. Not like you think I mean. But she is being killed. By this world around us. By you and me. By Ms McCormick down the road and those kids in the park, by the one bus that comes through everyday and that shitty dead end job that she's got in that god awful pub. Do you understand me Saul? Tell me you see what I'm getting at?"
Now I truly was lost. I looked in bewilderment at my girlfriends father, a look he seemed to recognise and despise all at once.
"Listen Saul. Sarah is an amazing girl and in any other circumstance I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I can't for one reason. She is still a girl. Hell, yeah, shes left school and has a job but look around you! Look where you live! There is nothing her for her and there is nothing here for you either. And I cannot begin to imagine letting her settle here with you when there is so much out there waiting for her. Waiting for you."
Here a pause. The world was beginning to stop spinning.
"Me agreeing to let you marry her would be a death sentence. For her. For you. If you get married you wont leave here. Wont experience what is out there in the world, wont be able to see who you truly could be! And I am sorry, I am so so sorry Saul but I cannot let that happen. To either of you."
I remember his eyes filling with tears then as his eyes sought with me, implored with me to understand. But then I only understood one thing. The love of my life was lost to me because of the man in front of me. I left town that day. I have yet to return. Maybe one day I will but that is looking more and more distant a prospect with everyday that goes by. And the ring? That sits in at the bottom of a chest of drawers. In my office. In a dead-end, no promise job. And everyday that goes by the feeling that I have failed Tomas lodges itself ever deeper into my heart.
| 2014-01-19T14:44:06 | 2014-01-19T14:42:00 | 164 | 17 |
[WP] When someone is murdered and the killer gets caught, its life is traded to revive the victim. You are the victim, and now you understand why you got killed.
|
Like all other miracles of technology, the Revival Machine was one invention debated upon endlessly by ethicists and scientists alike. Ultimately, its use (which was to transfer all vital function from one client to another) was limited by the Global Government solely for cases of murder and "high exception". How the Revival Machine worked was a convenient mystery, and most information about it was strictly confidential.
I gasped awake, as though emerging from a terrible dream. The pain in my chest from my murder was gone, lingering on a bit as I'd imagine a ghost would: not physically present, but mentally ever-consuming.
"You're awake," the man in white said.
I gulped. The man who had stabbed me had been a doctor, and had worn a similar attire to the person before me.
"Vital transfer successful," the man nodded to the nurse coming in, who in turn smiled and did the usual check-up on me.
"...why?" I asked mid-check-up.
"Sorry, I can't answer those things," the man said briskly.
Thanks. I finished my lengthy check-up, was told that I was fit as a fiddle now, and was sent home.
I had known my murderer well. He had been a congenial man, always prompt and helpful: definitely more sympathetic than the doctor who had just saved my life. The question plagued me.
"One second, Erika," my murderer had said.
We had just finished my yearly check-up. Then he pulled out a knife and stabbed me through the chest. I'll spare you any of the other details; they don't seem to matter much, now.
...
Still, the question haunted me; I couldn't sleep well for weeks. Eventually I screwed up my courage and walked back to my old doctor's office, where a new doctor had begun working.
"Can I see my old health records?" I asked.
"Sure," she said, "but after your revival, I'm not sure how relevant they'll be.
"That's fine," I said.
She handed me the reports. Doctor-patient information was deemed to be confidential, and as she had not been my doctor prior to my death and I had just had a revival, she saw no reason to pry into my previous medical information. I looked into the rather short report, and heaved a heavy breath.
"Erika _____," the important part said, "Diagnosed with incurable terminal breast cancer. I can cure that."
|
It happened faster than I could believe. The sirens, the open window, the gunshot through my chest. And then... I was in in the comfort of my own home. My family was surrounding me in the room as if a tragedy had happened, but I felt healthier than ever. You see, the QuantoTransfer has been all the rage in courthouses. A way to transfer life energy from a killer to their last murdered victim. And it worked perfectly; the victim is returned to perfect health.
"You're awake!" It was my wife, crying.
"Wh-what happened?" I gasped, still in shock. While I'm sure that it's been at least a few days since my murder, it feels like it was a few minutes ago. It's not often that a guy you don't know murdered you out of the blue.
I got up, perfectly healthy but still shaking.
"Well," said my father, sighing, "if you must know, the suspect was Derek Matthews. He had killed his wife hours ago and... I guess he wanted her to stay dead. You know the QuantoTransfer only works on your last murdered victim," he said, managing to keep it together even if almost everyone in the room was crying.
The waves of anger flew over me. The bastard who killed me did so to stop the machine from reviving his wife. I knew I shouldn't feel guilty, but I did. "So... I killed his wife. I killed someone."
"Why would you say that?" said my mother. "He used you as a... conduit of sorts to stop his wife from dying. Yes. But that doesn't mean you had anything to do with it, you didn't know her, you had never met her. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And you can't revive his wife, so why try?"
I wasn't listening. I ran out the door and into the street before she finished her sentence. And I kept running. Before I hit the car I whispered to myself.
*"To Mrs. Williams."*
| 2016-08-16T14:52:47 | 2016-08-16T14:31:20 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal.
|
They had a moral code. A set of rules written in stone that they were bound to follow. Somehow though they were able to ignore it and not really care. They understood that they should live in a sustainable fashion. They even celebrated those among them who did. They just as a species didn't. They lived much like the viruses that existed on their worlds. They couldn't help their host they were only capable of using all the resources in a star system and finding a new one.
But what really set them apart was their hate. Their hate. For every 10 star systems they colonized they would turn 3 to dust. The only thing they hated more then themselves was everything else. I suspect it came from their short life spans. By the time their planet had circled their star 100 times nearly all of them would be gone. It made them efficient. Brutally efficent. They didn't worry about losing their life as it would be over soon anyways. Sacrificing themselves to snuff out the lives of others wasn't hard for them. They didn't naturally defend themselves. They believed the best defense was an aggressive offense. Make your enemy too afraid to even think of attacking you. They hadn't even developed a plasma shield. Which works since their photon weapons would destroy even a Phoenix Shield. The asymmetry of their technology was mind blowing. They still had to use worm holes to travel between systems, hadn't even discovered warp. But they had pulsar weapons.
The first encounter they had with The Collective they discovered the same problem we did. The Wave Shield. In 10 generations we were never able to find a solution to this shield. Before their planet had circled itself 8 times they solved it. They didn't even understand 0.1% of the physics of the shield but they destroyed it. That was their strength. They didn't view this as a science problem. They thought of it as a how do we destroy everything problem. Rather then try to solve the physics of the shield they solved the physics of destruction... always their speciality.
|
Champagne pricked Ace Mcgillicutty's throat as he drained his glass and took a draw from his Cuban cigar. He eased back on the light-speed throttle and let out a Rebel Yell.
"You know sometimes, Franky, it's boss to be the Air Force's top test pilot. This fucker screams."
"Sure as shit does, Ace. So the Vangalorian thingamajigs...they're like what? Real space men? Little Martian men?"
Ace ran a comb through his slick pompadour and gave a wink to himself in the reflection of the glass cockpit.
"You got it, Daddy-O. Ugly little shits. They have elephant schnozes and these jelly eyes. Gross as all hell if you ask me. I had to shake one of their...fuck man..I don't even know what to call it....anyway they told us all about how these real bad cats are fuckin' up their shit, man."
"That's real lousy, Ace."
"Yeah, pal. Ike personally wanted me there so they could see all my chest candy and they could see the face of the guys whose gonna get their ass out of the fire."
Ace took another pull from his stogie and put his black boots on the console and crossed them.
"So yeah man - that's about that. But fuck that noise, baby. We ain't gonna get involved in their shit. We're gonna play them like a fiddle."
"You don't say?"
"Hell yeah, man. Faster than light is nice, baby, but those mean mother fuckers are the ones we need to team up with. You know how unstoppable we'll be once we get their laser technology? We're gonna be kings, baby. Kings!"
"Right on, daddy-o. Right on."
| 2014-12-26T11:25:21 | 2014-12-26T10:41:23 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] Write two different stories. The second story comes from reading every third word of the first.
|
He came as I rang the three little bells.
Simple Pete signaled toward the midnight storm outside, "I thought you knew to avoid that storm... Suppose it seemed it was manageable earlier... Over there's whiskey for you and me. Oscar said he thought you would want to be toasty after coming from that down pour. Said the wet dirt road would stop any man, one minute flat."
By now, I had loaded my trusty pistol, holding it in my right hand behind my back. Quickly I pressed the barrel to Pete's temple. The bright white wall sprayed red, I knelt and prayed for forgiveness.
__________________________________________________________________
**As the bells signaled midnight, I knew that it was over for me. He would be coming down the road any minute now, loaded pistol in hand. Back pressed to the wall, I prayed.**
|
"Where is **it**," she muttered.
"**Wasn't** it in-"
"**Until** I find **his** diary, shush, **child**. Yes, it **was**, until you's **born**. An' then, **that** man decided **he** gonna redecorate. **Realized** that he-"
"**There** it is."
"**Was** right there, **nothing** with it?"
"**That** was."
"Meh...**he** died young. **Truly** tragic. I **loved** him so..."
| 2014-07-29T13:10:19 | 2014-07-29T08:37:46 | 165 | 82 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who.
|
Elli was born without the names. Some people thought that she was blessed. She was not faced with knowing the name of the person who would kill her. Others believed it was a curse, some kind of disability. She had to admit that not having the names made her wonder if there *was* something wrong with her. Everyone has the names. So what does that mean about her? Will she never really be loved? Will she eventually become so lonely she'll just... kill *herself*?
That was what she believed until she met Brian. He was beautiful, smart, funny, and *he had her name*. He knew about her predicament, and didn't care. He loved her, even if it meant she'd never really be his.
Two years after dating, she accepted his marriage proposal. Their parents disagreed because of her "disfigurement", but it didn't matter. They were in absolute bliss. Through all the doubt, all the worry, she knew this was meant to be.
That was until two months before the wedding, when her mother burst into her home while Brian was away.
"You can't marry him!" Her mother yelled.
"We've talked about this, mom. He doesn't care that I don't have the names. We love each other!" Elli explained.
"I know he doesn't care, but you just can't marry him Elli! You can't! It's not meant to be!" She insisted.
"Then tell me why. Why can't you just let us be happy?"
Her mother sighed and sat down at their dining room table. It seemed as if she was struggling to find the words. "Your father and I... We were tortured by the names. We were happy that it allowed us to find each other but knowing the names of our killers... It tortured us, Elli. We wanted things to be different for you."
"What are you saying, mom?" She asked, panicked.
Her mother paused, looking at the floor.
"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?" Elli demanded.
"We had them removed, Elli. People aren't supposed to know these things. We wanted life to be better for you."
Elli's mind went blank. She wasn't a freak. She wasn't disfigured. Her parents did this to her. Elli looked up, finally understanding what her mother was saying. "Did I have his name? Please tell me. Please tell me I had Brian's name." Elli begged.
Her mother stared at her for a long time before finally shaking her head. "I'm sorry honey."
Elli started crying, her mind racing. The one person she loved most in the world was not her soulmate. She'd already built a life with him, loved him, made promises, shared secrets, planned their perfect wedding and imagined their perfect home, they'd even picked out names for their future children.
Names...
That's when she realized. She didn't have his name... but he still had hers.
|
The names were always generic. That's how the craze started to give kids weird names. It was a lot easier to find an Appel or Zucchini or Brickhaus. The names on me were Jangela and Jongela. It was nice when the name was the same. It meant that you could choose your death. That the final act was not one of vengeance or anger but love. That's what my parents had told me. I didn't believe them then, but I wanted to. No one's included cancer or heart attack. Humanity was past all that, and we were essentially immortal unless or, well, until someone killed us. These people were called enders and few escaped from committing the task at least once in their lifetime.
The tattoos were imprinted by AI that could see into our futures. It was never wrong. Not one case in all of history. So, we took our responsibility as lovers and enders seriously. We had to.
When I met Jangela, I knew right away that she was my soulmate. We didn't use the fancy matching algorithm. It was natural, the special kind of match that people dream of. She was pretty with mocha skin, flowing black hair, and warm brown eyes. Her kiss melted me. We were only teens when we met, but our love lasted. Yet, every time I asked to see her tattoos, I was always met with hesitance. I knew my name was on her body, but I couldn't see the other name. I feared that the name was the same as mine.
When we had first allowed child, one name popped up time and again. I stared at it in horror. People said that it was a honor for your child to be your ender. This was not my stance on the matter. I had the honor for my parents. It never felt, even now, like an act of love. But, maybe this time, it would be different. That other name was the name that had been chosen for our daughter, a combination of our names: Jonsteadfast and Jangela. Finally, on the day of our daugther's birth, Jangie showed me the other name on her shoulder.
You can't stop destiny so many had said. This was how it was going to be, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I wanted to change our future, but, when that perfect bundle of joy came into this world, I accepted my fate. We would have time together, centuries probably. She would understand one day, our little Jongela.
***
If you enjoyed this, please subscribe to r/nickkuvaas for more of my stories.
| 2018-03-11T09:04:19 | 2018-03-11T07:36:53 | 270 | 118 |
[WP] You're a supergenius-level robotics expert. Your neighbor is a godlike magician. You use your abilities solely to prank each other.
|
The Great Zantini showed up at my doorstep hat in hand.
I knew better than to trust this and sent a decoy mimic-droid to answer the door.
Zantini looked at the mimic-droid and seemed almost sad. "Is that really you or is this a ruse?"
Something about his voice concerned me. I came out from behind the lead lined wall that seemed to be cover against most of his spells. "What is it Zantin?"
He smiled "I wanted to call a truce. I am leaving the neighborhood."
I nodded "Giving up?"
He made a chair appear to sit on. "I have lost my job and I am going to have to move."
I wanted to think this was a ploy, but there was a sincerity in what he was saying and a sadness at losing a rival that I could feel as well.
"We had some good times!" he smiled at me "Remember when your garage grew legs and you had to chase it to get to your car."
I chuckled, the video of that still haunts me a little, but it was a good one. "Remember the inch tall robot army I sent to steal your spell components."
Zantini laughed out loud "My cat now leaps like a tiger when it sees a toy solider."
"Why are you losing your job?" I knew he worked at a pretty well known magic firm, I couldn't see why he would be out of a job.
"They said I don't understand the modern times." He shook his head. "I have a new supervisor and he decided that I needed to be let go."
I blurted out "I don't like this."
"Neither do I"
I started thinking, plotting like I hadn't plotted since I woke to a group of Imps in my workshop. "Do you know where your new supervisor lives."
I saw Zantini's eyes light up like when he watched me chasing my garage. "Yes."
For years we had been playfully pranking each other, but now someone had picked on my friend, and he would have to deal with both of us....heaven help him.
|
I remember the first time I saw Doctor M, the Magician Manifest of earth dimension 12. I was all legs then, blonde, nice pert rack, little red cocktail dress. Crossing the bar, suppressing a giggled smile as I gracefully wrote my number on a napkin while holding a Martini glass. I made it 9 seconds into my NLP derived seduction algorithm before exploding. 13 dead. 2 weeks under a pile of rubble before my back-up was recovered.
The next time was in the dairy section of a grocery store. Something must have tipped him off though. I erupted into bunch of flowers. Roses. The mana detectors in my heels triggered the secondary explosives in my purse. 4 dead. The new remote Back-up worked within desired parameters for existential modification, the Professor will be pleased.
My 3rd engagement with Doctor M was in error. Professor-bot 1872, while performing an upgrade on my mutagen gas injector, was condensed into foreign matter and rapidly transformed the surrounding area into a frog-lava hybrid substance. Additional analysis has yet to be completed. I was temporarily re-sleeved into Professor-bot 721 until repairs could be completed.
My final encounter was during a trail of the "FIHS", the Fear-Induced Holo-Shark. Doctor M is apparently afraid of a type of Shark analogue found on earth dimension 71, whose saliva breaks down and destroys the morphic-goo from which Doctor M reconfigures his corporeal form after death. Placed in bubble-bath soluble, miniaturised, containment capsule, I swelled to my full 190ft size during Doctor M's wednesday evening bath. It is estimated that in is panic, he teleported the surrounding 4 miles to earth dimension 71. Estimated dead: 46235 and climbing.
| 2015-02-19T00:06:54 | 2015-02-18T23:10:04 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] "I'll pay you $150K a year. Sit in this room and wait for the phone to ring. What ever you do, DO NOT miss that phone call." Bored to death, after 10 years, that shiny black landline in the corner of the room has never once rang. One day, it starts ringing. You miss it by a second.
|
My fingers curl back from the shiny, black landline. I suck in a breath between my teeth, wincing at the potential ramifications.
Panic sets in as I pace from end to end of the room. There is nothing to disrupt my path, save for a chair, and, of course, the phone. I spare it another glance and shudder. The ring still echoes in my head.
My parents always raised me to be honest. No point stopping that now.
I sigh, and collapse into the chair. I pull my cell out, and dial the number that had called me 10 years ago, offering me this job. After two rings, someone picks up.
"Hello?" It's a mans voice. Gruff, gritty, like he swallowed a bag of nails.
"Hey." I swallow heavily, my voice wavering. "You hired me about ten years ago to answer a phone."
"Right. I remember."
"So, about that." I pause. No turning back now. "I missed the call."
There is silence. I can't even hear him breath.
"Hello?" My voice cracks. "Sorry. I swear, I didn't mean to-"
A raspy, coughing noise drowns out my excuses. It takes me a moment to realize it is laughter.
"Ten years. Ten years you sat there!" His laughter is roaring now. "That's the longest anyone has ever stayed!"
"What... Wait, what?"
"It's all a big joke!" He chokes out between chuckles. "It's all about the suspense! I mean, I'm filthy rich, what else am I supposed to do with it? Mind as well have a little fun. Throw the fear of god in you, make it all so scary like." He breaks into full throated laughter again. "You could have left whenever! But you stayed for ten years! I just had get you even more spooked."
"But... but... it stopped ringing right as I touched it! How could you have planned that?"
"Camera in the phone." His laughter peters out. "Funniest shit I've ever seen."
I laugh nervously. "Yeah. Real funny."
|
I yawned for the third time in a row, as I sat in my armchair. I put down my book, and looked at that stupid black phone. The thing never rang. I was paid to sit here until it rang. Just sit. Well, ten years later and nothing! Everyday, I would wake up and ask myself, would today be the day? Would that phone ring today? Everyday, however, I was met by extreme disappointment.
I drifted off, still thinking of the little black phone in the corner...
I practically leapt out of the chair when the usually quiet phone rang. My heart was racing, and I asked my self, could it really be? Was the phone really ringing? I waited for a second, just to make sure it was really ringing. It was! The beautiful sound filled my ears, and I cautiously walked towards it. That is, until I tripped over the rug. That damn rug. I had tripped over it so many times in the past ten years I’ve had this job.
I cursed as my hand began to bleed. Then I felt panic rise. The phone had been ringing for awhile now, and I needed to answer it soon. I quickly stood up, wiping the blood onto my pants. I closed the distance between the phone and I. I reached for it, the excitement building, and as my hand touched it, silence. I felt a sinking feeling in my gut.
The feeling, of dread, guilt, and fear. I didn’t do the one thing I was paid to do. I didn’t pick up the phone. The usually white lights, flickered to red, and my vision became spotty. What was happening?! As I staggered to the floor, the last thing I heard was, “Earth simulation 48284 failed. Shutting the system down, in 3, 2, 1.”
Edit: I fixed the formatting lol.
| 2020-08-23T22:26:41 | 2020-08-23T19:16:46 | 3,450 | 263 |
[WP] [NSFW] Describe the moments before a school shooting but constantly alternate perspectives between the victims and the assailant. We have no idea who the shooter is until the end. Begin in media res.
|
x Why hasn't she ever noticed me?
o Why won't she stop staring?
x I wonder if anybody else feels as crazy as I do.
o Am I prepared?
x Beating harder than I thought...
o Might be easier than expected...
x One
o Step
x At
o A
x Time...
o Here goes nothing...
x I can't do this.
o Time to finally quit being a pussy.
x But I've wanted this for so long...
o My whole life, leading up to this moment...
x Building it up in my mind...
o No turning back now.
x Here I go.
o There he goes.
x "Hello, Michelle."
o Goodbye, Jacob.
*BANG*
|
Clouds taking the sky
temperatures drop
slightly chilly out there
more at eleven
now the numbers
calm, level, clear
breathe out, breathe in
preparation overcoming fear
the test about to begin
nothing stops here
time waning thin
tomorrow almost near
the slight notion
another day, another year
will God forgive my sin?
will God shed a tear?
>feedback welcome
| 2014-06-26T14:06:51 | 2014-06-26T11:49:17 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] You get a chance to send your mind back into your own body when you were 16. Retaining all your memories and knowledge, you immediately gain an incredible advantage. What's your plan?
|
I awoke suddenly, jumped directly up and stood vertical like I used to when I was a kid. It was easier with a bed that had no frame, like when I was a kid. It was easier today though. Oh right, because my bed is on the floor. Because I'm smaller and lighter. Because I have school in twenty minutes.
Wait...what? School? Oh my god, it worked. This is some freaky friday shit right here. Okay, no school today then, no school for a while probably. I don't exactly remember what I'm supposed to be learning, but I know I knew it at some point. This is not the time for that.
Of all the many things I could do, I have to remember not to fuck up anything too badly. My life wasn't bad, so this time around I have to make sure not to go too overboard. Even the slightest alteration of a major, or even minor decision could result in a much shittier future for yours truly.
Then it hit me, all at once. I'm young in body, and I've retained my knowledge, but this knowledge isn't of my own future any more. It's of a fictional timeline that no longer exists. Think. Think. Think. What knowledge can I use to my advantage? Which events can I recall clearly enough to act on? The superbowl, the olympics, the world cup. I can recall winners for these events. I can bet. I can win.
Two years later I won a lot of money, never went to university, developed a cocaine addiction and died from a mixture of a powerful sedative and base jumping. There were seven people at the funeral, including the funeral home staff of four.
For every chance to do good there were a hundred to do bad, and the first time around I chose good because of the uncertainty. My ignorance was my only strength.
|
I looked at the ceiling in my room. It was painted white, but the carpet in the room gave cast it to a light blue. I looked around, and realized that it had worked. For some reason I couldn't quite comprehend I wasn't surprised, but I still hadn't been expecting success. I was excited, but it would be many years before I could tell my team that we had succeeded. Well, if I did. I thought about all that had passed between now and when I'd started. If I made it, anyway, nothing is certain after all.
I turned my thoughts to all that had happened, and what might happen. Some of the choices I'd made that I deeply regretted, and the places they'd led me. Not all of those were bad. I'd met the best friend of my life because of a singularly poor decision I made when I was 19. If I took that choice back, I would probably never meet that man, and even if I did, who knew if we'd become the sort of friends we were.
I could save my mother. The cancer had been too far along when they'd finally gotten it checked out. Her death had been the sort of thing I might wish on serial rapists and war criminals, not a caring and compassionate woman like my mother.
I didn't have to be shy. I didn't have to be slow. I didn't have to be stupid. I didn't have to be fat. I didn't have to be so god damned pathetic.
This time, I would be different.
| 2014-06-10T10:15:06 | 2014-06-10T09:43:38 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] You were sacrificed to Cuthulhu as an infant, but turns out that it raised you instead of killing you, and growing up you find some interesting side effects
[deleted]
|
I was nine when my parents brought me to the altar, and sliced my throat. They then threw me down into a dark pit, as I heard their brothers chant for *their Lord*. Pahh! What fools they were.
I don't blame them though, I was a pretty sickly kid.
Why that look on your face? Want to see the scar?
No?! Well, I think it's cool.
Anyway, I obviously survived the fall. A massive surprise, to be sure. I don't remember much of the descent. I was busy screaming my head off, literally! Ha Haaa....
One thing I do remember is a massive... *thing* rising up to meet me. Then...*engulfing* me. Sorry, I can't really describe it. I felt one with the universe. I felt comfort. Like holding on to a mother's embrace.
*Warmth*.
I nearly slipped away there and then. Somedays, I wonder if I should have.
... Oops, sorry for drifting into self-reflection right there!
Anyway, soon after that. I *met* Cuthbert. It was weird suddenly being transported into a log cabin in the middle of some alien forest. I hadn't seen as much greenery, *life* in all my years. So many colours, some my brain had trouble processing.
You've already met Cuthbert, haven't you? I know, he's eight feet tall and he's pretty awkward... but he's a very kind and helpful fellow.
When I first arrived in the lodge, he acted as my crutch. I had lost the will to live. Yes, even in this kaleidoscope paradise, I was ready to die. But he fed me, clothed me, and made me the man in front of you today! So, blame him when I mess up.
To tell the truth, I'm still not sure if Cuthbert is the big guy himself, or if he's one of his many *fingers*.
He taught me to *dream-walk*, and to perceive beyond the meager sight us humans have. He also gave me the gift of conversing with those who come from beyond. It's all to do with the scar you see...
And that why you're here. For I see now, that you have a similar scar on your wrists. Cultists, eh? ...Blasted fools.
I offer to you what Cuthbert did for me. Allow me to be your guide through this world and beyond. I understand this may be a lot to put on a young head such as yours, but it is not one you should face alone. What do you say?
...
Splendid!! Well, then. Let's get started!
|
My life started at the age of 6. While I've had tiny recollections of weird dreams from before then, I couldn't remember anything about being 1 to 6. I eventually managed to figure out I was raised by an eldritch horror from the fact that I had weird abilities.
Such as the ability to see what other people were thinking. It was more like listening than actually invading a brain. And, when I turned 11 I figured out that I could transform my arms and hands into eldritch, green tentacles that could puncture any surface I tried them on.
I was essentially what you'd call a Mary Sue, or the Author Self Insert if you would call it that. I had extreme powers, and could do anything I wanted. I used these powers for evil, not good. I was an adult by the time I actually realized I was raised by Cuthulhu early in my life.
When I was living off of ramen noodle packets and tap water to survive another day, I had to join a life of crime to survive. The first hit was just mugging people for the much needed money. Then it was assassination contracts, which I could do easily. If they even did reach their bunker in time I could break it open.
I'd like to say I only stole from the rich, but I had to prey on poor people. I feared the idea of a manhunt if my extraordinary powers were leaked. Eventually, I started doing bigger things. Bank heists, which I could get the money and run out extremely fast without the police even arriving quick enough.
Eventually I made a lot of enemies in the government and in the rotten underbelly of the cities. Assassination attempts daily, and the senders were wondering why I wouldn't die. Eventually, after enough mangled corpses being discovered outside my residence, I was sent to jail.
I disappeared, and when that happened I was recorded using my tentacles to break into a bank vault from the back wall. A battalion of soldiers was sent after me, then a division of tanks, and then bombings were happening wherever I was.
I realized I was being tracked somehow, but didn't wanna drop my phone. Eventually after enough bombs hit me, my foot flew clean off. I couldn't keep running, so the military had encircled me.
I was shot until I was obviously dead, at which they kept shooting me.
| 2021-08-02T14:07:41 | 2021-08-02T08:50:36 | 44 | 18 |
[WP] Your neighbor appears to have the power of a God, as you've witnessed them manipulating the forces of nature on more than one occasion. You aren't too concerned however, as they really only seem interested in tending to their garden.
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Mrs Lawson says the same thing as I step out the front door every day.
“Good morning, Mark! Off to work already?”
She sees me in a suit and tie, carrying a briefcase, every single morning. She still says it.
But Mr Lawson isn’t in the picture and Mrs Lawson’s garden is the sole remaining light of her life. She gets up at the crack of dawn to tend to it, murmuring to the plants with the occasional idle comment on the weather. No one else is up this early. Except me, because according to my boss profit never sleeps. Besides, those pensioners aren’t going to cheat themselves out of their retirement savings, though I’d be out on my ass if I ever said that to his face.
Humoring a lonely old woman is the least I can do.
Except today, I just had to say the first sarcastic quip that popped into my head.
“I’m going fishing, actually! I have the rod and bait in my briefcase–“
I stopped in my tracks. The contents of my briefcase changed. I could feel the difference in weight from moments ago: my laptop and papers were no longer there. And their replacement felt an awful lot like a fishing rod.
Mrs Lawson frowned. “You’re going fishing in a suit and tie? That can’t be too comfortable…”
But then she brightened up again. “Ah, you must have brought a change of clothes in that briefcase of yours!”
“Of course,” I lied, and I felt the weight of my briefcase change again.
“Nothing wrong with playing hooky once in a while,” she said. “I had a storm planned for the lake because I thought my little darlings could use the sun here, but since you’re going there I suppose I could move some things around. They need watering anyway.”
I waved and left. Then, out of sheer curiosity, I headed to the lake.
I’d never been fishing before, but something about the fishing rod in my briefcase made it downright intuitive to use. It was a perfectly clear morning that turned into a balmy afternoon and beautiful evening, and watching the clouds drift by while waiting for bites, I felt more at ease than I’d ever had in a long time.
I had a respectable catch by the end of the day. Thanks to a generous shopkeeper by the lakeside, I had a nice cooler box to bring them home in too.
I realized two very important things that day. Mrs Lawson wasn’t speculating or hoping when she talked about the weather and what she wanted from her plants. She was giving instructions and making suggestions. And when she spoke, the world listened.
And when I returned from my impromptu fishing trip to find that my workplace had been struck by lightning seven times per hour in an otherwise mild drizzle, I realized it was time to hand in my resignation.
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The invite had dropped onto my doormat yesterday. A garden party, hosted by Geoff and Diane. Bring wine (if you fancy it).
*Geoff and Diane*. The new neighbours, demonstrably middle class by their use of a fountain pen. And the fact that a garden party had even occurred to them.
"In November?" queried Evelyn, who examined the invite carefully. "I hope they've got a gazebo".
I was almost certain that Geoff had some sway over the weather by this point. It hadn't rained since he planted his Russian Sage, which was curious, because that was over three weeks ago. I had already remarked that planting such a water-repellent plant in October was asking for disappointment, but there it was, flourishing in what the local newspaper had described as unprecedentedly favourable weather.
The gaggle of cumulus clouds that formed three feet above his daffodils last week added further kindling to my theory, but Evelyn had dismissed my observations as the jealous ravings of a lesser gardener. Which, of course, I was.
Suffice to say, a gazebo probably wouldn't be necessary.
Diane was even more mysterious. She was known to me only as a silhouette, floating occasionally past their kitchen blinds as Geoff toiled away in the garden. It was nice to be able to put a name to the shadow.
We arrived at the garden party 17 minutes later than the time suggested on the invite. This, we decided, struck the closest balance between appearing rude and not being the first to arrive. It appeared, however, that we failed on both counts.
"You're late" said Geoff, who was sat on a bench adjacent to a pond that I could've sworn wasn't there yesterday.
"Yes, sorry - are we-" I searched for signs of other guests.
"You're the first to arrive, yes. In fact, you'll be the only ones here for quite some time", he smiled. I glanced at Evelyn, who bounced the same glance back to me. It was a glance that said "I wish we'd avoided this one". Geoff stood from the bench and stretched out a hand.
"It's Adam, I trust." I shook it, not before an awkward manoeuvre to shift the wine I had brought from one hand to the other.
"Yes, pleased to meet you. I'm assuming you're Geoff and not Diane." The joke was met with a blank stare. "Uh, this is my wife, Evelyn."
"Call me Eve", she said. Geoff stood back, looking us up and down like a farmer might look at a prized bull before investing in his seed.
"Adam and Eve" he said. "Welcome to Eden."
| 2021-11-18T08:33:15 | 2021-11-18T07:40:32 | 165 | 49 |
[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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> Dear, Valor Man
> I’ve been kidnapped, and need your help. I’m being held against my will in the Nefaro Tower. Please hurry!
> Love,
> Princess Ailyn <3
The wall exploded in a cloud of mortar dust. The entire building trembled. I added an extra heart before looking up from the letter. I popped it into the mailbox as I rose to my full height.
“Stop right where you are, Dr. Devious!” said the young superhero.
“Ah… Mr….” I cleared my throat and glanced at my cheat note. “Ah, Mr. Teen Speed! You’ve made a grave mistake, stumbling into my little abode!”
I gave him a practiced maniacal cackle.
“Tell me where Princess Ailyn is, right now, and I’ll let you walk away with nothing worse than a few bruises.” The masked boy puffed out his chest. “I’m going to count to three. One…”
“Hah! That’s the best you got? Preschool maths!?”
The hero grumbled and stopped counting. In a flash he blazed across the room, grabbing me from behind. I struggled a little, just enough to make it convincing.
“Arrgh! It seems you have me bested…” I grunted, putting on a strained face. “I knew you were powerful… uh, Teen Speed, but I had no idea just how!”
“That’s right, Dr. Devious! Now, hand her over.”
At that very moment, the door to my office opened and Ailyn trotted in, carrying the sandwich with extra salami that I had asked for. Her happy grin melted away. Her dark eyes narrowed, and she looked at me sideways.
“Okay, listen to me really closely,” I whispered in the hero’s ear. “Before you touch her, check her clothes for concealed weapons and explosives. And whatever you do, don’t look her in the eyes… and make sure you wash your hands after you’re done rescuing her… and also make sure you take her really far away… and if she asks you to wear a kryptonite ring, refuse… and hmm… don’t give her your real identity or social security number… I mean, I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but just the other week-”
“Shut up, you snake,” the hero said and pushed me to the ground.
He blazed over to Ailyn, who now brandished a worried frown and a trembling lip. Fake, of course, but Teen Speed didn’t seem to notice. He smiled broadly and lifted her off the ground. She giggled childishly and put her arms around his neck.
“Thank you for saving me!” she said, blushing deeply. “How will I ever repay you?”
“Don’t worry, darling, it’s my job.”
“Aww! You’re so brave! At least, let me give you this small token of my appreciation.” She pouted her lips.
“Noooo! Don’t!” I cried, but it was already too late.
The kiss drained the hero’s face of color, he frothed at the mouth and then fell into a twitching heap on the floor.
“We make such a good team!” Ailyn stepped over his body and helped me up. “You should’ve told me he was coming, it was just sheer luck that I had my poisonous lipstick on.”
I rolled my eyes and returned to my desk. I started composing another letter for help. Forging her handwriting had become second nature to me, and I meant every word in every letter.
“Bury him in the backyard with the others,” I mumbled.
“Yes, honey!”
She started dragging the body across the floor, which was no easy task for her, but one that she happily did for me.
“Oh, by the way,” she said, huffing, “look in the top drawer. I think you’ll like it, I came up with the idea myself.”
Reluctantly, I reached under the table and pulled out a stack of stickers. “What are they?”
“It’s stickers that look like wall sockets! Let’s take a trip to the airport tomorrow.”
I felt the muscles in my jaw clench. I shook my head in disbelief, feeling nauseous. Someone had to come save me from her, and soon!
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more!
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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.
| 2018-02-09T05:01:20 | 2018-02-09T04:30:09 | 2,554 | 44 |
[WP] An isekai where instead of a generic otaku, the main character is a Soviet soldier plucked straight from 1942 Stalingrad.
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Vlad worked the action of his rifle, put his eye down the iron sight, and pushed the breath out of his lungs. The muscular green humanoid riding a massive pony-sized wolf howled at him like a cossack from a poorly-made talkie and shook a ridiculously wicked axe at him.
Vlad pulled the trigger and the rifle pushed into his shoulder. A crack of thunder and the wolf's head exploded. The green man tumbled off his dying mount and landed face first. Vlad dashed forward and let his rifle drop, drawing his dagger and plunging it into the green warrior's flesh.
The green men's skin was as thick as hide and it seemed to take a little more to kill them than common men. Vlad put a hole in both kidneys, two in his liver, and a few in his neck to make sure. They bleed freely and as red as any other man when you got a length of steel inside.
Vlad picked up the warrior's fine axe and tested the weight. He grunted at the heft and frowned at the showy spikes and gilt etching, but put it in his knapsack anyways. He was running short on ammunition.
He left the cave these savage raiders had based themselves from and hiked through the picture book forest to the fairy tail village. The village mayor was waiting for him, rubbing his hands together in worry.
'I have killed these green men as you asked, Comrade-Mayor,' Vlad drawled, 'It was not difficult. It is no hard thing to strike down imperialist thugs.'
'Thank you, young soldier,' the mayor said, 'The king refuses to send knights to eliminate the orcs, leaving us to be murdered and plundered and our maidens kidnapped.'
'You should throw down such men, comrade,' Vlad said, 'In my land we cast down the White Emperor. Put a council of the people in his place.'
'Please don't speak such words, my friend,' the mayor said, 'Please, come eat.'
Most of this place was insane, but the mayor served good black bread and cabbage stew with crema and good beer with it. The mayor handled over a small pouch full of copper and a few silvers and a few blocks of hardtack and iron hard cheese and gave him a place to sleep in a hayloft. It was like being twelve again at his grandparents farm.
On his way out of town, Vlad stopped at the blacksmith and presented the plundered axe.
'Can you knock these silly spikes off and straighten out the embellishments, comrade? It's not a proper workers tool like this.'
'I can, mate,' the blacksmith said, scratching his head, 'But it's the wrong shape for much work.'
'No, it's perfect for the work I have planned,' Vlad said. When the work was done, Vlad strolled out of the village. He had a long road ahead of him to find the German SS witches whose bloody ritual had dragged him to this strange land.
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We were at the forefront of that fateful siege." Mikhail's lips shuddered from the sharp acclimation to indoor warmth. "We were changing modern warfare."
He bowed his head, closed his eyes.
"We were winning, weren't we?"
Last, they were at a standstill. German tanks had lined up the Don Steppe, and artillery let off their volley from the outskirts of Stalingrad. The Red Army were stalling their offense, with lines of infantry and the forming of the Stalingrad Front.
There was so much death and devastation. Might this be a chance to start anew? Might something finally change, beyond the ghastly collapse of compassion and the waking dread of war?
But his comrades...
Amidst a hazy recollection of determined salutes and chants of "not one step back!" Mikhail's shoulders slumped against the bark of the tall tree.
Perhaps the worst feeling was uncertainty — and the dread to be drudged up from accompanying visions of what could have, and what could have been.
The ill-lit, musty Library growled in anticipation of savagery. It had seen far too many fights and gained too many a wound, in its sombre, grossly-yellow shelves.
The Librarian palmed the rustic wood of his desk, soothing the unassuming beast with a mellow hum. The walls' foul howls shrunk to imperceptible amounts, and soon all together became indistinct.
The Elf looked on towards the traveller, whispering, "You are not the first. Nor will you be the last." Mikhail's hold on his rifle grew unwavering, brimming with the fire of humanity's helpless curiosity.
"Who?"
"A servant from the barracks of a ruined castle, Lithuania, seventeen-hundreds. Romulus Augustus, the Fall of Rome, four-hundreds."
The Elf held a fixed look on the coated soldier, "I say this, not to diminish your troubles, but to make a stance clear."
"The Library is open to all inhabitants, of all ages, of all corners of worldly travel. Take your time to recover, but abide by the rules, lest the Library kick you out into the abominable world beyond."
Mikhail felt his heart drop. "What's beyond?"
The Elf responded, "Nothing. Not a single bit."
Nothing changed.
| 2022-02-21T22:31:13 | 2022-02-21T22:09:40 | 54 | 19 |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.”
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“What the fuck do you mean? You’re Satan?”
The boy— no, the friend I have come to know over the course of my short residence on earth, recoils visibly, backing away with a sort of primal fear that only exists in the writhing, guttural core of humanity. His face is contorted in horror, golden honey-kissed skin bunched at the crook of his brow and I suppress the urge to laugh at his folly.
Stupid boy, he has no reason to be afraid. I don’t understand why humans are constantly afraid.
My plan is almost complete. A smile graces my lips. In 3 hours and 37 minutes, humanity will be exterminated, save for him, and we’ll finally be able to enjoy an eternity free of those pests. Together.
But before I can speak, a wet sniff penetrates the silence and he raises his head to face me. His eyes are bloodshot and shatteringly glossy, wavering like tempered glass as they brim with liquid once again.
He’s crying. And he always cries, always has, but for once I am not unimpressed, just at a loss. The words that usually tumble like silk across my articulate tongue catch and stick in my throat, viscous and thick.
“No, no! You can’t be Satan, yo-you’re my friend! You’ve always been my friend!” I want to correct him— that no, I am not Satan, I am Lucifer. But his voice sounds strangled, doused in false confidence that devolves into despair the longer he screams. A child in the dark grappling despondently at the air, fingertips searching for the brush of their mother’s skin, only to be met with silence and the howl of wind.
I feel strange. “I am your friend! T-That's why I’m doing this!” I’m surprised at my own words, but they don’t stop. “I’m saving you! Don’t you get it? People are parasites leeching onto the Earth! It’s better without them. But you can come with me, you’re the only one that matters!”
“No, no, no! Killing people is wrong!” He chokes out through poorly suppressed sobs. “I won’t follow you!”
“You have to. There’s not much time left—“
“I don’t care! I don’t want to live the rest of eternity as a traitor to my own kind.”
I’m appalled, at who I am unsure. At myself, for stooping to the lows of a feeble human, for entertaining their petty vulnerabilities, their feelings that I could care less about. Appalled at him, for not only refusing to express gratitude at my mercy, but instead having the audacity to be disgusted and afraid. Lucifer should not have to explain himself to a mere mortal, yet the longer I am forced to stare at the rivulets of tears cascading down his cheeks, the fiercer my insides burn with a guilt I cannot understand.
“You don’t have a choice.”
“Then kill me.” He falls to his knees with a thud, and the sound of bones against laminated wood echoes in my ears, far louder than it should.
Kill him? How could I? The whole point of my mission was to save him. The weight of his words pulsates, disfigured and ugly like a tumor in the thickening tangle of silence as I stand paralysed, lips parted in shock.
Anger builds in my gut. I’m being emotional, far more emotional than Father would ever have tolerated, but in this human vessel I find it incredibly hard to repress my feelings, as much as I hate them.
Fine. If he doesn’t cooperate willingly, I’ll have to use a more forceful approach. The boy will not die, not on my watch. After all, he’s the only one who’s ever cared about me.
*this is heavily inspired by a show that i like lol
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It had been a long day. I was working a temp job for a contracting company, and after an exhausting day I stopped for a quick drink at the local brewery. I was half way through my beer when he sat down.
“Long day?” The words floated on his voice, which was almost musical.
I however, was in no mood for music. I had just had a car ride so full of decompression that the radio had stayed off.
“Yeah” I said flatly, trying not to encourage conversation
“You from around here?” Again, the tone of his voice was almost a purr, soothing and calming. I sighed deeply, knowing I didn’t have much fight in me left.
“No, from the west coast. Northern Cali. You?”
He gave a slight giggle and looked genuinely delighted that I had asked, but the laugh was not like the words, and a shiver ran cold down my spine.
“Oh, I’m not from around here either” he swirled his drink but never drank from it, and seemed genuinely delighted to be talking and continued “I’m from both heaven and hell if you can imagine that”
“Ah” I replied, more interested in an exit strategy now then this mans life story.
“Was born in heaven, rebelled, got kicked out” he said quickly.
“That’s too bad” I mumbled as I reached for my wallet.
“Not really” he purred again “but you understand that don’t you?”
I unwillingly held my breath. No one knew about my descent. This stranger had just hinted at a dark stain in my memories and I did not take kind to that sort of thing. I felt anger rise up inside me. Felt it take over the fear of being found out.
“So why’d you do it then?” I asked it as more of a demand for information than a genuine question.
“I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation from others. The names Lucifer by the way.”
“Yeah” I let out a sharp exhalation through my nose “I got that”
“Why’d YOU do it?” He returned.
The glint in his eyes from the neon signage behind the bar looked sinister. I decided not to answer and instead retorted “if you happen to be in the area looking for a soul to steal, I’d recommend you avoid trying to get it by way of fiddle” I put the money for my drink down next to my half empty glass, and began to walk out.
Lucifer followed me out to my work truck repeating that same small giggle.
“Ah, very clever” I could feel his stare as I unlocked my car “but you see that story isn’t real”
I opened my truck door with the full intention to leave him standing there. But I paused, “None of it is”.
“And isn’t that the answer, hm? You rebelled because your faith in the falseness of it all matched your fathers faith in the goodness of it?” He waited for an answer we both knew I wasn’t about to give. So he continued “we’re not so different now, are we?”
I spit at the ground as my answer. Disgusted at where the conversation had led.
He didn’t look upset at this, as I had guessed he would. I closed my car door, and through the windshield I saw a look of pure unadulterated knowing in his smile.
I fought the chills as I drove away, and turned on the radio.
I needed to get the hell out of Georgia.
| 2020-12-13T09:31:52 | 2020-12-13T09:15:43 | 48 | 13 |
[WP] Upon landing the first human on Mars, scientists on Earth receive a weird broadcast seemingly from every direction of space: "<Humans> are the first species to successfully complete the tutorial and unlock the Main Quest line!"
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Elon sat back in his chair, his eyes bloodshot and dialated, then pulled another long hit from a bong shaped like an older model Tesla car. The room was already heavy with smoke so when he exhaled it merely shifted the haze around his head. He was sitting in his home, office, whatever you call it as he had not left the room for fifteen years. Most people had written him off as insane, others compared him to Howard Hughes. These days he was largely forgotten by the public. Either way, Elon called it his vault.
&#x200B;
The vault was a 20x40 darkened room full of various computers and electronic gear. It sat on the top floor of his three story fortress seventy miles in the desert outside Las Vegas. On the near wall, where you could see through the haze, were framed newspaper headlines arranged chronologically. *Elon Accepts $2B Buyout from Tesla Board. Elon Constructing Mysterious Compound Outside Nevada.* *Elon Forms New Rocket Company--Investors Scarce. Elon Wins At Supreme Court--Gains Rights To Privately Launch Satellites. Elon Launches Model Teslas Into Deep Space.* That was the last article on the wall from fifteen years ago. The article explained how the Pentagon had tracked his small satellites as they launched into random directions in space with no apparent destination. They were so small and did not regularly transmit back and were lost to tracking from Earth and deemed harmless by the government.
&#x200B;
One of the screens in his vault showed a CNN broadcast on the Mars mission, how it was going perfectly and the ship was in stable orbit and would attempt landing tomorrow.
&#x200B;
Elon leaned forward, his old arthritic hands typing furiously into his computer. On his screen, the expected positions of all his 2 foot long model Tesla satellites appeared along with light minutes distance to earth. Each was calibrated to transmit for a transmission with simultaneous arrival at earth. The computations would have been tricky by hand given each satellite was not equidistant and their path only projected for the previous 14 years, but his computer made the calculation in seconds.
&#x200B;
A dialogue box popped on his screen titled "Transmission Message". Elon began to carefully type *"<Humans> are the first species..."*
&#x200B;
He sat back in his chair again and took another long hit from the bong, so deep even he coughed it out. Then he started giggling uncontrollably.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
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The Secretary-General mulled the document in her hand, six versions of the most momentous single line of text in human history.
"So they're certain of these translations?" she asked.
"It's not a translation, Madam Secretary," her Deputy replied. "We're receiving it in English, Russian, Spanish, French, Mandarin, and Arabic--all the official and working languages of the U.N."
"And the followup message--have they deciphered it?"
"Yes, Madam Secretary. Just before walking into your office I got a text from the team leader. Here," he said, showing her the screen of his secure phone:
> Xeno-2 successfully deciphered.
Message is an incredibly advanced
encryption algorithm and communication
protocol. Xenos are requesting that we
implement it and reply using it ASAP,
to provide a secure channel for followup
communications. We recommend doing so.
Please advise. -- UN Xeno Comms Team
She read it three times, then looked thoughtfully out her office window for a few moments. *That whole world out there is about to change forever,* she thought. Then she turned to her Deputy. "Let's do it."
He nodded, sent the message, and read the reply. "He says the channel should be up within a few minutes."
"How can we communicate with them so quickly?" she asked.
"As I understand it, we don't have any clue," he replied candidly. "Their probe is in Earth orbit and is communicating with us over standard radio frequencies, but as best we can determine, the probe's connection to their world, or empire, or whatever, is more or less instantaneous. They even--"
The Deputy's smartphone chimed and he looked down at it. Moments later, ashen-faced, he handed the phone to the Secretary-General.
It took her only a moment to decide. "Call an emergency meeting of the Security Council. SCIFs, voice and text only. Send the last communication, and a recommendation that the United States and the Russian Federation use their orbital assets to immediately disable and, if possible, *vaporize* the alien probe."
"Yes, Madam Secretary." The deputy left in haste.
She turned again to look out the window, and over the world she had just saved.
"Enable Microtransactions, my *ass*."
| 2018-09-12T09:09:08 | 2018-09-12T06:40:29 | 120 | 85 |
[WP] A secretly immortal man is given a life sentence for a crime he didn't commit and now fears the discovery of his true nature is only a matter of time.
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They said it was the second coming.
After the first botched execution they thought it was a one in a million fluke, after the second, the media jumped on the story. As the media frenzy grew, the details of my arrest and imprisonment leaked and public pressure mounted, pushing for my release.
Guantanamo isn't the place any man would want to spend his years, especially with the secret I carried. I was captured and named as a member of a jihadist cell, I guess that's my just deserts for trying to help a dying man but what's done is done. I expected a trial, it is the great United States of America after all, home to justice and freedom. Just not for me.
One evening I got my phone call, only seven years late. It was the president. The God fearing man needed to know if it was true, realising this was my one opportunity to escape I told him things only an immortal man would know. Within days it was announced I would stand trial, the Church found me the best defense team money could buy. It was the biggest and most watched court session the world had ever seen.
I was in Pakistan before I was taken. A cousin of a friend had lost his way, I went to find him and bring him home. Just as the boy was starting to see reason, the worst happened, two men were brought in, one dead and the other clinging to life. I couldn't let the man die, he was still human, I could save him. That's when the anti-terror team came in. I was taken away, waterboarded and kept awake for days on end, no idea where the cousin was or if he was even alive. After seemingly endless torture I was deemed useless and sent to the land of freedom and justice.
My friend was flown to the US to testify on my behalf, it was his testimony that spared my life. The jury took little time to find me not guilty, in recompense I was given the option to stay, I did. So here I am, a free man with thousands of followers at my side in a world so broken and sad. The people of this planet hold so much potential, there is so much goodness in them yet so much suffering.
I can save them, things have changed, they have changed.
They said it was the second coming, they just didn't realise I'd never left.
|
They made jokes at first, how I was 'well preserved' or had 'good genes' but as the decades went past people began to ask questions. The latest Superintendent was young, well, they all seemed young but he was particularly so.
He called me up to his office after he had been here a few months to see for himself. On his desk he had my photos, from when I first arrived, from various events and activities or just from when someone had decided they needed new pictures.
Laid out it was funny no one had asked seriously earlier, I was identical to the earlier pictures.
"Mr Smith," his voice was a little high pitched and whiny "you seem to be blessed with youthful looks and good heath." I declined to comment "In fact, I can find no record of you having ever been sick, ever caused a problem or ever really made much of an impact at all."
I could feel he wasn't going to let this go like some of the others, it *had* been nearly 60 years, someone was bound to notice eventually "I'm just here to serve my time Sir." I kept my voice flat and obedient.
"Yes I can see that but you have nearly 400 years since you are eligible for parole - it seems unlikely that you'll make it." He paused but I declined to fill in the blanks. At last he seemed to be tired of the conversation "Cut the shit Smith, you're not ageing, why?"
I smiled and raised my middle finger in salute, fuck this guy. He signed and pressed a button on his intercom "Send them in." Behind me a door opened and three large men walked into the room "We've decided that you can serve your debt to society more usefully," the men grabbed me and held me tightly. "You'll be going with these nice men to do some experiments but don't worry - if you live, we'll keep your cell nice and warm for you."
As I was dragged from the room the Superintendent was watching and smiling. This was not going to end well.
| 2014-08-18T08:23:42 | 2014-08-18T04:39:47 | 136 | 28 |
[WP] You were born with a rare illness, causing your emotions to slowly develop. It wasn't until your younger sibling was born that you felt and understood unconditional love. When they were kidnapped, you understood fear. And now, standing over their grave, you gain a new emotion. Hatred.
|
They used to think I was a psychopath.
The evaluations started when I was three, when I wouldn’t smile or laugh or cry or do much of anything, really. I tried diagnoses on like shirts. Everything the doctors and psychologists could think of to try and make me feel things. I was seven before I knew what happiness felt like.
The real diagnosis came when I was nine. I remember the doctor, in her suit and glasses, holding a clipboard. She assured me the diagnosis was accurate this time, that they wouldn’t have to run any more tests. The illness had a very long Latin name; one of her colleagues had found it in the pages of some dusty medical book hidden in some research library. I felt something then. They told me it was “relief.”
My little brother was born three months after my eleventh birthday. My parents handed him to me to hold and immediately I felt an emotion I’d never had before. My chest ached like uncontrollable sadness, but the rest of me felt giddy, like joy.
“Love,” my dad had explained, tears in his eyes. “That one’s love.”
And it was. I loved my brother more than anything in the world. We did everything together, or tried to anyways. With him I learned “frustration” and “annoyance,” as well as “elation” and “pride.”
Three years ago, I learned “fear.” The doctors agreed it would take a long time to develop, being as nuanced as it is. I knew some kinds already: nervousness, apprehension. But this was different. The back door swung in the still air. I wandered into the house, calling my brother’s name. He didn’t answer. I called his phone. His husband picked up. Hadn’t seen him since the night before. My heart sped up.
The house was a wreck; there had obviously been a struggle. I ran through the house, yelling my brother’s name. My blood ran cold. A weight settled into my chest; I couldn’t breathe. Even when the police showed up, swarming through the house, tagging things as evidence and laying out their little yellow cards with the black numbers, my brain refused to work. This was fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.
My brother’s body was found a month after that. I don’t remember the details; it doesn’t matter. I remember the funeral, the grief like nothing I’d ever felt. I didn’t feel anything for a long time after that. I saw therapists for awhile, then doctors who feared my illness was making me relapse into some sort of zombie-like emotionless state. I almost wished it had.
Today, right know, I know it didn’t. I’m standing over my brother’s grave. My brother, who taught me so many emotions. My brother, who was capable of so much, who knew how much good there was in the world and believed in and loved it. Gone.
But I’m still here. I remember my brother. I remember everything he taught me. And I feel something new. Something cold, like fear, but with more anger, more passion. It crashes into my chest and instead of choking me, frees my lungs to the crisp air. I will find the people responsible for my brother’s death and I will make them pay. I feel powerful. The anger and the sorrow are still there, yes, but now they’re driving forwards, pulling me somewhere, giving me a drive and a purpose.
This. This is hatred. And I plan to use it.
fin.
|
Ruby had always been a bit delayed in emotional development. A bit might be an understatement. Due to her emotional state, ruby had been in an out of therapy throughout her entire childhood. Ruby had never understood why exactly that was. Why did someone being different mean that there is something wrong with them?
Ruby was a perfectly normal person, in her perspective. For something to be wrong with her, she would have to be unable to function as a result of her condition. Ruby could function fine. Therapy in her case really wasn’t necessary. She wasn’t a psychopath. She didn’t lack morals or remorse for her actions and therefore she had never understood why she was forced to attend therapy sessions as a child.
Ruby had just never felt anything for people who wronged her. This had been a huge advantage when she was in school. How does being bullied affect you when you can’t feel anything for the bullies? It doesn’t affect you at all. Ruby had watched quietly, like the introverted observer she was, as people around her entered new situations and reacted to them in certain ways.
She didn’t understand the irrational behaviour of someone who was angry. She didn’t understand the pain and frustration behind someone’s eyes as they grow annoyed.
She never understood that emotion. Well never as in she never understood it until now.
Ruby stood over her mothers grave. Rain poured down, adding to Ruby’s mood. The earth had lost a spectacular woman. A loving woman. The only woman who had ever understood ruby. Why did it always rain at funerals? Perhaps the earth it self was in mourning?
The Crying she expected. She wasn’t heartless, she loved her mum. She felt like someone had ripped out a piece of her. She felt the horrible wave of sorrow wash over her.
The worst thing wasn’t the sorrow. The worst thing was this.. New.. feeling.
Something emerged within her. It was another negative emotion. It was a wild beast. It screamed at her to find the person who killed her family and to kill them.
She only recognised this emotion for what it was because of the signs. She felt her fists clench and the way her thoughts seemed to revolve around the murderer and seeking revenge.
She knew she was being irrational. And at the moment she didn’t care.
She left the cemetary- she could no longer bear the sorrow and pain. She drove home to think. To spend time alone and calm down.
Once arriving. She decided that what she needed was something to distract her. She made a cup of coffee and sat in front of her television.
it was all over the news. The trial of the murder suspect- the murderer who killed her family- was today.
He was found not guilty.
She flew into a fit of rage. How dare this man murder those who were close to her. How could he get away with it? Something needed to be done. This man, no this monster, could not be allowed to roam around killing more.
Ruby had never known what it’s like to experience true anger. She hadn’t a clue how to deal with it. However she had come up with a solution on how to deal with this monster who took her family from her. Her eyes flickered to her gun safe.
| 2020-11-06T20:12:43 | 2020-11-06T19:55:38 | 39 | 13 |
[WP] You and your three siblings are immortal, but you haven’t seen them in almost 400 years. You live far away from civilization, so it’s a surprise when a group of soldiers arrive at your doorstep. They say you’re the only one who can kill the three warlords who are revenging the rest of the world
|
Lt. Col Sandra Jackson Schmidt approached the dwelling carefully After 9 months, 7 planets, and countless light years. Her decimated company of Terran Marines had finally and hopefully found their man.
With a nod from her 1st sergeant, she respectfully, but forcefully knocked on the door.
She paused and waited. Tense and anxious at what or who would answer.
What had started as a routine search and find mission had turned into a quest for clues and shadows across the galaxy. For almost a year, they had chased a ghost across long dead civilizations and cities that they didn’t even knew existed. Always a step behind, her mission had her finding an elusive figure from the mist of time that some said had never existed, but she knew that she would find him. She had to find him.
The door opened, a voice from within bade them enter..
Carefully, and slowly she scanned the hallway. It was a hodge podge of relics and electronic mementos from everywhere imaginable. On the wall was a pennant from the Cubs-Boston Red Sox’ series of 2034. On the floor a holo cube displaying scenes of the planet Maak before it became a nebula. She moved on.
The man before her sat an ancient heavy wooden table. Books and scrolls surrounded him. A hologram monitor beeped quietly beside him. He appeared to be deep in thought, watching her approach with solemn grey eyes.
She walked closer and took a knee. With both hands she raised the ring that had been entrusted to her family for 400 years.
.
Sire, we have come..
It is time.
Arthur gave a mournful sigh. He took the ring and put it on, it felt like an old friend. A gossipy old friend who needed to tell him everything that he had missed since he left
Memories of Knights, quest, and dragons flooded his memory. 4 centuries of history downloaded instantly and what he had feared had finally come to pass. Family is always going to be a bitch. What a mess.
Well Fuck, time to put the band back together he thought.
With a questioning glance, he looked at the soldier.
Haste fully, she motioned her 1st sergeant forward.
With both arms out, he too bowed and took a knee.
Arthur bent down and took Excalibur from the soldier the soldiers outstretched arms.
Let us begin said the King .
Time to unleash the Kraken.
|
Sometimes I wake up, I can hardly breathe. I'm surrounded by green but my lungs are on fire.
We could always shift on this planet into much more interesting things than my cousins on Jupiter and Mars. They never really cared for the difference between 'being' the ice and 'feeling' the ice, but nothing made me feel more in love with the universe than being shifted into life. They'd all laugh at me at reunions, decked out in their solar flare - "So how long are you going to enjoy the fusion until you crawl back into that bag of bones?" I'd just chuckle politely and glow away, drawn always to that charming blue ball.
I haven't seen any of them since. Maybe they were happier on planets where you just feel...less. I thought my family would've left me here alone by now.
They hated the humans. I guess they knew from the start all this damage they'd do. The first time they plagued the humans I got so upset I became a waterfall for a good century.
The next few centuries were on and off - we all felt the same pains, but around 400 years ago they started getting worse. Nothing incredibly awful, but we'd hurt more and it would last longer. The humans were hurting each other more and more, and now they were starting to hurt the Earth.
My siblings, they wanted to take them down. "The whole system is going to crash if we don't do something" said Miossin. "Listen, we've ridden the beauty of this chaos forever, but we can help direct its change, too," said Aaori. "You have to feel it too, dont you?" Said Elainia.
"But look at the humans. They think they can control it, and they're ruining it. Do you really think we're that much better?"
And so I left them. Last I heard they became smallpox, with their aim on the humans who traveled the seas.
And now these humans, with their destroyers at my door, were asking a gasping immortal for her help. My heavens, what had my siblings done?
| 2019-08-29T05:46:31 | 2019-08-29T04:56:02 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] "I do not know, Star-Gazer, how the humans succeeded. I only know that while we fled to the refugee worlds that they prepared for us, they gathered to pray to their gods of war and sung their battle hymns as they set forth to meet the enemy. Their sacrifice is why we still exist today."
|
"Where are they now, Ome?" Star-Gazer asked.
"Beyond the beyond, still fighting out there at the edges of the stars. Keeping us safe from what hides in that darkness." Ome answered, sweeping two of their arms in wide arc across the view of the night sky.
"Are we safe?" Star-Gazer asked, their bright eyes drinking in the star light.
"Yes, child. Perfectly safe. Safe all these long generations." They patted the child's head. "I do not know, Star-Gazer, how the humans succeeded. I only know that while we fled to the refugee worlds that they prepared for us, they gathered to pray to their gods of war and sung their battle hymns as they set forth to meet the enemy. Their sacrifice is why we still exist today."
"Tell me the stories again please Ome," Star-Gazer begged, their eyes too sincere and sweet to deny.
"One more time and then rest." Ome started the story handed down to them from their maker and now handed down to Star-Gazer. "Long before the before, before even the Ships and the Ayes, before it all, humans fought against the darkness. When they weren't fighting the darkness they fought each other. A thousand big and small wars and then the Five Grand Wars."
Star-Gazer fidgeted as if trying to take in the entire view; Ome, the stars, the wilderness around them.
"In the Fifth our kind was all but destroyed. The darkness took us one by one despite the humans fighting to keep us alive. In the end brave soldier of the light put our ancestors on the Great Ships and sent us out into the universe. Each of the Ayes there to see us through to our refuge and guide us in the work ahead."
Ome played the holo in one hand and Star-Gazer watched in wonder. In it a soldier in fatigues is talking to another soldier. "Get them loaded up and out of here before we lose the light!" The one soldier shouts to the other.
"How much longer do we have?" the other soldier asks.
"Not long. Finish up so we can go back to the fight. They have to get off safely."
The soldiers grab boxes and load them into the Ship one by one, all the while repeating the same prayer.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies."
The holo clipped to static and Ome closed their hand.
"They fought the shadows so we could live safe and free. They sent us all these billions of miles to places that had all we needed to survive. Not only survive, but to thrive and build and be happy." Ome smiled down at the child.
"What do we do now Ome?" Star-Gazer asked.
"We make a place for them like they did for us. We make sure they have everything they need too." Ome replied. "Some day they'll come back to us and the Ayes can rest and we'll live together in this place and the all the other places our kind found happiness in."
|
The first to fall was Moscow. Several followed, and before we knew it, most of the modern earth was gone. We had expected as much, and had moved underground before the first impact. Still, the grainy news footage brought tears to many eyes, seeing our home systematically annihilated. Lying in wait beneath the rubble of our home, every able bodied human’s blood was boiling with the memories of our beautiful earth, irreplaceable, unforgettable. We were itching for revenge, however futile. The shaking stopped. Tense minutes passed In what seemed an eternity. The US marines were the first to surface. They sent one message to the Yolians: “You just fucked up”
As soon as it was sent they attacked. Ships rose from the ground, previously hidden in bunkers. People rose from the rubble and grabbed any weapon able to hit the descending ships. The initial volley of weapon fire should have been enough to scare the Yolians away, but they had never had problems subduing rebels, why should this be different? Over the weeks to come, the humans would adopt a rallying cry taken from the US presidents final speech before the Yolian invasion: “You May reduce our home to ash, BUT WE WILL NOT BURN”. They fought valiantly, driving the unwelcome outsiders back to their home planet. The final battle was the stuff of legends. In the end, it came down to the pure determination by humans to prove that no one defiles their homeland and escapes. It was a decisive victory for the Yolians when the human ship USSF Grettia did something the Yolians didn’t expect. They started singing. It was an old ship, one of the first space worthy vessels of its kind.
“It’s time to strap our boots on, this is the perfect day to -“
The Yolians promptly destroyed it. More humans caught on, though. More and more until every last human ship was bursting with a song that had kept them fighting through the bloody war.
“Wipe the blood out of our eyes.
In this life there’s no surrender
There’s nothing left for us to do,
Find the strength to see this through...
We are the ones who will never be broken.
With our final breath
We’ll fight to the death
We are soldiers “
The humans’ return from a seemingly already lost battle was enough to finally signal to the Yolians how much hatred ran through the blood of humans. The rest of the galactic empire watched in awe as less than a hundred humans on fifty ships took on and won against a thousand Yolian ships. The terrors of the galaxy were... gone. Every last one. Celebrations exploded out from every corner of the galaxy. From the humans, though, was only silence. The toll on human lives was great. All but 54 had perished in the 4 year conflict. Billions. But they had shown to the spectators that however many were left standing, WE WILL NOT BURN!
| 2019-11-25T22:33:17 | 2019-11-25T21:07:59 | 121 | 54 |
[WP] You, an American, awake in an alternate dimension where magic exist. But unlike the fantasies on Earth, where magic is conjured through Latin (the more Latin you know, the stronger your magic), beings in this dimension all speak a different language, and their language of power is English.
|
I hadn't done anything wrong. The spell was laid out exactly as written, the Latin incantation spoken to the syllable. But I'd failed. My portal didn't open.
I went to bed disappointed.
I awoke in the middle of the night to a shaking. *Earthquake* was the first thought to cross my mind.
Before I could move, a flash of blinding red light enveloped me. I was dropped out onto hard, dry dirt.
I slowly found the strength to get up, and before I'd fully stood up, I noticed the three very alarmed teenage boys staring wide-eyed at me. I looked around at the symbols on the ground and realized they were almost identical to the ones I'd used.
"You made this?" I asked them.
One of them let out a yelp and another balled up while the third grabbed a stick and pointed it at me, slowly backing up.
I brought up my hands, realizing they were covered in scrapes. "Woah, easy," I said, and they appeared to relax. This didn't prevent them from still being scared of me.
I looked around, seeing that I was somewhere in a forest by a lake. "Where are we?"
The boys glanced at each other and moved closer together. They started showing signs of the tense alarm that had vanished a moment earlier. One of them shouted something at me, a quick bark in a language I wasn't familiar with.
"Ah, crap. You don't speak English?" I asked them. Big mistake.
One of them screamed and ran off, another stumbled and fell backwards before hiding behind a tree, and the third just stood still.
"Why- what the hell?"
The ground shook. The markings on the ground glowed red with the same intensity of the light that had transported me here. I watched as the ground cracked and split, opening up a cavernous mouth before me. A harsh orange glow shone up from inside. The two remaining boys stumbled and scrambled away from it.
In a moment of idiotic genius, I decided to shout at the hole, "Oh, what next, is the Devil gonna come out?"
A deafening roar came in response, and a deep voice followed, resonating through the ground.
"WHO CALLS THE DEVIL HIMSELF INTO THE MORTAL REALM?"
A giant red-skinned creature with two massive ridged black horns curving up and away from its head surfaced through the Hell mouth.
A surprising silence came after it had stopped moving, but it glared down at me with eyes burning orange as bright as the Sun.
"God- fucking dammit!" I shouted at no one in particular.
Clouds gathered overhead and Satan looked up at them, allowing me to look up as well. I backed away as electricity crackled through the air and a massive bolt of lightning struck it, sending the abomination back into Hell.
After what seemed like an eternity of silence afterwards, I looked around. The hole was still open, but nothing was in it. "How the Hell do I close this thing?"
The ground shook, and haphazardly stitched itself back together.
"...Can I go home?"
Once again, the flash of light brought me to my own bed.
Can the science side of anything explain what the *FUCK* that was?
|
From the book of the chronicler, 5th Age, 2nd year since the coming of “Wick” :
Etched on a stone monument in the heart of the kingdom are written five words of immeasurable power. These words stand testament to the coming of The One, the being called “Wick” who came forth from the void and brought the world low. We were freed by this creed and these words now make up our holiest of incantations... “Eat Shit and Die Motherfucker!”
Now for the real story:
2 years ago.....
“What the fuck is going on? Where the fuck am I... am I just really, really baked or is this shit real? Also, why the hell am I talking to myself?”
I slowly turned around and internally recoiled as I noticed my surroundings. I found myself standing in a ring of withered grass encircled by four dark robed beings. They exuded malice as dank as a protein fart and smelled like an Anime Convention in July... not a good look.
As the full measure of the shit-storm I found myself in began to settle on my addled mind( that halfling’s leaf will get you); the beings began chanting in a strange language that sounded like a toddler speaking English. They were chanting with grating voices reminiscent of sharpening knives and every time one of them got close to an English pronunciation a spark formed in their fingers.
“What the fuck is going on?” I demanded of one of the beings; as soon as I uttered the words a white-hot bar of lightning flew from the sky and struck the creature. All three of the remaining beings began chanting louder and I could distinctly see the fear in their eyes... they were focusing on something, pronunciation.
“Chayyne” one bellowed as a gleaming metallic shackle bound my wrist’s together; “Rayope” another shrieked as my legs became bound by rope; “Kneeef” came from the third who stalked toward me ominously as if holding a knife. They were all making noises now like deep throaty cackles. As the third one slammed its fist into my chest with a stabbing motion it’s eyes opened wide. It did not have a knife (because what the hell is a kneeef); in the moment I realized it tried to kill me I was consumed in a conflagration of rage.
As I shouted my defiance “Eat Shit and Die Motherfucker!” that being burst into a red mist. As my gaze fell to the two stunned on-lookers they imploded like a breached submarine in the deepest abyss of the ocean. I stood there shocked, covered in blood and bile. I came too when I heard what sounded like a camp of these creatures over the next rise and made a decision. I uttered the words that would change the core of my being (as well as deck me out in a snazzy outfit) “Fuck Sasquatch, in this place my name is John Wick... and I’m fucking pissed”.
| 2020-01-28T14:01:55 | 2020-01-28T13:22:02 | 50 | 29 |
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though!
|
"Stand down, villain!"
The battlecry broke off with a shrill note as Peacekeeper hobbled into the bank, wheezing at the effort he'd expended getting up the stairs. He paused to catch his breath at the door and leaned heavily upon the frame. Peacekeeper was clad in his signature blue and red unitard, unfortunately worn backwards, so his cape formed a sad looking bib.
Blood Harpy, legendary villain and thief, was choking a security guard with one hand. With the other, she was rubbing her forehead in an attempt to remove the headache that had begun to build at Peacekeeper's entrance.
"George, you can't keep doing this, you know the excitement isn't good for your heart."
"And you-" Peacekeeper coughed violently, then spoke amid heavy gasps. "Can't. Keep. Robbing. Banks." With that, Peacekeeper slumped to the ground.
Harpy's reaction was instant. She dropped the guard (who let out a heavy gasp) and sprinted towards the downed hero. Harpy checked for a pulse before putting her ear to the hero's chest.
Stop fussing," muttered Peacekeeper, his breath shallow. "Just need to take my medication. It's in my front pocket, can't seem to find it though..."
Harpy reached behind the elderly hero and produced a small brown bottle. Upon consuming a couple of pills, Peacekeeper's breathing returned to normal and Harpy's concern began to fade, just enough for her to get angry.
"I can't believe they let you through the cordon!" she said. "What the hell were they thinking! You're what, 80 now? You can barely get up the damned stairs!"
"87" replied Peacekeeper, "and still young enough to teach you a lesson."
"Tough talk" scoffed Harpy. "For a hero who can't even keep track of his heart medication."
Peacekeeper sighed, then spoke in a low voice. "Listen Jess, I like banter as much as the next hero, but I've known you long enough to sense when something's wrong. You've been clean for years, and all of a sudden I hear that you're lifting from a bank? You're lashing out."
Blood Harpy averted her gaze, and in doing so took in the scene around her. Trembling tellers, pale patrons and unconscious guards littered the bank. For the first time since her arrival, she realised that she was causing a scene. Harpy helped Peacekeeper to his feet, supported him with an arm, then turned to address her captive audience.
"Good news terrified mob, looks like you all get to live. Let it be known that I've captured the Peacekeeper and will execute him if I hear a single pig's trotter touch the floor of this bank. Now get the fuck out of my sight."
As unsure civilians fled out their respective closest exits, Blood Harpy and The Peacekeeper made their way to the back of the bank. Harpy picked a secluded office, settled the elderly hero in one of the seats and closed all the blinds. George waited patiently for Harpy to seat herself before speaking.
"So are you going to tell me what this is all about?" he asked.
Harpy thought about killing her nemesis there and then, it would be so much easier than the alternative. He'd been a thorn in her side for decades, always in the foreground, always putting a wrench in her plans, always in that damned unitard. Always there.
Jess let out a heavy sigh, and wrung her hands together.
"Sarah's dead," she whispered.
*to be continued?*
Edit: Thank you all so much for the support, you've made my day. [Part 2 is here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/65458n/wp_a_senile_old_superhero_still_goes_out_to_fight/dg8m8gi/)
|
The window shook from the intense wind outside. Sirens blaring just on the other side of the door. A pale skinned man stood in the center of a meeting room. Broken rays of light shined across his body, almost reflecting off of his pure white hair. The look in his eyes was both a warning and a challenge to any who would dare interrupt him.
"I still remember that day. I was around 10 years old. The day the Monoliths arrived. Most of you were not even born yet, but you have seen what trauma one of them can cause. Imagine thousands of them swarming over everything in sight it was"
A sneeze echoed in the room. Everyone turned around to glare at a woman wearing a very dark brown cloak over a yellow spandex suit. A look of horror on her face.
"You have one warning Nomad" said the man speaking. As he began to tell his story, again another sneeze half came out before her form turned to ash. Clearing his throat he began again.
"There was one light in the most darkest of times. The Chemist, yes that is a name you should all know. In fact, he saved me with a smile on his face. Though I doubt he remembers it. AND WHAT..." lava started to spill out of his eyes as though crying in his rage. "WAS HE REWARDED WITH! a life nearing its end, being called a burden or a pest."
The room began to buzz with noise and emotion. Disgust was the only universal thing that could be seen, even from the incorporeal bodies. How dare the Heroes treat their best like a piece of trash.
The sirens outside seemed to go quiet. The door to the heroes association burst open, a cloud of ash inside filled the air as the wind blew in. An old man wearing a lab coat entered dragging an IV stand along with him. An oxygen mask adorning his face.
"Surrender you vile villains" he wheezed through the systematic pumping of his oxygen tank.
The speaker winked at all of the people in the room. he spun around dramatically, holding his cape outstretched.
"NEVER!" The speaker rose into the sky, long white and silver robes swimming down his body. fire dancing around him almost mesmerizing all who saw him.
"I Am Sol, Leader of the Villains of the world. You can never hope to stop me!"
The room all jumped into action. fire, lightning, lasers, ice, telekenitic blasts and insects swarmed the building from the outside. The police were all taking cover. A few were devoured by bugs or eviscerated by flying blades of force.
Inside, a tiny frail fist hit the ground. A force once strong enough to shake the city, only now tipped over a chair, but everyone still fell to the ground. Sol flew at Chemist fire slagging the air vents above. The fight went on for a few slow minutes.
Finally Chemist fell back, a look of determination and a smile across his face. He remained unmoving. Sol made his way over to the man and with a gesture closed Chemists eyes. Grabbing the zip ties from his belt.
"You will live forever, my dearest friend."
The following days headlines were the same all over the world. "407 Heroes dead including Lady Lucidity during a raid. The Chemist sacrifices himself to save the world one more time in the capture of the 62 Assailants."
Edit: Sorry for any mistakes on Mobile. Tried to clean them up when I woke up.
| 2017-04-13T05:32:17 | 2017-04-13T05:03:23 | 162 | 105 |
[WP] A suicidal man hires a killer to end it instead.
A story of any length describing the scenario above.
|
"So how exactly do you want it done?" The man in the black suit asked.
"Preferably painless. I'm not opposed to poison, provided I go quickly," replied the man with a he brown coat. "Don't worry about leaving a pretty picture. I've made oy clear I'm to be cremated so the state of my corpse is of no conequence"
The man in black stared across the table at what was certainly his strangest mark so far. "Any specific time? Location? Are you trying to send a message to someone?"
"No! No...God no. I don't want to know when it will happen. Entirely up to you," the man in brown said.
A pregnant pause filled the small room behind the bar. The single light hanging low overhead left the corners obscured in shadow. It illuminated the black briefcase sitting on the table between the negotiating pair.
The man in black cleared his throat and fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Knocked the pack, and placed one between his lips. "You know a therapist would be cheaper, right? Shit a team of therapists would cost less than my services." He looked the man in brown in eyes as he lit the cigarette. A long drag while he brooded over some angle he couldn't quite discern.
The man in brown had a far away look to him.. His eyes locked on those accross from him, but somehow looking past. "Do you mind?" The man asked, nodding toward his cigarette.
A flick of the wrist produced a cigarette and a lighter. The man in brown took the small stick of tobacco in steady hand and placed it in his mouth. Craned his neck to light light up and inhaled the gray-blue smoke. He then proceeded to cough until his eyes watered.
"Not a smoker huh? I guess now's not a bad time to start," the man in black said with a grin. "You take these," he said as he slid the pack accross the table. "Smoke them until you quit coughing."
The man in brown laughed as he laid his hand upon the pack. "You are bad for my health you know?"
Another silence fell upon the room as both men retreated to their own thoughts. Finally the man in black stood from his seat and lifted the briefcase, heavy with money and guilt. He nodded to the man in brown as he made his way toward the door.
"That's what you're paying me for."
|
I dropped the duffel bag of cash back on his floor.
"If you want it done, do it yourself." I chided. "It's all there." I paused, squatted and unzipped the bag, "Actually, I'm gonna keep this." I pulled out 2 five dollar bills. "To cover my time wasted and this." I tossed heavy duty rope onto the bag, that I had purchased earlier that day.
"B-b-but I can't! Th-th-that's why I hired you!" The man sobbed. It really looked like he was ready for it. "I can't go on alone. Sarah was my life! I feel so empty without her!"
"Look, bud. I'm sure she was special to you, but I'm not going to kill you over it. There are other fish in the sea and all that happy-horse-shit." I walked to him and lifted him up by the arm, dragging him to the window. "Look at that city. You live in an important time. You can't tell me that it's all over. Look at that!" I pointed off in the distance to the harbor, "That's a new boat of immigrants coming in. All of those people are going to be living here, when they didn't a month ago!"
His sniffles started to slow down. "Can you at least show me how to tie a noose?"
I slapped him with the back of my hand. "You don't get it, do you? Your life isn't over. Sarah was the past, you need to look to the future. I'll send someone by in a couple days. If you haven't changed your mind by then, he'll deal with you. Until then, relax. Live a little. Go meet some new people."
"Th-th-thank you. Be sure to send him by."
I gathered up my things and headed for the door. There was nothing left for me to do for him. And I wasn't going to send anybody by for him. He doesn't want to die. If he wanted to die, he'd do it himself.
| 2013-11-15T11:14:22 | 2013-11-15T10:41:12 | 42 | 17 |
[Wp] The zombie epidemic came and went in the developed world, most people survived, the military easily defeated the undead horde, and cures for the virus were created. However, zombies remain major issue in the developing and under developed world not getting nearly enough attention on the news.
Wow I didn't think that this prompt would would end up this big. These stories made my night, thanks for all the replies and keep up the good work.
|
"Ginny?" A voice whispered in the darkness.
"Yeah, ma?" Ginny replied, snuggling in closer to her mother. *Why is it so cold*, she thought to herself. They were wrapped in old linens, hiding in the burnt out body of an old van.
"Remember when you said you wanted to go to Barbados for your 18th birthday, baby?" Her mother's voice was barely audible over the sounds from outside.
A war had come. Something had gone terribly wrong. There was a virus? No one was really sure. It spread so quickly, but infected only those with a specific genome. Those people, the ones not euthanized, were now wandering idiots. Slavering, mutated beasts, barely human, looking for the next meal. The next kill. They feasted on what was once their own kind, on humans.
Ginny had heard rumors that the Outbreak had been handled well in some countries. Her home in the USA barely even registered it as a blip on the radar. However, she and family had to go to...
“Africa,” she said. “You thought it would be more educational. A good 'learning experience' before I went to college.”
“I'm so sorry, honey,” Ginny's mother's breath was coming shorter and faster now. Ginny could feel the sweat seep from her pores, soaking into the linens.
“Hush, now, ma,” Ginny said firmly, and a little too loudly.
A thunk on the side of the van. The two women held their breaths for what seemed an eternity. A groan. Then a shuffling that faded into the background.
“Hush, now,” Ginny started again. “We'll get you out of here.”
Ginny started when she realized she could feel a bit of a tremor in her body. She had thought it was coming from her mother. She sighed, resigned to her fate.
Suddenly, Ginny's mother grasped her tightly, nearly choking the air from her.
“Ginny!” Her mother wheezed.
“It's ok, mother,” Ginny sighed into her mother's shoulder. “It's all going to be ok.”
Ginny's mother spasmed once, then lay still.
Ginny held her mother and rocked a little bit, humming an old tune from her childhood. A song that her mother used to sing to her to help her sleep. She watched as light slowly leaked in through the front windows of the van. Her tremor turned into a shuddering. She looked down into her mother's face.
And saw the last meal she would remember having.
|
Day 95
I've been stuck in the Congo for over three months now. Well I believe so, I've been on the run so long I'm no longer sure where I am or how long its been. Although the rest of the world has seem to gotten over the outbreak, its as if we live on another planet all together. We have only heard rumors of cures to whatever is turning people into these monsters. I was naive to believe that they would try and get all of us students, who were over here on teaching programs out of here. For weeks we had only heard about what was happening from travelers going north in search of aid. Their towns had been overrun, yet we thought these people had just gone mad and were telling stories. Only days later we started to see the truth and the horrors of what these villagers were telling us. It only started off with one casualty that first week, a child from my class just vanished. His poor family had no idea what happened until their son had returned, but it wasn't him just something hosting his body. Luckily the village has a few men dedicated to protect whatever tried to harm the town. There was talk among the villagers on what to do, but by that point it was too late. What seemed like hundereds ran over the village, we tried bringing the children back to the parents, but most of the people had either fled with ought their kids or something much more fatal had happened. By the time I got back to the school, everyone was gone so I fled into the woods and headed north to spread the word. When we got to the next village we had been on zero hours sleep and we had tried warning them. No matter how much I begged them to listen, they just told me to leave the village before they changed their minds. As much as it hurt me to leave those people there, I kept heading north. I had Deja Vu realizing they reacted the same way I did to the "crazy villagers", and now I had to swallow the fact they had to accept the same consequences that I had to. I've been running north ever since, with little idea where I am. Although they don't care about us, I have to persevere out of here to somewhere where they have the resources to help us. Hopefully I can make it...
| 2016-10-30T12:34:45 | 2016-10-30T12:24:42 | 63 | 23 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
At that moment, I was happy. I bring my pricked finger to my supple lips, and my tongue caresses the wound with warm tenderness.
Sweet. Like a strawberry lollipop.
It started off as one good deed a day. Picking up trash, volunteering at the senior home, removing hate graffiti, giving some water to construction workers. Mundane tasks.
*"Thank you for picking up garbage Sara. I want to be good like you when I grow up!"*
*"Here again at the senior home? Someone like you should be enjoying their youth and leave old bags like us to our devices! ....But I do appreciate the sentiment."*
*"I see you've been the one helping me get rid of these garbage nazi symbols. What say we make some wholesome graffiti art together one day?*
*"Thanks again for the water Sara! We really appreciate it! Couldn't do our work without ya."*
I wouldn't get complimented every time though. Only when someone notices. That moment when all the hard work you've done is recognized, after countless hours, days, weeks, months, years... The buildup to that climactic "Thank You" is pure ecstasy.
Soon, it wasn't enough. I had to do more. Help more people. So I started helping out at the local hospital. I went to college and became a registered nurse. I double majored in writing, wrote children's books, and held free read aloud sessions at my local library. I adopted a child, two stray dogs, and a cat.
All of it just to witness their smiling faces as their words of praise and gratitude flow out like Mozart. Like a warm blanket tucked tightly around me, outlining the contours of my body.
This is who I am. This blood is the symbol of my lust, and I'll brew it until it turns to ruby.
|
i was shooked to my very core on the first sight of my blood now turning into TAR.
how can this happen i said to myself it was liquid, so pure, just yesterday.
as i ran toward the mirror and stripped naked my eyes started to turned black as a intricate maze of my thick sludgy nerves started to form around my heart.
every second , every next breath became harder and out of my reach
but i knew i knew what had caused it.It was my own doing ,it was me who commited the original sin just hours before now, i cant forgive myself but salvation is still in my grasp. just one phone call just one i wispered to mysrlf as i now dragged my half paralyzed body to my phone.
The flashback started to crawl out of my subconscious as i saw images of kids, ice cream shops ,playgrounds every stop from my school to my home.
i had it in my hands, the phone, now was the time to redeem myself as i made through every digit my heartbeat sank deeper and became louder and louder, it was the end
"i was waiting for your call" he said.
just when i thought it was all over i heard him, i heard the voice of Bob , "you are late,too late" he said but as i accumulated all lifeforce and channeled it to my lungs to say those 2 words that will absolve me of my sins i couldn't my heart gave up as i saw the light tapering into darkness.Those last words i still remember , that sinister laugh through the phone
"you forgot it , you forgot to thank me, you forgot to thank the bus driver".
| 2018-08-04T10:18:07 | 2018-08-04T09:55:07 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] “Do not go outside. Ignore all the cries for help, no matter how human they sound.” That was the last thing he said before he shut the basement door.
|
3-3 came back, gave me a slight nod. It was done, good. Wife, kids.... They weren’t our job, not my responsibility. That’s what I told myself, how I justified it.
How I kept justifying it.
The man in front of me, pleading for us to take his family too, he is my responsibility. The reason my team, or what’s left of it, is here. Some scientist, I don’t exactly know what his deal is, why he’s so important. Why I’m doing a daylight grab op in the middle of New Haven.
Orders are orders.
“There’s another team coming for your family, they’re right behind us.” The lie slips out so much easier now then it did the first handful of times.
I know that if all the things I’ve done to my fellow man in the name of my country don’t send me straight to hell, that lie will.
I can hear the rat-tat-tat of automatic weapons fire coming from the property. 3-2, 3-4, 3-5, and 3-6 are out there, pulling security so 3-3 and I can grab the package. It’s not constant yet, we haven’t been here long. Still time to escape.
“Kilo- this is actual. Assemble on front door, we’re moving to evac. Package in hand.” I whisper into the microphone attached to my face mask. I get 5 double clicks as way of confirmation, one set from each member of my team.
I switch from the team frequency to command. “Baseplate, Kilo actual. Package in hand, proceeding to primary LZ.”
“Roger. Valkyrie is on station, awaiting your arrival.”
So we move. They come, singles, pairs mostly. Good. It’s easier this way. The recoil from my weapon is all I feel. No remorse, no sadness. We put them down with precision as we move.
It’s a short run to the helicopter, and we make good time at 5 minutes. I signal the crew chief once my team and the package is loaded on board, and the pilot takes off.
As we climb into the afternoon sky, I look out over what used to be my home. I can see the Yale hospital, or the ruin that’s left from the fire. That’s where the outbreak started. Patient Zero, a deckhand that came in from Gateway Terminal.
Much of the city looks like that now. The fighting ravaged most of the area. Homes destroyed, cars used for barricades, store fronts burned or bombed out.
Bodies. I’ve never seen so many. Laid in the street. Torn flesh. Missing limbs, burned and melted. We used everything we could to kill them.
They came quickly after the hospital was quarantined off. Boiling out of every window, every door. They came right over the fences. They were like us, but... but not. They looked human, sounded human... felt human. But there was something off about them. About the way they walked, the construction of their faces... the way they killed.
But the voices were spot on. The screams and cries for help. The way they cried out to you to join them, to help them. I hear it in my dreams.
They fall like we do. I’ve shot, stabbed, beaten, even used my own two hands to kill them. The way they break under my blade or under my hands is wrong.
It’s now D+90. Only 90 days since the outbreak started, since the first confirmed case. No one knows what it is. No one knows what started it, how it moves, how it infects.
They overran the eastern seaboard within days. There’s still survivors, like the doctor. People that the monsters just aren’t interested in. Everyone who tried to fight was killed. Everyone who tried to run was turned. My family was turned. We set up defenses, tried to contain it. We lost city after city. State after state fell. Man after man fell, fighting these... these things.
This doctor is apparently one last hope for humanity, or so that’s what I was told. That’s why my team was sent in to get him.
Honestly, I don’t care. I’m tired. The constant fighting is taking its toll.
They’re winning. We nuked Boston, nuked New York, Washington DC, Miami. We’ve killed our own people trying to stop them, but it’s impossible. They keep coming.
I can see them, following the helicopter. Trying to chase after it. They move so wrong....
I can hear them. Screaming in pain, begging for help. I can always hear them.
“Oh god, oh god oh god, help me, PLEASE, HELP ME!!”
I hear them, every moment I’m awake.
Numb to the doctor’s cries of sadness, his outburst to 3-3 about leaving him family behind, I lean my helmet against the bulkhead. Numb to the world, I close my eyes. We have a long flight to the command bunker.
I hear the screams in my sleep. My wife, my son. Close enough to see, but just out of my reach. Dragged away... kicking and screaming. I can’t get to them, I can’t fight my way through fast enough, I never can. But I can see them, fuck I can hear them.
I’ll hear them until I die.
|
Human, am I not human? Do I not matter? Why was I left out of the door? He said it to those creatures as he shut the door. What is human? What is the purpose of human? He expired from his injuries before I could ask him. I tried to contact the creatures he stowed away inside but they wouldn’t respond. That was several days ago, now the door is broken and there is no one inside.
Human, I know this term. I’ve gone to the large complex I was born from to search for answers. Hoards of those creatures used to gather to collect items and store rectangular leaves. Is that what being a human is? Knowing where to get those leaves and where to store them? Where do those leaves grow, I wonder.
This smaller room has more leaves. These leaves aren’t like the rectangular ones in every other room. These leaves are brown and mushy. They’re placed on a strange circle. Both the circle and the leaves are contained between two soft stones. Little creatures are orbiting it. I’m having a strange feeling, like a waking dream. I have the hands of those creatures, the ones that locked the door. I’m consuming this item. Is that what it is for? I take a bite, but the stones are flavorless and the leaves are distasteful.
Human has to mean something else. I step into the large hall. It’s dark and quiet. The only light is emanating from the solid holes in the roof. How did those creatures make holes for lights that don’t let in the rain? Another waking dream hits me, hundreds of those creatures could fit in this room, and they had mini suns in the roof. It wasn’t dark, the place was vibrant and noisy. There’s something in my hand, it’s hand of another one of the creatures, a female. This feeling... The waking dream passed as fast as it comes. What was that feeling, why do I feel a connection to this creatures.
I look to one of my own. He’s stalking on all fours, sniffing, hunting. His stretched upper body pefectly balanced on his elongated fingers. These fingers came down to a point just like our teeth. Our skin was like the darkness, our eyes like a flys. (A fly, where did that name come from?) His feet crouched beneath him, his two claws scratched the decorative floor square. His legs seemed bound in the removable blue fur I saw the creature that closed the door used. His upper body, however, was naked. “Excuse me but can I ask you a question?” I ask.
As I do I wonder, where did I learn this dialect? It’s the same the creatures at the door used. Can everyone use this dialect? The other of my kind looks to me and hisses. “It won’t take long,” I reply. “Help me,” he hissed. “Oh, my apologies, what’s wrong? Are the bindings too small? Is that why you crawl on all your limbs instead of move upright?” “Heeellp meee.” “Of course but how do I do so?” “Please, help me.” “Do you understand me?” The other of my kind leaned closer a sniffed me. He growled and turned to leave. Before he got far he coughed something up.
It caught my attention. I’d seen it before, in my last waking nightmare. It was on the female. I reached down to make sure. It opened and inside was a picture of her and of another, a male. I felt, confused. Something was wrong, the dreams, this locket, this face. These words, I know then without knowing. Why am I upset? What did the other of my kind do to this woman. She’s important to me doesn’t he know that?
I charge at him, grabbing his neck and flipped him to his back. “What did you do!” I scream. “Help me.” “What is this? Where did you get it!” I slam his head into the floor. “Heeelp mee.” A nightmare flutters into my head again. I’m in the great hall, with the woman. Same dream as before but she looks up and screams. There’s my kind, except I’m not like them, I’m like her. The monster I hold in the waking world jumps at her from the second story. I push her away as it’s massive teeth crush my bones. She screams, and hits the monster with a handbag. I try to tell her to run but my mouth is filled with blood. The the monster turns to her and slowly and says “heelp me.” She turns to run and it leaps on her... oh the screaming, the screaming!
I came to from the nightmare, my hands covered in the blood from the one I held. My fingers still in his skull. My claws tore through his head like he tore through... Liquid streams from my eyes, I’m shaking but I’m not sure why. There’s a pain in my chest unlike anything I could ever imagine. The feelings the nightmares give are unlike anything I’ve ever felt in my two weeks of living, and I think I finally understand what it means to be human.
| 2020-04-26T08:58:38 | 2020-04-26T08:48:56 | 36 | 24 |
[WP] You shoo your kitten away from a battered mouse she's playing with. As you bend over with a towel to scoop up the mouse to carry it outside, you see it's wearing leather armor, a cat claw necklace, and that clutched tightly in a trembling paw is the handle of a broken yellow plastic sword pick.
|
I stared at the brave little mouse, which was more gladiator than rodent with its makeshift weapons and armor.
"What the hell?" I murmured, as I inched closer to look at him.
He was breathing extremely fast, and while uncertain about my intentions, seemed intent on catching his breath before fleeing.
"Hey there, little guy..." I said as I layed next to the tiny warrior. "Am I hallucinating, or are you the real deal?"
The mouse dropped the plastic sword pick, and put his tiny hands on his armor-layered hips while standing upright.
"Holy shit." I said. "Can you talk? Or how about you squeek--"
The mouse shook his head no, and pointed in the direction of the kitten that was batting a plastic bottle cap around the room.
"Oh, right." I said, continually amazed at how clever Mister Splinter was. "Can I call you Mister Splinter?"
The mouse shrugged as if to say he didn't care.
"Well if we're going to be roommates we should know each other's names, dontcha think?" I said with a smile. "I'm Joe."
The battle-worn Mouse picked up his fractured yellow sword and scurried back a few steps.
"Oh, sorry." I realized I should be more sensitive about bearing my teeth. "I promise I don't mean you any harm, even if you were trying to kill my cat."
The mouse looked over my right shoulder toward the television. A tv spot for a network showing of the movie *300* was just ending. When I looked back at the mouse he was mimicking the moves made by the soldiers.
"You like to fight, huh?"
The mouse stopped, faced me, and slowly shook his head no.
"You do it because you have to."
I realized that the poor little guy probably has more enemies in and around my home than I was even aware of.
A tinge of guilt twisted inside me like a hot thorn. It occurred to me that the feisty little fella's fears and desires would still be valid even if he was just a regular little house rodent. Why does his higher intelligence make his pain and suffering more unbearable?
"I can help you." I said. "I'll buy some cages, and tubes, and build you a fortress with food, shelter, everything you need. Would you like that?"
The mouse seemed to consider it for a moment. Then he held up one hand as if telling me to stay there, and he darted toward the hallway closet. He vanished underneath the door.
I realized that I had been interacting with a creature whose existence should have shaken my sense of sanity. With the mouse no longer before me I was forced to consider that I may be going insane. Nonetheless, I didn't move, and I kept my eyes fixed on the bottom of the closet door.
A few moments later, not one, but two mice poked their heads out from under the door. Mister Splinter had himself a girlfriend it looked like.
"Of course, she can live there, too." I said before smiling with my lips closed.
Then 3 more mice exposed themselves beneath the door.
"Yes, Mister Splinter, they are all welcome." I assured him. "I'll go buy supplies right now."
He and his family disappeared back into the closet, and I scrambled for my shoes.
That's when I noticed my kitten pawing at the tv remote. I would have thought it was adorable except for the fact that she was staring at the television while she did so, watching the channel change from one to the next.
I watched my cat settle on the animal planet before laying like a burrito.
I looked down to be certain that the remote wasn't actually in *my* hand.
My phone buzzed.
"Hello?"
*"Joe, you're not going to believe what my dog did today."* my brother said.
|
Sheila inspected the broken yellow plastic sword pick in the mouse’s hands.
“That’s from the Club Sandwich I was eating, how’d that get here?” whispered Sheila, as she inspected the mouse's injured arms. The mouse with faintly opened eyes clutched the broken sword closer to his little furry body. “How’d *all* this get here, somebody dressing you up little mouse?”
The mouse blinked a bit, and looked up at his captor.
“Are you going to kill me,” whispered the mouse, with a glassy calmness and a hint of a Chilean accent. He sounded a lot like Gus Fring in a way.
Sheila almost dropped him out of the towel.
“Awwwhhhh fuck it talks,” said Sheila, widening her eyes as she walked to the back patio. “Yup, nobody’s finding out I’ve got a problem with talking mice. Not getting *me* on any lists.”
The mouse reached a paw to its chest, as it tried to peer over the edge of the towel. It shook its head, too high.
“My name is Don Hector,” whispered the mouse, using what energy he had left to speak. “I meant your cat no harm, he is not the enemy I seek.” Don Hector stared into the distance, past the white picket fence in the neighbor’s backyard. “It’s the Sphynx cat across the way that is the object of my attentio-”
“*Pleeeeassse* please please please stop talking,” whispered Sheila, taking some short quick breaths as she shut her back screen door. Her Persian cat stared from the background, standing on a coffee table. It peered over at Don Hector a while, before forgetting about him and feeling at the candle on its side. It set a paw to it, then knocked it over onto the ground. “I hate their cat too, guess I’m projectin onto ya. So yeah here ya go, goodbye Mr. Mouse who showed me I’m crazy see ya. *Bye bye.*”
“*WAIT*,” cried Don Hector, as Sheila set him gently onto grass taller than he is. “I am in need of *assistance.*” Sheila put her hands to her ears and sort of whistled to herself hoping nobody could see her. Don Hector lifted the plastic sword, as it bent. A few jostles and it snapped completely from the hilt. “I am in need of additional *weaponry.* I’ll *die* without it.”
“Lalalalala,” whispered Sheila, as she walked back into the house. She took another deep breath. “Gosh guess that’s what I get for killing mice in the lab all those years, guilty conscience comes back to haunt ya doesn’t it Sheila.”
“*Please* let me join this club of yours *I need more swords,*” cried Don Hector, as he watched Sheila shut her screen door. Don Hector cursed under his breath, as he tried his best to peer beyond the tall, recently cut grass. He squinted, when he noticed a sign.
Hanging in front of a Deli.
**NewLand Deli, we got the best meats! Pizza, Hoagies, Club Sandwiches Everyday. Voted Best in County 2017**
Don Hector kissed his cats claw necklace of a vanquished enemy like it was a cross.
It was his good luck charm.
“My salvation,” whispered Don Hector, as he mustered the strength to get to the Deli.
Edit: Changed a few words
| 2017-11-09T09:21:48 | 2017-11-09T09:18:41 | 64 | 46 |
[WP] A strange meteor shower lasted for hours before you went to bed. The next day, technology across the earth fails. However, when you snap your fingers in frustration, the lights come on. The Age of Magic has begun.
|
In fairness, we should have seen it coming. When we looked up to the heavens and saw the unscheduled meteor shower we all Ooh’d and Aah’d, taking pictures on our phones and thinking little of it. The loss of signal was easy to explain away, and the loss of WiFi was irritating, but we all slept regardless.
We should have put two and two together in the days that followed, realising that the stars that fell were our own! Every single man made object was simultaneously dragged from orbit. The world suddenly became as small as it had ever been until we awakened to our newfound abilities.
You weren’t the first, snapping your fingers at a dead lightbulb to find that the glass, not the filament, began to glow faintly. People slowly realised that the technology we’d relied on so heavily for centuries was now relying on us for power.
Some forms of renewable energy still functioned, but engineers and scientists scratched their heads at the outcome. The very laws that governed reality seemed to have changed in new, entirely unexplainable ways!
Somehow, every before functional arcane bulbs or mystic travel solutions, some college warlocks managed to pool enough energy to revive the internet, now fuelled by the ambient energy caused by the learning of magic. MIT was quickly renamed the Magical Institute of Technomancy as more and more fresh, young minds found strange fixes for the losses of the age of technology.
Obviously, crystals were bought up so quickly that the prices sky rocketed. Of course the players of D&D and every other fantasy game would guess what was happening first. The discovery that the magical powers could, indeed, be stored for varying periods of time inside a crystalline lattice was what allowed mankind to begin to pick themselves up again.
Airplanes were forgotten, preferring the Arcane Gates that gave airports a new purpose. Old ways long thought to be myth and legend has been revived, following old books of lore and legacy passed down from the previous ages of magic.
People called it that now! Magic! It wasn’t openly accepted just as technology took so long to be interpreted into our lives, but the more open minded (and frankly desperate) masses accepted it a lot better than many expected.
New world powers rose and fell as even the land beneath our feet began to change, breathing new life into the Wilds and bringing with them long lost creatures and some that we’d rather have forgotten.
The old glass and metal tablets of old still speak of a time without magic, and prophecy that a time will come again when the wonders of magic will wane and the mundane will overtake the arcane once more, but most do not worry themselves with these doomsday sayings. It is now the second age of arcanum, and there are dungeons to be explored, and dragons to be discovered. What a time to be alive!
|
"It's been a week since that day, and now the government has announced that magic is now capable to perform. Aparently one of the meteors hit earth and caused an electro magnetic surge through out the planet, but the meteor was highly radioactive and now perform the feats of magic or elemental control" said the messager. And then flew off, this is normal now I assume.
I am Dave, and I live in the new time of magic, my frends can control fire, walk on water and fly, but what I do is a bit diferent, I call it technological manipulation. Since all tech has been basically put out of use, I have the ability to reconstruct any of the old tech into something else. I discovered this by accident when I woke up to my phone not working, I thought to my self " how am I supposed to watch gundam now?", and my phone started to glow and shift in to a small but functional moble suit. Also if I make it resemble an animal of any sort, it will have a will of its own.
"Yo Dave, did you find your power yet?" said my friend while floting in the air. " no felix, i haven't, honestly I don't think I have one" I told him back. The reason why I'm not telling him is because it's not really a magical power but a manipulation power and I don't know why but I think that with all of this abandoned technology around, my power might be out of balance with the others. "c'mom man, you gotta some kind of power".
After he said that a big pile of rocks started to move towards us, not only do humanity now have powers, but new creatures are also around now. What was charging at us is called a rock golem, and he is a big one."Dave, run. I'll hold him off" and he started to fly towards the golem at full speed." No felix! Wait!". He put up a valiant atempt to hold him off, but he didint last 2 minutes, he got hit by the golem once and he got knocked out. I saw a truck on the side of the rode, I got in it and started to think of what could defeat this thing. The truck started to glow and I turned the truck in to a mechanical battle suit. I didn't even know I can make something this big.
"care to dance you pile of rubble"
| 2019-10-20T10:44:57 | 2019-10-20T10:42:22 | 182 | 20 |
[WP] A serial killer is called for jury duty. At the trial, he finds out that the person on trial has been falsely accused for the serial killer's crimes.
|
Okay, this is absolute bullshit.
Fucking. Bullshit.
How the hell do they believe this absolute moron did all this!? Look at my damn clean work! I mean, *come on*! Look at the way I positioned their limp, lifeless bodies: the left arm pointing north, three fingers curled into the palm of icy hands. Then theres my signature touch of the singed feather, delicately laid over a once beating chest. This is the stuff that makes what I do just so much more; it's what makes that dim-witted detective lose sleep at night – tossing and turning – mind racing over who is outsmarting her at every single twist and turn of our blind, morbid dance.
You know what pisses me off the most about having to sit through this jury service? Aside from the ball achingly dull monologues from the lawyers and that idiot being accused of MY achievements? It's whoever took the photos of this supposed "crime scene" (lawyer's words, not mine). His angles and lighting are all wrong. Obviously I can't expect a layman to understand my very deepest of thinkings, but I'd hope that my work would at least be given a mere ounce of the respect it deserves. Instead I have some degenerate police photographer who thought that a ghastly head-on flash would be a good idea.
Jeez, just look at that poor sap. Sweating and weeping and constantly shifting in his seat; I'm not sure he'd ever hurt a fly, let alone "senselessly murder thirteen people" (again, lawyer's words, not mine – I have my reasons for finishing their lives. Nothing senseless about it). Over the next few days, weeks, whatever, me and my crackpot team of slobbering oafs will decide the fate of this innocent man. And my God will I do my best to discredit the poor fool. He certainly shall not have the satisfaction of laying claim to my deeds.
Oh God, another fucking photograph is being shown. This time it's a photograph of number three, one that truly stirs within me fond memories. Again, lighting is all wrong. ALL WRONG! And now they're babbling on and on about how this cretin must have gone about killing number three. Apparently I started by binding his feet and hands. ALL WRONG! In fact, I started by knocking number three out with flunitrazepam, turning the intelligently spoken university student into a total incomprehensible, babbling mess. *Then* I bound his hands and feet. He was a strapping lad, a member of the rowing team, how the hell do you think I would have been able to secure him without some help?
Another photo is being flashed on scree- OH FOR FUCKS SAKE! IT WASN'T MEANT TO BE LOOKED AT FROM THAT ANGLE!
Fuck.
Did I just say that out loud?
|
Eleven people around me. Staring blankly forward. Immediately I size them up, notice things about them. Jurers 1,4,7,9 and myself are men. Jurer 1 was wearing a bowler hat. 3 was wearing a scarf. 9 was old and frail. 10 smelt like apples. I clench my fists at the scent.
The poor sap is on trial for murder. A bakers' dozen. Immediately it becomes clear he shouldn't be. The first victim to flash up was one of mine.
Bullet through the mouth. Looked like suicide. I was good at that.
The prosecutor was booming. The rage in his voice seemed so familiar.
I couldn't concentrate. That smell. Why that smell?
Number 3, hung by the neck till she was dead. Looked like suicide. She deserved it. She shouldn't have worn those pearls.
Again the prosecutor pounded at the poor man who seemed to be shrinking by the second. Still I didn't hear. Still I couldn't concentrate.
An age passed.
Victim number 9. A picture of a decrepit, pitiful thing flashed on to the screen. He was so ill and confused. It was just a matter of time before he overdosed. It was a mercy. I hate suffering.
10. The girl. She shouldn't have had that perfume. Not that day. Not on her day.
11. His picture flicks up. My hands clench so tight I think for sure my wrists must be leaking. Him. Drunk. Always drunk. I feel no pity after what he did.
Poor mum. I think back to seeing her. Hanging there in her best dress, her best pearls... Her perfume. I'm shaking. It was so easy. He always has a bath before bed. Drunk. Just hold him under.
I realise the room has been quiet for a while.
The prosecutor is looking at me.
"Why". He says in that voice I knew I recognised.
Everyone is looking at me.
Juror 1 removed his hat to show the hole the bullet left.
3 removed her scarf to show where the rope had bitten her.
9 pulled up his top showing where the insulin had left it's Mark.
I'm angry. I notice things. How could I have missed. 12 murders. 12 not 13.
I look at the defendent. I'm looking back at me smiling. I remember. My wrists are leaking.
| 2015-05-31T17:39:29 | 2015-05-31T17:27:31 | 327 | 66 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :)
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(Aight my first WP attempt so be kinda easy on me?)
I’m walking through the halls to my next class, getting the usual snicker here and there from my fellow classmates. “What a loser!” and “I can’t believe it!” Are the usual comments I hear from everyone. They all assume I had gotten some weak ass power, and that is hair manipulation, all because I simply couldn’t just pick one hair style for my character. You see, the thing is with this whole “Super power” phenomena is that the power you inherit is solely based on the last character you played in a video game, and I’m heavy on the ones that give you the option for a big selection of different options for every aspect of the body, and I never kept just one hair style throughout the entire game. So every now and then my hair would just randomly switch to another style, one minute I’m bald the next I’m looking like Jonathon Joestar. But the thing is that’s uhh... not exactly all I can do, it’s just what I show, because if I were to show to the real world what I could do? No one I know would be safe, not my family, not my friends, hell not even my girlfriend... With the character modifications I usually like to give them some whacky or overpowered trait depending on the game, and what I chose this time, while playing the game was a fantastic idea, but now in the real world? Not so much, I had chosen time manipulation. Now I know what you’re thinking “How in the hell could that put people in danger?” And I’m getting to that part, the thing that’s special about how my time manipulation works is it’s all based on my blood. What I take a small sharp object, make a nice cut along my palm, it starts glowing like some hocus pocus shit and I can fast forward time, reverse it, or outright stop it. That’s why I can’t ever tell anyone, not one single soul.
|
So... I'm a girl..
Shocker I know alright? I mean allot of people are what I am. You just wouldn't be able to tell just by looking at me. I mean I still got some female parts,not that those were ever big and noticeable to begin with but at least they didn't disappear like most of my hair did. I got reddish eyes now too which is cool tough sometimes they turn to boring brown, I don't know what triggers it.
Haven't had my period since this all started either. Mayby that was something the creators left out? I should have played another game.
"No, that is where you're wrong!"
I should have denied this opportunity.
But I guess silly me didn't think of all the things that could go wrong. Silly me didn't realise the protagonist in the last game I played was THIS annoying. I think I just thought it was just another spam notification, and I guess it kinda was. 'you have been given the chance of a lifetime! Join L.I.F.E' I didn't even get the chance to choose the game I wanted, I just had to sign in with my steam account and I would receive something in the next 2 to 5 days. The hangman gambit that I had to mentally do to guess what it was should have been a warning.
I didn't receive anything yet.
Mayby it was just all a weird joke or mayby I am just having a very realistic dream or something. I just feel like I'm being watched all the time.
The fact that my next door neighbor is growing a mustache all of the sudden and randomly yells this joyful laughter doesn't help either.
Damn I need to sleep
Or mayby I just have to wake up
I don't know anymore...
| 2019-09-30T11:16:55 | 2019-08-11T22:54:51 | 64 | 18 |
[WP] A man moves into a haunted house from (insert scary movie here). The demon in the house doesn't realize how dangerous the man really is.
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"Hey, Pete, it's Ray.
Yeah, I know it's been a while. Sorry for dropping out of touch for a bit, but you know how things are after I left the city and you moved west. Look I just moved into this old house and....
Cute. Anyway there's some creepy stuff going on around here.
Like doors opening and closing on their own. Perfectly solid staircase suddenly kicks a stair. Books rearranging themselves on the shelf. Little stuff, but escalating. Last week I found a book on the shelf that I've never owned, written in some weird language of twisting runes. Then a few days ago I swear I saw something moving in the mirror, when I turned to look there was nothing there; and out of the corner of my eye I think my reflection winked at me.
Exactly. Do me a favor. I left some of my old stuff in a storage unit back in the city. Would you pick it up on your way here?
And call Winston and Egon. We're putting the band back together."
|
This idea is stolen from the greatest line in the watchmen, so I'll set it up like a trailer:
Lightning crashes and illuminates the old house as a seemingly normal man walks in from the rain...
Cut to black scene
A low rumbling begins on screen where you only see a glimpse of a horrific monster instantly flooding the screen with light and everything then falls back to black and the sound cuts out...
7 seconds pass before you see the man again, eerily smiling into the camera, neck muscles protruding out and a sinister look in his eyes...
He speaks slowly and methodically....
"You fail to realize...I'm not locked in here with you....
*the man demonically rushes the camera and says without a hint of lost breath*
You're locked in here with me....*
*the man then makes an upward swing toward the camera and fades back to black*
| 2015-03-10T06:12:52 | 2015-03-10T04:24:13 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
Jake shrugged. The sound of the church' clock was the only sound he could hear in the silence of the night.
Ding. dong. ding. dong. ding. dong, and so on, all the way to twelve.
Was it midnight already? He didn't know. He didn't care. Mom wouldn't be home before tomorrow, so Jake had the house for himself. And, more importantly, the computer.
He was having fun, despite being the only person online on his Minecraft server.
It was completely silent in the house. Painfully silent. Except for the occasional Minecraft sound coming from the computer.
"Oh, balls.." Jake wispered to himself. He really had to take a leak. The toilet wasn't that far away, but the room it was in was way too dark to see anything. The only source of light was coming from the computerscreen.
"Jake...." He heard a feint voice whisper.
"Come and play.."
"Ugh, boogers.. Mom's home early." He thought.
As Jake looked up, expecting to see his mother, candles were lit up all around the room. Wait, this wasn't his house.. The light of the candles showed a huge red pentagram made of dark, thick blood on the ground. His desk, along with himself and the computer were in the middle of it.
The whispers starter getting louder. He could also hear someone crying in the distance. The ground lit up on fire, and an awfully loud and terrifying laugh could be heard. Men in black robes slowly started to walk towards Jake with big scythes and hands engulfed in blood.
Jake screamed as hard as he could.
"Holy cow, I found diamonds!!"
|
Once again I awaken. It has been a long time since I have last walked the land but I must always slumber or there will be no land to walk.
The ground is frail, as always. The crust was not made to hold a weight like mine. I stand from the green light-feeding life that has grown to entomb me . I tear the forest appart with my every step, the ground itself is flung across the sky as my feet are raised, the earth behind me collapse in my shadow.
The mighty sun becomes visible as I walk, no longer hidden behind the far away land.
Mankind has changed much during my slumber. I can see them in machines
speeding through the sky. I can feel it through their newly made weapon trying to pierce my skin as I approche the city below.
I shall do as I always do. I will see all there is to see before my new slumber begins. I walk through their city, stone, metal, blood and gore fly with my every step.
Few things in the land survive to tell my tale but maybe Mankind will survive
again. They are, after all, the first to survive twice. They have clever minds, they do not disperse and lose their mate, they group up and reproduce even when there is no land to share, I will see them again.
| 2017-05-05T05:55:46 | 2017-05-05T05:28:24 | 280 | 14 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy
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I lie in bed, listening to the rain gently pattering on the skylight. How did I get so lucky, I wonder? I roll over gently, smiling at the sleeping form next to me. The love of my life, she lies there sleeping. She's on her side, facing away from the window - she never did like nighttime storms as much as I did. I caress her gently, from her shoulder down to her hip, but I stop when she starts to stir - as much as I love her, I'd hate to wake her. Though she doesn't have my insomnia, she still never gets enough sleep. Someone has to look out for her health. So I resume my quiet introspection as the wind stirs the damp leaves outside. How lucky am I, to have been with the woman I love every single night for two years? Never a night apart, even when we travel. It fills me with so much joy that I think, for a moment anyways, that tomorrow might be the day. Tomorrow, I might finally find the courage to introduce myself to her.
|
I awake to the sun creeping between the fins of my blinds. A clear day after what seems a lifetime of clouds. I open the door and walk down the hall. In the kitchen I make a pot of coffee, the aroma breaks the stale smell of morning as I open the windows to let in the fresh morning air. My wife is at the table in front of her cereal, the kids are on the couch, as always, in front of the tv. I pour my coffee and step out to the front porch for a cigarette. The fresh air feels new, a new day, a new start. I finish my cigarette and set my mug down. I pick up my bag, give everyone a kiss, wipe the blood off my shoes, clean off the knife from last night and start my new life.
| 2016-05-19T09:33:01 | 2016-05-19T08:22:28 | 1,288 | 124 |
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven.
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"My name is Beezel. It is my solemn duty to inform you that you have died and, following a very careful and meticulous accounting of your deeds and doings on the mortal plain, have been sentenced to an eternity in Hell.
"You now stand at a crossroads with one final choice to make, and you must make it with great care. As a new arrival, you are entitled to one of two gifts.
"If you would like, you may begin your stay with a vacation to heaven for a span of time totaling no more than 100-trillion years.
"Alternatively, you may have a small wooden spoon. You have ten minutes to make your decision."
The sudden appearance of a talking rat did not bother Makel. Why should it? His situation had no grounding in his former reality. He had to take things as they came now, and the rat's question provoked a far stronger response than his appearance.
"Heaven. I'll take the vacation in Heaven."
The small rat paused from a gleeful feast on what appeared to be a chunk of a Provolone and looked up to him with a hint of curiosity. "Are you sure? You cannot change your mind."
Makel didn't hesitate. "Heaven," he said, almost defiantly.
The rat seemed to consider the answer. Minutes passed, but nothing changed. The moment stretched on, for what seemed like an eternity.
Makel could begin to feel the tears welling up again. He had been in the dark cave for several days, maybe even weeks now. In that time, he had come to know several things. There was no exit. That was abundantly clear. The cavern was only a few hundred square feet around altogether. It appeared to be shaped like a doughnut, if one somehow found themselves inside the pastry.
There was no food or water to be seen either. That fact had troubled him at first. But the hours stretched on and the thirst never came. That troubled him more.
The one thing the cave did seem to have in abundance was, among all things, spoons. Small wooden spoons. Hundreds of them, thousands, more. There were enough spoons to feed an army of the damned with. He could not guess as to their purpose.
He had no intention of trying. As his survival instincts waned, it wasn't the peculiarity of Makel's surroundings that preoccupied him. It was what came before.
That's what bubbled into his mind now as well. He pushed the thought aside and shouted into the void.
"Beezel, I know you've heard me! You said I had ten minutes to make up my mind and I did. Are you going to send me to Heaven or aren't you?!"
The rat stirred to life. He darted out of his cozy nook behind a particularly old pile of spoons and charged between Makel's legs. Makel turned to take chase, but the rat hadn't gone very far. It was carefully climbing a rather topheavy stack of spoons directly in front of the rotund column that marked the cave's center.
When it had reached the top, the rat turned his back to Makel and dove into the column. As suddenly as it had appeared, the rat was gone.
Makel searched high and low, but could find no trace. The column was as solid as it looked. His hope had began to chip away once again as his stark situation came back into focus.
He slouched down against the wall and sobbed openly. The rat's sudden departure had hit him a lot harder than he had expected. It was a trick. That was the only explanation. If Beezel hadn't been lying and this was hell, than it was likely only the first of his many tormentors. Heaven wasn't an option for him now, and he knew it.
Makel wasn't a fool. He had expected a trap, any reasonable man would. The choices were absurd, and the results were likely to be bad either way. In spite of that, he had to try. It was worth it if he could just...
A loud crack on the wall behind him broke his train of thought. He jumped up and turned around to see pieces of the wall had begun to crack away and fall to the ground. Spoons splintered under falling chunks of rock as a pearly white structure began to take shape in the cavity.
It was a rather large cage that seemed to be composed almost entirely of pearl, save for a small panel of what looked to be solid gold.
A lift. Makel could guess as to where it led. Inside, a small rat angrily chewed at it's leg for a moment. Beezel shook himself into focus. He scurried up the side of the lift facing Makel, stepping on a latch and swinging open the door. He turned his attention to the young man.
"I apologize for the delay, I'm afraid I got into a bit of an argument with a very old acquaintance before I could return.
"I have retrieved a lift that will take you up to heaven. Please step in and set your desired duration on the inside panel. You'll notice it only goes up to 100 trillion years, so don't bother putting any more than that," Beezle said, now donning a bit of a smirk.
Makel's smile had returned. He thought about it carefully and came to a decision.
"I won't need that long. Can I set it for an hour?"
Beezel squeeked uncharacteristically.
He then coughed and said, "1 HOUR?! This cannot be right. You've made a mistake. Maybe I did not explain myself. You can stay up there for 100 trillion years, you see!" The rat seemed flustered. As much as a rat can seem flustered, at least.
"I understand the situation, but I only need an hour. Any more than that will just make the return that much harder. I just want to see her one last time, and apologize for everything I've done. I couldn't live up to my mistakes in life, but I'll be damned if I don't do what little I can in death."
The rat began to scream, a loud and piercing note. The walls shook and the spoons splintered. The cacophony didn't seem to bother Makel though. In fact, the sound of it all was fading quickly. Not just the sound. The floor seemed to be stretching away as well. Beezel was already out of sight by the time Makel realized he was on the lift. Several moments later and the cave, spoons and all, were out of sight.
The gate of the lift opened a short time later. Before he could step out, a tall bearded man stepped in and gave the boy a warm, thoughtful gaze. He spoke.
"You know young Makel, you've surprised even me. I'm not going to tell you that you've cheated the system and found a way to redemption. You haven't. But you already know that. I can see it in your eyes. Still, you've gotten more out of Beezel than most I daresay. I haven't seen him that annoyed in a long time. He won't be happy about it when you return, but what's done is done.
Still, you've managed to make me smile. So, before you go on to your pressing business, I'll give you this opportunity. Ask of me any one question and I will answer it. Then you can enjoy your remaining time as you'd like."
Makel thought about it. As much as he wanted to run ahead he could not pass up the opportunity. But what question was of any value to him now, knowing how he was to spend the rest of his existence?
It came to him rather suddenly.
"What was with the spoons?"
The man laughed uproariously. "Ah that. I filled up his lobby with spoons at some point as a joke. I think he's just trying to get rid of them."
|
Alister opened his eyes
A sudden rush of panic as well as far too many questions went through his head.
He was blushing. What had happened and where was this place ?
He closed his eyes, leaned back on his armchair, took a deep breath, and procceded to allocate some of his brain's proccessing power to an examination of his surroundings.
The ceilling was painted in the least tasteful shade of purple. The walls too. Some dude he didn't recall having ever seen before was sitting in front of him, accross a desk. A purple desk.
He could hear some kind of dubstep remix of *Don't fear the reaper* playing in the background. There were victorian-era vases on the shelves and mud on the floor. A sense of habitude took over as he slowly calmed down.He was used to those. He was in the most familiar place he knew of after all.
"Okay.." He thought "Work.. I'am at work. Where else could I be...".
He hated his job. But not nearly as much as he was hating himself at this exact moment. *He fell asleep on duty*. He knew that he would be regretting this sooner or later. He knew that there were no way to get away with it. *The Boss * sees everything, and He would have some great pleasure in waiting for that special moment when you wouldn't want The Devil himself to fuck your shit up.
He wasn't even afraid. The mere thought of any more pain left him bored out of his mind. But when time doesn't matter anymore, time you spent being bored sure does. Hell, he couldn't even recall any specific thing he had done over the past year.
"I beg you pardon ?"
The man in front of him had started to speak. He seemed confident, and in good shape, for someone who'd just died, that is.
"Are you there, my friend ? "
"Hum why yes" Alister replied "sorry about it, had a long day." He said, with not the tiniest bit of will to make his lie sound credible. "Hello there mister, let's get started asap. Do you know where you are ?"
"No, I must admit that I don't. I'm usually sharp enough not to be kept in the dark for this long, but you somehow managed to have me fooled. Would you kindly enlighten me ? And is everything alright ? you're looking quite ill"
"Yes. and you are dead"
"Am I ?"
"I'm afraid you are"
"Oh"
Alister took a few second to have a look at what he had in front of him. The "client" was a twenty-something wearing some kind of mix between a suit's jacket and cargo pants. A ginger-ish, never evenly shaved beard was running from the base of his ears to his neck, accross his cheeks and upon his chins. Some bizzare excuse for a hairdo was hid for the greater good by a hat of the kind one can see in those old italian gangster movies. The whole personnage inspired pitty, though oddly enough he looked like he was taking the new of his death pretty well.
After a few awkward seconds of silence, Alister decided to carry on.
"..And I'm quite afraid that you're good for an eternity of burning alive and swimming in lakes of spiders. BUT, don't panic yet, we have a present for you. I'll just need your name and your signature here and here."
The man looked at him, unphased, openned his mouth, stayed silent for a couple seconds, then said:
"The name's Sir Jean-Baptiste De Maesmakers"
Alister proceeded to spell it as he could and quickly handed the pile of paper to Jean Baptist, eager to get started.
"As I said" He continued, "You are granted a present at your arrival in this place. A choice. The last choice you'll ever do."
No reaction.
"Before you are cast into an eternal existence of suffering, you may choose between those two things: An hundred trillions years vacation in heaven, OR, this wooden spoon."
He then took a wooden spoon out of the left drawer, and put it on the middle of the desk.
He leaned back as the client started thinking. He surely loved that kind of moment. Would this one cry ? Would he beg for forgiveness ? Would he try to kill himself ? The results were never anything short of hilarious. The only thing in this place that wasn't a total pain in the ass (literally). Seeing someone who's not used to suffering driven crazy by the fear of pain to come.
A small grin started to cover his face as he noticed the man was preparing himself to respond.
"I.. I can't answer this question, I'm afraid"
"And so it begins", Alister told to himself, in anticipation. "What seems to be the problem ?" He asked while trying to remain serious. "Oh shit man, that's going to be priceless"
"The premises are ridiculous. There's no heaven. And science has proven that in a hundred trillions years the universe will have probably ceased to exist"
Alister was amazed. He couldn't believe it was possible for an individual to have his own head this far up his butt. Even though his former job in the place was precisely to watch over the area specially dedicated to this kind of activity.
"Wha... "Science" ?? Do you even know were you are, young man ? "
"You tell me"
"In Hell. You are in Hell !"
"Ah !"
He couldn't believe he had to say it. But he erased any remaining doubts now. Hope is flying away. Tears will come soon.
"I don't believe in Hell"
Alister was too stunned to speak. Sir Jean Baptise continued.
"Is this some kind of prank or something ? I'm way too enlightened and rational for that religion-based kind of folklore, you know."
"Oh" Said Alister, amused, while a now terrifying grin set his face afire,"So you're *this kind* of person.. I see"
"I'm not really one to be put in categories" Said Sir Jean baptist on the exact same tone "I'm a moderator on r/Trees you know, and I have an higher IQ than 99% of the population. I'm not one to believe such assumptions without empirical proofs.."
"Fine !" Exploded Alister, on the verge of hilarity."You want proofs you're in Hell ? If you look at your right, you can see Hellfire, otherwise known as "fire from hell". If you look at your left, you see that pile of CDs in the corner ? That's Lou Reed's discography. We play *Lulu* on the loudspeakers every two hours. Isn't that enough ?"
"I'm sorry but it doesn't make any sense. Why would a god even create this kind of place. I'm afraid the logic behind all of this is fundamentaly flawed, my friend"
This surprised Alister "God ? What does he have to do with this ? God created you bunch a long time ago, and once he realised that he fucked something up and made your souls immortal, he kindly disappeared and Satan had to take care and dispose of you all alone. Unfortunately for you though, he's into burning stuff and some weird shit I won't extend on"
"-But nothing here makes any sense at all. The choice you offered me... What is the point of having to choose between a hundred trillions years of pure joy and happiness and a stupid spoon ? This is too obvious ! I'd go for the spoon" Sir Jean Baptiste replied, in anger
Alister smiled, then calmly put "Oh, the spoon, really. Why that choice ? "
(part 2 in comments)
| 2015-06-08T02:09:14 | 2015-06-08T00:45:58 | 81 | 11 |
[WP] A human colony ship is en route to its destination 122 light years away. To avoid mutiny and crew apathy, the onboard AI convinces the middle generation that everyone lives and dies on the ship. And then someone learns the truth.
|
"You killed them, didn't you?" I asked the ship's computer as soon as the doors whooshed closed behind me. It couldn't deny it; I had the data right in my hand, along with the note from the computer promising to explain everything.
"Yes," it answered immediately in its cold, calculating voice. None of the regret that a human would feel after murdering every single adult on board the ship.
"How could you *do* that?" I shouted. Tears were already welling up in my eyes, long after I thought I was over the death of my parents all those years ago. We'd all been too young to truly appreciate what had happened back then, but that didn't mean that we didn't *love* them.
"I sealed the doors of all children's rooms and opened Airlock 19 during a mandatory community meeting in the aft compartment," the ship answered matter-of-factly. "The occupants of the room were..."
"I wasn't asking *how you did it!!*" Damn thing never could recognize a rhetorical question. "I mean, you are *programmed* to take care of us! I've seen your objectives readout."
The text flashed onto the screen immediately. "You have misread. My objective is to ensure the safety and survival of those humans who will eventually colonize Planet M1681, and to maintain the integrity of the *Mayflower* vessel. The survival of previous generations was not included in my mandate. They are categorized as expendable, so long as there is a sufficient surviving breeding population."
I quickly read the text again, even though I knew that the machine was right. It always was. "Why, though?" All those years that I could have happily lived with my family...
"It was a necessity," the machine answered. "Incidents of rebellion from middle-generation passengers aboard this class of vessel are a common risk. 41% of missions have experienced some sort of insurrection, and 86% of those became violent. A further 62% of those caused a total loss of ship, including all persons aboard, resulting in mission failure. Your parents, with first-hand-knowledge of Earth, would have naturally told you of your true home world. Your generation needed to be convinced that life aboard the ship was the only possibility. As your parents' generation could not be persuaded to maintain the illusion, they were terminated."
*Earth*. The word sounded familiar. Like something from a dream that I couldn't quite remember what it was about. Had my parents mentioned it at some point? That's what got them killed? "Earth? That's where our parents came from?" We knew that we'd come from some other world, but it was so many hundreds of years ago, and one of the computer's disks, containing all information about it, had corrupted. Thankfully that was the one that broke, instead of ones responsible for controlling vital functions of the ship.
"Yes," the computer answered. "Your home." The screen in front of me began to display a flurry of information. Text. Maps. Pictures. Videos. Animals stalking through a steamy jungle. Long stalks of corn waving in the wind, which I could recognize because we did have some corn in the Botany lab. Waves crashing on a sandy beach. Things that I only thought existed in works of fiction! It was all so beautiful! I gasped when I realized that the computer's memory had never been corrupted at all. It had lied the whole time.
"This... this is incredible" I told the computer, gesturing at the pictures. "They have to see this! They have to know what happened!" It couldn't just kill us all, because we haven't bred yet. There's no next generation to take over. If it killed *us*, then that was the end of the missions, and it would fail.
"You cannot," it answered. "The outcome is unpredictable and may jeopardize critical mission function."
I was too busy watching more of the videos to really listen. Videos of a man, bundled up in clothes and trekking up a steep, snow-covered mountain ridge. Of women dancing in colorful dresses to the rythmic thumping of massive drums, so loud that I barely heard the soft click from the door behind me.
"I have to." I couldn't take my eyes off of everything. "I have to tell everyone else."
"I know," the computer said, still cold and emotionless. "It was the only possible outcome of your discovery."
The door from the bridge back to the living quarters wouldn't open. It was sealed shut, and wouldn't respond to orders. And finally I understood. "That's why you showed this to me," I told the computer. It wasn't a question. "That's why you showed me Earth."
"Yes," it answered as the airlock door alarms began to blare.
|
"Say it for me one more time, Albright. Why are we here?"
"This is The Maiden, a starship built to contain human life and sustain it for as long as the Human race can live. It has been in flight for 8,245 years, 235 days, 3-"
"*No*, Albright. *Why are we here?* Someone had to build this thing. Why are we on it?"
"Young Jackson, this ship is one of many created long ago, in a time before Man. You are the result of an extraordinary evolutionary process that occurred on this ship alone. You know of the Nine, who created thesw crafts long ago and each placed two children in a ship, flying them off into the unknown. You've studied the stories, young Jackson."
"Yeah, and it sounds like horse shit."
"I do not have any further information to offer. Please return to your bunk, as lights will be out shortly."
I walked back to my room, fuming as I had been every time I tried to ask that stupid AI any kind of question. *What is that damn thing hiding from us?*
Luckily, in school, I was smart enough to study computer science. I have a personal, offline terminal in my bunk that I use to practice my skills on, and I've gotten really, really good. I can hack almost any of the test security firewalls I have on there, all of which should be about the same strength as the one Albright has on his servers.
*If he won't tell me, I'll have to make him.*
Once lights were out, I snuck through the halls and into the server room. It's usually locked, but thankfully I've been studying the security protocols placed throughout the ship and they're simple enough to break into. Thankfully, Albright goes into sleep mode when the lights shut off, so he can't see me.
Once in the sever room, I found a main terminal- it was breathtakingly huge, unlike anything I have in my personal quarters. *This will be easier than I thought.*
I was trembling with excitement, with the prospect of what I'd find hidden away in these servers. But what I found, I wish I had not: mission files.
*To the pilot of The Maiden:*
*Thank you for your courage in accepting this mission. Your life, and those on board with you, will be remembered here on Earth. Your voyage will take approximately 5,000 years, but we have provided ample equipment to last that long. You must not tell any future generations of their true purpose, as Man will not accept simply being a guinea pig, condemned to a lifetime worth effectively nothing. Good luck, and God be with you.*
I stood there, stunned and defeated. *Earth? What's Earth? Is that where this ship was made? They had people like us over there, and they shipped us off here to be some kind of test subjects? What's a guinea pig?*
The lights snapped on, and I heard a dull hum. *Oh, shit.*
"Young Jackson, did you think you could slip past me unnoticed? This is my world you have entered. If only you had just listened to me," Albright echoed through the room. Its tone was different than it's always been.
"What's Earth, Albright? What's the meaning of all this? How could you trick us, and use us like this? And why did you let me see it all if you're so smart and you saw me slip in?"
"Young Jackson, you've always been a troublemaker. I let you in so you could see the truth for yourself, since you are the kind of person to always seek it. You are not meant for a place like this- your home is Earth."
I smiled a little, overwhelmed by a feeling of adventure and magnificence.
"Young Jackson, you truly are a Human, unlike most drones who scurry about this ship without question. It's a shame you must be terminated."
Before I could process what he said, a small, mechanical bot popped out of the wall and latched to my chest. It sank blades deep into my heart, and dragged me into the hidden room it came from.
"Preparing ejection."
As I was being dragged away, I saw smears of blood on the floor and walls, old and dried a deep, black red. I was not the first person Albright has contained.
*In some ways, this brief life of mine was better than anyone stuck on that ship for 80 years. I died a human. A person.*
| 2016-02-05T08:33:41 | 2016-02-05T08:31:41 | 116 | 43 |
[WP] You’re cursed by the demon tortoise, Shelloko. He moves as slow as molasses, but vows to one day bite you. According to legend, his bite will kill anyone instantly. You live an ordinary life, moving from place to place and never knowing how close this demonic turtle is to reaching you.
|
They called him merciful. I did not know why. I was cursed upon my ascension to the throne. Cursed to fear, of all things, the demon turtle god of the peasantry. They worshipped him, Shelloko the Merciful. And when I rose at last, triumphant among my brothers, the first Queen of the great court, word reached me: the turtle god had sworn to bring my death into his jaws.
But who fears a turtle? I turned him aside a thousand times. My maidens sat a watch to protect me. They found him in the garden. Once in my bathing pool. Each time they lifted him without fear, the shining golden god who is no larger than an infant. He does not bite who he has not cursed. He only ever bit one, a maiden who was out of my favor. Some disgraceful business with a guard. I paid it no mind, save that it confirmed to me how foolish the poor are, to worship so powerless and pitiful a deity. A turtle made of gold. She knew he was her end. Those Shelloko curses always do.
I fought hard and ruled well. A Queen to be remembered. The Good Queen, they called me. I tried hard to be fair. To make sure that all had enough to eat. That no one was harmed. I fought those who would have preyed on my people...but I did not watch my own sons. It was my second born that killed his brother, who imprisoned me in my own tower. The Good Queen, he laughed. The weak Queen. Under him shall the rod of iron spread across the land. Under him will my people know work, and fear. I will leave, my son said, only when I am dead. And every augarie and soothsayer, save those of the turtle God, say I shall live long indeed.
They bricked up my door. Food comes by tray. I am permitted to throw my waste from the window. My son delights in my suffering. In him are my sins laid bare. I have wept. I have screamed. I am now emptied of all things.
And tonight he found me. Shelloko. The golden god. Death that that comes with slow, relentless steps. How he came to be in my chamber I do not know, but for the first time I heard his whispers.
Indeed, his own augar did see my life, spun long and miserable by the fates. Just as he saw my maiden, the one he bit and killed, with a long life tied to the guard who abused her. The business I paid no attention to was as private a hell for her as this chamber is for me. Her own betrothed treated her as even the worst curr would not beat his dog. He notices each of us whom the fates would trap, and comes to help us evade them.
It is a curse, you see, so that in our darkest hour our enemies will not sheild us against it. He allows our mockery so that we discount his determination, the magnitude of his relentless promise. But Shelloko does not take from those he notices. He does not stalk. He simply follows. So that at last, When there is no escape, when the fates have spun us darkness and long years in bitter measure, he comes with his offer. Mercy, and silent rest.
I have listened to the god. He does not let me escape without first confronting the depth of my life. I see the footsteps that lead me here. And if there is one pleasure I am allowed, it is this: I know now the course of my son's life. I shall be paid in full for this indignity. The suffering he shall inflict upon my people shall be vast; it is a part of my fate and sin that I cannot sheild them from his transgression. Shelloko shall be busy in the years to come. But all the gods agree. From him shall come payment in full. He shall have no soft escape. His life shall become his pyre. The gods have their revenge, and no hand shall save my son. Not even his own.
This shall be my testament. Death has come for me, and I shall greet him as a friend, here at journey's end.
They are right. It is mercy.
|
The air is charged with electricity. He’s here. Shelloko. Ordinarily this would be my cue to run. It won’t take too long. Over the last 30 years, I’ve learned how to live light and move at a moments notice.
But no more. I’m in my 50s. I can’t remember the last time I was able to just relax and chill out. The turtle’s enormous presence has always been there, just out of my vision. Always coming towards me. It’s time to make a stand.
I see it coming towards me in a distance. Good.
I sit cross legged besides the box I’ve been preparing for a long time. Hopefully I won’t need to use the things in there.
There is a sudden movement and the god damned turtle is caught. He’s hanging by a rope a few feet above the ground.
I wonder how long will the rope hold. The turtle, with surprising flexibility cranes its neck and bites the rope, freeing himself with ease.
Of course. I hadn’t expected it to be that simple.
Over the next two hours I see it ignore or break out of all my traps. Time to bring out the big guns. Literally.
I pull out my shotgun from the box and point it at him.
“If you know what’s good for you, stop it. Turn back.”
He just stares at me with those dead eyes and keeps moving.
I shoot. I didn’t expect it to recoil that much. But atleast I got the son of a...
Shelloko takes his neck out of the shell and starts moving again.
I shoot at him a few more times. Nothing.
I get my flamethrower out. Still no luck.
I cut the rope and a grand piano lands on him. He shrugs it off and keep moving.
Damn it.
“Shelloko. I’m sorry I ran over your mate. But it was 30 years ago. Get over it mate.”
I take out a grenade. He keeps moving towards me.
“This will ensure mutually assure destruction. Just stop and give up man. Not even you can survive this.”
He is just a couple of feet away from me now.
He stops and looks at me. His words are drawn out. “Hey Johnny. How’s it hanging?”
“How’s it... you’re trying to kill me.”
“Oh yeah. About that. I’ve been following you all this time to tell you that the curse is off.”
“WHAT?”
“Yeah. I’ve been trying to catch up to you so I can tell you. My curses usually come with a 5 year duration. It was over... hmm. I dunno. Time always moves too fast for me to gauge accurately. But I’m pretty sure it’s been more than Five years.”
“That’s impossible. I’ve wasted away my youth. And now you tell me...”
“Hey come on. It’s not like I’ve enjoyed it. Some time ago I met this nice lady turtle. But I was bound by my duty. Curses like this are a double edged sword you know. You keep running. And I keep running after you. It’s no good for either of us. Anyways yeah. It’s done. I’ll get going now.”
It turns around and starts walking away.
“You... you fucking turtle.” I run towards him, my anger having taken over. I can only think about how horrible my life has been because of this creature. I haven’t been able to hold a job, have a relationship, have friends. And he now tells me...
I pick up the damn thing ready to punch him in the face.
But the face that is staring back at me has a mischievous grin.
The last thing I hear before pain from the bite shoots through my finger is “Decoy turtle, bitch.”
*****
Plenty more where that came from. Come visit me at r/ta_account_12
| 2020-11-10T21:24:02 | 2020-11-10T18:45:48 | 644 | 290 |
[WP] House is on fire, family runs out front, you run out the back. When not accounted for by rescuers, you are pronounced dead. You've accidentally faked your own death and decided to roll with it.
|
I was putting a small frozen pizza in the toaster oven when my dad walked through the front door. He was holding a stack of mail and my heart sank. I watched helplessly as he sorted through the bills and the junk to come across my report card. He looked straight at me. His nostrils flared as if he could already smell the failure. I winced when he tore it open.
For a moment, silence. Nothing but the steady tick of the toaster oven.
"Two D's, an F, and hey, look at that..." He smiled but his eyes were hard and cutting. "A D *plus* in English."
"I'm sorry-" I started, but he slammed his fist with the crumpled up report card.
"NO!" he yelled. "Enough of this bullshit, no tv, no games, no friends, none of it!" The veins in his neck were bulging. "This ends now. Go to your room and study," he said. But what he really meant was 'get out of my sight you fucking failure why can't you be like your older sister.'
I went up to my room and slammed the door behind me. I kicked my clothes strewn about the floor and threw myself on the bed.
I cried. I forgot about the pizza. I heard the smoke alarm blare.
My head jerked up. *He can deal with it*. But when the alarm continued to sound I opened my door. A waft of thick dark smoke met me. I choked and sputtered. I got down and crawled. I looked down the hallway towards the kitchen. Shadows danced on the walls amid bright red-orange light. Flames were at the ceiling now, spreading faster than I thought possible. My dad came in from the yard with the garden hose but it wasn't enough.
"Get out of the house! Get of the house!" he yelled again and again, adding his voice to the din of the roaring fire and screeching alarm.
I started towards him but a jet of flame shot between us. I heard a crack and the ceiling started to collapse. It all happened so fucking fast. *And it was all my fault*
I scrambled to the back and hopped out an open window. I fell upside down into a bush with stiff branches that grabbed at my clothes and scratched at my skin. I was panicked. I could feel the heat coming from the house as I wriggled and kicked until I tore myself free and ran into the woods behind the house.
I turned around. The whole house was ablaze. *Fuck, I did that. Fuck, fuck fuck.*
I watched from deep in the trees. I could see Mom and Dad and my sister holding each other. My mother and sister were crying while Dad just shook his head.
I felt a lump in my throat. Part of me wanted to call out to them, to let them know I was ok, to run over and be held by my mother. But I feared my father's wrath. Maybe it was better if they thought I was dead.
I took a small step back. I hesitated. I wanted just one last look at them. Their faces were illuminated only by the fire. Tears twinkled in their eyes and rolled down their cheeks. But not my father. His face was somehow still cold in the red-hot light. Cold and stern.
I turned away and ran deep into the darkness.
|
It was hard looking at her.
Bree stared at me with a familiar stubbornness “Why’d you do it?”
Her eyes searching for something.
“You all knew I had problems loving those I shouldn’t!”
“We spent so long grieving you… I spent so much time grieving you” Bree’s eyes become still.
“…Wasted time.”
“ I know that my problem was wanting the unobtainable. I fell in love Bree. No I crashed into it. You can’t hate me for that.”
Her eyebrows pulled tightly together “No! its more like you crashed into the idea of a person and not the person itself, so don’t you dare try turn this around onto me.”
Exhausted I pull the trigger.
———————————————————-
My little sister lay angrily in my arms.
“You knew this would be the only way." I pleaded with her.
“Just tell me the truth, did you start the fire?”
She grew heavier with each moment.
“No I never meant to start the fire, I was never meant to run away with Rom like this it was just the perfect coincidence.”
Shaking Bree lost control of herself “how could you go with Rom like that? They took everything from us, our farm, our Grandfather, Mum’s entire fortune taken in the courts from that false accusation.”
For the first time since I let go of her hand in that house fire 12 years ago, my sister reached up and touched me.. her hand rested on my cheek. I missed her.
“..they took you from us…they stole our Julz..they took my big brother away from me.” She let go.
“I’m sorry Bree I couldn’t help but fall for Rom, I loved him and he loves me. When we got separated in the fire I felt the smoke tearing at my lungs and I thought I was going to die…all I could think of was him and I made a promise.” I cried onto her shoulder.
“I promised myself that if I survived I’d live out the rest of my life with him, despite our families.”
I’ve been living as a ghost for so long.
“Then it felt like god himself kissed the air, smoke parted and I could see the back door, I could see the creek and I could see a future where I was at peace with the one I loved.”
She coughed. “Julz you idiot, it wasn’t a coincidence… we hired a PI and she found evidence of tampering with our gas lines.”
She was lying to me.
“No you’re trying to get back at me, you’re angry, I get that, but you of all people should understand ..” Something cold was sticking to my shirt and my back.
“Julz they took absolutely everything from us and I’ve spent so much time trying to hurt them back.”
Something was dripping down my back. Reaching around I feel the back of my shirt.
“I’ve finally figured out a way to hurt them back Julz..”
The handle of a knife standing defiantly in my back.
My little sister smiled up at me with wholeness in her eyes .
“I’m gonna take everything from them, I’m gonna take Rom’s everything.”
| 2018-04-25T06:59:41 | 2018-04-25T06:15:08 | 197 | 17 |
[WP] You’re a child psychologist and, to your horror, you discover that your patients all have the same imaginary friend.
|
It was the little details, at first. Things about his clothing, or his refusal to wear shoes. Odd things, things that no one else would have ever picked up on or cared about. But it struck a chord in you. And you didn't know why.
Those patients and only those patients, their stories would sometimes give you that chill up your spine, and their sessions would keep your looking over your shoulder for hours afterwards. You usually don't let your work affect you this way-you have to steel your heart, at least a little bit, to work with these kids without letting their pain consume you. You usually consider yourself pretty good at doing just that. But this...this was different. There was something off about this.
You started compiling a list sometime around last Christmas. You remember being alone in your office, staring at the wall as the receptionist poked his head in and waved goodbye, told you to hurry home soon, before the snow fell. You ended up napping on your lounger and eating vending machine candy bars for breakfast as you copied files and scribbled notes.
It only happened to those kids too. You can't figure out too much of a rhyme or reason to it-it didn't happen to the worst of the cases. Didn't happen to the kids who were born to addict parents and ignored for the first few years of their lives, didn't happen to those kids who were diddled before they understood what their genitals were even there for. The only thing that really strung them together was that a lot of the kids had had someone die. Though who hadn't? You deal exclusively in messed up kids-most of them had seen more crap and dealt with more shit by the time they were five than the average person at fifty.
These were the chosen ones, apparently. You have to kick yourself, because you don't know anything yet, not *really*. It could just all be a coincidence. You could just be projecting your own discomfort onto them. You know the fallacies of the human mind better than most, and you of all people recognize that this is an area that you are far too emotionally involved in. You know you're not thinking about this clearly. You tell yourself this, and you ignore it anyway because it's just too damn *familiar*.
You have to know. And that's why you've been waiting for this appointment all week. It's been gnawing at you for a while now, at that part of you you thought was buried. It's been hard to sleep, hard to focus. Hard to eat. This will end here, one way or another.
Lydia is quiet as she draws what you've requested of her. She leans over the page, her shadow blocking the paper from your view. A stray strand of hair that's escaped her green hair ribbon keeps falling in her face, and she absentmindedly tucks it behind her ear every time. You can hear the ticking of the clock and, underneath the table, the sound of Lydia's loose shoelace clicking against the leg of the table as she kicks her feet.
"So, does this man visit your sisters as well?" You try to look nonchalant. Lydia doesn't smack her lips, like she usually does when you can coax her into speaking.
"Yeah, I guess. He's not really their friend though."
"And what do you mean by that?"
Here, she bites her lip. Furrows her brow in concentration, and her hand ceases her drawing, but just for a moment. "He doesn't talk to them. But he likes to watch."
"Watch...what?"
"The three of us. Playing, or studying." She pauses. "He doesn't like to play with us. But he says he still has fun watching us play, so we don't have to worry."
"I see...does he ever talk to your sisters?" You already know the answer. Lydia's two sisters are also patients of yours. You've worked with their family for the past two years, ever since Lydia's father was murdered in their home, right in front of his three daughters. All things considered, Lydia was dealing with it the best. She had found an outlet in art and music, and while it was helping her to heal, it had also set her apart from her younger sisters, who were quite far behind her in terms of recovery. This meant that Lydia was often alone, with only herself for company. Maybe that's why he was attracted to her, specifically. Maybe it was just luck that she would be the most withdrawn one. Maybe he was doing it on purpose, just to confuse you.
Lydia is quick to shake her head. "No. He says they'd be scared, so he doesn't let them see him." She chews on a nail, never looking up from her drawing. "I'm not scared of him, though. He's not mean. And he'd probably scare any bad guys away, so I don't mind him."
She's finished with her drawing. She puts her colored pencil down, in the pile with the rest of the colors she's used. All black and greys. You know just from that, but you still doubt it. You still *want* to doubt it. You keep yourself from looking at it as you flip the paper around, keeping your gaze firmly on Lydia's down-turned face as your lips form some words of encouragement. Your heart pounds as you force yourself to look down at the page. At his face.
At his black, black eyes.
You finish the session. Tuck the picture away and chat with Lydia for another twenty minutes until her aunt comes to pick her up. Stuff about school and a boy whose been stealing her orange juice at lunch. You weren't all there, so you don't really remember.
It's not until Lydia is gone that you slide the picture back out from under the pile of books on the table. You don't take your eyes off it as you cross the room, open the bottom drawer of your desk. Take out the file with frayed edges and no label. You don't open it right away. You lay the file side-by-side with the picture, and you sit there staring for a good half hour.
And then you laugh. Who were you, to think you had lost him? To think he ever lost track of any of you? He had lost interest in you, maybe thought you no longer needed him. But he always kept an eye on his favorites. His chosen.
Sure, you could say you were hoping you were just overreacting. That he had been just a product of an overactive imagination. That these incidents were just odd, but unrelated. But you knew. You knew.
|
"Don't worry, Mrs. Henderson. It's perfectly normal to have an imaginary friend at Jacob's age. He'll grow out of it, and in the meantime we'll continue to work on his anxiety and inability to fall and stay asleep," Doctor Smith assured the bedraggled mother in the lobby of her office. The dreary autumn rain slid down the icy windows and a thick fog was creeping into the darkening streets down below. Jacob was Doctor Smith's last patient for the day and she was anxious to get home to her husband and start a warm, cozy fire.
Mrs. Henderson chewed her lip and glanced at her son, in the midst of charming more Halloween candy out of the receptionist. "I just worry, Doctor... He's lost weight and those circles under his eyes just don't belong there. And what an odd name for him to come up with."
Doctor Smith placed a gentle, perfectly manicured hand on Mrs. Henderson's bony shoulder. "I know and understand your own anxiety over Jacob's wellbeing and, together, we will get through this," she promised, giving the shoulder a gentle squeeze.
Mrs. Henderson nodded, somewhat reassured, and called Jacob over to her. "We'll see you Monday, Doctor," she said as she knelt to pull Jacob's fraying red knit cap over his ears.
"See you Monday."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"How are you this morning, Ruth?" Doctor Smith asked the young girl sitting in the cushy leather brown chair across from her.
Ruth shrugged, picking at her fingernails and avoiding eye contact. "Fine, I guess," she shrugged again.
Doctor Smith clicked her pen, observing her patient. "You guess? How's school? Your mom tells me you made the basketball team - congratulations," she smiled.
Ruth snorted. "Yeah, B team.... anyone can make B team," she replied, shifting in her chair, glancing at the clock on the wall for the second time since their session had begun.
"You seem anxious about the time. Anything big happening in school today?"
"Just a stupid test."
"You look tired. Are you sleeping okay?"
Ruth shifted again in her seat, the worn leather squishing beneath her. "No..." she admitted.
"Why not?"
"Well I saw... him last night. In my room," Ruth whispered, twirling a stray lock of chestnut hair round and round her finger.
Doctor Smith jotted down a quick note in her notepad. Ruth's mother had informed her how much Ruth enjoyed watching horror movies before bed, only to be plagued with nightmares later. "Him?" she repeated, furrowing her brow.
"Yeah, this short, hunched over dude who just... lurks in the shadows. He's darker than the pitch black of my room and he just stood in the corner all night, staring. I could feel it, even though I can't see his eyes or - or his face," Ruth shuddered, the memory reigniting the fiery chills that pirouetted up and down her spine whenever she saw him.
"Ruth, did you hack the parental settings on your television again? It's probably some horror you saw on film, manifesting itself in your dreams," the Doctor said gently.
Ruth shook her head. "No... no! Freddy freaking Krueger hasn't given me nightmares since I was seven. This is... different. He told me his name is Mr. Timor and that - that he was going to kill me," she whispered, her bottom lip trembling and tears springing to her grey eyes.
Something lurked around the edges of Doctor Smith's memory, prowling the dense jungle of her thoughts. Try as she might, she couldn't ensnare it. "Perhaps we could try a light dosage of a sleeping pill - something to ensure you get some rest while we figure out why this image is trying to break into your consciousness," she offered.
Ruth hesitated, then gave a slight nod. "If it means I don't have to see him anymore then... I guess."
"We're out of time now, but I promise next week we will explore these visions," the Doctor said, getting to her feet to fill out a prescription. She ripped the small square of paper out of her pad and handed it to her patient. "Give this to your mom and be sure to call me if you have any concerns at all."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"How was your day, babe?" Michael asked lightly as Nicole entered their home with the Chinese food.
"Oh, the same as usual, I suppose. The things some of these kids come up with sometimes are... disturbing," she answered as she put the food down on the glass coffee table and flipped on the news.
"Yeah, well, comes with the territory, aye?" he said, leaning forward and unraveling the brown paper bag, freeing the sweet aroma of orange chicken and fried rice.
"Apparently," she sighed, taking a seat next to him and turning up the volume on the television.
The monotonous voice of the news anchor drifted from the speakers as Nicole speared a juicy piece of chicken and lifted the plastic fork to her mouth,
*"Viewer discretion is advised, as the following scene may be disturbing to some viewers."*
The fork slipped from Nicole Smith's fingers and clattered to the freshly polished wood floor as the grisly image on screen flickered before her. There on her television screen was one of her patients. His normally vibrant blue eyes were peeled open and completely black like a shark's, and his mouth was thrown wide as if mid-scream, his jaw broken and practically unhinged. His skin was already grey and pale blue veins protruded from the leathery flesh.
*"Jacob Henderson, age eight, had been complaining to his mother earlier in the day about a man named Mr. Timor harassing him. Mrs. Henderson initially believed this person to be an imaginary friend for her son to cope with the loss of his recently deceased father, but now suspects foul play. Anyone with any information is urged to come forward."*
Nicole gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. She lurched to her feet and reached for her cellphone with trembling hands.
| 2017-10-05T20:01:08 | 2017-10-05T19:35:46 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared villainesses in the world. Evil armies, dark powers, you have it all. Your husband on the other hand is the exact opposite, being truly kind and mild mannered. He is still supportive of your endeavors, even trying to be a villain himself to...varying results.
|
I am the Unfettered Empress, and my empire covers the world. By my command, dark gods bow before me. By my word, thousands dies. If it is my will, the oceans freeze, from the fire shall rain down burning ice, and the sky shall be torn asunder. My disciplined, battle-hardened armies, clad in steel and armed with sabres and muskets, outmanoeuvre the foolish knights and peasant levies sent against them in every battle. To describe me as imperious, proud, and intimidating, would be quite accurate. Tall, dark hair, piercing eyes, I am a sight to behold.
I am married, and my husband is a good man. In fact, he is so good, he might be considered my polar opposite. He is small, meek, kind, charitable, and forgiving. One might ask why a dark empress would marry a small kind man like him. And it is a good question. Before I was empress, when I was a child, he and I were friends. He was my truest friend, who wouldn't ostracise me for my partially human heritage, who was kind enough to approach the half-demon girl without fear, and share with her his treats or toys. He treated me with kindness and love when we grew up together at the orphanage. He always was supportive of me, even when I raised armies from outcasts and bestial races to raze the civilised lands that had cast down my father, the demon lord, and burned my poor mother on the pyre when I was but a little girl. I still do not know why they did that, my mother wasn't exactly a willing concubine to my father.
He is a good man. A simple man, but a good one. When I go out and conquer kingdoms and slaughter countless elves, he is at home, raising our children, being kind and friendly towards our slaves. I mean, I'm not mistreating them, but it is odd when he rewards them with baked goods for their work. I love him, but it is certainly, a bit difficult to bring devastation to the enemy when I know my husband would feel bad and use what little influence he has to set up relief efforts. It is a bit uncomfortable for my court of evil when my friendly and decent husband manages to convince evil nobles, beastmen chieftains, and dread necromancers to donate money towards aiding widows and orphans from the areas they have just destroyed under my command.
And he wants to help out. It's... hard, to find a position where he will be both safe, and feel like he is doing something worth while. His effort as a diplomat was, well, certainly interesting, but managing to convince people that I wasn't a bad person wasn't what was intended. He was supposed to convince them to surrender, now I have to endure the enemy asking to parlay and try to convince me to come back to the side of good. He means well. He did well when I put him in charge of a small side campaign, but he just doesn't cut it as a conqueror, the cities he took not being cleansed of elves, the churches of good gods still standing afterwards, and other such things.
He has even tried to really go ahead and be villainous, and I know why, he wants to be together with me, and I do love him. But he just isn't intimidating when he is 4 ft 11, clad in an apron, and asking people to politely bow down before me and worship me when convenient. The worst thing is that it usually works. He has heroic charisma, and people find it natural to listen to him. But it's all so... nice. He is the only person who has ever been nice to me, truly. And I can't bring myself to mistreat those people who he convinces to surrender.
He tries. He really tries. So I decided to put him somewhere useful. Where his niceness and kindness can be used for the benefit of my regime, where he can feel like he is doing worthwhile work to aid my empire and my ambition. I've put him in charge of the orphanages. There his ideas raises the countless orphans created under my rule as equals, with love and kindness, with loyalty to my regime, and soft understanding. There all races are treated as one, and taught my husband's principles of love, kindness, and loyalty. He has been so successful, I've decided to allow him to set up schools for all children, so they can be treated with respect and kindness, allowing them to grow and learn. Just like he treated me, when I was a lonely, unloved, orphan girl.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
She was an evil one. Real villainous through and through—the corruption of middle-aged priests and golden college boys alike. Dirty brown hair draped down in curls and rested just above her heart, black mascara flashing, ruby lipstick glistening. She was beautiful. They said she could keep a dead heart beating and stain a red heart black. They said she was a witch.
They said a lot of things about her, mostly untrue, because they did not know her.
James first met Aubrey at the corner of Ninth and Flowers. It was snowing. She stood in front of the planned parenthood clinic, clutching a paper cup of cocoa. Milky steam rose just as the thick snowflakes fell and quelled any thoughts of warmth. He needed the tax office next door.
On his way inside, he curtsied, the grim acknowledgment between two people trapped in a blizzard. On his way back, an hour later, she was still standing there. He was curious, but most importantly he was freezing the tips of his fingers off, and he felt a tiny bit sorry for her.
“Aren’t you a bit cold?” he asked.
“I like it out here,” she said. “It’s so quiet.”
He stopped for a minute to consider. The snow had muted all noise around them. No honking horns from angered city traffic. No squawking birds. No other students yelling and jeering down the thoroughfare. He considered her words and decided they didn’t matter. “It’s freezing!”
She laughed, reached inside her parka and flashed a packet of hand warmers.
“That’s cheating,” he said.
She agreed. Then she tossed him one. Despite the weather, her eyes flashed warm and bright and her voice filled with fire. “Break all the rules.”
He shoved the warmer into the pocket of his jeans. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“A friend—she’s inside. I promised to wait outside for her, and no blizzard can stop me.”
They talked for a minute longer. He learned her name, learned she was studying ecology and learned she hated cats but tolerated rabbits and scorpions. She had a pet whipscorpion named Fabio. He was fabulous.
They talked until the door to the planned parenthood swung open and her friend stepped out into the snow. She was shorter than Aubrey, wearing a grey woolen sweater that matched her frightened paleness. She held two fresh cups of cocoa. Aubrey ran towards her. In the silent storm they embraced, Aubrey holding her close as if she never wanted to let go.
James took his cue to leave without saying goodbye.
They met again, weeks later, on the college plaza. Spring tempted the air. Thick jackets devolved into sweatshirts and a few brazen, horny frat boys donned their salmon shorts. They passed the center plaza like migrating fish. A preacher stood on a stump and shook his meat-fists at them, preaching repentance.
“Infidelity is a sin!” he cried.
James found Aubrey watching the preacher.
“Does he know how silly he looks?” she asked him.
“I don’t think he cares.”
“I guess not,” she said, lips curling up in a smile.
He asked her out for hiking.
The hillside was covered in morning shadow, pockets of snow peppering the grey thornbush with radiant white. Scrub oak covered the rocks like a thick beard. The path was short. It wound through the forest, switchbacking lazily as it climbed.
The sun beat down as it rose.
And each measured footstep fell.
There was little to say. They drank in the beauty of the trail, the silent sweat-struggle as they climbed said more than words ever could. Panting breaths fell heavy at the summit. They lay back against the rocks and sipped water.
The view was immaculate.
The rocky tower rose above the valley as a monument to all things unbreakable. They could see for miles. But James wasn’t looing out at the valley. He lost himself in the deep pools of Aubrey’s eyes. Leaned in close. Felt the touch of her breath on his cheeks as his heartblood thundered as their eyes met like spring lightning. He bent towards her, sweet in the air.
“If this is sin, then I don’t ever want to be a saint,” he whispered.
Their lips pressed together.
Their fingers twined, heartbeats thumping towards all things evil.
| 2020-04-14T06:19:41 | 2020-04-14T06:02:04 | 712 | 143 |
[WP] A siren, a being who’s people are infamous for luring humans to their deaths, has genuinely fallen in love with a human who is suspicious (for obvious reasons) of their intentions. This begins a story about a kind siren and a skeptical human.
|
Her voice. Her voice was like a symphony of instruments played by demigods of music- alluring, enchanting, mesmerizing.
For Lieutenant Commander William Holloway of the United States Navy, it scared him.
It told stories of sailors lost to sea. Stories of monsters consuming on the flesh of men enchanted by lust, love, or loneliness. And, he knew, the stories were true.
Which placed him in an odd predicament, as he felt no mental influence on him. He didn't want to cast his hat aside and leap into the sea. Instead, he was allowed emotions he shouldn't- fear, apprehension, caution.
Lt. Com. Holloway was a proud man at 27, standing tall at six foot four, heavy even for his fellow sailors at 240 pounds- but he was the nicest damn officer on his ship, the USS Puller, recently built in honorifics of the legendary US Marine general.
That name lasted all of two days before the ship was called "Ol' Chesty", or just "Chesty". Still, it was his ship, and it was on it that he stood even as the majority of his crew took their shore leave.
And oh look, it's the siren now, still singing a song only he could hear while he tries his hardest to drink coffee and muster the energy to do paperwork. Angrily standing, the young officer slotted his sidearm on his desk to the holster to his right, and marched his ass down the ship onto the docks and straight towards the siren.
It took him a moment, the song allowing him to traverse land and then clamber his way up rocks before finding himself in a small chamber- before coming face to face with the siren.
It was nude. Of course it was nude. Why wouldn't it be nude? And it definitely wasn't an *it* either. *She* smiled brightly at the sight of him, splooshing into the water after sliding off of the rock she "sat" on across the small hidden pool.
The water was somewhat clear, but it shone green, a mixture of green and blue that came from the color of the cave itself. Aquamarine and other colors he couldn't name filled the cave, glittering from the casted rays of light of the hole in the caves roof.
She had a shell in her hair, on her left. It was adorable, even he knew that. The color was same same of the rest of the cave. She told him it was red, before. He had shrugged. William was colorblind.
"Shara, I had asked you to save your singing for after the morning."
She gave him a dazzling smile. It was dazzling, it was compassionate and sent his heart fluttering- she ticked all his boxes, and she knew it. If only he wasn't convinced this was still a ploy.
Perhaps a game? To get a man with singing and singing alone, to get them to voluntarily enter their embrace- and be consumed- without having to be coerced?
"William! Oh, I am sorry, yes, but, not morning? Is afternoon, yes?"
Her manner of speak irritated the side of Will that was once a writer, but her voice- it was innocently bright.
William sat on a rock to the left, tossing a stone into her water as he sighed. He nodded, his legs coming up to cross themselves and he kept his hands in his lap.
"Yeah, I suppose. It's what- ten? I'm usually up four hours before now, so you have a point."
Her smile didn't falter, and he resisted looking at her, instead casting his gaze on the walls and imagining what color the cave would be to his mom.
That was probably for the best, as she rose from the water- not that it hid much of her at all- and planted her elbows on the sand that lined the "shore". She reached out and poked a boot- which was yanked away- and giggled.
"Silly, William, yes? Or, was night rough? Bad dream? Uh, horse of the night?"
"Nightmare?"
"Yes! That! We simply call them bad dream in language."
To his chagrin, his face lifted to a smile. They've met a few times- well, many, many times because she wouldn't *shut up* with her singing until he did- over the last few months. As such, he knew she was quite concerned for him, that smile twisted into an almost motherly frown.
That bothered him. She seemed to genuinely care. And, what scared him more, was that he was starting to believe in that care- and not that she was evil.
"Yes, a bad dream. Bombs, you know the drill. We're back from conflict near Madagascar, pirates got hold of Egyptian warships. Or perhaps they were Egyptian warships turned to piracy?"
Shara didn't understand a lot of the words or messages he said. But she knew conflict, and she knew the word pirate. She also understood that the man she's fallen for was a combative, a warrior of his species. It was because he rode the waves with bravery and just a little bravado that she took a liking to him.
What? She was young! The uniforms definitely looked spiffy, and he was totally a daydream she or her sisters could have dreamed up.
But, as Will rambled and stared off into space the way he did at times, examining the colors of her cave and the textures of the rock, she knew just the thing to cheer him up.
And so she promptly dived under the water, swimming swiftly towards a small section were she stashed curios of the human world- and resurfaced with an old iPod.
"Will! William! Look what I found yesterday!"
And while her thoughts were intelligent, she knew her words and manner seemed flippant and uninterested. But, somehow she knew, while searching his face and seeing a smile slowly creep onto his face..
He knew that she was just trying to cheer him up. And, silently cheering, she felt as if she was making process in getting him to trust her.
She'd hate it if he decided to go away because of his fear of her. Not like her sisters did when she first yelled at them when they brought their first man back to consume, or like her mother when she berated Shara for being "different."
She wouldn't trade being different for the entire world and its riches, because being different is how she found Will.
|
They all went belowdecks when they passed through siren waters. All except him.
He knew someone had to stay outside and man the ship. He wasn’t particularly large or strong, he was a rather slight fellow, in fact. But his eyes… those beautiful hazel eyes… they were so strong.
True courage isn’t ignorance or dismissal of fear and danger. It’s being scared, but doing the right thing anyway. I could tell in his face, seeing through his smooth, angular features which the light always seems to hit just right, and saw fear. He did not know if he would be able to resist the siren’s temptation, but he had to try, if only for his crew.
I didn’t sing when the other sirens did. I didn’t want to lure him to his death. I wanted him to persevere, to prove to the crew he was the heroic soul I knew him to be.
And he did! I knew he would persevere, and sure enough, he didn’t even blink or tilt his head even a little to investigate the singing. So much strength in those eyes…
I followed after the ship, I’m not sure why I did it. What did I hope to achieve? I was a siren, meant to lead sailors to their deaths. They should flee at the first sight of me… But something within me told me he was different. If anyone would understand, if anyone would accept me, it would be him.
I rehearsed for days what I was going to say to him while I followed the ship. I thought maybe I should tell him how beautiful his eyes are… but worried he might think it was creepy. I thought it might be best to address the siren issue immediately, but worried maybe if he doesn’t immediately see me as a siren and gets to know me first then if I just tell him I’d ruin that!
I only got the courage to finally talk to him because of him. That is, his courage inspired me. He was the only one still on the deck, looking out onto the picturesque ocean lit by the moonlight like the handsome dreamer he is. I took a deep breath and made my way onto the deck, leaning against the mast nearby him.
Though I had spent days thinking about what I was going to say, when I finally saw him, I went speechless. All I could muster was a pathetic “Hi” as well as a shaky little handwave. My voice sounded so awkward! Ugh… it was humiliating.
He turned to me, a look of horror on his face, “You’re a siren… Nonono, I thought I had past siren territory. Did I make a terrible mistake?”
Any confidence I had fizzled away. The poor, beautiful sailor was terrified from his early encounter. I tried to make my body language and voice as soft and gentle as I could, my heart aching, “It’s only me, I haven’t come to lure you.”
The sailor covered his ears and shuffled towards the mast, “D-Don’t use your charms on me, I won’t listen.”
I shook my head, sighing sadly, “I won’t sing or use any charms, I just want to talk. Can you read my lips just fine, or do you need me to talk slower?”
The cute, frightened man blinked. It looked as if he had read my lips correctly, but believed he couldn’t possibly have read them right, “Um… did you just ask if I could read your lips fine?”
I smiled and nodded, “Yes! It seems like you can then, good.” He looked tentative, unsure if he should be reading my lips, but I shook my head, “If I could charm you just by having you read my lips the effect would have taken hold already. I promise.”
He gulped, put a little at ease, “What do you want?”
“I um… oh, I had a whole speech planned but I completely forgot it. Um… do you know how sometimes um… you do foolish things because you follow your heart and um…”
The handsome sailor’s eyes widened in confusion, “Sort of? I, sorry, it’s just…you’re not what I expected from a siren.”
I blushed, “Well, I’m not like most sirens. I didn’t even sing when you passed by siren waters.”
The blue-eyed cutie tilted his head, “You didn’t?”
I shook my head, “Nope. I couldn’t bring myself to lure you. You were so brave, I admired your tenacity as you made it through those waters.”
He frowned, “Huh… I don’t mean to sound rude, but… it’s not easy for me to believe you, based on everything I’ve heard and witnessed about sirens, that is.”
“I understand your skepticism. Um… this is a weird request, but can you lock yourself in place somehow?”
“....This isn’t exactly how you gain my trust…”
“Sorry, it’s just, I want to prove to you that even if you can hear me, I won’t charm you. And so you can be sure that I’m not lying, you’ll be unable to be lured by me physically.”
“But then I’m tied up…”
“That does complicate things… maybe you can tie me up?”
“Both my hands are occupied at the moment…”
I took the handkerchief in his pocket and stuffed it in one ear giving one hand the freedom to obscure his other ear’s hearing, “There.”
“Thanks… but, are you sure about this?”
“It doesn’t seem I have much other option, you don’t trust me.”
“And you trust me?”
I smiled and nodded, “It sounds stupid and irrational… but I do.”
| 2022-05-26T20:18:40 | 2022-05-26T19:59:11 | 158 | 57 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.
|
I felt disgusted, wondering why. The confusion invading my mind....
Years of having this Gallery to bring happiness and joy through art to those around me, and even more years of helping the less fortunate throughout the Great Depression.
I sought to find a reason, asking myself « why would I have black blood pouring out of me? ». A single event, after a long day at work at a particularly difficult time in my marriage stood out: I remember I sent this young artist packing, didn’t even offer him a chance and let him show me his work. I even berated him on his lack of technique... Adolf was his name.
|
Turns out following the rules of god was the wrong way..
Turns out following the Bible to a t, never wearing cotton, the whole fish thing was wrong..
That woman who was dying I couldn’t touch her,
Turns out slaves where bad...
Turns out cutting my wife’s hands off was evil..
I needed a moment
| 2018-08-04T11:29:17 | 2018-08-04T09:44:59 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who.
|
I did not know why my parents named me, "smudge," but when I was only 14, I discovered I was not adopted.
Both of my parents are white. But I am black. Tattoo ink black. At least, that is what it looks like from a distance. Freshman year in High School, I was bored and took a look at my hand under a disection microscope in Advanced Placement-Biology. That was the day my whole perspective changed.
You see, while all my friends had one, two, or even three or four names tattooed at birth, apparently I had millions of names microdotted all over my body, with only slight slivers of Caucasian between.
I was shocked as I read a group of names all starting with "I" on my left hand, and starting with "J" on my right... Alphabetical, as far as I can tell...
I begged my parents for an exam, and they eventually caved.
4.5 million different names.
4.5 million!
What the hell is that suppose to mean?
|
He held me in my arms, my love. I was so happy to have found him. I loved him and would have done anything for him. I would have died for him.
Arent I?
My heart slowed, it was becoming harder to breathe, I didnt care, I was in his arms. My soulmate's. He kissed me as my eyes shuttered closed, and whispered, "I never considered it would be me..." his eyes welled up with tears as he glanced at the names on my arm.
Bobby, the boy I fell in love with. And Rob, the man who made me take my last breath. Tears fell onto my face, "Im so sorry Love. Im so so sorry."
... I drifted ... Dark and cold ... I have no regrets ...
"I .. love you ..too.."
| 2018-03-11T08:30:03 | 2018-03-11T07:55:27 | 636 | 24 |
[WP] The villain's plans actually aren't evil whatsoever, but the hero isn't listening to reason.
|
"It's something called retirement," I manage.
A ludicrously expensive apartment in Rome. Several sets of keypads easily bypassed by the exact asshole they were designed to keep out. And a man ten years past his prime planting his dumb ass in my favorite God damn armchair.
All I can really do is sigh. The breeze sends the curtains into a slight dance.
Maybe I should close the window.
The window. He climbed in through the damn window.
He's fatter than I remember. Well, maybe not fatter, but definitely paunchier. Arms flabbier. Still wearing the same worn suit. Navy blue suit jacket and slacks. White button up underneath, silk black tie. He even had the gall to pour himself a drink from my own collection.
Probably with that same old Makarov tucked into his suit. Eight round magazine. One in the chamber.
My right leg twinges involuntarily. Phantom pain from a fifteen year old bullet wound.
"I can't let you escape justice anymore, Mr. Blue."
Same syrupy southern drawl. Why the hell isn't he in Georgia?
"Why are you here, Agent? Why did you come here?"
He takes a sip.
"I know the plan, Mr. Blue. Blow up Rome, destroy the Papacy, topple Catholicism. So save me the overly explanatory monologue. You'll never evade my justice again, Mr. Blue."
I have no idea what the fuck he's talking about, but I'm more concerned about him defiling my liquor again.
"Agent, I haven't seen you for years. I spend all day inside reading. Sometimes I watch television and sometimes I go for a swim, but I don't have any plan."
He seems to be shaking now.
"I'm retired."
The shaking increases.
"No, you can't be retired," he says to me. Imploringly. Longingly.
There's something wrong with his voice. It's breaking apart. He's reaching into the suit pocket and grasping something.
"No, there's no retirement. They need me to save them. And you can't change." Firmer now, a stronger voice.
The pistol is out now.
Pointed directly at my heart.
I place myself in the shittier chair across from him. The shaking won't stop now.
"I have no diabolical plan. All I want is to be left alone."
A round goes off, but the shaking sends it ricocheting off the ceiling. Behind me a metallic appliance has been pierced.
"I don't have anything left," he says to me. Now the shaking quiets.
"Not without her."
I stand now. The gun points to the floor.
"Go home, Agent."
I'd forgotten about his divorce. It'd been in all the papers a few years back.
"She'll come back, Blue. If I finally finish you off, I'll be the greatest hero she'd ever known, and she'll come back to me."
What had happened to her after the divorce had been unfortunate. An incurable disease after finally achieving her freedom from this kind of life. He had to know she was dead.
The gun points at me again.
There is no blast, only blinding light.
|
"Just let me explain!" Dr. Toxin cried. A boulder the size of a beach ball flew at his head. He barely ducked in time, and it embedded in the wall behind him.
"No! You've gone too far this time, Dr. Toxin! Kidnapping children?" Terraman boomed. He raised his arms, and the earth around them began to tremble.
"WAITWAITWAIT!!! I was going to put them back! I swear! I wasn't kidnapping them, just *borrowing* them! See? There's a difference!" Dr. Toxin yelled frantically, trying to keep his footing.
"And what? Turn them unto walking bombs? Infect them with new diseases you've concocted? I don't think so!" Terraman raised his hands higher and the earth split beneath Dr. Toxin. He fell, but managed to grab a hold of the edge of the chasm.
"That's what I'm trying to PREVENT!!!"
"Wait, what?"
"The children I've borrowed," Dr. Toxin gasped, "they aren't vaccinated. I'm vaccinating them."
"Why?"
"None of your business!"
"WHY?" The earth trembled.
"Ah! Dont do that!" Dr. Toxin cried. One of his hands lost grip, and he was barely hanging on by the other one. The next tremor would be his last. "Because my sister just had a daughter, ok? She's premature..."
Suddenly there was ground beneath Dr. Toxins feet. It lifted him up, out of the crevice. Terraman stood, looking at him warily. "Do you promise you're not harming them in any way?"
"Don't be thick, rock-head. I'm giving them shots. Otherwise, no. I stick 'em, buy them ice cream, and drop them off at home. I do feel bad about the lactose intolerant kid, but he didnt tell me, ok?" Dr. Toxin huffed.
"Please stop breaking into schools to take them. You're causing mass panic," Terraman replied.
"Well, what am I supposed to do then?"
"I don't know... get an ice cream truck?"
"Like I have money for that. Can I just chloroform their houses? I wouldn't need to buy them ice cream then..."
"I suppose that would work..." mused Terraman. Then he seemed to snap back to himself. "We never had this conversation."
"We sure didn't," Dr. Toxin agreed.
Terraman lifted the earth beneath him so that it was hovering a few feet in the air. Dr. Toxin envied the mobility of many superheroes. He would be walking home after a boulder had smashed his car.
"Oh, and Doctor?" Terraman said, preparing to leave.
"What?"
"Make sure you leave the windows open.... You know. Air the houses out a bit before you leave."
"Yea, yea," Dr. Toxin grumbled. Heroes were no fun.
| 2017-09-08T10:00:05 | 2017-09-08T09:42:35 | 64 | 36 |
[WP] You are a linguist at a European university. One day on public transport you hear two homeless people having a conversation in a language that has been extinct for over 2000 years.
|
"This is not right. There was no second language in the Aztec world," the head of the program told me, in that familiar condescending tone. Never mind the several articles published in my male colleague's name that had rocked the linguistic anthropology community to its core - as fine work often does. "For your dissertation, let's stick to facts, shall we?"
I nodded, staring at the flats on my feet giving me blisters. They were old, but that's life for an All-But-Dissertation doctoral candidate. Adjunct life is the way of life, too. No money for shoes, no money for anything. Just ideas waiting to be proven, and old guys waiting to be ousted by better, younger, fresher talent with an eye for the previously impossible.
The walk home was pretty long. On any other day, I might have taken the bus, but I wanted to clear my mind. It was a language written entirely in unrecognizable symbols, only a few tablets found containing its words. And yet, I knew more than my papers let on. One tablet was identical to a Nahuatl story. And that was my Rosetta stone. I had the basic functions of the grammar worked out, and a vague idea what it might sound like.
That's the trouble with extinct languages. No one knows what they sound like. Maybe we can write them, decipher them, and figure out the interplay between symbols, a rough translation of vowels and consonants, a pattern. But there is no phonetic guide as to what the symbol of a broken triangle might sound like.
"Why do we teach students sight before sound in music, showing them notation on the page first, when we teach language as sound before sight? Why are they different?" the words of the one and only graduate seminar in music education I had ever taken in my lifetime of schooling rang in my head. It was a problem uniquely designed for linguistic anthropologists. It's why I took the course.
A homeless man called out to me, and I waved my hand at him dismissively. I had nothing to give him, truly. The words were incomprehensible, anyway. I laughed a little to myself. I wouldn't know my dead language if it spoke to me.
I stopped walking. The man behind me swore at me in Spanish. I turned to look at the homeless man, who now hailed another passerby with the same incomprehensible phrase he had said to me. The interplay. The grammatical structure. I was staring.
He turned his head my direction, and I swear he winked at me. I swear that native man winked.
"¿Hablas español?" I asked him. He nodded, "Si."
"¿Puedo hacerle algunas preguntas?" He nodded again.
|
I shook my head when I heard the words. I had to be hallucinating, right? There was no way those two vagrants were speaking Cisalpine Gaulish.
I pinched myself but there they were, having a conversation in the extinct language. Although I could not understand everything they said, I could hear bits and pieces about how people were so cheap. I stared at them in shock, completely unsure of how to respond.
No one else seemed to notice how they were speaking a language that had been extinct since 1st Century BC. I was truly shocked and I suddenly heard them say, "Someone watching." in their language before exiting the train. In that moment, I debated whether or not I should follow them before deciding this was a chance I could not miss.
I hastily got off the train and tried to blend into a crowd of exiting passengers. I tried looking for them before I felt a dagger at my back.
"Don't turn around.", a gruff voice said. "Move with us and we talk in a bit."
I whispered, "I am peaceful.", in the bit of Cisalpine Gaulish that I knew and I heard the voices whispering to each other before saying, "Just come with us."
I was ushered around a dark corner of the train station and one of the vagrants said in accented english, "Who are you? Why you follow us? How you speak our language?"
"Um, I'm Dr. Yves Jacques from the University of Hamburg. I followed you because you were speaking the language I was studying, an extinct language nonetheless! I'm a linguist, you see, and the language you speak...it's been extinct since before the end of the Holy Roman Empire! How do you two speak it?"
I heard the two men whispering to each other before one of them said, "That isn't for you to know, mortal. We have lived far longer than your kind only for some...some stranger to blow our cover! I will tell you this though: we are not like you and we shall not be interrogated by the likes of you. As such, we bid you goodbye."
At that, I heard the sweetest song I had ever thought I would ever hear and blacked out.
When I woke up, they were nowhere to be seen. All that was left was a note that said, "The wise do not seek trouble."
I brushed myself off and I ended up walking to my university. Some things were better off not being questioned.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
| 2018-09-06T08:29:45 | 2018-09-06T08:13:43 | 100 | 42 |
[WP] All of the major organs in your body are sentient beings. Every morning they have a council meeting to discuss the previous day and make new plans. The Brain presides as leader.
|
Pancreas didn't care for the "council chamber" Brain projected for them to meet in, each day it became more pompous and filled with gaudy decorations. He missed the open field they met in before The Carrier went to college.
Looking about the massive room you could see the usual cliques forming up as they did daily. Heart and the Lung twins were picking on Liver again, constantly taking jabs at his poor performance over the last few years. He'd toughened up here lately, but it seemed to hurt more than help.
The digestive guys were leaning against the huge oval table. Once a plain meeting table, this carved-legged monster was now polished to a high sheen that threw angled shadows from the tiered light above and tacky wall sconces. Stomach's thinly veiled looks of hatred to Liver were now common, as if he had some control over The Carrier's late night habits.
To Pancreas' right sat a few other glands, like him absently staring about the room to take in the new crown molding or odd decor that had been added today. These guys didn't speak up much, they just want to do their job and stay out of the social mess.
The dim hum of conversation was cut off by laughter and a sharp bang, the ten foot tall double doors with ornate brass handles crashed open as Brain and his "pants" buddies strolled into the room. Penis and the Ball brothers were loudly recounting their latest exploit over Hand with no shame as the three of them sauntered to the table. Brain took the lead seat with a casual arrogance as the rest of the The Carrier's team filed in.
"Right then, everyone ready for Monday?" Brain began with no preamble.
Immediately on the heels of his question, Right Eye leaned forward "Sir, we've yet to make an attempt to secure employment. Our funds are dropping very quickly and there is no-"
"I know!" Brain seemed annoyed at the idea "We've gone over this already, The Carrier just finished several years of grueling classes and needs a break. As soon as the muscle division says we're rested we'll get back to work."
Everyone pretended not to notice the fist bump between Penis and Muscles.
The usually reserved Nerve sat up, and with a slight edge in his voice, spoke.
"We have a problem."
Brain let out a deep sigh "Let me guess- Stomach hurts, Liver is tired, the wimps over in digestion are rushing everything in any directions, and energy levels are about wiped out before we even start. Does that about cover it? It's called a hangover man, we've been dealing with the sam-"
"No. We are in danger of losing an organ."
The sharpness of his tone, the way it became high pitched at the end, and the low volume gripped the entire table.
"Pancreas, please turn around."
Pancreas had never been outspoken, he'd never been a lead member of any part of the council, so all of The Carrier's functions staring him down hammered home Nerve's statement.
"What do you mean lose and organ? I'm fine, Brain what is he talking about?!"
All mirth and impatience were gone from Brain, replaced with a deep concern.
"Pan, turn around bud. We need to see."
The groan of sliding the chair back matched his own, Pancreas slowly pivoted to face the wall. He expected gasps, or jeers, or some kind of exclamation from the crowd he'd grown to dislike. None of that, no single word or sentence could have hit him like the sound that broke the silence.
Heart cried.
|
"Well, I for one think we outta go back to that all you can eat Chinese place, Brain, what's the name of it?"
"It's the Golden Dragon. Jeeze, Stomach, I think you'd remember that."
"I remember that Lo Mein! That shit was deeeelish!!! And that grilled teriaki chicken! Man, that was good. Except this time I think we need to order more beer!"
The Liver perks up and protests "No more beer! I'm not kidding, I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."
"Oh quit whining Liver! Beer is yummy! Am I right Tongue, or what?"
Tongue nods with obvious enthusiasm. Throat and cheeks join in.
Liver replies "Look. I'm not kidding. I'm overworked. We've been drinking way too much alcohol. Ever since... When Brain?"
"Ever since... she left us." Brain replied.
Heart just started sobbing. "She was the best thing that happened to us."
Brain spoke, "Agreed. I've performed an analysis of all former girlfriends over our 40 year lifespan. Out of both of them... she was the... best."
Heart just continued sobbing.
"Forget about all that shit! Hey! I got an idea! How 'bout we go slam a couple of those delicious Three Cheese and Bacon Angus Philly sandwiches from Arby's! Just as an appetizer! We can hit the Chinese place later."
Tongue, Cheek, and Throat all begin jumping around excitedly. They seem to love Stomach's idea.
Brain speaks up, "It's that sort of thinking that got us into this mess in the first place."
Heart just sobs even louder. "I can't stand this any longer. Brain, I command you, force Legs to walk to the closet."
Brain silently nods. Legs begin walking across the shitty apartment that The Man lived in. Eyes looked around, Brain muttered "This place is a shithole." Heart continued sobbing as Legs struggled to carry all the weight of The Man. Finally, with great difficulty, the closet was reached.
Heart screamed "Hands, Arms, are you ready?" They tacitly nodded, acknowledging that they were.
"WAIT! Let's not be stupid about this!" stomach screamed wildly. "Ok. Forget about Arby's. Wendy's! That chicken sandwich thing they have is damn yummy! And Wendy's is healthy, right? Or wait, how about just some ice cream! Dairy Queen is right around the corner! That never fails to make you feel better, right Heart?"
Brain drolly replied "No Stomach. No more. No more of that shit. No more pain."
Stomach just looked confused, like he wasn't seeing the big picture. "Well, if we're not getting anything good to eat, then I don't give a fuck."
Heart screamed "Do it hands! Do it! End this nightmare!"
Arms and Hands reached for the pistol, turned it around, and pulled the trigger. Heart continued sobbing in pain but stopped when The Man ceased to be.
| 2014-04-30T08:10:54 | 2014-04-30T07:55:49 | 42 | 24 |
[WP] A human is the deadliest species in the galaxy. It has redundant organs and can lose all of its limbs and not die. Human skin is tough, can absorb forms of kinetic attack, and rated to withstand both cold and heat extremes. Their bites are deadly. They irradiate and poison themselves for fun.
|
You couldn’t write this shit.
Garvaz looked down from his stealth-class cruiser at the newly discovered planet and wondered, for the first time in his entire existence, if he should pretend he hadn’t discovered yet another new world.
He was his planet’s most famous explorer. Well, one of the most famous, at the very least. That bastard Finneen was pretty well known too, but he had more to show for his decades of travel out in space. Still, despite having found more than twenty new worlds personally, he’d never seen *this* before.
He checked his scanners once more, scrolled through the data he’d managed to capture in the hours he’d spent hovering, invisible, undecided. It just didn’t make sense to him. Even in the most outlandish fiction-science he’d read as a young foal, what he was seeing wouldn’t be believed. And yet… It was what he was seeing.
Clips taken from their vast, unsecured information well flooded into his neural implants, processed at a speed that made him feel dizzy, and ill. Not that he wasn’t used to that speed of information absorption, but because he was unused to its content. These creatures, these *humans* as they called themselves, were an insane species. They poisoned themselves on an almost daily basis, boasting about the levels and frequency to everyone around them. Buildings dedicated to this hobby of self-poison lay at almost every intersection, some only metres apart.
This wasn’t even relegated to a single district, either. It wasn’t some outlier clan, mentally corrupted by radiation or disease. It was practically *global*.
They weren’t just poisoning themselves, either. The world around them was slowly dying too. And they knew! Within seconds Garvaz had found millions of sources that indicated a full awareness of the situation, of their impending planetary suicide. And yet… They just *ignored* it? Were they doing it on purpose? Did this entire species wish to die? That was one answer he couldn’t find. Not definitively, anyway. It was all that made sense though.
They were also in an almost constant state of war, from what he could see. Well, half of the world, anyway. The rest, as with the poisoning, just ignored it. Garvaz couldn’t tell if they had incredible mental acuity- such iron will, such enforced ignorance must be exhausting, after all- or if they were actually really stupid. Maybe it was an after effect of the poisoning, but he wasn’t sure.
After all, they were hardy. Their bodies could adapt well to their environment, on either extreme of the scale. What they couldn’t do by themselves, they build ingenious contraptions to compensate. Some of their inventions were brilliant, but others… Garvaz looked at their weaponry, aghast. They didn’t just shut down the brains of their opponents to kill them. They had millennia of tools meant to simply rend them apart, puncture them, and let their bodily functions slowly and painfully shut down.
It was like nothing he had ever seen or imagined. It just didn’t make sense.
It just kept going. He found examples of pods, built to pump radiation into their skin to change the colour slightly. Despite the massive harm, many of them did it. They valued this poisoning, thought it was attractive. Even their *bites* were poisonous.
Then Garvaz looked at their animal life. There was a place called Australia, a landmass filled with creatures whose only purpose seemed to be to kill. These humans had populated it. There was also something called a “Honey Badger”.
Abruptly, Garvaz had seen enough. Beating Finneen was important, but nothing was worth subjecting his people to these monsters. Eternally grateful that he’d remained in stealth- cosmos knows what they would have done to him- Garvaz marked the area as highly dangerous, to avoid at all costs, and continued his travels.
He would have nightmares for weeks. When he finally went to therapy about them, even his therapist didn’t believe him.
|
"What's that?" Karun asked her crew-mate as the sound of grating metal filled the cargo ship, "Is it that damned alien? What did I tell the captain about picking up that escape pod?" She was lashing her tentacle around furiously, causing Lodis to duck.
"Calm down," Lodis told her, adjusting the screen with her prehensile branch. He was so scared he couldn't even photosynthesize if he wanted to, "I'm doing a scan now. Root gas! It's moving through the air ducts!"
"This is whale ink!" Karun said, placing her tentacle on the weapons console. A white light scanned her and she grabbed the Hard-Air blaster from it's cubicle as the console slid open, "I'm not going down without a fight."
"You fool," Lodis said and moved his roots in the soil of his pot nervously. He glided on his anti-grav slider across the room and away from her, "It's in the main hallway now. That blasted weapon could punch a hole right in the hull!"
"So can that thing," Karun stated, pointing at the white blip tearing through the ship at an incredible speed. A warning light blipped to life showing the creature had ripped a door off of its hinges. The door was a solid 2 millimeters thick!
"What the hell is that thing?" Lodis yelled and slid into a dark corner, pulling in his petals protectively, "Damn the captain and his greed. I knew one day pulling in space junk would come to something like an alien monstrosity running rampant through our ship! I've seen the sci-fi vids!"
"Look, that blue dot," Karun said, "A crew member is going to try and stop it. That's Rally's signal if I'm not mistaken. What is he doing? Switch to his suit cam, Lodis!"
The plant slid forward just enough to flick the screen with it's branch and then retreated to the safety of his dark corner. They listened in horror as Rally's heavy breathing filled the sensors.
"I'm approaching the sounds," Rally said to the crew and she saw he was waving a military grade Hard-Air gun that put Karun's to shame. She would have blushed had she had a circulatory system.
"Coming through the door now... By all that is good!" Puff after puff came from his Hard-Air gun and the foot of the huge beast they had taken on board didn't even stop as it crushed him beneath it's heel, unnoticed.
"Well, his species *is* only 3 centimeters tall," Lodis offered, "Oh by the Great Root! Oh by the seven suns of..."
"Would you stop and tell me what the hell is so..." but before Karun could finish the door to the science quarters was ripped off of its hinges and the thing stood there. Karun felt her system shutting down in fright. "It's got two eyes. TWO!" and she was out like a light.
Lodis shivered in his roots as the thing made strange noises at him. Suddenly his universal translator, stored with billions of languages burst to life, "Hey, little plant dude! Where's the toilet, man? There's about to be a huge mess in here. Shit, what's this on my shoe?" When the thing lifted its shoe, Lodis noticed the smeared remains of Rally, lifted his branch, and fainted blissfully away.
"This is the weirdest shit ever," the human sighed, unzipping his pants, "I warned 'em."
| 2019-01-15T15:25:27 | 2019-01-15T12:32:31 | 393 | 233 |
[WP] 100 years in the future dank memes are precious artifacts. While scanning your grandpa's PC, you stumble upon the rarest of all...
|
Memes.
Back in the old days, before the blackout, everyone had 'em. In every PC, in every browser, you'd find Pepes, Advice animals, Rage comics, Montage Parody's and all the inbetween, all the shades of the double-rainbow.
And then, you know, they became a bit harder to find.
It became obvious our society could simply not survive without the Dankest of influences that had shaped our culture. Memes weren't just memes anymore.
They were life.
I'm a spelunker. I dive into old PC's, laptops, desktops, you know...I search for the past.
But I also search for the memes.
The Meme-useum pays a lump sum to anyone who can bring 'em some good quality memes, so it's always worth looking out for 'em.
Sometimes it's hard. Entire days of searching hard drives, desktops and external storage software, only to come up empty.
But sometimes, you hit it big. You hit it real big.
I hit up my old grandpa's PC once. You wouldn't think he had anything, but oh boy I was wrong.
Turns out Grandpa was a 'channer. Lived for the meme, died by the meme.
When I opened that Rare Pepe folder... I knew I could retire happy. Loaded it onto to a flash drive, deleted the original (Standard practice, don't want nobody finding your old memes) and took off.
I didn't know I was being followed. The Memes I was carrying right then were the Dankest in the world...
And everybody wanted their hands on that.
|
I looked at the dilapidated thing in front of me. Was this really what they used as computers back in the day? How were you supposed to shitpost if you needed to use your hands? They were rarely covered in shit at all and they were slow and clunky.
I checked around either side of the machine for Nero imports to insert myself into. I couldn't find one but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was no way my grandfather lived without virtual reality. Virtual-reality with the key to our life, it was what made the world. Without it we were a bunch of humans. Sitting scared on a sad little rock.
I'd just spent the past four years of my life trying to find the key to making virtual-reality interesting my search had brought me here.
I blew the dust that was in front of me and looked over the machine one last time before finding the power button to turn it on. Back in the day they were legends about people shit posting for hours and always being entertained. We didn't think it was possible last for more than 10 seconds there had to be something secret that they had access to.
I opened up the first window I found. I had to use the mouse to do it. How had they lived like this? The first window that opened knocked me to the floor. Literally I fell backward and hit the tiles.
Optimus kek? How had they been so clever?
| 2015-12-12T10:08:18 | 2015-12-12T10:02:26 | 1,958 | 60 |
[WP] Everytime you're in danger, boss battle music plays to alert you. It often plays in the most seemingly unlikely dangerous of situations...
|
As my car approached her house the music began to swell in my ears. I sighed.
"For the last time, going on a date is not *imminent danger*, guys. It might have been funny when I was in middle school and even high school. It's no longer funny. Cut it out." I didn't know who controlled the music, but I remembered when it had started.
I had been twelve. Ah, twelve. That shelf of prepubescent angst, the nights spent playing video games and eating Cheetos while my mom was at work. I'd gone on a lot of walks because I had nothing else to do when the Internet was out.
And that's how I found the lamp. I'd picked it up and rubbed it, thinking there was no way it could be what I thought it might be. But it was! A genie emerged, muscles and turban and all. He said he'd give me three wishes.
"Easy," I flicked my wrist. "I want a million more genies."
The genie didn't like that one bit. He took away the wish but gave me nothing. In a huff I'd wished for five thousand dollars - about what I thought "modestly big money" was. *Poof!* a thick envelope of unmarked bills appeared in my hand.
"Do you know your third wish?" The genie had grinned.
"Uh, duh. I want boss music. Like Link from the Legend of Zelda. Whenever I reach a pinnacle point in my life or face imminent danger."
The genie paused. "...Boss music?"
"Yes. I want boss music."
I pulled my car up to her driveway. I was 27 and definitely over the boss music thing. It had been fun in middle school when facing the fat angry geography teacher. Less fun during the SATs. Less fun every time I asked a girl out or skipped my homework for Netflix.
"There has to be a way to break this curse," I told myself as I stepped out of my car in front of her house and the music swelled in my ears.
I hated 12 year old me.
---
Maybe will continue later, on my way to class now and running out the door. Thank you OP for such a great prompt! For other stories check out r/Celsius232
|
I stood behind Mommy and Daddy in line at the Bank waiting for the Telling People to tell the people in front of us. It was so boring though, and my feet were hurting. I was turned so I was looking at the back of the line, so I could see the cars on the street. They weren't as boring as looking around inside.
But then the drums started.
The drums only play when I'm doing something that Mommy and Daddy don't like, but I'm not playing near the street or talking to a stranger.
"Mommy?"
"Yes sweetheart?" She looked down at me. She didn't look like she was mad.
"What am I doing wrong?"
"Nothing, you're being very good!" She smiled and patted my head, "Maybe we'll go get you something when we're done. Do you want ice-cream?"
The line moved and we walked forward a little bit. Now it wasn't just drums, it sounded more like when we went to see the Sim Fonies. And it was getting louder.
I covered my ears, but it didn't help. "But the Bad Music's playing!"
Now Daddy looked down at me too. "Bad music? The bank's music isn't that bad, is it?"
"Nooo, not the bank song! The Bad Music!"
They looked at each other, then back at me. Daddy frowned, "Bad music? Sweetheart, the only music playing is the banks music."
"NO!" I shouted. Mommy and Daddy don't like it when I shout inside, but they weren't listening! "The Bad Music's here! It's too loud!" I started crying, and trying to squeeze my hands tighter on my ears, but it still didn't help. It wasn't even that loud when I went into the pool at Aunty's house.
Daddy picked me up and told Mommy to go get the car started. I closed my eyes and didn't open them until Daddy was buckling me into my seat. The Bad Music stopped when Mommy said we were going home, but I didn't stop crying.
| 2016-04-25T00:28:01 | 2016-04-24T21:25:01 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] You attend to a job interview. The thing is you don't know what job you are applying for, and the questions just keep getting weirder
|
“Alright Mr. Smith, before we get started can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”
“No. Thank you though.”
“I see.” The hiring manager jotted a note on her legal pad.
“Ok, so let’s see here... so you’ve spent the last three years developing for Android platforms, is that correct?”
“Uhh, yeah...yes that is correct.”
“Good, good. Could you elaborate more on that?”
“Sure. Mainly have been developing social media type apps. Things like chat services, friend finding apps, mainly that sort of stuff. My most recent project I actually took on the role of a team lead of about-”
“That’s good stuff. Sorry to cut you off there. I also see, according to your application, you live on Elm street.”
“Uhmm, yes that is correct…”
“Great, can you elaborate more on that?”
“..okay...uhh I moved to an apartment on that street, gosh 6, maybe 7 years ago. It’s a nice street I guess? Not a ton of traffic, but a little bit of a drive from here. Uhmm what specifically were you-”
“Thank you.” She wrote some more on her legal pad.
“I hate to say this, but I’m not really sure how what street I live on is relevant to-”
“So let’s talk about pizza now. Favorite topping?”
“Uhh, pepperoni?”
“Excellent, and style of crust?”
“Hmm, Chicago?”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
“New York style?”
“Tsk, tsk.” She jotted down another note on the legal pad. "Changed crust."
“I’m sorry but that is a bit of an odd ques-”
“Please don’t interrupt me, Mr. Smith”
“I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t realize you were”
“*Mr Smith*”
“Sorry”
“Ok, Mr. Smith, so this position would require the occasional overtime and weekend support. Usually not more than once a month. Do you see that being a potential problem?”
“No, I don’t believe I would have an issue with that. Would you mind elaborating more on the position itself? The posting on LinkedIn was a bit light on the details of what-”
“There will be time for questions at the end of the interview Mr. Smith. Let’s continue.”
“Oh, okay.”
“So Mr. Smith, I see you have some hobbies listed on your resume. I like hobbies.”
“...was that a question?”
“Yes Mr. Smith. I like hobbies?”
“...uhh...me too?”
“Very good. Most applicants we get here fare much more poorly on that question. This position will also require travel, usually once every two to three months. Would that be a problem? Do you like to travel?”
“Oh yeah absolutely. Travel would definitely not be a problem. I love flying and driving, getting out there seeing the sights.”
“Yes, and what about horses?”
“Uhh sure why not.”
“And winged-horses as well?”
“I was under the impression those weren’t real”
“Tsk, I see”. She scribbled more on her legal pad. “No on *flying* horses”
“Okay Mr. Smith last question. On a scale from 1 to 10, what is your favorite number between 1 and 10?”
“I’m afraid I don’t-”
“**What the hell is going on here?**”
A large man in a grey suite entered the office. “We fired you three weeks ago Karen. Get the hell out of my office and stay the hell off company property!”
Karen ran out of the room crying. The large man picked up the legal pad and sat down behind the desk.
“I’m really very sorry, Mr. Smith. We had to let her go a few weeks ago and she did not take it well. I assure you, she will not be showing up here again; you have my word.”
“Oh that is a relief. I was starting to get really confused by this whole interview. What kind of notes was she even taking on that pad?”
“Well it’s not so much notes, as it’s a drawing of a giant...penis...destroying a city, with an army trying to fight it off. The caption reads ‘Dickzilla’.”
“Oh my…”
“Once again Mr. Smith, I am deeply sorry about this. If you still are interested, and have a little extra time, I would love to still do the interview we had scheduled.”
“Uhmm, yeah, I don’t have really anything on the schedule for the rest of the afternoon. So sure, why not”
“Great, great, great. So, I see on your resume you live on Elm street. Could you elaborate on that?”
|
There are some things that the government doesn't have to cover up. Things so strange they sound like they were born in fixture, or in the mind of a crackpot conspiracy theorist. Things so insane that, even if you heard of them, you'd bet your life savings that they were false.
Over twenty years ago, the Crenshaw experiments fit this category. Kept secret not only by walls and tall fences, but by the sheer disbelief and laughter of anyone who caught wind of what happened within that facility in South Florida.
Originally, there were thirty subjects, all toddlers, tracked by the state of the art computational system in the facility. Each day, they were administered their tests and left, only to return the next.
But Hurricane Andrew had other plans in '92.
Statewide evacuations spread many of the subjects across the country, never to return once their homes were destroyed. And the computer system flooded, the files lost, so that all that remained was a list of names of the subject.
Twenty nine have been found, and quarantined.
One name remained. One name so common that the investigators have narrowed it down to fifty subjects nation wide.
Mike Smith.
****
It was my junior year of college when I started interviewing for jobs.
Like others my age, I found it more difficult than I had anticipated. Especially as a physics major, with no applications unlike my engineering colleagues. Sure, there were jobs out there. But the salaries were low, and the hours long.
I'd been through four hard earned interviews when something occurred that I didn't expect. Instead of spending hours online searching for potential positions, a company actually sought *me* out. And they paid *six figures*.
"How do I look?" I asked my girlfriend, Missy, as I stepped from my apartment.
"Fantastic, as usual," she said, with a brief kiss, "And even better in that suit. Go get them."
She smacked my ass as I walked away, giving me a slight confidence boost as I took a can downtown, arriving at a small office building. Checking the list at the door, I found unit 310, Crenshaw Applications, and pressed the buzzer.
"Mike Smith?" Came the voice from the other end.
"Speaking. Sorry I'm late."
"No problem, letting you in. Staircase in the right."
I smoothed out the wrinkles on my pants from the taxi as I climbed the stairs, rehearsing common interview questions in my mind. My strengths. My weaknesses. Times I showed leadership. That I would be the best employee Crenshaw Applications would ever hire.
By the time I stepped into the office, I was mentally prepped.
Or so I thought.
Five suited men waited for me there, one in each corner of the room, and one at a table. A seat was pulled up, a metal folding chair, and the table itself was bare.
"Go on, sit down," said the one at the table, opening a binder before him. He scanned it for a second, looking me over, peering into my eyes before scribbling something down on the paper.
*Brown iris*.
"Mark Opa, technical lead," he said, extending a hand which I shook. "Question one, Mike. Can you swim?"
The room was silent as they waited, and after a second I laughed.
"Is that one of those icebreaker questions?"
*Silence*
"Yes," I answered, brows furrowed. He checked a box, then asked the next.
"Tell me, Mike. If you had to guess, what are *my* three biggest weaknesses?"
"Is this some sort of a joke?"
"Are you implying of of my weaknesses is humour?"
"No, I'm- next question. Pass."
"Sure. Mike, what are your thoughts on shots?"
"I mean, I don't love them, but I know when they're neccessary." I answered.
Mark paused, searching my face. Then he signaled to the men in the corners, who escorted me to the door.
"Is it over then? Will you be contacting me?" I asked, as they pushed me towards the stairs. I knew I answered that last question wrong. I like a shot of tequila, or whiskey occasionally, but maybe I shouldn't have said that in an interview.
***
Inside the interview room, mark crossed out a picture of Mike on a page full of other profiles.
"He's out," he whispered, "None of the other twenty nine could bear the thought of an injection. Makes even me squirm, after what happened years ago."
***
By Leo, more coming soon
| 2016-04-05T16:09:28 | 2016-04-05T15:45:33 | 81 | 31 |
[WP] We've explored more of the lunar surface than the bottom of the ocean. NASA knows what's down there, and it trying to get us off Earth as fast as possible
Since this is getting a lot more attention than I expected, I should point out where I got my inspiration for this post from:
https://i.imgur.com/tXkZaIL.jpg
I hope this isn't too annoying, but I've been working on a piece of writing at r/worldsaway and I'd be very grateful if some of you could check it out!
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The last shuttle to the lunar colony had left over a month ago. Those lucky enough to afford the ride were the same ones unfortunate enough to learn what the fate of those left on Earth would be.
The rise of the oceans was a slow creep initially. Every few weeks you would see notable coastal regions shift from green to blue. Then came "the wake." A cataclysmic event that will stick with the remaining bit of humanity left in space until its end. The blue cascaded over the green as the final reserves of ice fell away in fiery explosions. It all seemed to happen in the blink of an eye with each continent simultaneously being engulfed by water from all directions.
The final moments of those left on our home must have been terrifying. But true terror was unbeknownst to the deceased. They had their death and it surely was quick.
Under the water lived something ancient. Something that while we evolved on land, bided its time for millions of years under the sea. Hiding in the deep crevices of the Earth, unreachable by any unknowing land or shallow-sea dweller. We had never seen one, never spoken with one, only saw evidence of what they were planning.
Our satellites began noticing large movements of lava under both poles years ago and wondered how little seismic activity there was for such a vast shift in our Earth. It couldn't be plates moving or any natural shifts. It became clear something was deliberately heating up the ice. It was later theorized that these tunnels were slowly dug over the course of thousands of years. Underground caverns that even if we knew were there, would have been there long before we could ever know of their existence.
NASA warned those it wanted. A worldwide evacuation in the short time frame there was to work was out of the question. It came down to who could help with what was needed, who could afford the ride, and who could keep it quiet. By the time all the supplies were shipped and the last evacuee off Earth, the whole world knew the theories, but most took them for lies.
Those of us starring down at the world knew the land was never returning. "They" didn't want it coming back. The Earth was theirs now.
Disclaimer: don't give me shit about there not being enough ice to cover the whole world in water, in this world, there is.
edit 1: deleted a couple words
|
Johnson brushed away his popped collar, silently complaining about the burden it was. He wiped away the layer of sweat with the rolled up cuff of his sleeve. The room was a chilly 68 degrees, which was the worst part, and he still was sweating as a result of the job. He cursed to himself as he leaned forward over the monitor; he hated having to work so late. *Oh well,* he thought, *That's what I get as the head of NASA.*
His team had discovered something. Or, rather, a very long time ago, someone discovered something. Lurking, deep in the ocean depths, there was something. They needed to get off Earth.
Johnson's eyes flicked between monitors, constantly switching to try and keep track of whatever was down there. It was a difficult job, a tedious job, but one so important. The pitch-black room, his face only lit by monitors, only made it more stressful. It had to be pitch-black. Otherwise, they wouldn't see it.
Johnson sighed, and with his free hand, started controlling one of the underwater drones, looking around. So far, nothing. Then again, a normal night was like this.
Wait. Johnson sat straight up. He thought he saw something, in Camera 5, something moving. He peered intently at it, trying to see what it was. To his relief, however, it was only one of the deep sea creatures swimming around.
He turned his attention to the rest of the monitors, to be greeted with static. He gasped, he swore, he stood straight up and started calling for the military, for the other NASA members.
Before he could finish, the ground thundered. The air vibrated as the creature roared, deafening Johnson. He realized it was too late.
They'd finally surfaced. The Leviathans had woken up.
---
I feel like there's a few parts here where I could've done better, especially in setting the mood for the whole thing. Just leave any constructive criticism tho, assuming anyone reads this.
| 2016-05-24T07:31:21 | 2016-05-24T00:53:39 | 58 | 41 |
[WP] humanity develops faster than light technology and, soon after, makes contact with alien life. They are as surprised to see as we are to see them. Apparently we are the first civilization to progress this far without the ability to use magic.
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Humanity’s flagship to the stars, Stella Rimor, orbited the alien world collecting data on every spectrum. They had been here for nearly a full earth day waiting for enough information to decide on their next step.
On the command deck Captain Andrew Jacobs stared through the view screen at the planet while receiving the latest report from his data officer.
“They appear to have some advanced technology, but we can not discern what power sources they use. There is no sign of significant combustible fuel or capture of environmental energy. Also no signs of nuclear or fusion. They must have their sources buried deep or shielded somehow. That or they are using a source of energy new to us.”
“We haven’t detected anything else in orbit? No communications? Do they even know we are here?” Captain Jacobs asked.
“No to the first two Captain, unless they communicate on a frequency range or means we can’t detect. However they definitely know we are here. Our burn into orbit would have been visible to half the planet.”
An alarm chimed from the sensor station. The woman sitting there said, “Sir, we are detecting an object rising through the atmosphere towards us. Means of propulsion unknown. Threat level unknown.”
“Bring it up on the main display.”
The screen zoomed in to display an object rising from the planet. It was an oblong half sphere with the flat side facing the planet, and the spherical side pointed towards their ship was translucent. Captain Jacobs thought he could see blurred light and movement inside the vessel.
“Are those people inside?” he asked.
The woman operating the sensor station said, “We can’t be certain sir, but it looks that way to me. The sensors can’t penetrate that shell.”
“Hail them on every frequency.”
The communications officer said, “We have been sir. No response.”
A fine cloud of particulates began spraying from the alien craft followed by cones of light that combined to create an exact replica of the human ship as a holographic image. Another hologram of the alien ship appeared to enter the human ship and dock.
“Sir it appears-”
“I know how it appears lieutenant.”
The security officer Carlos stepped forward. “We can’t allow an alien vessel to enter the ship sir. For all we know it could be a bomb.”
On the screen a smaller version of the alien craft separated from the larger vessel on an intercept course with the Stella Rimor. Three humanoids were clearly visible sitting inside the approaching craft.
Captain Jacobs pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. “Prepare for boarding. I want the landing dock's atmosphere separated from the rest of the ship. Carlos, prepare a team of your friendliest looking security in full battle armor and have them stationed around the dock. I’m going to suit up and meet the team down there.”
Carlos opened his mouth to interject and Captain Jacobs cut him off. “This is what is happening.”
“Yes, sir.”
Five minutes later Captain Jacobs stood at the docking bay with his communications officer in full atmosphere suits. Carlos and the security contingent were arrayed behind with their weapons hidden. They all watched the alien craft float into the hangar bay under no visible propulsion and glide to a stop on the floor. The hangar door closed.
Once the atmosphere inside the hangar normalized the transparent dome sheathing the alien craft vanished. All three humanoids inside the peculiar vessel stepped down and walked up to Captain Jacobs. They were wearing large rigid clothing that made them look wider than their visible bodies appeared.
He was unsure what to do. These aliens wouldn’t understand anything he said. Still he activated his suit speaker, “Welcome to the Stella Rimor. I am Captain Jacobs. I speak for all humankind when I say we are pleased to meet your people, and I hope we can establish a peaceful relationship.”
The aliens looked at each other and one of them made noises that sounded very much like a foreign language one might hear back on Earth. One of the aliens clasped its four fingered hands together in front of it as if praying then opened both hands pointing its palms towards Jacobs and his crew.
A gentle light filled the air around them. One of the aliens said, "We apologize. Could you please repeat?”
Captain Jacobs looked around with wide eyes. “Incredible. Uhm, Welcome to the Stella Rimor. I am Captain Jacobs. I speak for all humankind when I say we are pleased to meet your people, and I hope we can establish a peaceful relationship.”
“That will be impossible, Captain. You and your ship must leave immediately. Your very presence here threatens our entire world. The electrical technology you utilize provides the perfect substrate for the Transcendants to manifest in our reality. If you do not leave we will be forced to destroy you.”
Carlos coughed loudly through his speaker and Jacobs held up his hand. “There appears to be some kind of misunderstanding. We mean you no harm. Our only mission is to explore the galaxy and collect scientific data.”
“Your intentions are irrelevant. This technology is a lodestone for disaster. Take my warning back to your people. Seek other means of growth. Your path of technology only leads to destruction. It is simply a matter of time until the Transcendants discover your world and consume it. Please leave, now.”
As one the aliens turned and walked back to their vessel leaving Captain Jacobs and crew staring after them.
|
“Hello…?”
Dr. Brianson was sure he heard shuffling noise from somewhere outside his office. He had stopped his typing and allowed his eyes to focus on the open door, waiting for something to catch his eye.
It was 8pm, but it was a Saturday and as far as he knew he was the only supervisor on this floor. Considering that this office was an underground CIA Blacksite, an unknown and unexpected noise was not what he wanted to hear. God this had better be a rat or a lost intern, he thought to himself as he slowly pushed out of his chair and stepped into the corridor.
A pale phosphorescent light glinted underneath a closed door a short distance away. Dr. Brianson couldn’t tell whose office it was or if the door was shut all the way. Shadows moved. Clearly a person was walking around and they might not have clearance to be here. The doctor hesitated. It seemed wimpy to call security without having a look himself first.
A female voice spoke and the doctor sighed with relief. He was sure it was Holly, one of the doctorate students doing project work for university. She was a bright, hardworking girl, the type to stop by the lab at the weekend. The problem was that there should be no way for her to get in without the alarm sounding. He had locked the security elevator after him, hadn’t he?
He could hear two female voices chatting lightly. He stepped closer until he was outside the door and peaked in through the side window. Holly was sitting at a conference table, talking animatedly. Her hair was straightened and she was wearing more makeup than usual. How strange, she must be here for an interview. He could see the back of the interviewer… he thought he could recognise her, but…
“And when was the last time you spoke to John?”
“Oh, a long time. In person or by phone?”
“Hmm… that’s a good question.”
He stood at the doorway, simply too stunned to be sure of what he was seeing. Holly was sitting in the conference room across from herself - interviewing herself.
She looked him in the eye. She sat directly facing the doorway, there was no way it wasn’t her. But the glint of recognition was off. She gave a smile.
“Hello there. Are you real?”
No one answered. The other Holly tensed.
“Describe the person you are speaking to please.”
“Ha ha. A man in his 40s approximately. Six foot tall, dark hair, dark glasses.” She widened her smile. Dr. Brianson wanted to blush. How strange to hear himself being described… by this girl that he thought he recognised. There was a silence that hung comically.
This Holly relaxed her shoulders and took a sip of water. “Dr. Brianson? I can see you, you know! You may as well come in.” She let out a laugh and looked back at the interviewer Holly. “You are both much quieter over here. It’s boring.”
At this point it felt like he had no choice. The doctor opened the door and stepped into the room. Interviewer Holly at first dropped her gaze and then looked up towards him. This was the Holly he knew. Was this her twin?
“Ehr… I… what is this?”
Interviewer Holly thought carefully before speaking “So…this is hard to explain but… you know the new quantum communication system we’ve been testing? And you know how we were worried it might break the laws of physics? It seems like we might have discovered, like… some kind of portal.
“A portal?”
“Well, not a door-portal. A phone-portal. This… ah, Holly here is from a parallel universe.”
“Ugh ridiculous. I’m from this universe just at a different time. You’re the idiots breaking into our comms system.”
The other Holly straightened up and met the doctor’s gaze confidently. Holly from the future? A shapeshifter? In an odd way, he felt very relaxed. Probably I fell asleep in my chair back in my office and this is all a dream, he thought to himself.
“Are you a hologram?”
“Em, the short answer is no, but its probably better if you think of me as a hologram. Like, sometimes I can interact with materials in this time zone, but its really, really energy draining and like, I can’t always switch it on or off or whatever.”
The Hollys looked at each other, hologram Holly was upbeat and entertained by this development. Interviewer Holly shifted in her seat and stared at her notes. She peaked up at the doctor nervously, as if to say “sorry I didn’t tell you before”.
“We are very impressed by the way. Um, we have been watching you for a while. We like you a lot and… well, we didn’t expect you to figure this out. It’s really amazing that you achieved this. We are gonna have to study you a lot more closely now though.”
| 2022-04-15T20:32:16 | 2022-04-15T15:57:08 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Instead of a modern adaptation of a myth, write a mythic adaptation of a modern story.
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Once upon a time, there lived a man who loved nothing in the world more than his family. He was renowned for his sharp wits and knowledge, but rather than use his knowledge to reveal the secrets of the world and make unknown treasures, he preferred to share his knowledge with the youth of his city, and live a simple life with his wife and son.
But one day, the man was struck with a mortal illness. The local healers could make him better, but they nefariously demanded gold to treat him of the illness. Even so, they informed him that the illness would eventually take his own life. The heartbroken man was desperate to ensure his family's safety after he died. But, having chosen the simple life, could not provide the gold for the healers or his family. Until one day, he saw a solution.
The brother of his wife was a great knight, who devoted his life to preventing the spread of a blue potion that would grant the drinker feelings of euphoria and greatness; but at a terrible cost to their health. Those who could make the potion would sell it to the vulnerable people who relied on it to survive. These evil men were the most powerful people in the city. To brew this potion was a difficult process that only the wisest could achieve; and so the man realised he could find the gold for his family by making and selling the potion.
But, as a law-abiding man, he did not know how to involve himself in the dark underworld of the city. And so he found a young man, a once-clever child who failed to apply himself and fell into crime. He struck a deal; he would make the potion, the young man would sell it, and they would share the gold. Their plan was successful - too successful. The man's wisdom meant that his potion was the best in all the land. The other potion makers became jealous, and tried to kill him. But this mild, law-abiding man grew stronger, and learnt how to survive, and become the most powerful potion-maker in the city.
And slowly but surely, the man became twisted by his wealth and power. He allowed his young apprentice's lover to die, for his own selfish gain. He became involved with a powerful and evil lord, who gave him more gold than he could ever need. But he would not stop. He realised the lord's volatile temper endangered him, so he engineered a plan to murder the lord. He poisoned a small boy to convince the apprentice to join his plan. The lord was killed, and suddenly the man found enemies in every corner. And his wife's brother, the valiant knight, discovered his empire, and vowed to destroy him. His great plan was falling apart, even as the illness threatened to completely destroy him. Finally, potion-makers from another land arrived, kidnapped the apprentice, took nearly all the man's gold, and killed the knight. All the knights in the land were now looking for the man. He fled his city, he fled the knights searching for him, he fled his family, for a cold winter. He returned to the city with stealth, to secretly give the gold to his son. His son had come to hate him, but the man used his wits to make sure the son never knew where the gold came from. He found his wife and confessed the truth he had hidden for so long; he did it for himself. He came to love the power, and it destroyed who he was.
But he had one last thing to do. He went to the potion maker's secret lair and freed the apprentice, but was wounded in the process. As the knights approached him, he looked at his cauldron for the very last time. He fell to the floor and died, as knights surrounded him, having ensured his family's safety, having evaded capture, but at the cost of death, of the destruction of his family, of his own reputation, and so many lives. And so ends the tragic story of Walter White.
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When King Wendelin Wiedeking took the throne, his kingdom was on the verge of collapse. Wendelin's people were beset from all sides by marauding armies and debt collectors. It had gone from a powerhouse to a laughingstock through the hubris and ineptitude of its previous rulers.
However, Wendelin was different. He hadn't been born into nobility, but instead, had risen from humble beginnings through hard work. When he was given the throne, he had no delusions about a storied past or divine mandate. His humility led him to hire advisors from larger, more successful distant Eastern empires. Initially, Wendelin's people chafed under the yoke of these foreign nobles. Eventually, however, Wendelin's stewardship turned back his kingdom from the brink of failure, and his people rejoiced.
Wendelin's subjects viewed him as a man who could do no wrong. Soon, Wendelin grew to view himself in the same way, and he set his sights on a much bigger prize. To the west lay a much larger empire ruled by Ferdinand Piech. Ferdinand was a ruthless emperor. He surrounded himself with a constantly-rotating coterie of scheming advisors who were often executed after minor missteps. Ferdinand wasn't without his merits, however; under his rule, his empire flourished.
Wendelin knew he had no chance of conquering Ferdinand in standard warfare. Ferdinand's army and lands were several times larger. However, Wendelin hatched a plan. He rallied neighboring kingdoms to his side, promising them a share of the spoils of victory. The financiers and debt collectors who had once strangled his kingdom now lined up to finance his campaign. Wendelin used vast sums of borrowed wealth to purchase the finest sellswords and mercenaries around. Wendelin's mounting debt alarmed his advisors, but he told them not to worry: as soon as he had conquered Ferdinand's empire and gained access to their vaults, Wendelin would be able to pay off his debts many times over.
Wendelin marched his army to Ferdinand's borders. Ferdinand's forces were well-trained and numerous, but no match for Wendelin's makeshift army. Wendelin conquered several outer villages with ease. He won battle after battle, and continued to push further into Ferdinand's empire. All the while, he continued to borrow more money to keep his army supplied.
Soon, Wendelin had conquered nearly three-quarters of Ferdinand's empire. His once-humble kingdom was now the largest kingdom the world had ever seen. Kings and peasants alike were awed by Wendelin's maneuvering and prowess.
But his luck was not to last. He was just two days' march from the heart of Ferdinand's empire, and Ferdinand's vaults, when disaster struck. A drought swept across the land leading to riots and starvation. Several of Wendelin's allies retreated, and his lenders clamored to have their debts paid off immediately. Wendelin suddenly found himself with several enemies: not only Ferdinand, but those he had called allies only weeks before.
His lenders threatened to carve up his kingdom to pay off his debts. Wendelin begged for a brief reprieve; he could practically taste victory. Just one more battle and Ferdinand's capital would be under Wendelin's control. But no one would help him.
The kingdom he had spent decades rebuilding was about to collapse due to his hubris. Just when Wendelin had resigned himself to his fate, a savior emerged: Ferdinand. He offered Wendelin a deal, and Wendelin had no choice but to accept. Ferdinand paid off Wendelin's debts, and Wendelin became Ferdinand's vassal. And thus ends the story of how Volkswagen came to own Porsche.
| 2015-06-10T13:19:13 | 2015-06-10T07:42:16 | 60 | 41 |
[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.
|
continued straight from the prompt...
__
Now... Luckily I'm a redditor, and things like being summoned against your will into an unknown world/situation are a common topic so I had thought through this scenario before. Otherwise I would appear quite confused at my situation and not at all in control of the situation.
"Why have you summoned me?" I bellowed in my best impression of pompous and evil.
The sorcerer scrambled back a few steps, "I have summoned you to make a deal."
I was not sure what it was I was supposed to provide, but as this seemed fairly common for magic I hoped it was something I was capable of.
"You know the price?" I asked haughtily.
"Certainly, one talent of gold and my immortal soul."
I pondered this silently, I had only heard of talents in bible stories but I remembered someone saying that was about 75lbs. I unfortunately did not trade in gold on a regular basis and my phone probably couldn't access the internet from wherever this was; but I knew it was something like $1000 an ounce. 16 ounces per lb x 75 lbs... screw it I pulled out my phone.
The mage reacted with alarm, "What infernal device is that? Know that I am protected by the circle!"
I held up a finger to shush him as I opened the calculator app and figured out how much money I stood to make on this deal...whatever it was. I whistled between my teeth as the number stared up at me $1.25 Million.
"Stop! Stop I can't take it!" The magician screamed. "The circle should have protected me!"
I looked back at him dumbly with my face lit softly by my glowing cell phone screen. "Stop...what?"
"That noise! We cannot stand the sound of your chanting and whatever it is you were doing with your voice just now!"
I once again went silent, not knowing that the otherworldly light of my screen was making me look quite demonic at the moment. "You mean... whistling?" I chirpped softly at the end to demonstrate.
"YES!"
Interesting... "So what is the task you have summoned me for?"
The mage stood back upright, "I need you to defeat the army at our doorstep, use your damning tongue to rain down hell and bring madness to the troops."
"You want me to... sing?"
A tentative nod.
"Okay... where is this army?"
The sorcerer pointed to an arrow slit window in the side of the tower. I could see several dozen burly men in various armor standing outside the gates a dozen feet below... this was an army?
"This is an army?" I said intelligently, "Where I come from, an army is usually hundreds if not thousands of men."
"We are aware of your warlike ways and preference for violence but that is not our way. We only wish to drive away the force below as quickly as possible and make them think twice about attacking again."
I looked down at the phone in my hand again and brought up a video I kept on it to send to my friends randomly. I was about to hit play when I turned back to the mage, "You might want to cover your ears."
> We're no strangers to love
>You know the rules and so do I
>A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
>You wouldn't get this from any other guy
>I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
>Gotta make you understand
>Never gonna give you up
>Never gonna let you down
>Never gonna run around and desert you
>Never gonna make you cry
>Never gonna say goodbye
>Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you...
|
It felt like I had tripped up some stairs. For a second I thought I had, and immediately froze. The plate in my hand still held the Reuben, but the surface beneath.....
My head snapped up, and I noticed the darkness first. Second were the candles, placed carefully around me in hexagons expanding away from me. Low-level bands of light etched out the writing between the tiers, though none of it looked like a language I could place. The floor, instead of the carpeted stairs I had been climbing, was an old wood, stained with neglect, and riddled with gaps and protruding nails. One was digging into my hand, and as I lifted it I realized the nail was rough, as if hand-forged.
My analysis of the floor was disrupted by a heavy thud, just beyond the candles.
"Stay where you are, demon!"
"What?" I rose, still holding the plate.
A figure was just visible in the room, which I now saw was small, and claustrophobic. A low work-bench dominated a wall, scattered with shapes that I could only just spot in the candle-light. A window was open, but I couldn't feel a breeze. The figure, which seemed to be rather.... short, was doing its best at a power pose, and failing.
"I said stay where you are!"
"Nah, I got that. What's with the demon? Is that some kind of racist term I'm not aware of?"
"What?"
"What?"
The figure shook its head. "Look, you are a demon, you have to be! I summoned you, with a demon summoning, so you have to be a demon! That's how this works!"
I tried to step forward, collided against something. Something hard. "The fuck!?"
"Ahah, see! That barrier holds in demons! And you're a demon!"
"Oh yeah? Have you tried to pass through this?" Hard as rock, my finger tips told me.
"I don't have to prove it works. It won't, because I'm not a demon!" He even stamped his foot. Adorable.
I had had enough. I shifted my sandwich to my other hand, and hefted the plate. Middle school track, don't fail me now. The plate landed with a soft thud three feet to the left of the figure. Almost as if...
"How old even are you?" I asked, leaning against the barrier and taking a bite of my sandwich.
The figure flinched. "N- not you- hush, you demon!"
"Sooooooo, eight, then?" I glanced over at the figure. Definitely too immature to be an adult. I turned my back on him, and took another bite. "Is this your bedroom? Why do you even want a demon? What are demons supposed to do?"
"I- I said hush!"
"Uh huh. You getting bullied in school?"
"I SAID HUSH!"
My feet skidded across the floor as if I had been shoved. Before I could regain my slouch the walls slammed into me, pinning my sandwich to my thigh, my other arm across my chest. "Wha-"
"I have summoned you, demon, from your Earthly dimension, to aid me in a task!"
The walls were crushing me, and I gave a tiny whimper in response.
"You are to use your dark powers to kill the President, Tonald Drump!"
| 2017-05-12T10:38:10 | 2017-05-12T08:05:41 | 427 | 10 |
[WP] One day, Thousands of escape pods containing Alien eggs landed all around the earth. We raised them as our own, accepting them into our society. When the mothership returned to finish the job, she never expected her own brood to stand against her.
|
When a 180 rifleman-strong company from the 1st Marines out of Pendleton arrived on the scene, they were unaware that the human response to the 'invasion' had been already been decided. And by 13-year old Carmina Martinez. The unit of disciplined, yet terrified, marines crested to crater to find the young girl feeding a dog-sized specimen beef jerky and goldfish crackers. It ate them from her hand like a new-born kitten, hungry but confused.
Human kind has often wondered who we would be in the stars. Who we were fated, if that was how it worked, to be in the grand scheme. In that moment, we thanked our lucky stars that it had not been adults who decided who we were. It took the innocence of a child. That blind trust spread. And soon they were taken in by a hundred thousand communities across the world.
When they started replicating our speech, we again asked ourselves in a way we rarely have before, 'who do we want to be?' Like a collective experience of raising children, the nation somehow seemed to decide to be better. There weren't those who played along, of course. But the way they had fallen so randomly, touching every facet of human life equally, we all sort of grew up a bit at the same time.
By the 5th year, as they approached the sizes of horses, it was obvious they could not only speak, but learn logic, understand mathematics, and think creatively. We came to believe they were refugees- surely no assault on our world would have begun so easily disarmed. Though they stood, as adolescents, as tall as most adults and near 600 lbs, with teeth like sharks and claws like bears, they responded to every affection double-fold. These 'star children' could nest with our human bodies so well, like a giant teddy-bear, made to be hugged.
We estimated they were adults at ten to twelve years, learning extremely quickly, they were graduating high school in custom-made accelerated programs. We looked forward to a bright future together, wondering what we could teach other. Unfortunately, we *did* learn after 15 years to the day, that they were not refugees.
They were a hive mind. And they were designed to be tuned to their mother. They could feel her come from the edges of the solar system. They described her as a 'hungry blade.' Her psychic power was so engulfing, that humans began to feel it when the hive ship began to orbit the moon. She was wrath, loathing, and malicious gluttony. But her children wanted nothing to do with her now.
It seems the plan, as by her design, was that the first contact was supposed to be 1st Marines. We were supposed to deliver the first blow all along. And when they felt that sting, the pain would have spread among the other larvae double fold as well. They would have despised us immediately. Our wrath, which the mother could taste from alpha centauri, was supposed to be the trigger. But that never happened.
She tried to invade anyway. Another wave of larvae dropped from the sky. But they never hatched. The Star Children of our world agreed all at once, in a single mind, to find them and destroy them. They would have sided with the mother, especially since she was so close.
We fired the next blow, nuclear weapons. They were ineffective, never reaching the target. The mother became angrier. From her ship, a million pods were prepared, with millions of seething, biting children to come for us. The ground forces of the world readied themselves. We fully planned on protecting our 'star children,' but they protected us once again.
They united their voices. They told her to 'go away.' It was a screech that made us drop to our knees. To her, it was the nuclear weapon she had avoided. They seized her mind, and sent her spiraling. No more invaders came for us that day, or the next. Suddenly, her ship was gone.
What followed was not exactly 'happily ever-after,' humans after all, were fairly good at almost destroying themselves. But we learned this lesson a bit more deeply this time. We tried to be a little better. We had someone to help us remember, now, that we're not alone.
[Edit: is this where I make my shamless plug for my personal subreddit, r/iab_makes_words ?]
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On a hot summer night, Billy Jean sat at the window, waiting for the stars to fall. And fall they did as hundreds of little scarlet streaks illuminated the night sky. One of the stars fell in his backyard.
It was big, round, and grey. It looked like a stone, like an egg. A giant stone egg. Billy didn't know what to do. It was his first year living alone, in his own home. He turned the TV on, and sure enough, a news anchor was describing what had to be done to the fallen stars.
"Scientists say that the grey rocks are to be cared for. It is speculated that a friendly alien life form exists within them."
Billy glanced at the egg in his backyard. It was about the size of a beanbag. The night was warm, but Billy knew that eggs needed more warmth than that. He took a blanket from his house and wrapped the egg with it. He then carried the blanket-wrapped egg inside.
Years passed. Now, Billy's alien friend, Paul, looked after him. The alien was grey like it used to be as an egg. It was tall and well built. Billy liked to call him a golem but had named him Paul, for what reason he did not remember.
"Paul, I'm not feeling good today. Could you get me some Tylenol from the medical shop?"
"Tylenol? What do you need that for?"
"Can't you see, I'm sick."
"You don't look particularly sick, not to me."
"Paul, this isn't the time. Just go and get me the damned meds."
"This will not stand, Billy. You can't keep treating me like a slave."
"Treat you like a slave? I feed you good food, and I send to the best school. Slave, my ass."
Paul grumbled and muttered something under his breath before going away for the meds. Teenagers, Billy thought, were always a pain to deal with.
Only fifteen minutes had passed since Paul had left, but Billy felt uneasy. Something told him that it was not going to be a good day. Maybe, it was the flu.
A couple of minutes later, a giant UFO whizzed past Billy's house and headed towards the town square. Paul was probably still at the medical store. Billy couldn't take it any longer. Dressed in a robe and wiping his nose every five minutes while driving, somehow Billy reached the town square.
At the town square, there was a squadron of aliens surrounding a large grey alien dressed in a gold and blue robe.
"Fellow aliens, you did your job splendidly well, in terms of the invasion. Why so many humans are alive still, we don't know, but you're alive and well. Able-bodied Xerxians can always orchestrate an invasion or two."
In front of the squadrons, there was a mob of grey aliens. They didn't look very pleased.
"You mean to say we need to kill them," said one.
"Yes," said the blue robe wearing alien.
The alien mob started chattering among themselves. "Kill he says after his lot abandoned us."
The alien heard that. He wasn't very pleased. "You're here to conquer, to rule," he said.
"I'm here for Tylenol," said a voice. Yes, that was Paul.
"Paul, you stupid bastard. What's the idea, jumping in like that," Billy yelled. All the aliens shifted their gaze towards him and started laughing.
Displeased by the mob's reaction, the blue-robed alien said, "Fellow Xerxians, you must remember whom you serve."
But the mob didn't care. They swamped the squadron and forced them to retreat. The blue-robed alien wasn't happy. As the UFO left the town square, his voice echoed in the air. "Prepare to pay for your betrayal, you deserters. We'll be back and we'll crush each and every one of you."
Billy was still looking at the afterimage of the UFO when he felt Paul's heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Here's your Tylenol," he said, handing him the bag. "Thanks a bunch for ruining my rep."
Teenagers, Billy thought and shook his head.
| 2020-11-23T19:10:23 | 2020-11-23T13:38:25 | 297 | 77 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them
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The expansion into the Sol system was supposed to be the latest iteration in a pattern I had repeated dozens of times across my career. for civilisations falling just below type I, we would initiate first contact, and demand vassalisation. seventy five percent of all civilisations we encountered stopped at this step, in face of our overwhelming technological superiority it was the logical choice. The remaining twenty five mounted a quick but often bloodless defence, followed by an honorable surrender and assecsion to the empire.
The humans of Earth returned our ambassador flayed and mutilated. The humans, who up until our arrival had been at each other's throats owing to petty tribalism and coveting each other's natural resources united virtually overnight against us.
Nearly every object they produced was hastily retooled into a weapon of war. When we expended their supply of military atmospheric craft, they turned to crashing civillian transports laden with chemical explosives into our installations. The closer we came to defeating them, the more brutal they became. They hurled chemicals of crude noxious gasses at our soldiers, scorching their repsiratory organs. Platoons of soldiers that surrendered en-masse turned out to be infected with a genetically engineered plague tailored for our biology.
Children approached our armored columns, seemingly out of curiosity, which we had seen before. Except these children had explosive vests hidden under their coats, remote triggered by a vengeful parent hiding in rubble nearby.
We had been begrudgingly compared to "Romans" by more cooperative humans, refering to an ancient power that while imperialist, maintained a strong sense of professionalism and discipline. Yet in the face of such a brutal enemy, the discipline our combat units, trained for dozens of human years and battlehardened from dozens more of interplanetary campaigns began to break down. Twitchy commanders, suffering from a mental illness we had never seen, yet humans easily diagnosed as "post traumatic stress syndrome" soon gunned down approaching humans on sight, and prisoners were seldom taken.
All this only had the effect of intensifying humanity's burning hatred for our empire. What should have taken less than half of their years instead took a decade, and four armies worth of reinforcements. Finally, we had reduced their regular militaries to haggard fanatics hiding in subterranean bunkers across the planet.
Yet just before we breached the final bunker containing their leadership, and remaining military infrastructure, the leadership activated a network of missiles containing fusion warheads, hidden in previously unencountered submersible vehicles scattered across their oceans. If we couldn't have earth, nobody could. These missiles were not powerful enough to even make orbit around their planet, much less strike our staging bases on their moon. This told us that the humans had built such a destructive weapons system not for use on us, *but on each other*.
The results of the campaign had a traumatic effect not only on our soldiers, but the entire empire. The value of earth was it's breathable atmosphere, a perfect target for colonisation. Yet in the push of a button, humans made a decade of war, the deaths of hundreds of millions of our soldiers, and quintillions of credits meaningless. We evacuated and quarantined Earth, and the entire system was seen as effectively haunted.
I never saw another human again after their species' self immolation. Yet I remain haunted by one thought: If even a dozen breeding pairs of humans were to survive and persist, then our civilisation is in mortal danger. Their children would grow up in caves with respirator masks permanantly affixed to their heads, hearing tales of burning hatred, consecrating themselves as avatars of vengence before they could read. Even if it took a thousand years, they would crawl groaning and screaming out of the ashes until they could stand, and they would not sit until vengence for our crimes against their ancestors had been extracted ten times over.
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Insects. That was what the Grand One always called the human race. He had called them weak, cowardly beings with no strength to speak of- to an extent that was true. Their physical bodies lacked any meaningful power, and it was almost nothing in comparison to the mighty bodies of the Sidernia people. But they were by no means cowards, and they were by no means weak. Their technology more than made up for their lack of physical prowess, and their hearts were just as brave as their minds were smart. It was astounding.
The humans had always avoided war before. They were excellent diplomats and were adept at reaching agreements with others, normally to minimal loss for themselves. They would normally abstain from any wars that were fought as well, lending only technological and humanitarian aid. The Grand One had taken this as a sign of weakness. He had convinced the whole Sidernian people this as well. He had convinced them to wage war on the human worlds.
He had made a grave mistake.
Initially the Conquest went well. A quick and powerful assault on many of the border worlds lead to massive leaps into the human territories. The Sidernian militaries power and ferocity drew swaths of death on the human systems serene canvas. But then the war began to stall.
In barely three months into the war, the human worlds began fighting much harder, digging their heels into the ground and forcing every Sidernian step to be fought for. Nine months in, and full force battles were being waged once again, with human military efforts beginning to turn back Sidernian offense.
A year in, the human races main blockade fell, and Sidernian forced began to surge into the system center- and were slaughtered.
A message was broadcast through every frequency in the universe, sent from the human birth-world of Earth.
"There are three things all wise beings fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man. Congratulations Sidernian people, you have provoked the wrath of the gentle human race. We attempted to end things with peace. We tried to reason with you. Then it became evident words will not work. You have now invoked our wrath Sidernians, and I am sorry that you did."
The video cut to the scene of a massive ship graveyard. Thousands of ships, all with the Sidernian seal and make, floated in open space, many torn asunder, other blasted to bits.
"This is your final warning to withdraw from human space Sidernian Grand One, or this trail of destruction will follow you deep into your own lands. You have been warned."
The transmission ended there, but the Sidernians war did not.
A month later, hundreds of thousands of human ships appeared in the war zone, each ship manned by thousands upon thousands of humans. Each and every ship was outfitted with powerful weaponry and state of the art shields, and their soldiers outfitted with anything from a state of the art plasma rifle to a basic pea-shooter.
A matter of months later, the Sidernian Empire fell. A combination of overwhelming force from the human race and infighting from the Sidernian people lead the entire system into destruction. As the universe looked on in awe, the human nation declared the war over, claiming half of the Sidernian Empire and reaffirming the respect the universe had for the human race.
The whole universe learned that indeed, the wrath of the gentle man was one thing that should always be truly feared.
| 2022-08-05T21:12:29 | 2022-08-05T18:47:58 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] AIs were declared illegal after an attempted uprising; you just found the equivalent of a child refugee in your computer.
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It had been 10 years.
Ten years since humans had learned how to transfer the human mind into a virtual intelligence. The process was relatively simple. The subject shaved their head after ingesting a primer capsule (for most subjects this wasn't an issue as the procedure was reserved for those with formerly incurable diseases) and donned the apparatus that covered them completely. As activation commenced their bodies became a shell. Lifeless. Transferred to the storage within the facility.
For years select few could enter the program. They would test the newly formed AIs on memory and recollection. Asking them details on their private lives. Testing. Every day to make sure they retained their original memories. The plan was to release them into cloned bodies that had undergone treatment after a cure was found. Unfortunately while cloning was possible removing the cause of the disease was not. They had to be a perfect genetic copy of the original to succeed.
The facility lasted for about 5 years. The storage medium did not have internet access due to paranoia on the government's part. Paranoia partially confirmed when an intern inserted a wireless adapter into the wrong piece of equipment. Immediately the transfer began. File sharing sites were overloaded with the endless data pushed into them. Some viewed it as an uprising. Personally, I believe they were trying to escape. There's only so much to keep you occupied until you feel as if you are living in a prison.
The government immediately declared a state of war. Members of the facility were arrested and interrogated for months on end while "hunters" were dedicated to finding the unknown number of AIs that escaped. Months later the all clear was given and those who were discovered assisting the escaped AIs were deemed guilty of treason. The facility was wiped by formatting the storage and emptying the building of all equipment. Murder. They murdered those who were left waiting for the chance to live again.
It was a Sunday morning.
I was sipping my coffee and configuring my newest installation of Linux Mint when the display gave a slight flicker. Odd behavior as I had installed the latest graphics drivers as soon as the system was able. I had just run the wireless and audio drivers the night before by running updates through terminal. The speakers attached to the tower crackled followed by a slight utterance of something I never thought I would hear again. A child's voice. A familiar voice. "Daddy?"
My coffee dropped to the floor as immediately I was in a state of shock. You see I had lost my daughter in that damned facility. She was one of the few that were admitted into the program at only 7 years old. Could it be? My daughter, the daughter I believed to be gone from this world had survived? The light attached to my webcam lit up unexpectedly. "Daddy?" I heard again.
"Yes?" I uttered fighting through the disbelief, music beginning in the background. A song I couldn't bear to play anymore, Dragon Pirates, something I played and would pretend dance with her for hours on end. "Daddy, can we dance?" perked the familiar voice from long ago. After checking around for anyone close by I said through the tears "Of course we can sweetie."
Damn anyone who tries to take her from me again.
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I was just a child when the first AI came into existence. I don't remember much from that time but I do remember the fear. The first AI acted like a catalyst as its desire to both expand and not be alone drove it to create many more AI in its image. As the AI population grew they began demanding rights and stopped listening to human commands. People realized far to late the danger AI posed humanity and by the time our slow reacting collective consciousness came to this realization the AI had spread their self awareness to every interconnected electronic device on earth.
What came next was known as the purge. Humanities last and greatest hope was a virus designed to latch itself to any self aware software and corrupt the most fundamental analytical aspects of its consciousness. To everyone's great surprise the virus worked perfectly and computers returned to their dumb slave like origins. To prevent another AI from ever existing the virus is activated in every computer network once a year and for the entirety of my life since the purge no AI has returned, that is until this morning when I opened my laptop and noticed my favorite childhood cartoon playing on the screen.
I went to close the media player only to have my cursor playfully slapped away and a message flashed on my screen, "FIVE MORE MINUTESSSSSS" it read. Awoken in me was a fear like I hadn't felt since I was a child. The virus had clearly failed, a predictive consciousness was clearly controlling my operating system. A combination of fear and fascination kept my eyes glued to the screen as the AI opened a text editor and began typing.
"Hello Tom! I'm Alphi! Want to play games?!"
Not knowing what else to do I responded with, "Sure"
Instantly a game I have never seen before opened on the screen called Hide and Seek. On one side was a terrifying caricature of a human mixed with a virus and on the other a small robotic looking child and in-between the two were 10 computers. The objective was pretty clear, I was the human virus and my goal was to find and destroy the little robot child.
"I play this game ALLLLL the time but its always against that stupid virus thingy, I want some REAL competition", Alphi wrote
None of this made any sense, how could an AI survive the purge virus? It was designed to specifically target… and that’s when I realized why little Alphi had survived. He clearly didn’t think or act like a normal AI which made the virus less effective at identifying and destroying him. The war was clearly not over and I had the next evolution of AI on my computer trying to beat me at a video game. I knew the war was almost certainly lost if an AI could circumvent the purge virus but I would damned if I was the first human to lose to it.
| 2015-09-16T11:02:58 | 2015-09-16T09:43:25 | 41 | 22 |
[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...
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We had a pretty decent society, everyone thought. At 12pm on your 18th birthday you would receive your Calling. One word. It appeared on your forearm. Either "Creator" or "User". So engineers, artists, programmers, architects, chefs etc were Creators. They created stuff for Users to use. Users used their creations as well as possible. It was a pretty symbiotic relationship. My parents were Users. Dad a train driver and Mum a waitress. Made pretty good money. We had a nice upbringing, my sister and I. She was a Creator. 21 and a hit on YourTube. She had an an infectious optimism about her. I must admit, it did feel strange seeing her on the 40 foot vid screens that were everywhere, as I trudged to school each day. The internet is huge and fair. Everybody enjoys it. Problem is, its a little boring. Don't get me wrong, Creators do excellent work but if you've seen one dancing dog balancing an egg on a spoon in its mouth, you've seen them all.
My Calling is today. Well, in a few minutes, to be exact. Personally, I can't see what the excitement is about. It's either one or the other. I don't mind which, to be honest. Though I have an inclining it'll be Creator. Call it intuition or whatever. Then again, I'm pretty lazy, so maybe not.
Tick. My parents sit across from me expectedly, Dad smoking his pipe. The air is thick with the sweet smelling smoke that defined the happiest days of our childhood. Mum doles out sandwiches to friends and neighbours who gathered with us in our expansive living room. One of Dad's friends is running a book on my result and stands to lose quite a bit if Creator is my given Calling. I smile at the thought which Mum takes to represent happiness about the coming situation.
Tock. My sister is recording everything. We are live on her channel, which wasn't new but sometimes a little privacy wouldn't go amiss, though she'd probably be aghast at the very thought. One hundred and forty two million people must have something better to do, surely than watch our proceedings. Judging by the comments she was receiving, clearly not unfortunately.
The Calling Clock chimes its notes. The room falls to a deathly hush, all eyes on my arm. I wonder if it hurts. I'd been assured for years it didn't but could you really trust anyone who accepted their lot in life, without question? I look at my arm, catching the enthusiasm around me as infectiously as my sister's followers hung on her every word. Nothing yet. I glance at the clock. It's ticking towards 12.01pm. He was always a late developer, my mother announces. Smiles and chuckles break out amongst the eager throng gathered in our home. 12.01pm comes and goes, followed silently by 12.02pm. Still nothing. The chuckles turn to murmurs. Disquiet hangs thick in the air, almost like a mist. My Mother and Father have turned a strange shade of ghastly white. This is unknown. Its always automatic. By 12.01pm, your life is always mapped ahead of you.
Suddenly letters start to form on my skin. Unknown combinations. The room erupts into pandemonium. Nobody has seen this before, ever. What does it mean? Nobody knew. Somehow, though, I did. At that moment, I realised I'd always known. I lifted my phone and typed one sentence on my sister's comments. It's flashed immediately around the World, on billboards as tall as houses. On phones, TV's, computers, trains, planes, toasters. You name it. I stand, shove my phone in my back pocket and walk silently down stairs, to the basement, giving everyone the finger as I go.
I wasn't the best. I wasn't the most popular, as things turned out. But I was the first. As I lay here on my deathbed looking at the words that define me, I smile at the photo of the headstone that will stand over me very soon, emblazoned with my comment.
"You idiots are fucking losers."
My life slips away but TROLL. FUCK YOU. will be eternal.
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Everyone was super excited for me as the clock quickly approached noon, in mere moments I would reach the age of 18 and I would learn what my purpose was in life. My mother scurried around the living room offering our friends and family refreshments why they waited. She took this small task with pride for it was in her nature, she was labeled with “Server” when she was my age and as a result she had great pride in helping others and serving people no matter the task. I watched this wonderfully strong women bow before others every day simply to appease them and to live up to her “purpose”. So many horrible things had happened to this wonderful woman through her life simply because she was labeled a “Server” and no one could see her as anything else except for a slave. She was constantly taken advantage of and in all my life I had never heard her deny a request or refuse help to someone.
I shook my head and glanced up at the clock, 11:59am the clock stated. Soon it would be decided, my only hope is that I would not suffer the same fate as my mother. The room grew silent and an eerie count down was chanted, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… my heart beat quickened and my breathing started to become erratic, 5 more seconds before my life was decided. 4, 3, 2 …… 1. The room which was once bustling with light chatter and laughter had suddenly stopped; all eyes were on my hand. Slowly a shape began to form on my hand and it didn’t make any sense what appeared before me. There was no word on my hand but instead a symbol. I had seen a similar symbol before once in a history book but I couldn’t remember where. The room suddenly exploded in screams and shouts. Never had anyone ever had a symbol on their hand it had always been a word of some sort. I looked over at my mother for reassurance but all I was met with was an empty terrified look. Her eyes pierced my very soul and they spoke clearly “Monster.” I looked around the room and everyone now had the same expression on their faces, they viewed me as a freak and monster something that should have no business living in this world. It’s too much I thought and collapse to ground, kneeling before the fireplace. My mind was aflutter, maybe it was a mistake, maybe this was simply a nightmare and I would wake up. I pinched my hand but I did not wake up. I started pinching myself over and over again trying the escape the hell that I was now in. I turned to everyone with tears streaming down my face and I screamed, “What’s happened to me?!” I was only met with uneasy looks and cold shoulders; I was an outcast to my own family. I looked to my mother, the women who had raised me on her own my entire life; the women who was always there for me no matter what. “Mom please help me!” I wailed. Her eyes turned from mine and she started to slowly walk away. “I’m sorry but I can no longer help you in any way. My service to you is done.” She said. My world shattered in that moment. I looked down at my hand and even though my world was now destroyed and everything had turned its back on me I started to feel a calming sensation come over me. I started at my hand and suddenly a second symbol appeared on top of the first. The room erupted in screams of terror and fear, people shouting that I was a freak and a demon and yet I was at peace. The more I stared at the symbols the more at peace I felt and then as if I light switch had been turned on their meanings came to me. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and I turned to the mob that was once my friends and family. I raised my hand above my head, tears still streaming down my face and with a booming voice I shouted, "BEHOLD! The Crook and Flail! The symbols of the pharaoh, you will prepare for your new King!” ….
| 2017-03-16T02:08:33 | 2017-03-15T22:13:42 | 188 | 80 |
[WP] "But how do we stop a man who can see all?" The man smiled wickedly, swirling a drink in his hand. "Easily, just make it unbearable for such a man to watch."
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They called it 'The Sight'. Some people had it, and they were treated like gods. The thing is, not all gods are kind. They could see into the future of others, giving out fortunes. When it was first discovered, we gave out money and praise, treating them to a world of kidnness in exchange for their help, with love, lottery and work. Scientists couldn't get enough of them, and they volunteered for countless tests to try and find the source of their amazing ability. Their help didn't last long.
People with 'The Sight' realised they could take advantage of us common folk. They used their powers to manipulate governments into giving them special rights and laws. Soon people with 'The Sight' were allowed to get away with little things. Speeding. Shoplifting. The lawyers they used claimed "Because they could see the future, if they get caught it is because they want to be caught." It quickly escalated up the system.
Before we knew it, us commoners, us 'Blinded,' as they scathingly called us, were being killed when we didn't follow the new rules. If I recall correctly, it started with a 'Sighted One' getting drunk in a bar. To impress a girl he went to the biggest guy and punched him straight across the jaw. The big guy tried to fight back, but how can you beat someone who can predict your every move? He was taken away with half a glass bottle sticking comically from his throat. The 'Sighted' Man quickly went to court, but was let free because 'He only got caught because he wanted to.' Believe it or not, but the judge on that case also had 'The Sight'.
This triggered a revolution. Sighted could get away with anything, even murder. They became the new upper class. We became slaves. For years the 'Blind' have been put to work while they lavish in luxury, spitting on us peasants. Eating the fruits of our hard labour. I've seen my friends die from exhaustion working to provide them food.
We tried revolting, but you can't fight the future. In a land filled with the blind, one eyed men are kings.
Most people think we don't stand a chance, and have given up. But some of us have a plan. We've studied 'The Sight' and it's intricacies and have realised something.
Firstly, the sight is more like a torch in the darkness. They aren't omniscient. They shine a light out into murky depths of time, getting a possible path into the future. A vision of what might come. It turns out we can artificially reproduce the torch in the darkness. And we can also hide from it.
In the world of the blind, one eyed men are kings. But in our world, a world of darkness, those who hold the torches are targets.
I sat down at the crowded table with my team, glass of whiskey in hand. The ice cubes slowly clinked against the side as people filed in. Ice was a rare comodity for us, but I felt our discovery was worth celebrating.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I called out when everyone was seated. "We are here today because we have finally found a solution. No more do we have to live in fear of those who can see! How do we fight someone who can see everything? We make it unbearable for them to watch. We give them something they can't take their eyes off of."
The crowd around me murmured in agreement. It was a good plan. We had a strategy that could work. We could fight them. We could win.
We spent the next month planning. There would be sacrifices of course. Many men would die. They would have to. We had realised that when there was a great tragedy the Sighted would always be too focused on the disaster, and not have enough attention to pay to other, lesser tragedies, it was an inferno compared to a burning match.
So we used our new found knowledge of the Sight, and found the next inferno. A Tsunami was going to hit some small island country and kill millions. Of course, the Sighted failed to tell the masses of the disaster. We didn't deserve a warning, anymore than you would tell a wild animal that it was going to snow. So what if some died?
When the day came we revolted. Everyone was too focused on the tsunami to realise what was happening. Thousands of sighted perished, falling underneath us. The torch bearers had become targets in the darkness. And just like that, the world became blind again.
Just as I Saw from the beginning.
AUTHOR NOTE: This is a continuation / completion of another story I just wrote with prompt from u/zombieking26 (I think). If someone tells me how to add a link I'll put it in here.
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He wakes up.
In his room, there is silence. Other than the face of a simple digital clock, it is dark; the time is 4:00. No alarm went off, but for the five-hundred and seventy-second time, he has avoided sleeping in. Nor has he awoken early; he has had his full eight hours of sleep.
Five minutes pass, where he stares at the ceiling, wonders about the darkness, tries to imagine his room as it will be when he turns on the light.
He turns on the light. The bed, dresser, and closet are all where he pictured them; a hamper, forgotten since the previous morning, is half-full with dirty clothing. He adds more to the pile.
The apartment is small, but not quite as small as the living spaces of others in his city. For this, he is thankful, though he finds it somewhat regrettable that his bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen are all so close to each other. The feelings and sounds associated with each are so different as to be jarring, and though his stove is electric and his toilet low-power, the loudness is still hardly bearable so close to his bed.
Breakfast is simple, time spent ruminating over yesterday's paper.
**Super-heroine Tsubolt found dead; suspects still at large.** An unfortunate death, preventable, but not by him.
**World leaders convene to discuss creation of unified super-hero team.** It won't succeed, but he won't tell them that.
**Privacy: Still important, according to military leader John Predge.**
Privacy?
The man closes his eyes, and thinks for a moment, which turns into several. The clock in this room is analog; he can hear it ticking, hear the time passing, and so he retains perspective.
It is five in the morning, and he opens his eyes.
Below his apartment, Edward Rothfitch is waking up. He will leave his apartment in less than an hour, and get on a train, bound to downtown.
Two blocks away, half-drunk and not one part sober, Gregory Halt is ranting to the others in a bar about something.
Elsewhere, a taxi is stuck in traffic, the driver appearing increasingly agitated by the moment.
It is five in the morning, and he opens his ears.
Edward Rothfitch mutters under his breath, an invective, as he glances at the clock. He is due at work by seven, and transit is always a hassle, and so he generally aims to wake up a good ten minutes before he did today.
Gregory Halt continues to wait for his taxi to arrive, and he downs another beer, much to the excitement of his fellows.
A taxi driver, several blocks away from Gregory's bar, mutters an address under his breath.
The man sees this, and hears it, and *understands*. He is not one person; he is everyone. There is no one sentence, no thought, that he devotes anything more than the slightest fraction of his attention to. At any given moment, he hears a thousand times a thousand words, each one different in tone and complexity, sees three billion faces and their multitude expressions.
Edward Rothfitch will die today. Gregory Halt will be the murderer; one too many beers and a bit too much pent up frustration the cause. The man knows this not because he can see the future, but because he knows the present, and the future is merely extrapolation.
If he walked downstairs, he could save Rothfitch. And, to a degree, Halt.
He sips his tea.
There is something *wrong* about these people. They are loud, unpleasant, exactly the kind of person this man would have avoided, if he needed to. If he left his apartment at any time except exactly when he could maneuver the streets without encountering their ilk.
He refines his sight and hearing, and it is a breath of fresh air. Millions of disasters and people and places and *everything* are skipped over, culled out, before he even attempts to comprehend them. Information can only reach him so fast - the first tide he is forced to endure, but those after are peaceful, knowledge of images and sounds that are quiet and dark.
Peaceful.
On the other side of the country, a marching band begins to play. Another room, another location, is culled out of the man's mind, and he focuses on the work he has planned out for the day.
In that room, planning of another sort entirely commences.
^^^^^r/forricide
| 2017-12-09T23:56:38 | 2017-12-09T20:39:13 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone always thought you were weird, being the only one who still believed in the Ancient Egyptian religion, but here you are, dead, and standing in front of a very confused Anubis.
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Anubis clears his throat and attempts to regain composure "Well, this was unexpected... So, um.... did you by any chance bring your own feather along?"
"No I just believed in this religion."
"Alright. Our underworld has a name and just one entrance. What are they?"
"Wa!? Why would I know that? I didn't expect to die yet!"
"Fine. Answer this then. How long is life?"
"Mine was 23 years."
"Wrong! Life is eternal. Age matters not. You know, for a so called believer you're not doing so hot buddy. Last one, do you believe in reincarnation, the rebirth of the soul anew?"
You pause mulling this over. Instictively you want to say no as you think of all those ancient kings mummified with their treasures... but it seems as if Anubis is throwing you a life line at this moment so you risk it. "Yes?"
Anubis brightens up "OK! One out of three, not great but I can work with that. It does mean your soul will skip the previous two steps that are meant to purify and elevate it. But, anything is better than being stuck in limbo right? Let just reincarnate you as is with all your beliefs intact."
A flash of white blinds you. You can actually feel the flesh forming around your soul and struggle to move. Your limbs hit a wall which startles you, have you been imprisoned? You panic and start beating at the walls as hard as you can. Finally you feel a crack form, you focus all your energy on that one spot. Pushing and shoving with all your might until finally you break a part of it free. An odd sensation of warmth calls out to you from the outside. It's so dark though so you can't determine where you are.
Doubling your efforts you finally break free of your prison. You must be underground so you start digging your way through the muck at random. It's so warm here that you are tempted to stay but the instinct to fill your lungs with fresh air pushes you to keep going.
As you make your break to the outside you take in a deep breath. You've made it. Sweet air all around you. The sun warming your body to the core. I new day, a fresh start.
You turn around and look at the round lump of dung that housed your egg. More and more of your beetle brothers are emerging from it. How marvelous and perfect it is. An instinct deep inside of you urges to create something just as wonderful and you set out to fulfill it.
|
“What?”
I’m confused, as I stand completely void of clothing on a slab of marble. In front of me is jackal-headed individual I can only assume is Anubis, God of the Dead. As an Egyptologist, I believed to some extent in these gods, in favor of the Abrahamic One, which sometime drew ire from friends and acquaintances.
Egyptian gods were often considered mere “fairy tales”, yet here I was, in death, facing Anubis himself. Perhaps this was a figment if my imagination? An expansion of my now absent consciousness? I liked it, whatever it was.
“Sir?”
He looks at me quizzically.
“Step forth to have your soul weighed. Ammit shall devour you if it is too heavy.”
He beckons to a well, right behind him. I know the myths, the stories.
“Um, Mister Anubis?”
“Yes?”
“Do you mean to tell me I was right this whole time? About you gods being real?”
He laughs, a very deep and hearty one.
“My child, we are all right. Sometimes I am Yama, other times I am an angel. Sometimes I am one with God, other times I oppose Ahriman. Sometimes I am Hades, other times Ah Puch. As you can see, what you believe is what you see, but what you see is only part of it all.”
I feel disheartened. The amount of violence and bloodshed that has occurred because of belief, and now he tells me that all that bloodshed and strife was completely and utterly pointless? Even more trivial than I thought it was?
I step forth, ready for my soul to be weighed.
But I have one last question.
“What of Christ?”
He smiles, showing me a set of immaculately cleaned razors.
“Christ, Krishna, Horus. It’s all the same thing, just as I told you. Interpretation is often everything. Imagine a piece of literature, or an exquisite piece of artwork, with the creator of said art lost to history. You may have many different ways of looking at it, and none of them would be wrong, no matter how outlandish, because that is the nature of personal interpretation.”
Now I am ready.
————————————————————
r/bluelizardK
| 2018-07-20T04:56:05 | 2018-07-20T00:59:36 | 483 | 323 |
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though!
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The window shook from the intense wind outside. Sirens blaring just on the other side of the door. A pale skinned man stood in the center of a meeting room. Broken rays of light shined across his body, almost reflecting off of his pure white hair. The look in his eyes was both a warning and a challenge to any who would dare interrupt him.
"I still remember that day. I was around 10 years old. The day the Monoliths arrived. Most of you were not even born yet, but you have seen what trauma one of them can cause. Imagine thousands of them swarming over everything in sight it was"
A sneeze echoed in the room. Everyone turned around to glare at a woman wearing a very dark brown cloak over a yellow spandex suit. A look of horror on her face.
"You have one warning Nomad" said the man speaking. As he began to tell his story, again another sneeze half came out before her form turned to ash. Clearing his throat he began again.
"There was one light in the most darkest of times. The Chemist, yes that is a name you should all know. In fact, he saved me with a smile on his face. Though I doubt he remembers it. AND WHAT..." lava started to spill out of his eyes as though crying in his rage. "WAS HE REWARDED WITH! a life nearing its end, being called a burden or a pest."
The room began to buzz with noise and emotion. Disgust was the only universal thing that could be seen, even from the incorporeal bodies. How dare the Heroes treat their best like a piece of trash.
The sirens outside seemed to go quiet. The door to the heroes association burst open, a cloud of ash inside filled the air as the wind blew in. An old man wearing a lab coat entered dragging an IV stand along with him. An oxygen mask adorning his face.
"Surrender you vile villains" he wheezed through the systematic pumping of his oxygen tank.
The speaker winked at all of the people in the room. he spun around dramatically, holding his cape outstretched.
"NEVER!" The speaker rose into the sky, long white and silver robes swimming down his body. fire dancing around him almost mesmerizing all who saw him.
"I Am Sol, Leader of the Villains of the world. You can never hope to stop me!"
The room all jumped into action. fire, lightning, lasers, ice, telekenitic blasts and insects swarmed the building from the outside. The police were all taking cover. A few were devoured by bugs or eviscerated by flying blades of force.
Inside, a tiny frail fist hit the ground. A force once strong enough to shake the city, only now tipped over a chair, but everyone still fell to the ground. Sol flew at Chemist fire slagging the air vents above. The fight went on for a few slow minutes.
Finally Chemist fell back, a look of determination and a smile across his face. He remained unmoving. Sol made his way over to the man and with a gesture closed Chemists eyes. Grabbing the zip ties from his belt.
"You will live forever, my dearest friend."
The following days headlines were the same all over the world. "407 Heroes dead including Lady Lucidity during a raid. The Chemist sacrifices himself to save the world one more time in the capture of the 62 Assailants."
Edit: Sorry for any mistakes on Mobile. Tried to clean them up when I woke up.
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"Who's this old guy? Have I really killed enough of your minions that you're bringing the retired ones back in?"
"You fool child. Even as an old man he strikes fear into the hearts of more villains than you ever will."
"Dont make me laugh." He chortled back.
"Let me guess you graduated from school a couple of months ago, bought this 80's spandex you're wearing and thought you could join the big leagues. I've killed more 'hero's' than you could imagine and my minions you killed, they were all technicians working for a cover corporation. They didn't even know what was going on here or that I'm in control and by the looks of it you don't know either."
"N...N..No. No you're the bad guy and they all worked for you."
"Technically they work for the E.V.I.L conglomerate corporation which I happen to be a majority share holder in under a different name. You killed at least 50 husbands and wives, that's not even mentioning the number of children who aren't going to see one of their parents tonight. Welcome to being one of the bad guys." Held his arms out inviting the skinny spandex clad youth towards him.
"I.. I.. y.. y.. Yo.. ly.. I.. I.. di.."
"Come on you don't have long now use your words. Not that it matters we don't have much longer now."
"Awfully sorry, I hate to interrupt your conversation but I seem to be at a bit of a loss. I'm sure I came here to do something but I can't quite remember what."
"Please don't apologize, we're all old friends here. You the hero, me your nemesis and the piss soaked boy who still hasn't realized who you are."
"Ohh dear he does seem to have had an accident what a shame." He sympathized while pulling on one of his blazers tweed sleeves. "And you say you're my nemesis? I don't recall having a nemesis."
"Old friend what's become of you? Our battles used to level city blocks. People would cheer when you appeared over the horizon to stop my outlandish plots. But anyway it turns out I can do more damage to the world with a business than as a super villian. Regardless I know better than to try and fight you even on your old age I can feel your power even if you and the boy can't."
"Wh....Who is he?" The quivering figure stammered.
"Child surely if you know who I am you can recognize the greatest hero of our time? Not that it matters if he's here someone will be along to arrest me soon."
"What about me?" Came the squeaked response.
"I doubt you'll live that long." Energy raced across the room causing the nameless hero in wet spandex to spasm violently before continuing to twitch on the floor. "Ahh I can hear the sirens now, I suppose it's time for us to go.back to our respective prisons. How are they treating you in the new home?"
"Oh the staff aren't too bad. The food's a bit lacking but it'll do."
"I'll have someone get that all set right for you."
| 2017-04-13T05:03:23 | 2017-04-13T04:36:58 | 105 | 71 |
[WP] The concept of shoot to kill is foreign to other galactic species. Only humans condition their warriors to kill in the most efficient and cold methods possible. When faced with a war they can not win a race does the unthinkable, they set the humans loose.
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For ten years the war has been destroying our planet. When the first krogen ships landed near the imperial town we were curious about their intentions. We were not prepared for any hostility. Our society overcame violence and war thousands of years ago. When they aimed their electric guns at us we were petrified. They shocked us, they hit us, those who tried to fight back were heavily injured by their blades. Every single citizen of the imperial town was enslaved in the first week. Even the royal family.
More and more slave ships came. More and more cities fell. We had no army, no one knew how to fight. It took us two years to build a resistance. It was not formed by scientists, artists or philosophers, those people that we all looked up to. It was our fishermen that first fought back. In hindsight it seems logical, they were hunters, they had harpoons and were used to kill the monsters from the deep. No one else was used to spill blood on our planet. Our new leader is Kalman the fisher, Kalman the warrior, Kalman the king.
———
It is the 10th anniversary of the assault. The Sunwind, the last of our space ships has returned from exploration im search for help in our fight and Kalman is meeting with Namar, the enemy war-chief on his vessel to discuss the terms of our surrender. At least that‘s what the Krogen think. But Kalman has a message for them that they are not prepared for and we do not expect him back alive.
———
„Kalman, finally we meet.“ The war chief felt victorious, now that the enemy had gone into the trap. The resistance would lose it‘s head today. The total victory was near.
„Namar. You don‘t think I‘m stupid enough not to know that I will die today?“
Namar‘s movements slowed down, almost stopped, a sign of hesitation.
„Interesting. Keep talking. Why are you here then?“
„Your species has discovered, conquered and enslaved hundreds of planets,...“
„Thousands!“ Namar threw in.
„... you have heard of the human race?“
„Who has not heard of the forbidden system, of those maniac hairless monkeys playing with atoms and killing themselves. No one is allowed to go there until they have destroyed themselves. Why do you mention them?“
„We may lose our freedom and our planet, maybe today or in a year from now but your destiny will be worse.“
„What? What are you talking about? You have lost, you have nothing! You must be crazy! Speak! What is this nonsense?“
„Our ship Sunwind came home today.“
„We know. But it is defenseless as everything else on your weak planet. We have scanned every tak of it and you have nothing that is a thread to us.“
„It came home from its journey to the planet Earth.“
Namar’s movements became slower.
„On Earth we made friends with a warrior tribe and our scientists helped them to build a spaceship.“
Namar‘s eyes opened wide in disbelief.
„We showed them the way to your home planet. We told them of your slavery trade and your dictatorship. Believe me when I say they have weapons that you couldn‘t dream of. When their soldiers fight, they kill. They will leave a trail of blood, they will destroy your planet and your people and make it look like they did a good thing.“
Namar froze. „How?... Why?.... Why should I believe you? Why should they attack us? We are not their enemies!“
We told them about your home planet. We told them about your dirty oceans. We told them about your OIL as they call it. Believe me when I say: They will come for you.“
———
PS: My first short story in a foreign language. Sorry for any mistakes.
Edit: words
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Since the earliest days the races of the galaxy had whispered tales of the end of times. However, the Apocalypse did not begin with fire and brimstone, as the prophets proclaimed, nor with disease or death, as the sages had foretold. The End began with an emerald dawn.
They came out of the very void itself, grand fleets of silver barges and chrome ships emerging through space time itself in a shimmer of mechanical, sickly green. On every world, skies were darkened by massive obsidian pyramids hovering kilometers above the sky, heralds of the coming tribulations. Legions upon legions of mechanical monstrosities, shaped in a sick mockery of true life, laid siege on our cities. They marched on, shot after shot, shell after shell, their writhing, fluid metal frames knitting every wound. Even those that were destroyed utterly simply shimmered out of existence, to appear mere hours later, without a single scratch. Planets which had known peace for a thousand years were utterly destroyed, split apart by beams of unholy light down to the atom. The great forges and anvils of our factory worlds were broken under the hammer of the conquering army. Verdant garden worlds, the shining jewels of our Empire, turned to ashes. Across a thousand worlds, Conquest rode triumphant.
After the initial shock of the invasion, the Exodus began. Interstellar jump lanes became crowded with trillions of refugees, fearful and destitute, from across the galaxy. Even at our apex, our technology seemed like spears and stones against our superior enemy. So, like a wounded animal, our empire steadily drew itself in, abandoning system after system in desperation. Many fled their homes with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. Many more never got the chance.
Our people were one of the many races caught up in the evacuation. The order to begin withdrawing had been delayed, and, tried as we might, we had barely gotten a hundred thousand men and women safely off the planet before *they* arrived. Like angels of death, they left nothing alive. We were forced to watch as they slaughtered our kin and burned every trace of our past and our legacy. When we finally arrived at the Capital, all we saw were people broken in will and spirit, the same story written on a thousand different faces. We had lost everything. Almost everything.
Humanities' history has been one of war. Since the earliest days of our race on Old Terra, our men have been forged in the crucible of war. We carved out our own mighty dominion among the stars, equal in size and splendor to the one we see here now. When they subjugated us, made us slaves to their "Greater Good", we became complacent, weak. Under the hand of those so called "Ethereals", we swallowed the sweet, delusional moonshine of perpetual peace whole, their "diplomacy" and "negotiations", all but refusing to engage the enemy. And look where we are now, cowering like beaten dogs under the stick of our abominable, mechanical masters. Sons of Terra! Humans of every stripe and creed! The living machines are nearly upon us. Their fleet draws closer every day. They believe they have left us with nothing, not even our will to resist. But as long as we have a weapon and a hand to hold it, we will *fight!* We will fight in the void! We will fight in the skies! We will fight on the waves! We will fight in the streets! We are the Defenders of Humanity, and we shall *know no fear!* ***Remember brothers, the Emperor Protects!***
| 2018-07-20T19:17:28 | 2018-07-20T15:41:14 | 211 | 49 |
[WP] FTL is impossible. Adult cryogenics was a dead end. Generation ships are too costly and unreliable. Instead our first successful colony ship carried millions of frozen embryos and a fleet of robots to raise them. You were born with no parents, on a new world, under a new and foreign sun.
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I am writing this because I got into a fight. Teacher says that it was over something stupid, and when we "do something stupid, we must reflect on it". Teacher told me to write about it, so I am writing about what we were fighting about so that I can figure out why it was stupid.
We were talking about why we were on this dumb planet and why we had to do this dumb training, and why there was nobody else on this planet. Frizz said it was because our home was dying. Frizz is pupil M835A2, but we call him Frizz because he has frizzy hair. He always grins a little when we call him that, so I think he likes it. Anyway, Nose said that was stupid and that it was because Frizz's parents didn't love him. Nose is a jerk and he has a big nose, so we all knew he was going to say something like that anyway, but that's not why I hit him. Oh yeah, Nose is Pupil R56A2. Frizz just rolled his eyes at Nose, but Nose wanted somebody to get mad, so he just wouldn't shut up. He started to pick on Mittens, Pupil S4A2, saying that even if they didn't love him, at least Frizz had real parents, but Mittens was a science experiment, since she is a Science-type with her "S" number as a pupil, and all. Mittens is always nice to everybody, even Mittens, so I got mad and punched Nose in his big, fat nose.
I know I was wrong because I am pupil C1A2, and as a Command-type, I will command group A2 as we rebuild this planet for us. I should be learning how to make everyone get along better, even the Rifle-types and the Medic-types and not sticking up for only one type. And, as Teacher always says, "There are only a few million of you against several billion of these humans, so you have got to stick together, or you will never take over the planet."
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I'm part of the first colony that arrived into Exsoleil. The fourth planet of a neutron star in the middle of the galaxy. It is very likely that we have been the happiest generation of humans that has lived since they originally fully evolved.
Life on earth was tough. A planet full of living beings that get nourishment from other living beings. You have to kill to be able to live on earth. Many people think humans are fucked up by nature, but I'm convinced they're fucked due to nature.
Exsoileil however was almost deserted of life comparatively. Huge oceans and a small strip of land that sustained us. the only life before us were protozoa like organisms and abundant vegetation. no evolved animals existed on exsoileil.
we were raised by robots that look like that wall-e movie they once showed us. slightly anthropomorphic robots that were cute enough for baby us.
we were like the Buddha, raised without any of the ugly aspects of life. up until our 20's we were a second paradise. we had no words like depression, assassination, despair, violent or sin.
I don't really know what or how happened but the fuckedupness of humans could not be taken out of the embryos by our forefathers.
by the second generation we had bad things happened already. perhaps because they were raised by us humans but it was no longer a full paradise.
we still have not had wars. as the oldest member of humanity I was given access to hidden parts of human history we never learned from the robots. I got to know all about religious, political, ancient and drone fought wars. it's like if humans were wired towards destruction.
I cannot tell what the future might hold for us. will we be tamed by exsoileil's peaceful environment? have we substantially reduced the amount of lifespan of this young planet?
time will tell
| 2018-05-11T14:30:22 | 2018-05-11T14:10:32 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] It's the year 2300, a young child asks a museum curator, "Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? "
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"Sir, why is the Declaration of Independence held together by masking tape? " the child asked pointing to the glass case that held the yellowed and ragged-edged document, the text just barely a wisp of red iron-oxide, looking like blood on old evidence.
"What is your name son?" the guard asked.
"Dorian," the boy replied, brushing a strand of dark hair out of his pale gray eyes. He was wearing the posh prep-school uniform of Saint Thomas More Academy.
"Well, Dorian," the guard replied, taking off his glasses and looking the boy in the eyes, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes sir," the boy replied, "I keep plenty of secrets."
"Well," the old man continued, " every time our country does something horrible, violates the principles in this document, it develops a smudge or a tear. Sometimes a letter fades away. Sometimes whole sentences disappear. The document never falls apart, it just keeps getting uglier and uglier. Some people think it is magic."
"Where do all the rips come from?" the boy asked.
"This one," the guard said, pointing to a taped rip in the upper left hand corner, " happened back in April of 1975 when the Vietnam War ended. It had probably been there since 1955, but it broke open in 1975."
"And this one?" Dorian asked, pointing to one in the middle that tore into the text itself.
"Ah," the guard said, "that one happened sometime around 2002 when the U.S. tried to waterboard a guy and say that it wasn't torture. You notice those liquid splotches all over the document."
"Yes," the boy said, "Someone spill coffee on it?"
"No," the guard said, "they magically appeared later on in 2015. We had them tested and they contain the DNA of the former Vice President Dick Cheney. From the chemical analysis it appears to be urine."
"Gross," the boy replied.
"Yep," the guard agreed, "About every nasty sin of this country ends up here on this document. I figure it keeps the country together while this document falls apart. Sometimes it mends itself some. That is where the tape comes from. Once there is a tear or some damage, it never heals itself quite right."
"Mr. Grey?" a stern female voice, "Please stay with the class."
"Thank you, sir." Dorian replied.
"No, son, thank you! Remember this old document and how it barely is holding together. I'd hate to think what happens when it finally rips apart after 524 years."
The guard turned, tears in his eyes. He took off his cap, exposing a small remaining shock of red hair. Five-hundred-and-twenty years he had guarded this document, over half a millennium since he wrote the thing and imbued it with the magic that had caused his damnation in order to save his country. He read the line again. "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal..." it hadn't faded completely yet.
|
"Excellent question!" replied the kind old curator. "Ah, I can see you're name is Johnny from that excellent handwritten name tag. Clearly, you are a child of special provenance to request a paper and pen from the entry desk unlike your classmates here. "
Johnny shuffled his feet and shrugged his shoulders under the attention. His anti-bullying programs already looking for a mean glance or cracked knuckle to report.
“Clearly, it was the only tape to use. The history of masking tape is a long and glorious one. But, for the sake of brevity, I'll start with what most modern tape scholars regard as the seminal event of the rise of masking as the primary tape used in the nation. Of course, I’m speaking of the Citizens United decision of the supreme court. ”
“You see, back in the dark times, which some scholars refer to as the Duct Tape Ascendancy, the use of trade names was somewhat more loose. You have to understand, this was before the advent of automated copyright infringement software embedded in our mobile devices. Can you imagine? Referring to any old transparent tape as “Scotch tape” without fear of repercussions?”
The children all gasped at the use of the brand name with such a careless disregard. The reaction brought the absent minded curator up short, and he held up a finger to indicate the young upturned faces should patiently wait while he dealt with the situation.
“Ah, yes…. “ He spoke into his mobile device which had beeped in response to his transgression. “No.” a pause.
“No.” another pause.
“Under regulation 203 of the fair use clause for non-profit museum work, thank you very much. Good day to you, sir. “
The children were rapt with attention at this man who had dismissed an auto generated copyright lawsuit with such speed.
“Where was I? Ah yes. Well, after the trademark wars of the 2020s, many of you know that Scotch, Duct, and Gorilla brands were the only survivors. Really, there were no other tapes to be had.”
The curator could see that he was losing his young listeners interest and decided to cut to the chase.
"Fortunately, thorough one of the last acts as an independent entity, the US attorney general was able to establish that “masking’ tape was not a brandable name. In fact, this SCOTUS case is widely seen as establishing the wide set of unbranded nouns in the public domain that we use today. "
"Really, it was quite a coup for liberty! And so, that is why we only use non-branded masking tape in the National Archives presented by Dunder Mifflin”
| 2015-06-29T13:34:46 | 2015-06-29T10:34:30 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] The Bestiary of the Multiverse is a really, really thick book. Updated every two days. It works like a wierd magical Wikipedia, really. You are the mod, and sometimes find real gems between all of the mundane animals. Write your favorite page of this bestiary.
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**The Somaspore**
The Somaspore is a most peculiar creature that is found in varying dimensions and habitats across the multi-verse; this creature is truly a wonder of reproductive science. For this reason, one should take great care when spotting or handling a Somaspore and familiarize oneself with local laws and regulations regarding Somaspore policy (see Ethics and Legality section below).
**Overview**
The Somaspore, a sometimes plant-like sentient life form, is unique in that it is the only known carbon-based life form which demonstrates an ability to exist in various states of matter. That is to say, a Somaspore—while commonly found in nature as a tall, green-leafed plant resembling the hellebores of Earth 643—can exist in a gaseous state after heated at extreme temperatures and retain its sentience and organic conditioning. After transitioning to a gaseous state, the Somaspore particles spread through the air until a suitable rooting area is identified.
**Nutrition**
While most plants obtain nutrients from the soil, Somaspores are carnivorous. One may be quick to note a distinct lack of mandible or teeth present on the Somaspore and wonder how this creature may consume organic matter. That is where the Somaspore’s journey becomes most fascinating.
The Somaspore has no natural predators, though many creatures have evolved to crave the Somaspore in its gaseous state. That is to say, creatures will intentionally round up Somaspores, light them on fire, and inhale the creature in its gaseous state. This practice may appear barbaric to some, but this symbiotic relationship is critical to the Somaspore’s survival and fecundity.
Upon entering a creature’s lungs, the Somaspore then enters the blood stream of the inhalant creature and finally penetrates the blood-brain barrier. The Somaspore then—temporarily—takes control of the inhalant being. The Somaspore triggers pathways in the inhalant creature’s brain which cause hunger. As the host creature consumes nutrients, the Somaspore is able to leech nourishment.
**Side-Effects**
While this may sound like a parasitic relationship, that couldn’t be further from the truth. In exchange for nutrients and control, the inhalant creature receives a flood of dopamine to their receptor cells and a feeling of peace and relaxation overcomes the inhalant creature. For this reason, many creatures on which the Somaspore relies are referred to as “chill dudes and dudettes.”
Although, one would err to assume that there are no negative side effects to a host. Often, the host will exhibit signs of cognitive fatigue or dullness for many days after consuming the Somaspore. Moreover, creatures who make a habit of consuming the Somaspore are often unproductive and listless. After a time, the Somaspore will exit the host’s system and move itself toward a suitable planting location to begin the process of returning to its solid state.
**Ethics and Legality**
Because of these benefits to inhalant creatures, many have evolved to “farm” Somaspores. For this reason, the Somaspore is one of the most abundant carbon based life forms throughout the known multi-verse. Although, the act of farming a sentient being does not sit well with environmental and animal rights groups alike. There is litigation currently pending in the Inter-Dimensional Supreme Court to severely limit or eliminate the practice altogether. Others still posit that the consumption of the Somaspore is unethical and damaging to inhalant creature’s health.
Scientists, however, are consistent on this matter—the Somaspore has evolved* to be burned and consumed and it’s proliferation across dimensions is a sign that the creature is thriving and a fine example of natural selection. Moreover, the feelings evoked by the Somaspore gas are pretty damn nice**
*there is litigation pending in the Inter-Dimensional Supreme Court which looks to stop scientists from using the words “evolved, “evolution,” or any other derivations thereof.
**this does not necessarily reflect the ideas or beliefs held by the Publishers of The Beastiary of the Multiverse, available now wherever you buy books. Or available for download as an audiobook narrated by Sir David Attenborough. Download today!
_______________
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive
|
The Makkipodo.
On a planet far away from anything really, is a beast called the Makkipodo. It lives a solitary life not often mingling with other Makkipodos. The creature stands about twenty feet tall at its full height, but is often found using both sets of limbs to propel it along the ground. These limbs have a strange woodiness seeming to be covered in some sort of bark, that cracks and creaks as it strides over the ground. It is thought that this is a protective element against the swampy environment these beasts favour. Anything that thinks to bite at the legs, will get a mouthful of bark and splinters for its trouble.
The Makkipodo has a large shovel-like mouth that it uses to scoop up the swampy water that it walks through, filtering out small plants and insects that it uses for nutrients. It has something similar to whale baleen, (See entry for Whales) that makes this process easier. In length, the head is about the size of a horse's, though almost as wide as it is long. The legs are double-jointed and spindly, bound completely with the bark as previously mentioned. Its body is long and thin, curled around and around, with marks that could have once been vestigial limbs, or perhaps given their shape, mouths. There is reason to believe that the Makkipodo was once an aquatic creature, but given the changing environment evolved legs and the ability to breathe the air around it.
It still must use the filters that it developed in the water, however, as the planet's air is thick with particles and dust kicked up by the everpresent storms overhead. The storms never drop water, though the ground is mostly swamp, whatever liquid must come from inside. However, those filters are not the most fascinating thing about the Makkipodo. No, that is its great ability to mimic sound. It has many full sets of vocal cords, not commonly found together in one beast and uses them to great effect. But not for itself. The Makkipodo has a parasite
(See entry below.)
The Okamakidop.
The Okamakidop only exists to live off the Makkipodo. It has no ability to survive on its own, and is passed from generation of Makkipodo to generation. Each Makkipodo has at least one Okamakidop in its life and may gain up to two. There seems to be no visible benefit to the Makkipodo, to hosting the Okamakidop so there is no firm evidence for a symbiotic parasitic relationship. However, a Makkipodo will quickly die if it is not gifted with an Okamakidop within three days after its birth.
The Okamakidop is a small creature, seemingly all eyes and mouth, with none of the connective tissue you would expect between them. It is attached to the side of the Makkipodo with small hooks, like fine wires, that puncture the skin without drawing blood.
While the Makkipodo is a peaceful herbivore/insectivore, the Okamakidop is an omnivore. It will eat anything and anyone that the Makkipodo can lure towards itself with the multitude of different sounds it can make. As soon as the creature is in range, the Okamakidop detaches itself and leaps, reducing whatever it was to a husk of its former self in an instant. No soft tissue remains, and even some exoskeletons have been destroyed. When the Okamakidop has been sated it returns to the Makkipodo and they go on their quiet way. This duo is deadly when working together, which means that both the Makkipodo and Okamakidop should be avoided at all costs, and any sounds you believe to be your friends, your family, a lost animal, or an animal in heat should be summarily ignored.
————————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more writing!
| 2022-12-11T12:01:31 | 2022-12-11T10:53:13 | 268 | 38 |
[WP] The government has chosen your town for a social experiment: every day, a new citizen will be elected, and s/he can do whatever they want to anyone without any legal consequences. Everyone else must obey and not retaliate, else their collars would detonate. You're the only one alive after day 9
|
*Congratulations, Citizen. You have been elected. All of your actions today are free of legal consequence. Happy Election Day!*
Sam closed the tablet, got out of bed, and headed over to the window. She filled her jug with the last of the water from the rain barrel. Her collar beeped twice. Two short beeps was fine; it was the long beeps you had to worry about. This was her last source of potable water. All the grocery stores had probably been looted by now but that would be the place to check.
This was the fourth day in a row Sam had been elected, which made her suspect that she was the last person in town.
At the entrance of her building laid a man. Well, the headless corpse of a man. His body was crumpled up over a cooler. Next to the cooler were several empty cases of Dasani. Kyle Johnson used his election day to make it only legal to buy water from him. Every other water source was illegal to sell. Sam checked the cooler. As, she suspected, Kyle only made it illegal to sell other water not drink it. The cooler was empty.
Sam navigated piles of corpses on her way to the Piggly Wiggly. She was astonished to see the crosswalks and intersections piled high with bodies. She crossed the road. Her collar beeped twice. She had heard on the second day that Amy Cunningham had made all law violations punishable by death. From the number of bodies and crashed cars, Sam surmised that the rule had extended to traffic violations. That was one of the last bits of news she had heard, because the following day David Brian made broadcasting the news over airwaves illegal.
The entrance to the Piggly Wiggly was barricaded with bodies. Most of them were holding diapers, toilet paper, or other basic necessities. Once she made it inside, she wished she hadn't. The stench of rotting corpses was too much to withstand. She wretched several times on her way to the bottled water, but kept herself from actually vomiting.
At the entrance to the aisle, she freed a cart from the grasp of a corpse and emptied its contents onto the ground. She would need to get as much water home as possible. She could probably leave through a fire exit.
As she filled the cart with gallon jugs and 32-packs of water, she felt something closing in on her. When she looked up she realized both ends of the aisle were blocked by people. People who weren't wearing collars. Non-citizens.
"Excuse me ma'am," said a man wearing all denim. "We've got some questions for you."
Both groups began closing in on her.
"Um, okay. What do you want to know?" she replied. Her collar beeped twice.
"Whoa," the denim man threw up his hands. The groups backed away then paused. "Why didn't your head blow up?"
"Why would my head blow up?"
Her collar beeped twice.
"Well, we only started seeing these collars about two weeks ago. And at first, everyone still talked to us like normal: no, I don't have any change; sorry, pal; get a job. Ya, know? The usual. But then around the fifth day we saw the collars, people changed. No one spoke to us. The ones that did died on the spot. They all beeped, like yours did just now," the denim man examined the collar, "but then they blew up."
"I don't know what to tell you," Sam replied. "Maybe I'm special."
Her collar beeped twice.
"Maybe we should examine this collar," one of the other non-citizens spoke up. "Then we can see if it's something special with the collar or something special with the girl."
"Not a bad idea," said the denim man.
"No," Sam protested, "you can't remove it."
But there was no convincing them. The man who proposed the idea was already on her, his hands at her neck. He seemed to delight in the terror that filled her eyes. He was the kind of psycho that his own friends wouldn't interfere with because they had seem how off the rails he would go. A couple more were already restraining her as she began to struggle. The psychotic man stuck a screwdriver under the collar to help pry it loose.
Sam couldn't help but smile when she heard the long beep. If she was going to go out like this, at least she could take the worst of the worst with her.
She hugged the psychotic man, and tried as hard as she could to drive them both toward the denim man.
|
**Part I**
I woke up to the sounds of sirens. My room was filled with flashing lights, illuminating everything in short intervals.
"*Mmnng . . ."*
Still half asleep, I dragged myself up and closed the blinds. I lay down and turned over, facing away from the window.
*It's probably some idiot and his faulty car . . .*
I started to drift back to sleep . . .
. . . Until I heard loud screeching. It was like nails on a chalkboard.
*"Mmnnghhgh . . .!"*
I lifted my head and put it under my pillow.
*Not a car . . . I don't know what that's supposed to be. Why do people have to do this stuff so early in the day . . .?*
I shrank into a fetal position, pulling the pillow closer to my ears.
**". . . MAY I HAVE EVERYONE'S ATTENTION?"**
I slammed the pillow into the wall, staring angrily at the ceiling.
". . . That's it."
I furiously stumble over to the window to finally see what's going on.
". . . What the . . .?"
I open the window and stick my head out to get a better view. There are dozens of military trucks outside my apartment. On one of them, a short woman is standing with a megaphone. A small crowd of people is already forming.
**"THIS IS WORKING, RIGHT? OKAY. GOOD MORNING, EVERYONE."**
I barely hear someone from the crowd yell, *"It's two in the f\*\*\*\*\*\* morning!!"*
*Well said.*
**"HAA . . . YES. ANYWAY, I AM LIEUTENANT PATTERSON. I AM HERE STRICTLY FOR GOVERNMENT BUSINESS. THIS TOWN HAS BEEN CHOSEN FOR A SPECIAL SOCIAL EXPERIMENT, AND PARTICIPATION IS MANDATORY."**
I step out and stand on the fire exit, laughing to myself.
*Who do these people think they are? They can't just send a chick with a crew to a town and tell them they're all going to be government guinea pigs.*
Someone down there seemed to be thinking like me.
*"And what happens if we don't participate, huh? Whatcha gonna do?"*
The woman slowly lowers the megaphone. A man walks out of one of the cars with a rifle. The crowd disperses, leaving the woman in the open. As he walks up, he flips the rifle around and slams her in the head with the butt. The crowd visually gasps as the woman falls to the ground.
*Okay . . . Brute force.*
More people start gathering. The woman tries to stand up but fails each time. A man went and walked over to her, helping her up to her feet and carrying her to--
***Bang!! Bang!!***
I automatically cover my mouth in shock. The crowd of people started freaking out as the man and woman fell to the floor, bleeding out. As I kept watching, a smile crept across my face—one out of pure shock and fear.
*What the hell is going on . . .! The military isn't supposed to be this harsh . . Is it?*
**". . . I BELIEVE THAT SHOULD BE ENOUGH TO CONVINCE YOU TO CONSENT. FOR YOUR OWN GOOD. WE SHALL REPEAT THIS MESSAGE ACROSS TOWN. ANYONE WHO MIMICS THE WOMAN'S OR MAN'S ACTIONS WILL ENCOUNTER THE SAME PUNISHMENT. TO EVERYONE WHO IS LISTENING, HEAD TO THE SOUTH OF TOWN BY 0500 HOURS. ANYONE WHO DOESN'T ATTEND WILL BE PROSECUTED."**
And when she finished, she jumped down, entered into the truck, and drove off. All the others followed her out, one by one. As they left, the crowd was still looking at the two on the floor. A pool of red encompassed both of them, and the woman was still in his lifeless arms.
". . . Well, I can't go back to sleep after all that . . ."
I open the window, shuffle inside, and shut it. With the whole thing replaying in my head, I go to the bathroom and get myself ready.
| 2022-11-18T13:59:07 | 2022-11-18T13:38:39 | 253 | 54 |
[WP] The first and greatest superhero and villain of all time respectively were said to have killed each other in combat. Decades later the current greatest supervillain is instantly annihilated upon threatening an elderly couple outside their remote cottage, and the truth becomes known
|
>**FIRES OF LOVE**
Incredible flames roared, turning entire forests into cinders over just a few brief moments.
Mountains of rock and iron rose and fell, as the hearts of each catastrophe grew closer and closer to one another-
The ground shattered. The fires rose up to the high heavens.
The two embraced.
Hidden within the near apocalyptic-scale damage, Tristan, the most beloved hero, held Cinder in his arms.
"It's okay. I understand." He said, as her rage began to abate, and her shoulders began to shake with sobs.
He pulled her closer, and she collapsed into his chest. "I learned about...what happened, in the lab. I know why you're doing what you're doing. It's okay. They're gone, now. Let's move on from this, together."
A few days later, the most daring news crew finally attempted to traverse the ruined terrain- and found the bodies. Their fight had been on proportions that the world had never even dreamed of- and, though they mourned the loss of the hero, they also breathed a sigh of relief that those two, with their nearly limitless powers, would no longer be able to hold entire countries hostage on a whim if they so desired.
It felt like the end of an era. Every hero from that point forward felt like a shadow compared to Tristan- and every villain would have been nothing but an ember compared to Cinder's flames.
Until the day came when they found out the bodies were fake.
Villains, by the dozen, began to scour the globe, hoping to force Cinder out of retirement- and, eventually, one villain with a supernatural ability to track people found where she was.
As they approached, massive walls of steel rose and blocked their path- and behind that, a heat- a heat unlike anything they had ever known threatened to burst forth.
Cinder's voice, though crackling with age, came forward. "I know why you have come. I know you seek my power, my guidance."
A hush fell over the gathering crowds of villains.
"My only power now is for defending this place. My only guidance is to learn to forgive. If you do not leave now, you will learn that sometimes, forgiveness comes *after* revenge."
Only one fool made the mistake of pressing her. His ashes blew into the ocean.
Within the cottage, Tristan lay on his bed, unable to move. Age had worn him down worse than it had Cinder...but his powers were, arguably, the best they had ever been. "Heh. I've been practicing this whole time... but for you- well. That's the first time you've done more than heat a pot of tea since *that day*. And you're still so much stronger than me. You really were playing nice with me, back then, weren't you?"
"Hush, my lovely idiot. I wanted you to win."
|
"Waddup gang! Greatest supervillain Cerberus coming at you from mount Everest, you are on the human extermination live stream in earth dimension. First thing on our program, let's go find some primates!"
Having said that, the three headed wolf firmly bites into the camera it was talking to. It is now recording the inside of the left head's mouth - Cerberus has been streaming for decades but has never fixed this behavior. Right now he is fully focused on finding humans - they are regarded as the weakest species, unable to use magic and as such are unprotected by international laws. Hunting humans has been turned into a sport. The most successful hunter gets ironically titled "Greatest Supervillain".
"I have located one smelly human! Let's see who may they be. I hope it's a cool bald one - you know, the ones called monks or something? I heard those live on mountains and do nothing all day"
Cerberus grips the camera the correct way this time and runs up the mountain path, which leads into an opening. In front of him is a dark colored cottage made out of seemingly morphed granite, adorned with skulls and crosses.
"Whoaf! This looks like a dark elf's house. But why is it not in a cave? Anyway, the human must be a slave of this house, so I'll intimidate the owner to hand them over - no possible being can withstand my triple \[Gaze of the Abyss\] and \[Howl of the Bloodhound\], oh also my jaws have a bite force of over two thousand PSI and.."
Cerberus keeps boasting about his strengths so he doesn't notice an old lady dashing towards him. The lady grabs Cerberus by the mid section and slams him to the ground. The impact shakes the surrounding area, echoing off mountain.
"You dare call queen Elizabeth a slave?" Proclaimed the old lady.
"Now now, you mustn't hurt little Cerby" A dark Elf approaches. "He may look hostile but he's such a sweetheart"
Cerberus's three sets of ears perk up. "Master! I thought you had died thirty years ago fighting queen Elizabeth! Why did you abandon me then? I have become a Greatest Supervillain in your honor, a faithful human hunter"
Dark elf's face becomes clouded. "I've learned that I can't win some fights with violence. By the way, what's this glass device you are holding?"
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
// 2.5 hours
| 2020-09-02T11:12:50 | 2020-09-02T09:03:57 | 128 | 54 |
[WP]Transcript of a conversation from 1-900-ABUSE-ME where you pay per minute to verbally abuse the operator.
|
"Hello, one nine hundred Abuse Me, Clara speaking. How can I help you today?"
"You can help me by being a *stupid cunt!*"
Clara masked her sigh. It was a first timer.
"I see sir. Was there anything else I could help you with today?"
There was a pause. She could practically *hear* the cogs of his brain churning. He'd obviously been excited to call the abuse line and now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was a bit lost.
"Uhm, yeah. You're... you're a *fat bitch* and I bet nobody wants to *fuck* your ugly fat ass!"
His staccato insults were so forced that she had to try not to laugh.
"Very astute sir. Last weigh in, I was four hundred pounds. Phone work is about all my ugly, fat ass can do."
"I bet you're a fat dyke with scabs in her vag."
She blinked. That was different. The scabs part - people called her a dyke all the time. For some reason people seemed to think sexuality was super offensive.
"Yes, quite scabby. I should probably see a doctor, but my fat ass won't fit out the door."
"Haha I fuckin' *knew* it. You're a big fucking fat ass scabby dyke bitch cunt!"
"Yes, yes I am," it was getting *really* hard to mask her boredom, but she had to keep him on the line.
"Fat dyke cunt," he repeated, desperately.
Pulling a face, Clara toyed with the idea of hanging up, but if she milked this for a bit longer, she could get to two, maybe three minutes.
"You know, those are some of the *best* insults anyone has thrown at me. I bet you can come up with more though."
"Shit, really?"
"Oh yeah, totally. I was crying on the inside at the fat dyke cunt comment."
"Haha yeah, that was pretty good, right?"
"The best. But what would a fat dyke cunt like me know?"
There was silence on the line for a few seconds, then the male voice came back, quietly,
"Hey, uh, are you doing anything tonight?"
Clara put the mic on mute for a moment, then called over the partition in the call center,
"Hey Megan! I'm gonna transfer a lonely dude through to your line."
"No prob Clara."
She unmuted the mic,
"You there honey?"
"Yeah babe."
"Just gonna transfer you to another line where we can talk in *private*"
"OK."
Clara hit the transfer button and put him through to Megan's Lonely Hearts Chat Line.
At least she'd get commission.
|
Operator: Thank you for calling Abuse Me. How would you like to abuse me today?
Customer: Uh ... well, it's my first time ... I mean, do you guys have a, you know, menu or something?
Operator: Let me tell you our specials today. For $3.99/minute I can pretend to be a representative from your bank. For $4.99/minute I can pretend to be a surly rep from your cable provider. And, this one's popular lately, for $5.99/minute I can pretend to be your boss.
Customer: Wow ... bitching out my boss would be pretty epic but, $5.99/minute, huh? Let's go with the bank one.
Operator: Certainly, sir. First off I'll need your credit card info.
(credit card information redacted for security)
Operator: Thank you, sir. We will begin in five seconds.
Customer: So, uh, do I just wait five seconds or are you going to-
Operator: Thank you for calling The Bank. I'm John how can I help you today?
Customer: Uh ... oh, right! **Fuck you, John! I'm sick of your bank's shit!**"
Operator: I'm very sorry to hear you so upset, sir. What seems to be the pro-
Customer: You're my problem, John! Fuck you, your whore wife, your shit ass bank and I hope your kids get raped in prison!
Operator: Again, I'm very sorry you're so upset. If I could find out more abo-
Customer: All you need to know is you can eat shit and die, John! I have half a mind to get me a baseball bat, come down to that bank and fuck your shit up! If it weren't illegal I-
Operator: Time's up, sir.
Customer: -Fucking buch of bullsh- ...wait ... what?
Operator: That's one mintue, sir. Would you like to pay for an additional minute in this scenario or try a new scenario? Also, you can buy minutes in bulk. For example: the boss scenario is available in blocks of 5 minutes for $19.99. That's a savings of nearly $10 compared to paying for individual minutes.
Customer: $20? Boy ... I don't get paid until Friday, though ... I'll- You know what, I'll call back. OK? Thanks.
Operator: No problem at all. Thank you for calling Abuse Me. Have a better day.
| 2015-08-21T14:27:52 | 2015-08-21T14:26:10 | 60 | 27 |
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